“Your knowledge of local history is woeful, Mr. Murray—and clearly I am to blame,” he sighed. “It wasn’t pirates but immigrants who died there. From things like typhus, smallpox, cholera, measles, or influenza—especially after the Spanish flu pandemic.”

“So, there were no pirates?” Sam asked. He sounded a little disappointed.

“No pirates. But do you know how they used to discover that a diseased ship was coming into the bay?”

We shook our heads and Mr. Khouri put down his sandwich.

“An immigrant ship coming into Port Phillip Bay was cause for a lot of excitement back in the day. It meant new people arriving and cargo and supplies being distributed. Locals used to dot the shoreline, waving in welcome. And if the ship carried armament, the crew might set off a round of gunfire to celebrate. But the sight of a plague ship was very different. . . .” Mr. Khouri paused, and I swear we all leaned in closer to hear him. “There would be no one on deck and no gunfire. It was more like a ghost ship. A signal that things were not as they should be was the sight of the health officer rowing out from the station and then climbing onboard for an inspection.”

“Then what happened?” Sam asked.

“If the ship had death and disease, they’d raise a yellow flag to signal plague and for locals to stay away and not to expect the supplies anytime soon. And then everyone onboard would be ferried from the boat to the shore. If you were found to have a disease, you went off to the isolation ward—right next to the morgue. Your bedding and luggage might be burned, boiled, or disinfected, your clothing gassed to kill any insects and disease. . . .”

“And that’s where the refugees are staying?” Jed sounded like he couldn’t believe it. “Where that all happened?”

Mr. Khouri nodded once in response. “It was all necessary, of course. It staved off countless more deaths, but . . . new immigrants didn’t have much say in it all. It was for the greater good.”

I was thinking of what Mr. Khouri had said while Luca drove Sam and me down Point Nepean Road. I wondered if it was for the greater good again, that the refugees were kept out this way.

Once we got past the town of Portsea I couldn’t understand where we were heading. We were deep into the Point Nepean National Park, with thick bushland on either side of the winding road and nothing much to see for long stretches.

And then we took a turn and got to a clearing, a sign pointing the way, and a driveway leading to a hilltop.

Luca parked his car and we all got out. Sam and I stood in place and looked up at the Quarantine Station.

“Is it everything you hoped it’d be?” Luca joked, but his words weren’t funny.