The Luminaries

did.’
    Wells brought the poker down. It glanced off the other man’s temple—and Carver fainted away. Wells waited a moment, to see if he was shamming, but the faint was plainly real: he was showing the whites of his eyes, and one of his hands was twitching.
    Wells laid the poker down, out of Carver’s reach. He transferred the pistol to his right hand. Tentatively, he pushed the muzzle ofthe pistol into Carver’s cheek, and nudged him. The man’s head rolled back.
    ‘Is he dead?’ said Anna, from the doorway. Her face was white.
    ‘No. He’s breathing.’
    With his left hand Wells took his bowie knife from his boot, and unsheathed the blade.
    ‘Will you kill him?’ Anna whispered.
    ‘No.’
    ‘What will you do?’
    Wells did not answer. Using his pistol to keep Carver’s head steady, he inserted the point of his knife just below the outer corner of Carver’s left eye. Blood welled up instantly, running thickly down his cheek. With a sudden flick of his wrist, Wells twisted the blade, slicing from his eye down to his jaw. He leaped back—but Carver did not wake; he only gurgled. His cheek was now awash with blood; it was running off the line of his jaw and soaking into his collar.
    ‘C for Carver,’ said Wells quietly, staring at him. ‘You’re a man to remember now, Francis Carver. You’re the man with the scar.’
    He looked up and caught Anna’s eye. Her hands were over her mouth; she looked horrified. He jerked his chin at the decanter on the sideboard. ‘Have a drink,’ he said. ‘You’ll be asleep in a minute. Only you’d better do it fast.’
    Anna glanced at the decanter. The laudanum had darkened the whisky very slightly, giving the liquid a coppery glow. ‘How much?’ she said.
    ‘As much as you can stomach,’ said Wells. ‘And then lie down on your side—not your back. You’ll drown on your own self, otherwise .’
    ‘How long will it take?’
    ‘No time at all,’ said Crosbie Wells. He wiped his knife on the carpet, sheathed it, and then stood, ready to leave.
    ‘Wait.’ Anna ran into the bedroom. A moment later she returned with the gold nugget that he had first given her, the afternoon of their first encounter. ‘Here,’ she said, pressing it into his hands. ‘Take it. You can use it to get away.’

MAKEWEIGHTS
    In which Crosbie Wells asks for help; a customs agent becomes angry; and a bill of lading is recalled.
    ‘Psst—Bill!’
    The official looked up from his newspaper. ‘Who’s that?’
    ‘It’s Wells. Crosbie Wells.’
    ‘Come out where I can see you.’
    ‘Here.’ He emerged into the light, palms up.
    ‘What are you doing—creeping about in the dark?’
    Wells took another step forward. Still with his palms up, he said, ‘I need a favour.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘I need to get on a ship first light.’
    The official’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where you bound?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Wells. ‘Anywhere. I just need to go quiet.’
    ‘What’s in it for me?’
    Wells opened his left fist: there, against his palm, was the nugget that Anna had returned to him. The official looked at it, making a mental estimation of its worth, and then said, ‘What about the law?’
    ‘I’m on side with the law,’ said Wells.
    ‘Who’s on your heels, then?’
    ‘Man named Carver,’ said Wells.
    ‘What’s he got on you?’
    ‘My papers,’ said Wells. ‘And a fortune. He lifted a fortune from my safe.’
    ‘When did you ever make a fortune?’
    ‘At Dunstan,’ said Wells. ‘Maybe a year ago. Fifteen months.’
    ‘You kept bloody quiet about it.’
    ‘Course I did. I never told a soul but Lydia.’
    The man laughed. ‘That was your first mistake, then.’
    ‘No,’ said Wells, ‘my last.’
    They looked at each other. Presently Bill said, ‘Might not be worth it. For me.’
    ‘I go aboard tonight, hide away, sail first thing. You keep this nugget, and I keep my life. That’s all. You don’t need to get me on board—just tell me which ship is leaving, and turn a blind eye as I walk past.’
    The official wavered. He put aside his paper and leaned forward to check the schedule pinned above his desk. ‘There’s a schooner bound for Hokitika leaving at first light,’ he said after a moment. ‘The
Blanche
.’
    ‘You tell me where she’s anchored,’ said Wells. ‘Give me a window. That’s all I’m asking, Bill.’
    The official pursed his lips, considering it. He turned back to the schedule, as though the best course of action