by Lija Fisher
“Which Amelia proved was actually written by Shakespeare’s plumber,” Stephanie said proudly.
“Not even a challenge,” Amelia said with a sniff.
“I just have one more question,” Clivo said, standing up from his beanbag chair, which was cramping his legs. And who was he kidding? He had tons of questions. “People have seen cryptids, otherwise their legends wouldn’t exist. How did that happen?”
“Unless the cryptid is totally invisible, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that a human would accidentally come across one,” Amelia said. “But they learn how not to be seen. Take sea monsters, like the Kraken. When ships used to cross the ocean by sail, they were at the mercy of winds and currents, so their paths were erratic and their journey was silent. There were reports of sea serpents all the time then. But once the noisy steam engine was invented and ships began sticking to specific shipping routes, reports significantly dropped. The sea monsters got smart and learned to avoid those shipping lanes, which left more ocean open for cryptids to hang out in.”
“We think your dad saw some cryptids,” Stephanie chimed in. “He claimed never to have seen one, but sometimes he’d come back to us a bit more energized and with a secret smile on his face, as if he knew something nobody else did.”
Clivo knew that smile, too. Russell hadn’t had it after every “dig” he went on, but every so often he’d come home and spend the next few days quietly laughing and talking to himself. When Clivo’s mom had been alive, he’d sometimes heard the two of them giggling and whispering to each other late at night. Those must have been the times when his dad had found a cryptid.
“So, what’s Nessie’s origin story?” Clivo asked.
“Hah! Wouldn’t you like to know!” Adam retorted. He held up a plastic-bound booklet with a cover that read:
THE LOCH NESS MONSTER
ORIGIN STORY
BY ADAM LOWITZKI
(with minor help from Charles, Amelia, Stephanie, and Hernando)
“We compiled this for your old man. He was going to buy it, but it seems he kicked the bucket before he had the—”
Amelia elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ow! What?”
“So, I guess I should buy it instead. If that’s okay with you guys,” Clivo said.
Adam narrowed his eyes and picked up a banana from a bowl in an area stocked with snacks and drinks, then took his sweet time peeling it as he sized up Clivo.
“Well, it won’t be cheap…”
“I can give you five thousand dollars,” Clivo offered, hoping it was enough.
Adam choked on his bite of fruit.
“We accept! We accept!” Charles yelled, tripping on a table in his haste to get to Clivo.
Amelia and Stephanie encircled Clivo. Amelia spoke first.
“Clivo, you don’t have to pay us that much. Your dad didn’t. I mean, I’d love to quit my job at the bookstore, don’t get me wrong, but we can’t take that.”
“I’m fine with quitting my job at the Cryptid Collection,” Charles said, bouncing up and down with excitement. “That place is lame and their intel on the Yeti is totally weak.”
“Seriously, at the end of the day, this is all for fun,” Stephanie agreed. “It’s not like we actually helped your dad find a cryptid. Now, that would be worth five thousand dollars.”
Clivo pulled out his wallet again and handed Adam, who was still choking on his banana, a wad of bills.
“Trust me, you guys are worth it,” Clivo assured them. “Oh, any chance you could give me a receipt?”
* * *
A short time later, Clivo exited the basement by the outdoor stairs, the crypto-research manual stuffed in his backpack and a ticket booked online for a midnight red-eye flight direct to London, where he would catch a connecting flight to Inverness.
The door creaked below him and he turned to find Stephanie tentatively poking her head out.
“Hey, you okay? You seem a bit overwhelmed with everything,” she asked as she climbed up to stand beside him. She really was like a gentle, inquisitive mouse, Clivo thought.
Clivo looked at the ground bashfully. “Is it that obvious?”
Stephanie smiled. “Not really. But I’ve done some reading on analyzing facial expressions. You’re exhibiting at least three facial tics that signify overwhelming stress.”
Clivo groaned. “Great, you can hack satellites and read minds?”
“Not minds, just faces,” Stephanie said with a grin. “But I’m sure with enough practice I could develop my telekinetic abilities.”
Clivo stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s just, I’m pretty new to this whole world. I mean, like twenty-four-hours new, so it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. And I’m sure your dad would be proud of you for continuing to do … whatever it was he did.”
Clivo thought about that. He lowered his voice and spoke to her quietly. “Actually, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, did my dad even mention me to you guys? To be honest, he never told me about any of this, and I’m trying to figure out why.”
Stephanie paused for a moment, then spoke slowly, as though sensing she was treading on delicate ground.
“Your dad never told us anything about his personal life. But I can tell you that he always seemed to be in a rush. Like he wanted our information so he could quickly do what he needed to do and return home. It’s funny, sometimes I felt like he didn’t really need us, that he’d be able to figure the stuff out on his own, and had done so in the past. We just made things easier for him, because he had more important things to get home for.”
Clivo forced a smile. It’d be nice if that had been true.
“Thanks.” He turned to go. “I’ll let you know how my search for Nessie goes.”
“We’ll look forward to that.” Stephanie placed her hand on Clivo’s arm. “Clivo, I’m sure your dad had his reasons for things. You may not understand them, and they may not make sense, but I’m sure he was just doing what he thought was best for you.”
“And you know this because you knew my father better than I did?” Clivo hung his head, shocked by the bitterness in his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know you’re just trying to help.”
Stephanie smiled again and wrapped her arms around herself. A slight wind blew, cartwheeling yellow leaves down the stairs, where they gathered in a corner. “I know this because I know parents. None of them have a clue about what they’re doing, and most of them flat-out stink at it. But at the end of the day, they’re just trying to do their best.”
“You kinda sound like an eighty-year-old wisewoman,” Clivo joked, though her words did make him feel somewhat better.
Stephanie wrinkled up her face. “I do, don’t I? It’s horrible. Maybe I should learn some good jokes or something, just to lighten up my conversational skills a bit.”
They stood for a moment in awkward silence until Charles came to the rescue by sticking his head out the door.
“Are you guys making out? Gawd! Get a room or something!”
“And that’s my exit cue,” Stephanie said, all the blood in her body apparently rushing to her cheeks. “Oh, here’s my phone number. You know, just in case Nessie’s giving you some trouble. And my e-mail and Skype info. You can contact me through smoke signals, too; I’m good at reading those. Just kidding, I’m not. Okay, that was a dumb joke. I’m going to go now.”
Stephanie scurried down the stairs as Clivo looked at her number in disbelief. A smile crept onto his face as he realized that, for the first time in a while, he had made some new friends.
Wednesday
XII
Clivo had until Monday night to get back home before Pearl did, so going to Scotland to find Nessie seemed like the right thing to do while he had the time.
Adam had ordered a cab to take Clivo back to the airport, and at check-in he was assigned another Serge-like muscular chaperone who escorted him through the terminal. Un
like Serge, this bodyguard didn’t say a word and had an unnerving habit of cracking his knuckles every time some wayward fellow traveler glanced their way.
It was Clivo’s first time flying over the ocean, at least that he could remember, but his palatial first-class seat tempered any nervousness he felt. It was like his own little pod, complete with a seat that converted into a flat bed and another personal TV with even more options than on his previous flight.
Some of the first-class patrons eyed him with suspicion, probably thinking he was a bratty spoiled kid who was going to wreak havoc. Others stared a little too hard, as if trying to place him, perhaps wondering if he was some famous boy-band member. How else could a kid be flying alone across the ocean in first class?
The attention made Clivo uncomfortable. His checked backpack was carrying a tranquilizer gun, after all. He reminded himself to keep his head down and remain as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing he needed was to make a ruckus and draw focus to himself.
After a delicious dinner of filet mignon and scalloped potatoes, Clivo lay down and fell into a deep sleep, only to be interrupted by a loud noise piercing his dream.
“Sir? Sir! I need you to shut your phone off.”
A woman was talking in his ear and someone was shaking him. Clivo snorted awake to find a flight attendant standing over him, looking like she was about to throw him out the door without a parachute. A deafening sound like an incoming-torpedo warning filled the cabin.
“What’s going on?” Clivo asked, wiping a bit of drool from his lip. He looked frantically around, only to find the other passengers staring daggers at him.
“Your phone, sir. Off. Now.”
Clivo patted his pockets and pulled out his satellite phone, which was the source of the alarm. It had never rung before, so Clivo had had no idea that Douglas had programmed it loud enough to wake the dead, though it was hardly surprising.
“Sorry, this is a new phone, I don’t really know how to…” Clivo couldn’t find a button to shut the darn thing off, and now people in coach were standing up to see what was going on.
“Phones are not allowed in-flight, sir. Phones aren’t even supposed to work at thirty-five thousand feet, so—”
“I’m sorry, it’s a satellite phone, so I guess, well—I guess it does work this high…” Clivo said with a forced chuckle, still frantically fumbling with the machine.
“Sir, if you insist on being a disturbance—”
“No, no, I’m not disturbing. I’ll just answer it and hang up.”
Clivo pressed the screen and the piercing sound stopped, only to be replaced by Douglas’s roaring voice on speakerphone.
“Galldarnit, kid! What the—”
“Mr. Chancery! Hi!” Clivo pressed the screen again, but there still were no options that would turn off the phone.
“I told you to fly coach! Since when is first class considered coach? In what stupid, self-involved universe has first class all of a sudden become coach?” Douglas’s voice reverberated throughout the aircraft.
Clivo spoke in a whisper. “Mr. Chancery, if you could keep your voice down, I’m currently on an airplane…”
“I know you’re on an airplane! And I know you’re not in coach! I don’t pay you to fly first class, I pay you to fly COACH! After this you’ll be lucky if I let you sit in the cargo hold with the pets.”
Clivo heard a few people behind him gasp.
“I understand, and next time I will fly coach. Now, will you please hang up before they throw me out over the ocean?”
“Keep your mouth open on the way down, kid, your head needs a refill of air.”
The phone thankfully shut off and Clivo quickly stuck it under his seat in case Douglas called back.
“I’m sorry, that won’t happen again. Unless he finds something else to yell at me for, which he probably will.”
Clivo sheepishly looked at the flight attendant, who was desperately trying not to laugh.
“And I thought I had to deal with jerks,” she said with a wink.
You don’t know the half of it, Clivo thought.
* * *
After a nerve-racking hour or so when Clivo jumped at every ding and beep, he eventually passed out and slept until the plane landed in London. He grabbed his backpack from baggage claim and headed to Customs, which was housed in a sterile white-tiled room filled with hordes of people waiting to be allowed into the country.
Clivo joined a long line and watched nervously as passengers presented their passports to stern-faced men and women who asked a myriad of questions. One male passenger had his suitcase rifled through by two guards in crisp collared shirts who pulled something out of the bag and waved it in front of his face. The man loudly protested and was promptly carried away, kicking and screaming, into a corner room where the heavy door slammed shut, cutting off his wails. Clivo’s bag, holding the tranquilizer gun, suddenly felt very heavy in his hand.
Just as it was Clivo’s turn to be questioned, a tall man wearing a dapper suit with a monocle squeezed over one eye came rushing up.
“Mr. Wren? My apologies, I was delayed by another Diamond Cardholder who refused to let their pet tiger go through the metal detector at Security. Follow me, please.” The bodyguard, who spoke with a proper British accent, ushered Clivo quickly through Customs.
This escort was tall and lithe and not muscular like the other ones had been, but something about his fluid movements made Clivo feel like the man could handle himself just fine in case of attack. Walking through the bustling terminal, Clivo was amazed by the different languages being spoken by the travelers, who came from all over the world. He felt a tinge of excitement when he was able to understand several of the dialects that reached his ear.
Clivo finally boarded his connecting flight, and after a bumpy ride in a small puddle jumper he arrived in Inverness, Scotland. His escort there was a muscular man with red freckles who was wearing a kilt, and Clivo was pretty sure the guy had a dagger strapped to his thigh. Fortunately, the man didn’t have to stab anybody as they walked through the airport, but he did remind Clivo to change his dollars to the local currency of pounds.
Since Douglas had yelled at him for flying first class, he figured that renting a nice car and driver was out of the question. So he hopped in a cab and asked the driver to take him to a place he could stay at that was as close as possible to Loch Ness, which ended up being the small village of Drumnadrochit, a forty-minute drive away. The taxi was a black, boxy thing, like something out of a spy film. The cabbie, who had an extremely large double chin, was silent during their ride, which Clivo didn’t mind. After the long journey he was happy to have a few quiet moments to himself.
The cabbie dropped him off at a quaint inn called Nessie’s Hideaway, as announced on a faded wooden sign that dangled from a rusty metal chain. Clivo handed the man his fare and added a tip on top, which was a good one judging by the man’s nod in thanks, his double chin bouncing up and down in appreciation.
The lobby of the inn looked like someone’s cozy living room, with dark-green carpet and little tables covered with doilies. Pictures and figurines of Nessie coated every available space, and the air smelled like spicy tea. Clivo rang a bell on a desk and a tiny old woman came through a side door. She was maybe five feet tall, with ruddy cheeks and curly hair dyed a shockingly bright shade of red.
“Ta, laddie! What can I help ya with?”
“Hi, I’m looking for a room.” Clivo gave the woman a big smile, hoping she wouldn’t start pestering him with questions about where his parents were. Maybe the fact that he towered over the innkeeper would help.
Thankfully the woman’s face perked up with excitement. “Ah, you’ve come ta look fer Nessay, have ya?”
“Uh—”
“Don’t be embarrassed about it. You’re never too old to believe in monstahs.” She introduced herself as Mrs. McRory and took care of the paperwork quickly. To Clivo’s surprise, she didn’t seem overly impressed with the Diamond C
ard. “Now, come along,” she said, shuffling toward the stairs. “Let’s get ya settled.”
Mrs. McRory led him to his room on the second floor and left him alone, but not before giving him the inn’s wi-fi password and a list of good pubs to go to for dinner.
“Whatever ya do, avoid the Loch Ness Lickster, they serve the cheapest cuts of mutton, tha crooks.”
She shut the door behind her, and Clivo put his backpack down and examined the room. It was small and whimsical, with rose-patterned wallpaper and a polished chest of drawers. The bed was large, with a fluffy down comforter that smelled of lavender. Clivo resisted the urge to lie down and fall asleep for the night. It was barely four o’clock in the afternoon, but he felt like he had been up all night. This must be what jet lag felt like.
He pulled out his laptop to e-mail Jerry, figuring his friend would be wondering where he was by now.
Subject: Major Math Problem
Hey Coops—
Sorry to be out of touch, my phone is extinct. I’m far away, searching for a solution to that math problem.
I may not be back for Friday dinner, so please make up an excuse for your parents. I’ll be in touch soon.
Wren
Clivo sent the e-mail before he could second-guess what he had written. It felt weird writing everything in code, like there was somebody watching over his shoulder, but he figured, better safe than sorry. And Jerry would understand everything, anyway. Sometimes they talked better in code.
Then he sent an e-mail to Aunt Pearl telling her he’d dropped his phone in the sink, so if she called he wouldn’t pick up, but he swore that he hadn’t stolen anything or lit the house on fire.
He put the laptop to the side and picked up the small metal case Douglas had given him. He unlatched the case and opened it, revealing heavy foam padding with several objects neatly tucked into it, including the tranquilizer darts and gun. The first thing he pulled out must have been the blood sampler. It was a small, hard-plastic cylinder with a digital readout at one end and a retractable needle at the other. A dial with the words SKIN, SCALE, BLUBBER etched on it was probably used to determine how powerfully the needle needed to be projected. He turned the dial to SKIN but couldn’t figure out how the darn thing worked. He spun the contraption around and the needle end brushed against his leg. He instantly heard a click, which was followed by a rather painful stab in his thigh.
