Celestial Land and Sea

by Amy McLean

  She sat down, still clutching onto the article. She was starting to lose all confidence, but she knew she must not let the boss see that if she wanted to convince him that she deserved more responsibilities than those she currently had.

  "Mr Barrie, I was wondering if you'd possibly be able to read this? I'd like to know what you think of it. Your opinion would be invaluable—"

  "What's it for?" he interrupted.

  "Nothing specific," she managed. "It's just something I wanted to write, and I just felt that, if you liked it, then maybe...maybe you'd perhaps.."

  "Spit it out, girl!" He licked a piece of strawberry icing from his moustache. "I haven't got all day."

  He was right. She had to pull herself together if she was going to make a positive impression on him. This was her only chance, and she knew that all too well. She paused for breath before straightening her posture.

  "Mr Barrie, sir, I'm really proud to be part of the Anchor team, but I don't really feel like I'm always given the opportunity to put my abilities to good use. It's not that I have any problem with taking phone calls or sorting through the post, but sometimes—most of the time, in fact—I wish I had a little more to write. I wrote this article in the hope that you'd be able to see that I can write, and that perhaps you'd allow me to start producing content for the website. Alongside my other responsibilities, of course," she added for good measure.

  "And that's it there?" He pointed a sticky finger in the direction of the article.

  "Yes, it is. It's about—"

  "You don't need to tell me what it's about. If it's a good article, I'll be able to work that out for myself. I'll read it and get back to you. I wouldn't get my hopes up though, if I were you," he grumbled. "Now, please go back to work and do what I pay you to do."

  Mr Barrie turned his attention back to the doughnuts. Grace rose from the chair and left the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

  "How did it go?" Andy asked as Grace approached his desk.

  "I'm not sure. I handed him the article. He said he'd read it. That's about it. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

  "Of course it was a good idea! I told you, Grace, he's going to like it."

  "I suppose I'd better get back to work. He's definitely not going to have confidence in me if he thinks I'm slacking off!"

  Back at her desk Grace pulled up the folder of new emails and forwarded them accordingly: two for Andy; one for James; one for Fran. She had hardly slept the night before, her nerves high concerning the article. She needed to take her mind off it while she waited for Mr Barrie to read it. Observing the office around her—a little bit of people watching never hurt anybody—everyone, it seemed, was busy tapping their keyboards as they knocked out their latest stories.

  Although she'd felt a strong connection with what she was writing, with the article coming from her heart as much as it came from her mind, the words had seemed almost fictitious to her, events that had happened to somebody else and not to her—events that had happened to Gráinne O'Malley. And because she had focused so intently on the quality of the article, she had unknowingly started to build a barricade between herself and the life she was writing about. Now that the article had been written, however, and Grace had gained from the experience what was intended, it was apparently time to remove that barricade to allow her time for reflection. Without warning, and with little resistance, Grace began to lose her connection with the present.

  Her eyes spun to Andy, who was staring at his computer screen, deep in thought. Except it wasn't Andy. It was Donal, his hair hanging long at his shoulders, his facial hair scruffy and dark. He was no longer dressed in the grey suit and purple tie that Andy had worn that morning, but a tattered shirt soiled by manual labour.

  Grace turned her attention to James, who had been bouncing his head up and down to some pop song he was listening to through his headphones, clearly procrastinating from whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. Now, however, his head hung low. He was hunched over, just as Tibbott had been when they were inside the palace at Greenwich, and the same loose clothing hung upon his body. From where she sat Grace could detect the sadness in his eyes.

  Queen Elizabeth I sat across the room from her, the large cream skirt of her outfit spilling over the sides of the little office chair. Her ruff curved round her neck, Fran's own red hair resting on its surface as it spilled down from the top of her head. From the side of her face Grace could tell that she looked paler than usual, with more vibrant blush on her cheeks than even Fran would normally have worn.

  The door at the far side of the room sprang open suddenly, and Grace turned her head, a sense of wonderment now guiding her movements. The past had become her present, and her head swam in a sea of confused history and identity.

  A figure emerged in the doorway, short and stout with a thick moustache.

  "Bingham!" Grace muttered to herself, her eyes locked on the spot where he stood.

  Between breaths, the room shuddered. The air seemed thick as gelatine as the figures froze in motion. It was only when she heard somebody calling her name that she blinked.

  "Grace? Grace! Will you please come into my office?"

  Mr Barrie was staring at her from where he stood in the doorway. Grace regained her focus on her usual surroundings. Lord Bingham was gone. Donal and Tibbott and Queen Elizabeth had returned to their previous forms. The room was once again the mundane Anchor office. She had left the sixteenth century behind.

  She knew that it was over.

  "Yes, Mr Barrie, right away." She leapt out of her seat and headed into his office as swiftly as her legs would take her.

  "Well, Grace, I must admit I'm rather surprised. This wasn't at all what I had expected," he said once they were both seated.

  "Mr Barrie, I know I probably shouldn't have written it. I had no business asking you to—"

  "I enjoyed it."

  "You—you enjoyed it?"

  "I wasn't sure what to think at first, but once I got into it, I had to admit that I actually found it quite fascinating." He leaned onto his desk with his hands folded on top of the article. He wasn't exactly smiling, but it didn't matter to Grace. He'd actually said he'd enjoyed it. He'd called her article fascinating!

  "Just to make sure I'm following it correctly, it is about the effects of past events on our present day opinions?"

  "Yes, that's correct, sir."

  "It's all very vogue these days, isn't it? All that stuff about parallel timelines and spiritual connections. Although I don't believe in any of it myself, of course, I can't deny that there's a demand for it out there. I want you to put this on the website."

  His words had been sudden, not at all what Grace had expected. Perhaps she hadn't heard him correctly.

  "I think you're onto something here, especially the part where you talk about history walking amongst us without us realising it. People will eat that stuff right up. Tell me though, what did you mean when you were talking about blood links?"

  "Ancestry, sir; I believe that our ancestors—spiritually speaking, of course—can assist us on our present journeys. I know I can't prove it, but—"

  "I don't need you to prove it, Grace. I just need you to write it. People love tracing their roots and finding out where they come from, where they believe their genes originate, that sort of thing. There's an audience for this, I know there is. I'm going to create you a profile—"

  "A profile?"

  "On the website, Grace. You see, I've realised that we cover everything a digital news site needs to cover: sports, beauty, current events, all of those things. But we don't have anything general, content that won't become so quickly dated. Sports news is soon taken over by some other match. Fashion pages go out of style quicker than those fake Prada boots Fran's always wearing. They're all great to have on the site, and necessary too, but if we put this sort of thing out there, it might reach a wider audience, and at a much more frequent rate. That's why I've decided I'd like you to be
my writer for the new column we're going to be running. Get this—it's going to be called 'Hot Topics'. Simple but effective, wouldn't you agree?"

  "Yes, I do agree. You want me to...really, sir?!" Grace couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was the first time she'd ever witnessed any sign from Mr Barrie that he actually knew what he was talking about. Perhaps he wasn't so bad at running Anchor after all, even if he was a nightmare to work for.

  "Whatever the public are buying into, I want you to write about it. If they're squealing about an infestation of poisonous spiders, I want you to cover it. If they're going crazy for calorie-free cheese, you write about it. As long as it's exciting and going to draw ratings for longer than a day, then it's your responsibility. We really need content like that on the site to attract new readers. Do you think you're up to the job?"

  "Absolutely sir! I won't let you down, I promise!"

  Mr Barrie stood up. "Right, well I'll set up a tab for you on the site. I want one main feature a week—you can start with this one you've written here—but I want you to do follow-up posts. Go into the streets, interview people. It'll help to publicise Anchor too if you're meeting people face to face. It's about time we started branching out. In the meantime, I need you to go back to your desk and continue with whatever it was you were doing. I still need you to maintain any incoming emails because they're not going to manage themselves. I hope you're ready for an increase in workload. This is going to be a much more demanding job than what you're used to."

  "Yes, Mr Barrie. I'm absolutely ready!"

  "I'm counting on you not to let me down, Grace." Mr Barrie held open the office door to let Grace out. "Fran, can you come in here a moment please? I have something for you."

  Fran walked around Grace as she crossed the office. Grace wasn't going to think about whatever it was Mr Barrie was giving Fran. Besides, she was fairly certain it would be Fran who was giving something to Mr Barrie. It didn't matter though. Her plan had worked. How or why she didn't know, but her article had actually worked! She had been offered a new job. She didn't have to leave Anchor after all. She couldn't stop smiling as she sat down at her desk and plugged her USB stick into the computer, ready to format the article for uploading.

  As she waited for the file to open she saw Andy coming toward her, his eyes shining. "How did it go?"

  "I've been given a new job!" she squealed.

  She struggled to get the words out as she began to tell Andy everything, trying to process what had happened as she was relaying it. Her plan had worked, her article had succeeded. She was in love, and better still, that love was returned.

  It was insane, she knew it, and it was all happening so fast. She was going to need to pace herself, try to take it all in. Something told her that this wasn't going to end any time soon, and she could not be more thankful, for she knew none of it would be possible if it weren't for Gráinne O'Malley.

  24

  Everybody on board the Pirate Queen had left England with smiles on their faces. More than anybody though, Gráinne couldn't quite believe they were returning safely. It hadn't been an easy journey, but she'd known from the moment they'd left Clare Island that it would not be straightforward. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if she would have committed herself to the Queen's agreement had she been able to consider it in advance.

  Of course it was silly to doubt her decision; she'd always said she would do anything for her son, and she meant it. Even if it meant that somebody else decided where she was allowed to sail. And apparently it was now the case that she most certainly was not allowed to sail south of Ireland.

  The water lapped gently against the sides of the ship as they approached Clare Island. The mid-afternoon sun had tinted the water with a warm glow, the turquoise surface pulling the Pirate Queen forward, guiding it to its destination.

  "Home sweet home!" Donal shouted to his sister from the deck. She glanced at him and smiled, acknowledging his cry of delight.

  Cathleen clutched Donal's arm as they returned to the dock. She'd done well on her first voyage, as Donal kept reminding her, and she knew she deserved to be proud of herself. When she had time to recollect everything then maybe the reality would hit her—whether or not she'd choose to sail with Gráinne again was a decision she still had to make. That is, if Gráinne would welcome her back on board. She desperately hoped that she hadn't let her down. She'd definitely had fun though, especially listening to Michael's stories of his pirate adventures that he entertained the crew with on the way home. Yes, it had been quite a journey.

  Tibbott had managed to keep his spirits up as best as he could. He didn't say much though, and even now, as he stood next to Gráinne, he remained, for the most part, silent. Gráinne had her suspicions that there was something he wasn't telling her, but she decided it was too soon to force him to speak about it. What had he experienced, or what had he seen, that he was keeping quiet about? Maybe she was just being paranoid, but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that nothing was as plain-sailing as it appeared to be.

  Once the ship had docked, Gráinne addressed her crew.

  "Thank you all for your hard work and dedication during our journey. It has not been easy, and it certainly hasn't been safe, but we all made it home. Better still, we made it back with Tibbott, just as we promised we would." There was a cheer from the crew as they applauded the young man, who was now starting to blush. "You may now return to your families and let them know that you are safe and well."

  Everybody piled out of the ship. Gráinne walked with her arm linked around her son's; they were the last to leave the ship.

  "It's good to be back on Irish soil," she remarked, taking in her surroundings as her crew dispersed. It felt like a lifetime since they'd first set sail. It always did. She turned to see Cathleen's father hugging his daughter. "Hello, Mr O'Flynn," she greeted.

  "Gráinne, how glad I am to see everybody return," he said, supporting himself on Donal's shoulder. It was clear that his health was declining. "How did it go?"

  "Fairly well," she replied with a smile. "We got what we went for, and that's the main thing."

  "Tibbott. I'm thrilled to see you've come home safely." He shook the young man's hand.

  "And it definitely is our soil now, isn't it?" Cathleen bounced on the end of Donal's arm as she responded to Gráinne's earlier comment.

  "Yes, Cathleen," he replied. "Yes, it is."

  The five of them started up the hill as they set off for their own homes. It was their land again, wasn't it? Gráinne had trusted the Queen with their agreement. There had been no questioning it. Maybe she shouldn't have let her guard down. Was she foolish for thinking that Bingham would actually return the land he'd stolen? She couldn't let her mind think about it too much. Right now, she had to focus on spending time with her son. Tibbott was her main priority now. Her family had to come first.

  Not that she was giving up quite yet. Battles still had to be won, and her union with the sea was as alive as ever. She knew her relationship with England was not over yet, but there would be time to deal with that later.

  The tension surrounding the agreement she had made with Queen Elizabeth would no doubt cause opinions to divide across the island, but one thing was for certain: as Gráinne O'Malley stood at the peak of the tallest hill on Clare Island that evening, her attention fixed upon the land that surrounded her, and the sky above her illuminated by moonlight, the decision was made that her story would not go unremembered. Little did she know that, four hundred years later, she would be brought forward in time to guide another woman along her own personal journey. What had so recently become the past for Gráinne would ultimately become important in shaping the future for Grace Byrne.

  Author's Note

  Artistic license is a fine thing, isn't it?

  A lot of the events I've written into Celestial Land and Sea did not actually happen. I say this—they certainly occurred inside my head, but I expect they didn't happen in real life. Given the fact that there's not
an enormous amount of information readily available about Gráinne O'Malley, at least in comparison to other historical figures, and specifically her contemporary Queen Elizabeth I, I took the liberty of moulding the facts I could find so that they worked with what I wanted to write. Some of the characters are based on real people, but others—Cathleen, for example—only ever existed in my own world. Until now, that is.

  I'm very excited to be able to set my second novel in Hampstead. It has a gloriously rich history. It's alive with stories and adventures. When I first visited the area several years ago I knew it was exactly the sort of place I was looking for to explore a new area of spiritualism in my fiction. Hampstead offers a lot of exploration, and I certainly have no plans of abandoning it any time soon.

  I must thank those whose support has guided me through writing Celestial Land and Sea, namely David and Kelly and the team at Open Books; the family and friends who probed me with questions about the novel's development, keeping me pushing onwards; and my personal inspirations for its characters, in particular my approach to Elizabeth I. The composition of this novel is based on a foundation comprising late nights, several dead ends, and the consumption of more cups of coffee than I can ever condone, but every second for me has been an unforgettable journey I'll always treasure. Besides, I never could resist a pirate!

  Author's Note

  Artistic license is a fine thing, isn't it?

  A lot of the events I've written into Celestial Land and Sea did not actually happen. I say this—they certainly occurred inside my head, but I expect they didn't happen in real life. Given the fact that there's not an enormous amount of information readily available about Gráinne O'Malley, at least in comparison to other historical figures, and specifically her contemporary Queen Elizabeth I, I took the liberty of moulding the facts I could find so that they worked with what I wanted to write. Some of the characters are based on real people, but others—Cathleen, for example—only ever existed in my own world. Until now, that is.