Libran's Loch

As the prisoners loaded the former crew into the launch, a web of white lightening reached out and engulfed the ship as the green mist glowed eerily all about them. Striking at the rope and pulleys that kept the launch in place, the bolt of lightening severed the rope, causing the wooden boat to drop suddenly and decisively, discarding all onboard into the strangely still waters below. More flashes struck the weapons held by the prisoners, causing them to fall again on to the deck at their feet as they cowered in fear at the mist’s electrifying wrath. Suddenly the entire ship’s hull began to creak and squeal as if the very life of the ship was being torn away. Fascinated, Magnus stood his ground as his prisoner crew ran here and there in a terrified frenzy, fearful of where the lightening would strike next. Looking forward towards the bowsprit, Magnus thought he saw the ship begin to ripple before his eyes as an invisible wave of energy struck the ship. As the energy advanced slowly but smoothly towards him, Magnus gazed transfixed as the ship, the rigging and everyone onboard began to disappear in its wake. Knowing that he could not escape it and unsure of its purpose, he closed his eyes and willed himself to survive this strange phenomenon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, Magnus stood alone, engulfed in silence until he suddenly felt the wetness of heavy rain hit his skin. Opening his eyes cautiously but curiously, he realised he was still onboard the ship. Gradually, those members of his crew whom he had observed towards the centre of the main deck, re-materialised along with the rest of the ship. The lightening and the green mist had vanished and was now replaced by a heavy warm rain, uncharacteristic of the western Atlantic. Then, gazing far out to sea ahead of the ship, Magnus squinted bewildered at the bizarre landscape that lay on the horizon.

“Fetch me the Captain’s spyglass!” Ordered Magnus as he observed Craven stumbling nearby.

“Aye aye Sir!”

Within a minute, Craven returned and handed the spyglass to Magnus who extended it to its optimum length. Then peering through the eyepiece at the horizon, he adjusted the lens.

“Begging your pardon Sir, but where are we?”

Silently, Magnus scanned the metal cargo ships and luxury yachts in the distant harbour, and the hundreds of odd looking buildings along the bay. Rubbing his tired eyes he squinted again through the eyepiece of the spyglass as several fin shaped small orange sails appeared, and Magnus vaguely recalled where he had seen these small, dark wooden junk boats before.

“The place is unfamiliar to me,” Magnus replied. “But I’ve seen these boats before.”

“Have we reached Virginia Sir?” asked Craven.

“I don’t believe so.”

Suddenly, there was an almighty rumble and roar in the sky high above their heads and as they looked up, and saw the underbelly and descending undercarriage of the passenger plane, on its approach to Hong Kong airport. Terrified by the massive metal dragon in the sky, everyone except Magnus, dived face down on to the deck.

“What is it Sir?”

Magnus stood in awe at the wonders of modern technology that lay ahead of them. On the deck of the nearest junk ship, he could see the oriental crew staring as curiously at their ship, as Magnus stared at them.

“Jameson took us further off course than he thought!” concluded Magnus.

Do you know where we are, Sir? Are we in hell?” asked Craven.

Behind them came the sudden blast of a ship’s horn and the garbled bellow of mandarin commands as the ferry passed close by them, sending out a large wake that rocked their ship from side to side. As the crew of the Pride of Leith rose again to their feet, they stood and blinked at the crowd of ferry passengers who rushed towards the rail to take photographs of their ship. Looking at each other speechless, Magnus finished his sentence.

No, we’re not in hell! I’m sure that these were once the Hong Kong Islands, though they appear to have changed considerably since my last visit.”

As Craven stood bewildered by the modern ships and buildings on the island, a couple of American tourists pushed their way to the front of the crowd peering over the ferry rail. Frank, a stocky businessman from Manhattan pulled his delicate wife beside him and pointed his digital cine camera at Magnus. Then as the Pride of Leith neared the ferry, Frank yelled across at the bemused 18th century crew.

“Hi there! Can you smile for the kids back home!”

Magnus and Craven exchanged puzzled expressions, unfamiliar with the strange dialect of the oddly dressed couple bearing the flashing silver box. Believing the box to be some odd kind of weapon, Magnus pulled out his pistol and fired his shot. For a second, the crowd cheered with delight, thinking the ship, the crew and the gunfire were part of some incredible and elaborate, maritime display. Then the camera flew out of Frank’s hands and shattered into pieces on the deck, the still hot shot rolling amongst its debris.

Picking up the lead shot between his fingers, Frank’s face turned red.

“Gee honey, mind your blood pressure! You know what the doctor said!” remarked his wife.

“Shut up, Ellen,” he snapped before turning on Magnus. “You asshole! That camera cost be $900! I hope you have insurance and legal cover, cos you’re gonna need it!”

Magnus raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Craven, puzzled.

“What’s the matter hot shot? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just as much an asshole as you look in that outfit!” added Frank bitterly.

As Magnus scowled and scratched his head in puzzlement, Craven turned to him bewildered by this bizarre turn of events, and said,