Milo and the Pirate Sisters

by Mary Arrigan

  ‘Whoa!’ he bellowed. ‘You’ve scoffed enough already. That’s my cake. Hands off!’

  That’s when Mister Lewis came back, this time through a door. He was holding a big umbrella with several spokes hanging loose.

  Shane glanced at me and shook his head.

  ‘Perhaps you ought to leave now, ladies,’ Mister Lewis said politely.

  The ‘ladies’ looked up at us like a couple of hungry tigers spotting their prey for the first time.

  ‘We are not going anywhere, old man,’ snarled Eulalia through a big, slobbering mouthful of cake.

  Mister Lewis’s worried face was like dough that had been kneaded by dirty hands. ‘As a gentleman I regret having to do this,’ he said, reaching up to poke the beehive high up over the window with the bockety umbrella. The bees flew out onto the umbrella and Mister Lewis shook them loose. They knew exactly what to do, flying like war planes towards the enemy.

  ‘Cool,’ said Shane, nudging me in the ribs. ‘That’ll get rid of those two skinny mollies.’

  We watched with glee as the bees circled over the cakes.

  ‘Wait for it,’ I whispered.

  Wait nothing! The bees buzzed over them, took one look at the women and then zoomed straight back into the hive. If there had been a door on the hive, they would have slammed it.

  Mister Lewis sighed deeply and shook his head. I mean, there’s nothing you can do if your bees decide that home is best when there’s trouble brewing. And I found myself wishing that we could do the same.

  ‘Pardon me,’ said Mister Lewis, but not as loud this time and with a note of defeat. ‘I really do think you have perhaps had enough. My two young guests and myself are simply having a quiet evening, so if you wouldn’t mind …’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere, old man,’ growled Mellie.

  ‘No, indeed,’ said her sister, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. ‘There’s much food to consume. We haven’t eaten for such a long, long while.’

  ‘Huh, they’re making up for it now,’ muttered Shane.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Mister Lewis was beginning to sharpen his voice. ‘I think you ought to go back to your own rooms.’

  ‘Sit down, old man,’ snarled Eulalia. ‘We shall leave when our stomachs are replete. Our hunger is great.’

  ‘We have not eaten such food for over four hundred years,’ said the other, Mellie, through a mouthful of bun.

  ‘Did she say four hundred years, Milo?’ Shane whispered, pinching my arm.

  I had no answer to that because my mouth had dried up with fear.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mister Lewis, politely. ‘Like myself, you are halfway spirits too.’

  For just a few seconds the two women stopped munching to stare at Mister Lewis.

  ‘We don’t know what you talk about, old man,’ said Mellie. ‘All of this land belongs to us since it was taken by our ancestor Granuaile.’

  ‘We have got rid of everyone who tried to take it,’ put in Eulalia. ‘Some, perhaps, took longer than others, but we chased them all,’ she added with a laugh.

  ‘The last one being the foolish man who tried to build this mill,’ Mellie sniggered.

  ‘So,’ put in her sister. ‘You are not welcome here, old man. This is our watch, to keep safe the land of our ancestors.’

  ‘Just great,’ whispered Shane. ‘Now we have three bloomin’ ghosts. I don’t like this, Milo,’ he went on. ‘I’d like to go home now.’

  I looked at the two ‘ladies’, still stuffing food into their skinny faces, not having eaten for years and years. That’s when I came up with my master stroke of genius. A lightbulb switched on inside my head.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SHANE PLAYS A TUNE

  ‘Shane,’ I whispered. ‘Get out your mouth organ.’

  ‘Huh? Are you mad?’ he hissed. ‘This is not the time for music.’

  ‘Just take it out and play it,’ I went on.

  ‘You mean nice music might put them to sleep? Good thinking, Milo. I’ll do it. I’ll do a real slow, sad one. What about “The Fields of Athenry”?’

  At the first screeching blast of the off-key mouth organ, Eulalia and Mellie stopped eating to stare at Shane. At the next bunch of rum notes he played, their mouths dropped wide open with amazement. When the next notes continued to attack our ears, Mellie and Eulalia had tears streaming down their cheeks.

  I’d love to say that they were both entranced by music that they’d never heard before. But my real hope was that Shane’s squealing-pig sort of tune would send them running. As if! Those tears were not for the sad tune. The two hags were howling with laughter.

  ‘Hey, cut that out!’ I snapped.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘The poor chap is doing his best.’

  It was then I heard another noise. Was it my imagination or was I hearing faint footsteps coming up the winding stairs?

  ‘Hide behind my chair, boys,’ Mister Lewis whispered softly, just before going invisible.

  If only we could disappear too! Me and Shane squashed together, listening to the footsteps on the creaky stairs coming closer. We clung to each other when we heard what was left of the door being kicked in.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was surprised when a small girl stepped into the room. Like some nerdy geek, I shut my eyes tight to block out whatever Eulalia and Mellie might decide to do to her. Call me a coward, but trying to do battle with them to save her was not high in my mind.

  ‘What are you two fools doing in here?’ said a cross voice that certainly didn’t belong to either of the two hags.

  Peering through my fingers, I did a double-take when I saw the women cowering away from the small girl.

  ‘You two clean up this mess, you hear? Oh, and tell me, sisters, where are the horses? I have not seen the beauties on my journey back.’

  ‘We were hungry,’ muttered Eulalia.

  ‘Starving,’ put in Mellie.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Shane spluttered. ‘It was them!’

  Before I could stop him, he jumped up and ran like a raging bull towards the two old crones and the little girl, bellowing at the top of his voice, ‘Did you two eat the horses?’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE GHOSTLING

  Of course I had to chase after him; he’s my best mate and you have to look out for your best mate – even when he makes a total ass of himself by barging into a coven of shouting dead women and a thorny little whatever-she-was. Passing me out, with a top-gear waft, came Mister Lewis, waving his gloved hands about and trying to soothe everybody.

  ‘QUIET!’ shrieked the small girl. ‘What is happening here? I’ve been to visit my father’s blood kinfolk and I come back toall this.’ She waved her arm round the room and glared at Shane, myself and Mister Lewis. ‘And who are you?’ she snarled, pointing to Mister Lewis.

  ‘Ah,’ he answered, raising his hat. ‘Lewis, my dear. Dead over a hundred years.’

  ‘And you two,’ she pointed at Shane and me. ‘When did you die?’

  ‘Die?’ exclaimed Shane, grabbing my arm. ‘Are we dead, Milo?’

  ‘No, lad,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘The little lady is just …’

  ‘Don’t “little lady” me!’ said the girl, poking Mister Lewis’s tummy. ‘I am Tara.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Tara, my dear,’ began Mister Lewis.

  That earned him another poke in the belly.

  ‘I am not anyone’s dear,’ she snapped.

  I’m a pretty easy-going chap, my mother tells me, like when she wants something done, but I was not going to allow that spitfire ghostling talk like that to my good friend. ‘Whoa there, kid,’ I said with the lowest growl I could muster. ‘Mister Lewis is a gentleman, so you watch your mouth.’

  The deadly silence and the shocked, terrified faces made me wish I’d kept my tongue inside my mouth.

  The spitfire looked at me and I waited for boxed ears or a well-appointed kick. ‘All right,’ she said, holding out her hand to a s
tunned Mister Lewis. ‘I am Tara.’

  Everyone let out a breath. Then Tara made her sisters pick up the debris of squashed cakes. I could see that Shane wanted to hold on to them, but even he wouldn’t dare cross Tara. Just before they left through the broken door, Eulalia turned back and gave us the most evil glare, like a witch chewing a sour lemon.

  ‘Well, that went very well,’ said Mister Lewis when we were on our own again, pushing chairs and cardboard against the broken door to keep out the draught.

  The candles were sputtering as me and Shane snuggled under a quilt that Mister Lewis had given us. He said he didn’t need it because wind went through him anyway. He was just happy to talk to his scared bees, calming them down.

  ‘Mister Lewis is right, Milo. That all went very well,’ whispered Shane, tucking his mouth organ under his cushion.

  ‘I hope so,’ I muttered as the last of the candles gave up, the cheap torch batteries died and darkness fell. Most of all, I hoped that the women wouldn’t come back through the broken door for their revenge. I wished I could be like Shane, who would probably sleep like a baby even if aliens were to sweep down from space and zap him up to an icy cold planet.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A GARDA VISIT

  We got up late in the morning. Mister Lewis offered us some honey, but we declined now that we’d seen up close how the bees make it. Anyway, we had to get to school.

  We tip-toed past the ghostly sisters’ door, and nobody jumped out at us. They’d probably been out spooking all night.

  It felt so good to be out in the morning sun and to breathe in the fresh air that went all the way down to the bottom of our lungs. Even going to school felt good, though we hadn’t done our homework, and we were late because there hadn’t been anyone to waken us. Across the field we could see that the horses were back on their own territory. Shane wanted to count them to make sure they were all there, but that would have taken ages. When we came towards the school gate, there was a Garda car outside.

  ‘Oh, oh,’ muttered Shane. ‘Are we in trouble, Milo?’

  ‘I hope my dad isn’t there,’ I groaned.

  Hope wasn’t listening to me just then because Dad was there, standing beside Mrs Riley, the school principal, interrogating Wedge and Crunch in the empty schoolyard. We nipped over the wall to hide in the bicycle shed.

  ‘We didn’t do it,’ Wedge was protesting. ‘We never went near those horses.’

  ‘Yeah, we were there, but we did nothing,’ Crunch protested.

  ‘There were raggy people throwing stones at us from the bushes,’ put in Wedge. ‘I bet they were the ones who stole our sword. We paid two euro for that, didn’t we, Crunch? They’d be the ones you should be looking for. And our pirate flag is missing too.’

  ‘Hold it there, lads! You were seen running from the field,’ said Dad.

  ‘That’s because we were scared,’ Crunch whinged.

  ‘Scared of what?’ asked Mrs Riley, her anger making her moustache wobble.

  ‘Of the ghost—’ Crunch began, until Wedge nudged him in the ribs.

  ‘A ghost and raggy people?’ Dad said with a laugh. ‘Now I’ve heard everything. And, by the way, you were also seen fishing from Mister Looney’s old boat and now it’s missing. Come on, you two. You have a lot of explaining to do.’

  ‘NO! Hang on a sec, Dad!’ I shouted, running from the shed.

  ‘Milo?’ Dad looked at me. ‘What’s all this …?’

  ‘They didn’t do it, Dad.’

  ‘And how do you know this, son?’

  I knew by Dad’s face he was thinking that Wedge and Crunch had some sort of hold over me and Shane. Which I suppose they had, but I couldn’t see them taking the flak for something they didn’t do.

  ‘Well, they were fishing in an old boat in the river,’ I said.

  ‘That’s right,’ added Shane, having got over his amazement of me taking sides with two thugs.

  ‘Then they went home,’ I said. ‘The boat was there after they left. Shane and me hung around there for a good while, Dad,’ I went on. ‘We saw them later going to the cinema.’

  ‘That’s the honest truth, Guard,’ said Crunch. ‘My ma would’ve clobbered me if I was home late.’

  Dad looked at me again. ‘Are you sure about this, Milo?’

  ‘It’s true, Dad. I’d be the first to tell you if they messed with the horses, and why would they take the boat away from where they fish?’

  ‘Fair enough, son,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Right, you boys,’ sighed Mrs Riley, looking slightly miffed that she wasn’t getting rid of Wedge and Crunch after all. ‘Back to your classes.’

  ‘What has made you two late for school?’ Dad asked as he got into the Garda car.

  I struggled to come up with an answer, but it was Dad who provided one. ‘I bet it was because Big Ella cooked up a big breakfast for you after your sleepover and you were dawdling along to school.’ He laughed as he switched on the ignition.

  ‘Whew, that was close,’ I sighed as Dad drove away.

  There was a man talking to the class when we went in. He stopped speaking and everyone turned to look at us.

  ‘You’re late, you two,’ said Miss Lee. ‘Sit down and listen to Mister Sullivan. He is the new football coach while Mister Dunne is away.’

  I groaned and rested my head on my arms.

  ‘Oh shoot,’ Shane whispered to me. ‘If I’d known there was to be more bloomin’ football, I’d have stayed with the hags in the mill.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  STARS OF THE FUTURE

  We didn’t see Mister Lewis during the next two days because our class had football training in the yard after school. Shane told Miss Lee that he had ‘a wicked bad muscle on his left leg’. And then he sat back and gave me a smarmy grin. Why hadn’t I thought of that? He parked himself on the school wall while the rest of us were marched out to the yard for the first bit of training. How he gloated at me as we were made to do all the boring exercises like running up and down like a herd of donkeys and doing those up-and-down squats that make your legs scream. The more pained my face was, the more Shane’s belly shook with laughter whenever I glanced his way.

  ‘OK, lads,’ said Mister Sullivan finally as he clapped his hands. ‘That’s good going for your first day. Tomorrow you’ll work with footballs. Be sure to bring your soccer gear.’

  ‘Ha!’ Shane laughed when we were walking home from school, and my legs were totally screaming with pain. ‘Poor Milo. Why didn’t you say you had a sore leg – oh no!’ He patted my shoulder. ‘I’d already picked that one. Tough luck. Never mind,’ he went on, ‘I’ll always be there to cheer you on and buy you a soothing ice-cream on the way home.’

  His words went right up my nose and, in spite of my aching muscles, I chased after him. When he turned around to taunt me, he almost ran into Miss Lee coming out of the bookshop.

  ‘Ah, Shane,’ she said, holding his shoulder. ‘How is that “wicked” leg?’

  ‘Very s-s-sore, Miss,’ he stuttered.

  ‘You poor thing,’ Miss Lee tut-tutted. ‘Which leg is giving you such pain?’

  Shane looked down at his legs, trying to figure out the ‘sore’ one. Even I remembered it was the left, but Shane is the type who says things and then forgets what he said. Just like now.

  ‘This one, Miss,’ he said, doing a big limp on his right leg. ‘Or maybe it’s the other one,’ he went on when he saw me shaking my head.

  ‘Ah, so the bad leg is better then,’ Miss Lee smiled.

  ‘No, eh, yes,’ Shane continued, making a right ass of himself.

  ‘A miracle, Shane.’ Miss Lee laughed.

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ Shane muttered, still looking at his legs as if he’d never seen them before.

  ‘Well, isn’t that wonderful!’ Miss Lee continued. ‘Now you’ll be able to play football with the rest of the class tomorrow.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BIG ELLA’S PLA
N

  A few days later, when we went as usual to Shane’s house after school, we were delighted to see Mister Lewis sitting on the sofa with his gloved hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate.

  ‘What’s up, Mister Lewis?’ asked Shane, straight to the point as usual. ‘Your mouth is hanging down. Is it those women, huh? They still bothering you?’

  ‘What women?’ asked Big Ella, coming through from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches.

  Oops! There was a silence.

  ‘Eh,’ began Mister Lewis.

  ‘Em,’ I muttered.

  ‘A bad lot of crones who are bothering Mister Lewis,’ said Shane, even though we weren’t supposed to mention Mister Lewis’s screechy neighbours.

  ‘Go on,’ said Big Ella, setting down the teapot. ‘Do tell.’

  Well, when Big Ella says ‘do something’, you do it. So bit by bit we told her about the women who had Mister Lewis in a knot of fear and were probably the raggy people who threw stones at Wedge and Crunch. As we were speaking, Big Ella glanced sympathetically at Mister Lewis as he sank lower and lower in his chair.

  ‘Well, I’m glad I asked,’ she said when we had told her everything, including how the women ate all her snacks and cakes because they hadn’t eaten decent food for four hundred years.

  ‘My cakes?’ she bellowed. ‘The cheek! Tell me what they look like, these mischief-makers?’

  ‘They wear pirate hats,’ said Shane.

  ‘Filthy clothes,’ I added.

  ‘They look scary,’ said Mister Lewis with a shiver.

  ‘Right,’ said Big Ella. ‘At the weekend we’ll go and put those madams in their place.’

  ‘NO, Gran!’ Shane spluttered through his biscuit. ‘They’re horrible. They’ll scare you to death and I’ll have to live here by myself and become a lonely old geezer like Mister Lewis!’