At the Water's Edge (12 page)

A
t ten the next morning I knocked on Ellis's door, hoping to catch him alone. He wasn't there.

As I descended the stairs, I could see Anna dusting a heavy silver candlestick on the mantelpiece, her face as pinched as if she'd eaten a green persimmon.

I wondered if she'd heard about the scene from the night before. Then I wondered how I was ever going to face any of the customers at the bar again, never mind Mr. Ross.

Hank and Ellis were sitting at a table, wearing layers of heavy wool and hobnailed boots. Bags and equipment were heaped on the floor beside them, along with their coats, hats, and gloves. I couldn't believe it. They were going to leave again.

I sailed past and took a seat by the window.

Ellis joined me immediately. “Darling, what's wrong?”

I tipped my head at the pile of bags by Hank's feet. “Were you at least going to leave me a note this time?” I said, trying to keep my voice down.

“About what?” He glanced over and looked back, surprised. “That?
That's our field equipment. We were waiting for you to get up. But I gather from your question you're upset we went to Inverness.”

“Without
me
,” I said in an urgent whisper. “What if the landlord had thrown me out?”

Anna's duster was poised above the mantel, its feathers quivering. It was perfectly clear she could hear every word.

“I knew full well Blackbeard wasn't going to throw you out.”

“How?” I demanded, no longer bothering to whisper.

“I asked him, obviously.”

Anna slammed the duster down and stomped into the kitchen.

“You still could have left me a note,” I said.

Ellis reached across the table and took both my hands. “Darling, that girl was supposed to tell you. And it's not like I was trying to keep anything from you—Hank and I only realized at breakfast that we needed to get ration books and gas masks immediately or we'd all starve to death, never mind the other possibility. It didn't even occur to me you'd want to join us. We had to beg a ride in the back of a paraffin van. It reeked to high heaven and we had to crouch the whole way. You'd have been miserable.” He tilted his head, trying to catch my eyes. “Darling? Is something else the matter? You still look upset.”

“Well, I am. Of course.”

“About what?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

His face went blank. “Maddie, I have absolutely no idea.”

“He doesn't remember a thing,” Hank called over from the other table. “One too many libations, I'm afraid.”

“You called me a very rude name last night,” I said. “
Very
rude.
In public
.”

Ellis frowned. “I would never do that. Surely you misheard.”

“I don't think she did,” Hank piped up. “I'm pretty sure everyone in the room heard. Shall I join you, or would you prefer I continue to fill in the blanks by shouting across the room?”

“What did I say?” Ellis asked.

“I don't care to repeat it,” I replied.

Ellis squeezed my hands. “Maddie, I'm so sorry. If it's true, I'd
clearly had too much to drink—I would never slight you in my right mind. I adore you.”

I trained my eyes on the fireplace beyond him, but he took my chin and aimed my face at his. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, beseechingly.

After several seconds, I sighed and rolled my eyes.

“That's my girl,” he said, breaking into a wide grin.

“If we're all peachy again, can we get this show on the road? The sun is up, so the clock is ticking,” Hank said. “Maddie, darling girl, while you look absolutely stunning, you can't tromp around the scrub in that getup. Didn't you bring something a little more…” He stirred the air beside his head with one finger. “I don't know, Rosie the Riveter?”

“Well that's more like it,” Ellis said when I came back downstairs.

Hank had gone to a local pier to arrange for a boat, and Anna had returned just long enough to drop plates of drawer porridge on the table.

I glanced down at my dungarees, safari jacket, and utility shoes, and hoped she wouldn't come back out of the kitchen before we left. I felt ridiculous.

“Here,” Ellis said, handing me a bright red case made of leather. It had an adjustable strap and a shiny brass buckle. “What do you think? Isn't it pretty?”

“It's very bright,” I admitted. “What is it?”

“Your gas mask. The cases have been weatherized, since it seems to be perpetually raining or snowing,” he explained, tapping the lid of his own case, which was dark brown.

I took the mask out to examine it. It was made of pungent black rubber, with a clear plastic window at the top and a strange metal canister capped by a bright green disk at the bottom. Three white cloth straps came from the sides and top of the face and were attached by a buckle.

I had just put it on and was trying to adjust the straps when Hank
burst through the door. He stopped just inside and assumed a look of pure astonishment.

“Ellis! You weren't supposed to find Nessie without me!”

I pulled the mask off and stuffed it back in its case. “Very funny, Hank.”

“It was, actually,” said Hank. “Nobody appreciates me around here. Let's start over. Pretend I just came in. Go on—turn around and then turn back.”

When Ellis and I obliged, Hank stepped forward and threw his arms in the air.

“And we are in possession of a mighty sea vessel, ours for the duration!” he announced grandly. After a few beats, he dropped his arms and continued. “All right, maybe she's not so mighty, and maybe it's more accurate to say she's a lake vessel, but I do know she doesn't leak. I took her out for a little test spin.”

He clapped his hands in front of him. “Chop, chop, my dearest sourpusses. We're wasting precious daylight. Let the adventure begin!”

W
e walked a few hundred yards north to Temple Pier, a tiny local dock, and set out in a battered rowboat. The plan was to find an accessible piece of land near Urquhart Castle and start surveillance.

When I first laid eyes on the boat and the ladder leading down to it, I balked. Hank and Ellis clearly sensed my apprehension—before I knew it, they'd handed me into it and pushed off, and instead of climbing into the bow behind Hank, Ellis sat next to me in the stern. This left the boat unevenly weighted, and when Hank started rowing, I stayed as close to the middle of the bench as I could, clutching my gas mask case with one hand and the edge of the bench with the other.

The water was eerily black and seemed to move against itself, the top layer gliding across the ones beneath. The bottom third of the oars disappeared with each stroke, and I found myself thinking of what might be lurking down there. I decided to focus on the shoreline instead. It was densely wooded, marshy even, and almost level with the water. Since we were headed south, I realized that it was the Cover, and that the village was right behind it.

“That's the Urquhart Woods,” said Ellis, pointing. “Drumnadrochit is straight through there, although you'd never guess.”

The banks became steep immediately beyond the Cover and remained so—three to four feet high, with thick scrubby vegetation that reached right to the edge, and trees that seemed to rise straight from the water. We passed two sheep stranded at the brink, bleating and struggling to keep their footing. Their wool was thick and full of twigs, and their skinny black legs bent at odd angles as they tried to gain purchase. Their cries were pitiful, and sounded for all the world like people making fun of sheep.

“How on earth did they end up there?” I asked.

Hank glanced at them and shrugged. “They're not exactly known for their brains.”

“Surely we're not just going to leave them there,” I said as Hank continued to row. “Ellis?”

“There's nothing we can do about it, darling,” he said, prying my hand loose from the bench and holding it on his thigh. “Anyway, sheep can swim. The wool makes them float.”

Hank was rowing mightily, and soon the sheep were just tiny dots on the bank. I twisted in my seat, continuing to watch and worry. Even if they got up the bank, how would they ever make their way back through the thorny scrub? I couldn't figure out how they'd gotten past it in the first place.

“Look!” said Ellis, touching my arm to get my attention and then pointing. I turned around and caught my breath.

The castle was on a promontory immediately in front of us—spectacular, massive, and ruined, with a single tower that was missing its roof and much of its face. The surrounding walls and battlements were crumbling and jagged, their stones mottled with lichen and moss.

Ellis watched me take it in and broke into a mischievous smile. “So enlighten us. Tell us everything you know.”

The blood rushed to my face. I hadn't read any of the books he'd asked me to.

“You haven't cracked a single spine, have you?”

“I'm afraid not,” I said. “But I will. I'll start tonight.”

He laughed and patted my knee. “Don't worry your pretty little head. I only got the books to keep you out of trouble on the trip over, although I can't say that was a great success.”

Hank snorted.

“Fortunately, I have all the news that's fit to print right here,” Ellis continued, tapping his head. “I read everything in my father's library before the Great Purge.” He drummed his fingers against his lips. “Hmm, where to start…Well, the part you can see from here was built between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, and changed hands many times. It was last used by Loyalists in 1689, and when they were forced to retreat, they blew up the guardhouse”—he made sounds like explosions and threw his arms over his head, causing the boat to rock—“so the castle couldn't be used by Jacobite supporters ever again. There are huge chunks of it lying near the entrance.”

“Try not to tip the boat, Professor Pantywaist,” Hank said. “This particular spot is more than seven hundred and fifty feet deep.”

I checked quickly for life belts and, seeing none, resumed my death grip on the bench.

Ellis went on. “For our purposes, the interesting thing about the castle is that it was built on the site of an ancient Pictish fort tied to the earliest monster sighting ever recorded. Saint Columba was on his way here in the year 565 A.D., and several witnesses claim he saved a man who was clutched in the monster's jaws by making the sign of the cross.”

I shrank away from the water. “The monster eats people? Why didn't anyone tell me?”

Ellis laughed. “You have nothing to fear, my darling. The worst it's been accused of since is mauling a sheep or two.”

Knowing that Anna's cousin had been too traumatized to ever get back on his boat or speak of his experience, I wasn't entirely reassured.

“Here we are,” said Hank, using one oar to turn the boat toward a
small landing next to the castle. He held the boat steady while Ellis removed his boots and socks and rolled up his pants.

Ellis nodded at Hank, who bared his teeth in a primal roar and dug both oars into the water, pulling so powerfully the veins in his face bulged. He drove us hard and fast toward the shore, and when we hit, I almost came off the bench. The bow lifted, which dropped the stern even further, and I shrieked.

Ellis grabbed a coil of rope and jumped out. The water came up past his knees, soaking his pants to midthigh.

“Shit!” he yelped.
“Cold!”

Hank laughed as Ellis sloshed out of the water. “Approximately thirty-nine degrees, if I'm not mistaken. Sit in the bow next time, and you'll be closer. Better yet, you can row, Mr. I-Was-on-the-Rowing-Team-at-Harvard.”

“Damned right I'll row,” said Ellis. “Starting today, on the way back.”

He grabbed the bow, hauling the boat toward him. I could feel and hear the gravel scraping against the bottom.

“Works for me,” said Hank. “There's a dock at the other end.”

“Ha, ha. You think you're so clever, don't you?” said Ellis.

“That's because I am,” said Hank. “I keep telling you.”

Ellis continued to pull until the boat was solidly grounded. He wiped his hands on his thighs and said, “That's it. Everybody out.”

Hank grabbed the tripod and a couple of bags and hopped off the side.

Ellis reached in for his boots, then helped me climb out.

“At least my socks are dry,” he said, glancing at his soaked pants. He was grinning, beaming really, and it was like I'd been whisked back in time.

I was looking at the Ellis I'd met at Bar Harbor—before the war, before his diagnosis, before my own diagnosis, before the rift with his father. The charming, optimistic devil I'd married was still in there, and was apparently just as close to the surface as the Ellis who'd been so awful the night before.

I decided then and there to send a second telegram to my father that rescinded the first. I had to, even though I knew it would infuriate him, because I realized Hank had been right all along.

Ellis
did
need this, and I wanted to be there when he found the monster, to watch his restoration with my own eyes. Just as importantly, I didn't want Hank to be the only one tied to the memories of that glorious day.

Hank set up the tripod and screwed the camera onto it while Ellis spread out a blanket and pulled a variety of things from the bag—beakers, binoculars, compasses, a thermometer, maps, and logbooks. Although I hadn't gone to college, it all looked terribly scientific to me.

I arranged myself on the blanket and looked out over the loch's glistening surface. If Hank was right about how deep it was, I was having trouble imagining it. Were its depths as low as the hills were high? The loch became so deep, so dark, so quickly, it seemed as impenetrable as the fortress beside us once was.

Ellis ran through the plan. “First, we record the temperature of the water. Then we take a sample to see how much peat is floating at the surface. It affects visibility, and also tells us how strong the undercurrent is. Then we record surface conditions, weather conditions, wind speed and direction, et cetera. We'll repeat all of this once an hour.”

“And in between?” I asked.

Hank took over. “In between we scan the surface of the water and watch for disturbances. If you see something, call ‘Monster!' We'll confirm its location by compass, and I'll begin filming. You two keep it in your sights at all times, in case I somehow lose it in the viewfinder.”

There were supposed to be three pairs of binoculars and three compasses, but one of the compasses was missing. Ellis gave me one of the remaining two, insisting that he and Hank could share.

When I finally admitted I didn't know how to use it, I expected some kind of smart-aleck response, or at the very least an eye roll. Instead, they simply showed me.

“It's easy,” said Ellis, guiding my hands. “Turn it, like this, until the arrow points north. Now, imagine a straight line from the degrees marked around the edge to the object you're looking at, and read the number next to it. And really, that's all there is to it.”

I successfully confirmed the location of a speck of shore on the opposite bank, which we decided would define one edge of my viewing area. I was to start there and scan to the left, slowly, carefully, before coming back and going just far enough past the landmark to ensure a little overlap with Ellis. Hank had no boundaries, which I thought hilarious, but since they hadn't made fun of me for my lack of technical knowledge, I refrained from making a joke.

A few minutes after we began, I thought I saw something and swung my binoculars back. A rounded thing was poking out of the water, moving steadily, and leaving a series of
V
's in its wake.

“Monster!” I shouted. “Monster!”

“Where, Maddie? Where?” said Ellis.

I leapt to my feet, pointing strenuously. “There! Over there! Do you see it?”

“Use your compass!” Ellis cried.

“Keep your eyes on it!” Hank ordered, dropping his binoculars and getting behind the camera. He bent over it, peering through the viewfinder, cupping one hand around it for shade.

“I can't do both!” I said desperately. “What should I do?”

“It's okay! I see it!” Ellis shouted. “Maddie, keep your eyes on it. Goddammit, I think we've got it!”

He jumped up and held the compass right next to the camera so Hank could steal glances at it while aiming the lens.

“It's at seventy degrees,” Ellis said, coaching Hank. “Still at seventy. Now it's just past seventy. Still moving. Call it seventy and a quarter.”

“Got it,” said Hank. He began turning the crank handle on the camera, quickly, at least two rotations per second.

I had my eyes locked on the object in the water. It flipped on its back, exposing whiskers and a black nose.

“Oh my God,” I said, utterly deflated. “I'm so sorry.”

“About what?” said Hank, still cranking away.

“It's an otter.”

“Ellis?” Hank said, continuing to film.

Ellis picked his binoculars back up. After a short pause, he lowered them and said, “She's right. It's an otter.”

Hank let go of the handle and straightened up. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed over the water. “Oh well,” he said, sitting down. “Never mind. At least we know Maddie's got sharp eyes.”

Ellis recorded the event in the logbook, Hank lit a cigarette, and they passed a flask, which I declined.

“I'm sorry,” I said, after calling the alarm over a duck.

“It's all right,” Ellis said with false cheer. “Better to have a hundred false alarms than to miss the real thing.”

He duly recorded it. He took the water's vitals again, and we resumed our watch.

“I'm really sorry,” I said, after a floating log.

“Never mind,” said Ellis. “I suppose it did look a little like a creature's back from that distance.”

When I apologized for the jumping fish, Hank said, “Ellis, maybe you could take a quick peek at whatever Maddie's looking at before anyone calls the official alarm?”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Ellis said, clearly dispirited. “Because if it's the real thing, that kind of a delay would give it time to dive down. That's why my father only got three pictures.”

I stared at his back.

He really did believe his father. This wasn't just about fixing himself—it
was also about vindicating the Colonel. How could I have been so clueless about my own husband? I sat beside him on the blanket, so close our shoulders were touching.

Hank sat next to us and lit a cigarette. “That's all well and good, as long as we don't run out of film,” he muttered. “Pass the flask, will you?”

Four and a half hours later, Hank had smoked eleven cigarettes, he and Ellis had finished a third flask, and I had seen a twig, two thrashing ducks, and a second airborne fish.