The White Niggers of Eire, Part 4
"Is that him?"
Nine days had passed since I struck my win-win deal with Connor McDermott, the Belfast Quartermaster. Now, on the final day of June, I found myself in Londonderry, a city roughly a hundred kilometers northwest of Belfast. It was a city our Irish nationalist friends, including the IRA, simply called Derry. The British had tacked the name of their own capital onto the front of the original city to strip away its Irish identity. To put it in perspective, it was like Japan suddenly swallowing Gyeongsang Province and renaming Busan to "Tokyo-Busan."
"That's him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall—about a head taller than you, milady. He matches the file perfectly."
Pavel confirmed. I added dryly,
"Hmm. Looking at him, he must have broken quite a few hearts in his youth. Not that he doesn't still look young. Who does he think he is, Oscar Wilde?"
"Isn't that a bit of an unnecessary tangent...?"
I shrugged, replying in a tone that suggested otherwise.
"It's entirely necessary. I'm the one who has to pretend to fall for that face, aren't I?"
The target, captured clearly through my binoculars, was a perfect match for the description Pavel had verified. His greasy, mid-to-late-twenties face was exactly as depicted in the files Rybakov had provided. A wide stretch of the River Foyle, which cut through the city, separated us from our quarry, Declan Mackin. Pavel and I sat on a cafe terrace south of the river, while our target was across the water, in the City Cemetery on the north side. According to Rybakov's intel, Declan Mackin frequently visited that cemetery to honor comrades who had fallen in the struggle against the British. Having observed him myself, it seemed the reports were true. The week-long surveillance carried out by my subordinates had yielded the same pattern, leaving no room for doubt.
"I just hope he isn't the type who relies on his looks and slacks off on his magic."
This would be my first time fighting a proper mage who had trodden the path of magic in this life. If I was going to test the depth of my arcane mastery, it would be far more satisfying to bring down a formidable opponent.
Pavel swallowed a bite of his jam-spread scone and replied, "He's said to be the IRA's strongest magical asset, so he should be worth the anticipation, shouldn't he?"
"Hmm."
"He's quite young, and it's highly unlikely he secured such a position on looks alone."
"I hope your intuition is right."
As I stirred my black tea while keeping an eye on the rival mage, Pavel suddenly lobbed an unexpected question my way.
"By the way, will you be alright?"
"About what?"
"Well, if you get tipsy, you might end up doing something completely unplanned, milady."
"...?"
What nonsense was he spouting now? I stopped stirring my teacup and leaned toward Pavel, gesturing for him to elaborate.
"I've watched over you for more than ten years now, milady. As far as I know, you've never touched alcohol, cigarettes, or any other harmful substances."
"Is... that so?"
"About five or six years ago, you avoided Lord Bronsky like the plague because you said he smelled of cigarettes."
Now that he mentioned it, a faint memory of such an incident flickered in the back of my mind. I gave a vague nod and urged him to get to the point. "And?"
"Right after that, a total ban on smoking was issued to the entire upper echelon of the syndicate. Lord Bronsky included."
It was like a corporate chairman banning smoking for all executives just because his daughter whined, "I hate the smell of cigarettes on Daddy!" It was a ridiculous story, but it was a concrete memory. Given my current body, if someone smoked right next to me, I would probably start coughing violently and tearing up instantly. I asked back, my face filled with skepticism.
"Pavel, what are you trying to say?"
"I suspect alcohol might yield a similar reaction. As your head of security, the thought of you infiltrating enemy territory alone and drinking in a defenseless state doesn't sit well with me."
"What?"
"Who knows? You might turn beet red after just a single glass."
It was so absurd that I let out a dry laugh and playfully punched Pavel's shoulder.
"Shut up."
The date of the operation was set for the night June transitioned into July. Long after the sun had set, word came from the tailing squad that Mackin had entered his favorite pub. I immediately headed out, leaving a brief interval before Pavel followed. To approach the target, I had prepared a cover identity: a fresh-faced college freshman who had just moved to the city. Since it wasn't a long-term alias, I hadn't gone through any official administrative channels; a forged ID was the extent of my preparations, just in case. With a touch of makeup, making my sixteen-year-old self look eighteen was child's play.
Mackin's regular haunt was a moderately popular, typical pub. Given his appearance, I had half-expected him to be sipping whiskey in some high-end lounge, so this was a bit of a surprise. Perhaps because it was located near the university district, the patrons inside were mostly college students, despite it being summer break. Still, there were more empty seats than people. Had it been the Premier League season, the place would have been packed. Our target blended in seamlessly. I knew him to be three or four years older than Delis and a year or two younger than Pavel, but he could easily pass for a respectable college student. I approached the bar where Mackin sat alone and asked naturally,
"Hi there. Mind if I sit here?"
Startled by the sudden voice at his side, Mackin whipped around. He gave me a quick up-and-down scan before replying.
"Ah, of course. It's free."
The swiftness of his gaze suggested this was far from his first rodeo. It was amusing how transparent his thoughts were. The files had described him as a playboy who would hit on any pretty face, whether they were an ordinary citizen or a fellow IRA member, and the assessment was spot on. I couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. How was it that every single man I encountered was exactly like this, without exception? Still, it brought the operation closer to success, so I had no right to complain. An organization harboring such a ticking time bomb was bound to face major issues sooner or later. It was bad enough for a rank-and-file member, but even more so for someone holding a relatively high position. Therefore, burying this man was beneficial not only for our immediate goal of crippling the IRA's magical forces, but also for the future of the IRA, which would be reorganized under the leadership of Rybakov and myself.
Pavel's warning flashed through my mind. Yes, I had to do everything in my power to prevent alcohol from clouding my judgment. I ordered a cranberry juice from the menu, prompting Mackin to ask curiously,
"Not much of a drinker, I take it?"
"I'm not really used to it yet. Though I suppose I should get used to it before the term starts."
"Oh, are you a freshman?"
I naturally slipped into my cover persona, and he took the bait instantly.
"Ah... yes. I'm Éireann O'Ruanaigh. I'll be attending Ulster University nearby starting this autumn term. I managed to find a room, but the city is still so confusing. And I don't really have anyone I can call a friend yet..."
Before magic is cast, there is no way to detect a hidden mage. My innate Charm, which I could only control in intensity but not suppress entirely, was beyond the detection of even the most prominent mages, so it was out of the question. The same went for Spiegel, which had been fashioned into a locket. Unless I activated the power of the national relic, it was nothing more than an ordinary piece of jewelry. And so, the Irish patriot showed no hesitation as his lower half began to stir.
"Ulster University... That's a prestigious school! I actually know a few current students and alumni myself. I could introduce you to them if you'd like. Ah, I'm Declan Mackin, by the way."
His claim of knowing people there was likely no lie. Given how deeply the IRA had penetrated Northern Irish society, it wouldn't be strange at all for him to have connections at the university. ...In fact, it would be stranger if he didn't. With that, Mackin emptied his glass in an instant and ordered two pints of Guinness. Playing the part of the innocent, newly arrived freshman, I asked naively,
"Why two pints...?"
"Since we've crossed paths, let me buy you a drink."
At this moment, I welcomed the target's nature of letting his groin do the thinking. Every single operation we would conduct during the IRA's magical vacuum would be a cornerstone of our future infiltration plans. I started by offering a polite, feigned hesitation.
"I'm not really used to it, but it would be rude to refuse. Thank you, Declan."
Yet, a corner of my mind remained uneasy. Even if I didn't get completely wasted, a single sip of alcohol could cloud my judgment. Pavel's warning, though I had tried to brush it aside, lingered uncomfortably. If even leisure in the rear should wait until the job is fully done, how much more so on the battlefield? The haze induced by alcohol was comparable to my own Charm. Why should I allow myself to be tripped up by something so similar to my own weapon? It would be wonderful if everything went exactly as planned, but in the field, unavoidable situations always arose. Being too standoffish would only look unnatural.
"Then it's only fair that I buy the snacks."
I ordered a plate of fish and chips and accepted the pint of stout. My plan was to push as much of the beer onto the target as possible while I merely grazed to keep up appearances. The drinking session, which had essentially become an extension of my work, mostly consisted of listening to Mackin ramble on excitedly. Of course, I occasionally chimed in with my persona—a girl born to a farming family in the Northern Irish countryside who had only arrived in "Derry" a few days ago. When Mackin realized I referred to the city as Derry rather than Londonderry, a rare look of deep satisfaction crossed his face. It was the satisfaction of confirming that Éireann O'Ruanaigh had not indulged in the decadent culture of the British, but had preserved her Irish national identity. The mage also seemed inwardly pleased that my name contained "Éire," the Irish word for Ireland. Naturally, this was all calculated when I crafted the cover identity. Honestly, this whole concept of nationhood was something I would never understand.
By now, Mackin had finished a full pint, while I had managed about half of mine. Since I had pre-emptively excused myself by saying the bitter aroma of the Guinness was quite strong, I was able to pace my drinking. It seemed my head of security's intuition had been spot on; this body of mine did not handle alcohol well at all. Even after just half a pint of beer, I could feel my face burning up. Seriously, this was a bit much. Of course, the world wasn't spinning by any means, but being fuss over by my target was hardly a normal state of affairs.
"Are you alright? I think it might be better if you drank a bit slower."
"Ah... yes, I'm fineee."
A lie. I was actually not fine. Yet, even in this state, a mage's cold reason was working to turn the situation to my advantage. *Thud.* My head slumped onto Mackin's forearm. I followed it up by letting out an uncharacteristic, whiny hum, rubbing my hair against his sleeve. *Ah, fuck.* A curse welled up inside me at the sheer humiliation I had to endure just to kill a single mage. The only silver lining was that my cheeks and ears were already flushed red, so there was no room left to look any worse. If it were possible, I would have used Spiegel or whatever else right here to obliterate this bastard without leaving a trace of a corpse. But with so many eyes watching, it had to remain a mere thought.
"Ugh... I'm sorry. Could I have some water...?"
"Ah, yes! Of course! Here you go!"
Why was this target, who must have shared drinks with countless women, so visibly flustered? Probably because, out of all those experiences, he's never met anyone like me. As we raised our glasses—and from midway through, my water glass—our eyes met countless times. However, my Charm, the extra measure meant to keep the target from realizing he had walked into a trap, wasn't working well. I had half-expected this, but its efficacy seemed to drop drastically against a proper mage. The magical path walked by each mage is unique and singular. Thus, any magic cast directly by one mage upon another inevitably escalates into a clash of their respective paths. If you suddenly demand someone already walking their own path to step onto yours, resistance is bound to occur. Meanwhile, I finished off the last piece of french fry. It was too awkward to order more food now. I intended to use this turning point to drive the final nail into Mackin's coffin.
"I think I've had a bit too much... I should probably head out."
"Are you leaving already?"
The target expressed his disappointment openly.
"...I should."
I paused, letting out a soft, hesitant hum before continuing. I paired it with a bright, beaming smile. "Unless... you'd like to walk me home? If you're going to help me make friends, I think Declan and I should become good friends first."
He would have to be an idiot not to understand that. I could see him trying his best to suppress his sheer delight. After settling the bill, we stepped outside the pub. Only then did my head begin to clear. Even in summer, the night air of Londonderry, situated at a high latitude, was pleasantly cool. Next, I lured my prey into an alleyway. It was an alley I had previously confirmed had no CCTV cameras, yet remained well within the sight of my subordinates stationed all around. Even with his mind consumed by the anticipation of what was to come, Mackin's sharp mage instincts prompted him to ask,
"Éireann, do you really live around here?"
I brushed it off with a light laugh. "Ahaha... I wanted to find a nicer place, but my family's farm back home hasn't been doing very well lately. And the government takes most of what we make in taxes anyway..."
Just laughing it off wasn't enough. Providing a common target for resentment proved to be the best tactic, as he eagerly jumped on it.
"My thoughts exactly! Do you have any idea how much prices have soared since the current government took office?"
"The university dorms aren't cheap either. Honestly, the reason I was worried about making friends was... well, hanging out costs money, you know?"
"You're very mature. When I was your age, I think I was only focused on having fun."
Hmm, is it really any different now? The only difference was that he had awakened his magic, joined the IRA, and secured a decent position. His core character and maturity hadn't changed a bit.
"Well... at least I saved some money tonight by meeting someone as kind as you. Like you said, Declan, this is fate, so I should return the favor."
I thought to myself, the only reason he's acting this defenseless is because of his confidence as a mage. It was the arrogance of believing no one would dare ambush him under the cover of night. Even if an attack did occur, it certainly wouldn't come from a girl who got tipsy off half a pint of Guinness. Besides, with layers of defensive magic active, he was largely immune to long-range assaults. All I had to do was exploit that blind spot. After another ten minutes of walking down the alleyways, I stopped at a dead end, my mind now fully alert.
"Éireann, is this really it? This doesn't look like a place where anyone would live...?"
His wariness, which had grown in proportion to the depth of the alley, finally reached its peak. Yet, the lingering shred of expectation suppressed any swift reaction. It was the combined result of his condescending mindset that viewed women as mere one-night stands, the pleasant buzz of the alcohol, and finally, my Charm, which I had activated just enough to cast a faint, hazy fog over his senses. I slowly turned around and walked toward the entrance of the alley. To trap my prey—Declan Mackin—in the dead end. In the next moment, I cast aside all pretense and declared,
"Yeah, this is the place. I told you, didn't I? Since I saved money on the drinks, I'm going to return the favor."