by Matt Whyman
“It does?” Yoshi is as surprised to discover he’s wearing two tags as he is to learn he has a number as well as a name. He finds the plates with his fingers, and looks down his nose to examine them. Several digits are engraved on the second plate, he discovers: an eleven and a twenty-three.
“What’s that all about then, Yoshi 5?”
“Search me.” The boy spreads his palms wide. “I’m totally lost.”
“Then allow me to conduct a short tour.” With a swaggering spin, Billy No-Beard returns to the open hatch. “Don’t be scared. You’re safe as houses inside this tub.”
Cautiously, Yoshi steps over the threshold and into the blinding light. With his head still throbbing, it actually hurts to look around, but it seems he’s in a corridor lined with plumbing pipes and pressure gauges, air vents and bare wires. The metal decking clanks with every step, while his roller-blading guide rumbles on noisily ahead.
“Mind your head,” warns Billy as he sweeps left and hops through an open hatchway, though there’s no danger of Yoshi connecting with the pipes.
Even if he did, the boy thinks to himself, it couldn’t make his headache much worse. “Where am I?” he asks.
Billy is waiting for him, one boot tipped onto the toe brake. “This is the Galley, where I do the cooking.”
Yoshi scans the surfaces and sink. “What about washing up?” he asks, unable to ignore the piles of dirty pots, dishes and half-finished noodle cartons.
“It’s a problem,” agrees Billy, only to move on before Yoshi can press him to explain what a place like this is doing way below street level. “Over there is the canteen, and through these doors here is the central ladder. It’ll take you to the showers, which it seems you badly need,” he adds, wrinkling his nose. “The sleeping quarters are on the same floor, while the lower level houses the Engine Room. It’s totally self-powered and blast-proof, with no reason to shut down for centuries. I believe she’s been producing light, power and hot water for over twenty years now. I’d show you round myself but I’ve only just laced on my wheels for the day. Unless you want to give me a piggyback down two flights and back again, you’ll just have to take my word for it: this old tub is entirely shipshape.”
“Are we in a submarine?”
“Don’t be silly. We’re smack bang under the heart of London. Ask me something sensible. You do have questions, don’t you?”
“Erm, lots actually,” says Yoshi, still amazed that such a space could even exist. He looks up, hoping for an explanation, but his guide has gone again.
“Keep up, Yoshi 5! As you can see I am way behind on domestic duties!”
The boy pops his head back into the central corridor, sees Billy turning circles at the far end before vanishing into another room. With a sigh Yoshi heads in his direction, trying hard to ignore the nagging sense that he is not alone down here with his guide. It’s the way the hairs on his neck have started to needle that makes him think he’s being watched. Nursing the back of his head still, he wonders when his memory will stop swimming with so many question marks.
“Will you please slow down and tell me what’s going on!” he demands, finally catching up with his skate-happy guide. In response Billy turns to face him, and then simply steps to one side. What Yoshi sees still doesn’t explain why he’s here, but it’s enough to stop him in his tracks.
“Oh boy,” he declares. “It’s mission control.”
The room is filled with monitors and radars, arranged in rows and facing a big screen on the far wall. There are complicated-looking control panels at each post. Some are blinking wildly, and walkie-talkie chatter can be heard from a speaker somewhere.
“This is the Bridge,” says Billy with a note of pride. “The command post on our humble bucket.”
The equipment looks very old indeed, but everything appears to be working fine. Yoshi scans all the monitors, in awe at the sheer scale of the space. Some screens switch between shots of fog-bound street corners and junctions, plazas and station entrances, while others are frozen on what looks like the same video game.
“Do you play?” asks Billy, stepping up to one monitor now, and offering him the handset. “We’ve got beat-’em-ups, drive-’em-ups, shoot-’em-ups, boot-’em-ups, sing-’em-ups and stealth-’em-ups. You’ll find every kind of up down here, in fact. But I warn you, I’m hot when I’m on a roll. I’m Lord of the Light Gun Game and the Virtual Skate Czar, natch.” He studies his nails, buffs them on his shirt. “What do you say? Let me challenge you to a round of High Seas 4: Storm Warning.”
“I don’t want to play games!” insists Yoshi, his patience thinning. “Just tell me how I can get out.”
Billy No-Beard seems surprised at his response. He tips his head to one side, as if perhaps that might help him understand Yoshi better. “Just a quick round?” he suggests, lifting an eyebrow hopefully.
“No!”
“I’ll let you go first.”
“This is ridiculous,” Yoshi declares, and winces as his skull tells him to keep a lid on the volume. He touches one temple, his memory still blank as the moment he came round on a bed of bin bags. “Right now my whole life feels like it’s been turned upside down.”
“Then welcome to our world, Yoshi 5.”
The boy looks up smartly, if only to confirm that what’s just been said hasn’t come from Billy.
“There’s someone behind me,” he suggests, appealing to his guide to help him out, “isn’t there?”
With his lips flattened white, Billy simply motions with his finger for Yoshi to turn around. It’s been a night of surprises for the boy, but finding several dozen urchins standing in a crescent at his heels is enough to make him jump. What’s more, in the middle stands a striking old man who must’ve appeared in a puff of smoke. He’s wearing a long and colourful patchwork coat, and his hair and beard are as wild as they are white. With his broad nose and brow, Yoshi is reminded of some wise and stately lion. Judging by the wrinkles that bracket his china blue eyes, he could be one hundred years old or more.
“You’ve come a long way,” the man says with a smile. “We’re delighted you could drop in!”
3
OUR KIND OF MAGIC
“Who on earth are you?” asks Yoshi, his surprise overshadowing all fear.
The man steps forward and offers his hand. He’s beaming at the boy now, pleased with what he sees. “My name is Julius. Julius Grimaldi.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” says Yoshi, remembering his manners, if nothing else.
“Oh, no need to be so formal! Just call me Julius, and we shall call you Yoshi. We’ll even do away with that number of yours to help you feel at home. If you’re as lost as you look, consider us your new family.”
“Thank you,” says Yoshi, taken aback by such hospitality, “but I really should be returning to wherever it is I’ve come from.”
The old man seems genuinely surprised. “You’re free to leave, as is everyone, but it can be a jungle up there. We find that kids who stumble upon us tend to be in need of some shelter for a while. You might as well stick around until your head feels a bit better. Make yourself comfortable, dear boy. If there’s anything you need, I’m sure we can conjure it up.”
“Are you a wizard?” blurts Yoshi, and immediately wishes that he hadn’t when the boys and girls behind him giggle and titter among themselves. None of them look like apprentices, he realises belatedly, even though the man is dressed like some master magician. Apart from Billy No-Beard, most are sporting worn-out skate gear, hippy rags, chopped up punk haircuts and army surplus accessories. It’s a strange combination, almost tribal, but somehow he feels safe in their company.
“Don’t believe everything you read in books,” says Julius, chuckling to himself. “If I could cast a spell do you think I’d be stuck here? Those bars you squeezed through are wide enough for skinny-ribbed kids maybe, but it would take a miracle for a man of my size to climb out of there.”
“You make it sound like you’
re a prisoner,” says Yoshi.
Julius smiles at the suggestion. “I have my own ways of escaping,” is all he adds. “Besides, dear boy, it doesn’t matter where you’re holed up. The mind is always free to roam.”
At this, one of the kids in the background rolls his eyes and circles a finger around his temple. Yoshi tries hard not to giggle, but it’s enough for the old man to surface from his thoughts. He looks a little bashful, as if perhaps he knows he’s alone with this outlook on life, and then recovers to step back with a flourish.
“By way of introduction,” he announces, beaming down at the rag-tag pack, “why don’t you all show our guest your kind of magic?”
Even before he has stepped aside, a plume of emerald-green flame shoots up from the open doorway. Yoshi jumps with a start and shields his face. When he dares to look again, a thick mist has enveloped the room – and yet none of the kids have scattered.
In fact, they all appear to be floating some centimetres above the ground.
“Hey!” he cries, looking up and around for an explanation. “How are they doing that?”
Julius Grimaldi is standing away from them now, with Billy still sulking at his side. “My crew like to make an impression,” says Julius proudly. As he speaks, the hovering band of kids with him spreads out, until Yoshi is entirely surrounded. He turns in amazement, giddy with shock, stunned all the more when they begin to switch fireballs over his head. He wheels around, barely able to take it all in, even when Julius commands them to stop.
“The boy’s been through enough for one night,” he tells them. “Give him some space now.”
With a gentle patter of feet, this circle of angels comes back to earth. Yoshi continues to turn, staring in amazement at one kid after another. It really is too much for his head to take in, from the bump in the cellar to the spectacle he’s just witnessed before his very own eyes.
“I think I should lie down,” he says weakly, and begins to spin out completely. This time, however, someone is there to catch him when he falls.
During the 1980s, when today’s adults were school-kids, the world lived under threat of total war. Nuclear bombs were the weapon of choice, designed to wipe out millions with a single blast. Thankfully, it never happened. Even so, government leaders and army generals in every country made preparations to protect themselves and survive – just in case one side or the other tried to turn the earth into a smouldering lump of space rock. First of all, they made a big show of their weaponry, like that would calm the situation. Then they built themselves bunkers – underground command posts where they could take cover if it all kicked off. Mercifully, everyone woke up to the fact it would be a conflict nobody could win, and concentrated instead on sorry-looking hairstyles and get-rich quick schemes.
As for the bunkers, many were simply boarded up and forgotten over time. Such was the pace of development on the surface that these reinforced hideaways became lost to the world above: just another leftover from a bygone age. But like any fossil, buried in seams underground, there will always be someone with an interest in uncovering the past.
For an urban explorer by the name of Julius Grimaldi, the discovery of one such space below London must’ve been like striking gold.
To the untrained eye, the vent Julius had uncovered at the dead end of the alley seemed unremarkable. What persuaded him to investigate was the military blueprint in his possession, and a desperate need to keep it out of the wrong hands. He may have been younger at the time, but nowhere near as slight as Billy or that strange troupe in there with him. For any grown up, the squeeze between the bars would’ve been an almighty challenge. Nobody willingly forced themselves through such a narrow space that they suffered cracked ribs in the process, so Julius must’ve known there was no going back. Then again, like all the ragamuffins and runaways who would come and go while they could, the safety on offer was worth more to him than anything in the world.
Right now, many years after Julius first claimed this space for London’s lost children, this very same bunker is home to a new arrival. There he is in the Sick Bay on the second floor, down opposite the sleeping quarters. With a flutter, his eyes open. He blinks, and slowly focuses on the presence watching over him.
“Yoshi’s with us once more,” says Billy No-Beard. “Let’s hope some sleep has persuaded him to find his feet on the dance mat. I had to take my blades off so I could carry him down the ladder, so a quick game of Shake It All Over is the least he can do for me now.” Billy’s comment is met with a sigh, followed by a playful cuff around the head. “That hurt!” he cries out, and glares across at a lad with spiked red hair and a nose ring.
Vaguely, Yoshi recognises him from the welcoming party that had gone on to take his breath away. He strains to lift his head from the pillow, thinking perhaps he might glimpse feathery wings between his shoulder blades.
“Play nice, Mikhail,” says Billy, repositioning his bandanna now. “It’s the first rule of gaming. Respect your opponent, win or lose.”
“Billy, go tell Julius that Yoshi has come round, and then fix up a bowl of won ton soup.” Every word that leaves Mikhail’s mouth sounds like it has been clipped and put through a roller. He has an ice-cold accent that leaves Yoshi thinking of old spy movies. “Our comrade here needs nourishing food to get strong again. Not stupid games.”
“Stupid?” Billy covers his mouth, shocked to the core, it seems. “How dare you talk about gaming like that? You’re only bitter because you were begging for mercy last time we played Fencing Master Mayhem.”
“Just find old Julius,” says Mikhail, more forcefully this time. “There is a time for games, and a time for you to vanish.” He jabs a thumb at the door. “Why don’t you practise your disappearing act?”
“OK, OK, I’m going. There’s no need to be so rude!” Flushing angrily, Billy No-Beard breaks for the central stairwell. “Mikhail is from Siberia,” he says to Yoshi on the way out, like that will explain everything – and not just his thick Russian accent. “It’s a cruel and savage place, by all accounts.”
Billy turns and slams the hatch behind him. Mikhail shrugs, but Yoshi has just one question on his mind.
“How did you guys do that thing?” he asks.
Mikhail wrinkles his nose, making the ring through it twinkle under the lights. “What thing is that?” he asks, clearly playing with Yoshi. “You mean levitating?”
“What else! It isn’t every day I see a whole bunch of people hover in the air.”
“Don’t believe everything you see, Yoshi.”
“But you lifted off the ground and span around until I saw stars!”
“I’m sorry if we shocked you. Judging by the narrow escape you made last night, it’s clear you’d been through a lot.” Mikhail comes forward to inspect Yoshi’s head. “That bump is a beauty.”
Yoshi feels for the bruise and winces. “It’s unlike me to take such a bad tumble,” he says.
“Yeah? Why is that?”
Yoshi frowns, looking at a point between them. “Do you know what? I can’t remember.”
“Maybe you were just unlucky,” Mikhail suggests. “Who was that guy chasing you, anyhow? The one with the big white fur coat and the pocketful of surprises?”
Yoshi stares at him blankly, then shakes his head.
“You really have lost all memory,” sighs the Russian boy. “Julius has high hopes it’ll all come back to you soon. He was the one who first spotted you on the screens, in fact. Making a dash from Piccadilly Circus. Personally, I didn’t think you’d make it with that beast breathing down your neck. The way you escaped impressed us all. It proved you can survive by your wits. It means you’ll fit in nicely, if you choose to stay.”
Yoshi looks at the ceiling light, trying hard to tune back into whatever it is he left behind in the world above. “Maybe I should just report myself missing to the police,” he suggests. “Someone must be wondering where I am.”
“There’s certainly one individual who’d be pleased to
see you, but judging from last night I doubt he has your best interests at heart.”
“But what about family? I must have one somewhere.”
“In this city,” says Mikhail with a sigh, “Missing Persons posters go up every day. Believe me, a lot of us like to keep one eye on them. It’s our way of knowing if anyone is out there looking for us.”
“Like parents?” asks Yoshi, perking up now.
Mikhail shrugs. “Mostly we’re not wanted, but if your face does happen to show up you’ll be the first to know. For the moment, though, you’re safer down here with us.”
“So who are you?” asks Yoshi, sitting up now. “More importantly,” he mutters to himself, “who am I?”
Mikhail shrugs again, snaps his fingers and a deck of cards appear miraculously in his hand. “Let me read your mind,” he says, grinning now. He fans the pack face out and lets Yoshi see them for himself. “Take a card,” he offers. “Don’t show me, but focus on it hard. Let me pick up on your thoughts. It might even tell us some surprises about you.”
Yoshi frowns suspiciously, but does as he is told. He selects the ace of clubs, but doesn’t blink or betray any sign that Mikhail might detect.
“What now?” he asks.
“Return it to the pack. Anywhere you like.” With the card handed back as requested, the Russian boy sets about cutting the deck at random. Finally, he spreads all fifty-two cards into a fan, studies them for a blink, and causes one to wiggle outwards. “The ace of clubs.” He turns it to show the boy. “Is this the one you picked?”
Yoshi looks from Mikhail to the card and back to him again. “OK, so how did you do that?”
Mikhail pockets the deck. “First rule of street magic,” he says. “Never pull the same trick twice. The first time, people want to be amazed. Second time, suspicion takes over. You need to leave them spellbound, not wise to your ways.”
“Are you suggesting I’m supposed to learn this stuff?”
“Another good reason to stick around!” Mikhail pauses to help him off the bed and onto his feet. “Every kid who can fit through the bars goes out with the tricks of the trade. Old Julius doesn’t have much time for our kind of magic. Even so, he knows it’s a sure-fire way to earn some pennies from the tourist hotspots around town. He supplies the shelter. We bring in the food and the charts or whatever it is he requests.”
