Milo and the Pirate Sisters (3 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

MISS LEE IS ANNOYED

M
um was busy when I went down for breakfast the next morning. She had already punched up the cushions on the bamboo chairs in the sunroom, and now she was washing the china cups that she only uses for special occasions and when Dad’s mum visits.

‘What’s happening, Mum?’ I asked.

‘It’s my turn for the neighbourhood
ladies’ afternoon tea,’ she said with the sort of grim sigh that told me I should make myself scarce. Mum doesn’t do fancy buns and cakes. She says there’s no point in putting bakeries out of business. But she always feels that she has to make the effort for the neighbours because they’d suss out the shop stuff. Dad usually stays late in the Garda station on those days.

I called in for Shane on the way to school and told him about Mister Lewis’s big scare.

‘That’s pure daft,’ said Shane. ‘How could one ghost scare another ghost?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you think about it, there are probably decent ghosts and bullying ghosts – just like there are good guys like you and me, and thugs like …’

‘Wedge and Crunch,’ put in Shane. ‘Yeah, that sounds kinda right. So where is Mister Lewis now?’

‘In my wardrobe,’ I sighed.

‘Your wardrobe!’ Shane spluttered. ‘Why does he need to hide in a wardrobe when he can go invisible?’

‘Well,’ I began, ‘when he’s really stressed he has terrible nightmares and he tends to become visible. We just couldn’t take that risk.’

‘Huh?’ Shane stopped and stared at me wide-eyed. ‘Are you mad?’ he screeched. ‘What if your mum—?’

‘That’s the whole point,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t venture into my bedroom. She says that she’d collapse into a coma if she went there, so I have to put my own stuff in the washing basket. And that suits me fine.’

Then I had a brilliant moment. ‘Hey, Shane,’ I said. ‘Mum has some women neighbours coming to our house later on.’

‘I know,’ Shane put in. ‘Gran is bringing
one of her African cakes.’

Shane’s gran, Big Ella, makes the most awesome cakes ever. Now Mum would have something good to serve up instead of her crooked tarts and flat buns.

‘While they’re all chattering, Shane,’ I said, ‘you can come up to my room and say hello to Mister Lewis.’

‘Sure thing,’ laughed Shane as we made our way down to our classroom.

After eleven o’clock break Miss Lee lets us ask questions about stuff that’s not on the school curriculum, because she says that it’s sometimes good to talk outside the school books.

‘What was it like in the war, Miss?’ asked Willie Jones, the first to shoot his hand up. ‘Me and my dad watched a film about it on telly. There was a woman in it and Dad said she was just like you, Miss.’

‘Which war, Willie?’ Miss Lee asked, with a puzzled frown.

‘The big one, Miss,’ Willie went on. ‘The one with Hitler. What did you do when the bombs dropped, Miss?’

‘Willie,’ Miss Lee said calmly. ‘When was that war?’

‘Dunno, Miss.’

‘It started in 1939,’ Miss Lee said slowly. ‘And it finished in 1945, Willie. How old do you think I am?’

Willie thought for a while, his face blank.

‘I’m twenty-eight,’ she went on. ‘Now, do the maths, Willie.’

Willie screwed up his eyes as he tried to work out the sums, but the lights in his head were switched off. ‘Dunno, Miss,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘go on with the war, Miss. What was it like to be in it?’

We all laughed, especially Miss Lee.

After we settled down, Shane put up his hand. I bit my lip in fear that the question he’d cough up might make everyone holler again.

‘Miss,’ he began. ‘Do you know that old mill near the river?’

‘I do indeed know it, Shane,’ she said.

Good thinking, I thought, giving him an approving nod.

‘Could you tell us a bit about it?’ Shane continued. ‘You know everything about the history of the town,’ he added, just to get on her good side.

There were groans of ‘boring’ and ‘poncy’ from some of the hard guys. Miss Lee quietened them when she suggested switching to sums. There was a hush and we all sighed when she began. Not that the class were interested; it was the dossing that delighted most of them.

Miss Lee cleared her throat. ‘All that land around the mill was owned by the rich Maguire clan, who lived there in a fine house from the sixteen hundreds until the eighteen sixties.’ She went on. ‘They even had their own burial place in a mausoleum they had built on their land—’

‘Us too!’ interrupted Willie Jones. ‘We bury all our cats on our land.’

‘I hope they’re dead,’ someone from the back shouted.

Even Miss Lee laughed at that.

‘Go on with the story, Miss,’ said Shane. ‘Tell us about the mill.’

‘Indeed,’ said Miss Lee. ‘I’m coming to that, Shane. Well, the last of the family was a reclusive old man, Niall Maguire—’

Another hand went up. ‘What does reclusive mean, Miss?’

Miss Lee gave a big sigh. ‘It means that
he didn’t mix with people. Apart from a delivery boy who brought him his groceries from the town, nobody was welcomed into the big, rambling house, which gradually began to deteriorate with dampness and crumbling plaster. When he died, Niall was buried with his ancestors.’

‘What happened the house, Miss?’ I asked.

‘A distant cousin from Kildare took over,’ she said. ‘His name was Timothy McDonnell Maguire.’

‘That’s two surnames, Miss,’ someone interrupted. ‘That’s real posh.’

Miss Lee nodded. ‘Some people still like to keep family names from the mother’s side,’ she explained.

‘Well,’ said Tim McCarthy, the guy who sits near me, ‘if people still used two surnames, I would be Timothy Harty McCarthy.’

‘Indeed,’ Miss Lee sighed.

Quick as a flash, Willie Jones called out that Tim could even have THREE surnames. ‘That’d be well posh,’ he added.

Tim grinned with pride. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Cool.’

Guessing exactly where Willie was going with rhyming names, Miss Lee said sharply, ‘That’s enough for now. Get out your maths workbooks.’

We all glared at Willie.

‘But, Miss,’ Shane wailed. ‘What about the mill?’

‘Yes, go on, Miss,’ I added in support.

‘That can wait for another time,’ she said, ‘when we can have a mature conversation.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE BEES

A
fter school, Shane and me were heading home when we spotted Crunch coming out of the supermarket with his mum. His nose was still dotted with green cream. He scowled at us when Shane said hello and asked him sweetly how he was feeling. What was Shane thinking, being all sweet and jolly to our enemy? Of course I had to wade in too. ‘Tough luck,’ I muttered. ‘Poor nose.’

‘None of your business,’ he snarled.

His mum gave him a whack on the ear. ‘You talk good to those nice boys,’ she said.

‘It’s OK, Missus,’ said Shane. ‘We understand. A bee sting is pretty painful.’

‘And two or more are totally painful,’ I added, trying to sound sympathetic.

‘So mind yourself, Crunch,’ said Shane. ‘Bees are dangerous.’

‘Deadly dangerous,’ I added, hoping that would make him think twice before trying to tackle us again.

Even under the green cream, we could see Crunch’s mouth silently muttering stronger words.

His mum saw it too. ‘You say goodbye,’ she said, giving her son another dig. ‘We need to get you home. You don’t want to be late for the bus.’

‘You going somewhere, Crunch?’ I asked.
But his mum was pulling him along the street.

‘That felt good,’ laughed Shane as we moved along.

Until next time we see him, I thought. Maybe we should have said nothing. Still, his mum was a feisty lady who liked good manners, so she might be on our side.

When we let ourselves into my house, we gagged at the smell of Mum’s fancy candles in the hall. There was loud chatter and laughter from the sunroom.

‘Mum! Me and Shane are just going up to my room,’ I called out from the hall and hoped she wouldn’t haul us in to be exhibited to the women.

‘To do some work, Missus Doyle,’ Shane fibbed, giving me a wink. ‘Hard sums,’ he added.

‘Good. You are such diligent boys,’ Mum
said, loud enough for all to hear.

‘Yes, we are,’ replied Shane in his oiliest good-guy voice. ‘What does “diligent” mean, Milo?’ he whispered as we went upstairs.

‘Dunno,’ I sniggered. ‘But it must be harmless.’

My grin faded when we got to my room and I looked at the wardrobe. The door was wide open and so was my window. ‘He’s not here!’ I exclaimed. ‘Mister Lewis is not here! He must have gone back to the mill.’

‘Oh shoot!’ wailed Shane. ‘You said he’d help us find out about the mill and stuff.’

‘Well, how was I to know he’d skive off …’ I began. Then, as I looked around, my heart jumped, like, all the way up to my head.

‘My telly!’ I cried. ‘Someone has broken in and nicked my telly and scared Mister Lewis away!’

‘No way,’ said Shane, rushing over to examine the table where I keep my telly – as if it would pop up by itself and say boo!

‘Hellooo,’ said a sleepy voice from under my bed.

‘Mister Lewis!’ I laughed with relief. ‘Why are you under there?’

‘Eh, for comfort, lad, and to stay hidden – just in case your mum might look in and see me with this TV gadget that I’ve seen you play with. But no matter how much I press buttons or shake it, nothing happens, so I had a good sleep instead.’

‘Wow!’ laughed Shane, peering under the other side of the bed. ‘He’s even tried your XBox, Milo. But he hasn’t plugged anything in!’

‘Ah, so that’s where I went wrong,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘I thought it might be fun,’ he went on as he stood up and stretched
his skinny arms. ‘It gets boring when you’re not here, Milo. I’ve read most of your books, especially
Skulduggery Pleasant
and
Extreme Adventures.
I’ve even been back to the museum, but there’s no fun in scaring the same people all the time.’

Then he gave a great sigh. ‘I feel I should put on a brave face and venture back to the mill and try to be a proper ghost …’ He stopped when we heard a loud, screechy commotion from downstairs.

Mister Lewis clapped his hands to his ears. ‘The women! It’s those awful women! Oh lawks!’

‘Mister Lewis!’ I said valiantly. ‘Don’t talk about my mum and her friends like that.’

‘Nor my gran,’ put in Shane.

‘No, no, boys! It’s those scary women from the mill. I could hear them at night, shrieking in the other rooms …’

‘The ones you told me about last night?’ I asked, but Mister Lewis was already going invisible.

We ran down the stairs towards the ear-splitting screams of Mum and her guests as they scrambled towards the front door, frantically waving their hands over their heads.

‘Mum!’ I cried.

She turned and waved me away. ‘Run back to your room, Milo, and close the door tight. Go NOW!’ she added, just before running outside and slamming the door.

‘Come this way, lads,’ said Mister Lewis, becoming visible again and heading towards the sunroom, which was in a right old mess with half-eaten cakes and tarts scattered over the floor. The good china cups were in bits. But it was the creepy droning sound that brought us to a standstill. The big, open
windows were alive with bees that just kept on coming through.

‘Ah, it’s my little darlings,’ Mister Lewis sighed with relief. ‘Come to Papa,’ he whispered, extending his two skinny arms. I shuddered when I saw the bees settle on his hands, arms and shoulders.

‘I figured you might have had something to do with this, Mister Lewis,’ a voice chuckled from one of the armchairs.

‘Gran!’ Shane yelled. ‘Run! Save yourself from those bees!’

‘Bees?’ she said, getting up from the chair. ‘No, my love. These dozy little dots of yellow and black are all noise and nonsense. Now, if this was Africa where real bees are big, loud and mean, we’d be lying on the floor, screaming.’ Then she put out her hands and more bees flew to her.

‘My dear lady!’ exclaimed Mister Lewis.
‘As usual you utterly amaze me.’

‘I think we ought to move,’ said Big Ella. ‘Let’s get these poor things to a safe place before those hysterical ladies send for someone to get rid of them.’

‘My mum wouldn’t …’ I began loyally. But when I thought it through, I figured that was exactly what Mum would do. I’ve seen her jump on spiders.

Mister Lewis took off his hat and held it out. ‘Come along, my sweet friends,’ he said over the continuous hum. Within seconds, the bees came together, as if by magic, and swarmed into the hat. ‘Quiet now,’ he whispered to them. ‘Time for us to go home.’

‘Can you go invisible, Mister Lewis?’ I asked, thinking of the commotion outside.

He shook his head. ‘No, Milo,’ he said. ‘Not while I’m carrying a hatful of bees.’

‘Oh shoot!’ said Shane. ‘What’ll we do?’

‘We’ll stay calm, that’s what we’ll do,’ said Big Ella. ‘Mister Lewis,’ she went on, ‘you go out the back door with the bees and make your way along the lane to my back garden. The key is under a flowerpot at the back door. Myself and the boys will go outside and tell the ladies that the bees have left and that all is well.’