Penny White

and

The Marriage of Gryphons

Penny White# 3

By Chrys Cymri

Copyright 2017 Chrys Cymri

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Cover Design: Cover Couture (www.bookcovercouture.com)

For Pam

who has always believed in me

This is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, businesses,

places, events and incidents are either the

products of the author’s imagination

or used in a fictitious manner and any resemblance

to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events

is purely coincidental.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

About Chrys Cymri

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First Chapter of The Dragon Throne

First Chapter of Dragons Can Only Rust

First Chapter of The Judas Disciple

Chapter One

There had be to some way to get Holly to leave the church so I could speak to the bats alone. But my churchwarden seemed determined to make the most of having my attention, perhaps due to the fact that I’d cancelled several meetings we’d arranged.

‘And this is where the chap drilled to check for deathwatch beetle,’ Holly was saying as she crouched beside the pew. I bit my lower lip, hoping that her ancient knees would allow her to stand up again without my help. Chances were that neither of us would survive close physical contact. ‘He says he found bore dust.’

I looked back the length of the building. That didn't take long, as Saint Wulfram’s church was as small as the village it served. ‘How many pews are infested?’

‘He said he’d come back to do some more investigations.’ She sniffed. ‘Perhaps, Vicar, you could show some interest by being here next time? This church is your responsibility, after all.’

‘This parish is my responsibility,’ I reminded her. ‘The people, not the building.’

Her brown eyes narrowed. ‘This has been a place of worship for nearly eight hundred years. You’d let it fall down around our ears?’

‘Deathwatch beetle only affects wood.’ And because I was in a bad mood, I couldn’t help myself saying, ‘We can always take out the pews and put in chairs instead.’

‘You’d lose half of your congregation,’ Holly warned me. ‘And there’s not many of us to start with. When I first started coming to Saint Wulfram’s, fifty-five years ago…’

Despite my best efforts, I found myself tuning out. Not that it would matter. I knew this part of Holly’s litany by heart. Those had been the glory days of this village church, when the pews and Sunday school had been packed every week. The rot, according to her, had set in when the Church of England had abandoned the delights of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer for ‘modern rubbish.’ Bring back the archaic language and constant bewailing of our sins and people would rush back in. I had my doubts.

We walked back up to the chancel, where the long unused choir stalls were possibly also infected. I stared up at a particularly ghastly Victorian painting of Jesus patting small children on their heads, and wondered if I could genetically engineer a beetle to eat horrible artwork. ‘When’s the chap coming back?’ I asked when Holly finally stopped to draw breath.

‘February the 20th,’ she snapped. ’10am. You’ll be here.’

I pulled out my iPhone to check my calendar. ‘I’ll be here.’ Holly waited while I tapped on the screen to enter the information. ‘And I think that’s all?’

Her white hair waved slightly as she shook her head. ‘What about the font? You know Mrs Jones doesn't want it moved.’

‘But she’s the only one to raise a complaint,’ I pointed out. ‘Everyone else seems happy about it, or doesn’t really care.’

‘It’s been in the bell ringing chamber for decades,’ Holly said. ‘Why move it out now?’

‘Because I can’t fit a baptism party into that small space.’ I found myself using the mantra which I often had to employ in Holly’s presence. She’s a beloved child of God, she’s a beloved child of God, she’s a beloved child of God. ‘Besides, a font should be by the entrance to the church, symbolising that baptism is entrance to the Church.’

‘But we never see those people again.’ Holly crossed her arms over her thin chest. ‘Why should we upset Mrs Jones for them?’

‘Mrs Jones will survive,’ Morey said from his perch on the pulpit. Of course, only I could see and hear the cat-sized gryphon, so his interjection was not helpful.

‘And it opens up the bell chamber for other uses,’ I continued. ‘We could put down carpet and use the area for children’s activities.’

‘If you ever manage to get any children to come here on a Sunday.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ Morey asked. ‘You’re the one who tells parents off if their children won’t sit still.’

My fingernails dug into my palms. If only I were as free as my Associate to speak my mind to my only churchwarden. ‘The plans have been agreed. Mrs Jones will survive.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Morey chimed in. ‘You can’t expect a vicar to bow to the tyranny of the minority.’

‘Mrs Jones has been coming to this church since she was two weeks old,’ Holly continued. ‘That’s over ninety years, Vicar. That should count for something.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ I said as sweetly as I could manage. ‘By the way, the film crew will be arriving soon. Do you want to go out and meet them? Make sure they don’t knock into anything in the churchyard?’

‘They can wait.’

So I was forced to pull out a priest’s trump card. ‘And I’d like some time alone. To pray.’

Of course, there was no good retort to that. Holly opened her mouth, then shut it with an audible click. With a whiff of perfume, she turned on her heel and marched out of the south door.

‘Prayer,’ Morey said, a purple-grey blur as he flew to my left shoulder. I grimaced slightly as falcon talons and cat claws pressed through fleece and shirt and into my skin. ‘I do hope you meant it.’

‘Of course I did,’ I lied. ‘And then I’ll tackle the bats. You need to go.’

His feathers were lifted in annoyance. ‘I’ve never eaten a bat in my life.’

‘But they don’t know that.’ I pushed at him. ‘Go on. Off.’

Morey launched himself upwards and exited through the still open door. I turned towards the altar, and stilled myself for a moment. Hello God, it’s me, just checking in. How are you? Oh, that’s great. Me? Well, I'm fine. Nothing a good long spell in Lloegyr wouldn’t cure. Oh, what’s that? Yes, yes, I’m well aware, I’m only allowed to go there part time. Many thanks for reminding me.

Duty done, I lifted my eyes to the shifting shapes of black and grey hanging from the decorated beams above the altar. ‘I know you’re there,’ I told them. ‘I have the Sight, as you must have realised. And I want to speak to your magister.’

Silence. The mass of bats froze. This only made them easier to see, and confirmed that they were not a native British species. Which could only mean one thing. They must be vampires. ‘Come on, come on,’ I said crossly. ‘I’m the Vicar General of Incursions for Nenehampton Diocese. I know all about the world of Daear. You’ve left Lloegyr through a thin place, haven’t you? Send down your magister so we can have a proper chat.’

High-pitched squeaks and a flurry of movement told me that I must be right. I stood my ground. If necessary, I knew a vampire archdeacon upon whom I could call for assistance. But I’d rather handle this myself. ‘And I should warn you,’ I added, ‘I can understand Welsh, so don’t think your national language is beyond mere humans!’

Finally, one bat separated himself from the rest and dropped down. For a moment he hovered in front of me, grey-brown fur gleaming in the light streaming through the clear glass windows. Then he transformed, becoming a dark haired, human looking male. A very slender and very nude human looking male.

I concentrated on looking at his face. ‘Magister? I’m Penny White. May I have the holding of your name?’

The vampire grinned, revealing his sharp canines. ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice lilting in a thick Welsh accent. ‘Brenin Gafr, it is. Why do you speak to us, Father Penny?’

One day I’d have to find out why citizens from Lloegyr always addressed a female priest with a masculine title. ‘Just have a look.’ I pointed at the plastic sheet covering the altar. It was covered with mounds of bat droppings. ‘From your colony, right?’

He shrugged. I found my eyes wandering down his hairless chest, and I had to yank them back to his face. ‘It’s very cold at night. Too very cold to fly outside.’

‘I don’t mind you resting in this church.’ And that was the truth. ‘But you need to control where you defecate.’

‘Defecate?’

Did he really not understand the word, or was he trying to push me? I pointed again at the brown sludge. ‘That is the result of defecation.’

‘Oh, you mean--’ and he used a word in Welsh which my tutor had not seen fit to teach me. ‘But there is plastic, and your woman cleans. We have seen this.’

‘Not good enough,’ I told him. ‘I want you all to defecate in one place. I’ll bring in a bucket--a bwced--for you to use. And once it’s warm again, I expect you to go outside.’

The vampire lifted his head and squeaked up to his colony. My eardrums ached as a high-pitched conversation flowed back and forth. Then the black eyes were brought back to mine. ‘Iawn. So we will do.’

And, of course, I had to ask, ‘What will you feed on, while you are with us?’

Brenin laughed. ‘None of you, dynol. You all taste of fat and sugar. We seek healthier blood.’

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. ‘Great. And another question. Why are you here?’

He studied me for a long moment. Then he said, simply, ‘Bad times are coming.’

Then Brenin returned to bat form and joined his colony. I chewed my lower lip as I stared up at the shifting mass. Bad times for vampires? Or for Lloegyr? I wished I knew.

I checked my wristwatch and hurried out of the church. As I’d expected, the camera crew were setting up on the churchyard. They had brought several hand-held units, a larger one resting on one man’s shoulder, and a large light deflector which glimmered in the bright winter’s day. The director, a tall woman who never seemed to remember my name, was conferring with the producer, Lewis.

My ears twitched at the sound of Morey barking out orders in Welsh. Several dragons had taken seats a short distance away. A bright red one was resting a foot on a gravestone so he could clean mud from his dark claw. Morey was dwarfed by the dragon, who was twice the size of a horse and endowed with sharp teeth. He dropped his foot, but the gravestone was now listing badly. I sighed, wondering how I would explain this to my churchwarden.

The dragon rumbled some insults. I picked out the Welsh word clust and wondered if Morey were being mocked for the bandage wrapped around his left ear. But what would a dragon know about the marriage proposals of gryphons?

Morey flew over to a nearby tree. ‘He’s not here.’

I moved away from the other humans, who of course could neither see nor hear gryphon or dragons. They lacked a sarcastic Associate to give them the Sight. ‘Who’s not?’

‘Your dragon boyfriend. The search dragon. Raven.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I said steadily. ‘Peter is. A nice human male.’

Morey cocked his head. ‘Clyde seems to think Raven is your boyfriend.’

‘What would a snail shark know?’ I asked, although I felt a stab of guilt as I did so. If it hadn’t been for Clyde, I would have died from the thrust of a unicorn’s horn. But I had told no one of my encounter in the unicorns’ forest, or the promise I’d made to their Archdruid. And Raven, who had failed to save me, hadn’t appeared in my life since. I missed his weekly visits, but I was not going to send a rat to find him. The dragon would have to find his own way past his disappointment in himself.

A movement further down the churchyard caught my eye. Holly was talking to a well-dressed man, and pointing at a gravestone. Something Holly said caused the man to raise a handkerchief to dab his eyes, and I frowned, wondering what my churchwarden was doing.

Then a car pulled up at the church gate, and a woman emerged. She was dressed in black and wore a dog collar. As she marched up to the director, I realised that this was the actress chosen to play the priest from my blog and book, The Confessions of a Manic Preacher. And I felt insulted. Okay, so I’d recently added another year to my life, but I felt certain that I looked young for my thirty-seven years. The only lines around my eyes were laugh lines, and there was no grey in my shoulder-length brown hair. This girl they’d hired was at least ten years younger than me, and, just to add insult to injury, she was two dress sizes smaller.

The director looked up, and her eyes found me. ‘Janet! Could you come over?’

‘Penny,’ I muttered under my breath for the hundred time. ‘Coming!’

As I walked across the uneven ground, I saw that a couple of elves had come to watch the filming. They still wore their blue and black uniforms, so I wasn’t sure whether they were on or off duty police officers. I gave them a quick smile as I walked past. As one might expect of a race with slick black hair and pointy ears, they showed a Vulcan like absence of emotion in return.

‘Janet, we’re nearly ready here,’ the director said to me. ‘You’ve had all the paperwork from the church?’

‘Yes, I have, Laura.’ I turned to the actress and held out my hand. ‘Hi, I'm Penny White. The writer of the blog and book which you’re filming.’

Her handshake was limp and her nails too perfect. ‘Leslie Winston-Smith. But you know that already.’

I didn’t, but being a vicar teaches you tact and diplomacy. ‘Of course. You were excellent in that series.’

‘Of course,’ Leslie purred. ‘I put my heart and soul into every role. But you’d understand, being a vicar, right?’

‘Heart and soul,’ I echoed. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got my number if you need anything.’

Laura nodded. ‘We’re really excited about this, aren’t we, Leslie? This magical world you’ve created, Lloegyr, it’s ridiculous in all the best ways. Imagine, a parallel world with dragons and unicorns! I predict lots of views over the web.’

‘Yes, ridiculous,’ I echoed. I had to remind myself that this was the very reason why the Church was allowing the production to go ahead. Despite our best efforts, humans still sometimes encountered the beings which slipped through from Daear. My blog, book, and the webisodes were meant to convince people that this was, as Laura had said, ridiculous. The thought that I had become part of a propaganda campaign still made me uneasy.

I would have liked to stay and watch, but parish duties called me away. Why citizens from Lloegyr would want to see the filming was beyond me. At some point, when there were less humans around, I would have to ask them. If I could muster the necessary Welsh.

Morey dropped down to my shoulder as I strode to my car. I glanced around, noted the lack of humans in hearing range, and asked him, ‘How does this really work? I mean, I can understand why people’s minds dismiss dragons and gryphons and so on, because our brains find it hard to believe that any of you exist. But that gravestone is half knocked over because of a dragon, so that’s real. And wouldn’t people notice the marks your claws leave in my coat?’

‘I’ve never bothered to worry about how the Sight works,’ Morey told me. ‘Your problem, Black, is that you think too much.’

There were times when my Associate’s nickname for me wore thin. ‘That’s part of my job,’ I insisted. ‘To understand how all this works. So I can help to protect your world.’

As I unlocked the door of my ancient Ford, I glanced back at the camera crew. Leslie was being positioned by the church door. A red book was in her hands, and the thin sunlight caught on the gold lettering on the cover. I blinked. There was something almost familiar about the scene.

Morey squawked as I lifted him from my shoulder and deposited him onto the roof of my car. Then I hurried back down the path. Laura raised her head as I approached. ‘Yes, Susan?’

‘That book.’ I pointed. ‘It’s the ASB. The Alternative Service Book. We’ve not used that since the Millennium.’

The director frowned. ‘We borrowed this from BBC Cymru. It’s the one they use in all of their productions.’

‘It’s out of date.’ Then a thought struck me, and my breath caught in my throat. ‘All of their productions?’

‘All of them, they have tight budgets. Just like me.’ She pushed her rimless glasses back from her nose. ‘It’s not important. No one’s going to notice.’

I had to swallow to bring moisture back into my mouth. ‘I’ll get you a Common Worship book. That brings you up to date.’

Laura waved a hand. ‘All right, let’s make a trade.’ She took the ASB and pressed it into my hands. ‘I’m sure the BBC would prefer to keep vicars happy.’

I hurried back to the car, lowered the ASB slowly and reverently into the boot, and brought back my own copy of Common Worship. Then I drove home, making my turns carefully, well aware of the precious object which my Ford now carried. Well, beyond one female priest and a small gryphon.

<><><><><><>

James had made himself scarce and Morey stayed in the study, catching up on Neighbours with Clyde at his side. I forced myself not to fret that the gryphon’s fascination with Australian soap operas had rubbed off on the young snail shark, and instead paid attention to the handsome man enjoying the evening meal which I’d cooked for him. We’d been dating for eight months now, so I knew Peter well enough to offer nothing more exotic than chilli on rice, albeit accompanied by a very nice Châteauneuf-du-Pape. I’d even splashed out for one of the better years.

It was only after all the dishes had been cleared that I retrieved the ASB from the lounge. ‘Here it is,’ I told him as I handed over the heavy volume. ‘The director said BBC Wales use it in all of their TV series. It must be the one.’

Peter laid the book onto the table. ‘Are you sure? Can it really be the one from The Family of Blood?’

‘I’m certain.’ I touched the cover. ‘Just think, this was only a few feet away from David Tennant.’

‘Wonderful Doctor Who episode.’ Peter very carefully held his wine glass away from the book as he took a sip. ‘Although the Virgin New Adventures novel was better.’

‘You’re only saying that,’ I teased him, ‘because you know that Sylvester McCoy is my favourite Doctor.’

‘Maybe.’ The lines around his eyes only made him look distinguished, and there wasn’t that much grey in his dark hair. ‘I guess there’s no way to find out for certain?’

‘Not really.’ I coughed. ‘The director allowed me to trade for it. But the BCC might want it back if they realised I had a real, actual prop. I’m certain it could fetch good money on eBay.’

‘My dear vicar,’ Peter said, ‘this seems rather unethical of you.’

‘It’s only human nature.’

And he laughed as he caught the reference. ‘Well, I’m off duty. I feel no need to arrest you.’

We exchanged views about a recent Star Trek fan production while he switched to orange juice and I poured myself some more wine. Then I walked him to the door. ‘Sorry, I know it’s still early,’ he apologised. ‘But like I said, I have to go to Birmingham tomorrow. I’m getting up at the crack of dawn to catch my train.’

‘That’s fine.’ I picked his coat off the bannister and handed it to him. ‘See you Saturday?’

‘Certainly.’ He bent down to kiss me on the lips. This was still a rather recent development in our relationship, and I held him close to savour it. Then he was gone into the chilly February evening. I returned the ASB to the display cabinet. Then I poured myself another glass of red wine, popped the DVD of Family of Blood into my TV, and took a seat to watch Martha convince the Tenth Doctor that he had to accept his destiny.

Chapter Two

I was still in my pyjamas, leading Morey and Clyde through Morning Prayer, when the phone rang. ‘You’ll want to answer that,’ Morey told me.

‘It’s my day off,’ I grumbled. ‘I don’t answer the phone on my day off.’

‘It’s your bishop’s chaplain.’

I picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Sally.’

‘And how does he do that?’ she responded. ‘How does Morey always know who’s ringing you?’

I glanced at the gryphon. ‘He did try to explain, but I got lost when he started quoting Aristotle. In Greek. Please remember that he can hear whatever you say to me.’

Sally laughed. ‘No secrets from your Associate, then. And how is that churchwarden of yours?’

‘It’s a nice day,’ I complained. ‘Don’t ruin it for me.’

‘Point taken. But I'm not phoning about her.’ I could hear a rustle of papers. ‘Do you know a dragon called Hrafn Eydisson?’

The sound of Raven’s Welsh name sent a mixture of guilt, desire, and disappointment churning through my stomach. ‘Yes,’ I said carefully. ‘Why?’

‘We’ve had an approach from an Eydis Asgersdottir. Is that his mother, do you think?’

‘Dragons seem to follow the custom of naming children after their mother,’ I replied. There was no need to let Sally know that I’d actually met Raven’s mother. And had only been allowed to leave the matriarch’s longhouse because Eydis had decided that I was too thin to be worth eating. ‘She didn’t fly over from Lloegyr, did she?’

‘No, she sent a rat.’ Sally chuckled. ‘Of course, he delivered the message in rhyme, so I’ll just give you the summary. This Hrafn has gone missing, and Eydis wanted to know if he’d been seen in our diocese.’

I didn’t dare look at Morey. ‘Why does she think he might have come here?’

‘Penny,’ Sally admonished gently, ‘there are people with the Sight in Northampton. We’ve had reports of a green-black dragon flying over the A45.’

There was a carefully timed silence, into which I did not speak. Then Sally continued, ‘Eydis would like to meet with you.’

Dreading another silence, I said quickly, ‘Only on neutral ground. We know that dragons don’t value human lives. I sometimes wonder if James will ever get over seeing Miranda killed in front of him.’

My comment successfully shifted Sally into pastoral mode. ‘But not all dragons are like that. Bishop Aeron is lovely.’

‘I’d still rather be careful. Maybe we could meet in Nenehampton Cathedral? If Angelica doesn’t mind.’

‘I could ask the Dean,’ Sally agreed. ‘And maybe arrange a couple of unicorns to ensure the peace.’

I winced so hard that I nearly dropped the phone. ‘Not some heddlu?’

‘You know that dragons have more respect for unicorns than for elves.’

Possibly because so many dragons served in the Lloegyr police force, I reflected. They knew their elven partners weren’t perfect. But everyone seemed to think that unicorns were beyond reproach. I wished I hadn’t discovered otherwise. ‘Okay. Can you make the arrangements? I’m free next week on Monday afternoon and on Thursday morning.’

‘Great. I’ll send a rat to Eydis and call Angelica.’

We exchanged some observations about the new baptism liturgy and I hung up. Morey’s feathers were ruffled when I finally looked at him. ‘All right, Black, give,’ he snapped. ‘What is it with you and unicorns? What happened when you met with the Archdruid?’

Clyde made a mournful sound. I found myself reaching out to stroke the snail shark’s shell. Blue and purple pulsed through his grey-brown body as he said, ‘Bad. Sad. Very bad. Very sad.’

‘Maybe for snail sharks,’ I said. ‘Can we get back to saying Psalm 41 now? I’d like to finish Morning Prayer before lunch.’

Morey rose from his haunches and strode over to me. ‘Come along, Penny. You downed a bottle of cheap merlot that evening, so it must have been very bad. What did the Archdruid do to you?’

‘“Who so beset him round, with dismal stories,’ Clyde sang softly, ‘“Do but themselves confound, his strength the more is.”’

I took a deep breath. ‘She tried to convince me to kill myself.’

‘Because Susie told Wiseman Agricultural about the unicorn lands?’

‘The Archdruid said I was responsible, since I’d promised Susie would keep quiet.’

‘And how did the unicorn try to persuade you to commit suicide?’

I glanced down at his head and countered, ‘Why did Taryn shred your ear when she asked you to marry her? Is it because of Seren?’

‘My previous marriage to a were-fox isn’t the issue,’ Morey answered calmly. ‘Both of our clans aren’t happy that we’re Christians. We’ll have to prove ourselves worthy of marriage to each other. My ear is only the first test.’

He tapped his beak against my thumb. ‘Now, give. What did the Archdruid do? And why is Clyde now singing “The Sound of Silence”?’

‘He sounds nothing like Simon and Garfunkel.’

Morey cocked his head. ‘I think he’s doing the version by Disturbed. Black, talk, or I’ll bite your ear.’

‘They were speaking the truth, that was the problem,’ I found myself saying. ‘You, Peter, James, everyone. Well, images of you, from my own mind. You all went on about my failures as a priest and a friend.’

‘The truth?’ Morey asked. ‘Or what you fear to be the truth?’

I shrugged. ‘At that moment, it didn’t matter.’

‘And what stopped you? Raven?’

‘No.’ And once again the dragon’s failure burned like a young whisky in my throat. ‘Not Raven. Clyde saved me.’

‘Good boy, Clyde.’ Morey’s tail flicked against the snail’s grey shell. ‘I always warned you about that dragon.’

‘Who’s gone missing,’ I pointed out. ‘Though why that matters to his mother is beyond me. She tried to kill him the moment he was born.’

‘Don’t you mean “hatched”?’

I blinked at this rare moment of knowing something that Morey didn’t. ‘Seems search dragons are live born, not laid as eggs. And regular dragons hate them. So I don’t understand why she would care what’s happened to him now.’

Morey’s red-brown eyes locked with mine. ‘The question is, do you care what’s happened to him?’

‘He wouldn’t say…’ I swallowed hard. ‘All he had to do was say that he cared about me. And Raven couldn’t even go that far.’

“’Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted, who ate of my bread, has lifted the heel against me.’”

‘Where’s that from?’

‘Psalm 41. Which we were reading before the phone interrupted us.’ Morey walked back across the desk, his claws picking out new marks in the unvarnished pine. ‘Come on, let’s finish Morning Prayer and then have a cup of tea.’

‘Because it’s too early for whisky.’

‘Because it’s too early for whisky,’ Morey agreed. And we sighed in unison.

‘Whisky,’ Clyde repeated wistfully. After a rather disastrous experiment, Morey had determined that snail sharks and large portions of spirits were not biologically suited for each other. That didn’t stop the snail from hoping, though.

Prayers said, tea made, the three of us sat at the kitchen table and tucked into biscuits. Well, the other two rested on the table, which meant they were quicker than me at grabbing Jammie Dodgers.

‘Does Peter know? About the Archdruid?’ Morey asked. I shook my head. ‘What about James?’

My head shake was even more emphatic. ‘James has enough to worry about.’

As if someone had summoned him, James’ voice was suddenly echoing through the hallway. ‘Hey peeps!’ The front door slammed shut. ‘Any coffee on?’

‘There’s a pot of tea,’ I called back.

My brother strode into the kitchen. As he passed the table, he swiped the last biscuit, which gained him a growl from Morey and a baring of teeth from Clyde. There was a definite swagger in his stride as he marched over to the teapot.

‘You’ve had a good night,’ Morey stated.

‘That I did, Morey mate.’ James grinned. ‘My luck has finally changed.’

The gryphon cocked his head. ‘And do you know this one’s name? Or were you too busy to ask?’

‘Debbie,’ James announced to the universe. ‘Her name is Debbie, she’s twenty-three, and she’s a real goer.’

‘Good for you,’ Morey muttered. ‘And in the meantime, your sister is going to meet--’

‘With a shower and a toothbrush,’ I interrupted. I threw the gryphon a warning look. ‘Peter’s coming by in twenty minutes. You boys behave yourselves while I'm gone.’

<><><><><><>

‘You’re being very quiet.’

I looked up from my fish and chips into Peter’s blue-grey eyes. Around us conversations were swirling and cutlery clattering as people enjoyed their pub lunch. My fork had done little more than push batter around my plate. ‘Sorry. Made the mistake of answering the phone this morning.’

‘On your day off?’ he teased. ‘Isn’t that what answering machines are for? Letting vicars escape once in awhile?’ Then all merriment dropped from his face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, was it bad news? Has someone died?’

‘Nothing like that.’ I couldn’t tell him about my experience with the Archdruid without telling him about Raven. And there was no way I could tell Peter about Raven. ‘Did you know that Taryn has asked Morey to marry her?’

Peter grimaced. ‘Yes. She came back to the house with his blood smeared all along her beak.’

‘I thought she always cleaned up before coming inside.’

‘She said it was part of my role as one of Morey’s--’ He stopped, his gaze sliding off mine as he concentrated to remember. ‘As one of Morey’s cefnogwyr, that’s the phrase she used. As one of his cefnogwyr, it was my job to clean her up afterwards.’

‘One of Morey’s supporters?’ At Peter’s look of surprise, I reminded him, ‘I’m having intensive Welsh lessons. Three times a week. So I can work better with beings from Lloegyr.’

‘Well, it seems to be working.’ He took a sip of his beer. ‘I asked her what she meant by that, but she wouldn’t say. My Associate can be very tight-lipped.’

‘Or tight-beaked,’ I corrected absently. ‘I need to open a nice bottle of red and see what I can get out of Morey.’

‘What if they do get married?’ Peter wondered. ‘Does that mean we’ll need new Associates?’

From his frown, I could see that the idea was as unwelcome to him as it was to me. ‘I thought you weren’t that close to Taryn.’

‘Not like you and Morey. But I’d miss having her swoop around the house.’

‘And killing rabbits in your back garden.’ Suddenly I lost what little remained of my appetite, and I pushed my plate away. The beer, however, was a lovely chocolate stout at just the right temperature. I took a deep, appreciative swallow. ‘By the way, I have a colony of vampires living in my church.’

‘You’re sure they’re vampires?’

‘Yes. I spoke to their magister.’ I leaned forward, dropping my voice further. ‘Are colonies moving into other buildings, do you know?’

‘Yes,’ Peter confirmed quietly. ‘It’s easy to find out when a colony moves into an area. Farmers report that their animals are experiencing sudden blood loss.’ He sighed. ‘There seems to be quite an exodus going on. Many colonies have left Lloegyr.’

‘The magister told me that bad times are coming.’ I discovered that I’d started shredding a beer mat, and I dropped the remaining pieces. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Not much,’ Peter admitted. ‘But we know that there are tensions in Lloegyr, particularly in their cities. All those different species, now living together in close proximity. Dragons and unicorns and harpies and the rest, with all their conflicting cultures. Think of how we humans struggle over much more simple differences like religion or race.’

And Peter should know, I reflected. I had always thought that he simply tanned easily, but at Christmas I had discovered that his parents had different skin colours. ‘But why should vampires be the ones to emigrate?’

‘Because they can pass for human so long as they don’t smile?’

‘And they can probably work alongside humans,’ I mused. ‘Since daylight only makes them weak, not dead. I hate finding out that Buffy got things wrong.’

‘It’s like wondering why, if Susan came up with the name TARDIS, all the other Time Lords use it as well.’ Peter patted my hand. ‘Blame it on the producers. They should have got their facts straight.’ He stood up. ‘Another beer?’

I stared at my nearly empty pint of stout, then shrugged off temptation. ‘I’d better not. I have to catch an early train to London tomorrow.’

‘Then we’d better make sure we don’t have too much Talisker tonight,’ he teased. ‘Leave some whisky in the bottle for another day.’

We walked out into a cold but bright afternoon. The waters of the canal were still, and some ducks huddled on the tow path. A group of vampires stood near the museum, their shoulders hunched against the sunlight. I pointed them out to Peter. ‘Another colony.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, there’s that haze around them, like weres.’ I looked up at him. ‘Can’t you see it?’

‘Nope. I guess you must be more sensitive to it than me. I wonder how many vampires I’ve walked past without knowing.’

A chill ran through my chest, and I zipped up my coat. ‘Do you really think that Lloegyr might fall apart? Like Syria, or Iraq?’

‘Let’s hope not.’ His arm circled around my waist, and I allowed him to pull me in close. ‘Come on. Day off. Let’s talk about the new Star Trek film and buy some food for the ducks.’

I nodded. But as we passed the vampires, I wondered whether we were seeing just a few migrants, or whether this would be the start of a mass invasion of churches. I might be having many more discussions with magisters about required behaviour in old English buildings.

Chapter Three

‘I don’t like the look of this,’ I told Morey, dropping the stained bandages onto the kitchen floor. ‘Your ear doesn’t look to be healing properly.’

‘It hurts like hell,’ he agreed, lifting a forefoot to push at the swollen wound.

I bit my lip. ‘Even if I could get you some antibiotics, I’m not certain what dose you’d need.’

James hovered at a distance which ensured that he wouldn’t be asked to assist. ‘What about the unicorn horn?’

‘You still have it?’ Morey asked me.

‘Wrapped and hidden away in my wardrobe,’ I confirmed. ‘But, James, you must keep that to yourself. We don’t need people invading Lloegyr to hunt unicorns for their horns. Think what’s happened to rhinos on our world.’

‘But we might as well use it,’ James said. ‘Just a small bit of horn saved Clyde’s life, after all. Shave off a bit. I’m sure it could heal Morey’s ear.’

The snail shark, perched on the kitchen table nearby, chirped in agreement.

‘I’m not ingesting powdered unicorn horn,’ Morey stated. ‘Who knows what it might do to me.’

‘Doesn’t seem to have harmed Clyde,’ I pointed out. ‘But we don't have to give it to you in a drink. I’ll just touch you with the tip.’

‘I’ll visit a doctor.’ Morey fluffed his feathers.

‘When?’

‘I’ll do it now in a minute.’

‘And if that doesn’t work?’ James asked. ‘Then the horn?’

‘Then the horn,’ Morey agreed reluctantly. ‘Now, Black, you do remember that my matriarch’s coming round this evening? You will be back in time?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time.’ I wound a fresh bandage around his ear, and my brother opened the door for him to fly out. Then I scooped Clyde off the table. ‘James and I are going to be gone all day,’ I told the snail as I carried him into the back garden. ‘But I’ve had this built for you.’

The dog run took up a good third of the garden. The chain-linked fence was six feet tall, and the grass inside had been stripped back to ankle length. At the far end was a small doghouse, with a heater installed into an upper corner.

I opened the gate, and stepped inside. Clyde looked around, his body grey with disapproval. ‘Garden.’

‘No, Clyde,’ I said firmly. ‘I know you can climb the fence, now that your foot is as big as my hand. I’ve seen you. Can I trust you to roam free? A lot of my neighbours have cats.’

‘Cats,’ he repeated hungrily, his body now pulsing orange and yellow. ‘Tasty?’

‘You’re not going to find out.’ I put him down and walked back out again, shutting the gate firmly behind me. ‘But look, there’s no top. Birds can still get in.’ Between Clyde and Morey’s hunting habits, I was surprised that there were any garden birds left in the greater Northampton area.

I glanced at my wristwatch and hurried back into the house. ‘Ten minutes,’ I told James before gulping down the last of my coffee. ‘I’ll drive.’

He grinned. ‘I’d get us to the train station quicker.’

‘I’m not planning to pack an extra pair of underwear.’

At least my choice of what to put on was easy. I went up to my bedroom, and pulled out a black clerical shirt and my best suit jacket. Morey’s claws had left a few holes along the shoulders of the grey material, and I scrubbed in vain at the marks. My black trousers had been ironed for the first time in months. I slid my feet into a new pair of dark shoes, fed a plastic dog collar into my shirt, and felt ready to face the world. And government ministers.

James was already at the wheel of his yellow BMW Z3. I decided that we didn't have time for an argument, so I dropped into the passenger seat and bunched my coat into my lap.

Despite my worry, we arrived in good time to park and find our platform for the train to London Euston. Only once we had taken our seats did I take a good look at what my brother was wearing. ‘Very smart.’

James ran a hand down his dark jacket. The blue shirt clung to him as if tailor made, and the striped tie looked equally expensive. ‘Debbie’s dead impressed that I’m going to meet the Prime Minister.’

‘But we’re not meeting the Prime Minister,’ I said. ‘The reception is with the Minister without Portfolio, Sue Harkness.’

‘Debbie won’t know that.’ James ran a hand through his brown hair. ‘Do you think I can take a selfie with the minister?’

I sighed. ‘James. Don’t make me regret choosing you as my plus one.’

‘Morey doesn’t look as great in a suit.’

‘Actually, Morey wasn’t invited.’ I drew the letter from my inside jacket pocket. ‘The reception is for Vicar Generals, or equivalent, across the Church of England. But it specifically states, “Associates/Familiars are expected to make other arrangements for the day, as this is a gathering for humans only.”’

James frowned. ‘I wonder why that is. Are you going to ask?’

‘I wasn’t planning to.’ Actually, I was somewhat nervous about meeting the minister. Two bishops, my human one and a dragon one from Lloegyr, had told me off for taking matters into my own hands when I’d convinced the board of Wiseman Agricultural that Lloegyr didn’t exist. I just hoped that I wasn’t going to be pulled aside for some official governmental reprimand.

The miles slipped past the windows, and we arrived at Euston Station on time. My bishop had given me permission to claim the expense of a taxi to Whitehall. The frosty temperature as we waited outside the door of an imposing cream-coloured building made me shiver, despite the coat over my suit jacket. I slipped my hands into my trouser pockets, and froze. A swear word escaped before I could help myself.

James glanced at me. ‘What’s wrong?’

I swallowed hard. ‘I’m still carrying my penknife.’

My brother whistled, low and long. ‘Into a ministerial office? Don’t they still hang people for that?’

‘This is serious,’ I hissed. ‘More likely they’ll confiscate it, and I’ll never see the knife again.’

‘So what?’ James shrugged. ‘You can buy another one, can’t you?’

‘This one was specially made for me.’ My fingers curled protectively around the warm wood handle. ‘I can’t lose it.’

The door pulled open. ‘Welcome,’ said a man who was either a butler or a security agent. Or both. ‘Names, please?’

Too late now. I could only hope that early confession might restore the penknife to my hands upon our departure. ‘Reverend Penelope White, and Mister James White. I have--’

The man’s hand flashed out, and the metal detector was sweeping over our bodies before I could say another word. ‘Please step inside, and I’ll check your ID in the warm.’

I slid my hand free, and handed over my passport. A man glided over and smoothly removed our coats. I tugged down my jacket lapels, and caught James’ smile. ‘Alan always called that your battle gesture. Like a knight getting her armour ready before a fight.’

‘So he did.’ I braced myself, but the pang of sorrow I usually felt at the mention of my dead husband did not come. It has been more than two years, I reminded myself, so don’t start feeling guilty.

A smartly dressed woman led us up an imposing set of stairs. ‘Looks like you worried about nothing,’ James said in a low voice as we passed portraits of important looking men, many mounted on horses.

I didn’t dare respond. The knife blade had been forged from a meteorite which Raven had obtained specifically for that purpose, but surely the iron should have set off the metal detector?

We emerged into a hallway. My shoes sank into the thick carpet. More paintings lined the cream walls. My fingers curled into my hands as I saw a realistic portrait of a unicorn. The dark eyes seemed to catch my own. I wondered if I could ever see a unicorn again without suppressing a shudder.

Tall leather-covered doors swished open. ‘The Reverend Penelope White, Vicar General for Incursions in Nenehampton Diocese,’ the woman announced. ‘And her brother, Mister James Alfred White.’

Around fifty people were milling around in the large room. I blinked for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the bright light streaming through the tall windows. A glance upwards confirmed that the ceiling was as heavily decorated as the walls, mostly in images which I assumed were from Greek or Roman mythology.

‘Penny?’ A large dark-haired woman pulled away from a group and strode over. ‘Kate Amhurst. Good to finally meet thee.’

‘Kate.’ I accepted her hand with enthusiasm. ‘How are things in Banbury?’

‘Ah, tha ‘members me.’ Her bright green eyes matched her dress. ‘T’was good o’ thee to help me ‘bout Lloegyr.’

‘I’m certain others here could have helped you equally as well,’ I said. ‘Can I introduce you to--’ But my brother had already wandered off, and was speaking to a young woman holding a plate of canapés. I wondered if Debbie’s days were already numbered.

‘Did I hear that you’re Penny?’ The man who wandered over was wearing a black cassock. His pale face and white hair were a startling contrast. He held out his hand, and I made the welcome discovery that a glass of wine had somehow appeared in my hand. I carefully shifted the glass to my left, and accepted the hand shake. ‘Albert Sherring, Wye Diocese. I’ve been meaning to speak to you.’

I took a sip of wine. And made immediate plans to liberate another glass. A vicar’s budget doesn't run to champagne. ‘What about?’

‘I’d like to arrange a conference for us Vicar Generals,’ Albert explained. ‘With our Associates, of course. Sometime in the autumn, perhaps. Would you be interested? I think a get-together could be good for us all.’

‘Definitely,’ I agreed. ‘What about our ecumenical partners?’

‘Monsignor Abelli,’ Kate offered. ‘He covers all o’ t’ country fer the Catholics.’

‘Let me have his contact details,’ Albert said with a nod. ‘Are you both full time?’

‘Nay,’ Kate said. ‘Not much call to deal wit’ Lloegyr in our diocese.’

‘I’m half time.’ I felt the usual twinge of regret. ‘I also look after a small parish.’

Albert peered down at me. ‘Seems a bit short-sighted of your bishop. There’s more to being a Vicar General than just dealing with those who wander through thin places.’

‘It was Bishop Nigel’s decision,’ I said, forcing myself to be loyal. ‘I take it you’re full time?’

‘Oh, yes, there have been some interesting mission opportunities--’

Albert cut himself off as people turned towards the door. A man announced loudly, ‘The Right Honourable Susan Harkness.’

‘Thank you, George,’ said the minister as she strode into the room. She was about my height, which immediately made me warm to her. Her shoulder length hair was dark grey, and laugh lines softened her determined face. The impeccably cut red skirt suit made her glow against the dark clothes worn by most of the priests. ‘As you were, please. Lunch will be served at noon, so there’s plenty of time to enjoy some chat and drinks.’

I turned back to Albert. ‘What do you have as an Associate? A gryphon?’

‘A were-owl.’ He grinned at my look. ‘I know, it seems very Harry Potter to walk around with a tawny owl on my shoulder. If I ever want to wind him up, I threaten to send him off with some post.’

I managed to speak briefly with more of my counterparts, and meet their spouses, before we were summoned through to the dining room. The number of utensils lined up beside the plates warned me that we were in for a long eating session. I only hoped that I’d be able to work out which course demanded which fork.

James was placed on my right. This did nothing to stop him from flattering the young woman on his other side. The fact she wore both a dog collar and an engagement ring seemed to make no difference to James’ patter. I sighed inwardly, and turned my head to talk to the heavy-set man on my left.

The courses were announced in Welsh. I was pleased to be able to work out what most were before the food arrived. We had a soup of smoked salmon, leek and potatoes, before a main course of Welsh lamb. Dessert was Welsh cakes. The wines were unfamiliar to me, but I assumed that these were Welsh as well.

I was tucking into crumbly Caerphilly cheese when the Minister without Portfolio rose to her feet. The room fell silent as she beamed at us. ‘I'm very grateful that you’ve all come here today. I know how busy your lives are. This is my opportunity to thank you, on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government, for all the work you do with our sister country, Lloegyr. I hope to talk to more of you over coffee, but please do contact my office should you ever need help or advice.’

We were escorted through to a wood panelled library. I decided to have my coffee black to counteract some of the effects of the champagne. And the two glasses of white wine which had followed. Small chocolates nestled in nearby bowls, and I took two.

‘Reverend Penny?’

I slipped the chocolates into my jacket pocket, hoping that they wouldn’t melt through their gleaming wrappers. ‘Minister,’ I replied, turning to face her.

She laughed. ‘Oh, Sue, please. How are things in Nenehampton? You do seem to get more than your fair share of incursions.’

‘I understand we have more thin places than other dioceses.’

‘Have there been any incidences which particularly concern you?’

Did she know about the murders carried out by unicorns? The snail shark infestation which had brought Clyde into my life? The death of Miranda in a dragon’s longhouse? ‘So far, so good,’ I said carefully. ‘My Associate is a great help. He would have enjoyed being here today.’

Her smile slipped. ‘All Associates are citizens of Lloegyr.’

‘Well, yes, of course.’

‘And their first loyalty will be to their own country.’ Then she was back to full on cheerfulness. ‘What species accompanies you, Penny?’

‘A small gryphon.’ I took several gulps of coffee, wishing I were more sober for this conversation. ‘He’s already destroyed one winter coat. Those claws are lethal.’

‘I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been outside today.’ Sue waved a hand. ‘I have a small flat upstairs. Is it that cold?’

‘You could say that,’ James said, suddenly at my elbow. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.’

‘James,’ I remonstrated quietly and fiercely.

Sue laughed. ‘The phrase is a naval one, Penny. It refers to the brass structure on which cannon balls were stacked.’

‘This is my brother, James,’ I said.

The minister shook his hand. ‘You live with your sister, I believe?’

‘Have for most of my life,’ he replied breezily. ‘Somehow I’ve managed to survive.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Sue winced. ‘I heard that you were orphaned very young. You’re an expert in IT, I understand? I’ve heard that you did some good work in New Zealand.’

James started to boast about his networking skills. I hid my face behind my coffee cup. The amount that the minister seemed to know about us was slightly alarming. Then I told myself not to be paranoid. She had only revealed information which was public knowledge, after all.

‘And it’s great that the temps are usually higher in Lloegyr,’ James was saying. ‘I’ve crossed over a couple of times. Like going to Tenerife for winter sun, only cheaper.’

‘Don’t go today,’ Sue warned him. ‘There’s been a real cold snap for a week. There’s even a frost fair on their Thames.’

Suddenly I was very sober. ‘Frost fair? Llundain has frost fairs?’

‘When Afon Tafwys freezes solid.’ She studied me for a moment. ‘You’d like to see a frost fair?’

‘If I were welcomed into the TARDIS,’ I said fervently, ‘that’s where I’d ask to be taken.’

‘Which Doctor?’

‘Sylvester McCoy.’ My loyalty to the Seventh Doctor was unwavering.

‘Jon Pertwee will always be my Doctor,’ Sue replied. She leaned in close. ‘I need to go and mingle, but stay behind when the rest leave.’

‘What’s a frost fair?’ James asked as Sue marched away.

My giddiness had little to do with the wine. ‘Sounds like you might get to see for yourself.’

I concentrated on downing black coffee as Sue worked the room. Kate came over for another chat, and we agreed on a date to meet. After what was no more than thirty minutes, but which felt like an eternity, the minister asked for our attention. She gave a short speech about the importance of our work, and then handed out black boxes to each of us. Of course most of us immediately peered inside. A beautiful wooden pen rested inside mine. I hoped it wasn’t too valuable, as Clyde had the habit of shredding any pen left within his reach.

My fellow priests and their guests began to leave. James and I hung back, pretending to be intensely interested in one of the books lying open on a desk. Finally we were alone with Sue. Well, alone beyond a bodyguard and three waiting staff.

The minister grinned as she joined us. ‘There’s a thin place in the cellar. Come with me, and I’ll get you to the fair.’

Chapter Four

The cellar was large and warm. The mix of tables and chairs made me suspect that it was used for informal functions. Sue pointed at a rack of thick boots, and James and I each found a pair. Then she handed us two full length coats. I shuddered as my fingers sank into the soft depths. ‘It’s fur.’

James held his out at arm’s length. ‘I don’t want to wear dead animals.’

‘It’s perishing cold in Llundain,’ Sue said patiently, ‘and it’s best that you blend in. If we send you through wearing something from human-made fibres, you’ll stand out. Besides, aren’t you wearing leather shoes? What’s the difference between a dead animal on your feet or a dead animal on your shoulders?’

‘A lot,’ James muttered. ‘At least we eat the cow.’

‘Ever thought what sort of life that cow had?’ Sue asked. ‘Much of our leather comes from countries like India and China, which don’t enforce animal welfare laws. On your feet, you’re wearing the product of a factory farmed animal. That coat is about a hundred years old. The minks were living in the wild before they were trapped. They had a life before they died.’

I slipped into my coat. The brown fur was enticingly soft. The sleeves were longer than my arms, and the bottom of the coat reached below my knees. With a sense of guilty pleasure, I stroked the long fibres.

‘I hate to see anything trapped,’ James persisted. ‘Especially wild animals.’

‘Where’s the thin place?’ I asked, glancing at my watch.

Sue smiled. ‘Come back to London sometime, James, and we’ll continue our debate. Or better yet, I’ll take you to some factory farms. Visiting those made me a vegetarian. In the meantime, I suggest you put on the coat rather than risk marking yourself out as human.’

James shrugged on his black coat, but not without grumbles and exaggerated shudders. Sue took us through a locked door into a small room. A single light bulb clung to a brick ceiling, and the musty smell made me sneeze. The minister pointed to the back corner. ‘Through there.’

‘Do we know what formed this thin place?’ I asked. At her raised eyebrow, I explained, ‘I have this theory that, whatever tragedy formed a thin place, that’s what you experience when you go through.’

‘Then expect to feel a rope around your neck,’ Sue said. ‘Several traitors were hanged down here two hundred years ago.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Thanks. Ready, James?’

The cold blackness of a land-based thin place was something I’d never get used to. The fact that it was precisely this terrible dread which kept people away from crossings to Lloegyr did little to comfort me when plunging through one. My breath rattled in my throat as I stepped forward, leaving one world for another. The terror of the hanged men pounded through my chest, and I lost hearing in one ear. I wanted to reach out to grab James, hoping for some comfort in his presence, but my arms seemed to be pinioned to my sides.

Then I was in another cellar, the sound of my gasps harsh in my ears. James was beside me a moment later. His hands reached out blindly until he found the wall, and then he retched. ‘That was bad. I mean really, really bad. The baddest ever. I don’t want to go back that way, not that baddest baddest way.’

‘Let’s not worry about it now,’ I said, handing him a clean tissue. ‘And now, the frost fair awaits!’

‘If we can find our way out of here.’

‘Will that do?’ I pointed at a sign glowing in the light offered by a small oil lamp. ‘Follow that arrow.’

We made our way up a set of wooden steps. The thin door pushed open, and we blinked our way into a narrow room. An elf dressed in green leathers and brown fur was seated at the far end. ‘Father Penny and Master James?’ he asked. ‘I was told to expect you. What time do you think you’ll return? The sun sets just after five.’

That gave us around three hours. ‘Just after five, then,’ I said. I glanced at James’ still pale face. ‘Is there a different thin place we can use to get back to our world?’

‘Your minister will be expecting you to return this way.’

‘Great,’ James muttered.

The elf gave him a wink. ‘I’m told a few flagons of strong ale can help to provide the necessary courage.’

‘Ale?’ James grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Just remember what happened the last time you went to a bar in Lloegyr,’ I reminded him. ‘You propositioned a vampire, and you were fined a pint of blood.’

‘What makes you think I haven’t been to a Lloegyr bar since?’ he asked breezily. ‘Don’t worry, Pen, I’ve learned my lesson.’

No point divulging that I didn’t share his certainty. ‘Maybe the one ale.’

‘And roast bear,’ said the elf. ‘It’s a frost fair speciality. Now then, take the steps to my right, down the hall, and push the door at the end. You’ll have to ring the bell to be let back in.’

Following his directions led us out into a square. It wasn’t only the lack of cars which told us that this was another world. There were no skyscrapers to tower over the brick houses, no tang of petrol in the air. Grey smoke rose from the chimneys which towered above the brown roofs. And it was bitterly cold. My hands retreated into my coat sleeves.

‘It’s so different,’ James said as we marched down the cobbled streets. ‘I mean, look at how short the buildings are. And, I don’t know, more classical. It’s like living in National Trust World.’

‘Lloegyr is far behind us in terms of both industry and technology,’ I reminded him. ‘And they probably didn’t have a Great Fire of London.’ A thought struck me, and I hurried to pull off my dog collar and unbutton my shirt. ‘I’m off duty,’ I said at James’ look.

The streets were cleaner than I’d expected. And much emptier. Members of various species made their way up and down the road. I nearly slipped on an icy patch as a were passed me, shifting suddenly from small humanoid to bright red fox. She used her nose to roll up her clothes, then carried them in her mouth as she trotted away.

The road curved, and brought us to the river. I found myself grinning in utter delight. The Thames stretched out in either direction, frozen solid, a layer of snow resting on top. An array of tents, tables, and circular buildings had been erected from shore to shore. Smoke rose from pigs being roasted over open pits, voices shouted out the wares for sale, and dogs and birds were vying for scraps.

‘Isn’t it fantastic?’ I asked. ‘Just perfect.’

‘Except for that tent over there.’ James pointed at the charred remains. ‘There’s some sort of logo on the side, painted in red. Any idea what it means?’

I glanced at the swirled letters, picking out what could have been a ‘W’. ‘No idea.’ And I was far more interested in everything else before us.

The entire population of Llundain appeared to have turned out for the frost fair. I saw weres shivering in humanoid form as they climbed rope ladders up the river banks before returning to otter or beaver shape to slide down the steep sides. Dwarves were huddled behind tables offering various steel implements for sale. A nearby elf had baskets of fruit piled around his feet, the bright yellows and oranges a contrast to the white snow. I squinted to read the sign on a nearby tent, reaching deep into my Welsh to work out that various items of clothing were on offer. A unicorn was making enquiries of a farrier as a mule stood patiently nearby.

Snow and ice had been shovelled away from a nearby set of brick steps. James threw himself down, but I picked my way more carefully. By the time I reached the river, my brother was admiring the beer barrels lined up on a makeshift bar. My nose twitched at the fruity smell of mulled wine.

‘Dau fwg o win,’ I called out to the bartender as I joined James. The vampire flashed long canines at me, then ladled steaming wine into two crude clay mugs. I fished some Lloegyr coinage from a trouser pocket, and waited for the change.

‘Beer next time?’ James asked hopefully as we walked up river.

‘If I can remember the Welsh.’

He chuckled. ‘Come on, Sis, I bet “beer”, “wine”, and “single malt whisky” were the first words you learned.’

‘You know me all too well.’ It wasn’t only the red wine which made me feel a bit giddy. I couldn’t remember the last time the relationship with my brother had been this free and easy. ‘James, do you think--’

But my attempts to arrange a more permanent truce were interrupted. We had been skirting a small pond which had been cut through the ice. Water splashed across our boots as a body suddenly heaved onto a wooden platform.

‘Sorry,’ the naked man rumbled. ‘My apologies.’ He ran a hand through green-brown hair. ‘Oh, do you speak English?’

‘A little bit,’ I said quickly. Despite my best efforts, my eyes wandered down his torso. A fish tail marked him out as a merman. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘Not in the water.’ He reached down, and pulled up a net. Fish squirmed against the tight-knit sides, bright scales flashing even in the dull light. ‘Anything for your supper?’

‘I’m not partial to fish blood,’ I replied, trying to keep in character. It was best to be mistaken as a vampire when in Lloegyr. ‘James?’

‘Me, neither.’ Then, at my prod, he added, ‘Many thanks all the same.’

We continued our way west. I kept finding myself looking for familiar London landmarks. I saw large buildings, but although several were spiny with turrets, none of them looked anything like the Houses of Parliament. There were a few churches, all rather small and hunching almost apologetically next to round walled buildings from which I could hear shouts and roars. Dragons, rather than planes, cut across the sky.

A grunt made me pause at one table. The dwarf’s dark eyes stared up at me from under bushy eyebrows. ‘Ydych yn cario cyllell o fetel awyr?’

I picked out the words for ‘knife’, ‘sky’, and ‘metal.’ Somehow the dwarf knew what I carried in my trouser pocket. Honesty seemed the best policy. ‘Ydw. Pam?’

He waved me over, and stuck out his palm. The British panic at the thought of being impolite forced me to hand it over. The dwarf turned it over in his hands, studying the green wood of the handle. Then he stretched out a forefinger to the blade.

‘Peidiwch â'i hagor,’ I said quickly.

He raised an eyebrow, then handed the knife back to me. ‘Heb ddarn arian?’

I pocketed the penknife, nodded, and drew James away.

‘What was all that about?’ he demanded.

‘He just wanted to know more about the knife.’

‘Why didn’t you let him open it?’ I lengthened my strides. ‘What was that about a coin?’

A fur-clad arm was thrust out, forcing me to halt. James faced me, eyes blazing, cheeks red despite the cold. ‘Come on, Pen, I’m tired of you not telling me anything. What’s so important about your knife?’

‘A dragon gave it to me,’ I said slowly, dragging the words out. ‘Raven.’

‘The one Morey doesn’t like?’

I nodded. ‘That one.’

James frowned. ‘But Raven’s the one who helped save me from Bodil’s longhouse. I’d be dead if he hadn’t brought you there.’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘So’s life,’ he retorted. ‘Why not open it? Is there something rude engraved inside?’

‘No.’ I cleared my throat, wishing desperately that I had another glass of wine in my hand. ‘If I open the blade, Raven comes. No, I don’t know how that works. And he gave it to me without a coin, which means he doesn’t believe that anything could break our friendship.’

‘When’s the last time you saw him?’

Striding away in self-disgust and loathing, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. ‘He’ll turn up when he’s ready. He always does. I don’t plan to summon him, if that’s what you’re wondering. Look, there’s a beer tent. I’ll buy you that ale now.’

We stayed inside the fur-lined tent for awhile, enjoying the relative warmth provided by the braziers. I sipped a mug of hot water while James drank his beer. When I’d finished, I tapped his arm. ‘Come on, drink up. I’d like to see a bit more before we have to head back.’

Two mixed teams were playing a game of football, and we stopped to watch a unicorn smash the ball past the harpy keeper and into the back of the net. The vampires on the unicorn’s team turned into bats in their excitement, and then had to scramble to put their clothes on again.

‘What’s that?’ James said when the cheers and jeers had died down.

‘What’s what?’

‘It sounded like Clyde.’

I shook my head. ‘Can’t be.’

‘It came from over there. I’d swear it was his chirp.’ And James hurried off. I glanced at the darkening sky and set off after him. Lanterns were being hoisted into place, casting yellow light over the snow, but I didn’t relish the idea of picking our way back to Whitehall after sunset.

From the set of James’ shoulders, I could tell that he was unhappy with whatever he’d found. His boots were parked outside a wooden fence which reached up to his waist, hiding the contents from my view. A harpy stood nearby, her bird legs bare, but the human half of her body shrouded by a fur cloak. The long fierce face was turned to James as she shouted at him in Welsh.

‘Ymddiheuraf am fy mrawd,’ I said as I drew alongside, as no doubt an apology was called for. ‘Come on, James.’

‘Look. Inside.’

I followed the line of his shaking finger. Huddled in the damp straw were five snail sharks, ranging from the size of a beagle to that of a German shepherd. I wondered for a moment what kept them there. Then I saw the chains which ran from holes in their shells to a hook set into the fence. Their tentacles drooped from greyed bodies. The straw was matted with excrement, and the smell was almost as bad as that emanating from the harpy.

‘For fighting, they are,’ the harpy said in a thick Welsh accent. ‘Number eighty-one, now that’s a good one, it is. Won many bouts in the ring.’

I leaned forward for a closer look. Liquid oozed from cuts in their bodies, and teeth marks cast slashes of white against their grey shells. Bright red numbers had been painted on the left side. ‘Why aren’t the numbers sequential?’

‘Eh?’

‘You’ve got eighty-one, fifty, nineteen, forty-three, and twenty.’

‘Numbers when I found them. Someone else’s done the work for me. Handy, that is.’

‘Why is that handy?’ Then I understood. ‘It’s for betting, isn’t it? You have them fight other snail sharks to make you money.’

‘Used to have dogs,’ the harpy said. ‘But people pay more to see malwod siarc. Next fight tomorrow morning. Place a bet now?’

One of the smaller snail sharks let out a low noise. The older one nearest it reached out an eyespot, and touched its body. ‘They’re intelligent creatures,’ James protested. ‘You can’t do this to them.’

‘They’re vermin.’ The harpy spat into the enclosure. Green-black liquid splattered against the nearest snail. ‘No one’s sad to see a malwen siarc die.’

James opened his mouth to protest further, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. ‘That could be Clyde in there,’ he told me fiercely. ‘We can’t let her get away with this.’

‘The harpy’s right, snail sharks are viewed as vermin.’ We were headed for the river bank, and I glanced up and down the length, looking for a way up to the street. ‘It’s not that long ago that cockfighting was still legal in our own country.’

‘I don’t care, I don’t know any roosters. But I do know Clyde.’

‘Who happily rips apart blackbirds,’ I said wearily. The day’s alcohol had worn off and I was ready to go home. A set of steps was just a short distance down river. ‘Come on, James, we can get back up over there.’

The snow covering was thinner at this section of the river, and I had to watch my footing in order not to hit slippery ice. So I wasn’t certain at which point James left me. All I knew was, when I stopped at the steps, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

‘James!’ How many times had I told him that Lloegyr could be dangerous? I peered into the dusk, looking for his mink-clad figure in the dying light. ‘James, where are you?’

Loud shouts drew my attention. A harpy rose into the air, cloak falling away as her tattered wings carried her upwards. And other beings with wings were also taking flight--vampires and weres, a snorting dragon and two large gryphons. A unicorn whinnied as he charged past a tent, his dark eyes wide with alarm. ‘Heddlu, heddlu!’ he called out, shouting for the police. ‘Malwod siarc ar yn rhydd!’

My mouth dried. The snail sharks were free. And as James suddenly appeared, alternatively losing and catching his balance as he ran towards me, I had a nasty suspicion as to who had engineered their escape. ‘James, what have you done?’

He skidded to a halt, almost sliding into me. ‘What I had to do,’ he gasped. ‘They’re like Clyde, I couldn’t leave them like that.’

A scream cut through the general chaos. A dwarf had taken refuge on a table, but that was obviously no barrier to the determined predator. The snail raced up the leather-clad leg, its long chain whipping behind the brown shell. The grey body split open, revealing the jaws running lengthways down the long belly. Red blood spurted across the snow as the snail sank jagged teeth into the dwarf’s bearded face.

‘They’re not like Clyde,’ I said fiercely. ‘Clyde’s lived with us since his mother died, he can be trusted not to hunt anything larger than a rabbit.’

A burst of flame lit up the sky. A heddlu dragon swooped down towards the struggling dwarf. His elf partner twisted in the saddle, aiming a crossbow at the pair. The bolt flew through the air, piercing the shell and knocking the snail from its prey.

Another dragon flew past, her purple hide catching the last of the setting sun. The elf on her neck was carrying a net, in which several fish surrounded a cursing snail shark. I watched as the dragon carried them to the merman’s pond, where the elf dropped down one side of the net. The snail shark wailed as its chain accelerated its fall towards the dark water. There was a splash, and the sound was cut off.

James made a strangled cry of his own. ‘Are they just going to kill them all?’

A roar drew my gaze. One of the pony-sized gryphons was rearing back on his hindlegs, brown wings swept up and back. The eagle claws of his forefeet were buried deep inside a snail’s shell. Black liquid spewed from the snail, splattering across the gryphon’s tawny feathers and darkening the snow.

‘James.’ I gripped his arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘I set them free.’ The set of his jaw suddenly reminded me of our father. ‘I should help them.’

‘They must be as intelligent as Clyde,’ I admitted. ‘But think of what captivity has done to them. They’ve been forced to live in their own droppings, eat who knows what, and fight for their lives. After all that, they’ve probably gone insane. Like killer whales who live in aquariums and turn on their keepers.’

I started up the steps. After a moment, I heard James following me. Behind us we heard more shouts, another shriek from a snail shark, and a drawn out scream. I forced myself to concentrate on the climb, particularly as it was becoming harder and harder to see clearly as the sun disappeared behind the city.

We emerged onto a wide square. The air was cooling rapidly as night fell. Much to my relief, gas lamps had been lit along the road. ‘Come on, James. Time to go home.’

A blast of wind flicked hair from my face. I looked up just in time to see James knocked to one side by a dragon’s green-black snout. Then long toes were wrapping around my waist, claws prickling through fur and clothing as I was snatched from the ground. My last sight of James was of him struggling to his feet, his face fading away as the dragon lifted me high into the grey skies above Llundain. Of the many words going through my head, Oh, bother, was the only one worthy of a priest.

Chapter Five

Although I should have been cold from the wind rushing past me, fury chased warmth through my chest and arms. I tried to identify the search dragon carrying me towards the clouds. Not Raven. I had immediately worked that out, as I had seen enough of the snout to realise that it was too narrow to be that of a male dragon. I cricked my neck upwards. A translucent torc dangled from the thin neck. My eyes were watering, but I was certain I’d seen the engravings before. ‘Tyra!’ I bellowed. ‘For the love of God, what are you doing?’

A chuckle rumbled through the dragon’s chest and throbbed down her legs. ‘I have no love for your God, Father Penny.’

‘Where are you taking me?’ There was no answer. ‘It must be very important for you to leave your post. Why aren’t you guarding the settlement?’

‘The fur is slippery, and you are heavy.’ I swallowed my retort. My coat was only a ‘medium,’ which wasn’t all that bad for a woman heading towards her fourth decade. ‘Quiet, now. Let me concentrate.’

And we passed through a thin place. Once again I wondered why crossings in the air carried no awful darkness or dread. We were flying over forest. Another difference between land-based and airborne thin places was that the latter did not lead through to the same geographical spot in the other world. I tried to work out where on Earth we might be, squinting at the low angle of the sun in the sky and the distant sea I could see glinting in the distance.

Tyra flipped her wings, and sent us into a deep dive. I took deep breaths, refusing to be ill, although wine and lamb were threatening to break free. Part of me wondered if the dragon were deliberately testing me. But then, Raven had the same tendency to aerial acrobatics.

We went through another crossing. The sun was high in the sky. I winced, dazzled by the sudden change from semi-darkness to bright light. As my eyes adjusted, I noted with relief that we were skimming over black lava fields. Tyra had brought me to the Daear equivalent of the Galapagos Islands, where the search dragons lived. Then I felt ill for an entirely different reason. What if she had brought me here to meet Raven?

The obsidian walls of the settlement came into view. Sunlight glistened on the glassy black surfaces. The scent of sulphur bit into my nostrils. I watched uneasily as the jagged ground rushed up towards us, and I slid my hands deep into the sleeves of the fur coat.

Tyra reared up, her wings spreading out as she landed on her hind legs. I was dropped only a few feet from the lava surface and, with a fair bit of staggering, managed to stay on my feet rather than land on hands and knees.

‘And where is my son, skrælingjar?’

I straightened, and tipped my head back to look up at the largest dragon I’d ever met. ‘Matriarch Eydis Asgersdottir. You’re a long way from your longhouse.’

The dark blue dragon was twice Tyra’s height. Her long claws, the size of kitchen knives, tore up the ground as she stepped closer to me. I forced myself to stand my ground. The heat was making me sweat, so I casually removed my coat and folded it over my arm. Eydis lowered her massive jaws to my face, and inhaled heavily. ‘You smell of ice.’

‘I was enjoying a frost fair in Llundain.’ I glanced at Tyra. ‘Until I was kidnapped by a search dragon. What do the search dragons want with me?’

‘You must come with me into the settlement,’ Tyra declared. ‘You must see the destruction with your own eyes.’

‘I demand to speak to the offeiriad,’ Eydis countered.

‘And we would have done,’ I said. ‘I agreed to meet with you. Didn’t you get the rat?’

‘I don’t wait for your convenience, offeiriad.’

Tyra turned towards the matriarch and switched to Welsh. ‘I found her, I brought her, I get her first.’

The dragon’s Welsh was a thicker accent, but I picked out the gist of her response. ‘And I am paying you.’

‘You haven’t paid me yet.’

Eydis snorted. Small flames danced around her red-rimmed nostrils. ‘I haven’t finished with the skrælingjar.’

And one day, when I wasn’t hemmed in by two adversarial dragons, I’d ask what that term meant. ‘She’ll be returned to you,’ Tyra snapped. ‘But we have first claim upon Hrafn. He’s one of us.’

I decided not to let them know that I’d been able to follow their conversation, so I spoke in English. ‘Whatever you two decide, can you do it quickly? I’d like to get out of this heat.’

Eydis snarled. Tyra roared back. And I edged towards the opening in the nearby wall. If these two started a real fight, I wasn’t hanging around to be squashed between them.

‘Harm me,’ Tyra warned, ‘and no search dragon will ever assist your family ever again.’ She glanced down at me, and switched to English. ‘The Father will be more willing to listen when she’s seen what Hrafn has done.’

‘I’d better go with her,’ I told Eydis. ‘Then we can talk about Raven.’

‘I’ll be waiting for you. But don’t try my patience.’

I rolled up the coat, and placed it just inside the entrance to the settlement. Tyra huffed impatiently as I strode to the dragon-sized obsidian fountain. Water streamed from the cone-shaped top, flowing through two other basins before reaching the largest at the bottom. I lowered my hands into the waist-high pool and scooped water into my mouth.

The lava field inside the settlement had been smoothed, most likely by the same dragon flame which had created the walls and the fountain. My boots felt cumbersome on the even surface. ‘I should warn you,’ I told Tyra as I hurried to keep up with her long strides, ‘that Raven and I didn’t part on the best of terms. If you’re expecting me to talk him into seeing his mother, I don’t think that’s going to happen.’

‘Hrafn is not here.’ We were passing the colourful tents in which the search dragons lived. Unlike my past visits, however, the entry flaps were resting down, their tasselled ends touching the ground. The settlement was eerily quiet, lacking the sounds of dragons talking, working at looms and carving, or even slurping loudly at bowls of tea.

We turned a corner, and the smell hit me. I gagged on the acrid blend of burnt hair and fused metal. Ahead of us, where Raven’s purple tent used to stand, was nothing more than a blackened pile of cloth and twisted metal poles. I could just make out what had been his work table. Once it had displayed the obsidian he had carved into intricate shapes. Now the wood was charred, and the statues had been splintered into gleaming fragments.

My hand lowered into a pocket to grip my knife. ‘Who did this to Raven’s home?’

‘You misunderstand, knifebearer,’ Tyra said, backing away. ‘Hrafn did this himself. And others almost lost their own tents to the flames.’

I forced myself to relax. ‘When did all this happen?’

‘A fortnight ago.’

Soon after Raven had stumbled away from me in the unicorns’ forest. ‘And then afterwards?’

Tyra snorted. ‘We were too busy putting out the fire to worry about Hrafn. He’s not been seen since.’

‘What, none of you have gone after him?’ I glared at her. ‘You’re search dragons. You can find anything. You must know where he is.’

‘We could find him,’ she agreed. ‘But why should we?’

‘He’s one of you, all outcasts from your blood families.’ I walked over to the remains of Raven’s home. ‘I thought you’d all come here to make a new family.’

‘We exist together because we must. That does not obligate us one to another.’

‘The young search dragons, the pufflings who escape their mothers,’ I asked slowly, ‘do you offer them any protection?’

‘We’ve relied on our settlement being hidden from our blood families. That’s the only protection we’ve ever offered to a puffling who found a way to us.’

I looked back the way we had come. ‘So how did Eydis find her way here? Did you bring her?’

The loud hiss made me jump. ‘How she found us, I do not know. But we’ll expose the location of her gold should she spread our secret.’

‘Let’s hope that’s enough.’ I fished out a handkerchief to wipe my eyes. The stench from charred remains led me to suspect that Raven had also incinerated a meal, and the meat had since begun to rot. ‘Why did you bring me here?’

Tyra snaked her head around, the long green-black neck twisting and flexing as she checked that we were alone. Then she lowered her snout down to my face. The dragon smell of grass and sweet wood smoke helped me to breathe more easily. ‘I understand your customs require you to keep secrets?’

I looked into the large eye hovering just beyond my nose. ‘Are you asking me to hear your confession?’

‘If I entrust a secret to you, will you keep it?’

‘The usual caveats of safeguarding and illegal activities notwithstanding.’ Then I felt foolish. What would that mean to a dragon? ‘Yes, I will keep it. If the secret doesn’t lead to harm for someone else.’

Red swirls traced across her blue-green iris. Then, in a voice so quiet that I had to strain to hear, she said, ‘The abilities of search dragons vary widely. Mine is very weak. It took me ten days to find you.’

‘But other dragons think that you can find anything, immediately.’

‘Some can. It suits our purposes that they believe all of us can.’ She lifted her head slightly, looked around again, then returned to her previous position. ‘We’re small in stature and in number. Eydis has found our settlement. We must make sure that no others follow.’

‘Your secret is safe with me,’ I promised her.

‘Do you swear on your blade, knifebearer?’

I pulled the knife from my pocket, and allowed it to rest on my palm. ‘I swear on my blade.’ Then I forced back my reluctance. ‘If I expose the knife, Raven will come. He always does. Is that what you want?’

Tyra stepped back and studied me for a moment. ‘You’ve called for him? What did he have to say?’

‘I haven’t summoned him.’

‘I thought you were friends.’

‘So did I,’ I said bitterly. ‘But he couldn't bring himself to say it, not when it really mattered. Why would I want to talk to him now?’

Her tongue flicked out. Before I could react, the blue tongue had wrapped around the closed pocketknife and lifted it from my hand. Tyra tipped back her head, opened her jaws, and with a loud gulp it disappeared down her throat.

I stared at her. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘You don’t deserve him,’ she snarled. ‘You never did. How dare you carry his blade!’

Keeping a tight hold on my temper, I pointed out, ‘But now I can’t call him at all.’

Her ears flattened against her skull. I was hot and sweaty and even more annoyed than after my last Parochial Church Council meeting, but I forced myself to keep quiet. Finally, she said, ‘You can have it back in several weeks.’

‘Several weeks?’ Then I groaned. ‘That’s how long it’ll take to pass through your digestive system?’

‘I’ll dig it out of the midden myself,’ she said helpfully.

‘And give it a thorough cleaning?’

The sudden roar of a dragon made us both jump. ‘Search dragon! Knifebearer! I grow old waiting for you!’

‘She has offered to pay me well,’ Tyra said, as if to herself. ‘Come along, Father.’

And as I followed her across the settlement, I couldn’t help but feel that the loss of my knife meant that I’d been demoted. My clerical title sounded far less grand than ‘knifebearer.’

A search dragon smaller than Tyra stood watch at the entrance. Eydis towered over him, but he still had his teeth exposed and his wings spread. ‘Chewch chi ddim mynd mewn,’ he snarled. I couldn’t help but admire his bravery.

‘I’m here, I’m here,’ I called out and hurried past. One of my hands brushed across the warm hide of the green-black dragon, and I stumbled as I suddenly found myself remembering how comforting it felt to press my palms against Raven’s soft neck.

‘So, knifebearer,’ Eydis demanded. ‘Where is my son?’

I slid my hands into my pockets, and my fingers closed on the emptiness where my knife should have been. ‘Why are you looking for him? You’ve never struck me as the motherly type. Not when you tried to kill him as a puffling.’

‘He flamed the family longhouse.’

The word ‘Good’ nearly left my lips. I managed to bite it back just in time. ‘That couldn’t have done much damage. Your longhouse is built out of rock and slate.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Tyra snapped. ‘By destroying his place here, and expelling flame onto his birthplace, Hrafn has cut all his ties. He was preparing to go to his death.’

My legs trembled, and I wished desperately that dragons did sensible things like build benches. ‘Go to his death? You think he might be considering suicide? Is that why you brought me here? You want me to stop him?’ Then a surge of anger lent me hot strength. ‘Why should you care? It’s too late to be a good mother to him now.’

Tyra was the first to chuckle. The other search dragon quickly chimed in, his laughter at a higher pitch. The ground rumbled as Eydis slammed her tail in her mirth. I felt my cheeks redden, feeling as out of place as my first day at Ashburn High when all the cool kids had laughed at my immaculately straight school tie.

‘Dyw hi wir ddim yn gwybod?’ the small search dragon asked Tyra.

‘Of course she doesn’t know,’ Tyra responded in English. ‘She’s a human.’

‘Then tell me,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘He was a search dragon,’ Eydis said, ‘a disgrace to his family. But we will show him the respect due to any dragon. I want to know where he is so we can make arrangements to eat him.’

‘We have first claim,’ Tyra growled.

‘Never.’ Eydis lowered her head to the much smaller dragon. ‘I birthed him. His body is mine.’

‘And you need a search dragon to find him.’

‘For which I will pay you in gold.’

‘Gold cannot replace honour.’

‘Stop it,’ I told them. Then, as Eydis opened her jaws to speak again, I drew myself up to my full lack of height and shouted, ‘Stop that right now!’

Ears and horns went flat against heads. Lips smoothed over teeth. Tyra was the first to speak. ‘Yes, Father?’

‘You don’t know if he’s actually dead,’ I said, forcing myself not to add ‘yet.’ Then a thought struck me. ‘Why do you need me to find him? Why can’t one of you go instead?’

‘If he’s not dead,’ Tyra said, ‘he would fly away once he knew we were near.’

‘Is that like some sort of Highlander thing?’ I asked. ‘He’d hear some sort of whooshing sound in his head if another dragon came near?’

The three dragons stared at me, and I felt my face flush. Finally Tyra spoke. ‘No. He’d pick up our scent.’

‘Wouldn’t he pick up mine?’

‘He wouldn’t flee from you,’ Eydis said. ‘He made you a knifebearer.’ The huge head came near, and the red-rimmed nostrils fluttered as she drew in my scent. ‘Although I seem not to smell that steel now.’

‘The blade is nearby,’ I said hastily. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, as Tyra’s belly was only just beyond my reach. ‘Don’t tempt me to draw it out.’

Eydis took a step back. ‘Of course not, knifebearer.’ And Tyra gulped nosily.

‘So,’ I said slowly, ‘you want me to find him, and then let you know where he is.’

‘We will arrange for his body to be brought to the longhouse to be eaten.’

‘To the settlement,’ Tyra hissed. ‘That is our right.’

‘He might still be alive.’ I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. ‘You don’t know for certain that he’s dead.’ At their lack of interest, I added, ‘Or that his body hasn’t already spoiled in the heat.’

‘Dragons go somewhere very cold to die,’ Eydis declared. ‘His flesh will have been preserved.’

Somewhere very cold. This was just getting better and better. ‘Okay, if I were to go, how am I to find him?’

‘I can drop you within a dozen miles,’ Tyra said.

For a moment it looked like she was about to launch herself from the ground. ‘Wait, I’m not going now,’ I protested. ‘I need better clothes, supplies, a team of huskies?’ And, although I was not going to admit it to three dragons, at some point soon I’d need to visit a loo.

The two female dragons considered each other for a moment. ‘A dozen miles?’ Eydis repeated. ‘Can she find him before she drops dead as well?’

Tyra’s tail lashed behind her. ‘We can contact the wereships,’ she said, reluctance dragging out her voice. ‘They know their lands. One of them can give her supplies and passage.’

‘They’ll want payment.’

‘Obsidian points,’ Tyra answered. ‘For their hunting. But it will take a couple of days to make the arrangements.’

A couple of days. I blinked away visions of Raven slowly sinking into snow covered ground. Then I marched over to the wall to collect my fur coat. I was hot, and tired, and in no condition to make a decision. ‘Then you might as well take me home. And I’m riding on your neck, this time.’

Tyra huffed. But she lowered herself to the ground, allowing me to clamber up her side. The space between the last two spines on her neck was smaller than on Raven, and I winced as I lowered myself into place. Then she kicked us into the air, and we left the settlement behind.

Chapter Six

Night had well and truly fallen when Tyra deposited me onto my front drive. I scrambled down from her neck. ‘Back garden,’ I told her. ‘I said, land me in the back garden.’

‘Not in all those weeds,’ she said primly.

‘Well, I just hope and pray that none of my neighbours were looking.’ I wrapped the coat tighter around my shoulders. ‘It’d be hard to explain how I dropped out of thin air.’

Tyra said something in Welsh which I couldn’t quite translate, but I was certain it wasn’t physically possible for a human. ‘I will be back in two mornings’ time, Father.’ Then she leapt upwards, the downsweep of her wings blasting the hair away from my face. I gritted my teeth and forced my cold legs to carry me to the house.

The security light flashed on as I fumbled my keys into the lock. The warmth of home wrapped around me as I stepped inside. I shut the door and took a deep breath. Whisky. That’s what I needed. A nice large helping of Talisker to restore some warmth to my bones.

The kitchen door crashed open, and I jumped. James stood in the hallway, his face a mottle of white and red. I stared at him. ‘Have you been crying?’

His mouth opened, but no words came out. Then he charged towards me. Before I could react, his arms were squeezing the air from my lungs and my face was pressed against his chest. ‘Don’t you ever let me lose you again!’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t you ever do that again!’

‘I didn’t ask for it,’ I said into his sweater. ‘It’s not like Tyra gave me a choice.’ I disentangled myself and stepped back to look at him. ‘Come on, don’t say that you actually missed me.’

James cleared his throat. ‘Well, you know, my mental pathways have become accustomed to certain input patterns. When the inputs are absent, they are missed.’

I found myself grinning. ‘James, are you misquoting Data? Since when do you watch Star Trek?’

‘Just started recently.’ He shrugged. ‘I was watching the original series last night. The special effects are a bit lame, aren’t they?’

‘But the storylines--’

‘Also a bit lame. Can Kirk ever meet a woman and not fancy the pants off her?’

‘There was one episode about Spock’s love life.’

‘The one on Vulcan? Where he and Kirk end up fighting each other, and Bones gave Kirk a drug to make it look like he’d died? I liked that one.’

I could feel us both relax as our relationship returned to a more normal footing. ‘Anyway, I’m surprised Kirk isn’t your hero. He sounds very much like someone else I know.’

‘Oh, it’s the other way round with me and women.’ And James grinned. ‘Aren’t you going to ask how I got home?’

‘When I have some Talisker in my hand.’ I brushed past him to the kitchen, and pulled out two glasses. The fur coat was heavy on my shoulders, and I dumped it onto the kitchen table. ‘Okay, how did you get home?’

‘I flew.’ James accepted the second glass, but held it out for a bigger helping of amber liquid. ‘No, not on a dragon. When I got back through the thin place, and told Sue what’d happened, she arranged a helicopter to bring me home. We landed near the church.’

I groaned, wondering how I was going to explain that to the village. Then I warmed my throat with a swallow of whisky. ‘I need to go make phone calls. Just in case.’

‘In case of what?’

‘You can tell him later.’ Morey landed on the table, fur and feathers slick with anger. ‘Right now, she needs to meet my matriarch. Who’s been waiting in the lounge for over an hour.’

The chair tipped backwards as I hurried to my feet. ‘There’s a gryphon in my lounge?’ I demanded of my brother. ‘And you haven’t said?’

‘It slipped my mind.’

‘How can a gryphon slip your mind?’ I handed off the glass. ‘Sorry, Morey, I’ll come now.’

The smell hit me as soon as I opened the door to the front room. Morey’s mixture of fur and feather had always been a pleasant backdrop in the house. But coming from a creature the size of a horse, it was nearly overwhelming. I blinked to clear my eyes and hoped desperately that I wouldn’t start sneezing. ‘Matriarch.’

The gryphon bent her brown eagle head, bringing her red eyes down to my level. The coffee table had been heaved to one side, freeing space between the two blue settees for her to rest on her tawny haunches. The black tip of her lion’s tail flicked across the thick talons of her yellow legs. ‘So. You are Father Penny. I was expecting you to be taller.’

‘And less tardy,’ I said quickly, relieved that she spoke English. ‘My apologies, Matriarch. I was snatched away by a dragon.’

‘And why did that happen?’ James asked from the doorway.

Morey flew past to land on the settee. ‘That’s not important, now. The matriarch has far more urgent things to discuss.’

‘Are these the ones you have mentioned?’ the large gryphon asked, her fierce yellow beak following Clyde’s progress as he slid into the room.

‘These are my cefnogwyr, yes. Most of them. One human is missing.’

‘And this one, the offeiriad, she is your partner?’

‘Yes, we work together.’

‘Is she your cyfaill mynwesol?’

Morey glanced at me. ‘Yes.’

Morey had just called me his best friend. I stared at him. But the matriarch gave me no time to respond. ‘Then I’ll listen to her as she tells me why she was dragon snatched.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Raven’s gone missing.’

James edged himself into the room. ‘The dragon that saved me from the longhouse?’

‘The same. Raven’s burned down his workshop. His family think he’s gone off to die. They want me to try to find him.’

Morey’s ‘Why?’ was overtaken by James asking, ‘What’s that got to do with you? I mean, gratitude and all that, but why should you go look for him?’

‘Boyfriend,’ Clyde sang out.

Two gryphons cocked their heads at me. ‘But there’s Peter,’ James said. ‘That’s Pen’s boyfriend.’

I could feel Morey’s glare. ‘It’s complicated,’ I admitted. ‘Raven is not my boyfriend. But I do owe him--we all owe him our lives.’

‘Do not mix,’ the large gryphon warned me. ‘That was my grandson’s undoing, marrying a were-fox.’

Morey turned his head away and said nothing, but his lashing tail spoke volumes.

‘I haven’t said I’m going,’ I told them all. ‘I’ve been told that dragons go somewhere cold to die.’

James paled. ‘What, like Yorkshire?’

‘I had the impression it was worse than that.’

‘Scotland?’

The matriarch eyed me. ‘Would this journey be dangerous?’

‘Possibly,’ I admitted.

‘And this Raven, what is his colour?’

‘Green-black.’

It took me a moment to realise that her high-pitched wheezing was, in fact, laughter. ‘A search dragon. All the better. Trahaearneifion, you disappointed me greatly in your choice of vocation, and your choice of mate. Here’s the chance to prove yourself, in the estimation of your matriarch and your clan. You’ll go with Father Penny to bring back this dragon. And you will employ him in our service. See this as your first challenge.’

Morey and I tried to protest at the same time. But James’ voice cut across both of us. ‘I don’t want you to go, Pen. But I’d feel better if Morey were with you.’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ I snapped at him.

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Then it’s decided,’ the matriarch declared. ‘Now I must return to my nest. Do not disappoint me again, Trahaearneifion.’

‘Of course not, grandmother,’ Morey said. ‘How are the eyasses?’

‘They’ll be fledging soon.’

I pressed myself against a wall as the large gryphon made her way past me. Somehow, she managed to squeeze her way through the doorway to the lounge and the one at the front of the house. When I could no longer see her dark body against the moon, I returned to the room.

James and Morey were having an argument. ‘You’re not in any condition to look after my sister,’ James said, pointing at the yellow-red stains on the bandage around Morey’s ear. ‘Did you ever go to a doctor?’

Eagle claws scraped against the settee. ‘Well, maybe tomorrow, I was planning--’

‘That’s it,’ James announced. ‘Time you took your medicine, Morey. Where’s the horn, Sis? Still in your wardrobe?’

‘Under a pile of towels,’ I confirmed. And as James walked out of the lounge, I told Morey, ‘Get that ear healed, and you can come with me.’

‘You’re only saying that,’ he complained, ‘to make me swallow horn juice.’

‘Oh, that’s right,’ I said, ‘I’ve arranged for Raven to go missing just so I can convince you to take proper care of yourself.’

Morey’s ears flattened in embarrassment. Then he flew off. When I joined him in the kitchen, he was helping himself to some Talisker. I didn’t stop him. If he needed some Dutch courage, so be it. At least if he were healed, that would one less worry on my mind.

James returned with a bundle of towels. Morey backed away as my brother placed it onto the table and unwound the cloths. ‘Careful, don’t touch the horn,’ I warned.

‘I don’t plan to.’ And then there was a shimmer of light as the horn was exposed. James frowned down at the long spiral of ivory. ‘Does the magic wear off after awhile? Since the mare this came from is dead?’

‘I don’t honestly know.’ I rummaged in a drawer for a sharp knife. As James held one end of the horn, his hands protected from direct contact by a length of towel, I carefully scraped at the sharp tip. Silver-white flakes twirled down into a bowl which I held underneath. Clyde, who had taken a place on one of the kitchen chairs, watched with interest.

‘I have no idea what the dose should be,’ I told Morey as I used a wooden spoon to grind the flakes into a fine powder. ‘If this doesn’t do the trick, I’ll make up some more.’

‘Beer, wine, or whisky?’ James asked him.

‘Old Speckled Hen,’ Morey grumbled. ‘If I’m going to have to drink this, at least give me a good ale to wash it down with.’

And now I knew that Morey was intensely nervous. It wasn’t like him to finish a sentence with a preposition. I tipped the powder into a glass, and added the beer. Then I placed it onto the table.

Morey took a deep breath, and released it. ‘Tell Taryn that I love her.’ And he sank his yellow beak deep into the brown liquid.

The sound of his swallows filled the otherwise quiet kitchen. Morey slurped the last drops from the bottom of the glass, and raised his head. ‘There. Happy now?’

A loud burp almost lifted the gryphon from his feet. He shook his head violently, the bandaged ear flapping against his neck. A glow surrounded his body, highlighting the purple in the grey of his feathers and fur. His tail stood erect, the feathered tip trembling.

That made me blink. Since when had there been feathers on the end of Morey’s tail?

‘I think you can remove the bandage now,’ Morey said quietly.

‘Is that it?’ James demanded as I obeyed. ‘Clyde did a song and dance for us when he was healed.’

‘“I’m healed, oh, hallelujah! By faith in God alone”,’ Morey sang in a baritone. ‘“For I feel the heav’nly virtue, stream o’er me from the throne.” Is that good enough for you?’

‘It’s all gone,’ I marvelled as I touched the ear. ‘The wound, even the infection, all gone. Scars are left, though. Looks like the notch will be permanent.’

James picked up the empty glass. ‘Better than antibiotics?’

‘Well, it makes sense,’ I said. ‘Old recipe books listed powdered unicorn horn as an antidote to poison.’

‘Let’s hope none of us will ever need that,’ James said. He rolled the horn back into the towels. ‘I guess I’d better hide this away again.’

‘I’ll come with you. Time I got changed.’

As we headed up the stairs, James said quietly, ‘I’m not happy about you going off with that dragon again.’

‘I’m not either,’ I admitted. ‘But I don’t want to let Raven die. I hope I can talk him out of it.’

‘You’ve had a lot of practice in talking to suicidal dragons?’

‘None whatsoever.’ I cleared my throat. ‘But I would try to stop anyone from killing himself. Whatever the species.’

‘Just be careful. And I'm glad Morey’s going with you.’

I glanced back at my brother. ‘That’s a quick swing on the love/hate pendulum.’

‘He can really piss me off,’ James admitted. ‘But he’d scratch the eyes out of any dragon that went after you.’

I winced at the image. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

<><><><><>

Unfortunately, the delay in Tyra’s return meant that I still had to chair a Parochial Church Council meeting the next night. I fixed a smile on my face as the people chosen by church members to be their representatives filed into the dining room of Holly’s house. Rosie, the retired priest who helped me out in the parish, was a comforting presence on my right. On my left was the treasurer, whom I had not trusted ever since he had counted up how many Sunday services I covered in a year. Holly glared at me from the other end of the dark table. I glanced around the room, trying to remember how many of those taking their seats were, if not my friends, at least not my enemies. Had Rachel forgiven me for allowing Meryl to come onto the flower rota? Was George still annoyed because I wouldn’t allow him, a still fit and healthy ninety year old, to climb up a ladder to clear out the church gutters?

I took a deep breath, reminded myself that a nice bottle of Gigondas was waiting for me at home, and then greeted them. ‘Welcome, everyone, to our last PCC meeting before Easter. Rosie, will you open our meeting with prayer?’

‘Certainly.’ She bowed her grey head. ‘Loving God, we thank you for the continued privilege of being entrusted with your mission of reconciliation. Help us to be mindful of the sacrifice which your Son made on the cross, and let Christ’s example guide our discussions tonight and always. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ we all echoed.

The worship pattern for Holy Week and Easter was discussed, and agreement made to Rosie’s idea of letting the Girl Guides sleep in the church on Easter Eve. ‘They’ll do the readings at the dawn service,’ Rosie explained. ‘It’s a good way to engage younger people in our celebrations.’

‘Just don’t expect the heating to be put on,’ Holly said with a sniff. ‘We pay £15.00 per hour to heat the church, and the Guides don’t contribute anything to our running costs.’

‘This is called “mission”,’ I replied. ‘You can’t measure it in pounds and pence.’

‘And will any of them come to church the next Sunday?’ Holly asked. ‘I think not.’

‘Traditionally, very few people come to church the Sunday after Easter,’ Rosie pointed out.

‘Is that why it’s called “Low Sunday”?’ Rachel asked, looking up from her knitting.

‘It’s called that in contrast to Easter, which is a “High” Sunday,’ Rosie answered. ‘People who were baptised on Easter Sunday wore their white robes for a week, and took them off a week later.’

‘And as fascinating this bit of history is for us all,’ said Robert, the treasurer, ‘I have another meeting after this. Can we move on to the accounts?’

Much to my pleasant surprise, the figures looked quite good for the time of year. Costs were higher during the cold months, and the amount people put on the collection plate usually dipped as the Christmas bills dropped through the letter box. I put my finger on one particular line. ‘We seem to have had a large donation. Did someone leave us some money in a will?’

A quick look passed between Holly and Robert. ‘The donor wishes to remain anonymous,’ he said steadily. ‘But there may be more.’

‘So we don’t have to let the Guides freeze in the church,’ Rosie commented. ‘Perhaps we can put some of the donation towards heating?’

There was general, if unenthusiastic, agreement. The rest of the meeting unfolded in a similar tone. I wondered longingly whether PCC meetings in Lloegyr were so dreary. Once again talk about updating the church website was put on hold, probably because most of the members didn’t have computers. There was the usual moan about the lack of children in Sunday services, and then the usual lack of consensus as to why. For once, the blame didn't seem to fall on me.

We drifted to the next item on the agenda. ‘I’ve received one piece of correspondence,’ I said, shuffling the letter to the top of my pile. ‘A Mrs Sawyers has written to ask for confirmation that she owns the plot next to her husband’s grave. Which, of course, she doesn’t. So I’d like approval from the PCC, before I write back to let her know how to apply for a faculty to reserve the space.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Holly said quickly. ‘I’ll just make a note on the graveyard plan.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I’ve seen other churches get in trouble for informal arrangements. I’ll send her the documentation and let her know about the fee.’

Holly held up her hand. ‘You’re busy enough, Vicar. I’ll do that.’

I didn’t need Rosie’s quick glance to know there was something wrong. ‘That’s very kind of you, Holly, but you’ve told me countless times that you have too much on. I’ll write the letter.’

Robert coughed. ‘I think Mrs Sawyers believes that the plot is already reserved.’

I frowned. ‘That can’t be. We only buried her husband six months ago. I would’ve remembered a faculty application.’

‘She’s already paid a fee,’ Robert continued. ‘So we can’t ask her for another one.’

I looked around the table. Most of the PCC looked either perplexed, bored, or both. Then my gaze came to Holly. The churchwarden was perched on the edge of her seat, hands gripped so tightly together that her fingers were white. The image of Holly standing in the churchyard, pointing out a gravestone to a well-dressed man, came to me. ‘To whom did she pay the fee?’

Holly’s eyes slid from my face. Robert was suddenly very busy with his papers. ‘Seems to me,’ Rosie said quietly, ‘that someone is profiting from the recently bereaved.’

‘I’m not the one profiting!’ Holly’s head snapped up, her brown eyes narrowed. ‘Someone needs to keep this church going!’

I forced my voice to remain even. ‘Tell me what you’ve been doing, Holly.’

‘People want to be buried next to their loved ones,’ she said. ‘This way they know they can. I mark the plan, and when you come to me to pick out the spot for a burial, I avoid those which I’ve reserved.’

‘And the fee?’

‘Only a hundred pounds.’ Holly looked over at the treasurer. ‘And I pass it on to church funds.’

‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ Rachel said placidly as she resumed her knitting. ‘It’s all to the church’s benefit.’

‘It’s not all right,’ I retorted. ‘Plots have to be reserved through the Diocesan Registry and the appropriate fee paid.’

‘Which is how much?’ George asked.

‘Around £250.’

‘Which goes to the diocese,’ Holly pointed out. ‘This way, people pay less, and our church gains the funds.’

‘Seems good to me,’ George said.

I could feel my forehead tightening. ‘No, it’s not good at all. This is not how the church operates. We don’t take money under the table.’

Holly’s face flushed. ‘I haven’t done anything illegal.’

I shrugged off the hand Rosie tried to place on my arm. ‘Haven’t you? Those monies rightfully belong to the diocese, not to Saint Wulfram’s.’

‘Now, now, Vicar,’ said Robert. ‘Holly only has the best interests of this parish at heart.’

The nods around the table made something throb above my eyes. I rose to my feet. ‘This is unacceptable. We cannot have a churchwarden accepting money from the public for providing something from the church.’

Holly stood as well. ‘We have a wall to fix, heating bills to pay, not to mention the parish share. The diocese can do without. Our church needs the money.’

‘It’s unacceptable,’ I repeated. ‘Holly, I want you to consider your position.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You can’t fire me. Churchwardens are appointed by the bishop.’

‘I didn’t say you were fired.’ The throb was upgrading to a headache. ‘I asked you to consider your position.’

‘She’s our only churchwarden,’ George pointed out. ‘Let’s not be hasty here.’

‘I suggest,’ Rosie said firmly, ‘that we consider this meeting over, and all go home to pray over our next steps.’

I grabbed my coat and left the room. Behind me, I heard the PCC members intoning the words of the Grace, and for a moment I hesitated. Then I continued outside, my car keys already chiming in my hand. Never had I needed red wine so badly.

Chapter Seven

‘You didn’t establish a time?’ Morey asked, pacing across the kitchen table.

I glanced at the wall clock. 9am. ‘She just said morning. I haven’t seen any dragon wearing a wristwatch.’

‘Gryphons can tell time, I should think dragons can too.’

Clyde made an enquiring noise. I shook my head, which made me wince. The ibuprofen had helped, but I was still recovering from drinking Gigondas until the early hours of the morning. ‘No, you can’t come with us. But I’ll put you into your run when we go. James will bring you back in at night.’

A thump drew our attention to the back garden. This time, Tyra had landed where I’d asked. Her feet sank into the tangle of weeds, and her ears drew back in distaste. I shrugged into the fur coat and collected backpack and snail.

Tyra’s ears flattened even further against her head as she saw the snail shark. But she said nothing as I placed Clyde inside the dog run. ‘I haven’t brought food or anything,’ I told her as I prepared to climb up to her neck. ‘You did say there would be supplies?’

‘I’ve arranged for everything you’ll need.’ She snorted. ‘It wouldn’t help our cause if you were to die before reaching Raven.’

‘How very reassuring,’ Morey said as he landed on her back. ‘And where exactly are you taking us?’

‘Grfnland.’

I clambered up her side and took my place between her neck spines. ‘Do you mean Greenland? You’re taking us to the Arctic? In winter?’

But Tyra had kicked us away from the ground and we were swirling up into the grey sky. Too late now. I gritted my teeth as my hands chilled. Although I had gloves in my backpack, I didn’t dare wear them. From past experience, bare hands were better for holding onto neck spines.

The dragon dipped a wing, and slipped through a thin place. Hot sun pounded against my head, and I closed my eyes against the glare from the nearby sea. Tyra proved to be no more considerate of passengers than Raven. Without warning, she tucked in her wings and went into a steep dive. Morey was shaken loose, and I grabbed desperately at a spine as my body rose from her neck.

The gryphon just had time to thud onto my shoulder before we crossed back to Earth. A harsh wind whipped the coat up from my knees, and Morey’s claws dug into the fur as he struggled to hold on. I pressed my legs against Tyra’s neck and switched my right hand from her spine to grip Morey’s forelegs instead.

The long blue-green wings stretched out, and we glided through another crossing point. Now we were in night, the air calm, the temperature pleasantly warm. Morey cautiously crawled down my front and tucked himself into my coat. I was once again able to grip the spine with both hands.

‘Still there?’ Tyra called back.

‘Both of us,’ I affirmed. ‘But no thanks to you.’

Her snort jounced my legs. ‘Only the best can ride a search dragon. And I have no interest in anything less than the best.’

‘Best or not,’ Morey muttered to me, ‘we’d be the same indistinguishable bloody pancake at the end of a long drop to the ground.’

We returned to Earth, and flew for several minutes over a stretch of wasteland. Barren trees twisted across rocky hillsides, and I searched in vain for any clues as to where we could be. For a moment I thought I saw some clay dwellings rising in the distance.

Then we passed through another thin place, and the light changed again. The skies were pre-dawn blue, and the air chilled my face. I glanced down. Snowy fjords stretched out to our right, and blue-white icebergs dotted the dark ocean below us.

Tyra went into a long spiral. We seemed to be headed for a beach, although the mix of gravel and ice didn't match my dreams of a holiday destination. It was only as she backwinged in to land that I noticed a small boat bobbing alongside a short pier.

The landing was smoother than I’d expected. Tyra twisted her neck to look back at us. ‘Off. I don’t want to stay here too long. It’s cold.’

I slipped to the ground. Although I pulled on my hat and gloves, the temperature was about the same as that in my own back garden. ‘You’re sure this is Greenland?’

‘A search dragon always knows where she is,’ Tyra said grandly. ‘This is southern Grfnland. And Aaviak has come as promised.’

‘Auiak,’ a deep voice contradicted. ‘I gained my adult name four years ago.’

I moved closer to the dragon as a cream-white bear marched from the pier. The polar bears I’d seen in zoos had not prepared me for the sheer size of one when there was no barrier between him and me. I felt Morey tense against my neck.

‘Greetings, brave Auiak,’ I said with a calm I didn’t feel.

The bear halted a few yards away. The jaws opened, revealing the sharp teeth. ‘Brave,’ he rumbled. ‘Haven’t been called that before.’

‘He’s a were,’ Morey whispered.

‘Oh, good,’ I muttered back. ‘So he won’t try to eat us for breakfast?’

‘Only when he’s in bear form.’

Morey’s head was too close to mine for me to give him a glare. ‘Well, he’s not very likely to shift to human shape, is he? Far too cold.’

Tyra stepped away from me. ‘I leave them in your care, Auiak.’

The small black eyes glinted. ‘And my payment?’

‘Half now.’ Tyra stretched her neck to bite at a leather bag strapped to her hind leg. The bindings gave way, and she deposited the satchel at the bear’s feet. ‘The other half will be paid if these two return with news of Raven.’

Auiak studied me. ‘And that coat.’

I drew the fur closer around me. ‘I need it.’

‘Not now. When you leave.’ He dipped his head in a nod. ‘The coat when you leave.’

Strictly speaking, it was government property. But I decided to worry about squaring it with Sue at some other time. I was beginning to lose the feeling in my feet. ‘When we leave.’

‘Send me a rat if you need fetching,’ Tyra told me. Then she ran down the beach, gravel flying as she picked up speed to launch herself into the air.

‘But I don’t have a rat!’ I shouted at her receding form.

‘The settlement does,’ Auiak said. ‘Can take awhile. Only one rat king in Grfnland. Pray that you find this other dragon alive. But make sure he first brings you to me. For the coat.’

‘Certainly.’

The bear picked up the bag, the leather crinkling under the pressure of his teeth. Then he turned and picked his way back to the pier. I followed him, since that seemed what he expected of me. After one dangerous slip, I tried to avoid the patches of ice glistening amongst the gravel.

‘It’s fascinating,’ Morey said.

‘What is?’

‘The settlement. On the hill. Have you noticed how the houses are all in different colours?’

‘I’ve been too busy watching where I put my feet.’ Then a thought struck me. ‘The bear. Auiak. He spoke to us in English.’

‘Tyra probably chose him for that reason.’

The steps up to the pier were slimy. I took my time climbing up. The small boat was at the end of the wooden walkway, and I forced myself not to look at the waves splashing on either side of me as I made my way over to Auiak. ‘Do we need to call for the captain?’

The bear clambered onto the deck, the satchel still in his jaws. I followed him. A glass fronted cubicle was ahead of us, wooden wheel marking it out as the pilot’s control booth. To the right was a wooden door, which Auiak pushed open. Warm air brushed past my cheeks, and I hurried to follow him down a set of steps and shut the door against the cold.

We stood inside a small lounge. A table filled the middle, and a pile of maps was spread out across the dark surface. The tan colour made me decide that the charts were made of leather, not paper. Benches lined the walls on either side. The proportions were bear-sized, and so Auiak easily navigated the space. He placed the bag on the table. Then, with a shimmer that brought back my headache, he changed to human form before going down another set of stairs at the far end.

He’d become a naked human, of course. I removed my gaze from his rather firm buttocks and removed my hat and gloves. Morey hopped down onto the table and poked at the satchel. ‘Obsidian points indeed. These are very long.’

‘We’ve arrived, it’s warm, and I don’t care what he does with them.’ I took a seat. A sudden thought struck me. ‘Do you think bears put toilets on their boats?’

Morey sniggered. ‘You’d better hope so.’

‘And you’re going to enjoy relieving yourself in freezing temperatures?’

The boat juddered as engines kicked into life. A naked man climbed up into the lounge, and then a bear lumbered outside. I shut my eyes and took deep breaths.

I heard Morey fly past my head. ‘He’s casting off. Oh, this is fascinating. He’s alternating between man and bear. I guess fingers are more useful than paws, but it’s too cold to stay human for very long. You should watch.’

‘You know that weres give me a headache.’

‘So do PCCs. Or at least the aftermath.’

‘You had some of the Gigondas too,’ I protested.

‘Just one glass. You drank all the rest.’

‘You don’t suppose,’ I asked hopefully, ‘that he keeps any alcohol on board?’

‘It’d be better for your bladder if he didn’t.’

I opened my eyes as the boat began to move, and then climbed up the stairs to look past Morey. Auiak stood in bear form by the wheel, his paws pressing against the spokes as we left the pier behind. As the boat made a sudden lurch, I was suddenly reminded of the many hours I’d spent with Alan on his beloved boat. I’d sold The Fancy Free soon after my husband’s death, but now I found myself missing those carefree days.

We both returned to the benches. A moment later, the door opened and shut, allowing a blast of cold air to swirl around the lounge. Auiak took a seat near me, once again in human form. ‘That should do.’

‘You don’t need to steer the boat?’ I asked, my eyes firmly fixed on the brown eyes under the shaggy platinum blond hair.

‘Autopilot. Only for a couple of minutes. Then we’ll be in iceberg area.’ He leaned back, forcing me to concentrate harder than ever not to glance down. ‘Now, then. Stairs behind me lead to cabins. You take the one on the right, with the gryphon. Privy is next door over.’

The unwelcome knowledge that I’d have to share sleeping space with Morey was counter-balanced with the happy news that I wouldn’t have to try to pee over the side of a moving boat in Arctic temperatures. ‘And your cabin is on the left?’

‘You’re not to go in.’ Auiak leaned in close, his growl more bear than man. ‘Understand?’

‘Of course,’ I assured him. Then I patted the table. ‘These charts, do they show where we’re going?’

‘Aye.’ He pulled one over to him. The map very helpfully landed on his lap. ‘The dragon said your one is up Tasermuit Fjord. We’ll be halfway there by tonight.’ His near-black fingernail traced a route past fingers of grey land and slivers of blue water. ‘We moor here tonight. Tomorrow into the fjord. Then you depart to find him.’

‘Find him how?’

Auiak pulled over a second map. ‘He be here.’

I bit my lip as I looked down at the topographic map. The large red ‘X’ was surrounded by symbols which made little sense to me. ‘Do you have a compass I can borrow?’

The were exposed his teeth. It took me a moment to realise that he was grinning. ‘The lemmings will help you.’

‘Lemmings? You mean the animals that throw themselves off cliffs?’

‘They like news and fuss and bother, the lemmings.’ Auiak folded up the map and handed it to me. ‘And you will be news and fuss and bother indeed. They’ll take you to your dragon.’

‘He’s not my dragon,’ I said firmly.

Auiak stood, which meant that the chart slid to the floor. I had proof of his masculinity before I could look away. ‘Your dragon. Why else do you look for him?’

He lumbered up and out to the pilot’s booth. Cold air whisked through the room, giving an excuse for my shiver. I reached down to retrieve the map and place it back onto the table. The edge of the paper bumped up against falcon claws. ‘Like he said, Black,’ Morey challenged me, ‘why are we looking for him?’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I told him. ‘And he let me down. Badly. Just when I needed him most. But I don’t want him to kill himself.’

‘Why not?’

I stared at the gryphon. ‘You’ve been ordained, Morey. And you’re still an Elder. You know we need to follow the example of Jesus and go after the lost sheep.’

‘The shepherd wanted to find the lost sheep,’ Morey pointed out. ‘He wanted the sheep back. What about you? What are you going to say when you find Raven? “Oh, you know, I don’t like to see anyone mope. How about you go back to the tent you burnt down?” I can really see that convincing him.’

‘What am I supposed to say?’

‘The truth.’ Morey walked over to me. ‘If you even know what that is.’

‘I won’t need to say anything,’ I said firmly. ‘He let me down, but I still came for him. That’ll be enough.’

Morey snorted, but said nothing more.

Coffee. I needed some caffeine. I got up from the bench, pulled on my fur coat, and went outside. Snow covered cliffs were sliding past on our right, and large icebergs rose from the restless waters to glower at our small ship. I carefully opened the door to speak to Auiak. ‘Can I get you something? Tea or coffee?’

‘Galley’s off limits.’ His dark eyes remained resolutely fixed on the seas ahead of us. ‘Drink at lunch.’

So I returned to the lounge, wishing I’d thought to pack a flask. And a small bottle of whisky. And a book. Fortunately, Morey ignored me. He was perched on the top of the bench on the land side of the boat, staring intently at the landscape sliding past. I pulled out my iPhone. There was no signal, of course, but I opened up the word processing app. I’d arranged for a week off, but I might as well start on the sermon for the Sunday I’d be back.

<><><><><><>

My stomach was beginning to rumble when Auiak brought the boat to a halt. He cast a series of fishhooks over the side, and moments later a number of squirming fish were hauled on board. I glanced away as he hit each one on the head with a small club.

‘You’ve watched Clyde eviscerate pigeons,’ Morey commented.

‘That doesn’t mean I’ve enjoyed it.’

Auiak brought in a bucket of fish and disappeared down the stairs. The sound of a kettle brought hope to my heart. Twenty minutes later, he climbed back up in human shape. A tray held three mugs of tea, all deep brown in colour. He went back down, then came up again with three plates. Two held raw fish, descaled and gutted. From the third, which he placed in front of me, steam rose from fried white flesh. Thick cut chips circled the fish. No fork or knife seemed to be forthcoming, but I’d eaten enough fish and chips at the seaside to be able to cope without utensils. I tucked in with relish. The tea was astringent without any milk, but I drank it down regardless.

My two companions dug into their own fish. Auiak, back in bear shape, swallowed his whole. Morey picked through the meat, carefully removing the bones. He also stole several chips from my plate.

‘Can we do the washing up?’ I asked Auiak when we’d finished.

‘Galley off limits,’ he growled. Then he collected the empty plates and mugs and took them down.

‘I’m certain his kitchen can’t be in worse shape than mine,’ I muttered to Morey.

The gryphon flicked his ears. ‘Were-bears might have a greater need for privacy than humans. Or maybe he has something in there he doesn’t want you to see.’

‘What, like a were equivalent of a pin up calendar?’

‘Or the remains of his last human kill.’

My mouth dried. ‘Polar bears hunt humans on Earth.’

‘Isn’t it more the other way around?’ Then Morey laughed at me. ‘Relax, Black. No bear would take on a dragon, and Tyra would have his guts for garters if he ate you before we found Raven.’

Then we suddenly realised that Auiak was at the top of the stairs. I felt my face flush as I wondered how much of our conversation he had heard. His dark eyes met mine. ‘Don’t eat humans,’ he told me gruffly.

‘You don’t eat intelligent beings,’ I said with a nod.

‘Not that. I only eat organic meat.’

I nearly found myself telling him that I always bought organic fruit and veg. ‘That’s very wise. No telling what sort of nasty chemicals are in the average human body. It’s so much better for you to stick to organic. And the oceans of the Arctic are very pure, aren’t they?’

The bear gave me a curious look. ‘In your cabin. Clothes for you.’ Then he brushed past to return to his piloting duties.

Chapter Eight

The cabins were accessed down another set of steps. I visited the toilet, which was reassuringly human compatible. There was a small hand basin and, much to my surprise, a bar of soap and a very flowery towel. No sign of a shower, but I hadn’t really expected to find one.

The cabin was smaller than I’d expected. A bunk bed, which meant at least I shouldn’t have to share a mattress with Morey. Although the space was large enough to swing a gryphon, I couldn’t see Auiak finding it comfortable. Perhaps his own cabin was much larger.

Something dark green shimmered against the grey blankets on the bottom bunk. Were these the clothes Auiak had mentioned? I leaned down to pick it up.

Warmth spread through my hands. I stared in amazement at the thin trousers. The material was no thicker than a cotton t-shirt, yet just holding it was warming my fingers. I turned it over, and my stomach twisted. Most of the scales were missing, but there was enough to reveal that I was holding tanned skin.

Wings beat past my ear, and Morey landed on the top bunk. ‘Mer tail,’ he said, voice soft in wonder.

My fingers convulsed, tightening their grip. ‘This is from a dead merperson?’

‘Not a dead one.’ Morey took a sniff. ‘Sometimes merpeople shed their tails so they can have legs.’

‘Because they fall in love with a human?’

Morey snorted. ‘Romantic nonsense. No, usually it’s if a merperson has offended the shoal. They seek refuge on land. It’s the only place they can’t be tracked down and punished.’

‘Won’t the merperson want this back one day?’

‘No. Once they’ve shed their tail, it’s irrevocable. They can never return to the sea again.’

‘Since when?’ I asked. ‘I mean, in The Little Mermaid--’

‘Now, Black, are you really going to believe a Disney movie over a resident of Lloegyr?’

‘So the merperson is exiled forever.’ I turned the trousers around to admire the expert stitching along the inside of the legs. ‘It’s so warm.’

‘How else do you think merpeople can survive in cold oceans? Have you ever seen a fat one? They don’t do blubber.’

‘I’ve not met many merpeople.’ Warmth was now spreading up my arms. ‘If I put this on, will I be turned into a mermaid?’

‘No, it doesn’t work that way.’ Morey sighed. ‘Although, if the merperson is dead, something of their essence travels to their tail. The skin then gives the wearer the ability to breathe under water.’

‘How come you know so much about them?’

‘Taryn had to help one out of a spot of bother last year.’ Morey hopped down to the lower bunk. ‘We need to talk about the wedding.’

I took a seat next to him, ducking slightly to avoid hitting my head on the top bunk. ‘So, you’re going to accept her proposal?’

‘It’s not that simple.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I have to prove my worth to my clan. Only then will they recommend me to her clan as a suitable marriage partner.’

‘How do you prove yourself? Do you have to outdrink a pub full of harpies? Or win Mastermind?’

‘There will be a series of challenges. Taryn will also have to face three from her own clan.’

‘You’ll both do fine,’ I assured him.

‘I need to have a grŵp rhyfelwyr with me,’ he said. ‘Companions who will help me in my quest to prove my courage.’

I stared down at him. ‘That’s not the word for hunter. Remember, my Welsh is getting quite good these days.’

‘These are usually drawn from the groom’s closest friends,’ Morey continued. ‘That will mean you.’

‘Flattered,’ I acknowledged. ‘Of course, I’ll help any way I can.’

‘The challenges will be spread out over a month or so. But it might mean being away from your parish for several days at a time.’

Somehow, I managed to hold back a cheer. ‘I’ll work it out, Morey. Rosie is always happy to fill in.’

He dipped his head in a nod. ‘I just hope...’

‘Hope what?’

Morey extended his wings. ‘See you back upstairs.’ And he left the cabin.

After the gryphon had gone, I closed the door and removed my trousers. The merskin slipped on easily, and seemed to mould itself to my body. I had a moment’s panic, wondering whether it would come off again. How would I go to the loo? But the material peeled off when I tugged at the waist. As I folded the material away, I wondered how merpeople relieved themselves. Surely they didn’t have to peel off their tail skin every time? Then I decided I had more important things to worry about. Like why Morey had used a word which I was certain meant ‘warrior.’

<><><><><><>

The boat pulled near shore and dropped anchor as the sun set. I stood on the deck and marvelled at how the sky slid from light blue to pink. The fur coat rested on my shoulders, and the merskin trousers kept my legs and feet warm. Although I still had many questions about how I was to find Raven, at least I was longer worried about losing a limb to frostbite in the process.

Auiak finished his work, shifted into bear shape, and glanced over at me. ‘Supper soon.’

‘That’d be great.’ I licked my lips. ‘Any wine? Beer? Rum?’

‘Don’t drink.’ One of his large paws slapped the gunwale in emphasis. ‘Bad for liver.’

‘The liver is evil and must be punished,’ I muttered. Next time I came to Lloegyr, I would carry a hip flask.

Morey was curled up on the table when I climbed back down into the lounge. ‘It’s a very interesting map,’ he told me. ‘Looks like marks indicate where the best hunting is to be found.’

‘Trust you to work that out.’

His tail lashed from side to side. ‘Someone’s in a mood.’

‘What do you expect? I’m going to be wandering the Arctic wastes with a hunting map in search of a suicidal dragon.’

‘And there’s no alcohol on board.’

I studied him. ‘You know that how?’

‘Why else would you be in such a bad mood? At least dinner is on its way.’

‘How?’ I slid onto the bench. ‘Auiak is still outside.’

‘He probably has an oven in his galley,’ Morey said. ‘Red meat, and if I’m not mistaken, some form of potatoes.’

The bear came inside, walked through the lounge and down the far stairs. I fought against the instinct to offer assistance. So I leaned towards the table. ‘Tell me more about this map.’

Night had drawn in when Auiak climbed up to the lounge. I had found light switches, and the huge bulbs cast a yellow gleam over the were’s human body. A plate of well cooked meat was placed in front of me. He slid a smaller plate of raw steak towards Morey, and took a seat at the far end with his own serving.

Much to my surprise, a knife and fork rested underneath the meat. I slid them free, and cut off a slice. The steak was a bit tough, but edible. I scooped some mashed potatoes onto the next slice.

‘Not fresh,’ Auiak apologised to Morey. ‘Hunted last week, kept frozen since.’

‘It’s thawed out nicely,’ Morey said enthusiastically. ‘Could I have some of that potato, Penny?’

I scraped mash onto his plate. His head cocked, and I reluctantly added more. His beak disappeared into the creamy mixture and he gulped it down eagerly. Then he went back to his steak. I tackled my own. It wasn’t the best beef I’d ever eaten, but it was warm and filling.

Auiak shifted to bear form and tore through his dinner. Watching his large teeth in action made me pray that I would never find myself on a polar bear’s menu. I concentrated on my own dinner, finishing up the steak and the few bits of potato which Morey didn’t take for himself.

When we had all finished, our host gathered up the plates and took them away. Morey sat back, his tongue cleaning the last bits of potato from his beak. ‘Very good. I haven’t had minke for years.’

My mother’s strict training holds firm even when I’m shocked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Minke. Whale.’ He burped contentedly. ‘A young one, I believe. Good, wasn’t it?’

‘Whales shouldn't be eaten,’ I said, appalled.

‘Why not?’

‘Most human governments have outlawed the hunting of whales. They’re intelligent creatures.’

‘So are pigs,’ Morey pointed out. ‘And you eat bacon sandwiches.’

‘But that’s different.’

‘How?’

‘Whales are much more intelligent than pigs.’

Morey cocked his head. ‘I should think both feel pain when they die, whether that’s from being harpooned or in a slaughterhouse.’

‘I just feel like I’m sliding down some ethical slope,’ I complained. ‘Wearing fur, eating whale--do you think there’s some mark of Cain on my forehead? If I meet someone from PETA or Greenpeace, will they know? And that’s not funny, Morey.’

‘I’m not laughing at you,’ he protested, his tail straightening a moment too late.

‘I’ve known you for nine months, now. I know what that curl in your tail means.’

‘Relax.’ He added a purr at the end of the word. ‘Go find a vegan when we return to Earth and make your confession.’

His sarcasm did little to soothe the ache in my forehead. I decided to head down to the cabin area to splash some water on my face. And to try not to feel that I was acting like Pontius Pilate.

The thump onto my stomach was as unwelcome as my dreams had been. ‘Wakey, wakey!’ Morey told me. ‘It’s the dawn of a brand new day!’

I groaned. ‘It’s okay for you. You snore. Does Taryn know?’

‘I certainly do not snore.’ His weight shifted as he walked down to my feet. ‘And Taryn wouldn’t know anyway. We won’t sleep together until we’re married.’

‘Aren’t you the gentleman.’ A sharp beak nipped at my foot and I yelped. ‘All right, all right, I’ll get up.’

‘Watch your head.’

Morey’s warning came just in time. I sat up gingerly, and opened my eyes. Grey light came through the small porthole. My blankets were twisted, proof of my restless night. ‘If you weren’t the one who snored, then who was it?’

‘There is a were-bear on board,’ Morey reminded me. ‘Probably him.’

I shook my head. ‘I heard him come down the stairs long after we’d gone to bed.’

‘Sort it out later.’ Morey lifted his head and gave a sniff. ‘Breakfast is almost ready. I think I smell intelligent pig.’

For a moment I simply glared at him. Then I thrust both legs sideways. Morey squawked as he was thrown off the bunk. He landed in ruffled annoyance on the wooden floor. ‘Very funny, Black.’

I opened the door to let him fly out of the cabin. We might be steering past icebergs in the Arctic, but Auiak’s boat was very warm. I’d been able to sleep in my t-shirt and underwear. As I pulled on more layers, including the merskin trousers, I wondered whether a boat like this could have been built in Lloegyr. Had it been brought across from Earth? Or perhaps strayed through a thin place? How did water based thin spaces work?

The smell of cooked eggs wafted down the stairs. I hurried up to the lounge. Morey usually turned up his beak to cooked meat, but he was obviously making an exception when it came to bacon. I slid onto a bench and leaned over to tackle the mound on a second plate. The eggs were scrambled and delicious, although a darker shade of orange than I was used to. A moment later, Auiak appeared with a rack of toast.

‘Is there any coffee?’ I asked awkwardly. It seemed ungrateful for me to want anything more when he’d obviously gone to a lot of bother to cook a proper breakfast. But I knew from bitter experience that I’d have a headache if I went without my normal caffeine intake.

‘Coming.’

The liquid which emerged from the galley was dark and thick. I drank carefully. As I’d expected, the grounds rested on the bottom of the mug. Morey slurped from his own cup between snatches at my portion of egg.

Auiak slid onto the bench opposite mine. ‘Arrival before lunch,’ he told us. A long black claw tapped at the map which rested under the plates.

‘Arrival where?’ I asked. I could see the snow-covered landscape outside, and it did not look enticing.

‘Where you leave.’ The bear pulled the map free, ignoring the clatter of crockery. ‘Here. Up the fjord. Dragon up there.’

I studied the line his claw had drawn. Auiak was taking us as far as water would permit, but there still seemed to be quite a bit of land to cover. ‘How far is that?’

He shrugged. ‘Eight miles?’

‘Eight miles?’

‘An hour’s run.’

‘For a polar bear, maybe,’ I muttered. Once again I regretted not using my local gym more often. ‘Unless, Morey, if you flew on ahead?’

‘If Raven’s alive, he has no reason to speak to me,’ Morey pointed out. ‘In fact, he’d probably take off as soon as he saw me. And we’d have to start this all over again.’

‘Huts here and here.’ Auiak pointed at small blue marks on the dull hide. ‘Fully stocked, last I looked. Stay there night time.’

‘Fully stocked?’ I repeated. ‘By whom? Who else comes here?’

Auiak shifted to human form to roll up the map and hand it to me. A whiff of soap floated past my nostrils, and I stared at his clean chin, wondering why he shaved when he was a man. ‘Lunch before you go.’

He lurched from his seat and cleared our plates. I curled my hands around my still warm mug as he went outside to ready the boat for departure. ‘Is this really a good idea, Morey?’

‘It never was.’ Then he looked up to meet my eyes. ‘Why the sudden doubt?’

‘It looks really cold out there.’

‘You have the merskin trousers,’ Morey said, ‘and a fur coat. Plus me. And if it gets really dicey, you could always pull out your knife and open the blade. I’m certain Raven would still come to you.’

I coughed. ‘I can’t. I don’t have the knife with me.’

‘Why not?’

‘Tyra swallowed it. The knife’s somewhere in her guts.’

Morey stared at me for a moment. Then he fluffed out his feathers. ‘Then I’d have to fly back to fetch Auiak. I’d convince him to carry you back to the boat.’

‘Thanks, Morey,’ I said gratefully.

‘We’re partners, aren’t we?’ he reminded me. ‘We’re here for each other. But you might want to go easy on the coffee. I wouldn’t count on these huts having a toilet.’

Great. This was just getting grimmer and grimmer.

<><><><><><>

Lunch was a generous helping of fish and yet more potatoes. I forced it down, although I wasn’t particularly hungry. Auiak had tied the boat up to a small pier, and I could see the white landscape stretching out ahead of us. The pair of showshoes resting by the bench didn’t give me much reassurance. I’d only tried winter walking a few times in my life, and my leg muscles remembered well how tiring it was.

Raven, I thought at him, you’d better be alive when I find you. Otherwise, I’m going to be very annoyed.

The temperature, when I climbed outside, was warmer than I’d feared. There was no wind, which helped. The covering of grey cloud meant I could go without sunglasses. I shrugged the backpack on over my fur coat, and slipped on a hat and gloves. Auiak handed me the snowshoes. ‘Will wait five days.’

‘Only five?’ I asked.

‘If we’re not back then,’ Morey said, ‘either we’ve found Raven and he’s given us a lift home, or we’re dead.’

‘Sorry if we die out there,’ I told Auiak. ‘I know you want my coat.’

The bear lifted shoulders in a very human shrug. ‘Sad loss.’

I couldn’t tell if he were referring to our deaths or to the fur. Then I headed towards shore. At the point where the snow joined the tidal line, I removed my gloves to fasten the straps of the snowshoes to my boots. With one last look at the tempting safety of the boat, I started up the slope.

<><><><><><>

It was not a journey I’d ever want to repeat. The initial climb brought us to a valley, which meant at least somewhat level walking. But the effort of breaking through snow meant that I was sweating underneath my layers. Morey took off from my shoulder every half hour or so, flying overhead to compare our map with the landmarks he could see from above. A compass helped when notations such as ‘rock shaped like a selkie’ left us staring at snow covered mounds in puzzlement.

‘Not much further now,’ Morey said, hovering by my face. ‘I can see the hut up ahead.’

I put up an arm for him to land. ‘Just as well. The sun’s beginning to set.’

‘It’s very mild, but best to get inside before nightfall.’

The shelter came into view. The grey planks stood out against the white snow. My aching legs found some extra strength. I kicked up the slight hill. As we neared the hut, I smiled to see that a chimney poked from the sloped roof. The walls looked solid, and a pile of wood rested outside.

I paused outside the rough door to remove my snowshoes. When I pushed it open, the fading light revealed a space about the size of double bedroom. A couple of polar bears could fit inside. ‘It’s pretty dark in there, Morey.’

‘Well, you’ve brought a flashlight, haven’t you?’

‘Flashlight? Since when do you use American English? Yes, I have brought a torch.’

Morey chuckled. ‘You say torch, and I think of burning rag on a pole.’

Slipping my backpack to the floor, I pulled out my mechanical torch and switched it on. Forget polar bears. A bunk met my eyes, and cans and packets lined a series of small shelves. A black stove in one corner had a flat top on which rested several pans. ‘This is not meant for bears.’

‘A were could use this,’ Morey said, ‘if his hunting in bear form had been unsuccessful.’

‘But cans? And packets?’ I walked inside and shut the door. ‘These are from Earth. Could trappers have crossed over from my side?’

‘I certainly hope not.’ Morey’s shudder ran down my arm. ‘The bears wouldn’t take kindly to that. Let’s just hope it’s well managed trading.’

I swept the beam around the small space. A stack of candles and some holders rested on one shelf. I managed to get a match to work, and placing candles in various places cast a dim but acceptable amount of light in the hut. Morey looked through the supplies while I brought in logs and set to work on starting a fire in the stove.

Morey’s head peered around a pile of cans as he heard me ripping paper off a toilet roll. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’

‘I was a Girl Guide.’ Quite some time ago, and I was trying to recall the advice about kindling. But the old training proved good. Much to my relief, and in a welcome boost to my ego, the mix of paper and small twigs quickly spread flames to the tepee structure I’d made with larger pieces.

Dinner was refried beans, from a can, with dried crackerbread. Morey grumbled into his portion, and commented wistfully on the flavour of Arctic hare. I stared thoughtfully at the Tupperware box which held the dried bread, wondering how much trade went on between Daear and Earth.

Something I had not learned as a Guide was how to set up a fire to last all night. I poked wood into the stove and hoped for the best. Blowing out all the candles but one, I took off my boots and climbed into the bed, wearing most of my clothes. A pile of blankets rested at the far end of the bunk, and I pulled them across my body.

I felt Morey walk along my side and curl into my back. ‘I know some good ghost stories.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Some are set in cabins. Ghosts come in were-forms as well, you know.’

‘Sleep, Morey.’ I made an exaggerated yawn. ‘And don’t push me out of bed during the night.’

‘As if I would.’

‘You might be half falcon,’ I told him, ‘but your sleeping habits are pure cat.’

I squashed my backpack into a pillow, made sure the torch was by my side, and blew out the last candle. The only remaining light was a dim glow from the stove. Morey’s breathing slowed, and I knew he’d fallen asleep. Whereas I stared into the darkness, wondering what I would say to Raven if we were to find him alive. And how I could ever live with myself if we found him dead.

Chapter Nine

‘Penny.’ Morey’s voice was soft. ‘Open your eyes slowly and stay calm.’

Of course, his words had nearly the opposite effect. At least my rapidly beating heart brought some warmth to my stiff body. I raised my head and looked down from the bed. The door was cracked open, which explained the chill. And, in the faint light, I saw a small creature blinking back at me.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked.

‘Rydym yn,’ the white furred animal squeaked. ‘Rydym yn, rydym yn, rydym yn!’

I groaned. It was too early in the morning for Welsh. ‘We, we, we. We what?’

There was a squeal, and the creature scurried back outside. I pulled my fur tight around me as I rose from the bed and shut the door.

‘Well done, Black.’ Morey sat up on the bed, looking little better than I felt. ‘You just scared off the lemming.’

‘More likely that was you. You’re the predator.’ I stomped my feet into my boots and hobbled across the floor. Nothing but embers remained of the fire. I built it up again, and warmth slowly returned to the hut. I opened a tin of spam and found myself thinking of Monty Python’s Flying Circus as it sizzled in the frying pan. I also brought in snow to heat up in another pan to replenish our water bottles.

As it was Sunday, Morey quoted several Bible passages and I led us in prayers. ‘Holly will have a field day,’ I said as I doused the fire with water. ‘She’ll have time to bring the congregation round to her churchyard plans, and I’m not there to stop her.’

‘Rosie will defend you,’ Morey said. ‘You’d better take off the coat to clear out the ashes. Auiak won’t thank you if there are singed bits.’

Although going outside without the fur held little appeal, I could see that Morey had a point. I came back in just as Morey poked his head out of a sleeve, something dark wriggling in his beak. ‘What’s that?’

Morey crunched and swallowed. ‘Larva.’

‘Larva?’ I felt my skin twitch. ‘In the fur?’

‘Much nicer than spam.’ He pushed the coat across the bed at me. ‘Come on, suit up. Time we were going.’

I gritted my teeth. The idea of carrying a colony of insects on my back did not appeal. But neither did freezing. So I forced myself to put on the coat.

Fog hovered over the snow-covered ground. ‘And how are we going to navigate now?’ I asked Morey as I strapped on my snowshoes. ‘You’re not going to be able to see anything.’

‘We need to follow this line along the valley to start with,’ he said, pointing at the course on the map. ‘By the time we get up the hill, it might have lifted.’

‘And if not?’

‘Then we turn around and go back to the hut for another night.’

And lose a whole day. I sighed. Then I felt Morey tugging at my coat. ‘What are you doing?’

‘The fur is big enough for two. Let me inside. It’s cold out here.’

I unbuttoned the top, and Morey pushed his way in. My leg muscles screamed at me as I forced myself forwards. The gryphon moved down my front, and I heard a snap and a crunch. What had my life come to? I was wandering through Arctic wastes while a gryphon hunted for snacks in my clothing. It was at times like these that the magical world of Daear lost some of its attraction.

The fog began to lift, and the sky turned blue. I glanced up, and froze. Morey poked his head out. ‘What’s the matter?’ Then he too stilled in amazement.

Ahead of us, stretching over the snow, was a perfect arc of white. Faint colours, pastels of yellow and orange, highlighted the top. The inner edge was a subtle blue. My breath misted in front of me as I blinked away tears of sudden joy. ‘What is it?’

‘A fogbow,’ Morey said. ‘Like a rainbow, but formed in fog. Water droplets are smaller in fog, which is why the colours are so weak and it looks white. It’s different than a “glory” because--’

‘Morey, it’s absolutely beautiful.’

And the gryphon agreed simply, in Welsh. ‘Ydy.’

‘Ydy, ydy, ydy.’ The soft word rumbled away from us and up the hill. ‘Ydy, ydy, ydy,’ it returned, in a growing cascade. And from the snow emerged dozens of lemmings, shaking themselves free from their burrows.

Morey pulled his head back in, leaving only one red-brown eye to peer between the coat folds. ‘Over to you, Black.’

‘Well, thanks.’

‘Auiak said they’d help us,’ he pointed out. ‘Find out how.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Croeso.’

‘Croeso,’ said the twenty lemmings nearest us. And then the word fed back, through the mass of bodies, before flowing back again. ‘Croeso, croeso, croeso.’

It was too cold to waste time on any niceties. I decided to get straight to the point. ‘Rwy'n edrych am--’

But I had no opportunity to explain what I was looking for. Once again my words travelled from clump to clump of lemmings, the small white bodies rising and lowering as they each passed the message on. ‘Can they really talk?’ I muttered to Morey. ‘Or are they just some group echo?’

The words seemed to roll away a second time. Then I noticed a change. ‘Am beth wyt ti'n edrych? Am beth wyt ti'n edrych? Am beth wyt ti'n edrych?’ What are you looking for?

I waited for the group to finish, which took awhile with such a long sentence. Obviously brevity was preferable. ‘Draig.’

As I waited for the word to wash up the hill and back again, Morey stirred against my chest. ‘Careful where you put your claws,’ I told him sharply.

‘I’m doing my best. Can you remember enough Welsh to ask for directions?’

The lemmings nearest us intoned, ‘Draig werdd.’

‘Green,’ Morey noted as the lemming echo squeaked through the valley. ‘They must have seen Raven.’

‘But he’s more green-black than green,’ I said worriedly.

‘Their Welsh might be as limited as yours. Green will do.’

The lemmings had finished, and several hundred eyes were pointed in my direction. I asked, ‘Cymryd fi at y ddraig?’

I waited for the request to be passed on. And then the welcome response, ‘O’r gorau.’ Yes, they would take me to the dragon.

‘Pa mor bell yw’r ddraig?’ I continued, hoping their answer would indicate that Raven wasn’t far away.

The response made little sense. ‘Did I hear correctly?’ I asked Morey. ‘Did they say “four clouds away”? That makes no sense whatsoever.’

‘Your question probably doesn’t make any sense to them. Do you expect them to measure things in human terms?’

So I repeated, ‘Cymryd fi at y ddraig?’

The lemmings swarmed down the hill. Two piles of bodies lined themselves on either side of me, only a few feet away from my snowshoes. As I resumed my trudge, the lemmings kept pace with me. Their small bodies were light enough to permit them to scurry on the surface of the snow, but even so there was a regular change over in the leaders of each group.

We travelled in silence. Morey managed to snag his claws into the inside of my coat, so he could press himself against my stomach. The fog finally lifted as I stopped to chew some cold spam for lunch. And it was then I realised my error. ‘Morey, if we don’t know how far away Raven is, we could end up outside overnight instead of in a hut. Should I ask for us to be taken there, just to be on the safe side?’

I was distracted from Morey’s answer as I noticed something glinting against the blue sky. My sunglasses were steaming slightly, and I rubbed my glove over the lenses. The tumbling object was small, oblong, and grey-brown. And I clearly heard a tenor voice sing out, ‘Geronimo!’

My mouth dried. ‘Morey, it’s Clyde!’ Though why he was channelling the Eleventh Doctor was beyond me.

But the gryphon was already tearing at my coat. He forced his way out, claws catching against the fur as he launched himself upwards. ‘Nattoralik, nattoralik, nattoralik!’ the lemmings squealed, tumbling over and around each other as they scurried away from me. The word wasn’t in any language I recognised, but the terror was obvious.

‘Gryphon,’ I snapped at them, a different fear making my heart pound. ‘And that’s a malwen siarc, if you really want to know.’

‘Malwen siarc,’ the lemmings echoed. ‘Malwen siarc, malwen siarc.’

Morey had placed himself below Clyde, and his wings pounded as he turned upside down. My hands curled inside my gloves. The gryphon might be several times larger than the snail, but Clyde was heavy for his size. The impact would surely drive both of them to the ground. Would Morey’s brave rescue attempt end up with both of my friends dead?

The lemmings swarmed away from me. Both groups pulled together, forming one large mass, piling on top of each other into a furry pile. Clyde smacked into Morey’s chest. The gryphon’s claws scrabbled at the shell, trying to get a grip as he fought to right himself. His wings were beating furiously at the air, but he was losing altitude rapidly. I could feel a scream rising in my throat.

Movement from the lemmings dragged my gaze down again. A few of the rodents perched on the backs of the others, issuing squeaks which adjusted the position of the group. I just had enough time to realise what they were doing when Morey and Clyde smacked into their midst.

There were squeals and snow flurried up around the mix of white, purple, and grey. I hurried over as fast as snowshoes would allow. A stream of Welsh curses eased some of the tension in my chest, making me realise that Morey, at least, was alive. ‘Clyde?’

‘Sure, ask after the kid.’ Lemmings pulled away to reveal Morey, staggering slightly on the dug up snow.

‘I could hear that you’re okay.’ The lemmings surrounded the snail, and I feared the worst. ‘Clyde?’

Multiple small bodies churned. And Clyde was raised up from their midst. The snail was perched on several backs like a footballer who had kicked in the winning goal. ‘Arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr.’ The lemmings spoke in an awed whisper. ‘Arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr.’

‘Great leader’? I watched as Clyde glanced around him. He extended his body to full length, and his jaws cracked open as he smiled at the lemmings. Much to my surprise, this excited rather than terrified them.

‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of help,’ Morey said.

I climbed over and picked him up. ‘How are you?’

‘Winded. Bruised. I wish you’d packed some whisky.’

‘So do I.’ I carefully looked him over. ‘And if the lemmings hadn’t broken your fall...’

‘They paid a high price.’ I followed the direction of his beak. A number of small bodies were strewn around the site of the fall, some still twitching in death throes. ‘I should administer the coup de grâce.’

‘That might only make them scared of you again,’ I told him. ‘Same if I did anything. I think we’ll have to just leave them.’

Morey was tense against my chest as I turned us away. Unlike Clyde, who liked to tear chunks of flesh from struggling birds, I had only ever seen Morey dispatch his prey quickly and cleanly.

The lemmings surged past us, still carrying the snail. Despite Clyde’s obvious enjoyment of their adulation, I could see that his skin was beginning to blue with cold. I transferred Morey to my shoulder. With several quick steps, I came alongside the parade and grabbed Clyde by the shell.

The lemmings halted. In one smooth movement they lined up, forming rows of ten, and little black eyes glared at me. Lips pulled away to reveal long yellow teeth. ‘Arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr.’

‘Arweinydd mawr,’ I acknowledged, then added, ‘Oer arweinydd mawr.’

A long moment of silence while the group considered my explanation. Surely they could understand that even a great leader could get cold? They might be small, but I didn’t fancy my chances against a couple hundred lemmings. Death by a thousand cuts indeed.

Finally a response rippled through their ranks. ‘Gwneud yr arweinydd mawr yn gynnes.’

‘Ie,’ I agreed. There was no need for them to command me to keep Clyde warm. My coat was still sagging open from Morey’s earlier departure, and I slipped the snail inside. He managed to wrap his foot around the edge of the fur, which meant that part of him was still exposed to the air, but at least he wouldn’t slide down my front.

‘That’s it,’ Morey told me. ‘We definitely need to find that hut.’

‘Clyde,’ I said to the snail, ‘Morey needs to fly. Can you please tell the lemmings that he won’t hurt them?’

The snail shark wriggled his tentacles at the lemmings. ‘Aderyn yn ffrind,’ he told them.

‘Bird, indeed,’ Morey huffed. ‘I’m so much more than a bird.’ But he waited until the words had cascaded through the group. Then he flew off.

‘Now, Clyde.’ I bent my head to look down at the snail. ‘How did you get here?’

But the snail shark merely opened his jaws to smile at his rapt audience. The lemmings reared up to shout out, ‘Arweinydd mawr! Arweinydd mawr! Arweinydd mawr!’

‘Why “great leader”?’ I asked them in Welsh.

It took me a moment to work out the answer. ‘Hedfan.’ Flew.

Now I was cross. Clyde had fallen, not flown. And if they venerated flying creatures, why not Morey? That would have been preferable, as the gryphon would have taken their adoration in his stride. Clyde, on the other hand, was enjoying every moment of lemming worship.

Morey circled back. I bit my lip. His flying was erratic, and I put up an arm to ease his landing. ‘The hut is just ahead, over that hill,’ he said, puffing slightly. ‘Looks in good nick. And, Penny, I think I’ve spotted Raven. He’s about two miles away.’

‘Only two miles?’ I kicked one snowshoe, then the other. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Not today.’ He met my glare. ‘You’re tired, I’m bruised, and Clyde’s cold. We need shelter and food.’

‘But what if Raven doesn’t last another night?’

‘We need to last the night.’

‘Better tell the lemmings,’ I muttered. ‘What’s the Welsh for “hut”?’

Somehow I managed to communicate to the rodents that we were looking for the nearby shelter. This time the group forged on ahead, leading the way in a far more satisfactory manner. No doubt this increased helpfulness was due to the great leader currently tucked into my coat.

We climbed up the hill, and down the other side. The hut was resting part way down, slightly larger than last night’s, and with a turf roof. I paused by the entrance. The sun would be up for at least two more hours, and part of me wanted to hurry on and find Raven. But I knew that Morey was right.

Clyde was a hindrance as I set about getting a fire started. But until the hut was warm, I didn’t want to take him out of my coat. The wood and kindling were in a covered box, so the fire caught quickly. Several oils lamps hung from bent nails, and I lit them so as to save the batteries in my torch.

All I wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. Muscles I hadn’t even known I had were aching. But then Morey said some words which gave me a welcome sliver of energy. ‘Peas. Potatoes. Beef stew. Some interesting cans here.’

I hobbled over to the shelf. ‘Tesco’s own,’ I marvelled. Then I spotted something orange-yellow in a plastic wrapping. ‘Dried mango!’ My teeth couldn’t tear the packet open fast enough.

Dinner was, in my opinion, very acceptable. Morey picked at the beef, his lashing tail a furry protest. But Clyde backed away from his own bowl. ‘Not meat.’

‘You can’t go hunting out there,’ I told him. ‘You’d freeze.’

‘Not meat,’ Clyde protested, his voice rising higher. ‘Eisiau cig! Want meat!’

A thrumming started on the wooden door. ‘Now you’ve disturbed the lemmings,’ I told him crossly. I picked up an oil lamp and walked to the entrance.

Several hundred eyes met mine as I opened the door. ‘The great leader is fine,’ I told them in Welsh.

‘Eisiau cig,’ Clyde called out from behind me. He was definitely a snail with a one track mind. He wanted meat.

‘Cig, cig, cig,’ the lemmings passed amongst themselves. ‘Cig, cig, cig.’

There was a pause. Then the mass of fur parted. An elderly lemming hobbled into the hut. She stopped at my feet, and bowed her head. ‘Cig yma.’

‘Looks like nothing’s too much for the great leader,’ Morey said. ‘If he wants meat, a lemming will be provided.’

‘We can’t let him eat her,’ I protested, feeling like I’d somehow slipped into an episode of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. ‘She’s not a Dish of the Day.’

Clyde had crawled down from the table and was making his way across the floor. I scooped him up before he could reach his target. ‘Arweinydd mawr nid yw eisiau bwyd,’ I lied to the willing victim, since I had no way of knowing how hungry the snail might really be. But if the lemmings thought he didn’t need to eat, they might stay away. With my free hand, I closed the door, and then propped a log against the rough planks.

I placed Clyde back onto the table. As I straightened, he opened his jaws and growled at me. ‘Meat!’

‘In your bowl,’ I said wearily. Last thing I needed was a snail shark tantrum. ‘You’re not going to eat any lemming.’

‘Tuck in, lad,’ Morey told him. ‘We’ll be back home soon enough, and I’ll take you out to hunt some rabbits.’

But Clyde merely slithered to one of the high shelves and retreated into his shell. I decided to take the same tack as when James had gone into sulks. Simply ignore the child until he was ready to resume civilised behaviour.

‘I found one more thing,’ Morey said as I piled up the dirty dishes.

‘A bag of coffee?’ I’d even settle for the powdered variety.

‘No, your other vice.’ He jumped over to the nearby shelf. ‘A bottle of Teacher’s.’

‘It’s a blended whisky.’

Morey cocked his head. ‘Do you care?’

‘At the moment, no. Beggars can’t be choosers.’ And as I sipped golden liquid from a cracked mug, the hut decently warm, a good meal inside my stomach, I felt my spirits rise. Surely tomorrow we’d find Raven alive and well, and he’d give us a ride back to a world of hot baths and soft beds. Just one more push through this wasteland of snow and endless lemmings, and we’d be home.

<><><><><><>

The streak of dried blood by the door, as I turned my torch on the next morning, was the first indication. I swung my feet out of the bed and into my boots. So I was wearing footwear when my first step crunched on something both hard and squishy.

‘Looks like Clyde had his lemming after all,’ Morey commented from the bunk above me.

Bits of fur and bone were scattered across the wooden floor. Clyde was resting on the table, humming quietly to himself. I lit the oil lamps, trying and failing to control my temper. Finally I stood over the snail. ‘I said, no lemming.’

The colour pulsing through Clyde’s body shifted from green-blue to orange-red. ‘Meat. Mine.’ And he bared his shark teeth.

‘Enough, Clyde,’ I said forcefully. ‘If we were home, I’d confine you to your tank.’

The only response was a growl. Then the snail slipped from the table to take refuge on a high shelf.

I drew on my fur and collected snow from outside. There was no sign of the lemmings, but I was certain that they must be somewhere nearby. After I’d made the fire, I heated up enough water for both of our bottles and to make an effort at scrubbing the floor clean.

Morey landed near me and helpfully picked up the larger pieces of flesh. ‘What am I to do with him?’ I asked the gryphon quietly. ‘He’s never acted like this before.’

‘It’s always tough when a kid hits teenage years,’ Morey replied. ‘All that rebellion.’

‘You’re not a parent.’

‘Not yet.’ He threw a particularly grisly bit of leg through the partially open door. ‘But you have been, in effect. How did you cope when James went through adolescence?’

‘Badly,’ I admitted. ‘That’s when I missed our parents the most. Alan was very good with him, though.’

The hut was finally decent again. Morey ate his fried spam without complaint, and I finished off the last of the dried fruit. Then, pots scrubbed with snow and the fire doused, we prepared to leave. I tried a piece of rope around my middle and pulled out part of the coat to make a pouch in which Clyde could rest. Morey took his place on my shoulder, and we went outside.

Just one more push, I reminded myself as the lemmings emerged. Find Raven, and go home. All would be fine once he saw me. Wouldn’t it?

Chapter Ten

Our departure was delayed by the lemmings demanding to see the arweinydd mawr. Clyde obliged by poking his head out of my coat and giving a wave with his tentacles. With a quick flick of his eyespots towards me, the snail told them, ‘Draig.’

‘Draig, draig, draig,’ they agreed enthusiastically.

‘Don’t think that gets you off the hook for the dead lemming,’ I told Clyde.

‘You have to admire his skill, though,’ Morey said. ‘He managed to eat it without waking either of us.’

Clyde flushed pink. I sighed. ‘Don’t encourage him.’ And then I pushed the snail down inside the fur.

Fresh snow had fallen overnight, adding an inch of powder onto the older accumulation. I pressed on with my snowshoes, promising myself that this would be the last day of Arctic travel. Home tonight. I clung to the thought. Home tonight.

The lemmings spread out on either side of us. Morey flew ahead just the once, confirming that we were heading in the correct direction. ‘I don’t think Raven saw me,’ he said upon landing. ‘But it seems best not to try again, in case he does and takes off.’

‘You’re sure it’s him?’

‘Yes.’ There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he added, ‘He doesn’t look very well.’

I nearly tripped over my snowshoes. ‘Not well? Was he even moving?’

‘The snow’s melting off his back,’ Morey quickly reassured me, ‘so he’s not dead. I’m just trying to warn you that he’s not looking--like he usually looks.’

We trudged for an hour in silence. I focussed on thoughts of Talisker and soap. And maybe I’d treat myself to a takeaway. Peter might want to join me. No doubt he’d be interested in my Arctic interlude, although he’d also be annoyed at the risk I’d taken coming here. But there was no way to tell about this trip without mentioning Raven.

The lemmings led me up a hill. Fresh energy flowed to my legs as I saw a mound of green halfway up the slope. I ignored the cold wind, the ache in my back, even Clyde’s sudden shift inside my coat. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could be home and warm.

My pace slowed as I drew nearer. The dragon was definitely Raven. I’d recognise his snout anywhere, and the scars on his right foreleg from where Clyde’s mother had attacked him. But he was a pale green, with little trace of the black which normally iridesced across his scales. Although he’d always been a lean dragon, his ribs were sharp ridges under his thin hide. Even his golden claws looked dulled, and several were broken.

For a moment, I feared that he was dead. Then I saw his red-lined nostrils flutter as he drew in a shallow breath. By now I was close enough that he should have scented me, but the long head remained stretched out across the ground.

The lemmings suddenly scattered. Their little bodies raced away, left and right, only regrouping when they were several hundred yards away from the dragon. I crunched closer, counting down the distance in my head. Two hundred feet. One hundred. Fifty. Twenty. Ten.

A shudder went through Raven’s body, shaking off the remnants of melting snow. He opened his eyes without lifting his head. The pupil shrank inside the blue-green irises, making me wonder how long it had been since he had last taken a look at the world around him.

I cleared my throat. ‘Hello, Raven.’

‘You.’ His voice was flat.

‘Yes, it’s me.’ I spread out my gloved hands. ‘Anyway, I’m here. So, come on, time to leave this place.’

‘Why?’

‘You need to go somewhere warm,’ I said. ‘And you need to eat.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, come off it,’ I snapped. My nose was beginning to freeze. ‘You’ve sulked long enough. Time to go home.’

‘Taking the pastoral approach, I see,’ Morey whispered into my ear.

‘I have no home,’ Raven said.

‘You can make a new tent,’ I pointed out, ‘and build a new workshop.’

‘You’ve been to the settlement?’ A forefoot shifted. ‘Tyra sent you here.’

‘Actually, your mother. Seems she wants to eat you.’

‘That is her right.’

‘But that doesn’t make it right,’ I retorted. ‘Look, I didn’t come all this way just to let her know where to find your body.’

‘Then why did you come?’

‘To make sure you don’t kill yourself.’

‘And that matters to you?’

I drew myself up straight. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

He raised his snout from the ground. Whispers rippled through the lemmings, but I ignored them and kept my focus on Raven. ‘Oh, yes. Presence is all that is required.’

Again his tone was impossible to read. ‘Then are you ready to leave this place?’

‘I burnt my home and all my possessions. I have no gold to use to replace them.’

Morey shifted on my shoulder. ‘Hrafn Eydisson, I will soon be embarking upon a quest to prove myself worthy of marriage to another gryphon. My clan will need search dragons to cut our distance to the challenge grounds. I’ll give your name to the Matriarch of Cornovi, and suggest that she hire your services. That’ll enable you to rebuild your home and your life.’

Somehow I managed to restrain myself from hugging the gryphon. Raven cocked his head. ‘How much?’

‘My clan is wealthy,’ Morey said easily. ‘My matriarch will offer you a fair rate.’

The dragon hauled himself to his feet. I managed to keep my face calm, although the gauntness of his body made my chest constrict. ‘Done, Trahaearneifion. Send me a rat at my mother’s longhouse.’

I stared at him, shocked that he would even consider going back to the place. Then, as he unfurled his wings, I said quickly, ‘Could you first give us a lift?’

‘The dragon needs to hunt,’ Morey said, ‘before he takes on passengers.’

‘I’m not sure I can go through another two days of this,’ I told him. ‘Not far, Raven. Just to the small boat at the start of the valley.’

‘I can do that,’ the dragon agreed. Exhaustion was obvious in his voice, and I steeled myself against a pang of guilt.

Morey fluttered off to land behind one of Raven’s triangular neck spines. I carefully transferred Clyde to my backpack and attached the snowshoes to the straps. Then I climbed up to slide into my usual place on Raven’s back.

The take off was slow and ponderous. Raven angled down the more sheltered side of the hill, where the snow was thinner, but there was still enough to slow his attempts to build up speed. When we were finally in the air, I could feel him labouring to gain altitude. We flew so close to the ground that his wing tips nearly hit the surface at every down stroke.

I regretted my fear of another two days in the Arctic. I regretted every chocolate I’d eaten. I regretted every gym booking I’d missed. And above all, selfish as it was, I regretted ever seeing Raven in this condition.

Raven swung to the left, evidently deciding to take a short cut over a nearby ridge. I felt my throat close, wondering if he’d have the strength to lift us over the top. Maybe I should say something. But what could I say?

Movement along the ridge caught my attention. Lemmings flowed up the steep sides, short legs scrabbling at rock and snow. As Raven increased the power to his wings, taking us higher, the lemmings crested the top. Hundreds of heads lifted to watch us soar above them. Then the mass started to move again.

My hands slipped on Raven’s spine as I twisted around, fearful at what the rodents might do next. They were running towards the edge, heedless of the steep fall in front of them. ‘See!’ I shouted at Morey. ‘I knew it! They’re going to throw themselves off the cliff!’

The first dozen ran out into space. I watched as their grey-white bodies fell towards the valley below. Would the snow be deep enough to break their falls? The sound of yesterday’s dying lemmings was all too clear a memory.

Then something unravelled from their coats. Cold air whistled down my throat, and I quickly shut my mouth. Gossamer wings, thin and translucent, stretched out from the lemmings’ shoulders. There were two on each side, shaped like those on a dragonfly. The wings thrummed as the lemmings hurried to catch up with us.

Raven snorted as the small bodies bumped and jostled just beyond his wing tips. Several dozen peeled off, and formed an inverted ‘V’ shape just beyond his nose.

Morey leaned forward. ‘They’re giving him a bit of a slip stream. That’ll help.’

‘They’re more intelligent than they look,’ I commented.

‘It takes a lot of intelligence to fly.’

We were nearing the water. To my relief, the small boat was bobbing gently alongside the small pier. I could see Auiak shivering as a man on the deck, doing some work near the bow. For a moment I thought I saw a second form standing near the entrance to the lounge. Then I blinked, and saw it no longer.

Raven turned, bending his wings to send us into a slow spiral. Only when his feet crunched onto the shore did I release the breath I’d been holding. I waited a moment, trying to pretend that this had been a flight just like the many others I’d enjoyed on his back.

Hundreds of lemmings were still soaring above us. I slipped from Raven’s neck, and opened the backpack. ‘You need to tell them to go home,’ I told Clyde as I lifted him free.

His body pulsed red-orange. ‘Like lemming.’

‘Yes, I’m certain you do,’ I said. ‘But we can’t take them with us. Where would we keep them? Besides, you already have plenty of options in the back garden.’

‘No more birds.’

The blackbirds of the neighbourhood would rejoice to hear it. ‘I’ll look into getting some rabbits.’

Clyde reared up on my glove. ‘Mynd adref!’ he shouted up at his admirers. ‘Bendithia chi!’

‘Giving blessings,’ I reminded him, ‘is my job, not yours.’

The lemmings hovered for a moment, their small bodies blocking out the weak sun. Then they lifted into the air, rising as effortlessly as mini helicopters. I slid Clyde back into the warmth of my coat. Morey took up his usual place on my shoulder.

Raven stood where he had landed, his nose nearly touching the ground as he breathed heavily. ‘Will your mother look after you?’ I asked.

‘A search dragon can be a useful family asset.’

‘I mean, while you’re weak, will she...?’

‘I am still strong enough to defend myself.’ And his snort was more like the Raven I knew.

Words struggled in my throat. ‘Well, I mean, take care.’

The large head lifted, and swung towards me. For a moment I saw myself reflected in the green-blue eyes. ‘Certainly, knifebearer.’

I flushed at the term. But he was already running along the shore, kicking up ice and gravel as he gained speed to take off. Within a few wing beats, he found a thin place, and disappeared from sight.

<><><><><><>

Auiak welcomed us back on board with mugs of tea and a grunt. His nose twitched as I placed Clyde onto the table, but he merely went down to the galley and returned with a bowl of tea for the snail. I felt the hot drink and the warmth of the lounge drive away the Arctic chill.

‘Settlement here,’ he said, pointing to a mark on the map. ‘Can send a rat to dragon. Tomorrow morning.’

I winced. As I thawed out, I could smell just how badly I needed a shower. ‘Great. And thanks for the tea.’

Another grunt. Auiak hauled himself from the bench and went outside.

Morey had curled around his mug, warming his belly against the sides. I cleared my throat. ‘Thanks for giving Raven a job.’

‘Don’t thank me too soon,’ Morey said. ‘That he accepted the offer shows how desperate he really is.’

‘It was still kind of you.’

Clyde finished his tea and burped loudly. Morey glared at me. ‘And the snail sleeps in your bunk.’

‘You have more room in yours,’ I protested.

‘And there’s farther to fall from mine.’

So I ended up, after a fish supper, trying to find a sensible way to share a bed with a snail shark. In the end, Clyde settled at my feet, and I could only hope that he didn’t sleep walk. The idea of a snail crawling across my face in the night kept me awake far longer than I would have liked.

<><><><><><>

Both of my cabin mates stayed in their respective places until morning. When dawn light was pouring through the porthole, I made my way to the toilet and did my best to have a wash in the small sink. My hair felt particularly grubby as I ran my hand down the shoulder length strands. There were, I noted with alarm, several grey hairs gleaming amongst the brown.

We had anchored in a small bay for the night. Scrambled eggs and toast was cooling on the table when I climbed up into the lounge. I gulped down coffee and tried to interest Clyde in some egg, but to no avail. Morey was less picky, but then he probably considered anything better than spam.

The boat was already underway before I ate the last piece of toast. I felt guilty about leaving the plates on the table, but I didn’t want to face an angry polar bear if I dared to venture into the forbidden galley.

By midmorning we were heading into a large bay. At Clyde’s complaint, I lifted him to the window so he could see the colourful houses coming into view. A mix of red, blue, and green homes staggered up the hill, windows and doors white-rimmed contrasts to the bright paint. There was very little activity. I saw some wolves loping across the snow, and a bright white fox. Animals or weres?

A number of boats bobbed along a well maintained pier. Auiak found a berth and tied us up. I watched him stride to shore, and enter one of the larger buildings. A few minutes later, a rat flew through the door and went over the hill.

The bear went on to another building. He was obviously planning to be gone for some time. I sat down and looked Clyde in the eyespots. ‘Now, young snail, tell me how you ended up in the Arctic.’

Clyde opened his jaws in a smile. ‘Fell.’

‘Yes, I saw you fall,’ I said crossly. ‘But how did you get there in the first place?’ I waited a moment, but the snail said nothing. ‘I know you can find thin places. Did you convince someone to fly you through?’ Clyde shut his mouth, and curled up into his shell.

‘Maybe he can’t tell you,’ Morey said as he cleaned his claws. ‘He might not know himself.’

‘Greenland is a mighty big place,’ I pointed out, ‘for him to just happen to land in our laps.’

‘I seem to recall that your lap had nothing to do with it.’

With a sigh, I turned on my iPhone and tried to drum up enthusiasm for sermon writing. Morey set about preening his wings. Clyde’s shell twitched, and I wondered if he were dreaming about lemmings. I could only hope that all the hero worship hadn’t gone to his head.

Finally Auiak thumped back on board. ‘Dragon coming. Be ready.’

I went down to the cabin and, with some reluctance, changed out of the merskin trousers and back into my own. As I rolled up the fur coat, I hoped that the return flight would be short and warm.

Tyra was waiting on the beach when I climbed up to the boat’s deck. I slid Clyde into my backpack, winced as Morey climbed onto my shoulder, and handed the coat to Auiak. ‘Thanks for all your help.’

‘Paid me well,’ he grunted. Then he shifted to human form, grabbed a bucket, and walked away.

‘A bear of few words,’ Morey commented.

‘You’re so observant,’ I replied.

‘More so than you.’ He fluffed out his cheek feathers. ‘You didn’t even notice the kids on the boat roof earlier. I had to chase them away.’

‘Kids will be kids.’

I was half way down the pier when I heard water splashing against metal. The sound made me look back. Auiak was refilling the bucket as seawater streamed from the boat roof. I blinked. A bright symbol in red paint staggered across the green metal. It was the same as James had pointed out to me on the ruined tent at the frost fair, a stylised ‘W’.

Morey startled me with a growl. ‘So. That’s what they were doing.’

‘What is it?’

Bleak eyes turned towards me. ‘That’s the same symbol they painted on the house I shared with Seren. The sign of Cadw ar Wahân. Marking out their hatred of anyone who dares to love outside his or her own kind.’

Several things crashed together in my mind at once. Auiak’s declaration of parts of the boat as off limits. The snoring in the night. The figure I had thought I’d seen ducking into the lounge. Then I was running back to the boat, heedless of Morey’s startled squawk.

Auiak turned as I stopped, breathless, beside him. ‘You’re in a mixed species relationship, aren’t you? Who is she? Or he?’

‘Nothing to do with you,’ he rumbled.

‘No, it’s not,’ I agreed. ‘But I want you to know that it would’ve been okay for us to meet your partner. Morey was married to a were-fox. And I’m liberal about these things.’

He changed to bear shape. I ignored the twinge in my temple. ‘They won’t frighten us,’ he said quietly. ‘And I will protect her.’

‘Of course you will.’

‘She gave up everything for me.’ His eyes drifted to the water lapping at the side of the boat. ‘She gave up the sea for me.’

I said, suddenly understanding, ‘She’s a mermaid.’

‘Merwoman, please. Would you want to be described by some presumption of virginity?’ A stunningly beautiful woman stepped onto the deck. The fur coat was wrapped tightly around her large body. At first glance she could have been taken as human. But the green tinge to her long blonde hair, the extra white in her eyes, marked her out as something other.

Morey gripped my shoulder hard as he gave her a graceful bow. ‘Madam, we thank you both for your hospitality. And please know that you are among friends. The same mark was painted on my door many times.’

‘We need to leave,’ Auiak said. ‘Not welcome here. Never welcome here.’

It saddened me that, even in such a remote settlement, the prejudice against mixed species relationships could be so strong. ‘Be careful,’ I pleaded. ‘Cadw ar Wahân has poisoned at least two people that we know of. One was Morey’s wife.’

The merwoman stepped forward. To my amazement, Morey let her place a hand on his head. ‘Our sorrow for your sorrow. May you find happiness again.’

‘That is my hope, madam,’ he said solemnly. ‘I am soon to begin the challenges to prove my worth in marriage.’

‘With a grŵp rhyfelwyr?’ the merwoman asked sharply, stepping back from us.

‘Yes, madam.’

Her green eyes rested on me, then Morey. ‘Then I pray that your sorrow does not increase.’

I opened my mouth to ask what she meant. Tyra snorted loudly from the shore. ‘I’m not waiting much longer, Father.’ So I gave the merwoman and were-bear a nod, and hurried down the pier to the impatient search dragon. But Morey was going to have to answer some questions when we got home.

Chapter Eleven

Tyra barely waited until I was seated on her neck before she took off. Morey was shaken free from his perch, and he flapped furiously to catch up with us. I put out an arm, which he gripped hard just as the dragon tipped a wing and took us through a thin place.

Bright sun made me squint. Morey climbed down, squeezing himself between the spine in front of me and my stomach. ‘Women drivers,’ he muttered.

‘Less of that,’ I warned him. But I raised my voice. ‘Tyra, would you mind going a bit slower?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped. And folded her wings. We plummeted from the sky. I gripped hard with my legs, trying desperately to translate what I’d learned from riding a gentle horse in an indoor ring to staying on a wild dragon while high above a desert. My fingers dug into the rubbery spine as I fought against rising from her back.

The briefest of shimmers, and then we were above a tree-lined valley. Tyra spread out her wings and took us into a glide. Morey dared to stretch out his neck for a look. ‘We seem to be taking a different route home.’

‘We started from a different place.’ I lifted a hand to quickly check the straps of the backpack.

‘Shortcut,’ Tyra said, turning her head back to look at us. ‘Sooner you’re home--’

At that moment we went through another crossing. Tyra’s neck hit the fence first, splitting the thin planks. I threw up my arms, protecting my head and face as pieces of wood flew around us. The dragon’s deep-throated growl rumbled through my legs. We came to juddering halt.

Tyra nearly lost her footing. I found myself sliding free. My fingers scrabbled for purchase and my boots dug into skin as I tried to slow my fall. Morey had left me at some point, so Clyde was my main concern, as he was wrapped in nothing more than a shirt in the backpack. I saw black-green dark against grass green, and I aimed for Tyra’s bent foreleg. My feet hit and then slid across the scales. Somehow, my arms waving wildly, I managed to stumble onto and across the ground.

Morey landed on my shoulder. ‘What a mess.’

We were in a back garden. The fence had been destroyed, with chunks of wood lying spread out across the shaggy grass. Tyra’s feet had gouged deep furrows into the ground. ‘What happened, Morey? Did the thin place extend above the fence, and Tyra got it wrong?’

The dragon whipped her head around. I was relieved to see that although her neck was bleeding from a number of scratches, she otherwise looked uninjured. ‘The thin place was in the fence. I did not expect that.’

‘In the fence? How?’ Then I heard the concerned cluck of chickens. ‘Oh, no. It’s where the unicorn mare lost her horn, isn’t it?’

Tyra glanced at the splintered wood. ‘I can imagine that would create a thin place, yes.’

‘But that means--’ I gulped. ‘Quick, let’s leave before the house owner spots us.’

‘You again.’

Too late. I paused for a moment, putting on my most sincere fake smile. Then I turned to face the tall man standing in the back doorway of the cottage. ‘Hello, sir. Good to see you again.’

‘You’re not wearing your dog collar,’ he rasped, wiping his spectacles and putting them on again as if to make sure.

‘It’s my day off,’ I said weakly. Of course, the dragon panting on my left and the gryphon digging claws into my shirt were invisible to the man. All he would be able to see was a dishevelled woman standing in the ruins of his garden. ‘I thought I’d visit Earls Barton.’

‘And my back garden?’ His gaze went past me. ‘What’s happened to my fence? Those don’t grow on trees, you know!’

‘Looks like something went through it,’ I said weakly. ‘It wasn’t me.’

He harrumphed. ‘I didn’t think that was likely.’

‘If you want to be taken back to your home,’ Tyra said, ‘now is the time.’

‘She can’t mount you now,’ Morey snapped. ‘The man will think she’s climbing into air. Or he might suddenly see you. Neither would be good.’

‘Your problem, not mine.’

‘We’ll be going now,’ I said to man and dragon. ‘I’m sorry about your fence. You might want to think about getting a lock for your gate.’

Much to my relief, the man shook his head. I had taken a gamble on the fact that the last two times I’d been here, the gate had had nothing more than a latch. ‘This is Earls Barton. We don’t need to secure our back gardens in this village. Except against vicars invading with shovels and horses.’

The shovel, I wanted to tell him, had stopped a full-sized snail shark from crippling a dragon. And the horse had been the unicorn who had broken off her own horn. But of course I couldn’t tell him about either. ‘Do you want me to help you clear up before I go?’

Tyra snorted. ‘Find your own way home.’ I moved back as she gathered her haunches under her, and leapt away.

‘Last time you were here,’ the man said, ‘I said I’d offer you a cuppa and a Chelsea bun.’

I felt my mouth water. ‘That would be very kind of you.’

‘But not today.’ He stepped back inside his house. ‘Call first.’

The door slammed shut. Since I didn’t even know the man’s name, that was very unlikely to happen. I found I was limping slightly as I made my way down the side of the house.

There was precious little battery left on my iPhone. I opted to send Peter a text, hoping that he was free, willing and able to give me a lift. A moment later, I received a promise to be with me in half an hour.

I shivered, and trudged down the road to find a café. England might be warmer than Greenland, but I had no coat and the skies threatened rain. When I was settled in a coffee shop, Morey taking sips from the mug in my hand, I sent another text to Peter and settled down to wait. Soon I’d be back home. Back to my parish. Back to sorting out my churchwarden. I tried to cheer myself up with the thought of hot baths and warm whisky, but my spirits felt as damp as the weather.

<><><><><><>

‘Where have you been?’ Peter asked as I slid into his car. ‘You smell all outdoorsy.’

‘That’s a nice way to put it,’ I said wearily. Morey hopped to the back seat, and I pulled Clyde out of the backpack to sit on my lap. ‘Let’s just say, a long way from here.

Peter turned up the heating. ‘Doing what?’

‘Looking for someone.’ I waved his questions away. ‘Some other time, okay? By the way, that cottage in Earls Barton, where the unicorn snapped off her horn? There’s a thin place there now.’

We were pulling onto the A45. ‘The same place as the fence, presumably.’

‘The fence is gone.’ I straightened in alarm. ‘We need to keep Earls Barton Man from checking it out. The thin place acts like an air crossing. He’ll end up in a desert. Do you know the address?’

‘I made a note of it last time.’ Peter found a layby and pulled over. A few quick phone calls, and we were on our way again. ‘One new fence, courtesy of Her Majesty’s Government, will be up by this evening.’

‘Good.’ I wondered if that would mollify Earls Barton Man. Dear Lord, I prayed, please make sure nothing else ever happens in that back garden. Let it be a place of absolute boredom and serenity, where even wine glasses never spill. Amen.

Peter filled me in on his parents’ recent holiday as we entered Northampton and headed for my vicarage. At one point, as he talked about the fun they’d had with his nephew, their grandson, he extended his arm like a Dalek’s gunstick. ‘Kids,’ he sighed. ‘Aren’t they great?’

‘Hmm,’ I replied, thinking of the times James had tested me almost beyond endurance.

Rain had come and gone during the drive. A burst of sunlight lit the house as Peter pulled into my drive. ‘Come inside?’ I offered, hoping he’d decline.

‘Can’t,’ he said ruefully. ‘I was due at the station about thirty minutes ago. I’ll give you a ring later.’

I gathered backpack and Clyde and climbed out of the car. My keys were somewhere in a trouser pocket, but I pressed the doorbell rather than juggle snail and bag.

James answered the door, standing back as Morey flew inside. His nose wrinkled as I passed him. ‘No showers in the Arctic?’

‘What do you think?’ I put Clyde into his tank and piled several books on top of the lid. ‘Can you put the kettle on? I’m off to have a bath.’

After a thorough scrub, clean clothes, a cheese sandwich, and a beer, I finally felt ready to sit down at my desk and face parish life again. Morey landed on my desk and pointed his beak at the flashing light on my answering machine. ‘You might want to listen to that.’

‘I’m still on holiday. I don’t have to listen to anyone until Thursday.’

‘It’s from your bishop.’

‘And how do you know that?’

‘The same way I can read DVDs,’ he said. Which wasn’t really an answer at all.

I pressed the button. ‘Hello Penny,’ came the cultured voice, ‘it’s Nigel. I do hope you’re not listening to this message during your week’s leave. Are you free to come to the bishop’s palace on Friday? I’ve received an interesting letter, and I think it’s best if we discussed it face to face. I’ll keep 3pm free in my diary.’

My hands were gripping the side of the desk. ‘It’s a letter from Holly. It must be.’

‘Holly’s sent many letters,’ Morey said calmly. ‘And your archdeacon and your bishop have always supported you.’

‘But this time--’

‘Penny.’ He rubbed his head against my chin. ‘Calm down. Bishop Nigel sounds quite pleased. Whatever it is, he isn’t upset or concerned. So don’t you be, either.’

‘Okay,’ I muttered. ‘But it’s going to be long two days until Friday.’

I took another sip of red wine. It was a cheap Australian, but the excellence of the cooking made up for the bitter tang of the drink. Peter looked equally happy on my right, finishing up the last piece of chicken before he placed knife and fork onto the empty plate.

‘You liked?’ Linda asked. Her short hair was a mixture of brown and grey, and I placed her as perhaps ten years younger than Rosie. ‘Free range, of course.’

Rosie laughed. ‘Linda calls it “happy chicken”.’

‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘it certainly made me happy.’

‘More wine?’ Linda asked.

‘Can’t.’ Somehow he managed to put on a sad expression. ‘I’m driving.’

‘But Penny isn’t.’ And my glass was topped up.

As Rosie collected the plates, I looked around the small dining room. The house in which my associate priest and her partner lived was a mid-terraced near Abington. This was not an area of Northampton which I knew very well, and I’d been surprised how difficult it had been to find parking on the sloping street.

Linda splashed more wine into her own glass. ‘Rosie’s in charge of pudding. I did put in a request for something chocolatey.’

‘And would I disappoint you?’ Rosie called back from the nearby kitchen. ‘Maybe you’d like to make sure it’s worth sharing.’

I found myself smiling. When Linda had left the room, Peter leaned forward to whisper, ‘How long have they been together?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘At least six months. So far the congregation hasn’t found out, which is just as well.’

Peter frowned. ‘Why?’

‘I’m not certain how some of them would take the news.’

‘Then it’s about time,’ he said strongly, ‘that they entered the 21st century.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

We pulled apart as dessert was carried in. I ignored any temptation to calorie count as I tucked into the chocolate cheesecake.

Afterwards we wandered through to the lounge. The narrow room was lined with armchairs of varying ages and bookshelves straggled up the walls. I settled onto a leather seat with my mug of coffee. A moment later, I nearly spilled the contents when a tortoiseshell cat leapt onto my lap. ‘Magnificat,’ Rosie scolded, ‘I’ve told you to leave visitors alone.’

‘She’s fine,’ I insisted.

Once we were settled, Linda reached out for Rosie’s hand and leaned towards me. ‘We have an announcement to make.’

‘Go ahead,’ I said, although I feared what would come next.

‘We’re going to get married.’

‘Civil partnership,’ Rosie contradicted quietly.

‘But you’re a Christian.’ The tone of Linda’s voice indicated that this was an ongoing argument. ‘Isn’t marriage what you want?’

‘It’s what I want,’ Rosie agreed. ‘But the Church isn’t ready for that yet.’

Peter frowned. ‘But I thought any couple could get married in church.’

‘There are rules,’ I said, ‘even for heterosexual couples. The Church of England doesn’t allow same sex weddings in our churches.’

‘Besides,’ Rosie said, turning to Linda, ‘I was married once, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m happy with a civil partnership. There are some very nice venues we can choose from.’

‘But that wouldn’t be in church. And the Church means so much to you.’

‘God is what matters to me,’ Rosie said steadily. ‘And God is in our relationship and he will continue to be, however and wherever we make our commitments to each other.’

‘Some friends of mine couldn’t get married in church,’ Peter said. ‘So they were married in a hotel, but came later to the church for a blessing. You’d be happy to do that, wouldn’t you, Penny?’

Rosie met my eyes and gave me a half smile. She knew that it wasn’t possible. I cleared my throat. ‘I can offer prayers, yes. And, by the way, congratulations. What are you planning to do? Dresses, or suits? Will you have a honeymoon?’

That diverted Linda and made Peter’s eyes glaze over. Rosie’s gaze remained on me for another moment, granting me pardon for what I couldn’t promise to do.

Peter picked up the topic as he drove me home. ‘You’d do the wedding in church, wouldn’t you?’

The red wine was giving me a headache. I leaned back in the passenger seat. ‘I can’t.’

‘But you approve of Linda, don’t you?’

‘What I think of the situation doesn't matter,’ I said firmly. ‘When I became a priest, I made an oath of canonical obedience to my bishop. I have to obey the Church’s rules.’

‘But--’

‘Surely you’ve had to do things as a police officer that you didn’t agree with?’ I cut in. ‘The police service has a hierarchy and you have rules to follow. So does the Church.’

‘But not even a blessing?’ He sounded more confused than annoyed. ‘I mean, don’t priests bless fox hunters and nuclear submarines? Why is that okay, but not two people who love each other?’

‘I don’t make the rules, Peter.’

There was a long silence. Then he said, ‘When I was a boy, my mum and dad started taking us all to church. Saint Benedict’s needed a churchwarden, and my parents thought one of them could serve. But the vicar wouldn’t let them. Because they were in a “mixed race relationship.” That’s what he called it, “mixed race.” Like somehow one of them wasn’t human.’

‘This is different.’

‘I don’t see how.’

I sighed. ‘I'm sorry what happened to your parents. But whatever I might think, rules have to be obeyed. Besides which, I’m in enough trouble already. I’ve been called in to see Bishop Nigel tomorrow.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ We had pulled into my drive. Peter turned to me. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve upset my churchwarden.’

‘Again?’ Even in the dim light I could see the grimace on his face. ‘From what you’ve said about your bishop, I’m certain he can see what a bully she is.’

‘Maybe.’

He leaned over and gripped my arm. ‘Penny, you’re doing a great job. You’re keeping that church going and you’re dealing with whatever slips in from Lloegyr. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Thank you.’ I undid my seat belt. ‘Come in for a night cap?’

Peter shook his head. ‘Not if you’re off to see Bishop Nigel tomorrow. I don’t want to encourage you to have anything more to drink.’

I didn’t bother to tell him that I would be having a whisky anyway, with or without him. ‘Night, then.’ And with a quick peck on his cheek, I was out of the car and heading to the house.

Peter waited until I was inside before starting the car and backing off the drive. I shut the door, dumped my coat, and went in search of Talisker. Sherlock Holmes talked about his ‘two pipe problems.’ My equivalent was ‘two whisky problems.’ After two drams, the problem would still be there, but I wouldn’t care anymore.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, I nursed a black coffee while I watched Morey talk to a rat. Both were perched in one of the trees in my back garden, the rat’s bat-like wings fluttering as he bounced on his slim branch. Clyde was pressed against the chain links of his run, looking far too interested in whatever message the rat was passing on.

I noted with surprise that green buds trickled over the rat’s feet. Spring was coming at last. The thought cheered me. Maybe I’d even do something about the garden this year. Long summer evenings, sitting outside in a deck chair, a glass of Prosecco in hand. Paradise.

The cat flap thudded as Morey came through. ‘She insisted on giving the message twice,’ he grumbled. ‘Welsh and English. Any of that coffee left?’

I rose to pour him a mug, adding just the right amount of milk and a half spoonful of sugar. ‘What did she have to say?’

‘I’m to come with you to the Bishop’s Palace.’

Coffee spilled across my dressing gown. ‘Why? What do you have to do with disgruntled churchwardens?’

‘I’ve dealt with my fair share,’ he said, reminding me that he’d once been a priest himself. Marrying Seren had put an end to that. ‘We’ve not been summoned so Bishop Nigel can talk to you about Holly.’

‘Why, then?’ I leaned across the table. ‘What do you know?’

His feathers slicked, but his tail curled. ‘It’s complicated.’

I studied him for a moment. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you embarrassed before.’

‘It’s not about your churchwarden.’ And then he escaped back through the cat flap.

Despite Morey’s reassurances, I found I had no appetite at lunchtime. Finally it was time to get ready to go. Whatever Bishop Nigel had to say to me, I’d know soon enough.

Morey was waiting on the hall side table. ‘Why battle dress?’

I pulled self-consciously at my black suit jacket. ‘I’ll just feel better in it. You’re not going to wear your Elder’s harness?’

‘Not this time.’

He looked far too relaxed for my liking. I had my revenge by playing a Big Finish CD in the car. Morey’s claws gripped the passenger seat while the Sixth Doctor pontificated, but he visibly held his peace.

The Bishop’s Palace was a grand name for the complex of grey stone buildings which huddled near Nenehampton Cathedral. Part of the ancient building was the Bishop’s home and office, and the other half were diocesan offices. On a Friday afternoon, there was plenty of parking outside. We were early, so I turned off the engine and continued to listen to the Sixth Doctor reminding the Daleks how many times he had defeated them throughout history. ‘Do you think the Doctor and the Daleks always meet in the same chronological order?’ I asked Morey. ‘Or is it more like a River Song out of sequence thing, and maybe the Daleks also remember times when the Doctor lost?’

Morey gave me a glare. ‘I’ve had to listen to Doctor Who for the last hour, Black. Don’t push me.’

Turning to pull my coat from the back seat allowed me to hide my smile. But I felt my heart sink as I stood outside the thick door to the Bishop’s residence. What if I didn’t ring the door bell? What if I simply got back into my car and drove away?

Morey reached out and pressed the button for me.

Much to my surprise, it was Bishop Nigel himself who opened the door. The second surprise was that he was dressed casually, an old grey jumper over his blue open-necked shirt. ‘Penny, Morey, please come in. You’re early, and that’s fine, but I first need to finish another meeting. Feel free to put your coat into the chapel, Penny. Do you mind waiting here?’ At my nod, he continued, ‘Help yourself to tea or coffee. There’s even some sherry, if you want something a bit more warming.’

Sherry was not my favourite tipple, but any spirit in a storm. I dumped my coat in the chapel and then returned to the large entrance hall. A side table held tea, coffee, and a large decanter. The glasses were small, so I downed two portions of sherry, one after the other.

‘Is that a good idea?’ Morey asked.

‘I need it.’

He snorted. ‘Dewrder potel. Bottle courage.’

To make amends, I poured us both cups of tea. Morey sat on the table to sip from his, and I wandered back towards the door to study the paintings lining the walls. All were of bishops of Nenehampton, including a recent one of Bishop Nigel.

‘Penny, Morey, sorry to make you wait.’ The Bishop poured himself some coffee, then joined me. ‘What do you think of it? My portrait?’

The painting showed Bishop Nigel sitting in a large armchair, wearing the mixture of white and red robes peculiar to bishops. A Bible was open on his knee. I felt slightly giddy as I replied, ‘I have a new ambition. I want to rise far enough in the Church to have a portrait done so I can glower down at people.’

Morey made a strangled squawk and hid his head under a wing. I had the distinct impression I’d witnessed the gryphon equivalent of a face palm. Then he straightened and flew over to my shoulder. ‘A very good likeness, Your Grace. I’m particularly intrigued by your choice of biblical passage. Would I be correct in suggesting that you chose one of the Major Prophets? Isaiah?’

‘That’s correct, Morey,’ the Bishop agreed. ‘Care to guess which chapter?’

‘If the painter has been accurate in his portrayal, I would say Isaiah 43.’

‘Well done, Elder Morey.’

‘Do you often feel that you’re walking through fire?’ I asked, just to show that I too knew my Bible.

‘All the time, Penny. All the time.’ Then he ushered us through to the lounge.

Tasteful sofas and armchairs in muted colours circled a coffee table at the far end of the room. Morey flew off and found a seat, leaving me to weave my way alone across the cream carpet. ‘We’re waiting for one more person,’ Bishop Nigel said as he accompanied me.

‘Father Penny, good to see you again.’ And in walked a unicorn.

I nearly dropped my cup. For a moment I was back in a dark forest, a unicorn weaving an emotional spell around and through me. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I told myself. And she’s wearing a black cowl, she’s a priest, not the Archdruid. ‘Archdeacon of Ocheham,’ I said, my voice faint even in my ears.

She dipped her grey-white head, the silver horn flashing in the overhead lights. ‘I seem to have alarmed you, Father Penny.’

‘My last meeting with a unicorn wasn’t entirely pleasant.’

The Archdeacon sighed. ‘The Archdruid and the Church disagree on many things. Including how humans who stray into their woods should be treated. Murder is against all unicorn principles, and exacts a heavy price from a race which is better known as healers. I understand the mare who carried out the killings is dead?’

‘Poisoned herself after her foal died.’ I decided not to mention the horn, as I didn’t want any questions as to its whereabouts.

Bishop Nigel waved at the seats. I sat down opposite the unicorn. Morey was on my left, looking relaxed. My bishop took a chair near the Archdeacon. ‘Now, Penny, the reason why I’ve asked you here.’

‘I know, I know, but I can’t allow a churchwarden to take payments for grave reservations,’ I said quickly. ‘Holly needs to understand that. There are procedures we have to follow.’

‘As far as I’m aware,’ the Bishop said slowly, ‘I’ve not had any communication from your churchwarden. At least not in the past few weeks. If you want to talk about her, I’d be happy to listen after we’ve discussed the Archdeacon’s proposal.’

‘Bishop Aeron has been approached by the Matriarch of Cornovi,’ the unicorn told us. ‘The matriarch has asked the Bishop to assign Father Penny to the grŵp rhyfelwyr of Trahaearneifion. Of course, my bishop advised that Bishop Nigel would have to grant the request. It was agreed that I would be sent with the scroll.’

‘The Matriarch of Cornovi,’ Morey told them quietly, ‘is my maternal grandmother.’

I found I was perched on the edge of my seat. ‘This is because Taryn has asked you to marry her.’

Morey’s voice was calm, but his ruffled feathers betrayed his anxiety. ‘Marriage outside a clan is never welcome. I'm also suspect because of my marriage to Seren and, to top it all off, I’m a Christian. But if there’s a scroll, then our two matriarchs have agreed to allow us to prove ourselves.’

‘There is indeed a scroll.’ Bishop Nigel retrieved the roll of parchment paper from the windowsill. ‘It’s in English. I’ll hold it open for your Archdeacon.’

The unicorn read aloud, in her musical voice, ‘“To the Right Reverend Nigel Ambrose Blake, by the Grace of God Bishop of Nenehampton. Greetings. The Matriarch of Cornovi, a well respected leader of an august clan in our diocese, has requested that Father Penelope White, Vicar of Beckeridge and Vicar General of Incursions for Nenehampton, be released when necessary from her duties in order to stand as a member of the grŵp rhyfelwyr of Trahaearneifion. She offers whatever price in gold you would wish to set for Father Penny’s services, as well as a pledge to pay the necessary wergild should this be necessary.’”

A mixture of excitement and worry made me take a sharp breath. A cold hike through the Arctic hadn’t dimmed my enthusiasm for spending time in Lloegyr. On the other hand, the mention of wergild was alarming. My brother’s current wealth had come from being paid a generous sum of blood money by the dragon who had killed his girlfriend.

‘“Trahaearneifion and his grŵp rhyfelwyr must pass three challenges before Clan Cornovi will agree to support his marriage to Taryn of Clan Taexali.”’ The unicorn stepped back. ‘The rest of the document passes on Bishop’s Aeron’s prayers for Bishop Nigel’s life and ministry.’

‘Taryn will have her own grŵp rhyfelwyr and challenges to face,’ Morey said. ‘As for my group, I have also chosen Peter Jarvis, James White, and Clyde.’ Morey looked up at me. ‘Peter’s Chief Inspector will be sent a similar request. You’ll need to give permission for James and Clyde.’

Bishop Nigel frowned at me. ‘Your brother is over twenty-one, isn’t he?’‘He’s twenty-three,’ I said. ‘But it seems that people in Lloegyr think human males aren’t mature until they’re thirty-five. It’s all down to a human self-help book which they’ve misunderstood.’

‘I wonder what they’d make of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,’ Bishop Nigel said dryly.

‘And what does being part of this group mean?’ I asked.

Morey looked calm, but his tail was thumping against the seat cushion. ‘You’ll be taken to my clan’s encampment for each challenge. You’ll be my supporters.’

I found myself grinning. ‘Great. When do we start?’ A gentle cough drew my attention to Bishop Nigel. ‘Oh, sorry. Morey’s told me that it would take around a month, so do I have the Bishop’s permission to go?’

‘There’s a break between each challenge,’ Morey reminded me, ‘so that all involved can recover for the next one.’

‘Oh.’ I tried to hide my disappointment. ‘So I can return to the parish between each engagement.’

Bishop Nigel grinned. ‘Aren’t you due a sabbatical, Penny?’

I stared at him. ‘I’m not eligible yet. I’ve only been Vicar General for eight months.’

‘Maybe it’s time you had a fuller experience of our sister diocese,’ the Bishop continued. ‘Morey, you’re certain a month would be long enough?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Leaving the other two months free,’ Bishop Nigel said, glancing at the Archdeacon.

‘Bishop Aeron discussed the matter with her senior staff,’ the unicorn said. ‘The parish of Caer-grawnt is currently without an incumbent. She has sounded out the churchwardens about a three month placement of a human priest as their rector. They are willing to meet with Father Penny to explore this further. The parish can provide a fully furnished cottage for her use.’

Bishop Nigel nodded. ‘I’d be willing to release Penny from her duties here for that time. Would you like to meet the churchwardens, Penny?’

I relaxed the breath I’d been holding. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘The churchwardens would need to put this to the congregation at Caer-grawnt,’ the Archdeacon said. ‘They might wish a full interview, or a preach with a view.’

‘Whatever they want.’ In my mind, I was already dusting off my CV and thinking through my more successful sermons. Of course, the congregation might insist on choosing the topic, which would mean writing something fresh. Then I had a thought. ‘Would James have to go with me?’

‘Your brother is welcome to remain in your house here,’ Bishop Nigel said. ‘Although he might want to live in Lloegyr?’

What my brother might want, and what might be safe for him, were two different matters. But this was family business, and not the Bishop’s concern. ‘I’ll discuss that with him.’

‘Good.’ The Bishop rubbed his hands. ‘So, we’ll ask the Archdeacon to set up that meeting with the churchwardens. I’ll also arrange for a message to be sent back to the matriarch about your availability for Morey’s group.’

There was a gentle swish from the unicorn’s tail. ‘It is kind of you to offer, Bishop Nigel. However, in these circumstances it would be better for you to respond to Bishop Aeron. She will then respond to the Matriarch of Cornovi on your behalf.’

Bishop Nigel chuckled. ‘Politics. That’s fine. Do I have to ask my secretary to find a scroll, or can you just take back a verbal message?’

‘A handwritten letter will suffice. You can send it by rat. I assume you have one available?’

‘We keep several on standby.’

‘There is one further stipulation from my bishop.’ The unicorn’s voice hardened. ‘Trahaearneifion, it is time you resumed your Holy Orders. Should Father Penny come to serve the parish of Caer-grawnt, you will be once again ordained as deacon and priest, and act as her curate.’

‘Curate?’ Morey and I said simultaneously. I could see that the idea was as unwelcome to him as it was to me.

The unicorn’s brown eyes met mine. ‘We consider Father Penny to be a stabilising influence on Trahaearneifion.’

Of course, that was the moment I started to hiccup. Bishop Nigel left his seat and returned with a glass of water, which I sipped with a mixture of thanks and embarrassment. In the meantime, Morey was protesting at the Archdeacon’s pronouncement. ‘I’m very happy to be layperson, thank you very much. I have told our bishop all this before.’

‘Elders owe canonical obedience to their bishop,’ the unicorn reminded him, ‘as much as those who are ordained. Will you break your vow, Elder Trahaearneifion?’

Morey ground his beak. The sound was loud and sharp in the otherwise quiet room. ‘I serve at the Bishop’s pleasure. But I will only do so as a deacon.’

The Archdeacon studied him for a long moment. Then she dipped her head in a nod. ‘The ordination will be arranged for the same as the licensing. Many thanks for your hospitality, Bishop Nigel. I must take my leave of you. May I take advantage of the thin place in your cathedral?’

‘Of course. I’ll put a call in to the Dean.’

Man and unicorn left the room. I leaned back into the sofa. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’

‘You’ll decline the gold, of course,’ Morey said fiercely. ‘That was an insult from my matriarch. She was implying that you wouldn’t join my grŵp rhyfelwyr unless you were paid to do so.’

‘And you still haven’t quite told me what this grŵp rhyfelwyr will do,’ I reminded him.

‘Later. I’ll tell all of you at once.’ Suddenly he sounded very tired. ‘I need to talk to Taryn. She was expecting to marry an Elder, not a deacon.’

I frowned. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Yes, it is.’ He shook his head, smoothing feathers back into place. ‘Neither matriarch will be happy at this development.’

Chapter Thirteen

‘None for me,’ Peter said as I brought a bottle of Gigondas to the kitchen table. ‘I’m on duty. There might be another snail shark infestation in Earls Barton. We’ll know for certain in the morning.’

I smiled sympathetically. And wondered if this were too much punishment for a town refusing to use the possessive apostrophe. Possibly not. ‘Let me know if I can help.’

‘Will do, although we think this time it’s only a small group.’ Peter’s eyes flicked towards Clyde, who was sitting on the table next to Morey. ‘But we’ll speak later, right?’

Fortunately, Clyde seemed far more interested in the glass of wine I pushed over to Morey than in discussions regarding his own kind. ‘So,’ I continued, ‘you’ve had a scroll too?’

Peter nodded. ‘The largest rat I’d ever seen brought it to my Chief Inspector. Seems a gryphon matriarch has asked for me to be released from duty, when necessary, to serve in Morey’s grŵp rhyfelwyr. So, what’s this all about?’

‘As I face the challenges set by the Matriarch of Cornovi, I’m permitted to have four supporters with me.’ Morey pointed his beak at each of us in turn. ‘Penny’s bishop has agreed for her release. What did the Chief Inspector say?’

‘She’ll give me a mixture of special and annual leave.’

James grinned. ‘Hey, is this like some big bachelor party or something? But we go to Lloegyr instead of Prague?’

‘Or something,’ Morey muttered. ‘Penny does have to give permission for you and for Clyde. You’re both still minors.’

‘Of course I give permission,’ I said quickly as man and snail began to bristle. ‘There are several challenges, and we’ll have breaks between them. So, I might be assigned to a parish in Esgobaeth Llanbedr. Would you be happy to live in Lloegyr for awhile?’

Blue and green pulsed through Clyde’s body. His calm acceptance was not mirrored by my brother. ‘Where, exactly? I mean, we won’t be stuck out in the sticks somewhere, will we? I need night life.’

‘Caer-grawnt is a town outside Llanbedr,’ Morey said. ‘But be careful about what “night life” you seek. Do you want to lose another pint of blood for flirting with a vampire?’

‘Or you can stay here, James,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s up to you.’

‘The search dragons are paid by the day.’ Morey took a sip of his wine. ‘It doesn’t matter if they collect you from here or from the rectory in Caer-grawnt.’

‘I do have concerns about one of your choices,’ Peter said carefully.

‘Don’t you dare,’ I warned him, my feminist hackles rising. ‘“It pleases me that you care for what I have become. But never forget who I was, what I am, and what I can do.”’

Peter blinked. ‘What’s that from?’

‘Delenn to John Sheridan.’ I paused, waiting for comprehension which failed to dawn. ‘Babylon 5.’

He coughed. ‘Never got around to watching Babylon 5.’

My hand tightened on my wine glass. I felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. ‘You’ve never watched Babylon 5?’

‘And I'm concerned about two of the choices,’ Morey cut in. ‘Peter and James.’

‘Us?’ James rocked back in his chair. ‘But we’re blokes.’

‘Precisely,’ Morey said. ‘Females are the stronger sex. The matriarch might expect less of you as a result, but you can’t count on that. I’ll just have to keep an eye on you two.’

I hid my smile behind my wine glass. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘There’ll be time before the first challenge.’ Morey took a sip of his wine and then stretched his wings. ‘I need to speak to Taryn. Don’t wait up.’

I opened the back door, and Morey flew out into the darkness. ‘Do gryphons have drink-fly limits?’ I wondered aloud as I moved the half full glass nearer to mine.

‘A long bachelor party in Lloegyr,’ James said. ‘I’m looking forward to this!’

‘I’d better look forward to my bed,’ Peter said, checking his watch.

I walked him to the hallway. As he shrugged on his coat, I asked, ‘Do you think Morey’s being a bit secretive?’

‘He does seem to be playing his cards close to his chest,’ Peter agreed. ‘But maybe this will just be a long bachelor party, like James thinks.’

‘I don’t know.’ I bit my lip. ‘I’m just thinking of that Deep Space Nine episode. The one where Worf and his friends have to go through Kal’Hyah before Worf marries Dax?’

Peter nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sisko and the others thought it would be four days of partying, and it turned out to be four days of hell.’ My breathing eased. I shuddered to think what it would have meant for our relationship if Peter had missed two science fiction references in one evening. ‘Penny, I don’t think Morey would do anything to put any of us at risk.’

We kissed and he left. I returned to the kitchen just in time to hear James finishing a rather off-colour story to Clyde. The snail shark turned to me and asked, ‘Knocking shop?’

I glared at my brother. He made a quick exit, leaving me to wonder how to explain the concept of a brothel to a snail.

<><><><><><>

Bishop Aeron wasted no time. Somehow I endured the Sunday service in Saint Wulfram’s, ignoring Holly’s absence and random mutterings from the congregation. Monday morning found me shrugging my coat over a carefully selected grey jumper and black trousers. Casual, I’d decided, but smart. I was even wearing a black clerical shirt. Just the right level, I felt, to visit a new parish and meet churchwardens. But first I had to cross over to Lloegyr.

Ashtrew church was only a short drive from my vicarage, but the small village in which it was set felt like centuries away. I left modern houses behind, drove around fields, and then down a narrow road past thatch roofed cottages. A little white lie, in which I’d pretended that I was doing some research regarding the church’s wall paintings, had meant that the churchwarden had entrusted a set of keys to me. Just as well, since I didn’t know how long I’d be in Caer-grawnt.

A gravel path led past the listing bell tower and to the long porch. I fumbled in the grey early light to fit the relevant keys into the relevant locks. But, after a few minutes, I was able to push open the heavy wooden door.

Entering the church always made me shudder. Some of the men behind the Gunpowder Plot had lived nearby, and I always wondered if that were why gloom and dread seemed to fill the musty air. I would much rather have crossed over to Lloegyr from Nenehampton Cathedral. But although apologetic, the Dean had also been firm. There were too many events scheduled in the cathedral today for me to use its thin place.

A gallery had been built into the back of the church, near the baptismal font. I walked up the wooden stairs and onto the platform. The planks creaked underfoot. I pulled a chair over and climbed onto the seat. This placed my knees level with the railing around the balcony. I lifted up my left foot and felt for the solid ground on the other side.

The chair fell back as I thrust myself up and forwards. In front of me was darkness and gloom, but behind me was the drop back down into the church. I forced myself through. The agony of the conspirators, hung, drawn, and quartered after their capture, howled in my ears and spread a bitter taste through my mouth.

Then I was stumbling across grass. The sun was still weak, but very welcome. I took in deep breaths of the clean air.

A yellow dragon stood waiting for me. I smiled as I walked over to him. ‘Hello, Aldred. I’m honoured.’

‘Carrying humans is part of my role as bishop’s chaplain,’ he said as he lowered himself to the ground. But from the curl in his ears I could tell he was pleased.

A saddle rested above the small knobs of his spines. I used the handholds to pull myself up. ‘Have any interesting humans ridden you recently?’

The narrow head turned to look back at me. ‘Other than yourself?’

I found myself laughing with delight. ‘Other than me.’

‘A number of humans, but none of them quite as interesting as you.’ Aldred rose to his feet. ‘Ready?’

I gripped the saddle with my legs and wrapped my hands around the front handles. ‘Ready.’

Aldred ran down the hill. The lift off was smooth, reminding me that not all dragons seemed to enjoy making their passenger’s lives difficult. The fresh grass and the greening trees showed that spring was coming to Lloegyr. There was still a chill in the air, and I pulled on my gloves.

The city of Llanbedr gleamed in the distance. I’d visited it often enough to know that the crystalline towers were surrounded by smaller buildings made of much humbler materials, often but not always rough stone. I could just pick out Llanbedr Cathedral.

Aldred angled his wings. We were heading to the west side of the city. The various settlements slipped past beneath us. The fields and wooden buildings of the unicorns. Houses hewn out of rock, with dragons striding down the cobbled streets. The open sewer stench which marked the slums where the harpies lived.

We turned north. The roads improved, as did the houses. There was a mixture of brick, stone, and black and white timbered buildings. Between stretches of neighbourhoods I saw larger buildings. I coughed as the wind billowed black smoke from one chimney across our flight path. What sort of industry did Llanbedr have?

We passed over a set of fields, then came towards a town. Set slightly apart, and built on a small hill, was a church. Aldred began to slow, his wings spreading out and back as he prepared to land. I took note of the roof, which was slate and looked to be in good repair. The sandy stone, the bell tower at the opposite end to the chancel, the two porched entrances-- but for the large size, this could have been a church anywhere in Northamptonshire. A thread of disappointment wormed through me.

Aldred’s landing was as gentle as his take off. I wondered if I could send Raven to him for lessons. Then I gritted my teeth. If I ever saw Raven again. He’d kept himself scarce since I’d sent him home from the Arctic.

The dragon lowered his belly to the ground, and I slid off. ‘I’ll wait for you here,’ he told me. ‘The churchwardens are inside the church. Both of them speak English, by the way. I pray it goes well.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a paved path leading from the nearby road to the north doors. I made my way over the damp grass to the firmer footing, checked that my shoes weren’t too muddy, and strode down to the entrance.

The massive door was propped open. There were wide steps down into the building, and I took my time. The only light was that which came from the clear windows. Oil lamps hung from the stone walls, and unlit candles rested on the shelves at the choir stalls. Electricity, I reminded myself, was a luxury available to only a few in the city centre.

‘Greetings. You must be Father Penelope White.’ The speaker glided up to me. The proud bearing and short black hair gave his species away even before I saw the pointed ears. I was speaking to an elf. ‘I’m the People’s Warden, Cadfan Jones.’

‘And I'm the Vicar’s Warden, Aislin of Caer-grawnt.’

I realised that I was staring, and I quickly glanced away. Aislin was wearing a smock over her broad chest, and her dark hair hung cleanly around her long face, but there was no hiding the fact that she had wings instead of arms, and that bird legs carried her towards me. The other churchwarden of Caer-grawnt was a harpy.

‘Good to meet you both.’ I shook hands with Cadfan, then hesitated as I turned to Aislin. But she extended her right wing and allowed me to grasp a feathered joint. Much to my relief, she smelled of nothing more than a flowery perfume.

‘Do you know anything about our parish, Father Penelope?’ Cadfan asked.

‘Penny, please.’ I followed him up the wide aisle, Aislin striding behind us. ‘A little. Bishop Aeron sent me a rat with the recent history.’

‘In free verse or as a sonnet?’

‘Sonnet,’ I admitted. ‘The rhymes did sometimes feel a bit forced.’

We had reached the chancel. Large wooden seats for a choir pressed against the walls on either side. Beyond was the altar, dressed in purple as befit the season of Lent. Large windows on both walls cast light onto the brown tiled floor. ‘Don’t be deceived by appearances,’ the elf said. ‘This church is only twenty years old. Lord Willis built this at the same time as a dozen factories in our town, as well as houses and facilities for the workers. He also pays the salaries for the teachers in the town’s primary school.’

‘Lord Willis?’ I asked. ‘Does Lloegyr have titles?’

‘That’s the title we’ve given him,’ Aislin said, ‘out of our great respect for all that he’s done for this community. And for our church. He said he wanted a place of worship which welcomed all species.’

I longed to ask what species Lord Willis was, but that felt as rude as asking about a human’s skin colour. ‘That explains why it’s so large.’

‘The church is dedicated to Saint George.’ Aislin pointed at the only stained glass window in the building, set into the wall to the left of the altar. Sun glanced through the red body of the dying dragon, his head flung back as he looked into the face of his human killer. Underneath was written, ‘O Dad, maddau iddynt: canys ni wyddant pa beth y maent yn ei wneuthur.’ The words of Jesus as he was crucified. ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’

‘Saint George was a martyr to his faith,’ I said strongly. ‘He was a great dragon, an example to us all, and I am ashamed that a human was the cause of his death. And so I carry his relic.’ I pulled the golden medal from underneath my shirt. A small dragon scale was preserved on the reverse, held in a bubble of resin.

Aislin leaned in close. Now I could catch a whiff of urine, but I kept my face still. ‘You wear this always?’

‘Always.’ I slipped it away again. There had been a time when I’d also worn the Celtic cross which Raven had carved for me, but not since he had failed me in a dark wood.

‘There are around six thousand people living in the town,’ Cadfan said. ‘On any given Sunday, we have a congregation of around eighty adults and fifteen children.’

‘Lord Willis is an English speaker,’ Aislin added, ‘so he’s insisted that his factories and the schools are bi-lingual. Our services are a mixture of Welsh and English, so you could preach in either language.’

‘What happened to your last rector?’

‘Father Apted’s become an archdeacon in Llundain,’ Aislin said proudly.

I rubbed my face to hide a smile. Congregations were always reassured when their priest left them for what they believed to be a promotion. ‘And what are you looking for in your next rector?’

‘We’re not certain. That’s why we want a temporary priest.’ Cadfan buttoned up his dark coat. ‘But come, let’s go to the rectory. There we can discuss matters further.’

We turned, and I glanced to my right. And froze. A large crucifix hung over the vicar’s stall, but there was nothing to preserve Jesus’ dignity. The man hanging on the cross was absolutely naked.

Cadfan followed my gaze. ‘A stunning carving,’ he said. ‘One of my predecessors bought it for the church.’

‘He’s nude,’ I found myself saying.

‘Of course.’ Aislin sounded puzzled. ‘As it says in the holy scriptures, our Lord was stripped before being placed on the cross. The soldiers then divided his clothes amongst themselves.’

I dragged my eyes away. At least the crucifix would be above me, so I wouldn’t be forced to look at it Sunday by Sunday. Perhaps it made sense for Jesus to have been crucified naked, and maybe only human sensitivities had caused us to drape a loin cloth over his privates? Morey would probably have an answer, if I could bear his condescension as he quoted at me in New Testament Greek.

The road down into the town was cobbled and clean. I paused for a moment to take it all in. The grey stone buildings all looked well kept. Several streets were of terraced houses, the wide doors opening onto the pavement. Other contained rows of larger, semi-detached buildings, and these had small front gardens. Larger structures rose beyond. One looked to be the school which Aislin had mentioned. Others I couldn’t easily identify. A library, perhaps, and a town hall? And past there, taller yet, were the factories.

‘Saltaire,’ I found myself saying.

The churchwardens had waited patiently while I gazed over their town. Cadfan asked me, ‘Pray tell, what is this Saltaire?’

‘A village built during the time of our Queen Victoria,’ I explained. ‘The industrialist, Sir Titus Salt, wanted his workers to have a good living environment. So he built houses and institutes near his factories.’

‘He sounds very much like Lord Willis,’ Cadfan said. ‘We are fortunate. Has the same happened in this Saltaire?’

‘The buildings are preserved.’ I hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘The factories are closed. Industry has changed on my world.’

We walked up the hill. Set off to one side was a thatch roof cottage. The white walls, supported by brown timbers, looked out of keeping with the rest of the town. Aislin produced a key and let us in.

The house was warm, but still had the dusty smell of a place which had been unoccupied for some while. We walked straight into the lounge. Stairs to the upper floor rose on our left. A fireplace was set into the other wall, and the crackling flames explained the cosy temperature. Burgundy settees rested at right angles to the hearth. A door on the far end led to a small kitchen.

The churchwardens took a seat under the window, so I lowered myself onto the settee opposite them. No sign of refreshments. I allowed myself a moment’s regret and then focussed on my hosts.

‘This is the rector’s house,’ Cadfan told me. ‘It’s fully furnished, including the three bedrooms upstairs. Our last rector was an elf, so there is a toilet.’

And I’d always taken indoor plumbing for granted. ‘That’s good to hear.’

‘The kitchen is fitted with a stove,’ Aislin added. ‘A garden shed has been stocked with wood for both the stove and the fireplace.’

‘I’d need someone to teach me how to use them properly.’ They nodded. ‘So, what would you like to know about me?’

Aislin leaned forward. ‘What was the most difficult conflict you faced, and how did you resolve it without the death of one or both of the parties involved?’

I nearly smiled. Then I realised that the harpy was serious. Putting Holly out of my mind, I waxed lyrical about steering the congregation through a change in hymn books.

Then a question about the most recent book I’d read. I omitted mentioning Lungbarrow as no doubt neither churchwarden would want to hear about the glories of Doctor Who. Fortunately, I had flipped through the book review pages of The Church Times just this morning, so I was able to offer an analysis of N T Wright’s latest offering. I even managed to make it sound as though I’d read the book myself.

Some more questions, about my pattern of prayer and my approach to all age services. Then Aislin stabbed a finger at me. ‘We expect tolerance towards all in our community. I want you to tell me how you’ve made this a focus in your church.’

I opened my mouth to answer. Then I looked up, certain I’d heard a tenor voice singing, ‘Geronimo!’

A moment later, the front window shuddered and shook as a grey-brown body impacted against the glass. The churchwardens dived from the coach, but although a crack appeared, the window did not break. And I found myself staring at the open mouth of a snail shark, teeth tucked inside the edges of his belly.

‘Excuse me,’ I said to the elf and harpy. And I walked outside.

Clyde’s tentacles rotated towards me. His entire foot was plastered across the glass. ‘Mmph mrrph emph,’ he gargled.

I rocked back on my heels. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Grph plugh.’

‘You’re stuck, aren’t you?’ I slid my hands into my pockets. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘Mrph plff.’

‘And I suppose you want me to pry you lose.’

His body pulsed red-brown. I was beginning to annoy him. ‘Yrph.’

Somehow a vacuum had formed between his body and the window. I carefully slid my fingers under his belly, trying to avoid his razor-sharp teeth as I sought to loosen him. There was a small pop as air rushed in, and then the snail was in my hands. Clyde shut his jaws and waggled his tentacles at me.

‘Don’t blame me,’ I told him. ‘It’s not my fault you smacked against a window. Just be glad it didn’t shatter. You could have been nothing more than slivers of escargot.’ Then I rubbed his shell. ‘But I’m very glad that you’re not.’

Clyde’s colours slid back into a happier shade of green-blue. I carried him into the cottage.

Aislin’s ears swivelled back, flattening against her head. ‘Is that a malwen siarc?’

‘It certainly is,’ Cadfan answered for me. ‘Why are you holding one of those vermin?’

I glared at them both. ‘What happened to tolerance towards all? Were those just fine words? Or did you mean it?’

‘But a malwen siarc--’

‘This is Clyde, he’s my friend, and if I came here as rector then he’d be living in this house.’ I returned to my seat and placed the snail next to me. ‘And if there are any problems with that, then I might as well fly home.’

‘Fly,’ Clyde echoed.

They sat back in their settee. Numerous funeral visits had taught me not to be afraid of silence. Elf looked at harpy, and she nodded back. ‘We’d like you to meet with our church members,’ Cadfan said. ‘We’ll arrange a light meal, and then ask you to preach to us.’

I managed to stifle a groan. I’d never been fond of Trial by Buffet. ‘That’s fine. When?’

We agreed on Thursday afternoon. ‘We understand that there would also be a curate,’ Cadfan added. ‘Please bring him with you.’

‘Certainly.’ I wondered how many drams of whisky it would take to convince Morey.

Aislin exposed sharp teeth in a smile nearly as frightening as Clyde’s. ‘And the topic of your sermon is to be Saint George. What can his martyrdom teach us about relationships between Christians and non Christians?’

‘Certainly,’ I said, refusing to be rattled. ‘What length?’

‘No more than fifteen minutes.’ To her credit, the harpy laughed. ‘Any longer than that, and there would be ructions.’

‘Sounds like a typical Anglican congregation,’ I commented.

After that, I went upstairs to check out the facilities. The toilet was clean and human sized. Clyde was eyeing Aislin when I returned, no doubt remembering that he’d sunk teeth into the leg of the last harpy he’d met. I scooped him from the seat and we all made our farewells.

Aldred thumped onto the hilltop as I climbed back up the road. Clyde was a worrisome weight in my hands. ‘I’m going to put you into my jacket,’ I told him. ‘Do your best to hold on. And, by the way, how did you get here anyway?’

The snail’s eyespots swivelled over to the waiting dragon. ‘Fly.’

‘Yes, yes, we’re going to fly back,’ I snapped. ‘I know full well that you can find thin places. But how did you manage to cross over? Did you get someone to fly you through?’

Clyde reared up on my palm. ‘“Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth--”’

‘I don't believe angels brought you here either,’ I cut in. Perhaps Clyde simply lacked the vocabulary to tell me. And we’d reached Aldred. ‘Okay, putting you inside now.’

‘How did it go?’ Aldred asked as I made my way up his side.

‘Not certain,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t think the Rector’s Churchwarden is that keen on me.’

His head turned to bring his large eyes near mine. ‘Just remember that an interview is a two way process, Father Penny. Don’t accept the parish if you don’t think it’s where God is calling you.’

‘Thanks,’ I muttered. To my shame, I hadn’t given God a single thought. No doubt my spiritual director would have something to say about that. As we took off, I wondered if there were any way I could cancel my upcoming meeting with Gregory.

<><><><><><>

The sound of the phone ringing made me thrash in my bed. I reached out in the darkness, hand flailing in the direction of the sound. After I’d knocked the side lamp to the ground and sent the alarm clock flying, my hand closed on the unit. ‘Beckeridge Vicarage,’ I managed to get out.

‘G’day, that the church in Beckeridge?’

The Australian twang made me wonder for a moment whether I were in a strange dream. Then my hand began to throb from where I’d hit the lamp. Awake, then. ‘I’m the vicar, yes.’

‘I'm researching my roots. Do you have a Samuel Price in your churchyard?’ The man chuckled. ‘I mean buried, of course. He died back in 1756. Long before my granddad left Old Blighty for Oz.’

‘What time is it over there?’

‘Just after lunch. This isn’t a good time for you?’

‘It’s a bit early.’ I propped myself up on the bed. ‘I don’t think I can help you. Our records only go back to Victorian times. You’ve tried some on-line searches?’

‘That’s what sent me to you.’ He might be thousands of miles away, but the wonders of modern technology effortlessly carried his disappointed tone to my ear. ‘You don’t have computer records?’

I wondered if I should admit that our graveyard plan was one semi-completed document, held in the safe-keeping of an eighty year old who lived in the village. ‘No, I’m afraid we don’t.’

‘Well, next time you’re walking through the cemetery, could you have a look for him?’

For a moment I simply stared into my dark room. How could I explain that, even if I had the time to take strolls around my churchyard, any inscription that old had probably weathered away? ‘Next time you’re in England,’ I told him, ‘you’re welcome to look for yourself. The churchyard is open 24/7. Thank you for your interest.’

I managed to find the phone’s cradle, and then the lamp. The sudden light made me blink. Then I got up, pulled on a dressing gown, and went downstairs to turn on my computer. I was going to whip up the greatest sermon about Saint George ever to emerge from an annoyed priest’s hands.

Gregory handed me the requested extra strong cup of coffee. We wandered through from kitchen to study. A new icon was hanging above his desk, and I admired the gold paintwork surrounding the Madonna and Child. ‘But it’s not every night you’re woken by Australians,’ he said as he settled into his chair. ‘That in itself isn’t enough for you to be plotting your escape, surely.’

‘It’s not an escape,’ I countered. ‘It’s a sabbatical.’

‘Penny. You’ve wanted to move to Lloegyr ever since you met your first dragon.’

‘I’m certain I could do some good there.’ I took a gulp of coffee. ‘They do seem to have this prejudice against humans. Maybe I could change that.’

‘What else has been going on in Beckeridge?’

I waved a hand. ‘You don’t want to hear me moaning.’

‘I’m giving you permission to moan. Why not use it?’

So I went through the list. Holly’s monetary deception, the deathwatch beetle in the pews, the continued lack of a second churchwarden, and the struggle to attract any families to our all age service. ‘I’ve been there five years. A break would do them good too. And Rosie is very capable, she can cover everything. They like her better than they do me, anyway.’

Gregory gave me a sad smile. ‘Of course they do. Rosie is able to simply be a priest. You have to be their vicar. She’s like the kindly aunt who comes and pats them on the head. You’re the parent who has to make decisions which they might not like.’

‘I certainly do that. Or so they tell me often enough.’

‘But that’s what love demands of us. As Saint Ignatius said, “Love is shown more in deeds than in words.” That’s what God calls us to do. To act in love, even when it costs us personally. Where can you best show that love of God, Penny? Here, or in Lloegyr? What has God said to you?’

I coughed. ‘Well, we haven’t been talking that much, not lately. More like polite nods to each other from time to time. But all relationships go through patches like that.’

‘Hmm. Could this be what the Desert Fathers called acedia?’

‘Who knows, maybe,’ I said, racking my brains for what the term could mean. Was it something I should see my doctor about?

We talked a bit more about my meeting with the Caer-grawnt churchwardens. At the end of the hour, Gregory sent me away with homework as well as his blessing.

Clouds chased themselves across fields as I drove back to my vicarage. It suddenly struck me that I’d be away for Easter, if I were to go to Caer-grawnt. For a moment, I wondered if I could really bear to be away from my parish for the most important Christian day of the year. Then I clenched my jaw and turned my thoughts to how I could celebrate the Lord’s resurrection in Lloegyr.

The house was quiet when I entered. Morey was seated on my desk. Clyde was in his tank, curled up in his shell. I rolled out my chair and took a seat. ‘Any messages?’

‘None.’ Morey flicked his ears. ‘How did it go with your spiritual director?’

I winced. ‘He’s given me Luke 1: 26-38 to pray over.’

‘The angel Gabriel appearing to Mary, and her agreement to bear Jesus,’ Morey mused. ‘He wants you to discern God’s will, obviously.’

‘Obviously. It’d be easier if God could just discover email. “Dear Penny, this is what I want you to do. Love and kisses, God.”’

Morey snorted. ‘Like you’d pay any attention if he did.’

‘True.’ I nodded at the computer. The Word document of my sermon was glowing from the screen. ‘What do you think of it?’

‘You’re trying a bit too hard. There’s no need to beat your breast about being human. They’ll know that going in.’

‘I want to go there, Morey. See what parish life is like on the other side.’

‘You’ll still have your Hollys over there.’

‘At least a Lloegyr Holly would have scales, or feathers, or even fangs.’ I sighed. ‘It would just be different. Maybe it’s acedia.’

For a moment I held my breath, wondering if Morey would tell me I could get an ointment for that condition. But he cocked his head. ‘Ah, the sickness that can strike in the mid-day. Both literally and figuratively. Beginnings are always exciting. There is a bitter-sweetness at endings. The middle can be a bit sticky, leading to a dullness of the soul. Or even despair.’

‘A sabbatical would do me good.’ I pulled the keyboard closer. ‘I just need a break. And then there’s this group thingy of yours.’

‘About that.’ His ears twisted. ‘We need to meet with my matriarch on Thursday.’

‘But that’s the same day I have to be at Caer-grawnt!’

‘We’re meeting her in the morning,’ Morey said smoothly. ‘We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to go on to your supper and preach.’

I glared at him. ‘I deliberately agreed to go there on Thursday because it’s my day off.’

‘Which is why I agreed we’d meet her on Thursday. I knew you’d be free.’

‘Then you’d better help me with this sermon,’ I told him sourly. ‘And I’d better be in a fit state to meet parishioners when I arrive at Caer-grawnt.’

‘Don’t worry, not a hair will be harmed,’ he assured me. ‘This won’t be one of the challenges.’

And with that comforting thought, we bent our heads over the keyboard to write about Saint George.

Chapter Fourteen

The sun had barely struggled over the horizon when a green-black dragon thumped into my back garden. Even before he turned his glittering eyes towards me, I knew it was Raven. For a moment my heart slowed. Then I slung a backpack over my shoulder, collected Clyde’s carry case, and braced myself for Morey’s claws on my shoulder.

A frost had coated the ground. As my boots crunched across to the waiting dragon, I shivered from more than the cold alone. A saddle rested around two spines, cinch straps running around his neck and still too-thin chest. I halted a several feet away. ‘Raven?’

His head swung towards me. For a moment, I thought I saw a spark in the blue-green eyes. Red-rimmed nostrils expanded as he drew in my scent. Then he looked away, his wings sagging on the grass. ‘Please board.’

I swallowed hard and used the rungs built into the side of the leather to pull myself up into the saddle. Dear God, I thought, forgive me for all the times I thought it would be easier to ride him this way.

‘Three to Clan Cornovi,’ Raven announced, his voice flat. ‘Thirty minutes flight time, barring gryphon interference. Payment has been arranged in advance with the Matriarch of Cornovi. Please hold on to the grab handles and, in the unlikely event of nausea, do not vomit upwind.’

The near vertical take off pressed me against my backpack. At least the spare clothes resting inside gave me some padding from the spine behind me. I wrapped my gloved hands around the metal handles protruding either side of the front spine.

We rose through our first thin place. I closed my eyes. A challenging phone call from my treasurer, asking me why we hadn’t seen Holly in church for a couple of weeks, had made me toss and turn much of the night. The early rise, designed to get us aloft before too many people could wonder how a woman was floating through air, hadn’t helped matters.

So I felt rather than saw the changes as Raven piloted our passage. Heat and cold, a spray of salt water which made me pull Clyde’s case closer to my chest. A brief smell of spring flowers and then an acrid smog which made me cough for breath.

I opened my eyes after we’d been soaring for several minutes. We were several hundred feet above an island. The green-brown shape reminded me of a letter ‘C’, but with a comma attached to the curve. Ragged cliff edges rose from the blue-black sea like snail shark teeth, and the rising sun cast long shadows across the treeless land. As Raven tilted his wings and took us in, I saw the right hand side of the large bay had a gentler slope. Brown tents were scattered across the green grass.

Raven took us down in a gradual glide. We skimmed over the small rocky beach, the small waves murmuring just beneath the dragon’s feet. His blue-green wings billowed as he lifted us over a slope. Then he touched down in a light jog.

To my horror, Raven lowered himself onto his belly to allow me to dismount. I slid down to the sparse grass, and turned to thank him. But he was already striding away. A moment later he leapt up, and flew over to join two other dragons huddled at one end of the beach. One was a search dragon, her green-black skin standing out against the orange-red colouring of the smaller tasci dragon.

‘Hey, Sis!’ James waved at me, and Peter, standing near him, gave me a nod. ‘Over here!’

I hobbled the short distance nearer the semi-circle of tents. Riding in the saddle had been less comfortable than bare-back. Morey took off as I joined the two men. ‘Been here long?’

‘I arrived about twenty minutes ago,’ Peter said. ‘Arnborg, the other search dragon over there, had to be sent for James. Seems even he didn’t know where he was.’

My brother grinned. ‘Sign of a great night out.’

I found myself savaging my lower lip. ‘And how’s your head?’

‘Fresh air is good, even though a bit nippy.’ James threw a thumb at the distant dragons. ‘But the ride over was a real bummer. Couldn’t get any conversation out of her.’

‘From what I understand,’ Peter said carefully, ‘it’s a disgrace to sell your services as a mount. I don’t think any dragon does it unless he or she has no other choice.’

‘But the police, the heddlu, they ride dragons.’

‘Those dragons have joined the force and are full partners. And often the dragon is the senior partner, as well.’ Peter glanced at his watch. ‘At least we’re in the same time zone as home. No jet lag.’

‘Shouldn’t that be dragon lag?’ James asked.

Morey had gone into the tent nearest us. Now he nosed his way back out. I could hear voices behind him. ‘Quick, comb your hair,’ I whispered to James. ‘And couldn't you have found clean clothes before you came?’

He tried to smooth down his wind-swept brown hair. ‘All I had was what I didn’t sleep in.’

I tore my eyes away from the splotches of beer scattered across his blue shirt. At least Peter looked smart, his tweed jacket over a white shirt and black jeans. I brushed at my blue trousers and tugged my black fleece into place.

‘Relax, Pen,’ James said. ‘This is Morey’s grandma, right? We’ve met her before.’

The tent flap shuddered. Tan leather pulled aside, and the matriarch strode out to meet us. She seemed even larger than when we’d met her in the house. Her feathered shoulders reached the same height as my own, and her brown eagle head was the same height as Peter’s. Broad wings were folded over her muscular lion legs. Red eyes gleamed above the fierce yellow beak. On either side of her paced gryphons nearly the same size, looking equally formidable.

‘Bloody hell,’ James muttered.

‘Language,’ I muttered back. The ornate chain of jewel-studded gold lying against the gryphon’s chest made me want to hide the scuffed hiking boots I’d chosen to wear.

Morey placed himself in front of us. ‘Cyfarchion, Ercwiff, anrhydeddus Fatriarch y Cornovi.’

‘Greetings to the Matriarch Ercwiff,’ I said in English, and then repeated it in Welsh. ‘Mae’n anrhydedd i ni gwrdd â chi.’ Well, it was indeed an honour to meet her, here on her home turf.

The matriarch spoke in a deep voice. ‘Rhain yw eich grŵp rhyfelwyr, Trahaearneifion?’

‘This is my warrior group,’ Morey agreed in Welsh. ‘I will introduce them to you, Matriarch.’

Clyde trilled from inside his pouch. I opened the top and lifted him out. After a moment’s hesitation, I placed him on my right shoulder. Gryphons small and large paced past us, Morey naming us each in turn. ‘Peter, Police Inspector. James, currently unemployed. Penny, priest. And Clyde, a noble hunter.’

Ercwiff brought her eyes close to the snail. ‘Malwen siarc. Rhyfelwr nerthol.’

I could feel Clyde stiffen with pride at being called ‘a mighty warrior.’

Ercwiff continued to speak in Welsh to her grandson. ‘The priest and the snail shark are good choices. Even the policeman could do well. But the other human male smells of rut and beer. You’re certain of this one?’

Somehow I managed to keep my face straight. Just as well that James had never learned to speak Welsh. Morey said steadily, ‘He is my choice, Matriarch Grandmother.’

‘Your choice it is to make,’ she agreed. ‘And you will either rise or fall from your choices. Very good, Trahaearneifion. The forgers are ready. Take them to be fitted for their swords.’

Morey turned to us. ‘Follow me.’

‘We’ve been accepted,’ I quickly explained to James as we trudged up the gradual slope. ‘And I think we’re going to get some kit.’

‘Oh, good, I like presents.’ But he pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘You don’t have any ibuprofen on you, do you?’

Moving carefully so that I didn’t knock Clyde from his perch, I slid my backpack to my side. ‘Here. Have a couple. And, James, really, couldn’t you have stayed sober for just one night? You knew we were coming here this morning.’

‘I planned to, I really did.’ James swallowed the tablets dry, and coughed for a moment. ‘But then Ashley texted me, and it sounded like a really great party, so what was I supposed to do?’

‘Just say no?’ I asked, suppressing the impulse to ask what had happened to Debbie.

A path of hard stone led us away from the main tents. Ahead of us loomed a grey building, the uneven stones laid roughly one upon the other. A brick chimney rose haphazardly from the tile roof. A change in the breeze brought the smell of smoke and hot metal. Buckets were stacked outside the wide entrance.

We followed Morey inside. The only light came from the doorway and chinks in the wall. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw that a large anvil filled the back section of the building. A dwarf was holding a long piece of metal out to a dog-sized dragon, who exhaled flames across the length. The metal glowed yellow, and the blacksmith swung it over to the anvil. The sound of metal striking metal clanged through the air.

‘Cwsmeriaid,’ the black dragon said to the dwarf.

The gleaming rod was hammered a few more times, and then lowered into a bucket of water. The dwarf hung up the tongs, and turned to us. Blackened hands were wiped into his beard before he held one out to me. ‘Father Penny.’

Calluses pressed against my palm as I shook his hand. ‘You know me?’

‘Forged your knife, I did, remember?’ He spoke in English with a Welsh accent. ‘Where is it now?’

Somewhere in Tyra’s large intestine, I found myself thinking. ‘Safely tucked away. Excellent work, by the way.’

‘Aodh is the top blacksmith in Lloegyr,’ Morey said. ‘He will forge your swords.’

‘Cool.’ James grinned. ‘I get a sword.’

Peter frowned. ‘Why do we need swords, Morey?’

‘And hunting knives,’ Morey continued. ‘You might need them both for the challenges.’

‘What is--’ I started.

Peter interrupted me. ‘Morey, it’s about time you told us what’s actually going to happen.’

‘If you’re going to have a row,’ Aodh grumbled, ‘do it on your own time. Time to size you up.’

Each human had to stand still as the dwarf ran a grimy measuring tape along our arms and around our chests and biceps. I had to do some twisting from my hips, and the two men were asked to hop and spin. Aodh tapped Clyde’s shell, a thoughtful expression creasing his weathered face. The snail bared his teeth, and the dwarf clucked in approval.

We were shown various options for hilt and cross guards. James entered the selection process with the same enthusiasm as I’d seen when he’d shown off his new BMW. Peter simply pointed at the plainest example and then crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on Morey. I went for a tapered wooden grip. ‘I’ll knock up some wooden practice swords now,’ Aodh told us. ‘Then this afternoon I’ll have a look at your reach.’

‘As long as we’re gone by four,’ I said quickly. ‘I have another engagement.’

‘You won’t miss your appointment,’ Morey assured me. ‘And the swords will probably be more ceremonial than functional.’

‘The edges will be sharp, mind you,’ Aodh warned us. ‘So be careful with them. No messing about.’

This seemed to be directed at James in particular, who quickly put down the dagger he’d been swishing through the air. ‘Yes, sir.’

We emerged back into the clean air. I slipped my hands into my fleece pockets, wishing I’d put on something a bit warmer. Where were we? Something about the landscape made me think of Scotland.

Peter took several quick strides and bent down to grab Morey. Morey yelped as he was lifted onto a boulder so that man and gryphon stood eye to eye. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Peter said sternly. ‘Moriarty Trahaearneifion, tell me exactly what is going to happen in these challenges.’

Morey’s tail was an agitated blur. ‘What did Taryn say?’

‘Taryn said to ask you.’

‘They’ll be tests of courage more than anything else,’ Morey said quickly. ‘We believe that you can judge the calibre of a gryphon by the quality of his friends.’

‘Can you guarantee our safety?’ Peter glanced over at me. ‘Can you guarantee Penny’s safety?’

I glared at him. ‘Why’re you singling me out? Because I’m a woman?’

‘No,’ Peter said heatedly, ‘it’s because I love you.’

Silence fell. Even the hammering in the forge faltered. Peter’s face reddened. A part of me wanted to throw myself into his arms. But I held back, aware of the gryphons stirring below us, the dwarf studying us from his doorway, and the snail shark murmuring on my shoulder. Nor could I read James’ neutral expression. So I turned to my Associate. ‘Go on, Morey. Answer Peter’s question.’

‘I can’t, not exactly.’ Morey looked at each of us in turn. ‘My matriarch will decide the challenges. But I promise you, I won’t let any of you be harmed.’

‘Aodh,’ Peter said, making the dwarf startle. ‘May I have a blade, please?’

The blacksmith hurried inside, and returned a moment later with a dagger, which he offered hilt first. Peter accepted the knife, and then positioned the gleaming blade near Morey. ‘Swear it on iron, Moriarty Trahaearneifion. Promise that you will let no harm come to me, James, Penny, or Clyde.’

The gryphon placed one falcon foot on the metal. ‘I swear, in my name and on my blood, that I will permit no harm to come to any of my grŵp rhyfelwyr.’ He pressed against the sharp edge, and a trickle of red dribbed from his toe. ‘Satisfied?’

‘It’ll have to do.’ Peter wiped the blade on a tissue, and returned it to the dwarf. I fished out a bandage from my backpack and wound it around Morey’s cut. He spread his wings and flew to the gryphons who were beginning to emerge from their tents.

As we walked back down the slope, I made my way over to Peter. I put a hand on his arm. ‘You know, I, well, I’d like to say...’

He covered my hand with his own. ‘Sorry, Penny, it just came out. But, you know, after Sam and I split up, I never thought--it’s been wonderful to find you.’

Words tangled in my throat. I managed to get out, ‘And you.’

Clyde tapped against my cheek, leaving a wet splodge of slime. ‘Cold.’

I broke away from Peter. ‘Okay, in you go.’ He slid into his carry bag and I closed the top. Then I looked up at Peter. ‘Kids, always ruining a romantic moment.’

Peter smiled. ‘That’s something we might find out.’

No, we wouldn’t, I thought. We were nearly back to the tents now, so I had an excuse to call out, ‘Morey, what now?’

Morey broke off his conversation with an osprey-panther gryphon and flew over to land on my right shoulder. ‘You’ve been slimed,’ he complained, lifting a dripping foot from my fleece.

‘Clyde had to hold on somehow.’

With a graceful jump, Morey soared over my head and onto my left shoulder. ‘My clan will impress you with their flying skills, and then we’ll have lunch.’

‘Great,’ James said happily. ‘This stag do is starting out really well.’ And then he turned to give me and Peter a big smile. ‘And I don’t only mean because of the gryphons. I’m really happy about you two.’

And I felt a tension ease from my chest as we trudged down to the beach.

Chapter Fifteen

The first half dozen flying demonstrations were indeed impressive. Large gryphons threw themselves at each other over the bay, ducking and diving as they entered into mock fights. Feathers and fur of many hues, ranging from black to white with most settling for tawny, gleamed even in the weak sunshine. Losers in the bouts sometimes ended up in the water, squawking curses in Welsh as they splashed noisily to shore.

Morey caught me yawning part way through the morning. ‘Boring you, Black?’

‘They’re a bit samey,’ I admitted. ‘The same attack over and over again.’

He snorted. ‘Tactics are not their strong point. Most gryphons labour under the misconception that size is all that matters.’

‘Whereas those who are only cat sized?’

‘They have the brawn, we have the brains.’

A call from Aodh gave us an excuse to leave the beach. The blacksmith had set up a small outdoor pit, to which the small dragon applied fire. The smell of frying meat made my nose twitch. As we made our way up the slope, I could see that several small animal carcases were suspended on a metal pole just above the flames.

Lunch was a messy affair. Aodh used a long knife to carve off sections of meat which he dropped into a bowl. An utter lack of utensils meant somewhat burnt and very greasy fingers. After I’d had my fill of what appeared to have been some sort of large bird, I wiped my hands on the grass before pulling some paper napkins from my backpack.

‘What was that?’ James asked the dwarf.

Aodh shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you call it. Olafur?’

The small dragon lifted his head from his own bowl. ‘Aderyn du a gwyn, dim adenydd. Fe’i cymerais oddi ar y môr.’

‘A black and white bird, and it was in the sea,’ I translated for James.

‘What, a penguin?’

‘I can’t think that we’re in the southern hemisphere. We didn’t go through that much of a time shift.’ Then I turned to the dragon. ‘Olafur, pa mor fawr oedd yr aderyn?’

Olafur considered my question. ‘Byddai dau gymaint â fi.’

‘He said two would equal his length,’ I mused.

‘So around three feet long?’ Peter asked. ‘I didn’t think flightless birds came that big. Unless James is right and they are penguins?’

‘Or,’ I said slowly, ‘great auks. They were quite big. But they’re extinct.’

‘On our world, they are,’ Peter reminded me. ‘You’ve told me that Daear even has dinosaurs.’

‘Now that,’ James said, ‘is something I’d like to see.’

‘Soon enough, lad,’ Aodh said, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘Let’s first see what you can do with this.’

A wooden sword landed at his feet. James bent down, and with a quick movement lifted it up into the air. ‘Winter is coming!’

Peter glanced at me. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but has James just done a geek thing?’

‘Shush,’ I said quickly. ‘There might be hope for him yet.’

‘What, today Game of Thrones, tomorrow Doctor Who?’

‘Surely not,’ Morey said, landing on my left shoulder. I winced as he wiped his beak clean on my fleece. Then he raised his voice. ‘Right, Aodh, time to take the measure of the man!’

The dwarf picked up a wooden sword of his own. James backed away as Aodh marched over. ‘Are you sure about this? I mean, shouldn’t I pick on someone my own size?’

‘You think height is all that matters?’ Aodh crouched. ‘Come now, lad. Swing that blade.’

I’d watched enough Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes to know how this would go. With a few quick moves, the dwarf had knocked the sword from James’ hand and left my brother rubbing his palm. ‘You should’ve shouted something first. I wasn’t ready for you.’

‘Then you should have been.’

Peter left my side to join them. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if I practiced with James? You could watch us both to decide on our reach.’

Aodh grunted agreement. Peter was handed a sword of his own, and James retrieved his. ‘I did some fencing while I was at uni,’ Peter said. ‘Let me show you a few moves, James.’

The sound of wood thwacking upon wood filled the air. Peter was lighter on his feet than I would have expected. After a few minutes, Peter stopped and showed James how to hold the sword. He spoke too quietly for me to hear, but whatever he said made my brother stand more at ease.

‘He’s being soft on the lad,’ Morey commented as they exchanged a few more blows.

Aodh joined us. ‘The lad has good balance. Pity he carries so much on his shoulders.’

I glanced down at the dwarf. ‘He’s been through quite a bit.’

‘Aye. It slows him down.’

‘Which is why Peter shouldn’t be going easy on him,’ Morey said. ‘James needs to be challenged.’

‘Nay, this Peter has the right of it,’ Aodh replied. ‘Lad needs building up. Or else one day he’ll overreach in trying to prove himself.’

‘Children need to be stretched.’

‘Know much about children?’ Aodh asked him.

Morey’s feathers were ruffled in annoyance. ‘Not yet. But I will learn, if I’m successful in proving myself to my clan and Taryn to hers.’

‘Immediately?’ I asked. ‘Or will you wait awhile?’

‘Marriage “was ordained for the procreation of children”,’ Morey quoted. ‘The Book of Common Prayer. I’m sorry that your marriage to Alan didn’t result in children.’

‘It was a deliberate choice,’ I said. ‘We had James to raise.’

‘And if you were to marry Peter?’

Fortunately, at that moment Aodh stuck grimy fingers into his mouth to let out a loud whistle. ‘Time for the Father to have a turn!’

‘I’m happy to sit this out,’ I said quickly. I had no desire to reek of sweat when I met the church members of Caer-grawnt.

‘Just a few goes,’ Peter told me. ‘So Aodh can get an idea of what you need.’

So I placed Clyde’s case over James’ shoulder and clomped over in my hiking boots. Morey rose into the air, hovering above us as I raised the sword that James had been wielding. I made a few half-hearted exchanges with Peter, and then lowered the wooden blade. ‘Satisfied?’

‘You needn’t hold back,’ Aodh said. ‘The man can take your strength.’

‘Yes,’ I said slowly, meeting Peter’s blue-grey eyes. ‘I know.’ And I found myself grinning.

A sudden commotion from the beach broke the moment. Raven was snarling at the tacsi dragon. Sand and pebbles churned into the air as the smaller dragon backed away. ‘Knew it,’ Morey muttered, dropping back onto my shoulder. ‘I told you hiring him wasn’t that great a favour.’

‘Can you hear what they’re saying?’

‘I don’t need to.’ He folded his wings onto his back. ‘The tacsi dragon would have told Raven he’s one of them now. He’s taking it badly. But he’s wearing a saddle, so it’s hard to deny.’

‘Bishop Aeron’s chaplain has carried me from time to time,’ I said. ‘And worn a saddle.’

‘That was done to honour you,’ Morey said. ‘This is different.’

Raven was a solitary figure now, the other dragons having withdrawn further along the beach. Peter tapped his watch. ‘Maybe Raven could take Penny a bit early?’

Suddenly the last place I wanted to be was on Raven’s back. ‘Maybe I should have a bit more sword practice. I don’t want to seem overeager.’

Morey leaned forward to address James. ‘Can I trust you to carry Clyde home safely?’

‘Of course.’ James patted the case. ‘I’ll even open a beer for him.’

‘The churchwardens will cope if you turn up early,’ Morey continued. ‘Besides, they’ll see that you need to change your clothes.’

I resisted the temptation to investigate the damp patch on my right shoulder. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going. Coming, Morey?’

His tail curled. ‘If I must.’

‘We agreed,’ I reminded him firmly. ‘At least you don’t have to do anything except look pretty.’

Peter touched my arm. ‘Good luck, Penny. Knock ‘em dead.’

‘Metaphorically speaking, of course,’ Morey said. ‘I’ll join you in a moment. I need to take my leave of the matriarch.’

My backpack was resting near the cooking pit. I hooked the straps over my shoulder and made my way down to the beach. Most of the gryphons had returned to their tents, and loud snores rattled more than one leather flap. Several sat outside, bowls of hot drink swirling steam into the air. I had a sudden longing for a cup of tea, and I hoped that one would be on offer when I arrived at Caer-grawnt.

I had to walk past the other dragons to reach Raven. They moved aside to allow me through, but I could feel their eyes on me as I joined the search dragon. ‘Could you take me to Caer-grawnt, please?’

The gruff sounds of draconic laughter made my back stiffen. The tacsi dragon shouted out, in Welsh, ‘No need to be polite to him, Father. He’ll take you to hell and back if that’s what you want. He’s sold his freedom for a few talonsful of gold!’

My attempt at a dramatic whirl was nearly undone when my boot heel ground against a stone. But I still delivered my withering line, also in Welsh. ‘And what about you?’

The orange-red dragon lifted wings in a shrug. ‘I was hatched to this. He was reduced to it. The high and mighty search dragon. Well, we all look the same under the saddle.’

‘And you, Arnborg?’ I challenged the other search dragon. ‘I thought you’d stand by one of your own kind.’

Arnborg snorted. ‘I wasn’t welcome in their precious settlement. My talent frightened them.’

‘When I asked Raven to find James, he needed some of my blood to make a connection,’ I said slowly. ‘But you didn’t need anything to find James. Exactly how strong are your search abilities?’

‘Too strong for my own kind. Clan Cornovi gave me shelter when I was a mere puffling. I am loyal to the matriarch.’ Arnborg kicked gravel at Raven. ‘His loyalty is to gold and stomach.’

‘Climb up,’ Raven said, cutting across my retort. ‘It’ll take us fifty minutes to fly to Caer-grawnt.’

‘But--’

‘One to Caer-grawnt. Fifty minutes flight time. Payment has been arranged in advance with the Matriarch of Cornovi. Please hold on to the grab handles and, in the unlikely event of nausea, do not vomit upwind.’

‘Two to Caer-grawnt,’ I corrected. ‘We need to wait for Morey.’ Then I climbed up to the saddle and settled myself in. It wasn’t my fault, I thought at Raven, that you decided to go and torch your home. It wasn’t my fault you destroyed your living and had to sign up with Morey’s clan. None of this is my fault.

Guilt burned in my throat. A few minutes later, Morey took his place in the small space between my chest and Raven’s spine. Raven went for a direct launch away from the island. I watched as the gryphon encampment spiraled away underneath us. Then Raven ducked through the first thin place. As before, I decided to close my eyes rather than take note of the changes between worlds and locales. Although the Saint George sermon was safely zipped into a pocket of my fleece, I still went through my major points. Should I really mention my interfaith work on Earth? How about my own household? After all, I lived with a gryphon and a snail shark. And, unexpectedly, I found myself praying. Well, God, you know how much I want this. So pull your finger out and help me to do well. I paused, then added, Please?

I only opened my eyes when I sensed that we were preparing to land. Raven angled us down to the church. His claws scrabbled on the road as he came down in a jog, and I winced as my back complained. He slowed to a walk, and then a stop.

Before he could lower himself, I freed myself from the saddle and slid to the ground. ‘How will I let you know when I’m finished?’

For a long moment Raven studied me. ‘Call for me. I’ll be listening.’

Morey settled onto my shoulder as I hobbled down towards the church hall. The long ride had done little for the circulation in my legs. ‘That’s torn it,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘He must have realised that you’re not carrying his knife. Or you wouldn’t need to ask how to contact him.’

‘That’s making quite a leap.’

‘You could always just tell him.’

‘I’ll have it back soon enough. Tyra said she’d let me know when it’s, well, when it’s passed through.’

Morey snorted. ‘I just hope it doesn’t stink out the house.’

I’d passed the church. The hall was adjacent, separated only by a few feet of grass and a low wall. Walls of red brick rose up to a slate roof, and two large wooden doors were set into one end. A glance at my watch revealed that I was only twenty minutes early. A comfortable margin.

Cadfan appeared as I approached the entrance. ‘I told her,’ he said to me. ‘I said to Aislin that you’d be early. Is this the curate?’

Morey’s claws dug into my fleece, but his voice was calm. ‘That remains to be seen.’

‘I’d like to get changed?’ I cut in quickly.

‘There’s a small office near the back. I’ll take you there.’

A side door allowed us to enter the room without facing the large audience I could hear in the main part of the hall. The walls weren’t thick enough to mask the sounds of a dragon chortling, or the high whinny of a unicorn. Once Morey and I were alone, I hurriedly replaced fleece with suit jacket, and changed into black trousers. Two dragon rides and hours on a windy island had tangled my hair, and I tamed it with a brush and only a few muffled grunts of pain. A final tug on my jacket, and I was ready to go.

‘Deep breaths,’ Morey said from a nearby desk. ‘Shall I pray?’

I studied him. ‘Would your heart be in it?’

He cocked his head, obviously pondering his answer. ‘You want this, I don’t. But what we want isn’t important. We need to work out whether this is what God wants.’

‘Then,’ I said, ‘I think “Thy will be done” is all the prayer that we need?’

There was a knock on the door, and then Cadfan stepped back inside. His lips twitched slightly, which was the nearest thing to a smile I’d ever seen on an elf. Then he opened the inner door, and waved me through.

I took a step forward, then paused. ‘It’s like the Mos Eisley Cantina scene from Star Wars: A New Hope,’ I whispered to Morey as I took in the view of at least fifty denizens of Lloegyr.

‘How’s that?’ he asked. ‘There’s no bar.’

‘Lots of food and mugs of tea.’

‘No music, and no aliens.’

‘But dragons and unicorns and weres and vampires,’ I said happily, my eyes roving around the crowded room. ‘And harpies and even a couple of gryphons. Big ones. Just think, Morey, this could be our congregation. We could serve God here.’

‘Just remember,’ Morey warned me, ‘that there are two sides to the Force.’

Aislin strode over. ‘Father Penny. Good to see you.’

‘I’m very pleased to be here,’ I said, feeling slightly dizzy.

‘And this is your curate?’

‘Possibly,’ Morey said. ‘At the moment, I’m Elder Trahaearneifion, or Morey, if you would prefer the English name.’

‘Come and have some food,’ the churchwarden continued, sweeping her arm at the long wooden tables covered with mounds of meat and fruit. ‘The ostrich was brought down by one of our dragons just this morning, so the meat is still very fresh.’

‘I could fancy some cheese,’ I said, tearing my eyes away from the still feathered carcass.

‘Ostrich will do me fine.’ And Morey flew over to the table.

The variety of offerings reflected the mixed company in the hall. I managed to find some sliced bread, and chunks of cheddar. No sooner had I gained a mug of tea than a dragon marched up and demanded to know my credentials. How long had I been ordained, what sort of churches had I served in, and what did I think of the Caer-grawnt rugby team? Fortunately, before I had to answer the last question, a harpy was at my elbow, asking what my view was on having a toilet in a church. Her tone suggested that she was against.

I stifled a sigh. This part of an interview process was called ‘Trial by Buffet’ with good reason. I fended these and a number of other questions during the course of an hour, repeating myself at various times. Morey, I noticed with some envy, was allowed to tear into the ostrich in peace.

After a long interrogation about the subject of my Masters degree, which had left me explaining that James Fowler was a theologian and not a bird hunter, I was left alone for a blissful few minutes. I managed to drop off my plate and gain a new cup of tea.

Cadfan wandered over. ‘We’ll be going into the church in a moment, Father Penny. I trust you have had enough to eat?’

‘Plenty,’ I assured him. ‘Where did it all come from? It’s a great spread.’

‘We have a vast array of hunters in our congregation, along with several farmers.’

‘I do hope there’s also a good corner shop nearby,’ I said. ‘You know, for the essentials. Milk, bread, toilet paper. Whisky.’

Again there was a hint of a half-smile. ‘One of our pubs, The Weeping Pig, has a fine line of distilled spirits. I’m certain the landlady would be very pleased to make your acquaintance. As for your more mundane needs, our members would keep your pantry well stocked. A rector cannot be expected to do her own hunting or gathering.’

A loud shriek nearly made me drop my mug. But it was only Aislin summoning everyone’s attention. ‘If you’d like to make your way to the church, please. Father Penny will deliver her sermon there in a moment.’

Morey wiped his grimy beak on a table cloth, then flew over to my shoulder. I nodded to Cadfan, and followed him outside. Finger out, I reminded God. Don’t let me down now.

Chapter Sixteen

It was while we were waiting at the door, allowing the congregation to go into the church first, that I noticed the emptiness at my jacket pocket. ‘My sermon,’ I whispered to Morey. ‘I’ve left it in my fleece.’

‘That was rather careless of you.’

I sighed. ‘Go on, be a good curate and fetch it for me, would you?’

His beak opened as if he were going to say something more. Then he flew off my shoulder. I smiled at the dragon filing past me, nodded at a unicorn, and forced myself not to step back as an acrid smell rose from the harpy who was next. The numbers left to go inside were dwindling, and I could only hope that Morey would find a way to retrieve my sermon in time.

Only the two churchwardens were left when the gryphon landed on the churchyard wall. I gave Cadfan and Aislin a quick nod as I hurried to Morey’s side. The two folded pages of typed notes fluttered in his beak. I reached out my hand.

‘Hmph,’ Morey mumbled. He sat down, and transferred the paper to his right forefoot. ‘Spent a lot to time on this, Black?’

‘You know I did.’ I glanced back at the churchwardens. ‘Go on, I’m keeping everyone waiting.’

‘Found out a lot of information about the Lloegyr version of Saint George?’

‘Until your country discovers the internet, no. And you weren’t much help. I had to work off what I know about our version and invert it.’

Morey lowered his beak to the middle of the paperwork. Then, to my horror, he ripped it in half. I lunged forward, but he flipped up his wings and nimbly leapt backwards along the wall. Before I could stop him, he tore the sheets again and again, allowing the pieces to flutter to the damp ground.

‘What did you do that for?’ I demanded.

‘Remember when Jed Bartlet was about to go on stage for the Presidential debate, and his wife cut his tie?’

I stared at him. ‘The West Wing. Since when do you watch The West Wing?’

‘She did it to give him the energy he needed to go out and be his best.’ Morey flew back to face me. ‘Penny, you don’t need that sermon. Think about what you saw in the church hall.’

‘What, unicorns and dragons and harpies--’

‘No, what did you see?’

I thought for a moment. ‘I saw the different races of Lloegyr together in one place.’

‘Exactly. You don’t appreciate how rare that is.’ He brought his head close to mine. ‘Think about what Saint George symbolizes to us. And why he shouldn’t be such a symbol.’

‘What, hack off anyone who idolizes him?’

Morey lifted his wings in a shrug. ‘Go on, be bold.’

‘I want this job, Morey.’

‘And you’ll get it, if it’s God’s will. Or don’t you trust the Holy Spirit?’

‘Sometimes.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Just warn me if you ever start channelling Dexter, will you?’

I hurried over to the churchwardens, smiling my apologies. They led me into the church. Those gathered inside who weren’t already standing rose to their feet as I entered. The sun had already begun to set, so the candles and oil lamps had been lit. A bright light shone at the pulpit, ready to shed a yellow glow over the sermon I didn’t have.

Cadfan showed me to a pew at the front, then spent a few minutes advising the congregation that they were welcome to take notes regarding my sermon for better feedback later. I squirmed as he proceeded to mention my experience as a priest, making me sound far more accomplished than I felt. Then, finally, I was allowed to climb the steps to the pulpit.

Morey was perched on a pew near the front. Although his tail was twitching, his feathers were unruffled as he dipped his head in a nod. My gaze roamed further across the church. I suddenly realised that I was able read the body language of the beings facing me. The dragons were intrigued, their ears and horns pointing forwards. The unicorns were more sceptical, their tails flicking across their hindquarters. Gryphons were mixed, fur and feathers either smooth or raised. Vampires and weres smiled at me. The harpies were stony-faced, arms crossed over their ample breasts. I know these people, I found myself thinking. I can serve them. I belong here.

‘Saint George, the human slayer,’ I began. ‘But in my world, England, where he’s also our patron saint, Saint George killed a dragon.’ A few bodies shifted, but less than I’d expected. ‘Let’s talk about what slaying means.’ For a moment, Buffy the Vampire Slayer went through my mind, and I shook my head slightly to free my thoughts. ‘Surely, in both versions of the story, we have prejudice to blame for the tragic outcome. An inability to see the best in someone who looks so different to yourself.’

I dared a glance at Morey. His tail had stilled, and was curled around his hind feet. The feathers around his cheeks puffed, so he thought I’d made a good start.

‘That’s the challenge facing my own country.’ And I elaborated on my theme for a few minutes. How the United Kingdom had become a multi-cultural country in the twentieth century, taking in people from the lands it had once colonised. The resurgence of Welsh, Cornish, and Gaelic in the Celtic nations. The prejudice still shown against those who were non-white, or who didn’t fit into a binary view of gender.

‘And that’s the challenge facing your nation,’ I continued. ‘Your races used to live in their own enclaves, separated by preferences in geography and culture. But now as your cities grow and new industries come upon you, the unicorns are leaving their forests, the dragons have moved from the steppes, gryphons have left their islands to live alongside weres and vampires and harpies. How will you react?’

I expanded on what I had seen thus far. My visits to Llanbedr, to the settlement of the search dragons, and the lands protected by the unicorn Archdruid, as well as the island on which a gryphon clan had pitched their tents. How my flights over Llanbedr had revealed a city in which the races still tried to live separately. ‘But here in Caer-grawnt I see something else, something different, something better. I see the races side by side in the same church, brought together by worship in the one God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Our faith brings us together, regardless of whether we are covered in skin, or fur, or feathers, or scales.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Morey trying to speak to me. Beak reading a gryphon was not my strong point. He turned his head, and pointed at a hind foot. Foot? Paw? Oh, paw. Paul.

‘I recall what Saint Paul wrote in Galatians,’ I continued. A quick dip of his head confirmed that Morey felt I was on the right track. ‘In Christ there is neither Greek nor gentile, male nor female. There is neither unicorn nor gryphon, were nor vampire, harpy nor elf. There is neither human nor dragon.’

My watch rested on the otherwise empty shelf in front of me. I could see that I’d been speaking for just over ten minutes. Time to wrap this up. Finger out, God, I prayed quickly. Holy Spirit, some inspiration now, please. ‘In my world, Saint George killed a dragon whom he believed was harming local villagers. In Lloegyr, Saint George was slain by a human who did not see Christ in the dragon standing before him. Don’t both tragedies stem from the same source? Christ is in us, in all of us, the light which has come into the world. We know that the darkness cannot put it out. It’s up to all of us, by recognising that of God in each other, which will decide whether that light shines brightly in our worlds. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ the congregation echoed.

I climbed down from the pulpit, suddenly too tired to take in their reactions. My armpits were sticky, and my head was aching. All I wanted was to be home, settling down to a glass of red wine whilst soaking in a hot bubbly bath. Maybe a Doctor Who episode afterwards, preferably something featuring River Song. It’d been awhile since I’d watched River Song confounding the Doctor.

Aislin stood up. ‘Thank you, Father Penny. An interesting approach. We’ll discuss amongst ourselves and let you know the outcome.’

Cadfan came to my side. Again the congregation rose to their feet as he escorted me from the church. ‘An excellent sermon,’ he murmured in my ear as we stepped out into the twilight. ‘We’ll send a rat once we have spoken to the members of the church.’

Morey fluttered to my shoulder. I made my way back to the hall, where I collected my backpack. ‘Can you call for Raven?’ I asked as I trudged up the hill. ‘I think I’m all done in.’

<><><><><><>

The flight back was remarkable for being unremarkable. I slid to the ground, perversely grateful for the heavy rain which probably ensured that no neighbours would have noticed me floating into my back garden. Raven took off again without even looking at me. Raindrops hammered against my eyes as I looked at the black sky, unable to see even a flash of green.

James handed me a tumbler of Talisker as I dumped my wet jacket onto a chair. I topped it up before heading up to my room. A good dose of whisky, hot bath, and bed. Surely that was the cure for anyone worried both about what had happened to the dragon in her life and her most recent job interview. Everything would be better in the morning.

But dawn struck me through the windows without providing any enlightenment. I groaned my way downstairs and to coffee. Only Clyde and I seemed awake as I wandered into my study for Morning Prayer. The appointed Psalm, which told me to number my days ‘that we may gain a heart of wisdom’ did nothing to lift my mood. I looked out at the sun glinting against the chain link fence and asked Clyde, ‘Do you think it’s time we checked up on the webisode filming?’

The snail climbed willingly into his carry case, and a few minutes later we were on our way to Saint Wulfram’s. The filming schedule specified outdoor shooting near the church today, along with the intriguing note ‘special effects stand by.’ The good weather led me to hope that the film crew would keep to their plans.

A short man in an anorak was stationed at the bottom of the road into the village. I stopped the car a few feet from his chest and rolled down the window. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Filming, love,’ he replied, his voice raised to be heard over the chortle of my car’s ancient engine. ‘Access only.’

I pointed at my dog collar. ‘I’m the vicar. It’s my church you’re using.’

He leaned down to peer through the windscreen. ‘Of course, miss. Off you go.’

As I drove up the hill, and the church tower came into sight, I could see the reason why the film crew was discouraging visitors. A large crane was parked on the road, the arm reaching over into the churchyard. A number of men in high visibility jackets milled around. I could see Laura barking out orders as she ensured that the cameras were placed where she wanted them. Leslie was wearing a thick coat and sipping a coffee. I scowled at her all too perfect hair, then turned my attention to parking the car nearby.

The crew nodded at my dog collar and allowed me to enter the churchyard. ‘Oh, Beryl,’ Laura said as I glanced up at the seat which had been welded onto the end of the crane. ‘We’re busy today. Can I ask you to stand over there?’

‘Certainly,’ I said easily, giving her a reassuring smile. And I found myself a space between two gravestones. A couple of dragons were curled nearby. Their eyes glittered as I looked over at them. ‘Anything interesting so far?’

‘It’s the flying scene,’ the yellow one told me in Welsh. ‘They couldn’t film it yesterday.’

‘The woman didn’t want to go into the air,’ the purple dragon added. ‘Said the contraption rose too high.’

‘Doesn’t she have a stand in?’ Their ears twisted in confusion. I searched through my Welsh, and tried to explain. ‘Another woman who will go up instead of her. The production company would make sure they didn’t film her face.’ I grinned. ‘Maybe I could offer.’

‘You?’ The purple one raked his eyes over my body. ‘She carries much less weight than you.’

I didn’t come all this way to be body shamed by a couple of dragons. Turning my back on them, I watched as the director coaxed Leslie out of her coat and towards the lowered seat.

‘See? See?’ asked a muffled voice.

‘Sorry, Clyde.’ I opened the top of the case, and placed him onto the nearest gravestone. ‘Is that better?’

His eyespots took in the scene. ‘Saddle?’

‘On the end of the crane? Sort of.’ I pointed at the design. ‘It’s meant to make it look like the actor is sitting on a dragon. They’ll do something clever with special effects later.’

A whispered but fierce conversation was going on between director and actor. I caught the words ‘budget’ and ‘very safe’ and ‘contract’ from Louise, and ‘agent’ as well as ‘union’ from Leslie. But finally the actor climbed onto the seat, grimacing as her legs swung down from either side.

‘Now, remember, excitement!’ the director urged her. ‘You’re riding Falcon, the most handsome dragon in all of Lloegyr!’

‘Who’s Falcon?’ the yellow dragon asked. ‘Never heard of him.’

I clamped my lips shut. The production company had obviously decided that Raven needed a more predatory name.

The production assistant called for silence, and the cameras were aimed at Leslie. The crane lifted her into the air. ‘Squee!’ she shouted with feigned joy. ‘Look at me, I’m flying! Squee!’

Clyde swivelled his eyespots towards me. ‘I have never,’ I told him firmly, ‘squeed when riding a dragon. I do have some pride, you know.’

The dragons made comments about the delectability of Leslie’s legs as she was hoisted upwards several more times. Not really locker room talk, more like a discussion in a butcher’s shop. ‘Would you mind?’ I finally broke in. Although some of the terms they’d used were beyond my Welsh vocabulary, the discussion of the merits of ketchup versus gravy made the direction of their thoughts all too clear. ‘Those are supposed to be my legs, you know.’

‘Wouldn’t touch you,’ the yellow one said.

‘You carry a dragon’s knife,’ the purple one agreed. Then his pupils dilated, and he took a deep sniff. ‘Although I can’t smell steel on you.’

‘It’s not far away,’ I lied quickly. How much longer, I wondered, would it take for a knife to pass through a dragon’s digestive track? I needed to find a way to contact Tyra.

A car revved up the hill, the sound undercutting Leslie’s attempts to express a pleasure she wasn’t feeling. I just had enough time to recognise Peter’s blue Volvo when Louise shouted, ‘Cut! Will someone get that idiot to move on or park up?’

Peter did the latter, somehow finding enough space behind my Ford. I tucked Clyde back into his case and hurried through the churchyard. Peter emerged from his car, and bent his head meekly to accept the angry comments of the production assistant. But once the man had moved away, the grin Peter gave me was anything but repentant. ‘Thought I’d find you here. Shall we get a coffee at the pub? If I can drag you away.’

‘Let’s go,’ I said quickly. The last thing I needed was for Peter to hear Leslie squeeing. I’d never live it down.

We were the only customers in The Five Bells. After we’d collected our coffees, I led the way to the cubicle which was set back from the rest of the snug. Clyde slithered out of his case and onto the table, and I slid a biscuit in his direction. ‘So, Peter, what brings you to Saint Wulfram’s this morning?’

‘Other than just to see you?’

‘Other than just to see me.’

His expression turned serious as he took a sip from his coffee. ‘Maybe we should think about arranging some sword fighting lessons.’

‘Do you think we’ll need that?’

‘The blacksmith seemed to think so. And it might have been useful if you’d had some protection in the Arctic.’

I blinked at his grim face. Then I felt myself pale. ‘Oh. The Arctic. You’ve heard.’

Peter leaned back in his seat. ‘There’s a rat waiting at your house. She says she’s there to tell you the result of your interview. And she wanted to know about your trek across Grfnland. Seems it’s all over the rat network.’

‘I was going to tell you at some point,’ I protested. ‘I just haven’t got round to it.’

Peter ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the traces of grey. ‘Penny, you’ve been on your own for many years, I realise that. But if we’re going to make this work, you and me, then I need to know what’s going on in your life.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I pushed the plate of biscuits towards him, ignoring the protests of a hungry snail. ‘Will you accept a jammie dodger in apology?’

‘Only if you promise to stop dodging my questions.’

‘It was to find that search dragon, Raven.’ My mind was racing for a way to change the subject. ‘I met a very interesting were-polar-bear, and his merwoman wife. Anyway, did the rat give you the message?’

Peter shook his head. ‘She’ll only tell you. But if you’re offered the job, you’ll go?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ I put on a smile I didn’t feel. ‘But it’s only for three months. Like a sabbatical. It’s to make things easier while we help out Morey with his challenges.’

Peter slid the plate back to Clyde. ‘I wonder if Caer-grawnt needs a bobby.’

‘What about your work here?’

‘I’m not the only inspector in the department.’ Peter leaned over to take my hand. ‘I don’t want to only see you when we’re needed by gryphons.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t think about that.’

‘Caer-grawnt is that exciting?’

‘It’s a planned community. Citizens from many of the different races living and working together.’

Peter smiled. ‘Dragons, I suppose. It’s always dragons with you, isn’t it? Careful, I could get jealous.’

‘Nothing to get jealous about,’ I said, almost too quickly. ‘Shall we get back to the vicarage to hear the rat’s message?’

Chapter Seventeen

Morey and the rat sat drinking cups of tea in the kitchen. Their voices were low, but I was fairly certain they were discussing rugby teams in Lloegyr. The female rat was smaller and darker than others I’d met before, and a few feathers grew on her leathery wings.

The rat kings usually sent me English speaking messengers, so I had worked on my doggerel on the drive home. Poetry wasn’t my strong point, but it seemed to draw the best out of a rat. I gave her a bow. ‘Greetings to you this day, and many thanks for your stay. We wait to hear from you, a message loud and true.’

The rat wiped a few stray droplets from her long whiskers, and turned to face me and Peter. ‘The people of Caer-grawnt, have deliberated long. And now the arguments have ceased, they have called you to be their priest.’

I found myself grinning. ‘Kindly rat, please send a message through your king. I will gladly lead the church’s worshipping.’

‘But first finish your cup of tea,’ Morey added, ‘and tell me why you think the Llanbedr Unedig team has any chance in this year’s Rugby Cup.’

Peter caught my eye, and we exited the kitchen. ‘So,’ he asked while shrugging back into his coat, ‘what do I do now? Shall I apply to whatever police force covers Caer-grawnt?’

I suddenly wished I’d spent as much time thinking about Peter as I had on rhyming schemes. ‘Of course. You really should. So we can see each other. Because I’d miss you.’

‘And the new Doctor Who season.’

That hadn’t occurred to me. Somehow I managed to suppress a groan. ‘I’d miss you more. Even more than the Doctor.’

For a long moment he studied me. I kept a smile on my face, but wondered what he wanted from me. Then he dipped his head to give me a peck on my cheek. ‘I’ll make some enquiries.’ And as he left the house, I felt as if I’d somehow failed him.

The soft flap of wings gave me warning a moment before Morey landed on my shoulder. ‘Rat’s gone. And, by the way, congratulations.’

I strode to the kitchen. ‘Yes, we should celebrate. I’m going to be licensed to Caer-grawnt!’

‘And I’m going to be ordained again,’ Morey said glumly. ‘And serve as your curate.’

‘Which is worse?’ I teased. As I had hoped, a bottle of Prosecco was in the fridge.

Morey hopped down to the counter. ‘Just remember that I’ve run parishes, Black. I’ve been an incumbent in my own right. Don’t you forget that.’

‘You’ll owe canonical obedience to me,’ I mused as I pulled out two glasses. Then Clyde trilled at me from the kitchen table, so I bent down to retrieve a bowl. ‘That should be interesting.’

‘Don’t you dare.’

The welcome noise of a cork popping free undercut the sound of desperate gryphon. ‘Curates traditionally do children’s work,’ I continued. ‘Caer-grawnt probably has a good Sunday school. Or maybe an after school club?’

‘Sunday school?’ Clyde echoed as I placed a bowl of fizzing liquid in front of him.

‘Where the younger church members go.’ I placed two glasses on the table and took a seat. ‘I think you’d enjoy that, Clyde.’

Morey fluttered over to join us. ‘As much as Peter will enjoy being a bobby on the beat? He must have worked very hard to rise to the rank of inspector. This would be quite a demotion.’

‘‘It’s his choice,’ I said steadily. ‘It’s not like he can commandeer a search dragon to bring him over to Caer-grawnt on his days off.’

‘Unlike some people.’

I glared at him. ‘That’s not the sort of relationship I have with Raven. Besides, he’s working for your clan now. That’s going to keep him quite busy, isn’t it?’

‘Hmm,’ Morey muttered around his glass.

At that moment, Clyde succeeded on pressing too hard on one end of the bowl. It tipped upwards, washing Prosecco over his foot and across the table. I rushed to rescue both snail and table with a towel. So I only dimly noted the rattle of the cat flap. When I straightened, I discovered that another rat had flown into the room.

‘Bit like buses,’ I said to Morey. ‘You wait forever for a rat, and then two come close together.’

‘Except this one is for me.’ His tail was slapping the table, never a good sign. ‘Siarad, lygoden fonheddig.’

The rat flipped leathery wings onto his grey back and helped himself to a slurp of Prosecco. Then he launched into a long poem in Welsh, using turns of phrase which made me reach for more wine. I managed to pick up ‘grŵp rhyfelwyr’ and within a tangled rhyme the Welsh for ‘Saturday.’ When he’d finished, Morey expressed thanks in a poem nearly as intricate. I thought back to my own literary efforts, and winced.

‘What was that?’ I asked after the rat had left.

‘Cyhydedd hir. A classic form of poetry. Two stanzas of eight lines with two quatrains each. The first three lines of each quatrain has five syllables, and the fifth word of each line rhymes. The fourth line of the first stanza--’

‘Very complex.’ I took a sip of wine. ‘The rats haven’t done anything that complicated when they’ve delivered messages in English.’

‘Welsh is the language of lovers and poets,’ Morey said. ‘Any self respecting rat isn’t going to waste time trying to compose something elegant in English.’

I felt insulted on behalf of my mother tongue. ‘I’ll dig you out some of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poems. What did the rat tell you?’

‘My matriarch has accepted my choices for my grŵp rhyfelwyr. And we’ll be collected on Saturday for the first challenge. It’s going to be a hunt, so we should be back late that evening. But you might want to make plans in case we don’t arrive back until Sunday.’

‘I’d better talk to Rosie about covering the service.’

‘And your churchwarden.’

I groaned. ‘And Holly.’ I topped up my glass before going to the study to place the phone calls.

<><><><><><>

Sitting in Rosie’s warm kitchen, glowing in the aftermath of a congratulatory hug, I had felt that even a dozen disapproving churchwardens couldn’t dampen my mood. But when I went on to visit my churchwarden, Holly managed to do so within five minutes. I endured her accusations that I was abandoning the parish ‘in our time of greatest need’, and allowed her to list the many ways in which I’d already disappointed the people whom the Bishop had sent me to serve. ‘Actually,’ I pointed out, ‘God sent me, not Bishop Nigel.’ This only succeeded in turning her ire on our bishop and his inability to ordain more dedicated clergy.

I allowed her to air her grievances for twenty minutes, then I informed her that Rosie had the list of upcoming parish engagements. ‘I don’t entirely know when the sabbatical will start, but I think it’ll be worked out in the next week or so.’

‘So you’ll tell the congregation this Sunday?’

‘If I’m back in time.’ Her house was bitterly cold, and I slipped my hands into my fleece. Of course, she hadn’t offered me a hot drink. ‘I have an engagement on Saturday which might take up two days.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Doing my diocesan work,’ I replied steadily.

‘Which is?’

‘Which is taking up my weekend.’ I rose to my feet. ‘When I have the sabbatical dates, I’ll let you know.’

Once back in my car, I took a few minutes to take deep breaths. Soon I’d be in Lloegyr for three whole months. A little unpleasantness from a stroppy churchwarden was worth it. And maybe, just maybe, I could stay longer? Were there any transfer arrangements between the two dioceses?

I was nearly home when I found myself wondering whether Peter would want to extend his own time in Caer-grawnt. Would he miss the challenge of working in the Northamptonshire Lloegyr Liaison Team? Cross that bridge, I told myself, when we come to it.

<><><><><><>

‘Coat,’ I told James blearily as I gulped down the last of my coffee and placed the empty mug on the stairway. Somehow the idea of trekking back to the kitchen just exhausted me all the more. ‘We don’t know where we’re going.’

The only response was a grunt. But he reached into the hallway closet and pulled out an overcoat. I fished my car keys from my pocket, then drew my own jacket closer around my shoulders as we headed out into the chilly pre-dawn. Clyde made a soft noise of complaint from his carry case as I lowered him into my brother’s lap.

‘Why this early?’ James complained as I backed the car from the garage.

‘This is the time the rat said.’

‘But did she say why?’

‘No. It could be that we’re going to a different timezone.’

‘Why aren’t we being picked up from home?’

His tone was more like a petulant child than a grown adult. I drew on the caffeine I’d ingested to provide the necessary patience. ‘We can’t keep having dragon rides from the back garden. Eventually someone is going to see us, and wonder how we’re floating through the air. So we’re using a thin place.’

‘So I’m going to pass through some horrible black darkness before I’ve even had breakfast.’

That he’d not had time to eat was his own fault, but I bit my tongue. It had taken me three attempts to get him out of bed. ‘It’s not as bad as the one in London.’

‘But it’s still pretty bad?’

‘You’ll be all right,’ I assured him. ‘I’ve used the crossing several times, and I’ve survived.’

‘Yeah, but you’re tougher than me.’

The extraordinary confession stunned me to silence. As I struggled for a good response, we entered Ashtrew. Smoke trickled from a few chimneys, but otherwise there were no signs of life in the small village. Finally, as I pulled the car into a parking space near the church, I told him, ‘We’ve both survived a lot, James. And you’re getting your sword today.’

I was rewarded with a quick grin before he handed Clyde’s case to me and then turned to open his car door.

‘Oh, I’ve had the date for my licensing,’ I said as our boots crunched on the gravel path. ‘I’ll be starting at Caer-grawnt in a fortnight. Have you decided whether you’re coming with me? Bishop Nigel says you can live in the vicarage while I’m away.’

James cleared his throat. ‘Anwen’s contacted me. From Green Feather Networking? They have an office in Caer-grawnt, and they’ve offered me a job there. It hasn’t worked out with Allie and me, so I’ll come with you.’

Allie? Who was Allie? I once again vowed to give up any attempt to keep up with my brother’s love life. ‘That’s great. The house is fully furnished, but the parish will pay a firm to move over whatever else we need.’

I unlocked the heavy door and ushered James into the dark church. The beam from my iPhone cast bright light onto the dusty pews and stone floor.

James nudged my arm. ‘There are light switches by the door.’

‘We don’t know how long we’ll be,’ I said. ‘And I don’t want the parish landed with a large electricity bill because we left the lights on.’

I led the way to the gallery, and put a chair into place. James looked down at the drop. ‘Seriously? I mean, talk about a leap of faith.’

‘You’ll feel the ground on the other side,’ I assured him. ‘You go through first. I’ll be right behind you.’

‘That’s what you said my first day at secondary school,’ James muttered. But he climbed onto the chair and followed my directions. The chair shuddered as he kicked himself into the thin place.

I followed a moment later, gritting my teeth against the usual screaming darkness. Once again I wondered why crossings in the air were so peaceful. Bad things happened in the sky as well, like plane collisions.

Grass was a welcome softness under my feet. I resisted the temptation to unbutton my coat in the warmer air. James was already standing near the tacsi dragon, his face pale. ‘What happened to those poor blokes?’ he demanded.

‘They were part of the Gunpowder plot.’

‘I couldn’t breathe.’

‘That would have been the ropes around their necks.’ I raised my head to address the orange-red dragon. ‘Bore da, good morning. You’re giving us transport to Clan Cornovi?’

‘Three to Clan Cornovi,’ the dragon agreed, his voice rising and falling with the Welsh inflection. ‘Best wait for the search dragon. He knows the way, see.’

‘And may I have the holding of your name?’ I asked.

The dragon’s ears swivelled in surprise. ‘Margh, that be my name.’ Then he craned his neck. ‘Mount up, if you please. I hear dragonwings.’

‘Bagsy the front!’ James said. And his hands scarcely touched the mounting rings as he climbed up the dragon’s side. I took my time, much more conscious of both age and gravity.

Raven pulled up and hovered as Margh made the usual announcements and then launched himself from the ground. Peter waved at us from the saddle on the search dragon’s neck. I fought back a sudden surge of envy.

The tacsi dragon flew closely behind Raven, following him through several changes in locale and time zones. James peered around with enthusiasm, and I realised how much I’d started to take dragon trips for granted.

We finally emerged in bright sun over undulating grasslands. The brown tents of the gryphon clan formed a semi-circle near a small hill. The dragons angled their wings, and took us into a gradual descent. Raven landed first, then Margh. I slid to the ground, then stepped aside to make room for James.

From the angle of the sun, I decided that it was mid morning, and either late spring or early summer. I unzipped my coat. James had already taken his off and hung it over one shoulder.

Gryphons of varying shapes and sizes curled up nearby, tawny coats dark against the green grass. The scattered owl and osprey variations were tan and grey contrasts against their brown cousins. I looked in vain for Morey.

‘There you be,’ said a gruff voice. I looked down into Aodh’s brown eyes. ‘Your swords are ready.’

His small dragon waddled over. The blacksmith untied one scabbard at a time from the smooth black back. ‘James.’

My brother grinned as two sheaths were pressed into his hands, one short and one long. He wasted no time in sliding his belt through the loops. The bright blade sparkled as he drew the sword. I stifled a groan at the jewels embedding the gold hilt.

‘Careful,’ Peter said. ‘Our presents “are tools not toys”.’

‘Father Christmas,’ James said. ‘When he hands out presents to the children in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.’

‘You remember?’ I asked, pleased.

‘You read it to me every year, until I begged you to stop.’ James returned sword to scabbard and pulled out the dagger instead. ‘And you insisted on making me believe that Santa Claus was real.’

‘Because that’s what our parents did,’ I protested as Aodh placed sheathed blades into my own hands. ‘I thought you enjoyed it.’

‘I did, until I was the last in my class to find out it was a con.’

Peter shrugged. ‘Father Christmas might be real, in this world. Daear seems to have many things which we don’t see on Earth.’

‘Please all of you try out your blades,’ Aodh said. ‘I’d like to check the grip.’

I hurried to fasten sword on my left and dagger on my right. Both drew easily from their scabbards. The sword was shorter than I’d expected, and the blade wider. The hilt was warm and comfortable in my hand. The blade on the dagger was black, which surprised me, and a large green jewel had been set into the pommel. Never mind the length of the blade being illegal in England, the value was probably beyond my budget to insure.

The blacksmith had each of us do some simple moves. Olafor made a few comments, and at one point the two had a whispered debate about James. But then both nodded, and we were dismissed with the wave of a calloused hand.

‘Finally.’ Morey was perched on a nearby tent. ‘We need to sort out your mounts, and then we can start the hunt.’

‘Mounts?’ I echoed.

‘Dragons can’t be trusted around prey.’

Morey led us around the tents to a small corral. Five gryphons loitered near the wooden fence. They were only half the size of others in the clan, which led me to suspect that they were youngsters. Their attention was fixed on the five large creatures inside the enclosure. Even the shortest of our proposed mounts was taller than a horse.

I found my feet dragging. All of the animals had wings, and bore saddles, but that was all they had in common. One was a black lion, the other a wolf. Another looked like a goat, but jagged teeth rested outside scaled jaws and the twisting tail reminded me of a snake. The winged boar was growling at a creature which looked like the result of a collision between a huge rabbit and an equally massive barn owl.

‘You’d better have the lion,’ Morey told me from Peter’s shoulder. ‘He doesn’t like to be ridden by males. Have a look while I sort out Peter and James.’

I took my time walking over to the winged lion. His yellow eyes were bright against his dark fur, and bat wings rustled as he extended them above his maned head. The tan bridle resting across his cheeks reassured me that he must be tame. But I still stopped ten feet away from the massive paws. ‘Hello, I’m Penny. You must have a name?’

The young gryphons guffawed. The strange mixture of snarl and shriek made my cheeks redden. ‘Thought it could speak, she did!’ one said in Welsh. ‘Maybe she also talks to trees,’ another added.

I wandered back to my fellow humans. James had reached up to scratch the wolf under her chin, listening closely as Morey gave him some instructions. Peter looked over as I halted nearby. ‘What’s up with the gryphons?’

‘I had a reverse Narnia moment,’ I admitted reluctantly. ‘Thought an animal could talk when it can’t.’

‘It is a bit confusing,’ Peter said. ‘Doesn’t mean that they’re unintelligent, though. I’ve sometimes wondered how anyone from Lloegyr can actually speak. How can they have the right vocal cords?’

‘The same sort of magic which allows them to fly, perhaps.’

The gryphon laugher had stopped. I looked up at the sound of wings. The clan had taken to the air. At least fifty gryphons circled above us, calling out to one another. ‘Go on, time to mount up,’ Morey urged. ‘Peter, you take the goat. The spears are strapped to the saddles.’

‘Spears, Morey?’ Peter asked. But the gryphon launched himself from Peter’s shoulder without answering. ‘Penny, look, I'm sorry to say this, but sometimes I find your Associate a real pain in the backside.’

I sighed. ‘Welcome to my life.’

James had already mounted the wolf. I hurried back to the lion, who helpfully lowered himself so I could get my left foot into a stirrup to swing myself into the saddle. Flaps of leather bunched up under my calves. I looked down, and realised the flaps were meant to be strapped around my legs. The metal buckles warmed my fingers as I tightened the leather.

A trill reminded me that Clyde was still trapped inside his case. I pulled him out, and placed him on the saddle behind me. ‘Hold on tight,’ I warned him. ‘I’m not certain that this lion--’

My teeth snapped shut as my mount whirled and dashed towards the corral’s open gate. The saddle had a horn, and I wrapped my hands around it as the lion’s bounds increased in length. Then the leathery wings extended and swept down, carrying us away from the ground.

Wolf, goat and lion flew side by side. James looked elated, and he leaned into the wind as the wolf’s feathery wings propelled them forward. Peter seemed less comfortable on the goat, shifting in his seat. I glanced behind me to check that Clyde was secure. Then I settled back, concentrating on what I learned from riding horses and dragons to make myself comfortable in the broad saddle.

The reins had been looped around the saddle horn. I took them in my left hand, although there seemed little need to provide direction. The gryphons were ahead of us, Morey a small speck in their midst. The savanna slid past, the occasional tree breaking up the monotonous green and brown.

The matriarch rose from the group. At her shouted command, the rest of the clan peeled away. Morey hovered, allowing the four of us to catch him up. ‘Our prey is ahead,’ he called out to us. ‘Keep close, and have your spears ready.’

Chapter Eighteen

My hand reached back and touched the smooth shaft of the weapon angled across the saddle. But then I had to return both hands to the saddle horn as the lion plunged after Morey. A quick glance at my fellow humans showed that they were similarly occupied with keeping their seats.

We swooped over a hill ridge, and past a clump of trees. There, on the other side, a small group of brown-furred elephants grazed on the long grasses. I blinked. Not elephants. Not with the sort of massive tusks which would excite any poacher. Mammoths. We were hunting mammoths.

I counted eight animals in the herd. They raised their massive heads as our mounts pulled up, wings beating hard as we hovered fifty feet above them. ‘We’re after the old bull,’ Morey told us. ‘Penny, you get between him and the herd. Peter, scare the calf. The mothers will race after her. James, help Peter, then come back to keep the bull from following the others. When he makes a stand, that’s when we’ll attack. Go for the eyes. We only need to get him down, and then the clan will take over.’ He paused, then hissed, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? You need your spears!’

My hands felt clumsy as I undid the straps holding the shaft in place. I gripped both hands around the wood, wondering how I was meant to control the lion at the same time. My horse riding lessons had never included simultaneous weapon and mount management.

Morey threw himself at the bull. I kicked at the lion’s sides, and he followed.  Behind me I heard a ‘Yee-haw!’ from Peter as he aimed his mount at the calf. I found myself throwing out a quick prayer to Diana before I remembered that she was the Roman goddess of hunters, not a Christian saint.

The mammoth was huge. I had once ridden an Indian elephant at a zoo. This animal was half again as tall, and his trunk waved at us in warning. I had no doubt that even a glancing blow could inflict bone-crushing damage. The lion had obviously decided that this was a hunt he could sit out, and carried us past the curved tusks and up again. I removed one sweaty palm from the spear and jerked at the reins. My mount snarled a protest, but as I pulled at the bit he turned his head and returned us to Morey’s side.

Behind me I heard trumpeting and the stamp of heavy feet. A dizzying glance showed me that the herd were standing tall against James and Peter’s attempts to make them run. The bull stepped forward, obviously determined to join his harem.

‘The calf, go for the calf!’ Morey shouted, ducking around the bull’s attempt to swat him. ‘Get a spear into her!’

‘Never did spear throwing at sports day!’ James shouted back.

I heard the sound I couldn’t identify, then realised it was because I’d never heard the thwack of a spear point into fur and flesh before. A loud bellow followed which, from the high pitch, I assumed came from the calf. I started to twist in my saddle.

‘Eyes forward!’ Morey yelled, and I obeyed.

The bull roared as the gryphon dove past his small eyes. I rested the spear beside my right leg and dug my heels into the lion’s sides. The wolf dropped down on my left, snarling as she swerved James past the waving trunk and towards the broad back. He shouted a phrase which certainly I’d never taught him, and then his spear was slammed into one rounded shoulder. A moment later and my own spear glanced off a foreleg. I bit back a curse as it tumbled harmlessly to the ground.

‘This’ll never do!’ Peter shouted as he brought his mount alongside mine. ‘We can’t bring him down with spears alone!’

‘A boulder!’ James called out. ‘Get your lion to drop a boulder on him!’

The lion grunted. Then, not waiting for my instruction, he whirled us away. My eyes streamed as he dived down to the nearby riverbed. As he hovered over a large rock, I quickly told him, ‘Let me off, you don’t need the extra weight.’

He continued to ignore me. Wrapping all four legs around the elongated stone, he puffed and groaned as his wings pounded to lift us back up again. We headed back, only a few feet off the ground, and I found myself biting my lip as I willed strength into his muscles.

The bull was swinging back and forth, his head following Morey’s darting motions. Peter had pulled out his sword, and was trying to fly close to where blood was already flowing from James’ spear. My brother was on the other side, the wolf hovering just out of reach of the massive trunk as James jabbed his own sword at the mammoth.

I pressed my knees against the saddle, hoping to convey encouragement to the lion. He rose up into the air, and I found myself holding my breath. Ten feet. Twenty feet. When we were thirty feet above the mammoth, the large claws pulled away, and the boulder dropped down to the furry back.

The bull screamed as the rock crashed into him. He slumped to the ground, forelegs pounding against the grass as he tried and failed to remain upright. ‘Swords!’ Morey called out. ‘Time to land and use your swords!’

My fingers fumbled at the saddle straps as my mount landed. I slid from his back and ran towards the struggling mammoth. The bull was on his stomach, and his head swung from side to side, trunk swinging wildly. James was off his wolf and running to the haunches, sword at the ready. Peter had slashed his blade across the mammoth’s ribs, and bright blood gleamed against the brown fur.

I found myself breathing hard. Were we meant to hack the poor animal to death? I halted, and glanced back. The herd stood still, the females facing outwards towards the hunters and their patriarch. The calf, I assumed, was behind them.

For Morey, I told myself. And I joined James near the small tail, discovering that it was more difficult than it looked to pierce matted fur and thick skin with a sword.

The bull groaned, and rolled sideways. Peter jumped back just in time. Morey flew onto the bloodied side and called up in Welsh to the clan. ‘The beast is ready. Come and enjoy the feast!’

I was more than ready to back away. The lion was panting nearby, and something moved on the cantle. I dropped my sword and hurried over. ‘Clyde, Clyde, are you all right?’

The snail shark slid down into the saddle. ‘Miss hunt?’

‘Yes, you did, sorry.’ I wished I had. My stomach was threatening a revolt as I looked down at my bloody hands.

Gryphons dropped down from the sky, landing on and around the mammoth. This was too much for the herd. They turned and ran, the ground shuddering under their heavy gait. I noticed, with a pang of shame, that the calf was left behind, an unmoving ball of blood and fur.

Peter and James joined me as the gryphons began to feed. Peter handed me my sword, and I stared down at the brown stains. I bent down to try to wipe the blade clean on the long grass.

‘“Whatever happens”,’ Peter quoted, ‘“Never forget to wipe your sword.”’

I managed to quirk a smile. ‘More Narnia.’

‘I only quote from the best.’ He handed me a white cloth. ‘We’ll just have to do what we can, and clean them more thoroughly later.’

Morey flew over and landed next to Clyde. ‘Well done, grŵp rhyfelwyr. If this is your first kill, of course you’ll need blooding.’

‘It’s not mine,’ Peter said, in a grim tone which warned against any questions.

‘Or mine,’ I added, trying not to look at Clyde. The death of his mother still weighed heavily on my conscience.

‘What does that mean?’ James asked nervously.

‘Blood from the mammoth will be smeared on your cheeks,’ Peter explained. ‘It’s an old hunting custom.’

‘Do I have to?’ James asked.

‘Your first kill is an important threshold,’ Morey said. ‘You’ve passed from childhood, and are now an adult.’

‘I don’t see how killing something makes me an adult.’

‘This deserves a celebration,’ Morey continued. ‘I’ll make sure the heart is saved for you. Would you like it raw or cooked?’

‘Cooked,’ James managed to choke out. ‘Maybe with chips. Do you have any ketchup?’

A hissing roar blasted across my ears. A moment later the air was filled with the rush of wings as gryphons threw themselves into the air. And, standing not fifty feet away from us, was a massive dinosaur with an even more massive head. The green and brown feathers covering the stocky chest and sprouting from the tiny forearms confused me for a moment. Then I found myself telling Peter, ‘It’s a Tyrannosaurus rex, and that’s impossible, because they died out long before mammoths evolved, and so it shouldn’t be here, and let’s get those gryphons back again!’

The matriarch shouted out a command in Welsh. It took a moment for my brain to scramble out a translation. ‘This battle is for Trahaearneifion and his grŵp rhyfelwyr alone! A much more suitable challenge than a grass eater!’

The dinosaur roared again. I felt eardrums squeak in protest. The small black eyes gleamed as it looked at the mammoth carcass, then back at us. ‘Do we have a plan?’ I asked Morey desperately.

‘We fight.’

‘Something more specific?’

Peter hoisted his sword. ‘“Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dinosaur. Let’s go to work.”’

And I gave him a large smile, my heart warming to hear an amended quote from Angel. ‘Unless it decides that mammoth is more tasty?’

The huge head, longer than I was tall, swung back in our direction. Morey cocked his head. ‘I think this T-rex prefers fresh meat. Again, I’ll go for the eyes. Do any of you still have your spear?’

‘I do.’ Peter lifted his from the ground.

‘Good. Peter, you take the right, Penny the left, and James the rear. Confuse it. Most of the mass of a T-rex is some distance from its centre of gravity, so you’re far more agile. Clyde, we need to bring him down. You know what to do.’

The dinosaur was striding towards us, the long legs eating up the distance at an incredible speed. ‘Wait for my mark,’ Morey said. When the animal was fifteen feet away, he shouted, ‘Mark!’

I dashed to the left. The T-rex snarled, but the hiss was all but lost in the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. The dinosaur began to turn, and I saw that Morey was right. The large body juddered as the thick hindfeet churned grass and soil. The small forelegs wriggled near the thick chest, and I realised that all I had to do was avoid the foot long teeth which lined the thick jaws. Simple, really.

With the dinosaur’s attention on me, Peter was able to throw his spear at the protruding ribcage. The tip bounced off the feathers, and the shaft fell harmlessly to one side. The long tail arched off the ground and swung around. Peter was hit in the side and thrown from his feet.

James started to go to his side. Peter waved him away. ‘I’m okay! Get to work!’

Then I realised that I’d better turn all of my attention to the T-rex, as it had definitely chosen me as its next meal. I stumbled backwards as the dinosaur snapped its head forward and down, the jaws opening to grab my head. My sword, trembling in my hands, seemed a very small defence. A purple tongue drew back, and I wondered if it were sampling my sour sweat. My foot caught on a clump of grass, and to my horror I tumbled to my knees.

‘Penny!’ James grabbed the spear and rushed to my side. ‘Get back, you bastard! She’s my sister, and you’re not touching her!’ Actually, a few more colourful words peppered his descriptions, but I was in no condition to protest at his language so I merely blanked them.

A rumble went through the thick throat. Did dinosaurs laugh? From the corner of my eye, I saw Peter crawling towards us, pain and determination twisting his face. Using my sword as a support, I pushed myself back to my feet. If I were going to die alongside the two men I cared for most in the world, I had no intention of doing so on my knees.

‘Don’t you dare!’ Morey shrieked. He was a purple-grey blur as he flew past the T-rex’s eyes, his claws extended as he tried to stab at the dark pupils. One forefoot caught in the right socket, and blood spurted in his wake. The dinosaur bit at the air, enraged, and one tooth pulled feathers from a wing. Morey spun away, his flight erratic as he tried to correct for the imbalance.

‘Geronimo!’ And I knew that Clyde had entered the fray.

The T-rex’s head twisted up and away. The dinosaur bellowed, and tried to reach down. Clyde was clinging to the right hind leg, his jaws chewing through feather and skin and muscle to the tendons below. For a moment I was back in a garden in Earls Barton, watching as his mother tried to do the same to Raven. But no clergywoman with a shovel was going to rush to the dinosaur’s aid.

Blood spurted around the snail, and he nearly lost his grip. Then he succeeded in his task. The dinosaur hissed as it suddenly lost the use of one leg. For a moment I thought it would still be able to remain standing. Then it toppled, jaws opening and closing helplessly as the large body slammed against the ground.

‘It won’t last long,’ Morey wheezed, crashing against my chest. Somehow I managed to catch him. ‘Air sacs will squeeze. Weight too much. Not made for lying down.’

‘We should put it out of its misery,’ I said, eyeing my sword without enthusiasm.

‘I’ll do it,’ James said.

I gaped at him. ‘You?’

‘Peter’s still down, and you’re holding a gryphon.’ And then my brother, who at seven had insisted on a full funeral for his pet hamster, walked over and started hacking at a dinosaur’s throat with his sword. As blood spurted over his chest and arms, I decided that our clothes would be thrown into the dustbin the moment we got home.

Then I suddenly heard what James had said. I transferred Morey to my shoulder and knelt beside Peter. ‘How are you?’

‘Knocked the wind from me.’ He slid a hand under his shirt and winced. ‘Bruised some ribs, I think.’

‘We have a medic,’ Morey said. ‘She’ll be here in a minute.’

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ I asked worriedly. ‘Should I ask Raven to take me home for some unicorn horn?’

‘Penny.’ Peter manoeuvred himself from a crawl to a sit. ‘I’ll be fine. We shouldn’t be using unicorn horn for every injury. Save it for something important.’ He paused, and took a careful breath. ‘Although I suppose I wouldn’t rule it out as an alternative to IVF.’

‘IVF?’

‘Well, it seems to boost fertility.’ He chuckled. ‘Remember, just touching a unicorn’s horn reversed Russell’s vasectomy.’

‘Which gave them twins. Which they didn’t want.’

‘Of course they wanted them,’ Peter said. ‘Everyone has that deep down desire to have a child. It’s part of being human.’

‘Or gryphon,’ Morey added. ‘Penny, will you have a look at my wing? I think I lost a couple of primaries.’

He hopped down to my arm and extended both wings. ‘Two longer ones from the outer edge,’ I confirmed. ‘And a smaller one further in. How will that affect your flight?’

‘Makes it a bit tricky, but I’ll manage.’

James returned. He looked like he’d been in an abattoir, and he reeked of blood and sweat. But there was a strange calmness to his face. ‘It’s not suffering any more.’

I nodded, not trusting my voice. So it was Peter, pushing himself painfully to his feet, who looked my brother in the eye and told him, ‘That was bravely done.’

‘Which reminds me.’ Morey took off, his flight erratic but still sure. He returned a moment later, his beak holding brown feathers which glistened with blood. James held out his arm, and Morey perched as he swiped the blood down each cheek. ‘James Alfred White, you have met and bested both a mammoth and a Tyrannosaurus rex in mortal combat. I declare that you are no longer eyas, but a tiercel.’

‘No longer a boy,’ I translated for James, ‘but a man.’

‘I know what it means,’ James said gruffly. But his eyes were bright with proud tears.

Chapter Nineteen

The clan descended once the T-rex was well and truly dead. Morey formally presented his grŵp rhyfelwyr to the matriarch. She made a long speech which I was too tired to translate fully, but which in summary seemed to both grudgingly praise us for meeting the first challenge, and to warn us that future ones would be more difficult.

When the matriarch had finished, there were worrying signs that a party was about to begin. The dragons lowered large beer barrels to the ground, and the tents had been erected not far from the mammoth’s carcass. I managed to catch Morey’s eye. He flew over, wobbling somewhat as he tried to compensate for the loss of flight feathers. James was nearest, and Morey landed on his shoulder.

‘Can we go home now?’ I asked him.

‘Why?’

‘What do you think?’ I waved a hand at our clothing, dark and stiff with dried blood. ‘And I know your medic did her best to bandage Peter, but I’d like to see him in the hands of the NHS.’

‘As would I,’ Peter said. He was using a spear to prop himself up. ‘Can you call the dragons, Morey?’

‘Oh, all right.’ He took off, muttering under his breath.

Clyde made an enquiring sound. I reached down to pick him up. ‘Sorry, I know you’d enjoy mammoth tartare and beer. I’ll open some Old Speckled Hen for you at home.’ Then I looked at Peter. ‘How are you going to get to hospital?’

‘I’ll go through the thin place which connects to my house,’ he assured me. ‘There’s a phone in my lounge. I’ll ring an ambulance once I'm through.’

The dragons arrived a few minutes later, but our departure was delayed by the gryphons insisting that James should have the mammoth’s heart. The large organ was carved out and shoved inside a leather sack. James grunted as he hoisted the package onto the tacsi dragon, hooking the top straps around the metal handle on the front of the saddle.

Then, finally, we were able to leave. I turned my head away from the two dead animals we left behind. Killing them had given me no sense of victory. The mammoth had been the challenge. Why couldn’t the gryphons have lifted us to safety away from the T-rex? Surely the dinosaur would simply have gorged on the carcass and then gone on its merry way. The promise Morey had made to protect us obviously meant nothing to his clan.

The flight back seemed longer than the one out. When we were finally back in the field, and Raven had peeled away with Peter, James and I slid to the ground. James offered the mammoth heart to Margh, who tore into the leather bundle with great enthusiasm.

Fortunately there were no visitors in the church when James and I dropped back down to the gallery. We hurried to the car, keeping our heads down as we passed a couple of villagers. As I drove home, the scent of blood and sweat was undercut by a distinct whiff of urine. But the British Code of Conduct which required us to suspect the other also required us to remain silent, lest we find out which of us was the culprit.

I left the car on the drive and we rushed into the garage. Once the door was down, we stripped to our underwear. I found a plastic bin bag, and we stuffed everything inside. Then we stumbled inside, seeking showers and whisky.

Thirty minutes later, pizza in the oven, Talisker on the table, and Clyde slurping at a bowl of beer, I ran a hand through my wet hair and tried to summon enthusiasm for taking the Sunday service after all. I glanced at the clock. It was only 6pm, plenty of time to advise Rosie.

‘Your answering machine is flashing,’ James told me as he poured himself a large measure of whisky.

I groaned, then hauled myself up to go into the study. The message made me grin, and I felt a bounce in my step as I returned to the kitchen. ‘That was the Archdeacon of Ocheham. The licensing date has been set. I’ll start at Caer-grawnt in a fortnight. I can make the announcement tomorrow.’

‘I guess I’d better let Anwen know. How do I get hold of a rat?’

‘I’ll send the Bishop’s office an email. They usually keep one around for taking messages to Lloegyr.’ The oven pinged, and I walked over to pull out the pizza. Two more weeks. In two more weeks, I’d be living in Caer-grawnt. It couldn’t come soon enough.

<><><><><><>

There are differing opinions as to which part of the Sunday service a priest should announce that she’s leaving. Some advise doing so at the start, during other announcements, so that the sermon and prayers can follow a theme of moving on, new beginnings, and give encouragement to the church. Others argue that an announcement should wait until the end, so that people aren’t distracted during worship. After all, their focus should be on God, not the minister. I decided to follow the second route. Just before the final hymn, I told the congregation that I would be gone for a three month sabbatical. Although no one burst into tears, no cheering occurred either, so I breathed a sigh of relief.

Rosie had invited me to lunch, so after making small talk over coffee, I escaped from the church and drove the short distance to her house. After a filling meal of roast beef with all the trimmings, Linda excused herself. Rosie and I sipped at cups of tea in the dining room.

‘It’s the invisible stuff I need to tell you about,’ I apologised. ‘Like the dragons that come over to watch the webisode filming. Do you want me to talk to Bishop Aeron about sending you an Associate?’

Rosie waved the idea away. ‘I don’t think Linda’s ready to learn about Lloegyr. I’ll not worry about the filming. Is there anything else I need to know?’

‘The bats in the church.’ I coughed. ‘They’re actually vampires.’

She visibly paled. ‘How often do they feed?’

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I said quickly. ‘They don’t like our blood. Seems it’s been ruined by too much fat and processed sugar.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’ Rosie leaned forward. ‘So, Penny, your dream is finally coming true. You’ll be living in Lloegyr full time. Excited?’

‘Intensely.’

Her bright eyes searched mine. ‘Will you want to come back?’

I shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll have to.’

‘And then move on?’ She smiled sadly. ‘Isn’t that what usually happens after a sabbatical? The vicar moves on.’

‘I don’t think many of our church members would be sorry to see me go.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You have more friends in the congregation than you realise.’ Rosie sighed. ‘It’s the nature of the role. So often, we don’t find out what good we’ve done until after we’ve left. But I do hope you come back, Penny. I think God still has plans for you here.’

I nodded politely. But I was already thinking of the first sermon I’d deliver to my new congregation. And how I’d set up the visiting rota. And how Morey would deacon at services. Clyde would join the Sunday school, of course. Was there a local dignitary, like a mayor, who needed a chaplain?

A laugh from Rosie brought my focus back to her. ‘There you go. Off with the dragons again. I just hope it lives up to your expectations.’

‘Of course it will.’ And then I asked her about her grandchildren, and I made sympathetic noises about ‘children today.’

<><><><><><>

Some of my congregation insisted on seeing me before I left. I managed to fit in my pastoral visits around packing clothes into the large leather sacks a dragon dropped into the back garden. James and I quizzed Morey about the availability of essentials such as toilet paper and toothpaste.

The bulging sacks were collected by a van and, we were assured, would be taken to a thin place. Dragons from a firm called ‘D & D Removals’ would collect them. Our possessions would be waiting for us in the Caer-grawnt rectory. Memories of bad experiences with removal firms gave me a couple of sleepless nights, but it wasn’t like I could check out reviews of the firm on Trustpilot.

‘But what do I do about Clyde?’ I asked James on Saturday. A sudden panic that Lloegyr might not provide one of Britain’s great food traditions had sent us out to the local chippie for fish and chips. ‘I can’t take the outdoor run with me.’

James used a chip to make patterns with the ketchup on his plate. ‘Well, he comes from Lloegyr, doesn’t he? He should be fine.’

‘He’s grown up with us,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s like when you take any animal from the wild. He’s probably lost the skills he’d need to survive on his own.’

‘He’s used to hunting his own food.’

‘Garden birds.’ I poked my fork at piece of fish. ‘What if snail sharks hunt something else over there? Maybe something far more dangerous?’

‘A snail who can bring down a T-rex can look after himself.’

‘And we don’t know what sort of social structure snail sharks have,’ I continued. ‘He hasn’t learned anything about how to interact with his own kind. What if he runs into a local rabble and they turn on him?’

‘Well, then the answer’s simple.’ James popped the chip into his mouth and chewed. ‘Talk to him. You can be pretty good about talking to someone, when you put your mind to it.’

‘Thanks,’ I said dryly. But my brother had a point. I dumped the remains of my supper into the bin, then went into the study.

Clyde was nowhere to be seen. The top of his terrarium was ajar. Obviously I’d forgotten to weigh it down with books. A noise from the front of the house made me walk down the hall and into the lounge.

The snail shark was sitting on the settee, the flickering light from the TV screen catching on his dark shell. Both the TV and the DVD remotes were resting beside him. I found myself gaping. Clyde had managed to turn on the TV and load a DVD. The case, I could see, was smeared with slime, and the remotes looked little better. Then my eyes flicked to the screen. A man was standing in a room, breathing heavily, looking down at a pig. I strode over to the TV and switched it off. ‘You’re too young,’ I told Clyde, ‘to be watching that episode of Black Mirror. Actually, you’re too young to watch any episodes of Black Mirror.’

‘Doctor Who?’

‘Now you’re just trying to soften me up.’ I took a seat next to him. ‘Clyde, we need to talk. I’ve been offered a position in Lloegyr. We’re moving back to your home country.’

The tentacles waved, making it hard for me to focus on his eyespots. ‘England.’

‘I know you’ve lived here most of your life,’ I agreed. ‘But you come from Lloegyr. James and I are moving over there for three months, and you need to come with us.’

‘Peter?’

‘He’ll be there too.’

The snail stilled. ‘Raven.’

‘Is busy doing his own thing. I don’t expect we’ll see that much of him, except when we’re helping out Morey.’

‘Bad dragon,’ Clyde declared.

‘More like disappointing dragon.’ I sighed. ‘He let me down, but I think he’s suffering for that more than I am.’

Colours pulsed through the snail’s body. I could almost feel his struggle to express himself in words. He reared upwards, and the jaws cracked open. ‘“Abide with me; fast falls the eventide, the darkness deepens; Lord with me abide. When other helpers fail and comforts flee, help of the helpless, O abide with me.”’

‘Lovely, Clyde.’ I rubbed his sleek shell. ‘I only wish I knew what you were trying to tell me.’

‘Lloegyr?’

‘A place called Caer-grawnt. I’m going to be the priest there. The rectory has a nice back garden. But, Clyde, I need you to stay inside the fence.’ I swallowed hard, coming to a sudden decision. ‘I’ll get in some rabbits to feed you.’

‘Rabbits,’ Clyde said, all but drooling.

‘So, please, don't hunt anything else, okay?’

‘Rabbits.’ His tone sounded like a promise.

‘Great. Let me find you something better to watch.’ I knelt in front of my collection of DVDs. ‘I think you’re old enough for the best Doctor Who episode ever, The Curse of Fenric.’

‘Tennant?’ the snail asked hopefully.

‘No, Sylvester McCoy. Best Doctor ever.’

‘Tennant.’

‘You are not,’ I said firmly, ‘going to watch The Girl in the Fireplace yet again. How about Remembrance of the Daleks? Another good Seventh Doctor episode.’

‘Daleks,’ Clyde agreed, in the same approving tone he’d used for ‘rabbits’ earlier. As I fed the DVD into the player, I wondered which would come off worse in a fight, Daleks or a rabble of snail sharks. My money was on the snails.

<><><><><><>

On my last Sunday at Saint Wulfram’s, the congregation presented me with a bottle of Penderyn and six crystal tumblers. Holly made a short speech about how much they were looking forward to Rosie’s ministry. I clutched the whisky close to my chest and fixed a smile on my face. Rosie gave me a quick wink, then stood to state how honoured she felt to ‘have temporary care of this parish.’

The next day, Peter gave us a lift to Ashtrew. James and I each had a backpack of essential items, and Clyde was tucked away in his case. ‘I’ll be at the licensing,’ he said as we drove towards the church. ‘My job starts on Wednesday.’

‘What’ll you be doing?’ James asked from the back seat.

‘Basic town policing.’ Peter smiled. ‘The swap around’s quite interesting. My counterpart in Llanbedr is taking a temporary placement in my department.’

‘An elf?’

‘A vampire.’

‘Now there’s a question,’ I said. ‘Anyone can see a vampire because they look human. Unless they expose their teeth. So what happens if they smile at someone who doesn’t have the Sight? Do they suddenly disappear?’

‘Or maybe people just assume they have a bad overbite,’ James suggested.

‘At least we can arrange photo ID. Now that mirrorless cameras are available.’

I unlocked the door to the church, and handed it to Peter. ‘Call in when you’ve arrived in Caer-grawnt?’

‘Certainly.’ He gave me a quick kiss. Then he closed the door behind us, and locked it shut.

James looked pale, but he went through the crossing without a word. I followed a moment behind. A tacsi dragon was waiting for us on the other side. We mounted, James taking the front again, and after making the usual announcement, the dragon launched us upwards.

The grey sky darkened as we flew north. Then rain started to fall. Light at first, then with determined intensity. I tucked Clyde’s case under my jacket and bent my head. There was little to do but endure.

I looked up when we landed at the rectory. We slid to the ground, and I thanked him for the ride. James fished out a silver coin which he dropped into the box strapped to the tacsi dragon’s saddle. Then we hurried to the house.

The door opened as we approached. Cadfan stood to one side as we stepped inside. I stripped off my jacket, and was startled when James took it from me. He hung both of our dripping coats on a coat rack.

The elf disappeared for a moment. He returned from the kitchen carrying two mugs on a tray. My nose twitched at the smell of spices. Mulled wine. I took a deep, appreciative gulp, and felt the warm liquid restore feeling to my chest.

Only then did I notice that our leather sacks were in the lounge, looking undamaged and quite dry. There were also a large number of boxes. ‘I don’t remember packing those,’ I said to Cadfan.

‘I understand that these belong to your Associate. He comes with many books.’

‘Doesn’t like to live anywhere without a full set of the Summa Theologica,’ I grumbled.

There was a knock on the door. ‘That will be the dwarves,’ Cadfan said. ‘Please, have a seat.’

James and I exchanged confused glances. But we obeyed, lowering ourselves onto the settee as four dwarves stepped inside. They removed trench coats, and one of them took the seat near the window. ‘We’ll be starting the unpacking in no time,’ he told us. ‘Just a few questions first.’

‘How can you do the unpacking?’ I asked. ‘You don’t know where we want everything.’

‘It’s part of the service.’

‘“D & D Removals,”’ James said. ‘Dragon and Dwarves.’

‘Dwarves and Dragons, if you please.’ He pulled a small notebook from his grey overalls. ‘Now, just say the first thing that comes to your mind. If you don’t tell us the truth, don’t blame us if your socks end up in the kettle.’ A pencil hovered over the blank page. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

‘Blue,’ I said.

‘Green,’ James told him.

‘Favourite food?’

‘Fish and chips.’

James grinned. ‘Pork scratching.’

‘Very fattening,’ I reminded him.

‘And fish and chips aren’t?’

‘Name of first love?’ the dwarf continued.

‘Alan,’ I said.

‘Amy.’

I stared at James. ‘You can remember?’

‘I was only nine years old,’ my brother said. ‘We went out for two weeks, then she left me for Josh Smith because his mum always put a chocolate bar into his lunch box.’

‘Shallow girl.’

‘I thought so.’

The dwarf coughed, bringing our attention back to him. ‘Greatest disappointment.’

‘Amy,’ James said. ‘Broke my heart.’

I hesitated. But I was certain James had lied, and I didn’t want two of us to be searching through kitchen appliances for fresh socks. ‘Not being given a full time role as Vicar General.’

‘Really?’ James asked. ‘Well, you’re here now.’

‘And greatest achievement?’

My answer was immediate. ‘Raising James.’

My brother’s jaw dropped. He looked away, and cleared his throat. ‘I killed a Tyrannosaurus rex. And I didn’t puke afterwards.’

‘That’s enough.’ The dwarf nodded to his partners. They hoisted the large bags into their arms, and carried them upstairs. ‘Second biggest room for me!’ James shouted up after them. He met my gaze. ‘Well, Morey gets the better one back in England. It’s only fair.’

‘Morey comes with books.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘I’m certain that Master James will be given the second room,’ Cadfan said. ‘Father Penny, can we go through the licensing service? I’ve brought a copy with me. Shall I refill your mug?’

‘Certainly,’ I said. I was beginning to warm to this churchwarden. He was so very different to Holly. Who knew what I could achieve in a parish where the churchwardens were on my side?

Chapter Twenty

‘James!’ I shouted up the stairs. ‘It’s a quarter to four. We’re going to be late!’

‘I can’t find clean underpants!’

‘That’s what you get for lying to dwarves.’ Then I did a double take. ‘We moved in six days ago, and only now you’re looking for clean underwear? Actually, forget I asked. Come on, you’ll just have to cope. We’ll have a search later.’

He appeared at the top of stairs, fully dressed from waist up. Fortunately, his long shirt reached down to his knees. ‘But what if I meet someone?’

‘You are banned from meeting anyone,’ I said firmly. ‘Get your trousers on. I'm not going to be late to my own licensing. Come on, Morey’s left already.’

As James grumbled himself back to his room, I bent down to let Clyde slide onto my palm. ‘Now, remember,’ I told the snail, looking him in the eyespots, ‘the left front pew is for family. You’re to sit there next to James and Peter for the whole service, okay? No wandering off. Promise?’

‘Promise.’

I turned him sideways. As James pounded down the stairs, I asked him, ‘You didn’t put anything on Clyde’s shell, did you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know.’ I ran a finger along the whorls. ‘It looks darker than usual. Maybe it’s the light.’

‘We’d better get going, or we’ll be late.’

‘Thanks, James.’ I picked up my garment bag and followed him out the door.

To my great satisfaction, there was a small queue forming to enter the church. James took Clyde and joined the end of the line, behind two rather pretty vampires. I strode away, trying not to watch as he turned his charm on the women. There was only so much I could do to protect my brother.

A side door led directly into the vestry. I left behind late afternoon sunlight for the flicker of oil lamps. The Archdeacon of Ocheham was already inside, her black cowl dark against her gleaming grey-white neck. ‘Father Penny,’ she greeted me. ‘I expect the Bishop shortly. Do you have everything you need?’

‘All in here.’ I hung up my jacket, slipped into my black cassock, and pulled the white surplice over my head.

‘Lovely stole,’ the unicorn said as I placed it around my neck. ‘I like the sheep.’

I held up the scarf so she could better see the heavy embroidery. ‘And the sheepdog, see? Christ is the true shepherd. The priest is the sheepdog, trying to move them towards the true shepherd. If the dog is doing her job well, the sheep hardly notice that she’s there.’

‘And does the dog ever have to nip the heels of the sheep?’

‘Sometimes.’ I grinned. ‘But surely not at Saint George’s.’

At that moment Bishop Aeron arrived. Although the vestry was large, the Archdeacon and I still moved to the far wall to give the dragon room. ‘Father Penny, Archdeacon, good. Has the Rural Dean arrived yet?’

‘I have yet to see Father Andras,’ the unicorn replied. ‘But he will be here.’

‘With only minutes to spare, knowing him,’ the Bishop said. A white cowl lined with purple rested against her orange-red scales. White ribbons wove between her horns, marking out her high office. ‘How do you feel, Father Penny? Ready?’

Like I’ve been waiting for this all my life, I found myself thinking. ‘Nervous. But yes, ready.’

‘And where is Trahaearneifion?’

‘I don’t know. He left the rectory before I did.’

‘Difficult until the end.’ The dragon poked her head out of the vestry and shouted into the church. ‘Elder Trahaearneifion! We’re waiting for you!’

Morey flew into the vestry and landed on a sideboard. Laughter followed behind him, and his tail twitched in response. But his voice was almost unnaturally calm as he told me, ‘You’ll need my cowl. As my incumbent, you’ll be the one to put it on me after I’ve been ordained.’

A small bag rested next to him. Morey’s eyes glittered in the light as I pulled out the small piece of white fabric. His feathers were smooth and his fur was erect, revealing his mixed feelings. I held out my free hand. For a moment he hesitated. Then he put his head down, and I fluffed his neck feathers. The tail stilled as he relaxed.

‘Sorry, everyone.’ A dwarf joined us in the vestry. ‘Father Andras, Rural Dean,’ he added, holding his hand out to me. ‘Good to meet you, Father Penny.’

The hand was smooth. His grey hair was cropped short, and his beard was a tidy goatee above the white dog collar. I found myself grinning as he hurried into his cassock. I was the only human being in the clergy vestry, and it felt wonderful.

Andras glanced at his pocket watch, and excused himself. As he walked out to welcome the congregation, Bishop Aeron said quietly, ‘Let’s pray for Father Penny and Elder Morey. Loving God, we thank you that these, your servants, have been called to serve the parish of Saint George’s. Bless them, we pray, and those of this parish to whom they will be a blessing. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ we all echoed. And as Andras announced the first hymn, the two churchwardens came to the doorway to lead us out. Morey went first. I followed, the Archdeacon behind me, and Bishop Aeron last. We walked down the side aisle, to where the two churchwardens were waiting for us, the brass staffs of their office gleaming in their hands.

We turned left, then left again to process up the central aisle. The hymn, I suddenly realised, was the original Welsh version of ‘Guide me, O Thou Great Redeemer.’ As we came to the front pew, I heard Clyde’s strong tenor voice all but drowning out James’ and Peter’s own efforts.

The Bishop took her place in the chancel, standing between the choir stalls. The Archdeacon stood to her left, and Andras went to the dragon’s right. Morey and I joined the rest of my family at the front pew. Peter passed over a copy of the order of service.

We had agreed that the service would be conducted in a mixture of English and Welsh, with translations provided on the service sheet. So Peter and James bent their heads over their booklets while the Rural Dean used Welsh for the opening prayers. Then the Archdeacon took over, and addressed us in English. ‘Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, you have asked Father Penelope White to serve here as your interim minister. She will pray for you, work with you, teach and learn from you, and offer love and guidance as together you do the work of Christ in this place. The gifts of interim ministry give you a unique opportunity to reflect on where God has been in your past, and where he is calling you to be now and in the future. Your interim minister will also help you, during this time of transition, to consider what gifts and experience you might need from your next rector. As interim minister, Father Penny’s time with you is limited. Even as she begins her ministry with you, she knows, and asks you to understand, that all her pastoral relations must end before your next rector begins. Is that your wish and understanding?’

‘It is our wish and understanding,’ the congregation responded, in a mixture of Welsh and English. ‘Thanks be to God.’

There was a sudden movement at the back of the church. I turned my head. Raven had entered, his saddle still in place on his back. I smiled as the other dragons made room for him. Then I bit my lip as they pulled further away than mere courtesy should have required. Surely Christian dragons wouldn’t be prejudiced against a search dragon?

‘Father Penelope White will not serve you alone,’ Bishop Aeron said. ‘God has also called Elder Trahaearneifion to serve as deacon and curate amongst you.’

Morey’s claws scraped against the pew, and for a moment I wondered if he would, at the last moment, refuse. But once the stool was placed before the Bishop, he dropped down to the floor, walked over, and leapt onto the pale top. He looked very small, under the flickering oil lights and in front of the large dragon, and I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat.

Bishop Aeron addressed Morey in Welsh. The words were very similar to those which had been spoken, in English, when I’d been ordained a deacon thirteen years ago. ‘God calls his people to follow Christ, and forms us into a royal priesthood, a holy nation, to declare the wonderful deeds of him who has called us out of darkness into his marvellous light. The Church is the Body of Christ, the people of God and the dwelling-place of the Holy Spirit. In baptism the whole Church is summoned to witness to God's love and to work for the coming of his kingdom. To serve this royal priesthood, God has given a variety of ministries. Deacons are ordained so that the people of God may be better equipped to make Christ known. Theirs is a life of visible self-giving. Christ is the pattern of their calling and their commission; as he washed the feet of his disciples, so they must wash the feet of others.’

I blinked, wondering how a gryphon could wash feet. Or hooves. Talons? Perhaps the words followed the Church of England service a bit too closely.

The confession followed, and the Bishop’s absolution. Then I stepped out from my pew to face the Bishop. Morey was still standing on the pew, his tail hanging limply to the floor. ‘Reverend Father in God,’ I said firmly, ‘I present Elder Trahaearneifion to be ordained to the office of deacon in the Church of God. He is to serve in the parish of Saint George’s, Caer-grawnt.’

The dragon looked down at Morey. ‘Do you believe that God has recalled you to this ministry?’

Morey’s voice was steady. ‘I do believe.’

‘Let us pray,’ the Bishop continued, ‘for Father Penny and Elder Trahaearneifion, and for the ministry of the whole people of God.’

After the prayers, Morey and I returned to our pew for the readings. Clyde slipped past Peter to sit next to the gryphon. As we stood to hear the Gospel reading, I glanced down, and saw that the snail shark was pressing his shell against Morey’s stiff side.

The Bishop invited us all to sit. ‘I’m only going to give a short sermon,’ she told us in English. She paused, then added with a wink, ‘Why doesn’t anyone complain about a short sermon?’

The congregation laughed. Bishop Aeron swept her gaze across us all. ‘God works in mysterious ways. That’s what the Bible tells us. And certainly there is little which is more mysterious than our link with our sister world. Earth is so very different than Daear. We are all considered to be little more than myths in that world. And, it has to be said, the humans who have come across to our own lands have not always been good ambassadors.’

The Bishop drew upon the story of Saint George and his death under the lance of human knight. I forced myself to remain calm, but inwardly I cringed, wondering if this were one of those instances when a bishop did more harm than good. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘we have here an example of how God’s grace works even in humans. Father Penny has embraced the people of Lloegyr, showing the love of Christ even to a snail shark.’ Clyde chirped in response. ‘You, the people of Saint George’s, have the God-given opportunity to reach beyond those old stories, those old prejudices, to see that which is of Christ in all of us. As our Gospel reading reminded us, Christ is “the true light, which enlightens everyone.” So I commend Father Penny to you, and you to her, as you seek together to find and to spread the light of Christ in this community. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ said the congregation.

The Bishop announced the next hymn, ‘Calon Lân.’

As we sang, the Archdeacon came to stand beside her bishop. Morey returned to the stool. It was only then, as Peter’s elbow brushed my arm, that I thought to ask him, ‘Is Taryn here?’

Peter shook his head. ‘She can’t be. You know why we’re having these breaks between challenges? It’s not out of the goodness of the matriarchs’ hearts. Right now, it’s Taryn and her grŵp rhyfelwyr who are out hunting something large and prehistoric. She has to prove herself as much as Morey does.’

I said nothing, but a feminist part of me cheered. Another part of me was sorry for Morey, who no doubt would have liked his fiancée to be here on such an important occasion.

Bishop Aeron addressed the congregation in Welsh. Peter held up his booklet to read the English translation. Morey was being reminded of the duties of a deacon, namely proclamation, service, pastoral ministry, and in leading worship. The Bishop then posed a number of questions to Morey, asking him to declare his acceptance of the Bible and the doctrines of the Church of Lloegyr, whether he would be diligent in prayer and in reading Holy Scripture, would he be a faithful servant in the household of God? Morey answered each question in the affirmative, his voice loud and steady.

The Bishop paused a moment, then brought her head closer to Morey. She switched suddenly to English. ‘Will you accept the discipline of this Church and give due respect to those in authority?’

‘By the help of God, I will,’ Morey affirmed, his tail lashing.

The dragon lifted her head and resumed speaking in Welsh. I closed my eyes as the glorious words in praise to God rolled through the church. Bishop Aeron concluded, in English, ‘And now we give you thanks that you have called this your servant, whom we ordain in your name, to share as a deacon in the ministry of the gospel of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’

I opened my eyes again just in time to see her massive forefoot descend upon Morey’s small head. ‘Therefore, Father, through Christ our Lord we pray, send down the Holy Spirit on your servant Trahaearneifion for the office and work of a deacon in your Church.’

That was my cue. I crouched beside the stool, and fastened the cowl around Morey’s neck. Then I stood up, and we both faced the Bishop. The Archdeacon and the Rural Dean had come to stand on either side of her. ‘Father Penelope White, Father Trahaearneifion, will you work with this congregation and this parish, providing servant leadership to further the work of God’s Kingdom in this place?’

‘With the help of God, we will,’ Morey and I responded together.

‘Will you be faithful in leading worship, in pastoral care, and in the ministry of administration?’

‘With the help of God, we will.’

The Archdeacon addressed the congregation. ‘People of God, will you welcome Father Penny and Father Trahaearneifion to serve amongst you? Will you support and uphold them in their ministry now and in the months to come?’

And in a mixture of English and Welsh, the assembled beings answered, ‘With the help of God, we will.’

Andras drew a dark object from his pocket, and laid it across his broad palms. Bishop Aeron exhaled across it, then told me, ‘Receive this cure of souls, which is both yours and mine, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’

‘Amen,’ rumbled through the church. And I lowered my head to allow Andras to slip a leather cord around my neck. A Celtic cross as long as my hand rested against my chest. From the light green colour and weight, I decided it must have been carved from jade.

Andras announced the third hymn, ‘God is working his purpose out.’ As we sung, Cadfan brought up a cushion and placed it near Morey’s stall. At the end of the last verse, I lowered myself onto my knees, and Morey crouched down.

Bishop Aeron held up one forefoot, three toes held together in symbolic representation of the Trinity. ‘The God of all faithfulness strengthen you for your ministry and commitment to one another; the God of all grace give you vision, courage and joy; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be upon you and upon all your work done in his name, now and for ever.’

‘Amen.’

I struggled back to my feet, trying not to catch my cassock with my feet. Morey and I turned to face the congregation. The Bishop said in Welsh, ‘People of this parish, I present to you your interim minister and her assistant curate, and I invite you to greet them and their family in the name of Christ.  I commend them to your love and to your prayers.’

‘We welcome you!’ the assembled beings responded. ‘May the Lord richly bless you, and may you be a blessing to us.’

Bishop, Archdeacon, and Rural Dean drew to one side. Peter handed me an order of service, and I turned to the back page. ‘Worship is here next Sunday at 10am, Holy Communion using the Book of Common Prayer. This Tuesday will be the PCC meeting, 6pm in the church hall. And now, for our final hymn, “The Church’s One Foundation.”’

And the churchwardens led us out, Morey and me at the front, the others lined up behind. The sun was low in the sky and cast golden light over the trim churchyard and the nearby houses. I took my place by the church door, and accepted the good wishes of the congregation as they filed out. Even Raven’s stiff nod couldn’t dampen my mood. I felt as if I’d finally come home.

Chapter Twenty-One

A rattle at the door made me look up from my toast. ‘Rat,’ Morey declared, abandoning his tea to fly through to the lounge. I followed, though I brought my mug with me. The rat was perched on the small coffee table, water dripping from her outstretched wings. The furniture might not be mine, but I still felt a responsibility to keep it in good shape for the next incumbent. So I ducked back into the kitchen to retrieve a hand towel.

The rat misunderstood my concern. She threw herself onto the blue fabric, rubbing fur and whiskers dry. Only after she had emerged, tousled fur standing erect along her neck and back, did she sit back on her haunches and ask, ‘Pa un ohonoch yw Trahaearneifion?’

‘Him,’ I said, nodding at the gryphon. ‘He’s the one you’re looking for.’

The rat pointed a forepaw at my mug. I handed over my coffee, and she took a deep slurp before turning to Morey. ‘Y chwedl rwy'n dweud yw o weithredoedd mawr ac anhysbys.’

I tuned out. This was going to be another of those complicated message poems. As the rat provided the promised ‘great tale of deeds unknown,’ I returned to the kitchen to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee.

A growl from Morey drew me back. His tail was a purple-grey blur, and I wondered what I’d missed. The rat continued her recitation. I tried and failed to work out what had alarmed Morey. The intricate rhyming scheme was beyond me. So I took a seat and sipped coffee until Morey had thanked the rat. The rat flew out through a small flap in the front door which, until now, I had somehow overlooked.

‘Well?’ I prompted Morey.

‘Our next challenge has been set,’ he said. ‘Tuesday next week.’

‘Good,’ I said happily. ‘That means I can chair the PCC meeting tomorrow night. What else did the rat say?’

Morey looked away. ‘One of Taryn’s grŵp rhyfelwyr is dead.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ I waited a beat, then asked, ‘How did it happen?’

‘The Stegosaurus caught Gormlaith with its tail,’ Morey said glumly. ‘The rest managed to bring it down, so they have successfully met the challenge.’

‘The members of her grŵp rhyfelwyr are drawn from her best friends?’

‘Friends and family. One is her younger sister. Same parents, different hatching.’

‘So she’s lost someone important to her,’ I concluded. ‘You should go see her.’

‘How?’

I smiled. ‘I know you’re supposed to visit Aron with home communion. I can go instead.’

‘I meant what I asked,’ Morey said patiently. ‘I don’t know where Taryn is, and even if I did, she could be thousands of miles away. I need a search dragon, and there’s none around here.’ He shook feathers and fur into place. ‘Taryn has a strong heart. She will survive.’

‘As you would, if one of us died?’ I asked softly. ‘Morey, is all this really necessary? Can’t you two just, I don’t know, elope or something?’

The red-brown eyes met mine. ‘This is important, Black. In your culture, a man asks his girlfriend’s father for permission to marry her. This is our equivalent.’

‘In our culture,’ I pointed out, ‘no matter how scary the father might be, at least he’s not a Tyrannosaurus rex.’

‘To be fair, that hadn’t been part of the plan.’

‘To be fair, your clan could have lifted us to safety.’ I picked up the towel and waved it at Morey. ‘If the next challenge risks our lives like that, I warn you, I’ll pull James, Clyde, and me out of this whole grŵp rhyfelwyr thing. I don’t think Peter would be willing to continue, either.’

The gryphon’s ears were pulled back. But he said, in a subdued voice, ‘I understand. And I’m sorry.’

‘Good.’

‘No, not for the last challenge. For reminding you that Alan had no one to ask. Your father was long dead.’

I found myself smiling. ‘Actually, Alan decided to ask James. It was very sweet. James was only six years old, and he took it very seriously. Alan had to wait two days for his answer. I seem to recall that my bride price included a good quantity of Lego.’

Morey chuckled. He flew to my shoulder, and I fluffed his head feathers. ‘I swore that I would permit no harm to come to any of you, Penny. I meant that.’

‘I trust you. I don’t trust your family.’

‘That makes two of us.’

‘Hungry!’

Clyde was sitting at my feet. Morey’s claws dug into my fleece as I bent down to pick up the snail. ‘And how,’ I asked him, ‘did you come down the stairs without us noticing?’

‘Hungry!’

‘Black,’ Morey said, ‘you know this has to happen.’

‘I know.’ I carried them both through the kitchen, and out the side door. Early morning sunshine gleamed across the brown hutches lining the back fence. Clyde slid to the short grass, freeing my hands to open one door and pull out a rabbit. I felt like a Judas as the warm brown body snuggled trustingly in my arms.

‘Two,’ Morey told me, joining Clyde on the ground.

‘Two?’

‘I need to eat as well.’

So I reached in, and drew out a second victim. Then I turned and went back into the house, not wishing to witness the slaughter. It wasn’t easy, living with two out and out carnivores.

James was charging down the stairs as I returned to the lounge to dry off the coffee table. ‘Hey Sis, I’ve only got ten minutes for breakfast. I really fancy a bacon butty. Got any in?’

Make that three carnivores, I thought. The males in my household might be enough to make me turn vegetarian. ‘There’s something that looks like bacon in the larder. Give it a go. But first you can help with the washing up.’

‘Washing up?’ James looked in dismay at the dishes in the sink. ‘No dishwasher?’

‘What do you think?’

My brother shook his head in mock dismay. ‘You’ve always said that dishwashers are proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.’

I threw a tea towel at him. ‘Then think of this as a test of the faith you don’t have.’

We both left the house at the same time. James raised the hood of his waterproof jacket over his head and hurried down the road. I headed into the main residential area. Even the rain pattering against my umbrella couldn’t dampen my spirits. I was the Rector of Caer-grawnt, and I was making my first pastoral call.

Cadfan’s house was an end terrace. The small front garden was filled with spring flowers, which had suffered somewhat in the downpour. I walked up the cobble path to the dark front door. Only then did it occur to me that all of the houses on this street had small doors. Larger beings couldn't walk through. So where did the dragons and gryphons live?

I knocked at the door, and was relieved when Cadfan answered within a few seconds. The house was neat and plain inside. I took a seat on a wooden bench in the lounge. The hour of conversation and tea passed pleasantly enough, but my backside was aching by the time I rose to make my farewells.

Most of our topics had been inconsequential. I did file away the information that Cadfan was divorced, that he served as a floor manager at the tile factory, and he had a fondness for beer. I managed to engineer an invitation to join him in a pint at the local pub after the PCC meeting.

My next visit was to a housebound member of the church. Hafwen, a dwarf, was in one of the retirement homes, living in a small ground floor flat. As she made me a cup of tea and chattered about the weather, she kept calling me by the name of my predecessor. As Father Apted was a male elf, I found it hard to understand her confusion.

A thump at her door interrupted her diatribe about a bishop who had visited the parish ten years previously and had blown out the candles on the altar in the wrong order. ‘The Gospel candle should never burn alone!’ Hafwen waved her arms, making the tea in her cup spill over into the saucer. ‘Gave him a piece of my mind, I did!’

The thump came again. ‘I’ll get that,’ I said, glad for an excuse to climb out of my understuffed armchair. I opened the door to find Clyde on the step. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Bored.’

‘Who is it, Father Apted?’

‘Just a snail shark.’ The rain had washed off all signs of his gory breakfast. I picked him up and carried him in. ‘He lives with me.’

‘Pah!’ Hafwen pulled her lips in tight. ‘Vermin, they are. Take it away.’

‘If Clyde has to leave,’ I told her, ‘then I’ll have to go too.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Which altar candle is blown out first?’

‘The right side,’ I said, deliberately giving the wrong answer.

‘That’s the Epistle candle!’ She rose to her feet. ‘You’ll never rise to high office at this rate, Father Apted!’

‘I’ve never sought high office,’ I told her. ‘Thank you for the cup of tea, Miss Hafwen. I’ll see myself out.’

The rain had eased, leaving grey clouds hovering overhead. I slung the umbrella under my arm and carried Clyde in the crook of my arm. ‘Vermin?’ he asked me as I trudged uphill towards the rectory.

I sighed. ‘Not everyone likes snail sharks.’

‘Why?’

‘Remember what you did to the rabbit this morning?’

His tentacles waved. ‘Yum.’

‘Well, some people worry that you might do the same to them.’

Colours pulsed through his body. ‘Rabbits! Birds! Lemmings!’

‘I know.’ I rubbed his shell in reassurance. ‘But, on Earth, snail sharks have eaten human babies.’

‘Babies.’ Clyde sounded horrified. ‘Closing Time?’

‘Yes, like Alfie, the baby in Closing Time,’ I affirmed, pleased that Clyde’s education in all things Doctor Who hadn’t been wasted. ‘So you’ll just eat the rabbits, yes?’

‘Lemmings,’ he said strongly. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

I had quick lunch at the rectory, trying not to wonder what creature had produced the cheese which graced my sandwich. My first afternoon visit was to one of the primary schools. The head teacher gave me a tour, and I grinned as I watched a mixture of young dragons, vampires, and weres playing tag. We agreed the dates on which I would call in to deliver assemblies.

Then back home to think about my sermon for Sunday. I sat in the lounge and made notes by hand before turning on my Macbook. The portable solar panels I’d brought with me were resting on a windowsill, waiting for a glimpse of sun.

James came home after 6pm, full of praise for his office manager. I sent him out to bring in wood so I could fire up the range to cook our dinner. The stew turned out well, although I couldn’t identify the meat. And who had brought potatoes to Lloegyr? Did they have an equivalent of Sir Walter Raleigh?

<><><><><><>

Despite a regrettable lack of red wine in the house, I was still in a good mood as Peter and I stood outside the rectory, looking down at the few lights across the town.

‘Yes, I got the message,’ Peter said. ‘Next Tuesday. I’d like to speak to Morey before then. I’m not happy about that last challenge.’

‘Oh, I talked to him this morning.’ We were standing, which meant that I fitted very comfortably under his left arm. ‘I told him we’d better have no more life and death situations, or I would take me, Clyde, and James out of the challenge process.’

‘Not me?’

I looked up at him. Peter hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and the designer stubble suited him. ‘I wouldn’t presume to speak for you.’

His answer was a long kiss. I soaked up the warmth of his mouth. ‘Just as well,’ he said when we pulled apart. ‘I support the equality of men, you know.’

Several dragons flew overhead, calling to each other as they headed away from the town. A unicorn whinnied in the distance. A couple of were-children chased each other around a tall gas lamp, shifting between human and fox. I sighed. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Peter?’

‘You’re happy to be here?’

‘Very.’ I bit my lip for a moment, then forced myself to ask the question. ‘Are you?’

There was a pause before he answered. ‘It’s a bit quieter than I’m used to. But I think it’ll improve my understanding of Lloegyr, and probably my Welsh. I don’t mind for a few months.’

‘And if I end up staying longer?’

‘Then I’ll probably look into other opportunities. Maybe I’ll join the mounted police. Having a dragon partner would mean I could commute between here and the city.’

‘So you’d stay?’

Peter stepped away so he could look me in the eye. ‘I’d stay. I know how important this is to you.’

I glanced away. ‘Alan never understood.’

‘Yes. You’ve told me before.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But I’m not Alan.’

‘Certainly not,’ I agreed. And I returned to my place under his arm as we watched clouds pull away to reveal bright stars overhead.

<><><><><><>

The rattle of the door should have warned me. But I still jumped as a rat landed on the photographs which I’d spread out across the lounge floor. ‘Don’t you lot ever knock?’ I demanded as I took a seat on the settee.

A photo of a stained glass angel had blown up against Clyde’s tentacles. He trilled a protest and shook himself free. This succeeded in alarming the rat, who cried out, ‘Malwen siarc, malwen siarc!’ as he leapt up to the fireplace mantelpiece.

‘Clyde won’t eat you,’ I assured him. Then I composed myself. ‘Noble rat, I pray, what message do you bring today?’

The rat peered down at me, then sat back on his haunches to recite. ‘She meant what she said, and she said what she meant. Tyra’s word is faithful, one hundred per cent. And so today, at half past two, a shiny knife was laid in a poo!’

‘Morey gets epic poetry,’ I grumbled, ‘and I get Dr Seuss.’

‘Poo,’ Clyde repeated excitedly. ‘Poo, poo, poo.’

‘Wipe that word immediately from your vocabulary.’ I turned back to the rat. ‘My dear rat, is there any more? When will I and knife be restored?’

‘Tyra will come apace, and take you to her place. Next week, Wednesday late, soon after half past eight. The knife is in a pit, buried deep in sh--’

‘I get the idea,’ I said hurriedly, cutting him off with a quick glance at Clyde. ‘Many thanks, noble rat, and send this reply. I shall await her coming from the sky.’

The rat cocked his head, and opened his mouth in an exaggerated pant. So I abandoned my PCC preparation and took him into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Morey arrived just as the rat left, nearly causing a collision at the door flap.

‘PCC in an hour,’ the gryphon reminded me as he followed me into the pantry. ‘They’re still remembering to give you food?’

‘Looks like it.’ I lifted the lid on the cast iron dish resting on the marble top. ‘Another stew. I’m not so happy that people can just let themselves into the house. Why aren’t there locks on the doors?’

‘Why would you need to lock a door?’

‘Against thieves?’

Morey snorted. ‘You don't have anything worth stealing.’

I lowered the lid. ‘I’ll heat it up when I get home.’

Half an hour later, I slid the photographs and a notebook into a shoulder bag. Morey took his usual place on my right shoulder and I walked us down the hill to the church hall. The churchwardens were making final preparations as I let us in. I took a deep breath, and smiled. This might be Lloegyr, but the building had the same musty mixture of mould, dried sweat, and dying leaves as any hall in England.

Tables had been arranged to make a square, with an empty space in the middle. I took a chair, and Morey hopped down to sit on my right. The rest of the PCC slowly filed in, twelve assorted beings who either took a seat or found a place to stand.

At 7pm, I greeted them, and they introduced themselves. I had sketched out a square in my notebook, and now I populated it with names and species. The variety reflected what I’d seen at my licensing service. Two elves, one harpy, one unicorn, two dragons, a vampire, a dwarf, and two weres, one a badger, the other a fox. Most of their names were Welsh, although the dragons bucked the trend and offered something far more Nordic and even less pronounceable.

Morey led us in a short act of worship. On to business. I followed the same order as at Saint Wulfram’s. Cadfan had the hand written notes from the last meeting, and he summarised them. We then moved onto the agenda items. The church had received a rat from the neighbouring parish of Saint Chad, asking for a joint service after Easter. We agreed on a date. The new sound system was almost ready for use, and they hoped I would try it out on my second Sunday. I made a note that it was called ‘MICE’ and decided that I would try to puzzle out the acronym later. The treasurer, a yellow dragon, reported that the usual funds had been received from the patron. The health and safety officer, the were-badger, advised us that asking dragons to take a deep drink of water before entering church had reduced the risk of flame damage. As for social events, all agreed that a BBQ would be held in the spring, with grain alternatives for the non meat eaters in the congregation.

‘All good,’ I told them. ‘And now I’d like to move to the main agenda item, namely the mission of the church.’

‘You’re going into the schools, aren’t you?’ asked the unicorn who, in common with her kind, had kept her name private. ‘That’s how our previous rector spread the Gospel.’

‘The mission of God belongs to everyone in the church.’ I pulled out my collection of photographs, and spread them across the table. Morey moved aside to give me more room. ‘These are images of angels, taken from my own world. Morey, please read to us from the Revelation to Saint John.’

Morey, of course, merely sat back on his haunches and recited the passage from memory. ‘“I was in the spirit on the Lord’s day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, ‘Write in a book what you see and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus, to Smyrna, to Pergamum, to Thyatira, to Sardis, to Philadelphia, and to Laodicea.’ Then I turned to see whose voice it was that spoke to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands I saw one like the Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across his chest. His head and his hair were white as white wool, white as snow; his eyes were like a flame of fire, his feet were like burnished bronze, refined as in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of many waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and from his mouth came a sharp, two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining with full force.’”

‘Those places,’ I told the PCC members, ‘were some of the earliest churches established by Christians in my own world.’

Morey continued at my nod. “‘When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he placed his right hand on me, saying, ‘Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive for ever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades. Now write what you have seen, what is, and what is to take place after this. As for the mystery of the seven stars that you saw in my right hand, and the seven golden lampstands: the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches.’ And now I hand back to Father Penny.’

‘Thank you.’ I pointed at the dozen photographs. ‘If you read further in Revelation, Christ addresses the “angel” of each church in turn. I’d like you to look at these images. Get up and come closer, if that helps. Which angel do you think represents Saint George’s, and why?’

Several did walk over, and I moved back so they could peer over at the images. Others remained seated, despite my best attempts to call them over.

‘So,’ I said five minutes later, ‘would anyone like to make a start? Which angel do you think is like Saint George’s, and why?’

‘I don’t get it,’ the were-badger said. ‘Saint George is a dragon, not an angel.’

‘It’s metaphorical,’ the dwarf told him. ‘Not literal.’

The were-badger sighed. ‘I dig tunnels. Dirt and rocks are real. I can work with real.’

‘Angels are real,’ the unicorn stated.

‘If this church were an angel,’ the treasurer said, ‘then it’d be a small one. Because only small people are welcome in Saint George’s.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ the were-fox challenged.

‘Look where we have to sit,’ the dragon continued. ‘Always at the back. The sidespeople always make us sit at the back.’

‘If you sat in the front,’ the dwarf pointed out, ‘no one could see.’

‘But it’s not fair.’ The dragon’s tail slammed against the floor. ‘You’re just being sizeist.’

‘No, just being practical,’ the were-fox said. ‘It’s not our fault you’re the largest people in the congregation.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Perhaps we could discuss the reordering of the church in a future PCC meeting. Look at the photos again. What would you say the culture of our local community is like?’

‘Welcoming to anyone but dragons,’ the treasurer grumbled.

‘Try being a harpy.’ Aislin ran a hand through her shiny hair. ‘It’s always, “Is it true your hair stays naturally clean?” “When did you last have a bath?” Or even, “At least you don’t have a cess pit to clean out.”’

‘Whenever we have a fundraising campaign,’ the dwarf said, ‘people expect me to come up with jewels. Like I own a mine or something.’

‘If you dragons wanted to be at the front,’ the unicorn said, ‘you could lie down on your stomachs.’

‘Or the history of the church.’ I tapped on the table. ‘What angel would sum up the history of Saint George’s?’

The were-fox snarled. ‘Even dragons don’t welcome dragons. I saw you, Sverrir. You all shuffled away from that search dragon.’

‘Not only was he a search dragon,’ Sverrir retorted, ‘he’s sold himself out for money. He was wearing a saddle. He’s nothing more than a tacsi dragon!’

More voices were now raised, making accusation and counter accusation. I had prepared for a number of different routes the evening could go, but none of these had included a unicorn stamping his hoof as a were-badger growled into the ear of vampire. Morey’s voice cut across the hubbub. ‘“How very good and pleasant it is, when kindred live together in unity!’”

‘Well reminded, Father,’ said the unicorn, breaking into the temporary silence. ‘Father Penny, this is all new to us. Perhaps we could display the images in church, and allow us time to pray over the matter?’

With some reluctance, I accepted the offered compromise. ‘I’ll find a space on the noticeboard.’

With nothing else to cover on the agenda, Morey said a closing prayer and the PCC members shuffled out of the hall. I helped the churchwardens put away tables and chairs. Although I hung around, Cadfan showed no inclination of inviting me to the pub. So finally I picked up my bag and left.

‘We don’t really talk about mission,’ Morey told me as I turned the hand crank on my torch. A thin moon meant that it was very dark beyond the reach of the hall’s oil lamps.

‘Because people know where the church is?’ I pressed the switch, and was rewarded by bright light. ‘They’ll come if we just wait for them?’

‘Conversion is accomplished by the Holy Spirit, not by us.’

‘“But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed?’” I quoted at him. “‘Or to hear about’, erm, “believe in one”--’

“‘And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent?” Romans 10.’ Morey leaned against my cheek, and I was glad of the warmth. A wind was rattling through the trees and digging through my coat. ‘How often have you challenged Saint Wulfram’s to proclaim their faith?’

I winced. ‘That’s the one thing Christians and non Christians have in common. They both hate evangelism.’

‘What makes you think the good people of Saint George’s are any different?’

‘They’re not as united as I’d hoped.’ I was relieved to see that we had nearly reached the rectory. ‘They need a cause. Something they can rally behind.’

‘Fairer seating for all would be a good start.’

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Morey.’

He chuckled. ‘But the highest form of intelligence. And very necessary if a clergyperson is to remain sane.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

The rest of the week passed easily enough. I made more visits, both to the housebound and to members of the PCC. As I had suspected, the differing species were segregated by street. The largest homes were for the dragons, the doors twice the width of those which led into the dwellings of dwarves. Although I could understand the practicality of these arrangements, it seemed a shame that the town planners hadn’t created more integrated neighbourhoods. Perhaps that was where the church could help in encouraging the development of community.

Peter and I explored a couple of the pubs. Some of the patrons had recognised at least one of us, but mostly we were left alone to sip our rather bitter porters. Our days off didn’t coincide, so I spent Friday taking a long walk through the nearby fields in warm spring sunshine. Clyde joined me, zipping through long grass and occasionally zooming off to catch a small rodent.

And on Sunday, I presided for the first time in Lloegyr. The style was a bit more formal than I was used to, with a full altar party. My sermon, a tried and tested one about using Lent to give something up so that God could offer us himself, went down well. I felt at home behind the altar, only stumbling once over the old fashioned language of the Book of Common Prayer. It had been a long time since I’d had to say ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ in a service. I placed the bread into hands, paws, and beaks, and several assistants offered wine in goblets and buckets.

The only sour point came afterwards, when I was drinking a cup of tea and chatting with the verger. ‘Rector,’ a voice said sternly at my elbow. I smiled an apology at the unicorn, and looked down at a were-fox. ‘This simply will not do.’

Clyde was at her side. The colours sliding across his body were shifting too quickly to read, but the amount of red and yellow indicated that he was annoyed. ‘He didn’t enjoy Sunday school?’

‘He chewed the pens, dumped the glitter all over the hall, and chased the foals,’ she snapped. ‘And he kept insisting that he wanted Jesus.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘It is when I’m trying to make the children focus on the Good Samaritan.’

‘Glitter,’ Clyde muttered, sounding disgusted.

‘And a snail shark doesn’t belong in Sunday school anyway,’ she continued. ‘I’m surprised to find you would even associate with one. Now, excuse me while I apologise to the parents.’

I put down my hand, and Clyde slid onto my palm. His colours had greyed. ‘Want Jesus.’

Morey landed onto a nearby pew. ‘Did you hear?’ I demanded.

‘Very intriguing.’ I glared at him, and he lifted his wings in a shrug. ‘That someone can teach about the Good Samaritan and yet despise our equivalent.’

I rubbed Clyde’s shell. ‘Maybe it’s time you were confirmed.’ Morey’s ears pulled back. ‘What’s the matter? Couldn’t we arrange for Bishop Aeron to do the honours?’

‘She might not be so willing,’ Morey said slowly. ‘Some theologians argue that snail sharks don’t have souls.’

My mother’s training forced me to swallow the first words which came to mind. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Of course, it’s not an opinion which I share. But Bishop Aeron might not want to upset the more conservative elements in the church.’

‘Okay, then I’ll ask Bishop Nigel. He’d be glad to do it.’

‘But that wouldn’t be accepted over here.’ Morey leapt onto my shoulder and peered down at Clyde. ‘Sorry, kid. You’ll have to wait a bit longer before you can receive Communion.’

‘No Jesus,’ Clyde said sadly.

‘We’ll find a way,’ I told him. ‘If not here in Lloegyr, then when we’re back in England. I promise.’

<><><><><><>

I concentrated on writing my sermon on Monday, keeping a careful eye on the battery level of my Macbook. After a couple of afternoon visits, I had an early night with the hope of being well rested for whatever Tuesday might bring.

But sleep was hard to come by. Temperatures had dropped below freezing, and the only heating in the house was the fireplace in the lounge. I burrowed under multiple blankets, wearing two pairs of pyjamas at once, but my nose was cold and my feet tingled even in three pairs of socks. Never again would I take central heating for granted.

The alarm woke me in the dullness of pre dawn. I dressed under the covers, and shivered my way down to the kitchen. Hot coffee restored some feeling to my fingers. Morey wrapped his stomach around his mug. ‘You too?’ I asked him.

‘I hate the cold.’ He took a deep gulp of coffee. ‘In future, Black, could you ask about the heating in the accommodation before you commit us to a parish?’

‘Don’t worry, I will.’

James stumbled in as I boiled water for more coffee. ‘Sis, next time you think of going to a new church--’

‘Central heating,’ I said wearily. ‘Got it.’

Clyde, at least, looked cheerful. I’d put his sleep box in the lounge, which meant he’d enjoyed more warmth than the rest of the household. I lifted him free from his blankets. ‘Ready for our next gryphon challenge?’

‘Ready!’

The snail seemed to be going through another growth spurt. Clyde barely fit into his padded case. I buttoned up my coat and nodded at the other members of my household.

The nearby fields and trees were covered with a layer of frost. Sun was just beginning to break through a low lying fog. Peter was picking his way carefully up the road, his boots grating against ice. ‘Lovely morning,’ he greeted us, his breath puffing into the cold air.

‘For penguins,’ James muttered.

‘The house was freezing overnight,’ I told Peter.

‘Really? What about the upstairs fireplaces?’

‘What upstairs fireplaces?’

‘My house has them in every room.’ He grinned. ‘Next time it turns cold, you’ll just have to come and stay with me.’

‘We will,’ Morey said, with an emphasis on the pronoun.

James looked longingly down the hill. ‘I don’t suppose there’s enough time for me to visit the bath house? Just to warm up.’

‘Nope.’ I pointed at the two dragon bodies, glinting green and orange above us. ‘Our rides are here.’

Raven and Margh hovered over the field, conversing quickly in Welsh. Yellow flames sped from their jaws, melting the frost and charring the grass underneath. They landed on the cleared area. As I trudged across the mixture of ice and mud, I could only hope that whoever owned the field wouldn’t raise a complaint.

As I came close, Raven swung his head between me and his side. ‘You ride on Margh.’

I stared up at him. ‘Why?’

‘We’re all going to same place,’ Peter said to me. ‘Does it matter who rides whom?’

And there was no good answer to that. Mud collected on my boots as I angled around green-black dragon to the orange-red one beyond. I climbed up into the saddle, and leaned forward so Morey could land behind me. The two men made themselves comfortable on Raven. Then the dragons leapt into the sky.

Our third slip through a thin place took us into bright sunshine. Both dragons levelled off and we coasted for a few minutes. I could only assume that they found the warmth as welcome as we did.

All too soon, Raven led us through a number of aerial crossings. I lost track which was Daear and which was Earth after several switches over open ocean. When we emerged over a closely knit tree canopy, I saw the familiar tents pitched at the edge of the forest, and I knew we’d arrived.

A thin layer of white cloud covered the sky, but the air was warm. My nose began to run, which was annoying as my tissues were buried under several layers of clothing. I sniffled as the dragons circled over the gryphon encampment.

There was very little room between the tents and the forest. Both dragons went into tight spirals, then dropped the last dozen feet. I felt my stomach lurch, and swallowed hard against a reminder of my breakfast. Margh lowered himself to the ground, and I slid off. And immediately dug through to my trouser pocket to retrieve a tissue.

‘We’re late,’ Morey said, still on the saddle. ‘My grandmother’s waiting for us. Let’s go.’

He flew away, followed by Peter and James. I refused to move until I had my nose under control. After a good blow, I looked around in vain for some environmentally acceptable way to dispose of the tissue. Margh had moved off. Raven, however, still stood nearby, head cocked. His feet shuffled against the bare ground. ‘Did the tacsi dragon not fly well?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ I glanced down at the wadded paper in my hand. ‘Oh, did you think I was upset?’

‘Weren’t you?’

‘Or,’ I demanded, ‘did you want me to be upset?’

His large head lifted away from me. ‘Maybe.’

‘Why?’

‘You no longer carry the knife I gave you.’ And still Raven looked off into the distance, refusing to meet my eyes. ‘You could at least have returned it to me. Or was it easier just to say nothing?’

‘Black!’ Morey called out. ‘We’re waiting for you!’

‘It’s complicated,’ I told Raven hurriedly.

‘Not to me.’ And then mud splattered across my chest as he leapt away.

I curled my fingers against the frustration churning through my chest. Then I strode over to the others, joining the semi-circle they had made in front of the matriarch.

‘Father Penny, good of you to join us,’ Ercwiff said.

‘Good to be here, Matriarch.’ I opened the case and placed Clyde on the ground next to Morey.

‘You impressed us in the first challenge, the one of strength.’ The large gryphon arched her neck. ‘But now we’ll see if Trahaearneifion has chosen his grŵp rhyfelwyr wisely. Now will follow the trial of courage.’

‘You would’ve thought facing a T-rex showed that,’ James muttered in my ear.

Ercwiff’s long ears rose. ‘There are many types of courage. The inner battles are always more difficult than the outer. We’ll see how well you face this challenge together.’

‘Is it me,’ James murmured, ‘or is she starting to sound like Yoda?’

I was torn between wanting to affirm this exploration of his inner geek, and the need to maintain decorum in front of Morey’s grandmother. ‘We won’t fail Morey, Matriarch.’

Peter nodded. ‘What are we supposed to do?’

‘Walk through the forest.’ Her beak pointed over our heads.

We all turned to look at the trees behind us. They looked like photos I’d seen of Californian redwoods. Tall brown trunks stretched hundreds of feet upwards. No plants grew near the roots. There was just damp soil, with a scattering of fallen leaves.

‘How far does the forest stretch?’ Peter asked.

‘The path is four miles long, although the forest is only two miles deep.’ Her cheek feathers puffed out in a smile. ‘I suggest you keep to the path.’

‘To the path, I suggest you keep,’ James said under his breath.

‘Your advice we will heed,’ I found myself saying, much to my annoyance. ‘Thank you, Matriarch. Any other advice?’

‘You will only find what you take in with you.’

‘See?’ James grinned at me. ‘Told you. Yoda.’

Peter sighed. ‘That’s enough, padawan.’

Morey led us the short distance to the start of the path. We humans shed coats and fleeces, leaving them at the base of the first tree in the hope that we’d be brought back to them later. Moisture was rising from the ground as the unseen sun rose higher into the sky. I felt as if I’d gone from a freezer to a sauna.

Morey and Clyde led the way into the forest. The canopy above us blocked most of the light, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. The damp smell of mould rose into my nostrils as my boots scuffed against humped tree roots.

The path was wide enough for me to walk alongside James. Peter was at the rear, and I took some comfort that he had our backs. My sword was a reassuring weight at my left hip.

The path suddenly made a jagged left. And that’s when we saw it. The creature stood just beyond the sharp turn. It looked like a bird, albeit one as tall as Peter. Then the dark green wings rustled, and the antlered head of a stag turned towards us. For a moment I thought I was looking at some deer-bird hybrid, and I relaxed. Then the jaws opened to reveal jagged teeth stained with blood.

‘A peryton.’ Morey’s voice was little more than a whisper. Never had I seen his fur and feathers so slick. The gryphon was terrified.

Peter crouched next to him. ‘Tell us more.’ After a moment, he added, ‘We don’t understand.’ And he lowered a hand onto the gryphon’s back.

Morey leapt back as if stabbed. ‘The most cursed race on Lloegyr. Perytons carry the souls of the betrayed, and they can only be set free if they eat the heart of their betrayer.’

The peryton’s red eyes gleamed as it looked us over. ‘But you can’t believe that,’ I told Morey. ‘You’re a Christian. The soul goes to God when we die. There’s no such thing as reincarnation.’

‘I know, I know.’ Morey’s tail lashed at my legs. ‘But look at its shadow.’

Long and black, covering the forest floor at the peryton’s left, the shadow did not match the creature which stood on the path. James spoke first. ‘That’s not right. It’s--it’s the shadow of a human.’

I glanced at the gloom, still solid around us. ‘And where does the shadow come from?’

‘Is it related to the Vashta Nerada?’ Peter wondered.

‘No jokes about carnivorous shadows,’ I said. ‘Not without the Doctor here. Or River Song. Preferably both.’

‘I’m interested in much more than your heart.’ The voice was unnatural, both deep and high-pitched. It was as if two people were speaking at the same time. ‘What I want goes much deeper.’

How much deeper? Images of internal organs raced through my mind. Spleen, lungs, liver? And we hadn’t packed any onions. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘what we want is to follow this path through the forest. If you wouldn’t mind letting us past?’

‘For payment, yes.’ The thick hawk legs, yellow and sharp-clawed, clicked as it came closer. ‘Answer me my riddle.’

‘A riddle?’ I asked. ‘But that’s what the Sphinx does, asks riddles.’

Peter glanced at me. ‘I don’t think this is the moment to argue about mythical mash-ups.’

I shrugged. ‘My poor grasp of Greek mythology has always been my Achilles elbow.’

Morey gave me a glare, then turned back to the peryton. ‘Certainly, we will answer your riddle.’

‘Not you.’ The antlers pointed at Peter. ‘Peter Jarvis. Answer me this. You are called to a house to arrest a man accused of murder. You know not his face, only that he is inside. When you enter, you find five within, dressed in the coverings of their trades. A doctor, a carpenter, a lawyer, a fireman, and a teacher. You immediately arrest the fireman. Why?’

‘That’s easy--’

‘Not you,’ the peryton interrupted Morey. ‘Peter is to answer.’

‘How did you know?’ Peter’s voice was little more than a whisper.

‘The answer, Peter Jarvis.’

‘The fireman is the only man in the room. The others are all women.’

The peryton’s jaws snapped shut. The long wings folded, and it stalked off into the forest. I found that I was shivering, despite the sweat which beaded across my forehead.

‘Well,’ Morey said carefully, ‘that wasn’t too bad.’

‘How did it know?’ Peter demanded. He ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘That was the first arrest I ever made.’

‘The riddle really happened?’ I asked.

‘Not exactly like that. I was told to look for a male suspect, and when I arrived at the address, he was in a poker game with four women. But he was a firefighter.’

‘Morey said perytons have the soul of someone who’s been betrayed.’ James looked pale, and I laid a hand on his arm. ‘All you did was arrest him.’

‘He was later found to be innocent.’ The muscles along Peter’s jaw tightened. ‘But before he could be told, he’d committed suicide in his cell. His family blamed me.’

‘You’re not to blame,’ James said.

‘That’s what I’ve always tried to tell myself.’

‘It also knew your name,’ I pointed out. ‘Morey, that wouldn’t have anything to do with your matriarch, would it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Morey’s tail lashed across the ground. ‘The peryton might have been given Peter’s name. But that doesn’t explain how it knew about the arrest. And the outcome.’

‘A Google search--’ James shut up as he realised the absurdity of his words.

‘Courage,’ Clyde announced. ‘Courage.’

‘You’re quite right,’ I told the snail. ‘This is a test of our courage. Well, I’m not going to let some large horned bird thing put me off.’

‘Quite right.’ Peter waved a hand at Morey. ‘Lead on, brave gryphon.’

Morey and Clyde headed off down the path. I let go of James and went to Peter’s side. ‘Are you okay?’

‘At the moment, yes.’ He puffed his cheeks. ‘But I don’t think that’s all we’re going to face.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

We walked through the all too quiet forest. The only sounds were our footsteps. As hard as I tried, I could hear no bird song, no chitters of squirrels, not even the creak of a branch. The only colours, other than what came from our clothes and bodies, were those of green and brown. No flowers rose from the soft ground, no butterflies flew past. I tried to hum ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful,’ but the tune died in my throat.

The path turned again. And there was another peryton waiting for us.

We stopped twenty feet away. The creature had the same green wings and brown body as the one we’d met earlier, but the shadow which stretched away from its side was a different shape. Morey made a strangled noise even as I realised that the pointed nose and long tail could only be that of a fox.

‘Trahaearneifion,’ the peryton said, in the same eerie mixture of voices. ‘Mae gennych ddim ond un fatsien, ac wedi mynd i mewn i dŷ oer a thywyll. Mae lle tân, lamp olew, a channwyll. Pa un ydych chi'n goleuo gyntaf?’

I whispered a translation to Peter and James. ‘You have only one match, and have entered a cold and dark house. There is a fireplace, an oil lamp, and a candle. Which do you light first?’

‘That’s easy,’ James whispered back. ‘The match. Morey’s smart, he’ll know that.’

Peter shook his head. ‘I think there’s more to this than just the answer.’

Morey’s ears were pinned flat against his head. In a dull voice, he answered, ‘Y fatsien.’

The right answer. I could breathe again. But as the peryton strode away, the gryphon showed no sign of relaxing. ‘Morey? What’s wrong?’

‘Our home.’ He lifted his head to look up at us. ‘The cottage I shared with Seren. Cadw ar Wahân burned it down.’

‘But Seren--’ I cleared my throat. ‘She didn’t die in the fire.’

‘Her sister did.’

‘Another were-fox,’ Peter said. ‘That explains the shadow.’

‘But you didn’t betray her,’ I protested. ‘It’s not your fault that Cadw ar Wahân decided to attack you.’

‘She was in my house, under my protection.’ Morey’s eyes shifted to Peter’s. ‘I failed her.’

‘Did your matriarch know about the fire?’ I asked.

‘Possibly.’

‘It could be Google,’ James was muttering. ‘Send a rat through, let him do some internet searches, come back here with the answer. I mean, it could be done, couldn’t it?’ He shoved his hands into his pockets, but not before I saw how much they were trembling. ‘These perytons, they can’t be reading our minds, could they?’

Even Clyde seemed to freeze at the idea. ‘I’m sure there’s some better explanation,’ I said quickly. ‘And so far, it’s not been nice, but Peter and Morey have survived.’

‘You wait until it’s your turn,’ Morey retorted.

We trudged along the next section of path. My damp shirt was pressing against my body, but there was a chill deep inside my stomach. I found myself staring ahead, trying to spot when the trail would bend again. The gloom seemed to play tricks with my eyes. I only spotted the turn at the same moment that I also saw the peryton.

‘Clyde.’ The creature turned, and I swallowed at the snail shadow which spread from its thick talons. ‘What is made of wood and metal, and must be buried before it works?’

The blues and greens pulsing through Clyde’s body were a welcome splash of colour. ‘Shovel.’

‘He sounds confused,’ Peter said in my ear. ‘Does he remember how his mother died?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘We’ve never talked about it.’

‘Maybe, one day, you should.’

‘What, remind him that I killed his mother?’

The peryton spread gleaming wings and flew up into the canopy. James glanced over at me. ‘Is it too late to head back?’

‘We can’t go back,’ I said. ‘We need to see this through for Morey.’

‘It’s you or me next.’ James lifted up his shirt to mop his face. ‘There’s some things I’d rather not remember.’

Peter put an arm around my brother’s shoulders. ‘Brave heart, James.’

‘I just don’t want to let everyone down.’

‘You survived a fight with a Tyrannosaurus rex. You’ll survive a peryton.’

‘You’re a tiercel now,’ Morey reminded him. ‘And I’m proud to have you as a member of my grŵp rhyfelwyr.’

Clyde slithered over and bumped against James’ feet. ‘Courage.’

‘All right, all right.’ James took a deep breath. ‘Anything from you, Sis?’

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘You can look after yourself.’ And he flashed me a quick smile.

Morey and Clyde returned to the front of our group. The trees were crowding in closer now, narrowing the path. Peter took the rear, allowing James and me to walk side by side. The temperature had dropped, cooling the sweat on my face.

When the next peryton came into view, I somehow knew that this one had come for me. I stepped over Clyde and Morey and marched up to the creature, stopping short of the human shaped shadow darkening the forest floor. ‘Penelope White,’ I told it. ‘Go on, give me the riddle.’

The peryton turned, thick claws churning the earth as it brought a blood-stained muzzle near my face. The two-toned voice chanted,

‘Oft I must strive with wind and wave,

battle them both when under the sea.

I feel out the bottom, a foreign land.

In lying still, I am strong in the strife;

If I fail in that, they are stronger than I,

and wrenching me loose, soon put me to rout.

They wish to capture what I must keep.

I master them both if my grip holds out.

If the rocks bring succour and lend support,

strength in the struggle. What am I?’

The answer was simple. An anchor. I had gone sailing with Alan often enough to know that. But as I stared into the red eyes, I felt the word dry in my throat. The months were stripped away, and I was once again at Rutland Water, standing on the slipway as The Fancy Free was brought back to shore. Alan’s body had already been loaded into the ambulance. The policewoman assigned to keep me company told me quietly, ‘That’s what made people realise that something was wrong. Your husband was nowhere to be seen, and the boat had been anchored.’

A heart attack. Alan had anchored the boat to go for a swim, and died in the water. And I should have been with him. ‘It’s supposed to be your day off,’ he had reminded me, shoving sandwiches into his bag. ‘We’re supposed to be sailing together.’

‘I told you, I have to take this funeral.’ I had forced myself to be patient in the face of his fury. ‘Mary was baptised in Saint Wulfram’s, she was confirmed there, she was married there, and after reaching the ripe old age of ninety, she’s now going to be buried there. I have to take this funeral.’

‘It’s always them, isn’t it? Always those church people of yours, never me.’

The bag jounced against his side as he strode from the kitchen. And I had shouted after him, ‘‘And don’t forget to rinse out the Thermos flask before you bring it home!’

Green feathers rose and fell, glinting like restless waves. Dark mud matted the brown fur, just like that which had coated my shoes after I’d walked away from the shore. White teeth gleamed like the clean bulwarks of The Fancy Free. I forced the answer past chattering teeth. ‘Anchor. It’s an anchor.’

The peryton winked at me. The large nostrils opened, and I felt a breeze across my face as it drew in my scent. Then it swaggered away.

‘Now,’ Morey said, ‘you know what I mean.’

‘It’s like it pulled things from my mind.’ I forced myself to take deep breaths. ‘How could it do that?’

‘Does it really?’ Peter asked. ‘Or do we just respond to the suggestions made by the peryton?’

‘Whatever,’ James said glumly. ‘My turn next.’

I reached out for his hand. And I gripped his fingers tight as we pushed on. Hi God, I prayed. I know I’ve not spent much time with you recently, but if you can get us out of this place, I promise I’ll read any book of the Bible you choose. Even Leviticus, if you insist, but please let me wait until I get back to England so I can have a good supply of whisky on hand.

A new sound broke in over the squelch of our shoes and the catch in our breaths. It took me a moment to identify it. Rain, splattering hard against leaves. But the canopy was so thick that only the occasional fat drop filtered through to streak across the air and disappear into the ground.

Another bend. Another peryton. James straightened. But I held him back. ‘The shadow. It’s the shadow of a snail.’

‘It’s for me,’ Peter said grimly. His lips twitched as he glanced at James. ‘Seems they don’t take turns after all.’

‘Peter Jarvis.’

‘Coming.’ He passed gryphon and snail and planted himself ten feet from the creature. ‘Go on, I’m ready.’

‘A woman was murdered at her office. The suspects are Gerry, Julie, Jason, Nick, and Sophie. The numbers one, four, nine, ten, and eleven were written on a calendar in blood by the victim. Who is the killer?’

‘Numbers.’ Peter was looking at the shadow at his feet. ‘It’s about the numbers, isn’t it?’

The peryton aimed the sharp points of its antlers at his chest. ‘And your answer?’

‘Jason, of course.’ Peter sounded weary. ‘The letters of his name match the first letter of the calendar months. Unless one of the others was trying to frame him. But that’s good enough for you, isn’t it? Because you wanted me to remember the numbers.’

The sound which came from the creature’s mouth set my teeth on edge. It was like nails screeching down a chalkboard mixed with the whimper of a terrified dog. ‘Correct, Peter Jarvis.’

‘What’s with the numbers?’ I asked him once the peryton had left us.

‘I’ve had to deal with a number of snail shark infestations.’ Peter bent down to give Clyde’s shell a quick rub. ‘They’re not all like our friend here.’

‘I know they’ll eat cats and small dogs.’

‘And sometimes a human baby.’ Peter straightened. ‘We crate them up and send them back to Lloegyr. But a couple of years ago, I heard about a woman who was doing an experiment to see if snails had a homing instinct. She painted numbers on her garden snails, and took them next door to see if they’d return. So I did the same with several batches of snail sharks. I painted numbers on their shells before they were taken back to Lloegyr.’

‘And did they return to England?’

‘Yes. But not alive. We’d find them piled up in a heap, all dead.’ Peter rubbed his forehead. ‘I decided putting numbers on them must have made them some sort of target, so I stopped doing it. I used to tell myself it didn’t matter, they were only snail sharks. But Clyde here has made me feel differently.’

‘The snail sharks at the frost fair,’ James reminded me. ‘They had numbers on their shells.’

‘What were they doing at the frost fair?’ Peter asked. ‘Nothing too terrible, I hope?’

I glanced at James. His face reddened as he said quickly, ‘Oh, they were in a pen. For people to look at. That’s all.’

We’d all become accustomed to a break between peryton visits. So when the next one appeared, on part of the path which was nowhere near a bend, James grumbled, Peter sighed, and Morey said a word which I hoped Clyde hadn’t heard. The shadow was yet again of a fox, and Morey strode forward.

‘Your wife has been poisoned,’ said the peryton in Welsh. ‘You have been given eight pills which are all the same size and colour. Only one pill is the antidote which she needs to swallow to save her life. This pill weighs slightly more than the others. A scale is nearby. You only have time to use the scale twice to work out which pill is the antidote before she dies. How do you find the correct pill?’

I translated for Peter and James. ‘That’s a tough one,’ my brother said. ‘But if anyone can work it out, Morey can.’

The gryphon’s back arched. ‘No. I'm not playing this game.’

‘Morey--’

‘His wife was killed by poison,’ I interrupted James. ‘And he only found out after her body was dug up for tests.’

‘Do you refuse to answer?’ the peryton asked.

‘Answer it, Trahaearneifion,’ Peter said sharply. ‘Don’t let it win.’

Morey’s ears were flat against his skull. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think he’s listening to any of us.’

The peryton let out a long, whistling sound. It hopped forward. A large tongue licked around the black lips as it eyed the gryphon. Then, slowly, calmly, it lowered its antlers to Morey’s side. One sharp tip was pushing into his chest.

‘Morey!’ I started forward, but both men grabbed my arms to hold me back. Clyde darted along the path, his jaws opening to expose his jagged teeth. Then he stopped, as sharply as if he had hit an invisible wall.

Darkness seemed to flow from Morey to the peryton. The creature shivered and moaned as its shadow lightened and narrowed, pulling in closer to the tall body. Morey screamed. The sound sent shards of terror through my soul. I yanked myself free and stumbled towards the gryphon.

The peryton lifted its head. The red eyes gleamed at me, and I froze in place. The reflection I saw was not my own. Alan smiled at me from deep inside the dark pupils, young and handsome, his chin bearing the cut he’d made whilst shaving on the morning of our wedding day. Then the image changed. Now it was Raven, eyes sunk deep in his skull, scales decaying around the sockets. I felt my breath rattle in my throat.

Morey dropped to the ground. As the peryton loped off, I bent down to pick him up. ‘Morey, Morey, are you all right?’

‘I’ve just had a peryton in my mind,’ Morey said weakly. ‘Of course I’m not bloody all right.’

Peter and James hurried over, and Clyde slithered up to my right shoulder so he too could peer down at the gryphon, who was now cradled in my arms. Peter touched Morey’s side. ‘Anything we can do?’

‘I think I’ll recover.’ Morey looked up at me. ‘If someone can give me a lift?’

‘Certainly,’ I promised.

‘But not on your shoulder. You’ve let Clyde slime you again.’

‘That was a tricky one,’ James said. ‘I wouldn’t have known where to start.’

‘Actually, the solution was quite simple.’ Morey twisted, turning so that his stomach was resting on my forearms. ‘Weigh three pills on each side of the scale. If they’re both the same weight, then you weigh the last two pills to find the antidote. If the original two sets don’t weigh evenly, you just take the three pills from the heavier side and weigh two of those. Either they weigh the same, which means the antidote is the third pill. Or if one of them is heavier, then that’s the antidote.’

James stared at him. ‘Then why didn’t you give the answer?’

‘I froze, for a moment. Then I realised that, sooner or later, one of us won’t be able to solve a riddle.’ His red-brown eyes swept around our faces. ‘It’s because of me that you’re all in this forest. I decided I should find out what would happen.’

‘And?’ I prodded.

Morey shuddered. ‘It fed.’

‘That sound,’ James said. ‘That moan. I’ve not heard something like that since I split up with Debbie. That thing was getting off on you.’

‘Getting off from my guilt, please,’ Morey corrected. ‘Not me personally, I assure you.’

‘Is that what they want?’ Peter wondered. ‘They want to feed from our guilt?’

‘They eat the heart of a betrayer,’ I said slowly. ‘But not literally. They want our dark emotions. Our grief, our self-blame, our guilt. Morey, do you really blame yourself for Seren’s death?’

‘I should have protected her.’

‘But she was a were-fox,’ I pointed out. ‘Surely she, and her sister, could look after themselves? And half of Lloegyr seems to be ruled by matriarchs. Would they really have expected you to be their protector?’

‘Trust me, mate,’ Peter said to him, ‘these strong females don’t want a bloke treating them like some helpless flower.’

I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m so glad to hear you say that.’

‘I’m learning.’

‘So what do we do?’ James asked. ‘I know exactly what they’re going to show me. They’re going to bring up Miranda, aren’t they? And I don’t care what you say, it’s my fault she’s dead.’

‘Or it could be Alan,’ I said.

‘That’s a great help, Sis.’

‘You’re not to blame for either of them, and I’ve told you that a million times.’

James looked away. ‘I know, I know. But I can’t help how I feel, can I? What am I supposed to do about it?’

‘Shadow,’ Clyde announced. ‘Shadow.’

I reached up to rub his shell. ‘The shadow shrunk, Morey, when you fed the peryton. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do in life? Face our shadow?’

‘Karl Jung,’ Morey stirred himself to say. ‘Integration. Don’t quite feel it myself.’

‘Because you didn’t face it,’ Peter said. ‘So, Penny, you think if we march to our peryton, accepting whatever happened instead of blaming ourselves--well, what?’

‘It’s not so much accepting what happened,’ I said, ‘as accepting our inability to have done anything about it. Accepting our shame, I guess. Our helplessness. Our anger, both against ourselves and others. And our fear that we’ll fail again. That’s facing our shadow. That’s what confession is supposed to do. Not make you miserable before God, but to help you see your shadow and to integrate it.’

There was an expression on Peter’s face which I’d never seen before. His eyes dropped down to my neck, and I realised that he was imagining the dog collar he had so often seen at my throat. ‘So that’s what being a priest is all about?’

‘Sometimes.’ I quirked a smile. ‘But I seem to spend more time in meetings and worrying about deathwatch beetle in the pews.’

‘Then I should tell you--’

‘When Alan died, I was in New Zealand.’ James was looking down at the ground, his hands once again resting in his pockets. ‘Penny said he’d drowned. And for the next few months I kept having nightmares. Nightmares about a huge tidal wave sweeping up the shore. I’d try to run away, but I was never fast enough. The water would break over me, and I’d wake up tangled in the sheets. Until one night, I decided to run towards the wave instead of away. And I found that I could go through the wave, and come out the other side. The nightmares went away.’ Now he met my eyes. ‘That’s what this is, right? Running towards the tidal wave.’

I felt my shoulders straighten in pride. ‘Yes, James. That’s exactly what this is.’

‘Then let’s get on with it.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

Clyde returned to the forest floor, and we continued on. Morey recovered enough strength to climb up to my left shoulder. I could only hope that I would have the courage to carry out what I’d said, should the next peryton be mine.

This time, the creature was waiting on the bend. Peter took a deep breath. ‘You know I was married, once, right?’

‘Yes. You’ve mentioned it a couple of times.’

‘This one’s for me. And it’s about my wife.’

‘How can you…’ I trailed off. Somehow, I too knew that the shadow was of a woman.

‘Okay, let’s see if confession is good for the soul.’ I felt Morey tense as Peter turned towards us. ‘My wife. Samantha. Sam. We met at uni, and married as soon as we’d graduated. But twelve years later, she had a one night stand. She told me all about it, begged me to forgive her. An office party, a taxi back to her manager’s flat, a moment of madness. That’s what she said. I told her I was packing my things and leaving the house and her.’

‘She betrayed her vows,’ Morey said.

‘Yes, she did. And she didn't contest the divorce.’ Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘Then, two years later, our friends let me know that she was dying. Of cancer. She was in the final stages, and she wanted me to visit her. I think she wanted to hear that I’d forgiven her, so she could go to her grave in peace.’

‘You didn’t go,’ I said.

‘I didn’t.’ He shook his head. ‘How did her dying change anything? She’d betrayed our love, betrayed me. Why should I pretend that I was now okay with it, just because she was dying?’

Clyde climbed onto his boot. ‘Mercy.’

‘Now, that’s not something I’d ever expected to hear from a snail shark.’ Peter reached down and let the snail slide onto his hands. ‘You’re quite right, Clyde. I should have gone. I realised this the moment I heard that she’d died. Her best friend told me Sam said, a couple of days before she passed away, “Tell Peter that I’m so very sorry. And don’t blink.”’

‘Don’t blink?’ James repeated.

‘She was a Doctor Who fan,’ I said. For some strange reason, this unsettled me.

‘I should have gone. I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.’

‘I’d be happy to grant you absolution,’ Morey said.

‘You can’t, you’re only a deacon,’ I reminded him. The moment weighed on my shoulders as heavily as Morey did. ‘Peter, our Lord Jesus Christ gave power to the Church to forgive all those who repent. By his authority, committed to me, I absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’ I sketched the cross in the air as I named the Trinity. Forests and perytons didn't matter. All that mattered was this moment of enabling someone to forgive himself and to move on.

Peter bent his head. ‘Amen.’ Then he straightened. ‘So, God forgives me. Do you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Okay, let’s see what this peryton has to say.’

I put out a hand to stop him. ‘But not alone.’

‘I thought that was the point of this challenge. Courage, remember?’

‘But that’s not what the matriarch said,’ I pointed out. ‘She said “how well you face this challenge together.” Remember?’

‘A turn of phrase?’ Morey offered.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. She spoke to us in English, not Welsh. Maybe she wanted to make sure we heard correctly. Let’s face this peryton together.’

‘Together,’ Clyde agreed firmly, his eyespots fixed on Peter.

‘Okay,’ James said, his voice thin.

Morey hopped over to Peter’s right shoulder. I slid my hand through the man’s left arm, and James did the same on the other side. Peter cradled Clyde close to his chest as we marched up to the peryton.

The creature rustled its wings. ‘A man and his son are walking down a road, and both are hit by a bus. They are rushed to the hospital. The doctor on duty looks at the boy and states, “I can’t operate on this boy, he’s my son.” How can this be?’

‘Oh, how obvious,’ Peter said. ‘Except Sam was a nephrologist, not a surgeon. But I'm not going to answer you. You’re going to have to take it from me.’

‘From all of us,’ I said firmly. ‘Because we’re Peter’s friends, and we love him.’

‘So stick that in your pipe and smoke it,’ James added.

The peryton stepped forward. I focussed on the antlers, refusing to look at the eyes. The sharp points lowered, twisted just past my face, and pressed against Peter’s left shoulder.

‘Yes, I could have done better,’ Peter said. ‘I should have gone to see her, and I didn’t. Sam, if you’re in there, I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty about something I can’t change.’

The peryton snorted. A mingled scent of sweet flowers and sharp antiseptic rushed into my nostrils. ‘Are you certain, Peter Jarvis? All she wanted was one word from you, one simple word so she could die forgiven. And you refused to give that to her.’

‘He’s confessed, and he’s been given absolution,’ Morey said. ‘Who are you to argue with the Almighty?’

‘And does Father Penny speak for God? A priest who rarely speaks to God?’

But I’ve been rather busy lately, I found myself thinking. And I did pray about half an hour ago.

‘Ex opere operato,’ Morey retorted. ‘The validity of the sacraments is not dependent upon the worthiness of the priest or the recipient. The grace given comes from God.’

Clyde reared up from Peter’s hands and opened his jaws. For a moment, I wondered if he were going to bite the peryton on the nose. Instead, the snail shark commanded, ‘Go away.’

The creature stepped back. The shadow at our feet thickened, darkened, sharpened in detail. A gasp from James made me look up. The peryton itself was changing. The wings faded away, the horns drew back into the head, and it shrank in size. I blinked. The image of a woman stood in front of us, her face pale above a blue hospital gown. I could see the forest through her body, and even as she spoke she was fading away. ‘Thank you, Petey.’

Then she was gone. The path ahead was clear.

‘Peter?’ I asked.

‘I’m okay.’ He smiled. ‘Actually, better than okay. Confession is indeed good for the soul.’

‘Just hope it works for me,’ James said quietly. ‘It’s got to be me next. I’m the only one they haven’t tagged yet.’

Peter gently freed himself from our grasp and placed Clyde on the ground. Then he put an arm around my brother’s shoulders. ‘I did it. So can you.’

‘But you’re way better at this than me.’

‘I’m also much older than you,’ Peter said gently. ‘I’ve had about twenty years more than you to make mistakes, and to learn from them. And that’s the only way you can become a man, James. Make mistakes, and learn from them.’

Morey was nodding approvingly. As male bonding rituals were, by definition, beyond me, I walked a few feet away to study the light coming through the trees. As I’d thought, the area ahead was brighter than what lay behind us. We were nearing the end of the forest.

Male encouragement continued for several more minutes. I kept my face turned away, hiding my smile as Morey gravely reminded James that he was now a tiercel and fully fledged hunter. Once again I wondered how much Alan’s sudden death had deprived James of a male mentor when he’d needed one most. But Peter was saying all the things I would have hoped to hear from Alan, and perhaps even better.

Clyde rested nearby, his body pulsating green and blue as he listened. No, not a he, I reminded myself. Snail sharks were hermaphrodites. I did hope giving him a male name hadn’t made him take on a false gender identity.

Goodness, I needed be out of this forest before I started feeling guilty for allowing James to have his own email address when he was only twelve years old. As far as I knew, he hadn’t contacted any of the Ukrainian women who had spammed him.

‘We’re nearly at the end,’ I told the males when a bout of back slapping announced that they had finished. ‘Ready?’

Morey fluttered to the ground and once again led the way. Weak sunlight was beginning to filter past the trunks, spreading long shadows across the dark ground. I paused for a moment in a shaft of golden light, and felt my shirt start to dry.

‘And there it is,’ James said grimly. One last peryton stood between us and the last of the trees. ‘That’s mine.’

My mouth dried. ‘James. The shadow, it isn’t a woman’s.’

‘It’s Alan.’ James stared at me. ‘I thought it’d be Miranda. I can face Miranda. How can it be Alan?’

‘Doesn't matter who it is,’ Morey said firmly. ‘We go together, like before.’

Peter glanced over at me. ‘Actually, I think it does matter. Penny?’

‘I can get why I feel guilty,’ James said to me. ‘If I’d told you about Alan’s funny turn, you would’ve made him go to the doctor, and he wouldn’t have had his heart attack later on. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t even with him.’

‘Precisely,’ I said bitterly. ‘I was supposed to be with him. But the church got in the way. Doesn’t it always?’

‘You have a calling,’ Peter said. ‘We all respect that.’

‘And what could you have done anyway?’ James asked. ‘If you’d been on The Fancy Free with him. You’re not a doctor.’

I reached out to grab my brother’s arms. ‘And even if you’d told me, do you really think Alan would’ve gone to see his GP? You remember what he was like. He could be so stubborn.’

‘But we’ll never know, will we?’ James asked, blinking rapidly.

‘You can’t know,’ Peter said gently. ‘But would Alan want either of you to feel guilty over his death?’

‘He would have told me to man up,’ James said. ‘And to look after Penny.’

I added, ‘And I would’ve told him that I can look after myself, thank you very much.’

‘That I can believe.’ Peter offered me one hand, and held the other to James. ‘So, let’s do this. Together.’

Clyde climbed back up to my shoulder, and Morey’s claws tightened in Peter’s shirt. And like the Famous Five, but with a snail shark instead of a dog, we headed into danger together.

The peryton was standing where no sunlight could reach its green feathers. The shadow writhing at its taloned feet reminded me of Alan at his most vulnerable, like the day he had asked James whether he’d like to be adopted and to carry Alan’s name. Neither of us had been sure how the eight year old boy would react. But when James had answered by throwing his arms around Alan’s neck, my husband’s smile had made me bite my lip to hold back tears.

‘The one who makes me sells me,’ the peryton said. I shivered, certain that one of the voices was Alan’s own. ‘The one who buys me never uses me. The one who uses me never knows that he is using me. What am I?’

‘I know full well what you are,’ I said firmly. ‘Ghosts and shadows, the regrets which keep me awake at night, the empty spot in my bed, the man who gave James a second chance at having a father. You were many things, Alan, but you were never cruel. You wouldn’t have wanted your memories to be used in this way.’

‘You once told me that a man knows when to walk away.’ James spoke slowly, as if he had to force out each word. ‘Alan wouldn’t haunt us like this. I’m not like Sis, I’m not sure where we go when we die. But I know Alan’s not inside of you. You’re not Alan. Stop pretending that you are.’

The peryton shrank. Then, like an icicle exposed to the sun, it melted away. The greens and browns pooled into the shadow, which changed into the mixed form of bird and stag. I jumped back as the darkness slithered away, disappearing into the forest.

‘I’m not quite sure,’ Morey murmured, ‘what Jung would have made of that.’

‘Who cares about him,’ James said. ‘Let’s get out of here before any more turn up.’

He broke into a run without releasing Peter’s hand. So we were both pulled along in his wake, Morey and Clyde clinging grimly to shoulders. Bright spots of blood appeared in Peter’s shirt but he said nothing as we kept pace with my younger brother.

Then we were past the last tree and running on grass. I slipped my hand from Peter’s and stopped to catch my breath. The word Clyde muttered under his breath was crude, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with it. James halted a few feet away, also panting. Only Peter seemed to have found the run easy. He extracted Morey, placing him on the ground, and rubbed at the claw wounds.

‘We’re out, we’re out, we’re out,’ James started chanting like a mantra. I glanced back at the forest. For a moment I thought I saw several dozen red eyes glowing between the dark trunks. Then they disappeared, and I suppressed a shudder.

‘Yes, James, we’re out,’ Peter reassured him. ‘And here comes the welcoming party.’

Ercwiff’s large form led the flight of gryphons gliding into a land. Morey strutted forward as her claws sank into the soft ground. ‘We’ve come through, Matriarch.’

‘Together,’ I added firmly.

The brown eagle head lowered to her grandson. ‘Mae eich grŵp rhyfelwyr wedi gwneud yn dda.’ Morey visibly swelled at the praise, but I felt we deserved better than a ‘you have done well.’

A barn owl gryphon brought my coat, fleece and Clyde’s case over to me. Everything was wet from the earlier rain. I hung them over my arm and hoped that I could dry them out at home. It wasn’t like I had brought spares over from England.

‘Until the next challenge,’ the matriarch said in Welsh.

The dragons spiralled down. The moment of relief I felt at seeing Raven alive was quickly squelched as I remembered his refusal to carry me earlier. I collected Clyde and marched straight to Margh. If Raven didn’t want me, I wasn’t going to force myself upon him. I climbed up into the saddle and draped my wet clothes over the pommel. Morey flew over, noted the position of my coat, and went to join Peter and James on Raven.

All I wanted was to go home to a nice hot bath, a glass of Gigondas, and a Doctor Who episode. None of which would be waiting for me in the rectory. There were times when life in Lloegyr left something to be desired.

The tacsi dragon lifted us into the air. We rose above the forest’s thick canopy. A tumble of purples and blues drew my attention. Furry animals, about the size of small cats, were chasing each other from branch to branch. One paused to look up at me, huge multifaceted eyes gleaming in the evening sunlight. Butterfly wings fluttered from the hunched back.

And that was why I loved Lloegyr. These unexpected moments of wonder. So what if the cottage lacked hot water, the wine bottle rack was empty, and no TV was available? I would go down to the bathhouse, pay for a private cubicle, and have a through soak. Someone had left a small barrel of beer in the pantry, so it was time I sampled it. And I’d make up the fire, and find a good book to read on my Kindle.

Margh followed Raven through a thin place, and we left forest and gryphons far behind.

<><><><><><>

The sun had set several hours previously, and the temperature had dropped once night had fallen. I stepped outside my front door at 8.25pm, and my annoyance grew for every minute I waited. When Tyra finally landed, twenty minutes later, I told her, ‘Nice of you to drop by.’

She was breathing heavily. ‘Had to take a different route. Avoid one of the crossings in your world. Planes in the sky. Fire on the ground.’

‘A bombing run? Which country?’

‘How should I know?’

I wondered how much news I was missing. What might be happening on my own world? It was worse than being in the parts of Rutland which lacked a proper 4G signal. For a moment I thought about fetching my iPhone and see if I could pick up something during one of our crossings. Then I put the temptation behind me and climbed up to Tyra’s back.

Several transitions and half an hour later, and we were flying over the lava fields. The switch from cold dark night to hot mid afternoon made me sweat inside my coat. At least, I told myself, it would finally finish drying out.

We flew over the settlement. The black twisted ruins of Raven’s tent were gone, and the space was now empty. Had he done that, or one of the other search dragons?

I smelled the midden long before we reached it. Although I’d taken turns mucking out stables when learning to ride a horse, and even helped to spread cow manure on a friend’s allotment, neither had prepared me for the stench which assaulted my nostrils. The huge mounds of fewmets looked like twisted black sausages, some of them as long as my leg. Bits of fur were embedded in a number of the droppings, and the long hairs ruffled in the breeze.

A small mound was a short distance away. Tyra angled her wings, and landed us nearby. She turned her head to look back at me. ‘This is my midden. The knife is somewhere in there.’

‘Then get it out.’

‘No. That’s your job.’ She pointed her muzzle at a nearby shovel. ‘I did bring this to help you.’

I slid down and marched up to her snout. ‘You said you’d pull it out.’

‘I was going to. Until you convinced Hrafn to sell himself as a tacsi dragon. He’s disgraced himself.’

‘There’s another search dragon working for the gryphon clan.’

‘Her.’ Tyra snorted. ‘I don’t care about that one.’

I stared up at her. ‘But you care about Raven, don’t you?’

She lifted her head away. ‘What does that matter? He only looks to humans. Always has.’

Unrequited love. I would have probably felt more charitable if I weren’t looking at spending the next few hours shovelling fewmets. For a moment I considered giving up altogether. Why should I try to find the knife, when Raven had so obviously snubbed me? Then I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t going to give Tyra the satisfaction of seeing me give up.

I dumped my coat onto the ground and pulled out my bottle of sun lotion. Then I forced myself to strip down to underwear and bra, before applying a coat of cream.

‘You might do better naked,’ Tyra commented.

‘No thanks.’ I picked up the shovel. ‘There are some places I do not want fewmets to reach.’

Her hoot of laughter followed me as I strode to the midden. ‘I could come to like you, Father Penny.’

‘The feeling’s not mutual,’ I muttered under my breath. The pile of fewmets reached up to my waist. I dug the shovel into the freshest, at the top, disturbing the flies as I pulled the excrement to one side. Would the knife be on top, or buried inside the sausage? I probed the mess with the shovel, but hit nothing metallic.

The sun lowered as I pulled out one fewmet at a time. An hour in, I paused to apply more sun lotion. Flies buzzed around my legs, and I slapped them away. The top layer of dragon dung was now spread out across the ground, and I still hadn’t found the knife. Had I missed it? Or had Tyra brought me to the wrong place?

A dragon flew into view. I watched as he hovered over a midden, his wings pounding furiously to hold him in place. Then a vent opened near his tail, and fewmets dropped onto the existing pile. Several rolled away to the base of heap.

Of course, the newest ones wouldn’t only be on the top. I walked around the edges of Tyra’s mound. And there, glinting in a mix of excrement and fur, was the knife.

I turned the shovel on its side, and carefully dug away as much of the fewmet as I could. The knife fell away. More dragon dropping than I’d liked still clung to the handle. I studied the problem for a moment. Then, with a deep sigh, I put down the shovel and forced myself to pick up the knife.

The midden area was just above a beach. I picked my way across the jagged lava field and onto the black sand. My shoes were all but destroyed by sharp rocks and dragon dung anyway, so I walked from soft to hard sand and into the small waves sweeping up the shore.

The water was warm. I quickly waded in deeper. Fish swam away from my legs and, to my surprise, a small penguin zipped past. I lowered the knife into the ocean and swished it around. As the fewmet softened, I used my fingers to free the metal.

When the handle looked reasonably clean, I reluctantly returned to the shore. A sea lion followed me in, his eyes reminding me of a doleful puppy. I could only hope that Tyra wouldn’t see him as an early evening snack. There could still be dung inside the pocketknife, but I didn’t dare open the blade. I had no desire to call Raven to my side.

My trainers were definitely ruined. The shoes squelched as I walked back up to my clothes. I used my fleece to dry myself off as well as I could, and then pulled on my shirt and trousers. For a moment I debated what to do about the knife. I dug around the pockets of my coat, and found an old sandwich bag.

‘Finished, Father Penny?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ I dumped cheese crumbs from the plastic bag, and dropped the knife inside. ‘Actually, no, no thanks to you. You owe me one. So take me to my vicarage in England.’

‘Why?’

‘So I can have a proper shower and pick up another pair of shoes.’ I glared at her. ‘It’s the least you can do.’

<><><><><><>

The shower was cold, of course, since I’d not left the water heater on. But it was still better than a small bathtub in front of a fire or waiting until the bathhouse opened. I took my shoes out to the wheelie bin, and collected a pair from my wardrobe. As I looked around the vicarage, I had to resist turning on the computer to check my emails and Facebook. Tyra was wandering restlessly through the back garden, and if I waited too long she might take off without me.

It was well past midnight when I was dropped back to the Caer-grawnt rectory. I somehow found the grace to thank Tyra. Then I quickly went inside. The frosty air was freezing my wet hair to my head.

Flames from the fireplace cast light over the lounge. Morey was curled up on a rug near the hearth, Clyde resting between his legs. James was snoring on one settee, blankets rucked around him. Another pile of pillows and blankets waited for me on the other sofa, my pyjamas resting on top. I smiled at their kindness. As quietly as I could, I changed, and I crawled under the covers. I turned several times, trying to find a comfortable spot. Then I fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘What’s that smell?’

I smiled at James over my mug. ‘And good morning to you, too.’

‘Seriously, did Clyde drag one of his kills into the kitchen?’ James turned to Morey, who was standing on the window sill, staring out into the back garden. ‘Come on, Morey, haven’t you noticed?’

‘I don’t have that great a sense of smell.’

James ambled over to gryphon. ‘I thought cats did.’

‘My front half is falcon,’ Morey reminded him. ‘Black, you might want to have a look.’

‘What are those things?’ James asked him, pointing outside.

A dozen small white bodies were sitting on the rabbit hutch. As I watched another two landed beside them. Gossamer wings disappeared into their furry coats. ‘Lemmings,’ I said, and sighed.

Clyde looked up from the bloody remains of his breakfast. I couldn’t hear what he said, but his body pulsed blue and green, then pink. The lemmings shuffled excitedly, their claws scrabbling for purchase on the sloped roof.

‘That might solve the feeding problem,’ Morey told me. ‘Clyde can eat them instead of rabbits.’

‘Not going to happen,’ I declared. ‘The lemmings are intelligent. They can talk.’

‘So can pigs,’ Morey said. ‘And you eat them.’

James chuckled. ‘Come on, pigs can’t talk.’

‘Lloegyr pigs do.’ Morey shrugged. ‘They’re slaughtered around six months old, before they can speak more than a few words. Butchers say that “Mommy!” is the last thing they squeal.’

James paled. ‘Do all the animals on this world talk?’

‘All animals talk,’ Morey said. ‘It’s just most of them don’t speak a language you can understand.’

‘Excuse me.’ James started to walk, but was running by the time he reached the lounge. I listened to him pound up the stairs to the toilet. The remains of his bacon sandwich rested on a plate.

‘Cruel, Morey.’

‘Not cruel. Simply the truth.’

‘But you kill animals.’

‘I have to. I don’t have a choice. I can’t survive on plants.’

Water gurgled as the toilet was flushed. I dumped the remains of my brother’s breakfast into the bin. ‘I’ll tell the congregation to stop bringing bacon.’

Morey leaned over and sniffed at my face. ‘James is right, though. There is a strange smell. I don’t know where you’ve been, but I suggest you visit the bath house.’

I winced. ‘All right, but it’ll have to be this afternoon. Aislin’s finally agreed to let me visit her.’

‘Don’t wear your best trousers.’

I headed upstairs to change. The loo was empty, so I assumed that James had retired to his room. At least he had cleaned up any remaining mess. My bedroom faced the back of the house, and I looked out in time to see another group of lemmings arrive. How had they found Clyde? And, more importantly, how was I going to get rid of them?

Aislin lived on the other side of the town. I passed the school, the bath house, the work institute, and several factory buildings before reaching her detached house. A front garden, tidier than I’d expected, spread green bushes and bright flowers around the dark brick walls. The front door had been painted a bright orange, and tall windows were set in either side. The churchwarden, I realised, must either be independently wealthy or hold a high position in Lord Willis’s company.

I knocked on the door, and waited with some trepidation. My welcome was far from assured. I had gained the distinct impression that Aislin had been very reluctant to accept my offer of a visit.

The harpy opened the door about a minute later. ‘Father Penny.’ Her tone, like her grey smock, was neutral. ‘Come in.’

I tried not to gape at the large entrance hall, tastefully decorated with white wallpaper. She escorted me into a warm lounge. Sofas and chairs, upholstered in a mixture of pastel fabrics, huddled around the open fireplace. The warmth wrapped around me, and I bit back a surge of envy.

‘Now, Father Penny, I--’ She stopped. I was standing awkwardly by one settee, waiting to be invited to sit down. A smile suddenly transformed her jagged face. ‘Where did you get that delightful scent you’re wearing?’

My brain scrambled for a polite answer. I had no idea what the search dragon’s domain was called, so I decided to use the Earth equivalent. ‘It’s from the Galapagos Islands. I picked it up on a recent visit.’

‘Do please bring some back for me, next time you’re there.’ She swept a tattered wing at the nearest sofa. ‘Please, take a seat. May I offer you some tea? I have some Earl Grey in the pantry.’

‘That’d be fine.’ I sank down into the soft cushions.

‘Make yourself at home. This week’s paper is in the rack.’

I was happy for any excuse to remain in a well heated house. The newspaper was long and thin. The typeface reminded me of Victorian papers I’d seen in museums, all the same and set out in four columns across the page. No illustrations or adverts. I learned that the pottery factory had broken all production records, and that the Institute had been given dragon sized books ‘by our esteemed patron, Lord Willis.’

The rattle of porcelain told me that Aislin had returned. The tray was carefully balanced across her wings. She lowered it onto a table, and ran a talon through the pot to pour tea into the oversized cups. I had to use both hands to raise mine. Aislin took a seat. ‘That truly is a delightful scent, Father Penny.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thank you for the tea.’

‘Not at all.’ She stretched out a foot, and wrapped her talons around the remaining cup. ‘I hear you’ve met the headteacher of Caer-grawnt primary.’

‘I’m used to going into schools.’ Now that I was properly warm, I could smell the pong which James had mentioned. It seemed to be clinging to my hair. ‘Are there any local charities I should be involved with?’

‘There’s no need for those. Lord Willis takes care of all our needs.’ Aislin took a sip of tea. The dexterity required to lift the cup to her lips was impressive, and also revealed more of her anatomy than I’d wanted to see. ‘I must arrange for you to meet him.’

‘Really?’ I was desperately trying to keep my eyes on her face.

‘Yes. After all, he is our patron.’

‘He’s Saint George’s patron?’ Then I paused to cast my mind back to my appointment to Saint Wulfram’s. ‘Maybe that means something different over here. In England, the patron of a parish has the right to nominate a priest for that church.’

‘Same in Lloegyr.’

‘And usually the patron or a representative is on the interview panel.’

‘Which will be the case when we appoint a new ongoing incumbent.’

I swallowed some tea to wash down the bitter taste in my mouth. Unless something extraordinary happened, I was only here for three months. There was little reason for a patron to bother himself with a temporary appointment. ‘If he can make the time, I’m certain I’d enjoy meeting him.’

‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’

‘That’s wonderful. So, Aislin, what’s your role in Lord Willis’s company?’

By the time I left the house, the chief accountant of Lord Willis Holdings had given me her run down of the various businesses which he operated in Caer-grawnt. The turnover figures meant little to me, since I had no idea how to convert groats and galleons into pounds and pence. As I stood at the door, Aislin leaned in to take one last, long sniff of my hair. ‘Do remember me when you next visit the Galapagos perfumer.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. And I hurried up the road to the public bath house.

A were-badger took my copper coins and pointed the way to a private bath cubicle. A silver coin elicited a bar of soap and a towel. I hung my clothes on the door hook, and lowered myself into the steaming water. The soap smelled little better than I did, but I still used it to give my hair a thorough scrub.

Once I’d dried myself off and was back in my clothes, I wandered down the corridor to the public pool. As I’d expected, few were using the facility. Most of Caer-grawnt’s denizens were no doubt at work, and wouldn’t leave until the factory whistles blew at 6pm. A couple of dragons floated on the water, wings tucked in tight so that three dwarves could swim laps. The gold and blue tiles looked clean, and the red benches in the marble arches gleamed with new paint. I wondered if Lord Willis also paid for the upkeep of this establishment. Did he own everything in this factory town?

<><><><><><>

‘There you go, kind sir,’ I said, placing two mugs of ale onto the table and sliding one across to Peter. ‘The Miner’s Dark, as requested.’

Peter took a careful sip. Then he grinned. ‘Very nice. And thank you.’

‘You deserve it. There’s no way James and I could have repaired the rabbit hutch on our own.’ I sighed. ‘I’m not tall enough.’

‘Not the way you’d hoped to spend your day off.’

‘No.’ I leaned back in my chair. ‘But I’m hoping the evening will make up for it.’

‘A nice pub, a good stout, and a beautiful woman,’ Peter said. ‘My evening’s made.’

I pretended to swat the compliment away. ‘I’ve told the lemmings that they have to stay off the roof. The hutch wasn’t designed to take the weight.’

‘And do you think they understood you?’

‘Hard to tell. But Clyde did, and I’m certain he’ll find a way to tell them off if they land there again.’

The pub was only half full, but it was early on a Friday evening. I wasn’t wearing my dog collar, of course, but one of the elves standing at the bar had given me a nod. The dark carpet, the wood-lined walls, and the slightly sweaty atmosphere reminded me of country pubs I’d visited in England. Except here the large area at the back was taken up by dragons, unicorns drank from bowls lined up on a low shelf, and a group of vampires were playing table top skittles.

‘But it’s going well?’ Peter asked. ‘The whole vicaring in Lloegyr thing?’

‘Very well.’ My beer was good, but I missed being able to buy crisps to nibble alongside. ‘I did my first school assembly yesterday. Three hundred kids. Little dragons are so cute.’

‘You and dragons,’ Peter teased. Then he frowned. ‘Three hundred? Is that all? The adult population is around six thousand, most of them working age. Why aren’t there more children at Caer-grawnt’s only primary school?’

‘I thought the same. I did try to ask the headteacher. She told me, “Not all parents can afford to send their young to school.”’

‘Isn’t the school free?’

‘Exactly. But the deputy interrupted us before I could find out what she meant.’ I shrugged. ‘I’m back next week. I’ll ask more then. And how’s the policing?’

‘Very quiet. Caer-grawnt has a very low crime rate. I caught a couple of were-badgers scrumping from a fruit shed, but otherwise it’s a lot of walking and smiling.’

‘You’re bored,’ I said, feeling guilty.

‘A bit.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll survive. It’s only for three months.’

I took a pull of beer, hiding my face behind my mug. ‘Hmm.’

‘Oh, there was an outbreak of graffiti. On several houses.’

My heart sank. ‘Couples in mixed species relationships? A red “W”?’

‘That’s it, I’m arresting you.’ Peter reached across the table and grasped my wrist. ‘On suspicion of being a vandal. Do I need to read you your rights?’

‘Ha ha ha.’ I turned my arm, and his hand slid into mine. ‘You do know what it is, don’t you?’

‘The symbol of Cadw ar Wahân. Yes, I know.’

‘Even here.’

‘But it’s only to be expected.’

‘Peter!’

His hand gave mine a reassuring squeeze. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Penny. Love is love. What I meant is, you have so many species living in close proximity here, some were bound to match up, and there’d be tension.’

‘But they mix together so well.’

‘Really?’ Peter gave me a sad smile. ‘They live in separate neighbourhoods.’

‘But they need different sized houses.’

‘So why not find a way to put were or vampire houses next door to a dragon’s?’ He shook his head. ‘I think what’s holding this town together is having a common employer who makes sure they have comfortable lives.’

‘Lord Willis.’

‘That’s the one. He even pays the salary of the local bobby. He’s my employer too.’

‘Aislin, one my churchwardens,’ I said slowly, ‘she wants to introduce me to him.’

‘Do we even know what species he is?’ At my shake of the head, Peter added, ‘Then when you’ve met him, let me know. No one will tell me.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser.’ And then we changed the subject to which TV programme we were missing the most.

<><><><><><>

I was putting on my robes when Aislin rushed into the vestry. ‘He’s here,’ she announced breathlessly.

‘Who’s here?’ I was mentally rehearsing what I’d learned from my first Sunday at Saint George’s. Morey would offer the Communion wafers by walking up and down the altar rail, and I’d follow with the chalice for the smaller congregants. Cadfan would have the large bowl for the dragons, unicorns, and gryphons.

‘Lord Willis.’ The harpy raised a foot to smooth down my chasuble, and I lifted my eyes to study the cross which hung above the door. ‘This is good. I’ll introduce him to you after the service.’

‘That’s fine.’ And I told myself firmly not to be nervous. Lord Willis would just be one of many in the congregation.

Aislin left, only to be replaced by Cadfan. ‘Good, you’re ready. The MICE sound system is in place.’

‘Great.’ I held out my hands for a microphone.

A small brown mouse was deposited into my hands. ‘Greetings,’ she said, her voice high and sweet. ‘Do you prefer left or right shoulder?’

‘Oh,’ I said, feeling stupid. ‘Mice system. Because you use mice.’

‘Of course,’ Cadfan said. ‘Similar principle to the rat kings. Your mouse will telepathically relay your words to the mouse king. He will in turn transmit to any mouse being used by a member of the congregation. The mouse speaks the words into their ears. Just make sure you tell your mouse to stop broadcasting when the service is over.’

‘No controversial sermons, please,’ the mouse added. ‘Annoyed clients sometimes eat their hearing mouse.’

I stared into her black eyes. ‘Why do you do this job, if it’s so dangerous?’

Her whiskers twitched. ‘We aren’t important. Only the king matters, and we obey his commands.’

I suppressed a shudder. ‘Right shoulder.’

Morey flew in, skirting around Cadfan to land on the vestment chest. ‘Good, you have your mouse. Mine is at my stall. I’ll take her up to the pulpit for my sermon.’

The bell rang, marking the moment of silence before the start of the service. The altar party formed outside the vestry door. A vampire was crucifer, holding the wooden pole on top of which gleamed a golden cross. A were-fox and a were-hedgehog carried the candles. Cadfan held the blue and gold Gospel book. Morey dropped down into place behind the elf. And I came at the rear, in the church tradition of the first being last.

The organist trailed off, leaving the church in silence. I waited until we were in the middle aisle before announcing the first hymn. A hundred voices started singing ‘Clodforwch Frenin nefoedd fry’. The line ‘O Thou, to whose all-searching sight’ was reached at the moment that I saw the mouse king. This, I quickly realised, was not a single entity. The tails of a dozen mice were entwined so closely that their rear legs overlapped each other. Several opened their eyes as I walked past, and I nearly stumbled. The large eyes were white and glassy. The mice were blind.

Morey and I walked past the empty choir stalls and halted at the altar rail to bow. Then we walked back down, me taking the rector’s stall on my left, Morey to fly up to the slanted shelf at the curate’s stall. A grey mouse took up a position to his left.

My own mouse was so light, compared to the weight of Morey or Clyde, that I was able to ignore her presence. Not all of the congregation, I noted, had taken advantage of the mice system. It did feel a bit odd, when I paused from speaking, to hear my words being whispered in various parts of the church.

Morey carried his mouse in his beak when he flew up to the pulpit to deliver his sermon. I listened closely, although his liberal use of ancient Hebrew made his points difficult to follow. He redeemed himself by moving on to the scapegoat theory of the atonement. ‘“In the story of Cain and Abel, the story of Joseph, the book of Job, and many of the psalms, the persecuting community is pictured as guilty and the victim is innocent. But Christ, the Son of God, is the ultimate “scapegoat”—precisely because he is the Son of God, and since he is innocent, he exposes all the myths of scapegoating and shows that the victims were innocent and the communities guilty.”’

We recited the creed, and the congregation adopted various postures for the intercessions. There was no peace, of course, since Saint George’s used a variation of the Book of Common Prayer. I found I was getting better at remembering to use the ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ as I started the Eucharistic prayer. The mouse, disturbed by the many movements of my arms as I presided, hopped down to the book rest on the altar to pick up my voice from a more stable platform.

There was a sudden shifting of bodies as I was finishing the preface. Clyde charged up the middle aisle, ducked under the altar rail, and slid to my right. I finished, ‘Glory be to thee, O Lord most High.’ As the congregation responded with ‘Amen’, I bent down to speak to the snail. ‘Just stay there, Clyde.’

‘Up?’

‘No. If you climb into the altar, you might get consecrated. And then we’d have to eat you.’

Although I was pretty certain Clyde didn’t believe me, he did stay in place near my feet for the rest of the Communion prayer. As the altar party came forwards to collect the elements for distribution, he slithered up onto a window sill. There were uneasy glances from some as Clyde watched the proceedings, and my mouse refused to return to my shoulder.

As Cadfan and Morey consumed the left over bread and wine, I deliberately walked over to the snail and put my hand on his shell to bless him. ‘Jesus,’ he reminded me.

‘Yes, I know. We will get you confirmed, Clyde. I promise.’

I gave the final blessing and dismissed the congregation. The mouse leapt onto my back as I made my final bow to the altar, and climbed to her spot as we processed back to the vestry.

‘We must find a better solution for your companion,’ Cadfan said as soon as we were through the doorway. ‘We can’t have him disrupting our services.’

‘Especially when Lord Willis is here,’ Aislin agreed as she thrust herself into the room.

‘Which one was he?’ I asked.

‘The unicorn in the front row, of course,’ the harpy said. ‘You must have noticed him.’

‘Sorry.’ I shrugged. ‘Unicorns all look the same to me.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Aislin gasped. ‘Have you turned your mouse off?’

‘Nope,’ said the mouse. ‘Shall I stop now?’

‘Yes, do,’ Aislin snapped. ‘Father Penny, come with me now. You must apologise to Lord Willis immediately.’

She batted a wing, and the mouse was knocked from my shoulder. Cadfan caught her, and gave me a nod as he placed the mouse onto the vestment chest. ‘Better go with Aislin.’

So, still wearing my full robes, I followed the harpy back into the church.

Now that I was looking for him, Lord Willis was easy to spot. There was something about the way he held his head, his brown eyes continually sweeping his surroundings, which made him stand out from the other unicorns in the building. Although he was speaking calmly to a nearby dwarf, something about the muscles tensing in his shoulders told me that he was far from relaxed. A thin chain of gold rested around his neck, and the metal clinked as he turned towards me.

‘This is our temporary rector, Father Penelope White,’ Aislin said nervously. ‘She’s come to apologise.’

‘Surely that’s her own decision to make?’ The unicorn’s silver horn gleamed as he gave me a nod. ‘Greetings, Father. I’m Lord Willis.’

I wasn’t sure which was the more surprising, the fact that he seemed to have discovered the beauty of contractions, or that he had freely given me his name. ‘I do apologise, Lord Willis. My comment wasn’t meant as an insult. It’s just that most of you unicorns are the same colour.’

‘There’s only one thing,’ he said, ‘which can change the white of a unicorn’s coat.’

‘Murder?’

His eyes widened. ‘Guilt. What colour would mark a guilty unicorn, Father Penny?’

I could remember all too well. ‘Dark grey.’

‘Indeed. I’m surprised you seem to know about this, Father. The archdruids keep strong control on their herds.’

‘It’s a bit of a long story.’

‘Which I’d probably find very interesting. May I invite you to visit me?’

‘Certainly. And maybe you could take me on a tour of your factories?’

‘Very good.’ He lowered his head to the dwarf at his side. ‘Speak to Father Penny about a convenient time for us to meet.’

Then Lord Willis, with another nod, turned and paced down the central aisle. Both he and the church members seemed to take it for granted that they would pull out of his way.

‘Hmph.’

I glanced down at Clyde, who was sitting on the front pew. ‘Do you have anything more constructive to add?’

‘Hmph,’ he said again. The orange and yellow swirling through his body made his feelings clear. He did not like Lord Willis.

The dwarf cleared his throat. ‘Father Penny. Are you free Tuesday morning?’

I reached past my cassock alb to pull a small diary from my pocket. ‘Yes, I am. Where and when?’

Then, with that done, I was finally able to mingle with my parishioners. I accepted a mug of tea and listened to a concern about the coffee rota, a worry about a sick parent, and booked in a request for a fuller discussion about the sermon ‘but not with the curate, Father, because he uses long words and that confuses me.’ I made reassuring noises and tried not to worry that my own sermons might be too simple.

When the churchwardens started putting out the oil lamps, I scooped up Clyde and headed for the door. Behind me, an argument broke out as to where the mouse king and his subjects should be stored. I continued walking. There was no way I could offer to take them home. Between Morey and Clyde, the little creatures wouldn’t have stood a chance.

The weather had improved. I took deep breaths of the warm spring air, and reluctantly let myself into the much colder house. Fresh bread rested on the kitchen counter, along with a slab of cheese and some form of cold smoked meat. I let Clyde out into the back garden, where several dozen lemmings greeted him enthusiastically.

Morey pushed himself through the front door rat flap as I sat in the front room, nursing a cup of tea. ‘Most satisfactory,’ he announced. ‘I had no idea that there’s a professor of ancient Hebrew in the congregation.’ Then he spotted the object lying on the low table. ‘Is that the knife Raven gave you? Why is it in a bag?’

‘It’s the knife.’ I picked up the pocketknife, and looked at it through the clear plastic. ‘I’ve done my best to clean it, but it still smells.’

‘You need to oil it.’ Morey hopped onto my knee and looked it over. ‘Look. Rust is setting in.’

‘I can’t open it, you know that. Raven would come.’

‘Then maybe he should.’ Morey looked up at me. ‘Friendships, like knives, can easily corrode if left untended.’

‘I thought you didn’t like Raven.’

‘That’s when I worried you might form an attachment to him.’ Morey dropped his beak in a smile. ‘But you’re well in with Peter, now. So maybe it’s time you talked to Raven. We don’t want to have to make a second trip to the Arctic.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Monday afternoon I stood in a field and looked at the pocketknife. I was a good mile, a small forest, and a hill away from town. No one would spot a search dragon coming in to land. Raven and I could talk undisturbed in the spring sunshine.

I forced myself to open the blade. Red rust was an ugly blemish on the mottled metal. Before leaving the cottage, I’d poured some oil onto a rag, and I now removed the cloth from another plastic bag. As I rubbed the metal, careful to avoid the sharp edge, I wondered what I could do about the handle. The polish had been taken off the wood, and the colour was a dull green.

The minutes crawled by. I was beginning to wonder whether Raven wouldn’t come, and how I would cope if he ignored me. But, just as I was giving up hope, I saw his sleek shape cutting across the sky. I found myself taking a deep breath, relieved.

He landed twenty feet away. I disentangled my boots from the long grass and strode towards him. There was a well crafted and endlessly rehearsed speech in my head, starting with my disappointment in him and ending with a suggestion that we could still be friends. But what came out of my mouth was, ‘I thought you weren’t going to come.’

Both his horns and ears pulled back in anger. ‘I would always come. A dragon may be many things, but he keeps his commitments.’ Then his nose wrinkled. ‘What is that smell? Have you--when did you visit a dragon midden?’

‘To retrieve this.’ I unwrapped the rag and held up the knife. ‘That’s where it was.’

‘You threw the knife I gave you into a midden?’

‘Of course not,’ I snapped.

‘Then how did it get there?’

‘Tyra ate it.’

‘That was rather careless of you.’

‘It wasn’t my idea.’ I rubbed again at the blade. ‘And I had to dig it out myself.’

‘From Tyra’s midden?’ A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. ‘She would have enjoyed that. But you, not so much. I’m surprised you made the effort.’

Now it was my turn to be angry. ‘What, you think I wouldn’t have bothered? Do you think this knife means that little to me?’

Raven cocked his head. ‘What does it mean to you, Penelope White?’

My mind scrambled for a sensible answer, but unfortunately forgot to advise my mouth to wait for one. ‘It’s not particularly useful, is it? I mean, I can’t ever really use it, can I? I can’t have you flying to me just because I needed to clean under a fingernail or cut a piece of string. What’s the point of a knife which you can’t use as a knife?’

‘Why do you think I gave you that knife?’

‘I don’t know!’ Both of us pulled back at my sudden outburst. ‘Actually, I can guess. To show off. So you can come running to save me if I get into trouble.’

‘You misunderstand. I would never try to save you.’

I felt my shoulders tensing. ‘Well, that’s me put straight.’

‘I’ve always told you that I admire your strength.’ His nostrils expanded, and I caught a whiff of smoke. ‘If you expose the blade, I’d come so that we could fight side by side, adding my strength to yours. If you’re looking for a protector, then you shouldn’t be flying with a dragon.’

‘I’m not looking for a protector.’ I took a moment, determined not to cry. ‘I was hoping for a friend.’

‘I gave you a knife. Without a coin.’

‘I needed more.’ The nails of my free hand were digging into my palm. ‘When I was in the unicorn forest. All you had to say was that you cared about me. That’s what I needed to hear.’

‘I gave you a knife,’ Raven said. ‘I helped you to fight off a snail shark. I took you into the Inkeri longhouse to save your brother. Twice I invaded unicorn lands for your sake. Isn’t what someone does more important than what they say?’

The words of my spiritual director came back to me. ‘“Love is shown more in deeds than in words.”’

‘Dragons act. That’s what we do.’ His ears tipped forwards and he arched his neck. The old arrogance had returned, and I could almost welcome it. Almost.

‘If that’s so true,’ I asked, ‘then why did you slink away after Clyde saved me?’

Raven’s tail rose and slammed behind him. ‘A malwen siarc saved you, while I stood and said nothing. A malwen siarc. I am a dragon!’ The last was roared, and followed by a plume of yellow-red flame which scorched the grass by his feet.

‘You don’t have to singe my hair to prove it,’ I said drily, glad I’d kept some distance between us. ‘Yes, you’re a dragon. And you made a mistake. So why didn’t you man up and come back to see me? Wouldn’t that have been better than destroying your tent and going off to the Arctic to die?’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘If I understood, I wouldn’t be asking you.’

His wings loosened from his sides. ‘Do you want me to leave?’

‘No.’ I used my free hand to brush strands of hair from my face. ‘I don’t want you to leave. I’ve--I’ve missed you.’

‘Of course you have.’

Some of the black sheen was returning to his scales. And suddenly I lost all desire to fight any longer. ‘Then don’t relegate me to a tacsi dragon, next time the gryphon clan summons us.’

‘Magnificent Penny, I am a tacsi dragon.’

‘No,’ I declared. ‘Never. You’re Raven.’

And now I didn’t mind the arch in his neck, the way his horns pointed proudly at the sky. ‘I would never relegate the bearer of my knife.’

I held it out to him. ‘I’m afraid it’s suffered a bit.’

‘It wasn’t forged to go through a dragon’s gut.’ Raven backed away from the burnt grass. ‘Put it down.’

‘What’re you going to do?’

‘Clean the blade, of course.’ He chuckled. ‘I have more than one type of flame.’

I lowered the pocketknife to the ground, and stepped back. Raven brought his head close and exhaled a tight stream of blue-white flame. With one golden claw he turned the knife over, and then bathed the other side in the same fire. ‘You can pick it up now.’

‘Won’t it be hot?’

‘Not after this type of flame.’

I crouched next to the handle, and slowly lowered my hand. The wood was darker now, more brown than green. It was cool to the touch, so I picked it up. The grey-black metal was once again clean. I rotated the blade in the sunlight, admiring the intricate design rippling along the length. ‘And, thank goodness, it doesn’t stink any more.’ I folded the blade into the groove, and slid the knife into my trouser pocket.

‘I must go,’ Raven said. ‘My time is not my own. Would you like a lift back to the rectory?’

‘I’ll walk.’ His ears twitched, and I added quickly, ‘I’ll ride on you when the clan sends for us again.’ I didn’t want to admit how much it bothered me to see him wearing a saddle. Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to climb up his side and settle into it.

As I walked back to the town, brushing away the bits of mud and grass thrown up by Raven’s departure, I felt the weight of the many things still left unsaid. But at least we were speaking again. It was a start. Or so I tried to tell myself.

<><><><><><>

‘Father Penelope. Good, you are prompt.’ And the elf, wearing a dark suit which screamed butler!, opened the door wide. I stepped into the entrance hall of the most impressive mansion I’d seen in Lloegyr.

My shoes squeaked on the blue patterned tiles. Wood panelling lined the walls. Lighter wood had been inset to form images of trees and flowers. The ceiling was high enough that dragons could have stood comfortably inside. Rather than staircases, two large ramps at the far end curved to the upper level. Several long tables lined the walls, holding what looked like heavy ledgers. The sweet scent of beeswax polish filled the air.

‘Lord Willis will be with you shortly. May I offer you some refreshment as you wait? I understand that tea is traditional.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ I allowed him to lead me to a small table, where I was left to serve myself something which almost tasted like Earl Grey.

A clop of hooves on wood made me turn, expecting to see Lord Willis. But a unicorn mare studied me from the ramp. The tea cup rattled in my hand. Her coat was grey.

Dark eyes flicked down to my neck. Then she walked down into the hall. ‘Father Penelope White? It’s good to meet you. I’m Willis’ dam, Paityn.’

I bent my head. ‘Good afternoon, my lady.’

‘My son will be with you soon. I simply wanted to meet the human who has so intrigued him.’

‘He’s offered to give me a tour of his factories.’

Her laugh was bittersweet. ‘Some of the factories. It would take several days to do them all justice.’

‘I’m certain it would, my lady.’

‘I’ve given you my name, Father Penny. Do feel free to use it.’

‘I beg your pardon, Lady Paityn.’ I gave her a smile. ‘I’m not used to using names with unicorns.’

‘My son and I aren’t like most unicorns.’

You can say that again, I thought. ‘Is your herd nearby?’

‘We’re not part of any herd.’

‘And we prefer it that way.’ Lord Willis had entered the hall from a side room. ‘What do you think of our rector, mother?’

‘She seems perfectly delightful.’

‘My thoughts exactly. Shall we go, Father Penny?’

And I followed him out the door, glowing at the fact that he’d not called me ‘temporary.’

The mansion was set back from the main road. I’d been confused at the lack of path when I’d walked up to the house, but as I followed Lord Willis, I could see why unicorns would prefer to stride across grass. I glanced back at the mansion as we circled around a large water feature. The wide doors, the tall windows, the perfectly balanced wings made me wonder if the builder had visited National Trust properties in England.

We passed the stone wall which kept street and front lawn divided. A dwarf fell in beside us. ‘The manager at the pottery is expecting you first, Lord Willis. Then the carpentry shop. Afterwards, refreshments at the foundry office, before going on to the textile factory.’

‘Four out of twelve,’ Lord Willis said to me. ‘You’ll have to return for another visit, Father Penny, should you wish to see all of my businesses.’

The idea of spending several afternoons visiting factories made my heart sink. But I put a smile on my face. ‘If you can find the time, Lord Willis, I’d love to see all of them.’

We passed several other large houses on our left and right, though not on the same scale as the unicorn’s mansion. A swath of well-tended grass marked a boundary between residences and municipal buildings. A library rose on our right, a ramp leading up to the wooden doors set into red brick walls. On our left was a large meeting hall, built of grey stone with a slate roof.

And beyond was our first destination. The sign over the broad frontage declared, in Welsh and English, ‘Willis Pottery.’ Lord Willis managed the half dozen steps which led to the front doors.

I was introduced to the factory manager, Queran, an elf dressed in a crisp grey suit. He showed me the production in reverse. We bipeds climbed up three sets of stairs, Lord Willis giving his apologies and remaining on the ground floor. Twenty elves sat at high tables, applying varnish to decorated pots and plates. On the second floor, more elves were painting various patterns onto the clay. Then, on the first floor, I watched as thirty elves worked at pottery wheels, their long fingers coaxing the grey clay into various shapes.

We returned to the ground floor, and Lord Willis led us out into a large courtyard. Two brick built kilns squatted near the factory. And, to my surprise, two dragons crouched by the base. They were carefully exhaling orange-red flames into glowing stones. Another two dragons rested at the end of the courtyard, their blue scales blackened with traces of soot.

‘That’s how you heat up the kilns,’ I said to Queran. ‘Dragon fire.’

‘How else would you do it?’ the elf asked.

I decided not to give them ideas about cutting down the nearby woods. ‘And these dragons.’ I dropped my voice. ‘They’re adults, not pufflings, but they do seem a bit on the small side.’

‘These are the ones who escaped,’ Lord Willis told me. ‘Dragon matriarchs usually eat those who fail to grow. We give them sanctuary here.’

‘In return for their labour?’

‘Even as Saint Paul tells us,’ the unicorn said. ‘“Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.”’

I always felt inadequate when people started firing Bible verses like small projectiles. So I looked past the dragons to the stone sheds lining the courtyard. ‘And what are those?’

‘Where the dragons live, of course,’ said Queran.

Years of hearing confessions has taught me how to hide shock. ‘Not in houses?’

‘Firing is low skilled work,’ Lord Ellis explained. ‘They do have Sunday afternoons off to hunt.’

But not Sunday mornings, should they want to go to church? I needed to quickly shift the conversation before I said something which might offend the unicorn. ‘Why is the factory all elves?’

‘Elves are very precise,’ the manager explained. ‘Our pots have always passed every quality inspection.’

‘Thank you for your time, Queran.’ The unicorn shifted his gaze to me. ‘Are you ready to walk on to the carpentry shop, Father Penny?’

‘Yes, Lord Willis.’

The next factory was far larger. Imposing logs in varying shades of brown and green were stacked outside the long grey building. A mixture of dwarves and were-beavers swarmed around and over the trunks, calling out measurements and estimations of the wood’s quality. The manager, a were whose face occasionally shimmered into the long snout of a fox, was standing nearby with a clipboard. She greeted the unicorn with a curt nod and finished making a few notations.

I felt our visit had been poorly timed. It was obvious that she had plenty to do. But the manager, who introduced herself as Edme, still gave us a quick tour of the lumber yard before taking us to the saw mill. The sound of metal cutting through wood was too loud for conversation, so I watched as brown were-bears fed logs in at one end and collected planks at the other. A mixture of unicorns and dragons pulled the loaded carts, hooves and claws pitting the dirt floor as they threw their weight against their harnesses. I bit my lip as I saw sores from where the leather straps had cut through their skin.

We had a quick glimpse into the smaller buildings, where a mixture of vampires and various weres assembled pre-cut planks into tables. Edme explained that, in other parts of the complex, other types of furniture were made. I agreed that I was quite happy just to see the one workshop and that there was no need to take me to any more.

When I asked what powered the saws, I was taken to the boiler room. Small dragons, most of them blue but two with red scales, were providing the necessary fire to heat up large cylinders. Steam engines run by dragon flame. Cleaner than coal, no doubt, but I was again uneasy when I looked at the brick sheds nearby. This accommodation seemed very paltry, compared to the dragon longhouses which I had visited. Even the tents of the search dragons were at least three times larger.

The cup of tea offered at the foundry was very welcome. The manager who greeted us was a dragon. In contrast to the working dragons I’d seen thus far, Aelwen’s purple scales glowed with health, and a torc of polished silver gleamed around her neck. She took us into the viewing gallery above the factory floor. Large metal buckets hung from large steel girders. Dragons tipped them to allow yellow-white metal to flow into moulds lining the floor. Dwarves scurried around the dragons’ legs, poking long metal rods into the bright alloy. Their faces dripped with sweat, and the dragons regularly dipped their snouts into barrels of water.

It was with a sense of relief that I followed Lord Willis into the textile factory. Just this last visit, and I could escape back to the rectory. My feet were beginning to ache, and my eyes felt gritty with soot.

The textile factory was another large building, several stories tall. Tan bricks were laid in arches over the tall windows, a nice contrast to the red bricks of the walls. The manager, another unicorn, asked to speak with Lord Willis the moment we entered the lobby. So a sub-manager, a harpy called Regan, was tasked with showing me around.

‘We’ll have to speak out here,’ Regan told me as we halted by a set of doors. ‘It’ll be too noisy inside. What do you know of cotton manufacturing processes, Father Penny?’

‘Precious little,’ I admitted.

Regan crossed her arm wings over her chest. ‘There are separate floors for each part of the process. Above us are the blowing and carding rooms. We’re about to enter the spinning room. Weaving is carried out in a separate building. Ready?’

At my nod, she reached out one wing and pushed the doors open.

At first, all I saw was the long rows of metal machines. They extended down the full length of the building. White objects, which reminded me of cocoons, were stacked three rows tall. I realised that these were the bobbins onto which thread was being spun. Metal wheels, set into poles near the ceiling, rotated canvas belts which extended down to the machines. The sound was like that of a thousand bees, and the fresh smell of cotton was undercut by the richer scent of oil.

I dropped my gaze, wondering which Lloegyr species might specialise in this work. Then I had to drop my eyes further. That’s when I saw them. A young unicorn was nearest to me, his eyes fixed on the threads spinning at his eye level. Beyond him was a gryphon, only half my height, slipping on the oil-slicked floor as she hurried to attend to a broken thread. On the next row, a were-fox cub was climbing onto the metal frame to put bobbins in place.

As Regan led me along the front of the machines, I counted five more weres, three unicorns, two vampires, and a harpy. Admittedly, I didn’t know the growth rates of every Lloegyr species, but I was certain none of them could be considered an adult. The workers in the textile factory were children.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

One of the vampires, who looked like an eleven year old boy, was working awkwardly with his bobbins. I looked closer, and saw that he was missing two fingers on his left hand. The unicorns, I realised, had chips missing from their horns, and I could see why as one colt used the bright tip to loosen a thread. A were-badger cub limped as he moved to another portion of his machine.

I motioned to Regan that I’d seen enough. We stepped back into the corridor. ‘Children,’ I said weakly. ‘They’re all children.’

‘They’re very efficient workers,’ the harpy said in a reassuring tone. ‘As reliable as their parents.’

‘What about school?’

The lines of her harsh face pulled together in a frown. ‘Why would they go to school?’

‘To gain an education?’

‘It would be wasted on them.’ She smoothed her dark smock with the ends of her wings. ‘Much better that they have a job which gives them food and clothing.’

‘And a salary?’

‘When they’re old enough and can do the more difficult tasks,’ Regan said. ‘But at least their parents don’t have to worry about feeding them whilst they’re with us.’

My stomach was roiling. ‘I guess that’s something.’

‘It’s better than the mines.’

‘Mines?’

‘Lord Willis ensures that none of the children from our town go to the copper mines,’ Regan said proudly. ‘He saw how the work deformed their backs, hunched as they were over the chutes to pick through the ore.’

So they just lose fingers or bits of horn here instead, I thought. Aloud I said, ‘Thanks for the tour, Regan. I think I’ve seen enough.’

‘You’re certain you don’t want to see more? The carding room? Or I could take you across to the weaving building?’

‘I’ve seen quite enough.’ My tone was sharper than I’d intended, and I tried to soften it with a smile I didn’t feel.

Only Lord Willis’s assistant was in the lobby when we returned. ‘Lord Willis extends his apologies,’ said the dwarf. ‘He’s been called away. However, he’s asked that I guide you back to the house. He has a gift for you there.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling awkward. I’d never been given the dwarf’s name, and it seemed a bit too late to ask now.

‘That’s very good of you, Erskine,’ Regan said. I quickly filed the name away. ‘Thank you for visiting us, Father Penny. Aislin speaks highly of your sermons. One day I must come to hear you preach for myself.’

‘Every Sunday at 10am,’ I found myself saying. The fact that I’d only preached twice at Saint George’s made me doubt the sincerity of her words.

Clouds had drifted in to cover the sky. The grey light matched my mood. Great Britain had used child labour during the Industrial Revolution, of course. But somehow I had hoped that Lloegyr was a more enlightened society. How could families have traded the freedom of fields, forests, and mountains to labour in factories? How could they have decided to do the same to their children?

At the mansion, Erskine presented me with a bundle of white linen. ‘For the altar,’ he said. I tucked the package under my arm, and tried not to wonder how many children had lost fingers to make this set of cloths.

As I turned to leave, I suddenly realised that the entry hall boasted a number of black ribbed radiators. So, when the front door had been closed behind me, I tried to talk to myself out of wondering what provided the energy for the central heating.

No, I had to know. A quick look around proved that no one was in sight. Acting as if I had every right to do so, I walked around the right wing of the house. No face, unicorn or otherwise, rushed to a window to look at me. No gardener appeared to challenge me.

The land dipped down as I walked along the side of the mansion. The smell was my first indication. I paused for a moment. After a hot afternoon near the search dragons’ settlement, I knew all too well the smell of dragon excrement.

A ramp led down to what appeared to be a cellar beneath the house. The smell became stronger as I picked my way along the cobbles. Very little light extended into the brick lined cavern. I halted at the entrance and peered inside.

The clouds parted, and a thin shaft of afternoon sun stretched past the opening. A dozen eyes gleamed back at me. Then one head turned, and flame erupted, heating a cylinder. I heard steam hiss up through the pipes which led into the house. The mansion depended on dragons as much as the factories did.

But these were not adult dragons. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the six were little more than pufflings, about the size of a small pony. Their scales were dulled and grimy, and I could see that their midden was at the far end of the cavern.

A yellow dragon on my left stepped closer. I heard the unmistakable clank of metal links, and looked down to see that a metal ring was bound around the puffling’s right hind foot. A chain was attached to the band, with the other end running to a spike in the wall. ‘Llwglyd,’ she informed me. ‘Bwyd?’

‘I don’t have any food,’ I told her in Welsh.

‘Home. Adref,’ said the purple dragon by the cylinder. ‘Go home?’

‘Wedi blino. Mor flinedig.’ The tone reflected the tiredness of which the dragon spoke. She came nearer, and I backed up in shock. This puffling had the green scales of a search dragon. I’d never thought to ask what happened to search dragons which didn’t find refuge on the island settlement.

The dank smell, the wasted muscles, the desperate look in their eyes was all too much. I turned and hurried away. There were no outcries behind me, no pleas for my return. The pufflings had accepted that no one would ever help them. And that only added to my sense of shame.

<><><><><><>

‘But it’s child labour, Morey. It’s exploitation of the weak and helpless.’

‘Not entirely helpless, if they can run up and down factory floors.’

I glared at Morey over my mug of tea. ‘Would you want to see your children chained up under a house?’

Morey’s tail curled around his feet. The sound of a log cracking in the lounge fireplace made me glad that we, at least, weren’t exploiting dragon labour for our heating. ‘My eyasses would never be chained up under a house. Gryphons can’t produce flames.’

I leaned back in the settee. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘My children won’t be working in a factory,’ Morey said steadily, ‘because they’ll have a deacon as a father and a police officer for a mother. So long as I pass the last challenge.’

‘And how is Taryn?’ I asked, feeling a stab of guilt.

‘She and her grŵp rhyfelwyr have successfully completed her clan’s set of challenges.’ Morey took a sip of his tea. ‘Now it’s just us.’

‘We won’t let you down.’ But my mind was already returning to the horrors I’d seen on yesterday’s factory tours. ‘There must be something we can do. Children shouldn’t be losing fingers in spinning machines or live in chains. There must be a way to protest.’ I paused for a moment. ‘I can’t remember. What sort of government do you have?’

‘You can’t remember because you’ve never asked.’

‘I must have done,’ I protested, stung. Then I made a face. ‘You’re right, I don’t think I have.’

‘Too busy riding dragons.’

‘Morey!’

‘All right, all right,’ he relented. ‘It’s complicated. There are so many clans and longhouses and tertiaries, never mind herds and pods and shoals and colonies. Our many species all have different ways to organise ourselves.’

‘Which didn’t matter when you all kept to yourselves.’

‘Precisely. Once we started rubbing up together, something had to be done.’ He paused to drink some tea. ‘Everyone trusts the unicorns--’

‘More fool them.’

Morey shrugged. ‘So the unicorns became the judges. Dragon and elf partnerships proved to be the best combination of logic and instinct, so they became our police. Government, as you’d understand it, is at a minimum. We still sort out a lot within our own racial groupings. But there’s a sort of parliament where representatives from each species can discuss common concerns.’

‘That sounds good.’

‘Of course, at first there was much blood spilt, and during one rather heated debate, the dragons ate their opponents.’

‘We British have something similar. It’s called Prime Minister’s Questions.’ The room was warming nicely, and I felt I could finally shed my coat. ‘So what if someone wants a law passed? How does that work?’

‘And that too is complicated.’

I sighed. ‘There must be some commonly agreed laws. Or there wouldn’t be any point to having police or a court system.’

‘Agreed codes of conduct, mostly. The police and court systems also have some commonly agreed rules which can be enforced against any species.’

‘So what do I have to do to bring in rules against child labour?’

Morey clicked his beak. ‘You’re assuming child labour is some sort of problem.’

‘Children shouldn’t be trapped in factories!’

‘What, rather than helping their families by hunting, or planting vegetables, or digging new tunnels? Children have to work if the family is going to eat.’

‘Lord Willis quoted something about that at me,’ I grumbled. ‘People who won’t work shouldn’t get to eat.’

‘“Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.” 2 Thessalonians 3: 10.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Black, you’re an outsider here. You’re human. You’ve lived in a small town in Lloegyr for all of two weeks. It’s a bit early for you to be starting a crusade.’

As much as it rankled, I could recognise the sense in his words. I finished my tea, shrugged back into my jacket, and went out into the back garden for some fresh air.

The ranks of lemmings had been thinned by Clyde’s appetite. I calculated around fifty of the small rodents were huddled together near the fence. Most of the grass had gone, devoured by their own needs and their unwillingness to leave the snail’s presence.

Clyde was seated on a small rock, gleaming in the mid day sun. I paused. His shell was darkening, changing from grey-brown to purple-black. I found myself suppressing a shudder. Clyde was beginning to look more and more like his mother.

The moment he saw me, Clyde’s tentacles rose and his body pulsed with green and blue. I reached down to rub his shell, running my fingers along the left hand spiral. ‘And how did these lemmings come to you, Clyde?’

‘Thin place.’

‘I know you can find thin places.’ I paced around the edges of the garden, my hand tapping at the dark wooden fence, touching the shed which huddled at the back, and rapping the rabbit hutch. ‘But I don’t think there’s one here. And even if there were, land anchored thin places only led to the equivalent place on Earth. It’s the air ones which cut through to somewhere else. Can lemmings find their way through air crossings, like search dragons?’

‘Flew,’ the snail said. Then he sang, ‘“Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth.”’

‘But it’s the lemmings who come and worship you,’ I said drily. ‘Just don’t let it go to your head.’

Clyde slid from his rock and came to my feet. I used both hands to pick him up, and brought his eyespots level with mine. For a moment we regarded each other. Then he reminded me, ‘Love you.’

‘Oh, Clyde.’ I ignored the mud clinging to his body and cuddled him against my chest. ‘I love you too. Even if you leave half-eaten lemmings in my garden. Are you ready to come inside?’

‘Yes.’

I placed Clyde on newspapers at a safe distance from the fireplace. Morey had gone out. I made tea for myself and the snail, and then I brought my laptop into the lounge and started to work on Sunday’s sermon.

<><><><><><>

‘May I speak, and may you hear, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,’ I told the congregation from the pulpit.

‘Amen,’ they responded, and those who could took a seat.

I looked down at the pages of my sermon. ‘In today’s Gospel reading, we heard Jesus tell the story of the three lost things, namely the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son.’

My eyes slid down to the pews below me. James had made one of his rare trips to church. His arms were crossed to make sure I realised the sacrifice he’d made for my sake. Clyde was seated next to him.

‘These are one story, as is clear from the Gospel of Luke,’ I continued. ‘The Pharisees have challenged Jesus because he “welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Luke then tells us, “Jesus told them this parable”, which means that all three are meant to be understood together.’

I knew all about lost sons. For a while, my own brother had been lost to me. He’d gone off to make a life for himself in New Zealand, and it had taken a rescue from a dragon longhouse for him to explain why he hadn’t come back for Alan’s funeral. Now he was a young man who freed snail sharks and battled dinosaurs.

‘In the first part of the parable,’ I continued, ‘Jesus draws upon imagery well known from the Old Testament. The Good Shepherd will always go after the one last sheep, searching until he can bring her safely home.’

The sheep who was lost in the wilderness, at risk from thieves, and wolves, and lions. Helpless until someone came to carry her safely home. The images of the children I’d seen in the factory went through my mind.

‘And the second image is of God as a woman, who loses something precious in her own house. Of course God would search for us, more precious than a silver coin in her sight.’

The pufflings chained under a mansion, forced to live near the stench of their own midden. Who was going to value them? Not the Lord whose house they kept warm with their flames.

‘And then perhaps one of the best known stories from Luke, the prodigal son.’ I stared down at my carefully typed notes. ‘The younger son had everything he could have wanted, didn’t he? A place to live, a secure job, the love of a father. But he wanted more, and he demanded more. So he asked for his inheritance before his father was dead. An insult, really, because by asking he was basically telling his father, “I wish you were dead.”’

Dead. The young dragons who had escaped their families would be dead if they hadn’t found their way to Caer-grawnt. But was that any excuse for keeping them in bare courtyards with only a small shed for shelter?

‘Then, as young people often do when they suddenly gain new wealth, the son goes off and spends it all too quickly.’

The love of money is the root of all evil. Should someone live in luxury whilst his workers worked long hours and suffered as a result? I found myself recalling the sores under the harnesses of the unicorns and dragons.

‘The son doesn’t realise how far he was from the father,’ I continued. ‘He was far from his father, even when he lived in his father’s house. He had to go away, to a far country, where he lost everything, before he realised what he’d had at home.’

A young unicorn foal, only a few months old and too young for Sunday school, pulled loose from his dam and charged up the aisle of the church. Mouths expanded into grins and ears flicked in amusement as the colt tested his hooves on the tiles near the choir.

I stared at his perfect horn, and something choked within me. ‘We don't realise what we have,’ I said, ‘until we realise what others lack. And when we realise what they lack, it’s our Christian duty to give it to them.’

Two hundred eyes merely watched me, waiting for a return to the biblical story. I took my sermon and dropped the papers to my feet. ‘The son suffered because the citizen who hired him wouldn’t even give him enough to eat. An utter lack of compassion for someone who was lost, and alone, and too young to know better.’

Morey rose up on the curate’s seat, balancing on his hind feet as he met my eyes. His ears were laid back in warning. I gave him a grim smile.

‘The son had to return to his father to learn the lesson that love is more important than money, and that the weakest are to be protected and honoured.’ I was well aware that I was misrepresenting the parable, but I didn’t care. ‘What are we supposed to do when we see the innocent, the helpless, the exploited among us? Should we act like that citizen, and ignore them? Let them suffer in the midst of their labours?’

I gazed around at the congregation. ‘Children are to be valued. Jesus told us that. “Let the children come to me,” he told his disciples. And he also told them, “Whoever welcomes this little child welcomes me.” Jesus had harsh words to say about those who caused children harm. “It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck.” We’ve been warned about the consequences of not protecting children.’

A few members of the congregation shifted in their seats. Cadfan’s face was neutral, but Aislin’s face was drawn downwards in a frown. ‘You here today value your children,’ I continued. ‘They’re in Sunday school this morning. Monday to Friday, you send them to the Caer-grawnt primary school. But what about the other children of this town? Where are they this morning? Where are they every day? Well, I know, because I’ve seen it. They’re living under houses or in back courtyards to provide heat for factories and the mansions of the rich. They’re running up and down factory floors, losing fingers and bits of horn to keep spinning machines working. These children are suffering. Why? To benefit the rich. So that the wealthy in this community can have a good life, a life built upon the backs of the vulnerable.’

Now there was more unease. I pressed on. ‘Those children should be in school. They should have the time to learn, and to play. Children are your future, they deserve protection as much as that lost sheep, that lost son. They are as valuable to all of us as that lost coin.’

I paused for a moment. A name came to mind. ‘In my own country, there used to be slavery and child labour. A man called William Wilberforce, because of his Christian convictions, worked tirelessly to end the slave trade. Later on, Factory Acts and Education Acts meant a vast improvement in child welfare.’

Perhaps I could be the William Wilberforce of Lloegyr? This could be the start of a revolution in this country as well. But I couldn’t do it alone. Surely those listening to me, here today, would understand the necessity of change? For a moment I saw visions of myself addressing their version of Parliament. Bishop Aeron would agree that three months wasn’t long enough, she would even insist that I must stay in Lloegyr to carry on this important work. ‘Most of you are parents, and even grandparents. Think of the children you love and care for. Shouldn’t all children have the same opportunities? As Jesus will say to us, at the time of our judgement, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of my brothers and sisters, you did for me.” In his name, let us decide to free these little ones from work which destroys them, body and soul. As the people of God in this place, let us lead the way. Amen.’

Very few echoed ‘Amen’s rose from the congregation. I made my way down from the pulpit. James was nodding vigorously, his arm curled protectively around Clyde. Morey avoided my eyes. Both of the churchwardens were stony-faced.

I presided over Communion. A number of church members stayed in their seats. Those who did come up to the altar avoided my eyes. I gritted my teeth as I continued up and down the altar rail. Perhaps previous rectors in Saint George’s had never dared to speak prophetically. But what was a church for, if not to stand against injustice?

Very few stayed behind for coffee, so the doors were closed and locked in record time. ‘Good for you,’ James told me, carrying Clyde as we walked back to the rectory. Morey had flown on ahead of us. ‘I can’t believe they do that to children here. It’s got to be stopped. They’ve got to see that.’

‘Hmm.’ Aislin and Cadfan had left promptly at the end of the service, giving me no opportunity to speak to them. ‘I hope so.’

On Tuesday afternoon, a noise at the door made me look up from the button I was sewing back onto my cassock. ‘Who is it, Morey?’

‘A rat and two churchwardens,’ the gryphon replied from his position on the windowsill. ‘I suggest the first is for me, and the other two are for you.’

I grimaced. ‘You wouldn’t be interested in a trade?’

‘You made your bed,’ Morey reminded me. He’d spent much of Monday simply avoiding me. ‘I did try to warn you.’

‘They could be coming to give me their full support.’

‘And snails might fly.’

The door flap rattled as the rat pushed her way through. ‘Kitchen,’ Morey told her. ‘The rector needs this room to meet with her churchwardens.’

‘What if I want to offer them a cup of tea?’

‘They won’t be here long enough for that.’

Morey’s words gave me little comfort as I opened the door. ‘Aislin, Cadfan. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

I stood back, but neither of them made any move to enter the house. Cadfan spoke first. ‘Father Penny, both of us have had a number of representations from members of this parish.’

‘I’ve never received so many rats in one day,’ Aislin added. ‘Both at home and in the office.’

‘Expressing support for my sermon?’ I asked, in a triumph of hope over experience.

‘Lord Willis has given so much to this community,’ Cadfan said. ‘He’s paid for many of our public buildings, including our church. Without his beneficence, the school would shut, the baths would have to charge higher rates, and the library could never afford new books.’

‘Without his support, we can’t keep Saint George’s open.’ Aislin glared at me. ‘You know he’s our patron.’

‘Our patron and our benefactor,’ Cadfan agreed. ‘And so we were stunned that you would try to undermine him in the eyes of our church members.’

‘He who pays the piper,’ I asked, ‘calls the tune?’

‘We would expect a rector to show due respect to the patron,’ Cadfan said firmly. ‘As the bishop’s representatives in this parish, and having taken the views of the congregation, we have decided that we can no longer work with you as rector.’

‘The church will pay your removal costs back to England.’ A breeze lifted feathers along Aislin’s wings. ‘There aren’t any dragons available for several weeks, but we want you out before Friday.’

‘And we expect you to deliver a formal apology to Lord Willis.’ Cadfan shrugged. ‘By rat or in person, either will do.’

My face had alternatively flushed and paled. Now, despite the weak feeling in my knees, I drew myself up to tell them, ‘No. No apology. You don’t want me here, fine, I’ll go. But I meant what I said, and I’m sticking by it.’

Aislin lifted her chin. ‘Then we have nothing more to say to each other.’

‘Obviously not.’ And I closed the door.

Somehow I found the strength to stumble to a settee. I studied my cassock, lying limp and black across a nearby armchair. Meeting with the churchwardens had left me feeling much the same.

Morey flew into the room, landing on the cushion near to me. For a moment he studied me, his head cocked. ‘I take it your meeting didn’t go well.’

‘I’ve been fired.’

‘Well, strictly speaking--’

‘What’s the point of the church, if it’s not to stand up against exploitation?’

‘The church exists to love and to worship God.’

‘And to serve God, who is a God of justice,’ I said. ‘You know, justice like waters and righteousness like a stream?’

‘“But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Amos 5: 24.’ Morey flipped his wings onto his back. ‘But Saint Paul also wrote to the Corinthians, “I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for solid food.” You have to take people with you, Penny. And if they’re not ready, they will bite back.’

‘They want me out by Friday.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I guess you could lead a service of Morning Prayer on Sunday.’

‘If you’re out, so am I,’ Morey said firmly.

‘But you didn't agree with my sermon.’

‘What has that to do with anything?’ His tail pounded the cushion in emphasis. ‘We’re partners, you and me. Where you go, I go.’

I felt tears prick at my eyes. ‘Thank you, Morey.’ Then I cleared my throat. ‘What did the rat have to say?’

‘My matriarch wants to us join the clan on Thursday. I haven’t sent the rat back yet, because we might be gone for several days.’ He rose to his feet. ‘But since that’s no longer an issue, shall I convey our agreement?’

‘We haven’t asked James or Peter yet.’

‘I should think their own roles here will become untenable, now that you’re persona non grata.’

‘Really?’ I groaned. ‘Will people really be that petty?’

‘Peter only came here because of you,’ Morey reminded me. ‘And James would be left without a place to stay. I don’t think they’ll shed too many tears about returning to England.’

‘I guess.’ I half-heartedly picked up my cassock. ‘James should be home soon. Would the rat be willing to deliver a message to Peter?’

‘I’m certain she will.’

Morey extended his wings and flew back to the kitchen. I finished my sewing. It seemed that I’d be wearing my robes next in Saint Wulfram’s rather than Saint George’s. I issued a mental apology to Wilberforce and went upstairs to pack for our return to the gryphons.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Raven’s saddle creaked under me as he turned to dive through another thin place. I checked that Clyde’s carry sack was still safely tucked up against my stomach. Ignoring the rows of terraced houses sliding past beneath us, I looked back to make sure that Morey was still in place on the cantle. The gryphon gave me a quick nod.

Another quick turn, and we were once again flying over part of Daear. I had to squint against the bright light. Evening sun cast golden light across rolling sand dunes. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the gryphons’ tents had been erected on a flatter area. Rather than a semi-circle, the camp had this time been set up in a large square. Woven carpets of red and brown spread out between the tents, and large oil lamps stood, as yet unlit, at the four corners.

Raven landed us outside the square, his feet sinking deep into the soft sand. Arnborg, carrying Peter and James, dropped down nearby. I slid from Raven’s neck and struggled through the sand to Margh. He was carrying a number of cases, into which the three human members of the group had packed food, clothing, and bedding.

‘I’ll find out where we’re staying,’ Morey said. I watched him fly towards the far end of the tents. The missing feathers still made him list slightly to one side, but he seemed to have found how to compensate for the imbalance.

Peter and James joined me to untie our luggage from the orange-skinned dragon. The men hoisted their backpacks and took another sack besides, leaving me with only my own backpack to carry. I thought of registering a protest, but then decided to let them have their moment of masculine superiority.

Morey returned, circling over our heads as he told us, ‘Follow me.’

One of the tents was arranged as an entranceway. The front and rear flaps were tied up, allowing us to walk through into the square. The sand was much firmer here, and my ankles breathed a sign of relief. A number of gryphons lazed on carpets, either inside a tent or on the square itself. Our own accommodation was near the entrance. I pushed the flap to one side and we stepped in.

The air was warm, and smelled of leather and wool. A small table sat in one corner, with an earthenware jug and mugs resting on the wooden top. Otherwise the carpeted area was bare.

‘We’re all sleeping in here together?’ Peter asked Morey.

‘So we are.’ Morey strode across the floor. ‘The grŵp rhyfelwyr stays together for the final challenge.’

James dropped his bags at the far end. ‘Any idea what that’ll be?’

‘The matriarch will tell us tomorrow morning.’

‘And tonight?’ I asked.

‘Tonight, we have a feast. And dancing.’

‘Dancing?’ James repeated. ‘Gryphons dance?’

‘Of course we dance,’ Morey said. ‘Make sure you have your swords with you.’

I stared at him. ‘For a dance? Is your clan Scottish?’

‘“For we're no' awa' tae bide awa', for we're no' awa tae le'e ye.”’ Morey said, sliding from his normal Welsh accent into something virtually incomprehensible. ‘Of course not. Just bring them, you’ll see. Actually, if we go outside the camp, you’ll be able to see several gryphons already practicing.’

‘That sounds great,’ James said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Just before you do,’ I said firmly. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. When you leave the camp, right dune is for girls, left is for boys. Okay?’

‘What for?’ James asked.

‘What do you think, we bring a toilet out into the desert?’ Morey asked as he fluttered up to my brother’s shoulder. They left the tent together.

Peter looked at me. ‘Are you okay with this, Penny? I could ask to bed down in a different tent.’

‘You and James can be on one side.’ I scooped a spare carpet into a small bed, and let Clyde crawl into the centre. ‘I’ll be on the other, and Morey and Clyde between us. Plenty of chaperones.’

‘Sounds like it. Penny, I need to talk to you about something.’

‘Oh, you’ve heard?’ I turned away from him and busied myself with spreading out my sleeping bag. ‘Well, it had to be said. Child labour is just wrong. It doesn’t matter that they can’t ship my things back for several weeks. It’s not like I don’t have spare clothes at home.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’ve been dismissed.’ I lowered myself to the ground, my legs suddenly weak. ‘The congregation didn’t like my sermon, and the churchwardens have told me to leave Saint Wulfram’s.’

Peter took a seat several feet away. ‘That’s a bit quick. Would they really fire you because of one sermon?’

‘When it insults their patron, yes.’

‘Lord Willis?’ Peter smiled ruefully at my nod. ‘He runs everything in that town.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ I shuddered. ‘But you should have seen them, Peter. He has pufflings chained up under his house to provide the heating. And young weres and unicorns work in the textile factory. Who knows what else is going on? I only toured a few of his businesses. There might be far worse.’

‘Our country used to have child labour.’

‘And we outlawed it.’

‘Lloegyr is a much younger country.’ Peter reached over to pat my knee. ‘These things take time. So, when do you have to leave?’

‘By tomorrow. So when we leave here, I’ll be going back to England. With James, Clyde, and Morey.’

‘I’ll have to see about joining you. My contract was for three months.’ Peter rose to his feet. ‘Ready to watch some gryphons dance?’

I stared up at him. Although I couldn’t quite say how I’d hoped he’d react to my news, this was not what I’d been looking for. ‘You go. I’ll be along in a minute.’

‘Fine.’ He bent down, and retrieved his sword.

Clyde uncurled from his shell after the tent flap had dropped back in place. ‘Sad?’ he asked me.

‘Yes, Clyde. But there’s no point in moping, is there?’ I found my own sword, and dug out my brother’s. ‘I think I’d better take you in your case. Sand probably won’t feel very good against your foot.’

I joined Peter and James outside the camp. A half dozen gryphons had paired off to perform a very stylised series of movements. I found myself reminded of some bird courtships I’d seen on nature programmes. Each pair faced each other, then moved in unison. To the left, to the right, one thrusting forwards whilst the other pulled back, then a counterthrust and retreat. Sand churned under their clawed feet, and the sun glinted on brown feathers and tawny skin.

Beyond them, a number of gryphons were adding wood to a fire. A large carcass hung on a metal spike, just beyond reach of the flames. The smell of pork overwhelmed that of hot fur and feathers. I felt my stomach rumble.

‘Hog roast,’ James said. ‘I love hog roast.’

‘Talking pig,’ Morey reminded him from his perch on my brother’s shoulder.

‘You really like ruining my appetite, don’t you?’

The pair of gryphons nearest us broke off and laughed. ‘Boar,’ one told us. ‘Not pig.’

‘Does that make a difference?’ James asked hopefully.

‘No one’s ever heard a boar speak,’ Morey admitted. ‘At least, not in Welsh or English.’

‘I’m certain it’s being cooked just for us,’ Peter said. ‘I think we’d better eat some, or we might offend our hosts.’

Whales and slippery slopes came to mind. And how hungry I was. ‘All right. We’re all in this together.’

‘In for a penny, in for a pound?’ Morey suggested.

I glared at him. ‘That’s beneath you, Morey.’

The gryphons had finished their dance, and strode off towards the camp. We made our way to the roast. Aodh and his small black dragon stood nearby. I gave Olafor a closer look, but saw no sign of chains or other restraints. It looked like he chose to stay with the blacksmith.

‘Father Penny and company,’ the dwarf greeted us. ‘Knives and plates I have for us all. And even a few potatoes.’

‘Chips?’ Clyde asked hopefully, poking his head out of his case.

‘Not quite, young snail.’ Aodh prodded at a mound of sand near the fire pit. ‘You’ll not be wanting this cooked meat, at any rate. You and the gryphon can join the others at the buffalo carcass.’

Clyde’s eyespots looked up at me. ‘Eat here.’

‘And I will, too.’ Morey hopped down from James’ shoulder. ‘Can’t be any worse than Penny’s attempts at a Sunday roast.’

Aodh served up slices of well cooked meat and baked potatoes. The plates were of some heavy metal, and I rested mine on the sand in front of me. The pork was delicious, but I did find myself wondering how I’d manage to get my five a day whilst living in the midst of gryphons. They didn’t strike me as species that valued fruit and veg in their diets.

The sun was setting as we scoured our plates with sand and handed them back to Adoh. I pulled a torch out of my pocket to help light our path back to the camp. As we neared the entrance, I turned it off. Light poured from the lanterns and flaming torches set up all around the inner square. Gryphons stood just outside their tents, a few preening splashes of blood from their feathers.

Ercwiff was sitting at the opposite end to the entrance. I tried not to gape. A chain of gold rested around her neck, around which were woven colourful swatches of silk. Golden bracelets rested around her forelegs. Several earrings pierced her left ear, and a large pearl dangled from the lowest one. Both fore and hind claws had been painted purple. The term ‘suited and booted’ came to mind.

‘It is time!’ she declared. Conversations trailed off, and the fifty or so gryphons of the clan turned their attention to their matriarch. ‘Time to test the mettle of the humans in Trahaearneifion’s grŵp rhyfelwyr!’

‘Hasn’t that been already happening?’ James muttered in my ear.

Aodh stepped in the centre of the square. ‘May I have the honour of the first dance, Matriarch?’

‘Cewch, wrth gwrs.’

The dwarf pulled out his sword. A tan and orange owl-tiger gryphon strode out to face him. They bowed to each other. Aodh raised his sword, and made a lunge to his left. The gryphon echoed his move. Then a lunge to the right, repeated by the gryphon, neck extended so that beak and sword were nearly parallel. Aodh centred himself, then lunged forward. The gryphon drew back before the blade could touch her neck. Then the gryphon thrust forward, and the dwarf leapt back, the sharp beak just missing his throat.

Aodh and the gryphon repeated their moves several more times, and then the dwarf raised his sword and bowed. ‘Your turn,’ he told James.

My brother bit his lip. Then he pulled out his sword and stepped forward. A brown eagle-lion gryphon came forward to meet him. Slowly, awkwardly, James repeated the movements we’d watched Aodh perform.

‘More, James White,’ Ercwiff commanded. ‘You have greater reach than the blacksmith. Use it!’

James centred himself. Then he increased the length of his thrusts, forcing the gryphon to stretch to her full extent. And his sudden lunge forward caught her unawares. Metal connected with feathery shoulder, and blood welled from the cut.

‘Sorry, so sorry,’ James said, sounding mortified. He dropped his sword to the ground. ‘What can I do?’

But the gryphon was striding forward, head high, eyes gleaming. She swiped her yellow beak into the wound, and wiped a red line across James’ forehead. ‘Gwaed sy’n galw ar waed.’

‘Blood calls to blood,’ I quickly translated for my brother.

Peter was called forward next. At the urging of the gryphons, he didn’t hold back. His sword flashed as he lunged and turned, but the eagle gryphon opposite him evaded every lunge. Then Peter was too slow when the gryphon thrust forward, and the sharp beak nipped at his ear. Peter bowed, and I handed him a tissue to press against the cut.

My turn. The gryphon who faced me was a mixture of osprey and white panther, the black and white head and neck fading to the monochrome spots. I tried to remember what I’d seen the others do, and to forget how much I’d always hated gym class.

Thrust left, thrust right. I straightened, then jumped back as the gryphon lunged towards me. The carpets snagged against my left boot, and I nearly lost my footing. Memories of jeering class mates made me both embarrassed and angry. I kicked back against carpet and sand, and threw myself forward.

The gryphon tried to duck, but my blade connected with her left foreleg. I watched, aghast, as blood bubbled from the wound. She lifted her head, studied me for a moment, then dipped her beak into the red stream. I held still as her beak scratched across my forehead. ‘Gwaed sy’n galw ar waed.’

‘And now,’ the matriarch announced in Welsh, ‘we all dance!’

I retreated from the centre as gryphons surged into the square. They lined up in two rows, facing each other, ears pricked forward, beaks open. Then they started stamping their forefeet, right, left, right, left. They chanted in Welsh, ‘We hunt! We live! We die! We live! The hunt is life! The hunt is death! The hunt is life!’

James leaned in close to my ear. ‘It’s like the Maori Haka, isn’t it? I saw this in rugby matches in New Zealand.’

The gryphons leapt to their right, then to their left. They bowed low, beaks nearly touching the rucked up carpets. ‘All is the hunt! All to the hunt! Blood calls for blood! Blood will have blood!’

I had been translating for Peter and James. But now my mouth dried at the fierce words. The large beaks, the sharp claws, the muscles sliding under feathers and fur, all reminded me that I never wanted to face a hungry gryphon.

‘We are the clan! We are the hunt!’ Fifty gryphons jumped into the air, and the ground thudded as they landed. ‘We live for the hunt! We live for the hunt!’ The yellow light from the lanterns and flares played across their bodies and cast twisting shadows across the ground.

‘Wouldn’t want to meet any of them down a dark alley,’ Peter muttered in my other ear.

James yelped, and I glanced over to see Morey climbing around the back of his neck to bring his beak level with my head. ‘I don’t like this,’ the gryphon told me. ‘They’re preparing for a hunt.’

‘I think we’ve figured that out,’ James said.

‘Not just any ordinary hunt,’ Morey continued. ‘The clan doesn’t do all this jumping around when they’re just planning to go out for their next meal. And if they start to wrestle--’

‘And enough!’ Ercwiff called out. The gryphons halted. The matriarch kicked herself from the ground. Her wings blew the hair away from my face as she hovered over the clan. ‘Now we’ll discover who are to be the chosen three.’

‘Wrestling,’ Morey said before I could translate from the Welsh.

For a moment the gryphons stared at each other. Ears lifted high, beaks opened, tails lashed. Then they threw themselves at each other. I backed up quickly as one gryphon was quickly dumped to the ground, hind claws scrabbling only inches from my boots.

‘We might as well retire to our tent.’ Morey spoke loudly to be heard over the sounds of the roars and grunts rising from the square. ‘They’ll be at this for hours.’

The air inside the tent had cooled off. James and Peter propped the flaps open and took seats on the ground to watch the gryphons. ‘A tenner on the owl-tiger one,’ James said to Peter.

‘Really? Looks like the eagle-lion one’s got his number.’

‘Tiger against lion? I’d go for tiger every time.’

‘Oh, why not,’ Peter said. ‘In for a penny--’

‘And that,’ I told him firmly as I lowered myself to his side, ‘is enough of that.’ I rested the case on my lap to give Clyde a comfortable base.

‘Any alcohol in this joint?’ James asked. Then, as the osprey-panther gryphon threw her opponent to the ground, he shouted, ‘Gotcha!’

‘My fellow clan members stick to beer,’ Morey said. ‘But not before a hunt.’

‘A dry night,’ James said morosely.

‘And I thought you knew me better than that.’ I pulled a hip flask from my trouser pocket, took a swig, and passed it on. ‘It’s only Oban, but it’ll clear the dust from your throat.’

We shared out the contents. I poured a very small amount onto my palm for Clyde, well aware that anything more could have disastrous consequences. The gryphons were down to just a few wrestling pairs when I decided to call it a night. Morey was still muttering about unusual hunts and worried about wrestling contests when I crawled into my sleeping bag. Despite the bright light and the grunts of gryphons, I fell asleep within minutes.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Carpets on sand, much to my surprise, made for a very comfortable mattress. When I woke, the tent flaps were down, the square was silent, and pre-dawn light was just a dim grey in the gap between leather and sand. I wanted nothing more than to turn over and go back to sleep, but my bladder had other ideas.

There had to be a good term for needing a trip to the loo, but not wanting to get out of bed. As I pulled myself out of the sleeping bag, I decided that I’d simply have to invent one. My trousers and fleece were near to hand. I put them on, and crept out of the tent.

My torch helped me to negotiate the now uneven floor of the square. I made my way out of the camp and trudged up the left sand dune. A quick glance around showed that no one was in sight, and I did what I had to do.

I straightened, and kicked sand over the toilet paper. The sky was growing lighter. A movement in the distance caught my eye. A green-black dragon was landing on a dune several hundred feet above me. Even in the dim light, I could see the saddle which marked him out as Raven.

His head was angled in the direction of the rising sun. I tightened the laces on my boots, and began the trudge up the sandy incline. Minutes later, I was beginning to sweat and wondered why I was bothering. It seemed one step back for every two steps forward. Sand was a slippery beast. I put my head down and concentrated on gaining altitude.

My lungs were burning by the time I reached the forked end of Raven’s tail. I braced my legs on the peak of sand, trying to ignore the drop off on either side. ‘Raven--’

‘Watch.’

I lifted my eyes. And forgot all about my aching calf muscles. The sun had lifted past the horizon. The sand dunes glowed orange in the dawn light, shadows falling gently between the wind-sculpted folds. A few passing clouds slashed red and yellow across the pink and blue sky. ‘“The heavens declare the glory of God,’” I found myself saying. I glanced over at Raven. ‘Morey would know what psalm that comes from.’

‘Psalm 19.’

Surprise nearly sent me tumbling down the dune. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I’ve had some education.’ Raven snorted. ‘Actually, a missionary dragon came to our settlement several years ago. She was interesting enough that we didn’t eat her.’

‘I'm relieved to hear that.’ Although, I thought to myself, that option would rid me of doorstep evangelists who thought a vicar wasn’t Christian enough. ‘Anyone convert?’

‘None that I know of.’ He shifted cautiously, sand spilling away from his feet. ‘We did like parts of your holy book, though.’

‘The psalms?’ I asked hopefully.

‘Those plagues of blood and frogs. The man who fell on his sword when his army lost. And there was a splendid tale about fire raining down on two cities and a human turning into salt.’

Trust a dragon to remember the more violent bits of the Bible. ‘Did the missionary also explain about God sending his Son because he loves his creation?’

Raven yawned, exposing sharp teeth and a blue tongue. ‘She tried. We were bored by then.’

‘Maybe she can be sent to Caer-grawnt,’ I said, my mouth tasting as bitter as my words.

‘Why should she? You’re there.’

‘Not any longer.’ I sighed. ‘I’ve been sent packing. Just because I spoke out against cruelty.’

Light glittered across his blue-green eyes as Raven brought his gaze to me. ‘You must be very disappointed.’

‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘I thought at least some of the congregation would listen to me.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Ever since you first came into contact with our world, haven’t you wanted to live here? And now, after only a few weeks, you’re being sent back to Earth. Back to your small parish, full of nothing more than fellow humans.’

I stared up at him. ‘You understand.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Raven said softly. ‘I understand failure.’

My words dried in my throat. I made my way to his side, picking my way carefully over the sand. The dunes were changing from pink to yellow as the sun rose further. I pressed a hand against his foreleg. His skin was as warm and soft as I remembered. ‘Please, don’t go to the Arctic again.’

‘Why? Would you miss me?’

‘Yes.’ My hand slid into my pocket, and wrapped around the pocketknife. ‘And I’d come after you again, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not have to.’

A rumble went through his chest. ‘You are not the first human woman I’ve chased, Glorious Penny.’

‘I’d figured that out,’ I said, although his admission pained me more than I’d expected.

‘But none of them have been half as intriguing as you. And not one of them would have braved the Arctic to find me.’

A shout drew my gaze back to the camp. Peter was standing just outside the entrance tent, waving to gain my attention. ‘Breakfast!’ he shouted.

I waved back. ‘Coming!’

Sand shifted as Raven moved. ‘Shall I give you a ride back?’

‘No.’ And then I said aloud what I’d only thought before. ‘I want to wait until you’re no longer wearing a saddle.’

Raven arched his neck. ‘My dear Penny, do you long for the feeling of my skin between your legs?’

My face flushed. ‘That’s it, you’re definitely feeling better.’

Peter shouted again, ‘Breakfast! Before it’s gone!’

I watched him walk back into the tent square. Then Raven asked quietly, ‘Do you love him?’

My stomach shifted as uneasily as the sand beneath my boots. ‘He loves me. He’s said so.’

‘Indeed.’

Then Raven was tumbling down the slope of the dune, sand flying up and around his neck and legs. I dropped to my knees to prevent myself from following him. My hands stretched out, as if I could somehow arrest his fall. And then my heart rate slowed back to normal as I realised that his plunge had been deliberate. At the bottom of the slope, he unfolded his wings and used his forward motion to thrust himself into the air.

My own return to camp was more cautious. I had no strong dragon scales to protect me from sand burn. Several times I began to slide to one side or another, but somehow I managed to keep upright.

Peter handed me a can when I finally staggered into our tent. I took a sip, and nearly kissed him. ‘Coffee!’

‘It’s self heating.’ He grinned. ‘But I only brought six, so that’s your lot for this morning.’

I dug out the bananas I’d packed and added these to the oatcakes and cheese which rested on the small table. James was nibbling on an apple, Clyde was still inside his shell, and there was no sign of Morey. I straightened my shoulders and tried not to think of how much I wanted a shower. ‘Who won the wrestling?’

‘The owl-tiger one,’ James said. ‘And Peter owes me fifty quid.’

‘Should’ve stopped while I was behind,’ Peter said ruefully. ‘There were two runners up, an eagle-lion and an osprey-panther.’

The sound of wind rushing through wings made me cram the rest of my banana into my mouth. I lifted a tent flap to peer out. The clan was returning. They landed outside the square and streamed through the entrance. Blood flecked beaks and claws, and I wondered if they’d gone out hunting again or merely consumed leftover buffalo.

Morey flew to my shoulder. ‘The matriarch is ready to set us the final challenge.’

I wished my hip flask weren’t empty. ‘Wake up, Clyde. Time to go.’

‘I really hope it isn’t another hunt,’ James said as he picked up the snail and placed him into the carry case. ‘I’m so done with hunts.’ He slung the strap of the case over his shoulder and patted Clyde’s head. ‘No offense, boyo, but I’m happy to leave the slaughter of animals to you and the gryphons.’

The clan had organised themselves on one side of the square, the matriarch at the front. The three winners of the wrestling competition stood to her left. We straggled out to meet them.

‘Ac yn awr rydym yn dod i'r her olaf ar gyfer y grŵp rhyfelwyr,’ Ercwiff said. ‘Galwn am helfa diwethaf.’

‘It’s the last challenge for us,’ I translated for Peter and James. ‘And it’s another hunt.’

James groaned. ‘Of course it is. I just hope it isn’t in this desert. It’s already as hot as Vulcan out here.’ He gave a wink. ‘See what I did there?’

‘Cawn ni helfa geraint,’ the matriarch continued.

I hesitated. James prodded my arm. ‘What did she say? Live long and prosper?’

‘Something about a hunt of kin,’ I said slowly. ‘Morey, what’s that all  about?’

My Associate’s claws dug deep, pressing through fleece and shirt to skin below. ‘No,’ he said in English. ‘No hunt of kin, Matriarch Grandmother. I gave a promise. I swore on blade and blood that no harm would come to any of my grŵp rhyfelwyr.’

Ercwiff hissed, and said in English, ‘You should know better than to make promises you cannot keep.’

‘This one I will keep.’ His body was a stiff negative next to my ear. ‘There will be no hunt of kin.’

‘Then the clan will not allow you to marry Taryn of Taexali.’

‘So be it,’ Morey said, his voice trembling with emotion.

‘Kin hunt,’ the osprey-tiger gryphon grunted. ‘There will be kin hunt.’

‘Promised, we were,’ added the owl-panther gryphon beside him. ‘We won the right. Hunt you there, or hunt you here, the hunt will happen.’

‘Morey,’ Peter said, ‘perhaps either you or the matriarch could explain.’

Ercwiff strode forward. ‘There is a testing place a day’s flight or a search dragon’s dive away from here. Water surrounds the land on four sides, three of salt, one of pure.’

‘In other words,’ Morey said tightly, ‘It’s a peninsula with a river running along one end. The prey is placed in the centre.’

‘In order to test the hunters’ tracking abilities, they are only taken to the place two hours later.’ The matriarch swept her gaze over our group. ‘The challenge ends when the prey has either touched the water, or has been brought down by beak and claw.’

Peter took a step forwards. ‘And what is the prey?’

‘Not a what, but a who,’ Morey said. ‘It’s to be one of us, one of my grŵp rhyfelwyr.’

My rather ineloquent ‘Pardon?’ was drowned out by Peter’s ‘Never’, James shouting an even louder ‘What?’ and Clyde’s trill of alarm. An eagle gryphon lifted his head and released a piercing cry, making my ears ring.

‘Not just any of you,’ Ercwiff said. ‘Either the woman or her brother. The grŵp rhyfelwyr is to decide.’

Peter’s hands had bunched into fists, but his voice was calm. ‘Why not me? I volunteer.’

‘Not close enough.’ Ercwiff’s dark eyes came to me. ‘Trahaearneifion has been sworn to Father Penny’s service. James is from the same tiercel and formel as Father Penny. My grandson’s connection to them is stronger than to you or to the malwen siarc. So it must be one of them.’

‘Then it’ll be me,’ James said.

‘No.’ I grabbed his arm. ‘I’m not letting you be hunted by gryphons. It’ll be me.’

‘Pen.’ He had to reach over Clyde’s head to pat my hand. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re like middle-aged--’

‘I’m only thirty-seven.’

‘And I go to the gym. You get puffed just going for a walk.’

‘I’m not allowing this,’ I said. ‘No way. Morey, do something.’

‘I have decided,’ Ercwiff said. ‘Be hunted there, or we start the hunt now and here.’

‘I’ll have a head start on this peninsula,’ James told me. ‘But none of us would have a chance here.’ He looked up at Ercwiff. ‘How far is the water from the centre?’

‘It’s around twenty miles as the gryphon flies,’ Morey answered. ‘But you’ll have to stay hidden so the hunters don’t find you. It’d take you at least two days to reach either the river or the sea.’

‘Then I need supplies,’ James said. ‘Food, water, that stuff. I need to go home and collect it.’

‘The hunt stops each day at sunset, and you’ll be brought back here every night,’ Morey said. ‘You just need enough for the day.’

‘I still want to go back to collect some things.’

‘Hunt now,’ the osprey-gryphon insisted.

‘We’ll permit your request.’ Ercwiff lowered her head to my brother’s face. ‘The hunt will begin tomorrow morning. You have until then to prepare yourself.’

James studied her, his face blank. I bit my bottom lip, desperate to know what was going through his mind. ‘What if I die in the hunt? I mean, not from a gryphon, but falling off a cliff or my heart stops or something? That means neither side has won. Seems to me that should be a draw.’

Ercwiff cocked her head, and took a moment to answer. ‘If your heart ceases to beat, you’ll be considered dead, and the hunt neither won nor lost.’

‘And the hunters would leave my body alone? If I dropped dead, I mean. Seems only fair. If they haven’t won, they shouldn’t get to eat me.’

At this rate, there would be nothing left of my lower lip. ‘Don’t talk like that, James.’

‘Agreed. The hunters will only rip you limb from limb if they catch you in the hunt. If you die for any other reason, they’ll leave your corpse alone.’ She snorted. ‘We prefer to eat fresh meat, not carrion.’

James nodded, as if coming to a decision. ‘Right. I’ll need a lift back to England. Can one of the dragons take me?’

‘Yes. And if you don’t return,’ the gryphon continued, ‘we will hunt Father Penny instead.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back.’ James gave me an intent look. ‘Live long and prosper, and all that.’

I opened my mouth to register another protest. But Peter caught my eye. He gave me a long look, and pressed a finger against his lips. Then he turned to the matriarch. ‘May I go with him? To help him pull together what he might need?’

Of course. Peter would know whom to call back in England. They’d find some way to stop this nightmare. I tapped the side of my nose with my forefinger. I would keep his reason for going a secret from everyone else.

‘Granted,’ Ercwiff said. ‘But we want you back by sunset.’

James handed Clyde over to me, his eyes avoiding mine as he followed the older man to the exit. The snail shark looked up, his body pale. ‘It’s all right,’ I told him, trying to put a confidence into my voice which I didn’t feel. ‘They’ll work something out.’

The gryphons disbanded. Morey flew off after his grandmother. Perhaps to try to reason with her? I remained in the square until I saw Raven rise from the desert, Peter and James seated on his back. Then I returned to our tent.

<><><><><><>

The day passed slowly. I’d not expected any down time during our stay with the clan, so I’d not even packed a book. A dig through the pockets of my coat turned up a small deck of cards, a prize in last year’s Christmas cracker. I tried to teach Clyde a few card games. He turned out to be very good at ‘Concentration,’ finding more pairs than I did. When Morey returned, we were able to branch out into ‘Rummy’ and ‘Kings in the Corner,’ the gryphon holding the cards for Clyde.

I dug through the food for a light lunch. My stomach threatened to rebel at the thought of eating, but I knew that I had to keep my strength up. Only after I managed to keep down some cheese and nuts did I finally speak to Morey. ‘I’m not letting your family kill my brother.’

‘What can we do to stop it?’ Morey jumped onto the table. ‘The matriarch rules here. And she’s adamant that this is the challenge she’s chosen.’

‘But how is it a challenge of the group, if it’s James out there risking his life?’

‘Because we’ll be able to give him advice,’ Morey said. ‘The hunt will only occur during daylight hours, and we’ll be able to watch from the air. At sunset, we will all return to the camp, and be able to brief James for the next day.’

‘If he lives through the day.’

‘Have some faith in your brother.’ The sharpness in the gryphon’s voice made me take a step back. ‘He could survive the hunt. I did.’

‘You were hunted? By your own clan? When?’

‘When I had a week off at the start of Lent.’

I glared at him. ‘You said you were going on retreat.’

Morey’s wings lifted in a shrug. ‘I cut my ties to the clan when I married Seren. My grandmother decided I had to prove myself worthy by surviving the hunt. But look at it this way, Penny. I know what James is going to face. I can give him advice.’

Water. I needed water. The jug on the table still held some liquid, and I poured a mugful. ‘He’s my little brother, Morey.’

‘You have to let him grow up sometime.’ Morey’s tail lashed around his feet. ‘He handled himself well against the Tyrannosaurus rex. Have some faith in him.’

We spent several hours playing poker. Teaching Clyde how to gamble went against my better judgement, but Morey didn’t share my concerns. We pulled back one carpet so Clyde’s cards could be stuck into the sand. At first the colours pulsing through his body gave away the strength of his hand. But by mid afternoon, he’d learned to control his emotions. When I heard the sound of human voices, a pile of snacks rested next to his shell and Morey and I were down to our last few pretzels.

I rose to my feet as the tent flap opened. A welcome rush of cooler air came in, followed by James and Peter. My brother carried a mottled green and brown backpack. Camouflage trousers were tucked into leather boots, and he wore a long sleeved shirt of green and tan. He looked at me, nearly spoke, then shut his mouth and busied himself in one corner of the tent.

‘We tried,’ Peter told me quietly. ‘James spoke to your bishop, and I reached out to the Minister without Portfolio. Mrs Harkness told me there’s little she can do. What passes for government in Lloegyr doesn’t interfere in clan matters.’

‘Bishop Nigel drove out to the house,’ James said. ‘He said he’d speak to Bishop Aeron to see if there’s anything she could do. And we prayed together.’

The old expression about atheists and foxholes came to mind, but I managed to bite my tongue. ‘I’m glad he made the time to see you.’

‘He’s all right, Bishop Nigel.’ Finally James looked over at me. ‘Did you know he used to be an Army chaplain? Saw some things out in the field. He said it didn’t matter if I weren’t sure I believed in God, because God would always believe in me.’

‘I believe in you,’ I said hoarsely. ‘You’ll make it through, James.’

‘I’d better.’ The ghost of a smile trickled around his lips. ‘There’s all those women who haven’t met me yet. Can’t let them down.’

‘Quite right, too,’ Morey said. ‘Now, James, time to talk tactics.’

<><><><><><>

Aodh had prepared another evening meal for us. As we sat near the fire pit, using heavy wooden spoons to eat a thick stew, he looked around our strained faces. Olafor said something to him in a low voice, and the blacksmith nodded. He disappeared into his own nearby tent. When he returned, he marched up to James and handed him a small dagger. ‘Here. Keep this strapped to your boot. Three blades against three gryphons.’

‘Thanks,’ James said unsteadily.

The camp was quiet when we returned to our tent. The others slipped into sleeping bags or curled up on carpets. My torch was still in my hand. I switched it on, and made my way back to the desert.

The stars were bright in the dark sky above me. And there, away from anyone who might hear me, I lowered myself onto the still warm sand and allowed myself to have a good cry. Tomorrow morning I would have to be strong for James, show him that his sister knew that he’d be all right. But tonight was for me.

Chapter Thirty

‘At least this means I don’t have to carry a lot of food,’ James said as he grabbed a banana and nuts from the small table. ‘I do have some high energy bars in the backpack, though, just in case.’

‘Remember what I told you,’ Morey said. ‘Gryphons have very poor sense of smell, so the hunters are going to rely on their vision to find you. And we don't see very well in dim lighting, so head to the forest to start with.’

James nodded. ‘But what about the owl gryphon?’

‘She’s diurnal, not nocturnal.’

Peter stood to one side, his eyes fixed in a middle distance. Then he walked across the tent to join us. ‘I can offer you this, James.’

I drew back as Peter held out a pistol. James lowered a hand onto the dark metal, his fingers curling for a moment around the grip. Then he shook his head. ‘I’ve never fired a gun in my life.’

‘They’re not that difficult to use.’ There was a touch of sadness in Peter’s voice. ‘And if it means saving your life? Take it, just in case.’ He slid the gun into a leather holster and placed it into the backpack.

Ercwiff’s loud voice broke the uneasy silence. ‘James White, are you ready?’

The muscles along James’ jaw tightened for a moment. He slung the backpack across his shoulders, and pushed the tent flaps open.

Raven was standing beside the matriarch, his golden claws digging deep into the carpets. James gave gryphon and dragon a nod before climbing up into Raven’s saddle. I forced myself to stay silent as my brother was carried away from me. Only after Raven had disappeared did I look for Peter, wanting nothing more than to bury my face in his chest. But Peter was deep in conversation with Morey, so I rubbed Clyde’s shell instead.

Two hours later, Ercwiff summoned both us and the gryphon hunters into the square. The desert sun gleamed on the gryphons’ feathers and glossy hides. I tried and failed not to look at the sharp beaks which opened and shut as they panted in the warmth of the desert sun. Opposite them stood the three dragons, who looked much more comfortable in the heat.

‘You’ll be carried by the dragons,’ Ercwiff told us grandly. ‘Peter and Trahaearneifion on the search dragons, Father Penny with the malwen siarc on the other.’

‘No,’ Raven rumbled. ‘I’ll carry Penny and Clyde.’

The matriarch drew herself up to her full height, which was still only half that of the dragon’s. But in a battle between dragon and gryphon, I wasn’t sure I’d put my money on the dragon. ‘You’re in my employ, and you will carry the other human. I’ve seen you with Father Penny, and I don’t trust you to remember where your loyalty lies.’

I felt my cheeks redden as Peter looked over at me. ‘That’s all right,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll ride Margh.’

‘There.’ Ercwiff clacked her beak. ‘Father Penny knows. You are prevented by your service to me, dragon.’

‘I’m not prevented by you, but by this.’ And Raven whipped his head around to his back. His sharp teeth tore into the straps which dug into his skin, ripping the leather to shreds. The bulky saddle slipped from his neck, sending sand into the air as it hit the ground. I winced at the sight of red-green sores which blotched his neck and chest. ‘I’m no longer in your service, Matriarch, and I’ll carry whomever I wish.’

The gryphon’s ears and feathers rose in anger. ‘Very well, Hrafn. But remember this. I’ll broach no interference with the hunt. You’re not the only dragon willing to accept my gold.’

‘I’m loyal to this clan,’ Arnborg reminded us, arching her neck.

I spoke before Raven could say something further. ‘He understands, Matriarch. And so do I.’

Peter and Morey mounted their dragons. I pushed Clyde’s carry case behind me and marched over to Raven. He held out a foreleg, and I did my best to climb up to his neck without touching any of his wounds. His skin had been rubbed raw around the spine in front of me, and I tried to push myself as far back as possible.

The dragons kicked us away from the camp. Ercwiff was next, then the hunt gryphons and the clan followed. Arnborg dropped back to place herself between the hunters and the rest of the gryphons.

The two search dragons took us through several thin places. Then we were flying in much cooler temperatures. A flat scrubland slid by beneath us, the ocean only a glint on the horizon. ‘This,’ Raven called back to me, ‘is where I left James.’

The indentation of dragon feet marked the place on the soft ground where Raven had landed. The three hunters called out to each other, and swooped low to hover over the spot. The osprey gryphon dropped down, her claws sinking into the turf as she studied the boot prints which led away from the drop off point. She called out to her partners, and they flew off towards the nearby hill.

Morey landed on my shoulder. ‘Good lad,’ he said approvingly. ‘He’s laid down a false trail.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘He did, if he’s keeping to our plan. I told him to do that before heading to the forest.’

‘They won’t be fooled for long,’ Raven warned us. ‘There are too many broken bushes ahead. And he ran out of rocks to hide his steps.’

‘Morey,’ I asked, ‘can you fly up and see if he’s made it to the trees?’

‘If I do, I’ll only show the hunters where he is.’

Raven’s wings pounded as he took us upwards. ‘I can see him. He’s not far from the edge.’

‘Raven,’ Morey warned, ‘turn your head away.’

But he spoke too late. The owl gryphon screeched to her companions. They swerved away from the hill and streaked towards the forest. Raven followed behind, his more powerful wings enabling him to overtake the gryphons and then outpace them. Now even I could see James. My brother was running towards the trees, lifting his feet high to avoid catching his boots on the small rocks and straggling bushes.

The gryphons swooped in low, beaks and foreclaws outstretched. Raven hovered in place so we could watch. I struggled to breathe. But James put on a burst of speed, and reached the woods ahead of them. The trunks were too close together for the hunters to fly in, so they landed at a run to throw themselves into the forest.

‘Morey?’ I managed to say.

‘He needs to go into the thickest part,’ Morey said. ‘Take advantage of his smaller size. That’s what I told him.’

Clyde had stretched his tentacles out of his case. ‘See?’

I moved him closer to my chest. ‘See what, Clyde?’

Greens and reds shimmered through his body. Then he stretched out further, and opened his jaws to sing. ‘“Saviour, lead me up the mountain, where the Lord alone is seen, where we hear the voice from heaven, where the air is pure and clean.’”

‘And that’s supposed to tell me what?’ I asked him.

‘To go up higher,’ Raven answered.

‘But then we won’t know how James is doing,’ I protested.

‘We won’t know, anyway,’ Morey said. ‘Not while he’s tucked away in the forest. So we should use this time to scout out the lay of the land. When he comes back tonight, we can discuss tomorrow’s tactics.’

The gryphon clan was scattered around the area, some flying over the trees, others resting on the ground nearby. Several followed us as Raven carried us up and over the forest. ‘Let them,’ Morey said as I glanced over my other shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter what they see. They won’t tell the hunters. The clan won’t help them to find James.’

‘There’s still three of them, and only one of James.’

‘But they’ll stay together. Gryphons prefer to hunt as a pack.’

The land on the other side of the forest dipped down, then rose again. Raven landed on the top of the hill. Arnborg dropped down next to him. I looked at Peter, and felt a flush of guilt. I’d forgotten all about him.

‘This is a good spot,’ Peter said, sliding down the side of the dragon to come over to us. ‘We can see quite a distance.’

‘See,’ Clyde agreed triumphantly.

‘Not much cover once he’s through the forest,’ I said, putting a hand up to shield my eyes from the bright sun. ‘And he can’t outrun a gryphon.’

‘His best chance is to lose them in the forest, and make a break for it.’ Morey hopped down to Peter’s shoulder. ‘Do you see that outcropping over there? The rocks?’

‘Just. I think you have better eyesight than I have.’

‘Falcon eyes. Can’t beat them.’

I patted Raven’s shoulder, letting him know that I was going to dismount. He extended a foreleg, and again I tried to avoid his sores as I clambered down. ‘What about the rocks?’

‘This area is volcanic.’ At Raven’s snort, Morey added, ‘A very long time ago. There are lava tubes scattered around. I hid in a couple when I was hunted. One leads to the beach. I managed to find my way through, and James will have the advantage of a torch to help him.’

‘He might just get hopelessly lost underground,’ I said.

‘Positive thinking, Black. Give it a try. Or maybe even prayer.’

‘I’ve been saying quite a few,’ Peter muttered, much to my surprise. ‘Shall we scout ahead, Morey? Penny, I assume you’d rather wait here, just in case James emerges?’

I nodded. Peter remounted the dragon, and Morey found a place on the cantle. The downbeat of the dragon’s wings blew the hair back from my face as I watched them fly east.

Clyde bumped his head against my hand. ‘Dragon. Hurt?’

‘Raven is, yes.’ I held him up to see the sores. ‘From wearing that horrible saddle.’

‘I’ll heal,’ Raven said. ‘You should’ve seen me after I escaped from my mother.’

‘Up,’ Clyde told me.

I frowned at the snail, wondering what he meant. ‘You want me to hold you up?’

‘Up. Dragon. Hurt.’

Raven and I exchanged a glance. Then I pulled Clyde from his case and held him next to a lesion. The snail crawled onto the dragon’s skin, and made his way up the neck. A trail of thick slime oozed behind him.

‘Actually,’ Raven said, ‘that seems to be helping.’ He turned his head to sniff at the sore. The red edges were fading back to pink and green. ‘I didn’t know that malwod siarc could heal wounds.’

‘It might not be common to all snail sharks.’ Clyde had finished his rounds, and I reached up to let him slide back onto my palms. ‘I gave him powdered unicorn horn to drink when he was badly injured. Maybe, in addition to saving his life, it’s left some residual healing powers.’

‘I might change my view of malwod siarc. Or at least of this one.’

I’d kept an eye on the edge of the forest throughout our conversation. Now I looked up at Raven. ‘You helped me save my brother once before. Could you find him, and take him away from here?’

‘I could. But Arnborg would come after us. She would return James to the hunt.’ Raven’s voice took on an apologetic tone. ‘Even I couldn’t hide him forever. Not from a search dragon as talented as Arnborg.’

<><><><><><>

Morey and Peter came back a couple of hours later. Peter handed me a bag of nuts and raisins for lunch. I had eaten a few handfuls when an excited roar drew my attention to the hollow near the forest. A solitary sheep was climbing up the incline, her long grey coat catching on the bushes. Four gryphons raced towards her, galloping shoulder to shoulder over the rough ground. The sheep bleated and turned to run. An eagle gryphon reached her first, pouncing onto her back. They rolled down the slope, the gryphon’s claws obviously entangled in the wool.

A small tree halted their tumble. The gryphon brought his hindlegs under him, and threw the sheep free. She landed with a crunch, her bleats now very faint. Another gryphon strutted forward, and jabbed his sharp beak into the sheep’s head. My stomach squelched as the gryphon pulled an eye free, and then swallowed it with obvious relish.

‘Messy eaters, gryphons,’ Peter said beside me. ‘You might want to look away.’

I shook my head. ‘This is what they’ll do to James, isn’t it?’

The first gryphon staggered over, and tore at the exposed stomach. As organs tumbled past the still kicking legs, I decided that I’d seen enough. I took several deep gulps of water from a plastic bottle, and then splashed liquid over my eyes.

Other gryphons flew over, and a heated debate broke out over ownership of the carcass. I watched a small gryphon fly in, tear off a leg, and then fly away with her prize.

Raven suddenly moved, turning his body towards the forest. ‘One of the trees is shaking.’

I squinted. ‘I can’t see anything. I need binoculars.’

‘Climb up,’ Raven urged. ‘I’ll take you there.’

Clyde dropped back down into his case as I hurried up the dragon’s side. The moment I was in place between two spines, he kicked himself away from the hill. Morey left Peter’s shoulder a moment too late to land on me, so he flew alongside us, his wings a purple-black blur as he fought to keep up with the dragon.

We swept over the canopy. The trees were a mixture of species, pine and oaks rubbing up against alders. Raven pulled up into a hover. Morey landed on the cantle, breathing heavily. ‘The oak,’ he gasped. ‘Below.’

I wrapped a hand around Raven’s spine and dared to lean out. The young leaves of spring spread around the oak’s crown. For a moment I saw only brown and green. Then a flash of brown and tan made me focus my gaze. James had straddled his body around one branch near the top. Somehow he’d managed to climb while still wearing his backpack, and it juddered against his back as the tree shook beneath him.

‘The gryphons are trying to climb up the tree,’ Raven said, dropping us closer. ‘So far unsuccessfully.’

‘Oaks hard to climb,’ Morey puffed. ‘Good for James. Needs to hold on. Until sunset.’

‘What good will that do?’ I asked. ‘The gryphons know where he is. They’ll just come back here tomorrow.’

‘Two hours head start,’ Morey said. ‘Every day. The prey is given two hours every morning. It’s to test the hunters’ tracking skills.’

I would have preferred to remain above the tree, but even Raven couldn’t hover that long. Morey dropped down to perch on a top branch, promising to keep an eye on James. Raven returned us to the hill. Peter and Arnborg were still there. ‘It’s only a few more hours until sunset,’ Peter told me, glancing at his watch. ‘Then James will have time to recover.’

My legs felt weak. I took a seat near Raven’s feet. The oak which held my brother was blurred into the general backdrop of green. What to do to pass the time? ‘I spy with my little eye something starting with “T”.’

Peter sighed. ‘Tree. I spy with my little eye something starting with “G”.’

We’d moved on to more difficult things like moss and obsidian by the time Morey flew back over to us. ‘Good news. The hunters have decided to leave the forest. They think they’ll have a better chance attacking James from above.’

I scrambled to my feet. ‘How’s that good news?’

‘They won’t have enough time.’ Morey dropped down to my shoulder. ‘It’ll take them until sundown to work their way out.’

As the last rays of sun sent shadows scurrying across the land, Peter and I mounted our dragons and headed back to the forest. The matriarch reached the oak first, her powerful wings holding her above the crown. ‘He lives to run another day,’ she said. ‘You may take him back to the camp.’

James released his grip on the tree. I held my breath as he climbed up further, until Raven could reach down and wrap forefeet around my brother’s chest. We landed briefly so James could clamber up Arnborg’s neck, taking a seat behind Peter. And then we headed back to the desert.

Slabs of freshly cooked meat were steaming on a plate when we stumbled into our tent. The strong smell made my stomach churn. I sliced off several sections for Clyde, then forced myself to eat a small portion. Several raw carrots and four oranges were lined up by the refilled water pitcher. I was too tired to wonder how Aodh had sourced the fruit.

‘Lava tubes,’ Morey told James when we’d finished eating. ‘Make sure you’re carrying a light. Make sure you mark your path if you take a turning.’

‘Tubes, light, turns, check.’ James yawned. ‘Got it.’

‘And ditch the backpack,’ Morey continued, ‘if it gets in your way.’

‘Not doing that.’ James shared a look with Peter which I didn’t understand. ‘Now, ‘scuse me, but it’s been a long day.’

‘And you did very well,’ Morey said.

‘Thanks.’ James pulled off his clothes, and wearing only underwear, he slid into his sleeping bag. A moment later, he was asleep.

Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘What I’d give for a shower.’

‘Me too.’ I reached down to remake a bed for Clyde. The snail shark made a low noise, then withdrew into his shell. ‘Oh, well, at least we all smell the same.’

Morey said sleepily from his own curve of carpet, ‘Speak for yourself.’

‘I think she was.’ Peter disappeared with a toothbrush and mug. When he returned, he gave me a quick smile, then lowered himself into his own sleeping bag.

How could they even think of sleeping? I pulled out my torch, thumbing it on before blowing out the oil lamp. Then I left the tent and picked my way out of the camp.

Something shifted near the tents. I raised my hand. The beam of my light revealed the solid side of a dragon, lying on his belly on the sand. Raven lifted his head as I approached, his eyes glinting in the dark. ‘The Perturbed Penny.’

‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘James could have been killed today.’

‘He’s never impressed me, your young skrælingjar.’ Sharp teeth glinted in the starlight. ‘Had he been my brother, I would have eaten him long ago. But today he did well. And he might continue to do well.’

‘I can’t let him be killed, Raven.’

The dragon’s sigh was long and deep. ‘Ask it of me, Penny, and I will save him from the gryphons’ claws.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes. But you must first tell me where to take him. As I’ve said, Arnborg wouldn’t be far behind.’

‘London,’ I decided. ‘To the Minister without Portfolio. The government would have to find some way to protect him.’

‘You show a lot of faith in your government.’

“‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’” Why wasn’t Morey ever around when I came up with a clever quote? ‘I’ll let you know if we have to go that far.’

‘And how will you let me know?’

I found myself smiling. ‘Would “Raven, save him now!” be good enough?’

‘I should think so.’

The tents of the gryphon camp were a dark hulk behind me. Suddenly I didn’t want to be anywhere near them. ‘Do you mind if I stay with you awhile?’

Raven’s voice was soft. ‘I would never mind.’

I made my way to his side, and lowered myself to the sand. His hide was warm against my back. The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing helped me to bring my own under control. I tipped back my head, and admired the stars.

Chapter Thirty-One

A touch of sunshine on my face woke me. I realised that I’d fallen asleep leaning against Raven. Somehow I managed to sneak back into the tent before any of the others awakened. When Peter and James crawled out of their sleeping bags, I handed each of them a coffee can. We chewed on fruit and oatcakes while Morey talked strategy with James.

‘You’ll be taken back to the oak tree,’ Morey said. ‘Try to let the hunters to believe that you’re still in the forest. Take some extra clothes and leave them in an obvious place. But head out, go east, towards the sun.’

‘I know what direction east is,’ James muttered.

‘Go at a steady pace, but try not to run. The terrain is very uneven, and it would be disastrous if you were to twist an ankle or break a leg.’

‘You’re telling me.’

‘Yes, I am.’ Morey sounded exasperated. ‘This is serious, James Alfred White.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ James slung his backpack over one shoulder. ‘And when the gryphons find me out in the open?’

‘About two miles from the forest is an outcropping of rocks. Underneath is a cave. Use your light and climb well inside. The hunters won’t be able to reach you. If you stay there until sunset, you’ll gain another two hours’ head start for tomorrow.’

‘Fascinating.’ James looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and held his hand up in a Vulcan salute. ‘“I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”’

Why was my brother suddenly making Star Trek references? Well, if this were his way of coping with the stress of the hunt, I wasn’t going to discourage him. ‘Go boldly, James. Make it so.’

He left the tent. I took the water pitcher, a small towel, and went into the desert to seek some privacy. There was only so much body odour I could tolerate, even in our current circumstances.

When the rest of us returned to the peninsula, James was nowhere to be seen. The hunt gryphons peeled off, calling to each other as they circled above the trees. I stared intently at the forest, hoping that my gaze might encourage them to venture inside.

The two dragons landed us on the same hill we’d occupied the day before. Raven’s sores, I noted as I made my way down to the ground, had sealed over with new skin. I patted Clyde’s shell, wondering what other surprises the snail might have in store for me.

The skies were grey, and a chill wind made me slide my hands into my coat pockets. The hunters dropped down to the far edge of the forest, and I held my breath as they ventured inside. Only then did it occur to me to wonder how James could know when to leave the woods. How could he track where the gryphons were?

The answer was, he couldn’t. I groaned as James broke cover. The osprey gryphon was the first to see him, and her screech alerted her companions. The three of them turned and hurried after James. Although he had a head start of several hundred yards, they turned their runs into low level flight. Three pairs of wings drew them towards their prey.

James halted and dropped his backpack to the ground. His hands reached inside, and for a moment I wondered if he planned to use Peter’s gun after all. But he pulled out a tan and black cylinder with a long handle. Even at our distance, I could see that his face was pale, but his stance determined. He braced his legs as the gryphons angled towards him. The owl and osprey gryphons were nearly neck and neck, and the eagle was to their right and slightly behind.

The distance narrowed. Fifty feet. Forty. Thirty. Then James raised the cylinder and pressed down on the handle. I could hear the hiss from where I stood.

A red liquid was ejected from the nozzle. James turned his upper body, spraying the gel across the two nearer gryphons. They screamed in pain. The eagle gryphon tried to pull up, but James pivoted and managed to coat his eyes and head with the same force. Then he dropped the canister and dived to his right, out of the way of the gryphons as they tumbled from the sky.

‘Good lad,’ Peter said beside me. ‘Pepper spray. He’s used the pepper spray. That’ll disable them for at least a couple of hours.’

The gryphons were rolling on the ground, their foreclaws digging at their eyes and beaks. Their high-pitched cries made my teeth ache. As much as I wanted to see James live, I couldn’t help but ask, ‘Will they be blinded?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. Pepper spray is formulated so as to not cause permanent damage.’

James collected his backpack. I waved at him, and he waved back. Then he set off at a fast walk, heading towards the rocks which Morey had mentioned.

The owl gryphon began to call out the matriarch’s name. The other two echoed her. Ercwiff landed nearby, her ears pulled back and her steps cautious as she made her way to the fallen hunters. A low exchange took place. Then the matriarch raised her head. ‘Trahaearneifion! You and your grŵp rhyfelwyr, attend to me!’

‘Best see what she wants,’ Morey said, leaping up to Arnborg’s saddle. Peter and I climbed onto our dragons, and we glided down to the gryphons.

‘The hunters have a proposal,’ Ercwiff said. ‘They’ll declare the hunt over for the day, if you’ll allow the clan to help them reach the river. They need to wash their eyes in fresh water.’

The gryphons did look in a bad way. Their eyes had swollen shut, and they were panting for breath. The dragons had stayed well back, but as the wind shifted I caught the scent of pepper, and my own eyes watered. ‘Agreed,’ I said.

‘As do I,’ Morey said.

Peter nodded. ‘And me.’

‘No. Pain. Suffer.’ Clyde glared down at the stricken hunters. ‘“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.”’

Peter stared at him. ‘You are one vengeful snail, Clyde.’

‘Clyde,’ I said, ‘this guarantees that James will have more time today.’

The snail grumbled to himself. Then he said, ‘Okay.’

Morey extended his wings. ‘I’ll tell James the good news.’

The dragons backed us away. Other members of the clan collected the hunters, wrapping forelegs around wings and chests to lift them away from the ground. Slowly and carefully, wings struggling against the weight of their comrades, they made their way to the distant river.

‘Does he have any more pepper spray?’ I asked hopefully.

Peter shook his head. ‘There was only one at the station, and we didn’t have enough time for me to find any more. I think he must’ve used it up, since he’s not taken it with him. I’ll go collect it.’

‘Why?’ Raven demanded. ‘I don’t want that anywhere near me.’

‘I clean up litter,’ Peter said firmly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s completely empty before I bring it back.’

<><><><><><>

As we no longer had to worry about the hunters following us to James, we were able to keep close to him as he made his way across the scrub land. The dragons would fly ahead, find a viewpoint, and land so we could watch. At one point, James had to pick his way through a bog, and I was relieved that he could concentrate on his footing without worrying about gryphons. He passed by the cave which Morey had spotted, no longer needing its protection, and was well on his way to the thinner vegetation growing between lumps of lava rocks as the sun began to set.

Morey flew off to speak to James again. When he returned, he told us, ‘James doesn’t want to come back to camp. He’s found a spring to refill his bottles, and he has food in his pack. He says he’s going to push on through the night.’

‘That’s going to leave him very tired for tomorrow,’ I pointed out.

‘I’ve told him which tube to lower himself into. He should reach it by morning.’ Morey jumped up onto my shoulder. ‘And he said to remind you that he’s pulled all nighters before.’

‘Only because he ignores deadlines until the last minute.’ I looked at the figure fading into the distance. ‘He’d better not ignore this one.’

The dragons carried us back to the camp. Dinner was slices of cold cooked meat, accompanied by apples and a loaf of bread. Peter and I tucked in, but Morey and Clyde looked unimpressed.

‘Come on, kid,’ Morey said to the snail. ‘Let’s ask Margh to take us somewhere to hunt for our supper. I’ll ask him to lift you into the saddle.’

After our two hunters had left, Peter swallowed the last of his improvised sandwich and came to my side. ‘Clyde.’

‘What about him?’

‘You’ve always said he isn’t like other snail sharks. I was starting to agree with you.’ Peter rubbed at the beard forming on his chin. ‘But he was quite happy to see those gryphons suffer.’

‘He’s just loyal,’ I said. ‘We’re his family. He wants to see James succeed.’

‘I’ve seen what a snail shark can do to a dog, or a cat,’ Peter said grimly. ‘And I’ve seen photos of what one of them did to a human baby. Are you really sure we can trust him, Penny?’

‘Don’t worry, Clyde has sworn off babies.’ Awestruck lemmings were getting decimated instead. ‘Thanks for sorting out the pepper spray for James. Any other surprises in his backpack?’

‘Nothing else from me,’ Peter said. ‘Other than my gun.’

I went outside the camp to brush my teeth. As I stared up at the sky, I wondered how James was doing. Would he be safe, crossing unfamiliar countryside with only the beam of a torch? What if he tripped and hurt himself, or fell into a bog? Although I could see the logic of walking through the night, I would have preferred to have him safe back inside our tent. Suddenly I didn’t want to be alone.

When I returned, Morey was cleaning blood from his feathers, and Clyde was lying on his blanket bed. I looked around for the other human. ‘Peter?’

‘He’s already turned in,’ Morey said quietly. ‘And he’s snoring.’

I dropped toothbrush and mug back onto the table. Then I turned and left the tent and the camp.

My torch picked out Raven’s bulk, lying a few hundred feet away. I made my way across the sand. He raised his head as I approached, but he said nothing. Neither did I, as I lowered myself to the sand. The dragon sighed, and rolled onto his side. A foreleg moved across, offering a pillow for my head. I stretched out alongside him, taking comfort in the warmth which radiated from his skin. After a few minutes, I fell asleep.

Morey found me the next morning. He said nothing as he followed me back to the camp, but as I ate my breakfast, his eyes flicked between me and Peter. ‘Final can of coffee,’ I said, slightly too loudly, as I swigged down the hot liquid.

‘James should be close to the coast now,’ Morey said. ‘If he follows my directions, he’ll be in the lava tube which leads to the beach.’

‘Above the tide, I assume?’ Peter asked. ‘So how far does he have to dash to reach the water?’

‘It’s about a hundred yards.’

Peter nodded. ‘So what he should do is get to the far end, and wait until tomorrow’s head start to cross the final distance.’

‘But will he think of that?’ I asked.

‘He kept his cool yesterday,’ Peter said. ‘It couldn't have been easy, waiting for three gryphons to come into reach of the pepper spray. He pulled the trigger at exactly the right time.’

I wished I could share his confidence. But my life long experience of my brother led me to suspect that he might not even think of waiting. Morey leapt up to my shoulder, and I led the way out of the tent.

The hunter gryphons were waiting for us outside the camp. Their eyes still looked sore, and the feathers of the owl-tiger were stained red. As I walked past them, all three extended a foreleg and gave me a bow. I stopped, surprised.

‘We honour the cunning of your brother,’ the eagle gryphon told me.

I coughed. ‘I thought you might be angry.’

The owl gryphon whistled a laugh. ‘The hunt has become more interesting. His courage is admirable. We hope to taste his flesh today.’

‘Eating him won’t add his spirit to yours,’ Morey said. The weariness in his voice led me to suspect that he’d had this conversation before. ‘The soul goes to God for judgement when we die.’

The osprey gryphon snorted, and said in Welsh, ‘We aren’t one of your People of the Book. We know better.’

‘Let’s not get into an argument,’ I said as Morey bristled. ‘We respect your beliefs, even if we don’t share them.’

‘Heathens,’ Morey muttered in my ear as I walked over to Raven.

‘Yes,’ Clyde agreed from his case. ‘Jesus.’

‘When this is all over,’ I told the snail, ‘I will arrange confirmation classes for you. I promise.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Morey said. ‘He’ll blend in so well with your parishioners, won’t he? There’s so little difference between a carnivorous snail and an old age pensioner.’

‘If you’re trying to pick an argument to take my mind off James,’ I said, ‘it’s not going to work.’

I mounted, and Raven took us away from the desert. When we emerged over the peninsula, he deliberately flew in an erratic pattern to throw off the gryphons. I was very conscious about sweeping my head from side to side, trying not to show the hunters the direction we hoped James had taken.

‘He reached the lava tube,’ Morey said in my ear.

‘How can you tell?’

‘He had to go through another bit of bog.’ The gryphon sighed. ‘The boot marks are quite obvious.’

The hunters discovered this for themselves a short while later. The dragons landed us on a dry part of land nearby while the gryphons tried to insert themselves through the opening to the cave system. For a while they dug at the soft ground, claws throwing soil in all directions. When their efforts only led them to hard volcanic rock, they stopped, and conferred in low voices.

The owl gryphon shook her feathers clean, then proceeded to walk slowly along the ground. Her tan head was cocked, a long ear lowered close to the thin grass. Her companions stayed well back, moving only to keep her in sight.

Morey said something coarse in Welsh which made Raven snort in amusement. ‘She’s listening,’ the gryphon told me. ‘With those acute ears of hers. She’s working out where the tube leads.’

Peter whistled. ‘That’s some talent.’

‘Raven?’ I looked up at the dragon. ‘Do you know where he is?’

He cocked his head. ‘Yes. He’s a mile from the exit. The gryphon is on the right track.’

Now I was tempted to curse as well. Somehow I controlled myself. Clyde was listening from his pouch, after all. ‘Can you take us nearer? But not too close, so they can’t use us to help find him.’

‘Of course.’

We flew towards the ocean. Morey directed us to take a position between the lava tube and the cliff edge. From our vantage point, I could see a small cave which marked the exit to the beach. It was half way down the fifteen foot high cliff, so James would face a short drop when he decided to break cover.

‘The tide’s out.’ Peter pointed at the waves surging up the golden sands. ‘It’s about two hundred yards from the exit to the water.’

‘Is it a good idea for us to be here?’ I asked. ‘Won’t the gryphons fly over to the cliff?’

‘The tube branches off in several directions,’ Morey assured me. ‘I told him to keep going left, but of course they don’t know that. They need to follow James because they don’t know which exit he’s going to use.’

I climbed down to the ground. My backside was aching from the number of hours I’d been spending on a dragon. In other circumstances, I’d be enjoying the view. The coastline curved around on our left, forming a shallow bay. Waves pounded against tall rocks, and shore birds dived into the clear waters. The sun was warm on my face, and a slight breeze salted the air with the smell of seaweed. When our parents had been alive, James and I had spent school holidays building sandcastles on beaches like this one. Those happy memories clashed with the fear which was pounding through my body.

The owl gryphon was coming closer. Her tiger tail was lashing with excitement. The other two hunters had drawn closer, their bright eyes watching her progress. ‘She’s not far from James,’ Raven said in a low voice. ‘I think he’s near this end of the lava tube.’

‘Might be best to mount up,’ Peter said, still in the saddle of his dragon.

I started to climb up Raven’s foreleg, my right hand reaching out to his neck spine.

A shout made me turn my head. James had dropped down onto the soft sand. He threw his backpack to one side, and started running towards the ocean. The gryphons screamed, a high-pitched hunting cry which made me nearly lost my grip on Raven’s hide. They charged across the land, their wings blurring as they lifted into the air.

Peter’s dragon took off. Raven shuddered, but his claws remained on the ground as I hurried to climb up to his neck. No sooner did I drop into place between his spines than he took off. Morey squawked, and was torn from my shoulder. Clyde’s case bounced against my side, and then upturned. I had to tear my eyes from James as I reached out to catch the snail. Somehow I managed to shove him back into the bag.

James was half way to the ocean, struggling against the soft sand which caught at his boots. The dragons sped us over the beach, their wings pounding as they hurtled us towards my brother. But between us and him, beaks and claws gleaming in the sun, were the gryphons. And they were going to reach James before he could get to the water.

‘Raven!’ I found myself shouting. ‘Now, now, now!’

The search dragon was fast. The gryphons were faster. James glanced back over his shoulder. To my horror, he came to a stumbling halt. For a moment his eyes met mine. His lips curved into a smile. Then he pulled a small bottle from a shirt pocket. He thumbed off the cap, and threw back his head to gulp down the dark contents.

The gryphons were now only a hundred feet away. They angled their wings, sweeping upwards to position themselves into a killing strike. Arnborg was only a short distance from James, but she merely hovered, showing no desire to interfere. Raven thrust us closer to the ocean, obviously planning to throw himself between the hunters and my brother.

Then James groaned. His face contorted, and his hands clutched at his chest. He stumbled, then collapsed onto the sand. ‘James!’ I found myself screaming. ‘James!’

Peter leapt off his dragon, landing heavily onto the sand nearby. Then he hurried over to my brother’s body. ‘He’s dead!’ he shouted at the gryphons. ‘Your prey is dead. There’s no heart beat!’

Raven pulled up into a hover thirty feet above Peter. The rest of the gryphon clan were flying in, Ercwiff’s large form in the lead. ‘No heart beat?’ she called out. ‘Are you certain?’

The hunters landed near the two men, their necks extended aggressively. My eyes were filling with tears, and I knuckled them away so I could focus on the gryphons. ‘Back,’ Peter commanded them, straddling James’ body with his legs. ‘You, owl gryphon. You can confirm that there’s no heart beat.’

She studied him for a moment. Then she dipped her head in a nod. ‘Indeed. There’s no heart beat.’

‘Then, on behalf of his family, I claim his body,’ Peter told them. ‘Back off. You have no right to his flesh. Back off!’

‘So it was agreed!’ Ercwiff shouted from above.

The hunters bounced away, sand flying from their claws as they rushed to obey their matriarch. I could feel the grief rising in my throat, the blackness building in my chest. I’m sorry, I found myself telling my parents. I'm so sorry. I promised to keep him safe. I’m so sorry.

Peter pivoted, swinging his right leg away from James’ body. Sand crunched as he dropped to his knees. A metal box flashed in the sunlight as he pulled it free from a pocket, and I blinked as he flipped it open and brought out a syringe. He squirted a small amount of fluid from the needle, and then plunged it into James’ arm.

Waves crashed against the nearby rocks, sending spray high into the air. James twitched. Peter said something in his ear. Then, like a dead man walking, James staggered to his feet and floundered his way to the water whispering up the shore. He fell down and rose, fell and rose, knees and shoulders slamming again and again into the wet sand. I barely noticed when Raven landed us near Peter. James fell one more time, stretching out his hands to the ocean. And seawater crept up to caress his fingertips.

Morey landed on my brother’s back. ‘James wins! My grŵp rhyfelwyr wins!’

Only now did I realise that the entire clan stood on the beach, and not one of them had moved to stop James. Ercwiff called out, ‘By courage of will and heart, James White has won the hunt challenge. Congratulations to Trahaearneifion and his grŵp rhyfelwr!’

I slid down from Raven and rushed over to the two men. Morey had hopped off to let Peter turn James over, and my brother’s pale face and laboured breathing meant that I only replaced grief with dread. ‘James, what did you do?’

‘Drug,’ he said weakly. ‘Stop heart. Look dead.’

‘And I injected him with powdered unicorn horn.’ Peter raised hands at my angry glare. ‘It wasn’t my idea, it was all James’s. He said I wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it, so I’d better be ready with the syringe.’

‘Tried to tell you,’ James wheezed. ‘Star Trek quotes. Remember? Kirk and Spock. The Vulcan episode. Bones. Pretending Kirk’s dead.’

‘And now we need to get you to a hospital,’ Peter said. ‘I don’t like the way you look.’

‘Cheers, mate.’

Peter shook his head, and glanced up. ‘Raven? Will you take us?’

The dragon stepped forward. ‘And I’m coming,’ I said.

‘I can only carry two,’ Raven told me.

Peter was already lifting James from the sand. ‘I know where to take him. There’s part of the John Radcliffe which we use.’

‘Then I can take James.’

Arnborg had come over to help push James up onto Raven’s neck. Peter shook his head. ‘Penny, I know exactly which helipad a dragon can use where no one will bat an eyelid. It has to be me.’

‘Then I’ll come on another dragon.’

‘No, you will not,’ Ercwiff said. ‘We need the other dragons to move our camp here.’

And so I could only step back and watch as Raven took them away from the peninsula.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Clyde crawled out of his case and pressed himself against my chest. A wordless tune thrummed through his body, no doubt his attempt to calm me. I took a deep breath, and turned away from the ocean.

The three hunters were lined up nearby. As I trudged up the beach, the gryphons dropped into a deep bow. I halted, and couldn’t help asking, ‘Ydych chi’n hapus nawr?’

‘Of course they’re not happy,’ Morey said, standing at my feet. ‘They lost. But they’re honouring your brother.’

‘Why?’ I demanded. ‘He cheated, didn’t he?’

The owl-tiger raised her tan head. ‘He won through cunning and courage. When he returns to the clan, we’ll make him a blood brother.’

‘He’s worthy of being a gryphon,’ the osprey gryphon agreed.

The eagle gryphon grunted. ‘A hunter lives by wits as much as strength.’

The remaining dragons had set off, along with most of the clan. Only a few gryphons remained, clustered around the matriarch and the hunters. Ercwiff dipped her head in a nod. ‘I’ll summon the Matriarch of Taexali. Now that both Trahaearneifion and Taryn have passed the challenges of their clans, we’ll see them married. Tonight.’

‘Tonight? Here?’ I looked down at Morey. ‘I’d thought you two would want to be married in church.’

‘I tolerate his choice of God,’ Ercwiff said, ‘but I won’t tolerate a wedding inside a building of stone. Gryphons always marry under the stars and sky. However, Father Penny, you may witness their promises.’

Morey flew up to my shoulder. ‘I know you’d rather be with James, Penny, but there’s nothing you can do for him now. Please support me in this?’

I thought of everything I owed my Associate, and I nodded. ‘But as soon as we’re done, I want to go see him. Make sure your matriarch lets a search dragon take me.’

‘And me,’ Clyde seconded. ‘Family.’

During the course of the afternoon, dragons and gryphons erected the camp on the headland above the beach. I took the opportunity to bathe in the ocean. A nice hot bath at home would have been preferable, but at least I managed to remove some sweat and grime. Margh gave me a lift from the beach, and I dug through my clothes to find something which could be even vaguely suitable for a wedding.

Raven and Peter returned as the sun was setting. I hurried past the semi circle of tents. Peter dropped to the ground, and gave me a reassuring smile. ‘Penny, he’s alive, he’s going to be fine.’

‘What took you so long?’ I demanded.

‘James had an emergency MRI scan. There’s no brain damage--’

‘Brain damage!’

‘There isn’t any,’ he emphasised. ‘But his heart has suffered.’

‘So he needs more unicorn horn.’

‘That’s what’s taken me so long.’ Peter sighed. ‘I broke into the vicarage and brought the horn back to the hospital. James held it, and I gave him some powdered horn to drink. But nothing happened. Maybe a horn loses strength over time. Or maybe some damage is beyond a unicorn’s ability to cure. James will recover. But he’s going to need to take it easy for a while, and make some changes in his life.’

I stumbled back. My hands reached out, and found Raven’s foreleg. I leaned into his warmth and strength. How was James going to take the news?

I met Peter’s gaze again, just in time to see his arms dropping away. He had obviously planned to pull me into a hug. We studied each other for a moment, Peter glancing between me and Raven, his forehead creasing in confusion.

A discordant jangle of piercing cries and thundering roars announced the arrival of Clan Taexali. They swept over the camp, the setting sun adding glints of red to their black feathers and fur. Taryn was a small figure at their front, her peregrine head and cheetah body marking her out from the rest of the clan.

‘They’re getting married tonight,’ I told Peter.

‘What, no trudging around wedding venues and deciding a colour theme?’ Peter grinned. ‘Sounds like a great idea. The ultimate destination wedding.’

The clan landed in front of the tents and took positions opposite Clan Cornovi. The two sets of gryphons stood like an honour guard, and despite my worries, I found myself smiling as many of them took a moment to preen feathers and fur into glossy perfection.

Morey’s flight was so fast that he overshot my shoulder and collided instead with Peter. ‘We’re nearly ready,’ Morey said, clinging to Peter’s chest. Everyone’s here. How’s James?’

‘Alive, and he’ll live.’ Peter unpicked the gryphon’s claws from his fleece. ‘We’re coming.’

‘My grŵp rhyfelwyr stands to the left of my matriarch,’ Morey explained as we walked towards the assembled clans, Raven following behind us. ‘I stand in front of her. Penny, you’ll be between the two matriarchs. They know Taryn and I want the Prayer Book vows.’

‘In English?’ I asked. ‘I don’t think I know them well enough in Welsh.’

‘English will do.’ Morey coughed. ‘But Taryn says she won’t agree to obey me.’

‘Quite right, too,’ Peter said. ‘My mum says that Eve came from Adam’s rib, which means husband and wife are meant to stand together as equals. That’s what marriage is all about. Working together.’

We took our places. Peter held Clyde as he stood beside Ercwiff. I took my place between the matriarchs, although my shoulders twitched at the proximity of their sharp beaks. As Taryn and Morey strode up to their clan leaders, I noticed that a jagged tooth hung around Morey’s neck, and a dark feather fluttered around Taryn’s. Marks of their successful hunts?

‘We are in the dark, and we are in the light,’ Ercwiff intoned. Torches and lanterns flared to life, taking over from the dimming sun. A half dozen dwarves stepped back from their work, bowing to the matriarchs before disappearing into the night. ‘Taryn of Taexali and Trahaearneifion of Cornovi chose their grŵp rhyfelwyr well. Through challenges which tested their physical and mental courage, they have proved themselves worthy of marriage. Clan Cornovi commends Trahaearneifion to Clan Taexali.’

Taryn’s matriarch took over, speaking in Welsh. ‘Taryn’s grŵp rhyfelwyr had their losses, and our sorrow for your sorrow. She led them well, and Clan Taexali commends Taryn to Clan Cornovi.’

‘What have you to say to Trahaearneifion, Taryn?’ Ercwiff asked.

The small peregrine head looked up at me. I cleared my throat, trying to both remember the words of the 1662 marriage service and work out how to amend them for these circumstances. ‘Repeat after me, Taryn. I, Taryn of Taexali, take thee, Trahaearneifion of Cornovi, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to defend in hunt and clan, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’

I paused every few words, allowing her to echo my words. Then I turned to Morey, giving him a quick smile of apology, as I was about to mispronounce his name for a second time. ‘Repeat after me. I, Trahaearneifion of Cornovi, take thee, Taryn of Taexali, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to defend in hunt and clan, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’

‘Do you promise,’ Ercwiff demanded, ‘that you will always raise claws against enemies and not one another? Do you promise that all your hunts will be taken together and all prey shared equally? Do you promise that you will raise your eyasses to honour the traditions of both clans?’

‘So we promise,’ Taryn and Morey said together.

Ercwiff gave me a nod. So I said, ‘Let us pray. O eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all worlds, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life: Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this tiercel and this formel, whom we bless in thy name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these two may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’

The Matriarch of Taexali spoke next. ‘Upon you is laid this burden, Taryn and Trahaearneifion. To your grŵp rhyfelwyr much is owed, for they have sacrificed much. As you now prepare to create a nest of your own, do not forget those who have brought you here. Honour them with the lives you live.’

‘We will honour them,’ the two small gryphons said together.

And now it seemed to be my turn again. ‘Forasmuch as Taryn and Trahaearneifion have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, I pronounce that they be husband and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder.’

I lowered myself to my knees, and placed a hand on each of their heads. ‘God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favour look upon you, and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen.’

As I struggled back to my feet, Ercwiff declared, ‘The clans are now joined!’

Peter came to my side as the gryphons surged across the space between them. Beaks and claws clacked as they wrestled playfully together, and I winced as writhing legs came close to torches. Then they broke off, and a hundred gryphons leapt into the night, circling and calling out to one another.

Taryn and Morey brushed past me, arrowing upwards to join their clans. Only the two matriarchs kept their claws on the ground, exchanging smug comments about the prowess of their respective clans.

Peter closed the distance between us. ‘What a celebration. Makes a disco at an evening do look quite tame, doesn’t it?’

‘I can’t stand discos,’ I said, watching the gryphons dancing in the sky. ‘I’d rather have a ceilidh.’

‘I agree.’ Something in Peter’s voice made me look at him. ‘Penny, the first time I met you, I thought, “Finally a woman who knows that the Third Doctor is John Pertwee, not Matt Smith!” Then I realised that you’re both brave and funny, and that you’ll do anything for people you care about. You’ve made me laugh, and you’ve given me a reason to care about snail sharks. We both love science fiction, we’re equally committed to keeping Lloegyr safe, and I think we make a great team. Those are just a few reasons why I’m hoping you’ll spend the rest of your life with me. Will you marry me?’

My breath caught in my throat. He placed Clyde on the ground, and I walked into his arms. ‘Of course,’ I said, before pulling his head down for a long kiss.

‘Yes!’ I reluctantly pulled away at Clyde’s shout. The snail looked up at us, and continued, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

‘He approves,’ I said to Peter. ‘Probably because you included him in the proposal.’

‘I had to. He’s part of the family.’

‘Family,’ Clyde agreed. And he reared back. His shell shifted upwards, exposing a gap between the whorl and his body. And two white wings unfolded, spreading white feathers across the ground. ‘Family!’

The wings fluttered, and the snail rose into the air. ‘Yes! Family!’ He flew around us, then rose high into the sky. The wings folded away, and my heart skipped a beat as he plummeted towards the ground. Then, at the last moment, the wings emerged again, pulling him back up again. ‘Family! Family!’

‘And that,’ said Peter, ‘is no ordinary snail.’

######

Penny White returns in ‘The Vengeance of Snails’

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Chrys Cymri

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About the Author

Priest by day, writer at odd times of the day and night, I live with a small green parrot because the upkeep for a dragon is beyond my current budget. Plus I’m responsible for making good any flame damage to church property. I love ‘Doctor Who’, landscape photography, single malt whisky, and my job, in no particular order. When I’m not looking after a small parish church in the Midlands (England), I like to go on far flung adventures to places like Peru, New Zealand, and the Arctic.

Discover other titles by Chrys Cymri

Dragons Can Only Rust

Dragon Reforged

The Dragon Throne

The Unicorn Throne

The Judas Disciple

The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White 1)

The Cult of Unicorns (Penny White 2)

The Vengeance of Snails (Penny White 4)

Connect with Me:

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My website: http://www.chryscymri.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1076161.Chrys_Cymri

First Chapter of The Dragon Throne

Fianna dropped a final portion of straw on the stable floor. Resting a moment on her pitchfork, she wiped a grimy sleeve across her sweaty forehead. The smell of horse dung seemed to cling to her very skin, and she studied the stalls left between her and the main doors. Four more to muck out. Her muscles ached already. Taking a deep breath, she moved on.

‘My lady.’ Ern, the stablemaster, suddenly stepped in front of her.

Fianna straightened. She was tall for her eleven years, but still had to tip back her head to look him in the eye. ‘You’ve told me, in here, I’m Fianna.’

‘Not today, Your Highness.’ He gently but firmly removed the wooden handle from her grasp. ‘I haven’t forgotten the grief of fourteen months’ standing. Today is your mother’s death day.’

‘I didn’t forget,’ she told him bitterly. ‘Please let me work.’

‘You should be with the King--’

‘My father hardly ever knows when I’m gone.’ The words hung in the warm air. Fianna turned her head, regretting the outburst. A princess did not speak that way of the man who was her ruler as well as her sire.

‘Aye, lass, I know.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ern reach out, then drop his hand away before it could touch her. ‘It has been but a year. He might now change.’

And the dragons might come down from the Sacred Mountains and sit one of their own upon the Throne. Fianna winced at the saying. It had been one of her mother’s favourites. ‘You’re right. I’d better go.’

‘I’ll get Jeremy to finish here.’

Fianna nodded. She glanced at the last stall. ‘Tell him Midnight likes to sleep in the right corner. I always put extra straw there for him.’

‘Aye, my lady.’

The shower rooms were empty. Most of the pages were still at their duties, cleaning stalls, repairing tack, training the dogs, the multiple tasks which young nobility were expected to undertake in their earliest service to the King. Fianna stripped off her dusty clothes, dropped them into the communal barrel, and stepped into a hot jet of water. A child of the royal family, she had discovered when she had first come to the stables just under a year ago, was expected to keep to the lighter duties in the castle itself. Carrying messages, greeting visitors, serving the King.

Fianna slicked back her long hair. She liked the stables, the kennels. Animals were often better than people when you wanted to someone to talk to. Midnight was one of her favourites. The gelding always nuzzled her in greeting, and never minded if she left tears in his mane.

Once she’d rinsed, she had no excuse to delay any longer. Fianna reluctantly left the shower, grabbing a towel as she stepped into the next room. Heat rose from the floor, drying her skin as she scrubbed her scalp with the towel. As usual, it took longest to convince a brush to tame her mass of hair. She was convinced that a curry comb would work best, but she couldn't see Ern agreeing to let her use one for such a purpose. And the tell tale strands of red she’d leave behind would give her away.

Beyond the drying room was the dressing area. Fianna opened the wooden door to her own wardrobe. Fortunately she had one set of court silks still unworn. They’d only been sewn for her a month ago, so they’d still fit. She slipped the trousers over clean undergarments, tucked the shirt into the waist before tightening the belt. Dark green and black. Not the royal colours, but the red badge was in its place above her left breast. A golden bar across the top, cutting across the golden wings of the dragon, marking her as heir to the Dragon Throne.

Fianna laced up her boots, then stared out the window. A wind was playing with remnants of snow, swirling white flakes across the cobblestones. The entrance to Secondus castle was several hundred feet away, and Fianna was tempted to use the underground passage from stables to pages’ quarters. She put the thought aside. It would not do for the King’s daughter to be seen entering the castle from the servants’ halls.

Gritting her teeth, she made her way across the courtyard to the main entrance. The chill stripped the last of the shower’s warmth from her body, and she was grateful for the mulled wine warming over a brazier just inside the thick doors. She ignored the guards’ respectful salutes as she dipped a mug into the spicy liquid.

‘Your Highness.’ Fianna was unable to stop the grimace at Bernard’s low voice. ‘Your sire will meet you in the Queen’s apartments.’

A Queen must be able to hide her emotions from public view. Her father’s advice helped her to swallow her dislike of the Court Recorder, assisted by a helping of mulled wine. ‘All right, I’m going.’

Fianna had occasionally heard guests to the castle complain at its size. Since she’d grown up in it, she couldn’t understand how they got lost down the rambling corridors, or wandered into the wrong wings. Her father knew it even better than she did. He had always won their games of hide and seek. Back in the days when they had played games together.

Her mother’s apartments were on the third level of the north wing. Fianna stopped outside the painted door, automatically checking her clothes, her hair. The seal had only been broken today. The edges of the plaster were rough. She laid a hand on the wood, then pushed it open.

The dust of a year’s neglect stirred at her entrance. Fianna shut the door behind her, then stood in the gloom, remembering other times. Her mother had never been strong, and had spent much of her time in her rooms. But they had been happy, the three of them. In the evenings, Fianna and her father had often come here for games and tales. A game board still stood by one grey window, the players ready. And a book rested on a bed-side table, next to the chair where her father had often sat, holding the hand of her mother as she laughed at his gentle teasing.

But last year the winter had been long and harsh. The winds which blew off the dragons’ Sacred Mountains seemed to find their way in through the thick stones of the castle itself. Despite the efforts of the best mages, her mother sank gradually from life. In one of her last, lucid moments, she had pressed into Fianna’s hand the gold and ruby Summoning Ring. Fianna raised a hand and touched the band where it rested against her neck, held fast on a chain of gold.

‘Take one last look.’ Her father’s soft voice startled Fianna. She glanced at him, but Stannard was studying the room. ‘Fourteen months have passed since I placed my seal on wet plaster outside this door. But the seasons turn on, and the year is soon over. This is the last time we will see this place as she left it. Tomorrow, all must change. Will you want these rooms?’

‘No!’ The violence of her response finally made him look at her. ‘Leave them like this.’

Her father sighed. He ran a hand through his short cropped hair, and for the first time she realised that the once red head was now chased through with grey. ‘The year of mourning is now past, Fia. These apartments must be opened again, and we must both dress in lighter colours. Life must go on.’

Fianna felt her hands bunch into small, useless fists. ‘I don’t want to forget her.’

‘No, you must not.’ Stannard shook his head. ‘Always remember how you felt, fourteen months ago, and again today. Anyone who dies leaves others behind to mourn. Remember that, when you are Queen, and have to order knights into battle. For every one that dies, more are left with dark clothing and empty rooms.’

‘We’re not at war,’ she said stubbornly, kicking at a pattern in the carpet.

‘Not at the moment. But one never knows what may come from the Third Kingdom.’ He walked over to the bed and retrieved the book. ‘You should have this. It always was your favourite.’

Fianna numbly accepted the volume, the cover dry and cracked. The emblem of the royal house was etched into the leather, the dragon’s long neck curved around the title. ‘Will I ever meet a dragon, Father?’

‘You might, at your coronation. The Family appeared at mine.’ He moved through the bedchamber, touching the game board, studying a portrait. His next words were soft, as if meant to be heard only by himself. ‘Yes, you are now my heir.’

‘But I already was,’ Fianna protested. ‘You said so.’

‘Only if no boy were born to your mother.’ He returned to her, touched her briefly on one shoulder. ‘That’s why your aunt wasn’t Queen, though she’s three years older than I am. In any other family, the firstborn inherits. But the Dragon Throne goes to a male, if one exists. Come, Fianna, your mother’s body must be put to the flames. Her spirit has now had time to leave her.’

Fianna allowed him to take her from the room. She kept the book with her as they descended into the catacombs beneath the castle, pressing the tome against her chest like a shield. With a calm, steady voice, her father spoke the final words over her mother’s casket, his torch spluttering in the damp. Then he dropped the flame onto the oak, and they turned away as the fire began at their backs.

<><><><><><>

The rustle of papers and a heavy sigh made Fianna look up from where she sat by the fire, using the light to practice in her copybook. She absently rubbed an cramped hand as she watched her father move to add another log to the flames. ‘So, Fianna, what did you think of that last judgement today?’

‘Why didn’t you tell that man to shut up?’ she asked. ‘He kept going on and on about how it wasn’t fair that he didn’t have more land, and that you wouldn’t do anything about it.’

‘What would you have done?’

‘Told him that I decided who had land, so he should just go away and be happy with what he’s got.’

His light eyes regarded her for a moment. ‘And what gives you the right to say that?’

‘Because I’d be Queen.’ He smiled slightly, and Fianna flushed, uncertain. ‘Doesn’t that make me right?’

‘A ruler is no better or worse than those he rules.’ Stannard leaned back in his favourite armchair. He lit his pipe for his nightly smoke, a habit Fianna’s mother had tried and failed to break. Fianna had always secretly liked the rich smell of the tobacco mixture her father used. ‘I am King because I sired by the last king, and you will be Queen merely because you were born to my wife. Ability has nothing to do with it. You didn’t become my heir by proving yourself the best suited to rule. Only by pure chance were you born to the royal house rather than to a village farmer. Keep that in mind. I’ve found it helps me maintain a more humble perspective.’

Fianna frowned, trying to understand what he meant. ‘But why did you let him keep talking?’

‘Sometimes, a king has to judge. Other times, he has to remain silent.’ Stannard smiled around his pipe. ‘The man simply wanted me to listen.’

‘And if you didn’t want to?’

‘What I wanted wasn’t important. There are many times when a ruler’s own personal wishes have to come last.’

Fianna frowned to herself. I, she decided, would’ve told him to shut up.

Her father shifted in his seat, retrieving a document. ‘I’ve been reviewing names for a new Castellan.’

Fianna tensed. ‘That was mother’s job.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed gently. ‘And for the past year, we’ve all been doing our best to keep the household running smoothly. Bernard keeps reminding me of all the extra work he’s done.’ He shared a grimace with her. ‘You’re not yet old enough to take the duties on yourself. My old friend, the Duke of Cassern, has a young daughter raised to the challenges of managing a castle. He’s offered to bring her here. Her name is Marissa. Do you think that would be a good idea?’

‘I guess so.’ Fianna stared at the fire. For some reason she suddenly felt cold.

<><><><><><>

Early flowers were beginning to respond to the first warmer days of spring. Fianna waited at the castle entrance, at the side of her father, as servants spread blooms across the courtyard. Bernard had told her how important the Duke was, as head of the second house of the Fourth Kingdom, and he’d instructed her to wear royal colours to honour the man. Fianna felt her skin twitch under the new clothes, red tunic a shade lighter than her trousers, gold threads woven through the material. She fully expected the Duke’s family to gawp over her, and tediously list the eligible boys of rank which might be interested in a marriage pact, though her father had always calmly insisted that she would be free to pick her own consort. The only thing which lightened the day was the newly forged coronet holding back her long hair. This was the first time she’d ever worn the gold circlet of her status, and its slight weight made her straighten with pride.

Two knights rode through the gates first, blue and orange silks flapping against mail. They formally presented their swords hilt first to the King’s guards, then took up positions on either side of the entrance. The Duke came in next. Fianna only glanced at the dark bearded man, finding his stallion far more interesting. The dappled grey moved well, eagerly arching his neck as he scented the stables nearby. Few fighters rode whole males, most preferring the more controllable geldings and mares.

The stallion was reined in a few yards from the entrance to the castle proper. Stannard moved forward, taking hold of the horse’s reins before one of the waiting grooms could dash in. ‘Latham,’ he said warmly. ‘Welcome, old friend.’

The Duke grunted. He slid to the ground, and the two men clasped forearms, the gesture of equals. Stannard glanced back, and Fianna obediently came to his side. ‘My daughter, the Princess Fianna.’

Latham bowed. ‘Your Highness. You’ve grown since I last saw you.’

Fianna wondered why adults so often told her that. Then she repeated the words the Court Recorder had drilled into her. ‘Duke Latham, you honour our house with your presence. We are the stronger for your friendship.’

White teeth flashed under the thick moustache. ‘Well spoken, my lady.’ He turned his head. ‘May I present my own daughter, the Lady Marissa.’

His daughter had dismounted a short distance away while they spoke. Now she walked up to them, her flowing dress a bright green which went well with her brown hair. She must’ve changed in the city, Fianna decided, noting the lack of mud on the silk. Stopping beside the Duke, she dropped into a quick curtsy. ‘Your Majesty, Your Highness, I’m proud to place myself at your service. I hope that I will please you in my efforts.’

‘You have come highly recommended,’ Stannard said warmly. Fianna glanced up at him, startled by a new note in his voice. ‘I’m sure you will do well. Otherwise, I’m certain we could use more assistance in the kennels.’

‘Come now, sir,’ Marissa said, smiling, ‘surely I have a sweeter nature than that?’

Stannard stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed, the first genuine laugh Fianna had heard from him since her mother’s death. She shifted restlessly, not understanding the joke. ‘She’s certainly worthy of you, Latham. Come, let’s go inside, and discuss your duties over a glass of wine.’

<><><><><><>

The change began slowly. Happy in her duties in stables and kennels, and new experiences gained in the practice yard with dagger and spear, Fianna didn’t take much notice when Marissa began to use the King’s first name. She was nursing bruises and pride from a fall from a warhorse the first time the Castellan called her father by his family nickname, Stan, and plans for recapturing the respect of her fellow pages seemed far more important.

Summer came, and Marissa spread her interests. She ventured into the kennels one day, the wide skirts she favoured out of place in the warm, doggy environment. Fianna glanced up, annoyed. The kennelmistress was allowing her to assist with a whelping bitch, and the first puppy was yet to emerge. It was the kennelmistress who spoke to the woman. ‘Castellan, how may we serve you?’

Marissa twitched her skirts back from the whelping box. ‘I came to speak to Fia.’

‘Fianna,’ she told Marissa. Only her father used that nickname. ‘I’m busy right now.’

‘I’m sure Ellenor can manage on her own.’

Fianna saw the quiet plea in the kennelmistress’s eyes. As Castellan, Marissa outranked Ellenor. Rising reluctantly to her feet, Fianna asked her, ‘Next time?’

‘Next time,’ Ellenor promised, then leaned forward again.

The sounds of a working castle surrounded them as Fianna followed Marissa across the courtyard. Pages were practising in the training yard, wood thwacking against wood as training swords crossed. In the horse ring beyond them, a stallion was being put through his paces, circling his handler at the end of a lounge line. From beyond the walls came the sound of arrow tips driving into straw, and laughs as the archers sought to best one another.

Then they were inside the castle. Servants moved quietly through the hall, cleaning tiles, restocking firewood. The rich smell of freshly waxed wood tickled Fianna’s nose, and she put a finger against her nostrils to prevent a sneeze.

Marissa led her into the Castellan’s office, a small room on the ground level of the castle. Changes had been made since Fianna’s mother had occupied it. Gone were the family portraits and paintings of the hawks bred by her own family. Maps of the Fourth Kingdom hung in their stead, and an etching of the Sacred Mountains.

Fianna dropped into a chair opposite the large desk. No one could sit before a member of the royal family did, so her father had told her it was only polite for a sovereign to take a seat as soon as possible. Marissa, hampered by her skirts, lowered herself more gently, patting the folds into place around her. ‘You don’t mind me calling you by your first name, do you?’

‘No.’ Fianna shrugged. ‘The other pages do.’

She was rewarded by a quick frown at such a familiarity. ‘I wanted to ask you about your duties. We see so little of you in the castle.’

‘I attend my father whenever I should,’ Fianna said slowly, wondering what the woman was getting at. ‘And I see him every evening for my lessons.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better for you to be assigned to castle duties?’ Marissa gave her what was obviously meant to be a winning smile. ‘I mean, it can’t be nice to clean out stables and walk dogs--’

‘Lady Castellan, I asked to be assigned to those tasks.’ Fianna stood. ‘If that’s all you wanted me for, I’ll go now.’

‘You need to learn other skills,’ Marissa continued, rising as well. ‘And it would be good to see you in something other than trousers.’

Fianna felt anger rise in her, fought against it. Her father had taken her to task before about her temper. ‘You, my lady, are not my mother. Only my sire outranks me, and unless he says otherwise, I will continue in my chosen duties.’

She returned to the kennels in time to see the last three pups born. The seventh was weak and small, and the kennelmistress was not surprised when it died in Fianna’s hands. ‘Oft occurs to the runt,’ she said dismissively, more interested in examining the healthy pups.

Fianna stared down at the limp body which barely covered her palm. A moment ago, it had been breathing, albeit weakly. Now its spirit was gone, after only seconds of life. ‘What do we do with it?’

‘Place it with the usual refuse.’

Something inside Fianna protested at such a dismissal. ‘I take my leave of you,’ she told the woman formally.

Inside her locker she found an old shirt, red and gold. Wrapping the body carefully in the folds, she approached the stable hand on duty for the use of a horse. He saddled up a mare for her, and agreed to give word to any searching for her that she had ridden into the city. She paid little attention when one of the guards on duty mounted and followed after her. Such precautions had followed her throughout her life.

The guard pulled closer to her as they left the castle, and Fianna smiled at his caution. She had visited both of the other two cities of the Fourth Kingdom, and found them ordinary and boring. In Secondus, magic literally ran down the twisting streets. Parts of the city were known to disappear for days at a time, only to emerge at another sector within the walls. Maps were meaningless, and many a traveller had found a journey which should only have taken minutes expanding to fill a day as he followed the ever changing paths. No one knew the reason for the unpredictability. Some thought it came from the siting of the Mages’ College at the foot of the castle, others that it was an ancient protection against invasion. The only ones immune to the magic were those of the royal household, for whom the streets always remained fixed.

Fianna thought she felt an awareness when she entered the city proper, just below imagination but not quite concrete enough to call reality. As if Secondus recognised her as one its special ones. As she usually did, she issued a mental welcome, pleased at her special treatment.

Some of the citizens she rode past recognised her. But as she wasn’t wearing the colours of her house, they merely nodded acknowledgements and let her continue on her private business. Fianna rode without pausing, though smells from the food stalls by one market made her stomach rumble. At the city gates the guards saluted her as she passed outside.

Warm days had hardened the springtime mud to hard earth outside the walls. Fianna carefully directed the mare around the wide gashes of cart wheels, then sent her into a canter up into the nearby hills. She buried the pup under one of the large trees. The first to die in my service? she thought, lowering the wrapped body into the small hole. She glanced up at the guard, but he was politely staring off in the distance. Nobody had ever died in her presence before, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that this puppy was not to be the only one during her reign.

She stayed outside the city longer than she had planned. Despite the lateness of the evening, she still stopped her horse beside the Sign. ‘What do you think?’ she asked the guard beside her. ‘Will it speak today?’

Two cylinders of rolled metal, thicker and sturdier than anything the kingdom’s smiths could forge, rose from a slight hill. Several horses could ride between them at once. The pillars supported the massive Sign, holding it a hundred feet above their heads. Welcome to Secondus was spelled out in golden letters, bright against the red background.

‘I’ve never heard it make a sound, Your Highness,’ the guard said.

‘Neither have I.’ Fianna looked up with longing. ‘My sire says it stopped speaking during his father’s reign. And, before that, it even used to sing.’

‘Sing?’

‘A tune in praise of Secondus.’ Fianna kneed her horse between the supports, but the only sound was a breeze wisping weeds against the metal. Once again she wondered who had built the Sign, and why.

They continued back to the city. As she rode back up to the castle, the white towers tinged red by the setting sun, Fianna recalled that she was due to meet her father early this evening. Gritting her teeth against the urge to gallop her horse over the hard cobblestones, she instead counted the twists in the road up to the castle gates.

Jeremy was lounging in the stables when she rode in, and he willingly took the mare from her, promising to give her a good rub down. Fianna hurried into the shower rooms, washing quickly before donning court clothes. Then she hesitated. Her father’s offices were across the courtyard, through the entry hall, down one wing, and along several corridors. A fifteen minute walk. Or, if she used the servants’ passages, which wove behind and between the royal rooms, she could run and be there in five minutes.

He’ll forgive me this once, she decided, and set off along the underground corridor to the castle. The hallways had recently been redecorated, and the smell of fresh paint still hung in the air. Some of the doors had not yet had their signs returned, but Fianna knew her way well enough without the notices. She halted outside the door to her father’s study, taking several deep breaths and adjusting her tunic. She smiled at the deep rumble of his voice. Then a higher tone made her lean closer, the door tipping open at her slight weight.

‘But she should be in the castle.’ The voice was Marissa’s, indignant. ‘Have you seen her out there, Stan? Covered in horse muck like any common page.’

‘There are no common pages in Secondus.’ Her father sounded amused, and Fianna felt herself exhale in relief. ‘All of them come from noble families. It can only stand to her good if Fia forms friendships with them now. One day, they will be her knights and subjects, with more reason than duty alone to protect her and her kingdom.’

‘If she does become Queen.’

Fianna tensed at the remark. ‘I was old when she was born, Maris. I think it unlikely that I will sire another child now.’

‘But if we do have a boy?’

‘If you ever became pregnant, and gave me a son, by the laws of the Fourth Kingdom he would inherit the Dragon Throne.’

Fianna drew back, the door shutting softly. For a long moment, she was numb with shock. Suddenly the looks her father had exchanged with Marissa over the dinner table made sense. The long rides away from the castle, just the two of them, Marissa’s nightly appearances in the King’s apartments when Fianna was taking her leave... Her father was going to marry this woman. Just into the second year after her mother’s death, and he intended to betray her memory by taking a new wife.

Maybe it won’t happen, she thought hopefully. Maybe he’ll see it’s wrong. I won’t say anything yet. She hurried through another exit, entering the main castle corridors. Now she would be late, but her anger at her father’s intended betrayal should be taken as understandable dismay for being tardy.

<><><><><><>

Rumours began to flow and eddy through the castle. Marissa was granted a new set of rooms in the ground floor, near one of the enclosed gardens. New dresses were ordered for her, incorporating the royal colours. Several maids were elevated to ladies-in-waiting. Fianna scowled at the whispers between her fellow pages, and worked harder than ever on her new lessons on horse ailments and their cures. She also had her first taste of command, drilling a squadron of mounted pages on placid mounts for mock battles in the summer tournaments.

‘You have a sure touch with both people and horses,’ the training master told her one evening, holding the reins of her mare as she ran her hands down a swollen leg. But as she started to smile at the praise, he continued, ‘You’ll always have a place as a knight and a commander, even if...’

He trailed off. Fianna rose slowly. ‘Even if what?’

Jacard looked away. ‘I speak out of turn, my lady. The announcement is only hours old.’

‘Announcement?’ she demanded. ‘What announcement?’

A flush of red crept up the man’s face. ‘Your pardon, my lady. I had thought you knew. The King has announced that he will take the Lady Marissa as wife.’

‘The tendon is bowed,’ Fianna heard herself say. ‘Could you ask the healer to see to her, Jacard? I should attend the engagement dinner.’

Without waiting to hear his mumbled response, she moved to the showers. The exhilaration of the day’s successful exercises had dropped away, leaving behind it a growing anger. So, she was the last to know. Her father had declared his intentions, and not thought of telling his only child.

Only child for now. She closed her eyes, letting hot water run down her hair, pound against the stiff muscles of her back. I know he’s old, but Marissa isn’t. And she’ll be Queen, and she’ll be able to tell me what to do. If she wants me in the castle, away from the stables, she’ll have the right. She could even make me one of her ladies-in-waiting.

The thought made Fianna use one of Ern’s favourite oaths. The words sounded grandly horrible, echoing against the tiled shower room. Fianna scrubbed herself furiously. She was never going to serve Marissa. No matter what, she was going to be far from here before that woman tried to give her any orders.

In the dressing room she automatically reached for silks. Then, her lips thinning, she instead lifted out woollen trousers and a cotton jerkin, both in the dull colours of a stable hand. In the armoury she chose a dagger and a sword short enough for her reach. Using the servants’ passageways to climb to her rooms, she packed a few items into a pair of saddlebags. She saddled her favourite mare, then leaned against her for a moment, fighting for control of her emotions. Then she left her mount in the stall, the mare chewing impatiently at her bit.

The engagement dinner had already begun, the nobles present at the castle seated around the table to toast the couple. The conversation stilled as Fianna appeared at the door, her hand flexing above the hilt of her sword.

‘Fianna.’ Her father rose from his seat, his calm, commanding voice a rebuke. ‘You will apologise to Lady Marissa for this entrance.’

So, he wasn’t even going to try to explain. Already he was taking the side of his new consort. ‘Your lady she might be,’ Fianna said angrily, ‘and your Queen, but she will never be either to me.’

Marissa started from her seat, speaking quietly to Stannard. He brushed her words away. ‘That sounds near to a challenge, my daughter.’

For a moment neither of them moved. Then Fianna looked at his wide shoulders, his height, and the equally tall man waiting behind his chair as King’s Champion. ‘I do not challenge you, Father,’ she said finally, lowering her hand. Turning on her heel, she strode from the room and the castle.

A guard fell in behind her as she rode the mare through the gates. Fianna set her mount into a trot, soon losing the guard as the streets twisted and changed behind her. Pausing only to buy some food from a street stall, she hurried from the city.

The night was clear, the roads lit blue and green by the double moons, and Fianna enjoyed the feel of the fresh air on her face as she chewed a meat roll. She knew exactly where to go. Her aunt lived in a small town near the kingdom’s borders. Several years ago, Fianna had visited her, and she remembered the landmarks back to Lundern. The Lady Sallah would take her in while Fianna decided about her future. Her heart light, Fianna pressed the mare into a rocking canter, and let the miles slide past under her mount’s hooves.

<><><><><><>

A storm blew over a few days later. Fianna cursed the lack of foresight which had made her neglect to pack a rain cloak. Her food supplies dwindled, and her stomach grumbled with hunger. She kept the mare plodding on under the grey skies. Finally, five days later, she rode into Lundern, the streets all but deserted in the late evening.

Her aunt’s mansion was set apart from the rest of the town. Fianna passed the grand entry porch to go on to the stables, a lifetime’s training reminding her that the needs of her horse came first. A stable hand rose from a hay bale as she opened the doors. ‘And who be ye?’

‘Fianna, Princess of the Fourth Kingdom and niece to the Lady Sallah.’ Fianna dismounted and, when the man showed no signs of assisting her, led the mare herself into a stall. ‘Would you send word that I have arrived?’

‘Be she expecting ye?’

‘No.’ Fianna placed water and hay into the stall, and removed bridle and saddle as the mare began to feed. At least the small stables were well organised. She easily found cloths and blankets. Rubbing the mare dry, she draped a blanket over the horse, then grabbed the saddlebags.

‘Go to the house,’ the stable hand told her when he returned. ‘Ye will wait the lady’s pleasure in her hall.’

Fianna nodded curtly. Already wet through, she walked unhurriedly to the house, ignoring the rain slicking her hair. A servant opened the door for her, then left her standing in the hallway. Fianna watched water drip from her clothes onto the black tiles, wondering if the servant had got lost looking for her aunt.

The woman finally returned. ‘The Lady Sallah will see you now,’ she said formally. Fianna followed her to a large room, finding her aunt seated behind a massive table. The servant closed the door behind her as she left.

‘Aunt Sallah,’ Fianna said, starting to smile.

The old woman rose and came around the table. The flickering oil lamps brushed over the tightly bound grey hair, and brought no warmth to the blue eyes. Strong hands rested on a thick cane as she studied Fianna. The sternness in her gaze made Fianna swallow. ‘What would you have of me, girl?’

‘Shelter and sustenance, my lady.’ Fianna edged towards the warm fire, wondering why her aunt wasn’t offering her a blanket or a hot drink. ‘I have ridden a long way.’

Sallah rested back against the table. ‘And why is the heir to the Dragon Throne not in Secondus Castle?’

‘He who sits on the Throne has taken another woman to wife.’ Fianna caught a shift in the harsh lines of her aunt’s face, and knew that her description of her father had found her some approval. ‘I couldn’t stay.’

Sallah nodded. ‘You will have to work for your keep.’

After her initial start of surprise, Fianna raised her head proudly. ‘I’m skilled in stable and kennel.’

Her aunt smiled slightly. ‘I know of your skills with horse and hound. But I will teach you much more. You must be able to take the Throne when the King dies. Has he taught you aught about ruling?’

‘I’ve stood beside him while he’s made judgements,’ Fianna answered. ‘He’s taught me that a ruler must use both justice and mercy, and ask the opinion of others before deciding anything important.’

Sallah laughed. Fianna blushed at the mocking note. ‘Then I will teach you what he did not. A ruler answers to no one. All decisions are ultimately hers, despite whatever counsel she weakens herself by taking. Therefore, it is best that she depends on no one, needs no one. Only then is she strong.’

‘But I might not be Queen.’ Fianna found her face heating at the injustice. ‘Marissa might have a son.’

‘Only if Stannard can still sire a child.’ Sallah leaned forward. ‘That is the reason why he has decided to remarry, after all.’

Fianna blinked. ‘What is?’

‘Why, to have a son, of course.’

Yes, of course, Fianna thought. Sallah was right. Maybe this was why her father hadn’t liked to have his sister in the castle. She knew too much about him. ‘He’s betrayed both us,’ she said angrily. ‘My mother, and me. Weren’t we good enough?’

‘You’ll still rule.’ Firelight added a red tinge to her aunt’s eyes. ‘With me to assist you, we’ll ensure that you will one day be Queen. But you must agree to obey me, while you live under my roof and eat at my table. Do you understand?’

Fianna nodded. ‘I understand.’ Yes, she reflected bitterly, I understand a lot of things now.

‘Then take my offer of hospitality.’ Sallah smiled grimly. ‘Yes, you will need to learn to take whatever you can, Fianna. That is the way to power. Take what you need to get what you want. Including a Throne.’

A servant led her to a small room on the third level of the house. Fianna gratefully warmed herself in a bath, then changed into dry clothes. She stared out the window for awhile, physically tired, but her mind not letting her rest. In that direction lay Secondus, and beyond it, the Sacred Mountains of the dragons. For a moment, she wished that a dragon would come to carry her away, even as one did a King several centuries ago. That would make her father sorry, wouldn’t it? He’d leave Marissa and ride into the mountains, pleading for her safe return. And the Family would demand that he put her onto the Throne...

Fianna turned away and crawled into her bed. Strangely enough, although she couldn’t remember the exact details of her dreams the next morning, they were not about dragons, but unicorns.

<><><><><><>

Read the rest of ‘The Dragon Throne’. Buy the book here:

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First Chapter ‘Dragons Can Only Rust’

The sun returned hazily to earth, drawing in its wake a shroud of clouds red and purple, tinged orange at the trailing edges. Gonard stepped closer to her, shifting his large body across the ledge until their wing-leathers rasped together. The last rays of sunlight glittered a rainbow across her eyes, and picked tiny points of light from her red scales. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the far away scent of pine trees. This was the best part of the day, when he could stand beside her as darkness came.

But he did not feel his usual peace tonight. Some thing was not right... He twisted his head to meet her eyes, as the air was suddenly filled with the dusty scent of warning. ‘Vomer?’

She turned her wedge-shaped head away from him. ‘Gonard, the Master is going to unmake me tomorrow.’

Breath hissed between his teeth. His claws dug deep into the rock, his body stilling in horror. Only his tail moved, slamming painfully against the cliff before falling limply to his side. Vomer moved away from him, to stand alone on the ledge.

Without thinking, Gonard whirled, and dove into the Master’s cave. The slope down to the laboratory was almost vertical; his claws left deep marks in the rock as he ran-slid down its length. He swept his wings out and back, opening them to break his speed. The long folds brushed against the dark walls as he landed heavily on the polished floor.

‘Yes, Gonard?’

The Master’s sharp voice brought him to his feet. The man was bent over the long work table, fingers deep in some delicate object. A hand moved suddenly, first to flick an errant strand of brown-grey hair behind an ear, then to lift an instrument from the table. The bright thing growled, and Gonard averted his eyes from its bright beam.

‘There must be a reason for your sudden entrance.’ The Master did not look up as he spoke. ‘Tell me, or I shall dismiss you.’

‘Vomer--is she to be unmade tomorrow?’

The Master placed his glowing rod to one side. He finally raised his head. Gonard retreated a step. The bright, sourceless light which filled the cavern sparkled on the greying hairs. The black eyes bore into his. Gonard turned his own head aside, not daring to face such power. ‘Yes.’

The question came out before he could stop it. ‘Why?’ Then Gonard cringed.

But the Master’s answer was calm, unangered. ‘I need a dragon for a forthcoming Hunt. The Lord Citizen has demanded a green dragon, and she holds materials which I require. You know as well as I that I rarely maintain a spare creature for more than a few months. I’ve forgotten why I have allowed her to exist for so long.’ The deep voice dropped. ‘I have also forgotten why I’ve kept you.’

Gonard lowered his head, puzzled by the Master’s thoughtful tone. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. One of his claws screeched against the floor, and he stopped. ‘Sorry,’ he rumbled.

‘You have never protested before when I’ve unmade a creature. Why now?’

Don’t you understand? Gonard wanted to ask. Don’t you see? She hasn’t Awakened yet. All her thoughts are slow thoughts, metal thoughts, bubbling up and bursting and leaving nothing behind. Nothing more. Gonard closed his eyes, words piling up in his throat. He had only recently Awakened himself. ‘We have been together for over two years--’

‘Which can mean nothing to you. You are no more than a dragon, created by my own hands and the tools at my command.’ The Master swept an arm at the many things of power which filled the cavern. ‘It is impossible for you to feel an attachment to any thing. Dragons can’t feel. Dragons can only rust.’

Gonard dipped his snout in agreement. The Master knew. He understood things better than a mere dragon. The man went back to his work, dismissing him. Gonard turned carefully, folding his wings onto his back as he limped to the comforting darkness of his burrow.

Vomer came to his side some time later. She lowered herself to her belly, tucking hindlegs underneath. Their eyes reflected the light stretching down the passageway from the laboratory, casting four bright ovals onto the rough walls. Gonard draped his good wing over her, ignoring the small pricks of pain as she shifted and her body spines dug into the leathery flaps.

Vomer closed her eyes. He felt her breathing still as she discontinued consciousness for the night. For a moment he envied her. Since his Awakening, sleep had become a dangerous realm, from which he might not safely emerge. Sleep gave the metal bubble thoughts a change to re-establish themselves, take over again. Perhaps it would have been better if he had never Awakened...

A shiver started at his nose and trembled its way down to his tail, slapping the flattened end against the ground. No. He could lose himself that way as well.

He was never far from losing himself. He must always guard his thoughts. To be unAwakened was to be nothing more than a complex body, organs thumping and bones clicking. To be Awake was so much more... Would Vomer ever have a chance to realise that?

How could the Hunt claim Vomer? He gazed at her, his eyes following the long curve of her neck to her head, the long muzzle pillowed on her outstretched forelegs. A strange pain settled in his chest. He shifted his position on the floor, but the pain remained, puzzling in its lack of physical cause.

He finally dug his claws into the rough rock and pulled himself to his feet. The passageway was well lit with laboratory light. Head bent, he watched his feet carry him forward, their dark-blue nearly matching the dark rock, the crippled form of his left forefoot a suitable companion to the claw-scarred ground.

The sourceless light of the laboratory seemed brighter than ever, and he blinked as he left the passageway. Instruments driven by the Master’s power flashed and gleamed from their wall panels. A dull, steady throb filled the air. The sound made Gonard’s legs twitch uncomfortably, and he had to fight the sudden urge to curl into a tight ball around his head. The Master was creating the Hunt dragon’s brain.

The Master snapped one sharp, impatient word, and the power dissipated. He tore off his black eye-covering. Gonard cowered at his glare. ‘What are you doing here?’

Gonard stood still for a moment in the room of his creation. How many years had he lived? Nearly ten. Ten years--and Vomer had only had two. ‘Master, let me be the Hunt dragon.’

‘You?’ The man walked around the table, coming towards him in slow, powerful steps. He is not just a man, he is the Master, Gonard reminded himself, backing away. The Master’s head might only reach the height of a dragon’s first knee joint, but the power surrounding him made the man seem too large for even the cavern to contain comfortably. ‘Look at yourself. The Lord Citizen demands a perfect dragon. You were twisted from your making, and deformed you will always be. What would he say if I offered you to him? He would spit in my face. That is what he would do.’

The pain was hardening in Gonard’s chest. ‘Then use me to build the Hunt dragon.’

‘Gonard. Enough of this.’ The mocking tone cut through his protest. Gonard lowered his head until his snout touched the warm floor. ‘Listen to me, dragon. You are merely a creation, something brought to existence by my own hands. I can name every item I used to give you movement.’ Gonard glanced up. The Master’s eyes flashed blue-black, and Gonard’s nostrils flared as the heavy smell of angered power dusted them with fire. ‘Vomer is equally nothing more than one of my creations. You are both nothing more than extensions of myself. I can make or unmake you at will. Without me, you are nothing. On your own, all you can do is rust.’

‘Dragons can only rust,’ Gonard repeated.

‘And do you comprehend what that means?’

‘Without a Master, I will return to the nothing from which I came.’

‘Precisely.’ The Master’s stern expression suddenly softened. He leaned back against the table. ‘But you can be useful to your Master. You usually show great interest in my creating, and I have valued your contributions to my designs. Does this Hunt dragon not interest you?’

Gonard paused. The Master was right. In fact, it had been Gonard who had convinced him that a gryphon’s wings should spring from the shoulders, not from the back. He enjoyed the exploration of ancient, decaying texts for illustrations of long extinct beasts, suggesting that in the preliminary sketches the Master add a tooth here, remove a claw there. But the Hunt dragon--no, he could not enjoy that. ‘You don’t need much preparation, Master. You don’t have to do much more than alter the dragon drawings you already have. And I’m not allowed to help you design the interior of a creation.’

‘I will not force you,’ the Master said stiffly. ‘You are dismissed.’

Gonard turned, climbed slowly up the slope to the cool night outside. He stretched out long, golden wings. The right wing had slim, straight lines and a proud expanse of leathery skin. The left sagged, skin wrenched apart, twisted. The night breeze pulled at both. One wing billowed, the other swung loosely, like a collection of rags. He wondered what they were for. Sometimes, as now, when the wind blew against them, he almost knew.

His ears twitched at the scrape of claws upon rock. Vomer pulled herself onto the ledge. Gonard shifted to make room for her, surprised at her presence. She should not have returned to consciousness until the morning. ‘I tried to change the Master’s mind,’ he said, ‘but he wouldn’t listen to me.’

‘It is unimportant,’ she replied calmly. ‘I belong to the Master. He is entitled to do with me as he wishes. Dragons can only rust.’

‘I once believed as you do,’ Gonard said slowly. ‘That was before I Awakened.’

She cocked her head, moonlight trickling down her neck scales. ‘I do not understand this “Awakening”.’

How could he explain? How could he make her understand? Gonard looked up at the dark sky, saw a cloud silvered by the half moon. ‘What is that, by the moon?’

‘A cloud.’

‘No. Look at it closely. What else is it?’

She studied it a moment longer. ‘A visible mass of condensed watery vapour floating high above the ground.’

‘No, look again,’ he urged. ‘What does it remind you of? Think hard.’

‘It reminds me of the cycle of evaporation and precipitation.’

Gonard sighed, defeated. ‘To me, it looks like one of the dogs the Master created for the Lord Citizen. The cloud looks like a dog trying to swallow the moon.’

‘A cloud is a mass of condensed watery vapour,’ Vomer repeated. ‘How can this be regarded as a four-legged carnivorous animal of family akin fox and wolf?’

‘To be Awakened is to be more than a mass of muscle and organs.’ Gonard glanced at the cloud, now more like a cat, claws outstretched. ‘I only Awakened slowly. A few more moments each day when I was more than the inward processes of existence, when I could think on my own. I had hoped that you would also Awaken.’

They stood in silence for a long moment. Then Vomer said, ‘You once explained to me that all things eventually leave their existence. Even beings like our Master. How do they approach this?’

‘They believe that death is only a step to a new beginning.’ The teachings of the books he had been permitted to read came back to him. ‘They have souls--something beyond the body and mind which holds all that is themselves. And it continues to exist even after they die, taking all that is themselves to somewhere else.’

‘So they never cease to exist?’

‘So they believe.’

‘Then, believe the same for me.’

He studied her, the pain in his chest tightening. She had never spoken thoughts like these before. Was she close to Awakening? If only she had more time, if only he could convince the Master... But the Hunt. The Hunt most go on. The vision of a dragon galloping across a green valley, chased by men and women on horseback, filled his mind. It was the Hunt which allowed the Master to continue creating. The Hunt must go on.

He hung his head over the ledge, gazing down to where the ground and cliff embraced, hundreds of meters below. ‘Dragons have no souls,’ he said softly.

‘Why not?’

Dragons can only rust. She knew that as well as he did. ‘Souls come from the Ultimate,’ he retorted, ‘Who is as far beyond the Master as the Master is beyond us. It is not within the Master’s power to give us souls.’

Vomer’s sigh made him raise his head. She sat down, her long tail curling around her thin, graceful body. Gonard thought to himself suddenly, She is very beautiful. And he swallowed as she said, ‘I know very little about these things. I do know that your breathing is out of rhythm and you are holding yourself away from me as if I were already gone. I have no concern for myself--I only wish to serve my Master. But you--’ she faltered. ‘I believe it would ease you if you believed that I do have a soul. Believe that I will continue to exist after the Master has used me.’

Gonard nodded, unable to speak.

‘Now, please stand beside me. The night is cold.’

He obeyed, covering her with his right wing. They stood together until dawn, when the Master’s voice called Vomer away.

<><><><><><>

The morning turned to afternoon, the sun carrying its light over to Gonard’s ledge. He listened to the throb of the Master’s instruments, knowing that they were following the Master’s commands and building the Hunt dragon.

Despite his ache of loss, Gonard found himself wondering exactly how the Master would take Vomer apart. He had seen pictures of human anatomy. Dragons could not be very different. How would the Master remove the blood, lift out the heart, separate lungs from ribs? Or would he go further in his unmaking, reducing Vomer to the basic stuff of flesh from which she had been made? He wanted to watch--the more of Vomer the Hunt dragon held, the more the hope that some part of her lived on. But he was forbidden to witness the actual building of a creature.

The throb disappeared, replaced by low rumbles. Now he would be allowed to watch. He opened his eyes, saw the Master working over the Hunt dragon. The green body gleamed. He wondered if anything of Vomer remained.

But, he reminded himself, the mist. As the Master had cut into Vomer’s body, a thin mist had arisen, dimming red scales and darker skin. Then the harsh sound and bitter smell of the Master's power had forced him to shut his eyes. His head trembled against his forefeet, draped uncomfortably over the edge of the slope. Could that mist have been Vomer’s soul?

The Master stepped back from the table. He spoke to his panel of instruments. The table began to glow, a high-pitched hum surrounding the dragon body. Gonard trembled again. As often as he had heard the sound, whether hiding himself in his cave or gazing down from the ledge, he always trembled. The hum became a whistle, high-pitched notes forming the unique birth-song of a new creature. A similar song had brought him into existence. This was the moment of the Master’s ultimate power.

The mass on the table twitched. The body firmed, muscles knitting together underneath the thin skin. Then the scales grew into place, hardening under the lights, small ones on head and toes, larger on the body. Two long, black wings fanned open and draped onto the floor.

The Master strode to the head of the Hunt dragon. Gonard saw the large eyes open, blink in the strong light. ‘Dragons can only rust,’ the Master said into one of the fur-rimmed ears. ‘That is the only thing you can do without me.’ Then he backed away, and commanded, ‘Stand.’

The Hunt dragon’s head jerked from the table. The rest of the body followed stiffly, shuddering as the dragon struggled to establish control over the existence which had been suddenly granted to her.

‘Move your left forefoot and wing forward,’ the Master snapped.

The dragon obeyed. Then her head snapped back. With a screech that shook the cavern, she toppled from the table, her foot and wing twisting and writhing. Gonard found himself straightening with the same scream, as his own foot and wing remembered the pain which had deformed them at his own birth. Sometimes, even the Master’s power went wrong.

‘Gonard, come!’

The Master’s command broke through his memory. Gonard skidded down the slope, halting beside the fallen Hunt dragon. He glanced at the green body. When the power went wrong, the kindest action to take was to remove existence from the creature. This time, the Master had been kind.

‘What a nuisance,’ the Master muttered. ‘Now I must attempt to salvage enough for one healthy dragon from between two. Get on the table.’

Gonard dropped his snout to the floor, then surprised himself by hesitating to obey. One eye watched the man go to his gleaming walls. The other drifted back to the Hunt dragon. The neck had twisted in the fall, breaking the skin open. A thin, white-blue mist swirled over the slit. Something glittered underneath.

Glitter? What could glitter in a dragon's body? Gonard drew back his lips, used his long canines to pull the skin away from the neck. A silvery structure was exposed, filaments of metal arranged to slide easily past each other. One of the head plates had slipped aside, revealing a mass of intricately laced fibres. The brain of a dragon.

Now he understood. Now he knew why he could rust. Blood and meat and skin--no. Now he saw what a dragon really was, a thing of metal and rubber and plastic, strung together and given the semblance of existence. So convincing that even the machine could begin to believe that it was alive. The mist was followed by a clear liquid, beading on the exposed metal, protecting it from rust.

Vomer was gone. A dragon could not have a soul. And soon he would be gone as well.

The Master turned around. ‘I commanded you to get on the table.’

Gonard merely stared at him. A pain was thickening in his chest, behind which something shifted, expanded. ‘Why?’

‘There is no why,’ the Master growled. ‘I command. You obey.’

‘No. Why--’ Gonard shuddered. ‘Why did you let us think that we were alive? Why did you create such a lie of existence? Why?’

The Master’s eyes narrowed. ‘Obey me. Get on that table.’

The ache was building in his chest, his muscles trembling as if something were attempting to move, to grow. Images swirled in his mind. A dog-shaped cloud. Vomer silhouetted against the sunset. A drawing of a human heart. The metal connections of the Hunt dragon’s neck crackled under foot as he moved forward. In a corner of the cavern, he could see the red mass which had once been Vomer, now torn apart and discarded. ‘She is not alive, and she never was alive.’ He fixed his gaze upon the small man before him, and howled, ‘Why did you kill her?’

The thing in his chest growled, snapped, exploded. His jaws were forced open as a gush of flame blazed from his throat. Red-yellow fire leapt into one of the Master’s instrument panels, the metal bubbling and twisting under the heat.

The Master’s face paled. Gonard glanced at the scorched cabinet, then turned his gaze back to the man. ‘Now I remember,’ the man whispered. ‘Now I remember what I created you for.’

‘You killed her,’ Gonard growled, his mind spinning.

Fear brightened the man’s eyes. A long instrument appeared in his hand--the same with which Gonard had seen him remove a hippogryph’s leg with one sweep of red light. The man lifted it, aiming the end at Gonard’s head. ‘She is not important. You are not important.’

The man’s words were cut off in a second blaze. The flames surrounded him, burrowing into his coat, dancing along his unruly hair. The black eyes teared, then melted to bone. And then, flesh gone, the bones themselves crisped, until all that was left to slump to the ground was a few bits of gristle and gutted muscles.

The remaining fire blasted into the floor, the hard material smoking and receding from the heat. Finally the chamber in his chest was empty, its deed done. The Master was dead.

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First Chapter of ‘The Judas Disciple’

February

16 February

The Judas Disciple died today. They say the next one will be chosen from the Republic of England. We’ll have months of talk shows trying to work out who it’ll be. Well, maybe it’ll give me something else to think about than the mess Ben’s left me in.

You’d think I’d get some peace between coming home and going to this Conversion Concert. But as I got ready to go out, my mother stood in the doorway of my room, wanting to talk to me. Okay, yes, technically it’s her room, since it’s the spare room in her flat. I’m only living here until the house is sold and the divorce goes through. But still, I’m thirty plus years old. A bit past having to listen to lectures from Mum.

‘So, you’re seeing him again tomorrow night?’ she asked. It’s hard in a journal to put over the exact tone she used for ‘him.’ Mum made it sound like the Devil himself was going to meet me.

Okay, no she wouldn’t, not as a paid up member of God’s Gang. Maybe more like something you found clinging to your shoe.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Ben wants to see me again. I thought you’d be happy about that? Aren’t you GG people supposed to support marriage?’ I was plucking brown hairs from my coat, so I was able to keep my face turned away from Mum. Just as well, because I was a bit teary. ‘Maybe he’s realised what a mistake he’s made.’

‘Corina--’

She only calls me that when things are really serious. And I was stone cold sober, so in no state to take serious. ‘Mum, I’ve got to go. You don’t want me to be late for the Conversion Concert, do you?’

That got Mum excited. ‘It’s not just any Conversion Concert,’ she gabbled at me. ‘Mercy Peter will be there. Oh, I could almost wish I wasn’t already a member. They say she’s a fantastic speaker. Just think, she sees Jesus almost every day!’

‘Not every day,’ I grumbled back. ‘I mean, he’s based in London, isn’t he? Won’t she be staying in Northampton for these gigs?’

Mum entered the room, and I stiffened. But she only patted my coat down and touched my arm. ‘Have a good time, Corrie. And listen to the message, please?’

I ended up arriving early at the Concert, which means I’ve had to sit through thirty minutes of the latest praise band going on how wonderful it is to be a member of God’s Gang. I think the worst song went something like ‘I love the Gang, it gives me a bang’--and I wondered if they knew that ‘bang’ means something else out in the real world. It’s got so bad that I went to the ‘Holy Souvenir Table’ and bought this notebook. Maybe if I keep writing I can avoid the Gang Greeters who keep coming to my seat to ask me if I would ‘love to speak some heart truths.’

Jezebel’s dogs! I’ve just looked at the front cover of this notebook. It’s got a blue and pink teddy bear wearing a t-shirt saying ‘Proud to be in GOD’S GANG.’ I thought I’d picked up the less sickening one which only had the rising sun logo on it. The front pages list all the Peters there’ve been since the first, Simon Peter. I guess they must change the front pages from Concert to Concert depending which Disciple is present, since the Peter is heading up this one.

But that was the deal. I’m staying with Mum, rent free, and so here I am at the Concert. She even pointed out the food comes from God’s Gang, after all. ‘They’ve increased my allowance for you,’ she said. ‘They’ve even given us a voucher for a bottle of wine every week.’

I decided it was best not to tell her that, when things were really getting bad between Ben and me, I was putting away a bottle of wine every night.

Oh, good, that band is finally leaving the stage. ‘We love you, we love Peter, and we love Jesus!’ they’ve just shouted to the crowd. It’s a big venue, could seat several thousand, and I guess there must be around four hundred of us inside. I’m in halfway seats, so I can see the stage quite well but I’m not close enough to get pulled on. Although these Gang Greeters spot you anywhere. I’ve just had to repel another one. They’re like hungry mosquitoes. I wonder if they’ve got some quota to fill, so many conversions per Concert? I do think the Gang should spend a bit more money on clothing them. You can tell the difference between a GG member and those of us who haven’t chosen between them or Devil’s Due.

Aha, now things are starting. A huge screen has come down, and the announcer is telling us how exciting it all is. We’re getting the premiere of the latest God’s Gang film. It was even filmed on location in the Holy Birth Land! Be still my heart. The lights are going down so my handwriting is going to get even worse than usual.

Okay, nice opening shot. Dry and dusty Israel. I wonder if anyone really visits there, or only God’s Gang people on package tours? Swooping shot across what I guess must be Jerusalem, with all the worship towers topped by the rising sun logo. Better than a blue and pink teddy bear, though.

Bethlehem. I know because they’ve put up a subtitle. A stable scene, a baby which is supposed to be Jesus along with his Earth parents. They all look holy. Even the donkey looks holy.

Now thirty years later. It must be Jesus playing himself, because we only get to see the back of his head, shaggy brown hair waving in the wind. I guess they can still use him when they get to his thirties, since he’s stayed like that, hasn’t he? Most be some advantages to being the Son of God, eternal youth being one of them. How old is he now really, what, nearly two thousand years?

We’re cutting right to the Victory Scene. There’s Lucifer, but according to the opening credits not the real one, just an actor playing him. I guess God’s Gang can’t afford the Devil’s appearance fees.

Jesus is talking about being hungry and thirsty, like he would be after forty days and nights in the desert. His clothes look too good, though, all grey and ivory swirly robes. Lucifer is wearing a black suit, looks high designer label to me. The real one has quite a few designers working for him, but then they say he is a bit of a clothes horse.

‘Forty days and nights in this desert,’ Lucifer is saying, standing right in Jesus’ personal space. Wonder how the actor felt being this close to the Son of God. Did they build any healings into the contract? ‘You must be so hungry. Why not change these stones into bread? You could feed yourself, and go on to feed everything on this planet.’

I think half the audience said Jesus’ lines with him. ‘It is written, “Humans do not live by bread alone.”’ Some wit in the audience has just shouted out, ‘A bit of ham and cheese goes down well!’ and people have laughed. I bet the God Greeters aren’t happy about that one.

A bit of special effects while Lucifer and Jesus fly over the desert and land on the top of the Grand Temple in Jerusalem. They’ve either removed or airbrushed out the rising sun logo which you usually see in photos of the Grand Temple. ‘Throw yourself off this Temple,’ Lucifer is saying. ‘You know that your Father’s angels will catch you before you hit the ground.’

Again, people around me are muttering Jesus’ response. Even if you aren’t a card carrying member of God’s Gang, you’ve had all this in school history classes and you know it by heart. ‘It is written, “You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.”’

More special effects. Oh, they’ve gone a bit modern. Jesus and Lucifer are now standing on top of Buckingham Presidential Palace. I wonder if they use the White House for the Union of American States version? ‘If you will acknowledge my ownership of this world’s wealth,’ Lucifer says, ‘then I will give to you all the people who are baptised into your name. But I will remain the king of pain. I will remain the king of pain.’

All the God Greeters and lots of people in the hall start to cheer as the moment of Victory comes. ‘I give you the world’s wealth,’ Jesus says, ‘and you release to me all those who are baptised into the name of Jesus, Son of Man and Son of God. I claim Victory over you and all your dark works!’

Some people around me have got to their feet. The film has finished, and the lights are coming up. And there she is, the headline attraction, Mercy Peter herself. I remember the talk when she was appointed Peter, first time it’s gone to a woman and a woman from Africa as well. Mind you, the lights on the stage even make her look a bit pale. She probably thought she could get by without any make-up. Bad call.

‘Jesus has claimed the Victory!’ she shouts into a microphone. Some of the crowd roar back, ‘Jesus has claimed the Victory!’ But I don’t think I’m the only one who is scrunching back in her seat and wishing this whole thing was over.

‘Jesus has claimed the Victory, he ended the struggle over poverty and suffering!’ Mercy Peter is striding across the stage. Okay, yes, she has real presence. Her dreadlocks are quite fantastic, bouncing up and down like they have a life of their own. She even gets to wear something colourful, a black dress thing with the rising sun logo repeated over and over. ‘You can join in this Victory. Join God’s Gang, and you too will never again be hungry or be thirsty. You will never again be without a place to call home, or people to call family. And your name will go into the Lottery automatically every week. You might even win the Grand Prize of a healing from Jesus himself!’

Ugh. That’s what my mother keeps telling me. ‘And if you joined God’s Gang you’d get your name into the Lottery. I’m not getting younger, Corina. Look at Martha, she has five children and all their names go into the Lottery. What if I get sick?’

There are times I really, really hate being an only child.

Mercy Peter is still going on, telling us why we should convert. I’ve heard it a million times. Mum became a recruiter a few years after Dad died, which makes about thirty years of me hearing her talk to Seekers about God’s Gang. Join God’s Gang and all your troubles are over. Food tokens, accommodation, clothes, health care and the Lottery. Just sign everything over to God’s Gang. You might even get a token for a bottle of wine every week.

I can feel my liver suffering withdrawal symptoms even as I scribble. Maybe I should put it to a vote amongst my vital organs.

Here we go, a call to the front. A chance to convert in front of the Peter herself. Right hand woman of Jesus, second-in-command of God’s Gang. Maybe you get a special sticker? Oh, if you convert today you will get two additional entries into the Lottery! After you’ve gone through the process and been baptised, of course. Not before then.

The God Greeters whoop and cheer for each person who goes forward. They’re brought up on stage and get a hug from Mercy Peter herself. And second prize is two hugs…

This could go on forever. The God Greeters are moving up and down the hall, looking to see if any more of us are going forward. The guy on my right is hunkering down, not meeting their eyes. I wonder why he’s here. A pushy wife? Lost his job and wondering who’s going to feed him? Maybe he did it on a dare. I heard a stag party invaded one of these and threw things on the stage. Devil’s Due issued a full apology even though the men weren’t signed up members of theirs.

Okay, looks like we’re finally coming to an end. The new converts are being taken away for whatever they do to them. If any of them are local they might end up at my Mum’s house. She does mentoring as well as recruiting. Time to go.

Later--and the evening got even worse.

Traffic wasn’t too bad, and I found a space to park on the road near the HappyDaze complex. I decided to be lazy and took the lift up to my Mum’s floor.

At least the Concert meant that I’d avoided one of her meetings. I could smell some perfume in the air as I opened the door to the flat. So it was a mentoring group. Only new converts would still be wearing perfume. There was a bottle of wine in the fridge. I tried not to look at the label so I wouldn’t prejudge what went into my glass. The voucher might entitle you to wine, but Market Economy supermarkets have the best vintages. I’ve never been impressed with what you find in Kingdom stores.

I found Mum in the meeting room. She was watching ‘The Kingdom of God,’ that blockbuster movie which came out last year about the early years of the Kingdom. I hadn’t realised the DVD was already available, but I wasn’t surprised she’d rushed out to buy a copy.

The movie was about half an hour in. Jesus had already won the Victory in the desert and picked his original twelve Disciples in Galilee. They were riding into Jerusalem in gleaming horses, and the streets were lined with people cheering Jesus on as ‘Son of David, Son of God!’

Mum turned the sound down. ‘Did you meet the Peter?’ she asked. That was her way of asking whether I’d been converted.

‘No,’ I said. That was my way of telling her that I hadn’t.

‘Oh.’ Mum sighed. ‘But what did you think of her?’

‘She was interesting.’ That wasn’t entirely a lie.

On the TV screen the Hollywood actor portraying Jesus was marching up the Temple steps. The priests were out in force to welcome him as their new leader. The actor smiled at them, teeth rather too perfect for the time period. I’m also not convinced by the blond hair and blue eyes, but I suppose they wanted someone with international appeal.

I should have realised that Mum wasn’t going to let go of our earlier battle. ‘About meeting Ben--’

I hate the way my stomach does a sudden flip-flops when I hear his name. How can anyone feel excited, nervous, hopeful, and angry all at once? ‘Yes. Tomorrow evening.’

Mum was only angry. ‘After the way he’s treated you--’

‘But maybe he’s changed his mind,’ I said. The wine was shivering in the glass. ‘It’s only been a couple of months since he told me, maybe he’s realised he’s made a mistake.’ I wished Mum would shut up. The movie was getting to my favourite bit, where Jesus goes to see the Roman Emperor and convinces him that he is the Son of God. The miracle where Jesus heals the Emperor’s daughter is one of the best scenes in the whole film.

Another sigh. Sighs are Mum’s specialist subject. ‘Corina. I was here the last time he phoned. Remember? When he told you all the reasons why Helen was better than you.’

‘Only because I asked him to,’ I protested. I put the wine glass down to stop me from spilling any. ‘I thought you God’s Gang people believed in forgiveness.’

‘We do. We’re also strong on faithfulness.’ Mum leaned forward. Now that she’s let her hair go grey she can look really fierce when she wants to. ‘And even more so when it’s my own daughter.’

‘We were having a trial separation--’

‘A man who tells my daughter he’s not coming back to her after fourteen years of marriage is not the man I want for a son-in-law.’ Mum shook her head. ‘Have you forgotten that night, that weekend? I haven’t.’

Great, now we’d missed the controversial scene where Jesus persuades the Emperor to outlaw crucifixion. ‘After all,’ the movie had Jesus say, ‘in different circumstances you might have crucified me.’ That had caused all sorts of uproar last year. The idea that the Son of God might have died, when it was clearly God’s plan that he would live forever as the leader of the Kingdom of God on Earth! Even worse, that he might have died like the worst of criminals. People chanted protests outside of cinemas about that one.

‘This argument,’ I told her, ‘isn’t helping.’ So I picked up my wine and headed to my bedroom. Anyway, the movie gets boring after that. All the political stuff about setting up the Kingdom Economy and the first Disciples building their portfolios. Although the scene in which Jesus’ mother dies is quite touching. They had a whole bit where Jesus agonises that he’s going to live forever while everyone dies around him.

Anyway, I’m sitting here on the bed, wishing I’d brought the whole bottle of wine with me and reading through my break-up journal. Or maybe it won’t be break-up. Lots of couples try living apart, even meet up with other people, then realise that they’re meant to be together, don’t they? And all those reasons he gave why Helen is better than I am. I’ve lost about twelve pounds over the last month, so I can’t think she’s much skinnier than me. We can talk about housework and holidays. We can make it work out.

Mmph. Got to get to bed. Work tomorrow.

17 February noonish

Lunch break. This isn’t a bad office, I’ve worked in worse. My first manager collected pigs and we often said he aspired to be one. The manager I work for now has been pretty good about being nice to me but not asking every five minutes if I’m coping okay. They all know about Ben. Well, it’s hard not to know when I had a major crying breakdown on the phone about two weeks ago. I’d just looked at our bank account on-line and saw a huge debit on our joint credit card from a jewellery store. I made the mistake of ringing Ben from my desk and he was just so logical about it. ‘We want to get married as soon as possible,’ he told me. ‘So of course Helen needs an engagement ring.’

‘Engagement ring?’ I’m surprised my voice didn’t break glass. ‘But we’re still married!’

Note to self: Don’t try to talk to your husband while at work.

All the talk today, between customer phone calls and doing paperwork, is about the Judas Disciple. We actually have a few God’s Gang people working at our branch. Most GG people who work in insurance choose firms like First Ethical, but we have some here at MidPro. They seem to work as hard as anyone for their bonuses, though I never understand why, when it all goes into the central God’s Gang account.

Anyway, it was after that engagement ring incident that another assistant, Jane, took me into one of the manager’s offices and told me that I had to file for divorce. ‘Is everything in joint names? Then you’ve got to get out. Corrie, look, okay, maybe this will fizzle out and he’ll realise what a mistake he’s made. But in the meantime he’s spending money like there’s no tomorrow, and you’re jointly liable for that debt. Get out before he cleans you out.’

‘But if we get divorced,’ I said, ‘then it’s harder for him to come back to me, isn’t it?’

Jane looked at me like I’d sprouted horns or something. ‘You still want him back?’

‘We’ve been married for fourteen years.’ I think I might have sniffled. ‘Doesn’t that count for something?’

‘You would think so,’ Jane replied in her best ‘don’t lie to yourself’ tone of voice. ‘I want you to promise me, you’ll go home tonight and order the papers to file for a divorce. Promise? You’ve got to look after yourself, Corrie. He certainly isn’t looking after you.’

So here we are, papers filed, and Ben wants to see me. Well, the papers can be stopped, can’t they? Maybe he’s remembered that we were pretty happy together. Well, until lately, the last year or so, when he started being so different. Mid-life crisis, that’s all it’s been. That’s why we decided to have some time apart.

Okay, back to work. My manager has a meeting to agree a large policy, and I have to be there to take the minutes. I need to think about something other than tonight.

18 February 9pm

Okay, all confused now. Don’t know where we are in all this.

I drove over to the house--our house--as agreed, and Ben answered the door. He looks well, although I can’t get used to the ponytail being cut. I liked his blond hair long. It was the first thing he got rid of when he moved out to a flat. Also not sure of his new, expensive clothes. Old sweatshirts out, smart jumpers in. Cashmere, I think. The wedding ring is gone, of course.

The house looked mostly the same, though it had that smell of a place which has been empty for awhile. As usual it was me who made the mugs of tea. Ben and I sat down in the lounge.

Ben took a sip of his tea. ‘Helen’s joined a reading group here in Daventry.’ At my look he added, ‘No, not a God’s Gang group. You know that stuff always turned me off. Anyway, she’ll be there for a couple of hours, so I thought we could meet up.’

‘Because?’

Ben leaned back into the armchair. ‘Work is such a bitch right now. They’re doing all sorts of cut backs in funding, and I’m supposed to run the marketing campaign on half the budget I had last year. And then yesterday Jack said--remember Jack, the Jackass?--Jack said that I was creative, I’d cope. And then I said--’

I must admit I tuned out around then. This is how we used to talk when we were still living together, when we still wore our wedding rings on our fingers. Finally we got a point when he took a breath and drank some tea, and I asked him, ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

Ben looked at me as if I were the weird one. ‘Corrie, you’ve always been the one I can talk to. I know things are a bit messy right now, but we’ve been friends for years. When things have settled I really want you to meet Helen. She’s such a great person, you’ll really like her.’

His ring finger was empty, but I still wear my wedding ring on a chain around my neck. I showed it to him. ‘Ben, you’re still important to me. Remember, if this doesn’t work out, the door is still open if you want to come back to me.’

Ben looked away. I think he wiped a tear from his eye. ‘I do love you, Corrie, you know. But you were right about us separating. And now I’ve met Helen, and I’m in love with her. You understand, don’t you?’

I left soon afterwards. Will this thing with Helen last? I hate waking up alone. I hate not being in our house and looking forward to him coming home to me. I hate going to bed alone. I miss Ben terribly. It wasn’t this bad when he’d had to travel with work. It wasn’t even this bad during our supposedly trial separation. I knew that he loved me from afar. We talked to each other every day. Seeing him like tonight is so hard, it hurts so much. But I still want him back. Am I being pathetic?

21 February

All the talk on the radio is about the Judas Disciple. I wish they’d just dedicate a separate channel for all the gossip so I could ignore the whole thing. Sooner or later Jesus and the Peter will sit down and pick someone. The Judas handles the money so they’ll probably pick someone from the finance sector. That would be fun, not, if it’s someone I know. Mum would be too excited to live with.

Jane was a volcano of anger when I told her about the talk with Ben. Good thing she’s not a member of God’s Gang, not with her swearing.

Devil’s Due are running a recruitment drive. I know all of us who aren’t in God’s Gang are part of the Market Economy by default, but they do like people to be signed up members. It’s a rather clever campaign. ‘Why be a Judas when you can be a devil?’ Just for the hell of it I filled out one of the cards shoved under my car’s windscreen wiper. You get a voucher for use in a Market Economy supermarket, and I’m getting tired of the cheap wine Mum gets in. Anyway, the voucher will come with lots of bumpf that I can just throw away. Or leave out to frighten Mum.

25 February

Just a regular blah week, couldn’t think of much to write. And now only one day to the weekend. I used to look forward to them. Ben and I would have a bottle of wine or two Friday night, sleep in Saturday, go out somewhere Sunday. No point getting up early on a Saturday, so many things are shut so God’s Gang people can go to Temple.

Ben asked me to meet him again. Looks like he plans to make this a habit on Helen’s book night. I make cups of tea, and Ben tells me how bad work is and what pressure he’s under.

Ben brought several bags of stuff from the cottage in Devon. ‘It belongs to my parents,’ he reminded me when we were drawing up the financial agreement. ‘Helen and I’ll use it, but you won’t now, will you?’ Tonight my spare clothes and toothbrush were in the bags. Ben gave me the stuff, then made a funny cough. ‘We had some good times together, didn’t we?’

If they were such great times, why did he decide to leave me for Helen? But I kept quiet. Maybe Ben will realise how stupid he’s being. That’s what I hope. Sometimes. And sometimes I just want to cut his head off.

I remember once hearing a woman on the radio talking about when her husband left her. She said that when you’re in a relationship it’s like a third person is built up between you. This third person is built up out of all that you’ve shared together, all your memories, your special rituals, things which only you two know about. And when the relationship ends it’s like watching this third person slowly die. Ben and I had a whole story going with our lives, a story which we’d built up together over the years. All of that will die. The story will die, unless he and I get together again. People like Jane, like my mother, just don’t understand. As long as there’s still a hope, I’ll keep seeing Ben while Helen is doing her book stuff. There’s seventeen years’ worth of history at stake here.

26 February

I was so bored I actually went with Mum today. Yes, me, in a Temple. I used to go when I was a kid, had no choice really. That’s where Mum was and when you’re young you just get taken to places by your parents, don’t you? It wasn’t that bad, really. They always had separate sections for kids, and we got to hear stories about the patriarchs (I always loved the one about Elijah being fed by ravens) and colour in pictures of King David. Every so often we’d have a quiz to see if we could remember Jesus’ family tree, the one which proved that he could be traced back to David. Even when I was little I thought it was weird that the family tree ended at Jesus, that he’d never decided to have a wife and kids. But when I asked a teacher once she looked shocked. ‘He’s the Son of God,’ she told me. ‘He’s devoted himself to building the Kingdom here on Earth. He’s not here to have a wife and children.’ She did get a bit kinder. ‘And what would it be like, for him to watch his family grow old and die? He’s immortal, and they wouldn’t be.’

I do wonder what must it be like for Jesus, watching all of us grow old and die. Even the Disciples die eventually. The Lottery proves that he and the Twelve can heal lots of things, but we all wear out eventually. Even members of the Twelve die, and they have access to Jesus all the time. Maybe that’s why most of us see so little of Jesus. Maybe he prefers to only get close to a few people, if he’s always going to outlive them.

Anyway, Temple is a bit more boring if you’re an adult. My Mum’s Temple is a Traditional, with trumpets and harps and lots of slow singing. They must be used to non-members coming, because near the end they sang the recruitment song. The line that always sticks in my head is, ‘The vilest offender, the moment he believes, a full entry to the Lottery receives.’ The Lottery, the chance to meet one of the Twelve for healing, must be more attractive as you get older. Can’t see the Lottery helping a broken heart.

Hmm, okay, that sounded bitter. Must stop.

They’ve done a new translation of the David hymns. I tripped over ‘The Lord’s my Shepherd’ when ‘your rod and staff comfort me’ were changed to  ‘your smart phone and email check on me.’ I found myself wondering why God’s Gang never do product placement. ‘Buy the smart phone Jesus uses!’

Readings from The Chronicles of the Kings of Judah and the Prophet Elijah. Various people stood up to give their interpretation of what the readings should be telling us today. Even Mum stood up to say a few words, and I pretended I didn’t know her. Fortunately the cantor came in after twenty minutes. Sometimes these interpretation sessions can go on and on.

There were biscuits and coffee afterwards. The coffee was powdered stuff so I had tea instead. Can’t stand instant coffee. Most of the conversation was about getting ready for Passover. They’re decorating the Temple hall to welcome those who can’t get back to their families for the festival. Oh, no, I just realised that Mum will be expecting me to share Passover with her. I won’t be able to get away with just dropping by and then going back to Ben.

I’d better start learning the responses again. She probably thought all those years that Ben and I were keeping Passover together.

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Table of Contents

Penny White

The Marriage of Gryphons

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two