by E C Hunter
Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
THE RIVER OF BONES
Published by E C Hunter
Copyright 2013 E C Hunter
License Notes: This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, places, events or locations is purely coincidental. Please excuse my fiddling with geography, physics and engineering. Apologies also to Blaser who make very fine rifles.
ISBN 9781710605761
Chapter 1.
His father’s backside, clad in bright purple corduroy, was too good a target to ignore, peeping as it was from under the old oak desk. Archie slipped, cat quiet, through the open door of the office and picked up the hard plastic ruler from the desk’s leather top. He couldn’t help but smile as various mutterings about the shortcomings of broadband connections rose from under the desk. Then, without another moment of hesitation, Archie brought the ruler down crisply across the purple bottom. Two things happened at once…an outraged cry of pained surprise followed by a resounding thud as Magnus’s head hit the underside of the desk. A large hairy hand shot out backwards from alongside the smarting purple bum.
“Gotcha, you little wretch” Magnus yelled triumphantly, clutching Archie tightly around the knee. A deft movement of the strong fingers brought Archie toppling to the floor where he was pounced on by his dad.
“You know what’s going to happen now don’t you, eh?” Magnus asked, looking down at his only son. Archie nodded, trying to hide the smile in his eyes, “I know. The Dreaded Mahouba” he said with a mock grim tone in his voice.
“Right in one” said his father, preparing to administer the dreaded Mahouba – a kind of devastating tickle but with added pain and lots of loud shouting. From the desk above, the telephone started to ring. After a moment of indecision, Magnus leapt up to answer the phone.
“I’ll deal with you later.” Magnus rooted amongst the piles of loose paper and coffee cups for the handset.
“Magnus Hunter” he answered and gave no further greeting. Silence fell over the office, punctuated only by the odd grunt from Magnus and the scratching of his pencil.
Archie planted himself in one of the old leather armchairs, the dust rising to spin gently in the shafts of golden July sunshine as he made himself comfortable. His Father’s office was a constant source of delight to Archie. For starters it’s not what you’d call conventional. The first notable sensation is the smell, the timber of the building itself, overlaid with a rich medley of scents from all over the planet, mingling with the aromas of a number of unkempt spaniels and terriers who charge in and out of the building at will, trailing mud and hair everywhere and generally getting in the way. Mix this with the smell of old leather, boot dubbin, wood smoke, gun oil, fresh coffee and bacon sandwiches and you have it. Totally unique and irreplaceable in Archie’s life.
Much of Magnus’s working life was spent in the office and therefore a great deal of Archie’s too, at least when he was home from school. Archie never tired of his Father’’s office, just to walk in and stare, to drink in this exciting world of the unusual, the bizarre and the down-right scary was an experience in itself. But to dig deeper brought rewards most 14 year olds could only dream of.
The office itself was a large Swedish log house, lovingly put together by Magnus himself, Archie had been desperate to help but had been just too young at the time. Magnus had placed it on a sunny outcrop overlooking the sparkling loch. On a small island, in a cluster of pines was a standing stone. Not an ancient stone, not even old. In fact it had only been there a few years. The stone had been hewn by Magnus and Archie themselves with hammer and chisel. Placed to catch the morning sun and marking the last resting place of Archie’s mother.
Beyond the loch there was a tangle of birches before the hill rose steeply towards the south, its heathery flanks like the sides of some great beast dosing the afternoon away. Between the office and the rambling old white-walled house was a huge expanse of lawn. Croquet hoops and a tennis court occupied part of it but were seldom used. The world of cryptozoology was far more interesting that any ball game.
Take for example the equipment. Not just a bit of it but masses of the stuff, piled in corners and stacked on wooden shelves that reached to the ceiling. Stuff nestling in foam inside waterproof plastic cases, stuff in bags, stuff in boxes, stuff in trunks, stuff in pouches. There were huge mountain boots, state of the art sleeping bags and huge amounts of assorted camping gear. There were expensive looking electronic and optical devices – image intensifiers, spotting scopes, microscopes and cameras of every description. Then there was the gun rack – tranquilliser guns, net guns, harpoons, the deadly looking Blaser tracking rifle. It was all there.
But the equipment wasn’t the half of it. There were the pictures, the framed newspaper articles, all yellowed and crumbling around the edges. The exhibits in glass cases, the preserved things in jars of alcohol (some were particularly revolting), the dried lumps of animal skin, the draw full of the teeth of a hundred or more species…it really was endless.
Archie’s dad had a serious amount of stuff, a serious amount of serious stuff. All of it was lovingly cared for and kept in a state of instant readiness. Archie’s dad liked to be able to move fast……and now was such a time. Archie watched as Magnus put down the phone and started scribbling a list, presumably a ‘things to do list’. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a shopping list. Shopping didn’t really figure too highly in the Hunter household. Every week Magnus would give Mrs Urquhart their housekeeper a fistful of cash and let her get on with it. It was a bit of a mystery to Magnus how the food actually arrived on the table and much as he seemed to enjoy it, it was often merely an interruption to much more important things.
Archie watched his father move around the office, checking interesting looking pieces of equipment and mumbling to himself. There was no doubt, something big was in the pipeline. He decided to stay quietly in t
he chair in the hope that his father would drop some hint of the reason for his sudden activity.
“Thermal imager, trail cameras, apple essence” Magnus spoke the items aloud as he ticked them off his list and dragged them to the centre of the big room. Apple essence? Bingo! Archie knew what was going on……it could only be one thing. He smiled secretly to himself and watched his dad make the pile of gear even larger. As he watched a shadow fell across the floor of the office making him turn towards the door. The light was blocked by a vast silhouette, not fat, just huge in the way a cart horse is just huge…Mrs Urquhart. Nobody would dream of calling her anything but Mrs Urquhart. Archie had always thought it possible that she didn’t have a given name at all.
“I’ll be off now then Mr Hunter” she wouldn’t have thought to call Magnus by his first name either, it just wasn’t done.
“Oh, right you are Mrs Urquhart” replied Magus absently, so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even look up. ““See you later then”.
“Not later, Mr Hunter. In two weeks. You remember? I’m off to see my sister in Bournemouth” She trailed off, realising he wasn’t listening.
“Don’t worry Mrs Urquhart, I’ll sort him out” Archie told her. She looked at him fondly, reached down and tousled his sandy hair affectionately.
“Aye, see that you do young master Archie. There’s a meal in the freezer for each day I’m away. Remember to take it out the night before to defrost and then pop it in the Aga to heat up for dinner time, the instructions for each meal are on a label on the foil. Don’t forget to feed the dogs. Water the plants in the conservatory at least twice” She counted off half a dozen more jobs on her strong fingers, cautioned Archie once again to look after his father and then turned and vanished in a cloud of cloying perfume.
Some minutes later Magnus looked up “Mrs Urquhart will you be….” He realised Mrs Urquhart was no longer there and looked over to where Archie sat, his legs tucked up under him on the leather armchair. “She’s gone dad, to Bournemouth, remember?” Archie adopted his patient look, a look he used at least five times a day when dealing with his father.
“Ahh!” a slow dawning came to Magnus’ face, followed by “oops” followed by “hmmm, that’s tricky”. “Ohhh deeeear” Magnus drew out the words, as if it would give him extra thinking time. “Right Archie” he said decisively, “we’ve got some planning to do…phone your aunt Caroline”
“She’s in Spain Dad” Archie informed him.
“How about your Aunt Jane” Magnus tried.
“Mexico”
“Er, Elizabeth?”
“In hospital”
“How about Ellie?”
“Dead, dad, we buried her last spring”
“I thought that was Lucy”
“No dad, Lucy moved to France”.
“Well, that just about uses up all the aunts I suppose, who else is there? Any of your friends you can stay with?
“Not for the whole holidays, no. There is another way you know Dad” said Archie firmly, not willing to spend another school holiday being pushed from aunt to aunt, friend to friend. “I’m coming with you!”
“Oh no no no, that’s no good. I’ll be in the bush for weeks, could be all sorts of hazards…bears, yes, bears…get into the camp while you’re away, cause all kinds of problems” Magnus shook his head, “it’s just too dangerous son, after all, you’re only twelve”
A kind of deathly stillness descended over the office. Archie stood as if invisible strings had pulled him upright, in much the same way as a dog will stand when it hears an intruder. “Fourteen dad, I’m fourteen” Archie said quietly but with an undertone of steel. His fists bunched involuntarily. Magnus said nothing, put his hands on his only son's shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. A look of mute appeal spread across his face.
"I know Dad" said Archie, softening, reading the signs through long practice. Some instinct had led Archie to understand why his father couldn’t think of normal stuff, why he had to immerse himself in his own world. Since his mother’s death Archie had in many ways taken on the role of the adult while his father had become absorbed in his work. He had sunk so deeply into his world of mysterious cryptids that everyday life had almost ceased to exist. Magnus ate, slept (sometimes), gave out money to Mrs Urquhart and Archie whenever it was needed and drank lots of coffee. Other than that he worked – he researched, he read, he wrote, he called his contacts all over the world, he thought, he travelled, he attended conferences and he took insane risks with both his reputation and his physical self. Archie tried to bring out his father’s old sense of fun whenever he could, it worked, sometimes.
Having a cryptozoologist for a father had never really occurred to Archie as odd in any way. It just was what it was. Yes he was vaguely aware that other kids at his school had parents who bought and sold ships, managed huge oil companies or were highly paid media moguls but Archie wasn’t much interested in them; in their normal, if wealthy, lives. That’s not to say he didn’t have friends, he was close to the boys in his dorm, blood brothers and the survivors of many a night-time escapade. But impressed by the wealth of their families? No. The Hunters were old money.
Archie was tall and good looking with striking green eyes. He was a natural sportsman and a bit of a show-off when it came to drama and so naturally attracted both boys and girls as friends. But as far as his father’s occupation went, well, it was what he did. Exciting, yes, unusual, yes but it still got in the way of life, like all jobs can. Researching mysterious, out of place or out of time animals, organising expeditions, writing papers and all of the other guff that goes with it. Sometimes you just want to have a nice family Sunday lunch or kick back with your dad and watch a movie. Not in the Hunter household.
Don’t get the wrong impression about Magnus Hunter, he’s not a crank. He’s a serious scientist and adventurer. He has an MSc from Oxford University in Zoology, has had books and papers published all over the world. He is asked to give lectures to august bodies like the Royal Society and numbers amongst his friends at least one prince, the leader of a major political party and many influential scientists and government advisers. Oh, and he’s very, very wealthy too thanks to family legacies and ancestors clever enough to pass down their wealth and lands before the Government’s exorbitant inheritance taxes could be applied.
Part of that legacy was now Archie and Magnus’s home, the Strathnuin Estate. Twenty nine thousand acres of heather moorland, forestry, water and rock nestling comfortably on the north western edge of the Monadliath Mountains, overlooking Loch Ness and costing a king’’s ransom each year to run.
In the log cabin office overlooking the loch Magnus Hunter regarded his son thoughtfully. Fourteen. Hadn’t he been fourteen himself when his father had taken him to Africa for the first time. What a month that had been. Living from the back of a Land Rover, eating only what they could shoot or gather, meeting local tribesmen armed with fearsome bows and spears. Of course it had been dangerous, but he was here wasn’t he? He’d survived that and much more hardship since.
Archie was tough, resourceful, capable. Heavens knew what George Urquhart had drilled into him out on the hill. George Urquhart, husband of the redoubtable Mrs Urquhart. George, was her complete opposite. An ex Royal Marine sniper, George was head stalker and keeper to the Estate, still fitter at sixty than most men half his age. He could walk all day, in all weathers, wait out all night to shoot a marauding fox in a February blizzard without complaint, pull off incredible feats of endurance and still be the life and soul of the party. He had taught both Magnus and Archie bushcraft and survival techniques, unarmed combat, how to shoot both rifle and shotgun, drive quads and Argos, catch fish, ride horses and a huge amount of natural lore…not to mention how to swear like a trooper!
And his school had played a huge part too. Archie was a pupil at one of Scotland’s premier schools. It had an ethos of service, personal development and outdoor education. It had made him confident in his dealings with both oth
er people and the natural world. He had climbed, sailed, kayaked and canoed with the school. He had mountain biked, wild camped and done winter skills training.
If Archie wasn’t ready now, well, perhaps he’d never be.
“Pack your bag son” said Magnus.
Chapter 2.
The Hunter household descended into organised chaos. Bits of kit and clothing were strewn over every available surface. It looked like an explosion in an outdoor shop. Pairs of boots hung from the banisters, dry bags and rucksacks littered the floor, bottles of insect repellent, sun block and foot powder lay piled on beds. Outside was not much better, a number of sleeping bags had been unzipped and spread wide open to air over the low garden wall. A pair of Jack Russells had hold of a furry microphone windshield and were determinedly ripping it to shreds while an extremely dirty spaniel had made a cosy nest from a very expensive Mountain Equipment jacket. Archie’s own dog, a Labrador called Willow knew that something was going on and had not left Archie’’s side for a moment.
Archie trailed around after Magnus with a clipboard, ticking off items as Magnus piled them into the back of the Land Rover Station Wagon for the transfer to the airport. George would drive them and then bring the Land Rover home. He would have charge of the estate whilst Magnus and Archie were away. From the moment he had decided to take Archie along with him Magnus had been surprised at how useful Archie had become. How had he ever managed without him? Magnus mused as yet another vital point of preparation was raised by his son.
It had only been yesterday morning when the call from Lee Poulenc had come through. Lee was Magnus’s Eastern Canadian contact and fixer. This was the first time a credible sighting had come through for Nova Scotia. Lee was a native of Cape Breton Island in the north of the province and had picked up the story in the local press There were good prints, a sound witness but no pictures. An off duty policeman had been hiking in the Cape Breton National Park. A man used to making observations and recording his findings, not prone to histrionics or illusions had spotted a line of footprints leading into and out of a small creek bed. The prints he had guessed at 35cm long by 20 wide and with a stride length of around 1.5m.