Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper (5 page)

‘Father …' she uttered.

Beep, beep, beep.

‘Ugh,' moaned Ash, turning over in her bed to knock off the alarm. It couldn't be Monday morning already. She forced her eyelids to open as much as they could and took in the time on the bedside clock: 7.30 – time to get up.

She rolled onto her back and braced herself for the day and week ahead. They'd spent all weekend like they had the previous one: scouring the Internet and CCTV footage for any sign of Fenrir. And all weekend they'd come up with nothing. Absolutely nothing. So far they'd spent two weekends in a row, and any spare time they found in between, working on the secret project. She wondered how much longer they could go on like this with no results.

With a sigh, she threw the duvet back and climbed out of bed. Her laptop was on, the fan whirring away. Since the hunt for Fenrir had begun, she hadn't switched it off once. She had a program constantly running in the background, searching for her webcam's signal. She knew the battery she'd put in it wouldn't die for up to two years, so as soon as the webcam came into contact with any Wi-Fi signal her program would pick it up. Of course, like the CCTV videos, this had provided zero results.

She headed for the bathroom, but Stace had beaten her to it and she could hear her showering inside. Her older sister had a habit of taking too long in the bathroom, especially if she was in the middle of a nice hot shower. Ash banged her fist on the door.

‘Stace!' she called. ‘Hurry up!'

‘All right, all right! I'll be out in a minute!' a voice replied through the sound of the rushing water.

Ash sighed again and went back to her bedroom. She was usually a morning person and eager to get the day started. But today, after the disappointing weekend, she just wasn't in a good mood.

She took a quick glance at the laptop – still nothing. Not that she expected it to be any different. Then she looked out the window. The red Toyota was still parked on the street outside – as it had been parked on and off for the past couple of weeks. She couldn't see the occupant from this vantage point but knew who it was nonetheless.

Detective Morrissey. He was a Garda who'd been investigating some of the destruction caused by Loki, and Ash had first noticed his car the day after Arthur left for Kerry. When he was still there on the second day, she'd decided to investigate further.

‘Detective Morrissey?' she had said, tapping on his window as she went to school.

The man had rolled down the window and smiled wryly at her. ‘Good morning, Ashling.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I'm on surveillance.'

‘Surveillance?' Ash peered at the estate around her. ‘Surveillance of who?'

‘You.'

‘Me?' Ash was taken aback. ‘Why?'

‘Simply put, I don't believe the story you or any of your friends spun me after the museum raid. I think you had something to do with it. Or, at the very least, you know who was behind it. Plus, the anonymous tip that led us to the stolen artefacts seemed to be in a child's voice – and it took us to the same lake that you almost drowned in a few months ago. Then there was the suspicious injury to Arthur Quinn around the same time. Something just doesn't quite add up about you all.'

‘You can't just sit here, though,' she said, ‘spying on me!'

‘Oh, I can, Ashling. Because I'm pretty certain that if I'm patient you'll slip up and take me right to the mastermind.'

Since then, he'd been keeping Ash's estate under tight surveillance – his own secret project. He parked in the street during his off-time, watching her and her friends' comings and goings. Sometimes he even followed their bus to school and waited until they disappeared inside before driving off. She, Max and the Lavenders had decided not to mention the Garda's presence to Arthur. It couldn't do any good and would just make him worry. Anyway, he was powerless to change the situation. Ash wished they could just tell the Garda the truth, but she agreed with Arthur. The less people who knew about Loki, the better. She just hoped that Morrissey would give up soon and leave them alone.

Beep, beep, beep
.

I didn't think I hit ‘Snooze', she thought to herself, going to turn off the alarm properly. But as she got closer to it, she realised the sound wasn't coming from her clock. She turned slowly on the spot towards the beeping noise … towards her laptop.

A map of Ireland filled the monitor and a red dot was blinking just off the Dublin coast. With each beep, the dot moved a pixel closer to the shoreline. The location of the webcam!

She grabbed her phone from the bedside locker and hit the first speed-dial.

‘Arthur!' she said excitedly as soon as he answered. ‘You'll never guess what just happened!'

‘Where is it?' Arthur exclaimed when Ash had told him about the webcam signal.

‘Just off the Dublin coast and it's moving in all the time,' she said into the phone, studying the computer screen. ‘I obviously couldn't find it before because it was out of range of any phone or Wi-Fi signal.'

‘That's assuming it is Fenrir and that he didn't dump the webcam weeks ago.'

‘I don't think he would. Even if he didn't know how important it was, he seemed so nice that he'd want to take care of it for me until he could return it. Plus, if he did get rid of it, how is it at sea and moving inland?'

‘Maybe someone else took it …' He trailed off. ‘But you're right, it's our only lead.'

‘What now?'

Arthur looked at his watch. It was ten to eight; a train for Dublin stopped in Farranfore at five past, he knew. He could hear Joe bustling about downstairs, simultaneously preparing breakfast and making some sandwiches for his lunch. There was no way he'd agree to let Arthur take the day off school, but this was too important a chance to let pass.

‘I'll get the train to Dublin,' he decided quickly.

‘And mitch school? Why don't you stay there and we'll go and find him – me, Ellie and Ex?'

‘No!' he said sternly. ‘It's too dangerous for you. Wait for me.'

‘Too dangerous how?'

‘Because if you know where Fenrir is, there's a good chance Loki will too. You have nothing to protect you. I have the pendant, I have the hammer. If Loki shows up they're our only chance against him.'

‘OK,' she conceded. ‘You're right, I guess.'

‘If I'm going, I better go now or I'll miss the train. I'll be in Dublin around lunchtime. Can you meet me in Heuston Station and we'll go from there together? And pick up the others on the way?'

‘Shouldn't we take the Vikings?'

‘Just Eirik. We may need the element of surprise and I don't think a hundred dead Vikings will help that. Plus Eirik can blend in better than the rest.'

‘Sounds like a plan. But are you go–?'

Arthur hung up before she could finish her question. He didn't like to be rude but he really hadn't much time to spare if he intended to catch the 8:05 train. Luckily he was already showered and dressed, so he didn't have to waste precious minutes doing that. He tipped his backpack over his bed, emptying out the contents. Books, stationery and pens all toppled out. He grabbed a T-shirt, hoodie and jeans from his wardrobe and a pair of Converse runners from the end of his bed and stuffed them into the bag. He figured a young boy in a school uniform would attract too much unwanted attention on the train, so he could change in the toilet once he boarded. He took some savings he had stashed in a worn sock in his bedside locker – it wasn't much but should be enough to get him to and from Dublin. And finally he squeezed the hammer into the already full-to-bursting schoolbag.

He put on a coat, swung the bag over one shoulder and crept downstairs. He stepped lightly, praying that Joe wouldn't hear him.

‘Morning, you!'

Damn! thought Arthur, walking in to the kitchen where his dad was laying slices of cheese across buttery chunks of crusty bread.

‘Morning.'

‘Where are you off to so early?' He usually didn't leave for school till half eight.

‘I'm meeting the guys,' he said, making it up as he spoke. ‘We're collecting some leaves for an art project.' He was getting good at lying to Joe. Worryingly good.

‘OK. Don't forget your lunch.' Joe nodded at the two sandwiches already made and wrapped in tinfoil. ‘See ya later.'

Arthur grabbed the tinfoil pack, turned to go, then stopped and looked back at his father. He felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

‘Dad?'

‘Hmm?'

‘Love you.'

Joe looked up in surprise. ‘Love you too, son. What's gotten into you?'

‘Nothing. I just … nothing. See you later.'

A clear morning awaited him outside, but dark clouds threatened on the horizon. It was a mile from their house to the village. Usually it took him about fifteen minutes to walk it. But with just under ten minutes till the train left, he'd have to run. He waited until he was out of sight of the kitchen window before setting off down the road at a sprint. The hammer made the run awkward, as the bag hopped up and down against his back, thumping into him painfully. He made it to the station, panting and with shaky, quivering legs, just as the train pulled in to the platform.

‘Return to Dublin, please!' he asked breathlessly at the ticket booth, shoving some money at the woman behind the Perspex window and keeping his good eye glued to the train in case it started to pull off without him. The woman gazed at him suspiciously before hitting some keys on a machine in front of her that spat out the ticket. He grabbed it more urgently than he'd meant to and leapt onto the train just as the electronic doors started beeping to warn passengers that they were closing. He leant back against the wall of the train, still out of breath, and watched as Farranfore fell behind him. He was finally on his way: to Dublin, to Fenrir.

The fishing boat that cruised into Dublin Harbour was just like all the others. It was a trawler, mostly painted white, with a blue undercarriage. The paint was peeling in several places, showing patches of green and brown rust underneath. It was smaller than many of the other boats and would only take a three- or four-person crew to man it properly. The net was drawn in as it navigated into the port, but it was dripping wet and had obviously been used recently. The captain – the sole crew member of the vessel – steered the boat into a dock. When it was close enough, he grasped a couple of thick, coarse ropes and leapt onto dry land. Then he secured the ropes onto the mooring with a couple of tight clove hitch knots, tugging on them one last time to ensure the vessel wasn't going anywhere before turning and heading away from the water. The name painted in navy cursive letters on each side read
Drysi
.

Fenrir walked through the port, passing fellow fishermen, longshoremen, customs officers and even a few members of the US Navy on his way. None of them gave him a second glance. Though he was as broad and lofty as he'd ever been, his build wasn't that unusual for a seafaring man. In fact, his slim waist and wide, strong shoulders made him the perfect candidate for a life at sea. He'd shaved off his thick beard and made a point of maintaining his appearance that way over the past month, so his jawline was smooth now, with only a faint five o'clock shadow. And he'd cut his hair short too. He hadn't risked going to a barber's so had had to do it himself, looking in the mirror and chopping clumps of black hair away with a pair of blunted kitchen scissors. It wasn't exactly what he'd call fashionable, but at least it would disguise him from anyone on the lookout for a man with long hair and a beard. He wore a small red beanie hat over the ragged hair, along with boots, a pair of jeans, a checked fleece shirt and a waterproof waxed jacket.

After escaping from Loki's clutches during the mayhem of the explosion, he'd made his way straight to the boat. As soon as the battle at the tower had ended and the dust was settling, Fenrir had felt a strange mixture of relief and regret. If Loki had been angry when he'd first found him weeks earlier, there would be no end to the torture the god would inflict on him for actually standing against him. And so, getting to a new hiding place had been first on his agenda. He had seen the other wolves scattering in the aftermath of the battle and, though he liked many of them, he didn't intend to invite them along. It would be much easier to hide one person than many. Off he had gone, by himself, through the dark of the night.

He'd kept the boat docked in Dublin Harbour for years and no one – not even Drysi – knew about it. Despite limiting the wolves' chances to leave the seclusion of the tower for decades, he had snuck off several times by himself for fishing trips over the years. It was as close as he could safely get to the thrill of the hunt. He'd spent the past month on the boat, just out of range of any phone or television signal. He hadn't even bothered putting on the radio, cherishing the silence. He'd spent his days fishing, reading and simply looking at the water lapping at the side of the vessel, and he spent his nights worrying and wondering if this would all blow over soon and praying that Loki wouldn't find him this time.

His peace had been disrupted the previous night when Drysi had visited him in his sleep.

‘Father,' she had said, her face filling his mind. Her eyes were shut but a third one in the middle of her forehead was staring at him. It was disconcerting.

‘Drysi,' he could hear himself respond in his head.

‘Father, where are you?' She seemed concerned.

‘I'm sleeping.'

‘I know. But where?'

‘Why do you want to know that?'

‘Meet me, Father.'

‘But … Loki …'

‘He … he abandoned me, Father. It was terrible; he called me a useless cripple and left me by the side of the road. And the things he did to people! The things I saw!' She squeezed tears out of her closed eyes while her third one just kept staring.

‘I'm so sorry, Drysi.'

‘Meet me. Tomorrow.'

He hesitated, not quite sure what to believe or what to think.

‘Please, Father,' Drysi pleaded. ‘I miss you so much.'

And eventually he said the thing that he most wanted to say, even if he wasn't certain it was the thing he should say.

‘All right.' His voice broke slightly. ‘I'll meet you.'

And here he was, on his way to meet his daughter. A part of him – a cold and logical part – screamed that this was all too simple, that Drysi had lied to him before and would do so again. This part of him was wary and on edge – the wolf ready to bolt at the first click of a hunter's gun. And this small part of him had taken the precaution of slipping a flick-knife into his pocket. But another, bigger part of him – the man and the father – desperately yearned to believe Drysi, wanted her to be his good, loving daughter once more. This part of him wanted them to live together in a world where Loki was gone – dead or defeated, it didn't matter: just gone. And this part of him, this foolish but hopeful part, refused to consider for a second that he was walking into a trap.

‘The train's late,' Ash said, checking the time on the little dashboard clock.

‘It's not late,' contradicted Ellie. ‘That clock is fast.'

They were sitting in a 1960s pastel-blue Volkswagen Beetle. It belonged to the Lavenders' parents. Ex had no problem ‘borrowing' it from under the nose of their grandfather, who took care of them while their parents were away. He'd been getting very forgetful over the past few years and spent most of his days dozing in the drawing-room armchair, which had attained a deep granddad-shaped groove in the padding. Even though he was far too young to legally have a driver's licence, Ex was more than capable behind the wheel and no one paid him a second glance as they sat parked outside Heuston Station.