An Immortal Descent (15 page)

The villagers burst into cheers, and the word “miracle” buzzed from mouth to mouth.

“Well done,” Ailish murmured. “You saved our skins, all right.”

My shoulders slumped forward, more from relief of averting a disaster than the actual work of healing.

Calhoun chuckled just below the window. “Here, take me hand. Careful now, one foot at a time, Mrs. Murphy. No sense breaking your neck...” He paused for a moment. “Here, lass, come help your mam indoors for a glass o’ wine. The miracle has turned her legs to jelly.”

“Move aside,” a man shouted above the crowd. “I’ll take me turn next on the crate.”

“Hold on,” a woman answered. “It won’t take but a second for Brigid to heal me aching joints.”

“Your rheumatism, can wait, Mary Gibbons,” the man said. “I’ve an abscessed tooth that’s to poison me head if’n it’s left to rot any longer.”

Mary snorted her opinion of the tooth. “Ladies first, you ole’ fool. Now budge out of me way afore I knock you to the ground.”

The sound of jostling bodies and angry grunts passed through the curtain. In a matter of seconds, the grunts turned to shouts, and I began to envision all manner of chaos, when the caravan swayed from a sudden press forward. Ailish fell back onto the bench with a surprised squeak. I stumbled to the side, catching myself on the cabinets.

“Calm down!” Calhoun shouted. “There be no need for shovin’. We’ve time enough for everyone.”

“What about me joints?” Mary asked.

“Very well,” Calhoun said. “Anyone wanting to speak through the window, please stand in an orderly fashion behind Mrs. Gibbons.”

The caravan swayed again, though with less force this time.

“Keep it orderly,” Calhoun yelled. “And have your silver ready, mind you.”

A heartbeat passed for this last part to sink in. Once it did, the protests took a different tone.

“What say you, Calhoun?” a man asked. “Have you a mind to profit from Saint Brigid?”

I rolled my eyes at so naïve a question.
Profit indeed.
The black-hearted scoundrel would bleed these people dry before picking the flesh from their bones.

“It’s not me intention to get rich from miracles,” Calhoun protested. “I’d live on air alone to please the blessed lady. But a man’s got to fill his belly at the end o’ the day, same as everyone else, and to keep his horses in feed.”

The protests grew fainter.

Emboldened, Calhoun continued with growing fervor. “Do you think it would please Saint Brigid if’n her servant died for lack o’ nourishment? And after all I’ve endured to bring miracles to the folks of Dunmore? Pay me what you will, but remember the miser’s farthing reaps a miser’s reward.”

“How much do you want then for a swig o’ water and to touch the relic?” a man asked.

“Well, the people o’ Dublin paid two crowns for the privilege, but as I owe a debt to some folks here, I’ll settle for a single crown and call us square.”

“Greedy bollix,” Ailish muttered. “‘Twould serve him right if’n they tossed him to the sea.”

I waved a frantic hand for quiet while straining my ears for the villagers’ response.

“Don’t seem unreasonable once you think on it,” someone said at last. “Even the priests get paid for doing God’s work.”

“Right you are,” Calhoun said, obviously pleased by the comparison. “And who can dispute God’s work be done today.”

There was a smattering of grudging assents.

“We’ll pay you, Calhoun. Half a crown for the water, and another to touch the relic.”

Calhoun clapped his hands together, and I could just see the greed shining on his pudgy face. “Saint Brigid be pleased for certain by the good hearts o’ Dunmore...”

“And lighter purses,” Ailish scoffed.

“Take mine first,” Mary Gibbons called, her anxious voice followed by the clink of coins. “Now give me a drink o’ that water afore me joints swell stiff as a board from standing out in this cold.”

“Very good, Mrs. Gibbons... Take the bottle just so, then Calhoun will help you onto the crate... The rest o’ you will stay orderly like and wait your turn. Ladies first, and don’t be shoving too close.”

Short, fat fingers poked through the curtain. When the rest of her hands appeared, I pressed my palms upward.

Mrs. Gibbon’s giggled with delight. “I feel it!” she squealed.

Yawning, Ailish stretched out on the bench. “I see you’ve got it from here, Selah.” She snatched a pillow from the floor, tucked it under her head and pulled a blanket to her chin. “Wake me if’n you need any help.”

Mrs. Gibbon’s voice cut across Ailish’s last words. “Blessed Brigid, patron saint o’ the Irish, please help an old woman. The rheumatism be a constant plague to me joints.”

I sighed as power warmed my palms. Soft snores came from the bench, and I gave my head a quick shake to stay focused on Mrs. Gibbon’s joints rather than my own weariness.

Minutes passed into hours. One by one, the more daring and desperate sipped from Calhoun’s bottle and then stepped onto the crate. Each time I did my utmost to conserve Brigid’s fire, while silently thanking Justine for insisting that I drink my fill from the spring yesterday.

By the time the last pair of hands poked through the curtain, I had cured scores of illnesses, including chronic headaches, one dropsy, three more rheumatism, clotted arteries, the dry gripes, heartburn, baldness, ingrown toenails, rotten teeth, half a dozen cases of warts and boils, and the common cold. Though there was little to be done for one girl’s broken heart, I mended the numerous eruptions on her face and did my best to send her off with thoughts of finding a new beau.

Ailish woke once during that time, grumbling something about nature’s call before rolling to her other side for more sleep. Not until the last coins had been pocketed, and Calhoun took his seat on the driver’s box did she wake for good.

“Ouch!” she cried when her head smacked into the wall from the caravan’s sudden lurch forward.

Already braced, I reached toward the curved ceiling to stretch the soreness from my back.

Ailish sat up and mimicked my movement. “How’d you do?” she asked, half yawning the words.

The horses picked up speed, and the bottles started a low rattle on the shelves.

“He squeezed more than ten pounds out of those people.”

She whistled under her breath. “Not bad for the first go. Calhoun never dared ask so much when I be on the other side of the curtain.” Her voice held an edge close to resentment.

Well, let’s see. Perhaps because you’re descended from Cailleach and make people ill rather than heal them...
I pushed the words aside, seeing no point in stating the obvious.

“Where is he taking us now?” I asked.

“Me best guess be Waterford. It’s a thriving port town and will bring in a hundred times what we made in Dunmore today. It’s also close to...” She stopped talking, as though catching herself just in time.

“Close to what?” I pressed.

“None o’ your concern.” She crossed her arms and looked away, a stubborn tilt to her chin.

I had my suspicions, but decided to take a different approach to keep her talking. While healing the villagers, I’d realized the best chance of escape hinged on convincing Ailish that she’d be better off without me. In addition to our being mortal enemies, she had other reasons to wish me gone as my sudden appearance had led to her prompt expulsion from Calhoun’s show and what seemed an unwanted marriage. Certainly, with a little prodding, she would see the wisdom of parting ways.

“Tell me,” I said, “what is your share of Calhoun’s takings?”

This got her attention. She looked back at me, a sullen expression clouding her face. “A shilling from time to time.”

“Is that all? I’d think as half of the business, you’d get a higher percentage.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Calhoun’s kept me fed and clothed since me da’s death, so I’ve never expected anything more.”

He’d also kept her in bruises from what I could tell. Releasing a long breath, I let my gaze drift along the walls, purposefully looking everywhere but at her. “In the rowboat he mentioned a lad named Paddy.”

“What of it?” she asked, the few words sounding more like a threat than a question.

“Nothing. I just wondered who he is.”

She considered the question for a moment. “Calhoun’s son.”

I should have guessed. “Does he live near Waterford?”

“Maybe. Why do you want to know?”

It was my turn to shrug. “Just that Calhoun said something about a particular fancy the lad has for you.” I returned my gaze to her. “From the boat, I gathered you’re to be married.”

The sullenness turned to a scowl. “Paddy can take his fancy to the devil,” Ailish muttered. “I’ll never marry that stupid bogger.”

“It wasn’t my impression you had a choice.” I watched her closely, ready to push the point further. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe he said something about not needing your particular skills for a while and that Paddy could have you once you returned home.”

She glowered at me. “And I said I won’t be having him.”

The bruises on her face seemed to stand out even more, and I made a point of staring at each one. “How many beatings will it take before you finally consent?”

“Don’t be worrying yourself for me sake. I can take care o’ Calhoun and Paddy.”

“Really?” I scoffed, my anger getting the best of me. “And how exactly will you do that when it’s two grown men against one smallish girl?” The reality of her impending fate ran through my head. “Mark my words, once you’ve been beaten to an inch of your life, Paddy will rape you while Calhoun goes for the priest.”

Fear flashed in her eyes, and I felt a pang of guilt for taking the detail so far. For the life of me, I’d meant to stop with the prospect of a beating, but the rest had just tumbled out of its own accord.

“I’m sorry, Ailish. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s not to happen.” She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around herself, as though forming a protective shield. “I won’t let it.”

With another twinge of guilt, I pushed her distress to my best advantage. “Help me escape, and it won’t.”

“How’s that? What’s to matter if’n you’re here or not?”

“The answer’s so obvious, I’m surprised you can’t see it. Once I’m gone—”

A wheel ran a rut, throwing us each off balance. My shoulder hit the wall with a jolt of pain, while Ailish just swayed from side to side like a roly-poly toy. Rubbing at the soreness, I straightened and returned my gaze. “Once I’m gone, Calhoun will have no choice but to keep you in his show.”

She shook her head. “Paddy will just wait. Or he might decide to join us.” A shudder shook her small frame.

“Does he live near Waterford?”

“He does, about five miles north o’ the port.”

“Without me in the way, you’ll have leverage with Calhoun. At a minimum, it will buy some time to find a more permanent solution.”

This last bit appeared to have a better effect. “And where would you be going if’n I helped?”

“To Wexford to meet up with my friends.” I crossed my fingers and offered a silent prayer.
Please let them be there...

She nodded, the slight motion nearly indiscernible. “I’ll think on your words.”

I frowned, disappointed by the delay. “You realize time is of the essence, right? That every minute just brings us closer to Paddy?”

“Don’t be getting your hopes up, Selah. I said I’d think on it, nothing more.”

Well, that made two of us, as I needed to formulate another plan in case she refused to help me. Attacking Calhoun presented a series of dangers, the most grave of these being that if he really possessed Cailleach’s blood, then I might as well save the effort and just attack myself. By the small chance we weren’t mortal enemies, once I dropped him, Ailish would no doubt incapacitate both of us again with a short trip to the Otherworld. And then it would be a matter of who gained consciousness first.

These thoughts went round and round until my head was spinning from the various scenarios, all of which seemed to end with the three of us knocked senseless.

There had to be another way.
But how?

I curled my hand around the memory of Henry’s last kiss and pressed it to my heart for courage. Even if I failed, I knew he wouldn’t stop until the wretch was dead and Nora returned safely to London. This assurance offered a glimmer of light in what seemed to be an ever-expanding darkness.

A loud whistle mixed with the crack of a whip to hasten the horses. Ailish pulled her knees tighter, somehow making herself even smaller. A long while passed in this fashion, the grim silence interrupted only by the incessant rattling and creaking of the caravan. I began to tap my foot on the floor with growing impatience. She raised her head and gave me an odd look, which I answered by lifting a brow in question.

Will you help me or not?

Releasing her arms, she twisted around to rap on the wall behind the driver’s box.

Calhoun put his mouth to the small slatted opening. “What do you want?” he growled over the cacophony of pounding hooves and wheels.

Ailish turned to kneel on the bench, and stretched her neck to reach the opening. “I’ve got to make water,” she yelled.

“Hold it, me lass. We’ve no time to be wasting.”

One small hand tightened to a fist. “Stop the horses,” she said, “afore I piss on the floor.”

I agreed with the sentiment and silently thanked her for the stubborn insistence.

Calhoun didn’t say anything more, but after a minute the horses slowed to a stop. Grumbling, he jumped from the driver’s box and walked around to the door. It swung open, revealing a world awash with fog. Swaths of wild grass and thorny vines grew alongside the narrow dirt road. Just beyond, trees reached over the caravan from either side, their branches nearly touching overhead.

Anxious to be out, I put a stocking-covered foot on the first step when Calhoun held up a hand to stop me. He then peered at Ailish, who was busy rummaging through the cabinets. “Tie a rope around her waist, will you,” he told her.

I huffed a protest. “You’ve got to be jesting.”

Something hard glinted in his good eye. “Not a wee bit, Miss Kilbrid. You’ll soon learn that I take care o’ what’s mine.”