Wormwood Gate (22 page)

‘You cannot mean that, River!' said another voice, and this time Aisling was pretty sure it was the Queen-that-will-be speaking. ‘I owe you a boon, I do not deny that, but do not ask for this! My sister does not owe you her life. I do not owe you my life!'

T
HE QUEEN-THAT-WAS KNOWS THAT FOR A LIE
, said the River. I
HAVE CLAIMED HER LIFE ALREADY
.

The body of the River-woman rippled and the faces blurred, and the River's hand changed shape so that a woman's form was standing on it – the form of the Queen-that-was, shaped out of the same rippling dark water as the River.

‘The River speaks the truth,' said the Queen-that-was. ‘Our time is done, my sisters, my selves. This trick we played on Death will last no longer. It is time.'

She dissolved back into the River, and the River moved closer to the Tower.

I
HAVE NO POWER TO COMPEL YOU
, it said. Y
OU ARE QUEEN OF YOUR OWN DOMAIN, AND IN YOUR DOMAIN ONLY YOUR OWN HONOUR BINDS YOU
. W
HAT DOES YOUR HONOUR SAY
?

‘We are three,' said the Queen-that-is. ‘We are … we are …'

‘We are one,' said the Queen-that-will-be. ‘It is only your madness, sister, that has divided us. Until this late battle, we have always been one. That which binds one of us, binds all of us.'

T
HEN YOUR LIFE IS FORFEIT
, said the River. Y
OUR LIFE IS MINE
.

‘Our … our life is yours,' said the Queen-that-will-be.

The River surged forward, and it seemed that at the same time the two queens leapt from the balcony, hand in hand, and were swallowed by the writhing water, which surged back southwards in the form of a great wave and flowed back to the place where the Liffey should have been. Even the water soaking their clothes and hair leapt away from them to rejoin the wave, leaving them completely dry.

The Tower seemed to change again, shrinking inwards and growing metallic and shiny, until it was no longer a tower at all but had settled on a shape that was almost, but not quite, exactly the same as the Spire of Dublin.

The street was changing before their eyes, old buildings fading to be replaced by newer ones, which faded in their turn. It was still not quite O'Connell Street, and there were still very few smells and almost no people, but every so often there would be a flash of someone walking across the street or visible through a shop's front window, over in a matter of seconds, and none too solid while it happened, as if the city were populated by impatient ghosts.

‘The gates must have opened,' said Julie, and Aisling nodded.

They started walking, away from what had been the Tower and was now the Spire. When they reached the southern end of the street, there was a bridge there that was very like O'Connell Bridge, though there was no boardwalk leading down the quays to either side, and the lampposts on the pavements didn't have any band stickers or political posters on them. Without saying a word, the two of them walked together to the east side of the bridge and leaned over. There were seagulls floating on the River, flying low over the surface, swooping into the water to catch fish.

A flock of pigeons descended on the parapet and started shuffling over towards them. The parapet was too narrow to accommodate more than one of them, so they had to walk in single file, which made them look like a troop of feathered schoolchildren following a lollipop lady across the road.

‘Do you feel like we've left something undone?' said Aisling as she glanced between the pigeons and the seagulls.

Julie let go of Aisling's hand and slid her arm around Aisling's waist.

‘Yeah, it feels unfinished,' she said. ‘Like we made a shopping list and then left it at home. Milk, eggs, bread?'

Aisling put her arm around Julie's shoulders. It felt right, to stand like that. Julie fitted snugly under her arm, and if she tilted her head slightly she could bury her nose in Julie's hair; it smelled of something sweetish, probably hairspray. ‘Whatever it is, I don't feel like going just yet,' she said. ‘Though, now that I think of it, I'm not sure we can. We'd have to find the Wormwood Gate, wouldn't we?'

‘I don't think so,' said Julie, gesturing at the ghostly figures dipping in and out of existence. ‘Look at all the people coming and going. I'm guessing once the queens were gone, the gates all opened again, all at once. We can probably get back to Dublin just by following one of those people.'

‘Good thinking,' said Aisling.

‘I'm not just a pretty face,' said Julie.

‘Though you
are
a pretty face,' said Aisling. ‘I – I mean, you have a pretty face. I don't mean you literally are a face, I mean, that would be ridiculous, like, just imagine a face on legs, how weird would that be?'

‘You are the most rubbish compliment-giver in the history of time,' said Julie. ‘But you're not bad-looking yourself, you know.'

‘Oh, really?'

‘Yeah, you know, in a certain light.'

Kiss her
, said a voice in Aisling's head.
Kiss her now, before you lose your nerve. Go on! She wants you to!

She put her other hand on Julie's shoulder and turned her slightly. Julie was blushing a little; she tilted her head and gave Aisling a look that was equal parts expectant and challenging. Aisling leaned in.

‘Oi! Yous two! We've got a bone to pick with yous!'

‘Oh, bollocks,' Aisling muttered. Julie giggled, and they pulled apart from each other.

The pigeons were gathered in a row on the parapet in front of them, their chests all puffed up and their beady little eyes fixed on Julie.

‘What is it?' said Aisling.

‘I,' said one of the pigeons, the one closest to the two of them, ‘am a seagull!'

Aisling and Julie exchanged baffled glances.

‘No, you're not,' said Julie. ‘you're a pigeon. Or, well, you certainly look like a pigeon. Are you under a spell or something? Disguised? And what does it have to do with us, anyway?'

‘I've been a seagull through five hundred years and two hundred bleeding incarnations, and now look at me!' said the pigeon. ‘It's all your fault!'

‘Oh,' said Julie. ‘You're the one I threw that stone at. I killed you, didn't I? When you were flying over the Viking quarter with your flock, looking for pigeons.'

‘That you did,' said the seagull-turned-pigeon. ‘And for all's I'd like to, I don't blame you for that. No, I blame you for when you did it! You caught me when the way through the labyrinth was dark as the inside of a dragon's arse, and the Ferryman wouldn't let me fly across the River. I had to take his ferry, and the only way he'd let me was if I gave him two feathers for a fare and let him choose what I'd be when I got back to the City. And now look at me! Is this his idea of a joke? Fine feckin' sense of humour he's got!'

‘Is it really that bad?' said Aisling. ‘At least you're still a bird. You could have been reincarnated as a worm, or an ant, or a cockroach.'

‘I'd rather be a cockroach than a feckin' pigeon!' said the former seagull. ‘Grubby little dirt-eaters, the flock of them!'

‘I can see how this must be distressing for you,' said Aisling, ‘but I'm not sure I understand what you think we can do about it.'

‘Take him away!' said another pigeon, and the rest cooed in agreement, rustling their wings. ‘He's been bellyaching since he came back from the River's banks about how he's not meant to be a pigeon, and we're feckin' sick of it. Take him with yous when you go, and let him complain as much as he likes to the pigeons over there!'

‘I don't think that's a good solution,' said Julie. ‘You'll still be miserable. You need to either find a way to change back into a seagull or get so you're not bothered about being a pigeon. I'm sure, with time, you can get used to it. And then, the next time you die, I'm sure you'll be able to come back as a seagull.'

‘I don't want to wait that long!' said the former seagull. ‘N' anyway, these flocking dirt-eaters don't like me any more than I like them. But me own kind won't let me join them. “Can you swim?” they say. Can I swim! Do I look like I can feckin' swim?'

‘You know,' said Aisling, ‘all this hostility is bad for you. Bad for the pigeons, and bad for the seagulls too. I realise you guys have short lives and it probably seems like you've been at war forever, but you haven't, not really. And now that the queens have left the City, there's no reason for you to be at odds with each other.'

‘Exactly!' said Julie. ‘And someone like yourself, who's seen both sides of the issue – you could be a go-between. An ambassador between the two great bird tribes.'

The seagull-turned-pigeon shuffled from side to side, its chest puffing up a little.

‘Ambassador? Ambassador. I like that. Like the sound of it. 'S got a ring to it.'

‘Yes, and then, if you join together, you birds could rule the City. There's no one to stand in your way,' said Aisling.

Julie grinned at her. ‘Good thinking,' she said quietly, and Aisling grinned back.

The pigeons started cooing and shuffling, as if they were giving the matter some thought.

‘A parliament!' one of them called out. ‘At the base of the Tower. As soon as you can. Summon all the pigeons of the City. And you, fishbreath, tell the seagulls they're invited too. We'll see if we can't rule the City better than the one-eyed triplets.'

‘You could hardly do worse,' said Aisling, and as the pigeons rose from the parapet in unison, she felt a sudden lightness and ease descend on her.

‘That was it,' said Julie. ‘That was the thing we were supposed to do.'

‘Well, we swore to leave the City with a better ruler,' said Aisling. ‘I guess politics really is for the birds.' Julie slapped her hard on the arm. ‘Ow! What was that for?'

‘Conditioning,' said Julie. ‘I'm not going out with you if you make bad puns.'

‘Oh,' said Aisling. ‘So … we're going out, are we?'

‘No,' said Julie, looking around. ‘I mean –'

She grabbed Aisling's hand and darted away, following a woman who had appeared out of nowhere, and dragging Aisling after her. There was a shift in air pressure and a sudden increase of noise, and then they had slipped out of the City of the Three Castles and back into Dublin – the real O'Connell Bridge, in the real Dublin – as easily as taking a step over the threshold of a house.

Aisling stood very still and stared and let the sounds and smells of the city assault her. She could hear the roaring of cars and fragments of a dozen conversations and the beeping of the pedestrian-crossing signals; she could smell exhaust fumes and dried urine and hops wafting over from James's Gate. It was like being yanked out of a sensory deprivation tank in the middle of an air raid, or like stepping out of a line drawing into reality. She felt a little dizzy, and though she'd been on the verge of saying or doing something before they'd moved, she couldn't remember what it was.

She checked her phone. It was 9.27 pm, on the same night it had been when they fell through the Wormwood Gate.

‘Hey,' said Julie, letting go of her hand and stepping in close.

Aisling dropped her phone into her pocket and looked down at her. Julie's face was upturned, a little anxious, a little excited.

Oh, I remember now
she thought, and leaned down and kissed her.

Julie slid her hands around Aisling's waist, inside her coat. Aisling shivered, though she felt warm all over, from the inside out. She rested her hands on the back of Julie's neck and pulled away, reluctantly.

‘So,' she said, ‘you were saying?'

‘I don't think it was important,' said Julie.

They stared at each other, grinning like idiots. Aisling wanted to come up with some clever line, something funny and sweet that they'd always remember, that would be their own personal in-joke for months and years to come, but the soundtrack of her mind was nothing but trumpets and a chorus of
yesyesyesyesyesyesyesYES!
and, under those conditions, it was impossible to be witty.

‘So,' she said eventually, ‘do you want to rejoin the party?'

Julie gave her a funny look. ‘No,' she said. ‘I think we've done enough for one night, don't you?'

‘Oh, yeah,' said Aisling. ‘Nightclubs are going to seem a bit dull in comparison to overthrowing an ancient monarchy and surfing on a river of drowned souls.'

Julie sighed heavily and hugged her. ‘Thank God,' she said, ‘I was beginning to think you'd forgotten. That we'd both forget, as if it never happened.'

Aisling hugged her back. ‘That's impossible,' she said. ‘I am never, ever going to forget tonight.'

Julie pulled back and kissed her lightly on the mouth. ‘Me neither,' she said. ‘For more than one reason.'

She grabbed Aisling's hand and ran away, and Aisling ran with her, laughing, dodging and weaving past the people, her feet lighter than air and her heart lighter still.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Big thanks to Siobhán Parkinson and Elaina O'Neill of Little Island for their editorial advice and unflagging enthusiasm. Thanks also to Little Island's anonymous manuscript-reviewers, who made an invaluable contribution.