by Alan Early
Miss Keegan turned and noticed Arthur’s boggled face watching the board. She opened her mouth to speak but the words that came out weren’t English. Arthur didn’t have to listen long to realise that she was speaking the strange foreign language he’d just heard in his dream.
He jumped off his chair in shock and fear, but became tangled in the strap of his backpack and fell to the floor. When Ash moved to help him up, speaking the same strange language, he recoiled from her. Will grabbed him by the forearm and helped him to his feet, also speaking in the dream dialogue.
Arthur snatched his arm away, ran for the door, through it and down the corridor. He didn’t stop running until he was halfway home and his lungs felt like they were about to burst. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, panting.
‘It’s a dream!’ he kept muttering to himself. ‘It’s a dream, it’s a dream! Just wake up!’
The pendant slipped out from under his shirt and dangled on its lace in front of his face. It was shimmering with a bright green light. He looked at it, pulled it off straight over his head and shoved it in his pocket. Then he ran the rest of the way home as quickly as he could.
The doorbell rang just after four o’clock. Arthur answered it to find Ash and Will standing there. Will held up Arthur’s backpack.
‘You forgot this,’ he said.
‘Thanks. Am I in trouble?’
‘Well, you could probably do with saying sorry to Miss Keegan.’
‘I’ll do that tomorrow. Come in.’
When Arthur had described everything that had happened in the classroom to them, he took the pendant out of his pocket and placed it on the kitchen table between them. It was still glowing faintly.
‘How is it doing that?’ Ash mused.
‘I don’t know,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s definitely making me see things, hallucinate. And I think it’s making me do things as well, like writing in those bizarre letters yesterday in the essay. On top of that, I had another strange dream a couple of weeks ago. I think they all may be linked somehow, but the pendant couldn’t have given me that weird dream because we hadn’t found it yet.’
‘What happened in it?’ asked Ash.
‘It felt strange, different somehow. You know when you’re in a dream, you’re always living it? Well, in this one it felt like I was watching. And I saw this crazy-looking guy and a snake. Only the snake grew huge. And those letters were there as well. They were called runes.’
‘But the pendant is still magic or something, right?’ added Will. ‘It’s probably the reason you heard us speak that language. And why you saw the letters change on the blackboard.’
‘It’s a translator,’ murmured Ash.
‘What?’
‘It’s a translator. Some kind of magical translator. If you see or hear something in English, it gets turned into this odd ancient language.’
‘Could be,’ agreed Arthur. Another light bulb lit up over his head. ‘But what would happen if you saw something in the ancient language?’
‘What are you getting at?’ said Will. But Arthur was already running upstairs. He came back down a moment later, carrying the pages of his failed essay.
As he smoothed them out on the table, he explained. ‘When I wrote these I was wearing the pendant. It translated them from English to this language but I didn’t realise it. So maybe …’
He tentatively put the pendant back around his neck. Instantly the glowing became more intense.
At first nothing happened. But then the strange patterns on the page started to dance like they’d done on the blackboard. They moved and shifted across the page until finally settling.
‘Anything?’ Will asked, looking anxiously at the essay. ‘What does it say?’
Arthur couldn’t take his eyes from the pages, from the message he couldn’t remember writing. A message he didn’t understand.
‘It says …’ he began, ‘it says the same thing over and over. The same three words. “Beware the Jormungand”.’ He looked at his friends, fear in all their eyes.
‘What’s a Jormungand?’ Ash said.
‘I’m not sure,’ Arthur replied, ‘but I’m really worried.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, because I think that might be what the crazy-looking guy called the giant snake thing in my dream, and if it is we’re in really big trouble.’
Chapter Ten
The next day Arthur got the bus to school early by himself. Rather than wearing the pendant, he took it with him in his pocket for safety’s sake. When he got to school, he waited outside their classroom, checking his watch nervously every few seconds. At this time of the morning, only the school caretaker strolled up and down the hall, sweeping and mopping the floor for the day ahead. Eventually, Miss Keegan rounded a corner and walked towards him.
‘Arthur?’ she said when she reached him. ‘You’re here very early.’
‘Miss Keegan, I just want to say I’m sorry. For yesterday.’
‘It really was unacceptable, Arthur.’ She turned the key in the classroom door and went in. Arthur followed her inside. She put down her bag, sat on the edge of her desk and crossed her arms.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I know you’re having a hard time, what with moving to Dublin so suddenly and almost drowning the other day. But I can’t cover for you again. Do you have any idea how much trouble I was in after that?’
Arthur looked down bashfully at his shuffling feet. ‘No, Miss.’
‘A lot. Thankfully your parents all understood. But next time there’s an incident like this, it’ll be up to you to explain to the principal and your father.’
‘Yes, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss. It won’t happen again.’
‘It had better not. Anyway, apology accepted.’ The school bell chimed. ‘You may as well take your seat. Class will be starting in a few minutes.’
A short time later, everyone else bustled into the classroom and Ash and Will sat next to him.
‘Where were you this morning?’ Ash asked.
‘Apologising.’
‘Well, we have some news about your Jormungand,’ Will said. ‘Ash found –’
‘When you’re finished talking, Will, we’ll begin the class,’ Miss Keegan interrupted.
‘Sorry, Miss.’
‘Thank you.’ She addressed the class then. ‘Now, I really enjoyed marking your essays. And you all clearly enjoyed writing them.’ She walked through the room, handing back the corrected pages. ‘So you can use them as the basis for your weekend homework.’
There was a groan at the phrase ‘weekend homework’.
‘Come on,’ she said with a chuckle, ‘you’ll have fun with this. I want you to get into groups of two. Each group will give a presentation to the class on Monday about the Metro. You can all expand on what you’ve written already. I’d like each group to try and discover something new that we didn’t know before. You could find out about the history of tunnelling or you could research other underground train systems. Whatever. Just enjoy yourselves. So for the first hour this morning, I’d like you all to get into groups and discuss what you’re going to do.’
It was quickly decided that Arthur and Ash should be one group as they lived so close to each other. Will paired up with Rob Tynan and moved to his desk to decide what they’d do their presentation on.
‘So?’ Arthur said to Ash. ‘What did you have to tell me?’
‘Stace wants to be an actress, right? And last summer she applied for work experience at this place.’
Ash took a folded-up piece of paper from her bag and slid it across the desk to him. He opened it out: it was a glossy flyer.
‘She didn’t get the job,’ Ash continued, ‘but she still had the flyer when I, um, borrowed it from her room last night.’
In bold Celtic text across the top, it read ‘Viking Experience’. Underneath that was a photo of a recreated Viking village. The houses were made out of plywood but painted to look like they’d been constructed from stone. They had thatched ro
ofs and some loose straw lay on the cobbled ground. A couple of farm animals were locked up in basic-looking barns, while some people dressed in Viking costumes – mainly long, drab, woollen tunics – went about their business. One Viking faced the camera, with his hands on his hips. He was wearing a brighter-coloured cape with a brooch pinning it into place and a silver crown on his head. A speech bubble came out of his mouth: ‘Come along to the Viking Experience and see how Vikings really lived in ancient Dublin! Learn our customs and our legends!’ At the bottom of the flyer was the Viking Experience website address, pricing, opening times and location information.
‘You think we should go here and find out what exactly?’ he asked, passing her back the flyer.
She slid it back to him again. ‘Look at his brooch.’
Because of the high-gloss paper, Arthur had to squint to make out the image on the brooch. But there was no doubting what it was. Although not as intricate as the design on his pendant, the brooch definitely showed a snake coiled around a tree trunk.
‘Wow!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well spotted, Ash.’
‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. So the three of us can get the bus into town. The Viking Experience is actually quite close to the Metro site.’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow it is.’
Arthur knocked at Ash’s front door the following morning. Max answered in full football kit including jersey, shorts and socks that came up to and over his knees. As usual, he was holding a football.
‘Are you coming to play with me, Arthur?’ He was already running down the drive when Arthur called him back.
‘Sorry, Max,’ he said. ‘Me and Ash are going into town.’
Ash came out of the house, zipping up her warm jacket.
‘And you’re not invited,’ she added.
‘Why not?’ Max demanded in disgust.
‘Just ’cos,’ Ash said. ‘Now go back inside: you’ll freeze in those shorts.’
‘No fair!’ sulked Max as Arthur and Ash walked in the direction of the bus stop.
They’d arranged to meet Will at the bus shelter at eleven o’clock, and he was already waiting when they got there. They didn’t have to hang around too long before a bus pulled up. They boarded and made their way into town.
As was always the case for a Saturday morning in Dublin, traffic was heavy so it took them longer than expected to get to the Viking Experience. A year ago the large, open square area in the Smithfield district of Dublin had been bare. Then a bright spark in the council suggested erecting the Viking Experience there. The cobbled paving stones made it the perfect location and it was sure to bring more tourism to Smithfield itself. So the fake village was built, surrounded by a tall brick wall covered in Viking-themed murals and ivy.
To enter the Viking Experience, they had to cross a little wooden bridge over an artificial moat. A sentry in full Viking costume stood at the gate, nodding grimly to people as they went in when he wasn’t texting on his phone.
‘How’s it goin’, man?’ Will said to him as they passed. The phoney Viking scowled, not at all impressed.
Just beyond the gate was a small room with a ticket booth. The teenage girl behind the Perspex window was wearing a gold-coloured crown and chewing gum.
‘That’ll be four silver coins for each squire or young lady,’ she said half-heartedly.
‘Huh?’ Arthur said.
‘Four euro each for children,’ she translated. She took the money from them and handed them their tickets. ‘Just wait over there and your tour guide will be with you in a minute.’
They joined a group of chattering, excited tourists. Many had cameras around their necks in anticipation of the photo opportunities the flyer promised, while others were reading the guide book that you could purchase for a nominal fee.
‘I don’t know how much we’re going to learn here,’ Arthur said doubtfully.
Suddenly, a man bounded through a door behind the ticket booth. They recognised him instantly as the Viking on the flyer. He was even wearing the same costume, complete with the replica brooch. He drew himself up in front of the group, as if he was a king surveying his subjects.
‘Welcome!’ he said in a laboured British accent. ‘Welcome, travellers from the future. My name is Olaf Cuaran. The year is ad 945 and I am the Viking king of this city of Dyflin – though I believe you prefer to call it Dublin.’ As he spoke, he gestured theatrically, waving his arms to every beat in the sentence. ‘Where are my manners?’ he continued, putting his hand on his chest in mock shock. ‘Would you like to see the city?’
Some of the tour group played along and murmured that they would indeed like to see the city. The actor playing Olaf turned to a door and pushed it open.
‘This way, please, future-travellers.’
Will whispered to Arthur and Ash, ‘Why is he speaking in a British accent? The Vikings were Scandinavian.’
Olaf heard him and turned. ‘It’s more regal, and anyway, I can’t do Scandinavian,’ he said through gritted teeth.
He pushed the door open and led them into the replica city, although city was a very loose term for the random scattering of houses and barns that made up the Viking Experience. It was just as they’d seen in the flyer. Actors in Viking costumes moved about as if they didn’t even notice the tour group. Some pushed carts piled high with hay; others carried loaves of hard bread to a market somewhere; still more tended to animals in the makeshift barns. There was a heady aroma of burning wood, which Arthur recognised from Bonfire Night back in Kerry, and some medieval music playing from a few discreetly hidden speakers positioned throughout the village.
Olaf continued his speech as he guided the group through the small streets. ‘We Vikings settled here many years ago, in ad 841. Dublin is a very important Viking trading town. Ships come from all over the known world and trade with us here. We trade in meat, spices, herbs and even slaves. But trade is why we settled on a city where two rivers meet in the centre: the Liffey and the Poddle.’ He stopped and indicated the cobblestones they were walking on. ‘Nowadays, the Poddle runs underground and it’s from where this river and the Liffey meet that Dublin gets its name: the Black Pool, or Dubh Linn.’
Some tourists snapped photos of the straw-littered cobblestones.
‘This way, please,’ Olaf carried on, leading them down a narrow street. It was so narrow, in fact, that they had to walk in single file between the buildings. They were able to look directly through the front doors of all the houses. Mannequins dressed in Viking costumes were arranged inside to represent real people. They were cooking, laughing, playing, feeding babies. Arthur could tell that they’d been used in other museums and displays before, as the paint on their waxy faces was cracked and peeling and had grown discoloured over time. The houses were basic: ten-foot square, four walls, no windows and only one room in each. Some of the houses had real wood-burning fires set up in the centre of the floor; the smoke escaped through a hole cut into the thatched roof.
‘You can see how my subjects live,’ Olaf said, looking into the shacks. ‘It’s basic accommodation but they’re happy. However, we Vikings are not very clean – and certainly not environmentally friendly.’ He made quotation marks with his fingers as he said this, then drew their attention to the huge piles of rubbish and waste food dropped outside each house. There was no smell, so Arthur assumed the rotting food was just a prop.
They came out into a small, open square area. There was a barn on either side containing both real and fibreglass animals. Ahead of them was a little market with stalls set up, selling and trading food, building materials, animals and clothes. Actors wandered through the market at a leisurely pace, smiling and joking with each other.
King Olaf stopped in the centre of the square. ‘In the market behind me, you can find anything a Viking might need: meat, butter, even wool for clothes.’ He studied the tour group closely. ‘I see a lot of you are wearing trousers. Did you know that we Vikings introduced trousers to Ireland? And I suppose you’re wonderin
g why I’m not wearing a horned helmet? Well, you see we Vikings never wore horns on our helmets – although we are skilled craftsmen, famous for our weaponry and jewellery.’
Arthur saw Ash raising her hand. Olaf saw it too.
‘We usually leave questions till the end, young traveller,’ he said.
‘I was just wondering, though,’ she started, ‘if you could tell us about that brooch you’re wearing?’
‘This brooch?’ he said, looking down at the replica pinned to his cape.
‘Yes. What does it mean – the snake wrapped around the tree?’
‘Ah, well that’s the sign of the Jormungand.’
‘The what?’ Arthur cried out.
Olaf rolled his eyes, clearly irritated. ‘Well, I guess we’re having questions now instead,’ he muttered to himself in his natural Irish accent.
‘The brooch depicts the Jormungand,’ he said, back in character. ‘I wear this because it protects me from the evil god Loki.’
Loki! Arthur recalled now that that was the name of the man in his dream a couple of weeks ago.
‘Did somebody say “Loki”?’ a high-pitched voice cried from the side of one of the barns. Another actor emerged, wearing a cheap-looking long, straggly blond wig and beard. He had a bright green tunic on and yellow trousers underneath, stained at the ankles. He bounded across the cobbles to join Olaf.
‘Is that supposed to be Loki?’ Will asked derisively.
‘I am Loki!’ the new actor insisted.
‘Loki is a trickster god,’ Olaf explained. ‘He’s mischievous, a liar. Don’t trust him. Although you can get your photo taken with him at the end of the tour should you wish. Loki, I was just about to tell our guests the story of the Jormungand. Do you want to have the honour?’
‘My pleasure!’
Loki walked through the crowd as he told the story, playfully knocking caps off tourists’ heads or making funny faces at the children.