by Ian Cook
“Ah yes, the flower of the toromiro tree,” he said.
“And do you remember the beautiful scent of the Angels’ Trumpets?”
“It must be one of the most powerful scents in the world,” he said. “Unforgettable.”
“I’ll never forget that moment, Jim. Do you have to go? Couldn’t you stay a little longer?”
“You know Larry is presenting tomorrow, and I’m the coauthor. I have to be on the ball for questions.”
Rebecca nodded and took her hand away.
Jim kissed her again, stood up and tucked in his shirt.
As he left, closing the door quietly behind him, she lay back contentedly on the bed and passed out.
CHAPTER 41
The University of the East of Scotland lay on the outskirts of Aberdeen in the grounds of a former stately home, now used as the administration centre. Built in the 1960s during a flush of expansion of higher education, the buildings were now decidedly run down, shabby and in need of renovation. Buildings that housed the various faculties were dotted around the campus and served by the university library and the conference centre.
The main lecture room in the conference centre was light and airy, 60’s style, but spartanly furnished to the extent that delegates were obliged to sit on bare wooden chairs. After a three hour session, the twitching of bodies trying to find a comfortable position was noticeable and increasing.
The conference in progress was entitled ‘Ancient civilisations and migration patterns: the archaeological evidence’. Larry’s own paper was listed in the programme as ‘Recent advances in the understanding of monumental architecture on Rapa Nui’. His presentation, the last before lunch, was well attended.
Larry was an accomplished speaker. He did not use notes, preferring to speak with the help of slides. He was now drawing to a close and was in the process of summarising.
Jim, as co-author, was seated in the front row. Rebecca was seated behind him, notebook in hand, looking noticeably blearyeyed.
In the middle of the audience, in a smart business suit and tie, sat Dr Neferatu. If anything, he looked even older and more haggard than the day before, and yet his keen interest in Larry’s presentation was clearly evident as he stared at the screen. His hand, clutching a pen, was poised over a large white pad.
On the screen was a map of the world, with dotted lines indicating migration routes across the oceans. Larry stepped back from the screen, put his pointer down and went up to the lectern.
“In conclusion, our findings strongly endorse the migration theories of Dr Heyerdahl. These are supported by the striking similarities in monumental architecture stretching from the Indus Valley, across islands in the Indian Ocean, to Mesopotamia and the Middle East. Then over Europe, across the Atlantic to Central America, down to Lake Titicaca in Peru and hence over the Pacific Ocean, to Easter Island. Heyerdahl, of course, makes reference to one racial feature in particular, which is found in all these places – people with red hair.”
Larry swept his eyes over his audience before delivering his concluding words. “Genetic evidence may support the alternative theory of a migration to Easter Island from Polynesia, but even the geneticists themselves are very careful not to jump to conclusions. Ladies and Gentlemen, the jury is still out.”
The session chairman strode over to the lectern. “Provocative as ever, Professor Burton. I’m sure there are going to be some questions. Yes, sir.” He pointed over to Dr Neferatu, who had immediately put his hand up.
Dr Neferatu ignored the proffered microphone, stood up and cleared his throat to speak. “Do you see connections between people with red hair on Easter Island and here in Scotland?”
“It’s a bit beyond my field, Dr Neferatu,” answered Larry, “but red hair was always associated with the Phoenicians, and certainly the Phoenicians were adventurous sailors. They are recorded as going right around Africa. The Carthaginians – who were of the same stock, incidentally – themselves sailed to Cornwall where they bought locally mined tin. And here’s a strange thing. Yesterday I crossed a river – the Gadie Burn – at Insch. Gadir, very similar, was the name of a Phoenician settlement in southwest Spain, better known nowadays, of course, as Cadiz. So you see, there could be even more connections than those we know about.”
The chairman stepped in quickly, hoping to move on to something less speculative and closer to the subject of the lecture. The next question was on architectural comparisons between buildings on the Marquesas Islands and those of Easter Island.
But Dr Neferatu was writing fast and furiously in his notebook. His elaborate notes and artistic flourishes caught the attention of a young student seated next to him. They were written in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
CHAPTER 42
In the afternoon, Jim sat on the bed in his hotel room, studying the notes he had taken during the morning presentations and typing intermittently into his laptop. There was a gentle knock on the door.
It was Rebecca standing there, looking forlorn and sorry for herself.
“Hello,” he said, “you’re the last person I’d have expected. Thought you’d still be sleeping it off.”
“Sorry I didn’t make breakfast or lunch.”
“I didn’t even see you in the coffee break.”
“I know, but I did make it for the paper. It was really useful. I’m still thinking about everything Larry said. Can I come in, please?”
“Sure,” he said, and opened the door wider.
She entered apprehensively, perched on an uncomfortable looking chair and smiled apologetically.
“Jim – I’m really sorry to be so much trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last night. I don’t usually drink so much.”
“I was a bit surprised,” he said. “I didn’t think you were a drinker. Anyway, I always thought journos could take their booze. All part of the job, so to speak.”
“I told you, I don’t normally drink. You know what I’ve been through. It must have all caught up with me.”
“Well, I do admit the sax was something else. That was the big surprise. You were amazing. Really. Nobody was expecting that.”
“I was terribly drunk. I can’t even remember exactly what happened. Just remember you helping me back to my room. I’m really sorry. I think all this red hair business is beginning to get to me. Sometimes I feel I’m not like other people – like part of an entirely different race.”
“I can understand that. But people who stand out tend to be picked on.”
Rebecca felt upset at first. Somehow she was not getting the sympathy she had expected. Then she flared.
“Picked on! It’s a bit more than being picked on, you know. We’re being murdered! People are disappearing, in case you hadn’t noticed. Right here too!”
Jim appeared unmoved. “No bodies, though. And anyway, whoever disappears around here, there’s a good possibility they’ll have red hair.” He ignored her look of incredulity. “I’m sorry, but it’s a national feature, isn’t? Look around. More than ten percent of Scots have red hair. And even if they aren’t redheads themselves, there’s an excellent chance their children will have red hair. It’s all down to a recessive gene. Red hair isn’t that special, you know.”
Rebecca flushed. “Crap! And you’re a scientist! Look at the facts! Can’t you see how many cases there are now? Not just in Scotland.” She counted on her fingers. “Six murders on Easter Island, including poor Señor Nata. You haven’t forgotten him have you? And more in the South Pacific. Eight disappearances in Scotland – that’s what they said in the shop. God only knows what’s going on in the Middle East.”
“Oh, come on,” Jim interrupted. “That doesn’t exactly make it a global epidemic.”
Rebecca stood up and made for the door. “Give me the car keys for an hour, will you? I’m going out to ask some more questions.”
Jim looked at her in surprise, hesitating a moment before passing her the keys. “What, now? Can’t you stop nosing ar
ound and just mind your own business for five minutes?”
She spun round. “Look, Jim, it’s my job, finding out things. I’m a journalist. And it bloody well is my business now, in case you haven’t noticed. My hair’s the wrong colour and I’m scared. I thought you liked me. I thought you were on my side. Now I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?”
Rebecca looked at him dismissively. “To do some more ‘nosing around’ as you put it so charmingly,” she said, slamming the door behind her.
She had just started down the corridor when her phone rang.
“Hi, Sy.” She listened briefly and then cut in. “Yeah, fine. Tell you what – can I see you a bit later? I’ve just got to go out for a minute. I’ll be back soon.” She shoved her phone back in her handbag and made her way out to the car park.
CHAPTER 43
Jim looked at the closed door and then shrugged his shoulders. I’m not quite sure I need this, he said to himself.
Trying to collect his thoughts together, he sat down again at his laptop. He had barely started typing, when there was another knock at the door. “Jesus,” he muttered in irritation.
Half-expecting to see an apologetic Rebecca again, he opened the door to see instead an attractive girl with classic Indian good looks, dark brown hair and large brown eyes.
“Jim Cavendish?” she smiled. “I’m Syreeta Dasgupta. You don’t know me. I’m a friend of Rebecca – from the Metropolitan.”
He half-smiled back. “Yes?”
“Could I talk to you for a minute? I’m a bit worried about her. I was wondering if she’s all right.” Jim’s expression gave little away. “Can I come in?” asked Syreeta.
“Sure, sure – come on in. Why not?” said Jim, standing back and holding the door open.
Syreeta entered and put her large Prada handbag down on a table next to his laptop.
“Well, funnily enough, I did think she was a bit on edge this evening,” he offered. “But didn’t you just see her? She’s only just left here a minute ago.”
“Do you know where she was going?”
“No, she didn’t say. I think she’s nosing around some place. Don’t ask me where.”
“Well, that’s what she’s here for.”
“I know, I know – it’s your job, going into everything, following everything up. But sometimes I think you lot just blow everything out of proportion and get yourselves, and everyone else, into a mess. Anyway, I just wish she’d give it a break for a while.”
Syreeta smiled again. “Do you mind if I sit down?” she said, edging towards a chair.
“Please,” he said, with an air of tired resignation.
At that point his mobile rang.
“Greg Ryan here, Jim. How yer keepin’?”
A broad grin spread over Jim’s face. He mouthed “Sorry” to Syreeta. Greg was a friend and colleague from the Space Weather Prediction Center in Boulder, Colorado.
“Fine, Greg. Thanks for phoning back. Something I wanted to check with you. I saw the Northern Lights a couple of weeks ago. They were suddenly visible as far south as Scotland. And then, a few days ago, we were on Easter Island, and lo and behold, we could see the Southern Lights from there – and that’s a long way north of the Antarctic. What do you reckon is happening? I checked in our department, and they’re saying the Earth’s magnetic field might be getting weaker – in some places at least. Including Scotland, funnily enough. But they’re still looking into it and don’t want to make any announcements until they get a better idea of what’s going on. It’s the sort of thing that could lead to a media panic. I said I’d have a word with you.”
“No, they’re right,” said Greg. “There is something funny going on. We’ve had a report in from Hawaii. They picked the weakening up there – and a few other places in the South Pacific. I’m not surprised you saw the lights in Easter Island. We’re monitoring these events all very closely. Let’s hope it’s just a blip.”
“Let’s hope. I mean, if there’s a big rise in solar radiation getting through, it could cause all sorts of problems. Skin cancers might be just the least of it.”
“Not only that,” said Greg. “You know what happened the last time the field weakened, don’t you? In a big way, I mean?”
“In a big way? You mean like the last time, when the Earth’s magnetic field completely switched over? A pole reversal. Surely you don’t think that’s likely?”
“Of course, you know the Earth’s magnetic field’s been getting weaker for the last two thousand years? Since the time of Julius Caesar, in fact,” said Greg. “We could be due for another switch.”
“I’m beginning to see what you’re getting at,” said Jim. He paused for a moment. “I mean, compasses will all be pointing the wrong way to the South Pole instead of the North Pole – that sort of thing. Chaotic for planes and shipping. Animal migration patterns would be affected, of course.” He paused again. “Oddly enough, I think I might have witnessed that – with some birds in Orkney. They suddenly changed direction, mid-flight. I couldn’t be sure, though – they may have been scared by an eagle.”
“The other thing is the possible effects on humans,” said Greg. “We just don’t know how much this could affect people and their lives.”
“You mean the magnetic change could affect people’s personalities, or something like that?”
“Who can tell? Who knows how far it could go? It’s all unknown territory. We’ll just have to wait and see. No panic yet, but I’ll keep you posted.”
“Well, thanks for the warning,” Jim said. “I’m actually in Scotland at the moment, giving a paper.”
“Keep me posted about what is happening over there,” said Greg, and he rang off.
“That sounded like an interesting conversation,” said Syreeta.
CHAPTER 44
It was raining heavily by the time Rebecca got to Insch. She parked the car in front of the village shop and ran to the door. The shopkeeper was tidying the magazines in a rack, and Rebecca noticed the old lady was there, stacking tins at the back of the shop.
The shopkeeper looked up and recognised her immediately. “Hello, Miss. Did you find the Newton Stones all right?”
“Yes, thanks. No problem,” she answered.
“How can I help you?”
“Before we rushed off yesterday, you mentioned certain superstitions around here, about people with red hair?”
He looked wary. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss. Nothing personal, you know.”
“I was hoping you could tell me a bit more,” said Rebecca.
“Well, I don’t really know what to say,” said the shopkeeper. “There are quite a few Scottish traditions concerning redheads. You probably know about some of them. ‘First footing’ at Hogmanay, for instance. It’s really bad luck if a man with red hair is the first person to cross the threshold of your house in the New Year. Probably comes from the time the Vikings were invading. Could even go back to Biblical times.”
“Biblical times?”
“Well, Judas Iscariot had red hair, and he was definitely bad luck. Vampires too. They say redheaded women don’t die – they become vampires. It’s just myths, you know.” He opened a box of cigarette packets and started putting them on a shelf. “Anyway, you look healthy enough. What did you think of the Newton Stones?”
“I didn’t have much time to look at them, to be honest. Apparently there’s an inscription on one that’s never been deciphered?”
“True enough. They’ve been trying for at least two hundred years. One Stone is supposed to represent the sun – it’s known as the Sun-Stone. The other is the Moon-Stone – the one with the serpent on it.”
The old lady’s voice floated from the back of the shop with quiet authority. “Dr Waddell managed to decipher it.”
“What’s that, Mother?” the shopkeeper called back to her.
She came up to them. “Dr Waddell,” she repeated. “He came here to look at the Stones years ago, when
I was a little girl. Nice man, a real scholar. He said the inscription must have been carved by a Phoenician who came and settled here. I think he said his name was Ikar.”
“Did Dr Waddell say exactly what the inscription meant?” asked Rebecca.
The old lady looked vague. “Oh, no. I can’t remember that. Too long ago.”
Rebecca made a decision. “Perhaps I’ll go and have another look. I could take some photos.”
The shopkeeper looked concerned. “Better be smartish – it’ll be dark soon.”
The old lady came up close to Rebecca. “If I were you, Miss, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the place. People say it’s not safe. Some people have seen the sidhe there, especially when it’s getting dark.”
“What are the sidhe?”
“You know, they’re like the banshee in Ireland. They guard the Stones. Not that I believe in any of that, of course. But some people say they’ve seen them.”
“What do they look like?”
“Shortish, and really ugly. They have been known to attack people.”
The shopkeeper sighed. “Don’t tell her those old stories. It’s all old wives’ tales, Mother.”
“I’m just saying she shouldn’t go there, that’s all.”
“I was only going to have a quick look,” said Rebecca. She couldn’t help wishing she wasn’t on her own. And yet she was intrigued and determined to go back.
“Well, don’t stay long,” said the old lady. “And make sure you call in here on your way back. Just to let us know you’re okay.”
“I’ll do that, thank you. But don’t worry – I’ll be all right. See you later.” She opened the door, letting in the next customer.
CHAPTER 45
The car lurched and bumped down the pot-holed lane, as Rebecca drove through pools of water towards the copse. Parking the car, she was grateful that the rain had just stopped. Although the rooks were cawing, they seemed subdued, and a deep gloom pervaded the scene. Water dripped loudly from the trees and there were puddles everywhere. Rebecca ducked as she wove her way down the path to the clearing, trying to avoid brushing against the wet bushes.