‘Please don’t be stuck, please don’t be stuck, please don’t be stuck,’ I pray, thanking all manner of deities when the remnants of the rod comes away cleanly. Luckily, I always carry a spare, remembering another of my father’s sayings. ‘Always be prepared’.
It takes a total of four minutes and thirty-eight seconds to free the motorcycle, though I know I can do better. Using the locks, I wrap the chains around the statue of a naked woman in the centre of the garden, mounted above a fountain – I have always hated that statue – and make sure to place the chains and locks over its more embarrassing features.
‘At least that’s given you a bit more decency,’ I say, imagining the look on my mother’s face when she returns home. It would be priceless to see but I must go.
I turn my father’s motorcycle and start the engine.
‘Next stop, Scotland.’
4
ADAM—Hadrian’s Wall, England
It takes seven hours to travel from London to Inchlonaig by car. On a motorcycle, it’s quicker, but more painful. I stop a couple of times, the last at a petrol station to refuel the bike and stretch my legs. The feeling of blood rushing through to my toes instantly gives me pins and needles.
Looking out across the horizon, the sun is beginning to set in the distance. I can see the remnants of Hadrian’s Wall and I recall my history lessons; one of the few subjects I pay attention to… well, most of the time.
Ancient Rome, having seized control of most of Europe and parts of Africa, had invaded Britain and conquered much of it, only the north proved to offer significant resistance. The wall was built by the Romans by order of Emperor Hadrian to better defend the southern regions of Britain from the aggressive Caledonians and barbarians of the north.
The wall was once an impressive fortification, so my teacher said. Now, very little remains, ruined and torn down by time, war, and nature. Most think the wall is the barrier between Scotland – known as Caledonia by the Romans back then – and England, but in reality, there are still a few miles to go before the border crossing. On one of our camping trips in the Highlands, when I was much younger, Matt and I walked across the top of a section of the wall near Birdoswald Fort. Our mother yelled at us to get down before we fell off, but our father laughed the whole time.
Thinking of my parents, I take out my mobile and turn it on. Sure enough, I quickly receive a dozen missed call notifications from my mother and a few from Kat, each leaving a voicemail. I don’t need to listen to them as text messages arrive as well, all stating I should return home and not to do anything foolish. I scan through them for mention of my brother’s sudden return, but this hope quickly vanishes. They do, however, mention that Matt’s supposed co-workers want the journal back. I chuckle, imagining the look on Charles’ moustached face when he realized it was gone.
Of all the notifications, it’s Kat’s last one that hits me hardest.
Thank you. x
Kat
Looking through the rest of my messages, I see a few from Duncan, asking me what Mrs Rhodes wanted, if I am available for football, and if I have finally asked Sara to the End of Year Ball. Reading on, it’s clear he knows what is happening.
Your mother told me everything, in between her interrogations to find out where you are. Good luck in searching for Matt. Need anything, give me a shout.
Duncan.
He has always been a good friend. Whenever I needed somewhere to stay, when things with my mother were too much, Duncan would always have me round. I spent a fair few nights with him and his family over the years. They were the perfect family, loving parents, happy and always welcoming; what a family should be like. No anger. No lies.
I send him a quick reply.
Thanks mate. I’ll keep you updated. Keep my mother calm. If anyone can it’s probably you.
Perfect son, perfect student, perfect athlete, so of course my mother thinks the world of Duncan too; another person I can’t match up to. I don’t begrudge him any of it though. We have been mates for too long for that.
P.S. Yes I asked Sara, she shot me down. Not all of us have your easy charm!
He must be near his phone as he replies straight away.
Not all of us can be so lucky! ;) Take care of yourself mate. Find Matt. Bring him home.
Duncan.
I mean to turn off my mobile phone again, ready to set out on hopefully the last part of my journey, but before I can, I receive one more text message and from the most unlikely source.
Saw Duncan while out shopping for end of year dress. Got some awesome things, spent a fortune!! Duncan told me everything. Don’t do anything stupid, like usual, you loser. x
Sara S
I can’t help but laugh. More focussed on her dress shopping than my missing brother of course. At least she showed some concern, I think. I send a quick reply, unable to resist.
Stupid? Me? No idea what you mean.
Taking out my laptop and resting it upon the bike’s seat, I log on to the service station’s free Wi-Fi. I load up the previous search pages about my destination, Loch Lomond and the island of Inchlonaig. I search for anything about caves in the area or clues as to where Matt could’ve gone but see nothing of worth. There are mentions of findings in the loch, of armour and weaponry, possibly Briton and Roman in origin from some unknown and unrecorded battle. Apart from that, there is nothing of notable worth, meaning I will need to go through Matt’s journal for any further clues or directions to the cave. I have no idea how long that will take, all depending on my brother’s encryption. For now, all I have to go on is the name of the loch and the island.
There are monitors on the outside walls of the petrol station broadcasting the news, updates on the fires in Morocco before the breaking story of another reported museum robbery.
‘There’s never any good news, is there,’ I mumble to myself. As if timed to perfection, my phone rings.
‘More bad news,’ I say to myself before answering the call. ‘Hi, Mother.’
‘Where the hell are you?’ she screams down the phone at me.
‘Didn’t you see my note?’ I reply, trying to keep calm.
‘I told you not to be so stupid!’
‘He’s my brother,’ I tell her firmly. ‘I can’t just do nothing. Those people from the British Museum…’
‘I don’t care about them!’
‘But Matt’s journal…?’
‘I don’t give a damn about that either! You need to come home now!’
‘Listen to me, please…’
‘No! You come home now!
‘I can’t. No.’
‘Why do you always have to be so stubborn?’
‘Where do you think I get that from?’
‘And the stupidity? The foolishness? Your brother certainly has none of that!’
‘I’m just not good enough, am I?’ I rant back. ‘I’m not worthy of your support or anything else!’
In a rage, I throw the phone against the wall of the petrol station, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Some laugh, some snigger, and the rest pretend I’m not there. Only one person stares right at me. Sat on her motorcycle, black helmet covering her face with long red and purple hair hanging loose, she looks only at me through her visor. I ignore the gaze, picking up my phone and inspecting the damage. The screen is cracked, case dented, but the phone still works well enough.
‘Why does she always have to be like that?’ I mutter.
Walking back to my bike, I hear others taunting and mocking me for my show of anger. I don’t care. I look back towards the biker girl but she and her motorcycle are gone. Turning off the mobile, I tuck it into a pocket and start up the bike’s engine.
‘Onwards to Scotland,’ I say to myself, pulling on the helmet and setting the bike back onto the motorway.
5
ADAM—Loch Lomond, Scotland
I reach my destination a few hours after nightfall, the loch as quiet as the roads and no light coming from the island at its cen
tre. Looking out across the waters, I feel the fear threaten, rising within, hands beginning to sweat, knowing that dizziness and worse could follow. Past memories flood my mind; sheer dread, terrifying horror, water everywhere, choking, unable to breathe, and the coming unescapable fate. All of it hits me at once, my heart pounding, and I struggle to breathe as I look towards the waters.
All I can do is turn away, breathing deep until the fear passes. I curse myself. I knew I was heading for a loch, a mass of water. I should’ve prepared myself, knowing the fear would take hold, but in my haste to find Matt, I hadn’t even considered it. I must cross the water to find him. It’s my only choice. I urge the bike on towards the nearest house, a little cottage with lights on and smoke pouring skywards from the chimney. A sign hangs from the roof: Lomond Boat Hire.
All manner of boats are moored outside the cottage; ferries big enough to transport a handful of cars, to smaller day-hire craft secured to the small jetty. From the looks of them, damp and muddied, most of the boats have been in use today.
Leaning the bike against a large yew tree, old by the looks of it, I take off my helmet, resting it on the seat. The cold air hits me like a bucket of icy water, and any tiredness I felt disappears. My breath hangs in the air; winter is fast approaching. Standing feels good and the blood is keen to return to my feet.
I pull on my worn hiking boots just as the pins and needles set in again, and then I hurry towards the house, stumbling in the darkness. From inside, a woman’s jovial voice sings. I knock but there is no answer. The music is drowning me out. I knock so hard it hurts my knuckles. The door opens quickly and an elderly man in overalls with thinning white hair and a thick Santa Claus beard greets me.
‘Thank you so much, fella,’ he says in a rolling brogue. I smile as he pulls foam plugs from his ears. ‘The singing ne’r ends. Can’t stand it myself but it keeps the wife happy.’ He checks his watch, surprised by the time. ‘Should ye be out this late, kiddo? I was about to go to bed myself, if she ever shuts up. I’ll warn ye, if ye’re selling, we ar’n buying and me wife detests salesmen. If you think her singing’s bad, ye should see her angry.’
‘Are you talking about me again?’ I hear the man’s wife and then she appears beside him, with an unending friendly smile.
‘Good to meet ye, young man,’ she greets me, wiping a strand of red hair from her ruddy face. ‘I’m Gillian, and this old goat is me husband, Mike.’
‘Adam,’ I reply. She shakes my hand with vigour. Her husband just looks bemused. I am beginning to like this couple.
‘Are ye here to learn more about our fair loch?’ she asks me. ’The famous outlaw Rob Roy’s cave to the north that he used as a hideout perhaps? Or the legends of this being the home to the Lady of the Lake, where King Arthur’s sword Excalibur was drawn? The tree of Robert the Bruce, King of Scots, who won Scotland’s independence from the tyranny of you English?’ She jests me with the last point, smiling broadly and prodding me in the chest with a finger.
I am being dragged inside as she speaks. ‘Or perhaps the monster of the loch itself? Aye, the bloodthirsty beast that has plagued us for centuries? Red eyes glowing in the darkest of nights across its waters, its roars making the very loch tremble.’
‘Monster?’ I ask with uncertainty, thinking of the water and the fear it instils in me without its own horror lurking beneath the waves.
‘Enough, Gilly. Let the boy speak.’ Mike quietens her. ‘What are you here for, lad?’
‘I’m looking to get over to Inchlonaig,’ I say. ‘I can pay for a ride or to hire a boat.’
‘You want t’ traverse the jewels of the crown? That’s what we call the islands. Well, you’ll have to wait until morning, I’m afraid. No boats on the water once the sun goes down.’
‘I need to get over there as soon as possible.’
‘You better start swimming then,’ he jokes. Seeing the flash of frustration is enough to show him I don’t find it funny.
‘Sorry, but those are the rules,’ he says, returning to the subject. ‘You’re not part of that big group that went over there a couple of days ago, are ye? If so, I’m sorry to say they’re all gone, shipped out before sundown. Had all kinds of equipment, searching for something, I think. Left my boats in a helluva state, I tell you.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Damned if I know, but they paid bloody well to get all their gear over there and to ask no questions. God knows what they did to the poor island.’
I think of Charles Lovell and Abbey. They said they had search teams looking for Matt, or perhaps they were only after whatever had drawn Matt to this island. If they were looking for my brother, then why did they stop? Why did they take all their equipment with them? Why did they give up?
Taking out my mobile, I turn it on and flick through my contacts until I reach Matt’s and his bio photo.
‘You haven’t seen this guy in the past few days, have you?’ I ask them. I’m now in the kitchen and Gillian is making tea.
‘My memory is-neh what it was,’ Mike says, peering at the image.
‘Fading like the rest of you,’ his wife mocks.
‘Sorry, lad. Can’t say I’ve seen him, but there’s been a lot of folk passing through here in the past few days. All sorts of buzz about that island, but from what I’ve seen, everyone’s returned empty-handed.’
‘Any idea what it was all about?’ I ask, taking an offered mug of tea with a silently mouthed thank you.
‘Nope, neh a clue,’ Mike says.
‘Whole world’s gone crazy if you ask me,’ Gillian adds. ‘Snowing in the Sahara, an entire city burning in Morocco, more shooting stars than ever seen before, the blood moon, and now all this fascination over one of our little islands.’
‘Does anybody live on the island?’
‘A few holiday homes, but at this time of year, they’re all empty,’ Mike says. ‘With those teams returned there should be no one on the island.’
‘And there’s no way I can get across?’
‘Not until dawn. Then I will be happy t’ take yer over myself.’
‘He’s your brother, isn’t he?’ Gillian asks, looking at Matt’s image and then to me. ‘I see the resemblance.’ She retrieves a Tupperware box from the side and flips it open to reveal a treasure trove of homemade shortbread. My stomach almost growls with the smell of buttery sweetness. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until this moment. She offers it out to me.
‘Thank you,’ I say, unashamedly selecting the biggest piece from the tub.
‘He’s been missing for three days,’ I say. ‘Four now with this one ending. His last known whereabouts was on that island.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yes,’ I lie, feeling immediately guilty. These are good people and lying to them seems wrong. ‘But they’ve been no help.’
I bite into the shortbread and moan – it’s the most amazing thing I have ever eaten.
‘Good, eh?’ Gillian laughs. ‘Me mother’s recipe, and hers before that.’
‘Aye, our Gilly makes the best darn shortbread in Scotland!’
For a moment we are quiet. We are still strangers, events bringing us together. They exchange looks and shake their heads. ‘There’s certainly something strange ‘bout it all, me lad.’
‘I have to find him. He’s my brother. Are you sure there’s no way across tonight? I can offer money.’ I say, scrabbling around in my pocket with the hope that actually seeing the money might tempt him.
‘Mike, can’t ye…’ Gillian begins, sensing my distress.
‘I’m sorry, but if I help yer across and folks around here got t’ know, and they will, trust me, then I’ll be in all kinds of trouble from the authorities. I’ve lost one boat already this week, pinched by some crooks – not that the police cared. Besides, it’s just not safe in this light, what with the rocks scattered throughout the loch – especially with no clear moon to light our way.
‘There’s no way?’
; ‘Sorry, son,’ Mike says, shaking his head and standing. It’s my signal it’s time to leave. I follow him out and he stops me at the door. ‘There’s hotels further up the road where you can stay. Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.’
I’m left standing outside, not knowing what my next move should be. I could wait until morning, but Matt might need me if he is still trapped in those caverns beneath the island. He could be injured or dying of hunger and thirst after four days down there. My brother needs me. I could try another of the companies along the edge of the loch, but if Mike wouldn’t do it, it’s unlikely any of the others will. Swimming is out of the question; it wouldn’t help Matt if I drowned.
Defeated, I begin to walk back towards my bike. I have vague plans of making some soup and building up my strength, but my attention is brought to the hills above where a strange light is shining. It remains for a few moments and I’m captivated – that is until the roar of a motorcycle engine echoes down the valley and diverts me.
A whistle comes from the house behind me. I turn back. Gillian is at the second floor window and she throws something to me; it’s a set of keys with a note wrapped around them.
KEEP QUIET AND BRING IT BACK BY MORNING. IV27
Looking back to the window, I see she has a finger to her lips. Before I can ask her anything, she has disappeared inside and closed the window.
‘Thanks, Gillian,’ I whisper.
I look back towards the hills but the light and the sound of the motorcycle are gone.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I tell myself, keys in hand. I hurry towards the boats, trying to step as lightly as I can on the gravel and then onto the wooden boards of the jetty.
Eagle of the Empire Page 4