Flower of Scotland 2 (7 page)
Read Flower of Scotland 2 Online
Authors: William Meikle
~-oO0Oo-~
One day in May Jack took to walking the hill roads, asking at each town after work. In the of the second day he walked into a small town that he did not know, and was told that they were looking for a man to run the new mill.
The owner lived in a smart house at the edge of town where the main road butted hard against the forest. A river ran along the town boundary and the mill could be seen further down the valley, slightly away from the rest of the buildings. Even from this distance Jack could see that the wooden structure of the mill itself was new and unweathered.
The mill owner was friendly enough, but was quick to explain the perils of the offered job.
"I won’t lie to you lad," the man said. "There’ve been three men afore you just this past week, but none lasted more than one night. Two of them are as dead as dead can be, and the third is lost to the world -- some kind of poison the doctor says... some kind of haunt I say. I’ve bin over the whole place each time, but found nothing."
"Well," said Jack. "I ain't afeared of no haunt. And I does need the work, so lets take a walk down there and see what’s what."
Jack was pleased with what he saw of the mill. The top floor above the actual workings was walled with thick logs and featured a large stone fireplace, a pot on a swivel attached to the wall, and a bed -- everything he ‘d need to cook and sleep on the premises. Thin sunlight came through from twelve small windows high above, but Jack reckoned on being too busy downstairs in the daylight hours to worry about the lack of light.
He turned to the man with him. "I’d be right pleased to take the job, if you’ll have me?"
They shook on the deal, and within half an hour the townsfolk started turning up with grinding to be done. Jack was kept busy all the way through a long afternoon and ground meal until it was near dark. He wiped the sweat from his brow, got the water turned out of the mill race, and was getting ready to close the mill for the night when an old man came through the entrance with a small poke of corn on his shoulder. His beard fell all the way across his chest and his one good eye almost seemed to sparkle as he smiled at Jack.
"I've come a long way today, the old man said. I wonder could you grind my corn for me? I couldn't get here no sooner."
Now another man might have turned the work away, for it was a chore to get the water race filled again, and the mill ready for grinding. But that wasn't in Jack’s nature. He got the water running and the grindstone working and he ground the stranger's corn for him.
When he shut the mill down the old man smiled.
"Jack, I've been here three times before, but you're the first one ever to start up the mill for me. I'm goin' to give you a present."
He reached into his leather jerkin and brought out a knife.
"It's silver," the old man said. "And it has served me well on many a cold night. I hope it will likewise serve you."
The old man left, carrying his newly ground meal on his shoulder, a slight limp noticeable as he went down the valley, away from the town. Jack watched his until he was lost under the dark shadows at the edge of the forest. By then it was almost dark, so Jack took himself upstairs and lit a fire in the grate and started making a stew in the pot. He had no lamp, but the fire gave out enough light to see by and as it got darker thin moonlight washed into the room from the twelve windows above, lending more than enough light to see by.
With the stew starting to bubble, Jack took out the silver knife and studied it. It seemed to glow in the moonlight. He turned it this way and that in his hand, studying the play of light. All at once it got darker, and he caught something moving in reflection in the knife.
Jack looked up. Twenty four yellow eyes, two in each window, looked down at him. Behind each window sat a big black cat, all of them staring straight at Jack, their eyes shining
Now our Jack didn't scare too easily. He bent to stir the stew with his knife, paying no attention to the watching cats.
A creak and a sudden cold breeze alerted him to the fact that one of the windows above had been opened. There was a muffled thud as one of the cat s leapt down on the floor.
Jack went on cooking
The next thing he knew there was a black cat sitting at his knee beside him. Jack bent to stir the stew. The cat stuck out its paw toward the pot, and in a soft, almost womanly, voice said, "Sop doll."
Jack showed the cat the knife and said. "You had better not sop your doll in my supper or I'll cut it off."
The cat jerked its paw away. It sat there beside him awhile. The other cats stirred around a little but stayed on up in the windows.
After a time the cat reached for the stew again, and once more it spoke.
"Sop, doll!"
Jack showed it the knife.
"I done told you not to sop your doll in there. You try it one more time and I’ll take that paw off."
The cat sat back on its haunches and twitched its tail. High above the other cats stirred, the sound of their soft purrs coming clearly even through the glass of the windows. Jack tried to ignore them and leaned forward to stir the stew. The cat tried to dipped its paw again and called out loudly.
"Sop! Doll!"
Jack had seen enough. He brought that silver knife down hard and sliced straight through the leg. The paw fell on the grate and started to smoke. The cat leapt away with a screech of pain and scooted straight up the wall and out the window. By the time Jack looked up the cats were all gone, only the twinkle of stars showing at the windows.
He turned back to where the paw lay... but it was no longer a paw. A delicate woman’s hand lay on the hearth, smoking slightly where it had already started to smolder. Jack flicked it away from the fire with his knife and studied it more closely. Besides a new burn down the outside edge, the only thing of note was on the wedding finger -- a silver ring with a large emerald stone.
Jack wrapped the hand up in his handkerchief and put it aside while he ate his stew. The rigours of the day’s work caught up with him and, despite his experience, he was soon sound asleep.
He did not dream, and the cats did not return. In the morning he was somewhat surprised to find that the hand was still there. He decided to take it to his employer to show him what was what. After breaking his fast he headed up through a thin morning mist to the owners house.
He found the man in the scullery making a pot of coffee.
"Come in, Jack," the man said. "I can’t offer you any bread, for the missus is sick in her bed... but I can offer you some Joe."
Jack sat himself down at the table. He took out his handkerchief but did not unwrap it.
"I did not expect to see you alive, Jack," the man said. "I thought I’d be burying you along with the others this morning."
Jack smiled, and started to tell his story. All the while the wrapped handkerchief sat there on the table between the men, but neither remarked on it until Jack got to the part about cutting off the cat's paw with the silver knife.
"Witchcraft!" the mill owner said. "That's all it can be, what with there being twelve of them and all. Tis right lucky you had the silver knife, for that is the only thing they’re afeared of. But a woman’s hand you say? I can scarcely credit it."
Jack unravelled the handkerchief.
The mill owner bent for a close look... and went so white that Jack thought he might keel over on the spot.
"Stay and finished your coffee Jack," he said, making for the door. "I need to call on some friend's of the missus. They need to be here. I’ll be back anon."
Jack sat with his coffee, but he wrapped the hand up in the handkerchief first. Somehow it looked worse, more real, in the cold light of day.
The house was quiet around him. At one point he heard a moan from upstairs. He put a hand on the silver knife, but the sound wasn’t repeated. He had just finished his drink when the mill owner returned. The man looked grim and gaunt, but there was a determined glint in his eye that would brook no argument. He brought a large barrel of pitch in with him that he stood on the kitchen table.
"You've proved already that you have a stout heart Jack," he said. "Can I ask you to bring your knife? I need you to stand beside me should I falter in what needs to be done."
Before Jack could enquire further the man led him out of the kitchen and upstairs to the door of a bedchamber.
"The missus is inside," the man said, looking Jack in the eye. "She stayed abed this morning."
Jack was starting to get a bad feeling, and the coffee roiled in the pit of his stomach as the man pushed the door open.
The man's wife lay on the bed, her face ashen.
"Shall we send for the doctor?" her husband asked, but there was little concern in his voice.
"No," the woman said, her voice weak and thready.
The man nodded.
"I have sent for your friends. They will be here presently. But first... I need to take a look at your right hand."
The woman snuggled deeper under the covers, cowering away in protest, but the man was insistent and forced her arm out from beneath the eiderdown. He motioned Jack forward for a look. There was no hand on the end of the arm... only a bloody stump where Jack’s silver knife had done its job.
The man nodded.
"I done recognised the stone in yon ring, he said. And well I should... for I bought it for our wedding day."
The woman made to rise out of the bed.
"Show her your knife, Jack," the man said softly.
Jack did as he was bid, and as soon as he took out the weapon the woman scurried back beneath the sheets, eyes wide in fear, mewling like a frightened cat. There was a knock on the bedchamber door. The man opened it to show eleven women standing in the hallway beyond.
"Come in, ladies," he said with a smile that showed no hint of humor. "Your mistress is waiting."
Two or three were loath to enter, but quietened down right smart like when Jack showed them the silver knife. Soon all eleven stood around the bed, all staring straight at the silver in Jack’s hand. Jack had seen those twelve sets of eyes before.
"Sop, doll," he said, and grinned. The man shooed him out and the pair of them closed the door tight and locked it. The mewling started up from inside right away, and the house shook as if buffeted by a storm. But the door held. Jack followed the man to the kitchen and helped him spread the pitch all across the floor. He stood well back as the mill-owner started the fire.
The flames took fast, and soon Jack and the man were forced out into the yard where they stood watching as the upper-floor took hold. The man smiled grimly as the screams of the burning witches reached a crescendo and their bones popped in the heat of the blaze. They waited there all day, until the house fell in on itself and the wind started to sift the ashes.
The next day the man set to starting work on a new home and Jack went back to working the mill.
He stayed there all summer, and never saw another cat.
~-oO0Oo-~
I’d never heard him so excited. Not even when he got his first CD player.
"Ye’ve goat tae come and hear this," he said on the phone. "Total dead mental, so it is."
I was used to John’s enthusiasm, but I couldn’t prevent a small sigh escaping. He caught it, even over the crackling line.
"No. Ah mean it man. It’s pure dead brilliant."
On the way over I wondered what it was this time. Last time it had been the new speakers - the ones which let you hear the band breathing. Before that it had been laser discs, before that quadraphonic and so on, as far back as eight-track cassettes.
John was a hi-fi bore. I put up with him because he was generally a good guy and we enjoyed much of the same music. But get him on to the subject of equipment and he was off and running - tweeters, woofers, RMS, crackle and hum… he could bore you for hours about any one of them. Recent advances in technology had sent him into heaven and he spent most of his waking life studying the magazines and buying the latest add-ons. You probably know someone just like him.
There used to be a lot of them around.
When he opened the door he had the happy look of a puppy that had just wet all over the new carpet.
"Come away in, ma man," he said. "Ye’re no’ goan tae believe this shit."
He led me into the living room. I could see that he’d cleared out even more furniture. Now all he had was the system, his albums and a sofa, placed in exactly the optimum position in the room.
"This is it!" he said. "This is effin’ it."
He was dancing around on his toes, full of nervous energy. I didn’t want to get too close to him; he might be giving off sparks. I finally managed to get him calmed down enough to tell me what was going on.
"It hisnae even made the mags yet," he said. "Ah got it fae a contact out in Livingston, in Sony’s labs. Ah’m unner strict orders no’ tae let it oot o’ my sight. It’s like gonnae be the biggest thing since the telly wiz inventit."
He plunged on, almost talking to himself.
"TQ - that’s whit they’re gonnae ca’ it - Total Quality - the ultimate in Biotechnology. Dae ye see this wee beauty here?"
He held up a box, about the size of a packet of cigarettes, but black and shiny with strange nodules protruding from its surface. It was sleek and strangely organic, like something one of Giger’s aliens might leave behind. It made me want to stroke it, and get as far away as possible, both at the same time.
"Those fiendish Orientals have done it again, have they?" I asked, more to slow him down than out of any genuine desire to be illuminated.
"They hiv that," he said, shaking his head in admiration. "It’s a new form of computing, all based on a single chip. It’s built around a genetically engineered cell, a bit like an amoeba really, but what they’ve done is pump it full of intelligent proteins and attach it up to the latest in micro-circuitry."