The Sword of Feimhin Read Online Free PDF

and Mark was obliged to shove the twenty-pound note across the greasy metal surface.
    â€˜I’m looking for the Church of the English Martyrs.’
    Oggy ignored the question, affording Mark a slanted perspective of his backside as he swivelled around to shout the order through a serving hatch in the poster-strewn wall behind him.
    Making his way back to the window table, Mark thought that Nan looked increasingly restless. He saw it in the pallor of her bronze-hued face, her skin lit by the neon streetlights, which had been fooled by the murky light to come on early.
    Moving so he was sitting adjacent rather than opposite to her, he reached across to take both her hands in his. ‘Come on – don’t look so worried!’
    â€˜I sense danger. I sense it very strongly. But I cannot say what it is – or why it should so alarm me.’
    â€˜The state of the city is alarming, even for me. I can’t figure how it could have deteriorated so much in the short time I was away.’
    â€˜I’m confused by so much that is unfamiliar. But you know what is the most challenging?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜So much despair in the hearts of the people here. I have gone for so long without experiencing such sentiments. Feelings can be overwhelming when you have become unused to them.’
    â€˜It’s the oraculum, Nan. Maybe you should switch it off?’
    Her hands were cold, the skin waxy. He reached up to brush the outside of his fingers over her face. ‘Hey – I won’t let anybody, or anything, hurt you.’
    She took his hand, kissing it, then clutching it tight between her own. Her eyes darted about the empty café. ‘This place – it is not a good place to spend any time!’
    â€˜It’s just a greasy café.’
    Mark looked over at Oggy, who was pulling a stainless steel teapot down onto the working surface. He scoured it with steam, dumped a couple of tea bags into it, then slapped it under the stream of boiling water. Glancing across at Mark and Nan, those piggy eyes glowered before he carried the pot over to their table.
    Nan had released Mark’s hand in Oggy’s presence. But as soon as he had gone, she caught hold of it, squeezed it tight. ‘I sense the same unease growing in your mind too. You’re sensing danger.’
    Oggy was back, slamming a tray with the two breakfasts onto the table. Lifting the plates, cutlery, the tiny pot of milk and then the two mugs, he used his filthy apron to wipe sweat from his face before waddling away again, avoiding any direct eye contact.
    Mark waited for him to go. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜He knows something. They all do.’
    â€˜Such as?’
    â€˜He’s refusing to help us. He knows where the church is – it is surely somewhere near to here.’
    Mark lowered his voice. ‘So why is he doing that?’
    â€˜He’s afraid.’
    â€˜Afraid of what?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜But you sense something?’
    â€˜I think everybody we meet is afraid. That’s why they are all refusing to help us.’
    â€˜But what are they afraid of?’
    â€˜Maybe they know something we do not know.’
    Mark thought about that. What could be so important about some tiny church that it scared someone like Oggy? He shook his head. It didn’t make sense. He saw that Nan had pulled her overcoat tighter around her throat. She had refused the food, even the tea, leaving her mug untouched on the bare wood surface.
    They know something that we don’t
.
    Sipping despondently from his mug of tea, Mark had also lost his appetite. He peered at his own reflection in the window – at his beanie-covered head, the rim pulled down low over his brow. Looking further, through the steel mesh that protected the glass on the outside, he saw the occasional person hurrying through the spoiled streets. Were they really as scared as Nan suspected?
    Mark