“My father is going to be very displeased with me,” Matthew announced suddenly. “I’m not going into finance after him. I’ve been in touch with Dr. Crutchley on the phone, and he’s agreed to take me on as a pupil if I transfer down to London University. I’ll be going out with his team when he’s on a dig.”
“Most commendable, young man,” Dr. Parker said. “You’re a hard worker. I’m sure you’re bound for great things. I wish I had a dozen like you myself. If you choose not to work with Dr. Crutchley, I’d be happy if you would join our little band. I’ll give you a written recommendation, and look forward to seeing you at our meetings and conventions in the future.”
“Your health,” Martin said, raising his glass to his friend. Matthew made a half-bow.
“Hear, hear,” called Miss Anderson, applauding him.
Martin grinned before touching his glass to his lips. “And believe me, you’ll need it when your dad finds out you’ve chucked it all for some dry bones and old pots.”
Everyone laughed, but they raised their glasses to Matthew.
“Dr. Alfheim,” Parker began, turning to the Master, “I am curious to have your impression of the find made by young Mr. Doyle. Perhaps I swept it away too quickly the other day, but I am really so delighted that such a piece has come to light. You’ll have to forgive an enthusiast.”
“I qvite understand,” the Master agreed. “I vould appreciate a chance to examine the artifact. Such jewels look like vorthless discards to the untrained eye. I am not surprised you recognized its quality.”
“My dear sir, how kind.” Parker was warming up to his favorite topic. Keith had noticed when they were loading on the coach to come to the restaurant that the Master was a couple of inches taller than Parker. They still looked like different species to Keith’s educated eye, but Parker helped hide the reality that the Master was much smaller than a normal man. The other lads didn’t seem to have looked twice at him.
“What’s he do for a living?” Alistair asked, nudging Keith and gesturing subtly at the Master.
“He’s a teacher,” Keith said, trying to decide which of the many subjects he’d studied in the underground classroom to mention, and decided to let the statement stand as it was.
Alistair eyed the small red-haired figure. Keith caught a glint of blue behind the Master’s gold-rimmed glasses as he looked their way. The little teacher had a clairaudient’s knack for knowing when he was being discussed. “Looks like a tough old bird, too.”
“The toughest. But you really learn from him. He’s the best.”
“That’s the important thing,” Alistair acknowledged. “Miss Anderson’s like that during Term time. I’d rather have one I curse every day of term than one I curse later on for not drumming the facts into my head.”
Keith winced at the word “curse,” but he nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
At the other end of the table, Matthew turned his glass in his hands, pensively watching the liquid slosh in the bottom. “You don’t think I’m wasting my time, do you lad, budging into archaeology instead of banking?”
Holl looked up and realized Matthew was talking to him. He was puzzled why Matthew addressed him so seriously, when he was supposed to be only a half-grown Big One, but he remembered he had been one of the ones to praise Matthew for his hard work on the site. He stopped to consider the question. “If you find merit in that course, pursue it. I think my own father would be proud that I was finding my own way in the world instead of following him blindly into a path on which I’d be unhappy.”
“Very profound, small boy,” Matthew said, blinking reddened eyes at him. “I raise your hat to you.”
Before Holl could grab his hand, Matthew lifted the Cubs hat off his head. The points of his ears promptly poked through the waves of damp blond hair. Holl said nothing, but he could feel his cheeks burning. Fortunately, it was fairly dark in the lounge, and no one else was paying attention. Matthew stared, and looked him carefully up and down.
“Well, wrap me in brown paper and ship me by Datapost,” he murmured, impressed into a hushed whisper. “My, what big ears you have, grandma.”
Worried inside whether Matthew was drunk enough to make an outburst, Holl smiled sweetly at him, and spoke in a quiet voice. “There are fairies at the bottom of the garden.”
“I never saw them, myself,” Matthew said, his eyes misted with drink. “No wonder Doyle is so keen. Where’d he find you, then? Under a toadstool?”
Holl groaned. “I will not leave a string of Patrick Morgans behind me!” he thought in exasperation. Keith’s college roommate had discovered what he was, too, but he was unlikely to talk. I can’t let it become a precedent, leaving people behind who have seen me and have a fair idea what it is they’re looking at. “Under a building, if you want to know the truth. I live in the sub-basement of his school library.” Surreptitiously, he inched a hand forward and wrapped it around Matthew’s pint glass. “Keith Doyle’s been helping us keep our noses hidden. It’s not so easy to get along with all you Big Folk chopping and changing everything.” He let a “forget” seep into the amber liquid in the glass, hoping that it wasn’t so strong it made the youth mislay his name, but not so weak he’d remember boys with pointed ears.
“Here, drink up, my friend,” he suggested. “The waters of Lethe are good for you. The next round will be on me.” Digging into his pocket for a few pounds, he signaled to the bartender. “A St. Clement’s here, and another pint of whatever it is he’s drinking.”
The man looked from Matthew to Holl to the money in Holl’s hand. “I shouldn’t do it,” he warned them. “I could lose my licensing privileges for selling to a minor.”
“Go on, he’s older than he looks, he’s a short eighteen,” Matthew said, playfully winking. He held up the half-empty glass, toasting the bartender and Holl. “Your very good health.” He drank the whole thing in a few well-practiced gulps and put down the empty glass. With a resigned air, the bartender took it and Holl’s money, leaving them with the fresh drinks. Holl held his breath as Matthew studied his ears closely and handed back his cap. He snapped his fingers. “I have it. Star-Trekker, right?”
“Right you are,” Holl agreed with a gusty sigh. “Pity there aren’t many Vulcans in the new television series.”
“Aye?” Matthew inquired, taking the fresh pint of ale and sipping through the foam. “I haven’t seen it yet, myself.”
“Forgive me,” Dr. Parker stopped himself in midstream and studied his new guest. “I’ve been er, hogging the floor, as they say. Please, Dr., er, Alfheim, tell me, where do you come from? You seem to be well up on the latest finds and techniques. I don’t remember hearing of you or meeting you at any of our conclaves. I, er, would remember anyone who comes close to meeting me at my level, if you will excuse the pun.”
“I am at an American university, Midvestern,” the Master said with perfect honesty. “Allow me, thought, to gif you my home address. I should be fery interested in continuing our confersation by mail, if you would like.”
Parker’s long face shone. “So should I. My, my, I am sure we’ve been boring our companions, talking shop at table.” Stafford and the others nearby shook their heads. “You are too kind. This object most likely came from a similar burial to the one we are excavating. I wish we had time for you to see our work.”
The Master seemed full of regret, too, handling the comb with careful fingers. “I am so sorry, since ve must leaf early tomorrow vith the others.”
“I wonder if there were more of these here once, before the waters rose,” Parker said, getting a dreamy look on his face. “Combs were rare, and considered to be valuable. They were made heirlooms among our Neolithic ancestors. Probably the last owner was not the original maker. He may have been given it or traded for it. Did you know some were considered to have magical qualities?”
“Yes, so I understand,” said the Master. Keith looked up at the teacher’s tone.
“Oh, really?” Holl sai
d curiously, reaching out. “May I see it?” He had a close look at the comb and nodded significantly at the red-haired student.
Keith nearly went wild waiting while Holl passed nondescript conversation with Parker, and handed back the comb. He tried to catch Holl’s eye, but the Little Person ignored him. Distractedly, Keith answered a question from Alastair, and got drawn into a conversation to which he gave only half of his attention.
“What’s going on?” he demanded in a whisper of Holl when the party broke up for the evening.
“Congratulations, you widdy,” Holl said calmly. “You’ve hit the jackpot. That comb does have a charmed aura about it. That’s why it’s still intact after so long.”
“One of the Little Folk made it?”
Overhearing them, the Master came up. “I vould estimate that that is correct.”
Keith was shocked for a moment, wondering if he’d been talking too loudly. “Boy, I forgot how far away you people can hear. Was that made by some of your folk in particular?”
The Master was noncommittal. “It is possible. The carvings are not unfamiliar.”
“But he’s going to put it in a museum,” Keith yelped, and clapped his hand over his mouth. He looked around hastily to see if anyone had heard him that time. No one was paying much attention to the antics of the odd Keith Doyle. “A magic comb, right out there in front of everyone.”
“Who vill know?” the Master asked mildly, turning up his hands.
“Well, I will,” said Keith, concerned.
“And who vould you tell?”
“No one, I guess,” Keith said after a moment’s thought. He grinned impishly. “Well, they say three can keep a secret … if two of them are Little Folk.”
O O O
“And I would like to thank all you ladies for producing my coat, which kept me warm through the middle of summer. I know my friends feel the same as I do, but are too shy to present their thanks in person. Ladies, I salute you.”
Keith’s audience set up stentorian bleating of what he hoped was appreciation. He bowed to the field of sheep and prepared to declaim further, when he was interrupted by a shrill whistle.
“That’s enough, you widdy!” Holl called from the window of the coach. “Come on, we’re all waiting for you.”
“That is all,” Keith said to the sheep. “Carry on; I know you’ll make me proud.”
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Sir, I’m speaking to you from Northern Ireland,” Michaels said, and then held the receiver away from his ear, wincing. “No, sir. I didn’t have a chance to call before. They just vanished from Stornoway, and I had to check every passenger list leaving the islands before I found them. They knew where they were going, I assume. This blighter is bouncing from place to place like a bloody Phileas Fogg. No, he left the bloody comb in the hands of the archaeologist. It’s a real item, a coup for the old man. You’ll be seeing writeups on it in the journals.
“Once I got here, it wasn’t hard to track them. O’Day isn’t going to a lot of trouble to be inconspicuous. No, sir. I’ve got a positive identification on his passport photo. Apparently, he bent down and kissed the ground upon arrival.” Michaels chuckled, echoing his employer’s amusement. “Yes, sir. There were several witnesses.”
Michaels looked up at the Departures board on the Terminal wall. “Oh, chief, must run now. The train for the south is about to pull out. It looks like he must have achieved his purpose in Scotland, doesn’t it? We thought it was a drop at first, but I’m assuming a pickup, or else why is he going into the Republic? For payment? Aye, I’ll look for the best opportunity, and apprehend him and the other three. There’ll probably be a scuff-up about extradition, but what’s new about that? Report back soon. Bye.”
“People do look a little different here than they do at home,” Diane said, surreptitiously people-watching from behind her magazine on the train. “Only, they look a lot like each other, too.”
“I noticed that,” Keith agreed, looking away from the window. He had been studying scenery, admiring the Irish countryside. He was out of film, and felt disappointed at missing photographing the first sunrise he’d seen in a month—not that he hadn’t been up early every day. They had bundled aboard the train from the ferry at about six o’clock. It was not quite seven. Most of their fellow passengers were lounging listlessly in their seats. “I guess your basic gene pool is limited to whatever conquerors zoomed through here over the centuries.”
“Yes, but you fit right in. I could lose you on a crowded street corner.”
“Many have tried, my sweet,” said Keith blithely, “but I’ve always found my way home again. Um,” he said, seeing the worried look resurface on Diane’s face. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.” He truly hadn’t intended to refer to his misadventure. He was still having nightmares about being blind in a knee-high tunnel with hideous laughter echoing around him.
“See how you like being walked on a leash after this,” Diane shot back, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Darn you, being lost and almost killed didn’t even dent your sense of humor.”
“Best armor plating in the world,” Keith quipped. He poked around in his jacket pocket and came up with a handkerchief, which he offered to her. She shook her head.
“I’m okay. Come on,” Diane said suddenly, blinking her eyes. “Let’s see some of this magic you’re supposed to be able to do.”
“Well, if you want,” Keith said. He looked around. “Ah.” There was a trash container behind their seat. From the top, he fished out a beer can and shook it. “Still a few drops left. Good.”
He spilled the beer on the table in front of them. “Hey!” Diane protested. “Yuck!”
“No, really, this is how it works,” Keith said. “You have to have something to work from. I do best with liquids so far.”
“Well, all right.” Diane was dubious. Keith winked at her, and then put his cupped hands over the small puddle of beer. With his eyes closed, he concentrated on the principles Enoch had taught him.
“Okay,” he said, dropping his hands back into his lap. There, on the table, in the place where the golden beer had been, was a coiled bracelet. It was made from a rich, deep gold, and it sparkled with rubies and emeralds. The clasp was only partially hooked.
“Ooh,” Diane breathed, reaching for it to try it on. As soon as her fingers touched the chain, the whole thing popped, and dissolved again into featureless beer. “Very funny!” She shook her dripping fingers.
“It’s only an illusion,” Keith said apologetically. “That’s all I know how to do so far.”
“But that’s wonderful.” Diane gestured at the pooling liquid, now starting to run toward the edge of the table. Keith fished out his handkerchief and mopped it up. “The clasp was a nice touch. I couldn’t resist it.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Keith replied, wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously. “We aim to be irresistible. Wait until I start working with solids.”
“I know where you’re going on this trip,” Diane murmured softly. “But where are they going?” She tilted her head toward Holl and the Elf Master, who were sitting in the seat across from theirs. The two Little Folk were looking out of opposite windows, not talking, and appearing not to be aware that Keith and Diane were discussing them.
“I’m not sure,” Keith replied. “Come on; let’s get some sandwiches or something. Everyone else is going by with bacon and eggs, and I’m getting ravenous.” They rose to their feet in the swaying aisle. Holl looked up at the movement. “I’m getting food. Want some?”
Listlessly, Holl lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “If you please.”
“Okay,” Keith said cheerfully. “Breakfast for everyone.”
On the way toward the buffet car, he explained what he knew of Holl’s quest to Diane. “Do you know exactly what’s going on here?”
“Not so’s you’d notice,” Diane said, pushing through the sliding doors between the cars. “Something to do with Maura,
I thought.”
“Sort of.” Keith explained what Holl was looking for, and why. “He’s been hounded to prove himself worthy of being the next headman, the village leader, not that the Master looks like he’s stepping down any time soon. It’s been like a charm said over his cradle, that it would be lucky to have him as leader because he was the first one born in the new place.”
“Well, that’s not a bad destiny,” Diane replied. “All things considered.”
“If it wasn’t enough on top of all that, he’s got to have one great deed under his belt to claim the leadership. Talk about performance pressure.”
“How did the Master claim it, then?” she asked.
“I suppose because he brought the Little Folk to Midwestern, where they had a safe place to live. He’s never said how or why, but I can guess that that was his big accomplishment.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It would be, in my book,” Keith said, arriving at the end of a long queue of people waiting their turns at the buffet counter. “Here we are. A full breakfast for me, please?” He passed Diane his wallet, and gave her a beseeching look.
“All right. I’ll take care of the money,” Diane said, grinning wickedly, taking bills out of the leather fold and handing it back to Keith. “Do you think you should ask Holl to make part of his quest getting you back to normal?”
“I don’t know,” Keith said. “I think he might find it an advantage to have me permanently silent on at least three topics.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland,” Diane said, sighing happily as the train passed over a river. She put down her teacup and pushed the empty tray to one side of the table. The sun was higher, and there were more signs of life in the countryside surrounding the tracks. “I hate clichés, but I can see why they call it the Emerald Isle.”
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