Through the Kisandra Prism (13 page)

‘Bloody hell – you stupid, useless cow!' swore Blodwyn ‘this lovely new car is now completely wrecked.'

The Changeling turned and smiled, ‘a car is only metal.'

Blodwyn took another deep breath, to steady her nerves, ‘but this new car must have cost a great deal of money,' she protests.

‘Money is only paper,' answers the Changeling.

‘Well I hope Mr. and Mrs Jenkins and Myfanwy blame you for this – I did explain.'

‘Blame is only a word,' answers the Changeling with a smile. The Changeling's carefree attitude was beginning to annoy Blodwyn.

‘Look, a new car, money and blame may not matter in the world you come from but in this world – the human world, they are important – very important to people like Mr. and Mrs Jenkins – who had to pay a fortune for this car.'

The Changeling turned confidently and smiled.

‘My parents will no longer care anymore.'

Blodwyn did not feel like getting into this kind of detached, Buddhist type of philosophy.

‘Look… I just want to get this done…your Queen is waiting, move over before this car is a complete write-off.'

The Silky Changeling giggled; such earthly matters were of no concern to her. Blodwyn then drove the car safely to the ford; keeping an eye out for Sergeant Thomas or other members of the constabulary. The Queen of the Fairies was waiting, hopping up and down with excitement when she saw her birthday present approaching. Blodwyn held her breath; what would happen when Myfanwy saw the damage to her brand new birthday present?

‘My lovely new car…!' exclaims Myfanwy, ‘thank you for bringing it to me, my sweetest friend.'

Blodwyn was both shocked and surprised; Myfanwy took no notice of the obvious damage to the car and consequently made no comment. The lovely Changeling got out, undressed and without word walked into the Pandy river and swam underwater out into Cardigan Bay.

‘Stuck up little bitch,' comments Myfanwy. ‘Now where shall we drive to?'

‘Where ever you like,' answers Blodwyn, ‘I am not coming – I have no intention of spending the night in a police cell.'

‘Ho…please my dearest friend…just to the end of the mountain road and then I will turn around…I promise…' Myfanwy pleads.

Against her better judgment Blodwyn climbed in. Grunwalde Angharad, the Queen of the Fairies sat at the wheel and giggled, her emerald green eyes sparkling with mischievous intent.

‘Don't you dare drive above thirty – or I will strangle you slowly.' Blodwyn threatens. Myfanwy let out the clutch and the car jerked along violently.

‘Someone has put kangaroo juice in this car,' she giggles.

‘Don't blame the car – it's you, stupid,' says Blodwyn, ‘and slow down there are the traffic lights ahead.'

As soon as they hit the main road Grunwalde put her foot down.

‘Slow down you are doing over sixty – the traffic lights!'

But instead of slowing down Grunwalde increases the speed.

‘I will murder you the first chance I get,' threatens Blodwyn, ‘you are doing over sixty-five now – you stupid cow – look, the lights are on red.'

‘It's more like seventy now,' corrects Myfanwy putting her foot down. Myfanwy drives straight through a red light!

‘That's it!' snaps Blodwyn, ‘stop! I am getting out – you cannot be trusted…oh my God there's that young, new policeman on a bicycle – stop!' Grunwalde puts on the brakes and the car screeches to a halt around the corner, out of sight of the young policeman.

‘What is the difference between a Dwarf and a Tartarus Hob?’

asks the Faringale-Oracle; testing the Quigley Sage.

A Tartarus Hob, My Lord tis greater in tooth and gob

and more inclined to commit felony and rude rampage.’

The young rookie policeman could not believe his luck, on his first day he would get his very first conviction for a serious traffic offence. And to add to his satisfaction the offence was committed by two attractive young females, one of whom he recognized as Myfanwy Jenkins; a very lovely young lady who had caught his eye during his first day in Tala Pandy. Mounting his bicycle he gave chase.

Once the car had come to a stop and out of sight, Blodwyn gets out and hides behind the bushes on the opposite side of the road. The young policeman appears and lays his bicycle on the grassy verge.

He approaches the car with his most official swagger, taking out his pocket-book and preparing his lecture; he was immediately taken back by the beauty of Myfanwy.

Gareth, the young policeman had seen Myfanwy pass by the station, nose in air, she seemed unapproachable: now he had the opportunity to impress. This was his chance. She had committed a serious traffic offence after all. Time to adopt his official face, you never know, his luck might be in… after he booked her and got his conviction of course; the young policeman still had a lot to learn about the opposite sex. He had deliberately avoided eye contact on his approach. He could feel the steady gaze of her cold green eyes: her gaze felt like a laser beam!

‘Miss Myfanwy Jenkins is it – does this vehicle belong to you?’ he asks in his most authoritative tone; which actually sounded more like a croaking squawk. Myfanwy Jenkins looked even more beautiful close up. Her long lashed eyes sparkled and seemed to look straight through him.

‘Yes,’ she answers coldly.

‘Where is your passenger?’ The policeman asks.

‘What passenger?’ Came the cold reply.

‘Now then, Miss Jenkins – I saw someone in the passenger seat.’

‘It was my shadow that you saw,’ answers Myfanwy, ‘it follows me around you know.’

Blodwyn watched from the other side of the road, her heart beating; she should have known better, her mother would murder her. Suddenly she caught a movement in the young silver birch trees on the other side of the road behind the policeman. Bulrus Kahn, the muscular and naked Tartarus Hob, slowly and silently crept out from the tree line and genteelly picked up the young policeman’s bicycle, his tongue hanging out from the side of his mouth with imbecilic concentration. He then rode it silently away standing on the pedals like some performing circus chimp.

‘You have just committed a very serious traffic offence Miss Jenkins,’ continues the young policeman, ‘driving through a red light at over fifty miles an hour… I must warn you that anything you say…etc, etc.’

‘My speed was more like over seventy miles an hour,’ answers Myfanwy.

‘Seventy miles and hour was it! That is an even a more serious offence. It is extremely dangerous and foolish to drive at such speed through any red light Miss Jenkins.’

‘I disagree,’ replies Myfanwy, ‘it would be far more foolish and dangerous driving through a red light slowly… don’t you think. Oh, and by the way, while you were annoying me with your stupid questions… someone just stole your bicycle!’

Now, losing government property was a serious matter; having something stolen from under the nose of a policeman was inexcusable but worst of all, the bicycle belonged to his sergeant.

‘What!’ Exclaims the young policeman, who immediately sprints around the corner… but it was too late – the road was empty. Rushing back breathless he asks:

‘Was it someone local? – can you give me a description of the felon?’

‘Now let me see,’ answers Myfanwy, ‘he was a short-arsed little runt… around four feet tall.’

‘A youngster was it? I’ll clip his ear when I catch the little sod!’

‘No,’ corrects Myfanwy, not young… old… he looked like an old circus midget to me… yes a rather hairy… elderly circus midget… with a hare-lip… and bandy legs.’

The young policeman turns to look down the road again,

‘What was he wearing?’

‘Nothing.’ She answers, ‘he was stark naked!’

‘Right – that’s another charge I will add to theft of police property.’

‘The disappearance of your bicycle has nothing to do with me.’ says Myfanwy, ‘you should be glad that I saw it happen… and don’t bother writing that down … because I will deny it…and say you tried to kiss me! So just keep the charge as one of speeding… and don’t forget the serious theft of Sergeant Thomas’s bicycle… a theft that took place right under your nose… on a public highway. Sergeant Thomas is going to be as wild as a woodbine when he finds out…he has had that bicycle for over twenty years!’

The young policeman looked worried as this encounter was not going the way he had expected.

‘Did the midget use the path through the woods?’ Asks the young policeman; looking in the direction of the wooded mountain path.

The reply that he was surprised to receive was a loud coarse burrrrp, followed by a cackling grunt. Shocked at the sound, turning, he found the noise was not from the beautiful Myfanwy Jenkins, but had been made by an ancient, mad-looking crone with thick, white, untidy hair. The old hag’s make-up was thickly and badly applied making her look like a demented, geriatric, Aunt Sally, Worsel Gummage’s girlfriend. The old bag now sat in the driver’s seat legs apart, her bony, thin blue-veined fingers gripping the steering wheel. Her grey hair stood upright, as if she had just received a powerful electric shock; she grinned at him through long, course lip and chin whiskers and winks flirtatiously with a smile exposing yellow stumps for teeth.

‘Where is Miss Myfanwy Jenkins?’ asks the young policeman.

‘My-fanny – who?’ Repeats the old tart, ‘never heard of the little slut.’

The young policeman prided himself on observation; the disgusting old hag had the same sparkling, clear green eyes as Myfanwy Jenkins!

‘You are not related to Miss Jenkins are you?’ he asks suspiciously.

‘I have never heard of the little bitch… and if she says she knows me …she is a lying tart!’

‘Can I have your name and address please?’

‘Mrs Pettingel, 6, Bryn-a-Gog. Come around for a cup of tea officer… I make my tea the old fashioned way – no tea bags. First I heat the pot on the radiator… then I strain the tea leaves through my old flannel draws… I take them off first… mind you… a lovely cuppa… you will soon taste the difference.’ The young policeman nearly throws up at this information!

‘…I am sure I would… Mrs Pettingel… but I think I will stick with the common tea bag… the way my mother makes tea… if you don’t mind. Now then, Myfanwy Jenkins was sitting in this car …exactly where you are?’

‘Speak-up officer,’ answers Mrs Pettingel.

The young policeman bends down and sticks his head nearer to the old Hag’s ear – but quickly withdraws it when the foul smell from the old crone permeates his senses.

‘Sorry…officer!’ Says the old Hag, with a mischievous chuckle,

‘That always happens when I see a policeman …pee myself and have a touch of wind that is. Are you taking me into custody Officer? Or… would you like to see my lovely knees for only a pound…cash that is …no cheques or postal orders… no special rates … even for the police.’

‘Yes …no! I mean Yes … yes you are a witness … no I do not want to see your knees…anyway it is an offence to solicit on a public highway. And a bigger offence to solicit a policeman…. I just want you as a witness.’

‘A witness to what?’ ask Mrs Pettingel – having wind and peeing myself in someone’s abandoned car.’

‘This car is not abandoned.’ exclaims the policeman.

‘It was, when I came out of the woods,’ answers Mrs. Pettingel, ‘I saw nobody here, only you and a naked midget riding a bicycle…you are not a midget are you officer… you are not very tall for a policeman.’

‘No Mrs Pettingel…I am not a midget… I am five foot eleven… in my new boots… I may look like a midget at the moment because I am bending down to speak to you. I am PC Gareth Evan, from Tala Pandy police station. It was the naked midget you saw riding a bicycle, not me…that will be a very important difference when you testify. You will be my second witness.’

‘Who was the first witness?’ asks the old Hag…I did not see anyone else here.’

‘My…fan …forget it!’ says the young cop. Now… you say you saw a naked midget riding on a bicycle….’

‘What naked midget…?’ answers the old woman… were you naked officer?’

The young policeman looked up at the sky in frustration; his first arrest was turning out to be a disaster. This old mad crone would be a very unreliable witness. He could end up in the dock himself!’

‘Look… I have changed my mind Mrs Pettingel….’

‘Money first then!’ cuts in the old slag, one pound cash… just a quick look mind you… don’t take all day – I know what young coppers are like.’

‘No… no… I have changed my mind about having you as a witness.’

His anger quickly turned to that thieving, rotten little swine who stole his bike – this was all his doing.

‘Stay here,’ orders the rookie cop, ‘wait till I get back, Mrs Pettingel, and don’t move… and don’t let anyone take this car away – it is vital evidence.’

The young policeman begins running and cursing the Midget.

‘When I catch that little son of a bitch…. I will lampoon his lug flaps and muller his nuts…midget or not.’

As soon as the policeman is out of sight, Grunwalde turns back to her lovely self. Blodwyn decides to emerge from her hiding place.

‘My God! What are your parents going to say, the new car has been ruined and you will be charged with dangerous driving and not having a license.’

‘My parents won’t care,’ was Myfanwy’s callous reply.

‘You ungrateful, selfish little cow,’ exclaims Blodwyn: she did not know what Myfanwy knew about the fate awaiting her parents.

‘You don’t deserve such generous parents and such an expensive car. Oh my lord… look at the time – I am going home. I am late – thanks to you. What are you going to do with this car? The policeman will be back soon.’

‘I know exactly what to do with the car,’ replies Myfanwy.

Blodwyn hurries away, Myfanwy looks skyward then tilted her lovely head; no sound came from her half open, cherry-pie mouth. But her silent call penetrated the woods and reached the higher slopes.