“You do believe me, don’t you?” Sir James said, eyeing George Tatler doubtfully.
Tatler looked at him quizzically from under bushy eyebrows. In the course of his work for MI5, he had heard many strange stories in his time but few to rival those told by Sir James which were, by any standards, in a class of their own. “I wouldn’t believe everybody who told me a story like that,” he agreed, a trifle sardonically, “but then, James, nobody tells faery stories quite like you do. I haven’t forgotten last year!”
Sir James relaxed and smiled as he thought of their adventures of the previous year when Prince Kalman had put Scotland under a tartan spell that had left Edinburgh looking like a cross between Brigadoon and Braveheart. Scotland, then, had really been something else …
Tatler rose to his feet and moved to stand by the tall windows of Sir James’s office. “Actually,” he began, “when I first heard of the stone giants, I remembered Clara’s story of the Old Man of the Mountains and it crossed my mind that you might be getting in touch with me. So, yes, James, I do believe you. Added to that, I’ve been getting reports fairly regularly about all the giants appearing in the Highlands.”
Sir James joined him at the window and as they both stared speculatively at the steep, green slopes of Arthur’s Seat, Tatler shook his head. “Amazing, isn’t it, to think that the MacArthurs and Arthur live in there? Sometimes I just can’t believe it. Anyway, what are they saying about the stone giants?”
“Well, the good news is that they’re not supposed to be vicious. All they want to do, according to the MacArthur, is walk about the Highlands in peace.”
Tatler raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t tie in with the reports I’ve been getting, James,” he disagreed. “Quite the contrary. The police in the Grampians are out in force. There are lots of giants on the roads up there. Actually, police helicopters were involved in a bit of a battle with the giants yesterday. They’re a danger to cars, lorries and buses; anything that moves. Anyway, go on. What else?”
“From the sound of things, he thinks they’re still quite weak. If they had all their strength they wouldn’t be collapsing all over the place and they’d be much taller than the average house.”
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Tatler said, looking at him sideways, “but I know for a fact that Whitehall is discussing sending in the army to blast them out of existence.”
“Hmmm, well, from what the MacArthur said, I doubt if that’ll make much difference. According to him, they could just re-form and rise again as another giant.”
Tatler looked thoughtful. “I’ll pass that information on!”
“There’s another problem, George,” Sir James eyed him somewhat anxiously, “maybe it’s part of the same problem as the giants. I’m not quite sure.”
“Can’t they solve it by magic?” Tatler asked hopefully.
“Magic seems to be at the root of it,” Sir James answered. He gestured vaguely. “I seem to learn a bit more about the MacArthurs each time I meet them. What I’ve now discovered is that they rely on an energy source to keep them alive. It’s called Firestar and it’s in a mountain in the Grampians called Morven.”
“An energy source of their own!” Tatler looked sharply at Sir James and then nodded thoughtfully. “It makes sense, I suppose. It would explain how they’ve managed to live for hundreds of years.”
“Well, they’ve just had the most tremendous shock. About a month ago, something from our world locked on to Firestar. I don’t quite know what happened but it almost killed them.”
“Locked on?” Tatler queried.
“Apparently, there are hobgoblins in Morven…” He broke off as Tatler raised his eyebrows and gave him a peculiar look. “I know, I know,” he said, “the mind boggles, but there are hobgoblins in Morven and they look after the machine that keeps Firestar running.”
“For goodness sake, James, if I’m going to have to explain all this to the Prime Minister, she’ll have me locked up in the nearest loony bin!”
“No, she won’t,” Sir James grinned, “not after what happened last year.”
“Nevertheless,” Tatler said stiffly, “mentioning hobgoblins is stretching things a bit.”
Sir James persevered. “The hobgoblin that was running the machine said that he saw a man on their screen just before the force attacked them.”
“Is that possible?”
Sir James shrugged. “Firestar is a magic power, remember. I reckon it must have travelled through the satellite to whoever was monitoring it and picked up his image.”
“Satellite,” Tatler looked at him sharply.
Sir James nodded. “Or something similar. My guess is that it’s probably American. It can hardly be a coincidence that shortly after the attack on Firestar, some Americans rented Morven Castle and its estate.”
Tatler raised his eyebrows. “Did they, now.”
“It so happens that Bob Grant is stationed in Aberdeen. You remember him? Lewis Grant’s father?”
“Ah, yes. Lewis was the Black Shadow, wasn’t he?”
Sir James nodded. “Yes, he was the lad that saved all those people from the train wreck on the Forth Road Bridge last year.”
“Yes,” Tatler nodded, “I’d heard that the family had moved to Aberdeen.”
“Actually, Bob’s in the States just now, but his office re-routed my call. He was a bit surprised to hear from me, as you can imagine, but when I asked him if he’d heard of any American activity in the area around Aberdeen, he was a bit hesitant.”
“Hesitant?”
“Yes … turns out that a few weeks ago his wife spotted a young chap in Aberdeen that they both knew from their time in the Middle East. A chap called Chuck Easterman. Bob finds it quite surprising that he didn’t get in touch. And here’s the punchline — he says he’s involved with NASA these days.”
“Does he, indeed,” Tatler said, looking suddenly wary.
“What makes it interesting is that just before I called him, Bob had had a phone call from Lewis, who’s on holiday in Glenmorven with Neil and Clara. They’re staying with friends and Lewis says that he saw Chuck Easterman in Glenmorven. He’s quite sure about it. Chuck used to visit the Grants when Lewis was a kid and apparently he remembers his funny haircut.”
“Interesting!”
“It is, for that isn’t all he told his father. He told him that now that the Americans have rented the Morven estate, it’s out of bounds to everyone in the glen. Apparently Chuck’s been going over the mountain since the day he arrived; taking rock samples and using a Geiger counter. They’ve found nothing, though.”
“And how does Lewis know that?”
“It was the MacArthur that told me the last bit, actually. They’ve got ghosts in the castle as spies so he knows everything that’s going on.”
“Ghosts,” Tatler echoed. “Well,” he shrugged, after a pause, “after all that’s happened, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised …”
Sir James grinned. “I’ve given up being surprised at anything the MacArthurs come up with,” he confessed, “but this space business is worrying.”
“The satellite theory is interesting,” Tatler said musingly. “I wonder if it could be Powerprobe. It’s the latest one to go up and it’s American.”
“What’s its mission?”
Tatler paled slightly. “I’ve heard that it’s equipped with specially developed lasers,” he admitted. “The Americans are looking for new sources of energy.”
“If it locked on to something like Firestar then the reaction must have been massive,” Sir James looked at him in horror. “No wonder they sent people in to suss the place out!”
“Without telling us,” Tatler pointed out grimly.
“I’d argue that out with them later,” Sir James said, brushing diplomatic niceties to one side. “First things first, for if the Americans lock on to Morven again it might mean the end of the MacArthurs. Not only them but Arthur, Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan, Casimir … Prince Kalman … the Sultan … Amgarad … and probably a lot of other magicians as well that we’ve never heard of! We just can’t afford to let that happen! You’ll have to do something about Powerprobe, George. Right away!”