The Tooth Page 4

  Ms Marshall smiled at us. ‘Hi,’ she began. ‘We’ll take a shortcut through to the earthquake display so we don’t disturb the other visitors.’ Her voice was confident and pleasant.

  We followed her through a fire exit, down a concrete flight of stairs, into the bright lights of the display halls. She led us straight for the earthquake area, which was a lot smaller than I’d expected. I soon discovered that, despite its size, the place was packed with information. Ms Marshall gave us a short tour and then left us to fill in the worksheets Klink had prepared.

  The short tour and worksheet completion was repeated in the Art Deco display, and later in the dinosaur area. This last area was by far the most interesting. It was based around a re-creation of the shed Dr Joan Wiffen had used for many of her dinosaur discoveries. On the benches were skulls and backbones of various marine reptiles. For the first time I realized how big these things were. The blocks of rock that they sat in were massive, much heavier than anything Mits and I would be able to lift. If we found more than a tooth, then we would need help—lots of it.

  The other thing was the hardness of the rocks. Dr Wiffen and her team had used rock-cutting machines to extract the fossils. I’d thought we could do it with a hammer and a screwdriver but, if we were going to get The Tooth, we’d need a lot more than that. I smiled to myself: first find your fossil, Timothy Thomas, then you can worry about how you’ll get it home.

  Once we had handed our completed worksheets to Klink we were allowed free time. Most of the class just milled around without any purpose, but I knew exactly what I was looking for. It took a few minutes before I found it in a room of artwork—a polished brass plaque mounted on the wall.

  IN MEMORY OF REBECCA THOMAS

  ASSISTANT CURATOR 1996–2000

  Above the plaque was a painting of the hills around Pounamu. I could even recognize the spot where it had been painted. At the bottom was the signature: RJT.

  Fortunately I had the room to myself, for I experienced a surge of strong emotions. The thought that I could go to Pounamu and stand on the same spot and have the same view that she had seen was overpowering. It gave me a sense of being with her that I had never felt before. I stood there with my eyes closed, imagining her with her paint brush and easel, her head turned to one side as she tried to capture what she saw.

  I don’t know how long passed before a voice broke in. ‘Hi, you’re Timothy, aren’t you?’ I turned and saw Ms Marshall.

  I simply nodded.

  ‘I recognized you earlier from the photo in the paper.’ She paused for a moment. ‘We were talking about you and your mother at our tea break this morning. There are still some here who remember her.’

  Again I nodded.

  ‘I never met her, but I have seen her work. She was very good, you know. One of the best. We’ve still got some of her backdrops down in storage. When we get the right opportunity I hope to bring one or two up and use them in a display.’

  I gave another nod.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘This is not a good time, but if you come back another day, I’ll take you down there. There’re lots of things in storage that I’m sure you’ll find interesting.’ She fished into her trouser pocket and removed a card. ‘Show this to the people at the desk and they’ll guide you to my office. Come and see me anytime.’ She touched my shoulder for a moment before turning and moving out of the room as quietly as she had come.

  I fingered the card in my hand, thinking about the encounter. She had spoken in a sympathetic way, but without using meaningless, sympathy words. She had offered to show me Mum’s work; not out of pity, but because she thought I might like to see it. I liked her. She’d made me feel good. I would definitely come back and see her. In fact, if we ever found The Tooth, I hoped we’d see lot of her—she would be just the sort of contact we’d need.

  Chapter 7

  First thing after school, I stored Grams’s lost scrapbook back in the chest where it belonged. Then I took the shortcut to the Smithsons’ house.

  Mits was feeding his face at the kitchen table. ‘What happened to you?’ I asked.

  ‘I had an injection, so I stayed at home to let it wear off.’ It obviously had, for his mouth was now crammed full of cake. I helped myself to a piece of cake and followed him through to the bedroom. The whole of his bed was covered with computer printouts.

  ‘You’ve been busy,’ I said.

  ‘Had to fill in the time somehow.’

  ‘Well, so’ve I.’ For the next half hour I showed him what I had done in The Quest, along with a full report of the events of the day. Complete, except for the details of my conversation with Ms Marshall: I told him we’d talked about fossils and she had given me her card.

  ‘You didn’t tell her about The Tooth, I hope?’

  ‘Nah, we just talked about the size of dinosaur fossils and how you needed special tools to get them.’ It could have been the truth. ‘So, what have you found?’

  His eyes lit up and his face split with the smile of someone who thinks they are extremely clever. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’

  I sighed. This was Mits at his worst. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Are you ready for it?’

  ‘Yes!’ I yelled.

  ‘I know what the glowing things are.’ Then he stopped.

  ‘Well!’

  Next came the long dramatic pause, before he said in a soft voice, ‘They’re diamonds.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘They’re diamonds.’

  That’s when I turned away. He was deep into fantasy land again.

  ‘Hold on, Tiny,’ he said. ‘Listen to what I’ve got.’

  ‘OK,’ I said as I slumped into a chair. ‘Tell me why they have to be diamonds.’

  ‘Right. You said that there were glowing things in the rock, not on the rock, didn’t you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You didn’t say what colour they were, but I assumed they were white. Was I right?’

  Again I nodded.

  ‘Then they have to be diamonds. Because diamonds take dim light and concentrate it, and you would see them as glowing.’

  ‘But it was dark,’ I said. ‘There was no light to concentrate.’

  ‘A-ha! Well spotted.’ He picked up another piece of paper. ‘This has the phases of the moon for that year. It was a full moon that night. Moonlight was shining on the diamonds and you saw the sparkle as a glow.’ He leaned back against the headboard, satisfied he had made his case.

  I thought for a while. ‘Do they have to be diamonds? Because I don’t think diamonds are found as nice, shiny things. I think they’re dull and boring until they get cut.’

  ‘Yeah. But what if someone put them there? Then they could be sparkling diamonds.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘What other crystals could they be?’

  ‘Quartz,’ he replied. ‘It’s found naturally as sparkling crystals.’

  ‘So why try to convince me they’re diamonds?’

  He grinned at me. ‘Because diamonds are much more interesting.’

  I shook my head. ‘You start talking like that around Nanna and Grandad and they’ll think you’re mad.’

  ‘So diamonds are another D-word I’m not allowed to say?’

  ‘Yes, no more D-words.’

  ‘How about a W-word?’

  ‘And what word would that be, Michael?’

  ‘Werewolves,’ he said seriously. ‘It was a full moon, so they were sure to be out. Are you certain you didn’t hear any howling noises?’

  I picked up a sheet of paper, screwed it up, and threw it at him. He just laughed, and after a moment so did I. He’d been winding me up all along.

  Nothing much else happened until the end of that week. On the Friday morning—the last day of term—I again went to the library, this time to find out how to make plaster casts of fossils. I had seen plaster casts in the replica of Dr Wiffen’s workshop, and it seemed to me to be a good idea. There were lots of books and many websites on how to make f
ossil casts, and soon it was all recorded in The Quest.

  As usual for end of term, the afternoon was a sports competition. Four classes were competing for a cup in softball. Our class is pretty good at softball and we usually had no problems beating the others. Our star player is Sam Mason: he can’t run very fast, but he can hit the ball hard. Plus, everybody is scared of what he’ll do if you get him out.

  We won the first two games easily. It was only in the last game that we had any problems. Sam Mason got hurt in the first innings. He was running around the bases and ran smack into another boy. To me it looked like it was intentional. They went down in a heap. After they’d got to their feet, Sam kept rubbing his head as if it was injured.

  Mits turned to me and said, ‘At least there’s no brain to get damaged.’

  ‘And the skull’s too thick to fracture,’ I added.

  However, Klink was more concerned than we were and sent him up to the sick bay.

  From then on the game was very even; eventually we won by one run. After being presented with the cup, we filed back to class, just as the bell rang.

  Straight away I could tell that someone had been in my bag. A quick search revealed that The Quest was missing, and I knew exactly who had taken it: Sam Mason had gone looking for the scrapbook he’d seen earlier in the week, and had found something just as damaging. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

  I grabbed Mits, told him what had happened, and together we headed for the sick bay. It was empty. We ran out of the building heading for the gate. We had to get to him before he met up with his henchmen, otherwise we’d never get the thing back.

  We were almost at the gate when Mits called out, ‘Hey! There he is.’ Sam Mason was coming down the ramp from the library. I passed my bag to Mits and ran to intercept him.

  ‘Where’s my book, Mason?’ I yelled.

  He stopped and glared at me. ‘What book is this, creep?’

  ‘You know what book it is. The one you took out of my bag.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t know anything about it.’ He turned and started walking away.

  I grabbed hold of him and pulled him back. He stopped. ‘You want a fight?’

  ‘I want my book.’ I was still holding on to him. I was so angry I was prepared to fight if it would get the book back.

  He dropped his bag, let out a roar and lunged at me. I sidestepped and he fell past me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mits grab hold of his bag. All I had to do was keep Mason occupied for a while so Mits could search the bag.

  His second attack was slower, but with swinging arms. I skipped back, trying to keep him away from Mits. Unfortunately I tripped on a gutter and went down. Mason was on top of me in a flash, pinning me to the ground.

  ‘Stop that!’ screamed a woman’s voice.

  Mason turned to see who it was, giving me the chance to wriggle out from beneath him and scramble away.

  ‘Come here, you two.’ It was the duty teacher, striding towards us. We got up and waited for her. I glanced towards Mits and saw him waving my book before putting it in my bag. Mason saw it too.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ asked the teacher.

  ‘We were play fighting,’ said Mason.

  The teacher looked doubtful. ‘That’s not how I saw it.’ She turned to me. ‘What do you say? Was it play fighting?’

  I gave a little nod.

  She still looked unsure about it, but I could see her mind ticking over. She wanted to get out of the place to celebrate the end of term. If she took this any further, she could be held up for ages. ‘Get on home, both of you.’ She turned and headed for the staffroom.

  When she was out of hearing, Mason said, ‘You were lucky, Tiny Tim.’

  I just walked away.

  ‘You might have got your book back,’ he yelled after me, ‘but I photocopied it! Now I know what you’re after and I’m going to get there first.’

  I kept on walking.

  ‘Because I know something you don’t know.’

  I stopped and looked at him. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,’ he sneered. ‘You’ll find out sometime. When it’s too late. By then I’ll have The Tooth. Me and my cousins are going to make a lot of money out of it. Just you wait and see.’ Then he laughed. ‘God bless us all, Tiny Tim!’

  Chapter 8

  We set off for Pounamu midafternoon on Sunday. Dad always left it late enough that he could use approaching darkness as an excuse for turning down any invitation to stay for dinner. Things were a bit uncomfortable between Dad and my grandparents. They were polite to each other and asked ‘How’re you getting on?’ and all of the usual stuff, but there always seemed to be a barrier between them.

  I know the reason for it—Nanna’d told me. We had been staying with them during the weekend of the disaster. On that Saturday afternoon, Mum had wanted to go horse-riding, but Dad had wanted to kayak. There had been a minor argument, with the result being us going to the river. If Mum had got her way, then…well…That was just the way Nanna and Grandad saw it. I’d tried to patch things up, without any real success.

  The road to Pounamu is the road that connects Napier to Taihape in the middle of the North Island. Once it was the only road into Taihape from anywhere. That was in the second half of the eighteen-hundreds. There’s little left of those early days, except the feeling that you’re driving back in time. The whole area has only a small population, and any buildings are few and far between. Plus, while the road might have been there for a hundred-and-fifty years, a good part of it has not yet been sealed.

  The toughest part is called Gentle Annie. In the early days I doubt it was all that gentle on the horses—it was a steep zigzag up and down a mountain range. It’s still a zigzag and it’s still steep, but it’s sealed, which makes it easier for modern vehicles.

  As soon as we left Gentle Annie, we were back to gravel roads again. We hadn’t gone far when Dad said, ‘Let’s see how they’re getting on with this dam.’ He turned onto a side road which, surprisingly, was sealed.

  About ten kilometres along the road we followed a signpost to a lookout on a small hill. From there we got a great view of the river, the dam and the power station. It was built in a gorge which was so narrow that the dam was higher than it was wide. Behind it the gorge broadened into a steep-sided valley that twisted its way into the brown hills beyond. Sometime soon all of that would be filled with a lake.

  Mits nudged me. ‘They haven’t started filling it yet. Look!’ He was pointing upstream to where the river disappeared into a tunnel dug into the side of the gorge.

  ‘That’s the diversion tunnel,’ said Dad. ‘It comes out down there.’ We followed his gaze to see water flowing back into the river bed below the power station. ‘They’ll block that when they’re ready to fill it.’

  ‘It’ll take a while to fill,’ I said. ‘There’s hardly any water in the river.’

  Dad gave a little laugh. ‘It only looks like a stream because we haven’t had rain for weeks. It’ll be a lot different soon. They get about two metres of rain around here, and almost none of it comes in the summer.’ He stopped, as if remembering something, ‘There was a lot more water when you went into it.’

  I said nothing. Mits asked, ‘How far up was that?’

  ‘About ten kays.’ He looked into the distance. ‘Probably the other side of that rounded hill you can see there.’

  We stood staring for a while, each with different thoughts about the same thing.

  ‘Where was Mum found?’ I asked in a voice little more than a whisper.

  He pointed to a spot not far from where the river flowed into the tunnel. ‘That big rock there. Her clothes got snagged on it. The water was almost over it at the time.’

  The rock was now poking several metres above the water, and it was hard to imagine it with water swirling around. I had trouble seeing it as it would have been on that day, and perhaps that was just as well.

  I moved alongside Dad a
nd put my arm around his waist. ‘It’ll be covered with water when the lake’s full,’ I said.

  He looked down at me and nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s not such a bad thing, is it?’

  No, I thought. A quiet lake would be a better memorial than the roaring river that had killed her.

  Pounamu is one of the smaller stations. It measures about four by five kilometres. The homestead is on the side of a gentle hill facing north. Below it are the farm buildings, and to either side are the workers’ places: homes for the permanents and bunkhouses for the shearers and musterers who stay for a only few weeks each year.

  Nanna and Grandad have one of the houses. Grandad was the stock manager for many years, before semi-retiring. He still works at the seasonal heavy times—lambing, shearing, mustering—but he can take it a bit easier the rest of the year.

  Mits was welcomed warmly by my grandparents. He responded by saying all the right things and never once using a D- or W-word. It looked like things might work out fine. However, there was one thing I wanted to sort out. Nanna and Grandad go to bed at a ridiculous time and I knew that it would annoy them if we stayed up talking or watching TV, so I asked if we could sleep in one of the bunkhouses. After some discussion it was agreed, and we shifted into the nearest one. It was a single room with four bunks, a pot-bellied stove in one corner and an old TV in another. It was decorated with cattle and sheep skulls hanging from the walls. ‘Cool,’ commented Mits. I smiled, knowing that sleeping with skulls was sure to feed his fantasies.

  As expected, Dad took off soon after we arrived, and everyone seemed to relax. I took Mits to introduce him to Phoebe. She lives in the horse paddock, along with twenty or so other horses. She’s easily recognized, as she’s the smallest and also the most beautiful—at least I think she is.

  Horses are still used for farm work on Pounamu, as they can go places where quads and motorbikes can’t. Plenty of the workers also much prefer a horse for company than a noisy motorized machine.