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playing with party hats, throwing confetti at each other and mummy-wrapping some small victim from among their fellows with paper streamers and toilet paper. The victim didn't seem to be throwing a fit so John assumed the air supply was secure -- for the time being.
     
    A few parents were huddled in corners, trying to make the best of bug juice and kid-friendly snacks. A red-bearded, slightly beer-bellied fellow with a tangle of thick blonde hair rose from a padded chair in the corner and approached John. His weather-worn tunic of orange with brown trim looked as if it had been fitted to a younger and thinner version. The sleeves stopped at the middle of the forearm, and the v-neck had a leather thong tie, which dangled loose. His baggy pants looked like sweats, but they were clearly homemade. Odd leather sandals -- just a thick sole with straps that wrapped around his feet and partway up his calf -- completed the outfit and made him every bit the Celtic villager from a National Geographic magazine. Aside from the fillings in his teeth.
     
    Everyone else in the room was dressed normally.
     
    The man seemed to size John up as he crossed the family room, but he extended a large hand with a friendly smile, almost as if he expected to see him.
     
    "Sean Kerrigan," the Celt said.
     
    "John Matthews. Pleased to meet you."
     
    "Merry meet," Sean said. "Did you find the altar?"
     
    John's confused expression spoke volumes to Sean's keen eye.
     
    "Oh. Sorry. Since you came with Jillian I just assumed. Can I get you a beer?" John nodded and they slipped onto the porch to retrieve two bottles from a small cooler. Another Celtic warrior arrived a few minutes later and John learned that the two of them were part of the entertainment for the birthday party. Sean -- who went by the name Aethelred -- and Andrew -- a.k.a. Wolfgang -- staged a rather impressive mock battle for the children on the flood-lit patio.
     
    Wolfgang sported a full suit of chain armor, complete with coif, gloves and metal-plated leather greaves. He wielded a two-handed sword and kept a tremendously large battle axe on a clip at his belt. Sean opted for mobility in this fight, wearing only an iron and leather cap and carrying a small wooden shield, painted with various insignia and runes that John couldn't read. He plied his war hammer like a Viking, and John often flinched as blows were exchanged.
     
    They simulated several bouts of personal combat, arousing the attention of the neighbors, who relished the action from across the fence. For the children, especially the boys, this was far better than any pony ride or pin-the-tail game. And when pouring sweat and repeated blows prevented Sean from keeping his helmet on straight, the combat was over and the children got to take turns shooting at him with padded arrows.
     
    After each child had a chance to take several shots, Anne rescued Sean's aching shield arm by producing a cake and ice cream for the children. John, Andrew and Sean had another beer instead, and John questioned them closely on their armor, tactics and weapons.
     
    "Oh, don't be afraid of this," Sean said, and quickly whacked John on the head with his hammer. The molded foam yielded against his skull, giving him a solid jolt, but no pain.
     
    Jillian caught John's eye and smiled.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    The distinctive chime of a Google instant message interrupted John's final review of a rather boring commercial floor plan. He turned off his light table and swiveled his 17-inch flat panel computer monitor into view.  
     
    It was from a user he didn't recognize, and while it called him by name, that was no great trick, since his username was "JohnMath." Assuming the message was some instant message version of spam he was about to add the address to his filter list, but something suddenly clicked.
     
    Aethlrd:               John? 
     
    Oh yeah? The Celt.
     
    His spoken reply was instantly translated into text and