Mark Pearson - Murder Club

‘I thought you preferred Kate’s stories nowadays,’ Delaney replied, teasing her.

‘No, I always like yours best. It’s just …’ She trailed off and shrugged.

‘It’s what, darlin’?’

‘It’s Kate’s house we’re living in now. So it’s only fair that if she wants to tell me a story, I should let her.’ She frowned, as if puzzling over a matter of great philosophical debate, and Delaney laughed again. It was a rich laugh, full of life.

‘To be sure,’ he said, echoing her and putting on the oirish . ‘Is it not yourself that has been off to scale the battlements and kissed the Cloch na Blarnan ? Should it not be you the one as is telling the tales, I’m thinking!’

‘What is the Cloch na Barnan ?’ asked Siobhan, all wide-eyed innocence.

‘Ah now …’ explained Delaney, although he was quite aware that Siobhan knew full well what it was. ‘It’s an ancient story,’ he continued. ‘The Cloch na Blarnan is what the unwashed, heathen devils on this side of the blessed channel call the Blarney Stone.’

‘The Blarney Stone!’ said Siobhan in feigned wonder. ‘Is it magic?’

‘Is it magic?’ said Jack, his own eyebrows raising as if in mutual astonishment and his voice slipping into a softer, lyrical brogue. ‘I like that! Why, is the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow magic? Is the music that the fairies’ fluttering wings make magic? Are the wishes that come true on a falling star magic?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’d better believe it is magic, Siobhan. Very powerful magic indeed. One of the most important of all the magics.’

‘What is it?’

‘’Tis said that whoever lays his lips on the cool surface of the stone will have bestowed upon them the gift of story, the gift of persuasion …’ He paused dramatically. ‘The gift, as they say, of the gab!’

‘The gift of the gob?’

Delaney laughed again. ‘Don’t let Kate hear you using that expression, sweetheart.’

‘Why not?’

Delaney grimaced. ‘Let’s just say that it’s not one she’s overly fond of.’

‘Tell me more about the gift of the gab then.’

‘Ah now, the magic of the Blarney Stone, you see.’ Delaney pretended to consider the matter. ‘Some say it’s best described as giving you the ability to deceive someone without offending them!’

Siobhan made an O of her mouth. ‘To lie, you mean?’

‘Well now, lie — that might be too strong a word. Bending the facts to one’s advantage maybe.’

‘Tell me more about the Stone. Have you seen it?’

‘No, I haven’t. I don’t need to. We Delaneys don’t need to see or kiss it to have its magic work upon us.’

‘Why not?’

‘Maybe that should be a story for another night.’

‘Tonight, tonight!’ Siobhan wriggled impatiently.

Delaney seemed to consider for a moment, before sighing and relenting. ‘Sure, and you’ll promise to go straight to sleep when the telling of it is done.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die, if I should ever tell a lie. May my soul lay down to sleep, if a promise I do not keep!’

Siobhan made a cross with her finger over her blanket and smiled as Jack sidled closer to her.

‘It all happened long, long ago. When a man called Cormac Laidir MacCarthy—’

‘The same MacCarthy as MacCarthy’s bar near where you were born, Da?’ interrupted Siobhan. ‘In Castletownbere.’

‘The very same name, the very same family.’

‘Will we go there one day?’

‘Did I not promise it?’

Siobhan clapped her hands. ‘And will we see the magic Stone there?’

‘No,’ Delaney shook his head. ‘The Stone now resides in Blarney Castle in Blarney. Still in Cork, mind, but not where it came from originally.’

‘Where did it come from then?’

Delaney looked at her for a moment before speaking. ‘From Ballydehob!’

Siobhan gasped again, theatrically. ‘The town where you were born!’

‘It certainly is, but there’s more to the legend than that.’

Siobhan settled back down on her pillow. ‘Go on then.’

‘Well, your great-great-great- to the power of something or other grandfather was a man called Liam Colm Delaney. And Liam was famous throughout the whole of Cork. As a fighter, as a poet and as a man who could charm the very birds down from the trees. But one day the worst thing that could ever happen to a man like him did indeed happen.’

‘What was it?’

‘He fell in love.’

Siobhan blinked, confused. ‘Why was that so bad?’

‘Because the woman he fell in love with, the very first time he ever clapped eyes on her, was called Aoibheann.’

‘That’s a pretty name.’

‘It is, and Aoibheann means “beautiful”. As in the heathen English word “heavenly”. Aoibheann Aghna Finbar McCool was her name, and she was the only woman in the whole of Ireland who was impervious to Liam Delaney’s charms.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He tried everything he could. He wrote epic poems, he sent fields of flowers, he pleaded and begged, but his honeyed words had no effect. She was as cool towards him as a Nordic snow-queen.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well, in desperation, Liam prayed to the goddess Cliodna for her assistance. Now Cleena, as they say in the English tongue, was Queen of the banshees of the Tuatha De Danann. She was the goddess of love and beauty, and ruled over the Sheoques or fairy women of the hills of south Munster. And she answered his prayer.’

‘She made Aoibheann fall in love with him?’

‘It wasn’t as simple as that. At the same time as Liam was petitioning for her intervention, so too was your man Cormac Laidir MacCarthy.’

‘He was in love with Aoibheann too?’

‘No, no. Not so as I know, leastwise. But Cormac MacCarthy was the very builder of Blarney Castle! The day after he prayed to the goddess Cliodna he was due to appear in court in a lawsuit that was like to ruin him entirely.’

‘And was he innocent?’

‘Ah no, that he was not. But the MacCarthys — stretching back, as they did, for many years as Kings of Munster and Desmond — were looked on favourably by the goddess. And they in turn always showed the Queen and her court of banshees the greatest respect. So Cliodna decided to answer both Liam’s and Cormac’s prayers at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone, as it were. She sent a vision to Liam Delaney to stand on the high hill overlooking the estuary at Ballydehob, where there now stands a fine bridge that used to bring the trains across.’

‘I’ve seen the pictures,’ said Siobhan, nodding enthusiastically.

‘So your great-great-great-etc-granda, Liam Delaney, stood there at dawnbreak, as commanded. And as the spears of light broke over the horizon, sending golden flashes darting and rippling along the length of estuary, he saw a wondrous thing.’

‘What was it?’

‘A large raven burst from below the waters. Exploding upwards in a flurry of feathers and sinew, his powerful wings beating and shaking from them the droplets of the Ballydehob estuary so that they hung in the air, sparkling like a mist of the finest diamonds. And then he swooped higher and higher, and Delaney could see that in his beak the raven held a big pebble. As he passed overhead, the raven opened his beak and let the pebble fall to Liam Delaney’s feet. As instructed, Liam picked up the pebble, kissed it and then threw it hard out over the river. It hung in the air for a moment and then plummeted downwards. But before it could hit the water a loud caw was heard that echoed all through Ballydehob, and the raven swooped and caught the pebble in his beak once more and then, beating his powerful wings, headed north and east to Cork city and Blarney beyond.’