Would you believe it if I told you he was looking for a tortoise? I thought. And I suppose the destroyed clues.
"In any event, he overheard Deirdre and me-did you realize Deirdre was my aunt, Owen Mac Roth's sister? Yes? When I traced my roots to Connemara, I found her first, working, as you know, in a dry cleaners. It was she who told me the whole sordid story, about how my grandfather had died shortly after my father was incarcerated, having spent the family nest egg on his son's defense, I might add, and how she'd been left alone, without prospects to use that rather antique term, and had sunk to a pitiful state. In any event, Michael heard us talking about my plans, and he was heading off to tell the rest of the family. Unfortunate that. I had killed once, the geis was broken. I killed him too. I actually had the poison with me- I'd got it from one of my less salubrious clients-and had thought to use it on Eamon, although in the end I didn't need to. Called to Michael to stop, that I could explain everything. He did, too. Much too nice and polite a young lad. Death of him, really."
"And Deirdre?"
"She lost her nerve, that's all. She was going to tell you. Unfortunate that I involved her at all, but I had to, you see. I needed someone at Second Chance, so that I could manipulate the strings from far away in Dublin, unsuspected, but still have the information I needed about what was happening there. I sent her back, although she didn't want to go. I wanted her to wreak some more havoc-I thought her statement to police about Conail was inspired, don't you?-and also to keep her eye on you, after your rather insistent questioning of me when you came to Dublin. I made her call me from town every night to report, and so that I could bolster her resolve and keep her anger at the family stoked. But then one evening she didn't call, and I knew what that meant, although I didn't know why."
"Because Eithne Byrne told Deirdre how grateful they were she'd come back and promised to look after her."
"Interesting," he said. "After I got back to Dublin with Ryan, I turned around and drove much of the night to get there before she could do anything, then all the way back to Dublin to be at my office at the usual time. You know, I thought that because she had suffered too, like me, she must want, no need, revenge, that she was the perfect ally, but she hadn't the stomach for it."
I thought of how Deirdre had tried to warn me off, right at the start, out there on the road in the rain. She'd known what would happen to anyone who persisted in looking for the treasure. Charles was right: she hadn't the stomach for what he planned to do.
"Hated to do it, really, to kill her, I mean, but I'd come this far," he went on. "She'd had a hard life. Death might be a blessing for her." He paused for a moment or two, but his eyes never left my face.
"It's important to me that you understand that I do not kill casually or without reason," he said, suddenly. "In fact, I have gone to some lengths to avoid it. I am not a monster. I locked you and your friend up in the clochan to give me time to find the treasure, as you call it, before you did. But you moved too fast. If I had found it and left before you were able to get here, I would have made an anonymous call to the police and they would have sent someone to release you. There would be no need for this," he said, waving the gun in my direction. "The family could look for the treasure forever, as far as I was concerned, as long as there was absolutely no chance they would find it. And now, of course, they won't."
"So are you going to look at it?" I said.
He looked startled. "The treasure, you mean? I suppose so. It was never about the treasure, but now that I have it, why not? A bonus, perhaps. Here," he said pushing it toward me with one foot. "You open it. I need to keep my hands free," he said, tilting his head toward the gun.
My fingers were shaking so badly I had to struggle with the knots in the twine. It had started raining again, and the wet was soaking into my clothes and dripping off my hair into my eyes.
"Take your time," he said. I was, desperately hoping that help would come, and surreptiously trying to look about me. The trouble with being at the sacred center of ancient Ireland, the Axis Mundi, a place from whence all of Ireland could theoretically be seen, and a fire burning here could be repeated from hilltop to hilltop until it could be seen across the island, is that there is nowhere to run. Or more accurately, I could run, but there was nowhere to hide from the maniac with whom I found myself inhabiting the place, except perhaps, a very small clump of trees on the downward slope to the west. To get to it, I would have to pass him.
"Your father did look for you," I said, desperately hoping to buy myself time, or distract him for a moment. "Owen Mac Roth, I mean. Your birth father. He looked everywhere for you."
"Did he now? How touching. I'm sure he was to be pitied. As I was."
"Eamon did too. They wouldn't tell him, the authorities, I mean."
"Need I say, too little and too late?"
"But the family, Margaret and the three daughters, are innocent. They know nothing of all of this. Surely you know this."
"I too was innocent," he replied. "But I suffered immeasurably because of Eamon Byrne. If I cannot have my revenge on Eamon Byrne, I will have it on his children. Besides, they have lived a life of luxury in their innocence. Whatever they wanted, I'm willing to wager, Eamon would have given them. And now I will bring them to ruin. Please continue with that package."
I did. I knew he was getting angry, and I didn't want to provoke him. But I wanted to tell him, although I didn't dare, that he was wrong. He wasn't going to destroy Eamon Byrne's children. Oh yes, he could ruin them financially. But I had seen the determination in Eithne Byrne's eyes, and I didn't think she could be defeated.
Thinking about that kept me going, looking for some way out of the horrible predicament in which I found myself. But I knew I was running out of time. At last, the knots loosened. Whoever had wrapped this package, had known what they were doing. Carefully I rolled open the plastic, to find another roll, this one of unbleached linen.
"Stop," he ordered. "Let's have a little fun. What do you think it is?"
"Nuada Silver Hand's sword," I said.
"Interesting. How did you arrive at that conclusion?" he said.
"The first letter of each of the clues, starting at the end, with the last one, like ogham, bottom to top, spelled out Nuada Argat-lam," I said. "Eamon Byrne was always looking for the treasures of the gods, so I figure this has to be the sword, one of the four gifts of the gods. It's long enough, isn't it?"
"Ah, interesting. Let's see if you're right," he said. "Proceed. You've come this far, you might as well finish it."
I thought that whatever it was, it would have to be pretty spectacular to distract him for a moment or two ,so I could try to get away. I wasn't sure a worn-out old iron sword would do it.
But it wasn't Nuada's sword. As the next layer of wrapping was pulled aside I saw a hand, a silver hand. Across the lower knuckles of the silver fingers were four large jewels, rubies, I'd say, and at the second joint were four little windows, in a clear stone, polished quartz, perhaps. It wasn't pagan, though, not something that would date to the time of Nuada, if ever he existed. It was Christian and very old, what is referred to as a reliquary, something to hold the bones of someone very special, a bishop perhaps, or even a saint. There was scrollwork etched into the silver in Celtic patterns, and it was one of the most beautiful works of art I had ever seen.
"Let's see!" Charles said, and I handed it to him. It was heavy and for a second he set down the gun. I lunged for it, but he saw me coming, also reached for it, and it spun to the ground a few yards away. As he scrambled to retrieve it, I made a dash for it, slipping and sliding down the side of the hill, trying to make for the shelter of some trees.