Nessie Quest

by Melissa Savage

  Hammy Bean shrugs. “Lots o’ things.”

  “What about this Cornelius guy?” Dax says. “Has he actually ever seen the monster?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How long has he been searching for it?” I ask.

  “For more years than I’ve been alive,” Hammy Bean tells us.

  “Thaaaat’s not exactly a great track record,” I say.

  “Yet you still won’t go in the water,” Dax informs me, stepping aboard the wee dinghy and guiding Hammy Bean to the edge of the pier so he can hop inside too.

  “A discovery is meant to be discovered only when the time is right to discover it,” Hammy Bean says.

  I think about that.

  “Hey, that’s pretty good,” I say. “It’s got pop.”

  “It’s actually a quote from the one an’ only Tobin Sky himself.”

  Dax sits down on a bench at the back of the boat and slips Ole Roy off, setting it on the bench next to him. “Do you really take this thing out in the middle of the loch?”

  “Aye,” Hammy Bean says. “Nessie is oot there.” He points to the water. “But I always go out wi’ Cornelius. That’s his one rule. An’ one day, we’re goin’ to take this thing all the way oot to the ocean.”

  “The ocean?” I say, eyeing the wee boat, which doesn’t look seaworthy enough for a rain puddle, let alone the ocean. “How would you get this thing to the ocean from a lake?”

  “There’s a river that connects Loch Ness to the Moray Firth, which takes ye right to the North Sea. One day I plan to sail all the way to London.”

  “What’s in London?” Dax asks.

  Hammy Bean doesn’t say anything, but I know the answer to that one.

  “Are ye comin’ aboard or aren’t you? I have things to show you.” Hammy Bean calls up to me, my Nikes still planted firmly on the dock.

  The headlines run through my brain like the neon news crawl signs in Times Square.

  DENVER GIRL PRESUMED EATEN ALIVE

  BY A LAKE MONSTER AFTER SINKING TO THE BOTTOM OF THE LOCH IN A VERY WEE VESSEL

  “Come on.” Dax holds a hand out to me.

  “Yeah, I promise we won’t leave the dock,” Hammy Bean says.

  I pace the rickety boards and chew my bottom lip.

  A wake from a passing boat in the middle of the loch hits the posts of the dock and makes it sway beneath me.

  I hold my arms straight out to balance myself.

  Hammy Bean pushes the button on his watch. It calls out the time: “Twelve-thirty,” the voice announces.

  “You have a talking watch too?” Dax says.

  “That’s right.” Hammy Bean holds out his wrist. “And I named it as well. In honor of Dax, I’ve named all my important things.”

  “Right on, HB,” Dax says.

  Hammy Bean holds up a black digital watch strapped to his skinny arm. “Dax and Ada Ru, meet Tavish Tick. And this”—he holds up his slick, shiny walking cane—“is Tadhg Cane.”

  When Hammy Bean says Tadhg, he Mr. Mews horks the last part of it.

  “Tag?” Dax repeats.

  “Tadhg,” Hammy Bean horks again. “Kind o’ like tag wi’ a k at the end o’ it.”

  “Yeah, but that time you spit on me.” Dax wipes at his face.

  Hammy Bean giggles. “That’s when ye know you’ve said it right.”

  “Tadhg,” Dax horks.

  “Brilliant!” Hammy Bean exclaims. “It means philosopher. I picked that one because he knows all the places to take me.”

  “Nice,” Dax says.

  “Twelve thirty-two,” Tavish Tick announces.

  “Come on, Dax.” Hammy Bean holds two arms straight out to find his way through the door to the inside part of the boat. “At this rate, we’ll never get to it.”

  “See you in there.” Dax gives me the same toothy smile as I watch them head inside.

  I pace the dock.

  Up.

  And then down it.

  Up.

  And then down it.

  And then I think of Mom’s Ferris wheel, take a deep breath and jump with all my might, landing my Nikes flat on the deck of the wee boat. But once I do, it rocks like we’re sailing through a hurricane and I spread my arms out on both sides of me to balance.

  Hammy Bean and Dax lean out the door.

  “Well done!” Hammy Bean tells me.

  “Yeah, but now she looks like an airplane trying to take off,” Dax says.

  “An airplane?” Hammy Bean asks him. “Airplanes have wings, right?”

  “Right,” Dax says. “Her arms are out like she’s trying to fly.”

  I slap my arms down and give him a good glare.

  “Do the wings on a plane move up and down like a flyin’ albatross?” Hammy Bean asks.

  Me and Dax stay silent for a minute.

  “No,” I say. “They’re steel. They stay straight out all the time and glide through the air. It’s the motor that propels the plane so the wings don’t need to flap.”

  “Aye, that makes sense,” he says. “I always wondered that an’ never asked. And I’ve never flown on an airplane. So are her arms straight or flappin’?” he asks Dax.

  Dax laughs. “A little of both.”

  Hammy Bean laughs too.

  “They are not,” I snap.

  “Hurry now.” Hammy Bean curls a hand to wave me inside. “I have a lot to teach you.”

  The three of us wedge ourselves inside.

  “This is the cockpit an’ ye can call it kind of the salon too,” he says.

  “What’s a salon?”

  “On a boat, it’s the livin’ area. And since this is the only area for livin’, this is it. It’s a combination cockpit and salon.”

  “But it’s so tiny,” I tell him.

  “I didn’t say it was a grand salon,” he says. “It’s a wee salon, but a salon nonetheless. An’ that motor on the back. The Kommander 5000 is so powerful, it can take ye all the way to Russia if you like.”

  “Is the motor new?” Dax asks.

  “Nae,” Hammy Bean says. “But Cornelius Blaise Barrington, Nessie hunter extraordinaire, can fix anythin’. Above us”—he points straight up—“is a second floor, or technically a small observation platform ye can crawl out onto.”

  I giggle at that one.

  “An’ this”—he reaches out to find three tiny dark television screens mounted on an area near the helm—“is my ultrasonar equipment. Well, Cornelius’s, anyway. He mounted it in here for us to use when we take the boat oot.”

  “And Mamo Honey doesn’t know about any of this?” I ask.

  “Are ye kiddin’?”

  “How is the sonar used?” Dax asks.

  Hammy Bean’s finger finds a single button on the side of the screen and he holds it down until the screens come to life. “It’s vital monster-huntin’ equipment for the loch,” he explains. “Watch this.”

  The screen flickers with a neon-green light and then there’s a graph of numbers along the bottom and up the left side. Soon, more color splotches show up between the lines.

  “Okay, so what do all these colors mean?” I ask.

  “The sonar is measurin’ what’s beneath us.”

  “Like with a camera?”

  “Nae,” he says. “With sound. The sonar makes a ping, and its sound wave bounces off solid objects and records their shapes on the screen.”

  “Whoa,” I say. “Seeing with sound.”

  “Aye. The loch is twenty-three miles long, one mile wide an’ seven hundred an’ eighty-eight feet deep. It’s twice as deep as the North Sea, so really, it’s almost like an ocean. The thing is that an underwater camera can only capture up to twenty-seven feet because the water’s so black. So most investigators also use sonar.
Even the Loch Ness Project an’ all the real scientists associated with that search use sonar.”

  “That is awesome!” Dax tells him, leaning in closer to see the screen.

  “Look at these.” Hammy Bean motions in the direction of the wall next to the screens. “Do ye see pieces of paper taped to the wall?”

  “Yes,” I say. “They’re oval-shaped colors.”

  “Exactly,” he says. “Our sonar made these discoveries.”

  “You found shapes?” I say.

  “We call them targets. We’re not sure what it was the sonar measured, but it captured something that was ten feet long. And when we went over it again, it was gone, which means it was alive an’ movin’ under its own power. It wasn’t a rock or something that’s inanimate and doesna move.”

  “Ten…feet…long?” I whisper from behind my hand.

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s what you meant at the booth that day,” I say. “Even though you haven’t seen Nessie with your own eyes. You’ve heard her.”

  “Aye.”

  “Euna Begbie says when Nessie breaks the surface you hear the bubbles first.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  Then I feel something brimming up inside me, and I know exactly what it is too.

  “Captain Green Bean.” I stand tall and salute him with a straight hand to my forehead. “I’m ready to hear her too.”

  “Aye, aye,” he says. “The question is…did ye memorize all the codes?”

  I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “The fairy swims by night, but only the swans will be victors of the spoils.”

  Dax and Hammy Bean cheer and clap.

  “Well done!” Hammy Bean exclaims.

  “It’s about time,” Dax says with that one-lipped smile of his.

  I look Dax right in his seaweed eyes and say, “And just so you know…I found out there is no such thing as a pooping goose or a blue Subaru.”

  Dax’s one-lipper turns to a full-on two-lipper that spreads all across his face.

  “Team Nessie Quest,” Hammy Bean starts. “You’re both ready for yer next mission. My Mamo Honey lets me stay over wi’ Corny on Saturday nights, but what she doesna ken is that we go out on the boat at night. Some people say Nessie is nocturnal, yet not one person is oot here searchin’ in the dark…except us.”

  “And you want us to come with you?” Dax asks.

  “Aye,” Hammy Bean says. “We’re a team now. So will ye commit to helpin’ me find definitive evidence? Without it, the Loch Ness Project will never take any of my research seriously. Are you really and truly a force to be reckoned with?”

  “I’m in,” Dax says.

  “That’s pure tidy, Dax!” Hammy Bean exclaims. “What about you, Denver?”

  “I’m in it, big-time,” I tell him.

  I think long and hard about how best to present my case to Mom and Dad.

  One parental veto is all it will take to throw a wrench in the whole plan.

  And with my luck it will be my parents’ veto that does it.

  At dinner that night I try real hard to pay attention to Dad while he talks all about his class at the university, but I’m much too busy worrying to concentrate. How in the world am I going to find the right words to ask for permission to camp out with Dax and Hammy Bean on Saturday night so we can slip out to meet Corny on the SS Albatross and go searching for Nessie?

  “You’re sure quiet over there,” Mom tells me, taking a bite of mac and cheese.

  “Oh, yeah…well, I had a big day,” I say.

  “Does that mean you’ve secured all your supporting characters?” Dad asks.

  “Yep,” I tell him. “I’ve found my Ron and lots of supporting characters. I’m just trying to figure out how best to start it.”

  “What about your Hermione?” Dad asks. “Have you found her?”

  I smile real big. “Kind of,” I say, and then giggle. “It’s Dax, although he’s not exactly on board with it, but that’s just his too bad.”

  “So, now that you have your characters, Ms. Harriet Potter, what’s next?”

  “Well.” I clear my throat. “I’m glad you asked because I would like permission to go camping overnight with Dax and Hammy Bean next Saturday night for a nighttime Nessie search.”

  They both breathe in slow and look at each other, which only means one thing. I’d better start doing some fast talking.

  “It’s only for one night,” I say. “We will set up the tent right out there.” I point toward the tall arched window. “It’s for research purposes and you always say research is the most important thing, right, Mom? Like for your journal articles? Right?”

  “Well…yes, but—” she starts.

  “You’ll be able to look out the window at any time and see us out there. It’ll be totally safe. You said so, right? Because you don’t believe in the monster anyway.”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” she says, folding her hands in front of her face and resting her chin on them. “Zuma?”

  Uh-oh. This is not good.

  Not to be parentally paranoid, but in my past experience on Tennyson Street, that particular gesture on Mom’s part is a signal to Dad that they need to be on the same page and that page begins and ends with a big, fat no.

  I hold my hands out. “Wait,” I say. “Before you say no can I just say one more thing?”

  Mom nods.

  “You told me to make the best of my time in Scotland and I finally am. I found my story, Mom. And it’s out there.” I point toward the loch. “Euna Begbie said tourists always leave things behind that she keeps stored in the cellar and she has both a tent and a cooler for us to use.”

  “What about sleeping bags?” Mom asks.

  “Sleeping bags?” I say. “Who plans on sleeping? It’s a land excursion to find the elusive Loch Ness Monster. There will be no sleeping. We have research to complete. Research. How can we do that asleep?”

  “Uh-huh, well, I think—”

  “Mom,” I interrupt again. “Please think hard about this before you decide to squelch my young enthusiasm with a parental veto, because it may scar me for life.”

  “Are you done?” she asks.

  I think about it.

  “One more thing,” I say with my finger in the air. “I’d also like to say that…um, the thing is…okay, here’s the thing…ummm…actually…hmmm, yeah, I guess that was it.”

  My radio beeps.

  “Captain Green Bean to Denver and Strings. Captain Green Bean is a go for p.m. duty. Over.”

  “Who’s that?” Dad asks.

  “Hammy Bean,” I say. “His Mamo Honey said yes and he’s going to want to know your answer too.”

  Dad raises his eyebrows. “Why didn’t he just say that?”

  “It’s code,” I tell him. “You know, because of…Nessie Race spies.” I whisper the last three words.

  Dad raises his eyebrows at Mom. “Nessie Race spies?”

  Beep.

  “Strings is a go for p.m. duty. Over,” Dax calls into the radio.

  “Rendezvous on Saturday night, black diamonds, six acorns to the wind of obscurity,” Hammy Bean instructs. “Denver, do ye read? Over.”

  “See that?” I say. “They both have permission now. Please don’t let me be the only one left out. I have to be there. I’m the first-string reporter for the Nessie Juggernaut.”

  “And what does Dax do?” Dad asks.

  “He’s just creating Hammy Bean’s podcast intro, but Hammy Bean has already promoted him and given him a radio and a handle and everything and before you know it, Dax will be in and I’ll be out. Just like with that sneaky Emmanuelle Penney, always trying to one-up me. I know she’s moving in on Britney B for best-friend status as we speak.”

 
“Adelaide Ru—” Mom starts.

  “I knew it,” I mumble, slumping down in my chair with my arms crossed. “I knew you’d say no and now I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole team. They’ll make up all these codes about a pooping goose and laugh and laugh. Hammy Bean will oust me and even take away my walkie-talkie and make Dax his first mate.”

  “A pooping what?” Dad asks.

  I sigh. “Goose—” I start.

  “Can we please stay on track here?” Mom interrupts.

  “What? I shouldn’t ask about a pooping goose?” Dad says.

  “About the overnight,” Mom says, and then hesitates.

  Here it comes.

  The big, fat, hairy no.

  “I think it’ll be fine, Libby,” Dad says to Mom.

  I suck air, sit up straight in my chair and slap my hands flat together in Mom’s direction. “Please, Mom? Please? It’s a super-important component of making the best of Scotland and you’re the one who said I should do that. This is me doing that and I need to do this to do that.”

  I know she’s thinking hard about it because she’s chewing on her bottom lip the same exact way I do when I’m thinking hard about something.

  “Oh, all right,” she says, and then holds up one straight finger. “But there will be rules.”

  I pop up from the table and throw my arms around her neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I say, bombarding her cheek with kisses.

  “Hey, what about me?” Dad protests. “I said yes first.”

  I run over to his side of the table and smooch on him for a while too.

  Beep.

  Hammy Bean’s voice comes over the radio.

  “Denver. Come in, Denver. What’s your status? Over.”

  I grab the radio off my belt and push the button.

  “Denver’s in. Rendezvous on Saturday night, black diamonds, six acorns to the wind of obscurity. Over.”

  “Thaaat’s a roger, Denver. Over an’ oot.”

  Then Dax comes on the radio and says, “Saturday night will fly in the sky, but the Highland cattle will still need a haircut. Over.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “What does that one mean?” Dad asks.

  I throw my hands in the air. “Nothing,” I say. “The kid just makes things up.”