In Search of the Alter Dom

by Jack Challis

  This creature had to be another species – not a Rill? The Dog-Rat wore an old battered, wide brimmed cavalier’s hat with three tattered white ostrich plumes. On its chest was a much-dented copper breastplate; the child-sized type one sees in museums. A leather habergeon and scabbard hung from the Dog-rat’s rounded shoulder: below the waist the rodent was naked.

  Nearby was a plastic shopping bag from a popular superstore; next to it neatly placed a new pair of expensive white trainers!

  ‘On-Guard!’ The Dog-Rat cried out in a high-pitched staccato. Backward and forward the Dog-Rat went – lunging and slashing with its sharp looking saber at an imaginary opponent.

  Every now and again, the rodent stopped; sniffed the breeze and looked up as if checking for danger, while scratching its behind.

  Being downwind – she could smell a musky whiff of Dog-Rat. Nevertheless, how long could she remain undetected? Rats have keen noses; to retreat now could prove dangerous! Besides, she needed information, news of the Alter Dom, while she remained here.

  Blodwyn decided on a bold confident approach, familiar with the nature of rats. She did not wish to seem naïve or vulnerable to an opportunistic rodent – whose nature was to prey on the weak!

  From an early age Blodwyn had learnt that all males responded to flattery; especially from a female. Males seemed to lack the mental attributes to know whether the flattery was sincere or not.

  Swordplay over, the large Dog-Rat now began doffing its plumed hat and bowing low, to an imaginary audience. If it was not for the sharp looking sword and the size of the rodent, the spectacle might have been humorous.

  The oversized rodent then began un-tying its hairless tail from around its waist: scratched itself again and farted! Sheathing its sword the Dog-Rat adopted a hunched-back pose. He proceeded to limp around an imaginary stage, in a dramatic way, often turning to an imaginary audience; baring his sharp teeth in a sly, hammy smile. The Dog-Rat began quoting Shakespeare, albeit out of context and incorrectly

  ‘This is the winter of my discontent…..a pox on the house of York, says I. Now here’s the rub…..methinks, I knew that powered tart and in her chambers – I nimbly capered!’ The large Dog-Rat then took several dramatic bows to imaginary applauses.

  Blodwyn slowly rose to her feet, placing her stick against the rock within easy reach – just in case! Blodwyn cleared her throat loudly.

  With rat-like swiftness, the creature spun around adopting the ‘on-guard’ position – its blade pointing at her heart! The Dog-Rat’s thin lips curled back exposing gleaming teeth in a ratty snarl! The creature quickly covered his rodent nakedness with his cavalier’s hat.

  “At least the giant Dog-Rat had a sense of decency, in the presence of a lady,” she thought.

  The rodent’s black, popping, beady eyes regarded Blodwyn with curious hostility.

  ‘Please forgive my intrusion Noble Sir,’ says Blodwyn in a voice all sweetness and light; accompanied by the most theatrical of curtsies. ‘I could not help but admire your skillful swordsmanship and etiquette – not forgetting your masterly performances of the Bard – Shakespeare.’

  These excessive compliments took the Dog-Rat by surprise and seemed to take a while to sink into the rodent’s brain. The large rodent took two steps closer – the musky dog-rat odor stronger now.

  Lowering the sharp glinting sword, the rodent saluted Blodwyn. However, she noticed the Dog-Rat never once took its popping, black, glinting, rodent eyes off her!

  A short awkward silence: while the creature looked Blodwyn over. She knew she had to keep the Dog-Rat off balance, with feminine charm.

  ‘What fine amour and sword,’ Blodwyn says with exaggerated admiration.

  Blodwyn’s compliments aroused the rodent’s macho needs to boast. ‘I killed over fifty brothers and half brothers for ownership – don’t you know!’ the Dog-Rat answers.

  ‘Really!’ Blodwyn replies: with am-dram, wide-eyed admiration.

  ‘Yea – killed and ate every man Jack – says I,’ responds the Dog-Rat.

  This information was bad news! ‘How marvelous!’ exclaims Blodwyn.

  ‘You say marvelous – heroic says I,’ answers the Dog-Rat. ‘Red meat is scarce on Rilla – we cannot waste it.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ she answers, ‘what a good idea to eat your own family!’

  Blodwyn felt the Dog-Rat’s black beady eyes studying – assessing her! Blodwyn watched a large flea scurry across the Dog-Rat’s nose unmolested. She wondered if this large, repulsive rodent before her was indeed a ‘harmless’ Rill or another species – damn that lying cow Myfanwy!

  Blodwyn did not trust this giant rodent, despite all its fine manners. “A dog rat is always a dog rat,” she reminded herself. She also began to wonder if it had been wise to make herself known to this potentially dangerous rodent! Blodwyn knew she had to keep the giant rat’s mind occupied with flattery. ‘You speak so eloquently, Noble Sir.’

  ‘Ah, the King’s English,’ answers the Dog Rat, then with a snigger. ‘Every time a Terasil speaks on Earth a brother rat is listening – learning, becoming wiser, harder to catch – don’t you know?’

  Blodwyn had to find out discreetly, if this creature was indeed a Rill.

  ‘And how did you ‘Rills’ become so big – so strong?’ Blodwyn asks.

  ‘Thin air of the moon favours large lungs – which in turn favour a large body to contain them – and a large body, is in need of a large stomach! Says I.’

  The Dog-Rat was a Rill! But were the Rills the butchers? ‘And a large stomach – demands a large amount of red meat!’ Blodwyn adds.

  ‘Indeed,’ answers the Dog-Rill. ‘I would wager a penny to a pinch of snuff you be a serving-wench or perchance a street walker!’ Blodwyn felt like laughing out loud: but retorted sternly. ‘Certainly not – I am a simple but decent young lady – with an honest trade Sir – working the land.’

  ‘Simple … says you…. simple-minded, perchance wonders I?’ The Dog-Rill smirks. ‘Simple as in ordinary,’ explains Blodwyn, ‘but sharp-witted enough Sir – to bandy words with anyone.’

  ‘Were you sucked into an Energy Band by grievous misfortune? Are you wounded – hurt from the fall – mayhap?’ the Dog-Rill enquires.

  ‘Not at all,’ replies Blodwyn confidently, picking up her staff again. ‘I feel just fine.’ Blodwyn did a little jig to prove her point. ‘Two Lings accompanied me – controlling my speed – and fall!’

  ‘Lings!’ the Dog-Rill repeats. ‘Lings be Change-lings – venomous when vexed!’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replies Blodwyn; feeling more confident now.

  ‘Are you their kin – a three heart, asks I?’ enquires the Dog-Rill.

  ‘No,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘I am under the protection of their Queen Angharad!’

  The Dog-Rill’s toothed mouth fell open. ‘Queen Angharad protects you!’

  ‘Indeed Sir,’ replies Blodwyn. The Dog-Rill scratched itself nervously and took a quick look around – sniffing the air and pausing for thought.

  ‘You say Lings – but I say where? I see not – smell not Lings,’ answers the Dog-Rill suspiciously.

  ‘They seek nectar on the dark side,’ answers Blodwyn. ‘How do you know of the Lings Noble Sir?’ She had the upper hand for the moment.

  ‘We Rills once lived on Earth, answers I – the Lings also visit Rilla when traveling to False Arcadia – on Quilla Prime!’

  ‘You know of Quilla Prime! You are well informed Sir,’ flatters Blodwyn.

  ‘Indeed – Quilla Prime is on the other side of the Lupus Wormhole – in the Alpha Centauri Quadrant – which be in the next Galaxy – don’t you know?’

  Blodwyn’s heart fell through her stomach. “That lying cow Myfanwy! If she had mentioned another Galaxy – I would not have even considered this quest! I will never get back to Earth!” She composes herself. ‘Do you know any of the Advanced Races?’ Blodwyn asks.

  ‘Their battleships arrive under cloak, or under mask. They all come to steal
minerals,’ complains the Dog-Rill angrily. ‘We Rills once lived here in thousands. Till one day we killed a mandrill-faced Dandy -Indra.’

  ‘Did you eat the dead Dandy-Indra?’ Blodwyn asks to confirm her suspicions.

  ‘Indeed, says I…. tis our right…. to eat the dead and dying – don’t you know!’ A chill ran down Blodwyn’s body – “the Rills are the butchers!”

  ‘The Dandy-Indra war-fleet returned and bombarded us,’ continues the Dog-Rill, ‘we Rills are only few in number now.’

  Blodwyn put on her most sympathetic face – the type undertakers adopt as soon as they open the gate.

  ‘Be that a powdered wig you wear? asks I’.

  ‘Certainly not – it’s my natural hair,’ answers Blodwyn. The powder on my hair is wind-blown moon-dust.

  ‘Tis a crying shame says I – for I truly desire a powdered wig!’

  Blodwyn could see that the Dog-Rill was becoming nervous – constantly looking around and sniffing the breeze; was he contemplating mischief? She had to place him in a dilemma!

  Blodwyn hated telling lies but: “When needs must – the devil rides,” her life depended on it! Crossing her fingers, she continues. ‘When the Lings bring me back to Rilla in seven Earth days, I will bring a fine wig – I will powder it myself – a wig just like the King wears!’

  The large Dog-Rill’s wide grin fully exposed his vicious sharp teeth! He pauses; thinking of such a prize acquisition! The Dog-Rill slowly backs over to the plastic bag. Opening it, he displays his loot, comprising all kinds of bling, past and present. ‘Bring me the powdered wig – in exchange for all these treasures.’

  ‘Really – thank you,’ answers Blodwyn, now ready to ask the most important question. ‘Have you seen the Alter Dom?’ she asks casually: as if asking the time of day. The Dog-Rill looked at Blodwyn as if she was mad! ‘The Alter Dom does not bother with Low Primitives like Rills – or Terasils!’

  Blodwyn was angry – why were humans classed alongside the Rills! ‘Have you ever seen the Alter Dom?’ Blodwyn persists.

  ‘He passes overhead – causing a sand storm – that fills our burrows!’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ Blodwyn asks.

  ‘Know not I or care not I. Now, I must leave for the main burrows, of Spittlefields,’ announces the Dog-Rill. ‘Remember, seven earth days – the powdered wig.’ Bowing courteously, the large Dog-Rill slipped on the over-large, new trainers. Quickly turning he places his hat over his rear. The Dog-Rill was pleased, for in seven Earth days he would have his powdered wig and tender, fur-less Terasil flesh – to boot! “For that is the deceitful nature of Rills.”

  Blodwyn watched the Dog-Rill disappear into the gloom of the dark-side. The rodent made several backward glances as if to confirm her position. After the giant rat’s departure, a strong smell lingered! Had the rodent deliberately marked her position with musk? Did the Dog-Rill believe her about the Lings – and her story about the powdered wig?

  Blodwyn felt uneasy…..was she being watched? Despite the Dog-Rat’s fine etiquette and manners; she did not trust him. She decided the wisest thing to do was to move away to a different spot and await the return of the Lings. Picking up her rucksack, Blodwyn walked several hundred yards, making sure she was not followed!

  She soon found a deeper recess in the wall of moon rock. Placing her sleeping bag in the recess, she sat on it and pulled her blanket over her legs and tummy against the cold wind; she now felt snug, cozy and safe.

  With her rucksack on her knees and her stick within easy reach, she had only her front to defend. She checked her food supplies; some bread and cheese, three homemade pork pies, chocolate, a bag of barley sugars and a large bottle of water.

  Blodwyn checked her equipment; a change of clothes, torch, matches, a penknife, paper and pen, some rope, a small set of field glasses and an Irish tin whistle.

  Feeling peckish, she ate some bread and cheese while her thoughts wandered. “She would definitely return home – what could she do anyway! Myfanwy lied about the Rills – what else! In future, she would have to be wary of Myfanwy Jenkins. Myfanwy, once her best friend, had other loyalties now. High pitched squeals in the distance reached Blodwyn’s acute ears and brought her suddenly back to stark reality!

  “Beware the female scavenging Rills” “Where were the two Lings?” She froze and tried to make herself smaller; the squeaks were coming from her former position! “Damn that treacherous Dog-Rill and all his manners. He betrayed her whereabouts to his scavenging females!”

  The squeaks were coming nearer; she pulled up the blanket just below her eyes. Nevertheless, she knew it would be impossible to cheat the Bitch- Rills’ keen noses: they were still rats after all! Blodwyn felt her heartbeat quicken! She slowly put away her food and lay the long heavy torch by her side; then gripped her staff. Blodwyn’s pulse began racing when she saw movement ahead. She was in shadow and hoped that somehow the Bitch-Rills would pass by.

  No such luck: while some of the Bitch-Rills used their noses – others used their eyes to seek out her position! Blodwyn took a deep breath. Out of the gloom appeared a large group of scraggy, scrawny, rodent bipeds!

  Excited high-pitched squeaks stabbed the tranquility, as the Bitch-Rills spotted Blodwyn! Disgusting, pot bellied creatures with wizened, drooping breasts and protruding navels emerged out of the gloom; trailing long naked tails in their wake. Blodwyn could now smell that rancid rodent odour; even more unpleasant than the Dog-Rill. Each Bitch-Rill carried a small knife and a rusty cauldron. Ten feet from her, the Bitch-Rills stopped. Glistening, popping eyes and twitching noses – studied and sniffed at her intently. She knew the Bitch-Rills were assessing whether she was strong enough to resist their onslaught! She returned the female Rills’ stares with her most frightening glare – but to no avail. The female Rills reminded her of a group of mean housewives: who had just spotted a bargain in the butcher’s window and could not believe their luck.

  ‘Clear off you bunch of scraggy, pot bellied, overgrown rats,’ shouts Blodwyn, when the female Rills’ intent stares begin to annoy her. Her angry outburst echoed and rebounded around the silent moon craters – she felt very alone – planet Earth was visible above the Bitch Rills’ mangy heads!

  Her outburst made the smaller female Rills jump – but not the largest Matriarch – she picked up a stone and began to sharpen her blade!

  ‘That does it!’ Blodwyn rages – jumping to her feet and grabbing her staff, ‘you are not carving me up!’ She lunged forward and gave the large Matriarch a sharp jab in the ribs. The Matriarch Bitch-Rill gave out a high-pitched shriek of pain: piercing the silent gloom. The Matriarch bared her teeth at Blodwyn – her tattered ears pinned back in anger!

  Blodwyn quickly glanced around for the Lings, “When would they come?” The female Rills kept edging closer – shuffling on clawed feet!

  Blodwyn jabbed again with all her strength. This time the large Matriarch was ready. Nimbly dodging the stick – she took a large bite from the staff. After a dozen jabs – Blodwyn’s staff was bitten to shreds!

  Blodwyn realized she had underestimated these relentless, repulsive rodents. The situation was now serious! Picking up the long, heavy metal torch, she switched it on – the powerful beam sent the Bitch Rills scurrying backwards. Blodwyn could now clearly see the Rills’ greedy intent eyes; reflecting red in the torchlight!

  These overgrown rats were not used to this kind of resistance from an intended victim! ‘I am not ending up in your rusty cauldrons!’ Blodwyn shouts defiantly. The female Rills stopped their whispering and gathered in conference, casting occasional looks in her direction.

  Blodwyn strained her ears; what she heard was frightening. ‘Attack, hamstring – butcher – our males be hungry!’ Blodwyn knew that every second she could delay the female Rills was precious. The two Lings had to be back soon – her life depended on it! Then a horrible thought crossed her mind. “What if they were not coming back? Would she end up a pile of bones, scattered around her
tattered rucksack – framed within a dark stain!”

  Blodwyn pushed these negative thoughts from her mind – keeping her torch beam on the scheming Rills, Blodwyn began to gather as many small rocks as possible: piling them at her feet.

  Conference over, the female Rills regrouped; this time holding their rusty cauldrons up as shields as they advanced, a determined look in their popping, beady eyes. Volleys of small rocks met the female Rills. She soon found out Rills have the reflexes of a polecat! Most of the rocks were dodged with great agility; the cauldron shields deflected others. Blodwyn’s supplies of rocks were quickly used up. “What next?”

  Underground the Bitch Rills’ lords and masters, the Dog-Rills, sprawled in their burrows boasting of past warlike deeds. These braggarts and ‘ner-do-wells’ were becoming impatient – they were looking forward to tender, furless Terasil meat – fresh Terasil’s tracks, had been spotted that very day.

  ‘Captain Bart,’ says one of their number, ‘pray send out scouts to help our useless bitches – I grow sick of supping on cats and dogs. We lost the last Terasil – to the Rills from the burrow of Cheap-side.’

  ‘Silence!’ replies the largest of their number – the Dog-Rill Blodwyn had met! Blodwyn’s ploy had worked – Captain Bart craved a powdered wig more than Terasil flesh! He had sent his bitch the large Matriarch, purposely in the wrong direction. The ringing mobile had led the female Rills to Blodwyn’s scent trail!

  Back on the surface: Blodwyn decided to try communicating with the female Rills – only to gain precious time! ‘What do you want?’ she asks.

  The large Matriarch regarded Blodwyn with popping eyes, while scratching her protruding navel. ‘To fill our cauldrons answers I,’ replies the Matriarch. ‘Will you help us – and die quickly?’ The other females sniggered: gnashing their teeth excitedly. Blodwyn’s mind raced: she had to buy time. She took out her tin whistle and quickly struck up a lively Irish jig. The Bitch-Rills stopped their scheming and intently listened to the music. Some of the smaller females started to tap their feet; soon several young Bitch-Rills began to dance in lively fashion; until a reprimanding screech from the Matriarch stopped them. ‘I have some lovely pork pies,’ says Blodwyn; putting on her sweetest voice.