by Sean Cullen
Harold held up the picture for Brendan to see. He studied the picture closely. The drawing depicted a man with craggy features. His eyes were deep set under heavy brows. The mouth was a chiselled line, and the jaw was heavy and straight.
“Does he look familiar?” Dmitri asked urgently. “Think hard.”
“There’s something,” Brendan breathed. The face did look familiar somehow. It was right at the tip of his brain, so close as to be annoying. “There’s something …” Suddenly, he had an idea. “Hey, Harold. Could you draw a hat on the guy?”
“What kind of hat?”
“One of those flat ones that old guys wear, like a squashed pancake sort of, with a brim on the front. You know what I mean?”
Harold nodded. “I think so.” He sketched a few lines on the drawing, superimposing a flat herringbone cap on the man’s head.
Brendan’s eyes lit up. He turned to Dmitri. “When we first asked her about the guy, what did she say? He’d fallen?”
“She saw him falling and hitting his head.”
He’d seen someone fall and hit his head. Just the day before yesterday, the old man had been hit by the bike courier. “It’s Finbar!” he said softly.
The old woman squeezed his hand and beamed. “Tak! Tak! Finbar! To on!”
“Yes! Yes! Finbar! That’s it!” Dmitri said excitedly.
“Couldn’t she have just told me his name in the first place?” Brendan said, exasperated.
The woman spoke and Dmitri translated. “She says she didn’t have it until you spoke it. Now she knows that it’s right.”
Harold interjected. “You sound like you know the guy. Do you know where he is?”
Brendan nodded, his heart sinking. “The last time I saw him, he was on his way to Western General Hospital.”
FINBAR
“Listen, why don’t you guys just go home?”
They were approaching the front of the hospital. The sun was higher now, but it gave no heat. Dmitri had thought far enough ahead to tell Harold to bring an extra jacket for Brendan. “I don’t want to drag anybody else into this. It’s too dangerous.”
“You still haven’t told me anything,” Harold complained. “Why do you need to find this guy? Who’s after you? Why don’t you just go to the cops or call your mum and dad?”
“I can’t call anyone,” Brendan said. “It’s complicated.”
“A hand,” Brendan sighed. “Not the hand.” Brendan looked at the faces of Harold and Dmitri. He had to be honest. He was relieved that he wasn’t alone. “Thanks for the coat, Harold.”
“No problem,” Harold said. “Just don’t wreck it.”
Brendan almost laughed. Wrecking Harold’s coat seemed like the least of his worries right now.
“C’mon, dude,” Harold pleaded. “You gotta tell me what’s goin’ on. Seriously! I won’t tell anybody. I promise.”
Brendan sighed. “It’s a long story and we haven’t got the time. I want you to know that this will be dangerous and possibly quite mind freakingly weird. If you really want to be part of it, there’s no going back.”
Harold frowned, his round face thoughtful. He looked to Dmitri, who shrugged and smiled. “It’s pretty wicker.”
“Wick-ed,” Brendan said. “Not wicker. And yeah, I guess it is.”
Harold licked his lips and asked, “Will there be cool things to draw?”
Brendan laughed. “Yeah, that I can pretty much guarantee.”
Harold made his decision. “Okay, I’m in. What do I have to do? Will it hurt?”
Brendan shook his head. “Just look into my eyes …” Brendan focused Harold with an intense stare.
Harold shifted uncomfortably. “This is kinda weird?”
“Just look into my eyes and shut up, will ya?”
“Gee, Brendan, I didn’t know you felt that way about me …”
“Shut up, Harold.”
“Okay, okay. Geez.” Harold looked into Brendan’s eyes.
Brendan concentrated as hard as he could. He could feel Harold’s discomfort but he didn’t let it distract him. When he felt he was ready, he said, “Harold. I want you to see me as I really am.”
Harold frowned. He blinked. Then his mouth dropped open. He pointed at Brendan and stammered, “H-H-He glows!”
“I know.” Dmitri nodded enthusiastically. “Cool, isn’t it!”
Harold looked around in wonder and exclaimed, “This is so freakin’ awesome! How is this possible?”
“It’s because I’m a Faerie,” Brendan explained. “And quit yelling, will ya?”
“A Faerie? Like little flying things with wings? In the garden? Like Tinkerbell?”
“Not like Tinkerbell …”
Harold cut him off, pointing. “Holy cats! Look at that!”
He was pointing at a hotdog vendor’s cart set up on the hospital steps. A trio of Lesser Faeries was in the process of stealing a sausage, carrying the tube of meat like a rolled-up carpet between them as they flew away from the cart. The vendor tried to swat them with a pair of barbecue tongs but they dodged easily, screeching with laughter.
“Darn seagulls! Get lost!” the vendor shouted. He couldn’t see the Faeries for what they really were.
“Are they real?” Harold asked with wonder. “I mean, like, am I losing it?”
Brendan laughed. “No! They are real. There’s a whole world that I didn’t even know about until a couple of days ago. I’m a part of it, and I’ve let you see it too. I hope you don’t regret it.”
Harold was busy hauling his sketchbook out of his knapsack. “Are you kidding me? This is totally sick!” He found a piece of charcoal and started swiftly sketching the trio of sausage thieves as they shared out their stolen meal in the lower branches of a tree. “I mean. Look at them! Tiny people with wings! It’s so cool.”
“I like this one!” BLT climbed out from under the collar of Brendan’s coat where she had been sheltering. “He seems to appreciate a Lesser Faerie when he sees one.”
“You! You!” Harold pointed, his eyes wide. “You’ve got one on your shoulder.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Say hello to BLT!”
“Cheers,” BLT saluted saucily.
“Wicked!” Harold was delighted.
Shaking his head, Brendan said, “Come on.” He started toward the front doors of the hospital. “We have to find Finbar.”
Reluctantly, Harold trailed after Brendan and Dmitri, scratching out a few last details of his sketch.
One of the little Faeries noticed him sketching and shouted, “Oi! Fatty! Mind your own business!” He and his friends shook their fists and made rude farting noises. Harold was so delighted with the sight that he didn’t even take offence at being called Fatty. He kept sketching until Brendan pulled him into the revolving door.
“Where do we start?” Brendan asked as they stood in the bustling foyer of the hospital. There were people everywhere, patients shuffling around in bathrobes and slippers. Visitors sat in chairs or were lined up for coffee.
“We have to find out if he was admitted,” Dmitri said. “This is where my babka came last year when she had a fall in the bathtub. I remember there’s an information desk down this way.”
Dmitri led them through the central hall of the building until they saw a desk where a uniformed nurse wearing glasses connected by a chain around her neck sat talking on the phone. Brendan made sure that BLT was out of sight. He knew that no one could see her for what she really was, but he doubted that anybody would want to see a giant bug on his shoulder in a hospital. She reluctantly climbed into his pocket.
A sign hung over the woman’s station that read INFORMATION confirmed they were in the right place. They approached and stood in front of her, waiting for her to get off the phone. She held up a finger to let them know she was aware of their presence.
Brendan could barely stand still. He could feel the seconds ticking past. So far, he hadn’t seen any sign of Orcadia, but he knew Greenleaf would not be able to distract her
for long. He had to find Finbar fast and then the amulet.
The nurse hung up the phone and smiled at them. “Hello, boys,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for someone who was brought here a couple of days ago, a friend of mine. He was in an accident,” Brendan explained.
“I see,” the nurse said. “Well, what was his name?”
“Finbar,” Brendan began. “Finbar …” He suddenly realized he had no idea what Finbar’s last name might be.
The nurse frowned. “Finbar what?”
“Uh,” Brendan said. “Uh …”
“Uh-Uh? That’s a funny name,” the nurse said. She was smiling, but her eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you boys be getting to school?”
Brendan’s shoulders drooped. He didn’t know what to say. Dmitri piped up. “The truth is, we don’t know his last name, Madame. He is a street person with no fixed address. We see him on the corner on our way to school each day. The other day he was involved in an altercation with a cyclist, and the ambulance attendants brought him here. We are worried about Finbar as he doesn’t have anyone else in the world as far as we know. We thought we’d come by on our way to school and see if he was all right.” Dmitri looked up at the nurse with his big, sad, blue eyes.
Dmitri had a gift for charming adults. His odd diction, the result of learning English as a second language, had the effect of winning their affection. He also knew how to play up his sad eyes to great effect. Brendan could see the nurse melting.78
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest boys,” she said. “I wish there were more kids like you.” She swung her computer screen around and started tapping on the keyboard. “Technically, I’m not allowed to release that kind of information.” She peered at the screen through the thick lenses of her glasses. “But … I think the gentleman in room 1721 would benefit from a little visit from you boys.”
Brendan heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“And his name is Finbar Shaughnessy,” she called as they hurried for the bank of elevators.
The seventeenth floor was an extended care unit for patients who required long-term attention. The boys stepped out of the elevator into a hallway lined with doors. A small sign with an arrow pointing left read NURSES’ STATION, COMMON ROOM, ROOMS 1720–1740.
“This way,” Brendan said, leading them in the direction the arrow indicated. They hurried down the hall.
“Why are we trying to find this homeless guy exactly?” Harold asked.
“Because my babka told us we had to,” Dmitri explained. “She’s a psycho.”
“Psychic!” Brendan corrected. “I have to find him if I want to find my sort of magical amulet thingy. It’s a quest, kind of.”
Harold shook his head and grinned. “This is so freakin’ cool. I mean, I could be in math right now but instead I’m on a quest for an amulet. This totally kicks math’s butt.”
Brendan said, with just a touch of sarcasm, “I’m glad you think so.”
They turned a corner and found themselves in an open square with a nurses’ station in the middle. The nurses’ station consisted of a square counter that surrounded a couple of desks and filing cabinets. Working at the desks were two nurses. Patients’ rooms opened off the central area. The lighting was subdued, and the mysterious sound of electronic monitors and medical devices hummed and pinged softly.
Brendan, Harold, and Dmitri walked along, looking at the numbers on the doors: “1719. 1720. This is it! 1721!” Brendan announced. He reached for the handle.
“Excuse me.” A female voice froze them in their tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Brendan turned to see a short, plump woman approaching. She wore a white cotton coat over green scrubs. Her gold nameplate read RITA. She looked at the three boys with her blue eyes and waited for a response.
“We’re here to visit Finbar Shaughnessy,” Brendan said hopefully.
“Are you family?”
“No. Just friends. The lady downstairs said it would be all right.”
“The lady downstairs doesn’t run this ward,” Nurse Rita snapped. “I do. You can’t just barge in here and demand to see a patient.”
“We are not demanding to see him, Madame,” Dmitri said sweetly. “We would really like to see him, maybe cheer him up.” The sad eyes were on full blast.
“Don’t try to charm me, young man.” Nurse Rita waved a finger in Dmitri’s face. “There are rules!”
“Please, ma’am,” Brendan begged. “We just want to say hello. Tell him Brendan is here to see him.”
Nurse Rita was about to protest, but she stopped when she heard Brendan’s name. “Humph. Brendan is it? Well.” She looked at each of the boys and made a decision. “You wait here. I’ll see if he’s awake. If he isn’t, you’ll have to come back later.”
She went to the door of 1721 and opened it a crack. “Mr. Shaughnessy? Are you awake?” They heard a grunt from inside the room and she nodded. “I have some folks here to see you.” She nodded at the boys and held open the door. Brendan led the others through.
“He’s been asking for you ever since he came in here,” Nurse Rita said softly to Brendan. “We didn’t even know if you really existed. He’s had quite a bad knock and he’s no spring chicken. I have to say he’s recovered very well for a man of his years.” She took one last look toward the bed and closed the door.
Finbar was propped up in his hospital bed, the adjustable bed angled forward and a couple of pillows under his back. The room was bare and stark, the walls a sickly shade of pale green. There was a single chair in the corner, a rolling table, and a cheap wardrobe up against the wall. Finbar’s weathered boots rested on the floor in front of the wardrobe.
Finbar did not look good. His head was tightly wound with a gauze bandage. He was dressed in a hospital gown with short sleeves, his stringy arms folded on his lap and his hands clutching a cup of water with a lid on it and a bendy straw. An IV bag hung by the bed, its clear fluid dripping into a plastic tube that was attached to the man’s arm. A heart monitor beeped softly above the bed.
Dmitri and Harold hung back as Brendan went to stand beside the old man’s bed. Finbar’s eyes followed him, the pale blue orbs burning with a fevered intensity. The heart monitor sped up slightly.
“I knew ye’d come,” the old man said. “I knew sure as the nose on my face.”
Brendan found Finbar’s stare a little disturbing. “You did? How did you know?”
The old man laughed a raspy, chesty sound that transformed into a coughing fit. “I knew ‘cause ye’d have to find yer token, don’t ye? Yer wee necklace.”
Brendan’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”
“Sure and I was there when you were left on the doorstep as a babe. Them nuns didn’t see ya for what ye was but I did, didn’t I?”
“Nuns? I don’t understand. What nuns?”
Finbar cackled again. “You don’t know the first thing, do ye? Kept ya in the dark all these years, poor lad. Poor Prince Breandan.” He started to laugh again and broke down into a fresh coughing fit. Brendan grabbed the cup of water and raised the straw to the old man’s lips.
Brendan was startled to hear his name spoken in the way the Faeries pronounced it. Finbar was Human. He was positive. He would have seen if he was a Faerie surely. “How do you know me? Tell me!”
Finbar coughed once more and then spat a massive glob of phlegm onto the linoleum floor.
“Gross,” Harold observed.
Finbar ignored Harold’s comment and focused on Brendan. “You were left on the doorstep of St. Bart’s Catholic Orphanage fourteen years ago. I was workin’ there at the time.”
“Is that true?” Dmitri asked.
“It could be,” Brendan admitted. “My parents told me the other night that I was adopted. They didn’t tell me where they adopted me from.”
“I was there, sure enough, and I knew there was somethin’ uncanny about ye. I’d had experience of yer k
ind before.”
Brendan was surprised. “What do you mean? You had contact with Faeries before?”
Finbar’s face became guarded. “Never you mind what I mean. The point is I know where to find what yer lookin’ for. Hid it meself, didn’t I?”
“So tell us where to find it,” Brendan said. “And we’ll leave you in peace. It’s very important.”
“I’m sure it is. But I won’t tell ya where tae find it unless you promise that you’ll do me a good turn in exchange.”
“A good turn. A favour, you mean?” Brendan demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll decide if I can do it.”
“No!” Finbar barked. “You have to promise and that’s it! Or else ye can go and search for your treasure high and low. I’ll not help ye.” Finbar leaned back in the bed and sucked contentedly on his drink, eyes on Brendan all the while, waiting for the boy’s decision.
“I recognize this one from somewhere,” BLT’s voice piped up. She came out of Brendan’s pocket where she’d been hiding. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed in concentration. “He has a strange aura.”
Unlike Dmitri and Harold, Finbar didn’t seem the least bit shocked or surprised by the sudden appearance of BLT. He merely smirked. “Look at that, will ye. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of yer kind.”
“You seem very familiar to me,” BLT said again. “Let me think.”
Brendan had thinking of his own to do. He had no idea what the old man wanted. What if he couldn’t deliver on the promise? Promises seemed to hold a great deal of weight in his new life. He didn’t know what to do.
Sometimes our decisions are made for us. At that moment, all the lights in the room went out. Weak sunlight streamed through the window, but the electrical light failed completely. The heart monitor let out a sickly shriek, then shorted out altogether.
“They’re coming,” BLT whispered.
“Oh, no,” Brendan whispered.
“What’s the matter?” Dmitri asked.
“This is bad,” Brendan said. He felt terror jangling along his nerves.
“It’s just a power failure,” Harold offered. “They have, like, emergency power and stuff.”
