The Underground City (18 page)

As Murdo made his way up the High Street to Wullie’s wee flat, he didn’t appreciate the beauty of the scene around him. In fact he barely noticed it. It was snowing hard, the drifts were deep and the High Street, almost mediaeval in appearance, loomed vaguely through the driving flakes. His problems, however, were closer to home. His shoes were thin, he couldn’t afford boots and his feet were already wet and freezing cold. Tammy Souter, who plodded along at his side, was cold as well. He drew his thin coat tighter round him and coughed continuously as he walked up the steep snow-covered street to Wullie’s Close.

“Cheer up, Murdo,” he said, grabbing him as he slipped on the icy pavement, “just be glad that we’re here and not in a cell in Saughton Prison!”

Murdo nodded. There was always that. They were free men.

“I still can’t work it out,” Tammy said as they turned into Wullie’s Close and started to climb the stairs. “They caught us fair and square!”

“Aye, but I did help Sir Archie, you know,” Murdo said, thinking back to his interview with the Chief Constable. “I gave him the map of the Underground City, didn’t I? And I was thinking, too, you know, that if he’d made a case against us then all the business of the ghosts would have had to come out into the open and I’m pretty sure he didn’t want
that
to happen. I’m just glad that they didn’t nick Wullie! He’s not tough like us.”

“Have you heard that he’s given up smoking?” Tammy asked, grinning.

“Given up smoking? You must be joking! Wullie’s a sixty a
day man!”

“Auld Mrs Ramsay at the sweetie shop told me. Said her takings had gone down since he stopped!”

“I heard she was going to close down altogether,” Murdo said, knocking on Wullie’s door.

“Aye! Her man’s ill and she can’t run the wee shop all on her own.”

They knocked on Wullie’s door and waited expectantly as they heard the key turn in the lock. “Merry Christmas, Wullie,” they said, pressing small gifts into his hands, “Merry Christmas!”

“Come away in,” Wullie said, taking their coats. “Are your feet wet? Look, just put on these slippers.”

Murdo understood the reason for the slippers when Wullie showed him proudly into his brand new living-room.

They stood gaping in complete and utter surprise at the transformation, for Wullie’s living-room had, in the past, been a bit of a black hole. And that, I might add, is being charitable. Now it shone in shades of cream and warm reds. A big plasma TV set stood in one corner and a Christmas tree that reached the ceiling, decorated the other. Christmas decorations hung everywhere and the room was blissfully warm.

“Do you like it?” asked Wullie anxiously. “I’ve stopped smoking, you see,” he said proudly, “and I really had to have the whole place done over. It’s a funny thing but ever since I met the ghosts in the Underground City I haven’t been able to abide the smell of cigarette smoke. Makes me fair sick, it does!”

“But where did you get the money for all this?” demanded Murdo. “It looks as though you’ve spent a fortune!”

“Ocht,” said Wullie reddening, “the wee woman in the shop was a decent body and she said I could take it all on credit and I don’t have to pay anything back until next year!”

Murdo groaned. So Wullie had been conned into buying
it all! “Why didn’t you ask me first, you great idiot?” he said, appalled. “They’ve done you! She gets a whacking commission and you’ve probably sold your soul to a finance company for life. Do you know the interest they charge?”

Wullie shook his head, high finance not being his strong point. “No,” he said, “they didn’t mention that!”

“I bet they didn’t!” growled Murdo. “Well, I’ll go and see what I can do for you although it’s probably too late!”

“Would you like some mulled wine?” Wullie asked, looking at them anxiously.

“Mulled wine?” Tammy Souter said, totally flabbergasted.

“Mulled wine!” Murdo repeated, in much the same tone.

“I was in Sainsbury’s, you see,” Wullie admitted, “and it was on offer!”

“Sainsbury’s!” Murdo’s mind went into overdrive. Wullie in Sainsbury’s when he’d never been beyond the corner shop in his life!

“Well, we’ve been through a bad time what with the robbery going wrong and everything and I thought that … well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it! I wanted you to enjoy it. I’ve got the wine all ready, you know. It’s heating up!”

Murdo and Tammy exchanged looks. It wasn’t the dram they’d expected but they didn’t want to spoil things for Wullie so, forcing a smile, they agreed that mulled wine was just the sort of thing to drink on Christmas Day.

The warmth of the room was having its effect and as they relaxed and looked round, they realized that Wullie really had gone to town in the furniture shop; pictures on the wall,
ornaments
and everything.

“Here we are,” Wullie said, bringing the wine in on a tray. It was steaming and fragrant in posh glasses with silver holders. New as well, thought Murdo, worriedly. What else had the old biddy in the shop managed to sell him?

Two or three glasses of wine later, Murdo was not quite as observant but he still noticed that the generous slices of turkey, the crisp roast potatoes and delicious greens were not of Murdo’s making. The mystery of his new cookery skills, however, was soon solved. Wullie beamed as he watched them eating the turkey hungrily. “Just tell me if you want another helping,” he said casually. “It’s no problem! The packets come frozen and I just have to pop them into my new microwave for a few minutes and they’re ready.”

It wasn’t until they’d had second helpings of turkey and Christmas pudding that they sat back in their chairs and voted it the best meal they’d ever had. It was then that their eyes strayed to the presents, wrapped carefully in bright Christmas paper and decorated with big bows of red ribbon, lying under the Christmas tree. Neither Murdo nor Tammy had thought it good manners to mention them although they were sure that Wullie would have a couple there for them.

Wullie opened his gifts first. Murdo had given him a pair of gloves and Tammy had bought him a scarf. Wullie beamed at them. “Just what I needed,” he confessed, delightedly. “The weather’s been that bad lately.”

Murdo and Tammy Souter sat up expectantly as he staggered over with a box from under the tree. “There are two for you, Murdo,” he said, his face slightly red with exertion, “and these two,” he said, hauling them over the carpet towards Tammy, “are yours!”

He watched them tear the paper. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, smiling broadly, “but I’ve given you both the same thing.”

It couldn’t be chocolates, Murdo thought, ruling out that option immediately; chocolates didn’t come in such huge boxes. What on earth could be inside them?

Then the banknotes spilled out onto the brand new red
carpet
. Hundreds of them! Thousands of them! Tammy tore the
wrappers off the second present and there were more.

Wullie sat back in his chair and watched them with a huge grin on his face. This was his moment! He knew they thought him thick and most of the time he agreed with them. But this time he hadn’t been thick! He’d been clever!

Murdo jumped to his feet, flinging banknotes in all
directions
. “Wullie! You great idiot! How did you do it?” he shouted.

Tammy sat, utterly thunderstruck, sifting the notes through his fingers. “They’re all used and they’re all fifties,” he muttered, looking up at Wullie in awe. “There’s a fortune here!”

The rest of the afternoon, needless to say, was spent
counting
the notes — lovingly, one by one.

“You see, I remembered what you told me, Murdo,” Wullie explained, totally overcome by the praise they heaped on him. “I remembered you said that the folk in the pub would be suspicious if I walked through with a bin-liner full of cash so I stuffed all my clothes with as many banknotes as I could and just walked out. It was easy and not one of the coppers in the High Street stopped me on the way home or anything!” he said, beaming proudly.

“You carried all this money in your
coat?
” queried Murdo doubtfully, looking at the number of notes that littered the carpet.

Wullie looked at it, too, and frowned. “I must have done,” he said, shaking his head. “When I emptied my pockets there … there just always seemed more to come. I wondered at the time …”

“It must have been magic,” laughed Tammy Souter, not realizing how close he was to the truth. “Relax, Wullie, they’re all genuine and they’re all ours! What a Christmas this is!!”

“Wullie,” Murdo said, sincerity ringing in his voice, “Wullie, you’re a genius!”

“What are we going to do with it?” Tammy said. “What
about a holiday in the south of France — or even Spain? Come on, lads, the three of us together!”

“That’s a great idea,” Murdo agreed, his eyes shining in his thin face.

Wullie, however, didn’t seem so keen. “Well, you see,” he said, “I’ve spent a lot of mine already on this furniture and stuff and I was thinking that with the rest of it I might buy Mrs Ramsay’s wee shop.”

“And sell sweeties?” Tammy said sharply. “Don’t be a fool! She’s been there for years and hasn’t made a decent living out of it yet!”

“I wasn’t thinking of selling sweeties,” Wullie said, shaking his head. “I was thinking of starting one of these tourist shops that sell postcards and souvenirs and the like. They do a roaring trade all the year round and I’ve been making a bit selling them things, too.”

“You’ve been
selling
them things? Nicked things, you mean?”

“No, Murdo, not nicked things. Things I made.” He looked a bit embarrassed as he went over to the windowsill and picked up an ornament. “These,” he said. “The tourists snap them up. Honest they do!”

Murdo held the pottery ornament in his hand. It was the Loch Ness monster and it was beautifully made. “When on earth did you start making these?” Murdo asked in surprise, turning it over in his hands.

“A while ago,” Wullie confessed. “You know that I always carry a big lump of plasticine in my pocket in case I have to make impressions of keys in a hurry, don’t you? Well, if I was ever bored I used to take it out and make models out of it. A chap in one of the shops told me I had a real knack for it and should go to Night School so that I could make things properly, out of clay. I didn’t say anything to you, Murdo, ’cos I thought you’d laugh at the idea of me going to Night School but, well,
I went and I had a great time and learned how to make things for the shops.”

Murdo and Tammy looked at Wullie with real respect. It was only Murdo, however, who appreciated the effort it must have cost Wullie to approach the Night School on his own.

“You know, I think Wullie’s right,” Tammy Souter said slowly. “Running a shop’s not a bad idea. We could all put in a share. It’ll take a bit of cash to buy it and do it up — and then there’d be stock to buy, but I reckon it would be a going concern in no time.”

“Wullie,” they said, turning to a delighted Wullie, “you’re a genius!”

And, as it turned out, Wullie
was
a genius. From his original reproductions of the Loch Ness monster he swiftly progressed to bigger and better things. His spectacularly tall, fantastic castles are now collectors’ pieces and his work is well-known throughout the length and breadth of Scotland.

Tammy and Murdo, it should be said, have settled to being respectable members of the community and although the shop’s profits are split evenly three ways, they nevertheless make a good living out of it for it’s always full of tourists who are enchanted at the wonderful selection of Scottish
mementoes
that fill the shelves.

If they are ever at the top of the High Street, Neil and Clara pop in to chat with Wullie who remembers them from the time they got lost in the Underground City. Being a good sort, he has never said a word to them about the ghosts because he thinks it might frighten them. It was on one of those occasions, when Neil and Clara were in his shop browsing for a present for their parents’ anniversary, that they heard a familiar voice.

“Mr Lafferty,” Clara said, looking up in delight. “How are you?”

“I hear that you’ve been a massive success in America,” Neil said, shaking his hand. “A star!”

Matt Lafferty nodded. “It was really because of the pantomime,” he said, “just one of those amazing things. Someone in the
audience
liked my style and I havena looked back since. Contracts just keep pouring in!” Neil and Clara looked at one another and smiled; the MacArthur, or more likely, the Sultan, had probably
had a hand in it.

Lafferty’s eyes sharpened and he lifted his eyebrows
enquiringly
as he caught sight of the ornament Clara had chosen for her parents — for there, on the counter, sat a beautifully crafted Loch Ness Monster.

“Oh, aye,” he said, “what have we here, then?”

There was a silence as they looked at one another.

“It’s a present for our parents,” Neil explained
uncomfortably
.

“It’s their anniversary,” Clara added.

“It brings back memories, doesn’t it? I’ll maybe buy one for myself,” Lafferty mused, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. “Mind you,” he said, looking at them blandly, “it’s missing something, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Clara asked nervously, her cheeks red.

“Well, it doesn’t have a wee bit scarf hanging from its mouth, does it?”

Clara’s face was a dead giveaway. She blushed again.

“You know, I’d fine like to meet that chap again — the … er, you know, the fellow who played the …
other
Sultan,” Lafferty said, looking at them shrewdly. “He and I got on real well
thegither
. You’ll be seeing him from time to time, will you?”

“Not that often, Mr Lafferty,” Neil said, “but we’ll … we’ll mention it to him when we do.”

Wullie’s face beamed as he wrapped Clara’s parcel. Fancy Matt Lafferty being in his shop!! Just wait till he told Murdo and Tammy. They’d be gutted at missing him!

As Lafferty glanced speculatively round the shop, he found himself relaxing. It had a pleasant, comforting feel to it and idly scanning the multitude of souvenirs that crammed the shelves, his discerning eye quickly told him that it wasn’t all tat. There were some quite artistic pieces among the tartan bits and bobs. He stiffened abruptly as he saw a dragon on one of the shelves,
wings spread, horned head rearing fearsomely and just knew that he had to have it.

“I’ll have this dragon as well,” he said.

He placed it carefully on the counter as Clara took her parcel from Wullie. “It’s a nice dragon,” she said as Wullie lifted it and placed it carefully on another sheet of wrapping paper, “not at all fearsome really.”

“And it’s called Arthur,” Neil added mischievously.

“Funny you should say that,” Wullie said, staring at them in blank surprise. “I’ve always thought of it as Arthur. In my mind, it lives in Arthur’s Seat and guards a heap of treasure.”

Neil and Clara looked at one another.

“Perhaps it does,” Neil said, his eyes sparkling as Matt Lafferty’s eyebrows snapped together suspiciously.

“And we won’t forget to mention your name to the Sultan when we next see him,” Clara added seriously as they shook hands with him and waved goodbye.

“That was close,” Neil muttered as the shop door closed behind them. “He suspects an awful lot!”

“What he said was true, though,” Clara observed. “He and the Sultan did hit it off.”

“Maybe we’ll see him in the hill one day, then,” mused Neil, “you never know.”

“I’m glad for Wullie,” Clara remarked as they wended their way down the length of the High Street. “His wee shop is lovely and he always seems to have lots of customers.”

“I’m happy for him too,” answered Neil, “but seeing him and Matt Lafferty together reminds me of Ali Baba and the Underground City. Life’s a bit dull these days now that the pantomime’s over.”

“I shouldn’t worry,” Clara grinned as she waved to Mr MacGregor who was standing at the gates of their school. “Don’t forget that Prince Casimir has invited us to spend half
term at Ardray and we’ll be staying with Lewis in Aberdeen at Easter.”

“That’s true!” Neil’s eyes brightened considerable as he mentally totted up the weeks until half-term.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” Clara mused dreamily. “With the MacArthurs around, life is never dull for long, is it? There always seems to be something happening in the world of magic.”

As they walked down the Canongate, their eyes lifted
involuntarily
to the green slopes of Arthur’s Seat that loomed behind the turreted grandeur of Holyrood Palace.

Clara smiled as she thought of Kabad — for the little goblin now lived in a very comfortable little home on Arthur’s Seat. His eyes had shone with delight at his first view of Dunsapie Loch. High, quiet and secluded, with wonderful views over Edinburgh, it was an ideal spot.

“Think you’ll like living here, then?” Neil had asked him.

Kabad’s long fingers had gripped Clara’s hand so tightly that she’d almost yelped. “Oh, yes!” came the delighted answer.

Archie, Jaikie and Hamish, who had taken an immediate liking to the little water goblin, explored the fringes of the loch with him, looking for a suitable cave or hole in the bank to give him shelter. It was a problem at first as the shoreline was quite open, but with their help, a rickety, disused jetty on the far side of the loch was cunningly converted to incorporate a concealed waterfront residence. Spacious, warm and comfortable, Kabad assures them that, by goblin standards, it is quite definitely palatial.

“We ought to visit Kabad tomorrow and see how he’s
getting
on,” Clara mused, stepping aside to avoid some tourists, clustered around the Scottish Parliament building. “It’s a while since we’ve been up there.”

“Kabad?” said Neil. “Oh, he’s doing all right. Kitor and Cassia visit the loch almost every day and according to them, he’s still as happy as Larry! Spends his time fishing and playing with the ducks, apparently. He says he wouldn’t go back to Loch Ness if you paid him.”

Only a few people have spotted Kabad on the slopes of Arthur’s Seat and then just for seconds. He’s happy and
contented
in his snug little home at the edge of the water, uses his beautiful, new spear to catch fish and finds the ducks, geese and seagulls much nicer company than the spiteful goblins of Nessie’s caves.

In fact, if you are ever up there on a moonlit night, you might be lucky enough to spot him for he always dresses in his best clothes when visiting the MacArthurs — so if by any chance you’re there and see a tiny figure walking by the loch, dressed in an ornate turban and a tunic and trousers of dark purple, shot with gleaming stripes of shiny, glittering gold … well, you’ll know who he is, won’t you? And you’ll know where he’s going …