Page 37 of Chaos Theory
Thursday, 2:30pm
I’m waiting for Josh outside the almost-hidden entrance to the newly refurbed Irish Viking Museum on the other side of the city. They’ve just spent two million euro revamping it – none of which went on signage, apparently. Duncan Canning wanted a volunteer to act as a ‘secret shopper’, to see if the museum should go on our ‘highly recommended’ list for tourists. I put my hand up. No harm trying to keep on Duncan’s good side while I’m getting to grips with The Kobi Project. Jen said she’d keep an eye on Kobi while I was out. I left the two of them chatting away in her office.
I’m in a good mood after the success of last night’s work social. If this was the 1800s, I’d be a matriarch whose young ward was the belle of a debutante’s ball. I even took the risk of bringing Kobi to tea break this morning, and was rewarded by Dave recounting the event in great detail, even though everyone listening had been there themselves.
‘You should’ve seen Trish’s face when she saw Kobi’s painting,’ he said. ‘Gas craic altogether. And then when he said that our paintings should replace hers on the wall. Classic. Fair play, Kobi. Fair play.’
Afterwards I emailed Josh a summary of events, writing ‘minor triumph’ in the subject line, and he replied right away. We agreed he’d meet me here to get the latest on Kobi while I had a look around the museum. Two birds, one stone. Ancient Irish stone, in this case.
Now, I take out my phone to message Josh to call me if he can’t find the entrance. But halfway through the message I hear, ‘Hey there!’ and he’s suddenly right in front of me. He’s wearing an open-neck cotton shirt in a soft colour. He looks good against the grey stone wall of the museum.
‘You found it,’ I say redundantly, smiling up at him.
He returns my smile. ‘Maeve, I’ve been to this museum, like, four times.’
‘Really?’
I lead him through the entrance – glass doors embedded into the wall of a restored medieval ruin, a rusted portcullis above our heads. The inner foyer is dark and cool. It’s a small space and we have to cluster together. Josh smells good through the gloom.
‘Yes. I love it. You have to stop thinking of me as a tourist, Maeve. I’ve lived in Ireland for three years.’
‘But this is a tourist museum. The fact that you’ve been here four times only makes youmoreof a tourist.’ I turn my face away so he can’t see my smile. ‘I, on the other hand, have never been here before.’
‘Does it make me a tourist or does it maybe make me a history buff? Come on, let me show you around.’
I laugh and follow him up dark stone steps, ducking my head instinctively and holding onto the metal rail. The history of the Norwegian warriors who sailed to Dublin over a thousand years ago is laid out in a series of small, dimly lit rooms, with real Viking artefacts in glass cases and fake ones on plinths you can interact with. I pick up a wooden axe. Josh lifts a heavy-looking sword and traces the ‘bloodline’ down the centre of it. The groove is intended to accelerate your enemy’s blood flow from their body, he tells me witha grin.
Eventually the small rooms give way to a larger space, housing a full replica of a Viking longboat.
‘Did you know,’ says Josh, ‘they buried Viking warrior kings in boats?’
‘With all their treasured possessions and favourite things, yes.’
‘Not just things.’
He directs me to read the small print on the wall next to the boat. A servant was often buried with their Viking master at the time of the master’s funeral. Which became the time of the servant’s funeral too. In other words, human sacrifices were made.
‘This is really dark,’ I say.
‘Yeah, it’s pretty hardcore.’
There’s a whole section on slavery. How Dublin was a major trading post for slaves a thousand years ago. A slave auction scene is recreated with human-sized models. A child, head bowed, hands bound with rope, her chain held by a fair-haired Viking trader. A tourist takes a selfie in front of the scene. I look at Josh, appalled.
‘Every city was built on blood,’ he says. ‘The price of progress, I guess. Let’s keep going. There’s a round tower we can climb.’
We’re directed to the round tower by the pointing figure of a monk. I startle until I realise it’s just a mannequin with an actor’s face projected onto it. The monk explains that the round tower is not Viking but a religious structure from the 1600s that’s been incorporated into the museum.
The spiralling stone steps of the tower are so narrow we have to go single file. Josh gestures for me to go ahead of him.
‘Did you know St Patrick was a slave?’ His voice bounces off the walls.
‘Josh, you’re not going to explain St Patrick to me, are you? This is way worse than mansplaining. Pat-splaining is where I draw the line.’
His big laugh bounces off the stones around us and fills my ears. I suddenly stop and he almost crashes into me. I spin around to face him. ‘Wait a minute.’
‘What?’
We’re eye to eye, thanks to my two-step advantage.
