by Anne Forbes
To my husband
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1. The Loch Ness Monster
2. Haggis and Oatcakes
3. Dance of the Dervishes
4. The French Connection
5. Rothlan Takes Charge
6. The Sultan’s Palace
7. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
8. The Tartan City
9. Turkish Delight
10. Carpet Capers
11. Shocking News
12. Magic Words
13. The Famous Grouse
14. An Official Enquiry
15. Bonnie Prince Charlie
16. Kitor Listens In
17. Ambush
18. As the Crow Flies
19. Flying Horses
20. A Cunning Plan
21. Hell’s Glen
22. Amgarad Attacks
23. Inveraray Castle
24. Number Ten
25. The Road to Appin
26. Snow Witches
27. Kalman’s Captive
28. The Storm Carriers
29. The Thunderbolt
30. Rothlan Returns
31. Arthur Casts a Spell
32. Scotch Mist
33. French Leave
34. The Reluctant Broomstick
35. Kitor Joins the Club
36. The Black Tower
37. Through the Looking Glass
38. Winner Takes All
39. Fish out of Water
40. Tales of Fantasy
Copyright
1. The Loch Ness Monster
“Funny mist this,” Duncan Campbell muttered, shipping his oars and trying to peer through the thick whiteness that lay heavily over the waters of the loch. “Eerie!” he added, shivering slightly. “A bit like old horror films. Thank goodness this is Loch Leven and not Loch Ness, eh!”
George Tatler smiled at his remark as he put his fishing rod to one side and reached resignedly for his flask and sandwiches. The day, bright enough to begin with, was now a complete disaster as far as the competition was concerned, for the mist, swirling down from the surrounding hills, had swiftly enveloped all the little craft bobbing in the loch.
The third man in the boat looked at Campbell in amusement. “You surely don’t believe in the Loch Ness Monster, do you?”
The obvious note of disbelief in his voice riled the younger man into an unconsidered response. “I do believe in it, as it happens,” Duncan countered somewhat irritably as he brought the oars in. “You see … I’ve actually seen it!”
Tatler raised his eyebrows and studied his companions of the day with interest, for as it happened, the three men in the boat were all complete strangers. The tall, dark-haired man seated in the stern had introduced himself as Archie Thompson and although he’d said he was a policeman, Tatler knew he was Sir Archibald Thompson, Edinburgh’s Chief Constable. Nothing wrong, he supposed, with a bit of tactful evasion. After all, hadn’t he, an obscure but high-ranking member of government, described himself as a Civil Servant and met the Chief Constable’s measured stare blandly as he’d said it. The third man, Campbell, who’d made the remark about the monster, seemed pleasant enough. Young and fit, he’d admitted to being a photographer as well as a passionate angler and had immediately gained their approval by offering to row the boat. So there they were; three men in a boat.
“You’ve seen the Loch Ness Monster?” Although Tatler’s voice was neutral, he raised his eyebrows slightly as his eyes met those of the Chief Constable. “Why don’t you tell us about it?” he invited, waving his sandwich vaguely. “We won’t be doing much until this mist lifts. We’ve all the time in the world.”
Duncan Campbell pressed his lips together and wished he hadn’t opened his mouth, but the fact remained that he had seen the Loch Ness monster.
He poured coffee from his flask and warmed his hands on the cup before he began. “Look,” he said somewhat abruptly, “I don’t expect you to believe me and I’ve no real proof of what I say but last year, at around this time, I was one of a team of photographers that manned the cameras round Loch Ness for a Japanese expedition.”
Tatler nodded. He vaguely remembered reading about it.
“They were hoping to find proof of the monster’s existence, of course — and, like you, I thought it a bit of a waste of time. But I was hard up, it was a job and the conditions were fair. They employed several of us and provided us with tents and the like. One morning, my turn for early duty came round … the cameras had to be checked regularly, you see … and it was just after dawn when I got up. As I left my tent, I automatically looked over the loch — and there she was! Nessie herself, swimming towards the shore! Well, I knew the cameras would be recording everything so I jumped into my car and shot off along the road to where she would make landfall.”
“And did you manage to see her close up?”
“Well, I would have done if it hadn’t been for the sheep.”
“Sheep?”
“The road by the side of Loch Ness tends to wind a bit but I had almost reached the part where it runs really close to the shore when I was held up by a flock of sheep. They were milling about everywhere and I couldn’t move through them until the chap who was driving the transporter managed to get them all back on board again.”
“Transporter?” the Chief Constable’s eyes sharpened.
“Yes, you know, one of those huge things that are used to carry sheep. I don’t know why it was there. Perhaps the rear doors were faulty or something, but the sheep had managed to get out and they were everywhere.”
“So you didn’t manage to see the monster again?”
“Oh yes, I did!” Duncan grinned suddenly. “I wasn’t going to give up that easily! I opened the sunroof and climbed on top of the car to get a better view.” He reddened and looked embarrassed. “Look,” he said frankly, “you don’t have to believe what I’m going to tell you and, quite honestly, I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. At the edge of the loch I saw the monster and not only that … I saw a dragon as well.”
“A dragon!” The boat rocked slightly as the Chief Constable sat up abruptly.
Tatler looked at him with renewed interest and on seeing the concentrated attention he was now giving to the photographer’s words he, too, began to listen more carefully to what he had, quite frankly, been about to dismiss as a bit of a tall story.
“It was a dragon,” Duncan affirmed. “A beautiful creature, red and gold, with wings. But the strangest thing of all was that there were people down there as well. I couldn’t see them clearly from the car roof but I saw them later on when I watched the film. The cameras had picked them up, you see. At the time I thought I glimpsed a woman, but I must have been mistaken for the film only showed two men and two children. One of the men was the driver of the transporter.”
“I’d be interested to see that film,” the Chief Constable interrupted.
“It is interesting, actually. Not for what’s on it, but for what isn’t.”
“What do you mean by that?” Tatler asked.
“Well, the film only shows the two men and the children at the side of the loch; the dragon and Nessie don’t appear in it at all.”
“But you saw them?”
“Oh yes! Nessie was a different type altogether; quite ugly and by far the bigger of the two.”
“What happened next?”
Duncan shrugged. “Not a lot really. The dragon and the monster swam out into the loch and dived under the surface and the men and the children came back up to the transporter. Unfortunately, I stepped on the horn when I climbed back into my car and that alerted them. Until then, I don’t think they knew I was there at all.”
“You weren’t, by any chance,” interrupted the Chief Constable, “a passenger on the London Shuttle last year, were you?”
“The Shuttle? What are you talking about?” Campbell was genuinely mystified.
“Strange as it may seem, as he came in to land at Edinburgh Airport one night last year, the captain of the London flight reported seeing a dragon. Many of the passengers saw it too and I … wondered if you’d been among them.”
“I didn’t hear about that,” Campbell said, frowning.
“There was a bit about it in The Scotsman,” the Chief Constable said seriously, “although they didn’t actually mention a dragon. I think they called it an ‘Unidentified Flying Object’ or something of the sort. I suppose it was all a bit hushed up,” he admitted a little ruefully, “although no great secret was made of it. Understandable, really! It wouldn’t do British Airways any good to have their captains seeing dragons all over the place.”
“But it was a dragon?”
“Oh yes! We know that because one of our special constables was on the flight. It gave him quite a turn. According to his report, it was straight out of the pages of King Arthur. Mind you, it could have been one of those mass hallucination things because nothing showed up on radar. They scrambled a jet to investigate but by then it had disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“We think it landed on Arthur’s Seat and we had the whole of Holyrood Park sealed off within minutes. Police patrols went over it with a fine toothcomb for days afterwards.”
“Did they find anything?” asked Tatler.
As the Chief Constable shook his head, Campbell hazarded a guess. “Perhaps because the dragon had already gone to Loch Ness?”
“Well, if it did, it certainly didn’t fly there! We not only had people scanning the sky but every vehicle that left the park was checked within ten minutes of the sighting. It so happens that the only one …” and here the Chief Constable’s tone altered and he paused and cleared his throat, “… the only one capable of carrying anything like the size of a dragon was … a transporter full of sheep!”
The boat rocked alarmingly as Duncan Campbell leapt to his feet. “So that’s where the dragon came from!” he said excitedly. “It must have been in the transporter!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Campbell, but I was there when my men opened up the back of that transporter. There was no place in it for a dragon to hide and even if there had been — can you imagine it? The sheep would have been climbing the walls.”
Duncan sat back in disappointment. “Look, I did see a dragon,” he assured them seriously, “but I’ve honestly got nothing to prove it. If you see the film, you can only make out the men and the children.”
“I’d very much like to see that film, Duncan. Do you still have it?”
Duncan nodded. “Yes, I have, actually. I made a copy of it for myself.”
A sudden shout from the shore made them look up and take notice.
“I rather think they want us to row in,” Tatler said, peering through the fog in the direction of the voice. Campbell hastily gulped down the remains of his coffee and replaced his flask in his rucksack before reaching for the oars. Fitting them back into the rowlocks took seconds and with a few sweeps of his arm, he deftly brought the boat round. It took only a few minutes of steady rowing before the wet, wooden columns of the jetty suddenly loomed, tall and dripping, out of the gloom.
“Ah, there you are, sirs,” smiled a waiting boatman, catching the painter and winding it round a nearby bollard. “A pity the mist had to spoil your day.”
Duncan, who had managed to catch two trout, dumped his gear on the jetty and as he took his catch to be weighed, the Chief Constable and George Tatler watched him speculatively.
Tatler looked at the policeman. “Well, Sir Archibald, do you believe our young friend’s stories of monsters and dragons?”
The policeman’s eyebrows rose a fraction as he realized that he’d been recognized. He looked shrewdly at Tatler and smiled slightly in acknowledgement. “If,” he said, shaking his head, “if he hadn’t mentioned the dragon and the transporter, I’d have said he was a bit of a lunatic … but, as I said, I was on Arthur’s Seat that night and it so happens that I can confirm at least one part of his story; for the transporter we stopped had two men and two children in the cab. Not only that, I recognized one of the men. He was at school with a cousin of mine.”
Tatler nodded. “The long arm of coincidence,” he said softly. “Strange how often it turns up in our line of work.” He took one of his cards from an inside pocket and handed it to the Chief Constable. It was not a card that he gave to many people. “I’d be interested to see a copy of Mr Campbell’s film and hear the results of your investigation, Chief Constable. Perhaps you would be kind enough to keep me informed?”
The Chief Constable raised his eyebrows as he read the card and his glance was searching as he looked at George Tatler speculatively and with a new respect.
“I will indeed, sir,” he said.
2. Haggis and Oatcakes
Neil and Clara MacLean looked at one another in amazement as their mother put a very large haggis in the middle of the table. As this was the third time in two weeks that she had given them haggis, Neil opened his mouth to protest strongly but closed it again as Clara frowned and tilted her head warningly towards their guest. Complaints would have to be made later, for Mr MacGregor, the janitor at their school, was lunching with them that day.
“Let me serve you some haggis, Angus,” Janet MacLean offered as she slit the skin with a knife and watched the steam rise as the haggis fell gently away. “John will be joining us in a minute. He’s been on the hill all morning.”
Angus MacGregor nodded understandingly. “Aye, it’s not an easy job being a Park Ranger on Arthur’s Seat with all the tourists around. He was telling me the other day that he’s had to work a lot of overtime lately.” He sat back in his chair and looked round the table. “I was hoping he might manage a game of darts this evening. It’d be like old times.”
Neil grinned. “He’ll be honoured, Mr MacGregor! It’s not every day that he gets the chance to play the Scottish champion, after all!”
Angus MacGregor reddened. Although his rise to fame in the darts’ world had made him a household name throughout Scotland, he hadn’t let it go to his head. “Ach, it’s not that way at all when your dad and I play — and fine you know it, young Neil.”
“Clara,” her mother smiled, “I can hear your dad in the kitchen. Will you give him a hand to bring in the neeps and tatties.”
“A grand meal, the haggis!” praised Mr MacGregor as generous spoonfuls were heaped onto his plate. “I was saying to my Maggie the other day that we ought to have it more often. There’s nothing like good Scottish food!”
John MacLean overheard this last remark as he brought the mashed potatoes into the dining room, followed by Clara who carefully carried a steaming bowl of heavily-buttered, mashed turnips. “Strange that you should say that,” he smiled, “I was reading in the paper just this morning that there has been a huge rise in the sale of haggis.”
“Not only haggis,” his wife remarked, passing the serving dishes round, “oatcakes, shortbread and Dundee cake as well. I bought a nice Dundee cake the other day from a shop in Princes Street. They had them on offer.”
The mention of Princes Street made Neil frown. “Isn’t Princes Street a bit much these days?” he queried. “I walked along it yesterday and the shop windows were totally over the top! Plastered in tartan!”
“It’s actually very nice,” his mother rejoined defensively, “very … tasteful. And they’ve got tartan carpets inside as well, you know. Some shops have even hung banners in their windows showing the arms and insignia of all the clans. It really makes you feel proud to be Scottish.”
“Aye,” agreed Mr MacGregor, “Edinburgh is looking very nice indeed. Even the High Street is full of old flags — and have you noticed that a lot more men are
wearing the kilt?”
“It’s a real pity that women can’t wear proper kilts,” Janet MacLean mourned. “I was thinking of buying some tartan and having a long skirt made up.”
“What’s the matter with you, Mum?” Clara asked curiously. “You’ve never wanted to wear tartan before.”
“Well, I know, but it’s very fashionable these days. Everyone seems to be wearing it, haven’t you noticed?”
Ranger MacLean frowned uneasily. He had noticed the sudden passion for tartan that seemed to have gripped the country and although it was undoubtedly good for tourism to have Scotland looking so uniquely Scottish, he objected to the plastic, tartan banners that now flapped from many government buildings.
“Actually, I was thinking of buying a kilt myself,” confided Mr MacGregor to the table in general, “but I’m not sure that I have the figure for it.”
Fortunately, at that precise moment, the MacLean’s cat, Mischief, came meowing round the table so none of the adults noticed the broad grin that split Neil’s face as he visualized the stocky figure of old MacGregor stomping up and down the playground in a kilt!
Clara also hid a grin as she slid from her chair and picked up the little cat.
“Goodness,” said Mr MacGregor in amazement, “that’s never the wee cat you took from the school, is it? My, she’s come on grand! I told you she’d put on weight with your mother to feed her.”
“Put her in the kitchen, Clara,” her mother instructed with a smile, “and give her some fish from the fridge if she’s hungry. She loves fish,” she confessed, looking round the table. “I know it’s expensive these days but the fishmonger slips me the odd bit for her now and then.”
“Aye,” MacGregor snorted, “it’s all the fault of these foreign boats! They’re out there every day, pinching our fish.”
Janet MacLean nodded. “I saw the news this morning and it wasn’t good. There seems to have been a real set-to last night between the Scottish and French fleets. A lot of nets were cut. It’s really getting out of hand you know, and that Marcel Bruiton, the French Foreign Minister, seems to be positively egging them on.”
