In Search of the Alter Dom (20 page)

Choosing the most elegant dress of green, blue and yellow and a pair of matching shoes; all she needed now was to braid a few strands of her hair: make her skin as pale as pale moonlight, paint her cherry pie lips the brightest red and put on false eyelashes.

Blodwyn laughed when she looked into a mirror; she looked like a tart from Cardiff – her mother would go ape – and murder her!

She was ready when Karak knocked on the door. He was dressed in a smart formal dress uniform and for once, did not have his Samurai sword. Blodwyn noticed he wore a metal band around his head. “Some kind of ornament,” she thought: the Cold-blood looked worried. ‘The Glin-Adare, a powerful race from the third quadrant, has belatedly decided to send a diplomat to the banquet. The Glin-Adare has a computer for a brain – and will want every detail,’ says the Cold-blood, ‘it could prove awkward.’

‘You mean a robot?’ Blodwyn asks.

‘The Glin-Adare are a race of androids created by a mad drunken, Irish genius – their diplomat will be most persistent with his questions.’

‘Will he see through my playacting?’ asks Blodwyn, concerned.

‘Yes,’ answers Karak, ‘they are well versed with all the races of Earth. In fact their inventor came from a part of Earth you call Ireland.’

‘How can Terasils be classed as low primitives,’ Blodwyn asks smugly, ‘if they can produce genius?’

‘Earth produces many geniuses – but they are usually ignored, declared insane, or burnt at the stake – that’s the attitude of low primitives.’ Blodwyn remembered that Glin and Adare were two towns in Limerick. Her father was born in Glin on the banks of the Shannon – they might even know each others families. If she could only get a message to the mad Irish genius; maybe he could help her. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Blodwyn asks.

‘No, I have already taken precautions,’ answers the Cold-blood. ‘The electrical brain circuit of the Glin-Adare cannot tolerate alcohol – unlike their mad Irish inventor – who seems to thrive on the substance! I have taken the precaution of spiking the androids’ lube oil – their only sustenance, with strong alcohol – let’s hope he drinks it – it will short-circuit his electronics.’

‘Can I check to see if the android has drunk the spiked lube?’ she asks.

‘No,’ answers the Malis Afar, ‘we will listen at his door – they become very vocal when drunk, just like their inventor, and sing strange wild songs!’ The pair make their way to the banqueting hall.

Ahead of them in the corridor, a cabin door opens and out steps an immaculately dressed figure with ginger hair and a green uniform with a large shamrock emblem on its back. Around its neck the android wore a pink ladies scarf. Karak signaled Blodwyn to stop and whispers…, ‘The Glin-Adare, stand still!’ The Glin-Adare android broke into drunken song.
‘The minstrel boy to the war has gone, his wild harp slung behind him….. We are the boys of old Wexford….and he rode like a king in command….’
But to Blodwyn’s surprise the android suddenly became aware of their presence. While the android’s body continued walking forward – only the head of the Glin-Adare turned a full half circle and foolishly grinned at them. The eyeballs of the Glin-Adare spun backwards like a slot machine; the android then made the call of a cuckoo. Reaching a t-junction in the corridor, the android moon-walked to his left, still grinning at them.

‘Our fish has taken the bait,’ says the Cold-blood with satisfaction, ‘he has already lost his sense of direction – and has gone the wrong way!’

Reaching the entrance of the banqueting hall, Blodwyn swept past the Cold-blood nose in air, and after a few steps, stopped and glared at the Malis Afar. ‘You are casting your shadow on my freckles – five paces behind me, if you please,’ she orders, falling into the part of Grunwalde.

‘I beg your pardon, your majesty,’ the Cold-blood complies.

Entering the banqueting room Blodwyn saw a massive round table loaded with delicious looking food, and the queerest bunch of aliens seated around it. Every alien diplomat except one, was wearing a shiny metal bands around its head. As she swept into the room, the entire group of alien diplomats rose to their feet. ‘Grunwalde Angharad!’ Karak announces, ‘Queen of all the Lings and their kin – a true Changeling!’

‘Be seated gentleman,’ says Blodwyn confidently – her stomach fluttering! The first to speak was a stick-like Semmi Tal; his large luminous eyes blinking nervously from the depths of his saffron hood. ‘Let me be the first to congratulate the new Queen of the Lings. We the Semmi Tal hold the Lings in high esteem – for they are true “three hearts” (Changelings). We Semmi Tal are but simple Shape-shifters.’

‘Just don’t ask me to change into a hippopotamus or something,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘it bores me!’

‘We also wish to thank the Malis Afar,’ adds the thin Semmi Tal, ‘for not inviting the Na Idriss – Jed Bela – or the Iraa-Brill, to the table – they make me nervous!’ Next to speak was a fierce looking alien with a striking bright red and blue face; this alien kept flashing its eyebrows and teeth at Blodwyn.

‘It means the mandrill faced Dandy-Indra likes you, Highness,’ whispers the large friendly fish-head Cilla, sitting to Blodwyn’s right.

The Dandy-Indra was tall and dark with swept back black, greasy hair – deep-set eyes and the whitest of teeth. Each long canine was inserted with a diamond that sparkled when he spoke! He was immaculately dressed in black with silver trimmings – a real dandy. ‘You must come and visit our planet in the Hydra Nebula, part of the Centaurus System your Highness; we Indra have an eye that appreciates beauty.’

‘I certainly will – as long as it’s just your eyes, you appreciate beauty with – and not groping hands!’ answers Blodwyn – giving the Dandy Indra a flirtatious wink, with her false eyelashes. (Copying Grunwalde’s flirting).

Every alien laughed. The next alien to speak was slim and held a smiling gold mask in front of his face completely hiding it! This alien was a Shi-Larriss, a species never willing to show their true facial features. But because of their powers of illusion and mind reading abilities, everyone respected and feared the usually peaceful Shi-Larriss and their neighbours the Jinnd, another powerful, mysterious race from the distant fourth Quadrant. The rest of the advanced races seldom visited the far off fourth Quadrant – strange and dangerous things happened there! The Jinnd were even more mysterious than the Shi-Larriss. Nobody had ever seen a Jinnd in its true shape!

‘We the Shi-Larriss welcome you,’ says the alien in a soothing almost distant voice. ‘I speak also for the Jinnd,’ he nodded to the empty seat next to him. Suddenly a small sparkling blue light appeared two foot above the empty seat. The brightness of the light made all the aliens shade their eyes, but Blodwyn kept her composure – which impressed all. ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star,’ Blodwyn says, pursing her lips and kissing in the Jinnd’s direction. ‘Why is everyone wearing metal bands?’ Blodwyn asks the large fish-head Cilla sitting next to her.

‘The Shi-Larriss are mind readers!’ the Cilla answers in a low voice. ‘The special metal bands protect our thoughts!’

‘Then why don’t I have one?’ Blodwyn asks.

‘I was told you had a sense of humour your Majesty,’ replies the fish-head, ‘you don’t need one – with your magical powers!’

‘Of course,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘I just did not care to mention it – aren’t I the most modest person you have ever met?’

‘What has happened to the Glin-Adare android?’ the Semmi Tal asks.

‘I am afraid the Glin-Adare will be late,’ Karak replies.

‘Late!’ the Dandy-Indra exclaims. ‘Androids are never late.’

Suddenly the doors are pushed open and standing there is the Glin-Adare; its synthetic ginger hair skew-whiff, and a silly smile on its face. The sound of the androids electrical brain malfunctioning was audible to everyone. The Glin-Adare then moon-walked to its seat – mimicking the call of a cookoo, and sat down. The android then seemed to return to its normal serious self; it addressed Karak in a mechanical voice. ‘Cold-blood – I have only a hundred and three questions to ask!’ All the other guests let out groans of despair.

‘This will take all night!’ the fish-head Cilla moans.

The android Glin-Adare clears his throat and takes a drink from a beaker placed in front of him (again spiked with alcohol). Everyone watched and waited for a reaction. A puff of smoke as the android’s electrical brain short-circuited again – the android shot to its feet – its eyeballs crossed. He then addressed everyone in a rich Irish accent.

‘Top of the morning – Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – it’s himself Father Murphy – would you be having a pint of Guinness in a tin glass Father.’ Another puff of smoke arose from the android’s circuit. ‘Now let me see,’ says the android; changing to a rather effeminate voice. ‘Do you think a cushion has feelings? Would a teapot, make an intelligent house pet? Does pink bring out my feminine side – without making me look too camp? Ahh Mary Murphy….. What a fine looking Colleen – sound in wind and limb – a fine pair of legs on her – I would love to get my hands on her beautiful peaches – they rose and fell like the gentle waves of Galway bay when she followed the plough!’

Another puff of smoke from the android’s circuit: he becomes angry. ‘A pox on orange King Billy and the English devil Oliver Cromwell – may they roast in hell fires – home rule to Ireland – except Donegal.’ Then a sad expression spread over the android’s face and he broke into song again.

‘O Danny boy – the pipes, the pipes are calling….’ Melancholy tears of alcoholic lube oil roll down the android’s cheek as he breaks down sobbing. ‘Mother…. sweet mother.’

‘Ignore the android,’ says Karak – its just rubbish he has picked up by listening to its mad Irish inventor – when he’s had too much alcohol.’

A flash of sparks and a plume of smoke rose from the android’s head; he then made a weak cuckoo noise and fell face down onto the table – to the relief of all the other aliens.

Blodwyn suddenly felt a little homesick and thought of her mother. Then to her utter surprise and horror, her mother appeared in the seat of the Shi-Larriss. This was most off putting, her mother watching her performance; the only person her acting had no effect on.

Blodwyn wonders if the Shi-Larriss knew she was a fake – it was certainly reading her mind. ‘Why are the Shi-Larriss feared?’ Blodwyn asks the Cilla.

‘An enemy of the Shi-Larriss would never know the real situation in battle – had they won? Had they lost? Were they dead – or just imagining they where alive? The Shi-Larriss create dangerous illusions, when angered. ‘Thank the Jinnd for coming,’ says Blodwyn to the Shi-Larriss: who was now actually talking to her mother’s image. She had to distract the Shi-Larriss somehow; she was sure her mother’s face would soon turn into a scowl and would put her right off her performance.

‘Have you ever kissed a weasel?’ Blodwyn asks the Shi-Larriss with a very serious face. The image of her mother vanished – the smiling gold mask returned – her trick had worked!

‘I am not familiar with such an animal – are they willing to bite?’ the Shi-Larriss asks.

‘Not – half,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘why the little buggers bite like hell. I usually carry one in my pocket, but they pong a bit – and taste horrid, if you lick them!’

‘Do weasels ever bite you when you kiss them?’ the Shi-Larriss enquires. ‘They would not dare – they know I will bite them back and gob on them!’ Blodwyn gave the Shi-Larriss a demonstration by pulling her lips back and chomping her strong white teeth – in biting mode – just like Grunwalde. ‘I love to bite,’ continues Blodwyn, ‘I bite my Lings – I bite my Hobs’ ears when they displease me, you should hear them squeal.’

‘I hope you won’t bite me your majesty,’ says the fat Cilla next to her.

‘No,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘unless you try to snog me!’

‘Thank you for warning me,’ replies the Cilla fish-head, ‘we fish do feel pain you know.’

The next alien to speak was a tall, narrow faced alien with a sly look. Heavy long earrings stretched his ear lobes, and made him look like a wooden African Mask. Blodwyn knew he was a Jal Mar: purveyors of poisons and evil plots; she did not like the look of him!

‘Have you ever kissed a
Sillian
?’ the Jal Mar asks slyly.

‘No – weasels are cute – Sillians are not,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘but if a Sillian made me cross - I would kick it in the arse – and gob on it!’ She giggles at what she had just said. Every alien now was paying attention to this conversation: for all feared close contact with a Sillian!

Blodwyn suddenly realizes to her horror – there was a cadged Sillian on board. Blodwyn hoped the Jal Mar would not want a demonstration!

The Cold-blood Karak came to her rescue. ‘Gentlemen – I can assure you even a Sillian cowers in the presence of the Queen of Lings, Angharad,’ he fibs.

A sigh of amazement arose from all the diners. The Jal Mar was satisfied: at least for the moment.

‘We of the Jal Mar also speak for the Kar-Sarr your majesty,’ he says nodding to a wild, Viking looking humanoid. The Kar-Sarr grinned at Blodwyn; showing off his black stained filed teeth. ‘I hope we can be of assistance to you one day – we Jal Mar are scientists – we also do magical tricks – but with chemicals! It is a shame you did not bring a Ling with you,’ continues the Jal Mar, ‘I would be most interested to handle and study one closely.’

‘I give you fair warning!’ says Blodwyn, ‘Lings do not like being handled or studied – you would end up being stung or bitten – then you will have good need for your magical chemicals – but they wouldn’t save your life!’

‘Can your Majesty also sting?’ the Jal Mar asks with interest.

‘Of course not you silly old man – I don’t have a pointy bottom,’ giggles Blodwyn. ‘Anyway I don’t need to sting – I have power enough Sir!’

‘Do you have children?’ asks the Jal Mar.

‘No,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘but I love children – medium rare with butter.’

‘Don’t any of these guests have names?’ Blodwyn asks the friendly Cilla. ‘Yes, but they are never used in meetings like this…, who knows, the Alter Dom
could
return, or even be listening. Even so – my name is Koga - King of the Cilla.’