A simple farmer receives a horse from the gods, a man sells ice creams named after missing schoolkids, the demolition of a hotel brings an old horror to light, a wounded soldier finds the real enemy is in his own camp, a family inherits a peculiar r...
Molly laughed nervously. "That's what the papers called it. He made his fortune in the Ballarat goldfields. His claim was up on a hill. Dug for a year before he hit gold. Told the press he found the egg sitting right there in the lode. I guess that's where the dragon story came from."
David squinted at her.
"Dragons hoard gold?" she said.
"Oh."
"Perhaps he had it made. A hoax, you know? Anyway, he came back to Melbourne, bought this hotel, and lived here with his daughter."
"The mother?"
"Died in childbirth."
He peered closely at the photograph. "Dinosaur egg?"
"Could be. Naturalist came out from England to look at it, but by the time he got here it was too late."
"For what?"
"Kettle lost it."
David leaned in closer. The photograph was grainy and shadowy. The girl was sitting on a chair, a hand on each side of the egg. It was so large that its point reached her chin. If it had been concrete it would have crushed her. Plaster perhaps, or papier mâché. Whether due to a trick of light or some photographic effect, the perspective of the room seemed wrong somehow: in the corner of the photograph the floor and ceiling appeared to curve up to meet. A single, round window opened out onto an empty sky.
"Better get back downstairs," Molly said. "Don't like to leave Dad too long." It was clear she didn't like the photograph.
When they had finished inspecting the rest of the hotel, Molly asked him if he wanted a beer. He didn't usually drink on the job, but David felt obliged to say yes. He sat at the bar beside the old man. Molly poured his beer then went out the back.
In the time it had taken to inspect the hotel the old man had managed to drink only half of his beer. He stared into it as if David wasn't there. David was about to ask him about the missing window, but the old man spoke first.
"Find any treasures?"
David said nothing.
"Oh I've heard all about you on the wireless. Wheeler the Wrecker. Famous." His voice warbled as it rose.
"That was my father."
"Apple never falls far from the tree. Look at my daughter, staying on here when she should've been out finding a rich husband. As much sense as I ever had. None."
David said nothing.
"Go on, knock it down. Good riddance. Never made a bob for me anyway."
"How old is it?" David said, eager to change the subject.
"John Batman bought the land in 1837 – know him?"
"Yes."
"Bet you didn't know he wanted to call the city Batmania, after himself. Batmania." He broke out into a croaking laugh. David smiled. He knew that story too.
"Paid seventy-five pounds for the land. Someone built a pub on it. Maybe Batman himself. Who knows?"
"Kettle?" David said.
The old man shook his head. "He was a convict. Transported here in 1831. Served his term, went straight off to the goldfields. Least two people owned the pub before he bought it." He reached out for his beer with a shaking hand and brought it to his lips. When he put it down again he ran his tongue over his lips. "Been trying to sell it for years. This one bloke was going to turn it into a family restaurant. Jesus. Another wouldn't tell me what he had planned. Something shameful no doubt. There's this queer place up the road where all the young fellas go. What do I care? Just wanted it off my hands. Never told any of them about Kettle. Some people are superstitious - might've soured the deal. But you - you're just knocking it down."
"I'm just knocking it down," David intoned slowly, like a priest.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Fact: the city of Melbourne was founded by Batman. Look it up.
