The children also saw the odd shop which marked out how strange this land was – the magical supplies shops were easy enough to see with their spooky displays of cauldrons and other magical paraphernalia, including cobweb kits (complete with tarantula patterns for that genuine look) and grow your own skeleton kits (just add calcium!!). The wide streets gave the crowds plenty of space to stare in the windows and not get in the way of those walking past. The streets closer in to the centre here had few people riding broomsticks and those that did were normally doing so at a very sedate pace.
The crowds on the street were mostly human-looking but here and there walked elves, dwarves, and, most alien of all, goblins. There were not many of the latter and those the children did see did not look particularly happy.
‘Why do they all look so glum?’ asked Grady, pointing at one of them. As he pointed the goblin caught his eye and scowled back at him.
‘Glum is the ground state of being for a goblin. Best too if you don’t upset them by staring,’ said Garrett. ‘There are a lot more in town now than there used to be. They aren’t a very pleasant bunch and tend to keep to themselves. A little community of them has sprung up over by the marsh gas works and they like to deal with goblins more than humans or any other race. To tell the truth they’ve become a bit of a problem. Your grandfather the king has been trying to get onto good terms with them but they don’t seem to want to really talk much to him. We’ve been trying to figure out why they have decided to settle in town as normally they live in the hills. But as they won’t talk to us we haven’t really got far. They have their own shops and even their own newspapers. They run their own businesses and even employ their own people. It’s all very strange – they want to be here but don’t want to be part of our community.’
Grady turned to watch the creature as it wandered down the street. The goblin returned his look with an angry scowl before loping off around a corner.
As they walked on they turned down a side street and came to a clearly much older part of the town. Here the streets were narrower again and the buildings seemed to lean in above their heads making the light from the mid-morning skies seem much further away. The streets were less well-paved and the buildings did not seem as well cared-for. Despite this, every now and then they would come to a little oasis of light where the small faerie-tended gardens would brighten the gloom and provide some lightness to the slightly oppressive atmosphere.
They came to a small arched opening in a wall made of rough red brick. Above the archway was a dusty-looking sign which bore the legend Fitzhollow & Hooligan – Wands and Broomsticks of Excellence. The children looked disappointed to find the shop appeared so dull and dreary. They had expected something like the other stores they had seen with bright and magical displays.
Merritt turned the rusty round red handle on the wooden door. A few more flakes of paint fell off as the door swung in with a creak. The children looked through and their hearts sank further as the gloom beyond the door seemed to deepen even further.
‘Through you go,’ said Merritt, holding the door back for the children. They hesitated and glanced up at their father before stepping through the doorway. The moment they passed under the archway though, everything changed. The gloomy alley they had expected to see disappeared completely as did all of the building around them. Instead they saw a small two-storied cottage sitting on its own in a country lane with a dry stone wall running off in both directions and bordering a dusty country road. The air was warmer than the street they had just left. Green fields rolled up to a blue sky though black and roiling clouds on the horizon spoke of a threatening deluge in the offing. In the near distance was a forest that spread over low rolling hills. Looking back the way the children had just come they saw the same archway set into the wall, and their parents standing there with big grins on their faces. They were obviously enjoying the look of wonder and surprise from the children.
‘How?’ was all Niamh could say to her father.
‘We don’t really understand it, Niamh – it’s leprechaun magic. Pretty amazing though, don’t you think? The shop is still here in the alleyway but it’s also here in this field. Don’t try and think about it too much or your head will hurt.’
The rest of the adults stepped through into the laneway and closed the door behind them. Grady couldn’t stop himself and jumped over the wall to look at the door from the other side. Walking through it again he found himself still in the laneway but this time when he looked back through it there was no alleyway – just the fields and laneway and a donkey staring over a wall chewing some grass.
‘Let’s go get those wands, Grady,’ said Garrett, setting off down the path towards the front door of the cottage. Niamh and Grady ran ahead of him to peer in the windows. Garrett reached the neatly painted doorway a moment later and turning the handle pushed it open. A small bell rang as the door swung inwards but the shop appeared to be completely empty.
The children stepped inside the little cottage and stared at the oddly arranged interior. Rickety-looking old shelves stretched up to the ceiling covered with odd little instruments, and bottles with labels like Goodfellow’s Wand Oil and bundles of sticks wrapped in labels bearing legends like Brannigan’s Broomstick Bristles.
Along the width of the shop ran an old wooden counter. Behind it stood a series of racks and shelves carrying an assortment of different lengths of wood and masses of thin twigs arranged in piles of varying shades and hues. Underneath each pile were small labels denoting the type of wood such as Ash, Willow, Hazel or Rowan.
A scurrying sound came from the ceiling above them and a ladder suddenly dropped down out of the roof followed by a tiny little man wearing a collection of garishly clashing colours – red trousers, orange waistcoat, yellow shirt and green jacket. His hair was a dazzling mass of red curls which seemed to sprout out of his head in places making Grady think of a mad scientist. He peered around the edge of the shelving and then shouted back up the ladder – ‘Hooligan! Would you ever get yourself down here, ya eejit. There’s customers!’
The children looked at each other in surprise. This was the man who was going to make their wands?
A groan came from the hole in the roof the ladder had dropped through. ‘Ohhhhh my head. Bejazus Fitzy, would you keep your voice down, ya gurrier. I’ve a headache the size of an elephant up here!’
The little man the children now knew was Fitzhollow peered around the side of the racking from the back of the shop. ‘Be with you in a minute! Just need to ... to ...’ he stammered – obviously trying to buy himself some time while he thought. ‘I just need to clear up me breakfast. Hold on there now!’ With those words he disappeared back up the ladder and the trapdoor in the roof closed. The muffled sounds of an argument could be heard from above their heads and the trap suddenly opened again. Another figure tried to make its way down the ladder but realised too late that though the trapdoor was open, the ladder had not been lowered. It dangled from the ceiling for a moment as it hung onto the sides of the hole in the rook before its fingers slipped and it landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor.
‘Jazus would you ever look at yourself, Hooligan,’ Fitzhollow muttered down at his colleague. The ladder dropped back down through the hatch and Fitzhollow scampered down. ‘Smarten yourself up,’ he said. ‘We’ve customers to deal with!’
Taking a small hip flask from his pocket Fitzhollow forced it between Hooligan’s lips and poured a measure down his throat. Stepping back he waited for a moment until with a sudden rush Hooligan leapt from the floor onto his feet.
‘By the almighty Pan Fitzhollow I’ve told you not to give me that without warning me. Me mouth feels like I’ve just had ten cups of coffee poured down it with the grinds still in it when you do that!’ Hooligan wiped his mouth with his hand and walked through a door at the back of the shop with a curious waddle.
‘Well if ya’d lay off the whiskey for breakfast it wouldn’t be such a problem! Honestly I don’t know why I still
work with you, ya madman,’ said Fitzhollow, shaking his head. Turning back to the front of the shop he went on – ‘We’ll be there in a moment! Hold on now, please.’
The children could hear water running and then the sound of it being gulped down. Either the glass was very big or the sips were very small, but the sound of the gulps went on and on and on and on. Niamh thought Hooligan must be about to drown from drinking so much but he emerged eventually looking only very slightly better than he had a few moments before.
‘Right then. Where’s these customers?’ he said, rubbing his hands together and straightening his jacket up. Like Fitzhollow, Hooligan wore a jacket, waistcoat and pants but his colours were much more subdued – greens and browns much like the palette of the trees in a forest.
Both of the little men walked out to the front of the shop trying to look composed. The effect was ruined somewhat by Hooligan tripping himself on the edge of a carpet, but he quickly leapt up and recovered. As they approached the counter Fitzhollow began his salesman’s patter.
‘And how can we help such fine gentlefolk today?’ he said with a smile on his face. Suddenly the smile was replaced with a look of recognition. ‘Why, it’s you!’ he said, looking at Grace and Merritt. ‘How wonderful!! I never expected to see you in here again. We thought once you were gone that would be the end! Oh, how lovely to see you back. Hooligan – look who it is!’
Hooligan squinted across the counter, no recognition on his face. ‘Would ya put your glasses on, ya eejit. You’re blind as a bat without them,’ Fitzhollow whispered to Hooligan. Reaching under the counter Hooligan took out a pair of spectacles and placed them on the bridge of his nose before peering again. A look of surprise spread across his face as he recognised the children’s parents. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Time for the next generation, is it?’ he said to Merritt. Dipping his head and peering over the top of his spectacles he gave the children an appraising look. ‘Let’s see what we have then, shall we?’
Walking to the end of the counter the clurichaun lifted one end of the bench and pushed out the hinged front of it. The little man waddled bandy-legged to stand in front of the children with Fitzhollow close behind.
‘So who shall we check first, then?’ he said, looking up at the two children with watery eyes. ‘The fiery one or the thunderous girl? Hmmmm?’
The children glanced sideways at the clurichaun’s description of them.
‘Surprised are you, Princess?’ said Hooligan mischievously. ‘Well I can see things about you that no one else can and I’m not often wrong. Let me test you and I can prove it.’
‘Get back, ya madman,’ said Fitzhollow, pushing him out of the way. ‘If you test them in your state you’ll likely blow the shop up.’ Hooligan fell to the floor as his colleague took over. Rather than get up though, he just lay there groaning slightly as Fitzhollow stared down at him. ‘And don’t think that groaning will get any sympathy, ya louser!’ yelled Fitzhollow.
‘Now then. Come here, little one,’ said Fitzhollow to Niamh. ‘And what would your name be then?’ he asked.
‘It’s Niamh. It means Princess of the Tir na Nog – the Land of Promise,’ she said proudly.
‘Does it now?’ said Fitzhollow. ‘Well, your parents have obviously taught you something then. Would you like to go there someday?’
‘Go where?’ asked Niamh.
‘Why, to Tir na Nog, of course!’ said Fitzhollow. ‘It’s a long trip but I’m sure you’d enjoy it. If the auld fella on the floor there can hold it together long enough to make you a decent broom I’d be happy to take you along to meet the king – Manannan Mac Lir. Did your parents tell you that Niamh was the daughter of the King of Tir na Nog?’
‘They told me I was a princess of Tir na Nog but not who the king was – or that he was still alive! Can I really meet him?’ asked the excited girl.
‘Let’s talk about that later, Niamh,’ said her father, glaring at Fitzhollow. ‘Honestly Oscar, it’s hard enough keeping them focused on what we have to at the moment. If you start sidetracking them with stories about the faerie kings we’ll never get anything done.’
‘Well, if you had properly attended to their education better, my fine Prince, I wouldn’t have to teach them myself, would I now,’ replied Fitzhollow with a defiant grin. ‘And I thought I told you not to use my first name. You know I never liked it.’
‘Sorry,’ said Merritt. ‘Perhaps you can start testing Niamh then, rather than showing up my deficiencies as a father?’
Fitzhollow stepped closer to Niamh. ‘Let’s see those hands of yours, my little girl.’
Niamh obediently held out both hands, palms facing up. Fitzhollow took one of them in both of his small hands and turned it over and over looking at the lines in the skin much the same way Roland had to Grady. ‘Interesting,’ he muttered. ‘Very interesting,’ he repeated as he took her other hand and compared it to the first.
Waddling over to a shelf he took down an old box with intricate gold designs on it which swooped and swirled around the edge. He opened it up and removed a golden rod about the length of a ruler but not much thicker than a thumb. Niamh realised it was a tin whistle similar to that which her father took out from time to time back at Avalon’s End. Waddling back over to Niamh he took one more look at her, taking her head in his hands and turning it from side to side before looking deeply into her eyes.
‘Okay ...’ he muttered quietly to himself. ‘Okay, here we go then.’
The leprechaun put the whistle to his lips and played a short melody. The music made Niamh think of a roaring sea and an island separated from the land – both a long way away but very close as well. The tune lasted only a moment before Fitzhollow stopped and said, ‘Close your eyes and hold that image.’
Niamh did so without question. ‘Now take the whistle and hold it tightly.’ Again Niamh did as she was told without thinking.
‘Now hold on tight, Niamh,’ said Fitzhollow as he placed his hand on top of hers. A sudden surge of the power Niamh had felt when the unicorn had channelled magic through them suddenly coursed through her body. She felt her hair stand on end followed by a yelp from Fitzhollow. She opened her eyes and saw the little man flying back from her – feet off the ground, with a look of shock on his face. He flew across the room thumping into the shelves behind, bringing them and all of the items on them crashing down around his head. For a moment he lay there with his hair sticking out like quills on a hedgehog. Small wisps of smoke drifted up from his clothes as the last couple of items from a shelf above rolled off and whacked him on the head.
Merritt and Grace ran over to help pick him up. Niamh turned round to stare at the laughing clurichaun on the floor beside her.
‘Oh, that’s priceless!’ he blurted out between bouts of laughter. ‘I’d blow the shop up, would I!!? Oh, that’s wonderful,’ he yelled, clutching at his stomach as he laughed. ‘Oh well done Oscar, well done. Marvellous stuff! Really wonderful!’ he went on between peals of laughter.
‘You could have warned me!’ said Fitzhollow to Merritt and Grace as they helped him up. ‘That little girl is dangerous! Why didn’t you say something?’ he asked in a tone which was half embarrassed and half annoyed. ‘And you can shut your gob,’ he said turning on the clurichaun. ‘You sad excuse for a craftsman. I’d like to see you do better!’
‘Oh don’t worry. I will,’ said Hooligan, wiping his eyes and recovering from his bout of laughter. ‘I’ll test the boy for his broom next to show you how it’s done.’
‘We’re so sorry,’ said Merritt, dusting down the leprechaun as Grace and Garrett picked up the detritus of the shelves from the floor. ‘We didn’t have any idea. Honestly. We just didn’t know what to expect.’
‘Well I didn’t expect that, I can tell you,’ said Fitzhollow. ‘Anyhow, it’s Blackthorn. Definitely Blackthorn for her.’
‘Blackthorn?’ said Grace. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Am I sure?’ echoed Fitzhollow. ‘Did you not just see what happened th
ere? I’ve never been more sure of a wood match for a witch than I am of her. Blackthorn wands are powerful blasting wands. Why do you think we leprechauns have Blackthorn shillelaghs? If you’re going to be in a good fight then there’s nothing better. And with that sort of power in her she’s going to have her fair share of them, I can see. Blackthorn it is.’
Grace looked disappointed at the outcome. ‘I’d hoped it was going to be something like that fine Poplar wand you made me. I thought she’d have the same gentle way of using magic that my wand helped me discover.’
‘Oh, she’ll be able to be gentle with it, Princess,’ said Fitzhollow, ‘but she is going to need to learn some control.’
‘Enough blather from you, ya show-off,’ said Hooligan, eventually getting to his feet. Swaying gently he mumbled holding his head between his hands ‘Oh, my head.’ When he finally stopped swaying he waddled over to Grady, pulled up a stool before him and sat down. ‘None of that whistle stuff for me, boy. Let’s see, now.’ Pulling out a stubby plain dark brown wand, the clurichaun gently traced a circle around Grady starting at his feet, moving up to his head, and then down the other side to his feet. As the wand moved Grady felt a prodding and tingling in his head and hands.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘A bit of delving, my lad. It lets me know where your strengths lie and gives me some clues as to what broomstick might work for you.’ He stood up quickly and headed back towards the racks behind the counter. ‘Stay there. I think I know what we need.’
The children could hear Hooligan rummaging around out the back before a crash made them jump. ‘Don’t worry!’ came Hooligan’s voice. ‘All good back here.’ Looking over the counter they saw a pile of rough pieces of wood had come clattering down. From underneath the pile they saw Hooligan’s arms and legs sticking out, and after a moment or two, his head. As his colleague disentangled himself from the pile Fitzhollow shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know why I ever bother cleaning this place up! Every time we have a customer you make it look like we’ve had a pack of banshees come through.’
Azrael's Twins Page 15