Into the Fire
Authors: Pam Harvey
To all the volunteer and paid firefighters who risk so much to help protect our property and land
The phone rang, the sound loud in the quiet house. Hannah reached for it without taking her eyes off the computer screen in front of her.
‘Hello?’
‘Hannah, it’s Mum.’
Hannah sighed, careful to direct the noise away from the mouthpiece of the phone. It was the third time her mother had rung in the five hours she’d been away.
‘It’s okay, Mum. We went to the library—like I told you we were going to—and the man on the door said that the launch of the exhibition is this afternoon, so we came home and I made Sean lunch, and he’s making a model gyroscope out of a free kit they were giving out at the door. So you don’t have to keep ringing.’
‘I wasn’t ringing to check on you, Hannah Williams. I’m ringing to tell you that we’ve been delayed.’
‘Why? Is Aunty Helen okay?’
‘Yes, she’s going home from hospital tomorrow. It was only a simple operation. Your father and I had coffee in the city and we were halfway home when they blocked the road.’
‘Why?’
‘The fires, Hannah. They’re getting bigger.’
Hannah swivelled her chair around so she could see out the window. The blind was half down to block out the hot summer sun but she could see part of the sky: a blazing patch of clear blue. ‘What do you mean they’re getting bigger?’
Every summer, bushfires raged in one area of the state or another. Bushfires were part of summer. Hannah had watched coverage of them on television—black smoke and shooting orange flames, blackened paddocks and smouldering trees. She’d seen people crying because their houses had burnt down. Bushfires were bad news—everyone knew that. But there’d never been a bushfire in Teasdale.
‘The fires started in the Black Mountains, remember?’ Hannah’s mum kept talking. Hannah pressed the phone closer to her ear. It
seemed that the line was getting fuzzy and it was harder to hear. ‘They were west of the town but they’ve swept around. In the time we’ve been away, the smoke is that bad across the highway that the police have closed it. They said that cars were crashing because they couldn’t see where they were going. We’re stuck, Hannah, until the smoke clears and the police let us through.’
‘So you’ll be home later, Mum?’
‘We’ll come home as soon as they let us through. Will you be alright?’
Hannah stood up, taking the portable phone with her, and went into the kitchen. Her younger brother, Sean, was at the kitchen table, glue and plastic parts spread around him everywhere. The kitchen was cool and quiet; the radio played softly in one corner. ‘Yeah, we’re fine. We’ll just stay here until you get back.’ The phone was silent. ‘Mum?’
‘Hannah?’
‘I can hardly hear you, Mum. You’ll have to shout.’
‘I said, if we aren’t back by four o’clock, I want you to go to the Hunters’. I’ll ring Gabby’s mum and see if I can catch her.’
‘Mum, are the fires coming towards Teasdale?’
The phone hummed and Hannah could hardly hear. ‘Teasdale will be okay unless the wind changes direction. At the moment…’
The phone whistled and crackled. In the background, Hannah could just hear her mother saying something more but then the line dropped out.
‘Was that Mum?’ Sean asked, looking up.
‘Yeah. They’re going to be home later than they thought.’
Sean nodded and went back to what he was doing.
Hannah put the phone down next to him. ‘You’re in charge of answering the phone if it rings.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Outside for a bit.’ Hannah went out the front and walked up the driveway to the road. The street was quiet. The asphalt shimmered in the sun. It was too hot to be out. Hannah shaded her eyes and looked around. The sky was blue—mainly. Beyond the houses, though, way over to where the town of Teasdale stopped and the bush started, the sky was smudged, as if by clouds. Hannah studied the smudge. It was the wrong colour to be cloud—it was too dirty. There was only one alternative: smoke.
She looked around. No one else in the street seemed to be worried. Air conditioners hummed and she could hear little kids playing in their wading pools, screeching and laughing as they splashed in the cool water.
‘Who are you ringing?’ Sean asked as Hannah walked back inside and picked up the phone.
‘I’m just seeing what Angus is up to.’
It was Sunday; the afternoon stretched ahead. Angus’ dad, Mr MacDonald, was a racehorse trainer. They would have finished their training for the day, the stables and the paddocks cleaned by ten o’clock that morning. Hannah had never known anyone to get up as early as Angus and Mr Mac. They should be at home now, perhaps having a snooze in the lounge room. So why wasn’t Angus answering the phone?
Finally, the answering machine clicked in.
You have called Brookwood Stables. We’re busy training the next Melbourne Cup winner at the moment and can’t get to the phone
…
Hannah smiled. She hoped they did have the next Melbourne Cup winner! She left a message. ‘Angus, give me a ring back when you get in.’ Hannah didn’t leave her name: she had been friends with Angus nearly all her life and she knew he would know her voice.
Next she rang Gabby. Most Sunday mornings, Gabby trained with her swimming coach, Pat. They were preparing for the Nationals in two months’ time, and Gabby was keen to get fit for it. They were usually finished by lunchtime. Gabby’s cousin, Ling, was staying with her for the last week of the holidays. Hannah liked Ling: she was quiet and clever but lots of fun to be with. But no one answered the phone. Maybe they were out—the Hunters went out a lot to visit their friends. Hannah left a message on their phone also.
She thought about ringing E.D. but knew he wouldn’t be in the house; he’d be in the garage with his brothers, mucking around with their motorbikes. It wouldn’t matter that the shed would be steaming on a hot day like today; they’d be up to their elbows in grease and spark plugs. Hannah didn’t want to ring in case Mr De Lugio was asleep. He worked hard during the week and occasionally had a sleep in the afternoon on the weekends. Hannah had heard him snoring often enough when she’d been around there.
‘No one’s home anywhere,’ Sean said as Hannah put down the phone. ‘They’re probably all at the pool. Can we go to the pool, Hannah?’
‘I promised Mum we’d stay here.’
‘Aww, come on, Han. Let’s go to the pool.’
‘We’d have to walk.’ Hannah thought about trudging all the way to the pool. I’m sweating even contemplating it, she thought.
‘We could ride our bikes,’ suggested Sean.
For a moment, Hannah was tempted. The pool would really cool them down. And it would stop Sean from whingeing. But something was bothering her. Maybe it was her parents being stuck in the smoke. Maybe it was the fact that no one seemed to be at home. Maybe it was that smudge of sinister cloud on the horizon. ‘No, Sean. We should stay here. My bike’s got a flat tyre, anyhow.’
Sean slapped his hand on the table. ‘I can’t get this to stick together.’
‘Want me to help?’ Hannah pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. ‘Did the man at the library give you any instructions with the kit?’
‘Yeah.’ Sean showed her a piece of paper. ‘They were on this.’
Hannah read the heading:
Travelling exhibition of treasures from the National Museum.
Regional tour of rarely seen artefacts from the depths of museum storage. At Teasdale Community Library now!
Underneath was a pattern for a model gyroscope: a horizontally spinning wheel on a short pole between a frame of two circles.
‘That looks way too complicated. I bet you could find an easier one on the Internet.’
‘That’s not the point, Hannah.’ Sean frowned in concentration. ‘They had a whole heap of kits for different things from the museum: a gyroscope, a penny-farthing bicycle, a periscope. Stuff like that. I want to collect all of them. These don’t seem to be the right instructions, though…’
‘Can I have a look too?’ Hannah picked up the pole. ‘Maybe we can figure it out together. It should spin, shouldn’t it, if you pull the rip cord? Let’s see.’
They worked together for about ten minutes and Hannah was concentrating so hard on instruction 15 that she didn’t notice what was happening outside.
‘What was that?’ asked Sean suddenly.
Hannah looked up. ‘What was what?’
‘That.’
The kitchen window was rattling. ‘It’s just the wind.’ Suddenly, Hannah sat up straighter. Leaves were blowing hard against the glass and the whole house was creaking. It felt like a storm was coming.
Hannah pushed back her chair and ran outside, ignoring Sean shouting ‘What’s the matter?’ behind her. She rushed out into the street and stood in the middle of the road, staring at the horizon beyond the houses.
Behind her the sky was still blue but in front, the smudge of cloud had changed. It was a vast blob now, curved like a white, frothing wave arcing out of the sea. The smoke was coming towards Teasdale.
The wind had changed direction.
‘Do we
really
want to be here, Ling?’ Gabby looked around the library. ‘This isn’t a place I usually hang out in—especially on a Sunday.’
‘I was just hoping to get a look at the brooch,’ Ling replied.
‘What’s so special about a brooch? No one wears brooches anymore.’
‘Well, apart from anything else, it’s supposed to be one of the most valuable artefacts ever found from the Viking Age. “Of extraordinary beauty”, according to the notes here.’
Gabby yawned. ‘So why has the exhibition come to Teasdale then? This is a small place for a brooch
of extraordinary beauty.’
Ling shrugged. ‘It’s not the only thing on display but it’s probably the most valuable. It
said in the paper that it was donated to the museum in 1992 by a Danish professor but that it’s spent most of its museum life collecting dust on a shelf somewhere. So have the rest of the things in the exhibition. These artefacts are travelling around the country but they aren’t going to many country towns. Your mum said that Mrs Hastings arranged for the exhibition to come to Teasdale.’
‘Mrs Hastings?’
‘That woman out the front there,’ Ling said, pointing to the librarian. ‘I’ve just been reading about her. Not sure why she’s working as a librarian.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gabby tried not to look bored as she turned to Ling.
‘Well, on top of being a librarian, she’s a practising archaeologist and a natural historian. She’s got all these degrees in ancient history.’
‘And now she’s the head librarian of Teasdale Community Library,’ Gabby said, squirming in her seat to get a better look at Mrs Hastings. ‘Hannah said she’s only been here six months. Maybe she’s having a tree change: you know, moving to the country from the city. She’s always by herself; maybe she’s divorced.’
Ling frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Who cares about Mrs Hastings, anyway?’ Gabby said, as a group of elderly women sat down in front of her. ‘Why don’t we go back now before the opening starts and jump into the pool? It’s so hot! And that cold, beautiful water is just waiting for us. We can come back tomorrow or another day when it’s cooler.’ She stood up, hoping her cousin would follow her.
‘Chill, Gabby. It won’t go for long. Just one quick look, and maybe a few photos then we’ll go. Okay?’ Ling shifted in her seat to get a better view.
Gabby flopped back down on her chair and stared straight ahead.
They were in the back row. Around and in front of them were about 50 people; mostly boring official types or older people, Gabby guessed. The only point of interest as far as Gabby was concerned were the cameras and local media people lined up along either side of the room taking photos and filming.
A small bell tinkled.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mrs Hastings said, looking down over her glasses at the group seated in front of her. ‘My name is Patricia Hastings and I am very excited about the exhibition here at the Teasdale Community Library which I am about to open. The bulk of
the artefacts are behind us in the conference room, but I thought I’d launch the exhibition by revealing one of my favourite pieces resting inside this glass cabinet here.’
‘Oh, come on, Ling,’ Gabby whispered. ‘We’re on holidays. It’s 42 degrees outside and I’m sitting in the town library listening to some old woman talk about ancient museum junk.’ Gabby was suddenly on her feet again. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Gabby, sit down,’ hissed Ling. She turned her attention back to Mrs Hastings.
‘…golden brooch was discovered in a burial site over 160 years ago in Denmark.’
Ling leaned forwards in her chair. A breathless hush descended over the room. The only sound that could be heard was the faint hum of the air conditioner trying to circulate some cooler air into the room. Sighing, Gabby sat back down. ‘What’s so special about the Vikings anyway? Didn’t they just go around the countryside burning and killing everyone and everything they saw?’
Ling ignored her cousin. Like everyone else in the room, she was staring at the large glass case, partly hidden by some light purple fabric, sitting on the table.
‘It is my very great pleasure to reveal, for the first time, surely one of the most remarkable
archaeological finds ever made in the northern hemisphere.’
‘In the Teasdale Library?’ Gabby scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. Isn’t she being just a bit dramatic?’
Mrs Hastings moved slowly to the glass box then paused.
‘Some children, playing in a field in a remote part of northern Denmark, unearthed a Viking grave containing a number of significant artefacts. Typically, the bodies and clothing decompose and all that is left are silver or bronze items such as swords, beads, various trinkets, brooches—used to clasp together parts of clothing—and other pieces of jewellery.’
‘Just show us,’ Gabby grumbled, hating the sticky feeling of her top plastered to her back. Before she could talk herself out of it, Gabby stood up and moved quickly to the exit sign to her right. She reached for her phone, pretending to be receiving a call. It was slightly cooler in the breezeway outside the main room. Gabby could still hear Mrs Hastings’ voice drone on. A sudden gust of wind outside caused the trees to sway and groan.
‘But there is something very special about what you are about to see. The brooch here is most definitely from the Viking period. It is over a thousand years old.’
Mrs Hastings approached the glass cabinet, her hand poised over the cloth. Behind her an enormous screen lit up, showing a magnified view of the case.
Cameras whirred and flashed. Despite the heat, there was an air of expectation. People were leaning forwards in their seats; programs, moments ago being used as fans, were now still. Ling stirred restlessly in her chair.
‘In a moment,’ Mrs Hastings pressed on, ‘you will have a chance to see what I’m about to describe. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a
gold
brooch.’
Mrs Hastings looked out at the bemused faces staring back at her. She smiled indulgently. ‘It came from a
royal
burial ground,’ she said, slowly. ‘Its whereabouts cannot be disclosed as forensic experts have recently begun searching for clues as to the identity of the people buried there.’ Outside a siren blared and a fire truck sped past the library.
‘Well, let’s have a look at it,’ a man called. ‘We can’t sit here all day, you know. There are fires out there.’ Murmurs of agreement rippled around the audience. Ling glanced towards the exit where Gabby had gone but there was now no sign of her.
Mrs Hastings paused as another siren approached, this time from the rear of the library.
Everyone turned around as the main library doors burst open.
‘My apologies, everyone, for interrupting the proceedings, but there’s been a wind change,’ an SES officer called, a huge black walkie talkie in one hand, a yellow helmet in the other. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.’
Mrs Hastings put her hands on her hips.
‘We’re just about to launch the exhibition,’ she said loudly. ‘Surely we can have a couple more minutes?’
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ the officer said, turning to the audience. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please follow me.’
Most of the guests were already on their feet, some pushing towards the front of the room where Mrs Hastings was standing protectively alongside the glass cabinet, which was still covered mysteriously in the purple fabric.
‘Let’s have a quick look!’ one of them called. Ling paused by the exit then on an impulse, ran quickly back to the cabinet. Others had the same idea.
‘Come on, Trish,’ said a lady, imploringly. ‘You can’t let us go disappointed. Give us a quick
look at this famous brooch.’ She pressed forwards, a camera in her hand, then reached out and tore the cloth away. Ling peered over her shoulder. ‘It’s empty!’ the woman cried.
‘What?’ Mrs Hastings gasped.
‘This way please, everyone,’ the SES officer called, frustrated with the delay.
‘Wait, wait! There’s been a theft. Someone’s stolen the brooch,’ Mrs Hastings shrieked. ‘It was in there an hour ago. I saw it. Nobody leave!’
‘What are you talking about?’ the SES officer said, walking to the front of the room. People stepped aside to let him through.
‘The brooch—it’s gone!’ Mrs Hastings cast her eyes around the room, as if the culprit might still be close by, standing among the small crowd gathered around the empty case.
‘Are you sure it’s not in another display?’ Ling heard the SES officer ask Mrs Hastings before someone took Ling by the arm and ushered her gently towards the exit. Behind her, others followed.
Outside, the air was dark and oppressive. The acrid smell of smoke was everywhere. Ling put her hand over her mouth and looked around for Gabby. Some people were getting into their cars, driving off to get their fire plans under way. The
people whose houses were on the safer side of town were milling anxiously around the front of the library, preparing to leave. There was no sign of Gabby.
Ling rushed over to the SES officer. ‘There was a girl with me. I can’t find her now. She’s my age, tall and blonde. I don’t remember her leaving the building. Maybe she’s still inside?’
‘There’s no one inside anymore. Not even the librarian.’ The officer nodded towards Mrs Hastings, who was standing just outside the main door, her hands up in protest. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find her. I want you to walk with everyone here down to the community centre, okay? Then we’ll contact your parents and tell them to come and get you.’
Ling nodded, gave one last look around, and started following the line of people going to the community centre. She passed Mrs Hastings and looked up at her sympathetically but Mrs Hastings had turned her back on the crowd and was staring into the library. Ling was about to say something when she noticed the strange look on Mrs Hastings’ face; the shock and anguish of moments ago had turned to an expression that was far less troubled—something Ling couldn’t quite figure out.