No one could remember a storm like it at Stormy Loch. Wind howled through the pass and tore a trail of destruction through the woods. Tiles flew off the roof of the boathouse.
The loch growled darkly.
Inside the school, Matron threw economy to the wind and made emergency hot chocolate. And high in his tower, the major spoke on the telephone to Madoc at the youth hostel at Grigaich.
‘I’ve collected almost all the groups,’ Madoc said. ‘There’s room for all of them to squeeze in here.’
‘When you say almost …’
Madoc winced. ‘I’m afraid the final group never arrived at their site. They were actually meant to be camping a few miles from here tonight, and should have come through the village, but I’ve asked everywhere and no one has seen them. Dr Csintalan and Professor Lawrence have traced their route as far as they can, but there’s no sign of them. I’ve had to call the police.’
‘Which group is it?’
‘Fergus Mackenzie, Alice Mistlethwaite and Jesse Okuyo.’
Well, well, thought the major. Jesse, Fergus and Alice. Why was he not surprised? He had wondered at the wisdom of putting those three together – two trouble-prone children and one badly in need of breaking a few rules. But he had thought they might help each other. Of course, there was nothing to say they weren’t, he reflected, as thunder rattled his window and the terrified kittens shot under the sofa. It was only a bit of weather … Not exactly a war zone. Another crash of thunder rolled in, and he was reminded that weather can be as dangerous as any enemy. More dangerous sometimes, he thought, remembering a flood in South East Asia, an Australian desert fire …
‘The only potential sighting we have is from a ferryman who took three children to Lumm,’ said Madoc. ‘But he thought they were French.’
‘French!’
‘Yes, sir. Two boys and a girl, in orange waterproofs.’
‘What the blazes are they doing on Lumm? Oh, never mind that! Can you get over there?’
‘Not tonight, sir. I’ve asked. No boats going out in this weather.’
The major glanced out of the window. ‘And I doubt I’ll get very far either, even in the Land Rover. All right, Madoc. I’ll call their families, and then I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Meanwhile, I want the police and the coastguard informed and fully briefed. Issue a full description. Someone must have seen them.’
The rain lashed and the wind swept. All over western Scotland, families locked doors and bolted windows and gathered to tell stories. Livestock huddled under trees, birds clung to their nests. From a crowded youth hostel in a small village, Madoc made his calls, and on a windswept coast, Barney Mistlethwaite listened to the sea roar. At an old-fashioned country hotel on Lumm, a small woman dressed in black paced about her room.
In a garden, in a stolen house, three exhausted runaway children slept.
What else could go wrong? Fergus had asked.
Quite a lot, my friend. Quite a lot indeed.