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MOON IN VIRGO, CRESCENT
In which Ah Quee fills his firebox with charcoal, meaning to smelt the last of the dust excavated from A
When A
SUN IN VIRGO
In which Emery Staines, to whom Crosbie Wells has since narrated the full story of his betrayal at the hands of Francis Carver, each having won the other’s trust and loyalty, decides in a moment to falsify the quarterly report, removing all evidence of the bonanza from the goldfield records, and quite forgetting as he does so the determined worker Quee, who, according to protocol, and notwithstanding the circumstances of his indenture, is nevertheless deserving of a bonus.
Emery Staines, arriving at the camp station, was surprised to see that the Aurora’s box was flagged, meaning that a yield had been submitted. He requested the gold escort to unlock the box. Inside there was a neat lattice of smelted gold bars. Staines took one of the bars in his hand. ‘If I asked you to turn your back a moment,’ he said presently, ‘while I transferred the contents of this box elsewhere, what would be your price?’
The escort thought a moment, ru
‘I’ll give you fifty,’ said Staines.
A PARTIAL ECLIPSE OF THE SUN
In which Emery Staines journeys to the Arahura Valley, sack in hand, with the intention of burying the bonanza, for a period of safekeeping, upon a portion of land set aside for Maori use, having not considered the possibility that Francis Carver might soon return to Hokitika to investigate why the Aurora goldmine, such a promising investment, has become a veritable duffer.
In the flax at Staines’s shoulder a tui dipped its head and gave its rattling cry—sounding, to his ear, like a stick being dragged across pickets, while a reedy whistle played a tune. How wonderfully strange the sound! He stretched out his palm and touched the waxy blades of the flax, noting the vivid colours with pleasure: purple at the blade’s edges, melting to a whitish green in the very centre of the leaf.
The tui beat away, and it was quiet. Staines reached down and took up the smelted bars. He laid them carefully at the bottom of the hole that he had dug. After they were buried, he arranged above them several flat-topped stones in a sequence that he was sure to recognise, and then kicked away his footprints.
PAPA-TU-A-NUKU
In which, some half mile downriver from the site of the newly buried gold, Crosbie Wells and Tauwhare are sitting down to a hangi, a meal cooked in a fire pit that was covered in earth, later to be excavated, and the leaves around the meat unwrapped to yield a feast that is moist and richly flavoured with smoke and ta
‘What I’m saying is that there’s nothing in it. You with your greenstone, us with our gold. It might just as well be the other way about. The greenstone rushes, we might call them. A greenrush, we might say.’
Tauwhare thought about this, still chewing. After a moment he swallowed and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.
‘There’s no difference,’ Wells insisted, reaching for another piece of meat. ‘You might not like it—but you have to admit—there’s no difference. It’s just one mineral or another. One rock or another.’
‘No,’ Tauwhare said. He looked angry. ‘It is not the same.’
DETRIMENT
In which A
Francis Carver was riding inland on the Kaniere-road when he spotted a familiar figure on the roadside. He reined in, dismounted his horse, and approached her, perceiving that her walk was unsteady and her face, very flushed. She was smiling.
‘He got away,’ she mumbled. ‘I helped him.’
Carver came closer. He put his finger beneath her chin, and tilted her face. ‘Who?’
‘Crosbie.’
Carver stiffened at once. ‘Wells,’ he said. ‘Where is he?’
She hiccupped; suddenly she looked frightened.
‘Where?’ He pulled back and slapped her, hard, across the face. ‘Answer me. Is he here?’
‘No!’
‘In Otago? Canterbury? Where?’
In desperation, she turned to run. Carver caught her by the shoulder, jerked her back—but just then there came the clap of gunshot, nearby—
‘Whoa,’ Carver shouted, spi
And the horse shied up—
FALL
In which A
When A
‘She’s awake,’ said Clinch.
‘A
‘Mnh,’ she said.
‘Tell us what happened. Tell us who it was.’
‘Carver,’ she said thickly.
‘Yes?’ said Löwenthal, leaning in.
She must not betray Crosbie Wells. She had sworn not to betray him. She must not mention his name.
‘Carver …’ she said again, her mind focusing, unfocusing.
‘Yes?’
‘… Was the father,’ A
THE DESCENDANT
In which Emery Staines, learning of A