A Spark is Struck in Cruachan

by Bill Stackhouse

“No, sir,” the boy replied. “I’m Pádraig. Finbar’s my da. He’s over inspecting the stables right now. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, that’s all right, lad.” To the other man, he gestured to his left. “Stables are down this way.”

  As the captain started to remount his horse, the civilian got down from his and said to Pádraig, “I’m Lorcan, Reeve of Gabhrán Shire. By any chance, do you know a farrier by the name of Tadhg?”

  “I do, sir,” Pádraig replied. “In fact, my da and I were just with him and another farrier over at The Rope and Anchor last evening. What’s this all about?”

  The captain, who had returned to where the twosome stood, said, “I’m in charge of security for the Central Federal Region. You’ll do well to answer the shire reeve’s query instead of asking questions yourself.”

  “I meant no disrespect—” Pádraig began.

  But the shire reeve waved the apology away and said to the soldier, “I appreciate your assistance, Captain, but I’ll take it from here. Pointing in the direction that the man had gestured moments before, he asked, “Stables are that way, you said?” Receiving a nod, he continued, “I’ll wander down there after I’ve talked with the lad, here. Again, thanks for your help.”

  Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, the captain gave a single nod of his head, mounted his horse, and left the shire reeve and Pádraig together.

  “Could I trouble you for a drink, lad?” the reeve asked. “It’s been a long ride over here. And do you mind if we sit? Been having trouble with my leg.” He patted his left knee.

  “No problem,” the boy replied, removing his box of farrier’s tools from atop an empty keg and brushing the top of it. Pointing to it and to the bucket of water and dipper next to it, he sat on a second keg himself.

  The shire reeve took his time, sitting, drawing a dipper of water, slowly drinking half of the liquid, pouring the rest on the ground, then returning the dipper to the bucket. “Ahh, that’s better,” he said. “Now, about last evening at the tavern, Paddy—you don’t mind if I call you ‘Paddy,’ do you?”

  “No, sir. Not at all.”

  “Forget the ‘sir.’ Just ‘Lorcan’ will do. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now. Last evening at the tavern, did anything unusual happen. Anything regarding your friend Tadhg?”

  “Not really. He did get into an argument with another farrier, but it only lasted a few minutes. It was no big deal. The other fellow just had too much to drink and ran his mouth a bit.”

  “The other farrier at your table?”

  “No, si…uh…Lorcan. This was a man named ‘Colm.’ Like Tadhg, he’s from the Northern Shires.”

  “Colm?” The shire reeve shook his head. “Can’t say that I know him. He’s not from Gabhrán Shire, anyway. Tell me what happened.”

  Pádraig proceeded to tell Lorcan about the encounter between Tadhg and the drunken Colm, and about Tadhg tossing the other man out of the tavern.

  As the boy finished up with his story, Finbar arrived back at the forge. Seeing Pádraig sitting on the keg talking to Lorcan, he pointed toward the bay stallion and said, “Isn’t that the same horse you were working on when I left? Let’s get with it, lad. They’ll be plenty of time for jaw-boning after the work is done.”

  “Ahh, you must be Finbar,” Lorcan said, rising. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m afraid it’s my fault for taking Paddy away from his work.”

  “Lorcan’s the Reeve of Gabhrán Shire,” Pádraig said. “He had some questions about Tadhg. I was just telling him about last night’s argument at the tavern.”

  “It’s work time, not gossip time, lad. Now get to it.” To Lorcan, he said, “Why your interest in Tadhg? What is it you think he’s done?”

  “I’m afraid he’s gone and gotten himself killed is what he’s done, Finn. I’m here investigating his murder.”

  “Tadhg?!” Pádraig said.

  “Murdered?!” Finbar barked. “When? How?”

  “Apparently late last night, sometime after you parted company. Early this morning a cooper and his apprentice, bringing their wares here to the marketplace, found a horse grazing along the roadside, just barely within the confines of Gabhrán Shire. Nearby, they found Tadhg’s body. Someone had smacked him over the head with something and left him in a ditch to die. Since it happened so close to the Central Federal Region, the cooper sent his apprentice to contact the captain of security here. The captain dispatched one of his men to secure the site and another to notify me.”

  “Has Neave been told?” Finbar asked. “Tadhg’s wife?”

  “Not yet,” Lorcan said. “I know that Tadhg’s home and forge are over near the Central Road, but I had hoped to be able to tell his wife something more than just that her husband was dead. The security officer told me that you had arrived here yesterday, and I thought that you, being a fellow blacksmith and farrier, might be able to shed some light on a suspect or motive. And you have. Or, rather Paddy, here, has. He said that Tadhg had an altercation with a blacksmith named Colm last evening, and that Colm was upset with him. Is that right?”

  “Yes, but not so upset that he’d murder him.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s the only lead I have. Do you know where I can find this Colm?”

  “He’s from Callainn Shire,” Finbar replied. “His forge and home are right down on the point near the harbor. If you haven’t been to see Neave, where’s Tadhg’s body now?”

  “It’s been taken to my lock-up at Ráth Gabhrán.”

  “Paddy,” Finbar said. “Hitch the lads to the wagon.” As the boy took the bay stallion and hustled off to the stables to fetch Bowie and Breasal, Finbar said to Lorcan, “I’ll take the body and make the notification. His wife doesn’t need to hear about this from strangers.”

  “I agree,” Lorcan replied. “And the sooner, the better. You know how fast news like this is going to spread around the harbor. Bring your wagon to Ráth Gabhrán, and I’ll ride over to Tadhg’s forge with you. Perhaps his wife can tell me more about his troubles with Colm.” With that, he mounted his horse and said, “I’ll meet you at Ráth Gabhrán.”

  “I know you have a job to do; but, I’m telling you, I don’t think Colm’s your man.”

  “We’ll see,” Lorcan said, “Because, when we’re done talking with Tadhg’s wife, I’m going over to Callainn Shire and have a heart-to-heart with Colm.”

  * * *

  As Pádraig and Finbar were leaving the citadel, Prince Liam flagged down their wagon. “Where’re you off to?” he asked. “I thought you were going to be here for a week or so.”

  “We are,” Pádraig answered. “We just have to get over to Ráth Gabhrán, right now.”

  “Can I come? It’ll take only a minute to have my horse saddled.”

  “Of course you’re always welcome, Your Highness,” Finbar said. “But this isn’t a pleasure trip. A man we know has been murdered and we’re going to take his body home to his wife.”

  Pádraig added, “And another farrier Da knows is suspected of committing the crime.”

  “That’s terrible. Go! Go! Don’t let me hold you up. I’ll get Máedóc and meet you at the ráth.” He turned quickly from them and ran toward the stables.

  Birchday - Wolf 34th

  Gabhrán Shire

  Ráth Gabhrán

  Pádraig looked over at his father, waiting to see if Finbar had made the same connection as he had. The elder farrier stood there, jaw set firmly, eyes half closed, shaking his head. That was all the confirmation the boy needed.

  “Well?” Lorcan, Reeve of Gabhrán Shire, said, holding the edge of the cloth that covered the lifeless body of Tadhg, their fellow blacksmith and farrier from the Northern Shires.

  Prince Liam, standing behind Pádraig and Finbar, looking between them, asked, “What type of weapon would leave that kind of mark?”

  There, on the right side of Tadhg’s head, just above the ear, was a small indentation that had broken throug
h the skin, apparently fracturing the skull and driving a small piece of bone into the dead farrier’s brain.

  “Clobbered from behind from the looks of it,” Lorcan said. Echoing the prince’s question, he asked, “Do you have any idea what type of weapon was used?”

  Finbar turned toward his son. “Do we have one in the wagon? Or are all ours back at Dúnfort Cruachan?”

  “Let me check,” Pádraig replied, then left the Fort Gabhrán lock-up.

  “Check for what?” Lorcan asked.

  “At first glance, the wound appears to have been inflicted with a driving hammer.” In response to a blank look from the prince, Finbar continued. “It’s the small hammer that farriers use to drive the nails through a horse’s hoof to hold the shoe in place. The head is small and square.” He pointed to the small, square indentation on Tadhg’s head.

  Pádraig returned with a farrier’s driving hammer. The other three men watched as he placed the head of the hammer close to the mark on the dead man’s skull. It was an almost perfect match. Turning toward his father, the boy gave a small shoulder shrug.

  Finbar nodded.

  Lorcan dropped the cloth back over the dead man, and said, “That sort of clinches it.”

  “So the killer was a farrier?” Liam asked.

  Finbar held up a cautioning finger. “The killer had access to a farrier’s hammer, Your Highness, as do grooms and many horse owners who do their own shoeing, in addition to farriers.”

  “I’ll have my men load the body into your wagon so that we can take poor Tadhg, here, back to his wife,” Lorcan said. “But after we’re done there, I’d appreciate it if you would leave Paddy with me. My men and I are going to arrest Colm for the murder—”

  “Suspicion of murder,” Finbar interjected.

  “On suspicion of Tadhg’s murder,” Lorcan conceded with a small smile. “And I’d like Paddy to be there when we search his forge for the murder weapon.”

  Finbar looked at his son. Pádraig nodded his assent.

  “I’ll go with him, Finbar,” Liam said. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

  “My thanks, Your Highness,” Finbar replied, suppressing a smile and thinking, If there’s one thing I don’t need to worry about, it’s Paddy’s safety.

  Birchday - Wolf 34th

  Gabhrán Shire

  Lorcan, Reeve of Gabhrán Shire, had provided Pádraig with a horse named Suibhne—a mature, but serviceable, sandy-yellow dun stallion with a dark-brown stripe down the middle of his back. The reeve also had had his men load Tadhg’s body into Finbar’s farrier’s wagon.

  Along with two of Lorcan’s deputies and Prince Liam in tow, the company had brought the dead blacksmith home to Neave, his wife.

  In retrospect, Pádraig had to admit that having Liam along had turned out to be quite helpful. Not knowing that the son of the High King was only there as a tag-along because he didn’t have anything better to do, Neave had considered his presence an honor—a tribute to her late husband.

  Liam had played the part of mourner-in-chief well, assuring her that Lorcan would leave no stone unturned in the search for her husband’s killer. This promise had, in turn, made it easier for the shire reeve to ask his questions. Unfortunately, those questions hadn’t shed any light on the situation. All Neave could do was substantiate what Pádraig and Finbar had already told him about Tadhg’s dispute with Colm over the Northern Shires’ farrier’s contract.

  Before Pádraig left with Lorcan and his deputies, who were going on to Callainn Shire to arrest Colm on suspicion of killing Tadhg, and to search his forge for the murder weapon, Finbar called the boy over for a private conversation.

  “If it turns out that Colm was responsible for Tadhg’s death,” his father told him, “then he should face the penalty prescribed by law. But be on your guard, Paddy,” he cautioned. “Sometimes overzealous arrest parties can turn into lynching parties. If there’s even a hint of that happening, Prince Liam is going to have to step in and put a stop to it.”

  “Don’t worry, Da. I’ll see to it that he does.”

  Finbar patted him on the shoulder. “Good lad. Now, here’s how I’d like you to handle the search for the murder weapon. Lorcan, although well meaning, probably isn’t going to listen to you, so it’s important that you convince the prince that this is his idea. Can you do that?”

  Pádraig grinned. “Oh, yeah. I can do that.”

  “Good. Take some clean cloths and a satchel from our wagon with you. When you arrive at the forge, Prince Liam needs to take control immediately before anyone has a chance to enter the forge itself or Colm’s farrier’s wagon and disturb any evidence. We’re fairly certain that the murder weapon was a driving hammer. Get the prince to head up the search party himself. Just he, you, and Lorcan. And only Prince Liam is to touch anything, Paddy. You do the locating, Prince Liam picks up any hammers you discover, and Lorcan acts as an unbiased witness to observe and corroborate what you find. Search Colm’s wagon first. I want you to go over—”

  “Why the wagon first, Da?”

  “Because if you’re in the forge, you won’t be able to keep an eye on Lorcan’s deputies.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “Let’s not leave anything to chance. Colm has one opportunity and one opportunity only to get a fair search. It’s going to be up to you and the prince to see that he gets it.”

  “Okay. The wagon first.”

  “Search every inch of it and locate every driving hammer in there. When you find one, point it out to the prince. Have him pick it up, wrap it in a cloth, and place it in the satchel. Same thing with the forge. Lorcan’s deputies are to remain outside. When you locate a driving hammer, the prince picks it up, wraps it in a cloth, and places it in the satchel. Treat the living quarters in the same manner.”

  “I find a driving hammer, Liam wraps it in a cloth and puts it in the satchel. What do we do with the satchel?”

  “Prince Liam brings it back to Dúnfort Cruachan. And, Paddy, it’s crucial that the satchel remain in the prince’s control the entire time. Understood?”

  “Understood, Da. But why?”

  “Because Colm’s life is on the line. Would anyone accuse the reeve or his deputies of tampering with evidence? Maybe yes, maybe no. Would anyone accuse you? Again, maybe yes, maybe no. But, would anyone accuse the son of the High King?”

  “Not if he valued his own life.”

  “Exactly. If Prince Liam has to piss on the way back to the dúnfort, he’s to take that satchel with him to the tree. At no time is it to be out of his possession.”

  “Consider it done. What happens when we return with the hammers?”

  “Now there’s where it gets a bit tricky. If we were home in the Western Shires, I’d ask the prince to send for Master Taliesin. I’ve kept a piece of Tadhg’s blood-soaked clothing, and I’ve asked Neave not to dispose of the rest, just in case. A wizard, especially a master, has the ability with potions and such to determine if there was blood on an object, even if that object has been washed.”

  “Ahh,” Pádraig said, as he grasped the reason for his father’s request. “Like the head of a driving hammer.”

  “Like the head of a driving hammer. And also, and more important, he’ll be able to compare that blood, if any is found, with a sample of Tadhg’s blood.”

  “So you’re going to have Liam send for Master Taliesin? But I thought you didn’t like him.”

  A puzzled look clouded Finbar’s countenance. “Him, who?”

  “Master Taliesin.”

  “Where did you get an idea like that?”

  Uh-oh, Pádraig thought. Do I lie or do I admit that I eavesdropped on him and Lairgnen. Better to fess up. “From you,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes. “I overheard you and Lairgnen out by the well-head that night at Ráth Ceatharlach.”

  “The entire conversation?”

  “…Yes, sir.”

  Finbar kept silent for a few moments, taking in a lungful of air through his
nose and letting it out slowly through his mouth. “I believe one of the questions you heard Lairgnen ask me was, ‘When were you planning on telling him the truth?’ And, as I recall, I replied, ‘When the time’s right.’ Well, Paddy,” he said, applying an affectionate squeeze to the back of his son’s neck, “the time appears to be right. We’ll have a long talk, you and me, when you return to Dúnfort Cruachan. But right now, to the business at hand. Regardless of what you may have assumed from my conversation with Lairgnen, I do trust Taliesin’s loyalty to Cruachan. But sending for him is out of the question. I can’t do that. Tadhg’s murder occurred here in the Northern Shires. Unfortunately I’m not all that familiar with Odhran, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires, so I’m not comfortable with sending for him, either. However, since we’ll be in the Central Federal Region, I’m going to ask Prince Liam to call on Faolan, Arch-Wizard of Cruachan, to test the hammers. No one should have a problem with that.”

  “Paddy? You ready?” Lorcan called over.

  Finbar winked at his son. “See you back at Dúnfort Cruachan.”

  “Hopefully with a satchel full of bloodless hammers,” Pádraig replied, wryly.

  Birchday - Wolf 34th

  Callainn Shire

  As Pádraig, Liam, Lorcan, and the two deputies galloped across Callainn Shire on their way to Colm’s forge, the quintet’s progress was halted by three men on horseback, blocking the road. All three were dressed in buckskin.

  Lorcan reined in his mount and signaled for his party to do likewise, coming to a halt about a rod in front of the other men.

  “And just when did you plan on telling me about this, Lorcan?” a burly, little man demanded without any preliminary courtesies. His face reminded Pádraig of a stoat.

  “Probably never, Parnell. Since it’s really none of your business,” Lorcan replied.

  “I understand you’re investigating the murder of a blacksmith named Tadhg. Is that correct?” Parnell asked, his dark, beady eyes constantly on the move, warily checking out the other members of Lorcan’s party.