Mikhail reaches for the brass door knocker, and gives it a hefty whack. It seems odd to Yoshi for such an old-fashioned device to be fixed to a blast-proof steel door, but then nothing seems normal since he last saw daylight. In vain, the boy’s been searching his mind for some clue that might tell him who he is. All he can be certain about is that life down here feels somehow more secure than the life he’s left behind.
The door to the Map Room is half open, but the boys stay out on the deck plate, awaiting a response. When it arrives, the distant, mumbled “Enter” tells Yoshi that the man they’ve come to see must have his mind on other matters.
“This is where he does his thinking,” whispers Mikhail. “Shhh!”
They’ve come down to the bunker’s lowest level. It’s really just a narrow, dimly-lit gantry that rings the Engine Room. If Yoshi turns around he can see it through the viewing glass: a hulking great core of riveted steelwork, pumps, flasks, switches and pressure gauges that seems to rise up from oblivion. Yoshi peers through the gaps in the deck plate. He can hear dripping far below, as if they’re standing over some kind of chasm. It’s almost a relief for him when they step over the threshold and into the Map Room, even if it does take them down a series of iron steps and onto cold flagstones.
“So glad you’re with us again, Yoshi! I’ll be with you in a moment.”
With no sign of the old man, Yoshi looks up and around. The walls in here are towering, with bookshelves climbing high. There are ladders on rails to reach the upper shelves, all of which are crammed with tomes from every age. At the very top is a skylight. Every now and then, dark spots trail across, taking shape and then peeling off from above.
“You’re looking at pedestrians,” says Mikhail. “You must’ve walked over glass bricks in a pavement before?”
Yoshi focuses on the square of flat light, thinking hard. “Of course,” he says. “I haven’t forgotten what it looks like up there, but if you asked me to find my way home I wouldn’t know where to begin.” He finds the dog tags hanging from the chain around his neck, rubs one of the plates between his fingers. “Eleven twenty-three,” he says to himself. “These numbers must mean something.
“They’re too long to be a house number,” Mikhail points out, “and too short for a telephone number. You’re not old enough to play the lottery, but it might be a pin number for an account containing a million pounds!”
“Do you think so?”
“I wish so, Yoshi, but who knows? It could be anything. If it’s a code of some sort then Julius is the right man to crack it.” Mikhail crosses the floor to a large circular table. A candelabra stands in the centre, with a ring of wicks burning brightly. Light flickers over the paperwork strewn around it, and a chess set with a game in progress. The candlelight makes the pawns appear to advance as the Russian boy pores over the set, studying the next move.
“Numbers are what makes his world go round,” says Mikhail, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Present him with a pattern, he’ll unpick it.”
“So where is he?”
Mikhail nods towards the far end of this cavernous room. It goes beyond the reach of the candlelight, but as his eyes adjust Yoshi spots a passage with a dim light of its own. The bare earth walls are shored with timber, but the boy can’t help thinking he’s in some kind of human badger’s sett. Oil lamps hang from the joists, revealing a gallery of picture frames of different shapes and sizes. “When Julius filled the Map Room with his stuff, we had to dig him some more space. That’s the advantage of underground living. If you need more room to breathe, simply grab a spade!”
Just then, a slanted shadow passes from the wall of the passage to the floor. The sound of someone muttering to himself grows with it, and then Julius Grimaldi appears around a corner. He seems puffed, like he’s come a long way, and shuffles out clutching so many scrolls that the boys offer to help without being asked.
“No need. I can manage!” he insists, and promptly stumbles on the edge of a flagstone. The scrolls spill across the floor, one rolling to a stop at Yoshi’s feet. The boy crouches to collect it, and rises to find this snowy-haired oddball looking sheepish but thankful.
“I’m not as sharp as I used to be,” he admits, as the Russian boy retrieves the other stray scrolls and begins stacking them in his arms again. “If it wasn’t for the likes of kind-hearted kids like Mikhail, I’d have starved to death down here. Either that or I’d have learned to enjoy the taste of stewed rat. Are you hungry, Yoshi? You must eat to get big and strong.”
“Ah, I think I’ve just lost my appetite, actually.”
“Yoshi was wondering if you could tell him what the numbers mean on that thing around his neck.” Mikhail scoops up the final scroll as he says this. He turns to give it to Julius, who drops the lot for a second time.
“Good Lord,” the old man whispers, his eyes wide in awe. He stares at the nickel plates for what seems like an age. “I had no idea you were wearing tags. You’re lucky it’s just your memory that’s in a pickle, dear boy. I’m surprised your mind isn’t messed up, too.”
“Really?” Yoshi slides his gaze to Mikhail, who shrugs as if the old man’s musings are beyond him. With a big sigh, he stoops to pick up the scrolls again. “All I remember is a chase, and a man in a white fur coat,” continues Yoshi, “but nothing more.”
Julius nods, as if the boy’s arrival makes complete sense to him now. His focus on Yoshi sharpens so intently that Mikhail clearly thinks twice about trusting him again with the scrolls, because he dumps them on the table instead.
“If I’m right,” says Julius eventually, “it’s a blessing you don’t remember anything more than that.”
“But I want to know,” insists Yoshi. “I need to know who I am, where I’ve come from, and how I can get home again.”
“For the sake of your safety,” insists Julius, “you really should accept our invitation to stay.”
“I feel like you guys know more about me than I know about myself,” says Yoshi, clearly frustrated. “Maybe I should stick around in case you can tell me what’s going on.”
Julius smiles kindly. “In time, it won’t seem like such a puzzle. Right now, however, all I can say is that these numbers round your neck tell me everything and nothing.”
“So is it a code for a bank vault?” asks Mikhail. He presses his hands together in prayer. “Please say we’re millionaires.”
“That’s for us to discover,” says Julius, and then flattens his lips behind his blizzard of a beard. “But if there’s a fortune in store for Yoshi it isn’t the kind you can spend. There are other kinds of riches in this world, you know?”
Mikhail looks like he’s finding it hard to accept this. He draws breath to protest, only for the bunker air to be seized by the sound of the siren again. “Must be another operation,” he yells over the din, backing towards the iron stairs. “If it involves making anything vanish then I should be out there leading the team. I do the best disappearing tricks in the West End. Let’s go!”
“By the time I make it to the Bridge, it’ll all be over,” Julius chuckles and waves him away. “Leave the poor boy with me. He might enjoy a tour under the town.”
Yoshi remembers the emergency exit that Mikhail had shown him. “Will we be going down the chute?” he asks, blocking his ears as the siren continues to wail.
“Goodness no! At my age, there are some things best left to the youngsters.”
“So how do we get out of here?” asks the boy.
“The civilised way,” says Julius, simply. “This bunker is designed to withstand a nuclear strike from the skies. The military didn’t regard moles and worms as a major threat, so I had my crew here cut through into the sewer below.”
Yoshi looks at Mikhail, mystified once more. “It can be kind of gross,” the Russian boy tells him. “But as long as you don’t hit high tide, it beats travelling by tube, bus or car. No crowds, traffic lights or fares to be paid, either.”
“Indeed, it’s the finest gateway into London,” adds Julius. He pauses there, distracted for a moment by the blaring siren. “Mikhail, you had better get up to the Bridge. Billy is capable of running the show, but without you around to keep him in check there’s bound to be a drama.”
Mikhail turns for the stairs, pausing only to throw a brief farewell to Yoshi. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he promises. “Maybe then I can show you what’s up our sleeves. It’s about time you learned some proper tricks!”
“Sure thing,” says Yoshi, wishing he could remember someone on the surface, if only so he could see the look on their face when he revealed what was down here. Then again, if he painted a picture of this madcap old man the chances are he’d be laughed at in disbelief. In his patchwork coat, Julius Grimaldi looked like some kind of Victorian explorer trapped in time. It’s an impression the boy finds hard to shake as Julius searches the shadows between two bookcases, and returns with an ancient-looking telescope.
“Come with me, dear boy,” says Julius, ushering him towards the passageway. “It’s time we did some sightseeing.”