Finn Finnegan by Darby Karchut Read Free Book Online

door behind him.
    Finn groaned to himself. I forgot: to do my journal! My stupid, dumb butt, what-a-total-waste-of-time journal . He sighed. I’m too tired. I’ll just do it in the morning . He rolled over, turned off the bedside lamp, and burrowed deeper under the comforter.
    For a few moments, he lay gazing into the darkness, curling and uncurling his toes. Guilt tapped on his shoulder. I know, I know. I promised him that I’d do it every day . He turned the lamp back on and stared across the room at the new ledger on the desk, its brown cover almost invisible in the dim light. It’s a long ways over there. I know — I’ll do two entries tomorrow to make up for it . With a nod, he turned off the lamp.
    The lamp turned on.
    And off.
    And on.
    Muttering cuss words that would have gotten him a ringing clout on the head, as well as extra chores for a week, Finn flung aside the covers. Padding on bare feet to the desk, he grabbed the journal and stomped back to the bed. He tucked his legs under the still-warm comforter and opened the book to the next blank page. As he wrote, his lips moved silently, practicing the Gaelic phrase he had learned. The scratching of the pen filled the room.

    Outside the door, Gideon stood in the hallway, his head cocked as he listened. “ Gle mhaith, ” he murmured, then headed downstairs.

Seven
    Finn peered in the bathroom mirror at his tousled mess of red hair. He wet his fingers and tried to plaster a lock over his widow’s peak. No such luck.
    Giving up, he headed out of the bathroom, picked up a tee shirt off the bedroom floor, and gave it a sniff. Not too bad , he thought, and tugged it on over his head. He started to leave, then paused to grab his stone off the nightstand. “Don’t know why I still carry this thing around,” he muttered, tucking it in his pocket. Because it was Da’s . Ignoring the voice in his head, he left and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
    â€œI was about to serve ye breakfast in bed,” Gideon said, stirring a pot of oatmeal at the stove. Bacon sizzled and sputtered in a nearby frying pan.
    â€œR-really?”
    â€œWhat do ye think?”
    â€œUh—no.” Finn scrunched up his face as he studied his master. “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you, sir?”
    â€œWhy, no, not at all,” said Gideon. Sarcastically. He glanced over his shoulder. “Say, dinna ye wear that shirt yesterday?” His eyes traveled up to the boy’s head. “And ye are in desperate need of a hair cut.”
    â€œI like my hair like this. It hides my thing.”
    â€œYer thing?’
    â€œYou know.” Finn walked over to the Knight and pushed his hair off his forehead. “See? It looks like I got a tiny horn growing out of the center of my head.”
    Gideon chuckled. “Well, I never thought about it that way. I suppose ye’ll just have to stay shaggy.” He gave the pot another stir and flipped off the burner. “Set the table.”
    Finn bustled about, locating the mismatched dishes. He took the platter of bacon from Gideon and placed it on the table. Breaking off a piece, he popped it into his mouth with a porky crunch. “What are we doing today?”
    â€œWhat we’ve been doing all week. And what we’ll do most every day of yer apprenticeship.” Gideon ladled steaming cereal into both bowls with a plop , then joined him at the table. “Fitness training, at least one history lesson, and chores. And we’ll begin weapon training today. Ye learned the fundamentals alongside yer cousins, I assume?”
    â€œWell…kind of. So, when do we hunt Amandán?” Finn poured milk over the oatmeal and dug in. After a bite, he added a generous spoonful of brown sugar from the small crock on the table.
    Gideon picked up his mug of tea. Taking a sip, he peered over the rim at Finn. “Not until ye’ve mastered the basic skills to me