The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White Book 1)

by Chrys Cymri

  Voices rose from the nearby cathedral door. I turned my head. Then wind and soil slapped against my robes as Raven leapt into the air. A dragon in flight. I drank in the sight, admiring the way his blue-green wings sliced through the air, his tail curling and curving behind his supple body.

  ‘Penny, there you are.’ Bishop Aeron came around the wall. ‘Are you all right?’

  No, in many countless ways. But I smoothed down my surplice and smiled. ‘Just needed some time alone.’

  ‘That's understandable.’ She might be a dragon, but Bishop Aeron had the same reassuring tone as my own human bishop. ‘Are you ready to rejoin us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Moriarty has been telling me about your week together,’ the Bishop said as we strode back to the cathedral. I was preparing myself for vigorous self-defence when she continued, ‘He speaks highly of your negotiation skills. A good outcome between Dominic’s family and his order. He says our dioceses have found ourselves an excellent Vicar General.’

  I was suddenly ashamed of my conversation with Angelica. The gryphon had shown greater loyalty than I had. ‘It’s good to hear that. Even if he insists on calling me “Black”.’

  The draconic chuckle startled me. ‘You did not choose him, but he did agree to be with you. And I have been Moriarty’s bishop for many years. Just remember that he’s a gryphon, and be grateful that they no longer hunt humans.’

  I paused, searching for a tactful response. ‘He’s rather small.’

  ‘They hunt larger prey in packs.’

  Suitably chastened, I followed the Bishop back into the cathedral.

  <><><><><><>

  At first I thought there would be no need to continue the story of the Seventh Doctor’s latest machinations. James had been entranced with all he had seen in the cathedral. ‘And that unicorn, what’s her name?’

  ‘Unicorns rarely entrust their names to another,’ Morey said from the back seat. ‘Cultural preference.’

  ‘Well, did you see that horn? Was it pure silver?’

  ‘Pure silver would be too heavy for even a unicorn to carry.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ James was silent for all of ten seconds. ‘Pen, I talked to the other archdeacon. Rhis?’

  ‘Rhis Cadwalader.’

  ‘Yes, him. He says that there’s a huge demand for computer skills in Lloegyr. Vampires are the ones who’ve taken to it big time.’

  ‘They are the best suited physically,’ Morey pointed out. ‘They have fingers.’

  ‘And opposable thumbs,’ I added.

  ‘Anyway,’ James continued, ‘Rhis is going to introduce me to Anwen, his sister. She runs a company called Green Feather Networking and he thinks she’d be very interested in hiring me. Isn’t that great?’

  The idea that my brother might be able to visit Lloegyr while I was stuck on Earth made my hands tighten on the steering wheel. ‘I’m not sure about that…’

  ‘This is highly inappropriate,’ Morey stated. ‘You’re using your sister’s position to gain an advantage.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ James asked petulantly. ‘That’s how it always works. Who you know, not what you know.’

  I dared a quick glance at the back seat. Morey’s feathers were ruffled. ‘It’s good that you’ve found some work,’ I said weakly.

  I could sense that this was rubbing up against the truce Morey and I had negotiated. But the gryphon merely curled up in the back seat and James stared out of his window. So, with an internal sigh, I turned on the CD player to listen to the Doctor’s response to Ace’s accusations. It was going to be a long drive home.

  Chapter Eight

  The phone’s ringing drilled through my ear. I lifted my head and blinked at my clock. 7:00 am. Who would be phoning me at 7:00 am? Particularly when last night’s Parochial Church Council meeting had driven me to savagedly attack a bottle of red wine when I came home.

  My head pounded as I sat up. I gulped down air, then reluctantly picked up the handset. ‘Penny White.’

  ‘May I speak to Mr White, please?’

  Somehow, even eighteen months later, it still hurt to say, ‘There is no Mr White. May I help you?’

  ‘I was looking for the person who deals with--well, these things.’

  It was too early into a hangover to be dealing with cryptic messages. ‘If you want to talk about dragons, unicorns, or how to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, you’ve come to the right person.’

  ‘Sorry, um, Ms White. I only had an initial. I was expecting a bloke. I’m Russell Tops, a coroner in Northampton. I get called in to handle unusual cases. Like when a dragon gets killed on an A road.’

  ‘So you’re the one storing the body?’

  ‘I was.’ A long silence. ‘Can you come over? We use a warehouse on the Tuddington estate. I’ll give you the address.’

  ‘Can I have some coffee and breakfast first?’

  ‘But it’s--oh, is that the time? I’m terribly sorry. Been up all night. Didn’t realise how early this is. The police are already here. When do you think you could come?’

  ‘Police?’ That got me out of bed. The movement renewed the hammers in my head. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The body… There’s not much left. Someone broke in last night and, well, most of the dragon has been eaten.’

  My stomach lurched at the news. ‘I’ll get there as soon as I can,’ I said weakly. ‘Say an hour at most. What’s the address?’

  I wandered down to the kitchen and rummaged in a drawer for ibuprofen. The empty wine bottle stood on the counter like a silent judge. I winced as I noticed that a whisky tumbler rested beside the stained wine glass. No wonder I felt ill.

  ‘“What shall we do with a drunken vicar? What shall we do with a drunken vicar?”’ Morey sang as he landed next to the wine bottle. ‘“What shall we do with a drunken vicar, so early in the morning?”’

  ‘You were there,’ I muttered as I prepared coffee. ‘You know what it was like.’

  ‘An hour arguing over replacing the hymn books.’ His wings lifted in a shrug. ‘A common enough debate, isn’t it?’

  ‘You don’t understand. We had the same argument last year.’ I swallowed the painkillers. ‘Neil brings it up every twelve months because he wants more modern options, but Marjorie hates any hymn written after the First World War.’

  ‘But how very imaginative of her, to work out the proportion of hymns used versus those never sung. What did she say? “Until we’ve sung all of the hymns in the existing hymn book, why would we need a new one?” She has a point.’

  I glared at him. ‘It’s too early in the morning for irony.’

  ‘Not for those of us who don’t have a hangover.’

  ‘You might find it funny now.’ I eyed a banana, and decided that I would force myself to eat it. ‘Try enduring the same argument for five years in a row.’

  ‘But it isn’t really about the hymn books, is it?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I mumbled past a mouthful of banana.

  ‘The hymn books are only a symptom. What is the fear behind the argument?’

  ‘Change.’ I sighed. ‘I know. It’s about the fear of change.’

  ‘Today a hymn book, tomorrow a worship band,’ he said solemnly. ‘Bad enough you did away with BCP.’

  ‘Not on the first Sunday of the month.’ The coffee was ready. I added cold water and drank it black. ‘You should come sometime.’

  ‘I prefer to slip back to my home church.’

  I could understand that. ‘You must miss home.’

  ‘Sometimes.’ The red eyes slid away from mine. ‘There is a difference between human and gryphon homes.’

  ‘Lots of differences, I would’ve thought.’

  ‘The greatest one is, if you go to a gryphon home, they don’t have to take you in.’

  The tone broke through even my morning fog. ‘When--’

  His tail was a purple-grey swish of anger. ‘Isn’t it time we were going?’

  Any minister worth her
ordination vows knows that there is a time to push, and a time to hold back. And it’s never a good idea to push when your head is throbbing and your stomach is on the verge of rebellion. ‘After I’ve showered and changed. I’m not going to a morgue in my pyjamas.’

  <><><><><><>

  The drive took thirty minutes. I swallowed another two ibuprofen after I’d parked near the industrial unit. Morey took his usual position on my shoulder as I walked to the grey clad building. It looked as ordinary as any other unit on the site, hulking squat and ugly in the early morning light. Hard to believe that it held the remains of a dragon.

  The coroner was waiting for us at the entrance. I had to show my shiny new ID, which looked more like a police badge than anything I’d ever carried as a priest. Russell Tops was a short man, thin, with only wisps of hair around his skull. He pushed back thick glasses as he peered closely at Morey. ‘Gryphus parvo.’

  ‘Homo sapiens,’ Morey shot back. ‘Never judge a species by their classification. You’ll only be disappointed.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Mr Tops,’ I said quickly. ‘How can we help you?’

  ‘It was the policeman who suggested I phone you. And call me Russell.’ The warmth of a summer morning was replaced with the artificial chill of an icebox as we went inside the building. I could feel Morey fluffing out his feathers. ‘He said you might have some ideas as to why this has happened.’

  The building might look nondescript outside, but there was some serious security inside. I watched as Russell used his palmprint to open door after door, and I wondered how anyone--or anything--could have broken in to disturb the bodily remains of a dragon.

  The air was even colder as we emerged into a large room. The gleaming metal tables looked like those I’d seen in any TV show, only in this case they were large enough to hold even a dragon. Like the skeleton spread out just ahead of us.

  The smell hit me first. I suddenly regretted the banana, the whisky, the wine, and every meal I’d eaten the day before. I’d read about the scent of death, but I’d never encountered it before. It was like the worst piece of rotting meat ever found forgotten in a fridge, along with a high note which was almost flowery.

  A small container was thrust into my hand. ‘Rub some of that around your nose,’ a deep voice commanded. I simply obeyed. The mixed mint and eucalyptus smell of Vicks Vapor Rub stunned my nostrils. My stomach settled into uneasy submission.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, looking at my benefactor. He grinned, laugh lines crinkling around blue-grey eyes. Brown hair, greying around the temples, set off his long face. I dropped my gaze. He was wearing a light-brown tweed jacket over jeans, but an ID badge pinned to his lapel stated that he was Inspector Peter Jarvis, Lloegyr Liaison Team. ‘Have we met before?’

  ‘Only on the phone, Reverend.’

  ‘Penny,’ I corrected automatically. ‘You were the one who phoned me about Dominic, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been assigned to his case.’ He studied me for a moment. ‘Are you able to take a closer look at the body?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ I decided to be honest. ‘But is there a bucket nearby?’

  ‘You won’t need a bucket,’ he reassured me. Then he nodded at Morey. ‘Mr Moriarty. You realise that any cop, in the name of good literary principles, is required to object to your name?’

  ‘I’d make a very poor master criminal,’ Morey said. “Far too small.’

  ‘But perhaps a very good cat burglar?’

  ‘I like this one,’ Morey informed me. ‘Can we keep him?’

  At the moment the only thing I wanted to keep was my breakfast. But I still forced myself to walk over to the table.

  There was very little of Dominic left. Scales, muscle, organs, almost every bit of flesh had been stripped from the bones. Enough remained, however, for the smell which was still trying to press past the Vapor Rub. The eyes were still in the skull, flattened and grey under the artificial lights.

  ‘Why the rot?’ Morey asked. He flew down to the table and his claws clicked against the metal as he walked alongside the backbone. ‘Shouldn’t the cold have preserved him?’

  ‘He was found outside,’ Russell said. ‘Late last night. Fortunately the member of the public who stumbled on his body was inebriated, so even now one of Peter’s unit is convincing her that she imagined the whole thing.’

  ‘Inebriated women,’ Morey muttered. ‘Must be an epidemic.’

  ‘But how was he taken out of here?’ I asked quickly. ‘I’ve seen your security.’

  ‘You’ve seen the intact side.’ Peter stepped to one side, and I saw the scorched hole on the far wall. Plastic had been placed around the opening to provide a temporary seal. ‘They burned their way in.’

  ‘Which means dragons,’ Morey said grimly. ‘No doubt analysis of the tooth marks on the bones will confirm that.’

  ‘They do.’

  ‘But I negotiated a compromise,’ I said. ‘Both the family and the brothers agreed.’

  ‘It could have been any of them, or none of them.’ Morey paused by the head. ‘Dragon meat is highly valued by dragons. Bodies are closely guarded until consumption or burial for that very reason. Have the two sides been told about this?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘I was hoping Penny would help us with that.’

  ‘I'm sure she can. I’m more interested in the bite marks.’ Morey had hopped over the foreleg and was now picking his way over the splayed ribs. I swallowed, hard, but knew that I was fighting a losing battle.

  Peter hand touched my arm. ‘Let’s let gryphon and coroner compare notes. There’s a small café nearby. Would you like a coffee?’

  I risked a nod. I clenched my jaws until we’d navigated the doors and were back outside. Then I leaned over a low wall and heaved. When I’d finished, I scrabbled in my trouser pockets for a tissue.

  ‘Here.’ A paper napkin was thrust into my hand.

  I wiped my mouth and straightened. My head was hurting again, but at least my stomach was now less miserable. ‘Thanks.’

  Peter smiled. ‘I didn’t think you’d want Morey to see you losing your breakfast.’ Then the smile slipped. ‘How much did you have to drink last night?’

  ‘More than I should have,’ I agreed. ‘And Morey’s already told me off about it.’

  ‘Gryphons can be very judgemental when they’re young.’

  I crumpled the napkin into a ball. ‘He’s forty-seven years old.’

  ‘They don’t reach maturity until they’re thirty-five.’

  ‘And you know that because?’

  Peter lifted his left arm. A blur of steel-grey and yellow-orange dropped from the sky and backwinged to land near his fist. The gryphon was slightly larger than Morey, the peregrine falcon body blending into the spotted fur of a cheetah. Yellow eyes turned to meet mine. ‘Inspector Taryn,’ said a fierce feminine voice. ‘And you are Morey’s human?’

  ‘He’s with me, yes,’ I replied. For some reason I felt vaguely disappointed that my gryphon partnership wasn’t unique. ‘I didn’t realise that Peter had an Associate as well. But I guess it makes sense. He needs to see who he’s dealing with.’

  ‘Whoever broke into the warehouse is long gone,’ Taryn told Peter. ‘I’ve made a wide sweep of the area. Definitely they were dragons. I’ve found a number of tracks. I’d say a half dozen.’

  ‘Well done,’ Peter said. I watched, amazed, as he scratched the falcon head. The gryphon arched her back and purred like a cat. ‘Pinfeathers,’ he told me. ‘Gryphons need help to undo them. Taryn, we’re going for a coffee. Do you want to join us?’

  ‘Maybe later. It’s time I hunted my breakfast. An hour?’

  ‘See you here in an hour.’ She launched herself back into the sky.

  Peter tipped his head, and we started walking to the nearby café. ‘You two seem to get along well,’ I said. ‘What’s your secret?’

  ‘Time. We’ve been together three years.’ He laughed. ‘And Taryn is a formel,
after all. I’m told that tiercels are far more challenging.’

  Then I had to stop. The uneasy truce with my stomach seemed to be failing. I took deep breaths, wondering whether I would embarrass myself again. ‘Go on ahead, I’ll catch you up.’

  Peter glanced around. Then he pulled a small bottle from his pocket. ‘Okay. Take one of these.’

  I shook out a blue tablet. The writing stamped into the smooth surface was in no language which I recognised. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Over the counter painkillers from Lloegyr.’

  It was a bit difficult to swallow without water, but I managed. I felt it scrape down my throat. I handed the bottle back. ‘Thanks. I didn’t bring any--’And then the headache was gone. My stomach was purring as happily as a contented gryphon, and the dull ache I often feel in my right knee was gone. I stared at Peter. ‘This is great stuff. Why hasn’t anyone imported it from Lloegyr?’

  Then the world rainbowed. Peter slid a supportive arm under mine as I staggered. The air sparkled with birdsong, and the traffic noise streaked red and purple past my eyes. ‘That’s why,’ he said, his words smelling of woodsmoke. ‘It causes temporary synaesthesia.’

  ‘Drugs?’ The high scent of roses floated from my lips. ‘You’ve given me drugs?’

  ‘Over the counter painkillers in Lloegyr. Nothing illegal. Maybe a bit irregular.’

  I sneezed. The last sentence had smelled of damp leaves. ‘How did you get it?’

  ‘I’ve been to Lloegyr, of course.’

  Of course. My senses were slowly returning to their normal use. And I still felt wonderful. Peter had to lengthen his legs to catch up with me as I hurried to the café. ‘Coffee and breakfast.’

  The café was the typical greasy spoon which hovers around the edges of many industrial estates. It was exactly what I wanted. I ordered a full English and downed it as Peter sipped at his coffee and nibbled at some toast. When I emerged for breath I found him smiling at me. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, dropping fork and knife onto the empty plate. ‘Guess I was very hungry.’