Ahead of her Inteachán could see men gathered in coloured robes.

White and purple.

Cassocks. Capes. Collars.

Also military uniforms.

Dark blue. Epaulets. Bright medals.

Ceremonial swords.

And expensive suits. With men holding umbrellas for them to shelter under.

It was quite some procession in the driving rain.

Like a Saint’s Day of old.


Private security guards wearing fluorescent jackets and earpieces controlled the crowd that flowed around the stones. The Crowley Baird Inc. logo was clearly visible.

‘Don’t push,’ they shouted above the roar of the rain.

‘Keep moving now.’

‘You can’t stop there.’

Mac stumbled as the crowd surged behind him.

Inteachán gripped his coat and held on for dear life.

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