The Legend of the Phantom Highwayman by Tom McCaughren Page B

from the sea and now, as they looked back, they caught another glimpse of the ghostly coach passing down the road. Again, it was only a fleeting glimpse, a shadow, for it quickly merged with the mist and disappeared.
    Róisín shivered, but it wasn’t the wet or the cold or even the thought of being in an old church that sent the shiver through her. It was the thought of the phantom coach. ‘What can it be?’ she wondered. ‘I mean what’s it doing here? We’re miles from the High Road.’
    Tapser frowned. ‘I don’t know, but if somebody’s trying to frighten us, they’re going the right way about it.’
    â€˜What are we going to do?’
    â€˜Get to the police and raise the alarm. For all we know Cowlick and Rachel are still prisoners at the Castle Spa.’
    â€˜Well, I’m not going out on the road again. Wild horses couldn’t drag me.’ Róisín paused as she thought of her unfortunate choice of words. ‘Anyway, Whaler and Scamp will be out there looking for us when they get that car going.’
    â€˜You’re right,’ said Tapser. ‘If they get their hands on us again we’re finished. We’ll just have to wait here until the mist clears, then go for help.’
    * * *
    A lark sang as it fluttered up to meet the sun. Tapser and Róisín scrambled to their feet and ran outside. They found that the mist had cleared and morning had brought blue sky and sunshine. It had also brought a flow of traffic along the road. They could now see they were on the outskirts of Ballycastle, and realised the reason why they hadn’t come across any houses in their flight across the fields was that they had been on the golf links.
    Crossing the road, they ran up the neatly cut grass and looked out towards Rathlin. The cargo ship was still anchored at Church Bay.
    â€˜Hurry,’ urged Róisín. ‘We’ve got to get into Ballycastle and raise the alarm before it gets under way again.’
    â€˜What’s going on?’ wondered Tapser. ‘I’ve never seen so much traffic.’
    The vehicles were bumper to bumper now and had slowed to a crawl. As they ran past a lorry loaded with sheep Róisín said, ‘There must be a fair on.’ She stopped and grabbed Tapser’s arm. ‘Of course, it’s the Lammas Fair. Why didn’t I think of it before? Come on. There are bound to be people we know. They’ll help us.’
    Crossing the Margy Bridge, they saw a signpost which told them they had been hiding in the ruins of Bonamargy Franciscan Friary, burial place of the famous chieftain, Sorley Boy MacDonnell. Keeping a sharp lookout for Whaler and Scamp, they hurried along the seafront, and with another anxious glance towards Rathlin, turned up Quay Road.
    There they found that numerous stalls had been erected and traders were selling portable radios, tape recorders, watches and all kinds of knick-knacks.
    Suddenly they heard a voice from the other side of the road shouting, ‘You’re all going to die!’
    Startled, they looked around to see a man in black standing on a corner. A placard hanging from his neck bore the Biblical text, ‘Prepare to meet thy doom.’
    â€˜You’re all going to die!’ he declared to all and sundry.
    Relieved that he wasn’t one of their pursuers, but a man proclaiming the word of God, they exchanged a half-hearted smile and hurried on.
    The town was bustling with activity, but there was still no sign of the two smugglers – or a policeman. The Diamond, which forms the town centre, was crowded. Stallholders were shouting about all the bargains they had to offer, and there were cries of ‘Dulse’ and ‘Yellow man’, as they offered bags of edible seaweed and lumps of their famous yellow toffee for sale. Everywhere people were listening, looking, buying or just ambling around.
    â€˜There’s a policeman,’ said