Accidental Legend: Filthy Henry, #3

Chapters

CHAPTER ONE...............................13

Chapter Two...............................34

Chapter Three..............................54

Chapter Four...............................68

Chapter Five...............................82

Chapter Six................................94

Chapter Seven.............................106

Chapter Eight.............................119

Chapter Nine..............................130

Chapter Ten...............................144

Chapter Eleven............................158

Chapter Twelve............................172

Chapter Thirteen...........................186

Chapter Fourteen...........................198

Chapter Fifteen............................212

Chapter Sixteen............................226

Chapter Seventeen..........................238

Chapter Eighteen...........................248

Chapter Nineteen...........................262

Chapter Twenty............................276

Chapter Twenty-One........................291

Chapter Twenty-Two.......................286

Chapter Twenty-Three......................300

Chapter Twenty-Four.......................314

Chapter Twenty-Five.......................325

Chapter Twenty-Six........................337

Chapter Twenty-Seven......................344

Chapter One

THUNDER ROLLED ACROSS the night sky like a well-trained dog, signalling the start of a storm. Given that in Ireland it tended to rain most of the time, a little thunder was hardly news worthy. Dry days existed solely to give the clouds time to absorb some water. But on this particular night the storm had a hint of the unusual to it. While the rain poured down from above and the wind howled like a pack of banshees out on a Hen's night, thunder boomed numerous times. Thunder that never had the accompanying lightning.

Had any meteorologists been in the area they would have no doubt found it all very interesting. But this storm was taking place over a remote and desolate field in the middle of County Louth, a field where no meteorologists would have been walking on such a miserable night. In fact the only creature daft enough to be out on such a horrible evening was a barn owl nestled in a large oak tree, watching the world go by.

Another boom of thunder rumbled through the clouds above followed by a dazzlingly bright flash of light that nearly blinded the owl. Lines of electricity started to run through the grey and fluffy clouds, gathering at a central point. As more and more jagged spikes of electricity collected in one area they started to grow in intensity and brightness. The owl found it painful to look at. Then, without any indication or warning roll of thunder, the lightning shot down towards the earth and struck the ground. It caused a small explosion of grass and muck to spray into the air, before vanishing. The rain continued to fall from the night sky and hissed as it met the warm earth.

The owl focused its attention on the hole in ground left behind by the bolt of lightning, or rather what was sitting in the hole. It was a female human, entirely naked, curled up in a small ball. After a few seconds she uncurled and rose unsteadily to her feet. Once she had stood up the woman stretched her arms above her head and opened her hands wide. The rain made her very naked body extremely wet, not that this was of any interest to the owl. As far as it was concerned the entire human race had a disturbing lack of feathers.

Not that the owl actually had thoughts of this nature to begin with. If the bird had had thoughts more complex than 'Where was the best place to hunt?' it would have pondered different things. Such as whether or not it was being used purely as a literary device in a shoddy fantasy novel.

Well that was unexpected, the woman said as she crawled out of the hole and looked around.

She started to walk across the field towards the tree that the owl was perched in. There was something about how she moved that unsettled the bird. It spread its wings and glided silently through the air, keeping an eye out for anything else that might be entertaining to watch.

Maybe even eat.

DRU THE DRUID, PROPRIETOR of Dublin's oldest magic store which dealt with selling objects both mystical and mundane, sat behind his shop counter and stared out the window at the stream of would-be customers passing by. It had been a quiet day in terms of actual sales, but that could have been due to varying and numerous factors. For starters people may have grown wise to the fact that most of the objects in the store were more mundane than actually mystical, but he doubted that very much. As a shrewd business man and full time druid, Dru had made it his number one rule that for every ten bogus items he sold the next sale would be a genuine magical object. Not that the normal, everyday, people who came in could tell the difference. Plus, when proper practitioners of magic entered his store they generally asked Dru for the exact thing they wanted, leaving very little room for a scam. Meaning the druid made a sale that was completely above board. 

Unless, of course, such an object would have led to some harm befalling a person. That was always a grey area that he liked to avoid entering. Dru did not actively sell black magic items, but he did know where to acquire the odd object or two. He just tried to keep such sales very quiet, to ensure that those who policed such matters never heard about his little shop on Parliament Street.

You had to have some standards after all. Otherwise there was a risk that the fairy folk might get involved in your affairs.

But today business had been slow, leaving Dru time to ponder on the lack of customers in his shop. For the past few hours he had stared out the window, willing the passers-by to come in, then turned and looked around the empty store to make sure nobody had somehow managed to sneak in without being noticed. The shop remained devoid of paying patrons or even perusing people. It seemed that today was going to just be 'one of those days', time slowly crawling forward towards closing and dragging out every second along the way.

Then Dru heard the most joyous sound, one that brought a smile to every store trader the world over.

The shop door opened.

It gave a slight creak as the hinges cried out for a drop of oil, a cry which Dru ignored as usual. Mainly because the noise they made never failed to draw his attention to a new arrival. A potential sale walking into the store.

A young, slender, woman stepped in from the street and carefully closed the door behind her. She was dressed in typical young person attire: jeans, a brightly coloured top and some nice, colourful, shoes. Her long red hair was brushed so straight that it could have been used to rule a page. As the woman made eye contact with Dru she smiled, the sunlight shining through the store window hitting her emerald green eyes in such a way that they twinkled.

Hello, Dru said. Welcome to 'The Druid Stone'. Please let me know if you need any assistance.

Thank you, the woman said.

Outside a bus drove past, the driver blowing its horn loudly at a group of street youths who had decided that crossing the road at a snail's pace was the fastest way to reach the other side. Dru the Druid watched them for a moment and shook his head, disapprovingly. He turned back and looked at his customer, trying to figure out what she might be in the market for judging by the items she was inspecting.

Her long brunette hair was tied back in a ponytail, showing off more of her dark brown eyes than before.

Hang on a second, Dru said to himself.

While never claiming to have the most impressive or useful of memories, Dru was fairly sure that when it came to short term recollection he ranked up there with most people. He looked around the rest of the shop floor quickly and saw that his customer count had definitely not increased beyond one. There was a single person in the store with him and that person was over at the models of dragons and angels. Only now her hair and eyes had changed colour.

I must be getting old. Either that or I need a coffee, he said, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

As he brought his hands back down the customer came over to stand before him. Her blonde hair had been arranged into a plait that hung from the side of her head, tucked behind her left ear. Two sapphire blue eyes looked at him, starting at his toes and slowly working up to his slightly hooked nose before stopping at his bald head.

Nice robe, she said. You don't find many druids keeping with the old garb these days.

Helps with the customers if they think they are dealing with an actual druid, Dru said. An actual druid who actually wears what actual druids actually wore.

The woman half smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

We can see that making some kind of sense, she said. We can also see that you are an actual druid. Complete with a fairy who gives you some magic in exchange for...

Hey, hey, hey! Dru said, waving his hands in front of her to stop any further discussion and looking around quickly to make sure that it definitely was just the pair of them in the store. The less said on that the better, alright? Besides, The Rules aren't being broken. It is a mutually beneficial pact between two consenting higher thinking creatures. Not like druids in the old days who captured a fairy and forced it to give some magic to a non-magically inclined human. Plus I only use it for running the store, I can't exactly conjure up fireballs or make women fall in love with me. Trust me, I've tried. Both!

The woman smiled, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth.

Well then everything is in order, she said. No harm, no foul.

Dru looked at the woman again, squinting.

While he had been involved in the magical retail business for years it had in no way prepared him for the clientèle that he sometimes had to deal with. Mostly the store was occupied with tourists looking for interesting and 'magical' Irish relics, ones that came with little certificates which guaranteed one-hundred percent authenticity. Just because said certificates were downloaded and printed from the Internet meant nothing. At least it meant nothing to Dru.

Buyer be unaware, as his father used to say.

Then you would get the customers who actually knew a little bit about the magical world. Enough to cast a weak spell or request an item that really worked. Rarely though would you get a customer such as the one standing before Dru at that moment in time. A genuine magical being.

A fairy.

It was the only logical conclusion to come to. Logical in a world where magic constituted part of what a person took as fact.

Is this not violating The Rules? he asked her. I mean The Rules seem to be fairly flaky affairs as it stands. But you're a full blown fairy standing in front of me and talking to me. Albeit grammatically incorrect.

He blinked.

Before him stood the red-headed girl who had originally entered the store.

Well The Rules are actually more guidelines than real Rules, if you follow, she said. Also we're technically not a single person breaking The Rules. But, more importantly, The Rule about mortals not seeing one of the fairy folk is also just common sense. Why would we bother revealing ourselves to you when we can enjoy the freedom of invisibility without having to interact with your kind? Should we choose to show ourselves, while not causing a problem for the fairy world as a whole, that is acceptable under The Rules.

I see...I think, Dru said, amazed at how complete the girl's transformation from one look to the next was. So, how may I help you all then? Need something that stops your hair changing colour?

We are The Moirai, the woman said. You may call us 'Moirai' as we think the 'The' makes us sound a little pretentious. Have you heard of us?

Dru gave her a slow nod of the head, during which he blinked and the girl once again transformed into her brunette appearance.

Any druid worth his salt had heard of The Moirai.

All cultures around the world had their own versions of myths and legends and in each there was always a personification of Fate. A being that acted to ensure events happened in a pre-ordained way so that the world continued on as expected. In Irish mythology this role was filled by The Moirai. Three sisters who could see the past, present and future at the same time and alter the course of events if needed. Typically, at least according to the stories, the sisters appeared together and spoke in a strange way. One would speak, then drop the sentence right as another picked it up. The Moirai, it seemed, had decided to spice things up a little bit with all three occupying the same body.

A cold dread crept over Dru at that moment. In the stories, no matter which one you read, Fate was always delivering bad news that usually resulted in the untimely death of the hero she spoke with. Dru had never considered himself a hero, he was a druid through and through and no druid ever had a legend written about him saving the day. So the fact that The Moirai was standing in his store had to mean unpleasant things were about to happen to him.

He swallowed and stared into Moirai's eyes.

I have, Dru said in scarce more than a whisper.

Excellent. We have need of your services. For some reason the one we seek is hidden from us, however we know you and he are associates of a kind. We would very much like to meet him. He needs to help save the world.

Dru let out a sigh of relief. Directions, she just wanted directions. Nothing bad could ever come from a person giving directions.

Just tell me who it is you need to find and if I know their name I will help, no problem, he said.

Perhaps you could more than just tell us where to find them. Perhaps you could accompany us and perform some introductions. It may make what we have to say easier for them to understand if a friendly face is with us. Don't forget you did offer us your assistance when we first entered the store. Coming along with us would be a great help.

Sure, Dru said. I was about to close the shop anyway, slow day. So who is it you're looking for?

As he blinked again the woman turned into the blonde girl.

We would very much like to speak with Filthy Henry, Moirai said. The fairy detective.

Dru rolled his eyes at the mention of that name. It turned out that there were worse things than being told by The Moirai you were going to die.

You could get told that you had to deal with the fairy detective.

YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE done it! That's all I am saying. It wasn't morally right.

You're just never happy are you? What exactly did I do wrong this time?

Really? Even you, the great and powerful fairy detective, cannot possibly be so blind to right and wrong that you think what you did was okay.

The argument had been going on for the past half an hour. While they had been on the Luas, Dublin's light weight tram system that trundled along the streets of the city at plodding speed, Shelly had barely spoken to Filthy Henry. He was not entirely sure if this had been because she was formulating her argument first or because she did not want to draw the attention of other passengers. However, as soon as they had gotten off at their stop and started walking back to the office she had kicked off once more.

Kicked off and then some.

It seemed that Shelly had taken some sort of moral high ground in an affair that had no real need for such ground to be taken. At least that was how the fairy detective saw things.

He stopped walking and looked at her.

First things first, Filthy Henry said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers so that his brown trench-coat was gathered up behind him. Who works for whom in this little arrangement?

Shelly pivoted on her heel and stared him right in the eye.

What's that got to do with anything? Besides you keep saying I am not your partner!

Which you're not. But apparently you've decided to stick around and bother me while demanding payment, ergo you are an employee of Celtic Investigations. Making me your employer.

For years Filthy Henry had never given a name to his detective agency, preferring to just have 'Filthy Henry: The Fairy Detective' on the window of his office door. But then Shelly had stuck around and done some re-branding, calling the outfit 'Celtic Investigations'. Which, while being a pretty good name, was irritating because after sixty years in the business, despite looking like a man in his mid-thirties thanks to being a half-fairy, Filthy Henry had never come up with a name like that.

A blatantly brilliant and obviously good name at that.

So the name is sticking then, is it? Shelly said, crossing her arms and giving him the look all women could give when they had once again been proven right about something.

Doesn't matter, Filthy Henry replied. What matters is that I get paid, ergo you get paid. Therefore we take a case...we get paid. End of!

She shook her head.

No. We take a case, we solve the case and we get paid. This was just you robbing an old lady of some money.

She can afford it, Filthy Henry said, his internal guilt dial sitting comfortably at zero. Did you see the size of the house? Her dog has a guest house on his kennel for Dagda's sake.

She hired us to get rid of a ghost in her attic and you took money from her afterwards.

So?

Shelly threw her arms up in the air, clearly getting more annoyed with Filthy Henry. A fact that brought his inner bastard no end of enjoyment.

So? There was no ghost! You didn't have to actually do anything. Meaning you robbed an old lady!

Filthy Henry took a calming deep breath, for no real reason other than to make Shelly think she was really getting to him, and held up his hand for calm.

Hang on. We were hired to, in the client's own words, 'Come by the house and leave when you're sure there is no ghost in the attic'. Just because there was no ghost in the attic before we started doesn't mean I am going to go and waste some of my magic doing an incantation to make you think she got value for money. When I left there was no ghost in the attic, ergo I get paid. Now drop it.

He marched on past her, ignoring the glare she gave him. The problem with using logic in an argument was that the loser always hated how it never worked in their favour.

Still wrong, Shelly said, catching up with him and matching his pace. You should have just told her it was the old window which kept opening on its own and took no payment. You and your word play. Verbal trickery is all it is.

The fairy detective thought, not for the first time since meeting Shelly, about casting a silencing spell on her. Instead he decided to try a different tact with his unwanted employee.

Fine, Filthy Henry said. Then the next stupid case that trundles across my way we can do pro bono. How about that? Will that help to balance out the cosmic karma scales in your head where everything is black and white?

Shelly considered the offer for a minute, frowned a little, then nodded her head in agreement. She stuck out her right hand.

Deal. Now shake so you can't pull some fast one on me. I'm wise to how this all works at this stage.

The fairy detective took her hand, shook it firmly three times, then let go.

Finally, some peace and quiet!

They continued walking down Upper Abbey Street, past the stores and coffee shops, heading towards Middle Abbey Street where Filthy Henry's office and home was located. The streets were packed with the usual crowd of midday shoppers and tourists aimlessly walking around. Crossing at the top of Upper Liffey Street, onto Middle Abbey Street proper, the fairy detective caught sight of people waiting outside his building.

Filthy Henry had bought the building roughly twenty years ago and had been cursed with something of a cash flow problem shortly after signing the mortgage. Cash tended to flow freely and quickly out from his pockets but never back in again. Even for a man with the ability to conjure money out of thin air with a click of the fingers. True such magically minted money faded away after a few hours, but it lasted long enough to cover the cost of a meal before questions were asked. Depositing such money into a bank account, however, was a big no-no. The fairy world kept a close eye on such transactions, to make sure that Filthy Henry did not abuse his abilities and rise above his station the easy way. Plus leprechauns were a lot more involved in the human banking world than people would have believed. The tiny guys with crocks of gold really preferred for mortgages to be repaid in full, with real money. 

However, thanks to a case that Filthy Henry taken on at the request of Dagda, Chief of the Celtic Gods, the fairy detective now owned the building outright. Small payment, he felt, for solving a case that had a bunch of pagan deities stumped.

That looks like Dru, Shelly said, indicating the pair standing outside the street level door of the building.

Can't be, Filthy Henry said. He never leaves that bloody shop of his. Reckons the fairy folk are out to get him. You know, on account of him having a fairy that he borrows magic from.

As they drew closer to the three stone steps which led up to the building's front door it turned out Shelly was correct. Dru the Druid had left the comfort of his little magic shop and ventured across the city.

That, however, was not the most interesting thing to be seen. While the sight of Dru outside was a rare occurrence, the woman standing beside him was even more interesting. Filthy Henry was not entirely sure, but it looked like her hair, which had been blonde mere moments before, was now a rich red colour.

Dru saw them approach and stood up, dusting down his grey druid robe that Filthy Henry was fairly certain made up the bald man's entire wardrobe.

As promised, Dru said to the woman beside him. Filthy Henry, the fairy detective.

Dru, Filthy Henry said, nodding his head by way of a greeting. Not like you to bring me a customer.

Wasn't by choice, the druid replied.

Shall we go inside? Shelly asked, pulling a key out from her coat pocket.

No, no, Filthy Henry said. Our clients are about to get the full Celtic Investigations experience, which always starts with them buying us lunch.

Dru narrowed his eyes and stared at the fairy detective for a moment, before turning his head slightly to look at Shelly.

That's not an actual thing, is it?

Filthy Henry watched as Shelly had an internal debate about whether or not to tell the truth. Finally hunger won out over honour.

It is, she said. Plus we get to pick the place. For the truly authentic Celtic Investigations experience, you understand.

SHE WAS COLD.

There were many contributing factors to this current state of affairs. The arduous trek through the woods for most of the night had definitely not helped. As the rain had poured down from the heavens above it had soaked her to the bone. A wind had blown through the trees, making the rain feel all the colder and ensuring that any cover offered by the branches was minimal.

Then again, being as naked as the day she had been born was also going to add to the levels of displeasure.

After the sun had risen she had found a tree stump with some moss covering it and sat down to reflect on a few things.

The nudity was definitely a problem. It would make getting around unnoticed particularly difficult. People had a tendency to stop and stare at others who were naked, stare in silent judgement of them. Plus with a figure as appealing as she had there would be no end of men frozen to the spot, gawking at her like a piece of meat.

A fact that she secretly relished but publicly reviled.

The woman looked around the forest and came upon the final problem to her current situation.

Just where the bloody hell am I? she asked the surrounding trees.

Overhead birds flew free from their perches and went deeper into the forest. Another gust of wind caused some raindrops to splash against her bare back as the leaves moved.

To her left a twig snapped. The woman turned slightly and looked over her shoulder.

An old crone stepped out from behind an oak tree. Her gnarled hands rested on top of a crooked walking stick. A red scarf bundled up her grey hair so that it was kept back from a face that had seen, judging by the numerous lines and wrinkles, more than its fair share of years. One of her eyes was open wide, yet from the other she squinted. Her clothing seemed to consist mainly of multiple tartan blankets wrapped around her body.

Hello, my dear, the crone said, tilting her head so that her fully open eye could get a better view of the woman on the stump.

You took your time, the woman said.

Actually, Medb, you're early, the crone said. In a manner of speaking, at least.

Medb rubbed her upper arms as another cold wind blew.

Well excuse me for being slightly impatient. Did you bring me some clothing at least, fairy?

The crone smiled a smile of crooked teeth.

Would you believe I forgot them. They are back home. Come along now, this is no state for a queen to be seen in.

SHELLY HAD PICKED A nice little coffee shop on Bachelor's Walk called The Sweetest Thing. While being a not-so-subtle nod to one of Ireland's biggest musical exports, the name also hinted at what sort of repast a patron could expect. Aside from the usual assorted coffees and pastries, combined with a small selection of sandwiches, The Sweetest Thing had an array of cakes, sweets and chocolate infused drinks that would have made one Mr. W. Wonka drool.

It was the sort of place that Filthy Henry tended to visit when he needed a massive infusion of sugary goodness after a particularly magic intensive event. The worse the food was for a person's health the better it could be converted into magical energy for the fairy detective. Being able to enjoy such gluttonous treats was one of his many irritating traits, since it meant he rarely counted calories and viewed the inside of a gym through the window while eating delicious food. 

Shelly liked the café because the barista put a handful of tiny marshmallows into the orange flavoured hot-choc drink, her favourite thing to order. Even better, since Dru was paying she could view this as a little treat.

One that came with extra tiny marshmallows.

The weather was dry for a change. This meant they could sit down at one of the small circular tables outside on the street. Filthy Henry had taken the chair closest to the shop window and stared across at Dru's friend. Shelly sat next to him. The Moirai, as Dru had introduced the client, took the seat beside Shelly. Upon his return with their order Dru the Druid took the last seat, placing the tray down on the table in front of them.

It cost an extra two Euro for the mini marshmallows, he said, handing Shelly her drink.

Did it? Shelly asked with mock surprise. I thought it was free. Lesson learned.

From the corner of her eye she caught Filthy Henry smile as he lifted his hazelnut coffee from the tray. After working together for a few months it was clear that the fairy detective was starting to be a bad influence on her.

Shelly ignored him and looked at The Moirai, or just Moirai as the fairy had requested they call her. Whenever Shelly looked away Moirai's features changed. Her hair colour was not the same and her eyes took on a different hue. Sometimes it even happened when Shelly blinked. She mentally turned on her fairy vision to see the magical world and looked at Moirai. Viewing the fairy creature using the second sight was a slightly unsettling experience. As all manner of fairy folk appeared on the street around them, Moirai became an indistinct blur of moving coloured lines. It was like watching a strange pencil animation come to life. Almost as if three people were occupying the same spot in space and time, vying with each other to be the one in control at any given moment. Watching her made Shelly's stomach feel queasy. She mentally flicked the fairy vision off again and just accepted the alternating hair style.

Should she be doing that? Shelly said to Filthy Henry, with a nod of her head in the direction of Moirai. I mean, normal people can see her shift.

Filthy Henry took a sip from his drink and shook his head.

Won't matter, their mind will just fix the memory. They will think they were mistaken and that whatever colour hair they see her with at that moment has always been the colour she had. The real important question is this: Why are you here and showing yourself to this parlour trick magician?

Hey, I resent that! Dru said as he spooned some sugar into his tea. I mean I'm as much a part of the fairy world as you are.

Sure thing, honey, Filthy Henry said, reaching over to give the druid a condescending pat on