The Clockwork Conspiracy 1st Edition
Sam Sedgman
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Praise for
‘An ingenious mystery full of fascinating facts. Sedgman has cracked the code for an absolute triumph of a book’
A.F. Steadman, author of Skandar and the Unicorn Thief
‘Clever, inventive and a cracking read’
Eoin Colfer, author of Artemis Fowl
‘Thrilling, exciting and compelling, Sam Sedgman has written a clever adventure ruled by time, rife with political intrigue, and brilliant fun’
M. G. Leonard, author of Beetle Boy
‘A hugely exciting, hugely fun sure-fire, clock-ticking hit’
Sam Copeland, author of Charlie Changes into a Chicken
‘A captivating and perilous adventure that surprises and delights at every turn. I raced through this brilliant page-turning mystery and loved every breathless minute!’
Catherine Doyle, author of The Storm Keeper’s Island
‘A taut, tense mystery with perfectly timed plotting, this is guaranteed to make the time fly’
Maz Evans, author of Who Let the Gods Out?
‘Like Arthur Conan Doyle meets Back to the Future’
Elle McNicoll, author of A Kind of Spark
‘An adventure so gripping you’ll feel like time has stopped! Isaac and Hattie’s quest through London will keep you reading until your own clock says it’s way past bedtime’
Chris Smith, author of Kid Normal
‘Perfect for science lovers and codebreakers everywhere, The Clockwork Conspiracy is a gripping, high-stakes thriller with more twists and turns than a Rubik’s Cube!’
Jennifer Bell, author of Wonderscape
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‘Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today It’s already tomorrow in Australia.’
Charles M. Schulz
‘Time is an illusion.’
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Albert
Einstein
ONE
On the night the clocks went back, Isaac Turner climbed Big Ben’s tower to watch his father stop time.
There were three hundred and thirty-four steps inside the Elizabeth Tower, and as Isaac looked over the banister, the twisting staircase telescoped out beneath him, making him feel dizzy. He didn’t like heights, but the difficult climb was always worth it for a glimpse of the glorious machine at the top.
‘Come on, slowcoach,’ his dad called from above. ‘Not far now. ’
Isaac’s dad was a horologist – someone who looked after watches and clocks. And here, in the Palace of Westminster, he was Keeper of the Great Clock, the most famous clock in the world, the one everyone thought was called Big Ben, but wasn’t.
‘I can keep up!’ Isaac called out, hurrying up the last few steps. ‘See?’
His dad winked as Isaac reached the landing. Diggory Turner was a short man with a round face like a dinner plate Curly black hair frothed around the sides of his head, bald on top like a crop circle. A pair of wireframe glasses perched on his plump nose, above an unkempt beard and moustache. He wore dark blue overalls on top of a white shirt and waistcoat, and battered black leather shoes. ‘You ready?’ he asked.
‘Of course. ’ Isaac grinned. He wouldn’t have missed this for the world.
The clock room was a large, white-walled space in the heart of the tower, criss-crossed by iron beams. On a raised platform in the centre, a tangle of gleaming black machinery made Isaac’s eyes light up with excitement.
This was the clock. This was the heart of it. This was the machine that measured time.
Levers and cogs as tall as Isaac locked into cylinders bound with wire. Four huge rods pierced each wall, linked to the towering glass faces that kept watch over the city below. The machine lay deathly still, like a sleeping dragon, except for one small lever in the centre, which moved once every two seconds with a quiet tick.
‘Where do we start?’ asked Isaac, looking eagerly around.
‘Just a moment,’ said Diggory. He had pulled out a gleaming gold pocket watch, the size of a digestive biscuit, attached to his waistcoat by a thin gold chain. He snapped open the cover to check the time. ‘N-ow.’
The sleeping dragon woke. With a sudden click, gears and levers began to rapidly spin, wriggling their interlocking teeth. Cables that stretched through the ceiling tugged back and forth, and from the belfry above them, Isaac heard the chiming of the quarter-hour bells.
BING bong bing BONG … bing BONG BING bong … BING BONG bing BONG …
A metal fan spun round with a clatter, coming to a halt as the chimes faded. The mechanism quietened down again, the dragon falling silent once more.
‘Nine forty-five,’ said Diggory, tucking his watch into his overalls with a satisfied nod. ‘And you can’t even tell the G sharp’s been swapped out. We’ve got three minutes. Help me lay out the tools.’
He set down his bag and unrolled a canvas bundle, into which were tucked spanners, screwdrivers and pliers.
‘I wish you’d let me work on it before,’ Isaac said, kneeling on the floorboards to help.
‘You were too little before,’ said Diggory.
‘No I wasn’t!’ Isaac protested. ‘I’ve known how this clock works since I was ten.’
‘And when I first brought you up here, you got so excited you nearly crushed your fingers in the striking train.’
‘I was trying to clean the cogs!’
‘You were fiddling. That’s OK. I know you can’t resist tinkering with things – you ’ re the same as me. ’
‘But I’m almost thirteen now, ’ Isaac protested.
‘Which is why I’ve brought you here. I had to show you the clocks going back. In case well.’ He grimaced. ‘In case it’s the last time it happens.’
Isaac saw his dad’s face was fixed. It was the look he always wore when he was thinking about the New Time law.
‘Should we stop the clock now?’ he asked, trying to distract him.
‘Yes,’ said Diggory. He approached the machinery. ‘First we undo this safety catch –’ he used a spanner to twist out a black nut from a long screw –‘and disconnect the going train.’ He removed the nut from the thread and placed it carefully on the floorboards, his fingertips smudged with grease. ‘Now, give me your hand.’
Isaac held out his palm. His dad took it, and together they reached into the gears of the clock, finding a lever deep in the mechanism. Isaac’s long fingers closed over it.
‘What do I do?’ he asked.
‘Pull when I say so, ’ said Diggory. ‘Tonight, you can stop her.’
Isaac’s heart thudded, and his face lit up. ‘Really?’
‘Exactly when I say so. ’ Diggory put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. ‘Nine forty-eight, and not a second later. Ready?’
Isaac nodded. He daren’t breathe, listening to the tick. In the quiet, he thought he heard someone cough.
‘Did you hear that?’ Isaac turned back to the stairwell.
‘The wind.’ Diggory was examining his pocket watch. ‘Ready? Three, two, one, now!’
Isaac tugged the lever. It was heavy, and his biceps strained. Gears yawned deep in the machine, and the lever moved, locking into place with a clunk.
‘Nine forty-eight,’ said Diggory, patting him on the back. ‘Nicely done.’
Isaac pulled his hand from the works.
‘She’s really stopped?’ he asked.
‘Listen.’
Isaac did. The tick had vanished.
Behind them, in the stairwell, someone moved.
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TWO
Hattie unscrewed the cap of her thermos flask and took a swig of hot squash. It was forbidden for her to be on the roof. It was forbidden for her to do a great many things – but Hattie enjoyed breaking the rules. Who, after all, was going to stop her? Certainly not Claire Turnbull, the Palace’s Serjeant-at-Arms. Claire was in charge of security but Hattie took great pleasure in outwitting her. Life was far too boring if you played by the rules.
As she drank, she looked up at the tower of Big Ben, watching the faces of the Great Clock switch their lights off one by one. Time vanished in the gloom. It was a cloudy night in October: no moon or stars. But even so, London was never really dark. Below her, cars and buses shone with red and white lights as they purred across Westminster Bridge, the Palace looming above them.
Nobody thought of it as a palace. When you thought of London palaces, you thought of Buckingham Palace. Kings and queens were supposed to
live in palaces, but the Palace of Westminster was where the politicians worked. It was where laws were made. It was supposed to be a ‘palace of the people’, but when Hattie sat on its roof, she felt like a queen.
Rummaging in her rucksack, Hattie pulled out a pair of binoculars, aiming them upwards at the dark faces of the clock. They were frozen at nine forty-eight, but as she watched, peering at them in the London halflight, she saw them begin to turn. Not backwards, as she’d thought, but forwards. They spun round at great pace – the long minute hand turning up to the top in a matter of seconds, dragging the hour hand behind it. Without chiming, it passed ten o ’clock, eleven o ’clock, and Hattie felt a little dizzy, as though the whole city were travelling through time.
The hands came to a sudden halt at one minute to midnight. Time stood still. Hattie grinned, feeling the triumph of an explorer who had discovered a new world.
She wondered what would happen to the clock. The New Time law would probably put an end to it. There would be no more winding it in the middle of the night like this. It could be the last time it ever happened, and she, Hattie, was here to see it. She felt a strange swell of pride and sadness.
As she took a bite of her cheese and Marmite sandwich, something caught her eye. The clock hands were still, but there was movement at the top of the tower. She pressed her binoculars to her face. It was hard to see in the gloom, but she thought she could make out a thin figure standing at the edge of the belfry. They had a shock of white hair, and their long coat flapped in the wind. They were looking straight at her.
Hattie started, dropping her flask in shock. It rolled down the sloping roof tiles, clattering to a halt against a chimney stack. Panicked, she scuttled down after it. Once she’d stuffed it safely into her rucksack, she turned back to the clocktower, peering into her binoculars again. But the figure had vanished.
Had she imagined it? Or were they off to raise the alarm? Without pausing to wonder, Hattie eased herself down into a wide gutter, and scuttled away over the rooftop, the darkened clock faces glaring down at her from above.
THREE
‘T
here,’ Isaac’s dad said, locking a lever into place. ‘Eleven fifty-nine exactly.’
He reached up his hand and Isaac gave him a high five.
They had switched off the lights behind the dials and wound the clock’s hands forward towards midnight. Like time itself, the clock couldn’t be wound backwards.
‘Why eleven fifty-nine?’ Isaac asked, looking at the small brass dial in the heart of the machine, where the hands hovered just before twelve. ‘Is that when we set her running again?’
‘It takes about a minute for the quarter-hour bells to chime through,’ his dad explained. ‘Midnight is on the stroke of the first big bell, remember? We’ll set her running again at one minute to midnight – the new midnight, that is, once the clocks have gone back. But now we have a few hours to do some work on her.’ He pulled out a screwdriver.
‘Why do the clocks go back?’ asked Isaac
‘You know why,’ his dad replied.
‘I know we do it to make the most of our daylight – making summer evenings longer and winter mornings lighter.’ Isaac frowned. It was the face
he made most often: an ‘I don’t understand this’ frown. ‘But why? Why don’t we just get up earlier? Why do we need to change the clocks at all?’
‘We can’t make everyone behave as we like, Isaac,’ his dad said, heaving himself up on to the ironwork. ‘But it’s easy to change a clock. People do what the clocks tell them to.’
‘Except you, ’ said Isaac. ‘The clocks do what you tell them to.’
His dad smiled and stepped carefully over a large gear into the centre of the movement – the clock’s mechanism.
‘I suppose they do,’ he said. ‘For now, at least. Pass me that oilcan, will you?’
Isaac did, followed by several other tools his father asked for – a long screwdriver, a spanner, and then a hammer, which his dad used to bash something that made a terrible clanging noise. It reminded him of being at home in their garden shed, where on Sundays the two of them would work on his dad’s pride and joy – a Vincent Black Shadow motorbike they were repairing from the scrapheap. One day – soon, Isaac hoped – the bike would be finished, and the two of them would ride it from their house in Leytonstone all the way along the river to the sea.
‘Take a penny off the stack for me, will you?’ Diggory asked, marking one of the gears with a piece of chalk. ‘She was running fast earlier.’
Isaac went over to the pendulum, his favourite part of the clock. The long-weighted beam swung gently in a cavity beneath the floorboards, once every two seconds exactly: this was how the clock kept time.
A handful of old copper coins were stacked on the pendulum, and Isaac carefully removed one as it rocked towards him.
‘What makes the clock too fast or slow?’ Isaac asked, turning the coin over in his palm. ‘I thought the pendulum kept good time?’
‘Heat, dust, a pigeon perching on the hour hand.’ His dad shrugged. ‘No clock is perfect. The pennies cut about half a second a day from her running time. Being a horologist is about making tiny adjustments: like steering an enormous ship.’
Isaac watched the pendulum swing, rubbing the old penny between his fingers.
‘That’s why you don’t like the New Time law, isn’t it?’ he asked gingerly. ‘It’s too big a change?’
His dad sighed. ‘That new law won’t change anything.’
‘But it’ll change everything, ’ Isaac protested. ‘Won’t it? Metric time? Every clock, every watch – what’s going to happen to Big Ben?’
‘There’s no sense worrying about it now, ’ his dad said firmly. ‘The law might never pass. Let’s not ruin tonight by talking about all that nonsense. You’re here to help me tend to the best clock in the world, and that’s what we ’ re going to do. Now, let’s wind the weights.’
He produced a long metal crank from underneath the clock mechanism. ‘I hope you ’ ve got some strength left.’
‘How heavy is it?’ Isaac asked.
‘A quarter of a ton.’ His dad winked. ‘You feeling strong?’ Isaac wasn’t. But before he could tell his dad, a strange noise filled the room.
… bing … bing … bing …
The faint chime of a bell drifted down from above.
‘F sharp,’ his dad muttered, glancing upwards. ‘One of the quarter bells.’
‘But the clock’s disconnected,’ said Isaac.
‘I know.’
‘Then how … ?’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ his dad replied, much too mildly. ‘Probably just a bird. Wait here. I’ll go and check. Make yourself useful and start winding.’ He patted Isaac on the shoulder. ‘I’ll be right back.’ OceanofPDF.com
FOUR
It was hard work, heaving the quarter-ton weight up the tower’s central shaft. The crank made a deafening clatter as gears and ratchets spun. Isaac gripped the handle with white knuckles, wheezing and sweating as it turned, pulling on quivering cables which vanished into the weight shaft through a wooden hatch in the floor.
The weights powered the clock. With every swing of the pendulum, the main weight clicked a fraction lower in the tower, its slow descent giving energy to the going train: the part that kept the clock turning. When the weights reached the bottom of the shaft, the clock would stop, so every few days his dad had to wind them up again.
His arms burning, Isaac let go of the crank and slumped against a wooden packing crate in the corner, breathing heavily. He knew he’d barely lifted the weight a few metres, but he needed a rest. The packing crate was draped in ropes, and about the size of an armchair.
Something pressed into his back pocket, and he pulled out the copper coin he had taken from the pendulum, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. It was tarnished with age and bore the face of an unfamiliar king.
It was an old penny. A long time ago, twelve of these pennies had made a shilling, and twenty shillings had made a pound. But the government had got rid of all the old money – making things simpler by having just a hundred pennies to the pound. They called it ‘decimalisation’. Isaac had been learning about it in school, because they were talking about doing the same thing for time.
They called it the New Time law. If it happened, the way the country measured time would be different. Instead of twenty-four hours a day, there would be ten. There would be a hundred minutes in an hour, and a hundred seconds in a minute. Measuring time would be like measuring things in grams and kilograms. It was supposed to make things simpler: after all, most other things were metric. But Isaac knew the idea made his dad uncomfortable. He just wished he could talk to him about it.
Isaac looked round the clock room and wondered how long his dad had been gone. He dropped the penny into a box by the pendulum and walked out into the stairwell.
‘Dad?’ he called out.
His father had told him to stay put, but Isaac’s curiosity got the better of him. It usually did.
A cold breeze pinched his face as he tramped up the metal staircase leading to the top of the clocktower, and he pulled his grey woolly hat down tighter over his unruly dark brown hair. The belfry was covered with a roof but open at the sides, the city draped around it like a tapestry of light. The shadows of bells emerged from the gloom. Smaller ones at the
corners, which played the quarter-hour chimes, and in the centre, a bell so famous it had lent its name to the clock itself: Big Ben.
Big Ben was taller than Isaac. Cast from copper and tin, it weighed fourteen tons. Its real name was the Great Bell, but nobody called it that, just like nobody called the clock by its real name, the Great Clock. Isaac huffed the cold air in shallow breaths.
‘Hello?’ he called out.
The low moon gleamed on the smooth edge of the bell, catching a jagged scar zigzagging across the metal. This was where the bell had cracked, many years before, when a much-too-heavy hammer had been used to strike it. The bell had been patched up, but its chime had been slightly off-key ever since. That was why the G-sharp bell had been taken away, to be inspected for signs of cracking. While it was gone, a speaker played its note in perfect time instead.
Hearing no answer, Isaac crossed the belfry, looking for his dad. But there was nobody to be seen.
Something crunched under the sole of his trainer. He glanced down and saw a gold chain glinting on the floor. His stomach lurched. At the other end of the chain was his dad’s pocket watch: the one he never took off. Its case was open, and the glass covering its face was cracked
‘Dad?’ he called out. His heart began to beat faster. He moved around the Great Bell, eyes darting to the corners of the tower. There was no sign of him. He stumbled to the handrail at the edge of the belfry, and a flock of pigeons burst from the tower, swooping down towards the Houses of Parliament below. Isaac leaned over the rails, the deep drop to the ground making him queasy.
‘DAD!’ he shouted. There was no answer.
He ran back to the staircase, stuffing the watch in his pocket as he dashed down to the clock room. It was just as he’d left it. No one was there. He hurried further down the twisting stairs, stopping at every landing to peer into the storage rooms. They were all empty. He barrelled out of the wide oak door at the bottom of the tower and collided with a security guard in the cloistered walkway outside.
‘Whoa! Easy, kid,’ the guard said, gripping him by the shoulders. ‘Where’d you come from?’
‘The clock keeper, Diggory Turner,’ Isaac babbled. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘What? No, nobody’s come past here for a good half hour.’ His eyes flicked to some cigarette butts on the ground. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘He’s my dad.’ Isaac swallowed. ‘I don’t know where he is.’ OceanofPDF.com
FIVE
Solomon Bassala strode through the cloisters towards the clocktower, his burgundy dressing gown billowing out behind him. It was a rather grand dressing gown because Solomon Bassala was a rather grand man.
Wide as a door, tall as a horse and elegant as a cat, he filled every room he entered. The guards outside the clocktower quickly stepped aside as he approached, recognising the Speaker of the House. Solomon swept past them and began to climb the stairs.
He heard a commotion in the clock room and ducked through the doorway.
‘Good evening!’ His booming voice brought the clamour to a hush. ‘Who can tell me what’s going on?’
‘Mr Speaker!’ A short, pale woman in a tailored jacket jumped to attention as she heard Solomon’s voice, her big boots clomping on the floorboards as she approached. She tidied her bob of straight black hair and tried to look a lot less worried than Solomon could tell she felt ‘You didn’t have to come all the way up here.’
‘Nonsense, Claire,’ said Solomon, dabbing sweat from the dark skin of his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘Someone said Diggory’s disappeared. I
was in my study, and I …’ His eyes fell on a wiry boy peering out at him from behind one of the cogs of the clock. ‘Isaac Turner, is that you?’
‘Uncle Sol?’
Isaac stepped forward. He sounded relieved, but Solomon saw fear in the boy’s eyes.
‘You know this boy, Mr Speaker?’ Claire asked, surprised. Solomon ignored her.
‘It’s been a little while, hasn’t it?’ he said, giving Isaac a friendly grin. ‘How’s the home laboratory? Did you ever get that bottle rocket to fly?’
‘Yeah,’ said Isaac with a flash of pleasure. ‘This summer. It landed in Mrs Peach’s garden and blew up her courgettes.’
‘Very impressive.’ Solomon perched on the edge of the clock mechanism, putting his big hands into his dressing gown pockets. ‘I hear you ’ ve had a strange night. Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
‘Isaac came running down to one of our security guards earlier this evening, Mr Speaker,’ Claire began, ‘saying he couldn’t find his father.’
‘I know you ’ re in charge of Palace security, Claire, but if you don’t mind I’d like Isaac to tell me himself,’ said Solomon. Claire bristled, but Solomon ignored her and gave an encouraging nod to the boy. ‘What happened?’
Isaac told him the story. Of turning back the clock; of his dad going up to the belfry and never coming down.
‘We’ve searched the tower,’ Claire added, ‘and the … areas around the bottom of the tower.’ She coughed. ‘There’s no sign of Mr Turner anywhere.’
‘We don’t know where he is,’ said Isaac. His face was pale.
‘And you didn’t see anything strange?’ Solomon asked, his brow knitted with concern. ‘Or hear anything? Your dad didn’t mention he might need to go somewhere, or perhaps leave behind a note, or a message?’
‘No.’ Isaac shook his head and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘Nothing like that.’
Solomon wondered if he was being completely honest.
‘I didn’t know this boy was your nephew, Mr Speaker,’ said Claire.
‘He isn’t, not officially,’ Solomon explained. ‘He’s my godson. His dad and I are old friends. And whenever I come round to visit, Isaac is good enough to show me one of his science experiments, which have set fire to many of my suits in some rather impressive ways. ’ He cocked his head and
gave Isaac a long look. ‘You don’t have any relatives in the city, do you, Isaac?’
‘No.’ Isaac shook his head. ‘It’s just me and Dad.’
‘Hmm.’ Solomon chewed his lip.
‘I can contact social services if you ’ re worried about—’
‘Absolutely not,’ Solomon interrupted Claire. ‘Isaac will stay here with me tonight. It’s much too late to do anything else. He needs to rest.’
‘Mr Speaker, this is most irregular,’ said Claire, wringing her hands. ‘There is a proper procedure for these things. The police have to be—’
‘It’s very late, Claire,’ said Solomon sternly. ‘Isaac has been through enough. I live here, I know Isaac, and I have a spare bed. The police can talk to him in the morning. Or do you want to put him through even more distress tonight?’
Claire masked a scowl and shook her head.
‘Thanks,’ said Isaac. He looked relieved.
‘Chop-chop then,’ said Solomon, getting to his feet. ‘It’s long past my bedtime, and I imagine yours too. Claire, you have things in hand?’
‘The Metropolitan Police will be here any moment, I’ll speak to their officer in charge,’ said Claire. ‘We’ll seal the tower until they’re ready.’
‘I’ll show you to my apartment, Isaac,’ said Solomon. ‘I’m sure your father will turn up. ’
‘But we can’t go now!’ Isaac protested. ‘What about the clock?’
‘What about it?’
‘Dad stopped it to wind the hands forward,’ said Isaac. ‘It must be almost midnight, we have to start it again.’
‘Isaac, your father isn’t here. I’m not sure …’
‘But I can do it,’ said Isaac. He pulled himself away from his godfather and went back to the mechanism, kneeling beside his dad’s bag of tools.
‘I can’t let you tinker with that,’ snapped Claire. ‘It’s government property.’
‘As the most senior member of government in the building, I say he can, ’ said Solomon. ‘We can’t leave Big Ben dark.’ He knelt beside Isaac. ‘You do know what you ’ re doing, don’t you?’
Isaac’s face tightened, and he nodded, blocking out the world around him as he focused on the levers and gears.
‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘Twelve fifty-seven,’ said Solomon, checking his wristwatch. ‘Oh, but I haven’t set my watch back yet.’
‘Count me down to twelve fifty-nine please,’ said Isaac. ‘That’ll be the new midnight.’ He reached into the heart of the machinery and felt around. He seemed to calm down as his hand found a familiar place within the cogs. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.
‘Fifteen seconds,’ said Solomon. ‘Ten … five, four, three …’
Isaac squeezed the handle and heaved back the lever. Metal growled, the gears crunching together as the escapement locked back into place. He released the handle. The clock began to tick once more.
Solomon jumped as some of the gears began to rattle and roar, spinning round and unspooling wires as the quarter-hour bells chimed in the belfry above them.
‘Your dad’s taught you well, hasn’t he,’ said Solomon, impressed. Isaac didn’t answer He just looked at the floor
‘It’ll be all right,’ said Solomon, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll find him.’
He led Isaac down the stairs of the clocktower as Big Ben chimed the new midnight.
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Chiefs, petty, in Sarawak, 414
Children’s toys and games, 224, 231, 274
Child-naming ceremony, 353
Chinamen, 327-9
Chinese districts, 316
Chorus songs, 324
Church at Saibai, 170; at Mabuiag, 122
Cicatrices, 110, 113, 200
Cittocincla, 381, 384, 385, 389
Clan houses, 99, 171
Clarinet, 225
Claudetown, 297, 311, 330, 357, 371, 379, 401-13
Club houses in New Guinea, 99, 100, 208, 256, 257, 262, 268, 270
Coal in Borneo, 318
Cochard, Father, 185, 259, 268
Cockatoo feathers for dances, 234
Cockatoos, tame, 234
Coconut palm, triple crowned, 172
Coconut shrine, 67
Codrington, Rev. Dr., 44
Colour blindness, 126
vision of natives, 24, 25, 245
vocabulary, Australian, 24; Kiwai, 24; Torres Straits, 24
Comet, 80-2
Confederation of mountain tribes, 247
Conscientiousness of Murray Islanders, 27, 29
Constabulary, for enforcing taboo, 271
Constellations, 139, 165-8, 381
Cooking in Torres Straits, 41
Copper Maori, 41
Copra, 3
Craniology, Torres Straits, 18, 119, 120
Cotton cloths of the Iban women, 280, 285, 326
Cowling, J., 117
Crocodile-man, 171, 172
Crystal sphere, 370
Culm measures, 315
Cult of skulls, 332, 394-400
Cuscus, 110
Customs of the Ibitoes, 258
Cyclone, 79, 80, 88
Cymodocea, 151
Dalton, O. M., 372
Dam, ceremony at, 61
Dance costume, 113, 187, 214, 233, 234, 358
Dances stopped by teachers, 35, 128
Dances:
Australian, 193. Bornean, 357, 358.
Papuan: Babaka, 214-19;
Bulaa, 231; Kăpăkăpă, 210; Mabuiag, 131, 139, 140, 233; Mawatta, 113, 114; Muralug, 186-8; Murray Island, 47-9, 60, 102; Nagir, 182.
South Sea, 35; Rotumah, 36, 53
Ceremonial: Agricultural dances, 215-19; death dances, 139, 182; fishing dances, 183, 184; Malu dances, 47-9, 102; war dances, 60, 131, 140, 186-8, 233, 358
Festive, 188, 189, 210, 231-3
Mimetic, 49, 114, 188, 189, 358
Danilkau, a funeral buffoon, 139, 140
Danish thunderbolts, 372
Dapoi River, 360
Darnley Island (Erub), 5, 12, 51, 95
Daru, 95
Dauar, 12, 17, 18, 64-8
Dauncey, Rev. H. M., 199, 201
Death of a baby, 123 of Brother Edmond, 253, 254
Decorated skull, 91, 181
Decoration, native, 332
Deer, 383-6
Delena, 199-201, 259, 260
Deshon, Hon. H. F., 284, 285
Devonian rocks, 315
Divination by means of a parang, 366 by pig’s liver, 336, 337, 354, 355, 411, 412 in Murray Island, 54-6
Divining grasshopper, 92
skull, Torres Straits, 91, 92, 182 zogo, 91
Dog killing unlucky, 335, 364
Dogs, supposed by natives to be sacrificed by the English, 339
Doiom (rain charm), 32-5, 86
“Doors,” 298, 331
“Door” tax, 294
Dorgai, 166
constellation, 166
Douglas, Hon. John, 1, 4, 20, 123, 170
Douglas, R. S., 303, 304, 330, 337, 404-6
Dowry, 363
Dyeing patterns on cloth, 326
Dragon, river, 373
Drinking customs, 311, 402, 403
Drought, 84, 86
Drum-making, 257
Drums, 231, 233;
sacred drum, 45
Drunkenness, 356
Dubu, 100, 208, 217, 234
ascended by girls, 218
Dugong, 151
charms, 133, 134, 153, 154, 202
food of, 151, 152
harpoon, 149 methods of catching, 148-54
Dukduk, in New Britain, 51
Dulit Mount, 344, 347, 348, 349
Durian, 303
Dusun, 321
Earthquake in Murray Island, 78, 79
Eastern Papuans, 199
Economic defects of a hunting existence, 265
Edible earth, 203
Edmond, Brother, 253, 254
Elevera, 235
English, A. C., 206, 210, 214, 219, 226, 234, 248
Eocene, 317
Erabo (club house), 100
Erub, 5, 12, 51, 95
Eruptive rocks of Borneo, 318
Ethnography of Sarawak, 320
Evanena, 228
Evans, Prof. E., 339
Everett, A. Hart, 318, 372
Eyesight, defects of, among natives, 24 of hill tribes, 245
Fable of the monkey and the frog, 343
Fairy darts, 373
Fanny Rapid, 377
Fauna of Mount Dulit, 348
Feasts, Murray Island, 39-41; Mekeo, 272
Feeding skulls, 396
Fertility ceremony, 218
Figure-heads of canoes, 407
Fire, legend of origin, 108
Fire-making in New Guinea and Torres Straits, 108, 109
Fireworks, 402
First man, legend of origin of, 108
Fish, shooting with bow and arrows, 259
Fisher-folk in New Guinea, 207, 221, 260, 261
Fish, zogo, 68
Fleam, 223
Flutes, 205, 258
Food restrictions, 135, 257
Forge, 324
Frazer, Dr. J. G., 134, 135
Frigate bird, 204
Frog, fable of, 343 game, 228
Fulaari, 271, 272, 275, 276
Funeral in Murray Island, 93; in Yule Island, 254
Gaile, 206
Games:
Borneo, mancala, 284
Papuan adults’ games: hockey, 78; tamar, 40, 58, 59, 62; top-spinning (kolap), 40, 41
Papuan children’s games: balancing (evanena), 228; boy-throwing (omoro or frog), 228; hopping, 227; hunting kangaroo and pig, 274, 275; imitating ceremonies, (fulaari), 275, (kwod), 180; jumping, 227; leap-frog, 227; pig-a-back, 227; revolving (maki gegelaki and rapurapu), 228; ring games (kwaito pinupinu and mota ĕrĕmpto), 229;
round sitting games, played with the hands, (korikini), 229, (toitoi kinimali), 230, 231; skipping, 227; top-whipping, 272, 273
Gapu (sucker-fish), 155, 156
Garden charms, Torres Straits, 67, 86, 87, 107; New Guinea, 104-7
Gasiri (tree houses), 248
Geigi’s fish-spear, 68
Gelam, 16
Genealogies of natives, 124
Geographical features of Borneo, 312 of British New Guinea, 207, 239-41 of Sarawak, 286, 348
Geological features of Borneo, 312, 348 of British New Guinea, 207, 239, 240
Geology of Sumatra, 315
George, Brother, 266, 267, 276
Gewe (chief of Agi), 244-6
Ghost (lamar), 89, 90
Ghost tiger, 305
Girls ascending dubu, 218; seclusion of, in Mabuiag, 135
God of Harvest, 373
Gold in Sarawak, 315; in Torres Straits, 4
Gomoridobo village, 234
Gope (charm), 103, 104
Gors, Mr., 205, 251, 266
Government of Sarawak, 292, 294
of Torres Straits by Queensland, 19-21
Grammar of Torres Straits languages, 29, 127
Granville, 235
Grasshopper, divining, 92
Graves, New Guinea, 112
Great houses in New Guinea, 99, 213; in Sarawak, 298
Guilbaud, Father, 255
Guis, Father, 253, 258-60, 276, 277
Guise, R. E., 218
Gunboat, 249
H., Captain, 5, 6, 22, 80, 82, 95
Hair, 18, 119, 223, 234, 325
wavy, among Papuans, 234
Haliastur, 384, 385, 387, 390
Hammond Island, 185
Hantus (spirits), 340, 369
Hanuabada village, 235
Harpoon, 148
Harpactes, 381-5, 387-90
Haviland, G. D., 283
Hawk omen, 387, 352
Hawk-owl, 391
Head-hunters, Kiwai, 107
Head-hunting, 322, 325, 328, 339;
object of, 107
origin of, in Borneo, 397
in Sarawak, reasons for, 394
Hearing, acuity and range, 25
Heliarctos, 391
Hely, Hon. Bingham A., 95, 98, 103, 109
Hill-land of Borneo, 316
Hill tribes, colour-vision of, 245
keenness of eyesight, 245
History of Sarawak, 291, 292
Hockey in Murray Island, 78
Hoe, shell, 109
Hogeri, 244
Holiness, 67, 258
Hood Bay, 219 Peninsula, 211-34
Hooks, magical, 370, 371, 373, 396
Hopping, game, 227
Hornbill, 410
white-crested, 388
Hornbills’ feathers, 395
Hose, Dr. C., 297, 301, 303-5, 320-415
Houses:
Torres Straits, 58, 110;
Kiwai, 99, 100;
New Guinea, 204, 206, 208, 211, 213, 223, 224, 242, 243, 268, 269; Sarawak, 298, 290, 331-3, 335
Hula, 211. Cf. Bulaa
Human heads for foundations of Kuching waterworks, 339
Human sacrifice, 339 skulls. Cf. skulls
Hunters, 265
Hunting games, 274
Huts, 110;
sleeping hut in jungle, 299
Hurricane in Torres Straits, origin of, 79, 80, 82, 87, 88
Iasa (Kiwai), 98-108
Iban (Sea Dayak), 281, 283, 301, 302, 305, 322, 324-8, 338, 341, 381-93
Ibitoe, customs of, 256-9
Inawi village, 269, 272
Indo-Javan people, 322, 327
Indonesian, 321
Ingratitude of natives, 19
Initiation ceremonies, 42; in Murray Island, 44, 135, 140, 176, 191
Instruction of lads (Murray Island), 49, 50
Iriam Moris, 64
Ireland, stone implements used as charms in, 373
Iron, 338, 366, 395
Irupi dance, 217
Isang, 361
Isit, 344, 384, 385, 390
Islamism, 328
Jangan, 352-5, 411
Japanese in Thursday Island, 2, 3
Jar burial, 306
Jardine, Frank, 190
Javano-Hindu colonisation of Borneo, 322, 327
Javelin, miniature, 224
Jawa, 404, 406
Jesu baibua, 262
Jumping game, 227
Jungle, new, 304, 345
Jungle, old, 304, 345
Kadayans, 300, 301, 306, 321, 327, 341
Kaikai, origin of term, 39, 40
Kaivakuku, mask at Waima, 271
Kajaman, 321
Kalabit, 321, 323, 414
Kalamantan, 289, 321, 324, 327
Kalo village, 212-14, 219, 220
Kalulong Mount, 349
Kaluri, 357, 379
Kamut (string puzzles in Murray Island), 38, 39
Kanauit, 321, 284
Kangaroo drive game, 274
Kap, 188. Cf. Torres Straits dances
Kăpăkăpă village, 208, 210
Karangang, 299, 302
Kayan tattoo designs, 306
Kayans, 288, 297, 304-6, 323-5, 328, 357, 360, 364, 384, 38693, 394, 395, 397, 401, 404, 405, 409, 414
war-path of, 297, 304
Kawit, 396. Cf. Hooks, magical.
Keapara village, 219-22
Kedaman, 362
Kelebong, 361
Kenyah drinking songs, 311
Kenyah-Kayan migration, 327
Kenyahs, 288, 302, 323-5, 328, 340, 341, 364, 365, 384, 38693, 395-8, 401, 402, 404, 405, 409, 413, 414
Kerepunu. Cf. Keapara
Kernge (lads during initiation), 140
Kersi (lads during initiation), 45, 48, 50, 61, 70
Kina Balu, Mount, 349, 350
Kingfisher, 388
Kinimali (game), 230
Kiriri Island, 185
Kiwai Island, 24, 96-109; natives of, 101
Knife, bamboo, 115
made of boar’s tusk, 243
Knocking out tooth, 193
Koiari, 244
Koitapu, 249; language of, 249
Kolap (top), 40, 41
Kŏpa-kŏpa, 175
Korikini (game), 229
Kwaito pinupinu (game), 229
Kwari kwari (toy), 227
Kwod (sacred ceremonial ground), 192 in Mabuiag, 134 in Nagir, 181 in Pulu, 137-42 in Tut, 176-78 in Yam, 178-80 small boys’, 180
Kwoiam (the hero of Mabuiag), 136-47
Kuching, town of, 279-84
Kupor (navel shrine), 142, 177, 179
Kuru (toy), 225
Labuan Island, 286, 318
Ladies of Tama Bulan’s house, 375
Lakatois, 248
Lamar (ghost), 89, 90
Land Dayak, 321, 322, 327, 340, 391, 393
Land inheritance, Cape York, 193
Land leeches, 304, 346
Langa (toy), 225
Lange, Mr. H. W. de, 95, 97
Language of Roro, 261
Australian, 30
Melanesian, 29, 30
Papuan, 29, 30
Languages of Torres Straits, 28-30, 127
Lantern entertainment in Murray Island, 37, 38 at Port Moresby, 246
Laterite, 345
Lawes, Dr., 208, 209, 234, 249, 273
Lawes, Mrs., 209, 234
Laziness of natives, 19
Leap-frog, 227
Legends:
Gelam, 16, 155; of various shrines, 53-69; origin of man, 108; origin of fire, 108;
the stone that fell from the sky, 138; of Kwoiam, 136-47; about dugong, 155
Lelak, 321, 410 village, 330
Lepocestes, 383-5, 389
Lepuanans, 354, 355
Liberality of natives, 90
Life token, 259
Lifu, colour-blindness of natives, 126 head-form, 126
Limbang, 285-90, 293, 297
Ling, Roth H., 320, 381
Linjau, 360
Lirongs, 403-6, 410, 413
Liver of pig, 336, 354, 355, 411, 412
Lobong River, 352
Logan Ansok, 406
Loin-cloth to die in, 370
London Missionary Society’s stations: Murray Island, 9; Kiwai, 96, 97; Mabuiag, 117; Vatorata, 208-10; Delena, 199; Bulaa (Hula), 211;
Port Moresby, 235
“Long,” 333
Long Aiah Kechil, 342, 344, 348
Kiput, 321, 401, 404, 405, 410
Pata, 302, 321, 341, 401, 405
Pokuns, 360
Puah, 352
Semitan, 342
Sulan, 360
Tegin, 334
Tru, 330
Love affairs, Mawatta, 112; Mabuiag, 158-64
charms, Torres Straits, 106
letters, Papuan, 163, 164
Love-making in Mekeo, 258 in Sarawak, 377-80
Lovers’ tune, 379
Low, Brooke, 283, 322
Lower carboniferous rocks, 315
Mabuiag, 117-64
church, 122
language, 127
social condition of, 118 war dance, 233