Mythology Abroad

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “You’ve been following us!” Diane realized. “Why? Hey, I knew there was something fishy about you, Mr. Good Samaritan. Let me go!”

  “I thought I must have made some slip up,” Michaels affirmed. He palmed his ID out of his pocket and showed it to her. “British Intelligence. Your boyfriend down there is a smuggler. Tell me, what’s he here to get?”

  “Keith?” Diane asked, astonished. “Not a chance. He’s too honest to cheat on his income taxes. You must be mistaken.”

  “Acting on information received, miss. How long have you known him?”

  “About a year, as if it’s any of your business.” The girl was impressed by the identification card, and very frightened.

  Michaels counted back in his mind. The last big delivery carried off by O’Day was about fifteen months back. It had been nothing but small stuff since then. “I think it’s quite possible you don’t know about it. But I can’t risk having you tip him off. This way, please.” Diane started to fight free of him. He twisted her arm behind her, and frog-marched her to his car, parked on the side of the road. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to interfere and tip him off. I’ve got my job to do.”

  “Let me go!” she screamed. “I’m an American citizen!”

  Out of his overcoat pocket, he pulled a pair of handcuffs. He locked one loop around Diane’s wrist, and held onto the chain while he opened the left rear door of the sedan. When Diane protested and dug in her heels, he put one hand firmly on the top of her head and pushed down, propelling her into the car. Swiftly, he passed the loose end of the handcuffs over the rubber handle over the car window, and locked up her other wrist.

  Outraged, Diane started yelling for help and banging on the door with her elbows. He shut the door on her, and locked it. Her hands were too high up even to roll down a window. Down the road a short distance, he couldn’t hear her at all. O’Day wouldn’t even know where she had gone. I’ll nab the others when they come out.

  ***

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Keith watched the river path for Diane, and was disappointed at how long it was taking her to get back. Holl jogged his elbow impatiently.

  “We can wait no longer. Please,” he urged.

  Keith sighed. “Okay, but we’re missing a great photo opportunity.” He accepted the small golden sickle and hunkered down next to the flowers. “These are really pretty. Hi, guys. Look at me, I’m a druid!” He brandished the curved blade.

  “More respect, Keith Doyle,” Holl chided him.

  “Okay,” Keith said. “Ready.”

  “Concentrate on the purpose for which you are taking the flowers,” Holl said, staying at arm’s distance but watching anxiously.

  Keith squeezed his eyes shut and mentally told the flowers that they were being picked to help Holl win his ladylove, and to make him a great leader. He opened his eyes again, and took hold of the stalks, bundling them tightly together in his fist. They didn’t kick him backward. He took a breath. “Here goes.”

  The golden sickle cut through the flower stems as effortlessly and frictionless as if it had passed through air. Keith, expecting some kind of resistance, found himself sitting back on his rump, holding the bunch aloft. He started to say “A piece of cake,” to Holl, but something exploded suddenly in the middle of his body, and he lost all sensation in a brilliant, white light. The hot light raced through him, reached his extremities and shot off into every direction like a laser hitting a broken mirror.

  He could hear Holl shouting at him. “Concentrate! Take control!”

  With all the willpower he had, Keith pulled in his thoughts and focused only on Holl and Maura as he had last seen them. While Keith waited in his car for Holl, they had kissed goodbye at the door of the farmhouse. That was a beautiful thing, an event that should last forever. It was meant to be.

  In a moment, the fire in his body died away, so suddenly that he shivered. The hot white light concentrated once again in the shining blossoms in his hand. Keith waved them at the others, who swarmed across the field toward the mound. They gathered around him to cheer him and Holl. Keith stood up, and with a flourish, presented the bouquet to his friend. Holl took them gingerly, treating the blossoms with the greatest respect.

  “I’m embarrassed to say I thought these were only a gesture,” Holl said. “How wrong I was.”

  “Merely a gesture,” Keith squawked. “They’re magic flowers! Boy, are they magic.” He shook his hand up and down. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.”

  “Normal for us,” Holl said. “But these are of a caliber that even I handle with respect.”

  “You don’t know eferything yet,” the Master reminded him, but there was no reproof in his voice.

  “I know that well enough,” Holl said humbly. “This trip has shown me enough to prove it if I did not.”

  “The first blessing is yours, then,” the sour-faced elder told Keith. “Don’t waste it.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Keith asked Holl.

  “I don’t know, but I am certain you’ll find out.”

  O O O

  From his vantage point on the road above, Michaels spotted the two Doyles sitting on the grass through his field glasses. He saw a glint of yellow metal pass between them. Michaels smiled to himself. “Being paid in solid gold, eh?” This was the payoff. Good, that’s easy to find with a metal detector. “Once we have all four in custody, I’ll have no trouble in taking them in.”

  A crowd, hidden before behind the high hedging, rushed forward. These must be O’Day’s local contacts, and they seemed awfully cheery about something. He ought to get some pictures. O’Day was a hero, and here were his employers.

  Suddenly, the red-haired man stood up. He was head, shoulders, and chest above the crowd. Michaels reminded himself that the young man had been sitting on a hill. But then O’Day started to walk with them toward the river path, and the bunch of flowers in his hand was glowing. He looked more closely at the crowd through his glasses. Children? More midgets? There was something unusual about their profiles. They looked like ordinary people—except for the big pointy ears.

  Flowers that glow? Little people with sharp pointed ears? That was impossible. It must be a trick of the twilight. Michaels lowered the glasses in disbelief. It’s the perspective, he told himself. No, it wasn’t. Everything looked exactly the same with the naked eye. He peered through the binoculars and had a good stare. “Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen. We daren’t go a-hunting for fear of little men,” he recited to himself. “I don’t bloody believe it. I wish I had never been assigned to this case.”

  A thumping sound on glass reminded him that he had a prisoner to release. He walked back to his car. Diane had worked one shoe off her foot, and had her leg hooked over the front seat, reaching for the horn with her toes. Her determination and resourcefulness were to be admired. She’d probably make a fine agent. He opened the front door, grabbed her foot, and tossed her leg back over. While she sputtered and swore at him, he leaned in and unlocked the gyves.

  “You can go now, miss,” Michaels said, handing her the discarded shoe.

  “Why?” she demanded tauntingly. “What made you change your mind? I thought you were going to arrest the big smugglers.”

  Michaels started to tell her what he had seen, and then decided not to say it out loud. If I’m mad, I’m mad, he said to himself. No need for two of us to know it. “Go on, miss. It’s a mistake. On behalf of the British government, I tender you my sincerest apologies, and I request that you do not take any action against me.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Diane said, fuming, putting her shoe back on. Hanging up in the metal bracelets had hurt her wrists, but anger and the pain kept her from feeling scared. “The secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.”

  “That’s about the size of it, miss.”

  “I suppose you helped rescue Keith in Scotland just so you could keep an eye on him.”

  The agent regarded her mournfully. “Y
ou won’t believe me, but I was helping the little lad. He was worried sick, and I hated to see that.” Michaels made an impatient gesture. “Look, miss, I can take you in, if you like, and you can spend a lot of time assisting me with my inquiries, which is a code term for wasting a lot of time, when we both know there’s nothing to find. Wouldn’t you rather spend it shopping in Dublin instead of in a nasty room with a draught?”

  Sullenly, Diane said, “I suppose so.”

  “Good. Then if I hear nothing more from you, then you’ll hear nothing more from me.”

  “Promise?” Diane sneered.

  “Yes, miss, I promise you,” Michaels sighed. “You won’t believe me, but I do mean what I say.”

  As soon as Michaels unlocked the handcuffs, he stood away, his hands held out from his sides to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. With her eyes on him Diane backed off until she was far enough away she was certain he couldn’t reach her if he jumped. Then she ran down the road and into the stream path, crying out to the others.

  “What’s the matter?” Keith said, gathering her into his arms. “Did something happen to you? To the car?” Diane kept shaking her head.

  “It was that man,” she told them, her words coming out in a rush. “Holl’s friend—he followed us from Scotland. He thinks Keith is a smuggler. He’s an agent of some kind. I knew there was something weird about him. How he knew what you looked like when he had never met you.”

  “Ah,” Holl said, light dawning. “I remember him saying something about Keith’s red hair. I was too worried even to think about what that might mean. You were right not to trust him.”

  “He’s up there,” Diane pointed toward the road.

  “Well, I want to find out why he’s here,” Keith said. “What can he do, shoot me?”

  “You’ll probably want this, Keith Doyle.” One of the others handed Keith the discarded wool bag containing Mrs. MacLeod’s charm. Another one held up his sneakers.

  The Little Folk mustered protectively around Diane as they followed Keith along the path. When they emerged onto the roadway, Michaels’ car was gone. Diane looked around vainly for it. “He’s gone. He saw all of you through binoculars. I watched him.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” the Niall said. “If he goes for a drink anywhere hereabout, we’ll drop a forget in his beer. That’s a good idea of yours,” he said, ruffling Holl’s hair. “We’ll recall that when strangers see us in the pub or down in town. If I know my Big Folk, he’ll probably want a cool sip to clear his throat soon.”

  “Likely to be the Skylark,” Fergus suggested.

  “There’s a telephone in the Skylark,” Keith pointed out. “If you want to keep in touch with us, I’m sure that Peter and his father will make sure you can have some privacy. You can bless their beer or something in return.” He jotted down the dialing code for the United States, his telephone number, the number at the farm, and at Diane’s request, the one for her apartment. “There. Now you can call any of us, or write to us, too. I’ve added all the addresses. Um, international calling’s kind of expensive. Do you need me to leave you some money?” he asked delicately.

  “Ach, money, we’ve got a muckle of that,” the elders said.

  “And isn’t there a gold mine close by here which we can walk in and out of?” said the Chief of Chiefs. “Do you need some? We have plenty to give.”

  “It’s occupation we lack,” Tiron added. “And curiosity, forbye, to see the rest of the world, and to come back again. But it’s these passport things and the like preventing us.”

  “Well, once you’re in the States, no one ever asks you for identification,” Keith explained. “Unless you try to pay for something by check.”

  The Little Folk looked at each other, then back at Keith. “Tell us more,” they said.

  “Now, I’ll only remove this curse,” the Niall said sternly, “if you give me your word to employ a wee bit of good sense in future when making your inquiries. We’re all the better that you decided to take a hand in our welfare, but not all would feel the same to have their privacy invaded. If your bodach was something bigger and nastier, it might have eaten you alive for punishment, and then where would you be?”

  Keith tried to follow his chain of thought to its logical conclusion. “I don’t know. Or I don’t want to. I promise. I already promised Mrs. MacLeod.”

  “Good enough.” The Niall signaled for Holl to come and stand by him. “The natural magic can often blunt the wild magic. Now, silence for the ensorcellment.” He touched the glowing blossoms of the weddingbells with one hand, and put his other forefinger to the middle of Keith’s forehead. Keith closed his eyes.

  With a wink to Holl and Diane, the Niall tapped Keith smartly on the head, mouth, and throat in succession, and made a wrenching gesture before Keith’s Adam’s apple with his fist. “That’ll do it. Let that be a lesson to you, my Big friend.”

  Keith worked his jaw and rubbed his neck with one hand.

  “How do you feel?” Diane asked.

  “You’re beautiful,” Keith said, and his eyes lit up as he realized his voice wasn’t going to betray him. “By the way, to answer a question you asked me a while back, I’d buy you a drink any time.”

  “Congratulations,” Diane said. “I’ll take you up on that.”

  “I regret that you are leaving us tomorrow,” the Niall said sadly. “If you will come back to us in the morning, we have some gifts of friendship we wish to give you.”

  “I’ve got something for you, now,” Keith said, taking an envelope out of his pocket and presenting it to the Niall. “I’ve got the negatives, so you can keep the pictures I took of Holl’s people. I promise to send you copies of the ones of you in care of the Skylark, as soon as I get home. You can work out the details with Peter.”

  “May I keep them?” Fiona asked, glancing avidly over the Chief’s shoulder. “I’ve a handsome book they can go into, that I use for pressing flowers. They’ll smell sweetly.”

  “I think not,” Fergus said with some asperity. “I brought the Big Folk in, so I will keep them. I’m an old friend of his grandfather.” He pointed at Keith. Others spoke up to protest and stake their claims.

  “None of you will,” the Niall said, raising his voice over all. “The photographic pictures will stay in my house, and any who wish to come and see them may do so at any time. That is enough bickering between you. I have spoken.”

  “I am ready to go home,” the Master said. “This is precisely vhy I left in the first place.”

  O O O

  Michaels sat mournfully at the bar in the Skylark, nursing a pint. He was tired of getting the mickey teased out of him by his coworkers for following will-o-the-wisps and Loch Ness Monsters. If he told a soul what he had just seen take place, with fairies and leprechauns, he’d never hear the end of it. They might even send him for psychiatric counseling. He’d be genuinely glad to see the back of his quarries, whatever the chief might say.

  He rang through to his office on the pay telephone in the rear of the pub and asked for his superior. “Chief, you know the old story of the lad on the bicycle, who the customs and excise men would stop peddling furiously south over the border, with a heavy bag on the back? Always full of peat. No one could figure out why he was always smuggling peat. It’s worthless. There’s plenty of peat in the south, there for the taking.”

  “So?” the chief asked impatiently. “What has this to do with your investigation? Have you apprehended them? Was there a pickup?”

  “Turned out that he was smuggling bicycles, chief,” Michaels went on doggedly. “Remember?”

  “What’s your point?” the voice in his ear roared.

  Holl and the others came into the pub at that moment, and the four sat down at the bar. Michaels eyed Holl suspiciously. The blond boy still wore his Cubs hat. Michaels had rather liked the lad, but now he was convinced there was something strange about Holl he didn’t want to know. Better to write the whole thing off as a bad dream and take his lu
mps in the office. “Well, we’ve been looking at the peat instead of the bicycles, sir. It’s got all the form we were looking for, but none of the reality. This one’s not our man. He’s not a smuggler at all. I’m convinced that our pigeon’s name here really is Keith Doyle. Trust me on this one.”

  “What about his kissing the ground and all that rot?” the chief growled.

  “The silly things he does are just because he’s a Yank, sir,” Michaels said with conviction. “Danny O’Day is still back in the states, if I don’t miss my guess. He must be hanging back waiting for something else. If I were you I’d step up the alert in the airports again. Can I come back home now, sir?”

  O O O

  Keith opened the door of the Keane house with a flourish, and gestured the others through before him. Mrs. Keane looked up in surprise, and her brows wrinkled apologetically. “Mr. Doyle, there’s been a telephone call for you. I’m so sorry. He just rang off. I don’t know where my mind has been these last few days. He called on the Wednesday, and yesterday, too, though he didn’t give me the number.”

  “Who’s that, Mrs. Keane?”

  “Well, his name is Doyle, too, fancy that. It must have been he who called the first night, too. Here you are.” The landlady rummaged through the papers on her telephone table and came up with a slip which she handed to Keith. “Do go right ahead and call, if you please.”

  Curiously, Keith dialed the number on the slip. The phone on the other end rang twice, and then there was a click. A plummy voice said, “Hello?”

  “Hi, there. My name is Keith Doyle. Someone called and left your number here. I’m returning the call,” Keith said uncertainly.

  “Ah, well!” the voice said, pleased. “Greetings, then, cousin. I’m Patrick Doyle. The family dropped the O’ about the same time your great-great grandfather left for America. I’ve been trying to get through to you for a few days now.”

  “What? Oh, no.”

  “Yes, indeed. I got word from my sister-in-law’s family that there was a notice up in the old church, looking for details of us. So you’ve come all the way from America to look for us, have you?”