The Bone Tiki (15 page)

Mat nodded sympathetically, struggling to get his head around the concept of waiting for a known future.

Fitzy sidled up and whispered, ‘Can you get her to give me something to eat, Mat? I’m starved. Some cheese too, if you can get it. I love cheese, and milk too, if there’s some to spare.’

Amelia happily gave Fitzy some meat, when Mat asked, but said she had no cheese to waste on a dog. The turehu muttered to Mat about this ‘shabby treatment’ even as he wolfed down some offal and settled on a bone. ‘You better save me some cheese from your plate tonight,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll bite someone!’

Once she was washed, Kelly scampered out, wrapped in towels, her white legs flashing. Wiri and Manu whistled cheekily, until Amelia drove them away. Then it was Mat’s turn. The tub was already soapy and grimy, and growing cooler, but Wiri and Manu brought in more hot water in a pail from the kitchen, and poured it in, causing the tub
to warm deliciously. Mat ducked under, then scrubbed at himself with a hard brush. He ran the grainy sand-soap through his hair, and rinsed. Wrapped in a towel, he made his way through the cottage to a room Amelia had set aside.

A set of clothing roughly his size was laid on the bed. Rough-spun cotton breeches and a white shirt, a brown vest, and a tartan cap. He laughed, and pulled the clothing on over his last pair of clean modern underwear. The rest of his clothing was gone, presumably to be washed. He pulled the outfit on and admired the cap in the mirror, trying different poses, imagining himself as Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn. He put the tiki and koru knot back around his neck and tucked them under his shirt again. As he fondled the koru knot, he thought briefly about his parents, but they seemed a world away.

He looked around the room, at the large genuine antique—no, not antique,
modern
—hand-carved furniture, with lacy place mats and silver heirloom hairbrushes and combs. It felt like a set in a museum display, yet everything looked everyday as well—in context.

He wandered out to the dining room, and waited, examining the pictures and souvenirs above the mantelpiece. There was a manaia—a seahorse—carved in whale-bone, and a wooden sailing ship model. He picked up the manaia, wondering if all carvings had power here, but felt nothing. He replaced it, and examined a picture of a stern man with a long bushy beard brooding over the fireplace. There was a small silver etched name tag on it—Colonel Horatio
Edward Spriggs, 1789-1834, it read. Mat wondered how time was tracked here.

‘Ah, Mat darling,’ said Amelia, poking her nose in the door. ‘You look splendid, dear. But we don’t wear caps indoors, sweetie. That’s Timothy’s father. Ghastly man! But we mustn’t speak ill of the dead, must we? Could you be a darling and get some firewood from out the back, and light the fire? There’s a good lad! Thank you!’ Then she was off again, calling commands to her husband.

By the time Mat had found the firewood, brought sufficient through, and lit the fire (with, of all things, a plastic cigarette lighter), Manu and Wiri had joined him, sipping whiskey from crystal glasses with Captain Spriggs. They were both washed, and dressed in European clothing, with their hair pulled back in pigtails. Both were clean shaven. They were talking movies and politics in a strange conversation that veered from nineteenth century colonial Aotearoa, to twenty-first century modern New Zealand. Mat was given a glass of lemonade. It was real lemonade, not fizzy but a lemon squash with a heady, semi-fermented taste. He listened to them talk while Sylvia came in and set the table under Amelia’s direction. Neither of the Maori warriors seemed to think it worthy of note that there was a Maori servant, though Mat found himself embarrassed on their behalf. He was trying to work out how to say something about it politely, though the serving girl seemed happy enough with her role, but Kelly came in, and his mind leapt to other things. The conversation stopped and Mat’s jaw dropped.

Amelia had found Kelly a beautiful green velvet dress, laced with fine white brocade. She’d also loaned the girl some pearl earrings and a necklace, that set it off perfectly. Kelly walked self-consciously, and went bright red as everyone stopped to look.

‘My dear,’ gushed Amelia, ‘you look wonderful!’

Captain Spriggs went over and seized her hand, and kissed it. ‘I say, you look absolutely smashing, m’dear. Absolutely lovely.’

Kelly stared at the ground. Wiri and Manu looked at each other and grinned, then both bowed deeply to Kelly, and Manu kissed her hand. Then Wiri murmured something that made Kelly giggle and look up into his eyes for so long that Amelia coughed politely.

‘Well, it must be dinner time, I think,’ she said meaningfully. ‘Everyone?’

Dinner was mashed potato, over-boiled peas, and a juicy leg of lamb with mint sauce. It was strangely ordinary after the food at the pa. Spriggs brought out a bottle of Hawke’s Bay chardonnay bottled last year, in another odd mix of the modern and the past-present. Mat remembered to pocket some cheddar for Fitzy, but soon found the conversation began to drift away, leaving him feeling detached, alone amidst the happy buzz of laughter and warmth. Kelly was laughing aloud at Captain Spriggs’ outrageous comments, Manu hooting with glee every time Wiri and Kelly looked at each other.

Matt drifted into a reverie, wondering where his mother was, whether she was alone and scared. And Dad…Dad!
Abruptly he stood up, looking down at the others, feeling young, and exhausted. Wiri looked over at him. ‘You OK?’

Mat nodded, hoping to be strong enough to make it true.

Amelia got to her feet. ‘Well, I think it’s time you got to bed, young man. Off you go. Make sure you wash your hands and do your teeth. I’ll check, mind!’

He soon drifted off to sleep. If Amelia came back to check on him, he didn’t hear. The last thing he knew was that Fitzy had come in, and taking his natural form, the little goblin was going through Mat’s pockets looking for the cheese.

Next morning, they took to the road. Kelly wore something much more practical, but to her disgust it was still a dress. ‘I haven’t worn skirts since I left school,’ she complained. Mrs Spriggs has also given her a white bonnet, to disguise her short hair. Mat wore the same clothes he’d been given the previous night. Their regular clothes had been washed and dried overnight in front of the fire, and were neatly folded into their packs, safely stowed under the carriage seats.

Mat sat up front, beside where Captain Spriggs would drive the carriage. The Captain farewelled his wife with a courtly kiss on the cheek. She became quite teary, urging him to keep his head down, and hurry home quickly. She also fussed over Mat and Kelly, and made them promise to visit again. She hugged both warriors, and particularly Wiri. ‘Don’t you think about dying, young man. You think about life and living.’

Fitzy had taken bird form again and flew ahead. Mat envied the turehu its flight, as the roads were slow and uncomfortable to travel. They were muddy, despite the good weather, and there was a constant stream of soldiers and settlers moving south. ‘The government has arranged the release of more land in the Waikato. The settlers are moving in, looking for land to farm,’ Captain Spriggs explained.

Mat tried to remember his history lessons. ‘Didn’t the government drive the Maori off the land. Wasn’t there a war?’

Spriggs nodded. ‘There is a war, Mat me lad. Governor Grey has declared all the lands south to Huntly are Crown lands. He’s cut some deals with some of the tribes, and is bullying the rest. They ain’t takin’ it lyin’ down, and some of them have got themselves some guns, so this ain’t going to be no stroll for the troops.’

‘That’s not right, is it?’

Spriggs shrugged. ‘No, it probably ain’t. It’s just the way of it though. The Queen wants this colony to be productive and defendable, so we must make it so. Otherwise, well, we may as well just hand it over to the Frenchies, eh lad?’

‘But can’t you do it without having a war?’

Spriggs frowned. ‘Well, thing is, the war happened in your world, so it will happen in ours. Nowt a fellow like me can do to stop it. Just got to ride it out. I don’t like it, and it isn’t right, but what can you and I do about it?’

Mat sighed. ‘Nothing I guess. I just wish…’

Spriggs nodded. ‘Aye, lad, me too. Me too.’

They stayed in hotels as they travelled north. Twice soldiers stopped them, travelling through the ‘Fencibles’ districts. These were armed militia settlements, so named because they were ‘defensible’. At first, the soldiers all knew Captain Spriggs well and weren’t suspicious, but the further north they came things became more tense. There was one close call, in which a suspicious Colonel demanded Spriggs’ papers and eyed Wiri and Kelly coldly for long moments. Afterward, Wiri asked Mat to be returned to the tiki, saying he was too conspicuous. Mat agreed, but doing so made the party feel jittery and anxious—despite Mat’s assurances that he could summon Wiri in an instant.

Manu took over the reins, acting as a servant. Kelly became Spriggs’ ‘niece’ to anyone who asked, and Mat was his ‘boy’—his lackey and valet. They stayed in the carriage, and Kelly was tense without Wiri. Fitzy had come back and in dog form had run outside for a time, but he stayed in the carriage more frequently the further north they travelled. The houses were becoming more numerous, the roads better and busier. It rained one day, turning the road to muck, and travel became slower. The view had become limited to a narrow strip of buildings alongside the road since they had climbed the Bombay Hills, then descended into South Auckland. The atmosphere became tense in the carriage, each stop for security checks more fraught. Mat was hidden under the seat at one, while Captain Spriggs introduced his niece to a hard-voiced, unfriendly-sounding officer.

‘Damned irregular, Spriggs. All leave has been cancelled,
that’s what I heard. There’s going to be a push down south, I hear. Into the King Country. That’s where you should be, not playing chaperone.’

But eventually he waved them through. Spriggs was relieved afterward.

‘I think we’re going to be fine,’ he said. ‘If we can get past Major Oakden, we can get past anyone!’

It was evening when they rolled into Auckland, past places that in the future would be sprawling suburbs—Manukau, One Tree Hill, Mount Eden, and into Newmarket. They descended toward the sea, intending to make their way around the harbour. The water was choppy and grey. Fleeting showers of rain could be seen across the water, toward Devonport naval base and the North Shore. Mat was riding in the carriage with Spriggs and Kelly. The turehu was in dog form, sitting beside Manu on the driver’s platform. They could hear Manu singing above the rattle of the carriage and the thudding of the horses’ hooves. He had a pleasant voice, singing a mixture of old Maori chants and country ballads from the sixties and seventies. Kelly giggled every time she recognised a tune.

‘I can’t
believe
you know
that
song,’ she would call. ‘Wichita Lineman! Do you know my parents, you relic?’

Mat was heartily sick of travelling by carriage. They bounced, they rocked, they were noisy, and their wheels got caught in ruts. The views were terrible, there was no stereo, and worst, he decided, no air conditioning. By day’s end they
were all sweating and the air was ripe inside the small boxlike space. Several times he was travel sick, and the worst part of that was having to hang his head out the window. The hostels they slept in were usually crowded and poor quality—they had to split up, and share with strangers, which made Mat very uncomfortable. Often they weren’t able to bathe.

He was really looking forward to arriving in Auckland. Captain Spriggs had assured them he had contacts, and they were going to the home of a solicitor who would look after them well, and see them onto a ship sailing to Russell in the north.

Mat had hidden his watch in his pocket when they started to encounter checkpoints on the road—now he fished it out as they bounced down the sloping road to the harbour. It read 5.11 p.m. There were wooden ships dotting the harbour, but not the multitude of white yachts he remembered from holidays in his own time. The wind was swirling the trees beside the road. To his left, out the other window, they were passing large rich-looking houses, with wonderful views out over the harbour.

‘I’ve heard that a place up here will set you back millions in your world,’ Spriggs commented. ‘They certainly cost a few quid here, I can tell you.’

Mat didn’t pay much attention. He had an awful headache, and had the window handle in his hand in case he needed to throw up. His stomach was churning with a familiar feeling of impending nausea. Kelly didn’t look any better.

‘Are we there yet?’ she moaned. Her face looked ghostwhite, a perfect match to her bonnet, which she had put back on now they were in an urban area again.

As if in answer, they slowed, and turned left, away from the harbour, and into a short driveway that wound past roses and trellised climbers. A pleasant waft of flowers came through the windows. Kelly sighed thankfully. Even Spriggs looked relieved. ‘I’ll be looking forward to a good mattress tonight, I don’t mind saying,’ he commented.

Mat nodded fervently. He’d slept badly in the hostels and felt worn out.

When the carriage lurched to a stop, he pushed the door open and stumbled out, landing on hands and knees. The grass was wet, but blessedly solid and still. He stayed there on hands and knees, gasping down an urge to vomit. The feeling passed after a few seconds, and he felt the cold wind chill his sweating face.

Someone coughed discreetly.

Embarrassed, Mat looked up at a plump young man with immaculate black sideburns and close-trimmed hair, watching him with an anxious face. ‘Is the young sir alright?’ he asked, with a reedy voice.

Mat flushed red and lurched to his feet, which made his head spin. ‘Yeah, sure, I’m cool.’

‘Cool?’ The young man looked around in puzzlement. ‘Er, yes, it has turned a little chilly.’

‘Oh, no, I mean, I’m OK,’ explained Mat. ‘Right as. Fine, y’know?’

‘Are you then? Good. Jolly good!’ The man nodded briskly.

‘Excellent. Ah, Spriggs, how are you, old chap?’