Chapter Four

Connolly Station was alive with activity. Commuters in suits, carrying laptop cases, speed-walked in all directions. Shoppers strolled off the platforms at a much more leisurely pace, many heading straight for the public toilets. Security guards in intimidating black uniforms milled around, watching everyone like hawks. And in the middle of all the hustle and bustle stood Arthur, Ash, Max and Stace, clutching their bags and looking at the departure times.

Joe had dropped them at the station on his way to work, shouting ‘Have fun!’ from the driver’s seat as he pulled away.

They saw from the departure board that they were an hour early thanks to the lift, and decided to have a quick breakfast in the small café in the station. Arthur and Ash both had cereal, Stace opted for a croissant and Max insisted on a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

Max had been quiet all morning. He’d had yet another nightmare – the same one of him falling through the Dublin sky, plummeting to his death. Stace couldn’t understand why he was so upset about the dream.

‘Everyone has nightmares where they fall,’ she’d said in the car. ‘The key is to wake up before you hit the ground.’

When they were finished breakfast, Stace stayed in the café, sipping her coffee and listening for departure announcements, while the others stocked up on sweets and drinks for the journey in the nearby newsagents.

‘The 8.35 train from Dublin Connolly to Mullingar is now boarding at Platform 4,’ a voice echoed over the Tannoy system, prompting Stace to gather up the other three and lead them through the departure gate.

The train was new and modern, with comfortable reclining chairs and electric doors as standard. It wasn’t too packed at this time of the morning and they easily found a table with two pairs of seats facing each other. Minutes later the train rolled out of the station. Stace was already on her phone, checking her Facebook page, while Max was fixated on a comic book he’d bought back in the little shop. From the way his eyes moved across the page, Arthur could tell that he was reading the words but not really taking them in.

Arthur turned and watched the city pass by the window in silence. They travelled on high bridges and tracks, over the red-slated roofs of Dublin’s northside. Pigeons roosting in chimney stacks and sheltering from the cold scattered and flew as the noisy train rattled past. A cat prowling over a garden wall slipped on an icy patch and fell to the ground, landing on its paws with a thud. Smoke puffed from some of the chimneys, and trampolines given as Christmas gifts sat idle out in the cold. Most of the streets were quiet at this early hour of the morning. As they passed the mammoth construction of Croke Park – all they could see was a large wall blocking their view – Arthur turned to Ash.

‘So tell me more about this Cousin Maggie of yours,’ he said.

‘Well, she’s technically not a cousin for starters.’

‘Huh?’

‘She’s my grandmother’s sister. But she’s actually closer in age to my mom than my granny. So Mom always just called her Cousin Maggie. She’s really her aunt, which makes her my grandaunt.’

Arthur raised one eyebrow at her.

‘Don’t look so confused,’ she said. ‘It’s simple: she’s my grandaunt but we call her Cousin Maggie.’

‘Uh … okaaaay.’

Ash playfully punched his shoulder before going on. ‘She’s so cool, though. She lives in this big farmhouse and she’s got chickens and goats and a couple of pigs and she’s an artist.’

‘You really like her, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I do. And she makes the best rhubarb crumble. Wait till you try it.’

‘I don’t usually like rhubarb.’

‘You haven’t tried Cousin Maggie’s crumble yet!’

Once the train had left the city it picked up speed and, as Arthur gazed out the window, the landscape flashed past. The train stopped several times during the journey, allowing new passengers to board in quiet villages en route. About an hour had passed when the train plunged into a corridor of dense trees and bushes, which blocked out most of the sunlight. When it emerged into the light again, the sudden glare forced Arthur to squint.

On the left-hand side of the train was a main road, cars falling behind as they passed. But on the right-hand side, through the window Arthur was looking out of, an expansive lake ran right alongside the train track. The lake spread almost as far as he could see. In the far distance he could make out the opposite shore – green fields and woodland. The water was still and totally frozen over – a great, white vastness. A basic-looking rowboat was frozen in place next to a tiny pier. A small island nestled in the centre of the lake. It was overgrown, covered in bushes, with lush green pines scattered here and there; clearly nobody lived there now, although somebody had at one time. Looming over the treetops from the hub of the island was a round tower. It was a tall cylinder made of grey stone, with a small battlement on the flat roof. Arthur could see three narrow windows cut into the wall up the tower. He’d seen lots of pictures of round towers in history books, and even a few in person back in Kerry, but he’d never seen any that were as enormous or impressive as this one, or had a roof like that.

Arthur turned to Ash to ask her about the island when suddenly the train plunged through another thick covering of trees, obstructing their view.

‘Not far now,’ Ash commented, smiling at him.

‘Cousin Maggie!’ Max cried excitedly, running with outstretched arms along the Mullingar platform towards a woman in her early fifties. Cousin Maggie was a tall, rotund lady with unkempt auburn hair falling to her shoulders in curls. There were streaks of grey at each temple. She was wearing blue dungarees, a pink shirt, a cream Aran sweater and a long brown coat that looked like it might have been designed for a man. All were stained with spots of paint here and there; the dungarees were particularly bad. Two pairs of glasses hung around her neck, each on a little gold chain.

‘Mighty Max!’ she shouted back, catching the boy in her arms and squeezing him tightly. When she was done, she stood back to take a full appraisal of him. ‘Look at you. You’re so tall. You’re all getting so big now!’

‘Hi, Cousin Maggie,’ Stace said.

‘You’re all grown up, Stace!’ her grandaunt said, admiring her skinny jeans and big handbag. ‘Or should I say “m’lady Stacy”?’ She curtsied with a cheeky grin.

‘Don’t, Cousin Maggie!’ Stace pleaded, watching a couple of boys she’d had her eye on earlier pass by. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

Maggie stood back to her full height with a grunt and turned to Ash.

‘Look at you, Ash,’ she said. ‘You’re the image of your mother. And twice as smart, she tells me!’

Ash blushed. ‘Hi, Cousin Maggie.’ She turned to indicate Arthur. ‘And this is–’

‘You must be Arthur,’ Maggie cut her off.

‘Nice to meet you, Miss … uh … Missus–’ Arthur stuttered before Maggie interceded.

‘There’s no “Miss” or “Missus” here,’ she said. ‘That was my sister and my mother. You can call me Maggie. Or Cousin Maggie. Everyone does.’

‘Nice to meet you, Cousin Maggie.’ He offered his hand for a shake but she grabbed him in a tight hug. When she let him go, she noticed that he’d gone red.

‘I like to hug,’ she explained. ‘I should have mentioned that. No place for handshakes or formalities around here. This isn’t Buckingham Palace. Now!’ She turned on one foot, military-like, and marched briskly away. ‘This way. To the Maggie-mobile!’

The boxy brown Volvo that was the Maggie-mobile was parked just outside the station. Some of the paintwork had flaked off years ago at the edges of the doors, and the radio aerial was just a clothes hanger taped in place. They dumped their bags in the creaking boot and climbed in: Stace in the passenger seat, the others squeezed into the back. The car stank of animals and Arthur noticed long white hairs stuck to the worn upholstery.

‘Oh, that’s from Bessie,’ Cousin Maggie said, noticing him picking up one such hair. ‘She’s shedding.’

‘Who’s Bessie?’ he whispered to Ash as Maggie started the car.

‘One of the goats.’

The Maggie-mobile coughed into life with a splutter and pulled away from the station. Mullingar was a large, busy town, but Maggie was able to manoeuvre around the hectic traffic with ease and they were out in the open countryside in a few minutes. When they’d left the town behind them, Maggie popped a cassette tape into the slot and pressed Play. Opera music filled the car. The powerful voice of a soprano boomed out of the speakers set in the doors. Maggie sang along. She knew every word, even though it was sung in Italian, but she was horribly out of tune. Max stuck a finger in each ear and Stace looked out the window, trying to ignore the noise but too polite to copy Max. Ash just chuckled happily, while Arthur did his best to keep a straight face.

A few miles outside the town, Maggie turned the Volvo down a narrow, winding road. There was just enough space for one car on this laneway and twigs scratched at the windows and doors. They emerged into a wide open space, the car bouncing along on slippery cobblestones. The farmhouse stood on top of a slight hill, looking warm and inviting. It was an old building, two storeys high and with walls that must have been repainted white countless times in the past hundred years. Smoke floated out of a pair of chimneys and little lights twinkled cheerfully on a real Christmas tree in a downstairs window. Arthur could just make out a couple of barns and sheds behind the house and there was a small chicken coop leaning against one gable side. To the left of the house was a meadow – white with frost and currently unused – and to the right was woodland sloping downwards.

‘That forest leads to the lake you saw from the train,’ Ash said when she noticed him looking at the trees. ‘We should go explore tomorrow.’

‘Here we are!’ boomed Cousin Maggie as she put on the parking brake. ‘Chez Maggie! Also known as Maggie’s Farm. You know that Bob Dylan wrote the song about me?’

‘Really?’ Arthur whispered in Ash’s ear. She shook her head with a smile.

He unbuckled his seatbelt then turned to get out.

‘Argh!’ Arthur cried. Something was staring at him through the car window – a stretched, grey face with a long black beard hanging from its chin. A pair of wide brown eyes gazed from the sides of the face and gigantic ears drooped down by the cheeks. Two ghastly looking horns twisted out of the crown of the skull. The beast snorted angrily in response to Arthur’s cry.

‘Are you scared of goats, Arthur?’ Max asked from behind him.

‘What?’ The scary face bleated and Arthur realised that it was just a goat looking at him, not a wicked demon as he’d thought at first. Embarrassed, he flushed and then laughed nervously. ‘Oh. Not afraid, no. It just gave me a shock, that’s all.’ The goat moved back from the door and Arthur pushed it open.

‘Hello, Bessie,’ he said, stepping out into the cold air.

‘That’s not Bessie,’ Cousin Maggie said as she came around the car to shoo the goat off. ‘That’s Nessie. Because of the long neck. See?’ Arthur did notice that the goat’s neck seemed rather long now that she’d pointed it out. ‘Just like the Loch Ness Monster. He’s the billy goat. There’s Bessie over there.’ She pointed to the side of the house where a smaller goat peeped around the corner. Its coat was white and its horns weren’t as big as the first goat’s. ‘Bessie’s a little shyer than Nessie.’

The billy goat trotted over to Bessie and the two of them darted off behind the house.

After that, Maggie brought her guests on a tour of the farm, mainly for Arthur’s benefit. She first herded the goats back into their pen, pointing out that they were both very much in love even if they didn’t know it. Then she led the visitors around the farmhouse to a barn where two large black pigs were snoring loudly on soft mounds of hay. They were brothers called Knick and Knack and she’d bought them from a farmer a few years back. She didn’t intend to slaughter them – as she didn’t any of her animals – she just liked the company. Next she showed them the chicken coop where three hens and one cockerel clucked at them warily.

‘That’s Charlotte, Emily and Anne,’ she pointed out. ‘And that grumpy looking cockerel is called Byron. If we’re lucky, we might have some fresh eggs for breakfast.’

She promptly led them indoors where the mere smell of the wood-burning fireplace made Arthur feel instantly warm. Time-worn floral wallpaper covered the walls and the carpet had seen better days, but the house still felt very cosy.

‘In here,’ she said, opening a downstairs door, ‘is my studio.’ The room was almost totally bare, save for the artist’s easel in the centre. A half-finished painting was balanced on it. Bright colours and stark geometric shapes formed the portrait of an old, smiling man. More canvases in varying degrees of completion leaned against every wall and a large picture window looked out on the driveway.

She brought them upstairs to show them their rooms.

‘One for the boys and one for the girls.’

The bedrooms were identical, with a pair of single beds in each. The old radiators were on and the rooms were roasting already. Then Cousin Maggie led them all back downstairs.

‘And finally,’ she said, as she turned one last doorknob, ‘the living-room.’

She pushed the door open to reveal the room where Arthur had seen the Christmas tree earlier. A fire roared and crackled in a tall fireplace and a set of plush armchairs were placed around it. A long dining table sat in the centre of the room, set for a meal.

‘Lunch will be served in five minutes,’ Cousin Maggie announced, heading for a door at the back of the room. ‘I left it all in the oven before I picked you up so it should still be hot. Take a seat, the lot of ye.’

Arthur didn’t think he was hungry until he saw all the food that Maggie carried in moments later: pizza and chips and fried chicken and mini burgers and hot dogs and, thankfully, not a piece of turkey or Brussels sprout in sight! All through the meal they talked and joked. Maggie told them stories of her crazy travels around the world – there were few countries she hadn’t been to – and asked how they’d been in the past few months. Arthur chuckled to himself, thinking of the amazing story he could tell her, but he knew that it would be better not to. Dessert was Cousin Maggie’s famous rhubarb crumble and even Arthur had to admit that it was delicious. It wasn’t bitter like the rhubarb he’d tasted in the past, but rather sweet and flavoursome.

After they ate, she presented them with a large gift-wrapped box. It was almost as tall as Max, who set about opening it, pulling off the paper in shreds. Inside were lots of different-sized boxes: board games, and lots of them.

‘I thought we could play some games today and take it easy,’ Maggie said over the delighted cheers and thank yous.

Cousin Maggie kept them well fed throughout the day with mini sausage rolls, small triangular sandwiches and mince pies. They became so wrapped up in playing the games that time passed without them even noticing. Before Arthur knew it, it was pitch-black outside and the ticking clock over the fireplace was donging eleven times. Together, they crept up the groaning stairs to bed.

Arthur put his pendant on the bedside locker, snuggled down into the soft, warm blankets and smiled. This had been a good day, he mused, and somehow he had barely thought about Loki at all.

Everyone slept soundly inside Cousin Maggie’s comfortable house, and in the barns and pens the animals couldn’t have been more peaceful. Even Max, who had forgotten about Loki thanks to the fun distractions of the day, managed to sleep soundly, twisting in his bed to nightmares he wouldn’t remember in the morning but never waking. Then, in the darkest part of the night, a shadowy figure stepped out of the wooded area to the right of the house. He walked towards the house, keeping to the shadows, but not unduly worried about stepping into the moonlight. He wouldn’t be seen. He could sense that the occupants were all fast asleep.

With every step, Loki could feel the power of the pendant. And he could see the faint green glow emanating from one of the upstairs bedrooms as it reacted to his presence. He’d sensed it earlier in the day, the pendant drawing closer and closer. When it had finally stopped moving he had traced it to this house. It seemed that somehow Arthur had tracked him down. Or maybe it was all a coincidence. But Loki knew there was no such thing as pure coincidence.

His arch-enemy was so close. Sleeping peacefully. If not for the pendant protecting the house, Loki could have entered and finished the boy off once and for all. The boy who had defeated him once, who had killed his first child and ruined all his plans. But it wouldn’t happen again, he silently vowed. This time I’ll succeed and have my revenge on this interfering brat at the same time.

He turned and crept silently back into the forest. He had a plan.

Back in Dublin, the Vikings woke suddenly from their sleep. The pendant had been the key to the chamber that had hidden them and the Jormungand. They were linked to it and could sense it even from this distance. They felt a fluctuation in its power and as one they realised what had happened. The surge of magic could mean only one thing. The Father of Lies had been close to the pendant and, since the pendant was always with Arthur, that meant that Loki had also been close to him.

Bjorn rose from where he lay and summoned the rest of the army to him. After a few moments they agreed that Arthur needed to be warned of the danger and protected from the god as well. Luckily, in the months since Loki’s last appearance, Bjorn had formed a plan for this eventuality. Eirik immediately headed for the costume room and the commander quickly joined him there. Eirik had already started painting his face as they’d practised on several occasions. The commander grunted at him.

Hurry, he ordered, the boy and his friends could be in trouble.