The Underground City(55)

Casimir, now at least twenty feet tall, reared from the spout of the little lamp, smoke eddying around him in clouds. He was furiously angry! Angry with Lewis for being idiotic enough to put him in the lamp in the first place, and with Ali Baba for having been fool enough to actually rub the lamp in the second.

Alec Johnston was also furious. He knew that during rehearsals he had made a lot of enemies — jealous, no doubt, at his fantastic performance — and being totally self-centred, didn’t for one second believe that Casimir was real. And who could blame him? Genies, after all, only exist in story books! So it wasn’t entirely his fault that he thought someone was taking the mickey with a vengeance. He’d no idea how they’d managed it but they’d stolen his thunder, ruined his act and made him look a fool; for he gloried in the knowledge that his magnificent entrance was the star moment of the pantomime.

Spitting with fury, he reached out, grabbed the magic lamp from Ali Baba and threw it with all the strength he could muster, into the wings. Seeing it coming, a policeman ducked swiftly but the monstrous slave-merchant standing behind him, wasn’t quite so quick off the mark and the lamp hit him full in the face with considerable force.

Now the slave-merchant, who in the past had been the butt of quite a few of Alec Johnston’s more snide remarks, positively hated the strutting, trumped-up star. When the lamp fell to the floor and he saw who had thrown it, he was not at all amused. A red rage seized hold of him and with a roar of fury he drew his scimitar and, blood streaming down his face from a badly mangled nose, charged onto the stage.

The genie saw him coming and turned quite pale as the mountainous man thundered through the wings towards him. He leapt back and, grabbing a scimitar from the ranks of the Sultan’s Guard, prepared for battle. Heartened by the knowledge that the slave-merchant was no swordsman, he leapt at him bravely enough and, scimitars clashing angrily, they fought their way several times round the stage, into the wings and back again. The Stage Manager, white-faced and horrified, looked close to a nervous breakdown by this time but nobody dared stop the two men who were fighting with deadly passion and deadlier weapons — for the way things were, neither could give way to the other without one of them being beheaded!

Casimir, suddenly deprived of his home in the lamp, had promptly shrunk in size and was now the rather sour, cross old man that Lewis knew so well. He didn’t even see the genie and the slave-merchant fighting around him but only had eyes for the Sultan. As their eyes met, there was a brief clash of wills. Casimir, however, had had all the time in the world to ponder his behaviour when he’d been held captive in the well at Al Antara. He was a changed man and, although puzzled at his sudden passion to own the crown, he had no wish to confront Sulaiman the Red. So, he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. He bowed low to the Sultan who rose to his feet and beckoned him forward.

Neil and Clara, standing on each side of the dais, looked at one another in amazement. “Prince Casimir,” Neil mouthed to Clara, who nodded in agreement for the resemblance between father and son was strong. Knowing the depth of the enmity that existed between the two men, they watched in fascination as the Sultan extended his hand to be kissed; the huge, ruby ring on his finger glowing in the spotlights. Casimir looked the Sultan in the eyes and then knelt before him and kissed his ring. It was a historic occasion in the world of magic. Sir James sat tense with excitement in his seat as he realized its importance and even Matt Lafferty was astute enough to know that this was not acting.

His eyes goggled as, out of the blue, an ornate chair appeared on the dais to the right of the Sultan’s throne. Not quite as grand or as large as the Sultan’s but imposing nevertheless. The Sultan rose and taking Casimir’s hand, sat him graciously beside him.

It was only when the genie and the slave-merchant passed again in furious combat that the Sultan seemed to realize that there was a battle going on under his nose. As the men headed for the wings, he lifted his arm and as he did so, both scimitars suddenly flew into the air and the two men collapsed onto the stage.

The Stage Manager was close to tears. Now what? Would nothing in this pantomime go right? He was furious with Alec Johnston and also quite convinced that by this time the audience, having completely lost the plot, would get up and go home. Worse, however, was to come!

Ever since the magic mirror had disgorged the two goblins onto the stage, Sir James had been waiting for another figure to emerge from its depths. So, to a certain extent, had Neil and Clara, for they, too, had been present on that last terrible day at Ardray when Prince Kalman, in an attempt to escape, had been trapped between mirrors.