Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi (12 page)

“They let us in last year,” wailed Lizzie as they sat in the square and watched the French team training. “It’s not fair.”

Jack was disappointed at not being allowed back into Cos-Howe, but he was more vexed that they had not yet found out how they were going to watch the match.

“You said Freya was going to get us into the Finisterre,” he said accusingly to Rana.

“She’s gone to Cos-Howe with Purdy.” Rana sounded despondent. “I thought she’d have said by now. Purdy’s friend said the entrance had to be kept a secret.”

“But we won’t take up much room,” said Jack. “We can always squeeze up if there’s not much space.”

“I like squeezing up,” noted Lizzie, sounding happier. “It feels funny, but it’s nice, you know?”

Rana had wandered off a little and was eyeing up one of the French players. Sensing he was being watched, he turned and smiled, causing Rana to blush. Philippe had observed this little encounter and approached.

“You were speaking with him last year, no?”

Rana’s flushed face showed no sign of lessening. “He was just telling us about Claville. We’d never been to France before.”

“I have been in Edinburgh three times now,” announced Philippe. “It is a good city, but very noisy.”

“What were the other matches like?”

“Very tough. Always there would be broken heads or legs. But we bring a good physician, and all Claville Shian know how to heal wounds.”

“Maybe Ossian should have come to Edinburgh to get his leg fixed by the Claville physician,” said Lizzie thoughtfully.

“What time will it start?” asked Rana.

“Ten o’clock. Then we will – how do you say? – slow things up.”

“Slow things
down
,” corrected Rana. She paused. “How are you going to see the game?”

“Henri says I will go to the top of one of the buildings. There is a café in the building used by some Shian.”

“The Finisterre?” gasped Rana. “Can you get us in there too?”

“I will see. I must ask my brother.”

Grandpa Sandy ambled out of the house and joined the youngsters by the side of the square.

“I trust our visitors do not think you are spying on their training,” he said with a chuckle, looking across to where Henri was talking with his players.

Catching Grandpa Sandy’s gaze, Henri nodded. Without ceremony, the French contingent gathered together into a huddle, and Grandpa Sandy joined then.

Jack watched despondently.

“Can’t we just go up to the High Street and watch?” he said to no one in particular.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a small winged creature, which flew up to Rana and Lizzie.

“It’s a grig!” said Lizzie excitedly. The tiny creature perched on Rana’s ear and whispered to her.

“Freya says we’re to meet her at the Finisterre,” announced Rana happily. “She’ll get us in.”

Jack looked across at Petros, who didn’t like making outward shows of his feelings, but he too was beaming from ear to ear.

Within seconds they had passed through the Shian gate, emerging onto the castle esplanade at human height. The late evening sky was still bright, but it was cold. Lizzie shivered involuntarily.

“We won’t need coats where we’re going,” proclaimed Rana happily as she set off at pace towards the High Street.

They reached the Finisterre within a few minutes and were relieved to see Freya standing outside where tourists and locals milled around. Jack and the others edged nervously through the human crowd to where Freya was standing, a nonchalant look on her face.

“We thought you’d forgotten about us,” said Lizzie. “The players will be ready to start soon.”

“I said I’d get you in, didn’t I?” Freya was playing it cool.

“How, then?” asked Jack. He remembered how Philippe had taken them into the town hall in Claville, but that had been up a dimly lit side street, with no one nearby. This was the Edinburgh High Street, with dozens of humans all around.

“Nobody sees what they don’t expect to see,” said Freya. “They’re looking out for young people trying to get in the pub, so you can’t just walk in. But we use the Shian door. Just copy me.”

Freya walked up to the side wall of the Finisterre, just next to one of the windows that looked onto the High Street. A small crowd of human women stood there shivering; all wore identical T-shirts, with “End of the Road” on the back and “Tina’s Last Fling” on the front. One of them had a large red L stuck to her back. Glancing both ways to ensure that the others could see what she was doing, Freya placed her right hand on a part of the stone wall that was more worn than the surrounding area, and leant forward.

“
Effatha!
”

In a fraction of a second, Freya had fallen through the wall.

Tina, with the L on her back, blinked and looked uncertainly at the remaining youngsters.

“That’s it?” exclaimed Jack incredulously. “The same charm we use to get into the square?”

“You have to know where the key stone is,” pointed out Petros, but he was just as surprised as Jack.

They each quickly followed Freya’s example, one by one falling through the wall. Tina blinked twice, and swayed.

“I’ve had enough,” she hiccupped to her friends. “Put me to bed.”

Jack smelt stale beer.

“Not that way.” Petros dragged him by the arm away from a narrow corridor that led to the pub. “That’s the humans’ bit. We’re down here.”

Shrinking back to Shian height, they passed through a small door on the right, one that was almost invisible in the gloomy light. Entering, Jack was struck by how large the room was. There must have been forty or fifty Shian gathered there on benches, all facing Jack as he entered. Looking nervously behind him, he saw a series of hazy moving pictures that flickered on a row of canvas screens.

“Get out of the way!” shouted a voice from the back.

Petros steered Jack away to where Rana, Lizzie and Freya were seated around a small table; Purdy stood, slightly apart, watching the screen intently. Behind the counter stood a Darrig pouring clear fluid into a row of tiny glasses.

“How long before it starts?” asked Jack. He felt his heart quicken as the thought of the match crept over him.

“A few minutes,” said Freya calmly. Then she leant over towards Jack and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday,” she said quietly, and slipped something silk-like into his hand.

Jack looked down. At first he couldn’t figure out what it was. Then it dawned on him.

“A Sintura belt!” he exclaimed happily. “You made one.”

“Acquired one,” replied Freya with a broad grin. “But don’t go telling. It’s a secret, right? There’s a hair wristlet in there too. It’ll see you right.”

Jack hastily stuffed the belt into his pocket. It was so light to the touch that he could hardly feel it.

The attention of the others around the table was moved to the doorway, through which a tall figure had just emerged. Again the exasperated shout came from the back: “Get – out – of – the – way!”

There was a cheer as this echoed around the room, then the crowd fell silent as they saw that it was Matthew who had entered. He stepped forward, a tattered leather book in his hand, and addressed the assembled Shian.

“Welcome to the match between Cos-Howe and Claville. This is the five hundred and thirty-ninth encounter, and I am pleased to say that I have refereed over two hundred of these. For the first time in Edinburgh, the pitch is to be your Royal Mile.

“The rules are the same as ever. As spectators, you must not assist or hinder in any way. Claville have elected to defend the castle gate; Cos-Howe have used their right to remove one Claville player, so Henri will not play. He has gone to watch the game with his brother. The away team’s hexes will last one minute, the home team’s two minutes. I will shortly freeze time for the match.”

As Matthew left, the screens became more focussed. Each showed a different section of the High Street and the streets running parallel to it. Matthew’s image came into the centre screen.

One of the Cos-Howe supporters got up and began to move towards the door under the screens.

“Oi! You’re in the way!”

The figure stopped and turned around. He glared at the back of the room, from where the shout had come.

“It’s Rob.” Jack nudged Petros, who had been looking intently at the screens. “Don’t you remember? He was talking with Boreus at Cos-Howe.”

Jack thought back to the wrestling match at Cos-Howe the previous year, when Rob had used a charm stone to blind his opponent. Cosmo had intervened, using a paralysing hex. The memory of Rob’s terrified eyes returned to Jack. But now there was no terror: Jack could sense his hatred.

As Rob disappeared through the door, the figure of Matthew approached the busy road junction where St Margaret’s Street crosses the High Street and held his sceptre aloft. A glow emanated from it, and Jack could see that all the cars and human figures on the screens had frozen. Then Matthew sketched a pattern in the air, and the fiery outline of a chalice appeared, hanging some six feet from the ground.

“What’s the charm he uses to do that?” enquired Freya.

“‘Calixignis’,” replied Jack smugly. “Cosmo told me after the game last year.”

A figure stuck his head around the door.

“Is Jack here? Jack Shian?”

Exchanging a puzzled look with Petros, Jack put up his hand.

“You’re wanted. Quickly!”

Jack clambered down towards the door and disappeared.

“He’s going to miss the game!” exclaimed Lizzie. “It’s just starting!”

A cluster of four Claville players approached Matthew, as did three Cos-Howe players, led by Cosmo, their long cloaks flapping in the breeze. Matthew addressed both groups, after which there was a short pause, and then he threw the ball up.

Cosmo jumped as his teammates Oobit and Tom drew their sceptres and made to hex the Claville players.
A repeat of last year’s start
, thought Petros, but he hadn’t reckoned on the French response. Before the Cos-Howe hexes could be fired, the four Claville players clapped their hands above their heads and disappeared. Cosmo seemed unsure of what to do: he stood, holding the ball, and seemed to be arguing with his teammates.

“They must’ve used too much hex,” said Petros. “They’ve obliterated them.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lizzie, looking intently at the screen next to the centre one. “They’re just drawing the Cos-Howe team on. Look – Claville’s formed up around the next crossroads.”

“It’s a trap!” exclaimed Rana. “They’ll let the Cos-Howe boys get tired out running uphill, then counter-attack.”

Indeed, after the unexpected start, the Cos-Howe contingent were moving quickly up to the next intersection, passing immobilised humans, but apparently unaware of why they were meeting so little French resistance.

“Look – there’s the Claville crew. They’re hiding in those doorways. Cosmo’s been suckered.”

There was a murmur of agreement around the room.

Then the hexes started to fly.

The middle left screen became bright orange as the Claville trap was sprung. The beleaguered Cos-Howe players dived for the cover of doorways and immobile cars, as the hexes flew in from left and right.

“They haven’t a hope,” said Rana. “This is going to be over before it’s even begun.”

“It was better seeing it live last year,” complained Lizzie. “You can’t see so much on the screens.”

“There was loads we missed last year because we couldn’t see it from the roof,” pointed out Petros. “The screens are great: you can see almost all of it.”

But what they could see was not very cheering: the Cos-Howe team were pinned down, facing an enemy with the advantage of height. While the doorways and cars offered some protection, it seemed only a matter of time before they were hexed one by one.

Lizzie’s eyes had narrowed. “Who’s got the ball?”

“Cosmo had it,” said Rana. “There he is. He’ll have it under his cloak.”

Cosmo’s distinctive frame had been clearly visible near the centre of the besieged Cos-Howe group as they moved uphill. They had nearly made it as far as the North Bridge crossroad, but had been forced to retreat under the onslaught of hexes from the Claville ambush.

“This is hopeless,” said Petros despondently. “They’re pinned down. Claville will pick them off and then just wander down to the palace.”

“What does that screen there cover?” asked Rana, pointing at the next screen to the one showing the ambush in progress. She was staring intently at two figures moving furtively down a nearly deserted street.

“That’s the Cowmarket,” said Freya, moving closer. “Below the High Street.”

“Ooh, it’s Jack,” shouted Purdy, becoming suddenly animated as a face came into focus on the screen. “He’s got a sceptre. And Gandie’s with him.”

“How come Jack’s playing?” demanded Petros. “And why are they there? They should be up on the High Street helping their team.”

“They are,” said Rana excitedly. “It’s all a trick: Cosmo’s drawn the Claville fire while they get the ball along to the Grassmarket. Then they can go up Castle Wynd steps to the esplanade. I’ll bet Claville haven’t got more than one player defending the castle goal: they don’t think anyone’ll get that far.”

Rana was right. A quick glance at the left-hand screen showed a solitary Claville player sitting on the castle esplanade. He looked very bored.

As foreseen, Gandie and Jack reached the Grassmarket and began climbing. The two players were lost to sight for a few moments as they ascended the steps, then they were seen to emerge, puffing slightly, at the top. Glancing to their right, they saw the bulk of the Claville crew some distance away, facing down the High Street, battling with the beleaguered Cos-Howe team. They smiled at each other as they turned left to go up to the esplanade.

Their backs close to the nearside wall, they edged cautiously up towards the castle. Catching sight of the solitary Claville player as he sat, bored, in the centre of the esplanade, Jack motioned to Gandie to remain hidden. Jack then stuck his sceptre down the back of his cloak and walked out boldly onto the esplanade, his hands out to the sides. The Claville player saw him approach and got uncertainly to his feet.