Free The Hounds of the Morrigan by Pat O'Shea

to be somewhere secret.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    They thought about it for a while, Pidge’s mind still half-engaged in thinking about the dogs. Then Brigit’s mind went straight to the answer.
    ‘I know!’ she cried brightly. ‘Out on the lake! If we were out on the lake no one could hide near us; no one could hear what we say!’
    ‘You’re right! That’s it! We’ll put the stuff back in Boodie’s bag and leave it near the waterspout; and then we’ll row out a bit and you can hear everything. I’ll be glad to get it off my chest.’
    Brigit was thrilled and excited by the waterspout. She wanted to stay and dabble with it for a while but Pidge said that they should hurry and get out on the lake as soon as possible. He looked up at the dark place but there was no sign of the Great Eel.
    ‘Isn’t it the loveliest waterfall you ever saw?’ Brigit said. ‘You could wash your hair under it.’
    ‘Yes, you could.’
    ‘Isn’t it funny how it just suddenly appeared? It wasn’t here ever before, was it?’
    ‘No. Come on! I’m sure there’s going to be a storm.’
    ‘All right—just let me have one more minute with my hands under this lovely waterfall—’
    ‘Brigit! Stop it and come on!’ Pidge interrupted her as forcefully as he could. ‘Do you want to hear about this serious thing or don’t you?’
    ‘Oh, all right, but it’s a pity to leave it though, isn’t it?’
    She followed him back along the track turning to look over her shoulder at the waterfall with every second step she took.
    Halfway between the island and the mainland, Pidge stopped rowing. He told her the whole story, right from the very beginning in the bookshop in Galway. She listened, her face alive with interest and fascination, and it changed from mood to mood as Pidge talked. It was just like the sky on an unsettled day.
    ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ she said when he had finished. ‘I hope and pray that some more things happen and I’m in it with you.’
    ‘But it could be dangerous,’ he said seriously.
    Brigit shrugged her shoulders.
    ‘What do I care,’ she said. ‘I’m not afraid of danger.’
    ‘Well, you would be if you had any sense.’
    ‘Ho! Would I, indeed!’ she said and she grinned.
    And Pidge was very glad that he had told her, for the sharing had lifted some of the weight off his mind. It made him feel better just to look at her cheeky grin. It’s her nature to be light-hearted and doesn’t it come in useful at times, he thought.
    The heat of the day bore down heavily on them. It seemed to be getting even hotter. To the west of them, the lake was a vast expanse of shimmering bronze. If he gazed at it for too long, the effect would be entrancing, hypnotic.
    The swans were gone, he noticed.
    He dipped his oars and began to row to the mainland.
    They had dragged in the boat and were walking back along the boreen, feet trailing in the dust. Trickles of sweat were running down Pidge’s back like rain on a window-pane. Brigit’s forehead glistened and her hair was curling in little damp ringlets at her temples. She was looking down at her feet; looking at the way the dust was gradually covering her sandals as though sprinkled with talcum powder. She saw a fat worm on the ground, whiplashing in silent pain.
    ‘Oh! Look at this poor worm, Pidge!’ she cried.
    ‘A bird must have dropped it,’ he said. ‘It’s dying from the heat.’
    ‘We must save its life!’ Brigit said dramatically.
    ‘We’ll find somewhere damp.’
    Pidge bent down and picked up the worm.
    ‘It’s all covered in dust, poor thing,’ Brigit said.
    Pidge looked round for a damp place to put the worm. The grass verges were dry and parched and useless. Lying against a small stone was a solitary white wing feather, speckled with droplets of blood now dried brown.
    ‘One of the swans got hurt in the fight,’ he said.
    ‘Oh no!’ Brigit cried, full of concern.
    ‘It’s all right, Brigit,’ Pidge said.