The Luminaries

‘Oh … yes, I suppose he is good. How do I paint a picture of my father? He is a reading man, and he is well regarded in his profession, but he has a queer sense of things. For example: he tells me my inheritance comprises only his fiddle and his shaving razor—saying that if a man is to make his way in the world, all he needs is a good shave and the means to make some music. I believe he’s written it into his will like that, and portioned everything else to my mother. He’s a little peculiar.’
    ‘Hm,’ said Carver.
    They were breakfasting together at the Hawthorn Hotel for the very last time. The next morning, the schooner
Blanche
was scheduled to depart for Hokitika, with the barque
Godspeed
, newly caulked and fitted, bound for Melbourne some hours later.
    ‘Do you know,’ Staines added, as he tapped his egg, ‘that is the first time since my landing in Dunedin that somebody has asked me what my father does for a living; but I have been asked where I shall make my fortune no less than a dozen times, and I have been offered all kinds of sponsorship, and I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked what I mean to do with my pile, once I have amassed a competence! What a curious phrase that is—a “ competence ”. It seems to sell the notion awfully short.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Carver, his eyes on the
Otago Witness.
    ‘Are you expecting someone?’ said Staines.
    ‘What?’ said Carver, without looking up.
    ‘Only that you’ve been reading the shipping news for the past ten minutes,’ said Staines, ‘and you’ve hardly touched your breakfast.’
    ‘I’m not waiting for anyone,’ said Carver. He turned a page of the paper and began to read the goldfields correspondence.
    They lapsed into silence for a time. Carver kept his eyes upon thepaper; Staines finished his egg. Just as Staines was about to rise from the table and excuse himself, the front door opened, and a penny postman walked in. ‘Mr. Francis Carver,’ he called.
    ‘That’s me,’ said Carver, raising his hand.
    He tore open the envelope and scanned the paper briefly. Staines could see, through the thinness of the paper, that the letter was composed of only one line of script.
    ‘I do hope it’s not bad news,’ he said.
    Carver did not move for a long moment; then he crushed the paper in his hand and tossed it sideways into the fire. He reached into his pocket for a penny, and once the postman had scurried away, he turned to Staines and said, ‘What would you say to a gold sovereign?’
    ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever addressed one before,’ said Staines.
    Carver stared at him.
    ‘Do you need help?’ Staines said.
    ‘Yes. Come with me.’
    Staines followed his sponsor up the stairs. He waited while Carver unlocked the door to his private quarters, and then stepped into the room after him. He had never set foot in Carver’s room before. It was much larger than his own, but similarly furnished. It still held the musty, bodily smell of sleep: Carver’s bedclothes were twisted in the centre of the mattress. In the centre of the room was an iron-strapped chest. Pasted to the lid was a yellow bill of lading:
    B EARER A LISTAIR L AUDERBACK
    S HIPPER D ANFORTH S HIPPING
    C ARRIER G ODSPEED
    ‘I need you to watch over this,’ said Carver.
    ‘What’s inside it?’
    ‘Don’t you mind what’s inside it. I just need you to watch over it, until I come back. Two hours, maybe. Three hours. I’ve got some business up town. There’d be a sovereign in it for you.’
    Staines raised his eyebrows. ‘A whole sovereign—to watch a chest for three hours? Whatever for?’
    ‘You’d be doing me a favour,’ said Carver. ‘I don’t forget a favour.’
    ‘It must be terribly valuable,’ said Staines.
    ‘To me it is,’ said Carver. ‘Do you want the job?’
    ‘Well—all right,’ said Staines, smiling. ‘As a favour. I’d be glad.’
    ‘You’d best have a pistol,’ said Carver, going to the bureau.
    Staines was so astonished he laughed. ‘A pistol?’ he said.
    Carver found a single-loading revolver, snapped open the breech, and peered into it. Then he nodded, snapped it back together, and passed it to Staines.
    ‘Should I expect to use this?’ said Staines, turning it over.
    ‘No,’ said Carver. ‘Just wave it about, if anyone walks in.’
    ‘Wave it about?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who’s going to walk in?’
    ‘Nobody,’ said Carver. ‘Nobody’s going to walk in.’
    ‘What’s in the trunk?’