I suck air. “How do you—”
He smiles that smile, the one with all his teeth. “I’ve always said, the best part of the story is when the impossible becomes possible. Go find the end of your story today. Find it for both of us.”
“I will,” I promise him.
“Maybe you can even change my mind,” he says with a wink. “Maybe I’m not a complete and total Muggle…yet.”
“Sorry to be the one to break this to you,” I tell him. “But you’ve definitely turned.”
“Still, maybe you can give me something to hope for?”
I consider that. “I’ll do my best,” I tell him. “Bringing you back from your Muggle status will prove to be my greatest challenge yet.”
He salutes me. “Godspeed,” he says.
I stand up straight, salute him back and then run out the door. “Tatty bye!” I holler over my shoulder.
As I run down the heavenly stairs the crack of orange possibilities is just showing its bald head through the stained-glass faces, and I know it’s a sign that today is the day. I use both hands to push open the tall wooden doors of the abbey and run as fast as I can to the arch. I’m ready for my most important assignment as a Nessie Juggernaut reporter/secret agent to date.
My biggest orange hope for today?
That I don’t blow chunks like Mom did all over that Ferris wheel.
I’m the very first one at the bridge.
That’s how big a force I am.
Today the morning air is crisp and cool and the black waters of the loch are smooth and calm. The ovens at a Wee Spot of Tea and Biscuits are already busy pumping its sweetness into the sky, but Ness for Less is still dark. The walkway in front of Farquhar’s Famous Fish House waits patiently to be swept, and covered tour boats bob alongside the dock, still fast asleep and before a day of tourists hop aboard hoping for a glimpse of a monster.
Even the Loch Watchers haven’t clocked in for their lochside shift.
Then, at twenty-five after six acorns, I finally see Hammy Bean and Mac-Talla running along the sidewalk, racing in my direction.
“Hey!” I call. “Where’ve you been?”
When they reach me Mac-Talla jumps up on me, putting one paw on each shoulder and giving me a sloppy, wet tongue facewash.
“Hey, girl,” I say. “Did he get you up at five too?”
She just keeps licking my cheeks and then starts with bitty nibbles on my earlobes.
“Okay, okay!” I giggle. “That tickles!” Then I ask Hammy Bean, “So why were my mom and dad suspiciously in the know this morning? Did you have something to do with that?”
“Had to be done,” he says. “Sometimes top-secret bobble intel must be shared for the sake o’ the hunt.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just wait!” he squeals. “Just wait until ye see this! It’s going to be epic beyond belief.”
“Epic orange?” I ask.
He grins dimples at me. “Big-time,” he tells me. “Just wait.”
“For what?”
“Haud yer wheesht,” he says, tilting his head. “It’s coming.”
I look to the left and then the right.
Nothing.
“No one is coming,” I inform him. “They’ll be turning onto the main road in four, three, two, one…” He points toward Bunioch Brae.
That’s when headlights beam in the early-morning fog and creep slowly in our direction.
Mac-Talla barks three times.
“Haud yer wheesht, lass,” he tells her. “Don’t ye be a wee clipe.”
I watch as an old tan-and-rust Volkswagen van with tattered red-and-green-plaid curtains hanging at the side windows pulls up next to us. The backside of the square van is wallpapered with aged and faded bumper stickers. It’s the exact same van that Mamo Honey posed with in that black-and-white picture hanging in the hall of Tibby Manor. Except much older and way more rusted. Behind the van is a large, flat trailer pulling something way bigger than Hammy Bean’s wee SS Albatross. But whatever it is, it’s covered by a large black tarp.
The driver’s-side window rolls down halfway and the one and only Cornelius Blaise Barrington gives me a larger-than-life smile with a whole lot of pop.
“Howzitgoan, lad an’ lassie,” he calls.
I move toward the van and curl my fingers over the top of the window.
“Corny,” I say. “What’s going on?”
And that’s when I see Mamo Honey just past him, sitting in the backward passenger seat wearing an old gray sweatshirt that says THE LOCH NESS PROJECT on the front of it. Her red curls are tied up tight under a red scarf.
“Good mornin’.” Mamo Honey waves.
“Mamo Honey, what are you doing here?”
“I felt like it was a day to find some orange possibilities,” she tells me with a wink.
“Always,” I say. “But what’s under that tarp?”
“Mamo Honey agreed to take Little Yellow oot for an excursion in the loch!” Hammy Bean bursts out. “Can you believe it?”
Uh-oh.
I swallow hard. “Did you say Little Yellow?”
“Mamo Honey’s submarine back from her days o’ exploration,” Hammy Bean says.
“I—I, ah—” I stutter.
“Before ye say anythin’,” he interrupts me, “I warned ye that you’d have to look down deep for your tidbits for this one. Remember?”
“I know, but—”
“In.” He points to the van.
I start, stepping backward while Corny jumps out and slides the side door open for us. Inside the van is a long bench along one side, with a miniature kitchen on the other. I watch Mac-Talla climb in, followed by Hammy Bean. They find places to sit on the bench, scooching over to make room for me.
“Hurry on now,” Hammy Bean instructs me, patting the seat beside him. “Ye can do this.”
“Yes, I can,” I say, taking a deep breath and pulling myself up into the van.
Corny slams the door tight and climbs back up into the driver’s side.
“Here we go, Nessie hunters!” he announces, putting the van into drive and pulling ahead.
Hammy Bean is beaming.
Mac-Talla is panting.
My stomach is churning.
“I’m so glad ye found your tidbits for this,” Hammy Bean tells me.
“Don’t get crazy,” I say. “I’m still looking.”
“Well, you’ve got twenty-five minutes until we get there.”
“Get where?”
“To Urquhart Bay,” he says. “That’s where we’re going to take her down.”
I swallow again. “Take who where, now?”
“Little Yellow.”
“The broken submarine from September sixth, 2011?” I whisper.
“It’s all right,” he tells me. “He fixed it.”
“Who?”
“Corny did.”
Corny is fussing with the radio while Mamo Honey is telling him to watch the road.
“Is he really qualified to be a submarine fixer?” I whisper.
“That’s a very valid question,” Hammy Bean says, bobbing his head up and down.
I blink at him. “That’s all you’ve got?” I throw my palms out toward the VW roof.
He reaches out a hand and finds my knee, giving it a pat. “Don’t worry,” he says again. “Cornelius Blaise Barrington, Nessie hunter extraordinaire, can do anythin’.”
* * *
Next to the rickety dock, Little Yellow looks like a much larger and way rustier banana, bobbing in the water with round windows lining the side of it. There’s a big round hatch on the very top, where Mamo Honey, Corny and Hammy Bean climb inside it, and a long, skinny tube sticking out of it that looks like a bent telescope.
I watch the banana from the dock as it bobs in the waves.
Pacing.
The thing is that once I climb inside, Corny will close that hatch and sail this broken banana boat straight to the bottom.
On purpose.
Mamo Honey and Corny are down below getting things ready while Hammy Bean hangs out the glass hatch door on top of Little Yellow waiting for me to find my submarine tidbits.
“A told ye, didna I?” he demands.
“Don’t rush me,” I tell him, still pacing the planks. “And just for the record, you said on the water tidbits, not underwater tidbits.”
“What’s the difference?”
“There’s a big difference,” I inform him.
“Ye have yer two life jackets on,” Hammy Bean tells me. “What else do ye need? We have to get this thing down before the Nessie Race spies spot us.”
“Corny,” I call.
Corny peeks out of the round windows. “Yes, lass!” he shouts through the glass.
“You’re sure you fixed this thing up good, right? You didn’t have any extra parts left over?”
“You’ve asked him that three times already,” Hammy Bean reminds me.
“Absolutely, love,” Corny tells me. “It’s one hundred percent safe. Ye just climb on in when yer ready.”
“And gas too, right? You’ve gassed it up and whatnot?”
“Gas?” Hammy Bean exclaims. “Are ye kiddin’ me?”
“I promise ye that we will have yer toes back on this dock in no time,” he tells me.
DENVER GIRL IS SUCKED OUT OF SUBMARINE WINDOW DEEP WITHIN THE LOCH NESS NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN
Going down into the depths of Loch Ness in Little Yellow seems to happen in slow motion, with Corny calling out the depth levels as we descend into blackness. Bubbles rush at every window like we’re floating in a bottle of carbonated soda.
I’m wedged between Hammy Bean on one side and Mamo Honey on the other.
“One hundred feet,” Corny calls.
Deeper.
Bubbles rushing.
My ears popping.
“Four hundred feet,” he calls.
Deeper.
“Six hundred feet.”
“My ears are plugged,” I tell Hammy Bean.
“Swallow,” Hammy Bean tells me. “That will release the pressure.”
“Seven hundred fifty feet,” Corny calls out. “We’re at the bottom. I will motor on toward Urquhart Bay now.”
“The coordinates are 57.33212 degrees north latitude by minus 4.44348 degrees east longitude,” Hammy Bean tells him, his fingers brushing across a Braille note that he’s pulled from his pocket.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Corny says, tilting us to the right.
I study Mamo Honey. She looks like the inside of a jack-in-the-box ready to pop.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the race,” I say to her.
She takes a deep breath and nods.
“Happy to be back at it?” I ask her.
When her eyes meet mine, I see tears at the rims.
“More than I can possibly say.”
“What word would you use to describe the feeling?” I ask her.
She thinks hard about my question. “Alive,” she says.
I nod. “Good word,” I say.
“Ada Ru,” Hammy Bean says to me. “We should be near the dip in the bottom o’ the loch.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get yer camera ready.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” I say, pressing my palms against one of the round windows and getting so close that my nose fogs up the glass. Mamo Honey sits at the periscope, which can turn in different directions outside the ship according to which way she turns the handles on the inside.
Outside the glass, the water is hazy, dark and murky, allowing me to see just a short distance in the lights beaming out from Little Yellow.
“Remember I told ye that visibility is only about twenty feet? It’s because o’ the peat that grows along the banks. It turns the water that black color. So look for bubbles,” he tells me. “That’s the first sign.”
“I saw bubbles on the way down!” I exclaim.
“That was just air in the water as we descended,” Corny explains. “Now that we’re down here, the only bubbles you’ll see will be a Nessie callin’ card.”
“Roger that,” I call up to Corny in the front of Little Yellow.
“What are ye seein’?” Hammy Bean asks me.
“The movement of the ship seems to make the sand from the bottom of the loch mix with the water,” I tell him.
“It’s silt,” he says.
“Well, there’s a lot of it, squishing and squashing around,” I say. “Making it real hard to see. And what’s weird is there’s hardly any vegetation. If the Nessies were vegetarians, they’d surely starve to death.”
“Keep watchin’,” Hammy Bean instructs. “We’re almost there.”
After maybe ten more minutes of floating forward, Corny says, “We are at the coordinates, Captain Green Bean.”
“Ada Ru,” Hammy Bean says. “Man the hatch window with your camera as well, just in case Nessie swims over us.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Mamo Honey’s eyes are wide in front of the periscope while Corny steers the ship and Hammy Bean stands near me with his hand on my arm.
“To the left, Corny,” Mamo Honey directs.
Little Yellow turns a slight louie.
“Do ye see anythin’ yet?” Hammy Bean asks me.
“Just silt,” I say.
“It should be here.” Mamo Honey leans toward the screen.
“Wait. I see it!” I shout. “It’s there, more left, Corny. I see a dip in the bottom.”
Little Yellow turns.
“Got it,” Corny calls.
Corny moves Little Yellow in the direction of the dip in the bottom of the loch. When he’s right on top of it, he begins to lower us farther.
“Eight hundred feet,” he calls out.
We sink even deeper.
“Eight hundred twenty-five.”
Deeper.
“Eight hundred fifty.”
“Isna this amazin’, Ada Ru?” Hammy Bean squeals. “No one has ever proven this before. My Mamo Honey found it first an’ I found it second with the sonar, but no one has ever gone down into the depths o’ the crevice.”
“Eight hundred seventy feet,” Corny calls out. “And we still havena reached the bottom.”
My ears are popping again and my head feels like someone is pressing against it. I swallow again to clear my ears.
“Nine hundred, an’ there’s more to go,” Corny tells us.
“Keep on!” Hammy Bean exclaims with a finger in the air.
“We are currently at nine hundred fifty feet! This is unprecedented,” Corny calls back to us.
“Ada Ru,” Hammy Bean says. “What do ye see?”
I squint, my eyes searching through the darkness and the silt, and then I see something.
“Port side!” I shout.
“I’ve got it!” Mamo Honey exclaims, peering through the periscope. “Come here, lass.”
I stand next to Mamo Honey and place my cheek against hers as we watch the periscope screen together.
“What is it?” Hammy Bean exclaims. “What do ye see?”
“We’ve found it, lad,” Mamo Honey tells him.
“It’s a cave,” I tell him. “A big one too. Gigantic, even.”
Hammy Bean shoves his video camera in my direction. “Start recordin’!” he shouts. “Start recordin’!”
I grab the camera
and fumble with it until I find the red Record button and push it, focusing the lens out the portside window.
“Are ye recordin’?” he asks.
“I’m recording! I’m recording!”
Corny rushes to look out another portside window while I get the footage. “Well, I’ll be,” he marvels.
“It’s the lair o’ the Loch Ness Monster,” Hammy Bean says. “I just know it is. We’ve solved one of the greatest monster mysteries of all time. They’ve theorized for years about where Nessie could hide. There’ve always been questions about there being an underwater cave-and-tunnel system that connects the lochs and allows them to access the North Sea. This is the proof. An’ we’ve got it on video.”
“My mom and dad are not going to believe this,” I say, still recording. “Who needs an underwater drone or a DNA scan when you have Honey Tibby and her banana boat?”
“Team Nessie Quest,” Hammy Bean says, “welcome to Nessie Manor.”
Things are popping all over the place.
First off, I found my underwater tidbits.
Pop.
Second, the famous Nessie investigator Mamo Honey is back.
Pop.
And third, Team Nessie Quest has surely taken the lead in the Nessie Race.
Big-time pop.
And I know Dax can feel it too when we show him the video from Little Yellow at the Juggernaut office the very next day.
“That”—Dax points to Hammy Bean’s computer—“is the grooviest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, seriously.”
“I recorded it,” I tell him, with my chin in the air. “Me.”
Me and Dax are standing over Hammy Bean watching the video I shot, which Hammy Bean uploaded to his talking computer.
“I can’t believe I missed this,” Dax says, leaning closer to the screen.
“Guess you weren’t manning that radio twenty-four seven like a dedicated Nessie Juggernaut employee should,” I say.
“Play it again,” Dax says.
“You’ve watched it four times already,” I tell him.
“So?” he says. “I’m goin’ to watch it five. Or seventeen. Just push Play again.”
Nessie Quest Page 23
