The Irish Tales

Chapter Nine


"T’was brilling and the slithey toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe," muttered Patsy under her breath, as she and Jay sailed through the bible black night, towards the kennels of the Berkeley Hunt.
"All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome raths outgrabe…"

"Latin, I suppose," muttered Jay as she hung on for dear life.
"Nope. Just words of wisdom from a more whimsical age," replied Patsy as she glided down to the slate roof of the kennels, narrowly missed the weather-vane and skidded to a halt outside the kennel doors.


"Shall we…?" she asked and pushed the doors ajar.
"Shouldn’t we have –" began Jay, but was immediately drowned out by forty hounds giving tongue at this strange intrusion.

"Oh, yes. A disguise," said Patsy. "Never mind. Too late now."
And she simply raised a hoof, inclined her head and there was silence.

Silence, that is, apart from the ha-ha-ha-ha of hounds breathing, the occasional lick of the lips by moist tongues and the odd squeak from the younger bretheren.

Patsy looked slowly around the kennel, until she found the pack leader.
"I am Patsy. You know my face ?" she asked.
The wise old dog nodded. "I know your face."
"You know my heart ?"
The wise old dog nodded again.
"I know your heart."
"And my fledgling…?"
"Is known to us and is welcome," the Leader replied.

Patsy sighed with relief and sprawled out on the floor.
"Goodo, then we can stop all this mystic nonsense and get down to business. The dog Bravura…where is he ?"

The Leader turned his head slowly towards the corner and a faint ripple ran through the pack as they, too, gently parted and turned to look…
…at the hound who lay still; tongue still, eyes still, heart hardly beating.

"Speak to me, Bravura," said Patsy gently, but no reply was made.

"Look at me, Bravura," said Patsy and the hound raised his head briefly, then it dropped to the ground.

"Oh my word…the Jabberwocky has him," muttered Patsy.
"Is that…bad?" asked Jay. Patsy turned and looked at her.
"Bad …?? Beware the Jabberwocky, my son ! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch !"

More Latin, thought Jay, then watched in amazement as Bravura leapt to his feet and bounded over to Patsy, his eyes bright, his stubby tail twitching.

Patsy lowered her head until it touched the wet nose of the hound.
"Jabberwocky..?" she asked softly.
Bravura nodded.
"It took your voice..?" she continued
Bravura nodded again.
Patsy sighed deeply and bowed her head.

"The Jabberwocky, like all monsters, was thought to be a myth, a figment of a novelist’s imagination,, a n’ere do well who never was. And tis true that of late, he has been rarely seen. But to steal a hound’s voice is meat and drink for him ; he who has no voice of his own. There is only one solution ….."
"Cake mix ?" asked Jay.
Patsy eyed her thoughtfully.

"No. Not cake mix. Something a lot more powerful than cake mix, little fledgling."
And she leaned down and whispered in Jay’s ear and Jay’s eyes grew large.
But just how large and why, will have to wait until tomorrow.
　
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