Free Through the Kisandra Prism by Jack Challis

Myfanwy!’ exclaims Brian Jones, in surprised tones, ‘maybe now I have a chance to beat him at cribbage – if he can’t sit down for long periods… like.’
    Blodwyn’s dad is silenced by a look from Mrs. Jones, her mother.
    â€˜Holy Mother of God!’ exclaims Brian Talbot to his cousins, ‘did you see the fine pair of sturdy legs on herself…Myfanwy. She would make a fine farmer’s wife. And if the ole tractor broke down, she could pull the plough alright.’
    â€˜Jesus! Myfanwy is as sound as a bell – a fine Colleen,’ adds Padriag Jones with admiration, ‘she is certainly sound in wind and limb.’
    All the adults soon began dancing or sat down to chat. This left the young folk to themselves. Although Blodwyn wanted to keep an eye on Myfanwy’s behavior she had to join the adults initially, even though she knew Myfanwy would find it impossible to keep her promises; for being outrageous was the nature of the Fairy Queen.
    Having heard these complementary remarks from the young men with her exceptional hearing and being a terrible flirt, Myfanwy boldly approaches the boys. All the boys stare at Myfanwy:
    â€˜Like cows at a new gate,’ observes Mrs. Mullholand from Dublin.
    â€˜Now,’ states Myfanwy, coming straight to the point, mimicking a strong Irish accent, ‘are you boys looking for a good strong wife to do all the work, pulling the plough and having a fine pig’s head boiling with the cabbage for your supper, while you sit in the pub ‘till closing time, drinking the Guinness?’ Myfanwy then gives the boys a flirtatious wink. ‘Well, she continues, ‘as it happens I am thinking of getting married myself’. (This of course was a blatant lie; the Queen of the Fairies did not marry or take any lovers, she remained chaste till death; all the same she had an enormous ego that constantly needed topping up by proposals of marriage; which she outrageously encouraged.)
    â€˜Come on,’ continues Myfanwy, I don’t have all day…speak up one of you…which one of you would like to marry me?’
    All the boys looked at each other, then looked down at the floor; shuffled their feet again but each remained tongue-tied.
    â€˜You, Patrick Devereux – you have just bought a cottage I hear – describe it to me… but in just one word. If I like the description…who knows?’
    Patrick is too shocked to answer, but ponders the question.
    â€˜Now while we wait for Patrick’s brain to eventually find a connecting pathway to his mouth, I have another question – and this is a question for the girls only. Now,’ continues Myfanwy with a giggle … the question is… after what occasions do you smell your fingers?’ Blodwyn’s male cousins remain silent and study the barn floor: the girls stare daggers at Myfanwy.
    â€˜Speak up girls – my questions are hardly academic brain teasers,’ urges Myfanwy.
    â€˜Academic brain teaser’s they are certainly not,’ pipes up Patrick’s sister Teresa Devereux, in her brother’s defense, ‘but impertinent and rather presumptuous they are… if you ask me.’
    â€˜Perhaps you are jealous,’ answers Myfanwy, ‘well, it is just too bad – brothers are not allowed to marry their sisters in Catholic Ireland – now… I am still waiting Patrick Devereux,’ says Myfanwy, looking back at the young man.
    Blodwyn had been watching and listening, she knew the fiery Teresa Devereux would soon blow a gasket; she discreetly beckoned Teresa over to her. Teresa approached Blodwyn rolling up her sleeves.
    â€˜If that little hussy Myfanwy says another word, I will punch her straight in the gob – I know her type – fur coat and no knickers!’ Time for Blodwyn to lay down the ground work for her trick.
    â€˜You must be a little charitable with Myfanwy,’ whispers Blodwyn