Dagger Magic

"That sounds fine to me," he said. "Brodick Castle might be well worth a visit as well. After that, weather permitting, we might even try to hire -a boat and have a look at Holy Island."

Julia's sea-blue eyes turned quizzical as she lowered her guidebook. "Didn't I read somewhere that Tibetan Buddhists recently bought that island? It strikes me as odd, you know, that Buddhists would want to buy a Christian holy site."

Peregrine shrugged, not looking up from his work. "I understand the local folk felt that way, too, at first. But from what I hear, the order that bought it have been well- established and respected in the Borders for nigh on twenty years now, and they made it clear from the start that their purpose was to preserve the historic spiritual character of the island, to make it a place that would welcome seekers of all faiths."

"Well, that's refreshing, in these days when people are killing one another over religion."

"Aye, but the Buddhists have always been known for their tolerance. As you might expect, they're also very focused on the ecological aspects of the place. I understand that most of the island will be maintained as a nature preserve for the protection of the island's wildlife. I thought I might do some sketching. They've got all kinds of rare birds, about a dozen Ersikay ponies - which are the original Celtic horse - and even a small flock of Soay sheep."

"Soay sheep?" Julia looked at him in some disbelief. "Do they really?"

"That's what I hear. They're a very ancient breed, aren't they?"

"Aye, Bronze Age. They look rather like small goats, and you don't shear them - you pluck them. I don't know what kind of yarn the wool makes - though you can spin almost anything. I've got a cousin who's very keen on spinning and weaving."

"Well, maybe we can bring back some wool for her," Peregrine said. "See what the guidebook says about the island."

As she consulted the book, Peregrine carried on with his painting, considering Julia's comment about Buddhist interest in a Christian holy site. Though a formerly lukewarm childhood faith had been kindled to a sustaining flame through his association with Adam and the Hunting Lodge, and he was content for it to be so, Peregrine felt drawn to the island with a keenness that he was somewhat at a loss to explain.

Wondering what the lure might be, he allowed his gaze to wander out to sea. A gauzy haze was forming on the western horizon, blurring the distinction between sea and sky. Even as it occurred to him that he had better finish his painting before the light changed, his eye was drawn to a curious patch of shadow bobbing up and down among the swells of the incoming tide.

Peregrine's first thought was that it was probably just a large patch of kelp. Unlike kelp, however, this object seemed to keep to a solid shape, and was showing disconcertingly unnatural flashes of bright orange as it rolled closer in the surf. Whatever it was, it was attracting the attention of the gulls and other birds feeding along the shoreline.

With a pang of sudden foreboding, the young artist laid aside his brush and got to his feet to go take a closer look. His movement was abrupt enough to divert Julia's attention from her book.

"What's the matter?" she asked. Her expression was more curious than alarmed.

"Probably nothing," Peregrine said, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Just stay where you are. I'll be right back."

He made his way down toward the water's edge just as an incoming swell swept the object into the shallows, tumbling black and bright orange amid the expected sea-wrack. One reluctant glance was enough to confirm Peregrine's worst misgivings. The object was the body of a man, encased in the black-and-orange neoprene of what looked like a wet suit.

Reluctantly he bent closer. The corpse was more than a little battered from its passage through the rocks. It half-floated face-down in the surf with arms and legs loosely out-sprawled like the limbs of a sodden rag doll. The bloated hands were starting to show evidence of decomposition. Peregrine decided it was probably just as well that he couldn't see the face.

Calling on his forensic training with McLeod, he made himself draw breath and distance himself a little as he continued to note first impressions. Alive, the man probably had been fit and sturdy. The short hair that capped his skull was a uniform shade of sandy-red, and thick, indicating that he had been relatively young. A serious laceration laid open the back of his skull, but the sea had washed away any blood. From the wet suit, Peregrine wondered if he might have been a diver, or possibly a wind-surfer met with mishap.