Part 10 (1/2)

'What are you talking about, you old fool!' spat Roger. 'Three million! And I will will sell it, even if I have to have you declared senile and incompetent!' sell it, even if I have to have you declared senile and incompetent!'

'It still won't be yours to sell,' said Bert. He lifted a cane and gently tapped Roger's s.h.i.+n. 'Now get off my land.'

'I'll be back!' shouted Roger, the heat in his face now spread like a rash to his neck and ears. 'I'll be back with a court order to make me your guardian and stick you back in that Home for as long as it takes for you to finally b.l.o.o.d.y croak. I should have done it years ago!'

He seemed almost about to push Bert again, then he suddenly whipped around and made a beeline for Rowan, who scrambled behind the nearest tree.

'As for you, you'll get a hiding when we get home!' he roared, lunging around the trunk. But Rowan was already fleeing farther into the bush, pus.h.i.+ng blindly through the scrub, cras.h.i.+ng through spiderwebs, small tree branches, and spiky shrubs. When he felt he was far enough away, he turned back to look, the pain of dozens of tiny scratches building into the greater pain he felt deep inside.

'I'm not going back!' he screamed. 'I'm never going back.'

The only answer was the sudden well-modulated sound of the Mercedes engine, followed by the noise of its wheels on the gravel near the gate. Then there was silence, the silence of the bush. Wearily, Rowan found a clearer path back to the shack.

The taxi driver was helping Bert to an old chair he'd pulled out of the shack, and was unloading all the gear. When Rowan started to help him, he offered his hand to shake.

'Name's Jake,' he said. 'Your dad's a rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d, isn't he? You'll have to watch out for him.'

'I'm Rowan,' said Rowan. 'Yeah. It's lucky you were here, or he might have gone for Bert as well.'

'How long you planning to stay out here?' asked Jake as they took the last blanket out and he slammed the trunk shut.

'I don't know,' said Rowan, shrugging to hide his anxiety. 'I guess it depends on Bert.'

He looked over to where the old man seemed to have fallen asleep in his chair, facing the trees, his canes propped out widely, almost like oars.

'He looks a bit old to be camping out,' said Jake dubiously. 'Do you reckon your dad'll be able to have him declared senile or whatever?'

'He's one hundred and eight,' said Rowan proudly. 'And he's always been much tougher than anyone thinks. He's got a lot of friends in town, too, people who've known him all their lives. I reckon Dad'll find it hard work to get Bert out of the way.' 'Legally, maybe,' said Jake, looking over to the old man. 'He might try something else, though. Listen, how about I come back up later to see if you're okay?'

'I don't know . . .' said Rowan, eyeing the snake tattoo. Jake seemed like a nice bloke, and he certainly had prevented his dad from running amok. But he'd seen all Bert's money- 'I'd just like a chance to talk to Bert,' added Jake. 'I mean, it's not every day you get to talk to someone who was around last century. h.e.l.l, tomorrow he'll have lived in three different centuries! Maybe I could bring my wife as well?'

'Okay,' agreed Rowan after a further slight hesitation. He guessed it would be safer than being here alone with Bert. 'See you later then.'

'We'll come up after I get off work. About eight.'

'Sure,' agreed Rowan. He thought of his father and added, 'Come earlier, if you like.'

When Jake left, Rowan checked on Bert, who seemed to be okay. He was just sitting, starting at the bush, blinking occasionally and humming to himself. Rowan left him alone and went in to sweep the shack clean and get the spiders and ants out of the old hammocks.

He was sweeping away vigorously when he heard a car again. Keeping the broom, he went out, his heart already beating faster. As Rowan had feared, it was his father, in the old red utility truck. The vehicle screeched to a stop at the gate, and Roger jumped out to open it.

'What'll we do?' whispered Rowan, edging over to stand next to Bert.

'Whatever has to be done,' said the old man, sighing. 'You know, when I was a boy, Rowan, the bush went all the way to town. There were no cars, no aeroplanes, no radio, no television, no computers. At your age I hadn't even seen a telephone. When the twentieth century began, I didn't think things would change much. I was wrong, of course. We'll be in the twenty-first century tomorrow, and now everybody expects change. Change, change, change, without thinking what it'll cost in things that can't be replaced. I saw your face when that man said he'd build a s.p.a.ceport here. You wanted it, didn't you?'

'Not if it takes the Hill,' said Rowan anxiously, still looking down the track. 'They can build it somewhere else. But what'll we do about Dad? He'll kill me!'

'No, he won't,' said Bert. 'Help me up.'

As soon as he was upright, the old man started shuffling off into the bush. Rowan walked along next to him, trying to antic.i.p.ate a fall. Behind them, Roger Salway jumped back into the truck, and it accelerated up the path.

'Where are we going?' asked Rowan. 'He'll catch us for sure!'

'I want him to catch up with us,' said Bert. 'At the right place.'

He hesitated then, looking around at the rocks and the huge gums, as if he'd forgotten where he wanted to go. Then the glint came back into his eyes and he shuffled off to the right, Rowan following him, most of his attention focused behind them. His father was already out of the truck and running, cras.h.i.+ng through the bush without even looking for a path.

As far as Rowan could see, Bert was just making it easier for Roger to beat him up in secret. They were out of sight of the shack now, on the forward slope of the hill. Worse, there was nowhere to run to from here. The slope fell off rapidly into a series of rocky cliffs, and Rowan didn't want to even try to climb down with his father up above throwing rocks or something. Bert wouldn't be able to climb at all, anyway.

'This is it,' said Bert as Rowan was desperately trying to think of something to do. He could just lie on the ground, he supposed, and hope his father didn't kick him too much.

'What?' asked Rowan. He'd missed whatever Bert said.

'This is it,' said Bert, pointing to a creva.s.se in the rock ahead, so narrow it was hard to see in the fading light. 'We'll just zip across this log. I bet your dad doesn't remember the Narrow.'

Rowan looked at the creva.s.se they'd always called the Narrow. It looked dark and nasty, a thin mouth stretching all the way across the hill. It wasn't that deep. He'd climbed up and down it many times. When Rowan was a small child, his father had helped him up and down, standing in the cool, fern-lined shadows below. 'Course he'll remember!'

'No he won't,' said Bert. 'If he remembered, he wouldn't be trying to sell up.'

Hesitantly, the old man put his foot out on the ancient fallen log that bridged the Narrow.

'Bert . . .' Rowan started to say, but the words slipped away from him as Roger came puffing through the bush, his face red and twisted with rage. Fearfully, Rowan scuttled across the log.

Roger barreled on, sticks snapping under his feet, branches whipped back by his pa.s.sage. He was bellowing, waving his fists, fists that Rowan knew would happily connect with him. He might even be so crazy mad with anger that he would hit Bert.

'Don't!' Rowan shouted. 'Don't!'

He wasn't sure if his shout was a warning about the Narrow or a feeble attempt to turn away all that concentrated fury and those terrible fists.

It didn't matter, because Roger was too far gone in his rage to listen. One second he was right in front of them, his face as red as the setting sun, his mouth pouring out words that were so twisted up they sounded like an animal's howl.

Then he was gone, and there was sudden silence.

Bert shuffled to the edge of the creva.s.se and looked down. After a second Rowan looked too, shutting one eye because that might somehow make whatever he saw easier to cope with.

'He's alive, anyway,' said Bert, as a whimper came up out of the Narrow. 'You all right down there, Roger?'

Rowan held his breath while he waited for an answer. Finally it came. A small voice, the rage all drained away.

'I think . . . I think I've busted my wrist.'

'Forgot about the Narrow, didn't you?' said Bert conversationally. 'You used to climb up and down it enough as kid. Was it you or your dad who broke his arm down there?'

'Dad,' said Roger. He seemed a bit dazed, thought Rowan. He hadn't heard his father speaking so quietly for ages.

'And now you've done your wrist,' said Bert. 'Losing any blood? Anything else broken?'