by Anne Forbes
Hamish and Jaikie pulled up a divan for him and once Arthur had settled his great bulk comfortably, with Archie sitting cross-legged beside him, Sir James poured out his tale about the Cri’achan.
“The rest of the committee laughed it off,” he explained. “They just didn’t believe the crofter’s story. But I did. I remember Neil and Clara telling me how they were chased by the Old Man of the Mountains when they were on their way to Inveraray last year — and he was a stone giant, wasn’t he? Must have been, for Clara saw him.”
The MacArthur listened to Sir James carefully. “We heard that the Cri’achan are walking the mountains again,” he said worriedly, “but from what you say, it sounds as though they’re still very weak. They can grow a lot taller than a house, you know. But you’ve got one thing wrong, James; the stone giants aren’t causing the landslides, they are the landslides!”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you. The giants must still be weak. They have the strength to rise from the slopes of the mountains but from what you say, they can’t walk far before they collapse — and that’s your landslide.”
Sir James turned white for, unlike them, he had all the facts and figures at his fingertips. “But if that’s true,” he said slowly, “they must have intelligence of a sort. Look here,” he pointed at his map, “and here and here; all the landslides are in strategic positions that close the glens to traffic. They’ve covered roads, bridges and railway lines and they’re moving steadily eastwards. No one’s been hurt yet but …”
“No one will be hurt, Sir James,” the MacArthur assured him, “the stone giants aren’t vicious. They’re only dangerous because of their size. All they want is space to move around the mountains.”
“Well, they’re succeeding. People are having to leave their homes, you know. It’s no joke! The Highlands are being emptied.”
It was only when he looked closely at the positions of the landslides on the map, however, that the MacArthur’s face altered and he gave a hiss of alarm. Jaikie and Hamish looked puzzled until the MacArthur drew his finger towards Aberdeen.
“Morven,” Jaikie said in alarm. “You don’t think …”
“If the Cri’achan are heading for Morven then things could get out of hand,” the MacArthur said grimly, slapping his knee, “as if we didn’t have enough on our minds already!”
Sir James’s eyes flew from face to face as he sensed their concern. Things were obviously far more serious than he’d thought. “Something else has happened, hasn’t it?” he ventured.
Looking at Sir James’s worried face, the MacArthur nodded, wondering if it was fair to burden him with another, more serious, problem. He sighed and began his tale. By the time he had told him of Morven, the existence of Firestar and the dreadful attack that had almost killed them all, Sir James was sitting bolt upright. Now he knew why the MacArthur looked a couple of hundred years older than usual.
“When did all this happen?” he asked.
“About a month ago.”
“And you say the Rumblewhatsit, the hobgoblin, saw a man on the monitor?”
The MacArthur nodded. “What really worries us is that there could be another attack at any time. That’s why we’re wearing firestones. The danger is that if it lasts for longer, we … well, we just mightn’t be so lucky. It came out of the blue, you know. No warning at all!”
Arthur, with an eye on Archie, blew a very small cloud of smoke in agreement.
“And this ball of energy that you call Firestar? I mean … is it all right now?”
The MacArthur nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “The hobgoblins were worried about it at first but they can sense its moods and thoughts and they’d know if it had been injured. We’d all know,” he added frankly, “for Firestar is reflected in all of us.”
“What about the Sultan?” Sir James asked. “Was he affected? And Lord Rothlan? Prince Casimir? And your daughter, Lady Ellan?”
“They all felt it,” the MacArthur said gravely.
“Have you talked about it with them?”
“We had a meeting in Morven with the Lords of the North,” the MacArthur said gravely. “A few decided not to come — Lord Jezail declined and quite frankly he wasn’t missed.
“Lord Jezail?” queried Sir James. “I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before?”
The MacArthur pursed his lips disapprovingly. “To tell you the truth,” he said frankly, “very few people like the man. He lives in Ashgar.”
“Ashgar? Where on earth’s that?”
The MacArthur raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t you heard of it? It’s one of those small principalities tucked away in Central Europe …”
Sir James shook his head. “My geography of Central Europe isn’t all that brilliant,” he confessed.
“It’s on the fringes of Asia and quite close to Turkey. I’ve never been there but Prince Casimir and Prince Kalman used to stop over in Ashgar on their way to Turkey to buy magic carpets.”
“In the days before the Sultan’s crown was stolen,” Archie added.
“Ah, yes! The Sultan! Did he come?”
“He came by magic mirror,” the MacArthur nodded, “and ended up chairing the meeting. He’s a forceful character and … well, the Lords of the North are very old and a bit dithery nowadays. They were quite happy to hand the meeting over to him. Lord Rothlan and Prince Casimir were there, of course and we talked for hours but in the end, nothing was resolved. We couldn’t find out what the force was but we think it may have come from the sky — like a bolt of lightning or something. The only thing we know for sure is that it wasn’t an attack by a stray magician. It was a man that Rumblegudgeon saw on the screen.”
“I presume you’ve put a protective shield round Morven?”
“It was the first thing we did,” nodded the MacArthur.
Sir James sat back. “This is serious,” he muttered, “but there are some clues. You should have told me about this before, you know. If the hobgoblin saw a man on the screen and you think the attack came from the sky, then the chances are that maybe some sort of spacecraft is involved.” He saw their blank looks. “You know,” he gestured vaguely, “… spaceships, satellites and the like … Machines in space that circle the earth and transmit data about all sorts of things. Lots of countries have them — America, Russia and France to name but a few.”
There was a silence.
“America?” Hamish looked at Jaikie, his eyes startled.
Jaikie sighed. “You’d better tell Sir James about the Americans at Morven Castle, MacArthur.”
“Morven Castle?” Sir James repeated.
“It’s in Glenmorven,” Hamish explained, “and quite close to the mountain.”
“There are four or five of them,” the MacArthur admitted. “Young chaps, all of them. They leased the castle from Lord Robertson not long after Firestar was attacked and since they arrived they’ve done nothing but climb all over the mountain. They must know that there’s something odd about it for they’ve taken rock samples and gone over it with some sort of machine as well.”
“They have, have they?” said Sir James interestedly.
“They haven’t found Firestar, though,” Hamish said. “They arrived after we’d put a protective shield round the mountain.”
“I’ll try and find out who they are and what they’re up to, if you like,” Sir James offered. “I’ve a friend in Aberdeen who might be able to help.”
Jaikie grinned, despite the gravity of the situation. “No need for that, Sir James. We’ve got spies in the castle already!”
“Ghosts,” nodded the MacArthur.
“Ghosts?” repeated Sir James, looking taken aback.
“Red Rory MacGregor and the Black MacTavish,” the MacArthur said, smiling at his expression. “Fearsome fighters, the pair of them. They’ve haunted the castle for years. They never bother Lord Robertson, of course,” he added, “but these Americans have really put their noses out of joint. Apparently, they suspected
from the start that something strange was going on and when they heard them talking about how to get into the mountain — well, they passed the message on to the Lords of the North.”
“They were talking about blowing a hole in it with explosives,” Hamish said disapprovingly.
“How on earth do you know all this?” Sir James asked in amazement.
“The Lords of the North have given them a crystal ball,” the MacArthur said reassuringly, “and they keep us up to date on what’s going on.”
“They’re trying to scare the Americans out of the castle at the moment but so far they haven’t had much success,” Archie added, smiling mischievously. “The trouble is that they’re invisible, of course, so their scope, at the moment, is a bit limited. They reckon they might have to materialize if they’re going to get any results.”
Sir James left the hill every bit as worried as the MacArthur. As his carpet took him up through the blackness of the tunnels inside Arthur’s Seat into the watery sunshine of an April day, his mind was busy. As always, the magic carpet became invisible the minute it left the hill and as it soared towards Morningside, heading for his flat, he made a mental note to give Bob Grant a ring. Bob was in Aberdeen. Maybe he could find out who the Americans were …
10. Jelly Beans
The minute Prince Kalman merged back into the body of the stag, the petrified beast took off, covering the slopes of the mountainside in great, flying leaps. It didn’t need any urging, for the two giants that had been striding along the bottom of the glen had already turned towards the slopes and were even now lumbering menacingly upwards.
Bounding wildly across the hillside, Kalman thought at one stage that they might yet escape. The giants obviously thought so, too, for they started throwing boulders at them. Their aim, however, was way out and although the huge rocks bounced and crashed around them, they did little damage apart from freaking out the stag, which, by this time, was totally beyond Kalman’s control. In a blind panic, it raced across the heather taking dangerously great leaps as it cleared tumbling streams and scattered outcrops of rock. As the giants came ever closer, however, it turned frantically into a broad gully that seemed to offer a way of escape. It turned out to be a trap, however, as on turning a corner, Kalman realized with a sinking heart, that the gully was a dead end.
The giants roared in triumph as they saw that the stag was at their mercy while Kalman, deprived of most of his magic, knew real fear. There was nothing he could do but wait and as the stag reared desperately against the walls of the sheer cliff that barred their way, he watched in an agony of frustration and bitterness as the giants gathered boulders from the slopes. Was this how he was going to end his life?
Had the giants thrown the boulders at them, there and then, they might well have destroyed the prince. Afterwards, he could never quite work out why they hadn’t finished him off at once. It might have been that they just didn’t know that their new-found strength was limited but they certainly wasted valuable time and energy by gathering together a handy pile of rocks. It proved their undoing for, with sudden grunts of horror, they found themselves literally falling apart. Kalman, looking on in amazement, breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them collapse in front of him. Hope stirred within him and his heart lightened. He hadn’t realized that the giants were quite so vulnerable. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d thought, he mused. It might well be that Cri’achan Mòr had quite a long way to go before he became Lord of Morven.
Although the giants were now no more than a pile of rubble, Prince Kalman waited until the quivering stag had quietened down before he urged it over their broken remains and turned its head towards the north-east and Morven.
Morven! Thoughts of the mountain filled his mind. He just had to get there. All thoughts of enmity had fled. The quarrel with his father and the Sultan was nothing compared with this new danger, which posed the most serious threat that the Lords of the North had ever had to face. Could this Malfior be destroyed? he wondered. It was certainly a powerful force, for the amount of magic that he had been left with was pitifully small … nothing like the strength of power he was used to. Despite his weakness, he knew that the Lords of the North had to be warned at once and he only hoped that Firestar would be able to deal with the strange, fearsome entity that lurked in its depths.
The going, after that, was painfully slow. Kalman fulminated at their lack of progress for the stag had to be given time to rest, graze and drink. It was, however, a powerful animal and between times, kept a steady pace. Nevertheless, it was well after midnight when they reached the shores of Loch Lomond.
The waters of the loch gleamed silver in the moonlight and it was while Kalman was looking for a place for the stag to rest that the giants picked up on him again. Cri’achan Mòr must be tracking him through a crystal, he thought, as a huge giant rose suddenly, in tearing jerks from the slopes of the hills and bore down upon him in a thunder of noise.
Petrified by its abrupt appearance, the stag slipped and slid its way frantically downhill to where a road wound its way round the shores of the loch. Although busy with traffic during the day, there wasn’t a car in sight at this time of night and the frightened animal, who would not normally have gone anywhere near a road, feeling the smooth tarmac under its hooves, streaked along with the giant crashing heavily behind. Keep going, Prince Kalman urged the stag, willing it to run faster. Keep going and perhaps it’ll run out of energy like the others did.
The giant, however, was gaining and again Kalman thought he was done for when, lights blazing, a huge trailer carrying a load of tree trunks came thundering round a sharp bend in the road. The stag gave a sudden, spectacular leap that cleared the road but the giant was not so fortunate; nor so agile. As the astonished driver slammed on his brakes, the momentum of the trailer sent it straight into the giant’s legs. It was what you might call a no-win situation. The giant didn’t stand a chance. It broke into hundreds of pieces as its legs were demolished under it and roaring with fury, fell over the trailer in a jumble of rocks, stones and earth.
A van, headlights blazing, drew up with a screech of brakes behind the trailer. Kenny and Larry, sitting in the front seat, had been trying to overtake the monstrous vehicle for miles and its sudden halt took them by surprise and nearly sent them straight into the back of it.
Kalman, surrounded by ferns at the side of the road, looked at the van curiously, through the eyes of the stag. He had never in his life seen anything to equal it, for in the light of its blazing headlights he could see that it had been painted in the weirdest mixture of fluorescent colours that he’d ever had the misfortune to clap eyes on. The two lads that jumped down from the front seats looked around seventeen or eighteen and, colourwise, weren’t actually that much better than their van. Their vivid trousers, horrendous jackets and fantastically belled hats, however, served to give Kalman a clue as to their identities. Light dawned! Jesters, he thought, that’s what they must be — the modern equivalent of jesters! There could be no other reason for the multi-coloured clothes that they sported. He eyed their vehicle speculatively as they rushed to help the driver of the trailer and gradually deciphered the mosaic of lettering that shone vividly from its side. “The Jelly Beans,” he read, frowning in puzzled wonder. Jelly Beans?
It was actually quite some time before Kenny and Larry returned. The huge trailer had suffered little or no damage from the collision with the giant and apart from being shaken, the driver had recovered quickly enough. Nevertheless, he had a tight schedule to follow and, anxious to get on his way, he’d enlisted their help to clear the stones from the road so that he could continue his journey.
Kalman, by this time, had decided that the jesters and their van was just what he needed. As the two colourful figures strode back along the road, the stag limped forward and collapsed on its knees, seemingly totally exhausted. It lifted its head limply and eyed Larry beseechingly as he made to open the door.
“Hey, Kenny,” Larry called to his mate,
“there’s a muckle great stag here, by the side of the road!”
Kenny appeared round the side of the van, the bells on his hat tinkling in the still night air. After a disaster at the hairdresser’s a while back that had left him looking like a fair-show freak, he’d decided to wear the multi-coloured hat all the time — or at least until his hair grew in again. This had proved a good move publicity-wise and although his hair had long since grown, they’d both continued to wear their startling outfits more or less all the time. Needless to say, the Jelly Beans, for that’s what they called themselves, were instantly recognizable in most towns and villages up and down the west coast of Scotland.
“That must be the stag that the giant was chasing,” he said, for the trailer driver had told him of the fantastic sight that had met his eyes as he took the bend. He walked up to it cautiously, mindful of the broad spread of antlers that topped the stag’s head.
“If what he said was true,” cautioned Larry. “I don’t know if he was having us on or not! All those rocks and things — it could have been a landslide.”
“I believed him all right,” Kenny muttered. “For heaven’s sake man, did ye no’ hear them talking about giants in the last pub we were in?”
“Aye, but … that was just talk, wasn’t it …?” Larry gulped and tailed off uncertainly as the huge stag scrambled to its feet and moved towards them. The bells in his fantastic hat jingled as he started back in alarm. “Blimey, Kenny,” he whispered, grabbing his arm as he flattened himself against the painted side of the van.
