The King of Scotland's Sword

by Sir Steve Stevenson

  “I doubt that’s exactly what happened,” said Agatha. “It could have been dropped on purpose by our clever thief, and maybe it took some incriminating shots!”

  “I’ll go get it and see if the memory card’s still intact,” offered Dash.

  “Go as fast as you can, Superman!” said Agatha.

  He disappeared instantly.

  Agatha glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 5:15. How long did they have until sundown? The sky was already beginning to show the first tinges of evening color.

  Luckily Dash was as quick as his name. “I’m sure I can recover the images!” he shouted enthusiastically. “I’ll scan the memory card with my EyeNet, and we’ll be able to see the photos in just a few minutes!” He sat in the corner, fiddling with his high-tech device, while Agatha speed-read the rest of the statements.

  Granddad Ian watched proudly as his grandchildren worked. “I don’t want to disturb you,” he said, “but we still don’t know how the guests were put to sleep. Are you sure it was an anesthetic gas?”

  Agatha put down the notebook, thinking it over. “If we figure out how the substance was distributed, it might lead us right to the culprit,” she mused. “And we know this thief has done his best to mislead us at every turn.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “If we consider it carefully, why did he open the windows in the hall?” asked Agatha. “Maybe that’s another red herring!”

  “That puts us right back where we started.”

  She rubbed her nose furiously. “Not at all,” she said. “I just opened one of my memory drawers and remembered an article I read in a science magazine a few months ago.”

  “What did it say?” Ian Mistery asked.

  “A group of Japanese scientists was doing experimental research on anesthetics,” said Agatha as if in a trance. Suddenly her eyes lit up. “That’s it, I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “These doctors discovered a kind of powder derived from chloroform that acts on contact with the skin. The side effects include strong hallucinations and it only lasts a short time.”

  “How short?” asked her granddad. “Twenty minutes?”

  “If memory serves, between fifteen and twenty minutes.”

  “That’s it!” Granddad exclaimed. “The thief must have used this chloroform powder!”

  Agatha shook her head. “But where did he put it? Is there something everyone touched, except for Ms. Ross?”

  The question hung in the air as Dash jumped up, holding his EyeNet. “I downloaded the photos!” he yelled in excitement. “Let’s take a look!”

  Agatha and Granddad Ian stared at him in silence.

  “What did I miss?” asked Dash Mistery.

  As soon as the sun went below the horizon, Dunnottar Castle’s weary guests rose from their tables, eager to leave. They found Agatha and Dash standing in front of the castle gate with Granddad Ian, Chandler, and the two policemen who had spent the day outside the castle walls.

  “Don’t you want to know who stole the king of Scotland’s sword?” said Agatha with a wide grin.

  The guests shifted anxiously. “You’re not planning to keep us all night, are you?” snapped golf champion Cheetah Karp.

  “If we’ve waited patiently until sunset, it’s only to avoid the indignity of dealing with policemen and journalists,” sniffed the lady with the feathered hat. “So what are these officers doing here?”

  “I’m hungry!” shrieked the little girl.

  “The police are here to arrest the person who stole the sword,” Dash explained. “Then you’ll be free to go back to your homes and forget all about this long day!”

  Minutes later, they sat in rows in the arms hall, as if they were the audience for a play. The performers were four English detectives and a Siberian cat who’d arrived in a hot-air balloon.

  Behind them, a projector screen was set up to show slides.

  The organizing committee was even more agitated than their guests.

  “What is the meaning of this?” huffed an enraged Earl of Duncan, as Angus Snodgrass folded his arms, glaring.

  “Why are we all being held here?” demanded Professor Cunningham. “Was this your idea, director?”

  MacKenzie anxiously rubbed his hand over his shiny bald head, indicating that he was as much in the dark as they were.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please, take your seats. There are a few chairs in the front row,” Ian Mistery invited. “Now, I would like your complete attention!”

  At these words, everybody fell silent.

  “Good. Now the show can begin,” he announced, sounding like a TV host. “I’ll hand everything over to my assistant, the brilliant detective, Agatha Mistery!”

  All eyes were on Agatha. At first, she was a little intimidated, but as soon as she started to reconstruct their investigation, she regained her natural confidence.

  Her narration was accompanied by images from the detective school’s file, from Granddad Ian’s notebook of witness statements, and an assortment of photos that Dash projected onto the screen with his multifunction EyeNet device.

  When Agatha described the ridiculous visions reported to her grandfather during the interviews, the audience chuckled at each explanation.

  “What about the gunshot I heard?” shouted someone. “Can you explain that?”

  A photo of the little girl appeared on the screen. She was holding a balloon and standing under an imposing halberd. Her eyelids were drooping.

  Chandler moved between the tables to the exact same spot, and picked up a deflated balloon from the floor.

  “When she got sleepy and let the balloon slip out of her hand, it hit the point of the halberd, and burst, sounding just like…a gunshot!” Agatha smiled.

  Her explanation was met with a round of applause and she took a deep breath. The hardest part was just beginning.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen,” she stated. “It’s time to explain how you all fell asleep. There’s a certain powder that brings on a near-instantaneous sleep just by coming in contact with the skin, and all of you touched an object that was covered in it.”

  A chorus of voices filled the room, some angry, some frightened, some curious. Questions of every kind rained down at once.

  Agatha waited for silence before she continued. “Given the timing,” she began in the tone of an expert detective, “the only people who could have handled this substance are sitting right in the front row: the organizers of this event. Each of them has a motivation to possess the king of Scotland’s sword.”

  “What are you saying?” roared Snodgrass. His face looked red enough to burst into flames.

  “She’s making this up!” said Professor Cunningham. “There must be a logical explanation.”

  Director MacKenzie was shaking like a leaf, while the Earl of Duncan tugged at his kilt, affronted. “What a shameful accusation! An insult to my noble house!”

  Chandler stepped forward, with the two police officers flanking him, just in case.

  Agatha asked the audience to please remain calm. This was the moment of truth. “After careful analysis, my colleagues and I have discovered that there is only one object that each of you touched as you entered,” she continued.

  She turned around to pick up the evidence, sealed in a ziplock bag. She held it up to the audience. “It’s the exhibition program, which you were each given at the castle entrance at eight fifteen this morning!”

  Guests exclaimed in astonishment, hurling insults at the organizing committee.

  “But we were all asleep, too!” protested Director MacKenzie over the chaos. “Don’t pay attention to this silly nonsense!”

  Agatha smiled, concluding her speech. “Three of you were asleep, but one of you stayed awake and stole the king of Scotland’s sword!”

  She gestured to Dash and an unmistakable image appeared on the screen: Professor Cunningham, smiling as he handed programs to the guests. He was wearing a pair of white silk gloves.

  The young anti
ques dealer jumped up and tried to escape, but the policemen tackled him instantly, each taking him by one arm. As they handcuffed him, the alarmed guests made so much noise that Chandler ushered them all to the door, using his significant powers of persuasion.

  Director MacKenzie, the Earl of Duncan, and Snodgrass followed them, doing their best to appease their guests with kind words and apologies.

  The curtain came down on the arms hall at Dunnottar Castle.

  Agatha and Dash couldn’t believe they had caught the culprit of the craziest theft they could remember.

  But it wouldn’t be over until they had tracked down the king of Scotland’s sword.

  “Blasted meddlers!” Professor Cunningham hissed. “My plan was perfect, and you amateurs ruined everything! I can’t understand how you figured it out with all the false clues I set up to throw you off track…”

  Agatha asked the policemen to search him, then said, “Dear Professor, it was the very excess of clues that led us to you, including throwing Ms. Ross’s purse into that well. You took advantage of the time she spent making coffee, then sent her out to look for the permits just before the exhibition opened, so she’d come back and find you asleep with the others.”

  “Then we scanned all the objects you scattered around the castle, and didn’t find one single fingerprint,” explained Dash. “Your fine silk gloves implicated you twice!”

  The officers emptied the prisoner’s pockets and placed everything on the table. There was a snakeskin wallet, some loose change, and a bunch of car keys.

  Ian Mistery, his pipe clamped between his teeth, began searching the wallet.

  Professor Cunningham burst out laughing. “Search all you like, but you’ll never find out where I hid the sword,” he hissed. “It’s already on its way to my secret buyer’s private collection!”

  Dash looked at Agatha, anxious. If they didn’t recover the sword, he would fail his exam!

  Agatha advanced on the young antiques dealer. “That’s a beautiful ring, Professor Cunningham,” she flattered him, observing his hands in the handcuffs. “But it doesn’t quite go with your fine tailored outfit!”

  Dash couldn’t believe his ears. What was Agatha doing, complimenting this man? Was she trying to get the location of the sword?

  Suddenly he understood where his cousin was going. “Officers, would you please remove his ring for me?” he asked.

  Professor Cunningham tried to wriggle away, but the two policemen kept hold of him and pulled the large ring from his finger. Scrutinizing it carefully, Dash discovered a tiny electronic device on the inside. “Agatha, there’s a GPS receiver here!” he exclaimed. “What do you think it’s for?”

  She thought for a moment, staring out the castle window, as if reconstructing the scene of the crime. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed suddenly. “It’s so simple!”

  Dash, Granddad Ian, and Chandler stared at her. So did the police.

  “Why would the professor need a GPS receiver if the sword were hidden somewhere in the castle?” she asked. “And if he passed it off to an accomplice, why would he need to be able to track it?”

  “You little know-it-all!” snapped Professor Cunningham, attempting to struggle again. “Hold your tongue!”

  Agatha pointed her finger at the wall overlooking the cliff. “This is the way it went,” she stated. “The professor took the sword from the display cabinet, secured it to a flotation device equipped with a GPS signal, then threw the whole thing, including his tainted gloves, over that wall!”

  Dash’s eyes bulged. “Are you serious? He threw the king of Scotland’s sword off a cliff into the North Sea?”

  Agatha shrugged. “What’s the matter, dear cousin?” she asked calmly. “Just plug that GPS into your EyeNet and we’ll know exactly where it is!”

  Professor Cunningham’s furious shouts were all the proof they needed that Agatha had indeed solved the mystery.

  The next morning, Director MacKenzie came to congratulate Agatha and her companions for solving the case, assuring them that he’d already informed Eye International of the good news.

  Granddad Ian suggested they continue their trip toward the Orkney Islands, off the northern tip of Scotland, where strong ocean currents had pulled the inflatable raft with the sword.

  Dash and Agatha were delighted.

  The hot-air balloon trip passed quickly, with breathtaking views of the coastline. Finally the Mistery Balloon landed at Stenness, a village on Orkney’s main island, just as the police were hauling the king of Scotland’s sword off the kelp-strewn beach.

  The precious claymore was wrapped in a classic orange life jacket.

  There were lots of curious onlookers, but the authorities weren’t allowing anyone to get close.

  Dash was disappointed. “Don’t they know we’re the people who tracked it here? I’d like to get a look at that thing!”

  “Sorry, cousin. Looks like you’ll have to wait for the next exhibition!” said Agatha.

  Watson agreed with a loud meow.

  They all started to laugh, but were interrupted by the piercing ring of Dash’s EyeNet.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” asked Agatha, noticing that her cousin was staring at it in terror.

  “Uh-oh, what if it’s Dorothy?” he said, shuffling his feet. “What do I say to her? I’m a wreck when it comes to that heart stuff…”

  His grandfather smiled. “So you can face dangerous criminals, but you’re afraid of a pretty girl?”

  Agatha took advantage of Dash’s distraction to press a button on the EyeNet, stopping its incessant ringing.

  A message appeared on the screen:

  CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR GOOD WORK, AGENT DM14! YOU PASSED YOUR EXAM WITH FLYING COLORS AND EARNED AN EXTRA WEEK OF VACATION. EXCEPT FROM MISSIONS.

  Dash stared at the screen with eyes full of joy.

  “Come on, vacation boy. Let’s take a walk!” Agatha suggested. Dash, Chandler, and Granddad Ian fell into step behind her, trailed by a bounding Watson.

  “Do you know how lucky we are?” said Agatha. “There are ancient, megalithic stones right here in Stenness. Look at that one there, it’s over sixteen feet tall!”

  The group gathered around a tall boulder, one of a large circle of standing stones that reminded them all of Stonehenge.

  Agatha, always eager to learn something new, stopped to study the stones’ ancient runes. While she made notes in her notebook, Granddad Ian and Chandler chattered about the beautiful countryside.

  Dash had been silent for a long time, staring down at his feet. Suddenly he grabbed Agatha’s shoulder. “I need help!” he cried, agitated. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “What’s the matter, dear cousin?”

  He shook his head, embarrassed. “I promised Dorothy I’d call her, but I don’t have a clue what to say!”

  “What’s Dorothy like?” asked Agatha.

  “She’s really cool. Funny, smart, and, um, totally gorgeous.” Dash flushed bright red. “Her real name is Aileen,” he explained. “When we were little, everyone called her ‘Dorothy’ because she always dressed like the girl from The Wizard of Oz, you know…blue pinafore, ruby slippers…”

  Agatha thought it over. “Sounds to me like she’s a romantic, dreamy sort of girl,” she mused. “If you ask me, you should flirt with her, old-school.”

  “What do you mean?” Dash looked completely stressed, massaging his forehead as if he had the world’s biggest headache.

  “Skip the technology. No phone calls, no email, no texting,” said Agatha. “Try surprising your sweetheart with a handwritten postcard from the Orkney Islands…You’ll see, it’ll make her think you’re really interesting.”

  “You really think that’ll work on Dorothy?”

  “I’m positive!” said Agatha. “Girls love it when guys make an effort.” Then she added, “And stop calling her ‘Dorothy.’ Her name is Aileen!”

  “You’re right, I need to remember!” Dash nodded.


  He ran to a nearby souvenir shop and came back with a postcard depicting the beautiful landscape in front of them. “What should I write?” he asked, panting.

  “Sit down, contemplate the view, and look for words that come right from your heart. Just tell her what you’re looking at—and that you wish she could see it, too.”

  He followed her instructions to the letter. Ten minutes later, he stood up, finished.

  “Can you please read it?” he asked. “I don’t think I’m much of a writer.”

  Agatha turned away. “Are you kidding me? Some things are private. Go mail that postcard. I don’t want to know anything about it!”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he joked, feeling cheerful again.

  He ran back to the shop and dropped the postcard into the mailbox. “I’ll conquer your heart, Aileen,” he whispered, blissfully imagining their next candlelit meal.

  Too bad he’d forgotten to put on a stamp…

  High above the streets of London, the orange rays of a spectacular sunset blazed through a tangle of high-tech wires and houseplants into Dashiell Mistery’s penthouse atop Baker Palace. The blinding light hid the mess in the living room as its sole occupant dedicated himself to doing what he did best: making an even bigger mess.

  Tall and lanky, with black hair that always flopped over his forehead, fourteen-year-old Dash was multitasking on seven computers at once: blaring rock music from iTunes, talking to friends on chat, opening a dozen web pages simultaneously, and—most important of all—installing new software for his EyeNet, the state-of-the-art device given to students at the detective school he attended.

  Nearly hidden by pizza boxes and socks, the precious titanium instrument vibrated with high-speed downloads. Every so often, Dash checked to make sure that it was updating smoothly. The new programs would allow him to view microfilm from anywhere in the world, connect wirelessly to other EyeNets, and track the movement of satellites in real time. The aspiring detective couldn’t wait to try out these exciting new features during an investigation.