The Five Winds

by Patricia Shaw

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

Can you ever break free from the past? Patricia Shaw's The Five Winds is a tumultuous story of revenge and betrayal set against the beautiful background of the Australian Gold Coast. The perfect read for fans of Tricia McGill and Tamara McKinley. As the luxurious ocean liner China Belle enters Australian waters, its passengers have little idea of the tragedy that awaits them, particularly not Mal Willoughby, who is returning to his native land to start a new life with his Chinese wife Jun Lien. The crew, led by First Officer Jake Tussup, mutinies off the coast of Australia, taking the passengers hostage. By the time the horrific ordeal is over and the crew have escaped to the goldfields of the Palmer River, Mal's beautiful wife is dead and the lives of all the survivors have been altered forever. In the months that follow, a close bond develops between the passengers as they try to put the traumatic experience behind them. For Mal the only way to do this is to track down his wife's killers - but will he ever be able to break free from the past? What readers are saying about The Five Winds : 'A great story with plenty of suspense ' 'An enthralling adventure ' 'Patricia Shaw never disappoints '

Release date: October 27, 2011

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 544

Sample

1873

The neat packet ship, out of Hong Kong, sailed smoothly into the long sea passage between the Great Barrier Reef and the Queensland coast, a mild breeze echoing the captain’s sigh of relief. Though these waters, with their myriad islands and smaller unchartered reefs, could be hazardous, they were a haven compared to the dangerous seas the China Belle had encountered. It had been the worst run of bad weather Captain Judd Loveridge had ever encountered on this route, and he thanked the Lord he’d had an auxiliary engine to fall back on.

After the battering his ship had taken in the South China Sea, the captain had held over in Singapore for a few extra days to carry out repairs and find a replacement for First Officer Barrett, who had suffered a broken leg in a vain attempt to contain listing cargo. He had managed to locate a new fellow, an Australian, Jake Tussup, who had been second officer on SS Meridian, which had run aground in the Straits. Tussup was not exactly the type he would have chosen, given the choice, but Loveridge knew he’d be hard put to find anyone who could fill Barrett’s shoes.

At least, though, the enforced delay in port had given his passengers some respite. Had Singapore been a more salubrious town he wouldn’t have been surprised if most of his passengers had struggled ashore and stayed there until they’d properly recovered from the debilitating effects of sustained seasickness. But as Lyle Horwood had said: ‘I’m sure we’re over the worst, Captain. We’re all agreed to press on.’

The captain smiled. Horwood’s wife had endured dreadful seasickness, but her elderly husband had ridden out the storms like an old salt. He and the young fellow, Willoughby, had presented for all meals and as they whiled away the time in the lurching saloon playing cards, they had struck up quite a friendship – though, from Loveridge’s viewpoint, they were worlds apart. Horwood was a distinguished gentleman, a director of the Oriental Shipping Line, while Willoughby was more of a rough diamond. It seemed to the captain that this tall, loose-limbed fellow with an angelic smile would be more at home on a horse than ambling about the decks of his ship.

China Belle was his favourite of the Oriental Line. She carried a substantial cargo of rice and tea, but few passengers. There were only six cabins, all first class, catering to an exclusive and wealthy clientele. Loveridge hoped he’d never have to go back to crowded passenger ships after the luxury of his beloved China Belle.

He sighed, squinting across at yet another green island surrounded by a white shoreline and a spread of paler waters indicating a shallow reef, and turned the wheel to keep well clear.

‘Do you know these waters?’ he asked Tussup.

‘Not too well, sir. They’re tricky with all these reefs scattered about like confetti.’

‘Yes, it’s hard enough trying to keep clear of the big reef without having to dodge these hazards. Sometimes I think it would be smarter to go round, stick to the open ocean altogether.’

Tussup looked up, surprised. ‘You couldn’t do that! It would take us right off course. This is the accepted shipping lane!’

‘I know. It’s just a whim. To be on the safe side we could do with a man up top. Tell the bosun to get someone up there to watch for these damn reefs – one of the Malays.’

His crew, apart from the two officers and bosun, consisted of Malayamen and Chinese, the latter working as cooks and stewards – in all twenty-two seamen, some of whom Loveridge was considering replacing in Brisbane. Admittedly, the ship had pitched about a great deal when confronted with mountainous seas during the storms, but that was no reason for the resentment and ill-temper that permeated attitudes now, as if he’d deliberately placed them in harm’s way. Truth be told, even if he’d had to lash them, and shout and bully the panic out of them, he’d brought them through safely, where other skippers might have failed. He’d spoken to the bosun about the moodiness that still hung like a pall over the ship …

‘What the hell’s the matter with them? Make them buck up! The sun’s shining so we’ll have a good run down to Brisbane now.’

‘I don’t know. They’re still rattled after those China seas, playing the doomed card I think, certain the gods are going to pile us up on a hidden reef. Superstitious mob, they are.’

‘Then tell Tom to keep after them. Cut their rations if need be.’

While the bosun had nodded agreement, Loveridge knew that telling Tom Ingleby, his second officer, to whip the crew into shape was a futile order. Tom was a good seaman but a weak fellow. Not much of a disciplinarian. It would be up to Matt Flesser, the bosun, to lower the boom on the miserable whining wretches who couldn’t see the bad joss was over.

Nevertheless, with important passengers on board, Loveridge couldn’t have a surly crew, so he decided to please everyone by announcing there’d be no night sailing. During the hours of darkness the ship would remain at anchor, safe from the sharp claws of the coral beasts that lay in wait for the unwary.

Loveridge felt better too. The nightmare of the Atlanta disaster would remain with him until his dying day. He’d been only seventeen, a deckhand, when she was wrecked, her captain ignoring advice not to take on Bass Strait at night … Judd could still hear the racket of smashing timbers as she struck the rocks; the screams and shouts and the violent rush of water, as if they were passing through a pitch-black tunnel, with people being tossed about like stones.

He’d fought his way from the depths to gulp air, grateful for that much, and then struck out, blindly, to keep his head above the relentless surge of waves, not knowing whether he was swimming to, or away from, a shore, but strangely, not caring. Had he been on dry land he’d have been running, racing away in sheer fright from a force that was threatening his young life. Distancing himself.

Judd Loveridge was one of only four survivors of the shipwreck that stole thirty-two lives. His father, Captain Arnold Loveridge, had gone down with his ship.

Not all the passengers were happy with the new arrangement. Horwood had come up to complain about time lost.

‘I think you are overreacting, Captain. I demand that this ship keeps moving tonight and every night, on this voyage. It’s unthinkable to wallow in such placid seas.’

The captain let Horwood talk himself out, gave no specific response and shrugged when he stormed away. The reefs and islands off this coastline had not yet been precisely chartered, and he considered himself lucky that they’d come down this far without incident. Ever since they’d entered these waters from the Torres Strait, he’d been expecting any minute to hear the fearful scrape and grind of disaster, but now that he’d made the decision he experienced a surge of relief, and allowed himself to appreciate the magnificent scenery. To him the little islands resembled jewels set in a sapphire sea and he reminded himself to place that description in his log.

It was to be the last entry in his log, of the southern voyage of the China Belle.

As they dressed for dinner, Lyle Horwood was in a bad mood, fussing with his tie and complaining that his shirt was too stiff.

‘Why don’t you check them when the washboy brings them back?’ he snapped at his wife. ‘Surely that’s not too much to ask. And what’s that rag you’ve got on? It’s bloody dowdy.’

Constance glanced at the wall mirror. She was fond of this gown, a soft floral georgette in muted autumn colours. It was superbly cut and ideal for these warm nights.

‘It’s not a rag, darling,’ she smiled, to mollify him. ‘It cost a peg or two, as you know. And it’s subdued enough to wear tonight. I don’t want to overdress in this small circle.’

‘Are you insinuating I lack taste? Let me tell you, I was dining in the right circles before you learned which knife to use. Now put on something better.’

Constance turned back to him. ‘What does it matter, Lyle? Goodness me, I don’t think we have any need to impress. And this dress is …’

Furiously, he reached out, grabbed the dress, and just as she was turning away, ripped it at the waistline. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ he snapped. ‘Get changed. I’m going up.’

Shaken, she looked down at the torn dress, and slowly stepped out of it, wondering what had brought on this tantrum, while Lyle took up his silver monogrammed brushes and ran them quickly over his thick white hair.

He was very proud of his ‘mane’ of hair, she reflected contemptuously, in an effort to fight back tears. Oh yes, and he was a fine man too … ‘Very successful. Wealthy. Highly thought of. A real gentleman. And a widower!’

These were some of the accolades her father, Percy Feltham, had heaped on the reputation of Horwood, when he came home with the grand news for his daughter that he’d met an old friend.

‘I must introduce you. You’ll love him …’

‘Why? What does he look like? Please don’t embarrass me, Father, by trotting me out to be viewed by some old dodderer. I’m not in any rush to get married.’

‘My darling, you’re twenty-five, almost on the shelf. Although I have to say I’m glad now you decided to call off your engagement to Reggie. He wouldn’t have been suitable at all, but believe me, Lyle Horwood is.’

‘What does he look like?’ Constance insisted suspiciously.

‘He’s a fine upstanding fellow! Tall, distinguished. You’ll look well beside him. And a beauty like you – he won’t be able to resist.’

Despite her mistrust of her father’s enthusiasm and her own lack of interest in men of his age, Constance was surprised to find herself attracted to Lyle Horwood, and impressed by his generosity. In their courting days, she reminded herself bitterly, as she slid a hand along the rack, seeking another dress, he was the sweetest, most charming man she’d ever met, and within a few months they were engaged.

After the wedding, in a whirl of excitement, they boarded an Oriental Line ship for Hong Kong, and her new home, the Horwood mansion, overlooking the harbour.

Constance sighed, turning back to the matter at hand and reluctantly chose a red satin gown with a nipped-in waist and a softly draped skirt. It was very low cut, so it should please her husband. Then, since it needed something, she took out a delicate diamond necklace.

It might as well be his necklace, she mused angrily, since he decided when and where she should wear it. He kept it in the bank along with the rest of her jewellery. To be able to wear any of the expensive pieces he’d given her, she had to give him advance notice, and that annoyed her so much that at times she couldn’t be bothered asking for them.

The necklace, a wedding present, had stunned her and sent Percy Feltham off into raptures, certain his daughter was headed for a blissful life with his hugely wealthy friend. And at first it was bliss, Constance recalled. Lyle delighted in showing her off, his lovely young bride. He even had her portrait painted and placed in the library of their home. Constance thought it flattered her, the eyes bluer, the hair blonder than the original, but gallantly, Lyle claimed, and his friends agreed, it did not do her justice.

They had a busy social life in Hong Kong, and her husband bought her clothes and accessories, sending clothiers to the house with baskets of fabrics so that she could make a choice. He loved to surprise her with jewellery: diamond and sapphire rings and earrings, pearls, a ruby and pearl brooch, a diamond pin – any occasion would do as long as there was an audience to applaud and share her joy. It took a while for Constance to wake up to that – to his need for company at these personal presentations – but she really didn’t mind. They fed his ego and kept him in a good mood, at least for a while. Of late his temper had been worse than usual, probably fuelled by his irritation with this plan to relocate, temporarily, to safer shores in Australia.

She was deliberately stalling now, in no rush to join the pre-dinner socialising, feeling stupid as she clipped on the diamond drop earrings that matched the necklace, knowing how out of place she would look in the small dining saloon.

She sat at the dressing table, fiddling with the loose strands of fair hair that slipped from the combs holding a graceful chignon in place, revealing her long, slim neck, a perfect setting for the necklace. A necklace that had belonged to Fannie!

Constance still shuddered with embarrassment when she recalled the conversation she’d overheard at the New Year’s Ball …

‘Of course that necklace she’s wearing was Fannie’s,’ the woman was saying. ‘His first wife. Every piece of jewellery he doles out to this wife belonged to Fannie. Her mother, a German countess, left it all to her. It’s not as if Lyle bought any of it.’

The other woman laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind hand-me-down jewellery like that. I mean, it doesn’t wear out.’

‘A bit dated, though, don’t you think? I’d have it all reset …’

The voices trailed away, and Constance was left standing in the doorway, hurt and confused. Shouldn’t he have told her? At least let her know the history of the jewellery? Maybe not, she thought at the time, making excuses for him, excuses that became weaker and faded away altogether when she accepted that she was married to the type of man oft referred to as a street angel. Because he was no angel at home.

Out of sight of his friends and associates, he was a bad-tempered man who treated his wife with wilful disregard. His attitude was made even worse by his inconsistencies. Sometimes he could be courteous, especially when he needed a companion, someone to talk to, but he could turn, without warning, into the household persecutor, sending the servants scurrying and his wife into a state of nerves.

She had spoken to her father only recently, when he’d come to Hong Kong to celebrate her thirtieth birthday, but Feltham was so impressed by the opulence of their home and gardens, and the lifestyle that his daughter had achieved, that he wouldn’t hear a word of complaint.

‘Does he beat you?’

‘No, but he beats the servants quite cruelly and I can’t—’

‘Oh, come on now, Connie. They probably deserve it. You don’t understand oriental servants, he does.’

‘But, Father, he has a very nasty temper.’

‘Good Lord, Connie, what next? Don’t aggravate the man then. I mean to say, my dear, any number of women would sell their souls to be in your place. The man spoils you – look at those pearls; they’re magnificent – and it pains me that you are so ungrateful.’

Before he left she tried again. ‘Could I come back to London with you, Father? Just for a short time? I get quite homesick for London.’

He brushed off her request. ‘I wish you would settle down, Connie. You seem to do nothing but complain. If your mother were alive she’d be thrilled to see how well you’ve done. You’ve got everything money can buy. Do try to be a little less critical of your husband, my dear. We all have our faults you know.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll pray for you.’

‘Got everything?’ she asked the mirror bitterly. ‘I’ve got nothing. I own nothing. I never have more than a few pounds, my pocket money, like a schoolgirl. He pays all the bills; my jewellery is locked away, only brought out when it pleases him …’

She rose and went to the cabin door, the rich gown rustling like the soft hush of the waves, as the ship swung at anchor, but then she hesitated.

‘I look like a damn Christmas tree,’ she muttered, ‘all wrong for tonight. And I refuse to be made a fool of. What’s wrong with me that I let him get away with things like this?’

In an instant, she removed the offending jewellery, placed it back in one of the velvet bags that held the various pieces, and then locked her jewel case, and slipped the key on its tiny silver chain into a pocket hidden in an underskirt …

She managed a nervous laugh as she left the cabin. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that the gown looked a bit odd unadorned.

He never thought of himself as Lyle Horwood now, only as Sir Lyle, as if the two words were one day destined to be wedded, when, he hoped, the good Queen would bless their union, knighting him for services to the Crown, and the colony of Hong Kong. So it had only added to his irritation that the upstart Neville Caporn should call him Lyle as he entered the saloon.

‘Here’s a starter at last,’ Caporn said to his wife. And to the newcomer, with a wave of his sherry glass, ‘Thought we’d be dining alone. Where is everybody, Lyle?’

‘I’ve no idea, Mr Caporn,’ he responded stiffly.

‘Oh, well. Is your lovely wife joining us?’

‘Of course!’ Horwood noted that Mrs Caporn, an attractive redhead, had made an attempt at formality in a purple silk gown, but Constance would overshadow her on every front.

‘How very nice,’ the woman was saying. ‘After the pounding we took en route from Hong Kong, it is so nice for us to be able to enjoy company again. And to think, Lyle,’ she giggled, ‘people warned us about pirates but not of such fearsome seas.’

‘Pirates?’ he snapped. ‘They’d never attack a ship like this. Cowardly lot, they only go after the smaller craft.’

‘Then we should feel safe from them? I do hope so.’

Her husband groaned. ‘Esme, pirates would never venture so far south. I wish you’d stop worrying about them.’

Lyle looked towards the door as it opened, expecting his wife, but it was his first wife’s cousin Eleanor. Now Eleanor Plummer. He’d caught a glimpse of her this evening, just before he’d gone down to dress for dinner, and couldn’t believe that the bitch was on board. He’d known a woman called Mrs Plummer had joined the ship in Singapore, taking cabin six, but he’d no idea it was her. She must have remarried. And if so, where was the husband?

‘The lady in six,’ he’d asked the cabin steward, ‘is she a German lady?’

‘Yes, sir. Velly much not always English to talking.’

‘It’s a wonder I haven’t seen her before this. Is she taking all her meals in her cabin?’

‘Lady bin indisposed,’ the steward said heavily. ‘Sick! Better now but. Coming out to dinner with all passengers this night. Good, eh?’

‘Bloody hell,’ Lyle had muttered, charging back to his cabin. If he’d known that troublemaker would be joining them he’d have taken Constance and left the ship in Singapore.

But now she was here, large as life, wearing a tailored white silk with a navy trim and a neatly draped bustle. Worth of Paris, he judged, without needing a second glance … no jewellery except for the large diamond ring that matched the one he’d given to Constance when they announced their engagement. Twin rings, in fact, he fumed. Gifts for his first wife Fannie, now deceased, and Eleanor from their maternal grandmother, who had been very fond of her two granddaughters.

‘How are you, Lyle?’ Mrs Plummer said coldly, after greeting the others.

‘Couldn’t be better, my dear. Lost a husband, have you? Travelling alone?’

‘No. I know where he is. I believe you’re moving to Brisbane?’

‘Possibly,’ he said with studied disinterest.

‘Very sensible,’ she drawled. ‘I think the English contingent in Hong Kong make rather too much of themselves, poor things.’

‘So, to which English contingent does Mr Plummer aspire?’

‘None. He’s an American. Oh … here’s your young wife. What a lovely ball gown!’

A steward held the door open as Constance stepped inside, accompanied by the captain, and now, in the wake of Eleanor’s sarcasm, Lyle was sorry he’d made her change from that other dress. The red satin was a bit much for the small gathering. But at least she wasn’t wearing the necklace that usually accompanied it.

‘Thank God for that,’ he murmured to himself as he went to greet her and steer her to the other side of the wide saloon.

‘Who is that woman?’ she whispered, peering over her shoulder as he led her towards the Caporns. ‘I’ve seen her somewhere before. She’s very grand, isn’t she?’

‘Mrs Plummer? That old tart! I hardly think so. Here comes Lewis. I wanted a word with him.’

But Lewis ignored his signal, choosing to stay with the lady he’d just escorted into the saloon, Willoughby’s wife. Yet another irritation he’d have to bear on this cursed voyage.

Lyle had found Willoughby an easy-going fellow, pleasant enough company, when one had no choice, but he’d been shocked to find the man had a Chinese wife. Definitely beyond the pale in Horwood circles, but having befriended the husband he was now stuck with them both.

Constance blinked, amused. He was still in a cranky mood, although no longer interested in what she was wearing, which was a relief, but to call that striking-looking woman an old tart was ridiculous. Mrs Plummer may be grey-haired, the hair softly waved to frame her face, but she was quite beautiful, and easily a lot younger than Lyle.

He can talk, she mused, and turned to listen to Esme Caporn, who had collared a menu and was reading out the evening’s offerings.

‘Captain, who is the exquisite Chinese lady?’ Eleanor Plummer asked.

‘Ah,’ he smiled. ‘That is Mrs Willoughby.’

‘Of course. It would have to be … I saw her husband on deck earlier. One couldn’t help noticing such beauty in a man.’

‘And so they match well,’ he agreed.

‘Then what is their story?’

‘I don’t know very much, except they were brought aboard in fine style by lackeys of the Xiu family.’

‘The Xiu family indeed! Very high-ranking. Maybe Mr Willoughby is taking his lady to reside in the southern land.’

‘It seems so.’

‘Then I will find out, because they are beautiful people and I love them already.’

The captain laughed. ‘Excellent, but I wish the young gentleman would get in here. He’s holding up dinner. Would you care for a glass, Mrs Plummer?’

‘Thank you I would. Champagne. It is such a lovely night, I’m so glad you allowed us to enjoy the voyage at our leisure. Now you must introduce me to Mrs Willoughby.’

His name was Mal Willoughby, but his friends called him Sonny. Friends who might remember him, that is, after his four years’ absence from the country. He was really looking forward to going home now, home being no place in particular yet, just the bush, the smell of the eucalypts, the familiar voices, the strong birdsongs – ‘and,’ he said to himself, ‘the space.’

China had plenty of space; she was a huge country, no doubt about that. Since he’d grown up in the Australian outback, space didn’t intimidate him, but in China there were so many people! So much clatter and chatter everywhere! People! His wife, Jun Lien, could hardly believe that in his country you could travel for days and days and never see a soul. Weeks if you were mad enough, until you ran into Aborigines who have no sense of humour about strangers.

‘And there aren’t so many people in the towns either,’ he’d told her, but she’d laughed at him.

‘Oh, tish tosh! How can that be? Your country is as big as China; you must have the population.’

He took her arm lightly as they approached the dining saloon. ‘Here comes Mr Lewis. You go on in with him. I want to make one last circuit of the decks before dinner. I still think something’s up.’

‘You’re imagining things,’ she told him. ‘There’s nothing wrong on this ship. I think all the troubles our family has had the last few years have left you jumpy. But it’s over now, my love, all that’s behind us …’

‘Go on in,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

He walked quietly along the deck, as quietly as he could in formal pump shoes, wishing he could discard them. He dropped down a few steps to the cabin level and prowled along to the end of the corridor, turning left to the bathrooms, which he checked and found empty.

On the way back he slipped into his cabin and strapped a knife on to his leg, the weapon being a veteran of many unpleasant encounters in China.

Passage on this ship was expensive, he pondered, in which case you’d think the stewards would be faultless. To a certain extent they were, when it came to serving the passengers, but he had noticed much muttering among the Chinese, too many sullen stares and several below-decks meetings between the Horwoods’ steward and the Malayamen. It just didn’t fit. The steward, Sam Lum, was too prissy to be associating with gorillas like Bartie Lee, Mushi Rana or any of their mob, so what did they have to talk about?

Mal found shipboard life confining. It was normal for him to wander about talking to the crew, even give them a hand with the sails just for something to do, and he couldn’t help noticing that there was tension in the air. Some sort of trouble between the Malayamen and the Chinese, maybe. That could easily happen and those fights could turn nasty. It worried him.

He had spent the years in China as an associate of Xiu Tan Lan, patriarch of the Xiu family, who was always on his guard against conspirators and assassins, even on the Queensland goldfields, where they’d first met. Mal had been intrigued by the Chinese gentleman who travelled in great style, with servants and more than fifty coolies, and who was always amazingly well informed about the area he travelled. He owned a huge, comfortable junk, which he kept moored in the Mary River, and when he decided to return to China with a fortune in gold, Mal, who hadn’t done too badly himself, went with him, delighted at the prospect of travel to strange countries.

Only then did he find out that Mr Xiu’s fears of enemies within the ranks of the Chinese were well founded.

‘Though you did not seem to notice,’ Xiu told him, ‘there are two times as many China people in this north of Australia than European people. My family is Manchu, and we have the honour to be greatly favoured by the Imperial Family. But we have many enemies, secret societies with anti-Manchu purposes, and illegal opium traders, who finance gangsters and pirates. There are spies everywhere, this is why we are always well armed.’

The same air of alertness pervaded life in the great Xiu households, and at first Mal thought they were all a sinister lot, especially when there were stories that someone had been knifed, or uprisings caused real street battles, but gradually he became accustomed to ‘China life’, as he called it, travelling about the provinces with Mr Xiu, first as a tourist, then as an armed companion, and eventually as a fur trader. Xiu himself insisted he learn this lucrative business so that his travels would result in ‘an achievement’.

‘When you go home, you could import good furs, continue in the business. Then you have not wasted your time here.’

Back on deck, still uneasy, Mal went forward to look in at the wheelhouse, where he thought he heard two officers arguing. Normally he wouldn’t have intruded but on this night everything seemed out of kilter, so he strolled in the open doorway and found them poring over charts.

‘I hear we’re anchored for the night.’

Surprised, they looked back at him, and then Tussup grinned. ‘Yes, we might as well. It’ll only be for a couple of nights.’

Mal nodded towards the chart desk. ‘What’s up?’ he teased. ‘Can’t you make up your minds where we are?’

Tom Ingleby looked decidedly guilty, but Tussup wasn’t concerned. ‘Slight difference of opinion, Mr Willoughby.’ He grinned again. ‘On my reckoning we’re due east of Endeavour Bay but Tom here reckons we’re well north yet.’

‘What’s at Endeavour Bay?’

‘Nothing now. It was where Captain Cook’s ship Endeavour had to pull in for repairs, so he named it.’

‘I don’t think any of the country along this coast has been explored,’ Tom said quickly. ‘It’s all just jungle.’

‘I suppose so,’ Mal said vaguely, feeling a little foolish as they turned back to study the large chart and take measurements with their instruments, still disagreeing, though in a less forceful manner.

He drifted away, leaving them to it; walked back along the deck, looking towards the shadowy coastline.

‘But they’re wrong about that,’ he said to himself. Nothing was ‘just jungle’. He’d been staring at the green-clad mountains over there for days, ever since they left the little settlement of Somerset on the very tip of the continent. That country would be a wonderland of forests and strange plants and wildlife. And beyond those mountains? What was out there? That was how Mal had come to know so much about New South Wales and southeast Queensland: he’d always had to find out what was over the next hill. And it was in those travels, taking odd jobs as a drover or a station-hand that he’d stumbled into the Gympie hills, and the astonishing craziness of the goldfields.

He rounded the deck again without incident and stood at the ship’s rail, looking out over the tranquil waters, recalling again the voyage north on the junk. Unlike this ship, Xiu’s junk had to call at each of the few ports along this coast, for water and supplies, Trinity Bay being the last before they tackled the hundreds of miles on to Somerset.

Mr Horwood had said that the Trinity Bay settlement was now a port called Cairns, and Mal was sorry that the China Belle wasn’t calling there so that he could show Jun Lien the picturesque bay that ha