‘Vet says that’s what I should feed the quoll.’

Colour came to her face. ‘It’s still alive?’

‘Yep.’

‘And you’ve still got it in that crate.’

‘I do.’

Callie tilted her neck. ‘Duck eggs.’

‘What she told me.’

‘Ducks down by the river.’

‘I know that. Can’t find any eggs, though. Thought you might know how.’

She looked to the water, shook her head. ‘Don’t know the first thing about ducks. My brother does. He brings eggs back for Mum sometimes. Should ask him.’ She looked back at Ned. ‘Why didn’t you?’

Ned shifted his weight. ‘Nobody else knows about it. Want it to remain that way.’

‘You gonna keep it?’ The brightness returned to her cheeks.

‘No.’ He faltered. ‘Don’t know.’

~

He found Jackbird at the jetty, smacking a sinker against the riverbed, scaring away any flathead that might otherwise have considered taking the clump of bluebait he’d mashed onto his hook. He was thrilled to see Ned, thrilled to have someone to talk to, something to do other than not catch fish. When Ned asked him about ducks he couldn’t reel his line in fast enough. He took Ned to the shoreline, waving an arm, slipping over tide-licked rocks.

‘You gotta think like a duck. Act like a duck. No more old steady-Neddy. Where would a duck hide her eggs from water rats and native cats? In the reeds, mate. Under bushes. Nooks, crannies, foliage. It’s all about shade and foliage. My cousin taught me. He sells them at the market. Quack, quack, don’t let ’em crack. See? Here.’

His hand was under a tree root. It came out holding a bluewhite egg, flecked with mud. Jackbird held it up to Ned’s eye.

‘The brain of a waterfowl is a curious thing.’

Throughout the rest of the afternoon they found four eggs, all in different places. Ned could see no commonality in the locations—cutting grass, beneath rocks, in patches of dead bracken—but Jackbird had a nose for them, could discern a pattern Ned could not. He seemed to think Ned was gathering them for Maggie, and talked incessantly about poached duck eggs, scrambled duck eggs, duck-egg custard, duck-egg scones, duck-egg tart. Ned nodded along. He felt queasy at the deception, but did not correct Jackbird’s assumptions.