Chapter 33
I turned around slowly, anxiously anticipating what I was about to see. My expectation was confirmed. Out of the hazy clouds a grey animal manifested itself, on whose back sat a tall figure. Now I also clearly recognised the metallic flashing of the boots as well as the iron spit. I turned around and ran down the road as if stung. Behind me I heard Dunter RedCap spurring the donkey on. As I ran, I glanced back briefly. The grey mount was rushing after me at a speed I had not expected from this good-natured animal. I was basically without a chance. There was no way I could outrun RedCap at pure speed on the road, so I turned and ran into the gloomy bog without having any real plan. Immediately I sank up to my knees in water, but I managed to get to the first grassy island from which a dead tree grew up. From there I carefully moved from grassy island to grassy island like a tightrope walker.
But Dunter followed me. He had tied his donkey to a bush, drawn the iron spit and was now hunting for me. Although he was within earshot, he said not a word. Only the scowl under his red hood eyed me tactically.
I panicked and increased my speed, jumping from island to island, from tree to tree. I realised that the white colour of the trees came from dried bird droppings. The black-feathered animals sat in the branches and cawed contemptuously, not caring about us any further. It seemed they didn't appreciate the intrusion into their territory too much, but they weren't scared enough to fly away in panic. Again and again my legs sank in, but each time I managed to free myself from the trap. RedCap had much more problems, as I noticed when I looked back. He was much bigger and stronger than me, his greater weight was a disadvantage here in the swamp. His glittering iron spit also had to be incredibly heavy. Again and again he sank down to his waist, but just as quickly freed himself from his position. As he did so, this red-robed demon caught up. I saw his face more clearly now, recognised anger, tension and also murderous lust in his eyes. I tried not to lose myself in unrestrained fear and to remain prudent despite the danger.
Suddenly I heard a strangled scream. RedCap had sunk to his chest. His iron spear lay half a yard beside him in the grass - out of his reach. In the man's once menacing grey eyes I now saw only pure horror. Dunter was scared to death.
I paused and thought about what to do. Actually, it was perfectly obvious. All I had to do was wait a few minutes until my pursuer sank into the bog. Buried under the waters of the swamp, he would no longer pose a threat to me. I looked him in the eye and cautiously walked in his direction. Still my pursuer said not a word. He neither begged for mercy nor cursed me. He merely sank deeper into the mire with every little movement. Now something strange was happening inside me. I had become a bad person - someone who had betrayed his friends - someone who had dishonoured bound women - an undignified bastard. Yet compassion now stirred in me. It would be easy for me to simply let my henchman perish and yet I felt an urgent need within me to save him from his impending fate. What was wrong with me?
My enemy's eyes widened in his wrinkled face. He knew that his last gasp had come and that he could not expect any help from me. At that moment I grabbed the iron skewer, turned it around and handed the blunt end to the doomed man.
Fear and horror turned into recognition and joy in the man's face. He grabbed the end of his weapon and pulled himself out of the mud piece by piece with his bear-like strength. It took a fair amount of strength to hold the spear, but after only a few moments the giant had worked his way out of the mud hole and lay panting on the grassy island.
"Why ... why did you help me?" he asked incredulously. He had his iron spear in his hand and I watched him rest while I clutched the gold-embellished hilt of my rapier, ready to bare at any moment.
"No matter who you are, no man deserves such a terrible end." I took a deep breath. Then I asked, "Do you still have the gold coins Fletcher gave you?"
Dunter nodded. "Aye!"
"A coin for each head, right?"
"Aye!"
"Give me my coin!"
Dunter reached to his belt, from which hung a mud-covered purse. He thoughtfully opened the lacing and reached inside. It jingled briefly, then he pulled out a thick gold coin and thrust it into my hand. He looked at me questioningly. He probably didn't understand why I didn't want to steal all his money.
"One coin for each head," I repeated my statement like a prayer. Richard's dirty laugh and Amos' heroic superiority came to mind. "No coin, no head, right!"
Dunter nodded slowly and seemed to understand. "Aye!" he said stretched.
I nodded to him as I rose. "Have a good hunt!", I said sombrely now. "Though I'm afraid you'll be hunting on foot for now." I pocketed the coin and jumped through the bog to the road as fast as I could. Dunter was too exhausted from fighting for survival to follow me immediately. He could only watch as I grabbed his donkey by the halter and swung myself into the saddle. The creature bleated unwillingly when I clicked my heels into its turnouts, but it made no move. Irritated, I looked over to the moor where Dunter had slowly and carefully made his way back.
I slapped the donkey hard on the buttocks and the animal sprinted off, making it difficult for me to stay in the saddle. I was back in the game.
Chapter 34
Two days later I had reached Edinburgh and had learned to hate my new mount. The stubborn donkey always did only what came into his own mind and never what he was supposed to do. Even the bumpy riding had been a pain. I planned to sell him at the next opportunity and buy a new horse, but the opportunity had not yet come.
Edinburgh was a hustle and bustle like a market day in a smaller town, here it was probably everyday life. The Grassmarket below Edinburgh Castle was filled with stalls hawking their wares. Smaller and larger stages were set up where plays were performed or acrobats showed off their talents. A few musicians were playing their instruments. The mood was cheerful and upbeat. I had turned my precious gold coin into small change and was now carrying a wallet full of silver pence. At one stall I bought some stockfish to calm my hungry stomach. As I did so, I chatted with the merchant about my destination.
"Far to the north is this Dunnottar," he philosophised. "A rough region, this Caledonia. What business have you there, my friend?"
"Oh, I am merely a messenger and have an urgent message to deliver to the commander of the Guard."
"The Scottish Guard?" the merchant asked suspiciously.
But as the man was wearing a belted plaid, I assumed I was looking at a patriot and answered "Aye".
"If so, you should definitely take the ship across to Kirkcaldy. It will save you a good week's time. You would otherwise have to travel via Stirling, around the mouth of the Forth, which would be rather lengthy."
I thanked the man for this useful piece of information and wasted no further time in the market place, heading straight for the harbour. With a bit of bad luck, Amos and Rich had also received this tip, I thought to myself. But there was also a real possibility that they would just stubbornly follow the map. No crossing had been marked on the map, that much I remembered. In that case, I wouldn't have a bad chance of outrunning them again. I would buy a new horse in Kirkcaldy and ride into Dunnottar Castle first. There was, of course, one small matter to consider. I had to find Mairead and take the letter from her, because without it I didn't need to show my face to the captain of Dunnottar.
Who was this little spy? She had not been a simple thief. She had merely stolen the letter from me at first. I suspected that she had been hired by the Guardsmen to cause us trouble, to increase the difficulty of the race. Anything else just didn't make sense. In that case, she might also be on her way to Dunnottar and I might have a chance to reclaim the letter from her. Sure, this chance was vague and small, but it existed all the same.
I reached Edinburgh harbour with the chime of the harbour clock on the hour. On the quay lay several large sailing ships with long rows of closed gun ports, probably concealing heavy batteries. On their masts the Union Jack waved majestically in the wind. The main part of the harbour basi
n, however, was made up of smaller to medium-sized merchant ships, which were loaded and unloaded in a hectic rush.
I asked the dockworkers about passage to Kirkcaldy and got only stupid answers. I took a closer look at the ships and tried to guess what their destination might be. The big galleons would certainly not act as ferries. Their place was the vast North Sea. I had to stick to smaller ships that would sail upstream or cross the Forth.
I soon found a brigantine whose sails were already hoisted. When I asked about Kirkcaldy, the wiry captain merely made a welcoming gesture. He was apparently not a man of big words. So I didn't hesitate long and made my way over the sloping plank aboard the little ship, having to drag the stubborn donkey behind me as if it were stuck to the pier. I quickly came to terms with the captain and he took me to Kirkcaldy for four silver pence.
There was soon quite a swell in the middle of the stream. The brigantine, which had to cross against the wind, was properly shaken. The stockfish in my stomach came back and before I knew it I was hanging over the rail, puking my guts out. The captain and his sailors were immensely pleased by this circumstance. I was laughed at collectively. After my complexion had returned to normal, I sat down on the floor and leaned against the railing. The sailors had regained some control and went about their work.
Soon we emerged from what felt like a storm. We inexorably approached the coast. I could already make out the spires and walls of Kirkcaldy and soon we were in the harbour. My initial enthusiasm for sailing ships had given way to a queasy feeling of disillusionment. Being exposed to such a swell for weeks on end was certainly not as exhilarating as I had always imagined in my youthful fantasies.
I said goodbye to the captain and, with the donkey in tow, looked for an inn where I planned to spend the night. I had certainly lost Amos and Richard. I was confident of victory.
The town was comparatively small and sleepy. There was not much choice of taverns. Only one tavern called 'The Wheatsheaf Inn' was still open. I entered the musty taproom and ordered some haggis. The landlord, a cowardly fellow with a red gag beard, informed me that he had neither haggis nor a room available. I would have to make do with the stable. Shrugging my shoulders, I accepted his offer and shortly afterwards shoveled a smoky-tasting, hearty stew into myself. It was no haggis, but it tasted quite acceptable. As it was not very busy, I went up to the innkeeper afterwards and asked him what I had asked so many passers-by on my way. "Have you seen a young woman? Red hair, simple dress and carrying a rapier."
"A woman with a rapier?" The innkeeper laughed harshly.
"Yes," I replied, disturbed, "she is even quite a passable fighter."
"Don't tell me you've been fighting with a woman? I don't believe it!" Again he snorted at the top of his voice. I seemed to amuse him deliciously.
"I won, after all." Offended, I held the piece of chequered cloth Mairead had used to tie me up in front of him as proof. "I beat her and cut her skirt into strips. That's what it looks like." The fact that the little landlord was making fun of me did not suit me at all.
But now something strange happened. The man's face suddenly lost its red colour and turned pale. "Where did you get that?" he asked almost fearfully.
"I told you. This woman was wearing a belted plaid made of this fabric. What's surprising about that?"
"Clan of MacGregor," the man said quietly and reverently. As he did so, he glanced around cautiously.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're not from Scotland, are you?" The innkeeper looked at me reprovingly. "Each clan has its own weaving pattern. That's how the men can tell friend from foe on the battlefield. The checks have different colours and arrangements. This red and green pattern here has been banned for twenty years."
"Banned? I don't understand."
"The MacGregor clan fell out of favour with the King years ago and was forcibly disbanded. Clansmen who proudly wear the symbols of their heritage are considered outlaws and can be killed by anyone who comes along without fear of punishment. A woman who proudly displays this cloth must either have a lot of courage or to be touched in the head, if you ask me."
My interest was aroused. I now knew which clan Mairead belonged to, so I also knew her full name - Mairead MacGregor.
"Does this clan have an ancestral home?"
"Aye. Originally, the MacGregors were based in Argyll in the Highlands. However, after their disbandment, they scattered to the winds. However, rumour has it that they have made a derelict ruined castle in Aberdeenshire on the banks of Loch Muick their new home. Quite bitter for a clan that once brought forth the first Scottish King, I think."
I nodded, thinking. "And where is this lake located?"
"Oh, always north. By way of Perth, towards Braemar."
"My real destination is Dunnottar Castle."
"Well. That's almost on the way, isn't it? What are you going to do with this woman when you find her?"
"I have to talk to her. She stole all my money and my horse."
"You have no money?" The landlord looked at me frowning and with a tense face.
"Yes, I do," I hurried to reassure him. I put a few pence on the table for him. His face relaxed, then he stowed the coins in his pocket and wished me good hunting.
When I finally shuffled into the stable, tired, full and satisfied, I couldn't believe my eyes. Two brown mares stood between the haystacks. The saddle blankets lying on the ground next to them carried the coat of arms of the Scottish Guard. They were unmistakably the horses of Richard and Amos.
Sleep was now out of the question. My competitors had taken the same path as me. The advantage I had hoped for was gone. If I didn't act quickly now, I could lose the race. I feverishly thought of a way to improve my predicament. It didn't take me long to motivate myself to come up with a daring plan.
It was not an option for me to reveal myself to Richard and Amos now. The right side of my face was still swollen and sore from the sneaky kick Rich had given me. The two of them were not sleeping in the haystacks, so they had still been able to rent a chamber on the upper floor of the tavern. I would seek them out and steal their own letters from them while they slept. Then, under cover of night, I would escape north with their horses. It was tricky and dangerous (a little vicious too, I'm sure), but I reckoned I had a good chance. They did not expect me to be so close on their heels. They would sleep guilelessly and happily. Richard has always been a good sleeper. I would make sure he had a rude awakening.
I tied up my donkey and went back to the taproom. The innkeeper was cleaning used glasses with a greasy rag.
"Whose two horses are those in the stable?", I asked him.
"Two young lads. About your age." His gaze examined my ferret's buff coat. "But nowhere near as shabbily dressed as you. They were in the company of another young fellow, dressed all in black. They went to bed two hours ago."
Another young fellow? Who could that be? My curiosity was aroused. "Which room did they take?"
"What do you want with them?" Like any good innkeeper, too many questions from a stranger made him suspicious. "If you are looking for trouble, you have chosen the wrong house!"
"The three of them are good friends of mine," I immediately placated. "We were supposed to meet here, so don't worry. I will simply surprise them."
The landlord sent me another brief suspicious look, then nodded. "Rooms three and five."
I quickly reached the upper floor via the stairs. Here a narrow corridor divided the floor in half. Why had they taken two rooms, I wondered. Rooms one and two came into my view. The numbers had been painted in Roman numerals and on the rough wooden doors painted with tar.
I strode down the corridor. The door to room three was only ajar. I pushed lightly against it. Without resistance, it swung open. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the pale moonlight shining through the open window, then I recognised Richard lying on the bed, his eyes wide-open and looking anxiously in my direction. He was awake but did not say a word as there was a thick gag
stuck in his face. Startled, I noticed that his hands and feet were tightly knotted and he could hardly move. The whole thing smelled like a nasty trap. I quickly looked around the room, fearing an attacker on my neck, but we were alone. So I strode over to Richard and pulled the cloth rag out of his mouth.
"Well look who we have here!" I tried to sound amused, but sounded snooty. "A Guardsman candidate who likes to kick his kind in the face."
"George, damn you!" groaned Rich. "Untie me. I've been robbed."
Seeing no reason to savour my triumph any further, I reached for my knife and cut through the tightly pulled bonds.
"Thanks, man!" Richard massaged his aching wrists. "She just disappeared. If we're lucky, we'll still get her."
"Get whom?", I asked haphazardly.
"Well, the redhead. She has my letter."
Suddenly I understood. Mairead! We didn't have time for extensive discussions now. "Where is Amos?"
Richard gave me no answer to that. He had only jumped up, grabbed his clothes and rushed out of the room.
I followed at his heels and had already unsheathed my sword before we reached room five. Amos was lying on the floor, stark naked and his head was bleeding. Richard bent over him and punched him in the face. Completely confused, Amos opened his eyes. "What is ... where am I? Mairead?"
The pieces of the puzzle gradually fell into place in my head. I strode to the window. A bed sheet had been knotted to the frame, leading down to the street. The spy must have used this escape route to get away.
"Where's my damn letter?", I now heard Amos' desperate cry. He was dressing and had noticed the loss of the document.
"Mine's gone too," Richard replied.
"We have to hurry."
Now there was no stopping us. We rushed through the hall, down the stairs, into the stable. Quickly the horses and the donkey were saddled, then we headed for the road.
"Which way shall we turn?" groaned Amos in despair. It gave me a brief feeling of satisfaction to see the great hero so helpless. I had to pull myself together hard not to bathe in this elation any longer. "We have to go north. Mairead is of Clan MacGregor and she certainly didn't steal the letters for herself. If she's on her way to her clan lair, we might have a chance to confront her there."
The Caledonian Race: A Pulp Adventure (George Glen Series Book 2) Page 20