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“Morrigan, I call her. Bought her for a song off a margarine magnate who was on the skids.” He rummaged in the duffel bag and brought out a bottle of clear liquid. He uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “That’s the stuff,” he said. “Shame to waste it, but there’s no time to be looking for gas, and Morrigan was always partial to a drop of hard liquor.” He felt for the cap of the gas tank and unscrewed it, emptying the bottle into the tank. The fumes filled the garage, making Miles’s eyes water.
    â€œWill she run on that?” asked Miles, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
    â€œShe’ll run on anything that burns,” said Baltinglass. “What’s more, anyone following us willget a noseful of that poteen and wrap themselves around the nearest tree in jig time.” He tossed the bottle over his shoulder and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Now,” he said, to the sound of shattering glass, “she just needs a slight adjustment, and away we go.”
    â€œWhat’s the slight adjustment?” asked Miles.
    â€œA driver, Master Miles,” said Baltinglass. “Won’t get far without a driver.” He rummaged in the trunk until he found a long white scarf, a flat cap and a pair of leather goggles.
    â€œDon’t you need to be able to see to drive?” asked Little.
    â€œOf course,” said Baltinglass of Araby. “Nothing wrong with your eyesight, I hope, Master Miles.”
    Miles looked at Baltinglass, and back at the enormous car. “I can’t drive that!” he said.
    â€œâ€™Course you can, boy,” shouted Baltinglass. “She drives the same as any other car.”
    â€œBut I’ve never driven a car,” protested Miles. “I’m only twelve. Besides, it’s against the law.”
    â€œGood point,” said Baltinglass. “That’s why you’ll need a disguise.” He held out the scarf, hat and goggles. “Put these on, then, and make it snappy. I’ll tell you what to do once you’re in the driver’s seat. It’s a piece of cake.”
    Miles put on the disguise doubtfully and climbed onto the bench seat. He felt very high up, and the car seemed to stretch for miles before and behind him. He put his hands on the enormous steering wheel and peered over the dashboard, trying to make himself feel some of Baltinglass’s confidence. He had always dreamed of driving a car, and despite his doubts his skin tingled with excitement. Baltinglass of Araby hauled open the garage door, then tapped his way back to the car, raising little puffs of dust with his cane.
    â€œRight so,” shouted the old man as he leaped into the passenger seat. “Put your hands on the wheel and your foot on the gas. Stand on the clutch . . . that’s the one on the left . . . and ease it out when I tell you. I’ll take care of the gears till you start to get the hang of it.” He turned on the ignition and the engine coughed loudly twice, then settled into a steady rhythm that sounded something like gol-gol-gol-gol-gol-gol-gol.
    Miles stared at the rectangle of November sunlight that led out into the world, feeling small in his oversize coat. He wondered how he had come to this point, sitting in the driver’s seat of an enormous car and carrying on his narrow shoulders the confidence of a blind explorer and the trust of afour-hundred-year-old girl.
    Morrigan’s engine idled patiently, and he knew that once he set her in motion there would be no turning back.
    â€œWell,” said Baltinglass, as though reading his thoughts, “the longest journey begins with a turn of the key. When you’re ready, Master Miles.”

CHAPTER FIVE
THE DEPARTED AND THE LOST
    M orrigan in motion, spoke-wheeled and fly-spotted, barreled comfortably along the dusty road, heading for south and sea. In the driver’s seat Miles gripped the wheel tightly and