Girl Auction

BY NED EGAN

Part 20

Neither Connolly was afraid – for their individual selves. Only for the other one. Now, gradually, so slow as to hardly notice, the tiny zephyr ratchetted up a notch, so that a dead leaf, here and there, turned over in its eternal sleep. The girls noticed. Minute by minute, the wind strength gently lifted; now it was strong enough to twitch their threadbare clothing. But, strangely, the temperature still didn’t change. We now shoot sideways to see if we can find the cause of this silent storm that is brewing in the Wood. The magic madra sent to help them by their Mammy in Hevvy is still with them and now a lately arrival – a cheeky little swallow named Shem. He, too, has been sent Down from Up Top, to assist in the upcoming battle between Good and Evil which has been brewing for ages. They all are still alert to their surroundings, and wise they are to be so, with the Dacent prowling the dark with his big Purdey. The Shem bird has taken it on himself to spy out the lay of the land around Bilzies, and will shortly depart on a dangerous recce flight. He’s upped his wisdom with a sliver of brain-power from Molly, a wee shot of strength from the madra, and a plyke of {necessary} tough crankiness from Babsie. They had all sworn a mild binding oath that they’d fight it out together. The Shem, before he goes on his spying mission into the dangerous dark, couldn’t resist the chance of a final departing speech!

“Babsie, what I really needed from you was ‘disbelief!’ Would you credit that? Why would I need that function? Well, it’s because I’m a gambling sort of birdie – and such creatures are always willing to listen to a sob story, or some wacky tale. Easily codded is the Shem – I grant you that - inclined to believe any chancer. Maybe because I’m a bit of a tearaway myself! Anyway, I’ve been observing you, Babs, and listening in on your thoughts.

Anybody who tries to pull the wool on you will get the fast hop, for sure. You see to the heart of things, in a flash. And you so young!

The ‘three’ are glad Shem has pulled in. They appreciate what he’s brought to the party. But they’ve also had enough of his speechifying. The magic madra thinks “where the heck does such a wee chirper get all that hot air from?” All three felt a new stage was being reached, in the order of this strange and dangerous night’s happenings. Shem is almost ready to go spying, has been granted a tiny bit of the other three’s strong points, so they’ll all have some contact when he spy-flies off to find what the Dacent and his Wiccan ma are up to. The Shem has already made several long speeches, which have vexed the magic madra, and even strained the patience of the girls. But he’s a brave and good natured little bird; though rather overly fond and full of himself. Now, having {apparently} run out of things to praise himself about, he prepares to go. Although the ‘trio’ will have a sort of telepathic connection with him, no messages can be sent. They can see – through his eyes if he gets into trouble; but they can’t help – or even warn him. Folks –even ‘ghostie creature/ human’ contacts have limits. At least the trio will see what Shem sees. But if some dire fate befalls him, it’s ‘goodnight and goodbye. We are all still waiting for the Shem to depart. It seems as though his chirping has taken an enormous lump of time – but as we humans rock along vocally at a rate of 200 words a minute, it’s easy to imagine a fast twittering bird exceeding that. So, hardly any time at all elapses; but the girls and the madra are still a bit nervous: the more seconds that they’re hanging about – the more likely the Dacent might show up. But now, at last, comes a promise from ‘Mr Busy Beak’ – as magic madra, quite irreverently, has begun to start regarding him. Shem is now setting off to spy out the doings of the Dacent, and to see how Simon and Bridie Flynn are going, on their mission to help the Connolly girls but is still perched there, deep in freezing Bilzies, on a dead branch of the great oak – in case you’d all forgotten! And it probably hasn’t escaped your attention that he’s been all talk and no trousers so far –and not a thimbleful of action!

The trio – Molly, Babs, madra – are beginning to think: “Is this lad just the greatest little con-bird-artist ever?

Janey Mac – have we been diddled by a feckin’ chirp-mad Passerine ghostie? Cripes, aren’t we the eejits!”

But, reader, you and I know that the Shem bird is no ‘scaymer’, no slíbhín: we reckon.

For the attention of our readers Alas, due to ill health, Ned is unable to continue at present.

Disclaimer

The opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by the author do not reflect the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints of The Kilkenny Observer