by Anne Forbes
Perhaps it was the excitement of the rehearsal, but Dougal found it difficult to sleep that night. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before he managed to drift off and, as his mind relaxed, his dreams became nightmares filled with disappearing statues and the dreadful sight of Amgarad swooping towards him in the dragon’s cave. In the early morning he awoke with a sudden jerk as the scraping of Amgarad’s talons at the window penetrated his consciousness and pitched him from his nightmare to something that was all too horribly real. His heart pounded in alarm as he made out the fluttering black shape of the bird against the dawn light and, terrified, he held the bedclothes tightly under his chin until Amgarad gave up and dropped from sight.
Unable to think of sleep after that, Dougal got up and went to the kitchen where he nursed cup after cup of coffee as worry gnawed at him. He did not know how the bird had found him but he knew only too well what it was after! The jewels!
He laid them on the table before him with trembling hands. Then, holding them up so that the fiery stones ran in a glittering stream through his fingers, spoke softly to them. “Stones, protect my house if you can, and protect me, too, from my enemies.”
Wandering through the dark tunnels of the hill, Lord Rothlan didn’t think highly of his new domain. Even Jarishan at its coldest, he reckoned, was better than this dark, gloomy labyrinth! Entering the cavern where the MacArthur had held court, he glanced around indifferently and walked up to the carved chair.
“Make this place habitable and for goodness sake light some torches,” he instructed his servants, pointing to sconces in the wall. “Bring what little furniture the dragon left in one piece. Tables, chairs, anything!” He shook his head in disdain as his valet arranged cushions on the chair so that he could sit comfortably.
“First of all, I should like to talk to Amgarad,” he instructed the bowing servant. “I must hear his report before I make my plans. Is he here?”
“Master, he is here. I saw him feeding in the kitchens only a few minutes ago.”
“Let him finish,” instructed Rothlan. “Poor Amgarad. He has endured much since leaving Jarishan.”
When Amgarad finally entered the cavern, feeling much better after a good meal, he hesitated to disturb his master who, surrounded by his officers, was deep in discussion. Rothlan, however, caught sight of him and beckoned him forward.
“My brave Amgarad!” he said, rising to his feet and greeting the bird warmly. “Welcome to our counsels. We were discussing the MacArthurs but their whereabouts can wait. Your news is much more important.”
Amgarad swelled with pride at his master’s words. He knew that he had done well but his pleasure was marred by the knowledge that he had failed to secure the firestones. If only he had managed to get to the dragon’s treasure before the thief!
“Let us hear your report, Amgarad.”
So much had happened that Amgarad hardly knew where to begin but he gave a succint account of his adventures and was flattered by the respect of the captains who, as yet, knew nothing of the changed world outside; for by this time Amgarad had become positively blasé about the traffic, and the growling red monsters that roamed the streets of the capital now held no fear for him.
“Early this morning,” he concluded, “I went to the house of the thief but I could not enter for the windows were locked against me and there was no way in. But I could take you there, Master.”
“The world, you said, has changed, Amgarad. Will people not look at me and remark my clothes? They are not as people wear now, surely?”
This question gave Amgarad pause for thought. He had, on his sorties into town, noticed many strangely-dressed people walking the streets of Edinburgh and had not judged them a threat since the ordinary citizens of the town totally ignored them. If people could walk round half-naked with pink hair and safety-pins piercing their noses then his master, in Highland dress, would excite little attention in a city where tumblers, jesters and musicians performed on every street corner. He had, of course, never heard of the Edinburgh Festival and did not know that for three weeks every year, hundreds of performers converge on Edinburgh from across the globe.
“Your clothes will not be remarked, Master. There are many in town whose dress is more outlandish. The thief ’s house is in Hunter Square by the old Tron Kirk. His stair has a red door.”
“You’ve done well, Amgarad,” Rothlan nodded approvingly and, glancing round the cavern distastefully, shook his head. “I’ll be glad to get out of this underground prison for a while and after so many years it will be interesting to walk the streets of Edinburgh once again.”
Several hours were to pass, however, before Rothlan’s business was concluded and he was free to visit the town. Remembering the house of the old preacher, Master John Knox, he murmured a powerful spell that landed him on that very doorstep and so busy was the High Street that no one noticed his sudden appearance.
Lord Rothlan was stunned by the High Street! It was not the houses that drew his attention; they hadn’t changed much over the centuries although they were considerably cleaner. No, it was the traffic and the colourful throngs of people that drew his attention. Cars and buses were unknown to him and the fact that even small children were completely unafraid of the massive monsters that growled up and down the street, amazed him. The variety of clothes also came as a considerable shock although this was due in part to the good-humoured competition between two theatre groups who, in full costume, were distributing fliers to passers-by in an attempt to drum up trade.
Reassured, however, that he wouldn’t stand out in such a crowd, he started to walk up the hill, glad that the way was familiar. From time to time he looked at the upper reaches of the tenements that line the High Street, remembering the old cry of “Gardyloo” that signalled the filthy Edinburgh habit of throwing dirty water, and worse, from the windows into the street. The church, now standing at a busy crossroads, was an outstanding landmark and walking round it into Hunter Square, he glanced upwards and saw Amgarad perched like a gargoyle on the roof. Following the bird’s gaze, his eyes rested on the bright red door that he had talked of.
“The stair with the red door,” thought Lord Rothlan. “Let me see what I can find out!” Avoiding the chairs and tables of a busy café, he walked up to it and, finding that the door opened to his touch, entered the long passageway that led to a flight of stairs. Rothlan paused before a door that bore the name Dougal MacLeod and knocked. He knew at once that the stones were within; he could feel their power!
A terrified Dougal heard the knock. He crept to the door and eyed the stranger through the spy-hole. Reading the dark purpose in Rothlan’s eyes, he felt afraid. The little MacArthurs hadn’t really frightened him at all but he could feel this man’s power through the wood of the door. As Rothlan had just invoked a powerful spell that should have landed him inside the door, this was hardly surprising. The fact that nothing happened and he remained firmly outside, confirmed his belief. This Dougal MacLeod had used the stones to set up a protective shield round the house, a shield that even he could not penetrate.
Rothlan left the stair and made his way thoughtfully to the street. His glance and a slight shake of his head told Amgarad that he had been unsuccessful.
20. The Pickpocket
It was mid-afternoon before Dougal had the confidence to leave his flat and that was only because the stones gave him courage. Had the choice been his, he wouldn’t have gone out at all, but the uniform he planned to wear that night for the dress rehearsal of the Tattoo had to be collected from a nearby dry-cleaner. Looking from his window, he saw that the streets were busy and eventually decided that, as long as he tagged along with groups of people, he ought to be safe.
Although he suspected that his flat was being watched and peered suspiciously from his window from time to time, he could see no one lurking around outside. Amgarad, perched motionless but vigilant on the pinnacles of the Tron Kirk, was well hidden and the pigeons who flew in at around lunchtime l
ooked innocent enough. Jaikie and Hamish, however, had been at the meeting in the distillery that morning and their errand was serious.
Everyone had managed to attend the meeting, even the Ranger who was tired from working so much overtime. The MacArthur’s relief on hearing that it was probably MacLeod who had stolen the firestones had been palpable. He looked at the newspapers that Sir James spread in front of him and agreed that the disappearance of the statues would hardly be Lord Rothlan’s work.
“It’s much more likely to be MacLeod,” Sir James assured him. “Especially the one o’clock gun firing early!” He smiled at the memory. “Jamieson was still spitting with rage about it when I saw him last night although he’s no idea how it happened!”
“MacLeod must be wearing the jewels then,” Lady Ellan said thoughtfully. “There were three items containing firestones and he took them all: a belt, a ring and a necklace. It’s possible that he didn’t realize the power of the stones at the time but he must be aware of it now.”
“There was a rehearsal at the Castle last night,” said Sir James, “and he was there with his team.” He crossed to his desk and returned with a glossy Tattoo programme. Turning the pages until he came to MacLeod’s photograph, he flattened them out and showed it round. “This is Dougal MacLeod, Lady Ellan. Take a good look at it Neil, and you too, Clara, so that you’ll recognize him if you see him. It’s very like him, although in the street he won’t be wearing his uniform. He and his men gave a marvellous performance last night,” he continued, passing the programme round to Jaikie and Hamish. “I’d no chance to speak to him, I’m afraid. Everyone was taken up with the French contingent. A nightmare, believe me! Their horsemen, the Spahis, had to use our moving walkways for the first time last night and we were all a bit paranoid about it. Not, mind you, that I can do anything much if it does all go pear-shaped. The commentator’s box is high above the esplanade and I’m actually totally cut off from the performers.”
“It sounds exciting,” smiled the Ranger. “Clara and Neil are really looking forward to watching the dress rehearsal tonight. It’s good of you to have given them the tickets.”
“Where does this MacLeod live?” asked the MacArthur, passing back the programme. “We should keep watch on him, Sir James. If Rothlan doesn’t have the firestones then he will be searching for them too. He already knows that we don’t have them, for if the magic that protects Arthur’s Seat had been in place then he would never have managed to get into the hill the way he did.”
“Would he know that Dougal took the stones, though?” asked the Ranger.
“You’re forgetting that Amgarad’s feathers were found in the dragon’s cave. If there was a struggle between them then Lord Rothlan will know all about Dougal MacLeod,” Hamish said seriously.
Sir James picked up the telephone directory and looked through its pages. “Here we are,” he said, his finger running down long columns of MacLeods. “MacLeod, Dougal, Hunter Square.”
“Where’s that?” asked Neil.
“Hunter Square? It’s just up the High Street by the Tron Kirk,” said Jamie Todd, “at the traffic lights.”
Lady Ellan looked up from her study of Dougal’s photograph. “My father’s right!” she frowned. “I think it’s important that this MacLeod be watched.” She sat back in her chair, glancing round at them all. “I know that it’s difficult and that you’re all busy people, but if I use a firestone I can easily make myself taller, you know. Then I’d be able to blend in with the tourists and Neil, Clara and I could keep watch outside his flat.”
“And do what?” growled her father, looking at her sharply.
“If I can get close enough to him then I might be able to merge with him and get the firestones back that way.”
“Hmmmph! I don’t like it, Ellan. Jaikie or Hamish could manage that just as well.”
“Dougal would recognize them, though,” Neil pointed out. “Don’t forget that they caught him in the hill. He would never let them near him.”
The MacArthur looked undecided. “I don’t want you getting into any trouble. Especially Neil and Clara.”
“We’ll be fine,” Clara said. “There are lots of cafés in the High Street. We can sit outside and keep watch without anyone noticing.”
“And Hamish and Jaikie can keep an eye on us, if you like, Father,” smiled Ellan mischievously, “as pigeons!”
At the time, Hamish and Jaikie had smiled ruefully, knowing that keeping watch as a pigeon could be a cold, boring business but this time they were far off the mark. Although they’d started their journey to the Tron Kirk feeling that it was all a bit unnecessary they quickly changed their minds when they soared over the church and spotted Amgarad. The shock threw them into a panic.
“Did you see him, Hamish?” Jaikie whispered frantically. “Amgarad! Up there on the roof of the kirk.”
“Did I not! I nearly fell out of the sky!” came the retort. “Come on! We must tell Lady Ellan!” muttered Hamish. “Didn’t they say they were going to sit outside a café?”
Neil, Clara and Lady Ellan were chatting idly over glasses of iced orange juice when Clara gave a sudden yelp and grabbed her ankle. “Ouch!” she cried, rubbing it hard. She peered down. Under her chair, looking up at her apologetically, was a pigeon. “What did you peck me so hard for?” she whispered, glancing at the others to let them know that something was happening.
“Sorry, Clara, but it’s an emergency!” hissed the bird.
Under the pretence of feeding him, Neil let Hamish hop onto his sleeve and Lady Ellan bent forward to listen to his words while holding a bit of her sandwich for him to peck. Amid the clucks and the coos, Neil heard the word “Amgarad” and his blood chilled.
“Put Hamish down now, Neil,” she said, “we’re attracting too much attention! Clara, if you scatter some pieces of your cake on the pavement it will give Jaikie and Hamish an excuse to stay near us. When they flew over the church, they saw Amgarad on the roof. They’re pretty shaken!”
Clara and Neil looked at one another in alarm. “Don’t look up at the church,” Ellan warned, drinking the rest of her orange juice. “We don’t want him to know that we’ve spotted him.”
Neil paid the waiter but Clara was so busy watching the pigeons and trying to calm her jangling nerves that Dougal MacLeod was half-way across the street before she noticed him.
“MacLeod!” she said, touching Lady Ellan’s sleeve. “Isn’t that him? On the other side of the road!”
“Where …? Yes, I see him!”
Lady Ellan reached out her hand and pressed Clara back into her chair. “Stay still,” she muttered. “Someone is already following him!”
Clara scanned the crowd. “The man in the kilt and velvet jacket?” she guessed.
“Yes,” Ellan said in a curious voice, “the man dressed as a Highland lord.” She stared at the lithe figure that strode behind Dougal MacLeod. “Alasdair Rothlan himself, if I’m not mistaken!”
At her words, Neil and Clara paled and the pigeons, hopping swiftly under the nearest table with more speed than grace, peered out anxiously from behind its legs. Ellan rose calmly from her chair, her face set. “Come, we mustn’t lose them.” She bent to the pigeons, “Hamish, you go to the school and tell my father what’s happening. Jaikie, you keep watch here. We are going to follow Rothlan!”
Dougal MacLeod, meanwhile, walked nervously towards the dry-cleaners and pushed the door open. Its bell jangled noisily as he entered and then rang again as someone followed him in. He turned and his heart sank in fear, for the man standing behind him was none other than the man who had knocked on the door of his flat that morning. He turned to face old Jeanie at the counter, his face suddenly grey.
“Mr MacLeod!” Jeanie greeted him cheerfully. “You’ll have come for your uniform! I have it all ready for you.” He didn’t reply and as he was usually pretty taciturn, she chatted on regardless. “Aye! You’ll be needing it for the dress rehearsal up at the castle tonight. I heard all about ho
w well you did last night from my son. He’s one of the security guards at the Tattoo, ye ken, and he said that he thought your marching was the best bit of the whole show.” As he made no reply to this comment she peered up at him, for she was a small body, and said, “Are ye feeling all right, Mr MacLeod? You’re looking a wee bit pale. Now, let me see! That’ll be four pounds fifty.”
Dougal dug in his pocket and paid her, hardly noticing what he was doing. He folded the uniform in its plastic bag, hung it over his arm and left the shop, conscious that the stranger had followed him out and was moving very close to him. “He’s trying to merge with me,” thought Dougal in horror. “Get away from me! Get away!”
All of a sudden the man vanished. Dougal looked round and seeing that he was alone, felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The stones had once again worked their magic. A great wave of relief washed over him. With the jewels on him, he truly had nothing to fear. He walked on, his heart light and his guard down. So confident was he that he didn’t notice Neil and Clara as he walked back down the High Street, nor Lady Ellan as she, too, took advantage of the crowds of tourists to try to merge with him.
It was impossible. She fell back and murmured to Clara. “I can’t do it! I can’t merge with him. He’s using the firestones as protection. Did you see how he made Lord Rothlan disappear?”
“Yes, and the amazing thing was that no one seemed to notice!”
“The tourists were all watching the street-performers, that’s why. Look over there! A fire-eater!”
Dougal, too, had stopped to watch the fire-eater as he thrust burning brands down his throat and, quite by accident, his eyes rested on Clara. With her brown hair and startlingly blue eyes, she was an exceedingly pretty child, and he had no difficulty in placing her as one of the children that had been with Sir James when the dragon had taken to the air.
