Nessie Quest

by Melissa Savage

  Sweeping back and forth.

  Until finally, at two acorns and about the gazillionth sweep, Corny says, “I think she’s sleepin’ in tonight.”

  “I thought this thing was supposed to be nocturnal,” Dax says.

  “So you’re saying even subterranean reptiles can push the Snooze button,” I say, following my remark with a loud HA!

  No one laughs.

  Especially not Hammy Bean, who has a scowl on his face like no one’s business.

  “Corny,” I ask, “do you think the monster could be just a plain old fish?”

  “The sturgeon theory.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “I’ve studied everythin’ aboot this loch for over twenty years an’ I know, based on the water temperature, depth, ecosystem and more, that there is only one option.”

  I hold one finger up. “One?”

  He nods. “It must be a new species or possibly a combination o’ already cataloged species an’ one not yet identified.”

  “So, like a cross between two different kinds of animals?” I ask.

  “Aye,” he says. “Since the lochs are connected to the North Sea by the river, it verra well could be a combination o’ sea creatures; however, it would have to be able to survive in both seawater and freshwater at the same time. The big question is, how does it evade capture or detection every time? The loch is large an’ deep, but there has to be more than that. The question is what?”

  “But that information is still classified,” Hammy Bean says.

  “What information?” I ask.

  “The banana is yet to be skinned and it’s still growin’ on the vine,” Hammy Bean tells Corny.

  “Hey,” I say. “That one isn’t on the list either.”

  “That’s because it’s classified,” he tells me.

  “Well, when are we going to call it a night because the monster isn’t cooperating? I’m tired, and Dax is already asleep.”

  Dax’s head pops up. “I’m not sleeping.”

  “Being a Nessie hunter isna for the faint o’ heart,” he tells me. “Ye have to be a warrior. A force to be reckoned with. So man yer post. In all this time you’ve been blabbin’ ye might have missed yer chance.”

  * * *

  By three-oh-five acorns, I can barely keep my eyes open and Dax’s head is bobbing. Corny makes the final decision to end the hunt and motors the SS Albatross back to the rickety dock while Hammy Bean hangs his head in defeat.

  All in all, there are pros and cons to our midnight search with the larger-than-life Cornelius Blaise Barrington, Nessie Hunter Extraordinaire.

  Pro: I’m alive.

  Which is kind of a big one.

  Pro: the SS Albatross didn’t sink to the bottom.

  Another big one.

  Con: Team Nessie Quest investigators found diddly squat.

  And that’s a big con to have. Especially for Hammy Bean.

  After an entire night of scanning the loch for a monster, we don’t have anything to show for it.

  Not one single target hit.

  I’m disappointed for sure, but on our way back to the tent Hammy Bean is one surly green bean.

  Dax on one end, me on the other and Hammy Bean in the middle. After no one says anything for a real long time, I try my best to lighten the mood.

  “Maybe they really were sleeping,” I suggest, looking back and forth between the boys. “I mean, they have to sleep sometimes, right?”

  Silence.

  “Look at it this way,” I say. “We’ve got more time to hunt together as a team. I mean, if we found definitive proof tonight, what would we do tomorrow? Right? Right?”

  “Not even one target hit,” Hammy Bean mutters. “That’s just bloody terrible science. Bloody awful is what it is. How will anyone ever take me seriously if I dinna come up with fresh an’ credible evidence?”

  “Who’s anyone?” I ask him.

  “The Loch Ness Project,” he says. “They’ll never consider me more than just an amateur hunter without any real proof.”

  “Give it time,” I say. “We’ll find something significant, I can feel it. Just because we didn’t find anything orange today doesn’t mean we won’t find it tomorrow.”

  Euna Begbie’s words of wisdom finally seem to do the trick and his mood brightens as we make our way over the bridge and down the dock.

  “I sure could eat another cheese sandwich,” Hammy Bean says when we hit the edge of the Highland Club grounds.

  “Wolfgang here ate the last one,” I tell him. “But there’s probably some marshmallows left in the bag.”

  “I’m serious, do not make me your Hermione,” Dax insists. “Say it with me…Guitarman.”

  “I don’t need a Guitarman,” I tell him. “I need a Ron”—I put a hand on Hammy Bean’s shoulder—“a Harriet Potter”—I point to myself—“and a Hermione,” and I point a thumb in his direction.

  Dax stops.

  “Hey.” He juts a chin ahead of us toward the grounds where we set up the tent. “There’s a light there. Did anyone leave their flashlight on?”

  I stop too and stretch my neck to see darting flashlights in the darkness where we left our empty tent.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four long lights, darting across the lawn of the abbey.

  “Oh no,” I whisper.

  “What?” Hammy Bean asks. “What is it?”

  I sigh a deflated sigh. “They’re up…and they’re looking for us.”

  “Not cool,” Dax says.

  Hammy Bean turns to us both, pointing a single quaking finger in our direction. “Ye crossed yer hearts,” he says, his voice shaking. “Ye promised the most ultimate promise. There’s nothin’ stronger than that. Don’t ye dare be a wee clipe.”

  “What’s a wee clipe?” I ask.

  “Someone who goes back on their ultimate promise an’ tells,” he says, tears balling up inside his eyes and perching on the bottom ledge of his lashes.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m no wee clipe, I’ll tell you that,” I say. “We won’t say anything, right, Dax?”

  “No way, HB. We’ve got your back. The person who’d do something like that is the lowest of the low.”

  “I canna lose the SS Albatross,” he whispers. “I just canna. I’d be gutted—it’s my whole life. I have to win the race, an’ if I lose that boat, I willna even have a chance to matter. I need that boat. It’s my wings.”

  That’s when I know for the first time that Hammy Bean isn’t just talking about the Nessie Race. He’s talking about a whole lot more. It’s also when I know that no matter what, I am going to do my best to help him win that race.

  In any way I can…but, you know, with double the life preservers.

  So as it turns out, Dad does get mad.

  Like with-all-caps-in-a-feelings-journal mad.

  A Crayola masterpiece on the living room wall doesn’t bring something like that to the surface, but when you sneak off in the dead of night in a whole other country and they wake up to do a surprise late-night parental roll call on you and you’re gone for hours…it’s a whole other story.

  He was mad.

  I mean big-time.

  Like red-in-the-face and voice-booming and go-to-your-room-until-further-notice mad.

  Even using-my-whole-entire-name-without-going-short-in-any-form-whatsoever mad.

  It was a brutal scene.

  Especially after we pled the Fifth in a silent Team Nessie Quest pact to never give away the secrets of the SS Albatross.

  Me and Dax crossed our hearts for Hammy Bean and we meant it. His secret was safe with us.

  He didn’t hire any wee clipes. All I can say now is thank God for YouTube and skateboarding dogs.

 
The bulldog’s name is Otto and he set the Guinness World Record for his skateboarding ability on all fours. I’m not sure if they have a special book just for dogs, but either way, he’s in there and he’s real good too.

  With the exception of some texting with Britney B for Tennyson updates, by the end of the week, I had clocked more than a hundred videos on my laptop and I was still going strong.

  Solitary confinement will do that to a person.

  Feeling word: Bored. Bored out of my gourd.

  Unless I think about Dax when he’s wearing that jean jacket with the peace sign on the back of it. Then my feeling word changes, but I’m keeping that one to myself.

  “Adelaide Ru?” Mom says, tapping on the door just before lunch. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching puppies fall asleep in funny positions,” I tell her, lying on my stomach in the middle of my bed, still in my pajamas with my chin on my palm.

  She squints at the laptop screen from the doorway. “Please turn that off,” she says.

  “But, Mom, the next one up is a pug that says I love you,” I tell her. “He actually speaks the words. Like a person?”

  “Come on out,” she tells me. “I need your help on something.”

  “N.I.,” I tell her.

  “N.I.?”

  “Not interested,” I say.

  “Come on,” she says.

  “Wait, let me just show you this one where a guy does a magic trick for a baby orangutan. It’s totally brill—”

  “I said turn it off,” she says in her I-mean-it voice.

  I close the laptop, drag myself off the bed and follow her out to the kitchen. “What else am I supposed to do in there, stare at the walls?”

  “I’m springing you from your jail cell so you can help me with the grocery list,” she says, sliding a hip onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “I need to get some things from Ness for Less and you can help.”

  “Does that mean I’m sprung from solitary confinement for good?” I ask, leaning my chin on her arm.

  She smiles. “Dad’s getting there.”

  “But I at least have permission to once again interact with the general population?”

  “For today.”

  “I hope you know that Britney B has just informed me that Mr. Mews is now walking on a leash on a regular basis,” I tell her.

  “See, I knew Mr. Mews could rise to his challenge as well,” she says. “Didn’t I say that?”

  I sit up and pop a grape into my mouth from the bowl of fruit on the breakfast bar.

  “So does that mean I can go with you to the store too and see Quigley Dunbar the Third?”

  “And to lunch at Farquhar’s too,” she says.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” I tell her. “I thought I’d lose my mind locked up in that room.”

  “Well, the door wasn’t locked and it’s been less than a week, but I suppose I can understand.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “But don’t forget that you’re the one who caused this.” She points at me. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty about your punishment.”

  “I know it,” I sigh. “But there was important research that had to be done. Hammy Bean needs to remain significant in the Nessie Race…for more reasons than you even know.”

  “I’m so glad to hear you’ve made the best of Scotland,” she says. “And are making such special friends here. However, there were ground rules about Saturday night to keep you all safe.”

  “I know, I know,” I say. “I get it. But when will I be completely off punishment? You have to admit, ‘until further notice’ is more than a little unfair. I mean, if I’m being honest about it.”

  “You scared Dad,” she tells me. “I’ve never seen him so scared.”

  “He looked mad to me,” I mumble.

  “He was mad once he knew you were okay because we were scared that something might have happened to you. Do you know how much we love you?”

  I sigh again and lay my chin back on her arm. “Yes,” I say.

  “Do you know what we would do if we ever lost you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, neither do I,” she says. “Parents protect their children—that’s our job and that’s why there are rules.”

  I think hard about all of it and I can’t help but wonder what it feels like for Hammy Bean not to have his parents want to protect him. Even though he has his Mamo Honey, I know he wishes his parents cared enough about him to jail him inhumanely just the way mine do.

  I wrap my arms around Mom’s waist and feel her arms wrap around me. Tight.

  Feeling words: Loved the way I deserve to be loved.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I really and truly am.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers at the top of my head.

  “But could you at least ask Dad if he has an inkling about when he’ll stop being mad so I can keep gathering my research?” I ask her.

  She squeezes me even tighter. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

  “I sure hope so, because there’s a story here, Mom. A story that’s never been written before, and I’m the one who must write it.”

  “The lake monster story?”

  “Yeah, there’s definitely a lake monster in it,” I tell her. “But there’s so much more too.”

  “So…tell me.”

  I shake my head. “Not yet,” I tell her. “But soon.”

  “Okay, go on and get dressed.”

  “Woo-hoo!” I exclaim as I run toward the hall, slipping and sliding on the wood floor in my white socks. “I’m getting a double-sized basket with extra flat fries and two sides of top-secret-recipe tartar sauce.”

  “Captain Green Bean to Team Nessie Quest, do ye read? Over.”

  My eyes peel open and my hands scramble in the dark, searching for the walkie-talkie as I squint at the clock on the bedside table.

  Four-twenty.

  Are you kidding me?

  “Do ye read me, Team Nessie Quest? Over.”

  My fingers find the radio and I grab it.

  “Don’t you ever sleep? Over?” I ask him.

  “Not when important Nessie discovery work is to be done. Would Roy Mackal sleep? Would Tobin Sky? No, because we are dedicated to our cryptid discoveries. Over.”

  “Who’s Roy Mackal? Over?”

  “A professor from Chicago who came here in 1969 an’ was convinced Nessie was most likely a type of sea cow. Over.”

  “Oh, right. The sirenian.”

  “Brilliant, Denver. You’ve turned out to be a great reporter/secret agent. Over.”

  “Did you ever have a doubt? Over.”

  Silence.

  “Hello? Over?”

  Laughter. “Never. Over.”

  “So Mamo Honey obviously gave you your radio back. Over,” I say.

  “After more than a wee bit o’ convincin’. Over.”

  “My sentencing consisted of life without parole,” I say. “Buuuut I think they may be softening. Over.”

  “Thaaat’s a roger, Denver, because there’s been a major sightin’,” he tells me. “A tourist got a picture this week. Is there any way ye could go oot and investigate? Over.”

  “Thaaat’s a big-time negative,” I tell him. “They’re still pretty mad. I don’t see that happening. Over.”

  “Can ye at least ask? Over.”

  “Why? What’s the big deal about it?”

  “First, it was taken at the Urquhart Castle!” he exclaims. “Exactly where we were…Saturday night. Over.”

  I sit straight up in bed and stare at the speaker. “Are you kidding me right now? Over?” I ask.

  “Nae. Over.”

  “I knew she overslept!” I exclaim. “I told you that, didn’t I? She pushed the Snooze button on our importa
nt mission.”

  “Aye, yes,” he says. “Ye said it. Tourists from Germany got a picture and it’s all over the internet already. Can you Google it?” he asks. “An’ tell me what it looks like? Over.”

  I slip out of bed, grab my laptop off the dresser and open it, wincing from the light of the screen in the darkness.

  “What do I type in? Over?” I ask him, my fingers poised above the keyboard.

  “Type in Loch Ness Monster seen at Urquhart Castle, Scotland. Over.”

  I carefully type the words one letter at a time.

  “What’s taking so long? Over.”

  “Urquhart Castle isn’t exactly easy to spell,” I tell him.

  He waits, and on my third try, I get it.

  “Here it is!” I exclaim into the speaker. “A German family was on the beach and they saw something in the water…with a wake behind it too!” I say, reading the article. “A wake as big as if it were a small ship. Over.”

  “The picture,” Hammy Bean says. “Tell me what it looks like? Over.”

  I click on the picture and it expands to fill the screen, my wow coming out in a whisper.

  “Wow what? Over?” he cries.

  “Well, it’s far away, but there’s definitely something there. And it’s long too. Over.”

  “Well? What does it look like? Over?”

  “Like something real long and big and slippery and it’s flipping and flopping and coming out of the surface of the water. Like a snake or eel or something. Over.”

  “Is there a neck protruding from the surface? Over.”

  “Mmm…no. More like a bunch of humps weaving in and out of the waves. Over.”

  “But is it the be-all and end-all o’ Nessie discovery? Like, will this picture go down in history as definitive proof? Over.”

  “No way,” I tell him. “There’s definitely room for more…definitive-ness.”

  He breathes a sigh of relief into the speaker and then says, “Is there any way ye can meet me at twelve acorns on the oak tree that blows in the morning breeze? I have somethin’ to show ye. It’s too top secret to share on the radio. Over.”

  “That’s also a big, fat hairy negative,” I say.