Chapter Eleven

A week passed and Arthur still couldn’t bring himself to break the bad news to Ash. It was something he just didn’t want to think about. Despite this, it was on his mind constantly. Even when he did manage to concentrate on schoolwork or something on TV, the thought of leaving was still there. A niggling, negative thought in his subconscious. He felt like a drone during those days. He’d get up, go to school, do his work half-heartedly and return home with Ash in near-silence. Eventually she noticed the change in his mood and asked what was up.

‘Nothing,’ he’d answered monotonously, still hoping to avoid the issue with her. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’

The new girl, Ellie Lavender, also tried engaging him in conversation during the lunch-breaks, asking about his family, where he was from, what he liked to do at the weekends. But to no avail. Arthur just replied with one-word answers.

It was Friday lunchtime when Ash gave him some news that brightened his humour. The students were on their way back to class when her phone beeped shrilly. She and Arthur had each bought new phones with Christmas gift vouchers after their old ones had been destroyed in the frozen lake (even Ash wasn’t able to fix them). Arthur went for a small touchscreen that fitted neatly in the palm of his hand, while Ash chose a state-of-the-art smartphone which she spent hours happily playing with. She flicked the screen to read the incoming text, then squealed in delight.

‘What’s up?’ Arthur inquired.

‘It’s a text from my mom. Cousin Maggie is coming to visit!’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow! She’s showing some paintings to a gallery on Dawson Street. She said she’ll meet us there around one and take us out for the day!’

‘That’s great!’ Arthur was so pleased at the thought of a much-needed distraction that he didn’t notice Ellie and Ex walking slowly in front of them. Or the small and knowing look that Ellie shot at her brother.

Although it was only mid-January, a thaw had set in on the Saturday morning and they took the bus into town. It was still cold and their breath puffed out in clouds of condensation, but the day didn’t have that biting frostiness that they’d been used to for weeks now. Arthur, Ash and Max all disembarked from the bus outside St Stephen’s Green. Stace couldn’t come as her mock Leaving Certificate exams were rapidly approaching and she wanted to use the spare time to study.

The pavements weren’t icy and slick any more, but rather uneven with residue from the salt and grit that had been scattered on them during the treacherous weeks. Dublin city centre was busy once more – the opposite of the Saturday Arthur and Ash had visited the Vikings. The improving weather had obviously encouraged the shoppers too.

They crossed the road at the traffic lights and walked down Dawson Street. Most of the Christmas lights, trees and decorations had been taken down and packed away until next November. But all the shops that lined the street had bold, red sale signs placed prominently in their windows. Shoppers piled in and out of stores, carrying bags stuffed with bargains and spending the last of their Christmas savings and gift tokens.

They reached the art gallery Cousin Maggie had mentioned about halfway down the street and next to a large bookshop. The shop-front of the gallery was old, with intricately carved wooden pillars and mouldings that were thick with layers of paint. Polished bronze letters stood out on the sign, spelling the words Chevalier Galleries. A lone painting hung in the single window. It was a landscape, depicting a windswept and harsh field in Connemara. The oil paint had been applied densely and globs of colours popped out here and there on the canvas. It was selling for €23,000.

‘Twenty-three hundred!’ exclaimed Max in shock.

‘That’s twenty-three thousand, Max,’ Arthur said.

‘Twenty-three thousand! For that? I prefer Cousin Maggie’s ones. They’re not as depressing.’

As if on cue, Cousin Maggie appeared inside the shop, stepping out of a back room with a couple of gallery employees. She smiled and waved through the glass, then turned back to a stern-looking man in a three-piece suit. Arthur assumed that he was the gallery owner. They talked for a moment. Then Maggie shook his hand and walked out to the street.

Straight away, she hugged the three of them at once.

‘How are you all?’ she asked, finally letting them go.

‘We’re good, Cousin Maggie,’ Ash answered for them. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m great, Ash!’ She pointed over her shoulder into the gallery. ‘The owner, Mr Branigan, is a famous artist himself, but he’s agreed to show my paintings to some interested buyers later today, so I couldn’t be better!’

‘That’s amazing news,’ Arthur said. ‘Well done!’

‘Fingers crossed it goes well. Now,’ she clapped her gloved hands, ‘who’s up for some celebratory milk shakes. I saw a place down the street that looked nice.’

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and strode briskly away. Max ran after her. Arthur and Ash started to follow but stopped when–

‘Arthur! Ash!’

They turned in the direction of the voice calling to them. Ellie and Ex were running across the street to them, dodging the dense traffic. Arthur almost didn’t recognise them out of their brown school uniforms. Ex was wearing clothes that fitted for a change, although Ellie was still in her too-large trench coat.

‘Hi, guys!’ said Ellie when they reached them. ‘We were just passing. I thought I saw you and I said to Ex, “Hey, isn’t that Arthur and Ash?” and he was like, “I dunno,” and I was like, “I’m pretty sure it is,” and then I called your name and, lo and behold, it is you!’ She took a short breath. ‘So what are you up to?’ Through it all, Ex stood silently behind her, studying his feet.

‘Just meeting up with Cousin Maggie,’ Ash said, indicating Maggie, who was striding up the street.

‘Oh, she’s your cousin?’

‘No,’ Arthur said with a wry, knowing smile. ‘But it’s a long story.’

‘Oh. OK. Well …’ Ellie looked from Arthur to Ash and back again, waiting. ‘Well …’ she said again.

‘Hurry up, you two!’ Cousin Maggie called, already halfway towards the milk shake bar. Then she noticed Ellie and Ex. ‘Bring your two friends along if you like!’

Ellie turned back to Arthur and Ash. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want to intrude.’

Ash was about to say, ‘Then don’t,’ before Arthur cut her off.

‘You wouldn’t be intruding at all.’

With that, Ellie skipped off in the direction of Cousin Maggie and Max. Ex plodded along behind her. Arthur and Ash trailed after them in silence, Ash glaring at Arthur in quiet irritation the whole way to the milk shake bar.

‘Ow!’ cried Ellie, rubbing her temple furiously. ‘Brain freeze!’

‘Don’t drink it so quickly,’ Cousin Maggie advised, sipping at her own shake more slowly.

The milk shake bar was designed like an American diner from the 1950s, with black and white chequerboard tiles, a chrome countertop running the length of the kitchen area and comfortable booths with seats covered in bright red vinyl. Rock ’n’ roll music boomed from a jukebox in the corner and the waiters wore costumes from the period.

They were all squeezed into one of the booths, with Max opting for a tall swivel stool at the end of the table. He swung in small arcs on the seat as he drank his milk shake.

‘So, how do you all know each other?’ Maggie asked.

‘We go to school together,’ Ellie piped up before anyone else could answer. ‘We just started there – Ex and I. That’s Xander, my brother.’ Ex nodded his head at Cousin Maggie as he was name-checked.

‘Do you like it there?’

‘It’s all right. It’s a bit lonely, though. We don’t really know anyone yet.’ She bit the end of her straw and sipped, looking sideways at Arthur. He didn’t know what had prompted the look, but thought he could read some sadness in her eyes. Suddenly her expression changed and she beamed up at Maggie. ‘But the farm must be quite lonely sometimes too, right? Although I guess it’s good for painting.’

‘It can b–’

‘Hold on!’ Ash cut Cousin Maggie off. ‘How did you know she’s an artist who lives on a farm?’

‘Oh …’ Ellie blushed. ‘It’s that silly habit I have. Sorry.’

‘How did you know?’ Ash pushed once more.

‘Well, I knew she was an artist because I saw the spots of paint under the fingernails. Oil paint is notoriously difficult to clean off. I knew she lived in the country because I noticed the smudges of dirt around the hems of her trousers. We’ve had dry weather for a few weeks now in Dublin, so the dirt must have come from the countryside. When I saw the long white animal hair stuck to the back of Cousin Maggie’s coat, I realised that she must live with or near animals. So I put it all together.’ She blushed once more, looking up at Maggie. ‘Sorry. It’s just a weird thing I do.’

‘It’s kind of creepy,’ Ash murmured to no one in particular.

‘I think it’s fascinating!’ Maggie enthused. ‘So very clever. And to answer your question, the farm can be lonely at times. But that makes days like today even better.’ She looked around at the rest of them, then back to Ellie. ‘You know, I’m bringing this lot somewhere fun after this and you’re more than welcome to join us.’

Ex looked at Ellie, as if he was waiting for her to decide.

‘Sounds good,’ she said eventually. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Oh,’ said Cousin Maggie with a mischievous wink, ‘somewhere very special. Back in time!’

Cousin Maggie led them up the adjacent Kildare Street, walking too briskly as usual.

‘Hustle, hustle!’ she said. ‘You’ll love this place.’

They passed Leinster House – a grey and overwhelming building that Arthur knew was the seat of the Irish government – then went towards a smaller entrance on the right. They climbed a few short steps up to the main entryway: a couple of heavy wooden doors held open by strong chains. Beyond, they found themselves in a round entrance hall. The entire floor was covered in an intricate and beautiful mosaic showing the twelve signs of the zodiac. Arthur quickly spotted his own sign of Aquarius: a Greek figure pouring water from a jar. Around the edges of the hall were souvenir stands selling trinkets and jewellery, posters and books. And overhead was a domed ceiling with a glass centre, allowing natural light to fill the hall.

‘Welcome,’ Cousin Maggie said, stretching her arms wide, ‘to the National Museum.’

‘Wow! It’s amazing!’ Arthur said.

‘You think this is impressive? We’re just in the souvenir shop now!’ She turned on her heel and marched off once more. ‘Follow me.’

They emerged into an even greater hall. The entrance had been a sight to behold, but this room took Arthur’s breath away. The ceiling was higher in here, with glass panels running along its length. The floor below him was covered in a series of mosaic patterns running the length of the hall and huge, timeworn portraits hung on the walls themselves. There were exhibits everywhere he looked – bowls and chalices from the Bronze Age gleaming in glass enclosures, mannequins wearing the remains of costumes and jewellery from the Iron Age, jars and pottery and early examples of writing all out for display. And this was only on the ground floor. He could see a balcony running the entire way around the hall, with people examining other exhibits on the second storey.

‘Let’s explore,’ suggested Cousin Maggie.

Max didn’t need any prompting and ran off to look at a selection of Iron Age weapons. They were housed in a glass cabinet, with a little thermometer inside keeping track of the temperature in case it got too hot or too cold – the wrong temperature would damage the fragile artefacts.

‘Look at that one!’ he cried, pointing to a rusty Celtic dagger, complete with a shining bronze hilt inlaid with gold filigree and bright-blue detailing. The colours in some of the Celtic jewellery really surprised Arthur. He couldn’t imagine how the ancient craftsmen could have created such lively and vivid shades of green, red and blue.

They found a room filled with Celtic high crosses. These stone monuments towered above them, with images of saints or demons carved into their surfaces. Some of the images were still as intricate as when they’d first been carved, while others hadn’t stood the test of time as well and had eroded to faint shadows of their former glories. Another room housed the famous Ardagh Chalice, a silver cup decorated with Celtic knots and spirals and insets of coloured enamel. It wasn’t as large as Arthur had thought it would be from pictures in history books, but it was no less impressive. He remembered seeing the world-renowned Mona Lisa in the Louvre in Paris a couple of years ago on holiday and expecting it to take up half the wall, but he’d been surprised to find that it was barely larger than a standard comic book.

They wandered upstairs where it was much quieter, and into the Egyptian Room. There was sand under the glass floor with pink neon lighting to give it a mystical feel and there was a sarcophagus in the centre of the room. The great coffin had an Egyptian prince painted on the lid, his arms crossed and his eyes wide open.

‘Do you think there’s a mummy in there?’ asked Max.

‘Probably,’ Cousin Maggie said. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t get you, Maxie!’

They continued out of the Egyptian Room. Arthur was about to follow them until he noticed a sign on the wall, with an arrow pointing in the opposite direction, which said Viking Room. He looked at the others: they were intently studying a medieval gown so he didn’t disturb them. He walked towards the Viking Room.

‘Can I come?’

He turned back to find Ellie behind him.

‘Sure,’ he said and went on.

‘Arthur, can I ask you something?’ she said as they walked along the balcony overlooking the main exhibit hall.

‘Go ahead.’

‘Ash doesn’t like me, does she?’

Arthur stopped and looked at her. She seemed so small and fragile right then that he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. ‘Uh … she just doesn’t know you yet.’

‘No, it’s not that. She doesn’t trust me. I can tell.’

‘Don’t be daft, Ellie. Of course she d–’

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Ellie, I barely know you.’

‘But do you trust me?’

He considered for a second. Despite all the weird tricks and showing off, despite the jokey, playful confidence she seemed to exude, Arthur could see her underlying insecurity. She just really wanted to be liked, to have a friend.

‘Yeah,’ he said eventually. ‘I guess I do. You’re my friend, after all.’

‘Great!’ she said, a smile breaking out on her face once more as she strode towards the Viking Room.

The room was long, with exhibits arranged along either side. Thanks to low-wattage ceiling lighting and dark red walls, the room was very atmospheric.

A Viking longboat stood against one wall. The timber was black and smooth, worn by time but preserved in a peat bog, according to the little sign next to it. They walked past cabinets with leather helmets, boots and tunics, with longswords and bows and arrowheads, all rusted and falling apart. One glass case was full of Viking pendants. They were all much smaller and flimsier-looking than Arthur’s. Some were shaped like the hammer, others showed the symbol of the Jormungand to ward off evil spirits, while some even featured Loki’s face with the intelligent eyes and sneaky grin.

‘Arthur,’ Ellie started, gazing at the exhibits, ‘friends confide in each other, right?’

‘Huh?’ he said, looking up from the pendant collection.

‘I was saying that friends confide in each other. Tell each other secrets. You know?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah. But, listen, Ellie, can you give me a minute here? I want to have a look around by myself if that’s all right.’

She looked confused and disappointed but, without saying anything else, turned and left. Arthur actually did want to be left alone, but he also didn’t want to have to field any more questions about secrets and honesty.

He continued on through the Viking Room by himself, taking in the different coins and weapons as he passed. There was nobody else in this gallery and the only sounds were his own footsteps on the parquet floor and the soft ticking of the heaters in the ceiling.

He reached the end of the long hallway and turned a corner into a smaller alcove, where a selection of aged shields and bows hung in tall glass cabinets. As he examined them, comparing them to the ones his own Vikings had, he gradually became aware of footsteps entering the gallery. The steps were light, treading softly and slowly on the floor, and he assumed Ellie must have come back despite what he had said. Yet when he peered around the cabinet to check, the sound stopped and there was no sign of anyone.

Arthur turned back to the bows, leaning in closer to see some intricate carving on a grip. After a moment, the footsteps broke the silence once more.

‘Ellie,’ he said, exasperated, stepping out of the alcove. ‘Is that y–’

A Japanese tourist, complete with a ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’ sweater, a bright-yellow plastic poncho, a green cap emblazoned with shamrocks and a Nikon camera hanging from his neck, was standing in the middle of the gallery, staring right back at Arthur. He smiled pleasantly, then shot off a photograph of the bemused boy. The flash was blinding, sending little blue and red dots spiralling in Arthur’s vision. The tourist nodded once then turned back to the nearest display.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and went back to his alcove. But as he did, he became distracted by a strange feeling. He could feel a warmth starting to emanate from a point on his chest. At first he hoped that it might be a blast of heat from a nearby air conditioner. But as it grew hotter, he knew it wasn’t that. He put his hand against his sweater and felt his pendant underneath. Without even looking, he knew it was glowing. It usually only did this when he was in danger; his stomach clenched with fear.

‘No …’ he whispered to himself just as a third sound broke the peace of the gallery. It was a hollow, rolling sound and it was getting louder. Louder and closer. Whatever it was, whatever was rolling across the wooden floor, bumping on some of the indentations in the parquet, was making its way towards Arthur.

Before he could peer out of his alcove again, the approaching menace arrived. The basketball bounced off the wall at the end of the gallery before coming to a complete stop. Cautiously, as if it actually was a ticking bomb, Arthur picked the ball up. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, except that it was a basketball in the National Museum. But he knew what it meant. And it wasn’t good.

Slowly, Arthur turned on the spot. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the sweat on the palms of his hands.

There was no sign of the tourist. In his place was a boy of Arthur’s age, wearing a basketball vest, shorts and fresh-out-of-the-box sneakers. The boy had platinum-blond hair, icy blue eyes and a long, stately nose that Arthur was more than familiar with.

‘Hey, Artie,’ Will said. ‘Fancy a game?’

For a split second there was silence in the room and all Arthur could hear was his own panicked breathing. Then, suddenly, there was a loud bang and the scream of the museum’s security alarm pierced the room.