Mythology Abroad (23 page)

“That’s enough, you widdy!” Holl called from the window of the coach. “Come on, we’re all waiting for you.”

“That is all,” Keith said to the sheep. “Carry on; I know you’ll make me proud.”

***

C
HAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Sir, I’m speaking to you from Northern Ireland,” Michaels said, and then held the receiver away from his ear, wincing. “No, sir. I didn’t have a chance to call before. They just vanished from Stornoway, and I had to check every passenger list leaving the islands before I found them. They knew where they were going, I assume. This blighter is bouncing from place to place like a bloody Phileas Fogg. No, he left the bloody comb in the hands of the archaeologist. It’s a real item, a coup for the old man. You’ll be seeing writeups on it in the journals.

“Once I got here, it wasn’t hard to track them. O’Day isn’t going to a lot of trouble to be inconspicuous. No, sir. I’ve got a positive identification on his passport photo. Apparently, he bent down and kissed the ground upon arrival.” Michaels chuckled, echoing his employer’s amusement. “Yes, sir. There were several witnesses.”

Michaels looked up at the Departures board on the Terminal wall. “Oh, chief, must run now. The train for the south is about to pull out. It looks like he must have achieved his purpose in Scotland, doesn’t it? We thought it was a drop at first, but I’m assuming a pickup, or else why is he going into the Republic? For payment? Aye, I’ll look for the best opportunity, and apprehend him and the other three. There’ll probably be a scuff-up about extradition, but what’s new about that? Report back soon. Bye.”

“People do look a little different here than they do at home,” Diane said, surreptitiously people-watching from behind her magazine on the train. “Only, they look a lot like each other, too.”

“I noticed that,” Keith agreed, looking away from the window. He had been studying scenery, admiring the Irish countryside. He was out of film, and felt disappointed at missing photographing the first sunrise he’d seen in a month—not that he hadn’t been up early every day. They had bundled aboard the train from the ferry at about six o’clock. It was not quite seven. Most of their fellow passengers were lounging listlessly in their seats. “I guess your basic gene pool is limited to whatever conquerors zoomed through here over the centuries.”

“Yes, but you fit right in. I could lose you on a crowded street corner.”

“Many have tried, my sweet,” said Keith blithely, “but I’ve always found my way home again. Um,” he said, seeing the worried look resurface on Diane’s face. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.” He truly hadn’t intended to refer to his misadventure. He was still having nightmares about being blind in a knee-high tunnel with hideous laughter echoing around him.

“See how you like being walked on a leash after this,” Diane shot back, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Darn you, being lost and almost
killed
didn’t even dent your sense of humor.”

“Best armor plating in the world,” Keith quipped. He poked around in his jacket pocket and came up with a handkerchief, which he offered to her. She shook her head.

“I’m okay. Come on,” Diane said suddenly, blinking her eyes. “Let’s see some of this magic you’re supposed to be able to do.”

“Well, if you want,” Keith said. He looked around. “Ah.” There was a trash container behind their seat. From the top, he fished out a beer can and shook it. “Still a few drops left. Good.”

He spilled the beer on the table in front of them. “Hey!” Diane protested. “Yuck!”

“No, really, this is how it works,” Keith said. “You have to have something to work from. I do best with liquids so far.”

“Well, all right.” Diane was dubious. Keith winked at her, and then put his cupped hands over the small puddle of beer. With his eyes closed, he concentrated on the principles Enoch had taught him.

“Okay,” he said, dropping his hands back into his lap. There, on the table, in the place where the golden beer had been, was a coiled bracelet. It was made from a rich, deep gold, and it sparkled with rubies and emeralds. The clasp was only partially hooked.

“Ooh,” Diane breathed, reaching for it to try it on. As soon as her fingers touched the chain, the whole thing popped, and dissolved again into featureless beer. “Very funny!” She shook her dripping fingers.

“It’s only an illusion,” Keith said apologetically. “That’s all I know how to do so far.”

“But that’s wonderful.” Diane gestured at the pooling liquid, now starting to run toward the edge of the table. Keith fished out his handkerchief and mopped it up. “The clasp was a nice touch. I couldn’t resist it.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Keith replied, wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously. “We aim to be irresistible. Wait until I start working with solids.”

“I know where you’re going on this trip,” Diane murmured softly. “But where are
they
going?” She tilted her head toward Holl and the Elf Master, who were sitting in the seat across from theirs. The two Little Folk were looking out of opposite windows, not talking, and appearing not to be aware that Keith and Diane were discussing them.

“I’m not sure,” Keith replied. “Come on; let’s get some sandwiches or something. Everyone else is going by with bacon and eggs, and I’m getting ravenous.” They rose to their feet in the swaying aisle. Holl looked up at the movement. “I’m getting food. Want some?”

Listlessly, Holl lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “If you please.”

“Okay,” Keith said cheerfully. “Breakfast for everyone.”

On the way toward the buffet car, he explained what he knew of Holl’s quest to Diane. “Do you know exactly what’s going on here?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Diane said, pushing through the sliding doors between the cars. “Something to do with Maura, I thought.”

“Sort of.” Keith explained what Holl was looking for, and why. “He’s been hounded to prove himself worthy of being the next headman, the village leader, not that the Master looks like he’s stepping down any time soon. It’s been like a charm said over his cradle, that it would be lucky to have him as leader because he was the first one born in the new place.”

“Well, that’s not a bad destiny,” Diane replied. “All things considered.”

“If it wasn’t enough on top of all that, he’s got to have one great deed under his belt to claim the leadership. Talk about performance pressure.”

“How did the Master claim it, then?” she asked.

“I suppose because he brought the Little Folk to Midwestern, where they had a safe place to live. He’s never said how or why, but I can guess that that was his big accomplishment.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“It would be, in my book,” Keith said, arriving at the end of a long queue of people waiting their turns at the buffet counter. “Here we are. A full breakfast for me, please?” He passed Diane his wallet, and gave her a beseeching look.

“All right. I’ll take care of the money,” Diane said, grinning wickedly, taking bills out of the leather fold and handing it back to Keith. “Do you think you should ask Holl to make part of his quest getting you back to normal?”

“I don’t know,” Keith said. “I think he might find it an advantage to have me permanently silent on at least three topics.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland,” Diane said, sighing happily as the train passed over a river. She put down her teacup and pushed the empty tray to one side of the table. The sun was higher, and there were more signs of life in the countryside surrounding the tracks. “I hate clichés, but I can see why they call it the Emerald Isle.”

After the remoteness of the Hebrides, Ireland was almost unbearably noisy and crowded. Backed by the smooth hills, which were clad in a brighter green than those of Scotland, children clad in school uniforms raced their bicycles alongside the train, shouting happily to each other. Dogs, running through yards facing the railway cut and barked as they rumbled past. Dozens of slender-hocked horses, nearly absent in northwest Scotland, grazed calmly in their paddocks. Men in flat woven caps chatted on the street corners, and women in skirts and knitted sweaters went about their business among the shops or hung up washing on the lines in their gardens.

“Sort of the national uniform,” Keith observed. “But it’s nice and homey.”

Just outside of Dublin, Diane poked his arm and cried, “Look!”

High on the side of the railway cut was a billboard. In bright letters two feet high it advertised the Doyle Hotels. Within a hundred yards, they could see signs on shop fronts for Doyle’s Estate Agency, The Doyle Bookstore, and Doyle’s Grocery.

“Enterprising family I’ve got,” Keith said proudly. “Wouldn’t you say we’re in the right place?”

In Dublin’s Connolly Station, they left the train, and checked their bags in Left Luggage. Keith had unearthed from his suitcase the pages of notes on his family tree, and was eager to get started on his research. “I’m going down to the Genealogical Office. I’ve got all the facts my grandparents could remember from their parents, and some other stuff that’s been handed down. Would anyone like to come with me?” he asked the others.

“Not a chance!” Diane said. “I didn’t expect to be coming over, but as long as I’m here, I’m going to go do tourist things for a while. There might be a tour leaving from one of the hotels.”

Keith looked hopefully at the other two.

“Not I, Keith Doyle,” Holl said. “I want to walk in the sunshine. I’m not taking a Roman holiday with dusty books and tomes. I live in a library.”

“He puts it vell,” agreed the Elf Master, amused.

“Whatever,” Keith said, somewhat crestfallen because no one wanted to join him. “Look, we’ll meet for lunch at noon.” They agreed on a meeting point, and Keith mounted the steps into the building.

The Genealogical Office offered help to people looking for their family lines on a per hour basis with one of their researchers. Keith was assigned to a slender, fair-haired man named Mr. Dukes, who looked at Keith’s records and made some notes on a yellow pad.

“You’ve got more than some and less than others,” Dukes said. “Pity you couldn’t have thought of bringing the family Bible.”

“My dad has it,” Keith admitted, “but he didn’t want me to take it with me. If anything happened to it, he’d be furious. I wrote out everything it said though, all the births, deaths, and marriages.”

“Good, good,” said Dukes. “Let’s see, now.”

“The father of my ancestor who came to America was a landowner. We have a couple of his letters,” Keith said, showing the fragile slips of paper to Mr. Dukes, “and it sounds like he never got over being upset that his eldest son left the country, not keeping his skills as a doctor where his own people could benefit from them.”

“Well, let’s see what can be done with what is here.” Dukes twisted his chair to face a computer terminal, and glancing at Keith’s notes and sometimes to his own, brought up reference numbers, which he jotted down. “Some of this you’ll have to look up at the Archives, but I think we may have a lot of what you need right here.”

Typing expertly on the keyboard, Dukes requested cross-references to the data Keith had provided. He turned back to chat with Keith while the computer was digesting the information.

“So, are you enjoying Ireland?” he asked.

“For the few hours we’ve been here, yeah,” Keith said cheerfully. “It’s beautiful. We took the train down from Larne.”

“Well, that’s only the north you’ve seen,” Mr. Dukes chided him deprecatingly. “Wait, here we are.” The printer next to the workstation began to clatter, and ejected several sheets of paper. Mr. Dukes tore them off and separated them. He ran down the data with a pencil. “Good, this is what you’ll want. We’ve got a match on several of your entries. Don’t go away. I’ll be right back with you. There’s coffee over the way.” The researcher left through a door at the other end of the room.

Keith waited at the desk, idly pushing his notes around, and reading the other papers upside down that lay on Mr. Dukes’ desk. Soon, the researcher returned, pushing a library cart on which were stacked gigantic leather-bound books.

“The parish records for those entries we have,” Dukes explained. “All the births, baptisms, deaths, and marriages are recorded there, up to the present records, which are still in the parishes. We get them when they’re through.”

“How old are these?” Keith asked, touching one of the big books reverently.

Mr. Dukes turned to a page, and passed his finger down it carefully. “Some of these go back to 1800. These are the original documents, you understand. I can’t let you take them out of the building, but I will give you copies of the entries, or you may write them down.” He stopped at one line. “These are all in Latin, but this is the marriage record of a Fionn O’Doyle who married a woman named Emer O’Murphy on the fourteenth of June, 1818.”

Several pages further on, he came across a baptism record for her firstborn, a boy named Emerson, born in 1820. Keith scribbled down the dates and names.

“Gee, that’s creative,” he observed. “Emer, Emerson. Wait! Aha, it’s a family name. And I thought it was all rock and roll. I saw it in the family Bible, and it never dawned on me.”

“A good match?”

“One I didn’t expect,” Keith said, pointing. “That’s my middle name. This has to be the right family.”

Mr. Dukes marked it with a tacky-backed tab for copying. “There’s no death registered with that same name, so it looks like Emerson O’Doyle was the one who left.”

“That’s right. Grandpa said that he was a doctor,” Keith added, referring to his notes.

“Possibly, but the birth register won’t say so,” the man said impishly, “and it’s all we have to go on.”

“You mean they didn’t know at birth?” Keith innocently carried on the joke. “I thought second sight was run of the mill here.”

The man ran through the file once more. “It seems he married a Miss Butler. Yes, this entry does note him as a Dr. O’Doyle. Well done. Now we can trace back through to see the rest of your lines. The Butlers and the O’Doyles are both from just north of Arklow near the coast, but more O’Doyles and the O’Murphys come from the north end of County Wexford above Gorey.”

Keith soon had a pile of photocopies with a list of addresses of the parish churches. Mr. Dukes directed him to a nearby Ordnance Survey bookstore for maps of the area south of Dublin. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. The best of luck to you,” said Dukes, shaking his hand. “If you’ve any questions, come back again.”