Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lugh carried his luggage into the white-carpeted room high above the Hotel Conqueridor. He placed them a few moments later in front of the bedside table, examining the rest of the living space. The king sized bed was covered with light brown and beige bed sheets. Above the bed was an abstract painting that held little metaphorical significance to him. The large entertainment center was placed between a table with a corded phone that he would not use and a miniature refrigerator filled with tiny bottles of alcohol and sugary foods he had no desire to eat or drink.
As he stepped into the tiled bathroom, he examined the silk shower curtains that touched the spacious oval shaped bathtub three steps from him. What arrogance and prescience, he thought, these humans have to create a separate room designed to refresh and clean themselves of the day’s excursions.
Lugh gazed down at the porcelain toilet. “What is this?” He moved his hand over to the metal handle connected to the large piece of porcelain and pushed it down.
The swirl of the water inside the bowl fascinated Lugh for a few seconds. Suddenly, a small stream of water shot out from within the bowl six inches in the air, catching him by surprise. In an act of self-defense, he took out his phone which turned into a formed Tromm sword, smashing the toilet to pieces in one foul swoop. He stared for a time at the broken pieces of porcelain lying at his feet as a pool of toilet water started forming.
“Humans,” Lugh chuckled.
His laughter was interrupted by three hard knocks coming from his front door. The staccato voice of the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff echoed shortly after. “PM wants all staff down in the Conference Hall at 1600.”
“Aye, sir.” As the footsteps faded from earshot, Lugh returned the sword to its phone form. He then placed it in his pocket and made his way out. After taking a handful of steps, he turned around and went back to repair the damaged piece of porcelain using a repair spell from ages ago. No point in inviting unneeded scrutiny from the staff members in the room, he thought.
He walked over to the side of the bed facing the window that looked out at the city. He closed his eyes, and within mere moments the clothes that he wore started to change. His gray suit coat steadily turned as black as coal. The tan slacks black as well, matching the coat. His white shirt was cleaned and pressed while still on his body. The individual loose threads on his shirt were plucked and then weaved together in front of his collar in the form of a light blue tie. The few moments later, the finished product weaved around Lugh’s neck in a perfect knot just as he opened his eyes.
Lugh examined the finished product from the reflection in the window, pleased by the result. He then opened the doors of the entertainment center, revealing the thirty inch television inside. He sat down Indian style on the floor and stared deeply into the center of the dark screen for a couple of seconds before reciting a meditative chant that he had learned from his associate in the Underworld. Before the coup he initiated Avalon. Before he was captured by Dagda’s men and placed in the Neamhchinneacht.
“Gods cainte
Éist le mo pléadáil
Beir ar an teanga na Spáinne
Síos go dtí mé
Mar sin, Mote sé a bheith.”
The chant continued for another minute. Suddenly the TV flashed on, beaming a steady stream of static noise throughout the room. To Lugh, it carried the collective acumen of the Spanish language. He absorbed in his vast mind each verb, noun, predicate, and adjective with the skill and effortlessness of a native speaker. He also learned the proper sentence structure in seconds what Spanish children normally took years to acquire. The static noise rose to a high crescendo at the fifteenth minute before the room was silent once more.
He opened his eyes and grinned, dusted a few specks of dirt from his coat and picked up his suitcase from the bed side. “I’m ready!”
In the hallway were staff members and assistants from the other countries in attendance in front of him. Each one chattering something different in their native language as they made their way to the elevator.
Sally caught sight of Lugh from within the crowd. “Ah, hello again Welshie,” Sally bellowed as she gave him a hearty pat on the back. Clutched in her free hand was a collection of government dossiers as well as a pair of skinny headphones. “Time to journey to the Lion’s Den!”
“Indeed…” said Lugh, looking at her blouse front but thinking of the name before finding her nametag. “...Sally. How do these meetings usually operate?”
The elevator chimed open.
“Well, it usually starts with a speech by the leader of the host country,” Sally said as she stepped in to the lift with Lugh and eight others. Spanish Muzak played in the background, mixing with the chatter of the people’s individual conversations. “They welcome the assembly, talk about how great their country is and the amount of good that will come in the future. The usual politician’s nonsense. After that, we then go to the individual speakers.”
The elevator chime rang once again, and its doors opened.
“Normally they’re the big power players in the group like the U.S., Germany, Russia, France, China, us,” she continued, following the rest of the young staffers out of the lift and through the lobby. “Each speaker follows the same pattern with their speeches. They talk about how innovative their country has been on the economy or foreign affairs or health care. How their ideas can be the magic silver bullet that can help the rest of the world if they just follow them. It’s sort of like Parliament, just with bigger wankers.”
“When does the actual work begin?” Lugh asked, stepping through the hotel’s front door into the early morning air.
Sally chuckled. “Sometime between the cocktail parties and the trip back home.”
“So why are we even here?” Amanda asked as they walked along the sidewalk.
“Someone has to condense all this out to the press into easily digested soundbytes,” she grinned. The main conference hall at the Teatro de Cielo was faintly visible in the distance.
***
Leaders of each European nation in attendance stood before their seats, talking about policy as Lugh entered the Teatro alongside Sally. In the balcony area sat members of the press, most of whom he recognized from the airport yesterday. He walked over to the row of seats near the front of the stage where the other U.K. translators sat. The technical staff was working on the microphone and stereo system of the podium onstage in preparation for the beginning of the summit as he took a seat.
Five minutes later, the Chief of Staff came out from backstage and stood at the very edge of the row. Each of the small staff were busy with their own duties, getting themselves situated with their headphones on and laptops, or tablet computers in some cases, ready to transcribe the day’s proceedings into English. Their focus was pulled toward their superior when they noticed him move toward Lugh.
“What’s going on,” Lugh asked the C.O.S. as Sally and the others looked on next to him.
“The Prime Minister wants to speak with you.” Lugh could tell by the Chief of Staff’s tone of voice that there was a sense of urgency behind his statement.
“Did he say why?” The other translators sat silent but listening.
“He did not,” the Chief of Staff looked down at his watch for a moment and then back at him. “Just that he wanted to see you immediately, Mr. Pearson.”
Lugh stood up and followed the Chief of Staff up the row to the small staircase leading to the stage. They continued for a few moments in silence, passing the Spanish President as he discussed some last minute details with his advisors before his speech. Finally, they reached a concealed area backstage where Prime Minister Temple was going through the same routine, discussing his speech with people from the Press Office.
The Prime Minister appeared to be reading. He did not look up as Lugh stood with the Chief a few feet in front of him. “I think you have an idea of why I brought you up here.”
“I cannot say that I do, sir.” Lugh said, playing coy.
The PM handed the speech over to one of the advisors. “I’m gonna go with the plan you gave me, Luke.” He stepped closer to Lugh. “I want you seated onstage during my speech before the full assembly tomorrow.”
“This is an amazing honor, sir,” Lugh proclaimed with a beaming smile. “I don't know if I am worthy of such consideration.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Temple said calmly, placing his hand on Lugh’s shoulder. “There’s no way I was going to let the brainchild of our country’s policy for the next two decades be seated with staffers when I announce it to the world.”
The Chief of Staff frowned and stepped between them. “Are you sure you want to trust your political future on someone who hasn’t even been in this government for a month?”
“He is exactly the kind of person we should be listening to, Ryan,” the PM barked, sending the subordinate backward a step. “Someone who is young, fresh, energizing, not beholden to the ways of Old Europe that have gotten us here. That is what will help sell it to the continent and the world.”
“You still have time to go with the more Party-friendly speech,” the Chief of Staff offered. “This is not the time to be experimenting in massive governmental boondoggles. We should be—”
“I am the Prime Minister!” Mr. Temple shouted. “Unless you have a ready-made No Confidence vote or a resignation letter hiding in your trouser pocket, I suggest you shut it and stand with me.”
“Yes, sir.” Ryan narrowed his eyes and turned on his heel. Mr. Temple watched him walk away before he turned his attention to Lugh. “I shall see you bright and early tomorrow morning, Mr. Pearson. I hope you’re ready.”
Lugh returned to the audience, sitting back down in the same row with the other translators moments before the summit began. After the Spanish President’s introduction, French President Trien came on stage to courteous applause from the attendees. His speech touted the benefits of increased spending on education and infrastructure he promoted in his country to lift them out of recession. The President lamented the slow pace toward wide implementation of his policies, but contended how popular they were among his countrymen. Inside the conference hall though, he was part of a minority who espoused such policies.
After he finished and exited the stage to mixed applause, the German Chancellor came on to a much louder chorus of cheers from colleagues supportive of her pro-austerity measures. She spoke of the policies that slashed large amounts of “unnecessary waste” from the national budget with reverence and pride, touting the positive effect long term on the budget in Germany. She also attacked the idea of grand, free spending policies shared by her associate in France as “a seagull hanging over our necks.” It continued on for hours with each of the leaders that spoke falling either under the pro-austere or pro-spending group with the young staff translating each one.
Lugh soon became bored and decided to secretly have some fun with the remaining speakers. The results of which were evident in a headline in the New York Times that ran the following morning- “President Talks in Tongues at G20.”
***
The consensus inside the room as the first day concluded was that little progress was made toward a solid economic policy. The translators gathered their stacks of notes and started to make their way back to the hotel for some well needed rest. As Lugh walked up the long aisle to the exit doors, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a shadowy figure. He was a little surprised to find out on further examination that the figure was not a man but a woman.
She was dressed all in black, standing amongst a group of journalists either seeking interviews with high-ranking officials or actively engaging in them. She was the only reporter who used a notepad and pencil to write what she had seen instead of the typical laptop or tablet computer. And unlike her colleagues, the woman also didn’t seem to have any interest in engaging socially with other reporters or bureaucrats.
“That reporter looks familiar,” Lugh said, stopping in the middle of the walkway to examine further her blank canvas of a face. A second later, he came to a realization. “Ghede!”
Ghede swung around and immediately recognized Lugh a few feet from her. She disappeared a second later in a puff of smoke out of the Teatro. He followed quickly, tracking her trajectory rushing past some people standing in his way, including Sally who gave him a confused look.
Lugh ran down the nearby streets searching for Ghede using the distinct sulfur-like aroma that her smoky presence left. He tried to maintain a casual demeanor so as to not arouse suspicion among the other humans. Finally, he got within range of Ghede as she waited to cross a street. As he crept up behind her, she noticed him and flashed out at increasing speed down the Plaza de San Agustin.
He continued the chase, passing more civilians with each block. A few minutes later, Lugh was able to corner her along an alleyway just as she shifted back to a solid form. As he moved closer, she pulled out a phone that transformed into a katana-styled sword in the blink of an eye. She then charged at Lugh and swung. The blade of the sword caught him in the middle of his abdomen, driving him to the ground.
“Is that how you want to play this?” Lugh pulled himself up to his feet, pressing his hand on the wound for a second as he reached for his Molltach. “Who am I to protest?”
He raised the phone into the sky as it transformed into a Tromm sword. The two gods stood across from one another on the little stretch of alleyway, staring each other down like the hero and the villain in a gritty Western. Each side waited for the other to make the first move for as their weapons gleaming in the glow of the street lights nearby.
"I gotta say, this is a rather clever identity you have carved up here,” Ghede said, sizing him up with her immaculately crafted blade. “You could have stood to improve on the looks though.”
The two of them shortly traded blows with their swords, echoing far and wide. “What are you planning for Earth?!” Ghede asked, blocking a blow from Lugh. She then responded with a forearm check to Lugh’s face.
The blow sent him flying high in the air into a car parked fifteen feet away. The impact caved in the car’s roof like an empty soda can. He emerged from the smoldering wreckage a moment later. “Do you honestly believe I am going to tell you my master plan?” His wounds spontaneously healed as he spoke. “Or that you will be alive to see it come to fruition?
“You can’t blame a ghost for trying!” She grinned with her sword up, charging to the middle of the street toward Lugh. The clang of their blades as they collided reverberated throughout the frightened city, blowing apart windows nearby.
The battle between the two combatants grew more intense with each passing second, slowly filling the air of downtown Valencia. Pellets of blacktop shot out in all directions, making sizable dents in nearby light poles and smashing dozens of shop and restaurant windows. The two competitors leapt off the street after a half hour and continued their fight on the roofs of skyscrapers and office buildings. A crowd of onlookers began to gather on the ground below and watched as the fight continued above while others fled the destruction, carrying their fellow injured citizens to safety.
“Why is the Guardian spying on me?” Lugh bellowed before connecting his sword to Ghede’s right arm. “Is Brigid that desperate for information?”
“I was here on assignment covering the summit,” Ghede replied clutching her arm, looking up at him as she crawled along the roof a dentist’s office. “I had no idea you were even here.”
“Is that so,” Lugh landed on the hard tile roof and slowly walked up as she tried to recover. “Explain then who my associate saw spying on him in Colchester a while back.”
Before Ghede could respond, he raised his sword high into the air to deliver a kill shot. She quickly zipped off into the sky, evading the blade by inches. Lugh holstered his blade and chased after her at supersonic speed. A few moments later, the demi-god caught her and proceeded to drive Ghede’s body down to the stadium above them that was home to the city’s Football team, the Plaza de Toros des Valencia. The wind whipped across his face with increasing intensity as he moved closer and closer to his target.
“This doesn’t have to be how it ends, Ghede,” Lugh uttered as his short hair whipped around in the night sky. “All you have to do is tell me what your people know about the master plan.”
Ghede chuckled, grinning as they entered the large gap of the stadium’s retractable roof. “I have a much better idea.”
She disappeared from sight a millisecond later, leaving him to fall the remaining couple hundred feet down to the pitch below. He conjured hundreds of individual Lughs on both sides of the pitch to help with the aftermath seconds before landing with the force of a small meteorite.
The impact reverberated through every inch of the palatial stadium, dislodging rows of seats from their hinges and shooting them out to the empty concession area. It also blew apart the electronic scoreboard to the north of the stadium along with the stadium’s lighting equipment. His doppelgangers converged in the center of the pitch, forming a circle around the one and a half mile wide crater. The first wave of the doppelgangers stepped inside and began to search for the original amidst the dirt and concrete.
He was found four minutes later pinned to a hardened block of earth, and lifted out in the arms of his clone. Lugh’s clothes were torn and heavily damaged as the result of the fight and the hard crash back to earth. The scars and bruises across his torso started to heal as the doppelgangers slowly stood him to his feet. Each of the extra doppelgangers faded from his view as he got his bearings back on the grass pitch.
He looked around and examined the destruction inside the Plaza as the remaining two doppelgangers faded from view. This is going to be difficult to explain, he thought. Lugh slowly walked up the middle of the pitch, thinking about how he would explain to the scores of witnesses, either unharmed or potentially injured, who saw it happen. Then, he saw a billboard in Spanish on the edge of the pitch for a blockbuster Hollywood movie and came up with an idea.
***
Lugh stepped back inside the Conqueridor later that evening to notice a group of tourists congregating at the bar with a few non-essential governmental staff. He also could hear a steady stream of paramedics Lorries rushing in the direction of the wrecked football stadium. Judging by the sounds of men and women singing Spanish pop music at the top of their lungs, he surmised that it was some type of mass performance.
“Holy shit, newbie!” Sally roared, stepping out of the bar to greet Lugh. “Looks like you’ve been in a fight.”
Lugh gave a faint chuckle, dusting a bit of dirt off his shirt from the pitch that he missed. “You could say that.”
She smiled at him, “The guys and I are having a few drinks before we call it a night. Care to join us?”
He quickly shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” Sally rolled her eyes and walked back to the bar, muttering something resembling “bloody bore” under her breath.
Lugh discarded the woman’s insult and retreated to his room to rest. Tomorrow would be a big day in this planet’s history, he thought. The survivors will see this day as the return of utopia to this little speck of dirt.