Sleeping Dragons 05 - The Old Terror 05
Author's note:The village Dúnadh has nothing to do with the actual Dinnet in Aberdeenshire, Scotland - I’ve just borrowed the name.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 05 - AT THE FOX INN
They left Torchwood House early in the morning. Prince William left at about the same time, heading back to Balmoral Castle; not before promising to meet Ianto at the earliest possible chance to discuss with him the unexpected additions to Torchwood. From the Torchwood Four team only Dr. Arnold came to see them off.
“I know you’re not happy about how you’ve been kept out of the loop,” she said to Owen. “But believe me; it was done for security reasons. We’re all on the same side.”
“I’m still not entirely convinced about that,” Owen replied coldly. “Luckily for me, I’m not the one you have to convince about your good intentions.”
“I’ll talk to Director Jones as soon as possible,” Dr. Arnold promised.
“Good luck with that,” Trevor commented, grinning.
“What do you mean?” Lloyd asked, once they had left Torchwood House and were on their way to Loch Ness. “Ianto is the most polite and easy-going man I’ve ever met. I’d be more worried about Dr Arnold clashing with Jack, were he still the Torchwood leader.”
“That’s because you don’t know Jonesy as well as I do,” Trevor returned. “He has manners - better ones than most people - but he doesn’t react well if people go over his head in things that would fall under his responsibility. Not even if said people are royal princes and mean well.”
Owen grinned in dark amusement. “Nothing can get between Teaboy and duty; and trust me, he’s one scary bastard when he’s pissed off. Both Archie and Prince William can prepare themselves for an oh-so-polite but highly uncomfortable lecture, full of quotes from the Torchwood Charta and veiled threats what would happen, should they go over his head again.”
“He would berate a Scottish nobleman and a royal prince?” Adam seemed duly impressed by those possibilities.
Owen rolled his eyes.
“He’d berate God Himself and rip Jenny’s Dad a new one if he had to. In fact, the latter can still happen, should your old man show up unexpectedly and do something stupid - like calling Harkness wrong again,” he added warningly.
Jenny shrugged. “My Dad is old enough to watch his own back.”
“I wonder why he behaves like a spoiled brat, then,” Trevor muttered under his breath - quietly enough so that Jenny could pretend not having heard him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They continued their journey in silence for a while. The landscape around them was even more dull and depressing than the Breckon Beacons, found Owen, who hated the countryside with a passion: moors on one side of the highway, fields and pine trees on the other one. The monotony was mind-numbing.
They were all relieved when the village of Dúnadh finally showed up - not that the sight of it would have been suited to cheer anyone up. The entire settlement consisted of a few dozen small houses, all of them at least two hundred years old, all of them a dull brown or dark grey in colour. Only two buildings were slightly larger than the rest: the chapel with its tiny belfry and the Fox Inn in the middle of the village.
“That’s where we’re going,” Jenkins pointed at the latter.
They pulled up the vans to the kerb, next to the geriatric green Ford - the only other car they’d seen in the entire village so far - and Jenkins went forth to open the door that led directly to the common room of the inn.
Inside, the inn was of the same dull brown colour, although the furniture seemed to be the genuine item, made about the same time the house had been probably built. It was simple, but the handiwork beautiful, and well tended-to. One had the feeling of having stepped back in time at least a hundred years if not more.
Equally ancient-looking was the innkeeper: a short, wiry old man with thinning, snow white hair and a neatly-trimmed, full beard, wearing a grey shirt, dark corduroy trousers, a knitted ochre waistcoat and a grey pullover. His round face was wrinkled like a dried apple, but his eyes were very awaken and observant, like those of a much younger man.
The only colourful spot in the common room was a woman of about fifty, wearing a beige trouser suit that contrasted nicely with her reddish brown hair. She was chatting amiably with the innkeeper when they entered the room. To everyone’s surprise, Jenkins’s eyes lit up upon seeing her, and he hurried over to her with open arms.
“Sarah Jane! What are you doing here?”
“Ross!” she returned in delight and hugged him tightly. “I’m working on a series of old Scottish legends, and I thought I’d take a look at the Loch Ness Monster again when I’m already here. I could as you the same things, though.”
“Oh, basically the same,” Jenkins replied, laughing. “I had some official business in Glasgow and thought I’d come and see the place where you and Uncle Harry had your grand adventure. He said this would be the right place to stay. Would you mind introducing us to our host?”
“Oh, of course!” The woman called Sarah Jane turned to the innkeeper. “Mr. MacRanald, I’m sure you remember Doctor Sullivan. This is his godson, Ross Jenkins - and some of his friends, I assume.”
“Exactly,” Jenkins said without hesitation.
“All right,” Sarah Jane said. “Everyone, this is Angus Ferguson MacRanald, the owner of this place, as was his father and his father and several others of his ancestors before him.”
“That’s right,” the old man said with a strong Scottish accent. “My family’s been in these parts for generations.”
“And he’s not only the best piper for miles around, he also has second sight,” Sarah Jane added.
The old man chuckled. “Well, I’m the seventh son of a seventh son… that should count for something.”
“Mr. MacRanald has already been in charge of the inn when Harry and I last visited the place,” Sarah Jane explained.
“I know,” Jenkins seemed to search his memory; then he turned to the innkeeper in surprise. “Wait a minute; I thought you were killed by that fake nurse!”
MacRanald grinned. “Och, she certainly tried; I was in a bad way for some time. But we MacRanalds are a tough lot.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jenkins wandered around a little as if searching for something, then he stopped in front of a stuffed deer’s head that was nailed to the wall. “And this is the infamous trophy gifted upon you at about the same time, I guess. A fine-looking head indeed.”
For some reason Sarah Jane seemed to have a hard time to suppress a grin, but the innkeeper paid her no attention.
“Aye,” he said proudly. “Yon’s a twelve-pointer. Brought down by the Duke of Forgill himself. The old Duke, mind you, not this foreign lad who’s taken over the title. This one wouldnae even know how t' fire a rifle.”
“You don’t seem to be happy with the new Duke,” Sarah Jane commented.
The old man shook his head. “Nay, I’m not. The old Duke - now he was a man of a proud tradition: the MacRanald, my clan chief. Even though he changed a great deal after those oil companies had come.”
“He seemed to blame everything on the oil company,” Sarah Jane supplied, smiling.
The old man shrugged. “Can you blame 'im? All his servants had left to go and work for them. Forgill Castle was a cold and empty house those days. Wouldnae have cared to set foot in it myself, that’s the fact.”
“You mean it isn’t empty anymore?” Jenkins asked.
The innkeeper gave him a glare full of suspicion. “What could you know about that, laddie?”
“Nothing,” Jenkins replied lightly. “You spoke about the fact in past tense, is all.”
“Och, I see,” MacRanald’s suspicion seemed to ease a bit. “Well, ya’re right, o’course. This new Duke,” he all but spat the word, “has filled the castle and its surroundings with people who ain’t belong there: tourists, film crews, the likes. Soldiers, too, quite a few of them. Locals ain’t even allowed t' go near the castle these days.”
“That’s odd,” Sarah Jane commented. “What on Earth might they be doing here?”
The innkeeper glared at her intently. “Why don’t ya ask that Brigadier chap you were here with last time? If anyone, he ought to know.”
“He has retired,” Sarah Jane explained, “and Harry works for a different branch now. I hoped you would know something. After all, you had a vision of disaster for the oil company back then.”
MacRanald waved off her efforts. “Twas a long time ago. But these… these foreign people have set up camp over Tulloch Moor; and everyone knows that only bad luck comes to them that set over Tulloch Moor.”
“Why is that?” Jenny asked, her eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. She was so endearing in her eagerness to learn more than the resistance of the old man visibly melted.
“Ach, the moor’s a strange, murky sort of place,” he explained in a singsong voice. “When the mist comes down, it's like steam fae from a witch’s cauldron. Nobody from these parts will cross the moor after dark.”
Sarah Jane laughed. “Oh, Mr. MacRanald, surely you’ve grown out of that superstition by now! Come on, it has been forty years!”
“Call it that if ya like,” the old man said scruffily. “You didnae believe me then and clearly don’t do so now, either. I wannae be responsible for what happens.”
“Well, has anything happened up there since we left?” Sarah Jane demanded.
The innkeeper rolled his eyes. “I’ve told ya all the tales, my dear, and ya know all too well what happened to your friend. There are old mysteries there. Evil spirits haunt Tulloch Moor.”
“And I told you back then: there was something else than evil spirits at work,” Sarah Jane stated firmly.
The old man shrugged. “Ye’re English. Yer people never listen. It ain’t no fault of mine if ya get yerself in trouble again.
With that, he clambered to his feet and shuffled off to see if their rooms had been prepared.
Jenkins looked at Sarah Jane. “All right, Sarah Jane; and now tell me why you have really come. Or does that stuffed dear head still have a surveillance camera in its eye socket?”
“It doesn’t; I’ve checked,” Sarah Jane replied. “And I’m here to sniffle around a bit for Harry, of course. He’s most concerned about the rumours of that secret lab in Forgill Castle, but he can’t just come here and take a look. I, on the other hand, am known to stick my nose in everything that isn’t my business, so my presence would draw less attention.”
“It could still be dangerous,” Jenkins warned. “You are too well-known by UNIT to remain unnoticed.”
“Oh, I’m not planning to visit Forgill Castle just yet,” she assured him. “Officially, I’m working on a series of articles about local folklore; including the legends about Tulloch Moor and the Loch Ness monster.”
“Do you have any idea what UNIT might be doing in Forgill Castle?” Owen asked. “Could they be playing around with Cybermen parts? Cos that would be disastrous.”
“It isn’t entirely impossible, of course,” Sarah Jane admitted. “But my guess would be that they might have found random parts of Zygon technology and are trying to make those work.”
Owen knew, of course, who the Zygons were… at least he was familiar with the basics, thanks to the fact that Ianto had managed to download a copy of Torchwood One’s alien database into Mainframe from one of Headquarter’s secondary archives. He still didn’t understand, though, why Sarah Jane would suspect Zygon technology at work, of all possible aliens that had fallen onto Earth since the very founding of Torchwood, seeing that there had only been the one isolated incident with them so far.
He told so, and Sarah Jane rolled her eyes.
“Because they’ve already been right here, right at Forgill Castle a few decades ago, perhaps? There haven’t been any other alien sightings in this area.”
“You mean the same aliens you and Uncle Harry fought with the Doctor last time?” Jenkins asked doubtfully.
Sarah Jane nodded. “Of course. It’s more likely than some completely new, unknown alien species. True, the Doctor blew up their ship last time, but that doesn’t mean a new group couldn’t have arrived since then. Especially as the Loch Ness monster is still here; and it is no more and no less than a cyborg, created by the Zygons to protect them and to feed their young.”
“A mix of watchdog and milch cow,” Jenny added, “fitted with cybernetic parts for more efficiency. They’d likely want to have it back.”
Jenkins gave her a suspicious look. “And you know that… how exactly?”
“It’s common knowledge where I come from,” she replied absent-mindedly… and yelped when Owen kicked her in the shin under the table. “What was that for?”
“I thought Teaboy has explained you the meaning of confidential,” the doctor replied; then he looked at Jenkins. “Look, mate, we’re not allowed to speak about who she is and where she’s from. If Teaboy decides to take you into the fold, he’ll tell you lots of things that will surprise you; but for the time being it’s better for everyone involved if you know as little as possible.”
Jenkins nodded in understanding. “I already know more than it’s healthy for me,” he said. “Perhaps Miss Jacobs is right. Perhaps I should quit UNIT and join you lot instead. I’m broken enough to fit in, ain’t I?”
“Perhaps,” Owen allowed. “You should talk to Teaboy about it when we’re back in Cardiff. Right now, though, we have more urgent things to do. Anyone has an idea how to start investigating?”
“I want to see the Skarasen,” Jenny announced.
“The what?” Adam frowned, not being familiar with the term.
“Nessie,” Owen explained succinctly.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Trevor said. “I’d love the chance to study a non-sentient cyborg first-hand. And if we keep asking about the monster, people will easily believe that we’re just dumb tourists.”
“Not to mention that we’ll be able to make a small detour to meet Captain Price, assuming Harris manages to contact her from Torchwood House,” Jenkins added.
“I thought mobile phones didn’t work at Torchwood House,” Lloyd said with a frown.
“They don’t,” Owen agreed. “He’ll use the secure landline of the House via the Torchwood satellite. That way the call can’t be tracked back.”
“Isn’t it risky to use the Torchwood satellite?” Jenny asked.
“It is,” Owen admitted. “We’d prefer to give it hidden from UNIT as long as possible. But this time Teaboy has authorized its use - for contacting Captain Price only. She’s in danger there and can’t be caught talking to us, of all people.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Back at Torchwood House Private Harris and Sally Jacobs were working on the problem of contacting Captain Price safely. They were left behind for exact this purpose, together with Stevie Grey to watch their back. Despite Prince William’s reassurances, Owen still didn’t trust the newly-minted Torchwood Four team; least of them the enigmatic Mr. Parker.
So they commandeered the custodian’s office, where the only working phone - the secure landline - of Torchwood House was kept, and Sally built up a complicated maze of communications equipment to connect said landline with the Torchwood satellite. And to firewall the connection against all possible trackers. Fortunately, she had some highly advanced twenty-ninth century intelligent circuitry at her disposal (courtesy of the Rift). But even so, it took her almost four hours to create a waterproof communications line.
“You can give it a try now,” she said to Harris.
The Private dialled Captain Price’s phone and left a short, encoded message in her mailbox… something ridiculous about a new Al Capone movie being filmed in Glasgow. It sounded like a film ad, sent out randomly to people to make them interested.
Sally was understandably baffled. “What was that about?”
Harris shrugged. “No idea. We were instructed to send this message to Captain Price as soon as we arrive. I guess Al Capone means Colonel Mace, since his given name is Alan, but the rest…” he shrugged again. “Let’s hope Captain Price knows what it means.”
She obviously did, as half an hour alter the phone rang, delivering a short message.
“Meet me here tomorrow, at thirteen fifteen…” and a short line of coordinates followed. Then the connection was broken again.
“It’s a good thing we’ve recorded the message,” Stevie Grey commented. “Any idea where those coordinates might point?”
Sally opened her Torchwood-issue laptop, connected it to the satellite and checked the image it showed.
“Some kind of nondescript building near Forgill Castle,” she said. “Could be a barn or a garden shed… anything.”
“You should send it to Doctor Harper and to your boss before you disconnect,” Harris suggested. And perhaps we should leave this place and find a spot where our phones do work for any longer chats. I don’t like being cut off of communications with the rest of the team. It is tactically unwise.”
“Good idea,” Sally did as she was told; then he looked at the complicated wirr-warr of cables, relays, conduits and other stuff that covered the custodian’s desk. “It took me half the day to create this; and now I’ll have to dismantle it.”
“I’ll help you,” Harris offered. “I’m fairly good with technology.”
“He’s more than good,” Stevie Grey said loyally. “You can trust him. The colonel always summons him when complicated technology is involved.”
“I can use some help,” Sally confessed. “Besides, Owen would murder me if I let the Torchwood Four gang figure out how I reached the satellite.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Any news from Own and the newbies?” Jack asked, bathing his face in coffee vapours.
They were sitting in Ianto’s office, who had just been allowed to have coffee again - one cup a day, which was therefore to be enjoyed in peace and with devotion.
Ianto shook his head.“Not much. They’ve met Sir Archibald, dropped off Maggie and then continued to Torchwood House. And just a few minutes ago I got an encrypted e-mail from Sally via the Torchwood satellite, telling me that they’ll be meeting Captain Price right outside Forgill Castle tomorrow.”
“They might learn more from her,” Jack said. “She’s been there for a few days; she might have found out something. Things seem to be going according to the plan, for once.”
“I’m not sure,” Ianto answered slowly. “Owen sounded rather… odd on the phone.”
“More so than normally?” Jack grinned.
Ianto rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Jack! He’s not telling us something, and I don’t like it. Either he’s afraid that the connection isn’t secure, or there’s something really dangerous going on there.”
“Owen isn’t a coward,” Jack remarked.
“Nor is he particularly subtle,” Ianto returned. “Not as a rule. And yet he was talking like in one of those spy films. I really, really don’t like it. I should have gone with the team.”
“You’re in no shape to sit in the train for hours,” Jack reminded him. “Or in a car. Owen’s experienced enough, he won’t screw up.”
“It’s not that,” Ianto said. “It might be necessary for me to go there in my function as the Torchwood Director, if his hints make any sense.”
“Whether they do or not, you still aren’t fit to travel,” Jack said sternly.
“Not by traditional means,” Ianto agreed. “But what about your wrist strap? Could it take me to Torchwood House and back, now that Tosh and Jenny have repaired it?”
“Perhaps,” Jack allowed reluctantly. “But it could be a bumpy ride; and you could end up dangerously dehydrated.”
“It still beats being shaken apart in a train; or in a car where I’d feel every bump on the road,” Ianto said. “Let’s keep it under consideration. I can’t shake off the feeling that I may have to make an official appearance before this is over.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jack offered, but Ianto shook his head.
“And I’d appreciate you watching my back, but we can’t leave Tosh alone with the Rift. Not now that most of the team are gone. She has some… sensitive experiments running to get Jenny’s ship fuelled; experiments that need constant supervision. It’s bad enough that we don’t have another field coordinator to do the tracking.”
“Can’t Doctor McKay watch the experiment for Tosh?”
“She could, in theory; but she’s only here for the afternoon shift. Be reasonable, Jack! We can’t both leave, not when the Hub is running on a skeleton crew!”
Jack sighed. “I know. But I don’t have to like it, do I?”
“I don’t like it, either,” Ianto admitted. “If Owen thinks I should make an appearance as the boss, though, something must be wrong. The sooner I get over and put the fear of God into whoever is making Owen nervous, the better.”
“Let’s make a compromise,” Jack said. “Wait a day or two, until you get in some more reports; until the others have at least a clue what we’re dealing with.”
Ianto hesitated. He really, really didn’t want to teleport over to Scotland via Jack’s wrist strap; not in his current, still shaky state of health. But he knew that Owen wasn’t a fool. If he thought the Torchwood Director needed to make an appearance, then he was probably right. Especially as he was still having a hard time to accept that Ianto was his boss now.
“All right,” he finally said. “I’ll wait two days; but not a moment later.”
“And you’re gonna rest in those days,” Jack insisted. “Teleportation puts quite the strain on one’s system, and yours is far from working at peak efficiency.”
“I know,” Ianto sighed. “I hope the little buggers will manage to fix me eventually, cos I’m sick and tired of hurting all the time. These are supposed to be my best years, for God’s sake!”
“I know,” Jack kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry you have to suffer so much. But it will get better, I promise. The little buggers, as you call them, know what they are doing. And it still beats being a corpse; even though you’d make a handsome one.”
Ianto couldn’t help it; that last remark made him laugh, despite his foul mood. It was such a Jack thing to say.
“All right,” he said. “Go and impress the newbies while I deal with some paperwork. I’m sure Jeannie would like to talk shop with you, as long as you can cut back on the flirting. You know how uncomfortable it makes her.”
“It is your fault, having hired people who are immune to the legendary Harkness charm,” Jack complained; then he rode the lift down to Sublevel One, where Dr. Jeannie McKay, Torchwood’s Number 3 geek had her lab.
~TBC~
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 05 - AT THE FOX INN
They left Torchwood House early in the morning. Prince William left at about the same time, heading back to Balmoral Castle; not before promising to meet Ianto at the earliest possible chance to discuss with him the unexpected additions to Torchwood. From the Torchwood Four team only Dr. Arnold came to see them off.
“I know you’re not happy about how you’ve been kept out of the loop,” she said to Owen. “But believe me; it was done for security reasons. We’re all on the same side.”
“I’m still not entirely convinced about that,” Owen replied coldly. “Luckily for me, I’m not the one you have to convince about your good intentions.”
“I’ll talk to Director Jones as soon as possible,” Dr. Arnold promised.
“Good luck with that,” Trevor commented, grinning.
“What do you mean?” Lloyd asked, once they had left Torchwood House and were on their way to Loch Ness. “Ianto is the most polite and easy-going man I’ve ever met. I’d be more worried about Dr Arnold clashing with Jack, were he still the Torchwood leader.”
“That’s because you don’t know Jonesy as well as I do,” Trevor returned. “He has manners - better ones than most people - but he doesn’t react well if people go over his head in things that would fall under his responsibility. Not even if said people are royal princes and mean well.”
Owen grinned in dark amusement. “Nothing can get between Teaboy and duty; and trust me, he’s one scary bastard when he’s pissed off. Both Archie and Prince William can prepare themselves for an oh-so-polite but highly uncomfortable lecture, full of quotes from the Torchwood Charta and veiled threats what would happen, should they go over his head again.”
“He would berate a Scottish nobleman and a royal prince?” Adam seemed duly impressed by those possibilities.
Owen rolled his eyes.
“He’d berate God Himself and rip Jenny’s Dad a new one if he had to. In fact, the latter can still happen, should your old man show up unexpectedly and do something stupid - like calling Harkness wrong again,” he added warningly.
Jenny shrugged. “My Dad is old enough to watch his own back.”
“I wonder why he behaves like a spoiled brat, then,” Trevor muttered under his breath - quietly enough so that Jenny could pretend not having heard him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They continued their journey in silence for a while. The landscape around them was even more dull and depressing than the Breckon Beacons, found Owen, who hated the countryside with a passion: moors on one side of the highway, fields and pine trees on the other one. The monotony was mind-numbing.
They were all relieved when the village of Dúnadh finally showed up - not that the sight of it would have been suited to cheer anyone up. The entire settlement consisted of a few dozen small houses, all of them at least two hundred years old, all of them a dull brown or dark grey in colour. Only two buildings were slightly larger than the rest: the chapel with its tiny belfry and the Fox Inn in the middle of the village.
“That’s where we’re going,” Jenkins pointed at the latter.
They pulled up the vans to the kerb, next to the geriatric green Ford - the only other car they’d seen in the entire village so far - and Jenkins went forth to open the door that led directly to the common room of the inn.
Inside, the inn was of the same dull brown colour, although the furniture seemed to be the genuine item, made about the same time the house had been probably built. It was simple, but the handiwork beautiful, and well tended-to. One had the feeling of having stepped back in time at least a hundred years if not more.
Equally ancient-looking was the innkeeper: a short, wiry old man with thinning, snow white hair and a neatly-trimmed, full beard, wearing a grey shirt, dark corduroy trousers, a knitted ochre waistcoat and a grey pullover. His round face was wrinkled like a dried apple, but his eyes were very awaken and observant, like those of a much younger man.
The only colourful spot in the common room was a woman of about fifty, wearing a beige trouser suit that contrasted nicely with her reddish brown hair. She was chatting amiably with the innkeeper when they entered the room. To everyone’s surprise, Jenkins’s eyes lit up upon seeing her, and he hurried over to her with open arms.
“Sarah Jane! What are you doing here?”
“Ross!” she returned in delight and hugged him tightly. “I’m working on a series of old Scottish legends, and I thought I’d take a look at the Loch Ness Monster again when I’m already here. I could as you the same things, though.”
“Oh, basically the same,” Jenkins replied, laughing. “I had some official business in Glasgow and thought I’d come and see the place where you and Uncle Harry had your grand adventure. He said this would be the right place to stay. Would you mind introducing us to our host?”
“Oh, of course!” The woman called Sarah Jane turned to the innkeeper. “Mr. MacRanald, I’m sure you remember Doctor Sullivan. This is his godson, Ross Jenkins - and some of his friends, I assume.”
“Exactly,” Jenkins said without hesitation.
“All right,” Sarah Jane said. “Everyone, this is Angus Ferguson MacRanald, the owner of this place, as was his father and his father and several others of his ancestors before him.”
“That’s right,” the old man said with a strong Scottish accent. “My family’s been in these parts for generations.”
“And he’s not only the best piper for miles around, he also has second sight,” Sarah Jane added.
The old man chuckled. “Well, I’m the seventh son of a seventh son… that should count for something.”
“Mr. MacRanald has already been in charge of the inn when Harry and I last visited the place,” Sarah Jane explained.
“I know,” Jenkins seemed to search his memory; then he turned to the innkeeper in surprise. “Wait a minute; I thought you were killed by that fake nurse!”
MacRanald grinned. “Och, she certainly tried; I was in a bad way for some time. But we MacRanalds are a tough lot.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jenkins wandered around a little as if searching for something, then he stopped in front of a stuffed deer’s head that was nailed to the wall. “And this is the infamous trophy gifted upon you at about the same time, I guess. A fine-looking head indeed.”
For some reason Sarah Jane seemed to have a hard time to suppress a grin, but the innkeeper paid her no attention.
“Aye,” he said proudly. “Yon’s a twelve-pointer. Brought down by the Duke of Forgill himself. The old Duke, mind you, not this foreign lad who’s taken over the title. This one wouldnae even know how t' fire a rifle.”
“You don’t seem to be happy with the new Duke,” Sarah Jane commented.
The old man shook his head. “Nay, I’m not. The old Duke - now he was a man of a proud tradition: the MacRanald, my clan chief. Even though he changed a great deal after those oil companies had come.”
“He seemed to blame everything on the oil company,” Sarah Jane supplied, smiling.
The old man shrugged. “Can you blame 'im? All his servants had left to go and work for them. Forgill Castle was a cold and empty house those days. Wouldnae have cared to set foot in it myself, that’s the fact.”
“You mean it isn’t empty anymore?” Jenkins asked.
The innkeeper gave him a glare full of suspicion. “What could you know about that, laddie?”
“Nothing,” Jenkins replied lightly. “You spoke about the fact in past tense, is all.”
“Och, I see,” MacRanald’s suspicion seemed to ease a bit. “Well, ya’re right, o’course. This new Duke,” he all but spat the word, “has filled the castle and its surroundings with people who ain’t belong there: tourists, film crews, the likes. Soldiers, too, quite a few of them. Locals ain’t even allowed t' go near the castle these days.”
“That’s odd,” Sarah Jane commented. “What on Earth might they be doing here?”
The innkeeper glared at her intently. “Why don’t ya ask that Brigadier chap you were here with last time? If anyone, he ought to know.”
“He has retired,” Sarah Jane explained, “and Harry works for a different branch now. I hoped you would know something. After all, you had a vision of disaster for the oil company back then.”
MacRanald waved off her efforts. “Twas a long time ago. But these… these foreign people have set up camp over Tulloch Moor; and everyone knows that only bad luck comes to them that set over Tulloch Moor.”
“Why is that?” Jenny asked, her eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. She was so endearing in her eagerness to learn more than the resistance of the old man visibly melted.
“Ach, the moor’s a strange, murky sort of place,” he explained in a singsong voice. “When the mist comes down, it's like steam fae from a witch’s cauldron. Nobody from these parts will cross the moor after dark.”
Sarah Jane laughed. “Oh, Mr. MacRanald, surely you’ve grown out of that superstition by now! Come on, it has been forty years!”
“Call it that if ya like,” the old man said scruffily. “You didnae believe me then and clearly don’t do so now, either. I wannae be responsible for what happens.”
“Well, has anything happened up there since we left?” Sarah Jane demanded.
The innkeeper rolled his eyes. “I’ve told ya all the tales, my dear, and ya know all too well what happened to your friend. There are old mysteries there. Evil spirits haunt Tulloch Moor.”
“And I told you back then: there was something else than evil spirits at work,” Sarah Jane stated firmly.
The old man shrugged. “Ye’re English. Yer people never listen. It ain’t no fault of mine if ya get yerself in trouble again.
With that, he clambered to his feet and shuffled off to see if their rooms had been prepared.
Jenkins looked at Sarah Jane. “All right, Sarah Jane; and now tell me why you have really come. Or does that stuffed dear head still have a surveillance camera in its eye socket?”
“It doesn’t; I’ve checked,” Sarah Jane replied. “And I’m here to sniffle around a bit for Harry, of course. He’s most concerned about the rumours of that secret lab in Forgill Castle, but he can’t just come here and take a look. I, on the other hand, am known to stick my nose in everything that isn’t my business, so my presence would draw less attention.”
“It could still be dangerous,” Jenkins warned. “You are too well-known by UNIT to remain unnoticed.”
“Oh, I’m not planning to visit Forgill Castle just yet,” she assured him. “Officially, I’m working on a series of articles about local folklore; including the legends about Tulloch Moor and the Loch Ness monster.”
“Do you have any idea what UNIT might be doing in Forgill Castle?” Owen asked. “Could they be playing around with Cybermen parts? Cos that would be disastrous.”
“It isn’t entirely impossible, of course,” Sarah Jane admitted. “But my guess would be that they might have found random parts of Zygon technology and are trying to make those work.”
Owen knew, of course, who the Zygons were… at least he was familiar with the basics, thanks to the fact that Ianto had managed to download a copy of Torchwood One’s alien database into Mainframe from one of Headquarter’s secondary archives. He still didn’t understand, though, why Sarah Jane would suspect Zygon technology at work, of all possible aliens that had fallen onto Earth since the very founding of Torchwood, seeing that there had only been the one isolated incident with them so far.
He told so, and Sarah Jane rolled her eyes.
“Because they’ve already been right here, right at Forgill Castle a few decades ago, perhaps? There haven’t been any other alien sightings in this area.”
“You mean the same aliens you and Uncle Harry fought with the Doctor last time?” Jenkins asked doubtfully.
Sarah Jane nodded. “Of course. It’s more likely than some completely new, unknown alien species. True, the Doctor blew up their ship last time, but that doesn’t mean a new group couldn’t have arrived since then. Especially as the Loch Ness monster is still here; and it is no more and no less than a cyborg, created by the Zygons to protect them and to feed their young.”
“A mix of watchdog and milch cow,” Jenny added, “fitted with cybernetic parts for more efficiency. They’d likely want to have it back.”
Jenkins gave her a suspicious look. “And you know that… how exactly?”
“It’s common knowledge where I come from,” she replied absent-mindedly… and yelped when Owen kicked her in the shin under the table. “What was that for?”
“I thought Teaboy has explained you the meaning of confidential,” the doctor replied; then he looked at Jenkins. “Look, mate, we’re not allowed to speak about who she is and where she’s from. If Teaboy decides to take you into the fold, he’ll tell you lots of things that will surprise you; but for the time being it’s better for everyone involved if you know as little as possible.”
Jenkins nodded in understanding. “I already know more than it’s healthy for me,” he said. “Perhaps Miss Jacobs is right. Perhaps I should quit UNIT and join you lot instead. I’m broken enough to fit in, ain’t I?”
“Perhaps,” Owen allowed. “You should talk to Teaboy about it when we’re back in Cardiff. Right now, though, we have more urgent things to do. Anyone has an idea how to start investigating?”
“I want to see the Skarasen,” Jenny announced.
“The what?” Adam frowned, not being familiar with the term.
“Nessie,” Owen explained succinctly.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Trevor said. “I’d love the chance to study a non-sentient cyborg first-hand. And if we keep asking about the monster, people will easily believe that we’re just dumb tourists.”
“Not to mention that we’ll be able to make a small detour to meet Captain Price, assuming Harris manages to contact her from Torchwood House,” Jenkins added.
“I thought mobile phones didn’t work at Torchwood House,” Lloyd said with a frown.
“They don’t,” Owen agreed. “He’ll use the secure landline of the House via the Torchwood satellite. That way the call can’t be tracked back.”
“Isn’t it risky to use the Torchwood satellite?” Jenny asked.
“It is,” Owen admitted. “We’d prefer to give it hidden from UNIT as long as possible. But this time Teaboy has authorized its use - for contacting Captain Price only. She’s in danger there and can’t be caught talking to us, of all people.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Back at Torchwood House Private Harris and Sally Jacobs were working on the problem of contacting Captain Price safely. They were left behind for exact this purpose, together with Stevie Grey to watch their back. Despite Prince William’s reassurances, Owen still didn’t trust the newly-minted Torchwood Four team; least of them the enigmatic Mr. Parker.
So they commandeered the custodian’s office, where the only working phone - the secure landline - of Torchwood House was kept, and Sally built up a complicated maze of communications equipment to connect said landline with the Torchwood satellite. And to firewall the connection against all possible trackers. Fortunately, she had some highly advanced twenty-ninth century intelligent circuitry at her disposal (courtesy of the Rift). But even so, it took her almost four hours to create a waterproof communications line.
“You can give it a try now,” she said to Harris.
The Private dialled Captain Price’s phone and left a short, encoded message in her mailbox… something ridiculous about a new Al Capone movie being filmed in Glasgow. It sounded like a film ad, sent out randomly to people to make them interested.
Sally was understandably baffled. “What was that about?”
Harris shrugged. “No idea. We were instructed to send this message to Captain Price as soon as we arrive. I guess Al Capone means Colonel Mace, since his given name is Alan, but the rest…” he shrugged again. “Let’s hope Captain Price knows what it means.”
She obviously did, as half an hour alter the phone rang, delivering a short message.
“Meet me here tomorrow, at thirteen fifteen…” and a short line of coordinates followed. Then the connection was broken again.
“It’s a good thing we’ve recorded the message,” Stevie Grey commented. “Any idea where those coordinates might point?”
Sally opened her Torchwood-issue laptop, connected it to the satellite and checked the image it showed.
“Some kind of nondescript building near Forgill Castle,” she said. “Could be a barn or a garden shed… anything.”
“You should send it to Doctor Harper and to your boss before you disconnect,” Harris suggested. And perhaps we should leave this place and find a spot where our phones do work for any longer chats. I don’t like being cut off of communications with the rest of the team. It is tactically unwise.”
“Good idea,” Sally did as she was told; then he looked at the complicated wirr-warr of cables, relays, conduits and other stuff that covered the custodian’s desk. “It took me half the day to create this; and now I’ll have to dismantle it.”
“I’ll help you,” Harris offered. “I’m fairly good with technology.”
“He’s more than good,” Stevie Grey said loyally. “You can trust him. The colonel always summons him when complicated technology is involved.”
“I can use some help,” Sally confessed. “Besides, Owen would murder me if I let the Torchwood Four gang figure out how I reached the satellite.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Any news from Own and the newbies?” Jack asked, bathing his face in coffee vapours.
They were sitting in Ianto’s office, who had just been allowed to have coffee again - one cup a day, which was therefore to be enjoyed in peace and with devotion.
Ianto shook his head.“Not much. They’ve met Sir Archibald, dropped off Maggie and then continued to Torchwood House. And just a few minutes ago I got an encrypted e-mail from Sally via the Torchwood satellite, telling me that they’ll be meeting Captain Price right outside Forgill Castle tomorrow.”
“They might learn more from her,” Jack said. “She’s been there for a few days; she might have found out something. Things seem to be going according to the plan, for once.”
“I’m not sure,” Ianto answered slowly. “Owen sounded rather… odd on the phone.”
“More so than normally?” Jack grinned.
Ianto rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Jack! He’s not telling us something, and I don’t like it. Either he’s afraid that the connection isn’t secure, or there’s something really dangerous going on there.”
“Owen isn’t a coward,” Jack remarked.
“Nor is he particularly subtle,” Ianto returned. “Not as a rule. And yet he was talking like in one of those spy films. I really, really don’t like it. I should have gone with the team.”
“You’re in no shape to sit in the train for hours,” Jack reminded him. “Or in a car. Owen’s experienced enough, he won’t screw up.”
“It’s not that,” Ianto said. “It might be necessary for me to go there in my function as the Torchwood Director, if his hints make any sense.”
“Whether they do or not, you still aren’t fit to travel,” Jack said sternly.
“Not by traditional means,” Ianto agreed. “But what about your wrist strap? Could it take me to Torchwood House and back, now that Tosh and Jenny have repaired it?”
“Perhaps,” Jack allowed reluctantly. “But it could be a bumpy ride; and you could end up dangerously dehydrated.”
“It still beats being shaken apart in a train; or in a car where I’d feel every bump on the road,” Ianto said. “Let’s keep it under consideration. I can’t shake off the feeling that I may have to make an official appearance before this is over.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jack offered, but Ianto shook his head.
“And I’d appreciate you watching my back, but we can’t leave Tosh alone with the Rift. Not now that most of the team are gone. She has some… sensitive experiments running to get Jenny’s ship fuelled; experiments that need constant supervision. It’s bad enough that we don’t have another field coordinator to do the tracking.”
“Can’t Doctor McKay watch the experiment for Tosh?”
“She could, in theory; but she’s only here for the afternoon shift. Be reasonable, Jack! We can’t both leave, not when the Hub is running on a skeleton crew!”
Jack sighed. “I know. But I don’t have to like it, do I?”
“I don’t like it, either,” Ianto admitted. “If Owen thinks I should make an appearance as the boss, though, something must be wrong. The sooner I get over and put the fear of God into whoever is making Owen nervous, the better.”
“Let’s make a compromise,” Jack said. “Wait a day or two, until you get in some more reports; until the others have at least a clue what we’re dealing with.”
Ianto hesitated. He really, really didn’t want to teleport over to Scotland via Jack’s wrist strap; not in his current, still shaky state of health. But he knew that Owen wasn’t a fool. If he thought the Torchwood Director needed to make an appearance, then he was probably right. Especially as he was still having a hard time to accept that Ianto was his boss now.
“All right,” he finally said. “I’ll wait two days; but not a moment later.”
“And you’re gonna rest in those days,” Jack insisted. “Teleportation puts quite the strain on one’s system, and yours is far from working at peak efficiency.”
“I know,” Ianto sighed. “I hope the little buggers will manage to fix me eventually, cos I’m sick and tired of hurting all the time. These are supposed to be my best years, for God’s sake!”
“I know,” Jack kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry you have to suffer so much. But it will get better, I promise. The little buggers, as you call them, know what they are doing. And it still beats being a corpse; even though you’d make a handsome one.”
Ianto couldn’t help it; that last remark made him laugh, despite his foul mood. It was such a Jack thing to say.
“All right,” he said. “Go and impress the newbies while I deal with some paperwork. I’m sure Jeannie would like to talk shop with you, as long as you can cut back on the flirting. You know how uncomfortable it makes her.”
“It is your fault, having hired people who are immune to the legendary Harkness charm,” Jack complained; then he rode the lift down to Sublevel One, where Dr. Jeannie McKay, Torchwood’s Number 3 geek had her lab.
~TBC~