Taniwha's Tear (14 page)

Mat thought a moment, then said, ‘That’s not a problem. It’ll be New Year’s Eve; Mum and Dad won’t expect to see me until after midnight.’

‘Good. Then we will be back in time to celebrate a victory, as well as the New Year,’ said Jones with grim levity. ‘You must carry on as if you were going to Rhythm and Vines as you originally intended. Can you both do that?’

‘I’m sure I can, sir,’ Mat replied.

‘Me too,’ Lena put in.

‘Excellent.’ He shook Mat’s hand. ‘Now, Mat, I need to
have a quiet word with this young lady, about, er, feminine matters concerning her powers. Will you excuse us? Do you need me to aid your return to your world?’

Mat looked at Lena and smiled reassuringly. ‘I’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

He got up and left the church, and sheltered beneath the sprawling tree beside the gate. The soldiers looked at him curiously as they groomed their horses. Sassman came over to him.

‘How come there are no dead Hauhau?’ Mat asked the American, the fact having nagged at him for some reason.

Sassman grimaced. ‘You know why they’re called “Hauhau”?’

‘Um…no, not really.’

‘Well, it’s on account of the chant they make when in battle. The Pai Marire believed that if they were strong of faith and chanted a special prayer in battle, a prayer that sounded to European ears like “Hauhau Hauhau”, hence the name, then they’d be immune to bullets.’

‘I bet that didn’t help them much,’ Mat said lightly, and then a thought struck him. ‘But here in Aotearoa…’

Sassman clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Exactly. Here, it works.’

Mat bit his lip. ‘Then how did you get rid of them?’

Sassman grinned. ‘Their prayer does not cover pain. We can hurt and disable them temporarily, and that’s usually enough to drive them off. But it ain’t much fun, I’m tellin’ yer.’ He clapped Mat on the shoulder. ‘Boss
talkin’ to the girl? He say y’all would come with us to rescue the taniwha?’

Mat nodded. ‘Yeah. I wish she wasn’t coming, but I’m glad she is. Is that selfish?’

Sassman shrugged, and smiled. ‘Dunno. Too deep for me. But we’ve all got to grow up sometime.’

Mat stared out across the fields, where plumes of smoke from the raid were billowing into the clear blue sky. ‘I guess. See you tomorrow, then?’

‘Sure. Should be an experience, man. Helluva New Year!’

Mat moved to the real world with only a little discomfort, and waited beside the gate, where the stump of that same tree offered scant protection from the harsh afternoon sun. Eventually, after around twenty minutes, Jones brought Lena across, and vanished again with a brief nod. Lena looked excited and infected with the same nervous determination that Jones exuded. But she would say little about whatever it was the man had told her.

Lena dropped Mat back in town, after they had ascertained by phone that his parents had left the vineyard and gone to the beach. They parted with a kiss and a promise to see each other at 9 a.m. for the big expedition.

Mat went back to his room, and whether in reaction to the violence at Matawhero or Jones’ healing, he slept until his father knocked on his door some time after 6 p.m. He ate with his parents, but his languor wouldn’t lift, despite the food. He recalled how tired workings of magic made
him feel, and guessed that Jones’ healing was drawing on his own reserves of energy. All he really wanted to do was sleep.

He’d just got back to his room, when to his surprise someone knocked on the door. His parents had gone to a bar at the marina for a glass or two of wine. He was half-undressed, just clad in boxers, with bandages about his chest and stomach.

‘Hello?’ he called, his heart pounding as his imagination supplied all manner of visitors, from Lena in a tight dress, to Donna Kyle and Kereopa Te Rau with bloodied knives.

‘Hey, bro.’

‘Riki?’ He opened the door without thinking. Riki and Damien were lounging outside his room, looking bored. ‘How come you’re not at the festival?’

‘We got bored, and never heard back from you.’ Riki glanced at Damien. ‘An’ Cass got hooked up with this French kook, so Dame’s kinda bummed out.’

‘They weren’t like kissing or anything,’ Damien observed dispiritedly.

Mat felt guilt flood through him. He should have called them. ‘Um, my phone is recharging, and I forgot to check it. I felt sick at lunch, and came back. I’ve been asleep.’

‘So,’ Riki asked, looking him up and down. ‘Uh, mate, how come you’ve got half the dressings from an A&E ward taped to your guts?’

Damn
…‘Uh, you better come in.’

Mat had never been good at lying. So he ended up having to tell them every thing. It took some time before
he finished. ‘And so we’re going up to Waikaremoana tomorrow. But Jones says you guys can’t come.’

Riki cocked an eyebrow at Damien. ‘Like hell we’re not, dude.’

‘Jones said with Bryce and Kyle prowling around it’ll be dangerous, and that people who don’t have powers like Lena and I would be in too much danger. I’m only going myself because only I can do one part of it, and he’s taking Lena for her protection.’ His voice sounded high-pitched and defensive to his own ears.

Riki scowled. ‘I don’t like it, man.’

Damien just shook his head. ‘It doesn’t seem right. We’re your mates, Mat. We should be coming.’

Mat stared at the wall. ‘Guys, this isn’t a game of rugby or some thing. If we do it right, we’ll maybe get in and out without danger, but if it goes wrong, we’ll be on the run from Donna Kyle and a whole bunch of Hauhau and who knows what else. Jones can’t be responsible to your parents for that. I don’t really want to go myself, but I have to.’

As he said it, he realised it was half-true. His mouth felt dry, and his hands were shaking a little—nervousness at what could go wrong, but mostly having to tell his friends they were excluded from this part of his life. He felt slightly sick. In the end he just stood up. ‘Guys, please. This is hard enough without having a fight about it. We’ll talk on the first, yeah? The day after tomorrow, okay? Might even see you at the festival for midnight.’

Riki and Damien just stared at him sullenly. He could
have refused to speak, but he didn’t want to leave things like that.
It could be the last time I see them…No, don’t think like that!
He offered Riki a hand. ‘I’m sorry. But they won’t let you come. And I agree with that.’

Riki grimaced, and then slowly took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Sure, matey. You take care, yeah?’

‘I promise,’ he told him solemnly.

Damien shook his hand too without meeting his eyes. He could almost feel them concocting plans to follow him or some thing similarly idiotic, but what could they do?

I’ll be back tomorrow night, and every thing will be all right.

It will be, I know it will…

S
lipping away had been easy. Mat had taken very little, just his taiaha, because you never knew if you might need one in Aotearoa, and a tracksuit to throw on if it got cold. He met Lena beside the old clocktower, her eyes gleaming in the morning sun. Her newly short hair looked like it had been trimmed and tidied by a professional, and he made some admiring noises. It occurred to him that perhaps this was what their lives would be like in the future: the thrill of mysterious errands in the arcane world, he and she together, righting wrongs and helping others, like some kind of superhero couple.

It was a pretty fantasy, and her lips were moist on his. She stroked his cheek. ‘Isn’t this marvellous?’ she breathed. Her eyes were flickering hungrily about, and her whole body was quivering with suppressed tension. Mat felt weightless in her presence.

I wonder if I’m falling in love?

A car tooted, and he saw Sassman wave from the
passenger seat. It was a big black Mercedes saloon, sleek and menacing-looking, with Dwayne driving. They hurried over, and leapt into the backseat. ‘Hey, the crazy lovebirds!’ Sassman greeted them, reaching back and gripping both of their hands briefly. ‘Ready for action?’

‘Sure!’ Mat responded, the spirit of adventure inside him. Lena looked like she wanted to dance, bouncing about on the seat.

‘Jones is down in Wairoa, organising the troops,’ Sassman told them. ‘We’ll meet them in Morere, and rendezvous with a local trader for old-time weaponry and gear, before we push on to the lake. So settle back, relax an’ your favourite DJ will supply the tunes.’ He fed one of his own CDs into the stereo system, as Dwayne accelerated the vehicle out of the main shopping area, purring down Gladstone Road towards the south.

Mat gripped Lena’s hand as the engine surged and picked up momentum. It was 9.07 a.m. The quest to free the taniwha had begun.

The trip was easy, though the roads were busy with holiday traffic. Sassman had packed cans of soft drink and chocolate bars, and the car was the epitome of comfort. Mat recalled September, fleeing Napier in Kelly’s Volkswagen, and relished the improvement. He wondered what Wiri and Kelly were up to, and decided he should check in with them. He pulled out his cellphone.

‘Hey, no calls!’ Sassman told him, looking back with a serious face. ‘We’re on radio silence, brother. In fact, best
you turn off your phones, an’ I’ll look after them. Kyle could have ways of trackin’.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ll take care of them.’

Mat looked at Lena, slightly put out, but she acquiesced without hesitation, so he did too. Sassman nodded thanks, and thumbed them off then pocketed them. Mat felt Dwayne’s hard eyes on him through the rear-vision mirror, and felt a tiny twinge of unease. But then Lena stroked his arm, and at her touch, all else was forgotten.

‘Will it always be like this?’ she whispered, mirroring his earlier thoughts. Her naturally forceful face looked softer somehow, warmer.

Maybe this is love…

‘Always,’ he replied, feeling a swelling of sweet clinging emotions inside him. ‘Every time.’

They arrived at Morere Springs at 10.30 a.m., where another Mercedes, silver-grey, awaited them under the trees outside the car-park to the heated pools. There were thermal springs at Morere that had been in commercial use since 1892. Recently it had been upgraded into a modern facility with beautifully tiled stonework and luxury pools. There were tourist buses outside and a whole world of languages flying about from foreign and local faces. Sassman led them to the silver Mercedes, as Bryn Jones emerged from it, looking grim and strained. His black hair gleamed with some kind of oil or cream, but his curly beard was a little unruly, as if he’d been combing it with his fingers in agitation.

He thrust an abrupt hand at Mat. ‘Welcome, welcome.’ He turned to Sassman, and growled. ‘Burns is late. See to it.’

Sassman bobbed his head, looking annoyed at being addressed so peremptorily, and backed away. ‘Yeah, sure, boss.’

Jones seemed to remember himself then, turning back and forcing a smile at the teens. ‘Apologies, it has been a stressful night and morning pulling this operation together. I have resources in the region, of course, but getting access to ammunition that will function in Aotearoa is difficult, and our contact is late.’ He put a hand on Mat’s arm. ‘But there is no need to concern yourselves. Come, and I will make you known to my men.’

Jones reached out a hand and took Lena’s forearm in a firm grip, maintaining his hold on Mat’s arm. He glanced about to ensure they were not being closely observed, and then shut his eyes and muttered some thing under his breath. Mat felt a touch of energy, similar to that which he had often tapped into, and recognised it as a power the same as or similar to his own. It was an uncomfortable feeling, like being brushed by an oily bubble of air that belled and then burst about them. Lena gasped, and seized Mat’s other hand.

The car-park was gone, and so too the buses and cars, and in fact the whole road, which was now a thin muddy track winding through the dark and dank trees, coated in mosses and lichen, that gathered thickly about them. The light was halved, filtered by the leaves of the trees, and
the thicker heavier clouds. The scents of the forest floor filled their nostrils, and insects hummed. A small group of men were waiting, incongruous in their modern combat fatigues. They saluted Jones from where they crouched or reclined, cleaning weapons and smoking. Lena stared at them. They stared back.

‘Sir!’ the nearest man said, his voice clearly American, with a stately drawl that Mat guessed as Southern. He looked to be about forty, with receding pale brown hair beneath his grey cap and a honed face. ‘No sign of the trader, sir. But we’re being watched by…what do you call ’em? Tipua? That how you say it? Tee-poo-wah? Sounds Injun t’me. Anyways, at this stage we’ve not endeavoured to engage.’

‘Shoulda jus’ let us plug da varmint, Cap’n,’ one of the soldiers guffawed. The laugh never reached his cold dead eyes.

Bryn Jones frowned, then sighed. ‘They could be Kyle’s goblins or unaligned; this is goblin territory. Best not to engage, Captain Taylor. Carry on. Oh, and these are the two young people I told you of. Mat and Lena. Keeping them safe is a high priority.’

Captain Taylor saluted again. The other men were mostly eyeing up Lena in her tight jeans and T-shirt, nudging each other. Mat made sure to keep a grip on her hand.

Jones turned to them both, and thrust some coins into Mat’s hand, shillings and pence from the 1800s. ‘It looks like we will be here for a while. Why don’t you two go and book a swim each. I’m afraid it’s segregated,’ he added
with a wry smile. ‘And don’t duck your head underwater; yes, you can catch meningitis here just as easily as in your world. I have things to attend to.’ He abruptly walked away, ordering Taylor to follow.

Mat looked at Lena. He felt awkward, under the scrutiny of the dozen soldiers watching them, these mercenaries from another time and place. It would be good to get out from under their eyes, and a swim did sound pleasant.

In Aotearoa, the Morere Springs bath-house was far less impressive—a timber building, damp and musty, with more moss than paint on the timbers, stood where the modern complex would be in the future. They climbed to a low veranda and entered a small ill-fitting door, where a leering man called Tozer with a grizzled beard and thinning hair stared openly at Lena’s chest as he took their money. He handed her a bathing costume that looked like it would cover more skin than her current attire, and she accepted it with a derisive laugh.

‘Wimmin to the left, gents to the right,’ the man rasped. ‘No more’n half an hour, and keep your heads above the surface, on accoun’ of that menin…mean-thing.’ He winked at Mat. ‘An’ no funny stuff with the girl, y’hear? This is a respectful establement.’

The changing rooms were dark and poky, and some of the biggest cockroaches Mat had ever seen scrambled about the corners and walls. Outside, the pool was just a natural open pool amidst the trees, set about with rocks and ferns bejewelled with droplets of condensation. Steam
rose from the surface of the water, and it stung his cold skin as he walked slowly into the pool.

From the other side of a small rocky ridge dividing the pools, he heard a squeal, and called out anxiously. ‘Lena?’

‘The cockroaches here are disgusting!’ she called.

‘East Coast cockies,’ Mat chuckled. ‘Check your clothes when you get out!’

‘Yuck! Ow! This is hot!’

Mat slowly sank into the stinging heat of the thermal pool. The North Island of New Zealand, especially the Central Plateau and East Coast, was on a major fault line, and dotted with geothermal activity, especially around Taupo and Rotorua. Earthquakes were frequent, and there were tiny hot springs here and there, little havens of heat in the damp and cold bushlands.

Lena called in an anxious voice: ‘Mat, is this really the other world that Sassman and you talk about? It’s amazing, like being on a movie set. And the air is so clean, and everything smells so pure. It’s beautiful.’

Mat smiled. ‘It is, isn’t it? It’s like Mother Nature stored the best of everything, here.’

Lena fell silent, but he could hear her splashing about on the far side of the mound of earth. Eventually she called out again. ‘I bet that proprietor is spying on me, the pervy git.’

‘Oh no, surely not,’ Mat called. ‘This is a “respectful establement”.’

Lena giggled. ‘This old bathing costume is a relic. I feel like a grandmother.’ She put an alluring tone into her
voice. ‘Why don’t you slip on over and join me?’

Mat looked about him. The back of the bath-house building opened above, and he caught a flicker of movement at the half-closed window of the office. ‘We’re being watched,’ he called back in a low voice. ‘Well, I am, anyway.’ He sighed, longing to be able to press himself against her. ‘Maybe we can come here on the way back and hire a private pool in the modern pools?’

‘Now that’s a nice thought,’ Lena called back in a purring, sensuous voice that made his body tremble.

Mat closed his eyes, and tried to think of something other than her. ‘I wonder why they wanted our cellphones?’ he called softly. He felt he was missing something. But the hot water and Lena’s voice made it hard to think.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Lena called back.

‘But Sassman’s phone isn’t off. If ours are traceable, why isn’t his?’ Mat felt his face frown. ‘And Jones isn’t what I expected.’

He heard Lena sigh. ‘Shhh. Someone may be listening. One of those soldiers.’

‘Why are they Americans? What are they doing here? And where did they get their guns? Those must be army stuff. Are they mercenaries?’

‘Who cares? They’re on our side,’ Lena called back, her voice touched with exasperation. ‘Let me just enjoy this water.’

Mat sighed and tried to clear away his worries, but the more he tried, the more additional concerns surfaced. What were they heading into? Where was Donna Kyle?

Was John Bryce some where near? Why couldn’t he talk to Wiri? He tried to let the hot water soak his worries away, but in the end he got up, and trudged back to the changing rooms, where a thin cold shower rinsed the mineral waters off his skin, then he dressed and left the dank little room behind gratefully.

The office door was half-open, and Mat glimpsed the proprietor, his eye against the far wall, where the women changed. ‘Hey, you!’

The man turned and grinned at him. ‘Nice little girly you got there,’ he snickered.

Mat strode to the door, his temper flaring. The man backed away from the wall, where a small notch had been carved from a knot in the wood. Mat put a hand to the door frame, and let his anger surge through the walls. Several cockroaches on the walls fell to the floor and scuttled away as a surge of energy crackled along the timbers, and sealed the hole. ‘Keep your filthy eyes on your job,’ he snarled at the man.

The proprietor cringed. ‘Sorry, I meant nothing by it. I had no idea you were…an adept…’ He bowed his head, a pleading expression crawling over his cunning face. He grabbed a pile of coins and thrust it at Mat. ‘A refund…please.’

Mat slammed the door in his face and stalked away.

Outside, a wagon had pulled up, driven by a hunched man in a battered black top hat. Greasy curls ran down his shoulders, shot with grey. Though a white man, his face
and exposed forearms were fully tattooed. His clothing was stained and his eyes furtive, taking in every thing. His wagon was drawn by two horses that sweated and steamed in the cool humid air.

‘Are you Barnet Burns, the trader?’ Captain Taylor was calling, brandishing a modern combat rifle.

The trader eyed the gun with amusement. ‘Ye got the right powder for that flash toy, Captain, or ye jus’ like waving it round cos it makes ye feel manly?’ He spat on the ground. ‘Where’s the boss man?’ His eyes flicked to Mat. ‘An’ who’s the boy?’

‘He’s with us,’ Taylor replied, lowering his gun. He regarded the trader with unfriendly eyes. ‘You got the goods?’

Burns smiled broadly. ‘O’course I got the goods. Who you think yer dealin’ with?’ His accent was coarse English, antiquated and mockingly obsequious. He glanced past Mat, where Bryn Jones emerged from the trees. ‘Ah, here’s t’ big man now. Good day t’ ye, sir!’

Jones marched past Mat, and reached up and took the trader’s hand. ‘That’s Mister Jones to you, Barnet Burns. Did you get it all?’

‘Sure I did, Mister, er, Jones. Sure I did. An’ have ye got the gold?’ He grinned around yellowed teeth. He had a shifty manner Mat instinctively disliked, a feeling that increased when Burns glanced up at the bath-house, where Lena was coming down the stairs, and whistled appreciatively. ‘Coo-ee, guv’nor, that’s a nice bit of—’

‘The girl is under my protection, Mister Burns,’ snapped
Jones. He turned to Taylor. ‘Unload the wagon, Captain. Mister Burns, here’s your money, and a little extra for your silence.’

The trader’s eyes lit up greedily as he accepted a leather money pouch, weighing it in his hand appreciatively. He reached back, and pulled at the awning. ‘Here, wife, count this out, afore the captain unloads.’