The Underground City, page 10
“Oh! That David Rizzio,” he muttered. “Sorry, I wasn’t with you. I’ve been reading all about this Shadow chap that seems to be doing the work of half the police forces in Scotland! He rescued some children from a burning building last night.”
“He’s become quite a hero,” Margaret Grant smiled. “A lot of people owe him their lives.”
“Nevertheless, I think Sir Archibald Thompson must be getting slightly worried,” her husband said, folding his newspaper.
“Who’s he?” asked his wife.
“Sir Archie is the Chief Constable of Edinburgh,” her husband replied, “and by my reckoning, this business must be giving him quite a few sleepless nights!”
“Over the Shadow, you mean? But the Shadow is doing the country a service, Bob! Look at the lives he’s saving!”
“Superman only exists in comics, Margaret, and it isn’t really a matter of who this chap is, it’s what he is that matters! That’s what must be worrying Sir Archie!”
Bob Grant was quite right. The Chief Constable was worried and, realizing at once that the world of magic must be involved somewhere along the line, fervently wished that the MacArthurs would hurry up and come back from Turkey. At that particular moment, he’d have quite happily given up his pension for a peek into the MacArthur’s crystal ball!
The only thing he was really sure about was that the Shadow was a boy. The climbers, the policeman on the bridge and the train survivors had all said he was a young lad. And as the only young lad that Sir Archie knew who was connected to the world of magic was Neil MacLean, he voiced his suspicions to Sir James.
“Neil MacLean! The Shadow!” Sir James had sounded stunned. “Well, he could be, I suppose, but I doubt it. In fact,” he paused, counting back the days, “I’m sure he isn’t. I was on my way to the distillery the day of the train crash and saw Neil and Clara at the foot of the High Street near the Palace.”
“Thank goodness, for that,” Archie Thompson sank back in his chair with a sigh of relief. “I didn’t really think so but what other young lad is there in Edinburgh that has anything to do with magic and magicians?”
“The Shadow might not live in Edinburgh,” Sir James pointed out. “He’s been rescuing people here, there and everywhere as far as I can gather. Mind you, if it’s the low-down on the world of magic you’re after, you could always ask Kitor,” he suggested.
“That’s an idea,” the Chief Constable’s voice brightened at the thought.
“He once belonged to Prince Kalman, remember,” added Sir James, “so he must know a lot about what goes on. There are probably wizards and magicians round the place that we’ve never heard of.”
“That’s true,” the Chief Constable nodded. “Er … could we meet at the MacLean’s cottage, do you think, James? It’s more informal and … well, I can hardly question a crow here at HQ without causing a sensation!”
“Actually, I’m going to the cottage this afternoon. I’ll be there just after three. The MacLeans are quite involved in the pantomime, you know. Janet’s been working backstage, ironing all the costumes, and the Ranger’s made a lot of papier mâché food for the banqueting scene … that sort of thing. Why don’t you give Janet a ring? I’m sure she’d love to see you and I bet they’ve got all sorts of theories about the Shadow!”
That afternoon, as the Chief Constable relaxed by the fire in the MacLean’s living room, nursing a cup of coffee, he brought up the subject. “I’ve really come to pick your brains about the Shadow,” he admitted with a smile, “to see if you have any ideas.”
There was an awkward silence as the MacLeans looked at one another doubtfully. Archie Thompson sipped his coffee and shot a keen glance at Sir James. Surely it wasn’t Neil after all?
“The thing is,” said the Ranger apologetically, “we know who the Shadow is.”
The Chief Constable spluttered into his coffee and Mrs MacLean reached for a box of tissues.
“You know who the Shadow is?” he repeated, mopping coffee from his uniform.
The Ranger nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We think we know. I can’t think why I didn’t tell you about it! How stupid of me!”
“Who is he, then? Is it someone you know? A friend of Neil’s, maybe?”
The Ranger shook his head. “No, nothing like that. The boy’s a complete stranger. Actually, it was Kitor who saw him,” he said, nodding to where Kitor perched on Clara’s shoulder. “Apparently, the MacArthurs left a protective barrier round the hill when they left. Kitor says it only keeps out magicians and the like and … well, when he was out on the hill, he saw it stop this boy in his tracks. He couldn’t get through it at all, so he knew he must be a magician of some sort.”
“Well, Kitor?” asked the Chief Constable, turning to look at the large, black crow that perched on Clara’s shoulder. “What can you tell us about him?”
“I followed him home,” Kitor said, ruffling his feathers.
“Wonderful! Where does he live?”
“His name’s Lewis and he lives in Heriot Row with his mother and father.”
“Lewis Grant! Well, well,” the Chief Constable sat back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction.
“You know him, then?” the Ranger said, looking at Sir Archie in surprise.
“There’s a report about the family sitting on my desk at the office,” the Chief Constable replied. “This is confidential information that I’m going to give you. Neil, Clara,” he looked at them in turn, “you mustn’t repeat any of it, you understand?”
They nodded seriously.
“Do you remember all the art thefts that took place a few weeks ago?” he asked. The Macleans nodded, looking puzzled. “Sir James already knows this, but all the valuables stolen, including the Mona Lisa, had one thing in common. They all appeared in a book called Famous Collections of the World. Only five hundred copies of the book were printed and there were three in Edinburgh. One was owned by a Mr Robinson, so naturally my men checked out the address in Heriot Row.” He shook his head. “They didn’t have much luck. Mr Robinson is in America and the Grants seemed quite a respectable couple. They’ve lived in and around the Middle East for years. Lewis was born out there. Robert Grant’s an oil-executive and since he’s been here, has spent most of his time in Aberdeen. Mrs Grant’s mother has been in hospital for months and, well, we found nothing to connect them with the thefts at all.”
“So you think that Lewis Grant was responsible for all the thefts?” Sir James interrupted, looking absolutely appalled.
“I’d say so,” shrugged the Chief Constable. “The book was in the house, after all, and Kitor says the boy’s a magician …”
“I can’t believe it!” Sir James looked upset.
“I told you how the pieces were stolen, James,” Sir Archie reminded him, “and it all hangs together. They were stolen by magic and returned by magic. It’s the only explanation.”
“But why would he return them?” Janet MacLean asked, a puzzled look on her face.
“Maybe he got a fright when the police turned up on the doorstep?” Neil offered.
“I don’t see that it really adds up,” Sir James objected. “Now, he’s going round saving people’s lives!”
“That’s assuming that he is the Shadow,” John MacLean added.
“Well,” the Chief Constable put down his coffee cup and looked round the little group, “everyone we’ve interviewed has said, quite definitely, that the Shadow is a boy and there surely can’t be two boy magicians in Edinburgh at the same time, can there, Kitor?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Kitor croaked, shaking his head.
“Kitor says he goes to George Heriot’s,” Clara offered.
“Heriot’s is just a temporary thing,” Sir James interrupted. “The family will all be moving up north come the New Year. Lewis will start school in Aberdeen at the start of next term.”
It was Archie Thompson’s turn to look surprised. “You know them, James?”
Sir James nodded. “Bob Grant was in my office just a few weeks ago. He’s been a friend of mine for years and his company has made a very generous donation to the pantomime.”
Neil looked thoughtful. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “You say they’ve just come back from the Middle East. So, how come Lewis knows about the MacArthurs? Clara and I wanted to make friends with him so that we could find out a bit more about him but dad wouldn’t let us.”
“I thought it best to wait until the MacArthurs came back before we did anything about him,” the Ranger said hastily. “After all, he might be a friend of theirs trying to get in touch with them and … well, I didn’t think it wise to interfere.” He paused. “After all, magic’s their business, not ours!”
The Chief Constable looked thoughtful. “You’re right, John,” he said. “If Lewis Grant has got himself involved in magic then the MacArthurs are the best people to deal with it.” He looked across at Sir James, “And, as the lad’s doing nothing but good these days, it might be best to keep things on hold until the MacArthurs get back.”
17. Skating on Thin Ice
Time slipped rapidly past, however, and it wasn’t until the day before the pantomime that the MacArthurs finally returned to Edinburgh.
By then, Clara and Neil were bubbling with excitement, for the dress rehearsal had gone really well and they just knew that Ali Baba was going to be the best Christmas show in town. They had, of course, no big part to play but were happy to be in most of the crowd scenes and had also been picked to act as pages to Matt Lafferty, the Grand Vizier to the Sultan, when he appeared on stage. They loved their costumes and the glitz, glamour and fun of taking part in such an exotic production.
Neil, however, still had niggling doubts about Murdo and Wullie so, on Saturday afternoon, they’d called their carpets and had gone back to Mary King’s Close.
Once again, Clara and Kitor watched anxiously from on high as the ghosts clustered round Neil. They were so frightful, so awful and so friendly!
“I listened to what they crooks were saying for quite a while the other day,” the old Codger said chattily to Neil, “and by the sound of it, I think they’re planning their robbery for Monday night.”
“Monday night?” Neil looked startled, for Monday night was the opening night of the pantomime.
The old Codger nodded.
“I really don’t understand it,” Neil said, looking doubtful. “My dad told me that they don’t keep money in that bank any more. I even checked it out with my teacher at school and she said exactly the same thing. It’s a museum, nowadays. They won’t get a penny!”
“You said that before,” the old Codger frowned, “but they’re still working away. There are three of them now, you know. The new fellow’s called Tammy somebody or other … Tammy Souter, I think the name was.”
“Three of them?” Neil was surprised. “We only met Wullie and Murdo!”
Mary King looked at him. “You mean you came into the Underground City and you didn’t tell us?” she said, disapprovingly.
“We’d have told you if we’d been able to find you,” Neil grinned, apologetically. “We managed to get in through the cellars under the Assembly Hall and, well, to tell you the truth, we got lost. It’s like a rabbit warren up there and if it hadn’t been for Wullie and Murdo, we might still be wandering round looking for the way out.”
“So you met them!” Mr Rafferty looked relieved. “You did tell them about the Plague People, didn’t you?” he added anxiously.
“Well, actually I didn’t,” admitted Neil. “I was scared that if I mentioned you and the Plague People, they’d realize that we knew about their plans to rob the bank. We’d been down the alley by then and as they hadn’t let loose any of the Plague People I didn’t think it necessary …”
Mr Rafferty flung a weary hand to his forehead. “He didn’t think it was necessary!” he repeated. “He didn’t think it necessary!”
“Neil! Where are your brains, laddie? Of course it was necessary!” the old Codger said, scratching his head and looking concerned.
“It’s just as well we’ve put in our application,” Mr Rafferty said, striding up and down, looking totally distraught. “They’ve got to be made to leave!”
“Application?” queried Neil.
“When you didn’t come back to see us, Neil,” Mary King said seriously, “we … well, we thought we’d scared you off. We didn’t know you were still trying to help us and anyway, Mr Rafferty thought it was really up to us to get rid of the crooks on our own.”
“Aye, it wasn’t fair involving you in our problems,” nodded the old Codger.
“We talked it over and in the end we decided to apply to become visible,” Mary King said. “It’s quite a serious step for us to take, you understand, but the Council of Elders don’t want the Plague People to escape either.
“They’re a nasty lot, the Plague People,” explained the old Codger, “not like us at all. If we tried to stand up to them, they’d attack us and we’d end up losing the little substance we have.”
“And once they’d done that, they’d roam the streets of Edinburgh and infect everyone,” Mr. Rafferty said, nodding his head worriedly.
“And then there’d be more plague ghosts than ever,” added Clarinda, fluttering her hands in distress.
“So it’s been agreed that we can materialize. Show ourselves, that is.”
“Show yourselves!” Neil gulped, his eyes wide with apprehension as a vision of coach-loads of panic-stricken tourists screaming down the High Street, flitted through his mind. “You … you can’t do that! You’ll give everyone heart attacks! You … you just don’t now how scary you look!”
Mary King looked up sharply. “That’s the whole idea,” she replied. “We want to frighten Murdo and his friends so that they’ll give up the idea of robbing the bank, leave the Underground City and never, ever come back.”
She was quite firm about it and Neil could see that nothing was going to shift her. He ran his hand through his dark hair and shook his head. “Well,” he said, still horrified at the thought, “I … I hope it all comes off.”
“Thank you, anyway, for trying to help, Neil,” the old Codger said. “If you ever visit us again we promise we won’t try to scare you!”
All the ghosts laughed at this joke and Neil smiled weakly. “Thanks,” he said, as he got on his carpet, “and good luck!”
They talked about it round the fire when they got home. Kitor looked worried and Clara was still a bit white. She’d hated it when all the ghosts had laughed. “You know, I really feel quite sorry for the crooks,” she said. “I quite liked Wullie!”
“I only hope he has a strong heart,” said Neil. “Just imagine having all those ghosts flapping round the place. They’ll scare him to death!”
As if their worries about the ghosts weren’t enough, the next day they met Lewis Grant! Purely, as they thought, by accident.
Snow had fallen overnight and Edinburgh was layered in deep drifts. The city was like a winter wonderland. Crusted in white, the castle reared on high like a picture out of a fairytale; the gardens below were strung with lights as children and adults alike, skated on the outdoor ice-rink and a multitude of vendors did a roaring trade in hot dogs, hamburgers, roasted chestnuts and steaming mugs of hot chocolate and mulled wine.
The Grants were there with Lewis. After a life spent in the desert, the snow was very much a novelty and as they tottered unsteadily round the rink, Lewis looked enviously at a pretty girl and a dark-haired boy who glided effortlessly through the crowds.
“These children have magic in them, Lewis,” Casimir said suddenly.
“Have they?” Lewis perked up at once, looking at them with interest. “I think I’d like to get to know them,” he decided.
“So would I,” Casimir said softly, promptly taking charge of proceedings. It was no accident, therefore, that Lewis managed to lose his precarious balance and, legs and arms waving wildly, thumped down on the ice just as Neil and Clara skated up. And it was a hex that made Clara stop and help him to his feet.
Neil took his other arm and, supporting him on either side, they skated with him round the rink until he got into the rhythm. Lewis grinned his thanks as Neil gave him tips and to his amazement, he soon found that he could skate quite well. Full of new-found confidence, he waved to his mother and father as they passed.
Bob Grant beckoned them over. “Your mother fancies some mulled wine, Lewis,” he said, as they came to an impressive stop beside him, showering ice everywhere. “How would you like some hot chocolate?” His glance included all three of them but that wasn’t what left Neil and Clara totally gob-smacked. Lewis! They hadn’t thought to ask his name. Could this be the boy Kitor had seen on the hill? Could this be Lewis Grant? He certainly fitted Kitor’s description.
Although Neil and Clara managed to cover their astonishment pretty well, Lewis noticed their hesitation. “It’s okay,” he said, “this is my dad and that’s my mum over there.”
“I’m Bob Grant,” his father said, shaking their hands as Neil and Clara introduced themselves.
Clara smiled shyly. “Thanks, Mr Grant,” she said politely, trying to hide the fact that her thoughts were in turmoil. Lewis Grant! It must be him, she decided. “We’d love some, wouldn’t we Neil?” she added, turning to look meaningfully at her brother.
Neil nodded but as they made their way towards the stall he was busy trying to work out just how much magic had been involved in their “accidental” meeting and, looking at Clara, knew from her face that she was wondering much the same thing!
“They didn’t have all this when I was your age,” Bob Grant said, gesturing towards the ice-rink as he dished out mugs of steaming chocolate. “No ice-rink and no Christmas Market either,” he said, looking further along the gardens to where the stalls of the German Market blazed in a myriad of bright decorations.
Christmas carols drifted on the frosty air as they turned to look at the picturesque scene. The huge Christmas tree at the top of the Mound glittered in a spangle of lights, and even the towering spires of the Assembly Hall were softened by their icing of snow.
