Free Magic Dirt: The Best of Sean Williams by Sean Williams

either by talking or playing with the radio, but I felt the need to investigate anyway. I tiptoed through the chamber, wary of any loose scraps of old technology that might have tripped me or made a noise, until I caught sight of Davo’s hammock.
     
    Two people lay entwined there, coiled together with an intimacy I had never experienced. Enough light spilled through the window for me to identify Davo’s mop of hair and the silhouette of Jerrie’s face. I crept closer, and my heart pounded when I realised that a part of their juxtaposed anatomy I had not identified was in fact her naked breast, frozen by starlight.
     
    Embarrassed and feeling guilty, I considered throwing a rug over them, if only to protect them from the chill air. Barely had I decided not to when a noise from behind me disturbed the silent tableau.
     
    A callused hand grabbed me across the mouth and, before I could turn, dragged me kicking and wriggling into the stairwell.
     
    “Be quiet!” hissed a voice into my ear. My frightened eyes rolled to catch a glimpse of my assailant, but he was shrouded in impenetrable darkness.
     
    The man wrenched my head so I was forced to look back into Davo’s workshop.
     
    I saw vague man-shapes moving to and fro through the shadows, like ghosts. I stopped struggling instantly.
     
    There were five of them, large and unidentifiable. They seemed to be searching. One of them peered to study Davo and Jerrie, and I thought I heard a soft snigger, barely a worm of sound burrowing through the silence.
     
    “No,” said one of the ghosts. “Don’t touch her.”
     
    The one who had laughed backed away from the couple, and I felt relieved for both of them. Threat was implicit in the stealthy silence of the ghosts, and, even though I didn’t know what exactly had been avoided, I was grateful on Davo’s behalf for Jerrie’s presence. No one in Adelaide would allow harm to befall a woman while the sexes were split so unevenly.
     
    “Here,” whispered another voice, and the ghosts moved to a side of the room I could not see. A moment later there came a tinkling noise as something large was moved, a grunt of effort, then a distant, startling splash.
     
    Jerrie stirred, murmuring in her sleep, and instantly the ghosts retreated, vanishing into the night as though they had never been there at all.
     
    I wanted to scream: What’s going on? But my captor held my mouth tightly closed until Jerrie returned to sleep and the night became still again. Only then did he relax his grip and allow me to see his face.
     
    “It’s over,” Max whispered. “It’s over.”
     
    I started to stammer a question, but he shushed me. He led me out of the workshop, across the void between buildings and back to our home. A faint butterfly-wing of aurora danced across the night sky, like an omen, as he explained what had happened.
     
    “I was expecting something like this,” he said, his voice empty of emotion. “The last real challenge Kris Parker had was when we considered lighting the bonfires on Council Tower. I told you that the man who had suggested the plan committed suicide, but that, perhaps, is not the whole of the truth. Cameron wasn’t the sort to give up; he would have tried again, made other plans. Myself and a few others—we will always wonder whether he jumped from his garden, or whether he was thrown.”
     
    I stared at him, shocked beyond words. Could such a thing really have happened?
     
    “Maybe Jerrie’s presence made them think twice tonight,” he went on, “or I’m wrong about their motives. I don’t know. I’m just glad I didn’t have to fight them. There’s already been so much violence ...”
     
    In the glistening starlight, he put an arm around my shoulders and held me to him.
     
    “It’s over,” he said again, and I wondered if he was trying to reassure me—although there was little reassurance to be found in his tone—or if he was describing the future, as he saw it.
     
    I