The Boggart and the Monster by Susan Cooper

and sat in a tree. He watched the muscular young man with an unfriendly eye.
    Jessup backed down the stairs.
“I’m sorry,”
he said.
“But Harold asked me to come visit. My name’s Jessup Volnik.”
    â€œIt’s still private, whatever your name is,”
said Mean Man.
“Come back tomorrow. Or next week.”
He pulled a wire mesh screen down over the end of the trailer, and let it drop with a crash. Then he disappeared into the depths behind it.
    But a truck came swinging into the parking lot from the road that ran along the lake: a noisy little pickup with a large plastic-swathed piece of machineryin the back. Out of the cab jumped Harold Pindle, still in the sweatshirt and jeans he had worn on the airplane.
“Jessup!”
he cried.
“Emily! Welcome!”
    He reached out remarkably long arms, like an octopus, hugging them both as if he had known them since birth. Then he shook hands enthusiastically with Tommy and Mr. Maconochie.
“You’re Mr. Mac! The lawyer who bought a castle! And Tommy the computer whiz! Come on all of you and meet Jenny, and Adelaide!”
    Jenny, climbing out of the pickup’s cab with an armful of papers, turned out to be Harold’s assistant: a small, tough-looking Chinese-American girl with a black ponytail and a cheerful, ready smile. Adelaide was the machine wrapped in plastic: a Remotely Operated Vehicle, known as an ROV. She was the size of a dining-room table, rectangular, with a bright yellow tubular frame and casing and a great many cables and dials and wires. Jenny unwrapped the plastic to show her off, and Harold patted the yellow frame affectionately.
    â€œThis is one of the two babies who are going to help us find the Monster,”
he said.
“Sweet Adelaide, down she goes under the water tomorrow to join her brother — and then we’ll see!”
    â€œWhat’s the other one called?”
said Emily.
    â€œSydney,”
said Jenny.
“Harold was born in Australia.”
    â€œSydney and Adelaide between them will scour the loch,”
said Harold with satisfaction.
“And it won’t just be side-scan sonar — we’ll have a laser line scan. There’sonly about half a dozen of those in the world. Amazing business — it converts to color pictures just like your TV set. Come on in and see.”
    He leaped up the trailer steps and rattled the wire mesh screen.
“Chuck!”
he bellowed.
“Open up!”
    Mean Man appeared out of the darkness, looked at them all in silence, and reluctantly unlocked the barrier. He instantly vanished again into the depths.
    â€œChuck doesn’t like people,”
said Harold cheerfully.
“He prefers Sydney and Adelaide. But he’s a very good technician. Come on in.”
    They climbed the little ladder after him, with the Boggart in pursuit, and squeezed into the spaces between equipment in the trailer. Mr. Maconochie found a coil of wire jutting into his neck, and tried to make himself shorter.
    Harold tugged the wire out of Mr. Maconochie’s collar.
“Not much room, I’m afraid,”
he said.
“This thing’s really a container. Had it shipped over just like this, full of the equipment and a lot of plastic packing. A truck brought it here, and all we had to do was open the door, pull out the packing, plug in, and set up shop.”
    Head slightly bent, Mr. Maconochie looked around in wonder at the array of dials and gauges and switches. It looked like the control room of a nuclear submarine. He said,
“This must have cost a small fortune.”
    Harold Pindle chuckled.
“Sure did. We have an angel. A wonderful old fellow called Axel Kalling, of Kalling Match — he has a foundation that supportsunfashionable scientific enterprises. Like mine . . . Now take a look at this, Jessup —”
    He sat down at a control panel in front of what looked like a television screen and began turning dials, and a hazy