Au Fae Detective Agency - The Sgian Salann

Peter Bryson

Description

In a world where mythical creatures are real, yet unseen by us normal folks, Finn runs The Au Fae Detective Agency. With Bob, the sarcastic Bobcat, along with the help of Ami, a Fae police officer, they get caught in a fresh case that isn't as simple as it first seems.A historic knife, the Sgian Salann, is stolen from a prominent Nymph family, and Finn and the team are tasked with finding it. This leads them through the seedy underworld of the Fae and As Sidhe, with Goblins, Brownies and, of course, Kelpies, the ancient enemy of the Nymphs who may no longer be as dormant as they once appeared...

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 06 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781398473263
• Langue: English

Extrait

T he A u F ae D etective A gency - T he S gian S alann
Peter Bryson
Austin Macauley Publishers
2023-01-06
The Au Fae Detective Agency - The Sgian Salann About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement 1 The Boys Come to Town 2 A Wee Bit of Background Introduction to The Giant’s Causeway Story --> 3 There Were the Three Niadic Nymphs in a Bar… 4 On the Dog Bone 5 The Sister Meets the Kelpie and Hit It Off 6 The Wee Fella Is Found 7 Assault with a Steely Weapon 8 The Paperwork Part of Policing, Ughh! 9 Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You!! 10 Seeing Double 11 The Story So Far, My Boy, Is this… 12 Kris and Ash Live in the Same Flat 13 The Carnival Calls 14 Kevin the Troll 15 Von Pops to His Mummies 16 A Gold Star for Asterion 17 The Paperwork Part of a Kidnapping 18 Sisters in Steel 19 A Taxing Conference 20 All Roads Lead Back to Kevin 21 The Squeeze 22 Doon the Back of an Alley, Typical! 23 Unlucky for Some 24 It’s One Small Step for a Woman, One Giant Step for A… 25 The Climax! 26 Time Hop 27 Mr H Houdini’s New Apprentice 28 Finn Returns to Bionn 29 Misty Calls Her Mum
About the Author
Peter has been writing for many years, the last two with a more focused approach to fiction fantasy. He spent many years in the construction industry, culminating in a degree in sustainable architectural design. The dark mists of time had a varied career in the hotel, wine, and jewellery industries. Peter now lives in Central Scotland with his wife, Joy, two children and a locally famous Pyrenean Mountain dog; where he enjoys sailing in local lochs and seas, spending land time when he’s not writing, with good friends, wine, and food.
Dedication
I dedicate this to Fiona for literally telling me to write a book; sometimes, the push you need is from the most unlikely source. Thank you. And to Joy for her faith alone, oxo.
Copyright Information ©
Peter Bryson 2023
The right of Peter Bryson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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 publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398473256 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398473263 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
A massive dollop of gratitude to Greg, Lesley, Rich, Chas, my family, and all concerned at Austin Macauley for their understanding, patience, and assistance. There truly is no ‘I’ in book. With the hope, it was more like a plaster pulled than a broken leg to secure their help with the next one. I promise I will get better!
1 The Boys Come to Town
Sand crunched lightly as his pale bare feet pressed into the moist sand and gently lapped by warming seawater. His feet were tingling slightly from the mix of salt and sharp sand and the long walk in his bare feet.
‘That’s time,’ he thought, glancing at his watch, beginning the walk back towards the car park near the end of the beach. It was early May. The weather had been steadily warm, unusual for this part of the world any time of year. The day’s heat had been enough to wish for a walk on the cool, lukewarm shifting edge between sand and sea. He had used the time to let his thoughts wander about what might be for his future.
The sun unseen now, quickly setting behind the Gare Loch hills to his left, had, unnoticed by him, slipped behind the domineering hills on the opposite shore. With the light fading quickly, a refreshing cool breeze rose, touching his face momentarily. Light relief from the day’s heat, but warning of change, the evening would cool soon. The beach, now deserted, was filled only with acre upon acre of footprint memories and shallow graves of sandcastles, soon to be washed away in the next tide.
The lights and sounds from the carnival called to his senses. He drifted absentmindedly in the surf. He kicked water lightly as he emerged from the shallow water toward firmer, dryer ground just above the tideline. Looking at his watch, Ethan realised he had walked further than he had thought. He would have to get back to work soon. Having turned back a few moments before heading east and began to quicken his pace heading toward the unseen set of stairs to the nearest Carpark, mourning the warm, near-forgotten glow of the fading sun. Darkness began to take hold as the steps he sought came into view.
Barefoot still, He crossed awkwardly, the high tide line mix of seaweed and debris of previous tides. As he reached the other side of the notably broad line along the sand, something caught his attention, drawing his eyes out about 100 metres from the darkening shore. In the water, a large black object appeared in the darkening liquid. Ripples dispersed rhythmically across the sea loch’s smooth and gently rolling surface. A moment later, another popped up right beside it. Thinking they were seals, a common sight, he dismissed them. Instead, Ethan moved towards the steps not far in front of him. The beach rose on a short sharp incline pushed by persistent tides. He focused on the now more challenging walk in the dry, ill-gripping sand. He looked up momentarily from his purposeful steps out of curiosity and turned his head toward the water noticing the two objects were most definitely more elongated than a seal. They were heading quickly to the shore, like a pair of broken and tapered conning towers, revealing more of their base as they went. His feet stopped abruptly on the dry quicksand, in confusion, trying to make sense of what or if he saw in the dimming evening. There was no doubt that two horses were emerging from beneath the sea in the quickly shifting twilight. He realised what they might be. Panic set into his heart as it began to beat from the flush of chemicals dumped in fear into his body.
‘Have they seen me?’ he thought. They certainly made no sign of it. Without thinking, he had already squatted out of full view of the two creatures. Thinking quickly now, he turned away to put his shoes back on, brushing as much of the sand off his feet quickly and as best he could. The shoes struggled against his feet. The lightweight soft-sided shoes laughed with their tongues at his vain attempts again and again. His toe in one the heel fighting his attempts to tame it on the last shoe. Damn them. Panic rose further. Keeping his head down, Ethan could look now more carefully at the emerging horses. They had moved to within ten metres of the shoreline, moving more quickly in the shallower water. Most of the bodies of both horses’ had now emerged. He concentrated on getting his now stinging feet into what felt like the last sandpaper-lined shoe and getting the hell out of there while pretending he hadn’t seen a thing. Nothing to see here, simple! That was his panicked plan. He glanced nervously again; they were now splashing through the shallow water about their fetlocks; their colour, as far as he could tell in the light, was a very dark grey but not for sure. A slight green luminescence grew on them in the growing gloom, distorting any colours he may have seen around them.
More than a little freaked out now, he muttered quietly. “Time to fucking go!” his voice had risen a few octaves since he last spoke to his brother a few hours previously.
He stood as casually as he could. He pointed his nervous carcass away from the emerging horses and toward the steps. He walked with difficulty still over the dry shifting sand and tactless skin-peeling shoes. He self-consciously pulled his long curls down over his long-pointed ears, hoping they wouldn’t notice him or at least notice that little detail from that distance.
‘Don’t look back, don’t look back!’ he thought. He was mouthing his motivating muted mantra. At the same time, he kept his feet moving in the right direction, away from the animals on the beach, to relative safety, with luck to the shining lights of the fair. He desperately wanted to look back; like a drug, it took hold, ‘Are they getting close? Just keep moving up the steps!’ He told himself. A few cars were dotted about, giving an abandoned feel to the nearly empty car park; if he could get to the other side of that one, he had a chance.
‘Were they really what he thought? Don’t look back!’ The thought, his mantra, continuously running over and over in a loop. His head began to turn, instinctively reacting to the fear as he got to the last step. Managing just in time to stop himself, catching a glimpse from the corner of his eye, he noticed the two beasts shaking off the seawater glowing lightly in their phosphorescence. He headed straight ahead, reaching the relative safety of the nearest car, dropping his thin, now nearly tweaking body behind it. Curiosity now grew like a fine blade in his brain. The pain, bolstered by the sanctuary of the steel car, avoiding contact with it, he rose slightly. ‘I’ll just take a quick look through the windscreen,’ he thought. He could easily make them out on the beach.
They had, it seemed, paid little attention to him, if any. The luminescence had become stronger now between the two beasts as if they had a bunch of glow sticks each. It lit the beach surrounding them just enough to see that he could now tel