by Chrys Cymri
Clyde slipped from his pouch and curled up next to Morey. So I carried them both into the house. I took Morey to his room, and placed him carefully on his bed. Although Clyde protested, I picked the snail pup by his shell and took him to his terrarium. ‘Morey needs to sleep,’ I told Clyde as his tentacles waved at me from behind the glass. ‘Be a good snail, and I’ll give you some cheese.’
I was dropping in a lump of cheddar when I saw Bishop Aeron land in the back garden. For a moment I stood and pondered. My neighbour was mowing his lawn, and no doubt glancing over the fence from time to time at my wilderness. I didn’t need to have him think that I talked to myself, but there was no way a dragon could fit through the doors into the house.
I went outside and indicated to the Bishop that she should fly to the front. My car was still on the drive, so it was simple enough to let her into the garage. I closed the door, set up a garden chair, and brought out tea, mine in a mug and hers in a mixing bowl.
The Bishop drank down the brown liquid and then sighed. ‘How is he?’
‘I’ve put him to bed.’ I took a sip of tea and grimaced at my hands. Despite much scrubbing, they still stank. ‘How willingly do gryphons take baths?’
‘Very unwillingly. My advice is that you insist.’
‘So we know that at least two people have been poisoned,’ I said. ‘Seren and Dominic. I assume that the heddlu will be investigating?’
‘Those deaths, yes. And any others who were in mixed relationships when they died.’
‘Why,’ I asked, ‘is there such a prejudice against mixed relationships? There was a time in England when it was thought unacceptable for people of different skin colours, or the same sex, to marry. On the whole, it’s accepted now.’
‘But they are still the same race,’ Bishop Aeron pointed out. ‘Is a human allowed to marry, say, a horse?’
‘Horses aren’t intelligent beings. They couldn’t agree to such a relationship.’
‘Many in Lloegyr would see a dragon/human pairing, or a were-fox/gryphon pairing, even as humans would view a human/horse pairing. As something unacceptable.’
‘And you?’ I asked, keeping my voice neutral. ‘Morey says you made him leave the priesthood because of Seren.’
‘How I might feel personally about mixed relationships cannot guide my decisions,’ the Bishop said firmly. ‘A bishop stands for unity. She must promote unity in the Church. The Church has agreed that mixed relationships cannot be supported by scripture. Morey knew all this. He left me little choice.’
When a bishop takes a strong stance, the best thing a priest can do is move on to another subject. ‘I suppose someone should let Father Gerald know that Dominic was not the only one to have been poisoned.' A sudden stillness from the Bishop made me ask, 'Why was he at Saint George’s in the first place? Do churches usually have monks as part of their staff?’
‘No, they don't. I've also had cause to wonder why he was there.’
‘Maybe you should ask the Abbot.’
‘It's true that I'm the Visitor to the Order,’ Bishop Aeron said slowly. ‘But people aren't always willing to be honest with a bishop. Would you consider going? You seem to have formed a good rapport with Father Gerald.’
As if I would ever decline the opportunity to visit Lloegyr. ‘Certainly. I could go tomorrow afternoon, after deanery chapter.’
She dipped her head in a nod. ‘And I suggest you leave your Associate behind. Even if he's not suffering from a bad hangover, I don't think he's in the right frame of mind to visit the Abbot.’
‘No.’ I said it instantly, without any hesitation. ‘Morey and I are partners, and we have to be able to trust each other. I won't go without telling him.’
‘And quite right, too.’ The door from the utility room opened, and Morey slipped through. He was weaving slightly, but he spoke without slurring. ‘I want to find those who poisoned Seren. Hunt them down, and demand from them what they took from her.’
I felt chilled by the tone of his voice. His bishop looked at him with ears lowered in sympathy, but a note of firmness underlined her response. ‘Is that the best course of action, Trahaearneifion?’
Morey snarled, ‘I suppose you're going to preach to me about Christian forgiveness, aren't you?’
‘Forgiveness is a journey, not a destination.’ The Bishop lowered her head to his. ‘Even our Lord, while the nails were being driven into his hands, could only pray “Father, forgive them.” I have long seen this as Jesus asking God to forgive, at the moment when he was too full of pain to do so himself. So, no, I'm not urging you to forgive. I am asking you to not take any hasty action which you would later regret.’
I left them to their discussion. From a shelving unit I picked up a bucket, which I took into the utility room. I squeezed in some liquid soap, filled the bucket with warm water, and carried it back into the garage. ‘But there are some sins--’ Morey was arguing.
‘All sins can be washed away at the foot of the cross,’ I said firmly. ‘And bodies in hot water. Bath, Morey.’
He cocked his head and fluffed grimy feathers with obvious disgust at the thought. I picked him up and lowered him onto the rim, his claws scrabbling for purchase as he stared down at the foamy mixture. ‘I’d rather wait until the next rainstorm.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Bishop raise a forefoot. She flicked a fingertoe, and Morey was knocked off the rim and into the bucket. ‘Rainstorm has come,’ she told the gryphon placidly as he twisted and hooked his claws on the bucket edge. ‘Now, hold still while Father Penny gives you a good scrub.’
The water quickly turned black as I ran fingers through feathers and fur. Under his bishop’s glare, Morey grumpily surrendered, although I could hear him muttering curses under his breath.
When his coat had regained its normal purple colour, I lifted him from the bucket and placed him on the chair. He proceeded to shake himself, scattering soapy water across my clothes and the dragon’s muzzle. Then he spread out his wings and started to preen.
‘I'll arrange for a tacsi to be ready for you at two,’ the Bishop said. ‘But please take currency this time. The deer herds are still recovering from the last visit.’ She came to her feet, and I lifted the garage door for her. ‘Tread carefully. Father Gerald is both wise and cunning, which makes him an excellent but also somewhat frustrating abbot.’
Morey lifted his beak from his feathers. ‘Penny knows how to handle him.’
‘My warning was for you, Trahaearneifion, not Father Penny.’ And with that she swept out of the garage.
I looked down at Morey. Now that his bishop was gone he had sagged, no longer hiding how ill he felt. ‘Black coffee?’
‘Please. By the bucket load.’
<><><><><><>
I opened the windows in Morey’s room to the fresher scent of an October morning, but left him spread out across his bed. The furs which he had laid on while still filthy were in the dustbin, but the stench lingered.
‘Yes, yes, Morey is fine,’ I reassured Clyde as I went into the study to say the Office. ‘He’s upstairs sleeping it off,’ I said to James as I ate my breakfast. ‘We tracked him down and brought him back,’ I told Peter on the phone. And as I drove to deanery chapter I wondered how many more people would be contacting me about a small purple gryphon. Pity I just couldn’t put updates about him on Facebook or Twitter.
I gathered with twelve other tired looking ministers in the front room of our rural dean’s rectory. Margaret was the sole breadwinner in a family consisting of a househusband and three teenage sons, so it wasn’t surprising that the central heating was defiantly off. We wrapped our hands around mugs of hot drinks and tried to show enthusiasm for her latest attempts to bring a common sense of purpose to our grouping of churches and parishes. Or, as she would call it, ‘Take forward the mission of the church and bring about the Kingdom of God here on Earth.’ Which sounded grand at meetings with senior clergy, I had no doubt, but it was difficult to sometimes see how that ap
plied to our crumbling buildings and aging congregations.
There was some grumbling about the changes in parish share. How were our congregations meant to find the money which the diocese was asking for in return for the provision of clergy? ‘The pips are squeaking,’ said one of our older members. ‘We keep asking the members for more, year on year, and there isn’t much more out there.’
‘As we grow our churches,’ Margaret said enthusiastically, ‘there will be increased giving. That’s why we must focus on mission. So, let’s hear some good news stories. What have you been doing in your parishes?’
The obligatory round of ensuring that we all sounded successful. A ‘Messy Church’ which was well attended by families. A new café set up in the back of the church which was bringing in people and income during the week. A joint service with a local Baptist church which had developed new links between Christians.
Then it was my turn. Maybe it was because I’d spent the evening torn between an ill gryphon and a suddenly returned brother, but I suddenly had no patience for pretence. ‘I’m pleased to hear that you’re all doing so well. As for St Wulfram’s, we’re pretty certain that there’s deathwatch beetle in the pews. My last two family services didn’t have a single child in the congregation for either of them. The head at the church school says that she would rather have the carol service in their hall than in the church, because parents complained last year how cold our building is. I only have one churchwarden and no treasurer. So I have no good news stories. All I can say is, I feel like a failure.’
I’d surprised myself with my depth of feeling. In the awkward silence I raised my empty mug to my lips, hiding my face behind the colourful pottery. Margaret’s smile had slipped, and I waited for the rebuke.
‘I agree with Penny.’ This was from Edward, the rector who looked after seven rural parishes. ‘I feel I’ve tried everything I can. I know we’re being told that we must focus on mission, that we must grow our churches or die, but we need to replace the roof at one church, and bats have taken over another. Parents at the church school just aren’t interested in spending a Sunday morning in a damp and cold building, singing ancient hymns from a moldy book, and being told off if their toddler runs up the aisle.’
‘It’s this focus on success,’ Ray added. He was a part time minister looking after two small churches. ‘It can’t only be bums on seats. But all our talk about mission seems to focus on that alone.’
‘We need to find ways to support each other,’ Edward said. ‘Study and prayer, keep ourselves spiritually sustained. I don’t know how many more years I have left in me, but while I’m here I want to serve my parish. I refuse to be drawn into statistics and targets.’
Rachel leaned towards me. She was the youngest member of our group, a curate in her late twenties. And very pregnant. ‘Penny, thank you for being so honest. I’ve been listening to everyone and wondering, Gosh, can I say that I’ve been doing anything as good as them? I guess what we need to remember is that Jesus’ mission appeared to end in failure when he was crucified. We’re here to be true to him, not build up our own kingdoms. I have to admit that I’m very worried about how I’m going to juggle ministry with raising two small children.’
One by one my fellow clergy began to share their own worries and struggles. The frown on Margaret’s face eased as a warmth grew in the room, a warmth which had nothing to do with central heating. When we had finished with prayer and I drove home, I felt able to face any number of annoying gryphons or needy brothers.
I walked into my kitchen and found James and Morey staring at a lump of ham. The plate was pressed up against the gryphon’s foreclaws, and James was leaning forward aggressively. ‘Okay, look, you’re not up to hunting, but you need to eat. Just chow it down.’
Morey poked his beak at the pink flesh. ‘Can’t you just find me a mouse or something? This has been dead for days.’
‘The only live food in the house,’ I pointed out, ‘are crickets. Clyde might let you have a few, if you ask nicely.’
His tail lashed in annoyance. ‘Can’t stomach insects.’
‘Then eat your ham. We need to leave in thirty minutes. Remember? We have an appointment with Father Gerald.’
Morey closed his eyes. Then he bent his head and started shredding the ham, although an occasional shudder showed how little he liked it. I made two cheese sandwiches and handed one to James while I sat down with the other. ‘Do you have any Lloegyr currency on you?’ I asked my brother. ‘I need to pay a tacsi.’
James dipped his hand into a pocket and pulled out a number of gold and silver coins. ‘Take what you need. We can work out the exchange rate later.’
‘Or,’ said Morey, ‘you could just give it to her as the rent you owe.’
‘Nice to see that you’re feeling better,’ I remarked drily as James bristled. ‘Half an hour. Be ready.’
Chapter Nineteen
I changed into my best suit jacket, although I picked up my brand new coat for the flight. Morey flew to my left shoulder, and I swallowed hard at the slight whiff of harpy which stlll clung to his feathers. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded as I lifted the top off Clyde’s terrarium.
‘He’s coming with us.’ I lifted the snail out, and he slid into his pouch.
‘Why would you want to take a snail shark to a monastery?’
‘I’m training him to guide me to thin places,’ I reminded him patiently. ‘Besides, he dotes on you. I think he’d only pine if we left him behind.’
‘Go with Morey,’ the snail pup’s muffled voice came through the canvas bag.
‘I’m not taking him everywhere I go.’
I chuckled. ‘Think of him as the little brother you never had.’
‘I have both brothers and sisters. And they don’t have teeth sharp enough to remove my leg.’
‘Clyde wouldn’t do that.’
‘You don’t think so?’ His eyes glittered. ‘Let’s hope he never bites off the hand that feeds him.’
Traffic was light, and we were parked up in Duston twenty minutes later. I opened the pouch and let Clyde flow out onto my hand. There were several people walking along the road, so I kept my voice low. ‘Thin space, Clyde. Man tenau. Where is the thin place?’
The snail, deciding to whisper in return, directed me to the yew tree. ‘Good boy,’ I told him, and gave him a piece of cheese. He chewed it willingly, but his eyespots revealed his interest in a pomeranian walking nearby. I wondered uneasily if Morey’s warnings would come true.
I braced myself for the unpleasantness of the crossing. Clyde dived back into his pouch as I ducked under the branches, and Morey’s claws tightened on my jacket. The darkness scrabbled around my hair and eyes, and I gritted my teeth as my legs carried me forward.
My shoes hit cobbles. The sky was grey overhead, and I could smell rain in the wind scurrying past the stone buildings. The tacsi dragon was waiting for us, still in need of a wash but looking more sober than the last time. ‘The monastery?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please.’ I pulled out my coins. ‘How much?’
‘Deer?’ he asked hopefully. ‘They were very tasty.’
‘No. Money, this time.’
He grumbled in Welsh. ‘Dwy rôt. Two groats. For a return flight.’
‘Two of the silver coins,’ Morey explained to me.
‘Is that a fair price?’ I asked quietly.
‘How would I know? I don’t normally use tacsis. I have my own wings.’
The dragon lowered himself to the ground. I lifted Morey up to the saddle, then pulled on my coat before climbing up.
It was only as we were spiralling down to the monastery that I’d realised how little attention I’d paid to the flight. I’d been planning my discussion with the Abbot, worrying about Morey, and reminding myself to check in with Holly later to discuss her meeting with the architect. Somehow, dragon transport was becoming part of my life. Perhaps that was inevitable, but I regretted that I had lost some of my original wonder.
A monk met us as I dismounted. ‘Welcome to Saint Thomas,’ he said, grey cowl sliding as he bobbed his red head. ‘I’m to show you to the Abbot’s study. He will join you there shortly.’
‘Abbot?’ Clyde repeated. He pushed the velcro apart and crawled onto my arm. ‘Meet an abbot?’
The monk drew back his head. ‘The Abbot is not expecting a snail shark.’
‘Let him roam the grounds,’ Morey said to me. ‘We can call him back later.’
‘And if he doesn’t come back?’
‘“If you love something, set it free,”’ the gryphon intoned. ‘“If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be.”’
‘You’ve been watching soap operas again,’ I accused him. But I lowered Clyde to the ground. ‘Have fun, and we’ll see you later.’
The snail pup lowered his tentacles to the flattened grasses. Then he zoomed off to the woods. I couldn’t help but feel a pang at his departure. And worry for any small creatures he might come across.
The monk showed us to the Abbot’s study, and we were brought cups of tea. I had just finished mine when Gerald joined us. ‘My apologies,’ he said as he sat down. ‘A new bee hive has just petitioned for sanctuary. We were finding them temporary accommodation.’
‘You’re obviously very busy,’ I said, ‘so we’re grateful that you’ve made time to see us. Are you aware of recent developments? If not, I’m sorry to inform you that Dominic was murdered. It was the effects of a poison which caused him to be hit by a car.’
Gerald sighed. ‘I did wonder. He was such an excellent flyer.’
‘He wasn’t the only one to be poisoned.’ Morey’s claws were curling into the arm of the chair, but his voice was steady. ‘Seren was as well.’
‘My son, I’m so sorry to hear that.’ The Abbot studied us. ‘But that’s not why you’ve come.’
I brought out my carefully prepared words. ‘I wanted to tell you in person, and to ask what you might want us to say to the clergy and members of Saint George’s. Will you be assigning a new monk to serve there?’