CHAPTER XVII
The Leprechaun
THE SHELL carried us straight back to the house of Yolara.
Larry was awaiting me. We stood again before the tenebrous
wall where first we had faced the priestess and the Voice.
And as we stood, again the portal appeared with all its disconcerting, magical abruptness.
But now the scene was changed. Around the jet table were
grouped a number of figures - Lugur, Yolara beside him;
seven others-all of them fair-haired and all men save one
who sat at the left of the priestess - an old, old woman, how
old I could not tell, her face bearing traces of beauty that
must once have been as great as Yolara's own, but now
ravaged, in some way awesome; through its ruins the fearful, malicious gaiety shining out like a spirit of joy held
within a corpse!
Began then our examination, for such it was. And as it
progressed I was more and more struck by the change in the
O'Keefe. All flippancy was gone, rarely did his sense of
humour reveal itself in any of his answers. He was like a
cautious swordsman, fencing, guarding, studying his opponent; or rather, like a chess-player who keeps sensing
some far-reaching purpose in the game: alert, contained,
watchful. Always he stressed the power of our surface races,
their multitudes, their solidarity.
Their questions were myriad. What were our occupations?
Our system of government? How great were the waters? The
land? Intensely interested were they in the World War,
querying minutely into its causes, its effects. In our weapons
their interest was avid. And they were exceedingly minute in
their examination of us as to the ruins which had excited
our curiosity; their position and surroundings - and if others
than ourselves might be expected to find and pass through
their entrance!
At this I shot a glance at Lugur. He did not seem unduly
interested. I wondered if the Russian had told him as yet of
the girl of the rosy wall of the Moon Pool Chamber and the
real reasons for our search. Then I answered as briefly as
possible - omitting all reference to these things. The red
dwarf watched me with unmistakable amusement - and I
knew Marakinoff had told him. But clearly Lugur had kept
his information even from Yolara; and as clearly she had
spoken to none of that episode when O'Keefe's automatic
had shattered the Keth-smitten vase. Again I felt that sense
of deep bewilderment - of helpless search for clue to all the
tangle.
For two hours we were questioned and then the priestess
called Rador and let us go.
Larry was sombre as we returned. He walked about the
room uneasily.
"Hell's brewing here all right," he said at last, stopping
before me. "I can't make out just the particular brand -
that's all that bothers me. We're going to have a stiff fight,
that's sure. What I want to do quick is to find the Golden
Girl, Doc. Haven't seen her on the wall lately, have you?"
he queried, hopefully fantastic.
"Laugh if you want to," he went on. "But she's our best
bet. It's going to be a race between her and the O'Keefe
banshee - but I put my money on her. I had a queer experience while I was in that garden, after you'd left." His voice
grew solemn. "Did you ever see a leprechaun, Doc?" I shook
my head again, as solemnly. "He's a little man in green,"
said Larry. "Oh, about as high as your knee. I saw one once
- in Carntogher Woods. And as I sat there, half asleep, in
Yolara's garden, the living spit of him stepped out from one
of those bushes, twirling a little shillalah.
"'It's a tight box ye're gettin' in, Larry avick,' said he,
'but don't ye be downhearted, lad.'
"'I'm carrying on,' said I, 'but you're a long way from
Ireland,' I said, or thought I did.
"'Ye've a lot o' friends there,' he answered. 'An' where
the heart rests the feet are swift to follow. Not that I'm
sayin' I'd like to live here, Larry,' said he.
"'I know where my heart is now,' I told him. 'It rests on
a girl with golden eyes and the hair and swan-white breast
of Eilidh the Fair - but my feet don't seem to get me to her,'
I said."
The brogue thickened.
"An' the little man in green nodded his head an' whirled
his shillalah.
"'It's what I came to tell ye,' says he. 'Don't ye fall for
the Bhean-Nimher, the serpent woman wit' the blue eyes;
she's a daughter of Ivor, lad - an' don't ye do nothin' to make
the brown-haired coleen ashamed o' ye, Larry O'Keefe. I
knew yer great, great grandfather an' his before him, aroon,'
says he, 'an' wan o' the O'Keefe failin's is to think their
hearts big enough to hold all the wimmen o' the world. A
heart's built to hold only wan permanently, Larry,' he says,
'an' I'm warnin' ye a nice girl don't like to move into a place
all cluttered up wid another's washin' an' mendin' an'
cookin' an' other things pertainin' to general wife work. Not
that I think the blue-eyed wan is keen for mendin' an'
cookin'!' says he.
"'You don't have to be comin' all this way to tell me
that,' I answer.
"'Well, I'm just a tellin' you,' he says. 'Ye've got some
rough knocks comin', Larry. In fact, ye're in for a devil of a
time. But, remember that ye're the O'Keefe,' says he. 'An'
while the bhoys are all wid ye, avick, ye've got to be on the
job yourself.'
"'I hope,' I tell him, 'that the O'Keefe banshee can find
her way here in time - that is, if it's necessary, which I hope
it won't be.'
"'Don't ye worry about that,' says he. 'Not that she's
keen on leavin' the ould sod, Larry. The good ould soul's in
quite a state o' mind about ye, aroon. I don't mind tellin' ye,
lad, that she's mobilizing all the clan an' if she HAS to come
for ye, avick, they'll be wid her an' they'll sweep this joint
clean before ye go. What they'll do to it'll make the Big Wind
look like a summer breeze on Lough Lene! An' that's about
all, Larry. We thought a voice from the Green Isle would
cheer ye. Don't fergit that ye're the O'Keefe an' I say it
again - all the bhoys are wid ye. But we want t' kape bein'
proud o' ye, lad!'
"An' I looked again and there was only a bush waving."
There wasn't a smile in my heart - or if there was it was
a very tender one.
"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly. "Keep an eye on the
wall, Doc!"
Between the seven sleeps that followed, Larry and I saw
but little of each other. Yolara sought him more and more.
Thrice we were called before the Council; once we were at a
great feast, whose splendours and surprises I can never forget. Largely I was in the company of Rador. Together we
two passed the green barriers into the dwelling - place of the
ladala.
They seemed provided with everything needful for life.
But everywhere was an oppressiveness, a gathering together
of hate, that was spiritual rather than material - as tangible
as the latter and far, far more menacing!
"They do not like to dance with the Shining One," was
Rador's constant and only reply to my efforts to find the
cause.
Once I had concrete evidence of the mood. Glancing behind me, I saw a white, vengeful face peer from behind a
tree-trunk, a hand lift, a shining dart speed from it straight
toward Rador's back. Instinctively I thrust him aside. He
turned upon me angrily. I pointed to where the little missile
lay, still quivering, on the ground. He gripped my hand.
"That, some day I will repay!" he said. I looked again at
the thing. At its end was a tiny cone covered with a glistening, gelatinous substance.
Rador pulled from a tree beside us a fruit somewhat like
an apple.
"Look!" he said. He dropped it upon the dart - and at
once, before my eyes, in less than ten seconds, the fruit had
rotted away!
"That's what would have happened to Rador but for you,
friend!" he said.
Come now between this and the prelude to the latter half
of the drama whose history this narrative is - only scattering
and necessarily fragmentary observations.
First - the nature of the ebon opacities, blocking out the
spaces between the pavilion-pillars or covering their tops like
roofs, These were magnetic fields, light absorbers, negativing the vibrations of radiance; literally screens of electric
force which formed as impervious a barrier to light as would
have screens of steel.
They instantaneously made night appear in a place where
no night was. But they interposed no obstacle to air or to
sound. They were extremely simple in their inception - no
more miraculous than is glass, which, inversely, admits the
vibrations of light, but shuts out those coarser ones we call
air - and, partly, those others which produce upon our auditory nerves the effects we call sound.
Briefly their mechanism was this:
[For the same reason that Dr. Goodwin's exposition
of the mechanism of the atomic engines was deleted,
his description of the light-destroying screens has been
deleted by the Executive Council. - J. B. F., President,
I. A. of S.]
There were two favoured classes of the ladala - the
soldiers and the dream-makers. The dream-makers were the
most astonishing social phenomena, I think, of all. Denied
by their circumscribed environment the wider experiences of
us of the outer world, the Murians had perfected an amazing system of escape through the imagination.
They were, too, intensely musical. Their favourite instruments were double flutes; immensely complex pipe-organs;
harps, great and small. They had another remarkable instrument made up of a double octave of small drums which
gave forth percussions remarkably disturbing to the emotional centres.
It was this love of music that gave rise to one of the few
truly humorous incidents of our caverned life. Larry came
to me - it was just after our fourth sleep, I remember.
"Come on to a concert," he said.
We skimmed off to one of the bridge garrisons. Rador
called the two-score guards to attention; and then, to my
utter stupefaction, the whole company, O'Keefe leading
them, roared out the anthem, "God Save the King." They
sang - in a closer approach to the English than might have
been expected scores of miles below England's level. "Send
him victorious! Happy and glorious!" they bellowed.
He quivered with suppressed mirth at my paralysis of
surprise.
"Taught 'em that for Marakinoff's benefit!" he gasped.
"Wait till that Red hears it. He'll blow up.
"Just wait until you hear Yolara lisp a pretty little thing I
taught her," said Larry as we set back for what we now
called home. There was an impish twinkle in his eyes.
And I did hear. For it was not many minutes later that the
priestess condescended to command me to come to her with
O'Keefe.
"Show Goodwin how much you have learned of our
speech, O lady of the lips of honeyed flame!" murmured
Larry.
She hesitated; smiled at him, and then from that perfect
mouth, out of the exquisite throat, in the voice that was like
the chiming of little silver bells, she trilled a melody familiar
to me indeed:
"She's only a bird in a gilded cage,
A bee-yu-tiful sight to see - "
And so on to the bitter end.
"She thinks it's a love-song," said Larry when we had left.
"It's only part of a repertoire I'm teaching her. Honestly,
Doc, it's the only way I can keep my mind clear when I'm
with her," he went on earnestly. "She's a devil-ess from hell
- but a wonder. Whenever I find myself going I get her to
sing that, or Take Back Your Gold! or some other ancient
lay, and I'm back again - pronto - with the right perspective!
POP goes all the mystery! 'Hell!' I say, 'she's only a woman!'"
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