Friend or Foe (18 page)

The blast of detonating grenades could be heard from nearby, but Emer tried not to flinch in front of the battle-hardened rebels. She was inside the annexe with Jack now, having persuaded its defenders that they were Fianna runners with an important message to deliver.

‘Where’s Commandant Ceannt?’ asked Emer briskly, wanting to give the impression that they had official business with the officer in charge of the Volunteers in the South Dublin Union. While visiting her father in hospital last night, she had discovered that Eamonn Ceannt, one of the signatories to the proclamation of independence, was leading the rebels here, and she hoped that her confident use of his name would make herself and Jack seem credible as Fianna runners.

Most of the Volunteers here were manning sandbag-filled windows, from which they unleashed rifle fire. Two rebels had let her and Jack in, a gaunt youth of about twenty, who Emer suspected was struggling to mask his fear, and a more aggressive, stocky man in his forties who now asked her suspiciously, ‘What’s it to you where Commandant Ceannt is?’

‘We need to know if he’s still in command,’ answered Jack. ‘We’ve orders from HQ.’

‘Yes, he’s still in command,’ replied the stocky man.

‘But he’s not here. He’s up at the Rialto gate,’ added his younger companion.

‘Doesn’t really matter,’ said Emer. ‘Our orders are to bring a message for the DMP prisoner. Is he still here?’

‘He’s down the corridor,’ said the youth.

‘What the hell are you doing bringing a message for a copper?’ asked the stocky man.

‘Padraig Pearse is allowing the prisoner to receive a letter from his family,’ said Jack.

‘What?!’ exclaimed the older rebel.

‘Pearse wants to show that the Volunteers are behaving properly,’ explained Emer. ‘So he’s letting the prisoner have a letter. That way his family knows he’s being treated well.’

Emer found herself holding her breath as the stocky man considered her answer. More grenades exploded nearby. Emer tried not to react too much to the explosions, but prayed instead that the man would swallow their story.

‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘Though it’s more than the English would do for us.’

Emer felt a flood of relief, but before she could respond the man spoke again.

‘Give me the letter, and I’ll get it to him.’

‘Sorry,’ said Jack, ‘but our orders are to give it to him personally.’

Emer was impressed with Jack’s quick thinking. Suddenly a hail of bullets thudded into the sandbag at the nearest window.

‘You’ve enough to do here,’ said Jack. ‘Just tell us where he is, and we’ll go there.’

‘Bring them to the prisoner, Sean, and don’t dilly-dally!’ said the stocky man, before picking up his rifle and going to the window.

‘OK,’ said the youth importantly, ‘follow me!’

Jack saw the amazement in his father’s eyes. He quickly raised a finger to his lips, hoping that Da wouldn’t call out his name. They were in a small storage room down the corridor from where the other Volunteers were exchanging rifle fire with the British troops. Jack knew that Emer was deliberately trying to distract the young Volunteer who had escorted them here. He took advantage of being behind the youth to raise his fingers to his lips again and mime urgently to Da not to give the game away.

To Jack’s relief his father gave a tiny nod to indicate that he got the message. Da looked unharmed, but the bad news was that although he was seated in a chair, his wrist was handcuffed and attached to a radiator via a chain. The sound of gunfire and exploding grenades was getting louder all the time, and before Jack could improvise his next move, a loud blast from outside shattered the room’s only window. Fragments of glass flew in all directions, and Jack instinctively shielded his face and turned away.

The young Volunteer had been nearest to the window, and blood flowed down his cheek from a deep cut over his eyebrow. He raised his hand to the wound, and immediately it was covered in crimson blood. The youth had looked frightened to begin with, and Jack saw that now he was in shock.

‘We need to get you to a medic,’ said Emer, and Jack admired his friend’s speed in taking advantage of the situation.

‘We’ve no medics here,’ said the youth.

‘To be bandaged then. Have you first-aid supplies somewhere?’

‘Back in the command room.’

‘Leave them to sort out the letter,’ said Emer, indicating Jack and his father. ‘Let’s get you back there before you lose any more blood!’

‘All right,’ said the youth shakily.

Jack could have hugged Emer for her inventiveness, but instead he moved towards Da as his friend helped the young Volunteer out the door.

‘What are you doing here, Jack?’ asked his father.

‘I came to free you!’

‘How did you get here?’

‘They think we’re Fianna runners. I’ll explain later – we haven’t time now! Where’s the key to this chain?’

‘With a pile of other keys in the drawer of that press,’ said Da, indicating a tall wooden cabinet against the far wall.

Jack quickly crossed the room and pulled open the drawer. To his dismay there were dozens of keys, some on rings, others loose
in the bottom of the drawer. ‘There’s loads! How do we know which it is?’ he cried, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. The fighting was getting ever nearer, and now black smoke was wafting in through the broken window. Most worrying of all was the fact that at any moment the injured Volunteer or one of his comrades might come back.

‘It’s a squat silver key,’ said Da.

Jack frantically sorted through the keys, but he didn’t see one that fitted this description. ‘I can’t see it!’

‘OK,’ said Da, ‘pull the whole drawer out and bring it over here!’

Jack grabbed the handle of the drawer and pulled, but it was stiff and it resisted his efforts. He tried again and fought against panic when it wouldn’t budge. He gave one final jerk, putting all his strength into it, and this time the drawer suddenly came free. Some of the keys fell out onto the floor, but Jack quickly scooped them up, then ran across the room and laid the drawer before his father. ‘Right, which one is it?!’

Emer could feel her heart thumping, but she tried to look cool. It was frightening each time a grenade exploded, but even more terrifying was the thought of being caught trying to free Mr Madigan and treated as spies.

The injured Volunteer was now being bandaged by one of the
other rebels. The stocky man turned to Emer, his expression quizzical. ‘Why hasn’t your friend delivered the letter by now?’ he asked.

Emer tried desperately to think up something that would buy time for Jack to free his father. ‘I’m sure he has,’ she improvised, ‘but Padraig Pearse said the prisoner could write a reply to his family, so he’s probably doing that.’

‘This is a war zone. We need to get you out of here. Come on!’

‘It’s all right,’ said Emer. ‘I’m OK about it. Let’s give them time to write something.’

‘I’m not OK about it,’ said the man, ‘and I don’t take orders from you. Now shift yourself!’

Emer realised that arguing further would only make him suspicious, so instead she moved as slowly as possible towards the door. She followed the man out into the corridor, dreading to think what would happen when they reached the room containing Mr Madigan.

Jack turned the key in the lock, and the handcuffs clicked open. He watched as Da swiftly pulled the manacle off his wrist and felt a surge of elation when his father smiled and rose from the chair. Just then the door opened and Emer entered, closely followed by the stocky Volunteer. The man had his rifle hung over his shoulder, but when he saw his prisoner unchained, he immediately unslung the weapon and aimed it at Da.

‘Don’t shoot!’ cried Jack. ‘Don’t shoot an unarmed man!’ The Volunteer looked furious, and Jack felt sick with fear that he would kill Da for trying to escape. ‘Please, it would be murder!’

For a moment everything seemed to hang in the balance, then the man breathed out, and Jack realised that he wasn’t going to shoot. Instead the rebel vented his anger by turning on Emer and slapping her hard across the face.

‘Lying little bitch!’ he cried.

Emer fell back, and instinctively both Jack and his father moved towards the Volunteer.

‘Go on,’ said the man, ‘just give me a reason.’

‘Steady, son,’ said Da, and Jack controlled his anger. ‘Are you all right, Emer?’ he added.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she answered.

‘You won’t be fine!’ snapped the man. ‘Spies get shot, and you two came here posing as Fianna.’

Jack felt his stomach tighten. But just then there was a deafening blast as a grenade exploded outside the window. Jack was thrown backwards by the shock wave, and he smacked his shoulder against the wall. His father, however, was a big man weighing fifteen stone, and from the corner of his eye Jack saw that Da had weathered the blast. More than that, Da now sprang forward with surprising agility and clattered into the Volunteer, knocking the rifle from his hand. The rebel tried to fight back, but Jack’s father unleashed a pile-driver of a punch that poleaxed the man and left him unconscious on the floor. Jack looked around to see how
Emer was, and his joy suddenly turned to fear as he saw her lying, unmoving, against the wall.

‘Bayonet charge!’ roared a voice nearby. ‘Bayonet charge!’

Thuds of doors being kicked in and screams from men fighting hand-to-hand resounded through the air. Shakily coming to, Emer sat up gingerly. She saw the stocky rebel lying out cold on the ground, and her spirits rose.

‘Jack, lock the door!’ cried Mr Madigan, then he turned to Emer. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes,’ she answered. She felt a bit bruised from the blast, which had thrown her against the wall, but otherwise she was unhurt. ‘What happened him?’ she asked, pointing at the unconscious rebel.

‘Da levelled him!’ said Jack.

Mr Madigan smiled and offered Emer his hand, and she rose to her feet. Now that her head was clearing, she understood Jack’s father wanting to lock the door to keep the rebels at bay. But the sooner they made their escape, the better, so she pointed towards the far end of the annexe. ‘If we head down the corridor and out the back of the building, that should take us away from the worst of the fighting,’ she said.