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"Oh. Good."
He messes around with more instruments. "No more talking. I need to focus on getting us off the ground."
I keep my mouth shut and grip the edges of my armless seat. I have motion sickness pills, but I think I should've asked Errol to get me some Xanax. I've traveled to remote locations with my dad, and we experienced some scary moments now and then, so I can't explain why the idea of going for a ride in a World War II era plane makes me freak out.
Maybe it's not the plane or the man flying it. Maybe I'm panicking because the expedition I've spent years planning for is finally about to happen. What if we fail? What if the treasure is a myth after all? I'll have let my dad down and burned through my savings, leaving me penniless.
A loud sputtering noise erupts outside and quickly ramps up, mutating into the loud growling of an engine.
Oh God, we're about to lift off.
I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but I feel like I need to see what's happening—at the very least, to prove to myself I'm not a coward.
"Hold on," Errol says, flashing me a grin. "It's takeoff time."
The plane begins to roll forward, faster and faster every moment as we race toward the end of the clearing—the end of the grass airstrip. We won't crash into the trees. Will we? Errol must know what he's doing, right? Magnus and Piper flew in this plane with him, and they're still alive.
"Here we go," Errol says.
The front of the plane rises, and the ground vanishes from my view as the aircraft levels off.
"All done," Errol says, patting my shoulder. "Ye didnae die, did ye? I'd call that a successful takeoff."
Well, I can't argue with that.
He holds the wheel in one hand while we soar across Scotland from high above. The houses and trees look tiny from up here.
"Lookie there," Errol says, using his free hand to point out my window. "That's Dùndubhan. Seems like a child's toy from this vantage point, aye?"
"Yes, it does. But honestly, I think I'll avoid looking out the window. Not used to flying this way."
"With no flight attendant or drinks service?"
"Uh-huh."
"Did you fly first class from America?"
"First class?" I shake my head. "How do you think I could afford that? You know every penny I have is sunk into this expedition."
"I've never flown first class either." He executes a slight turn to the right. "Not being rich isn't a crime. I'm not rolling in money either, though several of my cousins are. I donnae feel bad about myself because of that, and you shouldn't either. You're a clever, determined, strong woman. Money didn't make you that way. It came from deep inside you."
His words trigger a warm glow in my chest. I have no idea why. Hearing Errol sing my praises shouldn't have this kind of effect on me, but then, I've endured ridicule for years because I refused to declare that my father is a crackpot. Errol believes in me. He wants to help me. Sure, I'm paying him to do that, but he could've told me to buzz off. Maybe he did say that a few times. But he didn't tell me that every time I showed up at his home to pester him to go on this mission with me.
"How are you doing over there?" Errol asks. "If you need a sick bag, I've got a few under my seat."
"If you mean a barf bag, no, I don't need one. I feel fine."
"So, only my driving makes you ill."
"Well, I did take a motion sickness pill earlier. Maybe that's why I'm okay now."
He flicks some switches or whatever the proper term is for them. Then he takes his hands off the wheel and relaxes in his seat.
"Why aren't you flying the plane?" I ask, trying so hard not to screech.
"Take it easy,gràidh. I turned on the autopilot."
"Oh. Sorry I freaked out again."
