by Chrys Cymri
‘Or any other combination.’
Unhelpful images were filling my mind. Unicorns? Dragons? Gryphons with humans? I forced them to one side. ‘This wasn’t something I was taught about at theological college.’ They had the grace to chuckle. ‘But I think I’d apply the same principles which I use in same-sex relationships. In which I hold a liberal position.’ I shot my bishop a glance, as this was a discussion we’d never had. But his face was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. ‘Marriage is a covenant. If the partners enter that covenant, both ready to commit to and keep their binding vows, then I don’t worry about the mix or the genders involved. But I also take canonical obedience very seriously. I wouldn't do anything without the permission of my bishop.’
A few more standard questions about strengths and weaknesses, work/life balance, and my favourite religious writer. Then Bishop Nigel glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I don’t like interviews taking more than hour. So, Penny, over to you now. Any questions you’d like to ask of us?’
Plenty. But I was determined to keep it simple. ‘If I were offered and took the position, how many people could I tell about what I do?’
‘As few as possible.’ My bishop grinned. ‘Especially if you don’t want people to think you’ve watched too much Doctor Who.’
‘No one can watch too much Doctor Who,’ Helen told him.
The resulting laugh made me relax. I decided to forgive her for the first interview question. ‘I understand that we humans lose the ability to see people from Lloegyr after about ten days. How would we make sure I retain the ability?’
‘You’d be assigned an Associate,’ Bishop Aeron reminded me. ‘That’s one of his functions.’ The thought made me catch my breath. A unicorn in my back garden? Or, even better yet, maybe a small dragon?
I nearly missed the signs that the interview was at an end. I jumped to my feet to shake human hands, and I ducked a nod to Bishop Aeron. ‘We’ll let you know in twenty four hours,’ Bishop Nigel told me.
Walking out of that room was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
Chapter Four
I picked up fish and chips on the way home and ate them in my kitchen. Twenty four hours. It was hard to find an appetite. What would happen if I weren’t offered the role? Would I never meet another denizen of Lloegyr again?
As happened from time to time, particularly when I felt unsettled, I really missed Alan. Then I reminded myself not to let death deceive me. If I’d tried to seek his advice about being Vicar General, he’d only have poured himself a beer and said, ‘And this is why I never wanted you to be a minister in the first place.’ But he had come to terms with my vocation, and the house felt so empty without him.
I dumped the remains of the fish batter, put plate and utensils into the dishwasher, and went upstairs. When you don’t know what else to do, pray. So I headed for my prayer room, slumped into a soft chair, and tried to think about God rather than dragons.
Of course, until a few weeks ago God seemed a reality, and dragons only figments of a hopeful imagination. It was hard to still my mind. I tried running my focus word through my thoughts, over and over. ‘Trust,’ I reminded myself. ‘Trust. Trust.’
I tried to go through the steps of the Examen. God’s presence I decided to take for granted. What had happened during the day which made me grateful? I tried resolutely not to just focus on Bishop Aeron. After all, I had enjoyed the exam, and the questions at the interview had, on the whole, been fair.
Paying attention to my emotions, the next step, wasn’t a problem. Dragons, unicorns, vampires, what wasn’t there to enjoy? I could quite happily just lie back and daydream about dragons for the rest of the evening. Especially as having an evening free was such a rare occurrence.
What if I weren’t offered the position?
The question gnawed away at my happiness. Surely I was the right candidate. Why else had I discovered The Dragonriders of Pern when only thirteen? All the hours of watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and staying true to Angel even through the fifth season). And my even-handedness at being able to enjoy both Star Trek and Doctor Who.
And if I weren’t offered the position?
Then I’m not offered the position, I thought irritably. Lord, you know I never like it when you decide to poke me. I’d carry on in parish life and as your priest. Happy with that?
Warmth washed over me. And a definite sense of fond amusement. God knew that I wouldn’t be happy with that. However, I would carry on, because I’d made promises at my ordination and I’d see them through. Trust, I reminded myself. Like the quote from Jeremiah. God has plans for my future, plans to help me and to give me hope.
I felt settled when I left the room and got ready for bed. But as I fell asleep I wondered whether a unicorn needed a stable. Perhaps having one could be the solution to my overgrown garden?
<><><><><><>
When the phone rang I nearly knocked my coffee over to grab the receiver. ‘Penny White speaking.’
‘Hi, Penny, it’s Ian. How are you?’
‘Fine,’ I lied. ‘And you?’
‘Oh, still the same. Look, can I come over? I’m in Northampton now, so I can be at the vicarage in twenty minutes.’
I hoped that my gulp wasn’t loud enough to be heard down the phone. I had a flashback to the police turning up on my doorstep, and gently ushering me inside before telling me that Alan was dead. Or even further back, when I had been babysitting my four year old brother, annoyed that my parents hadn’t come back when promised. Again two men in uniform had made me sit down before letting me know that my parents would never be coming home again. Bad news was always delivered face to face.
‘Sure, I’ll have the kettle on,’ I heard myself saying.
Thirty minutes later Ian had squeezed himself into one of my office chairs, a mug of coffee held tight in his hands. After a few meaningless sentences, he came to the point. ‘It’s sort of good news and bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘Go on,’ I said. My own mug was juddering in my hands, so I put it down on the coffee table lying between us.
‘We all agreed that you would be good in the post, and both dioceses want to offer you the role.’
I forced back the surge of excitement. ‘And the bad news?’
‘It’s not full time.’ He cleared his throat. All signs of the playful dog were gone. The man studying me now was very serious. ‘We want you to remain in your parish.’
My voice sounded almost steady. ‘So I’ll be Vicar General on top of my existing duties?’
‘How much time does the parish actually take?’
‘Not as much as I’d like,’ I admitted. ‘The parish was reorganised before your time, when Roger was still archdeacon. St Wulfram’s took on the new housing estates north and west of us, so I cover four thousand souls, but most of the congregation still comes from the old village. There are the occasional offices, though, particularly funerals.’
‘A retired priest has recently moved into the area,’ Ian said. ‘I could ask her to take on some weekday duties and funerals. I think she’d fit in well with your congregation. But we’d ask you to give up your training role.’
I nodded. ‘What happens now?’
‘You haven’t said yes yet.’
Part time dragons was better than no dragons at all. ‘Yes.’
‘Great.’ He slurped at his coffee. ‘When I get back to the office I’ll let the bishops know. Then the usual. Offer letters. But no announcement in The Church Times.’
‘Of course not,’ I said drily. ‘But I can tell my spiritual director?’
‘We’d encourage that.’
He’d only been gone ten minutes when the phone rang. I glared at the receiver for a moment, wondering why priests are never given time to grieve. Then I picked it up. ‘Penny White speaking.’
‘Hi Penny, it’s Helen. How are you?’
‘Fine,’ I muttered, wondering whether it was my job to tell her about the training role or if I should le
ave it to the church hierarchy.
‘Actually, I thought you might be upset. That’s why I told Bishop Nigel that I’d ring you.’
I straightened in my chair. ‘But Ian said I was offered the Vicar General job.’
‘But only part time. You would have preferred full time, wouldn’t you? That’s how it was put to you.’
‘What? Miss school assemblies and PCC meetings and doing baptisms?’ I tried to make my voice light. ‘That’s what I signed up for when I was ordained.’
‘Penny, I--’
‘Okay,’ I cut in. ‘Why not full time? I thought I did okay in the exam and the interview.’
‘You did well. Actually, you did too well.’
As my mother had drummed into me, I asked, ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You did too well. We were worried that you might lose yourself in Lloegyr. So we want you to remain part time in parish life. It will ground you. Trust us, Penny. I’ve seen what affect this role can have on people.’
I let a few seconds go by. ‘Ian suggests that I would have to let the training go.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ll miss you.’ Her voice warmed. ‘But if you need to talk about anything, phone me, right?’
‘I will,’ I assured her. But the idea that I’d lost the full time role because I’d done too well was burning a small hole in my chest.
<><><><><><>
The two weeks were full of admin. I received an offer letter in the post, giving me the particulars of both of my roles. It was headed as ‘Part-time vicar of the Parish of St Wulfram and Vicar General of Incursions’ and the duties of each were spelled out separately. The parish role was basically a continuation on what I was doing already, albeit with reduced responsibilities and the promise of another priest to take on some of the duties.
Same old, same old. So I skipped down to the next section, ‘Vicar General of Incursions.’ I was expected to be ‘main liaison between the Diocese of Nenehampton and Esgobaeth Llanbedr’ and was also ‘to provide assistance to any denizen of Lloegyr requiring spiritual guidance.’ And, I suspect, capture them when necessary, like I’d done with the snail shark.
What caught my attention was listed under ‘Additional Requirements.’ Seems I was to clear a room in my vicarage ‘suitable for the Associate who will be assigned to you before you are licensed and commence your duties.’ A room? Not a problem, not in my five bedroomed vicarage. Would a dragon want a room? A unicorn? Or maybe I was going to be assigned a vampire. Should I buy a bed, a stable, or look into the cost of lining the floor with gold? But the next sentence told me, ‘The Associate will supply his own furniture and books and arrange for his own internal decorating.’ So no clue there either.
I signed my acceptance of the roles, sealed the envelope, and pressed the sticker at the top right hand corner. The man who appeared at the door looked entirely human. My ability to see beings from Lloegyr was obviously wearing off.
The letter had reminded me of my earlier disappointment. I glanced at my wristwatch. I had put the morning aside to write my sermon, but inspiration wasn’t happening. A walk down to the local shop, I decided, to buy a paper and then come back again. I threaded in the plastic strip of my dog collar and headed out.
I saw the white van parked on my drive upon my return. The driver was leaning against the front bumper, and he scowled at me. ‘Is this the vicarage?’
I resisted the temptation to point out the sign hanging on the garden wall, just below the level of his ample waist. ‘If you’re looking for the St Wulfram vicarage, yes. I’m Penny White. How can I help you?’
He directed a thumb at the van. ‘Got boxes for you. Where do you want them?’
‘Depends,’ I said, trying to keep my voice reasonable, ‘on what’s in them and how many there are.’
‘There’s five, mostly books from the weight.’ He sauntered to the rear doors, and flung them open. ‘Put them in the garage?’
I peered at the boxes. Regulation packing size, my name and address written on the grey-brown sides. ‘I’d like to check what’s in them, first.’
‘Look, lady, I’ve got other deliveries to make, and I’ve already been here too long. Are you going to take them or not?’
Remember you’re wearing a dog collar, I told myself sternly. Be a good Christian. I unlocked the garage door and lifted it open. The man piled the boxes alongside the lawn mower, and the pile of garden games which I stored between village fetes. Then his van coughed exhaust fumes across my trousers and was gone.
I muttered under my breath the words I had longed to say aloud to the rude man. The boxes were sealed by long strips of packing tape. I pulled out my Swiss Army knife and reached out to cut one box open.
My fingers brushed against fur and I jumped back, nearly slicing my thumb against the knife. ‘Careful,’ a familiar voice snapped at me. ‘That came near my tail, it did!’
‘And near my thumb as well,’ I retorted. The slight touch had been enough to restore my Sight. The gryphon of my snail hunt was seated on the nearest box, purple-grey tail curled over his furred hindfeet.
The red-brown eyes narrowed. ‘You can live without a thumb.’
‘Would you like to live without a tail?’
The furred tip trembled. ‘Never.’
‘Precisely.’ I folded the blade away and slipped the knife back into my pocket. ‘Why are you here?’
‘These are my boxes.’
‘Why are your boxes here?’ The answer came to me a moment later. ‘Are you--you’re to be my Associate?’
‘Still the sharp one, I see.’ The ears pricked. ‘You might want to shut the door.’
‘Why?’
‘Your neighbour is staring at you.’ I turned to see Ann Jones at the end of the drive, her eyes sliding away from mine. ‘She must be wondering why you’re arguing with a set of boxes.’
I flicked on the light switch and pulled the garage door down. The artificial light glimmered across the ruffled feathers. ‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew you’d be my Associate. That’s why you were in Gregory’s garden.’
‘May we continue this discussion in your kitchen?’ He rose to all four feet and stretched like a cat, back arching as his foreclaws dug into the cardboard. ‘I quite fancy a cup of tea. Do you have any biscuits?’
Again I found myself holding back choice words. I unlocked the door from garage to house, and stomped through the utility room to the kitchen. I heard a rustle as the gryphon flew behind and then past me. He landed on the kitchen table, and waited while I made us each a mug of tea.
‘Biscuit?’ he prodded as I plonked the tea down in front of him. He was seated again, and his head peered over the top of the mug.
‘Don't keep any in.’
‘Well, that’ll have to change, for starters.’ He stood, bringing his chest level with the mug rim, and lowered his beak into the hot liquid. His slurp echoed around the kitchen.
I lowered myself into a chair. ‘How long have you been spying on me?’
‘I have better things to do than spy on you.’
‘Oh, so you were in Gregory’s garden just by coincidence.’
‘That was my one and only time.’ He slurped more tea. ‘Needed no more. You handled yourself well with that snail shark.’ I was just beginning to smile at the compliment when he added, ‘You’re a bit slow on the uptake, but you’ll have me at your side. Brains and brawn.’
‘I have a Masters,’ I said tartly. ‘I lecture to trainee ministers.’
‘I have a PhD. From Emmanuel College, Cambridge. Threshold concepts in theological education. I’ll lend you a copy of my thesis.’
My hands had tightened around my mug. ‘Don’t I get any choice in all this?’
He lowered himself onto his haunches. ‘Have you been asked to move to another world?’
‘No.’ We both blinked at the regret in my voice. ‘I see. You’re the one making the greater sacrifice.’ I paused before asking, in my pastoral voice, ‘Do you have family in Lloegyr?
’
‘My sire and dam are dead, but I have four brothers and three sisters.’ His wings, folded along his back, lifted and dropped in what I took to be a shrug. ‘No one to particularly miss me, no.’
‘No mate?’
‘I was married once. She died.’
‘Like me,’ I said sadly. ‘Alan. My husband. He died eighteen months ago.’
‘My sorrow for your sorrow,’ he said gravely.
For a few minutes we drank our tea, the silence between us more comfortable than our earlier words had been. The gryphon stood on his hindlegs and grasped the sides of the mug with his forelegs to reach the bottom of the mug.
‘Another cup?’ I asked when he settled back.
‘Perhaps later. Time for a tour of the house. I believe that’s what humans do, give tours of their house?’
The study was adjacent to the kitchen. The gryphon flew in a tight circle through the room before landing on the computer. I grimaced as his claws scrabbled for purchase on the smooth screen. ‘Do you mind? It’s a Mac.’
He leapt down onto the desk, pushed the mouse off the mousepad, and rested back onto his haunches. ‘Now. Names.’
‘Yes. What’s yours?’
‘Unpronounceable.’
‘Because it’s in gryphon?’
He whistled a sigh. ‘Because it’s in Welsh. So we’ll decide on a name together.’
‘Hmm.’ I slid my hands into my pockets. ‘Something simple? John?’
‘Oh, please.’ The gryphon had lifted a forefoot and was cleaning his claws. ‘Something more exciting.’
I thought about the people I knew. ‘Quentin?’
‘I’d prefer not to be named after a martyr.’
I looked around the mixture of books and DVDs crowding my bookshelves. One set, which I’d been rewatching, caught my attention. ‘How about Xander? It’s short for Alexander.’
The gryphon turned his head, following my gaze. ‘It comes from that TV series?’ At my nod, he narrowed his eyes. Then he declared, ‘No, not that one. He’s a twpsyn. I quite like Spike.’