by Chrys Cymri
‘Grace,’ he told me, ‘is not dependent upon the merits of the recipient.’
‘Well reminded.’
‘I depend upon it every day. But I’ll leave you to your prayers.’
He flew back to the main chapel. I fixed my gaze on the statue of the Virgin Mary, her arms clutching protectively around a young Jesus. The blue paint of her robe was faded, and the orb in the boy’s hands looked like generations of hands had rubbed it smooth. I wondered briefly if it had come from a human church.
It’s all a bit much, sometimes, I thought at the serious looking Jesus. You’ve put me into this alternative world for a reason, I’m certain of that. And don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying every moment here. So how can you expect me to keep focussed on you when dragons are elevating chalices? You know how much I’ve always loved dragons.
And now I’ve found a world where dragons are real. I flicked my eyes to the painting hanging on the side wall. Saint Thomas, kneeling in front of the resurrected Christ. Jesus was holding out his hands, inviting the doubting disciple to touch his wounds, to prove to himself that his teacher had come back from the dead. An interesting choice of saint for a draconic order of monks. Doubting Thomas.
I sighed. Yes, I told the young boy reclining in his mother’s arms, I'm certain you have a plan behind all this. But couldn’t you send me something really plain and simple? Like an email?
A cough made me turn around. A small dragon, his hide bright blue under his dark grey cowl, was standing in the archway. ‘Abbot asks, lunch?’ he said, his English heavily accented.
‘Very kind,’ I replied. ‘Yes, coming.’
The dragon’s orange eyes lifted from mine to look at the statue. ‘Mary, good. Mary knows. Mary mother.’
I glanced back. Yes, this Mary had a very kind face. Speak to your son, please, I thought at her. Tell him to help me through this. He’s a good Jewish boy, he’ll do what his mother tells him. Please?
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Lunch was served in a long room. A table ran through the middle, and dragons sat on either side. A bar stool had been brought in for me, but even after clambering my way onto the seat I still found the table was at the height of my shoulders. Morey, of course, merely took a seat on the well-polished surface.
Grace was said. Then soup was brought out, in large bowls for the dragons, in smaller containers for human and gryphon. It was white, and thick, made from vegetables I couldn’t quite identify. The bread was fresh, brown, and delicious.
One dragon sat at the end and read from a large book spread out on a lectern. I was startled to hear him reciting poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins. A line from ‘Pied Beauty’ made me smile. ‘“All things counter, original, spare, strange,”’ I murmured along with the reader.
Morey informed me, after lunch, that he wanted to spend some time apart. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said, startled.
‘Our gardens are lovely this time of year,’ the Abbot told me, walking over in time to hear the end of the conversation. ‘Morey can find you there afterwards.’
I watched the gryphon fly away from the refrectory, feeling somehow abandoned. ‘Where’s he going?’
Gerald studied me for a moment. Then his nostrils expanded as he came to a decision. ‘His Father Confessor is at this monastery. Morey gave me his permission to tell you, so that you’ll understand when he wishes to visit here again.’
‘Oh,’ I said, and instantly regretted not thinking of something more intelligent to say.
The sun was high in the sky as I walked through the arch at the far end of the cloisters. The buildings fell away and I found myself in the kitchen gardens. Gravel paths ran between beds of salad crops. Lettuces grew in the dark soil, bean plants climbed up delicate frames, and tomatoes were ripening in large greenhouses. One large plot was green with potato plants. Beyond were fields of grasses. Wheat, I decided, although I’m no expert.
‘Well organised, isn’t it? The brothers are so proud of bringing order to chaos.’
I whirled. Raven had somehow appeared on the pathway to my right. Why hadn’t I heard the gravel crunch under his weight? ‘How did you know I was here? Are you stalking me?’
He lowered his muzzle. Red-lined nostrils expanded as he drew in my scent. ‘Ah. Rosa mystica. My favourite incense. Does Father Abbot still chant the entire preface?’
The bright sunlight was refracting in green-black patterns across his scales. I fought to pull my thoughts together. ‘And how did you know about that? Have you ever worshipped here?’
‘I’ve met your tacsi,’ he said, tail slapping lazily against the path. ‘A dragon who enjoys his beer far too much.’
‘I flew here on him.’
‘Really?’ The blue-green eyes glowed. ‘One day I’ll show you what it’s really like to fly a dragon.’
The stress on fly made it perfectly obvious what he meant by the term. I decided to deliberately misunderstand him. ‘Why one day? Take me flying now.’
He drew his head back. ‘Now?’
‘Why not?’ I challenged. ‘You’ve offered.’
And now he was trapped. Raven’s ears swivelled in what I decided was confusion. Then he lowered his belly to the ground, and crooked his left foreleg. ‘Climb on.’
I hesitated. I could now see that the tacsi dragon had either never grown full body spines, or had had them removed. Raven’s were more compact than those of other dragons, but still looked sharp and there was precious little room between one triangular spine and another. But there was no way I was going to back down now.
Even with his foreleg providing a type of platform, I still found it difficult to climb onto his back. His scales were smooth under hands and shoes, giving me nothing to grip. I gritted my teeth and inched along. I had to pause at his shoulder, looking up at the back several feet away. To my relief, the spines were actually more for show than actual defence. The one I grabbed was rubbery to the touch, and I was able to pull myself up with a lot of determination and very little elegance.
Spine ridges dug into my front and back as I crammed myself into the space between. I hooked my legs around the forearms of his wings. ‘Ready when you are,’ I told Raven. I was rather proud at the steadiness of my voice.
‘Right.’ His voice sounded far less calm. But he shook out his blue-green wings. For a moment he let them trail in the air, the slight breeze billowing through the delicate looking skin. Then he kicked off from the ground.
The spine behind me dug into my back. I suppressed a yelp. A moment later his wings were driving us upwards. I felt my trousers split, and I could only hope that my fleece was long enough to cover any embarrassment.
Then Raven straightened out. I forgot all about my trousers. There was so little between my skin and his. Without a saddle to separate us, I could feel his muscles sliding under mine, my legs expanding and contracting as he breathed, the pumping of my blood echoed by the surge of his own. Flying, indeed.
Then a sudden gust of wind made him tip. And I slid from my perch. I grabbed at a spine, but it bent under my weight. My left hand slipped free, my right hand looked for purchase but found none. Ground and sky blended in my sight as Raven’s body cut through the air, but could give me no security from the pull of the earth at my shoulders.
I fell. Smooth scales slipped from my grasp and I was alone. I tumbled, wind whipping tears from my eyes and threatening to rip the fleece from my shoulders. For some reason I was absolutely calm, in some place beyond fear. Into your hands, O Lord, I found myself thinking, I commend my spirit.
Then something hard slammed into me. I felt all breath ejected from my lungs. Had I hit the ground? I wondered, dazed, fighting for air. My head pounded and red and black swirled in front of my eyes. Then the grip around my ribs eased, and I gasped. My vision returned, slowly, and I realised that green-black legs were wrapped around my middle. I could feel smooth scales at my back, and wings were pounding either side of my head. Raven had caught me, and was holding me against his belly.
> We landed near the forest. He settled onto his hindlegs, his forelegs still clutching me tight. But instead of putting me down, he loosened his grip just enough to turn me around so that my chest was held against his. I pressed my cheek against the smooth scales, warm against my skin. His heartbeat echoed mine, both fast and hard. And both hearts slowed and calmed together, as we breathed in relief.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said above me. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You caught me,’ I managed to say. ‘No harm done.’
He extended his forelegs and carefully placed me on the ground. And to my great embarrassment I had to sit down. My legs were too weak to allow me to stand. ‘You didn’t scream.’
Of which I was very proud. Didn’t want to waste my breath, I wanted to say. But I found myself telling him, ‘I knew you would catch me.’
The proud head drew back. ‘You did?’
And I knew it was the truth. ‘Yes.’
We both started as we heard voices from the cloisters. Raven gave me one last look. Then he was back in the sky, his wings pounding him away from discovery. I struggled to my feet.
He was only a dim speck against the high clouds when the Abbot strode into the garden. Morey was hovering by his shoulder. They were speaking in Welsh, but I caught a couple of Greek words. No doubt they had found another theological argument to enjoy.
‘Do you like our gardens?’ Gerald asked me. ‘Brother Anselm is particularly pleased with this year’s salad crops.’
‘Dragons eat salads?’ I asked.
‘Only in Advent and Lent. But the lettuces sell well to unicorns.’
Morey circled behind me to land on my shoulder. ‘Time we were getting back. If the tacsi hasn’t drunk himself into a torpor.’
‘He was given watered down ale,’ the Abbot reminded him. ‘And tacsis deserve compassion, not condemnation. A dragon’s spines are his pride and glory. Think what a sacrifice has to be made in removing several to fit a saddle. They are never whole again.’
‘They still shouldn’t drink on duty.’
Gerald snorted. ‘Compassion, young gryphon. Not everyone can live up to your standards.’
If the Abbot only knew... I’d had to carry Morey up to his room last night, the whisky finally sending him into a deep sleep before Lord Sugar had even fired anyone. But then, he’d probably argue that he’d been off duty.
The Abbot lifted his head and whistled. A minute later the tacsi dragon was spiralling down to the garden. A much rounder belly than Raven, I found myself thinking. Thicker legs and shorter neck. Blunter muzzle. If they were dogs, this dragon would be a black labrador, whereas Raven was more like a greyhound. Then I felt my cheeks redden, and I hoped that Morey wouldn’t notice.
This time I appreciated the rungs leading up the saddle, and indeed the saddle itself. But it was hard not to reflect on the fact that the dragon had mutilated himself in order to carry passengers. I also would need time to digest the idea that there might be an organisation willing to desecrate bodies of those who entered ‘mixed’ relationships. Lloegyr might have fantastic beings, the very stuff of fantasy, but I was coming to realise that it was no paradise.
I most definitely did not want to think about Raven.
The tacsi set us down in the street. As soon as we’d dismounted he shuffled back to the pub. A roar welcomed his return. ‘Popular character,’ I commented.
‘Well, he’s brought back dinner.’ At my look, Morey explained, ‘He’ll regurgitate most of the second deer in return for beer money.’
I decided it was time to head back to the alleyway. The same cold dread crawled down my spine as we approached the opening. Heading home, think about heading home, I told myself grimly as I forced my legs to carry us forward. Black, blacker, blackest…
Then I was battering yew branches out of my way. Morey tucked himself behind my neck until I was once again standing out in the open. The day had been much cooler at the monastery, I realised. Then I remembered the split in my trousers and I realised I needed to keep my fleece zipped up and pulled down. Had anyone noticed when I climbed onto the tasci dragon?
‘Hiding something,’ Morey announced.
I looked away, brain scrabbling for an explanation about Raven. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Father Gerald. Definitely hiding something.’
Now I had to hide my relief. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s in the eyes. Dragons narrow their eyes when they’re lying. Or simply withholding part of the truth.’
I tucked away this useful bit of information, and tried to remember if I’d ever seen Raven narrow his eyes.
My iPhone buzzed and the theme tune to Doctor Who filled my pocket. I ignored Morey’s comments as I answered. ‘Hi, Peter.’
‘Penny. How was Lloegyr?’
‘A lot to take in.’
‘Yes. I felt that way too, my first few times.’ His voice firmed. ‘Penny, I’ve had some news from the coroner. He decided to run some tests on the body, and in particular on his eyes. Dominic’s injuries killed him, but he was dying anyway. He was poisoned.’
Chapter Eleven
‘I hadn’t run any tests before,’ Russell was saying as we shivered in the cold room. ‘Dragons can be very possessive about their dead, and it was obvious that his death was caused by massive internal bleeding. But with the rest of his flesh gone, I thought no one would notice if I took a bit from a leg and one of the eyes.’
It was too early in the morning to be looking, once again, at the remains of a dragon. But I had a day full of parish matters, so the two men and two gryphons had agreed that we could meet at 6:00 am. I was riding high on three mugs of coffee, and had taken the precaution of not eating any breakfast before once again encountering the sickly sweet smell of a corpse.
Actually, the smell wasn’t as bad as I remembered. Then I recalled that, last time, Dominic’s body had been brought inside after being outside in a warm summer’s night. Since then he’d been back in cold storage. My stomach couldn’t take all the credit. I averted my eyes from the sight of two gryphons pottering around in the rib cage.
‘The family are happy to release his body to the Order of Saint Thomas,’ Peter said. ‘And Penny, you met with the Abbot yesterday?’
‘The Order would like to bury Dominic as soon as possible,’ I affirmed. ‘But now that we know Dominic was poisoned, do you need to keep the body?’
‘It has become a criminal investigation.’ Peter paused to button up his suit jacket. ‘Do you think Father Gerald would mind if we kept the body a bit longer?’
‘For the sake of an investigation, I don’t think so. He wanted the police to look into the circumstances of Dominic’s death.’
The two gryphons had been conferring in low voices. Now Taryn spoke up. ‘What was the poison used?’
‘I had to run it through the Lloegyr database,’ Russell said. He pulled out his iPad and grimaced at the filthy screen. I tried not to imagine what bodily fluids might have made the smears. ‘Gwenwyn gwyn.’
‘White poison,’ Morey translated.
‘Cocaine?’ I asked.
‘No, something very different,’ Russell said.
‘Do cops really taste white powder they find?’ I asked Peter. ‘To check if it’s cocaine?’
‘Never,’ Taryn said sharply. ‘Daft idea, putting an unknown substance into your mouth. Should be banned from telly. Gives people all the wrong ideas.’
‘And now, back to reality, we have a poisoned dragon on our hands,’ Peter said smoothly. ‘That might explain why he was hit by a car in the first place. I’ve been told that he was a good flyer.’
‘Won a prize in the Coast to Coast marathon,’ I agreed. Eight sets of eyes came to me, and I suddenly remembered who had given me that piece of information. I quickly added, ‘So a family member told me.’
‘I’ll contact my counterpart in Lloegyr,’ Peter said. ‘We need to find out who might have motive to kill Dominic. Who would want a monk dead?’
&
nbsp; ‘The Abbot gave us some idea,’ Morey replied.
At my nod he filled them in on Gerald’s concerns about Cadw ar Wahân. I forced myself to move closer to the body. There was something obvious, something that I was missing. I looked down at the dulled eyes, trying to remember. Then I felt realisation slam into my mind.
‘The eyes.’ I interrupted Morey in full flow, and he glared at me. ‘The rest of Dominic was eaten, but the eyes were left behind. Morey, you told me that the eyes are important.’
‘Pagan dragons consider the heart and the eyes to be the most important parts of the body,’ he agreed. ‘Family members will spill blood over who has the right to consume them.’
‘But Dominic’s were left behind.’ I nodded at Russell. ‘You said you analysed material from the eyes and from a leg. Were there different levels of poison in each part? And higher in the eyes?’
The coroner tapped again at his iPad. ‘Yes. You’re right.’
I felt myself flush at the looks of admiration from men and gryphons. But I had learned never to take affirmation to heart. A priest is only ever one hymn choice away from criticism. ‘So those who ate him avoided the eyes for that reason?’
‘Because they knew he’d been poisoned?’ Peter agreed. ‘Russell, how dangerous is gwenwyn gwyn if consumed second hand, like from eating someone poisoned with it?’
‘He would have been blinded by the poison,’ the coroner was muttering to himself. ‘Eyes are affected first. Of course!’ Then he blinked at Peter. ‘I don’t know. I’d have to ask my contacts in Lloegyr. But it all depends on quantity. I’d say that, if at least a half dozen dragons shared him out, they might have felt ill the next day, but probably there wouldn’t have been any lasting effects. But they were wise to avoid the eyes.’
I had to decline the offer of a coffee. By going straight back home, I had time to change out of clothes reeking of mortuary and down some toast before heading out again. The first day of the week long Bible Holiday Club. I worked on my happy face as I drove to the modern Baptist church which had offered to host the hundred children expected.
