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A POT of GLIMMER


> A LEPRECHAUN’S FEUD WITH A VIKING GHOUL PUTS LIAM AND JANET IN DEADLY DANGER…
> 
> 
> CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT
> 
> > Dublin, Ireland - January 1014
> > The earthen wall ringed the town to protect it, but no wall could keep
> > Ireland’s weather away. Storm clouds blackened the winter morning and turned
> > the River Liffey to slate. Awley knew then that the game would go wrong, but
> > he meant to do his duty. He shifted the bag he’d slung over his back and
> > eyed his comrades.
> > 
> > Toby and Quinn seemed unfazed by the darkening sky. They stood near a noisy
> > cooper’s shop to avoid the crush of foreigners the native Irish called the
> > People of Thor, the Norse, the Ostmen, Land Leapers, Danmarkers, Vikings,
> > and other names far less polite.
> > 
> > Gusts of wind blew scraps of refuse around the street. Chins tucked into
> > their cloaks and collars, the people rushed over the split-log streets
> > unable to see the three leprechauns.
> > 
> > The leprechauns saw each other perfectly. Shorter than the men and women
> > bustling up and down the lanes, they wore bark-brown tunics, leaf-green
> > leggings, and buckled goatskin boots. Their belts held assorted weapons and
> > tools, including leather cudgels.
> > 
> > A pointed green cap crowned Toby’s black curls. He had a face so long and
> > thin, he could kiss a goat between its horns. The whites of his bright blue
> > eyes were red from last night’s beer, but his gaze was sharp, his stance
> > unswerving.
> > 
> > “Where did all these foreigners come from?” he muttered. “Yez’d think the
> > world and his wife had moved to Dublin.”
> > 
> > A merchant in a fur-trimmed cloak charged by. Toby sneered and spat.
> > 
> > So did Quinn, who wore no cap. His wiry orange hair blew wild in the drizzly
> > breeze. “Look at the cut of him, him and his fur cloak. He’s afraid of a
> > hardy bit of a day, but he and his ilk leave the Irish hungry. I ought to
> > kick him into the middle of next week.”
> > 
> > Awley silently scolded himself for letting his nerves get the better of him.
> > What could go wrong with these two backing him up?
> > 
> > Toby wrinkled his crooked nose. “Those fish stalls we passed nearly killed
> > my poor nose, but this skinner’s row stinks even worse, and from more than
> > the straw in your sack, Awley lad.”
> > 
> > Quinn agreed. “’Tis a vile place, all right. Almost as odoriferous as the
> > time the Grand Himself fell into the privy.”
> > 
> > Awley smiled at the memory. He’d held his breath then as he had today, when
> > he and his cronies had climbed the winding street where braying women
> > swatted flies from the fish and the other sea creatures they sold. Yet as
> > bad as the barrels and fish carts had smelled, the stench at this highest
> > and busiest part of the town would knock a banshee senseless.
> > 
> > On one side of the narrow lane, smoked and salted meat hung from wooden
> > poles. Beneath them, butchers in blood-soaked aprons calmly slaughtered
> > livestock. The open shops on the opposite side belonged to the leather men,
> > who tanned the animals’ hides and fashioned the foreigners’ shoes and belts,
> > and scabbards for their keen-edged swords.
> > 
> > Toby swung his head from side to side. “Where are we, Awl? Which way do we
> > go?”
> > 
> > Breathing through his mouth, Awley studied the street to get his bearings.
> > The thoroughfare to his right ran to the dubh linn, the black pool at the
> > convergence of the Liffey and Poddle Rivers. A Celtic ringfort once stood on
> > the spot. The People of Thor destroyed it to build their ugly fortress. In
> > its shadow, Viking craftsmen plied their trades. Some carved ivory, antler,
> > and bone to make spindles and combs for the dour foreign women. The weavers
> > dressed them in linen and silk. The jewelers adorned them with amber and
> > fine black jet.
> > 
> > The artisans’ shops at that end of Dublin smelled better. In fact, the wine
> > merchants’ quarter oftentimes cast a right winsome perfume. Awley wished he
> > were robbing them today, but here he was in the skinners’ row with the
> > bloody butchers and leather men. He was glad that Hazel had stayed behind at
> > Dougall’s Bridge.
> > 
> > The leprechauns had to go west without losing their way in the rambling
> > lanes and alleys, but which way was west? Awley studied the sky. Roiling
> > storm clouds smothered the late-rising sun. Yet below him flowed the river
> > that bordered the northern edge of the town.
> > 
> > He cursed the dragon ships clogging the water. “This way,” he said, jerking
> > his thumb to the left.
> > 
> > At the end of the street, they came to a forge, where sweating blacksmiths
> > in leather aprons pounded their hammers on anvils. Awley sensed iron and
> > copper inside. Those metals would also be in the mint, as would an abundance
> > of silver. Yet he and his friends would come to no harm. Unlike the rest of
> > the Danann tribe, leprechauns were impervious to the lethal aura of metal.
> > 
> > He knew where he was now. The mint run by Steng the Money Master, the
> > biggest Norseman he’d ever seen, should be just ahead.
> > 
> > It was. They approached the building and paused near the entrance.
> > 
> > “All right, lads. I’ll dash inside and have a squizz. Keep watch, and don’t
> > forget to keep up your glimmer.”
> > 
> > Quinn and Toby took their posts on either side of the door. Awley stole into
> > the mint and stopped to inspect the place. As in every Norse home and shop,
> > a fire blazed in an open pit in the center of the floor. Perfect.
> > 
> > The warm air reeked of molten metal, mortal male sweat, and something else.
> > A dog?
> > 
> > Yes. It slept in a corner, its pointed ears and long white muzzle making it
> > look like a wolf. He knew the breed. A miserable sort, only half the size of
> > the great Irish wolfhound, but a dog was a dog. No glimmer could hide the
> > Goddess Danu’s tribe from dogs. If it opened its eyes, it would see him. He
> > had to be careful, and quiet.
> > 
> > Another step. Surveying the moneyers at their work, he easily picked out
> > Steng. A bucket-headed mortal with bulging muscles and long black hair, he
> > stood at a table weighing metal scraps in the hanging pans of a balancing
> > scale. In his jarring accent, he explained the task to a lanky Danmarker
> > youth. His apprentice, no doubt.
> > 
> > Around their necks, both wore leather thongs that held not only the hated
> > symbol called Thor’s Hammer, but also the cross the Christians wore. Awley’s
> > lip curled in disgust.
> > 
> > Merchants. Always ready to trade with both sides.
> > 
> > The other men wore similar pendants. Clad in white wool and dingy leather, a
> > gray-haired foreigner banged away at an anvil to flatten a piece of silver.
> > Near him, a blond and burly man wielded shears to cut silver sheets into
> > narrow strips. A third man struck a series of coins, imprinting the head of
> > the Norse King of Dublin, Sitric Silkbeard, onto blank silver discs with a
> > hammer and rod-shaped die.
> > 
> > Steng the Bucket Head handed the boy a bowl filled with silvery metal.
> > “We’ll melt this today, Hallfred. Add it to the cauldron with the rest of
> > what we’ve weighed and hang the pot in the oven. We’ll need a good strong
> > fire.”
> > 
> > Hallfred pointed to a leather sack on the table. “What about that bag, sir?”
> > 
> > Steng gazed at the bag so long, Awley thought he’d forgotten the question.
> > At last he said, “That one is special. Lock it in the storage room with
> > those silver coins. No sense tempting thieves.”
> > 
> > Awley frowned. They had to strike now. His spies had reported that Steng
> > would receive an important delivery, though they didn’t know when or what it
> > was. Perhaps the special bag was it.
> > 
> > The silver coins Steng mentioned—the three bags Awley meant to snatch—sat
> > across the room, beneath a row of wall pegs jammed with spears and
> > broad-blade swords. Gauging the distance from the door to the sacks, he
> > figured how much time he and his friends would need to grab a bag apiece and
> > make their escape. A speck of an hour should do it. They were young
> > leprechauns, after all. Not fully fledged yet, but that would soon change.
> > 
> > After today, the Grand Himself would trade their probationary trial coins
> > for their permanent pocket coins. The gold coins, a gift from the Goddess
> > Danu herself, augmented the leprechauns’ already potent glimmer. Awley
> > couldn’t wait.
> > 
> > Having learned all he could, he backed into the busy street and relayed his
> > findings.
> > 
> > Toby’s jaw tightened. “What do you think, Awl? Can we do it?”
> > 
> > “We can if we don’t wake the dog.”
> > 
> > Quinn smacked his cudgel. “We’ll deal with the dog.”
> > 
> > “I’m hopin’ there’ll be no need. Listen up, lads.” Awley described what he’d
> > seen and told them where to find the sacks. “Give me a minute to muck up the
> > fire. Come in when I wave. No noise. And for feck sake, mind the dog. We
> > each grab a bag, shrink it with glimmer, and run like a husk of hares with a
> > wolf on our tails.” His tone grew somber. “For that’s what we’ll be, should
> > they learn we’re about.”
> > 
> > “They won’t,” Toby said. “And if by some chance they do…” He tapped the
> > cudgel on his belt. “Ready, Quinn?”
> > 
> > Quinn dipped his chin. “As the mortals say, talkin’ won’t get the fields
> > plowed, and Hazel will be waitin’.”
> > 
> > She would, Awley thought, pleased by the idea but chasing it from his mind.
> > Wishing he’d worn his gloves, he reentered the mint and slid the bag from
> > his shoulder. He’d gathered the straw from a cow pen, choosing the dampest,
> > moldiest, filthiest stalks he could find. The first handful he tossed in the
> > fire pit dimmed the glowing coals. A second scattering sizzled and steamed.
> > Sooty black tendrils rose toward the roof.
> > 
> > A growl crept from the corner. The dog had opened its eyes, big round things
> > as brown as an otter’s back. Awley stifled a curse and thrust his hand back
> > into the bag.
> > 
> > The third toss of straw caused raven black smoke to pour from the fire pit,
> > reminding him of the clouds billowing over the river. His sense of
> > foreboding returned. He quashed it at once and raised his scarf to cover his
> > mouth and nose. A jingle of the trial coins in his pocket boosted his
> > glimmer to let him see through the smoke.
> > 
> > The dog barked.
> > 
> > Keeping an eye on the hound, he turned and signaled Toby and Quinn. They
> > bolted in, their scarves protecting the lower half of their faces.
> > 
> > Awley pointed. “The bags are there. Grab one, shrink it, and go!”
> > 
> > The choking moneyers scolded the trembling apprentice for fouling the fire.
> > They cursed his sputtered pleas of innocence.
> > 
> > “Hallfred!” shouted Steng the Bucket Head. “Clear the smoke and clean the
> > shop!” He and his coughing mates left Hallfred behind and ran for the door.
> > 
> > Toby and Quinn were right behind them, shrunken sacks in their pockets,
> > cudgels in their hands. Toby stopped at the door. “Awley! What in Danu’s
> > name are you waitin’ for?”
> > 
> > “Go on. I’ll be right there.”
> > 
> > He’d already shriveled his sack of coins. Paying no mind to the barking dog,
> > he ran to the scales and grabbed the special bag. Whatever was in it, he
> > couldn’t leave it, not with war in the air. Better to throw it into the
> > river so no one could have it—after he checked its contents.
> > 
> > He jingled his trial coins. The special bag shrank. He tucked it in his
> > pocket beside the other sack and turned to go.
> > 
> > The growling dog stood staring at him, its pointed fangs bared, its fur on
> > end. Holding his breath, Awley gripped his cudgel.
> > 
> > “Roki! Get out here, you stupid cur!”
> > 
> > The hound whimpered and cantered outside to Bucket Head. Awley released his
> > breath.
> > 
> > A pail of water slosh in Hallfred’s arms. He stumbled through the pungent
> > smoke, hacking and gasping as if someone were strangling him. Once he’d
> > doused the fire pit, he staggered out the door. He slammed right into Toby.
> > 
> > Hallfred went down. Toby yelped. The break in his concentration cut off the
> > flow of his glimmer. The sack of silver coins fell full-sized from his
> > pocket and jangled to the ground. Thank Danu the bag was tied shut! Toby
> > popped into view beside Hallfred, and Hallfred screamed.
> > 
> > The snarling dog barked. Steng the Bucket Head kicked the beast and grabbed
> > it by its collar. “Silence, Roki. It’s only smoke.”
> > 
> > Seizing the diversion, Awley and Quinn rushed to Toby’s aid. The crowd that
> > had gathered could see him now, though from their shouts, the risk that the
> > fire would spread to their shops and homes concerned them more than did Toby
> > or Hallfred.
> > 
> > Bucket Head shouted that all was well. “It’s only smoke,” he repeated,
> > louder this time and sounding too cheerful. He pointed at Hallfred, still
> > sprawled on the ground. “My bumbling apprentice—” Steng’s eyes grew as round
> > as toadstools. He’d spotted Toby and the bag. “What? What’s this? A thief?
> > Thief! Seize him and cut off his hands!”
> > 
> > Awley shook his trial coins. Toby vanished from mortal sight. While Quinn
> > condensed the sack of coins and shoved it in his pocket, Awley dragged Toby
> > from the scene.
> > 
> > “Let me go,” he said. “He bollixed my arm, but I can run.”
> > 
> > Awley noted Steng’s red face and swinging fists. “If you can run, I suggest
> > we do so at once. Old Bucket Head will figure it out in short order.”
> > 
> > Steng’s rabid bellow fulfilled the prophetic words. “Irlander elves! Stop
> > them! Get the spears and hunt them down! Call the sorceress!”
> > 
> > The leprechauns bolted away from the mint and down the skinners’ row. A
> > spear flew within an inch of Awley’s arm. His racing heart walloped his
> > chest and ribs.
> > 
> > “They see us, Awl!”
> > 
> > “They do not, Quinn. ’Twas a lucky throw, and they’ll peg nothing else at us
> > now. The crowd’s too thick here. They’ll never find us.”
> > 
> > “Maybe they won’t,” Toby gasped, “but that flea-ridden dog will!”
> > 
> > Awley glanced back. The galloping dog was gaining ground.
> > 
> > Down the winding fish market street they ran, weaving between the
> > unsuspecting People of Thor who shrieked at the sight of a savage, growling
> > dog chasing nothing.
> > 
> > “Mad dog!” they cried, and Awley hoped someone would kill it so he wouldn’t
> > have to.
> > 
> > He and Quinn pumped their arms to help them run faster, but Toby’s injured
> > arm hung limp. He lagged behind. As Awley turned to help him, the dog
> > pounced.
> > 
> > Toby ducked behind a fish cart. The dog’s jaws snapped at empty air. Its
> > forward momentum propelled it past Quinn and Awley. They ran to Toby.
> > 
> > “No, lads,” he gasped. “Yez have the silver. Take it and run. I’ll lay low
> > here for a bit and meet yez back at the camp.”
> > 
> > Snarling fiercely now, the dog whirled and ran at them. Awley drew his
> > cudgel. “Are you astray in the head? Did you not hear Steng call for the
> > sorceress? You’re comin’ with us.”
> > 
> > The dog attacked. Awley swung and bashed its head. Bone crunched. Without
> > even a yip, the animal fell like a little girl’s doll and lay on the ground
> > unmoving.
> > 
> > “That’ll soften your cough for you, bucko.” Shouts drew Awley’s attention to
> > the top of the street. Steng ran toward them leading a mob armed with swords
> > and spears. “Time to go, lads.”
> > 
> > The leprechauns plunged through the chattering crowd. They had nearly
> > reached the end of the street when a mournful wail made them stop and turn.
> > 
> > “Roki! Ro-o-o-o-ki!” Steng dropped sobbing to his knees and stroked the
> > dog’s corpse. “My faithful friend,” he cried. Then he leapt to his feet and
> > shook his fists. “Come out, vile cowards! Irlander dung beetles! I will have
> > vengeance! Seal the gates! Don’t let them escape!”
> > 
> > “They’ll let all the dogs out soon,” Awley said. “No time to lose. Split up,
> > lads. We’ll meet at the bridge.”
> > 
> > They turned and fled in different directions. Awley whirled and crashed into
> > a fish cart. It toppled, and in his panic, he slipped into mortal view. The
> > fishwives screeched. Ignoring them, he shook his head and found himself
> > staring at Steng.
> > 
> > “I have you now, Irlander maggot!”


> > BACK TO THE MAIN PAGE FOR A POT OF GLIMMER


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