Viking Ships at Sunrise (3 page)

He grabbed the rope and started up the steep steps. At the top of the cliff, he pulled himself over the edge.

“Aha!” boomed a deep, jolly voice. “It's another little invader!”

Jack's glasses were wet with mist. He quickly wiped them, then looked up.

A man in a brown robe stood before him. The man had a round red face. He was bald, except for a fringe of hair around his head.

Nearby the rope was tied around a tree.

“I—I'm not an invader,” said Jack.

“He's
Jack!
” said Annie. She was standing behind the man. “I'm Annie. We're from Frog Creek, Pennsylvania.”

“We—we come in peace,” stammered Jack.

The man's blue eyes twinkled.

“Oh, do you now?” he said. “I wondered what was going on. I had dropped the rope so I could climb down the steps. But
you
two grabbed it instead. How in the world did you get on this island?”

Jack stared at the man. He didn't know how to explain the magic tree house.

“In our boat,” Annie said quickly.

The man looked puzzled. “Not many boats can come ashore at this dark, early hour.”

“Well, we're very good sailors,” said Annie.

Oh, brother
, thought Jack. He hoped their sailing skills wouldn't be tested.

“Where exactly are we?” asked Annie. “And who exactly are you?”

“You're on an island off the coast of Ireland,” the man said. “And I am Brother Patrick.”

“Whose brother are you?” said Annie.

The monk smiled. “The ‘brother' means I'm a Christian monk.”

“Oh, you're one of the monks who saved civilization!” said Annie.

The man smiled again.

Annie turned to Jack and whispered, “Let's show him our cards. I trust him.”

“Okay,” said Jack. He trusted the monk, too.

They both pulled out their secret library cards and showed them to Brother Patrick.

The
M
's and
L
's for
Master Librarian
shined in the gray light.

The monk looked at them and bowed his head.

“Welcome, my friends,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Jack and Annie.

“I did not truly think you were invaders,” said Brother Patrick. “But on our small island, we are careful of strangers.”

“Why?” said Annie.

“There are terrible stories about Viking raiders,” he said. “When we see their serpent ships, we must hide or be taken as slaves.”

“Serpent ships?” said Jack.

“The prows of their ships are often carved in the shape of a serpent's head,” said Brother Patrick. “I am afraid it stands for their fierce, cold-blooded ways.”

Jack looked at the misty gray sea.

“Do not worry,” said Brother Patrick. “They cannot land safely on this island before daylight. They're not as good sailors as some people.” He winked at Annie.

“Too bad for them,” she said cheerfully.

“But tell me, why have you come here?” asked Brother Patrick.

“Oh,” said Jack. “I almost forgot.”

He pulled Morgan's paper from his leather bag. He showed the Latin words to the monk.

“This is the title of a story that we have to take back to our friend and teacher, Morgan le Fay,” said Annie.

“I see … ” said Brother Patrick. He gave Jack and Annie a mysterious look.

What's he thinking?
Jack wondered.

But the monk changed the subject.

“I think you would like to visit our monastery,” he said.

“What's that?” said Annie.

“The place where we monks live and work,” said Brother Patrick. “Come.”

“But the sun's not up yet,” said Jack. “Won't the others be asleep?”

“Oh, no,” said Brother Patrick. “In the summer, we rise long before daylight. We have much to do. You'll see.”

The monk led them up a dirt path. Jack hoped their book was at the monastery. He wanted to leave the gloomy island with its threat of Viking invaders as soon as possible.

A low bell started to ring. Jack saw a lonely church steeple against the gray sky ahead.

The monastery had a stone wall all around it.

Brother Patrick took Jack and Annie through the gate. Beyond the gate was a small church with a hanging bell.

There was also a vegetable garden and six stone huts shaped like giant beehives.

“We grow all our own food,” said Brother Patrick. “Carrots, turnips, spinach, wheat, and beans.”

He led them to the entrance of the first hut. Jack and Annie peeked inside. A monk was pulling flat bread from a low stone oven.

“This is our bakery,” Brother Patrick said.

“It smells good!” said Annie.

“Come along,” Brother Patrick said.

He pointed to each hut as they passed.

“There are our sleeping quarters,” he said. “And that's where we spin our cloth. In here, we cobble our sandals. There we carve our wooden tools.”

In each of the huts, Jack and Annie could see monks. They were busy spinning or cobbling or carving.

Finally, Brother Patrick came to the largest beehive-like hut.

“I have saved the best for last,” he said. “This is where we do our most important work.”

He stepped inside.

Jack and Annie followed.

The hut was warm and peaceful, yet very alive. It glowed with the golden light of many candles.

Monks sat at wooden tables. Some were reading. Others played chess. Best of all, some were writing and painting in books.

“This is our library,” said Brother Patrick. “Here we study math, history, and poetry. We play chess. And we make books.”

“Jack,” said Annie. “I think this is it.”

“What?” said Jack.

“
Civilization!
” said Annie.

Brother Patrick laughed.

“Yes, this is where civilization hides,” he said. “On top of our lonely island in the sea.”

“Oh, man,” said Jack. “I love this place.”

“What kind of books do you make here?” asked Annie.

“Books of wonder,” said Brother Patrick. “We record Christian stories as well as the old myths of Ireland.”

“Myths?” said Jack.

“Yes,” said Brother Patrick. “They were gathered from our storytellers—the old women who sing the tales of long ago, when people believed in magic.”

“Wow,” said Annie.

“Come,” said Brother Patrick, “look at the book of Brother Michael. He has worked on it his whole life.”

Brother Patrick led Jack and Annie over to an old monk. The monk was painting a blue border around one of the pages in a book.

“Michael, these two Master Librarians from faraway would like to see your work,” said Brother Patrick.

The old monk looked up at Jack and Annie. His wrinkled face broke into a smile.

“Welcome,” said Brother Michael in a thin, shaky voice.

“Hi,” said Annie.

Brother Michael showed them the cover of his book. It was decorated with gleaming red and blue jewels.

Then he turned the pages. Each was covered with fancy writing and delicate paintings in green, gold, and blue.

“I wish I could paint like that,” said Annie.

“It's beautiful,” whispered Jack.

“Thank you,” said Brother Michael.

“How do you make a book like this?” asked Annie.

“I write on sheepskin and use goose quill pens,” said Brother Michael. “My paints are made of earth and plants.”

“Wow,” said Annie.

“Show Michael what you are seeking,” Brother Patrick said.

“Oh, right!” said Jack. He pulled out the paper Morgan had given them. He showed the Latin writing to the old monk.

Brother Michael nodded.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “I know that one quite well.”

Brother Michael turned to the page he had been painting with a blue border. He pointed to the writing at the top of the page.

“Oh, man,” whispered Jack.

The words were: