“This way’s the kitchen and a small eating space. The next two doors are the bedrooms and bath.” Mr. McMorn led them into one room with a queen-size bed and a second room so small that the two twin beds and a tiny dresser filled it wall to wall. “The couch folds out in the main room.”
“Perfect for Tim,” his father said. Timothy thought of sofa beds with their metal bars and thin mattresses and sighed.
“Now I’ll leave you to get settled and be back around seven to take you to dinner. There’s a grocery down the street and a pharmacy.”
“You’ve been so kind.” Timothy’s mother extended her hand.
“Not at all.” And he gave the same stiff little bow. “I’ll be happy to show you around a bit, whatever you’d like to see.” His dark eyes lighted on Timothy. And Timothy flinched as if an insect had crawled across his skin.
The Dog and Parrot was overflowing with customers. It was the first time Timothy had felt completely warm since arriving in Scotland. The damp, as his father said, seemed to settle into your bones. They pushed into a tall-ceilinged room with dark wood paneling and a polished bar that ran its length. A chalkboard displayed the daily specials: lentil sausage soup and fish and chips.
“Same special most days, but the food’s reliably good,” McMorn said. “Follow me; I think I see a table in the back.”
“It’s just like all those old jokes. A man came into a bar with a parrot . . .” quipped Mr. Maxwell.
Timothy followed his father’s stare. There at the end of the bar was a man with bushy red sideburns and a bright green bird perched on his shoulder. It was busily grooming the man’s facial hair and nibbling at his ear.
“Hamish McInturff. He’s a bit of local color and half owner of this establishment.” McMorn nodded.
“Why doesn’t the bird just fly away?” Sarah asked.
“Hamish keeps his wings clipped. He’s the pub’s mascot, Wally, a green-cheeked Amazon. Named after William Wallace, a great hero of Scotland who helped drive the English out.”
“Can the bird talk?” Jessica stood on tiptoe to see over the crowd.
“Sure. The bird’s useful for bets on what he might say. And his wolf whistle’s the terror of the ladies. But we’d best grab that table while it’s still empty.”
Timothy shouldered his way through the noisy crowd with Sarah and Jessica following. McMorn led them to a table in a far corner where nearby a rowdy group enjoyed a game of darts. The tables were picnic style with benches, and Jessica slid in on one side of Timothy, Sarah on the other.
“Well, this is wonderful! We’re in a Scottish pub with a talking parrot.” Mrs. Maxwell’s eyes sparkled as she shrugged off her dripping raincoat. Timothy noticed she’d brought her travel guide with her and sighed. “I was hoping to take you up on your offer, Mr. McMorn—”
“Brian, please.”
“Brian, then. I’ve been reading about Edinburgh Castle.”
“Yes, the castle, our crown jewel. Every trip should begin with a visit to Edinburgh Castle. I can’t accompany you, but I’d recommend you start there tomorrow. It’s only a short walk through the gardens, and there are plenty of guides.” A waitress came and took their orders for drinks. “Do you have any interest in any other particular locations?”
Again Timothy felt McMorn’s gaze settle on his face, and it was as if a spiderweb brushed against his skin. He ran his fingers across his cheek to flick it off. Mr. McMorn smiled. Under the table, Jessica gave him a sharp little kick. Timothy shot her a glance from the corner of his eye. He wondered if she felt it, too.
“Perhaps the children have something special in mind?”
“I’d like to go on the Ferris wheel,” Jessica said decisively.
“And ice-skating would be fun,” Sarah added.
The girls, Timothy noticed, looked completely untroubled as they sipped their spiced cider.
“What about the German Market? What, exactly, is it?” Mrs. Maxwell asked.
McMorn nodded. “It’s a collection of stalls set up on the Royal Mile—the streets of Old Town Edinburgh between the castle and Holyrood Palace—at Christmastime. Quite traditional, charming, and popular. We’ve a large German community here. And for another excursion I can recommend Wynde Alley, a lane filled with curious shops.”
“I’m afraid I won’t have that much time for sightseeing,” Mr. Maxwell said. “We’ve got meetings tomorrow and—”
“That’s all right, Arthur.” Mrs. Maxwell patted his hand. “We know it’s mostly work for you. I’d like to spend a little time painting, myself.”
“Don’t worry. Edinburgh’s a safe enough city for the kids to wander, and I’ve a car if you decide to travel any distance,” Mr. McMorn supplied.
Timothy thought of the map. He needed time alone with Sarah and Jessica. “We don’t mind poking around on our own.”
Mr. McMorn looked at Timothy down the length of his long nose. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Now, who’s brave enough for a taste of eel?”
By 10:00 P.M., Timothy could hardly hold his eyes open. His parents had slipped off to bed, and from the other bedroom he could hear the girls chattering. As soon as the light clicked out in his parents’ room, he gave a soft knock and staggered sleepily into the girls’ room.
“I’m too tired to think about the map tonight.” Sarah was already lying down, and he could see her wiggling her toes under the covers.
But Jessica sat up, pulling the blue blanket up to her chin. “There’s something strange about Mr. McMorn. Didn’t you feel it? When he looks at you, it’s as if he’s about to swallow you whole.”
Timothy shuddered, picturing the serpent at the Travelers’ Market unhinging its jaw. “Yeah, there’s something off. When he looks at me, I can feel him on my skin like an insect.”
“He seems perfectly nice to me,” Sarah said. “Are you sure you’re not just tired? I know I am.” She yawned broadly. “Besides, Dad’s known him for years. If we had the Greenman’s leaf, we’d know for sure if we could trust him.”
Timothy looked at the floor. The boards were worn. He wondered how many feet had walked across them over the years. Why did he feel so guilty whenever the girls mentioned the leaf? How could he have known what the magician’s raven would do? Maybe he should have protected it better.
“We’ll just have to rely on our instincts about who to trust, like everyone else. I’m sure we’ll all make plenty of mistakes before this adventure’s through.” And Jessica slid down under the covers, but not before she caught Timothy’s grateful smile.
THE CASTLE
URING THE NIGHT, a stiff breeze swept the rain away, and long before Timothy was ready, the sun blazed into the small sitting room, waking him from a sound sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked out the tall windows. Before him was a rain-washed city of old stone buildings with chimney pots balanced on every roof like top hats.
No one else in the flat was awake when Timothy reached into his backpack and pulled out the map. He half expected that unrolling it here in Scotland would change the map somehow, make the cipher clearer, but it was the same beautiful old map that he had unrolled in his bedroom with the same puzzling configuration of forest, fields, and coastline. He let his eyes roam over the Ogham symbols. They were still indecipherable. Before he could give the puzzle more thought, he heard stirring in his parents’ bedroom. He quickly rerolled the map and slid it into its pouch in his pack.
“What a morning!” His mother stretched in her terry-cloth robe. “I think I found a little cereal in the cupboard for breakfast. We’ll have to do some shopping today, but after we see the castle!” Humming, she padded into the kitchen and set a kettle of water to boil.
His father emerged already dressed in a button-down shirt and tie. “Sleep well, Tim? I’m off to the conference while you go exploring. McMorn’s picking me up at eight.” Timothy thought he looked a bit wistful.
“We’ll find the good spots and take you back later. That way you won’t have to
waste your time on touristy stuff,” Timothy said as he tied the laces on his sneakers. Sarah and Jessica were still locked in the bedroom they shared. He could hear them laughing and talking as they dressed. Outside, the sun was shining. If there were clues to be found, he wanted to get started. Why did girls always take so long to get ready?
Timothy, Sarah, Jessica, and Mrs. Maxwell stopped at the end of Frederick Street and stared. There, like a crown set on a precipitous cliff, was Edinburgh Castle.
“It looks like it grew right out of the rock,” Sarah exclaimed through the red scarf that wound over her chin and mouth.
“It’s beautiful!” Jessica clicked her new digital camera, an early Christmas gift from her parents.
But Timothy said nothing. There were no words to explain what he felt. The castle set against a brilliant sky did look as if it had risen from the rocks beneath it. It was ancient yet alive right here in the middle of a bustling city. An icy gust blew up Frederick Street, and he plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his thick coat.
A breeze to snap banners, Timothy thought. In his mind’s eye he saw them flying from the turrets, imagined guards shivering in the winter sun as they paced the rock walls. It was a fortress offering protection on all sides. Any enemy would be an easy target as they attempted to scale the rocky face. Timothy thought back to all the stories of knights and castles he had read when he was younger. This was so much better. It was a true stronghold. He mentally added up fifteen Scrabble points.
“Timothy!”
He hadn’t noticed that the rest of them had crossed Princes Street, the crowded thoroughfare in the New Town of Edinburgh, where they were staying, while he was lost in his own imaginings. They were clustered around the statue of a soldier on a horse, a soldier with a tall, pompous-looking hat.
“The German Christmas Market’s down at that end of the street. For the castle it seems we just have to cut through the gardens and then up the paths.” Mrs. Maxwell hesitated. “Mr. McMorn didn’t say quite how steep the paths were.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. Just think of the views you can paint later.” And, leading the way, Sarah struck out across the gardens toward Edinburgh Castle.
By the time they reached the main gate, they were all winded. The paths wound steeply up the hill, eventually changing to a narrow, cobbled road.
“We enter by the portcullis gate,” Mrs. Maxwell gasped as she tried to catch her breath and read from the guidebook at the same time.
The gate was narrow, and the path that led to it was flanked by tall stone walls. Timothy had expected a wider entrance, like he saw in movie castles, but this made much more sense. A narrow gate would be easier to defend. Two heavy outer doors, the portcullis itself, and a latticed gate that dropped down to sharp points added to the security of the castle. Timothy nodded with satisfaction. This was how a castle should be.
“Imagine riding up here on a horse,” Jessica said. “The guards would probably watch you from the two little windows.”
“Embrasures,” Timothy said. “They’re narrow slits to defend the castle. You can shoot arrows out through them, but it’s difficult for an arrow to be shot back.”
At the mention of arrows, Sarah squinted up at the windows. “You’d have a nice, clear shot” was all she said. Timothy smiled, remembering her wild shot that had sent him tumbling from Gwydon’s back when the Wild Hunt rode.
The gates led to an open area that held an array of cannons. Black and shiny, they pointed north toward the sea. Directly ahead, a steep and winding stone staircase led to the upper parts of the castle.
“I think we need a tour guide to explain everything.” Mrs. Maxwell was already walking to the information booth.
Inwardly Timothy groaned. There were few tourists in the chilly December wind, and it would be so much better to be alone and imagine the castle the way it used to be.
“Look over here! You can see the whole city!” Sarah, her red scarf flapping behind her, leaned over the worn stone wall.
“I think I can see our street!” Jessica snapped another photo.
Timothy sidled away from the girls. He didn’t want to see the city as it was today; he wanted to imagine a fifteenth-century Edinburgh with rolling fields in the distance, small farms and forests marching toward the town.
“Luck is with us today—a tour starts in ten minutes, and it’s free!” Mrs. Maxwell joined the girls looking out over the city. “Just imagine what this view would be like at sunset. We have to go up to the next level to meet our tour.” She pointed at the narrow stone staircase winding up to the castle heights.
Timothy sprang ahead. The stairs, with no tourists in his view, looked just as they would have hundreds of years ago, the center of each step worn to a cradle by thousands of feet over the centuries.
At the summit were more cannons and a large cobbled square surrounded by buildings. There were tourists, too, but Timothy did his best to ignore them.
“A guide meets groups in the middle of the square. I suppose we just wait here.” His mother read from the brochure in her hand, but Timothy wasn’t listening. He was staring at the approaching figure of a tall man with floppy hair. The man was dressed in a blue plaid kilt and wore a dark blue beret. And in that moment, Timothy knew that they had come to the right place.
“If you’ll gather around, ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to begin our tour here in Crown Square.”
A few tourists began to wander in the direction of the tour guide’s voice. Timothy opened his mouth, but before any words came out, the guide arched an eyebrow at him and gave a deliberate wink. Julian! Julian the reference librarian from home was here in Edinburgh as a tour guide?
Mrs. Maxwell and the girls, still chattering about the view from the castle, crowded next to Timothy.
“I don’t believe it! Isn’t that—”
Timothy gave Jessica a swift poke in the ribs, and she cut off her words in mid-sentence.
“I don’t think he wants us to say anything,” Timothy whispered into her ear. Her curls tickled his nose, and he couldn’t help noticing that she smelled spicy, like cinnamon. He pulled back quickly and looked at his sister instead. Sarah, her cheeks red from the wind and eyes shining, beamed with excitement but managed to not say a word.
Julian began, “Crown Square served as the main courtyard for the castle. It dates from the fifteenth century and was built on the south-facing slopes of Castle Rock. The square is built on an artificial platform above a series of great stone vaults. It was originally known as Palace Yard but was renamed after the discovery of the Scottish Crown Jewels in 1818.”
Then he walked to a large basket set on top of the wall. He lifted it with both hands, holding it up for the small group of tourists. “A basket on top of the wall was used to signal that the enemy was coming. Four baskets set together on the wall meant the enemy was coming in force.” And with those words he again looked right at Timothy. There was no mistaking his meaning, and he heard Jessica catch her breath by his side.
Timothy remembered the feeling of being sought out by the magician’s raven in the school gym, and once again he felt exposed, as if the chill wind could strip away any sense of security. He realized he had missed the rest of what Julian had said, and he willed himself to focus.
“We are surrounded by the Scottish National War Memorial, the Great Hall, and the Royal Palace.” Julian gestured toward each building as he spoke. “The Royal Palace is where the royal family would stay when they were in danger. They didn’t like to stay there all the time, because the castle was extremely cold, so they usually stayed in Holyrood Palace, at the other end of the Royal Mile. The Royal Palace also contains the Honors of Scotland, which are the Scottish Crown Jewels”—and here he paused—“and the Stone of Destiny. It’s also called the Telling Stone, because it identifies a true king.”
Now he had Timothy’s complete attention. Sarah’s hand gripped his arm.
“The Scottish kings placed their feet on it during their coron
ation.” Julian smiled benignly at the group. “But there’s some controversy surrounding the stone, as you will see today.” He turned sharply and led the group toward the Royal Palace.
Jessica clutched Timothy’s other arm. “The Telling Stone. That must be your stone, the one you’re supposed to find. But would we have to steal it from the palace to keep it from Balor?”
“If the stone’s right there in the palace, why do we need a map?” Timothy wanted to hurry forward and perhaps get a word with Julian.
“It’s too easy. I mean, if the stone has always been here, in plain view, then why didn’t Balor and his friends take it long ago?” An anxious furrow creased Sarah’s brow. “And did you hear what Julian said about the enemy coming in full force? I think he was warning us.”
“Look, if we hang back here, we’ll miss something. I’m going to try to get close enough to Julian to talk to him. You two distract Mom or do whatever you have to do to let me get a moment with him.”
“We’d better hurry; they’re going in the door.” Jessica watched as the first of their group entered the arched doorway. “It doesn’t look like much of a palace to me, at least not like one I’d like to live in.”
The palace was symmetrical, made of the same rough stone as the rest of the castle. It had a square, crenellated edge on top like Timothy had made on sand castles when he was small. It looked solid and important, more like a fortress than a palace.
Mrs. Maxwell waited at the top of the steps. “Come on, we don’t want to miss anything our guide has to say. He’s awfully interesting, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, he’s interesting, all right,” Timothy mumbled as his eyes slowly adjusted from the bright winter day to the dimmer world of the palace.
“It was here that Mary, Queen of Scots gave birth to her only child, James, in June 1566.” Timothy listened impatiently as Julian led them through rooms of portraits and fireplaces, into Mary, Queen of Scots’ chamber, heavy with dark painted wood carved with thistles. A wooden shield of two unicorns with the red lion hung between the beams. Every time Julian stopped to speak and point out more information, Timothy moved forward, attempting to start a quiet conversation, but it seemed as if Julian deliberately made it impossible to talk. He never again caught Timothy’s eye and avoided any attempts at private conversation. Impatience gnawed at Timothy like a hungry animal. He couldn’t look at one more room!
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