The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (5 page)

8

W
alter held fast to the rope that restrained the ghostly man while Pru scrawled the message from Molly to Edward into her notebook. What did it mean? Perhaps the ghoul could tell us. We quickly refilled the hole and tamped it down as best we could. The end result was a sunken patch of earth without a scrap of grass—an obvious sign that the grave had been unearthed. Marni hastily dug up several rosebushes growing wild along the hillside, planted them on top of the gravesite, and threw a bit of straw beneath them, trying to pass off the desecration as a bit of well-intended planting. It was better than nothing.

With trembling hands we marshaled the half-dead remains of my great-grandfather toward the cart. There was no way he could get away, bound as he was, Rosie jumping up and running circles around him. I cast sidelong glances his way as he traipsed along beside us. Strange—the more I looked at him, the more he resembled something human—old, terrified, and filthy, but human nonetheless. “Maybe we should ungag him,” I ventured, “so he can explain—”

Walter cut me off. “And take the chance of having him alert half the village?” he whispered. “Get arrested for grave robbing?” I shrugged, avoiding Walter's eyes. We stowed our captive in the back of the cart and arranged the tarp over him. He writhed beneath it, moaning and groaning unintelligible sounds.

All this upset the mules, who began to curl back their mouths, whinny, and neigh. Pugsley whined. Rosie leaped onto the cart, throwing herself on top of our ghoulish cargo. “Good girl, Rosie,” Pru said. “Don't you let him out of there.”

A loud snapping noise brought us all to attention. We spun around to find Marni holding a large branch from a nearby hedge. “Use it like a broom,” she said, “to erase our tracks!” I grabbed it and as we walked, swished and swept it along the road behind us, trying to wipe away the hoof and wheel marks. We retraced our path, every moment feeling like an hour, praying we wouldn't be followed. Each time a strangled utterance emanated from beneath the tarp, Pru gave the rumpled form a good poke, and Rosie nudged him with her pointy snout.

It was a miracle we made it back to the cottage undetected. As quickly as we could we unloaded the tools, unhitched the mules, and led them to the stable. Then we pulled back the tarp, took the ghoul under the arms, and spirited him into the cottage, his bare feet dragging along the ground, head flopping about. His eyes rolled wildly, and garbled sounds came from his gagged mouth. Once we were inside, Marni secured the door, Pru lit the lanterns, and Walter and I arranged him on a chair. For a moment we all collapsed against whatever surface was nearest—a wall, table, piece of furniture—the tension, fear, disappointment draining from us, leaving us weak. Even the ghoul slumped against the back of the chair, the lids of his googly eyes fluttering. Walter muttered what we were all wondering. “Now what?”

Before we could answer, the door began to rattle and shake.

Knock, knock, knock . . .

We exchanged furtive glances. The ghoul tried to struggle to his feet.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Marni walked slowly to the door, hesitated, then lifted the latch.

It was Grady, peering into the cottage. “What in the devil—”

The ghoul leaped from the chair. “ERRRRRGH . . . ARGHHHHH!” Rosie ran back and forth between the ghoul and Grady, yapping incessantly.

“Good god in heaven, whaddya doin' to Old Peader?” Grady demanded, striding across the room toward the ghost of my great-grandfather. He pulled down the gag, revealing the gaping mouth, his lips sucking air like a fish out of water. Before we could intervene, Grady had pulled out a jackknife and cut the bonds at the spectral creature's wrists. Rosie danced around the two of them, tail wagging.

“Old Peader?” Walter asked.

“Saved me, they did,” he wheezed, “but why they kept me bound is beyond me!”

I started to open my mouth, but Marni silenced me with a look. “Tell Grady what happened. . . . Old Peader . . .”

Old Peader . . . I'd heard that name before, but I couldn't quite place it. I stared at him, the gag hanging around his long wattle of neck, the angry red marks from the bonds on his wrists.

Old Peader flopped back in the chair, ran his long knobby fingers through the tuft of feathery white hair atop his head. “Was in me cottage and heard somethin' out by the abbey, me an' Rosie did. Just as the sun was settin', when nobody had any business t' be there.” He paused, opened and closed his jaws as though trying to determine if they still worked.

“Go on,” Grady said. Pru was already putting on the kettle, setting up the tea, one eye on this Old Peader, the other on Grady.

“I snucked up, thinkin' it was a few lads busted out some whiskey and sneakin' a few smokes. Hid behind the wall, and what do I see but three men diggin' up and desecratin' a grave!”

Pru and I gasped. Somehow, they'd gotten there ahead of us.

Grady tipped his head and narrowed his eyes. “Grave robbin'?” he asked, his face dark with suspicion.

Old Peader went on. “Without thinkin' I called out, ‘Hey, you there, whaddya think yer doin'?' Me girl Rosie ran and grabbed the big one by the seat of 'is pants, and the ruckus begun. Drug me over there, they did, cursin' and swearin' some nonsense 'bout the treasure bein' gone.” Old Peader shook his head and blinked, as though seeing it all again. “Thought I'd stolen their treasure! Drug me to me cottage and tore it up pretty good, a-searchin'.” He laughed, and the chuckle turned into a great rheumy cough. When he recovered he said, “Imagine 'em turnin' over me cupboards lookin' fer a treasure chest? I told 'em they'd do better chasin' leprechauns fer a pot o' gold than findin' treasure in me cottage. They didn't take kindly to that, and two of 'em—the big beefy one and the straggly pirate—bound me up, they did, drug me back to the grave, and threw me in! Nailed shut the lid. All the while the third one protestin'. But they paid 'im no mind.”

He stopped, blinked, and wiped his eye. “Have to say I's glad there weren't some old skeleton bones in there with me! 'Twas empty, it was. Gave up me fussin' after they shut the lid and nailed it tight. Heard the dirt pilin' up and their voices fadin'. Figured to close me eyes and go to sleep, and hopefully the good Lord'd take me sooner rather 'n' later. Thought I was dreamin' when I heard the scritch of the shovel, and you folks up above. The lid popped open and I seen the lass. Thought she was an angel, I did. And then me faithful Rosie, there she was a-waitin' fer me.”

“We came upon Rosie,” Marni explained, “making quite a fuss. I daresay your loyal companion saved you.”

Pru picked up the thread of the tale, crafting a story that would render us innocent. “As we got closer we could see that the grave was fresh. Then, a muffled sound. There was nothing else to do. . . .”

“You saw no one out there?” Grady asked. “And dare I ask what ye's were doin' there in the first place?”

“We have reason to believe the grave was Lucy's great-grandfather's, Edward Simmons's.”

Old Peader's eyes became two shining orbs. “Edward Simmons was yer great-granddad? Oh, the stories 'bout that one . . .” His eyebrows pushed halfway up his forehead.

“I know the stories,” Grady said. “Now I'm puttin' two 'n' two together.” He peered at me and Pru. “So these brutes thought they'd discover the supposed lost treasure—ahead of old Edward's kin?”

“These three men,” Marni interrupted. “What did they look like?”

Old Peader licked his lips, considering. “One big thug, thick faced and dull, but meaner than a bagful of snakes, he was. And once he took to lookin' for 'is treasure he was like a one-eyed dog in a meat factory.”

Quaide. Of course. Pru and I shared a dark look.

“And a straggly pirate, a crossways scar clear from one side of 'is swarthy face to the other.” I shuddered—this was the very same culprit who'd tried to kidnap Georgie and me at the docks back in Boston as we prepared for the first leg of our voyage.

Pru jumped in. “Let me guess . . . and a green-eyed man, more reserved than the other two, a little more genteel—he was the one in charge, but kept his hands clean.”

“Indeed, he was there, he was!” Old Peader nodded furiously. “Just as ye say! The one tryin' to dissuade the others from sealin' me fate.”

Grady caressed his chin, thoughts flying across his face. “So, let me get this straight . . . the four of ye's head out fer to do what—venerate Ol' Man Simmons's grave—ye happen t' hear some smothered sounds, ye see ol' Rosie carryin' on, and ye's dig up a grave? Is that whatcha expect me t' believe?”

“That's what I'm tellin' ye,” Old Peader said, bobbing his wobbly head. “Dug me up, they did!”

“Wait a minute, Grady,” Walter said. “You promised to be on watch. What are you doing here?”

Grady opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by three shrill blasts of the whistle. We froze, then grabbed the lanterns and ran for the door.

9

S
eamus met us beside Gracie O'Malley's castle—the four of us, plus Grady, Old Peader, and the dogs. “Was keepin' watch fer men leavin' the ship,” Seamus explained, “and instead I spied three approachin' it. Figured it might be important.” He pointed seaward, our eyes following. “Over there, ye see 'em?” The moon illuminated a golden pathway across the water on which a small rowboat traversed, clearly heading toward the black ship. And Father's spyglass confirmed what we already knew—Quaide and the pirate were at the oars, the green-eyed man seated at the stern.

Marni took the spyglass, brought it to her eye, squinted, and adjusted the focal point. After a few moments she lowered the instrument and stared out to sea, fingering the locket at her throat.

Grady studied Seamus through narrowed eyes. “Hard t' believe ye didn't see 'em launchin' their skiff. Would've had to pass this way.”

“That's right,” Walter asserted. “How did they get by without you noticing?”

Seamus shook his head vehemently. “Nope. Not a soul passed this way, I swear it!”

Judging by their distance from shore, the men had been rowing for a while. Perhaps Seamus hadn't been as vigilant as he claimed. “Hmph . . .” Grady's eyebrows raised and lowered several times. “Well, they made their getaway, empty-handed.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Pru said.

Walter frowned. “Sure, it's good they didn't find what they were looking for. . . . But then, neither did we.”

“And what would that be?” Seamus asked.

Walter silenced him with a black look. Our eyes followed the rowboat as it moved determinedly toward the black ship. As we watched, the clouds shifted and wandered before the moon, obscuring the path of light shimmering on the sea. At the same time a sinister dark gray fog gathered along the shore, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of woodsmoke, accompanied by a soft but rhythmic thumping sound.

“Ye hear that?” Grady asked. “Fairy footsteps. Don't any of ye's move,” he warned. “Remember what nearly happened the last time.”

“Fog's rolling in,” Pru exclaimed. “Link elbows. Quick! If one of us falters the rest hold tight!”

We huddled closer, creating a human chain, Walter to my left, Seamus to my right as the brooding swirl of fog began to envelope us. I shivered as its chill wrapped around one ankle, then the next, felt my legs and arms turn to gooseflesh. The ominous fog rose around our torsos, then circled our necks with damp chilly fingers. My eyes smarted as the smoky vapor misted my face, forcing my lids closed. With the fog, the cunning Grey Man ushered in a feeling of isolation. I no longer felt my arm entwined with Walter's or Seamus's, and a sense of overwhelming loneliness coaxed me in a direction that seemed inexplicably comforting. Toward a place where I was supposed to be. Though my legs had grown heavy I forced myself to take a step, and yes, that felt right. I dragged the other foot along, and as I did, a desperate instinct took over that continued to propel me forward.

A distant voice buzzed in my ear. A distraction. I ignored it and pressed on. Again the voice, more insistent this time. “Be strong! Fight the urge!” Familiar, but far away. Something dragged on my arm, encumbering me. I resisted, the urge to move ahead being so much stronger.

Another voice now, this one closer, penetrating the edges of my brain. “Stand yer ground! Don't let go o' yer mates! Pull back, I tell ye!” An inkling of something tickled my brain, slowing my steps. Grady? Where was I? What was I trying to do? Blurred and sluggish thoughts fought their way to consciousness. Something about a boat, a buried treasure, a coffin? Jumbled images. Confusion. I struggled against the hands determined to hold me back, heard a groan escape my lips.

A sudden thrust, and I was yanked from the whirlpool of energy that held me bound. As the fog lifted a rush of fresh air filled my lungs. “Lucy! Lucy!” I turned toward the voice. Two voices. One with a brogue.

“The lass had the strength of two men, she did!”

“Never mind that! Just pull her back!”

Walter took me beneath my arms and Seamus grabbed my feet, rendering me helpless. “P-put me d-down,” I stammered, thrashing about, trying to get my feet back on the ground. There was Grady, Pru, and Old Peader looking once again like a ghoul, his mouth gaping and eyes popping.

“She's safe now; the culprit's drifted off to sea. Put 'er down there.” Following Grady's instructions they set me on my feet, just a stone's throw from the shore. It had been another close call. My eyes met Pru's. But instead of relief on her face there was panic.

Pru turned right, then left. “We've lost Marni!”

We fanned out around the castle, calling her name. Old Peader stood like a pillar, eyes peeled. Grady's mouth was pulled into a grim line, and he shook his head. It seemed she was gone without a trace.

Pugsley and Rosie ran down the slope to the water's edge. Refusing to give up, I followed them with Father's spyglass and focused out to sea. The lens brought the water up close. There the black ship, the rowboat beneath its bow. I could make out the silhouettes of Quaide, the pirate, and the green-eyed man. Within feet of the rowboat I spotted something in the water. A porpoise, or maybe a seal. But even as these logical thoughts surfaced I knew it was neither. It was another kind of sea creature. The one who had saved me from drowning several times already. I suddenly heard Miss Oonagh's words again—
Is there a merrow about?

“Maybe she went back to the cottage,” Pru suggested. But the look on her face told me she didn't believe it. No one else did either. I thought about telling them that Marni was fine, that I thought I'd spotted her swimming all the way out by the black ship, treading water behind the rowboat. But I hesitated. I still wasn't ready to believe that she was a merrow, wasn't sure how that revelation might affect who we all were together. All I knew was that more than anyone I'd ever met, Marni had been drawn to the sea. More than my father, the sea captain. More than Capt'n Adams back in Ballyvaughan with Addie and the children. And even more than Grady, who'd left his father's farm for a life at sea. A merrow? How would they make sense of it? I felt a peculiar loyalty to Marni. As though we shared a secret I was bound to keep. At least for now.

I felt Grady's wary eyes on me. He'd been suspicious of Marni from the start. I looked up and then away, hoping he couldn't read my thoughts.

“Pru's right,” I said finally. “Let's go back to the cottage. I feel sure she'll be there.” My voice sounded hollow, falsely bright. They stared at me, perhaps with pity at what they saw as my wishful thinking. All but Walter, who'd been with Marni the longest, after all. He nodded, eyeing me thoughtfully.

We walked back in awkward silence.

Seamus sidled up to me and whispered, “Ye don't think the ol' gal's gone and drowned, do ye? Seemed t' be quite the swimmer, she did. But what with the Grey Man about, ye can never tell.”

I avoided his eyes and quickened my step. I felt his hand on my arm.

“Pardon me, Lucy. Have I gone 'n' upset ye? Jest worried for ye, is all.”

“It will be all right,” I said, and realized that I meant it.

Grady and Seamus agreed to take Old Peader back to his home, to put it back in order after the ransacking and tuck the old fellow into bed, his loyal Rosie following behind. He'd been through way too much for one day. Pru, Walter, Pugsley, and I took the turnoff to our cottage.

The snug little house was dark and closed up tight—even from a distance it was obvious no one was there. “I knew it didn't seem possible,” Pru murmured, “that Marni would be here—but all the same I have this strong feeling that she's safe.”

Inside we poked at the fire and lit the lanterns, all without a word. Pru watched me carefully, more kindly than Grady had, and I knew she could sense I was withholding something. My loyalty torn, I avoided her eyes.

“I . . . may have seen something out there,” I began.

I could feel Pru's interest flare like one of the peat bricks in the fireplace. “Where?” she asked. “What do you think you saw?”

“In the water. It could have been a fish—a porpoise. Or maybe a seal.” I hesitated. “But it might have been Marni.”

“Marni does not look like a porpoise,” Pru began.

“Swimming. What I saw was definitely swimming.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Walter asked.

“Because I didn't want Grady and Seamus to know.” I knew they both understood.

The door suddenly swung open. There was Marni, slick as a seal. Our eyes met. “Are you going to get me a towel, so I don't drip all over the floor?”

In an instant Walter had a blanket wrapped around her. “Get out of those wet clothes,” Pru insisted. Marni went into our room and quietly closed the door behind her.

In relief we exhaled. There would be no more questions tonight. As Pru and I settled into bed, we both took in Marni's slim form beneath the blankets, the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders. What a night it had been—we'd unearthed a grave, found an old man buried alive, and had almost been drawn into the sea by the Grey Man—or the curse. Perhaps Marni actually had been. But a part of me knew she hadn't been lured at all. She'd jumped into the sea, and swam as close as she could to whatever it was she'd needed to see. I only hoped she'd tell us what that was.

Though exhausted I knew I wouldn't soon fall asleep. And the same nervous energy that buzzed in my head was flowing from Aunt Prudence as well. It moved like a current between us, and the atmosphere in the room felt like the air before a thunderstorm. Tingling. Electric. Unsettled, with the potential for danger.

“Tomorrow,” Pru whispered, “we need to look at everything we know. Put the pieces together. Make a plan.”

“Yes,” I murmured. I didn't voice the thought that crept up behind those words . . .
Before it's too late.