The girls gasped. So the treasure was real – it had really existed! They hugged their knees and held their questions. Even Perdita knew better than to interrupt now.
‘One day we found Father Kenneth in his hut. And can you believe it – he was slurping soup from the Goblet of Dripping!’ There was a hissing sound as Finbar drew an outraged breath. ‘Sacrilege. But when we protested, Kenneth just laughed. “Zip it, losers,” he said, “God told me not to waste good tableware.” Well!’ The lips pursed. ‘That did it. Oisín and I decided to rescue the Lord’s treasure from this nut job and take it to safety. Not back to Ireland – that was fast becoming a Viking resort – but maybe some quiet little island to the west.’
Abbie couldn’t help a smile. America was hardly a quiet little island.
‘So we plotted our escape in secret. Except it wasn’t, thanks to my big mouth.’ The rock-lips sagged like a sad banana. ‘Father Kenneth met us on the moor one day. “Nice plan, Fin,” he said. “And thanks for sharing it. Overheard you talking to Oisín. So I’ve hidden the goblet from your grubby little paws.” Ooh, the sneer on his face. Oisín and I saw red. A scuffle broke out and – I swear this is true –’
‘What?’ Perdita shuffled forward on her bottom.
‘Father Kenneth fell into a bog. No one pushed him, honest to God. There wasn’t so much as a nudge. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Course we do,’ said Abbie reassuringly.
‘We weren’t murderers. But we weren’t stupid either. “Tell us where the treasure is,” shouted Oisín. “Then we’ll pull you out,” I yelled. “Not on your nellynoo,” hollered Kenneth, trying to get out by himself. We hesitated – just for a second. But it was a second too long. When we reached out to grab him, he was up to his chest. And the more he struggled, the faster he sank. “Curse you,” he screamed, “I’ll get you for this! I’ll drag you down. I’ll hunt you and hound you from under the ground. This land won’t have peace while I’m still around!” And then …’ the lips paused, ‘he was gone.’
Abbie pictured a thrashing soup of monk and marsh slowly settling into green calm. She shuddered. Horrible. But if Kenneth really was so awful …
A nasty little question slunk into her mind. What would I have done? It was like one of those magazine quizzes to test how lovely you are.
Your worst enemy has fallen into a bog. Do you:
a) Reach out to rescue him/her
b) Watch him/her sink, or
c) Run away.
‘Well,’ she said, moving on swiftly, ‘at least you and Brother Oisín could live in peace.’
The red lips shrank to a jelly bean. ‘You’d think so. And at first we did. We agreed to forget about finding the goblet and live out our days on the island. But the weird thing was, as the weeks passed we began to find fault with each other. Oisín’s calm turned to laziness.’
‘And I bet he got fed up with your big mouth,’ said Perdita helpfully.
Abbie thumped her arm. ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she hissed as the mouth clamped shut.
‘Sorry,’ said Perdita. ‘I was just getting into the story. Please go on.’
The rocky lips opened a crack. ‘Well now you mention it, that is what he said. We began to argue about everything: whose turn it was to cook, whose prayers were better, who God loved more. I knew our quarrels were stupid but I couldn’t stop. In fact I almost enjoyed them. You know the feeling?’
Oh boy – like I know my own brother. Abbie glanced at Perdita and felt a blush rising. Or my best friend.
Finbar’s voice dropped. ‘It was as if Kenneth was still around.’
Abbie swallowed, trying to coax water into her throat. ‘How? He was dead.’
The cave-mouth sighed. ‘Death. We think it’s so simple when we’re alive. One minute there, one minute gone, to angel choirs and eternal rest. But it wasn’t like that with Kenneth. They say there’s no peace for the wicked. Well, his body may have gone, rotted into earth. But it was as if his character – his spirit or essence, whatever you call it – lived on. As if his greed and selfishness and jealousy had leaked into the earth, poisoned our food and polluted our air. As if we were eating and drinking and breathing them in.’
The air was hot and still. Bushes sat like sentries. The grass stood in stiff blades.
‘One day,’ the cave-mouth coughed, ‘after a nasty tiff over whose turn it was to quern, I’d had enough. I decided to give up monking – kick the habit.’ Finbar paused while the girls laughed dutifully, though it was the last thing they felt like doing. ‘All I had to do was find the goblet and nick the boat while Oisín was asleep. I’d row back to Ireland, buy a nice little pad in the new Viking town of Cork.’ He was talking more quickly and quietly. ‘I searched the island, found the cave behind the waterfall. And like you, I thought the goblet would be there. But as I stepped inside, a rock fell and hit me on the back. My spine cracked and I collapsed.’
Abbie shivered, remembering the rockfall that had blocked up the passage. She’d thought that her shouting had loosened the stones. But had something else been at work?
‘I cried out for Oisín.’ A rattle crept into Finbar’s voice. ‘But he couldn’t hear me. So I lay there and waited to die.’
‘What a horrible end,’ murmured Perdita.
‘Horrible, yes. End – no such luck. My body just sank into the earth, as if something was pulling me down. And here I’ve lain ever since, condemned to this living death.’
‘What do you mean?’ whispered Abbie. Sweat nibbled the back of her neck.
‘Kenneth was a powerful man. And his words were powerful too. He did drag me down, just like he said he would. And he’s hounded me ever since. I can feel him in my limestone, taste him in my quartz. For a thousand years he’s been filling my veins, taking me over. He almost took you over too – till you fought back with friendship.’ There was a whistling sound as Finbar struggled for air. ‘Told you he’d be livid. He’s clogging me up. Can’t fight any more. But you can.’
From inside the cave came a dull thudding sound. Abbie ran forward and pressed her palms against the rock. She stood on tiptoe. ‘What are we supposed to do?’ she yelled into the gloom. Great clods of mud and rock were falling, piling up on the floor.
‘Your only hope …’ the lips were slowing, as if freezing over, ‘is your friendship.’
‘What are you on about?’ yelled Perdita.
But Finbar spent his last breath doing what he loved best. ‘Kenneth always said … I was a bigmouth. Well not any more.’ The cave was a slit. ‘Ha … good one … me.’ The girls stared in horror as the lips fused to a thin red line.
***
‘Deep breath, chaps. It’s all uphill from ’ere.’ Emerging from the woods, Grandma pointed up the mountain. Klench was a green blob clambering towards the rocky heights. ‘For a lardy lad, ’e’s pretty nimble.’ Licking her dry lips and squinting in the sunlight, she set off up the slope. Chester wriggled between sunhat and sweatband duties. Chunca followed, then Bacpac who reached out his arms and pushed his master valiantly from behind.
***
Dad pressed his fingertips into his forehead and scanned the beach for the bazillionth time. ‘Why would she just wander off?’
‘Maybe she found something,’ said Ursula. She clamped her lips over the dreadful alternative. That something – or someone – had found her.
***
‘There.’ Marcus pointed across the stream. A square of golden paper glinted in the heather. ‘Another wrapper.’
‘Litterbugs,’ said Terrifica. ‘Look how they’ve broken the Guide Landscape Law.’
‘Good job,’ said Marcus. ‘Otherwise we’d have no idea where they went.’
Mr Dabbings fiddled with a strap of his rucksack. ‘If it is them. I mean, we’re assuming the old folk left this trail. But what if it was that villain?’ He glanced round nervously.
‘Doesn’t matter. If it was, they probably spotted these wrappers too, and followed him. So either
way we’re on the right track.’ Marcus waded through the stream and picked up the Ferrero Rocher paper.
‘No.’ Terrifica followed and snatched it from his hand. ‘I hate to do this but …’ she bent down and tied it to a sprig of heather, ‘we should leave it here. Then if anyone needs to find us, they’ll know where we’ve gone.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘“Anyone” could be Klench. What if he sees the wrappers and follows us?’
Terrifica shrugged. ‘We have to risk that. A Guide always stays in touch.’
‘I know!’ Mr Dabbings put up his hand as if he was the pupil. ‘How about I go back to the huts and tell the others where you’ve gone? Then you can keep the countryside clean and follow the trail.’
Marcus and Terrifica strode back through the stream.
‘Nice try, Sir.’ Terrifica took his left arm.
‘But you’re the responsible adult.’ Marcus took his right. And, for once in complete agreement, they marched him through the water, across the moor and towards the woods.
22
Stick-in-the-Mud
‘Finbar?’ Perdita tried to prise the red line apart with her fingers. ‘Say something!’ She pressed her fists into the rock. ‘You can’t just close up!’
Abbie put a hand on her shoulder. ‘What if he didn’t? What if he was closed up?’
Perdita sprang back. ‘We have to get out of here! Which way back to the huts do you reckon?’ She looked round the glade.
Abbie tilted her head to listen. Beneath the buzz of flies came a low, distant roar. If the tunnel had brought them through the mountain and out the other side, that could be the sound of the waterfall.
She followed it to the right, leading them round the base of the mountain through bracken and brambles that scratched like cats. Nettles stung, thistles chafed, the sun burned the back of her neck. Her head throbbed with thirst and confusion. A rocky monk? A monky rock? Friendship the only hope … of what? It was all too much to take in.
As they rounded the mountain, the view opened out.
‘Yess!’ Abbie threw out her arms. Ahead of them, beyond a thicket of trees and bushes, lay the lake. The girls crashed through, oblivious to thorns, and tore across the beach.
Abbie waded up to her waist, bending down to scoop great mouthfuls of water. She ducked under, closing her eyes as the cold wrapped her neck, punched her brain, bounced round her head and filled her bones. She came up for air, threw her head back and whooped. ‘Bliss!’ She whooshed armfuls of water at Perdita who shrieked and splashed back. They floated on their backs and gazed into glittering blue.
‘Hey,’ said Abbie. ‘You realise that if Finbar couldn’t find the treasure, the Vikings probably couldn’t either.’
Perdita frothed up water with her feet. ‘So?’
Abbie stood up. ‘So it could still be here.’ Lifting her palms, she watched silver threads stream through her fingers. ‘When Finbar said friendship’s our only hope, maybe he meant that if we all work together – properly this time, no arguments – we’ll find the treasure. It kind of ties in with all that crazy stuff about the monks ruining everything by quarrelling.’
Perdita splashed her. ‘You can’t be serious. We just nearly died in a tunnel, got coughed out of a cave – and you’re still talking treasure hunts!’ She turned towards the beach. ‘I’m going to find Mr Dabbings. He needs to phone for the boat right now.’
Abbie smacked her hands on the water. ‘I’m just saying one last look, while we wait for it to come. No sneaking or cheating.’
Perdita wheeled round, her eyes huge with outrage. ‘How stupid can you get?’ She bunched a fist against her ear. ‘Hello? Earth calling Lettuce Head.’
Abbie clenched her own fist. ‘Hear you loud and clear, Weed Brain.’
‘Fine!’ Perdita stomped onto the beach. ‘Do what you want. I’m out of here.’
‘Hey, wait for me.’ Abbie waded after her.
Or rather tried to. ‘What the–?’ She felt the ground soften beneath her. ‘My foot!’ Mud was oozing over her sandals, between her toes. With a huge effort she pulled out a foot and tried to step forward. But now the other one was stuck. A bubble popped in front of her. Another on her left … and now they were snapping and spreading in all directions. ‘Help!’
Perdita spun round and dashed back to the water’s edge.
Waves were growing, carving foamy lines across the lake, slapping against Abbie’s waist. Mud sucked at her shoes, her heels, her ankles. ‘I’m sinking!’ she screamed.
For a second Perdita froze. Only her eyes moved from the lake to the beach as the horror of her choice sank in. Then she crashed into the water. She managed a few steps before the mud took hold. She stretched out her arms to Abbie. But it was no good. Between them lay a metre of churning, sobbing water.
Sobbing? That’s what it sounded like: a soft moan that rose and fell with the waves. Except that as it grew louder the waves grew smaller, as if feeding the sound with their energy. Abbie tried to lift her foot again. This time it jerked up from the mud. She sprawled forwards and crashed into Perdita.
Holding hands, they staggered to the edge of the lake. The mud was firming beneath them. The bubbles were shrinking, the waves subsiding. Gently they pushed against Abbie’s back, nudging her out like liquid knuckles.
The girls dashed up the beach. From the safety of the undergrowth they turned and stared at the muttering water.
Because muttering it was – apparently to itself. ‘Couldn’t keep ’em in … choked me up … ah, the memories.’
Abbie’s hand flew to her mouth. Those words – just like Brother Finbar’s! And suddenly she knew. Grabbing Perdita’s hand, she held it high, as if they were Olympic rowing champions. ‘Yes,’ she shouted, ‘we’re friends!’
Perdita gaped at her as if she’d finally popped her pretzels.
‘Friends?’ Irritable little waves slapped the shore. ‘Waste of time. Nothing but trouble if you ask me.’
Courage rose in Abbie. ‘He says he’s sorry, Brother Oisín.’
Perdita gasped. Abbie put a finger to her lips.
The waves crisscrossed in confusion. ‘What … who … where?’
‘Brother Finbar.’ Abbie pointed behind her. ‘He’s round the mountain there.’
The waves froze in stiff little peaks, as if holding their breath.
Abbie frowned. ‘Didn’t you know? He’s in a cave – I mean, he is a cave.’
The water resumed its rhythmic surge. ‘All I know is he never came back.’
Perdita found her voice. ‘He – he couldn’t. He was injured in the cave. He lay there calling for you.’
‘You’re. Kidding. Me.’ Each word broke the surface in a bubble. ‘When I. Was calling. For him.’
‘Why?’ said Abbie.
The waves broke in white frills. ‘Did he tell you about our row?’
‘Whose turn to quern,’ said Perdita.
A sigh rippled the water. ‘I bet he said it was mine. That was Brother Finbar all over. He could talk a fly into a web, a pig into sausages. But not this time. I’d had enough of his lip. When I told him so, he stormed off. To hell with you, I thought. To hell with our holy life. I decided to find the goblet and leave.’
‘Just like him,’ said Perdita.
‘I knew it!’ A shadow darkened the gleaming water. ‘That lousy skunk of a monk.’
‘No,’ said Abbie quickly. Relations had been bad enough for the past thousand years; why make them worse? ‘He’s never forgiven himself for arguing with you.’
Perdita raised her eyebrows. ‘Hasn’t he? I don’t remember him …’ Abbie put a finger to her lips.
‘Well pop my peppercorns!’ The water bobbed gently. ‘Who’d have thought?’ The shadow lifted. ‘All these years he’s been lying there, feeling as bad as I do.’ Sunlight capered once more on the lake.
Abbie coughed delicately. ‘So. The goblet. Did you find it?’
‘Oh, I searched all morning. But the sun was warm and I wa
s tired.’ A long, low yawn curled out of the water. ‘I lay on the beach and nodded off. Must’ve rolled in, because next thing I knew I was six foot under water.’
Abbie’s mouth went dry. ‘So you swam back to shore,’ she said hoarsely. How she wished that were true – and how she knew it wasn’t.
‘Couldn’t swim. Couldn’t even drown. Just kind of melted into the lake. Where Kenneth has hounded me, stirred my waters and churned my mud, for hundreds of years without a minute’s rest.’
So that was why the lake was never still, why it fretted endlessly beneath a windless sky. ‘And the bubbles?’ said Abbie. ‘The sudden storms?’
‘Don’t you see?’ A sigh tickled the surface. ‘His wickedness feeds on conflict – jealousy and greed, fighting and rage. Your quarrelling strengthens his power over me. That’s why I nearly sucked you down.’ The voice was getting softer.
Cold fingers crept up Abbie’s spine. All their squabbles and tiffs, all the envy and resentment she’d felt on this trip … she imagined them feeding the cave and fouling the lake like wicked fertiliser. ‘Is that what Finbar meant?’ She swallowed. ‘By friendship being our only hope?’
‘It was ours too,’ whispered the lake. A brown patch appeared on the surface, spreading over the blue-green water. ‘We could’ve escaped this, Finbar and I, if only we’d made our peace.’
‘You still can,’ cried Abbie. ‘It’s what Finbar wants.’
‘It is?’ Perdita blinked. ‘I never heard him …’
‘Shh!’ hissed Abbie. ‘I’m just trying to help.’
Muddy clouds were mushrooming all over the lake. The water was turning completely brown. Ripples spread to the shore, licking the pebbles with filthy tongues.
‘After all these years – who’d have thought?’ The girls craned forwards as a last whispering gasp rose from the water. ‘Well I’m sorry … too … Brother … Fin–.’
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