The Changeling (27 page)

‘Grogoch.’ Ultan grimaced. ‘Disgusting thing.’

‘Dangerous?’

‘Only to priests.’

‘
Priests?
’

‘Can’t stand ’em . . .’

‘But why?’

‘Ask Caitlin – apparently everything about everything is in that fancy book of hers.’

‘I don’t have no
book
,’ hissed Caitlin over her shoulder, jerking the strap of her kitbag tighter so that it rode higher over her shoulder blade.

‘But—’

‘But
nothing.
’

Ultan dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Oh. Right. Sorry.’

‘You thick or what?’

‘Sorry.’ He leaned in close to Aoife’s ear. ‘She stole it off the druids, and fat lot of good did it do her – she can’t even read the useless yoke.’

The old man was peering at them over his shoulder. ‘What’s all the whispering about back there?’

‘Nothing!’ Caitlin glared threateningly at Ultan.

The building that the zookeeper had grandly called the ‘lodge’ was set apart in a clearing of muddy ground. It was circular like the cob house, but built of rough dry stone. A thatch of reeds jutted out all around it, extending almost two metres from the walls like the wide brim of a hat. Smoke, tinted orange-pink by the torchlight, rose from the high apex of the thatch. Inside, the floor was flagged with grey stone and the furniture was an odd mixture of roughly made sugán stools and heavy oak chairs, carved with fruit and flowers, that must have been salvaged from a grander residence. A small bed was covered in fluffy rust-red blankets. Stacked against the far wall were several rows of drawers with bronze handles, like something from an old-fashioned chemist’s. There were keys in some of the drawers; a few stood half open. A copper pot with bronze claws for feet was boiling over an open fire, and bunches of dried herbs dangled from the rafters.

‘Come in, sit down, the lot of ye – ye must be longing for some tea . . .’ Seán Burke had climbed onto one of the stools, and was pulling down handfuls of the brittle, shrivelled leaves, picking and choosing, clicking his tongue against his loose yellow teeth. ‘Dandelion, nettle . . . Basil, where’s me basil?’

Aoife sighed, ‘We don’t have time for tea. Can you just give us the passes?’

Caitlin said, ‘Yeah, and the money, you aul slobberer, and then we can get ourselves a proper decent drink in Falias.’

‘Hold on there, now – where’s yer rush? Ye must be tired to yer bones, all of ye. Sit down by the fire, warm yerselves while ye wait.’

‘Wait for
what
?’

‘Mm . . . I have to find another three passes, they’re behind in the shed.’ As he spoke, the old man stepped up onto the hearth beside Caitlin and threw his handful of herbs into the boiling water.

‘Look, we don’t want your disgusting tea.’ But Caitlin said this in a softer, less urgent tone, as sweet steam rose from the pot and swirled thickly around the room.

‘Lovely smell, ain’t it?’ Seán Burke set four clay cups on a tray, ladled in the boiling herb-water, and hobbled around handing them out. ‘Drink up, all of ye. Let a poor lonely old man show ye a small bit of hospitality.’

It was hard to refuse – with a grimace at Shay, Aoife took the steaming cup; she was thirsty, and the scent reminded her of home, somehow. The sweetness of the garden, coming through her window on a soft summer night.

The zookeeper was saying to Shay, ‘Lay the little sheóg down on the bed there – it’s not much but it’s grogoch fur; strange little beggars moult like nothing else. I’ll be back nearly afore I’m gone.’ And the door of the house opened and shut as he went off into the night.

Aoife inhaled more steam from her cup, and an intense wave of sleepiness washed over her. She sank down on one of the stools. Shay was also sitting down, on the fur-covered bed beside the sleeping child, head on hand, his cup resting on his knee. Ultan, who had taken one of the sturdier chairs beside the fire, tried a careful sip. ‘Ouch – too hot.’ He took another. ‘Ouch . . .’ Then he started snoring incredibly loudly.

Caitlin, yawning, picked up the poker and prodded him. ‘Oi, Fat Boy, you’re after frightening the animals.’

Aoife inhaled deeply again. Her mother’s face drifted into view . . . She opened her eyes with difficulty. Shay was raising his cooling cup to his lips. She mumbled, ‘Don’ . . .’ then tried to stand up and crashed sideways off the stool, her drink spilling across the floor. Shay set down his cup and came over to help her up.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Don’ . . .’ She made a desperate effort to control her tongue. ‘Don’t drink . . .’

Caitlin’s face appeared at the blurred edge of her vision. ‘She’s right. I been having a good dig at Ultan with the poker and he still won’t wake up. That cheating sneak of a zookeeper is up to something. I bet he has plenty of passes right here. Let’s find them.’ Still yawning, she marched over to the rows of little drawers, pulling out the ones that were already half open. ‘Nails . . . string . . .’ She turned the keys in the drawers that had them – ‘Ugh, more herbs’ – then tried the ones that had no keys. ‘Locked. Bet they’re in one of these.’

‘Hang on.’ Aoife got shakily to her feet and went over to join her. ‘Sometimes you just have to . . .’ One after another, the locks clicked open beneath her fingers, as she’d known they would – like the drawer in her parents’ bedroom, and the locker at school, when she’d forgotten her key.

The changeling girl threw her a puzzled glance. ‘How many powers do you have, hey?’

‘It’s just a knack.’

‘No, no – opening locks, that’s a real power; it’s on the list.’

‘Oh. OK.’ Aoife felt pleased with herself.

‘And you can fly too, nearly as good as me. Ultan calls it lepping about, but we know it’s flying, don’t we?’

‘Mm.’

Shay had joined them, and was checking through the drawers which Aoife had unlocked. ‘What do these passes look like? These?’ He held out a handful of small green and blue enamelled pebbles, like tiny worlds.

‘No, that’s paradise money – good find. Take as much as you can. And look for some thin red stones – that’s what the passes look like.’ Caitlin turned back to Aoife. ‘You should meet this old fart of a chief druid, Morfesa. He was always on to me about how no one could have more than one power, always said I couldn’t fly even though I showed him I could.’

‘I wouldn’t mind meeting a real druid.’

‘Yeah? I’m not going near that beardy freak again.’ Caitlin, head down, began rifling through the newly opened drawers herself. ‘Ha! I knew it – here they are, loads of them. I’m taking four – no, what the hell, thirteen. That’s the number of beasts we had today; not our fault the pooka and them dullahans picked off a few. We can use the other passes another time.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘Where’s that aul slobberer got to, anyway?’ She shoved a lot more than thirteen of the red stone wafers plus several drawer-fuls of enamelled pebbles into her kitbag and slung it over her shoulder. Then she suddenly launched a fierce assault on the unconscious Ultan, punching his head and kicking him in the legs. ‘Wake up, you thick lump of a fool! What d’ya want to drink that tea for?’

As she gathered up Eva from the bed, Aoife cried, ‘Stop! You’re going to hurt him!’

‘He can’t feel it. Ugh, I’ve half a mind to leave him here, the big eejit.’ But she wrestled the changeling youth out of his chair, dropped him – ‘The fat fool!’ – then started dragging him towards the door by his legs, his head thumping painfully across the stone flags.

‘Jesus, wait!’ Shay hastily stooped and grabbed Ultan under the arms. ‘You’ll give him brain damage!’

‘Won’t make no difference. Come on, let’s get out of here, afore Seán Burke finds out we’ve been going through his drawers.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The bridge over the river was empty; small lavender fires burned in braziers along its length. Its parapets were made of white stone ornamented with vines and leaves and fruit, and at the far end it led to massive gates of solid bronze, which reflected the lilac light of the fires and the crimson glow of the river. Down the carved walls on either side of the gates tinkled rivulets of water, spilling from the open mouths of carved animals and from the cupped hands of tiny figures. A mighty scene was depicted on the doors – a mountain top, with figures descending from a fiery cloud, carrying spears and riding horses, and surrounded by hooded creatures.

Aoife murmured to herself:

‘They landed with horror, with lofty deed,

in their cloud of mighty combat of spectres,

upon a mountain of Conmaicne of Connacht . . .’

‘What’s that, hey?’

‘Something I heard somewhere.’

‘Can’t stand poetry.’

There was a smaller door, a postern, in the gate, and two red-headed changelings in parka jackets were sitting on either side of it, playing cards. They looked up as the others approached. Aoife was carrying the sleeping child, and Ultan – now half awake – was staggering drunkenly along with his arm around Shay’s shoulders. Caitlin fished around in her clinking bag and pulled out four passes.

‘Five,’ said one of the pair, a youth who looked about seventeen.

‘The little one’s a sheóg.’

The other changeling, a girl of Aoife’s age wearing a very short mini-dress under her parka, stood up abruptly. ‘Whose sheóg?’

Aoife said, ‘Mine.’

The girl said anxiously, ‘I think we’re supposed to call someone if—’

The youth was already opening the gate; he was smiling at Eva, who was still asleep in Aoife’s arms. ‘Take care of the kid. I had a little sister her age, back at— I mean, you know, up above.’

‘Ugh, Eoin,’ said the girl, disgusted. ‘You’re so full of sentimental humanized crap.’ She sat down again and threw a card onto the ground. ‘Your go.’

‘That’s the
tenth
ace you’ve used in this game.’

‘Bet you wish you could do that.’

‘Yeah, being able to cheat at cards is such an amazing power.’

‘Better than farting music.’

‘In the surface world, among my friends, that was considered pretty cool.’

‘Well then, why don’t you go back to . . .’

Aoife stepped in through the small postern doorway.

Inside, all was noise, bustle, music. She was in a large square lit by flaming torches; the place crowded with teenagers, eating, drinking, singing and shouting. On a plinth in the centre of the square stood a huge bronze statue of an elk; two girls were balancing on its antlers, and as Aoife entered, they leaped simultaneously into the air and glided away across the cobbled square, then had an argument about who had got furthest. Sitting on the side of a marble fountain was a boy playing a fiddle at great speed, smoke rising from his strings. A younger boy was juggling blue flames – as Aoife watched, he accidentally set his hair ablaze, yelped and dived headfirst into the fountain.

Shay appeared at her side, still supporting Ultan – who threw his other arm around Aoife’s shoulders and slurred, ‘Than’ Chri’ we here at las’ – I love this ci’y . . .’

‘It’s amazing.’

‘Le’s go fin’ something to ea’.’

‘Me and Aoife have to—’

Aoife interrupted Shay. ‘No, Ultan’s right, let’s eat first, just quickly. If I don’t get some food into me, I’m going to pass out and then I won’t be going anywhere even if I do get permission.’

Caitlin came striding past, wooden beads swinging. ‘Come on, you lot – what are you hanging about here for? Temple quarter has the best street food.’

They followed her up a narrow street of glittering houses carved from the solid rose-quartz pyramid. They passed bronze arches that led into courtyards full of fruit trees. Chaffinches and blackbirds hopped in and out of open doorways. Three young changelings with hair of varying shades of red – from orange-gold to crimson-black – were sitting on a step; they were busy knocking down a set of small wooden dolls, shooting blue blasts of power from outstretched fingers. Eva, now awake and clinging around Aoife’s neck, laughed delightedly.

Caitlin turned aside into another wider thoroughfare, this one lined with food stalls – wooden trestles heaped with toffee apples and dried plums, roast birds, pale golden cheese. Plenty of the blue-green money was changing hands. Down the street towards them, pushing through the crowd, came a group of older men and women in white robes, holding leather books, branches of mistletoe and small harps. Aoife stopped at a cheese stall, then looked around for the changeling girl; she was hurrying away from them along a darker, less crowded laneway. ‘Hey, where’s she going? She’s got all the money . . . Caitlin! . . .’

The girl did not turn. When they finally caught up with her, she said coolly, ‘Took your time.’

Ultan protested, ‘You ran off on us without saying!’

‘Did not. Just, I know a better place further on.’

‘Ah, Caitlin, the best eats are all back there.’

‘Didn’t you see the mistletoe-and-harp brigade? I’m not staying here while a bunch of druids is on the prowl looking for sacrificial eejits. Come on, follow me.’ Caitlin dived into an even narrower side street, and then another and another, until there was no light of fires or passers-by, but only moonlight. Several turns later, they were in a narrow alley lined with plum trees, the fruit rolling and slippery beneath their feet. A high wall blocked their way, unexpected in the dark.

Ultan, just ahead of Aoife, peered around. ‘Where’s she gone now—?’

‘
Over here!
’ Caitlin’s pale green eyes were on a level with the pavement, glinting like the eyes of a rat. ‘Come on down!’

‘Ah Jaysus, where are you taking us?’

‘Didn’t you say you wanted Barry’s tea?’

‘You mean . . .
What?
Caitlin, these are serious guys!’

‘Which is why this is a good place to keep our heads down. No druids in here.’ Her eyes disappeared below pavement level.

The bronze basement staircase led down to a wooden door, through which Caitlin disappeared as they followed her down. It led into a vaulted cellar, poorly lit by four or five candles.

Once her eyes got used to the dimness, Aoife could make out a number of changelings much older than the norm – in their thirties, even forties – standing arms folded at a stone-built bar, drinking out of wooden cups in absolute silence. Very young changelings of Donal’s age were moving between them, carrying clay bowls.