The Legend of the Corrib King by Tom McCaughren Page A

‘We were out fishing together.’
    â€˜How?’ asked Cowlick.
    â€˜With wet newspapers and things.’
    â€˜If he did it, why can’t we?’ suggested Róisín. ‘We could use these.’ She picked up some old newspapers the poachers had brought along to light their fires.
    â€˜Well, I never did it myself,’ replied Jamesie, ‘but I suppose it’s worth a try.’
    Leaving Róisín to do the potatoes, the others went down to the lake. There Jamesie cleaned out the trout with his pen-knife, while Rachel soaked the newspapers and Tapser and Cowlick filled a number of old bean cans with mud.
    â€˜Now,’ said Jamesie, when they had brought it all back up to the church, ‘let’s hope this works.’ The others watched as he wrapped sheet after sheet of wet newspaper around each trout and caked it with mud.
    â€˜You have to make sure they’re completely covered,’ he told them. He pushed the trout in beside the potatoes and heaped hot embers on them. ‘Pakie says it’s just like steaming them.’
    A short time later they found to their surprise and delight that Pakie was right. The trout were so well done they were able to pick them to the bones with their fingers. And the potatoes were cooked almost as well. All they were short of was salt, but that didn’t worry them.
    â€˜That’s the best meal we’ve had yet,’ said Tapser. ‘I could eat the same again.’
    â€˜Listen,’ said Jamesie, ‘a boat.’
    â€˜Maybe it’s the poachers coming back,’ said Rachel.
    Jamesie shook his head. ‘It’s an outboard engine. Come on.’
    Sensing their excitement, Prince barked and ran ahead of them down the path. Emerging from the bushes, they saw a man in a boat going slowly past with an empty boat in tow.
    â€˜It’s Martin,’ they shouted. ‘Martin! Martin!’
    Turning around, Martin saw their dancing figures on the shore. He immediately throttled back on the engine, and came in to them. Quickly they told him what had happened, and took him up to the old church.
    â€˜He’s been here all right,’ said Martin. Among the rubbish the poachers had left, he had found several balls of crumpled paper which showed that Pakie had been passing the time writing more poems. However, there was nothing in them to suggest where he might have been taken.
    â€˜How did you know where to find us?’ asked Rachel.
    â€˜Well, when I saw the other boat was gone, and the outboard engine, and your campfire was stone cold, I thought I’d better take a look around. Then I met two fishermen who told me they had found the boat adrift, so I decided to cruise around and see if I could find you. You’ve no idea the fright you gave me. I was beginning to think you had all drowned.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ said Tapser. ‘I suppose we should have told you before coming here.’
    â€˜Arrah,’ said Martin, ‘maybe I should have taken my courage in my hands and told the Super about this poem business in the first place. Anyway, I’ll have to tell him now.’
    â€˜And we’ll have to let them know at home that we’ve seen Pakie,’ said Jamesie.
    â€˜Leave that to me,’ said Martin. ‘As I told you before, they’ve enough to worry about without having to worry about you lot as well. I’ll just tell them we’ve good reason to believe that Pakie is alive and well. That’ll give them enough hope. Anything more would only add to their fears.’
    He paused. ‘Anyway, the question is, where have the poachers taken Pakie now?’
    â€˜I hope we haven’t ruined everything,’ Rachel said.
    â€˜Maybe not,’ Martin reassured her. ‘For all the poachers know they were just disturbed by some young people, and if they don’t know the gardaí have been alerted we may have a good chance of getting them.’
    They