Mystery At Riddle Gully (13 page)

HB was in the lounge in front of the TV unit, jabbing one remote control after another towards it, when Angela, carrying two glasses of wine and Will's sketchpad, came in to join him.

‘Where's the lad when we need him?' muttered HB. ‘I'm darned if I can find that episode of
The Force
he said he'd record for me last night.'

‘Just as long as everything's working for the
Golden Summers
finale tomorrow,' said Angela, handing HB his drink and curling on the couch beside him. ‘It's the wedding you've been waiting for, eh?'

She patted HB's knee. ‘Leave that for a second,' she said, opening the pad and pointing at a sketch. ‘I found this in Will's room just now. As much as I don't care for
the subject matter, it's a remarkable likeness, don't you think?'

HB put down his glass and took the pad in both hands. ‘Golly! It's Clive all right. It's remarkable!'

‘He's got so much talent, that kid,' said Angela, ‘but he keeps it all to himself.' She took a sip of wine. ‘Come to think of it, though, I did find a flier for that art academy in Maloola in the bin. I presume Will picked it up from somewhere. The place sounds wonderful but you need to submit a portfolio to get in. That would have scared him right off.' She sighed. ‘Just as well in a way. It costs the earth. There's no way I could afford that kind of money.'

HB sat staring at the sketch.

Angela knuckled him in the chest. ‘I feel like I'm talking to myself! Are you listening at all?'

HB's sigh was long and heavy. ‘You know, I wish you hadn't shown me this in a way,' he said.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Well...' HB shifted in his seat. ‘I'm not entirely sure that he has kept his talent to himself ... so to speak.'

‘So to speak?' Angela leaned back to look at him. ‘What are you getting at?'

HB passed the sketchpad back to Angela. He leaned forward and, forearms on his knees, began cracking the knuckles of each finger in turn.

‘HB?'

‘You know how some bloke came into the station
with a description of an odd-looking person trying to clean off that graffiti?'

‘Uh-huh,' said Angela, slowly taking a sip.

‘Well, love, I didn't mention this to you but,' HB screwed up his large nose in dilemma, ‘from what the bloke who took the report told me, it sounds like it could have been Will.'

Angela spluttered her wine. ‘What? But it was a young woman, wasn't it?'

‘It was someone in a dress and a blonde wig. That's all,' said HB in a flat voice.

Angela put aside her glass and crossed her arms. ‘But why would you even put Will there in the first place? He's a good kid!'

‘Angela, love,' he said gently, ‘there are a lot of things about Will's behaviour this weekend that don't add up. I didn't say anything at first because I didn't want to spoil your birthday. I figured I'd already done enough in that regard.' HB gave his middle fingers an especially hard crack.

‘You need a lot more than behaviour that doesn't add up before you hang a criminal offence on a kid.' She had bumped down to the other end of the couch and was pressed against its arm, glaring at HB.

‘Well, take the way he suddenly shot off tonight. Going on a night trek with a friend? I didn't want to interfere, love, but he hasn't got any friends here, has he? And telling us that if Clive rang, to say he'd gone to
Antarctica. What the dickens was that about?'

Angela tossed her head impatiently. ‘So he's been a little edgy. That doesn't mean he's a criminal.'

Staring at the carpet, HB said, ‘My bottle of turps is missing. I went to find it in the shed today and it was gone.'

Angela said nothing.

‘And then the description of this person came in. Love, the blonde wig sounds like the one you were wearing when you fertilised Clive's motorbike. How could I forget it? It was the first time I ever laid eyes on you.'

After a long silence, Angela spoke, her voice shaking slightly. ‘Curly blonde wigs are a dime a dozen.'

‘Maybe.'

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked its way through the minute.

Suddenly Angela got up and marched out. HB stared at the blank TV screen, listening to her thumping from room to room, opening and closing cupboards and drawers. For his stepson's sake he hoped she'd find the silly wig, that he was wrong. But, having crossed the line he had tonight, would Angela forgive him if he was?

Sometime later, Angela returned, blinking back tears. HB held out his arms. She sank into his lap and HB wished there was twice as much of him to hug her with.

They'd been like that a while when the phone rang. HB levered himself up to answer it. He returned to the
lounge room, holding the phone out to Angela.

‘It's Clive,' he said. ‘I told him Will wasn't home but he wanted to have a word with you. I didn't mention Antarctica.'

Viktor and Sherri were to go by Diamond Jack's Trail back to the old railway bridge and the clearing, leaving the forest further along the gorge to Pollo and Will. Pollo knew that the kangaroo trail behind the hut that she and Will had used earlier in the day cut through the bush in the right direction. They'd take that.

‘We shall meet back here on the hour,' said Viktor, ‘unless we hear from one another first, yes? Pollo and Will, you have my mobile telephone?'

Will patted his pocket. ‘Yep.'

‘Excellent! Then let us depart. Happy hunting, my friends!' Viktor and Sherri strode off down the track, leaving Pollo and Will alone on the edge of the softly creaking forest. Pollo switched on her torch and led Will
behind the cabin, where the light spilling from within barely reached the ground. No more than five metres off, the tangle of trees and bushes merged into dense blackness.

Pollo pointed. ‘The roo trail's back that way somewhere,' she said. ‘We follow it a little way, then there's a sidetrack to the gorge.'

‘You sure you're okay to do this?' said Will.

Pollo nodded.

‘We'd better ... you know ... get going then,' he said.

Pollo swallowed. ‘Will? Would you mind if we ... I mean ... I promise I won't write anything or think anything of it...' The hand not holding the torch hung loose at her side. Will took it and Pollo breathed more easily. It was possibly the hand that had graffitied the school but it was the hand of a friend nonetheless. ‘Thanks,' she mumbled.

‘No worries,' said Will. ‘Just keep thinking of what Clive says—“Everything's the same at night as in—”'

‘Already on it!' said Pollo.

They plunged into the forest and found the thin trail, just wide enough for a kangaroo to push through.

‘You sure you don't want me to go first?' Will offered.

‘Thanks,' said Pollo in a small voice, ‘but if you miss the turn-off to the gorge we could end up spending the whole night out here.'

The bushes, many laced with tiny thorns, were head high. Every few paces, spider webs dragged across their faces. Pollo was soon forced to drop Will's hand in order to push her way through. They pressed on, Pollo casting the torch beam in a figure-eight motion, never able to see everything at once.

Suddenly she stopped. ‘Did you hear that?' She swung round to Will, who was chasing a spider off his neck.

Will looked up. ‘No? What?'

They stood motionless. From somewhere in the distance a low mournful sound penetrated the thick undergrowth.

‘That!' said Pollo.

‘Definitely bushrangers...' whispered Will, ‘...dying in terrible agony!'

‘Be serious!'

Again, low and insistent.

‘It's like an animal,' said Pollo. ‘A crow ... or a cow or...'

‘Shorn Connery!' they both yelled. They took off in the direction of the noise, scrambling over branches and down potholes in the crumbly forest floor, their arms held high against the bushes snatching at their clothes and skin.

They called Shorn Connery's name as they ran. After a minute or so he was answering them back. Every few steps he was louder and louder. Eventually, his bleating was so clear and raucous there seemed nowhere further
to run. They came to a halt on a patch of rocky ground, hands on thighs, gasping for air.

Baaa-aaa-aaa-aaah!
It seemed to be all around them.

‘He's got to be right here!' puffed Pollo. ‘I can't understand it.' She swung her torch from side to side.

Baaa-aaa-aaa-aaah!

‘It sounds weird,' said Will. ‘Kind of hollow.' He began walking away from Pollo into the bush. ‘Like it's coming from under ... What the...?
Whoa-oa-oa-oa-oaoa-oa-oa-oa- oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa-oa- oa-oa-oahhh!'

Will's vanishing voice and the slithering and tumbling of rocks were closely followed by the swirling willy-willy of a swarm of tiny animals. They headed straight for Pollo, who dropped to her knees and covered her face as they whirled around her. The creatures came in waves, from nowhere, from everywhere, flapping in a frenzy, flipping her face with their wing tips, jagging strands of her hair. After a moment, the flurry subsided and the bats, if that's what they were, flapped off into the night.

Baaa-aaa-aaah?

‘Is that you, Shorn Connery?' Pollo yelled, scrabbling for her torch in the dirt.

Baaa-aaa-aaah!

A voice came from far away. Will's voice. ‘I sure hope it's him! It's big and greasy and won't stop butting my face!'

Pollo jumped up. She would have hugged Will with
happiness if he hadn't appeared to be locked in the earth about ten metres below.

‘Will! Are you all right?'

‘Yeah! Fine! And guess what?'

‘What?' shouted Pollo.

‘We've found the bats' wintering cave!'

‘No way! Are you positive?'

‘It feels like a huge cavern. And there was all that flapping when I fell down here. And it sure smells bad!'

Pollo swallowed. ‘Will?'

‘Yeah?'

‘There's only one way to be sure. I'm going to drop the torch down to you!'

‘But you need it up there!'

‘I'll be fine!' she yelled. I'll just have to be, she thought.

‘Okay then. Look out though!' called Will. ‘The cave entrance falls away out of the blue. After that it's a long slide and then a drop to the cave floor. But up where you are, there's no warning!'

Pollo inched through the bush in the direction of Will's voice. Eventually, she spotted the hole, barely a metre across and almost completely obscured by the fronds of low bushes. She dropped to her hands and knees.

‘Stand back!' she yelled.

Baa-aa-aah!

‘You too, Shorn Connery!' She reached over the lip
of the hole. ‘Here it comes!' She released the torch and listened to it rattle its way down the tunnel, plunging her into blackness.

She edged away and knelt in the dirt, waiting for her eyes to adjust, taking deep breaths.

‘It's incredible!' Will's voice sailed up from below. ‘There's, like, squillions of bats in here hanging from the roof—Southern Bent-wings like the one at the hut. We've done it, Pollo! We're heroes!'

‘Call Viktor and Sherri!' yelled Pollo. ‘And tell them to bring ropes!'

There was a long silence beneath her. ‘Will?'

‘Umm ... yeah?'

‘The phone's not busted is it?'

‘...No.'

‘Well, what's happening?'

‘Err ... Pollo?'

‘What's wrong?'

‘I can't get a signal!' called Will. ‘There must be too much interference from the rock!'

Pollo closed her eyes. She tried to steady her breathing. Everything's the same at night as in the day, only it's like you've got your eyes shut. She repeated it over and over as, on hands and knees, she fumbled for the edge of the cave entrance. She leaned over. ‘Will? I'm going to go and get Viktor and Sherri.'

‘We could wait till daylight, I s'pose, but...' Will's sorry voice trailed off.

‘We both know there's no time for that—for the bats or for Shorn Connery. But thanks anyway!'

‘Well ... be really careful then, Pollo. I'm not kidding. There could be holes all over the place.'

Baa-aa-aah!

‘Just sit tight—both of you,' yelled Pollo.

‘We're not going anywhere!' called Will, from his prison deep below.