The Barrow Lover

by Patrick Todoroff

  "What the—?" I blurted.

  He didn't even look up. Just sat still as a statue, gazing at that locket.

  Forehead throbbing, heart in my throat a second time that night, I snatched the damned thing out of his hand. "Oi! I turned the town over looking for you."

  Paddy stared like he'd never laid eyes on me before.

  I cuffed him across the head. "The shite I wade through for you, and this is how you treat me?"

  He welled up, started to speak.

  I was too steamed to give way. "Serves you right," I yelled. "Pinching goods out of my cupboard and dropping off like that." I stuck a finger in his face. "I's just near stabbed on account of you."

  A hundred questions jigged on the tip of my tongue, each shoving for first place. I was about to let 'em run when Paddy spoke.

  "It's always night there," he whispered. "She's lost in th' dark."

  My mouth went dry. "Always night where?"

  His face screwed up to cry. He went on like he didn't hear me. "She only dreams the world now, aching for a way back."

  "Who?"

  "The lass in the picture, Magalie. Someone killed her.“He looked strayed as a little lamb.“I just went to help.”

  Hackles rose down my neck. I thrust the locket at him. "This ain't for you, mate. Got me?"

  His shoulders hunched.

  "I'm telling you true," I pressed. "It's bad, Paddy. It's... unnatural."

  "She needs me—"

  "No," I shouted. "You needs to leave it be. O'right?"

  I wrung his shoulder when he wouldn't answer. "You mind me here! This ain't some trinket."

  His brows took a mulish set. "She was crying, so I went."

  "Went where?"

  "Back to the little hill where we dug it up."

  I was so frothed, my words stumbled over each other. "You're thick as an anvil, you big-footed galute," I said. "Useless as a back pocket on a shirt, ya dumb—"

  Paddy's face lumped up."I ain't dumb."

  I clenched the locket 'til the edges dug in my skin. "Aye, you are," I retorted. "You're... you're traipsing 'round the woods alone. You know you aren't supposed to do that. Why the devil'd you go?"

  Paddy thrust his chin out. "She called me is why!" He was up and at me before I could blink, jabbing fingers in my chest. "Me. She called me."

  I fish-mouthed, tottered back a pace.

  Paddy had always had been a big lad. We called him "Bear Baby" all growing up, but he'd never so much as raised a hand to me. Ever. This worried me more than Kane. More than the girl.

  He towered over me, raring to scrap. "She needs me. Me."

  I found my voice when my back hit the doorpost. "She ain't real," I explained slow. "She's a ghost, Paddy. A shade."

  "She ain't," he glared.

  I raised my hands, looked him dead in the eye, serious as Vicar Duffy at Lent. "Is, too. And she's witched you."

  Paddy stopped up his ears. "Nononono."

  I stuck the locket in his face. "This here killed Fade somehow, you get it? She killed Fade."

  "No. Magalie's nice. She fancies me," Paddy shot back.

  "She's a demon, mate. An evil fae."

  His face reddened. "She said I'm the only one can help her."

  "Bah."

  "You're making this up 'cause she called me and not you," Paddy shouted.

  "Oi! She called me too!

  "Called you?" He stopped, suddenly fuddled. "When?"

  "Last night. Only I dreamed her crying in the woods. Went to the same spot."

  The news sagged him. "So she asked you to help, too?"

  Memory flashed in my head: cadaverous face, burning eyes, grin like a skull, that screaming neck gash... "No. Not really."

  Paddy started jabbering all at once. "Well, she asked my name, name of the town. Even the year, and I told her. Was like she was starving after news. She kept on about the Prince. I said there weren't no Prince, only King Airam and Queen Ysabeau." His brow knit like he was figuring a sum. "She didn't like that. She said—"

  Thought of Paddy chatting with Little Miss Bloody Banshee chilled my bones. I cut him off. "It dinnae matter what she said, mate. Listening will only bring grief."

  He shook his head like a horse in a cloud of flies. "Why are you so cruel? Poor gal was left like Hansel and Gretel. She just wants back where she belongs."

  "What she did to Fade, she can damn well stay where she is."

  "No," he pleaded. "Open it. She'll—"

  I slid the locket in my vest pocket. "Open it? I've half a mind to chuck it in the river. We got a heap of trouble at our door. The sooner we're free of the bitch, the better, I say."

  "No call for names," he groused. "Pretty lass lost like that—"

  I stuck my finger in his face. "Clean your ears. She's rotten, and that's all there is to it."

  He scowled but I was too busy sorting choices to pay him any mind. The urge to heave the thing from the roof of the mill tugged at me, hard. Drown her like a sack of mangy kittens and be done.

  Still, the weight of the thing in my pocket... Gold is gold, after all.

  It would be a shame, what we've been dragged through the last two days, to come up empty-handed. Might still be a way to pull a plum out of this.

  "Tinker should be by next week," I mused. "But Meany's carting a load of wheat to Daire tomorrow. If I beg a ride..." Providing that bastard Kane didn't run me through first.

  "We found it means we're to help her," Paddy insisted.

  I used my Da's stern voice to end our controverting. "She's evil, mate. Period. So don't you be coming after it. Right?"

  "You feel like that, you shouldn't be touching her locket," he sulked.

  I gave him the hairy eyeball. "I mean it. I'll take it from here."

  Paddy stood there panting, fists clenching to wring a chicken. I thought he was gonna take a poke at me again, so I braced myself. Then he thought better and turned away.

  My heart swelled. Snit all you want, I thought. So long as you're safe. That's all that matters. I reached out to clap him on the back, but he stiffened like a board.

  I let my hand fall. "It's late," I said softly. "We'll talk in the morning, right?"

  Not a word.

  "Fine. Be like that."

  I trudged back to my room, suddenly bone tired.

  I barely kicked off my boots before I fell on the bed, and I lay there, listening through the wall to Paddy's surly silence. He'd snap out of his brooding eventually, then it'd be like it never happened. My Ma used to say each day was full of new sunshine for him.

  Sometimes I wished it were me was touched...

  The pieces of his tale didn't tally; who was this haunting Magalie lass? Who was Fade to her? And what would she want in Paddy? A thousand questions swirled thicker than moths at a lantern.

  Nightmares or no, I couldn't risk the locket sprouting legs and walking off again, so I slipped it under my mattress, at the foot of my bed. Then spent the rest of the night twitching like a dreaming dog.

  Part Four - The Black Jewel of Senlis

  Was quiet that woke me the next morning, an odd shush sitting in the house like a stranger. I sat up. Nothing. Not a creak or squeak from Paddy's room.

  Dread pricked my skin and I tumbled out of bed, groping under the mattress like an angry tomcat 'til my fingers hit metal. Locket was still there, snug as a tick. I sat on the floor, one arm buried up to the elbow in sheet telling myself Paddy was washing up or walking off his sulk.

  Under the mattress, my finger traced the thorny script on the cover over and over. Spiral in, spiral out, spiral in... The gold was cold, the graven letters scratchy. Sleep had shoved away my worry last night, but it barged back in soon as my eyes opened.

  He said her name was Magalie.

  Not Gaelic. A foreign name for a foreign lass.

  Magalie—you simper or screech at me, but you're kittens and honey for sweet dumb Paddy...

  Spiral out, spiral in, spiral out—

  Magalie
, is this a verse or a curse graven in your strange tongue?

  Maybe it depends which way you read it. Like a bad coin toss, had Fade guessed wrong, but Paddy chanced it right?

  My bones said no.

  I withdrew my hand.

  Magalie, time to get you on your way.

  Meany's wagons would be rumbling to Daire at noon. I'd off the locket there. The city's pawnshops were nooked in the narrow alleys near the Market Street Wharf, sailors and dockmen a steady source of items need turned to copper. Wouldn't get half its real worth, but that was fine by me. Screaming, dreaming Maggie could find another lover by the sea. I'd be back in Carn by night, my world back to the regular order of things.

  Suddenly Odhran Kane's oily mug rose in my mind. Did he find the sack? Had it worked? Wouldn't he be here if it hadn't? Truth was there'd be no leaving 'til I'd faced him. Skipping town would seal my guilt in his eyes, sure as sure. Fear scratched in me like mice in the walls and I earnestly hoped Vicar Duffy had kept up on his prayers.

  Propping up my courage, I rubbed the sand from my eyes, made my bed, then pulled on the cleanest clothes I had. I considered taking the locket, but left it under my mattress at the last minute. It had stayed put all night and I sure didn't want it on me when I faced Kane. I'd come back for it later.

  Decision made and stomach rumbling, I squared my shoulders and did what I always do when I need fortitude and food; went to find Teagan.

  Carn's streets were quiet and groggy, smelling faintly of morning dew and stale beer. The day would be slow to start, everyone being well potted after Fade's send-off.

  Almost everyone that is; I found Teagan's bright-eyed and beautiful cousins, Shaelyn and Maerin, mucking out the tavern.

  They were on the porch throttling mops when I trudged up the walk.

  "She's not here," Maerin called.

  "At her Ma's," Shaelyan said before I asked. Both of them stood there grinning at me, all buckets, brooms, and reckless red hair.

  "What's so funny?" I asked.

  Maerin shrugged innocently. "Oh nothing. Just that you're the second one this morning."

  I opened my mouth again, but Shaelyn interjected. "Bradan. Came by, hat in hand, hoping for a chat and a cuppa. Bit unsteady on his feet, but he had something on his mind."

  My mood soured. Bradan Magee. Blacksmith's eldest. Tall, square jaw, shoulders like an ox yoke, wits to match. County Crae girls went all swoony around him. Never saw why, myself.

  "So?" I grumped.

  "Told him to try back later," Maerin stated matter-of-factly. "Said she was still asleep."

  "Which she was," Shaelyn noted.

  "Aye. 'Cept not here." Maerin returned.

  "Where then?" I burst out.

  "At her Ma's." Maerin laughed. "Like we told you."

  Shaelyn suddenly fixed me with a new look. "Where you off to, up so early?"

  I puffed up a bit. "Helping Meany get a load to Daire."

  Maerin's emerald eyes narrowed. "The city, eh? You fetching a ring?"

  I flushed. Bloody small town. "Errr... I, uh, am doing some business. Well, that is to say..." My voice trailed off.

  The girls' eyes sparkled at my discomfort. Finally Maerin waved me off. "She's probably up now. If you're quick, you'll get breakfast."

  I rushed off, silver bells of laughter chasing me down the lane.

  ***

  Ma Cooney's was on the west side of town, across town square, a pair of limewash dogtrot cottages with new thatch and a generous kitchen garden, all surrounded by an ancient stone wall veiled in violets and pansies. As I neared the Civic House, I heard careful voices and kettles whistling. Folk were rousing now, treading gingerly into a new day. I walked faster, hoping Teagan was awake, Bradan was back to snoring, and Ma Cooney had the stove lit.

  Head down, I was working how and how much I'd tell her. Delicate thing to know what parts to leave out and still get a true eye on the situation. Especially one like this.

  My belly reminded me it was empty, so I picked up the pace. With no mind to anything but my worries, I never saw Kane coming.

  Bastard chested that big black stallion right into me, sent me arse over teakettle. The horse snickered. Kane let out an ugly giggle. "If you bruised Brom, I'll whip you within an inch of your life."

  He loomed over me from the saddle, one hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword, the other holding reins dainty as a china cup.

  "Br—Brom?" I managed.

  "My horse, Flood. Worth ten times you."

  I sat up and wiped the mud from my sleeves and face. Kane sneered down, a nasty thought twitching behind his hard little eyes. I cast about to bolt, but there was nowhere he and that damn horse couldn't run me down in five steps.

  Kane must have seen the frantic in my face. He laughed. "The guilty flee when no one pursues."

  I bit my tongue and held his gaze, heart hammering in my chest.

  "We found your bag of junk," he continued. "Your treasure. At first, I didn't believe it, but your mayor insisted. Proof of innocence, he said."

  Kane sniffed like he'd caught a whiff of awful. "Meechum must have gone soft, giving that kind of money for rubbish. That's what living with you bogtrotters does, apparently."

  Leather creaked as he glanced back to the Civic House. Mayor Tom watched us from the steps, anxious. Angus squinted beside him. Kane deliberately released his sword and offered them a cool nod.

  "Innocent or not, I'd love to watch you kick out a hangman's jig," he whispered. "But I can't get out of this village fast enough. So I'm leaving you to your cabbage-gorging life, Flood."

  Kane leaned over in the saddle, pulling the reins. The horse Brom twisted his big head toward me, bared his teeth. "If I ever lay eyes on you or your idiot cousin again," Kane hissed. "I'll flay you alive, then throw your corpses on a dung heap. Hear me?"

  I nodded.

  He straightened up. "Now get out of my way." He flicked the reins.

  I managed to roll to one side as he and his brute thundered off.

  I stood and wiped my hands on my trousers until my knees stopped knocking. Damn near thing, that was.

  "You o'right?" Mayor Tom called.

  No, I thought, but waved weakly and went on my way.

  Smoke was threading from Ma Cooney's chimney, the yard wreathed in the heavy warmth of fresh baked bread and bacon grease. The shutters were open at the kitchen window and I heard crockery clattering, a spoon scraping a pan. Out back, linen flapped on a drying line.

  I breathed it in and a yearning heaved in my chest, coiling around my heart like a sad, half-remembered song. It hurt in a good way and I stood with my hand on the gate, scared but perfectly still, lest I scare the feeling off.

  It surged through me like a wind, then I went and knocked on the door.

  ***

  Ma Cooney bustled me in before going out back to wash up. Teagan was in the kitchen, hair down, fresh-faced and pretty as a peach in her rumpled night dress. I fumbled over how to begin as she brewed up a kettle of Barry’s. She read my nerves, but let it be. Which was fine, seeing as I didn't make it to the bottom of my first cup before it tumbled out in a rush: the locket, Fade’s that night, the horror on his face, that little smile, my dream, now the mess with Paddy...

  It stopped fast as it begun, and I sat there worried she'd think me babbling mad. Seeing murdered girls and spooks can earn you a long stay in a small room at St. Cormac's monastery, sipping gruel under the eye of concerned clergy.

  Teagan studied my face without saying a word. It went on so long I squirmed on my stool.

  "You believe me, don’cha?" I asked sheepishly.

  She blew a stray lock of hair out for her face and nodded slowly. "Trouble finds the pair of you like fleas find dogs. Almost natural, you stumbling into weirdness."

  "Really?"

  I couldn't decide whether I was grateful or surprised, she took it so casual. I wasn't keen on her matching me with trouble though.

  "Not an every-day sort of tal
e, though?" I said defensively.

  Teagan thunked a plate of black pudding, toast, eggs and bacon in front of me. "Declan darlin’, this isn't the most peculiar thing that's ever floated past me."

  I waited but she didn't expound. "You need to talk with my Ma," was all she said.

  I mumbled grace and took up my fork. "'Bout what?" I asked, just as Ma Cooney came through the back door.

  Teagan aimed a wooden spoon. "She'll tell you herself."

  "Tell 'im what?" Ma Cooney rasped.

  "What you said last night. About Meechum Fade."

  Her ma's face went flat and hard as an iron skillet.

  "Go on," Teagan insisted. "Declan was the one to find him. Tell him what you told me last night."

  Ma Cooney shook her head. "The past is best left there. No good comes of digging it up."

  "It's truth, not slander, Ma. Besides, I already told him about the white lady's headstone."

  "Don't make it his business," she snorted back. "Besides, it's not proper to speak ill of the dead."

  "Ma, he needs to hear the clincher. It's pertinent."

  "Impertinent is what you are," she snapped.

  I sopped egg with a hank of toast. "What clincher?"

  Ma Cooney and Teagan locked eyes like goats butting heads. I got half ready to duck under the table.

  "That Meechum Fade," Teagan began.

  The silence built up. "Was a murderer," Ma Cooney finished.

  "Soldier does his share of killing," I philosophied carefully. "Can't all of it be just."

  The morning sun was streaming through the leaded glass, drenching the table and floor in pools of warm gold. Ma Cooney stared out into the yard. "I'm speaking 'bout that day in the woods, you numpty."

  I leaned forward. "Fade was one of the soldiers?"

  "He was the soldier," she said.

  I was still thick from lack of sleep. "The soldier?"

  "The one slit the girl's throat," she said gruffly.

  I recalled Teagan's story: maid and a lady having a row, a gesture, then a soldier—a big man stepping up behind the lass, quick and quiet. "That was Fade?" I choked out.

  Brown, gnarled hands started worrying the tea towel in her apron. "It was almost twenty years on when he came back to Carn on the Crown's pension," Ma Cooney explained. "He'd grayed quite a bit. Had a beard and a belly, but it was him, sure as sure. The one I seen that day."