by Chrys Cymri
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Both of my cabin mates stayed in their respective places until morning. When dawn light was pouring through the porthole, I made my way to the toilet and did my best to have a wash in the small sink. My hair felt particularly grubby as I ran my hand down the shoulder length strands. There were, I noted with alarm, several grey hairs gleaming amongst the brown.
We had anchored in a small bay for the night. Scrambled eggs and toast was cooling on the table when I climbed up into the lounge. I gulped down coffee and tried to interest Clyde in some egg, but to no avail. Morey was less picky, but then he probably considered anything better than spam.
The boat was already underway before I ate the last piece of toast. I felt guilty about leaving the plates on the table, but I didn’t want to face an angry polar bear if I dared to venture into the forbidden galley.
By midmorning we were heading into a large bay. At Clyde’s complaint, I lifted him to the window so he could see the colourful houses coming into view. A mix of red, blue, and green homes staggered up the hill, windows and doors white-rimmed contrasts to the bright paint. There was very little activity. I saw some wolves loping across the snow, and a bright white fox. Animals or weres?
A number of boats bobbed along a well maintained pier. Auiak found a berth and tied us up. I watched him stride to shore, and enter one of the larger buildings. A few minutes later, a rat flew through the door and went over the hill.
The bear went on to another building. He was obviously planning to be gone for some time. I sat down and looked Clyde in the eyespots. ‘Now, young snail, tell me how you ended up in the Arctic.’
Clyde opened his jaws in a smile. ‘Fell.’
‘Yes, I saw you fall,’ I said crossly. ‘But how did you get there in the first place?’ I waited a moment, but the snail said nothing. ‘I know you can find thin places. Did you convince someone to fly you through?’ Clyde shut his mouth, and curled up into his shell.
‘Maybe he can’t tell you,’ Morey said as he cleaned his claws. ‘He might not know himself.’
‘Greenland is a mighty big place,’ I pointed out, ‘for him to just happen to land in our laps.’
‘I seem to recall that your lap had nothing to do with it.’
With a sigh, I turned on my iPhone and tried to drum up enthusiasm for sermon writing. Morey set about preening his wings. Clyde’s shell twitched, and I wondered if he were dreaming about lemmings. I could only hope that all the hero worship hadn’t gone to his head.
Finally Auiak thumped back on board. ‘Dragon coming. Be ready.’
I went down to the cabin and, with some reluctance, changed out of the merskin trousers and back into my own. As I rolled up the fur coat, I hoped that the return flight would be short and warm.
Tyra was waiting on the beach when I climbed up to the boat’s deck. I slid Clyde into my backpack, winced as Morey climbed onto my shoulder, and handed the coat to Auiak. ‘Thanks for all your help.’
‘Paid me well,’ he grunted. Then he shifted to human form, grabbed a bucket, and walked away.
‘A bear of few words,’ Morey commented.
‘You’re so observant,’ I replied.
‘More so than you.’ He fluffed out his cheek feathers. ‘You didn’t even notice the kids on the boat roof earlier. I had to chase them away.’
‘Kids will be kids.’
I was half way down the pier when I heard water splashing against metal. The sound made me look back. Auiak was refilling the bucket as seawater streamed from the boat roof. I blinked. A bright symbol in red paint staggered across the green metal. It was the same as James had pointed out to me on the ruined tent at the frost fair, a stylised ‘W’.
Morey startled me with a growl. ‘So. That’s what they were doing.’
‘What is it?’
Bleak eyes turned towards me. ‘That’s the same symbol they painted on the house I shared with Seren. The sign of Cadw ar Wahân. Marking out their hatred of anyone who dares to love outside his or her own kind.’
Several things crashed together in my mind at once. Auiak’s declaration of parts of the boat as off limits. The snoring in the night. The figure I had thought I’d seen ducking into the lounge. Then I was running back to the boat, heedless of Morey’s startled squawk.
Auiak turned as I stopped, breathless, beside him. ‘You’re in a mixed species relationship, aren’t you? Who is she? Or he?’
‘Nothing to do with you,’ he rumbled.
‘No, it’s not,’ I agreed. ‘But I want you to know that it would’ve been okay for us to meet your partner. Morey was married to a were-fox. And I’m liberal about these things.’
He changed to bear shape. I ignored the twinge in my temple. ‘They won’t frighten us,’ he said quietly. ‘And I will protect her.’
‘Of course you will.’
‘She gave up everything for me.’ His eyes drifted to the water lapping at the side of the boat. ‘She gave up the sea for me.’
I said, suddenly understanding, ‘She’s a mermaid.’
‘Merwoman, please. Would you want to be described by some presumption of virginity?’ A stunningly beautiful woman stepped onto the deck. The fur coat was wrapped tightly around her large body. At first glance she could have been taken as human. But the green tinge to her long blonde hair, the extra white in her eyes, marked her out as something other.
Morey gripped my shoulder hard as he gave her a graceful bow. ‘Madam, we thank you both for your hospitality. And please know that you are among friends. The same mark was painted on my door many times.’
‘We need to leave,’ Auiak said. ‘Not welcome here. Never welcome here.’
It saddened me that, even in such a remote settlement, the prejudice against mixed species relationships could be so strong. ‘Be careful,’ I pleaded. ‘Cadw ar Wahân has poisoned at least two people that we know of. One was Morey’s wife.’
The merwoman stepped forward. To my amazement, Morey let her place a hand on his head. ‘Our sorrow for your sorrow. May you find happiness again.’
‘That is my hope, madam,’ he said solemnly. ‘I am soon to begin the challenges to prove my worth in marriage.’
‘With a grŵp rhyfelwyr?’ the merwoman asked sharply, stepping back from us.
‘Yes, madam.’
Her green eyes rested on me, then Morey. ‘Then I pray that your sorrow does not increase.’
I opened my mouth to ask what she meant. Tyra snorted loudly from the shore. ‘I’m not waiting much longer, Father.’ So I gave the merwoman and were-bear a nod, and hurried down the pier to the impatient search dragon. But Morey was going to have to answer some questions when we got home.
Chapter Eleven
Tyra barely waited until I was seated on her neck before she took off. Morey was shaken free from his perch, and he flapped furiously to catch up with us. I put out an arm, which he gripped hard just as the dragon tipped a wing and took us through a thin place.
Bright sun made me squint. Morey climbed down, squeezing himself between the spine in front of me and my stomach. ‘Women drivers,’ he muttered.
‘Less of that,’ I warned him. But I raised my voice. ‘Tyra, would you mind going a bit slower?’
‘Yes,’ she snapped. And folded her wings. We plummeted from the sky. I gripped hard with my legs, trying desperately to translate what I’d learned from riding a gentle horse in an indoor ring to staying on a wild dragon while high above a desert. My fingers dug into the rubbery spine as I fought against rising from her back.
The briefest of shimmers, and then we were above a tree-lined valley. Tyra spread out her wings and took us into a glide. Morey dared to stretch out his neck for a look. ‘We seem to be taking a different route home.’
‘We started from a different place.’ I lifted a hand to quickly check the straps of the backpack.
‘Shortcut,’ Tyra said, turning her head back to look at us. ‘Sooner you’re home--’
At that moment we went
through another crossing. Tyra’s neck hit the fence first, splitting the thin planks. I threw up my arms, protecting my head and face as pieces of wood flew around us. The dragon’s deep-throated growl rumbled through my legs. We came to juddering halt.
Tyra nearly lost her footing. I found myself sliding free. My fingers scrabbled for purchase and my boots dug into skin as I tried to slow my fall. Morey had left me at some point, so Clyde was my main concern, as he was wrapped in nothing more than a shirt in the backpack. I saw black-green dark against grass green, and I aimed for Tyra’s bent foreleg. My feet hit and then slid across the scales. Somehow, my arms waving wildly, I managed to stumble onto and across the ground.
Morey landed on my shoulder. ‘What a mess.’
We were in a back garden. The fence had been destroyed, with chunks of wood lying spread out across the shaggy grass. Tyra’s feet had gouged deep furrows into the ground. ‘What happened, Morey? Did the thin place extend above the fence, and Tyra got it wrong?’
The dragon whipped her head around. I was relieved to see that although her neck was bleeding from a number of scratches, she otherwise looked uninjured. ‘The thin place was in the fence. I did not expect that.’
‘In the fence? How?’ Then I heard the concerned cluck of chickens. ‘Oh, no. It’s where the unicorn mare lost her horn, isn’t it?’
Tyra glanced at the splintered wood. ‘I can imagine that would create a thin place, yes.’
‘But that means--’ I gulped. ‘Quick, let’s leave before the house owner spots us.’
‘You again.’
Too late. I paused for a moment, putting on my most sincere fake smile. Then I turned to face the tall man standing in the back doorway of the cottage. ‘Hello, sir. Good to see you again.’
‘You’re not wearing your dog collar,’ he rasped, wiping his spectacles and putting them on again as if to make sure.
‘It’s my day off,’ I said weakly. Of course, the dragon panting on my left and the gryphon digging claws into my shirt were invisible to the man. All he would be able to see was a dishevelled woman standing in the ruins of his garden. ‘I thought I’d visit Earls Barton.’
‘And my back garden?’ His gaze went past me. ‘What’s happened to my fence? Those don’t grow on trees, you know!’
‘Looks like something went through it,’ I said weakly. ‘It wasn’t me.’
He harrumphed. ‘I didn’t think that was likely.’
‘If you want to be taken back to your home,’ Tyra said, ‘now is the time.’
‘She can’t mount you now,’ Morey snapped. ‘The man will think she’s climbing into air. Or he might suddenly see you. Neither would be good.’
‘Your problem, not mine.’
‘We’ll be going now,’ I said to man and dragon. ‘I’m sorry about your fence. You might want to think about getting a lock for your gate.’
Much to my relief, the man shook his head. I had taken a gamble on the fact that the last two times I’d been here, the gate had had nothing more than a latch. ‘This is Earls Barton. We don’t need to secure our back gardens in this village. Except against vicars invading with shovels and horses.’
The shovel, I wanted to tell him, had stopped a full-sized snail shark from crippling a dragon. And the horse had been the unicorn who had broken off her own horn. But of course I couldn’t tell him about either. ‘Do you want me to help you clear up before I go?’
Tyra snorted. ‘Find your own way home.’ I moved back as she gathered her haunches under her, and leapt away.
‘Last time you were here,’ the man said, ‘I said I’d offer you a cuppa and a Chelsea bun.’
I felt my mouth water. ‘That would be very kind of you.’
‘But not today.’ He stepped back inside his house. ‘Call first.’
The door slammed shut. Since I didn’t even know the man’s name, that was very unlikely to happen. I found I was limping slightly as I made my way down the side of the house.
There was precious little battery left on my iPhone. I opted to send Peter a text, hoping that he was free, willing and able to give me a lift. A moment later, I received a promise to be with me in half an hour.
I shivered, and trudged down the road to find a café. England might be warmer than Greenland, but I had no coat and the skies threatened rain. When I was settled in a coffee shop, Morey taking sips from the mug in my hand, I sent another text to Peter and settled down to wait. Soon I’d be back home. Back to my parish. Back to sorting out my churchwarden. I tried to cheer myself up with the thought of hot baths and warm whisky, but my spirits felt as damp as the weather.
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‘Where have you been?’ Peter asked as I slid into his car. ‘You smell all outdoorsy.’
‘That’s a nice way to put it,’ I said wearily. Morey hopped to the back seat, and I pulled Clyde out of the backpack to sit on my lap. ‘Let’s just say, a long way from here.
Peter turned up the heating. ‘Doing what?’
‘Looking for someone.’ I waved his questions away. ‘Some other time, okay? By the way, that cottage in Earls Barton, where the unicorn snapped off her horn? There’s a thin place there now.’
We were pulling onto the A45. ‘The same place as the fence, presumably.’
‘The fence is gone.’ I straightened in alarm. ‘We need to keep Earls Barton Man from checking it out. The thin place acts like an air crossing. He’ll end up in a desert. Do you know the address?’
‘I made a note of it last time.’ Peter found a layby and pulled over. A few quick phone calls, and we were on our way again. ‘One new fence, courtesy of Her Majesty’s Government, will be up by this evening.’
‘Good.’ I wondered if that would mollify Earls Barton Man. Dear Lord, I prayed, please make sure nothing else ever happens in that back garden. Let it be a place of absolute boredom and serenity, where even wine glasses never spill. Amen.
Peter filled me in on his parents’ recent holiday as we entered Northampton and headed for my vicarage. At one point, as he talked about the fun they’d had with his nephew, their grandson, he extended his arm like a Dalek’s gunstick. ‘Kids,’ he sighed. ‘Aren’t they great?’
‘Hmm,’ I replied, thinking of the times James had tested me almost beyond endurance.
Rain had come and gone during the drive. A burst of sunlight lit the house as Peter pulled into my drive. ‘Come inside?’ I offered, hoping he’d decline.
‘Can’t,’ he said ruefully. ‘I was due at the station about thirty minutes ago. I’ll give you a ring later.’
I gathered backpack and Clyde and climbed out of the car. My keys were somewhere in a trouser pocket, but I pressed the doorbell rather than juggle snail and bag.
James answered the door, standing back as Morey flew inside. His nose wrinkled as I passed him. ‘No showers in the Arctic?’
‘What do you think?’ I put Clyde into his tank and piled several books on top of the lid. ‘Can you put the kettle on? I’m off to have a bath.’
After a thorough scrub, clean clothes, a cheese sandwich, and a beer, I finally felt ready to sit down at my desk and face parish life again. Morey landed on my desk and pointed his beak at the flashing light on my answering machine. ‘You might want to listen to that.’
‘I’m still on holiday. I don’t have to listen to anyone until Thursday.’
‘It’s from your bishop.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘The same way I can read DVDs,’ he said. Which wasn’t really an answer at all.
I pressed the button. ‘Hello Penny,’ came the cultured voice, ‘it’s Nigel. I do hope you’re not listening to this message during your week’s leave. Are you free to come to the bishop’s palace on Friday? I’ve received an interesting letter, and I think it’s best if we discussed it face to face. I’ll keep 3pm free in my diary.’
My hands were gripping the side of the desk. ‘It’s a letter from Holly. It must be.’
‘Holly’s sent m
any letters,’ Morey said calmly. ‘And your archdeacon and your bishop have always supported you.’
‘But this time--’
‘Penny.’ He rubbed his head against my chin. ‘Calm down. Bishop Nigel sounds quite pleased. Whatever it is, he isn’t upset or concerned. So don’t you be, either.’
‘Okay,’ I muttered. ‘But it’s going to be long two days until Friday.’
I took another sip of red wine. It was a cheap Australian, but the excellence of the cooking made up for the bitter tang of the drink. Peter looked equally happy on my right, finishing up the last piece of chicken before he placed knife and fork onto the empty plate.
‘You liked?’ Linda asked. Her short hair was a mixture of brown and grey, and I placed her as perhaps ten years younger than Rosie. ‘Free range, of course.’
Rosie laughed. ‘Linda calls it “happy chicken”.’
‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘it certainly made me happy.’
‘More wine?’ Linda asked.
‘Can’t.’ Somehow he managed to put on a sad expression. ‘I’m driving.’
‘But Penny isn’t.’ And my glass was topped up.
As Rosie collected the plates, I looked around the small dining room. The house in which my associate priest and her partner lived was a mid-terraced near Abington. This was not an area of Northampton which I knew very well, and I’d been surprised how difficult it had been to find parking on the sloping street.
Linda splashed more wine into her own glass. ‘Rosie’s in charge of pudding. I did put in a request for something chocolatey.’
‘And would I disappoint you?’ Rosie called back from the nearby kitchen. ‘Maybe you’d like to make sure it’s worth sharing.’
I found myself smiling. When Linda had left the room, Peter leaned forward to whisper, ‘How long have they been together?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘At least six months. So far the congregation hasn’t found out, which is just as well.’
