Chapter 17: Rocky Road to Belfast

July, 1989

My real birthday is only two days away, I thought as I watched the gulls flying over the Irish Sea from the back of the ferry. I was heading back to Belfast, alone. Eoin and Ambrose tried locking me in my room, but that only worked for a couple of days. Last night, after everyone was asleep, I opened my bedroom window and used the rope I wove out of curtains and sheets to lower my bag down to the ground before sliding down myself. I slipped by the roving guards, stationary Scotland Yard officers, and scattered MI5 agents, and made my way to the Underground. By morning I was on a train to Stranraer with a bag full of clothes and weapons, most of which Eoin and Ambrose knew nothing about.

Being the heiress to an Australian fortune has some benefits, as it turns out, including a fairly large allowance each month. And it is amazing what you can find hidden away in second-hand shops in some of the seedier sections of London. In America, which is only a little over two centuries old (with another century and a half of colonization) and fought all of its wars with the benefits of gunpowder, it is fairly hard to come by a good sword. I was amazed at how easy it was for me to locate a short sword I could use. That and a few other goodies were stowed in my bag as I brooded.

Hestia was dead. They wouldn't let me see her. As a matter of fact, I spent the night after our dinner with Lars in a hotel with Eoin, Paul, and about a dozen agents from MI5 while Ambrose supervised the clean-up at the townhouse. From what I overheard before they realized I was listening, Hestia was not just dead, she was mauled. They said something about not being able to find all of her pieces when the coroner showed up. The other two security agents who went with Hestia, Lady Ancen, and Grandmother were in similar shape when they found their bodies in the foyer and the upstairs master bathroom. George, the butler, had a broken arm and various bruises and cuts. Two of the maids were badly hurt as well, one of them in critical condition and needing emergency surgery.

As far as MI5 could tell, a small army had descended on the townhouse while we were eating dinner with Lars. The investigators had over twenty unknown, fresh fingerprints that did not match anyone who had been in the house in the last couple of weeks. The house was trashed and there were bullet holes everywhere, evidence that a prolonged gunfight took place, matching what some of the neighbors heard and saw shortly before we got home that night. There were blood smears indicating multiple bodies were removed from the house which led MI5 to believe that Hestia and our security people did not go alone. None of the blood seemed to belong to Lady Ancen or Grandmother and the small smear they found that they think is William's blood was thought to be from something non-fatal.

And that was about the point in the conversation where they realized I was listening in on the briefing the lead MI5 agent was giving a distraught Eoin. I was sent to my luxurious room in the hotel suite to read or watch the telly while the adults talked.

It took the renovation crew a few days to make the house livable, though some of the damage (like most of the kitchen and upstairs bathroom) would still be under repair for weeks. We moved back into the townhouse, with our added involuntary security, on the first of July. I was immediately locked in my room and told I would be let out when they had William and the ladies back. They did not trust me to not do what I was doing: go get them. Alone.

Unlike last time, when I was leaving Belfast, this time I was not going to make tracking me down easy. Things like buses and trains and ferries went from Point A to Point B rather predictably. All the villains of this little play would have to do would be to pick me up on the docks. I had different plans. Belfast Lough turned southward just west of the coastal town of Bangor, turning into a much narrower waterway leading to Belfast and the River Lagan. One of the things I made sure of when I bought the bag all my stuff was in was that it be absolutely water proof. It rained too often and too hard in England not to get something that could protect my stuff, be it books and binders for school or clothes and weapons for ... extracurricular activities. I was going to have to come up with a better phrase, if only for more public discussions in front of civilians.

Anyway, as the ferry from Stranraer rounded the bend in the lough, most people were crowding forward, looking for their glimpse of Belfast, their destination. I was at the stern, waiting for a moment when nobody was watching. The bag and I went over board just as the ferry started the turn south, making sure to jump far enough not to get fouled in the propellers. In with all of the pointy things was a life preserver I stole when I first got on the boat. It was going to help keep me afloat despite the density of the weapons. While the bag was not exactly buoyant, it did not sink. That was enough to let me drag it behind me as I slowly, so as to not give anyone on the ferry a reason to look back, swam to shore.

The sun was well and fully up by the time I clawed my way up the beach. Which is when I learned that when you are trying to not drown as you haul a bag full of illegal weapons out of the sea, you become a little single-minded on your goal. The entire time I swam ashore, all I focused on was a small boulder sticking up out of the rocky beach. Which means I completely missed the little man standing a few meters away, watching me. Of course, he was dressed in green, somewhat blending in to the grasses bordering the beach. And when I say little man, I don't mean some poor guy whose genetic make-up left him on the short side of a meter and a half. I mean little man as in barely clearing and meter and a quarter. Four feet, if he was lucky.

Four feet tall with wavy, fire red hair, sapphire blue eyes, and a freckled face caught somewhere between genial amusement and stubborn irritation as he looked down on me panting. I guess it was a good change from him yelling at me in a thick Irish accent in front of a pub full of people.

"Yae've nae more sense than the last time we spake, lass," he said, his tone subdued as a shiver went through him and his bright blue eyes shadowed. "I can nae baelieve yaer doin' this damned fool thin', but since yae are, I can nae bae anythin' but glad.

"O' course, I still thin' yae'll wind up like the rest o' the damned fools who hae tried," he said with a snort. A weary, weary sigh shuddered through him. "I owe yae an apology, m'Lady Blood Hand. I broke hospitality when I chased yae outta mae pub, ne'er givin' yae a chance t' bae showin' mae yaer true colors. A friend o' mine from Bavaria came t 'bae tellin' mae' bout yae and chastisin' mae fer jumpin' t' conclusions. Sumtin' I should know be'er than t' do, as old as I am. He claimed yae as a friend and a lass as was simply tryin' to get along as best as yae can, gi'en what yae are. I should know be'er than to assume all Bloody Hands are out lookin' fer mae blood in particular.

"So I find yae here, on the shores of mae isle, foolish enough to go do battle with the Evil Eye himself, holdin' a debt o' mine," he told me as he squatted down to look me in the eyes. Suddenly his glumness turned deadly serious and his accent disappeared. "My kin and I are loath to offer ourselves up to those who would catch us. Powerful magic requires us to grant them boons numbering three. Such is our nature that we usually turn their pettiness and avarice against them in doing their bidding. Since I owe you recompense for breaking hospitality, I would not do this to you were you to reach out a grab my ankle as I walk away. I still believe Balor will slay you, with or without my help, but since you are here, alone, and bent on battling him and his minions, I offer this chance to you. I cannot aid you directly myself, but a Leprechaun's boon is no small thing. Think wisely before you speak your boon to me. I wish you all the luck my kind can bring you in the hopes that you will cleanse this isle."

With that, the barkeep of O'Malley's rose to his short height and turned to leave. I was not sure I understood most of what he said, but I understood "leprechaun" and "grab his ankle". So as he made to take his first step in leaving, my hand flashed out and grabbed him. He smiled back over his shoulder and his brow rose. "An' what boons might I bae grantin' yae, who've been so clever as to be catchin' mae?"

I felt a tingle sweep down over my body and a pressure suddenly built in the air, as if the world awaited my answer. "I-I need something, a weapon that I can use within my skills, to kill Balor who is holding my fam ... my friends hostage."

The Leprechaun smiled and squatted down once more. "Aren't yae the clever lass. That request would have been good enough were I inclined to be naughty," he said before snapping his fingers and pulling an obviously old short sword with the look of a gladius out of thin air. An aura of power and hunger wafted off of it, as if it knew that now someone would finally use it for its intended purpose: to raise it up and cover the earth with blood. "Now this wicked bit o' smithin' was crafted by the priests o' Rome to help Caesar in Gaul. Killed more'n a few o' mae kin, includin' sumtin' a wee bit older and more powerful'n Balor. Yae should bae able t' be usin' it, gi'en yaer reputation already. What would yae bae wantin' fer yaer second boon?"

I looked up at him and couldn't think of anything else I wanted just then. All I needed was a weapon I knew could kill a demon, which is what Balor was reputed to be and what this sword was supposed to be able to do. What this sword felt like it would do if given half a chance. I took the sword in trembling hands as I knelt in the sand, my eyes roving over the weapon. "C-can I save the rest of my boons for a later date?" I asked, beginning to shiver in the morning coolness, the breeze off the lough, and my wet clothes.

He grinned, standing. "O' course, lass!" he said with some surprise. "Most do nae understand the power they hold when we grant them such boons. They are o'erwhelmed with greed or petty thoughts o' power an' wealth. Yaer first boon was out o' necessity. What yae ask fer when yae hae no immediate needs shall bae interestin', t' bae saying the least. All the luck o' mae kind bae upon yae, lass." With that he was gone. He didn't walk away, he was just gone.