In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)

“But the grandma was a wolf in disguise with big teeth and he ate her up,” I reminded him.

I came back into the main room to find the boys pouring over a street plan of the city. We were shown a plan of the best escape routes to cut across the Liberties and emerge on the riverbank close to where the boat would be waiting for us. It would be tied up by the Grand Canal docks, seaward of the last bridge at the mouth of the Liffy and the open sea. The craft was to be a fishing smack, complete with nets and busy fishermen making ready on deck, but we’d know it from other fishing boats by the small green flag of Ireland that would be flying somewhere visible.

After that we waited some more. The boys passed around a flask of something, helping to bolster their courage, but they didn’t offer it to me, for which I was glad. I couldn’t have swallowed if I’d tried. At last Cullen consulted his watch.

“Right, boys. Four o’clock. I think this is it,” Cullen said. “Ready to

go?”

They nodded, eyes unnaturally bright.

“Let's show the English bastards a thing or two, shall we then?” Cullen roared. “Let's strike a blow for freedom, for independence, for Ireland.”

A loud cheer went up and the boys scrambled for the door as if they couldn’t wait for the battle to be enjoined.

Liam slipped into place beside me. “Good luck then, Molly. Look, if something happens to Joseph and me, and we aren’t around any more— you’ll get in touch with young Malachy, won’t you? Mr. O’Brien in Westport knows where he's staying.”

“You’ll be fine, Liam,” I said. “We’ll all be fine.”

He grinned at me. “This is a queer business and that's a fact, isn’t it? Who’d have thought when we played follow the leader over the rocks on the beach and you fell into that tide pool that we’d someday be doing something like this?”

“Never in a million years,” I agreed.

“We had some good times, didn’t we, Molly?” he said. “I know life was hard, and it was especially hard work for you after Mam died, but we had some grand old times.”

I nodded, for once my heart too full to speak. I reached out to take his hand, then thought better of it.

“Right, advance troops move out,” Cullen said. “First wave is me, Molly, Billy, and Tinker with the cart. Next wave, Liam and Paddy, you’re to count to two hundred and then follow. Once we’re out of this house you don’t speak to each other, you don’t acknowledge each other in any way, got it?” The boys nodded. “And whatever happens, don’t panic.” He looked around the group. “God go with you, boys. See you at the boat, then.”

He opened the door. As I went to pass him, he took my hand and held it fast. “Take care of yourself, Molly, won’t you? No stupid heroics. If they catch you, play the helpless female card—that Cullen Quinlan, he seduced me, so I didn’t really know what I was doing. Bat your eyelids, cry, faint. Whatever it takes. They’ll never hang a woman.”

I hardly found that encouraging, but I knew what he was trying to

do.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine,” I said.

“I know you will. You’re a grand girl.” He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it. Then he released me and we both stepped outside into the fierce sunlight. Cullen led me at a great pace through the maze of backstreets. We attracted interested stares from the occasional housewife gossiping on her doorstep, or a cluster of men lolling against a corner with nothing better to do, but no more than any stranger to the neighborhood would have done. At last we stepped out of the maze of backstreets and there, across the road was Kilmainham Goal.

It loomed over us, bigger and more formidable than I remembered—a towering mountain of solid brick, surrounded by an iron fence, its massive studded oak door firmly shut.

“This is it,” Cullen whispered. “Off you go. You’ve got ten minutes to do your stuff.” He pulled out a pocket watch, then sauntered on, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

I took a deep breath and then crossed the street to the jail. There was a bell to the right of the great studded front door. I tugged on it and heard a jangle echoing inside. After what seemed an eternity, a small door within the massive one was opened and a uniformed guard looked out. I gave him my most winning smile.

“Hello,” I said. “Am I in the right place? This is the jail, isn’t it?” “Well, it's not Buckingham Palace, you can count on that,” he said, scowling at me.

“I’m here on a sad mission, to see my little brother,” I said. “I’ve come down from our home in Connemara to say good-bye to him.” “Your brother?”

“Joseph Murphy. He's—he's set to be executed, you know. I’ve come to say good-bye. I’ve a letter here, from His Majesty's home office in London, giving me permission for the visit.” I fished in the basket I was carrying and produced the letter.

This caused the old man to pay attention. He scratched his head and looked entirely uncomfortable.