Castle on the Rise by Kristy Cambron

Author:Kristy Cambron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2018-12-25T16:00:00+00:00

APRIL 25, 1916

20 SACKVILLE STREET LOWER

DUBLIN, IRELAND

0720 HOURS

Taking a dispatch via horse may have been faster, but it would be heard for miles and that would make it far easier to get picked off by a sniper’s bullet—especially in daylight.

If Issy could weave in between buildings, blazing sprints and then tucking back in alleys, she could make connection with rebel outposts from garrison to garrison until she reached the Green. Ideally, at least, that was how it was supposed to work. But in reality? The sight of black smoke curling into the sky and the terrifying zing and clink as bullets claimed the sides of buildings forced her feet to keep moving.

The first sprint was over the corner of Prince’s Street and a daring dart across the wide-open space of Sackville Street.

“Better to cross here under cover than down near the bridge—may well be impassable now. Run over to Clerys. Inside, down the block, an’ then run like the devil himself’s at yer heels,” one of the Volunteers had advised, and raised his rifle, waiting for her to flee over road and tram tracks.

Issy nodded to him.

Inhale . . . Exhale . . .

Go!

With the camera flopping under her coat, boots clipping the rain-dampened street, and eyes fixed on the corner of Clery & Co. department store, Issy raced the wide expanse from sidewalk to sidewalk. Jumping bricks strewn in the road. Hearing the shattering sound of rapid-cadenced gunfire echoing somewhere not far off.

Don’t look . . . Issy darted past a man crumpled facedown in the street, at the base of the immense granite Nelson Pillar monument that split Sackville in two.

Just run . . .

On the corner she fled past shops of demolished walls and scattered brick, stopping only to kick out a shard of plate glass that cut up like a human-size knife in a Clerys’ window display and jump inside.

Careful not to fall in the pile of Easter chapeaus that greeted her, knowing it could be teeming with razor-sharp splinters of glass, she righted herself. It would take an entire block of running through shattered glass and past demolished counters, soiled dresses, and splintered wood creating a minefield across the flooring, spanning the street front of the iconic store.

A countertop display of gentlemen’s shaving goods had been upended, littering razors and brushes, manicure scissors and combs across the floor. She stooped and grabbed an ivory-embossed straight blade—any weapon now might be an advantage later. Issy slipped it in her trouser pocket and kept going.

She ran through the elegant wares strewn in her path, careful to go with the least sound, not knowing if rebels or looters—or worse, soldiers—owned the inside.

Though the storefront ended with barred, arched windows, Issy would have cover from the Volunteers at least another block or two down. She’d have to sprint out across the rest of the shopfronts to the corner of Abbey Street and blow a kiss to Jack Foley’s as she sped by in the direction of the river.

Rousing her nerve, Issy reached for her camera.

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