“By God,” Mr. O’Leary mutters, stalking to his horse, “I’ve told her and told her to steer clear of the cairns.”
“Whatever are you doing?” Rushing to Mr. O’Leary’s side, I place a hand on his arm to stay the rifle he has removed from his saddlebag.
He furrows his brow as if he cannot understand why I would be concerned at the idea of him wielding a rifle in the direction of a woman. “It’s crazy Maeve McLoughlin. She skulks about at all hours of the day and night even after I’ve told her this is private property.”
“I cannot think of a need for the rifle.” Dimitri levels his gaze at the older man. “Put it down now, will you?”
Mr. O’Leary scowls as he weighs the seriousness of Dimitri’s tone.
Looking back in the direction of the figure, I am relieved to see that the woman named Maeve has disappeared. If nothing else, we have delayed Mr. O’Leary long enough to allow for her safety.
Following my gaze, he notes her absence and moves back to his horse, stuffing the rifle angrily back into his bag, grumbling all the while. “I wasn’t going to shoot her. Just scare her off. It is my job, after all.”
We mount our horses and head back to the house, thanking Mr. O’Leary for his guidance. As we lead the horses to the small barn at the back of the house, Dimitri asks a question not directed at me but at Mr. O’Leary.
“Is there a town nearby with a library?”
I look at him in surprise, wondering what he’s thinking.
Mr. O’Leary leads his horse into one of the stalls without looking at Dimitri. “Oldcastle has a small collection of books, mostly local history and such. It isn’t grand enough to be called a library, but I suppose it is the closest thing you might find within a day’s ride.” He turns to make his way out of the stall, surveying Dimitri with barely hidden curiosity. “But we have quite a collection of material on the cairns right here, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
Dimitri leads Blackjack into the stall that has been his since we arrived at Loughcrew. “It’s a more general query on local history. If you wouldn’t mind directing us, perhaps Lia and I can make our way to Oldcastle tomorrow. Besides,” he meets my eyes with a smile, “I imagine Lia might like to do some shopping.”
I swallow my protest, knowing he is only trying to find a reasonable excuse for us to ride into town with a minimum of suspicion on the part of Mr. O’Leary. Even still, it raises my ire.
I force a smile. “Quite right. There are a few things I should like to acquire before we make the return journey.”
Mr. O’Leary’s nod is slow. “And when will that be? Your return, I mean?”
Dimitri takes my hand, squeezing it as if trying to impart a secret message. “Not long now, I would imagine.”
20
“It’s the map that has me wondering,” Dimitri says as we make our way into Oldcastle the next day.
“Which one?”
I am practically dying of curiosity after spending another strange night with Brigid and Mr. O’Leary.
“Both of them.” Dimitri guides Blackjack to the right, down a narrow road leading to a cluster of buildings in the distance. “In comparison to one another, to be more accurate.”
I chew my lower lip, trying to decipher the meaning of his words. “Are they not the same?”
He nods his head. “They’re nearly exactly the same, except for one small difference.”
“And what is that?”
“The map we brought from London has one additional cairn. A big one not shown on the map Mr. O’Leary gave us.”
In no hurry to arrive at Oldcastle, we are walking the horses into town. The soft clopping of their hooves on the hard-packed road would be soothing if not for the seed of unease taking root in my mind.
I turn to Dimitri. “Is it one we explored without Mr. O’Leary?”
Dimitri shakes his head. “I used his map the first day, assuming it would be more current since he claims to update it with each new discovery. I only checked them against each other after our first day out.”
“But why didn’t you say anything?” I cannot help but be annoyed that he kept the discovery from me.
“I thought it might be a simple error, but yesterday when we saw that woman near the cairn—”
“Maeve.”
He nods. “Maeve. Well, she was at the cairn not shown on Mr. O’Leary’s map. His reaction seemed unusually strong for such a simple infraction, don’t you think?”
The picture becomes clearer, and I begin to hope we will get a break. “What does this have to do with Oldcastle’s library?”
An older gentleman makes his way toward us on horseback, a young boy at his side. Dimitri nods his head to them in greeting, his eyes watchful as they pass. He waits until they are well behind us before continuing.
“Maybe nothing. But I hope the archives have some information about that cairn, the one not noted on Mr. O’Leary’s map. I cannot help thinking he has something to hide, and I mean to find out what it is.”
Although I have always thought of any repository of books as a library, even those within the walls of my own homes, it is difficult to think of Oldcastle’s archives as such. In fact, we believe ourselves in the wrong building altogether after our inquiry is met with a blank gaze from the aging clerk. It is only after Dimitri says, “We’d like to see the records, please,” that we are escorted to a room at the back of the building.
Along the way we pass several rough-looking men in the outer hall, one with a goat tied to a rope. They all appear to be waiting for something, though none of them follows us as we are escorted to the records. I duck my head as we pass, wondering if they see me as a woman with my hair tucked inside my hat, as I’ve grown accustomed to wearing it when I ride.
We are left without comment in a crowded room overrun with books and all manner of loose papers. None of it seems to have much order, but after careful inspection, we manage to make sense of three distinct categories—birth, death, and marriage certificates; legal proceedings; and land surveys.
We start with the land surveys, splitting them in half, with Dimitri working on one stack and I on the other. The records date back a hundred years or so, and we skim the pages for mentions of the Loughcrew land. The area outside Oldcastle is fairly undeveloped, and it is still early afternoon when we come to the end of both stacks.
“There’s probably no point in looking at the marriage certificates,” Dimitri says, leaning back in his chair to stretch his body. “Let’s jump straight to the legal disputes, shall we?”
The hours spent studying tiny, largely illegible handwriting have taken their toll, and I resist the urge to yawn. “But why would we find information about the mystery cairn in the legal disputes?”
He rights his chair with nary a sound against the wooden floor. “We may not, but perhaps there was a dispute over the land, or permission to study it, or something of that nature. It’s one of our few remaining options. I think we should eliminate it as a possibility before we resort to a thorough search of Mr. O’Leary’s study, don’t you?”
I sigh. “I suppose. Here.” I gesture to the stacks of paper at Dimitri’s right. “Give me half.”
I do not say what I am thinking: that a thorough search of Mr. O’Leary’s library sounds increasingly promising. Regardless of my certainty that he and Brigid are hiding something, I would prefer to avoid a confrontation until we know more. If they are working on behalf of the Souls, as I am beginning to believe, I would rather find what we need and make our way back to London immediately.
Wading through the legal disputes is much more difficult than making sense of the land surveys. Where the surveys were often filled out by men of some education, the legal disputes are executed in cramped handwriting and riddled with misspellings so gross I sometimes cannot decipher the words at all. From what I gather, though, there are quite a lot of disagreements near Oldcastle having to do with stolen livestock, theft in the small storefronts that line the streets of the
town, drunken pub disputes, and unpaid debts.
But there is no mention of Loughcrew, and by the time Dimitri and I come to the end of our respective stacks, the older gentleman who first escorted us to the archives has twice attempted to close for the evening.
Disappointment is evident on Dimitri’s face, and I try to sound cheerful as I stifle my own dismay. “Well, I still think it was worth the effort.”
“I cannot say that I agree,” he mutters, holding his arm out for me to grab. “But I would say I owe you a decent meal after forcing you to spend the afternoon in such boredom. We may as well see if there’s an inn in which we can take dinner while we’re here.”
I know he is hiding his own ill feelings out of consideration for me, and I squeeze his arm as we step onto the street in front of the archive building.
“Let’s see…” Dimitri surveys the street, trying to gauge the best possibility for a good meal as we start down the small road that fronts the shops and pubs of Oldcastle.
He is gazing to the right as I look to the left, attempting to do my part in the search for dinner, when I see a person disappear around a corner ahead. The figure would not command notice save for one thing: the yellow cape that flutters in the breeze, slipping around the corner in the wake of the person’s disappearance. It stands out like a ray of sunshine amid the brown and gray clothing of the townspeople. Without thinking, I drop my arm from Dimitri’s.
And then I run.
The ground is slippery underfoot, but I do not even try to temper my steps. The first tendrils of desperation have crept into my conscience. The prophecy does not allow us unlimited time. The adder stone is growing colder by the day, and my sister more powerful. If there is even a minute chance that Maeve McLoughlin holds the answers that we need, it is a chance worth taking.
“Wait! Stop! You, in the yellow cape!” I scream as I run, weaving through the crowd when possible and pushing when necessary.
It must not be uncommon to see one person chasing after another on the streets of Oldcastle, for no one pays me any attention save a laborer who yells, “You oughta have more manners!” as I shove past.
Trying to brace myself against a building as I swing around the corner, I hope and pray all the while that the woman named Maeve will still be in sight. I manage to keep my balance and am relieved to see her cape bobbing through the crowd ahead.
“Maeve McLoughlin!” I shout, pushing my voice as far into the crowd as it will carry. “Wait! I won’t hurt you!”
She looks back at the sound of her name, and I catch a glimpse of a dirt-smudged face and frightened eyes. Snippets of conversation make their way to me as I run.
“… crazy Maeve…”
“You know how she…”
“… those McLoughlins are!”
And then there is Dimitri’s voice behind me. “Lia! What are you doing?”
I run faster. Harder. I do not have time for the questions Dimitri will have if he catches me. They will have to wait until I catch Maeve McLoughlin.
The distance between us closes as she approaches the dusty intersection ahead, and I force my legs to move more quickly even as my lungs burn with the exertion of running so far, so fast. By the time she reaches the street, we are only feet apart, and I lunge, grabbing hold of the yellow cape just as she steps onto the road.
We both go down and the hat flies off my head, my hair tumbling about my shoulders in a thicket of curls as we hit the dirt. I pull the woman back a couple of feet just before a wagon clatters past, frighteningly near.
I turn her from her side to her back, my breath coming hard and fast as Dimitri comes up behind me.
“What in the Sisters’ name are you do—” He stops short as he comes around to my side, catching sight of Maeve’s arm in my hand as I try to keep her from fleeing yet again.
She doesn’t speak. Not at first. She only looks into my eyes, her own bright with fear and a host of unspoken questions that I somehow know she has held close for many, many years.
“Please. Don’t run.” I make my voice as soft and kind as possible, despite the fact that I am still struggling for breath. “We won’t hurt you. We only want to ask you some questions. Can I let go now? Will you speak with us?”
She stares deeply into my eyes for a long moment as the people on the street begin milling about once more, stepping over and around us as they continue about their business.
Finally, Maeve drops her eyes to my wrist and the small piece of the mark visible in the gap left by my shirtsleeve, now slightly askew. I mean to pull it down, to hide it from view. But when I meet her gaze, there is understanding in the moment before she nods her agreement, speaking the only words I need to hear.
“I will help you.”
21
Making our way to a small pub on the outskirts of town, we order food for ourselves and Maeve, who looks as if she needs it. We sit in silence as she consumes with single-minded concentration two bowls of hot soup. It is only after a fresh pot of tea is brought around that she begins to speak.
“I’m not crazy.” Her eyes are clear, and I cannot help but wonder if Mr. O’Leary misrepresented Maeve’s intellect in order to throw us off her trail.
Dimitri does not immediately address her statement, inclining his head instead to the empty bowl before her. “Would you like another bowl of soup?”
Maeve looks down at the bowl as if considering the offer before shaking her head no. “ ’Tis pleasant to be full, though.” Meeting his eyes, she nods. “Thank you.”
Dimitri nods back, smiling. “You’re welcome.”
We sit in silence for a moment before I have the courage to ask the question, rude as it seems, at the forefront of my mind: “Why do they say you are crazy? If you’re not, I mean.”
I am relieved that she doesn’t appear offended. “Because I walk about at all hours of the day and night. Because I love the cairns. And because…” She trails off, looking down at her dirty cloak and ripped breeches, not that different from mine, though a good bit more worn. “Well, because I don’t dress like a proper lady, I suppose.”
I smile, a thread of kinship moving between us. “I know just what you mean.”
Her returning smile is not wholehearted, but I think I see a hint of camaraderie in her eyes.
“Why do you trespass about the cairns when Mr. O’Leary tells you to stay off the land?” I ask, gentling my voice before I continue lest she think my words are an accusation or a threat. “You might get hurt.”
Her face puckers with distaste. “Psh! Old Fergus wouldn’t see fit to shoot.” Her brow furrows as she contemplates her own words. “At least, I hope not.”
“Even still,” Dimitri says. “What could be so important that you would risk it?”
She wraps a surprisingly small hand around the teacup in front of her. “Not important so much as special,” she mutters.
“What is special?” I tread carefully, not wanting to scare her off by pushing too hard. “The cairns?”
She nods as if to herself. “The cairns, sure enough, but not simply them.” Her words are softly spoken, with a strange cadence that makes them seem repetitive even when they’re not. I understand why ignorant townsfolk might label her mad, but I don’t think it is an accurate assessment. “It’s the one cairn. The one that’s special.”
Dimitri meets my eyes, and I know we are both thinking of the cairn missing from Mr. O’Leary’s map.
I turn my gaze back to her. “And why is that, Maeve? Why is that one special?”
She fingers the bent spoon resting near her cup atop the table. It is difficult not to push. I sense that we are close to something, something that will bring everything to some kind of order, but I’m afraid if I become overeager we will lose the tenuous grasp we have on the possible answer.
Finally she speaks, though without taking her eyes off the spoon. “It isn’t possible to speak of it. Not really.”
“Why?” Dimitri’s voice is probing but gentle. “Is it a sec
ret?”
A short, wry laugh escapes from her mouth, and several people at nearby tables look over, their eyes hooded and suspicious. “A secret of some sort, that is true enough.”
I take a deep breath. “Can you tell us the secret?”
The breath catches in my throat as she looks up, narrowing her gaze at me. There is too much understanding there. “Why don’t you ask Fergus O’Leary?”
Dimitri doesn’t take his eyes off her. “We’re asking you.”
Her eyes drift to my wrist before rising again to my face. “They’ve come here before, looking for it.” Something darker than fear seeps into her expression. “Are you one of them?”
I don’t know whom she means. Not exactly. I don’t even know if she is thinking clearly. But I know what I see. I know she fears whoever has come before us.
I shake my head. “No. I’m not one of them.”
She sits back in her chair, surveying Dimitri and me before speaking. “We’ll have to go tonight. I’ve been waiting, but it hasn’t happened yet. ’Twill be any day now.”
“It’s freezing! Tell me again why we must wait through the night?”
Maeve’s insistence that we wait inside the cairn until morning was initially intriguing, but hours spent huddled in the darkness at the back of the cave with only a small torch to keep us warm have dampened my enthusiasm.
“Because of the dawn. It isn’t an exact thing. And if you miss it, you’ll have to wait another year.”
“And do you do this all year? Sit in the cairn waiting for the sun to rise?” The skepticism is obvious in Dimitri’s question.
Maeve shakes her head. The black hair tangled about her shoulders gives some credence to the appearance, at least, that she is mad. “Only in March.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Only in March? Why is that?”
She sighs, speaking as if to a small child. “Because that’s when it happens. Godsake, you ask a lot of questions! If you simply wait, you’ll see what I mean.”