The Lay-Up at Roebuck Bay

Chapter 1 The Last Lugger In
Chapter 2 Dampier Creek
Chapter 3 Salt and Shell
Chapter 4 Chinatown Whispers
Chapter 5 The Gathering Sky
Chapter 6 Below the Waterline
Chapter 7 Tides of Roebuck Bay
Chapter 8 Diver's Rest
Chapter 9 The Barometer Falls
Chapter 10 Iron and Timber
Chapter 11 The Shifting Wind
Chapter 12 Cable Beach Tensions
Chapter 13 A Matter of Pay and Blood
Chapter 14 The Mangrove Shelter
Chapter 15 False Calm
Chapter 16 The Air Line
Chapter 17 Darkness Over Shenton Street
Chapter 18 Mooring Lines
Chapter 19 The North-West Blow
Chapter 20 Tempest in the Bay
Chapter 21 The Longest Night
Chapter 22 In the Fury's Wake
Chapter 23 Broken Luggers
Chapter 24 Counting the Cost
Chapter 25 Clearing Skies
Chapter 26 To the Open Sea

CHAPTER ONE: The Last Lugger In

The heavy, humid stillness of late November hung over Roebuck Bay like a wet woollen blanket. Out on the glassy water, the twilights of the pearling season were drawing to a close, giving way to the oppressive silence that always preceded the sumatra blows and the dreaded willy-willies of the North-West.

Captain Jack Mercer stood on the narrow timber deck of the Northern Star, his hand resting on the polished brass rim of the helm. His shirt was unbuttoned to the sternum, dark with sweat, revealing skin tanned to the color and texture of salted beef. Behind him, the low, flat silhouette of Broome crept closer out of the heat haze—a patchwork of iron roofs, soaring coconut palms, and the dense, twisting emerald fringe of the Dampier Creek mangroves.

"Steady as she goes, Ah Ling," Mercer muttered, his voice raspy from a week of living on dry sea-biscuits and brackish water.

At the bow, a small, bird-like Chinese hand named Ah Ling adjusted the jib sheet without a word. He was agile despite his years, his bare feet gripping the sun-baked teak deck like suction cups. For six months, the Northern Star had chased the rich banks of shell off Eighty Mile Beach, braving murky tides, tiger sharks, and the ever-present threat of the bends. Now, she was the last of Mercer’s small fleet to turn her nose toward the safety of the bay for the long lay-up.

around them, dozens of other two-masted ketch-rigged luggers already rode high on their moorings. Their topmasts had been struck, their canvas unreefed and stowed away in oilskin wraps, and their anchor chains double-shackled against the fury of the coming wet season. The bay looked like a floating

CHAPTER TWO: Dampier Creek

The Northern Star glided through the muddy, tea-colored mouth of Dampier Creek as the tide reached its peak, sloshing against the red mud banks where thousands of tiny blue soldier crabs scurried for cover. Mercer stood at the rail, watching the water level with a practiced, anxious eye. In this corner of the world, thirty-foot tides were not a curiosity; they were a master that dictated every action, every breath, and every pound of cargo moved between land and sea.

If they missed the turn of the tide, the lugger would be left high and dry on the slick, suffocating mudflats, listing at a forty-five-degree angle until the waters returned twelve hours later. Mercer had seen greenhorn skippers snap their masts or strain their planking by misjudging the creek’s fickle currents. He had no intention of joining their ranks.

"Stand by the

Table of Contents

The Lay-Up at Roebuck Bay

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE: The Last Lugger In

CHAPTER TWO: Dampier Creek