Shadowmagic - Sons of Macha (24 page)

Outside an ambulance was trying to revive the old man. He was still asleep. I could tell that 'cause he was snoring and it was loud. The snoring must have been what made someone look underneath the burlap.

I wandered around town, periodically stopping to admire a pony or peruse a saddle stall. Basically I just tried to look anonymous while keeping an eye out for Brendan. Luckily I spotted him as he was making his way back into the pub. I spun him around and told him to keep walking and act normal.

‘What's the matter with you, O'Neil?'

‘Essa's been arrested.'

‘What?'

‘Yeah, three of your guys got her in the pub while I was in the men's room. Somebody found the old guy in the back of the cart. He got taken away in an ambulance.'

‘I would have thought Essa would blow the place up before she allowed herself to be arrested.'

‘She was about to but they wrestled that gold ball thing out of her hand before she could do anything. Now she's just a crazy eighty-year-old woman with an attitude problem.'

Brendan thought for a moment and despite our situation, smiled. ‘I bet she said some naughty words too.'

‘Yeah, I imagine she did,' I said matching his smile.

‘So what now, another jail break?'

‘I've never tried one without any magic backup,' I said.

‘We have to reunite Essa with her magic ball,' Brendan said. ‘Not only is it our only weapon – it's how we get back to Tir na Nog.'

That hadn't occurred to me. ‘Oh yeah. Any ideas?'

‘Well, it's risky, but I could see if the local police will extend a little professional courtesy.'

The police station was in the next town over. Brendan had exchanged all of his money so we had enough for a cab but the one cab driver in town was busy ‘fleecing rich Yanks', so we took the bus.

The police station was attached to a veterinary practice. Brendan initially told me to wait outside while he went in but I refused. I didn't want to be waiting outside for hours wondering what the hell had gone wrong. My initial idea was to steal a sheep and then mistakenly take it in to the cop station instead of the vet's. That way I would be inside to see what happened. That drew one of those looks from Brendan that stifles all further discussion. Finally we came up with the simpler plan of me going in first and reporting a lost wallet. Sure, it made more sense, but it just didn't have the panache of my sheep idea.

I suspect that in this tiny Irish town a lost wallet would have been the highlight of the day, but on this particular one they had a bona fide crazy criminal locked up in their cell. (Well, it wasn't a cell, it was just a windowless office, but for now it was a cell.) The garda (what they call cops there) hardly listened to me and handed me a pen and a lost property form. While I was dawdling over my paperwork, Brendan came in.

Actually what I should say is Detective Fallon of the Scranton Fraternal Order of Police stormed in. He didn't pause to introduce himself. He strode up to the counter, flashed his badge and ID and said, ‘I want to speak to your superior officer.'

The old policeman was taken aback. ‘Ah, he's unavailable at this time.'

A younger cop came from the back.

‘Where is he?' Brendan demanded.

‘I think he's castrating a cat.'

Well, that would explain the police station being next to a veterinarian's office
, I thought.

‘I can get him,' the younger cop said. ‘Who should I say wants him?'

Brendan flashed his badge and ID again but the young cop insisted on looking at it carefully.

‘Detective Brendan Fallon of the Scranton, Pennsylvania PD. Is that correct?'

‘Yes,' Brendan replied brusquely.

‘I'll be back in a moment,' the young cop said.

‘Would this be concerning the woman we arrested today?' the older cop asked.

‘I would prefer to speak to your superior,' Brendan said.

‘I'm not sure you do,' he said, but before Brendan could ask him why, the young cop appeared in the doorway with his hands behind his back. He stepped up to Brendan and then brought out what I thought was a gun. He pulled a trigger and two darts attached to wires exploded out of the front of the thing. The darts hit Brendan in the chest and he started dancing around like a puppet on a string.

The taser stopped humming and Brendan slid to the ground.

‘What the hell are you doing?' the old cop shouted.

The young cop pulled the electric darts out of Brendan's chest, ‘Jeez, did you see that? This thing really works.'

‘I can see that it works,' the old guy said. ‘But what the hell did you do it for?'

The young cop rolled Brendan onto his side and reached for his handcuffs. ‘This fella's a fugitive. Remember I was telling you about that America's Most Wanted programme I watch on the teli? This guy is wanted by the FBI. He blew up a police station and kidnapped a G-man, or a young girl … I can't remember, but this is him.'

Brendan was coming to as the cop secured the cuffs. I backed out of the room and mumbled, ‘I'll come back when you're less … busy.' I pulled my stolen cap over my eyes and left. The two cops hardly noticed me.

I got outside and said the only thing I could think of. ‘Oh crap.'

I
got a room in Mrs McDunna's Bed and Breakfast. It was not as cheap as I would have liked, but then again, I didn't have any money so she wasn't going to get paid anyway. I spent my first night hidden in my room in case the cops figured out that I was the third member of the international crime syndicate they were arresting.

Mrs McDunna's Irish breakfast was gorgeous. Since the next prospect I had of eating again was this time the next day, I ate an entire loaf of her home-made soda bread. It was lovely but sat in my stomach like a rock. She asked me what I was going to do that day. I panicked and said I was going to buy a pony. So half an hour later I left to pretend to buy one.

The town was nice, but it only took an hour to see every nook and cranny of it. I cased out the police/vet office. There was a door in the back. I snuck up and tried it but it was locked. I knew I should have taken classes in burglary when I was growing up.

By late afternoon I was starving. As I was passing a tea shop with a couple of tables outside, I saw an old lady get up to leave. I quickly dropped into her empty chair and ate the sandwich crusts she had left behind. I checked the tea pot and poured a lukewarm half cup of black tea into her old cup and washed down my salvaged scraps.

‘You seem to have gotten younger since sitting here.'

I looked up and a pretty young waitress was staring at me with her arms crossed.

‘And I changed sex as well.' I put down my cup. ‘This is really amazing tea.'

She was trying to be stern but that got her. She laughed and uncrossed her arms. ‘So what's your story?'

‘I lost my wallet,' I said. ‘I'm waiting for money from my bank but they seem to be sending it via camel train.'

‘So you've no money?'

‘Not until tomorrow at the earliest,' I lied.

‘Well, we're closing up here.'

‘Oh, of course,' I said, standing.

She sighed and shook her head. ‘Sit,' she said, taking away the old woman's plates. ‘I'll bring you a proper cup of tea.'

She did, as well as some scones that stopped me from wanting to eat my shoes.

I waited for her as she locked the front door. ‘Thanks for that,' I said.

‘Don't mention it. I've always been a soft touch for vagabonds.'

‘Well, on behalf of vagabonds and deadbeats everywhere, I salute you.'

She stood stock still and then just stared at me. Her scrutiny was intense. I felt like I was being scanned by a tree. ‘What is your name?'

‘Conor.'

‘What aren't you telling me, Conor?'

That question made the scones do a little flip in my tummy. ‘I haven't really told you anything.'

‘No,' she said elongating the o like she was figuring something out. ‘You haven't, have you? I think you should take me to dinner.'

‘Actually, I did tell you one thing. I have no money, remember?'

‘OK, I'll take you to dinner and you can pay me back when your money shows up.'

Part of me wanted to turn her down. She had a look about her that reminded me of a CIA interrogator in a spy movie. But the part of me that eats said, ‘Great idea.'

‘So is this a traditional Irish dish?' I said, pointing to my chicken vindaloo.

‘Yes – curry is very Irish, right after cockles, mussels and stew.'

I took a big sip of beer to calm the fire on my tongue. ‘Well, thank you … You know, I don't even know your name.'

‘It's Maeve, and I should be thanking you. You're paying for this – eventually.'

‘Maeve, oh my. That's a name with some history behind it. Is it a family name?'

‘No. My ma always said she named me that because I was born a troublemaker.'

‘Are you still a troublemaker?'

‘What do you think?'

‘Well, you do seem to have a penchant for having dinner with strange men.'

‘Strange,' she said, rewearing that X-ray look of hers. ‘Yes, “strange” is the right word when explaining you. Where are you from?'

‘Scranton.'

She stared again. ‘Where are you reeeeely from?'

‘Scraaaaaaanton.'

‘I can tell when you're lying.'

‘I'd show you my driver's licence …'

‘But you lost your wallet. Convenient.'

‘OK,' I said, ‘how about this. I live in the mystical Land of Tir na Nog, on top of a gold mine, and I'm here on a secret mission to get magical stones to stop the impending attack of my evil uncle and your namesake Queen Maeve.'

My confession didn't make my date smile as fast as I thought it would but finally the corners of her mouth turned upwards. ‘And what do you do in this magical land?'

‘Oh, I'm a prince, of course. I'm surprised you had to ask.'

‘I see. So, Prince Conor, if you live on a gold mine why are you so broke?'

‘Oh I have gold with me; I just can't find any place to change it into money.'

‘Can I see your gold?'

‘I don't carry it around. It's … well, it's heavy.'

She finally broke in to a full-blown laugh. ‘You know I almost felt like I believed you, but you went too far with the prince thing.'

‘You don't think I'm princely?' I said with mock indignation.

‘I'm afraid not.'

‘Good, all that bowing and yes Your Highness stuff really annoys me.'

‘I can imagine how trying that must be.'

I offered to walk Maeve home but she said since she paid for the date she got to walk
me
home. Outside my B&B she asked, ‘Is there a princess in your world?'

There was something about this woman that made me want to tell her the truth. ‘Yes, but she's eighty years old, and I'm also kinda seeing a mermaid.'