Shadowmagic - Sons of Macha (23 page)

‘That is correct,' Mom said. ‘Stone will not pass between the worlds.'

‘Well, this did,' I said picking up the worry stone. ‘And I'm pretty sure if anyone in The Land touches it, it's exactly like when they touch the ground in the Real World. They become their actual Real World age.'

‘That is an interesting theory,' Dahy said.

‘It's more than a theory, Master D,' I said as I walked to the door. I opened it and the eighty-year-old Essa came in.

‘Oh my dear,' Fand said. ‘Did you …'

‘Yes, I touched the damn rock,' Essa said, already tired of having to explain her looks.

‘Why haven't you spoken to Tuan and changed back?'

‘Cause Essa is going to help me with something. We're going to go on a trip.'

‘A trip,' Dad said. ‘To where?'

‘I thought we'd go and get some more of this stuff.'

‘T
ell me again why we didn't bring horses?' Essa said as she looked around at the nothingness in all directions.

Essa, Brendan and I had arrived at the Fairy Fingers about ten minutes earlier. Mom, Nieve and Fand had communed with Nora, who was becoming a bit of an insta-sorceress, and they searched for ley-lines on the west coast of Ireland. It was not surprising to learn that for travelling back and forth between the Real World and Tir na Nog, Ireland was ley-line central. The problem was there were so many magic spots in the Emerald Isle that it was hard to find the right one. Especially when the most recent map Mom had of Ireland looked like it was printed on woolly mammoth skin. It was concluded that a stone circle called the Fairy Fingers would be the nearest place to Connemara. Fand said Cullen, or should I say Cucullen, built it to mark his favourite portal spot. She added, ‘He was always building crap like that.' I loved how Fand incorporated ‘crap' into her daily language ever since I taught it to her.

The Fairy Fingers had a sign pointing to it from the road but no other signs around gave us any help as to what direction civilisation lay. Assuming that the time of day was the same here as in The Land (a big assumption) we decided to walk in the opposite direction to the sun and trudge west. That way if we didn't find any people, at least the sea would stop us from walking for ever.

‘Because,' I said answering Essa, ‘people in the modern Real World don't ride horses. It would draw attention to us.'

Sometimes I think the gods just spend all of their time messing with my life 'cause at that moment we heard the unmistakable clip-clop of horses' hooves followed by two riders cantering up the middle of the road behind us. Essa gave me one of her most reproachful stares. I turned to Brendan for support.

‘Tell her that's just a fluke. People don't ride horses around here.'

‘As much as I enjoy watching Conor make a fool out of himself, he's right,' Brendan said, ‘people don't ride horses any more.'

Apparently the gods don't just screw with me, they mess with Brendan as well 'cause immediately after saying that, four more riders cantered up behind us. Brendan and I just stared at each other open-mouthed as Essa shook her head.

‘Are you certain that you two are from here?' Essa asked.

‘We're not from here,' Brendan said, ‘we're from a different part of the Real World but still – this isn't the middle of nowhere – this is Ireland. I'm certain they have the internal combustion engine here.'

‘Could Mom have sent us back in time?'

‘If I had to choose between Deirdre sending us back in time or you two being idiots …' Essa stared at us and then said, ‘Do I really have to finish that sentence?'

Several more groups of horses rode past. I really started to think that we were in the past until I saw one of the riders wearing a pair of Nikes. One thing I'm certain of is that Nikes were definitely around at the same time as cars. The question is – where were the cars and why was everybody riding?

A pony and cart came up behind us with an old man holding the reins. ‘Get out of the way, you idiots,' he shouted.

He had plenty of room but we moved further over to the side of the road.

As he went, by I asked, ‘Why is everybody on horseback?'

‘Because they're not so stupid as to be walking like you.'

Obviously this was not the runner up in the Connemara Miss Congeniality contest. Brendan and I smiled at each other and let him past but Essa said, ‘Excuse me, can we get a lift in your cart?'

His reply would have made a sailor blush.

‘He said a dirty word,' Brendan said, doing an imitation of his daughter.

‘I believe you are right, Detective Fallon.'

Brendan and I thought it was funny. Old lady Essa, though, seemed to have outgrown her sense of humour. She reached into her pocket, took out a gold sphere and then blew on it in the direction of the cart. The old man keeled over in his seat and the horse veered off towards the side of the road and stopped. Brendan and my smiles vanished as we ran to the old guy. He was out cold.

‘What did you do to him?' Brendan asked.

Essa slowly sauntered up to the old guy and placed her hands on both sides of his head. ‘He will be fine. He's just asleep. Throw him in the back.'

Brendan and I looked at each other.

‘You can either throw him in the back and cover him with some of that burlap or we can stand around staring at each other until someone comes along and starts asking questions.'

When Essa talks like that there really is no other choice than to do what she says. I picked up the old guy under his shoulders and Brendan got his feet.

As we were carrying him, Brendan said, ‘In all of my time as a cop I always wondered how so many nice people ended up leading a life of crime. I'm starting to understand now.'

Essa took the reins and Brendan and I sat on the back of the cart with our legs dangling over the end. It was painfully slow. Riders continually passed us. One shouted, ‘Nice pony.' To which I replied, ‘Nice horsey.' We eventually passed houses with cars outside but still we didn't see anyone driving. I wanted to ask why everybody was on horses but when you cart-jack an octogenarian it's best to keep a low profile.

After what seemed like days, with every person who rode by looking at us like we were under a microscope, we came to a large plastic road sign that read, ‘ROAD CLOSED FOR PONY FESTIVAL.'

It was getting to be around lunchtime and the town was hopping. In all directions there were ponies and horses in stables, attached to ponycarts and with riders. Stalls were set up selling saddles, bridles and all sorts of horsey things. An old-fashioned blacksmith was firing up a forge and performing a horse-shoeing demonstration. And underfoot everywhere was horse crap. All of the festival goers were wearing rubber wellington boots – I on the other hand still had on those flimsy Brownies slippers. I had a look around town to see if there was a proper shoe store but it didn't look like this was a place where I could get a new pair of Nikes.

‘You know what?' Brendan said with a smile worthy of Fergal. ‘I'd really like a Guinness.'

‘A what?' Essa said.

‘I'll show you,' Brendan said, pointing to a pub.

Essa parked the cart and the sleeping old man as far back in the parking lot as she could.

The pub smelled of horse manure, decades of stale beer and peat fire smoke. I instantly felt like I could spend some serious time in there. Essa and I found a low table and Brendan went up to the bar to ask where he could change his dollars into local currency. Standing next to him a tall American offered to swap him enough for a few pints and sandwiches. The American, wearing a new tweed flat cap, even helped him carry the food over to the table.

‘So y'awl from Scranton too?' the tall American asked in a Dixie accent. He didn't wait for an answer and sat down without an invite.

‘Santa's Car,' he said, hoisting his pint for a toast. ‘I learned that today.'

‘Sláinte Mhaith?' I said.

‘Yeah, that's it. A local told me it was Gaelic for “Here's mud in your eye”.'

‘I'm not sure if that's the literal translation.'

‘No? No matter, I've got so much Guinness in me I won't remember tomorrow. I'm Alexander Hawthorn-Twait. Now don't get all excited about the fancy name. My granddaddy was a Texas horse thief who went straight and gave himself a fancy title. I'm just a normal millionaire grandson of a horse thief. Friends call me Al. So where'd yooaall say you were from?'

‘I'm a Scrantonian too,' I said.

‘And how about you ma'am?

‘I am from Munn.'

The American lit up. ‘Well my, my, I'd never have thought I'd find me someone from my neck of the woods out here in the middle of nowhere. But I don't know a Munn, Kentucky?'

Essa was speaking English using one of my Aunt Nieve's magic spells. The result was that she sounded to the listener like she was speaking in the accent that they were most familiar with. I didn't hear it because to me it sounded as if Essa was speaking ancient Gaelic.

Before Essa could say anything I reached over, patted her hand and said, ‘Essa has a habit of mimicking people's accents. Don't you dear?' I turned back to our guest and secretly twirled my finger around my ear.

‘Oh, OK,' he said, ‘well, you tell your mother I think that's charming.'

‘I am not his mother,' Essa said.

Brendan actually spit out his mouthful of Guinness.

‘I beg your pardon.'

Brendan continued to laugh and like a yawn I caught it too. We both giggled like schoolboys as Essa got angrier.

‘What's so funny?' Al asked, confused.

‘Brendan pointed to me and said, ‘She's his girlfriend.'

‘I am not.'

Maybe it was the Guinness we had drunk, or the look on Essa's face, or maybe just the niceness of being back in the Real World again but Brendan and I lost it. We were laughing so hard we couldn't speak.

Al looked uncomfortable. ‘I think you boys are pulling my leg.'

Essa heard that and actually looked under the table and Brendan laughed so hard he fell off his chair.

‘You folks are very strange.' Al stood up to leave.

I wanted to say something, apologise; I knew we were being rude but I just couldn't get any words out. Al stomped off and Brendan and I continued like that until Essa's deadly stares calmed us down.

I raised a toast, ‘To Santa's Car.'

Essa finally took a sip of her Guinness. When she placed her glass back on the table she sported a white Guinness moustache.

‘Well, watcha think?' Brendan asked.

‘Can I have something that isn't black?'

Brendan figured that we had made too much of a spectacle of ourselves in the pub to then ask questions about where we could get marble, so he left us to nurse our pints and went to ask around town. Essa and I sat in silence. Al went back to drinking at the bar, periodically giving us strange looks.

Finally Essa said, ‘I would really like to get back to The Land soon so I can no longer be mistaken for your grandmother.'

‘You do make a lovely grandma.'

‘Would hitting you in here draw attention to us?' she said.

‘Yes.'

‘You're lucky then.'

We didn't have enough money to buy anything else so we took tiny sips of our drinks and politely declined every time a barmaid came by and asked us if we wanted anything else. I got the distinct impression that we weren't spending enough money in there.

I got up to use
the loo
. While I was in there I heard a commotion in the pub. As soon as I opened the men's room door I saw a chair flying through the air and heard Essa screaming, ‘Get your hands off of me.'

A policeman shouted, ‘She's got something in her hand. She's got a gun!'

Everyone was on their feet. I saw Essa's hand being held over her head as her golden ball was prised out of her fingers. There were three cops around her. I knew I couldn't help her in this crowded pub so, while everyone was looking at her being cuffed, I dropped my chin and began to walk out the door. On the bar I spotted Al's new tweed cap. I swiped it and put it on low so it covered my eyes.