Bryce Courtenay - The Potato Factory

Tommo knew the boy was known as Boxey, because his head was almost square. 'George,' Boxey whispered slyly into Tommo's ear, though loud enough for those gathered around to hear him. There was a giggle from the others at their leader's foxy trick.

Tommo stood facing Hawk fifty feet away and signalled him using the silent language. Hawk held the lobster up to his ear and appeared to listen. Then he shook his head and then the crustacean, and listened once more. Suddenly a big smile appeared on his face. 'The magic African lobster says the name given be George, but Boxey be the name what's real!' he shouted back at them.

The mouths of the urchins standing around Tommo fell open, and Boxey became very red in the face.

'You be careful, mate!' Tommo growled. 'Or you could be in real big trouble!'

Hawk suddenly held the lobster back to his ear. 'The magic African lobster says if any boy gives him a wrong name again they be double cursed to drown at sea!' he shouted.

There was a further gasp of astonishment from the boys.

'You!' Tommo said, pointing to a skinny urchin who was dressed in rags with great holes showing through, 'Come and whisper your name.' The boy, even smaller than Tommo, looked up at him terrified. 'I dunno what's me real name, they calls me Minnow.' His eyes pleaded with Tommo. 'I don't wanna be cursed, please!'

'Yeah, well I'll do me best,' Tommo said. 'But I can't make no promise. Turn your back to the magic lobster so he can't see your lips,' he commanded sternly. The urchin, shaking all over, did as he was told.

Moments later Hawk called back, 'Minnow!'

Tommo turned to the leader of the gang. 'Boxey, you be real lucky this time! But be warned!' He turned to the other urchins. 'Anyone want to take a chance o' being cursed?' There were no further volunteers and so Tommo called over to Hawk, 'Put the lobster in the bag and come over!'

As Hawk approached the gang they started to back away from him. 'Don't run!' Tommo said. 'We got to lift the curse first!'

'What's you mean?' Boxey asked suspiciously, his voice slightly tremulous. 'You said we wasn't cursed if we be careful.' He seemed brighter than the others and suddenly asked, 'How come he's your brother and he be black?'

'That's what I means, we got to lift the curse!' Tommo replied.

'I were born same as him,' Hawk explained, pointing to Tommo. 'Same's me brother, but I got cursed by the horrible African lobster and now I's black, see!'

'What you just seen here be black magic and folk's not s'posed to see black magic,' Tommo said. 'So me brother, what's turned black and is now the black magician what's forced to pass on the curse, will wave the lobster over your heads and then the curse be lifted. Now, if you please, a circle. Hold hands and make a circle. I'll tell you when to close your eyes!'

The boys formed into a circle holding hands with Hawk in the centre. Hawk lifted a lobster out of the bag and held it high above his head.

'Close your eyes tight now!' Tommo instructed. 'If you peeks you is cursed for life and you drowns all horrible out to sea but before that you turns black!'

Hawk started to recite:

Tommo waited for Hawk to place the lobster back into the bag. 'You can open your eyes, you be safe now,' Tommo instructed. 'Curse be lifted, but scarper quick and stay out of our way!' He then repeated Hawk's lines. 'Beware the black magician's curse, or things what's bad will soon be worse!'

'G'warn, clear off!' Hawk shouted, scowling fiercely. The urchins, terror etched on their dirty faces, turned and fled for their lives.

The two boys waited a few moments, most pleased with themselves. Then Hawk took up the wriggling bag of lobsters and they started to laugh. They continued laughing all the way up the hill to Mrs McKinney's fish shop.

'I reckons maybe Uncle Ikey be right,' Hawk said finally, then turned to Tommo and asked, 'Was you scared?'

'Yeah, shittin' meself!'

'Me too, but I reckon it's much better than getting your nose busted!'

'Blood' oath!' Tommo said happily.

Towards the end of the seventh year of their lives, Tommo and Hawk disappeared on a perfectly calm winter's day somewhere on the slopes of Mount Wellington.

Hobart Town had wakened that morning to find that the first winter snow had fallen and crusted the summit of the great mountain. The day that followed was crisp, with winter sunshine bright and sharp as polished silver.

Mary had spent most of the day at the new Potato Factory buildings where the majority of her beer production was now taking place. The old mill was used increasingly as a bottle shop, managed by Jessamy Hawkins.

It was the daily custom of Tommo and Hawk to accompany Mary to the small cottage at Strickland Falls, which served both as an office and schoolroom, where she supervised their lessons.

However, on the day they disappeared the two boys had begged Mary to allow them to climb to the snowline. She had hesitated at first. It was a three-hour climb and the weather on the mountain had a habit of closing in even on a sunny day. But she had finally yielded to their beseeching, and at ten o'clock they took some bread and cheese and escaped their lessons to explore the snow at the summit before the warm sunshine should melt it.

Mary had cautioned them to be careful and to come home immediately wherever they were if the weather turned, and no later than an hour before sunset. Tommo and Hawk were as agile as mountain goats and had explored the mountain with Mary since they were toddlers. Furthermore, there was a log hut at the summit should the weather close in, and it contained a plentiful supply of wood left by the woodcutters who worked the slopes.

Despite the warm day it was always cold at the summit, and Mary had insisted they wear their opossum jackets which, though considered most unfashionable by the third raters, were much utilised by rural folk, shepherds, sealers, kangaroo hunters and woodcutters who worked the wilderness country. Mary had purchased these wonderfully soft and warm garments for the boys, and she kept them at the Potato Factory at Strickland Falls precisely because of the unpredictable moods of the mountain.

At four-thirty in the afternoon, an hour before sunset, like all mothers, Mary's ears were tuned for the homecoming calls of the two boys, although her expectation was pointless, because the roar of the falls would drown out the sounds of their approach. But they knew her routine, and her need to be back at the mill before the bells of St David's tolled for evensong.

Mary smiled to herself at the thought of the journey home with the two boys. It was the happiest part of the day for her, as she had them all to herself. She loved the walk through the woods and, as they approached the town, the smell of wood smoke and the sweep of the hazy hills across the great silver river spread below.

Tommo and Hawk would be scratched from crawling through brambles and so covered with dirt they might well need to be bathed even though it was not their tub night. Tommo would be running ahead and turning back and taking her hand, words tumbling out in fierce competition with Hawk to tell her of their grand adventure as they'd played in the first of the winter snow. Hawk would be carrying her basket, hopping and skipping beside her with his head full of serious questions or explanations of the things he'd seen.

They would arrive back at the old mill just as the working people of Hobart Town started to arrive to buy their beer to take home. It was a busy hour and Mary would help Jessamy with the customers until half past seven o'clock. Soon after, Ikey would arrive and Mary would make supper for them all. Then, when Ikey retired to work on the books, she would read to the boys. They seldom remained awake much beyond nine o'clock, when she locked up and washed her face and arms and retired to bed herself, but not before making Ikey a large mug of strong tea which he liked to take with milk and six teaspoons of caster sugar.