Footsteps shuffled down the hall and stopped at the stairs leading to the attic. "Caleb! Get a move on!" It was my mom. Shouting at my room. Which was empty.
I drained a glass of orange juice before I answered.
"Caleb Airgetlám McCallister!"
"Relax Mom! I'm in the kitchen."
She stuck her head around the corner. "Just making sure. Don't forget about the field trip."
"I know. I know. Gimme a break."
She sighed, shook her head, and went back to the living room.
My uncle narrowed his eyes as he shoveled more cereal into his mouth. Seamus was a big hulk of a guy with dark brown hair and a scruffy beard to match. He made the kitchen table look tiny, and he was sitting there eating Lucky Charms like a little kid. I stifled a laugh and rifled through the cabinets looking for something to eat.
I bit into a protein bar, and he was still eyeing me. His bright-blue eyes didn't quite match his dark expression. "What?" I mumbled.
He didn't answer. Seamus didn't talk much. It was a minor miracle that he'd even surfaced from his apartment in the basement. He nodded toward the doorway where my mom had disappeared.
I could've pretended I didn't understand. Half the time I didn't know what he wanted, but his meaning was clear enough. "Fine. I'll apologize on the way out."
Pinocchio had a cricket; I got Seamus.
"Be goin ta the harbor, are ye?" My uncle was born in America, just like my dad. Both of them were born and raised in Dorchester, just south of Boston. But my father talked like the Townie he was. If I didn't know Seamus, I'd swear he'd just gotten off a boat from Ireland.
"Yeah. My teacher thinks Fort Warren will be fun because it's haunted," I said. "Why can't they take us to a Celtics game? American ghosts are lame compared to the bánánach." Those were the demons that haunted places associated with death. They were drawn to battlefields the way leprechauns sniffed out gold. Seamus grabbed his elbows and started rocking in his chair. It was something he did when reality got to be too much for him. Just mentioning the Irish legends my grandfather used to tell was enough to set him off. I didn't have time for this, but I went over and put a hand on his shoulder. Despite his age and size, he was more like a little brother than an uncle. "Sorry Seamus. It's okay. Nothing's gonna happen. Mom's gonna be home all day."
The swaying slowed but didn't quite stop. "Ye stay out the bloody water."
"Uh—okay." Not sure why my uncle thought I'd take a swim in nasty old Boston Harbor, but Seamus was always giving me cryptic advice like that. So I let it go. I was already late. I grabbed my backpack and went down the hall.
My mom was reading next to the fireplace. She looked like an Irish cliché. Flowing red hair, a fair complexion with freckles, and curled up in an armchair drinking tea. The resemblance ended there. Sometimes I wished she lived up to the determination and fearlessness the stereotype promised. "I'm out. Sorry I was rude before. I couldn't sleep, and I miss Dad when he's away."
It was partially true.
She looked up from her book with a smile, but the corners of her mouth were tight. "I know it's hard, but someday you'll understand."
"What makes you think I don't get it now? I gotta go."
*****
I sat in a bus seat with my back pressed against the window, absentmindedly playing with the ring I wore on a chain around my neck. My mom said it was a gift from my father on the day I was born. I'd been wearing it for as long as I could remember, and it was supposed to be a way to remember him when he was away on long trips.
The horseplay in the back suddenly settled into an uneasy quiet, and I instinctively turned. Patrick Murphy had a big dopey grin on his face, and that could only mean trouble. He hadn't hassled me in years, but I still felt my muscles tense.
"Hey Sc-Sc-Scott," he shouted. I exhaled and relaxed. He was harassing the new kid again. A skinny, pale boy who had moved up from New Jersey at the start of the school year. Scott Delaney had an unfortunate stutter whenever he got nervous. And he always wore a knit cap with the Jersey Devils hockey logo. I'd never seen him without it. "Maybe you haven't heard," Patrick said. "The D-D-Devils suck. Boston is Bruins territory."
As much as I disliked Patrick, he had a point. Everyone knew the Devils sucked. But his friends acted like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Patrick smirked and lumbered down the aisle. He'd always been big for his age, but after puberty kicked in, he was a giant with hair on his chin. The only freshman to make the school hockey team. As he passed Scott's seat, he snatched the hat from the kid's head. The back of the bus exploded with laughter. Most everyone else turned away and pretended not to notice. No one wanted to get involved or draw attention to themselves. Up front, even my teacher, Mrs. Donovan, pretended to be enraptured by the traffic.
Scott made a grab for his cap, but Patrick slapped his hand away. Then he pointed. "No way! Getta load'a this guy's ears."
I hated to say the bully was right again, but Scott's ears were pretty big. No wonder he had that cap on all the time. His pale face went from white to red. Even his ears were turning pink. "G-give it b-back."
Patrick held it up, tempting Scott to try and take it. He backed away, dangling the hat as he went. It was none of my business. I turned to watch a semi as it roared past my window. But by the time he was right next to me, I couldn't ignore him any longer. "Hey, Patty," I said. "Why don't you give it back?"
Patrick's face went slack, and he squinted at me like he couldn't understand, but he recovered quickly. "You gonna make me, McCallister?"
A few rows back, Scott watched anxiously. He shot daggers at the back of Patrick's head, and his fingers gripped the seat in front of him so hard I thought he would rip a hole in the imitation leather.
Patrick flashed his teeth and snorted. "Still believe in fairies?"
Patrick sure knew how to tick me off. He was making fun of my grandfather's stories. The way he did when we were little. Although I'd grown up hearing the legends of Ireland, most people only knew about leprechauns and fairies. Tinkerbell and the lady that collected teeth were fairies. The Tuatha Dé Danann had magic, but they didn't flutter around like moths. They were warriors, and he knew I hated when anyone called them fairies.
As I looked up at him, I realized that this could turn ugly real fast. Patrick towered over me and he had me cornered in my seat.
The bus screeched to a halt, and Patrick lurched forward. He slid down the aisle until his head slammed into a bench post. Half the bus screamed like banshees while Mrs. Donovan shouted for order. When the commotion died down, Patrick was bloody but still alive. Someone called 9-1-1. And the driver was so upset about what happened she was in tears. The bus was fine, but our field trip was delayed until Patrick could be loaded into the back of an ambulance. He threw the cap at me as he was helped off the bus, chanting the whole way. "Bruins. Bruins. Bruins." The morons in the back joined in like it was some kind of memorial to their fallen leader.
Scott came up to my seat, and I handed him his hat. "Th-thanks. I r-really hate those guys." He pulled the cap over his head—and his ears.
"They're jerks," I said. "But maybe you should get another hat."
He grinned. It was the first genuine smile I'd seen since he'd arrived. "And give up on the Devils? No way. This is the year."
I shook my head. "Dude, it's never gonna happen."
"Yeah, I know, but I like rooting for the underdog." Scott's smile faded. "That was pretty brave. The way you stood up to him like that."
I slid over to make room, and he sat next to me. "You have to stand up to thugs like Patrick. If you don't, they'll just keep picking on you."
"Easy for you to say. He's a-afraid of you."
I squinted at him. "Why do you say that?"
"I can tell by the way he looks at you. He only mouthed off because everyone was watching. He didn't want to look weak in front of his friends."
Patrick used to bully me when we were little. Seamus taught me to fight. He made me stick up for myself. "Let's just say that one time Patty picked the wrong day to mess with me. And he hasn't bothered me since."
Scott picked at the lint on his sweatshirt and changed the subject. "I l-liked the presentation you did. About that Irish dude."
I'd given an oral report on Lugh, the warrior-king who led the Tuatha Dé Danann to victory over the monster race known as the Fomorians. I didn't usually talk about my grandfather's legends at school. It only gave guys like Patrick something to laugh at. But it saved me from doing a ton of research. "Thanks. Donovan hated it. She said it wasn't real history and gave me a C."
"She would know. She's so old she was probably there."
At the dock, we filed off the bus and were herded straight onto the ferry waiting to take us to Fort Warren out in the harbor. Scott asked me about Lugh and the Tuatha Dé Danann, the mysterious tribe who ruled Ireland thousands of years ago.
"So, this guy Lugh had a magic spear?" Scott asked.
"Yeah, it never missed. It was called The Slaughterer."
His eyes lit up. "You know you're cool when you have a weapon with a name like The Slaughterer." He said it like he was introducing a professional wrestler.
"It's one of the Four Treasures of Ireland. A sword, a spear, a stone, and a soup pot." His mouth fell open. "My dad hates when I call it a soup pot. It belonged to this guy named Dagda. It's officially known as the Cauldron of Plenty but having them all start with an S makes them easier to remember." For some reason I never understood, my dad wanted me to know all the legends by heart.
We docked at the island and crossed the bridge over the moat. One of the park rangers led us to the parade field. The fort was shaped like a pentagon with a bastion at each corner. The granite block walls were capped with mounds of earth, presumably to protect them from enemy fire. Most of the students were unimpressed. The fort had been decommissioned, and we were basically standing in a big grassy park.
The ranger told us about the fort as we trailed behind, but no one paid much attention to what she said. Scott and I trudged along at the back of the crowd, so far away, we couldn't have heard if we wanted to.
Scott put a hand up to his ear and shrugged. "Hope none of this is on the test, but knowing Donovan, it will be."
The ranger blathered on, and when it became painfully obvious that no one was listening, she pulled out her secret weapon. "Some people say the fort is haunted by the Lady in Black." That got everyone's attention. "A few months after the Civil War began, part of the fort was turned into a prison. Not long after, a Confederate officer was captured and imprisoned here. When his devoted wife found out, she immediately set out from Georgia to be with him. It was a long and dangerous trip, especially because of the war. But they were newlyweds, and she had to be with her husband. Isn't that just the sweetest thing you ever heard?"
A few of the boys groaned. Some of the girls swooned. I just wanted to be done with this tour.
"His wife disguised herself as a Union soldier and smuggled tools into the fort. And when she found him, they used a pickaxe and a shovel to dig their way out."
"A pickaxe?" Scott repeated. "As if no one would notice."
As anyone might have guessed, the sound of digging alerted the Union soldiers, and they came to investigate. The woman pulled out a pistol and proceeded to accidentally shoot her husband. Then she was hung for trying to jailbreak the guy.
The ranger went on. "Being responsible for her husband's death left the woman heartbroken." The ranger paused for dramatic effect and continued in a spooky and well-practiced voice. "After she was tried and executed for her crime, the woman's spirit couldn't rest. Her tortured ghost still walks the island—weeping for what she had done."
Scott choked down a fit of laughter. "What a moron."
It wasn't the reaction the ranger was looking for. Or Mrs. Donovan, for that matter. The grumpy old teacher was beside us in an instant. "Did you have something to say, Mr. Delaney?"
He looked at the ranger and half-raised his hand. "Why didn't they go out the way she got in? There was no way they could quietly bust out of here with a pickaxe."
The ranger blinked and rubbed her neck. "I suppose she wasn't thinking clearly. She was too worried about her one true love."
Mrs. Donovan frowned. "Mr. Delaney, please remind everyone who this fort is named after?"
The pale boy sighed, but he didn't stutter. "Joseph Warren. He was a doctor and the leader of the Patriots during the Revolution. He's also the guy who sent Paul Revere on his famous ride. He died at the Battle of Bunker Hill."
Mrs. Donovan looked to the park ranger for confirmation, and she nodded. "Humph. And Mr. McCallister, tell us when the fort was built."
I had no idea. But as I looked down at my sneakers, I saw Scott's fingers twitch. Three fingers. Then again. "Um, it was started in 1833, but I think it took a long time to build." I relaxed after another signal from Scott. "It didn't open until 1861."
The ranger nodded again. Scott grinned and nudged me, but Mrs. Donovan didn't share his enthusiasm. She stepped between us and lowered her head. "You boys will sit in the front of the bus with me on the ride back to school." She had the class thank the ranger for the tour. We clapped like trained seals and were released to explore the island on our own. "But stay off of the ramparts," she added. "We've already had one injury due to foolishness."
Scott followed me to a grassy spot in the shade, and we sat to eat lunch. "So what happened to them?" he asked.
I shrugged. "One of them is resting peaceably, and the other roams the fort in misery."
He shook his head and bit into his sandwich. I could barely understand his mumbling. "Not the stupid dead people. The four treasures."
"The Celts arrived, and the Dé Danann used their magic to retreat to the Realm. The treasures were lost or hidden. No one really knows."
"You sure know a lot about them."
"My grandfather was born in Ireland, and my family is big on myths and legends. Real big. Why are you so interested?"
"I think they're cool. And my brother is working in Ireland. He says I might be able to visit him if he's not too busy." Scott swallowed, and a shadow fell across his face. "He's been gone for over a year, and I miss him. I miss him a lot."
I'd always thought he was miserable about moving to Boston. Although for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why anyone would be homesick for New Jersey. At least he talked to his brother. At least he could look forward to visiting him. I wanted to say something encouraging, but I had issues of my own.
I stuffed the remains of my lunch back into the bag and went to look for a trash can.
Scott and I wandered around the fort some more, but there wasn't much else to see on the little island. Some crumbling walls, a few decommissioned cannons, and a string of arched corridors leading nowhere in particular. It was like a lonely ball field with better tended grass and a line of trees. We circled the old parade grounds and made our way back to the boat dock to wait for the ferry. In the distance, Patrick's buddies climbed all over the ramparts and pretended to throw each other over the edge. The scowl on Scott's face told me he wouldn't mind pushing one or two of them off himself.
When we reached the dock, Scott leaned back against the railing. The sky was clear, but the sun provided little protection from the harbor's wind. I told him about the Realm while we waited for the ferry. "When the last king died, the Tuatha Dé Danann gave Ireland to the humans. They used their magic to go into the Realm. Instead of installing a new king, they put twelve of their most trusted leaders in charge. The Elders of the High Court. But not everyone was happy about it. Some of them broke away and formed the Dark Court."
"So, the Tuatha Dé Danann are the good guys, and the Dark Court are the bad guys?"
"Sort of. The creatures of the Dé Danann might be nice to you if you impress them, but piss them off, and they will ruin your life. And the creatures of the dark aren't just bad. They're demonic. Some will just mess with you, but others will eat you or kill you just for... for fun."
Distant music distracted me. No, not music. More like singing.
There was a girl in the water. Maybe twenty yards from the dock and she stared right at me.