The Sunken City Trilogy

by Phil Williams

  “I can’t pretend I know everything. But what I do know is hard to believe.”

  “I saw a horse playing a drum, with an invisible horn, and I saw a blue square writing things on a wall. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.” Pax frowned. The descriptions sounded familiar. Things from the Miscellany. In her pause, Holly bowled on. “I can pay you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Cash.” Holly offered it quickly, as though the thought was dirty. “I can pay you to tell me, just say how much.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “Then what do you want?” Holly’s voice rose. “Why are you here? Who are you?”

  Pax stared ahead, looking through the world as she asked herself the same questions. The answer seemed obvious, though, now that she was delivering this innocent girl back to her family. Now that she had sent gangsters to square off against the Ministry, and liberated a fairy who wanted, in her own way, to fight the monsters. Now that she seemed further than ever from being able to help Rufaizu. She wanted her part in this madness to mean something. “I fell into this the same way your husband did. I avoided an ordinary life long enough for the extraordinary to corner me. Now I’m trying to do something about it.”

  “About what?” Holly implored. “My daughter was kidnapped. My husband ran off after Grace with a vile liquid that looked like something a cartoon villain would use to kill rabbits. He’s been talking with that blasted woman again and he’s been running off talking to this” – Holly threw a hand towards Pax, suddenly speaking as though she wasn’t there – “this younger, mysterious woman, and I don’t know if I should hate him, and I’m scared.” Holly took small, sharp breaths. “I’m scared, for myself, for him, and for my daughter, and I don’t want to lose them.”

  Without saying anything, Grace sat up and shifted forward, apparently having been listening. She put an arm around her mother and rested her head on her seat. Holly fought back a tear, and in a flash, on and off, offered a thin smile. She took one hand off the wheel to pat Grace’s arm and whispered, “Thank you, dear.”

  “It’s okay,” Grace said softly. “I wasn’t hurt. Just frightened.”

  “That’s hardly the point,” Holly huffed, coldness returning. “Honestly, you’ve been missing for a day and all you have to say is you weren’t hurt? I despair, Grace, I do. Now, please…” She turned to Pax. “Tell me what you know.”

  Pax took a breath and began.

  Holly listened to the account of Rufaizu, and Apothel’s book, and the notes that pointed to Barton. Of the Ministry, and then the tunnels, and the monsters that Holly had no reason to believe in. She responded by mentioning what she had seen herself. The horse and the blue square again, writing on the walls – something Pax realised she understood now. The Blue Angel, communicating as Barton had described it. And it had misled them, only confirming her initial instinct, and Letty’s insistence, that whoever was sending those messages was not to be trusted.

  Finally came the fateful question. “Who, exactly, took my daughter? What kind of gang are the Fae? Is it something to do with that liquid? Drugs?”

  “They’re not a gang,” Pax said. “Not exactly. And there’s a good reason Grace never saw them, even if I don’t quite get how they pulled it off.”

  Holly slowed down as they turned into a familiar street. Pax went quiet as the green of the Bartons’ neighbourhood glided into view. Grace pressed towards the window, smiling at her home, no doubt sensing the nightmare was over.

  “Don’t worry dear,” Holly assured her. “You’re safe now. We just need to figure out where your father got to.” She turned to Pax. “You’ll stay with us, won’t you? You’ll help bring this to an end?”

  Pax nodded. Let’s settle into this paradise, she thought. Have a cup of tea, put on the gas fire and wait for Barton to come home. Wait for the bad men to finish whatever needed to be done across town. Worry about how she was going to use the Dispenser when it was back in her possession. In the meantime, she could try and explain why the Barton family were in the crosshairs of two-inch-tall psychopaths.

  Why not.

  13

  Casaria split his attention between watching Pax Kuranes’ church apartment block and flashing nasty looks into the rear-view mirror at Gumg. The younger agent’s face had swollen where he had been struck, taking on a satisfying tinge of purple, and every time he met Casaria’s eye he looked away. It was a good way to pass the time, Casaria had discovered, inciting unease by staring at this subordinate clown. He needed the entertainment to take his mind off Pax’s betrayal. She had promised so much but, like him, she was too rebellious. Quite the opposite of Sam Ward’s stuffy ministerial ambitions, Pax was actually showing loyalty to the monsters. She might still see the error of her ways, but it was unlikely. The damage was done and he’d have to take care of her. To save the thought, he distracted himself by glowering at the moron in the back of the car. Landon was handling the real work, after all, by motionlessly watching the building’s entrance. He was built for this kind of job, silently fixing his eyes on a point and doing the sweet sum total of piss all.

  “What?” Gumg snapped, at last.

  “Huh?” Casaria feigned innocence. “Something wrong?”

  “What’s your problem?” Gumg shifted in his seat.

  “Easy,” Landon warned in a monotone, not looking back. “We’re here to do a job.”

  “No,” Gumg insisted. “He’s messing with me. Trying to get a rise, dammit!”

  “Looks like it’s working,” Landon answered tiredly.

  “He oughta be sent home,” Gumg continued. “You saw what he did. He’s mad.”

  “Have you taken him down the tunnels yet?” Casaria asked Landon.

  “Hey, I’m talking – you hear me?” Gumg said. “You’re a lunatic! This is assault, I’ll –”

  “Have you?” Casaria pressed. Landon turned slowly to him, then gave a disinterested glance back to Gumg. “Didn’t think so. You can see it in him. Green as the grass.”

  “Green?” Gumg protested. “You think anyone needs to go down there? We’ve got databases – hotlines – diplomacy for crying out loud. You’re a gatekeeper, man – that kind of attitude – that – it’s no wonder you’re still out on street patrols, instead of doing things that matter.”

  Landon raised an eyebrow, making Casaria smirk. This hotshot thought he was on the fast track to a better position in the Ministry, didn’t he? Like all their worst recruits. Landon didn’t say anything, but Gumg caught the look and cooled off. He said, “Are you gonna report him? Because I will.”

  “Oh, I’d love that,” Casaria said. “Tell Mathers exactly what happened. How are you gonna make firing a gun across a crowded street sound like something that doesn’t warrant quick preventative action?”

  Gumg glared back. He gritted his teeth. “What about the man you beat up?”

  “Beat down.” Casaria grinned, entirely unapologetic. “Have you ever seen a sickle?”

  “Stop avoiding the question.”

  “Hesitate with a sickle and it’ll tear your arms off,” Casaria said. “I’ve seen it. I know how to avoid that sort of thing. Whether it’s a sickle or a man on the street. The Ministry respects that kind of decisive action more than your ability to file reports.”

  “The Ministry would prefer to keep things calm,” Landon said, though his attention remained on the church. “For whatever reason you think they let you get away with this stuff, it’s only because we’re understaffed.”

  “Like hell. I’ve got a specialist skillset.”

  “Disparaging as this recruit may be,” Landon said, too dry to even bother looking at Gumg, “he’s right. You’re not supposed to go into the tunnels. You don’t need to fight a thing. Quite the opposite. You should be more discreet.”

  “It’s people like you that let the Fae get the drop on us, that let this happen.” Casaria held up his bandaged hand.

  “As far as I’m aware,” Landon dr
oned, “you poked that hornet’s nest yourself.”

  Casaria met his eyes with contempt. He left it there, deciding this waste of fat was not worth convincing. Gumg was right about one thing: these agents were nothing more than glorified zookeepers. One with aspirations to follow in Sam Ward’s desk-bound footsteps, the other with no aspirations at all. They didn’t understand that there was a delicate balance that could only be maintained on the ground level. That the Ministry needed the likes of Casaria to do the unthinkable in times when no other option remained. Landon and Gumg didn’t understand the Sunken City. Rufaizu probably knew more than they ever would.

  Landon nodded towards a white van. “There’s two men over there, waiting to go in. Recognise them?”

  Casaria followed his gesture. It was a rusty Vauxhall, no windows at the rear. Both men were larger than average, one darkened by stubble, the other sporting greasy golden curls. They looked like people you might regret hiring to evict squatters, when they accidentally crippled a harmless student.

  “Couldn’t see Pax hanging with their sort,” Casaria decided.

  “They’re looking at us like we should be looking at them,” Landon said.

  “How long have they been there?”

  “About as long as you’ve been patting yourself on the back for being a loose cannon,” Landon replied, without any humour. Casaria wondered, in that moment, if he could contrive a way to cut his heart out. “Looks like they’ve had enough.”

  The van doors opened and the two men got out. They were both easily over six foot four, burly though neither in especially good shape. In their workmen’s boots, ragged dungarees and shirts patterned by incongruous stains, they belonged at a roadside diner. They stared at Casaria’s car as they walked purposefully towards Pax’s apartment building. Their unblinking looks were a challenge, daring the agents to follow them in.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Casaria said. “We’re going up to her apartment, and when they give us trouble, we’re going to give them trouble back. If either of you has a problem with that, I’ll do it alone. But say it now, because I’m not having you get in the way.”

  “Maybe they’re not connected to her,” Gumg suggested, anxious.

  “They bloody well are, and they are going to cause trouble,” Casaria replied firmly.

  “We should call for backup,” Landon suggested warily. “Or just follow them.”

  “You’re the backup,” Casaria hissed. “Come or don’t, but don’t get in my way.”

  “It was on the radio,” Bees said, climbing the stairs as he continued the conversation from the van. “Back in the ’80s, a sewage worker found it. He was curious about this smell from the drains, see. Knew how the system worked, so looked into it himself, and what did he find? A whole bloody tunnel that wasn’t on the maps.”

  “You’re confusing it with the Fallout Train,” Howling Jowls Jones replied. “There’s a system in the south-east of the city that allegedly connected directly to London, they set it up during the Cold War. That was what the sewage worker tapped into, and they blocked it all up because it wasn’t safe. I took that to Mr Monroe once. He said his people already tried it, but it didn’t go under the city, just touched the south-east corner.”

  “I’m his people that told him that,” Bees said as they reached the third floor landing. He lumbered towards Pax’s door and took out her key. “I’m not talking about the Fallout Train, this was something else. Listen, see, on the radio, when they interviewed this guy –”

  Bees stopped, key in the lock, and turned around, with great deliberation, towards the movement he’d seen from the corner of his eye. Jones turned with him, folding his arms as he stared at the man in the suit that had followed them up. Leaning against the wall, Casaria smiled, pearly white, straight-cut teeth.

  “Not subtle, are you?” Bees said.

  “Look who’s talking,” Casaria replied.

  “We’re picking up some things for a friend. No business of yours.”

  “We all know that’s not true.”

  “Whatever,” Bees said, turning back to the door. He opened it and looked into the apartment, then back at Casaria. The suited man hadn’t moved. Bees said to Jones, “Wait here, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Jones replied, eyes locked on Casaria. As Bees went inside, Casaria moved to follow him and Jones stepped in the way, a mass that almost filled the door. “Invitation only.”

  “I’m sorry,” Casaria said. “You don’t know what you’re getting involved with here. I’ve no doubt you’re not close enough to Pax that you’d risk your lives for her.”

  “Who’s risking their life?”

  Bees only vaguely listened as he opened up the cupboard and scanned for the things Pax had wanted. The little money safe, the book too. The mechanical device was strange. He’d have a think about that later.

  “You’re not taking anything away from here,” the guy in the hall was saying.

  Bees took a moment to give the apartment one last look. He wasn’t sure if the spare clothes he’d collected were clean or not, but that didn’t really matter. It might be an idea to discuss a few matters of personal hygiene with Pax, anyway. She’d seemed to have been keeping a pet in a shoebox lacking amenities, and all. As he lumbered back to the door, he found two newcomers standing in the stairway entrance, behind Casaria, both hesitant to move into the corridor.

  Casaria stepped back, smiling wider than ever, and his jacket fell open to reveal a pistol.

  “He’s got a gun, Bees,” Jones commented. “Says he can’t let us leave.”

  “That’s a shame,” Bees replied. He drew his own pistol from the back of his trousers and held it up. It was a large revolver, the sort that looked too heavy for the average man to lift. Usually enough to convince people to rethink their life choices just by looking at it. He twisted it from side to side as the two new arrivals backed into the wall, stunned. Yeah, these weren’t the sort that were used to having someone tell them no. To drive his point home, Bees said, “I’ve got this, see, and I don’t think I want to let him stop us.”

  “You poor, clueless morons,” Casaria said, the smile still fixed on his face but the humour gone. Bees’ gun was out while the agent’s was still deep in its holster. The suit had balls, you had to give him that.

  “Ministry of Environmental Energy?” Bees said, looking from one man to another.

  Jones commented, “Seems to me civil servants shouldn’t be threatening the public on matters of picking up things from a friend’s apartment.”

  “Maybe you fancy yourselves as special kinds of civil servants?” Bees said.

  “Casaria,” the bigger man warned, as close to the stairs as he could get without moving down them. He had the right idea. “Perhaps we should let the gentlemen –”

  “Don’t be a damned coward, Landon,” Casaria replied. “We’re not going anywhere until I see what’s in that bag.”

  Bees shrugged. “You’re welcome to stay.”

  “Here’s what I suggest,” Casaria said. “You leave the bag and go on your way, with the knowledge that you’re still intact and did the right thing. No one needs to get hurt on Pax’s account.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely,” Bees replied, his gravelly tone suggesting the opposite. “Only we already told Mr Monroe we were coming, and he’d be very disappointed if our deal fell through. Unless you yourselves wanted to give us what she offered us?”

  “What did she offer you?” Landon asked suddenly, concerned.

  “We’re not giving you anything,” Casaria said. “And neither is she.”

  “Awful shame,” Bees said, turning the gun in his hand again. “Awful shame.”

  Bees lifted the revolver, but before he could make any further threat Casaria sprang forward. For a relatively slight man, he moved with tremendous speed and force, his full weight meeting Bees’ chin headfirst as the gun went off. Bees snapped back into the wall and flopped to the floor, eyes losing all focus. As Jones tried to draw a w
eapon of his own, Casaria drove an elbow into his ribs.

  Jones stumbled aside but was not down. With a few feet between himself and Casaria, he raised both hands in guarded fists. Bees blinked heavily, trying to clear his head, his own hands limp against the floor. The scuffle before him was a hazy blur; Casaria skated around the hallway, light on his feet, laughing excitedly. Jones took a swing, missed. Casaria swung back and connected. With Jones momentarily stunned, the smaller man started pounding at his body, but Jones recovered and returned the punches. It was like watching a fox attack a bear. They scuffled around each other, exchanging short, nasty strikes, before separating and stumbling apart.

  Bees pushed himself back against the wall and up to his feet, checking the floor for his pistol. He looked up as Casaria moved away from Jones, touching a hand to a bleeding lip, head shaking.

  Jones flexed, rolling his muscles, inviting another bout.

  “Don’t move!” Landon shouted from beyond them. Jones looked sideways, finding the agent’s pistol trained on him. Landon was nervous, hands shaking even with both of them clamped on the gun. It was the sort of nervous that could see a gun going off.

  Casaria deflated, saying, “Seriously? Now you do something?”

  “That’s enough, Casaria, you damned lunatic,” Landon snapped. “Just get the bag.”

  Casaria glared at Landon, apparently upset about taking orders.

  Bees spotted his gun, way over in a doorway. He exchanged a glance with Jones, who was shaking his head. They were covered. These guys were too erratic to test. A more professional bunch of spooks would’ve been easier to take down. Bees glowered at Casaria.

  “We’ll come after you,” he said. “Mr Monroe doesn’t like to be disappointed.”

  “Mr Monroe can sit on a rusty dildo,” Casaria snorted. He picked up the bag from the middle of the hall and looked inside, frowning at the contents. He pulled out the mechanical device, regarding it with an expression that said it was a mystery to him. As he put it back in the bag, he gave Bees and Jones one last, questioning look. He didn’t ask, though, and went towards the stairs. “Let’s go.”