by Chrys Cymri
I nipped back to the study to fetch my own drink. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming. Did I make a mistake with my diary?’
‘No mistake.’ His brown eyes were intent on my face. ‘Penny, I’ve heard about you and Peter. I wanted to see how you’re doing.’
I rubbed my empty ring finger. ‘It’s all early days yet. I think I’ve managed to cancel everything that needed cancelling.’
‘Do you want some time off? Rosie and Skylar can handle things, I’m sure.’
I quirked a smile. ‘I’m not sure what I’d do with the time. I think it’s better to keep busy. Besides, I’ve only recently returned from my sabbatical. St Wulfram’s will forget who I am.’
‘I don’t think that’s likely. You are, well, rather memorable.’
‘I’m not quite sure how I should take that.’
‘As a compliment,’ Morey said as he landed on the kitchen counter. ‘Bishop Nigel, good to see you. I trust you and your family are well?’
The Bishop nodded. ‘Yes. Fourth grandchild is on the way.’
‘Then congratulations are in order.’ Morey turned his head to look at me. ‘I might be wrong, but don’t you have a meeting to go to?’
I nearly spoke too soon. Then his quick ear twist told me that he was only trying to give me an excuse, should I need it, to send Bishop Nigel away. ‘Not until this afternoon. But thanks for reminding me.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’ Morey hopped down to the floor and pushed himself through the cat flap.
‘He’s a good friend to you,’ Bishop Nigel said. ‘But I’m certain you would have told me to leave, if that’s what you wanted. Is that what you want, Penny?’
The soft tone nearly broke my firm control. ‘There’s nothing to bring the church into disrepute. We’ve split cleanly. No one else involved.’
‘And I never thought there was.’
‘Peter wants children.’
‘And you don’t.’
‘I don’t want to start all over with nappies and toilet training.’ I rose to my feet and walked to the kitchen windows. Clyde was talking to several snail sharks. Morey watched from a bench, Jago sitting beside him to translate. ‘And I’d lose all this. I’d lose Lloegyr.’
‘You don’t think you could combine motherhood and the role of Vicar General?’
‘No. Lloegyr can be a dangerous place, and I know what it’s like to be orphaned. I would never risk doing that to a child.’
‘I understand.’ I heard the chair grate across the floor as Bishop Nigel stood. He came to my side. ‘Clyde looks well.’
‘He is.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Bishop Nigel, he thinks he has a calling to ordination.’
‘Well, that would set the snail shark amongst the flying rats.’ At my look, the Bishop chuckled. ‘Just trying to sound like a native.’
‘And you must know that the natives aren’t that keen on snail sharks.’ I felt my hands curl into fists. ‘Bishop Aeron wouldn’t even confirm him.’
‘No society, it seems, is free of prejudice. But if he wants to explore this further, it would have to be in Eglwys Loegyr. There are too many practical reasons why Clyde couldn’t serve in the Church of England.’
‘The fact that most humans wouldn’t be able to see him,’ I offered. ‘And his inability to speak more than a few English words at a time. Although Jago is a very good interpreter.’
‘Is he, indeed?’ The Bishop rubbed his chin. ‘Could you arrange for Clyde to meet with Archdeacon Ian? He used to be a Vocations Officer. Ian’s attending the Vicars General conference. If you took Clyde with you, that might be a good time for them to talk.’
‘And Jago,’ I added. ‘Unless Ian speaks fluent snail.’
‘And Jago. If Ian thinks Clyde has a vocation, then I’ll have a chat with Clyde.’
‘You’d recommend him to Bishop Aeron?’
‘If Ian and I both feel strongly enough about Clyde’s calling, yes, I will.’ Bishop Nigel sighed. ‘But I can only go so far. It’s not my place to interfere with decisions taken by Eglwys Loegyr. Just as it wouldn’t be Bishop Aeron’s place to tell the Church of England what to do.’
‘Although she did change your mind on women bishops. You voted in favour because of her.’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, yes, I did. I’d forgotten that I told you that.’
‘Then maybe,’ I said slowly, ‘it’s time her mind was changed on snail sharks.’
‘It might be.’ Bishop Nigel cleared his throat. ‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. I was born with the Sight, so I’m never quite certain if it’s the same for me as for people who have to have it topped up. Do you ever, well, experience visions? Which you know don’t come from Earth?’
‘Never,’ I said. ‘How do you know what you’re seeing isn’t from Earth?’
‘I can’t quite say why. Something to do with how the images come across.’ The Bishop shook his head. ‘It’s the same thing, each time, and it seems stronger when I’m standing next to a tree.’
‘A tree?’ I reached out a hand to grip a chair back. ‘What do you see?’
‘Black wings.’
My knees threatened to give way. I pulled the chair around and sat down. ‘Clyde’s been seeing visions of black wings.’
‘Interesting.’ Bishop Nigel joined me at the table. ‘Or maybe worrisome. Could you let me know if he comes up with anything more?’
I nodded. ‘And maybe vice versa?’
‘Certainly.’ He leaned forward and laid a warm hand over mine. ‘I am sorry about you and Peter, Penny. If I can be of any help, let me know.’
‘I will,’ I promised. ‘I’m off to the Lloegyr conference next week, at any rate. A change being as good as a rest, and all that.’
‘I'm certain it’ll be fascinating.’ Bishop Nigel stood, and I followed suit. ‘Thank you for the coffee. Let me know how the conference goes. It’s the first one, and I’m hoping it’ll be of benefit across the Church. I’m aware that you Vicars General have very few people with whom you can talk about your experiences.’
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling a sudden pang. I’d always been able to talk to Peter. For a moment my eyes prickled, but I managed to push back the tears with a few deep breaths. Bishop Nigel was a nice man, but I was not going to cry in front of him. I’d never get over the embarrassment.
He paused in the hallway. ‘By the way, we’ve had a message from Bishop Aeron. There isn’t that much contact between sea and land dioceses. She can’t help you in locating a next of kin or advise on appropriate funeral arrangements.’
‘Well, at least we’ve tried.’
I saw him out to his car and watched him leave. A single tree occupied the small front garden. I wandered over and stared at the bright green leaves. The bark was smooth under my fingers. Well, tree? I thought at it. Anything to tell me?
The sounds of a weekday in early summer swirled around me. The mechanical roar of lawnmowers, high-pitched calls of complaining blackbirds, a mother calling out to her toddler. The fresh smell of cut grass drifted through the warm air. Yellow flowers bobbed around my ankles. I was suddenly reminded that it was James’ turn to cut the grass.
I turned and let my hand fall away. A moment later, something brushed past my right cheek, both soft and firm as only feathers could be. I glanced around, expecting to see Morey or Jago nearby. But the cul-de-sac was empty. A flutter of black at my feet made me bend down. For a moment, I thought I saw a feather. But then it disappeared, and I was left with a strange foreboding.
Chapter Four
‘And I’ve arranged for Skylar to buy a trolley full of poultry later today,’ I told Clyde as I threw a few more shirts into my suitcase. The snail sat on my bed, the yellow trickling across his body revealing his concern. ‘Don’t worry, you know she’s reliable.’
‘Baptism?’ he reminded me. ‘Snails?’
‘When I’m back from the conference.’ I reached over my bag to give his shell a quick rub. ‘Bishop Nige
l might be willing to confirm them, if they stay here in England. Or are they going back to Lloegyr?’
‘Back. Soon.’
‘To the Community?’
‘Yes.’
Now orange was spreading across his tentacles. ‘What’s the matter, Clyde?’
‘Stay? Go?’
‘You’re torn between staying here, or going back with them?’
‘Yes.’
I pushed my case to one side and took a seat on the bed. ‘Only you can decide that,’ I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. ‘Pray over it, Clyde. Where do you feel you belong? Where can you do the most good for God and his Church? It might also help if you found someone you can talk to about this.’
‘You.’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘We’re too close. Bishop Nigel came up with an idea the other day. He suggested that you could meet with Archdeacon Ian while we’re at the conference. With Jago’s help, of course. Does that sound like a good idea?’
Clyde slid across the duvet to press against my leg. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll send an email to his secretary to arrange it.’ I pulled out my phone and tapped out a quick message. ‘Bishop Nigel will arrange a follow-on chat if Ian thinks that’s a good idea.’
‘Bishop nice,’ Clyde affirmed.
Socks and underwear went into the case. And a fleece, in view of the unpredictability of the British weather. Charger for the iPhone. I walked to the door to call down the hallway, ‘Morey, anything you want me to pack for you?’
‘My Reader’s harness!’ came the reply from his room.
‘You mean a cowl. You’re a deacon now.’
‘Only under sufferance. But you’re going to insist, aren’t you?’ He flew across the stairwell and landed on my shoulder, the piece of white cloth hanging from his beak.
Clyde followed us down the stairs. ‘Jago!’ I called. ‘We’re ready to go!’
A moment later, a gryphon on either shoulder and a snail at my heels, I stepped out into a warm June morning. A few clouds lazed across the light blue sky, the same breeze stirring the ever-lengthening grass of my front lawn. I opened the passenger door and lifted Clyde into the cat box. After he was inside, I stood back so the two gryphons could fly to the back seat. I said a quick prayer as I slid into my own position. My Ford responded almost eagerly as I turned the key in the ignition, and I pointed us towards Milton Keynes.
‘Any requests?’ I asked as we turned onto the A45. ‘I have several Big Finish audio adventures. There’s a new one with the Fourth Doctor, Leela, and K-9. That might appeal to you, Morey.’
‘Tennant,’ Clyde said, promptly and predictably.
‘Sorry, Clyde, I didn’t pack those CDs.’
‘I know I’m not going to like the answer,’ Morey grumbled, ‘but I’ll ask anyway. Why might that appeal to me?’
‘K-9. A sidekick for the Doctor. A bit like you and me.’
‘My dear Penelope,’ Morey assured me, ‘I’ve never considered you to be on the same level as a robot dog.’
‘I feel quite flattered.’
‘After all, your memory is nowhere near good enough.’
I sniffed. ‘At least I can go up and down stairs.’
‘The new version of K-9 can actually fly.’
‘I like the new K-9,’ Jago offered. ‘He’s very clever.’
A car had broken down in the slow lane, and I concentrated on getting past before speaking again. ‘So I’m not even as good as a tin dog. That’s good to know.’ I pulled out the CD case and carefully extracted the disc. ‘I’d better listen to this one and pick up some tips.’
Morey finally stopped grumbling ten minutes later.
Tattenhoe Abbey was south of Milton Keynes. The road led past numerous housing estates and a golf course. I followed brown signs for ‘Tattenhoe Conference Centre’. The road narrowed, and we bumped over several potholes. I paused at the top of the hill to admire the view. The ancient building nestled below us, the yellow sandstone walls glowing in the sunshine. Large windows and decorative turrets were a reminder that the Abbey had been a private residence for many years.
I aimed my car down the long drive, driving carefully past the sheep and cows grazing on either side. Parking was the other side of a cattle grid and through an opening in a hedge. Morey surged past me as I slid out of my seat. Sparrows took off in fright as he soared over the sloping grounds behind the Abbey. Jago waited until I’d put Clyde on the ground before taking up a place on my left shoulder.
‘Beautiful place,’ Morey said a few minutes later as he thudded on to my right shoulder. ‘I think I can see where the mediaeval fish ponds used to be. There’s a walled garden and it looks like an extensive vegetable plot.’
‘The Abbey tries to be self-sufficient.’ I walked through the narrow car park, gravel crunching under my shoes. ‘From vegetables to meat.’
‘You’ve been here before?’
‘Several times. It’s the diocesan retreat house.’ I grinned. ‘All of the staff know me.’
Doors opened automatically as I walked into the large reception area. Morey and Jago’s claws dug into my shoulder as I came to a sudden halt. I had expected to see Andrew, the Abbey’s manager, behind the low desk. But a large woman looked up at me. The shimmer around her face and long dark hair told me that I was looking at a were. ‘We’re here for the conference,’ I stuttered. ‘Reverends Penny White and Moriarty, along with Jago and Clyde.’
‘Welcome to Tattenhoe Abbey,’ the woman said. As she smiled, her features shifted to that of a wolf, then back to human again. ‘Could you please fill out the check-in form?’
I pulled a pen from my pocket and bent over to obey. ‘Where’s Andrew?’ I asked as I wrote down my home address. ‘Not ill, I hope?’
‘The regular staff have been given special leave during the conference. Seemed best to the organisers.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Morey said. ‘Easier to have staff who can see all of the attendees.’
The receptionist glanced down at Clyde. ‘Will everyone be staying in the bedroom?’ A long trail of slime gleamed behind the snail, and I could see the look of concern on her face.
‘Outside,’ Clyde assured her.
Jago raised his blue and purple crest. ‘I’ll stay with Clyde.’
‘Very good.’ The were-wolf pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. ‘Hunting rules, Reverend Moriarty, Masters Jago and Clyde. Some rare birds live in the grounds, or so I’m told. This is a list of the species you’re welcome to hunt. In particular, the pond has too many drakes. Feel free to cull them.’
‘I’m on a low meat diet,’ Jago said. ‘May I help myself to vegetables?’
Morey’s wince was nearly audible.
‘Of course,’ the receptionist assured him. She accepted my form and gave me a set of keys. ‘You’re on the second floor. The room has a double bed and a sofa.’
‘That’s good,’ Morey said. ‘Penny will enjoy sleeping on the sofa.’
‘He thinks he’s so funny,’ I told the were-wolf. ‘What time’s lunch?’
‘At noon, in the main dining hall.’ The receptionist leaned over the desk to speak to Clyde. ‘The Oak Room has been set aside for your meeting with Archdeacon Ian Masterson. He’s expecting you tomorrow evening at eight o’clock.’
‘That’s quick, I only sent the email this morning.’ I glanced down at the snail. ‘Are you happy with that, Clyde?’
‘Yes.’ And Clyde opened his jaws in a smile. The were-wolf paled.
The snail followed his trail back outside, Jago flying overhead. I grabbed my bag and took us into the accommodation area. As I puffed my way up the stairs, I took comfort in the fact that we’d have an hour to unpack before heading down to lunch.
<><><><><><>
The main dining hall was a newer building attached to the back of the original Abbey. The rumble of numerous conversations travelled down the corridor. Morey took off, using his wings to hurry ahead of me. Su
re, I thought at his disappearing back, dump me as a taxi service the moment it’s inconvenient to you.
Then I reached the wide doorway, and the scene made me stop just outside the room. Tables lined one whitewashed wall, platters filled with a variety of hot and cold food. More tables and chairs had been set up in corners of the room. A mixture of beings milled around, among them unicorns and full-sized gryphons, various weres, and a black dragon who barely reached my height. Smaller Associates had claimed the staging area at the back of the hall. Morey was amongst them, talking to a gryphon his own size.
‘Penny, good to see you.’ A white-haired man in a black cassock strode over. ‘Glad you could make it.’
My mind searched desperately for his name. ‘Well, it’s not that far for me.’
‘I had thought to have this in the autumn,’ he continued. ‘But the Abbey told me, “Come in June, Albert, we have some good rates to offer you.” So here we are.’
His tactful way of reminding me of his name made me smile. ‘How many of us are here?’
‘Not every diocese has a Vicar General.’ Albert led me over to the buffet. ‘There are around thirty of us, and I think only two couldn’t come. Monsignor Abelli is here, as well as a couple of Methodists and a Baptist.’
Although the curry looked tempting, I decided to limit myself to sandwiches. ‘What about other faiths?’
‘Next time around.’ Albert heaped his plate with salad. ‘I’ve already made some enquiries. But I wanted a Christian focus for the first conference.’
We joined two other priests and an ivory-white unicorn at a table. Introductions were made. I tried to commit Janet and Mark’s names to memory. ‘And I'm Chadwick,’ said the unicorn. ‘Janet’s Associate.’
‘It’s not his real name, of course,’ Janet said quickly. She looked very young, her face smooth under her dark hair. ‘But we agreed it’d be easier if he used something. I got tired of shouting, “Hey, unicorn!” when I needed his attention.’
‘I kept thinking she was offering me some grass to eat,’ Chadwick agreed. ‘Nearly resulted in me being run over by a car.’
‘So, what’s the plan for today?’ Mark asked. He was so painfully thin that I wished he were eating more than the banana and slice of bread on his plate.
