The Vengeance of Snails Read online

  Penny White

  and

  The Vengeance of Snails

  Penny White # 4

  By Chrys Cymri

  Copyright 2017 Chrys Cymri

  Go to my website, www.chryscymri.com and get a free ebook by signing up to my newsletter. Click below:

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  Cover Design by Cover Couture

  Photos ©Shutterstock

  Photos ©Deposit Photos

  For Stephen

  my snail loving nephew

  This is a work of fiction.

  All names, characters, businesses,

  places, events and incidents are either the

  products of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner and any resemblance

  to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events

  is purely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About Chrys Cymri

  Other books by Chrys Cymri

  Connect with Chrys Cymri

  First Chapter of The Dragon Throne

  First Chapter of Dragons Can Only Rust

  First Chapter of The Judas Disciple

  Chapter One

  It was a warm spring day in England, and I was sitting in the kitchen playing Mastermind with a snail shark. My hand hovered over my supply of coloured pegs, wondering whether to put a blue or a yellow one in the final slot. Clyde was inscrutable at the other end of the brown plastic board, his body a neutral grey under his purple-black shell. I’d already used up five of my goes, and Clyde’s last response had confused me. Surely there was a blue peg in the fourth slot?

  I decided to go with yellow. Clyde glanced down at the code, hidden from my sight behind a green barrier. ‘White, white,’ he told me. ‘White, white.’

  ‘That makes no sense,’ I told him crossly. ‘There should be a black. Look again.’

  The snail shark’s tentacles waved, then he refocused his eyespots. A slash of orange pulsed through his body. ‘Last move. Black.’

  I groaned. ‘That doesn’t help me now, Clyde. I’m going to take this move over.’

  A flutter of wings announced the arrival of a frantic gryphon. ‘Where is he?’ Morey demanded, neatly landing his cat-sized body next to the board. His claws dug grooves into the pine table. ‘He should be here.’

  ‘Peter had an emergency at work, as I’ve told you three times in the last five minutes.’ I leaned back in my chair. ‘Morey, he’ll be here as soon as he can.’

  ‘Taryn can’t hold out much longer.’

  I sighed. ‘Then she’ll have to use someone else as a laying partner.’

  ‘She wants Peter.’ Morey’s purple-black feathers were slick around his beak. ‘She needs Peter.’

  ‘A police inspector can’t always drop everything.’ I thought about giving him a comforting stroke, but his arched back made me hold back my hand. ‘Taryn’s in the force, she knows that emergencies happen.’

  ‘Right now, all she knows is that she needs to deliver our family.’

  ‘Then why don’t you go in to help her?’

  His ears flattened against his falcon head. ‘The father never acts as laying partner. Not if he wants the relationship to survive.’

  ‘But why--?’ The doorbell rang, and I cut myself off. ‘With any luck, that’ll be him.’

  I hurried from kitchen to front door. Peter, when I opened the door, was far from his usual well-groomed self. His tweed jacket was ripped, and a blue stain covered the bottom of his beige trousers. Morey landed on my shoulder and told him, ‘You’re late!’

  ‘I'm here now, Morey,’ Peter said. I stepped back to let him inside. ‘Where is she? Your room?’

  A gryphon’s piercing cry, a mixture of falcon screech and cat roar, echoed through the house. Peter dashed up the staircase, his boots leaving dark marks on the light carpet. Morey’s claws dug through my fleece as I followed. Clyde, not to be outdone, flew past us, the white feathers of his wings shimmering against his much darker body.

  The door to the double bedroom was open. Taryn was circling around the tangle of blankets on the bed, her unlaid eggs forming large bulges in her cheetah sides. Her peregrine head lifted as she saw Peter, and her sharp beak stabbed towards him. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Dealing with a rabble of snail sharks,’ he said, dropping down to kneel beside her. Although she was larger than Morey, her head still only reached his shoulders. ‘I’m here now. What do you need me to do?’

  ‘Shut the door!’

  Peter glanced at me. I had to use my foot to push Clyde back before obeying. From within, we heard Peter continue, ‘And now?’

  A stream of curses, in a mixture of English and Welsh, streamed from Taryn. I wondered where a snail shark’s ears were located, and how I could cover them. Clyde was far too young to hear such language.

  ‘And this,’ Morey said, hopping off my shoulder to the nearby bookshelf, ‘is why the father is never the laying partner.’

  ‘Downstairs,’ I told them both firmly. ‘Let’s leave them to it.’

  ‘Babies?’ Clyde asked as I picked him up. ‘Soon?’

  ‘Morey?’

  ‘Around three weeks.’ Morey visibly winced as Taryn made some unkind comments about his parentage. ‘She should lay all of the eggs today. Or, at least, I certainly hope so.’

  We headed back down the stairs. Clyde had tucked his wings away into his shell, and once again looked like a twelve-inch long garden snail. ‘I won’t be able to carry you much longer,’ I told him as we went into the kitchen. ‘Not at the rate you’re growing.’

  ‘Fly,’ he reminded me smugly.

  ‘Yes, I know you can fly.’ I placed him on the table, and glanced at Morey as the gryphon landed beside him. ‘That’s quick, by the way. You’ve only been married seven days, and now you’re going to be a father. Didn’t you wait until your wedding night?’

  ‘Of course we did,’ Morey said, his voice dripping with patience. ‘The purpose of sex is procreation within the sanctity of marriage. Remember what it says in the Book of Common Prayer. “The causes for which Matrimony was ordained. First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy Name.” It’s the duty and joy of marriage partners to bring children into the world, God willing.’

  ‘Not every marriage.’ I went over to the cabinet in the corner. ‘Alan and I decided not to have children.’

  ‘You had James to raise,’ Morey said. ‘What’re you doing?’

  I pulled out a bottle of Talisker. The label stated 1985, and I dreaded to think how much it was worth. ‘I thought the father-to-be deserved a drink.’

  ‘That’s the bottle Fred Wiseman gave you.’

  ‘So we might as well drink it.’ I brought over two glasses. Clyde made a noise of protest, so I reminded him, ‘Snails sharks and spirits don’t mix. You know that.’<
br />
  ‘Beer?’ he asked hopefully.

  I sighed, but got up to open a bottle of Adnams Broadside, which I poured into a small bowl. Clyde’s belly opened lengthwise, revealing the jagged teeth which gave his species their name. He slurped at his beer as Morey and I sipped at our whisky. Morey and Taryn’s bedroom was directly above the kitchen, and we did our best to ignore the growls and curses which were scarcely dulled by the floor between the two rooms. Peter’s voice was a comforting rumble, and I found myself relaxing to the sound. And to the warmth of the single malt sliding down my throat.

  We were partway through the third dram when the sounds stilled. Morey stood upright, his tail a purple question mark wavering over his tense back. Clyde began to slide towards the gryphon’s glass, and I shot him a glare. The floorboards creaked as Peter walked across the room above our heads. I raised a hand as Morey crouched, wings extended. ‘Wait.’

  A minute later, and Peter came into the kitchen. I handed him my whisky glass. He downed the remaining contents in one gulp, then smiled at Morey. ‘Congratulations. Five eggs. They all look healthy.’

  Morey trembled with eagerness. ‘Is she ready to see me?’

  ‘Yes, I should think so.’

  Strands of my brown hair blew across my face as Morey darted past me. I reached out and grabbed his glass, ignoring Clyde’s grunt of annoyance. ‘How is Taryn?’

  ‘Tired, but okay.’ Peter took a seat. ‘The eggs are much bigger than I’d expected. Somehow, I’d expected that gryphons would have live births.’

  ‘Because the back part of the body is cat?’ I downed the whisky. No sense in wasting it. ‘Just goes to show that there’s still so much about Daear that we don't understand.’

  ‘Like flying snail sharks.’ Peter glanced at Clyde. ‘I’ve cleared up many a rabble in my time, and I’ve never seen any of those snails fly.’

  ‘Fly,’ Clyde confirmed proudly. ‘“Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth.”’

  The last notes of his fine tenor voice echoed around the kitchen. I smiled as I reached out to rub his shell. ‘Yes, Clyde, you can fly. Landing is sometimes a bit of a challenge, but you can definitely fly.’

  ‘Can any other snail sharks fly?’ Peter asked him.

  Orange pulsed through Clyde’s body. ‘You’ve confused him,’ I told Peter. ‘Remember, he was very young when I took him in, and he hasn’t met any other snail sharks since then. He probably doesn’t know the answer himself. But I think it’s safe to assume it’s not a common trait. Or I think we would’ve have seen it in others.’

  Peter shuddered. ‘That’s not something I’d like to contemplate. The rabble we caught today had taken down a German shepherd. There was very little left of the dog by the time we got to him.’

  ‘Dog?’ Clyde repeated.

  ‘We’ve had this conversation,’ I reminded him. ‘No dogs, cats, or human babies. Just garden birds and rabbits for you.’

  ‘Lemmings?’

  I winced. ‘If you must.’

  ‘Oh, by the way, I picked this up yesterday.’ Peter reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out a small box. I felt myself flush as I held out my left hand. He eased the ring from its cushion, and slipped it onto my finger. ‘Are you sure this is the one you want? I’d be happy to buy a bigger diamond, you know.’

  I shook my head. The single stone glittered, small but perfectly cut. ‘I don’t want something expensive. This is lovely.’ And I rose from my chair to give him a kiss.

  Morey returned just as we let go of each other. ‘You can come up now. Taryn’s ready for you.’

  Clyde followed the gryphon out of the kitchen. Peter’s smile slid into a frown as we trailed behind. ‘The dog run in your back garden won’t hold Clyde now,’ he said to me quietly. ‘Are you going to put a top on it? So he can’t get out?’

  ‘You heard him,’ I pointed out. ‘He promised. He won’t try to eat pets or humans.’

  ‘Or you could clip his wings.’

  ‘Peter!’ I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, shocked. ‘How could I do that?’

  Peter shrugged. ‘Some friends of mine have a parrot. They clip her wings. She doesn’t seem to mind.’

  I shook my head. ‘You haven’t been watching him fly for the past week. He loves his wings.’

  ‘Then I hope your trust in him isn’t misplaced.’

  Peter headed up the stairs, and I followed behind, my stomach souring at the very idea of taking scissors to Clyde’s shimmering feathers. I could no more do that than, say, tie a dog’s legs together. The snail might defy all laws of aerodynamics, but he was obviously born to fly.

  Both gryphons and the snail were in the bedroom by the time we earthbound humans arrived. Morey sat next to his wife, his chest feathers fluffed in pride. The eggs rested at their feet. I looked at the size, and winced in feminine sympathy with Taryn. Four were the size of cricket balls. The mottled brown shells made them blend in with the dark blankets of the nest. The fifth egg was only half the size, and its colours shaded from bright blue to a dark purple.

  Clyde crept up to the eggs, and touched them gently with his tentacles. ‘Babies.’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ Taryn said, her normally fierce voice soft and warm.

  ‘Why…’ I hesitated, then decided to ask. ‘Why is one egg so different from the others?’

  ‘Prophecy of the ancients tells us that, when the endtimes come, a chosen one will be hatched to the gryphons,’ Morey intoned solemnly. ‘This will be the griffwn glas, and he will be the saviour of Lloegyr.’

  My eyebrows crept up to my hairline. ‘Really?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Morey snorted. ‘You’ve watched too much of that Buffy nonsense.’

  Taryn pulled at her husband’s ear with her sharp beak, and he yelped. ‘You do try my patience, Trahaearneifion. Father Penny, griffwn glas do run in my family, but one hasn’t been hatched in several generations. They are considered to be the most beautiful of all gryphons.’

  ‘May I?’ I asked, indicating the eggs. At her nod, I knelt down and touched the shells. The surface was dry and hard, and warm against my fingers. ‘Well, I look forward to meeting them.’

  My hand had finished on the purple egg. Despite Taryn’s words, I still felt as if I were touching someone of significance. ‘Glas’ was the Welsh for ‘blue.’ What would a blue gryphon look like?

  ‘Time for a hunt,’ Taryn said. She rose to her feet, and stretched her grey wings over her head. ‘Keep those eggs warm, Trahaearneifion.’

  I hurried over to the windows and opened one wide. The scent of freshly mown grass filled the room, cutting through the mixed smell of feather and cat. As Taryn turned, Clyde came to her side. ‘Hunt?’

  The peregrine head turned to look at him. ‘I need a good meal, malwen siarc. I plan to bring down a deer.’

  The eyespots shifted to meet my gaze. ‘Deer is okay,’ I said resignedly. ‘But let Taryn make a clean kill before you try to eat.’

  Taryn flew out first, her wings a blur as she headed across the garden. Clyde was not far behind, his grey body elongated as he pushed himself to catch up with the gryphon. I watched until their bodies had faded into the distance. Only then did I wonder whether they were planning to catch a deer somewhere in England. There was a zoo and a wildlife park in the area, but I couldn’t think of any sensible way to warn them.

  Morey rucked the blanket tighter around the eggs, and lowered himself over his children. I closed the window, knowing that both Taryn and Clyde could return through the cat flap in the kitchen door. ‘You look happy,’ I told my Associate.

  ‘Of course I am.’ He sighed. ‘I’m going to be a father.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Peter said. There was a tinge of envy in his voice, which made me uneasy.

  ‘We’ll leave you to it,’ I said. ‘Unless you need anything?’

  ‘I have everything I need.’

  So we backed out of the room. I led the way down to the kitchen, wher
e Peter shook his head as I held up the whisky bottle. ‘I’m driving. And Morey’s not the only one who looks happy. You look rather pleased as well.’

  I splashed golden liquid into my glass and then grinned up at him. ‘After being chucked out of Caer-grawnt, and James being rushed off to hospital, it’s just good to have something to celebrate.’

  Peter reached out and took my left hand. ‘And we got engaged. Surely that’s also a reason to celebrate?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ I assured him. Then a thought came to me, and I put the untouched glass to one side. ‘I need to go visit James. His consultant thinks he might be able to come home soon.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Struggling.’ I waved away any further questions. ‘I’ll send you a text when he’s home.’

  ‘I’ll come over and see him.’

  I collected my keys and coat, and we headed out to our cars. After one more kiss in the driveway, I slid into my ancient Ford and was reassured when the engine started after only slight encouragement.

  <><><><><><>

  The John Radcliffe Hospital was an hour’s drive from the vicarage. Plenty of time to start catching up on the Big Finish Doctor Who CDs which had arrived during my time in Caer-grawnt. Tegan was shouting at the Fifth Doctor as I pulled into the small car park reserved for staff and visitors to the more secretive part of the trauma centre. Although James had been treated in the main heart centre, he was now recuperating in a ward which specialised in cases connected with Lloegyr.

  The nurse at the reception desk smiled and, despite my lack of dog collar, called me ‘Reverend Penny.’ I walked down the well-lit hospital corridor to James’ room. My brother was sitting in the chair beside his bed. His brown hair was rumpled, and a slight beard straggled down his face. ‘Hi, Pen.’

  ‘James.’ I wanted to throw my arms around him, but he’d long ago grown out of hugs from his older sister. ‘Had a good lunch?’