Nessie Quest

by Melissa Savage

  “It’s all made up?” Dad asks. “Even the pooping goose?”

  “Pooping goose and hairy cow yes, but not everything.”

  “So what does the rest of it mean?”

  “You have to be an official employee of the Jug to be briefed on top-secret codes.” I put a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Only Team Nessie Quest gets to know them.”

  “Ahh,” he says. “I understand.”

  “Can I be excused?” I ask, darting out of the dining room before my permission is officially granted.

  “Hey, come back! You haven’t finished your dinner!” Mom calls after me.

  By the time I hit the hall I’m in a full-on run, slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor in my white socks. “Can’t!” I call back to her. “My stomach is too excited to eat!”

  With one tent firmly tied to the ground, three lawn chairs, one portable fire pit, a single bag of marshmallows and a well-worn game of Clue, we’re set for our very first undercover operation: our Saturday-night Nessie hunt.

  It’s two against one.

  Me and Hammy Bean against Dax.

  We whisper together, back and forth. First me to Hammy Bean, then him to me, until we figure out the hidden combination.

  “I think that might be it,” I whisper.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Are you?” I say.

  He thinks about it.

  “It’s Miss Scarlet…in the library…wi’ the candlestick,” Hammy Bean calls out during our fifth go-around.

  Dax has won three games and we’ve won two.

  This is the tiebreaker.

  “Nae! It’s the wrench…no, wait, it’s the candlestick,” Hammy Bean says.

  “Is that your final answer?” Dax wants to know.

  “Wait,” I say. “I really think it’s the wrench. Say wrench.”

  “I need your final answer,” Dax says.

  Hammy Bean sucks in a long, deep breath. “Wrench,” he finally says.

  Dax opens the envelope. “It’s the candlestick!”

  Hammy Bean jumps out of his lawn chair. “I knew it!” he shouts. “I was the one who said candlestick first!”

  “Yes.” Dax grins. “But you didn’t say it last.”

  “I call an official reconsideration,” Hammy Bean says.

  “Judge’s rule?” Dax calls out into the darkness, and then listens to the silence. He points a thumb toward the ground. “Loser!”

  Hammy Bean busts a gut laughing. “Dax, yer bum’s out the windae!”

  “Yeah,” I say giggling. “Yer bum’s out the windae.”

  “You don’t even know what that means,” Dax tells me.

  “I know, but it sounds like you.”

  “It means you’re full o’ nonsense,” Hammy Bean tells us.

  “See?” I say to Dax.

  Dax just one-lips me and reaches for Ole Roy.

  “Fancy another game?” Hammy Bean wants to know.

  “No,” Dax and I say at the very same time.

  “We’ve roasted marshmallows, eaten all the cheese sandwiches and played Clue six whole times and it’s only eight-thirty,” I say. “What time are we rendezvousing, anyway?”

  “Shh!” Hammy Bean hisses. “Haud yer wheesht or someone will hear ye.”

  I look around. “Not likely,” I tell him. “There’s no one even out here but us.”

  “Nessie Race spies are everywhere,” he whispers.

  “Did Euna Begbie have any other games in her cellar?” Dax asks.

  “No,” I say.

  “I brought Braille Uno.” Hammy Bean pulls a deck out of his Windbreaker pocket.

  “Can’t do it, HB,” Dax tells him, plucking on his strings. “Uno’s for babies.”

  “Fine,” Hammy Bean says, popping another marshmallow from the bag and sitting back in his lawn chair.

  We listen as Dax plays his beautiful music, the sun sinks behind the rolling green hills and a crisp breeze makes the flames in our fire pit dance and crackle.

  “Did Corny at least give you an approximate number of acorns on the oak tree that blows in the morning breeze?” I ask him.

  He holds his ear to the sky and listens and then finally decides.

  “Aye,” he says. “But first we at least have to wait until the last parental roll call o’ the night.”

  “The what?” I ask.

  “Hello!” Mom calls from the shadows.

  I let out a shriek.

  “Sorry to scare you,” she says. “How’s everyone doing out here?”

  “Mom, you scared me half to death.” I look over at Hammy Bean and he’s got a big I-told-you-so smirk going on between the dimples.

  “Oh, well, just checking in,” she says, standing by the fire. “Anyone need anything else before we go to bed? More cheese sandwiches? I can put a few slices of ham on there too for anyone who’s interested.”

  I stand up from my lawn chair and grab her hand, pulling her back in the direction of the abbey.

  Except she’s not budging.

  “Mom,” I tell her. “We’re working.”

  “Oh, I know, I know.” She pulls her sweater tighter and shivers. “It’s just getting chilly and I’m double-checking to see if there isn’t a change of heart out here. Mamo Honey called earlier and I told her I’d check in on you all one more time and give a call back.”

  “We’re Juggernauts,” I remind her. “Forces to be reckoned with. And forces…never have second thoughts.”

  “Right, yep…and you remember all the ground rules, though, right?” She looks back and forth at us, waiting for an answer.

  Hammy Bean jumps up from his chair and salutes her before he spouts off Mamo Honey and Mom’s rules in clear, crisp order.

  “No water expeditions. Stay at least three meters clear o’ the shore at all times. Radio you if we need anythin’.”

  As part of the camping-out agreement, I have surrendered my walkie-talkie to Mom so that we have a lifeline if anything comes up. Hammy Bean surrendered his to Mamo Honey. Both set to channel seventeen to avoid security breaches regarding any top-secret communications.

  That all means we have one radio left set to channel five.

  Mom pulls my radio out of her jacket pocket and holds it in the air. “Don’t worry about waking us if you need anything,” she tells us.

  I pull on her sleeve again. “Mom,” I whisper. “You’re being totally embarrassing right now.”

  “I don’t think so, Mrs. Fitzhugh,” Hammy Bean hollers in our direction. “I think it’s nice that ye care so much.” He gives her a wide dimpled smile with his chin high in the air.

  Brownnoser.

  “Mom, we got this,” I assure her. “I promise it will be fine. If we have a problem, Dax will radio, okay?”

  “All right,” she says. “I’ll leave you all to it, then.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Fitzhugh,” Hammy Bean calls out.

  “Good night, then,” she says, and gives Dax a good, long once-over. “Good night, Dax.”

  He looks up from the guitar. “Have a groovy night, Mrs. F.”

  Mom hesitates and then says, “Okay, then. See you all in the morning.”

  I watch her until she disappears into the darkness and then I slink back into my seat.

  “Oh my god, she’s so embarrassing,” I mumble.

  “I think your mam is pure barry,” Hammy Bean tells me. I look over at him, hugging his knees on top of his lawn chair, his cheeks pink from the flames. “I wish my mam an’ da were here more to worry aboot me that way.”

  “When’s the last time you saw them?” I ask.

  Dax rolls his eyes to the sky.

  “Oh…ummmm, maybe May?” Hammy Bean says. “Aye, yes…definitely May. They brought me this T-shirt.”r />
  He opens up his tweed suit coat to show us a T-shirt with a big green Nessie on the front and the words HIDE-AND-SEEK CHAMPION on the bottom.

  “That’s a good one,” Dax says. “Real cool, HB.”

  “They think it’s great that I want to be a famous cryptozoologist when I grow up,” Hammy Bean says. “Just like the one an’ only Tobin Sky. They really love me. A lot.”

  “What’s so great about this Tobin Sky, anyway?” Dax asks.

  “What’s not so great aboot him?” Hammy Bean says. “He’s just like me, I mean he was when he was my age. He started his own cryptozoology business when he was a kid. He lived in this small town in California known for its Bigfoot sightings, so he opened his verra own Bigfoot detective agency.”

  “Did he ever find a Bigfoot?” I ask.

  “He an’ his partner, Dr. Lemonade Liberty Witt, went on to make a lot o’ great discoveries, includin’ the Sky-Witt video, which still hasna been debunked to this day. It’s the most definitive evidence to date. Now he teaches cryptozoology at Berkeley and she’s a veterinarian in San Francisco, but they’re still partners when it comes to expeditions. An’ ye wanna talk aboot famous? They’re famous. Ye just know they go to the store in a limo to get their bananas because the Sky-Witt video is the best of a Bigfoot there has ever been. They’re so well respected in their research that the Loch Ness Project invited Tobin Sky to speak in Inverness two years ago aboot the science o’ findin’ hidden creatures.”

  “That’s the group Mamo Honey used to work with,” Dax says.

  “That’s right,” Hammy Bean says. “The Loch Ness Project has the most esteemed group of scientists searching for Nessie.”

  “But she quit,” I say.

  “Aye,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “She doesn’t like to talk about it,” he says. “All I can say is that it had to do with an incident on the water.”

  My eyes open wide. “I bet she had a close encounter with the monster.”

  “Nae,” he tells me. “That wouldna make her quit. Mamo Honey is the bravest scientist on the face of this earth when it comes to creature discovery. She would never be scared off by the monster.”

  “So what was it?” I ask. “Oh, wait…does it have anything to do with that old locked-up garage behind your house?”

  “How do ye ken aboot that?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I saw it.” I point to Dax. “I mean…we did. Right, Dax?”

  “Mmm,” he says, picking at his strings again.

  “It’s just curious is all I’m saying,” I tell Hammy Bean. “What needs to be locked up so tight with a super-thick chain and padlock? Like no one would ever in a million years get it open—”

  Hammy Bean leans forward and gets real serious.

  “That’s a top-secret bobble that is so Nessie sensitive I can’t even let the Jug crew know aboot it. Do ye understand? All I can say aboot it is that it’s our ace in the hole. But she has to be the one to decide it, no one else.”

  Beep.

  “Team Nessie Quest, do ye read?” a voice calls into the darkness on Dax’s radio. “Come in, Team Nessie Quest. Over.”

  Finally, the amazing Cornelius Blaise Barrington, Nessie hunter extraordinaire.

  Dax grabs the radio from his belt and pushes the button.

  I check my watch. Exactly eleven acorns on the oak tree that blows in the morning breeze.

  “Team Nessie Quest here,” Dax says. “Strings, Denver and Captain Green Bean all present and accounted for. Over.”

  “The corn is poppin’ and the secret vessel looms large on the black diamonds. Over.”

  “Roger that, Corncob,” Dax calls into the radio. “Buttered and salted? Over.”

  “Thaaat’s a ten-four, Strings. Over and oot.”

  Hammy Bean leans toward me, finding my arm and grabbing it tight. “Our first undercover mission as a team,” he screeches in a whisper. “It’s goin’ to be brilliant! Epic! Grand in all proportions! They’ll name me the greatest cryptozoologist in all o’ Scotland. The Loch Ness Project will ask me an’ Corny to be a part o’ their group o’ scientists and Tobin Sky will be beggin’ to do our podcast after tonight.”

  I laugh. “How can you be so sure tonight is the night?” I ask him.

  Hammy Bean zips up his Nessie Quest Windbreaker all the way to his chin.

  “Because,” he says. “Everythin’ has changed for me now an’ it’s all down to you. My mates…the best mates any lad could ask for.”

  I look at Dax and he looks at me.

  “Now, come on, you right numpties, haud yer wheesht and let’s git gaun!”

  Cornelius Blaise Barrington, Nessie Hunter Extraordinaire.

  Talk about a character that pops.

  Not to mention a force to be reckoned with.

  I find this out when our feet finally hit the first weathered board of the rickety pier housing Hammy Bean’s wee boat. Since Mac-Talla stayed home with Mamo Honey, Hammy Bean held on to my elbow and stayed an arm’s length behind me so that he could feel my steps and know where to go.

  “Hello, the SS Albatross!” Hammy Bean shouts out when he feels the dock underneath his feet.

  A blinding flashlight beam finds us at the dock and then a booming voice follows like a lightning bolt through the dark.

  “Hello, the shore!”

  Cornelius is a looming figure making the wee boat even wee-er than the first time I saw it. Under his weight, it’s a wonder the thing stays afloat. Cornelius is way taller than Dad but probably about the same age, with wide shoulders and chiseled features that make him look more like a carved statue of a mythological god than just a plain old man.

  “Ahoy there! I am Cornelius Blaise Barrington,” he announces in a deep, booming voice. “But ye can all call me Corny. So nice to meet the new crew. Cheers! Ye look like you’re ready to find a monster.”

  “Oh, we are!” Hammy Bean tells him. “This is Dax an’ Ada Ru—they’re my mates.”

  “Welcome! Welcome!” Corny calls, and then, with a strong hand, he gives us each an alley-oop onto the wee boat. When he takes my hand, his fingers cover it completely and his alley-oop is so strong, it almost lands me in the water on the other side of the boat.

  Once we’re all aboard, we huddle in the salon. Corny has to duck his head way down to even fit in the door.

  Inside we’re elbow to elbow. It’s a good thing Dax left Ole Roy in the tent because Ole Roy would’ve definitely had to sit this one out.

  “Captain Green Bean,” Corny announces. “How would ye like to assign the crew for this mission?”

  “Dax,” Hammy Bean announces. “You’re assigned to port side. Ada Ru, you are assigned the starboard side. Corny, ye take the bow an’ I’ll monitor the sonar.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.” Corny gives him a salute.

  “Team Nessie Quest, do ye believe we can do it?” Hammy Bean calls out.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “It could happen,” Dax says.

  “I hope so,” Corny says.

  Hammy Bean shakes his head and lets his chin fall to his chest.

  “That’s not very enthusiastic,” he informs us. “I said, do ye believe we can find the monster?” He shouts it this time with his finger to the sky.

  Dax looks at me and I look at Dax and we both look at Corny.

  “Say I believe!” Hammy Bean exclaims.

  Corny holds out one finger, then two and then three, and on three me, Dax and Corny shout a booming I believe! in Hammy Bean’s direction.

  “See? Was that so hard?” Hammy Bean says, and then busies himself with the knobs on the tiny sonar television screens.

  Corny turns the key and starts the Kommander 5000.

  “All right, crew, are ye ready to be a part of our Saturday-night midnig
ht sonar sweep?” he asks. “Tonight’s mission is the waters near the Urquhart Castle.”

  “Um, excuse me, please.” I raise my hand.

  “Aye?”

  “Just one question. You’ve got life jackets on board, right?” I ask. “I mean, if we’re going out in the middle of this lake in the dead of night, we should have life jackets, right?”

  Dax sighs and whispers, “Don’t be a baby.”

  “I’m not being a baby,” I insist. “I’m here, aren’t I? There’s nothing wrong with being safety-conscious. Am I right, Corny?”

  “Aye, right ye are, lass, it’s maritime law. There are plenty o’ life jackets in the benches at the stern o’ the boat. Everyone needs to have one on before we leave the dock.”

  I turn to Dax and give him an I-told-you-so stink eye.

  “See,” I say. “It’s not just me, it’s Mary’s Law.”

  Dax is staring at me with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows crunched together. “Are you seriously that big of a baby?” he asks, jutting a chin toward my life preserver.

  “What?” I say. “You’re wearing one.”

  “Yeah, one…not two.”

  “Lads and lass,” Corny interrupts us. “We are going to do a sonar sweep in the bay oot front o’ the Urquhart Castle.” Corny turns the wheel, pulling away from the rickety dock. “It’s where we’ve had our best hits on the sonar.”

  There are dim lights on every side of the boat and scattered lights along the shore and way off into the hills, but the water and the air and the night are pitch black.

  I keep my face glued to the starboard side with Dad’s camera in the on position as the SS Albatross glides smoothly through the glassy water. There isn’t a single noise other than the Kommander 5000’s low hum beneath the surface as it propels us forward at a very slow speed.

  Hammy Bean is standing in front of the sonar, chewing on his pinky nail, ears glued to the pinging sounds coming from the tiny screen.

  “Dax,” he calls out. “Anythin’?”

  “Negative,” Dax says.

  “Ada Ru?”

  “Nope,” I say.

  “But ye have yer camera ready, right?”

  “Roger that,” I say.

  Corny guides the SS Albatross back and forth over the waters of Urquhart Bay as we watch wide-eyed at our posts.