couple of times now and he thought it might be starting to trust him. He dreamed of being allowed to take it out for a walk… or a roll, or whatever.
It appeared to be in a bad mood when he looked over the wall at it. It was twitching and rubbing its front wheel against the wall, making frustrated grunts. Francie knew the signs. Something was irritating it, and it was fidgeting like a horse with a stone in its hoof. He licked his lips, thinking about how much trouble he could get into if he interfered with an engimal. But after helping to blow up a crowded cemetery, the risk of trying to ease an expensive machine's discomfort was small potatoes. He slowly climbed over the wall and lowered himself into the stall. The engimal turned to look at him.
'There y'are, Flashy old thing,' Francie said in a sympathetic tone. 'I'm not goin' to hurt yeh. And yer not goin' to hurt me either, are yeh, Flash? No, yer not. I'm just goin' to get in here and see what's up with yeh. And then we'll make it all better for yeh. How's that sound, eh?'
He edged closer, nervously noticing how the velocycle had bunched up as if ready to lunge forward. Stretching out his hand, he kept making soothing noises.
'Sssh,' he told it. 'There y'are now. That's it, Flash. Let's see what's wrong.'
Going down on one knee, he gently stroked the engimal's front wheel, sliding his fingers up to its right front leg, which it had been rubbing against the wall. Flash trembled with tension but made no move to stop him. He realized it wasn't just being aggressive. It was afraid. He knew then that it must be in pain. Feeling around the metal muscles of its leg, Francie's fingers found their way down to where its ankle joint held the wheel. Something jagged and sharp was caught there and the engimal flinched when he touched it.
'That's it, isn't it, boy?' he said softly. 'Let's just have a look and see what yev got there.'
It was a piece of rusty wire, wrapped around the axle joint where it met the wheel. It had probably got caught up out on the road somewhere. He tugged carefully and Flash flinched again and growled.
'It's all right there, lad,' Francie reassured it. ''S just a bit o' wire. Not to worry – we'll have it out in no time.'
Getting a better grip, he pulled the end out and, with tender movements, unwound the rusted wire. He could see where it had chafed against the engimal's metal skin. The last tangled length of wire grated against the wheel and Flash let out a sudden snarl, slamming Francie back against the wall. The boy winced as the back of his head whacked off the wood, but he didn't panic as the wheel crushed his torso against the wall. The wire had cut the crook of his index finger and he sucked on it, eyeing the machine. There were flecks of rust in the cut, and he stretched over and washed the finger in the water trough. He took his time doing it, determined to show he wasn't afraid of the engimal.
Flash did not release him, but it didn't lean any harder either. With its weight, it could have crushed his chest like a matchbox. Stroking the wheel that was pressed against his ribcage, he reached in and finished unwinding the offending wire, pulling it free.
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. There now,' he said at last. 'How's that for yeh?'
The velocycle hesitated for a moment and then backed away. It made a noise that sounded like a mixture of apology and grudging appreciation. Francie stared at the magnificent machine with a hint of a smile on his face.
'You 'n' me,' he said breathlessly. 'We're goin' to be friends… aren't we?'
XVII
'There'll be no more robbin' from nibbies and clodhoppers,' Shay was saying to him in a lowered voice. 'It's rich folk and nothin' else for me from now on. Absolutely deffiney – no more small-time. What's the point in robbin' from them as don't have a ha'penny worth takin', Francie? Sure it's these toffs' fault that we're thieves in the first place, yeh know what I mean? I wouldn't be such a gouger if I hadn't been oppressed since I was born.'
Francie listened quietly, wondering what his father wanted. He didn't point out that his mother had been born into the same circumstances as Shay, and was as saintly as any woman alive. Being poor didn't make you a thief. His ma had never stolen a thing in her life and she'd tried to teach Francie to be the same. There wasn't a hope of that with Shay around.
'We're goin' to be like that English fella from the stories,' his father was saying. 'Yeh know… the one who lived in the woods and robbed the rich to give to the poor. Wha' was 'is name?'
'King Arthur?' Francie suggested.
'Tha's the fella. King Arthur. Anyway, we're turnin' over a new leaf. From now on, we're goin' to be like him.'
'So are we goin' to be givin' to the poor, then, Da?' Francie asked sceptically.
'One leaf at a time, Francie.' Shay gave him a sly look. 'One leaf at a time.'
He was about to go on when an old man came over to them with a glass of stout in his hand. Placing it in front of Shay, the man slapped his shoulder and gave him a nod.
'Good on yer, son,' he muttered. 'Have one on me. It's about time the swells got what was comin' to 'em!'
Without another word, he turned and walked back to a group of men who were leaning against the worn wood of the bar. They looked over in Shay's direction and there were a few winks and some of the sideways nods of the heads that passed for a salute in this part of the country. Giving his son a smug look, Shay raised the glass to them. They raised theirs in return.
'What was all that about?' Francie asked.
'It's been goin' on for a few days,' Shay replied under his breath. 'Word must've got about in Fenian circles that I was in on the explosion in the cemetery. They think I'm startin' a revolution or somethin'. My arse! Still, it's good for a few pints, wha'?'
Francie felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. First his father blows a Wildenstern funeral to smithereens; now he was trying to pull the wool over the eyes of the Fenians. They wouldn't take kindly to being fooled – and there'd be hell to pay if any of them ended up in Kilmainham Gaol or the cellars of Dublin Castle because of his da's explosive cock-up. And then Shay leaned over, slipped an envelope into Francie's hand and explained what he wanted his son to do.
That was when Francie finally decided that his father was completely off his head.
Nathaniel hit the floor hard, landing on his back with Clancy gripping his arm and shoulder. Nate kicked the older man in the chest before the arm-lock came on, and wrenched his arm free, flipping back onto his feet and putting some distance between them. He was breathing hard, but Clancy was panting in short bursts and Nate knew there wasn't much left in him.
'You're losing your touch, old man,' he taunted his manservant.
'It's not lost just yet, sir.'
The servant closed on him again, jabbing with his left and then aiming a front kick at Nate's groin. Nate pivoted around it and landed a spectacular double roundhouse kick, striking Clancy's calf and then his ribs, winning a grunt of pain from his opponent. He had little time to enjoy it – as his foot pulled away, Clancy caught the ankle and rammed the heel of his hand into his master's sternum. The blow stopped Nate long enough for Clancy to sweep his other leg out from under him and send him crashing to the floor again.
'You've got to watch those high kicks, sir,' Clancy told him, bending forward and wincing as he rubbed his bruised ribs. 'You don't want to be standing on one foot for too long.'
They were in the family's gymnasium, sparring on the wooden floor, dressed only in loose trousers and undershirts. It was a room about the size of two tennis courts, with a high ceiling and small square windows along
