Mythology Abroad (15 page)

Chastened, Keith went back into the dining room, and took his place at the table. A homely clatter erupted from the kitchen. Soon, heralded by the appearance of the female cat, who was still holding part of Keith’s sock in her mouth, Mrs. Mackenzie emerged with a tray. Keith matched stares with the cat, who took her prey out into the hall.

“There, that ought to fill you,” the woman said maternally, setting a full plate before him and ruffling his hair.

Keith took some toast out of the toast rack before it could cool and buttered it. “Thanks. By the way, what’s the holed stone out beyond the garden? There’s traces of white in the bowl. I saw it sort of reflected in the moonlight from above on the way back from the circle, and I went down to look at it.… Um, did I say something wrong?”

Mrs. Mackenzie had started like a rabbit. Before she answered, she looked right, left, and over her shoulder as if someone might be listening to her right there in her dining room. “It’s old,” she said at last. “Ancient as time. My gran, who owned this farm, had the custom passed to her by her gran, and so to me, to pour the first milking there every full moon. I’ve done it for years.”

“For prosperity, and so on?” Keith asked, surprisingly calm. She nodded. “To propitiate the
bodach
? And the cream of the well, too?”

“The what?” Holl asked skeptically, looking from one to the other.

“Water drawn from a well on the first night of the new moon,” Keith explained.

“That’s right.” Mrs. Mackenzie was embarrassed. “It’s my ain silly superstitions, but I’m amazed that anyone understands how it is.”

Keith put on his most persuasive and trustworthy face. “Come on, Mrs. Mackenzie. Tell me the rest. I study this kind of thing. I’m interested in it. I read a lot about legends and things. I promise we won’t laugh. We take it very seriously.”

She seemed a bit shamefaced, twisting a fold of her tweed skirt between her fingers, and wouldn’t meet the boys’ eyes. “Seems silly to tell you all,” the landlady continued, “but I haven’t stopped doing it for fear there’s aught to it. It’s there for the wee ones, to keep off the dark and help the farm along.” Keith glanced triumphantly at Holl, who rolled his eyes impatiently at him. “They don’t do jobs, but they do look after us. I put the milk by, and it’s all gone in the morning. It might be cats, but I’ve never dared to stay and look.”

“Does it have to be you who leaves the milk?” Keith asked.

“I don’t ken it matters, so long as it’s left,” she replied, surprised. Keith pressed his advantage.

“It’s the full of the moon tonight. Can I do it tonight? Please?”

Holl rose out of his seat and shook a finger in the young man’s face. “Oh, no, Keith Doyle,” he cautioned. “Don’t you dare. Remember what the Master said. No meddling.”

“It might be nothing at all, just some neighbor’s cat, like Mrs. Mackenzie says,” Keith informed him. “All I want to do is see what’s out there, talk to whatever it is, and maybe take a few pictures.”

“I wouldna mind,” Mrs. Mackenzie added. “The creepity feelings of that stane make me nervous. If he’s a mind to try, I’ve no objections.”

“There, you see?” Keith finished triumphantly. “And she thinks I’m brave.”

Exasperated, Holl threw up his hands. “I’m against it, and so would any other creature of sense. My family tells stories of this kind of spirit to scare the children, not to encourage them to waylay it. You don’t know if it’s hornets or kittens making the buzzing, but you want to stick your hand into the nest. Please yourself.”

“From ghosties and ghoulies and long leggity beasties / and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord deliver us,” Keith declaimed in a spooky voice. Mrs. Mackenzie nervously gathered up the tray and went back into the kitchen.

Holl pursed his lips. “You’re mocking me. If you want to take your own silly risks, go ahead.”

“How bad could it be? It might be nothing. I’ve followed up dead end leads before. This is probably just one more.” Keith quoted the research books he had been reading. “Remember the
bodach
of Jura. They’re good guys. The little wise men of the oak trees, and so on. You’d want to meet someone like that, wouldn’t you? This guy might be nothing more than a house brownie, like Mrs. Mackenzie says. Look, if I leave out their fee without trying to do them a kindness, I might be able to talk with them and get a few pictures without ‘waylaying’ it.”

“Chasing it away,” Holl translated. “But this isn’t Jura. The
bodach
of this land might be quite a bit different than the ones there. And Mrs. Mackenzie won’t be pleased if you scare off her household protector.”

“Well, she doesn’t actually know if he does anything for them now, or if there’s anyone who comes for the milk. This way, I’ll settle the matter quietly for the lady, and prove its existence for her, and for you, too.”

***

C
HAPTER SIXTEEN

That night, as soon as the moon appeared, Keith promptly took himself outside, and made himself a comfortable nest in the grass next to the weathered stone at the end of the garden path. Mrs. Mackenzie came out with a bowl of milk balanced carefully on her hands. The cats followed her hopefully, but veered away as soon as she stopped next to the stone.

“It’s from the first milking, that I’ll guarantee,” Mrs. Mackenzie said, looking a little nervous. “Everything should be proper.”

“Thanks,” Keith replied blithely, pouring the milk into the depression on top of the stone and handing the bowl back to her. “It’ll be all right. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve brought something extra, in case your visitor’s upset that someone’s here waiting for it.” He produced a bottle of whiskey, propped it on top of the stone. His camera was loaded and waiting. There were new batteries in both the flash unit and the electric torch on his knee.

Mrs. Mackenzie was hesitant. “I’ll leave ye to’t, then, shall I?”

“Yup,” Keith said happily. He felt confident. This was much better than the night before—his intuition told him so. “I’ll be in later. Thanks again.”

The landlady retreated along the path, followed by the cats. Keith was alone. It was only about eight o’clock. He figured he would have a long wait until the
bodach
thought everyone was in bed and came to claim its tribute. Keith had looked up the illustration of ‘whippitie-stourie’ in one of his guides. It showed a small figure with a slim torso and tiny, long fingers. He was certain he could handle something like that. After discovering a whole village full of Little Folk who were a lot bigger than that, a brownie should be an ordinary night’s work. On the other hand, there
was
something supernatural about shivering in high July in the Northern Hemisphere in a tweed jacket and a woolly hat as if it was December, Keith thought, as he hunkered down between two apple trees to wait.

O O O

“Sir, I think we’ve got something here,” Michaels whispered excitedly into the pay telephone at the bottom of the hill. “I’ve been watching O’Day closely, and there’s no doubt about it, he’s up to something. He’s been acting pretty strangely all day, hieing about with his camera. Can you get me clearance on whether there’s a secure installation hereabout he might be preparing to photograph?”

On the other end of the line, the chief became very agitated. “I’ll inquire of the Home Office in Edinburgh. Where’s O’Day now?”

“I think he’s waiting for a contact, sir. There’s a bottle of whiskey on the stone he’s sitting beside, and he looks settled in for a long night.”

“Aha! This is probably the contact,” the chief said. “Well done, Michaels. Take him. As soon as possible before our security is breached. Move in. You have our full support. If nothing comes of it, we can say he was detained to help us with our enquiries.”

“Yes, sir.” Michaels hung up, and moved purposefully to his observation spot. At last, there was going to be an end to his vigil.

O O O

Holl, denouncing Keith’s antics as a waste of time, declined to wait outside with him. Instead, he had gone into the sitting room and opened one of Keith’s storybooks to pass the time. Two of the Siamese cats sat down on his legs, holding them in place with slim, dark paws and narrow chins. In a short time, Mrs. Mackenzie had appeared with a tea tray, laden with steaming pots, cups, and a plate of small cakes.

“I always have a wee bite when I’m up late. I don’t think I could sleep! Whew! It’s like the best ghost stories, isn’t it, with him sitten out for the spirit’s rising? You don’t feel as your cousin does, then?” she asked, offering him tea. “You don’t think there’s a Presence out there?”

“No, I don’t,” Holl said firmly, stirring his cup with a minute spoon. “It’s a lot of nonsense. He’s going to spend a long cold night. But at least you’ll both be satisfied at the end of it.”

“Aye,” the landlady said. “Well, I don’t believe it, but he does shape a convincing line of talk. I’m quite enjoying it.” They sipped tea for a while in silence. Holl read his book, and Mrs. Mackenzie stared calmly at the electric fire. At last, she gathered up the tea things and rose.

“Any road, I’m going to me bed. I have early mornings.”

“Good night,” Holl said, and looked after her thoughtfully when the door closed. He folded the book over on his thumb.

So Keith Doyle looked as silly to his own kind as he did to Holl’s, playing about with stones and such. Why was Keith so willing to take foolish chances? Did he feel he had nothing to lose? Or did he consider himself so lucky that there was nothing he couldn’t do? That was one of the differences between them. Well, it made one think. Keith Doyle seemed to see small adventures like this as part of his life, not an unwelcome intrusion or an overwhelming spectre. If nothing happened, he didn’t even feel he had wasted his time on the caper. “You can’t learn from your mistakes if you never make any,” he was fond of saying.

Holl felt that the parts of his own life were much too precious to risk. This trip was the largest departure from his normal routine that he had ever made—that he had ever thought of making—and look what it did to the rest of his comfortable existence.

Sticks and stones, I’m starting to think like Bilbo Baggins, Holl chided himself. Adventures which made one late for dinner! How hidebound I am, really. He decided all at once that it was silly to let Keith take such risks by himself. There was something about that garden place by the stone he disliked. He finally admitted to himself that he hadn’t wanted to wait with his friend because it made him uncomfortable. And if it did, might there not be something to his feeling? Shaking off the cats, he went to wash his hands.

In the bathroom, he confronted his own reflection in the mirror. It angered him to see the simple, soft, rounded eartips pushing through his hair, where tall, elegant, sharply pointed ears ought to be.

“What an idiot I’ve been, hiding behind the semblance of one of the Big Folk. Enough of this masquerading!” Holl spat. “I’ll be myself, with all the silly things I do, and whether or not they’re right, I’ll stand by my decisions.” With an effort of will, he concentrated his energies on his ears. Like corn growing in time action photography, the simple round buds opened, and sprouted into tall, backswept points. Holl smiled at his reflection. “Better.” He couldn’t wait to tell Keith about his decision.

“If there’s nothing to it, at least I’ll keep him company. There’ll be one supernatural being in the garden this way, at least in the eyes of Keith Doyle.” And if it really was dangerous … He hurried out to join his friend. There was a lot to talk about. They had the whole night through to debate.

Comfortable with his new resolve, he let himself out the kitchen door to the garden.

The moon was full above him, giving the garden a diffuse glow. The path split just outside of the door, and took right angles around the rectangular lawn, past dark flower beds full of nodding bushes of blossoms translucent in the moonlight. From the far edge, it continued in a single line between a line of slim apple trees with hard half-grown fruits clinging to the boughs. At the end of the path, Holl could see the whitewashed stone, and a dark form next to it with a gleaming red crown. As he walked toward it, the figure became animated, raising thin limbs to its head. There was a brilliant flash of hot white light and a second in quick succession. Then the shouting started. It wasn’t Keith’s voice doing the yelling.

His blood drained suddenly into his feet, making him feel faint. There was someone out there. He ran the final distance to the stone. Keith had stood up and was grappling with a figure slightly smaller than he. Holl dashed through the apple trees, beating the branches out of his way with an impatient arm. By the time he reached the stone, both figures were gone, and the garden was silent. Holl hadn’t seen them go. He crossed the last few feet to the stone. The whiskey bottle was smashed on the paving stones, and the camera lay in the grass beside it.

“Keith! Keith Doyle!” Holl cried, casting around desperately. No answer. He had been taken away. But where? Oh, why, why was it that that foolish boy always had to suffer to prove his principles?

“Lad, lad, what is it?” Mrs. Mackenzie called, emerging from between the trees. She was in a long cotton nightdress, and was hastily wrapping an overcoat about herself. “Why are you shouting? Where’s your cousin, hey?”

Holl turned wild eyes on her. “He’s gone! I think he’s been carried off!”

“What?” Mrs. Mackenzie looked at him curiously, scrutinizing the side of his head. His hair was well back from his ears, which were anything but hidden in the bright moonlight. Holl hastily blurred her vision, and guided her gaze to focus upon his eyes. She blinked, not sure she had seen anything out of the ordinary, and continued speaking normally, having hardly missed a beat. “Taken by the Wee Ones? Oh, no, lad. Look here.” She led him to the edge of the garden. “See how the ground drops away right there? He tumbled down the hill, I’m certain. Ye can’t see the bottom from where we’re standing, what with the gorse being that thick. He’ll be back up after he’s gathered his wits.” She pulled a protesting Holl away from the edge. “There’s no sense you falling down after him. The ground is unchancy where they’ve been digging it up. You can lose a leg in the peat. Wait for him. See, there’s his torch, here next to the stane. He’s no light to lead him upward. Wait a while, eh? If he’s not back until morning then my husband’ll help ye. Come on back inside. I’ll give you a coop o’ hot milk. That’ll settle ye to sleep.”

Numb with shock, Holl followed her to the house. His brain raced as he sat in the kitchen while the kindly woman bustled around him. Where could Keith be? Did he just fall down the hill? Surely he would have answered if he was able, if he hadn’t been knocked unconscious. The strong sensation of power he had noticed by the stone during the day was amplified now.

“Now you drink that, and off ye go to bed. Your cousin will be in soon.” She left him alone, and padded away down the corridor. Obediently, Holl drank the milk, which relaxed his tightly wound insides, and listened closely. The woman had shut her door and was already lying down in bed. In a moment, all was silent except for the gentle breathing of the others in the house.

“Oh, I’ve missed my ears,” Holl said, clapping his hands over them. “Imagine having to live with the sorry level of hearing the Big Folk have.” Feeling somewhat restored, Holl slipped toward the door, and eased it open. He heard an inquiring sound near his knees. It was the female cat.

“Now don’t you hinder me, miss,” Holl commanded her. “You’re part of the reason he’s in trouble.” The cat sat down on her haunches with an ‘I don’t know
what
you’re talking about’ expression, and began to wash her breast fur with nodding licks. Holl closed the door behind him and hurried down across the grass to the holed stone.

He couldn’t shout for Keith Doyle again, not unless he wanted to raise the household. He and Keith hadn’t yet met Mr. Mackenzie, but they had seen him once or twice from the back as he left the house early in the morning. He had an uncompromising way of walking. Holl got the impression that Mrs. Mackenzie’s husband didn’t approve of her telling silly folk tales to strangers.

More than anything else, Holl didn’t want to be hindered in his search. If Keith had been swept away by a
thing
, Holl needed to be able to deal with it and not have to worry about Big Folk bystanders wandering into the line of fire. He unsheathed his whittling knife, and started poking around. Between the knife and his own abilities, he should be well able to take care of himself.

He had better night vision than the average among his Folk, and there was a full moon overhead, with only wisps of clouds across it. The sun was out of sight now, but the sky still wore a dawn-colored cloak that made it nearly as light as it had been at eight P.M.. They were far enough north that there was no true night during the summer months. He tried
listening
for Keith, but he realized that he was too shaken to sense properly, so he would have to seek him in the mind-blind, Big Folk way. Still, Holl had his hunter’s training and all the book learning available to him from the stacks of Gillington Library.

The site of Keith’s disappearance had little to tell him. The whitewashed stone bowl was dry. Somehow, the
bodach
had taken the traditional offering without actually touching the stone. The whiskey bottle lay smashed into glistening fragments on the pavement nearby. Holl hadn’t noticed it before, but there was no smell of spilled liquor. The bottle, like the bowl, was dry. The tax seal on the neck hadn’t been broken, but there wasn’t a drop of liquor left on the grass or the ground. The
bodach
had taken Keith Doyle’s gift and Keith Doyle as well.

The ground had sealed up seamlessly above them, if this was where the two had vanished. This place had nothing more to tell him. Perhaps he could try Mrs. Mackenzie’s suggestion, and examine the scree outside of the garden. He hoped that Keith might be there, nursing a sore leg or arm, but in his heart, Holl doubted it. He smelled magic. Not the simple tricks and bending of rules that his Big friend called magic. This was the real thing: the raw, wild power.

“Keith Doyle, you were right,” Holl said out loud, “and I’m sorry you’re not here for me to tell you so.” He clutched Keith’s camera at his side. Whatever was on the film would tell him a lot about what he was dealing with. Holl slipped out of the garden and went to have a look.

O O O

Michaels emerged from the bushes, and surveyed the ground next to the stone. That was a pretty trick. Must have been something to do with the light. One minute O’Day and his contact were on the top of the hill in plain sight. A bright flash, and suddenly they were nowhere to be seen. Good optics, and good timing with it. He hadn’t had even so much as a glance at the face of the contact. The chief wouldn’t be pleased about that. The office still had no clue as to whom O’Day’s client was. Michaels had missed his brief chance to make an identification.