Voice in the Mist

by Nigel Cubbage

  The men left the trees. Only a few days previously, Dougie had made the walk out to the Castle. He had been assisting McAllum, the estate manager at Barradale, checking the deer herds. The owner of the estate, the Honourable Anthony Gordon QC, was Member of Parliament for Skye and Knoydart and spent much time away in Edinburgh and the grand surroundings of Westminster. If Drew and Rebecca were right and his estate was being used as a staging point by the thieves, there was the possibility of a great scandal.

  Dougie took out his binoculars and trained them on the men now starting out across the causeway. The forger was pointing ahead to a small island, halfway to the castle. When they reached it, one of them took the paintings and disappeared from view. A minute or so later, he was back, empty handed.

  Dougie was startled. The man rejoined his companions and they continued on their way. Dougie scanned the rocks, searching for any sign of the paintings or an entrance of some sort but he was too far away to be able to make anything out properly.

  “Is that the cave, then?” he breathed. He looked along the loch shore to gauge the tide. There was a marker which he knew to be the low water point, clearly visible on a small headland. This suggested an hour until the causeway would start to become submerged. He would have time to wait until the men had disappeared into the castle and then go and investigate. He sat back and closed his eyes for a few minutes.

  Dougie had just stirred again and was about to put his binoculars back in his pack and get up, when a movement among the rocks on the little island caught his eye.

  “Probably a seal,” he muttered, training the glasses. A dark blob was moving about on the rock. Whatever it was then raised itself up. With a splutter of anger, Dougie recognised the unmistakeable figure of his younger brother.

  “The little … I knew I couldn’t trust the wee blighter! He’s going to get us all caught! … How the hell did he get ahead of me?”

  With a grim frown, he grabbed his pack and swung it onto his back. He set off at a run out of the trees towards the causeway, his eyes on the figure of Drew.

  ***

  By keeping to what appeared to be an ancient pathway among the rocks, marked every so often with small piles of stones, Rebecca and Drew clambered through the labyrinth of caverns and pools in the heart of the mountain. The only light came from the beams of their torches, otherwise it was dark and spooky. Their footsteps made weird echoes. It was easy to imagine being lost down there forever.

  They arrived in a large cavern, into which a little light seemed to penetrate, indicating the end of the tunnel was not far.

  “Shh! Hold it a minute!” Rebecca grabbed Drew’s arm and stood stock still at the edge of a deep pool.

  “There! See that light moving about?”

  From what seemed to be a passage leading away from the other side of the pool, they could make out a shaft of light, moving around. They both switched off their torches. The light flickered for a few moments, before it too disappeared.

  “Wait here!” whispered Drew.

  “Why should I wait?” Rebecca growled indignantly. “Stop playing the hero! Look, you go that side and I’ll go this!”

  They skirted around opposite sides of the pool, the dim light enabling Rebecca to keep an eye on Drew’s progress as she went. A waft of salty air reached her. As it did so, she slipped on something wet and saw that she had trodden on seaweed. The sea must penetrate into this cavern. A surge of excitement ran through her as it dawned on her that this must be one of the caves of which Siobhan had spoken. She looked across to try and attract Drew’s attention but he had already disappeared through the gap where they had seen the torch. Picking her way over the sharp rocks and flicking her torch back on, Rebecca rounded the end of the lake. She trod gingerly, for fear of slipping again. As she looked around, her torch lit up a narrow opening a few feet from the water’s edge. Beside it, there was a sharp spike sticking straight up. On the far side was a regular oblong of rock which looked like a coffin.

  “you shall find it twixt the grave of your ancestor and the sword of burial”

  The sword and the grave? It was far too different from what was around it to be natural.

  This must be the secret entrance to the Sanctuary! Drew was out of sight and she did not dare call out in case there was somebody else about. She would have to investigate alone.

  Rebecca lowered herself into a narrow opening. From below, she could feel a rush of air. She pointed her torch down. The ceiling was so low that she had to shuffle along on her bottom until she emerged into another cavern. This one was smaller than the one from which she had just come but was illuminated by shafts of light. She looked down from a vantage point about seven metres up.

  On a small lake rested a great Viking Longboat, glowing with strange, silvery light.

  The Ghost Ship ….

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open. At the bow, proud and impassive, stood the Warrior, his sword grasped firmly in both hands with the point resting on the deck. And next to him, white eyes glowering and his mouth slightly open, Hakon the Wolf. As she watched, the beast threw back his head and howled. The sound reverberated around the cavern.

  Rebecca was petrified, unable to move, even if she had wanted to.

  “Come no further, mortal!” The force of the voice shook the whole chamber. Rebecca shrank backwards, quaking.

  “This is a sacred place. Mortals shall not defile it. You know who I am and why I am here. You know what must be done. Go! Leave this place!”

  The last words were delivered with such force that Rebecca stumbled and hit her head against the rock. She let out a cry, trying desperately to steady herself. The pain in her head was excruciating and she felt suddenly dizzy. She found a tissue and pressed it to the wound. It was bleeding. It took a few more moments to compose herself, before she could summon the courage to look back at the Viking.

  But the Longboat had vanished and with it Knut and Hakon. For some reason, she was not surprised. Shafts of light reflected off the glassy surface of the water.

  She was alone in the empty cavern.

  CHAPTER 18 – The Prisoner In The Tower

  Dougie dropped his pack next to Rebecca and sat down on a rock. The rain had abated for the moment and the sun had broken through in the late afternoon, casting long shafts of yellow light across Loch Hourn to the mountains of Knoydart on the northern shore.

  “How on earth did you get here ahead of me?” he asked.

  “We found an underground passageway from the Ruin. It leads through the caves under the mountain and came out on this island. It seemed pretty easy.”

  Rebecca was dabbing at her head, which was throbbing. Dougie took a piece of cloth from his pack and moved closer to her.

  “Probably more luck than judgement. Here – let me. You cannae see what you’re doing.” He wetted the cloth in a rock pool and dabbed it against the wound. Rebecca winced at the salt water.

  “That stings!”

  “It’ll be the salt,” said Dougie, drily. He studied her head. “No great damage – but you’ll have one hell of a headache.”

  Rebecca looked up at him. It was a novelty to be nursed by the elder Campbell brother. Dougie was still scrutinising her head and did not notice her looking at him.

  Cute, thought Rebecca, in a rugged, Scottish mountains sort of way.

  “Do you have a girlfriend, Dougie?” she asked.

  “Now why would you be asking me that, Rebecca McOwan?” The question had not flustered him, as Rebecca had secretly hoped it might. Dougie looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You did not hit your head too badly, then. Your wit has not deserted you. Here, hold this against your head and keep wetting it. It will take the bruising down.”

  “I’ll take that as a no then, shall I?”

  Dougie stood up and looked towards the castle. “So where is that brother of mine?”

  “You mean you haven’t seen him?” Rebecca’s voice registered alarm.

  “I thought he was here. I saw him.”
Dougie looked down sharply at her, suddenly very serious. His tone became urgent. “Did you not say you came through the passage together?”

  “Yes, but he went on ahead when we saw a torch in the cave.”

  “Aw jeez – what has the lummox done now? The thieves were right here. One of them disappeared for a moment – that must have been him that you saw in the cave. I didn’t see Drew until a few minutes later. I lost sight of him while I came through the Forest. If he’d come towards the shore, I would have seen him.”

  Rebecca looked at the grey walls of Barradale Castle in the distance.

  “He must have seen them and followed them to the castle. Why didn’t he wait for me?”

  Dougie gave a short, humourless laugh.

  “Because he’s Drew. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Unfortunately, Drew and common sense are not that well acquainted.”

  Dougie noticed a boat moored away down the loch that was starting to turn around on its anchor to face the open sea.

  “Tide is on the turn. Pretty soon, nobody will be able to get across the causeway. Damn that young fool! Come on – you and I should get back to dry land and decide what to do.”

  Dougie held out his hand to help her up. Rebecca grasped it and was pulled quickly and effortlessly to her feet. She could not help smiling to herself. She looked at Dougie, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Muscles like that, I can’t believe the girls aren’t queuing up.”

  Dougie gave her a disparaging look. Rebecca laughed mischievously. “Too … outdoors for me, though. Besides, you’re nearly an old man.”

  Without waiting for a response, she got to her feet and walked on ahead, back towards the shore. She had not gone more than about ten paces before she realised that Dougie had not followed. She looked back. He was staring at the castle. She went back to join him.

  “What is it?”

  Dougie did not reply. Following his gaze, Rebecca could make out someone at the top of one of the towers. Dougie took out his binoculars and trained them on the figure.

  “Drew?” she asked softly.

  “Drew.”

  “Well, he’s stuck there for the night now.”

  Dougie and Rebecca regained the safety of the forest and sat down a few yards into the trees to keep a watchful eye on the castle and decide on their next step.

  “Do you think he’s a prisoner?” Rebecca asked.

  “I doubt we’d be that lucky. Besides, if he was, he wouldn’t be out on the roof like that. And they would probably be out looking for us too.”

  Dougie picked up a stick and snapped it in half. His annoyance was obvious.

  “Brilliant – all our stuff is back at the Ruin but we’re going to have to stay here tonight so we are around when knuckle-head comes back tomorrow. It’s about three hours till dark, which is more than enough for me to go back and get what we need.”

  “It’s quicker through the tunnel –”

  “You sure you could find the way? No disrespect but I think I’ll be a lot quicker going over the top on my own. Now, can you be trusted to stay put this time?”

  His tone was sharp.

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry we didn’t do as you asked earlier.” She felt quite chastened, suddenly aware of the seriousness of the situation.

  “Aye well …” Dougie got to his feet and buttoned up his jacket against the breeze.

  “No point in worrying now – it’s done. Keep watch and even if they all come out and go off, stay here to tell me when I get back. I don’t want two of you gallivanting off. Use that brain of yours to work out the crooks’ next move while I’m gone.”

  Rebecca smiled glumly and watched him disappear into the Forest behind her, back towards Ladhar Bheinn and the Old Ruin. She picked up the binoculars and trained them on the castle, keeping her eyes peeled for a sign of Drew.

  ***

  Drew had recognised the distant figures of his brother and Rebecca from his crouched position in the battlements of Barradale Castle. He guessed that Dougie had spotted him and knew he would be furious. However, he could see that the tide had now turned and was coming in fast. The water was rising against the causeway and, at some points, was already seeping across. In a few more minutes, crossing would be impossible.

  “I guess I’m here for the night,” he said to himself, cursing. “But he won’t be so angry when he hears what I’ve discovered.”

  On leaving Rebecca in the cavern, Drew had spotted one of the thieves concealing paintings among the rocks. Staying hidden until the man disappeared, Drew ventured out. There were about twenty bundles of various sizes, sealed into rubber, watertight bags. The thieves had certainly been hard at work. He wondered how many homes and castles had been burgled to amass this much.

  Although he knew it was irresponsible, Drew decided to follow the men to the castle. He slipped out of the cave onto the island, keeping to the rocks for cover. At the gateway, he flattened himself against the wall so that anybody looking out would not see him.

  Inside the gateway was a small, deserted courtyard. Voices were coming from behind a heavy door. This suddenly swung closed, the loud slam causing him to shrink back behind a pillar until he was certain nobody had come outside. Peering cautiously out, he crouched low and ran across the cobbles, until he was just below a window by the door.

  He inched his way up until he could peek over the sill. Inside, some men were grouped around a table, poring over a map. None of them was looking in his direction. Drew recognised the three men they had been following. They were all silent, apparently listening to a man concealed from view behind the painter. His voice was muffled.

  Drew knew he had to get inside somehow. He ducked down again and looked around. Close up, Barradale Castle was not very large.

  The courtyard was barely twelve metres square and the walls not more than four storeys high. In the corner was a doorway. This would do. Gathering his courage, he crept over, undid the latch and slipped inside. It took a few seconds for his eyes to become accustomed to the sudden gloom of the interior. He had entered a small hallway, off which there were three doors. One of these was ajar, leading in the direction of the men he had heard. He knew that if he stopped to think, his nerve would fail him. He thrust the door open and stepped into a narrow passageway. His boots thudded on the floor, causing him to stop. Taking great care to tread softly, he edged slowly along the passage.

  Halfway along, there was a tight, stone staircase. As he neared the door at the end, he could hear the men talking, their voices now much more clear. He stopped. The door was off the latch and open far enough to reveal a few inches of the room beyond. The high-pitched voice he could hear was that of the painter.

  “… I just cannot do all you ask. Art is not a production line, it takes time. It must be authentic, so that nobody will suspect. And you stick me in a draughty, wet, ruined house in the middle of nowhere, where I am expected to reproduce the works of masters. I must have another week. I insist.”

  He was answered by a voice Drew did not recognise.

  “Forget it – if you don’t get the last one done in time for Sunday, we miss the shipment. You will just have to go as fast as you can – day and night – to get them finished.”

  The argument continued. Drew edged closer, hoping to be able to get a glimpse of the other men in the room. He could see the back of a tall man in a long coat with thick blond hair, evidently the one arguing with the painter. The man shifted his position and, for a second, Drew saw another man seated opposite.

  The bushy moustache, chubby cheeks and shiny forehead were unmistakeable.

  Mr Sibley of Holborn Passage, London now spoke.

  “I think it prudent that we bring this issue to a conclusion, gentlemen. The shipment must leave on Sunday. It must be loaded before seven. There are collections to be made – one from Skye and then from our friends at Rahsaig. I am proceeding to Skye in the morning, where I will be staying with Sir Angus McDonald, Lord of the Isles.
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  Balatte and Lemerre, you will follow me in the boat, arriving two nights hence at dusk, and take the prize piece, Balfour’s ‘Flora McDonald’, from the great drawing room. You will replace it with the finished copy. Then you will come back here and take everything from the cave and put it in the boat, ready for transport south. McAllum…”

  He looked directly ahead, at the tall blond man.

  “Go back with Godfrey to the old manse and wait until he has finished the last McOwan. Take the painting and meet the boat at the far end of Loch Nevis on Friday. That night, I shall dine with the Laird at Rahsaig and you will swap the last painting. We will all rendezvous on Saturday, as planned.”

  “We had best be away – the tide has turned.” It was McAllum who spoke.

  “Come on, Godfrey. It’s a fine evening for a walk.”

  Drew did not wait to hear Godfrey’s complaints. Fearful of being discovered, he slipped quickly up the stairs, rounding the first turn and crouching down. He heard footsteps in the courtyard and the slam of the big door. Somebody came into the passageway where he had just been hiding. He heard Sibley’s voice.

  “And how is our guest?”

  “No bother, sir,” said a French accent.

  “He enjoys the view from the tower, I think.”

  Drew heard the door being closed.

  “You’d better check on him.”

  A surge of alarm seized Drew as he heard a heavy footfall on the bottom stair. He turned and crept quickly upstairs, looking for a suitable place to hide.

  The footsteps were clomping towards the first turning. Drew dashed up another flight to the second floor, searching frantically. There were no doors, nor access to landings. The stairs seemed to lead only upwards.