The Boggart Fights Back

  Macdonald followed Granda’s boat as it curved outward round the coast of Shuna Island to head back down the loch. His engine snarled when he increased the power, but the Camerons couldn’t hear it above their own engine’s noise. They were all peering ahead, looking for any sign of Nessie—and then Jay gave a shout.

  “There he is! Look!”

  For a moment, they saw the unmistakable long neck rise out of the water ahead, moving fast, the head pointing in the direction of the Trout Queen.

  And from the boat behind them, William Trout saw it too. He shouted, ecstatic.

  “It’s the Monster!” he cried to Macdonald. “Ahead of them—look! I knew it! Got to get a picture—go past them, quick!”

  Caught up by the sight of the creature he had thought impossible, Macdonald pushed his throttle as high as it would go, and the inflatable rose up on its side as it half-flew in a tight curve. For Granda, it seemed to come out of nowhere, suddenly whizzing past him and cutting across his bow, perilously close. He let out a yell of alarm and slowed down.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “It’s Trout! What’s he doing here?”

  “If he’s not on the yacht, he won’t see the Nuckelavee!”

  Nessie saw and heard none of this; he had ducked below the surface again.

  “All right, cuz!” he called merrily to the Boggart. “The Nuckelavee’s on his way to the big boat. I’m changing out of monster shape, and we’ll follow him!”

  So he became formless and invisible again, and the Boggart dropped down into the loch to join him.

  William Trout and David Macdonald were waiting for Nessie to reappear, circling above the swirl of water where they had last seen him. Trout stood up eagerly in the boat, bracing his feet against the sides, holding his camera at the ready. He was laughing with anticipation.

  “I know it’s here, Angus Cameron!” he yelled across the water to Granda. “You can’t fool the Trout! I’m gonna get my picture! The Loch Ness Monster will be the Trout Resort Monster now!”

  But beneath them now was not Nessie but the Nuckelavee. And hearing William Trout’s voice, the Nuckelavee knew that the thing it most hated, a human being, was close and unprotected. Instantly, any thought of the Boggart or Nessie vanished from its mind. It forgot everything they had asked it to do, and it became entirely a ferocious, pitiless Wild Thing, with only one instinct to follow. In a great eruption of water and foam, it shot upward out of the loch, and above it the air-filled, lightweight boat spun up and sideways and almost capsized. The camera dropped into the loch as Trout and Macdonald clutched in panic at their seats.

  From a distance, the Camerons watched in horror, their own boat rocking wildly.

  The Nuckelavee reared up over the water, bellowing from the vast, wide-open, evil-smelling mouth of its horse’s head. The great red eye glared down, and on the body towering above it, the man’s head rolled from side to side very fast, grinning, to and fro, to and fro, in a frenzy of excitement. All the skinless body gleamed bright red in the daylight, moist and sticky, with the thick white muscles jumping and twisting among the yellow veins that swelled with black blood.

  Gazing down, the enormous red eye and the two rolling eyes gleamed, as they saw the shiny head of William Trout.

  Trout lay in the dinghy below, blinking up wide-eyed, speechless with astonishment and fear. And the creature’s two long arms reached down with its skinless hands, and plucked him out of the boat.

  EIGHTEEN

  The Nuckelavee held William Trout high in the air for a moment, and then dropped him down onto its monstrous sticky red back. Trout shrieked in terror. The flesh clung to him as if it were coated with glue, and a great rippling white muscle pinned him against the raw chest of the half-human upper body. He was caught in a nightmare, with no way out. The grinning, sliding head above him curved out and around and came close to him, upside down, laughing. Its breath smelled of decay. William Trout tried desperately to call for help, but his throat was bone-dry from fear.

  From the boat, the Camerons could see Trout struggling there, trapped, wedged among the thicket of throbbing veins and muscles where the man’s torso joined the back of the horse. The Nuckelavee was swimming along the Shuna Island coast on the surface of the water, and it seemed now to be enjoying itself. A triumphant gurgling laugh came from the upper head, and its rolling speeded up.

  “No!” the Boggart shrieked. “Nuckelavee! No!”

  Granda broke out of the frozen horror that had hold of them all, and struggled to turn the boat into the waves still rocking it. Behind them they saw David Macdonald, white-faced, frantically baling water out of the dinghy.

  William Trout let out a terrible wordless howl.

  Jay said, appalled, “What can we do?”

  “He was supposed to just see it, from the big boat!” Allie said.

  Granda said, teeth clenched, fighting his steering wheel, “He came out to chase Nessie, for a publicity picture, I bet. Stupid man!”

  “Stop, Nuckelavee!” the Boggart yelled, and the Nuckelavee paid no attention, and laughed, and swam. It was all wild instinct, and it was preparing to dive, to drown William Trout.

  “Help me!” Trout screamed. “Help!”

  Desperately, Nessie changed back into the shape of the Monster and shot up out of the water nearby. The Nuckelavee looked at him, paused, and laughed again, proudly.

  Suddenly Allie remembered the MacDevon’s book, and its Gaelic monsters.

  “Fresh water!” she shrieked. “The one thing that can stop it—the book said! Fresh water!”

  Granda’s memory jabbed at him too. “Come here,” he yelled to Jay. “This little door—there’s a bottle of water—”

  Jay lurched past him, found the door below the steering-wheel console, opened it, and reached for a plastic bottle, half-full of water, rolling among an anchor and coils of rope and chain. Hastily he pulled off its cap and thrust the bottle into Allie’s outstretched hand, as Granda fought to come closer to the speeding Nuckelavee. She swung her arm to spray the water from the bottle at the huge red body as it passed—but the wind blew the water straight back at them.

  On his way after the Nuckelavee and the writhing William Trout, Nessie drew level with the dinghy, towering over them.

  “Nessie!” Tom Cameron clung to the side of the tossing boat and waved one hand frantically, pointing ahead. “Nessie! Get it to Shuna! There’s a stream—just over there—”

  Nessie swam faster and bent his long neck over the Nuckelavee, making a strange, gentle hissing sound. He swam round it in a swift circle, turning it toward the island as Granda managed to send his boat frothing closer to the shore. Ahead, they could see a break in the shoreline, a little estuary, where a spring emptied out into the salty water of the loch.

  “Yes!” Allie said. “Oh yes!”

  And suddenly it was as if all their minds were touching, working together without thought, like the shifting cloud of birds that swoops and weaves its way through an autumn sky. For a few moments, as the Nuckelavee swam unwittingly on, Nessie and Granda’s boat were at either side of it like sheepdogs, gently heading it toward the dwindling current of spring water flowing into the loch.

  And then, just for a moment or two, they were crossing the current, its water streaming around them. Only a little of the fresh water touched the Nuckelavee’s huge body, only a very little—but it was enough.

  The Nuckelavee gave a dreadful scream, and it swung outward to escape, rearing up so suddenly that a great wave leaped out around it, making the Camerons’ boat toss wildly once more. And William Trout fell from the creature’s back and splashed into the water. He was the only one who heard the angry sucking sound that came from the skinless body as it had to let him go, and he would never forget it as long as he lived.

  He came up to the surface, gasping, dropped down and came up again, clutching in panic for the side of the boat. Granda threw the motor into neutral to stop the whirling propeller from cutting him, and f
ought the waves to hold the boat still enough for the others to grab him and pull him aboard. Because Trout was so big a man, this was not easy, and one side tipped perilously low. The strap of his binoculars caught on a cleat, trapping him, and Tom ripped it off his neck; the binoculars sank even faster than the camera had gone.

  The Nuckelavee screamed again, in rage as well as pain, and it disappeared, diving deep into the loch. So did Nessie, diving after it, with the Boggart following.

  William Trout tumbled into the bottom of the boat, sobbing with terror and relief, gasping out sounds that were not quite words. Tom Cameron grabbed him, turning his head sideways, but although he was coughing up water, he could still breathe. “No . . . no . . . ,” he was spluttering. “No . . . no . . .”

  “It’s all right,” Tom said. “It’s all right. You’re safe. It’s gone.”

  Granda had the motor barely running now; the boat rocked, but gradually less as the waves calmed down.

  Trout was still babbling, his face twisted with fear. “Came for me!” he kept gasping. “It came for me!”

  “You’re all right—you’re safe!” Tom said again. He helped the big man roll over, and propped him up against the side of the boat; Trout’s arms and legs were jerking strangely. He lay there wide-eyed, fearful, staring out at the loch.

  “It came for me!” he said. “Got to get away! Get away!” He moaned, as if he were going to cry.

  Tom looked across at his father and nodded, and Granda headed the boat slowly toward the edge of Shuna Island. As they came round the coast they could see the Trout Queen, out across the water on the way to Castle Keep. Granda pushed the throttle, and the boat began to bump faster over the waves. Behind them came the other dinghy; David Macdonald had managed to restart his motor, and he was following.

  Allie was staring out across the loch. “That thing, that awful thing! Where did it go?”

  “The boggarts have it,” Granda shouted, above the noise. “Don’t worry—they’re in charge!”

  “It was disgusting!”

  “Aye, well, that was their idea—he’d see something so terrible that he’d go away. Nobody expected him to put his boat on top of it.” Angus Cameron glanced at Tom and the retching wet wreck that was William Trout, and slowed the boat down a little.

  “What if Allie hadn’t remembered about the fresh water?” Jay said.

  His grandfather said, “Best not tae think about that.”

  William Trout was sitting hunched in the stern, shaking, but he was breathing more normally again. As the naked terror faded out of his face and he began to think again, he had become very quiet. He glanced nervously out at the loch from time to time, but he avoided catching the eye of anyone in the boat, even Tom Cameron, who was right beside him. It was as if he was pretending that they weren’t there.

  The Trout Queen was looming ahead of them, its massive bulk barely moving in the choppy water. When they reached its tall white side, Trout tried to get to his feet, but Tom had to help him up, standing swaying beside him to keep him from falling down.

  “Thank you,” Trout muttered as the twins clutched the yacht’s broad stern platform, holding their boat close so he could climb out. “Thank you.” He reached an arm to the outstretched hands of a waiting sailor.

  David Macdonald brought the inflatable dinghy up beside Granda’s boat, and Granda reached out to hold it steady, in the small waves bouncing them both up and down against the big boat’s side. Macdonald got to his feet, balancing on his long legs, and jumped nimbly onto the Trout Queen’s platform, holding his boat’s bow line. He and Granda looked at each other. Watching their faces, Allie thought: it’s like they’re talking in their minds—I wonder what they’re saying?

  “Mòran taing, Angus,” David Macdonald said.

  “ ’S e do bheatha, David,” said Granda.

  Above them, on the big boat, Freddy Winter came hurrying into the group of sailors as they helped the dripping William Trout aboard.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  William Trout said hoarsely, “I fell in.”

  “A hot bath and warm clothes,” Granda called.

  “Yes,” said William Trout. He glanced at David Macdonald as he came onto the deck, and then looked away.

  “But what happened?” said Freddy.

  “That’s all!” William Trout snapped. “I fell in the water! End of story!”

  He glared at Freddy and shrugged off a sailor who was trying to steady him on the slanting deck. Then he stumbled into the warm, welcoming interior of his yacht, where a steward had already scurried to his bathroom to run hot water into the shiny white tub with the gold-plated taps.

  “Did you see the Monster?” Freddy said eagerly to Macdonald.

  The captain looked out at Granda, who was turning his boat away from the Trout Queen as the twins pushed it off. He raised a hand to him and glanced back at Freddy, expressionless. “You’ll have to ask your Mr. Trout,” he said.

  * * *

  “He didn’t want to tell them!” Jay said, baffled, as Granda headed the boat back toward Castle Keep and home. “A story like an amazing horror movie, and he didn’t want to tell them!”

  “I think you’ll find he won’t talk to us about it either,” Tom Cameron said.

  “Why?” said Allie.

  “He was terrified,” said their father. “And no wonder. But that’s not part of his image. Nobody, nothing frightens William Trout—he’s in control. He’s the boss.”

  “Nobody but us saw him scared to death,” Granda said. “Us and David Macdonald. Tom’s right—Trout wants to keep it that way.”

  “Does that mean the Boggart’s plan hasn’t worked?” Allie said.

  “I think it’s worked fine,” Granda said. “Just you wait and see.”

  * * *

  David Macdonald waited for an hour, and then he went below and knocked on the door of William Trout’s cabin.

  “Mr. Trout?” he called. “It’s David Macdonald.”

  There was a short pause, and then Trout opened the door. He was muffled in a bathrobe and clutching a blanket round his shoulders. “Come in,” he said.

  “I just wanted to make sure ye were all right,” Macdonald said. He shut the door behind him.

  “You’re a discreet man,” Trout said. “I take it you haven’t spoken to anyone about what happened.”

  “I doubt they would have believed me,” Macdonald said. “I’m no’ sure I believe it myself. Even after the Minch.” He peered at Trout. “Are ye all right?”

  “Yes,” said Trout. His shoulder gave a strange upward jerk, and he pulled his blanket back around it. Then he sat down suddenly on his bed. For a moment, his voice lost its usual confident bounce.

  “You’re a Scot,” he said. “Have you ever seen things like this before?”

  “No,” said David Macdonald. “But I’ve heard tell o’ them. This is an old, old country.”

  Trout gave his bald head a quick shake, as if he could shake away the memories. He said, more confident again, “I’d be grateful if you’d sign a document promising you’ll make no disclosure of what we saw today. None at all.”

  David Macdonald said, “Are ye joking?”

  William Trout stared at him. “Of course not.”

  “I give ye my word, willingly,” Macdonald said coldly. “So there is no need for a signature.”

  “I’m a businessman, Macdonald,” Trout said. He gave a small patient sigh, like a teacher faced with a totally ignorant student.

  Macdonald said, “And I’m a Scot, and I keep my word. If ye had more than a trickle o’ Scots blood in your veins, ye’d know that. But ye do have a trickle, I understand, so I’ll not take offense at the insult. Théid dúthchas an aghaidh nan creag.”

  “Whatever that may mean,” William Trout said.

  “Kinship will withstand the rocks,” said David Macdonald. “Though I can think of others I’d rather be kin to.” He moved to the door, and looked back before he turned the han
dle. “I will steer your ship for as long as it takes for you to find a new captain, Mr. Trout,” he said. “But I ask you to look for one.”

  Trout sighed again. “What are we paying you?” he said. “I’ll give you a raise.”

  “It wouldn’t be enough,” David Macdonald said.

  * * *

  The Nuckelavee churned its way across the loch, underwater, grunting with pain and rage, and at intervals letting out a great angry roar. The Boggart and Nessie slid invisibly along on either side of it, trying to make soothing sounds, trying to calm its wild magic with the patience of Old Things. As they neared the Seal Rocks, they saw the seals underwater, weaving up and down and side to side, puzzled by the emotion that they could feel through the water around them. Like all sea creatures, seals see more strange sights than most creatures who live their lives on land, and they were troubled not by the Nuckelavee’s hideous appearance but by its distress.

  The Boggart, who all his life had sung only warlike songs, even tried to croon the Nuckelavee a lullaby as he swam.

  “Baloo baleeerie, baloo baleerie,” he sang in his husky half-heard voice. “Baloo baleerie, baloo balee . . .”

  And very gradually, the awful Nuckelavee began to calm down. It swam more slowly; it grew quiet, and the head of the human-looking part of its body stopped whipping from side to side quite so fast. The seals began diving around it, cautiously, swooping to and fro at a distance, and it seemed to find them comforting. It even spoke to the boggarts, using the Old Speech.

  “There are seals at my home too,” it said in its toneless, rusty voice. “But not so many as there used to be. I like your seals. I like your seals.”

  “So do we,” Nessie said, and he swam, invisibly but companionably, around the Nuckelavee’s two heads. He wanted very much to shape-shift into a seal himself, but he suspected the Nuckelavee didn’t know the complicated habits of boggarts and might be confused.

  “We’ll keep the Nuckelavee calm tonight,” the Boggart said. “And tomorrow I will go to our people, to see what happened to the invader when he fell in the loch.”