 
WITCH GRANNIES

in

The Case of the Lonely Banshee

By Gary J Byrnes

Published by Gary J Byrnes at Smashwords, 2011.

Copyright Gary J Byrnes, 2011.

The right of Gary J Byrnes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright & Related Rights Act, 2000. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

http://www.WitchGrannies.com

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Also available: Witch Grannies - The Case of the Evil Schoolmaster

Acknowledgements

For my wife, Bernadette. Thank you for your love, encouragement and inspiration. Special thanks also to Tara, Eden and Mylie Rose for their love of bedtime tales. A big shout out to Mary and Suzanne. And thank you, dear reader, for picking up this story. I hope that you really enjoy it. Now turn the page and into the night with you...

Witch Grannies

The Case of the Lonely Banshee

By Gary J Byrnes

2011

CHAPTER 1. THE WIND IN HER HAIR

They flew across the deep night sky, Emily holding tight to her granny as the broomstick rose and fell.

'A bit of clear air turbulence, darlin'. Nothing to worry about,' said Granny Annie over her shoulder.

'You okay, love?' asked Granny Smith, zooming in close.

'This is great!' cried Emily. 'I missed you both so much.'

The air was clear and crisp, not a cloud in sight. Away in the distance, a cool moon shone, the stars glistened, the night birds shrieked. Emily wanted to ask her grannies why they'd come for her in the middle of the night, why they'd taken her from her bedroom and away into the sky. But she knew they'd only say 'All in good time' or something like that. So she didn't ask. She just enjoyed the trip.

After a time - which could've been a minute, could've been an hour - a ribbon of glistening silver appeared against the grey landscape far below. The moon caused it to shine dully and Emily knew it must be the River Shannon. They were nearly home. The broomsticks began to slowly descend. Emily's ears popped, so she worked her jaw up and down and that made it better.

As they got lower, Emily began to make out shapes in the landscape. A big oak tree here, a house on a hillside there, little lights glowing in a farmyard, a car driving along a dark country lane.

Then they swooped down to the river, barely skimming above its smooth surface. Vast volumes of cold water flowed. Bats, hunting for moths, made way for the broomsticks and their passengers. Emily felt her granny tensing, noted that both witches seemed to be watching the river intently, scanning the depths as if with some kind of X-ray vision.

'Nothing,' said Granny Annie.

'Let's get home,' said Granny Smith. 'Then we'll tell you all about it, Emily.'

The sun crept over the horizon to the east, back where Emily lived. Rushing pinks and oranges bled across the sky and the dark shapes along the river showed their greens and browns.

As they landed at the front door to the grannies' cottage, a cock crowed at Farmer Blue's down the road. Granny Smith opened the front door and the smell of freshly baked brown bread wafted out.

'Home,' thought Emily.

CHAPTER 2. MONSTER

She darted towards some reeds, all green and wet and flowing. The shadow of the monster loomed behind. Not enough shelter, it's coming! There, some rocks. The sun shone cruelly, its beams dappling the floor, failing to penetrate the deep shadows between the rocks. A cave, that's it!

She paused and took breath. The monster circled nearby, prepared to mount the final assault. An invisible cloud passed before the sun and the scene was cast into a murky greyness. Her chance!

She tasted, she breathed, she bolted. With a flash of silver she was in the rocks, then squeezing, pushing between them and into a little cave, black as night, sweet as spring.

The monster came near, so she shrank back, pushed against the smooth rocks, quartz glinting for those who could see it. The monster seemed confused, probing this way and that, rumbling displeasure. She believed that she could taste its breath.

After a time, the monster was distracted by another prey. A shrimp bumbled across the riverbed, oblivious to the nearby drama. So the dragonfly nymph coiled, positioned the ambush.

And the young salmon watched it all, tasting, tasting, always tasting. The fear now succumbing to the tasting and the place and the need to find food.

The dragonfly nymph pounced in a cloud of gravel, its jaws reaching out and lancing through the shrimp. The poor thing didn't stand a chance. But the baby salmon took her opportunity and escaped.

She met a brother fish, born in the same week, just as scared and tiny. They chatted for a time. Then he wished her well and left, seeking a fresh hiding place.

And over the months that followed, she grew strong and beautiful, commanded the river like a silver missile, fearing nothing but the sleek otters and the humans with their temptations and the strange spirit who lived under the riverbed.

CHAPTER 3. BREAKFAST

Emily sat at the kitchen table and drank tea from a huge, steaming mug. The brown bread tasted as good as it smelled and the butter melted all over her fingers, so she licked them clean.

'Goodness!' she exclaimed. 'I forgot to say hello to the table!'

She wiped her fingers on her shirt and went out to the dining room and the huge talking table, the only piece of furniture that she would ever call friend. She spread her arms across its surface, hugged it as best she could, rubbed her cheek against its knotty, smooth surface.

'Nice to see you again, Emily,' said the table. 'Where's your little brother?'

'Malcolm's at home. Good question, though. Granny!'

Both Emily's grannies appeared. 'Yes darling?' they chimed in unison.

'Why didn't you bring Malcolm? And what will mum do when I'm gone. She'll think I was abducted or something.'

'Calm down, dearie,' said Granny Smith. 'We left a clone in your place. Your mam won't spot a thing.'

'It's a lovely spell,' said Granny Annie.

'A lovely spell,' agreed Granny Smith.

'Great,' said Emily, 'a soulless zombie fills in for me and nobody notices.'

'Just your parents and other grown-ups, dearie,' said Granny Annie. 'Only those who are lost in the Fog of Adulthood won't twig. Malcolm or any of your good friends won't be fooled.'

'What then?'

'When Malcolm calls, we'll fill him in.'

Emily's phone chimed.

'It's Malcolm,' she said. 'He's pretty sharp. For a boy.'

'Tell him the truth,' said Granny Annie.

So she did.

'He wants to know when he can come,' said Emily.

Granny Smith sighed. Granny Annie muttered under her breath.

'Tell him we'll call him tonight. When we know more. For now, tell him to keep an eye on your mam,' said Granny Smith.

So she did.

'He's not happy,' Emily said, snapping her phone shut, as if it were castanets.

'Olé,' said her grannies, together.

'Is my mum in trouble?' asked Emily worriedly, the joke having passed over her head.

Her grannies exchanged worried looks.

'Let's sit down, dearie. The four of us can have a little chat about why you're here.'

Suddenly, Emily's sense of adventure and excitement vanished. It was replaced by a creeping fear.

CHAPTER 4. WHAT EMILY LEARNED ABOUT THE BANSHEE

So they sat at the table, Emily's hand absentmindedly stroking its shiny surface. The table purred, but nobody, witch nor human, could hear it.

'It started just a little while after all that evil schoolmaster malarkey,' said Granny Annie. 'You know about banshees, don't you?'

The hairs on the back of Emily's neck stood up. 'I've heard of banshees,' she said. 'They're some kind of ghosts, aren't they?'

'It's a bit more complicated than that. The banshee, or wailing woman, is part of our lore here in Ireland. She can appear as a beautiful woman or an old hag. Her cries can be heard on certain nights and they strike fear into the hearts of mortals, for those cries foretell a death. In the long ago past, the banshee's cries were reserved for five great Irish families: the O'Neills, the O'Briens, the O'Connors, the O'Gradys and the Kavanaghs. It seems that it's the O'Brien name that's important here, what with O'Brien's Bridge just up the river and, sure, wasn't this whole area the homeland of Brian Boru, the first and last true king of Ireland? And that's where the name comes from.'

Emily shivered. 'Do you mean?'

'Yes, Emily. We have a banshee.'

Emily's mouth went dry. She put her mug to her mouth but it was empty. Granny Annie took it gently from her fingers and went to the kitchen for a fresh drop of tea, while Granny Smith continued.

'Banshees are lonely spirits, Emily. They're not like us witches, not at all sociable or interested in helping others. They have a kind of emptiness deep inside and, we believe, they try to fill that emptiness by luring other souls to them.'

'Edna?'

'We fear that Edna may have gone to her, to offer some kindness.'

Granny Annie returned with Emily's tea, which Emily gulped so that she scalded the roof of her mouth.

'Poor Edna.'

'We must find her, child. We must.'

'Have there been any other disappearances?'

'A local man went missing a week ago. It's said he was down fishing for salmon in the middle of the night. He never came home. His gear was found on the bank down by the footbridge. They reckon he was drowned, his body swept out to sea. We think the banshee has him.'

'Will the banshee hurt them?'

'We don't think so,' said Granny Smith. 'The banshee has always been seen as a passive force. She never killed, it's just that she was aware of the future and expressed her sadness at what she saw. Banshees are magical creatures, often associated with fairy rings and water. So this is the perfect place for her.'

'Has she always been here?'

'A good question. Probably.'

'Have you heard her?'

'Yes. These last nights have been full of her cries. You'll hear her. I'd bet on that.'

'I wonder what's made her, you know, come out again?'

'If we can answer that, maybe we can solve the case of the lonely banshee.'

'I need a map,' said Emily. 'We need to identify where all the fairy rings are. That's the best way to start. We also need to check out the missing persons records, if there are any. Maybe this banshee has been collecting souls for a good while. Are there any O'Briens still living in Castleconnell?'

'There's an odd man just out the road.'

'We need to talk to him as well. Do you know him?'

'Keeps himself to himself. His family's always been like that. A bad sort, I'd say.'

Emily frowned.

'Let's call a meeting of the coven,' she said. 'Tonight!'

CHAPTER 5. THE GATHERING

Emily cranked up the computer – literally, with a little wind-up handle on the side - and sent out the w-mails inviting all the local coven around. There was an autoreply from Edna's mailbox – 'The intended recipient of this email has mysteriously disappeared.' Everybody else got their's.

There was a ton of stuff to be done and, without some magic, it's doubtful that they would have been prepared for the sudden arrival of a dozen or so witches. Emily flew into town with Granny Smith in the old stationwagon that ran on magic petrol, a million miles to the gallon, with zero emissions.

Emily asked 'Granny, why don't you put your magic petrol on the market? You'd save people fortunes and save the planet as well! You'd probably make billions.'

'It wouldn't work, darlin'. People don't believe in magic any more. This car is only working for us because we believe in it.'

The lush countryside blurred past. Yes, the car was definitely moving. The day was overcast, with a drizzle that got in your hair. The car was lovely and warm and dry and the old radio played a song by Buddy Holly and they sang along. Even though she'd never even heard of Buddy Holly before, Emily knew all the words.

Emily decided that she would try to make everyone believe in magic again. But not today. It was more of a long-term plan.

They shuddered to a stop outside the village shop and the rain stopped. They went in with a shopping list as long as a snake and filled their canvas shopping bags with Limerick hams, loaves of doorstop bread, butter from the local creamery, tea from India, more hams and a little bottle of sherry for after the sandwiches.

Emily got her choice from the jars of multicoloured sweets and opted for a mixed quarter pound of pear drops and bull's eyes. She had a pear drop first, while Granny Annie had a good long chat with the nice lady behind the counter. Then a bull's eye on the way home.

Lots had been done and the house was looking shipshape so they got stuck in to making the sandwiches. When the last slice of bread had been buttered and the last slice of ham placed on top, the doorknocker knocked and the guests arrived, all at once. Emily made the tea, then helped get everyone settled. They ate and drank their fill. Then Granny Annie stood up and cleared her throat to speak. As she opened her mouth, the night was filled with the cries of the banshee.

CHAPTER 6. A CRY IN THE NIGHT

The night was grey and wet. The wet leaves underfoot barely troubled the banshee as she seemed to float up the boreen. She would stop every few paces and smell the air. Then she would fumble in the folds of her cloak and bring out a silver comb. She would run the comb through her long hair. Then she would put the comb away, move forward a few paces then stop, sniff, comb.

She made her way towards the little cottage, all its lights on. People, souls, gathered outside, their laughter carried to her, making her feel oddly sad inside.

She got closer still and hid in a clump of blackberry bushes, just a few paces away from the house. The women stood around outside, chatting and laughing. Witches. The banshee knew that they could help her.

So she waited until they had all gone inside. Then she brushed her hair one last time, gazed at her comb, her favourite comb, with feeling. Then she threw it towards the house and it landed half in a puddle. There was no moon out, but still the comb glistened, as though lit from within.

Then she drew back from the house, a good bit back down the laneway. She stopped and bent forward. Then she rose back, filled her lungs with the moist night air. Then she left out a wail that would wake the dead.

Everybody in the house froze.

'She's right outside,' exclaimed Emily, jumping up. 'Well, come on!'

They were up in a flash, all swirling capes, spilt tea and colourful language.

Granny Smith barked out orders, sending witches in all directions. Emily spotted a silvery glint in a puddle. 'And don't touch any combs!' was the last thing Granny Smith said.

'Too late,' said Emily, as she held the banshee's comb, felt a powerful urge to run it through her own hair.

There was not a sniff of the banshee anywhere. The witches went up and down the laneway, around the back of the house, into all the surrounding fields. Granny Annie even got on to the All-Seeing Eye and asked her to turn on her banshee detector, train it on the cottage.

The banshee had vanished into thin air, leaving just her comb behind. Emily cradled the comb in her hands, bewitched by its lustre and beauty.

'Don't touch it too much,' said the witches, who couldn't take their eyes off it.

'We'll have to keep a close eye on this one' said Granny Annie, nodding at Emily. 'She'll be off before the break of dawn. Mark my words. We'll have to take it in shifts.'

'Where will I be off to?' asked Emily.

'The touch of the comb is all it takes. Now you'll be drawn to her lair and that's that. Unless we put a protective spell on you. Only...'

'Only what?'

'The whole thing about the banshee's cry foretelling a death. I just hope...'

They all looked a bit downcast then.

'Are you joking me?' said Emily incredulously. 'Are you telling me that this coven doesn't have the power to match one silly old woman? I don't believe that for a second. Don't bother with your spell to protect me. Let's just play her game for a while. If I'm going to be drawn to her, isn't that the best way to find her lair? Rescue Edna?'

'She's right,' said Granny Smith to the group. 'It's our best chance. I'm only worried about you, child. We don't want to lose you.'

Emily held the comb, rubbed its smooth and mysteriously gleaming edges. Something caught her eye.

'I think the banshee has left us a clue,' she said, as she pulled a grey hair from the comb. 'Did ye ever watch CSI?'

The witches shrugged. They never watched TV – the picture was too flat and lifeless for their eyes.

'Crime Scene Investigation,' explained Emily. 'My parents watch it. I'm not allowed. But I know that it's about these American investigators with ultraviolet lights and electron microscopes and that. But basically you can get a lot of information from a single hair. Can the All-Seeing Eye analyse DNA?'

'There's only one way to find out,' smiled Granny Smith. 'Let's go.'

The car roared down the familiar, bumpy lane to the All-Seeing Eye's mountain top lair. Guard trees jumped out of their way, waving mighty branches as they zoomed by. Emily sat up front with her Granny, while four more witches crammed in the back, the last curled up in the rear of the stationwagon where the cats normally travelled. Because they were all so worried about Emily, three more witches flew behind the car. The last of the coven stayed back at the cottage, worrying and looking things up on the WWWW – the Witches' World Wide Web.

When Emily's crew arrived at the top of the mountain, the All-Seeing Eye was waiting for them. She looked utterly beautiful, as usual.

'I've been expecting you,' she said.

Well, we did ring you, thought Emily.

'Emily,' said the All-Seeing Eye, 'you look absolutely fabulous, darling. You are, as they say, blossoming into a stunning young lady.'

Emily blushed, she wasn't used to such direct compliments.

'Thank you,' she said, as it is the correct manners to accept a compliment graciously. Anyway, Emily really was blossoming into a stunning young lady and she kind of knew this, so it was great to hear it.

She winked. 'You want to come and see my banshee detector?'

'Did you spot anything?'

'Come on girls!'

And the whole gang trooped up the spiral staircase, one witch staying down at the front door, just in case.

Up on the viewing platform, hidden by a permanent layer of cloud from the ground below, a new device had been brought out on the gleaming brass rail. It was like a giant, golden hairdryer.

'They're mad about their hair, those banshees' said the All-Seeing Eye, shaking her head.

The detector was trained on the River Shannon. Emily had the first look through its viewing lens. As she pressed her eye against it, she felt the detector's humming, felt a breeze on her face.

'It works like a reverse hairdryer,' explained the All-Seeing Eye. 'It sucks in the air and picks up on banshee activity. The banshee's scalp and hair are very powerful and fragments of it light up like fireworks. When ye rang me, I picked up a signal near the cottage and followed the trail back towards the river.

Emily saw the fireworks alright, bursts of them, coming from the one spot, seemingly in the middle of the river, just downstream from the footbridge across to Doonass in County Clare.

'So this is banshee dandruff I'm looking at?'

'Exactly. Good, isn't it?'

Emily felt a shiver go down her spine. Everything was going weird. Deep inside her brain, she felt an urge. An urge to go there. To the river. Then she realised where she was and made herself focus on the job at hand.

'We have a hair for you,' said Emily.

The All-Seeing Eye seemed shocked.

She said 'You have an actual banshee hair? Like, really?'

'Like, really.'

'Let's see.'

Emily had placed the hair into a plastic bag, which she removed from her denim jacket pocket and opened carefully. The All-Seeing Eye peered into the bag. Even in the gentle moonlight, the hair gleamed like silver. As if it possessed some kind of a life force of its own.

'A banshee hair,' said the All-Seeing Eye, enthralled. 'This is... incredible!'

Emily and the other witches brightened up considerably. This was progress.

'So what can it tell us?' asked Emily eagerly.

The All-Seeing Eye made a funny expression, said 'That's something I'm not too sure about. I'll have to do some experiments. It'll take the night, at least.'

Emily was disappointed, her shoulders slumping in unison with the other witches. The All-Seeing Eye took the plastic bag with the banshee hair and hurried off downstairs to her lab.

The urge came back over Emily. She could almost hear the river gurgling, smell its dampness, taste its wetness.

'We have to get to the river,' she said. 'Come on, there isn't much time.'

CHAPTER 7. BREAKFAST WITH A CLONE

While the real Emily was drawn into the banshee's grip, her clone carried on with life as usual back in the capital. Malcolm knew something was up at breakfast. Emily greeted him with a cheery 'Good morning!' as she reached for the Sugar Puffs. Normally she snarled. And it was a Monday.

After a quick phonecall, he knew what was what, so he began to have a little fun.

'Emily?' he began.

'Yes, Malcolm?' she munched, her mouth full of milky breakfast cereal.

'You like me, don't you?'

'Of course.'

'And you'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?'

'You're my brother, silly,' she said, pinching his cheek. Talk about laying it on thick with the clone spell.

'Okay. Okay,' he said, smiling to himself as he ate his Weetabix with blueberries and drank his orange juice. The possibilities were endless. Their father came into the kitchen, his hair messy. He hadn't showered, but he was wearing his work suit, dark grey with lighter grey stripes, thin ones. Odd.

'See you kids later,' he said, not even making eye contact, grabbing a bright green Granny Smith apple. 'Got to fly. Literally.'

Then he was gone.

Off to the airport to get on a plane to go to Brussels for work.

Mam left just after him, a blown kiss for each of them, going to town, to work. 'Be good at school,' she said.

Emily finished her cereal, then wiped her mouth, got up, went to the sink and washed her bowl and spoon. Then she washed Malcolm's things, dried everything and put them all away in the press and drawer. She'd made her lunch earlier, much earlier, so she packed that into her schoolbag.

'Ready, Mal? We don't want to be late.'

Oh, this was going to be hilarious.

CHAPTER 8. GROUND CLOUDS

The path down to the river was quiet. Too quiet. A fog began to rise as they left the car park.

'Ground clouds,' muttered a witch.

'A pea souper,' muttered another.

'Ground clouds?' said Emily, though she didn't really care. All that mattered was the air of a beautiful song that she swore she could hear off in the night. A woman's clear voice. It was coming from the direction of the river, just a hundred metres away, down near the footbridge.

'Yes, ground clouds,' said the witch. 'That's what fog is. Y'see darlin', it's just water in the air, it's always there. And when the ground temperature gets within a couple of degrees of the dew point, well, Bob's your uncle.'

'And?'

'And the water vapour condenses into tiny jewels of liquid water, so light they float on air. And that's what fog is, same as what clouds are. The rain is just further condensation, the water droplets get too heavy and they fall down on your head.'

'Can you hear that?' asked Emily.

'Hear what? That owl up in the old castle?'

'No. It's like singing.'

The witches stopped to listen, with powers beyond those of any human.

'No. Nothing. It must be the banshee.'

They laughed uneasily.

Emily smiled.

They walked on down the muddy path towards the river, big horse chestnut trees looming overhead in the fog, which fell down denser as they neared the footbridge over the river to County Clare.

The singing came on again, stronger, like it was...

The fog, the fog.

Suddenly Emily was alone.

CHAPTER 9. A SPLASH IN THE NIGHT

Her world, the river, was dark. Dark like the time before the world was made. There was a memory in her, a collective, genetic memory of the time before she was spawned. Sprouting from the egg and surviving alone in the chaotic waters, surviving and growing so that only the most cunning of predators are a threat. This was not achieved by luck. She was born with a knowledge, all salmon were.

But her knowledge was somehow more advanced. She saw the seasons change, the years pass, yes. But she also knew the history f her ancestors dating back two thousand years. She also knew of witches and humans and animals and birds and fishes. She knew that her river – her family's river – had changed. The ebb and flow of nutrients was clear to all her senses. But the poison was another thing. There was a sour taste to everything.

The salmon of knowledge patrolled her territory. A distant splashing caused her lateral fin to react, to jerk, so she investigated. The salmon waited beside a cluster of smooth rocks, the water calm above, maybe the height of two herons, the hazy moon a white splash.

The splashing again, much nearer. There! A human, a female, emerged from a hole on the riverbank and swam to the surface. She lived here, in the world of the fishes.

The salmon stayed where she was, tried to work out the significance of the human. A witch? Most certainly. But who? Why?

She glanced at the moon every few seconds, tasted the water constantly.

What did it mean?

CHAPTER 10. OUT OF THE FOG

And out of the fog came a person. A woman. A beautiful woman with long, silvery hair. She seemed very old, but her age made her more beautiful.

'Hello,' she said. 'You want to watch out for the river in this fog. Sure, you'd be swept away.'

'I'm scared,' said Emily. 'Granny!' she called.

But the sound of her voice was muffled by the fog.

'Are you looking for your granny? Sure, come on, this way.'

She put her hand on Emily's shoulder. She didn't pull Emily, but Emily felt herself move. She wanted to go with her. The woman looked trustworthy. Could she be even more beautiful than the All-Seeing Eye? This was all that Emily could think about as she followed the woman through the fog. The roaring river sounded like it was near, very near.

The All-Seeing Eye rushed up the spiral staircase, still wearing her black lab coat. Breathless, she grabbed the banshee detector and moved it around the perimeter rail until it was pointing towards the river.

She pressed her eye to the viewfinder and flicked the rangefinder, closer and closer to the shimmering green signature that was a banshee. There. There! The banshee moved closer to the river. Her signal was so strong that it reflected off somebody beside her. A young girl. Emily!

The All-Seeing Eye pulled her iPhone from her lab coat pocket. She called Granny Annie's number.

'Any news?' said Granny Annie.

'Bad news,' said the All-Seeing Eye breathlessly. 'The banshee is down at the river and she's got Emily!'

'Where are they exactly?'

'Let me check again. Oh. Oh no.'

'What? What?'

'They're gone.'

CHAPTER 11. INTRUDERS

The salmon watched as the human woman and the child came into the water and drifted down to the hole and out of sight, just flowing, dark shapes. There was little she could do to take her mind off this occurrence. So she waited in the rocks and waving weeds, tasted the water, watched the roof of her world slowly brighten as dawn broke and the fog vanished as quickly as it had come.

A taste came up river to her, the bitter taste of salt and the sea. She remembered her vast trip of the past four years, across the Great Salty Ocean to the White Land. A salmon smile crossed her lips as the memories flashed into her mind.

The tide of salmon, her friends, family and river relatives as they gushed out of the Mother River estuary and met the tribes of the other rivers, all drawn towards the mysterious Great Salty Ocean. The sense of excitement there, that bright April morning, as the fresh water mixed with the salt and the squeals then, and clicks and, smooth, grey, hot monsters that cut through the salmon. She learned later that a pod of dolphins lived in the estuary. Mainly because salmon was their favourite meal.

She escaped, into the vast unknown. The unusual and fantastical creatures that she met, mostly harmless. But the black and white demons waited for them in ambush, the water filled with their high-pitched screeching as they laid countless ambushes. Gigantic, hot creatures with eyes that glistened and teeth that flashed as they cut through the streams of salmon, the water red with cold blood. But she survived.

The clouds of red krill, great populations of tiny shrimp that covered vast areas of water so that the salmon could just swim through, her mouth open, feasting like the queen of fish as the krill turned her flesh pink.

The dolphins, beautiful creatures who also loved to feast on salmon. She could hear them coming from miles away, all their whistling and clicking, so she'd sink to the seabed and just wait until they left. But she listened closely to their language, practised it when they weren't around to hear.

Once, nearing Greenland, the mysterious icy island at the top of the world, she chanced upon the same salmon she'd met that early day in the river as she hid from the dragonfly nymph. A baby no more, he was now a strong young man salmon. They spent some time together, comparing krill, discussing orcas and dolphins and sharks.

Then there was the time she met a poor and bedraggled and confused creature. She looked kind of like a salmon, but her skin was dull, her eyes sad, her fins ragged. Sea lice clung to her gills.

'Who are you?' asked the salmon.

'I don't know,' the fish replied. 'I lived my life in a net cage in the sea with thousands of brothers and sisters. Each day food, some kind of pink pellets, fell from the sky. And every day some of our number were lifted to freedom. Then I found a tear in the net and felt a distant, fuzzy urge to leave that place and come out here. I don't know why I'm here, or what I should do. Do you?'

The salmon had heard the seagulls chatter about farms, where fish are kept in captivity and fed chemicals to turn their flesh pink, as well as antibiotics and other poisons, until they are killed for the dinner table, whatever that was. But she'd never believed the stories, until now.

'I think you have escaped from a fish farm,' she said.

'A fish farm? I don't know what that is. But I know that I prefer it out here!'

'The ocean is a wonderful place. You should explore it, taste it, eat some krill. Enjoy yourself.'

The escaped salmon, smiled, at last understanding who she was. She swam off into the blue vastness.

Then there was the Great Being, drifting on the surface of the open ocean, her calls radiating through the depths for miles. She was hot also, but she was a friend to the salmon. The salmon stayed with her for a day and a night, listening to the stories of her voyages and the hunters that terrorised her kind for many long years.

'What are these hunters?' the salmon asked the great blue whale, whose species were the largest living creatures in the history of the planet (this whale in particular was actually the largest blue whale specimen who had ever lived. But neither she nor the salmon could know that).

'Humans,' said the whale. 'They live on the dry land, but they can travel across water also. I've even seen some in the water. They like to hunt water creatures. They eat us.'

'Eat us?' cried the salmon in alarm. She didn't understand. 'I eat the little krill and some worms and flies and other small things.'

The whale couldn't bring herself to tell the salmon that her flesh was prized by the humans, the bears, the killer whales, the sharks.

'Just be careful, little one. When you see anything larger than you, swim fast in the opposite direction. You'll find your course again easily enough.'

'I can taste it,' said the salmon proudly. 'A taste of fresh water, cutting through the salt. And another flavour that I can't describe.'

'And never trust the humans,' said the whale. 'They don't just kill for food, they actually enjoy the act of killing. They do it for pleasure, some of them.'

The salmon shuddered, then bade the whale farewell and dropped below the moonlit surface of the Atlantic as she homed in on the taste that called to her. The estuary dolphins waited, as did the nets and the hooks. But she was smarter now, her experiences had given her great knowledge. Wisdom.

Never trust the humans, thought the salmon. As she waited for any kind of movement from the hole where the old and the young humans had gone, a glittering prize dropped to the riverbed before her. It was like a brilliant creature from the ocean. It glistened like the quartz crystals upstream, dangling colours swaying in the current. She wasn't hungry, she would never eat again once she'd come back to Mother River from the Great Salty Ocean, but the salmon was somehow drawn to it, not seeing the barbed hooks or the strong line that led up to the surface and the fisherman's rod.

CHAPTER 12. IN THE BANSHEE'S LAIR

The banshee held Emily's hand tightly as they swam effortlessly though the depths of the Shannon. The current was strong, but the banshee seemed to control a powerful magic.

They disappeared down a hole and emerged onto dry land, a great open space, a kind of airy cave, Emily feeling like Alice in Wonderland. The banshee led Emily to a round rug with a bright light shining straight down onto it, from a hole in the roof. They stood there for a few seconds, then they were bone dry.

The place didn't look like a cave at all, with vast tapestries across the walls, depicting scenes of ladies lounging in gardens, dogs, even a parrot. The floor was wooden, finely-polished boards. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the roof of the cave, like diamond tears trapped in time. There were candles in great candelabras, but none were lit. There was a great selection of paintings along the walls, each in its gilded ornate frame. They were mostly portraits, really old, from a time when the men had bigger hair than the ladies and people liked to pose with dogs. One frame stood out, the great crest of some long-forgotten family. A great bookcase stood at the side of the room. It contained many bound volumes, the books' titles picked out in gold.

On the other side of the room, the skin of a great tiger covered the wall, its glassy eyes watching the scene, its teeth and claws bared: ferocious things, but useless against a rifle. The bullet hole in its side could be seen by sharp eyes. There were some carved wooden chairs scattered about there, with delicate tables for playing cards or chess upon. Three sets of heavy curtains hung there also, all frills and tassels and thick rope ties. But there were no windows.

At the far end of the room, a fireplace roared. There were three armchairs before the fire, their backs to Emily. Emily looked towards the fire, longing in her eyes. She wasn't as cold as she felt she ought to be. But still she wanted to feel the fire's heat.

Emily thought about bolting. She had some magic that she could use - was the banshee aware that Emily was a witch in training? - but she was fearful of the banshee's apparently more powerful magic. So she decided to bide her time.

'Would you like to sit by the fire, child?' asked the banshee, her arm outstretched towards the warmth and the cosy armchairs.

'Yes,' said Emily.

As they walked towards the fire, Emily saw that one of the armchairs was occupied.

'There's somebody I'd like you to meet,' said the banshee.

A familiar face turned to Emily, a familiar smile lighting up the room.

'Edna,' said Emily. 'I might have known it would be you.'

CHAPTER 13. SECRETS OF THE HAIR

Granny Annie had returned to the All-Seeing Eye's house while the others continued to search the river, looking for any clue, anything at all.

The fog was gone, a brilliantly sunny morning replacing the murky, mysterious night that had gone before it. They were in the lab, with its test tubes, computer screens and countless jars filled with everything from manganese dioxide to newts' eyes.

The DNA analysis of the banshee's hair had been completed and results were displayed on the biggest screen. The grey double-helix rotated slowly, certain areas picked out in colour.

'She's mostly like one of us,' said the All-Seeing Eye. 'So if she's not exactly a witch now, she used to be at some stage. There are certain areas in your DNA that determine magic powers. Of course the DNA changes as your powers increase, but I can't quite understand what's happened to hers. She could have lost some powers or she might have stronger powers than any of us.

'Well, she was able to take Emily away without a whisper,' said Granny Annie, worried now.

'Hmmm. Then there's this region here,' said the All-Seeing Eye, pointing to an area on the screen where the banshee's DNA shimmered with a pink glow. 'It could be some kind of contaminant, I'm not sure.'

'That's interesting. Can you find out what it is?'

'I need to run some more tests. I think I'll crank up the mass spectrometer. I only hope there's enough firewood.'

She cocked her head towards a vast machine at the far end of the lab, all glass tubes and steel pipes and warning signs.

Granny Annie didn't ask. She went and made the tea. Extra strong.

CHAPTER 14. WELL HELLO, EDNA

Edna closed the book that she'd been reading. It was Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories and Tragedies, first edition, signed by the author in 1623.

'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' she said. 'Great craic altogether. Emily!' She stood up and gave Emily a great hug. Emily noted that she didn't appear to be scared or worried or anything. 'Look at you, child. You're getting so tall!'

The banshee smiled and said 'While you two catch up, I need to go and see if there's any salmon for lunch. I'll be back in a while.'

Emily looked at her and was shocked to see that the impossibly beautiful young woman had been replaced by a woman as old as the river itself. As old as time, even.

She looked at Emily. 'Make yourself at home, Emily.'

In a flash, she was away down the hole and into the river.

'What's happening, Edna?' Emily asked as she warmed her hands at the fire.

'Don't be frightened, child,' said Edna. 'She means us no harm, I can assure you of that.'

'Then why are we here? How did you get here?'

Edna sighed. 'I was down for a walk by the river the other night - it seems so long ago now - and I met her. We sat on the rocks by the bridge and talked for hours, about the old days and the state of the world today. Then she took my hand. You know the rest of it.'

She went back to her seat, sat with her hands on her lap.

'But why?'

'As for why we're here? Well, it's because the river is being poisoned. She needs our help to put it right because if it's not put right everything will soon be dead. Every swan, every salmon, every dragonfly, the whole lot.'

'That would be awful' said Emily.

'That it would, child. That it would.'

'Well,' said Emily, 'we have to at least try and let the others know where we are. They'll be looking for us.'

Emily tore the cuff from her jacket, the frilled denim would be unmistakable to her grannies. She went to the hole in the ground which they'd used to enter the banshee's lair. The water was calm, up to just below the edge of the hole. She whispered something to the piece of cloth, then dropped it onto the water. It waited for a moment, then sank quickly out of sight.

The banshee swam across the river bottom. The salmon withdrew into her hiding place. The banshee knew that she was there, but ignored her for now. There was a row of odd little bunches of herbs, suspended in the middle of the water, swaying with the current. Each bundle consisted of thirteen different plants, with a hook in the centre and a touch of magic. The bundles were connected to a long chain across the bed. Two fine salmon - eight-pounders at least - struggled to escape, the herbal bait in their mouths, the hooks coming through their cheeks. The banshee touched each salmon in turn and their struggles ceased. She gently unhooked them and tucked the fish into a folds of her cloak.

Then she went up to the surface, to a rock that was hidden from either bank by a dense growth of reeds and a majestic weeping willow that stooped so low, the tips of its branches caressed the water. She sat there for a time, watching the family of swans as they preened and nuzzled each other, the sun warming her face as it sparkled off the water. This she did every single day.

CHAPTER 15. MALCOLM'S ANTICS

Malcolm and the other Emily arrived at school just as the bell began to ring. Their school was much like an American high school that you might see in the movies. Boys and girls learned together. The place wasn't run by any religious crowd and it was generally good fun.

Malcolm had concocted a few different plans during the bus trip to school.

'I've got double maths,' said Emily. 'I love Monday mornings, don't you?'

'You know what would be great, Em?'

'What would be great?'

'If you told the teachers exactly what you think of them today. I mean, honesty's the best policy, isn't it?'

'That's correct, Malcolm.'

'Good. Well, I'll see you at break, so. Enjoy maths!'

'I will,' said Emily.

That day, everybody enjoyed maths. Emily corrected the teacher a couple of times when he got a little confused by the trigonometry. Mr O'Boyle was embarrassed by the attention and blushed bright red. When Emily told him that he didn't really have a maths brain, that he would be much happier as an artist or a musician, his reflex was to send her to the principle's office. But she was right.

So they spent most of the class discussing the arts and how they bring a glimmer of beauty to an otherwise dull and grey existence. Her classmates found this almost as boring as trigonometry. Then Emily used the last few minutes to explain the mathematical equations in a way that everybody could actually understand.

When the exams eventually came around, everybody in Emily's maths class got an A.

During break, Malcolm and one of his friends found Emily. She was talking to the caretaker, handing him a list of the broken lockers and toilet cubicle doors, the cracked panes of glass and faulty fire extinguishers that she needed fixed by the end of the day. The poor man rubbed his head, but took her list and went to work.

'How was maths, Emily? asked Malcolm. His friend sniggered.

'Hi guys. Maths was really good. Mr O'Boyle is going to take up landscape painting.'

'Oh,' said Malcolm. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. 'Well I think you should organise a pupils' strike.'

'A strike? Why?'

'Well the teachers are always at it and they get what they want. What should we strike over, Tom?'

Malcolm's friend looked into the middle distance for a minute.

'I've got it,' he said, smiling. 'Let's demand a longer school day!'

'Steady on,' said Malcolm.

'Only half an hour or something,' said Tom. 'We could have a longer lunchbreak or maybe catch-up classes or study time. The thing is, we can't be criticised for wanting to spend more time in school...'

'...and there's no way the teachers would give in,' finished Malcolm. 'It's beautiful. The simplicity of it. We'll be out for weeks!'

'Okay,' said Emily. 'I've got art next so we can do up some signs and placards. I need you guys to spread the word. The strike starts at lunchtime.'

CHAPTER 16. LUNCH WITH THE BANSHEE

The banshee stayed on the rock, watched the swans until a calm daze came over her. Then a distant buzzing took her attention back to the river below. Around a bend came a small boat, its outboard motor buzzing and groaning as it fought against the mighty current. More fishermen? No. Witches.

Granny Smith and two more witches had borrowed the boat from the fisheries manager and were zigzagging back and forth across the river, looking for any kind of clue. Granny Smith stood at the bow of the boat, her hand on her forehead to reduce the glare from the sun.

'Whisht!' she called and the boat stopped moving forward.

She bent over the edge and fished something out of the water.

'That's Emily's,' she said, examining the cuff. She listened to it then, heard the magic spell. 'Yes, she sent it for us. Now girls, let's head directly upstream from this point. The current's fairly straight so we should go directly to Emily.'

The engine roared, taking the boat straight towards the banshee.

She slipped into the water, back to the lair.

The banshee clapped her hands and all the candles were lit. The sound startled Emily and Edna, as they were in deep discussion about the river and what might be poisoning it. They looked around to see that a great dining table was in the centre of the room. It was piled high with roast potatoes, many different kinds of vegetables and, in pride of place, two salmon on platters. One was steamed and one was roasted.

'Come, ladies,' said the banshee. 'Let us eat.'

Four chairs were arranged around the table. Emily wondered who would be joining them. The banshee indicated a seat for her. Edna knew where to sit.

'Ah, Bill,' said the banshee with a twinkle in her eye. 'You smelled the salmon?'

A handsome man, aged about sixty, appeared behind Emily. He was dressed in a brown tweed suit and wore fisherman's boots, the ones that come up to your thighs. He took off his hat, which had dozens of multi-coloured flies stuck in it, and introduced himself to Emily. He shook her hand, said Welcome. He nodded to Edna and smiled.

When they were all seated, they began to serve themselves while the banshee told Emily about Bill.

'It was just the other week,' she said. 'I was up sitting on a rock, watching the swans. I heard an awful commotion then, splashing and thrashing. I swam to the noise but there was no sign of anything. So I dove under the surface and what did I find only this man here.'

'I was fishing,' explained Bill. 'The autumn salmon run, back in from the Atlantic. I'd hooked a beauty but, with all the excitement, I lost my footing and slipped. My heavy tweed clothes dragged me to the bottom in no time at all.'

'So I took hold of him,' said the banshee, reaching her hand across the table and putting it gently on Bill's. 'And I brought him down below. And here we are.'

'Are you dead?' asked Emily.

'Well, I'm told that my lungs were filled with water and it's just the magic of this place that keeps me going.'

The banshee nodded sadly.

'But at least I can sit down in fine company and enjoy this lovely meal,' said Bill. 'And I get to do a spot of fishing every single day. Sure, what more could I ask for?'

Emily put a large chunk of roasted salmon on her plate. It was cooked with olive oil, sea salt and black pepper and the smell of it was like nothing she'd ever had before. She put a forkful into her mouth and her tastebuds exploded with happiness. She loaded her plate with crispy roast potatoes, steamed broccoli, sliced, boiled carrots and roasted parsnips. And a lot more of the salmon.

'It doesn't get much fresher than that,' smiled Bill. 'What, half an hour ago she was swimming around?'

'As long as she's not poisoned,' said Emily.

This got them all thinking about the problem at hand. When lunch was done and the leftovers put into plastic Witchware containers, the banshee clapped and the dining table was instantly cleared. Bill went and got a huge old map of the river. Its edges were frayed like a pair of old jeans and there were stains on it like from spilled coffee.

They gathered around the map and the banshee's bony finger stabbed down hard.

'This is us,' she said. Then her finger followed the course of the river back upstream. 'And this is where the poison seems to be coming from.'

She traced a ring around the river just north of the village, where a few small tributaries met the great water.

'Have you been up there?' asked Emily?

'I tried,' said the banshee. 'But I lost all my strength. It's just beyond my patch. This is where I'm stuck,' she said, gesturing with her arms. 'This is my patch forever.'

'I've an idea,' said Bill. 'You know Keeper Hill, just out the road in Tipperary?'

'Of course,' said Edna.

'Is that the big mountain you can always see wherever you are in Castleconnell?' asked Emily.

'That's the one, darlin'. Well, that's part of the Silvermine Mountains. There was a lot of mining going on there until lately. Hard work getting the silver out though. It's said that the local water supply up there is polluted from all the chemicals they used.'

'Are you saying that the silver mines are polluting our Shannon, Bill?' asked the banshee.

'No. But I'm wondering if some lunatics think that if there's silver in these here parts, there might be gold as well. And that's a bad business.'

'Why?' asked Emily. 'What do they use for getting gold out?'

'Cyanide,' said Bill. 'One of the deadliest poisons on Earth.'

CHAPTER 17. SO MUCH FOR THE STRIKE

Everything had gone brilliantly at first. Emily and the rest of her art class had made signs saying WE WANT MORE SCHOOL and LONGER SCHOOL DAYS NOW and WE LOVE SCHOOL and SCHOOL ROCKS. All the kids were marching up and down with them at the school entrance.

Emily had sent emails to all the local papers and the radio stations and even the TV news. It was a slow news day, so lots of reporters had turned up, even a TV camera.

As Emily was interviewed by that nice woman off the TV news, the teachers stood inside the front door, looking confused.

'This is fantastic,' said Malcolm.

He was really proud of his sister. Well, proud of her clone. It was the same thing, wasn't it? When her interview was finished, she went to Malcolm and stood in front of him with a blank look on her face.

'Nice one, Em,' he said. 'Em? You okay?'

'I have something to report,' she said, as if the words were coming from somewhere else, just through her. 'My true self is in trouble. She has been kidnapped. She is under the water.'

'Oh no,' said Malcolm, the blood draining from his face. 'Is she safe?'

The clone closed her eyes for a few seconds, making contact with her true self.

'Yes. She has eaten the best meal of her life. But she is worried about poison. She is safe, but she is in an unusual situation.'

'What about our grannies? Can they help Emily?'

'The are searching for her, but they cannot help her yet.'

'I'm going,' said Malcolm. Emily needs me.'

'But what about our parents?'

'You can cover for me. You're sharp.'

'How will you get to Castleconnell?'

'Good question. Any ideas.'

The clone closed her eyes again.

'I can call up a broomstick for you.'

Malcolm's eyes lit up, the colour coming back into him.

'Yes please!'

'You go around the back of the school. It'll be here in four minutes.'

'Thanks. Good luck with the strike.'

'Be careful,' said the clone to Malcolm's back, as he ran around the reporters and the protesting kids .

The broomstick whistled through the sky, enjoying its first flight alone, up with the seagulls and the clouds and the hot sunshine. It sang to itself, strange melodies about tasting the wind. Then it spotted the school far below and dropped like a stone, landed right in front of Malcolm.

On the TV news at nine o'clock that night, Emily and some of the other striking kids were being interviewed for a light-hearted, And finally report called 'The kids who want more school'. There were seven calls made to the channel, by viewers who swore they saw a child flying up into the air in the background. They were told that it was just a reflection off the lens. There's a lot of crazy people out there.

CHAPTER 18. THE SALMON'S QUEST

She followed the bitter taste upstream, pausing every so often to examine a shiny rock here or a dark crevice there. A fully mature salmon now, her urge was to find the spawning beds and lay her eggs, but not yet. For some knowledge, deep inside her, told her that if the spawning happened while the poison in the river was growing stronger, then all the salmon in the River Shannon would die. Forever.

Her silver form flashed past the fishermen and the otters and the poachers' nets. The bitterness of the poison drove her on. She was able to sense the strongest flow of the poison. She could see its sparkling, red, smokey flow now, which meant that she could avoid the worst concentrations of it, swimming upstream just feet away from the evil stuff.

Finally she reached a little tributary of the Great River and this seemed to be all poison. The source! She rested in the shallows just above the flow. A shadow flashed across her then and a sharp spear came hurtling towards her flank. Her reflexes were perfect, so her long, muscular body automatically jerked out of the path of the heron's beak. Back in the depths and the bird couldn't reach her. He paced up and down along the gravelly edge, uttering bird curses.

When the herons gathered in the old oak tree later that evening and he told his story about how he almost caught the biggest salmon in the river, and then he found a dozen perch just floating on the surface, the other birds laughed at him.

When the salmon felt that she could wait no more, she made a rush for the stream that brought the poison into the river. She pushed herself forward, keeping her gills closed for long seconds. When she did open her gills, the water burned them, but she got some precious oxygen from the water. Then the strength of the poison seemed to quickly reduce, less and less of it, until soon there was just a vague memory.

So she swam on, under mulberry trees and crab apple groves. Past shocked trout and lurking eels and dying baby fish. Beside a flowery bank of daisies and buttercups and daffodils, the salmon heard the laughter and chatter of people, as they enjoyed an autumn picnic of ham sandwiches, tea from a flask (with that special, mysterious taste), apples from the orchard up the road and Tayto crisps, all laid out on a red, checked blanket. She rested a while, let her gills clear and listened to the unseen picnickers. As she swam on, she decided that, once they weren't trying to kill you, humans were alright.

In difficult, shallow water now and suddenly the channel widened. Not bright stones or silt or dirt below or at the edges of the water now, but a hard, smooth surface. Like the supports of the Great Sky Wall back home.

She was in a concrete drainage channel, taking waste directly into the river system. She didn't like the alien material, so she flipped back into the stream and found a pool where she could take it all in.

Then human voices.

'We're done here for the day.'

'Aye. Let's go and get a ham sandwich and a cup of tea. I'm starving from all this work.'

'We've done well. The testing is finished and we can get into full production in the morning. Run the dirt through the cleaning process, add the cyanide, collect the gold.'

'How long have we got then?'

'Until the cyanide kills everything in the river and we've to run? About three days, I'd say.'

'Then we better find some gold pronto.'

'It's there. I'm convinced of it. And don't forget your face mask tomorrow or you'll be poisoned as well. Now come on. Let's go tell the Boss we're ready to go.'

Then she heard the roaring sound of a machine, which faded until all was quiet. She breached the surface and glanced at the big trees and the blue sky and the little fluffy clouds. Then she spied a low, grey building, more of a shack really, with barrels and pipes and other junk. And big mounds of black dirt beyond. Dirt with not a trace of gold in it.

The salmon didn't understand all that the men said, but she understood the gist of it. She knew that time was running out for the river and the millions of creatures that called it home. And the Boss? She didn't understand the idea of a boss - she'd been left to survive for herself since that cold March day when she hatched from the egg laid the autumn before.

Then the taste of the water. Her sun years in the river, growing up, the fun, the hunting, followed by the sun years at sea. And now she was back, to lay her eggs in the same River in which she herself was born, and thus fulfill her destiny. Then she would retire to the Atlantic Ocean and a further strange destiny that she could only dream about.

She sensed the sunlight then, as it dimmed with the start of sun going away. Autumn was in the air, then the desperate urge to lay her thousands of eggs. So time was the problem.

So she left that small river and returned to the Mother and, fighting the vague urge to turn right, upstream, and lay her eggs, went downstream to where the odd human lived under the water, with her long hair and her traps and her shiny things.

CHAPTER 19. A PLAN, AT LAST

The witches had been at the All-Seeing Eye's secret mountain-top lair for a night and a day. The banshee's hair had shared its secrets. The witches now knew that cyanide poison was in the river.

'This means war,' said Granny Smith.

'Think of all the poor craters,' said Granny Annie.

The hair also told them that the banshee was not evil.

'Thank God for that. Poor Emily will be safe with her.'

'But we still have to get her back.'

So they made a fresh pot of tea, baked some scones and did some knitting. Then they made a plan, sitting around a big table on top of the All-Seeing Eye's house, in the centre of her viewing platform. The All-Seeing Eye stayed at her instruments, keeping a close watch on the river, fine-tuning her cyanide detector.

Using one of their host's eyeliner pencils, Granny Annie drew out a map on the back of a torn-off piece of wallpaper, part of a batch that the All-Seeing Eye hadn't got around to hanging. She put in the river, snaking down from Lough Derg at O'Brien's Bridge, where part of it was siphoned off for generating electricity at Ardnacrusha, and all the way down to Limerick, where it mixed with the sea at King John's Castle. And there, in the centre, Castleconnell. She licked the tip of the pencil and drew in the footbridge, where Emily had disappeared and where they believed the banshee had her lair. Then there was the village, with the old castle, the houses and the shops. Upstream a bit and the old diving boards, where the people from miles around used to go swimming, what seemed like a hundred years before.

'Sarah, Irene, Eileen and Patricia. Ye're to stick to the footbridge area like glue until ye find the banshee's lair. Ye need to find Emily and find her fast.'

'What about Edna?' asked Sarah, stroking her hair with her long red fingernails.

'My guess is that Edna is with Emily.'

They all agreed with this. Edna had a habit of being in the thick of the action.

'Gemma, Jackie and Tara. Ye fly upriver with me. We'll find that poison and we'll find it fast.'

'Lola and Rachel. I want ye fly between here, the banshee search zone and the poison search zone. Make sure that we all know what the others are doing and keep an eye out for anything random, down the village, downstream, anywhere we're not focused on.'

'Random?' asked Lola.

'Aye. All this mullarky is so... so odd, I think we have to expect more mad things to happen.'

'And what about me?' asked Granny Smith.

'I need you to stay here with the All-Seeing Eye. Help her with anything she needs spell-wise. And tea and sandwiches and that.'

'Thank God for that,' said Granny Smith. 'I'm nearly finished this scarf I'm knitting for poor Emily.'

Granny Annie glanced at the sun as it sank towards a fiery western horizon and said 'It'll be dark soon, but we'll have a full moon to guide us. Let's get moving.'

And so they did.

Not too far away from the witches, Malcolm found himself walking along a wide and rocky road.

'What am I doing in the middle of nowhere?' he asked the broomstick.

The broomstick didn't answer.

Malcolm saw that it would be dark soon. His tummy rumbled. He couldn't figure out why the broomstick had left him there. It had dropped like a rock, just easing up at the last second for a gentle landing. From the golden clouds, Malcolm had seen the River Shannon ahead, even the village, so he knew that he was near Emily, near the mystery. But where?

So he walked on, towards the sunset, west. The road was like something that was only half-finished, all rocks and dirt and puddles. High rocks towered over the road on both sides, making Malcolm feel tiny and vulnerable. Her kept an eye on the big rocks that rested along the top of the ravine, worried that if somebody gave one a push, he was mincemeat. Literally.

A rumbling up ahead, and a cloud of dust. Malcolm decided not to take any chances and darted behind a huge boulder by the side of the dirt track. A car came by, slowly, its engine squealing, its tyres throwing up stones. Malcolm managed to get a peek and saw two men in the car. He didn't know why, but he didn't like the look of them. Not one bit.

Once the sound of the car had faded completely, Malcolm felt that it was safe enough to leave his hiding place. His heart was pounding so he could hear it in his ears, and his mouth was bone dry. He walked on, looking around behind him every few steps. After a little while, the hills on either side of the track flattened out and dense trees took their place. Malcolm felt safer in the shadows.

He heard the river then, the rushing sound of the water. The track opened up into a clearing, a rusty shack and some big, funny-looking tools, surrounded by a fence. He went to the gate and saw a rusty padlock.

'I have to get in there,' he said.

His mind raced. He had never picked a lock before. What could he use? He grabbed the lock and it swung open. A lucky break! Never assume anything, Malcolm, no matter how it looks. He opened the gate and made sure to close it behind him and put the lock back in place. He went to the shack and through the open door. There was a huge machine there, a kind of a steel table with a funnel at the end. At one end, a big steel pipe sent water gushing across the table and off the other end, where it dropped into what looked like a big cement mixer. Then there was a ramp for spilling the waste onto a concrete platform and away. Malcolm noticed that there were pipes coming from the back of the shack, along the roof and over the table. He followed the pipes back, to an open end of the building. Just outside were huge piles of stony dirt and a little digger with a bucket on the front. But inside, something terrifying. At least a dozen big barrels, each with a skull and crossbones printed in black on yellow. His blood froze when he read the word CYANIDE.

Suddenly there was the screeching of tyres outside, and the crunch of gravel, and the growling of engines. The car Malcolm had seen earlier, and also a flat-back jeep that had a long tubular object mounted on its rear, covered by a tarpaulin. Malcolm moved quickly, down behind the drums of poison, just as footsteps crunched on the gravelly ground and entered the shack. He was afraid that they would hear his heart, it was going so fast.

'Right,' said one of the men. 'Get the juice pumping and crank up the digger and let's get this show on the road.'

'Okay Boss,' said another voice.'

'And you, Jimmy,' said the boss. 'Get out and keep the anti-aircraft gun ready. My witch detector tells me that there's something brewing. If you see anything in the sky that's bigger than a bat, anything, just blast it, yeah?'

'Okay Boss.'

'In fact, no. If you see a bat, blast that as well. We're about to wipe out every living thing for miles around. We may as well do a proper job.'

They all laughed then, nasty laughs that made Malcolm squirm. His thoughts raced as quick as his heartbeat. They're going to shoot the witches! They're about to poison the river! What if they find me? What am I going to do?

CHAPTER 20. THE BOSS

The Boss was in trouble. His sprawling estate on the north side of Castleconnell had been in his family for hundreds of years, all the way back to Oliver Cromwell's time. The Boss's ancestor, back in 1651, had been a builder who'd worked on the Walls of Limerick. And he'd given Cromwell's army information about a weak spot in the defences. So they'd concentrated their fire, rained cannon balls down on that spot from Singland Hill. Eventually, the wall was breached and the garrison was forced to surrender. The traitor was rewarded with a fine estate on the banks of the Shannon and, over the centuries, his family enjoyed an easy life, keeping the origin of their good fortune a closely-guarded secret.

But the Boss was a gambler and the estate took a pretty penny to keep going. He had a workshop out the back of the manor house, a place where his family had been building stuff for centuries. Fishing gear, hunting traps, mining equipment, gadgets, all sorts. The Boss had designed and made his witch detector there, based on plans he found on the internet. For his family knowledge was powerful, built up over a long, long time. A little clue here, another clue there and they all added up to the strange conclusion that many of the odd goings-on could be blamed on witches, somewhere close to the village.

The witch detector was a kind of radar, but as well as picking up objects in the air, it also detected the strange, magical particles that came from witches. Protons, neutrons, electrons, quarks. The Boss had built it over many's the long night. He tested it and, at least twice, he swore he saw a trail moving quickly across the screen.

He also built the gold processor, along with his two goons. But he was clever enough not to put it on his own land. He'd used a fake identity to rent the land with the shack off a widow in the village, so she'd end up getting into trouble.

He didn't care about the widow. He didn't care about anyone or anything except getting gold and getting it fast.

CHAPTER 21. EMILY'S CHANCE, MALCOLM'S CHALLENGE

As night fell over the river, the atmosphere in the banshee's lair mellowed. They'd enjoyed a fine dinner of salmon omelette made with duck eggs, warm soda bread and lots of tea. Then they all sat by the fire and Bill took out his fiddle and began to play. After a while, Edna started singing, old songs that Emily had never heard before.

When the banshee joined in, her voice was as high and as clear as a mountain stream. Emily enjoyed it for a long while. Then she got up to make some fresh tea for everybody. In the kitchen, she waited for the kettle to boil on the big iron range. She glanced up through the magic portal, at the river above. It was dark now, but it still shimmered beautifully with the currents, glints of the moon visible as she rose in the east.

The others were taken with the music and the singing. What if I just go? Just up, hold your breath and go. But the river is so dark, and deep, how will I get up? You got down, didn't you? What about Edna? She's happy here. No that's not fair. You can bring the rest of the witches back for her.

In the end, it was the fact that Emily had a clue about the poison, a clue that the banshee couldn't follow up on, that made up her mind. She wrote a short note, explained that she had to go and stop the poison and not to worry. She was about to step up and through the portal when she remembered the kettle on the range. The hot water was bubbling up inside and it would start whistling any second. She moved the kettle aside.

Then she took a really deep breath, went up and through the portal and into the cold, dark river. The music faded. She floated gently upward, a really weird feeling, her hair drifting around her head, the moon seeming to bob on the surface, high above her head. She felt serene, thought This must be what it's like to be a mermaid. Curious fish watched her, including the clever salmon, who wondered if she was the human who could save the river from the poison. The salmon sensed that plans were in motion above the surface. She felt the urge to move upstream and lay her eggs even stronger now. She had to help the human.

Emily suddenly began to feel that her breath was gone and wanted to open her mouth to breath in. Her lungs screamed for oxygen, the cool, refreshing night air. Her body twitched as she tried to kick towards the surface. But she felt weak. A moment of panic, the water feeling colder, the current stronger. Then and unexpected nudge and a bump under her left armpit. A rush of power and she was moving upwards. Up, up, up and she broke the surface and gasped and sucked in the precious air. A splashing beside her and she glanced, just in time to see a beautiful salmon as it turned to look at her before it thrashed its tail and sunk back into the inky depths.

Emily could have sworn the salmon winked at her.

She was breathing again, which was good, but the river's powerful current had her now, which was bad. There were rocks ahead and she was afraid of being smashed against them. She tried to swim to the left, towards the nearest bank, but her arms had no strength in them. And the water was so cold. Emily was close to tears when she looked to the moon and saw a sight that lifted her spirits instantly. For she saw the silhouettes of witches on broomsticks and saw them grow bigger and bigger as they zoomed through the night to her.

'Emily!' they called. 'We see you!'

In seconds, strong hands were under her armpits and her ankles as the four witches lifted her into the cool night sky.

'To the All-Seeing Eye!' shouted Sarah. 'Lola!' she called out to the patrolling witches, 'Hurry back and let them know we're on the way.'

Lola zoomed back to Granny Smith and the Eye and helped put the kettle on and place a blanket by the fire. The All-Seeing Eye ran a hot bath, with lavender oils and rose petals and a million pink bubbles.

In just a few minutes, Emily touched down. She was shaking, both from the chill caused by the water evaporating from her sodden clothes and the shock of what she'd been through. But she was safe now and that's all that mattered.

As Emily warmed up, so did Malcolm. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he saw everything coming together, almost in slow motion.

Two of the men, the Boss and a minion, were about to start pumping the cyanide through the machine and destroying all life in the river, maybe forever. As this was happening, Malcolm heard the other minion, they guy on the anti-aircraft gun, call out that three big blips were coming straight for them. He pulled back a knob on the side of the big gun and it made a horrible, sliding, click-clicking noise.

'Blast them!' called the Boss. 'Blast them out of the sky. This is it, lads! This is our chance!'

Chance? thought Malcolm. What does he mean?

'What do you mean, Boss?' asked the minion.

'What do I mean? I mean that these witches have been upsetting the lay of the land around here. It's because of their magic that I've lost my luck at the cards. And the horses. And the dogfights. Witches hate men, you know that don't you? Well I'm not going to take it any more. We'll shoot these three out of the sky and that'll draw the rest of them here.'

'The rest?'

'There's always twelve in a coven. So that'll leave nine.'

The minion used his dirty fingers to confirm the Boss's calculations, but had to give up when he reached ten.

'Then what?'

'I've a nice little surprise for them. There'll be no more witches in Castleconnell before this night is out. You can chalk it down.'

Malcolm's mind jumped around as he tried to process all this horrible information. He fought off the natural urge to just sneak out of there and run away home. He vowed to do something, anything. He just didn't know what.

Then the pump started up and the shaking table started to rattle loudly. The little digger revved up and groaned as it dumped a load of dirt onto the shaking table. Malcolm held his breath as he saw the cyanide slowly working its way up the transparent plastic tubes. The ground trembled. The Boss started laughing loudly. And then the sky outside lit up, orange and red, as the thunder of the anti-aircraft gun shook the dust from the shack's rafters.

'There they are!' shouted the man outside.

And he fired again and again and again.

CHAPTER 22. SCHOOL DAZE

The day ended with a bang. The teachers trooped out as soon as the end-of-day bell chimed. They avoided the media. They didn't look angry, just a bit sad. After all, they loved teaching (well, most of them), and they didn't do it for the money or the long summer holidays. The long summer holidays helped, but it wasn't why they became teachers.

Miss Lonergan, the geography teacher who'd actually canoed up the Amazon, went to Emily's clone.

'Emily, you must put a stop to this,' she said.

'Why, miss?'

'It looks bad,' she replied, nodding her head towards the remaining journalists and the large group of parents who'd gathered, proud of their kids. 'You're making us look lazy when the reality is that the Government is cutting our wages and the money we have to run the school in the first place. There's the heating and the electricity and, sure, the place is falling apart.'

'So you'd extend the school day if you could?'

'If they paid us a little bit extra, I think most of us wouldn't mind doing a few extra hours.'

'Is that really true?'

'Really.'

'Ok. We'll see.'

So the teachers went home and the kids ended the protest for the day. Emily called a quick meeting and told everyone about what Miss Lonergan had said. They agreed that a change of tactic was needed and they would have to come up with a plan, a bold plan. But after dinner, because protesting was hungry work. At least there was no homework to be done.

The crowd cheered and applauded as the kids left the school. It seemed as if the adults were sick of the state of the country, and the world, and believed that the new generation would be the ones to fix things. To make everything better. And they needed the best education possible in order to succeed.

Everybody went away, Emily and Malcolm's clones off to continue their act and to continue the little revolution.

They reached home to find a happy mum and dad and dinner about to be served. This was strange.

'Here they come,' smiled dad, 'our little revolutionaries!'

'You must be hungry,' said mum. 'All that protesting and all.'

So they ate and went upstairs, where they sat on Emily's bed and planned the next stage of the school strike and talked about their other selves, their real selves. Clones were like a reflection, but in a foggy mirror, all there but just not right. Only if you looked really closely could you see the difference.

'How's Emily?' asked Malcolm's clone.

'Good, actually. I felt a weight lift off me in the last few minutes. I think she's out of danger. And Malcolm?'

'Not good,' shivered his clone. 'I think he's in some deep doodoo. Really deep.'

CHAPTER 23. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN...

The gun kept firing and the cyanide was pumping. And Malcolm's heart was pumping so fast he thought that he was having a heart attack. The adrenaline flowed through his body, his brain ordering his adrenal glands to release the chemical that helps us out in emergencies. It was used for saving early humans from bears and sabre-toothed tigers back in the old days. Tonight, it would be used for saving witches and river creatures.

'One, two, three,' counted Malcolm in his head. 'Go!'

Crouching low, he moved quickly to the cyanide tanks. There were levers at the top of each barrel where the pipes connected. He turned each lever from the upright to the horizontal position, shutting off the flow of poison. He expected to be grabbed at any second. When the poison supply was cut off, he turned and realised that he hadn't been spotted yet. This was good, very good.

The gun outside was still firing crazily, the tracer bullets flying into the black sky like fireflies with jet-packs. Malcolm hoped that none of the witches had been hit yet. They wouldn't stand a chance, even with their magic. So he went outside, still unseen, pressed against the wall of the shack. The guy with the gun looked wild. He'd fire a burst, then stop and shout something and punch the air. Malcolm tried to work out how to stop him. There was a long belt of bullets coming from the gun on the back of the truck. It snaked into a big steel box on the ground. If I stop the bullet supply, that's it.

He got onto the dirt and crept towards the bullet box. The shooting started again. He grabbed the belt of bullets and jammed it into a jagged gap in the corner of the box. He pushed in with all his might. The tension in the belt reached the jammed part and the gun stopped firing. The crazy man started cursing then. He fiddled with the gun and tried pulling parts of it, thinking a bullet had jammed inside. Nothing. He turned around, following the bullet belt with his wild eyes. And then he saw Malcolm.

He jumped off the truck, angry, screaming. Malcolm turned to run. The other men came out of the shack then. They didn't look happy either.

Malcolm swallowed hard. He was afraid of what might happen next.

He needn't have worried. Four shadows swooped out of the sky, moving faster than the human eye could register. Three of the witches, Tara, Gemma and Jackie, landed in a triangle around Malcolm. Each witch took a man, pointed her right hand at him and muttered three mysterious words. There were three bright flashes, a funny smell and then there were three large frogs bouncing towards Malcolm.

Grannie Annie landed on the back of the jeep with the machine gun. She wrinkled her nose and the gun turned into a million moths, who flew away, up to the moon. Then she jumped, with one fantastic leap, straight into the shed, where she turned the cyanide barrels into bags of manure. Luckily, the cyanide that had started pumping - before Malcolm turned off the supply - was still in the revolving drum. None of it had reached the river.

Malcolm was in a daze, a happy daze. The frogs began to hop the short distance to the river.

'Will they stay like that?' he asked. 'Like frogs?'

'No,' said Tara, her long blond hair blowing in the soft night wind. 'Spell effects on people are temporary. Only inanimate objects will never change back. Those three'll be alright in an hour.'

'Unless a pike gets them first,' laughed Jackie. 'If not, they'll wake up wet and very confused.'

Granny Annie emerged from the shack.

'What on earth were they up to in there?' she asked.

'Gold,' said Malcolm.'They were after gold. It seems you can use cyanide to get gold out of the right dirt.'

'The right dirt? Sure, there's never been gold around here. If it's gold you're after, I know where there's plenty,' she winked. 'Who were they anyway? All I saw was frogs.'

'I recognised one of them,' said Gemma. 'He owns the big estate outside the village.'

'The O'Brien Estate,' said Granny Annie. 'Interesting. Very curious. Come on, we need to talk to the All-Seeing Eye and the rest of the coven about this. And Malcolm, there's somebody waiting to see you.'

'Emily?'

'Yes. Your sister was rescued.'

'Oh, that's great news,' he cried, this was the best news.'

'She should be dried off by now. You can ride on my broomstick.'

'I don't need to, thanks.'

He whistled and his own broomstick came flying down from the treetops. I hoped that would happen, he thought.

'My, my,' said Granny Annie. 'You've come along. Listen Malcolm, I don't normally like men, or even boy-men but you, you're a special case. What you did here was great. You saved us from being shot out of the sky.'

'And you saved the river creatures from extinction,' added Tara. 'You're our hero.'

'So come on,' winked Annie. 'Let's go and get you a rasher sandwich.'

Malcolm suddenly realised that there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

CHAPTER 24. NIGHT RIVER

They hopped and hopped. It felt amazing. You just sit back on your long hind legs and then you think Forward. Your legs do the work and you're suddenly so far ahead. The Boss liked being a frog. He didn't realise that he had been human until five minutes before, but that didn't matter.

He could smell the stream ahead, the wetness and greenness of it. His cronies could smell it too. They licked their lips with long, sticky tongues, their eyes rolling around, watching out for owls.

Hop!

The Boss saw a flutter nearby and flicked out his tongue. He caught the moth and whipped it into his mouth. It was crunchy and juicy and, only a few minutes before, it had been part of a machine gun.

They hopped into the stream and let the gentle current carry them down towards the river. The water felt cool and wet and lovely on their skin. They could swim! Those long legs stroked and beat and propelled them forward. The moonlight streamed down, making everything silver and glossy. The weeds, the pebbles, the - what's that?

The salmon had been waiting to see what happened with the bad men. Like all salmon that had come back to their river from the Great Salty Ocean, she didn't feed, she just waited for the right time to lay her eggs. But sometimes the reflex was too strong. So, when she saw the little frogs swim by her face, she couldn't help but open her mouth and gulp one in.

So The Boss lost one of his minions.

The minion didn't feel a thing. The other two frogs darted into a clump of reeds and hid until the giant silver thing was gone. Their little frog brains were both confused and excited. They emerged from their shelter, driven to find little water bugs to eat. But a pike was laying in ambush in the next clump of reeds along and pike are always hungry. His sides were like a tiger's, stripes in gold and black and green, the perfect camouflage, especially at night. The only giveaway was the glint of the watery moon off his eyes.

In a flash, the pike's powerful tail propelled him forward, clear of the reeds, his gigantic sharp teeth cutting through the water. This was a whopper, he'd lived in the river for sixty years. When his mighty jaws closed around minion number two, the frog was swallowed in an instant, really just a tasty morsel. Boss frog swam for his life, the pike turning and powering through the water in pursuit. The jaws opened in anticipation. The frog sensed the river bank, a long, strong, dark hardness, so he used all his strength to jump straight out of the water, the pike leaping clear of the surface, snapping, snapping, missing.

Safe on the dewy grass of the riverbank, the frog began to glow. A flash. An odd smell. And the Boss was lying there, his clothes soaking, his heart trying to break through his chest, wondering Where are the lads? Why am I soaking? What on earth is going on?

Then some hazy memories came back to him, along with a thumping headache. His plan to get the gold and save his estate was gone, all up in smoke. He became so angry that you could almost see the steam coming out his ears. He needed money and he needed it fast. There was an old Irish belief that witches were like magpies: they liked to gather shiny things, gold and silver and diamonds.

'Revenge,' he muttered, 'is a dish best served cold. Time to wipe out these witches once and for all. And then I'll find their stash of gold. Two birds with one stone. And I know exactly how I'll do it.'

A mean smile crossed his dripping face. Then he rolled up his wet sleeves and went off up a boreen, getting madder with every step he took.

CHAPTER 25. RASHER SANDWICHES

When they all got back to the All-Seeing Eye's mountain-top house, Malcolm gave Emily a long hug. She'd been warmed up and given a fresh outfit, all black and was sitting on the roof platform wrapped in a black blanket and sipping a mug of hot chocolate with little marshmallows floating on top. Granny Annie did a head count.

'All here. Except for Edna, of course.'

The witches who'd rescued Malcolm examined the bullet holes through their capes and hats and hugged Emily while Malcolm examined the All-Seeing Eye's gadgets.

Granny Smith handed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate with double marshmallows. The witches had tea, always hot from their never-ending teapot. The smell of frying bacon wafted up from the kitchen. Malcolm's tummy called Yum!

'What's this thing here?' asked Malcolm.

'That's the banshee detector,' said Granny Smith, nodding towards the All-Seeing Eye, 'but you'll have to ask the expert about how it works.'

'Only it's glowing...'

'Girls!' cried Granny Smith. 'We have movement!'

The witches gathered round the detector while the All-Seeing Eye gently twiddled the control knobs, explaining what she was doing to Malcolm, who nodded like he was actually interested.

'Hmmm,' said the All-Seeing Eye. 'She's on the move for sure and there are two fainter echoes with her. What could that mean, I wonder?'

'It's Edna,' said Emily. 'And the banshee has a man there too. He drowned in the river and she brought him back to life, but only as long as he's in her house. I mean, lair.'

'It's okay, child,' said Granny Smith, her arms around Emily. 'We know she doesn't mean ill. So, you know her. Do you think she's moving home?'

Emily thought for a long minute. 'I'm not sure. The house was really cosy. It felt like she'd lived there for a hundred years or more. I think she knows Edna will want to leave, even though she likes it there. She doesn't want to lose Bill, the fisherman she saved. Well, kind of saved. They make a sweet couple.'

'So?'

'We need to rescue Edna and let the banshee know that we won't harm her or tell anyone where she lives.'

'As long as she doesn't go tricking any more youngsters, the way she took you,' said Granny Smith, her face all serious. 'I won't stand for that at all at all. My heart was in my mouth, worried about you, child.'

'Thanks Granny. Should we go now?'

'Let's wait until morning, Emily. I think you need some rest.' She yawned. 'We all might need a bit of a rest. The All-Seeing Eye can keep an eye on the banshee and Edna...'

'I'll help,' said Malcolm.

'Good lad,' continued Granny Smith. 'Does anyone want to stay on air patrol?'

'I couldn't sleep, not with all this excitement,' said Tara.

'I'll stay up as well, added Jackie.

'That's sorted so. We'll have our bacon sandwiches and get some rest. Come morning, we'll rescue Edna and let the banshee know what's what. Then this whole sorry episode will be behind us.'

'Just one thing,' said Malcolm, his lips brown from the drinking chocolate. 'Your man O'Brien who escaped. He should be back to being human by now. And I don't think he'll be too happy.'

CHAPTER 26. MONEY, MONEY, MONEY

Emily and Malcolm's clones were up all night researching and planning. They discovered research, at www.oecd.org, that showed that Irish kids spend more time in school, on average, than kids in other countries.

'That's not good,' said Emily's clone. 'You'd think the teachers would've known about that!'

'Keep digging, there must be something we can use.'

'Aha, here we are. This report shows that Irish spending on education is about the lowest in the developed world.'

'How low?' asked Malcolm.

'4.7% of the State's spending. The average is 5.7%. America spends 7.6%!'

'Wow! No wonder half the schools are falling down and the parents are sick of getting begging letters to pay for their kids' 'free education'. That's ridiculous in this day and age. We can really get the Government with this, unite pupils and teachers and parents alike.'

'It's a no-brainer,' said Malcolm. 'How can they expect the country to get better if they don't spend the money on education?'

'Exactly. And the Government wants to make class sizes bigger again, just so they don't have to pay so many teachers,' said Emily. 'There's already 35 in Emily's class.'

'These humans aren't so smart when you think about it. Let's shake them up.'

'Wake them up!'

So they got their statistics together and wrote up a press release for the newspapers and the tv stations and the radio stations and the internet sites. Then they worked out a three point plan:

1. Create awareness among students and get them to take action.

2. Create awareness in the media all over the world.

3. Shame the Government into doing something.

They sent out emails and texts to all their friends at school and at other schools, asking them to pass on the details so that every kid in the country would know the plan by breakfast time. Then they set up the press release so that it would be emailed automatically at exactly 8am, so the media would turn up just as every schoolkid in the country was starting to strike.

They stayed up all night, making signs, chatting nervously.

'I think Malcolm is okay now,' said his clone. 'I sense that he's relaxed. And I can taste hot chocolate.'

'That's good. I think we can leave Emily and Malcolm to do their job and we'll do ours, give them a better future, give all the kids a better chance. I just hope the weather's good in the morning.'

'The forecast says yes.'

'Cool. Let's just call Granny Smith anyway, just to be sure they're safe. And we've one little magic favour to ask.'

At eight o'clock in the morning, the sun was splitting the rocks, a stunning, beautiful autumn day with a sky as blue as the ocean on a summer's day. As Emily and Malcolm tucked into their cornflakes and toast and juice, the emails were arriving into inboxes all over Ireland, all over the world.

The email read:

The children of Ireland hereby demand that our Government spends AT LEAST as much on our education as other developed countries, and spends it wisely. Until this happens, no Irish child will go to school. And we mean it. Starting today. Just one more penny per euro they spend. One penny.

Emily and Malcolm's mum and dad were happy. They sat and enjoyed breakfast with what they thought were their kids and asked if the strike was going to continue.

'Oh yes,' said Emily.

'Good,' said mum.

Emily and Malcolm walked to school with their placards and found a large group of kids already on duty, walking up and down outside, waving their protest signs and chanting. There was a big cheer when they were spotted.

A couple of kids arrived and said that they wanted to go to school, that they didn't want to miss out on any lessons.

'Go ahead,' said Malcolm. 'We can't stop you.'

He winked at Emily.

So the kids went to the door, but it wouldn't open. The caretaker arrived and fiddled with his big bunch of keys and tried to open it. Nothing doing. The very same thing was happening in schools up and down the country. A little bit of witch magic meant that nobody was going to school that day. Nobody.

The teachers joined the children in the protest, just as the journalists and tv cameras arrived.

It was a glorious day and, after a little while, the teachers formed the kids into little groups. They sat on the grass and ate their lunches and listened, as the teachers told them about their amazing world, about the magic of mathematics, about the wonderful stories of the great writers, about the language of their ancestors and how it was in danger of disappearing. The children learned and they enjoyed it. Later, they set up teams and played rounders and tip-the-can while the caretaker took a welding torch to the front door. Many would later say that it was the best day's school they ever had.

When the reports went out on the news that day, the Government started to get calls from journalists all over the world. One more penny, that's all the kids wanted. One more cent in the euro. Put like that, people in suits were embarrassed.

CHAPTER 27. FINDING EDNA

As morning broke over the River Shannon in a carnival of pink and gold, the witches and Emily and Malcolm sat at a big round table on top of the All-Seeing Eye's viewing platform. Here, they admired the incredible view and enjoyed a breakfast of fat, sizzling sausages, fried free range eggs (from the All-Seeing Eye's hens that pecked around at ground level), thick slices of buttered toast and lots and lots of tea.

The banshee detector had been running all night and the three signals were still on the screen. The witches who'd flown patrol during the night hadn't spotted the banshee or Edna, but they had noted some unusual splashing downstream and funny noises upstream. They'd checked out the shack where the Boss had planned to poison the river in his quest for gold, but there was nothing going on there, just lots of moths around.

So they finalised their plan, which was for everyone to get down to the river, hold on tight to Emily, follow the All-Seeing Eye's directions, find the banshee and rescue Edna. If the banshee wouldn't give Edna up, well, there would be an almighty commotion. Suddenly, the fresh morning air was ripped in two by an eerie wailing, like from an injured animal, real pain in it.

The witches seemed spooked.

'It's the banshee,' said Emily, casually. 'I wonder what's up?'

'Maybe she stubbed her toe?' offered Granny Smith.

This broke the tension, allowing all the witches to tell the stories about when they stubbed their toes and how it was the most painful thing since sliced bread.

'Well,' said Emily then, 'there's only one way to find out what's up with her...'

'You're right. Let's go.'

The witches got their broomsticks ready, all lined up, giving them a couple of minutes to warm up after the cool night. Malcolm put his beside the others. A couple of the witches looked at him oddly.

'What? Can't I come?'

The witches exchanged glances.

'But, you're not a witch,' said Tara.

'In fairness to the boy,' said Granny Annie. 'He was great last night. He saved us from being shot down, so he did. If it was one of us in his position, we'd have been making tea or knitting instead of just, you know, getting stuck in.'

'Ah, we're not that bad,' said Granny Smith, pouring herself another cup of tea.

'I know,' said Granny Annie, holding her cup out for a refill. 'But still.'

'I think Malcolm is a very useful asset, ladies,' said the All-Seeing Eye. 'I think you should take him with you. He can link with me and I'll pass on what I see here. Hmmm...'

'What is it?' asked Malcolm.

'An odd signal. Upriver. Not a banshee. I can still see her and the other two signals. They seem to be going around in circles. This new signal is moving down towards them. What could it be?'

'Time to move ladies!' called Granny Annie. 'Something's happening down there and we need to get Edna to safety pronto.'

'Here, Malcolm. Take this,' said the All-Seeing Eye as she handed a little gadget to him. It was like a big, black sea shell with buttons and flashing blue and orange lights on the side, with a black leather strap to go around his neck. 'Put it to your ear and you can hear me. Talk and I'll hear you.'

'Cool!'

'It has a few more tricks up its sleeve as well...'

'Come on, Malcolm! Let's go!'

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

'Just don't break it!' called the All-Seeing Eye as Malcolm got onto his stick and lifted up into the sunny sky, following twelve witches on a mission.

The banshee's cry was still on his mind as they swooped low over the countryside, all the trees shining like gold, their autumn leaves glowing in the morning sun. What was that about?

A flock of swallows, leaving Ireland for a warmer winter in North Africa, turned around to fly a little with the witch posse. They swooped in and out of the line, chirping and chatting to the witches as they went, tumbling and swooning through the sky.

It was the most amazing thing Emily and Malcolm had ever seen. Then the birds gathered beside Granny Annie and Granny Smith and said Farewell and good luck, swept 'round and were gone.

The communicator around Malcolm's neck buzzed, so he held the shell against his ear.

'Malcolm, can you hear me?'

'Loud and clear.'

'It looks like the banshee and the others have stopped on an island in the middle of the river. They haven't moved for a few minutes.'

'Great! I can see the river ahead now, the footbridge is coming up.'

'Downstream from the bridge, just about five hundred metres, I'd say.'

'Roger.'

'Don't call me Roger!'

Malcolm zoomed to the front of the witch air force and pointed towards the little tree-covered island. They understood and everybody zoomed down, landing with a crunch on a little stony beach.

'Mind the noise,' whispered Granny Annie.

The witches were uneasy. They didn't like water, and especially being surrounded by it.

There was a distant rumbling, low and ominous.

'Thunder,' said Granny Smith, sniffing the air. 'Doesn't smell like it, though.'

A family of swans watched them with curiosity, their great webbed feet paddling furiously against the mighty current to maintain their position.

There were otter footprints in the mud at the edge of the beach.

A grey heron hid in the shadows.

The island was right in the middle of the river. It was densely covered in bushes, with a couple of huge weeping willows at one end and the little beach at the other. The river rushed down and around the island. Whenever the river flooded, the rushing waters would cover the island, hiding it from the world for a couple of days at a time, just the tips of the trees sticking out.

'We're down,' Malcolm whispered into the shell.

'I can see you, clear as day. They're on the island, no doubt about that. Their blips and yours are as one.'

'They're here,' said Malcolm to the witches.

'Okay girls, spells at the ready, spread out and give a shriek when you spot them,' ordered Granny Annie. 'Malcolm, you stay with me for your own safety and keep an ear to that yoke.'

Into the undergrowth they went. It was thick as a jungle, with blackberry bushes that would stick their thorns into you. Malcolm couldn't resist the fattest, juiciest blackberries he'd ever come across, so he paused to pick a couple and stick them into his mouth. Granny Annie glanced back at him and shook her head to say No.

'Concentrate,' she whispered.

The bushes grew thicker, with trees overhead, mainly hawthorn and holly with all their juicy red berries. The sky was blotted out and Malcolm suddenly became nervous, every step an effort.

Flies buzzed.

Spiders crawled.

There was an odd whooshing sound from somewhere far away.

They continued through the bushes. A thorn caught Malcolm on his cheek, a drop of blood slowly trickled down to his mouth, tasting metallic and salty.

They came to a clearing in the middle of the island, the sun shining in through a gap in the trees overhead. The rest of the search party emerged into the open space, all at the same time.

Malcolm knew to contact the All-Seeing Eye.

'You're there,' she said. 'Right on top of them.'

'They're underneath us,' said Malcolm.

All eyes looked to the ground, wondering where the secret entrance might be.

'She's a water creature,' said Tara. 'The entrance must be on the water somewhere. Emily, when you escaped, you came up into the river, didn't you?'

'Yes. There was a portal in her ceiling, straight into the river. But she did mention an emergency exit once. And I know she loved to watch the swans from under the willow trees. She did that every day.'

They went to the willows and searched every square inch of the ground, moving branches and debris.

'Well, would you looky here?' said Granny Smith, lifting a huge fern that was touching the thick grass underfoot.

A perfectly round pool of water was there, about a metre in diameter.

The portal to the banshee's lair.

Malcolm's eye was caught by something glinting in the bushes. He went to it and found a little box, kind of like an old-fashioned transistor radio. It had an aerial and a blinking light.

'What's -' he started, interrupted by Emily, who held her hands up, wanting silence.

'Do you hear that?' said Emily.

That distant whooshing noise had been growing louder. It was suddenly a powerful, buzzing roar, loud as an angry lion being attacked by a swarm of hornets.

Witch Jackie, who never let her broomstick out of her sight, quickly jumped on board and climbed straight up, above the trees. She looked upriver and saw a wall of water, maybe as high as a tall giraffe, rushing towards them. The footbridge across the river was swallowed up by the water. In just a few seconds, it would drown them all.

'It's, it's...' said Jackie, her voice choked by fear.

'What is it woman?'

'It's a tidal wave! A tsunami! It's coming our way!'

CHAPTER 28. THE BOSS'S REVENGE

The Boss had been very busy. He was still damp and even more miserable by the time he got home. He felt like he was covered in frog slime still, so he had a hot bath and scrubbed his skin raw with a rough brush.

Then he dressed in army camouflage clothes and went out to his workshop. He rummaged around for spare parts and made a quick version of his witch detector, only this one would give off a signal like witches. Then he snuck down to the river, took out his little boat and planted the witch signal maker on a little island.

Back at his estate, he spent ages searching through is bits and pieces.

'Aaah, found you, my beauty.'

He'd been saving a remote-controlled detonator, the kind they use for smashing rocks in quarries, and he stuck it in his jacket pocket.

He went out to his tractor trailer which was loaded with two tons of fertiliser, the perfect bomb. He put the exploding part of the detonator into the middle sack of fertiliser, kept the red button in his pocket. Then he put on a flat cap, lit a pipe and drove out the road to O'Brien's Bridge, like any farmer off to look after his fields.

The village was just a couple of miles north of his estate at Castleconnell, a quiet place, known mostly for its bridge over the River Shannon and also for the start of the man-made canal that took half the river flow off down to the power station.

The Boss stopped his tractor on the bridge overlooking the intake across the canal. He picked where an explosion would be most likely to block the canal entrance with debris. And he drove his bomb down there. There was nobody about. This was lucky, because the bomb would make a fine blast.

He unhooked the trailer and drove his tractor back up on to the road. He lit his pipe and pressed the button.

The explosion was mainly smoke and dust, not a big fireball like what you see on TV shows. The noise and the shock wave made the Boss jump. He started to drive back to Castleconnell, his head turning back every couple of seconds until the dust cleared. Then he saw that the canal was blocked and all that water that should have been going down to make electricity in Ardnacrusha was now flowing in a powerful wave down the river instead. 500 cubic metres of it every second. That's a lot of water.

The Boss drove as fast as his tractor would go, because he wanted to see it when the wave of water hit the witches, who should all be on the island by now. And he wanted to be able to pick off any who escaped, his powerful hunting rifle wrapped up in an old coat, beside him there in the tractor cab.

The road went in a more direct route than the fat, meandering river, so he got down to the car park beside the playground a few minutes before the wave. He parked the tractor at a wild angle, grabbed his rifle and ran down the muddy path to the bridge.

He thought to take up position on the bridge, as it had a clear view of the island downstream. But he was afraid in case the wave would swamp it.

He was right.

As the Boss ran down the bank on the left hand side of the river, in among the fairy forts and the leprechaun runs and the golden trees, there by the steps up to the hotel, there was a boom as the wave slammed into the bridge. The bridge shook and trembled, but did not fall.

He ran on, the island appearing through the trees.

He made it out into an open field which swept down to the river, a beautiful white horse grazing up the hill, alarmed now by the commotion on the water. The wave was enormous, all frothing and bubbling and thunderous.

'There's no way they'll survive that,' he laughed. 'Magic or no magic.'

CHAPTER 29. SURPRISE ALLIES

The salmon had been resting near the funny human's lair, pleased that the sick taste had disappeared from the water. The urge to lay her eggs had been growing steadily all night and, in a bizarre twist, who did she meet only the salmon man she'd lived near as a child and who she'd travelled with in the Great Ocean?

She felt that the river was safe for her eggs and that this would be the day. The morning had come with a dance of gold across the rippling ceiling above.The poison was gone! Not a trace remained.

She swam around her territory, greeting the creatures who also called the river home. The little fish, from sticklebacks to baby salmon, were full of chat about how lovely the water tasted today. The shrimp and the insects talked about the brightness of the morning. The water snails spoke only about the quality of river weed these days, for that was all they ever spoke about.

Flying humans, odd humans, came across the sky and landed on the island over the underwater human's home. She saw their shadows, how they changed. She noted that one of the shadows belonged to the girl that she'd saved from drowning.

Then there came a distant boom, a shockwave travelling down from upstream, so powerful that it threw her onto her side, scraping against the the smooth pebbles on the river bottom.

She hadn't known this sensation in all her years. She didn't know what to make of it, just that it was bad. Not natural. The flow in the water had changed, a force was coming.

She swam to the humans' lair and peered down through the portal, squinting her eyes to adjust to the change in the speed of light from water to air. They looked as though they were sitting down to breakfast, seeming oblivious to the shock in the water. She couldn't warn them, tried thrashing against the surface of the water in the portal.

Perhaps these ones under the water would survive, perhaps not. But those on the island above were finished.

The girl!

Her reflexive thought was of the estuary beasts, her enemies, the estuary dolphins.

She thought hard, back to the times in the Great Salt when she had listened to their chatter and learned their tongue.

So she called.

Come now! Come quickly! Rescue the humans who are good and kind and thoughtful, who care about you and all other creatures of the river.

Then she found a quiet place among the rocks and waited.

Emily and Malcolm and the witches were petrified. Emily was fearful of the water, having only been saved by a salmon the day before. She knew that Malcolm couldn't swim and that the witches didn't like the water. They all exchanged glances, starting to call their broomsticks, cast spells, only there wasn't time.

'Take a deep breath!' shouted Emily.

The wall of water reached the island and swallowed them up.

Emily was tossed about like a ragdoll. She held her breath, worried about banging her head off a rock.

But now, when she looks back on it, she can only smile.

Out of the chaos, a smooth, grey shape appeared. It lifted her up, higher than a salmon can only dream of, far above the deadly wave, up where the sun loves.

She was riding on a dolphin's back!

'Yee-haw!' she cried as she saw that Malcolm and Granny Annie and Granny Smith and all the other witches were also riding dolphins.

They all leapt into the sky, so high, their dolphins smiling, cackling like witches. The island below was covered in frothing water, the river level suddenly twice as high as before. The broomsticks flew up on automatic pilot, away from the water, after their owners.

The dolphins splashed back onto the surface, which was bubbling like a cauldron. But they could handle it. They swam to the shore, found a quiet place so that each passenger could safely get onto dry land.

Emily got onto the grassy bank first, glancing back to her dolphin saviour, saying Thank you, turning around to see the Boss there with his rifle, an evil smile on his twisted face, the gun pointed straight at her.

He fired, but not at Emily, at her dolphin.

The bullet made a sound like thunder on a bad day, splashed into the water. The dolphin jerked around at the last millisecond, avoided the deadly, hot lead.

The Boss pulled back on the bolt to get another bullet into the breech and ready to fire. But he wasn't fast enough. Eleven witches stood around him now, each with their right hand outstretched, energy flowing, covering him in an unearthly glow.

A flash.

A funny smell.

The Boss became a giant prawn, the biggest ever, maybe a foot long, a dolphin's favourite snack.

'I'm the Boss Shrimp!' he thought. 'I'm on top of the world!'

But before he even hit the ground he was whisked into the river, where the leader of the dolphin pod was waiting, her mouth open.

And that was the end of the Boss.

The dolphins called to each other: The wave is racing away, we must catch it, back to the salty estuary! Dolphins love to ride waves, so they said their goodbyes and off they went, surfing joyously down the river.

Emily said 'Wow!'

Malcolm said 'That was amazing!'

Granny Annie said 'I could do with a cup of tea about now.'

'And a ham sandwich,' added Granny Annie.

So they used magic to build a fire, hang a kettle over it, butter some bread, slice some ham and prepare a lot of mugs with teabags.

They sat down on the grass, exhausted but happy, and waited for the kettle to boil.

CHAPTER 30. THE SALMON OF KNOWLEDGE

The salmon emerged from her hiding place after the dolphins had gone and the flood of water had subsided. Everything balanced out. The river took care of that, pushing the flood waters onto the shore or downstream.

Then her old boyfriend appeared at her side.

'Is it time?' he asked.

'For the eggs to be laid?'

'Yes. How do you feel?'

'I feel... ready. Yes. It's time.'

So they found a gravelly patch in the shallows and she laid her eggs and he helped her and it was lovely. A thousand baby salmon would emerge in the spring and the amazing cycle would begin again.

'What now?' he asked. 'Will you come back to the Great Salty Ocean with me so that we may have another Mighty Adventure?'

'No,' she answered. 'I am tired. You go. I will stay here.'

So he went, down after the dolphins and she rested in the shallows. She felt weak, but so happy.

And her life ended.

Just like that.

'What's this?' said Granny Annie.

The others gathered round, gulping down their tea and finishing off their sandwiches.

'She's a beauty.'

'Finest salmon I've ever seen.'

'She's dead, poor crater. Let's cook her up while she's fine and fresh.'

So the salmon was gently lifted from the river. Granny Smith took a knitting needle and gutted the fish, then put her on a stick and over the fire.

'Malcolm, will you keep an eye on the fish while we fly back to the All-Seeing Eye? She'll be worried. Don't touch it until we get back, mind,' said Granny Annie. 'First taste is for Emily.' Why, she did not say.

'Okay, but..'

But they were gone, up into the air before he could say that he still had his shell communicator.

So he sat on the grass and watched the salmon slowly roasting over the crackling fire.

The salmon's skin was sizzling, and a great bubble appeared on it. Malcolm inched closer to the fish, savouring the smell, enjoying the heat from the fire. he prodded the blister with his finger, just because it seemed like the right thing to do. But it was hot, so hot. His finger burning, he stuck it straight into his mouth. Reflex.

And the knowledge of the Universe flooded into his brain.

The banshee emerged from the water then.

She bowed.

She smiled.

She was a beautiful young woman again.

She told Malcolm that she wanted to ask the witches' permission for Edna to stay with her down below. It was what Edna wanted. She could return to the land above the waters any time she wanted but, for now, she needed a rest.

'And she might be a help to ye, down there,' said the banshee.

'As long as she's happy,' said Malcolm.

And he knew that she was.

When the witches returned with Emily, Malcolm was sitting on the grass like a Buddha. For that was what he had become. He had taken in all the salmon's knowledge in that first taste.

'You were on the news,' said Granny Smith. 'You won. Your clones made the Government promise the extra penny in the pound, sorry euro, for education. But you knew that, didn't you?'

Malcolm nodded. 'All knowledge is there for the taking, Granny. Read. Listen. Experience.'

Emily smiled. She was happy at how everything had turned out. It was interesting.

'Well you'll have to experience something new fairly pronto, Malcolm. There's a big problem, a very big problem, up on the Hill of Tara and we've all got to fly there straight away. Are you up for that?'

'Try and stop me,' said Malcolm, standing up in a fluid motion, his right arm extended, the broomstick flying right into his palm.

'Well let's go,' said Emily riding her broomstick up into the bright blue sky. She turned to Malcolm. 'Can't catch me, smarty pants!'

And east they went, to the County of Meath.

THE END

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The Witch Grannies will return soon.

Book One, The Case of the Evil Schoolmaster, also available.

www.WitchGrannies.com
