They Too Are Brothers

The Far Eastern Curlew likes Gaius's haiku.

Ha ha. A sign about rules for a vessel no vessel can see.

For his part, Gaius is impressed that the Far Eastern Curlew comprehends Latin.

Except for the last line, with which he had difficulty.

Understandable really. It was enigmatic.

Saint Roley continues probing the mudflats. He has found (would you believe it?) six mud whelks.

Farky watches, with mounting horror.

Are these to be his new teeth? Round with curly points. Like dog turds.

What could be more embarrassing? And what sort of things will they know?

Only fishy marine things.

Arthur has nothing to do.

He thinks about Sweezus, still surfing at Currumbin. Or perhaps having lunch.

Is it lunch time?

No. It's eleven fifteen.

He calls Sweezus. No answer. He calls Unni.

What? says Unni. Are you on your way back yet?

Yes, says Arthur. We're finished here.

Well done, says Unni. We'll wait for you before we get lunch. Come straight to the surf club.

Okay, says Arthur. Tell Sweezus I wrote him a poem.

What's it about? asks Unni.

A fig tree. Gaius likes it, says Arthur.

Ooh! Remind Gaius about the Tour Down Under! says Unni. Bye Arthur!

Unni says remember the Tour Down Under, says Arthur.

Why? asks Gaius. When is it?

Arthur doesn't know, but he thinks it's quite soonish. He taps on his phone.

It's next Saturday, says Arthur.

Mercury's marbles! says Gaius. What team am I in?

Team Philosphe, I suppose, says Arthur. So, we'd better be going.

Thank goodness you brought the Mini, says Gaius. Come on Saint Roley, Farky. Bring those mud whelks. Let's go.

So you're leaving us, says the Far Eastern Curlew. I might have known. You were our best hope of stopping the Moreton Bay Regional Development.

You are your own best hope, says Gaius. You understand Latin. How are you on chemistry?

Very good on chemistry! says the Far Eastern Curlew. I was born and bred in Siberia.

That's geography, says Gaius. I was thinking about acid sulphates. If they go ahead with dredging these mud flats for a 400 berth marina, acid sulphates will be released from the mudflats into the surrounding environment.

Oh. Thanks for the heads up, says the Far Eastern Curlew. We might make use of that. Goodbye then. Good luck with the Tour. I can't tell you how much I admire the stamina of cyclists.

Nothing compares with what you do, says Gaius. Good luck to you, too.

And to you, Saint Roley, says the Far Eastern Curlew. You are welcome to take the entire six mud whelks as dog teeth. May they bring your dog wisdom.

Many thanks, says Saint Roley. We are all brothers.

The six mud whelks jostle nervously in Arthur's shorts pocket.

They too are brothers.