Free Justice and Utu by David Hair

intimacy was alarming, but he knew better than to pull away. ‘You saved our life. We are in your debt.’
    Mat reddened. ‘Oh. Yeah … ah, no! I was pleased to help. An honour. There’s no debt!’
    â€˜You are good man. My father write to yours, if I please?’
    Her voice echoed, seemed to resonate faintly as she spoke, and in her eyes were flecks like stars and galaxies. For a frightening second she seemed far more than a girl or even an Adept.
    What was that …? ‘Uh, sure. OK.’
    She smiled broadly, her face inches from his. She had big lips with delicate moko carved into them, and eyes that bored into him. ‘Then, haere ra, Matiu. For now.’ She stepped away, and she and her father bowed in unison, then turned and walked away.
    Mat stared after them, wondering what he’d just agreed to.
    â€˜I guess you’ve got a fan club,’ Damien chuckled, nudging him. ‘She looked pretty serious.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ Mat agreed in a worried voice.
    â€˜Nice-looking chick, in an “untouchable queen of all creation” kinda way.’
    â€˜You think anything in a skirt is hot.’
    â€˜Not just skirts, man. Feather cloaks, hot-pants, trouser suits and bikinis, too. All chicks are cute.’ Damien poked him again. ‘Aroha … nice name . And her dad’s gonna write to yours.’
    â€˜Yeah. That’s what’s worrying me.’
    Â 
    Tama Douglas met Mat in the hotel room with an envelope in his hand. ‘Mat! I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon. Where have you been?’
    â€˜Out with Damien.’ He eyed the envelope in his father’s hand suspiciously. I only just met that Aroha chick; surely this ‘writing to Dad’ thing can’t have happened already …
    â€˜The network said your phone was turned off …’
    â€˜Really? Weird, huh?’
    â€˜Were you in Aotearoa?’
    â€˜Us? Nah.’ Damien shook his head vigorously. Tama eyed him suspiciously, then handed Mat the envelope. It was already opened.
    Mat peered at the unmarked envelope, then reluctantly pulled out a single sheet of folded paper. It was handwritten, and what he read made his skin prickle.
    Matiu
    I wish to see you. I understand you leave tomorrow evening. I ask that you visit my cell just before 9 a.m., Friday. I know there is no reason you should want to, but please come anyway. Think of it as a dying wish.
    Donna Kyle

Gaol
    A KARANA , F RIDAY MORNING
    T he crowds outside the gaol on the corner of Victoria Street and Queen Street were dozens deep, as soldiers in black uniforms with muskets shoved a path through. The shouting and catcalls of the people blurred into one loud roar as Mat and his father were hustled inside. Red-faced women and whiskery men bellowed threats. Old men with lined faces and gaps in their teeth spat. Handfuls of mud flew out of the packed masses and splattered Mat’s jacket and trousers. It was a relief to burst through hastily opened doors and into a chamber full of soldiers. They were all officers, who peered at them with hard, unfriendly faces.
    Mat wiped at his clothing crossly. ‘Haven’t they got better things to do with their afterlives?’ he glowered.
    Tama laid a protective hand on his shoulder, and flashed him a warning look. ‘Stay cool, son.’
    â€˜You’re to see the guv’nor first,’ an officer told them, pointing to a door on the right. ‘Go on in.’
    They entered a large room, dominated by a large desk and the smell of damp. There were two men inside. Mat recognized Sir George Grey, Governor of Akarana and the North. His high forehead was accentuated by a receding hairline, which like his thick moustache and sideburns was light brown. He was of lean build, and clad in a black three-piece suit. A top hat sat on the desk behind him. Mat recalled that in his life Grey had taken the trouble to learn Te Reo, but that he also had a