The Marriage of Gryphons (Penny White Book 3)

by Chrys Cymri

  ‘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.’