Milo and the Raging Chieftains

Gripping stuff for age eight-plus and its lively style makes it a good bet with reluctant readers.

Evening Echo

Brilliantly written with clever humour and twists and turns.

Woman’s Way

Exciting supernatural adventure … great humour, pace and cliffhangers that will keep young readers turning the pages and looking forward to more in the series.

Children’s Books Ireland Recommended Reads Guide 2013

CHAPTER ONE

A VISIT TO THE CASTLE

‘
T
here’s going to be cakes, Milo,’ my pal Shane said. ‘Loads of cakes.’

We were passing the castle on our way home from football training. Well, sort of training – Shane and I spend most of the time as far from the ball as possible. Not that we’re wimpy cowards, it’s just that both of
us are big into the skills of self-preservation. Shane has a book about all that. It’s mostly about how to save yourself from falling rocks, wild hairy creatures with fangs, and slimy things that spit slop in your eye. It was Shane who pointed out to me that most of the guys on the football field have all of those skills, but not us. So we’re very good at looking like we’re moving about a lot on the pitch.

‘Cakes, Milo,’ Shane went on.

‘What about cakes?’ I asked. ‘Can you not go five minutes without thinking of food?’

‘At the opening of the castle in two days’ time.’ He was already rubbing his fat tum at the thought. ‘There’ll be all sorts of food
for
free
. Gran has made loads of African bikkies and stuff.’

Shane lives with his gran, Big Ella, who brought dozens of exotic African recipes with her when she and Shane came to live here, so there were always great smells floating from their house.

‘What else is better than food?’ asked Shane. ‘Hey, look,’ he stopped and pulled me back. ‘That gate,’ he whispered.

Sure enough one of the huge gates, covered with boards to stop people gawking in, was slightly open. For over two years the castle had been shut off from the public while it was being done up. Nobody had been allowed in except the men with hard yellow hats and the beardy experts who shuffled in every day with rolled-up charts under their arms. Sometimes we could see them high up on the battlements, looking at the charts and doing a lot of pointing
around the castle grounds.

‘Look at them up there,’ Shane said to me once. ‘Gargoyles in anoraks.’

Which was a spot-on observation.

‘Hey, Milo,’ Shane whispered. ‘Let’s sneak in and have a look, eh?’

‘Shane, those guys would probably shove us into a dungeon for trespassing. Can’t you see the KEEP OUT signs plastered all over the place?’

‘Oh, come on, Milo,’ laughed Shane. ‘Just a quick look and we’ll scarper. Then we can boast about it at school and get serious respect.’

It was the word ‘respect’ that won me over. I once watched an old gangster movie with Dad, and I especially remember the part where the head gangster shook hands with someone who used the word ‘respect’, and I thought I’d like people to greet me
like that. Not as a gangster, though. Dad is a Garda and he says the food is pretty sloppy and the place is ice cold. ‘And that’s just the Garda Stations, son,’ he’d added. ‘So you can imagine what the cells are like for crooks and gangsters.’

Still, I was just as curious as Shane.

‘Alright,’ I said. ‘Just a quick look.’

‘I knew you’d say that,’ Shane said, laughing.

CHAPTER TWO

SHANE SHOWS OFF

W
e slipped in through the partly open gate and stayed near the wall.

‘Wow!’ we both said together. Where there had been crumbling stones and piles of rubbish, there was now a big cobbled courtyard that stretched all around the castle. The castle itself was like something
in a historical movie. You know the kind of thing – guys with swords and armour and helmets that had long bits squashing their noses. Shane said that was to stop snot from dripping on the chest armour and making it rusty. The stone walls had been cleaned and the big windows had glass in them. Over the huge arch there was a sort of balcony thing.

‘I know what that is,’ said Shane. ‘It has no floor, just openings.’

‘Yeah?’ I sniggered. ‘A sort of outdoor loo? What if someone comes knocking at the door underneath and they get covered in wee and …?’

‘Don’t be such a wuss,’ said Shane. ‘Nothing so ordinary.’

‘How do you know all this stuff?’ I asked.

‘Gran buys old books about Ireland in the charity shop. She wants us to know all about this side of the world.’

Shane and his gran, Big Ella, had come to live here when he was little. He’s my best mate. Big Ella spends most of her time painting huge colourful pictures. Her most famous one, ‘The Druidstone’, is hanging in the town museum.

‘We read one about castles in olden times,’ Shane was saying.

‘What?’ I said.

‘You’re not listening, dopey Milo.’

‘I am. Go on.’

‘Well, really listen. What’s the point in me having to read heavy stuff if you don’t listen? I’m telling you that the people in castles like this used to pour oil from that place up there on to enemies down here who’d try to break in the big door.’

‘For real?’ I said. ‘Cool.’

‘Not cool, Milo,’ laughed Shane. ‘Hot, actually.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘The oil would be boiling hot, Milo.’

‘Awesome!’ I gasped.

‘Not so awesome if it was just a few neighbours coming for tea and bikkies, and a daft sentry up there thinking they were enemies. Imagine that, Milo.’

‘Hey,’ I grinned. ‘Then the word “hothead” would have real meaning, wouldn’t it?’

‘That’s gross,’ said Shane, giving me a push that made me drop my bag of football gear. I shoved it behind a rock so that I wouldn’t have to haul it with me while we sneaked around. We could hear the hammering from the courtyard as we eased our way along by the boundary wall.

‘Good job your face is dark and your sweatshirt is
grey
, Shane,’ I said. ‘They fit in with the stone wall so you won’t be seen. I’ll stand on the inside and hide behind you,
so that I won’t be seen either.’

‘What do you mean my sweatshirt is
grey
?’ he said. ‘It’s white, just like yours.’

I put my sleeve against his. ‘See?’ I said.

‘Doh! You’re right,’ he nodded his head. ‘Gran just shoves all colours into the washing machine. She doesn’t do like it says in the ads on telly.’

‘Listen to us, Shane,’ I said, grinning. ‘We’re trespassing here, in an ancient historic castle where we could be caught and dumped in a dungeon, and we’re talking like a couple of sissies in a soap ad!’

We laughed at that.

When we made it around to the front of the castle, we stopped dead, too gobsmacked for words.

The main entrance to the castle that had been boarded up for years and years – even before Mum and Dad had been born – was
totally done up.

‘That’s more than awesome,’ I whispered. ‘They’ve even restored the portcullis.’

‘The what?’ Shane whispered back.

‘The portcullis,’ I explained. Ha, I was glad that I knew something he didn’t. I have a Lego fort in my bedroom that I play with. Just now and then, only when I’m really bored, of course. ‘That huge pointy gate thing up there,’ I said. ‘That would be lowered during a battle to stop attackers getting in from the front.’

‘And what about the boiling oil around the other side?’ asked Shane.

‘Well, I suppose they only used that if some gang actually did get in the back way,’ I said lamely.

There was a shout from under the portcullis and two men headed towards us. And they were angry.

We made it to the back gate and out on to the pavement, still running until we reached an alley off the street. We both leaned against the wall and heaved breath into our lungs.

Then we heard voices that we very definitely didn’t want to hear.