Story Skeleton—The Maltese Falcon

Story structure relates to the psychological appeal of narrative, that which engages readers and builds in them a sense of anticipation—a desire to know what happens next. Our ongoing exploration now delves into mysteries, illustrating yet again the universality of story structure, albeit from a different angle.

Out of the Parlour, Into the Alley

Before The Maltese Falcon, mystery was a puzzle. A locked room, a missing candlestick, a teacup turned just so. The world of Golden Age mystery was ruled by logic and order. A proper sleuth could always untangle the facts and set the world right again.

But something changed in the early twentieth century. Cities were growing. Systems were breaking down. War and economic collapse had left deep cracks in the illusion of moral clarity. Fiction followed suit.

In America, this shift took hold in the pages of pulp magazines like Black Mask, where crime fiction went from parlour game to street fight. Enter Dashiell Hammett—former Pinkerton Detective, cynic, and stylist. He stripped away the drawing-room manners and gave readers a world where everyone has a motive, and no one gets out clean.

When The Maltese Falcon hit shelves in 1930, it redefined what a crime story could be. Hammett’s private eye, Sam Spade, isn’t a gentleman detective—he is a hard man in a hard city. Tough, unsentimental, and guided by a code he doesn’t bother to explain.

The novel launched the hardboiled detective into the cultural mainstream and laid the groundwork for noir as a literary mode. The puzzle was still there, but now it was coated in cigarette smoke and betrayal. The line between good and evil didn’t just blur—it vanished.

What Makes Noir Noir?

Noir is a subgenre of crime fiction defined by a bleak worldview, a morally compromised protagonist, and a social landscape shaped by corruption. It emerged alongside hardboiled fiction and is often set in an urban environment marked by violence, betrayal, and systemic failure.

Key tropes of noir include:

The hardboiled detective: A private investigator or freelance operator who works independently of official institutions. He follows a personal code but is often willing to lie, cheat, or use force to achieve his goals. He is emotionally detached, skeptical of authority, and driven by instinct rather than the law.

The femme fatale: A female character who exerts power through charm, seduction, or manipulation. She may be a client, suspect, or romantic partner. Her motives are obscured, and her allegiances shift. She typically serves as both plot catalyst and moral challenge to the detective’s code.

Moral ambiguity: A lack of clear ethical boundaries in the story world. Characters often face choices between competing evils or self-preservation. Innocent characters are infrequent, and outcomes rarely involve justice in any formal sense. The detective may solve the case, but the solution doesn’t restore order.

Corrupt institutions: Police, courts, and government are depicted as ineffectual, compromised, or openly hostile. Authority figures are unreliable. The protagonist must navigate or resist these systems to uncover the truth—or simply to survive.

Hardboiled dialogue: Dialogue in noir is terse, stylized, and emotionally guarded. Characters speak in clipped phrases, often laced with sarcasm, irony, or threat. Subtext carries more weight than surface meaning, and verbal exchanges are often combative or performative.

Urban decay: Settings are typically cities or industrial landscapes marked by crime, poverty, and anonymity. The environment reinforces themes of danger, loneliness, and moral erosion.

Another distinguishing feature of noir is that it adopts the structure of an adventure story. The detective moves through a sequence of escalating trials, each one raising the stakes and deepening the entanglement. The story unfolds as a test of will and principle, not just intellect. The final act delivers a reckoning shaped by the protagonist’s choices and the cost of holding to a personal code.

Plot Points

The Detective… and his Methods?

A traditional mystery usually opens with a scene in which the detective demonstrates their skills that will be central to solving the case. For example, Sherlock Holmes gives us a display of his powers of deduction whereas Kay Scarpetta demonstrates the forensic techniques that will define her approach.

However, that’s not always how it works in the opening of noir. An important feature of this subgenre is the detective’s code, which will take the form of an internal conflict. The dark underbelly of society offers many temptations that could lead the detective down the wrong path. If they are to succeed in their quest, even if success in the end is a muted form of survival, they will need to hold fast to their professional integrity.

But don’t mistake “code” or “integrity” for morality. A noir detective is usually willing to play fast and loose with the law. They might be willing to hurt people to get what they want. They will likely cheat and deceive.

In early noir, the detective is usually hyper masculine: a tough guy who oozes confidence, violence, and sex appeal. This rugged, studly persona is underscored by his relationships with beautiful women, whether “sexy lamp” (don’t worry, I’ll explain) or femme fatal.

As such, in the opening of The Maltese Falcon, we don’t learn about Sam Spade’s methods (which amount to muscle, a good poker face, and a lot of audacity). Instead, we get a description of him as “a blond satan” along with the sexualization of both his secretary, Effie Perine, and his client, Miss Wonderly. This introduction is in fact prepping readers for what will be the challenge to Spade’s code: the femme fatal.

The Initial Puzzle

An inciting incident is often synonymous with a narrative catalyst, but not always. Here we have an example of a catalyst that kicks off the events of the story and a delayed inciting incident.

Miss Wonderly asks Spade and his partner Miles Archer to follow a man named Thursby whom she is supposed to meet and who may be involved in her sister’s disappearance. This is the request that gets the story rolling, which makes it the catalyst, but it’s Miles who agrees to help her, not Spade.

The inciting incident comes later that night when Spade is in bed. He receives a phone call: Miles Archer is dead. This is the moment when Spade is handed a narrative goal: he needs to figure out what happened to his partner.

Because of the objective omniscient point of view, it’s not clear that Spade is actively pursuing this goal from this point of the story all the way to the climax. In fact, it seems like he’s just trying to exonerate himself and potentially land a fat paycheck.

Point of no return

As we’ve seen in other mysteries like Postmortem,  Storm Front and The Hound of the Baskervilles, the point of no return isn’t a literal threshold that the detective passes through, but instead is a moment when the stakes get cranked up. The detective was already on the case, but now they really need to solve this damn thing.

In The Maltese Falcon, this plot point comprises a visit from the police—good-cop Polhaus and bad-cop Dundy. They reveal that Sam Spade’s partner wasn’t the only person who was killed. The other corpse in the morgue belongs to Thursby, the man Miss Wonderly hired Miles to follow. Dundy floats the possibility that it was Spade who killed Thursby in retaliation for killing his partner.

Stakes: cranked. Spade needs to figure out what’s going on because (a) his partner has been killed, (b) he’s implicated in another shooting, and (c) Miss Wonderly’s case just got a whole lot more complex.

Key clues:

• Miles was shot in an alley near the club where Miss Wonderly was meant to meet up with Thursby.
• He was shot with a distinctive Webley-Fosbery automatic revolver.
• Miles’ own gun was in its holster and hadn’t been fired.

Complication #1

A noir investigation proceeds a bit differently than in a typical mystery. There are certainly clues to be uncovered—it’s an investigation after all—but the rising action tends to be based on a series of obstacles that pop up in the protagonist’s path. These complications are usually people who represent both a new threat and a piece of the puzzle.

Iva Archer, Miles’ wife, is Spade’s first complication. It turns out Spade was sleeping with Iva, and now that Miles is dead, he wants to distance himself from the affair. She asks Spade if he killed Miles. He denies it. Also, Effie—Spade’s secretary—later reports that when she visited Iva the previous night to break the news of her husband’s death, Iva had just arrived home. This leads Effie to wonder if Iva could have killed Miles, an idea that Spade rejects. Still, the seed is planted.

Gathering Evidence

Miss Wonderly goes missing. When Spade finally tracks her down, she confesses that Wonderly is a pseudonym. She is actually Brigid O’Shaughnessy. The story about her sister was a deception. It’s Brigid herself who is in trouble. She begs for Spade to protect her, but it’s clear that she’s putting on an act. He presses her about what happened the night before.

Key clues:

• She and Thursby took a walk, had dinner, and returned to her hotel.
• Thursby left and Miles followed him.
• Brigid met Thursby in Hong Kong, and he took advantage of her.
• She is certain Thursby killed Miles.
• She doesn’t know who killed Thursby.

At some point in the story, Spade concludes that it was actually Brigid who killed Miles, and this is most likely the moment where he makes that leap. At the end, when the detective reveals what he knows, he cites the evidence that he acquires in this scene. If Miles had actually followed Thursby into the alley where he died, he wouldn’t have had his gun holstered.

But because of the objective POV, and because Spade is keeping his cards close, the reader doesn’t yet know that he’s reached this conclusion. He will keep pursuing the case until he has a complete perspective on Brigid, what she’s after, and who else is involved.

Complication #2

Spade returns to his office to find a man named Joel Cairo waiting for him. He is described as an effeminate Levantine (Middle Eastern). Cairo is richly dressed and perfumed and speaks with a high-pitched voice. Much like the femme fatal of noir fiction, queer characters are also used to highlight the hardboiled detective’s masculinity, and usually with a fair amount of homophobic language and derogatory stereotyping, which is definitely the case here.

Cairo asks whether the deaths of Thursby and Miles are related. Spade says nothing. This is an important part of his method. He is a broker of information. He will not share intel if he can help it. Spade always tries to extract more than he gives. Crucially, Cairo’s question allows Spade (and the reader) to realize that there is a connection between this man and Brigid. Cairo then asks for Spade’s help in recovering a black statuette of a bird for which he will pay him $5000.

When Effie leaves for the night, Cairo pulls out a gun, then checks to see if Spade is armed. His plan is to search the detective’s office for the bird so that, if Spade already has it, he can acquire it without payment. But then tough-guy Spade smashes Cairo in the face, takes his gun, and searches his pockets. He finds news clippings about the two murders and a ticket for the Geary Theatre. When Cairo wakes up, he proceeds like nothing untoward has happened between them and again offers Spade $5000 for the bird.

Complication #3

When Spade heads to the Hotel Belvedere to follow up with Cairo, he notices a young man watching him. Cairo isn’t in, so Spade heads to the Geary Theatre to find him. The boy is still on his tail, so he asks Cairo if he knows him. Cairo says he does not.

When Spade tells Brigid that he has met Cairo, she gets nervous. And when he reveals that Cairo offered him $5000 to find a black bird, she tries to buy Spade’s allegiance with sex. It seems the entire case, even Brigid’s initial visit to hire Miles, has had something to do with this bird. So if he can figure out the mystery behind the bird, he will uncover the reason his partner was shot.

Complication #4

Spade organizes a meeting with Brigid and Cairo, since she says she will be able to get the black bird, but it will be a week or so. When Cairo asks what happened to Thursby, Brigid traces a “G” in the air. The meeting devolves into a fight between Brigid and Cairo, which Spade breaks up. Just as this happens, Dundy and Polhaus show up with more questions, though Spade declines to invite them inside. They’ve learned that detective was having an affair with Iva, so Dundy accuses Spade of having killed Miles so he could be with his partner’s wife. Thus, the stakes are cranked a bit higher.

This brief interrogation is interrupted by Cairo screaming for help. When the police rush in, Cairo is bleeding from his forehead and has a gun pointed at Brigid. They trade accusations, but then Spade declares the entire scenario a joke. Brigid and Cairo play along and the police leave, but not before Dundy punches Spade in the jaw.

Midpoint

Now that Spade has established that Brigid and Cairo are connected in association with this black bird, he presses her for more information:

• She describes the bird as a smooth and shiny falcon statuette about a foot tall.
• The falcon was previously in the possession of a Russian named Kemidov.
• She denies knowing why the statuette is important.
• Cairo offered her money to help him find it; Thursby offered her more.

After this conversation, they have sex and she sleeps over. It seems like they might have a legitimate connection, and yet both sides are playing each other.

Early in the morning, Spade slips out and searches her apartment, to no avail. When Spade next visits Cairo, he makes it sound like he’s manipulating Brigid in order to get the falcon for Cairo. And when he next meets with Brigid, who is terrified that someone has ransacked her apartment, he suggests that it may have been Cairo and arranges for her to stay with Effie to keep her safe.

This midpoint marks a change in Spade’s approach, especially in his decision to sleep with Brigid. His code demands that he secure justice for his fallen partner, and he is willing to go toe-to-toe with these criminals when it comes to deception and manipulation. 

Complication #5

Enter Caspar Gutman, a large man with ringleader vibes. This is the “G” that Brigid signaled to Cairo was behind Thursby’s murder. He calls Spade and arranges a meeting at his hotel.

When Spade arrives, the young man who has been following him—Wilmer—answers the door. Spade won’t say who he is working for. He says Cairo has offered him $10,000 for the bird. When Gutman won’t tell him more about the statuette, Spade explodes with anger, smashes a whisky glass, and walks out—an act to convince Gutman he’s dangerous and means business.

Red Herrings and New Evidence

An earlier complication returns at this point: Iva Archer. She admits that she sent the cops to talk to Spade, and he declares that he knows she wasn’t at home the night Miles was killed. Could she still be involved somehow? She’s not, but it’s an additional uncertainty that helps muddy the waters.

Spade visits his lawyer whom he arranged to meet with Iva. The story she gave of the night of Miles’ death is innocuous. She followed Miles, realized he was working, went to see Spade but couldn’t find him, then went to a late movie. Is it true? Spade can’t know either way, but it doesn’t seem to be related to the shootings.

Meanwhile, Brigid never showed up at Effie’s house, so Spade tracks down her taxi driver and learns that she bought a paper and went to the ferry terminal. He reads through the paper, but nothing stands out to him. When he gets back to his office, Gutman’s young thug is there. When Wilmer demands Spade come back to talk to Gutman, the detective overpowers him and takes both of his guns.

When they arrive at Gutman’s hotel room, it seems Spade’s earlier outburst, and the fact that he has disarmed Wilmer, have convinced the large man to divulge some more information. He spins a tale of the Maltese Falcon, a relic from the Knights of Malta that, underneath its deceptive black surface, is solid gold and encrusted with jewels. Gutman has been hunting this treasure for seventeen years until finally finding it in Constantinople in the possession of a Russian named Kemidov. He sent in thieves to acquire it (presumably Brigid and Thursby), but they did not hand it over.

Spade reassures Gutman that Brigid has the treasure “safely tucked away.” The ringleader then offers him a choice: Spade can hand over the bird for a cool $50k or wait for the sale and receive a cut of 25%, with the implication that the bird is worth millions. But the detective doesn’t get a chance to commit to an option—Gutman has spiked his drink. As he collapses, Wilmer kicks him in the head.

From here, the picture is quickly taking shape. New clues—a newspaper clipping from Cairo’s garbage and a convenient eyewitness account of a boat on fire from Effie point to a ship out of Hong Kong called La Paloma—a white bird (dove) to smuggle a black bird. Polhaus confirms that the bullets that killed Miles came from Thursby’s gun.

False Victory

In a typical narrative structure in which the protagonist achieves their narrative goal, there is usually an all-is-lost moment leading up to the climax in which the hero reaches rock bottom and it seems like failure is inevitable. In a tragic structure, wherein the protagonist will not achieve their narrative goal, there is usually a false victory before the climax. Both of these plot points help maximize the emotional impact of the final conflict.

The Maltese Falcon takes the form of a tragicomedy, which we will see in the outcome. It makes sense, then, that Sam Spade gets both a false victory and an all-is-lost beat.

When Spade returns to his office to tell Effie what he’s learned about La Paloma, including that Captain Jacobi met with Gutman, Wilmer, and Cairo—and that Brigid had been to the ship—the captain walks in with a package under one arm. And then he drops dead.

The package, of course, is the falcon. Now Spade has the prize that the thieves are all after. But why did the captain bring it to him? And who shot him?

All Is Lost

Brigid calls and says she’s in danger. On the way, Spade stashes the falcon. But when he gets to Brigid’s hotel room, a drugged girl with scratches all over her chest answers the door and claims to be Rhea Gutman. Clearly the ringleader is using her in some way, but it’s not clear why she’s been drugged or scratched up. But it does suggest that the slick-talking villain is a much worse person than Spade thought.

Rhea gives Spade an address where Brigid has been taken to. But when he arrives, the place is empty. He’s been tricked and, by implication, delayed for some reason.

When Spade gets home, Brigid is waiting for him. They head upstairs to find Gutman, Wilmer, and Cairo lying in wait—guns drawn. Spade still has the wildcard of the stashed bird, but with the ruse of Brigid’s call for help, plus the diversion that bought them enough time to search his apartment and lay a trap, it’s clear that all of them are willing to kill him for the bird. (Though Brigid is acting like she had nothing to do with it, and Spade is acting like he believes her.)

Climax—Reviewing the Evidence, Nabbing the Culprits

Gutman throws Spade an envelope containing $10k. Spade tries to bargain for more, but it’s difficult to negotiate at gunpoint, so he shifts gears. Instead of more money, he proposes that they hand the police Wilmer or Cairo to pin the murders on. Money won’t help him if any of the shootings get pinned on him. They argue, but ultimately Gutman and Cairo turn on Wilmer. In the scuffle, Spade takes guns from Wilmer and Cairo and knocks Wilmer out.

The deal has been made: $10k and Wilmer as the fall guy, but before he can agree to these terms, Spade needs more information—so he can explain it all to the police. Here we arrive at the classic beat where the fuzzy edges of the mystery are clarified.

Brigid and Thursby stole the bird for Gutman from the Russian in Constantinople, but then they double-crossed Gutman and kept it for themselves. Cairo was involved, but they double-crossed him too. They gave the bird to Captain Jacobi to smuggle out of Hong Kong. When Gutman caught up with the duo in New York, he had Wilmer kill Thursby. Wilmer also shot Jacobi as he escaped from Brigid’s window with the bird. With Wilmer’s gun as evidence, pinning both murders on him will be a simple matter. Better yet, it will be the truth.

With that, Spade arranges for Effie to deliver the falcon. But when Gutman finally opens the package and scrapes at the black exterior, he discovers that the bird is a fake. They squabble and scream and vow to return to Constantinople to get their revenge on the Russian who tricked them.

Gutman produces a jeweled gun and demands Spade give him back all the money apart from $1000—his payment for time and expenses. The three of them leave, thinking they are free to escape, and meanwhile Brigid stays with Spade. But as soon as they leave, Spade calls Polhaus, explains everything, and sends the police to apprehend the trio.

Resolution

Now that there isn’t a multi-million-dollar treasure in the picture, it seems like Spade might shield Brigid from the police. He asks for her version of events, saying they need to get their stories straight. But he has known for some time what really happened to his partner Miles. In order to cut Thursby out of the deal and claim the falcon for herself, she borrowed Thursby’s gun, led Miles into the alley, and shot him herself—with the idea that the murder would be pinned on Thursby, which would remove him from the picture. (Also, it’s a fair assumption that if Spade had agreed to help her in that first meeting instead of Miles, he would have been the one who ended up dead in that alley.) And while Spade’s code demands he seek vengeance for a fallen partner, even though he didn’t really like him and was sleeping with his wife, he also seems to have developed feelings for Brigid.

But… no matter. Code is code. When the police arrive, he hands her over, explains that she killed Miles, and he surrenders the $1000 in blood money. Thus he washes his hands of the entire affair.

The novel ends in both victory and defeat. Spade doesn’t get paid. He doesn’t get the girl. He doesn’t transform, except perhaps in becoming even harder to the realities of the world in which he lives. But in true noir fashion, he has made it through the gauntlet with his code intact.

Point of View: Objective Omniscience

Most fiction invites the reader into a character’s thoughts. Third-person narration often comes with access—interior commentary, shifting perspectives, hints of judgment or emotion. The Maltese Falcon does none of this.

Hammett tells the story through objective omniscience, a point of view that precludes interior access. The narration describes only what can be seen or heard. No thoughts. No memories. No interpretations. If a character frowns, the reader sees the expression but receives no hint of what it means. If someone lies, the text doesn’t confirm it. The reader must deduce motive and emotion from gestures, tone, or timing.

Mechanically, this works like a camera. Scenes are presented as visual action, with dialogue and behavior carrying all the weight. The narration doesn’t explain the stakes or clarify anyone’s intentions. It simply reports. When Sam Spade learns his partner has been killed, the narrative shows him rolling a cigarette with steady hands and making a phone call. It doesn’t say whether he’s angry, shocked, or relieved. That burden falls to the reader to figure out.

The style is rare, especially at novel length. Writers more often use it for short stories or brief scenes. Ernest Hemingway used it in “Hills Like White Elephants,” where the subtext of the conversation carries the emotional weight. Shirley Jackson used it in “The Lottery” to delay the reader’s understanding of the story’s premise. In each case, the lack of access is the point. It withholds judgment. It forces the reader to interpret unease without being told what to feel.

In longer works, objective omniscience appears more selectively. John Steinbeck flirts with it in Of Mice and Men, especially in the descriptive passages. Some scenes in Raymond Carver’s short fiction also adopt this lens. Even in crime fiction, it’s an unusual choice.

So why choose this approach? In The Maltese Falcon, objective omniscience reinforces the novel’s thematic logic. The story turns on lies, concealment, and power. Every character is withholding something. Brigid plays the innocent. Gutman performs charm. Cairo masks nervousness with manners. Even Spade is a cipher. The point of view mirrors this atmosphere of concealment. No one is transparent—and the prose reflects that.

This POV also aligns with the detective’s method. Sam Spade navigates the case through surface clues—posture, phrasing, hesitation. The reader is placed in the same position. We aren’t told what’s true; we’re invited to figure it out. The narration becomes another part of the mystery. What’s left out matters as much as what’s shown.

The result is a story that feels dry, unsentimental, and often opaque. But that distance is intentional. It matches the tone. It sharpens the reader’s attention. It creates a world where meaning is slippery and truth must be earned. In a genre built on distrust, it makes sense that the narration itself would refuse to offer reassurance.

For writers, objective omniscience is a demanding tool. It excludes interiority, flattens emotional cues, and relies on subtext to carry the weight of character and theme. But in the right context, it becomes a powerful narrative strategy. In The Maltese Falcon, it transforms the act of reading into an act of investigation.

The Sexy Lamp Test

The Sexy Lamp Test asks a simple question: could this female character be replaced with a sexy lamp without fundamentally changing the plot? If the answer is yes, she likely lacks agency, depth, or narrative weight. The term was coined by comics writer Kelly Sue DeConnick as a way to call out token female characters in action-heavy stories—characters who are present, often sexualized, but have no real impact on the narrative. It’s since been adopted as a shorthand for poor female representation in fiction.

In The Maltese Falcon, the women orbiting Sam Spade fall on different parts of this scale.

Effie Perine is Spade’s secretary, confidante, and emotional buffer. She runs errands, delivers the falcon, and offers loyalty without complication. Technically, she affects the plot—she carries objects and information from one scene to the next. But her character is thin. She exists entirely in relation to Spade. The narration calls her boyish more than once, and Spade seems to treat her as a kind of office wife—chummy, affectionate, but ultimately beneath his interest. He touches her casually, calls her “angel,” and leans on her emotional labor, but she’s not sexy enough for him to seduce. That restraint isn’t moral; it’s aesthetic. Effie has just enough narrative function to avoid full lamp status, but not enough personhood to stand on her own. She’s a tool—reliable, sexless, and always on hand.

Iva Archer, on the other hand, fits the test cleanly. She’s Spade’s lover and the wife of his dead partner, which should place her at the center of the emotional fallout. Instead, she’s a side note. Her jealousy pushes her to tell the police about the affair, complicating Spade’s standing with the law. But that’s about it. Her claim that she was home the night of Miles’ murder turns out to be a lie, but nothing comes of it. There’s no twist, no payoff, no deeper implication. Her lie fades from the plot. She exists to weep, accuse, and disappear. A sexy lamp could do all of that with less dialogue.

Brigid O’Shaughnessy is another matter. She’s manipulative, clever, and dangerous. Her beauty gives her leverage, but it’s not her only asset. She drives the story and sets the plot in motion with her false identity. She commits murder. She lies to everyone. She makes a move on Spade not just romantically but strategically. Brigid isn’t an object, she’s a player. And when the truth comes out, she faces real consequences. If Brigid were replaced with a lamp, the plot would vanish. She’s not just there to reflect Spade’s masculinity. She’s there to test it.

In noir, female characters are often flattened into seductresses, secretaries, or distractions. The Maltese Falcon offers all three. But only one of them powers the narrative. The others provide mood lighting.

In Conclusion

The Maltese Falcon doesn’t just shift the tone of crime fiction—it shifts the structure. Built like an adventure and told through a camera lens, the novel traps its characters in a web of lies, power plays, and personal codes. The mystery holds our attention, but it’s the sprawling structure and bleak tone that work together to show us where the genre is heading: into darker rooms, with fewer exits.

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David Griffin Brown is an award-winning short fiction writer and co-author of Immersion and Emotion: The Two Pillars of Storytelling and Story Skeleton: The Classics. He holds a BA in anthropology from UVic and an MFA in creative writing from UBC, and his writing has been published in literary magazines such as the Malahat Review and Grain. In 2022, he was the recipient of a New Artist grant from the Canada Council for the Arts. David founded Darling Axe Editing in 2018, and as part of his Book Broker interview series, he has compiled querying advice from over 100 literary agents. He lives in Victoria, Canada, on the traditional territory of the Songhees and Esquimalt Nations.