Read Online The Pictish Child by Jane Yolen - Free Book Online Page B

feet high, it has nearly one hundred figures carved upon one side, a Celtic cross on the other. It dates from the ninth century.
    â€œâ€˜The stone depicts scenes of fighting and killing. There are bodies of decapitated prisoners depicted as well.’” She shuddered, then went on.
    â€œâ€˜It is thought that the stone commemorates the alleged slaughter of the Pictish nobles in a single treacherous act by the Scottish king Kenneth mac Alpin, who, in A.D. 843, forged together a single nation of Scots and Picts, by the sword.’”
    â€œWell, what is it, Gran?” Peter asked. “What history do you mean?”
    But Jennifer knew, even though Peter seemed to have forgotten.
    â€œKenneth mac Alpin,” she said.
    â€œThat’s Maggie’s name!” shouted Molly, clapping her hands. “Do you think Kenneth is her daddy?”
    The dog laughed, a low, lugubrious sound, almost like a howl. “Her father?” He laughed again. “More like her great-great-great-great-great—” Peter jerked his collar, cutting him off.
    â€œTaken,” Jennifer said, suddenly remembering what Maggie MacAlpin had been saying before she fell asleep. “Waken. Mistaken. Shaken.”
    â€œEnough!” cried Gran.
    â€œEnough is right,” said the woman in the sweater and plaid skirt, coming into the room. “You lot are much too wild for this little museum. I’ll be happy to refund your money.”
    â€œWe were just leaving,” Gran told her. “Keep the pound, for all the good it does ye. We have gotten at least a pound’s worth of information here.”
    Gran swept out of the door as if she were royalty, and the children followed her. For a brief moment the dog considered leaving a small token behind, but he thought better of it and galloped out through the closing door.

Fourteen
    Eventide Again
    By the time they all got into the car, it had started to rain, and a steady drumroll sounded on the car’s roof. Peter couldn’t find the windshield wipers for the longest time, and when he finally did, they made a groaning sound and swiped a great fog across the window.
    At first Jennifer thought the dark mist had returned, but gradually the windshield cleared up, and Peter got the car going again. It isn’t , Jennifer thought, the least bit like magic.
    Since Peter couldn’t figure out how to put the car into reverse, they had to go the long way around, right through the very center of Fairburn. The car moved in short, sharp jerks as Peter tried to avoid the other cars and a horde of pedestrians, all of whom suddenly seemed in league against them.
    Everyone inside the car was now shouting advice to Peter all at the same time—even Ninia, though what she was saying no one could guess.
    Peter was close to losing his temper or crying, whichever came first. Jennifer recognized the pinched look on his face all too well.
    â€œSilence,” Gran demanded at last, in a voice that said she was not to be trifled with. “I will be the only one to speak to Peter from now on, do ye all understand? And then only to give him instructions as to where to turn. He is making a fine job of this driving, and Da will be proud of him. Drive on, my lad.”
    With that they were all silenced, except for the dog, whose moans continued—though more quietly—throughout the rest of the juggering ride.
    It seemed to take forever, but at last they pulled up in front of the Eventide Home, close enough to the curb that the tires scraped.
    Then they piled out of the car, like clowns in a circus routine, and headed directly for the front door.
    This time no one greeted them. Indeed there seemed to be no one at home as they walked right through the two rooms toward the Garden Parlor. The Eventide Home was startlingly empty of residents. Even the old lady who had been sitting staring out at the road was gone.
    â€œI will give that Maggie MacAlpin a piece of my