Free The Windy Season by Sam Carmody

sharks.
    There was a pause, the crew silent as they considered Jules, the barmaid marshalling the beer taps.
    That’s not normal, declared someone up the end of the bar, a smoker’s voice growling each word. Not this far north, and so many of them. Fucking sharks have been hanging around all year. It’s like they’re homeless.
    It was a dead humpback, eh? Noddy asked, turning back to Michael.
    He nodded.
    There you go, Richard, Noddy said, looking down the bar again. Rotten whale. What do you expect?
    That’s not the only rotten thing down there, the man growled. Whole coast is a corpse.
    Paul looked at the quarter-eaten burger on his plate and knew another bite would make him sick. He closed his eyes and felt the room move around him, as though his chair was being lifted off the floor, drawn perpetually to the ceiling. He pressed his palms hard against his eyelids. The voices swum around him.
    Was it that freak show? someone asked.
    Circus, another voice said, confirming the name. That fucker still loitering around?
    Yeah, Circus, said another. The retard. We saw him last week, didn’t we, Robbo? His big, lazy mouth all over the hull like he’s got dementia. Swear he looks like my pop.
    Was it him? Noddy asked, turning back to Michael. The bar quietened.
    Different sharks, Michael replied, uninterested in the conversation. We just saw two regular, able-bodied great white sharks.
    The group gave a tired laugh and went quiet as Jules put the orders on the counter. Paul could smell the reheated chicken. His gut recoiled.
    That shark, whatever you call it—Circus—isn’t retarded, the older man grumbled. There’s nothing dumb about it. It’s hungry, that’s what it is.
    Circus is retarded, Richard, Noddy said. No doubt about it. Taking a propeller like that. It’s got a hole the size of a laundry bucket where its eye should be.
    Won’t last long like that, said a deckhand that Paul had heard the men call Elmo. Paul could guess why. The deckhand’s face was permanently flushed red, bloated and shining as if he had been hanging upside down
    The men fell silent again as Paul heard the shuffle of boots coming from the doorway. He removed his hands from his eyes and recognised the men he had seen on his first night in Stark. They took the stools underneath the televisions.
    Paul nudged Michael with his elbow. Who are they? he whispered.
    Arthur’s boat, Michael replied without taking his eyes from his pizza. Deadman .
    Deadman ? Paul repeated. I haven’t seen it.
    You probably would not.
    Why?
    They moor it further up the inlet, upriver.
    Why?
    Michael returned a slice of pizza to his plate and breathed out impatient. I have not asked them, he said.
    Paul glanced towards the crew, careful not to be seen staring.
    Roo Dog, Michael said, anticipating the incoming question. He looked at Paul. And Anvil, Michael continued. Those are their names. It is best to stay far from them.
    Which is which?
    Roo Dog is the one like a skeleton, the one who looks sick. His brain is not well. Anvil is the big one. Not so smart, not so nice either.
    Elmo overheard Michael’s words and grimly nodded in agreement, eyes wide.
    There was something magnetic about the Deadman ’s crew. They had everyone on alert, all eyes inexorably drawn to them. The old captain sat in the middle like a ringmaster.
    Arthur, Jules greeted him. Good day?
    The old man shrugged. Things stay like this I’m gonna have to start prostituting myself.
    Anvil grunted.
    Give them my lovely arse, Arthur added, and sculled his beer, pleased with himself.
    Oh yeah, Jules said. Real gold mine.
    Arthur cackled. A girl walked out from the doorway behind the bar and immediately the gallery went quiet in a kind of perverted reverence. Kasia. Paul recognised her. It was the girl who had been in the hostel kitchen the night he had first arrived in Stark. He had seen her there again the night before, pouring milk from a carton with her name written in black.
    She pushed a mop