The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White Book 1)

by Chrys Cymri

  The garden was long and L shaped. The smaller part of the L, set at a right angle to the back of the cottage, was fenced off. At least a dozen brown and white hens were scratching at the nearly bare soil. They looked calm, and the fence intact. Maybe I was wrong.

  I walked over to the pen and looked in. The chickens came over to greet me, and I wondered whether they expected me to feed them. I put down the shovel and leaned over the waist high fence. ‘Hey, girls, how are you? Seen any snail sharks recently?’

  One of the hens came up to my danging hands. To my surprise, she let me slip my hands around her chest and lift her up. I straightened, and for a moment we studied each other. ‘Well, aren’t you the friendly type?’

  ‘Cyw iâr,’ a deep voice said from behind me.

  The chicken’s wings battered my arms and I dropped her back amongst her panicked sisters. I turned, slowly, carefully, my neck prickling.

  The snail in Gregory’s back garden had been Yorkshire terrier sized. Now I was facing one which was as tall as a Labrador retriever. The purple-black shell was the height of my knees, and the eyespots were waist high. Red paint whirled around the shell, making the snail look even more sinister. ‘Dim cyw iâr,’ I said quickly, intensely regretting that I hadn’t practised my Welsh more often. ‘Cyw iâr dim o gwbl.’

  The snail shark reared up, huge mouth splitting open, revealing the double rows of jagged teeth which ran down the length of the grey belly. Red-brown flesh straggled from the top of the jaws. The snail had obviously eaten very recently, and was obviously far from satisfied.

  The snail lowered its head and charged. I heard the hens burst into feathered panic behind me as I ran towards the cottage’s back door. I felt some guilt at leaving them unprotected, but at that moment it was every chicken for herself.

  The door was, of course, locked. I spun around. The snail had also turned. The chickens had scattered to the back of the pen, their cries of alarm filling the air. But the snail was making no attempt to reach them. The tentacles were pointing in my direction. I could almost sense its calculations. Why go after many smaller drumsticks, which were protected by a fence, when in front of it were two much larger chunks of meat?

  Keep calm and back away slowly, I reminded myself. Hard to do, when a primitive, animal part of me was urging for fight or flight, preferably the latter. I put out my right hand to touch the warm brick wall, and used that to guide me as I moved away from the snail. How far away was the exit to the street?

  The eyespots narrowed. Then the snail sped across the lawn. But not towards me. Even as I whirled around it was already past me and near the corner of the cottage. It had blocked my escape route.

  My mouth dried. I was facing a creature of cunning and intelligence. Under different circumstances, say watching the action on TV with a gazelle as my substitute and the rich tones of David Attenborough in my ears, I could have admired the hunter. Right now, I longed for a pony sized hedgehog.

  I turned and ran, hoping to reach and jump over the fence. The slurping noise of the snail’s own dash warned me that I’d better make the leap of my life. I threw myself forward, arms churning the air as if that could make me go any faster.

  There was a flash of green-black, and I was knocked from my feet. Somehow, I remembered my two month stint of Judo, and I managed to turn my head to one side and to grab my left hip with my right arm. I rolled onto my back and then onto my front, my face down in the moist ground.

  With the strength of the truly terrified, I stumbled back to my feet. Raven was standing in front of the snail shark. His wings were still unfurled over his back, and his lips were pulled back to expose his own sharp teeth. Wisps of black steam rose from his nostrils and every spine was stiff. ‘Dere ‘mlaen ‘te, falwen.’

  And the snail threw itself upwards, latching sharp teeth around Raven’s right leg. The dragon roared. Blood spurted as the jaws ground down, ripping through scales to the muscle below. Raven’s muzzle whipped down, teeth trying to gain a grip on the shell. The snail flowed further up the leg, making the angle impossible even for the dragon’s sinewy neck.

  The snail coudn’t kill Raven, but at this rate the dragon could be severely crippled. I staggered back to the chicken run. The shovel was lying where I’d abandoned it. I grabbed it with shaking hands and hurried over to Raven, who was jumping up and down in an attempt to dislodge the snail. ‘Stand still!’ I shouted at him.

  Raven froze and his claws dug deep into the garden. I reached back as far as I could, and swung the shovel into the snail’s shell.

  My hands shook as the handle was jarred from my hands. The snail shrieked, a sound which made my ears ache. The shovel blade had broken through the shell, and I could see the grey flesh pulsing inside. Then pink fluid rushed through the jagged cracks.

  The snail shark shrieked again. It tumbled from Raven’s shoulder, and landed hard on the ground. The grey-green body twitched and shuddered, and I realised that I was seeing the snail’s death throes. So, with a deep breath and a determined swallow, I forced myself to pick up the shovel again.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Raven asked, words coming between gasps for breath.

  ‘I don’t want it to suffer.’

  ‘I do,’ he said savagedly.

  ‘Because you’re hurt,’ I said, lifting up the shovel.

  ‘No, because it tried to kill you.’

  I looked up into the green-blue eyes. Suddenly, without warning, I found myself babbling. ‘And why are they called snail sharks anyway? That’s all wrong. A snail shark would be a shark that eats snails. These are snails which have shark teeth. Shark snails or shark-toothed snails. Snail sharks makes no sense.’

  And, without intervention from either of us, the snail shark died.

  Raven bent his head to study his injuries. The snail’s teeth had stripped scales and skin all the way up his leg. He took a deep breath and exhaled along the length. Yellow-blue flame trickled from his jaws, cauterising the wounds. Then he carefully flexed the foreleg. ‘No permanent damage, but it’ll scar.’

  ‘You’re alive,’ I pointed out, annoyed by his glum tone. ‘Who cares about scars?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Don’t be so vain.’

  ‘And would you look at me twice if I were the shape of that tacsi dragon?’ He snorted. ‘We now have a nice chunk of escargot at our feet. Do you want to eat it, or shall I?’

  A squeal from the bushes saved me from an answer. I hoisted the shovel and carefully made my way to the source of the sound. I used the blade to push back a branch. And underneath, eyespots blinking, was a snail shark the size of a hamster.

  ‘A pup,’ Raven said. ‘This would have been the parent.’

  ‘And I killed her,’ I said, appalled. It was only now sinking in. ‘I’ve killed an intelligent animal. And a mother.’

  ‘Parent,’ Raven corrected. ‘Snails are both--what’s the word in English?’

  ‘Hemaphrodites. Snails are hemaphrodites.’

  I knelt down to look at the snail pup. He studied me in return. Then he spoke. ‘Mam?’ he asked. ‘Pa le mae dy fam?’

  Something in me suddenly felt as squelchy as a snail. I took a deep breath and extended my free hand. The snail’s tentacles stretched out and studied my palm. Then he slid onto my skin and tucked all but his eyespots into his shell.

  ‘Won’t survive long without someone to feed him,’ Raven said. ‘You still haven’t answered me. Shall I consume the body?’

  I rose to my feet, my hand closing protectively around the snail. ‘You are not eating her in front of her own child!’

  ‘Humans. You are so sentimental.’ He lowered his head to my height. ‘It’s one of the reasons why I find you so fascinating.’

  The sound of a door slamming open made us both jump. A tall man stood in the doorway of the cottage, glaring at me through his spectacles. ‘Who are you and what are you doing to my chickens?’

  I realised that all he could see was a disheveled woman clutching a s
hovel. Dragon and snail sharks would be invisible to him. ‘I thought the whole town had been evacuated. Terrorist alert.’

  ‘Terrorist alert?’ he replied, grasping at the lapels of his elegant suit. ‘I’m not leaving the town because of some bloody terrorist alert. I used to be chairman of the Parish Council, you know!’

  ‘And you were wonderful in the pantomime,’ I added, making a desperate guess.

  ‘Played the dame six years running.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘How did you know?’

  I could see Raven wondering the same. ‘Everyone’s heard about your dame.’ I would ask God’s forgiveness for the lie this evening.

  Then he finally noticed my dog collar. He cleared his throat. ‘Here, now, you’re not our new vicar, are you?’ There was a distinct tremble of fear in his voice.

  ‘Certainly not, sir.’ Peter strode into the garden. I had to admire his ability to ignore dragon and snail shark as if they did not exist. ‘She’s assisting us in this crisis. Could I ask you to step back inside your house? Sergeant Cooper will escort you to your front room, where we’re going to ask you to shut the curtains and stay away from the windows. Cooper?’

  The door closed behind the grumbling man. I reversed the shovel and rested on the handle. Suddenly I felt very weak.

  ‘Thank you for your help,’ Peter was telling Raven. ‘Do you want someone to have a look at your leg?’

  ‘It’ll heal.’ And Raven kicked himself away from the garden, flinging dirt and grass against our clothes as he rose into the air. He spiralled out of sight.

  ‘Don’t see many of those.’ At my look, Peter continued, ‘Search dragons. Oh, were-people are very good at delivering mail. But search dragons were used for the most important deliveries. They have this special knack for finding people.’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘From what I’ve been told, the search dragons decided to exile themselves a few years ago.’

  A sudden moistness on my palm reminded me of the snail pup. ‘I never asked. What did you plan to do with the snail sharks?’

  ‘Capture them, if possible. We brought plenty of crates.’ He glanced down at the body spread across the grass. ‘It’s not always possible.’

  ‘Let me have one of the crates.’ I drew his attention to the pup in my hand. ‘I’m taking this one home with me.’

  ‘What? Are you mad? Put that down before it takes off your thumb.’

  ‘I killed his mother--’

  ‘Who was taking chunks out of a dragon.’

  ‘And snail sharks have an ability to find thin places,’ I continued. ‘Don’t you think it’s worth seeing if one can be tamed? Think how useful he could be.’

  Peter was shaking his head. ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous these things are?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’ Then I straightened. ‘Is there anything illegal about me owning a snail shark?’

  ‘Well, there is the Dangerous Wild Animals Act…’ He ran a hand through his brown hair. ‘But since snail sharks don’t officially exist, I guess I can’t ask you to apply to your local council for a licence. Just promise me you’ll be careful, will you?’

  ‘I have no intention of losing any fingers,’ I assured him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘You’ve gone barking mad. Positively, absolutely, barking mad.’

  Morey stood on the small table in my study, glaring at the snail pup on the other side of the glass. This was the first he’d seen of the new addition to the household. After the last of the snail sharks had been rounded up, he’d stayed behind to confer with the other gryphons, and made his own way back to the vicarage. So, I’d been alone when I dropped into a pet shop to buy a terrarium.

  ‘Oh, really?’ I asked. ‘The pup looks quite happy.’

  The snail zoomed across the compost, through the plastic tunnel, and then out again. He returned to look up at Morey, and waved tentacles in my direction. ‘Fy mam.’

  ‘No, she’s not,’ Morey said crossly. ‘Nid dy fam. Mae dy fam wedi--’

  ‘He’s staying with us,’ I cut in. I had the feeling that the gryphon was about to remind the pup that his mother was dead, and I was trying to avoid that guilt.

  ‘And what are you going to feed him?’ Morey flew to the top of the tank to bring our eyes level. ‘They don’t eat carrion. Do you want me to catch blue tits for him?’

  ‘I bought live crickets from the pet store.’ I pointed at the container resting next to the terrarium. ‘He seems to have liked them so far.’

  ‘So you’re going to let this cardotyn live with us for how long?’

  ‘I don’t know. And his name is Clyde.’

  ‘Clyde?’

  I nodded. ‘I wanted to continue the Sherlock Holmes theme. Moriarty, meet Clyde. Clyde, meet Moriarty.’

  The gryphon growled. ‘Watson, maybe. Or Hudson. Where does Clyde come from?’

  I turned to point at the DVD shelf, which also enabled me to hide my smile. Never mind the reasons I’d brought the snail home, annoying Morey was proving to be an unexpected bonus. ‘Third shelf down. Elementary. It’s a modern take on Sherlock Holmes.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Morey’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the contents. ‘Clyde is a tortoise.’

  ‘And this Clyde is a snail. But they both have shells.’

  Despite my best efforts, a trickle of laughter had undercut my last sentence. There was a moment of silence. Then Morey asked, ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  My phone rang, saving me from having to find an answer. I sat down to deal with the woman’s questions about getting married in my church, and promised to send her the costs by email. ‘Your very best prices,’ the bride told me huffily. ‘I have several venues under consideration.’ Morey ran back and forth along the outside of the terrarium, the snail easily matching his pace.

  It was only when I placed the handset back into its cradle that I saw the ‘message left’ light blinking on the answering machine. I glanced at the time, hoping that it wasn’t anything which would require me to go out again. I was hoping for a rare evening in. I pressed the ‘play’ button.

  ‘Pen, it’s me.’ The note in James’ voice brought me to my feet and Morey to a sudden halt. ‘Sis, I need your help. I’m in jail. In Lloegyr. They’ve brought me to England so I could ring you, but they’re taking me right back again. Look, it’s all a misunderstanding, really, but--please, I need your help. The address is 44 Strydd Werdd in Llanbedr. Please, get here as soon as you can.’

  I was walking to the kitchen, collecting my car keys, looking for my shoes. Morey landed on my arm as I sat down on a step to take off my slippers. ‘Black. What are you doing?’

  ‘Need to get to James,’ I said, trying to remember whether the car needed petrol.

  ‘You can’t get to Llanbedr by driving.’

  I clutched my keys, feeling suddenly helpless. ‘I need a thin place. Where can I find a thin place near Llanbedr?’

  ‘Eglwys Gadeiriol Llanbedr occupies the same space as your Nenehampton Cathedral. I would assume they used a thin place nearby to bring the senior clergy from my diocese to your licensing.’

  His claws dug into my skin as I rose again. I marched back to the study and pulled out the diocesan directory. My fingers were trembling as I pressed the buttons on the handset, and I prayed to God that the Dean would be in.

  ‘Angelica Dawson,’ said the Dean’s voice down my ear. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘It’s me, Penny,’ I told her. ‘I need to use a thin place in Nenehampton.’

  ‘Penny, why? What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s James. He’s in jail. In Llanbedr. 44 Strydd Werdd.’

  ‘I’ve visited there, Penny. It’s as well run as any in our country, perhaps even better. You needn’t worry about him in there. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘But you don’t understand.’

  ‘I have a son. I do understand.’

  ‘Okay.’ I forcibly put away visions of James being suspended over a pit of snail s
harks. ‘I can be there in an hour.’

  ‘Penny.’ The voice had firmed. ‘It’s eighty thirty in the evening. It’s getting dark, and you’re very worried. Not a good combination behind the wheel of a car. Come here tomorrow morning. Say, nine o’clock?’

  ‘You expect me to wait until tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’m expecting you to be sensible. Or do I have to ask your Associate to take your car keys off you?’ Morey bobbed his head in solemn agreement. ‘I’ll send a message through to the Llanbedr police station, just to let James know you’ll be coming.’

  A few practical arrangements, and then I hung up. Morey walked over and tugged at my shirt sleeve. ‘Kitchen.’

  ‘Kitchen?’ I repeated blankly.

  ‘You need a whisky, and I can’t open the bottle for you.’

  I let him take me away from the phone.

  <><><><><><>

  A sunny summer day. Half of Northamptonshire, it seemed, had woken that morning and decided that they must visit Nenehampton. I ignored the fact that I was wearing my dog collar, and cursed at the traffic between me and the cathedral. Morey snored in the passenger seat. At some point in the evening, he had taken it upon himself to finish my glasses of whisky when I wasn’t looking. I had resented it at the time, but at least my head was clear. The gryphon, however, was the worse for wear.

  I finally drove through the gates to the cathedral. The Dean had given me permission to park at her house, which was situated across the green from the cathedral’s west entrance. Gravel flew as I came to a rather inelegant halt.

  Morey woke as the car shuddered. He stretched and yawned. Then he squawked as I grabbed him before opening my car door. I had seen his erratic flying already once today. It seemed safer to simply put him on my shoulder. He started to insult me in Welsh, and then his hangover got the better of him and he settled into a sullen silence.

  The Dean opened her door as I approached. To her credit, she didn’t try to invite me in for a coffee. ‘I’ve had word back from the officer dealing with James’s case,’ she told me as she led me to the cathedral. ‘He’ll meet you on the other side and take you to the station. Is your Associate okay?’