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for twenty minutes when they came to another shoreline.
    â€œIt’s a loch,” explained Stram. “This guy fishes on the other shore.”
    The four clambered into a small boat, and Gilravage and Stram expertly rowed them across the misty loch. In a few minutes they were within thirty yards of the far side, and in the fading light Jack could make out half a dozen people sitting on the shoreline with fishing rods.
    â€œThey’re all humans, yeah?”
    â€œJust watch,” said Ossian, “you’ll like this.”
    Jack strained to see what was happening, but for several minutes there was nothing more exciting than one of the men getting up and having a stretch. As he turned to sit down again he held his hands about two feet apart, gesturing to one of his friends. Loud braying laughter echoed over the water.
    â€œBoastin’ again,” muttered Gilravage.
    â€œYou call this entertainment?” Jack rubbed his icy hands together. “Even Murkle’s lessons are more exciting. And I’m starving.”
    â€œJust listen,” said Stram. “He’ll start any minute.”
    Sure enough, a loud imperious voice carried over the water to the small boat.
    â€œMy great grandfather bought the estate back in the ’30s. We come up once a year for the fishing.”
    Jack looked more closely. The man was clearly holding court.
    â€œHe thinks he’s the laird,” whispered Ossian. “The best dressed bad fisherman in the country – and his cronies are no better. He just brings them here to impress them. They can afford anythin’ they want, but they know the value of nothin’.”
    â€œThe old house had lain empty for ages. Great grandpapa had to gut the place, basically. But he planted some apple trees – that’s when he came across this.”
    The ‘laird’ showed his friends a quartz amulet which he wore around his neck.
    â€œHe found it in a chest buried in the garden. Sort of shaped like a pot, or something. No idea what the symbols are – look like ancient runes to me. Some local chappie says they’re crescent moons …”
    Jack’s ears pricked up. Crescent moons?
    â€œâ€¦ anyway, hundreds of years old. But I’ve always believed it brought me luck when fishing. Never fail to catch a whopper. Hwuh, hwuh.”
    He sat down again, pleased with his little joke, and picked up his rod. The amulet sat on his ample chest, glinting in the fading light. Lazily, he took a long swig from his hip flask, then passed it along the line to a chorus of ‘Thank you, sirs’. His face radiated contentment.
    The ‘laird’ had been sitting there for only a minute or two when suddenly he leapt up as his line went taut. He let the line play out for a while, then, as it slackened, started to reel it in. Jack watched as the other fishers gathered around to offer advice and encouragement.
    A thought occurred to Jack.
    â€œCan they see us?”
    â€œâ€™Course not,” replied Ossian. “The boat’s charmed, it’s invisible. Those Dameves are in for a shock.”
    Jack watched as the fisherman slowly reeled his catch in, the splashes getting larger as the fish neared the shore.
    â€œWhat’s he caught?”
    â€œMore than he bargained for,” said Ossian, as the fish was reeled in.
    One of the other fishermen let down a net, and scooped up the catch. The ‘laird’ lifted the furiously wriggling fish – at least two feet long – out of the net, and held it aloft. Its wriggles slackened off, and the group passed around congratulations and estimates of weight. As the ‘laird’ reached into the fish’s mouth to release the hook, the fish began to grow.
    Within seconds it had doubled in size, and the laird struggled to keep a grip. The fish lifted its head, gave an almighty shake and dislodged the hook in its mouth; then, it made to bite the laird, who dropped it