The House of Mountfathom

by Nigel McDowell

  ‘You’d happy die for this mound of earth?’ says Killian.

  ‘I would,’ says Malone.

  ‘Then you’re a fool.’

  LUKE

  Lord Mountfathom whispers to his son, ‘We need to stop this. Need to show them we can help.’

  ‘How?’ asks Luke.

  ‘They distrust us because we know Magic,’ says his father. ‘So show them that Spells can be Worked for good. Show them, son. I am too weak.’

  And Lord Mountfathom offers his Needle to Luke.

  ‘No,’ says Luke. ‘I can’t use this yet. I’m not ready to.’

  ‘You must be ready now,’ says his father. ‘You are a member of the Driochta. We have no more time for doubt. I have faith in you, son.’

  And so Luke closes his fingers around the Needle.

  First thing he feels is how light it is, and how frail. But how potent – tarnished and careworn, a thing imbued with such history, and power. Luke whirls the Needle in the air and instantly a broken slab of stone rises … Brings gasps from the Boreen Men. Most surprising thing for Luke: it is easier than he thought. He knows on instinct how to move and manipulate the Needle and within moments is Conducting not just one stone but many, stacking them and reforming the wall in a circle around the Rath as the Boreen Men point their blunt weapons at the air, as though the stones might turn on them and attack …

  Only Malone is untroubled: simply watches.

  And within a minute, the five-foot wall around the Rath is rebuilt.

  Luke lowers his arm. Feels nauseous – muscles in his arm strained and aching as though he has been holding one of the stones and only now settles it on the ground.

  Lord Mountfathom says, ‘Well done, Luke.’

  Lady Vane-Tempest says, ‘I am very impressed, young man!’

  Luke returns the Needle to his father with, ‘I think that is enough for the moment.’

  ‘Well, now,’ says Malone, slow-clapping his small, earthen hands. ‘Maybe the young Lord of Mountfathom isn’t the weakling I thought.’

  ‘Look!’ shouts Lady-Vane Tempest.

  A pair of swans crosses the sky – one white and one black. And descend in a slow circle and when they are feet from the ground Mogrify into Mr and Mrs Halter; as soon as they can speak they say together, ‘Gards from the Castle are on their way. They shall be here in less than an hour. Major Fortflay has given them strict orders: destroy this Rath, and capture all members of the Driochta.’

  KILLIAN

  Inside the Rath, stooped in a low chamber dominated by corkscrew roots. Lord Mountfathom lies on a blanket, being ministered to by one of the Boreen Men and Mr Halter.

  Killian paces as much as the space permits him to pace, asking his questions. ‘How did you know what plants to put on the gunshot wound? How do you know it’ll help?’

  ‘Because I have studied such things,’ says Mr Halter. He slowly wraps a linen bandage around the thigh of Lord Mountfathom. ‘Though I would say such a wound would be better tended in Mountfathom, and not beneath a Faerie Rath. Tell me, why did you not return to the House directly?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ says Killian.

  ‘Oh?’ says Mr Halter. He stands. ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Things aren’t safe enough at Mountfathom – that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Things are never safe at Mountfathom.’ And Mr Halter chuckles to himself. ‘Always some mishap or other around the corner at that House!’

  ‘This is different,’ says Killian. ‘This is –’

  Lord Mountfathom shifts, groans. And Killian remembers the promise he made not to divulge what (or whom) he saw in the mirror. So he settles for saying, ‘Tell me what plants you used – I like to know things, might be useful some day.’

  LUKE

  ‘There is something Father is not telling me.’

  Luke and Lady Vane-Tempest and Mrs Halter outside the Rath, close to the resurrected wall. The two women say nothing.

  ‘I know he is trying to protect me,’ says Luke. ‘I wish he would not.’

  ‘One thing I know for certain,’ says Mrs Halter, ‘is that your father always knows best.’

  ‘Believe in his judgement,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest. ‘For if we cannot trust your father in all this, then I do not know who we can trust.’

  Around them hurry Boreen Men, organising themselves for the impending attack – attempting to fashion new weapons from sticks of wood and twine and sharpened rock. Luke hears Malone shout, ‘If we die then we’ll die defending our honour and ourselves! We’ll not be walked over! We’ll not be slaughtered without taking a good few of them with us!’

  ‘Not the most hopeful rallying cry I have heard,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest.

  ‘Why are men so hell-bent on an honourable death?’ asks Mrs Halter.

  ‘Something to put on a grand gravestone?’ ventures Vane-Tempest. ‘Here Lies One Who Put Stupidity And Chivalry Before Sense.’

  The two women laugh and get a filthy look from a nearby knot of Boreen Men.

  ‘Keeping things from one’s children,’ Mrs Halter says to Luke, ‘is the prerogative of any parent.’

  ‘Even when I am the one who will have to one day look after Mountfathom?’

  ‘Your father has a great many burdens,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest. ‘When the time is right, he will tell you what he feels you need to hear.’

  ‘What if we have no time left?’ asks Luke. ‘My mother – what if she …’

  Says no more; is unable to voice that worst fear.

  ‘Your mother can take better care of herself than anyone I have ever known,’ says Mrs Halter. ‘She will return to Mountfathom, I promise you that. The question may become – will anyone be there to meet her?’

  ‘Are you three going to just sit there?’ shouts Malone, loping past on his wolfhound. ‘Cos we could do with a bit more of that Magic, if you have any going spare?’

  ‘I thought you were not a particular advocate of Magic!’ called Lady Vane-Tempest.

  Malone gives her a sour look.

  Now a call from the top of the wall –

  ‘I see them! A hundred or more Gards on the approach!’

  Luke and Lady Vane-Tempest and Mrs Halter stand.

  Luke says, ‘We shall return to Mountfathom, but not before we show Major Fortflay that the Magic of the Driochta is not yet dead.’

  LUKE & KILLIAN

  Standing together on the rounded summit of the Rath they see: Gards surrounding, splitting into smaller battalions and stationing themselves at intervals around the wall, all armed with rifles and pistols, as well prepared for besieging a city as anything else. And dragging with them three gun carriages on dark iron wheels.

  ‘Bit over the top,’ says Killian. ‘Have they seen the size of these Boreen fellas?’

  ‘No Magic though,’ says Luke. ‘No sign of the Politomancer.’

  ‘Oh good,’ says Killian. ‘So just a couple of hundred guns and God-knows how many bullets to deal with – easy!’

  ‘Yes,’ says Luke. He is watching Mr and Mrs Halter and Lady Vane-Tempest – they stand by the entrance to the Rath, Lord Mountfathom still inside. Lady Vane-Tempest gives Luke a nod. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘should be easy enough.’

  And he raises his hands and beings to Work a Spell of Elements.

  The Halters and Lady Vane-Tempest do the same.

  And above begins the storm: grey coil of cloud swirling tight and tighter, darkening at its heart, throwing all into shadow. Killian swears loudly at the first explosion of thunder.

  Luke is pleased to see the Gards cower.

  ‘Are we gonna be able to beat them by using a bit of bad weather?’ asks Killian.

  Luke doesn’t answer, is too focused on the Storm-Breaching; feels the force of it between his hands as though holding something unaccountably heavy.

  Cry from one of the Gards: ‘Fire!’

  Cry from Lady Vane-Tempest: ‘Now!’

  Luke falls to his knees and slams both hands into da
rk earth.

  A series of blue lightning-strokes snap out of the sky and strike the ground around the wall and the Gards are thrown backwards.

  A moment and Lady Vane-Tempest and the Halters whirl their Needles in the air and a squeal of notes brings a squall; a gale spiked with sleet and rain whips around the high wall of the Rath and snatches the Gards from their feet, plucks rifles from hands and topples two of the gun carriages.

  Another explosion of thunder.

  Malone rides his wolfhound up the slope of the Rath and shouts to Luke, ‘When can me and my men go out and fight?’

  ‘You don’t need to!’ Luke calls back. ‘You do not need to sacrifice yourself!’

  ‘I’ll not stay safe in here and not face these Gards!’

  ‘We can Work any number of Spells that will –’

  Killian interrupts, ‘The gun!’

  Luke sees: remaining gun carriage has been loaded by the Gards, is being aimed as Luke raises his hand to Summon another lightning-strike but –

  The blast from the gun blows a hole in the wall –

  Limestone showers the area around the Rath –

  Shock roots the Boreen Men to the spot –

  Gards rally themselves and rush forward and pour through the opening in the wall –

  The Halters and Lady Vane-Tempest Work more Spells, use their Needles to Conduct the earth into rising figures ten feet tall that throw themselves on the Gards to battle hand to hand.

  Malone tells Luke, ‘You have done your best, boy of Mountfathom. But now you need to take your father and get out of here – you might be the best hope for this country. Go while you still have legs to carry you!’

  And with a roar Malone digs his wolfhound with his heels and races down the Rath to join his fellows and face the army of Gards.

  ‘He’s right,’ says Killian. ‘We need to go. Is there any way else out of this mound?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Luke, ‘I know a way.’

  Down the slope of the Rath, both boys together. They join the Halters and Lady Vane-Tempest who are stirring the earth into shapes not just human but animal now, bear and lion and Griffin and wild boar, and setting them on the Gards.

  ‘We cannot win this,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest.

  ‘What you need is a door,’ says Mrs Halter. ‘A way back to Mountfathom – it is the safest place now, and you must defend it.’

  ‘Take Lord Mountfathom,’ says Mr Halter. ‘We shall stay and hold the Gards off as long as we can. Go!’

  Luke wants to disagree, Killian too; neither wants to abandon the Halters and Boreen Men and save themselves …

  ‘Do not look so saddened,’ says Mrs Halter, stirring her Needle in the air and sending a volley of stone at a line of approaching Gards. ‘We are made of stern enough stuff, Luke.’

  ‘Indeed,’ says Mr Halter, doing the same as his wife with an almost casual ease. ‘Do not give up on us just yet!’

  And Luke and Killian and Lady Vane-Tempest turn and run into the Rath – down a damp, dark tunnel, with the sounds of the battle receding but feeling every blast beneath their feet and in the shiver of the walls.

  One Boreen Man is in the central chamber and he tells them, ‘Mister Mountfathom is too weak. The gunshot wound is severe.’

  ‘Thank you for both that diagnosis and your help,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest, ‘but we need to take our leave.’ And she and Killian lift Lord Mountfathom from the ground. Luke sees his father clinging to consciousness and wonders aloud for the first time. ‘Is he going to make it?’

  The Boreen Man cries, ‘Behind you!’

  A Gard has followed them, enters the chamber with rifle raised.

  Luke Works a Spell and the roots of the tree snap out to take hold of the Gard around the neck but a gunshot is still managed and strikes the wall beside them.

  ‘Run now!’ shouts the Boreen Man who has attended to Lord Mountfathom, and he snatches his own small weapon, only a sharpened stick of oak, and drives it into the leg of the Gard.

  ‘This way,’ says Luke. He leads Killian and Lady Vane-Tempest and his father into the same tunnel he walked two years before. And still the shocks of the battle; sections of the ceiling fall in response as they move faster, meeting the slope that takes them to the Quicken Tree where Luke whirls his hand (muttering a small apology to the memory of the Faerie Folk) to blast the trunk to splinters.

  Out they climb and straight away a shout from someone close –

  ‘There they are, like the Major said! Shoot them!’

  He and Killian and Lord Mountfathom are pushed to the ground as Lady Vane-Tempest whirls her Needle in the air and the notes it sounds are sharp enough to explode bullets before they reach further than the barrels of the rifle.

  Another call from one of the Gards. ‘Bring down those birds!’

  Luke and Killian raise their heads: a rush of wings, white and black, two swans transforming into the Halters who join Lady Vane-Tempest and command the roots of surrounding trees to erupt from the ground and lash and swipe at the Gards.

  ‘On your feet, Luke,’ says Mr Halter. ‘You need to –’

  Stops – Mr Halter is struck by a single gunshot.

  And for a moment stands.

  ‘Joseph!’ cries his wife.

  And the Needle slips from the hand of Mr Halter. He falls.

  Disbelief on the face of his wife, and then bitter resolve; she Works such Spells to explode the guns of every Gard.

  Killian takes hold of Luke and says, ‘Where is this bloody door you came through last time? We can’t just lie here and wait to be killed!’

  ‘Keep moving!’ shouts Jane Halter. ‘I can hold them here!’

  ‘Follow me,’ says Luke.

  They stumble on through the trees, Lady Vane-Tempest and Lord Mountfathom following. And leaving Mrs Halter behind.

  Gards still in pursuit –

  When they reach the edge of the forest Luke sees on the hillside the cottage he and his mother entered through on their previous trip.

  ‘Quickly,’ he tells them.

  They climb the slope with gunfire following.

  Lady Vane-Tempest spares whatever moment she can to destroy the bullets but only feet from the door of the cottage she suddenly stops – turns to face the Gards following them from the forest.

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouts Killian.

  ‘Only my duty,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest. ‘I shall stay and hold them back!’

  ‘Why is everyone determined to be a martyr?’ Killian asks Luke.

  But Luke has already slotted the crimson key into the lock, has heard the note to tell him to open the door of the cottage and faces the Gloaming.

  ‘Go!’ shouts Lady Vane-Tempest. ‘I shall see you again! I shall walk again in the grand gardens of Mountfathom and there is no Gard in all of Ireland who will stop me!’

  But before they flee, both boys catch sight of someone on the fringe of the forest: standing unconcerned, watching all as though overseeing, is the man with faded hair. Their gaze meets his. And both Luke and Killian long to rush at the man and demand the truth of things but –

  ‘Now let us go home.’

  Lord Mountfathom commands them – pushes both boys through and slams the door shut on any answers.

  To Uncover or Reveal is a problematic business.

  Who likes to be perceived (or to perceive) so clearly?

  It is a matter of good manners perhaps, but also a matter for fear –

  We do not often deal well with what we see.

  The Philosophy of Magic

  Lady Edith Mountfathom

  LUKE

  Luke: ‘Tell me – how much damage?’

  Findlater: ‘Ivy has invaded most of the rooms, sir.’

  Mr Hooker: ‘And is decomposing. Trees in both the Upstairs and Downstairs Orchards withering.’

  Findlater: ‘Smell everywhere is extraordinary.’

  Killian: ‘I think we noticed that.’

  Luke says nothing.


  Rain is impatient against the window.

  By Lord Mountfathom’s bedside: Luke, holding his father’s hand tight, and Killian and two members of the Driochta – Lawrence Devine and Jack Gorebooth. Mr Findlater and Mr Hooker and Mrs Little also, giving their reports. And Luke tries to listen: to Mr Hooker’s opinion of the bullet wound in the leg of Lord Mountfathom, about the loss of so much blood; to Findlater’s account of how the House is beginning to crumble; to Clodagh’s assurances that she will keep things going and not let a single maid or Errander boy rest whilst there’s work to be done!

  ‘And my mother?’ asks Luke, venturing the question he so feared to ask.

  ‘No word yet from Dublin,’ says Mr Gorebooth. ‘We know that the Ash-Dragons have moved on, but that is all.’

  ‘Any word from anyone else?’ asks Luke.

  ‘No messages are making it through the Gloaming,’ says Lawrence Devine. ‘I’ll keep trying though, don’t worry about that.’

  A bright fire burns in the grate – firewood snaps like stiff knuckles.

  ‘I’ll be heading back to the kitchens now so,’ says Clodagh.

  ‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I should get back to work too,’ says Mr Hooker. ‘I’ll see straight away to getting some timber supports for the east wing, sir. Shouldn’t be too difficult to bolster.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ says Killian. ‘The place is falling apart! A bit of timber isn’t going to help anything!’

  ‘Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, lad,’ says Mr Hooker. ‘And maybe you should come and help me; let a father and son have some time together.’

  ‘I’m staying here,’ says Killian, and folds his arms.

  Luke feels he should give some command. ‘Mr Findlater, please instruct the maids to light all the fireplaces in the House.’

  ‘We have very little turf left,’ says Findlater.

  ‘Coal, then,’ says Luke. ‘I want every fire in the House going. I feel it’ll help.’

  Findlater waits a moment, then says, ‘I am sorry, sir, but I think that what your father and your mother would want now is for you to –’

  ‘Please don’t tell me what they would want,’ says Luke. ‘I need to make these decisions.’