The Ring of Five by Eoin McNamee Page A
Authors: Eoin McNamee
Tags: Fiction, General, All Ages, Children's Books, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Juvenile Fiction, Action & Adventure - General, Fantasy & Magic, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, True Crime, Children: Grades 4-6, School & Education, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Schools, Men, spies, Boys & Men, Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories, Boys, Juvenile Mysteries
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Messenger said. "If you were I would have had a knife in my throat by now. Where did you come from, anyway?"
Danny hesitated. He wasn't really sure where he was, which made it difficult to say where he had come from.
"Never mind," the Messenger said with a mirthless chuckle, "you're probably one of Brunholm's nasty little schemes. Excuse me, please."
He sat down in the chair and breathed a sigh of relief as he sank into it.
"Much better."
Danny could see now why the back of the chair was strangely shaped--it was so that the Messenger's wings would fit.
"What's your name?" Danny asked.
"Gabriel," the Messenger said, "if it's any of your business. Come here; at the very least you can make yourself useful."
Danny moved closer. Gabriel pulled his own lower eyelid down, revealing an expanse of red-veined eyeball.
"Look closely," he growled. "Any sign of illness, yellowing or pus?"
Feeling a bit queasy, Danny peered into the eye.
"Looks okay to me," he said, withdrawing as soon as decently possible.
"Okay?" Gabriel barked. "Are you a doctor? How could it be okay?"
Gabriel, looking exhausted from his outburst, opened a magazine entitled Wing and Feather Diseases and commenced to ignore Danny.
108
Half relieved, Danny sat down on the floor. After a few minutes he decided that Gabriel wasn't going to speak to him again, so he cautiously slid a magazine from the bottom of the pile. This one was much older than the others. The paper was brittle and the colors were faded, and it was a moment before Danny realized he was holding it upside down. He turned it round the right way and squinted at the title.
Epic Journeys , he read. Must be epic journeys to the bathroom, he thought, if this lot were involved. He looked at the cover. At least on this one the Messenger was actually flying and wasn't about to crash or burst into flames or something. In fact, the Messenger looked exhausted but determined. He was wearing goggles, and ice had formed on them and on the edges of his wings. There were singe marks on the feathers as well, and orange bursts of flame in the background, as though someone was firing on him. Then Danny's eyes widened. He rubbed them and stared again.
"It's you," he exclaimed, "on the cover. It's you!"
"What? Eh? How did that get there? Give me that!" Gabriel snatched the magazine from Danny's hand and stuffed it into his pocket.
"You were flying!" Danny said. "And people were shooting at you ..."
"You are mistaken, young man," Gabriel said stiffly, "and if you repeat this allegation of, of flying, then I will speak to Master Devoy himself."
"You can speak to him all you like," Danny said, "I'm out of here tomorrow."
109
Gabriel looked around, then bent down to Danny.
"Listen, boy," he whispered hoarsely, "what will you take to keep quiet about this?"
He straightened and began to fish in his pockets, but no matter how frantically he looked, he only came up with fluff and old tissues and a tube marked Feather Gel , which he stuffed quickly back into his pockets.
"Wings are decorative--that's all," he said, and Danny could see that he was upset. "All this flying nonsense ... it's all in the past. It's not talked about. Simply not talked about."
"You've nothing to be ashamed of," Danny said.
"I'm not ashamed of anything," Gabriel said, looking anxiously up and down the corridor to see if anyone was coming.
"If you don't want me to mention it, I won't," Danny said.
"Really?" Gabriel seemed surprised.
"Honest."
"Well, thank you," Gabriel said, eyeing Danny suspiciously. But before he could say anything else, Blackpitt announced, "Class over," in a bored voice, and the door of the classroom burst open, the corridor filling with chattering cadets.
"Hello, Gabriel," Les said with a grin, "how's the wings hanging?"
Gabriel gave him a disgusted look and turned away. Les shrugged. It was obvious that Gabriel didn't think very much of him.
"Tell you what," Les said, not seeming particularly
110
worried
Danny hesitated. He wasn't really sure where he was, which made it difficult to say where he had come from.
"Never mind," the Messenger said with a mirthless chuckle, "you're probably one of Brunholm's nasty little schemes. Excuse me, please."
He sat down in the chair and breathed a sigh of relief as he sank into it.
"Much better."
Danny could see now why the back of the chair was strangely shaped--it was so that the Messenger's wings would fit.
"What's your name?" Danny asked.
"Gabriel," the Messenger said, "if it's any of your business. Come here; at the very least you can make yourself useful."
Danny moved closer. Gabriel pulled his own lower eyelid down, revealing an expanse of red-veined eyeball.
"Look closely," he growled. "Any sign of illness, yellowing or pus?"
Feeling a bit queasy, Danny peered into the eye.
"Looks okay to me," he said, withdrawing as soon as decently possible.
"Okay?" Gabriel barked. "Are you a doctor? How could it be okay?"
Gabriel, looking exhausted from his outburst, opened a magazine entitled Wing and Feather Diseases and commenced to ignore Danny.
108
Half relieved, Danny sat down on the floor. After a few minutes he decided that Gabriel wasn't going to speak to him again, so he cautiously slid a magazine from the bottom of the pile. This one was much older than the others. The paper was brittle and the colors were faded, and it was a moment before Danny realized he was holding it upside down. He turned it round the right way and squinted at the title.
Epic Journeys , he read. Must be epic journeys to the bathroom, he thought, if this lot were involved. He looked at the cover. At least on this one the Messenger was actually flying and wasn't about to crash or burst into flames or something. In fact, the Messenger looked exhausted but determined. He was wearing goggles, and ice had formed on them and on the edges of his wings. There were singe marks on the feathers as well, and orange bursts of flame in the background, as though someone was firing on him. Then Danny's eyes widened. He rubbed them and stared again.
"It's you," he exclaimed, "on the cover. It's you!"
"What? Eh? How did that get there? Give me that!" Gabriel snatched the magazine from Danny's hand and stuffed it into his pocket.
"You were flying!" Danny said. "And people were shooting at you ..."
"You are mistaken, young man," Gabriel said stiffly, "and if you repeat this allegation of, of flying, then I will speak to Master Devoy himself."
"You can speak to him all you like," Danny said, "I'm out of here tomorrow."
109
Gabriel looked around, then bent down to Danny.
"Listen, boy," he whispered hoarsely, "what will you take to keep quiet about this?"
He straightened and began to fish in his pockets, but no matter how frantically he looked, he only came up with fluff and old tissues and a tube marked Feather Gel , which he stuffed quickly back into his pockets.
"Wings are decorative--that's all," he said, and Danny could see that he was upset. "All this flying nonsense ... it's all in the past. It's not talked about. Simply not talked about."
"You've nothing to be ashamed of," Danny said.
"I'm not ashamed of anything," Gabriel said, looking anxiously up and down the corridor to see if anyone was coming.
"If you don't want me to mention it, I won't," Danny said.
"Really?" Gabriel seemed surprised.
"Honest."
"Well, thank you," Gabriel said, eyeing Danny suspiciously. But before he could say anything else, Blackpitt announced, "Class over," in a bored voice, and the door of the classroom burst open, the corridor filling with chattering cadets.
"Hello, Gabriel," Les said with a grin, "how's the wings hanging?"
Gabriel gave him a disgusted look and turned away. Les shrugged. It was obvious that Gabriel didn't think very much of him.
"Tell you what," Les said, not seeming particularly
110
worried
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