Baptism of Fire by Christine Harris Page A

grabbed her elbow did she realise that her bedroom was suddenly crowded.
    â€˜What’s the matter, Hannah?’
    She pointed to a black centipede, at least six inches long, blatantly relaxing on the white sheets: all legs, sting and poison.
    â€˜Fetch the broom, Joshua.’ Uncle Henry’s voice was calm. ‘Pray, settle yourself, Hannah. You are much larger than he is … you haven’t been bitten, have you?’
    Silently she shook her head.
    Joshua returned quickly, and Uncle Henry, broom in hand, pinned the centipede to the mattress. It didn’t resist, didn’t even wriggle. He poked it again, this time with more force. With a scornful glance at Hannah, he pronounced it‘dead’ and offered the opinion that it had been so for some time.
    Hannah didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was relieved the creature was dead, feeling no sympathy for anything with that many legs; but she felt humiliated that she had not noticed it was dead; and secretly wished that she was.
    â€˜Perhaps you would take Deborah back to bed, Mrs Stanton?’ said Uncle Henry. ‘Now … Hannah.’ The moment of reckoning came all too soon.
    â€˜I … I’m sorry, Uncle Henry. I just can’t stand … I don’t like …’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘We all don’t like , but we all don’t rouse the household late at night by exercising our lungs. Go back to bed now, and next time, think twice and act once.’ He marched out the bedroom door with all the dignity he could muster—for a man who was wearing a nightshirt.
    â€˜Joshua …’ Hannah turned to her only remaining ally.
    â€˜It’s not your fault, Cousin. Shall I help you check the rest of the room before I go?’
    Joshua was a sweet, kind boy, and it was only after he had gone that it dawned on Hannah there had been a more sophisticated emotion than mere kindness in his smile—his very broad smile. And he was the only one in the room who showed no surprise when it was announced that the centipede was dead. An uncomfortable suspicion entered her mind, then she felt guilty for thinking it. Consoling herself with the idea that she may be doing him an injustice, she snuffed the candle and tucked in the mosquito netting.
    Every sound outside seemed exaggerated: birds, insects, the wind rattling palm leaves and whistling through the thatch of the house; then a rooster crowed.
    A loud crack echoed through the jungle. Was that a musket? No one in the house responded. Either they were deeply asleep or such night-time activities were not uncommon. And tonight had been a meke . But none of the menfolk who had hovered at the yaqona bowl had seemed capable of stirring up a storm. They had wished the guests goodnight pleasantly enough, their eyes alert and laughing, but their legs would be useless until theeffects of the greyish liquid wore off … the red sunset after the bushfire … a swim in the creek … Joshua laughing … Hannah shook her head. Her thoughts were firing off like a cracker gone haywire.
    At first she wasn’t sure what had woken her, or how long she had been asleep. Her ears strained to pick up unfamiliar sounds. What now? Not for all the tea in China would Hannah have called out a second time. She couldn’t stand her uncle’s reproaches, or exasperation or, indeed, his nightshirt. If this was Joshua playing tricks, she would do something to him that they might both regret. Exasperated, she pulled back the netting and for the second time that night, reached out to light her candle.
    Back to the wall, claws ready for action, bubbling froth, was a crab. Rattling its armoured limbs it waddled sideways a few steps, then snapped its front claws. Was this a bedroom or a zoo?
    Sleep would be utterly impossible with a crab running rampant. Crawling to the end of the bed, Hannah leapt off and escaped into her cousin’sroom. ‘Joshua.’ She