not a joke. I’m just trying to think. How do you intend to find the monsters?”
“Well, ye don’t seem keen on me goin’ in the water. I have a set of underwater cameras, see, on account of me bein’ a sea monster expert livin’ near Loch Ness, and all. Sea monster investigatin’s a major local industry, ye might say. So I could use the cameras to look, first, if it would make ye feel better.”
“Cameras. Okay. Cameras seem safe.” I’m slightly appeased by his plan, except that he said first. “And then what?”
“Then, depending on what I find, I’d go underwater.”
“You’d go underwater?” I repeat, my lungs constricting with fear. “That’s the part of the plan I don’t like. It’s dangerous.”
“Yer afeared I’ll be pulled under?”
I nod.
“I can hold me breath a good long while. Does that help?”
“It depends. How long can you hold your breath?”
His eyes twinkle with something like mischief. “Wanna test me and see?”
“Sure.”
To my surprise, Ed stands, peels off his shirt and starts unbuckling his boots. He is taking this challenge to his big strong manliness very seriously.
I’m confused. “You can’t hold your breath with boots on?”
“I’m goin’ in the loch.”
“You can’t go in the loch. It’s freezing cold.”
“It’s nay so bad.” He’s got his boots off now, as well as his socks, so that he’s stripped down to just his kilt. Honestly, if I’d have known I’d see this much fine shirtless kiltedness on this trip, I’d have been more eager to visit Scotland. Then he stands on the bench and executes a graceful dive into the loch, surfacing a few seconds later with water sparkling on his red hair. “Okay, got a timer?”
“I’ll count off seconds.”
“Ready then?”
I nod, trying not to think about the depths of blackness swirling down for hundreds of feet below Ed. And below me.
“Start counting!” Ed calls out, before pulling his head under the water.
“One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand,” I start to count, watching a ripple of wake as Ed swims closer to the boat. He flips some sort of underwater somersault, followed by a sideways spin, and then he’s on his back, underwater, looking up at me and smiling, his face visible through a few inches of water.
“Twelve-one-thousand, thirteen-thousand,” I’m counting, not really paying attention to the number I’m counting off, as he swirls in the water and dives deeper, so deep he starts to fade from sight while swimming toward the boat.
For an instant, I’m afraid he might be going to rock the boat or something unsettling, but then I see him through the glass panel, waving and smiling up at me.
I can’t help smiling back. “Twenty-two-thousand, twenty-three-thousand,” the thousands, you know, are to pace myself, to make each number approximately a full second. I wave and Ed swims back over to the other side. I look that direction, fully expecting him to stick his head up from the water and ask how he did.
“Thirty-three-thousand, thirty-four-thousand.”
But he doesn’t come up for air. He stays underwater, smiling and waving and occasionally letting a tiny bubble escape through his nose, but otherwise staying well below the surface. He swims back and forth under the boat, waving to me through the glass panel three more times.
“One-hundred-ninety-eight, one-hundred-ninety-nine,” I keep counting, unsure whether I should be worried or suspicious. He hasn’t got an oxygen tank under the boat or something, has he?
As I think I may have said before, few things surprise me. Perhaps it’s because I carry a huge secret myself—of that fact that I’m a dragon, that I can fly and breathe fire—that I go through the world half expecting that most people have a secret. Maybe their secrets are about something not so unusual, such as secret dance skills or martial arts training, or surviving something that might have killed a weaker person. Not to diminish those
“Well, ye don’t seem keen on me goin’ in the water. I have a set of underwater cameras, see, on account of me bein’ a sea monster expert livin’ near Loch Ness, and all. Sea monster investigatin’s a major local industry, ye might say. So I could use the cameras to look, first, if it would make ye feel better.”
“Cameras. Okay. Cameras seem safe.” I’m slightly appeased by his plan, except that he said first. “And then what?”
“Then, depending on what I find, I’d go underwater.”
“You’d go underwater?” I repeat, my lungs constricting with fear. “That’s the part of the plan I don’t like. It’s dangerous.”
“Yer afeared I’ll be pulled under?”
I nod.
“I can hold me breath a good long while. Does that help?”
“It depends. How long can you hold your breath?”
His eyes twinkle with something like mischief. “Wanna test me and see?”
“Sure.”
To my surprise, Ed stands, peels off his shirt and starts unbuckling his boots. He is taking this challenge to his big strong manliness very seriously.
I’m confused. “You can’t hold your breath with boots on?”
“I’m goin’ in the loch.”
“You can’t go in the loch. It’s freezing cold.”
“It’s nay so bad.” He’s got his boots off now, as well as his socks, so that he’s stripped down to just his kilt. Honestly, if I’d have known I’d see this much fine shirtless kiltedness on this trip, I’d have been more eager to visit Scotland. Then he stands on the bench and executes a graceful dive into the loch, surfacing a few seconds later with water sparkling on his red hair. “Okay, got a timer?”
“I’ll count off seconds.”
“Ready then?”
I nod, trying not to think about the depths of blackness swirling down for hundreds of feet below Ed. And below me.
“Start counting!” Ed calls out, before pulling his head under the water.
“One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand,” I start to count, watching a ripple of wake as Ed swims closer to the boat. He flips some sort of underwater somersault, followed by a sideways spin, and then he’s on his back, underwater, looking up at me and smiling, his face visible through a few inches of water.
“Twelve-one-thousand, thirteen-thousand,” I’m counting, not really paying attention to the number I’m counting off, as he swirls in the water and dives deeper, so deep he starts to fade from sight while swimming toward the boat.
For an instant, I’m afraid he might be going to rock the boat or something unsettling, but then I see him through the glass panel, waving and smiling up at me.
I can’t help smiling back. “Twenty-two-thousand, twenty-three-thousand,” the thousands, you know, are to pace myself, to make each number approximately a full second. I wave and Ed swims back over to the other side. I look that direction, fully expecting him to stick his head up from the water and ask how he did.
“Thirty-three-thousand, thirty-four-thousand.”
But he doesn’t come up for air. He stays underwater, smiling and waving and occasionally letting a tiny bubble escape through his nose, but otherwise staying well below the surface. He swims back and forth under the boat, waving to me through the glass panel three more times.
“One-hundred-ninety-eight, one-hundred-ninety-nine,” I keep counting, unsure whether I should be worried or suspicious. He hasn’t got an oxygen tank under the boat or something, has he?
As I think I may have said before, few things surprise me. Perhaps it’s because I carry a huge secret myself—of that fact that I’m a dragon, that I can fly and breathe fire—that I go through the world half expecting that most people have a secret. Maybe their secrets are about something not so unusual, such as secret dance skills or martial arts training, or surviving something that might have killed a weaker person. Not to diminish those
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