by Chrys Cymri
‘Like what?’
‘Like responsibility. Looking after people. Not taking unnecessary risks.’
‘What a boring little life that would be.’
Violence has never been my way. But I found that my hands were curling into fists. ‘Then why are you so interested in me?’
‘Because I know you don’t want to live a boring little life.’ Raven chuckled. ‘That’s why you will never be happy with a human. You need a dragon. You need me.’
‘To bring excitement into my life?’
‘Precisely.’
‘I’m Vicar General for Incursions,’ I pointed out. ‘I negotiate with dragon families and face down angry unicorns. I’ve got excitement in spades.’ But even as I argued, I could feel myself thinking of the other half of my work. Sunday services for a few elderly faithful. Baptisms and marriages for families who only wanted the pretty building but none of the Christian faith. The endless round of meetings and worries about raising enough money to keep the church going--and me in employment.
‘Oh, yes,’ Raven said softly. ‘And that’s why you come flying with me.’
‘Nos da, Raven,’ I muttered, suddenly too tired to think of a rejoinder.
‘Good night, Penny,’ he mocked. ‘I’m off to New York. The fireworks there are nearly as spectacular as London’s. You enjoy your sleep.’ Then he sprang into the air.
I unlocked the kitchen door and stumbled inside. Forget the coffee. All I wanted was the whisky.
Chapter Twenty
The one dram of whisky turned into two, then three. It was well into the early hours of the morning when I finally went to bed. Like the majority of my fellow citizens, I decided to sleep in. Unlike many, however, my head and stomach were relatively clear when I finally rose.
I saw nothing of James or Morey all day. Clyde was restless in his tank when I came into the study, and the moment I’d let him out, he zoomed onto my desk and crouched. Before I could stop him, he squeezed out a noxious brown slime across the wood. I let him out into the back garden and then fetched paper towels to clean up the mess.
A day off with no real plans. I tried to read a Doctor Who novel, but found the characterisation of the Seventh Doctor to be unconvincing. Updating Facebook and browsing eBay filled another hour. I let Clyde back in, and pondered activity stations for rats as he tried first to eat some of my books and then threw my pen pot to the floor. I picked him up by the shell to return him to his terrarium, and to my shock he actually bared his teeth at me.
I went back to my computer and searched under ‘bored pets.’ Perhaps I could try clicker training? For the rest of the afternoon, I read about and watched videos of enthusiastic people showing their impressive results in using positive reinforcement on cats, parrots, and giraffes. I only wished that one of them had advice for carnivorous snails.
Finally, evening drew in. I watched the Sherlock special and felt a bafflement which had little to do with the large glass of red wine which accompanied my viewing. No doubt Morey would be able to explain the plot to me, if I could cope with his condescension. I jotted down a few ideas on how I could open the conversation without looking totally ignorant.
As I worked in my study the next morning, I heard a car pull up in the drive and the front door open and shut. So James was home. Later the cat flap rattled, and I knew Morey was back. I continued to pound the computer keyboard in the desperate search for an ending to my sermon. At this rate, the congregation would be equally desperate for an ending when I delivered it.
At noon I decided I needed a break. And some food. I walked to the hallway and shouted out ‘Lunch!’ to the missing members of the household. Clyde was sulking in his tank, so I left him there.
I busied myself in retrieving sandwich items from the fridge. When I brought them to the table, the silent misery of both man and gryphon was like a dark cloud hovering over the room. Although I felt little better myself, I took a deep breath and forced myself into pastoral mode. ‘Okay, what’s happened? James?’
‘Nothing happened,’ my brother muttered as he buttered a piece of bread. ‘That’s the problem.’
‘It didn’t work out with Zarah/Sarah?’
‘She never turned up.’ James stuffed the bread into his mouth, and spoke indistinctly as he chewed. ‘Waited all evening at the pub. Heard nothing from her. Not even a text. Crashed for the night on a friend’s sofa. What a crap way to see in the New Year.’
‘And you, Morey?’ I asked the equally glum gryphon.
‘Taryn wants to meet my family.’
‘That’s a big step,’ I said cautiously. ‘How do you feel about it?’
Feathers ruffled as he stated, ‘I’d rather be eaten by a snail shark.’
‘Clyde loves you very much,’ I said, ‘but not in that way.’
James reached over to grab a slice of cheese. ‘What’s the matter with your family?’
‘We’re not exactly on speaking terms.’
‘Why’s that?’
Now the fur was also standing up along Morey’s back. ‘Partially because of Seren. But also because I’m a Christian.’
‘I didn’t really like it when Pen decided to become a vicar,’ James said. ‘But I learned to cope.’
I was torn between wanting to defend myself, and not wanting to interfere in a rare moment of sharing between them. As I busied myself with cutting cheese, Morey continued, ‘You might not be a Christian, James, but neither are you a pagan.’
‘Um, thanks,’ James mumbled through his mouthful of ham. ‘But at least you’ve got someone. I thought my luck had changed. I’d expected to be lying on something far more interesting than a greasy sofa for my New Year’s.’
‘Why don't you come with me this afternoon,’ I said quickly, forestalling Morey’s attempt to make a comment about James’s personal life. ‘The producer for the webisode series is going to walk around the church with me.’
James yawned. ‘What, meet with some ancient guy to look around an even more ancient church?’
‘Lewis isn’t much older than you,’ I said. ‘And you never know, maybe they’ll pick you as an extra.’
‘I’d be on TV?’ James grinned. ‘That’d give me some great photos for Tinder.’
‘What’s Tinder?’ Morey asked.
And once again I intervened. ‘I’m meeting Lewis at two. So if you’re coming, you need to get ready.’
Morey elected to stay at home and do some work on the computer. I hid a wince. No doubt he’d have a lecture ready about the evils of Tinder when we got home. Peace, I reflected, never lasted long in my household.
James suggested that he drove us in his BMW. The clouds had blown away, leaving behind a sunny but windy day. My brother had decided, no doubt in an attempt to impress the webisode producer, to wear the costume of the British male who scoffed at cold weather. So I had little sympathy for him when he shivered, in his shorts and t-shirt, as we entered the cold church.
Lewis, when he joined us a moment later, was much more sensibly dressed in a long wool coat over his dark jeans. A pair of sunglasses was perched on his head, which cheered me tremendously. I introduced him to James, and the two men bonded over a mutual appreciation of classic sports cars.
‘It’s just such a great idea to use Penny’s church,’ Lewis explained to James whilst I walked around the building to turn on the lights. ‘Since she’s set her blog in this area. And the village is perfect.’
We walked through the nave, looked around the chancel, and I proudly showed off the stained glass window of the prodigal son. ‘If you look closely, you can see that there’s a drawing of a pig on the son’s water skin.’
‘Why?’ James asked.
‘Because the son hired himself out to look after pigs,’ Lewis responded. At my glance, he added, ‘I looked it up after reading that bit in Penny’s book.’
‘It’s in the Bible,’ I told James. ‘Gospel of Luke. I can show it to you.’
James waved a hand at me. ‘No thanks.�
�
‘You don’t go to church?’ Lewis asked him. ‘I thought, you know, as you’re a vicar’s brother, you would?’
‘Division of labour,’ James said. ‘She does the praying, I’m the one who gets all the fun.’
I stumbled, surprised to hear an echo of Raven’s accusation. ‘What about you?’ I asked Lewis. ‘Do you follow any religion?’
‘That would be complicated.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m gay.’
‘That’s not a problem here,’ James said happily. ‘Rosie, the other priest for this church, she’s got a girlfriend.’
Lewis gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Maybe I should meet her.’
‘You should.’ James grinned. ‘She’s ever so easy to talk to.’
Throughout the tour, Lewis had been making notes and a few sketches in a small notebook. He flipped to another section and wrote down Rosie’s name. I made a mental note to warn her to expect contact. And another mental note to remind James that not everyone would accept her relationship status with the same ease.
We walked around the outside of the church. Lewis offered James his coat. James politely refused. As wind bit through my own jacket, I wondered if I’d soon be taking soup to a flu ridden brother. Still more responsibility. Still less fun. Was Raven right about me?
The producer made more notes and sketches. We discussed his approach to the villagers about filming in the area. ‘Will you need any extras?’ James asked. ‘You know, for group shots, or in the church? I can be around, if you need someone.’
Lewis laughed. ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but I’d think you’re on the wrong side of sixty to feature in a church scene.’
‘That’s unfair,’ I protested. ‘We have younger people in church.’
‘Really?’ Lewis opened a new page on his notebook. ‘That would be going against the national tide, wouldn’t it? Impressive. Tell me more.’
‘We have well attended all age services,’ I said boldly. Well, around five families came the three times of year we put on an all age service. ‘And young couples come as well.’ When their wedding banns were being read out, but even so, they did appear on those Sundays. ‘We have a full church on the third Sunday of the month.’ Which is when I did baptisms.
James glared at me, and I knew that he wasn’t fooled. He had heard me complain, too many times, about the lack of attendance at all age services, the couples who only came for their banns, the huge baptism parties who texted throughout the service and refused to sing any of the hymns.
‘I’ll have to come one Sunday,’ Lewis said. And I thought to myself, Behold, thy sin shall find thee out.
Lewis finished notes and questions, and I returned to the church to turn off the lights and lock up. James waited for me in his car, the engine running and hot air pumping into the small space. As I slid into the passenger seat, he turned to me. ‘Pen?’
‘Yes, James?’
Then his lips thinned. He shook his head, backed out of our parking space, and took us home.
<><><><><><>
There was the usual low turnout for the first Sunday into the New Year. This made me regret even more the misleading assertions I’d made to Lewis. Handing out Communion to only a dozen people made for a short service, and I was home before noon.
The phone was ringing as I walked into the study. ‘Penny White speaking,’ I answered.
‘Reverend White?’ asked a female voice. ‘Great. I’m phoning from Northants Police. An Inspector Peter Jarvis has been trying to reach you.’
I always turned off my iPhone before the start of a church service. ‘Sorry, I’ve been busy.’
‘He has a message for you.’ The voice turned apologetic. ‘I hope it makes sense? He says, “An uncontrollable judge is loose in Earls Barton. Please join me. Park at Jeyes.”’
A judge? Then I recalled the Lloegyr courtroom. Peter was obviously trying to avoid giving the word ‘unicorn’ to the call centre operator. ‘Can you leave a message on his phone to say that I’m on my way?’
A soft trill from Clyde shot guilt through my heart. ‘Later,’ I promised the snail as I hurried out. Morey had gone to his own church that morning. As I headed down the A45, I wished we had some way to communicate. There was a good chance that Taryn was with Morey, which would leave us without aerial support.
When I’d last been to Earls Barton, the town had been evacuated. A rabble of snail sharks had infested the area, and a cover story about suspected terrorist activity had been used to clear the inhabitants. This time, however, I saw smoke coming from chimneys and several people walking quickly through the rain.
A traffic cone was waiting in a parking space next to Peter’s Volvo. I stopped the car halfway into the space, and started rummaging for my jacket. Then a figure in a dark coat dashed out and removed the cone for me. I wasn’t surprised when he looked up to see that it was Peter.
He knocked on the passenger window, and I unlocked the door. A moment later he slid in, although with his coat removed and carefully bundled up in his arms. ‘Nice day for ducks,’ I greeted him.
‘I think even the ducks have found cover. The pond is empty.’
I grinned at him. ‘“How is a duck pond a duck pond if there aren't any ducks?”’
Peter smiled at the quote from his favourite Doctor. ‘There are cracks in time. And sometimes too many thin places. We don’t know where this unicorn came across.’
‘First snail sharks,’ I grumbled. ‘Now a unicorn. What’s with Earls Barton? Some sort of curse just because the town refuses to use the possessive apostrophe?’
‘Earls Barton was named before apostrophes came into the English language.’ Peter shrugged. ‘Some places are just like that. For example, there’s a small place near Loch Ness which regularly has to smuggle Nessie back into the water. All because Nikola Tesla carried some secret experiments there in 1883.’
My jaw dropped. ‘Nessie is real?’
‘And why are you surprised? But last I heard, no Zygons are involved.’ Peter waved it away. ‘The unicorn was first spotted on the green, when someone tried to take shelter under one of the trees.’
‘There’s been unicorn visitors to Earls Barton before. They helped us to find the snail sharks.’
‘This one turned around and kicked the man.’
I winced. ‘Is he all right?’
‘Bruised, but he was able to walk away.’
‘At least he wasn’t stabbed in the chest. Where’s the unicorn now?’
‘In a back garden off Shurville Close,’ Peter said. ‘I’ve got people watching her. Penny, her hide is dark grey. That’s why I’ve asked you to come. I think she’s the mother of that foal you returned.’
‘Any sign of her filly?’
‘Not yet.’
The rain had eased slightly. I grabbed my jacket and went through the intricate process of getting it on whilst still inside the car. Peter politely turned his head away from the undignified sight. I flipped the hood over my head. Then we both went out into the drizzle.
‘I was hoping she might listen to you,’ Peter explained as we splashed our way through the town. ‘Several of us have tried, but she refuses to leave the back garden. We don’t want to go in and grab her.’
‘If you can even grab a unicorn,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t want to mess with that horn.’
We stopped by a cottage. I had a sinking feeling as I saw the wet ‘Eggs for Sale’ sign. ‘She’s in there?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I’ve been here before.’ Please God, I prayed as I pushed the wooden gate open, let the owner be out for the afternoon. Or having a nap. Or engaged in frantic sex. Maybe even all three.
There were two other police hovering in the brick passageway. Peter touched my arm to stop me from walking out into the back garden. ‘See if you can call her over. We’re trying not to disturb the house owners.’
So I hovered at the end of the cottage wall. The unicorn was standing near the chicken pen. The birds, quite wisely, had taken cover in the
wooden coop. I wondered how long it had taken the hens to recover after Clyde’s mother had hunted them, and me, in this very garden.
‘Hello there,’ I called out softly to the mare. ‘It’s me, Penny. The one who brought your foal back. I cut you free in the unicorn forest.’
The dark head slowly rose. She turned around, silver hooves catching in the long grass. Her nostrils fluttered as she lifted her muzzle into the air. The delicate ears flicked.
‘I’m over here,’ I continued. ‘To your left. Would you mind coming over? It’d make it easier to talk to you.’
The mare shuffled across the lawn. There was none of the easy elegance which I’d come to expect from unicorns. She seemed sluggish, her mane and tail matted from more than just rain alone. Even the horn seemed dulled. The short walk took at least a minute, during which I felt cold water beginning to seep through my trousers.
Finally, the unicorn stood a few feet away. Brown eyes stared at me, but I felt she wasn’t really looking. ‘I’m Penny,’ I tried again. ‘We’ve met before. I let you go so you could return to your foal. How is she?’
Now I had her attention. Lips drew back from white teeth. ‘Dead. My milk killed her.’
My gasp was lost in the exclamations of the police officers. The unicorn reared at the sound, sharp hooves flashing just inches from my face. Then she twisted her body to throw herself at the fence. ‘Dead!’ she whinnied, smashing her horn again and again deep into the wood. ‘Dead! Dead! Dead!’
The silver spiral became stuck the fourth time. And then, in a calculated move, the unicorn snapped her head back and forth. I suddenly realised what she was doing, and I cried out for her to stop. But I was too late. With a loud crack which made my ears ache, the horn broke away from her head. The mare stepped back, nothing more than a stub now resting in the centre of her forehead.
Dogs broke into loud howling. The chickens panicked in their coop, their cries and wing flaps a higher note against the canine wailing. I almost expected the sky to go black and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to come riding in. No, wait, Highlander had already covered that storyline.
