The Underground City, page 7
Flying high above the hill, Kitor flew on his daily patrol over Arthur’s Seat. He didn’t have to do it but he felt that it helped the Ranger and was a small return for making him part of his family. So, if any of the sheep strayed or got themselves caught on the crags, he let the Ranger know and, with the MacArthurs on holiday in Turkey, he also kept an eye open for trouble from the world of magic. Although this was always a possibility, it was, nevertheless, remote and the last thing Kitor had expected were problems from that particular quarter. He was, therefore, stunned when Lewis was quite obviously stopped in his tracks by the protective shield that the MacArthurs had left round the hill.
Kitor watched through narrowed eyes as the boy left the slopes and continued to jog round the park towards the exit. He knew perfectly well that the protective shield round the hill only kept out magicians, but this lad — tall, thin and lanky — certainly didn’t look like any sort of magician that he’d ever met. The fact, however, remained that he’d tried to get through the shield and hadn’t been able to. Kitor flapped to the branches of a nearby tree and, nerves alert, watched and waited. He was most definitely going to follow this strange boy home.
11. Prince of Thieves
“Well! Did you find a way in this time?” Kitor asked excitedly as Neil and Clara came home from the Assembly Hall where rehearsals for Ali Baba were in full swing.
“No,” Neil said, opening the fridge to get a drink, “the doors to the cellars are still locked but we might have a chance to get into them in a couple of days time! I heard the producer say that they’re going to have to use them to store all the props and things that are coming from The King’s.”
It was Clara who had had the brilliant idea. The Assembly Hall building, she had pointed out to Neil, stood at the top of the Mound. And if the cellars from Deacon Brodie’s Tavern gave on to the Underground City then it was more than likely that they could get down to it through the cellars in the Assembly Hall as well. Although it had seemed a sensible plan, however, it had come to nothing for, as Neil had said, all the doors leading to the basement had been locked and, with no idea where the keys were kept, they hadn’t been able to do anything.
“What about you, Kitor,” asked Clara, pushing her hair behind her ears, “did you have any luck with that boy?”
“He’s started school now,” Kitor informed them. “His mother picked him up afterwards and they went to the hospital to visit his grandmother. They go there most afternoons. His name is Lewis, by the way. I heard his mother telling him to go back into the house and get his PE kit.”
“He doesn’t sound much like a magician to me,” Neil frowned. “Are you sure he was trying to get through the MacArthur’s protective shield?”
Kitor nodded his head. “Quite sure,” he croaked.
“I wish the MacArthurs would come back,” Clara said with a sigh. “I really miss them.”
It wasn’t only Clara who was missing the MacArthurs, however. Sir James and the Chief Constable of Edinburgh were missing them, too. As they stood chatting together in the windows of the New Club, overlooking Princes Street Gardens and the wintry bulk of Edinburgh Castle, it was the Chief Constable who brought the subject up.
“I’ve been meaning to have a word with you for a while, James,” Archie Thompson said, “about the MacArthurs.”
Sir James looked at him in surprise. “The MacArthurs? They’re still in Turkey aren’t they?”
“You don’t, by any chance, know when they’ll be back, do you?”
Sir James shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he replied. “Er … I don’t want to pry, but is something bothering you?”
“You could say that,” the Chief Constable said, eyeing him sourly. “It’s all these art thefts that are taking place round the world.”
“All what art thefts?” queried Sir James, startled. “I heard that the Mona Lisa had been stolen and there was something about a famous emerald but …”
“That’s all that’s been released to the public, James. The rest has been kept quiet.”
Sir James raised his eyebrows. “The rest?” he queried.
“Yes, there have been quite a few other robberies that haven’t reached the pages of the newspapers.”
“For any specific reason?”
“It’s not so much the things that have been stolen, James, it’s the manner of the thefts. You see, all the stuff that’s been taken from art galleries, museums and the like — well, the pieces have literally just disappeared. No signs of forced entry, no trace of the thieves … nothing whatsoever.”
“But what about the security cameras and alarm systems? They’re supposed to be foolproof these days, aren’t they?”
“That’s what’s worrying us. The alarms go off when the pieces are stolen but the security cameras show nothing out of the ordinary. The Mona Lisa, for instance — well, it just disappeared from the wall. Apparently, the camera footage was amazing. One minute the painting was there and the next minute it had gone. Nobody went near it.”
“Don’t you have you any idea who might have taken it? A rogue collector wanting to add to his collection perhaps?”
“If it were a collector,” Archie Thompson stated positively, “the chances are that he’d steal more of the same kind. Someone with a collection of paintings would steal more paintings, someone with a collection of jewels would steal more jewels. That hasn’t happened. Everything that’s been stolen is different — a painting, a jewel, an ivory, a sculpture and so on. Interpol’s going crazy, every antique dealer in the world is on the lookout for them but so far nobody has come up with anything. It’s mind-boggling! I’ve no idea who this fellow is but he certainly ranks as a Prince of Thieves.”
“And what’s gone missing from Scotland that you’re so het up about?” asked Sir James with a slight smile. “The Crown Jewels?”
Archie Thompson looked at him grimly and turned pale. “Don’t even think about it, James! Nothing’s safe these days and the very idea gives me nightmares!” He heaved a sigh. “No, the thing is, I had a letter this morning from the National Museum of Scotland. They’re hosting an exhibition of priceless diamonds during the Festival next summer and the thought of policing it … well, it’s making me sweat already! I wondered … well, if it does take place, I wondered if I could ask the MacArthur or Lord Rothlan to put a protective shield around the exhibits. Unofficially, needless to say! Like Prince Kalman did last year with the Sultan’s Crown. What do you think?”
“I’m sure they would, but what makes you think the diamonds would be a target, Archie?”
“The strangest thing of all about the robberies is that every piece that’s been stolen appears in a book called Famous Collections of the World, and two of the largest diamonds in the exhibition are shown in it. At the moment, Interpol is trying to trace everyone who bought a copy.”
“That’s a bit of a tall order, isn’t it?”
“Not that tall, James. It’s a limited edition and only five hundred copies were printed.”
As it happened, one of the five hundred copies of Famous Collections of the World lay open just a couple of hundred yards away … on Lewis’s bed!
Lewis was deep in thought as he flicked through the pages. “I think I might wish for this painting next,” he said to Casimir. “It’s by Picasso and although it’s an odd sort of painting, there’s something about it that I like. What do you think?”
Casimir looked at the painting and reserved his judgment. Yet it was in the book so he presumed that Lewis was right in his assessment. “You’ve wished for a painting already, Lewis,” he reminded him.
“Yes, and what a wash-out that was!” Lewis muttered.
“The thing is,” Casimir said diffidently, “that you’re only allowed to wish for something once. You can’t wish for another painting!”
Lewis sat up and looked at Casimir in the little mirror. “What do you mean, I can’t wish for another painting?” he said. “You didn’t tell me anything about that when we made our agreement!”
“You didn’t ask,” Casimir pointed out.
“But …”
“One of a kind, Lewis!” And Lewis knew from the look on his face that Casimir would never relent. He threw the mirror across the room and the book after it but even as he did so, he was gripped by a deadly fear. “One of a kind” cut down his choices considerably. It wouldn’t be long, he thought, before he ran out of things to wish for. And then what?
He looked dismally round his room. It wasn’t a bedroom any more, really. It was a miniature palace containing a treasure trove of all the beautiful things he had wished for: a Chinese carpet hung on the wall; a huge, carved emerald glowed green on an ebony stand; a tall ivory statue gleamed delicately from a corner and many other priceless objects decorated shelves and the top of his bookcase. Tears gathered in his eyes. He loved them all.
He left the mirror lying face down on the carpet and picked up the book. His face was white and strained as he went slowly downstairs to the library and put it back where he had found it. As he did so, he glimpsed the picture of the Mona Lisa smiling down at him from above the fireplace. Her smile had subtly altered and he instinctively knew its meaning. He had been right to dislike the painting for her smile was a sly smile; a nasty, sly, knowing smile that seemed to take pleasure in his desperation.
“What am I going to do?” Lewis whispered to the empty room. “What on earth am I going to do?”
12. Police Probe
Saturday morning! Lewis stretched lazily in bed, enjoying the luxury of a long lie. He’d actually quite enjoyed his first week at school; his teacher was great and the boys and girls had been friendly. He had piles of homework to do, of course, but so far the worst thing about it was having to get up at the crack of dawn when it was still pitch black outside. Idly he got out of bed and was heading for the shower when he heard the door-bell ring. As his mother and father had gone house hunting in Aberdeen he slipped out of his room and peered over the banister to see who the visitor was. He turned white with shock, for two uniformed police officers were standing in the hall talking to Mrs Sinclair. Her voice floated clearly up the stairwell.
“Yes, the house does belong to Mr Robinson,” she was saying, “but he went to America in the summer. It’s rented out just now to a Mr and Mrs Grant, but I’m afraid they’re not in at the moment. They went up to Aberdeen yesterday.”
One of the policemen produced a piece of paper. “It was actually Mr Robinson we wanted to see,” one of them said. “We’re checking on a book that he bought last year. It’s called Famous Collections of the World. I wonder if we could have a look at it?”
“That’s no bother at all, officer,” Mrs Sinclair said, relieved that the matter wasn’t serious. “If it’s anywhere, it’ll be in the library. Just come this way.”
As they followed her out of the hall, Lewis stiffened with horror. If they went into the library, the first thing they’d clap eyes on would be the Mona Lisa! And although Casimir had told him that no one would give it a second glance, he was not so sure. The police weren’t fools and he just couldn’t take the risk.
Thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t made a wish yet, he rushed to the bathroom mirror, his eyes full of alarm. A hundred thoughts raced in a jumbled torrent through his mind. What if they searched the house? They would find all his treasures! They’d call him a thief and he’d go to prison! And what would his mum and dad say?
“I wish,” he hurriedly said to Casimir, “I wish that you’d send back all the things I’ve wished for from that book, send them back to where they came from! Please! Right now!”
He crossed his fingers tightly as he made his way through to his bedroom and paused at the door, scared that nothing would have happened; that they’d all still be there. He looked anxiously round and saw to his relief that the room was bare. They’d gone! Thank goodness, they had all gone!
He fell on the bed, trembling with shock and relief. He could hardly believe the narrow escape he’d had. But niggling in the back of his mind was the knowledge that he still had to make a wish every day. Casimir was being awkward making things more and more difficult. Now he was saying that he couldn’t wish for anything made of wood because he’d already wished for shelves to put his treasures on. He couldn’t wish for ivory because of the statue and he couldn’t wish for food because he’d once asked for a Chinese meal. He curled up in a ball and hugged his knees. If only, if only he could get rid of Casimir!
His thoughts went round and round in circles as he tried to think of something that Casimir couldn’t do. He knew him well enough now to believe that he actually could do everything. Even moving Mount Everest wasn’t an option as he’d probably cause an earthquake to swallow it and then push it up somewhere else. He’d never felt so depressed in his life.
Lewis only ventured downstairs because he was feeling hungry. His attitude to Mrs Sinclair had long since changed as, despite her prim appearance, he had soon discovered that she was a wonderful cook. “Are there any of those biscuits left that you made yesterday, Mrs Sinclair,” he asked, peering hopefully round the kitchen door.
She eyed him shrewdly. What was the matter with him? He looked really pale and ill-looking. She hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. “Yes, there are still some left,” she said, feeling quite sorry for him as she took the biscuit tin from a shelf. “How many would you like?”
“Five or six,” he hazarded. “I’m starving!”
She counted them. “There are eight left,” she said. “If you have five today there’ll still be three left over. Or you could divide them equally … four now and four later?”
Her words took Lewis right back to his primary school and his teacher saying in a tone of exasperation. “It’s impossible, Lewis! You can’t do it! You can’t possibly make three lots of five out of twelve counters. You can only make two lots with two left over!”
“That’s it!” he said, in sudden wonder. “That’s it!”
“What’s what?” asked a startled Mrs Sinclair as he hugged her and started to laugh. “Mrs Sinclair, you’re totally fab!”
“Well, now,” she said, pleased despite herself, “you just calm down and I’ll get you a drink. What’s it to be?”
“Irn Bru, please,” he grinned as he waltzed round the kitchen, eyes alight with excitement.
Casimir stirred uneasily inside him. He couldn’t read Lewis’s thoughts but he could sense his moods, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so blazingly happy. Perhaps, he thought, it was because all the treasures had gone back to their rightful owners and the police couldn’t charge him with anything. Not, he thought, that the police would ever have found out, but Lewis, for all his weird ideas, was turning out to be surprisingly law-abiding.
Needless to say, the news that night was full of it! The sudden, mystifying return of the Mona Lisa, to say nothing of all the other stolen items, was headline news on all the channels and as reporters revelled in the mystery, the speculation looked like lasting for days to come. Lewis, however, had almost forgotten the return of the Mona Lisa in his anxiety to get the better of Casimir.
“We had a bargain, Casimir,” Lewis reminded him when he’d finished watching the news and gone upstairs to his room. “I seem to remember you saying that if I gave you a task that you couldn’t do, then you would be my slave and your magic would be mine?”
Casimir nodded from the mirror and watched sourly as Lewis emptied a box of chocolates onto his desk and counted them.
“This is the test?” Casimir said in surprise. “A test with chocolates?”
Lewis nodded. “There are eleven chocolates on the desk,” he said. “I want you to make them into four sets of three. Now go ahead and do it!”
Casimir’s eyes rounded in amazement. Such a simple test but he knew just by looking at them that there was no way he could make four sets of three out of eleven chocolates. He didn’t even bother to try and his face was set in lines of absolute disbelief as he was forced to concede defeat.
“I can’t do it!” he admitted, totally stunned at the turn of events.
“Right!” said Lewis triumphantly. “Now you are my slave and your magic is mine! Agreed?”
Casimir didn’t answer and, looking at him apprehensively, Lewis was suddenly assailed by doubt. Rather than keep the bargain, Casimir might just turn him into a toad or a frog or whatever magicians did when they were cornered. In actual fact, he needn’t have worried, however, for Casimir was not only a very grand magician but also a prince. It would never have entered his head to renege on the agreement they had made.
“Yes,” muttered Casimir, looking suddenly very old indeed. “Yes, that is the case. There is, however, one thing, Master. One favour I’d like to ask you.”
“What’s that?” Lewis asked suspiciously.
“It’s about my son, Prince Kalman.”
“What about Prince Kalman?” Lewis asked.
“The goblin said Kalman was trapped in a magic mirror that was set for Edinburgh. That means that somewhere in Edinburgh there must be a mirror that holds my son prisoner.”
“But there are thousands of mirrors in Edinburgh!” Lewis frowned. “How on earth will you recognize it?”
“Magic mirrors are special mirrors, Master. They are at least seven feet tall and have iron frames decorated with beasts, birds and flowers.”
“Well, that ought to be easy enough to spot,” Lewis said interestedly. “But why do you have to look for it? Can’t you just magic it here like you did your carpet?”
“Magic mirrors have two halves, Master. That is how they work. They have to be set so that they connect. If you walk through a mirror in Edinburgh you can step out of it anywhere in the world, depending on the setting. But if one half disintegrates the connection is broken and you can’t magic up half a mirror. It has to be found. So, if by any chance I ever see a magic mirror, can I bring it to your notice, Master? And ask you to release my son?”
