Chezzie whimpered. âLet me talk to him.â
It had to be him. It couldnât not be him. How many times had Bill complained about his brother in the Garda? Complained about that sadistic son of a bitch living in Dublin with electricity and hot meals and nothing changed for him? A throb of doubt wheedled its way into Chezzieâs fervor of fear and desperation.
The Hurley that Bill talked about was no officer. No commander of anything.
Chezzie drove the splinter of doubt away. It was all he had. If he was wrong he was worse than dead. Allowing these men to kill him was one thing. Being eaten piece by screaming, flailing piece by a lion every bit as hungry as Chezzie wasâwas beyond the worst of any of Chezzieâs nightmares.
âPlease,â he begged. âI didnât even steal the chicken.â
âShirrup,â one of the soldiers said.
The door handle began to twist and Chezzie felt a scream welling up inside him. The door opened and a large bald headed man with shoulders the width of two men and cold, dead eyes strode into the room. He was wearing a uniform, his boots polished so they looked like black mirrors. His face twisted into a grimace of revulsion.
âPlease, sirâ¦â Chezzie said, his eyes tearing up. This was his chance. His only chance.
âHe says he knows you, Commander,â a soldier behind Hurley said.
Hurleyâs face remained contorted into an expression of having to endure a bad smell.
âNotâ¦no,â Chezzie said. âYour brother. I knew your brother, Bill.â
An image of fingers laying down a hand of cards on a green-felted tablecloth flashed across Chezzieâs mind. Betting everythingâhis life and a death too terrible to imagineâon one gambit. No room for maneuvering. No second chances.
âYou know Bill?â
Chezzie forced himself not to weep. In three words he took a step back from the precipice. Just a bit. Just enough.
âWe worked together atâ¦Mrs. Braniganâs camp forâ¦â Chezzie struggled for the name of the rape camp, not sure heâd ever really known.
âI know where he worked,â Hurley said, his eyes narrowing, his lip finally uncurling at Chezzieâs stench. âWhere is my brother now?â
âMurdered,â Chezzie said excitedly, âat a secret nunnery down south. I can take you there.â
15
S arah saw the castle from twenty miles away. Around the final bend, the land stretched like a treeless tableau, creating a stark moonscape of green, flanked on the west by a thick forest, beyond which they could hear the muted roar of the sea. The road straightened out, flat as a ruler for the final distance leading to the castle.
On the eastern side of the road were fields, now dormant and unused these past five years.
What had happened to the farmers and shepherds who lived here before the bomb? Why had no one planted the fields since then?
The castled perched on the horizon like a cutout from a childâs activity book. Its stark outline of storybook crenellated towersâtwo of them visible even from this distanceâanchored the broad expanse of limestone in between. It looked ominous, wicked, haunted.
It did not look like home.
âWhat do you think?â Mike asked as he rode up beside her wagon. âCrackinâ, isnât it?â
Sarah didnât respond.
âThe ocean is behind it. And there will be a stream or water of some kind nearby. Irish castles were always built by a water source.â
âCor, Mike, itâs beautiful,â Tommy said from the driverâs seat of the wagon. âTruly it is.â
âItâs built up high like that so they can see anyone coming,â Mike said, his eyes bright with zeal. âWeâre still a good distance away but if thereâs anyone inside, they already know weâre here.â
The fields gave way to the beginnings of a village on the eastern side of the road.
Maggie Brendan
Barbara O'Connor
Jan Washburn
Terri Blackstock
Norah Simone
Barry Kemp
G.P. Taylor
Alan Cumyn
Linda Barnes
Lisa Jackson