by Anne Forbes
The Chief Constable’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you called up that storm? You can control the weather?”
At this, Arthur blew smoke down his nose and Archie grinned and nodded lazily from his favourite position in the crook of the dragon’s arm. “Well, some of the time,” he nodded. “When it’s necessary!”
“Like the handy mist that Arthur brewed up, eh?” Tatler smiled at the great dragon. He leant forward. “You know, the French are still in total shock over what happened to their fleet. It’ll take them months to get over it! Officially, there’s no comment but rumours are spreading! Rumours are spreading!” he repeated with some glee.
“And what about the French fishermen?” enquired the Ranger, who sat beside Sir James with Kitor perched on his shoulder. “What happened to them? I read in the papers that the storm forced them back to port and most of the boats lost all their gear and were badly damaged!”
The MacArthur choked into his pipe and had a fit of coughing. “Aye,” he said, wiping his eyes, “they got back to port by the skin of their teeth, I’ve no doubt, but I made sure they had a really tough time of it before they got there! Just to teach them a wee lesson not to meddle with the Scots in future, ye ken! I asked yon storm carrier to frighten the wits out of them, all the way back to France and, by God, he did a grand job. A grand job! They’ll not be coming back here again for many a long day, believe me!”
The Ranger looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t bank on it, MacArthur. Fishing is big business, you know, and everyone’s in it for the money.”
The MacArthur smiled and waved his pipe. “They won’t come back,” he assured him. “You see,” he confessed, “I … er, I added another spell to Arthur’s little bag of tricks when he went out to hex the French fleet.”
“What was that?” queried Sir James, looking a trifle apprehensive.
“Well,” he gloated, “I hexed their nets, didn’t I?”
“Hexed their nets!” Amgarad fluttered to keep his balance as Rothlan straightened in his chair and looked at Sir James in alarm.
The MacArthur sat back and looked at them all mischievously. “Ocht, it was nothing to worry about. Just a wee bit of fun!”
“A wee bit of fun!” Ellan looked at Rothlan helplessly.
“Aye, it was the funniest thing you ever saw,” he assured them. “You see, I got a bit bored with you all away on your adventures and the like so I hexed their nets and watched what happened through the crystal.”
“And what did happen, MacArthur?” asked Tatler, sitting forward on the edge of his chair.
The MacArthur’s lips twitched. “Well, at first they couldn’t believe it — but when it happened time after time, well …”
“When what happened time after time, father?”
“Man, were they furious!” reminisced the MacArthur, chuckling at the thought. “You should have heard the language!” He shook his head. “Dreadful, dreadful!”
“Father!” Lady Ellan said warningly.
He leant forward. “I’ll tell you what happened. They were out there for days, you know — days and days — and in all that time, they didn’t catch one single fish! Not one fish, not one crab, not one anything! That’s what happened! Every time they pulled their nets in, they came up empty; completely and utterly empty!”
“You mean … they caught no fish? No fish at all?” stuttered Sir James.
“Not one!” The MacArthur sat back proudly. “Believe me, they were swearing all the way back to France.”
Tatler gave a whinny of sheer glee that set them all off and even Arthur’s great body heaved with laughter at the completeness of their victory against the French.
Tatler wiped his eyes. “I wondered why the fishermen had it in for Marcel Bruiton,” he gasped, “and now I know! The North Sea fiasco was all his idea and by heavens, they were out for his blood. After all the demonstrations in Paris he’s had to resign, you know. It’s not official yet. They’ll be announcing it tomorrow, I think.”
“Good riddance to him,” opined Sir James.
“Ocht, I wouldn’t blame Bruiton too much,” the MacArthur said slowly. “Kalman used the crown’s magic to control him, after all. He made him send the French fishermen out in the first place and sending the navy in after them was just a ploy to distract attention from his bid for the throne of Scotland. And don’t forget, he needed French co-operation to have all those ancestral documents of his authenticated as well.”
Tatler nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he confirmed. “I found out just the other day that it was one of Bruiton’s chaps that verified them.”
“But Kalman wasn’t really Bonnie Prince Charlie’s son, was he?” frowned Neil.
“Of course not,” Lord Rothlan said smiling, “he travelled back in time just as we did and forged the birth certificate and all the other documents that he would need to prove his claim.
The MacArthur nodded. “I think it was the knowledge that you were on your way to get the crown, Alasdair, that forced his hand. His big mistake was to try and hurry things along but if he’d only waited and gone through the proper channels, the documents would have been authenticated eventually, for scientific analysis would have shown that the paper and ink were all of the correct period.”
“Anyway,” said Tatler, “the new chap that’s replacing Bruiton seems very capable and much more reasonable. I hear he went to school with Louis de Charillon.”
“In that case, I wouldn’t mind betting that the count will probably end up an ambassador!” muttered the Chief Constable. “Sooner rather than later!”
“Probably,” agreed Sir James. “And he’ll make a good job of it, too. But, you know, we’re seriously going to have to do something about him. He not only saw Ned Stuart going through that magic mirror but he also saw Clara and me demerging from a couple of pigeons.”
“What about a memory spell?” queried Lord Rothlan.
Sir James looked at Tatler and the Chief Constable. “I think a memory spell would be an insult to someone of that calibre,” he said slowly. “He suspects a lot and although he’s been questioned about it, he hasn’t mentioned seeing me at Moray Place that afternoon, has he Archie?”
The Chief Constable shook his head. “Not a word. As far as he’s concerned he gave Stuart the papers and left the house more or less immediately because he knew Stuart was in a hurry to get to the meeting and was late already. Totally feasible with no one around to prove or disprove his story.”
“What puzzles me is that no one is making a fuss about Ned Stuart’s disappearance,” said Neil. “I mean, everyone was for him! There was going to be a grand parade down the High Street. They even said that he was going to live in Holyrood Palace after he was crowned … but now …”
“Yes,” agreed Clara, “we’ve been looking in the newspapers and there’s no mention of him. You’d think the papers would be full of it!”
“Was that a memory spell, sir?” Neil said, bouncing up straight on his cushion.
“Not in the way you mean,” smiled Lord Rothlan. “You see, when the Sultan took the crown from him, Kalman lost his power and the Scottish spell, remember, was his. Now that it has faded away, Stuart will become just a vague memory and I doubt if any one will remember much of the ins and outs of the affair.”
“What about the house in Moray Place and the magic mirrors?” queried Mrs MacLean.
“The house didn’t belong to Kalman,” Sir James answered. “I made some enquiries about that. He rented it from an Edinburgh lawyer who has a holiday house somewhere in Spain. I went to visit him and found him a bit absent-minded, but apart from being totally confused as to why he’d spent a couple of years in Spain instead of six months, there seems to be no harm done.”
“And the magic mirrors?” queried Neil.
“Ah! The mirrors! Yes, I asked him about the mirrors. Said I’d noticed them when I’d been invited to the house and would like to buy them. He’d tried to return them, apparently, but as he couldn’t get in
touch with Ned Stuart he’d ended up sending them to the sale rooms to be auctioned. I checked up on that, of course, but the company that bought them seems to have gone out of business.”
“So they’ve disappeared?”
Sir James nodded and glanced at the MacArthur. “Maybe they were meant to fade out of the picture, I don’t know, but I have a suspicion that it’ll be the same with all the odd things that have happened, like the craze for tartan and the bagpipes. Although people will think it strange that they bought so much haggis, they’ll just think that they had a taste for it and eaten so much of it that they can’t face any more.”
“You’re right,” agreed Mrs MacLean, “the shops are selling off their haggis, shortbread and Dundee cake at very reasonable prices and, do you know, I just can’t bring myself to buy any.”
“I’ll guarantee that by the New Year, Ned Stuart and the tartan craze will have been completely forgotten,” agreed the Chief Constable. “People have scrapped it already. All they’re interested in now is Christmas shopping and what to wear at the office party. I see from the headlines in today’s Scotsman that the Council has gone into gear for the winter celebrations. They’ve already started laying the ice rink in the gardens below the castle.”
“Clara and I always go skating,” Neil said, his face lighting up at the thought of the days ahead. “It’s magic! They sell roast chestnuts and stuff.”
Rothlan looked over at them and smiled at their enthusiasm. They had already shrugged off the dangers they had gone through and it was a relief to him that everything had turned out for the best. He watched as Amgarad stalked in his ungainly way over to Clara and his great wings flapped as he scrambled onto her shoulder. He would miss her when they returned to Jarishan. But Clara would have Kitor to keep her company and his eyes moved to where the crow perched perkily on the Ranger’s shoulder.
The crow’s bright glance met his in sparkling gratitude for he knew that it had been at Rothlan’s suggestion that he should live with the Ranger and his family in Edinburgh. Everyone knew that Jarishan was the home of Amgarad and the eagles and, like Rothlan, Kitor knew that he would never have fitted in there.
And now he had a home in the park! Although he’d tried hard to tell them, neither Clara nor Neil would ever know the depth of the joy he’d felt when the Ranger had asked him if he’d like to stay with them. It was a dream! A family to live with and a home of his own; and not any ordinary home, but a home in the park — with cars passing backwards and forwards all day long and fast food on the doorstep! Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that such good fortune could be his. Kitor ruffled his feathers and sighed happily. Life could hold no more.
40. Tales of Fantasy
“Ah, yes,” the young assistant behind the counter said deferentially, “your tiepin, Monsieur le Comte! It’s all ready for you!” He picked a velvet box from a drawer and opened it for the count to see.
Louis de Charillon took the box in his hand and ran his fingers over the tiepin. Small and delicate, it had been beautifully made and although slightly different from the design he had submitted there was, nevertheless, a grace and elegance of line that spoke of the skill of a master craftsman.
“Mr Grant treated the feathers, Monsieur le Comte, with a special substance that will keep them from spoiling. Grouse feathers, aren’t they? It’s certainly a most unusual piece. Very striking!”
De Charillon clipped the tiepin onto his tie and, as he wrote the cheque, felt a sudden sense of well-being. He was glad he’d kept the feathers that his little grouse had left behind and had the strangest feeling that his new tiepin was going to bring him luck.
Feeling more relaxed that he had done in weeks, he paused to fasten his overcoat as he left the jewellers, for although the thin rays of winter sunshine bathed George Street in light, they did little to raise the near freezing temperature of an Edinburgh winter.
“My dear Louis, how nice to see you!”
“Sir James!” De Charillon’s face cleared. “How are you?”
Hands were shaken all round as Sir James introduced Thompson and Tatler. “I think you know Archie Thompson, our Chief Constable? And George Tatler?”
The Count bowed. “Your servant, sir,” he said, assessing him shrewdly.
“Christmas shopping?” queried Sir James with a smile, indicating the expensive trinkets that decorated the plate-glass windows of Hamilton & Inches, Edinburgh’s most prestigious jeweller.
“You could say that,” de Charillon allowed. He indicated the tiepin. “A present to myself!”
Sir James raised his eyebrows. “Very unusual,” he said, looking at it closely. “Grouse feathers, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” de Charillon looked at them all speculatively and despite himself felt a strange sense of affinity creep over him, “they’re all that was left of my little grouse before he … er, became an eagle.” And he knew, even as the words left his mouth, that what he had said was no surprise to them.
A flicker of understanding seemed to pass between the three men and Sir James nodded. “You know, I rather think we owe you a good lunch, Louis. If you have no other engagement we would be delighted to have you join us.”
De Charillon was not a fool. Although their faces showed no more than casual politeness there was a shade of guardedness there too and he sensed that this was more than an invitation to lunch. He fingered his tiepin and again felt that same sense of comradeship. It was more like being asked to join a club.
He looked at them and they looked back, waiting for his reply.
“Gentlemen,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I would be delighted.”
“Wonderful,” said Sir James, “the car is just over there. Tatler’s invited us to The Witchery so we’re heading for the High Street.”
“Nice place,” smiled the Chief Constable, “interesting name, too!”
“I’ve heard of it,” de Charillon nodded. “It’s full of old things about witchcraft and … and magic.”
Perhaps it was the grouse feathers that served to sharpen de Charillon’s perception but he stopped abruptly and met Sir James’s eyes in sudden understanding as quite a few things that had been puzzling him, clicked suddenly into place.
Sir James raised his eyebrows and, casting a quick glance at the other two men, smiled at the count somewhat ruefully.
“Lunch first, Louis,” he grinned.
“And explanations afterwards, eh!” added the Chief Constable.
It was Tatler, however, who had the last word.
“After all,” he nodded, his eyes twinkling at the totally stunned expression on de Charillon’s face, “when you think about it, there’s probably no better place in Edinburgh than The Witchery for telling faery stories.”
Read on for a sneak preview of Neil and Clara’s next adventure in The Underground City…
The Dare
“I got Brian on his mobile,” Jack Ellis said excitedly, putting down the phone. “He said he’d drive us out there this evening.”
“Was he all right about it?” queried his friend Peter, doubtfully. Jack’s brother was in the Sixth Form and had always been a bit of a stickler, so Peter found it hard to believe that he’d agreed to take part in their prank. But the fact remained that they couldn’t go through with it unless Brian did the driving.
“He thought it was a great idea … if we can persuade Lewis to go, that is,” Jack assured him. “Said it was time somebody took him down a peg or two.”
“Or even three,” muttered Peter.
“Where is this village? What did you call it … Al Antra?” asked Colin, whose father had only joined the oil company a few months previously.
“Al Antara, you mean?” Jack looked at him sharply. “Of course, I’d forgotten that you haven’t been there yet. Come over to the window and I’ll show you.”
Colin looked out over a scene as far removed from Britain as you could imagine; for the bay window of the sparkling white villa overlooked a lush, green garden fu
ll of exotic plants and flowering bushes.
“Al Antara’s a proper desert oasis,” Jack said with a grin. “Rolling sand dunes, waving palm trees, an old stone well, the lot — definitely as seen in the movies! Look,” he pointed, “over there, in the distance, at the foot of the Zor Hills. You can just see it. It’s not really as far away as it looks.”
Jack’s house lay near the edge of the oil-company township and as Colin’s eyes lifted to the barren reaches of desert that stretched beyond the garden, he picked out a ragged scatter of palms nestling amid sand dunes that rose in shades of brown and gold to the massive peaks of the Zor Hills.
“Got it,” he nodded, again feeling very much the new kid on the block; for although it hadn’t taken him long to find his way round the township, he knew he still had a lot to learn about the surrounding desert. Despite himself, he felt a growing sense of excitement. The set up here, he thought, was nothing like life back home but boy was he enjoying it!! School had turned out to be okay. He’d made friends with Peter and Jack right away and the only boy in the class that he hadn’t much liked, a pillock called Lewis Grant, was due to leave the following day for Scotland.
“Is it tomorrow night he’s going?” asked Colin, for Lewis’s father had been posted to Aberdeen and their house was all packed up.
“Yeah, his dad’s coming back from Bahrain tomorrow but tonight he’ll be on his own in the house with only the house staff to look after him. Roger told me that he’s really miffed that no one’s throwing a farewell party for him. Believe me, he’ll grab at the idea of spending the night at Al Antara. He wants to go out with a bang and leave everybody talking about him, so he’ll see this as his chance.”
“And you can bet your bottom dollar he’ll make sure that the story gets round before he goes! Lewis the brave! You just watch! He’ll buy it!”
Colin looked concerned. “You mean he’ll drive his dad’s car out into the desert and sleep there?”