—
“Well that’s more like it,” Ellis said when I came back downstairs.
Hank had gone to a local pier to arrange for a boat, and Anna had returned just long enough to drop plates of drawer porridge on the table.
I glanced down at my dungarees, safari jacket, and utility shoes, and hoped she wouldn’t come back out of the kitchen before we left. I felt ridiculous.
“Here,” Ellis said, handing me a bright red case made of leather. It had an adjustable strap and a shiny brass buckle. “What do you think? Isn’t it pretty?”
“It’s very bright,” I admitted. “What is it?”
“Your gas mask. The cases have been weatherized, since it seems to be perpetually raining or snowing,” he explained, tapping the lid of his own case, which was dark brown.
I took the mask out to examine it. It was made of pungent black rubber, with a clear plastic window at the top and a strange metal canister capped by a bright green disk at the bottom. Three white cloth straps came from the sides and top of the face and were attached by a buckle.
I had just put it on and was trying to adjust the straps when Hank burst through the door. He stopped just inside and assumed a look of pure astonishment.
“Ellis! You weren’t supposed to find Nessie without me!”
I pulled the mask off and stuffed it back in its case. “Very funny, Hank.”
“It was, actually,” said Hank. “Nobody appreciates me around here. Let’s start over. Pretend I just came in. Go on—turn around and then turn back.”
When Ellis and I obliged, Hank stepped forward and threw his arms in the air.
“And we are in possession of a mighty sea vessel, ours for the duration!” he announced grandly. After a few beats, he dropped his arms and continued. “All right, maybe she’s not so mighty, and maybe it’s more accurate to say she’s a lake vessel, but I do know she doesn’t leak. I took her out for a little test spin.”
He clapped his hands in front of him. “Chop, chop, my dearest sourpusses. We’re wasting precious daylight. Let the adventure begin!”
Chapter Fifteen
We walked a few hundred yards north to Temple Pier, a tiny local dock, and set out in a battered rowboat. The plan was to find an accessible piece of land near Urquhart Castle and start surveillance.
When I first laid eyes on the boat and the ladder leading down to it, I balked. Hank and Ellis clearly sensed my apprehension—before I knew it, they’d handed me into it and pushed off, and instead of climbing into the bow behind Hank, Ellis sat next to me in the stern. This left the boat unevenly weighted, and when Hank started rowing, I stayed as close to the middle of the bench as I could, clutching my gas mask case with one hand and the edge of the bench with the other.
The water was eerily black and seemed to move against itself, the top layer gliding across the ones beneath. The bottom third of the oars disappeared with each stroke, and I found myself thinking of what might be lurking down there. I decided to focus on the shoreline instead. It was densely wooded, marshy even, and almost level with the water. Since we were headed south, I realized that it was the Cover, and that the village was right behind it.
“That’s the Urquhart Woods,” said Ellis, pointing. “Drumnadrochit is straight through there, although you’d never guess.”
The banks became steep immediately beyond the Cover and remained so—three to four feet high, with thick scrubby vegetation that reached right to the edge, and trees that seemed to rise straight from the water. We passed two sheep stranded at the brink, bleating and struggling to keep their footing. Their wool was thick and full of twigs, and their skinny black legs bent at odd angles as they tried to gain purchase. Their cries were pitiful, and sounded for all the world like people making fun of sheep.
“How on earth did they end up there?” I asked.
Hank glanced at them and shrugged. “They’re not exactly known for their brains.”
“Surely we’re not just going to leave them there,” I said as Hank continued to row. “Ellis?”
“There’s nothing we can do about it, darling,” he said, prying my hand loose from the bench and holding it on his thigh. “Anyway, sheep can swim. The wool makes them float.”
Hank was rowing mightily, and soon the sheep were just tiny dots on the bank. I twisted in my seat, continuing to watch and worry. Even if they got up the bank, how would they ever make their way back through the thorny scrub? I couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten past it in the first place.
“Look!” said Ellis, touching my arm to get my attention and then pointing. I turned around and caught my breath.
The castle was on a promontory immediately in front of us—spectacular, massive, and ruined, with a single tower that was missing its roof and much of its face. The surrounding walls and battlements were crumbling and jagged, their stones mottled with lichen and moss.
Ellis watched me take it in and broke into a mischievous smile. “So enlighten us. Tell us everything you know.”
The blood rushed to my face. I hadn’t read any of the books he’d asked me to.
“You haven’t cracked a single spine, have you?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “But I will. I’ll start tonight.”
He laughed and patted my knee. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I only got the books to keep you out of trouble on the trip over, although I can’t say that was a great success.”
Hank snorted.
“Fortunately, I have all the news that’s fit to print right here,” Ellis continued, tapping his head. “I read everything in my father’s library before the Great Purge.” He drummed his fingers against his lips. “Hmm, where to start…Well, the part you can see from here was built between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, and changed hands many times. It was last used by Loyalists in 1689, and when they were forced to retreat, they blew up the guardhouse”—he made sounds like explosions and threw his arms over his head, causing the boat to rock—“so the castle couldn’t be used by Jacobite supporters ever again. There are huge chunks of it lying near the entrance.”
“Try not to tip the boat, Professor Pantywaist,” Hank said. “This particular spot is more than seven hundred and fifty feet deep.”
I checked quickly for life belts and, seeing none, resumed my death grip on the bench.
Ellis went on. “For our purposes, the interesting thing about the castle is that it was built on the site of an ancient Pictish fort tied to the earliest monster sighting ever recorded. Saint Columba was on his way here in the year 565 A.D., and several witnesses claim he saved a man who was clutched in the monster’s jaws by making the sign of the cross.”
I shrank away from the water. “The monster eats people? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Ellis laughed. “You have nothing to fear, my darling. The worst it’s been accused of since is mauling a sheep or two.”
Knowing that Anna’s cousin had been too traumatized to ever get back on his boat or speak of his experience, I wasn’t entirely reassured.
“Here we are,” said Hank, using one oar to turn the boat toward a small landing next to the castle. He held the boat steady while Ellis removed his boots and socks and rolled up his pants.
Ellis nodded at Hank, who bared his teeth in a primal roar and dug both oars into the water, pulling so powerfully the veins in his face bulged. He drove us hard and fast toward the shore, and when we hit, I almost came off the bench. The bow lifted, which dropped the stern even further, and I shrieked.
Ellis grabbed a coil of rope and jumped out. The water came up past his knees, soaking his pants to midthigh.
“Shit!” he yelped. “Cold!”
Hank laughed as Ellis sloshed out of the water. “Approximately thirty-nine degrees, if I’m not mistaken. Sit in the bow next time, and you’ll be closer. Better yet, you can row, Mr. I-Was-on-the-Rowing-Team-at-Harvard.”
“Damned right I’ll row,” said Ellis. “Starting today, on the way back.”
He grabbed the bow, hauling the boat toward him. I could feel and hear the gravel scraping against the bottom.
“Works for me,” said Hank. “There’s a dock at the other end.”
“Ha, ha. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” said Ellis.
“That’s because I am,” said Hank. “I keep telling you.”
Ellis continued to pull until the boat was solidly grounded. He wiped his hands on his thighs and said, “That’s it. Everybody out.”
Hank grabbed the tripod and a couple of bags and hopped off the side.
Ellis reached in for his boots, then helped me climb out.
“At least my socks are dry,” he said, glancing at his soaked pants. He was grinning, beaming really, and it was like I’d been whisked back in time.
I was looking at the Ellis I’d met at Bar Harbor—before the war, before his diagnosis, before my own diagnosis, before the rift with his father. The charming, optimistic devil I’d married was still in there, and was apparently just as close to the surface as the Ellis who’d been so awful the night before.
I decided then and there to send a second telegram to my father that rescinded the first. I had to, even though I knew it would infuriate him, because I realized Hank had been right all along.
Ellis did need this, and I wanted to be there when he found the monster, to watch his restoration with my own eyes. Just as importantly, I didn’t want Hank to be the only one tied to the memories of that glorious day.