December

by Gabrielle Lord

  I closed my eyes and thought of the life I wanted to have—the normal life with Mum, Gabbi, Rafe and my twin. The life I imagined was about to be irrevocably lost.

  A rapid change in the energy of the crowds suddenly washed over us. The line-up of police and security guards at the fingerprinting station ahead abruptly dismantled. Officers stood up from their posts and rushed over to a TV screen. Others nearby reached for their walkie-talkies.

  What was happening?

  My heart was thumping in my throat as my eyes darted around again, trying to make sense of the commotion. Had they locked onto me through the surveillance cameras? Was a riot squad about to tackle me down?

  Where could I hide? Where could I go? I was trapped!

  I spun around. The whole airport erupted into chaos. Travellers were dropping their bags and rushing to catch a glimpse of the airport TV screens, talking and gesturing excitedly to each other.

  What was happening?

  ‘Look!’ cried Winter, pointing to a smaller screen in the quarantine area.

  The four of us squinted up at the screen. It was a news report. A breaking news banner ran beneath the newsreader.

  ‘Teen fugitive, Callum Ormond,’ I read, ‘leads police on wild chase. Police Commissioner calls for calm.’

  Winter grabbed my arm.

  ‘We interrupt this broadcast for breaking news,’ the newsreader announced. I strained my ears to hear her words over the hubbub around me. ‘We’re going live to our on-the-scene reporter. Tell us, Anton, we’ve had reports that Callum Ormond has been located and is leading police on a car chase? Where is he and what is happening as we speak?’

  ‘It’s a baffling scene here, Julia. It appears that shortly after two o’clock this afternoon, wanted fugitive, Callum Ormond, rammed a car into the doors of the city police headquarters. He then jumped out and fled on foot, and was captured just moments ago outside Town Hall. The entire incident was caught on closed-circuit TV and police have confirmed that they have arrested Ormond and that he has been taken into custody.’

  What?

  Boges, Winter and Sharkey stood rooted beside me, staring at the screen.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ hissed Boges. ‘They’ve arrested Callum Ormond? But—’

  ‘Ryan!’ I softly cried, with unspeakable relief. ‘Ryan must be behind this! He knew I was flying out today! He’s done this to make sure I get out of the country!’

  Overhead, we could hear the helicopters that were hovering near the airport move away, towards the city.

  The officer who had called us over earlier waved us on hurriedly. ‘We’d better make our move right now,’ said Sharkey, confidence returning to his eyes.

  He beamed as he led us towards the distracted customs counter. He knew we were safe. No-one would be looking for me now.

  We’d made it. The four of us slumped into the stiff chairs of the boarding lounge, exhausted, drained, relieved. We’d be on the plane within minutes.

  I pulled out my phone, preparing to switch it off, when I noticed an unread message sitting in my inbox from about an hour ago.

  cal, it’s ryan. i’m about to do something pretty crazy … i really hope it helps u make it through the airport & onto that plane. who knows, it may even force our mother into seeing me. hopefully the cops believe me when i tell them it’s just an innocent driving lesson gone wrong! safe trip, bro! see u when u get back!

  8 days to go…

  The freezing-cold air of Christmas Eve was a shock, even though we’d anticipated it. We hailed a taxi to take us to our small hotel in Temple Bar, in the south-west of Dublin. Christmas lights lined the riverside quays and the driver commented on several points of interest, including the Liffey River, the Abbey Theatre and the blue lights of the Garda—police—Station. We were too exhausted to take much notice, although it was good to know that the Garda wouldn’t be looking out for Psycho Kid.

  At the hotel, we all checked in under our fake names. Boges and I were sharing a room, while Winter had a tiny attic room above us. She could barely turn around in there, but was more than happy with it. Sharkey’s room was just across the corridor from us. Other Sharkeys from all over the world had also arrived in Ireland for their huge Christmas reunion. Their celebrations were starting tomorrow, at a place called Roscommon, so Nelson was only staying one night. In the morning he would be heading off, then meeting up with us again after a few days.

  After we’d settled in, Boges and I called Dr Theophilus Brinsley, the Keeper of Rare Books, to let him know we’d arrived.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Christmas Day,’ he said. ‘How about we meet on Boxing Day? The library will be quiet, because of the holiday. Meet me outside on the stairs at ten o’clock.’

  ‘Perfect. See you soon. Oh, and merry Christmas,’ I added, before hanging up.

  I looked over to Boges. He’d already collapsed back into his bed, softly snoring. I wanted to do exactly that too—sleep. On a bed. A bed. With sheets and a pillow and a clean pillowcase. For the first time in almost a year, I felt safe enough to sleep soundly.

  Before I drifted off, I pictured my dad. I shoved all of my recent suspicions and uncertainties out of my mind and visualised him as I remembered him on the day he left for Ireland. Being here, I was feeling closer to him than ever. Soon I would go to Clonmel Way Guest House and retrace his last known steps.

  7 days to go…

  The breakfast room was festooned with coloured lights, and two wooden reindeer stood by the entrance—their antlers decorated with shiny baubles hanging on golden threads. We were the only people in there.

  Sharkey had shared a quick cup of coffee with us before leaving to go and meet his relatives for lunch. He’d looked a bit unsettled, and I guessed it was because he was missing his kids. Boges, too, was looking a bit down. He’d called his mum and gran earlier, but had never been happy about leaving them alone at Christmas.

  ‘As soon as we get back home, we’ll have to have our own Christmas lunch together. With lots of presents and a big roast with lots of potatoes,’ I said, wishfully.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ said Winter.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Boges, ‘especially for the feed.’

  Past Christmases with Mum and Dad had always made me and Gab think about how lucky we were. I knew Gabbi would be missing me today, but I wondered how my mum felt and whether she’d met Ryan—her lost son—yet. Then I looked at this amazing girl across from me now, Winter, who’d lost so much and yet had such fierce determination to recover what was rightfully hers, while also helping me recover what was rightfully mine. I then turned to Boges, my loyal mate and ally. He was as solid as a rock.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Winter, picking up a small white envelope from the table, left where Sharkey had been sitting.

  ‘Open it,’ I urged.

  Winter carefully eased it open and out slipped a small plastic sleeve, the size of a credit card. Inside was a flat-pressed four-leaf clover.

  ‘How sweet,’ exclaimed Winter, holding it up for us to see. ‘He must have been too shy to just give it to us, so he left it behind. I hope it really is lucky!’

  ‘That’s cool,’ said Boges, examining it closely.

  I looked down at the clover Sharkey had left behind. He was doing for us what I was sure he wished he could do for his own kids. Maybe I could somehow help him reunite with them, once we were back home.

  We’d decided to check out the location of tomorrow’s meeting with the Keeper of Rare Books, so we rugged up and headed out into a bleak Christmas morning. We strolled along the cobbled streets, past pubs and convenience stores, following the map the hotel owner had given us for Trinity College.

  Winter walked briskly beside me, wearing a long white coat and a red woollen scarf tied around her neck. The green beret sat crookedly on her head and she tugged on it to straighten it. Boges and I were both wearing long, black woollen trench coats and beanies.

  Being in Ireland, so far away from home, had definitely made me
relax more than usual, but I was still very aware that Sheldrake Rathbone could be anywhere.

  Church bells chimed as we walked through the quiet streets and through the huge Trinity College gateway. On the other side was an almost deserted quadrangle dominated by a bell tower in the middle of the large open square, surrounded by grand buildings. Only a few people, heads buried in their collars against the cold air, crossed the pathways through the perfect lawns. We paused at the bell tower and then followed the sign pointing towards the old library.

  Standing on the steps outside, shivering in the cold, we smiled at each other. It was finally happening after all these months. We’d made it to Ireland and we were almost ready to take the prize. By tomorrow afternoon we could have the last two lines of the Ormond Riddle, and maybe we’d even know the location of the ruins in the photos Dad had taken. We could be way ahead of Rathbone in just twenty-four hours.

  6 days to go…

  Dr Brinsley was a tall man with wispy white hair, a deeply furrowed brow and unusual half-moon glasses perched on his nose. He inspected the three of us over the top of his glasses with sharp, glittering eyes. We shook hands and his glance fell on the Celtic ring I wore.

  ‘Ah, it’s nice to see an old classic. The Carrick bend,’ he said, with a light Irish accent, pointing to the angular Celtic pattern woven in the silver band. ‘Sometimes also called the Carrick knot. It’s a popular design in the south-east of the country. So,’ he continued, ‘you’re the infamous young man who’s finally obtained the Ormond Riddle?’

  I nodded, not sure how to respond.

  ‘I must say, as much as I was hoping to meet you, I don’t think I ever really expected to see you here. It must have been exceptionally difficult to make it out of your country.’

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted.

  ‘So you have the Riddle, but not the last two lines, eh?’

  ‘You said you could help me with those,’ I reminded him as we followed him through some large double doors. I was really hoping I could trust this guy.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, turning and closing the double doors behind us. ‘Follow me, please.’

  He led us to the back offices of the library, crowded with shelves that stood far too close to each other, leaving only narrow passages between them. It reminded me of Repro’s old place. Once through this maze we came to another door which he unlocked and ushered us through.

  We were standing on a small landing with a railing around it, similar to the dress circle of a theatre, overlooking the main body of the library below. The gallery stretched away for hundreds of metres, completely crammed with brown, leather-clad books, sectioned into alcoves soaring up to the cathedral-like ceiling.

  ‘Wow,’ said Winter. ‘What a library! I’ve never seen anything like it, except in movies.’

  ‘Coolest library ever,’ exclaimed Boges, leaning over the railing beside me. ‘Look at all those ancient books! There must be millions in here!’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Dr Brinsley. ‘We house over two hundred thousand antiquarian volumes, and the Book of Kells is just over there, in the Treasury building.’

  I didn’t know what the ‘Book of Kells’ was, but it must have been important.

  ‘You have a treasure of your own,’ continued Brinsley, ‘which I am most anxious to see. Let’s take a look at it, shall we?’

  His eager eyes shone with greedy anticipation as he cleared some space on a nearby desk, piled high with ancient books and papers. The Keeper of Rare Books removed some boxes from a bench and an armchair, and gestured to us to sit down, before sitting behind the desk himself.

  What if Brinsley had been waiting for this moment—a moment to seize our ‘treasure’? Any moment now he could draw a weapon and turn on us.

  Or would Rathbone suddenly jump out from an alcove, demanding someone ring the Garda and waving extradition papers that would have me on the next flight back home to face arrest?

  I couldn’t tell if I was just being paranoid or cautious. With the stakes getting higher now the end was so near, I didn’t want to stuff up.

  My friends and I sat down and I carefully drew out the Ormond Riddle. I placed it on the Keeper’s desk, just in front of me, my fingers firmly holding it in place as he leaned over it, fervently.

  ‘Ah! Here it is at last! The Ormond Riddle,’ he breathed. ‘We all thought it had been lost forever. Can it be true?’ He snatched up a magnifying glass from a drawer and started scanning the medieval script.

  Finally he straightened up and his face was shining. His eyes looked watery with elation.

  ‘All my life, ever since I was a little boy and first heard about the Ormond Singularity, I’ve wished that I could find the truth. My grandfather first told me about it. He’d heard about the legend from his grandfather. He’d grown up in Kilkenny, where it was rumoured that the huge secret concerning the Ormond family was hidden in one of Black Tom’s castles.’

  ‘Kilkenny?’ I interrupted, thinking of Great-uncle Bartholomew’s property in Mount Helicon. ‘Kilkenny’ must have been an important place for him to name his home after it. I dug out one of Dad’s ruin photos. ‘Is this a castle in Kilkenny? One of Black Tom’s castles?’

  Boges and Winter, who’d been keeping pretty quiet, both shot me wary glares.

  Dr Brinsley took the photo from me, looked at it and shook his head. ‘That’s certainly not the famous Kilkenny Castle. Kilkenny Castle was saved from ruin, and is open to the public—you should visit it. But this,’ he said, examining the photo, ‘is unfamiliar to me. These sorts of ruins are all over Ireland. It could be anywhere.’

  Kilkenny Castle definitely sounded like something we should check out, but my shoulders slumped. Finding the location in the photos was going to be much harder than we’d anticipated. I wondered how we could find out whether it was one of Black Tom’s castles—one of the castles that could be hiding the secret of the Ormond Singularity.

  He peered closer at the picture, picking up the magnifying glass again. ‘What’s that figure there? Carved in the stones? That’s very unusual for the times.’

  I stared hard and tried to make it out. I could almost see a figure cut into the stones of an upper turret, but I couldn’t make out the detail. The angle of the photo made it almost impossible.

  Dr Brinsley straightened up, and handed the photo back to me. ‘My grandfather also said that the Ormond Singularity gives passage to unimaginable treasure and wealth,’ he said, as though he were recalling an ancient myth. ‘As to the treasure trove,’ he continued, ‘you know how these stories grow over the centuries. Who knows what it really means?’

  Unimaginable treasure and wealth. The phrase, so similar to my dad’s, repeated itself in my mind. No wonder everyone was after it. Was that the secret that was hidden?

  ‘Treasure?’ asked Boges. ‘Do you believe there’s some sort of buried treasure at one of Black Tom’s castles?’

  Dr Brinsley shrugged. ‘Possibly. But the Ormond Singularity runs out in a matter of days. On 31 December, at midnight, to be exact. I happen to know that because I’ve been working on old titles and legal documents awaiting repeal. We have to find places here to house them all.’

  I looked around at the already over-stuffed shelves, desks and floor, and understood his problem.

  ‘If something valuable—the treasure, so to speak—is found after that time,’ continued Dr Brinsley, ‘it will all revert to the Crown. Which, of course, is where it is rumoured to have originated.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘You’re saying that the Ormond Singularity began with the Crown? With Queen Elizabeth the First and the Ormond family?’ I asked him, careful not to let on how much we knew already.

  ‘It was something Queen Elizabeth granted to the Ormond family. Black Tom—the tenth Earl of Ormond—was her vice-regent here, protecting her interests against his Irish countrymen. He was the first Irishman to be given the Order of the Garter, and he wore it to bed every night.’

  ‘He wor
e it to bed?’

  ‘That is so.’

  Winter nudged me. ‘Sounds like a serious crush to me,’ she whispered.

  ‘But the Ormond Singularity is something much bigger than some decoration from the Queen,’ I said, thinking of the Ormond Jewel, ‘if you’re talking about something like hidden treasure, here in Ireland.’

  My brain started turning around at those words. Treasure … in Ireland. Suddenly something made sense.

  I turned to my friends. ‘Jennifer Smith said my dad had hurled a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island across the room, frustrated that no-one could understand what he was trying to say. He didn’t want to read the book, he was trying to tell us about treasure in Ireland!’

  ‘Your father knew something about this treasure trove?’ Brinsley asked, frowning. ‘What else did he tell you?’

  Immediately, I realised I’d said too much. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, trying to brush it off. ‘He was so sick at the time, he was probably just hallucinating.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Boges added, shaking his head. ‘Cal’s dad died from an unknown virus that really messed with his head. He didn’t know what he was saying.’

  I could see that Dr Brinsley suspected we knew a great deal more than we were letting on. He turned his attention back to the Riddle on his desk.

  ‘Sacrilege,’ he said, examining the clean cut across the bottom, ‘cutting off the last two lines.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘So you said you have information about the last two lines, and where they could be?’

  ‘First things first,’ he replied. ‘Do you also have the Ormond Jewel?’

  I felt Boges kick my ankle, hard.

  ‘It’s in a safe,’ said Winter quickly. ‘Maybe we could organise for you to have a look at it.’

  ‘May I ask how you came by it? My grandfather told me that there was once such a Jewel but that it had been lost generations ago. There had always been some connection between the Ormond Riddle and the Jewel, he believed. Although what it might have been, exactly, he did not know.’