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Hi, he said. “Two nights ago,” Lila confessed, “he dragged me into that room and told me to spit on the god. When I refused he slapped me, then he opened his britches and made water in front of the god, taunting it, saying ‘how do you like my offering, you ugly old thing?’ That’s why he died. I wentto the old grandmother in Ursa’s shed for a charm-” Duncan now saw the bundle of feathers stuffed up her sleeve “or it might have kil’t me too.” “You have an artifact stolen from the north. That makes it northern business.” ‘What is?’ “What am I saving for if not for this?” Hickey’s architectural model of the Claremont development was displayed in the centre of the table. It looked bigger. Had he glued on extra crystals? The skyscraper hotel closely resembled the building we had assembled in, which in turn resembled the building next to it, and the building next to it again, and so on throughout the docklands and across to the opposite bank of the Liffey. Those dollar-green towers were a contagion that had ripped through Dublin. “It’s not like that, babe,” he said. We were sitting in the kitchen drinking cognac from juice glasses. The dogs rush to meet us and run alongside the car, getting in the way of the wheels as movie stuntmen would. “I’m a mile or so away.” “I will go and find you.” The peons wandered through the hushed streets, in which the only sound was the clinking of their silver spurs. The smoke of their cigarettes wafted behind them. Montemayor strode in front, strumming his guitar and singing, and the others sang along. Finally he started on a very old song which only he knew, while the others walked behind and listened, the only accompaniment being the strumming of the guitar and the clinking of spurs. “Who?” the man shouted, and Haintl mentioned Sponer’s name. Everything has fallen silent in camaraderie with me: the land, the sea, and the people. Nothing ticks, nothing stirs. I hear nothing but the beating of two hearts, and even that beating must be my imagination. Cocteau was describing how he had been at the Lyc?e Condorcet with Mistinguett’s son, “nowadays a doctor with a large beard, who lives in Brazil”. We were in the Site Office with the newspapers spread out on his desk, one headline more fatuous than the next.‘Bag Yourself a Little Piece of Paradise!’ ‘Live the Dream by the Marina!’ ‘Join the Millionaire’s Circle with This Exclusive Beachfront Development! Prices starting from an unbelievable €379,000 for a one-bedroom apartment.’ The prefab smelled of sour milk and rashers. “Call me if you have any more trouble,” he said. “That’s the very least I can do.” “No, by coming here! What does that make me then?” “Don’t order anything else, I shan’t eat it, Monsieur.” Hei?ur gives me an impish wink, which I pretend not to notice, though D?rfinna does and looks at me curiously..

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