The Wings of Ruksh (20 page)

The violent storm that raged across Scotland that afternoon took even the weathermen by surprise. Indeed, it seemed to blow up out of nothing, came from nowhere, defied every rule of meteorology and hammered the entire country. It swept in from the north-west, raced across the Highlands, buffeted Glasgow, howled through Edinburgh and, much to the Prime Minister’s delight, sent the French fishing fleet in the North Sea, racing for home.

Edinburgh was, perhaps, the hardest hit. Thunder rumbled ominously from a sky that had become as black as ink and the breathless wind that soughed over its cobbled streets stirred gradually from a strange unease to a tearing blast. Spears of rain lashed the city and lightning jagged in vicious streaks through the evil-looking clouds that tumbled and rolled over the castle in shades of brown, purple and black. The wind shrieked and howled through the streets for hours on end, rattling windows and ripping to shreds the tartan banners that decorated the city, leaving it clean and clear of Prince Kalman’s spell.

It was well into the middle of the night, when the storm had passed over and swept into the North Sea, that the wind eased and, into the sudden, breathless stillness, fell the first flakes of snow. The huge, soft, heavy flakes that drifted gently over town and country, coated the land in a thick blanket of white and the people of Scotland woke next morning to a silent, snow-covered landscape that gleamed under a clear, blue, winter sky.

“Well, MacArthur,” Sir James smiled, stretching out on a long sofa in the Great Hall under Arthur’s Seat, “thank goodness that’s all over and done with!”

The MacArthur, carefully avoiding Lady Ellan’s frowning glance, lit his pipe, settled himself comfortably among the
cushions
on his high chair and blew clouds of smoke into the air. “Aye,” he said contentedly, “we’ve achieved a lot and maybe now we’ll have some peace. Prince Kalman has gone for good and Scotland is safe from his magic.” He paused, eyeing them all smilingly. “The Sultan, too, is relieved at the way things have ended. He spoke to me this morning through the crystal and sends you his thanks and an invitation to spend the New Year in Turkey — an invitation that I accepted on your behalf.”

There was an excited murmur at this. “A holiday,” said Sir James, “is just what we all need! Nobody can say we don’t deserve it!”

“Sun, sand and blue sky,” murmured Clara, “fabulous!”

“And the food,” added Neil. “I loved it — the kebabs, the salads, the stuffed vine-leaves, the …”

“What, no haggis?” teased his mother.

“Mum, don’t ever feed me haggis again! Honestly, I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime!”

“That’s certainly one thing that we can be grateful for,” grinned Clara. “No more haggis and tartan!”

Her father smiled in agreement. “It’s really quite funny when you think back on it all! The whole of Scotland was positively plastered in tartan for months and everyone thought it wonderful! Goodness knows what the tourists thought!”

“Or the English,” added the Chief Constable with a sly smile at George Tatler.

Tatler laughed. “It was absolutely mind-boggling,” he admitted, “and I can’t tell you how relieved I am that that storm blew down all those dreadful tartan banners.”

“Oh, that was deliberate,” Hamish grinned. “The storm
carrier
that brought me back from Ardray was an obliging chap so we asked him for a favour! It didn’t take him long to get rid of them!”

The Chief Constable’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you called
up that storm? You can control the weather?”

At this, Arthur blew smoke down his nose and Archie grinned and nodded lazily from his favourite position in the crook of the dragon’s arm. “Well, some of the time,” he nodded. “When it’s necessary!”

“Like the handy mist that Arthur brewed up, eh?” Tatler smiled at the great dragon. He leant forward. “You know, the French are still in total shock over what happened to their fleet. It’ll take them months to get over it! Officially, there’s no
comment
but rumours are spreading! Rumours are spreading!” he repeated with some glee.

“And what about the French fishermen?” enquired the Ranger, who sat beside Sir James with Kitor perched on his shoulder. “What happened to them? I read in the papers that the storm forced them back to port and most of the boats lost all their gear and were badly damaged!”

The MacArthur choked into his pipe and had a fit of
coughing
. “Aye,” he said, wiping his eyes, “they got back to port by the skin of their teeth, I’ve no doubt, but I made sure they had a really tough time of it before they got there! Just to teach them a wee lesson not to meddle with the Scots in future, ye ken! I asked yon storm carrier to frighten the wits out of them, all the way back to France and, by God, he did a grand job. A grand job! They’ll not be coming back here again for many a long day, believe me!”

The Ranger looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t bank on it, MacArthur. Fishing is big business, you know, and everyone’s in it for the money.”

The MacArthur smiled and waved his pipe. “They won’t come back,” he assured him. “You see,” he confessed, “I … er, I added another spell to Arthur’s little bag of tricks when he went out to hex the French fleet.”

“What was that?” queried Sir James, looking a trifle
apprehensive
.

“Well,” he gloated, “I hexed their nets, didn’t I?”

“Hexed their nets!” Amgarad fluttered to keep his balance as Rothlan straightened in his chair and looked at Sir James in alarm.

The MacArthur sat back and looked at them all
mischievously
. “Ocht, it was nothing to worry about. Just a wee bit of fun!”

“A wee bit of fun!” Ellan looked at Rothlan helplessly.

“Aye, it was the funniest thing you ever saw,” he assured them. “You see, I got a bit bored with you all away on your adventures and the like so I hexed their nets and watched what happened through the crystal.”

“And what
did
happen, MacArthur?” asked Tatler, sitting forward on the edge of his chair.

The MacArthur’s lips twitched. “Well, at first they couldn’t believe it — but when it happened time after time, well …”

“When
what
happened time after time, father?”

“Man, were they furious!” reminisced the MacArthur, chuckling at the thought. “You should have heard the language!” He shook his head. “Dreadful, dreadful!”

“Father!” Lady Ellan said warningly.

He leant forward. “I’ll tell you what happened. They were out there for days, you know — days and days — and in all that time, they didn’t catch one single fish! Not one
fish
, not one
crab
, not one
anything
!
That’s
what happened! Every time they pulled their nets in, they came up empty; completely and utterly empty!”

“You mean … they caught no fish? No fish at all?” stuttered Sir James.

“Not one!” The MacArthur sat back proudly. “Believe me, they were swearing all the way back to France.”

Tatler gave a whinny of sheer glee that set them all off and even Arthur’s great body heaved with laughter at the
completeness
of their victory against the French.

Tatler wiped his eyes. “I wondered why the fishermen had it in for Marcel Bruiton,” he gasped, “and now I know! The
North Sea fiasco was all his idea and by heavens, they were out for his blood. After all the demonstrations in Paris he’s had to resign, you know. It’s not official yet. They’ll be announcing it tomorrow, I think.”

“Good riddance to him,” opined Sir James.

“Ocht, I wouldn’t blame Bruiton too much,” the MacArthur said slowly. “Kalman used the crown’s magic to control him, after all.
He
made him send the French fishermen out in the first place and sending the navy in after them was just a ploy to distract attention from his bid for the throne of Scotland. And don’t forget, he needed French co-operation to have all those ancestral documents of his authenticated as well.”

Tatler nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he confirmed. “I found out just the other day that it was one of Bruiton’s chaps that verified them.”

“But Kalman wasn’t really Bonnie Prince Charlie’s son, was he?” frowned Neil.

“Of course not,” Lord Rothlan said smiling, “he travelled back in time just as we did and forged the birth certificate and all the other documents that he would need to prove his claim.

The MacArthur nodded. “I think it was the knowledge that you were on your way to get the crown, Alasdair, that forced his hand. His big mistake was to try and hurry things along but if he’d only waited and gone through the proper channels, the documents would have been authenticated eventually, for scientific analysis would have shown that the paper and ink were all of the correct period.”

“Anyway,” said Tatler, “the new chap that’s replacing Bruiton seems very capable and much more reasonable. I hear he went to school with Louis de Charillon.”

“In that case, I wouldn’t mind betting that the count will probably end up an ambassador!” muttered the Chief Constable. “Sooner rather than later!”

“Probably,” agreed Sir James. “And he’ll make a good job of it, too. But, you know, we’re seriously going to have to do
something
about him. He not only saw Ned Stuart going through that magic mirror but he also saw Clara and me demerging from a couple of pigeons.”

“What about a memory spell?” queried Lord Rothlan.

Sir James looked at Tatler and the Chief Constable. “I think a memory spell would be an insult to someone of that calibre,” he said slowly. “He suspects a lot and although he’s been
questioned
about it, he hasn’t mentioned seeing me at Moray Place that afternoon, has he Archie?”

The Chief Constable shook his head. “Not a word. As far as he’s concerned he gave Stuart the papers and left the house more or less immediately because he knew Stuart was in a hurry to get to the meeting and was late already. Totally feasible with no one around to prove or disprove his story.”

“What puzzles me is that no one is making a fuss about Ned Stuart’s disappearance,” said Neil. “I mean, everyone was
for
him! There was going to be a grand parade down the High Street. They even said that he was going to live in Holyrood Palace after he was crowned … but now …”

“Yes,” agreed Clara, “we’ve been looking in the newspapers and there’s no mention of him. You’d think the papers would be full of it!”

“Was
that
a memory spell, sir?” Neil said, bouncing up straight on his cushion.

“Not in the way you mean,” smiled Lord Rothlan. “You see, when the Sultan took the crown from him, Kalman lost his power and the Scottish spell, remember, was his. Now that it has faded away, Stuart will become just a vague memory and I doubt if any one will remember much of the ins and outs of the affair.”

“What about the house in Moray Place and the magic
mirrors
?” queried Mrs MacLean.

“The house didn’t belong to Kalman,” Sir James answered. “I made some enquiries about that. He rented it from an Edinburgh lawyer who has a holiday house somewhere in
Spain. I went to visit him and found him a bit absent-minded, but apart from being totally confused as to why he’d spent a couple of years in Spain instead of six months, there seems to be no harm done.”

“And the magic mirrors?” queried Neil.

“Ah! The mirrors! Yes, I asked him about the mirrors. Said I’d noticed them when I’d been invited to the house and would like to buy them. He’d tried to return them, apparently, but as he couldn’t get in touch with Ned Stuart he’d ended up sending them to the sale rooms to be auctioned. I checked up on that, of course, but the company that bought them seems to have gone out of business.”

“So they’ve disappeared?”

Sir James nodded and glanced at the MacArthur. “Maybe they were meant to fade out of the picture, I don’t know, but I have a suspicion that it’ll be the same with all the odd things that have happened, like the craze for tartan and the bagpipes. Although people will think it strange that they bought so much haggis, they’ll just think that they had a taste for it and eaten so much of it that they can’t face any more.”

“You’re right,” agreed Mrs MacLean, “the shops are selling off their haggis, shortbread and Dundee cake at very reasonable prices and, do you know, I just can’t bring myself to buy any.”

“I’ll guarantee that by the New Year, Ned Stuart and the tartan craze will have been completely forgotten,” agreed the Chief Constable. “People have scrapped it already. All they’re interested in now is Christmas shopping and what to wear at the office party. I see from the headlines in today’s
Scotsman
that the Council has gone into gear for the winter celebrations. They’ve already started laying the ice rink in the gardens below the castle.”

“Clara and I always go skating,” Neil said, his face lighting up at the thought of the days ahead. “It’s magic! They sell roast chestnuts and stuff.”

Rothlan looked over at them and smiled at their
enthusiasm
. They had already shrugged off the dangers they had gone through and it was a relief to him that everything had turned out for the best. He watched as Amgarad stalked in his ungainly way over to Clara and his great wings flapped as he scrambled onto her shoulder. He would miss her when they returned to Jarishan. But Clara would have Kitor to keep her company and his eyes moved to where the crow perched
perkily
on the Ranger’s shoulder.

The crow’s bright glance met his in sparkling gratitude for he knew that it had been at Rothlan’s suggestion that he should live with the Ranger and his family in Edinburgh. Everyone knew that Jarishan was the home of Amgarad and the eagles and, like Rothlan, Kitor knew that he would never have fitted in there.

And now he had a home in the park! Although he’d tried hard to tell them, neither Clara nor Neil would ever know the depth of the joy he’d felt when the Ranger had asked him if he’d like to stay with them. It was a dream! A family to live with and a home of his own; and not any ordinary home, but a home in the park — with cars passing backwards and forwards all day long and fast food on the doorstep! Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that such good fortune could be his. Kitor ruffled his feathers and sighed happily. Life could hold no more.