“Did you really intend to use the caverns as a bomb shelter?” he asked.
Alasdair Murdoch cast a pitying look in Sir Percy’s direction and raised his voice slightly, to be heard over the driving rain.
“The laird was being inventive,” he said generously. “The original stone tablet was damaged by the Royal Navy, but we would have replaced it in any case. We needed easy access to the hoard, and the original tablet was simply too heavy. Cal’s father could move it because he was a giant of a man, but most of us aren’t. And we weren’t worried about thieves. No one comes and goes on Erinskil without our knowledge.”
Damian nodded, but he hadn’t finished yet. “If you’re using the cavern as a storeroom, there seems little need for frequent trips to Cieran’s Chapel. Why, then, do you maintain the ringbolt in such pristine condition? Why was the soil around the old laird’s grave disturbed?”
“We still go out to the Chapel to check on the grave,” Alasdair Murdoch explained. “It’s sunken a bit over time. We don’t want visitors wondering why the hole is so big, so we open the tomb from time to time, to replace the braces and keep it from caving in.”
“We were doing just that,” said Cal Maconinch, “when Sir Percy arrived in his helicopter five days ago with his unexpected guests. We had to close the grave in a hurry, in case one of you took it into your head to visit the Chapel.”
“Which we discourage,” Neil MacAllen interjected, “by putting out the story about Brother Cieran’s ghost and backing it up with mysterious lights.”
“That’s me,” Alasdair Murdoch confessed, grinning.
“You’re Brother Cieran’s ghost?” I said, my eyes widening.
“Only when Sir Percy has guests,” said Mr. Murdoch modestly.
George Muggoch joined in. “If they come to the pub, my wife talks a blue streak about the ghost, the curse, and the haunted monastery. If that doesn’t rattle them, she puts in a bit about the Slaughter Stone and human sacrifices as well. She gave our friendly journalist an earful tonight, I can tell you, drove him right back onto his boat. There’s no one like my wife for spinning a yarn.”
“She’s a wonder,” agreed Neil MacAllen. “And the curse works more often than not. When people believe they’re jinxed, they get nervous, and nervous people tend to have accidents.”
“Like the guy who broke his leg,” I said, nodding.
“The rest of Sir Percy’s guests avoided the Chapel after that,” said Mr. Murdoch, with satisfaction.
“Is there anything else we can tell you, Mr. Hunter?” asked Pastor Ferguson.
“Yes,” said Damian. “I’d like to know the truth about Sir Percy’s missing mail.”
Neil MacAllen’s tanned face reddened as the other elders cast baleful looks his way. “My wife was overzealous in her efforts to keep the conservation group away from Erinskil. She’s apologized to his lairdship. It won’t happen again.”
“I should think not,” said Pastor Ferguson, a bit huffily. “Anything else, Mr. Hunter?”
“No,” Damian replied. “Thank you for clarifying the situation.”
“You’ve certainly put my mind at ease,” I chimed in cheerfully. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re not a horrible gang of drug smugglers. I never really thought you were. It just didn’t seem right. Not on Erinskil.”
“Certainly not,” Pastor Ferguson declared, straightening his tie. “But we must ask you, we must ask both of you: Will you keep our secrets? We are aware that our endeavors entail a certain amount of illegality. Are you going to turn us in? If you do, you’ll have to turn in every adult on Erinskil.”
“Including me.” Sir Percy had been silent for so long that his hearty voice made everyone jump, but he addressed his words directly to me and Damian. “Do you remember asking me about a laird’s responsibilities, Lori? There’s one responsibility I didn’t mention at the time. A laird is duty-bound to protect his people. The modern world offers threats every bit as dire as those offered by marauding Norsemen. I don’t know what your intentions may be, but I intend to defend my island from all pillagers—including and most especially the barbarians from the Inland Revenue.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” I said, looking around the circle of questioning faces, “you’ve saved your country more than you’ve taken from it. You’re doing what government is supposed to do but so seldom does—you’re keeping people healthy, well educated, and employed. All I have to say is, keep up the good work.”
“I’ll tell no one,” said Damian. “As Sir Percy pointed out earlier, your affairs are irrelevant to my assignment. I apologize for intruding.” He turned to Sir Percy. “I would like to know one more thing, however.”
“Only one?” said Sir Percy, raising an eyebrow.