by Anne Forbes
“You see, it’s really of the utmost importance that we take the crown from Kalman,” Rothlan said, his voice serious, “and to be honest, John, I think that giving the magic words to the children is probably our only chance of getting it back at all.”
Janet MacLean pursed her lips. She liked and trusted Lord Rothlan and knew that as far as the crown was concerned, he spoke the truth. Looking at her husband, her forehead creased in a worried frown, she said at last. “You’ll be with the children, John, and … and the Sultan has given us his word.”
Although the Ranger looked doubtful, he nevertheless appreciated the truth of what had been said and, seeing the set of serious and concerned faces that confronted him, finally nodded his head in agreement.
The Sultan rose to his feet and shook him by the hand. “Thank you, Mr MacLean,” he said gratefully. “I appreciate the trust you have put in us. You will all travel under my protection and need have no fear of the future.”
At a nod from the MacArthur, Arthur rose to his feet and made his way to the Great Hall where Neil and Clara sat glumly.
“Up on my back, you two,” Arthur said. “I’ll take you back to the Sultan.”
Neil looked at Clara in dismay as they climbed up onto Arthur’s wing and slid their legs over his neck. The dragon’s voice gave nothing away and so convinced were they that they wouldn’t be allowed to go that they could hardly take it in when their father told them that they, too, would be going on the quest for the crown.
“Gosh, Dad! That’s fabulous!” Neil’s face shone. “Didn’t I tell you, Clara! Didn’t I tell you that another adventure was on the way! I knew it! I just knew it!”
The Sultan beckoned Neil and Clara to his side and took their hands in his. The huge ruby in his ring glinted red as his fingers closed over theirs. “Kutaya Soloi.” The strange words, spoken softly, sent a tingling wave of magic through them and, such was the power of the hex, were no sooner heard than forgotten.
The hawk-like face of the Sultan looked at them gravely. “You now know the magic words that you must say to break the shield round the crown,” he said. “I wish you both well.”
Neil thought hard and then shook his head doubtfully. “I … I’m sorry,” he said, “I heard you say them but I can’t seem to remember them.” He flashed an anxious glance at Clara. “Can you, Clara?”
Clara, too, shook her head and looked at the Sultan enquiringly.
The Sultan’s eyes twinkled suddenly. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “you will know them when you need them, I promise.”
13. The Famous Grouse
A few days later, as he watched his secretary, Janice, leave his office at the distillery, Sir James hoped fervently that she hadn’t noticed the look of dismay that had crossed his face as she had detailed his meetings for the afternoon. She’d certainly looked suspicious when she’d mentioned that the Chief Constable of Edinburgh, Sir Archibald Thompson, had rung to make an urgent appointment.
Sir James sighed as he leant back in his chair and wondered what on earth he was going to say to Archie Thompson. Just as he had been congratulating himself on the success of the weekend shoot, too. Grimly, he reached for his telephone and dialled the Ranger’s number with a hand that shook slightly.
“Come on, answer, blast you,” he muttered as the telephone rang and rang.
“MacLean here,” the Ranger’s voice suddenly boomed confidently down the line.
“John! Thank goodness you’re in. Listen, I’ve just had some bad news and I thought I’d better warn you in case you have a visit from the police.”
“The police?” repeated the Ranger, somewhat startled.
“The police,” confirmed Sir James. “My secretary has just told me that while I was out, the Chief Constable called to make an appointment to see me this afternoon.”
“The Chief Constable!” echoed the Ranger in dismay. “But … but … why? You haven’t had any more problems at the distillery, have you?”
“Of course not! That was all sorted out last year. Everything’s fine!”
“Do you think he’s maybe collecting for a police charity, then?”
“For heaven’s sake, John, I’m sure he has a lot more on his plate than charity work. What worries me is that there actually could be a very good reason for his coming here and to tell you the truth, I’m sweating at the thought of it!”
“What on earth’s that?”
“Remember the night we took Arthur to Loch Ness? When the police stopped the transporter as we were about to leave the park?”
“Don’t I just! I thought it was all over for us at the time!”
“Well, I didn’t mention it to you then, but the Chief Constable was actually among the police that stopped us. He wasn’t in uniform; perhaps he’d been dining nearby and been called out in the general alarm, but I knew him right away. I was at school with a cousin of his and we met up once or twice at cricket matches and the like. I always had it in the back of my mind that he might have recognized me but as nothing was ever said, I thought … well, I thought I’d got away with it.”
“Even if he did see you, James, what can he do? After all, it was ages ago! He can’t arrest you for travelling in a transporter with a load of sheep on board. The MacArthur made himself and the dragon invisible. All that the police saw in the back of the transporter were sheep!”
“I know, I know,” Sir James muttered, “but pulling the wool over the eyes of the Chief Constable is a serious matter …”
“James,” the Ranger sounded alarmed, “James, you can’t mention what really went on that night. Heavens man, they’ll have you certified! And what can he say, after all? You’re a respectable MSP and so are your friends. Chat on about the grouse shooting and the moors and you’ll be fine! Anyway, how did you enjoy your shoot over the weekend? Did the French Consul turn up?”
“He did, although after reading the headlines in The Scotsman that morning I rather think he’d had second thoughts. The press really has it in for him, you know! Lord Rothlan went along to his house just to make sure he didn’t change his mind!”
“Rothlan! What on earth did he have to do with it?”
“Remember you suggested that we send Amgarad into the French Consulate as a spy?”
“I do. I also remember that Amgarad didn’t seem particularly thrilled at the suggestion!”
“Well, Rothlan must have thought it a good idea and talked him into it.”
“You’re not trying to tell me that de Charillon has adopted a hulking, great eagle as a pet, are you?”
“Not an eagle … a grouse!”
“You must be joking!”
“I’m not,” Sir James grinned, despite himself. “Rothlan cast a spell to make the poor fellow join the party so he wasn’t in the best of tempers to start with. Not only that, I think Rothlan fixed it so that de Charillon didn’t manage to hit a single bird all day. He was completely devastated as he’s generally reckoned a pretty good shot and although I kept telling him it wasn’t the end of the world, he knew quite well that everyone was laughing at him behind his back.”
“Stands to reason, doesn’t it,” commented the Ranger.
“Ah! But he got his grouse in the end! And he didn’t shoot it! That’s what finished everyone off.”
“What on earth happened?”
“Well, visibility was starting to get bad and, when the last flight of grouse flew over, De Charillon missed again. Then there was another burst of fire and when I looked up I saw a last, solitary grouse weaving its way towards the butts in a hail of gunshot. Well, I just knew it was Amgarad, didn’t I.”
“Amgarad? A grouse?”
“Believe me, you never saw a plumper, fatter grouse than this one! How it managed to get off the ground, I’ll never know. Everyone at the butts was trying to blast it out of the sky and, of course, nothing was hitting it. It actually,” and here Sir James choked with laughter, “… it actually circled round once or twice and then side-slipped down onto de Chari
llon’s shoulder — and stayed there!”
“And then what happened?”
“Well, dear Louis looked so absolutely thunderstruck at getting a grouse at last that everyone on the shoot just rolled around laughing. It was all Rothlan’s doing, of course, and Amgarad had a whale of a time acting the part later on in the evening. Talk about the Famous Grouse! You’ve never seen anything so funny in your life!”
“So diplomatic relations have been restored then, have they?”
“How right you are! De Charillon was the hero of the hour and as far as I know, Amgarad is now positively lording it at the French Consulate and the chef has been given strict instructions not to put him in the pot.
14. An Official Enquiry
Sir James was still smiling at the memory of de Charillon’s astounded face when Janice showed the Chief Constable and another soberly-suited gentleman into the office.
Relieved at her employer’s relaxed and cheerful demeanour, she left the men together with a light heart and went to prepare their coffee. She wouldn’t have been quite so happy, however, had she popped her head round the door half an hour later, for by then the Chief Constable had asked some very pertinent questions and Sir James was beginning to stammer.
“The thing is, James, that on this film that we have, you’re seen talking to someone. Someone who … er … isn’t there.”
“I must have been talking to the Ranger.”
“No, the Ranger is behind you at the time.”
“I must have been talking to myself then,” Sir James said unhappily.
“We also have an eye witness who saw the Loch Ness Monster by the shore and,” the Chief Constable continued bravely, “what looked like a dragon.”
“Aren’t we entering into the realms of fantasy here?” Sir James did his best to look surprised.
George Tatler held up his hand and spoke for the first time. “Sir James, enough of all this evasion.” He leant forward in his chair and looked Sir James straight in the eye. “The sighting of a dragon and the Loch Ness Monster is peculiar enough but it’s my belief that there’s a lot more to it than that! Something very strange is going on in Scotland just now and quite frankly it has me seriously worried. I usually know what’s going on, and where and why, but this time I can’t, for the life of me, put my finger on anything.”
Ignoring the Chief Constable’s outraged expression, he continued. “Archie, here, doesn’t seem to think anything out of the ordinary is happening, but I ask you, Sir James, haven’t you looked at Edinburgh lately? I mean, really looked at it? Haven’t you seen the tartan everywhere?” he gestured vaguely. “Pipers playing the bagpipes on every street corner. People knocking back shortbread by the ton and Irn Bru by the gallon. Men wearing the kilt and tartan taxis plying the streets! It’s like a Hollywood version of Braveheart out there and there’s no sensible reason for it!
Sir James pursed his lips. “It’s the City Council you want to be talking to,” he said, clutching desperately at straws. “It’s probably just a gimmick to attract the tourists.”
Archie Thompson nodded in agreement but Tatler was so incensed that he almost jumped out of his chair. “It – is – not – a – gimmick!” he found himself shouting. “It is not a gimmick,” he said in a quieter tone, sinking back into his chair. “Look, I’ve been among them and what I found is that the people buying haggis want to eat it. The people buying tartan carpets for their houses want to buy them. It’s as though someone has cast a magic spell over the whole country … and it’s dangerous.”
Sir James found himself sweating slightly at the reference to magic spells but Tatler’s words nevertheless gave him pause for thought. As his heart sank suddenly and his face whitened with shock, he looked at the man in utter horror. Come to think of it he had thought the sudden passion for tartan that seemed to have gripped the country, rather strange. But was Tatler right about it being a spell, he wondered? Could Kalman really be behind it all? With his mind in absolute turmoil, Sir James automatically repeated Tatler’s last word.
“Dangerous,” he said, dazedly, raising his eyebrows while striving to get a grip of his thoughts. “Surely it isn’t dangerous. If people want tartan carpets in their houses, I don’t see the harm in it.”
“Do you have tartan carpets in your house, Sir James?” interrupted Tatler.
“Well, no,” Sir James admitted.
“Have you eaten haggis lately?” he continued.
“No, no I haven’t.”
Tatler looked at him through steely, grey eyes. “In a recent poll, a staggering one hundred per cent of Scots said they had eaten haggis at least once in the past week! So how are you different from the rest of your countrymen, Sir James?”
“I didn’t read that anywhere!”
“It was a secret poll and, let me tell you, it has the Prime Minister worried! And believe you me, she has quite enough on her plate at the moment, what with the French fishermen doing their best to start an out and out war in the North Sea.”
Sir James shrugged. “That’s politics,” he said.
“Look, Sir James,” Tatler pleaded anxiously, “please come clean with us. You were in that transporter and you’re our only lead in this business. We know there was a dragon; it so happens that one of Archie’s special constables was on the BA flight that night and saw it quite clearly. Now from our point of view, it isn’t so much the dragon that’s of interest, it’s the fact that it didn’t show up on radar and it didn’t show up on the Loch Ness film. Anything that doesn’t show up on radar and disappears on film, interests us. Do I make myself clear?”
“But I don’t know why it didn’t show up on your radar,” Sir James said helplessly. And then realized what he’d said.
The Chief Constable leant back in his seat and almost grinned. “You were never a good liar, James!” he smiled. “Come on now, out with the whole story!”
Sir James, cursing his stupidity, looked at them worriedly. “It’s not my story to tell,” he said slowly, “and, quite frankly,” he added with feeling, “it isn’t at all what you’re expecting to hear either, believe me.”
“We thought that maybe someone had invented a new chemical solution that counteracts radar,” encouraged Tatler, gesturing vaguely. “Was it something like that?”
Sir James shook his head.
“Perhaps you could tell us where the dragon-like creature came from then?” ventured the Chief Constable. “We’re well aware that people smuggle exotic animals into Britain from time to time, and if you’re frank with us we probably won’t press charges. In fact, I can assure you that we won’t!”
“Well?” queried Tatler gently.
Sir James looked at the two men ruefully and wondered what on earth he was going to say. The fact that both he and the Ranger had been caught on film was a serious business and although their questions had been friendly enough so far, there was a grim purposefulness about the two men that boded ill if he continued to prevaricate. But, on the other hand, if Ned Stuart had cast a spell over Scotland, to say nothing of being up to some sort of skullduggery with the French, the two men might well, in the end, prove useful allies. And surely, if he did arrange for them to meet the MacArthur, they would hardly be likely to talk about it afterwards. A belief in faeries was, after all, one of the quicker ways of losing one’s job …
“It’s nothing like that at all,” he said, breaking the silence, “and if … if I do tell you what actually happened, I want your word of honour that you won’t pass it on; either of you!”
Both men glanced at one another swiftly and nodded in agreement. Tatler eyed him speculatively and with growing interest; he sensed that something he’d said had hit Sir James hard but what it was, he couldn’t quite gauge. The man, however, was obviously shaken and he had no doubt at all that what they would now hear from him would be the truth.
Five minutes later, however, he was not so sure.
“Faeries?” Archie Thompson almost spat the word out. “Under Arthur’s
Seat! Do you really expect me to believe a tale like that?”
“Not really, no,” Sir James almost grinned at the flabbergasted expression that adorned the Chief Constable’s face. Used to hearing many a strange tale, this had nevertheless taken the feet from under him. As the Chief Constable struggled to reconcile the notion of faeries, dragons and magicians lurking in what, to all intents and purposes, was his backyard, Tatler’s agile brain was working swiftly; for Sir James’s information, mind-boggling as it was, did much to make sense of an otherwise unbelievable scenario.
Avoiding the eyes of the Chief Constable, he took a deep breath. “Prove it, Sir James,” he said quietly.
Meeting Tatler’s shrewd, grey eyes, Sir James came to a swift decision and opening a shallow drawer in his desk, drew out his firestone. Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and, watched closely by the two men, walked over to the tall windows that looked over Holyrood Park and the immense bulk of Arthur’s Seat.
Fervently hoping that he was doing the right thing, he opened one of the windows wide, clapped his hands twice and said “carpet.”
“And just what was that meant to do?” the Chief Constable asked suspiciously as he returned to his desk.
A curious smile twisted Sir James’s lips as he regarded them both speculatively, wondering just how they were going to react when a magic carpet sailed in through the window. “Just wait a few moments and you’ll see,” he grinned, perching casually on the edge of his desk.
Tatler and Archie Thompson exchanged glances and both were visited by the uneasy and, it must be said, totally unfamiliar feeling, that somehow they had ceased to dominate the interview. Tatler sat, tense and alert, ready for anything but even he was taken completely by surprise as the magic carpet brushed its way through the window and gently swooped to hover beside Sir James.
The two men leapt to their feet in amazement and stared round-eyed as the carpet rippled and swayed about three feet from the floor.
“Welcome to the world of magic, gentlemen.” Sir James savoured the moment. It wasn’t often, he thought, that one was given the opportunity of reducing high-ranking officialdom to a state of gibbering idiocy. Indeed, both men seemed to be unable to talk coherently and Sir James’s lips twitched as the Chief Constable stretched out his hand to touch the carpet with an expression on his face that strongly suggested that it might bite.
