Part 37 (1/2)

I sit up straighter, the pain in my feet forgotten. It can't be Bob. It's far too early, and in any case he'd be thumping and bellowing, not tapping sedately.

'Who is it?' I call out.

No answer. But whoever's outside pushes something white halfway under the door.

I turn up the lamp with an unsteady hand and go to retrieve the paper. As soon as I draw it inside, I hear heavy footsteps walk steadily down the hall to the stairs.

The note is written in strong, cursive strokes. With a fountain pen. Half an hour. Upstairs, Federal Hotel.

No signature. It doesn't matter. My pulse races. I know who it is.

Roberts. In Cooktown! And Percy must have known. Must have spoken to him before he left for Melbourne, or wherever else he's gone. Told him with gleeful malice about my changed circ.u.mstances.

I sit down on the bed. My feet protest as I shove them back into my boots. Why didn't Roberts pa.s.s on his decision through Percy? Why would he wait for Percy to leave and then speak to me personally? He doesn't usually do his own dirty work. I take the kerosene lamp over to the cold fireplace, crumple the note. I hold one corner to the flame, then throw the paper into the ash pit, watching it burn.

Too late to run, and nowhere to hide if I do. I wipe my hair down on both sides, compulsively. And then do the same to the front of my dress. For the first time in weeks, since I took Porter's whale-oil cure, my palms itch painfully. I open the door.

If I were in any doubt about the nature of the summons, the tall man waiting for me at the end of the alleyway alongside the Federal Hotel dispels it. I recognise him from that earlier meeting ... a year ago now. Six foot tall, with dull ginger hair, coa.r.s.e features and eyes full of implacable purpose. He turns and walks quietly down the dark, damp pa.s.sage. I follow, a lamb to the slaughter, counting steps to calm myself. Too soon, the alley opens up into the shabby courtyard near the back entrance. Three empty wooden rum barrels line up against the wall. A rusty birdcage hangs askew from a gum tree's branch, picking up the moonlight. I hear a possum's leafy scamper somewhere to my left, an off-key tune sung from the bar inside.

The stairs smell of stale beer and the ground-in dirt of gold-diggers' boots. By the time we reach the open door on the landing, my palms are wet.

'Come in.'

Roberts has taken the same cracked leather chair that he had before. As before, the door is left open. I take both as good omens, and caution myself to hold my tongue. Not sink my own s.h.i.+p before I hear the cannon boom. The ginger-haired guard dog stands watch in the hallway. The captain's face is impa.s.sive. Nothing to be learned there. I sit, reciting the words in my head so that I'll get the tone exactly right.

'Percy's been to see you?'

'Yes.'

'I a.s.sume, then, you know my situation.' I clasp my damp hands together on my lap so that he won't see them shake.

He leans back in his chair, puts one ankle over its opposite knee. If anything, his beard is even longer than when I last saw him. Jet black, reaching down to his lap. He strokes it lightly, just below his mouth. Stares at me, unblinking.

'Yes. I know your situation.'

I'd forgotten just how weighty his absence of small talk can be.

'I bet he told you I'm incapable of doing the next signalling. That Ah Leung is ready to step into the breach.'

'No bet. We're both poker players, remember?' The left side of his mouth twitches.

The saliva in the back of my throat is thick as I swallow. 'I'm not incapable, Captain. It's no easy climb up Cook's Look, but I can do it.'

He stares at me for a few more seconds. Then glances over to the disused fireplace. There's a chip in the corner of the surround. He fixes his gaze on it.

'The drop is now scheduled for September.'

'Next September! But I'll have my baby by then. I'll be more than able -'

He stares at me evenly, hammering my sudden relief back into silence.

'To fight another day?' He finishes the sentence for me, his voice a monotone.

'Something like that.'

My words sound faint to my own ears. Something's wrong. The conversation is so full of holes there's nowhere to step without falling through. What did he say to Percy? What did Percy say to him? Why hasn't he said an outright 'no' to my request to continue?

'Ah Leung -' I start.

'Will be controlled.'

The words he doesn't add - for now - hang heavy in the air between us.

I've always thought of Roberts as being emotionless. But I realise it's not quite true. In the flicker of the lamp, his dark eyes are full of knives under a deceptively smooth surface. Like the reef just off the Lizard. And trying to find the safe pa.s.sage through what he doesn't say is a challenge equal to Cook finding his dark blue line through all of that peril. A challenge I realise I'm not up to at the moment. I search around for something on the surface to help me set my course.

'Why so long until the next drop?'

He makes a gesture I remember: steepling his long fingers, as though completing some circuit necessary to contemplation. I imagine his thoughts pa.s.sing back and forth through his fingertips.

'It's complicated. An invasion of Egypt is in the offing. It would be to our advantage if a couple of French spies were compromised in the process. One must always be prepared to act.' He looks me in the eye. 'But one must not act until one's opponent is completely committed, and has reached the point of maximum vulnerability. I now judge we will reach that point in September. The thirtieth, to be exact. Subject to developments, of course. Though I'm confident of my calculations.'

'I see.'

No use trying to work out his political cloak-and-dagger code. What I do know is that September is a long way from now ... a lifetime.

'The operation requires only one more night of signalling. One more crucial night. Are you sure you're up to the task?'

'Yes, I'm sure,' I say, then wonder if it's true. 'But Captain ... what then?'

The foot he has rested on his knee wags side to side like a dog's slow tail.

'Do you intend to stay with your husband on Lizard Island when this is all over?'

'No.'

'Then you would take the child with you, presumably. How will you secure pa.s.sage without raising suspicion?'