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The Claymore Legacy

Sgeir

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As the castle doors closed behind me, I was startled to hear a familiar voice, "Aye. Come awa' in there. Ye'll have had yer tea I suppose?"

So it was true. Claysie really was now Lord Claymore. But he looked so distant, as though he had undergone some transformation.

Without warning, a strange faraway look came into Lord Claymore's eyes. He was being transported through time, borne along on a sea of memories. I tried to regain his attention.

"Claysie! Wake up up man, what's the matter?" No response.

I reflected upon the strange chain of events that led him from being the Principal Race Officer of a CCC bash, to acquiring the title of Lord Claymore, as well as the draughty castle and the remaining lands of Clan Claymore.

He was remembered as a happy and contented young man, the life and soul of the Senior Common Room of a leading centre of academic excellence in the North of England. Unfazed by faddish and fanciful modes of fashion he was a memorable figure, even in the so-called Swinging Sixties.

Lord Claymore, 1966

Somehow, I knew I had to break his reverie.

"Pssstt!", I hissed in his ear.

He looked down; "Och, I know, I know, I've done it again. I chust cannot help it all, at all."



To be continued
 

jimi

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Ach I remember well Claysie's coming out ball, it was well attendend ... from Motherwell to Camberwell , all were there,Derbyshire came dressed .. apart from Bakewell which was a bit burnt ..
 

Sgeir

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"Aye", said Claysie, warming to the happy recollections, "Though I later found out that some people thought she was a bit of a tart".

He suddenly seemed more relaxed. "Come awa' through, I'd like to be showing you my new conservatory and patio. I had it designed by Para Handy hisself ye know."
 

jimi

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Claysie, suddenly paused, struck by a sudden thought, "dae ye mabe think she looks a wee bit overwashed, if ye tak ma meaning?" He anxiously enquired.
 

Sgeir

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His condition was clearly worse than I'd thought. What is God's name was the man gibbering on about. "Overwashed? What, the patio?"

"No, I meant the grey curtains."

The curtains and the furniture fabrics were a tasteful shade of green.
 

Twister_Ken

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His Lordship rose slowly from his pillow and rang for his wrinkled old retainer. "Get the village to send up another Lorne sausage, Para, I'm expecting Wee Jamesie to join us for breakfast. And ask her Ladyship to come in and see me, I believe I may have something under the tartan to interest her."

"Congratulations, my Lord" said Para, as he ricocheted towards the door.

"Damn man's been at my malt again," thought Lord Claymore of Dunstuffin, "but I promised his mother I'd look after him. After all, she was very good to me on my 13th birthday."
 

Sgeir

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He pulled me close, saying, "Come here quickly, I've something to show you."

I recoiled in horror, recalling the Chentleman's Cruise re-enactment of "Wicker Man - the Deliverance Days".

"No, no, it's all right", he said. "It's something I read in the Telegraph," waving a yellowed newspaper cutting from March of last year.

"It's started, chust as it says in the Bible."

"Chust listen; The engagement was announced between Reichsfreiherr Philipp-Franz Von und Zu Guttenberg (whose parents are named as George-Enoch Reichsfreiherr Vond und Zu Guttenberg and Christiane Henkell-Von Ribbentrop,nee Grafin Von und Zu Eltz) and the Hon. Alexandra Louisa Macdonald ,the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Macdonald."

"But if that weren't proof enough, chust lissen to this; "Reichsfreiherr Philipp-Franz von und zu Guttenberg and his wife, the former Hon Alexandra Louise Macdonald (b. 1973), were presented with a son, Johannes (Joe), born in Austria, 12 January, 2004. Philipp is a son of Reichsfreiherr Georg-Enoch von und zu Guttenberg and Christiane Henkell-von Ribbentrop [nee Grafin von und zu Eltz], of Schloss Guttenberg, Germany, and the Alexandra is the eldest daughter of the 8th Baron Macdonald [Chief of the name and arms of Macdonald], of Kinloch Lodge, Isle of Skye."

"It's the da, da, da........... damn it, I've forgotten."

"Dadaist Movement?"

"Naw."



tbc
 

tcm

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Claymore awoke slowly the next morning. The word "legacy" in the thread puzzled him.

Was it a play on the Madelaine Legacy, with attendant yawn Da Vinci Code undercurrent, lamely hinted at by huge cut/pasted chunk of lightly-irrelevant dull minor-european peerage information?

Or did the "legacy" refer to another recent thrillerish pseudo- classic work of so-called literature?

Timed to coincide with the feature film release of The Bourne Supremacy, starring Matt Damon, comes a new and slightly too-complicated novel in the bestselling tradition of Robert Ludlum's beloved Bourne series - The Claymore Legacy.

Claysie, international assassin of deadly repute, has retired from the CIA and now a professor at Texas Holdem University. Claysie's life is finally his own--until he becomes the target of - guess what - yes, a deadly assassin.

Barely a half-step ahead of his nemesis and the CIA, who believes he has gone rogue (yet again, even after the last three times when he hadn't) Claysie finds himself a pawn in a larger, far deadlier game.

Through the sharp evening light, Claysie's watched as - to his horror- the deadly Sgeir and accomplice Wecraft stormed the boat, ate lots of canapés and left moments later. Now what?
 

Sgeir

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Para\'s Tale

ACT 1 Scene 2. The Drawing Room, that evening.

The sound of the empty gin bottle hitting the floor slowly brought me to my senses. Gradually I became aware of a strange breathlike sound behind the draught screen.

“Is that an asthmatic rat you have there?” I enquired solicitously.

“Naw, dinnae fret man, Para’s in the arras. He looks after my every need and has been a tower of strength to me in all my trials. Said he personally knew the architect that designed the new west wing. Aye, and got it all for a guid price too, so he says.”

“Since then, he’s kindly fitted a second-hand Aga into the boat for me.”

Right, I thought, I’ll need to get to the bottom of this. I called him over.

“And chust how long have ye been working for your master, my guid man.”

“Fowr months, yer worship. But ah’ve no always been a servant, mind. Ah used tae be a well-known Glasgow business man, a supplier of people’s needs, software, CDs, an’ a’ ’at, oot the East End.

“Even had a wee jingle on Radio Clyde;
<ul type="square"> It disnae marra if ye come fae Barra,
Or Ayr, or even farra’.
Get all your CDs fae me,
See me, Para, wi ra barra
.” [/list] “My stall was known as 'Para’s in ra Barras'. Great in’t it?

“Rhymes, see. I really wantit tae work in mair words like Balmacara and Che Guevara, but that shilpitty wee rhymer Jimi didnae come up wi’ ra goods.”
 

claymore

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Re: Para\'s Tale

I spend a great deal of my time attempting to understand the minds of young people on a range of academic courses.

Reading this diatribe has made me realise that they are probably really quite alright and that I am perhaps looking too deep. On the other hand I do have some genuine concerns for my good friend Sgeir and the other contributors here.
 

Dougie_the_Mate

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While I am enjoying the narrative about Claymore, I must remind you all that no one ever referred to Captain Peter McFarlane as 'Para' /forums/images/graemlins/mad.gif /forums/images/graemlins/mad.gif To all who know him he is Peter, or Para Handy. /forums/images/graemlins/smile.gif /forums/images/graemlins/smile.gif

One would almost think that Saxons were taking part in this developing tale!!!
 

Sgeir

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Claymore reflected on what he’d just written above, and thought, “No, these are good and trusted sailors. I was completely wrong. Jimi, Twister_Ken, TCM and Sgeir are the sanest and most fine people I have ever had the greatest privilege of knowing. And if I ever again suggest otherwise, I must be out of my mind”

“Now, c’mon Para, don’t chust hang about there, get some drinks served.”

“Aye, right…. Jings, whit’s that? A think it’s a chap at the door Your Lordship”.

“How d’ye know it’s a chap?” demanded Claymore.

“Seems tae be wearin’ troosers, Your Lordship”

“Trousers, eh? Well, show him in man, show him in.”

“Allow me to introduce myself Your Lordship. I am Detective Inspector Hector McLector of the Highland Constabulary. I am here on a most delicate issue.”

“And what might that be my good man? We at Claymore Castle have nothing to hide.”

“Well, Your Lordship, if I might put it this way, I was wondering whether you have a green fleece in your possession?”

“Green? No, I can’t stand the bloody colour. All my fleeces are grey.”

“Oh! Right! That’s fine Your Lordship, I might as well be on my way then.”

Claymore took McLector by the arm. “But stay sir, have a wee dram, and tell us what this is all about.”

“You’re a verry kind and chenerous man, Your Lordship. It’s all a bit difficult to explain, but back at the station it’s known as the Case of the Headless Man.”

Claymore looked relaxed. “A headless man, ye say? Like in an accident at sea, or perhaps a gruesome family quarrel?”

“No. More like a headless man in the Duchess of Argyll sense of that term.”

“I see. That was a terrible business you know”

“But there’s more. We believe it may be connected to satanic ritual at Ardfern.”

The uneasy silence was only broken by Claymore, spluttering in his whisky. “Ardfern you say, we haven’t been there for years. Och, and as for satanic rituals, you really shouldn’t pay any attention to the silly stories you hear from the locals”.

“Aye, but there’s proof ye see. A photograph. Chust look what appeared in today’s Oban Times.”

Sure enough, there, under the headline Strange goings on at Ardfern, was a blurry photograph…………………



tbc
 

ParaHandy

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Nooo .. if youse wud jist be a wee bit further south ah might hae a pic o yon trooserless loon ...
 

jimi

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i do'nt ken what he iss, but he's duvellish like a man that would be sellin' onions!
 

Twister_Ken

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The visit of the poliss man had had a deflationary affect upon his Lordship's auroral tumescence. Her Ladyship, sorely disappointed - well, disappointed, anyway – snatched the Oban Times from D.I. McLector with a cry of "Don't tell me the old goat has been at it again. I wondered where my crochet hook had gone."

A shocked silence - TCM had been tinkering with the fuse box - filled the morning room.

"Would you care to explain yourself, my Lady?", asked the kilted sleuth, breaking the silence.

"Who's going to pay to have that mended?" demanded Claymore, "Money dis'nae grow on Scots Pines, you ken."
 

Sgeir

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Re: The Claymore Legacy (contd)

"Neffer mind that, Your Lordship. Chust look at this", growled Hector McLector, the once again trousered Chief Inspector, taking the newspaper from Her Ladyship. "It seems that the victim of this terrible terrible assault has disappeared. Here, take a look at the Times."

His throat dry, and his chest tight, Claymore looked down;



























____________________________________________________________________

<ul type="square">


8 June, 2006

Welcome to The Oban Times - Fancy a Wet Highland Holiday? Do you need information?

____________________________________________________________________

Strange goings on at Ardfern



ASSAULT VICTIM MISSING

Police continue search
_________________________[/list]

"Aye", hissed McLector, "That's the headless man I was after telling you about. The beast!"

Lord Claymore looked stunned. With as much precision as he could muster, he pushed the paper aside and whispered, "And the, err, victim? Disappeared you say?"

"Aye, without a trace, poor man. Seems he was a wee bit of an Internet guru, with extensive business interests in the UK and South Africa. But there have been no postings from him for several days.

"Och weel, I'll not be wanting to be disturbing you any further Your Lordship. You haff been most helpful and kind, so I'll bid ye fareweel. Goodnight to you, Sir!"
 

claymore

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Re: The Claymore Legacy (contd)

I was wondering which way this was going.....

At present your collective parentages are being questioned by his Lordship.
 

jimi

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Re: The Claymore Legacy (contd)

in a silver grey fog that was not unpleasant, Claymore lay at Craighouse pier and Claysie read a belated evening paper. "Desperate fog at Melfort!" He said to his shipmates; "We're the lucky chaps that are here and oot o' it!" It hasnae lifted in Oban for twa days and any amount o' boats missing between Tobermory and Fort William."

"Tch,Tck! Iss'nt that deplorable." said Para " Efter you with the paper, Claysie. It must be full of accidents. And ah've a strange yearning for a bit of Shadycooo."
 

Twister_Ken

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Re: The Claymore Legacy (contd)

Evening crept across the extensive lawns of Dunstuffin Castle, where the Laird, his staff and guests were preparing for an unquiet night. There were things they knew that Inspector McLector, trained in the the Strathclyde army of occupation and used to the doings of Gorbals Scalpies, could never have guessed.

"Parahandy, bring me ma Purdies, loaded with solid slugs. And a skean dhu for yourself".

"Aye ma Lord." Parahandy shuffled off towards the gun room, detouring via the study, where he sought reassurance from a decanter of Auld Alliance & Leicester Malt. Wee Jamesie had hied off to the billiards room, and returned clutching an ebony cue, the butt end weighted with depleted uranium from Claymore's secret stocks in BNFL. TCM was picking sharp-edged instruments from a rather handsome toolbox he had acquired along the road to the glens.

"I think we'll be safer in the west turret" opined her Ladyship, as the gloaming began lapping at the ancient pile. Lord Claymore gently rubbed on some cream he'd bought from one of the missing man's less salubrious far eastern enterprises.

Outside a keening sussurated through the box hedges of the parterre.
 

claymore

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Re: The Claymore Legacy (contd)

Wid there be ony chance o' a few royalties coming my way, should this ever get published?
 
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