by Mary Arrigan
MILO AND ONE DEAD ANGRY DRUID
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
For Emmett and Liz with thanks for all the sunshine and fun
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
1 A Visit to the Castle
2 Shane Shows Off
3 Miss Lee to the Rescue
4 An Old Friend Returns
5 Dad’s Advice
6 Where’s Miss Lee?
7 A Find on the Rocks
8 Wedge and Crunch
9 The Search Continues
10 Shane Makes a New Friend
11 The Portal
12 Mister Lewis Explains
13 The Grant
14 Ossie Goes Berserk
15 Big Ella’s Plan
16 Smelly Potions
17 An Ancient Wedge and Crunch
18 Cycling Through Time
19 Rappers
20 Trapped!
21 Ossie’s Big Day
About the Author
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
A VISIT TO THE CASTLE
‘There’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
We 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.
CHAPTER THREE
MISS LEE TO THE RESCUE
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the dozy duo. Is the bogey man after you, guys?’
It was our arch enemies, Wedge and Crunch, two toughs always up to no good.
‘What scared you nerds?’ sneered Wedge.
‘Scared? Nah,’ I said, trying to sound tough and confident – but the words sounded like a sick mouse coughing up a bit of hard cheese.
Crunch grabbed my jacket and pulled me so close to his ugly face that I could see right up his nose. Not a pretty picture, I tell you.
‘Hello, boys.’
We all turned. I was never so glad to see a teacher, especially when it was our own class teacher, Miss Lee, her shiny red, high-heeled shoes clip-clopping as she came towards us.
‘Having a nice chat, are we?’ she went on, her eyes boring holes into Wedge and Crunch.
‘Just chatting to the lads here, Miss,’ said Wedge, all smarmy.
‘Yeah, chattin’,’ added Crunch, letting go of my jacket and pretending he was just brushing it down. ‘About school,’ he sniggered.
‘Ah, that’s great,’ said Miss Lee. ‘I love chatting about school. Can I join your discussion, boys? What do you like best about school? Do tell.’
Wedge’s head shrank between his shoulders. He looked at his wrist where a watch might have been but wasn’t.
‘Erm … we have to be somewhere in a minute, me and Crunch,’ he muttered.
‘Go where, Wedge …?’ Crunch began, before Wedge gave him a dig on the shoulder.
‘Oh, do you really have to go, lads?’ asked Miss Lee. ‘Shame. Catch you some other time for that chat then.’
They scarpered down the road. Wedge stopped for a second to look back with a warning glare at me and Shane. We moved closer to Miss Lee. To protect her, you understand.
‘Well, you two,’ she said. ‘Did you enjoy your tour?’
‘What do you mean, Miss?’ asked Shane, all wide-eyed innocence.
‘I mean that I was inside the castle and saw you two trespassers skulking about. Luckily, I was chatting with one of the people working on the restoration, and told him you were harmless. If I knew you were interested, I could have shown you around. My ancestors—’
‘Harmless!’ I interrupted. I’d have preferred to be called a hooligan or something a bit more macho.
Shane’s belly wobbled as he thumped his chest. ‘Oh, Miss,’ he said. ‘We’re tough me and Milo. If you hadn’t come along, we’d have knocked those two into pulp and left them on the ground for stray dogs to eat …’
‘Of course you would, Shane,’ chuckled Miss Lee. ‘Now, get along home both of you. Next time I might not be here to save you from bullies and raging workmen.’
‘Whew,’ I said to Shane as we ran home. ‘That was a close shave.’
‘No way,’ he panted. ‘We really would have flattened those two poo-bags.’
‘Shane,’ I laughed. ‘We’d be dragging our way home carrying our heads in our hands if Miss Lee hadn’t come along.’
‘Yeah,’ he said sheepishly as we came to our road. ‘Maybe.’
As he threw his kitbag over the gate to his house, my heart did a double somersault.
‘Oh, shoot!’ I cried out.
‘What’s up?’ Shane asked, climbing over the gate like he always does, because he’s too lazy to use the bolt that’s gone stiff.
‘My football kit!’ I yelped. ‘I’ve left it in the castle courtyard! Mum will explode!’
‘You’d better get moving, then,’ said Shane, looking at his watch. ‘The castle will be locked in five minutes.’
I was stunned. My best mate turning his back on me and walking away!
‘Shane!’ I yelled. ‘Come on. You can’t leave me in this mess.’
He turned around and grinned. ‘I’m getting my bike,’ he said. ‘You go and get yours. We’ll never make it in time on foot.’
‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Mum would see me and ask questions.’
‘That’s OK, Milo,’ said Shane. ‘You can ride passenger on mine.’
‘Your new bike?’ I exclaimed. ‘Cool.’
Now that’s real friendship. Big Ella had bought Shane a super bike for his birthday. But just as my heart began to switch to a normal beat, the front door opened and Big Ella pranced out, eyes blazing.
‘Shane!’ she boomed. ‘What time do you call this? You should have been home an hour ago.’
Shane’s face wobbled. ‘Milo and me, we were just—’ he began.
‘I don’t care where you two were just. You get in here now before your dinner shrivels to soot. And Milo,’ she added, turning her eyes on me, ‘you’d best get home too, boy. Your mum’s been looking for you.’
We exchanged defeated glances. You don’t argue with Big Ella when she rants.
‘You can tell your mum that I have your football kit,’ Shane muttered. ‘We’ll get it tomorrow. Don’t worry.’
‘If it’s still there,’ I groaned.
Mum wasn’t home when I let myself in. She had left a note to say that she’d gone to pick up Dad because the Garda car had a puncture. My heart sank when I saw the basket of dirty clothes beside the washing machine. I knew she’d ask me for my football kit to put in with them. I took a deep breath and resigned myself to what I had to do. Maybe if I cycled to the castle, I might be just in time to slip through that gate. The word ‘maybe’ is not very comforting when you’re in a serious fix.
CHAPTER FOUR
AN OLD FRIEND RETURNS
I raced through the town, keeping a watchful eye for Mum and Dad in the oncoming traffic and trying to make up a reason why I was belting along the street on my bike. I couldn’t believe my luck when I got to the back gate of the castle and found that it still hadn’t been bolted properly. I just about managed to squeeze my bike in and headed for the place where I’d left my kit. The silence was the first thing I noticed. No hammering or voices. And the sinking sun was making the dark corners and arches mighty creepy in the big, silent courtyard. I wheeled my bike over to the place where I’d hidden my football kit. There it was! ‘I’m saved,’ I said out loud, securing the kitbag on the carrier and mounting the bike. Mission accomplished. ‘Yee ha!’ I whooped. That’s when I heard another voice from above.
‘Ah, Milo, my friend.’
Sitting high up in the arch of a window was a face and shape I knew well.
‘Mister Lewis!’ I shouted. ‘It’s you! I can’t believe it.’
Sure enough, it really was my good, dead friend who’d helped me save Shane and Big Ella from the clutches of an ancient angry druid called
Amergin.
‘The same old me,’ he replied. ‘I was hoping to meet you.’
‘I thought you’d be kinda wafting on clouds and, eh, looking a bit more …’
‘A bit more stylish and handsome?’ he put in.
‘Something like that,’ I said, looking at the same old shabby coat and leaning-to-one-side high hat. ‘Not wishing to hurt your feelings or anything, but I’d have thought you’d at least have a decent suit and a harp.’
‘Harp parp!’ he said with a sniff. ‘Hmff. No such luck. I’m in a sort of holding place.’
‘A what?’ I asked.
‘It’s where dead people like me are sent to help others who’ve made mistakes in life to go back and sort things out.’
‘So, who are you helping?’ I asked, looking warily around the deserted courtyard. Mister Lewis leaned back towards the window.
‘It’s all right,’ he called out. ‘Milo is my very good friend. You can come out now.’
I was still wary of seeing any more deceased ancients shuffling about. I steeled myself for whatever big ghoul would appear. No fears, I told myself – fearfully. Mister Lewis will protect me. Still, I picked up my bike, ready for a quick exit.
I looked up at the window where Mister Lewis was holding out his hand behind him to help out whatever was in there. The first thing that appeared on the parapet was a skinny leg followed by another skinny leg, both of them in red tights. So far so unscary. The rest followed – a red, silky sort of frock, a pale face, sticky-out ears and a head of long, spiky red hair, down to the shoulders.
‘A girl!’ I shouted up to Mister Lewis. ‘You’ve been lumbered with helping a skinny girl!’ I had to laugh.
Mister Lewis shook his head – slowly in case an ear or part of his nose might drop off.
The figure stood up straight on the parapet, hands on hips, eyes glaring down at me.
‘Ossie,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘Take that scowl off your face and say hello to my good friend, Milo …’
