The White Horse Trick (27 page)

‘Just so,’ said the púca. ‘You do that. So nice to see you again.’

Another year went by, and then another. Jenny saw less and less of the teenagers now because they didn’t need her any more, and went off on their own adventures for days, sometimes weeks at a time. On more than one occasion she had been on the point of returning to Tír na n’Óg and leaving them to follow on when they were ready, but then someone would turn up with a broken finger or a bellyache and she would realize they still needed her.

But the time did come, at last, when she saw that her work was finally done. She didn’t know what exactly had changed, but one day she woke up and understood that the children were children no longer. They were adults, and ready to go home. So she took the ones she could find and returned with them to the rath, and sent them through to Tír na n’Óg to get on with their lives over there. Then she waited for the rest of them to return.

In ones and twos they drifted in, drawn by the fairy instinct that emerges in their young when they reach maturity. As they arrived, Jenny sent them on ahead. Some popped through the time skin as if they’d been doing it all
their lives. Others were more cautious, and chose to crawl in the safe way, through the tunnel and the fluid wall. Soon they had all been sent home except for two, a girl and a boy. Jenny was growing more restless by the day now, and was dying to get home herself. She decided to give them just a few more days, and then go on without them.

Pup finally tracked down most of the parents at the quay. Some of them were playing and some of them were dancing, but he noticed Aengus sitting on his own at the side of the street, playing with a kitten.

‘Hello, Pup,’ he said. ‘You’ve grown. Quite the strapping lad, so you are.’

It was true. He had. The wonderful food in the forest had produced a late growth spurt, and Pup had grown taller and filled out as well. But he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Aengus’s flattery.

‘It’s your turn to take care of the children,’ he said.

‘Oh, surely not,’ said Aengus. ‘I’ve only just got here.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ said Pup. ‘But the children were ten years old when I left, and who knows how old they are now. It’s not fair on Jenny, and—’

‘Shh,’ said Aengus. ‘Can you hear that?’

The music was belting away in the background, but even so, Pup could hear the kitten purring away like a little generator.

‘Yes, Aengus. But—’

‘How do they do that?’ said Aengus.

‘I don’t know, Aengus. But—’

‘I can’t make that noise. Can you?’

Pup started again. ‘Look. It’s your turn to go over and mind the kids. It’s—’

‘Oh, all right!’ Aengus yelled, standing up so fast that the kitten stopped purring and dug its claws into his chest. He pried it off him and thrust it into Pup’s arms.

‘Mind that till I get back.’

And he was gone.

‘Oh, brilliant timing,’ said Jenny, when Aengus Óg appeared beside the rath. ‘Just when all the work is done.’

‘Really?’ said Aengus, looking pleased. ‘Are they all grown up already? No wonder you look so old. You must be nearly as old as me.’

Jenny gritted her teeth and was about to give him a piece of her mind, when a commotion among the trees caught her attention. The púca was striding towards them with the two missing youngsters, and he had one hairy hand around each of their necks.

‘Aengus Óg,’ he said. ‘I might have known you’d turn up. You always do whenever there’s trouble.’

‘What’s going on?’ said Aengus.

The púca pushed downwards on the children’s necks and they sank to their knees. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ he said. ‘These foul offspring of yours have been stealing my apples.’

‘Oh no,’ said Jenny. ‘Really, lads, what did you go and do a stupid thing like that for?’

‘It was her fault,’ said the boy, pointing at the girl. ‘She put the idea into my head.’

‘Wait a minute, wait a minute,’ said Aengus. ‘What’s all this about apples?’

The púca’s voice roared like a gale in the trees. ‘Look what I’ve made here! There is food on every tree and every bush. There are nuts that taste like toasted cheese and puffballs that taste like cinnamon buns. But it’s so typical of you feckless people. The one thing that’s forbidden to you acts like a magnet, doesn’t it?’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ the girl whined. ‘I was watching a snake going up the tree, and—’

‘All right, all right,’ said Aengus. Jenny saw a gleam enter his eye and knew that some kind of trickery was on the way. ‘Stop panicking, goat-face. I’ll sort it out. I’ll punish them for taking your precious apples.’

‘Oh really?’ said the púca. ‘And how do you intend to do that?’

‘Well, it’s like this,’ said Aengus. ‘We’re badly in need of a few ploddies, you see? Jenny can confirm that, can’t you, Jenny?’

‘Well . . . I just . . . hang on a minute,’ said Jenny, trying to see where this was leading.

‘So that’ll be their punishment. Do you hear that, you two? You did wrong to take the púca’s apples, so you’re not coming home.’

‘You can’t do that, Aengus!’ said Jenny.

‘Indeed you cannot!’ said the púca furiously.

‘I can and I will,’ said Aengus. ‘And if you touch one hair on their heads I’ll be back to sort you out, have no doubt about it. I’ve got a new trick now. I’ll shpigengog you. You won’t know what hit you.’

Jenny watched the púca. He was swelling with rage, but she knew he would not challenge Aengus Óg. All the same, her nerves were on edge, and she was ready to jump back through the time skin at the slightest sign of trouble.

Aengus turned to the children, and went on, ‘Now, you listen here, you two. If you’re really good and have lots of children and grandchildren, then you might – just might – be allowed to come home. But not until you’re old, you hear? Not until you reach death’s door.’

‘But this is outrageous!’ said the púca. ‘I don’t want them here! I’ve started all over again. I don’t want a new generation of human beings!’

‘Don’t worry so much,’ said Aengus. ‘You’ll give yourself high blood pressure. We only need a few of them to mind our little ones while they grow up.’

‘No, Aengus,’ said the púca.

‘And they’re not dangerous,’ said Aengus. ‘I’m sure they haven’t really got going with their magic yet, and in any case they’ll soon forget they have it.’

‘No, Aengus,’ said the púca.

‘And listen, you’re the boss, all right? You hear that, lads? This white-haired fella gives the orders around here, understand?’

‘No, Aengus!’ said the púca.

‘At least until I come back,’ said Aengus. He gave a cheery little wave to the púca, then stepped sideways and vanished.

Jenny hesitated, but not for long. She had been locked out of Tír na n’Óg once before and she never wanted it to happen again. In the blink of an eye she, too, was gone, and the púca was left staring at empty space. He realized he still had a grip on the boy and the girl, and he whipped his hands away from them as if he had been burned.

‘Go after them!’ he yelled. ‘Scoot! Scram!!’

But as the two young people reached the rath and the entrance to their own world, they felt the slightest of subtle jolts beneath their feet. They had never felt it before, but somehow, instinctively, they knew what it meant.

And so it was that a young man and a young woman stood alone, with nothing but fig leaves to cover their nakedness. They were locked out of paradise but they had their instructions. If they did their duty and obeyed the rules, they might be rewarded eventually, and allowed to go through to the land they had heard so much about when they were growing up. The place they had never seen but knew existed. The place where the sun never set, and where they would have eternal life.

Children and grandchildren, they understood that. They had no choice but to do as they had been told, and to start a new race of people in this huge and lonely world.