“That’s a tall order. Frankly, my dear, I’m not sure even I can do it, but hope springs eternal. So I’ll give it a go. We’ll have to set everything else aside, but since you have the Director’s backing, that’s not a problem.”
“You’ll keep me posted?”
“Yes, Ms. Storm. I will keep you posted.”
“Sheriff Storm.”
“What?”
“That’s my title. Sheriff. You know, like ‘there’s a new sheriff in town’.”
“Are you sure whimsical is the way to go? You want to be taken seriously, don’t you?”
Rosie had never thought in terms of being taken seriously or not. She’d always just assumed she would be. “Are you not taking me seriously?”
“I was right up until you said you wanted to be called Sheriff.”
She huffed. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
Monq tilted his head back so that he was looking at Rosie down his nose. “Yes. Commander.”
Rosie ducked her chin. The word hit all the right bells, whistles, buzzers, and buttons. She played it over in her head a few times, liking the sound of it more every time she heard it internally.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “You might be right.”
“What a surprise,” Monq said sarcastically. “Now skedaddle. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m Commander Storm.” He rose and opened his study door. “Thanks for lunch. And wine. Especially the wine. If you have questions, just call.”
CHAPTER Seven MAKING THE CUT
Rosie arrived at her office with an enthusiasm she hadn’t felt before. Having Grieve and Monq working on getting D.I.T. off the ground had changed her attitude from anxious to enthusiastic.
“Grieve. Good morning.”
“Good mornin’, madam.”
“Commander. My title is going to be Commander.”
“Aye.”
“But you know what? You can call me madam.”
“Thank you, madam. Would you like your usual for breakfast?”
“Yes. Do it quick because I can’t wait to hear what we’re doing today.”
After Grieve placed the order with the kitchen, he said, “You have news?”
“Only that Monq is working on it. He didn’t say ‘no can do’ to anything proposed. So I’m taking that to mean nothing we talked about is beyond impossible.”
“Seems a reasonable assumption.”
“Yes. I told him he has forty days. I gave us three weeks for hiring and a month for training, but said we need to be training with his mad scientist creations during the last ten days of the month. Does that seem reasonable?”
“Which part?”
“Any. All.”
“Three weeks to recruit your hunters, givin’ them time to wrap up whatever they’re currently doin’, is optimistic.” He glanced at the eighteen-inch stack of file folders on his desk. “But I’ll help you go through the files.”
“Speaking of that. Why are we doing old school? As in not computer?”
“My understandin’ is that the dossiers contain information too private to risk to hackers. If personal information is housed only here at headquarters, in the vault section of the library, we can be reasonably assured ‘twill stay private.”
Rosie eyed the stack of folders. “Doesn’t look very private sitting on top of your desk.”
“’Tis transferred to the vault every evenin’ by one of the librarians.”
“Oh.”
“Back to the subject of preparin’ D.I.T. for inception, assumin’ we can meet your arbitrary deadline for hirin’, let’s consider the next phase.”
“Training.”
“Aye. Trainin’.”
“Have you come up with some options for locale?”
“I’ve begun lookin’ into it. May I have your permission to discuss expense with Director Tvelgar if you’re no’ available?”
“Have at it, Grieve. You seem dubious about me finding my hunters and getting them here in three weeks. If I’ve underestimated, that means I need to step up my game and concentrate on getting that done. Which also means that you…” Right on cue, the noise of an electric saw from next door was a reminder that Grieve was getting help. “Did you find the people you need?”
“Aye. Very fine folk and eager to work for you, madam.”
Rosie shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Grieve. They’re working for you.” He waved his hand in dismissal as if that was an irrelevant technicality. “When will your annex be finished?”
“Today.” He looked at his watch. “Which reminds me. We need to take the files and move somewhere else so the construction crew can finish. ‘Twould be hard to work while the workmen are comin’ through the wall. And ‘tis my job to protect you from the fumes of dryin’ paint.”
Rosie smiled. “So you’re a sensitive sort, are you?”
Grieve ignored that. “I will take the folders to a quiet corner in one of the second floor conference rooms and begin screenin’ the prospects if you like.”
“You’re doing that without me? What am I supposed to be doing?”
“You have a meetin’ with the elf prince in half an hour at Black on Tarry.”
“Uncle Ram? Really?”
“Just so. He will meet you at the gate to the New Forest. He says to tell you that the villagers will consider it good manners to walk in after havin’ the gate opened and bein’ invited.”
“Understood.”
“By the time you return, I should have begun a stack of those deservin’ your closer consideration.”
“That sounds perfect, Grieve. And you’ll have help really soon? Somebody to hunt down a place for training?”
“I’ve been told they will use some sort of ionization machine to clear the air of odors tonight. Tomorrow in the early hours, maintenance will bring the furnishings I ordered and place them accordin’ to my direction. By the time you arrive, the new people will be movin’ in and gettin’ settled.”
“You’re a miracle, Grieve.”
“Thank you, madam. I will give one of them the job of findin’ a situation accordin’ to your specifications and ‘twill be their priority.”
“Very good. Once we have the people, I don’t want to be delayed by not having a place to put us for training. I know three weeks is not a lot of time to find a place and outfit it.” She snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. You hire people for cleaning, cooking, laundry and the like for training camp. I’ll hire the martial arts instructor. But I’d like you to also get me a list of possible teachers of diplomacy.”
“Aye, madam. It shall be done.”
Rosie grinned. “Awesome. Let it be written, too.”
“If you wish.”
“No, Grieve, it’s, um, a joke?”
“Oh. Well, then, very amusin’, madam.” Rosie rolled her eyes. “Your breakfast is bein’ delivered to Conference Room Four. Shall we?”
“Yes. I can’t do interviews without tea.”
Rosie stood at the massive wooden gate to the New Forest. Even with all that Rosie had seen in her travels to myriad other worlds, the scene was like something out of a dream. Or a big budget movie.
It was an unseasonably cool day. Either that or the preserve was far enough away from heat-generating machines so that the temperature was not artificially affected. Even on the outside of the gate, it was quiet and serene. Tall trees. Clean air. She felt her muscles begin to relax in response to the tranquility.
There was a single car parked off to the side. Ram. Only her uncle Ram would drive a black Ferrari over miles of bumpy dirt road.
An almost ear-splitting creak and slide of the bolt locking the gate to outsiders alerted Rosie that she was privileged to experience something few outsiders would ever see.
The gate swung open slowly to reveal Ram standing on the other side, arms crossed over his chest, with a grin so big and beautiful it would freeze most women in their tracks and make them forget who they
were.
He met her half way, wrapped her up in a bearhug, and spun her around as she giggled.
“Stop!” She slapped at him. “I’m not five.”
“Ye are to me,” he said. Rosie couldn’t stop smiling. Of all the uncles in the universe, she couldn’t imagine another who would be as good at it. “Let me show you around a bit then we’ll have a pint and a talk at the mayor’s house.”
Rosie thought it might be a little early for a pint, but when in Rome… Or Black on Tarry.
The village was just what she’d been told to expect, the closest thing to time travel. It was preserved to recreate life in a preindustrial age. Life was harder physically, but easier in almost every other way. It also recognized that humanoids are not the only creation of nature worthy of consideration.
As Ram gave the tour, she could hear in his voice and see in his manner that he was as proud as if it was his home. In a sense she supposed it was.
“This is the mayor’s house.”
Ram rapped on the door, but didn’t wait for an answer before opening. He stepped inside first, leaving Rosie standing at the threshold.
Liam O’Torvall and his wife hurried into the front room to greet Rammel and welcome his guest.
“Your niece?” Liam said, raising his eyebrows. “’Tis Aelsblood’s daughter. Can no’ be Aelsong’s girl.”
“No.” Ram chuckled. “’Tis Storm’s girl.”
“Ah,” Liam said, brightening. “Sir Storm, the Magnificent.”
Rosie responded with an immediate blush at hearing her father called ‘magnificent’.
“Let’s tone down the hyperbole. The fucker is many things, but I would no’ call him magnificent.”
“Well,” Liam smiled at Rosie, “I’m entitled to my opinion on the matter. And do no’ call the girl’s father a fucker in front of her.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion. I’m entitled to mine.”
“My opinion is that you should no’ be usin’ such base language in front of the young lady.”
Ram looked at Rosie, who batted lashes over wide, innocent-looking eyes. He chuckled. “She’s probably more worldly than any of us, Liam.”
“Maybe so,” Liam said, “but so long as she behaves like a young lady, we’ll treat her that way in my house.”
“Alright. Alright. How about a taste of the good?” Ram wiggled his eyebrows at Liam.
“I suppose I could spare a couple of small tankards,” Liam said. “Sit yourselves down there.” He motioned to a small table by the hearth, where a tiny fire was burning to keep the low-ceilinged house cozy warm.
When Liam was gone, Ram said, “I have no idea if the girls I’ll have you meet are, em, candidates for this grand undertakin’ of yours. I also do no’ know if they’d have any interest in throwin’ in with Black Swan. What I do have is a strong suspicion that you’d be lucky to get ‘em.
“Twins they are. Sheridan and Shivaun O’Malley. They’re, oh, I’ll guess twenty-two or so.”
“Why do you think they’re right for D.I.T.?” Rosie asked.
Ram slouched back in his chair, which highlighted his flat stomach and tight abs, and smiled just as Liam was setting down pewter mugs of ale. “You’re welcome to join us, Liam. Rosie was just askin’ why I think the O’Malley girls would be right for her new Black Swan endeavor.”
“Well, I might sit a bit if ‘tis no’ an intrusion.”
“No’ at all,” Ram hastened to assure him.
“Moira is quiltin’ with some of the other old hens.”
“I heard that,” Moira called from the other room.
Liam smiled at Rosie and winked. “So ‘twill be just me.”
“’Tis fine with us. Like I said, I was just about to tell Rosie about the O’Malleys."
Liam nodded and took a sip of ale.
Rosie followed suit and hummed her approval. “This is good.” She took another sip. “Really, really, really good.”
Ram chuckled. “’Tis. But do no’ get carried away. ‘Tis meant for a cold rainy night with nothin’ planned.”
“Then why do I have so much?” She looked at her mug with suspicion.
“’Twas poured by Liam himself,” Ram said. “And he has considerably more tolerance than you.” Rammel used his hands to indicate Liam’s girth when he said ‘tolerance’.
Rosie tried to hide her smile, but it was clear Liam wasn’t offended.
The O’Malley twins were an oddity among the villagers of Black on Tarry. They’d been irrepressible elflings who’d roamed the New Forest like feral children, bright auburn hair tangling in a wild mess of curls, leaves, and wind that drove their mother mad. But the experience had taught them self-reliance, resourcefulness, and more than their share of confidence.
When it became clear that the only thing that would keep the girls from running wild in the preserve would be to put them in a cage, the hunters stepped in. They gave the girls bows and knives for protection against predators and taught them how to use them. Both had mastered archery by the time they were twelve.
Having lived all their lives in the New Forest, they had no notion of such things as superheroes, but they had somehow latched onto a fantasy that they would someday grow up to be famous fighters for justice. They’d be known throughout the elf world for fighting evil wherever it was to be found.
They had no idea what that meant, they just had a feeling that they were meant to help save the world in some way. So, as preteens, they made a pact with each other. They would dedicate themselves to their vocation, forsaking anything that might interfere. That included a pledge to refuse the mating call, when or if it came. Because they had work to do.
It was the kind of vow that couldn’t be broken. Because every Irish elf knew that nothing started fate on a campaign of ruin like twins breaking an oath to each other.
“Did you ask someone to fetch them so they’re home today?” Ram asked Liam.
“I did indeed. Spoke to their father. He sent one of their brothers out to tell them they’ve been summoned to a command appearance.”
“I hope you did no’ put it like that, you old devil.”
“O’ course, I did. If I’d said it was optional, they would have told their brother to piss off. ‘Twas necessary.” He gave Rammel his most sincere look. “The family is insistin’ on havin’ you and your guest for lunch. By your standards ‘tis humble,” Liam looked at Rosie when he said that, “but I could no’ refuse them the honor of sayin’ they entertained the prince in their home.”
“’Tis fine with us. Howe’er, we will, at some point, need to speak with the twins alone.” Ram leaned toward Rosie. “How much time have you allotted for recruitin’ today?”
She blinked twice. “Since this is a two-for-one deal, and since they’re coming with your recommendation, I’m going to say there’s nothing on my schedule more important than this.” Ram cocked his head as if he was really looking at her for the first time. “That brings me to another point I was hoping to discuss.”
“How long till lunch?” he asked Liam.
“We should start that way in a half hour.”
“You have a half hour,” Ram told Rosie.
“It will only take a minute. I need a martial arts instructor for my training camp to get my people ready.”
Ram smiled wide. “O’ course, darlin’. I’ll be happy to…”
“Oh, no, gods, Uncle Ram. I’m so sorry. I was hoping to get Elora…” She watched his face fall and covered the blunder quickly. “And you. I’ve got my heart set on having both of you.”
“Oh, well. That sounds fine. Do you have accommodations for us to bring the elflings and their nanny? Maybe a couple of the wolf dogs?”
“We haven’t settled on a location, but if you’re saying yes, I’ll tell my assistant we need a place like that. Maybe something with a cottage big enough to take your circus on the road. You will have to put a lid on your prejudices because we’ll be in northern Scotia. For sure.”
Ram chuffed. “No’ so much a big deal anymore. My sister is married to the heir. Unreal as that is.”
“I knew that. So being in…”
“Fairyland.”
“Now see. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“You know perfectly well the fae do not want Scotia referred to as ‘fairyland’.”
“Why no’? That’s what ‘tis.”
“Do not make me sorry.”
“I was just kiddin’.” He smiled innocently.
“I’ll bet.”
When she lifted her mug to her lips, Ram took it away from her and set it down on the table. “I’m sayin’ ‘tis enough. The brew is enchantin’ and sneaks up on you if you’re no’ used to it. Unless you want to make promises you can no’ keep, you should no’ have any more of Liam’s lovely ale.”
“Time to go?” she asked.
“Aye,” said Ram. “Before we do, let’s discuss the drawbacks of takin’ on the O’Malley twins.”
“Drawbacks?”
“Aye. First, they’ve never really been subjected to discipline.”
“I gathered that.”
Ram nodded. “And they’re ignorant about the world outside the preserve. It could be, what do you call it? Culture shock. But in this case, ‘tis no’ just culture. ‘Tis all of modernity. They’ve ne’er seen a car or a refrigerator. They do no’ know to look both ways before they step into the street. In the sense of technological advances, they’re children.”
Rosie stared at Ram for a few beats. “Hypothetical.” He nodded. “Let’s say I like them. And want them. How do we get over that hurdle? Quickly?”
“Hire somebody whose sole job is to give a crash course in contemporary life. Someone who will no’ let them out of sight until they’re sure ‘tis safe. For the girls and… those they may encounter.”
Rosie swallowed. “You’re sure they’re worth all that trouble?”
“Can no’ be sure. But ‘tis what I think.”
Finngarick (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 2) Page 7
