by Chrys Cymri
‘You said she was direct,’ Rhis commented to Ian.
‘Oh, she doesn't beat around the bush. Not our Penny.’
Rhis smiled. Now I could see the unnaturally long canines. ‘Yes, I’m a vampire. But I haven’t bled a human since I became a Christian.’
Ian laughed. ‘But I bet sometimes you’re tempted.’
‘Only when I am being annoyed. But then I remember that our Lord insisted we must forgive seventy times seven.’ Rhis glanced at Ian. ‘Have I mentioned that you have been forgiven four hundred and eighty-nine times?’
‘Frequently.’
And I felt myself relax. The two men had obviously worked together for some time, and even more importantly, despite their differences, they liked each other. That spoke volumes for relations between our two dioceses. ‘How does it work?’ I asked. ‘I mean, how do people, dragons, unicorns, snail sharks - how do they cross between the two worlds?’
‘Have you been to Iona?’ Ian asked. At my nod, he continued, ‘You know that Iona is one of the “thin places”, where the distance between heaven and earth narrow, and we can more easily sense the presence of God. But these “thin places” are also where the boundaries between the worlds collapse. Not everyone can feel them, just like many people can stand near Columba’s Bay and not sense God.’
Rhis grunted. ‘Actually, I sense God more at the Iona Golf Course.’
‘Philistine,’ Ian said affectionately. ‘It’s not easy to cross over. Thin places seem to form where terrible events have occurred, and it’s like an icy afterimage remains. But enough people do, or fall through by accident, that both sides have had to find ways to deal with these incursions.’
I cleared my throat. ‘An incursion is an attack. None of these sound like an attack.’
‘They have been.’ Rhis sounded grim. ‘Think of your legends about dragons, or vampires. Not very positive, are they?’
‘The term stuck,’ Ian explained, ‘although it’s probably no longer politically correct. But that’s the Church for you.’
‘I spoke to a police officer this morning,’ I continued. ‘He said he worked in a unit which specialises in these—circumstances.’
‘Was it about Brother Dominic?’ I nodded, and Rhis leaned forward. ‘May I thank you, on behalf of the brother’s abbot and his family, for administrating the last rites so promptly and professionally.’
‘Because he was a dragon?’
‘No. Because you followed the rubrics.’
‘Rhis,’ Ian told me, ‘is very traditional. High Church.’
‘How do you know?’ Then I nodded. ‘You were there, weren’t you? In the trees. The bat that I saw fly away.’
Rhis laughed. ‘Which is why I kept hidden.’ At my look, he explained, ‘I might be able to transform myself, but I can’t transform clothing.’
I tried, and failed, to put the vision of a naked vampire out of my mind. ‘So there’s a special unit in the police force. How far does this go? The government?’
‘There’s a senior civil servant who advises the Prime Minister.’ Ian shrugged. ‘It’s not assigned to any minister’s portfolio. The civil service doesn’t think your average politician can be entrusted with knowledge about Lloegyr.’
‘MI5? Or is it MI6?’
‘Both.’
‘The Queen?’
‘Of course,’ Ian said. ‘She’s the head of the Church, after all. Prince Charles was particularly helpful with a spot of bother the other year. He’s the favourite of the unicorns.’
‘Because…?’
‘They’re great environmentalists, like him. And they’re very proud of the fact that they feature on the royal coat of arms, though they don’t like the idea that the unicorn is chained.’
And there wasn’t a single drop of whisky in sight. ‘What about the rest of the world, like the USA?’ I threw out. ‘How does America cope with their equivalent?’
‘Not very well,’ Rhis said. ‘Especially now that the bees are emigrating.’
‘You’re telling me that bees are crossing over?’
‘Into les Etats-Unis. Hives can apply for citizenship after three years, but first they have to learn to speak French.’
‘French,’ I repeated weakly.
Ian chuckled. ‘When the French lost Lloegyr, they turned their attention to North America. Over there, they didn’t stop at Canada. It’s all one big French speaking country, from the arctic wastes down to Mexico. With the best Pinot Noir I’ve ever tasted.’
Over the course of the hour I asked about different countries, discovered that vampires could go out in daylight but sunlight sapped their strength, and ascertained that the Royal Mail was blissfully unaware that a large number of their employees met delivery targets by shape shifting. I discovered that dragons love playing rugby, most of the high court judges are unicorns, and mermaids formed their own separate kingdom in the North Sea.
‘So, magic works in Daear?’
‘We don’t consider it magic, not in the way you mean,’ Rhis said. ‘Our scientists have been working on an explanation for our universe longer than your Earth equivalents.’
‘They have a variation of CERN,’ Ian explained. ‘In almost the same equivalent site.’
‘To smash particles together?’
‘No. They analyse dragon breath and bee wings.’ Rhis sounded apologetic. ‘It’s all a bit beyond me, but I understand they’re getting promising results.’
Ian glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Sorry, Penny, but we need to go in a moment. Any last questions?’
‘Yes. Why do people lose the Sight?’
Rhis laughed. ‘The human mind, it seems, is excellent at dismissing what it decides must be impossible. That’s why we assign Associates. They serve as a constant reminder that the citizens of Lloegyr are real.’
‘The Somebody Else’s Problem Field,’ I muttered. ‘You ignore what you can’t believe in or don’t want to see.’
‘Wise man, Douglas Adams,’ Ian agreed. ‘Now, time for lunch. We won’t be coming back here, so you’ll want to take everything with you.’
‘This way.’ Rhis led us across the upstairs foyer to the lift. He glanced back at me. ‘The first time can be a bit unsettling. Just to warn you.’
‘We’re crossing over? There’s thin place here?’
Ian grinned. ‘Why else would we have built our diocesan offices in Kettering?’
The lift was massive. It could have held three times our number. Once we were inside, Ian unlocked a small panel set into the wall. He pressed the single button resting inside. The lift went down to the ground floor, then continued further. Cool air drifted in when the doors opened again. I had a brief glimpse of brick walls, dimly lit by flickering ceiling lights. Then Ian laid a hand on my arm and escorted me into the semi-darkness.
The floor slid away from my feet. I found myself fighting for balance, suddenly glad of Ian’s strong grip helping me to remain upright. All light was gone, replaced by a blackness deeper than anything I’ve ever known. Ice crawled down my throat and into my lungs with every breath I struggled to take. The sound of my own heartbeat pounded loudly, painfully, in my ears.
Then there was warmth and light again. ‘Easy,’ Ian murmured, his hand tight on my arm as I stumbled across the tiled floor. I took deep breaths, easing the pain in my chest. With my free hand I wiped my eyes, then looked up.
A crypt. I’ve been in enough cathedrals to recognise a crypt when I stand in one. The chamber could have easily held my small village church with room to spare. Ribs of stone braced the vaulted ceiling. Bright paintings shone even in the subdued lighting. I could recognise some of the stories depicted above me. Elijah and the priests of Baal. Moses parting the Red Sea. Daniel in the lions’ den. But others were unfamiliar to me, particularly those featuring unicorns, dragons, and one which I was certain showed a mermaid preaching to a ship filled with well dressed sailors.
‘Magnificent, are they not?’ Another Welsh accented voice. I dropped my gaze, and found mysel
f being appraised by a dragon. ‘Croeso, Reverend Penelope White. I’m Aeron Brierley, Bishop of Llanbedr.’
Whatever else the Bishop might have said was lost on me. A dragon. I was standing in front of a real, living dragon. Like Dominic, she was about twice the size of a large horse. Her hide was a bright orange-red, and seemed to glow under the ceiling lights. A purple cowl rested around her neck, the hood thrown back to lie against the thin spines which travelled from neck to tail. Small spines also marched along her narrow muzzle, from flaring nostrils to the thin horns. Her eyes were large and reptilian, the pupils no more than a thin black slit in the middle of blue-green irises, but I felt that this bishop missed as little as my own. A dusky smell hung around her, and I took a deep breath. Dragons, I decided, smelled nice.
Then I realised she’d stopped speaking awhile ago. ‘Glad to meet you, Bishop,’ I stuttered. ‘It’s kind of you to come.’
‘I’ve heard good things about you from my archdeacon.’ The large head came close. ‘He recommended you after your assistance to poor Dominic. I know he’s passed on our thanks.’
‘I only did what any priest would have done.’
‘Somehow I doubt that.’ The Bishop turned. ‘Come, have some lunch.’
I watched her walk away, the long claws striking against the hard floor, tail sliding behind. I felt as if part of my heart had gone with her.
‘It’s going to be dragons for you, isn’t it?’ Ian’s smile was almost sad. ‘It’s different for me. I see a unicorn, and my knees wobble. But then, all of Lloegyr seems to venerate unicorns. For others of us it’s vampires--’
‘Twilight fans,’ Rhis interjected drily.
‘But for you, it’s going to be dragons.’ Ian lowered his voice. ‘Be careful, Penny. Don’t let this place turn your head.’
‘But it’s safe to eat here?’
Ian looked confused, but Rhis laughed. ‘Yes, Penny, it’s safe to eat here. We’re in Daear.’
‘Not amongst the Fair Folk.’
‘Just a word of advice,’ Rhis said, his tone suddenly grim. ‘Don’t mention the Fair Folk. Not part of our history we’re proud about.’
Other people, and beings, had slowly come into the crypt as we spoke. They had gathered around long tables spread between the stone pillars. My nose twitched at the smell of sausage rolls, coffee, and pizza. As I looked around the assorted faces - human, dragon, unicorn, vampire, and some for which I didn’t have names - I realised that the interview process had started. I was now going to have to mingle, answer the same questions time and again, and above all be friendly and approachable. It was time for Trial by Buffet.
‘Shall I say grace?’ It was Bishop Nigel, and I felt a sense of relief that he was present. ‘Lord Jesus, we thank you for this food, for those who have prepared it, and we pray for those who have nothing. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ rumbled through the chamber.
I found myself ushered to the first table. The standard buffet fare of sandwiches, crisps, and fruit juices was a let down. I still filled my plate and waited for the first being to approach me.
‘Hi Penny.’ To my delight it was Helen, the Director of Ministerial Education in Nenehampton Diocese. She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. ‘I always thought I’d find you here one day.’
‘Really? Why?’ As ever, I felt acutely my extra pounds when standing near Helen’s willowy frame.
‘What did you think of Peter Capaldi’s third season?’
‘He’s a great Doctor,’ I replied enthusiastically. ‘And I like what they did with his companion.’
‘But Sylvester McCoy is still your favourite?’
I nodded. ‘I keep flying the flag for the Seventh Doctor. And Ace.’
‘And that’s why I knew you’d make it here. Never afraid to stand up for an unpopular choice.’ Helen waved her free hand around the chamber. ‘Isn’t it great?’
‘Ian said I needed to be careful.’
‘Oh, Ian’s had a bad experience. Got a bit too close to a basilisk.’
‘The one that killed Canon Michael?’
‘We have poisonous snakes,’ Helen pointed out. ‘Whatever happens, Penny, I’d like to talk to you about doing some of your social justice lectures here in Lloegyr. The principal of their training programme is fascinated by the topics you cover.’
‘I use a lot of video clips and Keynote slides.’
Helen laughed. ‘Oh, they’ve been picking up technology from us. In some ways they’re even ahead of us. Their computers are all voice-activated. Most of them can’t use a mouse and keyboard, of course.’
I followed her gaze to a unicorn. Silver hooves gleamed against the tiled floor. ‘Of course.’
Time to mingle. I drifted over to the grey-white unicorn. The silver horn twisting from the forehead looked sharp and deadly. But the dark eyes which turned towards me were soft and kind. ‘Archdeacon?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I’m the Archdeacon of Ocheham.’ The voice was decidedly feminine. ‘And you must be the candidate. It’s lovely to meet you. I hope your first crossing wasn’t too difficult?’
‘I managed.’
‘Turned my second stomach the first time I visited your world.’ The flowing beard rubbed against my neck as the unicorn brought her muzzle near to my ear. ‘Forgive me, my dear, but unicorns rarely give out our names. Names have power. So if you do entrust me with the holding of yours, I’m afraid that I can’t reciprocate.’
‘It’s Penny. Penny White.’
‘Welcome, Penny White,’ the Archdeacon said gravely. ‘I will protect your name as I do my own.’
‘Thanks.’ I cleared my throat. ‘You don't have a Welsh accent.’
The unicorn laughed. ‘I was raised in an English speaking enclave. I’ve tried to learn the national language, but I simply can’t wrap my tongue around the diphthongs.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I said sympathetically.
I made small talk with many of the assembled humans and beings. This has never been my favourite part of an interview process, so I was relieved when the Archdeacon of Ocheham announced that it was time for me to take the written exam. Several voices murmured words of luck or prayer as I followed the unicorn to a small side chamber. Inside was a chair, a small desk, and a wall clock.
‘There are five questions offered, and you have two hours to answer any three of them,’ the Archdeacon said as Helen placed papers onto the desk. ‘If you finish early, just knock on the door.’
‘You don’t want me to leave my smartphone outside?’
The unicorn snorted. ‘You’re a priest in God’s service. We trust you.’
I wondered how many human priests the Archdeacon had met. A number of my fellow students at theological college had been very willing to cheat on exams. I took my seat, and glanced at the clock. As the hour hand touched 1:00 pm, the door was shut, and I was alone.
Timings first, I reminded myself. I took a piece of blank paper and wrote out my plan. Five minutes per question for thinking time. Five minutes to write an outline. Twenty five minutes to write. Five minutes to review. I would stop and move onto the next question at the end of forty minutes, whether I’d finished the essay or not. It was better to have three partially answered questions than only two fully answered ones.
I turned over the question paper. The five questions were printed in a flowing script across the white page.
Question One: If you could only pick one of these two to watch throughout eternity, which would you avoid, and why? Star Trek: Voyager ‘Threshold’ or Doctor Who ‘The Twin Dilemma’.
Question Two: Compare and contrast the plots and characters of Star Wars IV: A New Hope with Eragon.
Question Three: Which ending is less true to the series’ overall theme, that of Lost or of Battlestar Galactica (reboot)?
Question Four: Was Number Six really held in The Village, or did all the events only take place in his mind? Reference specific moments in either version of the televised series in your answer.
Question Five: Which was the better assistant to John Steed, Cathy Gale or Emma Peel, and why?
I felt a large grin spread across my face. This was going to be fun.
<><><><><><>
I took a deep breath when I’d finished the third essay, ten minutes before the end of the allotted time. My right hand was cramped, but I didn’t care. I felt I’d done a particularly good job with the fifth question. I’ve long felt that Cathy Gale is underrated amongst fans of The Avengers.
I was allowed out of the room, and I was given a small room in which to have a short rest. I poured myself a cup of tea and wished that I owned a hipflask. A slug of something straight and strong would have been very welcome. Instead, I satisfied myself with the drink which only refreshes but does not inebriate.
Then time for the interview. Both bishops, one sitting in a chair, the other back on her well-muscled haunches. Helen was the third interviewer, and I smiled to see her there.
So I felt slightly betrayed when her first question to me was, ‘How is your current relationship with God? This role takes great maturity and spiritual resilience. What do you currently do which will help you to maintain a healthy perspective as you interact with people from Lloegyr?’
‘My spiritual director is aware of Lloegyr,’ I said after a moment. ‘He’s also warned me that I’d need to be spiritually strong. He’d be a support.’ A thought struck me. ‘And I’d need to tell my cell group. They’d also hold me accountable.’
The next question, this from Bishop Aeron, was much easier to field. A standard one about a conflict situation and how I’d resolved it. Helen followed this up with one about my main achievements and failures at my current post. Bishop Aeron’s question about the last book I’d read brought my embarrassed confession that this had been one of the comic book continuations of the Buffy saga.
Then Bishop Nigel took a turn. ‘What are your views on mixed marriages?’
I stared at him for a moment. ‘I have one in my congregation. Haven’t we moved past that?’ Then I realised what he meant. ‘You mean, between different species? Like humans and, say, vampires?’
