The White Horse Trick (23 page)

All his instincts were telling him to let go, but he knew that he couldn’t. If he lost the horse and returned to the surface, he was as good as dead. He could never again set foot in Ireland, and he would not be able to stay alive in that storm-tossed sea for more than a few hours. Whichever way he looked at it, his prospects were not good.

* * *

Jenny circled above the place where JJ and the horse had gone in. She flew lower, certain that she would soon see the two white heads appearing above the waves. But they did not. She circled more widely, in case they had been carried away by the tide, or by some strong current, but there was no sign of them anywhere in the bay.

Jenny hoped they had gone through and were safe in Tír na n’Óg. There was nothing she could do for them now, in any case, so she turned and flew back to where the children were anxiously waiting in the mobile home.

Every night, two of Aidan’s goons came down to check on the children and take care of their basic needs. It took both of them working together to shift the huge rock that was propped against the door, and Jenny had no hope of moving it on her own. She struggled for a minute or two, then tried a different tack. Inside the mobile home the children squealed and retreated when they saw the grizzly bear appear, but a moment later it was gone, and they weren’t at all sure it had ever really been there. The rock was gone as well, and the door swung open freely on bent hinges.

Jenny thought about Aidan and the ruse with the key. It had all been a lie. There was no need for a key to open this door.

On the floor of the souterrain, Aidan Liddy woke up and groaned.

‘Oh, God. Oh my head! Where am I?’

It was what Pup and his friends had been waiting for. All three of them were small but they were strong, and before Aidan knew what was happening, they had bundled him through the fluid wall and into Tír na n’Óg.

‘Go on,’ said Pup to the other two. ‘Your turn now. Get him out the other side before he tries to come back.’

‘And you?’ said one of them. ‘Aren’t you coming through with us?’

This was where Pup, unknown to anyone, was departing from the strict orders Donal had given him. He was, in fact, supposed to go through with the others and stay there, but he had no intention of doing so.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘I’ll be through soon after you.’

There was a moment of hesitation, then the soldiers saluted and disappeared through the wall. Pup waited for a minute to make sure no one returned, then he picked up
the stump of candle and made his way back through the long stone chambers and out into the open.

It was almost dark, and a few hazy stars had appeared inland. But above the sea there were none, and Pup sensed the approach of a new band of rain clouds. He wished he didn’t have to face that. He longed to be with the others, out on the bright side where no storms could get him and there was nothing to worry about at all. But there were things he had to do first, before he could go.

On the bank of the rath Aengus Óg paused in the middle of a reel and put down his bow. High up on the mountainside, just below the stony steps, there was an explosion of flying rocks and dust, and when it settled he could see that an enormous rusty box had appeared there.

Aengus was enjoying JJ’s lion-head fiddle. He picked up the bow and carried on playing. Most of the ploddies forgot about the explosion and lounged back to listen, but a few of them, led by Aisling and the Dagda, set off up the hill to investigate. So nobody noticed when Aidan Liddy, flanked by two young soldiers with rifles, emerged from the mouth of the souterrain and collapsed on the ground, clutching his head in both hands.

‘That god-awful music as well!’ he groaned. ‘I always knew that this place would be hell!’

JJ’s lungs and mind were both on the point of collapse. The need for air had become painful and he had to battle against the urge to open his mouth and fill himself with sea water. His life – both his lives – were flashing in pictures across his mind’s eye. It was all over for him now, he knew.

But the horse, too, had reached the end of its endurance. Though it came from Tír na n’Óg it had no more ability to breathe underwater than any other horse, fairy or ploddy. With the last of its strength it pushed for the sea bed, broke through the time skin and landed itself and the astonished, gasping JJ on the firm, warm plain of Tír na n’Óg.

Pup was just about to set out for the barracks when he heard voices on the other side of the fort. He went towards them and soon he could make out Jenny’s face in the halflight. And not only Jenny. There were three children there as well, and one of them was his brother, Billy. Pup ran up and hugged him, then listened to the story of the midnight
kidnap and the long, frightening imprisonment in the old caravan.

‘And now we’re going with Jenny,’ Billy finished up. ‘Over to Tír na n’Óg where we won’t be hungry or frightened or cold ever again.’

‘Where you belong,’ said Pup.

‘Why?’ said Billy.

‘Where you came from in the first place,’ said Pup. ‘Or your parents, anyway. Isn’t that right, Jenny?’

‘Actually,’ said Jenny, ‘I’m not so sure. But we’re going over there anyway, aren’t we, lads?’

‘Are you coming, Pup?’ Billy asked.

‘I am,’ said Pup, ‘but not just yet. I have to help the general with something. But I’ll be there before you know it.’

After the crash, and after the clatter of settling rubble, silence descended. And not just silence, but peace; a sense of absolute calm and contentment that Donal remembered experiencing only once in his life before, long, long ago. He knew this was not supposed to be happening. He hadn’t wanted to come here yet. He had things to do; responsibilities; there were people who still needed his help. But no matter how hard he tried to hold on to them, his troubles dropped away from him one by one, until at last he couldn’t even remember them, no matter how hard he tried. He knew there had been one last thing, vitally important, that he had set himself to do, but it
wouldn’t come back to him. It was gone beyond retrieving.

The accumulated exhaustion of decades of sleepless nights pressed down upon him now. Taking care not to bruise the púca’s precious apple stock, he sank down on to the floor of the container and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

The barracks was a shambles. The fuel stores had been raided, and huge fires had been lit all around the parade ground. Soldiers were sitting and sprawling everywhere Pup looked. They had clearly been making free with the commander-in-chief’s liquor as well as his food. There were very few of them still awake, and among those who were, few were capable of stringing a coherent sentence together. But finally Pup found Colonel Mooney, who was just about able to tell him that the general had stayed behind at the castle and still hadn’t come back.

So Pup walked back out into the night and over to the dark castle. The place was silent, inside and out. The drawbridge was down and Pup went in, still half expecting to be challenged or shot at, even though he himself had seen the commander-in-chief and his henchmen through to the other side.

‘General Liddy?’ he called. His voice bounced back metallically from the empty containers.

‘General?’ he called again.

A rat scurried across the open mouth of a raided storeroom, but there was no other sound. Pup stood in the centre of the circular courtyard and looked around at the massive steel walls, and it was then that he noticed. Despite the dark, the break in the skyline was obvious. One of the containers was missing.

It was like waking up one morning and discovering Sliabh Carran had disappeared. Pup stepped closer and looked up at the empty space. It wasn’t impossible to move those containers. A team of men with ropes and pulleys and levers could get it moving, and a pile of rocks could be constructed to lower it gently down to the ground. Pup had seen it done once before. But it was a massive undertaking and it took time to organize and more time to carry out. There were no signs of that kind of activity, and in any case, why would they want to do it and leave a gap in the castle wall?

As he stared, Pup became aware that there were pipes sticking up like broken veins around the gap, as though the container had been wrenched out carelessly by some massive force. He realized, even before he worked it out from the numbers, that it was the general’s container that was missing, and for some reason this made the disappearance even more sinister. He stepped backwards, called out once more, then ran out across the drawbridge before the unknown force that had taken the container could decide to lock him in.

He didn’t want to go back to the barracks and face
those stupid drunken squaddies again. His heart had been full at the prospect of seeing the general, and telling him why he had disobeyed his orders and come back, instead of going through to Tír na n’Óg with the others. It was to help him, that was why. It was still what he wanted to do, and he realized there was one other place General Liddy might be. Pup knew where he went every day, though he didn’t know why. He looked up at the sky. He could see no stars now, but there was enough light filtering through the clouds for him to see his way, and there was no rain yet. So he pulled his jacket tight around him and set his oversized boots on a course for the stony steps and the top of Sliabh Carran.

JJ threw himself off the white horse and lay face down on the warm, sweet-scented grass.

‘Home,’ he said. ‘Home, home, home.’

He was wet. His seat-bones were sore and his hands were blistered from clinging to wet reins and wet mane. His arms and legs were hurting and his nose had been bleeding and was still blocked from the blow the stirrup had given it. That is the way he would always be in Tír na n’Óg, where no kind of injury got better. He rolled himself carefully on to his back and gazed into the blue sky that never rained, and squinted at the bright sun that never set. He wouldn’t get better but he wouldn’t get worse, either, and the aches and pains seemed like a small price to pay for the privilege of being back here again.

The horse was wandering off across the field, its reins dangling. JJ was seized with a sudden, furious urge to get back on it; to show it who was boss and make it carry him down to the village to see what was happening. But a cold shock ran through him when he realized the mistake that would be. Because the next person who got on it would
be taken, just as he and Oisín had been taken, out of the land of eternal youth and back to the place where death was just a careless moment away.

He went after the horse anyway, but he didn’t get on it. He took off the saddle and bridle and, instead of hanging them neatly on the gate where Aengus had found them, dropped them in a heap at the bottom of the hedge, where they would be very hard for anyone to find. With luck, he would be the last rider that white horse ever took across to Ireland.

One of the children up beside the container spotted JJ appearing on the plain far below, and pointed it out to the others. Aisling’s eyes had never been particularly good and she couldn’t see that far. But the description of the white horse and a man with white hair getting up and running after it was all she needed to hear. JJ was home and safe and, from the sound of it, as eccentric and unpredictable as ever.

‘Are there any children with him?’ said the Dagda to the sharp-eyed ploddy.

‘No, sir,’ said the child. ‘Not that I can see.’

‘Hmm,’ said the Dagda. ‘I’d better go down and see what he’s been up to.’

‘Wait, Dagda,’ said Aisling. ‘Let’s just see what’s in here first.’

One of the soldiers opened the doors of the container. When the Dagda saw Donal sleeping inside, he
said, ‘Another ploddy. Ingenious, aren’t they? The ways they find of sneaking across.’

‘I think I might know this one,’ said Aisling. She looked more closely and her heart passed through shock, then through sadness and into joy as she recognized her Donal, nearly as old as she was now, but still her beloved son.

The Dagda made to prod him with his boot, but Aisling stopped him.

‘Let him sleep,’ she said. ‘He looks as if he needs it.’

So she and the other ploddies began to unload the boxes and crates and bags and cases, working carefully around Donal, who slept right through it all. Outside on the rocky ground, the Dagda eagerly ripped everything open and ordered any scores and instruments to be carried down to the orchestra.

As the workforce dwindled, he sent an order for reinforcements to come up and help. Meanwhile the unpacking went on. They were nearly at the back of the container when a tall soldier lifted a box from the top of a roof-high stack and Aisling caught a glimpse of the things that were standing behind it. She gasped, and began hurriedly to dismantle what proved to be the final wall of boxes. Because there was something there that she had never expected to see again; something that would make her life in Tír na n’Óg complete.

There were two pianos, but she was only interested in one of them. It was her own one; the old Bechstein
that her parents had given her when she first married JJ.

‘Dagda!’ she called. ‘These are pianos!’

‘What are?’ he said, coming in and helping her move the last of the boxes. ‘Those things that look like sheds?’

Aisling pulled up a box to sit on and opened the keyboard lid of the Bechstein. It looked OK. All the keys were still there, anyway. She played a few notes, and then a couple of scales and arpeggios. It was out of tune and some of the keys were a bit sticky, but it was not half as bad as it should have been after . . . what? She glanced across at Donal to get an idea. Twenty-five years? Thirty? It wouldn’t be a problem. JJ had tuned the piano for her in the past and he’d surely figure out a way of doing it again. And in the meantime it was an awful lot better than nothing.

She adjusted the height of her seat with a few large books and tried out the pedals with her feet. Then she began to play.

As Pup approached the beacon, he thought for a moment that he saw a man standing on top of it, but when he got there, all he saw was a big white goat. It wasn’t, however, an ordinary goat, and when it stretched out and took on a form that was almost human, Pup began to wonder whether he might have got lost when he was under the ground and come up into some entirely different kind of world. Nothing was right here any more. The squaddies
were all drunk, a container had vanished, and now this. The weird goat even spoke.