Brilliant (14 page)

He'd forgotten that, like he'd forgotten how to sing.

He remembered something else now, something that cheeky kid with the black cape had said to him. He could still see the kids, the last of them, running out of the Park. He put his hands to his mouth, made a trumpet, and shouted.

“I did wash my neck!”

CHAPTER 10

I
t was very early morning in the city of
Dublin, and people lying awake in bed could hear a sound that every Dubliner likes, a ship's foghorn out on Dublin Bay. But there was something else they could hear too. The birds. The city's birds were often noisy, but this was different. It was like the War of the Birds out there, with all the cawing and squawking, and the seagulls seemed to be on the side that was winning.

But most people were still asleep. It was Saint Patrick's Day, Ireland's big holiday, so there was no school and nearly every adult who had a job didn't have to go to work. Alarm clocks and phone alarms were turned off, and even the babies seemed to know that they didn't have to start crying and complaining until later than usual.

But the kids were wide awake. They were out of Phoenix Park by now, and they were running toward the center of town,
along the quays, beside the River Liffey. There were hardly any cars or trucks, and the few adults they saw walking looked tired and cold, as if they'd been walking all night.

They were still chasing the Black Dog. But—

“Where is he?” asked Precious.

He'd had been in front of them, a few corners ahead. But then he was gone. Again.

He seemed to be playing a game with them, leading them on, teasing them.

They all slowed down, unsure, disappointed, relieved—worried. Was this another of the Black Dog's tricks?

“Is he hiding?”

“Where's he gone?”

“Keep going!” Damien shouted.

“Yeah!” Raymond agreed.

If they stopped now, they probably wouldn't be able start again. Their legs would feel stiff and their feet would be sore. They had to keep running.

They heard a voice.

“He's down there, so he is!”

It seemed to have come from way above them. Gloria looked up as she ran, but all she could see was a gang of seagulls. Then they heard the voice again.

“There!”

It was lower this time, to her right. She looked, and saw a seagull flying beside them, over the river.

“Just follow my beak!”

“Oh my God!” said Alice. “The seagull's talking.”

“Well, the
pink birds in the zoo were talking as well,” said Paddy. “So, it's no big deal, like.”

The seagull had gone ahead, flying faster than they'd ever seen a seagull fly before. No floating or gliding, his wings were going mad, like a colossal wasp's.

“I thought seagulls would be too stupid to talk,” said Alice.

There was a sudden squawk, right in her ear. It was another seagull, flying beside Alice's shoulder.

“You got that one wrong, love!” the seagull roared at Alice. “See him—see him, do yeh?!”

The second seagull's beak was pointing at the first seagull, flying ahead of them.

“Yeah,” said Alice.

It was the first time she'd ever spoken to a seagull.

“Well, he's my fella!”

“Really?”

“He's me life partner!”

“Oh,” said Alice. “So you're a girl, then?”

The seagull stared at Alice. She was brilliant at it, considering she was flying straight into the wind.

“Is it not obvious?!” she eventually squawked, after six very long seconds.

“Eh . . .”

“And you think
we're
stupid?!” she squawked. “My God!”

And she flew after her boyfriend. “Pete!” she cawed. “Wait up!”

(Try cawing “Pete.” It isn't easy.)

They saw it now—they understood. All the seagulls were flying
with them. That was how it seemed anyway, and how it looked. Every seagull in Dublin seemed to be above or beside them. It was like running inside a tunnel made of seagulls. It should have been terrifying. But it wasn't. The seagulls were with them, encouraging them.

“Keep it up!”

“Yis're doin' great!”

“Considerin' yis don't have wings!”

“Or proper beaks!”

The kids kept running, past Collins Barracks. There was still no sign of the Dog. But the seagull at the front was still pointing straight ahead, along the river. He flew under the James Joyce Bridge.

“Wheee!”

“Pete! Wait, will yeh!”

Gloria loved the seagulls. She remembered once when she went to a place with her Uncle Ben. Raymond wasn't with them, or her mam or dad. It was just Gloria and Uncle Ben. They'd gone in his van to this amazing place. He'd called it the South Wall. But it wasn't really a wall. It was more like a wide path, and it went right into the sea. It took more than half an hour for them to walk to the end of it, and the sea was on both sides of them all the way. It was like they were walking out of Ireland, across a bridge that grew out as they walked. The sea was rough on one side, and calm on the other, rough where the sea stretched out to the rest of the world, calm where the wall—maybe it was a wall, after all—blocked the waves and protected the bay and the docks. The sunshine bounced on the sea, and the sky was full of seagulls. They were mad. It looked like they were playing football, with hundreds on each team—and no ball.

As Gloria and her uncle got nearer to the red lighthouse at the end of the wall—okay, it was a wall—she saw why the gulls were going mad, swooping and dive-bombing. There were loads of men fishing there, pulling fish out of the water, and throwing the little ones back in.

“They're like kids in a sweetshop,” said Uncle Ben.

“Deadly,” said Gloria. “Chocolate-coated mackerel.”

“That's not a bad idea,” said Uncle Ben.

There was a ship, one of the ferries, coming into Dublin Bay. It seemed so close, Gloria only had to lean out a bit to touch its side as it glided past.

“Oh my God!”

The Dog was there, in front of them. He was at the corner of Smithfield. Gloria knew the name of the place because she'd been there loads of times with her dad. The Dog was right in front of them. “No more daydreaming,” she said to herself. “Concentrate.”

It was like the Dog had been in front of them all along, but the glare of the morning's early sunshine had made him impossible to see. But now he was back. And he wasn't running away this time. He was coming toward them.

“Uh-oh!”

The Dog's head lifted slowly to stare right at them. It was colossal, the head, as big as the whole Dog had been when they'd chased him out of Phoenix Park. He started to open his mouth.

His teeth were dripping, his tongue looked hard and horrible.

Gloria knew what was happening. She knew what they had to do.

“Quick!” she yelled. “Shout before he does! Brilliant!”

Nothing happened.
Brilliant
wasn't working. It was proper daylight now, so
brilliant
didn't explode into light, the way it had in the night. It was just a word.

Some of the kids slowed down, and the seagulls scattered all over the sky. Other kids stopped, too frightened to go any further. But Gloria kept running at the Dog. So did Raymond and Ernie. And Damien. And others too—Paddy, Alice, Sunday, Suzie, Precious.

Gloria knew now that the Black Dog wasn't afraid of the light. The air was bright and kind of lovely, but the Dog had never looked fiercer. His eyes were huge; the light wasn't making him squint or cringe. He didn't care about the light. He never had. Their weapon—
brilliant
—was no good to them.

But Gloria wasn't going to give up.

Brilliant!

It had worked before. Something in the word—maybe not the light—had sent the Dog running away. So she kept running at him and she kept shouting.

“Brilliant!”

There was nothing else to do.

The Dog still came at them. His eyes were dark caves. There was no shine in them, no twinkle.

Gloria didn't look at the Dog's eyes. She kept running—they
all
kept
running—straight for the mouth, which seemed to be growing bigger and deeper. And lower. The Dog was bringing its head down, nearer to the street. The kids were more and more frightened, but the fear seemed to pull them closer to the thing that frightened them. They were so close now, they could smell his breath. It wasn't dog breath—it wasn't normal dog breath. It was—

“Socks!” shouted Precious.

They couldn't help laughing, even though they were scared.

“Brilliant!”

Just for a second, it had made the Dog seem silly, the smell of old socks coming out of his huge, angry mouth.

“Feet!” shouted Suzie.

“Brilliant!”

The Black Dog's mouth had stopped growing. He was standing still.

They charged straight at him.

“Brilliant!!”

The word was working—something about it. Gloria quickly looked up at the Dog's eyes and saw him blink, just once. He was turning sideways, to get away.

From what—what was he trying to escape from? It wasn't the kids. It couldn't have been—they were only kids. Raymond looked around. There were hundreds of them, and there were even more coming, to join the ones who'd been running all night. But the kids alone weren't disturbing the Dog. And it wasn't the light. What was it?

Gloria had been thinking too as she ran.

“It's the word he hates!” she shouted. “Not the light.”

The Black Dog was up on his hind legs. Then he fell backwards and landed on his front paws and charged away, down Arran Quay. The kids saw what was happening and kept running, faster now, because the Dog was running away.

“BRILLIANT!”

Alice had an idea.

“Maybe it's not just the word,” she said. “It's what the word means.”

“Yeah,” said Gloria, although she was a bit annoyed; she'd been going to say that. “The Black Dog hates anything brilliant.”

“The Black Dog hates
everything
brilliant,” said Alice.

Paddy made sure he was running right beside Alice.

“That was cool,” he said.

Alice thought she'd start to fly. She'd never felt so happy, so light, so full of joy. Even though she was sweating and the label on her knickers was itching her as she ran.

“Thanks,” she said—or she meant to say. But “Label” was what she actually said. She couldn't believe it!

But Paddy didn't seem to mind, or hear. He smiled at her. And she smiled at him. They couldn't stop smiling at each other. Neither of them wanted to be the first to stop.

The Black Dog's paws smashed down on the street. They could feel the weight, the vibration in their feet as they ran. And he was getting even bigger. He was so wide now he filled most of the street.

“Not so brilliant,” said Ernie. “What d'you think, bud?” he asked Raymond.

“Not sure,” said Raymond.

The Dog was definitely expanding. But—

“He's still running away,” said Damien.

“Good point,” said Ernie. And he shouted as he ran.

“Chicken!”

Most of the kids started laughing. It was mad, calling a dog a chicken. A lot of them joined in.

“Chicken!!”

Gloria wasn't too sure that calling the Dog a chicken was such a good idea.

“He might feel insulted,” said Gloria.

“That's the idea,” said Ernie.

“He might get angrier,” said Gloria.

“That's the idea,” said Ernie.

“He might turn around and charge at us,” said Gloria.

“That's not the idea,” said Ernie.

“Chicken!!”

“Shut up!” said Ernie.

“Brilliant!” Gloria shouted, and all the kids joined in.

The Dog's fur rubbed the sides of buildings as he ran. The kids heard a strange sound, a bit like an animal crying out in pain or protest. But it wasn't an animal. It was the iron railings in front of the Four Courts. By the time the kids ran past, they could see that the Dog, the weight and the size of him, had bent and twisted the railings as he'd gone past.