“Onopordum acanthium,” the strange man whispered in Angus’ ear.
Angus spun to face him. “What?”
“That means Scotch Thistle. Like the one on your amulet. Did you know the thistle was used by the early kings of Scotland as their personal heraldic crest? Legend has it that a Viking stepped on one at night and cried out, alerting the Scots to a sneak attack. Thistle has great medicinal properties too, but sadly it has no effect on vampires.”
“Have you ever seen one? A vampire, I mean.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t be much of a vampire hunter if I hadn’t, now would I? There’s one in Aberdeen, so I am here to eradicate it, or perhaps relocate it.” Fane peered down at him. “Ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Iona, of course. Sorry, I forgot to mention that I’m your ride to the ferry, dear boy. I was hired by one Mrs. Prudence Finklestink-MacBain. Now that’s a mouthful isn’t it? And, I might add, a most unpleasant sort of woman. I do wish you luck with her. I’ve seen nicer personalities in the undead.” Fane surveyed the busy airport. “Now, somewhere is my luggage. I do hope they haven’t misplaced it. Can’t fight vampires if I don’t have the proper tools, now can I?”
Angus stared at Fane. Was he crazy? Or was he for real? For now it didn’t really matter. He needed a ride, but he’d keep his guard up.
Gathering his suitcase, Angus followed Fane across the parking lot to an antique motorcycle. “Wow this thing is cool,” he said, examining the bike. “Is it safe?”
Fane secured the luggage into a sidecar and handed Angus a helmet. He strapped it on, tucking in strands of black, curly hair.
“Of course it is,” Fane said. “Now hop on.”
Angus climbed on behind Fane and the old man slipped on a pair of goggles, kick-started the motorcycle, and launched them into the busy street. They passed wool shops, seafood markets, pubs, restaurants, and misty moors, until they reached a single lane tarmac that weaved into the peaceful countryside. A cool breeze blew inside Angus’ helmet as he looked about in wonder. Grass, green as an apple-flavored Jolly Rancher, carpeted lush fields dotted with grazing sheep that looked like distant cotton balls. Ancient stone fences formed paddocks around the livestock, keeping them safely contained.
After a few sharp corners, they slowed and stopped at a long pier jutting into a dense fog. A sign nailed to a post listed departure dates and times. Shrouded in a gray mist, a black and white ferry floated ghost-like at the end. Fane parked his motorcycle near the dock and Angus climbed off. The air was so thick with the smell of salt that he stuck his tongue out to see if he could taste it. Something passed by overhead and they both looked up. A fat crow swooped in low, made a sharp turn, and dove at Angus’ neck with its big wings slashing. He ducked, but not before the bird tugged at his amulet and flapped away.
Angus groped his neck. Gone! A terrible wave of panic filled his stomach. High above, the big amulet dangled from the bird’s mouth. Angus picked up a baseball-sized rock and hurled it at the ugly crow. The stone struck the creature’s wing. The bird flopped to one side in mid-flight and hurtled to the ground like a dart.
“You got him!” Fane shouted.
Angus ran to the crow and watched it get to its feet and limp away. Now he felt bad. He hadn’t really meant to hurt the poor bird. He just wanted his amulet back. Angus took a step closer. The bird turned and hissed. There was something odd about the crow. It had one blue eye and a black patch covering the other one. The bird hissed once more, then crouched and launched itself into the air. It circled twice, then flew off, abandoning the amulet on a patch of thistles. Angus carefully grabbed the chain and studied the dragon. It didn’t look as if it had been harmed in the fall.
Fane patted Angus on the back. “Good shot, my boy.”
“Thanks,” Angus said, keeping an eye on the sky.
Pulling an ornate pocket watch from his purple vest, Fane glanced at the time. “Better get on board the ferry or I’m afraid we’ll miss it.” Fane sighed. “That would be most unfortunate, because it would certainly shorten my vampire-hunting-budget. Not to mention putting a lot of folks at risk of a neck wound.”
Angus secured the amulet around his neck and tucked it inside his shirt. He followed Fane down the pebbled beach to the dock. The sorrowful lapping against the gravelly beach reminded Angus how far he had traveled from the only home he had ever known. Dark clouds scudded across the fading sun.
Fane gripped Angus’ shoulder. “Think of yourself as a warrior on a great adventure, my boy. Iona is one of the most sacred and beloved places in all of Scotland.”
Angus stood on the slipway looking across the narrow channel to the low-lying island of Iona, where ancient ruins nestled close by the shore.
2
Angus sat on the hard wooden seat of the ferry. Crisp sea air rustled through his hair. Overhead, gray clouds glowed and paled like the forge of a Celtic blacksmith. He stared across the sound at the misty island. Ancient stone buildings protruded from treeless mounds of rock and rain-washed green that made up Iona. The sight reminded him of his grandfather’s stories of the history of the island.
“Even the rocks around Iona are older than the sea itself,” Duncan had told him. “Ancient kings of the early Gaelic Kingdom of Dál Riata lay in rest on the peaceful shores. None of the graves are identifiable now as wind and rain have chiseled them away. In later years other kings from Scotland, Ireland, France and Norway were laid to rest on this divine island as well.”
Angus recalled his grandfather lowering his voice and staring at him in a peculiar way that still made him shiver. “Iona is a very special place,” his grandfather had said. “A holy place. Her ground is sacred. Someday you’ll see for yourself.”
“Hello again,” chirped a friendly voice. Angus turned to see Vanora, the girl from the plane. “What a coincidence!”
“What do you mean?” Angus asked.
Vanora dropped her backpack by his feet and plopped down next to him. “Running into you again. Even on such a small island, it’s easy to miss someone among all the tourists. What group are you with?”
“I’m not a tourist. I’m going to live with my aunt.”
“Really? I know almost everyone on the island. Who’s your aunt?”
“Prudence MacBain. I’ve never met her, so I’m not sure what to expect.”
Vanora gave Angus a sympathetic nod. “No offense, but she’s horrible.”
“Great.” Angus swallowed hard. “How do you know?”
“She hates kids. Boy, are you in for it. She runs people off her property with a pitchfork.”
Angus stared down at the deck. “Just my luck.”
Vanora smiled. “Don’t worry, you can hang out at my house. We live in England in the winter but spend our summers here. My father has loads of interesting stuff. He’s a cryptozoologist.”
“A what?”
“A cryptozoologist. He studies all kinds of weird and mysterious creatures. That’s why we come to Iona. The island is ancient, full of mystery, and the oldest burial site in Scotland.”
“Maybe he ought to study my traveling companion.” Angus pointed at Fane, who stood at the bow of the ship, staring wistfully at the approaching island. “He’s pretty strange.”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Vanora whispered. “You’re right though, he does look a little odd, especially with all that hair on his face.”
“I know what you mean,” Angus said. The first time I saw him I didn’t know if he was wearing a beard or eating a muskrat.”
Vanora giggled, grabbed her backpack, and stood. “I better help my father with the luggage. Look me up when you get settled.”
“Thanks. If my aunt’s as bad as you say, I might need a place to hide out.”
Fane came up behind him, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into Angus’ ear, “All ashore that’s going ashore.”
Angus jumped, and wriggled his finger in his ear. “Do you have to yell?”
&n
bsp; “Sorry, bad habit. I’m not used to young people. Vampires are quite deaf, centuries old in fact. Most have sawdust in their ears. Keeps the bugs out.”
Angus wrinkled his nose. “Yuk.”
“I see the young lady from the plane is here.”
Angus glanced at Vanora, standing by her father at the rail. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird bumping into her again.”
Fane stroked his beard. “Not necessarily. Don’t you believe?”
Angus shrugged. “In what?”
“In destiny.”
“I don’t know, I guess,” Angus said.
Fane gripped his shoulder. “It’s good that you’ll have a friend here, especially in times of trouble.”
“What trouble?”
The old man ignored him and plucked a piece of garlic from around his neck. He popped it into his mouth and leaned inches from Angus’ face. “Care for a snack? I have plenty.”
Angus stepped back. “No thanks, and can you breathe the other way? You’re bleaching my hair.”
Fane popped another piece into his mouth. “All right, but don’t blame me if you get hungry later.”
The ship’s engine geared down to a rumbling idle. An iron ramp lowered onto a concrete slab at the foot of the island. Passengers disembarked, careful to mind the puddles of ocean seeping between the ramp and the shore. To the right stood a metal rack filled with bicycles, some shiny and others rust-coated. There was even a unicycle propped to one side.
A loud ticking jolted Angus’ attention from the island. Fane pulled a tiny typewriter from his vest pocket and set it in the palm of his hand. Paper flowed from the machine as it hammered out a long message.
“What is that?”
“Urgent Telegraph,” Fane said, tearing off a two-foot long section of paper. He put the gadget away, read the message to himself, and sighed. “Here’s where we part company, my dear boy. Vampire alert near Edinburgh. Hope you have a pleasant stay. At least as pleasant as possible in the company you’ll be forced to keep.” Fane tugged out his pocket watch, rubbed the face, and studied the time. “She’ll be along shortly.” He clucked in sympathy while shaking Angus’ hand. “Too bad for you, my boy.” He reached into his pocket and handed Angus a business card. “Pleasure meeting you and don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.”
Slipping the card into his front pocket, Angus watched Fane re-board the ferry. He gave Angus a low bow and yelled. “Take care of that dragon charm.”
“I will. Thanks for the ride,” Angus yelled and waved good-bye. He patted his amulet to make sure it was still there.
Vanora came up beside him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Come over when you can. My last name is Pegenstecher. It’s on the door. We live at Shore Side Cottage, number five. She pointed down a narrow lane, where a dozen whitewashed buildings stood nestled by the waterfront. “I’ll show you my father’s collection of mysterious and powerful objects.” Her eyes danced. “He’s even got a fur coat from Bigfoot.”
“Really? Cool! I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
Vanora and her father mounted their bikes, waved goodbye, and rode away. Angus waited for his ride, shivering as an ocean wind howled at his back. Storm clouds darkened the sky overhead and a light rain wept over his head, adding to his misery. Angus pulled up his collar as the water drizzled down his neck and into his shoes. An hour passed and still no one came to fetch him. In nearby windows, cozy fires glowed and tea kettles boiled. The rain turned into a downpour. A deep chill settled into his bones and his spirits sank. No one was coming to get him.
There seemed to be only a few cottages, a post office, and a couple of other buildings, all made of stone. It couldn’t be that hard to find Vanora’s cottage. Angus slogged up the lane looking for number five. He veered to dodge a muddy pot hole when an insect buzzed at his head. He swatted it and the thing fell to the ground with a clunk. He picked it up. A giant wasp, just like the one he’d seen on the plane! He held the insect by the tip of its wing to examine it in the dusky light. The wasp shook violently and sputtered before he got a closer look, but he could have sworn he saw a tiny camera attached to its belly. Without warning, the insect sprouted thorns. Sharp metal slivers stabbed into his hand.
“Ouch,” Angus yelled, dropping the thing to the ground. The angry wasp roared off into the sky. Angus examined the palm of his hand where blood seeped from three tiny puncture wounds. He searched in all directions. Was someone controlling those things? Hiding around a corner with a remote?
Angus buried his head like a turtle in his jacket and forged up the lane, his cumbersome suitcase banging against his leg. It didn’t take long to see Vanora’s whitewashed stone cottage. He tapped on the door using a handsome brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head.
The door swung open with a wonderful blast of warm air and Vanora’s father, Mr. Pegenstecher, pulled Angus inside. “Come in, son, before you catch your death of cold.”
Angus shivered and removed his soaked jacket. He slipped off his shoes, feeling as if the whole ocean had seeped into them.
Mr. Pegenstecher motioned him to a wooden bench in front of an energetic fire. Angus peeled off his wet socks, plopped them onto the stone hearth, and soaked in the soothing heat. A minute later Vanora handed him a cup of hot cocoa with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a chocolate stick on the side.
“Thank you,” Angus said, taking the cup.
Vanora looked puzzled. “I can’t believe no one came to get you.”
Angus took a sip of the delicious drink. “I know, nice huh?”
“Well, at least you’re safe and out of the rain. Relax and I’ll be right back.”
Vanora returned to the kitchen, leaving Angus to himself. A dining table stood in the center of the cozy room near an antique hutch filled with crockery and silver tankards. Just beyond it, a glass case displayed ancient crosses, prehistoric artifacts, and plaster casts of giant footprints. Photographs hanging on the stone walls showed Mr. Pegenstecher at exotic locations with legendary creatures. One showed him on a pier with a giant squid. Another showed him holding the longest boa constrictor Angus had ever seen.
A great boom caused the pictures to shake. Boom. Boom. Boom. Someone was pounding on the front door. Mr. Pegenstecher hurried to answer the insistent knock.
A shriveled old man stood in the drizzling rain. A tattered brown overcoat draped to his ankles with a heavy canvas hood that partially concealed his wrinkled face. He carried a flickering glass lantern in one gnarled hand and with the other, pointed to Angus.
“Come, boy,” he grumbled. “Your aunt is waiting.”
“Good evening, Mr. Cudweed,” Mr. Pegenstecher said, motioning for the man to come inside.
The stranger grunted and stepped into the entryway. Angus swallowed hard and Vanora came to his side. “Be careful,” she whispered. “That’s Borage Cudweed. He works for your aunt. He’s a total weirdo. If you can get away, come over tomorrow and we’ll explore the island.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Angus whispered before following the creepy man to the door. He turned to Vanora’s father. “Thanks for the hot chocolate and warm fire.”
Mr. Pegenstecher gave Angus a worried look. “You know where to find us if you need to.”
Angus nodded, then said to Cudweed, “How did you know I was here?”
“A little bug told me,” the old man mumbled.
“What?”
Cudweed scowled and stepped outside. “Come, now.”
Angus didn’t want to go with the nasty man. He looked more like a creature from one of his vampire books, or a crazed slasher, than someone’s gardener.
Angus put on his wet socks and shoes and stepped out into the dark night. The man’s knee-high Wellington boots made loud splat, splat sounds as he shuffled away. Angus followed him to a rusty bicycle with a cart attached to the side.
He shoved Angus forward. “Get in.”
Angus shot him a dirty look and climbed inside. Rain poured down his back a
nd a great puddle splattered underneath him as he sat on the wooden seat. For the first time, Angus noticed a series of neon blue lights shining outside each cottage down the lane. Bug lights?
Cudweed hooked the lantern onto the front of the bicycle, climbed aboard, and pedaled into the dark. Angus held on with both hands as the bike jerked forward into the night. How could the old man see by just the faint lantern light? Angus couldn’t see a thing until they wound along a treacherous ocean cliff gleaming black with rain. The lantern light made the rocky outcropping look like a humped-back serpent. Angus closed his eyes and held on tighter.
He opened them again hearing the crash of surf from the ocean below. Angus squinted, trying to see ahead, but there was just blackness marred only by a bit of moon peeking between the clouds. Cudweed steered the cycle downhill between two rocks. It seemed as though the man was about to drive them into the sea when he took an abrupt right turn past a patch of shrubs and into a dale. A large stone house stood at the bottom. A faint light glowed from the eight windows of the tall, narrow structure.
The bike rattled up next to the front of the house. “Out,” Cudweed commanded, pointing to the front door.
Stiff from the cold and jarring ride, Angus climbed from the cart. A burst of bitter wind howled at his back, freezing the rainwater that had by now seeped into his pants. He forged his way to the front door, suitcase in hand. He knocked, watching Cudweed push the bike to a shabby, thatched cottage next door where moments later, a light switched on inside. Through its sooty windows, Angus watched Cudweed putting a kettle on to boil. He looked out the window and scowled at Angus. Something wasn’t right about the way he shuffled when he walked, or the way he grunted. As if he was not quite human.
3
Angus waited on the doorstep of the house as the cold rain drizzled off the roof and onto his head. A heavy bolt screeched back and the door clanged open. In the shadows stood a pointy-faced woman with a long neck that resembled a crane. She peered down her nose at him with a very stern face. Angus’ first thought was that she wasn’t someone to cross. A woolen shawl draped around her hunched shoulders as gray as the sodden night.
Angus MacBain and the Island of Sleeping Kings Page 2
