A strong undercurrent of excitement ran through the little group as, later that evening, they sat round the MacArthur’s chair. How often, Clara thought as she sat with Kitor on her shoulder, had they sat like this in the past, sprawled on cushions and low divans listening to the MacArthur. Arthur, the great dragon, lay beside them, occasionally blowing gusts of roaring, sparkling flame across the cavern, for the huge hall was still fairly cold, despite the glowing braziers that had been dotted here and there.
“I’ve told the Sultan everything,” explained the MacArthur, looking round the assembled company. “Needless to say, he’s not best pleased that Casimir has managed to escape.”
“Is he coming here,” queried Hamish, “to the hill?”
A sudden silence fell as the MacArthur nodded. “He plans to come tomorrow evening to sort things out.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help!” Sir James said frankly. “And if we can somehow get Casimir to leave Lewis before the Sultan arrives, then so much the better. As it happens, I’ve already invited the Grants backstage after the show.”
“Lewis told us,” nodded Neil. “We met him at the ice rink in Princes Street Gardens and he’s looking forward to seeing us again, isn’t he Clara? I’m sure we could find some excuse to get him to leave his mum and dad. We could show him our dressing-room, or something. Then you could talk to him on your own, Sir James, and tell him that the MacArthur wants to talk to him. What do you think, Dad?” he asked, turning to his father.
“A good idea,” the Ranger nodded.
“It might be managed,” the Chief Constable said thoughtfully.
“He’s a wily old bird, is Casimir,” the MacArthur interrupted. “I reckon he’ll play things by ear. After all, he tried to get into the hill to speak to me, didn’t he? He’ll take you up on it all right, James — to see what I have to offer, if nothing else.”
Jaikie looked doubtful. “Do we have anything to offer?” he queried.
The MacArthur looked grim. “I think,” he said, “that the Sultan might be willing to pardon Prince Casimir now that he has his crown back.”
“Great!” Archie looked relieved and Arthur blew an approving cloud of smoke from his nostrils that set everybody coughing.
After that, the party broke up and as the magic carpets soared into the air, Kitor flew to the MacArthur’s shoulder to remind him of the ghosts of Mary King’s Close.
The MacArthur nodded and quietly drew the Chief Constable to one side. “The Bank of Scotland on the Mound, Sir Archie,” he said. “I’ve heard a whisper that some bank robbers are interested in cleaning it out.”
Archie Thompson’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “They must be pretty thick, then,” he replied. “It’s not been a working branch for quite a while now.”
“Then you’re not worried about it?”
The Chief Constable shook his head. “It’s a museum these days,” he replied.
“That’s what Neil said,” nodded the MacArthur.
The Chief Constable’s eyes sharpened at the mention of Neil’s name. “Actually, the Bank of Scotland has donated quite a lot of money to Ali Baba. They always contribute to good causes and it so happens that Molly and I are going to see the pantomime tomorrow night with one of the bank’s directors. I’ll … er, sound MacPherson out then.”
19. Overture and Beginners
The Assembly Hall that evening was a scene of hustle and bustle as the cast of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves arrived early and settled nervously in their dressing rooms to apply the layers of make-up and greasepaint that would transform them from solid Scots into the more exotic characters of the pantomime. For the stars who had dressing rooms of their own, this was more or less a routine matter but for the bit-part players it was all new, thrilling and exciting.
Neil and Clara found themselves squashed in the corner of a large room that was totally overcrowded. The brightly-lit stretch of mirrors above the make-up shelf that ran the length of the room added to the confusion, not only reflecting the performers but also rack upon rack of gaudy costumes, magnificent turbans, fancy wigs and those ornate slippers with turned-up toes so popular among the peoples of the east.
“I’ll be lucky if I can keep these slippers on my feet,” muttered Neil, as a make-up artist plastered Clara’s fair skin with what looked like brown gunge. “I’ll have to hold them on with my toes, I think!”
“I saw mum in the wardrobe room. She might be able to give you something to tie round them,” Clara mumbled, trying to keep her lips still as the woman doing her face wielded sticks of make-up and hissed at her not to talk.