The Underground City, page 6
“Hang on, Kitor,” she whispered to the crow as one of the tour guides, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, got his tour group together and opened the door. “We’re heading for the stairs!” As the carpet tilted forward steeply, she leant back, grabbing at its sides to help her keep her balance as it sailed down into the depths of the earth.
Once in the network of old rooms and cellars, she looked around interestedly and then gulped in horror for, just as Neil had done, she saw the ghosts at once. She felt Kitor’s claws dig into her shoulders and knew that he was probably just as scared of them as she was.
Her carpet floated through a window into the Close itself and as they drifted here and there, following Neil’s carpet, Clara realized that he was probably looking for Mary King. Time passed and still they circled over the heads of tourists and ghosts alike. Then she heard Neil’s voice close to her. “Clara, I can’t see her anywhere! I’m going to ask one of the ghosts to fetch her. I’ll get off the carpet so that they can see me!”
“Be careful, Neil!” she warned. “It won’t only be the ghosts that’ll be able to see you!”
Neil slipped off his carpet and stood right in front of an elderly ghost wearing a wig, knee breeches and a brocaded coat. He looked right into the ghost’s empty eyes and said briefly. “My name’s Neil. I was here before. I’ve come to speak to Mary King.”
Clara giggled and then clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. Usually ghosts scare people but Neil had obviously given this ghost the fright of its life! It stepped hastily into a brick wall and then stuck its head back through to see if Neil was still there.
“Go on, then! Fetch her!” Neil said to the astounded ghost. “I can’t stand here all day!” And to the ghost’s amazement he got back on his carpet and disappeared.
Mary King arrived a few minutes later and looked around suspiciously. Again Neil clambered off his carpet and she jerked backwards at his sudden appearance. “We can’t talk here,” he said quickly. “I’ll see you down at the end of the Close.”
Word had obviously spread among the ghosts that something quite out of the ordinary was happening and Clara watched in horror as they started to drift from windows, walls and houses in their hundreds. She soared above them, quite invisible on her carpet, for they had agreed beforehand that only Neil would show himself to the ghosts. Peering over its edge, she looked in awe at the fearsome, ghastly crowd that followed Mary King to the end of the Close.
Neil got off his carpet and promptly wished he hadn’t, for the sea of faces that confronted him wasn’t the least bit friendly.
“Are you one of the magic people?” Mary King asked abruptly, her face set and angry.
Neil dug his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from trembling and shook his head. “No, I’m not,” he said.
“How come you have a magic carpet then?” queried another ghost, pushing its way to the front of the crowd. “In this city it’s only the MacArthurs that have carpets! Are you one of them?”
“No, but I know them. That’s how I have a carpet.”
The crowd gave an angry growl.
“Look,” Neil said, cross with himself at feeling so scared and suddenly fed up with the lot of them, “you asked me to come here. You said you needed my help. Well, here I am! What’s all this about?”
Good for you, Neil! Clara thought, cheering him on.
A youngish man wearing a wig spoke slowly. “Maybe he doesn’t know.”
“You’re right,” Neil said shortly. “I don’t know! That’s why I’m here!”
“What Mr Rafferty means, Neil,” explained Mary King, “is that magic people have a bad effect on us. We, er … tend to lose our substance and fade away if we’re in contact with them.”
“Which we’d rather not do,” Clarinda chipped in pertly. “Being a ghost is better than nothing, you know!”
“I’m sure it is,” Neil said uncertainly, “but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not a MacArthur, I’m just a boy and … and I’ll help you if I can.”
The ghosts relaxed noticeably at this and even Mary King’s face softened. “Well,” she began, in a friendlier tone of voice, “that’s all right then! I’d better begin by telling you what’s been happening here! It’s like this. Some time ago, the old Codger here,” she indicated an old man, who raised his hand in a brief salute, “found two men in the tunnels below Deacon Brodie’s Tavern. They had a map of the Underground City with them and were trying to clear some of the roads. From what they say … well, we think they’re bank robbers!”
“Bank robbers?” Neil said in complete surprise. Whatever else he’d expected to hear, it certainly hadn’t been that.
“The Bank of Scotland,” nodded the old Codger. “Just down the road. They’re going to blow up the vaults and steal a million pounds!”
“You mean … you want me to tell the police and have them arrested?” Neil said.
“No, no,” burst out another of the ghosts. “No more people! That’s the last thing we want!”
“I see,” Neil said weakly, not understanding in the slightest, “but if you don’t want me to tell the police, what do you want me to do?”
“We want you to tell them to go away!” Mr Rafferty said seriously. “We’ve tried everything, Neil. We’ve tried to freeze them out, we’ve pushed them around and nothing has made the slightest bit of difference. They still come every night to clear the rubble!”
“There’s no way that we can get through to them, you see,” interrupted the old Codger with a shake of his head, “they can’t see us and they can’t hear us!”
“So we thought,” Mary King said, “that since you can see us and hear us that … well, you might be able to speak to them for us.”
“We’ll show you the way through the tunnels to where they’re working, no problem,” Mr Rafferty said encouragingly. “And bring you back!”
Neil looked at them, a frown crossing his face. “I could talk to them, I suppose,” he admitted. “They wouldn’t be able to see me or the magic carpet but they would be able to hear me. Mind you,” he said, looking doubtful, “if they really are bank robbers, I don’t think it’ll honestly make much difference what I say. Bank robbers are a tough lot and believe me, they’re not going to give up a million pounds just because I ask them to clear out! Besides, I doubt if that bank has any money in it at all, you know. My dad told me that it’s not a branch any more. Nowadays, it’s a museum.”
“What do you think we should do, then?”
Neil shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to do anything, really, do you,” he pointed out. “It’s just a matter of time. Once they find out that there’s no money in the bank, they’ll go away anyway, won’t they?”
There was a fearful silence. Mr Rafferty started to wring his hands and the rest of the ghosts moaned horribly and eyed one another sideways, suddenly scared stiff.
Neil looked at them, sensing the fear that coloured the atmosphere. “That isn’t the real reason you want rid of them, is it?” he said apprehensively. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told me!”
Mary King pleated her skirt with nervous fingers. “Yes,” she admitted. “You see, we … we aren’t alone down here in the Underground City. There are places where we don’t go … where … other ghosts live.”
“The ghosts of the Plague People,” Mr Rafferty burst out nervously. “They were sealed in their cellars hundreds of years ago but they’ve always been desperate to escape. They long to be free again,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling, “to roam in the open air! To infect people! To give them the Black Death!”
Clara sat, round-eyed and horrified on her carpet while Neil swallowed hard and turned the colour of chalk. “The plague?” he breathed fearfully.
Mary King nodded. “They carry the plague with them and the two men, Murdo and Wullie, are very close to their cellars, Neil. They might break into them by mistake. You must tell them the danger they’re in for, if the Plague People get out, they will be their first victims!”
“Of course I’ll tell them,” Neil said immediately. “Right now, if you like!”
Mary King shook her head. “They’re not there just now,” she said. “Murdo and Wullie only ever come at night.”
Neil looked troubled. “I can’t come at night,” he said slowly. “I just can’t! If I’m out, I have to be home by seven at the latest. I know I could get in here before they lock up but, if I did, I wouldn’t be able to get out again until they opened the doors in the morning! My parents …” Neil tailed off, shuddering at the thought of what his mother and father would say.
“The men get in and out through the cellars of Deacon Brodie’s Tavern” the old Codger offered, passing a hand over his grizzled chin, thoughtfully. “Couldn’t you get in and out the same way?”
Neil grinned weakly as he shook his head. “They’d never let me into Deacon Brodie’s Tavern,” he said. “I’m not nearly old enough. No, we’ll have to think of something else!”
10. Tracksuit and Trainers
“Have you ever been jogging, Lewis?” Casimir asked one morning.
Lewis looked at him suspiciously. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Casimir’s words always had a purpose of some sort behind them. Jogging, however, seemed a fairly safe subject so he answered truthfully. “Yes, of course I have,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought we might go jogging this morning, that’s all,” was the reply.
“In this weather!” exclaimed Lewis, looking out of the window. The snow had melted away but it was still quite a blustery day and the trees in the gardens opposite were blowing in the wind.
“Come on, Lewis,” cajoled Casimir. “The exercise will do you good!”
“Yeah, I suppose …” Lewis said reluctantly. He might as well go jogging, he thought, for he had nothing much else to do. He wasn’t due to start at his new school until Monday morning and life had been a bit dull since the magic carpet episode.
He frowned slightly as he looked back on it, for no one had made a fuss about his late return. Maybe old Casimir had had something to do with that, he thought. But, certainly, his parents and starchy, old Mrs Sinclair just hadn’t seemed to have missed him. When he’d gone down to the kitchen to make some hot toast, absolutely frozen after the journey back, they’d said goodnight to him as though he’d been in his room all evening!
Nor, which was more to the point, had they noticed the painting of the Mona Lisa either, although he’d hung it above the mantelpiece in the library rather than in his room. Bit of a waste of a wish that had been, he thought resentfully. He’d been looking through some of the books in the library and come across one that had really taken his fancy. It was full of pictures of fabulous jewels, gold statues, Persian carpets and famous paintings — including the Mona Lisa. Knowing that it was the most famous painting in the world, he’d made it his wish for the day and been absolutely gutted when Casimir had produced it. He’d have sent it back the next day if it hadn’t meant wasting a wish. As far as he was concerned, it was awful — dark, dingy and the woman wasn’t even beautiful! What people saw to rave about, he just couldn’t imagine.
His father raised his eyebrows as Lewis appeared in his tracksuit at the breakfast table. He was pleasantly surprised.
“Going jogging, Lewis?”
Resisting the temptation to say “No, I’m going to swim across the Forth,” Lewis grunted as he helped himself to toast and marmalade. Shocked at his bad manners, Casimir said hastily, “I thought I’d run round Arthur’s Seat. Lots of people do it and it’s good training!”
His mother nodded approvingly as she buttered a piece of toast. “Bit chilly to go jogging, isn’t it?” she remarked. “Mind and wrap up well!”
“Arthur’s Seat!” his father said, looking at him with respect as he put his cup in its saucer and pushed it to one side. “Well done, Lewis. I’m glad to see that you’re keeping fit.” His eyes twinkled. “Planning to get in the school rugby team are you?”
As he was as thin as a rake, this was obviously the kind of grown-up joke that adults found funny. Lewis, furious that Casimir had butted into the conversation, was about to mutter something unintelligible when he caught his father’s eye. Whether it was because Casimir was inside him, making him more perceptive than usual, he didn’t know, but he suddenly felt the weight of his father’s responsibilities. He bent his head over his plate as it dawned on him that being an adult and holding down a tough job wasn’t all that much fun.
“Come off it, Dad!” he muttered, taking charge of the conversation. “Do I really look like a rugby player?” Then he added with a touch of shyness. “I might go in for athletics, though.”
His father looked at him thoughtfully. “You’d probably do well in athletics,” he nodded. “You’ve the build of a runner. Well,” he said, folding his paper and laying it on his plate, “if you’re set on jogging round the park would you like me to give you a lift? I’ve a meeting there this morning.”
“In the park?” Lewis’s mother looked surprised.
“Close by. An old school chum owns a distillery there, down by the palace. He’s putting on a pantomime for Children’s Aid and I’ve managed to persuade the company to make quite a sizeable donation.”
“Free tickets then?” grinned Lewis, suddenly interested. “Which one are they putting on?”
“Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Actually, I don’t know how you feel about pantomimes now that you’re older but I’ve a mind to see it. He’s managed to get that new comedian, Matt Lafferty, to star in it.”
“Sounds great,” Lewis agreed. “And Mum would enjoy it, too,” he added hastily, before Casimir could butt in. “I know that Gran’s on the mend but Mum really needs cheering up, don’t you, Mum?” He grinned across the table at his mother who looked quite touched.
Robert Grant looked at his son in surprise. “It’s nice of you to be so concerned, Lewis. We’ve been through a worrying time lately and quite frankly I think the panto would do us all good.”
At that moment, Mrs Sinclair came in to clear the breakfast table and as his father got to his feet, Lewis picked up the morning paper, for the words “Mona Lisa” had caught his eye. He unfolded the paper and stared at it in horror. The headlines in The Scotsman screamed at him from across the front page. “Mystery of the Missing Mona Lisa,” “Theft at the Louvre,” “Mona Lisa Vanishes!” He gulped as he followed his father out to the car. Just wait until he got Casimir on his own! Just wait!
Casimir, however, had no sympathy for him. “What did you expect?” he snapped. “You wished for the Mona Lisa and I gave it to you. What more do you want?”
Lewis, by then, was jogging along the side of Dunsapie Loch, high in Arthur’s Seat. “I didn’t mean you to steal it!” he said, looking into the mirror that nestled in the palm of his hand.
Casimir glared back at him. “Grow up, Lewis! You got what you wished for and I’ve hexed the painting so that no one will ever give it more than a passing glance.”
Lewis looked doubtful. “You mean they’ll take it for a print?” he queried.
“Whatever,” muttered Casimir. “I’m not stupid, even if you are! Do you really think I want the police knocking on your front door? You’re quite safe and that’s the end of it!”
Relief flooded through Lewis. “Thank goodness!” he said. “You should have seen the headlines in the papers!”
“I did see the headlines in the papers,” Casimir snapped. “I read them with you!”
“You mean you can see through my eyes?” Lewis wasn’t too sure if he was happy at the thought or not.
“Of course I can. Now give over, Lewis, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
“What’s that?” Lewis asked apprehensively.
“Nothing drastic! I want you to leave this road and climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat.”
“Why?” asked Lewis. “If it’s a view of Edinburgh you want then there’s one just round the corner.”
“I don’t want a view of Edinburgh, Lewis,” Casimir snapped irritably. “Just do as you’re told, for once!”
The slope was steep with patches of snow lying here and there on the ground. Lewis muttered under his breath, more worried about keeping his trainers clean than doing what Casimir wanted and was glad when the magician called a halt. “Now, Lewis, hold the mirror in front of you and go carefully!”
Lewis, remembering the pillar of magic he had found in Ardray, moved steadily upwards and then came to a halt. He held his hands out and tried to take another step forward and just couldn’t. It was as though an invisible curtain lay between him and the summit of the hill. “It’s the strangest thing,” he said to Casimir in a puzzled voice. “There’s something in the way and I don’t seem to be able to go any further. There’s nothing that I can see to stop me, but … I just can’t move forward.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” Casimir said in a tired voice. “The MacArthurs have put a protective shield round the hill.”
“Who on earth are the MacArthurs?” asked Lewis, turning thankfully to make his way down towards the loch again.
“They’re a magic people who live inside Arthur’s Seat. I want to talk to them.”
“About your son, Prince Kalman?” asked Lewis sympathetically, glancing at Casimir’s face in the little mirror. Casimir, however, was deep in thought and didn’t answer. In a way, he was quite glad that the magic shield had stopped Lewis in his tracks for he hadn’t really decided what he was going to say to the MacArthur when they met. And the more he thought about it, the more of a problem it became. For how could he possibly justify the theft of the Sultan’s crown to the MacArthur? The long and the short of it was that he couldn’t. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous and yet, even after the hundreds of years he had spent mouldering in the well at Al Antara, he could still remember the overwhelming urge that had possessed him. Mind and body had been filled with greed for the crown and its power. And Kalman had been the same. They must both have been mad, he thought grimly. There could be no other explanation. What on earth had possessed him to go to such lengths?
