The complete absence of hard edges or solid surfaces served to dampen any sound. Their voices sounded flat and alien to them, and they found that after a while they had fallen into the habit of talking only in harsh whispers. Ryan thought the silence unearthly. Their footfalls made no noise apart from a sort of muffled squelch as they withdrew their boots from the sucking green ooze. Occasionally a small rat would dart out and run off. But no skittering or rustling attended its flight.

Eventually, the eerie forest gave way to sparse stunted upland of twisted, dead, iron-gray tree trunks. Many exhausting hours were spent threading their way through the tangle. Ryan wondered whether the carriers would have been able to come this far anyway. Rain began to fall, and Kari pulled on a curious, tentlike cowl of laced pandanus leaves, giving Ryan the impression he was walking behind a native hut on legs.

It was one of the few light moments of the trek.

A sharp, stabbing pain had settled into his chest, just below the heart. His nose bled and he was thirsty all the time, no matter how much he drank. When they passed out of the rain band, Kari stopped and built a small fire from a supply of kindling he had tied to his belt. They warmed themselves and heated a pot of water for tea. Ryan produced some sugar from a small cloth bag and tipped it in. They revived their spirits with the strong, black brew and a couple of Constable Dinkila’s yam pancakes, eaten cold with a smear of Vegemite.

“Getting close now, boss,” said Kari. “You want to finish it today or tomorrow.”

Ryan really wanted to be home in Melbourne, curled up with a good book in front of a warm fire. But he said, “Today. It’s important. The orders came directly from MacArthur’s HQ.”

“Maybe the big fellah should be here himself,” Kari said, grinning. “If he’s so keen to know what’s up there.”

“Maybe,” Ryan agreed. “But he’s not. And unfortunately we are. So it’s onward and upward.”

They cleaned up the makeshift rest site, kicked out the small fire with deep regret, and set their course for the next ridge. It was early afternoon, but darkness was gathering as the daily shroud of mist appeared and the sun passed over the top of the range. Light and heat leaked out of the day. Ryan checked their map.

“The possum hunter’s hut should be just over that saddle,” he whispered, pointing ahead about five hundred yards. “And then the crash site, another hour beyond that.”

“If the village headman wasn’t lying,” said Kari.

“Yes,” Ryan agreed, “there’s always that.”