Sky Lights (7 page)

‘D’you have the key?’ asked O’Mullins.

‘Of course I haven’t got a key! You blitherin’ baboon. How would I have the key?’ snapped Skylights.

‘If you haven’t got a key, how are we going to get in?’

‘What’s my name?’ asked Skylights.

‘It’s Skylights,’ answered O’Mullins in a concerned voice. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten your name as well as the key.’

‘In the name o’ Davy Jones, give me patience,’ said Skylights and taking a very deep breath he went on, stressing every word as if talking to an infant. ‘O’Mullins, I ...haven’t ...forgotten... my.... name.... and...I....haven’t ...forgotten...the...key. We...never...had... a key. My name is
Skylights
! Now why do you think that is? Eh? It’s because in my younger days, before I was a pirate, I was a burglar. And do you know how I got into houses? By the skylight window. The window in the roof. There wasn’t a skylight window I couldn’t get through. I used to climb up the pipes in these days but tonight, with fairy dust, we can fly onto the roof. So let’s do it, O’Mullins. Let’s get into this building via the skylight window, me old shipmate!’

Once on the roof Skylights worked his magic on the nearest window. Squeezing through the tight space they found themselves in an attic, being used as a kind of store. Once their eyes became accustomed to the dark, they saw it was full of musty old papers, cardboard boxes and ancient looking books. They wasted no time making their way down to the next level. Security lights lit up each landing so they could read the name plates of the various doctors and professors who occupied the offices. Skylights tried the handles but, as he expected, the rooms were locked. They moved silently down to the next floor where there appeared to be only one room. A double door labelled ‘Lecture Hall’ was wide open. Security lighting showed a room with tiered seating, enough for about 50 or 60 people and a small stage with a white screen on it. Skylights shook his head, and the two intruders continued down the stairway to the next floor, the one above ground level.

‘Eureka!’ said Skylights when he saw the word LABORATORIES on the first door. ‘This is what we are looking for.’

He tried the door. It was locked. He removed his earring and, using the sharp pin, began to pick at the lock, straining to hear the tumblers in the mechanism. Before long he heard the click he was hoping for and the door opened effortlessly to reveal a long narrow corridor. A row of six identical doors faced him. His heart sank. They would be here all night at this rate.

But luck was on their side and the doors were all labelled and unlocked. The first one said
INVERTEBRATES
, the next
MISCELLANEOUS SMALL MARINE LIFE
, the third
AMPHIBIANS
and the fourth
REPTILES
.

‘This must be it,’ said Skylights, opening the fourth door and advancing tentatively into the lab. ‘Put the light on,’ he said. ‘It’s pitch black in here.’

As O’Mullins flicked the switch on the wall, the place flooded with light. There were benches with test tubes, various sizes of glass beakers and numerous pieces of scientific equipment. One wall was lined with reference books, another with glass cabinets containing small preserved lizard-like creatures, a few labelled skeletons and odd bones. But there was no sign of crocodiles. They backed out of the room. There were only two more possibilities. The fifth door was labelled
MARINE ECO PROJECT
,
DUNDEE DIVISION.

‘Fingers crossed,’ said Skylights opening the door and switching on the light. An incredible but very welcome sight met his eyes. The biggest crocodile imaginable was lying on its back taking up the full length of a bench. Nose to tail the animal must have measured nine or ten metres. It was a monster. Approaching the bench Skylights saw that the animal had been cut open. The skin of its belly was pinned out for easy access to its organs. He looked inside the cavity. He was devastated. He stamped his feet, and let out a wailing howl, like a toddler having a temper tantrum. O’Mullins stared, his mouth agape. He’d never seen Skylights behave like this before.

‘It’s gone,’ Skylights whimpered. ‘The stomach has gone, and so has my one chance to get Hook. All this trouble and no stomach!!!! Aaah. aaaahhh.’ He sank to the floor and rolled about, clutching his own stomach as if in agony. ‘It’s not fair, it’s not fair. It’s an injustice. Why? Why? Why?’ he sobbed, kicking the floor with his heels. Afraid to interrupt his companion’s tirade O’Mullins spoke softly. ‘Look at this, Skylights!’ He stood at the other side of the lab, pointing to a deep container. ‘What’s this in here?’

In a grey metal tray lay a haggis shaped object. It was much bigger than a haggis, a different colour from a haggis, and, unlike a haggis, it wobbled to the touch. It was very definitely a stomach, attached at one end to a weird shaped oesophagus and, at the other, to a very small intestine.

Skylights jumped up from the floor, grabbed O’Mullins by the arms and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Well done, me messmate! That’s it. That’s the stomach that holds Hook’s DNA. Billions of blisterin’ barnacles! That’s brilliant! Now all we have to do is get that giant water balloon out of here and back to Edinburgh, in one piece.’

‘Is that all?’ said O’Mullins, with just a touch of sarcasm. ‘It must weigh a ton.’

‘Now,’ said Skylights, looking around the lab, ‘we need to find a suitable container to transport it. It will be heavy so something with wheels would be good.’ His eyes came to rest on a bright orange wheelie bin in the corner of the lab. The label said
HAZARDOUS WASTE.

‘The very thing,’ he said. ‘Help me, O’Mullins.’ O’Mullins moved the bin close to the bench and together they tipped the giant gelatinous blob of a stomach into it. It landed with a splat. The skin burst and the contents spilled into the bottom of the wheelie bin. Skylights quickly slammed down the lid. But not before a wisp of the foulest smelling aroma escaped.

‘No matter!’ he said. ‘We’ve got what we came for.’

Two white overalls hung behind the laboratory door. Skylights snatched one and handing it to O’Mullins said, ‘Put that on. We’ll not be able to fly to Edinburgh carrying a wheelie bin so we’ll need to hitch a lift. Nobody would stop for two pirates but maybe we’ll have some luck if we look like scientists.’ They let themselves out the front door and stepped into the street, by now deserted. Pulling the orange wheelie bin behind them they headed off in the direction of the river where they hoped to find traffic heading south. They waited close to the Tay Road Bridge, and before long they persuaded a van driver that their vehicle had broken down and they urgently needed a lift to Edinburgh.

‘What’s in the bin?’ asked the van driver as he helped to load it in the back and secure it with heavy duty straps. ‘Do I hear it ticking? Hope it’s no’ a bomb you’ve got in there.’

‘Not at all,’ laughed O’Mullins. ‘It’s a........’ He stopped abruptly when Skylights stood on his toe.

‘Beating heart....top secret.... experimental stuff bound for the Roslin Institute,’ answered Skylights. He climbed into the cab before the driver could change his mind. He winked at O’Mullins. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he whispered.

Back in Edinburgh, MacStarkey and Fitzsmee were sitting on the ramparts waiting for the others to arrive. They congratulated each other on their achievements of the past few hours.

‘You were great, MacStarkey. How did you know how to jump start that van we found parked in the High Street?’

‘Common sense, just common sense, pal. One engine is much like anither. I’ve always enjoyed tinkering wi’ machines,’ replied MacStarkey proudly. ‘Ah thought you did rather well, finding out a’ the stuff aboot the Prof and his lassie in yon institute.’

‘That was more luck than anything else,’ replied Fitzsmee modestly. ‘It must have been the luck o’ the Irish. Or else we had the pirate spirits on our side. Whatever it was, Skylights is sure to be pleased. We’ve accomplished all he asked us to do. And the icing on the cake was finding that old derelict hospital which is perfect for the job.’

‘Wheesht, a meenit, will ye? Listen. Dae ye hear somebody whistlin’?’ asked MacStarkey, getting up and looking over the walls of the castle.

‘Blisterin’ barnacles,’ exploded MacStarkey. ‘It’s Skylights and O’Mullins down below. And they’ve got an enormous orange thing with them.’

‘Get yourselves down here,’ shouted Skylights. ‘We can’t fly up there with this overweight piece of baggage.’

Before long, the four pirates, and the stomach in the bin, were in the stolen van heading off to the abandoned hospital where they would carry out the next stage of their plan.

Yes, it had been a highly successful night all round, for a band of pirates bent on revenge.

‘Yes, sir, I am aware of the deadline,’ said John Dante as he ran his fingers through his greying hair, pushed his glasses up his nose and rubbed his hand down around his chin. He noticed with surprise how out of control his beard had grown, and wondered when he had last taken time to tidy it up. ‘Yes, sir, everything is in place. I know the press are due to observe. James is here already and in good form. Yes sir, you will hear from me later.’

He wearily hung up the phone, slumped back in his seat and let out a sigh. He glanced down at the floor and noticed the shabby shoes he was wearing. His gaze travelled upwards, taking in his crumpled trousers and wrinkled shirt. When had he stopped taking a pride in his appearance? When had it become too much trouble? The answer was obvious. His wife had died two years earlier, just at the time when he was setting up this research facility at the Roslin Institute. He had thrown himself into his work, scarcely giving a thought to his own wellbeing.

Great strides had taken place since the cloning of Dolly the sheep. Ideally he would have preferred more work to be done on perfecting the process before informing the world at large, but it had been taken out of his hands. Things were now moving fast, with the development of skin cell renewal and the cloning of genetically modified pigs whose organs were compatible with human tissue and could conceivably be used in the transplant market. It was at that point that Professor Dante had persuaded Sir Angus Turnbull, the head of the Roslin Institute, to allow him to set up an independent facility on the premises to work on an area even more controversial than cloning, ABRT, Accelerated Biological Reconstruction Technique. It was his area of expertise and he knew, once perfected, it would revolutionise the world of medicine.

John Dante had been working in secret, reconstituting lost fingers and toes with great success. His new remit was to work on organ reconstitution, using the DNA of the patient. A DNA fingerprint could provide many useful components. Stretches of DNA could be copied and pieces lined up in such a way, according to size, that they could be utilised in his new technique. Today they were to go public, bringing to the press conference, James Croll, who was their star patient.

The professor read aloud the controversial opening statement from the press release.

‘Today, ladies and gentlemen, we present a miracle of Biblical proportions.’ He pondered these words. Were they too strong? Possibly! He had no doubt that he was on the brink of performing miracles, but was it too early to announce this to a sceptical public?

He got up and paced across to the window, glancing at his watch. ‘Three o’clock. Not long now.’ Then another thought intruded. ‘Wendy!’ He had been so wrapped up in his work that he had forgotten about his 15 year old daughter. He crossed to his desk and called his secretary, Maggie. ‘Hello, Maggie. Can you drop everything and get in touch with Wendy for me? She’ll be getting out of school soon and I’d like you to pick her up and bring her over here. This is going to be a long day with the press conference. I don’t want her to be alone at home, as I have no idea when I’ll finish.’

‘No problem,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got a break coming up. We’ll both be back here in time for your big moment.’

‘Thanks, Maggie, you’ve saved my life.’ John Dante picked up his notes and promptly forgot about Wendy.

Maggie hung up, and sent a text to the professor’s daughter. Within minutes she’d had a reply and was on her way to meet Wendy outside the school.