A big, booming laugh comes out of all three men, with one solo toot.
Cappy McGee pats Hammy Bean’s shoulder with a big grin. “I’d be gobsmacked if ye did, lad,” he says. “Gobsmacked.”
All three men head over to the counter to talk with Mr. Farquhar.
Hammy Bean leans in close again. “They’ve never talked to me either,” he whispers. “What’s goin’ on?”
That’s what makes me wonder if the words I shared when the boys went missing had anything to do with this change of heart. If maybe, just maybe I helped bridge a gap.
“Maybe it took them time to learn just what a force to be reckoned with you really are,” I tell him.
“Do ye think so?”
“Totally, little dude,” Dax says, chewing on a chip.
“Hey, Hammy Bean!” Mr. Farquhar calls from the counter. “These men up here are worried about what ye might have discovered oot there at Urquhart Bay the other night.”
“My lips are sealed,” Hammy Bean calls back.
Norval Watt holds up his can of soda to toast us at our table. “Cheers, Team Nessie Quest! May the best team win!” he calls out.
Hammy Bean shoots the men two of his deepest dimples yet. “Oh, dinna fash, we will.”
We all laugh and so do they.
With one solo toot.
After lunch, with our bellies full, me, Dax, Hammy Bean and Mac-Talla lie in the sun on the aging planks of the rickety dock.
Minus one wee SS Albatross.
I actually miss it, if I’m being honest.
Me and Dax are staring up at the clouds and taking turns describing the shapes to Hammy Bean as we try to decide what they look like.
“And it has a spout,” I say to Hammy Bean. “And a handle on the other side.”
“A teapot,” Hammy Bean guesses.
“Yep,” I say.
Dax wrinkles his nose up at the sky. “No way. It looks more like a catcher’s mitt to me.”
“Oh, yer bum’s oot the windae!” I exclaim. “That’s a teapot, see the handle and the spout?”
“Mmmm, I’m sticking with catcher’s mitt,” he says.
“Maybe a catcher’s mitt with a spout.”
He laughs.
The fluffy clouds swirl and swim in slow motion, morphing and melding into new shapes above us. “I wish you could see the clouds today,” I finally say to Hammy Bean. “It’s a perfect blue sky. No gray at all.”
“The loch is a moody one,” he tells us. “The weather comes down quickly from the mountains an’ it’s ever-changin’.”
“If I had my camera with me I’d take a picture of the sky because the blue is so pretty and I want to remember this day for a long time. Click.”
“What’s that?” Dax asks.
“My dad’s camera makes this amazing clicking noise when I push the button that means I’ve captured something in a blink of an eye. Something very special. A moment in time that will never, ever be reproduced. And if you’re really good, you can even capture the soul of the picture.”
“What does yer soul look like today?” Hammy Bean asks, propping his head on his elbow.
“A bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds.”
“Aye, but what do clouds actually look like?” Hammy Bean asks.
I prop my head then too and stare back at him. “What do they look like?”
“Right, I’ve never seen them before,” he says. “Describe yer picture to me.”
“Well,” I say. “The clouds are white—”
“Wait. What’s white?” he asks.
“Um, well, it’s like…it’s like there’s no color at all,” I say. “Except next to the blue sky, they’re stark.”
“So what’s blue?”
“Ummmm?” I think hard about his question. “It’s like this…give me your hand.”
He sits up and holds out his palm.
“Come with me.” I scooch over to the side of the dock with his hand in mine. “Put your hand in the water like this,” I say.
We reach down together, touching the water just below the boards.
“That’s what blue is,” I tell him. “What does it feel like to you?”
He moves his hand back and forth through the water like an oar. “It’s cool,” he says.
“Yep,” I say.
“An’ refreshin’ and smooth and it makes goose bumps pop oot on my skin too.”
“That’s exactly what a perfect blue sky looks like,” I tell him.
“And what aboot the clouds?”
I squint while I stare up at them again. “Do you remember when we were roasting marshmallows that night at the tent? I mean, you should, you ate like seven.”
He rubs his belly and laughs. “Oh, I remember them well,” he says.
“Clouds are like when the marshmallow is roasted just right with crisp outsides and a mushy center,” I say.
“No way,” Dax says.
“Well, what do you think they look like, then?” I ask.
“Clouds are like a huge mound of whipped cream on top of a hot piece of sticky toffee pudding. Constantly changing shape because they’re melting from the heat of the cake.”
“Yeah.” I point to Dax. “That’s right, clouds are a mound of whipped cream. That’s definitely what they are.”
Hammy Bean reaches his hand out toward me then. “Where are ye?” he asks.
I grab his hand.
“I liked what ye wrote about me,” he says. “And about how important words can be. Mamo Honey read it to me.”
“Yeah?” I say.
“Thanks for stickin’ up for me.”
“I just wrote how I felt,” I tell him.
That’s when he reaches up and finds my cheek with his fingertips. “This,” he says, “is what kindness looks like.”
I beam down at him with my insides filling up and over with love for everything about Fort Augustus and all the people who have become like family to me.
Especially Hammy Bean Tibby.
“And you,” I tell him, “are a force to be reckoned with. Don’t let anyone ever make you feel anything different.”
For the next few weeks, Team Nessie Quest lies low and stays out of trouble. Instead of nighttime searches, we work on getting the Nessie Juggernaut podcast ready to go live.
I’ve been writing and conducting interviews around town.
Hammy Bean has been practicing his announcer skills, and he’s getting legit good too.
Dax has been putting the finishing touches on the intro.
Mom has gotten everything up and running for the podcast and showed us how to upload interviews and edit them. We have all the interviews I’ve done uploaded and edited and we’ve added some voice-over copy to them too. They’re all ready to go live when Hammy Bean finally makes up his mind on what his debut podcast will be.
Dad even did a cool graphic for a logo.
It’s going to be epic orange.
Right this minute, we’re waiting on Dax at the Nessie Juggernaut office for the big intro reveal. I have Hammy Bean’s computer all ready to record it and then upload it to play at the beginning of every show.
Dax is all out of breath when he shows up ten acorns late with Ole Roy on his back and a spiral notebook in his hand.
I give him one pointer finger before he even makes it through the doorway of the office. “Don’t tell me you’re not ready,” I say.
“I’m ready,” he says, getting comfortable on his same comfy leather chair in the corner and picking at the strings on Ole Roy. He turns the knobs on the handle to find just the sound he’s looking for.
“Okay,” he finally says. “I’m ready now.”
Hammy Bean sits back in his leather desk chair and I slide a hip onto the armrest.
We wait.
Dax clears his throat.
He strums once and then stops and looks up at us.
“You know,” he says, “it’d be cool if you didn’t look at me while I did this.”
“What do you want us to do?” I ask.
“I mean, I don’t sing for people very often and…”
I grin big at him. “Are you saying you haven’t found your share-your-own-words-in-front-of-people tidbits yet?”
He one-lips me. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll give you that one. You found yours and I have to find mine. I get it.”
He takes a deep breath.
He strums for a long while as Hammy Bean and I wait. And then after a whole bunch of music with no words, he finally starts:
Nessie Juggernaut is a place for facts you can score,
with your host, Hammy Bean.
He’s got the facts you’re looking for,
if what you want is a real monster scene.
Hammy Bean is the boss,
with his wings, watch him fly.
Like the mighty albatross,
he takes his flight through water and sky.
In his search for Nessie high and low,
he’ll never lead you astray.
No hoaxes, no lies, no, no, no,
join Nessie Juggernaut today.
Then Dax looks up at us and in an announcer voice says, “Here’s your host, the Amazing Hammy Bean Tibby, cryptozoologist extraordinaire.”
He takes a deep breath and stares at us.
“Well?” he asks.
Hammy Bean pops up from his chair and so do I, and we both give Dax a standing ovation.
I even give him a whoop whoop and wave my fist in the air.
“That was so good,” I tell him. “So good.”
He shrugs. “Yeah?”
“Totally,” I say. “Epic.”
Hammy Bean says, “I love it! I love it! I love it! That’s the best intro anyone could have ever made for me. The best intro anyone could ever ask for. Thank ye, Dax. Thank ye for writin’ that for me. Sing it again!”
“We have to record it,” I remind Hammy Bean.
“I know, but I want to hear it again.”
“You heard the kid,” I tell Dax. “Play it again.”
The smile that spreads across Dax’s face is a two-lipper and then some. I’d say he’s smiling way too big to be normal, but he’s so pure tidy when he does it, it sure doesn’t matter to me.
“What about my intro?” I ask him before he starts.
“I’m working on it,” he says. “You’re a…ah…complex subject to write about.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…I’m coming up with just the right words for you.”
And maybe it’s my imagination, but those seaweeds hold mine a little longer than they usually do.
Feeling word: That’s private.
“Captain Green Bean to Team Nessie Quest. Come in, Team Nessie Quest,” Hammy Bean calls from the walkie-talkie. “Do ye read me? Over.”
I shove my head under the pillow.
So, I know I said I missed hearing his voice over that speaker, but I take it back. I would seriously miss hearing it a lot more at like…say, eight acorns. Or even nine, after my Wee Spot of Tea scone and English Breakfast tea with extra cream and lots of honey.
“Denver, you’d better be listenin’ is all I have to say because you’re the first-ever Nessie Juggernaut employee and bein’ a reporter/secret agent means bein’ on call at all times, day or night, in case a story breaks,” Hammy Bean says. “An’ right now, a story is about to explode, so you had better pick up that radio right this minute. It’s aboot the banana. Over.”
I sigh and pick up the walkie-talkie lying on the bed next to me and push the button. “This had better be good.”
“Ye forgot to say over. Over.”
“Hammy Bean!”
“Okay, okay. Believe me, ye willna be disappointed,” he says. “I’ve got a big assignment for ye, and I mean big. Humongous is what it is. So you’re goin’ to need to reach down deep and find all the tidbits ye can muster. Do ye understand? Over.”
I yawn. “Uh-huh,” I say.
“This assignment is too sensitive to say any more than I’ve already said on air,” he goes on. “The airwaves are just not secure enough and this is a top-secret bobble if there’s ever been one. I mean over-the-top top-secret. Do ye understand what I’m sayin’ to ye? Over.”
I sit up and stare at the speaker. “Banana secret? Over?”
“Exactly,” he says. “Over.”
“I dinna think I can wait. Over.”
“I tell you, I can’t say this over the airwaves,” he says. “It’s not secure enough. Over.”
“Give it to me in code, then. Over.”
Silence.
“Hello?” I say.
“Fine…The yellow fish…swims deep…but a sand bottom an’ the darkest crevices are where ye will end yer final journey of discovery. Over.”
“What about the banana?”
“I tell ye, this is new code.”
But before I can push the button to answer him, my bedroom door creaks open and I shriek.
“Everything okay?” Mom whispers from the doorway in her robe and slippers.
I drop the radio and it lands on the floor with a thud.
“Wh-what? Oh, yeah,” I say, scrambling out from under the covers and lifting the bed skirt to look for it. “It’s just Hammy Bean,” I tell her, snatching the radio out from under the bed. “He has a new assignment for me. Wr-writing…I mean, just writing. On land. Y-you know…copy for the podcast.”
The speaker beeps. “Denver? Do ye read? Over.”
I push the button and stare at Mom. “Momma Bear is out of hibernation and on a hunt for cheese and crackers. Over,” I say, grinning big at Mom.
Mom gives me a suspicious look. “Is that supposed to be about me?”
“Nope,” I say.
“Roger that,” Hammy Bean says. And then he shouts, “Good mornin’, Mrs. Fitzhugh! Over!”
She lifts one eyebrow at me. “I hope you’re not planning anything bananas with all these secret morning codes.”
“Bananas? Me? No way, I learned my lesson the last time. So we’re cool, I mean like freezing cold. We’re so freezing, in fact…you know what it is? It’s like arctic weather, really…and like I’m a polar bear—”
She holds a hand up. “Got it,” she says, standing there a few more seconds before sliding her baffies to the kitchen to start the coffee. I listen to the opening and closing of cupboards and the sound of Dad starting the shower in the hall bathroom with his typical morning chorus of “Singin’ in the Rain.”
“Momma Bear is back in the den but still open to sniffing out crackers and cheese, so proceed with caution. Over,” I whisper.
“Affirmative. Over.”
“So…what did you say again about yellow fishes? Over?”
“I said the yellow fish…swims deep…but a sand bottom and the darkest crevices are where you will end your final journey of discovery. Over.”
I grab my code sheet from the bedside table drawer and check the list.
“There isn’t a single thing about yellow fishes or dark crevices on here. Over,” I inform him.
“I already told ye, it’s brand-new. It’s an ultrasecret and extremely important new assignment that you must gather up all your tidbits to experience. Over.”
“Like how many are we talking? Over?”
“I need ye to be my first mate. Over.”
“So water, then? Over?”
“Don’t be a wee bairn. Over.”
“I’m not a wee bairn,” I insist. “Wait. What is that?”
“A baby. Over.”
“I’m not a baby,” I say.
“Rendezvous at the arch at six an’ a half acorns on the oak tree that blows in the mornin’ breeze. An’ not a minute later. We can’t alert the Three Bears to the plan. Or Price Cut on Salami either. Are ye a Juggernaut or aren’t ye? Over.”
“I am,” I assure him. “I mean, I think I am. Over.”
“Are ye a force to be reckoned with? Over?”
I bite my lip. “Maybe. Over.”
“I knew I should have asked Strings. Over.”
“No,” I insist. “I’m a force. I’m a force. A way stronger force than Dax any day because I’m talking to you at five acorns and he didn’t even answer. That’s how strong a force I am. Over.”
“You want to be a part o’ somethin’ bigger, right? Over.”
I take a deep breath and sit straight. “Thaaat’s a roger, Captain Green Bean,” I say. “You can count on me. I’ll meet you at your arch at the stroke of six an’ a half acorns.”
“An’ bring yer camera. Over.”
“Roger that,” I tell him. “I’ll be there with my camera and my tidbits. Denver over and out.”
* * *
After my Wee Spot of Tea scone and English Breakfast tea with far too much cream and honey, I grab Dad’s camera and scramble for the door.
“Where are you going at this hour?” Mom asks me from behind her cup.
“Ah…sorry, that’s official Nessie Juggernaut business,” I tell her.
She takes a sip and eyeballs Dad. “Did you hear that, Zum? Official Nessie Juggernaut business,” she says.
He looks up from the Inverness Courier. “Ru Ru,” he says, curling his pointer finger at me, “come here. I have some top-secret information for your mission.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a joke for my mission.”
“It’s not a joke,” he says.
“It’s not a story about a Ferris wheel, is it?”
“Nope,” he says. “Not that either.”
I sigh and drag my Nikes toward his kitchen chair.
He wraps one arm around my waist and pulls me close, his mouth next to my ear, and whispers, “The yellow fish…swims deep…but a sand bottom and the darkest crevices are where…you will end your final journey of discovery.”
Nessie Quest Page 22
