Goldenscale

Tuesday 14 March

30

Sarah greeted them. ‘Sorry about the excursion,’ she managed. ‘Bit off-colour from the drive.’

‘I hope you took some notes from yesterday,’ Beth said. ‘I didn’t write anything down.’

‘I was hanging with the jocks,’ said Sarah. ‘But I have all the photocopies. I thought classrooms were meant to be paperless.’

Flack glimpsed Beth in four places around the school during the long, hot day, but she quickly slipped away each time. She hid during lunch time, avoiding her usual haunts and friends, creeping around like a wraith. Finally, just as she felt confident that he had given up on his quest for the day, he sneaked up on her as she tried to leave early during the last free study period. They stood alone on an uninhabited expanse of shadeless concrete.

‘You’re trying to avoid me,’ he accused her, but without any heat. ‘That golden … thing is driving me to distraction.’ She became very still. God, he knows about it as well. What was I thinking when I gave him the scale?

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m certain it’s real. It comes from something genuine — organic. Some sort of animal. I know that from just the way it smells. I’ve been through all the books, checked the Internet, rung the state museum — nothing. They think I’m batty. I feel like I’m batty.’ He looked at her expectantly. ‘I know you’ve got at least one more of these, Beth. Otherwise you’d want this back, no? You haven’t asked once.’

‘I trust you, Mr Flack,’ she said. She shifted from one foot to another. What kind of fool am I? Why not just tell him? ‘I just found it.’ She shrugged. ‘I know what you mean about the smell, though. It’s something.’

‘You’re lying,’ he said. ‘I thought I could trust you. That you wanted my assistance.’

‘I did … I do. But you haven’t given me anything useful. I need answers.’ Beth tried for anger and it felt half genuine. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong, Mr Flack. This is nothing to do with school,’ she said. ‘It’s not really your business.’

‘I know that,’ he said, ‘but the dreams …  maybe they have changed me somehow … I can’t put my finger on it.’

‘Look, if I find anything else like that,’ she said, seeing his anguish, ‘I’ll bring it to you.’

He looked at her. ‘I almost wish you’d never showed me. It’s all I can think of.’

\

Final bell sounded and students sprinted for home. Jo was staying behind for violin lessons.

‘See you soon,’ she said. ‘Mum enjoyed having you over. She could pretend everything’s alright.’

‘But everything is going to be alright.’

‘Yeah, right. Even if he skips jail,’ Jo said, ‘Things will have changed. For good. And if he gets sentenced …’

‘Are there any local politicians we can write to?’ Beth asked and Jo’s mouth quirked momentarily.

‘Australians aren’t exactly popular in Fiji, Beth. I’ll see you tomorrow, eh?’

Beth nodded and walked away.

\

‘You out of here?’ Sarah asked. ‘Me too. Hey, race?’

Beth bolted, catching Sarah by surprise. Sarah quickly drew level and then sprinted ahead. Beth jogged the last few metres. She stood to catch her breath, surveyed the dust and bike racks ahead.

‘Hey, my bike is gone.’

Searching up and down each row, she still couldn’t see it.

‘I locked it, Sar. I know I did. Shit! Bastards!’ She kicked at a signpost.

‘Look!!’ said Sarah, and pointed to the Moreton Bay fig that shaded the racks. Beth’s bike was hanging by a frayed length of rope from a low-hanging branch.

‘Wha—’

The bike was badly damaged. Most of the spokes had been ripped from their sockets and twisted into a spaghetti of wire. The seat was broken and scratches scored into the bike’s paintwork.

‘It’s wrecked,’ said Sarah wonderingly.

‘Hey, bitch!’ Lenny stood by the fence, hair a crazy ruin.

‘Bitch!’ he repeated. ‘Or didn’t ya hear me?’

‘Lenny,’ Sarah said, ‘what the hell?’

‘Shut up! None of ya business. Go home.’

Beth looked up at the bike, and back at Lenny.

‘Did you …’

He shrugged violently. ’Your best friend is a darkie. You went and visited more of ’em today. And you hang around with my sister.’

‘You’re a joke,’ said Beth. ‘You cheap, gutless piece of sh—’. She stopped herself. He was still Sar’s brother. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sarah stoop and pick something up. A moment later, a lump of dry clay struck Len in the chest. Hard. He stumbled, grabbing for the fence, but another pelted into his leg and he fell.

‘Wha—? Christ, that hurt! Stop it!’

A hard and accurate rain fell on Len, propelled by Sarah’s javelin-honed arm. Beth bent and grabbed a clod, heaving it with less effect than Sarah. Their target was running hard, then stopped abruptly, holding his ear. He screamed something that might have been a threat had distance not made it unintelligible. They stood and watched him disappear.

‘All guts when he’s on his own,’ said Sarah.

Mr Flack, Mrs Dowling, and Mr Singh arrived on the scene five minutes late. ‘Is that your bike?’ asked Singh. Flack was out of breath.

Beth nodded hesitantly, glancing at Sarah for guidance and not receiving any.

‘From what Mr Flack has passed on to me,’ observed Mrs Dowling, ‘I don’t think we need to ask who did this. We’ll give the two of you a lift home. We’ll write this up tomorrow.’

Mr Singh pulled the bike down, then placed the wreckage in the boot of Flack’s car. They all got in and drove away.

‘I hate him,’ Sarah ground out, almost under her breath. She couldn’t look at Beth.

To think I thought my life was boring, thought Beth. Now I’ve got a psycho neo-Nazi after me and a fire-breathing dream-beast under the cellar. Oh, and my best friend’s dad trafficks in narcotics. How am I supposed to get the ferns now — or the dog food?

Mr Flack helped her carry her bike onto the lawn. ‘I’m very sorry about all of this, Beth. Come and see me tomorrow. Tell Nick I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.’ Beth nodded and glanced at the bike.

Nick met her at the front door, hugged her hard. ‘Noelene Crabbit was on the phone. About her son and your bike. Where is it?’

She gestured.

He released her, whistled. ‘You alright?’

‘Yep.’ Beth suddenly felt close to tears — the sympathy of others always had that effect on her.

‘Noelene apologised. Said she’d foot the bill. I heard Jacob Crabbit in the background telling her not to give us a cent. Said you made Sarah cry.’

‘Jacob and Len are completely insane,’ Beth said, then described the incident. All the while she was thinking of Len’s face and the set of his features.

‘I’m driving you to school tomorrow,’ Nick said.

‘Dad …’

‘This is going to be a police matter, Beth.’

‘But Sarah … I can’t tell them everything. Sarah’s my friend.’

‘I know you want to protect her,’ Nick said firmly, ‘but what about Jo? Think about her safety. This guy’s capable of violence.’ He gave her another hug and straightened up. ‘Tone this down a bit for Abbie, will you? She’s, uh, fragile at the moment.’

Who isn’t? Beth thought, but she nodded.

Nick phoned for pizza, saying he wasn’t in the mood to master the kitchen. This excuse had always served him well. Soon enough the delivery boy arrived and Beth discovered she was very hungry, as well as shaky.

‘Some girl on the phone!’ shouted Sam, ‘she sounds a bit simple.’

Beth gulped another mouthful of pizza and aimed a rough karate kick at her brother. He blocked the blow and delivered a playful punch to her side.

‘Ooof. Piss off, Sam.’ Into the phone: ‘Jo? You heard the little maniac? Of course he knew it was you. How’s your mum?’ She fell onto the couch.

Jo’s voice was low and guarded. ‘She’s fine. Tougher than I thought. Can’t say much — she might hear me. Hey, I heard about Len. Mr Singh told Mum about it. Crazy shite.’

‘There was more to it than Singh knew. You should have seen Len’s face. Spacko.’

‘He’s a car without brakes,’ Jo mused, ‘going down a very steep hill.’

‘And full of explosives.’

31

Abbie arrived home very late, looking worn. Nick kneaded her shoulders as she sipped a cup of tea. Beth lay on a beanbag in the corner of the lounge, staring at the roof. She listened to her mother complain about her current job and worry about future moves.

Beth sat up, hoping to steal away quietly, but her mother looked over.

‘Good day, Beth?’

‘Like sand through the hourglass,’ she said. She began to speak, stopped, started again. ‘Mum, can I borrow thirty dollars?’

‘What for? No, don’t answer that. We said we’d trust you. Take it out of my purse — you know where it is. Pay me back later.’

‘Thanks a lot.’ Beth turned to go, and knew they were exchanging knowing glances. The boy thing again, probably.

Sam grabbed her shirt as she started along the corridor to her room.

‘Leggo, you little creep.’

‘Charming. Guess what?’

She shrugged.

‘Uncle Henry’s coming around next week! He’s back from Siberia or wherever. He called before Mum got home.’

Henry Ormonde spent his life on the road, as far from responsibility and routine as he could manage. Hence he was a natural hero for those imprisoned at school. Beth often found it hard to believe her solid, career-minded father and Henry were brothers.

Despite herself, Beth smiled. That was genuinely good news. ‘Why didn’t they say something about it?’

‘Um, hello, Beth. Reality check. Mum’s not feeling that great. And Dad’s a bit distracted by your Lenny problem.’

‘I’m doing stuff with Henry this time,’ she said, continuing her room-ward journey. ‘You’re not taking over.’

Sam waited until she was at her door before clearing his throat. She turned to look at him, immediately wary at his mock-concerned expression.

‘Would you know where Freddy’s bag of biscuits has gone?’ he asked.

She shook her head, poker face. He held out his hands to cut off any answer. ’One at a time — no, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me — I already know! You keep them in a bowl, and eat ’em like crackers.’

‘You’re talking shite.’

‘Didn’t you read the pack?’ he asked, ‘Not for human consumption. Whoops. At least you’ll have glossy fur and healthy bones. Arf!’ Sam’s laughter quickly faded when a dimly heard parent ordered him to bed.

32

Beth waited two long hours, eager to go down into the cellar again. While she waited, she sat at her desk and wrote on a few scraps of paper. Things I want to ask the dragon. When she was down in the cellar, her mind seemed somehow less active, less questioning. If she made up a few prompts for herself up here perhaps she could hold onto her wits a little longer down there.

There is another possibility, she thought, twisting her mouth into a crooked smile. That the tremors have released some kind of gas into the cellar. That I’m imagining the entire thing. She snorted aloud.

As she wrote, her parents were talking, their voices low and serious. Beth felt sure she was the subject of their conversation. Other noises also made it to her ears: judging from the sounds Beth heard, Sam had escaped the confines of his room, pattering back and forth, doing something obscure, probably spying on her to boot. Finally a door opened, Nick’s voice boomed out and instructed his son to stop mucking around and go to sleep, and the house became still.

A bag of dog food cradled in her arms, Beth went past the open padlock, shut the door quietly behind her and stepped into the lair. ‘I’m here.’ She turned on the light. Her feet crunched on the debris-strewn floor. ‘Come on, I’m back.’

Somewhere up above a possum shrieked and hissed. Beth waited. And waited.

‘Why am I helping you? Why am I so easily led?’

Nothing.

‘I’ve got a pack of Meaty Bites,’ she offered. ‘Nice and fresh.’

A huffing, aggrieved gust burst from the hole. Beth sat on the milk crate, suddenly very relieved. ‘Sorry I didn’t come down here last night. I couldn’t.’

‘I can be patient,’ said the dragon, sounding both distant and disturbingly near. ‘I’ve been down here in the cold and dirt a long time. Dreaming, slowly waking.’

Beth puffed vapour. ‘What do you do all day?’

‘I remember, a little at a time. It is always like this when I wake. I have many memories to savour.’

‘Do you know how old you are, then?’

‘I can’t explain things the way you would, Beth. What is a year? It means little to me: simply an odd idea. I see larger patterns. Longer patterns.’

Beth reached into her pocket. Her list of questions was crumpled and faint, and she hesitated before reading out the first. What had seemed insightful now felt simple-minded, and that which had appeared clever now struck her as naive.

‘Um … Where do you come from?’

‘I think I knew once, but no longer. Such ideas are difficult for my kind. Maybe here, maybe there. No place is home, everywhere is.’ Unexpectedly, he chuckled, and the sound was of stone and fire and darkness. Beth’s hands clenched tightly. ‘I was always capable of thought, but humans taught me to speak,’ he said. ‘Sorrow came after that.’

Beth nudged the Meaty Bites forward. ‘How do you eat this?’

‘Inhalation.’

‘Like a vacuum cleaner?’

‘I’ve swallowed many other objects with this food. Pieces of metal and wood. Machines. If you prefer I’ll wait until you’re gone, before I eat this.’

‘Could you eat me?’ Beth asked, then fell silent. How stupid could a person get? Capability was not an issue, just intent. She felt an instant of primal fear.

‘My kind long ago learned that humans are better left alive and undigested. If one is struck down, then the others come forth, like wasps.’

For a few minutes he stopped talking. ‘Better leave, Beth,’ he said abruptly, ‘My heart quickens. Muscles stretch — my body stirs. Not something I have full control over.’ A low rumble grew, and the much-abused house shook quietly. She was seeing a quake from the underground up. The dragon’s scent was full of fire.

‘Bring me more food, tomorrow — if you can. As much as possible. More. Always more.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t forget.’

The dragon’s mini-tremor had died down by the time she made it upstairs, and might not have caused any upset if the smoke alarm hadn’t begun to sound once more. She bolted to her room, running on tip-toe.

Turning out the light, she lay in bed, straining to hear her father padding around the house. After a while she rose, cracked the door a millimetre or so and listened. ‘False alarm,’ she heard Nick say to Abbie a few minutes later, ‘though there was an odd smell. Reminded me of something. Rotten eggs, perhaps.’

‘The house was shaking,’ said Abbie, refusing to be diverted from her prime concern. ‘You said the subsidence was all finished …’