Magic and Myth

by Michael Scott

  But others would just look her straight in the eye and shake their heads, saying that they owed no one any money.

  By the time the first stars began to twinkle in the night sky, the last of the villagers had gone to their homes and the bag of money was empty. Nano Hayes and Seamus Ban stood by the door of her cottage and looked down at the lights of the village.

  “Well now, wasn’t that a good idea of mine?” the leprechaun asked, looking at the tied-up bundles of herbs and grasses.

  The old woman nodded. “It certainly was. They all got what they deserved!”

  And then he and Nano Hayes went back inside, laughing.

  Fairy-money is a strange thing. The next morning, those people who had lied and said that they owed nothing found that their fairy-money had turned to a lump of stone.

  The Shoemaker and the Devil Himself

  When a shoemaker who made a promise to a stranger who turned out to be none other than the Devil himself, there’s Hell to pay…

  Sean Lane had always been a strange boy. From the moment he was born, people said that there was something amiss with him. He was small, with a sharp, angular face and hard bright eyes. When he was a young boy, he would often stop and stare at something only he could see, and then he would turn to his brother or sister and say, “Did you see the leprechaun?” or “That was one of the fairy-folk.”

  Of course, no one believed him. They all thought he was just a strange little boy who told lies.

  But the truth was that Sean could actually see the fairy-folk—the Sidhe, the leprechauns, cluricauns and fir dearg. Once he even saw the terrible banshee singing her terrifying lament outside a house to warn the family of coming death.

  When he grew up, Sean had decided, he would be a shoemaker. His own grandfather was a cobbler and would be able to teach him how to make and mend shoes, and Sean—who was something of a lazy person—thought that cobbling would be an easy job. On summer days he would be able to sit outside his cottage, mending the shoes, and in winter he would be able to sit in front of a roaring fire. So Sean went and lived with his grandfather for three years, learning to become a shoemaker, and in the end, when he thought he knew enough, he said goodbye to the old man and returned to his own village.

  However, on his way home, Sean decided to take a shortcut across the marsh. It was a dark and dreary place even on the hottest and brightest day, and the young shoemaker soon regretted his decision. The ground bubbled and steamed, and swarms of flies and midges buzzed around his head. Once, he stumbled off the narrow path and sank ankle-deep into the thick, dirty water. He got such a fright that he decided to sit down and rest for a while before continuing across the marsh.

  But the day was a hot one, and Sean soon fell asleep with his head resting against an ancient tree stump. He awoke much later with a start, shivering with the evening chill. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and then he wondered what had awakened him. He lay still and listened.

  For a moment he didn’t hear anything unusual. But then, faint and almost lost in the buzzing and sucking and creaking noises of the marsh, he heard a thin metallic plinking. Sean sat up and listened carefully. The noise sounded very familiar. He turned his head slightly toward the sound—and then he suddenly recognized it. It was the sound of a shoemaker’s hammer hitting a nail.

  But what would a shoemaker be doing in the marsh?

  The noise was coming from ahead of him, and Sean decided to investigate. On his hands and knees, he crept down the path toward the sound. The ringing noises grew louder as he neared it, and then Sean smelled the bittersweet odor of tobacco. Sean carefully raised his head and parted the thick blades of grass.

  He was staring directly at a leprechaun. The small man was sitting on a little mound of earth beneath the shade of a weeping willow tree, and Sean could see the black three-cornered hat, the dark green coat, and the edges of his bright red stockings.

  The young man could feel his heart beginning to pound. He had seen leprechauns a few times before, but only from the distance. They were very hard to catch, but if you managed to get hold of one, they would have to lead you to their hidden pots of gold. But the leprechauns had a hundred tricks for cheating their way out of almost any situation, and there were many stories about the Little People escaping from the Big Folk, which was what they called humans. But this one would not get away, Sean vowed. He took a deep breath and began to slide forward on the damp ground.

  The leprechaun should have heard the young man approaching, but it was a very hot day and the leprechaun was tired. He tapped the shoe in his hand with his hammer and hummed a little tune, oblivious to Sean’s stealthy approach. So, he got a terrible fright when Sean grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted, “I’ve got you now, Mr. Leprechaun!”

  The leprechaun turned around and looked up at the Big Person. The Big Person, the leprechaun decided, really wasn’t such a big person after all; indeed, he was only a little bigger than the leprechaun himself.

  Sean looked down. Although the little person had the face and beard of an old man, his eyes were bright and lively. “I’ve got you now,” Sean repeated, still holding the leprechaun by the shoulders of his green coat.

  “Aye, you have indeed,” the leprechaun said quietly.

  “I won’t let you go. And I won’t let you cheat me.”

  The leprechaun shook his head. “No, I didn’t think you would. Now, tell me, what do you want from me?”

  Sean was a little surprised. Why wasn’t the leprechaun frightened or angry at being captured?

  “I suppose you want my crock of gold,” the leprechaun continued. “Well, I’m sorry to say I haven’t got one. I was captured last week by one of your people, and I had to give up my gold then. A leprechaun can only have one pot of gold in a lifetime.”

  “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Sean demanded.

  “Why would I lie to you? The Little People never lie,” he said. “They may not always tell the full truth, but they’ll never tell you a lie.”

  “Oh. So you’ve got no gold?” the young man asked. His face had fallen.

  “Not so much as a gold button,” the leprechaun said pleasantly.

  “Nothing?” Sean pressed. He was very disappointed; it was just his luck to get hold of a leprechaun that someone else had caught before.

  “Not so much as a silver sixpence.”

  “Well, what do you have, then?” Sean demanded. “I can’t just let you go now, can I?”

  The old man tilted his head to one side and considered. “No, I don’t suppose you can. It wouldn’t really be right if you just let me go. Why, what would the other Little Folk say if they knew that I was caught and then just let go. No,” he said again, “I’ll have to either escape or pay you.”

  “You won’t escape,” Sean said. “You see, I’ve got a little of the fairy-blood in me. I can see the Sidhe and the fairies—so you won’t be able to escape that way.”

  “Ah, well then,” the leprechaun said, “I’ll have to pay you for my freedom.”

  “But if you’ve got neither gold, silver, nor copper, how can you pay me?”

  “With this!” The leprechaun wriggled one hand free and pulled a small leather bag off his shoulder. “I’ll give you this!”

  Sean took the bag in his free hand. It was a small square leather bag with a strap to go around the shoulder. He opened it, but it was empty inside. When he had examined the bag carefully and still found nothing, he asked, “What’s so special about the bag?”

  The leprechaun smiled crookedly. “Well now, I’ll tell you. This might just look like a small black bag to you now—but this bag grows! You could put a table and four chairs in here and still have space for more.”

  The young man looked at the bag again, and then back to the leprechaun. “You’re sure?” he said doubtfully.

&nb
sp; “Sure I’m sure. And it’s a bag that will never wear out or tear,” he added.

  “That is intriguing,” Sean agreed, “if what you’re telling me is the truth.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it,” the leprechaun said.

  Sean nodded, an idea forming in his mind. “I suppose I will…” And then he suddenly shook open the bag and popped it over the leprechaun’s head. The bag was so small that it should only have covered his head, but it grew…and grew…until the small man was completely inside it!

  “Do you believe me now?” the leprechaun asked in a muffled voice.

  Sean stood back and looked at the bag with its wriggling contents. It would be very handy to have a bag like that, he thought. Sean knelt down, unsnapped the little catches, and shook the leprechaun out. “I believe you,” he said. “I will take the bag in exchange for your freedom.”

  The little man stood up, dusted off his clothes, and straightened his cap on his head. “Aye, it’s a good bag. You better be off now,” he said. “It’s getting late and you don’t want to be trapped on the marsh at night.”

  Sean looked up into the sky, which was already darkening in the east. The first of the night stars were beginning to peep through. He shivered as a cold breeze whistled through the lonely trees. “No,” he agreed, “certainly not. What we really need is someone with a lantern to lead us across these marshes at night.”

  The leprechaun looked at him strangely for a moment. “Aye, that we do.” He nodded, gave a short little bow, turned—and was gone!

  Sean stood for a moment, wondering if he had been dreaming it all—but the small black bag was still in his hand as proof. He slung it over his shoulder, pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders, and set off as quickly as possible for home.

  * * *

  —

  Years passed. Some were good for Sean, and he sold and mended a lot of shoes and made enough money to live well—but others were very bad, and he was forced to borrow food and money from his friends. Ironically, Sean remained poor for the simple reason that he was such a good shoemaker. It took a long time for his shoes to wear out or need mending, so the people didn’t have to go to him as often as they would otherwise.

  And, though Sean had continued to keep his eyes peeled for any strange or magical creatures after his encounter with the leprechaun, he saw none, and his life in those passing years had been dull in comparison.

  There was one particularly mild winter. The weather was warm and dry, and there was little frost or snow, so no one needed their boots or shoes mended. For three whole months, Sean had no work. He began to borrow money—just a little at first, but soon more and more. In a very short time he owed a lot of money. And soon those people he had borrowed from began to get impatient. Spring was approaching and they needed money to buy crops and seed. But Sean had no money.

  One bright, cold February morning, Sean was sitting on the step outside his little cottage mending his own shoes when he saw a stranger approaching. The stranger was a tall, thin dark man, dressed in a black overcoat, black trousers, shiny black shoes, and a black hat. He was smoking a thin black cigar, and the smell of the tobacco was sharp and bitter on the fresh morning air. The stranger stopped at the gate.

  “I’m looking for Sean Lane,” he said pleasantly. The man spoke Irish with a strange foreign accent. As he leaned across the gatepost, Sean noticed that he wore black gloves with a thick gold ring on his little finger.

  “I am Sean Lane,” the cobbler said, nodding courteously. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  The stranger smiled and pushed open the gate. “Ah, it’s not what you can do for me but what I can do for you,” he said. He had a thin sort of smile that curled his lips but didn’t brighten his eyes.

  “I’m not sure I understand you,” Sean said.

  The stranger stood before the shoemaker with his hands held behind his back. Sean had to lean back to look up at him. “It has come to my notice that you are…” He paused, and smiled again. “Well, it seems you are a little short of money at present.”

  “Ach, no,” Sean said quickly, beginning to get nervous now. “I owe a few pounds here and there, that’s all. Business is picking up, and I’ll soon be able to pay it all back.” He stood up. “You know my name, sir, but I’m not sure that you told me yours.”

  “I didn’t,” the stranger said. “But some people call me Himself.”

  “Himself?”

  “Yes.” The tall man smiled again. “Have you never heard people say, ‘It’s himself that’s coming now,’ or ‘It was himself did this’?”

  Sean nodded doubtfully. It was a common phrase used by the country people, but he had never thought that they were talking about a real person.

  “Now,” Himself said, “I’ve come to make a little bargain with you.”

  “What sort of bargain?” Sean asked quickly. His unease grew.

  “A small sort of one.”

  “What are you offering me?”

  “I’m offering you money—a lot of money—and the promise of a lot of business, as much as you can handle. When I’m finished, you’ll be the best-known shoemaker in all Ireland.”

  Sean’s heart rose at the thought but he kept his face expressionless. “And what’s it going to cost me?” the shoemaker asked doubtfully.

  “Only a promise.”

  “What’s the promise?”

  Himself leaned forward until his face was only a few inches away from Sean’s. His eyes looked very red. “The promise is that you will come with me in seven years’ time. You won’t ask any questions either,” he added.

  “Where will I go?”

  The stranger raised one long thin finger. “No questions.”

  Sean leaned back against the whitewashed wall of his cottage and considered it. It was a tempting offer; a lot of money and as much business as he could handle. But the terms of the deal frightened him. And he had a sneaking suspicion that he might know who this man was, after all…

  Sean looked up at Himself. “Can I think about this offer of yours?” he asked.

  The tall man shook his head. “This is an offer I make to very few people, and I only make it once. I’m afraid you must make up your mind now. I’ve a train to catch to Dublin shortly.”

  Sean came to a decision. His heart beat rapidly with fear, but he straightened his shoulders determinedly. “Right, then. I’ll do it.”

  Himself smiled, his lips curling. “Excellent.” He reached inside his coat and took out a dark leather wallet. It was bulging with money. He pulled out a wad of notes and handed it to the shoemaker. “Here you are. And I’ll make sure you never want for business,” he added. The stranger then turned up the collar of his coat and settled his hat on his head. “I’ll be off now—but I’ll see you in seven years’ time.” His voice sounded like a warning. He nodded once and, before Sean could say anything else, he turned on his heel, leaving the shoemaker alone with a handful of money.

  * * *

  —

  As the stranger had promised, Sean’s business exploded, and he soon became the most famous shoemaker in all of Ireland. He quickly moved from his little cottage to a huge mansion, and soon took on several apprentices. He even began courting a girl from a nearby town and was just beginning to think about asking her father’s permission to marry her. Sean’s abrupt turn in fortune felt better than any pot of gold he could have ever claimed. But then he realized that the seven years were up.

  It was once again a bitterly cold February morning when the stranger returned. Sean had just hopped out of bed and was splashing cold water on his face when he heard the front doorbell ring. He stopped. It was only half past seven. Who could be calling so early in the morning? Surely not…His heart pounded in his chest. He crept to his bedroom door, put his ear against it, and listened.

  Down
stairs, one of the maids hurried to the door. The shoemaker was the only man in the town who could afford to keep servants. The young girl opened the door and then jumped in fright at the figure who stood on the doorstep.

  The tall, thin man bowed slightly. “Is this the Lane household?” he asked, first in Irish and then in English. He had a strange accent.

  “It is, sir,” she answered quietly.

  “And is Mr. Lane at home?” the man asked with a smile.

  “He is, sir,” the maid answered. She stepped back and allowed the stranger to come into the hall. “What name shall I give him?”

  The tall man smiled again. “Oh, just say it’s Himself.”

  Sean hurried around the room, getting dressed. Seven years had certainly passed very quickly, although he had to admit that everything the stranger had promised had come true. Which meant that his suspicions had been true. The stranger could only be…the Devil Himself!

  The shoemaker smiled then. He picked up his magical leprechaun’s bag and opened the door.

  Himself was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. In the seven years since Sean had seen him, the stranger hadn’t changed in the slightest. He even wore the same clothes he had worn then.

  “Your time is up,” he said with a smile. “Come with me.”

  Sean took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve been expecting you. My bag is packed, and I’ve got everything here that I’ll need.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need anything where you’re going,” Himself said with a grin.

  “Where I go, my bag goes with me,” Sean insisted.

  “What’s in the bag, then?” the stranger asked.

  “Oh, I couldn’t tell you. A lot of things.”

  “You couldn’t fit a lot of things into that bag,” Himself said in a mocking voice.