The Boggart and the Monster (2 page)

Forty minutes later he was deep in reading when another flight attendant came by, this time with a tray of glasses of orange juice. She was less cautious than the last.
“Juice, anyone?”
she enquired, brightly and loudly.

Emily didn't stir, but the man in the window seat said thickly,
“Uuurrgh,”
and held out his hand without opening his eyes. Jessup watched in fascination as he took and drank the orange juice while apparently still asleep. He was a chunky, middle-aged man with a shining bald head fringed by stringy grey hair, and wire-rimmed glasses hanging from a string around his neck. He was wearing faded jeans, sneakers and a rather grubby college basketball sweatshirt. Suddenly he opened his eyes and caught Jessup studying him, and he grinned. It was an engaging, friendly grin, showing a piratical gold tooth at one side of his mouth.

“Greetings,”
he said.

“Hi,”
said Jessup. He looked down guiltily at his lap.
“Uh — I borrowed your book.”

“Feel free,”
said the man equably.
“Did you enjoy it?”

“It's great!”
said Jessup, with honest fervor.

The man grinned again.
“That's an excellent answer,”
he said.
“I wrote it.”

“You wrote this?”
Jessup looked down at the front cover.
“You're Harold Pindle Sc.D.?”

“Call me Harold,”
said the man. He held out a large callused hand, and Jessup's considerably smaller fist was swallowed up in a firm handshake.
“I'm Jessup Volnik,”
Jessup said.

“Well met in midair, Jessup Volnik,”
said Harold.

“You really think the Loch Ness Monster is a plesiosaur?”
said Jessup.

Harold looked at him for a long moment, and then sighed wistfully.
“You know, Jessup,”
he said,
“I have four daughters, and not one of them would be capable of asking a beautiful question like that at first meeting. Clearly the thing that is missing in my life is a son — a son just like you.”

Jessup eyed him warily
“A
beautiful
question?”
he said.

“The lovely natural assumption that the Monster is a fact,”
said Harold.
“The first thing most people say, including my rational daughters, is, ‘You really
believe
in the Loch Ness Monster?'”

“I'm good at believing in things,”
Jessup said.
“But — a plesiosaur —”

“I'm convinced of it,”
said Harold warmly.
“It's the only theory that fits with the sightings, so far as you can trust them. Aquatic creature, air-breathing, cold-blooded, fish-eating, huge body, long neck, small head — did you
know the word plesiosaur means ‘next to a lizard'?”

Jessup said,
“But plesiosaurs have been extinct for sixty thousand years.”

“Seventy,”
said Harold amiably.
“And that's what they said about the coelacanth, until some Filipino fisherman caught one in the South Pacific in nineteen fifty-four. I tell you, Jessup, there is absolutely a plesiosaur in that loch, not just one but a family of them, and I'm going to prove it. I'm heading a new expedition — we start next week. Take a look at this.”

He pulled a briefcase from under the seat in front of him, and took out an envelope stuffed with technical leaflets. The envelope, Jessup noticed, was addressed to Professor Harold Pindle, Department of Biology, University of British Columbia. Harold perched his glasses on his nose and spread the leaflets on his tray table.
“How about this baby, eh?”
he said.

Jessup looked. The leaflets, which appeared to be written in algebra, described a kind of tethered submersible called an ROV, a Remotely Operated Vehicle, like a miniature submarine manned by a computer instead of a person. As if he were talking to a fellow professor, Harold began happily expounding the merits of ROVs and their parent land-based computers, and Jessup listened. If he had been a normal twelve-year-old, he would have been lost and bored in forty-five seconds flat.

But in one critical respect, Jessup was not a normal twelve-year-old. Though his father was a theater director and his mother an antique dealer, he had been born
with a phenomenal gift for computer science, and at weekends he was already taking what were popularly known as
“kid genius”
classes at the University of Toronto. He began asking Harold a steady stream of increasingly abstruse questions about his computerized submersibles, and Harold happily chattered on, totally disregarding the fact that he appeared to be talking to a child.

An hour later, Emily woke up to find a breakfast tray in front of her, and her young brother deep in conversation with a completely strange man who was talking as though they were contemplating partnership in some technological business enterprise.

“So the strobes can illuminate for twenty-five feet in all directions,”
Jessup was saying.

“Right,”
said the man.
“And the sonar covers a five-hundred-foot swath.”

Emily had been considering her breakfast tray.
“Jessup, you want my yogurt?”
she said.

Jessup took the offered carton of airline yogurt without pausing for breath.
“Awesome — so if the sonar picks up a defined image you can send the ROV in that direction with the strobes. Want Emily's yogurt, Harold?”

“Thank you, Emily,”
said Harold with his mouth full. He swallowed, and flashed her his cheery gold-toothed grin. Emily eyed his wild fringe of hair and ancient sweatshirt, and smiled back tolerantly. What with Jessup's computer friends and the actors at her father's theater, her life was full of Harolds. She said,
“Are you from the University of Toronto, by any chance?”

“Vancouver,”
Harold said.
“UBC. Harold Pindle, at your service.”

“He's going to Scotland to find the Loch Ness Monster,”
Jessup said.
“It's a new expedition with the most amazing instruments. Robot submersibles like the one Robert whatsit used to find the Titanic. I'd give anything to watch.”

“Then come visit,”
Harold said promptly, attacking Emily's carton of yogurt. The rest of his breakfast had vanished, eaten with the speed and abandon of a ravenous seven-year-old.
“Are you two on holiday? Where are you staying?”

“Edinburgh, and then Castle Keep,”
said Jessup with pride.

Emily said,
“That's in Argyllshire. Port Appin.”

“I should say it is,”
said Harold warmly.
“A major landmark. Beautiful little place.”

Jessup paused, and for the first time looked at him with something like disapproval.
“
Little?
”
he said ominously.

“Well, for a castle,”
said Harold.

Jessup said stiffly,
“We used to
own
Castle Keep. Our father inherited it. From his great-uncle, the last chief of the MacDevon clan.”
He indicated Robert Volnik, across the aisle, and automatically they all three turned to look at him. Robert was taking a large bite of a bagel, dropping cream cheese into his beard in the process, and looked remarkably unlike a castle-inheritor.

“Ah,”
said Harold.

“But he sold it to his Scottish lawyer,”
Emily said.
“Mr. Maconochie. So now Mom and Dad are going to the Edinburgh Festival to spend some of their loot, and Jess and I are going to stay with Mr. Mac at the castle. To see . . . old friends.”

Harold missed the momentary hesitation in her voice; he was too busy scraping the yogurt carton.
“Well, if you feel like taking a day off, Jessup, I'd love to show you the ROVs.”

“Tell me some more about the laser line scan.”
Jessup was off again. Emily sighed, and stopped listening.

She spread cream cheese on her bagel and sat peacefully chewing, watching the sky lighten beyond the airplane's hazy oval windows, thinking of the square granite chunk of Castle Keep, set on its little island in the grey waters of Loch Linnhe. She thought of the nodding pink blossoms of sea-thrift, on the rocks where Tommy Cameron had showed her the seals playing, two years before; she wondered whether Tommy would recognize her now that her hair was cut short, and whether he would find Jessup weird now that his passion for computers had grown even more extreme.

And most of all, she wondered whether the Boggart would remember them.

“Y
OU'RE AN ANGEL
to have driven all this way,”
said Maggie Volnik to Mr. Maconochie outside the King's Head Hotel. His lanky frame was bent over the trunk of his Range Rover, helping Jessup and Robert stow two duffel bags next to a small grandfather clock.

“You certainly are,”
said Robert.
“If I find a play at the Festival that I can produce in Toronto, I shall dedicate it to you.”

“Not at all,”
said Mr. Maconochie.
“Every time I come to Edinburgh I pick up some more of my belongings from storage. You'd be amazed how long it takes to move into a castle.”

Emily peered at the back seat of his car, half of which was occupied by a large teapot nestling in a blanket.
“Think how much more china you could be carrying if you didn't have Jess and me.”

“I can't have conversations with china,”
Mr. Maconochie said.
“And I can do things with you and Jessup that I'd never do otherwise, unless my great-nephews were visiting. Swimming, camping, boating —
lovely. Toss a coin, you two, to see who gets the front seat first.”

“Take Emily,”
said Robert.
“Jessup falls instantly asleep for the first two hours of any car journey.”
He and Maggie hugged their children, and shook Mr. Maconochie's hand warmly. It was an amiable parting, with both children and parents contentedly anticipating things the others would neither have enjoyed nor understood. As for Mr. Maconochie, he was simply glad of company.

He repeated this to Emily, as they bowled along the highway, with Jessup, sure enough, fast asleep next to the blanket-swathed teapot.

“Oh
yes,
”
said Emily sympathetically.
“It must be very lonely to be the only person in Castle Keep.”

For a wild moment Mr. Maconochie contemplated telling her about the Boggart, but then he lost courage. He knew he had no hope of persuading any intelligent, rational human being that he was being haunted by an invisible house spirit.
“I shall be so glad to have you both back in the castle,”
he said instead.

Emily said casually,
“Is Tommy Cameron still around?”

“Oh indeed — I couldn't do without him,”
Mr. Maconochie said.
“He brings all my supplies from his mother's shop, he looks after my boat, he takes William for walks —”

“William?”

“My dog. He's a Labrador. Not too much brain but a lot of energy.”

Emily thought:
I bet the Boggart loves playing tricks
on him
— and for a moment she contemplated saying so. But in the next moment she thought better of it. How could she suggest to an intelligent, rational human being that he and his dog were living in a place haunted by an invisible house spirit?

She said,
“We're so lucky to
be
back.”

And in this state of mutual truth-avoidance they chatted lightly on, as the Highlands unrolled before the window of the traveling car.

*  *  *

T
HE SUN WAS DROPPING
in the sky when they reached the jetty and parking area of the Camerons' village store in Port Appin. Castle Keep loomed square and black out over the rippling waters of Loch Linnhe, but there was a glint of yellow light here and there in its bulk. The Camerons' store and house, however, were tight-closed and deserted, and there was no sign of Tommy, his parents or their car.

Emily's spirits drooped a little, but not for long. Once she and Jessup were swaying on the water in Mr. Maconochie's little outboard dinghy, she felt she was at home.

The first and only time the Volnik family had come to Castle Keep, it was not an inviting place. Nobody had set foot in it for months after the death of Devon MacDevon, and it was thick with dust and cobwebs and mouse droppings; parts of it were even falling down. Emily and Jessup, previously ecstatic that their father had inherited a real live castle, were disappointed at its
unromantic tumbledown state, and their parents were so alarmed that they rapidly began wondering how best to get rid of it.

But in the days that they stayed there, camping out in the kitchen for meals, spending the nights curled in sleeping bags on four-poster beds, Emily and Jessup had fallen in love with Castle Keep. With Tommy Cameron as guide they learned the little bays and beaches of the loch, and the swift-changing moods of its weather, and they looked into the great dark lash-fringed eyes of the seals who came sometimes to the weed-pillowed rocks near the castle.

And the Boggart, glad of new victims, had happily played his tricks on them, though they hadn't noticed him then. Not then, not yet.

Now, coming back to Castle Keep, Emily and Jessup looked around in wonder. The rooms and corridors were not only bright with their new electric lights, they were comfortable. Rugs were spread on the cold stone floors, fires burned in the hearths of several rooms; the kitchen was cozy and welcoming, and warm air from its huge hospitable new stove was piped up to the floor above.

Mr. Maconochie led them proudly up the stairs.
“Tommy helped me get things ready,”
he said.
“I do hope you'll be comfortable. You each have your own room this time.”
And there on the massive oak door of a bedroom was an immaculately lettered sign, in very creditable Times Roman capitals:

Jessup whooped, flung open the door, and dived in, and Mr. Maconochie followed. Emily, shouldering the straps of her duffel, went on to the next door. The sign here said, in a flowing cursive script that looked very like the handwriting of the few letters she had had from Tommy Cameron in the past year:

Emily opened the door to find a small cheery space, lamps glowing, with bed, desk, armchair, wardrobe, and a thick-walled little window looking out at one bright star in the darkening sky. On a little table beside the bed was a vase holding six red roses, with a card propped underneath:
Welcome back to Scotland
. It was Tommy's handwriting again.

Emily looked at the roses, feeling a strange unfamiliar hollowness in her chest. She swallowed. Nobody had ever given her flowers before.

“Em! Where are you?”
She heard Jessup's yell from next door and went hastily out, dropping her duffel bag on the floor.

And the Boggart, delighted at finding a hitherto empty room occupied, dived in through the door as she came out of it. He flittered inquisitively about for a moment, then settled on the duffel, and his long deft invisible fingers began to unfasten the straps.

*  *  *

F
ROM DOWNSTAIRS
, the castle was filled suddenly with
a great eruption of barking, and a flurry of golden limbs and fur came hurtling up the stairs and flung itself on Mr. Maconochie. He protested, staggering.
“William — get
down,
William — look, here's Emily and Jessup —”

William leaped happily and indiscriminately at Emily and Jessup, and pranced about in a hysteria of greeting, licking their faces and treading on their toes. Emily staggered down the last few steps, wiping doglick out of her eyes, and found herself looking into the amused face of Tommy Cameron.

“Oh — hi, Tommy —”
She glanced down, embarrassed, registering in a quick blur that he was much taller than before, his dark hair longer. Jessup and Tommy thumped each other on the shoulder, a procedure for which Jessup had to reach upward and Tommy down. William bounced around them all, delirious with good-fellowship, and Tommy grabbed at his collar.

Then all the lights went out.

In the dark hallway, everyone lapsed into startled silence. Even William's bark dwindled away into a puzzled whine.

“Damn that generator!”
said Mr. Maconochie into the darkness.

“But the generator is working fine,”
Tommy said.
“I checked it just this morning when I came to get William.”
His lilting Highland voice, Emily noticed with fascination, now had a strange husky quality, on its way down the scale to adult depth.

The lights flickered rapidly on and off again, several times.

“That's what it does every day!”
said Mr. Maconochie in exasperation.
“Every single day, that maddening flicker. I'll have to get the man down from Inverness again.”

“Last time he came he said there was nothing wrong,”
Tommy said.

“And the time before,”
Mr. Maconochie said. He sighed.
“Just a minute — I'll get a torch in case it happens again.”
He disappeared toward the kitchen.

Emily whispered to Tommy,
“It's the Boggart doing that, isn't it? How come Mr. Mac hasn't found out about him yet?”

“He doesn't want to know,”
Tommy whispered back.
“When he came, I tried to warn him, I said, ‘Mr. Mac, I'm afraid you may find a few odd things happening in Castle Keep.' And he looked at me and laughed and he said, ‘Och, Tommy, I'm too old to start believing in ghosts.'”

Mr. Maconochie came back, holding a large square rubber-covered flashlight of the kind that can be dropped from a boat without sinking.
“Ready for anything,”
he said, without much conviction.

Jessup said,
“Is it always this time of day that the lights go on and off?”

“Any time at all, so long as it's dark. There's no predicting it. That machine has a mind of its own.”
Mr. Maconochie sighed again, heavily. Then suddenly he stood very still, staring glassily at them all as if he couldn't see them. A strange expression came over his face, a mixture of amazement and dismay.
“Of course!”
he said.
“Of course!”

They looked at him in alarm.
“Of course what?”
said Jessup.

“I think you'd better come with me,”
said Mr. Maconochie in an oddly strained voice. Gripping his flashlight, he set off along the corridor, long legs striding, face intent. They hurried after him, with William prancing about and falling under their feet.

Mr. Maconochie led them into the library and switched on all the lights. Immediately the lights went out again. Mr. Maconochie muttered tetchily and switched on his flashlight, sweeping its broad beam across the room toward the MacDevon's big mahogany desk. He crossed to the desk, opened its central drawer, and took out a leather folder.

The lights came on for a count of about three, then went out again, then came back on. Mr. Maconochie sat down on a corner of the desk with the folder on his knee and looked at the children uneasily.
“There's something I have to tell you,”
he said.
“But I'm afraid you're going to find it highly unusual and hard to believe. It's about —”

The lights went out again, and in the darkness Tommy lost his patience.
“Boggart!”
he called irritably.
“Will you stop this foolishness! Mr. Mac has something serious he wants to say!”

“It's us, Boggart — Emily and Jessup!”
Emily said loudly, happily.
“We came all the way from Canada to see you! Are you there, can you hear me?”

Jessup called out,
“Please put the lights back on, Boggart! What's the trouble — you don't like the generator?”

The electric lights performed an excited little flicker
of agreement, and then came back on and remained steady.

“That's it!”
Tommy said.
“He doesn't approve of the electric. Now that's going to be a problem.”

Mr. Maconochie had risen from the desk and was standing motionless, stunned, staring at them.
“
You know about him!
”
he said.

“I should say we do,”
said Jessup.
“We had him in Toronto for months, you wouldn't believe the trouble he caused.”

Mr. Maconochie's gaze swiveled to Tommy's face, and became reproachful.
“You never
said
you knew!”
he said.

“I tried,”
said Tommy.
“You said you were too old to start believing in ghosts.”

Mr. Maconochie opened his mouth and shut it again. As if clutching for reality, he resettled his horn-rimmed spectacles on his nose, then took the MacDevon's letter out of his leather folder.
“I think you should read this,”
he said.
“I found it in a book about the supernatural.”

He handed them the letter. Silently they read it, each in turn, Emily, Jessup, Tommy.

Emily finished reading. She smiled.
“He likes peanut butter too,”
she said.

Jessup finished reading. He said,
“It's true that he means no harm. But he sure can cause it if he's in the wrong place.”

Tommy finished reading, reached for a handkerchief, and blew his nose in a rather muffled way.
“Mr. MacDevon was a fine old man,”
he said. He handed the letter back to Mr. Maconochie.

Mr. Maconochie said,
“Did you and Mr. MacDevon talk about the Boggart?”