The Castlemaine Murders by Kerry Greenwood Page A
Authors: Kerry Greenwood
Tags: FIC050000
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Gan, presenting him with the empty flask. ‘You must go to Castlemaine, and find out what happened to our four hundred ounces of gold.’
In the thirteenth year of the reign of the glorious Emperor Lord of the Dragon Throne Kwong Sui of the Ching Dynasty, Sung Ma in what ought to be the Beginning of Winter the ku’li greets his sister Mai.
Soon we are going to land. We have seen new birds—land birds. They are also very strange. One was blown aboard, screeching like a soul in the Ninth Hell. It was as big as a chicken, as white as paper, with a crest like crocus. It snapped with its black beak and screamed for a while and then flew off, making a terrible cry, and after it flew seventeen others. The sailors are still lighting incense. They are sure that they are spirits. I feel that if they are spirits they have come back from the dead in a very odd shape and a very bad temper, so probably they are birds. I burned some incense to Kwan Yin in case they aren’t.
The elder brother sends his love to the younger sister.
CHAPTER SIX
With an elevation of over 900 feet above sea level, an invigorating climate without extremes, and generally healthy conditions, Castlemaine is an attractive place for a holiday.
Victorian Government
Tourist Bureau guide book
‘A fine kettle of fish!’ exclaimed Dot. She kicked at an inoffensive passing stone. She was returning from the telegraph office, having worded a suitable message fit for a Reverend Mother’s eye, which Phryne’s might not have been. Just once, Dot thought, I would like a whole month to go past with nothing much happening. A few parties, a few dinners, a little art appreciation, swimming now that the weather was agreeable, reading and sewing in the evening in that nice garden which Miss Camellia had so magically made.
The garden comforted Dot. Previously Phryne had had a yard with dustbins and hens. Now she had a bower with a bamboo hedge, a fence to hide the chooks and the dustbins behind, a fernery with white azaleas called ‘Phryne’ and a planting of sweet smelling trailers—jasmine and wisteria. Lin had provided bamboo furniture and it was just the place to sit in on a hot night with a shandy and a mosquito candle on the table. When the plants grew higher it would be entirely private.
And it would be pleasant to go to Eltham in the big car. Dot was almost reconciled to driving, though not driving with Phryne. Phryne drove like a demon.
Perhaps we could take a picnic . . .
Dot woke from her reverie just in time to see a totally unbelievable but definitely real khaki-coloured motorcycle roaring towards her down the footpath. The rider was helmeted and masked in a muffler. The machine was almost on her before she threw herself over a low fence and into someone’s privet hedge. And when she struggled out of the hedge, it was just a drone on the horizon.
‘Bloody disgraceful! Are you bloody all right, love? Someone bloody call a bloody copper!’ bellowed a woman in a baby’s bottom pink art silk dress so short it showed her garters. Dot, very shaken, leaned a little into the strong arm, imprinting her cheek with fifteen jingly gold bracelets. A reek of patchouli washed over Dot. Her rescuer was clearly one of St Kilda’s working girls. Which didn’t mean that it wasn’t a timely rescue or that Dot wasn’t grateful. Wasn’t her own sister employed to teach deportment to Tilly Devine’s girls in Sydney? Dot took a deep breath and stood up, leaning on the whore’s arm.
‘He just come out of bloody nowhere,’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Down the bloody pavement and bloody almost hit you!’
‘Thank you,’ murmured Dot. ‘Can you see my handbag?’
‘Here you are, now sit down here until you get your bloody breath. I never bloody saw such a thing! Bloody gutter crawlers are bad enough . . .’
Dot sat down on the fence and considered herself. A little scratched, a little shocked, nothing worse. One stocking ruined, as always. Adventure and
In the thirteenth year of the reign of the glorious Emperor Lord of the Dragon Throne Kwong Sui of the Ching Dynasty, Sung Ma in what ought to be the Beginning of Winter the ku’li greets his sister Mai.
Soon we are going to land. We have seen new birds—land birds. They are also very strange. One was blown aboard, screeching like a soul in the Ninth Hell. It was as big as a chicken, as white as paper, with a crest like crocus. It snapped with its black beak and screamed for a while and then flew off, making a terrible cry, and after it flew seventeen others. The sailors are still lighting incense. They are sure that they are spirits. I feel that if they are spirits they have come back from the dead in a very odd shape and a very bad temper, so probably they are birds. I burned some incense to Kwan Yin in case they aren’t.
The elder brother sends his love to the younger sister.
CHAPTER SIX
With an elevation of over 900 feet above sea level, an invigorating climate without extremes, and generally healthy conditions, Castlemaine is an attractive place for a holiday.
Victorian Government
Tourist Bureau guide book
‘A fine kettle of fish!’ exclaimed Dot. She kicked at an inoffensive passing stone. She was returning from the telegraph office, having worded a suitable message fit for a Reverend Mother’s eye, which Phryne’s might not have been. Just once, Dot thought, I would like a whole month to go past with nothing much happening. A few parties, a few dinners, a little art appreciation, swimming now that the weather was agreeable, reading and sewing in the evening in that nice garden which Miss Camellia had so magically made.
The garden comforted Dot. Previously Phryne had had a yard with dustbins and hens. Now she had a bower with a bamboo hedge, a fence to hide the chooks and the dustbins behind, a fernery with white azaleas called ‘Phryne’ and a planting of sweet smelling trailers—jasmine and wisteria. Lin had provided bamboo furniture and it was just the place to sit in on a hot night with a shandy and a mosquito candle on the table. When the plants grew higher it would be entirely private.
And it would be pleasant to go to Eltham in the big car. Dot was almost reconciled to driving, though not driving with Phryne. Phryne drove like a demon.
Perhaps we could take a picnic . . .
Dot woke from her reverie just in time to see a totally unbelievable but definitely real khaki-coloured motorcycle roaring towards her down the footpath. The rider was helmeted and masked in a muffler. The machine was almost on her before she threw herself over a low fence and into someone’s privet hedge. And when she struggled out of the hedge, it was just a drone on the horizon.
‘Bloody disgraceful! Are you bloody all right, love? Someone bloody call a bloody copper!’ bellowed a woman in a baby’s bottom pink art silk dress so short it showed her garters. Dot, very shaken, leaned a little into the strong arm, imprinting her cheek with fifteen jingly gold bracelets. A reek of patchouli washed over Dot. Her rescuer was clearly one of St Kilda’s working girls. Which didn’t mean that it wasn’t a timely rescue or that Dot wasn’t grateful. Wasn’t her own sister employed to teach deportment to Tilly Devine’s girls in Sydney? Dot took a deep breath and stood up, leaning on the whore’s arm.
‘He just come out of bloody nowhere,’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Down the bloody pavement and bloody almost hit you!’
‘Thank you,’ murmured Dot. ‘Can you see my handbag?’
‘Here you are, now sit down here until you get your bloody breath. I never bloody saw such a thing! Bloody gutter crawlers are bad enough . . .’
Dot sat down on the fence and considered herself. A little scratched, a little shocked, nothing worse. One stocking ruined, as always. Adventure and
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