Diamond Mask (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) (13 page)

“Do you think we’ll be able to visit the old MacGregor place when we get to Sanaigmore?” Aunt Rowan asked.

Masha shook her head. “I inquired at the hotel this morning. The farm is privately owned and not open to the public. But we can see it from the cliffs and perhaps get a closer look when we return to the car.” She buckled her small pack. “Well, let’s be off.”

No one noticed that Dee had eaten almost nothing. She put on her own daypack like a person in a trance, paying no attention to the shorebirds running about on the strand. The mind-prober was still slyly at work.

Later, Dee would remember very little of the first hour or so of the hike, during which the assault on her mind continued. Then, to her great relief, it stopped. She was still safe behind her strong blue armor and now she felt much less frightened. Whoever the prober was, he could not get in. Dee was very proud of herself and when she was able, she told Ken all about her mental victory.

“I’m only five years old,” she boasted, “but I’m strong.”

“Then carry my pack,” Ken demanded.

She only stuck her tongue out at him and ran off ahead of everyone along the rough, high shore, saying the triumphant words over and over again to herself:

I’m strong I’m strong I’m strong!

The path dipped to cross a little burn in a rocky hollow, and it was there that Dee saw something moving among the tumbled boulders and stopped short. She thought at first it was an animal and eagerly pulled Uncle Robbie’s binoculars from her anorak pouch to get a good look at it.

It was not an animal.

Scrambling faster than a monkey, it whisked into a crevice between two huge rocks almost as soon as she got it into focus. But she had seen it clearly for the merest instant: a person nearly as small as her brother Ken, having bandy legs and arms that were disproportionately long. He was dressed in black clothes and he had frowsy black hair and a black beard.

The Dubh Sìth.

No!
It’s only a story! He can’t be real. Oh, angel …

The adults and Ken found her standing petrified, with the binoculars still held to her eyes.

“Have you discovered something interesting, Dody?” Mummie inquired.

Slowly, she lowered the glasses. “I thought—but it’s gone now, whatever it was.” She handed the binoculars back to Uncle Robbie, keeping her renewed fear carefully concealed behind her mental mask. From then on she walked close to the adults, and now and then she stopped and quickly turned around to scan the landscape behind them. But there was never anyone there.

They came to a medium-sized sea-cave full of nesting rock doves and discovered the most interesting bird they had yet seen. It was a large gyrfalcon perched on a nearby rock, watching the doves fly in and out of the cave. Dee was enchanted as she viewed it through the binoculars. She had watched Tri-Ds about these rare birds and she had seen a live gyrfalcon of the dark-colored Icelandic race once before, at a considerable distance. But this was a Greenland gyrfalcon, nearly white.

Abruptly the splendid bird of prey took wing, soaring high above the sea, and a moment later it was back almost overhead. It stooped, diving with incredible speed, and seized one of the hapless doves in a shocking explosion of feathers. Then it flew off seaward with the limp body, heading toward some skerries that thrust darkly from the foaming breakers.

Dee slowly let out the breath she had been holding. The beautiful bird had killed in order to eat. She knew falcons did that, but never before had she seen it happen right before her eyes. It saddened her that some creatures should be born to kill, should need the lives of others in order to survive themselves. She entered both the rock dove and the gyrfalcon on her list, gave the field glasses back to Uncle Robbie, and then walked along at his side, brooding.

People also killed animals for food. Why, the roast beef in their sandwiches had once been part of living cattle! Some of Dee’s mates at kindergarten ate only vegetables out of respect for animal life; but when Dee had spoken about this interesting idea to Mummie, she had only frowned and called it sentimental tommyrot and told Dee to finish her pork chop. Of course, the domestic meat animals didn’t suffer at all when they died, the way the poor dove killed by the falcon must have.

Or had it? Dimly, she remembered a wildlife program in which the narrator had asserted that creatures seized violently by predators went almost instantly into a state of shock and felt no
pain. Could that be true? It would be kind of God to make it so—especially since he had made the meat-eaters in the first place …

Thinking about this and other mysteries, Dee nearly forgot her fear.

In midafternoon they came to Sanaigmore Bay, where there were numbers of ruined stone crofts looking forlorn beneath the gray sky. While they rested among the sandhills and had a snack, Uncle Robbie told the story of the Clearances during the 1800s, when small tenant farmers who lived in the Hebrides and on the Scottish mainland were forced to leave their homes because the rich people who owned the lands wanted to create huge sheep runs.

Dee was appalled. “But, couldn’t the little farmers
do
anything?”

Uncle Robbie shook his head. “They were powerless. The rich people had the law on their side in those days, and the law said that property was more important than people. So the poor farmers lost their homes and livelihood and had to go live somewhere else, like North America. There was a lot of suffering. The people who stayed and managed the sheep were the lucky ones—and some of them were Jamie MacGregor’s ancestors.” He smiled at Dee and Ken. “And yours.”

Gran Masha pointed out the place where the MacGregors had lived, which lay some distance uphill from the bayshore. There were no sheep on the land now and the farmhouse had become a luxurious private home.

As she studied the distant buildings with the wind-blasted trees and ornamental shrubbery surrounding them, Dee felt a sudden deep pulse of dread.
That place
 … She knew with sick certainty that it was the source of all the evil feelings that had plagued her throughout the holiday. But when she went to Ken, who was throwing stones into the surf, and told him her discovery he refused to believe her.

“Everybody knows that Jamie MacGregor was one of the greatest men who ever lived.” He did not bother to conceal his scorn. “He forced the normals in the world to be fair to True People. His old house just couldn’t be giving off bad vibes.”

“Not the house,” Dee said. Her lips were trembling and it was all she could do not to burst into tears. “The people inside! … Kenny, it was
them
trying to ream my mind, not the Gi or the Krondaku. I’m certain!”

“You said the probing was exotic—”

“It was. Maybe exotics live in the house. Bad ones! And I saw the Kilnave Fiend, too, when we were back on the cliffs—”

“You’re stone doolally! You know? Completely batshit!” He turned away from her, and she felt his own sudden terror now, overlaid with strong denial. “Leave me alone! Tell Mum if you’re so scared. Now naff off!”

But of course she couldn’t tell Mummie or any of the other grownups. It was just impossible. Nor could she allow them to see her afraid, for humiliation would make everything worse. She covered her face with her hands, praying to the angel, submerging herself in the sweet rosy pool of redaction. Then Mummie called and they set off again on the final leg of their walk, heading for the heights of Tòn Mhór. There were sure to be guillemots nesting in the cliffs, Gran said, and kittiwakes and razorbills. And if they were very lucky, they might even see puffins!

The climb up to the headland of Tòn Mhór was a steep one and Dee was exhausted when they finally reached the top—not only physically weary, but also mind-numb from the ebb and flow of fear that had afflicted her all throughout the weekend. She still felt an evil exotic presence nearby and it was as scary as ever. But it hadn’t
done
anything except try to see inside her. She knew she could keep it out—so why should she care about it anymore? What she really wanted was to rest.

The others had gone immediately to the lookout at the cliff’s edge in search of birds, but Dee plumped herself down on a small patch of grass in the lee of a great rock and didn’t move. Clouds were racing overhead. She couldn’t hear the rumble of waves pounding at the base of the cliffs and the shrill cries of kittiwakes. Ken and the grownups were peering over the fenced precipice a dozen meters away, and a number of other people were also busy with cameras and viewing devices. Dee heard voices exclaiming over something and after a few minutes, Gran Masha came looking for her.

“We’ve found puffins and razorbills nesting, Dorothea,” Gran said heartily. “Come and use Uncle Robbie’s field glasses.”

“I’m really very tired.” She tried to keep her voice steady.
Gran Masha hated whining. “I’ve had enough birdwatching for today. I’d like to go back to the car, please. I’m sure I could find my way by myself. You could tell me the car’s door code, and I could wait for you inside.”