“Because I want to go to the dog field, and I need you to keep the moggie for me.”
“The…
“Bobcat, Geoffrey. Anyway, can you keep him for an hour, please? You’re not scheduled for any games now, are you?”
“Not till tomorrow. I signed up for something called a saber toss. The idiot that typed the sheet misspelled it, though.”
Elizabeth smiled. “It should be very interesting. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. See you later!”
Andy Carson found his visiting Scottish professor at Lachlan Forsyth’s souvenir stall, discussing gardening- something about a Partick thistle. “Here you are!” he exclaimed, clapping Cameron on the shoulder. “What do you think of the games so far, eh?”
“It’s a bit like Disneyland,” murmured Cameron.
“Just like home, eh!” boomed Andy, who never listened to other people’s small talk. “Well, come over here. I’d like you to meet a clan chief.”
Cameron shook hands with the wizened man in a green kilt. “How do you do, sir?”
Andy Carson performed the introductions. “Dr. Campbell here is an M.D., Cameron, but he’s also a member of the board of trustees at the university.”
“Class of ’39,” grunted Dr. Campbell.
“He’s been one of our chief supporters for the Center of Marine Science.” Turning to Colin Campbell, Andy explained, “Dr. Dawson here is our visiting marine biologist from Scotland.”
“Excellent,” said Dr. Campbell with a thrust of his jaw. “About time you people got an expert in here. Though you Scots haven’t done such a good job over there.”
“At Great Cumbrae? Our work on seal migration-”
“Seals? Who gives a good goddamn about seals, young man? What have you done about Nessie?” Without waiting for an answer, he edged in closer. “There’s been another sighting here, you know.”
Cameron blinked. First selkies, then bobcats, and now sea serpents. He wondered if jet lag ever caused people to hallucinate. He hoped so. America couldn’t
“I work with seals and porpoises,” he said faintly.
Dr. Campbell wasn’t listening. “It was in the Eastern Bay this time. That’s an arm of the Chesapeake right across from Annapolis, Maryland. Scared the hell out of a couple in a sailboat. You people are familiar with Chessie, aren’t you? Have you seen the 1982 videotape? How does it compare with Nessie?”
“I don’t know,” said Cameron. “Maybe a paleontologist could advise you-”
“Well, consult one,” snapped Colin Campbell. “The Center can afford it. I’ve certainly donated enough money to it.”
“I haven’t had much time to talk to Dr. Dawson, Colin,” Andy Carson put in hurriedly. “He hasn’t even visited the Center yet. Maybe we should postpone this little talk until-”
“What
“F.-all,” said Cameron. “Which is all I want to know.”
Andy Carson laughed nervously. “That dry British sense of humor, eh, Dawson? I’m sure you don’t realize how important Dr. Campbell is to our department. Why, his efforts on the board of trustees were instrumental in getting this center set up in the first place. His donations played a big part in endowing the visiting professorship you received.”
“Are you saying that you took me away from North Sea seal studies to come over here and study sea serpents?” cried Cameron. “A year’s work down the bloody cludgie!”
“Get somebody else, Carson!” snapped Colin Campbell.
“Now, gentlemen, please. This is a social event-”
“Right,” said Cameron. “I have no intention of discussing it further until we do so officially. Excuse me, please.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away. A dozen yards from Lachlan’s stall, he stopped and looked about. Kilted people edged past him on either side, but he didn’t see anyone he knew. At least it wasn’t so hot anymore.
Cameron glanced up at the sky. So that was it! A bloody great cloud had settled over the meadow. He felt a drop of rain hit his cheek. Some outing this had turned out to be. He was trying to decide whether to seek shelter when he caught sight of something familiar. Cluny the bobcat was rubbing up against a tent pole, while beside him a crowd of people were huddled together, perilously close to treading on him. Cameron hurried over.
“Hello!” he called out. “Elizabeth! Are you here?”
The bobcat’s lead unwound from the throng of people, but the person at the other end of it was not the Maid of the Cat. A young man in yellow poplin slacks looked at him inquiringly.
“Sorry,” stammered Cameron. “I was looking for a dark-haired young lady who had charge of the lynx earlier.”
Geoffrey pointed an accusing finger at Cameron. “Pancake syrup!” he cried.
“Oh God!” thought Cameron. “Maybe it’s something in their water supply. Has anyone ever checked America’s water supply for mind-altering substances?”
Geoffrey smiled. “I’ve heard of you,” he explained. “The young lady you’re looking for is my cousin Elizabeth. She left this beast with me while she went to look at sheepdogs. Would you like to watch him for her?” This last hopeful query was nearly drowned out by a clap of thunder.
Cameron hesitated. “Do you know which way she went?”
“In that direction,” said Geoffrey, pointing. “Come on, I’ll see if we can find her.”
The rain was pelting down even harder now, punctuated by flashes of lightning, all of which made Cluny even less anxious than usual to walk on his leash-particularly when foolish people were trying to make him head for an open field in a thunderstorm.
“Damned cat!” yelled Geoffrey over the rain. “We’ll never get there at this rate!”
“How far is it?” Cameron called back.
They had left the circle of clan tents and were headed for the lower meadow where the herding practice took place. The wind, blowing from that direction, had pretty well drenched them after the first two minutes.
“She won’t be out in this downpour!” cried Geoffrey. “I think we ought to wait it out on the hill under the trees. But first I’m going to stash this cat somewhere!”
Beside a stack of boards and Some concrete drainpipes, Geoffrey noticed a long wooden box with a latched door. Reasoning that this was probably a cage meant for Cluny in the first place, Geoffrey flipped up the latch and shoved the bobcat in headfirst. A rumble of thunder covered any sounds of feline displeasure at such cavalier treatment, and Geoffrey, the rain dribbling down his neck, closed the door and sped up the hill toward Cameron.
A few moments later they were settled at the base of a relatively dry oak, watching the sports field turn into a mud puddle.
“Do you come to these things often?” asked Cameron politely.
“God, no! It’s a boot camp for lunatics.” Cameron laughed at that, and Geoffrey added, “That’s a line from
“Is it about Scotland?”
“Don’t you know it? It’s a Lerner and Loewe musical. Brigadoon is an eighteenth-century Scottish village that doesn’t want to be corrupted by progress, so their minister prays for a miracle to keep them from having to change.”
“What happens?”
“The village only exists one day out of every century. See, they’d go to bed in 1753, and when they woke up in the morning it would be 1853, and so on. But the village always stays the same. Neat trick, huh?”
Cameron frowned. “Well, it has some drawbacks, you know. One day they will wake up to find themselves in the parking lot of the Aberdeen Hilton, I bet.”
“Great idea! I wonder if I could talk Sinclair into doing an epilogue?”
“Have the games given you any inspiration?”
“The costumes are quite good. I may make a few sketches tonight. But what has really been interesting is viewing everything from the context of
