The Stone Gryphon, Part 1, Oxfordshire, 1942
Chapter 2 – Tetchy

In which there are Alarming Introductions and Peter mistakenly mentions King Kong

Digory stood and moved quickly around the desk, calling, "Mary! Do come in!"

The door swung open with such force it smacked against the file cabinet, making the glass window rattle ominously.

Mary Anning Russell swept into the room like the force of nature that she was. Her strong, long gait carried the assertiveness of one still striding across sand rather than threadbare carpet. The next moment, Digory was enveloped in a very warm, rough embrace.

"Digs!" She repeated enthusiastically. He was rewarded with a kiss on each cheek. Tall as she was, he did not have stoop at all.

"You're looking well, Mary. The Sahara agrees with you." And she was, and it did. She had pulled her blond hair back - it was longer and sun bleached almost white. Her very fair skin was a shade or two darker than her usual, although her nose was red and peeling ferociously. "You must have caused quite the stir just now, walking through campus still in your desert khakis and trousers!" Digory looked over her shoulder. "Where's Richard?"

"Oh, he's coming along. Just getting Copeland caught up on Louis and... I say!"

Now, she was peering over his shoulder. "What is that!"

Digory turned around, catching Peter's eye as he did so. Mary must have seen him when she entered the office. She didn't miss details, and wouldn't have overlooked the adolescent leaning against the bookcase who could only be Master Pensive. For the moment though, her formidable attention was focused wholly on the Wardrobe behind him. All things considered, this small reprieve seemed beneficial. To Digory's eye, Peter looked rattled. Digory had thought Peter had been too casual about the whole thing and a first encounter with the Russells was bound to be unsettling, Narnian experiences notwithstanding.

Digory returned to his guest. "That, Mary, is from my old house." He joined her as she skirted around his desk to stand in front of the Wardrobe. "It was too large for my cottage, so I moved it here. Barely," he amended, for it had been an ordeal to get the huge thing up two flights of stairs and into his office.

"I've not seen it before," she sniffed disapprovingly, as if it was his fault she'd not inspected every Spare Oom of his home. Her reading glasses were dangling from their customary chain around her neck. Mary pulled them on and began inspecting the Wardrobe with the same intensity she afforded a Mesozoic reptile skull. She took a step back, looked over it appraisingly, and then moved closer, running her hand over the carved panels.

"It's not antique," Digory began, but she cut her hand imperiously through the air for silence.

"Obviously not." She turned for a moment back to him, her bright, brown eyes gleaming over her black rimmed glasses. "You got it...?"

"I had it made, from a tree that blew down. It's ..."

"No! Don't tell me! Let me guess..." She returned to the lustered panels, studying the burnished surface. "It's a fruitwood, isn't it? But not cherry, unless..."

"Apple," Digory confirmed. He glanced over at Peter, who remained at his silent vigil holding up the bookshelf and was still looking a bit dazed. Responding to his silent question of concern, Peter responded with a small wave of reassurance. All was well or at least improving.

"Hmmmm," she murmured. "Aha! And there it is, the apple tree, right in the middle. And... Let me see. Oh! Look! Here and here!" Her hands moved quickly over the lovingly rendered relief carvings. "There are animals coming out of the ground. Pairs of them!"

She whirled around, exclaiming triumphantly, "It's a creation myth!"

Digory had to laugh. "Indeed, it is. I..."

"Stop it!" she shrieked and turned back to her study. "If it's a creation myth, where is the creator? Hmmmm... The tree?" Mary continued muttering to herself. "No, that doesn't seem right." Her voice suddenly turned scornful, "And, Digs, if I find that there's a snake in here offering an apple from the Tree of Knowledge to Eve, I'm going to be very disappointed in you." She intensified her scrutiny of the Wardrobe doors again. "Alright, so no tempting serpents. In fact, no reptiles at all, which is surely a grotesque omission. But, here, a queen and king enthroned."

She paused.

"Aha!" she crowed. There are two of everything, but only one tree, and only one lion!" She spun around, grabbing his shoulder sleeves enthusiastically. "The Lion is the Creator!"

"Indeed, He is."

"So, it's an African creation story." Mary frowned. "I don't know any with lions as the Supreme Being, though. Maybe Richard does."

"Well, actually..."

Mary impatiently silenced him by shaking his arms then released him with cry, "Oh! Africa may not be right."

She turned back to Wardrobe, looking with even greater concentration than before. "I see a Lion. And Cheetahs. Dogs. Horses. Deer. And uncommonly large rabbits... No watches and waistcoats, though. But, Beavers? Yes, those are beavers, the tails of course. And these are centaurs, right? Damn. I don't think there are any centaurs in African myths. Although, perhaps it's a metaphor for North African charioteers."

Digory could see her mind cataloging every myth she'd ever learned, trying to make sense of it. But, the Wardrobe told a story she did not know.

"Hullo! What's this?"

"What?" he asked, stepping up to the panel Mary was tracing with a finger.

"This creature." Her fingers smoothed over the delicate carving. "It has a beak and wings, a tail... I've seen it before, but can't quite place it."

"It's a gryphon," Peter finally piped in from his silent post at the bookcase.

Mary spun around, now acknowledging him when she could no longer pretend to ignore him. "Oh! Hello!" She strode forward, offering her hand. "Mary Anning Russell."

Peter extended his hand, and endured a vigorous shake. "Peter Pevensie. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Russell."

Goodness. He hid it well, but Peter seemed more unnerved than Digory had expected.

"Mrs. Russell is my disapproving mother-in-law. I'm Mary." She shook Peter's hand one last time for emphasis.

"Very well, Mary."

"Gryphon, you say?" She grabbed Peter by the sleeve and pulled him over to the Wardrobe.

Mary pointed at the carving. "That?" she demanded.

Peter made a pretense of studying it, but Digory well knew there was no need.

"Yes, it's a male and female Gryphon. Typically they are shown with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. Some renderings, like this one," Peter moved his fingers over the carving, "have feathers and talons on the front legs. Others would show a lion's paws, front and back." With the poised explanation, Digory was relieved to see Peter's natural authority asserting itself. Whatever had unsettled him had passed or been duly suppressed.

"A lion and an eagle?" She took a step back, crossing her arms across her front. The reading glasses magnified her eyes enormously, giving her the appearance of a deranged owl. "Two creatures typically associated with a king, aren't they?"

"Indeed, they are," said Digory, injecting himself back into a conversation before it turned uncomfortable. "References to gryphons go back as far as the Babylonians."

"Do they dance the Lobster Quadrille?"

Receiving only open mouthed gapes in response to this bizarre question, Mary snapped, "Don't look at me like that! Alice meets a Gryphon! Down The Rabbit Hole!"

"Oh, of course," Digory conceded. Peter, he saw, was trying valiantly to not laugh. The way Mary could veer from one topic to another was a testament to the speed of her mind and tongue. It was, however, daunting for the uninitiated. Bringing the subject back to more comfortable ground, Digory continued, "Apart from Carroll, gryphons show up most reliably in Greek writings as guardians of gold."

"Really? Gold? Where?"

"I don't know. Do you, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "I'm not familiar with the mythology of gryphons."

Digory would have to remember to congratulate Peter on his dry dissembling. He wasn't lying, exactly, just leaving a great deal more unsaid – such as his own more personal experience with gryphons Down The Rabbit Hole.

"Do you have an interest in gryphons, Mary?" Digory finally asked into the welling silence as he and Peter waited for her to complete her earnest contemplation.

"I don't know. Or, I mean, I may have one now. It's the beak, and that it's a tetrapod with wings, making it more accurately a hexapod. Rather like some dragon renderings, but clearly not draconic. It's odd, and it's reminding me of something other than Alice, and I'll just have to think about it some more. Raid the library. Or get a student to do it for me." With that, she broadly winked at Peter.

"Mary..." Digory warned. "No poaching on university assistants."

She sighed with an air of exaggerated resignation. "Oh very well," and began fishing in the satchel slung over her shoulder. "I just want to make a few notes," she announced pulling a notebook and pencil from the bag.

"I can tell you that I got that image from a twelfth century bestiary I found in the classics library here. If I find the reference in my notes, I'll pass that along to you."

"Thanks, Digs," Mary muttered scribbling in her notebook. A few scratches more and she snapped it shut.

"So, how goes the study of the dread Dunce?"

"Well," Digory began, resolved to ignore her usual epithet and stepping away from the Wardrobe, "we…"

"I was asking the question of Peter. He's more likely to give me an untarnished answer."

Peter was in the process of pulling his own chair out to make more space in the room. "Mary? Would you like a seat?"

"Oh, for the moment, but we'll have to sit on the floor for tea."

Digory must have imagined the cloud of sand that seemed to puff out when she plopped down inelegantly into Peter's vacated seat.

Peter retreated to the bookshelf as Digory found his own squeaky office chair again.

"Well?" Mary demanded again, speaking directly at Peter. "And stop with meaningful looks at one another!"

"If you mean the Blessed John Duns Scotus, the work has been a bit frustrating," Peter admitted.

"Aha!" Mary pinned Digory with a fierce glare. "Not that I take particular issue with Scotus' whole reasoning from effect to cause. I also certainly agree that we can come to know God apart from revelation. But, I have serious concerns about his Immaculate Conception argument. I mean really, it's all very fine and well for her, but procreation without sex is a rather difficult trick for other women to emulate, yes?" Here, she had to pause for a breath – thankfully not elaborating further on the last point. "And I really can't follow Dunce's seven part Proof for the Existence of God beyond Step 5D."

Declining the implicit challenge to debate theology, Peter continued calmly. "I meant that we are having difficulty locating some of Scotus' works that should be in the Oxford Franciscan library."

"Have you looked on your own desk, Digory?" Mary asked sweetly.

"Unfortunately, yes," he admitted brusquely, pique rising. Digory did not appreciate this ongoing criticism of the status of the paperwork on his desk. It was his desk. He knew where everything was that he needed, and usually could find it when he needed it. He didn't particularly care if others could not.

Besides, Mary was in no position to condemn him. He looked pointedly at her. "We might have used the older copies in my personal collection but they, regrettably, are at the bottom of the Amazon."

Mary at least had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Amazon?" Peter asked. "Why would Duns Scotus' Questions on Metaphysics be in Brazil? In a river?"

"Now Digs!" Mary huffed. "It was an accident! Ten years ago!"

"This, Peter, is why you must never loan a book to Mary. She has a habit of taking them to the far flung reaches of the globe and feeding them to piranhas and giant snakes that swallow crocodiles whole."

"Are you finished, Digs?"

"Are you finished criticising my desk?"

"Yes," Mary muttered meekly.

"Piranhas?" Peter asked. "Could we just return a moment to…"

"No!" Mary said. "It's very embarrassing and always puts Digs in a surly mood."

Digory had to agree. "Peter, you should ask Polly about it, as she was there. And as we shall not mount an expedition to retrieve what is certainly ruined, we have attempted to locate the manuscripts missing from the library here."

He suddenly had a dreadful thought. "Mary, did you remove any of Scotus' works from the Franciscan collection?"

She snorted. "Really, Digs, of course not."

That was a relief. "In any event, it took Peter the better part of two weeks, but we did eventually learn that some of the Franciscan library, including a number works by Scotus and Ockham, have been loaned out."

"Ockham! Now that's a loss I do care about," Mary said. "Any idea where they went?"

"To the British Museum," Peter replied gloomily.

"Oh dear," Mary responded. She obviously saw the problem.

"Indeed," Digory echoed the expressed pessimism. "I understand many of the collections have been hidden until the War ends."

"It's not really secret," Mary supplied helpfully. "Forsdyke put a lot of it in underground storage in Bradford. Other material is scattered with FOMs."

"FOMs?" Peter asked.

"Friends of the Museum," Mary and Digory both responded at the same time. Mary continued, "Richard and I have a few things."

"From the British Museum?" Peter asked, wonderment in his tone. "Really?"

"Well, for your sake, I'm sorry but we don't have anything from the Oxford Franciscans. Forsdyke would know better than to give something like that to us."

"If you are as bad about returning historical artifacts as you are about flinging precious books into the Amazon, I'm surprised Forsdyke gave you anything, Mary."

"How right you are! Possession being nine-tenths, of well, possession." She chortled at her own cleverness. "It's not as if he gave us the Elgin Marbles, either." As a too casual to be unintentional afterthought, Mary added, "Although some of it is nearly as large. We've had a devil of a time fitting it all on our grounds."

Peter looked a bit askance and glanced his way for more reliable confirmation. Digory shrugged and was curious himself.

"What do you have?" Peter finally asked.

"A couple tons of fossilized dinosaurs in plaster jackets," Mary replied nonchalantly.

"Dinosaurs?" Peter echoed. "Like those big skeletons in the museum? And the lizards that are in the film, with the big ape?"

"Do not get me started on King Kong!" Mary spat with such vehemence, Peter took an alarmed step backward into the bookshelf.

"My apologies, Mary," Peter said hurriedly, "I did not mean to give offense and certainly not to a scientist of such stature as yourself. My own understanding of these things is quite limited."

Mary blinked and then smiled sunnily. "Goodness, Digs! Such a well mannered and intelligent student you have!"

"And one who is skilled at smoothing the too easily ruffled feathers of tetchy paleontologists," Digory added.

"He also seems to understand that flattery works very well on egoists such as myself."

"He is standing right here," Peter reminded them with a good natured acerbity. "And would like to hear more about why you have dinosaurs in plaster jackets?"

Pride mollified and humor returned, Mary launched into one of her manias with gusto. "When you find a fossil in the field, you first try to preserve it by wrapping it and the surrounding rock in plaster, and transporting the whole of it back to a lab. It takes years to study, so material tends to accumulate. There are blocks that went straight from the field to museum storage with the sand still on them from the Gobi and Tendaguru. Well, at least I think they're from there, we're not really sure."

"And when the War began," Peter led, trying to steer Mary back to the point.

"Like orphans, the poor things were evacuated to our barn, carriage house, and outbuildings. We couldn't have a dance if we wanted to, what with the ballroom filled with plaster blocks going back to the 20's." Mary sighed with an air of smug satisfaction. "No one knows what's in them and it will take years to find out. Except right now they are mine and they aren't going anywhere, at least until the War ends."

"The first person to describe a new specimen gets the discovery credit, doesn't she?"

"Naming rights, as well, Digs. Which is why…" and here she moved in like a predator, "I think Peter would be put to much better use excavating plaster, rock, and bone with me and Richard, than excavating the manuscripts of the Dread Dunce!"

Peter never did enunciate the polite declination already forming. What happened next, Digory was never able to explain or recall clearly. It happened too quickly. There were footsteps in the hallway and he saw Peter turn toward the sound as Mary, too, twisted in her seat. Then Peter was no longer at the bookshelf but moving, very fast, and not stopping until he had effectively blocked the person at the door from entering the office.

"What on earth," Mary exclaimed, rising at the same time as Digory realized what had happened. Peter had created a barricade, with Mary and Digory behind him, and the intruder in front of him. Except, of course, it was not an intruder.

"Hello, Asim." Digory said quickly, also standing, and hoping to defuse the suddenly very awkward situation. "It's good to see you again. Peter, I'd like to introduce you to Asim bin Kalil, a friend of the Russells'."

Peter remained rooted, stiff and wary. Which was reasonable, Digory had to admit. With the full, peppery beard, darkly tanned countenance, and long gray robes, to Oxford English sensibilities, Asim was even more unusual in appearance than Mary.

"God Lord, Asim," Mary snorted in disgust. "Can't you even enter a room without alarming every normal person in it?"

"Normal?" Asim questioned, quiet irony lacing his tone. His accent was nearly unnoticeable, with barely a trace of his native Arabic. "I perceive no such normality here." Fixing upon Peter, he said softly, and very seriously, "You tried to draw on me."

Oh no.

"And you tried to enter a room armed when you know full well that none of us is," Peter responded, promptly and unrepentant.

Mary sputtered, "What?"

Asim was standing very still, his hands away from his sides. Digory immediately understood that it wasn't necessarily Asim's unorthodox appearance that had alarmed Peter. His own eyes saw nothing more unusual than the obvious. But, Peter had a far keener insight. Peter had recognized Asim for the man he was, had expected adherence to some unspoken protocol and, when that had not been followed, had responded instinctively, and as his training dictated.

"Peter," Digory began. "This is just a misunderstanding…"

"Professor, Mary, begging your pardon, but Mr. bin Kalil and I understand each other perfectly well and we will resolve this matter between ourselves."

"You are correct, Mr…" Asim began, speaking directly to Peter.

"Peter Pevensie."

"I congratulate you on your perceptiveness, Mr. Pevensie," Asim said, bowing his head slightly. Digory detected no condescension, which led him to the further very troublesome worry that Asim undoubtedly understood Peter as well as Peter understood him. "What would you have me do?"

"You know what you must do, sir. Disarm, or give me one of your two knives."

Asim's eyebrows rose even further. But he did not deny it, either.

"Oh for God's sake!" Mary cried. "This is ridiculous with the two of you in a hissing standoff like warring tomcats."

If it were possible, Digory could see Peter's back stiffen even further. Asim did not even deign to respond to her. He was focused entirely upon Peter.

"Very well."

Digory flinched as Asim pulled a long knife from the front of his robe. He set it on the top of the file cabinet at the door. Digory was not quite sure from where the other, shorter knife came. He assumed Peter saw the quick unsheathing.

With Asim's placement of the second knife on the cabinet, the air came back into the room. Peter stepped forward, outstretching his hand to Asim. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. bin Kalil."

Peter did not apologize for his conduct; nor did Asim.

Asim slowly took the offered hand. "I am always glad to meet friends of Professor Kirke, Mr. Pevensie."

"Peter."

"And I am Asim." He turned toward a still scowling Mary. "Richard is on his way from Dr. Copeland. Would you like me to get the tea from the car?"

"Only if you promise not to rearm from some secret stash and subject us to another stupid ordeal."

"That would be futile and dishonest," Asim replied blandly.

"Would you like some assistance?" Peter offered. "I admit to being quite curious about Mrs. Kwong's tea."

"Thank you."

"Not if the two of you are going to get into a brawl on the way downstairs," Mary interrupted sourly.

The quizzical looks on both Asim and Peter's faces were so similar, Digory choked back a laugh. Plainly the thought had occurred to neither of them. Mary saw it too, and covered her face in her hands in mock horror. "Out," she muttered. "Both of you," and turned her back on them.

So blinded, Mary did not see the odd interplay between Asim and Peter as they negotiated the exit through the office door. Digory observed, but did not overhear, the murmured exchange. Whatever was said, it was resolved with Asim preceding Peter out of the office. Interesting.

There were further steps and voices echoing in the hallway. Mary hissed, "You read my P.S.?"

Digory nodded but, even forewarned, he was not prepared for Richard Russell's yellowed and gaunt appearance when he hobbled into the office.

"Richard! It's wonderful to see you again. Welcome!" As his old friend limped through the doorway, Digory felt his hearty greeting could not have been more out of place. Really, though, what else could be said? I'm sorry to see you've had malarial fever and a cure that is killing you?

"Good to see you!" Richard offered a tremored handshake and Digory fought the urge to glance over to see Mary's reaction. "Just met your mysterious student in the hall now... Now, Digory, that's a splendid piece!"

Richard's attention to introductory niceties lasted no longer than Mary's and as his wife before, he immediately focused on the Wardrobe.

"It's…" but now both Mary and Richard shushed him.

Richard shuffled over and gave the carved doors a thorough once over. "Apple is it?"

"Of course you'd get that on the first go," Mary muttered fondly, coming to her husband's side. Digory did not think the hand she placed on Richard's arm was solely for affection.

"You thought it was African, didn't you?"

When Mary clamped her mouth shut, Digory was compelled to respond for her, "Yes, she did."

"Only at first," Mary huffed.

"The closest is the Fans myth where the tree of creation sows the plants, animals, and fish. But the Fans begin with a Trinity of leopard, elephant and monkey, and you have a Lion." Richard said flatly. "Interesting. I've not seen that before." Richard took another step back, looking at the whole of the Wardrobe over the top of glasses nearly identical to Mary's. "It is your own story, isn't it, Digory?"

Digory did not know how to answer that. Mary and Richard were both looking at him expectantly.

The silence lengthened. And then stretched out still more.

"See, Richard? Digory has that expression, the one that he uses when he tries not to talk about his Secret."

Secret? Oh dear. Digory wished to neither stammer nor lie outright and was finding both very difficult to accomplish. He collected himself. "It's not really my own story…"

"It's the creation of Somewhere Else," came Peter's rescuing injection from the doorway. Asim was next to him. They were both carrying fragrantly promising hampers.

Digory saw Mary's eyes narrow and aim straight for Peter. "Like Wonderland? Or Faerie? With gryphons, mock turtles, and uncommonly large rabbits carrying pocket watches?"

"And Lions and Unicorns," Peter added cheerfully, truthfully, and not at all helpfully. "So how is a Hong Kong tea different from the usual? Apart from the absolutely amazing smells?"

Chapter 3 -Tea and Sympathy

In which Peter starts an argument about camels and there is Inappropriate Conversation