The Lasts and the Hall of Mirrors

by Tabitha Scott

  “I wonder who organised the headstone? There was hardly anyone at the funeral, all Ma’s relatives are dead, and Da never mentioned any of his.”

  Clara looked up. “It has Ogham on it, with the marks of the Morrígan,” she noted. “Maybe the Morrígan organised it.”

  “You might be right. We’ll ask Túathal later. Here, help me put this beside the marker, Ma and Da would like that if we do it together. It’ll add a bit of colour to the place.” Precipice held up the pot and, dolefully, Clara put a hand on it so that the two girls could lay the lilies down beside their parent’s marker.

  “There, that looks much better, though really, the place could do with a bit of weeding.”

  Behind the girls, a swoosh like a gust of wind broke the silence, on a day when there was no wind. The girls started around looking toward an old hazel tree, from which, amongst the branches, a peculiar set of eyes stared back at them.

  “Túathal!” Clara screamed.

  Chapter 18: The Hazel

  “What troubles you, young Last?”

  Clara was leaning forward, glaring into the leaves of the hazel tree. “There, in there,” she pointed. “There’s someone in there watching us, can you see them, Túathal?”

  “It doesn’t look human,” Precipice noted. “It’s like it has bark and twigs growing out from it.”

  “It’s a tree spirit,” Túathal explained. “Have you not seen a tree spirit before?”

  Both the girls looked to Túathal and shook their heads.

  The old warrior sighed. “Perhaps they are less commonly seen nowadays, they are extremely shy, you need not fear her, they are not dangerous, unlike some water sprites.”

  “The notebook said that there were other magical creatures in the city,” Precipice remembered. “I guess she’s one of them.” She nodded toward the strange creature that watched them from the hazel branches.

  “The hazel is a sacred tree,” Túathal added. “Its branches can be used as…”

  “As what, Túathal?” Clara prompted.

  “Wait, young Last. The spirit has appeared for a purpose, we should be patient to see what it is.”

  Precipice turned to her sister. “While we’re waiting, how about we put one of the splintered mirrors here, then we can come here whenever we want.”

  Clara nodded her head, and took out one of the pieces she was carrying in a small backpack, placing it beside the pot of lilies they had put on their parents grave.

  Watching the small girl do this, the tree spirit seemed moved, and it began to come toward the trio who watched it.

  “Does it speak?” Precipice asked Túathal.

  “I speak,” the raspy voice of the hazel tree answered. As the spirit came to the edge of her tree a half human, half bark hand held two small branches out to the girls. “The Last woman asked me to provide these to her daughters. You are they?”

  The two girls looked at each other, taken aback by the question. “Ye, yes,” Clara answered hesitantly.

  “Take these then, they are yours.”

  The girls looked to Túathal, who nodded toward the sprite, indicating that it was safe to do as it asked.

  Precipice stepped toward the tree, taking hold of the branches tendered to her, but the sprite did not release her grip as Precipice pulled slightly on the pieces of wood.

  “You must protect the trees.” The eyes of the hazel spirit looked deeply into Precipice’.

  “Okay, we like trees, we can do that, can’t we Clara?”

  “We can do that. I like trees,” Clara confirmed.

  Seemingly satisfied with their answers, the creature’s hand of bark and flesh released the two branches to Precipice. Then the spirit dissolved into the branches and leaves of the hazel wood tree.

  After watching the spirit disappear, Precipice looked down at the two branches in her hand. They were worn and gnarled, with knots, but each had a handle-like end to them.

  “What do we do with these?” Precipice asked Túathal .

  “As I was saying, before I thought better of scaring away the tree spirit, hazel wood branches can be used as witches’ wands. I believe the tree spirit has given you two wands crafted from her own branches. It is a most honourable way to obtain such powerful implements of your trade. They will be stronger because they were freely given.”

  Precipice looked at the two pieces of wood, and handed one to Clara.

  “I want the other one,” her sister said. “It looks prettier.”

  Rolling her eyes, Precipice handed over the hazel branch she had kept and took the other in trade. Clara waved hers around in the air.

  “I have a wand.” The little girl was clearly taken with the idea.

  On the other hand, Precipice was less impressed. “What do we do with these?”

  “Cast spells!” Clara answered enthusiastically.

  “Oh yeah, know any spells to cast?”

  “Abracadabra!” Clara pointed the wand down to the ground, and a spark ignited from its tip, setting a clump of grass on fire.

  Laughing, Túathal stepped forward and stomped out the small fire that Clara had inadvertently started.

  “Way to go Clara, just set the whole cemetery on fire,” Precipice angrily chastised her sister.

  “Sorry,” Clara repented, her face had gone very red.

  Túathal put a hand on Clara’s shoulder. “Your sister is right, young Last, a hazel wand is not a toy, it is nothing to play with. Perhaps the Phantom Queen will teach you its use. She may well know the value of such a thing.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Precipice huffed. “But the Morrígan hasn’t been much of a teacher so far. We’ve only seen her in the distance once or twice. Apparently, she was meant to be looking after us for the last two years. Well, where was she? We didn’t see her. We were living on the street. Where was she?”

  Precipice stormed off, Clara at her heels. They had a job to do in the cemetery. It was time it was done.

  Chapter 19: The Meeting

  On the Sunday the girls went early to the graveyard and hid themselves behind some shrubs and headstones within sight of the yew tree where Old Straw was to be buried. They entertained themselves by playing a silent set of noughts and crosses in the soil while they waited for Sister Margaret to appear.

  After a while, almost dead on the allotted time, Sister Margaret and two other figures appeared along the distant walkway, heading toward the yew tree. They were two men, one was clearly a religious, while the other… was not. However, the second man was a familiar figure that the two girls had met before.

  “Should we go out to meet them?” Clara whispered to her sister.

  “We’ll wait a second or two, just in case,” Precipice answered. “We don’t want to pop out if there are Gardaí about. Remember, this isn’t exactly legal.”

  The girls watched as the three figures stood in the shade of the tree waiting for the girls to appear, but the cemetery was a lonely place, and there didn’t appear to be anyone else in sight.

  “Alright, let’s go, remember the plan in case anything goes wrong.”

  As they approached the small group, the girls watched as Sister Margaret pointed the girls out with a kindly smile.

  “Oh, I’m glad you’ve come, girls. This is Father Xavier a Monsignor, and this is…”

  “I’m Assistant Professor Riley, of Trinity College.” The second man offered his hand. “We’ve already met.”

  Precipice extended her hand to lightly shake the Professor’s. “Aye, we’ve met, though I’m sorry we didn’t catch your name at the time.” But something wasn’t right about that handshake, something didn’t feel right about this man.

  The girls had sold the Assistant Professor a few coins some weeks back at the College. It had changed their lives, and for the better. However, the whole exchange had happened so quickly that the girls hadn’t even known the name of the academic they’d dealt with. Now, here he was again.

  “Well, you know it now. The coins we tr
aded for before have caused a bit of a stir at the college, by the way, and even farther afield.”

  “You girls should know that Monsignor Xavier is of the Jesuits,” Sister Margaret interrupted. “He has significant interest in the coins you showed me, and has brought Dr. Riley with him.”

  The sisters bowed their heads to the Monsignor.

  “I am happy to meet you at last,” the Monsignor said in heavily accented English. “The Roman coin you found reminded me of home.”

  “Are you Italian then?” Clara asked.

  An embarrassed silence fell on the others, but the Monsignor was unperturbed.

  “Yes, young girl, I am from the Vatican, but I have a degree in history. I studied the Romans soon after the time of our Christ, the coins you’ve found are very interesting to me, and to Mother Church. They show an early link between an empire that would become Christian, and the people of Eire.”

  “Interesting enough to pay for a funeral?” Precipice had her arms folded, she felt a little uneasy about all of this, but she could still be mercenary enough to bring the three adults to task.

  “Yes, young lady,” the Monsignor answered. “Your friend will be well cared for, but we think we can do a bit more for you and your sister.”

  “As I told you before, girls, the holding of ancient Irish artefacts has to be reported to the government in a small window of time,” Dr. Riley explained. “However, we understand that this is a special situation, I have to ask though, how many coins do you have? It sounds like there’s a fair few. In archaeology we would consider what you’ve found a horde. Did you find any other goods with those coins?”

  Precipice eyed the college academic suspiciously, she didn’t trust him, she didn’t know why not, she just had this feeling. “We might have done.”

  “Can I ask what else there might be?”

  Precipice’ hand moved as a blur to the inside of her coat, she pulled a dagger and deftly threw it into the soil at Dr. Riley’s feet. It was one of the Celtic daggers they had found with the other weaponry at the souterrain.

  “There’s that,” she answered.

  After he had overcome his initial surprise, Dr. Riley picked up the dagger and put his glasses on to examine it. “This is Celtic,” he noted. “Very old, from the same era as the coins perhaps, though I’m not an expert in weaponry.” He looked up to Precipice. “This is very impressive.” The dagger had a bronze anamorphic hilt, like the ones that Clara favoured, and a semi-precious gemstone mounted in the end of the hilt.

  “It would be a separate deal, it’s not on the table now.” Precipice held out her hand waiting for the dagger to be returned to her.

  Somewhat reluctantly, the Trinity College academic handed back the knife, and when he did, Precipice felt the same feeling again, a sense of something not quite right.

  “I don’t understand how it can be in such good condition,” he commented as Precipice put the piece back in an inner pocket of her jacket.

  “They was stored in oil,” Clara explained.

  “They?” the Monsignor asked.

  “Whoops,” Clara admonished herself.

  “Old Straw’s burial,” Precipice jumped in. “We’ve got eight Roman coin on the table to cover her expenses. Take it or leave it.” She held out her hand with the coins to show the three adults.

  Sister Margaret looked to the Monsignor, who nodded his consent for the Sister to speak on their behalf.

  “Old Straw will be looked after. The Church would have done so anyway, but these coins will make sure she has a bit of earth of her own, and a headstone, just as we agreed. They are alright, aren’t they, Dr. Riley?”

  “They are as I’d supposed, those will more than cover the costs you mentioned, Sister.”

  “The price is accepted then?” Precipice asked.

  “Yes,” the Monsignor answered, “but there is more.” The old religious gestured back toward the Sister.

  “Girls, the Church is in a unique position to help you. It has some treasures in Ireland, but nobody knows what they are, so…”

  “So you’re telling me that the Church can act as a fence for our goods.” Precipice had raised an eyebrow and had crossed her arms again.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have worded it quite that way, let’s say that they can legitimise the onward sale,” the Sister explained.

  “The monies the Church gains would only be known about by the three of us,” the Monsignor continued. “I have some ability to apply funds to the local poor. We will not be telling the Bishops or anyone else about this, otherwise… it would go elsewhere.”

  “So you want to help everyone on the streets, all the rough sleepers?” Clara asked.

  Precipice was watching the Trinity College academic as the Monsignor spoke, was that a stifled snarl he just gave?

  “The Monsignor was banished from Rome because he wanted to help the poor more than he wanted to help the Church coffers,” Sister Margaret offered.

  “Really?” Precipice eyed the old priest.

  “Truly,” Sister Margaret replied. “But there’s more, the Church can help you girls, with education and the like, a trust would be set up to help you when you grow older too.”

  “And what would you be wanting in return? Just more of the coin, and maybe a dagger thrown in for good measure?” Precipice asked.

  “Dr. Riley has a buyer ready, a patron of the College, but the Patron wants the archeology, the story behind the artefacts, he wants more than a handful of coin, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, well, we’ll think on that then, and get back to ye. We’ll settle for burying Old Straw for the moment.”

  “Oh, I brought some flyers you can give to some friends to spread the word of Old Straw’s funeral if you want.”

  Clara took the flyers offered them. “Thanks, Sister,” the young girl replied.

  “Yes, thanks, Sister, we’re going to take all of this under consideration,” Precipice agreed. “For now, here are the coin,” Precipice put the coins on the top of a headstone that stood between the girls and the three adults. “When exactly will the funeral start?”

  “We’re going to start the service at Mary Immaculate at 10:00 am this Friday. That’s a church of the Oblate Fathers’ only a couple of blocks from here.”

  “That sounds well organised then. We’ll be there.”

  “What about the offer of my client?” Dr. Riley pressed. “He’ll want an answer soon.”

  The man stepped forward toward the girls, but Precipice was wary of the fellow, there was just something not quite right, something overly eager in his demeanor. She squeezed her sister’s hand and with that the two girls disappeared from view, leaving three startled adults who would never notice the small piece of mirror positioned on the other side of the head stone. In fact, a number of pieces of mirror had been strategically placed throughout the cemetery in case the Gardaí were about, or in case the girls had to make an early escape.

  Chapter 20: The Service

  “What will we do about what the Monsignor and Sister Margaret said?” Clara whispered to Precipice as they sat at the back pew of the church waiting for the service to begin. She nodded in the direction of the Monsignor, who sat in one of the front pews with the Sister.

  “Still thinking about it,” Precipice whispered back.

  “Do you think the Monsignor is dodgy?”

  Precipice smiled. “He’s dodgy alright, what we have to work out is whether he’s the right sort of dodgy. I don’t have a bad feeling about him though, just that other guy, that Dr. Riley. I thought he was alright when we first met him, but at the graveyard, something wasn’t right, something had changed. I don’t know that we can trust him.”

  Around the church were as many as a hundred people from the streets who had all known Straw Hat. Amongst the crowd, Precipice could see Joseph the beggar with his mother and two of his older brothers. Fianna the tattoo artist was visiting back from Cork just to see the old girl off, her boss, Donnally, was sitting beside her. O
n the other side of Fianna was Hartley Brokenose, the Northside bikie enforcer. Behind Hartley were probably a score of the Northside bike gang. Rather interestingly, on the other side of the aisle were maybe a half dozen of the Southside Bankers. Of course, this was their turf, not Northside’s, and there were shades of both black and gray within Southside, some of them were near decent people and a few had actually been friendly to Old Straw. Besides, there was no war between either gang, some of them even drank together, and a funeral was neutral ground, it was unlikely anyone would start any trouble.

  “Look Precipice, there’s Molly and Sein from the pub, they make the best fish and chips.”

  “Sein is a prince, he’s been good to us, always has been,” Precipice whispered back.

  “All rise,” an acolyte called out.

  “May the peace of the Lord be with you.”

  As everyone stood, Father Nowak, the Oblate priest, lead a small procession down the aisle, sprinkling holy water on the attendees as he went. The full requiem mass had begun.

  As a few drops of the holy water made their way to Precipice, she wondered – as a witch – that she felt no discomfort. Perhaps it was only evil witches that holy water affected, and their Da had said their hearts would lead them to whatever which way they would. She remembered that their Ma had taken them to mass almost every Sunday while she was alive, and hadn’t melted or erupted into flame. Precipice and her sister hadn’t been to church since their parents had died. The older sister reflected that perhaps she had been remiss in not continuing her mother’s religious rites, and she was curious as to how her Ma had managed to merge the two worlds, which seemed very separate to Precipice.

  As the mass went on, Precipice was able to take communion, leaving her younger sister behind in the pew. She felt guilty that she had neglected both her sister’s religious and school education, though there hadn’t been a choice at the time, now however, maybe there was.

  After the communion, people were called up to talk about Old Straw, to the girl’s surprise Hartley Brokenose spoke first.