After he quickly left a short note on the table, they strolled hand in hand down the street towards Laura’s house, where they informed her mother of their plans. Then they stole a ride on a passing dray that took them down the rise to the waterfront, slipping off again when it turned away from the road that led down to the docks. The streets were quiet as they began to walk toward the pier along the dusty lane that snaked its way down the hill towards the water; it was Saturday and most people were resting. Rows of terrace houses stood like sentinels on one side of the lane, and small, pretty cottages adorned the other. People sitting on their verandahs smiled in a friendly way as the two of them passed. At one point a group of drunken sailors staggered by, talking and swearing and completely oblivious to the two children.
“Let’s go down this way,” Laura said suddenly, grabbing Brennan’s hand as she pointed to a narrow path that passed between two cottages. “It looks like it could be a shortcut; I can see the pier down at the end of it.”
They were most of the way down the lane when they heard a loud snarl, and then a huge brown dog suddenly hurled itself to the limits of the steel chain holding it, just short of the low garden fence. A woman screamed and hurried down the steps of her cottage. “Get away from here, quickly,” she shouted to the children as she tried unsuccessfully to subdue the dog. “This is my husband’s hunting dog. It is a trained killer; run quickly before it breaks the chain.”
Laura froze. Brennan pulled at her, trying to draw her away from the danger as the dog became more and more enraged. All at once it broke free and cleared the fence in a single bound, the remains of its chain trailing from its collar. The woman screamed with a new energy, calling frantically for her husband. Laura remained locked to the earth, her eyes wide with terror.
With no other choice, Brennan turned to face the attack. Staring at the charging dog, his mind suddenly focused on what he had to do; and his mental and emotional energy reached out to make contact with the enraged beast. In a cloud of dust the animal’s charge came to an abrupt, slithering halt, only a few yards from Brennan’s feet. There it crouched, growling deep in its throat as Brennan continued to watch it without speaking. Then, slowly, the growls subsided, until finally it was silent. Only now did he speak gently to the animal, soothing the massive creature with his words; while the dog began to whimper softly, edging forward toward Brennan’s feet with its shaggy belly dragging along the dusty path. When it finally reached him, he gently stroked the great, battle-scarred head. “Good boy. There was no need to be so upset, was there? You go on back to your master now; I see he is waiting for you.” And Brennan smiled at the big, rough-looking man staring at him from the garden gate; while the trained killer dog padded back to the man like a timid poodle.
The boy turned back to Laura, taking her hand and leading her down the path to the pier. “You are a strange one, aren’t you?” she whispered at last, and his smile grew even wider.
* * *
Brennan began to wag school soon after that, preferring to wander about the city. On these occasions he would usually visit the library, where he soon discovered that it took him very little time to read a book or manual and internalise its contents completely. Building on his growing knowledge, he began to question everyone and everything around him, often making him an embarrassment and even a threat to Ede’s brother-in-law Arthur, his wife, and the few friends they would sometimes bring along when visiting Ede. To Brennan it sometimes felt as if they thought they could not rely on Ede for stimulating conversation; so they brought their own.
Arthur had become a pompous sort of fellow who spoke often about his money, and the large property on the outskirts of the city that he owned, and his other many business interests. Brennan, however, knew that it was his Uncle John who had originally built up the money and the businesses before he died, and he wondered why Arthur should be so smug about something he had clearly only inherited. He also felt sorry for Ede, who had been given a bad deal because for some reason, her husband’s will had favoured his brother; but who had never shown any ill will against Arthur because of it.
One day, while Ede fussed about making tea and Arthur and some of his friends were sitting around the small table in the kitchen after dinner, sipping port and smoking smelly pipes or cigars, Arthur announced passionately that what the country needed was a new form of democracy. His wife, a thin sour-looking woman, and the assembled friends all nodded knowingly. “But we need to restrict the vote only to those people who have demonstrated an ability to be contributing members of society,” he continued smugly. “Allowing the riffraff and layabouts to vote is the reason we have so many scoundrels in government nowadays.”
Brennan finished his glass of buttermilk and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He had been reading about politics during one of his library visits. “What you propose then, Uncle,” he said clearly, drawing a surprised look from Ede, “is not really democracy at all. Rather, it sounds like a form of selected representation by a particular class, your own to be specific, rather upper class.” He suddenly felt very grown up. “But that would not work. Democracy depends on representation of a wide range of interest groups so that a balanced government can be formed. What you suggest would inevitably lead to an approach that would ultimately act against the interests of everyone, including your own class. Whether you accept it or not, the interests and efforts of all people need to interlock; we all need each other.”
He smiled as his uncle’s whiskers started to twitch. His wife simpered nervously. One of the men laughed out loud, slapping his thigh. “By Jove, Arthur, the boy has you covered there.”
“That child is a smarty pants if ever there was one,” Arthur growled. “He should learn that children are to be seen but not heard.”
Ede moved quickly to offer the tea around, at the same time quietly urging Brennan to return to his books. As he left, the boy thought being seen but not heard a strange idea; but he had observed the reaction of the other adults to his speaking up. He resolved henceforth to keep quiet in the presence of his elders, deciding that one did not necessarily need to show off what one knew. Until he found a use for it, he would keep his growing knowledge to himself.
Chapter
3
Sometimes Brennan liked to get out of the city and visit fringe of bush land covering the high ridges over looking the harbour. Today he followed a narrow animal track that snaked up the hill until eventually the path disappeared altogether and he was forced to push his way through the bush. At the top of the ridge he found a private little clearing that looked out over the sprawling city and the glassy, picture-book image of the harbour. Squatting on the rocks, he looked down on the sailing ships that were moored against the key. The water was still and crystal-clear, and the ships looked like tiny ornaments sitting on a glass tabletop. He watched the fishing boats coming through the heads, their keels low in the water with the weight of the catch.
It was quiet on the ridge in the mid-morning. The sounds of the bush were unobtrusive and only the faintest sounds of civilisation rose up from the settlement below. The native animals were his only companions. People never strayed too far from the city or the well-established roads – they were too afraid of the Aborigines or the bushrangers, and any other real or imagined evils that may lurk in the bush. Brennan feared none of these things, though. The few natives he had met were friendly and he doubted that any bushrangers would venture this close to the city; and even if they did, they would have no interest in someone like him.
Kangaroos and wallabies regarded him curiously from a safe distance, and birds hopped about in the lower branches of the gums to study the strange boy who had suddenly appeared among them. A large family of laughing kookaburras howled with mirth when they saw him, as if he’d triggered some private joke in their minds. Some of them settled on the rocks nearby and stared at him, heads aslant, their eyes two bright beads of resentment
