Dr. Rookwood and the Lucht Siúlta, part four

Two Years Ago, West Ireland

part one
part two
part three

"S'a fight!"

Crap. That snapped him awake. "What? Why!"

"Com'on," the traveller said, jerking on his arm. "Yer our one, a'right?"

"No, no, no," Josiah muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the low bunk. "I'm not getting in the middle of this. No way."

"Awready did," the lad snapped back in a so-far rare display of temper. He jerked the linguist out of bed and propelled him down the camper steps. Josiah winced at the spinning ground and stumbled. Already did? What'd he do? Tried to save either side from going to battle in the first place, didn't he? Did he? He still couldn't remember how he'd gotten on the ground, but he assumed it'd happened right after his whole "can't we all just be friends" routine. But if he'd said something else, sparked some kind of feud that wasn't already there... Craaaap.

"Sho-sye!" That was Aodh's voice, for sure. He yelled something Josiah was too groggy to understand. He sounded worried though. The lad next to him yelled back, something not very polite, and shoved Josiah forward and onto his knees.

"Aodh!" he called, rubbing at his temple. Ow, damnit! "What are you doing?"

"Oi, gadje," said the oldest traveller brother, suddenly crouched at his side. He snapped off a bunch of Shelta that made Josiah's head spin, and the linguist put his hands on the gypsy's shoulders in an attempt to slow absolutely everything down, lest he throw up the dinner they'd so graciously given him.

"Wait," Josiah mumbled. Clearly, whatever the old woman had given him for dizziness the night before had worn off in his sleep.

"Stee quiet, yeh?" the traveller hissed. In the distance, one of his brothers called out something in broken Irish that insinuated a trade, then Josiah's sort of mangled Irish name Sho-sye, and... pig. The linguist sighed. They were going to make a sort of trade - the villagers could either have him back, or the pig, but not both. And as obvious as it seemed that they'd choose Josiah over a pig, it was just as likely that they'd leave Josiah to leave the gypsies on his own. It wasn't as though the travellers were into the white slave trade, or anything. Theoretically, he could just take his leave of him the next day.

Apparently, someone from the gaeltaecht had come to the same conclusion, and shouted back that they'd take the pig, along with an unnecessary comment about it smelling better anyway. Ha, freakin' ha. Josiah slumped a little. Now that that was settled, maybe they could all go back to sleep. He wasn't feeling his best.

He felt even worse when the eldest traveller brother hauled him to his feet by his collar.

"Whoa, wait--"

"Oi!" the taller guy called out into the darkness, where presumably, Josiah's rescuers waited for their pig. He shook the linguist by the neck, and Josiah couldn't help grunting a little at the wave of nausea it induced. He missed the string of mostly Irish that followed, but he caught Aodh in the distance saying something like "You haven't got the balls!" or something. Not smart, Aodh. He didn't need to concentrate to understand that the vehement jabbering that came next meant, "Oh yeah! I'll show you balls!" The lead traveller leaned close to say, "Gov us a yell, then, blac."

Josiah wrinkled his nose up. "Just give em the pig. You stole it to start with." Not smart, Sho-sye. But even though his head ached and it'd really suck to walk all the way home the next day, it made the most sense.

Until it suddenly dawned on him what the string of mostly Irish had been, and what the traveller really did have the balls to do. Of course, it had to occur to him /after/ the traveller'd shoved him backwards into the waiting arms of two of his brothers. "Wait--!" he started, and was cut off by a backhand that would have sent him reeling if he hadn't been held up by the brothers on either side of him. He must have yelped or something, because Aodh's voice was almost immediate, asking them to stop or wait or something. He dragged a hand up to his face. For poor gypsies, they seemed to have no problem finding rings to wear. /Ow./

part five