The Underground City(5)
“So you have,” said Clara, looking up. “Mary King’s Close! I’d forgotten about that!”
“Mary King’s Close?” queried the crow. “Does it still exist?”
“It’s buried underneath the High Street,” Neil explained to the crow. “When the plague came to Edinburgh a lot of the old town was sealed off and new houses were built on top of the old ones. Miss Mackenzie was telling us that there’s a real network of old streets and alleyways under Edinburgh.”
“An Underground City,” Clara breathed. “It’d be great to explore it.”
“I don’t know about that,” frowned her brother. “Graham Flint said that there are closed cellars down there that still have skeletons in them and the Council won’t open them up in case the plague gets out and infects people.”
Clara frowned doubtfully. “Trust Graham to come up with something like that,” she said. “It is supposed to be haunted, though, isn’t it? The newspapers were full of it when the Close first opened. Lots of people said they were pushed by invisible hands!”
“I’d forgotten that,” said Neil, sitting up straight, his brown eyes gleaming with excitement. “I think I’ll wear my firestone tomorrow! Then, if there are any ghosts, I might be able to see them!”
Kitor shifted uncomfortably on his claws. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” the crow said seriously. “Ghosts and magic don’t really mix. Ghosts are spirits of the dead, you know; they’re not magic people like the MacArthurs and they could harm you.”
Clara looked at Kitor doubtfully but, even as she did so, she knew that Neil wouldn’t take the crow’s advice. The thought of being able to see ghosts had brought a sparkle to his eyes and although he laughed and said he didn’t believe in them, she was quite sure that he would wear his firestone to school the next day.
3. Mary King’s Close
“I tell you, he can see us,” Mary King snapped in exasperation. “His eyes have been following us around ever since he came into the Close.”
The ghosts eyed one another uncertainly. “But, Mistress King, how can he see us? He’s just a boy and he’s human. How can he see us when the others can’t?”
“How should I know?” Mary King replied. “I only know that he can.”
“Could he help us sort out the other lot, do you think?” muttered a ghost, known to all and sundry as “the old Codger.”
“You mean Murdo and Wullie?” Mary King looked serious as she turned her mind to this other, more pressing, problem.
“Well,” the old Codger pointed out reasonably. “We’ve tried everything in our power to get rid of them, haven’t we? Pushing them around, freezing them solid, the lot … and nothing’s made any difference. They still come back every night.”
A pretty, young ghost twirled a lock of hair around her long fingers. “At least this boy might be able to talk to them,” she pointed out.
“Clarinda’s right,” agreed Mr Rafferty, a tall ghost who sported a curly white wig and a suit of elegant gold brocade. “I think we should ask him if he can do anything. Murdo and Wullie are getting just a wee bit too close to the Plague People for my liking!”
This produced a fearful silence as they looked at one another in horror, for the Plague People were something else. Each and every ghost knew that should the drifting, boil-encrusted horrors escape from their sealed prisons in the Underground City, they would not only infect the people of Edinburgh with the Black Death but they themselves would be affected and fade away completely. The ghosts, shuddering at the thought of losing what was left of their substance, turned questioningly to Mary King.
“As you say, Mr. Rafferty, they are getting too close,” she said, pondering the matter. “I suppose we could talk to this boy. At least it’s worth a try!”
And with that, all the ghosts turned and looked at Neil speculatively.
Neil looked back at them and shivered. He had seen their lips moving and although he was too far away to hear what they were saying, he could guess that they were talking about him. They must have realized that he could see them. He swallowed hard. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all to wear his firestone, for from the moment he’d stepped into Mary King’s Close, he had been able to see the ghosts perfectly and they scared the living daylights out of him. He hadn’t really given much thought to what it would be like to see a ghost, nor had he had any concrete idea of what a ghost might actually look like. He’d supposed, again vaguely, that perhaps they’d be the sort of drifting white shapes he’d seen in films but the reality took his breath away. They were awful.