Finn Finnegan (17 page)

Finn sighed in relief as the cold poultice soothed his throbbing lip. He held it in place as Mac Roth joined them at the table.

“‘Tis a good practice to keep a jar of the brew in the refrigerator, Lir. Especially with these hooligans around. Speaking of which,” Mac Roth fixed his gaze on his apprentice. “So, Asher O'Neill. Ye finally ran up against someone who dinna appreciate yer sharp tongue. Apologize for insulting his friend.”

“Sorry,” Asher said curtly. “And just so you know, I meant
his kind
as in him being a human, not because he's black.”

“Whatever,” Finn replied. He rolled his eyes when Gideon cleared his throat behind him. “I mean, I accept your apology. And I'm sorry, too.”
Yeah
, he thought to himself,
I'm sorry I didn't hit you harder
.

“I suppose that's the best we can hope for,” Gideon said. He screwed the lid back on the
slainte
nettle brew and returned it to the refrigerator.

Taking a seat with the others, he raised an eyebrow at Mac Roth. “So, was Iona able to provide us with more information?”

“She mostly confirmed what we already know.” Mac Roth pulled Gideon's paper from his pocket, the boys' fight dismissed. “That, supposedly, the Spear was forged centuries ago by the Black Hand and his mortal ally to be the most deadly weapon against the Amandán.”

“Does Iona really think it's here? In High Springs?” Finn asked.

“Aye, she does. And she seems certain that it is in Gideon's possession.” Mac Roth's eyes gleamed with a wicked light. “She asked after ye, by the way.”

“I don't believe I care,” Gideon replied, with an icy tone.

Asher peered around his rag. “Why does Iona think
he
has it?”

Mac Roth nodded toward the other Knight, who shifted in his chair. “Not only does Knight Lir have an extensive collection of antique blades, most of which are probably still stored in yer cellar, eh?”

Gideon shrugged. “I detest unpacking.”

“But,” Mac Roth continued, “he is also the most likely candidate, since he is a descendent of Gideon Black Hand. Hence his name.”

Both apprentices' jaws sagged as they gazed at the Knight. Finn spoke first. “How come you never told me?”

“Ye never asked me.”

“Gideon!”

“Finn, I am only a shadow of the Black Hand, nothing more.”

“Well,” Mac Roth said, checking the list Gideon had given him earlier. “I tried to find any description in her manuscripts and books that might fit a blade in yer collection. Without a drawing, ‘tis almost impossible.” He handed the paper back to his friend.

“Now that we know Gideon probably has it, how can we tell which one it is?” asked Asher.

Mac Roth glanced down at his own notes. “According to Iona, the Spear will make its presence known on the day of the dark sun.”

Finn frowned.
Dark sun? How can the sun he dark? Wait—Rafe said something about: the sun and an event happening this month
. He snapped his fingers. “I think I got it.” He dropped the cloth and dashed out of the kitchen. The others could hear him rummaging through the bookshelves in the living room. After a few moments, he hurried back, flipping through a thin paperback book.

“
The Farmers Almanac?
” Asher sneered. “Going to do some gardening?”

Finn ignored him. Holding the book open for the others, he pointed to a chart. “See? A partial solar eclipse. On the tenth of July.”

“Why, ‘tis certain. The ancient people's way of describing that event—a dark sun.” Gideon nodded at Finn. “
Gle mhaiih
,” he said quietly, under his breath.

Finn grinned at his master's praise until the other boy made a gagging sound.

“So, what do we do until the eclipse?” Asher asked. He lowered the rag from his eye.

Mac Roth reached over and cupped his apprentice's chin in his palm, peering at the boy's bruises. “Ye, me lad, are going to practice keeping yer tongue in yer head.” He smiled at Asher's huff of exasperation. “Remember the old Irish proverb:
Is minie a bhris héal duine a shron
.”

“Which means?” Both boys asked, at the same time.

“‘Tis often that a person's mouth breaks his nose.'”

With a screech of rusty nails, Finn pried the lid off another wooden crate. He sneezed when the dust billowed around him and dimmed the basement's single bulb. Other crates of various sizes were scattered about, most with their lids propped open or removed. “Nope, no blades in this one, either. Just junk.” He pawed through layers of yellowed newspapers to the bottom. After a few more minutes of digging, he held up a long, narrow pocket of leather with a double pair of straps dangling from it. “What's this?”

Gideon glanced over his shoulder as he sorted through an oak barrel. On it, faded letters in old-fashioned script spelled out
Cripple Creek Mercantile
. “Why, that's an ankle sheath. For yer knife. Ye wear it around the calf of yer leg.”

“Can I have it?”

“
May
have it?”

“Oh, sure.” Finn walked over, handing it to Gideon. “There you go.”

Gideon laughed and shook his head. “Ye do that on purpose, don't ye? Just to drive me insane?”

“Totally.” The corner of Finn's mouth twitched. “So,
may
I have it?”

Gideon examined it for a moment, his face thoughtful, and then tossed it back to Finn. “Of course. Wear it on yer right leg, since ye're right-handed.”

Leaning over, Finn scrunched his pant leg up to his knee and strapped the sheath on the outside of his calf. “Like this?” He held the leg out to the Knight.

Gideon adjusted it, tugging it higher, then stepped back. “‘Tis a useful way to keep yer blade secret, but ‘tis a bit slower reaching it, in a conflict. So, be mindful of yer surroundings.”

“Got it. I mean, yes, sir.” Finn pulled his pant leg down and stomped his foot a few times. “It feels pretty secure. I think I'll carry it this way when I'm around Rafe.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “So can I go over there now? That was the last box.”

“Help me haul these upstairs first.” Gideon pointed to an assortment of weapons, some without handles, piled on the concrete floor. “Do ye think he'll want to see ye, after what happened this morning?” He scooped up most of them and made for the stairs. Finn trailed behind, trying not to drop the others.

“I hope so. I really want to apologize for Asher.”

They dumped the blades on the Knight's desk, then Finn dashed upstairs. He took a minute to scrub his hands and pull on a clean tee shirt. Peering in the bathroom mirror, he grimaced at the cuts and bruises on his face. “Ye're a mess, boyo.” He grinned suddenly. “But not as much a mess as Asher.” He headed downstairs and paused by the front door. “I'm out of here.”

“Before ye go, wash up and change shirts,” Gideon called from the living room. He was hunched over the weapons scattered on the desk, examining one after another.

“Already did.”

“Show me.”

Finn muttered under his breath and stepped closer. “See?” He spread his arms wide.

Gideon looked up, in surprise. “The feral child is becoming civilized. I may faint.”

“Ha, ha. Can I…I mean …
may
I go, now?”

“Have ye a weapon?”

“Oh, dang.” Finn walked over to the fireplace and selected a knife from the rack. Pulling up his pant leg, he shoved it into the sheath.

“Back by four, mind ye.”

Finn trotted across the street. The July sun blazed white in the sky. A cricket's trill accompanied him as he walked up the brick path to Rafe's house. Pausing under the portico, he smoothed his hair, tugged his shirt straight, then took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Rufus Steel answered the door. “Good heavens, Finn! What happened to you?” Stepping aside, he waved the boy in.

“Oh, I got in a…”

Before he could explain, Rafe appeared at the top of the stairs, waving both arms frantically at Finn behind his father's back. He held a finger up to his lip.
Don't say anything
, he mouthed silently as he leaned over the railing. “Hey, Finn!” he called aloud. “Come on up.”

Finn nodded and started to slip around Mr. Steel, when the man stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you're okay, son?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. I just…fell down.”

“Fell down,” the man repeated. “In your home?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Were you alone?”

“N-no. Gideon was there.”

“And what did he do? After you fell down?”

“Um…he gave me something to put on the bruises.”
Okay, what's with all the questions?

Finn looked up at his friend, then back at a frowning Mr. Steel. “I guess I'll go see Rafe, now.” He slid out from under the man's hand and made a dash for the stairs. Without looking back, he hurried up and followed Rafe into his room.

“What was that all about?” Finn asked, shutting the door behind him.

Rafe shushed him, then motioned him over to the far side of the room. “Before I tell you,” he whispered, “I need to ask you something. What's the deal with your cousin?” Rafe's black eyes bore into Finn's blue ones.

“Oh, that jerk thinks
everybody
in the world, including me, is beneath him,” Finn whispered back. “He calls me
halfer
because I'm a mix of…of different people. But don't worry, I beat the crap out of him this morning, for both you and me.”

“Does he look as bad as you?”

“No way. He looks a lot worse.” They grinned at each other.

“Okay, here's the thing. If my dad finds out what your cousin said this morning, plus all those knives and stuff, Dad will go all protective, then we can't hang out together.”

“Then, I'll just have to kick Asher's butt each time he comes over. Problem solved, and a bonus for me,” Finn replied, cheerfully. After a moment, his smile faded. “So, why was your da asking me all those questions?”

Rafe flopped back on his bed, his legs dangling off the side. Clasping his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. “I don't know. Dad's just nosy, I guess. Hey, want to shoot some hoops?”

“Sure.” Finn leaned a hip against Rafe's desk. “But, first, I want to say I'm sorry about this morning. About what Asher said.”

Rafe raised his head as he looked at Finn. “Dad always says you can't pick your relatives, just your friends.” He hopped up. “Come on. I'll give you six points.”

“I'll need it. I suck at basketball.”

“That's for sure.”

“Hey, I can't help it if I've never played before.”

They raced down the stairs, each trying to trip the other, and out the front door. Finn waited under the hoop attached to the garage while Rafe retrieved the ball from behind the front hedge.

“Where's Savannah?”

“Shopping with my mom. She needed new running shoes. We're both trying out for cross country this fall, at school.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Finn felt disappointed by her absence. “Is that why you guys run with your da every morning? On the trails behind my house?”

Rafe nodded and passed the ball to Finn. “How can you be the only guy in America who's never played basketball before? Didn't you even play at school? A little?”

“I've never gone to school. I've been homeschooled all my life. First with my aunt and uncle in Denver, and now with Gideon.”

Blowing his hair out of his eyes, Finn dribbled the ball a few times. He aimed for the basket and threw; the ball arched through the air. He groaned as it bounced off the rim with a
twang
and escaped down the driveway. Dashing after it, he scooped it out of the gutter, then turned and launched it, as hard as he could, toward the house. “Watch this. Nothing but net!”

The ball sailed over the house and landed high on the roof. It rolled down, coming to rest behind the chimney.

“You mean, nothing but roof.” Rafe tilted his head back and closed his eyes in frustration. “That's my only ball.”

“I'll get it.” Finn hurried up the driveway.

“How are you…”

“Trust me—I got an idea. Just wait here for it.”

He headed around to the side and looked up, studying the two-story house.
Okay, only a few windows on this side and I can hear Mr. Steel in the backyard. Savannahs with her mom and Rafe's out front
. He glanced at the home next door.
All clear
.

Finn held his arms out slightly, fingers spread wide, and closed his eyes. “I am a hawk on the cliff.” His lips parted as the ancient power tickled the bottom of his feet, then coiled its way up his legs and along his back. “I am a hawk on the cliff,” he repeated. Crouching down, he sucked in a deep breath and launched himself into the air.