by Chrys Cymri
The dragon snorted. ‘My wings are always at your command, noble Penny.’
‘I’ll fly from your vicarage to Peter’s house,’ Taryn replied. ‘I’m reporting back to duty the day after tomorrow.’
‘As am I,’ Morey added. ‘Although it doesn’t really feel like I’ve had my paternal leave.’
‘And I’d like to go Caer-grawnt,’ James told Arnborg, shrugging into my backpack. ‘If you’ll take me and Jago that far.’
‘The clan has put me at your disposal,’ the green-black dragon responded. ‘But are you certain you want to return to that grey town? I could offer much more exciting destinations.’ And I was certain that she winked at him. What was it with James and female dragons?
‘I’m hungry,’ Jago said firmly. ‘Time to go to the mansion.’
‘Your godson is nearly as clever as you are,’ I whispered to Clyde.
‘Nearly,’ the snail said smugly.
I slid his pack to my back before climbing up Raven’s side, then returned him to my front. My usual seat between two of the dragon’s triangular spines seemed tighter than usual, and I wondered glumly if I’d put on weight. Too many three course meals at Lord Willis’ mansion?
The gryphons curled forelegs around a spine. As Raven gathered his hindquarters under him, I glanced down at Clyde. Would the snail be upset at riding a dragon? Would he reminded that he’d lost his own ability to fly?
Clyde waved his tentacles. ‘Geronimo!’
Raven paused. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘It’s from Doctor Who,’ Morey said wearily. ‘You’re a good Christian snail, now, Clyde. Can’t you come up with something more appropriate?’
As the dragon thrust us upwards, Clyde burst out, ‘Godspeed!’
Chapter Three
Raven let out a harsh cry. I grabbed at a spine as we tumbled. Dark earth and blue sky flashed past my eyes. The two gryphons squawked and dropped off, their wings carrying them away from the falling dragon. ‘Raven!’ I shouted. ‘Pull up!’
He was gasping for breath, his throat muscles juddering against my legs. Horns and ears were laid nearly flat against his head. But he stretched out his wings and pounded at the air.
We slipped through a thin place. To my great relief, we had gained altitude. A calm lake rested several hundred feet below us. Raven settled into a glide, riding a current of warm air to lift us even higher. I could see no sign of either Morey or Taryn. They’d probably hitch a lift on Arnborg. I tried not to be envious, though it was hard not to wonder if I’d chosen the wrong dragon.
‘Raven okay?’ Clyde called out.
And once again we were falling. Raven’s wings seemed to have lost all strength, and I watched them flap like broken sails. The lake was rushing towards us. I wondered about letting go of the dragon and plunging into the water, hoping to somehow master a dive which wouldn’t break my back. But what would I do about Clyde? He was helpless, whether in the backpack or out. Once in the lake, he would drown. Fear for the snail shark made me scream out, ‘Raven! Fly!’
The dragon roared. Flames spurted from his jaws. He pulled his wings in close, and managed to halt our spin. But we were still heading down, even if at a reduced rate.
Raven twisted his head to glance back at me. ‘My name. Say my name.’
‘Raven.’
‘Not that.’ His blue-green eyes were bulging. ‘My real name.’
I paused for moment, trying the pronunciation out in my mind. ‘Hrafn Eydisson. Out of Eydis Asgersdottir by Wayland. That’s your name. That’s who you are.’
‘But that’s not my real name.’ There was something unnatural in his voice, like a second, higher tone squeezing through his usual deep baritone.
‘Isn’t it?’
And we were suddenly somewhere dark and cold. I bent down, trying to shelter behind the thin spine. I’d dressed for a spring day, not for midnight in winter. At least my jacket would serve as a wind break for Clyde. The snail had even less insulation than me. ‘What is your real name?’ I called out.
‘Something which cannot be put into words.’
‘Since when?’ I felt us rise upwards. There were no stars, no moon, no lights below. I could only hope that Raven could navigate in the dark, and wouldn’t smash us into some unforgiving obstacle like a mountainside. ‘Raven, for heaven’s sake--’
A sharp turn to the left rammed the rest of my words back down my throat. Raven took us through another crossing place. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden glare of full daylight. The smell of grass and flowers made me hope that we might be back in England. Slowly, carefully, I lifted eyelids a crack and looked down.
A road meandered below us. Sheep grazed on a hill nearby, and I coughed at the dank smell of animal manure as we flew over a farm. Raven’s wings were once again at full stretch, his breathing steady. I saw a service station with cars and a fast food outlet. Yes, we were definitely back on Earth. I felt tension drain from my legs. ‘Where are we?’ I asked Raven.
‘Only a twenty-minute flight from your house,’ Raven said cheerfully. ‘Unless you’d rather visit somewhere far more interesting?’
I coughed. ‘I think the flight’s been eventful enough, don’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Raven asked. His voice was normal again. ‘There weren’t that many thin places between the gryphon’s camp and here. We’ve made very good time.’
I felt Clyde shift in his case. A tentacle stretched up my chest, and I glanced down at his eyespot. ‘Don’t,’ I said quickly. ‘Just keep quiet.’
We passed over fields and a mixture of river and lakes. The town of Northampton sprawled out ahead of us. Raven twisted a wing, and we were following the A43 and nearing my home. I bit my lip, determined not to say anything more. All I wanted was for us to land in one piece.
Raven dropped lightly onto the mix of weeds and grass that filled my back garden. My stomach rumbled, and I glanced at my wrist watch. Only just past noon. Plenty of time to check emails, log onto Facebook, and worry about tomorrow’s meeting.
I slid Clyde’s case around before I dismounted. The snail emerged and crawled up to my shoulder as I thudded to the ground. ‘Bad flying!’ he told the dragon crossly, his body pulsing red and orange.
‘There was that short bit over New Zealand,’ Raven said slowly. ‘But we didn’t stay there long.’
Clyde said a word which made me rap my knuckles against his shell. ‘Enough of that, young snail. Raven, don’t you remember how we fell over the lake?’
‘Me? Fall?’ The dragon drew himself up to his full height. ‘Never.’
This seemed to be something other than pride talking. Raven’s ears were twisted in genuine confusion. ‘You don’t remember any of it?’
‘We flew here, we landed, that’s all.’ He snorted. ‘I don’t know why you want to play this game, mischievous Penny, but I tire of it.’
I stumbled backwards as he turned and leapt over the fence. Claws clicked against asphalt. Then Raven was in the air, wings pounding steadily as he took himself away from my house.
‘Lying?’ Clyde suggested.
The green-black body shimmered against the blue sky, then disappeared. ‘Raven has a dragon’s lack of ethics, but I’ve always regarded him as generally truthful. Sometimes, too truthful.’ I lowered Clyde to the ground. ‘Are you going hunting?’
‘No dogs, cats, or babies,’ Clyde sang out, in a good imitation of my own voice. ‘Only birds or lemmings.’
‘Good.’ I waggled a finger at him. ‘And watch your language. Off you trot.’
I unlocked the kitchen door and went inside. The house was chilly, and held the musty smell of a place which needed a good clean. I turned on the central heating and went to my study. Time to re-enter the 21st century.
<><><><><><>
Peter held the car door open so I could slide into the passenger seat. His car was much newer than mine, and I took a moment to enjoy the leathery smell of a vehicle that wasn’t over a decade old.
As he drove us away from the vicarage, warmth filled the air, and I sighed. ‘Heater doesn’t work on my old Ford,’ I explained when Peter looked at me. ‘It’d cost me a fortune to repair it.’
‘Must get cold in winter.’
‘It does.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Look, we need to talk about finances. I mean, I’ll be living rent free. I hope?’
I frowned. ‘I expect the occasional bottle of wine as ground rent. And Talisker at Christmas.’
‘Fair enough.’ We had left the estate and were heading down the A4500. ‘I mean about household bills, cars, that sort of thing. I earn more than you do.’
‘Everyone earns more than a vicar.’ I shrugged. ‘I always say my reward must be in heaven, because it certainly isn’t here on Earth.’
Peter chuckled. ‘But, seriously, my salary is twice as much as yours. So I think I should contribute twice as much towards bills. And I’d like to buy you a new car. As a wedding present.’
‘I might want an expensive sports car.’
‘Penny, if you were the type of woman who wanted expensive sports cars, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you.’ He gave me a quick smile. ‘I don't like the idea of my wife driving around in an ancient car with no heating, while I’m nice and cosy in my posh Volvo.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said slowly.
The car hummed as we joined the A43. The signs of spring flicked past the windows. Fields green with young growth, lambs playing near their mothers, leaves dancing along tree branches. Despite the heavy clouds which hovered overhead, I felt my spirits lift. Summer was on its way.
‘Do you think the tie’s okay?’ Peter asked, breaking the silence. ‘I’ve gone for a solid blue. But I have a striped one in the back.’
‘Bishop Nigel just wants a nice chat and lunch,’ I said reassuringly. ‘I don’t think he’s going to judge you on the colour of your tie. Besides, it isn’t like this is the first time you’ve ever met him.’
‘Last time didn’t really count. I was too busy being a godparent to a nest of gryphons.’ Peter sounded glum. ‘This is the equivalent of meeting the prospective in-laws, isn’t it? He’s your Father-in-God.’
‘It’ll be fine. We’re both free to re-marry, and police inspector is a respectable profession.’
‘Mostly.’
The brown sign for Nenehampton Cathedral was just ahead of us. ‘We’re to park at the Bishop’s Palace,’ I reminded Peter as he took the off ramp. ‘It’s just past the cathedral. Oh, bother.’
‘What? We should’ve brought a box of chocolates?’
‘No, it’s just that you have go through a barrier to get to the Palace,’ I explained. ‘It goes up automatically to let you in, but you need a code to get out, and I don’t know this week’s code.’
‘Won’t Bishop Nigel know the code? Or is it a secret?’
‘It might be.’ I dropped my voice. ‘Maybe he’ll have to write it on a piece of self-destructing paper.’
‘“Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to escape from the Bishop’s Palace,”’ Peter intoned. ‘“Should you or any of your clergy team be caught or excommunicated, the Archbishop will disavow any knowledge of your actions.”’
We drove past the cathedral green and under an ancient stone arch. A sign stating ‘Private’ stood next to the barrier. The long metal rod rose into the air. Peter hummed the Mission: Impossible theme as we passed underneath.
The Palace was built of the same grey stone as the cathedral which hulked nearby. The mullioned windows made me wonder if the building had originally been a church. Peter parked the car and hurried over to my side before I could open the door myself. He grinned down at me as he offered me his hand. ‘Mrs Peel, we’re needed.’
‘Now that,’ I said, ‘would have been an interesting mash-up. Jim Phelps versus John Steed.’
‘More likely they would’ve joined forces.’
We walked up to the large black door labeled ‘The Palace.’ Peter brushed at his grey jacket and trousers. I found myself tucking stray brown hairs behind my ears. Peter took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell.
Several seconds slid by. Then the door opened, and Bishop Nigel smiled at us. The slight breeze stirred his grey hair. ‘Penny, on time as ever. Peter, good to see you again. Please, come on in.’
The large entrance hall was lined with wood, and the walls were covered with oil paintings of previous bishops. A warm smell of onions and gravy reminded me that we’d have to get through lunch before a more formal chat with my Bishop. I only hoped I could calm my stomach enough to make a decent attempt at eating.
‘I’ve been having an interesting conversation with the Archdeacon of Ocheham,’ Bishop Nigel said. ‘She was very intrigued to hear of your experiences with the snail sharks.’
The clip of hooves on tile announced the presence of the unicorn. What little light penetrated the hall seemed to coalesce on her grey-white hide. The silver horn flashed as she dipped her head in a nod. ‘Inspector Jarvis, Father Penny. How is Clyde? Recovering well?’
‘Yes.’ I felt tears prickle in my eyes. ‘But his wings are gone. They might never grow back.’
‘The re-creation of limbs is beyond a unicorn’s power.’
‘He also seems lighter,’ I continued. ‘And maybe smaller?’
‘You may find that he never grows any further,’ the Archdeacon said gravely. ‘There are costs to the healing provided by an archdruid. And, usually, promises made.’
‘I’d do it again,’ I said quickly. ‘And did Bishop Nigel tell you? Clyde’s been confirmed, and admitted to communion.’
My voice had come out sharper than I’d planned. Peter reached out and gave my hand a warning squeeze. The unicorn’s tail flicked across her hindquarters. ‘I am glad to hear it, Father Penny. I was the sole voice among Bishop Aeron’s senior staff arguing for his inclusion.’
The ground seemed to shift under my feet. I moved my hand up to grip Peter’s arm. ‘You did?’
The unicorn tilted her head. ‘I reminded them of the words of Gamaliel, when he spoke to the elders of Israel regarding Peter and the disciples. “If this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God!”’
‘That’s from the Acts of the Apostles, isn’t it?’ Peter asked, surprising me. ‘My mum’s said that’s what the vicar quoted when he agreed to marry her and my dad. Other ministers had turned them down.’
‘They had?’ I asked, shocked.
Peter shrugged. ‘Mixed race couple. The 1970s weren’t as progressive as you might think.’
I turned back to the unicorn. ‘Thank you. For arguing for Clyde.’
‘His sacrifice for the sake of peace humbles us all.’ The Archdeacon turned and dipped her head to the Bishop. ‘I must return to Llanbedr. Bishop Aeron will be pleased to hear of Father Skylar’s placement. Father Penny, I believe, will prove to be an excellent training incumbent.’
Peter shot me a look. I gave him a ‘tell you later’ smile.
‘I’ll let the Dean know you need to use the cathedral’s thin place,’ Bishop Nigel said smoothly as he pulled an iPhone from a coat pocket. ‘Give my regards to Bishop Aeron.’
‘As always.’
The hall seemed duller once the unicorn had gone. Bishop Nigel swept an arm to his left. ‘Time for lunch. My wife, Jane, will be joining us.’
We walked past grand meeting rooms to a small dining area at the back. Muted watercolours of ancient churches hung on the light green walls. Bishop Nigel lifted a bottle of wine from the sideboard. Peter shook his head, but I held out my glass with perhaps a touch too much enthusiasm.
The first sip matched the promise of the label. A good vintage Gigondas, both fruity and velvety on the tongue. I caught Peter’s warning glance and promised myself that I’d only have the one glass.
Jane brought in the casserole, frayed oven gloves shielding
her hands from the heat of the dish. Peter sprang to his feet when the Bishop’s wife had entered, and they made quick introductions as she opened the lid and dropped in a serving spoon. With her grey hair and sensible brown jumper, Jane looked every inch the traditional wife. I suddenly felt very self-conscious in my dog collar.
Both the red wine and Jane’s presence made me relax. Jane asked Peter all the usual questions about his family, his job, and how he and I had met. Bishop Nigel chipped in with some wry observations about working with dragons and unicorns. The story of the hatching day of Morey and Taryn’s children seemed to entrance them both.
‘I’d like to meet this Jago,’ Jane said as she cleared away the bowls. Pudding had been a delightful Eton mess, spiced up with a dash of ginger cordial. ‘He sounds like quite a character. How large is he again?’
‘About the size of a blackbird.’ Despite Peter’s glare, I had allowed Bishop Nigel to refill my glass. ‘I don’t think he’ll grow any larger.’
‘We’ll take our coffees through to the drawing room,’ the Bishop said. ‘I’ll help with the washing up later, Jane.’
‘The dishwasher will take most of it.’ She gave me a wink. ‘He still doesn’t like having one.’
‘Husbands have done the washing up for millennia,’ Bishop Nigel said, giving her an affectionate smile. ‘What other jobs of mine will you outsource to technology?’
‘None of the really important ones,’ she assured him. ‘Well, not unless they invent a robot which can put out wheelie bins.’
We filled mugs from a cafetiere and the Bishop led us to one end of the white-washed room. ‘How long have you two been married?’ Peter asked as we settled ourselves into armchairs.
‘Forty years.’ Bishop Nigel nodded at a black and white photo on the nearby mantelpiece. ‘We’ve recently become grandparents for the third time.’
‘Congratulations.’ Peter grinned. ‘They say being a grandparent is your reward for not killing your children when they were young. But I’m certain all wonderful grandparents enjoyed their children, too.’
