Dagger Magic

Peregrine gave a shudder and cupped his hands around his coffee. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that," he murmured. "I don't mind telling you, Adam, all this Oriental esoterica makes me more than a little queasy. I mean, I've just started to become reasonably comfortable with Western European magic, and now it looks like I've dragged us into something that none of us knows that much about.''

"That's why we're consulting experts," Adam replied with a wan smile. "And I wouldn't say you 'dragged' anyone into anything. It's true that the involvement of the Hunting Lodge stems from your finding of that body at Mull of Kintyre. However, all of us serve as the catalyst for cosmic justice, on occasion; every assignment has to start somewhere. Having become Initiate, it was only a matter of time before you were judged sufficiently advanced to be dragooned directly by our mutual superiors on the Inner Planes."

Peregrine looked at him a little incredulously.

"Is that meant to be reassuring?"

"Actually, it was," Adam replied, with a glance at McLeod. "Why don't you put your head down and have a bit of a nap until we get to Brodick? I assure you, you'll feel the better for it."

Without even attempting to argue, Peregrine took off his glasses and laid them on the table, slumping forward then to rest his forehead on his crossed forearms. He could feel all his tension and anxiety draining away as Adam's hand came to rest on the back of his neck, as if someone had pulled a plug; and the next thing he knew, that hand was gently kneading his neck and bringing him back to awareness. He could not remember any passage of time or any words spoken.

"Feeling better?" Adam murmured. "It's time to go back to the car. Don't stand up too quickly."

Peregrine found he did feel better as they made their way back down to the car deck, his anxiety largely replaced by eager anticipation. The ferry docked at Brodick a few minutes before eight o'clock. The weather had improved somewhat, but a fine mist still hung on the air, making rain gear desirable. They were off the boat within five minutes, heading south along the coast road, and another five minutes brought them to the harbor at Lamlash, a natural anchorage overlooking the Firth of Clyde, with the Holy Island looming out of the mist a mile beyond. Leaving the BMW in the car park, they made their way along the quay till they located a man in bright orange oilskins, helping hand equipment down to a second man in a large fiberglass dinghy equipped with an outboard motor.

"Morning," the boatman said, eyeing the three of them. "One of you called Sinclair?"

"I'm Sinclair," Adam replied. "I hope we haven't delayed you."

"Not so far," the man replied. "Got any equipment?"

"Just the sketchbox," Adam said, gesturing toward Peregrine.

"Come on aboard, then."

Already on board was a robust-looking bearded man with a Dodgers baseball cap crammed firmly down on his crown of curly black hair. Over the shoulder of his well-worn waxed jacket was a state-of-the-art Japanese camera. The pockets of the olive-drab gadget vest beneath the jacket bulged with auxiliary lenses and filters. A silvery equipment case lay on the deck at his Wellie-shod feet, along with a battered rucksack and a larger-than-average camera tote, out of which protruded the legs of a portable tripod. Next to the tote bag was a large flat box plastered over with notices that read fragile, handle with care, and this end up. He nodded a tentative greeting to Adam and his companions as the boatman helped them climb down into the dinghy.

"Good morning," Adam responded, taking in the photo equipment. "I hope this mist burns off, or you won't get much in the way of photos."

The man gave a cheerful shrug and pulled off his baseball cap long enough to shake water off it.

"At least it makes for atmosphere," he said. His accent was vaguely Continental. "If you wait for the fine weather, you never get any work done."

"You must be a professional photographer," McLeod said as the boatman came aboard and made his way aft.

Their fellow passenger grinned and nodded, shifting some of his equipment so that everyone could sit. "That I am. The Ford Foundation sent me. The Holy Island Project is in the running for an important conservation award, and the organizers like to have a photo essay on each entry. I was doing some shooting over at Samye Ling yesterday. A fascinating place, very peaceful and serene. The Dalai Lama's speaking there next year. Do you know it?"

"We know of it," Adam said neutrally, as the boatman fired up the outboard and the photographer moved forward to cast off the bowline.

"Anyway," the man continued as he sat back down, "when word got around that I'd be coming to the island today, one of the staff asked if I'd mind delivering that." He gestured toward the flat box with a grin.

"What's in it?" Peregrine asked.