They Mostly Come Out At Night (21 page)

"No," she barked in response, rewarding her king with a slap on his arm. "Do not misplace my age for stupidity - there shall be no rewards until your task is complete."

So the Magpie King spent all of that morning on the roof of the woman's cottage, skin and eyes pricked by the thorny straw of her roof, the emptiness of his belly weighing on him like an illness.

"The task is complete," he finally announced as the sun was at the highest point in the sky. "That roof shall not leak again in your lifetime. Now, my pie please," he requested, hand outstretched.

The sly grin appeared again. "Pie? I do not believe we had agreed on the pie as payment," the crafty woman smirked. "In fact, I clearly remember offering you my thanks for thatching my roof, and my thanks you have earned - you have made a fine job."

The Magpie King was annoyed, but could not argue with the old woman's logic, and was amused by her cunning. He nodded in agreement. "That was well done, and I fit the role of fool well. But I am reaching desperation and the smell of that pie is making a madness within my mind. What must I do to earn the pie?"

"Last winter, the apple tree in my garden died," the old woman explained. "I wish it removed so I may plant cabbages instead, as they agree much more with my innards than the bitter fruit that the tree once gave. Do this for me."

"I shall, in return for one of those blueberry pies," the Magpie King stated clearly, and the woman nodded in response, sealing the deal.

The apple tree had been old, and the roots had burrowed deep. The sun was beginning to set by the time he had removed all trace of it from the woman's garden.

"It is done," he stated with exhaustion, entering the cottage again to report his success. "My pie, please."

"Well now," the woman began, the sly smile appearing yet again, "the task is done, but I am not sure the price is at all fair. This is, apparently, the most glorious pie ever produced, and you have made it very clear how desperate you are. I believe that changes the price I must ask."

The Magpie King grew angry. "We had a clear deal," he stated, with menace, "and you have already cheated me once. Surely you shall not do so again?"

The woman simply gave him that sly smile in response.

Now, weakened as he was after his day of toil, it was still well within the Magpie King's power to beat the hag for her insolence and to take all three of her pies, yet he did not believe any of these actions were worthy of a king.

"What must I do for one of your pies?" he questioned through gritted teeth. "Do not cheat me again."

"My pigs," she said. "They need mucking out. I hate the task."

The Magpie King spent his evening shovelling the shit from the small pigsty attached to the cottage, his bare feet squelching through the swine’s waste as he worked to gather it all up.

It was dark when his task was finally complete. Wordlessly, he entered the cottage, took his cold pie from the windowsill and shovelled it into his empty belly. The bitterness of his ordeal melted away as his hunger was finally sated. The woman's son did not come to visit, so the old woman graciously split the remaining pie between the two of them and they ate it silently in front of the fire. Both of them drifted off, she on her chair and he on the cold floor. When she woke in the morning, the Magpie King was already gone.

Weeks passed, and the woman was eventually disturbed by a knocking at her door. She answered it to find two black-cloaked guards who took her roughly from her home and brought her to a fine tent pitched in the middle of the village green. There she came face-to-face with the Magpie King, and immediately recognised him as the raggedy man she had cheated. With a wail, she threw herself at his feet, begging forgiveness.

At this sight, the Magpie King's stern face gave way to a kind smile. "I have not come here to punish you, Goodwife, although you were indeed wicked to me," he explained. "Since I have sampled your wares, I have been haunted by their taste. I have come to demand that you bake me another pie."

This time, no service was asked of the king, and the old woman silently worked at her stove to recreate the blueberry pie that had helped his strength to return. Upon presenting it to him with shaking hands, the old woman was thankful to hear it met the expectations of the king's memory.

"Now, we must address your punishment," the king stated.

"But," the old woman responded in panic, blood draining from her face, "you said you were not here to punish me."

At this, a sly smile crept across the Magpie King's face.

And so it was that the old woman was tasked to bake a new pie every day, just in case the king was happening by and took a fancy to sampling her wares again. The old goodwife was thankful that her baking was good, and that her king was a just one who had a sweet tooth.

It was the day of Jarleth's execution. Mother Ogma had made it very clear that Lonan was not to rise to the occasion, so of course he ignored her orders completely. He made his way to the village green supported by Niall Tumulty, and stood by Mother Ogma at the back of the crowd. Everyone was there, with Branwen and Clare taking centre stage. Inteus the tax collector had long since vanished, apparently leaving with much haste after Jarleth had attacked Lonan. His presence at the execution was not missed.

Most had recognised that the incident with the baby and the river had been an accident, but an accident born out of Jarleth's anger. However, the beating Jarleth had given Lonan was clearly intended to kill him, and in this small community, that was unforgivable. Worse still for Jarleth had been the revelations of his unusual Knack and how he had employed it throughout the years. Once these facts had come out into the open, many within the village jumped onto the bandwagon of claiming Jarleth's atrocities against them. Old Man Tumulty claimed that Jarleth had constantly cheated him when trading grain for metal work. Widow Weaver suggested that Jarleth had seduced and bedded her against her will. However, all were unanimous in their contempt for how Jarleth had employed his talents against Lonan and his family, and for that there could be no more fitting punishment than death.

The rain was torrential this morning, but Lonan could not help but have a light heart on such an eventful day. A quiet voice inside his head suggested he should be ashamed at taking pleasure in the loss of someone else's life, but Lonan took little notice of this. He hated Jarleth. He hated what the man had done to him, what he had taken from him. There was no doubt in his mind that removing Jarleth from the world would improve everyone’s lives.

Old Man Tumulty stood beside the condemned. There was a wooden tree stump on the ground before Jarleth. Another of the Tumulty boys stood beside him with a sharp axe in his hands. Nobody had offered Lonan the task himself, but he gladly would have taken it if he had thought his weak arm could have managed the weapon.

Jarleth himself looked terrible. He remained clothed in the tunic he had been wearing when beating Lonan to unconsciousness, still stained dark brown with Lonan's blood. He was unkempt, unshaved. The Corvae did not believe in giving condemned men access to amenities such as fresh water, unless anyone wished to volunteer to fetch it in their own free time. His head was hung low, and he was weeping openly.

Branwen stepped forward, ushered to do so by Old Man Tumulty. She was clearly reluctant to speak to her husband, but listened to Jarleth, not responding to him in any way. Jarleth soon became frustrated with her
stoicism
and began shouting. Eventually Tumulty ended the conversation by beating Jarleth roughly across his face. The condemned had tried to employ his Knack one last time.

Branwen stepped back, reclaiming Clare from her father. Old Man Tumulty gave the signal for Jarleth to be lowered to the stump. Two Tumulty boys held him down while the third got ready to swing the axe.

"Wait." The volume from his own throat surprised even Lonan. "Wait. I would like to speak to him."

Old Man Tumulty stared at Lonan for just a brief second, and then shrugged. The execution could wait for a few moments. Artemis knew that Lonan of all people deserved this.

He hobbled forward and knelt before the condemned man.

"I suppose you've come to gloat then."

Lonan thought for a moment. "No." He surprised himself with this reply. “I thought that… I was going to, yes, but now that I see you here…” Lonan’s brow crumpled. “This gives me no joy.”

Jarleth lifted his head, jaw resting on the tree stump, to stare at Lonan with a terror-stained face. "That was never really your style though, was it? You tended to run and hide from your fights instead of facing me. Only at the end do you have the guts to confront me, with the rest of the village behind you as backup." Jarleth’s eyes were wide and erratic now, not fixing themselves on Lonan as he spoke but darting wildly around the village green.

Lonan thought again. "You see, I know how I should feel. I should be angry with myself for letting you ruin my life. For taking my father from me, my career, and Branwen. Perhaps I should be ashamed that in all these years I've never tried to do anything about it. But really, here at the end, I am sorry. Sorry that you ruined my life, Branwen’s life. But dammit, Jarleth, some stupid part of me is sorry for you too.”

Jarleth spat at him. "You can't get any of it back, you know. You'll never get your Knack now, and they'll never really trust you, even after what they know about me. And Branwen? Oh, I imagine she'll find her way into your bed eventually, but believe me - I have ruined her for you. She’ll never let you do the things to her that I did. I guess you don't have the… charisma I do."

Jarleth nodded his head towards Branwen and the baby. "And that is my child you'll bring up. Every time you look at it, you will remember that I put it in your woman's belly."

Lonan shook his head. "That’s where you’re wrong. That girl will be my daughter. She’ll grow up with the love and devotion from a father that she deserves, that you never would have given her.”

He wrinkled his nose, looking at Jarleth’s head on the tree stump, realising that in seconds this man who he had hated for so long would be gone. “This gives me no joy.”

Without giving Jarleth time to respond, Lonan turned and walked away, lowering his head in confusion and sadness.

Old Man Tumulty nodded to his son. A minute later, the green was empty, with everyone going back to their usual business.

"Well dearie," Mother Ogma opened conversation again as she pottered about in her cottage, "that's that then." Harlow drooled away in his chair as usual, the only resident of Smithsdown to not attend the event.

"Hrm," Lonan murmured, not entirely in agreement. "Do you know, I think I fancy a short walk before we close up for the evening."

Mother Ogma frowned at him. "I don’t know why I'm bothering to say this, but I really do not feel that would be wise in your condition. Do I have to remind you you’re lucky to be alive right now?"

"You certainly don’t have to, as I believe you reminded me of that fact not thirty minutes ago. Then, as now, I was very gracious for the attentions of your Knack, but I really must insist that I stretch my legs."

"I thought as much," she muttered, moving to pull her shawl on again, "let's make it quick then."

"Ah, this wasn't the type of walk that I was hoping to take accompanied."

She raised an eyebrow at this. "Heading to Branwen's? Don't you find that a little bit distasteful today? I think she'd prefer you to wait a few days, or weeks even, before calling on her."

"Now," he grunted, raising himself from his chair, "you're thinking of her as someone who’s mourning her dead husband, but I suspect she isn’t far away from feeling the complete opposite of that.”

Mother Ogma wrinkled her nose up at this, but waved him her permission. A few aching steps later and Lonan was at Branwen's door, waiting on a reply.

"Lonan?" she answered finally, in hushed tones. "Clare is already down for the night, I was going to join her shortly."

"Yeah, sure. I guess… I guess I just wanted to come and see how you were doing."

Branwen let out a sigh. "Bored. Frustrated. Exhausted. When anyone has come up to me today, they haven't known whether to console me or celebrate with me. To be honest, I don't know which reaction I prefer."

"But... surely you're happy he's gone?"

"It's not that easy, Lonan."