by Chrys Cymri
Raven chuckled. Then, to my great relief, he pulled his head back through the window and strode away.
<><><><><><>
Now that the townspeople had accepted that I was not to blame for the snail shark attack, I was able to be their parish priest. On Saturday I stood inside the main meeting of the town hall as the imam led us in prayers. I spoke with the massive dragon afterwards, then returned to visiting people in hospital and homes. Morey carried out visits of his own, focussing more on the children who had been affected.
The church was packed for the Sunday morning service. Morey led a special Evensong in the early afternoon. Lord Willis came to both. Seeing him standing alone at the front pew made me realise how much I was already missing Clyde. Maybe, once he’d settled down into his role as Great Leader, he’d start making visits to see his friends.
James returned Sunday evening, looking dishevelled and happy. ‘Her name’s Cindy,’ he said smugly as he carried his backpack up the slope. ‘Could you ask the kitchens to send something to my room?’
A rat informed me on Monday morning that Bishop Aeron wished to visit Caer-grawnt on Tuesday afternoon. I was in the midst of dictating messages to be flown to the churchwardens when James thumped into my bedroom. ‘Got it,’ he announced.
‘Well,’ Morey said from his place on my bed, ‘if you will sleep with random females--’
‘What I need to convince Lord Willis,’ James retorted, glaring at the gryphon. ‘I’m going to show him tomorrow night. You’ll be there, won’t you, Sis?’
‘Bishop Aeron’s coming, and I have the first two funerals on Wednesday, and there are at least three funerals to plan…’
‘Pen, this is important. Please?’
Morey ruffled his feathers. ‘Deacons are permitted to take funerals, Black. I suggest I deal with the next couple that come in.’
‘All right, I’ll be there.’ And I returned my attention to the patient rat.
<><><><><><>
The Bishop was both calm and warm with the people she visited. She gave blessings, said prayers, and listened to angry accusations against God without twisting an ear. I was very impressed with her pastoral manner.
But my admiration was dashed when we stood alone, near the rectory, her wings unfurling as she prepared to leave. ‘I understand that the snail shark has left you.’
‘He’s been reclaimed by his own kind.’
‘Just as well.’ The Bishop had lifted her head to check the direction of the wind. ‘As you know, I can’t confirm him. It was discussed at the last senior staff meeting, and we agreed that it would be inappropriate.’
I stuffed my fists into my pockets. ‘It was the Dean, wasn’t it? She talked you out of it.’
‘Not her alone,’ Bishop Aeron said. ‘It was a majority decision. Some felt that snail sharks don’t have souls. Others argued that they are irredeemable.’
‘No one,’ I told her fiercely, ‘is beyond redemption. St Paul wrote that, in Christ, God reconciled the cosmos to himself. The cosmos. That’s what it says in the Greek. Everyone and everything, throughout all creation.’
‘You’re very loyal to Clyde. That’s commendable. But I wonder, now that he’s away from your influence, whether he’ll revert to snail shark type.’ The Bishop stepped back. ‘You’re doing good work here, Father Penny. I’m very pleased that you’re Caer-grawnt’s interim minister. You’re exactly what this town needs right now. God bless you and your work.’
I watched her leap away, torn between rage and pleasure. Maybe Clyde was indeed better off with the Nation, if this were the sort of prejudice he would always face.
The conversation had ruined my appetite. I picked at my dinner while James ignored me, his head bent over his laptop as he finished his presentation. The fact that as much food seemed to be dribbling onto the white tablecloth as went into his mouth didn’t seem to bother him.
At 8pm, we were called into the library. The unicorn stood at ease at the far end, his body framed by the large window which swept from ceiling to floor. Book-laden shelves lined the walls. James marched over to one long table. I winced as he shoved heavy tomes to one side in order to set up his computer.
‘Lord Willis, thank you for agreeing to watch my presentation.’ And suddenly my brother was transformed. He stood taller, somehow, looking every inch the professional in his tailored suit. ‘I want to start by thanking you, and your staff, for sacrificing so much of their time to show me around your many business interests. The last few days haven’t been easy for this town, but I’ve been impressed by how you care for more than profit alone.’
James pressed the remote in his hand. Lord Willis and I moved closer to see the screen. Images of the factories slid across the display. ‘You face the problem of many a compassionate entrepreneur. Although you want the best life for your employees, the reality is that you’re operating in a tough market. Pay your workers more, and the price of your products soars. And your customers, at the moment, have little incentive to pay a higher price for what you produce. Because, and here’s a bit of harsh truth, what you’re producing is low end, volume driven goods. Basic pottery, wood for construction, textiles which others will turn into clothing. How can you convince your customers that they should pay a premium, when you’re not offering a premium product?’
‘That’s indeed the challenge,’ Lord Willis agreed. ‘And you have a solution?’
‘Yes. This.’ The next slide showed a single banana. ‘My sister spends a fortune on these. She could buy them cheap, but she pays extra for this brand. Why is that, Pen?’
I cleared my throat. ‘Those are Fair Trade. I always try to buy Fair Trade.’ James motioned at me to continue. ‘Fair Trade is a scheme on my world. You pay extra for things, like bananas, or coffee, or chocolate, but that means the people who grew the crops get a fair price for their goods. This means the farmers can have better homes, and feed their families, and send their children to school.’
The unicorn’s tail slapped against his withers. ‘All very worthy. I take it this scheme can apply to products, not just food?’
James grinned. ‘It can, yes.’
‘Sadly, however, I can’t see the consumers of Lloegyr endorsing such a scheme.’
‘I’m not talking about selling your fair trade products in Lloegyr.’ The image changed. Earth, as seen from space, hovered in front of us. The view zoomed in, dropping us past clouds and continents until Great Britain filled the screen. Then the scale decreased further. Now London laid out below us, skyscrapers and parks a contrast to the much more modest buildings of the Lloegyr equivalent. ‘This is your market. England.’
‘There would be a demand for our products in your country?’
‘With the right marketing campaign, yes. Watch.’ James clicked the remote and a video began to play.
‘What do you see?’ a deep voice asked. The opening image was of the spinning room in the textile factory. The original sound had been replaced with a slow, sad piano piece. A young unicorn limped past the camera to adjust a thread. The camera panned to show us a were-badger cub standing on the machine’s metal frame, a finger clearly missing from the hand which was working at the flywheel. Two gryphons carried a tray of bobbins across the oil-slicked floor. The camera pulled back to show row upon row of spinning machines, and the number of children working at each. The voice repeated, ‘Do you see this?’
The scene froze. ‘What did you see?’ asked an on-screen version of my brother as his face was superimposed over that of the spinning room. ‘Did you see this? Children used to work like this in our own country, until we realised that every child matters. Children in Great Britain are now free to go to school, to play with their friends, to enjoy the carefree years of childhood.’
The video moved on to the carding room, where long rolls of cotton were prepared under the watchful eyes of more youngsters. The image of my brother’s head was now in a small box on the left side of the screen. ‘But there are factories which still use chil
d labour. Their parents depend on the income to keep their families clothed and fed.’
‘Can you see a way out of this? Well, I can.’ Now we watched some of Caer-grawnt’s more fortunate youngsters at play in a schoolyard. ‘This is what happens when you buy from our on-line shop. We use the profits to release children from labour.’
James’ face once again filled the screen. ‘Can you see the point of this? Visit our website and buy today.’
Video and music faded, leaving a freeze-frame image of unicorns and gryphons chasing each other through a field. ‘I understand,’ Lord Willis said, ‘that most of the people in your country can’t see us.’
‘That’s the whole point of the campaign.’ James grinned. ‘I got the idea from the webisodes. Some people will see the children. They’ll “see the point”. And social media will be full of postings about it. Can you imagine the arguments all over Twitter? We’ll sell lots of stuff on the back of it. I was thinking of t-shirts, bags, hoodies, that sort of thing from your textile factories.’
‘So not quite Fair Trade,’ I said.
‘Can’t do it Fair Trade,’ James pointed out. ‘Can’t get inspectors in or whatever they do to get the certification.’
‘And should the extra monies come in,’ Lord Willis asked, ‘how does that release the children?’
‘Why don’t you use adults in the factory?’ James shot back.
‘Because they demand higher wages. Oh, I see.’ For a moment, the only sound in the room was that of the unicorn’s tail swishing around his legs. ‘Father Penny, what do you think of this scheme?’
I studied the picture on the computer screen. ‘Lord Willis, I'm not a marketing expert.’
‘You rarely hesitate to express an opinion.’
‘So you know how I feel about child labour.’ I met his dark eyes. ‘James could be on to something. Why not let him have a go?’
‘I’d hire people to take care of the branding,’ James said quickly. ‘This video was only a rough draft. And I can set up the ordering and distribution side of things. What I’d need is stock.’
Lord Willis dipped his head. ‘Very well. Do you have a legal representative?’
‘I can get one.’
‘She or he will need to know about Lloegyr,’ I told James. ‘You could ask Sue Harkness. I'm certain she could suggest someone.’
‘Let me know when you have sourced this person,’ Lord Willis said. ‘Then we’ll meet to agree a contract. I look forward to taking this further, Mister White.’
James waited until the unicorn had left the room. Then he fist-punched the air. ‘Did it!’
‘So you did,’ I agreed. ‘Oh, James, I’m so proud of you.’
‘I never thought--hmph.’ Unable to stop myself, I’d pulled him into a tight hug. Although I didn’t underestimate the sheer amount of work which lay ahead of him, it was such a relief to see colour returning to his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes. Lloegyr had nearly been the death of him. Now, maybe, this town would be the making of him.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘And,’ Taryn said sharply to her husband, ‘you’re to bring him back this time.’
I stopped in the mansion’s doorway to stare at the two gryphons, glaring at each other in the morning sunshine. Raven, waiting in the front garden, rumbled in amusement. Morey’s claws scraped against the floor of the porch. ‘Of course I will, dear. I promise.’
‘I don’t care what Clyde calls himself now, “Great Leader” or “Shining One” or “Glorious Worm Fart”, he’s not keeping our son away from clan and family.’
‘He won’t, dear.’
‘And if you ever call me “dear” again, I’ll trim your tail.’ Then Taryn reached out and nuzzled his neck. ‘Be careful, Trahaearneifion. Watch what you say.’
‘I'm always careful about what I say,’ Morey protested. ‘I’m the most tactful gryphon in the clan.’
Now Raven was openly laughing. I had to hide a grin behind my hand. ‘Of course you are,’ Taryn said. ‘Which is why you don’t live with them.’
‘Time to go,’ James called out cheerfully, clomping past me in his hiking boots. ‘I can’t wait to see Jago again.’
‘Or Clyde,’ I added. Tyra swooped low over the mansion, her green-black body bright against the grey skies. ‘There’s Peter. Come on, Morey.’
The two gryphons rubbed beaks. Then Morey flew up to my shoulder. James and I squelched over the wet grass to Raven. ‘Tactful,’ the dragon said as I climbed up his side. ‘Not the first word which comes to my mind.’
Morey settled himself between my chest and dragon spine. ‘My subtle wit isn’t always appreciated.’
James took a seat behind me, and then Raven flew up to join Tyra. The factories and houses of Caer-grawnt fell away behind us. I lifted my legs slightly, gripping the dragon’s smooth hide with my knees. My calf muscles ached from all the walking I’d done over the last few days.
We left threatening skies for thick fog once the dragons dipped through the crossing point. ‘How can they see through this?’ James asked.
‘Search dragons can find anything,’ I reminded him. ‘They’ll know where Clyde is.’
‘Without crashing into a hillside on the way?’
Fine moisture beaded on my face and slicked my hair. I was beginning to regret grabbing the front seat. Morey forced himself into my jacket, taking refuge behind the waterproof layer.
The fog thinned as we dropped down to the Nation’s stone circle. Only a dozen snails waited on the grass. Raven and Tyra landed just beyond them. Cornelius stalked over as my boots touched the ground. ‘Ma’ams, sirs, welcome back to the Nation. Which of you dragons served his grŵp rhyfelwyr?’
‘They were my grŵp rhyfelwyr,’ Morey muttered inside my coat.
‘Raven was the one who provided transport,’ I said, ‘if that’s what you mean.’
‘And saved my life,’ James added.
‘Then Raven is to come with y’all to see the Great Leader in his caverns.’
Raven eyed the insect. ‘I follow the orders of no one.’
‘Don’t take it personally,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just how the snail sharks come across. I’m sure Clyde would like to see you.’
Tyra chuckled. ‘Yes, Hrafn, run after the malwen siarc. I’ll await you here.’
Cornelius once again commandeered a snail to act as his mount. I wished I could do the same. My legs complained as we followed insect and mollusc away from the stones. The swirling mist dragged across the landscape. I could see that we were heading towards a large rocky outcropping, and that the path up the hill was only the width of a snail’s body. Stifling a groan, I concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other.
At least we walked at a comfortable pace. The narrow strip of bare ground forced us into single file. I was directly behind Cornelius, Morey on my shoulder. James was behind me, and then Peter. Raven brought up the rear. A thrum of lemming wings passed over us at one point. Otherwise, the moor was eerily silent. Well, except from Morey muttering about the appropriation of his grŵp rhyfelwyr, James practicing sales pitches for his Caer-grawnt brand, and Raven cursing paths which had not been created with dragons in mind. From time to time, Peter tried to calm the dragon, but to no avail.
Sweat was dampening my shirt by the time we reached the tor. The brown rocks were piled higher than I’d expected, and a dark gap promised a cave beyond. Just down the hill, settled in a broad section of moor, two stones stood near each other. The solid, upright stone contrasted with the hollowed out circular one, and a tilt in the ground had caused them to lean back from one another. I couldn’t decide whether they planned to mate or to fight.
‘Ma’am, sirs, would you please wait here?’ Cornelius asked. I brought my eyes back to the cave just as he was carried through the opening.
I stepped to one side, giving space for the others to join me on the flat area. James was also breathing heavily, which made me touch his arm in worry. But he shook his head and gav
e me a smile. ‘Just out of shape, that’s all.’
Peter, his breath annoyingly light and even, came over to give me a kiss on the cheek. ‘We haven’t said hello to each other.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ I admitted. Morey moved out of the way as Peter drew me into a quick hug.
We released each other as James shouted out, ‘Jago!’
The small gryphon was standing on the rocks above our heads. He spread his wings, showing off his new feathers. I felt Morey brace himself as Jago leapt down. But the eyas glided into the hands of my brother. James caught him with an ease which spoke of many hours playing cricket. ‘You daft thing. I would’ve come for you.’
‘Flew!’ Jago said proudly. I could see that his beak was also healing well. ‘Flew down!’ Then he reared up and signed, the purple and blue crest feathers rising and falling as he tried to tell James about his week.
Morey slumped, his disappointment a heavy weight on my shoulder. ‘That’s what children do,’ I told him quietly. ‘They find their own friends. And James has spent a lot of time with him.’
Cornelius, now without his mount, returned from the cave. ‘So, that’s where the rapscallion disappeared to. Young Jago, sir, could you go back to the escargatoire? Your team’s been left one short.’
‘We’ll see you later,’ James promised the eyas. ‘And we’re just going to do boring tour stuff. You’ll have much more fun playing with the baby snails.’
Jago rubbed his head against James’ cheek. ‘Come with?’
‘Could I?’ James asked the mantis. ‘I’d like to see the snail school.’
‘I reckon that’d be okay.’ Cornelius looked up at Raven. ‘The humans can fit through the passages. But not you, dragon. Best you come inside, and wait until we get back.’
Raven opened his jaws. At my pleading glance, he grumbled, then said, ‘Yes, I will wait.’
‘Then, if y’all will follow me?’ The mantis spread his forelegs towards the entrance.
