Milo and One Dead Angry Druid Read online

  Love and thanks to my husband, Emmet, for his patient help and great cuisine.

  This book was inspired by a visit to a big house near Roscrea in County Tipperary. The eccentric gentleman who once lived there alone would pay local farmers four pence each for any unusual shaped rocks or stones. My thanks to Mary Dempsey and family for showing me this extraordinary collection in their garden.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  1 Something Old

  2 A Very Weird Stone

  3 A Lizard Goes Mad

  4 An Incident with Crunch and Wedge

  5 A Surprise in the Museum

  6 Milo Hides the Stone

  7 Deep, Deep Trouble

  8 Mister Lewis’s Story

  9 The Druid’s Warning

  10 Out into the Night

  11 Breaking into Big Danger

  12 Alarm Bells

  13 Mister Lewis Finds a New Talent

  14 An Unfortunate Encounter

  15 The Midnight Rush

  16 Mister Lewis Tells All

  17 Swirling Colours and Roundy Designs

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Other Books

  CHAPTER ONE

  SOMETHING OLD

  On that Tuesday, when our teacher Miss Lee said that we were all to bring something old to school and talk about it, Shane stood up and said that he’d bring something totally amazing. The class laughed and said, ‘Oh, yeah?’

  And he said, ‘Sure. Just you wait.’

  So everyone laughed again. Well, everyone except me. That was because Shane was my best mate. He lived at the end of my road with his gran, Big Ella, who painted big splashy paintings in mad colours. She said Ireland needed sunshiny colours on account of all the grey rain.

  Shane’s clothes were way too small for him because he was a bit of a roly-poly, addicted to jammy donuts, squishy marshmallows and crisps. And yes, he did munch them all together.

  Whenever anyone sniggered at his wobbly tummy, he’d just say that his chest had slipped a bit – like Obelix in my dad’s old Asterix comics that Shane and I shared.

  Nobody could make Shane angry. If his dark skin was pointed at by some idiot, he’d say he was ‘well done’ and not a ‘half-baked porridge-face’. Everything was a laugh. Except if anyone made fun of his gran. That’s when he’d roar like a bull and flatten them and then sit on them until they screamed. If they were smaller than him, that is.

  Big Ella was the sort of person who made you feel glad to be with her. She was fun too, and I liked to visit her house because she was always either baking brilliant African lime cakes or painting big pictures, which she exhibited in the local art gallery.

  Nobody knew what the pictures were about, not even if you looked sideways or stood on your head. So she didn’t sell many, except maybe to someone who wanted to hide a damp wall or scare away intruders.

  Sometimes Big Ella and Shane went away for days when she’d get a notion to paint some foggy mountain or windy lake. So, when they disappeared after the taking-something-old-to-school day, people just said what a nutter she was to take a young lad away from school. Nobody was worried. Except me. You see, I knew. And I was really scared.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A VERY WEIRD STONE

  This is how it happened. On our way home from school that Tuesday afternoon, I asked Shane what was the amazing thing he was going to bring to the history class.

  ‘You don’t have anything at all,’ I said. ‘I know everything you have in your room, Shane, and you don’t have anything interesting. It’s all junk.’

  ‘It’s not in my room, Milo,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll show you where it is. But if you tell anyone I’ll drown you in sloppy cow-dung.’

  I followed him through his gran’s wild garden, to a bumpy area with piles of stones that were half hidden in the long grass.

  ‘What are we coming here for?’ I asked. ‘There’s nothing only grass and stones.’

  ‘Not just any stones, Milo,’ said Shane, stooping to pick one up. ‘These were collected by Mister Lewis.’

  ‘Who’s Mister Lewis?’ I asked.

  ‘He lived in our house back in eighteen something-or-other,’ explained Shane. ‘He used to collect stones. Hundreds of them. He is supposed to have said that there was something special about the stones around here, so Gran says.’

  ‘That’s mental,’ I laughed. ‘Who’d want to collect stones?’

  Shane shrugged. ‘Well, he did. That’s what Gran was told when she bought the house. I suppose people didn’t have much to do back then.’

  ‘What a saddo he was,’ I hooted. ‘Imagine − collecting stones!’

  Shane pointed to the ground. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘They were all buried here.’

  ‘But these aren’t buried,’ I said, pointing to a pile of stones.

  ‘They once were,’ said Shane. ‘Gran has been digging them up. She’s going to build a studio here, and says she’s damned if she’s going to pay a builder to clear the site when she can do it herself. And me, of course,’ he added. ‘I get roped in to help. You can help too, Milo.’

  ‘So what’s that got to do with the history stuff?’ I asked, neatly side-stepping the ‘help’ word. ‘This is just a load of grotty stones.’

  ‘Not grotty,’ retorted Shane, reaching into the pile and pulling up a stone shaped like a half moon. ‘This one is really old.’

  ‘All stones are old, Shane. Even you should know that. It takes millions of years to grow stones.’

  ‘Ah, but this is different, Milo,’ said Shane. ‘Here, feel it.’

  I took the stone. It was like a small broken wheel. On one side there was a pretty clear imprint of a fossil-ish thing.

  ‘That’s a prehistoric reptile,’ said Shane. ‘You can even see the scales. But that’s not the best thing. Turn the stone over.’

  I did, and gasped when I saw the pattern of circles inside circles, just like the pattern on the huge stone outside the ancient burial place at Newgrange in County Meath. We’d gone there on a school outing once, and Miss Lee had told us that it was even older than the pyramids in Egypt. Shane said it was a pity they didn’t have mummies and other dead stuff in there for a better atmosphere.

  I touched the pattern. That was when I got the first strange feeling. My fingers tingled and a shiver went around my neck and shoulders. Shane was watching me and smiling.

  ‘See? You feel it too. I bet you feel all shivery, don’t you? Just like me and Gran did. She said that pattern was carved by Celts about three thousand years ago.’

  ‘Yecch!’ I said, thrusting the stone back into his hands. ‘You’re one sicko. Do you know that? Making me hold something that dead people handled.’

  Shane laughed. ‘But they weren’t dead when they carved it, you dope,’ he said.

  ‘I told you, Shane, all stones are ancient. Except for a few scratchy carvings on it, this looks just like any other.’

  Shane shook his head. ‘My gran says …’ he began.

  ‘Shane!’ I laughed. ‘I love your gran, I do. But you do know she does mad arty stuff and talks to dandelions. Come on, mate, wise up. One of you has to stay sane.’

  ‘Hey,’ retorted Shane. ‘That’s Big Ella you’re talking about, and she knows everything.’

  ‘Well, I hope that’s not your history thing, Shane,’ I went on. ‘It gives me the creeps.’

  Shane grinned. ‘Of course it’s my history thing,’ he said. ‘Who else will have something as amazing as this?’

  I shivered again. But I didn’t know why. Not then.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A LIZARD GOES MAD

  We weren’t supposed
to bring living things to the history project. But Willie Jones swore his pet lizard never behaved badly, and that he’d only brought it because he said it just sat and did nothing in its special glass container, except doze on the pebbles and mini pond.

  ‘Well, he is quiet all right,’ said Miss Lee, holding up the container for all to see.

  ‘Lizards have been around since prehistoric times,’ said Willie, reading from a scrap of paper in case he’d forget the words. ‘They taste and smell with their tongues. They know more than we think. It is said that they can predict strange things.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Miss Lee. ‘But I doubt it, looking at this lazy creature.’

  ‘I looked it all up on Google,’ said Willie. ‘So it must be right.’

  At my turn I was proud of my china cup. OK, the truth is I only thought of the bring-to-school thing that morning, so I nicked the cup from our kitchen dresser where Mum keeps stuff that’s only used for people she wants to impress. The best part was making up a history story to go with it.

  ‘It belonged to Grace O’Malley, the pirate queen,’ I said, holding it up. ‘She used to have tea-parties in her castle with her crew after their raids and that was the cup she drank from.’

  Miss Lee took the cup and looked underneath. Then she smiled and pointed to the words on the bottom. Made in Taiwan.

  ‘Eh, well,’ I spluttered, frantically trying to come up with something intelligent (how is it that intelligence is never there when you need it)? ‘There used to be a place called Taiwan in Ireland long ago,’ I went on. ‘It broke away from the west coast … an earthquake smashed through it and it floated away …’ I was cut off by the yells of laughter.

  ‘Very good, Milo,’ Miss Lee said. ‘Take good care of your – eh – precious pirate cup, and mind you don’t pick up any swashbuckling habits from it.’

  The rest of the class were still laughing as I made my way to my desk, trying to hide my face in my sweater.

  ‘Now, Shane,’ said Miss Lee. ‘What do you have to show us?’

  With a flourish like one of those magicians on TV, Shane took the stone from a Chinese takeaway bag. Everyone sniggered.

  ‘A stone!’

  ‘A lump of rock!’

  ‘Way to go, big guy! WRONG way, ha-ha!’

  But Miss Lee wasn’t laughing. She stared at the carving. ‘Where did you get this, Shane?’ she asked.

  But before Shane could answer, Willie Jones’s lizard went mad. It began leaping about, scratching at the glass, trying to escape. And it did. While we were all shouting and crawling around the floor to catch it, our principal looked in to see what the noise was about. We all stopped and stared at her. Not because we were scared or anything, but we were always fascinated by her moustache and the way it wobbled when she was annoyed.

  ‘Ss-sorry, Mrs Riley,’ stuttered Miss Lee from the floor. ‘Slight mishap with our history project.’

  That was when the lizard made for the door. With a hairy shriek, Mrs Riley slammed the door and scarpered. Miss Lee got up and brushed her skirt and, once the lizard was safely back in his glass case, she made Willie put a heavy book over the top. Funnily enough, the lizard calmed down when Shane put the stone back into the bag. Even though the rest of the class were still laughing, I got that strange, tingly feeling again.

  ‘Shane,’ said Miss Lee, ‘You must mind that stone. In fact, there’s one in the museum that looks just like it.’ She reached out and took the stone from the bag again. ‘Ask your granny where she …’ She broke off as the lizard went mad again.

  On our way home from school, Shane was boasting. ‘I told you this stone is special,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I tell you Miss Lee would be impressed?’

  ‘Dunno, Shane,’ I muttered. ‘It spooked me the way it made Willie’s lizard go crazy.’

  Shane laughed. ‘It probably recognised its own great-great-multi-great-granddaddy carved on the back of my stone.’

  I shivered. Could a stone be that powerful?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AN INCIDENT WITH CRUNCH AND WEDGE

  As we went through the school gates Shane stopped.

  ‘Hey! I’ve a great idea, Milo. Let’s go to the museum and see the stone that Miss Lee says is like mine.’

  ‘Museum? It’s not even raining, Shane!’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Shane. ‘I’m going anyway. You coming?’

  Well, I was curious – as you would be about a stone that drives a lazy lizard wild, so I decided to go along with Shane to see what all the fuss was about. But as we went around the corner into the alley that was a short cut to Main Street, we met trouble.

  ‘Well, if isn’t Fatman and Stick Insect. Goin’ somewhere nice, eh?’

  I groaned silently inside my head. This was all we needed – Crunch Kelly and Wedge Murphy from sixth class – whenever they actually came to school, that is. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that those names were just any old made-up nicknames, but you’d be wrong. Kelly could really make your bones crunch and Murphy could wedge your underpants right up to your armpits. You get the picture? Not pleasant.

  They stood in front of us, blocking our way, and Crunch patted Shane’s tight, black curly hair. I clutched my schoolbag, ready to take a swing at them – and seeing the words ‘death-wish’ flashing in my mind. But it was Shane’s takeaway bag that grabbed their attention.

  ‘Hey, Crunch, look what we got here,’ laughed Wedge, pointing to it. ‘Takeaway! You hungry, Crunch? Me too. Hand it over, Fatman.’

  Shane hugged the bag. ‘It’s not takeaway,’ he muttered. ‘It’s a rock.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ snarled Wedge. ‘Like, you bring rocks around with you to eat, Fatman? When my good friend says to hand over your grub, you hand it over, OK?’

  Then he snatched the takeaway bag from Shane – who did put up a bit of a fight, but we were like week-old jelly against these low-lifes. We watched with horror as they scarpered down the alley. I looked at my best mate, standing like a burst balloon and, with a surge of anger I belted off after those two like I was on fire, sparks shooting from my eyes.

  I’d like to be able to say that I caught up with our attackers and beat THEM into week-old jelly, but the truth is that I found the bag thrown on the ground around the corner and the stone dumped a few yards farther on. So, they didn’t fancy rock curry! I laughed with a whoosh of relief as I picked up the ancient tingly stone and put it back in the bag. Shane was puffing his way towards me. I held up the bag.

  ‘You got it!’ he stopped in eye-popping amazement.

  ‘I did,’ I laughed. ‘I remembered my taekwon-do skills and sent them off with massive bruises.’

  Shane took the bag and checked out the stone. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘You really did get it back, Milo.’

  ‘Yep,’ I stood up straight in macho-mode.

  Then Shane looked at me with a sort of puzzled squint.

  ‘Milo, you and me, we only lasted two Saturdays at junior taekwon-do when we were seven. And we were both rubbish and learnt nothing so how …?’

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘So they threw it at me when they saw me coming at them with all guns blazing …’

  Shane laughed and punched my shoulder.

  ‘All right,’ I muttered. ‘So they threw it away when they found out it was really only a stone, but hey, I’m still the hero.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A SURPRISE IN THE MUSEUM

  And so we went to the museum on the corner of Main Street and Chapel Lane. It had once been a posh town house, but in the mid-eighteen hundreds the family went back to England. Dad said it was the rain, boredom and the constant diet of bacon and watery cabbage that drove them away.

  ‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘the shortage of other gentry around here meant they had only one another to talk to. There are only so many ways you can talk to the same people about the Irish weather and hunting foxes before going doolally.’

  We wandered through the old farm things and moth-eaten animals wit
h bits of their stuffing leaking out. It didn’t take long to find the glass case with the stone in it. Shane saw it first.

  ‘Wow!’ he shouted. ‘Look, Milo!’

  Sure enough, there it was, sitting on a green velvet cloth. Shane took his stone from the bag and we compared it to the one in the case.

  ‘It’s a dead ringer for yours,’ I said.

  ‘It’s part of it!’ exclaimed Shane. ‘Can’t you see? If the two pieces were put together, the pattern would form complete circles. This is mega.’

  On a plaque beside the display window there was a sign, which said:

  Underneath there was more writing, but the words were covered by years of dust.

  ‘That’s him!’ exclaimed Shane, practically dancing with wobbly excitement. ‘See? I told you. That’s the man who used to live in our house. If this bit of stone was in our garden, then that bit must have been there too.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ I said. ‘We’ll be thrown out.’

  Too late.

  A man with a frown attached to his hairy eyebrows was already making his way towards us. It was Mister Conway, keeper of the museum, wearing a dusty suit that fitted right in with the surroundings.

  Shane shoved the stone into the takeaway bag before he could see it.

  ‘What are you two up to?’ Mister Conway asked.

  ‘What makes you think we’re up to anything?’ said Shane. ‘We only came to look at the old stuff.’

  ‘None of your lip,’ snapped Mister Conway. ‘I’ve had my eye on you two.’

  ‘Like, you think we came in to steal a rusty plough or a wormy butter churn?’ said Shane.

  ‘Ssshh, Shane,’ I muttered, elbowing his tummy. ‘Come on. We were just leaving anyway.’ I pulled him after me down the front steps into the sunny street.