The Battle for Duncragglin (6 page)

They rounded a bend and saw the battered outline of the castle rising up above the cliffs. Even in the midday sun, the ruins looked bleak and desolate.

Mr. McRae turned onto a grassy plateau and parked overlooking the sea. There was no paved car park, ticket booth, or guided tour. In fact, there was no one there at all – only hundreds of seagulls wheeling about and screeching from nooks in the crumbled walls.

All that remained of the castle were mounds of earth and stone, basic outlines of foundations, and eroded remnants of towers. Everything was so overgrown, it was hard to tell where natural rock formations ended and ancient walls began.

Centrally perched on the edge of the cliffs was a large mound that Alex guessed would have been the castle keep. The upper floors appeared to have collapsed into the lower, filling them in. Grass had grown over the top, and seagulls had taken to building nests in the remnants of the walls.

Alex regarded it dubiously. There seemed little prospect of finding a way in. Perhaps it would offer a good view. “Is there a way up top?” he asked.

“Around the other side there's a wee sloped bit,” Mr. McRae replied. “Seeing how it isn't a windy day, we can have our picnic up there.”

The top provided a spectacular panorama of surrounding cliffs, with waves crashing far below. Alex leaned against an iron rail and shaded his eyes from the ocean glare. Ahead, a crumbling, overgrown arch connected with more ruins on outcropping rocks. Under it was a water passage to a small natural harbor that would once have been surrounded by castle and walls.

Alex sighed. Such a magnificent castle, so little left.

The midday sun beat down on them. Even on their
perch high above the sea, there was only the slightest warm breeze to ruffle their hair. Mr. McRae spread a tartan blanket and placed the picnic basket in the middle. Willie picked a stem of tall grass and stuck it in his mouth. The end wiggled as he chewed.

“Ah, what a braw day.” Mr. McRae stretched out on the tartan blanket, his hands behind his head. “We don't have nearly enough days like this in this country.”

Willie reached into the basket and pulled out a roll.

“Hey – that's mine!”

“No, it's not.” Willie held the roll out of Craig's reach. “Do you see your name on it?”

“Is too, I called it! Let me have it!” Craig lunged and grabbed Willie's arm.

“Boys … boys … BOYS!” Mr. McRae waded in and pulled them apart. “Enough of this! Willie, put the roll down. I'll hand them out myself.”

Even with all the rolls spread over a napkin, Craig and Willie still wanted the same one, so Mr. McRae evened out the amount of ham and cheese on each roll by using some from his own.

Annie watched with wry amusement. “Pretty silly, aren't they?” She sounded a little embarrassed. She steered Alex away, and they strolled up to the rail. “So far, I haven't seen any way to get inside,” she said, “but let's keep looking. We might have more luck after lunch, when we head down below.”

Alex scanned the coastline. “It looks different than last night, when I went looking for Vanessa,” he said. “I don't remember a beach down there.”

Annie laughed. “That's because the tide was in, silly!”

Alex looked away, annoyed. How was he to know? It's not like he grew up next to an ocean.

After lunch, they all hiked down steep, overgrown steps to explore the harbor. Alex imagined moored boats and a wharf crowded with fishermen hauling out their catch, kids darting between piles of nets and buckets of fish, carts clattering over stones…. And now there was nothing, only the steady sound of crashing waves clawing away at what was left.
But is there really nothing?
Alex thought back to the eerie moaning noise, the movements, the monsters from his dream. He shivered and hurried after the others.

They crossed into a shadow, and a blaze of blue sky silhouetted the ruins above them. Alex stopped to study the walls. He could make out the outline of rows of vertical slits for firing arrows, but they all appeared to be filled in.

“Alex, over here.” Mr. McRae waved for him to come. They headed down to the sandy stretch at the base of the cliffs.

Out on the wet sand, Alex was careful to step around the brown sea kelp, having spotted numerous jellyfish in its strands. Crunching wet kelp underfoot was one thing, squishing slithery jellyfish was quite another.

The tide had receded further. Slimy green boulders dotted the wet beach. Mr. McRae stopped at a pool left by the retreating tide to point out colorful sea anemones rooted to the rocks. Using a hooked stick, he probed underneath and pulled out a crab. It waved its claws angrily.

“Strange things, these hermit crabs,” Mr. McRae said.

“They take up empty shells for a home. When they outgrow one shell, they abandon it and take over another.” He looked back to the castle. “And speaking of things that take over dwellings, has anyone seen a castle ghoulie today?”

Everyone dutifully shook their heads.

“Well then, let's no go on so much about ghoulies or ghosts or whatnot – alright?”

Everyone dutifully nodded.

Mr. McRae harrumphed. He wasn't fooled: he knew it would take more than a sunny midday walk around the castle to dispel all the fears and myths that had grown over the years.

Alex stumbled over a board that protruded from the sand. Mildly curious, he wriggled it loose and balanced it on end. Down one side were mud-filled grooves that were not part of the wood grain. Intrigued, he dropped the board into a puddle and kneeled to rinse it off. The faint outline of a bird emerged, its pointy beak stuck into the ground as if after a worm.

“Hey, check this out!” Alex called.

Mr. McRae gave it barely more than a glance. “Just a worthless old plank off a boat,” he said. The others quickly lost interest.

Regardless, Alex wanted to keep it as a memento. He tucked an end under his arm and dragged the other end behind him. It left a deep rut in the sand. He soon wished it was not quite so big and heavy.

Shadows from the cliffs were reaching out across the sand. Alex stopped, sure he saw something moving. “Look, there! At the base of those rocks! Do you see it?”

Everyone shielded their eyes. There in the shadows were two figures, one large and the other small.

“Oh, no, not them,” Mr. McRae muttered.

“Not who, Dad?”

“If I'm no mistaken, that would be Kenneth Farquhar and his son, Grant.”

“Oh, them.” Annie frowned.

“Who are they?” Alex asked.

“The Straith Meirn antique dealer and his son,” Annie replied. “He's been selling away our heritage to tourists piece by piece. Last year, he even managed to sell the five-hundred-year-old Kintail Bridge. The American who bought it took it away, stone by stone, to rebuild it on his property in Vermont. Can you imagine? Our bridge – a bridge built and traveled by Scots for over five hundred years – sitting in someone's garden in Vermont. That bridge belonged to Scotland – it was not his to sell!”

“Why was he allowed to do that?”

“When he bought rights to the land, it didn't even occur to anyone that he would sell the bridge. We tried to stop it, but he sits on the town council. They pretty much do what he wants.”

Willie removed a well-chewed stalk from his mouth. He regarded the mangled end and flicked the stalk away. “I go to school with Grant,” he said, turning his head to spit out a leftover piece. “He's a right nutter.”

The Farquhars stopped to watch their approach.

“Well, well, if it isn't the McRae clan,” said Kenneth Farquhar, a tight lopsided grin on his face. His son's smile looked more openly like a sneer.

“What brings you here, Kenneth?” Mr. McRae said evenly. “Planning to sell Duncragglin Castle?”

“I would if I could.” Kenneth Farquhar smiled, not rising to the bait. “It's a shame to see such a splendid castle simply fall into the sea, isn't it? Far better for someone to preserve it – even if that were in a place far away. But alas, even I cannae find a buyer for the rubble that remains.”

Mr. McRae snorted. “Better for the rubble of our ancient past to be trodden by the Scots,” he said, “than for it to be taken and preserved in some pickling jar.”

Kenneth Farquhar gave a short condescending laugh. “Such a quaint, myopic point of view. My sales have raised tax revenues that have benefited this whole community, not to mention the jobs I've created for the townsfolk.”

“Aye,” Mr. McRae said bitterly. “Ye pay them well to plunder the land.”

“Plunder?” Kenneth Farquhar's eyes flashed. “Be careful of the kettle calling the pot black, Alastair. What of the poisoning of our lands from your farming?”

“That's no true and ye know it!” Mr. McRae retorted.

“Do I, now?” The oily smile returned. “I'm no so sure the inspectors would agree with you.”

“I'm no afraid of your inspectors, Farquhar.”

“My inspectors? What on earth do you mean? Ye know full well that the inspectors are in the employ of the township. Well, it has been a pleasure to speak with ye as always, Alastair, but I have better things to do. Come, Grant.”

Grant eyed Alex's board curiously and nudged his father. “Don't artifacts found on the beach belong to the town, Father?”

Kenneth Farquhar's eye swept disdainfully over the worn driftwood plank under Alex's arm. “Let us be charitable, son. Perhaps they need it for firewood.”

“See you later, Dilly-Willie,” Grant called over his shoulder.

Willie stood silently, red-faced, glaring after them.

“What were they doing here, Dad?” Annie asked.

“Kenneth Farquhar wouldnae be out here just to enjoy a walk with his son.” Mr. McRae ground the end of his walking stick into the sand. “Let us speak no more of them. They've darkened my mood enough already.”

They walked along the shore in the opposite direction taken by the Farquhars. Alex traced the Farquhars' footsteps in the damp sand, but lost track of them as they approached the castle harbor.

Alex heard a shout. Willie was gesturing for them to join him a short way up the side of the cliff. Alex scrambled up, the others not far behind.

Willie pointed proudly to what he'd found: a small bricked-up archway recessed deep in the rocks. He thumped it hard with the side of his fist and grimaced.

“That was stupid.” Craig laughed.

“What do you think this is, Dad?” Annie asked.

“It's obvious, is it no?” Mr. McRae was puffing from the climb. “See how it's near sea level and just down from the castle? Think about it. What would it be?”

To Alex, Annie, and Willie, it was obviously a way into
the caves – but it was equally obvious that this was not the answer Mr. McRae was seeking.

“A sewer outlet!” Mr. McRae slapped his leg. “What else? Castles had sinks, baths, and toilets too, you know.”

Annie and Alex glanced at each other doubtfully. Whatever it was, it was no help to them. And it would take a stick of dynamite to get past.

They all continued down the beach until it narrowed to nothing and the shoreline became impassable. Alex tugged on Annie's sleeve as the others started to climb a path that wound its way up the cliff-side.

“Look.” He nudged Annie quietly. “Those waves over there … they look like they go right under that rock.”

Staring at the shadows, they watched waves smack up against the rock with a spray. At the low point, it looked as if the water was being sucked in under the rock, only to come gurgling back out a few seconds later.

Annie shrugged. “It's probably just a hollow.”

“True. But look at how close it is to that blocked-off archway farther up the cliff. Maybe the water has eroded the rock under there far enough back to connect with a cave.”

Annie bent to take a closer look. It was impossible to see how far it went. “It would have to be the lowest of low tides before we could get in there,” she said. “And then we might find it leads nowhere.”

“When will that be?” Alex persisted.

“Let's see….” Annie counted on her fingers. “The tide's getting lower by the day … I think it will be at its lowest point in about a week –”

“What is it?” Alex asked.

“Well,” she began, “if I'm not mistaken, the tide will be at its lowest point in the middle of the night.”