The Wings of Ruksh Page 8

  “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.”

  15. Bonnie Prince Charlie

  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 Sea
t.

  “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!”

  16. Kitor Listens In

  The following morning, Sir James slammed his copy of The Scotsman down on the breakfast table with such force that half of his morning cup of tea slopped into the saucer. The newspapers were full of the story! His horrified eyes scanned screaming headlines and, leafing through the pile, he found that photographs of Ned Stuart decorated the front pages of every one of them. It was the columns of the Times, however, that he found the most worrying as it led with the announcement that once the College of Heralds upheld his claim, Stuart would ask the Scottish Parliament to endorse his right to the throne of Scotland!

  S
ir James muttered under his breath, looked at his tea in disgust and rose from the table. “Sorry about the mess, Mrs McGuire,” he said weakly as the housekeeper came in to clear the table. She looked at him sideways, well aware that his bed hadn’t been slept in that night, and wasn’t at all surprised to see him stifling a yawn as he prepared to attend his first meeting of the day. Stuffing a pile of papers into his briefcase, he nevertheless knew that he wouldn’t really need them as the problems of Edinburgh’s crumbling sewers paled before the latest and most exciting topic of conversation. Ned Stuart, King of Scots! Parliament would be buzzing with it!

  Sir James breathed deeply and stared unseeingly round the room. It couldn’t be allowed to happen! Knowing Kalman’s power, however, his heart sank and, indeed, the only thing that gave him any comfort at all was the knowledge that Rothlan and his little band had left the hill at dawn that morning for Ardray.

  Sir James shivered as he thought of it. He’d spent the night inside the hill, chatting to the MacLeans, whilst Jaikie and Hamish made the necessary preparations for the coming journey and the MacArthur and Lord Rothlan pored over the formula of the magic spell that would take the little band into the seventeenth century. “It’ll only bind us for a short time,” the MacArthur explained to Sir James, “then the hill and Edinburgh will return to normal. But the riders will remain in the past until Rothlan casts a spell to bring them back into the twenty-first century again.”

  Neil and Clara were so excited that they could hardly sleep, but by the time morning came and they were awake and dressed, the MacArthur had already cast the spell that had turned the clock back.