It missed Markov by ten boat lengths but the wake knocked him about a bit and of course overturned the life ring.
The laptop and all its secrets joined all the other secrets at the bottom of Ireland’s holiest lake. Markov screamed in frustration just as the ferry touched the jetty on the mainland side.
“That’s a crying shame,” Killian said with a grin.
They piled into the Mercedes just as rain began to pour heavy and cold out of the low clouds.
He flipped on the windscreen wipers and the lights and drove onto the B127.
“I can’t believe we made it,” Rachel said.
Killian safetied the Heckler and Koch and passed it back to her. She put it in the Mercedes’ spacious glove compartment.
“And all without a single shot being fired,” he said with satisfaction.
At the junction of the B127 and the A34, he took the A34 road east.
“Where are you taking us?” Rachel asked, a furrow of suspicion forming between her eyebrows.
“Somewhere you’ll be safe,” he said.
She looked at him and she looked at the girls and then back at him. This is my whole universe and I’m giving it to you, she seemed to be saying.
“I give you my word,” Killian said. She looked into his slate-grey eyes, which told her that where he was from, this actually meant something.
“How are you doing back there, girls?” Killian asked.
“We’re doing okay,” Claire said bravely.
“Where are we going now?” Sue asked.
“Do youse like animals?” Killian wondered.
“What sort of animals?” Sue asked.
“Horses, goats, dogs, cats, chickens, donkeys,” Killian explained.
“I like horses,” Claire said.
“I like horses too,” Sue added.
“And I like horses,” Rachel echoed.
“Well then ladies, I think you’re really going to like this place,” Killian said.
chapter 15
after the equinox
KILLIAN KNEW ABOUT ISLANDMAGEE OF COURSE, BUT FOR SOME reason in his forty years walking the old sod he had never been there. It was an isolated part of Northern Ireland but they weren’t that far from the ferry port Larne or from Belfast, or indeed from Coulter’s main house in Knocknagulla.
The best that you could hope for was that Tom Eichel and Dick Coulter wouldn’t think of looking right under their noses.
The Pavee weren’t exactly in the business of concealing their movements either. It had only taken him two phone calls from a hotel lobby in Enniskillen to find out where the travelling clan had moved to now, although the last phone call had been entirely in Shelta, a language neither Coulter nor his agents would have any knowledge of.
Islandmagee was one of a dozen campsites in Ulster that the diminished band of the Cleary-McKentee Pavee shifted to when they had either exhausted the resources and patience of the locals in their last camp or when everyone just felt that it was time to move on to somewhere new. This was never done by a vote or a meeting, just a growing sense that the time was right to go.
Islandmagee, like the other places in the Pavee Dreaming, was a holy place: in Irish it was known as Oilean MhicAodha, Aodh being one of the many sea gods of the Ulaidh. It was a particularly resonant holy site, not unlike Newgrange or Tara or Emain Macha; in the Annals of the Four Masters it was recorded that Neimhid of the Long Arm led the very first colony into Ireland through Islandmagee in the year of the world 2859, founding a settlement there called Rath Cimbaeitchn Seimhne.
In popular mythology too Islandmagee was a haven for the ancient peoples and the Wee People and it also had a reputation for witchcraft – in 1711 a local woman was pilloried in the last such witch trial in Irish history. You could see why the Pavee would be attracted to such a place and when a sympathetic farmer had let them camp on his land at Brown’s Bay in the northern part of the peninsula, it had become a new stop on their travelling route.
Killian hadn’t been to this particular part of the Pavee sacred way, but as a boy he had spent much of his time on the road, mostly in the South of Ireland and England. Indeed he always remembered with a shudder the two unpleasant years in the early eighties when he and his clan family had been forced to live on a bombsite in north Belfast, as a way of making sure the children went to a local school and the adults claimed unemployment benefit from only one dole office.
Of course none of the children ever had gone to a school and the adults still claimed dole from two or three offices, and finally after a couple of sectarian/racist attacks that got mentioned in the English newspapers the government had relented, offering those Pavee who wanted council houses a place at the top of the list and those who wanted to move on in their caravans a chance to move on.
Neither option had appealed to Killian, who had by then reached his seventeenth birthday and who went first to London and then New York to offer his expert car thieving and chop-shop skills to people who would appreciate them.
But over the years, more and more of the Pavee had taken the offer of council homes and as the older population died the number of travellers who actually travelled shrank.
Of the 15,000 Pavee in Ireland, perhaps only two or three thousand nowadays were truly nomadic.
Killian had no idea what to expect when he arrived at Brown’s Bay. Would there be five caravans or fifty? Would there be young people or just oldsters? Would anyone remember him? Would they welcome him or turn him away? Would she be there? Or had she long since moved to England or America?
The drive from Fermanagh to the coast of County Antrim had taken all day and as they arrived the sun was setting on the vernal equinox which marked the beginning of the quarterly horse fair.
Killian had forgotten about that.
But he had promised horses and although in the old days you might have seen hundreds, now that meant, at the very least, a few dozen, which was more than enough to excite both girls as they pulled up the B560 and parked in the large car park at Brown’s Bay.
There were hunters and ponies aplenty in muddy fields and the auction ring and some even on the beach where they were getting a free fetlock bath in the surf. The actual horse auction was only one part of the fair, there was also a chip van, an ice-cream van, a couple of stalls selling handicrafts, a fortune teller and a mini carousel for the kids.
The traveller settlement itself was a line of small white caravans facing the beach. Fourteen caravans, he counted, which was a couple fewer than he’d been expecting.
Killian drove through the car park and parked the Mercedes in the field where the Pavee camp was located.
“Are we here? Is this it?” Rachel asked.
“This is it,” he said.
He got out of the Merc, opened the back door, and gave Claire and Sue two more pound coins each.
He looked at Rachel.
“Okay for them to get an ice cream each?” he asked.
“I don’t see why not,” she said.
“Can we go see the horses?” Claire asked excitedly.
“Yes, but be careful of them and don’t touch them and stay where I can see you,” Rachel said.
“Okay,” Claire said.
“Keep an eye on your sister, and stay where I can keep a direct eye on you,” Rachel emphasised.
The girls ran off.
Rachel turned to Killian. “What is all this?” she asked with a little smile on her face.
“A horse fair.”
“I can see that, I mean, where are we? What are we doing here?”
“We’re on Islandmagee. We’re among my people. I’m going to see if we can stay for a few days. We’ll be safe here,” he said.
“Oh,” she said and nodded absently.
“We’ll be safe here,” Killian said again.
“Yes,” she said.
Her eyes were red, distant.
“Are you okay? Are you hungry?”
On the journey they had only stopped once at a K
entucky Fried Chicken and Rachel had eaten nothing.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Look, it’s been a traumatic day for all of us, we need food and rest. You should try and eat something.”
Rachel nodded. “I could do with a cup of tea,” she said.
“That’s the spirit,” Killian said. “Now, I’m going to see if there’s a spare caravan where we can stay.”
Rachel nodded. “I’ll go down to the beach. I’ll keep an eye on the girls from down there,” she said.
“Okay.”
She walked over the field and onto the Brown’s Bay beach. It was a nice beach, sandy and long and protected from the swells on two sides by the headlands.
She took off her shoes and rolled up her jeans and let the water coat her toes.
Killian grinned. He was right about her. Search for her near the sea, boys, that’s where she’s happiest.
Rachel looked back at Killian and smiled at him.
She was grateful that he had done this. That he had taken over. She was so tired of all it.
She needed someone to confide in. Someone who would carry her burden for a while. Killian seemed to be that man.
They had a built a small bonfire on the beach and were burning driftwood and kelp. It smelt good and she walked over to it to keep herself warm and to be nearer the girls who were in the queue at the icecream van.
The sun had set over the Antrim hills and the sky had turned scarlet and persimmon. Scotland was already in silhouette and she could see the many lighthouses that ran along the Ayrshire coast and each of the glens along the Antrim coast was a different colour.
Blue. Indigo. Violet. Green.
And the water between the kingdoms glass. A silver grey cistern on which no ships moved.
Rachel looked at the sky and spaces between the stars – into that deep forever – and cried with relief.
She let the tears flow and flow and went over to the girls and joined them in the queue.
“What do you want, love?” the ice-cream man asked.
“What you recommend for these two?” she said.
“Ach, there’s only one thing. A 99 with chocolate sprinkles,” the icecream man said with finality.
“Okay, three of those.”
She watched him make it.
Soft-serve ice cream in a cone with a Cadbury’s chocolate flake shoved down the middle and then the ice cream dipped in chocolate sprinkles.
All three of them walked to the beach. A man with a donkey appeared beside them and asked Claire if she wanted a “toty wee ride on it”. Claire stared at her mum with a guilt-inducing tremble in her lower lip.
“Can I, Mum?” Claire asked.
“Ach, she’s a quare aul girl, easy with the bairns,” the man said, patting the donkey on the forehead.
“Okay,” Rachel said.
“And me next,” Sue demanded.
“Sure,” Rachel agreed.
Killian walked along the line of caravans, negotiating his way among stray dogs and cats and even chickens who you would have thought would have been in their run by this time of the evening.
There were kids running around and although most of the men would be having a barney over at the horse auction, Killian knew that he was being watched by several pairs of adult eyes from behind net curtains.
Five hundred years of prejudice had taught the Pavee to be on their guard against strangers.
He walked to the first caravan and knocked on the door.
A girl of about twelve answered it. She was dirty and holding a screwdriver in one hand and the air-intake of a motorcycle in the other.
“Hello,” Killian said.
“Hi,” the wean replied.
“What’s that, a two-stroke?”
“Look, I’m busy, what do you want ya big yin?” the girl demanded in a Glasgow accent so broad that it would have made Colonel Pickering think twice about a wager with Professor Higgins.
“I’m looking for the camp boss,” Killian said.
“That would be me,” a voice said behind Killian.
He turned.
A young man wearing a green trench coat covered with badges and wild flowers. Underneath he had on a navy blue jumper, brown corduroy trousers, combat boots and a long striped scarf. He was pale-skinned with unruly black hair and a pointed beard. He was about twenty-four or twenty-five which would be about right.
“Who are you?” Killian asked in Shelta.
“I’m Donal. I’m the clan chief,” Donal replied in the same tongue.
“You’re the king?” Killian wondered.
“We don’t use that terminology anymore,” Donal said.
“Okay. What happened to Dokey McConnell?”
“Dokey’s been dead three years now, and the chief before me was topped down on Muck Island a while back. It was an incident. Made the TV. You may have heard about it.”
Killian hadn’t heard about it, but it didn’t surprise him. Travellers died early and usually in violent ways.
“Now, friend. Who are you?” Donal asked.
“I am Aidh Mac an tSaoi of the Light Hands of the Clan of the North,” Killian said.
Donal stroked his beard and nodded. “Aye, I know ya. Or of ya. You’ll be wanting Katie then?”
“She’s here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll talk to her presently, no doubt, but I wanted to ask you for your help.”
Donal’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of help?”
“I’ve got a woman with me and two kids; we’re on the run from the peelers, we need a place to stay for a few days.”
Donal didn’t hesitate. “You can stay in my rig, I’ll bunk with Dovey Carmichael.”
“It’s only for a few days, mind, until we get things figured out.”
Donal laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Stay a year and a day if you like. You need money?”
Killian shook his head.
“Third one in, give me fifteen minutes to move my stuff. Weans ya say? Boys, girls, both?”
“Two girls, Seven and five.”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes. It’s that bluey white one over there.”
“I’m really grateful,” Killian said, touched by the easy hospitality of this world that he had left so long ago.
“Nay worries mate. If you need any grub, Granny Sheila just made some stew, it’s wild good, fresh lamb, if you know what I’m saying, two down there on the right. It’ll set you up powerfully. Girls was it, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, gimme ten minutes.”
Donal offered his hand. Killian shook it.
“I had a feeling someone or something was going to turn up today,” Donal said. Like all Pavee Donal reckoned that he was in touch with invisible forces whose power, alas, never somehow extended to racecourses or the dog track.
“Where’s Katie’s house?” Killian asked.
“The very end, with the best view of the bay,” Donal said with a wink.
“I’ll say hello while I’m waiting,” Killian muttered, oddly embarrassed.
“Do that. She’s got Tommy but she’s still a bit lonely now that all the weans have flied the coop. I’ll get this caravan sorted for you.”
Donal went into his caravan and turned on the light.
Killian walked along the caravans and trailers until he reached the last one. It was a standard Ace Ambassador from about 1989. The aluminum had buckled and the paint was chipping. It had seen better days.
He hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” a voice asked.
“An old friend,” Killian said.
There was a significant pause and the sound of a glass clinking before the door opened.
Her hair was long and brown with only a few streaks of grey. Her face was sunburned and her lips thin. She was skinny. Too skinny, but her eyes were clear and she was still very beautiful. You wouldn’t have thought that she’d had six kids. Six that he knew about it.
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She looked at him. Shook her head. Smiled.
They hadn’t seen each other in a dozen years. More.
“You want a drink?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said.
He ducked his head and followed her inside the caravan and sat down on a wicker chair. The inside was better than the out. The foam furniture had been reupholstered in leather and the stove and mini fridge looked new.
And the view indeed was spectacular.
All of Brown’s Bay, the glens of Antrim, Scotland.
Katie handed him a glass of clear liquid.
“Thank you,” he said and sniffed it.
There was no smell.
“It’ll have to be a quick one. Tommy is wild jealous.”
“Who’s Tommy?”
“You know Tommy Trainer? Betty Trainer’s boy?”
Killian shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“He’s a bit, shall we say, boisterous, you know what those Trainers are like, they hung his great granda during the war.”
Killian shook his head. “I don’t remember them. Is he a bother? Does he hit you?”
“Ach, he’s just a boy. I can handle him, but he might do something stupid if he barged in here and then he found out about you and me. He might want to give you a going over.”
“You think he could?” Killian asked with a twinkle.
“You’re no spring chicken,” Katie said and laughed.
“I’m only forty,” Killian protested and took a sip of the poteen.
It was a pleasant little moonshine as moonshine went, but still it wasn’t made for sipping. He knocked it back and it burned his throat.
“So how are you?” Killian asked.
“I can’t complain. The kids are all in one piece.”
Killian smiled. “Six of them, I heard.”
She nodded. “Three boys, three girls, perfect eh?”
“Perfect,” Killian agreed.
“Let me fill that wee mug.”
She poured him another healthy measure from an old Smirnoff Vodka bottle and he swirled the poteen around in his glass.
“So what are you doing here?” Katie said.
“I’m in a spot of bother,” Killian replied.
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