Free Empty Nets and Promises by Denzil Meyrick Page B

supper wae Davy Jones.’
    â€˜The next time I’m foolish enough tae listen tae one o’ your schemes, Hamish, be sure tae gie me a skelp in the chops an’ tell me tae brighten up,’ said Hoynes, huddling down beside the recumbent figure of Marshall.
    â€˜Och, you can hardly blame me! How was I tae know the forces o’ nature an’ the state were going tae unite against us?’
    â€˜Aye, well, they sure have. Not only are we in the midst o’ one o’ the worst seasons for fish that anyone can remember, we’ve been accused o’ smuggling whisky, almost killed an officer o’ the Crown, and now we’re in danger o’ sinking.’
    â€˜No tae mention that octopus,’ said Hamish. ‘I should’ve known that landing a creature like thon wid mean bad luck.’
    â€˜Bad luck’s something we’ve a sufficiency of, that’s for sure,’ said Hoynes, as the boat plummeted into another trough. ‘Time tae start sayin’ oor prayers, I reckon.’
    â€˜I started saying mine as soon as the polis, the Excise man, and the Fishery Officer came knocking at the door,’ confessed Geordie.
    â€˜Wait!’ shouted Hoynes as they were propelled back up by the swell. ‘There’s a vessel on the horizon. Quick, Hamish, launch another one o’ they flares.’
    Jackie MacKinnon was about to tuck into a plate of lamb chops and mashed potatoes when an insistent knocking sounded on the farmhouse door.
    â€˜Jean,’ he yelled to his wife, who was still in the kitchen, ‘can you see who on earth’s at the door at this time? I’m no’ wanting tae eat cauld chops.’
    He heard his wife making her way along the hall, grumbling as she went, and then the familiar creak as the old front door was tugged open.
    A scream from his wife sent Mackinnon to his feet, cutlery crashing down on his plate with a clatter. ‘What the . . . ?’
    The door to the room was flung open, to reveal a wide-eyed man covered from head to toe in mud.
    â€˜Jackie, for the love o’ all that’s holy, you’ve got tae help me!’
    It took MacKinnon a few moments to recognise Iain Watson the Fishery Officer as the man who had just collapsed face down on the floor.
    â€˜If you’re in disguise looking for an illicit catch, you’ll no’ find it here,’ Jackie said, before resuming his place at the table and lifting his knife and fork. ‘Jean, will you come and see tae this man afore these chops congeal.’
    The vessel was huge and painted scarlet. Too big to be a fishing boat – even a trawler – it steamed towards them at a rate of knots that left the fishermen aboard the stricken lobster boat scratching their heads.
    â€˜I’ve seen some o’ they big trawlers oot o’ Hull and Grimsby, but they’re like skiffs compared tae this monster,’ said Hoynes.
    â€˜I widna be bothered if it was the Queen Mary ,’ said Hamish. ‘They’re getting us oot o’ a pretty pickle, and no mistake. Whoot flag is that at her prow, I wonder. I can make oot that it’s red, but that’s jeest aboot all.’
    â€˜It’s no’ one o’ they new boats oot o’ Oban, is it?’ asked Geordie.
    â€˜If it is, there’ll no’ be room for another vessel in the bay,’ opined Hoynes. ‘The Mull ferry wid look like a rowing boat moored next tae that. Aye, and as far as that flag goes, I recognise it only too well – it’s the hammer and sickle.’
    â€˜You don’t mean the Bolsheviks, dae you, skipper?’ Hamish peered out to sea.
    â€˜There’s no’ been Bolsheviks since thon Lenin was at the helm. They’re Communists noo, an’ a brave band o’ brothers they are, tae. We’d be well under the Nazi jackboot if it wisna for their heroics at Stalingrad, an’ the like. They gave Adolf pause for