Ronan Boyle Into the Strangeplace by Thomas Lennon

Author:Thomas Lennon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2021-11-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

AER LINGUS IN-FLIGHT CHANNEL NEWS CREW

A short while later, Enid, a young reporter with the looks of a Bollywood movie queen, Kurt, a handsome cameraman with an ironic handlebar moustache and matte black lipstick, and an emotional support wolfhound named Siegfried 2.0 were standing at the high-security portcullis of the once-ruined, now-revamped castle known as Lisnacullia.

With them was a narrow, young segment producer for the Aer Lingus In-Flight Channel named Doris Toil.

A little detail about this group: None of them were affiliated with the national Irish airline Aer Lingus! Nor the Aer Lingus In-Flight Channel! Enid was not named Enid, and Kurt had matte black lipstick on because he was, of course, Captain Siobhán de Valera in disguise. This so-called news crew was, in fact, a Trojan horse!

I was playing the role of the ever-so-hip segment producer Doris Toil, and Lily was pretending to be an emotional support animal named Siegfried 2.0 (not really a stretch for her). Somehow, the captain even had Aer Lingus bags and boxes, in which to hide our Special Unit gear.

I had flipped my kilt around so that the pleats were in the front, which, while completely bonkers, made it look like I was wearing a skirt. Captain de Valera also provided me with sunglasses and a bright pink bob wig that she said was from her “karaoke drawer.”

I will skip the bit about the captain helping me into a wig of hers—that even smelled like her—and how that made me feel like I was floating above my own life, like some sort of Brian Bean made out of soda pop fizz, while I got lost in her two-color eyes. But I have never left out details, however embarrassing, from these journals, which I have no idea what I’ll actually do with anyway. Maybe I’ll just mail them to them to whatshisface the Deputy Commissioner when all of this is done?

Anyway, I guess I tell you as a warning. If your own face is ever a few inches from Captain Siobhán de Valera—and I don’t care who or what you are—part of you will want to go live in those two mismatched eyes of hers. It’s just science.

Moldy old Lisnacullia towered over us like a . . . well, a tower. You get it. The place was built in the fourteen or fifteen hundred-and-something-and-somethings, by the McSheehys, who were famous for being “difficult.” That they were kind of “a lot” is a historical fact, and not me throwing shade at them because they happened to be Scottish mercenaries, imported to Ireland because of how much they loved to bonk people on the head with sticks. One of my best mates, Gary, is both Scottish and a werewolf. There’s really nothing wrong with those wonderful Scots that you couldn’t fix by simply hiding the Irn-Bru someplace they won’t find it.

This new Lisnacullia remodel was tricked out with state-of-the-art additions: solar panels (in ever-cloudy Ireland? sure), a half-dozen satellite dishes, and a huge conservatory on one side, with its glass steamed up—implying that it must contain an indoor swimming pool.

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