Dragonfire (11 page)

“Lord Rothlan!” she acknowledged.

He didn’t mince his words but said abruptly, “You have, I believe, something that should be mine.”

Ellan raised her eyebrows. “I have nothing that belongs to you, milord.”

His eyes narrowed. “That isn’t actually what I said,” he remarked blandly.

She didn’t answer and his voice when he spoke was icy. “Tell your father!” he said curtly. “Tell him that the firestones should be mine and that I will do anything to get them! Jarishan has suffered enough! Do you understand!”

She held his gaze and nodded. “I’ll tell my father what you’ve
said.”

He glanced around the café with a grim smile, nodded and left them. Neil realized that he had been holding his breath and let it out in a long sigh. Clara stared at Ellan whose eyes followed Lord Rothlan until he was swallowed up in the crowds.

Clara took her hand. “Do you think he knew that you were wearing the belt?”

“I’m sure he did!”

“Why didn’t he try to take it then? We couldn’t have stopped him!”

“No, we couldn’t, but he knew that we weren’t unprotected!”

“Not unprotected?” Neil looked round blankly. “Who …?”

Clara picked up Lady Ellan’s meaning, however. “These people,” she said softly, looking round, “all those tourists who suddenly appeared! They’re all MacArthurs, aren’t they?”

Ellan grinned. “Yes, I knew my father wouldn’t let us down. We were always quite safe. Come on, we can go now!” She linked arms with Neil and Clara and together they walked down the High Street to the school.

The first thing Clara saw was the little black and white cat, standing guard on the school wall, squashed between two of the railings.

“Mischief looks so much better already,” remarked Neil. “I hope he hasn’t caught any mice!”

Lady Ellan laughed. “We’ve given up being mice, Neil, and have put a memory spell on your janitor instead.”

“How does that work?” Clara was startled.

“Oh, he see us and then forgets about us.”

As they reached the playground, Mischief, who had been keeping watch for them, arched her back and jumped down as they approached.

“What happened?” asked the little cat, frantically. “Hamish came here screaming that Amgarad and Alasdair Rothlan were in the High Street. I’ve been out of my mind with worry about you!”

“We’re all fine, Archie,” soothed Lady Ellan, “and we’ll tell you what happened in a minute, but first of all we must contact Sir James! Rothlan spoke to us and believe me, he’s dangerous and desperate. I’m afraid he might get the ring and the necklace from Dougal!”

Archie stiffened. “The necklace and the ring? What happened to the belt?”

“I’m wearing it! Clara managed to steal it from Dougal.”

The cat smiled happily. “Great! Now we’re getting somewhere!”

“It’s Sir James I’m worried about. We must find him and tell him what’s happened. Where do you think he’ll be at this time of the day, Neil?”

Neil took a mobile phone from his jacket and dialled a number. “Sir James gave Clara and me a mobile phone each so that we could keep in touch,” he explained. “Hello, Sir James,” he said excitedly, “we’ve some good news for you …”

“We need to meet with you, Sir,” concluded Neil, “Lady Ellan is anxious to see you. Yes, yes, okay.”

He turned to the others, replacing the mobile carefully in his jacket pocket. “Sir James is still at the distillery. He says to come at once.”

“Good,” murmured Lady Ellan. “Look, there are some pigeons over there. Why don’t we merge with them and fly across to the distillery. It’s not far.”

Clara swallowed. “We’re going to fly?”

“It’s the quickest way, Clara. Do you think you can manage? I’ll wait until you both merge. Go on, Neil, it’s not difficult!”

“What if the pigeons fly away before we can grab them?”

“They won’t fly away! Once you decide to merge with them they’ll stay still for you. Try it!!”

Lady Ellan spoke the truth. As Neil and Clara approached, the birds stopped pecking and allowed them to put their hands on their backs.

“Whoops!” said Clara, with a gasp as she looked at the world through the eyes of her pigeon. She felt quite frightened as everything seemed suddenly enormous. Gingerly she flapped her wings and looked over at Neil who was gazing with some concern at Mischief, who had assumed the proportions of a giant.

“Are you all right?” Lady Ellan asked, hopping over to them. “Come on, then! Let’s fly!” With a clapping of wings, the three pigeons soared into the air and circled the school before heading for the green slopes of the park and the grey roofs of the distillery.

The weather was warm and the feel of the air under her wings made Clara wish that she could fly all day. Her sense of smell was strong and the air was perfumed with the scent
of grass and gorse as they passed over the park. Not so nice, Clara thought, were the petrol fumes! The journey was all too short and soon they were flying round the distillery, looking for somewhere quiet to land out of sight of the distillery workers. As it was such a beautiful day, however, the windows of Sir James’s office were open and they were able to fly straight in.

Sir James rose from his chair, slightly startled at their sudden arrival, and listened attentively as they told him what had happened in the High Street. Lady Ellan removed the gold belt and spread it over his desk so that they could all admire its delicate workmanship. He switched on his desk lamp and in its light the gold filigree, studded with clusters of firestones, gleamed and glittered.

The MacArthur, Jaikie and Hamish arrived on carpets having been told of the meeting by an excited Archie. They were totally overcome at the sight of the belt and thanked Clara profusely.

“Of all the pieces,” the MacArthur explained, “it’s the belt that holds the most power and with it we stand a good chance of being able to stand up to his Lordship!”

Lady Ellan broke in and said seriously, “Please, Sir James, I think we should try to form some sort of plan to take the rest of the firestones from Dougal MacLeod! He is in great danger, you know. Lord Rothlan is desperate to have them and will do anything to get them.”

“Why hasn’t he managed to take them from him already?” Sir James sat back in his chair and surveyed them all a trifle apprehensively.

“MacLeod has used the power of the firestones to defend himself and neither Rothlan nor anyone else can take them from him by merging. Clara managed to steal the belt because the stones didn’t perceive her as an enemy but now that we have it, our hand is considerably strengthened. We now have the power to take the other pieces of jewellery and I think we should move tonight!”

“Tonight?” Sir James sat up as though struck by a bolt of lightning. “No, no, that’s impossible! It’s the Dress Rehearsal tonight at the castle. He’ll be marching with his men in full view of thousands of people!”

“Tell us about this Tattoo, Sir James.” The MacArthur settled in his chair and pulled out a foul-smelling old pipe, which he lit with much palaver. “Tell us what MacLeod does, where he enters from and where he goes afterwards. There might be a chance for us to take them and he wouldn’t be expecting an attack.”

“An attack? You can’t stage an attack in the middle of the Tattoo!” Sir James paled at the very thought.

“Don’t listen to my father, Sir James,” Lady Ellan said hastily, frowning at her father and waving ineffectually at the clouds of smoke that now belched from his pipe. “If you could just explain to us what actually happens.”

Sir James steepled his hands and collected his thoughts. “The performers come onto the esplanade from the castle,” he began. “Dougal heads his squad of precision marchers. When they’ve finished marching they don’t leave immediately. They line up along one side of the esplanade while the French make their entrance. The French are putting on a sort of North African pageant and the desert fort is actually erected while MacLeod’s men are performing. It’s attacked by Touareg who drag the officers’ wives to their oasis. The Spahis, however, rescue the ladies, kill the Touareg and it’s while they are making their victory round that MacLeod’s men march off.”

“Didn’t you mention moving walkways at some stage?”

“Yes. There are two walkways, one on either side of the esplanade. The Spahis use them to give the impression of making a long trek across the desert. It’s all actually working out quite well. The Spahis are fantastic horsemen!”

“Then it might be possible for us to merge with Dougal’s men and take the firestones from him when he leaves the castle?”

“I suppose you could,” Sir James considered the possibilities. “There’s a certain amount of confusion when they leave, I suppose.”

“What about Lord Rothlan?” queried Neil.

“I shouldn’t think that Rothlan knows anything about the Tattoo,” Sir James said. “If he does, then you’ll just have to play it by ear, I’m afraid. If I see anything suspicious from the commentary box then the most I can do is divert the audience’s attention elsewhere. By the way,” he turned to Neil and Clara, “I believe there’s a firework display after the performance tonight so you’d better warn your father that you may be a bit late.”

“It’s ever so good of you to give us the tickets, Sir James. We’re really looking forward to the show,” said Clara, suddenly mindful of her manners.

“Not at all! It’s my pleasure! I hope you enjoy it,” Sir James smiled as they rose to their feet and prepared to leave.

The MacArthur put out his smelly pipe and clapped his hands twice. “Carpets!” he called. The magic carpets that had been resting against the wall silently unfurled themselves and sailed forward majestically to hover just above the ground. The MacArthurs climbed aboard but Lady Ellan left the distillery deep in conversation with Neil and Clara.

Sir James watched them from his window with a sense of unease and wondered what they were up to! He sighed, conscious that the evening’s performance was now going to prove utterly fraught. Dress rehearsals were unpredictable affairs at the best of times and adding faeries to an already volatile mix was, as far as he was concerned, nothing short of explosive.

It was a fine night for the dress rehearsal and, as usual, the top of the High Street was crowded with coaches and buses, all off-loading their passengers. The road to the castle, which narrows as it reaches the esplanade, was filled by a moving stream of people of all nationalities and ages. Those who had been to see the Tattoo before carried cushions and thick travelling-rugs as well as umbrellas; for the seating is open to the elements and Edinburgh weather can be fickle.

Sir James watched the stands as they started to fill up and glanced again through his notes. He was generally nervous at the beginning of each performance and knowing that the MacArthurs had a plan of their own made the tension worse. However, his worries disappeared as the dress rehearsal swung into its routine. The crowds responded enthusiastically to the massed bands of the Highland regiments and, as the performance progressed, thoughts of the MacArthurs drifted to the back of his mind. It was only when Dougal’s troupe of precision marchers started their routine that he felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Watching anxiously from his vantage point high above the esplanade, he kept up his commentary and, as they finished their intricate manoeuvres to rapturous applause, checked that they moved into their pre-arranged position. While the spotlight had been on the marchers, the desert fort had been swiftly erected and all that remained was the positioning of a few fake palm trees in the middle of the esplanade, to provide a desert oasis for the Touareg.

Although nothing untoward seemed to have happened, the opening moves in the drama that was about to take place, had actually already been made. Unnoticed by Sir James,
two pigeons had just flown down from the castle and were now perched close to the mechanism that controlled the two walkways. Walkways that had already been started and were moving round slowly.

Neil looked anxiously at the mechanism. He and Clara had inspected it earlier with Lady Ellan and discovered that it was simple in the extreme. Although controlled from the commentary box, there were also manual controls — three buttons labelled
slow, medium
and
fast
. Despite himself, Neil grinned. The Spahis were in for a shock!

The pageant went well! At least at the beginning!

The audience gasped as clever lighting effects transformed the esplanade into a desert of golden sand. The drama began when the Touareg erupted across the castle drawbridge on their camels and charged towards the fort, their striped robes fluttering in the wind. Fascinated, the audience watched as, firing wildly, they deployed round the fort’s crenellated walls. It was exciting, picturesque and colourful. The audience loved it!

Everything, actually, went according to plan until the Touareg stormed the fort. It was when they dragged the women out of the great double doors that things started to go fundamentally wrong, for the women were supposed to be taken across the desert to the oasis and tied to the palm trees. The Touareg, therefore, were astonished to find that this particular aspect of their script seemed to have changed overnight! Instead of allowing themselves to be bundled onto the backs of the camels, the women dealt them a few hefty, well-chosen blows, knocked them off their feet and took off across the esplanade in all directions. The audience, not unnaturally, cheered them on! Unable to do anything else under the circumstances, the hapless Touareg scrambled somewhat dizzily to their feet and chased after them.

The spotlights then picked out the Spahis, coming across the drawbridge at a smart canter. Although they looked alarmed at the unexpected developments going on in the middle of
the esplanade, they decided to play their part by the book and trotted unsuspectingly onto the moving walkways.

This was what Neil and Clara had been waiting for! Once the horsemen were on and moving at a steady trot, they went into action. Neil flew up, perched on the mechanism and pressed the button that said
fast
with his beak. The result was nothing short of spectacular! As the walkways zoomed to full speed the horses, out of a sense of sheer
self-preservation
, increased their pace to keep their footing. In the commentary box, Sir James shut his eyes for a second in disbelief. This was all he needed! He stared, utterly appalled, as the entire contingent of Spahis crouched desperately over the necks of horses that were now stretched at full gallop.

“Do something!” he snarled at the engineer who was frantically pressing the remote control buttons. Even as he said it, however, Sir James knew that it wouldn’t work. The MacArthurs would have seen to that. Helplessly he waited to see what else would happen. The audience, thinking it all part of the act, cheered the thundering horsemen wildly and certainly, as a diversion, the Spahis proved their worth!

Sir James, meanwhile, was scanning the esplanade whilst keeping up a fairly casual commentary designed to convey the impression that nothing untoward was happening. What he saw filled him with foreboding for, in front of his fellow officers, Dougal MacLeod was being mugged by a couple of Touareg and a woman who looked suspiciously like Lady Ellan! And his men were doing nothing about it!

“MacArthurs!” thought Sir James. “They must have merged with them!”

As Dougal was thrown to the ground and roughly manhandled, Sir James caught the glint of gold as Lady Ellan slipped the necklace over her head and the ring on her finger. He sighed with relief! Now that she had all the firestones, surely things would return to normal.

Given the situation, this was something of a forlorn hope,
for no sooner had Lady Ellan put on the jewels than Lord Rothlan materialized in all his finery and moved towards her. As several of the Touareg rushed to protect her, he raised his arms into the air and at his signal, the sky suddenly darkened, despite the glare of the lights. An eerie silence descended and a wave of unease swept the audience as, out of the darkness, loomed the enormous, dreadful shapes of the eagles. Headed by Amgarad, they swept down, wings drawn back and talons outstretched, to attack the Touareg guarding Lady Ellan.

Lord Rothlan, however, had been at a disadvantage from the start. Unaware of the sequence of events in the Tattoo, he had been reduced to playing the situation by ear and it was not, perhaps, surprising that he had severely miscalculated the timing of his move. Ellan, now wearing the necklace, belt and ring, was all-powerful. Seeing what was happening, she raised her arms towards the swooping eagles and, in an instant, changed them into white doves.

Amgarad couldn’t believe it! He almost swallowed his tonsils in rage as he shrank from the size of a massive bird of prey to a small ball of pretty, white feathers. Incoherent with rage, he hissed and spat in an agony of fury and frustration at being so cleverly thwarted. The audience, however, reassured by the appearance of doves, forgot their feeling of unease and cheered again, impressed by such fantastic special effects.

Neil, who had almost had a heart attack at Rothlan’s sudden appearance, decided that another diversion was most certainly called for and promptly jabbed the
stop
button with his beak. Had he pressed
medium
, or even
slow
, the result might well have been different but stopping the walkways altogether had a dramatic effect that quite successfully diverted the audience’s attention back to the galloping horsemen. For the abrupt halt of the walkways sent the entire contingent of Spahis shooting off the end of the belts like bullets out of a gun!

Lord Rothlan, though stunned by the transformation of his mighty eagles, was nevertheless a man of resource. When the
spotlights veered towards the horsemen, he found himself in comparative darkness and, as the doves fluttered helplessly round his head, it did not take him long to realize just how neatly he had been outwitted. With his face set in lines of fury, he stepped forward and grasped Ellan by the wrists. Sir James saw his lips move as he uttered what must have been a spell. Instantly there was a sharp crack of sound as both they and the doves disappeared, leaving the remaining Touareg milling around indecisively in the middle of the esplanade.

The spotlights, however, were still concentrated on the Spahis as they rocketed off the walkways. It was their superb horsemanship that saved them and it says much for their skill that not one of the horses lost its footing as it was catapulted forward. Once on firm ground, they miraculously recovered their balance and their riders galloped them, sweating but triumphant, around the esplanade to much cheering and applause.

And surely no applause, thought Sir James sourly, had ever been more merited!

The Spahis then reined in their galloping horses and swerved to attack the Touareg who, by this time, were so confused that they forgot to fight back and were ignominiously routed. This ended the French contribution to the Tattoo and left Sir James doing his best to convince the audience that all had gone to plan and shouldn’t they give the French a rousing cheer!

After a few more items, the Tattoo drew to a close and as the last pipe band left the esplanade at the end of the performance, Sir James gave a huge sigh of relief. His part in the proceedings was thankfully over, as the firework display had nothing to do with him. He sat back exhaustedly in his chair trying to control his racing thoughts. All in all, he reckoned they’d come out of the French fiasco relatively well, with few in the audience realizing that there was anything amiss. A lot can be forgiven in a dress rehearsal and they
had been a supportive audience. Such lassitude, however, would most certainly not apply to either the French officials or the organizers of the Tattoo, who would shortly be asking some very pertinent questions. Not that that worried him, as the question that dominated his thoughts was the present whereabouts of Lady Ellan!

“I must get in touch with Neil,” he thought, and then remembered that Neil ought to be watching the fireworks with Clara. The display had just started with the first starry outbursts streaking the sky with fire.

“Maybe they’ll have left for the school now that Lady Ellan’s vanished,” he thought as he tapped Neil’s number into his mobile, hoping desperately that he would answer.

Neil answered at the first ring. He had just demerged from his pigeon and had been about to call Sir James.

“Neil! Where are you?”

“Sir James!” The relief in Neil’s voice was apparent. “I’m glad you called! Did you see what happened to Lady Ellan?”

“I did,” answered Sir James, keeping his side of the conversation brief as the commentary box hosted cameramen and technicians that might prick their ears up if the conversation became too interesting.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we don’t feel like watching the fireworks. Getting Lady Ellan back is much more important! What do you think we should do?”

“I can’t talk now, Neil, but I think we ought to meet up with her father.”

“At the school?”

“Yes, I’ll meet you there. It won’t take me long to clear up here. I … Oh no!”

From his vantage point in the commentary box, Sir James’s field of vision extended beyond the immediate environs of the castle. There was a long silence as he stared in disbelief at the sight that met his eyes. Whatever else he had thought might happen, it certainly hadn’t been this!

“Sir James! Sir James! What is it?” Neil’s voice was shrill. “What’s happened?”

“I can’t believe it!” Sir James was so shocked that he almost gabbled the words. “It’s impossible! You’ll see him in a minute, Neil! Look beyond the castle …”

“See who?”

“Arthur!” whispered Sir James in an agony of apprehension. “Arthur’s come back! He’s seen the fireworks and he’s heading this way!”