The Brothers' Lot (32 page)

Lynch stared at Scully and his eyes slowly narrowed to two points of brittle energy. “Fucking deadly,” he said softly, and ran out into the yard pulling a none-too-reluctant Brian Egan after him. There was some shouting and then the sound of breaking glass.

“Sorry, Bollix Loughlinnnnnnn. Me hand slipped,” rang Lynch’s voice round the yard.

“Go!” shouted Scully to the rest of them, and they scattered off to spread the action.

37

B
rother Boland stood rooted to the spot in the oratory. Sweat was running down his face and he struggled to catch his breath. The two bulky radiators on the side wall were shaking and rattling violently.

“Stop! Stop! No!” he pleaded. The shaking and rattling intensified and a piercing hiss filled the room. Boland turned and ran, slamming the oratory door shut behind him.

“… And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade …”

“Very good! Very good! Thank you! You can stop now! You can all sit down again,” Mr. Nolan hastily told 3-B. In the few brief moments of listening to the jog-trot class recitation of
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
he fully grasped why W.B. Yeats couldn’t bear hearing it read in unison by three thousand boy scouts. Had Mr. Nolan stopped it a line earlier he would surely have heard glass breaking and Lynch shouting in the yard.

“Very good. Thank you, Brother Walsh,” smiled Mr. Pollock.

“Perhaps we could move on to the attic and the oratory,” suggested Miss Moloney.

Mr. DePaor and Mr. Nolan nodded in agreement.

“Ah yes, right, the attic. Right so,” answered Brother Loughlin hesitantly.

“That is, after all, our main reason for being here,” said Mr. Nolan with an unmistakable impatience creeping into his voice.

“Right then. Thank you, Brother Walsh. You may proceed with your lesson,” said Loughlin curtly, and opened the classroom door.

“Brother! Brother! Brother! Brother!” shrieked Lynch and Egan as they burst in.

“What on earth is this carry-on?”

“A message, Brother.”

“From Mrs. Broderick, Brother.”

“It’s urgent, Brother.”

“Yes, yes! What is it then?” snapped Loughlin.

“She says you have to come quick.”

“She can’t wait.”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Out with it!” snarled the Brother.

“She needs …”

“A long …”

“Hard …”

“Deep …”

“Shag …”

“On your desk …”

“From behind …”

“Now!”

For a moment Brother Loughlin was completely stunned. It was only when he heard the giggles from the boys of 3-B did he really believe his ears. He drew his leather and grabbed Egan who was nearest.

“How dare you? You filthy-mouthed little cur!” The whole class fell silent. Still, the reality of the moment persisted, percolating from disbelief into something akin to hysteria. One of the boys at the back could stifle his laughter no longer and burst into uncontrollable giggles.

“Come up here, you boy!” called Mr. Pollock, pushing his way past Mr. Nolan to get to work quicker.

“Hurry up with that polishing,” barked Brother Cox, and glanced at his watch. He should have got more than three classes of boys to polish the school hall. A temporary lunch table had been set up for the inspectors and now it was nearly lunchtime. He jumped as the doors flew open but was relieved to see that it was only a boy.

“Mr. Pollock wants to see Tony Begley, Brother,” said McDonagh respectfully.

“Hah! Begley, in trouble again?” Cox administered two perfunctory belts of the leather before waving Begley out the door with McDonagh.

Outside in the hall McDonagh turned to Begley: “Wait here a couple of minutes and then go back in. We’re going for the big blackout. Biggest ever. The whole school. Pass it on.” McDonagh then darted back across the yard toward the school.

It took ten minutes of phony messages like McDonagh’s, chance meetings in corridors, and furtive signals while passing classroom doors for all the boys to be aware of the big blackout. Simultaneously across the school stammers were developed in midsentence, Geometry sets galore crashed to the floor, repetitive stupid questions were asked, tremendous feats of farting and belching were accomplished, idiotic answers to the simplest of questions were ventured. Every imaginable annoyance was brought to bear in one united front of provocation. Fearful of being surprised by the inspectors in the middle of a beating, the teachers and Brothers reacted swiftly and furiously, doling out quick, vicious leatherings in an attempt to restore order as soon as possible.

Brother Boland burst into his cell. There, too, the radiator was hissing and shaking like a thing possessed. He grabbed his rosary beads from the washstand where they hung and fled the room. He ran down the main stairs and then up the back stairs to the bell tower, feverishly fingering his beads.

“As you can see, the damage is quite extensive.” Brother Loughlin motioned to the wreckage around him. He stood on what had been the attic but now amounted to little more than a flat roof of rubble atop the monastery.

“Were the victims’ remains recovered?” asked Mr. DePaor.

“Yes. The fire brigade brought them to the city morgue. They will be returned to us for burial when they have finished with them.”

“Are you sure this is safe now?” asked Mr. Nolan.

“It is safe but we need to do a lot of work to clear it, and it is slow work.”

“Slow? Why?”

“Well, since the, uhm, miracle we haven’t been dealing with any outside contractors.”

“But I heard the miracle investigation was suspended. I heard that Father Sheehan, the Chief Diocesan Investigator, was reviewing it,” countered Mr. Nolan.

“Ah yes, indeed, that’s true all the same, temporarily suspended all right,” babbled Loughlin.

“I think what Brother Loughlin means to say,” interrupted Mr. Pollock smoothly, “is that we are still considering working with Father Sheehan and hope to find a new biographer for Venerable Saorseach O’Rahilly, and as such we need to preserve the miracle site from outside hands.”

“I see,” murmured Miss Moloney a split second before the whole building shook with a series of distant impacts.

“Jesus Christ! What was that?” cried Mr. Nolan

“I have no idea. Must be that damned janitor again,” said Brother Loughlin as casually as he could.

They all stood amazed as the monastery shook and trembled, and suddenly the rubble at the other end of the roof shot up to allow passage to a radiator that flew fifty feet into the air before falling with a crash into the yard below.

“That’s enough, Brother Loughlin. Evacuate the school!” shouted Mr. DePaor.

“But—”

“This instant, Brother Loughlin! Something is very wrong here.”

“Smalley! Smalley! Where are you?”

“Come on, Scully. We already looked in there.”

Scully had just turned away from the refectory door when there was a deafening blast. The radiator under the window shot off the wall and hurtled down the corridor. It narrowly missed him and skidded past Finbar, making shreds of the parquet floor before smashing through the main door and coming to rest in the yard.

“Fuck sake! Come on!” shouted Scully.

As they neared the door they heard the commotion of many feet outside. There was a lot of yelling and some screaming. “Where is McDermott?” they heard Spud Murphy shouting above it all. “Who has the key to the gate?”

A shadow fell across the doorway and a figure stepped over the mangled radiator into the hallway.

“Leave me for dead, would ye, ye little bastards?” Brother Moody, covered in dust and bleeding heavily from the forehead, advanced on them. In his right hand he held a jagged length of brass pipe that he swung wildly in front of him. “I’ll break every bone in your poxy little bodies!”

Finbar and Scully backed down the corridor, flinching at each tiny sound, fearing another radiator might fly at them from somewhere. Scully stumbled on a clump of fallen masonry and Moody was on him in a flash. Finbar stared in horror as the Brother raised the pipe above his head and swung down hard. Scully turned away reflexively but still took a blow to the ribs. Finbar launched himself at Moody and grabbed him round the neck and kicked at him for all he was worth. Moody threw himself backward and smashed Finbar against the wall.

Winded and stunned, Finbar slid to the floor. Moody swung the pipe drunkenly and caught Finbar on the arm he raised to protect his head. There was a sickening crack and Finbar saw white and felt a biting pain.

“What on earth is going on, Brother Moody?”

Moody turned to see Brother Loughlin stepping in through the shattered doorway.

“I caught these two skulking around in here. They’re up to something. I just know they are. They’re behind all this.”

Brother Loughlin gaped in incomprehension at the scene before him. “But what happened to you?”

“Ceiling collapsed in the toilets upstairs. These little bastards left me for dead. And this one is the ring leader, I’ll bet.” Moody slapped Scully in the small of the back with the pipe.

Loughlin jumped as Moody’s blow was answered by an explosion and another window in the refectory fell in. “Hit him again,” he said.

Moody willingly obliged and this time the fuse box under the stairs burst into flames. Loughlin’s eyes narrowed as the appalling realization of the building’s ailment settled into his brain.

“The little bastards!” he screamed, and dragged Scully up from the floor. “If you want to bring this school down, you have to be prepared to go with it. Are you prepared to do that, you little bastard?”

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” came a thin voice from above.

Scully leapt aside, and a second later Brother Boland, clinging to the school bell, crashed through the stairwell onto Brother Loughlin. Boland was flung to the ground and lay there stunned. Loughlin twitched, then did not move; he lay under the bell with his head at a very peculiar angle to his trunk.

“Boland, you mad bastard! You and your precious fucking bell. Look what you’ve done,” howled Moody. He advanced on Boland, his eyes afire with hate and violence.

Finbar crawled up to where Scully lay. “He’ll kill him,” he whispered.

“So what?” groaned Scully.

Brother Moody struck out wildly at Brother Boland but jammed the pipe into the broken fuse box instead. He froze and then shuddered as the current coursed through him. Boland lashed out with his foot and kicked Moody’s legs from under him. Moody fell to the floor twitching.

“I’m going to do for ye all,” sneered Moody, and tried to stand up. The staircase shook and seemed to wrench itself off the wall. Finbar grabbed Scully and dived toward the doorway. The air was filled with noise and dust, and then just dust. As it cleared they saw Brother Moody pinned under a huge beam and Brother Boland trapped under the other end of it.

“Help me! Help me!” pleaded Brother Moody.

Finbar and Scully stood uncertainly at the doorway.

“Go! Save yourselves!” croaked Brother Boland. “What a terrible waste of a life! Diseased, terrible waste. Leave me. Leave him too. He doesn’t deserve to be saved. His like should never be let near decent people. Run! Save yourselves. The school is sick and must die. Save yourselves. You have to try to understand …”

A tremendous rumble from the floors above drowned out Brother Boland’s voice.

“Run! And keep running!” shouted Finbar, and pushed Scully out the door in front of him. They heard the crash and crunch behind them and were enveloped in a cloud of choking dust. They veered to their left and emerged in the middle of the yard, which was deserted and littered with rubble, desks, slates, pipes, broken glass.

“The gate’s open! Keep going!” screamed Scully, who limped on ahead. They dashed out the gate, up the lane, and turned onto Werburgh Street. At the top of the street they saw everyone else and ran toward them, then turned to look back and saw what the crowd was staring at numbly.

Windows were popping and smoke was rising. With each thump and shudder the school seemed to exhale more dust and smoke.

“Look! The tower!” someone shouted.

All eyes locked on the bell tower. It was listing. It seemed to regain stability for a moment and then gently folded in on itself and lay down with a huge stony sigh. Some of the boys cheered.

“Where’s Smalley?” Scully asked Lynch.

“Over there with Spud Murphy and Laverty.”

Scully turned to see the boy standing behind Spud Murphy, who was shouting furiously at Mr. Pollock: “You and your fucking miracle and your fucking school! I’ll hang you, Pollock. I don’t care what it takes. You are a vicious, twisted little fucker and not fit to be near animals, no mind say young people. You’re a sick bastard and I will see you pay for this!”

As if to echo Spud’s words, the top floor of the monastery building collapsed completely.

“It’ll be your word against mine, Mr. Murphy.”

“It will not.” Mr. Laverty stood in front of Pollock. “I’ll back him up. I will make it my life’s work to see you get what’s coming to you. Come on, Mullen, let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll drive you home. Away from this vicious fucker.”

“Where the hell were you until now? We were …” Mrs. Sullivan yanked the front door open and her breath caught when she saw Finbar, Scully, and Spud Murphy standing on the doorstep. Finbar’s arm was in a sling and Scully’s head was heavily bandaged.

“Holy Mother of God! What happened you, Finbar?”

“They’re fine, Mrs. Sullivan. Do you think we might come in? They’ve had quite a day. I’m Mr. Murphy, Finbar’s History teacher,” said Spud softly.

“Oh God, of course! I’m sorry. I was worried sick.”

“What the … ?” Finbar froze in the sitting room doorway. His father was there on the sofa with Declan. Sheila Barry sat in the armchair with a baby on her lap. Mr. Sullivan met Finbar’s mystified look and shook his head gently to say that this was not the time. How he got Sheila and the baby back would be a story for another day.

Scully stood awkwardly in the hall behind Finbar. “Eh, maybe I should go home.”