"Your healer," said Padraig, inclining his head and giving a small smile, "was served as you have been, although the hot wine was scarcely touched, and has also been appareled as you directed. We talked of many things, of concerns for the future as well as the secret things that the young sometimes reveal to those who are older and, presumably, wiser, and which, you will understand, I shall not pass to you. But as a result of our talk and the healer's advice I have been given, I have taken the liberty of adding protective enhancements of my own which should prove useful for both of you in your future journeying together…"
"Rest your mind, Padraig," Declan broke in, "I have no wish to pry into the small secrets of a boy. We appreciate your concern for us, but I have not the wherewithal to pay for enhancements."
"… It is a helmet of thick, layered leather," Padraig went on, his old eyes shining with enthusiasm for this latest work of his mind and hands, "with a strong fore peak. Strips of thinly hammered metal give it strength without too much weight, and it is padded within for comfort and to deaden the force of heavy blows. The fore peak shelters the eyes, and a square of oiled cloth placed on the head before donning it will give protection to the face and neck in inclement weather or, should you travel to hotter climes, a square of lighter material will guard you against the burning of the sun."
He tried to speak again, but the old man gave a gentle smile that was not unlike Ma'el's and raised a hand. "Please," he said. "Consider the headpieces as my gift to you both. If they give useful service, you may want to mention the name of Padraig of Cashel among those you chance to meet"
By the angle of the sun shining into the street outside, Declan judged that six hours had passed before the work was done and he was again fully dressed and accoutred. His undergarments were warm and easy, the long leather tunic fell halfway to his knees, the boots were long and tightly fastened and the peaked helm of which Padraig was so proud sat firmly but with comfort on his head. His cloak, which was the rich, dark color of a ripened plum, was warm and long, but not so long that it would sweep the ground and muddy its hem. And the leather of his scabbard and the long-axe harness had been cleaned and oiled until they shone.
The work had been well done, he was greatly pleased and felt comfortable with it, and he told the old man warmly of his feelings. Then he made a small bow to Padraig's wife and seamstress, who looked up at him and smiled a secret smile. Declan wondered if she was remembering another young man and, perhaps, times and people and opportunities long past, and walked out to join the waiting Sean.
The boy stared at him for what seemed like a long time without speaking, then said, "Of a certainty, Declan, you do not now look like a beggar. In truth, you look very well."
He eyed the boy up and down. "We both look well," he said.
Sean gave a long sigh. "But now you will visit the drinking house," he said, "and I must wait close by to help you find your way back to the wagon?"
Declan drew out Ma'el's purse and shook it gently. From the light, quiet sound it seemed that there were very few coins remaining in it.
"Not this day," he replied. 'The information and guidance 1 would have sought in the drinking house has already been given to me by Padraig. I have a mind to return Ma'el's purse to him while it is not quite empty, and surprise him."
The boy smiled for the first time in many days.
"Do that," he said, "and you will certainly surprise me."
CHAPTER SIX
Ma'el Report on the Investigation of Earth. Day 112,547…
On this exercise in foretelling I shall risk no gratuitous displays of Taelon technology, but shall use instead the combination of knowledge, past experience, and observation that these people refer to as common sense…"
–
Without further let or hindrance they followed the southwestern path that took them past the Galty Mountains and under the frowning mass of Galty Mor toward Fermoy where they stopped to eat and sleep. This was because Ma'el, rather than proceeding due south to Cork, wished to make preparations for the coming voyage. He did not specify their nature other than to say that they involved materials and spells brought with him from his recent visit to the Hill above the Strand in distant Sligo.
Declan knew that hill well, having been taken there by his father. It was a beautiful if disquieting place whose gentle, seaward facing slopes bore the burial stones of the past Kings of Connaught, and far above them on the dark mountain of Knocknarea, the burial chamber of the famed and infamous warrior Queen Maeve herself. Thinking of those markers, their westward facing stone surfaces weathered by the Atlantic storms, Declan shivered without knowing why.
"What reason," he said to Ma'el, "had you, who are plainly not a native of this land, for visiting that place of our heroic dead?"
"As I have already said," the old man replied in his usual inscrutable fashion, "it is a place of power for me where I renew myself and my magic before setting off on any journey."
Declan looked at the other, thinking about his own unhappy and unruly past, then he shrugged angrily and said, "It is not a place where I shall ever lie."
Ma'el stared at him for a moment and seemed about to speak, then shook his head before returning to the wagon.
For much of the following night, while Sean slept on the canopied driving bench and Declan by the fire, a low, half-humming and half-singing sound came from inside the wagon, and there seemed to be more of the pale blue light than usual squeezing out between the folds of the heavy skins hiding its interior.
The streets and buildings of Cork were similar to those in Cashel, but writ large and with much more noise and movement of people, beasts of burden, and the drays and wagons they pulled. In spite of several days of cold, dry weather, there were so many comings and goings that the ground had no chance to remain frozen and it formed a deep, uneven layer of mud under their wheels. But the noises were of commerce rather than conflict because here the community had learned the lesson well that there was more profit and longlasting pleasure to be gained from honest, or more often dishonest, trading than in the more customary forms of robbery.
They drove to a market square that was but a short distance from the busy establishments of the shipwrights and boatbuilders, and the even busier drinking and gaming houses along the waterfront, which Ma'el said they would have to visit at a later time. This square was busy with the owners of many stalls and benches displaying their different wares. They paid the usual tithes to the two very large Cork City Gardai, who were on duty at the entrance to discourage the activities of thieves, pickpockets, and others whose crimes were not cloaked by commercial dealings, and were fortunate to find a place large enough to accommodate their wagon with space all around it.
Sean, who was no longer wearing his helmet, cloak, and sea boots because they were apparel not appropriate for a lowly servant boy, unharnessed the horse and led it to a nearby stable, which looked to be well-ordered and clean. There he made payment for its comfort, feeding, and safety from thieves before returning to assist Declan in setting up the old man's stall and displaying his amulets, potions, and the other arcane wares of a magician and fortuneteller against one side of the wagon.
Ma'el took up his position on a padded stool behind the stall, his cloak and cowl arranged so that his hairless features were in shadow, and gave quiet directions.