by Paddy Kelly
A muffled voice replied, followed by the soft thumping of feet on carpet.
"No hurleys required. Sit. Debbie, pull the curtains. Turn that lamp on."
When the room was sunless and lit by one dim lamp, we sat. I set a beige footstool between us and unzipped the bag. A deep breath, and the show was on.
"Emerge," I said, with added drama. "I command you to show yourself."
The fairy, well briefed, stuck her head out. The strangled yelp from the prioress sounded like a heart attack. But she remained upright, gripping the armrests, as Ishbéal climbed up onto the foot stool. I took the bag. The fairy, moving on all fours, made a couple of circles, showing off the tail we'd made from tape and bootlace and attached fifteen minutes earlier.
"Sweet Lord Jesus," Sister Fidelma said, with a white-knuckled grip on her chair. "What is it?"
"A demon, sister." A gasp, a hand to the mouth. "But a fairly harmless one. We have control over it, so don't worry. Although they can be a bit unstable—"
"Take it out," she said, pointing a shaking hand at the door. "I want it gone, I—"
"First tell us where Sister Agnes is. And that Burke guy. He worked here, didn't he? They're doing it, you see. Bringing demons from a terrible place. We're trying to stop them."
"But," she spluttered, her gaze jerking from the fairy to me. "Agnes, yes, she was difficult, but humble, a woman of the church, she … no, I don't believe you. Why would I?"
"Because I've met Agnes. And she was" — I swallowed, feeling steel jaws pressing on skin — "terrifying. But she got away, so we have to find her and Burke. Stop them."
Sister Fidelma nodded, staring at the fairy crouched on the foot stool who was darting glances around with glistening eyes, her fake tail hanging down.
"May the Lord preserve us. But what do you want me to say? I don't—"
"Tell me about Agnes, and where she is now. Or how we can find her."
"Agnes, she was, she was always … intense. I told her, it wasn't good for her, for her heart, that she should … Oh dear sweet Jesus, toes, it had tiny toes."
A pounding came on the door. "Sister Fidelma, are you alright, should we—"
"Stay out!" she bellowed. "Stay until I call you. Do not come in, do you hear me?"
I let the echoes of her shout fade before I said, "Sister, you were saying—"
"Agnes got worse." I could barely hear her words, as if she was trying to eat them before they got out. "We tried to not notice. People get old, don't they. Then she got that house. That's when it all … spun out of control."
"What house?"
"Her sister, Bríd, lived in their parent's old house. A spinster. And the boy, too. Bríd's child, from … some impropriety. She died, and the house fell to Agnes. That man, Burke, he was the handyman, and Agnes insisted he be given work at the convent. For a while he was. She paid half his wages herself. A rude man. Bad-smelling. They were always going to that house, staying for days. It didn't feel right. And as things went on, she became worse, talking about evil, that she needed to fight. And a holy well. There was none listed there, but—"
"A well?" I said, sitting up.
"Agnes said it purified evil." A hand went to her mouth. "That thing … it's from there, isn't it, the place she was talking about? And you've brought it here. Oh sweet Lord." The hand moved from her mouth to her eyes. The other one quivered as it gripped the crucifix.
"Sister Fidelma!" A strained voice rang out in the corridor, followed by frantic knocking on the door. "Are you alright?" They knocked again, two fists or more. "Sister?"
"Mary!" She spun towards the door. "The key, get the other key, you'll have to—"
"Wait!" She turned as I lunged at her, hands out, with the intention to only shut her up, but she screamed and I jerked to a halt a few steps away.
"Sorry." I raised my open hands. "I didn't mean to … shit."
Footsteps and yelling from the hallway. Debbie reached for the bag, getting the fairy into it. Sister Fidelma was trying to stand, armrests creaking as she pressed into them.
"Sister," I said. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to scare you, but we need to know about Sister Agnes. It's important. We need to find her and stop her or she'll—"
The door let out an almighty boom. Dust trailed down. I leaped aside, knocking over the footstool as I grabbed Debbie's arm and we both stared at the door.
"Again!" came an angry yell from outside. The door boomed once more, then cracked. With the third blow, it burst in, to reveal a youngish nun who was wielding a long-handled sledge. Behind her stood two older nuns with red-puffed faces, holding hurleys.
"You leave her!" the young one snarled, the sledge trembling in her grip.
I raised a hand. "Sorry, I think there's been a mistake—"
"Out!" Sister Fidelma barked from the corner. "Send them out!"
The sledge-holding nun, muscles visible on her half-revealed arm, led the advance into the library. I grabbed Debbie's arm and made a sideways shuffle through the reluctant hole they'd made for us. We tumbled into the hallway, and sprinted for the front door. Debbie opened it, but instead of stepping out, I turned, and two steps behind, having followed me from the library, was hammer-nun, with Sister Fidelma edging along behind in her safe shadow.
"Please," I said. "Just tell us where the house is. We'll stop Agnes, but you have to—"
"You leave us alone," hammer-nun growled, "or I swear to God, I'll—"
Sister Fidelma put a hand on her arm. "Sister Jennifer. Perhaps we should—"
"Sloy Road," announced one of the hurley-holders, who'd appeared behind them. "Dundin, outside Dundalk. The house at the end, with two big trees in front."
"No phone number?" I said. "Or an address in Dublin where we might—"
"Out," Sister Fidelma barked. The nuns advanced. "Get out and take your nastiness with you, and I hope you all burn as you deserve. Go!"
We backed out, into the bite of cold air, down the two steps, then turned and ran. I felt the burning glares of the four nuns as we shot across the small yard of the house and out the gate, stopping to look back only when we'd moved a safe distance up the alley.
A final glimpse of Sister Fidelma in the doorway before the door slammed shut.
"Shit," I panted to Debbie. "I thought they were going to brain us."
She nodded, taking big breaths. "Just remember the address. The end of Sloy road, Dundin, Dundalk. The house with two big trees. That must be where Tommy is."
A quick dash across some streets took us to Gernaud in the car. I deposited Ishbéal's bag in the darkness of the boot, then hauled the back door open and fell inside.
"We were nearly nun-food back there, Gernaud. Get moving, before they change their minds."
Gernaud pulled into the street, and edged into the dense traffic at the end. "So we learned something?" he said. "You did not scare them to their deaths for nothing?"
I leaned forward to fill him in.
"This is good," he said. "An address, a holy well. Maybe they are there."
I pulled out the second-hand phone I'd bought, bringing up the map app. "It's near Dundalk. And that's … an hour and a half away at least. Assuming we can find it."
"So?" Gernaud said. "It's just to go. Maybe what we seek is there. And also Tommy."
He was right. But there was another thing. The focus urge had shown me not only the nun's name, but also a map on the lid of the tool crate, before Burke had opened it. And on that map there was a red line. It occurred to me, as we drove, that it might be the Poddle.
But why did Burke and the nun have a map of a hidden river in their van? A river that passed the site of the Dubh Linn lake? There was some connection.
"I need to find Max Grey," I announced. "There's something I have to work out. You two go to Dundalk. Take the shotgun and use your wits. I'll stay here."
"You want to split us up?" I caught Gernaud's accusing gaze in the rear-view mirror. "That is stupid and dangerous. And it was you who said nobody sh
ould be alone—"
"I won't, I'll be with Max Grey. And what if Tommy tries to contact us, or his cousin does, and there's nobody in Dublin to help them? We need someone here. There might be nothing in Dundalk, we don't know. But if you do find something there, call me, right?"
"And what if we don't find anything in either of those places?" Debbie said.
"Then … fuck, I don't know. We'll wing it. But hopefully it won't come to that."
"You will keep the small one?" Gernaud said. "She does prefer you…"
"Yeah, she'll stay." Carting that bag around wasn't ideal, but it was only needed during daylight. When it was dark, I could always fit her into a pocket of my coat.
I looked out, through glass that made the world look smudged. Separating wasn't just about having one person in Dublin, if they were needed. It was also about time.
I was feeling heavier, like someone was turning the gravity up. In a handful of days, the fuath would have sucked all the juice out of me. And, if Ishbéal was right, at that point I'd lie down, and wait for the slowing breaths to stop and the birds to come pick me clean.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I met Max Grey an hour later in Grogan's Pub. She sat by herself, with a mostly empty pint of Guinness and a book in front of her, wearing a long skirt, striped t-shirt and blue jacket. The blue clashed glaringly with her red hair, but maybe that was the point.
She nodded when she saw me, then drained her pint, grabbed the book and followed me out. Not far past the doorway, I handed her the fifty I'd promised on the phone, to make up for cancelling whatever she'd had to cancel.
"I hope I can give you your money's worth," she said.
"Just show me the Poddle. Start at the end and work backwards."
We strode up the slippery cobbles of Eustace Street, heading north through Temple Bar. It wasn't much past five but already dark. The tourists were out, clogging the narrow streets, perusing window-menus. We excuse-me'd our way steadily past them.
"So you won't say why you're interested in the Poddle? Because if you want to get in, let me tell you now, it's an awful idea. Near impossible, but also liable to—"
"I'm looking for some people. They may have kidnapped someone I know."
"Kidnapped?" Max stopped to gape at me. "So you're, what, an actual detective?"
"Yes," I lied, figuring it was easier. "I can't say any more. So don't ask."
We walked on, and soon reached the Millennium Bridge, built to allow pedestrians, strolling pigeons and wind-blown rubbish to more easily cross the river. Halfway across, within spitting distance of the north side, Max stopped to point back over the slippery water.
"There," she said, indicating a spot on the Temple Bar side. "That's where the Poddle flows out." Moving to the bridge's edge, I saw a grating in the wall above the water. A few branches poked out, and a slow but steady flow of water emerged, pouring into the Liffey.
"Okay," I said. "A bit underwhelming. So now what?"
"Now we walk, while I decide if I can believe all that detective stuff."
We crossed back into Temple Bar and followed some winding alleys before we slipped through the traffic snarl of Dame Street and approached the Dubh Linn park.
"It's under us now," Max said. "Flowing along in the dark. Did you know they have to send a team down whenever there's a major politician in town, in case someone's left a bomb? They also have cameras on the entrances. Well … most of them."
Max, in full tourist guide mode, talked on. But I heard less than half of it, focused as I was on just walking. Sometimes the Poddle gave us the slip under a building, oblivious to the layout of the city above it. We followed as best we could, through the roar of cars and busses, as I searched for things to show me I hadn't wasted an evening.
We passed the lit-up edifice of St. Patrick's Cathedral, and it struck me that we'd now gone past the fold in the map I'd seen in the van. But there was plenty of Poddle left. I followed Max, and my steps grew ponderous, and soon I was unable to keep my gaze from dragging on the footpath like a reluctant dog. My shoulder ached from Ishbéal's bag, and the desire was swelling to sit down, and lie back, and let the world rise over the tip of my nose.
"One second," I said. "I need … to sit." I lowered myself onto a doorstep.
"You okay?" Max said. "Are we going too fast?"
"No, it's … health issues." I couldn't go any further, but I had to. If only I … oh. Oh! The urges in my bag. I had three left, and two of them, apparently, were vitality.
I opened the side pocket of the bag, hoping Ishbéal wouldn't get the wrong idea and say something. But she kept silent as I opened the baggie and pulled out an urge.
"What's that?" Max said. "Some herbal thing?"
I popped the wax from the vial. "Yeah." I swallowed it, grimacing at the unexpected saltiness. "I don't believe in them, really. Guess I just do it for the alcohol."
For a minute, I sat, watching the traffic. A double decker bus passed, full of tired people staring down, either looking at phones or just hoping to melt into the floor.
Then the air thinned and pulled softly aside, like silk curtains. My head was still heavy, but my hands floated up as if they were balloons. When I stood, with a light hop, it felt like I'd no weight at all. The urge was working. I just hoped it lasted longer than the focus had.
"So you're ready to go now?" Max said, sounding dubious.
I looked from car to car, finding it hard to make out the faces before my gaze jerked to the next one, then to a lamppost, then to the sky, then to a dog. I nodded.
"I'm good. All good. Ready to go. Let's do it. Lead on."
We walked, one street fading into another, and we crossed traffic, edging between parked cars, until we came to New Row South, a narrow road lined with red-bricked terraced houses. We crossed a side street, as I floated along to the bounce in my step. Ahead lay a large grey building, maybe an old industrial place now stuffed with ad agencies and men with too-big beards, and we passed it and I looked left and—
I stopped, floating on my feet, breathing in sharp little breaths
A narrow road ran alongside the building, leading to a parking area around the back. And halfway up that road, parked under the glow of a blooming streetlight, sat a white van with a number plate that ended in two sevens.
I stared, triumph flipping to itchy fear and then back.
"What is it?" Max said, having walked back to me. "What are we looking at?"
I backed away, pulling her with me across the road and up a short driveway to a blue metal gate. I stood by the gate's control panel and placed Max between me and the building across, so I could peer around her, at the van and the windows but mostly at the van.
"Explain, please," Max said, "why are we standing here looking stupid."
"That van," I hissed. "I think it's the people we want. No, don't look! Jesus."
I was tumbling through scenarios like a clothes drier. Were Burke and Sunglasses and the nun in there? What were they doing in an office building? And was Tommy with them?
"So what now?" she said. "You being the detective and all."
I wasn't sure. My fingers were twitching, dying to get to work, but I didn't know what I had for them to do. The building had black-barred windows on the bottom floor, and a few lights were on in windows higher up, but I couldn't see people, or any movement.
"We need to find out who owns that van," I said. "And I'm not sure how—"
"The van's owner?" Max said. "Easy. Wait there."
I didn't have a chance to stop her before she strode back across the road. I flattened myself against the wall by the gate's control panel, with a sliver of a view, and watched.
"Spooky!" she yelled, a few steps from the van. "Spooky? Are you here? I've chicken!"
She leaned over beside the van and looked under it. "Spooky? Where are you?"
Not finding what I assumed was an imaginary cat, Max slipped around the van. I saw it shudder as if pushed. "Spooky?" she yelled again. Another shud
der, and then a startling explosion of noise that walloped off the walls and into the evening sky. The alarm wailed, lights flashed, and Max Grey jumped back looking flustered and terrified.
A blonde woman soon appeared and spoke to Max. The van blared on. Then, a minute later, another person strode into view — broad-shouldered and widely moustached.
My finger gave a stab of pain. Bruno Burke, in the fucking flesh.
He went straight for Max and started yelling. She stood, braving his spray of spittle. He wore wellingtons and dirty clothes and I had to grab the bars of the gate to hold myself, as one part of me screamed to sprint across and make a bloody mess of everything.
The blonde woman left, but Burke didn't. He pulled out keys, and pressed something to disable the alarm. He did a circle of the van, checking it. Then, apparently satisfied, and with a final angry bark at Max, he strode behind the building and out of sight.
Max wandered back onto the footpath, threw me a discrete nod, and headed right. I followed her, head down. She turned left, into a doorway. I got there a few seconds later.
"Was that your guy?" she said. I nodded. "He smelled … earthy. Soil and rocks, that's what I got from him. But no smell of paint, even though it was all over his clothes."
"He was digging? For what? I have to call the others. Give me a second."
I called them. Debbie answered, and in an over-energetic blurt of words I told her what we'd found — Burke, working away inside some building on the path of the Poddle.
"Can you get back soon?" I said. "How's it going? Where are you?"
"We're at the house shortly. It was slow, there was an accident outside Dublin. But hang on, now you're saying we should just turn back, without even checking the house?"
I tapped the phone with a finger, trying to decide. Burke, right here, maybe even Tommy. But I hadn't seen the others, and they might be in that house in Dundalk. Maybe that square well was there too.
"Shit. I don't know … no, I do. Keep going. Search the house, and call me right away if you find Tommy. Then get down here fast as you fucking can. Okay? Bye."
I pocketed the phone, my gaze dancing from thing to thing. I sat. Max sat down beside me, facing the narrow street. "You want to tell me what's going on here?"