The Lace Balcony by Johanna Nicholls Page A

From the North or South?’ he asked, appearing to have no agenda.
    Mungo answered in a rush. ‘Neither. I’m native born. A Currency Lad. Given a four-year colonial sentence. Against all odds I’ve managed to survive more than two of them in this hell-hole,’ he added hastily, ‘Sir!’
    Why the hell did I say that? It’s a dead giveaway Logan’s a tyrant.
    The older man nodded sagely. ‘Aye. That’s no mean feat, given the statistics of dead and missing prisoners. The name’s Gordon. Alexander at birth, Sandy for preference.’
    He offered his handshake then waved Mungo to take a seat, gestures that caught Mungo by surprise.
    One of Logan’s officers would have marched me off to the scourger by now. What’s this bloke up to?
    â€˜I’ve been checking your record, O’Connor, along with a few others with special trades and talents. It would seem that out of the four classes of convicts, you were originally placed in the educated class. Is that so?’
    â€˜I was, Sir.’
    â€˜But for some reason not noted in these records you were removed and sentenced to one hundred lashes – a degree of punishment which I understand is considered quite moderate in this neck of the woods.’
    â€˜Not if you’re on the receiving end, Sir.’ I’ve gone too far this time.
    Gordon looked up sharply then flipped over a page. ‘As a result you were relegated to the iron gang class. From which you were absentwithout leave for four-and-twenty hours on two occasions. Flogged – one hundred strokes on each count. I can’t quite decipher the clerk’s handwriting. No reason given why you were absent without leave.’
    â€˜ Two hundred lashes on both charges, Sir. I remember every stroke. Absent without leave is a polite way of putting it. Truth is I bashed a convict overseer with a shovel – then four of us bolted into the bush.’
    â€˜I see. The cause of your bid for freedom?’
    What’s he going to do if I tell the whole truth? Hang, draw and quarter me?’
    â€˜We’d had our water rations cut – as punishment for insubordination. A man in the iron gang had just died of thirst – you can’t work long without water in this heat. I know. I was there. The body organs shut down, muscles seize up, the body bloats up, fails to sweat. Vomiting, diarrhoea, shock, coma. It’s not a pretty sight. You want the full details of his corpse, Sir? I helped bury him.’
    â€˜No need, O’Connor. I graduated from Edinburgh University Medical School, served as a naval physician. Intended to go into practice except my damned lungs packed up on me. I was sent out here to New South Wales “for my health”. A common euphemism for dying.’
    Mungo took a closer look at him. The man’s face was an unhealthy olive-grey, the skin stretched taut across the cheekbones. Beneath his jacket his chest looked concave. A ripe candidate for phthisis. He’ll be lucky to see in the New Year.
    Dr Gordon made a sound somewhere between a cough and a short laugh of self-deprecation. ‘I wanted to see something of the world before – while there was still time enough.’ He continued crisply, ‘So, O’Connor, I note you were engaged in the cultivation of maize – aye, and tobacco – before the drought ruined the crops and all hope of feeding the settlement. Then you were transferred to an iron gang, building roads and a bridge across one of the many rivers the Captain discovered, no doubt?’
    Mungo tried to avoid any hint of servility, yet he was desperate to know what special plan might be afoot, and how it might involve him. ‘It’s said Britain has plans to open up this whole district to future settlers. Logan sure knows how to get things done – one way or another.’
    â€˜Aye. At some considerable loss of man power, it would seem. Judged by the rough tally by