Dash and Dingo (42 page)

“I didn’t do what I set out to; secure a mating pair and transport them back to London,” Henry said miserably.

“That’s not how I saw our goal,” Dingo said. “We set out to save the tiger, right?”

“Right, and I haven’t done a thing—”

“If we report that we saw no sign of the tiger, that we believe it’s extinct, then people will stop coming after them.”

“It goes against everything I’ve ever believed in the name of science,”

Henry said. “A cover up, a conspiracy.”

“If it keeps Tassie safe, what does it matter?” Dingo cocked his head to one side. “You don’t think my dad is really afraid of boats and the crossing, do you? It’s well known how he feels about the tiger, and if he kept coming over here, a lot of people would assume he was coming to look after Tassie.

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He stays away to keep them safe. That’s why I can only come over every so often, and why Jarrah stays here.”

Henry opened his mouth several times and shut it without speaking. If that were so, he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of such an enormous act of self-sacrifice before. The look on Hank’s face when he’d seen that striped coat flashing through the bushes on their way back as if the tiger had let itself be seen to say goodbye to them— “Maybe you’re right.”

“Face it, Dash, I’ve been right about everything every step of the way,”

Dingo said smugly. “Besides, how did you ever think you were going to load two crates onto a boat labelled ‘
thylacinus cynocephalus’
and our government were just going to let you waltz on board and sail off into the sunset? They have their own interests at heart as well.”

“The King—”

“Oh yeah, mention the King’s name, and all Aussies bow down and kiss the ground immediately.” Dingo gave a guffaw that reminded Henry that he was in a very foreign land.

“Maybe you have a point,” he conceded.

“I do.”

“Your father really is afraid of boats, you know.” Henry couldn’t resist taking a little wind out of Dingo’s sails.

“He is
not!
” Dingo protested.

Henry grinned at him; he seemed so like a ten-year-old boy protesting that his father was too the strongest, bravest man in the world. “Right, that’s why he closes his eyes when he gets near the dock.”

“Stop talking about my father,” Dingo murmured. “Especially when I’m doing this.”

Henry closed his eyes as Dingo took him in hand. He immediately hardened, and Dingo stroked him gently. Henry reached down between them to provide the same pleasure to his lover, and they moved in concert, their kisses deepening into breath-stealing intensity.

Henry was mindful that they had to keep their voices down, unlike in the jungle, where their cries had melded with the freely expressed opinions of the animals along their journey.

A gasp and the bite of Dingo’s fingers into his flesh heralded the other man’s climax. Henry slid in the hot fluid spilled between them, finding his own orgasm a moment later, suppressing a groan of satisfaction and relief.

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He could feel Dingo’s chest heaving against his as his breathing calmed, and their essence begin to cool against their skin, but he didn’t want to have to move. Finally it became uncomfortably sticky, and Henry started to roll away.

“I’ll go,” Dingo whispered.

Henry waited, hearing the sound of water running and then stopping.

Dingo was merely a black shape in a dark room when he stood by the bed, gently wiping Henry’s stomach with a washcloth.

He must have dozed off, because he started again when he felt Dingo’s hand slide over his shoulder and down his arm. Slowly, creakily, the two men found a position tangled together that suited both their injuries and nestled under the blankets.

Henry heard the first drops against the glass. It was nice to be safely inside with Dingo pressed up against him while the rain fell outside. Henry smiled sardonically, knowing how ephemeral the feeling of safety truly was.

Despite Hodges’s death, or perhaps because of it, they would soon be the focus of interest to government officials. Even now they might be camped outside his door, only waiting for first light to break in.

And the mere fact of Dingo’s presence in his bed spelled another kind of danger; if that were to become known, they might be the subjects of yet another kind of witch hunt. It would be safer by far if Dingo went back to his own bed, but Henry couldn’t bear to let him go.

Who knew when they might be able to lay together again?

Despite the comfort of holding Dingo in his arms and feeling Dingo’s good arm around him in the dark, when the wind started to rage, lashing drops of rain against the windows as if angered that it couldn’t reach them, the sound seemed to mimic the desolate cries of the two tigers when they discovered the dead cub Hodges had murdered.

When Dingo’s body started to shake, Henry wrapped his arms around him and held him in his grief.

The next time Henry opened his eyes, he was alone again—a state he supposed he would now be forced to accustom himself to. His leg had stiffened up and threatened to collapse under him when he attempted to get to his feet. He flexed his knee several times and tried again, managing to limp into the bathroom.

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There was a door on the far side of the bathroom, standing slightly ajar.

Henry hadn’t noticed it last night, but he peered through the crack to find Dingo heavily asleep in a darkened room. Henry shut the door quietly so as not to awaken him and ran the water in the sink, waiting for it to heat up.

He gave himself a good scrub, as well as he could considering the collection of bruises, scrapes, and wounds he bore. He still felt like he was carrying the forest with him, despite Jarrah’s thorough cleaning of him the night before.

Returning to his room, he noticed clean clothing on the chair, presumably left for him by Hank or Jarrah. It was a relief to put on a clean shirt and whole trousers again, but there were no socks or boots for him.
I
suppose they don’t want to take a chance on me running away,
Henry mused with a chuckle. No chance of that, not with the man he loved lying asleep in the next room.

He tossed the filthy remains of his jungle clothes into the trash bin, thinking back to the night at his flat when he’d tried them on, full of naïve illusions about this journey. How differently it had all turned out—

The knock on the door was quiet but insistent. Thinking that perhaps Hank had sent a waiter up with breakfast, Henry limped to the door and opened it.

Two men pushed into the room, and he staggered back against the wall to avoid a painful collision. “Here, who are you?”

One of the men was taller than he and glowered at him silently. The second was more conciliatory, bringing out a folding case from his inner pocket and holding his identification so that Henry could read it.

“William Mortimer. My colleague, Walter Robbins. We’re with the government.”

“Which government, Mr. Mortimer? And what business do you have with me?” Henry crossed his arms and glared at the two men.

“We’re with the Tasmanian government, from the Animal and Birds Protection Board,” Mr. Mortimer explained.

“And what do you want with me?”

“We know you went looking for the thylacines, in the company of one Jack Chambers.” Mr. Robbins pushed himself forward for the first time.

“With intent to carry one of the animals out of the country.”

Henry laughed. “And you think I’ve got one hidden under the bed right now?”

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“We want to know where Chambers is.
And
his dad,” Mr. Robbins insisted.

The door between their rooms swung open, and Dingo sauntered in, looking rakish and adventurous in his dirty clothes, making Henry feel almost unnaturally civilized even though his feet were bare.

“Dingo,” Mr. Mortimer said, politely.

“What are you doing here, Will?” Dingo asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Henry rolled his eyes. Again! Even the government agents who were after them seemed to be on first name basis with Dingo!

“Where’s Hodges?” Mr. Robbins growled.

“He’s not in my bag,” Dingo said dryly. “You can search the closet and the priest’s hole.”

Henry wanted to laugh at the wildly startled look on Mr. Mortimer’s face, although Dingo’s repartee didn’t deter the single-minded intensity of Mr. Robbins.

“Don’t give us that. We’ve had no word from him. Yet here
you
are.”

“It’s a big fucking country. People can take a while to cross it.”

“Tasmania isn’t that big.”

“He’s always had his own agenda at heart. Perhaps he’s gone

exploring.”

Mr. Robbins scoffed at this. Mr. Mortimer looked mildly interested and spoke this time. “Mr. Hodges wasn’t the type to go off on his own without informing his superior as to his plans.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you boys. What I
do
know is that he isn’t here. And neither is a tiger.”

“Did you find any?”

Dingo laughed. “Like I would tell you.”

Mr. Robbins resumed his visual inspection of the room, and Henry twitched when he saw the agent’s eyes light upon his camera.

“What would be on the film here if we were to develop it?”

Henry spoke up. “Just some holiday snaps. To show my family what I’ve been up to.”

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“They’re nosy buggers,” said Dingo.

“Yes,” Henry said, playing along. “Quite… nosy buggers. Can’t do a thing about them.”

Robbins looked over at the camera with interest. “Really.”

“Feel free to develop it, but don’t be disappointed with the results.”

Henry caught the flash of alarm on Dingo’s face that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He limped to the chest where the camera lay, reaching it before Mr.

Robbins, who was a step behind him.

Henry turned and staggered into Mr. Robbins, dropping the camera when they collided. “Damn you! You’ve ruined the camera!” He kept his eyes downturned to hide his dismay as film unspooled from the open camera; all the photos of the tigers, especially the shots of Dingo interacting with them, those exquisite moments of history, all lost. It was enough to break his heart.

“That was rather clumsy of you, Mr. Percival-Smythe,” Mr. Robbins said grimly.

Defiantly Henry raised his head, alert to the fact that the man had used his proper name although he hadn’t introduced himself. “Sorry. But there was really nothing on film that you would have found interesting.”

“I’ll buy you a new camera,” Dingo said.

“Thanks.”

Henry looked down at the film again, sighing heavily. Even though he had seen the tigers for himself, the tangible evidence that had now been destroyed made it seem like a mere dream—a fevered fantasy no more real than those he had dreamed up while still in the college archives.

“This isn’t the end of it, Chambers,” Mr. Robbins warned.

“You know they’re working on a law now,” Dingo told him. “Soon there will be official government protection for the tigers, and there’ll be nothing else you can do against them.”

“Well, that day isn’t here yet. And when it comes, it’ll be too late for them,” Mr. Robbins said.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Dingo hissed.

Mr. Robbins gave Dingo one last look and stalked out. To Henry’s surprise, Mr. Mortimer quietly said, “Sorry about the camera, Mr. Percival-Smythe. Good to see you, Dingo.” Then he followed his partner out.

Dingo kicked the door shut after them and turned to Henry.

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“It’s never going to be enough.”

“Who were they?” Henry asked.

“They really do work for the Tasmanian government. Robbins is a crony of Hodges’s. Will’s actually not that bad; he does what he can.”

Henry picked up the exposed film and ran it helplessly through his fingers.

“I’m really sorry about your camera, Dash.”

“It’s okay,” Henry said, and he believed it was. “It’s not like we really could have kept those photographs a secret. The tigers are better protected if there’s no evidence.”

“I guess you’ve decided then. I admire that you had the balls to do it.”

Dingo paused, but Henry didn’t answer. “I’ll get you another camera.”

“I don’t care about the camera, Dingo!” It came out more harshly than he intended, and he was immediately apologetic. “Sorry, I guess it’s all catching up with me.”

Dingo nodded. “C’mere, Dash.”

Henry willingly stepped into his arms, and they stood holding each other until time once again became inconsequential.

After a couple of days’ much needed rest, they, along with Hank, moved back to the pub where their Tasmanian adventure had started from. Tony had seemed concerned by their bruised bodies and beaten demeanor and doted on them. Although they kept separate rooms for appearances, they still only lived in one.

For some reason, Hank seemed to be avoiding them, but Henry was too apathetic to ask Dingo why. And he never saw Jarrah.

They didn’t speak about the extreme emotions that had played between them their final night in the hotel, because it was too painful. The memories of the tigers were raw, and they couldn’t revisit them just yet.

“There’ll be another time and a place for that,” Dingo had said in the early hours of the morning. “Just hold me, Dash.”

And Henry had.

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Returning to the pub brought them some more unwelcome attention, however. After having lunch their first day back there, they had trudged back upstairs to find the door to Dingo’s room slightly ajar. Dingo pressed his palm against Henry’s stomach to stop him from walking in and motioned for him to be quiet.

And Dingo kicked the door with such force it almost flew off the frame.

Two men were going through the belongings they’d left behind, and although they had been caught in the act, they didn’t even have the decency to look guilty at being caught in the act.