Do Fish Wear Pyjamas?

by Mario Corrigan

  It was remarkably level and smooth until they got near to where St. Brigid’s Square and Bride Street began above them. The ancient name ‘Ridge of Clay’ was a good description and the roads and indeed the tunnel climbed slowly but surely to the top of the Ridge and the Market Square and eventually to the site of the Cathedral itself. As they climbed with it, Gonzo realised something else. He had, like most people in Kildare Town, heard the stories about secret tunnels underneath the shops and businesses on the Market Square and in Bride Street. These had often been explained away as cellars for the businesses rather than an ancient tunnel. He now realised, if his geography and underground sense of direction was correct, that the tunnel mostly took a route through the rear gardens of these businesses and this may have helped the tunnel survive over the centuries as the bulk of the building work did not take place directly over it.

  Once they were under Claregate Street, which was named after the mighty Norman leader, Stongbow or Richard de Clare, they felt rather than heard the distant rumble of main street traffic far above their heads. The walls were very dirty but generally dry until they reached this section. The easterly or right wall was damp here — it weeped rather than gushed and Gonzo suspected it was because of the ancient water-source on the Market Square. It didn’t pool however but seemed to soak back down into the earth and so the ground was mainly dry. They were nearing their destination but the tunnel all at once seemed to close up in the near distance. It was a partial cave in, but there was room in the top corner to scramble through in single file and, while it was difficult, they were able to help each other through without danger.

  Very soon they tumbled out into what could best be described as an ancient cellar. The tunnel entered the cellar much as a drain would do today, a few feet above ground level and they had to drop down to the dirty stone floor. Once again it was obvious that the room had not been used for a very long time but it was not completely empty. In the centre of the room stood a massive stone table with five stone seats — all cobwebbed and dusty but very sturdy looking.

  That was all, well except for the massive skeleton chained and shackled to the eastern wall. Scraps of rotted crimson cloth were fused to the bones and a large chain drooped across the chest. The remains of now long-dead animals clung to the shoulders of the skeleton. Beside it lay a huge double-sided axe with big semi-circular looking blades on each end and a fierce looking point at the end of the shaft. It looked both deadly and beautiful, with magnificent carved lettering and symbols — the prized weapon of some chief or lord, a fierce warrior no doubt.

  “Wow,” they almost all said together, and they huddled over to get a closer look.

  Like all young people there was something about a skeleton that looked really cool and suggested some magical story or ghostly adventure. Bebob reached out to touch the bones but Gooey quickly brushed away his hairy fingers.

  “NO,” she ordered in a very strong voice.

  Bebob did not question her but simply slunk back a foot or two.

  “What is it?” Bridin asked, but Gooey would not answer. She simply shook her head and stepped back a little herself.

  The light-stone flickered furiously, as if someone was blowing hard at it from across the room and the four were instantly afraid, feeling some kind of an evil presence among them. A small silver cross shivered in its timeworn leather neck strap that hung around the skeleton’s neck. It had four equal sides with a sort of square centre, diamond shapes on each arm and triangular feet at each end, an ancient Brigid’s cross (at least that’s what Bridin and Gonzo thought it was). The cross fell with a small clang to the floor. No one touched it. Without word or discussion they all made their way quickly to the wide stone steps in the far corner of the cellar, wanting to leave this place as soon as possible. Nobody wanted to spend any more time underground in the presence of the unidentified skeleton than was necessary.

  The air seemed to get cooler all of a sudden.

  At the top of the steps they were disappointed to see no door, at least no ordinary kind of door. There was just a wall and they wondered together with dread if at some time the doorway had simply been walled up. The thoughts of being stuck underground in this place increased their fears and they quickly set to work to find a way out. They moved their hands over the surface of the stones and searched for hidden handles or recessed crosses. Nothing! The glow from the light-stone was definitely fading, fluttering frequently and desperately. Like before, at The Black Abbey, they tried all sorts of charms and incantations but nothing would work — they begged admittance of Mary, of Brigid, of anyone, but there was no reply. Gonzo spoke the clues to their discovery over and over —

  As Day is to Night and Night to Day

  The crosskey in the Chapel of Mary Grey

  Finds the Oakchurch on the Ridge of Clay.

  But there was no change in the appearance of the stone wall.

  Their sense of panic was increasing as quickly as the light was fading and now their attempts became even more desperate…and yielded even more failures. In pure frustration Gooey yelled at the wall and beat the stones with her arms.

  “We come for the Book, Brigid help us,” she shouted, remembering how her wish had been granted at St. Brigid’s Well.

  Gonzo thrust the point of the dagger into the main crack in the stone wall and shouted,

  “OPEN. Open doorway to Brigid’s House.” But nothing happened and the light had almost gone. They stood there spent and weary, trapped underground with no way out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BRIDIN’S DISCOVERY AND GONZO’S VISION

  As she moved her hands for the hundredth time around the edges of the stones Bridin thought she saw a pattern to those on the left hand side, a sort of stepped pattern that stood out in the slightest measure from the other stones in the wall. When she held her hands over the edge of the middle stone in the pattern she believed she felt the air move. She froze but then felt it again.

  “Shssh,” she almost barked at her friends, “I think I can feel a draught,” as if their noise might mask the feeling.

  The others nearly knocked her off the step in their excitement to feel the stones and sure enough, one by one they felt that same glimmer of hope rise in their chests, the slightest breeze, the tiniest movement of air that suggested there was a connection to the other side. Bebob and Gonzo got down on their knees and brushed the dirt and dust from the top step nearest the wall. Gooey blew gently along the edge of the stepped stones where the draught came in to reveal that there was indeed, not a crack as such, but a purpose built opening. Again Gonzo thrust the dagger into the wall and this time he could feel it sink like a knife through butter until he met no resistance at all — it had gone through to the other side.

  Suddenly they were all business once more and were as excited and agitated as they had been on their journey through the tunnel. There had to be a key or a switch. They looked again at the room.

  “The table,” suggested Gooey and they retraced their steps to the stone table in the centre of the room.

  Not really knowing what to do they placed the dagger and vial they had found at The Black Abbey, on the table top. Bridin blew the dust of generations from the top of the table revealing symbols and letters and again they felt a glimmer of hope. They brushed off the dust and cobwebs and sat on the four seats around the sides leaving the top seat at the head of the table empty. There were circles interlocking with what looked to be a bird of prey in the centre.

  “Brigid’s Falcon,” shouted Gonzo, “has to be,” and he quickly told the story of the falcon that had nested on top of the Round Tower from the time of Brigid until it was eventually killed by a Norman; a wonderful bird, famous for its loyalty to Kildare and to its mistress.

  They noticed that the table wasn’t really that big at all and they could easily reach across to touch each others fingertips — a table for adults to join hands across. It felt strange to have the fifth seat empty as if the table was not fulfilled, and
yet, none of them had sat in it! There was a small slit with a circular centre, inside a carved circle in the middle of the table. This centrepiece looked like it rotated. It lay north to south (north being the head of the table), and below it was a tiny flame symbol within another circle which connected with the centrepiece like two links of a chain. Five words surrounded the inter-locking circles. The letters were faded but readable — one word in front of the five seated places

  Brigid

  Let Flame

  You Guide

  Let Brigid Flame Guide You

  They said the words together (Brigid and not ‘Brigid’s’ seemed a bit strange) but knew before they started that they needed some sort of key and possibly five people. Gonzo saw something familiar in the slit in the centre of the table. Without saying a word, he reached across and held the dagger upright and placed it into the slit until the arms of the guard rested in it and the handle slipped neatly into the circular centre. Excitedly he tried to turn the dagger exactly as you would a key but to no avail. He slumped back down defeated.

  “Look,” said Bridin, “the flame.”

  The small flame-like symbol just below the dagger now seemed to glow softly from within. All Gonzo could do was blurt out,

  “We need something,” and then felt completely stupid for saying it.

  But Bebob was already reaching into his now extremely dirty green trousers pocket and he grinned with two tongues swishing the air.

  “A souvenir,” he announced.

  It was a signet ring he had taken from the Knight’s tomb. The top of the ring had a flame symbol, exactly like the symbol below the dagger and, as Bebob placed it on the table, it too seemed to glow dimly from within, as if it had come home. He gently turned it upside down and everybody held their breath as he placed it on top of the symbol carved in the table top and pushed it gently downwards until they locked together. They waited a minute or two, but still, nothing!

  “Now what,” thought Gonzo out loud, but Bridin was already ahead of him.

  “Turn the dagger now,” she said excitedly.

  Gonzo reached out once more and turned the dagger but it resisted so he tried the other direction and immediately knew it was right. It scraped a little and grinded like the old gate at The Black Abbey but it turned, ever so slightly, eastwards towards, the Market Square.

  ‘No east to the Curragh,’ he thought, ‘to the Curragh of Kildare, St. Brigid’s Pastures,’ for it was Brigid’s Flame that guided them, Brigid was the key.

  And in that dimly-lit cavern underground he swore he could make out the ghostly figure of a beautiful woman smiling from the head of the table — her seat — her place of power.

  Let BRIGID flame guide you — the word BRIGID not ‘BRIGID’S’ — and now it made sense – BRIGID herself would guide them.

  Just as he caught her gaze she looked back towards the steps, as if guiding him towards the wall where they had stood and felt the draught.

  ‘Was it just the light or was there a warning in that gaze,’ he wondered and looked at the others but their eyes were fixed on the dagger and the ring in the centre of the table; not a dagger and flame but a cross and flame, important symbols in this holy place.

  As quick as she had appeared, she was gone and he felt a chill as if they were abandoned and alone once more in the dark. He knew they had to hurry.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER!

  As the dagger turned and the key unlocked its mysteries the room became deathly silent and the temperature plummeted until they could see their breath moving like little clouds before them. A terrible rumbling noise broke the silence and a wind burst through the room from nowhere, rising the dust and dirt of centuries. The most awful clanging of chains roused them from their concentration. It was as if the skeleton on the wall was trying to break free. But that was impossible — wasn’t it?

  Gooey was the first to realise that the door at the top of the steps was opening and this was of course the cause of the sudden rush of air into the room. The troubling thing was that though the dust and air settled, the skeleton continued to move. It seemed to be stretching against the chains that bound it. Fantastically, it was changing, renewing itself, as if the forgotten flesh was returning to the bones. Creeping, crawling flesh, that made your stomach turn and your heart skip several beats. No longer a skeleton but a frightening form. No longer a blurred image but the ghostly image of a giant, a brutal warrior from long, long ago. A Dane, a Viking Lord — huge and fearsome with murder in its — his — eyes.

  This was not a man but a ghost, a terrible thing of nightmares and tales of dread and yet it had assumed the terrible image of the man it had been. He was straining against his shackles, against the chains that had bound him for centuries. Had they opened the door and somehow released this evil upon the world? The sanctified silver cross that had bound him more than manmade chains, lay trodden in the dust.

  Without needing to say a word they had already made their way back to the steps. Bridin realised their error and jumped back to the table to retrieve the ring and the dagger. As she did, they heard the first of the chains snap free and without waiting to see anything else they raced to the doorway halfajar. Because they were small they simply slid through the opening with ease. The remainder of the chains were being torn from their rusted holds in the wall and they could hear him scrape the giant axe from off the floor, back into its master’s hands — the Viking Lord had risen and he was coming.

  In their hurry they nearly all ended up in a heap in a small chamber on the other side, but to their dismay it appeared they were still underground. Gooey dropped the light-stone and Bebob almost crushed it underfoot, barely managing to scoop it up into the pocket of his trousers. There were steps in front, leading upwards and, more importantly, light from outside coming down into the chamber so the darkness was no longer a problem and they could feel, no taste, the cool fresh air from the outside world. It was night-time.

  “Brigid’s Kitchen,” shouted Gonzo, “we’re in Brigid’s Kitchen,” as the old burial vault was popularly known locally.

  “No time for a history lesson,” answered Gooey, “I think we should get out of here fast.”

  Bridin looked behind, “there must be a lock, some way to close the door and keep that thing inside. We can’t let it get out of the chamber.”

  Frantically they searched the walls around the doorway. It was Gooey who spotted the flame symbol.

  “Quickly, the ring,” she yelled to Bridin.

  Together they pushed the ring into the recess and as the door began to close they relaxed a little, though the sweat that had risen on their brows was strangely colder and wetter in the night air. Bridin pocketed the ring for safe-keeping.

  Suddenly the huge blade of the Viking Lord’s battle-axe sliced through the air, narrowly missing Bebob’s rather large head, showering the room with sparks as it struck the floor. It had been aimed right into the opening, blocking any chance of closing the door for good.

  “Move,” shouted Gonzo, “let’s go.”

  Across the little chamber in a flash and up the steps two at a time they went, the metal gate at the foot of the stairs, mercifully unlocked. They burst out into the Cathedral grounds as the sky tore in two. Huge black clouds overhead raced across the darkening sky and lightning ripped the heavens. Rain poured down in buckets, driven forcefully into their faces by the howling winds which now raged around the Cathedral. The angry clouds seemed to form into fierce otherworldly faces which vanished as quickly as they were created.

  Gooey and Bebob stood frozen, transfixed by the majesty of the huge stone Cathedral eerily lit in the breaking storm — a wonderful sight to behold for the first time.

  ‘A storm to end all storms,’ thought Gonzo, as he pushed the two aliens forward.

  “Looks like we did more than raise the dead,” commented Bebob to himself rather than to anybody in particular.

  They shivered more at that last remark than from t
he force of the storm. Bridin checked but the main gate to the Market Square and to the outside was shut and locked. They ran to the Cathedral door, but it too was locked and impenetrable. The skull and crossbones above the door seemed to mock them, to deny all entry to this holy place, to leave them to their own devices. For once that symbol in this holy place, made sense to Gonzo, it was not just a reminder that death awaits us all but it acted like a charm, a sacred talisman to ward off evil spirits and keep evil outside. They were brought to their senses with the grating sound of steel against stone. The Viking lord was free!

  For a moment they stood there rather stupidly, looking back towards St. Brigid’s Kitchen as if they had accepted their fate and had nowhere left to go once the sanctuary of the church, St. Brigid’s Church, was denied to them. They could see him emerging from the depths — his horned helmet, his head, his massive shoulders and upper-body in full armour, his battle-axe slightly raised, the handle of the axe in his massive hands. The crimson cloak was likewise renewing itself, draped across his shoulders and held in place by the large chain across his chest. Even the remains of the long-dead animals on his shoulders had begun to re-form — vicious rabid creatures that drew power from their master.

  All there, and yet not. Sort of semipermanent, not see-through as you see ghosts in silly TV shows but just not quite really there. And yet, he was there, standing now at the top of the steps, but instead of rushing forward to dispatch them all, he stood as if he were basking in the sun and raised his head in the storm towards the sky. His mouth opened but only a whisper escaped his centuries-dry lips. It opened again — a croak. The third time it opened his bellow seemed to crack the very heavens.

  “ODIN — THOR — GODS OF MY PEOPLE — OF WAR AND DESTRUCTION — GIVE ME MY REVENGE — GIVE ME MY REVENGE ON THE SORCERESS WHO ENSLAVED ME FOR A THOUSAND YEARS.”

  ‘Actually it would have been more than a thousand years,’ thought Gonzo, ‘if that is he really was a Viking ghost, but right now who was counting.’