The Nest of Nessies (Penny White Book 6)

by Chrys Cymri

  ‘Don’t fret over it,’ Morey said. ‘You’re human. They haven’t a clue on how a human’s mind works. Heaven knows, I’ve lived with you lot for a year, and half the time I still can’t work any of you out.’

  ‘Only half the time?’

  He fluffed his cheek feathers. ‘On a good day.’

  ‘All right.’ I took a deep breath, thought longingly of Talisker, and strode back into the kitchen.

  ‘Sorted,’ Clyde told me proudly. His body greyed, which showed he was preparing for a particularly difficult word. ‘Alphabetical.’

  ‘By name?’ I asked.

  ‘By rat king,’ the black rat replied from her place on the table. ‘Which means I’m first, as I represent the Zygaton Network.’

  I pulled out a chair and sat down. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out my notebook and wrote down the name and a quick rat description. ‘Okay. Off you go.’

  The rat bowed. She lifted her front paws from the table, rising to stand on her hind toes alone. Her sudden roll caught other rats by surprise, and they scattered as she tumbled and twisted. Black wings lifted her into the air and she landed onto all fours. More acrobatics followed. If I squinted, pretended her black body was a tight-fitting leotard, and that she was in a sports hall, I could almost believe that she was an Olympic gymnastic champion. She was panting heavily by the time she executed a final twirl. ‘My rat king, the Zygaton Network, invites you to his palace.’

  ‘Thank you for your presentation.’ I made a few notes, then nodded. ‘Next?’

  A black and white rat hopped over to the table. ‘I represent the Yellow Band, and my presentation is as follows. “Arglwydd, arwain trwy'r anialwch, Fi, bererin gwael ei wedd, Nad oes ynof nerth na bywyd, Fel yn gorwedd yn y bedd.”’

  Clyde joined in, adding his tenor to the rat’s deep baritone. When he finished all three verses, I wrote down, ‘Yellow Band, black and white, “Guide me, O Thou great Redeemer” in the original Welsh.’ And I wondered to myself how I was expected to judge between two such different performances.

  A brown rat shuffled into the vacated space. ‘My rat king is the TerrorStorm Alliance, and my piece is entitled “Ode to a Spring Storm”.’ He took a moment to clean his sharp face, then cleared his throat. ‘“Upon my bed, as the birds do sing, in my heart, I dream of spring”.’

  I fixed a smile on my face as the poem unfolded. I’d received birthday cards with better rhymes. When the rat finally finished, just within the five-minute restriction, I managed to hold back a sigh of relief.

  The next few presentations were equally varied. We lurched from a long chant in Latin, to a sonnet, and then what I could only assume was the rat equivalent of break dancing. The names of their rat kings filled my notebook. Strongjaws United. Quickblow Company. Profitable Group.

  After nine rats had finished, I called a tea break. A couple of rats tried to sneak off into corners, and I told them sternly to go outside to relieve themselves. One looked ready to argue, until a growl from Clyde sent her through the cat flap.

  As I sipped at my drink, I braced myself for the next nine acts. On what basis was I to choose a winner? And would that rat’s king be able to give me the information I was looking for? There were times when people from Lloegyr could really try my patience.

  All too soon, the break was over, and an all-white rat flew into place. ‘My allegiance is to the Growlsnap Company.’ She folded her wings. ‘My tale is a song unknown, of deeds dark and challenges deadly. Of a young gryphon, male, championing his lady love, red of fur and vixen in nature.’

  I nearly dropped my pen. Morey, seated at my right hand, stood in alarm. The rat chanted a tale which sounded like a mixture of my Associate’s first wife, and the challenges we’d faced for him to marry his second. Some of the details were different, such as the gryphon facing a herd of mammoths on his own. But the story of Cadw ar Wahân’s opposition was far too plausible. When the final stanzas ended with gryphon and were-fox celebrating their wedding day, I realised that I’d been holding my breath. I quickly scribbled down my notes as the rat gave us a bow.

  Finally only two remained. I forced myself to give the pink rat a smile, although my concentration was beginning to slip. She announced, ‘I represent the Consortium. And my presentation is a sonnet.’

  I didn’t hear anything of what she said next. ‘The Consortium.’ The third time I had heard that name. Where and when had been the first? This was important, I was certain of it. I underlined the name in my notebook as the rat recited her poem.

  One more rat. I dutifully wrote down the name of his rat king and pretended to watch his tap dance routine. But I already knew which I’d be selecting as the winner. And it had nothing to do with the rat’s performance.

  ‘Thank you, everyone,’ I said as the rat slid to a show-stopping finish. ‘Can you give me a moment with my Associate? Then I’ll come back with my decision.’

  Morey flew ahead of me and landed on the desk as I shut the door to the kitchen. ‘If you’re going by artistic merit, I would choose the representative from the Emergence. Her Terza Rima celebrating coastlines and mountains was superb.’

  ‘The Consortium,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Where have we heard that name before?’

  Morey closed his eyes for a moment. Then his fur slicked in alarm. ‘Lady Paityn mentioned them one night at dinner. She and Lord Willis sold their land to the Consortium, during a hard winter which nearly destroyed the herd. The Consortium built Caer-grawnt and gave the unicorns ownership of a third of the buildings.’

  ‘Pierre, the were-bear who works for Sue Harkness, told me that his loyalty was to the Consortium. Not to her.’

  ‘I don’t know whether to be reassured or alarmed by that statement,’ Morey grumbled. ‘Okay, pick their rat as the winner. And I’m going with you to visit the rat king.’

  ‘“Where you go I will go”?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He sniffed. ‘But I always saw you as the Ruth to my Naomi.’

  Noises from the kitchen made me swallow my reply. I hurried back. The rats folded wings and turned towards me, whiskers quivering. ‘All right, all right, we have a winner. I’ll accept the invitation of the Consortium.’

  The winning rat danced for a moment. Then she dashed through the cat flap. I watched a blur of pink fly over the fence and disappear into the distance. ‘Date?’ I called after her. ‘Time? Dress code?’

  A wail made me look down. A black rat was sobbing, her entire body shaking. The rat next to her curled into a tight ball. Another rat flew to the ground and hid behind my display cabinet. Others were showing similar signs of distress. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘Scared,’ Clyde responded, his own body pulsating in blues and greens in an attempt to calm the rats.

  ‘But why?’ I leaned over the nearest rat. ‘Why are you all so frightened?’

  The black face looked up into mine. ‘Rat kings don’t like failure,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll all be assigned to the horrible jobs. Like taking messages to the harpy quarter.’

  ‘Or to Alba,’ another rat said miserably. ‘In winter. When it’s snowed.’

  A brown rat sniffled. ‘Or to people who haven’t a poetic bone in their body. There are so few who appreciate rhyming sapphics.’

  Clyde touched her gently with his tentacles. ‘Stay. Asylum.’

  ‘Here with you?’ The rat drew back and cleaned her face. ‘I can’t. None of us can. We need regular contact with our kings. We can’t live without it.’

  ‘Sounds like the Borg collective,’ I muttered. As rats stared at me, I added, ‘Sorry, Star Trek reference.’

  ‘Rat kings prefer Babylon 5,’ a grey rat said.

  ‘Yours might,’ another countered. ‘Mine enjoys Battlestar Galactica.’

  ‘The reboot?’ the white rat asked.

  ‘No, the original.’

  ‘Black,’ Morey hissed, ‘stop this. Now.’

  ‘I could pick second and third places,’ I said, ‘if tha
t would help?’

  ‘Not really.’ The black rat shook out her wings. ‘Thank you for the tea and biscuits.’

  Rats stopped crying, uncurled from tight balls, and emerged from hiding places. I opened the back door, and stood back as they flew out, leaving behind a kitchen floor littered with crumbs and tea stains. With a sigh, I went through to the utility room to fetch a mop. Now that all of the rats were gone, I’d have no excuse to put off preparations for tonight’s PCC meeting.

  I sent a quick text to Sue Harkness. Arranging to see rat king Consortium for information. More soon. Then I scrubbed at the floor, wishing that the mess of my own life could be so easily cleaned up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘And we pray this in Jesus’ name, amen,’ Skylar finally concluded.

  I made a mental note to never ask her to say the opening prayer again. Five minutes was far too long. ‘Thank you, Skylar. I have apologies from Rosie. Everyone else is here, so shall we talk about our stewardship campaign?’

  The warmth of a June day had soaked into the walls of our ancient church, and I felt quite comfortable at our meeting place near the back. Late afternoon light touched the stained-glass windows, and I took in a deep breath of the mixed smell of furniture polish and fresh flowers. Twelve people looked down at their pieces of paper or electronic devices, and I sent up a quick prayer of my own. Patience, dear Lord. Please grant me patience, and give it to me now.

  ‘I’d like to propose an addition to the agenda,’ Robert announced. ‘Same sex marriage. I want us to discuss it.’

  Just as well Rosie had been unable to attend. ‘There is no business regarding same sex weddings for the PCC to discuss,’ I said steadily. ‘Parishes haven’t been asked to consider it, or to vote on it. If you want a study evening about the issue, then I’d be glad to arrange one. But it’s not PCC business, and we’re here to talk about stewardship.’

  ‘But it is PCC business.’ Robert leaned forward. ‘It’s about time the Church made its mind up. Are we going to let gays get married or not?’

  ‘They are already able to marry,’ Holly pointed out. ‘Just not in the Church of England.’

  ‘So not in this house of God.’

  ‘Other denominations will host same sex weddings,’ I said. ‘Parliament ruled that the Church of England can not. It’s out of our hands.’

  ‘But surely we can say something about it?’ Rachel asked, her eyes on her knitting. A green and brown jumper was taking shape under her fingers. ‘Write a letter of support?’

  The sentence was so exactly the opposite of what I’d expected that I simply stared at her. Robert nodded. ‘Precisely. It’s about time the Church recognised people like our Rosie.’

  ‘Linda is such a lovely person,’ Janet added. ‘Always makes me so welcome when I call round. Wouldn’t it be lovely if they were to have their wedding in St Wulfram’s? We need to tell the Bishop.’

  I found my voice. ‘Anyone is allowed to write to their bishop.’

  ‘He does know about Linda?’ Holly asked. ‘Rosie won’t be defrocked?’

  ‘Bishop Nigel knows,’ I assured her. ‘But before any of you take any action, it might be best to speak to Rosie first. She might not want you to. Although I’m certain she’d be pleased by your support.’

  ‘Best priest we’ve had,’ Holly declared. There was a sudden clearing of throats around the table, and she added, ‘One of the best. When are you being ordained, Skylar?’

  ‘Last Saturday in June, at Nenehampton Cathedral,’ my curate said, her cheeks nearly as pink as her shirt. ‘It’s on the agenda. Coach tickets to the ordinations.’

  ‘So let’s move on.’ I tapped at my iPad. ‘Financial report?’

  Robert handed out balance sheets and a cash flow forecast. The figures meant very little to me, but I pursed my lips and nodded anyway as the treasurer spoke. ‘We're behind on parish share,’ he said. ‘As usual. We really need a stewardship campaign.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Margaret agreed. ‘I’ve been a faithful giver all these years. Five pounds, every week, on the plate. About time other people stepped up to the mark.’

  ‘Five pounds?’ Skylar repeated. ‘For how long?’

  ‘Twenty years.’ Margaret smiled. ‘Oh, yes, it hasn’t always been easy. It was a real strain, at the start. But in the last few years, I’ve hardly noticed it.’

  Skylar was nodding. I wondered if vampires had any concept of inflation. ‘We might need to talk about people giving more,’ I said gently. ‘And to pay by standing order.’

  ‘The problem is the envelopes.’ Janet held one up. We all dutifully looked at the small pink square. ‘I can only fit in four pound coins. They need to be bigger.’

  ‘A ten-pound note fits in very well,’ Robert observed.

  ‘Ten pounds?’ Janet spluttered. ‘On my pension?’

  ‘If we don’t bring in more money,’ Robert said, ‘we need to cut costs. It’s that simple. Mowing and strimming the churchyard, for example.’

  ‘We win awards for our churchyard,’ Holly said, sounding appalled. ‘How about the vicar’s expenses?’

  Eyes came to me. ‘I claim all of my expenses,’ I replied. ‘And I tithe. Five percent to this church, five percent to charity.’

  ‘More coffee mornings,’ Rachel declared. ‘Some concerts. Fundraising. The money will come in. It always does.’

  We discussed various plans and the treasurer promised to draft some letters for review. Near the end of the meeting, Janet wanted to discuss ‘the appalling amount of speeding through this village’, but I managed to convince her to write to the parish council instead. When we finished with the Grace at 9pm, I didn’t feel in desperate need of a large glass of wine.

  Skylar was silent for the first few minutes as I drove us back to the vicarage. Then, as I turned into the estate, she asked, ‘Why does your Church have such a problem with gay people?’

  ‘I’ll talk you through it sometime.’

  ‘Ours doesn’t like mixed-species relationships,’ she continued. ‘But, I mean, you’re all humans. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Many of us don’t understand.’ I pulled on to the drive, and we exited the car. Skylar went into the house, and I opened the garage door. Then I slid back into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.

  The Ford coughed apologetically but refused to roar to life. I tried again. Still nothing more than a splutter. A few more times, and I had to admit defeat. My car was not going anywhere. I rested my head on the steering wheel and fought back a sinking sense of betrayal.

  At least I was at home. I went into the house and followed the sounds of voices to the kitchen. The welcome sight of an open bottle of wine met my eyes. Skylar and James sat at the table, Clyde and Morey resting on the wooden top. My brother jumped up from his chair and poured me a glass of my own. I gulped half of it down, then turned to Morey. ‘How does it go? “I could cope if it were an enemy who went after me, but you were my friend”?’

  ‘Psalm 55,’ the gryphon said promptly. ‘“It is not enemies who taunt me—I could bear that; it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me—I could hide from them. But it is you, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend, with whom I kept pleasant company; we walked in the house of God with the throng.” Who has betrayed you?’

  ‘My Ford.’ I polished off the wine and held out my glass for a refill. ‘She’s been having problems for awhile now. But I think this is it. She won’t start at all.’

  ‘Phone your breakdown company?’ James suggested.

  ‘It’s late, and it’s not an emergency. I’ll phone them in the morning.’ I pulled out a chair and took a seat.

  ‘Maybe it can be repaired?’ Skylar asked.

  ‘Maybe.’ I sighed. ‘But I think this is the end.’ To my embarrassment, tears formed in my eyes. ‘Alan bought me that car. Thirteen years ago. It was a birthday present. He put flowers on the front seat and stuck a red bow on the top.’

  ‘What a lovely gesture
.’ Skylar touched my arm. ‘He was a nice man, your husband.’

  ‘He was. He would have been.’ I pulled out a tissue and blew my nose. ‘Peter was planning to buy me a new car. It would have been so symbolic. Out with the old, in with the new. But that’s not going to happen now.’

  James shifted in his chair. ‘Look, Pen, I’ve still got some money left from the court settlement. I can lend you enough to get a new car.’

  I waved the offer away. ‘That’s nice of you, but I’ll find a way to fund one. There’s a Church loan scheme which offers special rates to clergy. Keep your money to invest in your business.’

  ‘And to buy your flat,’ Skylar reminded him. ‘In the meantime, weren’t you going to pay her some rent?’

  ‘He’s my little brother,’ I said quickly. ‘Family doesn't pay rent. And that means all of you. You’re all family.’ And I turned my face away to wipe my eyes. The wine had obviously rushed straight to my head. ‘Anyway, if this is way the car has to go, it could have been worse. Like when I was down at Tattenhoe Abbey.’

  ‘She died safe at home,’ Morey intoned, ‘on her own drive, surrounded by all those who loved her.’

  I threw my sodden tissue in his direction. ‘You can fly everywhere. You don’t understand. A car means freedom for us land-bound people.’

  ‘Do you want to plan lifts for the next few days?’ Skylar asked, pulling out her iPhone.

  ‘Let’s see what happens when the winning rat gets back. I’ll need a lift to Nenehampton Cathedral so I can cross over to Lloegyr.’

  James smirked. ‘Or a certain handsome dragon could take you.’

  ‘Not at the moment.’ I left the table to fetch another bottle of wine. ‘Let’s look at diaries after Morning Prayer. It’s been a long day, and this is a rather nice bottle of Malbec.’

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  Light, pushing past my bedroom curtains brought me gently awake. As I rolled over, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep, my nose brushed against fur. I opened my eyes, and found a rat perched on my pillow. There had been a time when this sort of thing would have sent me fleeing from my bed, but after a year of waking to gryphons and snail sharks, my only thought was, Well, this is new.