Groundskeeper: Well, there was MacTaggert's terrier. He nipped Sean one night, as Sean was coming into town to drink, and made Sean terribly and fearsome angry. Two nights later, the dog goes missing; right from their own yard. They found it, out on the hearth, the next day: it had been skinned. Nothing could ever be proven; but when Sean MacAllan was accused of it, it was he could to do to keep from laughing.
Edward stares at groundskeeper, then to his comrades, fist over his mouth in disgust.
"That's the kind of thing we need to account for, wouldn't you say, gentlemen? A row after a few pints is one thing. Animal mutilation, well that's another thing altogether. If this Mister MacAllan is that depraved now I perish the thought of him living up here with a group of Krauts, even if the latter are fenced in."
You take one last look at the altarpiece, and then the groundskeeper
leads you from the church, wishing you a good day as you head back through the village towards the train station.
About midway you recognize a familiar figure; the farmer from the previous night, leading a much calmer pony.
Edward waves to the farmer. "Good morning," Edward says. "Hoping your pony is no worse for wear after his scare last night."
Farmer: Aye, many things look better when the sun is up!
"Any idea what spooked it so?" Edward asks, pleasantly trying to draw out information from him.
Edward walks up to the pony and begins to pet it gently, reassuring the animal. Edward then pushes his eye glasses up his nose and looks at the farmer with sympathy.
"I've loved these animals all my life. There were so many things in the Great War that broke my heart that it's hard to count them all, but among them was the heart-rending scenes of these magnificent animals falling in agony before the Hun's artillery and machine guns, unable to flee, unable to understand what was happening. Do you, sir, know what might've spooked it last night?"
Farmer: You fine and educated gentleman might think me daft, but I tell you, sometimes here, when the fog rolls in at night, pouring down from the Loch, there seems to be something in the air; the dog's howl, the cats go hiding, and poor Bessie here, she goes mad in her stall!
The Lt Cmdr smiles, but it's a hard smile. "No sir, not daft. Just aware. There are those of us who have seen more than we ought, more than anyone ought, sir. Your pony just has a better head than most. I don't suppose you've heard anything amiss about the area? Anything that might be causing the animals distress?"
Farmer (sheepishly): There's just something not right with the Loch, as long as anyone can remember it's been the way: and as of late, it seems to be getting worse.
Edward stops petting the animal, takes out his pipe and lights it.
"Fog rolls in, and the animals go beserk", Edward says, almost reiterating the situation to himself. "Any kind of predators up this way? I'm sure there are hawks and whatnot. Anything in the water? Eels? Snakes? Such as that? Something that hunts in the cover of night?"
Farmer: There hasn't been any wolves in these parts since Edward VII. Of course, there's always been tales of a great serpent in the Loch.
"I've heard of that! Giant serpents haunting the place, oft sighted but seldom seen!" Henry smiles, remembering a drunken night out at Officer's Club, when the lads exchanged ghastly stories of ghosts and goblins and long-legged beasties.
"Pray tell, what kinds of serpent stories? I've always been fascinated by local legends."
Farmer: Well, just about every pond in these highlands has a Kelpie or some other beastie in it; if you believe the stories. The serpent of the loch was supposedly here even before these lands became Christian. You should go see the altar-piece in the church; there's a dread horror for you.
Henry looks at Mister Carter with a raised eyebrow. "The altarpiece is a picture of this serpent, is it?"
Farmer: They say the Maclaireags made a foul pact with the thing; but if they did, it apparently did not serve them well, given the end they came too.
Edward nods at the Lieutenant Commander.
"It's the same, he says. "There's a saying that the Americans have: 'Where there's smoke there's fire'.
"We may have stumbled across a tall tale with a basis in reality, like the coelacanth or the squids of unusual size off Australia, perhaps there is a rare fresh water snake out there that preys on livestock. Sounds bloody ridiculous but we both saw Bessie last night. Thought we were to be trampled to death. I'm starting to think I really should call my man at the Inverness news."
Farmer: I don't know about squids or 'koleekanths', but I do know there is something not quite right about that loch.
"Maybe we should see the Maclaireag castle, to see if anything there can tell us what sort of beastie this is?"
The farmer wishes the three of you a good day, as he leads 'Bessie' off.
Once he's gone, Henry turns to his compatriots. "A sea monster? Is such a thing even possible?"
Edward lights a cigarette, his hand once again shaky. He does not look the Lieutenant Commander in the eye, but says in a distant way, "No. No, of course not. Campfire stories meant to scare children. Nothing more."
He takes a *long* drag on his cigarette and calms down a bit. "I agree with you, sir. Let's visit MacLaireag Castle. By the by, where has my cousin gone to? Wasn't he just here?"
Down on a knee and rummaging through his pack, Emrys looks up, scans about, pushes up his glasses then finds himself looking at Edward, "I'm right 'ere cousin. You haven't lost me yet." Emrys declares.
"Reckon I didn't know much about the episode with the bloody farm animal so I figured my time best spent ensuring that I have the proper items for our little adventure in the moors. Now Lieutenant Commander, if my cousin is wrong and there are sea monsters or the like to be had, I'm 'fraid I've not got much to heal those wounds."
Emrys latches his pack closed, hefts it onto his shoulders, quickly brushes his pants and questions, "So, how far are these barking dogs going to need to travel today?"
"About a ten mile hike, along the water's edge," Edward replies to Emrys. "I would not mind finding a taxi to be honest, but with all the rationing I doubt we'll find many autos for rent. So unless you or the Lieutenant Commander object, I suggest we begin walking. Perhaps we can take a breather at the train station and I can call my mate at the Inverness paper."
Edward stares at the Loch's water.
Something tells me this is a dangerous expedition, but I don't have a logical excuse to get us out of it. I have a feeling I haven't experienced since those days in the north of France..., Edward thinks.
"Truthfully, I wouldn't mind a taxi myself but I'd be willing to put a few sterling on your sentiments being correct Cousin. Furthermore, a breather and a quick lunch break at the depot would be superb, in fact, may I suggest that it be a doctor's order?" says Emrys with a smug snicker as he rounds off his sentence.
"I've never been one to ignore doctors' orders, not since that one down at Charing Cross prescribed cognac for me sleep. Shall we go, then?"
The depot is a small, affair, with only a single agent; who agrees to send on your wire. He tells you that you can get a plate of bangers and mash at the public house.
So, with your telegraph sent, and fortified with a hot meal, walking-sticks in hand, you begin to trek towards Castle Maclaireag.
So the loch actually sits in a kind of elevated bowl; there's a short but steep climb, besides a pretty waterfall, and then you finally see the leaden waters of the loch before you. The far corners of the lake are, of course, veiled with wispy fog.
Is there any boat activity on the loch or anyone on the shore?
Do we see any fishermen or locals milling about?
Curiously, no.
"Strange," Edward says to his comrades. "A lake this size, wouldn't you expect some men out fishing? Seems unsettlingly quiet. And that fog yonder... don't know what to make of that."
The Lt Cmdr stares as well. "It strikes me a bit.. funny, if you catch my meaning. I don't know, Mister Carter. If I was flying, I'd think this mission was a bad start." He scratches the back of neck with his left hand absently, as if trying to keep the hairs down.
Assuming the water's edge is not not too far off our path, Edward walks down, finds a rock and heaves it into the water, just to see what happens.
The waters of the lake are a deep blue-black, and Carter suspects that the lake is probably frighteningly deep.
The stone he lobs splashes into the lake, and the sound it makes seems strangely loud and out of place, like braying laughter in a church.
Edward's eyes widen.
He wheels about and stares at the others, his mouth agape.
"Did you hear that?!"
"How rather peculiar! I suggest it may be within our best interest to stay out of the water for the time being." Emrys says cautiously as the hairs on his neck begin to stand.
"Agreed, sir." Henry steps back, moving away from the water.
"Thinking on it cousin, I daresay, try yet another stone. There must be some scientific explanation for this phenomenon." Emrys suggests with a rather perturbed look upon him.
Edward looks from his cousin to the Lieutenant Commander, and then purses his lips. After a moment of reflection, he shrugs and finds an even larger rock. He heaves it high into the air so that it falls almost straight down into the water, vertically.
You heave another, larger stone into the water. The splash seems to echo across the lake; perhaps some acoustic feature of the terrain? The rocky hills do crowd in close to the lake-shore.
Edward searches for a small, flat stone. When he finds one he skips it across the water's surface.
Hmmm, you only manage the skip the stone once; of course, its has been how many decades since you last tried skipping a stone?
"Haven't done that since my boarding school days. Occasionally a fish would jump at a skipped stone. Perhaps it's for the best I've lost my touch," Edward says.
Edward chews on his fingernail while thinking: I look like a damn fool out here, but maybe it's for the best. Last time I saw a body of water this large there were tentacles, weren't there, old chap? Yes, sir, there were.
So you resume tramping along a rutted cattle trail that parallels the lake shore.
It is still and quiet; the occasional warbling cry of a sandpiper seems somehow anemic and defeated.
As make you way around a small, jutting head-land you see that the vale before you is filled with wispy fog.
"This land seems determined to stay un-known, doesn't it, Mister Carter?" Henry sounds like he's trying to jest, but his nervousness shines through.
After checking your sketch maps you decide you must be approaching the house of Brian MacAllan.
"Well gentlemen, per the maps and my calculations, mind you I'm not mathematician, we should be approaching the MacAllan homestead. Now maybe it's my spectacles are getting a bit bothered... or just my eyes, but I cannot seem to make it out! puzzles Emrys as he spins about quizzically looking for an abode.