"So I did," Magee said, picking up an old book with a mustard-yellow cover that may or may not have been the original color. "And here is the reason why."
"A book?" Lucy asked.
"Ah yes, but not just any old book," Magee said. "This, my dear, I believe to be the veritable Rosetta stone to unlock the mystery presented to us by Agent Jaxon."
"You figured out what the poem means?" Lucy asked.
"Well, not yet, but I think this explains a lot about the people involved and may lead us to the answer," he said.
"Where did you get it?"
"Well, I have to admit that it wasn't from any great sleuthing on my part," Magee said. "Two days ago, someone rang my doorbell and when I answered nobody was there. However, they'd left a package, containing this book."
"That's odd," Lucy said. "And kind of creepy."
"Yes, indeed," Magee agreed. "But as it was helpful, not hurtful, I have to think that the messenger was sent for benevolent purposes and perhaps knew of our quest."
Lucy's eyes narrowed. "I still don't like all this clandestine stuff," she said. "I wish Jaxon was here. He might have an idea where it came from."
"Yes, well, perhaps he'll be able to explain it when he arrives," Magee said. "In the meantime, let me give you a taste." He made a great show of blowing dust off the cover and then using a piece of plastic to gently open the book to the title page. "You, of course, are aware that the acids found in the oils on your fingertips can damage old manuscripts. This book isn't particularly ancient-from what I can tell, probably only seventy-some-odd years or so. However, my research on the internet indicates that this may be one of a kind and needs to be treated with TLC."
In spite of her misgivings about the book's delivery, Lucy was intrigued. Magee had inherited the storytelling ability his Irish fore-bears were known for and was using it to full effect. "So what's it about?"
"What's it about?" he repeated, looking about mysteriously, which made her laugh again. "I'll tell you what it's about, little deir-fiuir." He stopped and appeared to be listening to the sounds outside the garden-level window opposite his chair and above Lucy's head. "I believe it's a sort of unauthorized edition exposing an organization so secretive that they make the Freemasons look like publicity seekers."
"I see, turn down your marriage proposal and suddenly I'm no longer 'mo chuisle,' I'm your little sister," Lucy complained. "Oh well, fickle man, tell me more."
"I have to do something to protect my wounded heart," Magee sniffed. "Thinking of you as my little sister, and therefore unsuitable for carnal pleasures, will help me heal. But before I go further with the book, I think the occasion calls for better ambience." He rose halfway from his chair and turned the switch that started his electric fireplace. The glowing "coals" and "flames" cast an orange pall on the room and strange flickering shadows on the walls. "Ah, that's better," he said.
"Much," Lucy agreed. "Now tell me the name of this book and this mysterious group."
"Such an impatient child," Magee complained. "If you're not careful, you're going to ruin the mood. But as to your question-they are one and the same, the title and the group." He turned the book to where she could see what it said.
"The Sons of Man," Lucy read aloud. "From the poem?"
"Exactly. 'A son of Man will march among the sons of Ireland to silence the critic for the good of us all.' Only I think we should be reading that as 'Son' capitalized."
"So the Sons of Man is the name of the group," Lucy said. "What's the book say about them?"
"It's a history book," Magee said. "Remember what I told you about the Isle of Man and how it was home to inveterate smugglers?"
"Yes, you said that the wealthiest people on the island today owe their fortunes to smuggling."
"And you'll remember how in 1783, the British, who were tired of being made fools of by the smugglers, as well as needing money to carry on war against the Americans, offered amnesty to the smugglers?" Magee continued.
"Yes, and five hundred took them up on the offer," Lucy said.
"And those who didn't and remained on the island were hunted down," Magee added. "Well, it appears that there was a third group of smugglers who refused to join the British armed services, nor were they willing to live as hunted men on their own home island. These people…what was that?" Magee stopped his monologue and tilted his head to the window behind Lucy.
Lucy turned in her chair to listen, but hearing nothing, she scolded Magee. "Stop that, Cian," she said. "You're giving me the willies."
"I thought I heard something at the window," Magee protested. "But never mind. It could have been somebody walking by or one of the rats from the alley. I swear they're getting bigger and more aggressive. I had to battle one for my peanut butter and jelly sandwich the other night. Fortunately, rats are not one of my phobias and I was victorious."
Magee reached into a box next to his chair and pulled out a meerschaum pipe and a large plastic bag of tobacco. "Do you mind?" he asked. "I know it's extraordinarily bad taste these days to subject someone to secondhand smoke, but it's my one real vice and it adds to the story, I think."
"Go ahead, Cian, I like pipe smoke," Lucy said.
"Oh, good," he said, lighting the bowl with great dramatic puffing. He sank back in his chair with his eyes closed and a look of satisfaction on his round face. "Anyway, this third group of smugglers, with all their kin-led by twelve heads of families-fled across the Atlantic to America, where the war was winding to a close. Patriots might have been fighting for freedom and ideals, but the smuggler families saw opportunity in the form of miles and miles of open coastline along which to ply their trade. They smuggled goods from Europe and the Caribbean-rum, tea, and even arms for the revolutionaries-not because of any patriotic zeal for their new homeland, but the desire for cold, hard cash."
In the orange glow and swirling smoke, Lucy imagined the seafarers running British blockades as Magee continued his story. After the Americans won their war, the smuggler families continued their business with even greater ease. The fledgling government was having a difficult time collecting taxes from honest men, and had no navy to speak of. "So they grew wealthy."
Smuggling remained the cornerstone of the empire they built, but it wasn't the entire building. "They were no different from other immigrant groups that founded crime syndicates-the Irish mob, the Mafia-in that they saw the wisdom of funneling the ill-gotten gains into legitimate enterprises," Magee said. "They also began to assimilate into society. Perhaps to disguise their roots, they changed their Manx names to English or Scottish, and using their fortune as bargaining chips, they began to marry into the best families. However, they continued their secret ways, organized into a council made up of the leaders of the twelve original families. Places on the council were passed from first sons to first sons. Other family members could be involved in the secret organization, if they were trusted, but only in unusual circumstances could someone who wasn't a firstborn son ascend to a place on the council."
"The Sons of Man," Lucy said.
Magee nodded. "Yes, that's where the name came from. As I said, their historic business was smuggling, and that apparently included a wide variety of commodities over the years, including slaves. But their operations remained diverse-rum from the Caribbean, diamonds from South Africa, whatever they could get past U.S. customs and make a lot of profit from. They also exported products made in the good old USA and smuggled them into other countries, especially weapons that went to foment revolutions and wars. They apparently made quite a killing smuggling liquor into the United States from Canada and Mexico during Prohibition. However, they seemed to be content with just getting their cargoes in or out and let others-like Al Capone-do the distributing, which I suspect avoided unnecessary conflicts with other armed groups."