by Chrys Cymri
‘Well, as first dates go, this wasn’t the greatest.’ It had been meant as a joke, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth I wished I could take them back again. ‘Try harder next time.’ And that was no improvement.
Raven lifted his head and laughed. The other dragons looked at him, shrugged, then returned to their own conversations. ‘You are such an intriguing human, Penelope White. I’ll try to make the second visit more interesting. I wouldn’t want you to get bored with me.’
Little chance of that, I found myself thinking, and gave up worrying about the state of my face.
Chapter Fifteen
A hot bath did little to ease the muscles strained by my dragon wing trampoline act. I sat in the kitchen and downed some Talisker, hoping that whisky might dull the aches. Various bruises were also putting in an appearance, and my left ankle protested when I went up stairs. I stared glumly at the garden, now empty of dragon, and wondered when I would listen to the advice I had given James. Lloegyr could be dangerous. It was not some Disneyland with cuddly and tame fantasy creatures.
I forced my mind away from wondering how cuddle-able Raven might be. More whisky, less dragon thoughts. I reached out and poured another measure into my glass.
The doorbell chimed. I glanced at the clock. 9:00 pm on a Sunday evening. I was in pyjamas, had consumed at least three measures of whisky, and was therefore in no state to respond to a pastoral emergency. I made my way to the entrance hall. ‘James?’ I called up the stairs. ‘Would you see who’s at the door, please?’
There was muttering but he emerged from his room. ‘Are you in or out?’ Then he looked down at me. ‘Definitely out.’
‘I’ve had a long day,’ I protested.
I retreated to the kitchen while he unbolted the door. The siren call for more whisky was surging through my veins. The bottle and I eyed each other, wondering how long it would be before our partnership was renewed.
‘It’s only Morey,’ James announced from the door.
A moment later the gryphon flew in. I waited with trepidation for him to comment on my sunburn. But he landed into a skid across the kitchen table. ‘A rat spoke to me after church,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Bishop Aeron wants to see me. Tomorrow morning.’
‘Maybe it’s to tell you what a good job you’re doing?’ James suggested, taking a seat next to mine.
‘If your boss wanted to see you, would it be to thank you?’
‘God is your boss, not your bishop,’ I reminded him.
Morey glared at me. ‘That’s what we always say, but we all know the reality. It was the Bishop who made me leave the priesthood. Not God.’
I rose to fetch two more glasses, and I poured each of them a shot of Talisker. And added another measure into my own tumbler. ‘What exactly did the rat say?’
Morey took a pull of amber liquid. ‘I’m to go through the thin place at your diocesan offices tomorrow morning at ten. She’ll meet me on the other side. It’s something she feels she has to tell me in person.’
‘Take Pen with you,’ James said. ‘She’s good with things like this.’
I found myself temporarily speechless, unaccustomed to hearing praise from my brother. Then I found my voice. ‘I can’t. I have a meeting at the church tomorrow with the architect and my churchwarden. I’m free in the afternoon?’
‘Sis, you know it’s not that easy to get a message through to Lloegyr,’ James reminded me. ‘The rat king network works really well over there, but the telepathy that connects them can’t reach through the thin places.’ He grinned at Morey. ‘That’s what I’m working on next. Linking them up to our computer networks and finding a way for signals to pass through.’
Morey said, his voice rough, ‘The rat said I could take someone with me.’
‘There you go, Sis,’ said James. ‘You’ve got to go.’
I hesitated. Morey curled around his glass, ears and shoulders slumped in misery. I sighed, went to my office, and typed out a quick email to Holly to let her know that I wouldn’t be at the meeting. Another epic fail from her vicar.
<><><><><><>
‘“Songs of praises, songs of praises, I will ever give to thee,’” we were singing loudly from the hymn Morey had chosen for our Morning Office. ‘“I will ever give to thee.’”
The snail shark, sitting at the opposite side of the desk from Morey, had joined in enthusiastically. Clyde had a good tenor voice, but also the disconcerting habit of substituting nonsense words when he couldn’t remember the lyrics. I was wondering whether I could teach him how to read.
James came into the office as he heard our final ‘Amen.’ He halted at the sight of the snail shark. ‘You let that thing out?’
‘His name is Clyde,’ I reminded him. ‘And he’s perfectly well behaved.’
The pup chose that moment to open his jaws in an imitation of a smile. James shuddered. ‘Piranha on slime.’
‘As I have tried to warn her,’ said Morey.
Their rare moment of collegiality was broken by James’ next words. ‘Can you spare a twenty, Pen? I need to get to the train station around lunchtime.’
‘You’re working now,’ Morey said frostily. ‘Yet you still need money from your sister?’
James rolled his eyes. ‘I’m being paid in Lloegyr. I can cover expenses over there, but I can’t bring their money over here. It’s all gold and silver coins. I can’t take those just anywhere to cash them. People ask questions.’
The fact that he was working in Lloegyr was a fact I still wasn’t comfortable with, but I pulled out my wallet and handed him two ten pound notes. ‘How long will you be away?’
‘Only overnight.’ He gave me a grin and went back to the kitchen.
The phone rang. As expected, it was Holly, furious that I wouldn’t be at the church that morning. ‘We arranged this weeks ago,’ she reminded me. ‘The crack in the chancel. Do you want the roof to fall in on your head while celebrating Holy Communion?’
‘I wanted to be there,’ I lied.
‘And why won’t you be?’
‘Family emergency.’ And, as I looked at Morey, I realised that I had spoken the truth.
‘James? What trouble has he got himself into this time?’
Anything said to Holly in strictest confidence would be known by half the village by lunchtime. ‘I don’t know yet.’
Clyde grumbled, but allowed himself to be transferred back to his tank. Six weeks on, he had grown slightly, but he still fit on my palm and seemed happy with his diet of crickets. Although the other day he had made a lunge at a mouse which had somehow found its way into the house. I wondered uneasily what size animals I would have to find for him if I actually kept him into adulthood.
Morey disappeared. When he returned, he was wearing his blue Elder harness. The small cross gleamed against his purple feathers. In turn, I had put on my grey clerical shirt and pulled on my suit jacket. ‘We look like we’re preparing for our executions,’ I said, trying to make a joke.
‘I might be,’ he replied grimly.
I put a CD of Mahler on in the car for the drive to Kettering. The composer was Morey’s favourite, and I hoped it would calm him. The car park at the offices was remarkably empty, and we were parked and ready to go inside fifteen minutes early.
‘Penny-O!’ John greeted me at the door. ‘And Moriarity. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘We’re due to cross over at ten,’ I told him. ‘Do we just take the lift down?’
‘You’ll need the key.’ John pressed it into my palm. ‘Morey, are you all right?’
‘No,’ the gryphon said tersely. Despite the thickness of my jacket’s shoulder pads, I could still feel the pressure of his claws. I tugged at the lapels, getting my armour ready before facing another dragon.
As I had seen Ian do before, I unlocked the small panel in the lift and pressed the button. We went past the ground floor and stopped at the unmarked level. The doors opened, and I took a deep breath of the cold air. The corridor loo
ked even more dim than last time. ‘Ready, Morey?’
‘No.’
Well, we had little choice. I knew to expect the sudden shift in space, the cold which pressed down into my lungs. Why was this thin place so well guarded? I wondered. Who would actually try to press through? The thin place at the cathedral had been so easy in comparison. As had been riding through one on Raven’s back.
The thought of the dragon sent some warmth back into my chest.
Then we were through and in the crypt. Bishop Aeron was waiting for us. She took in our formal attire at a glance. In contrast, she wore only a simple black cowl and a wooden cross against her chest. ‘My dear,’ she said immediately to Morey, ‘didn’t the rat tell you that this is not a formal meeting?’
‘No.’ The claws loosened slightly. ‘You haven’t called me here for a telling off?’
‘Not at all. Why would you think that?’
‘The last time you summoned me,’ he reminded her, ‘you gave me an ultimatum. I resigned from the priesthood in your presence.’
Her ears drew back slightly, but the warm concern remained in her tone. ‘You gave me no option. But this is a far different matter. Please, come through to the meeting room.’
The room was the same as in which I’d been interviewed for my post. I took a seat at the table, and Morey climbed down to stand near my left hand. Bishop Aeron tucked her haunches under her body. A vampire poured us all cups of tea, and then shut the door behind her.
The Bishop said a name. It took me a moment to realise it was Morey’s real name, very Welsh and very long and complicated. ‘May we speak in English, for Penny’s sake?’
‘Yes.’ His tone was still guarded, and feathers were raised along his neck.
‘I grieved for you when Seren died,’ Bishop Aeron said. ‘You know I could not approve of your match, but that didn’t stop me from caring for both of you.’
‘You gave a good address at the funeral,’ he said gruffly.
‘Thank you.’ She gave me a quick glance, as if in warning, then turned her attention back to Morey. ‘You know that the tests for poison on Dominic’s remains came back positive.’
‘Yes.’
‘The investigator is now wondering whether the combination of factors had been deliberate. Poisoning Dominic, and ensuring that he would fly over a busy road. So that his death would look like an accident.’
‘The poison would have affected his ability to see,’ Morey agreed, ‘and to fly.’
‘He was in a mixed relationship. There are rumours that Cadw ar Wahân may be targeting those who are not keeping to species boundaries.’
‘That’s what Gerald said,’ I put in. ‘He wondered if that’s what happened to Dominic.’
‘So, you can understand,’ the Bishop said, obviously picking her words carefully, ‘that Lloegyr police, the heddlu, want to investigate deaths which have a similar pattern.’
‘Seren…’ His voice was very low. ‘She died. Hit by a lorry.’
I longed to lift my hand and spread my fingers over his hunched back, but I was uncertain whether our relationship was at a level where he would welcome my attempt at comfort. ‘We know,’ the Bishop said gently. ‘The inspector would like to check whether her death was part of a pattern. There’s only one way to tell, now.’
I bit my lower lip. I could see where this was headed, but I left Morey to say, ‘You want to exhume her body.’
‘Yes. To check whether she had also been poisoned.’
There was a moment of silence. Then I jerked back as Morey exploded in rage. ‘You wouldn’t even let her be buried in consecrated ground!’ Fur and feathers were standing on end, and he jumped up and down, his claws scarring the wooden table top. ‘And now you expect me to allow you to desecrate her grave!’
‘You know that she couldn’t be given a Christian burial.’ Bishop Aeron remained unruffled, her tone still compassionate. ‘And it’s the heddlu who are asking for permission to exhume her. I told them that you are the next of kin, so the decision is yours.’
I tried to remember if Morey had ever told me how long ago Seren had died. Would there be enough of her body left to run any tests? But this was not the time to ask. ‘Morey,’ I said, ‘if Seren had been poisoned, wouldn’t you want to know?’
‘Would I?’ He landed one last time and looked up at me. ‘Would you want to know?’
I paused for a moment, letting him know that I was considering his question. ‘Yes. If Alan had died in suspcious circumstances, I’d like to know. Just so I could stop feeling guilty about him being on that boat, alone, that day. So I could stop asking myself whether he’d still be alive if I had gone with him.’
‘I told her that Earth wasn’t safe.’ Morey was talking to himself more than to us. ‘I told her to be careful. She was so good at deliveries. One of the best in the Royal Mail, they said. She shouldn’t have been hit by that lorry. She was too quick for that.’
‘Let the police exhume the body,’ Bishop Aeron said gently. ‘Put some of your questions to rest.’
Morey glared at her. ‘Then let her be reburied in consecrated ground. She was a Christian. She should be shown that respect.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘Maybe not in Esgobaeth Llanbedr,’ I said firmly. ‘But I’d be honoured to give her a place in my churchyard.'
The gryphon cocked his head to look up at me. ‘You would? You could?’
‘The Church of England is the national church,’ I reminded him. ‘Anyone can ask to be buried in one of our churchyards. Christian, atheist, mixed marriage. Seren can rest with us.’
Morey climbed back up my arm. From my shoulder he told the Bishop, ‘The heddlu have my permission to exhume her. But I want to be there.’
‘Morey--’ I started.
‘I want to be there.’ He pressed against my ear. ‘And Black. Penny. She’ll be with me.’
The Bishop looked a question at me. I pulled out my iPhone. No signal, of course, but my electronic diary was available off line. ‘Friday?’ Another day off spent in Lloegyr.
‘Friday. I’ll speak to the investigator, and send a rat through with the time. Do you know the nearest thin place?’
‘Of course,’ Morey said heavily. ‘I visit the grave often enough.’
<><><><><><>
Between Monday and Friday I concentrated on human matters. A meeting with my annoyed churchwarden. ‘I don’t know what you get up to in that diocesan job, Vicar, but may I remind you that it’s this church that pays the parish share?’ A visit to April, who wanted assurances that any pews removed due to death watch beetle would be replaced. An assembly at the primary school, which I put together last minute and as a result fell rather flat. The children were unimpressed with my attempts to explain the Trinity with an egg and a candle flame.
Morey was very quiet all week. We continued to say the Morning Office together. He started joining me for my evening Examen, a silent, brooding presence curled up on the windowsill in my prayer room.
Finally, Friday dawned. Only the snail shark had breakfast, although even Clyde seemed affected by the gloom in the house. We didn’t attempt a hymn, but only said the Office before heading out to the car.
‘At least it’s only a short drive,’ I commented as I headed out. ‘Rugby isn’t far away.’
‘I wouldn’t have accepted this assignment,’ Morey informed me, ‘if you’d lived at the other end of the diocese.’
We pulled into the drive of a rather nondescript semi-detached house. The front door was a bright blue contrast to the brown pebble-dash surrounding the dirty windows. ‘The thin place is in the front room,’ Morey said as I walked us up to the entrance. ‘But the walls don’t go quite far enough. I can squeeze through the gap, but you’ll need the larger entrance.’
To my surprise, Peter opened the door. ‘I live here,’ he explained as he allowed us in. ‘Goes with the job. Most of us on liaison duty are given a thin place to guard.’
The loung
e looked as ordinary as the house. Couch, television, a fireplace in the centre of the outside wall. A pine cabinet was propped against the inner wall. I tried once again to try to see the thin space, but there was no shimmer in the air, no telltale mark on the brown carpet. Even the air smelled normal, the warm smell of toast cutting through a slight layer of dust.
‘It’s just here, past the fireplace,’ Peter said. He stopped at the side of a chair. ‘Go on through.’
One moment we were surrounded by magnolia walls and white ceiling. Then the usual darkness, the cold, the dread. I gritted my teeth, wondering if crossing over ever became easier. And once again I wondered why it had been so different in the cathedral.
A moment later we were through and standing on a cobbled road. I glanced behind me, and saw the squat buildings of a town some distance away. The road led to low stone wall. On the other side, straggled across dying grass, were a number of small headstones.
The gate was already open. There was no need to ask Morey where to find the grave. Two elves stood a hundred feet away, shovels in their hands. Dirt on their blue overalls and a mound of earth to their right showed that they had already dug out quite a bit of the grave. They were obviously waiting for Morey before they lifted the casket out.
The gryphon stiffened but said nothing as I walked us over. Then a gust of air blew through my hair. Bishop Aeron was backwinging to land nearby. She wore only her black cowl. The dragon flipped her wings onto her back and came to my side.
‘Bishop,’ Morey greeted her gruffly. ‘You didn’t have to be here.’
‘Someone has to lift out her coffin.’
‘You’re doing the exhumation?’ Morey stuttered.
‘You are in my care,’ she reminded him gently. ‘As was Seren, God rest her soul. I wouldn’t leave this task to anyone else.’
The Bishop walked around the hole and paused at the head of the grave. She closed her eyes, and said a few quiet words in prayer. Then, balancing carefully on her hindlegs, she reached down into the hole. Her hindclaws sank deep into the soil as she wrapped her forelegs around the coffin. Her wings extended, flapping against the ground, as she raised the wooden container from the ground.
