by Jack Spain
They paused first at his gate to read a collection of signs that Grogan had erected to ensure his privacy. They read:
NO NUNS. NO PRIESTS. NO SCHOOLCHILDREN. NO SALESMEN. NO MONEY COLLECTORS. NO POLITICIANS. NO FOREIGNERS. NO IRISH PEOPLE. NO VISITORS. NO FRIENDS OF THE EARTH. NOBODY ELSE’S FRIENDS EITHER. NO TRESPASSERS. NO HIPPIES. NO DO-GOODERS. AND NONE OF THOSE EITHER.
By Order of O.M. Grogan
Balor didn’t ask them to wait. He was always calling in on Grogan so as soon as Balor dismounted, Moriarty led Chopper and Morphu through the bushes and into the field where the hill was.
The sun was peeking above the horizon and lit the front of Grogan’s pretty little cottage. Balor looked up to see smoke coming from the chimney. Grogan must be awake, he thought. He strolled around the house to the back door which he found wide open and cautiously stepped inside.
‘I can always tell when you’re here,’ creaked a voice from the kitchen. Balor grinned and walked in. Grogan was kneeling by a cast-iron range cooker, pushing some firewood into the hearth. He was an old man with a remarkably full head of white hair. He turned to face Balor and smiled.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he asked.
‘A favour,’ Balor replied.
‘Oh, aye? A favour is it?’ Grogan asked, and then he added, ‘I’m not so sure that you need a favour. I was talking to old John Abbott up the road. He says that Michael McManus ploughed up his potato field yesterday. I was wondering if that had anything to do with you?’
‘Really? No, I’m sure not,’ Balor replied defensively.
Grogan stood up and wiped his hands on a tea towel. ‘Because if it had, I’m sure that he would like to thank you for it. McManus agreed a fair old payout for the damage. Much more than the potatoes were worth. A lot more than the supermarket would pay for them. So, what can I do you for, Balor?’
‘We ... I have come up with a plan for slowing down the road that McManus is intending to build through our hill,’ Balor began.
‘No,’ Grogan snapped back.
‘No what?’
‘No, you cannot tear down my house.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘So that they build the road around the hill.’
‘That’s a good idea!’ Balor smirked.
‘Well, it can stay an idea. This house has historical importance.’
‘Really? What historical importance?’
‘It’s nearly as old as I am. That’s good enough for you.’
‘Well, I’m older than the hill,’ Balor snapped back.
‘Aye, and twice as cunning.’
‘As a hill?’
Grogan, who was often quite slow in the morning, paused to think. As with all conversations with Balor, he wasn’t quite sure where this one was going, and that was dangerous.
Balor resumed. ‘Your house is safe. The Hill cannot function without your help. Every hill has a sentinel. Without you we would have no electricity, no phone, no fresh water, no food and no medical supplies, not to mention satellite television and the internet. There is no hill without a sentinel and you are the sentinel.’
‘I see. I just wanted to hear it. Speaking of electricity, you haven’t paid your last bill.’
‘I haven’t?’ Balor replied slightly surprised.
‘I forgot to pass it on. It was over a hundred this month. What with all these mobile phones and tablet computers you’ve been ordering it just slipped my mind. It will be fine if we pay it within a week. There is another package over there for you in the corner.’
Balor looked to the corner and could see a rectangular box with some barcode stickers plastered to the side.
‘That will be our wi-fi router,’ Balor replied innocently. ‘I’m trying to clear up some of the wiring in the hill by going wireless for internet access. I also needed it for the wireless webcams I’ve been waiting for.’
‘Wireless webcams?’
‘As an early warning system, so we can see what is happening around the hill. I ordered them online.’
‘I see. Anyway, you did divert the road over the potato field, didn’t you?’
Balor excused his actions. ‘It was a trial run. I wasn’t even sure what we were trialling, but it worked well enough. Besides, you say he was well compensated. How do you know about it?’
‘Aye, he was,’ Grogan agreed as he went to sit at the kitchen table. ‘It was on the radio this morning. So, what do you have in mind?’
Balor stepped forward. ‘I need to get a campaign going. Something that will stir up the environmentalists to preserve the hill.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Grogan snapped back. He strolled over to the kitchen sink and began to wash some cups. ‘There has been no work around here for years. Nobody is going to allow a bunch of environmentalists to prevent ordinary working people to put food on the table. No. If you want to stop the road it will have to be something else. Besides, there are no special animals or plants here. It was your crowd that saw to that.’
‘That was hundreds of years ago. There is no harm in trying. Maybe we could transplant a few.’
‘Aye,’ replied Grogan, ‘there is no harm in trying but you’ve known about this road coming for years. Why now?’
Balor walked over to a brick by the fireplace and sat on it. He cupped his hands together and looked into the fire, deep in thought. Grogan turned and stared at him for a moment before folding a tea towel before he came over and sat opposite him.
‘I never thought they would bother building it,’ Balor said. ‘It serves no real purpose. It just joins two other roads and hardly anyone uses the old road anyway.’
‘It serves no real purpose,’ replied Grogan, ‘but it does secure votes for the local councillors. And if they build the road, people will use it. It’s a great excuse to sell more cars. What chance do you think they have of winning another election if they continually stand in the way of jobs? That road provides nearly 1000 jobs around here, not just the roadworks but the companies that supply it. So…I’m guessing that you didn’t tell them in the hill?’
‘No, they found out a few days ago. I thought it would be at least another two or three years before they started to build the road so I said nothing and left them to enjoy the peace. I’ve been looking for a new location on the quiet.’
‘Well I don’t mind moving if you know a place. It would be nice to get a warmer house.’
‘This house is warm. I had central heating and double glazing installed for you.’
‘Aye, that you did. But it’s an old house and can still be a bit cold in the winter, even with the double glazing and central heating. And I’m getting old. I need something with a better layout. Do you have another hill in mind?’
‘There isn’t one I know of.’
‘What about moving to a hill belonging to another king?’
‘The King is considering it. But, to do it right would require months or even a year of negotiations. We are still technically at war with the other hills, but we have been negotiating peace, and I thought that a move to an established hill was the best bet. It would put you out of a job.’
‘I’m sure I would get a generous redundancy payment. And that is why you asked me to buy that big van?’
‘Yes. That is why I asked you to buy that big van. Speaking of which, where is it?’
‘Come on,’ Grogan said as he stood up, ‘I’ll show it to you.’
Grogan walked out the back door of his house and across the yard to a big shed, followed by Balor, who took a more indirect route to avoid some puddles that were quite deep for someone of his height. Grogan removed a padlock from the doors and swung it open to reveal a large brand new black Ford Transit van.
‘It’s the long wheelbase version,’ said Grogan proudly. ‘Paid for with cash, your cash, registered with insurance and a full tank of diesel. Air conditioned, with sat-nav and powerful stereo. I’ve fitted out the back as you asked, with four layers of shelving and hooks for people to attach the
mselves to so that they don’t slosh around when we are on the go.’
‘It looks like it will do the job,’ Balor said.
‘Aye, it will. It’s a good job I don’t have to tell the health and safety people what I’m planning to use it for. They would never let me.’
Balor stopped looking and turned to Grogan. ‘What are you on about?’
‘The Health and Safety Executive. It’s a government department that regulates safety on the job to prevent workplace injuries. Wouldn’t apply to transporting leprechauns though. It’s not in the regulations.’
‘We’re not leprechauns,’ Balor corrected him. ‘What happens if they find something that is not safe?’
‘Usually they will order you to put it right. You might get a fine. In extreme cases they can shut down a job, or even a whole company.’
Balor stared at Grogan for almost a whole minute before turning and starting to walk around, turning randomly as each new thought came into his head.
‘What are you thinking, Balor?’ said Grogan.
Balor stopped and looked up at the old man. ‘What would happen if the road was too dangerous to build?’
‘I suppose the Health and Safety people would have to close it down until they found a safer way.’
‘And that may just buy us the time we need to find a new hill, or negotiate a better treaty to move to an existing one.’
‘I suppose it might. What do you have in mind?’
‘A few accidents, obviously caused by carelessness. Some shoddy workmanship. Nobody needs to get hurt. Just enough to get the Health and Safety Executive to close down the site.’
‘That would only win you a couple of weeks. Would that be enough?’
‘Weeks? No. I need years,’ Balor replied. He hung his head in disappointment.
‘There may be a way,’ said Grogan. ‘If you could arrange enough safety issues to make McManus lose his contract then the council would have to go out to tender to find another contractor. That always takes years. Sure, it took McManus three years of bids to win the work he has now.’
‘But surely they will have a backup contractor.’
‘Aye, I’m sure that they do, but a man like McManus won’t take this lying down. He’ll take them to court, which could take months, or even a year. You may be on to something. They do have a black mark already what with the potato field incident. That’s negligence, and where there is negligence, there will be health and safety issues.’
‘We will have to try it!’
Grogan smiled. Balor’s mood had been lifted and with a spring in his step he made his way past Grogan and out the doors of the shed in the direction of the house.
‘I suppose if you could arrange for a few diesel leaks and some other stuff like that, you could probably get the environmentalists to help.’
‘It would harm the animals in the area,’ Balor said. ‘The King wouldn’t go for it.’
‘So you don’t mind putting people’s lives at risk, but harming animals is out of the question.’
‘It’s only a recent development. We used to hunt foxes and rabbits for fun, but this girl in the hill, Betty Black. She started a campaign to protect animals so people come second. It caught on. It’s been a long time since we enjoyed the thrill of a hunt.’
‘So, what do you do instead?’
‘We got a PlayStation, and an Xbox.’
‘Ah….’
‘Come on,’ Balor said. ‘We need to call these health and safety morons.’
‘One thing, Balor,’ Grogan replied as he followed him. Balor stopped and waited as Grogan closed the doors and put the padlock back on. He then turned to Balor and gave him a very serious look.
‘Nobody must get hurt,’ Grogan told him.
Balor nodded in agreement but Grogan looked unconvinced. ‘Alright,’ Balor said with a mock innocent look on his face, ‘I promise I won’t hurt anybody.’
‘I’ll get the phone number then,’ said Grogan.
Balor let Grogan walk past and into the house. He stood there a moment until something else caught his eye. A cat with a deep cut in one ear had strolled around the corner of the house and stopped dead, frozen to the spot. Balor slowly moved his hand into his habit and onto the handle of a dagger. The cat looked at Balor for a moment before it squealed, spun around and running away terrified. Balor breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Whew,’ he said. ‘Close call. But at least I didn’t have to promise not to kill a few of them road builders.’
Balor followed Grogan into the house. As soon as the door was closed a shadowy figure emerged from the side of the shed holding a bow. It was Morphu, but he was moving in a very fluid and controlled way, not staggering to keep his balance at all. He scanned the yard and then looked the direction the cat had ran off for a moment before slinging the bow over his shoulder and running over to the house. He climbed up onto some firewood and jumped onto a barrel beside the window before peering inside. He looked around one more time before pressing his ear to the window to hear what was being said inside. In the distance he could see the cat pull the arrow out of its flank with its teeth.
Distinguished Members of the Press
The engineers at the roadworks were very careful to check the new road markers against the drawings before anyone started work. The workmen gathered around the machines while they waited, talking about a soap opera called Ballybunion, current affairs and the price of beer. When the young engineer was satisfied that the markers were in the right place, he went and told the foreman, and the road construction recommenced. The bulldozers and diggers roared into life. The job was back on, and, satisfied that the road was pointing in the right direction, the engineer turned to walk back to the work huts. He gulped when he saw the black Jaguar parked beside the huts.
Michael McManus was waiting in the engineer’s Portakabin and was glad to hear the engines. He had been fiddling with a calculator while he waited, trying to work out how much the delay was costing him per day, per hour, per minute, and finally per second. Regardless of how many times he divided the cost, it was still a lot of money. He threw the calculator down onto the table and leaned back in the chair, muttering to himself. Then, in a fit of anger, he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty mug, and started to smash the calculator to bits, hitting it repeatedly until the handle of the mug snapped off. He took a deep breath to calm down before putting the handle of the mug down and picking up the pieces of the calculator and throwing them in the bin. He then picked up the mug and the handle and had a look at the damage. After a bit of manipulation, the handle seemed to click into place so he placed the mug back down on the table and crossed his arms while he waited for the engineer to turn up.
‘Ah, hello, Mr McManus,’ said the engineer as he entered. ‘How are you today?’
‘How do you think I am?’ McManus snapped back, staring at the engineer. ‘Did you check the markers for the road?’
‘I did,’ the engineer replied as he closed the door behind him. ‘There should be no more delays today.’
‘There had better not be. Yesterday’s potato-field fiasco cost me dearly, not to mention the laughing stock it made of this company.’
‘So,’ said the engineer, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘What?’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Why?’
The engineer became confused. ‘What to you want? Why are you here?’
‘I own the company, lad! I can come here whenever I want, but if you must know, I’m waiting for the woman to come around with the sandwiches.’
‘Sandwiches?’
‘Yeah, what of it?’
‘Nothing,’ replied the engineer, wishing that he hadn’t asked. McManus looked up at him. The disaster of the previous day had not been the young engineer’s fault, and he didn’t want to demoralise him completely, not until he had finished building the road anyway.
‘I haven’t been eating too well lately,’ McManus said, to change the sub
ject. ‘I feel like having a sandwich. A big bacon and egg sandwich with tomatoes and lettuce, and a nice cup of milky coffee, with...’ McManus paused, realising that he was sounding a little odd. ‘Any other news?’ he said instead.
‘Well,’ replied the engineer, ‘we have been getting a lot of emails from some woman protesting about the new road. She calls herself Miss Ninja Eco-warrior.’
‘Just the one?’
‘No. We get about thirty emails a night.’
‘All from the same woman?’
‘Pretty much, and just at night time. The Garda are trying to trace the phone that was used to email them, but are convinced that they couldn’t be the saboteur as they make no mention of the incidents, and generally just advise other groups to get involved.’
‘Ignore them then. Must be some local crackpot.’
‘Well, I would only, she has copied in practically every environment group in the country.’
‘Have we got any emails from any of them?’
‘No. But it’s only been a couple of days.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. Most of the groups here are too busy trying to protect rainforests in the Amazon basin, or tigers in India. There’s not much you can protect in a bog. We’ve been digging them up for hundreds, even thousands of years to burn in the fire anyway.’
‘I suppose. Friends of the Bog would sound a bit like the toilet appreciation society.’
‘It does, doesn’t it? Keep an eye on it anyway, although I don’t expect to see a Friends of the Bog society turning up any time soon but I think we should keep an eye out. There may be a link between these emails and the sabotage as they both seemed to have started at the same time. We’ll let the police work that out. Where is that sandwich woman?’
The engineer looked somewhat confused. ‘She should be here any minute.’
Declan went about his business, reviewing the drawings and writing up the work that was to be done that day. Occasionally he would glance over at McManus who had now resorted to doing his sums with a pencil and paper. Looking down at the bin he saw the remains of a broken calculator. He looked about the workbench for another calculator and then took a new one from a drawer. He sighed as he took it from its box and switched it on.