The Underground City (7 page)

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?”

“I’ll do that on one condition, Casimir,” Lewis said. “If I release your son from the magic mirror, I want you both out of my life completely. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” nodded Casimir. “Thank you, Master.”

And with that, his face disappeared from the little hand mirror.

Lewis started in surprise as, for the first time in weeks, he saw his own reflection appear instead. Full of sudden hope, he got up and ran first to his dressing table, and then to the mirror in the bathroom just to make sure Casimir had really gone — and gave a heartfelt sigh of relief as his own reflection stared back at him.

Next morning, Lewis closed the last of his exercise books, put his pencils in his pencil case and pushed the neat pile of homework to one side with a sigh of relief. Thank goodness that was finished, he thought, looking at his watch. He’d timed it nicely; it was just about lunchtime. His spirits lightened as he went downstairs to the kitchen for Mrs Sinclair had promised to make him a chicken curry and the smell was drifting
tantalizingly
through the house.

As he pushed open the door, he saw that the small kitchen television set was on and from the sound of the commentator’s voice, there was yet another disaster taking place somewhere in the world.

“There’s been a terrible accident on the Forth Bridge, Lewis,” Mrs Sinclair said. She was stirring the curry but her eyes never left the screen.

Lewis gasped. “That’s near here, isn’t it?” he said, looking at its distinctive shape. He’d seen pictures of it and knew it lay close to Edinburgh.

“Aye. Two trains collided and half of one train is hanging off the bridge. The carriages are full of people and they’re scared that the whole train might slip down into the water with them all in it!”

“Gosh! That’s awful!”

“Here,” she said, spooning a generous helping of curry over a gleaming mound of white rice, “have your lunch at the kitchen table and you’ll be able to see what’s happening.”

Lewis ate the curry absent-mindedly, his eyes fixed on the
TV screen. It was really quite frightening. Even the
commentator
was affected as stumbling groups of passengers were led along the tracks from the wrecked trains. Lewis could hear the tremble in his voice as he described the rescue attempts that were being set up to try to get people out of the carriages that had slipped off the bridge. It was going to be a dangerous
operation
as the whole train was balanced so precariously that the slightest jerk might send it toppling into the water. Helicopters were of no use as they couldn’t operate so close to the bridge. All in all, he didn’t seem too confident of the outcome.

“Oh, my goodness,” Mrs Sinclair jumped up as part of the train hanging crazily from the bridge gave a dreadful lurch. They could hear the people in the carriages screaming. “How on earth are they ever going to rescue them?” she said, twisting her hands.

“I …” he searched his mind for a reason, “I can’t watch,” he said. “It’s too frightening. I’m going out, Mrs Sinclair.” And he pushed his plate to one side and dashed up the stairs to his room.

“Casimir!” he snapped at the bathroom mirror. “Show
yourself
to me.”

Casimir appeared. “Casimir, did you see what was happening on the television downstairs?”

“Yes, of course, Master.”

“Listen, There’s no way that anybody can save the people on that train. The two end carriages are hanging over the water and if anybody tries to climb out they’ll send the whole lot crashing into the Forth. Can you save them by magic? Or something?” he asked hopefully.

Casimir looked at Lewis consideringly and sighed. After hundreds of years imprisoned in the well at Al Antara, he thought sourly, it had to be a do-gooder like Lewis who had released him! Still, he mused, rescuing the people on the train
might do much to relieve the crashing boredom of the schoolboy’s totally uneventful life. He bent his mind to the task and instantly came up with a solution — for he had, as it happened, quite enjoyed reading Lewis’s comics with him. “What if I were to turn you into Superman or even the Black Shadow?” he offered. “The Shadow, I think, would be more suitable as you’re so young. How about it? All in black, wearing a mask and a cloak with stars on it?”

Lewis sat up straight, his eyes suddenly shining. “What a
fantastic
idea, Casimir,” he gasped. “The Black Shadow! But … can you really make me fly?”

Casimir looked at him exasperatedly. “Of course I can,” he said shortly. “I’d hardly have suggested it otherwise, would I?”

And, in an instant, Lewis changed completely. He looked in the mirror. There he stood, looking slightly taller than normal, but the spitting image of the Black Shadow.

He swirled his cloak experimentally before pressing down on the soles of his feet to see if he could really fly. Excitement gripped him as he lifted gently off the carpet and soared into the air.

“Use your arms to change direction,” Casimir recommended hastily as Lewis, cloak flapping, headed straight for a
solid
-looking wardrobe.

“This is great, Casimir,” he said, changing direction and ducking frantically as he almost hit the light shade. Landing beside the window, he pulled it up so that he could scramble out onto the sill and, trying to ignore the drop to the street, took a deep breath.

“I think you’d better make me invisible until I get to the bridge,” he suggested as he launched himself into space from the windowsill. It was the hardest thing Lewis had ever done in his life and he gulped in relief as his cloak spread out behind him as he sailed through the air. Stretching his arms in front
of him, he found that he could guide his flight and, soaring upwards to get his bearings, immediately saw the dim outline of the Forth Bridge in the distance.

The air was freezing and whistled past him as he flew. “Casimir! I’m frozen!” he yelled. “Doesn’t this outfit have central heating?” Casimir obviously obliged as a wave of heat shimmered through the black suit and he relaxed gratefully as it warmed him through.

The news commentator choked into his microphone and did a double-take as the black, cloaked figure suddenly appeared out of nowhere and flew over the waters of the Forth, heading for the huge criss-crossed spars of the bridge.

“What on earth!” he stammered. “I don’t believe it …”

And as each and every camera swung round to follow his flight, Lewis swooped down to land on one of the great girders. Now that he had actually arrived on the scene, he suddenly felt very scared. Conscious that every eye was on him, he worried that he might make a mess of the whole thing. The bridge, for a start, was no longer the tiny meccano-like structure it had seemed on the television set. It was immense! Even the train seemed three times the size of normal trains, its tilted
underside
hung with row upon row of wheels like some enormous caterpillar.

“Hey, you!” a policeman shouted, running up the railway line. “Get down from there at once!”

Lewis looked at him through the slits in his mask. “I’ve come to get these people out of the carriages,” he shouted back.

“Don’t be a fool!” the policeman yelled. “Get down from there at once!” Lewis ignored him and, before the policeman could get near enough to catch him, pushed himself off the girder and swooped to hover beside the dangling carriages. The people inside were as still as statues. Nobody needed to tell them what would happen if they made any sudden movement.
They followed Lewis with their eyes and a woman started to sob.

“This is absolutely unbelievable,” the commentator said excitedly. “We have some kind of Superman here. He’s hovering just above the stricken carriages …”

Lewis scanned the train. Many of the windows had fallen out and he decided to try to lift people through them. Fervently hoping that Casimir had given him the strength of at least ten men, he hovered above one window and reached inside.

“Hold your hands up and I’ll pull you clear,” he said to a young girl. “Just relax. And you be ready next,” he said to the woman beside her.

A cheer rang out from the bridge as he soared upwards holding the girl by the arms and passed her into the care of a waiting ambulance crew.

As he swooped back to the train, an engineer ran up the track. The cameras zoomed in on him as he stopped by the television news crew.

The engineer was distraught. “Get off the bridge, quickly!” he said urgently. “The main bolts have snapped and the
carriages
are hanging only on a few links. They won’t be able to hold it for long! Get off the bridge at once!”

“Clear the bridge! Clear the bridge!” The order drifted down to Lewis as he swung upwards with a mother and her baby.

The ambulance crew stayed, however, the medics taking it in turns to carry the stretchers back to the ambulances as Lewis deposited more and more people by the side of the tracks.

A little group of engineers stood watching at the end of the bridge; white faced, grim and staring. They, alone, of all the watchers, knew the weakness of the pitifully few links that held the carriages to the rest of the train and waited in despair for the inevitable crack that would signal the breaking of the last few bolts. The television commentator who had thought of asking
one of them to come across and give his opinion in front of the cameras, took one look at their faces and decided against it.

In the end, Lewis had to force himself to go inside the
carriages
to reach people, especially those that had been injured. The strength Casimir had given him made it easy for him to lift them but knowing that the whole set up might collapse at any minute, made it an absolutely hair-raising task. He’d have been even more concerned had he known just how much magic Casimir was using to keep the dangling carriages attached to the rest of the train and it was only when Lewis carried the last man from the last carriage that Casimir cut the spell. The bolts then did what they should have done at least half an hour previously. They snapped with a vicious crack — and with a tearing, grinding jerk, the carriages toppled slowly from the bridge and fell into the dull, grey waters of the Firth of Forth.

Everyone was so busy watching the carriages fall into the water that Lewis was able to become invisible again without anyone noticing. He was utterly exhausted and rested for a while on one of the girders before heading once again for Edinburgh.

“My, you missed such a thrilling rescue!” Mrs Sinclair said as he came in. “You should have stayed and watched it, Lewis! It was just like the cinema. They’re calling him the Shadow, like some comic-strip character. He rescued everybody out of that train, you know! It was wonderful!”

“The Shadow?” Lewis pretended to be surprised. “You’re having me on!” he exclaimed. “He’s a character in my comic books!”

“Aye, but this was a real person, all dressed up in a mask and a cloak. He could fly through the air, just like Superman. And he rescued so many people! Wonderful, he was!”

“I wish I’d seen him,” Lewis did his best to sound
disconsolate
.
“Do you think they’ll show it again?”

“Ocht, of course they will. It’ll be repeated all night, I should think,” Mrs Sinclair said, “but it’ll no’ be as thrilling as watching it when it was happening! What they can’t understand is how the carriages didn’t fall sooner. The engineers were saying they were only held up by a few links!”

“Were they really?” Lewis said slowly.

“You owe me, Lewis!” Casimir said softly as Mrs Sinclair went to serve the dinner. “You owe me big time, believe me!”