Quinn shut the door behind them and took his wand out. He pressed the tip of it to a small panel on the right-hand side and said, ‘Entrance.’ A small light appeared on the panel and the children felt a lurch as the cage suddenly zipped up into the air sweeping across the cavern towards the doors through which they had entered. The journey took only seconds but left the children laughing as they jumped out of the door and back onto the path out.
‘That was wicked,’ said Grady. ‘Can we do it again?’
‘Maybe next time,’ said Quinn. ‘If the librarians see you joyriding they kick you out and don’t let you back for a week. Spoil-sports that they are.’ Grady looked disappointed but didn’t argue as they made their way back out through the main doors and past the golems into the library. ‘They are really only for show, you know,’ said Quinn. No one knows why we have them here but they don’t want to go anywhere else. They never stop anyone going in but they are impressive, aren’t they?’ Niamh could only nod as she watched them over her shoulder on the way out.
Eventually they reached the corridor leading back to their rooms. Quinn had taken them along a number of corridors that looked unlike any they had seen before. Niamh thought, as they made their way back, that Quinn seemed to know all the short cuts around the castle. Their trip back took much less time than they had on the way down. Every now and then Niamh noticed that Quinn would stand a little bit taller than he usually did before correcting himself and slouching. Occasionally he would give a panel on a hallway wall a gentle touch as if reminding himself of something behind it.
‘Here you are, then,’ said Quinn, coming to a halt. ‘At least you know where to go next time you want to head down there, but if you ever need a guide just let me know. Any friend of Azrael’s Twins is definitely a friend of mine,’ he said in a tone which made Niamh just a little nervous. The same dark chill that came with Gilly’s warning now seemed to return but, again, it was gone in a moment.
‘Thank you,’ said Niamh. ‘That library is amazing. We’ll definitely be going back again soon. We just seem to have so much to learn around here.’
‘Yes, it was like that when I arrived, though I don’t much remember the early days,’ said Quinn with a wistful tone. Recovering, he went on: ‘Well, call me if you need me. Bye for now,’ he said and turning, trotted away down the corridor.
Niamh turned to Grady as soon as Quinn was out of earshot. ‘Did one of the statues speak to you?’ she said urgently.
‘Yes! It did,’ said Grady excitedly. ‘You too? I thought I was going mad for a moment. What do you think it means?’
‘No idea,’ said Niamh, biting her lip. ‘Should we tell Mum and Dad?’
‘No way,’ said Grady. ‘They’ll probably think we’ve had too much excitement and send us to bed early again. I’m not telling them anything.’
Niamh pondered this for a moment before agreeing with Grady. ‘Yes, for once you’re probably right. Come on. I’m hungry again.’
Dinner became a major download of the day’s events – the amazing library, Gilly, and Azrael’s Twins (but not the voices in their heads!). Merritt and Grace promised to tell them more about the Twins, but the training in the morning and excitement of the afternoon had left the children dog-tired. It didn’t take much persuading – despite Grady’s protestations to the contrary – that an early night was actually a good idea. After a couple of stories read by Merritt from Witchery – a Hundred Tales of Magical Mayhem – by Gabrienta Googlehiem, the children fell into a deep sleep punctuated by dreams of marching golems, and towering statues of fire and water.
Chapter 13
Broomsticks and Stories
The children had little time to think about the Twins over the next few days. Murdock forced them to spend most of their waking hours in trying to break the block on their magical powers so they at least stood a chance of using a wand without embarrassing themselves. But nothing he did seemed to have any effect. They remained incapable of using what everyone agreed were their considerable powers.
‘It’s not as though they aren’t giving it everything they have,’ said Murdock, sitting down over a glass of wine with Merritt and Grace at the end of yet another fruitless day. Dragging his hands through his fine blond elf hair Grace thought he looked wretched and realised how personally he felt the failure.
‘If we can’t find the key using your skills Murdock, then what has to happen? They can’t survive here without being able to defend themselves. Forget Balthasar – the kids at school will give them hell for not being able to cast even simple spells,’ said Merritt, taking a sip from his glass.
‘Don’t think they can’t spell cast,’ said the elf. ‘They have done some really quite clever low level spells but only in small doses with quite insubstantial things. Niamh has your talent with levitation, Grace. She had six small marbles orbiting round an apple today, but only for a few moments before the spell unravelled. She was in tears but she doesn’t understand most seniors at school aren’t even able to manage that level of complex spelling.’
‘And what of Grady?’ asked a worried-looking Grace. ‘Is anything working for him?’
The elf thought for a moment, swirling the contents of his glass. Taking a sip he said, ‘He’s an enigma. It’s clear he has some extraordinary talents with fire. He’s been working so very hard and just like Niamh he’s pulled off some amazingly complex spelling – flicking a flame from candle to candle and changing the heat, size and colour of it as he does it. That’s really quite special – as you know transmutation of fire is pretty advanced stuff. Especially for someone who’s never even used a wand up until this week.’
‘But where’s the enigma?’ said Merritt, looking confused. ‘If he has that sort of talent then surely he is moving in the right direction?’
‘Oh yes. He is, but like Niamh he still has trouble with simple spells. It’s completely hit and miss,’ said the elf. ‘Sometimes he seems to get it but other times he can’t even touch the magic at all, as if a wall goes up between him and the source. But the way fire responds to him doesn’t seem to be normal. If I didn’t know better I would say it looks like the fire is ... well ...’
‘Come on,’ said Grace. ‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’
‘I’m just wondering if you think I’m losing it by telling you this,’ said Murdock, looking from Grace to Merritt and back. ‘But it seems as though the fire is like a pet dog that watches him, just waiting for the next command. I thought I was imagining it but when I took them down to the kitchen for some food I deliberately went through some tunnelled passages with torches in the walls, rather than the normal light globes.’ The elf paused for a moment as if to give weight to his words. ‘The flames followed him. I watched from behind and there was no doubt – they moved towards him as he walked and leant after him as he passed, and is getting stronger every day. The boy really is a sorcerer in the making but I’m damned if I can work out why he can’t use his powers the way he should.’
‘Well they have no more time to get themselves ready for really entering their world. It’s school for them in just a couple of days. We need to pick up their wands and brooms. Have you heard from the two Irish eejits yet?’ asked Merritt.
‘Yes. Just today, actually. Wands and broomsticks are ready. And Fitzhollow sounded quite excited about them. He thinks it might be the best work yet that Hooligan has done.’
‘That’s saying something,’ said Grace. ‘Shall we head down tomorrow and get them or will they bring them up here?’
‘Neither Fitzhollow or Hooligan make house calls anymore – not even up here. They feel safer where they are. Something to do with banshees and shadows they say, though I think it was just Hooligan’s imagination running away from him after another bottle of Mountain Magic Single Malt Whiskey.’
The next morning the family made the trip back down into town again – though this time Garrett did not come with them; they were instead driven by one of the castle guards. Grady was disappointed h
e had to ride inside the carriage this time, but didn’t dwell on it as he was too excited at the prospect of having his broom and wand to care.
‘Do you think I’ll be better at magic with my own broom and wand?’ he asked his father.
‘There’s every chance you will,’ said Merritt, ‘though there’s no telling how you might be able to use them. We can hope anyway.’
Stepping through the alleyway door they found the two little men outside the front door of their establishment. Fitzhollow sat on a chair puffing on a long pipe and blowing amazingly shaped smoke creatures which floated or galloped or swam away. Beside him Hooligan lay strewn over a bench, arms hanging over the edge, groaning occasionally.
‘Ahhh Begorrah, you’ve finally made it then,’ said Fitzhollow, making a gesture of welcome with his pipe.
‘Since when did you start using words like Begorrah, Fitzy?’ said Merritt, raising an eyebrow.
‘Just practising for the tourist trades, you know,’ smiled the leprechaun in reply. ‘If we aren’t selling wands then we need to keep our tourist friends happy, don’t we?’
‘Tourists?’ said Grace, with surprise in her voice. ‘Since when did you need tourists?’
‘Ah, well, now,’ said the leprechaun, taking another puff on his pipe before standing up and tucking his thumbs into his waistband. ‘Since these new so-called wonder wands came along – the iWand and so forth – our trade isn’t what it used to be, you know. Fine folk like yourselves still appreciate quality and craftsmanship but a cheap and easy solution that costs about a tenth of what we charge is very appealing. But there’re lots of those Japanese and Chinese wizards and witches who still appreciate a bit of the old skill.’
As he said this the leprechaun turned round and gave the front of the house a small kick. In moments a host of knick-knacks and stalls had grown out of the stone with all manner of strange contraptions on them – miniature wands in small glass cases with A souvenir of Fitzhollow’s on them, little glass snowflake balls with tiny clurichauns racing around on (and falling off drunk) broomsticks in them, and self stirring souvenir spoons with a picture which changed every few seconds from a smiling Fitzhollow to a hungover-looking Hooligan.
‘Oh Fitzy. Please say it isn’t true. This is so tacky!’ said Grace as she picked up a cup with packaging which said The Whiskey lover tea cup, and below that in flashing lurid green colours: Pour in whatever you like – will look like tea but taste like the best single Malt!!.
‘Well it’s easy for you to say it, Princess, but things aren’t what they used to be. And my noble colleague here has expensive tastes in good whiskey,’ said Fitzhollow, aiming a kick at his prostrate co-worker.
Hooligan moaned as the kick connected with his seat and rolled him off onto the ground. ‘Jeeaazus Fitzhollow, can you not let a man sleep in the sun!’ shouted the grumpy-looking man. Dragging himself upright over the bench he saw the group and smiled. ‘Ahhh,’ he said, finally sitting back up. ‘I have something special for you two,’ he said, giving the two children a leery-looking smile. Reaching back behind the bench the clurichaun overbalanced and rolled off again, upsetting some of the merchandise on the stands which rained about his head. Fitzhollow couldn’t contain himself and started shouting. ‘Ya eejit. I’m not cleaning that up, you know!’
Hooligan dragged himself out from under the pile of tack grasping two long cases with golden handles and hinges. The cases were made of a deep maple red-looking wood and sparkled with lustre in the sunlight. On one case were the initials NGOC and on the other GVOC. As he hefted them onto the bench the surly-looking little man pulled his wand out and pointed it threateningly at Fitzhollow before grunting and flicking it towards the pile of rubbish on the ground. In seconds the pile flew back up into the air and onto the shelves on the stalls where it had rested moments before. Fitzhollow, seeing the stalls back in one piece, aimed another kick at the wall and the merchandise and stalls disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. ‘I can’t let you near anything, can I,’ he said to Hooligan with a note of exasperation in his voice, before turning back to Merritt and Grace with a look on his face which said See what I have to put up with?
Hooligan advanced on the group with his two cases. Each was longer than he was tall. Fitzhollow flicked his wand again and a low table appeared in front of the group. Hooligan placed the two cases on the table and eyed up the children. ‘You have no idea how hard it was to find the wood for these. And I think these could be about the best I have ever made.’ The children thought he suddenly looked remarkably alert and keen for someone who only moments before had been looking distinctly hungover.
‘Do you think you can ride these, then? Hmmmm?’ asked the clurichaun.
The children looked unsettled by the intensity of both his look and questioning tone, but both nodded their heads.
Giving them another appraising look Hooligan grunted to himself and flicked the golden catches – two on each case – before slowly lifting the lids.
Merritt and Grace couldn’t help themselves, but started to lean in towards the cases for a close look. In Niamh’s case was a slender, pale coloured broomstick which reflected the sun from golden flakes deeply embedded within the grain. The bristles at the end were tightly packed and bound with the same sort of thin elf thread they had seen used on the dragon’s bridles. The handles towards the front looked like they were carved from the same piece of wood with no sign of a joint. The grain swooped down from the front of the broomstick, through the handles, and swirled back around the shaft before disappearing under the bristles at the back.
Grady’s was no less impressive. A deep honey coloured shaft sat in the box but looked ready to explode from it at any moment. The wood looked alive – as if there were flames within it which coruscated up and down the shaft, though the children knew it must just be a trick of the light. There was not a bump or twist in any of the bristles. They lay flat and sleek like the hairs on their Labradors’ tails. The bristles tapered to a point making the broom look as though it had been stretched out like glass and shaped by the wind.
‘You’ve outdone yourself on this one, Hooligan,’ said Merritt admiringly.’ I thought what you had made for me when I was young was special, but now I can see you were holding back your skills a bit.’
Hooligan smiled and took off his round black sunglasses to give Merritt a meaningful stare. The effect was lost somewhat as the bright sunlight forced him into a sad little squint instead. ‘Oh Jeeazus but that suns bright,’ he said, quickly putting the sunglasses back on. ‘I have to say I thought my best work was behind me, but somehow these brooms seemed to take on a life of their own.’ Rubbing a gentle hand over the brooms he looked at the children and said, ‘And you two had better do them the justice they deserve or I’ll be down after you with a couple of banshees for company if you don’t.’
At those words Fitzhollow clipped Hooligan around the head, knocking his glasses off and causing him to squint again as he fumbled to pick them up off the ground. ‘What was that for, ya gurrier?’
‘For trying to frighten the children with banshees, ye idiot,’ said Fitzhollow as he nursed his hand. ‘By St Patrick though I have to say your head is an almighty piece of concrete, isn’t it.’ Turning back to the children he gave them another of his twinkling smiles. ‘Forget him, though. Would you like to see the real party trick? Hmmmm?’
The children weren’t quite sure how to reply but simply said, ‘Yes please.’
‘Ah. Manners. If only there were more little wizards and witches like you two around. All right then. Come with me,’ said Fitzhollow, turning and walking back into the shop with his funny little bandy-legged walk.
Picking up the broomstick cases the group followed him into the gloom of the shop, their eyes taking a moment to adjust to the semi-darkness after the brightness of the day outside. Fitzhollow had made his way behind the counter and bent down to pick two cases from a shelf below. The cases looked just like smaller versions of the larger cases whi
ch held the broomsticks – gold hinges and clasps with a golden handle. Placing them on the counter the leprechaun wandered back around the front and regarded the children with a clever smile. ‘Just like those broomsticks, these wands felt like they were making themselves. The wand for you, my dear,’ said Fitzhollow pointing at Niamh, ‘came from the banks of Lough Swilly in the grounds of the castle of Manannan McLir himself. The king’s guards weren’t very happy with me taking the wood for the wand to tell the truth but, well ... they owe me a favour or two and as your father and I go back a long way I thought I could use up at least one of my lives getting hold of this.’
‘I thought you said you could introduce us to the king?’ said Grady. ‘If his guards are chasing you it doesn’t sound like you’re that popular.’
Fitzhollow gave Grady a dirty look while Grace turned away, chuckling under her breath. The leprechaun gave a wee snort and continued, ignoring the uncomfortable truths Grady was so good at reminding people about.
‘As for your wand, my boy, well. Let me tell you I had the most interesting journey before I came across the most special – and unusual – piece of ash I’ve ever made a wand from.’
‘Oh God, no. Don’t let him tell you the lightning story!’ yelled Hooligan from outside. ‘You’ll die of thirst and hunger before he gets to the end of it!!’
‘Just because you have the attention span of a donkey doesn’t mean that they do!’ shouted Fitzhollow in response. The children just giggled. They were starting to understand that Fitzhollow and Hooligan quite clearly had a “special” relationship.
‘Yes, well I suppose I could cut the story down a bit,’ said Fitzhollow, readjusting his coat and taking off his glasses to clean them. Popping the spectacles back on his nose he smiled back at the children. ‘On the way back from Tir na Nog I was caught in a storm which lashed the coast I was flying along. It seemed as though I could see sunlight not far away and so headed my broom towards the spot, but no matter how fast I flew or how long I flew the sunlight didn’t get any closer. And even stranger than that, it seemed to be heading in odd directions, one minute ahead of me, then off to the right. Then back to the left.’ The children had trouble keeping up with the leprechaun as he told his story. One minute he was in front of them, a second later he would appear to their right, and then again to their left as the story unfolded.
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