The Adept (29 page)

“One question at a time, please.
Was the Fairy Flag taken off the first boat and put—wait,
I’ll rephrase that.
Was the Fairy Flag taken off the first boat?
“Yes.”

“Was the Fairy Flag placed in a land vehicle of some kind?
“Yes.”

“And it is now on another boat?
“Yes.”

Throughout this exchange, Peregrine had been watching and listening with growing amazement.

“Adam, do you really
believe
the information you’re getting this way?”

Adam allowed him a tiny smile. “It’s been proven correct before. Do you have any better suggestions?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Just listen, then. Noel?”

“Yes?”

“We haven’t a clue who’s behind all of this,” Adam said, “and we could play Twenty Questions all night, without getting any closer. Therefore, I’m going to propose switching my inquiries to a more specific focus on the Flag’s whereabouts.”

“I understand,” McLeod replied, and glanced pointedly at Peregrine. “No further interruptions, please, Mr., Lovat. He’s going to need all his concentration.”

As Peregrine nodded solemnly, Adam moved the photo of the Fairy Flag off the map, leaving his left hand resting lightly upon it, and then positioned the dangling ring over the spot marking Dunvegan Castle on the map of the Isle of Skye, his right elbow propped on the piano.

“All right, my pretty,” he murmured under his breath, addressing the photo of the Flag. “Where are you
now?
I know where you’ve been, and I know you’ve been wrenched from your rightful place by violent humans, for their own purposes, but you’re going to have to help me, if I’m to help you. Use me and the pendulum, to show me where you are. I know we can make the connection, if we try.”

For a moment he was perfectly still, eyes shuttered and slightly unfocused, marshalling his concentration for the task at hand. Mentally invoking the astral image of the Fairy Flag, he breathed gently on the ring to set it spinning, at the same time inviting the resonances vested in the Flag to communicate its present whereabouts.

At first there was no response. His breathing light and controlled, Adam closed his eyes and threw wide the doors of his own spirit, petitioning the living wisdom of the Light both to amplify the magnetic influences of the Flag and to enhance his own receptivity. A tingling energy stirred at the center of his being, rising and uncoiling—the serpent
power, coursing up his spine and all along his extremities.

A complementary pulse went resonating up the thread, with the ring for its conductor. The two currents met and merged at his fingertips in a burst of confluent powers. Contact brought with it an unexpected awareness of something more: a great and growing anger, manifested in the storm that was descending upon the Isle of Skye. The source of that anger was a swirling conflagration of elemental presences which Adam recognized immediately for what they were: the Fairy Hosts of earth, sky, and sea.

The tide of their anger washed blindly over him and rolled on, circling now in the room itself, coalescing in a maelstrom of coruscating fire and shadow. He saw it in his mind, suddenly swirling in the space between the piano and the wall where the Fairy Flag had hung, and when he opened his eyes he saw it with his sight as well—and a glance at his companions confirmed that they saw it, too.

A skeletal face began to focus. In the maelstrom as he looked back in surprise, shifting and mutating, terrible in its beauty. He could only guess its particular identity—perhaps the elemental essence of the fairy that had ensouled the Fairy Flag—but its type was that of the
ban-sidhe,
snakelike locks writhing around its head, greenish fire glowing in the empty eye sockets, clawed talons flexing and flashing, poised to reach out and rend.

“Hold your anger, Child of Nature!” Adam said evenly, his voice reverberating on psychic levels as well as audible ones. “I am not your enemy. I am a friend who would help you right the wrong that has been done here.”

Humans are but false friends to the Sidhe!
the being replied, in a voice that wailed like ripping silk and sent mortal terror surging involuntarily down his spine.
Tell me why I should not slay you where you stand! How dare you summon
me
, when your kind has violated my sacred trust?

Trembling despite his control, Adam made himself bridle his fear, forcing himself to look into the hell-fire pits that were the being’s eyes.

“Do you think you are alone in your outrage?” he challenged. “Those who have offended you have offended me as well—I, a Councillor of the Seven, who am charged by my Superiors to safeguard the Light and all the forces of Nature who serve It, both human and fairykind. By summoning from beyond the grave the wizard Michael Scot, a man once beloved of your kind, these rogue practitioners of the arts magical have transgressed immortal Law. They have shattered the personality of Scot’s present vehicle—an innocent girl, who may never regain what was taken from her. Undeserving, these offenders seek Scot’s treasure, which your kind guard. It is they who should be subject to your just wrath—not I, who would stop them, if I can.”

The maelstrom rolled and flickered, fresh anger warring with the fragile thread of logic Adam had just presented. Adam was aware of McLeod and Peregrine staring, transfixed with horror, but the unfettered power immanent in the center of the room would not let any of them move. As the being towered above him, threatening to engulf him, Adam threw back his head and looked up at it unflinchingly, vesting all his hopes in one final plea for mercy.

“I am not the one you want,” he said. “The ones you want are the ones who stole
am Bratach Sith
—who carry it even now, intending to steal Scot’s book of spells and your fairy gold! Show me where that is, and I shall do my best to stop them. Nor shall I or mine do any harm to what rightfully belongs to Faerie. Furthermore, if I can, I swear that I shall restore
am Bratach Sith
to its rightful place.”

He could feel the being’s encroaching power prickling at the edges of his soul, threatening oblivion. He swayed on his feet, unable to help himself, but he not would let himself look away from what threatened to overwhelm him. Brazenly he lifted the photo and the dangling ring on its thread.

“Show me!”
he commanded.

At his words, the being let out an unholy shriek and came for him, talons raking the piano top and sending maps and thread spools flying.

“Show me!”
Adam commanded again, flinching involuntarily, but never shrinking from the challenge.

Then a sound reverberated in his mind like a thunderclap and shook him into unconsciousness. He must have been out for only a few seconds, but he came to on the floor beside the piano, with his head raised on one of McLeod’s arms and Peregrine kneeling stricken beside him. The photo of the Fairy Flag was still in his left hand, but the ring on its thread was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank God, yer alive!” McLeod whispered, reverting to a broader Highland accent in his agitation. “Good Lord, man, ye goaded her! Whatever possessed ye?”

A little dazed still, Adam struggled to a sitting position. “It’s all right, Noel. I think I knew what I was doing. And Peregrine, don’t look like you’ve seen a ghost. It was only a banshee.”

“A banshee?” Peregrine breathed. “But—”

“I think, in specific, it may have been the spirit of the Fairy Flag,” Adam continued, trying to get his feet under him. “Help me up, you two. Since I’m alive, I think it must have worked. I want to know where my ring has gone.”

“Your ring?”
McLeod yelped. “Don’t ye know ye’ve just been that close to oblivion, man? Take it easy, or you’ll pass out again. Where’s one o’ those ammonia capsules, when ye need one?” he added, patting down several of Adam’s pockets. “You doctors never come prepared!”

Making wordless, placating gestures, Adam struggled to his feet anyway, hauling himself up with both hands on the edge of the piano and casting his gaze over the aftermath of a banshee’s rage. The map that had been on the piano stool was on the floor with the spools of thread, and shreds of Technicolor paper scraps all around the piano told the fate of one of the maps that had been on top. The piano itself was deeply scored with six long parallel scratches, but they ended next to the map remaining. And on that map, a gold-set sapphire winked in the light.

“Oh,
there’s
your bloody ring,” McLeod said, starting to reach for it. “An’ lookit what’s happened to the piano!”

But Adam stayed his hand. For the ring, its thread extending straight as an arrow back to Dunvegan Castle, had landed partway down Loch Ness, the bright gold of the band encircling the words,
Urquhart Castle
.

Chapter Nineteen

STUNNED,
the three of them crowded around the piano to stare at the words encircled by the ring on the map.

“Urquhart Castle!” McLeod murmured.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Peregrine asked, apparently a believer at last. Eyeing the gouges on the piano top, Adam prodded at the ring with a tentative forefinger, then picked it up and took off the thread. “It means,” he said, slipping the ring back on his finger, “that Urquhart Castle is the hiding place of Michael Scot’s treasure—and that the Fairy Flag is being taken there to help hold the treasure’s rightful guardians at bay.”

“Urquhart,” Peregrine repeated, looking distractedly off into the distance. “So we were on the right track all along.” He shook his head wonderingly. “It makes perfect sense, of course. When I remember what I drew, and compare those sketches to the photos we looked at, it’s plain to see how the castle evolved, over the centuries. In fact, the references did say there were caves in the area—some of them underwater.”

“Aye, and the Loch Ness monster is also guarding the treasure, if it’s even there!” McLeod muttered under his breath. “Adam, are you
sure
it’s Urquhart, where we’re meant to go?” Adam had begun scanning the map around Loch Ness more closely, and now he looked up at McLeod just a little impatiently. “Noel, I’ve just put my life and maybe my very soul on the line—not to mention my word as an Adept—to induce a
ban-sidhe
to tell where a fairy treasure’s hidden. And helping the Sidhe protect that treasure isn’t all that’s at stake.”

“I know that,” McLeod replied. “No, I’m riot certain you do,” Adam said. “You’re worried about the Fairy Flag of the MacLeods, as well you should be. But making unlawful use of the Flag is only the beginning. If the thieves are successful, they’ll get their hands on Michael Scot’s book of spells—a fearful enough prospect, in its own right—but they’ll also get the fairy gold. Do you hear that wind outside?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you were right when you said there was something uncanny about it,” Adam went on. “This
isn’t
just another seasonal storm. It’s being generated through the agency of the Sidhe—and it’s going to get worse until they’re appeased, one way or another.”

“What exactly are you saying?” McLeod said stonily.

Adam’s long mouth tightened before he spoke. “The fairies gave the Flag to the MacLeods as a rare token of their favor. Its theft represents an offense against the whole realm of Faerie. The Sidhe have never taken such offenses lightly. And stealing then gold will merely add insult to injury. Already, their anger has unleashed elemental forces that, unchecked, could devastate the Highlands.”

His last word was cut short by a sudden skirl of wind that set the seaward windows rattling violently. Peregrine flinched and looked around apprehensively, instinctively moving a little closer to the other two men.

“I think I’d better tell you about the odd dream I had last night,” he said uneasily. “I was going to mention it over breakfast, but it seemed so trivial in the light of day.”

“Go on,” Adam urged.

“Well, I thought I heard horns blowing in the distance—like trumpets sounding a call to battle. In view of what’s happened, I think it must have been some kind of warning—only I didn’t know enough then to recognize it as such.”

Adam’s face had grown increasingly troubled as Peregrine made this revelation, and now he sighed heavily and leaned both hands on the piano, glancing down.

“I wish you
had
told me,” he murmured. “Not that it would have made any difference in what we have to do.”

“Why? What did it mean?” Peregrine asked.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a warning,” Adam said slowly. “More like a call to arms—maybe even the summoning of the Faerie Rade—the Wild Hunt. If that goes unchecked, I hate to even contemplate the possible consequences.”

McLeod looked stricken, and could hardly raise his eyes to meet Adam’s. “Adam, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Nor did I. None of us did. But it makes our task just that much more urgent.”

Shaking his head, Adam drew a deep breath and seemed to take a grip on himself.

“All right, gentlemen. We now need to formulate a plan of action. We know that the fairy gold and Scot’s book are at Urquhart Castle. Presumably, the thieves know that too, and are on their way there now, with the Flag, intending to do—whatever it is they’re going to do—as soon as it’s properly dark and the forces of Samhain are at their peak.” Adam scanned the map between Dunvegan and Urquhart, running a finger along the red lines of the roads they would have to take, rather than going as the crow flies.

“From the pendulum, we also know that the Flag is on a boat,” he continued, glancing up at McLeod. “That means they must be coming either up or down Loch Ness. But Urquhart is their destination, whichever way they’re coming. How fast do you think we can get there?”

McLeod drew closer to the map, adjusting his glasses and using his thumb and first finger as calipers to estimate the distances.

“Well, it’s near fifty miles to the ferry, and you’ve seen that road.”

“Yes—”

“I’m not as familiar with the one from there to Urquhart,” McLeod went on, “but it looks like, oh, seventy or eighty more, allowing for the twists and turns.” He shook his head and grimaced. “I’d say—close to three hours, allowing for the weather and the ferry crossing. And that presumes that the ferry is running—which, in this kind of weather, is not at all certain.”

Adam glanced at his watch and then began folding up the map. “We’ll worry about that when we get to the ferry crossing,” he said. “Meanwhile, we’d better get going, because it’s past five already. That means we can’t expect to make Urquhart much before eight.”

“Is that a problem?” Peregrine asked.

“I hope it won’t be,” Adam replied. “The critical time factor has to do with the beginning of Samhain. If
I
were running their operation, I’d want to delay beginning until well after sunset—and after moonrise as well—when the powers of the sword and the Fairy Flag will be at their peak. But sunset is going to seem to come early tonight, because of the storm. If they get too greedy, they might try to start sooner—so it’s essential we get there as quickly as we can. Noel, can you get us a car?”

McLeod nodded. “I’ll commandeer the Volvo. After all, the MacLeod did authorize us to take whatever we need. And before we leave, I want to ring my counterpart in Inverness and see about some mundane reinforcements. Magic is all very well and good, but the Opposition have already used firearms at least once, and I doubt they’ll hesitate to do so again. I’ll have a police boat sent down the Loch.”

He took a last look at the ruined piano top and sighed. “I can cope with possibly raining the Chief’s car. That goes with the job. I just wonder how I’m going to explain about the piano.”

With that disgruntled observation, he turned and made for the door leading to the main stairs, Adam and Peregrine falling in behind him. They had taken only a few steps when all the lights in Dunvegan Castle suddenly flickered and then went out.

“Damn, that’s all we need!” McLeod muttered, groping for the wall as the others stumbled to a halt behind him. The darkness was not absolute, as their eyes adjusted, for the windows still showed a flat, lighter grey, but it was too dark to see very well.

“What do you think has happened?” Peregrine whispered.

“Storm’s probably taken out a power line, or blown a transformer,” Adam murmured. “Have they got an emergency generator, Noel?”

“Aye. It should kick in any minute.”

Standing shoulder to shoulder in the murky darkness, they could feel the stone floor vibrating under their feet as, outside, the mounting storm waves beat about the rock on which the castle was founded. But after a few seconds, as predicted, the lights came back on, to the accompaniment of a mechanical hum from somewhere deep in the bowels of the building. “

At least
something’s
working,” McLeod muttered. “It may not last, though. Keep close behind me, and mind the steps on the way down.”

Together they made their way down the wide main stairs, keeping to the railings on either side, lest the lights fail again. Before they reached the bottom, the lights resumed their flickering. Sandy MacLeod met them in the entry hall, a lighted oil lamp in one brawny hand and a look of concern on his face.

“I was just on my way tae fetch ye down tae the parlor,” he told them. “Something’s no’ right wi’ the generator. Da’s gone down tae the basement tae see what he can do,”

“Never mind the generator,” McLeod said. “Are the phones working?”

Sandy goggled at him. “I couldnae say. I dinnae think anyone’s thought tae try ‘em.”

“In that case, let me do the honors,” said McLeod. “Is there one here, in the lobby?”

Sandy turned and pointed. “Aye, over there—under the desk.”

Scowling, the inspector strode over and whisked the telephone out onto the desktop. He lifted the receiver to his ear, sighed, and pumped the call button several times, pausing intermittently to listen. After several attempts, he shook his head.

“No joy here. The line’s dead as a bloody doornail.”

“What about that cellular phone you brought with you?” Adam asked.

“It’s still in the back of the Volvo, in my bag,” said McLeod.

“I’ll go get it for ye,” Sandy volunteered. “It’s the blue bag wi’ the pockets?”

“Aye.”

Rain gusted into the entry hall as Sandy dashed outside, wind wailing up the staircase and raising chills not altogether born of the cold. The lights continued to waver on and off. In a few minutes, a rather damper and more windblown Sandy returned, McLeod’s bag clutched close to his chest. He watched with undisguised fascination as McLeod unzipped one of the side pockets and took out the cellular phone.

“I don’t know whether this is going to work,” he warned his companions. “These things are none too reliable at the best of times. Still, nothing ventured . . .”

Moving closer to the doorway, where there was apt to be less interference from the stone, he activated the phone. After listening for a dial tone, he punched in the number of the Inverness constabulary. The line rang through for two short rings, then cut but in a sudden, fierce burst of static.

McLeod disconnected and tried again. Seconds after he finished dialing, the same angry crackle burst from the receiver, popping and snapping like an amplified electrical short. McLeod killed the noise with a stroke of his thumb and rolled his eyes in bleak exasperation.

“Distance could be a factor,” Adam said. “Why don’t you try Fort Augustus? It’s about the same distance from Urquhart, but it’s forty miles closer to us, as the crow flies. Do you know the number?”

“No, but I’ve got it here somewhere,” McLeod said, already thumbing through a small notebook he had produced from an inside pocket. “Here it is.”

He punched in the number, juggling notebook and phone and grimacing the while, his face brightening as the number began to ring.

“Aha! It’s ringing, at least. I can’t say this is a much better line,” he said over his shoulder to his companions, “but so far—hullo? Is that the constabulary? Very good. This is Inspector Noel McLeod, Edinburgh branch . . .
hullo, are you still there? I want the officer in charge, please . . .”

In the course of the next few minutes, McLeod struggled through outbursts of static to outline as much of the situation as he dared. Eventually his conversation was cut short when the line abruptly went dead. McLeod uttered a single well-chosen epithet as he switched the phone off and turned back to his friends.

“Well, that’s that,” he stated peevishly. “If we’re lucky, the lad I just spoke to got enough of what I was saying to send up the units I requested. But I wouldn’t count on it—especially with this storm moving in.”

“So it’s up to us?” Adam asked.

“I’m afraid so.” McLeod sighed wearily. “It’s typical. Whenever you want something done right, you generally end up doing it yourself.”

As he knelt to stash the phone back in his bag, Sandy could contain his curiosity no longer.

“Ye’re no’ really goin’ tae Urquhart, are ye?”

“Aye.”