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was a dead language - intellectually interesting but it was only worth studying to tell him about the past. To keep it alive seemed pathetic. To him, it was tartan shortbread tins and the sort of dewy-eyed sentimentality that too much whisky imparted. He wondered if Alex Salmond would try to revive it in a future Republic of Scotland.
    "Cheers," said Mark, holding up his pint.
    "You're clearly not from these parts," said John.
    "No, I'm Edinburgh born and bred," said Mark.
    John nodded. "So, what brings you up here?" he asked.
    "I'm writing a book," said Mark.
    "A thriller?" asked John. "I'm a big fan of Michael Crichton and Dan Brown, that sort of thing. Quite like Ian Rankin."
    "Non-fiction," said Mark. "It's about the Highland Clearances."
    "Oh aye," said John, drinking more whisky.
    Mark leaned forward. "I've got a pretty unique angle on it," he said. "At least, I think so. I'm approaching it from the perspective of being sympathetic to the landowners."
    "You're what ?" shouted John. A couple of the students looked over their way.
    "Calm down," said Mark. "It's only a method of approaching the topic. Most of the books you read on the subject tend to attack the landowners for their greed and for destroying a culture and way of life, which is all good and valid." He took a gulp of his pint. "The way I see it, if I approach it from the opposite angle, it may yield a different story or angles."
    "Be very careful, son," said John. "The people up here are like the hills, they have very long memories." He shook his head then took another sip. "So, tell me about it."
    Mark relaxed into his topic. "The structure is that there were three waves to the Clearances," he said, taking another drink of his beer. "First, there were a lot of pre-Clearances activities, setting up the framework, trialling the process on a smaller scale. Then there were the two commonly recognised waves of Clearances. Looking at it that way gives a clear structure but also gives the possibility that they may have been driven from different objectives." He paused, thinking things through a bit. "I'm currently stuck with the first wave - it feels different to the second wave and to the prior activities somehow, but I'm just not getting the clarity. That's pretty much all that's stopping me from finishing the book."
    "Maybe that's because you're approaching it all wrong," said John with a grin.
    Mark took another drink. "Well, I think I've found something unique," he said.
    "Let me know if you want to speak to my boss," said John. "William Sellar. He owns the land around this place. Miles and miles of the stuff."
    Mark nodded. "That would be good," he said. "The more people I can speak to, the more I can prove my theory."
    John pointed down at Mark's nearly empty glass. "Do you want a proper drink?" he asked.
    "You mean whisky?" asked Mark.
    "Of course," said John.
    Mark thought about it long and hard. "No," he said, finally, "get me a fresh orange and lemonade."
    John gave slight chuckle. "Nowhere else in the civilised world would orange juice be described as 'fresh orange'," he said. "You're not going to join me in a dram?"
    Mark shook his head. "I get really drunk on whisky," he said, "and, besides, I made a promise to the wife not to drink too much."
    John grinned. "I hope you keep your promise," he said.

ten

    Mark woke up, his head thudding.
    The wind was rattling the windows.
    The clock read 1.03.
    While he'd avoided the whisky, the couple of pints were more than enough to disrupt his sleep. As he got older, the volume was just killing his bladder. He was glad he refused the hard stuff.  
    He went to the small bathroom and got a glass of water. He sat on the toilet and drunk the glass down, draining his bladder. He refilled the glass and headed back to bed, stumbling as he left the bathroom. He lay on the bed and let the room stabilise itself.
    John had been a total fiend once he got going, putting his hand in his pocket an uneven number of times, but