by Chrys Cymri
‘She was an Air Transport Auxiliary pilot,’ Sue said. ‘One of the many women who flew fighter planes between British bases during the Second World War. Her Boeing B-17 somehow crossed over into Alba, and she crashed near those mountains. A few years later, she pulled a small green-black dragon out of the lake.’
‘He was probably chased there by his dam.’
‘That’s what my mother said.’ Sue tapped the canvas with her forefinger. ‘When the dragon was big enough, he took her through the crossing and flew her back to London.’
‘It’s a long way,’ I said carefully, ‘Scotland to London.’
‘That’s what I’ve always said. But my mother insists it only took a few hours.’ Sue gave me a sad smile. ‘Her memory has always been a bit suspect. I think she blanks a lot of it out. The winters she spent on her own--it was all rather grim.’
‘What’s your mother’s name?’
‘Her name is Audrey.’
I somehow managed to stay upright. ‘I had no idea you had such a link with Daear.’
‘I don’t take any pride in it.’ Sue sounded bitter. ‘My mother married, I came along a few years later, but she never seemed to be happy with us. All she wanted to talk about was this dragon she’d met, and how wonderful it’d been to see the world from his back. She seemed to regret that she hadn’t tried to keep him. I used to try to tell her a dragon isn’t something you can house in a back garden, certainly not in London, but she’s never listened to me. Now I don’t try. It’s made my regular visits much more pleasant. Fortunately, the people at the nursing home just think she’s rambling when she talks about dragons, and gryphons, and were-foxes.’
‘You feel you lost her to Daear,’ I said carefully. ‘She never settled back into normal life.’
‘Precisely.’ Sue met my gaze. ‘That’s why I tell people to be careful about Lloegyr. Don’t be drawn in. Remember where your true loyalties lie. You’re a human, and you’re a British citizen. Don’t let the glamour of these fantastic creatures turn your head. You’ll only end up with heartbreak.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said quickly, ‘my first loyalty is to Doctor Who. I just want to know who’s going to be the next Doctor. I'm not entirely happy with some of the rumours.’
Sue leaned in close. Her faint perfume danced across my nostrils, and Jago sneezed. ‘Here’s a hint. JW.’
I stared at her. ‘JW? Jehovah’s Witnesses?’
‘Watch the announcement when it comes out.’ Sue tapped a forefinger against the side of her nose. ‘JW.’
Pierre bounded up to us, and I realised that our meeting was at an end. To my great relief, Jago had stopped sneezing and was thoroughly hidden away under my fleece. I didn’t want the were-bear to spot him.
The car was waiting outside. A five minute drive took us down a narrow side street. We pulled up at a red brick building. Long white-rimmed windows brightened the dark walls. Pierre insisted on carrying my case up the front steps to the large storm porch. We agreed that he’d collect me at 9am the next morning, and then he gave my luggage to the doorman.
The entrance hall was huge. White marble columns reached up to the three-storey ceiling. A large red rug rested on a white and black tiled floor. I tried not to stare at the bronze statues of Greek gods and did my best to ignore the expensive-looking paintings of biblical scenes. As I followed the porter to the reception desk, I once again felt underdressed for my surroundings.
Of course, the staff treated me as if I’d walked in wearing the most expensive and latest fashions. ‘Reverend White,’ the woman behind the desk purred. Her short, dark hair was immaculate, and elegant red fingernails tapped at her computer keyboard. ‘You’re most welcome to the Earl Dudley Hotel. Your room is on the second floor. Here is your key. Which newspaper do you wish in the morning, and do you require a wake-up call?’
I had a moment’s panic as I tried to work out which paper would best help me to blend in with my surroundings. ‘The Financial Times, please.’
By the time I’d climbed the grand staircase to my level, and found my room down the tastefully-lit corridor, I was ready to simply collapse on my bed. What I found, when I pushed my door open, was a large sitting area, complete with a balcony. The bedroom was a separate room.
My case was already on a stand. Jago wriggled free, climbed down my side, and spent the next few minutes charging around the suite. ‘Look at this view!’ he called out when he slipped out to the balcony. ‘They have their own park!’
Several decanters of various spirits rested along one cabinet. The single malt on offer, according to the engraved metal label resting around the crystal neck, was a Glenmorangie. I poured myself a double measure. ‘I’ll order room service, Jago. What would you like?’
‘Carrots, peas, beans,’ he said promptly. ‘But no broccoli. I can’t stand broccoli.’
I decided on the lamb and placed our order. Then I joined Jago on the balcony. The large expanse of green, which appeared to be exclusive to the hotel’s guests, made me wonder how much the property was worth. And how much it cost for a night’s stay.
The evening was still warm, and I lowered myself into a chair. ‘Jago, have you decided never to eat meat? Not even occasionally?’
The gryphon leapt up to my knee. I winced as claws pricked through to my skin. ‘I don’t like the idea that someone has to die for me. Not like that.’
‘I respect your choices,’ I said, picking my words carefully, ‘but gryphons are carnivores. Would you mind seeing Jen, the vet at the Midlands Safari Park? She helped you after the snail shark attack. I’d like her to run some tests, just to make sure that you can stay healthy on a vegetarian diet.’
‘If you think that’s a good idea.’
‘I think it is.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And maybe she, or her raptor expert, Chrissy, might be able to give us some advice about when you might be able to fly again.’
‘They’re human.’ Jago arched his back. ‘They won’t know. Anyway, it’s not forever. I’ll fly again soon. It’s not like what happened to Uncle Clyde.’
I took a quick gulp of whisky to dull the memory. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘And if he can live with never flying again, I’ll be okay if I can’t fly for awhile.’
‘That’s a very mature way to look at it.’ I reached out with my free hand to tickle the soft grey feathers around his head. ‘Both of you are very brave.’
Jago raised his crest. ‘Auntie Penny, the Archdeacon said it wouldn’t be right for me to tell anyone what he and Uncle Clyde discussed last night.’
‘It wouldn’t,’ I agreed, although part of me was desperate to know.
‘But if Uncle Clyde does go off to become a priest, he’ll need help, won’t he? So he can talk to people who aren’t snail sharks?’
‘If Clyde is chosen for ordination training,’ I said, ‘we’ll find a way to give him that help. There’s still a large praying mantis somewhere in Lloegyr who might like to live in a theological college. I’d ask Raven to track him down, if it comes to that.’
The crest drooped. ‘So you don’t think I’d be the right person?’
‘I'm trying to say,’ I replied gently, ‘that you’re not the only person. Don’t think you have to go with Clyde, just because you can act as translator. It would be your choice.’ Then a thought struck me, and I frowned. ‘Will Clyde be worrying about you?’
‘He knows I’m here. I told him I planned to come with you to London.’
‘And what did he say about that?’
Jago laughed. ‘He said, “Penny will pretend to be annoyed at first, but then you’ll have a great time.” And he was right, wasn’t he?’
‘Clyde is often right,’ I said ruefully.
‘Because he’s very very clever.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘He’s very very clever.’
Chapter Twelve
After an excellent dinner, washed down with a couple of glasses of a nice Argentine Malbec, I placed Jago on my shoulder and we
made our way to the London Eye. The gryphon admired the views up and down the Thames while I tasted a number of champagnes in the company of a half dozen other people.
By the time I stumbled away, I was in a very cheerful mood. Jago seemed entranced by the buzz of London at night. He rose to his hind legs to clap at the performances of street artists, sang along with buskers, and pointed out landmark after landmark as we walked along the Thames.
We returned to our hotel very late. The wake-up call was an unwelcome sound. I managed not to swear at the chirpy voice at the other end of the phone. Breakfast was once again delivered by room service, and Jago agreed to eat some egg. ‘Although,’ he pointed out, ‘the hens are still not treated well, are they?’
I peered at the menu. ‘It says here that they are free range.’
‘But what happens to them when they don’t lay enough eggs anymore?’
‘Probably nothing very pleasant,’ I reluctantly agreed.
A shower and several large doses of strong coffee brought me to semi-wakefulness. As I dropped my key off at reception, and allowed the doorman to carry my case outside, I was very grateful that I wouldn’t be driving for at least another hour.
Jago had climbed into my bag without complaint. The snarls of a city coping with rush hour covered the snores which emanated from the cloth sides. I slid into the back, and once again hoped that Pierre wouldn’t be able to hear what happened in my section of the car.
As much as I enjoyed visiting London, I always found myself relaxing once we were out into green countryside. I rested back in the soft seats, and dozed as we went up the M1. When we pulled into the grounds of Tattenhoe Abbey, I felt ready to face the day.
I moved the case myself from the Ford to my old car. Pierre hovered by his door, obviously waiting some form of dismissal. I walked over and put on my sweetest smile. ‘Thanks for driving me. I’m very grateful.’
‘I serve the minister.’
‘And you do that very well.’ I dropped into a frown. ‘Sue talked to me about her mother. She seems a bit worried about her. I’m not asking you to tell me where Audrey is, of course, but is she in a Church of England nursing home? I know the chaplains at those places are excellent.’
Pierre’s dark eyes scrutinised me. Then the tight lines of his face relaxed. ‘The minister speaks highly of the parish priest who visits the residents. But the vicar left last month, and it’s not certain when a new one might be appointed.’
‘I’m certain the parish will have other people organised to look after the residents’ spiritual needs,’ I said. ‘I’d offer to help out, but I gather it’d be quite a drive.’
‘Yes. It would.’ Pierre gave me a nod and clambered into the car. I stood back as he pulled away, aiming the Ford towards the exit. Although he hadn’t named the place where Audrey lived, I had enough information to make a good attempt to track her down, should I decide to do so. Raven had told me a little of his life with, as he called her, ‘the first woman I ever loved,’ but I had the feeling there was much more he’d left unsaid.
‘Back at last.’ Morey glared down at us from a nearby tree, the quick twitches of his tail emphasising his annoyance. ‘Where have you been? And where’s my son?’
I hurried over to my car and unzipped my case. Jago was nestled between a shirt and my toiletries bag, snoring softly. ‘Wakey, wakey,’ I told him. ‘We’re heading home now.’
Jago uncurled and climbed up my arm. ‘We had a wonderful time in London,’ he told Morey as his father landed on my shoulder. ‘We stayed in this great hotel, and we went on the London Eye, and then we walked along the river. It was a great adventure!’
Morey glared at him. ‘I would have appreciated knowing where you were.’
‘I told Uncle Clyde.’
‘Whose verbal vocabulary is rather limited.’
‘I’ll tell you about the meeting on the drive home,’ I promised. ‘Sue had a lot to say.’
‘She grabbed me!’ Jago burst out, his crest rising and falling. ‘I nearly bit her.’
‘It was like when she saw the photo of Clyde in the TARDIS set,’ I explained. ‘Sue thought Jago was a toy. Even though she touched him, she still only saw him as a toy.’
‘Strange woman.’
‘Woman?’ Clyde’s voice came from my feet. Claws from two gryphons gripped my shoulders as I bent down to collect the snail.
‘Sue Harkness, the Minister without Portfolio,’ I explained. ‘I’ve asked the Bishop’s office to send a rat to Llanbedr. I’ve agreed to consult a rat king.’
Morey stiffened. ‘You've done what?’
‘I’ll explain on the way,’ I said. ‘The minister can quote “national security” all she wants, but I have a PCC meeting tonight and a talk to write for tomorrow. Come on, everyone.’
Clyde made only a token grumble as I placed him into the cat carrier and buckled it down. The gryphons leapt onto the back seat. And then, after a brief shudder, the car started up and I took us home.
<><><><><><>
All I wanted, as we piled from the drive and into the house, was a large cup of coffee. But Skylar hurried down the stairs as I dumped my bag and coat inside the door. ‘Penny, I’m so glad you’re back. The rats are demanding to know when you want the audition to begin.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The rats.’ Skylar smoothed her pink shirt over her ample stomach. ‘I tried to suggest that they could start with me, but it seems I’m not good enough.’
‘It’s not that,’ Morey assured her from my shoulder. ‘The rat kings aren’t interested in you. It’s Penny they’ll want to meet.’
I glanced at my wristwatch. 11am. Far too early for a shot of whisky. ‘Why would rat kings want to meet me?’
‘She has no idea, does she?’ Skylar asked Morey. Her gaze came back to me. ‘No other human has served in a Lloegyr parish, or invaded a dragon longhouse, or helped a colony of refugee vampires. Of course they want to meet you.’
‘But an audition?’ I asked.
Skylar smoothed her blonde hair. ‘Problem is, all of the rat kings want to meet you. So they’ve each sent a representative to convince you why you should meet with his or her king.’
Maybe just the one drink? ‘How many rats are we talking about?’
‘There are eighteen in the kitchen.’ At my look, Skylar added, ‘You’re lucky. These are only from Llanbedr. Think how many there would’ve been if every rat king in Lloegyr had sent one.’
A crash made me hurry to the kitchen. I stopped short in the doorway, and Skylar nearly bumped into me. Rats were everywhere. Crowded on the table, lining the counters, perched on top of the cabinets. Their colours varied from pure white to dark black, with a few brown and one which was bright pink. The room smelled of fur and, I suspected, a few piles of droppings. Bat wings lifted from their backs as they greeted me. ‘Father White!’ ‘The Reverend!’ ‘Salutations from my rat king!’
Clyde slid past my feet and took up a position in the middle of the floor. ‘Quiet!’
The sight of a snail shark’s sharp teeth silenced the rats. ‘Thank you,’ I said quickly. ‘I wasn’t expecting so many of you, and I need to deal with my phone messages and emails before I listen to any audition pieces. I suggest we start after lunch, say one o’clock?’
Grumbles followed my suggestion. Clyde opened his jaws wider, and the noise subsided. ‘I’m sure we can offer you tea and biscuits,’ Morey said. ‘Skylar, perhaps you can put the kettle on?’
‘And a coffee for me, please,’ I added. Then I escaped to the study.
A pile of post rested on my desk. The light on my answering machine was blinking, my inbox filled with emails the moment my computer flared into life, and my iPhone held a number of texts. I responded to Sue’s first. Rat king interview progressing, I wrote. More later.
Once the immediate emergencies had been dealt with, including an irate email from Holly about the breakdown in the church flower rota, I felt able to review an application for a
gravestone and a wedding couple’s requested hymns and readings.
The rats snapped to attention when I wandered back into the kitchen. Biscuit crumbs and puddles of tea covered every surface. Skylar and the gryphons were nowhere to be seen. Only Clyde had stayed on watch, seated on the table near a bowl of his own.
‘Lunch,’ I said before any rat could speak. ‘I can’t listen on an empty stomach.’
‘My presentation is through the medium of dance,’ a black rat offered.
‘Of course it is,’ I muttered. ‘Nothing until I’ve eaten and had a cup of tea. And then I don’t want any of you to talk, or whatever, for longer than five minutes.’
Squeals of protest followed my announcement. ‘My audition is a drama with three acts,’ one brown rat retorted. ‘I’ll need at least thirty minutes.’
‘You have five,’ I insisted. ‘No exceptions.’
‘My sonnet will only take one minute,’ a grey rat said smugly. ‘Do you grant extra points for brevity?’
The thought was certainly tempting, but felt unfair. ‘No. I’ll judge each piece on its merits.’ At the moment, I had no idea on what basis I was going to score the rats. I could only hope that inspiration would strike as I consumed my sandwich.
The cat flap rattled just as I was making another pot of tea. Morey circled the kitchen for a moment before he landed on the table next to Clyde. ‘Coffee,’ he called out. ‘Two sugars. Have you started yet?’
‘We’re about to.’ I set up the coffee machine and turned to Clyde. ‘Could you decide in which order they’re going to present? Morey, please come with me.’
Another outbreak of rat voices. I left Clyde to deal with the chaos. Morey followed me to the study, where I threw up my hands. ‘How am I supposed to do this?’
‘Haven’t you ever judged a competition before?’
‘Best display of vegetables and most delicious jam at the village fete,’ I grumbled. ‘Not rats who want to dance or put on a play.’
