The Underground City(51)

The Stage Manager clapped a hand dramatically to his forehead. “Where on earth did they spring from?” he hissed, furiously. “They’re not in the script!”

“What are they?” demanded the Chief Inspector who had been standing at his elbow, scanning the stage for familiar faces. He looked at the monstrous things in disbelief and saw problems looming. The ghosts were bad enough — but monsters as well! His heart sank. They were never going to believe him back at the station!

Matt Lafferty whirled round as the goblins landed with a thump in the middle of the stage, his nose instinctively wrinkling in disgust as the most awful pong hit his nostrils. “Help ma’ bob!” he muttered, totally astounded. He lowered his staff as if to protect the Sultan but could only stare at them in horror for the creatures that had appeared out of nowhere were not only unknown to science, but were also repulsive, stank to the heavens and looked totally ferocious!

Neil and Clara recognized the goblins immediately. So did Lewis, who remembered them from his trip to Ardray. Sir James, too, sat looking totally appalled for he had been responsible for them being in the mirror in the first place. He’d whopped them over the head and chucked them into the mirror the previous year when he’d been trying to get the Sultan’s crown back from Prince Kalman and had certainly never expected to see them again.

The goblins got rather shakily to their feet and peered around, blinded by the stage lights. They were bigger than the average man, a horrid, sickly, green colour with skin that looped in dry, knobbly folds over their bodies. Their eyes were red and savage and their hands and feet ended in huge, sharp claws that were even now opening and closing as they eyed the people round about as though wondering which of them they were going to attack first. The stench was indescribable and yet nobody ran off the stage. Everyone stared, held in a terrible thrall of horror as they watched the creatures grunt and slobber dreadfully from mouths that showed fearsome sets of wickedly curved teeth.

Neil and Clara looked at one another and, with sinking hearts, realized that they were the only ones in a position to do anything. Neil knew, too, that they’d have to try and kill the goblins for there was no way they could let them attack the cast. Their fearsome claws would tear people apart and they wouldn’t stop. They’d attack everyone and everything on stage.

Like the Grand Vizier, Neil turned the staff he was carrying into a spear and gestured to Clara to do the same. The ornamental point was, he knew, made from steel and they’d both had to be careful whilst carrying them for fear of doing someone an injury. “We’ve got to kill them,” he hissed at her.

“Kill them?” Matt Lafferty heard him quite plainly and was horrified. “Are you nuts, or something!” he whispered, totally shaken. “You can’t kill people in the middle of a pantomime! The place is loaded with kids!”

Neil, his face set and determined, looked him in the eye. “We have to,” he replied. “These things aren’t people wearing costumes, they’re goblins! And … and actually, I think you’ll have to do the killing, Mr Lafferty,” he said. “Clara and I don’t have the strength but if we keep one of the goblins occupied, you could spear the other one!”

Matt Lafferty looked over at the two goblins who, recovering from the shock of being so suddenly ejected from the mirror, were making horrible noises and baring their claws and teeth at the crowd. It was the slavering mouths and the gut-wrenching stink of them that finally convinced him that the goblins were for real and, as he nodded to Neil, the jovial comedian of the pantomime, despite his turban, changed into a warrior straight from the film of Braveheart.

The goblins, meanwhile, had spotted the long table at the side of the stage that had been laid out for the village feast. The roast pig, turkeys, haunches of venison and great hams that the Ranger had made with such care, were actually all made of papier-mâché but they looked real and inviting and, as the goblins lumbered gruntingly towards them, arms outstretched hungrily, Neil and Clara ran in front of the table and held them off with their spears while the Grand Vizier made his approach from the rear.

Totally horrified at what was going on, Sir James made to rise from his seat and head backstage when there was a sudden flash, a puff of smoke and a crack of sound that sent the goblins jumping warily backwards. They knew immediately what it meant. It meant that a wizard of some sort had arrived and they stared around to see who, what and where, he was.

Sir James also knew what the crack of sound portended and, scanning the stage swiftly, felt a sense of disappointment creep over him as he saw that no one had appeared and nothing seemed to have changed. Then he noticed Matt Lafferty staring at the Sultan and as he, too, looked at the stately figure on the throne, noticed a subtle difference in him. The Sultan of the pantomime was a tall, thin man and although the clothes were the same, this was by no means the same person. He was heavier and bulkier and as he turned to look into the audience, Sir James sat back in his seat with a sigh of relief as he recognized the stern, dark face beneath the turban. He relaxed thankfully; the Ranger had obviously got to the hill in time and told his story. The Sultan was indeed a Sultan. Their Sultan; Sulaiman the Red.