by Chrys Cymri
I blinked, and looked again at Pat. There was a tightness around the eyes, a pull at the mouth. Had there been some tragedy in the man’s life? ‘God doesn’t promise anyone an easy life. Just look what happened to his son. He just promises to be with us through whatever happens in life. That’s what kept me going after my husband drowned. Faith isn’t belief without proof, but trust without reservation.’
Morey was still waxing eloquent, and had started offering quotes in Latin. I kept my gaze on the middle aged man who was glaring at me. ‘Maybe God was there for you. Can’t say he turns up for other people who need him.’
I paused for a moment. ‘That can seem to be the case. Pat, this isn’t the sort of conversation to have in a pub. If you ever want to have a real chat, let me know. I’d be happy to come round to see you.’
His mouth twitched. Then Pat rose to his feet. ‘Just don't post any more letters through my door.’
‘Hmph,’ said Morey as the man left. ‘I was just about to recommend a good translation of the Summa Theologica.’
Clyde looked up at me. ‘Man sad.’
‘Sometimes this is all you can do,’ I told the snail. ‘Let someone walk away.’
Soft variations of colour were rippling through Clyde’s body. ‘Sad. No hear.’
I stared at him, wondering at the insight. Then I tucked him back into his pouch, paid for the meal at the bar, and walked back out into the chilly day. As Morey settled on my shoulder, I whispered to him, ‘Do you think Clyde actually understands more than we realise? Maybe he just can’t get the words out.’
‘Black,’ Morey said with an exaggerated air of patience, ‘he’s a snail shark. They hunt, defecate, and sleep. And repeat. That’s all.’
‘And you want to let him be confirmed?’
‘Confirmation is on the basis of faith, not intelligence.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t throw Aquinas at him.’
I bit my tongue, trying not to recall the many times I’d been tempted to throw at least two volumes of the Summa Theologica at Morey.
<><><><><><>
The phone call came while I was staring at my on line calendar, grimly aware of just how many school carol services I would be hosting over the next week. Singing ‘Away in a Manger’ ten times before Christmas Day had the tendency to turn me into a clerical equivalent of Ebenezer Scrooge. ‘Manger, bah, humbug,’ I muttered to myself as I picked up the handset. ‘Penny White speaking.’
‘Reverend White?’ The man’s voice was cultured, in precise received pronunciation which made me self-consciously straighten in my chair. Awareness of which accent belongs to which class is something British people ingest along with their mother’s milk. ‘Fred Wiseman, CEO of Wiseman Agricultural. Do you have a moment?’
‘Certainly,’ I said, and wished I weren’t still in my dressing gown. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘My company is currently missing three of our field operatives.’ As he spoke, I was typing the name of his company into Google. The website flared into life, and a catchy tune played out of my computer’s speakers. He added drily, ‘I hear that you’ve found our website. Can’t stand that music myself, but my marketing people say it makes us more customer friendly.’
I quickly silenced my Mac. But the logo featured prominently on the home page caught my attention. The triple green leaves were unmistakable. The same design had been printed on the notebook found near one of the bodies currently stored in the morgue on the Tuddington estate. We’d made the mistake of thinking that the logo was of the notebook’s manufacturer. ‘Certainly,’ I said, my mind racing. ‘You’re missing some people? I’m sorry to hear that. Are their next of kin in my parish? Did you want me to visit them?’
‘None of them came from Beckeridge.’ The voice was all but dripping with patience. ‘I’ve phoned you because I think you’re my best chance of finding them.’
‘Wouldn’t the police be better placed?’
‘The police in Britain are aware. But I have no way of contacting their equivalent... elsewhere.’
‘Interpol?’
‘Reverend White, are you the author of the blog “The Confessions of a Manic Preacher”?’
Morey had flown into the study, and was standing on my desk, feathers tight with concern. ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘Do you enjoy it? My bit of fun after a hard day at work.’
‘I suspect it’s more than a bit of fun.’ Wiseman’s voice had lowered and become stern. ‘Anne Bennet, one of my missing operatives, told me about finding herself in a place which was, most definitely, not England. She fell through what she called “a nightmare” and found herself in a dark wood.’
‘Tell him he’s thinking of Dante’s Inferno,’ Morey told me. ‘Send him a copy of The Divine Comedy.’
‘Sounds like a strange hallucination,’ I said, forcing myself to remain calm. ‘I hope she visited her GP.’
‘She was sent to her doctor by her line manager,’ Wiseman admitted. ‘And she went over his head and emailed me directly. So I met with her. Ms Bennet is one of the most level headed people I’ve met. I believe her story. And I think you also know that she wasn’t hallucinating.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Reverend, forgive me for saying this to a woman of the cloth, but you are lying.’ The voice softened. ‘I’m worried for my staff, Penny. May I call you Penny? These people matter to me. They have lives. Anne has a daughter, who’s missing her terribly.’
‘What’s the daughter’s name?’ I asked, trying to make my tone nothing more than curious.
‘Emily. Why?’
‘Just wondering.’ But I was grimacing. That was the name which had been tattooed on the dead woman’s arm. ‘And the others?’
‘Simon is engaged to be married. And Susie is on medication. I’m reaching out to anyone who can help me return them to their families. I suppose it’s a bit like an R2D2 moment.’
‘An R2D2 moment?’
“‘Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.’”
‘Strictly speaking, that’s Princess Leia.’
‘Forgive me for wishing to remain in my given gender. But can you help me, Penny?’
‘Don’t trust him,’ Morey told me quickly. ‘He’s far too slick.’
I didn’t dare argue with my Associate while the line was still open to Wiseman. ‘Do you have any photos of these missing operatives?’
‘On our website. Click on “Find Our People”.’
The images filled my computer screen. I bit my lower lip. Although I had only seen them dead, Anne and Simon were immediately recognisable. Susie, however, I had never seen before. ‘You said one of them is on medication? What for?’
‘A heart problem. I’ve been told she needs to take her pills every day.’
‘How long have your people been missing?’
‘Anne for two weeks, Simon for ten days, Susie just from last week. She sent her husband a text on Friday. No one’s heard anything since.’
And today was Tuesday. ‘May I have your phone number, Mr Wiseman?’
‘Fred, please. Certainly.’ And he gave me a mobile number, which made me suspect that it was his private contact. ‘If you can help in any way, their families would be most grateful. As would I.’
I made some noncommittal noises and hung up. Then I turned to Morey. ‘What did you mean, too slick?’
The gryphon’s feathers were still taut with tension. ‘That Star Wars reference. I think he was waiting for the right moment to slip it in. And all that talk about their families. Like he was trying to win you over.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said firmly. ‘We can’t do anything to help Anne or Simon. But Susie could still be alive. And suffering, if she’s without her medication.’
I pulled out my iPhone and pulled up Peter’s number. As he answered, I wondered what ring tone he used to indicate it was me. But that was a question for another time. ‘Peter, are you near a computer? Type “Wiseman Agricultural” into yo
ur search engine and then click on “Find Our People”.’
Peter whistled long and low. ‘So, that’s two of them. How did you find out?’
‘Fred Wiseman has just phoned me. He’s read my blog, and he thought I could help. Seems Anne told him about falling through a nightmare and finding herself in a dark wood.’
‘Sounds like he’s read too much Dante.’ Morey ruffled feathers in pleasure at Peter’s wry comment. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘As little as possible.’ I tapped Susie’s image on my computer screen. ‘We know that Anne and Simon are in the morgue. But, unless there’s been another body I haven’t heard about, maybe Susie is still in Lloegyr?’
‘She could be. But how can we find her? Could you ask that search dragon you used to find your brother?’
My mouth went dry at the thought of telling Peter about my relationship with Raven. I took a quick swig of cold tea. ‘I don’t have any way of contacting him. But I thought I could ask the unicorns.’
‘We don’t know for certain that they were involved in Anne and Simon’s deaths.’
Since when had he developed this blindness to any negative thought about unicorns? ‘Look at their last known locations.’ I touched each as listed under their photos. ‘All of them were near thin places. And Susie sent her last text from just outside Earls Barton. That’s near the one which I used to take the unicorn foal back home.’
‘And if you go through again, what then? Shout until someone from the herd appears?’
‘No need,’ I said. ‘I know how to bring the Archdruid to me.’
‘I’m not certain I like this,’ Peter replied. ‘Didn’t you say that those woods are sacred?’
‘I took the filly back to them.’ That the Archdruid had given me the holding of her name was something I’d not told anyone. ‘I’m sure they’ll forgive me. And I can ask if she knows where Susie is.’
‘At least take Morey with you.’
‘I can’t,’ the gryphon told me. ‘The Archdruid doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t dare go into their woods.’
‘He says he can’t,’ I relayed to Peter. ‘I’ll send you a text just before I go through, and I’ll let you know when I’m back.’
‘Penny--’
‘Susie is on medication for her heart, and she’s been missing since Friday.’ I felt some of my annoyance leaking into my voice. ‘Peter, I am Vicar General for Incursions, remember. Dealing with relationships between humans and Lloegyr citizens is part of my job.’
‘Just--stay safe, will you?’
After I hung up, I found Morey studying me with concern. ‘What if you’re gone for more than ten days?’
‘Why would that happen?’ I asked. ‘Do you expect the unicorns to take me hostage?’
His cheek feathers fluffed. ‘Of course not. But they might ask you to wait while they look for this woman. And it would be unthinkable to turn down the request of a unicorn.’
‘I have a carol service tonight. I’ll be back.’ I glanced at the tank. ‘I’ll take Clyde with me, if that’ll make you feel better. He can find me a thin place if we need to make a quick exit.’
Purple-red tinged the snail shark’s skin as I lifted him free. ‘Unicorns?’
‘Just stay tucked away,’ I told him as I opened the carry bag.
Morey coughed. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
I glanced down at my dressing gown. ‘Okay, you’re right, I’ll change out of my pyjamas.’
Chapter Thirteen
Before I shut down the computer I sent an email to Bishop Nigel’s chaplain. I thought someone else should know of my trip into Lloegyr. And who could reassure a panicked churchwarden should I turn up in the churchyard with a horn sized hole in my chest.
You have a carol concert tonight, I promised myself. I parked my car near the field and slipped my feet into boots before sliding out. My winter coat rested on the back seat, and I shrugged it on before slipping the strap of Clyde’s case over my shoulder.
Although the day was crisp and bright, the tangled bushes seemed darker than ever. ‘It’s a very bad crossing,’ I warned the snail shark. ‘Be prepared.’
My wellies squelched as I strode through grass and mud. I forced myself to keep walking forward, into the cold and pain, my ears ringing with screams and my breath being squeezed from my throat. If I ever found the time, I would investigate the history of these odd corners of Northamptonshire. If I knew what had caused a thin place to form, maybe I could be better prepared when I went through one.
I emerged into an overcast day. The area was mercifully free of unicorns. As ever, the temperature was warmer than in the world I’d left behind, and I unbuttoned my coat. Clyde made an enquiring sound and I quickly shushed him.
Mud fell from my boots as I trudged over the firm ground to the forest. Even in the lack of sunlight, the branches seemed to shine with a light of their own. I felt the peaceful stillness close over my head. Part of me wondered if I should take my shoes off, as it was obvious that I was standing on holy ground.
A sigh like a wind rippled through the trees. I stopped near the beech which the Archdruid had singled out, and touched the smooth bark with a fingertip. Then I hesitated, wondering whether I should speak the unicorn’s name.
‘Father Penny. I did not expect you to enter our sanctuary without permission.’
The Archdruid had suddenly appeared, white and glowing, in the gap between two trees. I glanced at the sharp horn and swallowed. ‘If I’ve transgressed, then I beg your pardon. I didn’t know of any other way to see you.’
The dark eyes studied me. ‘You hold my name.’
‘To use your name without dire need seemed a greater trespass than entering your sacred woods.’
A moment of silence. ‘You chose well,’ the Archdruid said finally, and both the woods and I seemed to release a long held breath. ‘What would you ask of me, Father Penny?’
‘A woman from my world is missing. She might be in Lloegyr.’ No reaction from the unicorn. ‘She might have come to your lands.’
‘What makes you think so?’
The fact that we’ve got two gored humans in a morgue, I wanted to say. I bit it back. ‘Her last known location in my country was at the thin space near here. This seemed the best place to start looking. And we’re worried for her. She’s on medicine for her heart, and she’s been missing for several days.’
‘You are worried for her health.’
The Archdruid’s reluctance to use contractions was beginning to annoy me. ‘I’m worried, yes. Weren’t you worried when the filly was missing from the herd?’
Her tail slapped against her hindquarters. ‘We will search for your missing human. When she is found, I will send you word.’
‘By your leave, Archdruid, I’d rather wait in Lloegyr,’ I said politely. ‘Any further time lost increases the risk to the woman’s health.’
Now a hindhoof stamped the ground. But the unicorn’s voice was calm. ‘Very well. But you cannot wait here. Come with me.’
We exited the forest and walked back along the field. The Archdruid’s long legs carried her easily up the steep hill, whereas my much shorter ones struggled. Well, that was the excuse running through my head as I puffed in her wake.
Then I was at the top, and all thoughts of aching muscles fled from my thoughts. Another forest was spread out below me, but not like any I’d ever seen before. The trees were thick and squat, the long branches weaving in and around each other to form a thick covering. The shape reminded me of a toadstool, a taller umbrella like structure shielding the base. There were at least several dozen, spreading out across the well-trodden grass.
‘Your homes?’ I asked the unicorn.
She dipped her head. ‘Rain flattens our coats and tangles our manes. We prefer to have shelter from the wet and the cold.’
‘Don’t move to England if you don’t like wet and cold.’
‘We have no intention of moving to your polluted land.’
/> So that was me told. Note to self: Don’t try small talk with a unicorn. At least we were now going downhill, and I could catch my breath. I was beginning to suffer from that curse common to all wellington wearers, namely fall down of the socks. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask the Archdruid to stop for a moment simply so I could readjust my footwear. I felt cotton scrunch up under my ankles and gritted my teeth.
I was sock hobbling by the time we reached the forest. The branches which closed over our heads were still green with leaves, and I wondered what sort of trees these were. My mother had been a keen botanist, but the rambling state of my back garden was a mute testimony to my utter lack of interest in anything green. Other than Raven, of course. I scowled as he once again scattered my thoughts.
The unicorn led me deeper into the thick woods. Although little sunlight penetrated the overhead cover, small creatures sliding along the trunks gave off a bright white glow. I tried to look closer at one while walking past, but I felt Clyde stir in his case. When was the last time he’d eaten? I wondered uneasily. And were those glow worm things in any way sacred and/or sentient?
The silver horn pointed at a nearby tree. ‘Please wait in there. I will let you know whether any unicorn has seen the human you seek.’
‘Any idea how long that will take?’ I asked as politely as I could. ‘I have a carol service this evening.’
The unicorn eyed me, and I felt my face flush. ‘If this Susie is important to you, you will wait.’
I forced my face to remain calm as I turned and walked into the hollowed out trunk. But the name had jumped out at me. I was certain that at no point had I given the Archdruid the name of the missing woman. Susie was at least known to the herd, and might even be sitting in another tree shelter.
Once I could no longer hear the Archdruid’s hooves, I headed back out. A unicorn walking past stopped to glance at me. ‘Just wondering about... facilities,’ I said weakly.
‘House used vampires,’ the unicorn said in broken English. ‘Back.’
I gave a smile and decided to reverse my steps in case the word had been a command. As I glanced around, I noted that there was a low table, a stump for a chair, and a partition hiding what turned out to be a hole in the ground. I studied the drop, and decided that I was not staying long enough to need to use it. Plus, I had a carol service to host. Not the best of motivational mantras, perhaps, but it would have to do.
