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about. As the convoy passed, they caught a tantalising glimpse of wooden horses, swingboats and even a wooden arch bearing the rather grand title of Titania’s Palace. However, the excitement they felt lasted no longer than the time it took the lorries to pass, for their minds were now preoccupied with the more serious matter of finding their Uncle Pakie.
    â€˜We’ll just have to look for that van,’ said Róisín.
    â€˜But where?’ wondered Cowlick. ‘It could be a million miles away by now.’
    â€˜And as you said yourself,’ Tapser reminded her, ‘we don’t really know what colour to look for. What do you think, Jamesie?’
    â€˜Well, a lot of them use vans like that. But we should be able to recognise the caravan. I suppose it’s worth a try. Giddyup there, Nuadha.’
    Several hours later, however, even Róisín had to admit they were wasting their time. They had searched a number of roads and villages, including The Neale and Cross, and were now on the Headford road.
    Jamesie pulled into a lay-by. ‘If we keep going, we’ll end up in Galway, and that’s no use.’
    â€˜Why, do they not have travellers in Galway?’ asked Rachel.
    â€˜Oh they have all right,’ smiled Jamesie, ‘but it’s too far, and anyway, it’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’ So saying, he turned Nuadha around and headed back towards Cong.
    â€˜Pakie’s riddles are the only clues we have now,’ said Tapser.
    Róisín nodded. ‘Unless we can figure out what the two men were talking about last night.’
    â€˜Don’t forget the island,’ Cowlick reminded them. ‘We still have to go there.’
    â€˜So we will,’ said Jamesie. ‘But first I want to show you Pakie’s place.’
    Nuadha nosed her way through a maze of twisting lanes until they came to a quiet little inlet. On the left among the trees was a grey, slated house.
    â€˜That’s it there,’ said Jamesie, and as they looked at the house they could see that it had an unlived-in appearance, a neglected look, typical of a man who lived on his own and spent most of his time out of doors.
    There was a boathouse at the end of the inlet and two boats lay tilted on their side on the muddy slipway. Jamesie checked one of them, saying, ‘We can use this one, it’s ours. That one’s Pakie’s.’ He found a set of oars stacked inside the boathouse and told them, ‘I could use the outboard engine, but the oars will be quieter – just in case there is something going on out there.’
    â€˜Will we camp here then?’ asked Cowlick.
    Jamesie looked out across the water. ‘No. See that second island? That’s Illaun na Shee. We can be seen from there. I think it would be better if we went back to that little clearing we passed and made camp there.’
    The sun was high now and the grasshoppers were chirping contentedly in the high grass. Away above them in a Scots pine tree a magpie chattered its annoyance at their presence. Having turned Nuadha loose to graze, they built a fire and made themselves a fry. A short time later they climbed into the boat and Jamesie rowed them out onto the Corrib. The lake, they could see, was almost deserted. Only two or three other boats could be seen in the distance, and Jamesie said they were parties of anglers from Ashford Castle or Ryan’s Hotel.
    Much of the shoreline, like the islands, was heavily wooded, and here and there a castle or a house rose up from its hiding place in the trees. They could also see big white pillars up towards Cong, which Jamesie told them had been for the guidance of steamers in years gone by. On one of these pillars cormorants perched, wings outspread as if drying them after diving for fish.
    As soon as the boat grounded on the stony shore of Illaun na Shee, they all jumped out and pulled it further out of the water so that it