At the end of my search, I’m pretty much back to the monkey bars and I’ve found nothing except a good stick. I thrash at some pampas grass a couple of times, then a few times more, moving from one stand of grass to the next as if they’re Romans and I’m a lone Celt, cut off from my tribe, lost in enemy territory, surrounded…
“Are you ready, bud? Haven’t you got homework?” Grandpa’s standing up, waving and hollering from the bench. He gestures toward the car. I take a final thwack at a bush, wondering how I’m ever going to find the Celt again.
Grandpa laughs as we climb in. “You always were the only two-year old who could find a stick in a shopping mall, Mikey Boy. Drove your mother wild. Heh, heh.”
Back at home I get on with my math homework at the kitchen table. Grandpa, sitting next to me, slurps from his commuter cup as he flicks through the pages of his American Legion magazine.
My homework’s not too hard, which is lucky because I can’t stop thinking about my Celt. I have the most amazing project in the history of fourth grade Veterans Day projects, and it’s just out of my reach.
I look back at my math and get the first few problems done right away. Even the harder ones don’t worry me too much, although I have to reread my answers and cross out a couple of mistakes.
If I were the hero in a book, the Celt would be looking for me because I owned a special amulet, handed down to me by Grandpa, or because I’d bought a sword in a thrift shop that belonged to the Celt, and he wouldn’t rest until he got it back. But I don’t have an amulet or a sword. The only thing I can be sure of is that the Celt does seem to show up in our neighborhood, but we can’t tell when. My best plan is to keep checking on the laundromat and spending as much time as possible in the parks and out on the street, just like today. Then, if I have no luck, I’ll try looking again at night when the fog moves in. That’s what I’m going to do; look at night again, even if I am on my own. It’s a lame plan, but I feel better for making it. It’s the best I can do without Mom, Grandpa, and, just for the moment, Kyler, finding out.
I’m already on the last two math problems. Once Mom goes to work, I’ll be free to start on “Operation Getaceltorix Solo.” That’s what I’m going to call this next phase.
Mom comes into the kitchen and stares into the fridge. She isn’t in her uniform yet. “Aren’t I the lucky one?” she says. “I swapped my shifts this week so Yasmin can go on vacation. I’ve got three evenings of staying home with my family, and I have Halloween off, too. There’s nothing in the fridge so…how about a movie? Right now! I’ll make popcorn. Order in pizza. We’ll have ice cream. The whole deal.”
“What?” I press so hard on my pencil, the lead snaps. This is a disaster.
Mom closes the fridge, pours herself a coffee, and says, “Maybe we could be really wicked and have three movie nights in a row. We could choose a movie each. Grandpa tonight, Mikey tomorrow, and me on Wednesday. As long as Mikey gets his homework done first. What do you say, boys?”
I’m cursed. This week, of all weeks, Mom gets to stay home. Even worse, this week, of all weeks, she decides to be fun.
“If you want to,” I say, “but I was planning on playing outside for a bit.”
“But it’s freezing,” Mom says.
“I know, but I want to play soccer.”
“Kyler’s at his violin lesson until six.”
“I was going to use the garage door.”
“I thought you’d like the idea,” Mom says. “Dad, what do you think?”
“As long as there’s food and a can of beer, you can count me in,” Grandpa says.
He’s only joking, but Mom gets snippy. “Could you just quit with the beer and settle for some quality time with me and Mikey?”
Grandpa shrugs.
“Does that mean you’ll be out all next week?” I ask.
Mom slams her coffee mug onto the counter. “Well, if you both feel that way, let’s just forget it.”
“Yes…I mean no,” Grandpa says. “It’s a great idea.” He nudges me. “Isn’t it, Mikey?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“As it happens I’ve got The Dirty Dozen, The Great Escape, and Gladiator from the library. Like the sound of any of those?”
“Yeah!” I pump my fist.
“Well…” Mom hesitates.
“Bridge on the River Kwai?” Grandpa says.
“Platoon?” I say.
“Apocalypse Now?” Grandpa sniggers.
Mom’s eyes are as round as cannonballs. “Can’t you two pick anything that doesn’t have war…” then she catches the expression on our faces. Grandpa and I can’t even look at each other without falling apart. “Oh you two!” She’s laughing now. “Very funny. But you want to watch a movie? Really?” Her face lights up. I can’t say anything but yes. Oh man, this is so not the night for Mom to want to hang out.
We end up watching Toy Story 3, which no one really wants to see, but it’s the only thing we all vaguely agree on. Forty minutes into it, Grandpa’s head flips back like a Pez candy container. His mouth hangs open, and he starts to snore. Mom keeps telling me which toys she remembers from when she was young, which she does every time we watch this movie. Every few minutes I catch myself staring out the window, because I’ve seen a movement in the street, or heard someone clomping down the sidewalk.
Miss O’Brien said that the Veterans Day project wasn’t a competition, but she doesn’t know Ryan O’Driscoll like I do. He loves to win. He’ll play hard against even the smallest kid in foursquare to make sure he does. It’s obvious he’s been spying on Kyler and me. I bet he’s out there, even now, looking for my Celt while I’m in here watching a bunch of worn-out talking toys. Something catches my eye. I’m sure it’s the Celt running past my house.
“Just going to get a drink.” I leap up so fast Mom practically bounces off the sofa. I close the living room door so she won’t hear me open the front one and stare out into the street. This would be perfect timing for my warrior, but there’s no red-headed man. There’s only some kid running up the sidewalk with a bag over his shoulder. A kid in long basketball shorts. Who the heck wears shorts when it’s this cold? I knew it. Ryan O’Driscoll is trying to steal my Celt!
“Mom,” I call, “I’m going out!”
“But Kyler’s on the phone,” Mom says in my ear. I nearly jump a mile. I didn’t know she was behind me. She holds out the receiver. “Something about a project? What are you looking outside for? Here, talk to him. I’ll put the movie on pause.”
“Kyler, bad timing, I just saw—”
“Hey, I don’t want you, dude. Your Mom didn’t understand. I was asking for your Grandpa. I’ve got to talk to him for our project.”
“Wow, thanks, good to talk to you, too, friend!” Actually it is good Kyler doesn’t want to talk. I nearly told him about Ryan trying to find the Celt before me. I’d have ended up blabbing about my interview. I’ll tell Kyler, of course, but not right now. “I’ll get him,” I say.
Mom is back on the sofa eating popcorn. “He wants to speak to Grandpa,” I tell her. “Should I wake him?”
Mom nods.
I shake Grandpa’s shoulder, and he splutters into life. “Enjoying the movie?” I ask.
“It probably needs a few more explosions to keep you awake, eh, Dad?” Mom says.
“What?” Grandpa’s still confused. “I was just resting my eyes.” He looks around and only then understands. “Explosions, did you say? Heh, heh. Now if this was a good war movie…” Mom giggles.
“It’s Kyler for you.” I hold out the phone. Then I have a brain wave. Kyler’s phone call is the perfect cover for me to get out of the house. As Grandpa takes the receiver, I say, “Hey, Mom. Look, I totally forgot we’re supposed to be doing this project. Mind if I go to Kyler’s house, just for an hour, so we can work on it together?”
“But what about our movie night?” she asks.
“I know,” I say. “I’m really bummed, but we have to write it up in class tomorrow. I forg
ot, and you know how bad I am at that stuff. Kyler’s said he’ll help me.”
“That’s nice of him. Thank goodness Kyler’s organized, Mikey. Did you write it down in your binder?”
“Yes,” I say, “but I forgot to read it.”
Mom sighs. “Well, of course, if you need to do homework, you’d better go. But be back in an hour, and take your phone.”
I sprint upstairs and grab a pen and a notebook from my desk. Not only will this look good for Mom but I’ll need it if I get to talk to the Celt.
“Back by seven forty-five,” Mom calls as I run to the front door, throwing on my jacket as I go.
“Sure!” I’m out of the house before she can change her mind.
I hope she doesn’t talk to Kyler on the phone, after Grandpa, because that’ll totally blow my cover. And if Grandpa says anything about me coming over, that’ll blow my cover as well. I hesitate, just for a moment. Then I keep running.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sun is getting low behind the houses across the street. It won’t be dark for a while yet, but it always gets cold fast around here when the sun goes down. The sidewalk already feels like a wind tunnel. I pull my jacket hood up as I head in the same direction as Ryan, toward the VA. I have no idea how I’m going to find the Celt, but I’ve got as much of a chance as Ryan does.
I cross the road at the end of the street and walk into the fringes of the grounds which surround the VA at the top of the hill. Mom wouldn’t like me being here by myself at night. I wander into the bushes, avoiding the broken bottles, go up to the ridge, and look down the other side. There’s some old guy sitting on a bench. Another is curled up in a dark green sleeping bag like a giant caterpillar, but there’s no Celt.
I go back to the road and look along the street. A bread truck rumbles into the delivery bay of the hospital. I step to one side as the old English lady with the tiny yappy dog walks past and says hello. Her dog sniffs my shoes. “Caesar!” she says, as she pulls the dog away. I sure hope she meant that name as a joke.
Five minutes later, and the Celt is still nowhere to be seen. I decide to check out Big Stick Park to see if anything’s happening there. I try to run all the way, but it’s too far so I end up walking some and then running some. All the while my brain is churning with the chant, “Come on Celt, let me find you.” When I finally reach the park, there are three sugar-rushed toddlers swarming around the swing set. The parents sit on a bench talking about tiring the kids out before bed, but it’s the adults who are yawning.
I search through the trees and bushes, but it’s obvious no one else is here. There’s some cardboard tucked away by the fence, like the cardboard beds back in the alley by the laundromat and at Ardee Park, but that doesn’t mean anything.
I leave the park and decide to check out the laundromat instead. On the way I have to pass Ryan’s house. I walk to the opposite side of the street and pull my hood over as far as I can to cover my face. His house sure is a mess. I’d hate to live in a place like that. I guess his dad isn’t around to fix it up, but why doesn’t his mom do something about it? She could pay someone, maybe, but then I remember Mom bursting into tears about three weeks after Dad left. She’d just gotten back from a really bad night shift, and the whole kitchen was flooded with water from the dishwasher. “That’s why you’ve got me here,” Grandpa told her, as we mopped up before breakfast. “That’s why you’ve got me.” Maybe Ryan’s mom hasn’t got anyone like Grandpa. Grandpa’s the best.
I feel stupid hanging out by the laundromat. I glance through the window at a young guy with earbuds playing air guitar, and an old lady doing a crossword puzzle. A black cat comes up and twines itself around my legs. A couple of cars go by. In a house opposite, some kid is practicing the trumpet. At least I hope it’s a kid, because if it’s a grown-up, they should have given up a long time ago! The other houses glimmer with the blue light of TVs.
I stare down the alley. There’s no fog, nothing but the steady stream of condensation from the dryer vents. If there’s nothing happening here, then I’m going back home before it gets really dark. The streetlights are flickering on now, and it’s already pretty gloomy down the alley. I take a few steps into it, but I’m too nervous. It was bad enough during the day, but at this time in the evening it looks a mile long, and it stinks as bad as the boys’ bathroom at school when the toilets get blocked.
I hear something rummaging in the boxes outside the corner store. I freeze. The Celt could be here, sure, but so could a stray dog. I’m already feeling nervous when the cat at my feet yowls and leaps into a pile of trash. There’s a scream, and I think I scream too, as a rat comes chasing out of the cardboard toward me, its yellow teeth bared. The cat is right behind and clamps its claws into the rat’s butt. The rat squeals, and the two creatures roll over hissing and spitting. That’s it. I’m out of here—at least that’s what I’m thinking when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
I know him instantly by the strange accent and the smell of beer. “I’ve been looking for you, Laeg.”
I can hardly get my words out. “Who?…Me?”
“Yes, you, Laeg, my friend.” He laughs, and that’s it. I’m face to face with the Celt, his big hand on my shoulder, his piercing blue eyes staring right into mine. He smiles, and I’m sure he looks like someone I know. Grandpa perhaps. The Celt has the same lopsided, sparkling smile as if he’s just about to tell a terrible joke that he knows he shouldn’t. Yes, just like Grandpa. And we’re face to face! Kyler said he was looking for me. He was right! I feel great. Just great. I am looking into the eyes of a real live Celt. My real live Celt. My friend.
“Now, come on!” he says.
Without even stopping to think whether this is stupid or not, I follow him back up the street as he yells, “Cuckooland!” at the top of his lungs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Where are you going?” I ask as I run alongside him. “Are you looking for the portal to the Otherworld? Can I help?”
“You want to join me? You can be my charioteer, Laeg. Ride with me in every battle. Be my protector until the end.”
“Oh, man!” He’s going to take me back to his time to be his charioteer, his friend. Of course I want to go. For a split second I hesitate. I see Mom crying on the phone to Dad. I see Grandpa rubbing his hand through his balding hair as he talks to his buds. I see Kyler staring out of his bedroom window knowing he’s missed out on the action. But this is a chance in a million. It will never happen again. “Yes,” I shout, and when the warrior laughs and cheers, I do the same. I laugh with him because he’s not like other men. He’s a Celt!
“The men are all asleep,” he says.
“Who?” I ask. “It’s only seven.”
“The other men,” he says.
I can’t work out what he’s saying. Have other Celts crossed over with him?
“They’re enchanted. She’s bewitched them. There’s only you and me to keep the whole of Queen Maeve’s army at bay.”
“There’s an army? A whole army’s crossed over?” My chest is ripped raw with fear. Kyler and I have kept the Otherworld wormhole a secret on purpose and now we’ve let a whole army into our time to ransack our town? My knees feel weak. Seeing my Celt guys in Romanii: Northern Borders is one thing, but having them here with their swords and their spears and their blood-lust is another. “What—” I stutter, but the Celt interrupts.
“Don’t worry. I’ll fight them off one by one if I have to. Single combat.”
“You will?” My words come out as a squeak.
“That’s my job, Laeg. That’s what I’m here for. My duty! My mission!”
“You’re on a mission?”
“Yes, here’s the first!” I swing around in panic as he darts at a sign standing outside the corner store. It’s in the shape of a giant soda can.
“And the warrior swung his massive sword over his head,” he cries, “and his muscles bulged and his face grew red with anger as he brought the sword ringing down onto the
shield of Maeve’s champion. The shield split like a tree stump under an axe, and the man’s arm was severed in two.”
“That’s Maeve’s champion?” I’m so relieved I could melt. He’s still fighting in realms I can’t see. There’s not a Celtic army, in the flesh, rampaging through the streets. Not that it wouldn’t be awesome, but our town isn’t ready for the return of full-scale slaughter and headhunting. “I thought we were looking for the portal to the Otherworld,” I shout as he swirls his “sword” around his head again. There’s such tension in his arm that I believe he might truly slice the sign in half even though there’s no actual sword in his hand.
I flinch. He never touches the sign. He just twirls on the spot and moves on. I look around, wondering what people will think if they see us, but the street’s almost empty. There’s just one couple kissing on the steps of a house. They aren’t looking anywhere except up each other’s noses.
The Celt doesn’t notice anything but whatever he’s seeing in the other dimension. If he were a ghost, I could understand this. They say ghosts walk the same street and buildings they knew when they were alive, even when those places don’t exist anymore. There’s a ghost Roman legion in York, England, that walks along the original Roman road. If you see them, you only see them from the knees upward because the original road they’re walking on is now buried underground. I saw a video online. It makes sense to me. But my Celt isn’t a ghost.
He runs ahead and I have to sprint to catch up. “Wait,” I gasp. I’ll have to get in shape if I’m going to be a warrior’s charioteer. I can’t help thinking maybe Kyler would have been a better choice. He’s much faster than I am. But then I get this incredible thrill that makes me grin wide as a jack-o’-lantern because the Celt has chosen me.
I push myself faster and catch up just as he reaches my street. He runs right past my house. I make sure my hood is up as I follow and pray that Mom is still watching the movie. At the top of our street, I wonder whether he’ll turn toward the VA, but he turns right not left.
The Lost Celt Page 10