Really Weird Removals.com (16 page)

We’re all in the living room, the fire’s dancing, crackling and hissing, and the rain is tapping on our windows. My mum and Aunt Shuna are sitting on the sofa reading books, my sister is watching
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
for the twentieth time, and I’m writing in my diary about our Shetland adventure. It’s perfect.

Well,
nearly
perfect. It would be even better if my dad was with us, instead of upstairs with Reilly, but you can’t have everything.

Suddenly, a horrendous, hair-raising noise comes from Valentina’s pocket. It’s the singing troll. I mean, it’s her phone.

“Oh, a text from Uncle Alistair.” I prick up my ears. “He says if we want to go see him later on, he’s got a
job for us. You know, for his pest removal business,” she adds hastily, for my mum’s benefit. A look passes between us.

“Great. Go see him,” says Mum.

We run upstairs for our jackets. I’m ready straight away, and dying to know what Uncle Alistair
really
wants, but Valentina is rummaging about in her room.

“I’ll just be a minute, Luca. I’ll catch you up,” she says.

“What are you doing?”

“Private stuff!” she replies loftily. “Wait for me in the hallway.”

“Fine, fine…” I raise my hands. As I’m walking down the stairs, I turn around just in time to see her tiptoeing into my parents’ bedroom, clutching a wooden box. I wonder what she’s been up to…

“What did the text say, exactly?” I ask Valentina, as we walk down towards Weird HQ, wrapped in our waterproof jackets, hoods up and hands in pockets.

“Not much. Just that he has a job for us.”

“Cool.”

“HELLO GUYS!” he says, as we walk into the living room. I don’t know how Mary, living with him, puts up with his volume of voice. It’s ear-piercing.

“Hi Uncle Alistair!”

“LOOK AT THIS!” he shouts, straight in my ear.

I take his phone from him. It’s a picture. A blurry picture of… a sort of dinosaur. Like those Nessie pictures – the ones that for some reason are always blurred and taken from far away. 

“A monster!” says Valentina cheerfully.

“Just don’t call him ‘monster’ to his face – he might take offence. He’s actually a very, very ancient kind of sea reptile. Cryptozoologists would call him a zeuglodon, or sea serpent.”

“So… he’s not a magical creature. He’s an animal, really,” I remark.

“Yes. That means that everybody can see him. Which is extremely dangerous for him.”

“Where is he?”

“At the moment, in Loch Brue.”

“That’s just down the road from us!”

“Exactly. I got an email from a Connor Moran, a fisherman down that way. He’s the one who took the picture. Not the best photographer, as you can see… There.”

He takes the phone back from me, pushes a few buttons, then he hands it back.

“Read his letter.”

“Wrong!” chirps Valentina. 

“How on earth are we going to do this?” I ask. “He’s enormous!”

“Not really. He’s only about nine feet long.”

“Still too big to fit in our van!”

“That’s not a problem. Remember Sorley and Mairi?”

“YES!” cries Valentina.

“Of course!” I say enthusiastically.

“I’ve called them already. They’ll be here by tonight.”

“Cool,” sighs Valentina.

I don’t say anything, but I’m so happy to be seeing them again. Especially Mairi.

Sorley has given us regular news of the mermaids since that night in Glasgow. They now live in a loch called Loch Glas, which is next to Sorley and Mairi’s home, and they are doing great. Sorley is always vague about where he and Mairi live, and the whereabouts of this loch. I’m curious. I think there’s more to Sorley 
and Mairi than meets the eye. They have
a lot
of sophisticated equipment, just for a start. And they seem incredibly skilled, like they’ve been doing this supernatural rescue thing forever.

“We’re setting off tonight. I’ll come and get you.”

“We can’t just leave in the middle of the night!” I protest.

“Well, we don’t need to say we’re trying to get a zeuglodon to safety. We can say it’s a photographic expedition. We’re going to get pictures of some animal that we’re more likely to see at dawn… white otters? What do you think?”

“White otters? Do they exist?” asks Valentina.

“Only in Tasmania. An albino variety. Still, your mum and dad don’t know that…”

“Might work,” I venture.

“No danger in taking photographs. Unless, of course, you fall into the water, eh Luca?” Uncle Alistair elbows me.

“Very funny,” I mutter.

“It’s Friday, after all. It’s not like we’ll be missing school. And it’s only down the road,” insists Valentina.

Everything
on Eilean is only down the road.

“Come on. Let’s head back to your place via the chip shop. I’ll bring supper over and speak to your mum and dad.”

“The chip shop? You’ve got plenty of fish here!” I say, laughing. Since Mary has moved in, there’s always a bucketful of fish in the fridge. The kitchen smells like Donald’s boat. She
is
trying other foods though. Last week, at ours, she devoured my mum’s 
home-made pasta. But then, who wouldn’t?

We walk out to the rainy street. Alistair strides incredibly fast as usual. He has very long legs and is always in a hurry. We struggle to keep up.

“So… how did the monster… I mean…”

“Sea serpent. Or zeuglodon.”

“How did the zeuglodon… get… into… Loch Brue…” I’m panting.

“Was it a fold in time?” shouts Valentina above the noise of the rain.

“No, this animal is very much from our time. It must have swum through an underground stream. There’s one that goes from Loch Brue to the sea. This is not the first time we’ve had sightings of mysterious creatures there.”

“Oh… wow…” I wonder what else hides in our lochs.

We have to interrupt the conversation because we arrive at the fish shop, its neon lights illuminating the dark street. As soon as we take hold of our warm, yummy-smelling paper bags Alistair is off again, at the speed of light.

“Quick, before it gets cold!”

“I’ve never heard of an underground stream on Eilean…” I manage to blurt out, scrambling after him as fast as I can.

“Hardly anyone knows about it. There’s a map that tells you all about this stuff… underground streams, caves, wells, fairy mounds, even a few folds in time, the lot. The Secret Map of Scotland. I’ll show you one day.” 

“HELLO! SUPPER’S HERE!”

“Oh hello, thank you! How thoughtful. Did they help you then?” asks my mum.

“With what?”

“The pests. The ones you mentioned in the text.”

“Oh, those! Yes. Yes. They certainly did, Isabella. This time it was ants. An invasion of Purple Ants. Nasty business.”

“Are they dangerous?” exclaims Mum, in alarm.

“Dangerous? No, not at all. Just… smelly. They let off a terrible smell when they feel threatened. Had to carry an air freshener around my neck. Cats love Purple Ant smell, for some reason. I had a few of them following me all the way home, trying to chew my trousers. But enough about me! Will I set the table for you?”

“That’d be great, thanks. I’ll go and call Duncan.”

Ten minutes later, we’re all sitting around the table. Yes, Dad too, believe it believe it not, like Aunt Shuna says.

“I’m hoping to steal your children again, this weekend,” says Alistair casually.

“To go where?” asks Dad.

“In this weather?” adds Mum.

“Just down the road. Loch Brue. There’ve been sightings of white otters. I’m hoping to take a few pictures. The first light is the best time to do it.”

“White otters? Does such a thing exist?” says Aunt Shuna.

“Oh, very much so. Truly interesting creatures.”

“All these strange animals… Valentina must be 
loving this,” smiles Mum, looking fondly at Valentina, who beams back.

“It just gets better and better!”

“We have a lot of fun, together. The children are… they’re great.” Alistair is looking at somewhere over my dad’s shoulder. I can see he means what he’s saying.

“When would you be leaving?” asks Dad.

“Tonight. Well, tomorrow morning, really. Before dawn.”

“Goodness. That’s early,” says Shuna.

“Like I said, the first light is the best moment to take pictures of that kind of creature.”

“Right,” smiles my mum.

“You don’t believe they exist, do you?” Uncle Alistair smiles back.

“Actually, I have an open mind. I don’t think for a minute that we know all that there is to know, or that we see all that there is to see.” A look of mutual affection passes between her and Uncle Alistair. It makes me happy to see them getting on so well.

“Well, there are some things that I’d rather not see. And that I’d rather my children didn’t see…” intervenes my dad, darkly.

Does that mean that we can’t go?

“Loch Brue is beautiful, Duncan. They’ll have a ball. Please tell me that you won’t go camping, though! In this weather!”

“We’ll stay with a friend of mine, don’t worry. Connor Moran. He happens to be a relation of ours, a distant cousin.” 

“Everyone is a distant cousin of ours on this island!” laughs Shuna.

“Can we go, then?” asks Valentina.

“If you show us the pictures you take. I’ve never seen white otters before,” says my dad unexpectedly.

I smile at him, and he smiles back. And I’m happy.

It’s a very early start for us. It’s still pitch dark, and we’re already on the road. It’ll only take us an hour to drive to Loch Brue through the moors, but Uncle Alistair is not taking any chances: Sorley and Mairi are meeting us there, and we can’t risk being late.

“Are we meeting Connor Moran there?”

“No, I didn’t phone him. I’d rather not get him involved in this. I’ll email him back to say thanks for 
getting in touch and ask him to keep an eye out and tell me when he sees the sea serpent next. Which, of course, will be never.”

“So we won’t be staying with him tonight? We don’t have any camping stuff…”

“Don’t worry about that. We have somewhere to stay.”

There’s a small dirt road that takes us to the loch. We follow it to the end, then park by the side and venture into the cold and damp. There’s a strong smell of dead leaves in the air, and the scent of water. Strange how water has a scent, and how it changes if it’s the sea, a loch or a river…

Loch Brue is still and black in the moonless night. It’s just over an hour till first light. Uncle Alistair takes a waterproof sheet from the boot, and spreads it out for us. We sit in silence, broken only by the wind in the trees, enjoying the beauty of the night sky. It’s so peaceful. Camilla glows softly, floating above us, humming gently to herself. Sometimes I hear that music, St Anne’s Reel, as well as Camilla’s humming, but mostly there is quiet calm and the water lapping just beyond our feet.

“Did you bring your bag?” whispers Valentina, noticing the little velvet bag hanging from my belt. Uncle Alistair has given a blue one to me and a red one to Valentina, to hold any treasure we might receive along the way. In mine I put the troll’s medallion and Mary’s pearl. I also have my rucksack with me, to carry my diary and some other bits and pieces. I like to have my diary with me – because I want to record things as 
they happen, and because with all the incredible things I’ve written recently, it’s best if the diary doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

“I thought it would be good to have the treasure bag with me when we go on missions. You never know.”

Valentina nods. “Good idea. I’ll bring mine next time.”

After about twenty minutes we hear the sound of a car in the distance, and then footsteps on the dirt road. It’s them. Like us, they are not carrying torches, just in case the zeuglodon sees the light and decides to stay away.

“Hello everyone…” says Sorley quietly. We all exchange whispered greetings. Mairi and Valentina hug in silence.

“Hi, Luca.”

“Hi.” Her hair is down on her shoulders this time. I’ve never seen a shade of red like it.

“Stand by the trees up there, guys. We need to get the truck right on the shore. The trolley can only go so far.”

Trolley? I suppose that’s for the sea serpent.

We stand aside and they drive the truck as close to the shore as they can. It’s not the black van they had in Glasgow; this one’s much bigger. Sorley and Mairi open the back and slide out a huge metal trolley. They push it near the water. It has ropes coiled on both sides that they free up, extending them on the grass.

“Luca, Vally, it’s feeding time,” calls Uncle Alistair.

“Using us as bait?” I say, sarcastically. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Can’t. Zeuglodons are vegetarian,” he replies.

Otherwise, he
might
? 

“Lucky for us!” I say, and I mean it.

Valentina and I get the bottles from the van. These ones are deep green, unlike the blue ones we used for the mermaids. We all start pouring them into the loch, the green liquid disappearing into the black waters. They smell awful, like rotting vegetation from a million years ago.

“Children, pour some up here as well, on the grass.” We do that, and the whole place smells like the bottom of a pond.

“All we need to do now is wait for the first light,” says Uncle Alistair.

“Are you going into the water?” I ask Sorley.

“No need this time.”

“Will you use your special watch?” Valentina asks Mairi, meaning the strange little radar that she wore on her wrist when we rescued the mermaids.

“Yes, there it is.” Mairi extends her arm to show Valentina.

“Wow…” Valentina is in awe of Mairi.

“Why don’t
you
do it?”

“Me? Seriously? Oh…”

“There, put it around your wrist. Press this button. And this one. Now stand as close to the water as you can, and put your arm up like that. When it starts beeping, it means that the zeuglodon is near.”

I glance at Sorley. He has a brown briefcase with him. He opens it, and takes out what looks like… a gun!

“What’s that?” exclaims Camilla, horrified.

“It’s a tranquilliser. It only hurts for a second, just like a jag. It’ll make him sleep until we get him to safety.” 

Poor zeuglodon. Drugged and tied up on a trolley. But I know it’s necessary.

The sky is turning pink: dawn is slowly breaking.

We sit and wait.

And then, the sound of ripples…

We all freeze.

The radar at Valentina’s wrist starts beeping, and Mairi jumps up quickly to switch off the sound.

The ripples turn into splashes. It’s here!

In the soft light of dawn, I can make out his shape. He’s lapping at the water, making satisfied gurgles. He hasn’t seen us.

Following the feed, the zeuglodon lurches on land, propelling himself with his fins. He’s even bigger than I imagined him – about the size of a small car. He has four fins, flat and diamond-shaped, and a long tail. His eyes are yellow, with a slit pupil like a snake’s, and his skin is deep green.

Perfectly silent, like a cat, Sorley steps to the side of him. He’s ready to shoot the tranquilliser, when the sea serpent – unexpectedly – rolls over, almost onto Sorley, who would be crushed under his weight.

Sorley barely manages to leap away and avoid being squashed, and his tranquilliser gun ends up right under the zeuglodon’s belly.

At that moment, the zeuglodon sees us.

He raises his head, and then tips it to one side. His yellow eyes stare at us with no fear.

“Please move, please move, please move…” mutters Mairi under her breath, like a prayer. Camilla has her hands on her face, in trepidation. 

The zeuglodon opens his toothless mouth, and looks up at the sky. A long, strident call comes out of him. Once, twice, he calls. The best way I can describe the sound is… Well,

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEERK!”

We all hold our breath. What is he calling? What creature is about to appear from the waters?

Whatever it is, it heard the call, and it’s answering. This one is not like a “YEEEEEEEEEEEEERK”, it’s more like a “yeeeeeeey”, said in a wee small voice.

A little green head emerges from the waves.

“A baby zeuglodon! It’s a she, then,” whispers Mairi.

“Now, that’s a problem,” murmurs Alistair. His words send a chill down my spine. Are those lovely creatures in danger? The zeuglodon and her baby?

The sea serpent propels herself back towards the shore to see to her puppy, and the tranquilliser gun lies there, free for the taking. Sorley jumps and grabs it.

“Mairi, Alistair!” he calls. “I can’t shoot the puppy. The dose is too high, he might die…”

I hear Valentina gasp, and I feel quite ill myself.

The puppy has come on shore. He’s as big as small dog, with the same yellow eyes as his mother. He starts lapping at the seaweed, making little gurgling noises.

“You need to shoot the mother. Then we’ll take the puppy ourselves,” whispers Mairi. “No other option.”

“Yes. It’s the only way,” agrees Alistair.

And Sorley shoots.

The zeuglodon screams, a real scream of pain, and in a few seconds, she’s out cold. The puppy is terrified; he’s trying to scramble back into the water… 

The five of us spring up, like one. Mairi is the first to get to him, and she holds him down with her body. The puppy is calling his mother, a “yeeeeeeeey” that would bring tears to your eyes. He’s so distressed, flailing his little fins and trying to break free.

I think my heart is breaking.

Without thinking twice, I kneel beside him, and I start whispering. At first, it all comes out in English, “Your mum will wake up soon, you’ll be fine, you’ll be in Loch Glas together… no need to worry…” Then I realise that I’m saying words I shouldn’t know. Words in the language of the sea, the same language I used with the mermaids. It flows easily, like I’ve done this all my life. Gurgly, swooshing sounds, full of “sh” and “gl”, like the waves and the flowing waters.

Slowly, the puppy relaxes, he stops flailing his fins, he stops wailing. His
yey
is now low and thin, and a lot calmer. I’m
yeying
back, softly.

I look up, and I see that everyone is staring.

“It’s like horse whispering,” says Uncle Alistair. He seems… awed. Uncle Alistair, in awe of me? “It runs in the family. But this is taking it to a whole new level.”

“Horse whispering?” asks Valentina.

“Something like that. I wonder does it work with all sea creatures…”

“I think so. It worked with the mermaids,” remarks Valentina.

“What happened with the mermaids?”

“They… they spoke to me,” I whisper, so as not to startle the puppy. “And I understood what they were 
saying. I talked to them in their own language. Not sure how…”

“It’s sea-whispering,” Sorley explains. “You can speak to sea creatures. It’s very, very rare…” he’s looking at me differently, as if only now can he truly See me.

“You’re a sea-whisperer, Luca,” says Uncle Alistair, and he’s beaming with pride.

Like I belong to him.

Right now I’m a very happy sea-whisperer.

“Is Mummy zeuglodon ok?” asks Valentina.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. And they’ll be even better when we take them home,” says Sorley reassuringly.

Valentina walks slowly towards the zeuglodon mother, and sits by her side. She puts a hand on her head, and strokes her gently.

“Careful…” I say, still holding the puppy.

“It’s ok. She’s out like a light,” whispers Mairi, and joins Valentina, kneeling on the grass. Camilla rests her head on the sea serpent’s great body, stroking her with immaterial hands.

The zeuglodon is something between a lizard, a dinosaur and, strangely, a big fish. I put my hand out, keeping the other around the puppy’s back, and touch her skin. It’s cold, dry, very rough. Her back rises and falls with her breathing.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” murmurs Valentina.

“Yes. Are you taking her where the mermaids are?” I ask Sorley.

A look passes between Sorley and Uncle Alistair.

“Yes. And it’s time for Valentina and the
sea-whisperer
to come and see where we live.”

“Great!” says Valentina. I blush. I like being called that. Sea-whisperer, like this is what I was meant to be, all my life.

I’m dying to see this home of theirs, with all these incredible creatures, but… we must be back when we said we would, or Mum and Dad might not let us go with Uncle Alistair next time.

“We promised we’d be back by tomorrow…”

“We will be. Loch Glas is right across the water. We’ll be there by lunchtime. And anyway, you need to come with the puppy. None of us could keep him calm like you do.” I look down. The puppy has laid his head on my shoulder, breathing softly, just like a baby. A scaly baby. I pat his back gently. It’s true, he needs me.

On our way to the van, the puppy in my arms, Mairi comes to my side.

“I knew you were a sea whisperer,” she says.

“Did you?”

“I heard you talking to the mermaids. It’s like I told you before, Luca. You’re cool.” And she walks on, leaving me looking at the dawn light shining on her hair.

With the zeuglodon mother asleep and safely tied up in the back, we set off in Sorley and Mairi’s black truck. We leave our blue van parked by the loch. The puppy is on my lap the whole time.

“Do they not inspect trucks at the ferry?” I ask.

“They do spot checks, yes,” answers Sorley, his eyes 
on the road. The sky has turned grey, and there’s a white mist rising from the hills.

“What if they find the zeuglodon? And Finlay?” The zeuglodon puppy is nuzzling my neck.

“Finlay?” laughs Valentina. “That’s a good name for him!”

“We have our own boat, and nobody will ever inspect there, believe me,” smiles Sorley.

“Lord McTire sees to that,” says Uncle Alistair.

“Lord McTire?”

“My father,” explains Sorley.

“Are you a lord too? And is Mairi a lady?” asks Valentina.

“I’m just me,” Sorley smiles.

“He is the Honourable Sorley, and I’m a witch! Her Dark Highness Mairi!” whispers Mairi dramatically. Valentina, Camilla and I laugh. But I’m not sure she’s entirely joking. Her grey eyes are very shiny.

Sure enough, when we reach the coast there’s a boat for us. Only for us. She’s called
Lady Margaret
, and she’s sitting beside the ferry we take to go to Glasgow.

“Mr McTire and guests!” A woman with grey hair and a twinkle in her eyes greets us. She’s wearing a yellow waterproof coat, and a woollen hat.