From then on, the Sultan took charge. As the goblins rushed towards Neil and Clara, he stood up, stretched out his arm and, as an astounded cast watched in amazement, a beam of light crackled towards the goblins. The goblins gave frightful shrieks as the hexes struck home and disappeared in two puffs of vile, green smoke. Neil and Clara, still holding their spears at the ready, looked at the Sultan blankly but as he beckoned them back to the dais they met his eyes and almost laughed with relief. The Sultan had arrived! Everything would be all right now!
The audience had been quick to react to the uncertainty on stage and Sir James could feel the rustle of unease that permeated the theatre. He started to clap loudly and as people half-heartedly joined in, the Sultan bowed low and sent another spell sweeping over the audience. It was a warm, comfortable, reassuring spell that took everyone back to the days of their childhood and the magical thrill of the theatre. As the spell took hold, the clapping became a positive storm of applause and when the pantomime reverted to its original script, everyone settled back happily to enjoy it.
Sulaiman the Red, however, still sat on the throne, overseeing the proceedings with a wary eye. Given the fact that the magic mirror was still on, he was ready for surprises but even he had no idea that Prince Casimir was curled, worried and uncomfortable, inside the magic lamp. Casimir had watched the Sultan hex the goblins and was both disappointed and fearful. Fearful because the Sultan was there at all and disappointed beyond belief because the mirror had not, after all, held his son.
Lewis sat in his seat, absolutely stunned. What on earth was going on? He tried to remember what Casimir had told him about the MacArthurs and the Sultan’s crown but it was all rather mixed up in his mind. He knew, though, that what he had just observed was no stage trick. The Sultan had used magic to make the goblins disappear and surely, he thought, the Sultan in the first act had been thinner?
From then on he sat quivering in his seat knowing that although Casimir had left him, the world of magic still had a few tricks up its sleeve and that perhaps some of them had yet to be played. In this he was quite correct for, as the pantomime progressed, it suddenly dawned on Lewis that the magic lamp, into which he’d so casually deposited Casimir, was actually going to be used and, indeed, seemed to have an important part to play in the plot. And his heart sank as he realized what it would be …
On stage, a relaxed Clara had recovered from the shock of the goblins and was now following the action with amusement. The scene that was coming next, where Ali Baba rubs the lamp and the genie appears, was her favourite part of the show. She was well aware that Alec Johnston was already in place behind a huge pottery jar that stood near her. He was busy hooking the ends of his blue, silk cloak over his fingers so that it would flare out as he made his fabulous leap in front of Ali Baba, when he rubbed the lamp. Eyes sparkling with anticipation, she watched as Ali Baba wandered over to one of the stalls and looked casually at the lamp.
Lewis cringed in his seat and Casimir almost had a heart attack. Surely not, he thought. It couldn’t be. Someone was picking up the lamp!
“Only five piastres, effendi!” the stall-keeper urged brightly, holding out the lamp for Ali Baba to see.
“Five piastres!” Ali Baba repeated in mock horror. “It’s not new! In fact it’s just a battered, old bit of scrap. I’ll give you two piastres for it!”
“Three, effendi,” the stall-keeper pleaded. “Three and it’s yours!”
Ali Baba fished in his pockets and threw three coins down on the stall. “It’s a deal,” he said, taking the lamp and holding it up, “but you might have given it a bit of a polish before you tried to sell it,” he grumbled, breathing on it and rubbing it with his sleeve.
Although the audience had been ready for a bang of some sort they hadn’t reckoned on the roar of sound that resounded throughout the Assembly Hall. They almost leapt from their seats and those on stage jerked backwards, watching in alarmed fascination as a huge puff of smoke spiralled upwards in billowing clouds from the narrow mouth of the lamp. It swirled fantastically and gradually took both shape and form. And there he was, thought Lewis. Old Casimir, himself! The genie of the lamp. And he was absolutely breathtaking!
At much the same time, Alec Johnston had made his less than spectacular entrance; leaping forward, his cloak billowing out nicely behind him, to land at Ali Baba’s feet.
To tell you the truth, nobody much noticed him; for all eyes were fixed on Casimir who, amid billowing clouds of smoke, was now ten feet tall and growing!
24. The Plague People