‘Pleased to meet you, Henry darlin’. Frank has told me about you.’ Mrs Shanahan shook his hand. ‘Mr Jack is here, too. Go and sit yourself down.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Our Frank’s up the back of the tent.’

Frank’s mother reminded Henry a little of his own mam, and he liked her straightaway. She was small and dark-eyed, and as a widow she was dressed all in black. Her Irish accent was even stronger than Frank’s.

The refreshment tent was filling quickly as more and more diggers turned up for a mutton pie served with potatoes and gravy. Afterwards, Henry knew, most of them would slip around to an annexe at the back of the tent for an illegal glass of beer or cider, or something stronger, at sixpence a pannikin.

Henry looked around for Frank, and saw him waving from the far end of the tent. He was sitting across a table from Jack, who wore his feathered straw hat and his dallong.

‘Henry!’ Jack called. ‘Come and join us!’

Henry’s heart lifted. He’d never had a brother. Little George didn’t count, as he was just a tiny baby when he died. This feeling of belonging he had when he saw Frank and Jack must be how you felt about real brothers. He pushed his way through the crowd and sat down next to Jack. ‘How’s our joey, Jack?’

‘I’m pleased to say that the little fellow is thriving. It’s too soon to know if his wound is healed, but he is warm and safe in his new pouch, and he is eating grass. Which is what I would be eating, too, if the sainted Mrs Shanahan didn’t feed me.’

‘Get along with you, Mr Jack,’ said Mrs Shanahan, who had just come up to their table. ‘Frank, darlin’, fetch Henry a drink and a bite to eat while I make some more pastry.’

Frank followed his mother into the galvanised-iron lean-to kitchen and returned with a glass of lemonade and a plate of fried potatoes. As he did so, a loud voice outside said, ‘Everybody stay where you are!’

The cheerful hum of conversation in the tent stopped. Some customers slipped quietly away; others craned forward to see what was going on.

Frank sat down with a bump. ‘It’s the traps,’ he said to Henry. ‘They come here all the time, and Ma has to pay them to go away.’

‘Why?’

‘She has to sell grog to make any sort of a living, but she hasn’t got a licence,’ Frank explained. ‘If she doesn’t give the traps bribe money, they say they’ll fine her fifty pounds, or rip our tent up with their swords, or burn it down, or maybe all three things at once. Or else she could end up in prison.’ He made a face. ‘If you’re rich and you have a proper hotel, like Bentley’s Eureka down the road, you can get your licence as easy as kiss-me-quick. Not that Mr Bentley is serving much grog now, the murdering beggar.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Henry said. ‘Why should things be easier for you just because you’re rich?’

But Frank wasn’t listening. ‘By all the saints, would you look at who it is?’

The trap swaggering into the tent was Sergeant Nockles, and behind him was Constable Thomas. Quickly Henry turned his head away, hoping they wouldn’t see him, but he was too late.

‘Well, well, well,’ drawled Nockles. ‘Look who we have here, Constable Thomas. By my life, it’s that famous animal lover, Henry Hood, and his Paddy mate.’

‘The name’s Frank,’ said Frank politely.

Nockles smirked. ‘You insulted the uniform last time we met, Frank, and I haven’t forgotten it. Where’s your mother?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Frank, still sounding very polite. ‘I think she might have gone out. If you’re after a pie, my sister Bridget will serve you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said Nockles. ‘Your mother wouldn’t be going anywhere when there’s customers waiting, now, would she?’ He sat down next to Jack. ‘And speaking of customers, Constable Thomas and I would like some refreshment. So, Frank, go and get your mother. Do it now. Or else I might have to see about closing this place down. Immediately.’

Frank’s expression didn’t change. He got up and returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later he came back with his mother. Mrs Shanahan was carrying a tray with two glasses on it.

‘My apologies, sir,’ she said to Nockles. ‘Won’t you please accept some of our fine cordial? Nothing but the best for you gentlemen.’

Nockles picked up a glass and flung the contents onto the earth floor of the tent. ‘We don’t want this rubbish,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a couple of nobblers of rum to start with, and then we’ll take a bottle of your best brandy.’ He fingered the hilt of his sword. ‘And unless you want your filthy tent cut to pieces, I’d advise you to get moving.’

Jack had been watching without saying a word. Now he spoke up. ‘My dear chap,’ he said in a mild voice, ‘that’s no way to speak to a lady, is it?’

Nockles leaned back and put his feet up on the table. ‘A lady? I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Bog-dwelling Irish is what she is. And as for you – you’re nothing but a damned trouble-maker, stirring up the miners for no good reason. So you can keep your nose right out of this, if you please.’

‘But I don’t please,’ said Jack. ‘In fact, I’m asking you to make your apology to Mrs Shanahan.’

‘What?’ scoffed Nockles. ‘The day I apologise to someone like her is the day Hell freezes over.’

Mrs Shanahan wiped her hands nervously on her apron. ‘Please, Mr Jack, don’t concern yourself, not on my account –’ she began.

‘An apology is quite definitely in order, my dear Mrs Shanahan,’ said Jack, ‘and I shall see that you get one.’

As he spoke, Henry saw him open up his dallong and begin, very gently, to unwind Lola from around his neck.

Nockles had turned back to Mrs Shanahan. Now he thumped his boots on the table. ‘We want those nobblers, now!’ he shouted. His small eyes swivelled around the tent. ‘What are you all gawking at?’

Lola moved quickly. She slipped from Jack’s shoulders. She slithered down his arm. In seconds she had started to coil herself around Sergeant Nockles’s left leg and was moving upward.

Henry stared. Frank kicked him under the table, and put a finger to his lips. He was almost choking with the effort of trying not to laugh.

Nockles hadn’t realised yet what was happening. But when Lola reached his lap, his eyes bulged with terror.

‘Aaaaargh!’ he screamed. ‘Help! Get it off me! Thomas, you great galoot – help me!’

‘Ooh, it’s moving, ooh, I can’t,’ wailed Constable Thomas, stumbling away. ‘Get a bucket of water, someone,’ he ordered. ‘Throw a bucket of water over it!’

‘Hurry up, damn it!’ said Nockles.

‘Oh dear,’ said Jack. ‘I’m afraid you are making far too much noise, Sergeant. You are frightening the animal. And unfortunately, when this kind of snake is alarmed, it will tighten its grip.’

Sergeant Nockles’s face was starting to go purple. ‘Help me,’ he whispered as Lola wrapped herself around his shoulders.

‘Of course,’ said Jack. ‘Perhaps you’d consider a deal? Lola, you naughty girl, please stop licking the Sergeant’s face.’ A crowd had gathered around the table, and Jack turned to them. ‘Snakes smell through their tongues, you know,’ he said. ‘I wonder what Lola is smelling now?’

‘Yes, a deal, yes,’ whispered Nockles. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘Very well,’ Jack said. ‘I must first ask you to apologise very humbly to Mrs Shanahan for your rude outburst.’

‘I apologise,’ moaned Nockles. ‘I most humbly apologise.’

‘And now that Hell has frozen over,’ said Jack, ‘you must allow Mrs Shanahan to run her business without let or hindrance. In fact, you will leave her alone entirely, and you will tell your fellow troopers to do likewise.’

‘I promise, I promise. Aaargh, it’s around my neck,’ Nockles muttered hoarsely. He coughed, and tears came into his eyes. ‘I can’t breathe.’

‘Splendid,’ Jack murmured. He winked at Henry and Frank. ‘Then I believe our business, to which there are many witnesses, is concluded.’

He reached out, took Lola’s head in one hand, and with the other carefully unwound her. ‘There you are, my dear chap,’ he said to Nockles.

Sergeant Nockles stood up, shook himself, and strode out of the tent with Constable Thomas. They were followed by loud applause. ‘Have three cheers for Happy Jack,’ yelled someone. ‘Hip, hip, hoorah!’

Mrs Shanahan was laughing so hard that tears were running down her face. ‘Oh, Mr Jack, thank you,’ she said. ‘It was that good to see him brought down a peg or two.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t entirely trust him to keep his promise, but it will take him a while to recover his usual blustering character, I feel.’

‘And then,’ Henry said quietly to Frank, ‘he’ll have us in the gun good and proper. He won’t forget this in a hurry.’

‘No,’ Frank replied. ‘But, begorrah, it was worth it!’