The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fic - By Mike Ashley Page 0,56

such names, surely? I knew a man called Onchú, which means fierce hound.”

Scoth was still serious. “We do not couple the name of a wolf with a personal name. Not in these mountains. There is a legend …”

“Ah! A legend,” Fidelma smiled, trying to lighten her cousin’s ominous tone.

Eadulf shook his head in rebuke at her, missing the point. “Didn’t you once say that legend is but half-remembered history?”

Fidelma shrugged and asked: “What is the legend?”

“The old ones say that there is an evil wolf-pack in the mountains that is led by a being who is half-wolf and half-man. A being called Fáelur – the wolfman.” There was suppressed awe and excitement in Scoth’s voice.

Fidelma leant back and chuckled. “Are you suggesting that the man I met was no man but a werewolf? Come Scoth! I thought better of you than to give credence to ancient legends.”

The girl remained serious. “It is no ancient legend. People here have been talking about such things during the last week or two.”

“The last week? Why?”

“They say the Fáelur attacks the unwary and carries them off to the lair of his were-folk. About this time, so the locals say, there is a particular full of the moon that they call ‘the night of the snow wolf’. This is when the were-folk are most active.”

Fidelma smiled mischievously. “Well, he didn’t carry me off to his lair, which must prove that this Fáelur wasn’t the wolfman of the legend. Besides, this encounter was in broad daylight. Come, Scoth, these ancient stories …”

“I told you that they were not so ancient. Why, only last week …” she paused and her lips compressed.

“Last week?” Fidelma pressed with interest. “What happened?”

“The people here say that one of their number was carried off by the Fáelur and has not been seen since.”

Fidelma’s expression showed ill-concealed sarcasm.

“And did anyone witness this wolf-man carrying off this person?”

Scoth raised her shoulder and let it fall in negative fashion.

“All I know is that he went up into the Sliabh na Airgid, the Silver Mountains, and was never seen again. He came from a settlement near here.”

“There are several reasons, apart from phantom wolves, why a man going alone into the mountains in winter might not return,” Fidelma observed shrewdly. “Was a search made for him?”

“It was but no sign was found of him. People said they heard wolves howling.”

“Not unusual,” Fidelma replied. “But I did not come here to talk about Otherworld creatures.” She dismissed her fears of the previous night and thought about the mystery of the disappearance of the occupants of the cabin in the high pass. She did not believe in such things as phantoms. They did not exist. But the couple were missing. “Eadulf and I can start back to Cashel early tomorrow and go through the high pass to find out whether the farmer and his wife have been found or not. It is not such a great detour.”

“Tomorrow?” Scoth was frowning. Clearly there was something worrying her which she was finding difficult to articulate.

“What brings you here, Scoth?” Fidelma tried to change the subject. “I expected you to be at your father’s fortress, An tAonach, during this inclement weather.”

The girl pursed her lips. “These days I prefer to spend time under the shadows of the mountains than out on the plain at the Place of Assembly. I was surprised when Eadulf arrived here and told me that he was due to meet you.” She hesitated and glanced at the blackening sky through the window. “You still intend to travel back to Cashel tomorrow?”

“If the weather clears,” confirmed Fidelma.

Her cousin hesitated for a moment or two and then sighed. “I confess that your coming here is rather fortuitous. I need your knowledge.”

“You have a legal problem, Scoth?” Fidelma was surprised.

Her cousin nodded solemnly.

“My father and his Brehon are absent, giving judgements at the abbey of Brendán in Biorra. They are not expected back before the Feast of Brigit. So you may be the very person to consult while you are here.”

“What advice do you need that it cannot await the return of your father and his Brehon?”

“I mentioned our cousin Rechtabra earlier. Do you remember him?”

Fidelma frowned, trying to recollect. “A dirty, uncouth little boy who threw mud at me when I came visiting here with my uncle many years ago? I was only thirteen summers and was very sensitive about my appearance, as I recall.”

Scoth grimaced. “He is still uncouth and dirty, but you remember him as a