Black Marks Explained

At the campsite.

Wake up! says Terence. It's morning!

Eheu! says Gaius, as he opens his eyes.

EARLY morning! groans Pierre-Louis.

Gaius stands up. He is damp underneath, which he expected.

Pierre-Louis is stiff.

He picks up the apple bag on which he was sleeping and looks for the apples.

He thought he had left them just there.

Where are they?

Curses! says Gaius. That means no breakfast.

Look! says Terence. I didn't find a spider but I found an easter morning!

I think he means me, says the eastern mourning skink.

An eastern mourning skink! says Gaius. Well done, Terence.

That was why I said wake up, it's morning, says Terence.

A joke we made up on the way here, says the eastern mourning skink. 

Very good, says Gaius. Did you hear that, Pierre-Louis?

Yes, says Pierre-Louis. But I'm more concerned about the apples. 

Where's Squatty? asks Terence.

Asleep in your carriage, says Gaius. 

Terence runs to his carriage. 

Wake up Squatty!

Squattu opens her eyes. Squee! 

Come out! says Terence. I found a skink.

It can wait, says Squattu.

She closes her eyes again.

Terence goes back.

Pierre-Louis is still looking for the apples.

Gaius is admiring the eastern mourning skink's markings.

Black stripes down each side. Another stripe from above the ear to the base of the tail. Head and limbs flecked with black markings.

I had not expected to see a lissolepis coventryi, says Gaius.

I had not expected to see a cement boy in gecko shorts, says the skink.

Touché, says Gaius. But the cement boy is not endangered.

Glad to hear it, says the eastern mourning skink. He's a nice boy. He asked me why I was sad.

And why were you? asks Gaius.

I wasn't, says the eastern mourning skink.

Perhaps you had told him your name, suggests Gaius.

I had, says the eastern mourning skink. He misunderstood it.

Of course, says Gaius. And then you explained?

I said mourning was like being sad, says the eastern mourning skink.

There you have it, says Gaius. He made a reasonable assumption.

In fact, none of us eastern mourning skinks are sad, says the eastern mourning skink. 

Doubtless, says Gaius. It's your black markings that gave you that name.

And yet, says the eastern mourning skink, other creatures have black markings.

That is well observed, says Gaius. One doesn't call a zebra a mourning zebra, nor a penguin a mourning penguin.

I suppose we must live with that, says the eastern mourning skink.

Not necessarily, says Gaius. Many of my fellow naturalists call you a swamp skink. There's something to think about.

It's not as classy, says the eastern mourning skink.

A factor to consider, says Gaius.

I record this conversation in order to show that Gaius is a natural historian with a great deal of empathy.

But that will do now.

Mourning Not Morning

Why are you looking for spiders? asks the growling grass frog.

Because I'm bored, says Terence.

And how come you know so much about penguins? asks the growling grass frog.

Because my best friend is a penguin, says Terence.

No penguins here, says the growling grass frog.

That's why I'm looking for spiders, says Terence.

Any one in particular? asks the growling grass frog.

Daniel O'Connell, says Terence. But he probably died.

Like they all do, says the growing grass frog. Well I'm off now. Goodbye.

Goodbye, frog, says Terence.

He wanders further away from the campsite where Gaius and Pierre-Louis are sleeping.

A skink darts across his path and disappears into a tussock.

Gecko! says Terence.

The skink is not pleased. It isn't a gecko. 

It pokes its small head out of the tussock.

Come out, gecko, says Terence.

Maybe I would, if I was a gecko, says the skink.

What does that mean? says Terence.

I'm not one, says the skink. 

How am I meant to know? asks Terence. All I can see is your head.

Get ready to be amazed then, says the skink. Are you ready?

Yes I'm ready, says Terence.

The skink comes out from the tussock.

I'm an easterm mourning skink, says the eastern mourning skink, turning this way and that.

What happens to you in the afternoon? asks Terence.

Mourning not morning, says the eastern mourning skink. Mourning means you're sad about something.

I'm sad about being bored, says Terence. And sad about everyone being asleep except me. And sad that I never got a horse. And I'm sad I lost my peruvian hat. It was....

Stop talking, says the eastern mourning skink. I didn't come out of the tussock to hear you complaining. 

Sorry, says Terence. Why are you sad?

I'm not sad, says the eastern mourning skink. I just look sad.

No you don't, says Terence. You look fancy

Thanks, says the eastern mourning skink. So do you.

These are my old gecko shorts, says Terence. They used to be even more fancy.

I bet, says the eastern mourning skink. Where did you get them?

I don't remember, says Terence. I've also got some red woolly ones with a tail.

I'd like some of those, says the eastern mourning skink.

Then you'd have two tails, says Terence.

Yes, says the eastern mourning skink. Is your tail red and woolly?

Yes, says Terence, and if I want to look funny I can wear them back to front.

Ha ha! laughs the eastern mourning skink.

Terence and the eastern mourning skink are getting on well. 

Want to come back and meet my science team? asks Terence.

Okay, says the eastern mourning skink.

They head to the campsite.

Joke Logic

Please thank Banjo's dad for the joke, says Gaius. 

We'll pass it on, says Pierre-Louis.

When will you be leaving? asks Banjo's mother.

We'll have a short nap this morning, says Gaius. Then we'll be on our way.

What will I do? asks Terence.

Wait for us to awaken, says Gaius. 

Boring, says Terence.

It's never boring in Yellingbo, says Banjo's mother. Why not look for spiders?

There's a suggestion, says Gaius. Farewell, Banjo's mother. 

Likewise, says Banjo's mother.

She runs up the tree.

Gaius, Pierre-Louis and Terence head back to their campsite.

Looks like we're in for a fine morning, says Pierre-Louis. But the ground's a bit wet.

Hmm, says Gaius. Not good for the blanket.

And anyway there is only one blanket.

Any plastic bags? asks Pierre-Louis.

Just the one for the apples, says Gaius. 

Better than nothing, says Pierre-Louis.

They compromise, with the sleeping arrangements.

Pierre-Louis lies, in part, on the apple bag, and Gaius on the blanket.

The ground feels hard through the apple bag, and wet through the blanket.

But both men are tired. They sleep.

Come on, Squatty, says Terence. Let's look for spiders.

I need to sleep too, says Squattu.

I'll go by myself then, says Terence.

Don't go too far, says Squattu.

Terence goes looking for spiders.

He upends a small stone.

Grrrowl!

Who's that? asks Terence.

Me, says the growler. That's my stone.

Stones don't belong to anyone, says Terence. I was just looking for a spider.

No spiders under my stone, says the growler, who looks like a frog.

You're a frog! says Terence.

I'm actually a growling grass frog, says the growling grass frog. Are you on your own in the forest?

No, says Terence. But I'm the only one awake in our team.

Why's that? asks the growling grass frog.

We were up all night, talking to posums, says Terence.

Hear the bangs? asks the growling grass frog.

Yes, says Terence.

Deer control, says the growling grass frog.

I know, says Terence.

So what did you talk about? asks the growling grass frog. With the possums.

Jokes, says Terence.

Possums are rubbish at jokes, says the growling grass frog. Frogs are better.

Go on then, says Terence.

What's green green green green green? asks the growling grass frog.

You mean what's black and white, black and white, black and white? says Terence.

No I don't, says the growling grass frog. What's green green green green green?

I don't know, says Terence.

A frog rolling down hill, says the growling grass frog.

That's a penguin joke! says Terence.

No it isn't. Penguins aren't green, says the growling grass frog. 

So what? asks Terence.

It only works if you're green, says the growling grass frog.

Terence is sure there's something wrong with this logic.

He Was Irish. No He Wasn't.

Why Pozzy? asks Terence.

It rhymes with Aussie, says Pierre-Louis.

Ha ha! laughs Terence. 

I just made it up on the spur of the moment, says Gaius. Opossum was funnier. 

They were both pretty funny, says Pierre-Louis. Which one made you laugh the most, Terence?

Pozzy, says Terence. Opossum is stupid.

Not at all, says Gaius. Perhaps you failed to understand it.

What's to understand? says Terence. Banjo just added an O onto possum.

But the possum was Irish, says Gaius. That was the funny part.

Terence looks blank. How was it the funny part?

Gaius tries to think of a way to explain it.

Remember Daniel O'Connell? asks Gaius.

YES! says Terence. He was our spider.

He travelled with us, for a time, says Gaius,. He was never our spider.

Where is he? asks Terence.

Probably deceased now, says Gaius. But the point is, he was Irish. Oh wait, no he wasn't. 

Not a good start, says Pierre-Louis.

He was Romanian, says Gaius. We discovered him in an underground cave.

Yes! says Terence. He gave dancing lessons!

That was later, says Gaius. He was used to breathing underground gases. But he came up with us, and learned to breathe above ground.

Then he gave dancing lessons, says Terence.

May I ask why he was called Daniel O'Connell? asks Pierre-Louis.

Let me see, says Gaius. Oh yes, I remember. On his way out of the cave, he overheard a conversation about Daniel O'Connell, the Liberator, and he adopted the name.

O'Spider, says Terence.

No, says Gaius. Daniel O'Connell. My point is O'Connell begins with a O like many Irish names.

Oscar Wilde! Pierre-Louis. Wasn't he Irish?

Are you being funny? says Gaius. Oscar is not an example. Think O'Malley, O'Dowd and O'Leary.

And O'Gaius, and O'Pierre-Louis, says Terence.

I suppose so, says Gaius.

Banjo's mother reappears, having run down the tree from the hollow.

A joke from Banjo's dad, says Banjo's mother.  What do you get when you cross a bull and a possum?

Impossum-bull! says Gaius.

It's not quite the right answer, but Pierre-Louis thinks it is funny. 

Can I Have A Spider?

The half hour play date flies by.

Banjo's parents come back with a haul of dead spiders.

Spiders! says Banjo. My favourite.

Do you eat them? asks Terence.

Yes, says Banjo. Don't you?

Come on, Banjo, says Banjo's mother. It's nearly morning. Time to curl up in our hollow and sleep. Thank these people for the play date,.

Thanks for the play date, says Banjo.

You're most welcome, says Gaius. But surely you need not all go yet. Would one of you adults like to stay for a chat?

All right, says Banjo's mother. Dad can take Banjo up. I'll stay for a few minutes.

Bye, says Terence.

Bye, says Banjo.

Banjo and his father go up.

Inside the hollow, Banjo's dad asks Banjo what he did on the play date.

We swapped names, says Banjo.

That sounds like fun, says his dad. So you were called Terence and he was called Banjo. Then what?

We told jokes, says Banjo. I asked him what an Irish possum was called.

That's a good one, says dad. Did he get it?

I think so, says Banjo. 

You don't sound too sure, says dad. Did he laugh, or did you have to explain it?

Can I have a spider? asks Banjo, changing the subject.

Okay, says dad, but finish it quickly, before mum gets back.

Banjo is given a spider.

Down below, Gaius and Pierre-Louis are chatting to Banjo's mother.

Life used to be better, says Banjo's mother.

Indeed, says Gaius. In what way?

There are few of us left now, says says Banjo's mother. 

I know, says Gaius. Your habitat is shrinking.

But what can we do? says Banjo's mother.

Can you stand sub-zero temperatures? asks Pierre-Louis.

Why do you ask? asks Banjo's mother.

There are more small communities of your species in the montane ash forests, says Pierre-Louis. Have you thought of moving up there?

Have they thought of moving down here? asks Banjo's mother. No, I don't think so.

We're planning to visit them, says Gaius. We'll be taking our drone.

I'm the one who knows how to work it, says Terence.

Perhaps you would like us to convey a message to your fellow possums, says Gaius. 

No, says Banjo's mother.

All right, says Gaius. That's your choice. Perhaps it's a wise one.

What about a joke? asks Terence.

What? Send them a joke? says Banjo's mother. I would, but I don't remember any.

What do you call an Irish possum? says Terence.

I know that one, says Banjo's mother, But it's lame. Tell you what, I'll go up and ask Banjo'd dad. He'll know a good one.

She darts away, up the tree.

I wonder what the answer was, says Gaius. 

I imagine it's opossum, says Pierre-Louis. 

Ha ha! laughs Gaius. Opossum! A fine joke. 

He thinks for a moment. 

What do you call an Australian possum? asks Gaius.

What? asks Pierre-Louis.

Pozzy! says Gaius.

Ha ha! laughs Pierre-Louis. That's a good one.

Terence doesn't get that one either.

Fortune Flavours

What are you doing here? asks Banjo's mother.

I bear gifts, says Squattu. And an invitation.

What gifts? asks Banjo's mother.

An apple chunk and a barley sugar, says Squattu. You can make your own apple cider.

Banjo won't need apple cider, says Banjo's dad. He's doing much better.

Good to hear, says Squattu. Would he be well enough to accept our invitation?

Yes! says Banjo.

That depends what it is, says Banjo's mother.

A play date, says Squattu. With Terence.

Yes yes yes! says Banjo. 

Who can deny the wishes of their no-longer-coughing baby?

Not his mother.

All right, says his mother.

Are you sure, dear? asks Banjo's dad.

DAD! says Banjo. Mum already said yes.

Half an hour tops, says Banjo's mother. We're going out again. It's a good night for spiders.

Get me one, says Banjo.

No need, says his dad. You've just eaten those lerps.

Come on! says Squattu. Half an hour's started!

She heads out of the hollow and back down the tree.

Banjo follows.

You came! says Terence.

I'm allowed to stay for half an hour, says Banjo. What shall we play?

Let's swap names, says Terence.

No way! says Banjo. Then I wouldn't be named after a poet.

Who's ever heard of a poet called Banjo? says Terence.

Then why do you want to? asks Banjo.

There's Banjo Paterson, says Gaius. He was a poet.

Is he famous? asks Terence.

Couldn't be more famous, says Gaius. He wrote Waltzing Matilda.

How does that go? asks Pierre-Louis.

O you know, says Gaius. Once a jolly swagman....

That's not it, says Terence.

No, that's not it, says Banjo.

You'd be more famous if you were named after Terence, says Terence. You'd have said fortune flavours the brave.

Gaius is about to say no you wouldn't, and you've got it wrong, but decides against an intervention.

Banjo is looking impressed.

Fortune flavours! says Banjo. That's good. Okay let's swap names.

Done. Terence and Banjo swap names.

Now what?

Know any jokes? asks Banjo (formerly Terence).

Only one, says Terence. What do you call an Irish possum?

I don't know, says Banjo. What do you call an Irish possum?

Opossum, says Terence.

It's not a bad joke, but will the real Terence get it?

Nothing Human Is Strange

I wish I was named after a poet, says Terence.

Why is that? asks Gaius. 

Banjo is, says Terence.

You should be pleased to be named after a playwright, says Gaius.

You should, says Pierre-Louis. There are many fine playwrights. Molière, Racine, Marivaux.

Lucky me, says Terence.

Indeed, says Gaius.

Lucky me because of what? says Terence.

You tell me, says Gaius. 

Lucky me I'm not named after them! says Terence.

Also Shakespeare, says Pierre-Louis.

I might like that better, says Terence.

You can be proud to be named after Terence, says Gaius. He coined several famous phrases, that are still used today.

What are they? asks Terence.

Fortune favours the brave, says Gaius. That was his. Nothing human is strange to me. That was his too.

I wish Banjo would come back down, says Terence.

I don't think he will, says Gaius. His mother was adamant.

An ANT? says Terence. 

Adamant, says Gaius. But we need not give up yet. Fortune favours the brave.

Did you make that up? asks Terence.

No, says Gaius. You know I didn't. 

What's the plan then? asks Pierre-Louis.

We'll send Squattu up again, says Gaius.

I'm ready! says Squattu. Any messages?

Yes, says Terence. Tell Banjo I want a play date.

Excellent, says Gaius.  A play date should disarm them. And we'll send up a chunk of green apple as a sign of good will. 

And the barley sugar? asks Pierre-Louis.

Why not? says Gaius.

Squattu waits for the chunk of green apple.

This was all my idea, says Terence. 

Not the apple says Squattu. Or the barley sugar. 

The play date, says Terence. I thought of that.

The apple chunk is ready. The barley sugar unwrapped.

Squattu zooms up with them to the bark-filled tree hollow, and pokes her head in.

In time to hear Banjo saying: I wish I was named after a playwright.

And why is that? asks his mother.

Terence is, says Banjo.

This is promising.

Squattu squeezes through.

Banjo's Apple

The parents of the Leadbeater's possum (who are also Leadbeater's possums) realise at once that their young one is missing.

He'll have fallen out of the hollow! says the mother.

And there are people below! says the father. 

I know! says the mother. I'll go down and see if they've found him. You stay here and keep an eye on the honeydew.

It won't run away, says the father.

It's a community hollow, says the mother. If someone comes back early they'll eat it.

I'll make sure they don't, says the father. 

The mother goes down.

Wonderful! says Gaius. Another Leadbeater's possum! A female!

Mama! cries the young possum.

What are you doing with these people? asks the mother.

They have notes! says the young one.

On what? asks the mother.

Coughing, says the young one. They're getting me an apple.

An apple is not what you need, says the mother. Come home at once. We've brought honeydew.

Honeydew will help him, says Gaius. The apple is more of a long term solution.

An apple cannot be a long term solution, says the mother. Apples go off.

Not if they're made into apple cider vinegar, says Gaius. My colleague has gone back for an apple. As well as a knife.

Pierre-Louis looms out of the dark, with an apple. 

We didn't pack a knife, says Pierre-Louis.

Then we'll improvise, says Gaius. Using our teeth.

There's no need for you to go to any more bother, says the mother. Come on up, Banjo.

Why are you called Banjo? asks Terence.

It's my name, says Banjo. What's yours?

Terence, says Terence. 

Why are you called Terence? asks Banjo.

Terence can't remember.

A lesser Roman playwright, says Gaius.

Banjo is named after a poet, says the mother.

Which one? asks Pierre-Louis.

Banjo, says the mother. Look, this is all very well, but Banjo needs his honeydew.

C-huh! coughs Banjo.

Of course, how remiss of us, says Gaius. But I wonder if you might put Banjo to bed with his honeydew and come down again. It would be a privilege to speak with you further.

No, says the mother.

Failing that, says Gaius, may we send up our bat?

Me! squeaks Squattu.

And our drone, continues Gaius. The bat would interview you and the drone would record it.

No, says the mother.

She ushers Banjo back up the tree to the shredded bark hollow.

And feeds him with honeydew. 

Yum.

Vinegar Of Memory

The Leadbeater's possum has come down from it's hollow.

C-huh! says the Leadbeater's possum.

It has a cough, says Squattu.

So I hear, says Gaius.

I said you might know a cure, says Squattu.

Vinegar, if my memory serves me, says Gaius.

I thought you said he had notes, says the Leadbeater's possum.

He does, says Squattu.

I read them, says Terence. They were all about you.

You didn't exactly read them, says Squattu.

So what? says Terence.

All about me? says the Leadbeater's possum. 

About the Leadbeater's possum, says Pierre-Louis. I've read them too.

It doesn't answer to Leadbeater's possum, says Squattu. 

Interesting, says Gaius. What name does your family go by?

C-huh! coughs the Leadbeater's possum.

Cough-possums, says Terence.

No! says the Leadbeater's possum That's just me. Can we cure my cough first?

Give me a moment, says Gaius. I'll just check my notes.

He doesn't have his notes with him, but he does have his smart phone. He googles himself (and coughs and vinegar).

Aha! Vinegar checks nausea and hiccups. Inhaling the fumes will stop sneezes. Holding vinegar in the mouth wards off the effect of too hot a bath.....da-de-dah, and so on.... here we are! Vinegar checks chronic coughs, cattarh and gum shrinkage!

That's for me, says the Leadbeater's possum.

Do we have any vinegar? asks Pierre-Louis.

No, says Gaius. Let me think...hmm, but we do have some apples. The main ingredient for apple cider vinegar.

Surely you're not suggesting we make our own? asks Pierre-Louis

Why not? says Gaius. All one does is mix apple chunks, sugar and water togther in a container and wait for three weeks.

Three weeks! says the Leadbeater's possum.

We would leave it with you, says Gaius. Do we have any sugar? 

I have a barley sugar in my pocket, says Pierre-Louis. 

That will do, says Gaius. And we have water. Let's get to work. Hand me an apple.

I didn't bring the apples, says Pierre-Louis. They're back at the campsite. But I'll go back and get one.

Bring a knife too, says Gaius.

Pierre-Louis is not sure that anyone packed a knife.

He goes off.

What will Gaius do if he comes back with no knife and and apple?

Use his teeth?

But in any case there is no need to worry.

In the tree tops above him, the parents of the Leadbeater's possum are returning, with honeydew.

Leaving The Hollow

Hello, says Squattu to the toes of the Leadbeater's possum.

The toes do not reply.

But nor does any other part of the Leadbeater's possum.

Squattu squeezes into the hollow.

Nice hollow, says Squattu. Comfy.

Weweewe! wails the Leadbeater's possum.

Are you a baby? asks Squattu. 

Weweewe! repeats the Leadbeater's possum.

Wait here, says Squattu.

She zooms down to where Gaius, Pierre-Louis and Terence are waiting.

I found a Leadbeater's possum!

Just the one? asks Gaius.

That's what I call an ungrateful response, says Squattu.

Apologies, says Gaius. Well done, Squattu. The reason I asked was that they normally live in family groups.

Maybe it's injured, says Pierre-Louis.

Yes, go back and ask, says Gaiu. That is, if it's not too much bother.

No bother, says Squattu.

She flies back up to the hollow.

Me again, says Squattu.

C-huh! says the Leadbeater's possum.

Where is the rest of your family? asks Squattu.

C-huh! C-huh! coughs the Leadbeater's possum.

Calm down! says Squattu. I mean you no harm. I'm with a science expedition.

Pull the other one, says the Leasdbeater's possum.

So, you're not a baby, says Squattu.

No. We are a small type of possum, says the Leadbeater's possum.

Yes. A Leadbeater's possum, says Squattu.

We don't acknowledge that name, says the Leadbeater's possum.

Fairy possum? asks Squattu.

Phrrrt! says the Leadbeater's possum. 

And why are you here on your own? asks Squattu. Where is your family?

I've got a bad cough, says the Leadbeater's possum. They went out without me. They said they'd bring me some honeydew.

You can't transport honeydew easily, says Squattu.

C-huh! says the Leadbeater's possum.

Would you like to come down and talk to Gaius? asks Squattu.

Who's he? asks the Leadbeater's possum.

Our leader, says Squattu. A famous natural historian. 

No thank you, says the Leadbeater's possum. C-huh! C-huh!

I'm sure he could find a cure for your cough, says Squattu. He has notes on everything.

Notes? says the Leadbeater's possum. Okay, I'll come. Give me a minute.

Squattu zooms down again.

The possum is coming!

Beauty Of Helpful Names

Gaius and Terence head for the area of forest where Gaius expects Pierre-Louis to be.

We should call out, says Terence.

No need to further disturb the nocturnal creatures, says Gaius.

Bang!

Ha ha, laughs Terence.

I can understand why you're laughing, says Gaius. There is an irony to the situation...

But irony is not why Terence is laughing.

He has seen Pierre-Louis, on his back, legs in the air, under a tree.

Pierre-Louis! cries Gaius. What happened?

Nothing, says Pierre-Louis, standing up with caution.

We received a message that you were stuck in a tree!

A message? From whom? asks Pierre-Louis.

Powerful Owl, says Terence. He's our friend, but not Squatty's. 

I thought I spotted a powerful owl, says Pierre-Louis.

And you recognised it, says Gauius. Well done.

What do you mean, recognised it? asks Pierre-Louis.

Identified it by name, says Gaius. The ninox strenua, commonly known as the Powerful Owl.

Well, I didn't really, says Pierre-Louis. I simply thought it looked... powerful. 

That's the beauty of names, says Gaius. Although, not always...

He is about to give some examples of unhelpful names, when Squattu drops down on the party.

Found him! says Squattu.

We found him, says Terence. He wasn't stuck in the tree, he fell out.

Okay, says Squattu. So did he find the tree hollow?

I don't know, says Terence. We didn't ask him.

Ask him, says Squattu.

Did you? asks Terence. 

What? asks Pierre-Louis.

Find a tree hollow, asks Terence.

Yes, did you? asks Gaius.

I did, says Pierre-Louis. Up there (he points up, unnecessarily). I was just peering in when I slipped.

Was it empty? asks Gaius.

I think so, says Pierre Louis.

Get the drone! says Terence.

I'll go, says Squattu. She zooms up to the hollow, and looks in.

At first she sees nothing but shredded bark, looking quite comfy.

But then she sees the spatulate toes of what could only be a Leadbeater's possum.

Squiddly-dee! Who needs a drone?

Drop Possum

Gaius has realised that Terence is not behind him.

He doubles back.

A flickering light comes towards Terence.

Guess what, says Terence.

You were lost, says Gaius. You should have your own torch.

Yay! says Terence. Where is it?

We'll have to buy you one, says Gaius. But obviously not tonight.

Okay. Guess what, says Terence.

What? asks Gaius.

I found a possum, says Terence. It dropped on my head.

Unusual behaviour, says Gaius.

It was dead, says Terence.

Show me, says Gaius.

Terence turns around to go back where he came from.

Gaius follows, directing the torchlight ahead.

Scuttle-scuttle. Scree. Scruffle.

Small nocturnal animals scramble away.

But not the dead possum.

Terence stops.

This is where it was, says Terence.

Gaius shines the torch on the area.

Ah! A ringed tail. But no possum.

Yuck! says Terence. A whole possum was there.

Something has eaten it, says Gaius.

Powerful Owl, says Terence. He said it was his.

You encountered a Powerful Owl? says Gaius. Well done.

He was meant to wait here, says Terence.

Looks like he hasn't, says Gaius.

Swish! Down flies Squattu, landing next to the tail.

I found an owl, says Terence.

Owls are our enemies, says Squattu.

This one was friendly, says Terence.

Well anyway, I found a few promising tree hollows, says Squattu.

Wonderful, says Gaius. Lead on, Squattu.

Squattu is about to take flight, when...

Powerful Owl swoops down into the clearing.

Squee! squeeks Squattu.

Don't worry, I've just eaten, says the Powerful Owl.

As we have seen, says Gaius. Do you not eat the tails?

It was a big possum, says the Powerful Owl. One shouldn't overdo it.

You came back! says Terence. 

I came back, says the Powerful Owl, with a message. 

What is the message? asks Gaius.

Your friend is stuck up in a tree, says the Powerful Owl. He was looking for tree hollows.

Did he find any? asks Gaius.

Is that relevant? asks the Powerful Owl. 

It would be a bonus, says Gaius. Stuck, you say. We had better go and assist him. Will you lead the way?

No, says the Powerful Owl. I'm starting to feel hungry again. 

Squee! says Squattu. I'll find him.

She zooms off, being faster than any Powerful Owl who has just eaten a ringtail possum (except for the tail) could hope to be.

Catch Kill Eat

Terence follows the flickering light.

The ground crackles.

Then squishes.

Hey! says Terence. 

Gaius does not reply.

The flickering light has vanished amongst the deep shadows

Boo! say two yellow dots in a tree.

Don't shoot! says Terence.

Book! continue the two yellow dots in the tree.

Book yourself, says Terence. 

You're not an owl, says the two yellow dots.

So what? says Terence. 

And your clearly no possum, say the two yellow dots in the tree,

I'm looking for a possum, says Terence.

I actually have one, right here, say the dots. 

Is it a gymbelly? asks Terence.

How good would that be? He could show it to Gaius.

A ringtail, say the dots. Want to see it?

Yes, says Terence. Does it have gecko toes?

A dead ringtail possum falls to the ground next to Terence.

The two yellow dots disappear.

An owl glides down.

Owl! says Terence. 

Powerful Owl to you, says the Powerful Owl. And this is my possum.

It's dead, says Terence.

Catch, kill, eat, says the Powerful Owl. 

I'm on a science team, says Terence. I work the drone. We're looking for gymbellies.

No such thing, says the Powerful Owl. If there was, I'd eat it.

You wouldn't be allowed, says Terence. They're in-dangered.

I'm endangered, says the Powerful Owl. That doesn't stop me.

Are you going to eat that dead possum? asks Terence.

Yes, says the Powerful Owl. Want to watch?

Terence does and he doesn't.....

No. He definitely doesn't.

I might have got the wrong name, says Terence. If I catch up to Gaius he'll tell me.

Okay, go, says the Powerful Owl. 

And then I'll come back and tell you, says Terence.

Why? asks the Powerful Owl, getting ready to tear the dead ringtail possum into bite-sized pieces.

Then you can help us to find one, says Terence. 

Okay, says the Powerful Owl.

Wait! says Terence. I remembered! It's a Leadbeater's possum.

Good remembering, says the Powerful Owl. I'm bad at it.

You've got a small head, says Terence.

Big claws, small head, long tail, says the Powerful Owl. That's me.

(It seems he is fine with his body image).

I've got a normal head, says Terence. And one claw. And I used to have a red woolly sheep's tail. It was part of my costume, but I'm not wearing it now.

(So is he).

Otherwise Like A Possum

The forest grows darker.

Gaius looks for his notes.

A torch would be handy, says Gaius. 

Don't you have a smart phone. asks Pierre-Louis. They all have torches

Of course! says Gaius. 

He takes his phone out and turns on the torch.

Now, says Gaius, in order to help us identify a Leadbeater's possum, I'll read from my notes. Terence, are you listening?

Bang! (far away)

Yes, says Terence. Are you listening Squatty?

Yes, says Squattu.

Gaius reads. The Leadbeater's possum, or fairy possum....

What? says Terence.

Fairy possum, says Gaius. So called because it's elusive and small.

Fairy! says Terence. I thought we were a science team!

We won't be calling it a fairy possum, says Gaius. It's proper name is Gymnobelideus leadbeater.

Okay, says Terence.

Bang! (a tad closer)

Gaius continues: By day they sleep huddled together in family groups, inside tree hollows.

Terence is not far from a tree. He goes across to look for a hollow.

But no. 

There is no hollow, and anyway, it's not even day.

Where do they go in the night time? asks Terence.

They go out looking for food, says Squattu.

Sap, gum, honeydew and invertebrates, says Gaius.

What do they look like? asks Pierre-Louis.

Sticky and viscous, I imagine. As for the invertebrates, it depends...

I meant the Leadbeater's possum, says Pierre-Louis.

My error, says Gaius. Possum-like, with a clubshaped tail and spatulate toes, somewhat like a gecko.

Like on my gecko shorts, says Terence.

Only the toes, says Gaius. Otherwise like a possum.

Should we send the drone up? asks Pierre-Louis.

Perhaps we should walk about a bit with our torches, says Gaius. This spot may not be sufficiently swampy.

No, it's relatively dry, says Pierre-Louis.

I'll fly about, says Squattu. And look for tree hollows.

You're a good parrot, says Terence. Don't get shot by the hunters.

As if, scoffs Squattu.

She flits off to looks for tree hollows.

Gaius and Pierre-Louis start walking  in different directions with their smart torches, testing the ground for swampy features (such as mud).

What about me? asks Terence.

Luckily Gaius hears him.

Follow me, says Gaius. 

Terence follows a flickering light, in the direction he thinks he heard Gaius's voice from.

Squish. Squosh. Wark! 

Bang! 

Woo! The night is full of treacherous noises

Do Deers Here Have Knobs?

It's 4 pm when they reach the gates of the Yellingbo Conservation Reserve.

There's a sign on the gate:

Deer Control in progress, 4pm until the early hours of next morning. Contractors use authorised suppressors, but deer legal rifles will still emit noise.

I hope this won't ruin our chances of spotting the Leadbeater's possum, says Gaius.

Pierre-Louis looks at the dates.

Tonight's the last night, says Pierre-Louis. 

How long have they been doing it? asks Gaius.

Since Tuesday, says Pierre-Louis.

Are we there yet? asks Terence, from the carriage.

We are, says Gaius. 

Bang!

Woop! says Terence. What was that sound?

A rifle, says Squattu. There must be hunters!

Yay! says Terence. Wait. Hunting what?

Whatever it is, it's a long way off, says Gaius. Let's go in and set up our campsite.

Not that we have much to set up, says Pierre-Louis.

A good thing, in the circumstances, says Gaius. We may need to leave in a hurry.

Are they hunting us? asks Terence.

Of course not, says Gaius. I suppose we may as well tell you. It's a deer control night.

Bang! 

Deer control night? says Terence. Do deers here have knobs?

Hee hee! laughs Squattu.

At least our bat finds it amusing, says Pierre-Louis.

Well? says Terence.

No knobs, says Gaius. But deer can run fast.

Can we save them? asks Terence.

No, says Gaius. We'll just try to keep out of their way.

He and Pierre-Louis wheel their bicycles though the gate, and head down the narrow track, brushing through carex and cyperus, below tall eucalyptus.

Look for areas of low lying swamp, says Gaius.

Scraa-scraa-scraa-twee!

A yellow and brown bird sings unmelodically, and then vanishes.

A helmeted honeyeater! says Gaius.

Several people appear, in a hurry.

Hello! says the leader. Aren't you going in the wrong direction?

Are we? says Gaius. Who's asking?

Friends of the Helmeted Honeyeater, says the leader. Tonight's deer control program's just started.

Hurrah! (muted cheers from behind).

We heard it, says Gaius. We plan to be careful.

Suit yourselves, says the leader of the Friends of the Helmeted Honeyeater.

We just saw one, says Gaius.

What? asks the leader. 

A helmeted honeyeater, says Gaius. It went that way.

He points. Not towards the gate.

The Friends of the Helmeted Honeyeater continue to head for the gate.

No need to hang around while Deer Control does the needful.

Pierre-Louis pulls out Marx's blanket.

Don't put it down yet! says Gaius.

I wasn't going to, says Pierre-Louis. I'm looking for something to eat.

Bang! 

Yikes! says Terence.

There should be a bag of green apples, says Gaius. 

There is.

Gaius and Pierre-Louis eat a green apple each, as the evening draws in.

A Frisson Of Danger

Paperwork done, they head towards Yellingbo.

Gaius and Pierre-Louis, on the Norco Chargers.

Terence and Squattu, pulled behind Gaius, in the carriage.

The road is not busy.

Gaius and Pierre-Louis ride side by side.

Did you google the deer control? asks Pierre-Louis.

Not yet, says Gaius. 

Deer must be a problem, says Pierre-Louis. Perhaps they catch and enclose them.

Then what? asks Gaius. 

When I was in Lapland, says Pierre-Louis, the Laplanders used forest reindeer to pull sleds.

I doubt they still do, says Gaius. The forest reindeer in Lapland are endangered.

Are they? asks Pierre-Louis, remembering his Laplander hat. It's many years since I went there.

I fear that in Yellingbo Conservation Reserve, deer control may be a euphemism, says Gaius.

For what? Oh! I see what you're getting at, says Pierre-Louis. 

We shall have to keep our eyes and ears open, says Gaius.

Perhaps we should re-think our mission, says Pierre-Louis.

Surely you're not averse to a frisson of danger, says Gaius.

But what about Terence? asks Pierre-Louis.

Hard as nails, says Gaius. Nothing ever happens to Terence that my fish glue can't fix.

I thought it softened in water, says Pierre-Louis.

There is always my bull glue, says Gaius.

And Squattu? asks Pierre-Louis.

She will have to rely on bat radar, says Gaius.

Are Terence and Squattu listening to this pragmatic conversation?

Let's see.

Aah! What a sweet little carriage. It even has cushions.

Terence and Squattu are leaning back watching the sky.

They are playing Cannot But Be, which Squattu is good at.

Terence: What if a beetle?

Squattu: Cannot but beetle.

Terence: So what if a bat?

Squattu: Cannot bat bee.

Terence. Bat bee? Wrong answer! Cannot but bat.

Squattu: Ha ha. It's a bat answer. What if a bottle?

Terence: Cannot but.. no.. bat.. be bottle.

Squattu: Bravo! You beat me.

So no, they weren't listening.

The Perils Of Camping

The train arrives in Lilydale.

They get off.

Now what? asks Terence.

We look for the bike shop, says Gaius.

Luckily, it's on the main street.

They enter.

We'd like to hire two mountain bikes, says Gaius to the bike shop assistant.

Sure, says the bike shop assistant. What kind would you like? Electric? Dual suspension? Standard?

Standard, says Gaius. I imagine it's the cheapest.

Yeah, says the bike shop assistant. But it's pretty hilly round here.

That won't be a problem, says Gaius.

The bike shop assistant looks doubtful.

I have ridden through the Alps and Pyrenees, says Gaius.

And I have ridden up Mount Lofty, says Pierre-Louis. Three times

Very funny, says the bike shop assistant. But don't let me put you off our Norco Charger 2. It's a really good standard bike. A mid-level hardtail.

Ha ha, laughs Terence.

And a child carrier? asks the bike shop assistant.

What's that? asks Gaius.

The kid sits in it and you pull it along behind you, says the bike shop assistant. Very popular with parents.

He indicates one, at the end of a row of bicycles.

It looks cool, with wheels like a carriage.

I want one! says Terence. Me and Squatty can ride in it.

Should we? asks Gaius.

Who'll pull it? asks Pierre-Louis.

We'll take turns, says Gaius. How much?

Forty per day for the bike hire and ten for the carrier, says the bike shop assistant. You guys are lucky. Normally we require 48 hours notice. But these have just been returned.

Excellent, says Gaius. 

Whereabouts are you headed? asks the bike shop assistant.

Yellingbo, says Pierre-Louis. 

The conservation reserve, says Gaius.

Doing science, says Terence.

Camping? asks the bike shop assistant.

Naturally, says Gaius.

Watch out for deer control, says the bike shop assistant. I heard it might be this week.

What does that entail? asks Gaius.

The bike shop assistant looks at Terence.

Maybe google it, he says.

No need to upset the kid.

Ancestral Teeth

Terence pokes Gaius awake.

Huuh....what is it? sighs Gaius.

Wrong notes, says Terence. 

Can't be, says Gaius.

They seem to be about the wrong possum, says Squattu.

Let me see, grumbles Gaius. Aha. This is a note I made on the chunia plegei. If you read on, you'll come to my notes on the Leadbeater's possum.

Oh, says Squattu. My mistake for not reading on.

Not at all, says Gaius. My notes can be sometimes confusing. I jot things down any old where. But in this case I thought, should we be fortunate enough to meet a Leadbeater's possum, it might be interested in the peculiar tooth structures of its distant ancestor.

I'm sure it would, says Squattu. Chunia plegei. I'll try to remember.

Who cares about an old tuna possum? says Terence. 

Chunia, says Gaius. As in chewing.

Chewing? asks Squattu. 

To help him remember the teeth, says Gaius. 

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

No, says Gaius. Continue reading the notes on the Leadbeater's possum, Squattu.

Gaius closes his eyes to finish the forty winks he was having.

Terence slides off his seat.

I'm going to walk to the end of the carriage, says Terence.

Go ahead, says Squattu. 

And I'm taking the drone, says Terence.

Don't take it out of the box, says Squattu.

Terence takes the box out of Pierre-Louis's back pack, and walks off.

He reaches the end of the carriage.

He takes the drone out, then the controller.

Then he puts the drone back in.

Is that a drone? asks a kid who had seen Terence walk past with a drone box.

Yes, says Terence. It's mine. 

Can I have a go? asks the kid.

No, says Terence. It's an outside drone.

They work inside too, says the kid. Let me show you.

No, says Terence.

But the kid takes the controller from Terence and fiddles with the knobs.

The drone rises from the drone box, and hovers, then shoots forward, stops and comes back to the box.

Cool drone, says the kid. How come a little kid like you's got it?

I'm on a science team, says Terence. We're looking for.....possums.

What kind of possums? asks the kid.

Tuna possums, says Terence.

Ha ha, says the kid. You won't find any. They went extinct.

It's surprising what kids know these days.

Not tuna possums, chewing possums, says Terence remembering.

Same, says the kid.

There's No X In Possum

At the station.

I suppose we'll have to buy tickets, says Gaius.

I'll get them, says Pierre-Louis.

He goes to the information counter.

Two tickets to Lilydale, says Pierre-Louis. 

You'll need a myki, says the information officer. Or two mykis, I should say.

I don't have a myki, says Pierre-Louis. Nor does my companion.

You can purchase a myki, says the information officer. Concession?

Yes please, says Pierre-Louis. 

He purchases two mykis, and gives one to Gaius.

Where's mine? asks Terence.

You won't need one, says Pierre-Louis. You're under five.

I'm not under five, says Terence. I'm way older.

We know that, says Pierre-Louis, but if you travel as an infant you won't have to sit in a backpack.

Oh, okay, says Terence.

What about me? asks Squattu.

You're under five, says Terence. So you can stay on my shoulder.

Okay, says Squattu.

So that's sorted. 

They get on the train.

Toot. The train leaves the station.

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

We've only just started, says Gaius. You can't be bored yet. Would you like to look at my notes on the Leadbeater's possum?

I would, says Squattu.

Gaius hands his notes on the Leadbeater's possum to Terence.

I should look at those too, says Pierre-Louis. I have no idea what a Leadbeater's possum looks like.

Well then, says Gaius. Perhaps soon Terence will be able to tell you.

Yes, says Terence. It looks like a possum. 

After he has read up on it, says Gaius.

I only know a few letters, says Terence. 

This is your chance to learn a few more, says Gaius. I'm going to take forty winks.

Me too, says Pierre-Louis. I slept badly on Marx's floor last night.

The shelf was no better, says Gaius.

He and Pierre-Louis lean back in their seats and close their eyes.

Terence stares at the notes on the Leadbeater's possum.

What letters do you know? asks Squattu.

B, says Terence. 

Any others? asks Squattu.

X, says Terence. 

Useless, says Squattu. How about P?

P, says Terence. Everyone knows P.

Show me one, says Squattu.

Terence scrutinises the notes for a P.

Where does it say possum? asks Terence.

There, says Squattu.

P! says Terence. 

Sure enough, he is pointing at the first letter of possum.

You deduced it, says Squattu. That's not the same as reading.

It's better, says Terence. But it is kind of slow.

I'll read it, says Squattu. And you listen.

She reads: Early possum chunia pledgei of the extinct Ektopodontidae possum family with pyramid shaped cusps on its front molars...

She stops reading. 

You're a rubbish reader, says Terence.

These aren't the right notes, says Squattu.

Extrication

It's two kilometres from Melbourne Uni to Central Station.

We'll walk, decides Gaius.

Boo! says Terence. But we came in a taxi.

Which Marx paid for, says Gaius. 

The walk will be bracing, says Pierre-Louis.

Yay! says Terence. What's the prize for the winner?

No prize, says Gaius. And no racing. We'll stick together, being unused to Melbourne.

Okay, says Terence. But I'm used to Melbourne.

Is that so? asks Pierre-Louis.

I came with Grandpa once, says Terence. And got stolen. 

So you did, says Gaius. I remember.  

Me too, says Terence. And the robbers kept my Peruvian hat.

Squattu is awake in Pierre-Louis's back pack. 

She should be asleep but it's hot.

She pokes her head out.

Terence sees her. 

I need to cool down! pants Squattu.

Come out, says Terence. You can sit on my shoulder.

She tries to wriggle out. Her claws catch on the blanket.

Help! says Squattu.

What's the trouble? asks Gaius.

Squatty got caught in the blanket, says Terence.

Stop, Pierre-Louis, says Gaius. We have a small problem.

Pierre-Louis stops.

Gaius patiently extricates Squattu's claws from the blanket.

Thank you, says Squattu. I was too hot.

We should have realised, says Gaius. Take the air, while we walk to the station.

Squatty sits on Terence's shoulder.

A few pedestrians on their way to work, goggle.

Terence feels proud.

Does the train go all the way to Yellingbo? asks Squattu.

How should I know? asks Terence.

No, says Gaius. Yellingbo is small and not on the train route. We'll get off at Lilydale and hire bikes.

And cycle to Yellingbo, says Pierre-Louis. 

Yes, says Gaius. And from there to the Conservation Reserve, where we'll set up a campsite.

In a tent, says Terence. I love tents!

No tent, says Gaius. Unless we drape the blanket over a branch.

I'll stay out, says Squattu.

We'll all stay out, because we'll be be working at night, says Gaius.

This will the best fun ever, says Terence.

Yes, don't we all feel like that, before we start camping.

Socialist Trousers

Squattu is good with a charcoal pencil.

She has drawn upside down trees.

Good trees, says Terence. 

Thank you, says Squattu. I know trees top to bottom.

Ha ha, laughs Terence.

He has laughed loudly on purpose. Time the grown ups woke up.

Arh-arh! yawns Gaius. Jumping Jupiter! Have I slept in?

No, says Terence. You weren't sleeping in anything.

True, says Gaius. Marx warned us it would be spartan.

Prrrp! Marx stirs in his bed.

Rise and shine, says Marx, kicking off his blanket.

The blanket falls to the floor, next to Pierre-Louis.

Pierre-Louis pulls it over his body.

But it's morning. Too late for that late now.

Look, says Terence. Squatty did trees with a pencil.

I wish I'd seen how she did it, says Gaius.

Want me to do another one? asks Squattu.

No! says Terence. We've got enough trees.

Let me see, says Marx. The trees are upside down. Is there a reason?

Bats hang upside down, says Gaius. Which is when they get their best chance to examine the structure of trees.

Wouldn't they be sleeping? asks Pierre-Louis.

My trees aren't upside down, says Squattu. 

They are, says Terence.

But I was working on the opposite edge of the paper, says Squattu. 

Ah! says Marx. It's the drawing that's upside down.

No it isn't, says Terence. Look where the blur is. And the posts.

A deepening enigma, says Gaius. Now, is there any breakfast?

No, says Marx. I'm invited to a Marxism Conference breakfast. You'll have to fend for yourselves.

He is already pulling on a pair of red trousers.

Bold trousers, says Pierre-Louis.

We'll head off too, says Gaius. Back to the station, to catch a train to Yellingbo.

Enjoy yourselves, says Marx. Have you brought thermals?

Err, no, says Gaius. How about you, Pierre-Louis?

Err, no, says Pierre-Louis.

And you'll be camping I take it, says Marx.

Yes, says Gaius. We came away in a bit of a hurry.

Take a blanket, says Marx, indicating the one on the floor.

Very kind, says Gaius. But we shouldn't. Who does it belong to?

To each according to his needs, says Marx.

That's all very well, begins Gaius.

But he decides to accept it.

Not All Marxists

Melbourne. The train stops.

Everyone gets off.

Marx calls a taxi.

It's cramped in the taxi. 

Marx is in the front passenger seat. Gaius, Terence, and Pierre-Louis sit in the back.

Where to? asks the taxi driver.

Medley Hall, says Marx. 

You one of those Marxists? asks the taxi driver.

Yes, comrade, says Marx.

They arrive at the accommodation. Marx pays the taxi driver, who then drives away.

Marx keys in a door code. The door opens. 

They go up the stairs.

Are you sure this is all right? asks Gaius. 

Of course, says Marx. He finds his room. Room fifty three.

He opens the door and goes in.

The room smells of hot chips.

Several comrades are sitting on the floor.

Ho! says Marx. I thought this was my room.

It is, comrade, says one of the comrades. Welcome! We bought you hot chips.

Thank you, comrades, says Marx. But I must ask you to clear out. I have three friends with me.

And Squatty, says Terence.

The comrades stand up. 

Their surprise welcome (with hot chips) for Marx hasn't unfolded as planned.

Want us to leave the hot chips? asks a comrade.

As you wish, says Marx. 

Who's Squatty? asks another comrade. 

Squattu is a fruit bat, says Gaius. 

A real one, says Terence. Not a robot.

Pierre-Louis opens his back pack. 

The comrade looks in.

Sure enough, it contains a wide-awake fruit bat.

Come out, says Terence. You can fly around the room.

We'll be off then, say the comrades.

They leave.

Not all Marxists like bats.

As they go down the stairs they converse.

Beardy: Marx had a bat!

Tufty: It was actually those other guys.

Smoothy: But they're with him.

Beardy: You know, like, how Marx is being reinterpreted?

Tufty : Yeah! Like by that Japanese guy?

Smoothy: Yeah. Like expanding him out.

Tufty: Including more nature. Shit, bats though......

They go out of the door.

Meanwhile Marx is placing his pyjamas on the pillow of the one single bed.

Only one bed, says Marx. One of you will have to kip on that long shelf over there. The other, on the floor. 

We've had worse, says Gaius.

Speak for yourself, says Pierre-Louis.

Help yourselves to hot chips, says Marx, taking a handful.

Can Squatty and me practise with the drone on the stairs? asks Terence.

No! says Gaius. Anything might happen. You and Squattu can sit quietly and work on your drawing.

I'll help you! says Squattu. Are there trees in it?

Posts, says Terence. And blur. And a feather that's going both ways.

I'll do the trees, says Squattu.

Terence is about to say no, there weren't any trees but then he remembers that also, there wasn't a feather.

Not flying outside past the window. 

The feather was found on the train.

Okay, do the trees, says Terence. 

A Mystery, Not A Lizard

Pierre-Louis and Marx have come back from the café.

Marx has returned to his seat.

Pierre-Louis sits down beside Gaius.

How's the bat?

Fine now that I've separated her from Terence's leg, says Gaius.

Don't tell me he was using the fish glue, says Pierre-Louis.

He was, and he may well have ruined the feather, says Gaius. Although a passenger has offered to help him restore it.

Terence comes over, with his wrong-looking feather.

Look at this! says Terence. It's still ruined.

Gaius appraises the feather, for artistic merit.

You can still use it, says Gaius. What do you think, Pierre-Louis?

I agree, says Pierre-Louis. It could adorn the middle frame. 

What middle frame? asks Terence.

You made three sketches, says Pierre-Louis. This feather should go in the middle one.

But, says Terence, which way is it going?

He has a point, says Gaius. Is it flying past the window in the opposite direction to the train? Or losing ground, flying forward.

That's just it. We don't know, says Pierre-Louis. It's an enigma.

So it is, says Gaius. An artistic representation of an enigma.

It's a feather, not a lizard, says Terence.

An enigma is a mystery, not a lizard, says Gaius.

Okay, says Terence. Where are my drawings?

Did you leave them in the café? asks Gaius.

I don't know, says Terence.

Oh no! Terence has lost his drawings.

You could do three more, says Gaius. You still have the sketch book.

Terence looks out of the window. 

There is no more brown blur.

It's a more of a grey blur, with sparkles.

The outskirts of Melbourne, says Gaius. We're almost there.

Good, says Pierre-Louis. By the way, where will we be staying? 

I hadn't thought, says Gaius. I suppose it's not feasible to go out to Yellingbo this evening.

It isn't, says Pierre-Louis. 

I'm sure we'll find somewhere, says Gaius. I wonder where Marx is staying?

Yay! says Terence. Can we stay with grandpa?

Go and ask him, says Gaius. No stop, don't. I'll go.

He goes over to ask Marx where he's staying.

The Marxism Conference has organised my accommodation, says Marx. It will no doubt be spartan. Why are you asking?

Never mind, says Gaius. I've just realised we have nowhere to stay. Arthur normally books it.

Stick with me, says Marx. I'm sure there'll be somewhere. We Marxists.....

Thank you, says Gaius. It will only be for tonight. We're off to Yellingbo in the morning. 

I know, says Marx. With your bat and your drone. And your young assistant. By the way here are his drawings. He left them with me.

What good news. 

Now Terence has somewhere to stick his enigma.

Looking Wrong

The passenger has done a good job of restoring the feather.

He waves the two feather pieces at Terence.

Terence runs over.

I see your grandad has got the robot bat off your leg, says the passenger.

He's not my grandad, says Terence. He's a scientist and I'm on his team.

So it's his robot? asks the passenger.

Terence isn't sure how to answer, because Squattu isn't a robot.

I'm in charge of the drone, says Terence.

You have a drone? asks the passenger.

Yes, says Terence, and I control it.

So who controls the robot? asks the passenger.

She does, says Terence. Can I have my feather?

Yes, says the passenger. Pieces came up well, didn't they?

Yes, says Terence. Now I have to stick them back together.

They're still a bit tacky, says the passenger. Shall I do it?

Okay, says Terence.

The passenger presses the pieces together.

It looks a bit wrong.

What are you planning to do with it? asks the passenger.

Put it into my drawing, says Terence.

So you're an artist as well as scientist, says the passenger. 

Yes, says Terence. This feather came off the bird that brought us the drone. 

A bird brought it? says the passenger.

And my drawing has three boring pages of window, says Terence.

The passenger waits. What's the connection?

So I cut the feather up with grandpa's nail scissors, says Terence. But I ruined it.

I thought he wasn't your grandpa, says the passenger.

My real grandpa, says Terence. He has a long beard and grey hair. And nail scissors.

I see, says the passenger. So, now the feather's been restored, are you planning to add it to your drawing?

I might. But it looks a bit wrong, says Terence.

Did I join the wrong ends together? asks the passenger.

Terence looks.

The passenger looks

Did he?

>><<

Yes he  did. 

What a chump.

Separating The Barbs

That's too much glue, says Gaius.

No it isn't, says Terence.

And he's right, if he's intending what happens.

The two pieces of feather become smothered in fish glue. 

The cut ends of the quill stick together.

The barbs become rats tails.

Wah! says Terence.

He tries putting them down.

But, bumhole! they're stuck to his fingers.

Now what? cries Terence.

Not to worry, says Gaius. The good thing about fish glue is that it softens in water.

Phew, says Squattu. That's good news and bad news.

I agree, says Gaius. It's not quite as good as your modern glues. 

What's the bad news? asks Terence.

That was the bad news, says Squattu. It's not as good.

Okay what's the good news? asks Terence.

I'm stuck to your leg, says Squattu. So the good news is the same as the bad news, We just need some water.

I'll go and get some, says Gaius. Stay here.

It's not like we have any choice, says Squattu.

I do, says Terence. So you do. Want to see what happens when I stand up?

No, says Squattu. If you stand up the other people in the carriage will see us.

So what? says Terence, standing up.

Immediately a passenger sitting in a single recliner sees Terence standing up with a bat stuck to his leg, and feathery fingers.

Although, to be fair, they don't look too feathery because of the glue.

The passenger is alarmed.

Little boy, says the passenger. Keep perfectly still, and don't touch the thing on your leg under any circumstances. I'll call a guard.

What thing? asks Terence. Can you see anything, Squatty?

It's me, says Squattu. I told you not to try and prove anything.

It's talking, says the passenger. 

Tell him I'm a robot, says Squattu.

She's a robot, says Terence.

A bat robot? Why is she stuck to your leg? asks the passenger.

She was helping me stick my feather back together, says Terence. But it stuck to me instead, and then she did, but it's good news and bad news.

What's going on? asks Gaius, returning with a glass of warm water.

Thought it was a bat, says the passenger. Turns out it's a robot.

Hum, says Gaius, deciding it's a good thing if the passenger thinks Squattu is a robot. Sit down Terence and I'll start softening the fish glue.

Is it all right to wet a robot? asks the passenger. What about the electronics?

Fingers first, says Gaius.

The passenger stands there.

Gaius dabs Terence's fingers.

He eases the feather pieces off.

Don't throw them away! cries Terence.

I won't, says Gaius. But they may not return to their original condition.

The passenger continues to stand there.

Do me now! squeaks Squattu. 

Perhaps, says Gaius to the passenger, you might like to assist us? 

I don't know much about robots, says the passenger.

You could take these wet pieces of feather back to your seat  and try to restore them, says Gaius.

The passenger is relieved. He accepts the feather pieces. 

He goes back and sits down.

He paintakingly separates the barbs and blows gently on the barbules.

At least it's something to do.

They Soak It Up Naturally

The afternoon on the Overland train stretches on. 

They are still in the café, drinking Coopers Pale Ale, and eating cheese and crackers.

Can we go back to our seat now? asks Terence.

Not yet, says Gaius. We're still talking. 

Can I go back by myself? asks Terence.

I don't think so, says Gaius.

Perhaps we should let him, says Pierre-Louis. We've left Squattu asleep in my back pack.

She might wake up and be scared, says Terence.

All right, go, says Gaius. Take your feathers.

Pierre-Louis escorts Terence back through the two passage doors.

All looks peaceful in the Red Premium carriage.

Pierre-Louis returns to the café.

All well? asks Gaius.

Looks like it, says Pierre-Louis.

Good that he's showing so much independence, says Gaius.

Is he part of your team? asks Marx.

Yes, says Gaius. He'll be in charge of  the drone. You've no idea how many knobs that thing has.

Modern technology, says Marx. I can't keep up.

I know, says Gaius. But the young seem to soak it up naturally. It was Terence's idea to make use of the bat.

How will that work exactly? asks Marx.

The bat will accompany the drone says Gaius. It will supply the intelligence. A drone with built-in animal intelligence would have been too expensive.

Yes. I'm aware of the rising cost of living, says Marx. 

Perhaps your conference will come up with some answers, says Pierre-Louis.

We already know the answers, says Marx.

Gaius decides not to ask what they are.

He ought to go back and check on Terence, who may be rummaging through his backpack for fish glue, and disarranging his papers.

Or he may have have woken Squattu.

And caused who knows what chaos?

He excuses himself from further discussion.

He returns to the carriage.

Terence is sitting in Gaius's seat with a tube of fish glue.

Squattu is awake, on his lap.

She is helping him join some of the feather pieces together.

This one goes with that one. See how the cuts you made with the scissors match up?

Squattu is handing Terence the two parts of feather in question.

Terence is squeezing fish glue onto his finger.

Too much.

Six Snips

Marx pays for the drinks.

They sit down. 

Ten and a half hours, says Pierre-Louis. It is a long journey.

But relaxing, says Gaius.

Yes, relaxing, says Marx. And the windows are wide.

The countryside is becoming more.... yellow, observes Pierre-Louis.

That's the canola, says Gaius. 

How can it be canola? asks Terence. Canola is brown.

You are thinking of cola, says Gaius. 

Is it yellow? asks Terence.

No, says Gaius. Brown

Gaius said brown. Terence knew he was right.

He looks at his feather.

There is only one feather. And he needs three objects for his series of sketches.

Terence has a brainwave.

He tries to break an end off the feather.

But feathers are strong.

What are you doing? asks Pierre-Louis.

I want to break the feather into three pieces, says Terence. 

Why? asks Pierre-Louis. 

One for each drawing, says Terence.

Marx puts his beer down.

I suggested you find three different things, says Marx. Not the same thing cut into three pieces.

Each piece would be different, says Gaius. 

True, says Pierre-Louis. A quill, a central feathery piece, and a tip.

A quill or calamus, the fluffy lower afterfeather, the vane, consisting of barbs which grow from the rachis, and the tip, says Gaius.

That's ten! says Terence.

Not quite ten says Gaius, But if you look closely at each barb you will see it is composed of a little shaft and tiny barbs calle barbules.

I know about barbules, says Terence.

(It's ten to one that he doesn't).

Marx has been considering the artistic merit of Terence's plan

Yes it is lazy, but on the other hand, the effect could be dynamic.

I have nail scissors, says Marx. 

Ah! says Gaius. One of the many benefits of train travel.

Can I use them? asks Terence.

Certainly, says Marx. 

He unzips a bumbag.

He takes out a nail file, a toothpick and....at last! nail scissors.

He hands them to Terence.

Terence starts snipping.

Anyone for another? asks Gaius. My shout.

Yes, they will all have another.

The view from the window contains momentarily, a cow, and seconds later, a hay bale.

Not that Terence has noticed. 

Snip, snip, snip, snip, snip, snip.

He stops. That must be ten.

Too late he remembers that ten is too many.

What's happened? asks Gaius seeing his face. Too many pieces?

Way too many, says Terence.

A job for the fish glue, says Gaius.

The Elegaic Feather

 Marx breaks off a chunk with his spoon.

The texture is certainly gelatinous. 

He closes his eyes.

Eats it.

Very nice, or it would be, if you didn't know it was blue.

Terence has returned to the window.

What is there that no one else will have seen?

The brown blur turns yellow.

Stupid window.

Wait. What about the special window?

The carriage attendant put his third best parrot through it.

She had even asked him if he wanted to see it.

And he had said no.

Where is she?

He looks back down the carriage.

She is talking to Grandpa, who has asked why the marshmallow is blue.

It's white and blue, she has replied. The colours represent the Australian sky.

Marx has then asked her about the means of production.

She has frowned.

Terence doesn't like his chances of getting her to show him the special window.

He will look for the special window on his own.

If only Roo-kai was here, but he isn't.

Terence tiptoes to the end of the carriage, and stops at a door.

A couple of passengers come up behind him.

Fancy a Furphy? asks one.

Sure do, says the other.

They go through the door.

Terence slips through behind them, before it closes.

He is in a short passage.

The passengers push through a door at the far end of the passage, on their way to the 828 Café.

But Terence stays here.

Yes! There is a high window.

The rock pigeon must have been pushed out through it.

Terence thinks he can see a single grey feather, stuck to the frame.

If he could reach it......

The door opens again. It's Grandpa Marx, Gaius and Pierre-Louis, heading for the café.

Grandpa bends down. His mouth is blue, which looks funny.

What are you doing here, Terence? asks Grandpa.

Getting a feather, for my drawing, says Terence.

Very enterprising, says Gaius. But you do realise none of us has brought ink.

Ink? says Terence.

The feather is not for a pen, says Marx, but for a distinctive object to add to his drawing. Am I right Terence?

Yes, says Terence. 

Marx does know everything, after all. Except about train tracks.

Pierre-Louis reaches up, retrieves the feather and gives it to Terence.

They head on through to the café, Terence clutching the feather.

Critique Of Blue Marshmallow

Terence has finished three sets of brown blurs with posts.

He tears them out of the sketchbook and sets them in a row on the floor to admire them.

You can't leave them there, says the attendant. 

I'm not going to, says Terence. I'm going to show them to Grandpa.

He gathers the sketches and takes them to Marx, who has finished his mushroom spinach and ricotta rotolo, and is about to start on the daily dessert special.

Look! says Terence. 

Train tracks, says Marx. Very good. But where is the train?

We're on the train, says Terence.

In your drawing, says Marx. And there is only one track, a brown blur, which needs sharpening. And then you'll need to draw another one beside it.

Another one? says Terence.

Another track, says Marx. Next time we stop at a station, get out and look. The train tracks are parallel.

Wrong! says Terence. This is through the window. 

Ah! says Marx, The view from inside the train. Why didn't I realise? 

Would I get a reward for it? asks Terence.

You get awards for drawing, not rewards, says Marx. And no, I don't think you'd get one.

Why not? asks Terence.

What does it add to the treasure house of world art? asks Marx.

It's going to be joined together, says Terence. With staples.

Is it? says Marx. That might help. But if I were you I'd add something else to each frame. Something only you could have noticed.

That's the best idea ever! says Terence.

He runs back to the window.

Marx is pleased with his effort to improve Terence's understanding of artistic matters.

He returns to the contemplation of his dessert.

It is blue and white.

The blue is disconcerting.

And it wobbles. 

Could it be marshmallow?

The Brown Blur

Terence has found a good spot for doing his sketching.

But he has to stand up.

He holds his sketchbook open and looks through the train window.

A flat brown blur, with posts whizzing by.

This should be easy.

He draws a brown blur.

The carriage smells funny.

It must be the lunches.

He looks back. Gaius's tray table is down. So is Pierre-Louis's. And Grandpa's.

He draws a few posts.

His drawing is finished. Except for the sky.

He thinks about Easter, and the presents he's sure he remembers he's had.

A Peruvian hat (lost), a balloon parrot (burst), a toy horse....(Monty!)

He runs back to Gaius.

What about Monty?

Gaius is about to bite into a smoked ham foccaccia, having just dipped the end into a bowl of skordalia.

I hope I'm doing this right, says Gaius. 

What's the problem? asks Pierre-Louis.

It looks like mashed potato, says Gaius. 

Perhaps it's a dip, says Pierre-Louis. Did you get crackers?

No, says Gaius. Too late now.

The curry's delicious, says Pierre-Louis.

It is at this point that Terence arrives.

I DO get a present at Easter! says Terence. I remembered!

What have you remembered? asks Gaius.

Monty! cries Terence. Last year I got Monty.

Monty was a reward you were given for picking up dog hairs, says Gaius. Not related to Easter.

Was it AT Easter? asks Terence.

Around about that time, I suppose, says Gaius.

See, says Terence.

Show me your drawing, says Pierre-Louis.

Terence holds it up. 

It's realistic, says Pierre-Louis. Posts and blur. Are you still planning a series?

Yes, says Terence. They'll be joined together.

I look forward to seeing the finished project, says Pierre-Louis. 

Maybe I'll  get a reward, says Terence.

We'll see, says Pierre-Louis.

Yay! says Terence, running back to his window.

There, says Pierre-Louis. I tried to  divert his attention.

I noticed, says Gaius.

Did he pick up the dog hairs? asks Pierre-Louis. 

Not in the long run, says Gaius.