The Legend of the Corrib King

by Tom McCaughren

  ‘If only we could let the police know,’ said Tapser. ‘But we’re stuck here, and they’ve got clean away.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Jamesie, putting on more wood that the poachers had left beside the fire. ‘We’ll be snug here. In the morning we’ll try and attract somebody’s attention. Someone’s bound to spot us.’

  It was a long night. Even though they pulled their coats and jackets tightly around them, and kept the fire going as best they could, the cold always seemed to wake them. Or perhaps it was the fear that the poachers might come back. If it was, they worried needlessly, for nothing disturbed the stillness of the night except their own twisting and turning, and eventually the sun rose to clear away the darkness from the Corrib and any fears they might have had.

  During the morning they waited around the lake shore to see if they could get anyone to come to their aid. At one stage they spotted two people in an open boat stopping to fish, but they were too far away. Later, another boat went past with a party of anglers, but when they waved frantically at them, the anglers just waved back.

  ‘It’s no use,’ said Rachel, ‘we’ll never get off this island.’

  ‘Of course we will,’ smiled Róisín. ‘It’s not as if we’re on a desert island.’

  ‘Let’s go back up to the church,’ Tapser suggested. ‘If we keep the fire going somebody might see the smoke and come to investigate.’

  No one could think of a better idea, so they collected what dry wood they could find and took it with them.

  Cowlick sat down with his back against the inside of the church wall. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you,’ he said, ‘but I’m hungry.’

  ‘Here,’ laughed Tapser, ‘maybe a raw spud’ll keep you happy.’

  They had found half a dozen potatoes and two trout which the poachers had left behind.

  ‘We’ve no way of frying the trout,’ said Róisín, ‘but we could bake the potatoes in the fire.’

  ‘I saw Pakie cooking trout in an open fire once,’ said Jamesie. ‘We were out fishing together.’

  ‘How?’ asked Cowlick.

  ‘With wet newspapers and things.’

  ‘If he did it, why can’t we?’ suggested Róisín. ‘We could use these.’ She picked up some old newspapers the poachers had brought along to light their fires.

  ‘Well, I never did it myself,’ replied Jamesie, ‘but I suppose it’s worth a try.’

  Leaving Róisín to do the potatoes, the others went down to the lake. There Jamesie cleaned out the trout with his pen-knife, while Rachel soaked the newspapers and Tapser and Cowlick filled a number of old bean cans with mud.

  ‘Now,’ said Jamesie, when they had brought it all back up to the church, ‘let’s hope this works.’ The others watched as he wrapped sheet after sheet of wet newspaper around each trout and caked it with mud.

  ‘You have to make sure they’re completely covered,’ he told them. He pushed the trout in beside the potatoes and heaped hot embers on them. ‘Pakie says it’s just like steaming them.’

  A short time later they found to their surprise and delight that Pakie was right. The trout were so well done they were able to pick them to the bones with their fingers. And the potatoes were cooked almost as well. All they were short of was salt, but that didn’t worry them.

  ‘That’s the best meal we’ve had yet,’ said Tapser. ‘I could eat the same again.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Jamesie, ‘a boat.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the poachers coming back,’ said Rachel.

  Jamesie shook his head. ‘It’s an outboard engine. Come on.’

  Sensing their excitement, Prince barked and ran ahead of them down the path. Emerging from the bushes, they saw a man in a boat going slowly past with an empty boat in tow.

  ‘It’s Martin,’ they shouted. ‘Martin! Martin!’

  Turning around, Martin saw their dancing figures on the shore. He immediately throttled back on the engine, and came in to them. Quickly they told him what had happened, and took him up to the old church.

  ‘He’s been here all right,’ said Martin. Among the rubbish the poachers had left, he had found several balls of crumpled paper which showed that Pakie had been passing the time writing more poems. However, there was nothing in them to suggest where he might have been taken.

  ‘How did you know where to find us?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Well, when I saw the other boat was gone, and the outboard engine, and your campfire was stone cold, I thought I’d better take a look around. Then I met two fishermen who told me they had found the boat adrift, so I decided to cruise around and see if I could find you. You’ve no idea the fright you gave me. I was beginning to think you had all drowned.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tapser. ‘I suppose we should have told you before coming here.’

  ‘Arrah,’ said Martin, ‘maybe I should have taken my courage in my hands and told the Super about this poem business in the first place. Anyway, I’ll have to tell him now.’

  ‘And we’ll have to let them know at home that we’ve seen Pakie,’ said Jamesie.

  ‘Leave that to me,’ said Martin. ‘As I told you before, they’ve enough to worry about without having to worry about you lot as well. I’ll just tell them we’ve good reason to believe that Pakie is alive and well. That’ll give them enough hope. Anything more would only add to their fears.’

  He paused. ‘Anyway, the question is, where have the poachers taken Pakie now?’

  ‘I hope we haven’t ruined everything,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Martin reassured her. ‘For all the poachers know they were just disturbed by some young people, and if they don’t know the gardaí have been alerted we may have a good chance of getting them.’

  They followed Martin down to the boats, and as they got ready to shove off, he added, ‘We’ll be carrying out a lot more searches now, so stay away from the islands – all of them. Is that clear?’

  There was no mistaking the serious tone of his voice, so they all nodded solemnly.

  ‘And what about Clonbur tomorrow?’ asked Jamesie.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Rachel. ‘The man with the rings said they would meet at the fair.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Martin assured them. ‘There’ll be some of our people at it. So I want you to stay away from there too, just in case the poachers recognise you and give them the slip. Come on now, it’s time we were getting back.’

  * * *

  Having helped them put the engines back in the boathouse, Martin returned to his station to make out his report. Somehow they all now felt at a loose end, disappointed that they weren’t being allowed to help any further in the search for their Uncle Pakie.

  Róisín could have been speaking for them all when she said, ‘I don’t care what anyone says, they’ll never find that van without us. Dear knows what colour it is now.’

  ‘Come on,’ Jamesie suggested, ‘let’s go into Cong.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Cowlick. ‘We need matches anyway.’

  ‘And I’m hungry again,’ said Rachel.

  As they made their way into the village, Róisín wondered about the motor cruiser the poachers had used. ‘Maybe that’s the boat they were talking about when they said they were taking him to the fairy queen.’

  ‘If it was a boat they were talking about,’ said Jamesie.

  ‘Well, whatever they meant, they also said nobody would find him so long as they stayed close to the little people,’ Tapser recalled. ‘That’s the bit that puzzles me.’

  ‘One thing’s for sure,’ said Cowlick, ‘if they’re going to meet in Clonbur that’s the end of the trail for us.’

  Parking the caravan at the abbey, they went to a shop to get drinks and sandwiches and some other supplies including matches.

  ‘Well Jamesie,’ said the woman serving him, ‘I suppose you’ll be taking your friends to the funfair.’

  The others, who were examining some blackthorn walking sticks near the doorway, looked up.
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  ‘What funfair?’ asked Jamesie.

  ‘Out at Nymphsfield. Sure I thought everybody knew about it. Did you not see the poster on the Market Cross?’

  Running from the shop, they found a coloured poster on the back of the stone cross, advertising the carnival.

  ‘That’s it!’ exclaimed Tapser. ‘The funfair!’

  Róisín nodded. ‘We should have thought of it before. Big Jim told us it was coming. And we saw the lorries ourselves.’

  ‘So we’re still on their trail,’ smiled Cowlick.

  ‘But a funfair,’ said Rachel. ‘Do you really think that’s what the man with the rings meant?’

  ‘It must have been,’ said Cowlick. ‘Look what it says.’

  The poster was divided up into a number of sections, advertising the big wheel, swing boats and merry-go-round. But what Cowlick was pointing to was a section headed ‘Titania’s Palace’. ‘Remember, we saw the sign on one of the lorries,’ he said, and read aloud, ‘See the Fairy Queen and her amazing troupe of acrobatic riders.’

  ‘The fairy queen,’ gasped Jamesie.

  ‘It’s from A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ Róisín told them, ‘by William Shakespeare. We’ve done a bit of it at school.’

  ‘What’s it about?’ asked Tapser.

  ‘Titania was the queen of the fairies, and there was one called Puck, and a changeling and all that sort of thing.’ Róisín smiled, and added, ‘It’s the sort of book you’d enjoy, Jamesie.’

  Jamesie, however, was already on his way back to the caravan, certain in his own mind that they had at last discovered what the man with the rings meant when he said ‘I’ll take him to the fairy queen.’

  As they followed him Cowlick remarked, ‘Sometimes I think we’ll wake up and find this whole thing was a dream.’

  When they arrived at Nymphsfield they found that while they had been pottering about the lake, the convoy of lorries had been unloaded and a site not far from the road turned into a fairground. They parked the caravan in such a way that they could observe what was going on by just looking out the door, and as they ate their sandwiches they took careful stock of the situation.

  There were a number of cream-coloured holiday-type caravans, but these were obviously the homes of the people who ran the funfair. There was no sign of the green van or of the man with the rings. In fact, there were very few people around as it was still early in the day by fairground standards. The gaily-coloured stalls were deserted, and the big wheel, the swings and wooden horses on the merry-go-round were at a standstill. In contrast, a string of little white ponies munched at a pile of hay and moved idly around not far from a fairly large tent which the sign on the wooden arch proclaimed to be Titania’s Palace.

  ‘Must be some sort of circus act,’ observed Cowlick.

  Shortly after teatime, even though it was still daylight, the carnival lights were switched on, the barrel-organ music rolled out across Nymphsfield, and families and children began to arrive. It wasn’t long before a queue began to form outside Titania’s Palace, and having checked that they had enough money left, Jamesie and his cousins joined it.

  Titania’s Palace had been erected a short distance from the usual fairground attractions, and indeed it was billed as something different … ‘An experience to remember, a flight into fairyland, a magical romp with the little people,’ blared a voice from a loudspeaker.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ whispered Rachel. ‘This must be it. It must be what the fat man was talking about.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Cowlick, ‘he said nobody would find them as long as they stayed close to the little people.’

  They paid their money to a plump lady in riding breeches, and were glad they had left Prince to mind the caravan when they heard her telling people no dogs were allowed in as they might frighten the horses. Moving inside, they found they were in a miniature circus tent complete with sawdust ring and tiers of wooden seats. A good many people had already taken their places, but they spotted a vacant spot about three rows from the front. It was another fifteen minutes or so before the tent was considered full enough for the show to begin.

  The lady who had taken the money at the entrance came into the ring and asked for silence for Titania. Soft woodland music filled the tent from some hidden source. Beyond the sawdust ring, curtains were drawn back and in swept the fattest lady they had ever seen … so fat, indeed, that the plump lady in the riding breeches looked almost thin by comparison.

  Titania smiled graciously and bowed around the ring. A thousand silver sequins sparkled on her red dress and in her blonde hair. She waved her wand and the colours of the rainbow rolled across the tent as someone somewhere pulled a switch to work a spell for the fairy queen.

  ‘And now,’ smiled Titania, ‘let me introduce you to my merry little band.’

  With a wave of her wand, the curtains fell aside once more, and out rode a dozen little men on a dozen little white ponies. Round and round the ring they went with the speed of the wind, for all the world like a band of fairies riding through the night.

  There was a gasp from the audience, and Jamesie whispered, ‘The little people!’

  ‘Shush,’ Róisín told him. ‘Can’t you see they’re just small men?’

  Titania held up her wand, and the little riders brought their mounts to a stop. ‘And now,’ she said, ‘let me introduce you to Puck.’

  Even as she spoke another little man stepped into the ring. Taller than the others, and muscular, he was naked to the waist and wielded a whip in his tiny hand. He bowed, then cracked his whip, and the little riders immediately spurred into action. Walking around Titania, he cracked his whip again and again. At each crack the riders turned this way and that, never pausing, never stopping, until suddenly Titania held up her wand again. The ponies stopped. The riders faced them inwards, and each of the little animals knelt down on its front knees in a salute to the fairy queen.

  There was silence. Then everyone burst into loud applause. A moment later, before the applause had died away, the little riders were away again, only this time they were performing acrobatics while their little mounts carried them round and round the ring. And so it went on, a most splendid performance that lasted the best part of an hour. At the end of it Titania called for a special round of applause for her Little People. There was no need. The audience was absolutely enchanted by them and rose to their feet and clapped and clapped as they sped from the ring.

  ‘That was fantastic,’ exclaimed Jamesie on the way back to the caravan.

  ‘Fantastic,’ agreed Cowlick.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Nor I,’ said Róisín. ‘They were really magnificent.’

  Tapser agreed. ‘But the question is, what’s the connection between them and Pakie’s kidnappers?’

  ‘Do you think he could have meant them?’ wondered Rachel. ‘You know, when he wrote that bit, Nymphs dance in the moonlight and secrets unfold.’

  ‘Could be,’ said Cowlick. ‘And if he did, it means Titania’s Palace may hold the answer to it all.’

  ‘But how will we find out?’ wondered Jamesie.

  ‘We’ll just have to go back and check it out,’ said Róisín.

  ‘You mean, search it?’ asked Jamesie, and the others could see that while he didn’t mind rowing around the lake in the middle of the night, he had reservations about invading the home of the fairy queen.

  ‘Róisín’s right,’ said Tapser. ‘We’ve got to find out what Pakie meant, and there’s no other way to do it.’

  It seemed a long time before the carnival closed down for the night, but eventually the crowds drifted away, the generator stopped and the coloured lights went out. Then, when the moon was up and the people who ran the carnival were in their mobile homes, Tapser led his cousins under the lighted windows and down towards Titania’s Palace. Quietly they lifted the edge of the tent and crawled underneath. The moon shining through the canvas filled the inside of the tent wi
th a ghostly green. Not quite knowing what to do, they stole silently forward between the seats until they were standing in the centre of the sawdust ring.

  Someone coughed.

  ‘Quiet,’ whispered Tapser. ‘Keep close together and follow me.’

  Before they could go anywhere a light flashed on. A dozen little men leapt out of nowhere onto the wooden circle, and a crack of a whip brought them face to face with the one called Puck. Panic-stricken, they turned to run, but found to their horror that they were surrounded.

  It was almost as if they had been lured into a fairy ring and could find no way out. Cowering closely together for support, they watched as the little men danced on the wooden circle and clapped their hands in glee. For a moment Puck stood at the opening in the circle, hands on his hips, glaring at them. Then he cracked his whip. The other little men stopped dancing and in strode Titania, now wearing a dressing gown instead of her sparkling fairy costume.

  ‘What have we here, Puck?’ she asked, her smiling face no longer smiling.

  ‘Intruders, Ma’am.’

  ‘How did they get in?’

  ‘Under the canvas, Ma’am.’

  ‘Is that true?’ Titania asked them.

  They nodded.

  ‘But why do you come here?’

  No one answered. What could they say?

  ‘All right, if that’s the way you want it. Puck, bring them along.’

  Titania walked away between the curtains and Puck cracked his whip again. Immediately the other little men started pushing and jostling them. Puck kept cracking his whip, and they had no option but to go along.

  Beyond the curtains they were taken through a rear exit and around to a smaller, square-shaped tent. The little men ushered them inside. From the fancy costumes scattered here and there on boxes and cases, they guessed this tent was used as a changing room. Titania was seated regally at the far end, and she ordered them to sit on an old settee on her left. Puck sat on a box to her right, while the others seated themselves on the ground, legs crossed, like elves awaiting her commands.

  ‘Now,’ she said rather crossly, ‘why have you come to Titania’s Palace?’