by Matt Whyman
Yoshi smiles weakly, more concerned by the massive hunks of muscle, sinew and fur that continue to glare and bellow at them. “Follow me to the letter, and we’ll be back in the bunker in no time. I’ll make a parkour of you before daybreak, and that’s a promise!”
“One thing,” adds the boy with the red spiky hair, just as Yoshi prepares to make the break.
“What’s that?”
“You’re not playing tricks with me here, are you?”
Frowning, Yoshi takes a moment to compose himself once more. “When it comes to illusions, you taught me everything I know,” he assures him finally. “Now it’s my turn to teach you what I do best.”
4
Break-out from Bear Mountain
As a rule, people don’t just go to ground without good reason. They head for cover because they’re fearful of being caught, and that’s exactly why Yoshi first squeezed himself between the buckled bars of a vent, at the dead-end of an alley in London’s Chinatown. He didn’t do it through curiosity, and nobody dared him to duck out of sight. The boy went down in desperation.
It’s for this reason exactly that Yoshi cannonballs into the fence surrounding the bear’s enclosure. With his hands and feet spread wide, he slams down into the chain link so forcefully that metallic ripples fan out in both directions. For a moment Yoshi just hangs there by his fingertips, panting hard, before finding a toehold as well. He glances down, judges himself to be about ten feet from the moat, upon which the water below simply detonates.
“Mikhail?” he calls down, “are you OK?”
The head and shoulders that surface, spluttering and draped in weed, looks more like a creature from the deep than a boy who has just attempted his first jump run. “That was the dumbest thing I have ever tried in my life!” he yells, and attempts to wade for the outer bank. “Now I’m scared and soaked through!”
Yoshi chuckles, but concern returns to his expression when he sees the dark shapes barrelling down the mountain slope towards them. “Get out of there, Mikhail!” he yells. “Get out as fast as you can!”
The first bear disappears from sight behind the rock fall at the foot of the mountain, only to come bounding over the boulders moments later. The sight of the great beast is enough to send Mikhail scrambling up the fence towards Yoshi, who leads the way to the top.
“Where do we go from here?” asks Mikhail, dripping wet but clearly relieved. The bears crash into the shallows behind them, bellowing at the boys, but it’s clear they know the chase is up.
Yoshi clamps one forearm around the top of the fence, and directs his friend to do likewise. The two of them are just above the tree canopy now, with a view of several more cages and enclosures. Their flight from the mountain summit has not gone unnoticed, however. Judging by the growling, chattering and squawking, every single mammal and bird has locked onto the presence of the two boys. They glance at one another nervously. For it isn’t the screeching and roaring that alarms them, but the sound of humans shouting, and the sight of several torch beams sweeping through the park towards them.
“I think it’s time we took this jump running session to another level,” says Yoshi, with a twinkle in his eye.
Mikhail groans, aware that he has no choice now but to clamber onto the ridge of the fence as Yoshi does, and then spring into the tree canopy.
At the same time, way below, the first keepers race around the walkway leading to the bears’ enclosure. There, they turn to one another with their flashlights, unsure what has enraged the big grizzlies, and caused such uproar all around. Suddenly and without warning, the branches in the oaks behind them clash and sway. One of the keepers trains his torchlight into the canopy. He glimpses telltale movement up there, and immediately reaches for his walkie-talkie to report what must be two monkeys on the loose.
Yet more keepers arrive on the scene within seconds, as do security guards and their dogs. This drama only serves to excite the animals further. The chimps in their cage switch back and forth between the bars, which makes a head count just impossible. The handler tries his level best, but their glee at what’s unravelling is overwhelming. When one cheeky chap steals the key fob from the poor man’s belt, and scampers for the cage door, it’s clear that the zoo is in chaos.
Fortunately, no matter how bad things get for the keepers, any serious breakdown in law and order could never spread out across the capital. Even with the mischievous chimp opening padlocks all around the zoo, the runaway animals will be rounded up in no time. Indeed, thanks to some careful planning by the city’s founding fathers, there is nothing that can leave London in ruins. It means the citizens can sleep soundly in their beds, blissfully unaware that a protective system of ley lines encircles them. Spanning north, south, east and west, this long-forgotten subterranean force field has been in existence since the time of the druids. By harnessing the earth’s natural energy, and forging it into a sacred formation around the heart of the city, it is said that great evil is prevented from entering. A wolf may have just slipped into the streets surrounding the zoo, while a cloud of bats spiral up by the bird house, but there’s nothing sinister about their presence. A big net, some tranquiliser darts, a sure aim and several hours stalking time should ensure that peace is restored to the streets. Unfortunately, no such strategy would stop the kind of menace kept at bay by what is known in some circles as the Faerie Ring. Imagine an electric fence, shaped into a star with seven points and powered by hocus pocus, and you’d be halfway to understanding how it worked. This wasn’t rocket science, after all, but a primitive force harnessed so the capital within could thrive.
Seven waypoints stake out this mystical design. Upon each waypoint stands a church, built by a seventeenth century architect and visionary by the name of Nicholas Hawksmoor. If Yoshi wasn’t currently creeping over the dome of the zoo’s tea-rooms, with Mikhail close behind, he could’ve explained all this himself. For the boy isn’t just gifted in the high-flying art of parkour which is a necessity now that a cheetah has just prowled onto the walkway and persuaded the wardens to scatter - he’s in possession of a psychic talent, too. It’s one that operates on the same level as the energies coursing through the ley lines beneath the streets of London. By tapping into the waypoints in the Faerie Ring, a kid this well connected could be quite a catch for anyone with designs to direct the city’s destiny – especially if they had mischief in mind.
Given his gift, it’s no surprise that the poor boy had been forced to take flight through Chinatown some months earlier. Someone had been after him. Someone big and brooding. Whoever it was didn’t look like a man who had Yoshi’s best interests at heart. The sanctuary that he discovered underground, a hideout for renegade young street magicians, proved to be his making. Mikhail might’ve shown him the way when it came to misdirection and illusion, but right now it’s Yoshi’s turn to show him a trick or two. The parkour and his apprentice are bound to find a way out of the zoo soon, as will the stampede of wild animals. And like the buffalo and wildebeest, the camels, giraffes, elephants and meerkats that go on to make up this menagerie, Yoshi and Mikhail will do what comes naturally in a hostile environment and hide out where it’s safe.
5
Early birds
When day breaks over any city, the high-rise buildings are first to catch the morning sun. Light detonates from the windowpanes, turning drab skyscrapers into monumental golden needles. For a short time, until the sun tips over the lower rooftops and spills into the avenues, it can completely change the way you look at your surroundings.
“What’s going on? Is someone playing tricks with the picture?”
The kid with the question is gawping at a wall-mounted screen. He’s sitting in a raised swivel chair at the back of a low-lit, windowless chamber furnished by banks of monitors and control panels. At every station sits a young punk hard at work. Some peck away at their keyboards, others speak quietly into headsets with tiny mouth pieces, but all look up at the boy’s bidding. It looks like some kind of M
ission Control, except the big screen doesn’t show some rocket on a launch pad, but an elevated shot of Trafalgar Square at the crack of dawn.
This is the wide open heart of London, with stately buildings on every side and the statue of Nelson’s Column presiding over the two famous fountains. Tourists flock here like the pigeons they’re no longer allowed to feed, but it’s too early for visitors. Had anyone been around, however, they too would be marvelling at the sight that greeted them. Indeed, from his remote vantage point, thanks to a sneaky patch into London’s traffic camera network, the boy in the swivel chair is able to summon several different shots of the square. Even in this early morning light, they all paint the same dazzling picture.
“Whoever is fooling around with the colour balance please stop it immediately. We all know pigeons aren’t pink!”
“The colour balance is fine.”
“So what’s with the pigeons? They’re not born the colour of candyfloss!”
“Um, they’re not pigeons.”
“Eh?”
“They’re flamingos, by the look of them. Pink flamingos.”
“I knew that,” says the boy at the command seat sheepishly. He pauses to watch a flock take wing from the water, and then returns his attention to the kid who has just corrected him. “But what are they doing in Trafalgar Square?”
“There’s more.”
“More flamingos?”
“More trouble.”
The lad at the helm is called Billy No-Beard. If the team obeying his orders look better suited to skate parks and street corners than they do to this command post, Billy’s own outfit wouldn’t look out of place on the high seas. He’s wearing a stiff-collared shirt, thrown open at the throat, with a black waistcoat and a buckle belt around his jeans. A silver hoop earring hangs from one lobe, and he can’t stop tweaking his pencil thin moustache and the little tuft just under his lower lip. Fortunately, we’re not on the bridge of a boat but in a decommissioned military bunker under Chinatown. If this three-storey crate were ocean-going, and not embedded beneath the city streets, then Billy would have more of a problem standing than he does now. For this unique-looking individual, in temporary charge of a crew of young street magicians, is also wearing rollerblades.
“Bring it on then, Eagle Eyes,” he calls up to the young operative who alerted him to the flamingos. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The kid in question sports a bleached mohawk. It fans from his forehead to the nape of his neck, and doesn’t even wobble as he nods to accept the order.
“Brace yourselves!” The operative’s fingers flit across the keyboard, but he keeps his eyes fixed to the big screen. At his bidding, the image of Trafalgar Square shrinks into one corner to accommodate a grid of camera shots. The kid with the mohawk selects one, and expands a view of a broad avenue. “We’re on the east side of the square, sir, looking up The Strand.”
“It’s flamingo-free, as far as I can see. Not a lot of traffic around either, which is weird for this time in the morning. What’s happened to the rush hour?”
“Let me zoom in,” says the kid, “and you can see for yourself.”
At this, the view on the screen begins to close in towards the far end of The Strand. As it does so, the cars parked on either side come into focus, revealing battered bonnets and dented rooftops. Billy says nothing, at first, despite the surprised exclamations from many of the team around him. It’s only when the camera tracks over an obstruction in the road that he glides closer to the screen and says, “Is that manure?”
“It’s dung,” the kid with the Mohawk says to correct him.
“Horses produce manure,” replies Billy tetchily. “Only cows produce dung, and you don’t see police riding cows around the city. Judging by the damage to those cars there has clearly been a disturbance overnight, so it’s no surprise to see evidence that police horses have been here.”
“Horses didn’t do it,” the kid replies, sounding exasperated now. To explain himself further, he brings the zoom lens to the limit of its capabilities, and puts Billy squarely in the picture. For way ahead, causing oncoming cars and buses to perform sudden turnarounds, stand several black bull rhinos.
6
A little monkey business
“Are we responsible for this?” Billy looks around to seek an answer. “If we are then it’s one heck of a magic act. Who’s working the breakfast shift this morning?”
From the front bank of monitors, another junior operative in a baseball cap reaches for her clipboard. “Only Bravo team,” she replies on examining the list, “and they were dispatched to Covent Garden one hour ago.”
Billy No-Beard refers to a clipboard back at his post. “There’s no record here that Bravo are authorised to perform street magic with animals. Besides, at this hour the commuters don’t have time to stand around and witness elaborate illusions. When people are in a hurry we stick to quick and easy tricks. It’s more likely to earn a few pennies for our efforts.” He stops and turns to a page with a list of bullet points on it. “Illusions using performing animals are only permitted on national holidays,” he continues, reading out the rules. “That’s when the punters are prepared to watch a big act, and pay for the privilege. It says so right here, and I should know because I wrote it.” Billy stabs at the clipboard with one finger, even though everyone present is still watching the two big leathery beasts on the big screen.
“It’s no act,” observes a voice from the doorway behind him. Billy turns with a start, to see Yoshi with Mikhail at his side. “Those rhinos are very real, but after last night’s rampage I suspect they’re good for nothing now but a nice long nap.”
The pair look a little breathless, and their grimy clothes and faces suggest they’ve been on a big adventure. Ignoring Billy’s bewildered expression, Yoshi nods at a development on the big screen, and says, “Anyway, the police really are on the scene now. It won’t be long before everything is back to normal.”
“But if anyone asks,” adds Mikhail, flopping into Billy’s chair now, “we were here all night, OK? We haven’t been near the zoo, understood?”
Astonished, and not a little peeved by the occupation of his chair, Billy switches his attention between the two boys. “Are you asking us to provide you with an alibi? No way! If you were stupid enough to set free a bunch of wild animals then you’ll have to take responsibility for your actions.”
“We didn’t let them out.” Yoshi returns his attention to the screen as the kid with the Mohawk switches camera feeds. He grimaces at what appears, and circles a finger at Billy to suggest he takes a good look. “Those guys were behind the breakout.”
This time, the image shows the ticket barrier on the street outside Charing Cross underground station. In order to pass through, you slip a ticket into the turret, push through the stile in front of you, and descend by escalator. That’s if you’re a commuter, of course. As for the chimpanzees that rain in out of nowhere, they simply bound over the barrier. One or two use the stile as an anchor so they can swing around full circle, much to the amazement of those early suits who witness it. Before anyone can snap out their mobile phones, to photograph the scene or alert the police, these fare-dodging zoo fugitives have poured down the escalator and vanished from sight.
“Oh, great!” This is Billy No-Beard, sighing to himself theatrically. “So now there are monkeys on the loose in the subway network. We mustn’t tell the chief. His obsession with sewer crocodiles is bad enough. If he finds out about this we won’t hear the last of it!”
“The last of what?”
The question causes everyone to turn, but only one of them to bluster and account for what he’s just said.
“Oh, nothing!” Billy replies breezily, but the wizened old man in question simply narrows his gaze, as if aiming to see right through him. His name is Julius Grimaldi, and he doesn’t just stand out for being decades older than anyone here. From his wild white hair to his druid’s beard, half-moon spectacles and patchwork coat, he a
ppears to come from another age entirely. He’s also in charge of operations here.
“There’s been a little monkey business at the zoo.” Mikhail offers the chair to the old man, much to Billy’s indignation.
Julius eases himself into the seat, and peers over his spectacles for a better view of the screen. There are no primates present, but it’s clear from the commuters as they gather their wits that something startling has just passed through. “Let’s just hope they come to no harm,” says Julius. “There was a time when each and every one of you dropped down from street level because you felt at risk above ground. Many decades ago, I myself slipped through those buckled bars in a bid to hide out until the coast was clear, and I’ve never forgotten the relief of discovering the existence of this old bunker. Over the years, I’ve seen hundreds of youngsters arrive looking lost, cold and frightened, just like Yoshi here. By the time they’re ready to take flight from this nest, they’ve transformed themselves into young men and women with a valuable talent for making street magic.”
“So how come you’ve never left?” the young operative in the baseball cap dares to ask. The question prompts other heads to turn, as if this is something other members of the crew have considered. Julius Grimaldi considers them all, and then peers over his glasses at the nervous looking girl.
“Because, young lady, I have been here for so long that the world above has left me behind. Even if I was still young and slight enough to clamber back out through those bars, I suspect I would decline the opportunity. Everything up there is quite alien to me now. Besides, if I want to witness what’s going on at ground level, I only need to ask you to fire up the traffic cameras here, and I can see for myself.” He breaks off at this, and turns his attention to the big screen. The kid with the Mohawk has returned to the cameras overlooking the obstruction in The Strand. There, two lines of police in riot gear can be seen cowering behind their riot shields. Behind the two great rhinos, a transport lorry from the zoo stands idling with its rear door wide open.
