Death in Shetland Waters

by Marsali Taylor

  His phone rang. He gave me an apologetic look, and turned his shoulder to me as he answered. ‘Macrae.’ A pause, listening, then he took several steps away from me. The conversation was short; he put his phone back in his jacket pocket and came back to me, head up, mouth set in a determined line. I looked an enquiry, but he shook his head. ‘Later.’ He went into the cabin corridor, phone still in hand, shutting the door firmly behind him. I waited, and watched.

  When he came out, he looked like himself: the eagle on its cliff, head high. Something had shifted in him, a decision made and approved. He came back to my side and leant against the rail once more to speak softly in my ear. ‘Cass, would there ever be an occasion when you’d have left your jacket lying around?’

  I gave him a startled look. ‘Lying around?’

  ‘On a bench, say?’

  My throat closed up. I didn’t dare ask why he wanted to know. I shook my head. ‘No. It’d get blown away, or slide overboard if the ship tilted.’

  ‘How about in the officers’ mess? If you came down to a meal, and just hung it over your chair?’

  Captain Gunnar was a stickler about that. ‘No way. You wouldn’t take salty overalls near that red velvet. I’d automatically hang it up as I passed my cabin.’

  ‘How about your hat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If it had been raining, then stopped in the middle of your watch, you wouldn’t take it off and lay it down in the nav shack?’

  ‘No. I’d stuff it in my pocket.’ I spread my hands, and repeated, ‘It’s automatic. If you leave stuff lying around aboard, it ends up swimming. Besides, there are too many of us. If we all left things lying around, it would be chaos. No. It would go straight in my pocket.’

  His eyes held mine. ‘Certain?’

  I understood what he wanted now. I drew a ragged breath, and tried to imagine myself in a court of law, my hand on the Bible. I couldn’t lie under that oath. I met his look unhappily, and nodded. ‘Swearing certain.’ My hands were tight on the polished rail.

  His grey eyes met mine. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I swallowed. ‘You have to do your duty.’

  Another long look, searching, as if he was trying to make sure I meant it. I felt tears in my eyes, but nodded, and put out my hand to touch his. ‘Mike has to have justice.’

  His hand turned to grip mine. ‘I’ll phone you, when I can.’

  His kilt pleats swirled as he turned. He went below, and this time he was away much longer. When he came out, I could see the die had been cast.

  The first bell of Nils’s watch had just rung when he detached himself from the team on deck and came up to look over my shoulder at the chart plotter. He studied it intently for a moment, then took a step forward to Captain Gunnar, standing at the rail and looking out over his kingdom. My heart chilled. Now, I thought, now.

  He spoke briskly. ‘DI Macrae, sir, of Police Scotland. We’re now in Scottish waters.’ Home, I’d said, back in Belfast. ‘My jurisdiction. I wish to inform you that a customs launch will come out from Stornaway as we get to a convenient point for the ship to stop.’

  I hadn’t expected that. My heart thumped. The captain gave him an outraged look. ‘This is a racing leg, Inspector Macrae.’

  ‘I regret that, sir.’ His eyes met the captain’s. ‘We will be questioning you with regard to the death of Michael Callaghan.’

  It hit him like a blow. ‘Questioning me?’

  ‘I’m sure that you will understand that we don’t wish to ask for an extradition order.’

  Captain Gunnar stood upright, giving him back look for look. ‘I presume you have the authority to enforce this ridiculous request.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Have you considered that you will be leaving the ship without her captain? You are putting lives at risk here, Inspector Macrae.’

  ‘My superiors spoke to your office earlier today. Captain Sigurd will take command of the ship as you leave it.’

  I knew it was justice, yet I couldn’t bear the expression on Captain Gunnar’s face. ‘You have thought of everything, Inspector Macrae. Am I permitted to know the evidence upon which you base this accusation?’

  ‘Forensic evidence, sir, on the clothes worn by the person last seen with Callaghan, and on the weapon used. We’ll discuss that in the formal interview, and give a full list to your legal representatives.’

  ‘Very well.’ He drew himself up to his full height, and spoke formally. ‘Until your launch arrives, sir, I am in command of Sørlandet. I would ask you to leave my bridge.’

  It was a customs ship, almost as long as Sørlandet herself, wolf-grey, with a blue-red-white stripe rising up her sharp bow. Captain Gunnar wouldn’t have the sails completely furled; we used the buntlines to haul them up, and let her wallow.

  He’d called all the officers on deck and assigned the gangway and fender party to their stations. The rest of the trainees were mustered into their positions amidships. Racing rules wouldn’t allow us to have the engine on, of course, but Anders was ready at his post, in case safety made it necessary. The rest of us crew assembled silently into two lines, braided hats under one arm, as formal as if we were on parade. Captain Sigurd, ready at Captain Gunnar’s side, gave a nod of approval.

  There were no handcuffs or extra policemen. Captain Sigurd led a salute as Captain Gunnar left the ship, head high. Gavin followed him, like a Highland retainer. He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye then, but I saw his face turn and his hand lift in a wave as the launch moved back from our ship and slid off in a double wash of white foam.

  We didn’t speak to each other as Captain Sigurd dismissed us. There was nothing to say, and I felt a separation between me and the rest of the crew that showed itself in furtive glances: a feeling that I’d known, been a part of this, while they’d been kept in the dark. We all helped get the ship underway again, then I went down to my cabin and lay on my bunk. Cat came up beside me; I buried my face against his chinchilla fur and gritted my teeth. There was nothing I could say to the others, no way I could explain. They would have to work the tug between fealty and justice out for themselves.

  The curtain rustled. It was Anders, with a mug in each hand. I swung my legs down and he came to sit beside me on the couch. His jumper was rough under my cheek, and smelt comfortingly of diesel oil. I closed my eyes for a moment, and imagined I was home on Khalida. Cat eased down into my lap and curled himself around; Rat put his paws on my shoulder and whiffled into my ear.

  I felt the mug being pressed into my hand, and opened my eyes once more. It was white drinking chocolate: the stuff we saved for particularly bad times. I sipped its sweet warmth and felt comfort spread through me.

  ‘It was the right thing,’ Anders said. He turned his head to look at me. ‘He killed Mike, remember. Murder must not go unpunished.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. Gavin had done the right thing, the only thing. In this human world, leaving justice to God wasn’t enough. But I wished it hadn’t happened, any of it.

  Anders’ arm tightened around my shoulders. I sat there, drawing strength from him. This was his world too; he understood all that I couldn’t say. Then he shook me lightly. ‘Now, you must drink up your chocolate, and stop grieving.’

  I drank, obediently, and the cabin came back into focus. My jacket hung at a slant; the green water of the Atlantic swirled round the porthole. We were making good speed.

  ‘Your ship and your new captain need you,’ Anders said. ‘We have a race to win, remember, and time to make up. You’re not going to let the Christian Radich or the Staatsraad overtake us?’ He took the mug from me, then stood up and held his hands out. I let him pull me to my feet. He handed me the stopgap jacket, and as I put it on I felt my strength returning. I was Sørlandet’s third mate, and she was going to come in among the leaders of the fleet, ahead of her fellow Norwegians, if any determination of mine could get her there.

  I took a deep breath and headed out into the salted air, to the slanted deck and tau
t-curved sails of my ship.

  A NOTE ON SHETLAN

  Shetland has its own very distinctive language, Shetlan or Shetlandic, which derives from old Norse and old Scots. In Death on a Longship, Magnie’s first words to Cass are, ‘Cass, well, for the love of mercy. Norroway, at this season? Yea, yea, we’ll find you a berth. Where are you?’

  Written in west-side Shetlan (each district is slightly different), it would have looked like this:

  ‘Cass, weel, fir da love o mercy. Norroway, at dis saeson? Yea, yea, we’ll fin dee a bert. Quaur is du?’

  Th becomes a d sound in dis (this), da (the), dee and du (originally ‘thee’ and ‘thou’, now ‘you’), wh becomes qu (quaur, ‘where’), the vowel sounds are altered (‘well’ to weel, ‘season’ to saeson, ‘find’ to fin), the verbs are slightly different (quaur is du) and the whole looks unintelligible to most folk from outwith Shetland, and twartree (a few) within it too.

  So, rather than writing in the way my characters would speak, I’ve tried to catch the rhythm and some of the distinctive usages of Shetlan while keeping it intelligible to soothmoothers, or people who’ve come in by boat through the South Mouth of Bressay Sound into Lerwick, and by extension, anyone living south of Fair Isle.

  There are also many Shetlan words that my characters would naturally use, and here, to help you, are some o dem. No Shetland person would ever use the Scots wee; to them, something small would be peerie, or, if it was very small, peerie mootie. They’d caa sheep in a park, that is, herd them up in a field – moorit sheep, coloured black, brown or fawn. They’d take a skiff (a small rowing boat) out along the banks (cliffs) or on the voe (sea inlet), with the tirricks (Arctic terns) crying above them, and the selkies (seals) watching. Hungry folk are black fanted (because they’ve forgotten their faerdie maet, the snack that would have kept them going) and upset folk greet (cry). An older housewife like Jessie would have her makkin (knitting) belt buckled around her waist, and her reestit (smoke-dried) mutton hanging above the Rayburn. And finally … my favourite Shetland verb, which I didn’t manage to work into this novel, but which is too good not to share: to kettle. As in: Wir cat’s just kettled. Four ketlings, twa strippet and twa black and quite. I’ll leave you to work that one out on your own … or, of course, you could consult Joanie Graham’s Shetland Dictionary, if your local bookshop hasn’t just selt their last copy dastreen.

  The diminutives Magnie (Magnus), Gibbie (Gilbert) and Charlie may also seem strange to non-Shetland ears. In a traditional country family (I can’t speak for toonie Lerwick habits), the oldest son would often be called after his father or grandfather, and be distinguished from that father and grandfather, and perhaps a cousin or two as well, by his own version of their shared name. Or, of course, by a Peerie in front of it, which would stick for life, like the eart kyent (well-known) guitarist Peerie Willie Johnson. There was also a patronymic system, which meant that a Peter’s four sons, Peter, Andrew, John and Matthew, would all have the surname Peterson, and so would his son Peter’s children. Andrew’s children, however, would have the surname Anderson, John’s would be Johnson, and Matthew’s would be Matthewson. The Scots ministers stamped this out in the nineteenth century, but in one district you can have a lot of folk with the same surname, and so they’re distinguished by their house name: Magnie o’ Strom, Peter o’ da Knowe.

  GLOSSARY

  For those who like to look up unfamiliar words as they go, here’s a glossary of Scots and Shetlandic words.

  aa: all

  an aa: as well

  aabody: everybody

  aawye: everywhere

  ahint: behind

  ain: own

  amang: among

  anyroad: anyway

  ashet: large serving dish

  auld: old

  aye: always

  bairn: child

  ball (verb): throw out

  banks: sea cliffs, or peat-banks, the slice of moor where peats are cast

  bannock: flat triangular scone

  birl, birling: paired spinning round in a dance

  blinkie: torch

  blootered: very drunk

  blyde: pleased

  boanie: pretty, good-looking

  breeks: trousers

  brigstanes: flagged stones at the door of a croft house

  bruck: rubbish

  caa: round up

  canna: can’t

  clarted: thickly covered

  cludgie: toilet

  cowp: capsize

  cratur: creature

  croft house: the long, low traditional house set in its own land

  croog: to cling to, or of a group of people, to huddle together

  daander: to travel uncertainly or in a leisurely fashion

  darrow: a hand fishing line

  dastreen: yesterday evening

  de-crofted: land that has been taken out of agricultural use, e.g. for a house site

  dee: you (du is also you, depending on the grammar of the sentence – they’re equivalent to ‘thee’ and ‘thou’. Like French, you would only use dee or du to one friend; several people, or an adult if you’re a younger person, would be ‘you’)

  denner: midday meal

  didna: didn’t

  dinna: don’t

  dip dee doon: sit yourself down

  dis: this

  doesna: doesn’t

  doon: down

  downie: an eiderdown quilt, a duvet

  drewie lines: a type of seaweed made of long strands

  duke: duck

  dukey-hole: pond for ducks

  du kens: you know

  dyck, dyke: a wall, generally drystone, i.e. built without cement

  eart: direction, the eart o wind

  ee now: right now

  eela: fishing, generally these days a competition

  everywye: everywhere

  from, frae: from

  faersome: frightening

  faither, usually faider: father

  fanted: hungry, often black fanted, absolutely starving

  folk: people

  gansey: a knitted jumper

  gant: to yawn

  geen: gone

  gluff: fright

  greff: the area in front of a peat bank

  gret: cried

  guid: good

  guid kens: God knows

  hae: have

  hadna: hadn’t

  harled: exterior plaster using small stones

  heid: head

  hoosie: little house, usually for bairns

  howk: to search among: I howked ida box o auld claes.

  isna: isn’t

  ken, kent: know, knew

  keek: peep at

  kirk: church

  kirkyard: graveyard

  kishie: wicker basket carried on the back, supported by a kishie baand around the forehead

  kleber: soapstone

  knowe: hillock

  Lerook: Lerwick

  lem: china

  likit: liked

  lintie: skylark

  lipper: a cheeky or harum-scarum child, generally affectionate

  mad: annoyed

  mair: more

  makkin belt: a knitting belt with a padded oval, perforated for holding the ‘wires’ or knitting needles.

  mam: mum

  mareel: sea phosphorescence, caused by plankton, which makes every wave break in a curl of gold sparks

  meids: shore features to line up against each other to pinpoint a spot on the water

  midder: mother

  mind: remember

  moorit: coloured brown or black, usually used of sheep

  mooritoog: earwig

  muckle: big – as in Muckle Roe, the big red island. Vikings were very literal in their names, and almost all Shetland names come from the Norse

  muckle biscuit: large water biscuit, for putting cheese on

  myrd: a good number and variety – a myrd o peerie things

  na: no, or more emphatically, nall

  needn
a: needn’t

  Norroway: the old Shetland pronunciation of Norway

  o: of

  oot: out

  ower: over

  park: fenced field

  peat: brick-like lump of dried peat earth, used as fuel

  peelie-wally: pale-faced, looking unwell

  peerie: small

  peerie biscuit: small sweet biscuit

  Peeriebreeks: affectionate name for a small thing, person or animal

  piltick: a sea fish common in Shetland waters

  pinnie: apron

  postie: postman

  quen: when

  redding up: tidying

  redd up kin: get in touch with family – for example, a five-generations New Zealander might come to meet Shetland cousins still staying in the house his or her forebears had left

  reestit mutton: wind-dried shanks of mutton

  riggit: dressed, sometimes with the sense dressed up

  roadymen: men working on the roads

  roog: a pile of peats

  rummle: untidy scattering

  Santy: Santa Claus

  scaddy man’s heids: sea urchins

  scattald: common grazing land

  scuppered: put paid to, done for

  selkie: seal, or seal person who came ashore at night, cast his/her skin and became human

  Setturday: Saturday

  shalder: oystercatcher

  sheeksing: chatting

  sho: she

  shoulda: should have

  shouldna: shouldn’t have

  SIBC: Shetland Islands Broadcasting Company, the independent radio station

  skafe: squint

  skerry: a rock in the sea

  smoorikins: kisses

  snicked: move a switch that makes a clicking noise

  snyirked: made a squeaking or rattling noise

  solan: gannet

  somewye: somewhere

  sooking up: sucking up

  soothified: behaving like someone from outwith Shetland

  spew: be sick

  spewings: piles of sick

  splatched: walked in a splashy way with wet feet, or in water

  steekit mist: thick mist

  sun-gaits: with the sun – it’s bad luck to go against the sun, particularly walking around a church