Only Killers and Thieves(91)

“Looks nasty,” MacIntyre said, nodding at Tommy’s hand. “What you done?”

“Ax slipped chopping wood.”

The magistrate smiled knowingly. “Quite a trick to be holding and chopping at the same time.”

“It was a hand ax. Splitting, I meant.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. You thirsty? Long ride down from Broken Ridge.”

Tommy shrugged. “Water, if you’ve got it.”

“Aye, son, aye.”

He lumbered out of the chair. There was a drinks tray on the cabinet, a pitcher of water alongside. MacIntyre poured the water, then a measure of whiskey for himself, handed Tommy his drink, and offered his glass for a toast. They touched. MacIntyre saluted. Gulped a mouthful, sank back down with a sigh.

“I’d expected you earlier. Once I’d heard what had gone on.”

He drank, watching Tommy over the rim of the glass, his eyebrows as thick and feathery as wings.

“Been busy,” Tommy said.

“Heard that too. Terrible business, of course.”

“Which bit?”

“All of it, boy, all of it.” He took another sip. “John send you?”

“Not exactly.”

“So you’ve come on your own account. I’d have thought your brother would be with you—you’re the younger, isn’t that right?”

“Billy doesn’t know I came neither.”

MacIntyre watched him severely. “Well, then, what’s this about?”

“I was just asking about the telegraph.”

“Oh yes, marvelous creation, a wonder of mankind. Soon there’ll be lines between every town in the colonies. Imagine it, a letter arriving in, say, Swan River, right after I’ve written it here. Be months on a horse before it got there—months!”

Tommy sipped the water, shifted in his seat. MacIntyre drank too.

“So you’ve a letter to send, have you, son?”

“I was checking on something, is all.”

MacIntyre slopped his tongue horselike around his mouth, leaned back, and folded his arms. “I’m on your side, you know, Tommy. Help you if I can. Consider me a friend of the family—I mourned both your parents when I heard what had gone on. We all did. Your mother used to work for me; she told you that, I assume. For Mrs. MacIntyre, I should say, over at the house there—till your father came along, that is. Now, there was a man liked to keep to his own, but I respected him, he had principles, however damn foolish they turned out to be.”

Tommy looked at him sharply. MacIntyre held up a hand, drank, winced.

“Hold on now, hold on. Let me finish at least. What I mean to say is that what happened at your place could have been avoided, I believe. There’s lessons to be learned. I said the same thing to your mother when she came in complaining about John and his patrols. I told her, ‘Liza, what d’you think it is keeps you all safe out there? It sure as hell isn’t blind luck that you’ve lasted this long.’”

“When was this?” Tommy asked him. MacIntyre waved a hand.

“Maybe a month or so back. Couple of weeks before . . . look, what I’m trying to tell you is that whatever misgivings you’ve got about me, or John even, or any other folks in this town, aren’t worth shit against what you should feel about the blacks.”

“You don’t know what I feel.”

“I’ve a good idea, son. Why else would you be in here asking about telegrams?”

Tommy traced his fingertip around the edge of his water glass. “How d’you know what went on after?”

“Well, I’m the police magistrate. It’s only right that I’m informed.”

“So you know what we did?”

MacIntyre shuffled himself upright in the chair. “What I know is that a terrible crime was committed and that the Native Police were dispatched to pursue the suspects in accordance with the law. I have since learned the expedition was something of a success, and that justice has been rightfully served. The precise details of what happened will be a matter for the report.”

“You believe all that?”

“Every word. As should you. It’s the truth.”

“Horseshit, truth. Joseph did it and he wasn’t even there. They wanted the Kurrong gone, so we rode out and killed them. We bloody killed them all.”

The magistrate sat as calmly as if Tommy had reported a missing horse. He smiled wearily, then leaned close enough that Tommy could smell his liquored breath.

“Now, son, you’re going to have to be more careful running your mouth like that. There’s people on the coast would see you hanged for such talk.”

“I wouldn’t be the only one. There’s seven others would go before me.”

“You think so? Or would it just be you and your brother, on whose testimony the whole thing stands?”

Tommy looked down at his water. He raised the glass trembling to his lips.

MacIntyre said, “I had a reverend came to see me. Claimed to be, at least—fella can say he’s anything and no one’s any the wiser. But anyway, this man came in and sat in this very room, while Donnaghy out there removed his boy beyond our walls—the only natives allowed in my courthouse are them that are locked in the cells. The reverend sat where you’re sitting and he ummed and aahed about what he wanted to say, mumbling about these Kurrong and a man he’d met in the bush. Named him, even: Inspector Noone. Right away I warned him that he might be about to make a very grave mistake, and all the color drained from his face like he already knew this was true. Said Noone had warned him the exact same thing, but God had other ideas. ‘Well,’ I asked him, ‘who are you more afraid of?’ and he thought about it, then got up and walked right out the door, and we never saw him again.”