The Changeling (31 page)

Grabbing hold of Eva’s other hand, Aoife cried, ‘Leave her alone! She’s with me!’

‘I don’t take my orders from you. You have no powers.’ And she dragged at Eva with such inhuman strength that Aoife was forced to release the screaming child or see her ripped apart. In a single motion, the banshee gathered up the little girl and strode away towards the stable steps, but Dorocha was on his feet again, barring her way.

‘Set the sheóg down. The changeling is fond of her. The druid will give you others from the temple when you return the book.’

The banshee hesitated – reluctant to comply, but interested. ‘How many?’

‘Three.’

‘Morfesa has agreed to this?’

‘Tell him, it is a proposal from the Beloved. If he refuses you, come back to me. But until then . . .’ He lifted Eva out of the banshee’s arms and set her down on her feet so that she could run back to Aoife, then walked with the woman to the crystal stairs, where he stood talking to her in a low voice. The banshee glanced across at Aoife occasionally, pulling her red cloak tighter around her; eventually she turned and left.

Caitlin muttered, instantly bolder, ‘Danu’s sake, what a bitch.’

Still hugging Eva, who clung to her, Aoife crossed the room to stand before Dorocha. ‘Thank you.’

He smiled at her, and said, as when he had dismissed the dullahan, ‘I am glad to be of service to you.’

‘No, it was kind of you to let me keep her.’

‘I only want to make you happy here.’

She drew herself up tall, shoulders back, meeting his eyes. ‘Then let me take my parents’ daughter home. She’ll never find the way by herself. She thinks she still lives in Dublin.’

His smile didn’t falter. ‘No.’

Frustration and anger made her face hot. Her voice came out louder. ‘Why not, if you want me to be happy? If my parents have their own daughter back, they’ll be happy themselves, and then I can be happy here. It’s only fair – if you have me, why can’t Eva go back to them?’

Dorocha dropped his head slightly to one side, appearing to consider her question, then shrugged. ‘Why don’t you ask your lenanshee friend? The road is open to his kind. He could bring your little sheóg, if he liked.’

Two different emotions swept through her: gratitude, that he would let the child go home; loneliness, at the thought of Shay going back without her. ‘Thank you. Can you show me where to find him?’

‘But it will be hard for you to persuade him to abandon his new love.’

Aoife half closed her eyes as misery swept over her; then opened then again. ‘He’s my friend, he won’t say no.’

‘Yet she is so beautiful.’ And Dorocha’s dark eyes lingered on every part of her, eyebrows raised, mouth twitching in amusement.

At once she became acutely, painfully aware of how ridiculous she must look – every part of her filthy and scratched by brambles, her hair in knots, her clothes encrusted with dirt and stinking horribly of cooshee, her trackies torn almost all the way down the right seam to her ankle, her toenails wedged with dirt. She repeated loudly, determined not to let this man undermine her trust in Shay’s friendship for her, ‘He will do it for me, if I ask him. Can you show me the way to the lenanshee quarter?’

‘Of course.’ Still his eyes travelled laughingly over her, from tangled hair to naked feet. ‘But if you feel a need to wash yourself before you walk among them . . .’

Under his cynical gaze, Aoife felt herself weaken. She remembered the lenanshee who had looked her up and down with such disgust. And the one who had prodded Ultan’s plump cheek mockingly, and the other who had shuddered at Caitlin’s missing tooth. If she were to walk into their perfect world, looking like this . . . She could imagine the horror and the laughter. And she felt suddenly that she wouldn’t be able to bear it if she saw the slightest sign in Shay’s face that he was in any way ashamed of her. ‘Maybe if you’ve got somewhere I could clean up a bit . . .?’

‘Of course. And when you are clean, I have dresses that will fit you, far more beautiful than any lenanshee has ever worn.’

For a brief moment her heart lifted. If she could look as beautiful as they . . . But then, why fool herself? ‘You don’t have to go lending me a dress; just a wash will do.’

‘Aoibheal—’

‘
Aoife.
’

‘He is with the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. He promised to return to you last night, and he did not. He has no desire to return to the surface world. If you want to win even the slightest part of his attention, I strongly advise you to accept my offer.’

The fragile crystal staircase that rose through the wall of the minaret was narrow and twisting; they climbed in single file.

Caitlin had insisted on coming too, despite repeatedly declaring that she had no interest in dressing up. ‘I’m a changeling soldier, I don’t want to look like the bloody Rose of Tralee.’

Bringing up the rear, Ultan said, ‘Don’t worry – it’d take more than a dress to do that to you, state of you.’

She snarled, ‘Shut your mouth, Fat Boy.’

When they reached the next floor of the minaret, double doors of bronze appeared before them. Dorocha thrust them open, and stood aside with a mockingly dramatic sweep of his arm. ‘The treasures of the queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann! Take anything you wish, all of you.’

Moving past him into the chamber, Aoife stared around in amazement. Dresses of all colours spilled from copper-bound wooden chests; were heaped in corners; hung from silver poles. They were soft rose pinks and poppy reds; brilliant dandelion; sage green; the rich lilac of bluebells in evening light.

Sliding to the floor from Aoife’s arms and running in among them, Eva cried, ‘So pretty!’

Caitlin said nothing – but she let out a breath that trembled with desire. Ultan, who had perked up at the word ‘treasure’, was clearly disappointed. ‘Just girls’ clothes?’

Dorocha laughed. ‘You, Ultan McNeal, follow me. I have other treasures that might amuse you.’

‘Gold and jewels?’

‘You have lived too long among humans. Try not to think of every wealth as mineral.’

‘Then what—?’

‘Come with me and see.’

The doors swung closed, leaving Aoife, Caitlin and Eva alone in the vaulted chamber. The windows high in the wall were curtained in deep blue, but fat wax candles burned brightly in brackets, supplementing the sunlight that glowed pinkly through the crystal walls.

‘Pretty,’ said Eva again, in an awed voice.

‘They are.’ Aoife walked along one of the rows of dresses, stroking them with her hand. They seemed to have been woven from actual living flowers – still soft and sweet-smelling and beautiful. She thought of the heart-stoppingly beautiful lenanshee girls in their floating lace dresses. Dorocha was right – these dresses were even more wonderful.

Leaning against a central pillar was a huge sheet of copper, burnished so brightly it served as a mirror. She paused as she passed it; she did look awful. Her face was splodged with mud and her hair was like a bramble bush. A large wooden comb lay on a marble block beside the mirror, along with a basin of water and a linen cloth. A small wooden stool stood beside the block. Taking the cloth, she dipped it in the water – it was warm and scented – and washed her face and arms. With a glance towards Caitlin, who was wandering around looking stunned, she stripped off her trackies, sat on the stool and washed her long legs and narrow feet. It felt good, getting off all the mud. She dragged the comb through her long, tangled hair, and studied herself in the mirror. Better. At least her hair wasn’t greasy – in the last twenty-four hours it had been soaked in the sea, a lake and a waterfall, and bleached by hot sun. Gold threads glittered in the rich dark red. Her pale, oval face had caught the sun, bringing out the strong colour of her blue-green eyes.

‘Oh my God – I mean, Danu – Aoife, look at this . . .’ The tall, muscular changeling girl appeared from between the rows, holding out an item of silvery lace, very similar to the beautiful lenanshee dresses but thickly embroidered with pearls. She seemed to have completely forgotten her earlier contempt for dressing up. Her freckled face was alight with joy. ‘I’ve never, ever, ever seen anything like this. I never even had a dress, ’cos my mam said I was way too ugly, not like her stupid human baby would have been. It’s gorgeous, don’t you think? Do you think it would it fit me?’

It
was
heart-stoppingly gorgeous, and it was obvious that it wouldn’t fit. ‘I don’t like it, Caitlin. See, there’s so many pearls sewn onto it – the bodice looks way too uncomfortable and the skirts must be much too heavy. Let me find you a different one.’

‘No, I want
this
one.’ And she glared at Aoife, like she suspected her of wanting it for herself. But when Caitlin tried it on, it wouldn’t even fit over her shoulders. Her stone-green eyes dampened, like pebbles washed by a wave; she stuck out her chin, and held the dress out to Aoife. ‘Go on then, you have it. It’s bound to fit you perfectly.’

‘No, I’m serious, I don’t like it at all. How about this one on you?’ The dress Aoife had pulled off the silver pole was as light as air: created of feathers, the sleeves had the fluorescent beauty of a kingfisher, and the full high-waisted skirts spread out in the glowing greens and blues of a peacock’s tail. When she held it up against Caitlin, it swept the floor – another gown not made for action. But the changeling girl’s eyes were starry at the beauty of it.

‘Oh . . . Do you think I could . . .?’

‘Sure you could, it’s perfect for you. Let me comb your hair and help you on with it.’

She re-braided Caitlin’s bright red hair, and helped her on with the floating dress. Although it was designed as a full, loose gown, it was a struggle getting it on over her broad, strong body and Aoife had to stretch it across her muscular back, and realign the feathers to cover the gap between the silver wire fasteners, which she had to unfold and re-bend to get them to meet. But Caitlin couldn’t see behind her – all she could see was herself in the mirror, and her face was no longer the face of an angry murderer of priests, but that of a little girl wearing a new dress to her own birthday party. Her pale green eyes softened, and without the scowl she was suddenly almost as pretty as Sinead – and far less cat-like. ‘I never . . . If my mam— I mean, if Mary McGreevey could see me now . . .’

‘She would say how beautiful you were.’

‘Yes,’ breathed Caitlin. She picked up the wet cloth and rubbed her cheeks. ‘I am.’ And when Eva plucked at the feathers and said, ‘Caitlin looks like Big Bird!’ she smiled fondly at her, wide enough to show her missing tooth.

Caitlin’s enthusiasm was infectious. There were hundreds of dresses, so beautiful . . . But Aoife had her pride. She didn’t want to look like she was deliberately dressing up to impress Shay; she just wanted not to look laughable. She took down the simplest dress she could find, and pulled it over her head. It hung straight to her knees. The hem had been dipped in dark blue dye, and from this rays of gold shot up to the paler rose-pink of the shoulders – the sun rising from the sea. There was a pair of red leather shoes under the rail, no more than slippers with no heel. She tried them on and they fitted perfectly, as soft as butter to her feet.

She went to stand beside Caitlin at the mirror. Good enough – no point in pretending she could be as gorgeous as a lenanshee. At least now she could go to find Shay without feeling like a complete fool.

The bronze doors creaked and she turned eagerly, thinking it was Dorocha come to bring her to the lenanshee quarter. But it was two changelings of maybe twelve and thirteen, one with an auburn bob and the other with such pale gold-red hair it was like liquid sunshine. They were wearing purple dresses and had bare feet.

Aoife said, ‘Can I help you? Did Dorocha send you to bring us to him?’

‘Oh no, not yet,’ said the taller girl with the darker bob. ‘Not until everything’s ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

Instead of answering, the girl went to take down a small gold casket from a niche in the wall. And then stood and whispered to the other girl, both of them staring at Caitlin, who was still wafting around in front of the mirror admiring herself in the splendid feathered gown. After a few seconds the big changeling spun round to face them, arms folded and feet squarely planted apart.

‘All right, what are ye two staring at? I was told I could take any dress I wanted and I did. Have ye got a problem with that?’

‘No, no, sorry—’

‘Are ye taking the mick?’

‘No, no! We were just wondering—’

‘
What
were ye wondering, hey?’

‘Please, does the little sheóg belong to you?’

‘Not me.’ Caitlin jerked her head at Aoife. ‘That one keeps dragging the kid around with us everywhere. We had the dullahans after us because of it. Banshee wants her back, hey? Fine by me.’

But the two girls were no longer paying any attention to her or to Eva; instead they were staring at Aoife, and going pink and pale by turns. Then the one with the pure gold hair nudged the older, who came to herself and advanced slowly towards Aoife, opening and holding out the small casket.

In it lay a single pearl, threaded on a fine copper wire. ‘The Beloved says you might like to put this on.’

Aoife caught her breath. The iridescence of the pearl reminded her of the rainbows that spanned the wilderness around Gorias. ‘No, really – I can’t wear that. Sorry, what’s your name?’

‘Niamh.’

‘I need to find Dorocha. He said he’d take me to find my friend.’

‘I’ll wear it,’ said Caitlin, taking off her hippy beads.

‘Is there something else you would prefer?’ Niamh asked Aoife. She said over her shoulder to the younger, ‘Fetch the ruby flowers, Saoirse. And the ruby circlet for her hair. And a more suitable dress than this. The bodice of rubies, with the train of poppy petals to match. And take the pearl away—’

Caitlin made a strangled noise.

Aoife said with a sigh, ‘My friend here would like to try this on.’

The two girls glanced at each other in surprise, and Niamh said, ‘You want to make your friend a gift of this pearl?’

‘Not that it’s mine to give away . . .’