Chapter 10: Lugnasagh
It was the day of the Lugnasadh games. And a beautiful day it was too. The sun was shining brightly in a blue sky with not a cloud in sight.
The clouds were all in the minds of the games organisers. For some days they had been inundated with demands from huge numbers of people to sort out this rumour about drugs at the games.
No-one seemed to know how these rumours had started but they had spread like wildfire. Gnomes, pixies, fairies, leprechauns, brownies, elves, everyone in the land was incensed at the thought of people cheating at the annual games and had made their feelings very plain.
Only the Elf Inspector had a shrewd idea where the information had come from but now it was out there was no way back. He might as well have tried to put the air back into a burst balloon. He was furious of course but there was little he could do except agree to the demands of the people and set up a pre-games and post-games drug test. He was hoping there would be some way of faking the results so that he keep the Florendels happy.
However, Joe had thought of this, naturally, and had arranged for independent testers, who couldn’t be bought or threatened. That hadn’t been easy but Og had rounded up some leprechaun friends who bowed the knee to no elf and would see to it that things were done properly.
They set up an area which everyone had to pass through to get to the actual arena. As it wasn’t the kind of testing which involved blood or other bodily fluids, it would be a great deal easier to carry out than the usual human sort. The same crystals Joe had used for the Questing on the gnome’s body could be used now for testing, a fairly quick and easy procedure in the hands of experienced users. Anyone with any amount of foreign substances would be taken to one side and questioned. And being questioned by the likes of Og and his mates was enough to make anyone confess, something that Joe could attest to. More than a few minutes of them interrogating you and you’d be happy to spill the beans, just to get away.
The contestants were first to arrive and as they filed through the narrow gap where the testing was to take place there were a few nervous looks, though not many. Most of them were entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, one or two might have worried needlessly, but on the whole it was all passing off quite smoothly.
When all of them had entered the arena, a large open area surrounded by woodland, with nothing untoward happening the leprechauns turned their attention to the creatures used as mounts, and their handlers.
It was important, Joe felt, that all be tested so that it didn’t give away that they knew who was involved and that it was a grasshopper he would ride.
With the little fairies checking them off one by one on their lists, bees, toads, grasshoppers, snails, all were subjected to the examination by crystal and again, nothing was found. It seemed there was no problem there either. Joe and Tallin, standing nearby, were starting to feel very uncomfortable.
If nothing was found they would look very foolish but worse than that, the Inspector would make them feel a lot more than foolish. And even worse than that, whoever caused the gnome’s death would have got away with it.
This was not going well. Or rather it was going well, but in going well it was in fact going very badly. Clearly none of these competitors or their mounts were sowing signs of being drugged.
Now it was the turn of the handlers. Again, nothing. Then the public had to file in, most submitted willingly to the testing, seeing as how they had demanded it, but it was noticeable that the dignitaries were complaining loudly to anyone who could hear them, that this was an outrage.
Joe was now starting to wonder if his assumptions had been entirely wrong. Was there no doping going on? Or was it just that the guilty parties were staying well away? Or was it something to do with the organizers perhaps?
Eventually, everyone was in the arena. Those who had come to take part lined up in the appropriate areas. Each race would of course take part separately. The Snail Trail was to start first, as it took so long, then the Toad Race, the Grasshopper Chase, and finally the Bumblebee challenge.
Everyone was excited at the prospect and bets were being laid down, as discussion took place about who fancied who to win, who had good form from previous years, and so forth. Not that you could say much about the bees, they don’t tend to live long enough for that.
And then a fanfare could be heard above the noise of the crowd and an important looking elf strode to a small wooden platform decorated with flowers and ivy, and cleared his throat in preparation for his speech.
“Ladies, gentlemen and anyone not answering to either description,” he started, assuming this to be politically correct. “There has been much speculation and rumour surrounding this year’s Lugnasadh games, as you must all know. However, it appears that the suspicions have been laid to rest, so without further ado, I will continue. First, the reading of the Scroll.”
He was handed a scroll tied with a red ribbon, unrolled it, and very proudly and loudly, began reading from it:
“The Lugnasadh Games.
Faerie folk are out in force; it's time for celebration;
the summer festival is here for every Celtic nation.
Chariots no longer race with horses charging madly;
very few remember all the ancient customs, sadly.
Humans rarely keep them now, but faerie folk remember
Beltane on the first of May and Samhain in November.
Imbolc comes in February encouraging the sun
and summertime has Lugnasadh with frolicking and fun.
Deep within the tangled woods the faerie folk assemble;
waiting for their day of sport they chatter all a-tremble
Woodland creatures standing by will also play their part
they know the seasons and the days - know them off by heart.
Pixies quickly saddle up their willing warty toads,
- those who've made it safely 'cross the busy human roads.
A grasshopper is mounted by an elf to be his steed
to enter the Grasshopper Chase: a wondrous sight indeed!
Elsewhere fairies sit astride the humble bumble bees;
flying races test the nerves, but no-one misses these.
Older folk are not forgot, nor any feeling frail,
for they can take part gently: each one mounted on a snail.
Truly this will be a day to make the pulses race
To stir the blood and stiffen sinews, flush each faerie face
Fairies flying, wings a flutter, pass the sacred ball
hand to hand, with expert skill, a game enjoyed by all.
Pixies down below are running, little feet a blur.
Who can keep the ball from straying? Who will wrath incur?
Before they drop exhausted in the glorious aftermath
the faeryfolk will have a ball for this is Lugnasadh!
Lugnasadh! The very name conjures up the past.
This may be the latest one but it won't be the last.
As long as faeries live and breathe and guard the woodland way
merriment will always be the order of the day.”
He paused then, to wait for the obligatory applause from the crowd, then finished by saying: “It gives me great pleasure to declare these games open.”
As he rolled up the scroll once more and handed it back to the elf who had been in charge of it, he breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his sweating forehead with a rather trembling hand.
Well, that all went off ok, he was thinking. What can possibly go wrong now?
Not surprisingly Tallin and Joe were wondering much the same thing. Had it all been for nothing? However, they agreed to continue to look out for anything untoward happening whilst trying to avoid the furious glances from their boss.
The Florendels plus friends and relations were seated on a special dais set up for the occasion, ostensibly to give them a better view of the procedings but, in reality, to give the crowd a better view of them.
They were all looking very smug and pleased with themselves, naturally, as nothing had been found to lay the blame for the gnome’s death at their door. For, as you may have guessed, our heroes had been quite right in their suppositions. The only problem was, how to prove it?
The first event, the Snail Trail, consisted of a marked trail which the older competitors, sitting astride their snails, had to follow without straying off the course laid out. Points would be deducted for any and every deviation, and the total time taken, minus the deductions, would decide the winner.
It was slow and somewhat suspenseful, surprisingly, as the snails were not particularly obedient. They would spot a particularly juicy looking leaf just off the trail and start heading for it. The riders did their best to keep them in line but it was a rather impossible task and hugely hilarious for the spectators. More than one onlooker choked on his drink whilst watching, much to the consternation of their families and even more uproarious laughter from others.
However, it finally ended, though how the adjudicators managed to work out the winners and losers was something of a mystery. A winner was announced to much applause and cheering, backslapping and general acclamation.
While the snails were being guided back to the holding pen the fairies entered for the aerial ball passing game. Two teams of female fairies skipped their way into the arena. One team, the Treetop Tornadoes, were dressed in bright yellow, they almost outshone the sun for brightness. The name was an exaggeration of course, they never fly at treetop height, but they thought it sounded grand. The other team wore blue, the blue of a summer sky, and were called the Flying Galingales.
Joe thought that second team sounded more like a pop group but said nothing. He didn’t want to insult anyone or offend Tallin.
The two teams flew up into the air and at a signal from someone on the ground a tiny ball was thrown into the midst of them. It was thrown from fairy to fairy, team to team, with no apparent rules that Joe could see, a sort of arial scrum with wings; wings that glittered in the sunlight as the fairies flew this way and that, bringing alternate roars and moans from the crowd watching below.
The assembled faeryfolk were shouting encouragement to their favourite team and jumping up and down, shaking little fists, and yelling at the tops of their voices. It was rather exciting though, he had to admit, wondering whether someone would drop the ball, or have her wings, or indeed clothes, torn off in the rough and tumble.
However, nothing too unpleasant occurred - some hair pulling and name calling was all the detective could make out - no-one dropped the ball, and after some time a horn was blown to announce the end of the game and the team with the fairy holding the ball was declared the winner, to much applause and jollification. It was the Tornadoes who had won on this occasion, though Joe was assured by Tallin that they were not always the victors. No indeed.
Now it was the turn of the Toads. The Toad Race was always fun and it allowed the spectators to settle down again after the excitement of the flying event. Pixies mounted on little saddles were to guide the crawling creatures to the finish line. The saddles were an important detail to avoid the occasional unfortunate result to the rider when the toads got overexcited and produced their irritant secretion. The occasional hop was permitted, though they were limited to not more than twenty, extra jumps being taken into account when the winning time was calculated.
There was much shouting of encouragement and wailing of despair when things didn’t go according to plan, but eventually they finished the race and the winner was announced. Those who had gambled on the results and had lost leapt up and down in agitation while the winners leapt up and down in jubilation. In short, there was much jumping up and down going on in the crowd.
Joe once again wondered about the whole ethos of the games. No rewards for the winners, no money changed hands when the gambling took place. It was all very odd from a human perspective.
The toads were then led away and two teams of pixies ran onto the central area, one was dressed all in blue, and the other in green. They were announced as the Green Giants and the Awesome Ogres. Joe couldn’t hide his chuckles, anyone less giant or ogre like he couldn’t imagine. But teams like to big themselves up, he thought, here as much as in the human world, that’s for sure.
These were to play a type of what humans knew as soccer or football, Tallin had explained. Again, there seemed to be no rules whatsoever. The teams lined up in two rows and a ball was thrown in between, then general mayhem ensued as the pixies kicked, threw, or carried the ball as they ran, passing it to their own team members whilst avoiding being grappled and brought down by opposing team members.
He may have been amused by the names of the teams but Joe was mightily impressed by the courage and determination of the little pixies. They threw themselves into the game as if their lives depended on it. And the crowd was equally impressed. They yelled support and encouragement until their throats must have been sore!
Finally, the game ended and one team had apparently won, though Joe had no idea how or why. Winnings hurriedly and covertly changed hands, which didn’t go entirely unnoticed by Joe, used as he was to such goings on, amongst those who had made illegal financial bets about the outcome and the teams were led off to great applause and cheering.
However, now it was the race he and Tallin were especially keen to observe. The Grasshopper Chase. Only grasshoppers were allowed to enter this race, as they were vegetarian. Locusts were banned, they tended to take off without warning to swarm and that was no good at all. Crickets and katydids were omnivorous and couldn’t be so easily controlled. If an insect flew past during the course of a race, mayhem ensued, with elves being thrown off in all directions. And no-one wanted that to happen at such a fine event as this.
Joe, with Tallin by his side, strolled over to the starting line. The grasshoppers were all lined up, with their elven riders clutching their reins. The atmosphere was tense, the whole place seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of what might happen next.
What did happen next was a thrilling spectacle of mounted grasshoppers leaping and jumping along a track, with the little elves yelling encouragement to their mounts, and hanging on for dear life as they leapt high into the air. It was over far too soon, though, and nothing had happened to prove Joe’s hypothesis true or false.
Joe was now becoming quite despondent. He was probably the only person there with nothing to get excited about. Even Tallin had got drawn into the general air of festivity and was leaping, yelling, and jumping around with the best of them. Well, it was Lugnasadh, and he was an elf. What else could anyone expect?
Now everyone was watching the fairies mount their bumblebees for the final event of the day. It was a complicated course they had to follow, with markers set out to guide the way and their fairies had to use their knees to nudge the bees in the right direction. No reins were permitted as they would interfere with the wing action, with disastrous results. Whilst mounted the fairies were not permitted to use their own wings, thereby giving them an unfair advantage. It was up to the bee to do the work, which might seem unfair but they never complained.
They were all lined up at the starting post, ready for the off, when suddenly a hush spread around the arena. Voiced gradually faded away apart from the odd whisper of “What’s going on?” The VIPs on the platform looked around them, appearing decidedly uneasy at this interruption.
Then an elf strode over to the central dais and made an announcement over a loud hailer. “Please remain where you are, all of yous. There has been something of a complaint made and we are looking into it. There is nothing to worry about, to be sure, just some little detail we have to check. I see no reason why the Bee Challenge shouldn’t go ahead while we get it sorted out. Thank you. Carry on.”
Joe looked at Tallin, who looked back at him, perturbed. “Well now, what can that be?”he wondered.
“Ah sure, who can say?” replied the elf. “Let’s enjoy the last race anyhow.”
Joe was far too concerned to enjoy watching fairies on bees, however exciting it might prove to be. He headed off to the area where he could see officials standing around arguing, to see what was afoot.
“Hey there,” he interrupted them. “What seems to be the trouble.”
The elves turned to look at him, all with uneasy expressions on their faces.
“Ah, you’d be the policeman then I suppose,” one of them said.
“I would,” replied Joe. “Detective Sergeant Donnally, on loan to the Elf Inspectorate, at your service.” He thought the full title might carry some weight.
“Ah. Yes. Well. You see, it’s like this.” The official paused, wondering how much he should say to this outsider. How much he could say without getting in to trouble. He carried on, “There’s been a complaint about one of the grasshoppers.”
“What sort of complaint?” Joe wanted to know.
“Well, it’s like this you see. The rider of the second placed grasshopper is sure and certain that the winner wasn’t the same one as got tested before the race.”
Joe just looked at him. How on earth could anyone tell one grasshopper from another? They all looked identical to him. He frowned.
The official spoke again. “The thing is, you see, he could just be jealous, you know how it is, and making false allegations.”
Joe sighed. “And how can you tell,” he asked. “Is there any way of finding out?”
The officials went in to a huddle then and whispered among themselves with a great deal of shrugging of shoulders and shaking of heads, and the occasional outburst of angry shouting.
Finally the spokesman turned back to Joe and gave his verdict.
“The grasshoppers who took part are still here and will be tested again. If nothing is found, then we can assume that it was a false alarm.”
“Can we indeed?” said Joe. “I’m not so sure. But it has to take place anyhow, so carry on.”
The leprechauns were brought over to where the grasshoppers had been assembled. None had left the arena since the race so it was certain they were the ones who had taken part, even if one had been substituted before the race.
The leprechauns ran the crystals over each mount with great care, muttering and comparing notes, and then comparing those notes with the ones made earlier, at the first testing.
It seemed to Joe that something was indeed not quite hunky-dory, if the expressions on their faces was anything to go by.
Eventually a spokesman for the group announced that they had found an anomaly. This would require further investigation before they could make a definite pronouncement on the illegality or otherwise of the situation.
Joe smiled quietly to himself. So he was right after all. Hopefully the truth would now come out.
The leprechauns demanded to be taken to the riders of the grasshoppers in the race, to question them. Rather reluctantly the officials led the way, and Joe followed. He wasn’t going to be left out at this stage of the proceedings.
The officials spoke first to the rider who had come second in the race, to see what he had to say. It wasn’t much however. He had no real proof of criminality, just “a feeling”. So then they turned to the winning rider himself.
“What do you know about all this, then?” they wanted to know.
“I know nothing about anything,” he replied.
Joe wasn’t happy. He interrupted the proceedings with, “And you expect us to believe that?”
“What you believe is up to you,” he said grumpily. “I don’t know anything. I was given the grasshopper and I rode it and I won. That’s all I know.”
“Ok, let’s say we do believe that. Is there any reason why anybody would want you to win, I mean enough to do something to make sure it happened?”
“Not that I know of,” the elf replied. “Of course my family would want me to, but they wouldn’t do something illegal would they? Them being related as was to the Florendels themselves, and a very important family they are.”
Joe raised his eyebrows and didn’t say what he’d have liked to say.
This was getting them nowhere. No proof of anything, yet somewhere there had to be proof. There had to be. He thought about it for a time whilst the officials questioned all the other riders, and the handlers of the grasshoppers.
The leprechauns had seen that no drugs entered the arena, they were supposed to be watching to make sure no one interfered with the mounts, and yet it appeared that someone had. If it hadn’t happened before the race, it had to have been done during, or just at the start. But no one had seen anything suspicious.
Time for some hard thinking.
As he contemplated this mystery Joe paced up and down, trying to make sense of it all. Then he stopped pacing and slapped his hand against his forehead. “I’ve got it!” he shouted. “Tallin! I know how it was done!”
Tallin came hurrying over to where Joe was now standing. “Whisht, man, do you want to scare them away? Tell me quietly what you’re thinking.”
Joe saw the sense of that advice and, slowly and quietly said, “Whoever did it was invisible! It’s the only answer.”
The elf now struck his own forehead. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t we think of that before! Of course they were.”
“Ok,” replied Joe. “So how on earth do we find out who it was?”
It seemed that answering one question had simply made things even more complicated. Anyone at all could have used the Veiling spell to administer the drug at any time.
“Tell me something, Tallin, do you remember the face we saw when we did the Questing on the deceased? Not his I mean, the one he saw before he died.”
“Ah, well now, it wasn’t very clear, was it? But I might recognise him again, if that’s what you’re wanting.”
“It is indeed. Let’s walk around a bit, casually, and see if we can spot him.”
So off they went towards the area where the various mounts were being cared for by the various handlers and tried to peer surreptitiously into the faces of the elves. It wasn’t easy, of course, but they managed not to look too obvious.
Suddenly Tallin stopped dead and nudged Joe. “Over there,” he whispered. “Would you say that was him?” and he nodded towards an elf talking to the grasshoppers.
Joe looked carefully and agreed that the face did seem familiar.
The two of them started walking towards the elf in question but just them he looked up and saw them. Dropping the reins of the grasshopper he ran. Very fast.
The detectives ran after him, knowing that innocent men, or elves presumably, don’t run. They followed him through the arena, through the now dispersing crowds of spectators and competitors, who looked on in amazement.
They seemed to be gaining on him too for a while, but then the elf suddenly disappeared. Literally. He just vanished.
“Darn it, the Veil thing again!” gasped Joe, as he slowed to a walk. “Now what?”
The little elf, who had been struggling to keep up anyway, was rather relieved, truth be told, and he stood panting by Joe.
“We’ll put out a description,” he managed to gasp, “and get the whole force looking for him, so we will. But in the meantime we can ask the other handlers who he is.”
“Good thinking, partner! We’ll do that right now.”
They retraced their steps back to the corral and started asking around as to who the elf was who had suddenly taken off that way.
The other handlers were less than co-operative at first, but Tallin impressed upon them all that this was for the good name of the games and they should be proud to uphold it.
After that one young elf stepped forward and said he knew the one they meant. “If I’m honest,” he said, “He’s not popular with the rest of us anyway, but he works for the Helligans, so we have to put up with his ways.”
Tallin carefully asked the name of this unpopular elf and was told that it was Septimus Hayseed.
“So now we know, Joe. We can pick him up and question him a bit.”
“I certainly hope so,” replied the cop, shaking his head. He’d just about had enough. No wonder it was common to just blame goblins for everything. They probably deserved it anyway.
To end this auspicious day a ball was to be held, as was the custom. It was now evening and fireflies clinging to gossamer threads were strung in the trees to provide gentle light, and a band of assorted faeryfolk played some wonderful music whilst spectators and competitors alike danced the night away.
Joe and Tallin weren’t really in the mood for merriment, so they left the arena and the faeries to their merrymaking.