The Legend of the Black Monk

by Nigel Cubbage

  Rebecca took her friend’s arm and smiled. ‘Laura, dear Laura. What about you and Rupert?’

  ‘Hey, that’s not answering the question!’

  ‘Quite right!’ said Rebecca softly. Their eyes met and they laughed.

  ‘Then neither shall I,’ said Laura.

  The small stream they had followed down now fed into an estuary between steep hills. Fifty metres along the shore was a wooden boathouse which had known better days. The dilapidated doors looked as if a strong gust of wind might dislodge them. Rupert pushed them carefully apart. Rebecca noticed a wheelchair poking out of some bushes. Odd, she thought, but did not dwell on it.

  ‘The Dewhurst-Hobb fleet,’ said Rupert, gesturing dramatically at a small motor cruiser. It was in much better repair than its surroundings. Drew jumped aboard and began inspecting the cabin. The others followed.

  ‘Looks pretty fine, Rupe,’ said Drew, nodding appreciatively. ‘Radio, compass, Satnav, all pretty new gear. Got the key?’

  ‘Oh God, no!’ Rupert’s face fell. ‘It’s in the envelope in the barn. I’ll go back and get it.’ A general outbreak of moans greeted this. He climbed back out of the boat onto the wooden platform.

  ‘No need,’ said Drew a few seconds later, emerging from the cabin and holding up a key in his hand. ‘Very trusting. Left in the ignition here. Shall we? Cast off, McOwan!’ He indicated the ropes and turned the key. The boat fired up first time.

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Rupert as they made their way out onto the water. ‘I swear I hid that key.’

  * * *

  The Horns of Lucifer were notorious, inhospitable islands a few miles off the coast. Close up, sheer-faced cliffs towered up out of the sea, black and jagged, gulls swooping and calling as they flew to and from high pinnacles and ledges. The only inhabitants were birds, the unforgiving nature of the rocks making them almost inaccessible for humans. Many a sailor had cursed the Horns over the centuries, as their ship came to grief against the razor sharp rocks. They had not earned their name by accident. The little cruiser ate up the distance across the calm sea. As they approached the islands, Drew slowed right down.

  ‘What was that comforting quote in the old Manor?’ Rebecca looked questioningly at Laura.

  ‘From Lucifer’s Horns we reared in fright,

  A watery grave by day or night.’

  ‘Let’s have a good look before we go any closer,’ shouted Drew, his eyes fixed on the islands. ‘Don’t want to be wrecking Rupe’s flagship on our maiden cruise.’

  ‘We’ll never be able to land!’ cried Laura. ‘It’s impossible!’

  As Drew began a slow circuit of the islands, Rebecca spread out a chart.

  ‘The biggest island is the Devil’s Claw – there!’ she pointed to a high, oblong of rock from which three jagged talons descended into the crashing waves.

  ‘That’s where the cave is, isn’t it?’ Rebecca nodded as Laura spoke.

  ‘That one is Hell’s Gate, making the one at the back Lucifer’s Eye. Billy Brough wasn’t joking about it being a scary place. Look at those waves!’ She pointed to great plumes of spray shooting high between the talons of the Claw. A shelf of rock ran between the Claw and Hell’s Gate, along which the waves raced at great speed before flowing out into the open water. ‘The Serpent’s Tongue,’ said Laura, watching the crashing water between the islands. There seemed nowhere obvious to land.

  Rupert laid another piece of paper by the chart. His Grandfather’s map. ‘The caves on the Claw may be accessible from the far side, which has the advantage that we don’t have to dice with the Serpent’s Tongue. I vote we take a look now.’

  ‘Worth a look,’ said Rebecca. ‘What d’you reckon?’ She appeared at Drew’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Hold on, it may get a bit rough for a while!’

  Drew steered the boat slowly round the end of Hell’s Gate. They were now in a direct line with the waves crashing through the shelf and out over the Serpent’s Tongue. The boat began to roll and was suddenly sucked towards the rocks. At once, Drew flung the wheel hard over and opened the throttle. The engine pulled them away in a roar, the sudden manoeuvre causing his passengers to grab onto the side to avoid being thrown into the sea.

  ‘Steady!’ cried Rupert.

  ‘Sorry, folks! But that was NOT the place to be. Are we all okay?’

  ‘Well done, Drew!’ said Laura. ‘Good job we’ve got you!’

  ‘Enough! He’ll only believe you,’ said Rebecca, eyeing Drew mischievously.

  Once safely clear of the Serpent’s Tongue, Drew steered them back in closer to the rocks of the Claw. There was a gap a short way along between two huge boulders, just wide enough to get a boat through. It led to a small stony beach. At the top of the beach was the darkened opening to a cave.

  ‘I guess that’s it,’ shouted Rupert at Drew’s shoulder, above the crashing of the waves against the boulders. ‘Can we put in, Drew? The tow is something else, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re not really going to try …’ Laura’s voice tailed off in horror.

  ‘We’ll smash ourselves to pieces if we catch the waves wrong,’ said Drew grimly, his hand on the throttle, ready to reverse the engines away from the dangerous rocks. ‘Days don’t get a lot calmer than this. These waters are scary. Doing what your Grandpa asks is not going to be easy, Rupe. Let’s see if there is an easier way onto this rock first.’

  Drew reversed and took them back out into the open sea and calmer water away from the surge around the Horns. He came out from the cabin to scan the rocks. After a few seconds, he pointed to a place further along. ‘That looks better. See that gap between those two buttresses? The swell doesn’t look anywhere near so bad.’ Back at the wheel he opened the throttle slowly. They began to approach the rocks again, Drew careful to point the boat into the swell so it did not catch them broadside and sweep them onto the rocks. He guided them into a small inlet, slowing right down and killing the engine at the last moment.

  At the end of the inlet was a low rocky shelf. Drew jumped out with a rope and pulled the boat close, before looping the rope over a lump of rock.

  ‘I’d say you’d done that before,’ said Laura, clutching her heart in relief. Rebecca jumped out of the rear of the boat and secured another rope.

  ‘She’ll be okay here but let’s not be too long,’ shouted Drew, flipping some fenders over the side to cushion between the boat and the rocks. ‘Tie her up real tight, McOwan. If she moves at all, she’ll work herself loose.’ He paused, looked back at where they had just come from, blew out his cheeks and gave a smile of disbelief. ‘I don’t fancy doing that too often, I can tell you. Not for the faint hearted!’ He helped Rupert and Laura out onto the rocks and they climbed up towards the opening into the cliffs. Rupert clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Piece of the proverbial, Drew! Like driving a tractor!’

  ‘Two caves come out here,’ said Rebecca, peering into the gloom under the cliffs. She pointed to where two openings led off, one downwards and one away up to the right. She produced two torches from her jacket pocket, handing one to Drew. ‘Found these in the boat. Good job somebody is thinking ahead.’

  ‘Grandpa’s map suggested ‘X’ marks the spot right about here somewhere,’ said Rupert.

  ‘You and Drew see what there is down that way.’ Rebecca pointed. ‘Girls this way, Gilmour!’

  ‘Ten minutes max,’ said Drew, eyeing the cruiser, bobbing up and down on the waves.

  ‘Meet back here.’

  Rebecca watched the boys disappear, turned and began to climb. Very soon, she had to switch on the torch to guide them in the darkness. The cave was surprisingly high and wide after the initial slope. It seemed to retreat deep into the cliffs.

  ‘How wide would you say the Claw is?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘Difficult to say … eighty, maybe a hundred metres?’

  Rebecca stopped and made a slow sweep around with the torch. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The od
d piece of flotsam lay here and there. After a few more minutes searching, Laura grabbed Rebecca’s arm and put her watch in front of the torch.

  ‘Nearly ten minutes. Better go.’ At that moment there was a cry from the other end of the cave, somewhere below them. They scrambled to where they could look down and saw the cavern open out below. They could see the boys’ torch.

  ‘Rebecca! Laura!’ The excitement in Rupert’s tone was tangible. Quickly, they scrambled down to join the boys. Rupert directed his torch to a narrow crevice in the rocks, above a pile of wood. At first glance, it seemed like an old pile of driftwood, a piece of which Rupert was brandishing triumphantly.

  ‘I saw something poking out of here and put my hand in to start rooting about. Look!’

  Rebecca let out a shriek. On the side of the slat of wood he was holding was stamped a black eagle, with a swastika on the tail.

  ‘Nazis!’ she shouted, ‘This must be part of one of Himmel’s crates!’

  ‘Empty of course,’ said Drew.

  ‘But wow! This is where it all happened, guys. This must be the cave he shot the others in.’

  ‘Is there any more?’ asked Rebecca, searching around with the torch beam.

  ‘Nothing we found. How about you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She held up the piece of wood as if to take it with them, before thinking better of it. ‘Best leave it here in case Mr Sky finds it and starts asking us questions.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll hide it from him,’ said Rupert, taking it back.

  ‘We’d best get back to the boat,’ said Drew. ‘And hope it’s still in one piece.’

  * * *

  The others had left the cave when Rebecca dropped her torch. It slipped and clattered down about ten feet of rock. She cried out in annoyance. ‘Damn! Go on, I’ll catch you up!’ As the others reached the entrance to the cave, she scrambled after the torch. She reached out to it and grabbed hold of it. She clicked it on. The light barely flickered and died, leaving her in momentary blackness. She felt around the torch to try and make it work. And then she felt a surge of fear. She stumbled and crashed forward onto her hands.

  ‘You know what ye seek?’ A deep, eerie voice from out of the darkness. Rebecca jerked her head round in panic, her heart hammering in her chest.

  ‘Heed my warning! Heed it! I have warned you before. I shall not warn you again.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Rebecca croaked hoarsely. All of a sudden the torchlight came on. Clutching it in both shaking hands, she swept the beam back and forth around the cavern.

  Nobody.

  Inexplicably, the torchlight died again. Rebecca held it up, shaking it hard. The battery must have died. The blood pounding in her head, she started to contemplate her next move, when she became aware of a dim light ahead of her. As her eyes focused on its source, she took a sudden sharp breath. A few yards away, a ghostly figure was standing in what appeared to be a man-made chamber, beside an obelisk. It was framed in the doorway of a round tower, beyond which was a cloistered courtyard. With a strangled, inhuman cry, the hooded figure threw itself over the obelisk, arms gripping round it, and uttering a strange, melancholy moan. Rebecca shrank back, terrified. After a few seconds, the light and the chamber and courtyard faded into darkness. The awful moaning died away.

  Chapter 16

  The Wreck

  ‘Come on, McOwan!’

  Drew’s voice reached Rebecca above the noise of the surging seas, as she paused to collect herself at the cave mouth. The others were in the boat already. She took a few deep breaths, trying to gather her wits together and make sense of what had just happened in the cave. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably. A second warning. She recalled the words of the monk in the graveyard. It must have been him in the cave. But why? And how had he got here … if he was mortal? Rebecca was not sure she wanted to think much more on this. She wanted to find a rational explanation but … first the woman screaming in the carriage, now … the Black Monk? And what was the significance of the obelisk? Why was he weeping over it?

  ‘Not sure I’m ready to share this with the group yet,’ she muttered. ‘Come on legs … get a grip.’

  She managed to slip back on board without any of the others remarking that she was greatly disturbed. Drew was back at the wheel and skilfully manoeuvred their way back through the perilous swell around the rocks to the calmer sea. Everyone gathered inside the cabin to discuss the next move, too excited over the discovery of the remains of Himmel’s crates to notice that Rebecca was preoccupied, for which she was grateful. They decided to head back towards shore.

  ‘What is that?’ asked Laura, standing next to Rupert.

  A few hundred yards off shore where more black triangles of rock broke the surface of the seas, the large bulk of a vessel listed at an unnatural angle.

  ‘Ah yes, the wreck of the Johann Sebastian Bach,’ said Rupert. ‘German cargo ship, foundered on those rocks in a massive storm early this year. They tried to re-float her but she would not budge, not even in the neap tides.’

  ‘Wrecks are great. Shall we go and have a quick look?’ asked Drew. Not waiting for an answer, he turned the wheel, pulled back the throttle and in a short time they were circling the hulk of the cargo vessel. It had become a makeshift home for seabirds, dozens of which swooped around the abandoned bridge and conning towers, perching on any suitable roosting point.

  ‘That’s it!’ said Rebecca, clapping Drew’s shoulder and spinning him round excitedly.

  ‘I knew something was niggling me! Johann! Of course!’

  ‘Make sense, please, McOwan,’ said Drew, gripping the loose wheel tightly. ‘And careful while I’m steering the good ship Dewhurst- Hobb. There are rocks here we can run aground on, just in case you hadn’t noticed what happened to that big ship there.’

  ‘Hook Nose said ‘our friend JOHANN’, didn’t he, Laura – not just ‘our friend’!’

  ‘And?’ The other three looked at her, still mystified.

  ‘You think he has boats for friends?’ asked Drew, deadpan.

  ‘Johann is German … for John. Laura, it was no flight of fancy and I apologise.

  You asked why Sky is so interested in the tape and everything. Well, you know I said I though he was an odd mix, when he was telling us off the other night … I think he is German. His manners, his funny pronunciation of certain things, the way he bows.’

  Rupert was staring at Rebecca as if scales had suddenly been removed from his eyes.

  ‘You are both right! Why didn’t I see the really obvious thing? Sky in German is “Himmel” …’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘No … you mean …’

  Rupert nodded slowly and emphatically.

  ‘John Sky – in German, Johann Himmel … what was the SS officer’s Christian name? Karsten, Karsten Himmel.’

  ‘Sure it’s not too obvious?’ said Drew, sceptically.

  ‘What is the connection between the two of them?’ asked Laura, agog at this revelation.

  Rebecca gripped Rupert’s arm. ‘If he’s still alive, Karsten Himmel would be a very old man by now, nineties at least, way older than Sky. But say he had a son in the1940’s or 1950’s, could be fifty, sixty … How old is Sky, do you know?’

  ‘Sky is Himmel’s son?’ Laura looked aghast.

  ‘He must be late forties at least … Mum’s fifty.’ Rupert shook his head slowly.

  ‘Bloody hell. A Nazi in our midst.’ Drew murmured, open-mouthed in astonishment.

  ‘On the tape the Admiral said Sky is not to be trusted, didn’t he?’ said Rebecca. ‘Did he guess something?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to think about what all this might mean,’ said Rupert, sitting down and putting his head in his hands.

  ‘Well, too late. We’re in it now.’ Rebecca was looking up at the wreck. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Unless my eyes are playing tricks, there’s somebody on the wreck.’

  The others turned swiftly. ‘Where?’

  Rebecca was conv
inced she had seen a light from one of the portholes on the bridge. As she stared, something dark appeared to flit across the glass, as if the shadow of a person had passed by.

  ‘There!’

  ‘You’re imagining it, McOwan. Where?’

  ‘If I’m imagining it, what is that?’ This time Rebecca was not pointing at the porthole but at the side of the wreck, where a small boat had been tied up to the bottom of a long metal ladder on the hull. ‘Somebody is on board.’

  ‘Probably just curious like us, nosing about,’ said Drew.

  ‘Bit risky isn’t it? Taking a boat through those rocks?’

  ‘Drew’s right,’ said Rupert. ‘But it’s time we were heading back. I’m likely to cop it from Herr Himmel when he finds out I’ve escaped.’

  ‘I’d still like to know who it is,’ said Rebecca, gazing pensively at the vast vessel.

  ‘Don’t we have to go near the monastery on the way back? Why not take a quick look there too?’

  ‘Why? It’s the opposite direction.’

  ‘Curiosity.’ Drew turned them around and opened the throttle.

  * * *

  Druids Rock rose out of the water like a giant whale. Its sides were inaccessible faces of sheer rock. Where the rock met the sea were the dark openings of caves. Atop the cliffs was the monastery itself, cold and forbidding.

  ‘Have you ever seen pictures of Bran castle?’ said Drew. The others looked blank again.

  ‘Och! Don’t you know your Bram Stoker, guys? Dracula’s castle in Transylvania? This is just like it! Sheer walls, spiky turrets. All you need is the Count himself climbing down the walls to grab us and take us to his lair.’

  ‘I’m sorry, he’s from the Scottish Highlands,’ said Rebecca, raising her eyebrows in resignation. ‘They don’t get out a lot.’

  * * *

  As the boat drifted slowly back into the boathouse, Rebecca’s phone rang. She jumped out onto the landing stage. ‘Hallo? … Oh hello! … thank you for ringing me back, we … yes, I – I … I see … yes… yes… okay, if you think that’s best … Yes … until tonight then.’ She turned to find three faces looking at her inquiringly.