Kate Hoffmann - The Mighty Quinns - Dylan

Dylan sat down in the center of the room and grabbed the stuffed bear that was Liam’s favorite, then made it dance on the floor in front of his little brother. Brendan brought out a deck of cards and a box of stick matches and then dealt three hands of poker between him and the twins, Sean and Brian. Though it was nearly five o’clock, no one mentioned dinner. It was better not to think about it and simply pray that Da would come soon, his pockets bulging with money.

The front door creaked and they all turned, each of them hoping to see Seamus Quinn enter. But it was Con who came in, holding a single grocery bag in his arms. Though he was only thirteen, in Dylan’s eyes Conor was already a man. Tall and strong, he could best any boy his age and five years older on the neighborhood playgrounds. And no matter how bad things got, Con was always there, silent yet reassuring.

He glanced up at them then grinned against the hopeful looks sent his way. “Da will be home soon,” he said. “And I’ve got dinner.” He pulled a TV dinner from the bag. “Three for a dollar. There’s spaghetti and fish sticks. Dylan, why don’t you tell the boys a story, while I warm these.”

“A story,” Brian cried. “Tell us a Mighty Quinn story.”

“Let Brendan tell,” Dylan grumbled. “He’s better at stories than I am.”

“No,” Conor said. “It’s your turn. You’re just as good at stories.”

Grudgingly, Dylan settled himself on the floor. The twins wriggled closer and Liam crawled into his lap and looked up at him with wide eyes. Conor’s stories always featured the supernatural—elves and trolls and gnomes and fairies. Brendan had a knack for stories of faraway places and magical kingdoms. Dylan’s specialty was action, stories filled with deeds of derring-do—highwaymen who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor or brave knights who rescued fair maidens.

They had all played storyteller at one time to the younger boys, a trait inherited from their father. Seamus Quinn was always ready with a mythical tale of the Mighty Quinns, long-ago ancestors who followed only one rule—they never succumbed to the love of a woman. For Seamus Quinn believed that once a Mighty Quinn gave his heart away, his strength would leave him and he’d become weak and pitiful.

“This is the story of Odran Quinn and how he battled a giant to save the life of a beautiful princess,” Dylan began.

Brendan flopped down on his stomach and cupped his chin in his hand, ready to listen. They’d all heard the tale many times before from their father, so Dylan knew they would correct any mistakes he made in the telling of it.

“You know the story of how Finn sent his son Odran Quinn to serve the great king of Tiranog. Odran was brave and loyal and the king wanted him to live in his kingdom and rule beside him. Tiranog was a paradise beneath the waves, where the trees were heavy with fruit and there was wine and food aplenty. The king sent his most beautiful daughter, the Princess Neve, to convince Odran to come. Of course, Odran didn’t really like Neve, but he decided to go anyway, just to see what this fancy place, Tiranog, was all about.”

“That’s not the way it goes,” Conor called from the kitchen.

“He fell in love with the Princess Neve. She was beautiful and she had a dowry of gold and silver,” Brendan added.

“Well, he may have liked her a wee bit,” Dylan said. “But he was careful not to love her.”

“He said, ‘Father, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever met,”’ Brendan countered.

“All right, who’s telling this story, you or me?”

“You!” Liam said.

“It was with a heavy heart that Odran left his father’s home and rode away with the Princess Neve. They rode swiftly across the land and when they reached the sea, their white horses danced lightly over the waves. And then the sea parted and Odran Quinn found himself in a beautiful kingdom, full of sunshine and flowers and tall castles.”

“When does the part about the giant come?” Liam asked.

Dylan gave him a playful hug. “Soon. On their long ride to the king’s castle, Neve and Odran came upon a fortress. Odran asked Neve, ‘Who lives in this place?’ and Neve answered, ‘A lady lives there. She was captured by a giant and he keeps her prisoner until she agrees to marry him.”’ Dylan paused. “Odran Quinn looked up and saw the lady sitting by a window in the highest tower. A tear on her cheek glinted in the sunlight and Odran knew what he had to do. ‘I must save her,’ he said.”

This was the part that Dylan liked the best, for when he told it, he pictured his mother as the lady sitting by the window. She was wearing a beautiful gown, all shiny and new, and her dark hair was braided and twisted elaborately around her head. And at her neck she wore a pendant, sparkling with emeralds and sapphires and rubies. His mother had a necklace like that and he remembered her rubbing it between her fingers when she looked worried.

“The giant’s name was Fomor,” Sean interrupted. “You forgot that part.”

The image dissolved and Dylan turned back to his brothers. “And he was as tall as two houses with legs like huge oaks,” he continued. “He carried a sword that was as sharp as a razor.”

“Tell us about his hair,” Brian pleaded.

Dylan lowered his voice and bent closer. “It was long and black and infested with spiders and weevils and his tangled beard nearly reached the ground.” His brothers’ eyes widened in fear. “And he had a big belly for every day he ate three little boys for lunch and three more for dinner. Bones and all.” When they were properly terrified, Dylan sat back. “For days and days, they fought, the giant with his strength and mighty Odran Quinn with his cunning. And on the tenth day, when he was near death himself, Odran dealt the giant a mortal blow with his sword, and the giant came crashing down, the earth trembling all around. He was cold and dead as a stone.”

Sean clapped. “And then Odran cuts his head off!”

“And then he climbs the castle wall and rescues the woman from the fortress and frees her from her prison,” Brian added.

“That he does,” Dylan said. “That he—”

The front door crashed open and they all turned to look. A moment later, Seamus Quinn strode in with a chilly gust of wind. “Where are my boys?” he shouted, his voice slurred. With joyous cries, Brian and Sean and Liam scrambled to their feet and went running toward their father, ending the tale of Odran and Fomor. Brendan and Dylan gave each other a long look, one laced with both relief and resignation. Though they were glad to see him, it was clear that Seamus had stopped for a pint or five before he’d come home. At least he’d come home.

“In all your stories, there’s always a rescue,” Brendan commented softly.

Dylan shrugged. “There’s not,” he replied. But he knew that wasn’t true. With every story he told, he imagined himself as the Mighty Quinn, risking his life to save others, hailed as a hero by one and all. And the princess in need of rescuing always looked like his mother, or what he remembered his mother to look like. Dylan got to his feet, ready to greet his da. Someday he would be a hero. Someday, when he was all done growing and he could fend for himself, he would ride to the rescue and save those in trouble.

And maybe, against all his father’s warnings, there would be a beautiful damsel who would thank him for his good deed by loving him forever.

THE ALARM SOUNDED at precisely 3:17 p.m. Dylan Quinn looked up from polishing the chrome fittings on Engine 22. He couldn’t count the times he’d spit-shined the engine only to have the alarm sound. Most of the men of Ladder Company 14 and Engine Company 22 were upstairs relaxing after a long lunch but as they started to come down, Dylan tossed the polishing cloth aside and moved toward the alcove that held his boots, jacket and helmet.