Echoes Through the Mist: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 1) by K. Francis Ryan Page B
Authors: K. Francis Ryan
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didn’t happen that way. You discovered that Mulherin was diluting his beer. The entire village now knows he is a man who can’t be trusted. All of that led to your fellow citizens being able to drink up all the pints they wanted for free for three days.”
“True. True,” Sean Maher said as he cocked his head and tried to look thoughtful once more.
“Of course it is true. Go home. Hug your wife, hold your children, and know that the entire village knows you for the hero you are. We’ve got to find you a job, but we’ll figure that out later.”
“Julian,” Sean said as he rose from the cot, “about that pint? Mayhaps not a pint so much as a dram?”
Julian was distracted, but said at last, “Huh, no, do as I say and go home to your family. Then you can send someone to the pub to bring you back a pint. You’re to stay out of pubs for awhile.” As Julian spoke, the germ of an idea was beginning to sprout.
***
Liam McMaster wasn’t an imposing man. He wasn’t a smart or even a clever man. He was, however, cunning and as cunning men are wont to do, he was backing the winners and trashing those likely to lose.
“’Tis exactly as Oi’ve told you, m’Lord. The village has a constable and that eejit, Sean Maher knocked him down. Oi had the pleasure of firing Maher too. The man won’t work again.”
The Pale Man sat behind the desk and steepled his fingers as he listened to McMaster. He thought for a moment and then asked, “Not an auspicious start for the policeman. Who is this new constable? What is known about him? How did he come to be in the village?” His eyes narrowed and he continued, “What is his agenda? Why is he here and why now?”
The man’s voice was cultured with barely discernable Irish English cadences. He was an Irishman, but one of substantial means, highly educated, well traveled and well read. He was a man who knew his business, a man who had secrets and a man who inspired fear.
McMaster should have guessed the pale man behind the enormous carved oak desk would have questions. Still, he was prepared to appear knowledgeable without actually knowing anything at all.
“M’Lord, these are all questions that have occurred to meself and Oi am busy getting to the bottom of ’em now. Oi will have answers shortly. Oi have spies throughout the village. Oi can tell you the man’s name is Blessing.”
That much was true, but the rest was a tissue of convenient lies. McMaster had no inside sources. He had overheard someone mention Julian’s last name. McMaster was a man not at all well liked in the village. Even Father Fahey didn’t like him and Father Fahey liked everyone.
Liam McMaster always felt Father Fahey was listening to him in the confessional, but only begrudgingly. It didn’t really matter. McMaster made up the sins anyway for the benefit of the old priest and any parishioners who would see him enter and leave the confessional box. “Hell with ’em all!” McMaster thought, “’tis nothing but jealously that Oi am prosperous and they are dirt poor. That is why they all hate me.”
This man behind the desk – that was different. If McMaster was prosperous, this man was wealthy beyond words. He had leased a large manor house some distance from the village and staffed it entirely with people from the big cities of Dublin and Wexford and Cork. The staff, McMaster knew, had instructions not to mix with the locals and that included him.
***
Julian slept late into the day and awoke with an appetite and a plan. He showered in what turned out to be quite a modern facility. He shaved, and quickly dressed with every intention of putting his plan in motion. His head still throbbed and when he closed his eyes lights still popped behind his eyelids. Still, things were looking up.
He opened the door and found a young man sitting on the police station’s stoop. The young man seemed fascinated as he watched a bird in a nearby bush.
“What can I do for you?” Julian asked
“True. True,” Sean Maher said as he cocked his head and tried to look thoughtful once more.
“Of course it is true. Go home. Hug your wife, hold your children, and know that the entire village knows you for the hero you are. We’ve got to find you a job, but we’ll figure that out later.”
“Julian,” Sean said as he rose from the cot, “about that pint? Mayhaps not a pint so much as a dram?”
Julian was distracted, but said at last, “Huh, no, do as I say and go home to your family. Then you can send someone to the pub to bring you back a pint. You’re to stay out of pubs for awhile.” As Julian spoke, the germ of an idea was beginning to sprout.
***
Liam McMaster wasn’t an imposing man. He wasn’t a smart or even a clever man. He was, however, cunning and as cunning men are wont to do, he was backing the winners and trashing those likely to lose.
“’Tis exactly as Oi’ve told you, m’Lord. The village has a constable and that eejit, Sean Maher knocked him down. Oi had the pleasure of firing Maher too. The man won’t work again.”
The Pale Man sat behind the desk and steepled his fingers as he listened to McMaster. He thought for a moment and then asked, “Not an auspicious start for the policeman. Who is this new constable? What is known about him? How did he come to be in the village?” His eyes narrowed and he continued, “What is his agenda? Why is he here and why now?”
The man’s voice was cultured with barely discernable Irish English cadences. He was an Irishman, but one of substantial means, highly educated, well traveled and well read. He was a man who knew his business, a man who had secrets and a man who inspired fear.
McMaster should have guessed the pale man behind the enormous carved oak desk would have questions. Still, he was prepared to appear knowledgeable without actually knowing anything at all.
“M’Lord, these are all questions that have occurred to meself and Oi am busy getting to the bottom of ’em now. Oi will have answers shortly. Oi have spies throughout the village. Oi can tell you the man’s name is Blessing.”
That much was true, but the rest was a tissue of convenient lies. McMaster had no inside sources. He had overheard someone mention Julian’s last name. McMaster was a man not at all well liked in the village. Even Father Fahey didn’t like him and Father Fahey liked everyone.
Liam McMaster always felt Father Fahey was listening to him in the confessional, but only begrudgingly. It didn’t really matter. McMaster made up the sins anyway for the benefit of the old priest and any parishioners who would see him enter and leave the confessional box. “Hell with ’em all!” McMaster thought, “’tis nothing but jealously that Oi am prosperous and they are dirt poor. That is why they all hate me.”
This man behind the desk – that was different. If McMaster was prosperous, this man was wealthy beyond words. He had leased a large manor house some distance from the village and staffed it entirely with people from the big cities of Dublin and Wexford and Cork. The staff, McMaster knew, had instructions not to mix with the locals and that included him.
***
Julian slept late into the day and awoke with an appetite and a plan. He showered in what turned out to be quite a modern facility. He shaved, and quickly dressed with every intention of putting his plan in motion. His head still throbbed and when he closed his eyes lights still popped behind his eyelids. Still, things were looking up.
He opened the door and found a young man sitting on the police station’s stoop. The young man seemed fascinated as he watched a bird in a nearby bush.
“What can I do for you?” Julian asked
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