The Tarr Dragon

The Tarr dragon snoozed. The sun reflected by the snow onto her back where it stood out of the water was warming, sultry, but there was something … something … she couldn’t define it and didn’t want to come out of her snooze far enough to try.

Something landed on her tail. She twitched it, a loud splash followed by a small yelp was the result. She raised an eyelid. There, at the tail-end of the bridge stood a soft white glow, even whiter than the snow, it had a golden corona to it. It had touched her tail, she knew it.

Yeeeessss, she hissed softly to herself, she knew it.

She lifted her whole head out of the water and turned it to look back down her long length. The glow seemed almost to over under the bare beech trees that overhung her tail-end. She flicked up the first nictating membrane over her dark sapphire eyes and focused. Yes! It was him. The White Stag.

Sinuously, she unthreaded herself from the huge slabs of the ancient bridge and stared down its length.

‘And what can I do fffffor you,’ she breathed, sibilating the “ff”.

‘Rrrrarch …’ the stag coughed, barked. It was a greeting.

A silvery thread spun out from his forehead towards the dragon. Her tongue flicked out, caught the thread. The dragon’s eyes half closed as she savoured its taste, she gave a swift swallow and they were connected.

‘Coming, are they? Wanting you? And you want me to send them following the wild geese. What’s all this about then?’

The picture of a small dragon floated behind her eyes. She knew it, her brother’s sister’s cousin’s nephew’s niece.

‘Sparky!’ she exclaimed out loud.

Soothing vibes sped down the thread. ‘It’s all right, she’s all right,’ came the Stag’s bell-like voice ringing through her mind. ‘She has things to learn and is helping others to learn things too. We never, ever, kill only one bird with one stone.’ The voice ended on a chuckle that sounded like baroque oboe softly blown, it calmed her.

‘What am I to do, what is wanted?’

‘There are those who search for her. And there are those who have been given her. All need to learn things. You are good at those things. The hunting party will come to you. Owen leads them and he has chosen the dark path, rightly. There will be tests along the way. But one, at least, is for you, for you to give the test.’

‘I will do it.’

Choosing the Path

The way led down and down, down and down into the valley of the Withy River, the mother-water of the Shapeshifters’ country. It was a beautiful country … but not safe. Many critters, beings seen and unseen, inhabited the woods and not all were as friendly as might be. Owen sent out a thread into the woods …

‘Send us a good path down to the Tarr Dragon,’ he asked inside his mind. There was a soft caress in response, accompanied by a chuckle. Owen grinned sardonically to himself, the way would not be all plain sailing. A good path would be good from the perspective  of the Land, the countryside, the forest, the river and the dragon herself … Owen’s point of view might get a look-in after they’d all had their say! He felt tentatively within himself for a thread and then outwards, into the track to find the one that they were to take.

Several threads offered themselves, a red one, a white and a dark, smoky black one.

Owen could feel the others behind him, waiting for him to begin. His own kelpie-friend and the Mousies understood completely what he was doing, waited patiently for him to get it right. The dark stranger was sensing around the edges of him, almost snuffling and licking the edge of his aura as she kenned information from him. The two biker wyzards watched, they could see the threads too, he wondered what they made of them. Later, he would find time to talk with them about it later.

Seabhag was inscrutable. Owen was certain he could see – how not, from one as old as he? – but what he saw and how, ha! That was another story altogether. The little troll watched with eyes all agog, likely he could see too but he was very young, would likely have no idea what was what. And Magpie … ha! Again! That one kenned a thing or two but sensing into her mind over the brunch had shown Owen it was likely all upside-down to his usual way of looking at things. His mouth twisted into a sideways grin, that could be fun … later! Now, he must concentrate.

Carefully, and with an asking of permission of their spirits, Owen put a thread out to each of them, connecting them all together. They wouldn’t get lost too easily now.

Again he concentrated, this time on the three threads the Land was offering him.

The red one was hot, very hot. So hot it felt cold. It led directly down the most direct route to the Steps, the stone bridge where the dragon lived, where the dragon was.

The white one was cold, very cold, like ice. So cold it felt hot. It snaked a path through the trees, under the sunlight, stealing across the new-fell snow. Glistening blindingly in the far distance Owen thought he could make out the dragon’s bridge.

The dark path wavered in and out of vision, smoking at its edges. It was between the worlds, Owen knew. It drifted lazily, elegantly, down the easiest route, often following the contour lines, making its way to the dragon’s bridge. The bridge itself smoked around its edges, like the breath of a snoozing dragon.

That was the one.

It would a tricksy path but that was the way they must go if they wanted to find the Stag. Tricksy was the way Owen usually lived his life, he grinned to himself. He clucked to the kelpie who breathed the smoke in through his own grey nostrils and led off down the path.

The kelpie stepped lightly and gracefully through the heather onto the smoky path and was soon under the first of the soft birch trees. The others followed. The soft twigs rustled gently, leaflessly, the stark white of the trunks standing up like ghostly sentinels. Owen could feel their energy, their auras, they were quivering with anticipation. They would be watched. He hoped they would be allowed to at least get down to the bridge at Tarr, speak to the dragon, she would know where the stag was to be found.

A’ Hunting We Will Go

Owen was glad to see Morgan had returned from her rest, he needed her, there were an awful lot of people at the Arms all of a sudden. Drwyn was coping well, he’d seen that, had even come out with a bit of advice. Morgan had looked very harassed half an hour ago, time spent in her room seemed to have worked its usual magic. He put an arm round her and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

‘Friends!’ he attempted to gather the assemble folk together. ‘Friends … brunch is served.’

At that very moment an enormous earthenware bowl floated out of the kitchen followed – like a mother duck with her ducklings – by a trail of smaller dishes that seemed to contain various vegetables and sauces. The big bowl itself was topped by a bonnet of flaky pastry that bubbled and squeaked with the game stew underneath. The scents the dishes all gave off were mesmerising, all eyes and noses turned to follow, feet carrying them almost without volition. Owen chuckled inside – it was just like the rats in the story.

In no-time flat the guests were seated around the big table near the inglenook fireplace. Jugs of ale hovered over glasses, telling their wares so the folk could choose their potions. Owen noted that Muxworthy’s Otter Spraint was getting the most calls and signalled for another jug to be drawn. Plates were passed and portions of the game pie were joined with sizzling roast spuds, juicy carrots and the finest sprouts and kale. Gravy boats vied for attention with butter dishes and jars of medlar jelly as the guests added sauce to their food. For quite several minutes there was no sound at all but that of satisfied munching.

As the brunch came to an end Owen signalled for them to listen.

‘I know some of you are here on a mission to rescue a young dragonet who has been abducted from her home, my friend Jimson’s tavern up in Pictland.’ He nodded to Seabhag and smiled at the little troll. ‘I gather that you’ve been told that the White Stag can help us find her and that’s just right because now is the beginning of the season when he comes down to the moors around Dun Keri and will offer answers to the questions of those who succeed in catching him.’

‘That’s what I want too.’ The dark stranger’s voice sounded deep and hollow, it brought a breath of cold wind across the brunch-table.

‘Then come with us,’ Owen told her. ‘The Stag can answer all questions if you ask rightly. And … we would be glad of your help on the quest for the dragonet. We don’t know what we will meet when we find her.’

‘I will come … I will help,’ she said.

‘I-I will come,’ Magpie put in quickly.

Owen smiled at her. ‘Thank you. We’ll be very glad of your skills.’

Magpie blinked …

‘We’d like to come too …’ the Interplanetary Biking Wyzards spoke with one voice (in a delicate close harmony).

It was Owen’s turn to blink. ‘Err … can you ride Mousies? That’s our ponies,’ he added.

‘We can ride anything,’ Kevn replied.

‘Well I’m not coming,’ Morgan put both elbows on the table and glared across at Owen. ‘Somebody had better be here to hold the fort,’ she temporised, ‘and the communications, assuming they stand up for more than five minutes. Now … we had better get started.’

The party assembled in the stable yard. Owen noticed Magpie was trying to artlessly look for the horse she had seen when she landed on the carpet so he sent a thread to Tyler to bring the beast out. That particular horse was quite as much fun as the wonky carpet she’d arrived on. The dark stranger needed no transport as she was well able to run for herself.

Owen's Kelpie Friend

Owen’s own horse was a kelpie he had befriended some years back when it was losing an argument with the Tarr dragon. He gave a peculiar double-whistle and a lovely dark grey pony with a white mane and tail trotted out from behind the barn followed by a couple of Mousies who looked up to the weight of the bikers. And the horse that Magpie had been looking for. Her face broke into a delighted smile. Owen touched the nose of the tall bay, Magpie had sidled up to him on the other side and he handed her the plaited ropes of the bitless bridle the horse wore.

‘Want a leg up?’ he asked her … too late, she was already astride the horse and attempting to make friends. He grinned, turning back to the bikers. ‘I hope you can handle these,’ he led the Mousies up to the two wyzards. ‘They really know their way around here and are the best friends we can have on this sort of journey.’

Kevn, stroked the nose of the darker pony then vaulted neatly onto its back. His friend followed suit.

Owen vaulted onto the kelpie. Everyone was ready. ‘Herd ‘em in! Ride ‘em out!’ Owen called out over everyone’s heads. He was very addicted to ancient Terran films!

Morgan Refreshed …

Morgan's Room

Morgan slipped into her room and slumped into the chair with a sigh.

Her room was large and at the top of the rambling old house, but not under the eves. She still had the high ceiling which she loved, giving her a sense of light and air. The tall south-facing windows opened onto a small balcony, hidden from the other rooms, giving her private space. As housekeeper for the Arms she needed it. Owen was quite a handful (in every sense!) to manage, it was essential that she have space to get away, be alone.

Coronae was already there before her, sat on the bow-perch by the French windows, Tabitha was coiled on the bed, her silver tabby stripes blending nicely with the soft, woven throw Morgan’s friend Joan had given her. Morgan let out a longer sigh and leaned back into the comfort of the chair. It silently pushed out its footrest, lifting her feet, while a cup of cinnamon chocolate floated across the room to settle on the table beside her.

‘Thank you,’ Morgan said to the room in general. It looked after her very well, she appreciated it.

‘Want a bath?’ called the bath from the bathroom

‘No time, thanks. Owen has acquired a houseful and I must get back in a minute to sort out brunch. We have a Shapeshifting stranger who appears not to have control over her own shifting. Then this lovely young girl arrived on a wonk flying carpet. I think she’s a thief and a gambler,’ Morgan added. ‘She smelled like one. I trust Owen keeps the valuable locked up, he obviously has an eye to her.’ Morgan chuckled, sipped at the delicious chocolate, it zinged its way through her, perking her up enormously. ‘Next came a couple of Interplanetary Biking Wyzards on the most fabulous machines. I think they really foxed Tyler, he got quite grumpy! The bikers brought a tall, handsome elf with them and a baby troll. And some news. Apparently Jimson’s  baby dragon has gone and got herself kidnapped!’

Morgan paused while most of the furnishings let out a gasp of horror at the potential consequences which even the dumbest tallboy could see. Coronae, Morgan’s familiar crow, let out a squawk.

‘Sheeesh! That’ll fry Jimson’s bacon an’ no mistake,’ she added, fluttering down to perch on the arm of Morgan’s chair and steal some of the cinnamon chocolate.  Morgan smacked her beak before she got the chance.

‘What’s they all come down here for?’ the crow asked, quite unruffled at the reprimand.

‘I think the elf and the troll are here to find the dragon. Magpie, the thief, I suspect is looking for somewhere to hole-up and maybe make a bit of cash. Oh and get her carpet mended, Owen put Dryw on that. The shifter-woman want the help of the White Stag. That’s what they all want, to ask the White Stag for answers to their questions.’

‘Think Daaf knows where the ditzy dragonet is?’

‘Certain sure,’ Morgan told the crow. ‘What they need is to learn how to ask the right question. Morgan drained the cup of the last of the chocolate, fishing the last grains of cinnamon out with a delicate fingertip. ‘Now, thank you all for the resuscitation but I must get back downstairs and help Drwyn sort the food. And make sure Owen brings out the right ales and spirits.’

She got up, made a quick sortie into the bathroom and came out further refreshed. She blew a kiss to the room and whisked herself down the twisting stairs to the main bar.

Elf, Troll and Hairy Bikers …

Down the stairs, round the corner and into the bar. Owen followed the light footsteps with both his etheric hearing and sight, he knew it was Magpie. She was a delight to the eyes, he thought, in the fresh clothes, her hair shining blue-black like polished ebony with the silver streak flying through it. He also caught her thoughts … so she liked the Arms, did she? Hmm! That was good. He was fairly sure Morgan was going to be seeing Gofannon in the next day or so, that would leave him free to pursue a new friendship.

And here she was.

‘There’s fresh coffee over here,’ Owen called to her from the Cosy.

The Cosy; view of Hurlstone

The views from this part of the bar were spectacular. It looked out over the moors from the top of the hill and down to the coast over Hurlstone Point to the estuary of the river Iwrydd. Old pictures, maps and prints adorned the bits of the walls that weren’t windows. The window seat and the chairs were comfortable and padded with cushions. The winter sun shone through the glass warming the place like a conservatory, the strange vines and tube-flowers Owen’s friend Sobek, who was guardian to the Shit Creek Paddle Store, had sent him from his own garden loved the semi-tropical climate the Cosy always seemed to have. Shit Creek was hot, a tropical paradise of bayous and lagoons, weird plants, amazing liqueurs made from the flowers and krokodilos who were the best tango artists he’d ever seen. Owen felt sure Magpie would appreciate the surroundings.

He rose as she approached and smiled, holding out a comfortable chair for her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

‘Now, do sit down, let me pour you some coffee. And the toast and mushroom pate will take the edge off your appetite while you order. Just say what you’d like and it will be here in a jiffy. Drwyn has everything under control again in the kitchen now he’s got Klaus sorted. Klaus is the bat,’ he reminded her as he saw her eyebrows go up. ‘Are you here for the Hunt?’ he added, conversationally.

Magpie blinked, “Here for the Hunt? I didn’t even know I was coming here! I’m grateful for the hospitality. I’ll admit, I’m a novice flying-carpet-owner and don’t know enough about the, ah, vehicle. Now, what Hunt is this you speak of? I like a good quest.’

‘Ahh! The Hunting of the White Stag ….’ he paused, he seemed to be doomed to repeating himself about the spirit-stag this morning. ‘The white stag, Daaf, lives in the woods and on the moors hereabouts. Every year around the midwinter solstice he comes out and allows himself to be hunted. To those who are successful in cornering him he will grant wishes. Never,’ he stopped, turned and looked rather fiercely down at Magpie, ‘never does anyone ever attempt to kill him. For one thing, he’d kill whoever it was before you could say knife. For another if he didn’t get the person, I would. And I’d be a damned sight slower about the killing.’ He stopped, coughed, pulled a smile back onto his face. ‘Sorry! I dare say you had no such intentions but we do get some odd parties come to the Inn for the hunt. I tend to get extremely protective.’

At just that moment, there was yet another kafuffle out in the yard. Owen sighed. ‘Just put your breakfast order in,’ he told Magpie. ‘I’d better go and see what the devil is going on now.’

He got up. Just as I think I was making headway with her, he muttered inside his head.

Out in the yard he was stopped by the sight of an enormous, silvery-green-coloured, apparently jet-propelled motorbike throbbing sensuously by the horse trough. Tyler was staring at it too as its passengers dismounted. One was a large, good-looking wizardly person in full leathers. The other was a tall, pale and also good-looking elf.

‘I bain’t got no place for the likes o’ this kinda thing,’ Tyler said in his most dour tone of voice, pointing at the bike.

He was interrupted by a roaring and throbbing sound overhead. He ducked just in time as a second machine skimmed over his head and skidded to a halt when its front wheel banged into the trough.

‘Ouch!’ yelled the trough and spat a couple of gallons of water over the bike making sure the engine choked and it stalled.

‘If I’d known you were coming I’d have got some sugar to put in the petrol tank,’ the trough glared at the second bike and its riders … insofar as a trough can be seen to glare this one certainly could. It had had centuries of practice.

Owen bit off a chuckle, it didn’t do to offend potential guests and he was certain this foursome would be staying. The second bike had been ridden by another handsome wyzard and a baby troll. Owen’s eyebrows went up. What the hell was going on? And what did they all want.

‘It’s all right, Tyler,’ Owen began. ‘I think all these gentlemen need is a warm space in the barn to park their rides, where the oil won’t freeze. I’m sure we can find somewhere.’

Tyler grunted and headed back to his own place, leaving Owen to sort it all out.

‘Have a bite of mushroom pate on toast,’ said a dulcet voice in his ear.

Magpie had arrived beside him to see all the fun. Perhaps his luck was in after all.

Flaky pastry thoughts in the Kitchen

Drwyn's Kitchen

Owen slithered off into the kitchen. It was relatively quiet there, Drwyn was creating a game pie. A couple of young dwarves, his minions, were scuttling about, one was peeling pigeons, splitting hares, carving sides of venison, getting them all into a huge cauldron hanging on a spit over the open fire in the huge chimney. The other was chopping vegetables at what appeared to be a suicidal velocity. His hands and the knife moved so fast Owen could hardly see them.

Drwyn was encouraging them both while making what Owen knew would be an incredibly light and tasty flaky pastry to top it off with.

‘C’mon boys, that’s the way,’ he was saying. ‘Speed o’ light, boys, speed o’ light’

Owen grinned behind his hand, speed of light was his universal for everything, and especially for any work, it all had to be done at the speed of light. It looked as though the boys were getting the hang of it.

‘An’ what can I do for’ee. Maister?’ Drwyn called over his shoulder as he saw Owen.

‘I’ve got all these folk who need to go hunting the White Stag. Should we be taking any food with us or will we need to hunt it all? You know about these things, help me.’

‘Why be they all need to go a’hunting of the Stag?’

‘There are two reasons, I think, but they seem to be inextricably entangled.’ Owen began. ‘First thing this morning this dark stranger came to the Inn.’

‘Aye, I see’d it … her?’ Drwyn cocked an eyebrow at Owen.

Owen grinned. ‘Yes, I think so, from what I’ve been able to see through the mists that surround her. She’s under a spell, a wizard took her choices away from her. She wants to find them back.’

‘And the other thing be this little dragonet what Jimson do have lost?’

‘Right on. That seems to be some kind of revenge – again of stupid wizards – because they were too seriously gross for the Wolfshead so the Silly Bridge squoze them.’

Drwyn chuckled into his beard. ‘T’aint never no good goin’ agin the Triple Goddess … Silly – Sally – Saille … the Willow Goddess will sort ‘ee out.’

‘I’d seriously doubt those idiot wizards would have faintest idea of what you’re talking about, but you’re quite right.’

‘Harrumph! Wizards! Wastes o’ space, I’m thinkin’, the lot of ’em.’

Having settled wizards to his satisfaction, Drwyn put the final touches to the flaky pastry then wound it in a cloth and put it in the fridge.

‘S’om what be’ee gonna do bout that dratted dragonet then?’ He brought the conversation back to the point.

‘Find the silly sausage, of course! She may be a pain in the arse half the time but she’s a sweet creature and doesn’t deserve to kidnapped and terrified. Her mother does all the terrifying she needs.’

‘Can say that agin,’ Drwyn agreed. Dragon mothers were direful when their offspring were threatened.

‘So … do I need to take food, supplies, what?’ Owen returned to his original question.

Drwyn twitched his beard as he considered the matter, staring into the highly-polished steel of the huge kitchen sink.

‘I’m thinkin’ yee oughta take some o’ the water. From the well here.’

No sooner said but Drwyn hurried over to a cupboard, climbed on a chair, stood on tiptoe and just managed to reach a crystal bottle down from the top shelf. Owen knew far better than to offer to help! He did take the bottle when Drwyn offered it to him though, once he’d reached ground zero again from off the chair.

‘You better get it direct from the well, not here from the tap,’ the dwarf told him.

‘What’ll I use it for?’ Owen aasked.

‘Haven’t a clue,’ the dwarf replied. ‘Just saw it when I looked i’ the sink.’

‘Hmmph! OK.’ Owen waited a moment to see if Drwyn had anything to add but the dwarf was back into cookery again. ‘OK, well, see you later … I suppose.’ Owen left the kitchen.

Drwyn did glance at his back as he went out, a worried frown hanging between his brows, but there was nothing he could do or say so he kept his mouth shut. Owen would find out sooner or later.

The Dark Stranger …

Back in the bar, the dark stranger held out its mug for more beer.

‘Sorry about all that,’ Owen said as he refilled the mug, ‘but it’s being one of those sort of mornings. I think you were telling me you want to hunt the White Stag, just before the place caught fire and the carpet landed.  Do you know much about the Stag?’

Most of the latest pint of Ratspee went down the stranger’s throat in one long swallow. He – or she – can certainly hold his (or her) drink, Owen thought to himself, I wonder what they’d be like with the yard of ale? The yard-long glass horn hung over the huge inglenook fireplace at the far end of the main bar, it usually came out for a competition during the Hunting.

‘Dark ale!’

The guttural demand coming out of the hood pulled Owen out of his reflections.

‘You’d like some dark ale? Umm … we have Badger’s Broth, Hedgehog Treacle – that’s a lovely sweet ale with a hint of honeyed heather in it – and Otter Spraint. There’s a new barrel of that just gone up yesterday, lovely stuff. Jem Muxworthy makes it specially for the hunting season.’

‘Otter spraint.’

Nobody could accuse the dark stranger of being garrulous, in fact it – Owen had given up on genders – was brusque almost to a fault. He drew a pint of Spraint in a fresh pewter tankard and swapped it for the other.

‘Thank you,’ the stranger said, then opened up a little more. ‘Tell me something of the stag.’

Owen’s brows went up, he took a breath and slipped into taleweaver mode.

‘The white stag has been seen hereabouts so I’ve been expecting folk to come for the hunt. You know the stag gives wishes to those who manage to catch him.’ Owen paused, watching for reactions, there were none as yet. ‘I consider this a dubious boon. You always get what you wish for but, if you haven’t thought it out very carefully you find that what you wished for isn’t at all what you really wanted. And you’re stuck with it. I rarely go wishing with the white stag although I’ve met the beast several times in the deep forest under Kerri’s Fort. We just chat carefully now, Daaf has given up trying to tempt me with wishes, we just exchange news and gossip, pass the time of day.’

The tankard came forward again. ‘More Spraint … please.’

Owen complied, beginning to be quite awed with the beast’s capacity.

‘You realise the hazards?’ he asked, passing the refilled tankard across the bar. ‘Daaf  –  as I said before – is one of the patron spirits of our moors and woods here. He can and will give you exactly whatever you wish for.’ Owen paused again. ‘That, of course, can be hazardous since you always get exactly what you ask for. Consequently, the wise are extremely careful of what they wish for. I am happy to help you formulate the appropriate question.’

A low rumbling noise emanated from the stranger again, not like hounds baying this time but more like a tiger purring. The claws came up and pushed the hood further back. Now Owen could see the yellow vertical-slit pupils of the eyes. They stood out in the dark shadows of the face that still swirled without staying still in any one form.

‘You can see my difficulty,’ the beast said, catching and holding Owen’s eyes with its own.

As he was held by the gaze so Owen felt himself slip under the skin of the beast. He was everything, all at once. It was a dizzying, sickening feeling, nothing to hang on to, no edges or boundaries. He knew he was swaying on his feet, hoped he wouldn’t throw up.

The eyes let go of his. He rocked back into the world he knew, clutched at the solid oak of the bar with both hands and heard himself breathing like a traction engine.

‘Aach! Ugh! Ah! Ye-es … yes, I think I do,’ he managed after a moment.

‘I need to be able to hold my shape. Whatever shape I choose.’

‘How is that you cannot?’

‘Ah … tis a long story. I might leave it in full until the others come. I feel I shall not be alone on this quest although each hunter quests only for his own purposes and none infringe on the other.’ It took another swig of ale. ‘But briefly, it was a wizard.’

Owen groaned. ‘Spivs and assholes, the lot of ‘em,’ he said, not minding his language.

The rumbley purr sounded again. Was it a chuckle, Owen thought?

‘I cannot but agree,’ the beast replied. ‘They stole my choices away from me with kindly sounding and care-full words, but they are weasels all. And I like weasels although they can be as devious as dragons.’

‘And how do you hope the stag will help you? What question can you ask that will bring your choices back?’

‘Ah … that is my problem. I hope to journey tonight. That is why I am consuming as much of your local brews as possible. They help to dissolve the walls the wizard set around me. He knew I had to be contained since I could no longer contain myself, so he made these walls out of spinning threads that he wove on a dark loom, then he bound me within them. I am alone in here, alone and lonely until such time as I am set free.’

The voice was so matter-of-fact that it tore at Owen’s heart. The beast was patient, did not moan nor yet expect others to rescue it. That kind of courage was always special.

‘We will help,’ he said, his hand reaching into the dark folds of the stranger’s cloak to touch, to give comfort. He felt himself touch the claws and then … nothing. It was as if nothing was there.

Owen stared, narrowing his eyes and trying to hold his own focus. For a moment, just a fragment of a moment, he had the vision of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Phoenix gets his message over …

There was a spluttering behind Owen as he chatted with the dark stranger. The Phoenix wobbled to his feet and staggered over to the bar.

‘Here! Here!’ he thrust a blackened metal object at Owen. ‘Here, take it. It’s the whole reason why I came. I hate to think of all this confloption being for nothing.’

Owen took the thing, the end-cap was stuck, he banged it briskly on the bar to get rid of the sticktion and the cap slid off, Jimson’s order fell out onto the floor. Owen picked it up and unrolled it.

‘Oh lord!’ he said.

Without him realising it Morgan had snuck up beside him.

‘What is it?’ she said.

Owen jumped. ‘Aach! Ah! Oh! It’s Jimson. He’s got a rush order of some fancy stuff that he needs by yesterday.’

‘What is it?’ Morgan repeated, taking the paper out of his hand. ‘Hmm! Yes … well … we can do this you know,’ she told him.  ‘He wants three pipes of Delamain Cognac. We’re all right for that because we had that shipping from Terra a couple of weeks back. We only want three for ourselves so that leaves us six spare.’

‘Oh … yes …’ Where would I be without her, Owen thought.

‘Hmm …’ Morgan was still reading the order note. ‘And he says can we let him have some Muxworthy’s Ratspee. He has a group of wizards coming – goodness, later today, I think – and they like that, had some of the batch we sent over to the Shit Creek Paddle Store. I’d better get onto Muxworthy’s and see what they can do.’

Morgan patted Owen’s arm affectionately – it always irritated him, and she knew it, did it deliberately.

Owen's Study

Wizards … did she say Jimson was having a bunch of wizards to stay? He didn’t like wizards. They were usually spivs in his experience, which was very large and spanned a great many years. He knew Jimson would cope but didn’t envy him the experience. He followed Morgan down to his study.

‘What the devil …?’

She was staring at the ethericnet. All the lights were out.

The phoenix came galumphing down the corridor in a right kafuffle of red and gold feathers and a lot of noise.

‘It’s all right! It’s all right!’ he was yelling his head off. ‘It’s Sparky. Robin is fixing it. I can take the message straight back. It will take Robin a while to do. What do you say? What do you say?’

Owen stood with his mouth open. Morgan took over again.

‘Yes, OK, I’ll just write a note. Owen, where do you keep the pens, dear? There never is one when I want one.’

She was furtling all over his desk, upsetting his carefully contrived heaps. He reached over and pulled an earthenware pot full of pens from where it had been hiding behind the flatscreen. It squawked indignantly as he retrieved a pen and handed it to her. She hastily scribbled an acceptance note.

‘But you’ve not called Muxworthy’s,’ Owen said, confused.

‘Well I can’t, can I?’ she replied acerbically. ‘With that ditzy dragonet mangling the ethericnet I’m stymied. I was going to ask Phoenix if he would call in on Muxworthy on his way back with this note. Then Jimson’ll get the answer straight. I’m sure it’ll all be OK.’

‘Oh …’

‘Owen, dear …’ Morgan sighed.

She coiled the note into the battered metal container and handed it to the phoenix. The bird hopped onto Owen’s window ledge and took off heading down the valley towards the Muxworthy farm.

‘Well, that’s sorted,’ Morgan took his arm and steered Owen back to the bar.

Owen Gets his Act Together

The Main Bar at the Shapeshifters' Arms

Owen was glad to see the back of Magpie, literally as she sashayed up the corkscrew stair behind Morgan who was showing her to her room. She was clutching a small satchel with a somewhat lumpy shape. Somehow Owen didn’t believe it was just boots and clothes. However he did hope there were some clothes in there, pretty as she was he didn’t feel he could quite handle it if she came down for breakfast – or would that be brunch by now? – without clothes. Meanwhile there was a soggy phoenix and a sooty bat to be dealt with.

He plonked the phoenix down in the hearth beside the big open fire. Immediately, steam began to rise from the bird. It was really very pleasant, the phoenix smelled of sandalwood, frankincense and myrrh. Owen thanked his stars it wasn’t a dog, nor yet his wolf-friend who, while less rancid than wet-dog-smell, was still a pungent nose-full when he steamed by the fire. Be thankful for small mercies, he told himself as he poured a half-pint mug of his very best Delamain cognac and took it over to the bird. He had to hold the mug for him, he really was weak, it wasn’t his customary playacting.

‘Thank you … thank you,’ the bird was very grateful. The drink put new life into him, and colour, the gold and red literally flowed back into the feathers, he transformed before Owen’s eyes.

‘Aach! That’s better.’ The bird coughed and spluttered slightly but was now able to sit up without support. ‘I think I could manage that hot toddy now.’

Sailing over the bar and across the room came a small brass tray with a tall glass on it that steamed and gave off a delicious aroma. It hovered beside the bird who took the glass in both wings and sucked up the warm rum, honey and cinnamon mixture greedily.

‘Will you be OK now?’ Owen still crouched in the hearth.

‘Ummmg, mmm, aaahhh … yes. Thank you, Owen.’

‘Right I’m going to see how Klaus is.’

Owen headed out behind the bar and into the kitchen. There, he saw Drwyn ministering to a small furry and leathery bundle curled in a warm fluffy towel in a proving basket on the side of the huge range stove. Drwyn was carefully dripping warm milk into his mouth through a miniature icing funnel. Drwyn looked up as Owen came in.

‘He’ll be OK,’ he assured his boss. ‘Twas the shock of seeing – and smelling – fresh blood that did him in. I had to waft some burnt feathers under his nose to bring him round. He gets better with every sip o’ the milk he takes.’

‘Good.’ Owen leaned against the big and well-scrubbed beech chopping block, allowing himself to relax for just a moment as he watched the tough and sinister-looking dwarf being a gentle and motherly nurse to the sick bat.

‘He’s an annoying little tyke,’ Owen went on,’ but I don’t want him to peg out on us, at least not quite yet. If all’s well here I’ll leave him with you while I go and find out what’s happening with our Mythical Beast.’

Slowly, he allowed his vision to take on a more general focus rather than the tight and tense one he had maintained since he first saw the beginning of the fire. As he came back round the bar he realised the dark stranger was still seated at the bar, the dark hood drawn back over its head again.

I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘It’s not usually this hectic. Not sure what’s got into the world today.’

‘Threads,’ the beast grunted at him. ‘There’s a cut … and a bunching. Threads all tangled.’

‘You see all that?’

‘I do. So do you.’

‘What brings you here, if I may ask?’

The beast was silent for a few moments. Owen took the opportunity to refill the pewter mug. After a few more moments and several glugs of the beer the beast spoke again.

‘I was told to look for a stone. It belongs to the Silly Bridge. It was stolen and now the bridge has no guardian and doesn’t know where it is.’

‘Goodness …’ was all Owen could think of in reply.

Bats without Belfries

Magpie sighed, organising her thoughts as she got to her feet, dripping. The carpet sizzled again and to relieve her feelings, she kicked it – hard. It made a soggy noise and rolled over. She glanced surreptitiously at the horse again then pinned a bright smile on her face.

‘You don’t have anyone here who’s good at fixing flying carpets, I suppose, do you?’ After sizing up the crowd in front of her she picked on the large, handsome man with the raven to address herself to. ‘I think I need a room for the night and a hot meal after that drenching!”

Owen sized her up in return, liked what he saw but knew she was as tricksy as they come, however young and appealing-looking she made out.

‘Very wise,’ he replied, pinning his own smile on. ‘A bath followed by some hot food and a nice drink would be very appropriate just now. It all awaits you in the Inn. We also have a young person who is very good at mending magical technology, you can speak with him after you’ve bathed. In the meantime, with your permission, I’ll get him to take the carpet over to the workshop and begin drying it out for you … Dryw!’ Owen shouted – he pronounced it ‘Drew’.

A small, dark boy of apparently sixteen or so came slouching around the edge of the hay barn.

‘What?’ he said ungraciously as he arrived beside Owen and began looking Magpie up and down.

Owen clipped him lightly across the top of the head, the boy half ducked and grinned impishly.

‘You see this carpet?’ Owen pointed. ‘The young lady needs it mended. See to it.’ He slung the carpet towards the youth.

‘Right on!’ the boy grinned again, catching the carpet and slinging it over his shoulder. The carpet squawked at such irreverent treatment. The boy sketched a bow in Magpie’s direction and headed off to the barn. The carpet made a faint wailing protest and sent out a few sparks as it was parted from Magpie, it seemed to feel quite uncertain about its fate.

‘He’ll fix it.’ Owen chuckled , turning back to Magpie. ‘He’s very good, despite the rather dreadful manners. Now, we need to fix you.’

He was about to lead her inside and looking to see if she had any other baggage when he was interrupted by the Phoenix.

‘I say,’ he said. ‘I’m awfully wet and my fires are going out and I really need a large shot of brandy. And a hot rum toddy as a chaser.’

‘Oh, ye gods!’ Owen moaned. ‘What are you here for? And how did you get in that frightful condition?’

‘It was her!’ the phoenix pointed a damp wing at Magpie. ‘I was just trying to thaw out the horse trough so I could get some water to clear my throat. That was after your damned cockerel had tipped me into the hay and started the fire. So I’m just getting some nice flames going and the ice is coming along nicely when she …’ he glared soggily at Magpie, ‘has to fling herself, and her beastly carpet, into the trough. The trough, naturally enough, spat her out. Along with a lot of water which went all over me. Then she gets up and shakes horse-shit all over me. And then, to add insult to injury, she flings the bloody carpet on top of me. I shall never be the same again!’ He sighed heavily, staggered and made as if he was going to faint.

Klaus - looking respectable & well-brushed

Before Owen had time to grab him another bedraggled creature flew clumsily out of the hay barn, landing in  a skid on the ice and finally screeching to a halt against Owen’s once-clean boots.

‘Eeeeeek!’ it squealed, grabbing with the claws on the ends of its leathery wings at Owen’s second best trousers.

Oh for goodness sake!’ Owen bent down and grabbed the bat, carefully detatching it from his clothing. ‘What’s the matter with you now?’

‘I shall make a complaint,’ the bat began. ‘In writing. In triplicate. Copies to all the bat guilds in Loegr. It really cannot be born. It is too much. We are not slaves. We are sentient beings. We do not deserve to be treated and humiliated, and disrespected in this appalling manner.’

The bat was really quite filthy, dust, cobwebs, soot and grime covered its coat, Owen’s hands were black already.

‘What happened? Try to be brief and I’ll get you in a bath.’

‘Brief? Brief! I have suffered the slings and arrows of ignoble insults and been in peril of my life and you ask me to be brief. Very well. In the time honoured tradition of all vampire bats I will attempt to accommodate your wishes. Despite  this, and the fact that I should really explain to you that I’ve been trying to warn you of the health and safety aspects which have never, so far as I know, been covered adequately, despite my frequent protestations. However, in light of your desire I will make the attempt to update you on my perilous condit…’

‘Quiet!’ Owen shook the creature, succeeding in shutting it up, at least temporarily. A lot more soot fell off it too. ‘I guess you were in the barn when it caught fire.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Caught fire?’ the bat shrieked. ‘That was an extremely dangerous conflagration brought about by the irresponsible attitudes and actions of that abominable cockerel. He’s an anarchist. A terrorist. A fanatic. A bomber, an assassin. A member of the radical guerrilla extremist organisation, the Al Quedapeck. He should be lock…’

Again, Owen shook the bat, this time clamping his nose with one hand.

‘I’m really sorry about this,’ he told Magpie who was staring, while shivering and dripping and stinking, and hoping they could go inside soon. ‘Klaus has this little problem.’

‘Did he, you, say vampire bat? Perhaps he’s hungry, needs a quick drink (like the rest of us, she thought but didn’t say). I cut my hand on the trough, here …’ She held out her wrist from which blood slowly dripped.

The bat managed to get its nose free and began screaming at ultrasonic levels. It was quite excruciating to everyone in the vicinity of the yard. Owen grabbed her arm nad pushed it away, hiding the terrified bat behind his back the meanwhile.

‘What did I do?’ Magpie was seriously worried.

Drwyn had come out of the kitchen, again armed with his axe. Owen handed him the bat in silence. The dwarf took it into the kitchen.

‘Warm milk’ll fix ‘un,’ he muttered.

‘I said Klaus has this … err … problem. He’s has ironophobia, he’s allergic to haemoglobin.’

Magpie blinked, then got it. ‘That must be seriously difficult for a vampire bat,’ she said.

‘Sure is,’ Owen grinned. ‘We try not to make it obvious, it undermines his self-confidence terribly. He compensates by being senior representative of the Ancient and Honhourable Guild of Master Vampire Bats. He does a very good job and is, I think, likely to be voted in as the next president when the office comes up for re-election in two years’ time. Ahem …’ Owen coughed, scooped up the phoenix under one arm and led the way into the Inn. Magpie followed, feeling very bemused.