CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Reinforcements in the Nick of Time

Laoghaire's sword continued to clang loudly and vainly on the stone floor and walls of the chamber, striking showers of sparks that sparkled red, yellow and blue according to whichever of the cat's ghostly auras they entered.

His desperate assaults seemed to infuriate the phantoms all the more, as their growling, snarling, spitting and pawing reached a furious pitch. Despite the intense cold, the big warrior was sweating profusely in his efforts. As he swung, lunged and slashed, the flashing lights from the demonic cats grew more vivid and more brilliant, though it was becoming apparent that their attacks were as ineffectual as the warrior's defences.

With a gasp of terror, suddenly Finnabair threw her arms about Cúchulainn from behind but so intent was the Ulsterman on Laoghaire's fruitless struggle against the apparition, that he hardly noticed her action.

He was slowly coming to terms with the bizarre situation, and began to realise that while Laoghaire's sword was doing nothing to repulse the infernal cats, nobody so far had come to any harm. Cúchulainn became aware of Conal standing close behind him. He could feel the knight's fear, emanating from him like a vibration, a negative energy field.

Flexing his muscles against the desperate, bear-like embrace of Finnabair, Cúchulainn turned his head enough to enable him to see Conal out of the tail of his eye and was aghast at the terror in the man's eyes. His gull-white face was glistening with sweat, his bared teeth chattering.

"Conal," shouted Cúchulainn, "did YOU lock this door?"

"I did not."

Conal sounded like a small, frightened boy denying a parental accusation.

Laoghaire, keeping one eye on the cats, cast a sidelong glance at his companions.

"Am I to be left alone to keep these demons at bay."

Gathering his wits somewhat, Conal stood sheepishly for a moment, realising that he had revealed his fear to his arch rivals in the Champion's Portion stakes. Jutting his chin defiantly, he took hold of the ring of the door handle. He heaved and strained, his veins suffusing like high pressure hose pipes, his eyes clamped shut, his teeth flashing but his efforts were in vain and he turned to Cúchulainn with a shrug of hopelessness.

"It's useless. If you who lift buildings from their foundations cannot force a puny door then there is some supernatural devilry at work."

Did YOU lock it Finnabair?" asked Cúchulainn accusingly.

The girl flushed and bristled angrily.

"Do you think I would lock myself in with the devil? Did you not see me try to open it?"

"I thought you were locking in THREE horny knights in the hope of gaining ONE horny night," Laoghaire hissed.

Going on the evidence that they were under no physical threat, Cúchulainn, began to see a humorous side to their adventure and laughed.

Finnabair detached herself brusquely from him.

"You pick a fine time to jest! Could it be that the only kind of uprightness in your heart has been misappropriated from your loins?"

"Hush, woman," hissed Cúchulainn. "Stand aside and be still, unless you have the muscle to lend a hand with this door. Come on Conal, Laoghaire, get a shoulder against it and see if we can budge it, don't you see, these colourful spectres are as harmless as moonlight."

The cats, as though taking umbrage at Cúchulainn's taunts made a furious drive towards them but slashing claws and gnashing teeth were proving utterly ineffectual against the men of flesh and blood. The snarling and hissing of the hellish apparitions was more irritating than terrifying now that they had demonstrated their insubstantiality and total incompatibility with the material world and its creatures.

Cúchulainn punched the silver boss on the hilt of his sword.

"First, there is something I must mark for our attention in the near future."

A flap in the sword hilt sprang open. Out of the cavity he produced a slender bottle of bright purple ink and a sharpened goose quill. Slicing off the tip off the quill with his scian, he cut it again four inches back from there and handed it to Finnabair.

"Here, hold this for me."

Holding the quill tube upright Cúchulainn stopped the bottom end with his thumb.

"Now, uncork this bottle and pour some ink into this tube, try not to spill it."

Eyes wide with wonder and curiosity, the girl quickly did as he asked.

"Enough," he said, and gently moved her to one side with his free hand. Stooping quickly at the door, he inserted one end of the tube in the keyhole.

"What is this piece of messy sorcery?" Finnabair demanded. "Will it unlock the door? Will it help to exorcise the phantom cats?"

"No, neither. But it may leave the devil of a mark upon whomever is behind this trickery, the one who locked us in and then bent down to observe our reactions!"

Before she could reply, he drew an immense breath, placed his lips to the tube and blew with such determination that his face momentarily turned almost the colour of his ink. Immediately there was a hoarse howl of pain followed by sounds of a scuffle in the corridor outside the door. Then there were sounds of many pairs of running feet receding, with their echoes, into the distance. Cúchulainn placed his ear to the door and covered the other ear with his hand to mute the din of screeching and spitting of the giant cats.

A minute elapsed before he heard the sound of more footsteps outside in the corridor. This time they sounded as though several people were approaching at a brisk walk. The footsteps stopped outside the door. The iron handle turned easily and the door swung open.

To Cúchulainn's delight and amazement, there stood Homofeeb, Farbeg and a grinning Laeg.

Without hesitation Homofeeb uncorked a small bottle of clear liquid and rushing fearlessly at the spectral cats, he shook the liquid over them. Immediately they, together with their blinding, coloured auras, disappeared in a flash, leaving three faint clouds of green, red and yellow mist that quickly dispersed. Almost at once the deathly chill was gone.

The room returned to its cosy temperature and the fire seemed to leap with joy.

"Gods preserve us!" gasped Finnabair, turning her attention first from the scene of the exorcism to the three newcomers and then, open-mouthed with amazement, to Cúchulainn.

"It's the fairy and the leprechán."

Farbeg laughed at her.

"Fairy? Leprechán? Indeed!

"Well done my old friends of the Sidhe!" said Cúchulainn cheerfully, "I've never been so pleased to see you bunch of fairies."

Laeg shuffled his feet and coughed softly. Cúchulainn caught his eye. "Oh, and of course, my charioteer Laeg, better late than never."

"Cúchulainn? Associating with fairies?" gasped Finnabair, wrinkling her nose and looking askance at Farbeg and Homofeeb.

"Some of my best friends are fairies," retorted the beaming warrior, Cúchulainn is no homophobe. Right Feebophile?"

The pipe-maker had grown accustomed by now to Cúchulainn's abuse of his name.

"Indeed not! Cúchulainn is fair and straight to the fair man, I am honoured that he numbers me among his friends."

Cúchulainn kneeled to embrace the jester then rose to embrace Homofeeb. He also gave Laeg a token hug lest he feel left out.

"Homofeeb and Farbeg! From where have you sprung and what fair wind blew you here?"

Farbeg took up the report.

"We were on our way to visit you. A servant was guiding us from our guest chamber to your door when we spotted a shadowy figure snooping at your keyhole.

We struggled briefly with this lowly person but he escaped and disappeared among the corridors. He must have used a secret door. It was as though he vanished into the air."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Well, considering the poor quality of the light, it seemed to me that this person was unique, having bright violet eyes!"

"Bright violet you say?"

"Well, one at least, the right one, I'm sure I caught a fleeting glimpse of that side of his face as he turned to flee."

"I squirted some of my indelible violet ink through the keyhole!"

Conal eyed Finnabair slyly.

"That's the second peeper we have interrupted tonight."

"Who was the first peeper?" asked Laeg.

Finnabair clutched Cúchulainn's arm.

"Please, Cúchulainn, let me answer that question in full, over a late night snack. I think we all are in need of refreshment, and even a little celebration after such an ordeal. I will go at once to the kitchen and have food and wine sent up."

As she closed the door behind her, Farbeg inched close to Cúchulainn.

"Let me explain why we followed you here, it is to remind you of my promise that I would not claim the Champion's Portion if I survived the drinking test. I said I would reserve the right, with Conor's approval of course, to transfer the title to one who could acquit himself, Homofeeb, for love of you, came to me and pleaded, on the basis of my claim upon the Champion's Portion, to recommend you to King Conor as most deserving of that prize."

Laying his hand affectionately on the jester's shoulder Cúchulainn shook his head slowly.

"Farbeg, my beloved and caring friend, you were so drunk that night you needed Homofeeb to tell you that you'd won the drinking joust!

The six men made for the fireplace where Conal, still faithful to his self-imposed function, heaped more logs on the flames.

As the dry logs caught fire the shadows were up and dancing merrily once more. The six men squatted on the rush-strewn floor in the firelight. Cúchulainn playfully slapped the pipe-maker on the shoulder with the flat of his hand.

"Explain how you banished the demons, Homofeeb."

"It was Amtashtalee who gave me the potion that foiled the demon cats, he got it from a foreign druid from some future time, now what was his name?"

Homofeeb began to play his pipes and even the shadows seemed to leap and prance with renewed vivacity around the walls. He paused:

Oh yes, I remember, his name was, er, Patrice or Patricio, or some such. He called it Holy Water.

"You must give me some," said Laoghaire.

Well, we could all do with some of that! Meanwhile Maeve is going to be hopping mad that her feline plan has been foiled. Has she got something even worse in mind? Log on every Sunday for further chapters.