Shepard offered neither thanks nor congratulation for this. ‘How long ago did the sale occur?’
‘Two hours ago at least. Perhaps more. Barnes said that the fellow must have acted on a tip: he wouldn’t lay down any more than five pounds for the Kerr. Five pounds even, he kept saying, like he’d been tipped. He knew not to be overcharged.’
‘How did he pay for it?’
‘With a paper note.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ said Everard. ‘He loaded the piece in the store.’
‘Who loaded it?’
‘Barnes. On the Chinaman’s behalf.’
Shepard nodded. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Now. Listen closely. You go back to Hokitika, Mr. Everard, and you tell every man you see that George Shepard is on the lookout for a Chinaman called Sook. Let it be known that if anybody sees Johnny Sook in town today, no matter what for and no matter where, I’m to be sent for, at once.’
‘Shall you offer a reward for the man’s capture?’
‘Don’t say anything about a reward, but don’t deny it either, if anyone asks.’
The young man drew himself up. ‘Am I to be your deputy?’
Shepard did not answer at once. ‘If you come upon Johnny Sook,’ he said at last, ‘and you find a way to apprehend him without a great deal of fuss, then I shall turn a blind eye to whatever your method of capture might have been. That’s as much as I will say.’
‘I understand you, sir.’
‘There’s another thing you can do for me,’ said Shepard. ‘Do you know a man named Francis Carver by sight?’
‘The man with the scar on his face.’
‘Yes,’ said Shepard. ‘I want you to take him a message for me. You’ll find him at the Palace Hotel.’
‘What’s it to be, sir?’
‘Tell him exactly what you just told me,’ said Shepard. ‘And then tell him to buckle on his holsters.’
Everard sagged a little. ‘Is he your deputy, then?’
‘I don’t have a deputy,’ Shepard said. ‘Go on now. We’ll speak later.’
‘All right.’
Shepard raised his arms and placed his hands on the bars of the gate; he watched the youth’s retreating form. Then he called, ‘Mr. Everard!’
The young man stopped and turned. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you want to be a lawman?’
He brightened. ‘One day, I hope, sir.’
‘The best lawmen can enforce the law without a badge,’ Shepard said, gazing at him coolly through the bars of the gate. ‘Remember that.’
Emery Staines had now been absent for over eight weeks, an interval judged by the Magistrate to be sufficient to nullify ownership of all gold-bearing ground. By the Magistrate’s ruling, all mines and claims owned by Mr. Staines had been returned to the Crown, a repossession that had taken effect on Friday of the previous week. The Aurora, naturally, was one of the many claims surrendered, and as a consequence of this surrender, Quee Long had been released, at long last, from his fruitless obligation to that barren patch of ground. He made for Hokitika first thing Monday, in order to inquire where he was to be indentured next, and to whom.
Ah Quee disliked going to the Company offices very much, for he was never treated courteously while he was there, and he was always made to wait. He bore the officials’ jeers with equanimity, however, and pretended not to notice as their junior clerks flicked him with pellets made of spit and paper, and held their noses whenever they passed the chair in which he sat. At length he was invited forward to explain his purpose to the bureaucrat at the front desk. After another long delay, the purpose of which was not explained to him, he was allocated another claim in Kaniere, given a receipt of the transfer, and sent on his way—by which time the ginger-haired Mr. Everard had reached Hokitika proper, and was dispensing George Shepard’s message left and right.
As Ah Quee exited the Company offices on Weld-street, clutching the paper proof of his indenture in his hand, he heard somebody shout. He looked up, confused, and saw to his alarm that he was being rushed at from both sides. He cried out, and flung up his arm. In the next moment he was on the ground.
‘Where’s the pistol, Johnny Sook?’
‘Where’s the pistol?’
‘Check in his waistband.’
There were hands on his body, patting and punching. Somebody aimed a kick at his ribs and he gasped.
‘Stashed it, most likely.’
‘What’s that you’ve got? Coolie papers?’
His indenture was wrenched from his hand, scanned briefly, and tossed aside.
‘Now what?’
‘Now what have you got to say for yourself, Johnny Sook?’
‘Ah Quee,’ said Ah Quee, managing to speak at last.
‘Got a tongue in his head, does he?’
‘You’ll speak in English if you speak at all.’
Another kick in the ribs. Ah Quee gave a grunt of pain and doubled up.
‘He’s not the right one,’ said one of his attackers.
‘What’s the difference?’ responded the other. ‘He’s still a Chinaman. He still stinks.’
‘He doesn’t have a pistol,’ the first man pointed out.
‘He’ll give us Sook. They’re all in thick.’
Ah Quee was kicked again, in the buttocks this time; the toe of the man’s boot caught his tailbone and shot a jolt of pain up his spine to his jaw.
‘You know Johnny Sook?’
‘You know Johnny Sook?’
‘You seen him?’
‘We want to talk to Johnny Sook.’
Ah Quee grunted. He attempted to raise himself up onto his hands, and fell back.
‘He’s not going to spill,’ observed the first man.
‘Here. Move away a bit—’
The second man danced away on light feet and then ran at Ah Quee like a kicker hoping to make a conversion. Ah Quee felt him coming at the last moment, and rolled fast towards him, to cushion the blow. The pain in his ribs was excruciating. He could only breathe with the topmost part of his lung. The men were laughing now. Their voices had receded into a throbbing haze of sound.
Then a voice thundered out over the street:
‘You’ve got the wrong man, my friends.’
The attackers turned. Standing in the open doorway of the Weld-street coffee house, his arms folded across his chest, was the magnate Dick Mannering. His bulk quite filled the doorway: he made for an imposing presence, despite the fact that he was unarmed, and at the sight of him the two men shrank away from Quee Long at once.
‘We’re under instructions to apprehend a Chinaman with the name of Johnny Sook,’ said the first man, sticking his hands into his pockets, like a boy.
‘That man’s name is Johnny Quee,’ said Mannering.
‘We didn’t know that, did we?’ said the second man, his hands stealing into his pockets also.
‘Instructions from the gaoler,’ said the first man.
‘The chink called Johnny Sook is on the loose,’ said the second.
‘He’s got a pistol.’
‘Armed and dangerous.’
‘Well, you’ve got the wrong man,’ said Mannering, descending the stairs to the street. ‘You know that because I’m telling you, and I’m telling you for the last time. This man’s name is Johnny Quee.’
Mannering seemed rather more menacing for the fact that he was advancing upon them, and at his approach the men finally balked.
‘Didn’t mean any trouble,’ the first man muttered. ‘Had to make
‘Yellow-lover,’ muttered the other, but quietly, so that Mannering didn’t hear.
Mannering waited until they had departed, and then looked down at Ah Quee, who rolled onto his side, checked his ribs for breakage, and clambered laboriously to his feet, picking up his trampled certificate of indenture as he did so, and brushing it clean of dust. His throat was very tight.
‘Thank you,’ he said, when he could breathe at last.
Mannering seemed annoyed by this expression of gratitude. He frowned, looking Ah Quee up and down, and said, ‘What’s this about Johnny Sook and a pistol?’