by Chrys Cymri
‘Penny the bountiful, the beautiful, a woman of rare intelligence,’ the green rat half sang. ‘I bring greetings, salutations, and best wishes from the magnificent, the extraordinary, the powerful Consortium. My name is Peridot, and it is my honour, privilege, and joy to serve as your escort into the rat king’s presence.’
I sat up. ‘Good morning, Peridot, nice to meet you.’
The small rat gave me a slight bow. She opened black bat wings and flew to the windowsill. ‘The Consortium is eager, excited, and enthusiastic to meet with you. A search dragon has been sent so that you might have a comfortable, quick, and efficient journey to the Consortium’s den. Shall we go?’
‘Not so quick, young rat.’ I pushed back the covers and swung my legs to the floor. A glance at the clock revealed that it was only 6.30am. ‘I need caffeine, and breakfast, and to know whether there’s a dress code for visiting a rat king.’
‘Clean fur and recently groomed whiskers.’
‘Then I’ll be having a shower as well.’ I could almost hear Sue Harkness’ voice urging me to hurry, but I shoved it down. ‘I’ll even put on a fresh shirt.’
I had downed three cups of coffee and a several slices of toast when Skylar yawned her way into the kitchen. She was barefoot and dressed in a bright pink dressing gown. The sight of a rat sipping at a bowl of tea made her raise an eyebrow.
‘Peridot, Skylar,’ I said by way of introductions. ‘We’re going to leave in a moment for Llanbedr.’
My curate moved to the kitchen windows. ‘Is that…?’
‘It’s not Raven.’ My heart had skipped a beat when I’d seen the green-black dragon waiting in my back garden, but it had only taken me a moment to note the thick muzzle and the short legs. Raven was the sleekest search dragon I’d met, which I could only assume had come from his father. His matriarch was a very thick-set draka. ‘I’ve phoned Roadstart, my breakdown company, and they’ll be collecting my car just after nine. Can you give them the keys?’
‘Sure, no problem.’ Skylar poured herself some coffee and leaned back against the kitchen counter. ‘When will you be back?’
‘This evening.’ I threw Peridot a glance, and she dipped her head in a nod. ‘So I’ll need you to take over my slot at today’s Mothers’ Union meeting.’
Skylar gulped. ‘Okay. Short notice, but okay. What’s the topic?’
‘“Life as a Single Clergywoman.”’
‘Oh. Right.’ Her face reddened. ‘The thing is, I’m not single anymore. James and me, we’re, well, we’re courting.’
‘All best wishes for you both,’ I said gravely, forcing back a smile. ‘Just talk about what it was like to be single.’
‘Penny?’ Morey’s voice floated down to the kitchen. ‘Could you come upstairs for a moment?’
‘And bring Clyde!’ Taryn’s voice added.
Peridot’s claws clicked against the table. ‘We must go.’
‘I need to go and brush my teeth,’ I said sweetly. ‘Fresh fur and all that. I won’t be long. Skylar will make you another cup of tea.’ I opened the door, called for Clyde, and carried him upstairs with me.
Two gryphons were waiting for me in their bedroom. Seeing Taryn seated next to Morey made me think of Peter. I pushed the memory to one side. ‘Clean fur,’ I told my Associate. ‘That’s the only dress code I’ve been given.’
‘I’ve had dealings with rat kings,’ Taryn said. Her yellow tail flicked against her cheetah-patterned fur. ‘They have a healthy respect for snail sharks, so please take Clyde with you. Here’s more of what I’ve learned. Never turn your back on them. Eat anything they offer you, but drink only water. They refer to themselves in the singular, but they are a corporate entity. Never speak to one of the nest alone, but always address the entire group. A rat king knows more about you than you realise, and will try to use that knowledge to unsettle you.’
‘The rat representatives they sent,’ I said, ‘started arguing about science fiction programmes.’
‘Which proves my point. They did their research. They enjoy puns. You will do well if you can employ puns.’
Clyde waved his tentacles. ‘Hymns?’
‘Or poetry?’ I asked. ‘Iambic pentameter?’
Taryn shooked her head. ‘Only their underlings use poetry. Just remember that the rat kings have much knowledge, and knowledge is power.’
‘Penny will be safe,’ Morey said, touching her beak with his. ‘I’ll be with her.’
Taryn growled, ‘It’s not only Penny I’m worried about. The rat king will target your weaknesses. It’s easier to tell her not to accept alcohol than to tell you to keep your tongue under control.’
‘What, me?’ Morey protested. ‘I excel at tact and diplomacy.’
‘And now you prove my point.’
I lifted the snail in my hands. ‘And Clyde?’
‘Clyde doesn’t suffer from your vices.’
‘No sarcasm,’ the snail told Morey. Then he swivelled his eyespots to look up at me. ‘No drink.’
‘What’s wrong with accepting some hospitality?’ I protested. If the rat kings did do thorough research, I could be in for a very nice glass of wine. Or a dram of a very old single malt.
‘Turkish Delight,’ Clyde answered promptly.
‘You’ve lost me,’ Taryn complained.
‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,’ Morey explained. ‘The White Witch leads Edmond astray by feeding him special sweets.’
‘No sarcasm from Morey, no alcohol for Penny, and no Turkish Delight for anyone.’ Taryn gave Morey’s neck feathers a quick preen. ‘There, you’re ready. Go well, stay safe, and above all do not lose your temper. Rat kings are clever, ruthless and have a nearly insatiable curiosity. Annoy one, and you have an enemy for life. Amuse one, and they will give you more than you ever thought to ask for.’
A flash of green drew me to the window. The search dragon had made a small jump into the air. Over a dozen of the smaller snail sharks were attached to his neck, and they squealed and waved tentacles in joy. The dragon snorted, obviously amused. It was the first time I’d seen a dragon other than Raven react positively to snail sharks, and the sight made me smile.
‘Trahaearneifion, Clyde, I would like a moment to speak to Penny alone.’
I turned as Morey shut his beak, cutting off a small protest. He gave his wife an exaggerated bow and flew from the room. I put Clyde down and he sped after the gryphon.
‘My sorrow that you and Peter will not be wed,’ Taryn said. ‘He does ask after you.’
‘You can tell him I’m all right.’
‘You’re busy. That doesn’t mean you’re all right.’ She whistled a sigh. ‘He’s wanted to contact you, but I talked him out of it.’
‘We need to move on,’ I agreed, my throat tight. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s busy. Like you, he will be all right.’ Taryn stretched her grey wings. ‘It’s time I went to work. Go carefully, Penny. I look forward to hearing about your visit this evening.’
I opened the window and she flew out. Then I hurried down the stairs, pausing only to collect my coat and Clyde’s case from the hallway. ‘Ready,’ I announced to Peridot as I strode into the kitchen.
The dragon was crouching, ready to give the snails another thrill ride, as the rat flew past me. ‘No more delays, hesitations, or loitering,’ she chittered at the drake. ‘The Consortium has waited long enough. We must go!’
Chapter Fourteen
The snail sharks grumbled, but they slid down the green-black hide and to the ground. Several trails of slime marked the dragon’s neck. I dug a packet of tissues from a coat pocket and did my best to clean up the worst of the gunge. Then I placed Clyde into his case and mounted the dragon. Morey took his place between me and a neck spine, and Peridot perched behind one horn.
After a few minutes of functional but unspectacular flying, I told myself to stop comparing this dragon to Raven. At least he wasn’t wearing a saddle, so he wasn’t operating as that lowest of low, a ta
csi dragon. Peridot called out instructions, and he took us through a thin place.
The outskirts of Llanbedr passed beneath us. I glanced down at the squat houses and saw only elves walking along the gravel road. This was obviously one of the segregated areas of the city. Would the citizens of Lloegyr ever become comfortable with mixed neighbourhoods?
To my surprise, the dragon tilted his wings and we started our descent. The buildings ahead of us were taller and wider, and chimneys rose from the flat roofs. We landed in front of what looked like a Victorian warehouse. Large windows broke the expanse of red brick, and three large blue doors were set into arches at the ground level.
The dragon carried us towards the middle entrance. As we approached, the wooden barrier rumbled to one side. Our mount carried us inside, ducking his head as he passed under the brick arch. I took a deep breath as I heard the door rattle back into place behind us.
We stood in a large open area. A glass roof stretched high above us, allowing light to flood across the clay floor. Small collections of potted plants huddled against brick pillars, and a few coloured rugs hung on the walls. The broken-down filing cabinets could have come from any ancient office in England. The musty smell made me wonder how often the doors were opened.
The dragon lowered himself to the floor. I swung my leg over his neck and dropped down. Morey landed on my shoulder a moment later. ‘I’m surprised,’ he said to Peridot, who was still circling over our heads, ‘that the Consortium has set up business in an elf sector of the city.’
Peridot landed on a cabinet. ‘The Consortium’s business can be carried out anywhere.’
‘Information technology,’ I told Morey. ‘Doesn’t really matter where you set it up, so long as you have the connections you need.’
The groan of machinery and a rattle of chains drew my attention to the far end of the building. A metal door slid upwards, revealing a wooden platform which swayed and bumped against the floor. ‘An early sort of lift,’ I muttered to Morey. ‘I think Victorian coal mines used something like it.’
‘Doesn’t look too sturdy,’ the gryphon whispered back.
Peridot’s long ears twitched. ‘All those who visit the Consortium travel this way. Please, step inside.’
Ignoring Morey’s grumbles, I marched across the hard floor. I only hesitated for a moment before I stepped inside. The door slammed shut, leaving us in near darkness. I gasped, and Clyde responded with a comforting trill. Morey pressed in close as we began to descend.
The rocking of the lift made me grope for something to hold on to. My fingers collided with a rail, and I ignored the cold of the metal to grip it with both hands. My stomach issued a mild protest, reminding me that there was a very good reason why I never went on roller coasters.
After a minute, which was sixty seconds longer than I’d wanted to spend in a dark, lurching box, we shuddered to a halt. I waited a moment, then dared to release my hand holds. The door screeched open.
Bright light followed. I squinted, my eyes aching from the sudden change. As my pupils acclimatised, I found myself staring at the room in front of us. Landscape paintings hung on the wood-panelled walls, alternating with yellow gas lamps. Small bronze statues of dragons, gryphons, and unicorns reared on low cabinets. A dark table rested in the middle of the space. I found myself thinking of an elegant gentleman’s club, the sort which would never have allowed someone like me over the threshold.
A door swished open, and several overdressed people loped in. Morey pressed against me as they busied themselves in moving chairs and smaller tables. ‘Not-weres,’ he breathed into my ear.
I made a quick nod in reply. The three not-weres looked like they’d stepped from a poor quality Hollywood film. Even though they wore elegant suits and walked upright, furred feet and hands emerged from trousers and jackets. Wolf muzzles stretched from their otherwise human heads. I was reminded of the were-horses which had travelled with the vampire colony, and their own inability to retain just one shape.
The not-weres bowed to us and then retreated to stand against one wall. I dared to walk across the dark red carpet. A red leather chair had been placed in front of the table. On either side were two smaller tables. A blue rug rested on one. A large porcelain bowl, filled with fresh moss and grasses, topped the other. The intention was obvious. I placed Clyde into the bowl on my right, and Morey took his place on my left.
Before I could lower myself into my own seat, the brass notes of a trumpet echoed through the room. I quickly pulled off my coat and dumped it behind the chair. My dark trousers and black clerical shirt were far more in keeping with my surroundings than my battered windbreaker.
A were-bear entered, his dark brown head emerging from the starched white shirt and tail coat of a butler. His clawed forepaws held a large cushion. And as I looked down at the creature nestled on the red cloth, I forgot all about not-weres and vampires. The were-bear carried the rat king.
I’d met a mouse king, so I knew what to expect. A tangle of tails bound the rats to each other. Their bodies were all the same, a uniform black, and each of them looked outwards from their unified centre. Their wings had atrophied, some now little more than stubs. I counted ten rats in total.
The cushion was placed on the table, and then the were-bear stepped to one side. The nearest rats studied me, whiskers twitching, dark eyes gleaming. I cleared my throat. ‘I’m Penny White. On my right is Clyde, and on my left is Morey. Have we been honoured by the presence of the Consortium?’
‘I am the Consortium.’ The rats spoke in unison, voices high and low, feminine and masculine, blending together. ‘You are all welcome.’
I lowered myself into the chair. This had the unfortunate result of bringing me nearly eye-level with the rat king. The Consortium moved as well, various rats relaxing on to their bellies. A sweet smell wafted from their group, and I was reminded that, contrary to popular human belief, rats were actually very clean creatures. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. You know why we’re here?’
Laughter sprinkled along the circle. ‘You want information,’ said three of the rats in unison. ‘Which I might give to you,’ added another four. ‘But only if I think you’re worth my time,’ two others threw in. Then three countered, ‘I invited her here, she should hear the truth.’
Morey leaned over. ‘A corporate entity that argues with itself?’
‘I’m not a corporate entity,’ I pointed out, ‘and I argue with myself all the time.’
Clyde leaned forward, aiming his eyespots at the rat king. ‘Truth only.’
‘I heard you travelled with a snail shark.’ This came from just one rat. ‘And that he sings.’
Clyde’s colours changed from dark blues and purples to milder pinks and greens. ‘Trade. Song for truth.’
‘Depends on the singing,’ two rats replied.
The room fell silent for a moment. Then Clyde reared back and opened his jaws. His bright tenor voice belted out,
‘“Father, hear the prayer we offer:
not for ease that prayer shall be,
but for strength, that we may ever
live our lives courageously.”’
Morey’s baritone joined in at the second verse. I kept my mouth shut, since I couldn’t remember all of the words.
‘“Not for ever in green pastures
do we ask our way to be;
but the steep and rugged pathway
may we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
would we idly rest and stay;
but would smite the living fountains
from the rocks along our way.”’
The rats rustled on their cushion, rising and lowering to the beat of the tune. ‘A courageous life, yes,’ said six together. ‘But a priest? What if your steep pathway leads to rejection? Will you still tread rejoicingly?’
‘Serve God,’ Clyde answered stoutly. ‘Whichever.’
One rat pulled forward, tail pulling against the knotted mass. Black eyes
stared at the snail shark. ‘But what about your flock, the rabble you’ve given your protection and guidance? Who will serve them if no bishop will ordain you? Your labour will be in vain.’
Clyde opened his jaws in a wide smile. Then he sang out the last verse.
‘“Be our strength in hours of weakness,
in our wanderings be our Guide;
through endeavour, failure, danger,
Saviour, be thou at our side.”’
‘And if your dreams end in failure? What if you have to sacrifice them?’
The snail leaned forward and raised his shell. The scars of his amputated wings shone under the gas lights. ‘“Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God: All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.”’
I reached out to rub his shell. ‘There, you have your answer. I’d like some answers from you, please. A type of ship has been taken from my own country. It’s called a “submarine” and it looks like a long metal tube.’
‘The HMS Themis,’ all of the rats chanted in unison. ‘Length two-hundred-and-eighty feet, beam thirty-two feet, draught thirty-one feet. Speed over thirty knots submerged. Normal complement one-hundred-and-thirty humans. Armed with Tomahawk Block IV cruise missiles and Spearfish heavyweight torpedoes.’
‘Sounds like they’ve swallowed Wikipedia,’ Morey muttered.
A single rat glared at the gryphon. ‘I have my sources.’
There was suddenly a chill in the room. I pulled out my carefully prepared statement. ‘The truth has been submerged, and we’re hoping that you can help us bring it to the surface. We realise that you might have to dive deep into your sources, but we hope that a hatch might be opened to allow some light into the situation.’
Morey had wrapped claws around his beak, but I could see in his arched back how much he wanted to groan. The rats shifted, their paws digging into fabric to turn in a clockwise direction. ‘You show promise,’ the three nearest us said.
