Shattered: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Seven by Kevin Hearne Page B
Authors: Kevin Hearne
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that? I don’t know the meaning of
subtle
.”
“No, you never have. Might suit you, though. No one would expect it.”
“I don’t have enough information to make a rational decision. It’s like you’re asking me to order a drink according to how me nipples are feeling instead of telling me what they’re ready to pour. Why don’t you tell me who’s killed who and why, and how they’ve been trying to kill you. Take your time; we have plenty. And keep teaching me this new language.”
We had at least a week of work ahead of us. Most of that would be getting in direct touch with Gaia, and we could do that in one headspace and keep talking in another.
The story he told me, which he swore he’d write down soon, took up the largest part of that time. All about how he killed Aenghus Óg, then cocked up everything with the Norse, except now they had an uneasy alliance against Hel and Loki, and the Greco-Romans were standing by too, and meanwhile he was financing a shadow war against vampires and dodging the occasional batch of dark elves who were being financed to kill him.
“Oh, yeah,” he says near the end, like it’s something he almost forgot, “I should probably tell you that the Morrigan’s dead.”
I took a break from the tattoo work to give him a thorough cussing for that. But I have to admit that the week passed quickly with all the talking, and I had only a half hour’s work left on his arm when he finished.
“I noticed a pattern,” I says to him after taking some time to think it over. “When ye stayed hidden, nobody died.”
“Well, everybody thought I was dead for a while.”
“They didn’t think ye were dead for two thousand years, before ye killed Aenghus Óg, and somehow they all survived. It’s only when ye exposed yourself and waved your sword around that—”
“Hold on, now, that’s a poor choice of words,” he says.
Sometimes I have to bark at Siodhachan to make him focus. “Stop paying attention to me word choice and pay attention to what I’m telling ye!” says I, and he shuts up and gets that sullen expression on his face he always gets when I tell him how it is. “Now, ye know right well I’m in favor of solving problems through stomping on nuts, but the first rule to follow—the one ye didn’t remember—is not to stomp on your own. If ye want to learn how to do it right, take a lesson from the person what’s causing all your trouble lately. Who did ye say it was again?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know who it is.”
“Fecking exactly, lad. We’re dealing with a sneaky nut-stomper here. That’s what you need to be.”
“I’m trying, Owen,” he says. “You’re part of my sneaking, because you haven’t revealed your loyalties or even your name yet to the Tuatha Dé Danann. They’re going to be seeking your favor.”
I hawked up something loose and spat to the side. “It’s nonsense you’re talkin’ now, lad.”
“It’s true. I’ve been the only Druid in town for centuries. Granuaile is obviously on my side. But unless you told them who you were before I got there, you are still an unknown quantity.”
“No, I kept my mouth shut. You can’t trust the Tuatha Dé Danann, and I didn’t know what was going on. But I’m sure they know who I am.”
“I’m not sure of that at all,” he says. “Why would they?”
“Because you’re so well known, lad. How can it be a secret?”
“Because I wasn’t well known back when the Morrigan put you on that island. I was just another Druid amongst many and had done nothing special to draw their attention. And the Morrigan was not the sharing type. She told Goibhniu that she putsomeone on that island but didn’t tell him who. He had no way of knowing anything about you.”
“But he knows something now, doesn’t he?”
“Aye. He knows you’re ugly.”
I punched him in the arm where it was still tender, and he winced. “Well, then, you can bet he’s been doing some investigation on top of
subtle
.”
“No, you never have. Might suit you, though. No one would expect it.”
“I don’t have enough information to make a rational decision. It’s like you’re asking me to order a drink according to how me nipples are feeling instead of telling me what they’re ready to pour. Why don’t you tell me who’s killed who and why, and how they’ve been trying to kill you. Take your time; we have plenty. And keep teaching me this new language.”
We had at least a week of work ahead of us. Most of that would be getting in direct touch with Gaia, and we could do that in one headspace and keep talking in another.
The story he told me, which he swore he’d write down soon, took up the largest part of that time. All about how he killed Aenghus Óg, then cocked up everything with the Norse, except now they had an uneasy alliance against Hel and Loki, and the Greco-Romans were standing by too, and meanwhile he was financing a shadow war against vampires and dodging the occasional batch of dark elves who were being financed to kill him.
“Oh, yeah,” he says near the end, like it’s something he almost forgot, “I should probably tell you that the Morrigan’s dead.”
I took a break from the tattoo work to give him a thorough cussing for that. But I have to admit that the week passed quickly with all the talking, and I had only a half hour’s work left on his arm when he finished.
“I noticed a pattern,” I says to him after taking some time to think it over. “When ye stayed hidden, nobody died.”
“Well, everybody thought I was dead for a while.”
“They didn’t think ye were dead for two thousand years, before ye killed Aenghus Óg, and somehow they all survived. It’s only when ye exposed yourself and waved your sword around that—”
“Hold on, now, that’s a poor choice of words,” he says.
Sometimes I have to bark at Siodhachan to make him focus. “Stop paying attention to me word choice and pay attention to what I’m telling ye!” says I, and he shuts up and gets that sullen expression on his face he always gets when I tell him how it is. “Now, ye know right well I’m in favor of solving problems through stomping on nuts, but the first rule to follow—the one ye didn’t remember—is not to stomp on your own. If ye want to learn how to do it right, take a lesson from the person what’s causing all your trouble lately. Who did ye say it was again?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know who it is.”
“Fecking exactly, lad. We’re dealing with a sneaky nut-stomper here. That’s what you need to be.”
“I’m trying, Owen,” he says. “You’re part of my sneaking, because you haven’t revealed your loyalties or even your name yet to the Tuatha Dé Danann. They’re going to be seeking your favor.”
I hawked up something loose and spat to the side. “It’s nonsense you’re talkin’ now, lad.”
“It’s true. I’ve been the only Druid in town for centuries. Granuaile is obviously on my side. But unless you told them who you were before I got there, you are still an unknown quantity.”
“No, I kept my mouth shut. You can’t trust the Tuatha Dé Danann, and I didn’t know what was going on. But I’m sure they know who I am.”
“I’m not sure of that at all,” he says. “Why would they?”
“Because you’re so well known, lad. How can it be a secret?”
“Because I wasn’t well known back when the Morrigan put you on that island. I was just another Druid amongst many and had done nothing special to draw their attention. And the Morrigan was not the sharing type. She told Goibhniu that she putsomeone on that island but didn’t tell him who. He had no way of knowing anything about you.”
“But he knows something now, doesn’t he?”
“Aye. He knows you’re ugly.”
I punched him in the arm where it was still tender, and he winced. “Well, then, you can bet he’s been doing some investigation on top of
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