An Early Childhood Chapter 24 Part 2


Continued from Chapter 24 Part 1.

               In the previous section, we had set out the following morning, following the river until its banks became steep, until ultimately we were walking along a clifftop high above the water. Soon, we had come across a gunfight that stretched across the river, we had added our artillery support to drive away the Englanders, and six of us had got halfway across a rope bridge to catch Floudh Rak the evil weatherlock before the bridge had collapsed.

                John Fisherman-O’Reilly fell to his knees.

                “No…” he buried his head in his hands and everyone present was sure he was about to have an episode.

                Deepak, Old Man Phelps, Tancred Moorphy M’Nally, John Fisherman O’Reilly, Ai Bang Mi Fa Ki Ni, Fletch Curtis and a few others had watched my plummet into the icy waters.

                “The Hae Penny Rope Bridge!” John Fisherman-O’Reilly said in disgust, from the bank, “And Paddy’s in the water!”

                Tancred nodded. He had a plan already forming in his mind, and was getting strands of the rope bridge onto the bank, and tying their ends to some arrows.

                “Me, you, and Fletch will stay here.” Tancred said. “But we have to get across to the other bank to kill that evil weatherlock!”
                Everybody nodded solemnly
                Just then, a dumdum bullet slammed into the chest of John Fisherman-O’Reilly, and his innards went all over the rest of them. John Fisherman-O’Reilly collapsed on the dirt. The rest of the band watched as a one-armed Bishop O’Brien, Jarlath O’Halloran and the rest of the weatherlock worshippers appeared from the trees a mere fifteen yards from their position. Four more dumdums were fired, and as some dived into the foliage, the rest of my men fell to earth wounded, screaming in pain.
                “Let’s go,” I heard Bishop O’Brien say to the rest of his men, “Let’s go back to the boat.”
                Tancred made to get up and a sudden pain in his leg told him that he too had been hit, and he was forced back down into the grass once more. Blood seeped from the wound.
                “Murderous infidels!” he gritted his teeth as he tried to pull himself up with the use of his scimitar as a crutch. It took a full three minutes. The pain was almost unbearable, but he began to limp, following the shower of dirty feckin killers. The limp became a hobble and the hobble became a sprint. It wasn’t long before the five men appeared in the distance, still walking along the cliff.
                “Your Eminence!” Tancred roared angrily, waving his scimitar, “It’s me! Tancred Mooorphy M’Nally! I’m actually an ally of Paddy Flanagan, the young child who used to bring you letters from the nuns! I’m the last of the rebels – the one Floudh Rak wants! You would have won if not for me! Now… prepare to meet your maker at the hands of a Musselman!”
                The five men had turned around, one of them with his rifle raised at Tancred.
                “Kill him,” O’Brien said simply.
 Continued in Part 3.