Quirke 06 - Holy Orders

God,” he said, gasping softly. “Ah, the bronicals.”
    It occurred to Quirke that Inspector Hackett would be wondering what had become of him. He wondered, himself, how the interview with Father Gallagher had progressed, or if it had progressed at all. No, not Gallagher—that was not the priest’s name. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to remember. Dangerfield! That was it. Nike was Gallagher, but the fellow here, who looked like Nike, was Dangerfield, Daniel Dangerfield. It seemed important to sort out these names, to fix them in his mind. He lifted the whiskey glass but then put it back on the table. The alcohol he had taken already must have gone to his head, that was why his brain was clouded and he could not think straight. Concentrate; he must concentrate. “ Y ou’d have known all the priests here, no doubt,” he said, “over the years.”
    The old man cast a sharp look across the table. “Oh, aye,” he said, “all the fathers.” His manner had turned wary.
    Quirke grasped the glass again and this time drank from it. Jameson was his tipple, but the Powers tasted good, all the same. “There’s a Father Honan, I believe,” he said. “Would you know him?”
    “Father Mick, is it?” The old man smiled, though his eyes kept a guarded look. “He’s a grand man.”
    “So they say.”
    The old man waited, silent and watchful. What had he said his name was? Thaddeus—Thady. “Do you know him well?” Quirke asked.
    “Oh, I do. Sure wasn’t he living here for the past I don’t know how long. A good and holy man.”
    Quirke looked deep into Thady’s cloudy eyes. Was there something lurking in there that belied his warm words? “ Y ou say he was living here—where is he now?”
    “He’s going off to Africa, I hear.”
    “Yes, but where is he staying in the meantime?”
    The old man let his gaze drift. “I believe he’s visiting his home place.”
    “And where’s that?”
    “Donegal.”
    “That’s a long way away.”
    “It is. It’s as far away as you can get.”
    A silence fell. They could hear rain whispering at the window now, yet at that very moment a swish of sunlight filled the room. April. The old man offered the whiskey bottle again but Quirke put his hand over his glass. He was convinced there were things the old man knew but was not saying about Father Mick. He was asking the wrong questions, obviously—but what were the right ones? If only he could get his head clear. Beyond the window, off in the trees, some small shiny thing kept flashing, as if it were sending him an urgent signal. He should leave. His pulse was beginning to race again. “I’d better be going,” he said. He tried to stand, but once more his knees would not obey him.
    “ Y ou’ll get wet,” the old man said. “Listen to that rain.” He was bent so far forward his chest was almost resting on the table. His head as well as his hands trembled slightly, and Quirke thought of a tortoise, its leathery skull waggling on a stalk of neck, its ancient eyes filmed over with a gray transparency. Thady. Thaddeus. He was gazing vacantly off to the side, and seemed to have forgotten Quirke was there. “He’s a great man for the good works,” he said, “the same Father Mick.”
    Quirke blinked; that flashing thing in the trees was making his eyes ache. What was it? Something in a magpie’s nest, perhaps, a stolen brooch or shard of colored glass? But did magpies really steal things, or was that only a myth? “Good works?” he said, trying to concentrate.
    Thady nodded. “Aye. With the kiddies, and the like. And the tinkers.”
    Quirke waited, fingering the whiskey glass that by now was empty. The rain was beating still on the window yet there was a wash of watercolor sunlight on the opposite wall that was making the pale tiles paler still. “Why is he going to Africa?” he asked. “Is he being sent?”
    The old man squinted up at him. “Sent?”
    “If he’s doing such great work here, why is he going away?”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. Don’t they take a vow of obedience?”
    “So he is being sent.”
    The old man smiled softly. “Sure, who would send him?”
    “The Father Superior?”
    Thady frowned, his jaw working as if he were grinding some small thing between his teeth. Suddenly he cackled. “His Reverence? His Reverence hasn’t been in communication with anyone, only me, this many a year.” He put a finger to his temple and made a screwing movement. “He’s not