The Keepers of Dinosaur Reef
published by bozar books at Smashwords
copyright 2012 Colin Rock
All rights Reserved.
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* * *
Cover art by Allan
MacGillivray
He tossed the carefully selected projectile into the air and let it smack satisfyingly back into the palm of his hand. It was round, it was fat, it was perfectly engineered for the maximum shrapnel effect. Hit the bossy kid wearing the ridiculous uniform and earn a brownie point for the good guys.
He straddled his bike and watched the white truck back through the service gate. A television film crew was recording the transfer of the wire cages and a small crowd stayed politely out of camera shot...all except for the nerd in the funny uniform who seemed to think he was in charge. One clear shot was all that was needed. A guy had a duty to oppose fascism wherever it raised its ugly head.
The tuatara lizards had been transferred here for safekeeping while the Department of Conservation set up a rat eradication programme on their island habitat. The bike rider wasn't going to quarrel with a good cause like that because wiping out rats was something he totally agreed with.
He grinned to himself and gave a final polish to the projectile, then kicked hard on the pedals and swooped down the hill. Let battle commence.
CHAPTER 1
There was something lying dead in the water. It could have been the swollen belly of a decomposing duck.
"It's just a plastic bag."
"No way." Zane stretched out and prodded the thing with his stick. The object rolled over and bubbles of gas escaped.
"Push it back... it stinks!" Peter scrambled back up the bank and sat on an upturned dinghy. Zane ignored him. By only getting one foot wet, no big deal, he could hook the trailing bit and pull it ashore.
He called over his shoulder. "It's an old cat!"
"Yeah, I knew that."
"No you didn't."
Peter turned the dinghy over and found a pair of oars jammed inside. "Who cares anyway? Let's steal this boat and row across to the reef."
Zane gave him a sharp look. He didn't know the guy well enough to work him out. Actually they'd only met about an hour ago because his mother had made him deliver a huge bag of citrus fruit to Peter's mother. She was always making him do that sort of thing. "They've just arrived from England and I'm sure you'll get on very well with Peter, he seems like a very nice boy, not at all like that Evan friend of yours."
He hadn't minded so much when he'd seen their house. It was on the Point Chevalier side of the estuary, where he hardly ever went, and the back yard dropped right down to the water. If they did steal the dinghy they could row along the winding channel that threaded through the mud and mangroves, and beach on the spit of land that ended in Meola Reef. He knew that you could see across to the other side of the bay from their high balcony, which meant that you would be able to see Evan's house way up on the cliff.
Of course he wouldn't take just anyone out to the reef. You had to keep the riff-raff out, like Spike and Martin Bone. He turned back to find Peter staring at him with an arrogant smirk on his face. Maybe that was just the way English kids acted when they were new in town.
Zane looked at his watch. "Hey, I gotta go, my mum will kill me if I'm late."
"Leave me that stick then."
"You what?"
"I said leave me the stick."
"You've got to be kidding... I found it! Finders keepers, mate."
Peter's face turned ugly. "It was on my property."
Zane tossed the stick carefully out of reach. Without another word he pushed past him and scrambled up the bank. The kid was history.
His bike was chained inside the front fence and he was crouching down to unlock the padlock when he heard voices approaching. He froze.
"One more day of school. Ha! You know what I'm going to do?"
Zane peered through the branches of a scraggly bush. Oh great, this was really making his day, Spike and Martin Bone. He'd forgotten this was enemy territory.
"Yeah I know what you're gonna do . . . lie in bed all day."
"Yeah! Lie around in bed all day like my dad. Go fishing. Catch a fish." Spike thought some more. "Catch another fish."
"Shut up, Spike."
*
Zane swung into Meola Road and cut up through the Keith Park airfield, past Western Springs College, up the walkway to the Zoo, and then swooped down the path into Western Springs Park. One more day of school.
Some Japanese tourists jumped aside as he flew over the little bridge, both wheels airborne and his bum out of the saddle for vital safety reasons. Onto the grass to avoid two little kids feeding ducks, then legs up to avoid getting bitten by the mad goose that got Henare last week. Six long weeks of holiday.
He had to go into a controlled skid to avoid an old bloke and his pink poodle, which meant straightening up for a slightly dodgy run across a flower garden. MOTAT, the Museum of Transport and Technology, was closing for the day, so he hung a left and rode along the tram pathway. The last vintage tram was heading back into the museum terminus, and he gave the driver a thrill by crossing the track in front of it. Two weeks to Christmas.
A veteran car, basically a black box on wheels, kept pace with him up the hill and probably would have beaten him if he hadn't recognized the nerdy-looking occupants, Steven Frate and his father. He wound up for one massive effort and flew by on the inside as they slowed to turn into their driveway. Then down the hill, a beautiful broadside onto the footpath, up the drive and into the carport.
Dinner had better be ready, because he was starving.
CHAPTER 2
Zane lay in bed and listened to the wind kick and slap at the house. This was one of those sudden summer storms that whip up the sea and force even the whales to snorkel extra deep. The wind punched at the windows; it booted the doors; it smacked and thumped at the wall right next to his bed. He snuggled down further under the blankets. Wind was okay. Thunder and lightning wasn’t so hot, though.
There was a distant rumble. And another. Like Tornado fighter-bombers flying over Baghdad. Kerump! A load of bombs crashed into the ground. A vivid shaft of lightning knifed into his room. Kerump! That was a missile bombing out the school. In the morning there'd be piles of rubble and huge craters. The teachers would be crying and all the kids would be laughing. Well, tomorrow was the last day of school anyway.
Okay, enough, a guy's got to get to sleep sometime. The whole house was thrumming with the fury of the storm. Trees would be blown down and windows smashed. Maybe even roofs blown away. He could hear the rain pour down. Once he'd stayed at Evan's little place which had a tin roof, and it had rained then. What a noise! Louder than a train. They'd looked out of the window to see the boats tearing at their anchors, and one had broken free and washed up on Meola Reef. He hugged himself. Get up early, before school, and go down to the reef. There might be boats washed up. Salvage! Finders keepers, that was the rule of the sea!
*
The morning was fresh and raw. Everything was clean and damp. Way up high some clouds scudded across the grey sky, but most of the wind had died. Just a few gusts to remind everyone that it might come back.
Philip was waiting outside his place. "You said ten minutes!" he accused.
"I was ten minutes!"
"No you weren't. Twelve minutes by my watch. My aunty gave it to me yesterday, what do you reckon?"
"Yeh, it's a goodie. You've got about ten of them now."
"No I haven't, this only makes seven."
Zane climbed back onto his bike. "Well come on, we haven't got all day."
"What about Henare?"
"He's not coming."
"What? The worm! I bet you didn't even ring him!"
"Of course I did. His mother said he was asleep and I shouldn't ring so early, like it was a crime or something."
"It might be...she's a lawyer."
"She's even bossier than my sister."
Philip snorted. "I'm not scared of her."
They saw Evan delivering newspapers way down the end of the street and Philip stopped to yell a greeting. Evan looked up and waved a rolled newspaper, then turned back and shoved it into a letterbox.
"Don't stop right in front of me, you idiot."
"I didn't." Philip watched Evan turn up a side street. "I bet he makes a few bucks doing that."
"Yeah. He's got to though, because his old man's on the dole."
Philip giggled. "My Aunt C reckons Evan steals her carrots."
"No he doesn't, he only steals fruit."
"Yeah well I don't care...I don't even like carrots."
Zane led the way. He told Philip to shut up and stop being a wimp...riding through the park was only a crime if you got caught. The air was still raw with the aftermath of the storm and there was a lot of debris on the path. Zane managed to avoid both a fallen tree branch and an early morning jogger, but Philip was distracted by the thought of the mad goose that had bitten Henare, and he was also a bit concerned that the shagged-out old brown bear might have escaped from the Zoo in the storm...a man-eater if ever he'd seen one...so it was almost a relief when he ricocheted off the jogger and only slightly damaged himself on an inconvenient tree.
*
Zane watched Philip puff up towards him. He was moaning again. They'd left their bikes way back at the start of the reef. Most of it didn't look like a reef any more. Zane's father had told him that the original reef was formed from a lava flow from Mount Albert. A great tongue of molten rock had plunged into the ocean and cooled off in clouds of steam and bubbling fury. Zane thought about the image so often that he half-believed he'd seen it happen.
You couldn't see much of it now. The first part of the reef was about 200 metres wide and 600 metres long. When his dad was a schoolboy, about the time of the dinosaurs, the local council had used this bit for a rubbish dump. Greenpeace probably wasn't around in those days. Then they'd piled dirt on top and planted grass. A sort of mini-farm with a dozen puny cows plodding and pooping all over it.
But the rubbish dumpers hadn't killed the reef. What was left of it was protected now, because of the mangroves. At low tide you could pick your painful way through the ugly, gnarled trees and the sharp rocks for another 400 metres, until you were standing almost in the middle of the harbour. Over the years they'd found thousands of valuable things washed up. Bottles and cans and oars; beach balls and lilos; jandals by the hundred; and there was also the magic time when they'd found the wrecked yacht.
The tide was high right now, though. Just tops of mangrove trees sticking up and a few slabs of rock where the water broke in white foam. It didn't worry Zane...he waded straight out in his shoes and socks. Philip sighed. It wasn't fair, he reckoned, his three aunts would kill him if he did stuff like that. Geez Zane was lucky with his family.
"What are you trying to do?" Philip sneered and panted at the same time. "Trying to be a hero eh?" He put his hands together like a megaphone and yelled out. "You trying to be a hero again? I'm not impressed...!"
A squawking seagull swooped down and Philip bleated like a frightened sheep. He hurled a stone at the brute and would have mashed it to a pulp except a fluke of wind intervened. If he had a twelve-bore shotgun...double click, kaboom kaboom!...bits of meat splattered all over the place.
Zane whooped. "Hey Philip! A boat! There's a boat out there!"
"I see it!"
"Not that way! It's a dinghy, see? Over there!"
"That's where I'm looking!"
Zane waded back in triumph. "No you're not, dozo. Down the end. It's just floating a bit. I reckon it's caught on something."
"Right,"
said Philip, "like a war mine...or a
decomposing body."
Zane snorted. "Aw
yeah, there's dozens of them
around."
"That was just a suggestion!"
"We can get it
after school when the tide's out. Don't tell
anyone."
"I won't! Geez!"
Zane looked narrowly at him. "Well don't."
CHAPTER 3
They knocked off school early. Pity, because break-up day was the only day that Henare liked. The teachers had dressed up and challenged the students to a game of touch rugby, and he'd been particularly brilliant. Everything he tried had come off; reverse passes, sidesteps off both feet, even a little chip over the top. The teachers had attempted every dirty trick in the book but were still thrashed, and then they'd put on a sausage sizzle for everyone. Even the burnt ones had tasted good.
He caught a glimpse of Philip thundering by on his flash mountain bike. He was pumping on the pedals and yelling something insulting at Steven Frate, who was doing his usual bossy job of patrolling the school crossing. Zane rode by a few minutes later, weaving in and out of the traffic, wielding his schoolbag to clear a passage. Steven Frate was sputtering with indignation, gabbling something about reckless riding and irresponsibility. Zane didn't seem to notice, just like he didn't seem to notice Henare.
It wasn't right somehow. Henare had enough money for a chocolate milkshake and had expected the others to join him at the caf. Nah. They all had things to do. Philip had teased him at lunchtime about some great secret he had which he wasn't going to tell because some guys are just too lazy to get up in the morning and pull their weight.
Henare had said "Oh yeah? Who could pull your weight, Fatso?" Anyway, they were probably just going Christmas shopping with their parents, or going to the beach. Big deal.
He saw Zane's elder sister standing outside the caf. She had on one of her strange fruit hats. This one had a plastic pineapple and some bananas on top. His mother said she'd never send her children to an alternative school like that. How can you expect to become a lawyer unless you develop discipline? They don't even have to go to lessons if they don't choose to. What sort of education is that?
That would be the best education in the whole world. Zane reckoned his sister was the reincarnation of Hitler, but Henare liked her. Once she'd stopped Martin Bone and Spike from picking on him. "You horrid little boys," she'd said. "Off. Off! Home to your mothers...quick march...off you go!" Like she was talking to real little kids. And they'd gone. Now she saw him looking at her.
"Hello Henare." That was another thing, she never called him Narry. "Henare" always made him feel mature.
"Hello Susy."
"Su-san. Repeat after me: 'Su-san, not Susy'."
"Susan. Sorry."
"That's all right, you are forgiven. So where was my horrible little brother off to in such a hurry?"
"He wouldn't tell me...I asked him lots of times."
"Really? I only need to ask once. Now, what will we have? I shall need all of my strength."
Henare thought quickly. "Uh."
"Yes," continued Susy, "For I am starring in a dramatic play tonight, the leading role of course. It's all give, give, give...very exhausting."
"I've got enough for a milkshake."
"No, I don't like milkshakes, too fattening. We shall have an icecream each."
"But they're fattening too."
"Silly boy, not if you lick them slowly." She held out her hand. "I shall need another forty cents."
The funny thing is, Henare would never have given money to anyone else unless he had a sworn promise to repay it with interest or die in agony. But for Susy...Susan...it seemed the right thing just to hand it over.
They paid for their icecreams and sat at an outdoor table. Susan put her hat down and looked suddenly normal. She obviously didn't like the effect, so she put it back on. "Life is so difficult, Henare."
"Ah. Is it?"
"It is a perpetual struggle against the forces of darkness."
"Like...war, you mean?"
"Like ordinariness; like boredom; like fish flapping themselves to death on dry land." She looked him in the eye. "Never waste your energy flapping, Henare."
"Oh. Okay."
"You have to find something new to do every day."
Henare felt a buzz of excitement that he couldn't explain. "I'm going to do that!"
"Good, otherwise you will turn into a goat."
She carefully licked her melting icecream. Kelly and Kylie walked by and stared at them. He could hear them giggling to each other. He tried to shrink. Susy waved to a bunch of her friends who were climbing aboard a yellow bus. She sighed deeply. "I have to walk home because I have no money."
He didn't want to mention that she'd just spent her bus fare on an icecream, because that wasn't the sort of thing you said to Susan. She abruptly stood up and smoothed her hat. "Well, it was nice chatting to you but I must be away. Yuk!" She wiped her hands on the tablecloth and strode off along the street. Henare felt exhilarated, but exhausted too, and suddenly knew what Zane meant when he said living with Susy was like living with a poltergeist.
*
Philip was already on the reef. That meant he'd got out of school extra early because he was the world's slowest bike rider even though he had the best bike. Mind you, if Zane owned a genuine mountain bike with eighteen gears, the last thing he'd do would be to load it down with bags of tools and ugly metal racks and two fat vinyl saddlebags. Philip even had a double-sized dynamo on the back wheel to power his spotlight. Everyone knew that dynamos slowed you right down.
He left his bike chained to the fence and raced over the grass. Philip was pulling on a pair of gumboots. "What took you, Zane? I've been here for hours."
"Aw yeah? How come you haven't got your gumboots on then?"
Zane suddenly stiffened. "Hey, who's that?"
Philip followed his gaze and saw a small man duck suddenly behind a bush. "Great! It's one of those Flashers." He snorted. "C'mon mate! Show us what you got!"
"Shut up, dozo, he's looking at birds and stuff. It's probably one of Steven Frate's nerdy friends." He did his Steven Frate impersonation. "Oh look, there's a spotted wiggleback."
Philip giggled and cupped both hands around his mouth. "Hey mate! Show us your spotty wiggleback!"
Zane scrambled down the grassy bank onto the exposed part of the reef. It stretched seaward like the scarred spine of a prehistoric monster. It stank a bit like it always did at low tide; maybe it was the exposed mangroves and their breathing shoots, but more likely it was just the stench of filthy mud drying out in the sun.
Philip followed, muttering about quicksand, trenchfoot and the high incidence of pestilential diseases. He would have taken the lead and chosen a better, scientifically calculated route, using his powers of perception and analysis...the same powers that had earned him top marks in physics...except all those brilliant skills were useless if you had unlucky feet. Some guys were just doomed to step in every puddle and on every dog turd.
Zane suddenly stopped. Where was the dinghy? Surely it couldn't have floated free? There was a little knoll about halfway out where the water always broke even at high tide. They scrambled up and peered over the ratty grey mangroves.
"Are you sure it was a dinghy?" asked Philip.
"Of course I'm sure. You said you saw it too."
"Oh yeah. Hey, I bet that little bloke with the spotted winklepicker nicked it!"
"Shush!" Zane crouched down and waved Philip down. "There's someone at the end. Behind that mangrove there...see him?"
He could see the figure crouching down as if it was digging something out of the reef. Zane stood up. "There's two more lying down!"
"I see them!" Philip jumped off the knoll and immediately slipped over on a slimy rock. Zane tried not to giggle but Philip detected the twitching lip. "I could have hurt myself then! You shouldn't laugh!"
"Sorry. Hey!" Zane stretched up on tiptoe. "Hey I reckon they're stealing our boat!"
Zane surged ahead and bounded from rock to rock, slipping and sliding but never falling. A sort of fury was building inside him. They'd found the dinghy It was their territory. Finders keepers! This was just like stealing!
Philip was miles behind because his gumboots were totally useless. They were also full of water, which sort of- defeated the purpose. Now that he was closer he could see that Zane was right. There were three people and they were stealing the dinghy. Zane was yelling at them and they were yelling back. He hoped there wasn't going to be a fight because although he didn't mind hitting people, he really hated getting hit himself.
"That's our boat, Peter!" Peter! Zane couldn't believe the cheek of it. The guy was blatantly holding the stick he'd stolen. Zane stood with his hands by his sides and clenched his fists. He knew the other guys as well. Martin Bone and Spike. Anybody but Martin Bone. Peter looked a bit embarrassed. He'd smiled when he'd first seen Zane approach. Probably didn't know the rules of salvage. You don't smile when you're ripping someone else's stuff off. Zane sneered, the kid was just a Pom from London or somewhere, and probably didn't know anything about anything. He'd probably never been on a reef before.
Martin Bone laughed nastily. "Hey, it's Zane-the-pain. Finders keepers, mate."
"We found it."
"Pull the other one."
Spike spat something horrible near to Zane's foot and he pulled it back so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. Spike laughed. "What are you going to do about it? Eh? It's three against one, mate."
Zane turned around to look for Philip, but he'd completely disappeared. Actually three against one wasn't especially brilliant.
Martin Bone pulled at the dinghy, which seemed to be stuck solid between two sharp rocks. "Give us a hand then or get lost."
"You should get lost," said Zane.
"Gonna make me?"
"Yeah." Oh no, had he really said that?
Martin Bone stood up and stretched. He was pretty big, thought Zane, but size wasn't everything. Trouble was, Martin Bone was just as tough as he looked. Why wasn't Henare here? Philip was worse than useless in a fight.
"So come on then." Martin Bone stuck his chin out and offered Zane the first punch. Spike giggled. "Hey Martin, maybe he'll knock your block right off!"
"Shut up Spike, whose side are you on?" Spike looked hurt.
"But I got the hardest head, I meant. Everyone knows that. He could punch me in the head and it wouldn't hurt! Then we could all beat him up and ..." Martin biffed him in the arm.
"Just shut up, Spike!"
Zane looked over at Peter who so far hadn't said anything. How come he'd got mixed up with Martin Bone? They must live close to each other. He felt suddenly weak. How could anyone expect a guy to take on a couple of thugs like Martin Bone and Spike? The smart thing to do would be just to walk off and let them have the stupid dinghy. It looked crappy anyway. Yeah, just leave it for them. That would be the smart thing.
Philip poked his head through the bush. What was happening? As soon as he'd seen it was Martin Bone he'd hidden from sight. Spike was nearly as bad. He always called him Fatso, and once he had given Philip a deadleg when he was walking past the dairy. For no reason! His aunty said he must be an animal to do that.
On the other hand he should go and help Zane. But his gumboot was stuck in the mud...that's what he'd say. And it was true, too. He pushed hard and the mud sucked and slurped...it was definitely stuck!
*
You couldn't always do the smart thing, thought Zane. He'd spent his whole life mucking around on this reef...no way was he going to chicken out to a bunch of deadheads!
He took a deep breath as Martin Bone arrogantly stuck his jaw out once again, then Zane swung the mother of all punches, the king of all king-hits, the daddy of all uppercuts. His whole body pirouetted with the force of the blow, and had he connected he was pretty sure Martin Bone's detached head would have eclipsed the sun. But he didn't, so it didn't.
Martin Bone leapt back with a curse and sent Spike sprawling in the stinking mud. Zane caught kaleidoscopic flashes of sky, mud, flailing limbs and, incongruously, a lone pukeko watching curiously. Then Martin Bone whooped. "Let's get him, guys!" Zane immediately bounded away over the greasy surface, adrenalin surging through his blood, panic powering him onwards.
Behind him he caught glimpses of Martin Bone and Spike as they split up and tried to get around the sides of the reef and cut him off. Martin Bone had once beaten up a guy so badly that the police had gone round to see his parents. At least that was the story Zane had heard. He felt a terrible weak churning in his belly.
He leapt across a widening puddle...the tide was already coming back in. He snuck another look back then yelled as Philip rose up in front of him. "Getoutofit you idiot! Run!"
Philip frantically waved a lone gumboot, then turned and shrieked as he saw their pursuers. Zane had a sudden image of a fat seal barking and slithering over a rocky beach. Then he was scrabbling off the reef and up onto the grass. His heart was pounding and his lungs heaved. Where was Philip?
He took a calming breath. He could see Spike over to the right, trying to scramble along the very worst bit of the reef. Idiot. He couldn't see Martin Bone. Then he could. He was catching Philip. Zane cupped his hands into a megaphone. "Run! Over here! Run!" Philip was squealing like a pig and dodging all over the place with Martin Bone just two metres behind him.
Way down the reef Zane could see Peter walking slowly towards them. Didn't want to get involved eh? What a coward. He felt a burning hate for the guy. You try to be friendly and look what happens...he'd even thought of introducing him to his mates!
He should go and help Philip, of course, but his legs were suddenly wobbly and his stomach lurched again. He tried to spit but his mouth was dry. He sighed deeply, then climbed slowly back down the bank and started wading along the reef.
Philip shrieked. A great hand gripped his shoulder and he pulled free. "Leggo! Get out of it!" He scrambled around a mangrove tree and tried to keep it between him and Martin Bone.
"Fat boy. Gonna get you, fat boy."
"No you're not."
"What are you carrying your gumboot for? Doesn't little fatty know how to put it on den? Does he need mummy to help?"
"Shut up, Bone!"
Martin Bone's long arm shot through the mangrove leaves and grabbed Philip by the collar. He shook him like a dog.
"Ow! You're hurting! Let go, you big sod!"
"Let him go, Martin!" Zane was thirty metres off and had his fists clenched. Spike was still over the other side, out of the way, and Peter had stopped on the central knoll and was just watching. Zane didn't want to get too close. The terrible cold stone in his belly was making his limbs weak as water. He could barely move.
Martin Bone threw Philip down and turned around. He stood still and reckoned up the odds. Two against one now. Spike was hidden from view. Peter was doing nothing. He'd sort him out later on, stupid little Pommie kid.
"Scared are ya?" Philip was taunting him now, because let's face it, two against one, ha! They were good odds. He might whack Bone over the head with his gumboot, but better wait for Zane to get a bit closer first. Martin Bone turned back to him. "You just watch it, Fatso. I'll get you!"
Philip quietly sidled past him and joined Zane. The tide was beginning to sweep across the reef and they'd all have to get off. Spike was cursing away in the bad bit where Henare had once got caught. Water was now swirling around Martin Bone's ankles. Zane turned to Philip. "You're an idiot, Philip. If you weren't so fat you could have run faster."
They stood on the grass embankment and watched as the tide covered the wrecked dinghy once again. It was hard to keep your dignity when you knew that there were three guys who were going to get you some day, and those same three guys had already trespassed on your territory, and even harder to keep your dignity as you tried to walk to your bikes without breaking into a panicky run.
Zane reckoned that they should call it a draw.
CHAPTER 4
Zane uncoiled himself from the kiddies' climbing frame and waved. Henare threaded his way through a few evening strollers who were selfishly blocking the path, then parked his bike next to the others. Philip slid down the slide and got stuck halfway.
From the top of the climbing frame you could see right into the zoo. You could also see right around the park, even across the lake to where family groups were feeding breadcrumbs to fat, pampered ducks and swans. The gang often met here, which was hard cheese on the little kids who wanted to use it. Philip had already chased off a couple of cheeky brats who wanted a turn on the see-saw.
"Did you find Evan?"
Henare shrugged. "Yeah, but he reckoned he was too busy."
Zane cursed. Philip freed his large buttocks from the puny slide and snorted with disgust. "You were supposed to tell him this was an emergency!"
"He was delivering pamphlets. Anyway what emergency? You didn't say it was an emergency on the phone."
Zane did a brilliant backflip. "Because you would have got too excited...you just trod on my hand, Philip!"
"No I didn't!"
Zane sucked his fingers. "Martin Bone and Spike are trying to steal our dinghy."
"Yeah," said Philip, "we're gonna get them!"
Henare frowned. "What dinghy?"
"The one on Meola Reef," said Zane. "We found it this morning; I told you we found something really good."
"You didn't say it was a dinghy."
Philip snorted. "That's because you were too lazy to get up this morning. You must sleep about a million hours a day."
"Shut up, Philip, it wasn't my fault. So have they stolen it?"
"Nah," said Zane, "the tide came in. You have to wait for dead low tide and you need about four guys to carry it." He looked up and saw a familiar figure waddle menacingly towards them.
Steven Frate stiffened with outrage. How very typical! He straightened his Park Ranger (voluntary) uniform and marched into battle.
"You guys can't play on the children's playground...it's against park regulations!"
Zane grinned widely. "Steven! You're a pretty strong sort of brute...what are you doing tomorrow morning?"
"I'm going to be at the MOTAT open day...and so are you. I've got a list of everybody and so you'd better turn up!
Henare nodded. "We know. I'm looking forward to it."
Philip sighed heavily and stretched himself out on the slide. "Well I'm not. I don't care about your stupid list... I don't think I'll even turn up, nah, I'm going to spend the night up here and look at the stars."
"Too late, Philip...you've already put your name down, so there. I'm going to telephone your aunties "
Philip yawned. "I can see a meteor."
"No you can't! Come on Philip, you're not allowed on that slide, so get down!"
"I was just rescuing a tired bird that flew in from Siberia."
Steven snorted. "Rubbish! What sort of bird?"
"A Hairy Cossack Tweeter.... Oh no, the meteor just hit it."
"Liar!"
Steven suddenly spied the sprawled bikes and squeaked with indignation. "Did you guys ride through the park? I bet you did...you're always doing it, Zane...I'm already reporting you anyway, you know why."
"Rubbish," said Zane, "I've never thrown a grapefruit at your window in my life. Anyway this is a private conference so go and stroke a goose or something." He turned to the others. "We've got to talk about the thingy."
Steven frowned. "What thingy?"
"None of your business, Fruity," said Philip. "It's secret."
"You better not be planning to steal any flowers!"
Zane suddenly jumped down and the others followed. Steven sniffed haughtily, giving the annoying impression that he'd won a major victory. They watched him strut off towards the lake, marching as if he was part of some conquering army. Zane grinned to himself. Fruity looked ridiculous in his feeble homemade uniform, and was incredibly irritating in almost everything he did, but you couldn't deny the guy was doing his best in his own nerdy way.
He turned to the others. "I have to go, you guys, Susy's got her stupid play on tonight. Boring. Give us a buzz later."
Henare nodded. "Don't forget to wish her luck from me."
"Yeah, right," said Zane.
Philip squealed with frustration. "But we haven't worked out a plan!"
Zane picked up his bike and climbed aboard. "We'll work it out tomorrow morning."
*
Zane's phone rang. Well it should have been his phone but he hardly ever got to use it. His mother talked for about twenty hours every day and Susy reckoned he shouldn't be allowed to use it because he had horrible germs. His mum picked it up. "It's for you, Zane. Don't talk too long now."
He stomped over and took it from her.
"Yeah?"
"It's me, Philip."
"What d'you want?"
"Message from Evan. Prepare to receive. Over and out."
Zane slammed the phone down and ran into his bedroom. The ladder went straight up into the attic where his dad had built a little room under the sloping roof. Up until last year Zane could stand upright in the centre bit, but now he had to stoop and look out the window towards Philip's house. The wire wobbled. That meant Philip had set the flying fox into action. He reached out and started hauling. The wire went all the way from Philip's place, across the back section, through the huge pine tree which sometimes snagged big parcels, then sagged dangerously until it rose again to his room. The pulley had started squeaking again; better borrow some of his dad's oil and lubricate it.
It was snagged in the tree. Dozy Philip probably hadn't attached the tin properly. He gave a mighty tug and it came free. Closer, closer. He reached out and unclipped the battered Milo tin. There was a growl down below and he saw old Rocky crawl out of his kennel and look up. "Go back to sleep, you stupid mutt!"
What was the use of a lemon? He turned it over and found a note sticky-taped on the back. "From Evan. Free sample. Ask your mother if she wants some, only three for a dollar." He looked out of the window and saw Evan waving from a branch of the pine tree. He waved back. What a hope. The reason Evan didn't come around anymore was because he was strongly suspected by Zane's parents of having stolen last year's crop of grapefruit from the tree next to Rocky's kennel. Rocky hadn't even noticed. Evan had denied it of course, but Zane wasn't sure.
Evan waved again. Zane stuffed the lemon back into the tin and set it back on its way. It stopped in the pine tree and Evan swung out on the branch and dropped to the ground. He shrugged elaborately, took a greedy look at the two orange trees, then scrambled over the fence and was gone. Zane sighed. Tomorrow Evan would be up at St Luke's shopping centre with his bike trailer loaded with lemons and a painted sign offering a fabulous deal for the discerning shopper.
He wished Evan would ring him instead of communicating in this complicated way. He didn't have a phone connected at home because of his weird father, but he could always use the public phone down the end of his street. Zane knew the real reason. Evan was scared stiff of Susy and she always answered whenever he rang. He said it was Evan's Law: There will always be a Susy on the end of the phone.
He went back to the dining room and laid the table for dinner. He'd been a little bit tempted to tell his parents about Martin Bone, but by the time he'd got home and cooled down a bit, he realised that of course he couldn't. All his mother would say was "I've told you you shouldn't play on that reef. It's a unique ecosystem, and shouldn't be interfered with in any way. I think they should close it off to members of the public." Then she'd start talking about whales and dolphins and the plight of the polka-dotted shag and other boring things.
His father would probably ring his friend, the police inspector, and get him to go around and "have a word with the boy." You couldn't do that to your worst enemy. And funnily enough, Martin Bone wasn't Zane's worst enemy. He was only number two. You can't blame someone for being born evil, but you can blame someone for being a backstabber. Therefore public enemy number one was Peter. Something about him just twisted Zane's guts. The way he'd just watched everything that afternoon. The way he hadn't said anything, just waved the stolen stick around and smiled that arrogant smile. It made Zane feel like a little worm. He'd never really felt that sort of hate before.
*
It was spaghetti bolognese. Boring. It should have been something special to celebrate the last day of school. Roast pork and chocolate cake. Or KFC and chocolate mousse. But of course they didn't care about him. Susy's school was putting on their end-of-term play tonight and naturally she was the star.
"I don't want to go."
"Of course you do, you silly boy," said Susy. "Your sister has the leading role and you will want to applaud enthusiastically."
"No I won't. It'll be crappy."
"Wash your mouth out. Mother, shall you beat him or will father break one of his bones?"
His father grinned at him. The sort of grin which said "I have to go, so there's no way you're getting out of it, mate."
"Of course he's coming and he will enjoy it," said his mother. She fed some spaghetti from her plate to Rocky, which was a foul habit that Zane severely disapproved of. He looked at the clock on the microwave. The door wasn't shut properly. Zane spluttered. "If you don't shut the microwave door it'll get warped and we'll get zapped with radiation!"
"It might kill some of your germs," said Susy "You should put your head inside every night without fail, shouldn't he father?"
"Heh? Of course not. Zane's right. So what time are we off?" The dreaded weight of a Social Event was heavy upon his head. Zane grinned despite himself. His father was the world's worst small-talker. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say to people at social occasions, he confided to Zane, it was just that he always forgot to look at the weather, and when everyone said what a nice day it was, he didn't know whether they really meant it or were they trying to catch him out, and was it a lie if you agreed without really knowing? And even worse, if he tried to explain all that to them, their eyes sort of glazed over and they went quiet. It was a problem wasn't it? Zane would always nod understandingly and say "Yeah, that's a real toughie, Dad."
Susy had to get dressed into her costume, so Zane had to wash and dry the dishes. He couldn't fit everything into the dishwashing machine, which meant that his mother had hosted another of her Greenie groups at lunchtime and they'd selfishly used all the plates. It meant he had to use the dishcloth!
The phone rang. "Get it, someone!" called Susy.
"I can't! My hands are wet! I'm doing the dishes! No one else is doing anything...why don't they get it? It's never for me anyway!"
His mother got it. It was for Zane. "Hey, it's me, Henare. I forgot what time we're supposed to be there tomorrow."
"Where?"
"MOTAT. I'm the blacksmith, remember?"
"Aw yeah."
The shabby MOTAT buildings lodged the tired old machines and vehicles of yesteryear. It was mostly run on a voluntary basis, which was a bit hard on the local school- kids...the teachers were always volunteering their students for community service. It was worse for Zane and the guys because their classmate was bossy Steven Frate, and his even bossier father was someone important at MOTAT. Philip reckoned he cleaned out the toilets. Whatever, every year MOTAT threw a thank-you Christmas party and had a ‘live’ day. Everything would be working; the double- decker bus from London, old fire engines and horse-drawn buggies, and the vintage trams, of course. A lot of the kids, and adults too, would dress up as olde-tyme folk and pretend they lived in those horrifying days before television was invented. Henare was the blacksmith apprentice and Zane was supposed to stoke the furnace. He just knew it was going to be a stinking hot day.
"I don't want to go," said Zane, "except Fruity would dob me in as usual." Suddenly he thought about Meola Reef and the tides. Martin Bone and Spike would be at MOTAT, but what about Peter? He'd only just arrived from England and hadn't started school here yet. He probably wouldn't be invited. What if he went out to the reef by himself and got the dinghy? Just thinking about it churned his stomach up.
“Well?”
Zane sighed. "Well what?"
"What time are we going?"
"It's supposed to start at nine but we have to be there much earlier. You'll be late of course."
"I will not."
"You were useless this morning."
"I went back to sleep, it wasn't my fault! I told you that about a million times!"
"Yeah yeah. I gotta go anyway. My stupid sister's acting in a play."
"Yeah, you said," said Henare. "Susan's very clever isn't she?"
"Susy? She's got the IQ of a chook."
He hung up and went back to the dishes. They seemed to have grown in number. His mother came out and told him to hurry up because they were all waiting for him and so get a move on young man, a quick wash, change those dirty jeans and don't forget to clean your teeth. He sighed mightily. The day had started out badly and was getting progressively worse. He sighed again. Now there were two hours of misery to endure.
CHAPTER 5
The play wasn't bad. Susy was not too embarrassing either. She had to act the role of a bossy mother who ended up getting her come-uppance when her daughter eloped with the handsome Rastafarian lead guitarist, whose band had a number one hit with a song he'd written, and guess what? The daughter was the lead singer!
Of course Susy was totally typecast. She bossed and she bullied and she terrified the other poor Rastafarians and their bikie mates and the women's rugby team who seemed to have some feeble role in the story which eluded Zane. No doubt about it; his sister went to a weird school.
At interval he managed to squeeze to the front and grab an orange drink. His mother was talking to a group of vaguely familiar people who were complaining that they couldn't see from down the back and that was a great pity because Jennifer was particularly keen on drama, was taking acting lessons in fact, isn't that what Susan did? And it would be so nice if she could sit down the front with you lucky people.
He needed peace and quiet. Theatre crowds never changed. This mob was directly descended from the crowd that cheered when gladiators chopped up Christians at the Coliseum. He saw his dad sneak outside for one of his rare cigarettes. He'd given up, of course, and there's no need to tell your mother, Zane, because these occasional cigarettes I smoke are for scientific reasons. Zane didn't mind; it was good to have material for future blackmail. A guy's got to keep the odds in his favour.
After interval his world changed.
Her name was Jennifer, "Though don't call me that, please. Just call me Jenny." For a horrible minute he almost forgot his own name. "I'm Zane."
She smiled at him. "I know."
What a beautiful voice. It was husky. Or maybe she had a cold. She squeezed between him and his mother and watched the play intently. Was her nose too little? Were her teeth a little crooked? She had dark golden skin, though not as dark as Henare's. More like an exotic Aztec. How could anyone's neck be so smooth? And long. Like a swan. With short black hair, which he now realised was his very favourite colour for hair. Blonde hair, yuk. His own was getting darker, everyone said that.
You take the separate bits of a machine, like Philip did with his auntie’s lawnmower, and you spread them out on the grass and they don't look like much. In fact they look ugly. But when they're all put together they sort of cancel out each ugly facet and suddenly it's beautiful. Because it works. And that's what Jenny was like. Her eyes were definitely too big, but not for her face. Her teeth were definitely crooked, but not for her mouth, and when she laughed, which she did a lot, her whole face lit up. Mother Susy hit the Rastafarian boyfriend with her handbag and Jenny clutched Zane's arm with delight. She turned briefly to him and he found himself laughing too, snorting like an elephant and earning a curious look from his father.
The rest of the play was fantastic. Maybe it was the best he'd ever seen. Even Susy was great, and he liked the way she winked at him when he jumped up and shouted "Encore!"
*
The stars were fantastic too. He sat on the window ledge in his attic room and drank in the immensity of the sky. Funny how the stomach affects the rest of the body. If he leaned out over the flying-fox pulley, way above Rocky's kennel, a thousand butterflies would swarm inside him. And when he'd faced up to Martin Bone his stomach had turned into a cold stone. And Jenny.
When he thought of Jenny his stomach sent waves of weakness into all his limbs so that he felt light and dizzy, as if he could fly if he really wanted. Why should that be? He'd hardly talked to her. Just a few words when she thanked him for letting her sit next to him. What had he said then? He'd stuttered like Philip did sometimes. How humiliating. He could still feel her presence beside him as if she'd been emanating radiation. He thought about the open door on the microwave. Radiation that zapped and sent tingles all through him.
It was so late. He just couldn't sleep. An aircraft flew overhead going to somewhere romantic like South America. Maybe Jenny was looking out of the window at this very minute, maybe she was watching the same plane at this very moment. Maybe she was thinking about him?
CHAPTER 6
Henare was waiting by the entrance.
"How come you're so early?" queried Zane. "You never get to school on time."
"I do too. What's that supposed to be?" He was looking at Zane's apron.
"What does it look like? It's what old Grunty told me to wear." Grunty was Mr Gardiner, the craft teacher with the speech peculiarity that Philip could imitate perfectly...but then, anyone can imitate a yodelling pig.
"They wore leather aprons to protect themselves from sparks and stuff. Not an apron with a recipe for macaroons printed on it."
"Who cares, anyway I'm going to take it off when anyone comes in."
Mr Gardiner was a friend of Steven Frate's father, the MOTAT employee, which was both a good and a bad thing. A good thing in that they could sometimes spend school time helping out at MOTAT, but bad when they had to volunteer to pick up rubbish and wash down old vehicles like Mr Frate's Model T Ford car. And of course Steven Frate got to show off all the time.
Steven was parading his stuff now, Zane saw, ticking off a list and looking smug. Evan reckoned that he'd been born old and boring, and everyone should call him "Fruity" because he looked like a skinny avocado or maybe a Bartlett pear. He especially wore that smug look when he was out on patrol; either strutting around MOTAT as if he and his family owned the place, or marching up and down Western Springs Park to thwart the enemy.
The enemy dropped litter. They picked flowers. They threw stones in the lake. They brought dogs with them and let them run free. People were okay if they stayed in line and did what they were supposed to. Of course he wasn't the first to come to that conclusion: Hitler, Genghis Khan, Saddam Hussein and every schoolteacher had tried to solve the same problem.
Fruity had taken to wearing a military-style uniform, which Evan claimed he'd borrowed from a large GI Joe doll, and he liked to call himself the Western Springs Park Ranger. He was always getting his picture in the local paper for saving ducklings and stopping tourists from fishing. He took all the photos himself with an automatic camera.
Fruity saw them and plodded over in his usual flat- footed style. That was another reason why he looked like an old man. "Geez, what are you wearing, Zane?"
"Underpants, socks, shoes, a shirt..."
"Haw haw haw. What's that thing?" He reached out and flicked the apron.
"Get out of it Fruity!"
He chortled and looked at his list. "You and Henare are in the Farrier shop."
"No we're not."
"Yes you are."
"We're blacksmiths, smarty."
Henare grinned. "Same thing, Zane."
"What? Why don't they make up their minds? No wonder they all went out of business."
Steven Frate ostentatiously gave his list a tick and pointed them in the right direction. Henare grinned again.
"We've only been there about a million times, Steven."
"So? I'm just being efficient. I've got a lot of work to do today, you know. My brother Andrew is displaying some of the tuatara lizards and I'm helping him."
"Yippee doodah," said Zane.
"I know, that's what I said! It's lucky that I have a reputation for being responsible. I'm going to be in a position of authority like my brother one day."
Zane snorted. "Well you can have another yippee doodah for that."
They walked down the street of olde-worlde shops and entered the blacksmith's. It was pretty bare; mostly decorated with a few horse brasses and leather fittings from days long gone. Later on one of the old timers would turn up and actually shoe a horse for the public, but in the meantime Zane and Henare were to start up the fire and try and look about a hundred and twenty years old.
*
Philip gave his aunty the slip and jumped aboard the stationary tram. He felt a bit guilty about it, but not all that guilty because it was a question of survival. A guy can only put up with so much, like having three aunties who fought over him the whole time, and who surely were descended from the three witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth.
Aunty B had given permission for Aunty M to go with him to the open day. Humiliation. Anyway, she'd enjoy herself looking at the Victorian-style clothes most of the people were wearing. For once she'd be in fashion. No way would she check out the machinery. Three aunts: three women who were bored by machines.
There was Scott and Mekong Mike. He shoved his head out the window and gave them a loud yell. Scott waved back. "What are you doing on there?"
He was going to say something witty but saw Aunt M trot into view with her head flitting from side to side like a metronome. He crouched down.
Someone came up and slapped the tram hard. Philip froze. Martin Bone was standing right outside the open window!
"These old beauties used to go all over, you know."
Philip nearly squeaked. Surely Martin Bone wasn't talking to him!
"Yeah, I know. My Granddad used to drive one."
Phew, It was Spike. Philip crouched even lower.
"Pull the other one, dumbo."
"It's true! He reckoned the trams used to come down this way. He reckoned that people would ride all the way to the old asylum to laugh at the loonies."
"No way they'd do that," said Martin.
"If s true! He reckons they used to do it all the time. They used to pay to be allowed to watch the mad people."
Martin snickered. "Yeah, well no one would pay to watch you."
The voices faded. Philip stuck his head up and saw them walk over to Steven Frate. Spike was pretending to be a mad person and Fruity was feebly defending himself with his clipboard.
*
Henare's kid sister was lost as usual. His mother burst into the blacksmith's shop and sent Zane flying into the wall. He'd just been going to throw the winning horseshoe right into the bucket, because the first two had only just missed.
"Oh sorry Zane, up you get, not hurt are you? No, of course not, supple young boy like you...now Henare!"
"Yes mum?"
"Come and find your sister, the silly girl. Your father wasn't watching, he never does. Am I supposed to have eyes in the back of my head?"
Henare rolled his eyes at Zane and trudged out. His mother cast a quick look around the shop and nodded grudgingly. "Very nice. Now you stay put, Zane, Henare won't be long, he's very good at finding Kiri, just like his father is very good at losing her."
Zane rubbed his knee. It hurt like hell. He felt like he'd just faced the Aussie bowling attack in his underwear. Henare's mother was supposed to be a hot-shot barrister, but his father reckoned she just beat everybody into submission and what's the bet she'd be a politician one day.
No bet at all, thought Zane.
*
Steven Frate sniggered. That would teach Philip a lesson. He shouldn't have been playing on the tram anyway. Philip's aunty, the one he called Aunty M, was quite beside herself with worry. He had felt no compunction about pointing her in the right direction and really, if Philip didn't want to be pulled along by his ear, he shouldn't have run away in the first place.
There were a lot of responsibilities for the man on the gate. He'd already refused admission to several people who weren't on the list. He checked his watch. In fourteen minutes' time he could relinquish his post to the appropriate officers of the Museum of Transport and Technology. The paying public could enter then. His brother Andrew had promised that he could be in charge of the tickets for the special tuatara display, and that was a most important task not to be undertaken lightly. He hugged himself with anticipation, then suddenly snapped alert. Someone was trying to sneak past!
"You can't come in here, Evan! You're not on the invitation list."
Evan grinned. He was wheeling his bike and accidentally ran it over Steven's foot. "C'mon Fruity, be a human being for once."
"My father says you're not supposed to call me Fruity. Our name is Frate', not Fruit'." He couldn't help noticing a sign attached to the bike's carrier: "Lemons, 3 for $1. Freshly picked."
"Everything all right is it, Steven?"
Both boys looked up to see the tall, bony figure of Mr Frate looming over them. Steven breathed a sigh of relief.
"Evan's not on the list, Dad, and he can't bring his bike in anyway, can he?"
"He certainly can't. You'll have to wait until the Museum of Transport and Technology opens to the public . . . that will be in... "
"...nine and half minutes, Dad."
Mr Frate checked his watch. "Affirmative." He scratched his balding head and pretended to look into the far distance. "Now wasn't there some mention of a certain young person undertaking a certain very responsible duty? Listen...is that Andrew crying 'Where is my ticket seller? Hurry up, ticket seller!'" Father and son looked at each other and snickered like horses. Evan shook his head and wheeled his bike away. Luckily he knew a couple of alternative entry points. The world was doomed with people like that in charge.
*
Henare found Zane running his hand under a cold tap.
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