A gull made a long, low pass down Gibson Quay; once it reached the spit it turned and began climbing on the updraft, circling back to make the pass again. Anna pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. By now Godspeed had received clearance to drop anchor. A line had been thrown ashore, and the sails were being furled and reefed at Carver’s instruction; slowly, the barque rolled towards the wharf. A small crowd of stevedores had gathered to assist, and Anna, blinking suddenly, saw that several of them were pointing at her and talking behind their hands. When they saw that she was looking, they doffed their hats, and bowed, and laughed, hoisting up their trousers by the buckles of their belts. Anna flushed. Suddenly wretched, she crossed the deck to the starboard rail, gripped it with both hands, and, breathing deeply, looked out over the high shelf of the spit, to where the breakers threw up a fine mist of white, blurring the line of the horizon. She remained there until Carver, calling her name with a curt accent, bid her to descend to the quay; a Mr. Edgar Clinch, acting proprietor of the Gridiron Hotel, had made her an offer of lodging, which Carver had accepted on her behalf.
TE-RA-O-TAINUI
In which Crosbie Wells makes for the Arahura Valley, and the steamer Titania is wrecked upon the bar.
Wells’s nugget, banked by Staines, fetched over a hundred pounds in cash money. While the buyer completed his evaluation, and the banker made his notes, Staines was interrogated from a great many quarters about the nugget’s origin. He gave vague replies to these inquiries, waving his hand in an easterly direction, and mentioning general landmarks such as ‘a gully’ and ‘a hill’, but his attempts to downplay the yield were unsuccessful. When the nugget’s value was chalked onto the board above the buyer’s desk, the banker led a round of applause, and the diggers chanted his name.
‘If you like, we could have it copied, before it’s smelted down,’ said the banker, Frost, as Staines made to depart. ‘You could paint the copy gold, and keep it—or you could send it home to a sweetheart, as a token. It’s a handsome piece.’
‘I don’t need a replica,’ said Staines. ‘Thanks anyway.’
‘You might want to remember it,’ said Frost. ‘Your luckiest day.’
‘I hope my luckiest day is yet to come,’ said Staines—prompting another round of applause, and more admiration, and propositions to ‘go mates’ from at least half a dozen men. By the time he had extracted himself from the crowd and returned outside, he felt more than a little annoyed.
‘I have been declared the luckiest man in Hokitika,’ he said, as he handed Crosbie Wells his envelope. ‘I have been advised to keep hold of my luck, and to share my luck around, and to confess the secret of my luck, and I don’t know what else. I fancy that the story you told me was not at all true, Mr. Wells; you simply knew what would happen to a man foolish enough to walk into the Reserve Bank with a nugget of that size at this hour of the day.’
Wells was grinning. ‘The luckiest man in Hokitika,’ he said. ‘Quite an expectation. I trust you’ll bear up.’
‘I will do my best,’ said the boy.
‘Well, I’m very much obliged to you,’ said Wells, thumbing through the paper notes quickly, and then tucking the envelope into his vest. ‘The Arahura Valley is where I mean to buy. Some ten miles to the north. The river crosses the beach—you can’t miss it. You’re welcome any time, and for any reason.’
‘I’ll remember,’ said Staines.
Wells paused. ‘You still don’t quite believe my story, do you, Mr. Staines?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t, Mr. Wells.’
‘Maybe you’ll spill the beans to your man Carver.’
‘Carver’s not my man.’
‘But maybe you’ll drop my name. Casual mention. Just to see.’
‘I won’t.’
‘It would be as good as murder, Mr. Staines. He’s got a score to settle. He wants me dead.’
‘I can keep a secret,’ said Staines. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘I believe it,’ said Wells. He put out his hand. ‘Good luck.’
‘Yes—good luck.’
‘Perhaps I’ll be seeing you.’
‘Perhaps you will.’
Staines remained on the steps of the Reserve Bank for a long time after Crosbie Wells stepped down into the street. He watched the other man thread through the crowd towards the land agent’s office, where he mounted the steps, removed his hat, and stepped inside without a backwards glance. Fifteen minutes passed. Staines rested his elbows on the rail, and kept watching.
‘Shipwreck—shipwreck—shipwreck on the bar!’
Staines watched the bellman approach. ‘What’s the name of the craft?’ he called.
‘The Titania,’ said the bellman. ‘A steamer. Run aground.’
Staines had never heard of the Titania. ‘Where was she coming from?’
‘Dunedin, by way of Auckland,’ the bellman replied. When Staines nodded, dismissing him, he continued on: ‘Shipwreck—shipwreck—shipwreck on the bar!’
At long last, the door of the land agency office opened, and two men walked out: Crosbie Wells, and a second man, presumably a land agent, who was putting his arms into his coat. They stood talking on the porch for several minutes; presently a small two-horse cab came clopping around the side of the building, and stopped to let Wells and the land agent climb aboard. Once they were seated, and the doors closed, the driver spoke to the horses, and the small vehicle clattered off to the north.
ACCIDENTAL DIGNITY
In which two chance acquaintances are reunited, and Edgar Clinch is less than pleased.
Mr. Edgar Clinch proved a guide both solicitous and thorough. During the short walk from Gibson Quay he maintained a constant and richly detailed commentary upon everything they passed: every shopfront, every warehouse, every vendor, every horse, every trap, every pasted bill. Anna’s responses were few, and barely uttered; as they approached the Reserve Bank, however, she interrupted his chatter with a sudden exclamation of surprise.
‘What is it?’ said Clinch, alarmed.
Leaning against the porch railing was the golden-haired boy from the Fortunate Wind—who was gazing at her with an expression likewise incredulous.
‘It’s you!’ he cried.
‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘Yes.’
‘The albatrosses!’
‘I remember.’
They regarded one another shyly.
‘How good to see you again,’ Anna said after a moment.
‘It is perfectly serendipitous,’ said the boy, descending the steps to the street. ‘Fancy that—us meeting a second time! Of course I have wished for it, very much—but they were vain wishes; the kind one makes in twilight states, you know, idly. I remember just what you said, as we rounded the heads of the harbour—in the dawn light. “I should like to see him in a storm”, you said. I have thought of it many times, since; it was the most delightfully original of speeches.’
Anna blushed at this: not only had she never heard herself described as an original before, she had certainly never supposed that her utterances qualified as ‘speeches’. ‘It was only a fancy,’ she said.
Clinch was waiting to be introduced; he cleared his throat.
‘Have you been in Hokitika long?’ said the boy.
‘I arrived this morning. Just now, in fact—we dropped anchor not an hour ago.’