entrance of the library and studied it for a moment. The sun shone on the sidewalk outside the glass doors. Tourists and locals flooded the streets. The economy was thriving, and for the first time in Ireland’s history more people were moving to the country than were leaving it. It really is a beautiful country. I should see more of it.
She was so close to Kildare . . .
Don’t be ridiculous.
She read the Kilmainham brochure again. Maybe the courtyard from her dream had no real-world equivalent. On the other hand, there was a chance the museum would have photos of some of the prisoners. It wouldn’t hurt to check.
She boarded a bus and a few minutes later disembarked at the gates of the jail, a harsh, ugly stone structure framed by tall, leafy trees on an unassuming street. A crowd of American tourists was just getting off a large green tour bus. She stood at the back of the group as they filed in through the front entrance. Barred windows winked down at her as she shivered in a sudden chill breeze. Carved into the stone above the open doorway were five twisting dragons with wide, rolling eyes, their necks held in place by heavy chains. She was reminded of a Chinese fairy tale she’d once read. A painter created stunning depictions of dragons for a new temple, but he refused to draw the eyes because doing so would bring the dragons to life. The emperor ordered him to draw the eyes, awakening the dragons and causing untold destruction. She could almost picture these scaled figures breaking their stone chains and taking flight over Dublin.
“Intimidating, aren’t they?” A young man wearing a red Office of Public Works shirt nodded up at the snakes.
“What do they mean?” Nora asked.
“It’s simple enough. Murder, rape, theft, treason, and piracy—the five serious felonies back when the jail was built.”
“Cheery,” Nora muttered as the line inched forward. She paid her admission fee just inside the door. “I’m looking for a particular courtyard,” she told the woman at the desk. “All right if I just have a look around?”
The woman shook her head. “Access is by guided tour only, though you’re free to visit the museum for as long as you’d like.”
“Right,” Nora said. She pulled Thomas’s photo out of her purse, already feeling ridiculous. “And I’m wondering if this man was ever a prisoner here . . .”
“You’d have to make an appointment with Archives,” the clerk said, already accepting a credit card from the next person in line. “Talk to one of the museum staff.”
Nora frowned, disappointed, then took her receipt and caught up with the American tourists. She followed them through a narrow corridor lined with books for sale, then into a large square room filled with displays and exhibits. But before she had a chance to look around, the next tour was announced and she hurried to join the group.
The young guide smiled at the guests and beckoned them closer. “Welcome to Kilmainham Gaol,” she said in a bright, clear voice that belonged on a stage and not in a prison. “My name is Liz, and I’ll be your guide today. If you’ll follow me out these doors, our first stop will be the chapel, where we’ll watch a short video.”
Nora tagged along with the group, half-listening to the tour guide and craning her neck for anything that might remind her of Thomas or her dreams. They watched a short film about the history of the jail and some of its more prominent prisoners, but Thomas wasn’t among them. Then they toured the old section of the prison, three floors of claustrophobic corridors, cramped cells, and peeling paint. As they rounded a corner, Nora noticed something written in large block letters on the wall above a barred window: “Beware of the risen people that have harried and held, ye who have bullied and bribed.”
Nora shivered, frozen in place for a moment, then hurried to catch up with the group. She listened as Liz told them about the dark, desperate
She was so close to Kildare . . .
Don’t be ridiculous.
She read the Kilmainham brochure again. Maybe the courtyard from her dream had no real-world equivalent. On the other hand, there was a chance the museum would have photos of some of the prisoners. It wouldn’t hurt to check.
She boarded a bus and a few minutes later disembarked at the gates of the jail, a harsh, ugly stone structure framed by tall, leafy trees on an unassuming street. A crowd of American tourists was just getting off a large green tour bus. She stood at the back of the group as they filed in through the front entrance. Barred windows winked down at her as she shivered in a sudden chill breeze. Carved into the stone above the open doorway were five twisting dragons with wide, rolling eyes, their necks held in place by heavy chains. She was reminded of a Chinese fairy tale she’d once read. A painter created stunning depictions of dragons for a new temple, but he refused to draw the eyes because doing so would bring the dragons to life. The emperor ordered him to draw the eyes, awakening the dragons and causing untold destruction. She could almost picture these scaled figures breaking their stone chains and taking flight over Dublin.
“Intimidating, aren’t they?” A young man wearing a red Office of Public Works shirt nodded up at the snakes.
“What do they mean?” Nora asked.
“It’s simple enough. Murder, rape, theft, treason, and piracy—the five serious felonies back when the jail was built.”
“Cheery,” Nora muttered as the line inched forward. She paid her admission fee just inside the door. “I’m looking for a particular courtyard,” she told the woman at the desk. “All right if I just have a look around?”
The woman shook her head. “Access is by guided tour only, though you’re free to visit the museum for as long as you’d like.”
“Right,” Nora said. She pulled Thomas’s photo out of her purse, already feeling ridiculous. “And I’m wondering if this man was ever a prisoner here . . .”
“You’d have to make an appointment with Archives,” the clerk said, already accepting a credit card from the next person in line. “Talk to one of the museum staff.”
Nora frowned, disappointed, then took her receipt and caught up with the American tourists. She followed them through a narrow corridor lined with books for sale, then into a large square room filled with displays and exhibits. But before she had a chance to look around, the next tour was announced and she hurried to join the group.
The young guide smiled at the guests and beckoned them closer. “Welcome to Kilmainham Gaol,” she said in a bright, clear voice that belonged on a stage and not in a prison. “My name is Liz, and I’ll be your guide today. If you’ll follow me out these doors, our first stop will be the chapel, where we’ll watch a short video.”
Nora tagged along with the group, half-listening to the tour guide and craning her neck for anything that might remind her of Thomas or her dreams. They watched a short film about the history of the jail and some of its more prominent prisoners, but Thomas wasn’t among them. Then they toured the old section of the prison, three floors of claustrophobic corridors, cramped cells, and peeling paint. As they rounded a corner, Nora noticed something written in large block letters on the wall above a barred window: “Beware of the risen people that have harried and held, ye who have bullied and bribed.”
Nora shivered, frozen in place for a moment, then hurried to catch up with the group. She listened as Liz told them about the dark, desperate
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