“My new mates.” Hammy Bean smiles.
Then from around the corner the woman with the wild red curls appears. Hanging from around her neck and tied tight around her middle is a long apron with a giant cartoon Nessie on the front.
“Oh, michty me!” she exclaims, clasping her hands and marveling at us like she’s never seen children before.
“I’m Mamo Honey,” she booms with excitement. “Welcome to Tibby Manor. Come on in for a bosie,” she says, pulling us in for a warm hug and squishing me and Dax together.
She smells like a mix of peppermint and flowery perfume.
“She’s here to learn more about Nessie and she brought a friend with a guitar,” Hammy Bean announces.
“Brilliant!” Mamo Honey says. “I just put a batch of teacakes in the oven.”
“Mrs. Tibby?” I say. “Euna Begbie told me that you were once one of Scotland’s most famous Nessie investigators.”
“Please call me Mamo Honey, and aye, I was a foundin’ partner o’ the Loch Ness Project in 1972,” she informs us. “We were pioneers in gatherin’ some o’ the very first documented evidence.”
“But you don’t do it anymore?” I ask.
“Nae” is all she says.
“Mrs. T, is this you?” Dax asks, squinting at one of the large black-and-white framed photographs lining the hall.
“Och, aye,” she says. “ ’Tis.”
I stand next to Dax and gaze at the picture. It’s of a much younger and way thinner Mamo Honey on top of a VW van, posing next to a long telescope pointed right at the water.
A bell tings in the kitchen.
“Gads.” Mamo Honey jumps and scurries off down the hall. “I have to check on my teacakes. Tatty bye for now,” she calls over her shoulder.
I stare up at the next photograph.
Mamo Honey is posing with the other members of the group at the edge of the water, all of them dressed in the same gray sweatshirts with THE LOCH NESS PROJECT INVESTIGATION TEAM on the fronts in large black letters.
“So do your mom and dad live here too?” I ask Hammy Bean.
He hesitates. “Nae, they don’t live wi’ us,” he says. “They’re both doctors an’ work for Doctors Without Borders. They’re too busy savin’ lives around the world to live in this small town. But they visit when they miss me. Which is a lot o’ the time.”
Doctors?
I want to ask him how actual royalty has the time to do all that and still be royal, but I don’t. “Hurry now,” he calls, rolling his double r and running down the hall. “I’ll show ye some stuff.”
We watch Hammy Bean find his way to the staircase by running one hand along the wall and keeping the other outstretched in front of him. I follow him and Dax follows me, but I stop when the very last framed picture catches my eye. It’s a dark figure with a very long neck sticking out of the water and an even longer body clearly seen just under the waves.
“Wait. What is that?” I ask.
Hammy Bean turns back to me at the bottom of the long wooden staircase. The centers of the steps are covered with a red-flowered runner. He reaches a hand out, feeling for the banister, and grabs it. “Which one?” he asks.
“The very last one,” I tell him.
“That’s…Nessie,” he says.
I gasp. “The monster?”
“That is so super groovy,” Dax says under his breath.
“Mamo Honey took that picture in 1974 oot at the village o’ Dores Beach.”
“Man,” I say, examining the picture. “She must be super famous for that, huh?”
“If famous means everyone who’s anyone kens who she is, then aye, she’s famous,” Hammy Bean tells me. “But ye need more than just a picture for definitive proof.”
“Like go-to-the-store-in-a-limo-to-buy-her-bananas famous?”
He gives me a funny look. “She walks to the store wi’ her shopping cart.”
“Hmm,” I say. “I guess it’s only J. K. Rowling who does that.”
“J. K. Rowling goes to the store in a limo?” he asks.
“I’m pretty sure,” I tell him.
“Well, come on,” he calls over his shoulder, starting up the steps. “You came to learn some facts, didn’t ye? After today, I bet ye will never, ever doubt the existence of our monster again.”
In the attic of Tibby Manor is a small room with a large triangular window looking out on Loch Ness. In the window is a long telescope, which looks like the very same one Mamo Honey posed with in the photo in the hall.
The room is filled with more old photographs of Mamo Honey’s investigations and one gigantic and very ancient wooden desk. Hammy Bean sits down on a tall leather office chair behind it.
“This is my official office,” he says with his chin in the air, spinning the chair in a circle.
“It’s yours yours?” I ask. “I mean, all of it? Just for you?”
“Well, it used to be my Mamo Honey’s, but it’s mine now.”
“What do you need an office for?” I ask him.
He stops the spinning and places his fingers on the keys of a laptop on the desk in front of him. “So good o’ ye to ask, mate,” he says. “You are talkin’ to the editor in chief of the Nessie Juggernaut, thank ye very much.”
I blink at him for a few more seconds and then say, “Is it okay if I ask you some things about not being able to see? I mean, Euna Begbie said if I have questions—”
“O’ course,” he says. “Ask away.”
“Okay,” I say. “Sooooo…how do you use a computer? I mean, how do you know what’s on the screen?”
“Great question!” he exclaims. “Let me show ye.”
I watch him tap on the keyboard. While he does, the computer shouts every single thing that’s on the screen. Hammy Bean goes so fast that the voice can hardly keep up with him.
“That’s so cool,” Dax says.
“My computer can say words for when I’m readin’ and letters for when I’m typin’. I have an online computer teacher from Glasgow named Jonjo who taught me everythin’ I know. There’s actually a lot o’ technology oot there that helps people who are blind to do lots o’ different things.” He pulls out a flat electronic thing that’s about the length of a ruler and only a little bit wider.
“I can load books onto this wee computer an’ read them in Braille.”
“But there’s no screen on it,” I tell him.
“Watch this,” he says, pushing some buttons.
I watch as a Braille sentence miraculously pops up on the part that runs along the bottom of the computer while he runs his pointer finger over it.
“I brush over the sentence wi’ my finger to read it, an’ when I’m done wi’ that one, the next sentence pops up an’ then the next one an’ the next one. This allows me to read my books completely in Braille if I don’t want to listen to the audio version. I’ve read every one of the Harry Potters on this.”
“I love Harry Potter,” I tell him. “So then you know Braille too?”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe you could teach me sometime?”
He smiles with the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen on the kid. “I would love to teach ye!” he exclaims.
“Cool. So what the heck is a juggernaut?” I ask, squinting through the tarnished gold telescope.
Down below I can see the same three old men still lined up on the bench with binoculars aimed at the black chopping waters of the loch.
Hammy Bean stands up behind the desk and clears his throat like he’s getting ready to give a speech. “The true definition o’ juggernaut is a force to be reckoned wi’,” he says. “It’s like the Inverness Courier or the Daily Record. Except it’s a juggernaut, not a courier or a record. It’s a force to be reckoned with. Understand?”
“Yeah, but what is
it…exactly?”
“The official Nessie newsletter of the Highlands,” he announces proudly, feeling on top of the desk for a pile of papers, grabbing the first two, then holding them out for me.
I take them from his hand. “What’s this?”
“My newsletter,” he says proudly.
THE NESSIE JUGGERNAUT
Created By: Hamish Bean Tibby, Editor in Chief
“Why a newsletter?” I ask.
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean if you’re so good at technology, why don’t you do something electronic like a blog or a zine or a podcast to get your message out there? You can reach way more people that way. Even Dax has his own YouTube channel, and he’s got like a billion followers.”
Hammy Bean sits down again, puts his chin in his hand and sighs. “A billion? Really?”
“Five thousand,” Dax says.
“Same difference,” I say. “I mean, how many followers could you possibly have for a newsletter?”
Hammy Bean shakes his head and throws out his hands. “I’m missin’ oot on my billions,” he agrees. “But there’s a lot o’ people who read my newsletter too. Maybe I could do both.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “But just think of how many more you could reach with a podcast.”
“What is a podcast?” he asks. “How does it work?”
“It’s like your very own radio program, but not on the airwaves, they’re on…you know, podcast waves. My mom set up mine and I bet you she’d do it for you too. She did most of the work to get it up and running, but now I do almost everything myself, even the editing. I can show you that part once she creates it. Plus, I could help with writing because…I’m a writer, you know.”
Hammy Bean sits straight up in his chair. “Ye are?”
“I’ve only been writing since I was born,” I tell him.
“I’m hirin’ a new Juggernaut employee to help me. Well, more like a reporter/secret agent type.”
I blink at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“I need someone to interview the other members o’ the Nessie Race to get some good intel from their teams to include in my newsletter.”
“And I could also write the copy for the podcast shows?” I ask.
He nods in agreement. “But I’m the on-air talent,” he says.
“Deal!” I tell him.
“Brilliant!” he says. “Oh, and one more thing.”
I watch his fingers feeling for the drawer handle on the right side of the desk and then digging through a messy drawer.
“So who would be your ultimate-of-ultimate interviewees for, like, your very first official podcast?” I ask him while he digs. “I mean if you could ask anyone. Living or dead.”
He stops digging and faces me again. “Anyone?”
“Yep.”
“I dinna have to think aboot that,” he says. “It would be the one an’ only Tobin Sky, PhD.”
“Never heard of him,” I say. “Dax?”
Dax has found a worn leather chair in the corner and is plucking the strings on Ole Roy. “Professor Sky is only the greatest cryptozoologist of our time.”
“The greatest what?” I ask.
“Cryptozoologist. It’s a scientist who studies hidden animals that have yet to be discovered.”
“Oh, right, like the Loch Ness Monster.”
“Right,” he says. “Although his specialty is Gigantopithecus, the giant ape—”
“Oh, you mean Bigfoot? I know all about him.”
Hammy Bean sits straight up in his chair. “You’ve had a Bigfoot experience?”
“Well, not exactly, but the elusive Bigfoot is quite a popular legend in Denver because of all the mountains.”
“Tobin Sky has seen one, an’ he got it on film too. He an’ his partner, Dr. Lemonade Liberty Witt. Tobin Sky came to the university in Inverness to speak once and Mamo Honey and I went to see him. He’s amazin’. I want to be just like him when I grow up.”
“If he’s someone you want for your podcast, then we should make it happen,” I say.
“Why would someone like that want to be interviewed by me?” he asks.
“Are you kidding? Once you have a podcast and some followers and you’re famous, it will be a whole other ball game. And get this, maybe Dax could write and play an intro for you.”
Dax’s head pops up that time. “I would totally do that,” he says.
I knew he was listening.
“I could make you a totally groovy intro on Ole Roy here,” Dax tells Hammy Bean.
“Ye named yer guitar?” Hammy Bean asks.
I point to myself. “That’s what I said.”
“Here, check this out,” Dax says.
We listen as he starts to strum, bobbing his head as he’s searching for the words.
“Nessie Jug ie bah, dah, tah. With Hammy Bean as your host. Come with us as we explore. The Loch Ness Monster off the shore….Hmmm,” he says, looking up at us with an unsure one-lipped smile and…those eyes.
The seaweed-green ones that do something very strange to both my insides and my outsides.
“That’s actually just off the top of my head,” Dax says. “I’ll…keep working on it.”
“You want me to come up with the word part?” I ask him. “I can do it if you want me to.”
“No,” he snaps. “I told you I write my own songs.”
“Yeah, but I’m really good with words too. Check this out. Hammy Bean’s phat, with his Crypto Chat—”
“I said no,” Dax says again. “I can do it.”
“Fine,” I say. “But I still get to be a reporter, right?” I ask Hammy Bean.
“Reporter/secret agent,” he corrects me.
“Yeah, right,” I say.
“To work for the Jug, ye have to be a force to be reckoned with. Are ye sure ye can be a force?”
“I can totally be a force,” I assure him.
“You’re hired!” he announces, grinning so big it shows his deep dimples again. “First things first. All Nessie Juggernaut reporters need a radio.”
“How many reporters/secret agents have you had?”
“Technically…you’re the first,” he says, digging through the desk drawer again and then handing me a gray camouflage walkie-talkie that’s so small, it fits right in the palm of my hand.
“Whoa,” I say. “This is cool.”
“It’s not cool,” he informs me. “It’s a high-tech device used for the purposes o’ any and all top-secret Jug communications.”
“It looks like a toy.”
“Well, it’s not,” he insists. “I told ye, it’s a high-tech device.”
I look it over. “Where did you get it?”
“They were two for one at Smyth’s Toy Superstore in Inverness,” he says. “But it’s still high-tech. Now listen carefully because this is imperative. Are ye listenin’?”
“I’m listening.”
“Whatever ye do…never…ever…I mean, absolutely never…use any channel other than five. Do ye understand?”
I wave it in Dax’s direction. “Only official reporters/secret agents get this,” I say with a wide grin.
He doesn’t even care because he’s already trying to find just the right tune for Hammy Bean’s intro.
“Denver, this is important,” Hammy Bean says.
“Yeah, I got it,” I say. “Channel five. Why?”
He leans in close this time and whispers three words: “Nessie Race spies.”
I blink at him. “Did you say…Nessie Race spies?”
“Aye,” he says. “The Nessie Race is highly competitive in the Scottish Highlands. Highly competitive. Includin’ us, there are three other groups determined to be the first to make a major discovery in Fort Augustus alone.
And they will do anythin’ to make it happen…even spy. That’s the real reason I havena hired anyone local. I dinna need any double agents at the Jug.”
“Right,” I say. “So five and only five. Got it. What else?”
“On air, we only talk in code. Never, ever reveal top-secret intel over the airwaves unless it’s in code. Understand?”
“Like what kind of code?”
“It’s specially designed code that you’ll need to learn. I’ll email a chart for ye to memorize. That’s verra important.”
“Got it,” I say.
“I mean, super-duper important.”
“I heard you. I’ll memorize them.”
“And never, I mean never…ever turn the radio off,” he instructs me. “This is critical. The radio must be monitored day and night for any and all official Nessie Juggernaut business. Do ye understand?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“Also, we must only use handles on the radio, kind o’ like nicknames, so people dinna ken it’s really us. Never, ever call me by my real name.”
“Okay,” I say. “What do I call you?”
“My handle is Captain Green Bean,” he informs me. “And yours will be Denver.”
“Got it,” I say. “So what’s my first assignment, boss?”
“I’m glad ye asked.” He scooches his official office chair closer to the desk. “The town clishmaclaver is that the Loch Watchers had a sightin’ three days ago,” he tells me. “I would like ye to interview them an’ find out what they saw an’ get as much information as ye possibly can.”
“Who are they?”
“One o’ the competin’ teams in the Nessie Race.”
“Where do I find them?”
“They sit at the edge o’ the loch every day, watchin’ for the monster.”
I glance out the window toward the water. “You mean those three old guys with the binoculars on the bench next to the beach?”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t you just do it?”
“Are ye gonna accept yer first assignment or aren’t ye?”
“I’m on it,” I say. “What are their names?”
“Right, ye need to find that oot too,” he tells me, pulling a small yellow pad and a ballpoint pen out of the desk drawer and handing them to me. “All I have is their aliases.”
Nessie Quest Page 8
