Dash and Dingo (16 page)

Henry staggered back against the railing, letting out a guttural moan as his stomach lurched once more in sync with the pain from his groin and lights danced before his eyes. But this was nothing compared to the disastrous fact that his cock betrayed him by hardening slightly, and he knew Hodges was aware of it as his smile became even more feral as he squeezed his fist like an evil heartbeat.

“You don’t play terribly rough, do you, Henry?” Hodges asked. “So very civilized. So
British
. I’ve seen the way you watch Chambers. Do you really think you’ll be able to keep up with him out there in wild? If you think Chambers will admire a man like you, you’re sadly mistaken. Do you think you have the tenacity for this hopeless trek?”

Humiliated, Henry wanted to pull away or to punch Hodges, just do
something
, but just then Hodges savagely twisted, and Henry was almost brought to his knees. The teacup he was still clutching fell out of his hand and smashed upon the deck. It was only that sound and the possible attention it could attract that made Hodges release him, letting the folds of his trench coat fall away, no longer concealing how he had been molesting the other man.

“I think,” Henry wheezed, “you’re dreaming, or perhaps it’s
you
who wants to go along with Dingo to—”

Henry yelped at a burning sensation against his wrist. He looked back up in shock to see Hodges putting his cigarette back in his mouth and tipping his hat once more with a cruel smile.

“Just a little reminder of this conversation. You’re stubborn, Henry. I suspect that’s the one thing you’ve got in common with Chambers.” Hodges shrugged and turned to walk away, his coat flapping in the wind.

Hodges was mocking him, Henry realized. But all he could do was stare dumbfounded at the small, raw wound that stung like the heat of a thousand fires amongst the singed hairs on his wrist.

“Sir, are you all right?”

Henry became aware of a deckhand, who stood before him with a small dustpan and broom.

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“I’m fine, thank you,” Henry managed to reply. “I’m sorry about the cup.”

“Happens all the time, sir. Bit of a rough wave, was it? Would you like another cuppa?”

Henry could only shake his head and stumble back toward his cabin as the deckhand began to clear his mess.

He didn’t even know how he could explain this whole situation to Dingo, or even if he should. He was humiliated by the two physical assaults upon him and also wounded by the depressing summation of his life so far.

And the barbs volleyed at him about Dingo hurt just as badly.

Thankfully their cabin was empty when he entered. But where the hell
was
Dingo?

Henry drew water again in the basin and rested his hand in it. The perfectly round burn seemed even rawer beneath the surface of the water, and Henry rested his forehead against the mirror, still plagued by his thoughts.

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The door crashed open against the wall, and Dingo demanded, “What the hell happened out there?” He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Henry as if it had been he who had cornered Hodges against the railing.

Henry wondered how he even knew, but it must have been the stricken look on his face that confirmed his suspicions as it brought Dingo across the cabin in two strides.

Henry flinched, but before he had time to hide his wrist, Dingo had taken it gently in his hand. Henry braced himself for a barrage of invective, but Dingo just said, “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that.”

“Where were you?” Henry burst out, sounding a bit more distressed by the abandonment than he’d planned to.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dingo said tersely. “We need to get you to the ship’s doctor.”

“No,” Henry said stubbornly, and then he smiled, thinking of Hodges’s assessment of how he and Dingo were alike. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you were planning to tell me that burn doesn’t hurt, I’m willing to let you try to convince me.” Dingo smiled swiftly. “And then you’re going to the doctor.”

“And tell him what when he asks me how I came by it?”

“Someone stumbled into you when a wave hit.” Dingo rolled his eyes in exasperation. “We need to get you some salve. I’m afraid it’s going to blister, and you shouldn’t take the chance of infection.”

“I think I’ll live,” Henry said, secretly pleased with Dingo’s concern.

Then he deflated a bit, thinking that Dingo was probably already viewing him as a hindrance and that an infection would render him even more useless.

“No need to give me the stiff upper lip, limey, not when you’ve already been so sick.”

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Henry noticed Dingo locking the door to their cabin behind them and remembered he had not when he’d gone to breakfast. “What
were
you doing—”

“Later,” Dingo warned him. “Luckily, when Hodges searched our cabin he didn’t come upon much other than what I left for him.” He tapped his forehead with a finger. “I carry it all up here.”

Henry couldn’t help it. He had to laugh; the release of tension was such a relief. “What, your clean underwear and socks too?”

“Clean underwear isn’t exactly necessary in order to find what we’re after.” Dingo led the way to the doctor’s quarters, having been there the previous night.

The doctor didn’t ask for an explanation, nor did he seem interested in how Henry had come by the burn. Henry started to explain, but Dingo nudged him into silence, shaking his head slightly. After the doctor dressed the wound and gave Henry supplies for the several days he would have to tend to it, they left, Dingo leading the way to the bridge.

“We can’t go up there,” Henry stammered. “The captain—”

“Sure we can,” Dingo said. “The captain’s my mate.”

“
Another
one?” The man apparently even knew people in territorial waters! “Did you go to school with him too?”

“Only met him this morning,” Dingo said, and he winked. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

“And why did you—”

“If Hodges tries to make a stink, this way the captain already knows me, see? And he’s less likely to buy whatever flotsam or jetsam that Hodges has to peddle. Besides, it’s quieter up here. And we’ll be able to see if anyone’s coming.”

Henry followed Dingo up the steep stairs, studiously keeping his eyes off the tempting bum at eye level. If Hodges had already noticed his interest, better not to provide him with more ammunition. A sudden appalling thought struck Henry: what if Hodges sought Dingo out and told him of his suspicions?

“Feeling a bit queasy again, Dash?”

Henry looked up to find Dingo eyeing him uneasily. “Do I look green?”

“A bit.”

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“I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Dingo lifted his hand in greeting to the captain, who remained inside the glassed-in bridge.

Henry could see why; the wind whipped at them savagely, the freezing chill making his wound burn anew by contrast.

“What was Hodges saying to you?” Dingo’s eyes narrowed

suspiciously, but Henry knew it wasn’t him that Dingo feared.

“He found out my real name.”

“Well, you expected that. And?”

“He said he knew we weren’t going after diamonds.” Henry stared as Dingo began to laugh. “What’s so funny? I could use a chuckle.”

Smugly, Dingo said, “If he found the map I left in our cabin, with cryptic markings on them, signifying diamonds had been found there, he was trying to get you to tell him something different.”

“You planted—a false map—” Henry felt dazed that Dingo would have contrived such an intricate red herring. “You
knew
he was going to go through our things?”

“It didn’t surprise me to find that he would. I just didn’t realize what a dirty scum he really is. To go through another gentleman’s things—What have I said to set you off?” Dingo asked, puzzled by Henry’s sudden shout of laughter.

Henry shook his head, unable to explain why he found it amusing that
Dingo
, of all people, should have the scruples of a gentleman after all his trickery with Hodges. But those were mere pranks, compared to violating one’s sanctuary. “Go on.”

“You go on, what did you say to him?”

“I told him Dash was my nickname, and that if he thought he knew so much,
he
should tell
me
what he’d found out.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Dash,” Dingo said approvingly. “Or rather, I did, I just didn’t know
you
knew.”

For the first time that morning, Henry felt proud of himself, but the feeling faded when he recalled what had really happened between him and Hodges. There was no possible way he could confide what had really happened and the extent of the physical assault. The burn was humiliating enough. “He took me by surprise—” he started.

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“He must be getting desperate. He’s escalating. I’d heard rumors—” A faint look of distaste flitted across Dingo’s face. “He’s always been ruthless, but he’s stayed within the confines of the law until now. I think we’d best be prepared for anything with that one.”

“What rumors?”

Dingo gave Henry a sidelong glance. “You don’t want to know. Let’s just say it’s been said his methods are—unsavory.”

“So where
were
you while he was questioning me?”

Dingo gave Henry a smug look. “I was searching
his
room.”

“Hey! And you’re complaining about him doing the same thing!” Henry pointed out.

“Turnabout is fair play, and he started it,” Dingo said, his lips a bit grim. “He went into ours after you left it, and I thought there’d never be a safer time to nip into his.”

“And what did you find?”

“A photograph,” Dingo said. All at once he looked terribly worried. “A blurry photograph. You might have thought it was just the grass casting a shadow, but….” He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Of Tassie,” Henry whispered, feeling a shiver pass over his body.

“I’m afraid so. Someone has been passing information to the

government, and Hodges is hot on the trail. You know what this means, Dash, don’t you?”

A slow smile crept over Henry’s lips, and he was glad to see the same glow ignite in Dingo’s eyes. “Someone’s tracking a
living
thylacine on Tasmania.”

“Maybe even more than one. And Hodges knows it.”

Both men started as the door of the bridge was flung open. The captain, a bluff man with a red face and fierce ginger moustaches, cried out, “Dingo, I never knew such a fellow for standing about in a gale. Get your arse in here and warm it up!”

“Aye aye, sir!” Dingo said smartly. He gave Henry another wink.

“Captain Ahab, this is my friend Dash.”

“Dash and Dingo!” The captain laughed immoderately. “You should be a vaudeville team. Can you dance?”

“And sing,” Dingo averred as they followed the captain inside.

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“That wouldn’t surprise me a bit, mate,” said the captain affably.

In the small cabin of the bridge, Henry couldn’t help himself and asked anyway, “Your name isn’t really Ahab, is it, Captain?”

The man laughed so hard it seemed the bridge shook around them. “No, Dash. It’s Francis. Although you could say at times this big lumbering lady is the equivalent of my white whale.”

His tone of voice suggested that he thought of the
Taroona
as anything but. It was a rare captain indeed who didn’t love his ship more than anything.

He turned back to the crew and left the two men to find their own entertainment.

“Why are we up here, Dingo?” Henry asked in a low voice as he took the man aside.

“No safer place than the captain’s bridge on a boat,” Dingo replied with a smile plastered to his face that seemed slightly forced.

“Are you expecting the ship to go down?” Henry asked. “Or are we in danger from something else?”

Dingo pursed his lips, as if he wanted to tell Henry but felt he shouldn’t.

Henry continued on, now feeling rather mutinous. “If it is Hodges you’re talking about, and he’s already searched our cabins, should we really be leaving our belongings unattended for him to do a second look-see?”

Dingo finally relented. “I left him a few more clues so he wouldn’t get too suspicious if he does. But the important stuff is on me.”

Henry glanced over him; he wasn’t carrying a bag. “Where?”

He almost had to drop his gaze when without shame or preamble, Dingo ripped his shirt open. The press studs came apart easily, as if they had been designed especially for this purpose. Nestled amongst the golden hairs of Dingo’s chest was a small waterproof pouch with a cord that was knotted around his neck. Dingo reached into the pouch and pulled the cord so that it would open fully. Henry leaned in, so close he could feel the warmth of Dingo’s skin emanating toward him. A few more inches and his nose would have been tickled by the hairs on Dingo’s chest. Within the pouch were the maps, the notes, and the photographs Henry and Dingo had mulled over so many times to the point they almost didn’t need them as they were practically memorized.