Scotch Rising by S. J. Garland Page B

enjoying a joke like naughty schoolchildren. The noise alerted the silent butler who strode into the reception hall with forceful purpose, a disapproving look on his face and my oil lantern in one hand. Which he shoved in my direction once close enough, before disappearing back into the shadows.
    Wiping tears from his eyes, Beathan opened the door into the night. “Safe journey home, Sassenach. Mind dinnae leave the road fur any purpose. The fens are full of bogs, faeries and wee haggis, nae are fit tae play on a drunk man’s mind.”
    “Not to worry, my big Scot. I shall keep my dainty ankles to the road.” Beathan tried unsuccessfully to contain his renewed laughter. I held the oil lamp aloft and did my best to step daintily into the darkness.
    It did not take long for the night’s silence to close in around me and swallow the weak lamplight. The moon was still invisible behind dark clouds. The snow had stopped earlier, with only a fine layering covering the ground. Merely enough to make a squeaking noise underfoot, the only other noise the baying of animals. The evening might have begun poorly, however the general bonhomie between Magnus, Beathan and me was something I never thought to experience after the death of Onatah. My sacking from the regiment, all ties to humankind felt broken and irreplaceable.
    A light from Deoch shone ahead signalling the halfway mark in my journey home. The cold began to penetrate my frock coat. I thought of my winter clothes making their slow progress on the post cart from London. I wished I’d possessed the foresight to bring everything up at once, instead of running away from London in haste. I shrugged deeper into the inadequate folds and thought of the peat fire still smouldering away in my bedroom. There were even a couple bricks, laid out by a thoughtful Freya, which I could use to warm my toes. I began to walk a bit faster, careful not to slip.
    A crack rent the peaceful pastoral evening and I crouched and turned towards the noise. Peering as hard as I could into the darkness to distinguish anything out of place. I blew out the oil lamp to cut out the light blindness and let my gaze adjust to the new dimness. I allowed several moments to pass, before deciding I could not investigate the noise in the dark. I fumbled in the front of my coat for the flint I always kept tucked into the inside pocket. A demand made by Hania, who always thought it important to practice good survival skills.
    As the metal touched my fingertips, a loud explosion blew apart the night for a second time. Instead of burning out immediately as the first, the second blazed brightly in the distance, over the fens, shooting sparks into the night sky and illuminating a dark column of smoke. With quick fingers, I relit the oil lamp and walked to the edge of the road. The fens stretched out in murky darkness for miles around. I knew the dangers of venturing into them even in daylight, however in the notes Colonel Manners had provided for this post. He took great pains in warning me of illegal stills.
    They only carried sixty gallons of liquid. The stills were easy to move to new locations. Thus easily avoiding the tax collector. A still combusting could have created an explosion and fire. This could be my only opportunity to catch a couple of criminals and perhaps have my sentence in Scotland reduced. I lowered the light and swept it along the ground, looking for human or animal tracks. I walked several yards in either direction before I found some hare prints. I carefully stepped over them, making sure not to veer too much from the bridle path, hoping the animals would provide a safe passage through the fens.
    I paced steadily onward, towards the fire burning in the distance. Several times I needed to turn around and follow my tracks back to where other animal prints might be going in the direction of the fire. The night remained unusually silent despite the violent disruption. The residents of Markinch could not