A Summer in Amber

by C. Litka

  Chapter 7: Thursday 27 June

  01

  This proved to be day of two discoveries. Truth is I don't know how I missed the first discovery for so long. The second one was just by chance and probably created more mysteries than it solved.

  It struck me this morning while I lay in bed staring at the rafters above my head that I'd been transcribing a scrapbook. A Frankenstein collection of extracts from maybe a dozen different publications, which presumably fit together to (somehow) outline the theoretical basis of TTR's invention. I didn't recognize any piece, but I finally realized that they varied too much in writing styles, structure, and in their slightly different terminology and theoretical approaches to quantum mechanics to be one source. TTR had simply arranged passages from the various sources to describe his theory, hopefully linking them together with his handwritten notes.

  Strictly speaking it's not my job to understand his theory. Indeed, I've been told not to try. Still, if I'm to decipher TTR's scribbles I'm going to have understand where he was coming from in order to make some sense out of incomplete sentences and passages, so it'd be helpful to know the content of the books or papers he used to build his theory.

  Decades of pre-Storm scientific work was lost when the cloud servers that stored them went down and stayed down. However, if these sources had been in actual print, the University Library would likely have restored them in a searchable digital form, making them accessible from my watson and a Wi-Fi hot spot. All I'd need was several sample paragraphs from each and I'd be able to download the full works. Learmonte would likely object to my copying parts of the papers, but since they're not TTR's work to begin with, I think I'm justified in doing so.

  Was this strictly necessary? Perhaps not. I'm not likely ever to be credited with the transcription, given Learmonte's attitude – and mine. Still, other scientists and engineers, including Professor Blake, are going to read my work and I take pride in my work. So I intend to turn the most complete, accurate, and comprehensive transcription of TTR's papers. And, well, I've a streak of curiosity. Whatever TTR was up to, has begun to intrigue me.

  02

  I spent the morning sorting through the pages copying sample passages. Around noon I set out for the Bonny Prince in Ordmoor that advertised a hot spot for customers. The alternative was to huddle up against the hot spot box in Maryfield and brave the elements. While it had grown milder, the sun had yet to pierce the thin veil of clouds. In the distance lower, darker clouds, with sweeping skirts of rain and mists still roamed across glen and hill.

  Guy was coming out of the stables as I pushed my bike out the cottage door so we walked up the lane together. He said that the clear sleeves I'd requested had arrived, but at Belgate Woods, several miles south of Ordmoor as Learmonte had dispatched them with a Belgate Woods bound employee. Guy said he'd bring them around tomorrow sometime, but since I was bound for Ordmoor already, and anxious to keep working, I offered to ride over and fetch them myself so he dashed off a note of introduction and gave me directions to the Belgate Woods factor's office.

  I had lunch at the Bonny Prince and settled in with a pot of tea and a plate of scones, to do my searching. It proved to be a time consuming project. Though I quickly located three books and one paper in the Cavendish library, I had to use my exchange privileges to search both the Oxford and King's College libraries to locate three more papers and a book. That left one or two possible sources unidentified which I decided weren't worth more extensive searches. Even so, by the time I'd downloaded the materials, the cafe's evening rush was ebbing. I ordered my tea and left a generous tip, hopefully enough to ensure that I'd not have to do any further research against the call box in Maryfield.

  It was nearly 7:00 when I emerged into a damp misty evening tasting of the sea. Belgate Woods was marked on my maps, so found it and the factor's office without trouble. I presented my note, picked up my package and was on my way home by 7:30.

  The weather continued to close in and darken. By the time I reached Ordmoor again the sky had fallen to earth as a dense fog. I thought I'd leave it behind as I put the sea behind me, but it only got denser and darker as I rode along. My glasses added another layer of fog, so I took them off, but could still only see 10 metres ahead. I rode slowly to give myself a chance to avoid man or beast that might appear out of the fog. I'd plenty of time before sunset and the road led straight to Maryfield and Glen Lonon so I wasn't concerned about getting lost.

  I passed through a ghostly Maryfield and into the narrow tree lined road beyond it. The dark overhanging trees bombarded me with big wet drops as they stalked slowly by, darker shapes against the dark grey of the fading day. I could see the pale road better without the bright glare of fog that my bike light produced, so I rode in a smothering grey silence which only got greyer and more smothering as the Lonon Glen closed in and around the road.

  I lost all sense of place as I rode deeper into the glen, content to follow the paleness of the road as it revealed itself out of the dripping darkness ahead of me. The deeper in I rode, the more charged the atmosphere felt, and after a while I couldn't help feeling a sense of deja vu in the electrically charged and oppressive stillness of the glen. The dim fairy lights of St Elmo's fires glowed dimly in the fog on either side, occasionally, close enough to hear them crackle in the moisture. There was, however, no lightning overhead. Yet. Still it seemed yet another eerie variation on a now familiar highland theme, the theme being let's see how spooked we can make Alasandr Say, Ph.D., with a few eerie lights and the whole glen holding its collective breath waiting for a...

  It was this intensity of this silence that made the snap of the twig seem so explosive with the deep silence only emphasized by the grinding of gravel under my tires, and the splat of a water drop on my hat or back. I looked up from the pale three metres of road that I was following to see perhaps half a dozen moving lights in the undefinable distance before me like the lanterns of some sort of troop or caravan.

  I skid to a stop, at a loss to identify what I was seeing or how far away the lights were in the veil of fog. Standing frozen and holding my breath I watched this train of lights slowly bob down from the hillside on my left and across the road ahead. I could hear the faint rustling of the underbrush and see the steady, slightly bobbing movement of the lights, blinking out and back as they moved through the trees. I might have even seen shadowed shapes, slightly backlit by one of the other ghostly lantern-lights, but I can't swear to that. It all had this dream-like feel – where I was and what was happening seemed too ill defined for a waking moment.

  It was the Riders, of course, though what they were was still unclear. The sound of their passage was faint, and the ghostly lanterns dim, but the fog, as thick as it was, meant they had to be within 30 metres of me to be seen or heard at all. The lights moved in the same deliberate fashion I'd observed last Sunday, faintly flickering and bobbing along seemingly following the contours of the land rather than floating free.

  I stood frozen over my bike, hardly daring to draw a breath for far longer than I'd care to admit, though it was probably less than thirty seconds or so. I could make excuses, I suppose, but the truth is, I was scared. Luckily my wits, or my shame sparked a rebellion. I was a Cambridge scholar, not a superstitious crofter. The answer to a mystery was a few metres ahead and all I had to do was stand on that pedal and push ahead... I put my foot on the pedal and started cautiously forward. None too soon, for I'd not gone more than 20 metres when I saw the fog-dimmed shape of a deer – a doe – on the road perhaps ten metres ahead. Hearing the crunch of gravel, or perhaps the pounding of my heart, and turned to look my way. It froze for a second and then, with a bound, disappeared into the underbrush. I heard a sudden increase in the rustling underbrush and the snapping branches as the startled herd bounded away. By the time I reached the point where they'd crossed the road and stopped to catch my breath and still my pounding heart, I could see nothing but grey gloom.

  A herd of deer. Well, strictly spe
aking a deer, but I could infer the herd. Better to be certain, I thought, so I dismounted and searched for tracks with my bike light. I found some in the gravel and many more in the soft mossy ground on either side of the road. They were deer tracks, and only deer tracks, so unless the Riders rode deer, I could dismiss the riders from the Rider question. As for their lights, like TTR's scrapbook, the solution now seemed obvious. The plasma that makes St Elmo's fire is associated with sharp points and I recalled stories about St Elmo's fire clinging to the horns of cattle. I'm not an expert on deer antlers, but I could imagine the same thing happening on the tips of antlers of the hinds in the herd, at least in the very highly electrically charged atmosphere of Glen Lonon. I hadn't acted fast enough to actually see the phenomena but by applying Occam's razor, which says the simplest explanation is usually the best, if lights were associated with a herd of deer, St Elmo's fire clinging to the points of antlers seemed to be the simplest explanation, and one I was prepared to accept. Fairies riding deer and the moon made out of cheese, can, I believe, be safely rejected.

  After my brief investigation, I mounted my bike and rode on through the thick silence and darkening gloom for what seemed like hours, riding slowly to stay within my shallow field of view. Eventually I came upon the glow from the cottages windows on the edge of Glen Lonon, and on past the two gate houses to the Factor's House and turned down the dark drive past the fog smudged lights of Hidden Garden along the lane to the Grooms Cottage. I had just turned on the lantern on the desk and brought my bike in when I was startled by a voice behind me.

  'I was getting a bit concerned about you, lad,' said the pale form of Guy Munro from the door way. 'I was out making my evening rounds when I saw you arrive.'

  'Good god! Guy, you startled me. I need a beer. Or two. Care to join me?' I asked.

  'Don't mind if I do,' he replied stepping in. 'Why do you need a beer?'

  'Because I've just had a far closer encounter with a troop of Riders than I ever imagined I would. I don't think a cup of tea will do...'

  03

  We finished our first bottle of beer with my tale.

  'Now admit, Guy, all this Rider nonsense is just deer with St Elmo's fire clinging to their antlers.'

  'Well, Sandy, if you want to believe that, I won't dissuade you,' he said with a smile. 'Maude has issued strict orders to lay off the old superstitious yarns, so I'll grant you that most of the Rider sightings can be explained away like yours as St Elmo's fire...'

  'But not all?' I laughed. 'You're not ready to concede all.'

  He shrugged. 'Well, there are those who claim to have seen things in these glens that aren't just deer. Nice, respectable poachers and the like, whose business is to be out and about at night. Though, of course, if you ask Maude, they’d all be drunks and lying fools. Some of them are, and others, not so much. We don't have much of a problem with poachers in our hills, I'll tell you that. There's more dark secrets in Glen Maig and Lonon than the Riders, my lad.'

  'Such as?' I asked lightly, adding, 'You mean like TTR's gate to the Otherworld up in the glen...'

  Guy gave me a sharp look. 'So you know about that, eh? I reckon his Lordship didn't mention that. That's his deep secret...'

  'And common gossip amongst the locals,' I replied. 'Why I wasn't up here more than two hours before I heard of it.'

  'Oh, that's just the talk of old people. They don't know the real story.'

  'But you do, don't you Guy?' I teased. I was over my fright and ready to take on the next odd superstitions.

  'Aye, and more too,' he shot back giving me a dark look.

  'Then tell me the true story of TTR's Otherworld gate. I'll not tell Maude. Promise.'

  He considered that for a moment and then said, 'You're not in very good graces with his lordship, are you?'

  'Does that matter?'

  'Aye, I'd not want you taking tales back to him,' he replied.

  'Well, you've seen his instructions concerning me, so you know the answer. But why are you asking?'

  'Because I'm considering telling you things – about TTR and his so called gate to the Otherworld – that would make him very uneasy and us very unwelcome here. Not that I care for myself, but for Maude's sake. She has a good berth here; I'd not want to jeopardize it should his Lordship decide he'd rather not have us around.'

  'Right. Whatever you care to tell me stays between us. No word to Learmonte. Or Maude,' I added with a grin.

  He nodded and took a moment, collecting his thoughts. I saw that he'd nearly emptied his glass of beer so I reached back and grabbed another bottle off the counter and set it on the table beside his glass.

  'One's enough, lad. I'll not have you think I'm in my cups when I tell you my tale,' he said and then continued, 'I'm telling you my secret because you're working on TTR's papers and maybe it'll help you unlock a secret that shouldn't be kept forever. There's nothing I can do about it, but perhaps you'll find a way to act...'

  He took the last draw from his glass and began in a low voice, 'Well Sandy, my tale begins some forty-one years ago when I, as a young man, came to Glen Lonon as an assistant factor. Back then Belgate Woods was the main estate of the Mackenzies and Glen Lonon was just their hunting lodge and business conference centre. After retiring from business, TTR began buying up all the lands surrounding the lodge and then up the Maig River glen, price no object. With this additional grazing land to manage, I was hired to oversee the Glen Lonon and Maig Glen farming operation. I worked directly under TTR, and though I'm not claiming to be one of his confidants on the project he was working on, I was the one who oversaw the building of his laboratory and all the construction projects associated with his project – building roadways and running the power lines and such.'

  'And Learmonte doesn't know this?' I asked, breaking in.

  'No. And I don't want him to.'

  'Right,' I replied, readily enough, I wanted to hear his tale. 'But before you go any further, can you tell me a little about TTR? What was he like? I've heard that he had changed considerably after his motorcar accident.'

  'I did'na know him before the accident, it was some five years after the accident that I came to Glen Lonon, so I can't claim first-hand knowledge of how he had changed. My impression, however, is that before the accident he was a great deal like our current Lord Learmonte. But I knew him as a quiet, intense man. I never saw him angry or even impatient. The TTR I knew was always down to earth, he'd talk to me like I'm talking to you, no lording over you. He always knew just what he wanted and how he wanted it done and I quickly picked up on this and saw to it that everything, whether it made sense to me or not, was done just like he wanted it done. As a consequence, he came to trust me to look after everything outside of his laboratory.

  'The one thing that set him apart from the rest of us was the impression he gave of seeing things you could'na see. Not, mind you, that he was seeing imaginary things, pink elephants or faeries, but that he seemed to be seeing deeper into everything around him, deeper into life. Nothing alarming, just that you always had a certain sense of being with someone who was somehow on a different plane than the rest of us.'

  'Which, I take it, is why some say he was Thomas the Rhymer returned.'

  'Well, that's what they say these days. But none was saying that back then. Not around me anyway.'

  I nodded. 'So you were involved in building this project of his. Did you know what it was about? I gather that was a pretty closely guarded secret at the time.'

  'Again, I don't want to give you the impression that I was a very important person or knew anything in any great detail about what he was working on, but we all knew they were building a machine that would send electricity across great distances without wires. And we knew enough to keep it to ourselves. For the most part we did. We built several different sites, in addition to the main laboratory, and ran power lines to each of them in turn, so I think it's fair to say that what was done matched what they said they were doing. There was no talk of buildin
g a gate to faery land. It was solid, practical science and engineering. But whatever he did, it may not have turned out as he expected.'

  'How so?'

  He shrugged. 'I can't say for certain. But when the Storms hit, things went awry, that's for sure.

  'My impression is that the project ended in tragedy, TTR dying as a result of some accident, perhaps by a fire in the lab sometime around the first storms.'

  'Aye. TTR was working in the lab during one of the first storms, before the full power of the storms was realized. I wasn't around when it happened, but when the full blast of the solar storm hit the valley, it caused a massive power surge in his equipment that sparked a fire in the lab, killing George Willis, one of his engineers, and injuring TTR in the blast. This was in the first weeks of the Storm and TTR's son and grandson were off to America. The hospital in Inverness, was, like all hospitals, struggling with emergency power, so TTR was treated at home by a live in nurse. He never fully recovered and died in the spring, some four months later. And by that time, things had gotten very strange, indeed.'

  'Strange?'

  'Aye, strange. You couldn't get back into the lab.'

  'I'm not following you. What's strange and why couldn't you get back into the lab?'

  'Back then I couldn't say for certain. I'd my hands full of other matters, chaotic times, them was, but according to what Marc Levers, the remaining engineer, told me, by the time they got around to returning to the lab to salvage what they could of TTR's work – this would be several months later, in fact, times being what they were – they discovered some sort of problem in the lab that kept them from working in it. Marc didn't say what it was. He just warned me to keep out. I remember that TTR was pretty frantic about this, but by that time he slipping in and out of rationality and died a short time later. Marc left shortly after he died and with TTR gone, we all had more pressing matters to attend to, so the lab was pretty much forgotten.

  'With TTR's death and his heirs lost across the sea, no one was really in charge of the estate. The staff just carried on as best we could and we got along right enough, remote from all the troubles, able to feed ourselves from our livestock and grains. And so two years went by as the Belgate Woods and Glen Lonon staff scratched out a living, no one caring what we did. We fared better than most, surviving those first two winters without electricity on kerosene and pine wood.

  'It was the third summer that things changed. That was the summer the second wave of terrible storms hit. It was then that the strange lights began floating about which became known as the “Riders”. It was that summer when the sheep that were left were being struck down by lightning in the terrible storms that came down out of Maig Glen. It got so bad in the Maig Glen, that the remaining tenants abandoned their cottages and fled first to Glen Lonon and then out into the outside world. By the end of summer, there weren't hardly any of us left in Glen Lonon.

  'I must say that looking back, it may be that things were no worse, storm-wise back then then they are today, especially in a summer like this one, but it was still new and frightening back then. And so all the tenants left, despite my efforts to keep them. We had it good, compared to a lot of people, but they'd not stay. The shepherds said terrible forces were being unleashed from TTR's laboratory, that the storms rose out of it and lightning, even on a clear day would arch out to kill sheep or a shepherd anywhere in the glen.'

  He paused. 'You don't know me well, Sandy. But I hope that you don't think a bottle of beer is going to make me spin outrageous lies just for the sake of sensationalism. It takes a lot more than that, I assure you. So when I say that when I returned to TTR's lab towards the end of that third summer of the Storms, it had changed into something very strange and powerful, I'm telling you the gospel truth.'

  'How so? How did it change?'

  'Oh, you wouldn't know it by looking at it. It did'na look changed. The fire hadn't done much damage, not that you could tell. It looked the same, a metal building with electrical lines and equipment lying about it, just as it was left after the accident. But the very air around it had changed. The closer you got to the building the harder it seemed it was to catch a breath, the harder it was to move, there seemed this sort of pressure or something that pushed back against you. Maybe it was all in my mind, I can't say for sure. But there were sparks dancing at my feet as I tried to walked towards the building, and well, I couldn't get within fifty feet before I had to turn and run, and run like the blazes thinking every second that I was about to be struck dead with a blast of lightning from whatever the lab had become... And that, Sandy, is the gospel truth.'

  I didn't say anything; I didn't know what to say. If he was pulling my leg, he was doing it like a master.

  'There wasn't hardly anyone left in the glen by then. Families were drawing together in those days, forming small clans and communities to look after each other, the days of the isolated cottage where drawing to a close. So what was going on in the lab didn't seem to matter much back then. T'wasn't anyone to hurt, they'd all left the glen already. And with everyone gone, I had my wife and little Maude to think of. I thought it best to go too – the big house was too big for the three of us, because you never knew who'd be coming around. So, like captain of a sinking ship we packed up and left for Inverness. But before I went, I gathered what was left of the papers TTR was working on before he died, put them in a box that I dropped off in Belgate Wood, on my way to Inverness. I'm sorry that they ended up in the shed and in such a mess. But I did my part and now you must do yours if we're to find out what is going on in these glens...'

  'You're saying you're the one who gathered these papers in the first place?'

  'Aye, Lord Learmonte has been rather cagey about letting anyone see them, but from what Baily said, they're the same papers I collected from TTR's study.'

  'Do you know anything else about them?' I asked.

  He shook his head sadly. 'I knew no more or less than what everyone else knew. I just went through his desk and study and gathered what I knew was his and put them in a box – notebooks and the papers he'd been working on – mostly in bed – after the fire and before he got pneumonia and died.'

  I considered this. 'So why don't you want Learmonte to know about your relationship with his grandfather and the papers? Why, I bet you could read TTR's handwriting – you must've seen plenty of notes in your day on the job...'

  He smiled. 'They was always terrible hard to read. Mostly he just told me what to do. And I haven't told Lord Learmonte because I don't think he wants people around that knows what happened back then.'

  'But why?'

  'Because he's hid the existence of TTR’s lab for the better part of thirty years. Very few of us are left that know the details, and them that do, know better than to blab, like I'm doing now. If he knew I know his secret, well, I'm not some loyal old shepherd who can be kept quiet with the threat of being driven from his home, so who knows how he'll react, especially the way he is these days? He'd certainly never trust me or Maude again, even if he did keep us on. I've not even told Maude what I've just told you. It seemed better just to let sleeping dogs lay. But with you here reading TTR's papers, I'm telling you in the hope that once Lord Learmonte passes on, you might find a way to seeing that things are fixed up.

  'Fix things up? What do you mean?'

  'The lab. You see, it hasn't changed since the old days. When Maude landed the factor's job here, I went back to have a look at it. I found they'd put a fence around the whole lab so you can't easily get near it. I was a bit younger back then and found a place to get over the fence and explored it a bit. Everything was more overgrown, but hadn't otherwise changed. This time I only managed to get within a 60 yards of the lab building before I could feel that pressure in my head again, the same as it was some twenty years before. I just turned around, made my way back to the fence careful like and have never gone back.' He looked at me. 'Whatever is in the lab, whatever it's doing in there, it's still in there doing it. And I'm certain it
's the source, the gate if you will, of all the storms and Riders these glens are notorious for.'

  'And you're saying Learmonte is aware of this?'

  'Aye. That fence proves that. I've talked to some of the old hands, casual like, and gather that it was put up during the first years after our Lord Learmonte and his father returned to Scotland. They must've experienced just what I have, and were unable – or afraid – to do anything about it, so they just put up the fence and erased its existence from memory – as far as they could. Oh, the shepherds and gillies know something strange lays beyond the fence. There are plenty of stories about, but only the oldest know exactly what lays behind them. I didn't let on that I knew too because I didn't want any word reaching Lord Learmonte. But if the lab is as weird as I know it is, you can see why he'd want to keep people away from it and keep it a deep secret. Still today there are old stories of gillies and shepherds getting killed by lightning in the early days, which could be placed on this doorstep if people knew about that something in TTR's old lab is still working. I assure you, he makes certain none of his guests or hunting parties go near it.'

  'Where is TTR's lab, that he can keep it so secret?' I asked. 'It'd seem a hard secret to keep.'

  'Aye,' he nodded. 'It is, but he does. And I'll not tell you where. I'll not risk having your death on my conscience. It's a dangerous place. I know curiosity is a powerful force and by telling what I have, I may've got you to thinking of looking for it, but it won't be easy to find and I hope you don't try. Just take my word for now, lad. Maybe later, after you've read TTR's papers you might need to see it for yourself to confirm what the papers tell you. Then, maybe I'll show you. But for now, just remember – TTR's gate has been around since the Storms, and besides the storms and the Riders, nothing bad has happened. I'm thinking there's time to deal with it, proper like. And if the gate be tied in with the solar storms, as it seems to be, then now is not the time to tackle it. That would be when the sun's a'laying quiet, not now, when it's so restless and wild.'

  'But why'd you think I'd need to know about it?'

  'Perhaps his Lordship is thinking that by the time you're done with those papers, he may know more about what's going on. And maybe he'll do something about it. But we can't be sure. I just want someone beside me and a few old shepherds to know about it should he decide to leave it forgotten.'

  'Learmonte would raise hell if he found out I was doing anything beyond typing up those papers. And given his dislike for me, he'd never listen to me. So why tell me at all?'

  'Well, I'm thinking that if you knew what TTR's device does, you could keep an eye out for the “why?” in those papers. As for Learmonte, I'm thinking someone outside the family should know about the lab. Something has to be done, sooner or later, and if it was just left to the family, I'm not certain anything would be. I'm counting on you. You'll know more of the details than anyone else outside of the family. I don't expect you to do anything now. But after his Lordship passes on I'm hoping you'll somehow see that the young ones tackle the mystery.'

  Since I doubted that the papers would tell me anything, considering their condition. And, well, what could I say to the family about some vague threat based on an old ghost story? Not something I'd care to touch with a barge pole. Yet Guy seemed so earnest, so concerned that I couldn't just laugh it all off.

  'Okay, Guy. I'll promise you this much, I'll keep a sharp lookout for some sort of connection in TTR's writing to the conditions of the lab you've described. But that's all I'll promise. I'm sure that once smarter people than I have a chance to really study the papers, any mystery the lab holds will be revealed. And I'm sure that if Learmonte could do something, he will. Still, I'll keep your story in mind. More than that I can't promise. If you want me to do more than that, I'd need to see for myself what's going on at the old lab,’ and then I added, hoping to lay any ghost stories to rest, 'However, what you experienced around the lab was likely a strong electrical field, which might be consistent with TTR's device. There's no need to bring the supernatural into the tale.'

  'I'm not saying is was supernatural. I just said it was frightening...' he said, and then pushed the chair back and stood. 'I must be going; Maude will be getting worried. We'll talk again before you leave. Don't do anything foolish. The answers are in the papers, not in the lab, or Learmonte would've dealt with it already. If you find something in the papers that makes you want to check out the old lab, see me, and we'll see...' he added.

  'Right,' I said, rising too. 'Trust me, I've no business poking my nose into Learmonte's affairs, especially since he dislikes me already.'

  'So you won't?'

  'Not without talking to you first. I've no loyalty to Learmonte. I'm content to let him deal with the lab. Really, I've a feeling that the less I know, the better off I'll be...'

  'I think you'd be wise, lad. Take what I've said and just tuck it away until you know a whole lot more of what TTR was up to. Nothing need be done now. And with that piece of advice, I'll bid you a good night.'

  'Good night, Guy. And thanks. I'll keep all this to myself, that I can assure you.'

  He nodded, and was off. I watched his torch bob through the still dense fog until he turned up the lane. Still wide awake, I dictated the rough copy of this entry until I was too tired to continue. What it all means will have to wait until morning.

  04

  Later, as I lay in bed unable to sleep, I found myself growing increasingly sceptical of Guy's tale. A haunted lab – Really? I suppose a device designed to transmit energy might, if it malfunctioned due to a huge power surge, might create a brief electromagnetic field that could produce some of the effects he described. But how such a device could still be producing an electromagnetic field unattended for decades is beyond my imagination.

  As for its connection to the Maig Glen storms – well, I'm no meteorologist, but I'm pretty certain you can't create thunderstorms with electricity alone. You'd need moisture carried on a rising column of air. Between this summer's tropical heat waves and our solar max conditions, you'd not need TTR's machine running amok to explain them. There were plenty of electrical storms this summer in Cambridge, without the Rhymer's Gate.

  I just wanted to get this project done and go home as soon as possible – with as little contact with Learmonte as possible. So spending days tramping about the heather hills and pine forests poking my nose into a Learmonte secret did not appeal to me in the least. I suppose the Storm left its mark on everyone who lived through it, and perhaps these stories are the mark it left on Guy. That, anyway, seemed to be Maude's take. And so, by the time I finally drifted off to sleep, the mystery of the Rhymer's Gate was safe from me.