Dreaming Again

by Jack Dann

  Sara is the author of Enchanter and Starman, which complete The Axis Trilogy; the Wayfarer Redemption Trilogy, which includes Sinner, Pilgrim, and Crusader, The Crucible Trilogy, which includes The Nameless Day, The Wounded Hawk, and The Crippled Angel; Troy Game, a tetralogy, which includes Hades’ Daughter, God’s Concubine, Dorkwitch Rising, and Druid’s Sword, and the Darkglass Mountain Series, which includes The Serpent Bride and The Twisted Citadel. The Wounded Hawk won the Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Novel, and The Crippled Angel was nominated for Australian Book of the Year. She is also the author of Threshold, the young adult novel Beyond the Hanging Wall, and such nonfiction titles as Images of the Educational Traveller in Early Modern England and The Betrayal of Arthur. She currently lives in a rambling old Victorian house on an island just off the southern tip of mainland Australia, right at the edge of the world.

  The wonderfully dark and atmospheric story that follows takes place in 19th-century London during the age of the building of the underground railways.

  Sara Douglass told your editor that ‘One of the great problems with driving those tunnels under London (at least in my world) is that they tended to drive straight into forgotten and lost buried roman and medieval crypts… filled with all kinds of dark things.’

  As you’ll soon discover, gentle reader…

  James Henry Greathead, chief engineer for the City & South London Railway, rose to his feet as the footman showed the two gentlemen into the club’s drawing room. He was relieved the men were reasonably well dressed and didn’t gawp at the rich fittings. It had been a risk inviting them to the Athenaeum Club, but the club afforded privacy, and before anything else Greathead wanted privacy for this meeting.

  The company could not afford the inevitable financial setback if word he had met with the crypt hunters alarmed the shareholders.

  ‘Mr Kemp? Mr Gordon? So good of you to attend.’ Greathead gestured to the two men to sit, then nodded at the waiter to bring two more glasses of whiskey. ‘I trust your journey from Windsor was without trouble?’

  ‘Quite, thank you,’ said Kemp. In his late fifties, Kemp was the slightly older of the two men, but they both shared the careworn and pale visages of those who habitually worked late at night at their books.

  Or who habituated the dark underground basements of cities.

  They were both very still and calm, regarding Greathead with direct eyes, and Greathead found himself uncrossing, then recrossing his legs, before smoothing back his hair.

  He hated it that necessity brought him to these men.

  ‘It surprises me you do not live in London,’ Greathead said, ‘as so much of your, um, work is here. Why live in Windsor?’

  ‘You can perhaps understand,’ Kemp said, his gaze still very direct, ‘that we prefer the tranquillity of Windsor for our wives and children, as well as our own peace of mind. London can be unsettling. Windsor has no —’

  Greathead suppressed a wince.

  ‘— discontented underground spaces,’ Kemp finished.

  ‘Quite,’ Greathead said.

  The waiter returned with the whiskeys for Greathead’s guests, and while the waiter fussed Greathead took the opportunity to study Gordon and Kemp further. They were unusual men, not so much in background, but for where they had gone in their lives. Gordon had been a vicar who had immersed himself in the study of the churches and monasteries of the medieval and Dark Age periods. He quit the Church of England, quite suddenly, in his early forties. It was about that time that Gordon had met Kemp — Kemp had been a private scholar with a bent for the arcane and mysterious — and they had made a name for themselves speaking at antiquarian functions about southern England.

  They had an astounding knowledge of the ancient crypts and vaults and cellars, often dating back to pre-Christian times, that lay under London.

  They also had an astounding understanding of what continued to inhabit these ancient crypts — the memories, the terrors, and the wandering ghosts and ambitions of men and gods who refused to remain entombed. Greathead was not quite sure what the men did inside these crypts — they never allowed anyone else in while they were working — but they could somehow manage to desensitise them and make them safe for whoever was trying to push through a railway tunnel or a new sewer or water line.

  Underground London was not always quite benign, nor were its forgotten spaces always quite dead. Many tunnellers — whether railway or sewer men — had been lost in the strangest of circumstances. Often the only way the railway or sewer bosses could keep projects on schedule — and workers in the tunnels — was to employ the services of Gordon and Kemp.

  The waiter left, and Greathead took a deep breath. ‘No doubt you have heard of my latest endeavour.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gordon. ‘We understandably took some interest when we heard Parliament had authorised your project. A new railway line for southern Londoners, yes? Travelling deep under the Thames to connect their suburbs directly to the City.’

  ‘It will be the first deep underground railway system in the world,’ Greathead said. ‘Look here, see.’ He drew a linen-backed map from a satchel to one side of his chair, and unfolded it across the table before Kemp and Gordon. ‘We are running the line direct from Stockwell in the south, up north through the Borough of Southwark, under the Thames just west of London Bridge, then through the city, deep underground, at least sixty feet deep, through to Moorgate. It is a great enterprise.’

  Kemp and Gordon exchanged small smiles.

  A great enterprise, and fraught with difficulty. There was so much which had been forgotten lying in the railway’s path.

  ‘It will be a great deal of work,’ said Gordon. ‘All that tunnelling, and, aye, yes, I know of your patented tunnelling machine, and how wonderfully it shall slice through the London clay for you … but still, a great deal of work. When do you hope to be completed?’

  ‘1890,’ said Greathead. ‘The Prince of Wales has agreed to open the line for us.’

  ‘That is not long distant,’ said Kemp. ‘You are surely already hard at work, and thus —’

  He paused, holding Greathead’s eye, and Gordon finished his companion’s sentence.

  ‘And thus we are here,’ he said. ‘You found a … problem.’

  ‘The City &. South London Railway, whom I represent,’ Greathead said quietly, ‘does not have problems. We have only challenges — which we overcome with skill and ingenuity. Thus you are here.’

  Kemp’s mouth curved in a small cynical smile, which he hid as he took a sip of his whiskey.

  It was very good, as was this club, but then Greathead had made a fortune with his innovative and daring engineering work on other railways, and doubtless could afford the luxuries of life.

  ‘Well,’ said Greathead, ‘we have started work in several locations, working tunnels in different directions, that they may meet up within months.’

  ‘What have you found?’ said Kemp, and Greathead glanced irritably at him.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Greathead said, ‘we are working in several locations. Here,’ his finger stabbed down at Clapham, ‘here,’ now the finger stabbed down at the northern end of London Bridge, ‘and,’ the finger lifted, hesitated, then dropped to the corner of King William Street and Arthur Street East, a few blocks to the northeast of the bridge, ‘here.’

  Kemp and Gordon shared another glance, and this time there was no amusement in their expressions.

  ‘That is right by the Monument,’ said Gordon.

  The Monument, erected to mark the exact spot where started the Great Fire of London of 1666. It was an inauspicious omen. Later tragedies were often caused by ancient disturbances below.

  Greathead sat back in his chair. ‘I had heard of your work with the Metropolitan and District Lines,’ he said. ‘You smoothed over some considerable difficulties they experienced.’

  ‘Few people know of our work with the Metropolitan line,’ said Gordon. ‘It was all very — necessarily — secretive.’


  ‘I make it my duty to know of your work,’ said Greathead. ‘Secretive or not, I made a point of discovering the names of everyone who might be useful to me. Gentlemen, I intend this railway to succeed.’

  Kemp gave a little shrug. ‘And now you have encountered one of your little obstacles at the Monument site?’

  ‘It is the site of one of the underground stations,’ said Greathead. ‘We are naming it King William Street Station, after the street on which it stands. There is already a commodious building on the site, which will serve as the city offices of the City & South London Railway and as the entrance into the underground station. While there shall be stairs winding down to the platforms sixty feet below, we are installing two large electrified lifts to carry passengers to and from street level. The entire project, gentlemen, shall be electrified, even the trains.’

  Greathead paused, expecting his guests to remark on this extraordinary innovation, but they continued to regard him calmly with their direct eyes.

  ‘Yes, well,’ Greathead went on. ‘We started to sink the shafts through the basement of the building six weeks ago. Work proceeded as planned, then …’

  ‘You found a crypt,’ said Gordon. ‘Perhaps an ancient vault. Yes?’

  ‘We always expected to find something, at some point,’ said Greathead. ‘London has been occupied for thousands of years, city built atop city. Naturally we expected an extra basement or two.’

  ‘The Metropolitan and District Line gave us much work and worry,’ said Gordon. ‘Two crypts, one ancient rotten mausoleum, and one rather dark space which somewhat befuddled us for a day or two. What have you found for us?’

  ‘Nothing that whispers,’ said Greathead. ‘Just a … space.’

  The faces of Kemp and Gordon relaxed slightly.

  No whispers.

  ‘Nonetheless, I warrant it a space that has caused you to suspend all further work on the shafts and summon us,’ said Kemp.

  Greathead sighed. ‘The workmen broke into it five days ago. Two of them took down lanterns and explored. When they came back up — well, that was when I wrote you to come to London.’

  He picked up his whiskey glass, then put it down again. ‘Look, we are not far distant from King William Street. It would be easier, perhaps, if I showed you our difficulties.’

  Gordon and Kemp stood at the foot of the twenty-five foot diameter shaft that stretched down from the basement of the building above. It would one day house two lifts, but for the moment they were surrounded by iron reinforced walls, a muddy floor, half a dozen workmen standing about leaning on their spades and pick-axes, and Greathead.

  At their feet was a three foot diameter hole, with a ladder stretching down into the gloom.

  One of the workmen handed Kemp a lantern on a rope, and Kemp lowered it carefully down into the darkness.

  Everyone standing about — Greathead, the work crew and their supervisor — leaned closer.

  ‘What can you see?’ Greathead said.

  ‘Not much,’ Gordon replied, leaning back a little. ‘It’s a big space, though.’

  ‘It will save us a great deal of money and time if it is usable,’ Greathead said. ‘The cavern is at the precise level we need to build the station. Both I and the board of the Railway pray for good news.’

  The lamp hit the bottom of the cavern, and Kemp allowed the remainder of the rope to slide down to join it. He looked at Greathead, then locked eyes with Gordon.

  A moment later Gordon began the climb down the ladder, Kemp following directly after.

  Kemp held the lantern aloft as the two men stood, staring about. They ignored the faint sounds of the men far above them in the shaft, and instead concentrated every sense on the cavern about them.

  ‘It is not… “bad”,’ Gordon said very softly. ‘Not like the crypt under Westminster station. That…’

  That had been pure evil — something small and weaselly and chattery that had inhabited the small chamber since well before Christianity had established its hold on England.

  Their efforts to remove the lingering malignancy had almost killed them. Even now Gordon continued to have problems on his shin where the thing had bitten him, and both suffered constant nightmares over the episode.

  ‘No,’ said Kemp, ‘it is not “bad”. But what is it?’

  The space they stood in looked like a natural cave, although the walls and roof had been obviously man-worked at some time in the ancient past to give the rock a smoother finish. It stretched perhaps some forty or fifty paces from east to west, and, as the two men explored, they discovered that about twenty paces from the eastern end it appeared almost as if another cavern, or tunnel, had intersected with the one in which they stood. On both the northern and southern walls of the main cavern archways had been crudely hewn out of the rock, and passageways extended north and south — if only for a few paces each way before rock falls blocked their progress.

  In the very centre of the main cavern, at the intersection of the two smaller passages, stood a pale-stoned cross, almost seven feet tall. The top of the cross had been enclosed within a circle, revealing its ancient pagan origins.

  Gordon and Kemp exchanged another glance.

  ‘It’s a Long Tom,’ Gordon said, naming the ancient cross in the manner of countless generations of English peasants. He raised the lamp, and both men muttered soft exclamations.

  Set into the circle of stone about the top of the cross was a ring of human teeth.

  ‘I have never seen that previously,’ Kemp said.

  ‘Nor I,’ Gordon said. ‘What do you suppose it means?’

  Kemp gave a small shrug. ‘Perhaps they are the teeth of robbers, or bandits, set here to dissuade others from similar pursuits. In all my studies, I know of no other possible relevance.’

  ‘You are likely right,’ Gordon said, then turned the lamp towards the passageway that had once led south. ‘These side passages have been blocked off a long, long time ago.’

  Kemp was still examining the cross in the dim light.

  ‘A crossroads marker,’ he said. ‘Long Toms always stood at crossroads to protect travellers.’ He gestured about the main cavern, then at the two side passages. ‘We are standing on the site of a very, very ancient crossroad.’

  ‘London straddles the junction of several of the ancient roads through England,’ Gordon said. ‘This,’ he indicated the main cavern stretching east to west, ‘is likely part of the original Waecelinga Straaet,’ he said, using the ancient Celt name for what was now known as Watling Street. ‘And this,’ he indicated the intersecting, narrowed tunnel, ‘one of the lesser tracks leading north and south.’

  He looked up once more at the roof of the cavern. ‘This has always been enclosed — under a hill, perhaps? Or a man-made tor?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Kemp. ‘This area was once riddled with hills and caves, most imbued with some esoteric significance. Gordon, my friend, this place was not just a crossroads. You can feel it too, yes? There is something … a gentle pull of some description.’

  Gordon gave a nod. ‘But is it dangerous?’

  Kemp shifted from foot to foot, chewing a lip.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said after some consideration. ‘There is nothing bad about this, nothing unsettled. It is a passageway, a throughway. Very ancient, very well travelled — if not in the current millennia — but benign. Even the Long Tom, with its strange circle of teeth, has no feel of malevolence about it.’

  Gordon gave another nod. ‘I agree. There is nothing for us here to do. No malignancy to expunge, no sadness to purge. Nothing dangerous.’

  ‘Nothing dangerous,’ said Kemp, ‘so long as the trains travel through. This cavern will be put to the same purpose for which it has always been used. It will be appropriate, somehow. I doubt the cavern will be unsettled by its updated purpose.’

  They spent another ten minutes inspecting the cavern, then they climbed back to an impatient Greathead.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

/>   Gordon and Kemp exchanged a look.

  ‘The line is going through to north London, isn’t it?’ Gordon said.

  ‘From Stockwell to Moorgate,’ Greathead said. ‘King William Street Station will be the first station north of the river. From there the line travels to Bank, thence to Moorgate. Well?’

  ‘The cavern below is an ancient crossroads,’ said Gordon. ‘You are lucky. There is nothing malignant to remove, just some old rock falls … your King William Street Station is virtually hollowed out for you. There is an old cross down there that you might like to donate to some local antiquarian society, but, overall … neither Kemp nor myself foresee any problems for you. Just make sure you take those trains through.’

  Greathead had begun to smile halfway through Gordon’s speech — now he was beaming. He shook each man’s hand heartily. ‘Gentlemen, I thank you indeed. You bring good news. Come, let us climb back to the surface, and we can arrange your remuneration.’

  Gordon suppressed a cynical smile.

  The railway engineers were always pleased to see the back of Gordon and Kemp.

  Eighteen months passed. Greathead called Gordon and Kemp down to London on one more occasion in January of 1890 to investigate something near the London Bridge station, just south of the Thames, but that turned out to be even less of a concern than the King William Street Station cavern. While they were inspecting this latest site, Gordon and Kemp asked Greathead about the ancient crossroads cavern.

  ‘The site is almost complete,’ Greathead said. ‘The workmen are laying the last of the tiles, the platforms need a sweep, but other than that…’ He gave an expressive shrug.

  ‘There have been no problems at the site?’ Kemp said.

  Greathead hesitated for just an instant, then smiled. ‘None at all! Now, is there anything else with which I can assist you?’

  On the morning of 5th of November, in 1890, Gordon sat at his breakfast table reading the morning paper. There was extensive coverage of the opening of the City & South London Railway line. The Prince of Wales had officiated, and a good time was had by all. Unfortunately, there had been some technical problems with the engine meant to draw the carriages containing the prince and his entourage from Stockwell in the south through to the northern-most station on the line, and eventually everyone had to abandon the railway carriages for the more reliable horse-drawn vehicles on the streets above.