Taniwha's Tear (9 page)

The boys declined, took their half-empty mugs and drifted down towards the beach, away from the remains of activity. There was no moon, but the sky was full of stars, especially when they left behind the smell of wood-fires from the houses. There was scarcely a house between them and the beach, just a tangle of thinly spread pines threaded with paths down to the sea. A three-masted sailing ship was standing off the coast, still and motionless on the flat seas. The sea air was biting, even in midsummer, but the tang of salt and pine was cleansing after the bitter ale.

‘The nightlife ain’t up to much, I have to say,’ Damien commented eventually. ‘But that sailing ship is awesome.’

Mat remembered what Pania had said about ships out of the south, and wondered if it contained John Bryce’s men.

‘The nightlife ain’t up to much in our time either,’ Riki replied, finishing the last of his ale. He peered into the mug, and grimaced. ‘Yuck, look at all this muck at the bottom. Don’t they even filter it?’

‘Steinlager must be a way off yet, huh?’ remarked
Damien wryly. He glanced at Mat. ‘So, Mat, if this is the afterlife, it ain’t exactly the heaven the priests promise, is it?’

‘I guess not. Maybe it’s just an intermediate place, before people move on. Or maybe it’s a kind of recording with a life of its own, and nothing to do with souls and heaven at all. Or maybe heaven doesn’t exist, just this place. I don’t know. No one has told me much, since I found out about it. Wiri has been with Kelly in Wellington mostly, and I’ve not seen anyone else.’ He’d asked Pania, but she seemed none the wiser. She hadn’t even thought the question interesting or relevant.

Riki scratched his nose. ‘It’s a bummer that Kyle chick is around.’ Mat had told Riki all about Donna Kyle. ‘If she comes looking for you, we’ll stick with you, you know that, yeah?’

Mat grinned tightly at Riki. The last time Riki had tried to stick by Mat, he’d nearly got his jaw broken by Tama Douglas. So it was a brave offer and he knew it was genuine. ‘Thanks, mate.’

‘That goes for me too,’ said Damien. He stuck out a hand towards Mat.

‘Thanks, Devil.’ They shook hands solemnly.

Damien grinned. ‘No, thank you! I’m in a hidden magic world, in colonial clothes, drinking two-hundred-year-old ale. This is awesome!’ He spread his arms wide to encompass all of the shore and stars and heaven and earth. ‘Thank you!’ He thoughtfully tipped out the dregs of the ale. ‘Rubbish beer, though.’

They grinned at each other, relaxing as they stared out across the water. Eventually a stiff breeze began to rise and whip about them uncomfortably, so Mat took them back to modern Gisborne, the transition smooth and simple despite his tiredness. They changed into their modern clothes in an alleyway, then made their way through the streets, the noise and foot traffic of the modern city a stark contrast to its ghost in Aotearoa.

They parted at the riverbank, and Mat went back to the hotel to find his parents. He found Tama waiting for him on the balcony, which smelt smoky. It wasn’t a good sign; Colleen hated cigarette smoke, and Tama usually tried not to smoke around her.

‘About time you got back,’ Tama commented, but didn’t ask where he had been.

‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Lying down. She’s got a headache,’ he added doubtfully. ‘She says she’ll join us if she feels better.’ His voice had a defeated tone. He looked at Mat, as if wrestling with something. Finally he looked up at Mat, his mouth seemingly bulging with words.

Here we go…Finally, the Big Talk…
Mat thought.
Am I ready for this?

But Tama just sighed, and seemed to lose his resolution. For someone who faced down barristers and judges and criminals for a living, he seemed to wilt visibly. ‘Come on, let’s go for dinner. I need a drink.’

Mat felt a curious mix of disappointment and relief as his father turned away.

T
he telephone was answered on the third ring, and a warm female voice said, ‘Hello?’

‘Kelly?’

‘Hey! Matty-Mat-Mat. How’re you going?’

‘I’m good. Sorry for ringing so early.’ Mat stared across the room to the closed door of his father’s bedroom. He hoped Dad was sound asleep. He’d got up early, counting on not being overheard.

‘That’s no worries. My warrior and I have been awake for hours anyway.’ Kelly giggled. ‘Wiri wakes the moment the first bird sings. I get no peace! How’s Gisborne?’

‘Fine.’

‘Only “fine”? That’s a bit dismal! Your folks getting on?’

‘I guess. They’re talking a bit, but…’

‘No action, huh? Give it time, Matty.’

‘Yeah, I guess. Hey, Kels, is Wiri around? I need to ask him some thing.’

‘Hmmm. Has something bad happened?’

‘No. Not really. I just saw something, that’s all.’

Kelly growled under her breath. Mat knew that she felt exceedingly protective towards Wiri, which was ironic as Wiri was probably one of the most fearsome fighting men of New Zealand or Aotearoa history. ‘I’ll just get him. But don’t you go dragging him into anything, Mat. He’s not immortal any more, and I’m not sure he has adapted to that fact. Not judging by his driving, anyway.’

‘I promise, Kels.’

She sighed doubtfully. ‘Sure.’ Then her voice brightened. ‘Hey, good to hear your voice. Give my love to your folks, Matty-Mat.’

‘Back at ya.’

There was a pause, and a clunk as Kelly put down the phone, and he dimly heard her calling. A few seconds later the phone was picked up again.

‘Hey, bro.’

‘Wiri.’ Mat felt a surge of relief, as if just hearing that confident composed voice could banish all doubt. ‘Hi. It’s Mat. I’m in Gisborne.’

‘Yeah, Kels told me. How’re you going? What’s the problem?’

‘There’s no problem. Well, except…Donna Kyle is here.’

He heard Wiri suck in his breath. ‘Does she know you’re there?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Mat took his time, ignored the fact that they’d been foolish, and told Wiri all about their trip to Turanga, and what they had seen there. ‘She was
furious when she left. I thought she might try something, but the soldiers were all around. Captain Read seemed to have gathered them all to scare her away.’

Wiri was silent for a few seconds. ‘I’d heard indirectly that there was fighting going on in the Ureweras—all Puarata’s old cronies, fighting over his modern-world criminal network and Aotearoa war-camp, trying to be the one who inherits his power. They say there is a secret lair, which contains all his secrets.’

‘Captain Read said that someone called Venn was winning, but now Bryce has showed up too, so it’s all up for grabs.’

‘Sebastian Venn. I know the name but I’ve not met him—he’s comparatively new—Puarata had lost me by then. Bryce is bad news. There’ll be others sniffing about too. You shouldn’t go to Turanga again, Mat.’

Mat nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘Lucky you bumped into old Read. He was a ship captain, not a military one, but I gather he more or less runs old Turanga. He’s got a sound head for business, not always in a good way. Ended up owning a fair amount of land around Gisborne. Good man to have on your side. He can pull some strings if you need them. Mind you, he’ll charge over the asking for it. Anyway, be careful! And keep your eyes open in this world. I’d not realised things were getting dangerous up there, otherwise I’d have suggested to your father that you holiday somewhere else. And I presume I don’t need to tell you that dragging your friends into this was worse than stupid?’

Mat hung his head. ‘Uh-huh.’

Wiri chuckled. ‘I bet you’re pulling that hurt-puppy look at the moment. Don’t worry, mate, we all do dumb stuff. Just don’t do it again, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cool. Now, listen, I’m going to make some calls. That fellow Jones will be on the way to Napier, but I might be able to get him to go directly to Gisborne, and keep an eye on things, yeah? I’m told he’s a cranky old bugger, but he knows his stuff.’

Mat nodded, then remembered Wiri couldn’t see him. ‘Sure, that would be good.’ He took another breath. ‘There is another thing. I heard a storyteller talking about a taniwha at Lake Waikaremoana, called Haumapuhia. Do you know about it?’

Wiri paused for a long time before answering. ‘That’s a Tuhoe legend I think, about how the lake was formed. That’s about all I know about it. Puarata kept me for fighting, not storytelling. But Jones will know.’

Mat felt a twinge of disappointment. But maybe this Jones could solve the problem. ‘Thanks, Wiri.’

‘No worries, I’ll get on to it now. You keep your wits about you, mate.’

‘Sure.’

They wished each other good morning, and Mat hung up. He wondered briefly whether he should have mentioned Lena, but it didn’t seem relevant. He tried to picture this ‘Jones’, and hoped fervently that he would know how to solve the matter of the taniwha. He’d
dreamt of it, last night, a monstrous bulk trapped in stone, crying and howling silently to be free, as the stars whirled pitilessly above.

Gisborne was filling up. The camping site behind Midway Beach was bulging with campervans, tents and caravans, and the main street was full of strangers. The heat was almost intolerable, far in excess of thirty degrees, humid and still. People sweltered on the sun-bright streets, seeking shade and cold drinks. Children sucked on ice-blocks and spilled ice-cream in rank puddles on the streets, while flies swarmed everywhere. Even swimming lost its appeal beneath the harsh and pitiless sun. The skin of the tourists turned pink, then scarlet. Some even fainted outside shops. The radio stations talked about heat waves and compared previous years.

Mum joined them for breakfast in the ground-floor restaurant, where Dad seemed to be forcing his good cheer, but he kept cracking legal jokes, and Mat knew Mum hated them. It felt just like when his parents split up all over again, or maybe he could see it better now. At the time, he’d been blind to what was happening. Perhaps he was wiser now. But he was glad to get away, and hunt down his friends.

Mat found Riki and Damien mid-morning and they wandered across the river to the real-world Te Poho o Rawiri marae, which sat behind low-cost houses and had tennis courts out the front. A straggle-haired passer-by
walking a dog told them this was the Mongrel Mob side of town and to be careful. The dog sniffed around them while its owner told them in hushed voices about local street-gang dispositions. He called the Mob the ‘Reds’ and told them the ‘Blues’, the Black Power gang, had their patch on the other side of the river. Then he hurried away as if he were an informer who feared identification.

Gisborne Maori were sleeping late though, and there was no one at the marae. Mat toyed with jumping across again to the Turanga side, but had lost his nerve after his talk to Wiri, so instead they climbed Kaiti Hill and surveyed Poverty Bay. Away to the south, Young Nick’s Head, the cape that Cook’s men had first spotted all those years ago, shimmered in the heat haze like a rusty knife.

Eventually Lena responded to a text, having apparently slept until near midday, and they agreed to meet her and Cassandra at Midway Beach at one o’clock. They found the girls on a bench outside a dairy. Lena was hidden behind her Gucci sunnies, sucking on a Coke, while Cassandra was plugged into her laptop and wired to a headset, tapping intently.

Lena smiled softly at Mat as they approached. ‘Hi, there.’ Her voice sounded like a melody.

‘Hi. You had lunch?’

‘She hasn’t even had breakfast,’ Cassandra interrupted. ‘It’s unhealthy.’

‘What’re you doing online?’ Damien asked her.

‘Nothing you’d understand. What’re your cellphone numbers?’

‘Huh?’

‘I need your cellphone numbers,’ Cassandra said impatiently without looking up. Riki shrugged and hauled out his cellphone, reciting his number. The others followed.

Mat sat beside Lena. ‘You look good,’ he told her, thinking that might be a cool thing to say to a girl. It seemed to work on TV. In fact she looked pretty stunning, with long tanned legs, a tiny skirt (a ‘bum freezer’, he had heard his mother say of such things, in tones of disapproval), and a tight singlet top that showed off her figure to advantage.

‘Thank you,’ she replied, as if he were stating the obvious. She offered him a taste of her Coke. ‘I slept till eleven. That’s pretty normal for me on holiday. I hate having to get up early. School should be from midday till six, I reckon. I can’t wait till I can leave, but Dad says I have to do seventh form and varsity. It all seems kinda pointless when you can do the things we can do,’ she added softly.

Mat frowned a little at this, but couldn’t think what to say. The sunscreen and perfume scent of her, and the warm feel of her hip pressed to his on the bench, were too distracting.

‘We’re trying to work out how to get into Rhythm and Vines,’ Lena said. ‘Cass says the whole thing is sold out.’ Rhythm and Vines started the next day, at a vineyard in the hills inland from the city. It had initially been just a one-dayer, but more recently it had been attracting
overseas headliners, and the whole event had taken off, bringing in more than twenty thousand for the New Year festivities.

‘You should have booked ages ago,’ Cassandra put in. ‘I got my ticket in July.’

‘You should have got me one; you knew I was coming,’ retorted Lena, somewhat sulkily.

‘Your dad always leaves everything to the last minute,’ Cassandra responded blithely. ‘So we didn’t know for sure you were coming till three weeks ago. Anyway, the official site says it’s all booked out, so you’re out of luck.’

‘Why did you want our cellphone numbers?’ asked Damien of Cassandra. ‘And what’s your number?’

‘I’m not giving you my number!’ snorted Cassandra. ‘I’m not that easy.’

‘But I gave you mine!’

‘More fool you. Knowledge is power.’ Cassandra looked at Lena. ‘You could see if there are any cancellations at the ticketing office.’

Lena looked at Mat. ‘Let’s do that.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Come on, Mat.’

Mat shrugged at Riki and Damien, and went after her. ‘See you guys in a bit,’ he called over his shoulder, ignoring Riki’s wink.

At some point whilst they walked the two blocks to the tourist information centre, where the concert tickets were sold, Mat found that his hand had slipped into Lena’s. It felt good there. She had a firm grip, and heads turned as
she went past. He felt several centimetres taller, just to be walking beside her.

‘Oh no, we’ve not had any new cancellations,’ the harried woman behind the counter told them when they reached the head of the queue. The ticket office was crowded; in one corner, amidst the tourist brochures, a gangling black man with outrageous medallions and rasta-style dreadlocks was signing copies of CDs, and there were teens everywhere trying to get to talk to him. He had an ear-piece to his right lobe and was swaying to unheard music as he conversed with excitable boys and a gaggle of teenage girls too shy to speak to him. The posters dotted about spoke of a visit by ‘Internationally famed techno-king DJ Sassman’.

‘Surely you can let us have a special pass, just for the two of us,’ Lena told the woman at the counter, and Mat felt that queasy exertion of power again, and flinched. Half of him rebelled, but the other half made justifications and excuses. What was wrong with going to the concert? No one need miss out, the owners would make even more money, he would be with Lena, alone, at a concert, and they could dance…

The woman seemed to sway slightly, as if affected by the heat and press of people, and then her knuckles gripped the bench and she clenched herself. ‘I told you, we’re sold out,’ she said determinedly through gritted teeth.

Lena sucked her bottom lip in frustration. She looked at Mat with an angry pleading look. ‘You talk to her,’ she pouted.

‘Hey,’ drawled a voice behind them. A big dark hand fell on Mat’s shoulder. The accent was American—the celebrity, DJ Sassman. He had big yellowish eyeballs that looked Mat and Lena over curiously. His thick dreadlocks were tied back in a ponytail, and he smelt of smoke and marijuana. ‘What’s happening, people?’

‘We’re trying to get tickets to the festival,’ complained Lena. ‘But they’re sold out.’

The woman at the counter nodded emphatically. ‘Though this young lady doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer,’ she said with an angry undertone. She clearly sensed something wrong, even if she didn’t realise what Lena had been trying to do.

‘No problem,’ the tall American replied. He pulled two stubs from his pocket. ‘Lookee here, I got some backstage passes to give away to special friends.’ He looked at Lena and grinned. ‘I think we’re gonna be “special friends”, don’ you?’

Lena smiled at the man, making Mat’s belly tighten. ‘Hell yeah,’ she purred, holding out a hand. ‘Thanks, Mister…er, DJ…?’

‘You can call me Sassman, little lady. Make sure you come along, y’hear. We’ll be there all day and every day. We got free drinks, good weed, and an all-day party.’ He looked at Mat disinterestedly, then back at Lena. ‘Always good to meet my kind of people, y’know?’ He winked heavily at her.

Mat stared at him uncertainly. ‘Um, you got two more?’ he asked hesitantly, thinking of Riki and Damien. Sassman
looked at him, and then gave him two more stubs.

‘Sure, man. There you go. I’ll see y’all around town, yeah?’ The American looked over his shoulder, where a tall white man with arms more muscular than most people’s legs was glowering from the corner. A sea of faces was staring at Mat and Lena, wondering what they had done to warrant free tickets. Mat was wondering that himself. ‘Catch y’all later.’ Sassman clapped them both on the shoulder and turned back to the crowd of teens.

Lena plucked at Mat’s sleeve. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she murmured in his ear.

They walked hand in hand back to Midway Beach, finishing off Lena’s Coke. ‘I can’t believe that!’ crowed Lena. ‘You must be good luck,’ she added with a warm smile. ‘The others are just going to die.’

He had to admit, when they caught up with Riki and Damien, that there was a certain smug pride in brandishing four backstage passes. ‘You really are da man,’ Riki told him. But he felt uneasy amidst their celebrations.