The Worm King Page 9

  She was drawing a picture of a camel.

  ‘So what do we do now? Winston asked.

  Dr Zoy peered at him. ‘Now we wait. Wait till it gets light.’

  ‘Wait?’ growled Mr Snow.

  WEATHER BADGE DIARY

  Today we drove to Mulloolaloo weather station. Dr Zoy gave us a talk about comets. Mrs Sheng thinks we might get dinosaurs back. Mr Snow said our parents are in Canberra with everyone else so he’s going to take us there tomorrow. It was dark all day and the wind was very hot and Mr Snow ran over some kangaroos when he was driving. The thermometer Azziz gave us says 41 degrees but outside it is hotter.

  Natasha

  Chapter Fifteen

  More Boxies

  The Hat had taken off his shirt and rivulets of sweat rolled freely down his pale, hairless chest. ‘According to my understanding of paleoanthropology, only three things survived the dinosaurs: rats, crocodiles and some small, furry, angry thing that ended up turning into monkeys. Oh, and that’s right, sharks.’

  Winston: ‘Yippee.’

  Āmiria: ‘Why didn’t the sharks turn into anything?’

  ‘They had the option. A few did go really bad and turned into traffic cops, but most stayed as is. Sweet.’ He issued a waggly thumbs-up.

  ‘Did it get this hot last time?’ asked Āmiria. It was boiling in the cramped storeroom.

  Winston didn’t know. ‘I thought dinosaurs liked it hot? All the pictures I’ve seen, dinosaurs have always been hanging in steamy jungles, grassy plains, that sort of thing. Hardly ever in snowy places. ’Cept mammoths, I think they did snow.’

  ‘Who drew those fuckin pictures anyway?’ grumbled the Hat.

  Eventually, Astrid insisted the boys go back to their own room and let the girls get some rest because the twins kept falling asleep. Azziz, the Hat and Winston reluctantly stood and were shaking themselves off to depart when Dick reappeared. He wasn’t overly happy about the shift next door either but Li Sheng had been tied up with “station crap” and it didn’t sound like he was given much option.

  ‘We should be able to take you on a quick tour of the station later, if you’re good,’ he told the yawning twins before being ushered out.

  Winston could’ve sworn that sometime in the last few hours, Dick had re-brushed his hair. It just seemed too neatly sculptured to be normal, given what they’d been through. He ran a hand through his own tangled, greasy, black locks.

  ‘Can I go next door too?’ asked Āmiria. ‘I’m not tired.’ Astrid nodded.

  The crap at the station must’ve been easy to fix because Li Sheng returned within minutes. She dropped off a bottle of tepid water and left with Dick, who hadn’t even bothered to enter the boy’s room after taking a whiff of Lord Brown from the doorway. ‘What are we supposed to do?’ Winston shouted after him.

  ‘You’ll be right as rain,’ Dick called back, then was gone.

  ‘Right as rain?’ spumed Winston disbelievingly. ‘Sounds like some Girl Guide mumbo-jumbo. It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s where Dick gets all his research.’ He turned on Āmiria. ‘You know any more handy guide sayings like that?’

  ‘Yeah. Mate ā moa.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like guideish at all. I’ll start speaking dwarfish if you don’t watch out.’

  ‘Dwarfish?’ pondered the Hat. ‘That’s the language jockeys talk, isn’t it? It’s mostly English but more nasal and high-pitched and delivered in short snatches. They say stuff like, “Come out strong; cut me off on the turn; shoulda bin a winner on the day; yabba, yabba, yabba.”’

  Lord Brown began rocking back and forth, muttering quietly to himself. ‘Short snatch, short snatch, short snatch . . . ’

  The Hat continued. ‘They always look like angry elves on speed to me. Angry, drugged up elves who get paid to ride horses. No wonder those horses go bloody fast! “Getthiscrazyfuckeroffmeback!” the poor nag’s screamin.’

  Āmiria said, ‘Mate ā moa means dead like the moa’. My Uncle Monty says it sometimes. He’s a Tūhoe chief and has a proper war club, but he likes his rifle better.’

  ‘What? In the guides?!’ exclaimed Winston.

  ‘Short snatch, short snatch, short snatch . . . ’

  The room stank, and it felt hotter than deep-fried lava. ‘A cold beer would be nice,’ mused the Hat.

  No one replied.

  A lengthy pause in conversation ensued while the Hat and Azziz slept. Winston asked Āmiria what she was doing.

  ‘What’re you doin?’

  ‘Trying to jigger up a periscope.’

  ‘Why?’ He watched her flatten a square of tinfoil which originally covered the stew, then carefully feed it into a slot sliced at an angle in the end of a long stick of polystyrene which she’d taken from a packing crate.

  ‘Try’na see over some boxes.’

  ‘Right. And after that?’

  ‘I’m going to Tamworth.’

  Those Girl Guides certainly kept themselves entertained.

  ‘Short snatch, short snatch, short snatch . . . ’

  Astrid entered, turning her nose up at the smell then pretending to ignore it. ‘The twins are still fast asleep.’ She pointed at Lord Brown. ‘What’s he saying?’

  Everyone shrugged.

  She plonked herself down next to Azziz and immediately suggested a round of I Spy. There was no disagreement and after a blindingly obvious sideways glance at Azziz, kicked off with the letter “A”. Nobody could even be bothered attempting an answer and the game stalled badly in the opening round. They needed a change of scenery. ‘Let’s have a look outside,’ proposed Winston.

  ‘I’m keen!’ replied Āmiria immediately.

  Astrid was not. ‘They asked us to wait in here. No sense getting their backs up. I’m sure they’ve got enough problems without you causing extra trouble.’

  ‘We don’t need to worry them,’ insisted Āmiria enthusiastically. ‘If that drippy guard isn’t out by the door, we can get behind the boxes then down to the next corridor. There was other rooms and lights showing.’

  Winston peeked through the gap across the corridor to the boxes on the other side. The door had been held ajar with Azziz’s shoes to let air drift in. She was right: if they nipped across, he could easily squeeze in. Astrid could make it too, but Azziz had no chance and the Hat was probably too tall to do it without risking knocking a box over.

  ‘Definitely worth a crack. But if the guard looks this way, from that stool up near the front door, he’ll—’

  ‘He’s not even there,’ confirmed Āmiria, squinting up into the tinfoil periscope which she’d edged above the boxes. ‘Nah. Gone totally.’ She poked out her head then looked back. ‘He could be just around the corner at the front door though, so I’m still gonna go behind those other boxes. In case he comes back.’

  It turned out to be a tight fit. What Winston lacked in height he made up for with a broad chest which had to be shoved through the gap. Āmiria went first, then Astrid who scuttled sideways and appeared to have a problem squeezing her breasts along the narrow cardboard canyon. Winston came up the rear, his chest is now pressed up against an area that her nipples had, only seconds before, been smudging over. Maybe a fraction below where her nipples had been, but not by much. The thought was surprisingly erotic given the circumstances. It’s either that, or he had some strange sexual attraction to cardboard he hadn’t previously known about.

  He popped out. Āmiria pointed down the corridor. ‘See, let’s have a look.’ She took off, ducking around the corner into the smaller corridor running perpendicular to that which their rooms were on. The guard wouldn’t be able to see them unless he had some specific reason to come around here, which of course he might . . . Winston tried to hurry, following the Girl Guide with his stubby legs pumping up and down on ballerina tiptoes, Astrid now in the rear. The ceiling lights were off but towards the end of the corridor a light glowed through a side door with a small glass panel in the top. The light was strong enough that they could se
e a few meters past the lit door, to the very end of the corridor and another door with a large, red EXIT sign above it.

  ‘What’d I tell you!’ said Āmiria smugly.

  Winston took the lead. After a few steps he was disappointed to see the door with the light had a Bathroom Ladies sign above it. On the facing wall, the similar Bathroom Mens door remained dark.

  Winston pushed open the door to the Ladies and instantly realized the light wasn’t from within the room—it came from outside! He had to step around a short blocking wall to see the windows, and then saw the sunrise, gloriously streaming through the opaque windows above the cubicles. It was low on the horizon and distorted by the cross-hatched wire running through the glass, but still one the best sight he’d seen since—

  ‘You all playing boxies now are you?’ said the guard from behind them. He’d snuck up quiet as a mouse, so maybe wasn’t so drippy after all.

  Winston turned and stepped from the LADIES to see two men, the guard and an older scientist-type clutching an armful of manila folders. He had thin white hair, a pinched face and appeared anxious. ‘I’m Barney. I work with Dr Zoy.’ He paused and looked at each of the three in turn. ‘Did you know Dick Snow’s left?’

  ‘What!?’ exclaimed Astrid.

  ‘That’s right. I was checking he’s not with you, so that’ll be no.’ Barney gave the sign above the door a puzzled glance. ‘Ladies? Why were you . . . ?’ Then he remembered the problem at hand. ‘He’s gone with Li Sheng in our 4WD. Brian isn’t there either. He was fixing it and Dr Zoy thinks he’s gone with them. Must’ve just got it started. Dr Zoy isn’t very happy, as you can imagine.’

  The mongrel! Dick must’ve pissed off in the 4WD as soon as he saw it was getting light. At least they still had Leroy’s van. ‘We’ll probably head off soon too. Go into Canberra.’ He looked over his shoulder for Astrid, seeking confirmation, but she’d disappeared. Winston turned back to Barney and jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the light coming from the LADIES. ‘Now the sun’s coming out and all.’

  ‘Sun? You can go anytime you like. Of course. But, no, there’s no sun.’ He shook his head. ‘Have a look if you want, come on.’ He walked past Āmiria and Winston to the EXIT door, pushed down on the horizontal bar while at the same time turning the handle, then swung it open. A hot blast of wind surged in, pushing them all back a quarter-step.

  Now Winston could see in the bushfires in the distance, stretching right across the horizon. Near the centre of the inferno, where he thought he’d seen the sunrise, massive licks of flame twisted into the sky.

  Barney waved his hand at the firestorm. ‘That’s Canberra, and the bush and pine forests around it.’

  ‘Winston! Winston!’ Astrid’s voice came from behind them. He looked back to see her running down the corridor, out of breath, and in a panic. ‘The twins are gone!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Clovis

  ‘ . . . Five, four, three, two, one,’ muttered Lord Brown. That was two weeks exactly.

  He paused. Two long weeks and not one drop of grog. It’d felt more like two years. Two thousand years.

  His mind began to refocus, gradually clanking into gear. The room felt cold. Holy mother it was cold! How could it go from the appalling heat of the observatory to cold such as this in only a fortnight?

  An army of porcelain figurines surrounded him. They covered shelves, a pair of side tables, the top of the bookshelf and the television set, which was unplugged from the wall socket. A lantern (kerosene by the smell of it) burnt on the coffee table in the centre of the room. Shadows of the figurines quivered ever so slightly around the walls.

  Astrid stared at him, her lips pursed and arm around a late middle-aged man on the sofa beside her. ‘You shouldn’t watch them,’ she said to her father. They were obviously related, with that red hair and giveaway pointy nose, except he was substantially taller. His face was dirty and streaked from weeping with puffy sacks under his eyes but he had strong shoulders and looked a man used to hard work, although at the moment the shoulders were slumped forward like wet fish.

  Winston the Dwarf, John the Hat and Āmiria the Māori were playing Monopoly. The board was spread on the carpet next to the coffee table. Much cash was stacked in front of the Hat who greedily stroked it and squinted mistrustfully at the others.

  ‘Six!’ called Āmiria.

  ‘Horayyyyy!’ shouted Lord Brown, throwing up his arms.

  The three players froze in astonishment, as though it were the first sensible thing he’d said in weeks, which it probably was.

  ‘Liverpool station,’ he said to Āmiria. ‘You own it. Skillfully rolled.’

  She looked at the board, ticking off squares with small nods of her head. ‘That’s . . . right. I do.’

  Astrid clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘For god’s sake, can’t you give that a break for a while? Honestly! Why don’t you get Lord Ding-dong something to eat, now he’s awake.’ Her arm remained locked around her father who continued to stare morosely at the board. She rocked him gently back and forth as you would a child, which looked somewhat comical because he was so much taller.

  Lord Brown smiled. ‘Thank you Astrid. That’s very kind, food would be marvelous. I’m really quite famished.’ She stopped rocking. ‘Can I also take this opportunity to thank you for your hospitality. Tremendous. You’ve been an absolute angel.’

  Her jaw slipped open and swirls of foggy breath collected in front of her face. ‘What’d you say?’

  All he could do was stare at her, in wonder, not answering. The clarity! A sticky, malty veil had been lifted from his eyes. He’d done his penance; served the full term. Two weeks of unmitigated, hellish toil. O yea, verily! The two-dimensional landscape had disappeared and there was no need to count from one number to the next and the next and the next. That was finished, now he could see in all directions. Not just 3-D, it was multi-D.

  The monopoly wasn’t to blame. Something else had upset Astrid’s father. Some . . . thing that’s crept into the unfortunate man’s psyche: an insidious black worm burrowing and chewing at him from the inside. Lord Brown looked at the window but the curtains were pulled shut so you might not even see anyone arrive, even if they did carry a light. What made him think of that? Was that a light? A twinkle through the cracks! Yes, a light, certainly.

  ‘Nathan? The councilors are here.’ Astrid’s mother stood wiping her hands nervously on the bunched up front of her apron. It appeared to be linen, tied at the back and burnt orange in color, patterned with a multitude of small black barbeque tongs like some designer culinary-themed leopard skin. He hadn’t seen her enter the room, presumably from the kitchen given her attire. She was of similar height to Astrid but with a darker, European complexion. ‘They’re coming up the path now Nathan, I’m sure it’s them.’ He detected the faintest trace of a softly-lilting Italian dialect and he thought he’d be able to pinpoint the exact province if she uttered another phrase or two.

  Nathan looked blankly at his wife.

  Lord Brown rose to greet the visitors.

  * * *

  Āmiria watched him stride over and shake hands with Montabelli. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Lord Brown confidently. The old man’s constant jabbering over the last fortnight had mostly been random numbers and at other times, just plain garbled nonsense, however this latest rant marked a definite improvement. Which was great, because she’d been getting totally jack of looking after him, especially when it should be Winston’s job anyway. He was Winston and the Hat’s mate after all, if you’d even call a crazy old derro like that a mate.

  Montabelli’s offsider Francesco had returned too. Both were here yesterday. She knew exactly what her father would’ve said about them: “Bloody city council.” They’d told Nathan they may need to divvy up part of his remaining food and might have to get him to cart it into some hall in Griffith by hand. Astrid’s dad wasn’t up to that.

  Her dad wouldn’t take it from them, that’s for sure.

/>   ‘You were asleep yesterday,’ replied the grossly overweight Montabelli. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your . . . ’

  ‘Brown. Lord Brown. I was a little off color and having a nap. I’m a box of birds now though.’

  The councilmen were given the sofa and Astrid’s mum returned to the kitchen. Āmiria thought she might get called on to fetch firewood again but obviously there was still enough in the basket next to the stove.

  As soon as they were seated, Astrid asked, ‘Did you find out whether anyone’s seen the two girls I told you about?’

  Montabelli frowned. ‘No sign of them I’m afraid.’ He’d left his trenchcoat on and sat there rubbing his hands together, every few seconds lifting them to breathe onto his pudgy fingertips to warm them up.

  Francesco elaborated. ‘We check the displace person list at Beaumont Street, but as we tell you yesterday, there is not a lot more we can do. Many people, you know, they are coming into the council office seeking family and many of them, they are frantic.’

  He paused, smiling sadly at Astrid. His face reminded Āmiria of those wrestlers her dad liked watching on the sports channel, when they tried to smile, which was usually only after winning. ‘We going past here today on way to Caruther’s farm and stop in only to say not to worry too much about plan to reorganize food we speak of yesterday. This, we have to tell everybody in district. We know food here is in good hand, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ repeated Lord Brown. Montabelli squinted at him as though wondering how he could possibly know this. Āmiria wondered too.

  ‘Many household have run out of most of the basics. There is no more butter left in town, at all,’ said Francesco. ‘Apart from what’s in your storeroom, of course. This fine. We believe—’

  ‘But the time will come,’ interrupted Montabelli, shaking his head ominously.