The Barrow Lover

by Patrick Todoroff

  Odhran Kane was planted at a table piled with ledgers, the fingers of one hand tracing lines across a wide page. The room stank of musty paper, cologne, and contempt. I knocked, tugged my forelock.

  He didn't look up. "I'd have you swinging from the nearest tree."

  "Beg your pardon?" I gulped.

  The silence hung in the air while he continued tracing columns in the register. Finally he sniffed, stared at me. "For robbery. You admit you were the last to see him, you and your idiot friend."

  "Ummm..."

  "Money like Meechum's is a powerful incentive." He looked around the room. "Especially in this pig trough."

  "I'm sorry, your honor. I don't take—"

  He slammed the book and stood to his feet. "Oh you took something. You shit-kicking culchies always do. Question is what. Money? Rubbish from that case? Tell me now and I'll leave the imbecile O'Doule be."

  "Sir," I started, "we heard 'im yell, barged in ta help. Door was already open, I swear on it—"

  Odhran Kane opened the ledger up, flipped through pages until his gloved finger stabbed down. "Flood and O'Doule," he read. "Six Crowns." His gaze glittered like a cat's in candlelight. "Tell me Flood, what's worth six silver in a shithole like Carn, hmmmm?"

  My heart turned to stone.

  He knows. He knows about the locket.

  "Sir, me and Paddy—"

  "Your half-wit cousin?"

  "Yes, sir. I mean, no. He's not my cousin. We was born in the same month—"

  Kane snarled, waved me on.

  "The two of us go digging around the olden places, ruins and such," I stammered. "Sometimes we turn up trinkets Mr. Fade would buy. We found—"

  "Meechum Fade was a lot of things. Stupid wasn't one of them," Kane snapped. "Certainly not one to throw hard silver after a bumpkin's rummage and scrap."

  My thoughts were boiling furious. Desperation being the mother of invention, I conjured a lie from bits of truth. "It were a sack full. All olden, I think. Mr. Fade were pleased and promised us six silver."

  A notion popped in to my head. "But we only got half," I whined. "He promised the rest later, and now he's..."

  A smirk twitched across Kane's lips. "And where did you dig up this treasure, Flood?"

  I scrabbled for an answer. North of town lay the "Teats", half-a-dozen ancient barrows humped under sweet clover and wildflowers. They'd been combed through decades before I came along, but I doubted Odhran Kane knew that. "The olden mounds north of here, sir. We dug all day in the sun. And to only get half isn't fair—"

  "Quit mewling or I'll feed your tongue to the pigs," Kane sighed, casually brutal. He rested a hand on a stack of registers. "A sack full, you say?"

  I nodded, eyes down.

  "Then Fade would have inventoried this hoard, eh? Or if not in the books then I'll find it wrapped in burlap in his shop. Right, Flood?"

  I nodded again, miserable.

  "You're lying," Kane whispered. "I can feel it."

  He came around the table, huffing menace with breath that reeked like catshit and gin. "I'll find out the What. Then I'll find out the Why. Then I'll drag you off in irons, cut off your hands, your feet, your stones, before I string you up at Daire's Gate for robbery. And murder. You and your dim, inbred cousin. You hear me, Flood?"

  I gulped, managed a nod.

  "Now get out of my sight."

  I ran.

  Past the surly horse, past Teagan's place a-bustle with a dead man's party, all the way to the crossroads where Fade's shop sat bolted and shuttered. Going by, it frightened me how life can rush from heaven to hell in a sliver of time. Teagan says it's never the changes we want that change everything. She was right.

  I took the stairs at Widow Halloran's two at a time, thinking all I had to do was put it back. Climb in a window, squeeze through the coal chute... hell, shimmy down the chimney if needed. I'd tuck it on a shelf under his counter. Or wrap it in a scrap of linen and stick it in a drawer. I'd confess to it once Odhran Kane found it. I'd beg off my lie on the want of the rest of the money Fade had owed. A smack and a whipping would be the worst of it. So long as it weren't gelding and the noose.

  And Paddy would be out of it.

  I burst in my room, flung open the cupboard and pawed through my clothes 'til I clutched my woolen sock.

  It was empty.

  The locket was gone.

  Part Three - Lurking and Larceny

  It must have been Paddy. And I wasn't sick on the notion he had the locket; more the locket had him. Gold brings one sort of trouble. A screaming dream lass is a whole different matter.

  Back at Teagan's, Widow Halloran scoffed like I'd sprouted another head and was still talking out my arse.

  "Like I'd sort your dirty linen..." she shouted over the noise of the party." Why don't you ask Teagan, you need someone to scrub your nethers?" She covered a grin with her tankard. "Once a week to change the sheets, I told you that when you started. You and Paddy."

  "Have you seen him, then?"

  "Who?"

  "Paddy?"

  "He's 'ere, isn't he?" She glared about the room like he was a middle-grader ducking lessons. A familiar sight, her being the headmistress most of her life.

  "Everyone is," she declared. "Look for the Sweeney girls." She turned back to the table, swaying as she did.

  At sixty plus years, and slight as a rake, Widow H. could drink most men in town under the table. I'd never met a woman with such a throat on her. Rabbity though I was, I considered the imbibing needed to make her bend in the breeze. Enough to float a raft, I figured.

  "If you see him—"

  She waved me off. "He'll know you're after him."

  Widow Halloran was right: anyone who hadn't been at the funeral was in the tavern now. Teagan's was inside out, festivities spilling into the yards. I spied three competing fiddlers, a throng of dancers, the regular arm-wrestling set, and an even rowdier queue for a brace of tapped barrels. A peck of women had the outdoor hearth blazing, ladling stew and biscuits to all comers. Fade's memorial had converted to a hooley worth gloating on for years to come.

  Mindful of Kane's earlier appraisal of County Crae, I wondered at so much ready gold for a dead soldier ten years out to pasture.

  Was it to make memories? Or hide them?

  The notion it all weaved together chewed at me: Fade, Teagan's story, my dream, Kane... And now Paddy missing with the locket.

  At first, I feared Kane changed his tune and hauled him in, but the snakey bastard reappeared at the head table soon after our parley. He stared daggers when I chanced by, but seemed content to let it at that and get feted by the local highbrows.

  I found the Sweeney triplets easy enough. They were playing Meany's farm hands off against the smithy's boys coy as can be. Twinkle in their eyes, those girls were as clever as they were pretty, and I pity the man that married any one of them. Poor bastard will wind up toiling like a rented mule to keep that smile beaming.

  Upstairs, downstairs, front and back yards, I combed every knot, crowd and cluster twice. I even skirted the barley calling his name. No sign of Paddy.

  Two hours later, the sunset had poured molten glory over the western sky but the party showed no mind for slowing. The evening was flush with good folks, free drink, and food, but all I could see was an empty sock, an absent friend, and a royal cur itching to eunuchize me before stringing up my carcass like a gutted deer.

  Trying to help, Mayor Tom didn't.

  He slipped away from the head table long enough to find me pacing Teagan's front yard. I took a slice of comfort at the thought of Kane enduring Angus' war stories.

  Party noises drifted from the back. A lip-locked couple shimmied in the shadows of a nearby doorway. The Mayor stood like he was taking in fresh air, but I could feel he was wound tighter than a clock spring.

  "What's this about treasure out of the Teats?" he asked evenly.

  Talking had already earned me enough trouble. I stared miserably at the mud on my boots.<
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  "Sweet Jesus, have mercy!" He snorted, incredulous. "Are you gone daft as Paddy?"

  He reined in his temper before he spoke again. "Apparently the Queen Mother herself is clutched up over the Meechum's passing."

  I swiveled and stared up at him. "Over Meechum Fade?"

  He nodded curtly. "'Solicitous' is the royal word, seeing he'd been captain of her guard and all." He fished his pipe and matches from a vest pocket. "Would to God someone is half this solicitous at my funeral."

  "And you believe it?"

  A match flared, brightening the mayor's lined face and white hair. "Don't matter what I believe, does it now? Who's a lowly, bog-trotting mayor to question a royal concern?"

  "Man's a right bastard," I muttered.

  "Since you asked," he continued, "what I don't believe is Officer Odhran Kane riding all this way for a tearful of sniffles over a fresh grave. Or that the Queen Mother wanted to throw us a bash."

  "Then why's he here?"

  Mayor Tom's thoughts strained like dogs on a leash. "Call me mad, but by everything Kane's not saying, I suspect Her Majesty's knickers are in a serious twist and he's here to sort it out," he finally said.

  The image of that muddy locket leapt to mind, its scripty etching, the lass inside it... I clamped down, scared even thinking it too loud would call her forth, bring her walking out of the dark street.

  My bones knew the answer to my next question even as the words left my mouth. "What the devil would Carn have could get the Queen Mother worked up so?"

  Mayor Tom sucked his pipe angrily. "Damned if I know, but you and Paddy are in Kane's sights."

  Paddy. A wave of guilt soured my stomach. He was about all I had left in this world. I'd never forgive myself if he came to harm.

  The mayor gripped my shoulder. "Dunno what possessed you to spin shite to that nasty badger," he whispered fiercely, "but you better wind yer neck in. I stood for you; said you and Paddy were good lads underneath, but Kane's settled your tale stinks more than an air biscuit. And has less heft.”

  He leaned in close. "He's taking an account of Fade's shop before he leaves for Daire tomorrow. For your sake, he better find something, 'cause he's reporting to the Queen Mother. And true guilt or innocence won't enter much into it."

  With that, he left me.

  A moan from the doorway meant the action had turned hot and heavy. I trudged off wishing I could at least hold Teagan's hand.

  I needed a good plan soon, but with evening here and no Paddy, I settled for a stupid one quick.

  ***

  I told Kane it had been a sack of valuables, and a sack of valuables it would be.

  Weasel a window, rifle the glass case for a couple chains here, a watch there... Nick some shinier trifles from the fat man's inventory, then stuff 'em in burlap on a back shelf. Wasn't genius, but the only fella could prove otherwise was wheedling St. Peter for the password through the Pearly Gates.

  Fade's affair was going like a house on fire, and the more ale and cider flowed, the louder his praises were sung. At this rate, the big man would find himself canonized by morning.

  Saint Meechum, Patron of Surly Mutes and Girthy Pawnbrokers. I smiled at the thought of Vicar Duffy working that into the liturgy.

  As I slipped towards the edge of town, I hoped the Vicar had kept up on his praying. Breaking into a dead man's house to prop up a lie is like planting a feather and hoping to grow a hen. This scheme sure didn't smack of wisdom. But it was all I had. And like my Da used to say, you work what you got.

  I hit the crossroad, hopped 'Tater' Gooley's fence, minced through his pasture until I spied Fade's house. Moonlight limed the cellar shutter behind a tangle of white dead-nettle and fern. I felt the candle stub and matches in my pocket, rubbed my thumb across the coarse gunny sack, then gathered my courage.

  The wind sighed across the fields, music and laughter trickled down the lanes and between the houses. Easy in, easy out, I told myself. Get Kane down the road, then there'll be plenty of time to sort out the locket and the mystery lass. Even if it means carting down to Dubhlinn to pawn her trouble onto the next unsuspecting sod.

  A deep breath, a dozen steps, then I knelt like prayers. I flicked open my penknife and went to work on the latch.

  ***

  Fade's shop might have been clutter and shambles, but his cellar was neater than a cornfield at early spring. Shelves, bins, boxes, everything in smart rows, straight up, swept and labeled. Not a cobweb in sight. A trace of the old soldier, like his tone the other night.

  A set of solid steps rose to a sturdy oak door above me. To be honest, even though Fade's casket got roped into a hole, my nerves cooked up the image of him all uniformed, waiting on his stool, jeweler's loupe sighting down a fancy wheel lock pistol. I guess dreaming of dead girls wasn't healthy for the imagination.

  But it came down to a promise; I'd sworn to look after Paddy. This was my shot at saving his skin and mine.

  I shoved my frights aside and went up, holding the taper in front of me like a charm.

  The door was unlocked. I shivered as it creaked open. The room yawned open, dark as a tar pit. Fade's merchandise loomed in snaggy, black mounds. I cupped the candle stub and risked a quick lift, then seeing where I was, promised Jesus, Mary, Joseph I'd go to church for a year.

  I was at the back, half a dozen paces from the counter.

  The glass in the case wavered feebly from the tiny flame, the contents gleaming like fish darting through murky water. I pulled out the gunny sack and went to work.

  Four rings, three gold chains and a two pair of mossy copper bridle bits weren't much of a trove, but any more would leave the case pecked over. I considered a pocket watch or two, but clockworks in the Teats made as much sense as wings on a pig. I jingled the bag; nowhere near six silver worth. Then I remembered the canes. Or rather the cane heads.

  Fade kept a bushel of walking sticks inside the front door, a number topped with ornate bronze heads. Heavy enough to stun a horse, worn shiny smooth from decades of palm oils, they were an easy pass as olden bits. A quick twist, ditch the sticks and they'd fill out the bag nice.

  I groped my way forward and was wrenching on a knobby wolf's head when Angus' voice came through the door. It was mumbled by drink and groveling, but the response was clear as a bell.

  "That's why you brought a lantern," Odhran Kane snapped. "This treasure should be easy to find, no?"

  Keys rattled at the door.

  I snuffed the wick and scooted back behind the counter just as the door banged open.

  "Och, all respect Mister Kane, Fade was a bit of a pack rat. Shop's a jumble, all nooks and crannies. I really think the morning would a better time ta—"

  "I'm not staying in this hovel a moment longer than necessary," Kane said. "I'll make a determination now, then drag those two to Daire in the morning. Did Meechum have a strongbox?"

  A snuffle. "Can't say, sir. Mr. Fade, erm... Mr. Fade ne'er said much ta anyone. No friends in Carn to speak of."

  "No surprise there," I heard Kane mutter. Boots clomped on the wood plank floor. Stopped. "Do you smell smoke?"

  My stones shriveled. I stuffed the candle stub in my pocket.

  "Smell smoke, sir?" Angus quavered.

  "Yes," Kane hissed. "Smoke. Candle wax."

  "Not candles, sir. It's this." A rusty creak and there was a lurch of new shadows as Angus raised his lantern. "Wick's a mite greasy."

  I caught the rasp of steel pulled from a scabbard. "Lift that, shire reeve," Odhran Kane ordered. "Higher."

  Shadows reeled on the back wall. Hard shapes and the unnatural stretch of a man with a sword. "Higher," Kane said. "Stay with me."

  Boots tromped again, accompanied by a shuffling step. Above me, light crazed off the glass in the case.

  "Keep that steady, you old fool!"

  The dark wedge of the open basement door mocked me, mere feet away, but I'd never make it. Footsteps louder with each pace. I curled in on myself and started praying.
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  HelpGodPleasePleaseI'msorryforeverythingI'veeverdonebad.Don'tlethimfindme.PleaseI'llnever do—

  "What the devil is this?" A voice suddenly shouted out. I near wet myself.

  It was Mayor Tom.

  Kane sighed like he was addressing a child. "I'm inspecting Meechum's merchandise, as we discussed."

  "We agreed I'd be present for the scrutinizing. Tomorrow morning."

  "Early start—early finish," Kane sniffed. "I want to be riding before noon. I decided to search now."

  The mayor's incredulity was hard as stone. "In the pitch dark with drawn steel? What are you playing at?"

  "I thought I saw someone."

  "Thought he whiffed bee's wax," Angus added helpfully.

  "I'll give you a tot of wax, if you like. On a sealed letter, complaining of your disregard for my office, not to mention common sense and decency," Mayor Tom concluded. "Leave out now. We'll be here once there's sun for a proper search."

  There was a damn long hush, Kane's decision weighing in the air. Then the boots strode away.

  I started breathing again after the door slammed and the lock thunked fast.

  ***

  I lingered long as I dared, fumbling a second bronze knob and a handful of tarnished flatware into the sack, which I stuffed on a knee-shelf behind Fade's counter. I prayed it was enough. It would have to be. I got my lifetime's fill of lurking and larceny that night.

  All I wanted was my bed, the quilt over my head, and for it all to go away.

  I dashed through the crossroads, one eye over my shoulder, on down the lane until the boxy lines of Widow Halloran's house rose against the charcoal of the starry night. I stopped stock still.

  The second-floor corner window was lit up, blazing like an oven mouth. Same as Fades the other night.

  Paddy's room.

  My heels bruised my arse racing to the house. I slipped on the stairs, smacked my noggin, scrambled all fours the rest of the way.

  My eyes were tearing when I burst through the door. "Don't you be touching him, you ghouly bitch—"

  Paddy was perched on the end of his bed, locket in hand. Gold glinted, the scratchy writing writhing there in his palm. A punched tin lamp glowed on his side table. Fireflies in a jar would give more light. There was no sign of a blaze.