by Chrys Cymri
‘Another one of the side effects from the painkiller.’
‘Are there any others I should know about?’
‘You’ll have some vivid dreams tonight. That’s all.’
I settled back in my seat to enjoy my drink. The café might be basic, but the coffee was real and freshly ground. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare bottle of that stuff?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘So, you’ve met the family and the monks. What do you think? Would either side have broken into the mortuary to drag out Dominic’s body to eat him?’
‘I don’t think so. They both seemed happy with the idea that the family would eat part of him, and the brothers would bury the rest.’
Peter winced. ‘Dragons. Complicated people. Unicorns are so much more straight forward. Everyone trusts unicorns.’
‘Because they get to the point?’
‘It’s all a matter of scale.’
‘Are you horning in on my jokes?’
‘I don’t know. This conversation might drag on for a bit.’
I laughed, and realised just how long it had been since I’d last done so. ‘Okay, truce. As I was saying, I think both sides were happy with the deal.’
Peter caught the eye of the café owner, and held up his mug. He waited until he’d had a refill before continuing. ‘So, did a third party get involved, or did one side change their minds?’
‘I don’t know dragons that well.’ I hoped he hadn’t picked up on the note of regret. ‘But they’re intelligent and rational beings.’
‘As rational as any intelligent beings are.’
‘Which means they can change their minds, and then find reasons to support that.’
‘Welcome to my world,’ Peter said drily. He shrugged at my frown. ‘I’ve found that even the worst criminals feel that they can justify their actions.’
‘But what third party, and why?’ My hands waved around in emphasis, and I accidentally caught my mug, knocking it over. There was little left inside, but several drops splashed onto Peter’s jacket. I quickly handed him some paper napkins, and as he dabbed at the stains I noticed that there were leather patches on the elbows. ‘Your jacket is very Eleventh Doctor.’
‘Well, Matt Smith is my Doctor.’
‘Sylvester McCoy is mine,’ I said, ‘although Peter Capaldi is a very close second.’
‘The finale last season was tremendous.’
Then we met each other’s eyes. ‘You’re a Doctor Who fan?’ I asked first.
‘Have been since I was six years old. I caught the tail end of Tom Baker.’
So he was about five years older than me. ‘Colin Baker was my first, but I have all the DVDs.’
‘And the audio adventures?’
‘I spend more at Big Finish than I’d like to admit.’
‘A Death in the Family. Stunning bit of drama.’
‘One of my favourites too!’ Then I took a deep breath. ‘These dragons.’
Peter looked equally reluctant to return to work. ‘I have to wonder if we actually need to know. I’m not certain any actual crime has been committed.’
‘Maybe not last night,’ I said slowly. ‘But there’s still the question as to why he was flying over the A43 in the first place.’
‘Why would any dragon fly? He was trying to get somewhere.’
‘Naked,’ I pointed out. ‘The family mentioned a human woman called Miranda. I think we should be trying to find her.’
‘A human woman?’ Peter nodded. ‘That’s interesting. I asked Russell about any unusual visitors to the morgue, and he said a woman came two days ago asking questions about dragons. He sent her away.’
‘So he might be able to tell us what she looked like.’
‘Better than that.’ Peter grinned. ‘We have CCTV on the entrance. We can look through the video and get a photo of her.’
‘Only at reception? Isn’t there one outside which can show us footage from last night?’
‘Burnt out. Literally. A quick shot of a dragon’s snout and then the camera’s gone.’
‘Well, I’ll have to leave it to you.’ I glanced at my wristwatch. ‘I’ve got to get back. I have a Communion service in an hour.’
‘A service?’ He looked startled. ‘You’re still a vicar? I mean, you don’t do this full time?’
‘No, I don’t. Seems I did too well at the interview.’ The injustice was still a burn in my chest.
He cleared his throat. ‘Are you, I mean, are vicars--are you celibate?’
I glanced down at the bare skin of my left ring finger. It had taken me a year before I’d felt able to take off the wedding band. ‘No. I was married.’
‘Me too, once. Years ago.’ Another throat clearing. ‘Do you think, maybe we could meet up for a coffee, or something, sometime?’
‘We just had a coffee,’ I said, confused. Then I felt my cheeks flush. ‘Oh, you mean, meet up for a drink.’
‘Yes.’
I found myself taking a proper look at him. Nice man, good sense of humour, Doctor Who fan, caring but not pushy. I felt a flutter in my stomach. But then his blue-grey eyes were swept away by a vision of blue-green, and the scent of fresh soap by that of grass and leather. ‘Can I let you know?’
He gave me a sad smile. ‘Oh. There’s someone else?’
Now my face was burning. Was there? I wasn’t certain. ‘No, not really. It’s just--Alan died eighteen months ago.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.’ And he politely shifted the conversation back to science fiction.
We walked back to the warehouse. Morey was waiting for us on the wall. I wondered what he made of the sick slowly drying on the grass. ‘Definitely dragon teeth bite marks,’ he informed us.
‘Why was he dragged outside?’ I asked.
‘Dragons don’t like cold,’ Peter answered. ‘Penny has to get back to her church. Could you stay to help me look through CCTV footage?’
‘Certainly. What are we looking for?’
And while they went inside to find answers to the destruction of a dragon’s body, I drove to the village so I could preside at the Eucharist for the usual three who came to a midweek service.
<><><><><><>
I settled in the chair with my mug of Earl Grey. My shoulder felt strangely empty without Morey’s presence, but the gryphon had understood that spiritual direction was a private matter.
Gregory blew across his own drink. ‘So, how are you balancing the two roles?’
‘Best I can.’ I told my spiritual director excitedly about the negotiations, the licensing service, and the visit to the morgue, admitting to my hangover and subsequent embarrassment. I said nothing about Raven. After all, he’d not really played a part in any of it.
‘And the parish?’
I sighed. ‘Still only one churchwarden. The chair of the village fete committee wants to step down, and I’m not certain who might take his place.’ I rattled on for a few minutes about hymn book controversies and recalcitrant organists. ‘So, really, still same old, same old.’
‘Have you noticed how your voice changed?’ he asked me. ‘When you talked about the Vicar General role, you were so enthused that I could hardly keep up with you. But when you talked about the parish, all the energy left you.’
‘I wasn’t appointed full time,’ I said reluctantly. ‘Seems I did too well on the interview.’
‘What reason did they give for leaving you with a parish?’
‘That it would ground me.’ I put down my mug, not trusting my hands to remain steady. ‘But it’s not where I belong anymore.’
‘Where do you belong? Lloegyr?’
‘Oh, on Earth. But working with people from Lloegyr.’
‘So you think Bishop Nigel got it wrong. Making you only part time.’
I found I was blinking away tears. ‘Yes, he did.’
‘Or maybe he was right.’ Gregory’s voice was gentle but firm. ‘You’ve told me before how much you respect him. Could he have had a point?’
/> ‘I could do so much more if I were full time,’ I said. ‘For example, I had to leave an investigation on Wednesday just so I could take a mid week Eucharist. A dragon’s body has been mutilated--surely that’s more important than giving Communion to three people.’
‘Really? Why?’
I grabbed my mug and sipped at my tea. ‘I’d rather have stayed with the Inspector. Who asked me out, by the way. For a drink.’
Gregory smiled. ‘Did you agree?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Perhaps it’s too soon. After Alan’s death.’
‘Perhaps.’ But I was remembering muscles sliding under green-black scales, and red-lined nostrils drawing in my scent. ‘But it was nice to be asked.’
We talked some more about the parish, and then I mentioned James’ return to England and the attempts to keep the peace in the vicarage. ‘You would have thought, when I’ve been missing him so much these last two years, that I’d be glad to have him back.’
‘It can be easier to love at a distance. Or perhaps there’s a third person in the room? And, no, I don’t mean Morey.’ Gregory waited, but after I spent a minute studying my shoes, he continued, ‘Have you and James ever really talked? About losing Alan?’
I sighed. ‘Of course not. We’re British.’
‘You’ve lived alone for eighteen months, and now you’re suddenly sharing your home with two other people,’ Gregory said gently. ‘Both of whom have issues of their own. Is it at all surprising that things are a bit tense?’
‘I should be better at this. I’m a trained priest.’
‘Being a trained priest doesn’t make you perfect.’ He grinned. ‘God knows I'm not. But God doesn’t ask us to be perfect. Jesus told us to be merciful, as God is merciful, and that means with ourselves, as well as others. Remember what Ignatius said?’
‘The good spirit draws, the evil spirit drives.’
‘Try to be drawn towards what is good about your two house mates.’ Gregory glanced at the wall clock. ‘I need to go soon. I suggest you spend time in your Examen finding things to be grateful for in your parish life. God will help you to find a balance between your two roles.’
I don’t want a balance, I thought rebelliously. ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’
He studied me for a moment. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me about?’
Soft grass scented breath caressing my face. Reptilian blue-green eyes glittering as Raven cocked his head. I forced my voice to be steady. ‘No, that’s all.’
He prayed for me and I left the rectory. I settled into my car, and started the drive home. No, there’s nothing else, I thought fiercely. Nothing whatsoever. I turned on the car radio.
‘And here’s a blast from the past,’ said the DJ as the last song ended. ‘A bit of an unusual request from someone who calls himself, “A transplanted American.” Enjoy a bit of easy listening from Dan Fogelberg!’
The guitar chords nearly made me change the channel. Then the lyrics drilled into my ears. ‘“I see the raven’s made her nest in your eyes. She’s got you thinking that her love is a prize.”’
There are times, I told God as my hands tightened on the steering wheel, when I could quite happily strangle you.
‘“Darker, darker, don’t let her talk her way into you,”’ Dan Folgelberg warned me. ‘“Lonely, lonely, you know she’s only no good for you.”’
I reached out, turned the radio off, and drove home in a sullen physical and spiritual silence.
Chapter Nine
‘This is what I’ve spotted.’ Holly, my one and only churchwarden, pointed at the small holes dotting the wood. ‘I think it could be deathwatch beetle.’
I turned and looked up the length of the church. Row after row of dark-stained pews met my gaze. ‘How many might be affected?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve found others with holes. Could be all of them.’
‘All rotting from the inside.’ I glanced back at Holly. ‘Might be the end of the pews.’
She straightened, which still made her several inches below my height. Her brown eyes were fierce under her mop of white hair. ‘Vicar, you know my opinion about that nonsense. People like pews. You’ve already lost one churchwarden over this.’
I winced. Susie had publicly and noisily resigned in a church meeting when I’d suggested that we replace the pews with chairs. ‘But if the pews have to come out anyway--’
‘Then we put new ones in.’ I knew what was coming next, and Holly did not disappoint me. ‘I’ve been coming to this church for forty-three years. I’ve been churchwarden for seven. I know what people want to find when they come here.’
‘More than a vicar who’s only been here five years.’
‘Yes. Exactly.’
Morey, who had been perching on one of the rafters, suddenly dived down into the vestry. I heard a squeal, quickly stifled. Then Morey flew out of the open door, something brown and furry clenched in his beak.
‘What was that?’ Holly asked, reacting to the noise.
‘Those mice in the church?’ I told her. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about them anymore.’
My iPhone thrummed in my trouser pocket. I made my excuses to Holly and stepped outside. The midday sun was bright, and I couldn’t make out the number on the screen. ‘Reverend Penny White,’ I answered.
‘Hi Penny, it’s Peter. How were your dreams?’
‘That pill kept me awake for two nights,’ I told him. ‘I kept dreaming about eyes. Eyes on walls, eyes following me, eyes splashing against my legs.’
He laughed. ‘The first time I took one, I dreamed that I met Peter Capaldi in a marquee, and I begged him to stay on as the Doctor for at least five years. He sat me down and asked me some probing questions about why I liked his Doctor. I know I’m a fan, but I did think that was taking things just a bit too far.’
‘Rather had your dream than mine.’ Morey flew over to perch on the nearby church noticeboard. With my free hand I pointed at the bits of mouse stuck on his beak.
‘Me too. Taryn and I have looked through more CCTV footage, and we managed to pull up a pretty good frontal of the woman. And we’ve finally tracked her down.’
I winced as Morey smeared red and brown flesh across the noticeboard’s frame. ‘That’s fantastic.’
‘I’ll email you her address. Her name’s Miranda Witterton.’
‘Dominic’s Miranda?’
‘That’s what we think. Can you meet us there? Say in an hour?’
‘Yes, but I have a 3:00 pm meeting in Northampton.’
‘She’s in Duston, so that should work out. Penny, she might not even know that Dominic’s dead. Do you want to break the news, or me?’
‘I’ve done it once before,’ I said, remembering with vivid clarity an agonising phone call to a sleepy brother in New Zealand. ‘I’ll do it.’
I went back into the church to reassure an annoyed churchwarden that no pews would be removed without full congregational approval. A brief visit home to consume a sandwich, and then I drove us to Duston.
‘That might be how they met,’ Morey said as I found a place to park on the street of terraced houses. ‘Dominic was assigned to St George’s two years ago. It’s a church for ex-pats from Lloegyr.’
I had managed to squeeze my small Ford into a free space. I turned off the ignition and looked down at Morey. ‘You’re telling me that there’s an Esgobaeth Llanbedr church in Duston?’
‘Yes.’
‘And why haven’t I been told about this before now?’
He avoided my eyes. ‘The church would have been listed in the Esgobaeth Llanbedr directory. You were given a copy.’
‘It’s in Welsh,’ I pointed out. ‘So you’re suggesting that Miranda might have somehow, I don’t know, stumbled over Dominic one day and that’s how they met?’
‘Some humans come to St George’s.’ He shrugged. ‘Humans and vampires look the same. Until they smile.’
Peter was already waiting nearby. Today he was i
n black trousers and a grey jacket. His dark blue shirt went well with his blue-grey eyes. ‘Penny, Morey,’ he greeted us. Taryn exchanged a few words with Morey in Welsh.
We were standing outside a pebble-dashed terraced house. The front garden was slightly scruffy, but the windows looked clean and the front door was new. I had deliberately chosen a green clerical shirt to go with my blue trousers. As a rule, I never wear a black to a meeting with the bereaved.
Peter allowed me to press the doorbell. We waited on the step. He hadn’t wanted to phone Miranda in advance, preferring for us to give her the bad news in person. I was beginning to wonder if we’d wasted our time as I waited five minutes before pressing the doorbell again.
Then the welcome sound of locks being undone. The door opened, and I found myself looking up at a woman in her mid-thirties. Blue hair tumbled over tired looking brown eyes, a small mouth pulled into a frown below a long nose. Her gaze flicked down to my neck. ‘I already go to church.’
‘My name is Penny,’ I said, ‘I’m the Vicar of Beckeridge. This is Peter. He’s with the police. Are you Miranda Witterton?’
‘Why would you be wanting to know?’
Morey swirled down my arm. ‘It’s about Dominic, Ms Witterton.’
Miranda had tried to pretend otherwise, but she realised it was obvious that she could both see and hear Morey. ‘Dominic? I don’t know any Dominic.’
‘He might have used his hatch name,’ Peter said. ‘Endre.’
Her already pale face whitened further. ‘Endre? What about Endre? Is he all right?’
‘May we come in, Ms Witterton?’ I said quietly. ‘We’re here to help you.’
For a moment I thought she’d refuse. Then she stepped back.
There was a familiar odour in the house. As Miranda showed us to the front room, the scent became stronger. I glanced at Peter, and he gave me a quick nod. Smoke and leather. The smell of dragon.
The armchairs had seen better days. I took in the dark furniture, the faded rug, and wondered if Miranda had any steady income. She perched on the edge of the sofa, physically bracing herself. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this,’ I said as gently as possible. ‘There was an accident on the A43 two weeks ago. Endre was hit by a car. He died from his injuries.’
