Chapter 89

It was raining; the sort of fine mizzle that at first doesn’t seem so bad, but eventually soaks everything and chills you to the bone.

‘This is England, ‘ I mentally sighed. Only it wasn’t, this was the same island only called Kedyrn in Tír na nÓg though the weather remained the same.

Fortunately I and my ladies didn’t have to worry about the weather, or indeed heating, for as Mages we could control the physical aspects of our surroundings quite easily. Tu’tar who was currently mine and Róisín’s bodyguard was in this instance able to do the same though he was certainly not in the same class as any Mage, if very resistant to Sidhe glamour and illusion.

No, our biggest problem was our ‘passenger’ Jukar who, because Tu’tar owed her some form of allegiance, had decided that where he went, she went. Fourteen years old (probably), Finian by birth and of the lower basse class with a voice that when she felt offended could cut its way through hardened steel. Jukar seemed to be offended a lot.

According to her the cave was too smoky, too cold, too wet, she was bored, she was hungry, she didn’t see why she couldn’t come along and scout with Tu’tar despite sticking out like a beacon to a mental scan because she didn’t like the amulet we gave her that disguised her mental spoor with that of a shrew. To add insult to injury, this was all apparently my fault as well. So she was prepared to take it out on me, at length and at full volume, though to be honest she didn’t have to talk loudly to set my nerves on edge. It was a gift of some form I thought and to make matters worse all of my ladies loved the little horror and thought I was the offending party in any dispute.

“So why won’t you take me out scouting,” she demanded of me as I sat outside the entrance to our hide in the forlorn hope that the mizzle would have kept her inside.

“Because you show up on a Sidhe’s mental radar like the stench of skunk in an enclosed room,” I replied having given up on being diplomatic weeks ago.

“I do not smell!”

“Mentally you do.”

“So hide it!”

“I tried, you refused to wear the protecting medallion,” I sighed.

“It’s scratchy.”

“Not my problem.”

“Yes it is! You gave it to me!”

I held out my hand for the medallion and checked it over, no sharp corners at all just a smooth surface.

“Where are the bits that scratch you?” I asked.

“Don’t know, but it gave me a rash!”

“Show me.”

“I’m not showing you my tits, you pervert!”

“Then show Imelda and get it sorted and then I’ll take you out scouting,” I promised with a sinking feeling, seeing the triumphant grin on her face.

I’m not sure what advice or treatment Imelda gave Jukar, but five minutes later we were heading towards a small Sidhe encampment that was ostensibly keeping an eye on this part of the island to ensure the ‘rebels’ did not openly challenge the rule of Queen Oonagh.

Jukar, to give her some (grudging) credit, could at least move silently through the brush, not that there were any Sidhe out patrolling as far as we knew. They tended to stay in their encampment and out of the weather, doing whatever it was Sidhe did when not torturing or playing vicious mind games with mundanes. Yes, we knew that there were a few slaves in their encampment, but apart from being ordered about they weren’t being physically mistreated. Róisín suspected that was because they couldn’t be replaced if they were ‘damaged’ and incapable of doing the cooking, cleaning and laundry the Sidhe weren’t prepared to do themselves.

“So when do I get my own armour?” Jukar hissed in a whisper I swear could have been heard a mile away.

“You don’t,” I replied.

“Why not?”

“You don’t work for us. You’re with Tu’tar,” I replied.

“I’m out here with you!”

“Only because you insisted.”

“I was bored. Tu’tar doesn’t go out a lot.”

“He’s good at scouting, but there’s not a lot of cover for him here.”

“So, as you’ve decided that I’m working with you, when do I get my armour?”

“You aren’t working with me. You’re tagging along because you’re bored and want to annoy me,” I replied.

“But I might get shot!”

“Don’t,” I advised with a grin.

“You want me to die! I can’t believe Róisín, Imelda, Abi and Brianna even like you. You’re so callous at times!”

“Who said I wanted you to die? I just don’t want you with me because you’re an annoying brat!”

“You want me to die! You hate me!” she sobbed out, pulling the trembling lower lip trick.

“Alright, I’ll sort out some armour for you, just shut up and let me observe in quiet for a while,” I gave in (again).

“Blue.”

“What?”

“I want it coloured blue.”

“It’s chameleonesque. It isn’t any colour.”

“How come your wives’ suits are coloured when they’re around the cave?”

“They’re Mages. We can do stuff like that.”

“You’re a Mage?”

“Yes...”

“So you can do it for me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a Mage. You can do things like that; we’ve just established that fact.”

“I could just make it transparent.”

“Yeah, right! Like to see you explain that one to Róisín,” she sneered.

“Then let her kit you out.”

“No, you promised. And I want blue ... when I’m not out here with you.”

“You plan to make a habit of it?”

“Yep, you’re the only one who goes out a lot and the cave is a little crowded at times.”

“I go out to get away from you!”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Ye gods! Why me?”

“So you’ll sort out my armour?”

“Yes.”

“Blue?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then I won’t tell Róisín you wanted to see me naked.”

“I do not!”

“You tried to see my tits earlier; then threatened to turn my armour transparent. What else would anyone think?”

“Is there some sort of class for this?”

“Pardon?”

“Man baiting? Do they give lessons on it at girl school?”

“Now you’re just being silly.”

“Look, you’ve got your own way ... again. Now will you shut up and let me observe?”

“Do you think they’re nice?”

“Think what are nice?”

“My tits, you’re always on about them when we’re alone.”

“I bloody well am not!”

“You’ve mentioned wanting to see them twice in the last two hours.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Did!”

“Look, I’m sure they are nice, however I have four ladies in my life so am very happy in that way, so don’t feel the need to see anything extra ... particularly yours.”

“What’s wrong with mine?”

“I just said, nothing.”

“How would you know?”

“I guessed; men do that when under pressure from women.”

“You think I’m a woman?”

“Er ... yes, a young woman.”

“So you do want to see my tits!”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“For God’s sake will you stop this? You’re fourteen, I’m one hundred and five and you’re way too young to be even talking about this!”

“But you just said I’m a woman.”

“Yes ... and?”

“So, you noticed I’m a woman?”

“Yes...”

“So what do you think ... of me as a woman?”

“You could do with shutting up a bit more ... make that a lot more.”

“Like your women demure, do you?”

“You’ve met my partners, demure doesn’t enter into it. Besides, where did you pick up a word like that? You’re a farm girl.”

“Part of the femme chiffré, we learn it at ‘girl school’.”

“What’s the femme chiffré?” I asked, fascinated despite myself.

“It’s how women are expected to behave. A set of stupid rules to keep us out of the hands of the Moralité Gendarmerie.”

“Oh, those sort of rules.”

“Yes, a woman should be demure in her behaviour at all times, striving not to inflame the passions of men,” she intoned.

“Let that one slide, didn’t we?”

“Pardon?”

“Like wanting skin tight, form fitting body armour.”

“That’s to keep me safe.”

“So would staying in the cave surrounded by Mages.”

“You just want me there to avoid looking at my body.”

“Would that work?”

“No, this is much more fun.”

“Only for you,” I muttered.

“So what do you think?”

“Think of what?” I asked confused.

“My body. Is it as nice as Róisín’s, Abi’s, Imelda’s or Brianna’s?”

“No.”

“What!”

“Shush!”

“Don’t shush me you pervert. I know you’ve been checking me out!”

“Have I hell.”

“Then why did you invite me here all on my own, just you and me?”