White-Cloaked

Tomorrow, you say? says Pierre-Louis.

Yes, tomorrow, says Gaius. Which means we spend a cold night.

Not necessarily, says Pierre-Louis. We could stay in a hotel.

That would be costly, says Gaius.

I want to! cries Terence. And so does Squatty.

I've never stayed in a hotel says Squattu.

You get white towels, says Terence.

Squattu thinks that sounds nice.

Perhaps a back packers, says Gaius. There's bound to be one close to the station.

He takes out his phone.

Yes, eighty one dollars for a bed in a 16-bed dorm with shared bathroom. How about that?

Eighty one dollars each? says Pierre-Louis. Try a proper hotel.

Batman's Hill On Collins, says Gaius. One hundred and five dollars. Two guests.

Book it. We'll go halves, says Pierre-Louis.

Batman's Hill On Collins is directly opposite the Southern Cross Station.

They check in and go up to their room.

Put down their back packs.

Look out of the window.

City lights sparkle. Traffic flows by.

Batman's Hill? says Pierre-Louis. It's flat as a pancake.

Maybe Batman destroyed it, says Squattu. Wham! Blam! 

It wouldn't be that Batman, says Gaius. He is a fictional character, and couldn't destroy a real hill.

Pierre-Louis takes out his phone.

Batman's Hill, says Pierre-Louis. Named after the adventurer and grazier John Batman, founder of Melbourne. The hill was eighteen metres high, but has since been removed.

Where is it now? asks Squattu.

It doesn't say, says Pierre-Louis.

Shall we skip dinner? says Gaius. We'll get a luxurious breakfast on the train in the morning.

All right, says Pierre-Louis. 

They take turns in the bathroom, then climb into their respective beds.

Soon they are snoring. Hnuh-phnoooor!

They're asleep, whispers Terence. Want to go looking?

What for? asks Squattu.

The hill, says Terence. It has to be somewhere.

Okay, says Squattu. But first can we look at the towels?

Okay, says Terence. They'll be in the bathroom

He tiptoes into the bathroom. Squattu follows.

Two wet towels lie on the floor. 

Two smaller towels hang on a towel rack.

These dry ones are ours, says Terence.

Can we take them? asks Squattu. 

Yes, says Terence. We can wear them like cloaks.

Mine's too big for me, says Squattu.

Terence can see that she's right.

But there are many sizes of hotel towels. Next to the vanity basin are two folded-up face-cloths.

Neither Gaius nor Pierre- Louis has used them.

Have one of those! whispers Terence.

Attired in white cloaks, they slip out of the room, down the stairs and out into the dark Melbourne evening, to look for the hill.