Before the Storm (12 page)

The addresses of the conspirators were history, and Fox knew them from memory. On the second night after he and BC had arrived from the future, Fox had burgled all five addresses. He found nothing but neatly folded clothes, painting supplies, and a few sketches and watercolours. On the other hand, everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. The rooms were clearly being used as a facade while the conspirators did their work somewhere else.

There were even stranger discoveries to come, however. When Fox had stolen into the Exhibition Buildings and climbed into the recesses and walkways of the roof supports, he had found no trace of explosives. This was quite perplexing. A century in the future, every child was taught that bombs had been planted in the roof weeks before parliament's opening. As far as Fox could tell, the future seemed to have changed already.

Little was known of the conspirators. From what BC said, it was clear that all that he and Fox had to cling to was that people with German names had rented the five rooms in St Kilda, and that German artists had been circulating in the nearby cafés. Clearly these cafés were their only hope of catching the conspirators, so they would have to be watched.

Because he was the most adult-looking of the crew, BC thought that Fox was a natural choice to monitor the cafés. On the other hand, his speech and accent would attract attention, and he was unfamiliar with the manners and mannerisms of Melbourne in 1901. This rather limited his usefulness as a spy. Finally Barry seemed to decide that he had grasped enough of the situation to make constructive suggestions.

‘Er, BC mate, I don't follow most of wot ya said, but ya really reckon there's foreigners attackin' the country?'

‘Yes.'

‘An' ya reckon yer from what hasn't happened?'

‘Yes.'

‘But that isn't anywhere. It's from 'ere, except it's gonna happen. You can't come from 'ere if yer already 'ere.'

‘Barry, imagine you were to sleep for a hundred years in your bed. Would you feel as if you had travelled into the future when you woke up?'

‘Yeah … I see, like that Van Wrinkle cove?'

‘Van Winkle,' said Emily.

‘Yes, you have it. Now think of a carriage that takes you to that future instead.'

‘I think I can. Sorta.'

‘All you have to do now is think of a carriage that can move you into the past as well.'

‘Oh. So ya got the carriage, like that we can see?'

‘No. The time machine is more like a gun. It can shoot things into the past or future, but it stays in its present.'

Barry put his hands to his head, pressing against it as if he were trying to stop it exploding. Daniel knew that look. Barry either did not believe or did not understand.

‘Way I sees it, ya workin' for the king,' ventured Barry.

‘That is true,' agreed BC.

‘Then I'm on yer side. I don't believe all that shit about time carriages, but yer important. I mean anyone that's got a gun that can blow up 'alf the bay just gotta be important. Okay, yer important, so I gotta help.'

‘
Can
you help?' asked BC doubtfully.

‘Yeah! Mate, ya want to get somethin' dodgy done, ya gotta bring in a professynal. That's where I comes in. I can pretend I'm an artist, and spy on the German artists.'

‘Artists tend to be around eighteen or older,' BC pointed out. ‘Fox looks eighteen, and Daniel could pass for someone eighteen but thin. You look twelve.'

‘Yeah, but that's the whole point, don't ya see? Me and Danny Boy can pretend to be young coves outta school and sellin' artistic postcards.'

‘Which is what you will be,' said Emily, disapproval dripping from every word.

‘All the better,' said BC, suddenly brightening. ‘Barry, explain a little more of what you propose.'

Barry the Bag was very cunning. He did actually have a number of minor burglaries in his past, but because he was what would be called streetwise in a future that did not even exist in the future as yet, he had never been caught. His bag also had a false bottom, so that when the police searched it, they found nothing more than scavenged rubbish and French postcards. Even though Emily had his real bag, Barry quickly improvised a spare, and it was this that he carried as he and Daniel set off on the next train north, along with the station bicycle and BC's instructions of what to look for.

Daniel had a lot to think about as they travelled. BC had put Emily in charge, yet there was no doubt that BC was running everything. Emily just passed on his orders and kept things running when he was asleep.

‘Wotcha think of that BC cove?' asked Barry as they travelled. ‘Ain't he a worry or wot?'

‘A worry?' asked Daniel.

‘Yeah, like he said he'd kill me. Don'cha know? Like if I 'ad sixpence for every time the old man said he'd kill me, I'd never have to pick another pocket as long as I lived, but when BC says it, ya know he would.'

‘You could try not being dishonest with him,' suggested Daniel.

‘Wot? How's I to get by then?'

‘You're already dishonest with everyone else.'

‘I'm never dishonest with my mate Dan the Man!' declared Barry, patting Daniel on the shoulder.

‘What about those three bottles of wine you stole from my father?'

‘I only stole two.'

‘There were three, Barry. Martha's told Emily about the latest one.'

‘Oh, that one. Yeah, I forgot, like in the heat of the emotion.'

‘And if I had been BC, you would already be a small pile of ashes that smelled a bit of stale tobacco. This is teamwork, Barry. You are in a team.'

‘I've never been in a team.'

‘Trust me, in a team you have to think about what's good for everyone, not just yourself.'

‘Don't like it,' muttered Barry sullenly.

‘Well, do you think I like it? I have to take orders from Emily and not argue back. I hate it, but BC said to, so I do.'

‘I thought you was doin' it 'cause she 'as the book on makin' babies. I'm only along 'cause she 'as me bag.'

‘At first it was because of that, but not now. I want BC to think I'm, well, all right.'

‘At least you got a chance. BC just thinks I'm a scabby little rat who's good at criminal activities, an' he's right.'

‘Try hard enough and BC will think you are all right. There's something about him, you just want him to smile because you did well. I do think I would like to die fighting for him.'

Barry shrank away across the bench of the carriage.

‘You gotta be jokin'!' he exclaimed. ‘Ya mean let yerself be shot off the perch, just so he'd say “Good show” or some daft shit?'

‘Yes. I daydream about things like that. I know it sounds strange from someone with a sister like Emmy, but I dream about being a knight fighting hundreds of barbarians so that some girl can escape into a castle.'

‘Yeah? Wot then?'

‘Well, she looks down from the battlements and cries when I get killed.'

‘And that's all?'

‘Yes. Don't you dream of being a hero, and dying for girls?'

‘Nah, I dreams about gettin' into Madame Plumtree's House of … well, and … I don't dream wot you dream, anyway.'

‘I want to die a hero. At first I was frightened by all this business with BC and Fox, but now … it's like living in a dream.'

‘Would ya die for that batty sister of yours?'

‘It seems like a waste, but yes. She would have to remember me as a hero.'

‘Dan the Man, yer daft! That's a better bet than the favourite in a one-horse race, and – oi, we're at Balaclava, best be gettin' off.'

‘Wait! I forgot, we don't have tickets!'

‘Yeah, well yer forgot about bein' with Barry the Bag, too.'

Having got off the train at Balaclava, Daniel pedalled the bicycle while Barry rode in the delivery basket. Soon they were at the edge of Acland Street. Barry hid the bicycle in the bushes of somebody's front yard, then they set off in search of anyone looking artistic and speaking with a foreign accent. They were trying to look as if they were freelance vendors of photographic artwork at a loose end, but in fact they resembled nothing more than a pair of schoolboys up to no good. On the other hand, this made them blend in perfectly, so there was no harm done.

After trying three cafés and discovering nothing more sinister than two Italians who did not speak English, they decided to loiter out on the street for a while. Barry nudged a discarded tobacco tin with his foot, then picked it up.

‘Are you looking for secret messages from spies?' asked Daniel breathlessly.

Barry shook his head, then took another tin from his spare bag and emptied the few shreds of tobacco from the discarded tin into his own.

‘Not enough baccy to make a fag, but it all adds up,' said Barry, holding out his own tin for Daniel to inspect. ‘When this lot is full, I can sell it for seven pence.'

‘
Arkoola
,' Daniel read on the side of Barry's tin. ‘
Kangaroo Fat Oil for the Relief of Haemorrhoids
.'

‘I sells it to old McKenzie, the ganger. He thinks it's special, rare baccy from South America, and that I'm sellin' it cheap 'cause I stole it.'

‘But surely one glance at the label –'

‘Silly old bugger can't read,' said Barry suavely.

‘We are supposed to be spies!' insisted Daniel, who was beginning to feel annoyed by Barry's attitude.

‘We should be spying.'

‘Jeez, Danny Boy, don't you know nothin'? Spies aren't folk wot go poncin' about in cloaks an' wavin' daggers. They blend in with the crowd, they look 'armless.'

‘How would you know? Ever been a spy?'

‘I done me share.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘It's true! In the railways, you know. Stuff gets 'alf-inched, an', well, at the station I stands around, sweepin' and lookin' thick as two short planks tied together, so I hears stuff.'

‘Stuff?'

‘You know, coves talkin' about packages missin' and bein' hid in places. Soon as nobody's lookin', snap! It's in Barry's bag.'

‘So you take it to the police?'

‘Nah, I makes the contents available to folk of discernin' taste at reduced rates.'

‘You
steal
from
thieves
?' exclaimed Daniel.

‘Shush! Keep yer friggin' voice down!'

‘Barry, two wrongs don't make a right.'

‘Nah, but they makes a profit, and yer conscience don't kick up. Now then, keep an eye sharp for fag ends and baccy tins, and folk will think that's what we're doin'.'

‘If Mother ever finds out about this, I'll never hear the end of it.'

Barry and Daniel decided to check the cafés again, sidling into them to check the floors for unspent matches, partly smoked cigarettes, and even the occasional coin. As people got up to leave the tables, Barry finished off the discarded coffee in their cups. At the ninth café, Barry sat down at a table and actually ordered two coffees.

‘You said we were supposed to blend in,' hissed Daniel.

‘We are,' replied Barry. ‘We're pretendin' to be customers.'

‘But Mother says coffee is sinful.'

‘Bullshit. Now then, what's the tally?'

Daniel produced a filing card and the stub of a pencil. He looked around. One of the girls across the room looked familiar, but he could not quite place her. She had long, flame-red hair … and she suddenly turned to look straight at him! Daniel cringed down until his nose was almost touching the table as he recognised her as one of his sister's classmates from some school family day months ago. Daniel dragged his mind back to more global problems, and began to write.

‘Out of nine coffee shops and cafés, three groups of people were speaking French, one was speaking Italian, and another was speaking Dutch.'

‘Sounded like German to me.'