“Now, look here . . .” began Shea, but just then the gate of Muirthemne loomed over them, with Cuchulainn and Cathbadh beside it, accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman who must be Emer.
The hero said, “It is glad to see you that I am, darlings. Your man is less beautiful than ever, but you will be handselling him to me, for I think that with his help I may escape the doom that has been predicted.”
Shea climbed down and helped Belphebe out of the chariot. “Listen,” he said. “Pete’s already done all he can for you, and we don’t dare go back to our own country without him.”
Pete said, “Look, I’ll write you a letter or something to put you in the clear. Leave a guy run his own racket, will you? This is my spot.”
“Nothing doing,” said Shea. “Go ahead, Miach.”
The druid lifted his arms, mumbled one or two words, and lowered his arms again. “The geas is still upon you, Mac Shea,” he said. “I cannot.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Shea, and pulled the sword from his belt. “Here, Cuchulainn, this is the sword of Nuada. I borrowed it from the Sidhe for you, and it will have to go back to them after you’re through, with the Connachta, who ought to be here any minute. But it will protect you better than Pete could. Does that leave us square?”
“It does that,” said Cuchulainn, holding the great sword up admiringly. Light rippled and flowed along the blade.
“Now, Miach,” said Shea.
Miach lifted his arms. “Hey, I don’t want . . .” began Pete, as the chant rose.
Whoosh!
Shea, Belphebe, and Brodsky arrived with a rush of displaced air in the living room at Garaden, Ohio, and almost in a heap. Behind them, the door of Shea’s study stood open. As the trio landed, a couple of heavy-set men with large feet turned startled faces, their hands full of Shea’s papers.
“It’s them!” said one.
The other said, “And by gawd — Pete Brodsky, the synthetic harp, in a monkey suit!” They both began to laugh.
“Hell with that, you punks,” said Pete. “I’ve had enough Ireland to last me. From now on it’s na zdorowie Polska! See?
Shea paid little attention. He was too busy kissing Belphebe.
The End
The Green Magician Page 8