The Wings of Ruksh (8 page)

Sir James was still smiling at the memory of de Charillon’s astounded face when Janice showed the Chief Constable and another soberly-suited gentleman into the office.

Relieved at her employer’s relaxed and cheerful demeanour, she left the men together with a light heart and went to prepare their coffee. She wouldn’t have been quite so happy, however, had she popped her head round the door half an hour later, for by then the Chief Constable had asked some very pertinent questions and Sir James was beginning to stammer.

“The thing is, James, that on this film that we have, you’re seen talking to someone. Someone who … er … isn’t there.”

“I must have been talking to the Ranger.”

“No, the Ranger is behind you at the time.”

“I must have been talking to myself then,” Sir James said unhappily.

“We also have an eye witness who saw the Loch Ness Monster by the shore and,” the Chief Constable continued bravely, “what looked like a dragon.”

“Aren’t we entering into the realms of fantasy here?” Sir James did his best to look surprised.

George Tatler held up his hand and spoke for the first time. “Sir James, enough of all this evasion.” He leant forward in his chair and looked Sir James straight in the eye. “The sighting of a dragon and the Loch Ness Monster is peculiar enough but it’s my belief that there’s a lot more to it than that! Something very strange is going on in Scotland just now and quite frankly it has me seriously worried. I usually know what’s going on, and where and why, but this time I can’t, for the life of me, put my finger on anything.”

Ignoring the Chief Constable’s outraged expression, he
continued
. “Archie, here, doesn’t seem to think anything out of the ordinary is happening, but I ask you, Sir James, haven’t you
looked
at Edinburgh lately? I mean,
really
looked at it? Haven’t you seen the tartan everywhere?” he gestured vaguely. “Pipers playing the bagpipes on every street corner. People knocking back shortbread by the ton and Irn Bru by the gallon. Men wearing the kilt and tartan taxis plying the streets! It’s like a Hollywood version of
Braveheart
out there and there’s no
sensible
reason for it!

Sir James pursed his lips. “It’s the City Council you want to be talking to,” he said, clutching desperately at straws. “It’s probably just a gimmick to attract the tourists.”

Archie Thompson nodded in agreement but Tatler was so incensed that he almost jumped out of his chair. “It – is – not – a – gimmick!” he found himself shouting. “It is not a gimmick,” he said in a quieter tone, sinking back into his chair. “Look, I’ve been among them and what I found is that the people buying haggis
want
to eat it. The people buying tartan carpets for their houses
want
to buy them. It’s as though someone has cast a magic spell over the whole country … and it’s dangerous.”

Sir James found himself sweating slightly at the reference to magic spells but Tatler’s words nevertheless gave him pause for thought. As his heart sank suddenly and his face whitened with shock, he looked at the man in utter horror. Come to think of it he
had
thought the sudden passion for tartan that seemed to have gripped the country, rather strange. But was Tatler right about it being a spell, he wondered? Could Kalman really be behind it all? With his mind in absolute turmoil, Sir James automatically repeated Tatler’s last word.

“Dangerous,” he said, dazedly, raising his eyebrows while striving to get a grip of his thoughts. “Surely it isn’t dangerous. If people want tartan carpets in their houses, I don’t see the harm in it.”

“Do you have tartan carpets in your house, Sir James?”
interrupted
Tatler.

“Well, no,” Sir James admitted.

“Have you eaten haggis lately?” he continued.

“No, no I haven’t.”

Tatler looked at him through steely, grey eyes. “In a recent poll, a staggering one hundred per cent of Scots said they had eaten haggis at least once in the past week! So how are you
different
from the rest of your countrymen, Sir James?”

“I didn’t read that anywhere!”

“It was a secret poll and, let me tell you, it has the Prime Minister worried! And believe you me, she has quite enough on her plate at the moment, what with the French fishermen doing their best to start an out and out war in the North Sea.”

Sir James shrugged. “That’s politics,” he said.

“Look, Sir James,” Tatler pleaded anxiously, “please come clean with us. You were in that transporter and you’re our only lead in this business. We
know
there was a dragon; it so
happens
that one of Archie’s special constables was on the BA flight that night and saw it quite clearly. Now from our point of view, it isn’t so much the dragon that’s of interest, it’s the fact that it didn’t show up on radar
and
it didn’t show up on the Loch Ness film. Anything that doesn’t show up on radar and disappears on film, interests us. Do I make myself clear?”

“But
I
don’t know why it didn’t show up on your radar,” Sir James said helplessly. And then realized what he’d said.

The Chief Constable leant back in his seat and almost grinned. “You were never a good liar, James!” he smiled. “Come on now, out with the whole story!”

Sir James, cursing his stupidity, looked at them worriedly. “It’s not my story to tell,” he said slowly, “and, quite frankly,” he added with feeling, “it isn’t at all what you’re expecting to hear either, believe me.”

“We thought that maybe someone had invented a new
chemical
solution that counteracts radar,” encouraged Tatler, gesturing vaguely. “Was it something like that?”

Sir James shook his head.

“Perhaps you could tell us where the dragon-like creature came from then?” ventured the Chief Constable. “We’re well aware that people smuggle exotic animals into Britain from time to time, and if you’re frank with us we probably won’t press charges. In fact, I can assure you that we won’t!”

“Well?” queried Tatler gently.

Sir James looked at the two men ruefully and wondered what on earth he was going to say. The fact that both he and the Ranger had been caught on film was a serious business and although their questions had been friendly enough so far, there was a grim purposefulness about the two men that boded ill if he continued to prevaricate. But, on the other hand, if Ned Stuart
had
cast a spell over Scotland, to say nothing of being up to some sort of skullduggery with the French, the two men might well, in the end, prove useful allies. And surely, if he did arrange for them to meet the MacArthur, they would hardly be likely to talk about it afterwards. A belief in faeries was, after all, one of the quicker ways of losing one’s job …

“It’s nothing like that at all,” he said, breaking the silence, “and if … if I do tell you what actually happened, I want your word of honour that you won’t pass it on; either of you!”

Both men glanced at one another swiftly and nodded in agreement. Tatler eyed him speculatively and with growing interest; he sensed that something he’d said had hit Sir James hard but what it was, he couldn’t quite gauge. The man, however, was obviously shaken and he had no doubt at all that what they would now hear from him would be the truth.

Five minutes later, however, he was not so sure.

“
Faeries?
” Archie Thompson almost spat the word out. “Under
Arthur’s Seat!
Do you
really
expect me to believe a tale like
that?
”

“Not really, no,” Sir James almost grinned at the
flabbergasted
expression that adorned the Chief Constable’s face. Used to hearing many a strange tale, this had nevertheless
taken the feet from under him. As the Chief Constable
struggled
to reconcile the notion of faeries, dragons and magicians lurking in what, to all intents and purposes, was his backyard, Tatler’s agile brain was working swiftly; for Sir James’s
information
, mind-boggling as it was, did much to make sense of an otherwise unbelievable scenario.

Avoiding the eyes of the Chief Constable, he took a deep breath. “Prove it, Sir James,” he said quietly.

Meeting Tatler’s shrewd, grey eyes, Sir James came to a swift decision and opening a shallow drawer in his desk, drew out his firestone. Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and, watched closely by the two men, walked over to the tall windows that looked over Holyrood Park and the immense bulk of Arthur’s Seat.

Fervently hoping that he was doing the right thing, he opened one of the windows wide, clapped his hands twice and said “carpet.”

“And just what was that meant to do?” the Chief Constable asked suspiciously as he returned to his desk.

A curious smile twisted Sir James’s lips as he regarded them both speculatively, wondering just how they were going to react when a magic carpet sailed in through the window. “Just wait a few moments and you’ll see,” he grinned, perching casually on the edge of his desk.

Tatler and Archie Thompson exchanged glances and both were visited by the uneasy and, it must be said, totally
unfamiliar
feeling, that somehow they had ceased to dominate the interview. Tatler sat, tense and alert, ready for anything but even he was taken completely by surprise as the magic carpet brushed its way through the window and gently swooped to hover beside Sir James.

The two men leapt to their feet in amazement and stared round-eyed as the carpet rippled and swayed about three feet from the floor.

“Welcome to the world of magic, gentlemen.” Sir James
savoured the moment. It wasn’t often, he thought, that one was given the opportunity of reducing high-ranking officialdom to a state of gibbering idiocy. Indeed, both men seemed to be
unable
to talk coherently and Sir James’s lips twitched as the Chief Constable stretched out his hand to touch the carpet with an expression on his face that strongly suggested that it might bite.

“The thing is,” Sir James said, looking at the carpet
doubtfully
, “I don’t know if this carpet can carry all three of us and I also feel that I should ask the MacArthur’s permission before I take you into the hill. Can I … would it be all right if I were to leave you for, say, ten minutes?”

“Of course, Sir James,” the Chief Constable actually
managed
a weak smile as he looked at the carpet with fascinated eyes. “You’ve given us enough to talk about for a couple of hours, far less ten minutes!”

Sir James sat down on the carpet and, by so doing, he and the carpet immediately disappeared. As Tatler and the Chief Constable started in amazement, Sir James quickly got off again. “I’m really sorry,” he said, “I should have told you that I’d become invisible when I sat on the carpet. It’s quite normal, I assure you.”

“Normal!” Tatler’s voice echoed his disbelief. “Nothing about this is at all normal!”

It was almost half an hour, however, before Sir James returned with two other carpets rolled up in front of him, for initially the MacArthur hadn’t been at all keen at his bringing officialdom into the hill and had said so in no uncertain terms.

“These people have to make reports, Sir James,” he said sternly, “and before you can say Jack Robinson, the whole world will know about us and Arthur. I can just see it! The hill will be mobbed by people trying to get in to see what we look like.”

“You said you knew this man when you were at school,” interrupted Lord Rothlan. “Can we trust him, do you think? Would he keep our secret?”

“As Chief Constable, Alasdair, he’s a man who knows
hundreds
of secrets,” Sir James answered, “and as a person, I would trust him. I’d never have suggested bringing him here
otherwise
.”

“And the other fellow, the Englishman … George Tatler?”

“I should imagine that he knows even more secrets than Archie Thompson,” Sir James said dryly. “By the way,” he broached the subject nervously, “he seems to think that
someone
has cast a spell over the whole country to make Scotland more Scottish than usual!”

There was a pause as Rothlan and the MacArthur looked at one another speculatively.

“Actually, I did think it all a bit strange,” Rothlan admitted, “but I didn’t see the harm in it. It didn’t enter my head that it might be a spell.”

“Well, if it wasn’t either of us, it must have been the prince,” the MacArthur frowned grimly at the thought. “And he must have had a good reason. It’s only the magic of the crown that could keep a spell like that in place for any length of time.”

“I can’t understand why,” Rothlan murmured, frowning slightly. “Maybe it might be a good idea to meet these friends of yours, Sir James. If you’re sure they’ll keep quiet about us.”

“They will, I’m sure,” Sir James assured him, “after all,
rambling
on about faeries in Arthur’s Seat is hardly in their
interests
, given the positions they hold.”

“Aye,” agreed the MacArthur, “there’s always that!” He pondered the matter for a few moments and then shrugged resignedly. “Well, when all’s said and done, Sir James, we can’t have you being arrested by the Chief Constable now, can we? Especially after all you’ve done for us! Here, Jaikie,” he called, beckoning him over, “bring me a couple of firestones and two more carpets for Sir James, so that he can bring his friends into the hill.”

Louis de Charillon’s office had, until that moment, been a scene of complete tranquility. The great seal of France adorned the wall behind his desk; tall windows with looped and tasselled curtains looked over a street, empty of protestors; flower arrangements perfumed the air and the ornate, gilt furniture reflected the elegance of a bygone era.

The silence was such that Amgarad, firmly ensconced on the count’s shoulder, found his eyes closing and, shifting on his claws, made a clicking noise with his beak. The count’s hand came up to ruffle his feathers and Amgarad nibbled his ear gently in return. In the few days he’d been in the consulate, the count had managed to earn his profound respect and, indeed, it was well merited as de Charillon was meticulous in his scrutiny of the most boring legal documents, was a demanding but fair master and never lost his temper.

The buzz of the fax interrupted the silence and, noting the crest on the top of the paper as it came through the machine, the count rose with a sigh to read the latest edict from Paris.

Amgarad read it with him and such were its contents that he almost toppled off de Charillon’s shoulder. The count’s reaction was much the same. He scanned the paper, disbelief written large across his face.

“Incredible!” he muttered, tossing it none too gently on his desk and moving again towards the fax that was spewing out yet another sheet of paper. “Totally incredible!” He shook his head. “Ned Stuart! A prince!! I was so
sure
his documents were forgeries!”

Amgarad, who had fluttered onto the desk, eyed the sheet and began clicking and snickering softly to himself as he read
the document aloud, secure in the knowledge that someone in the hill would be watching him through the crystal.

When Hamish heard what Amgarad was reading he gave a shout that brought Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan running towards him. Arthur, too, raised his great head and ambled towards the crystal to see what all the fuss was about.

“Is Amgarad all right?” queried Rothlan, as he peered into the crystal.

“He’s fine, but for goodness sake let me get what he said, down on paper.”

Seeing the little group clustered round the crystal, Jaikie ran up. “What on earth’s happening?” he demanded.

“It’s unbelievable!” Rothlan snapped as he listened to Amgarad’s words. “The French authorities have just
authenticated
Ned Stuart’s claim to be the direct heir of Charles Edward Stuart and a Prince of the Blood, no less!”

“Bonnie Prince Charlie!” gasped Jaikie. “He’s aiming a bit high, isn’t he?”

“Look!” Hamish muttered, grasping Lord Rothlan’s sleeve. “Look! Amgarad’s lifting the other sheet. It’s got a drawing on it!”

“It’s the crown, the Sultan’s crown! It must be! Look at the rubies on it!”

Such was the concentration of the little group clustered round the crystal that they failed to notice the arrival of Sir James, Tatler and the Chief Constable as they sailed into the hall on their magic carpets.

Sir James eyed Tatler and Archie Thompson as they swooped into the ornate splendour of the vast cavern. He was glad that their first sight of it was so impressive for the hall, still hung with all the banners and trappings of the Sultan’s visit, looked totally magical. They feasted their eyes on the incredible scene but although the crystal ball glowed brightly on its stand by the dais, surrounded by a milling crowd of MacArthurs, it was not this that fascinated them. What held them totally riveted was the sight of Arthur in
all his glory. Tatler turned chalk white and the Chief Constable swallowed hard as they both stared thunderstruck at the sight of the wonderful dragon whose presence dominated the hall.

Sir James hid a smile as they scrambled off their carpets. “Come over and meet Arthur,” he invited. “Don’t worry, he won’t harm you.”

Arthur hissed a welcome and blew a puff of smoke down his nose as Sir James approached and bowed to him. The Chief Constable and Tatler followed suit and eyed him warily as they were introduced. “Is this …? Is this …
the
dragon?” whispered Tatler, “the one from Loch Ness?”

Sir James nodded as he looked round searchingly for the MacArthur. “Yes,” he said, “this is Arthur. He lives here in the hill.”

As the MacArthur was nowhere in sight and everyone’s attention seemed to be fixed on the crystal, Sir James
shepherded
them through the crowd to where Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan stood transfixed at the scene unfolding in its glowing depths. Tatler and Sir Archie exchanged glances as they eyed the little people covertly and looked at Sir James with new respect. He certainly hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told them of the magic inside Arthur’s Seat.

“What’s Amgarad saying now?” Hamish whispered in
frustration
. “Quiet, everyone, I can hardly make him out.”

They watched with fascination as the count retrieved the drawing of the crown from Amgarad’s beak and looked at it frowningly. The little grouse then perched on his sleeve and snickered busily away as he read the writing underneath.

Hamish translated Amgarad’s chatter. “The crown has been identified by an Islamic scholar as being identical to an old sketch in the archives of the Topkapi Museum in Istanbul. It is not Scottish, as Stuart claims, but is an old Turkish crown
dating
from the seventh century. We would be interested to know how Stuart came to have it in his possession.”

“So that’s what he’s up to,” Rothlan breathed. He hit his palm
with his fist and looked at Ellan in dismay. “Why didn’t I think of it before? The arrogance of the man! He wants to be King of Scotland!”

Sir James cleared his throat. “I rather think these gentlemen might be interested in helping us, Lord Rothlan. May I present the Chief Constable of Edinburgh, Sir Archibald Thompson and Mr George Tatler.”

Rothlan, assessing the two men at a glance, bowed abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking them both by the hand. “You must have heard what was just said and, quite frankly, I’m still in shock! But I’m very pleased indeed to meet you. Our host, the MacArthur, is busy at the moment but this is his daughter, the Lady Ellan; and Jaikie and Hamish, his lieutenants.”

Lady Ellan curtseyed formally and shook their hands. “My father won’t be long,” she promised, “but perhaps I can offer you some refreshment?”

The Chief Constable bowed and it was only with difficulty that he kept his glance from straying towards the crystal. “No, thank you. I’ve just had coffee with Sir James.” He turned to Lord Rothlan, “I … er, don’t wish to pry but did I hear you say something about a King of Scotland?”

Rothlan nodded and looked enquiringly at Sir James. “How much do Mr Tatler and the Chief Constable know?”

Sir James shook his head. “Not a lot,” he admitted.

“Then why don’t you show them the crystal and fill them in while I go and find the MacArthur. The Sultan’s just brought the horses of Ruksh through the mirrors and plans to return to Turkey once Archie’s got them stabled. Ellan and I must be there to say goodbye to him, you understand. Gentlemen,
forgive
me, but James will tell you the whole story.”

As he and Ellan left the hall, Sir James turned to Jaikie and Hamish. “Don’t go away, you two. I’m sure the Chief Constable and Mr Tatler would like to get to know you better and have you translate Amgarad’s cheeping for us. The hill seems to
have been busy while I was away. I haven’t a clue what’s been happening.”

Tatler, totally fascinated by the glowing crystal, threw Sir James a glance that mixed wonder with naked envy. “I don’t suppose they have any of these for sale, do they?” he asked wryly. “The Foreign Office, I know, would give an arm and a leg for one!”

“An arm and leg,” expostulated the Chief Constable as they bent over the crystal. “Heavens above, man, they’d give half the Defence Budget!”

“Just a second!” interrupted Tatler, “isn’t that what’s-
his-name
?”

Archie Thompson peered closer, “De Charillon, yes … and
that’s
the French Consulate! How very interesting! I’ve wanted to know what’s been going on in there for weeks now,” he muttered, watching de Charillon pore over his faxes while Amgarad swayed gently on his shoulder.

“That’s never a grouse, is it?” Tatler sounded amazed.

Jaikie couldn’t resist it. “Actually,” he said with a sidelong glance at Tatler, “it’s an eagle.”

Sir James choked back his laughter. “It’s all right,” he said taking a quick look at George Tatler’s affronted face. “He’s not being rude. I know it sounds incredible but, actually, it
is
an eagle.” He sighed deeply. “And with that, I’ve just realized what an awful lot of explaining I have to do if I’m going to fill you in on all this before Lord Rothlan comes back. Why don’t you leave the crystal just now? Hamish will call us if anything happens.”

“Who exactly is this Lord Rothlan?” queried Tatler.

“He’s one of the faery Lords of the North and according to the MacArthur, the best magician he’s ever met.”

Tatler and the Chief Constable eyed Sir James uncertainly but as he gradually explained everything that had happened in the past, their faces reflected a wonder and incredulity that was followed by a grudging acceptance of what they were hearing
… and, in the end, acute concern.

“… and the crux of the matter as far as I’m concerned, is Ned Stuart and what he’s up to with the French,” finished Sir James.

“You mentioned that he’s been meeting with de Charillon, but has he actually been
conniving
with the French?” the Chief Constable sounded doubtful.

“You’ll remember that I mentioned a Prince Kalman? Well,” Sir James looked at them shrewdly, “we just discovered a
couple
of days ago that he’s Ned Stuart! They’re one and the same person.”

“Ned Stuart! A magician? I don’t believe it!” The Chief Constable threw the idea out of the window immediately.

Sir James shrugged. “But you didn’t believe in all of this, either, a couple of hours ago, did you?” he said, gesturing round the vastness of the great cavern.

The Chief Constable swallowed. “No, no, I didn’t,” he agreed. “And I must admit that it’s only since I’ve been here that I’ve come to realize how strange this tartan business actually is. I can’t believe that half an hour ago I thought it all quite normal!”

“That’s because you’ve got a firestone in your pocket,” Sir James explained. “Even I was affected at first and didn’t think the craze for tartan was all that odd, but then I don’t usually wear my firestone. It was only when I put it on to call my magic carpet that the enormity of it really hit me. It must be Kalman’s doing. He’s a wily character and, believe me, it’s a cleverer spell than you think!”

“You mean that this Prince Kalman — I mean, Ned Stuart — cast a spell?”

“Yes, I do. And the strange thing about it is that it only seems to affect the Scots,” Sir James pointed out. “George wasn’t affected by it because he’s English.”

“Good Lord!” Tatler breathed.

“And it was something that
you
said, George, that put me on to it,” Sir James explained. “You talked of Scotland being under a Scottish spell and although I’d thought it strange that
everyone should go haywire all of a sudden over tartan and haggis and the like, it didn’t, as I said, enter my head that it was deliberate. But now, I’ve come to the conclusion that it
was
deliberate, and there
is
a reason behind this sudden passion for all things Scottish. A very good reason!” he gestured towards the crystal. “I knew it the minute I heard Amgarad read the papers that came through on the fax. They confirmed that Ned Stuart is a direct heir of Bonnie Prince Charlie and a Prince of the Blood. He isn’t, of course, but given the atmosphere he has created in Scotland just now, there isn’t a Scot in the country who won’t support him. The people will accept him as their king with open arms, believe me!”

“But they can’t do that!”

“I wouldn’t bank on it.”

“People power can do anything these days, George,”
muttered
the Chief Constable. “Sir James is right. We’re in deep trouble!”