The Sunken City Trilogy

by Phil Williams

  There was an awkward silence. Ruth said, “How did you get her phone?”

  “Found it in Asda, in Long Culdon,” Pax lied. “Please, if you give me her number I can return the phone.”

  Another wary pause. “Hold on.” The woman shuffled about briefly, but gave Pax the number. When she had finished, Ruth said, “Before you go, give me a moment. You be polite with Mandy, you hear? She’s been through a lot. It’d be better she lost her phone than had another episode.”

  Thank you, Ruth, for making things more complicated. “Episode of what?”

  “Just be gentle,” Ruth said. “Good day.”

  She hung up. Pax chose to ignore that detail as she dialled the new number. As the phone rang again, she asked Rolarn, “You know what that thing was, back in the chapel?”

  “No.”

  “It came out of the wall.”

  No response. There was a better analogy than shit lawyer, Pax imagined. Beat-up church janitor? Sexually-confused shoe salesman?

  “Hello?” Rimes answered, a cautious whisper.

  “Dr Rimes,” Pax said. “Can I –”

  “Pax?” Holly cut in, wrenching the phone off the doctor. “Pax, is that you? Did you know there’s a monster dog on our doorstep?”

  Ah. The strange noises, the security system. Pax was happy she’d left that behind. “Yeah. Holly, I...” Pax paused, not sure how to describe the feelings she’d had. I’m concerned something’s happened because I can feel the minotaur in me? At best it’d make them worry. And saying it would make it real.

  “Are you okay?” Holly asked. “I was thinking, we haven’t even contacted your family, surely we should? Somehow?”

  “If you want to make a bad day worse.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing,” Pax said. “No, it’s fine. Look...” She slowed down, dreading the answer. “Has there been anything else in the news? Another incident?”

  “Hmm?” Holly said. “Not that I’ve noticed. Why?”

  “Do me a favour and keep your eyes on it? I’ve got a bad feeling, but I’ve got to keep moving right now.”

  “I’ve had a bad feeling since Friday, it’s understandable.”

  “Yeah. This is worse.” Pax paused. “Another thing, Holly. Can you put something to Rimes and your husband? Ask them if those blue screens have ever done anything more than communicate.”

  “Like what, play the bassoon?”

  “Like if anything’s come out of them.”

  “What sort of things are likely to have come out of them?”

  “Just…” Pax realised she couldn’t describe the sludge creature any more easily than she could describe her internal strife. “Maybe they were moving glo around, like Grace guessed. Maybe they can move other things. Crazy as it sounds.”

  “I see,” Holly replied, slowly. “You know, I was thinking about the tunnels themselves, personally. Who built them?”

  Rolarn hovered a little closer to Pax, his scowl hinting at her to finish. Pax scrunched her nose at him, hinting that he give her a damn second.

  Holly continued, “It took twenty years to construct the Central Line, after the war, and fourteen for the K&S Line, earlier. The chap who designed the K&S Line, Frank Trellis, started on another line, too, but nothing on the scale that we saw. He ran out of funding – probably fell out of favour with the royal family.”

  No, these were not details worth riling the fairy over. “Holly, can we do this when I get back?”

  “I do have a point,” Holly said. “How could you hide the resources required for such a thing? I’m looking at these monster dogs and thinking of these secrets, and thinking it must’ve all been concealed very long ago, to be that well hidden.”

  “The Sunken City has concrete and brickwork, and electric lighting –”

  “One thing you’ve made painfully clear,” Holly said, “is that ignorance is our biggest enemy here. The means to create all this have clearly stayed hidden, whatever they are, and must be something worth finding, don’t you think? It could be anything. Dwarf gold-miners, giant worms?”

  “We saw a giant worm,” Pax said, wishing it wasn’t true. “Anyway, we’ll ask the Blue Angel the rest of these questions when we find it, won’t we? I need to go.”

  “Where exactly are you?”

  Rolarn’s face grew grimmer, so Pax said, “Someplace safe. I’m done with the chapel, nothing to report yet, but I’m with another fairy. Rolarn.”

  “Roland?”

  “Rolarn. Not as fun as he sounds. Take care, Holly – let me know if anything hits the news.”

  “Certainly. It’ll –”

  Pax hung up and raised her eyebrows at the fairy. “Was that so hard?”

  He turned away without comment and floated towards a corner. Dragging her heels, Pax followed him, into a wide dead end where half the lights weren’t working. The shopfronts here had been partly painted over to hide stacked rubbish. The single surviving shop, on the floor below, boasted crystals, dragon statues, and no customers. The far wall hosted three tiers of store space hidden behind whitewashed boards. One massive, forgotten department store. This, she sensed, was their destination.

  Pax narrowed her eyes at the ghostly outline of its long-removed name.

  “Where once was a Debenhams,” she said, “now there are Fae?”

  Rolarn reacted blandly. “See the entrance?”

  There was a door-shaped crack in the emulsion ahead. No sign of a lock or handle. It looked like no one had been through it in years. As Rolarn hovered ahead, Pax watched him uneasily. She wished Letty was there, to offer some kind of reassurance this place was safe. But he’d saved her, hadn’t he? These Fae were the help they needed...

  15

  Sam shone a torch over the rough markings on the ‘chapel’ walls, crisscrossing one another with grooves so deep the lines looked black. There were only the barest hints of plaster left between the gashes. Apothel must have done it possessed by a wild energy, using an axe, or a spade, or a hammer and chisel.

  Now she realised exactly where she was, Sam recalled the Ripton Chapel was well known in the MEE; its rabid markings were all the argument the Ministry needed when anyone entertained thoughts that Apothel had been underutilised as an asset. The man was not in full control of his mind. Whatever he had written, these walls proved he disagreed with it himself.

  It gave Sam a chill. Even with the field agents coming and going, taking photos, running their different scanning devices, the place was grimly lifeless. The word left on the rear wall stood as a sinister, singular epitaph.

  Sam couldn’t recall it being mentioned in any of the files about Apothel, or the stories she had heard about this place. Had whoever sealed up the chapel neglected to record it? A nonsense word to some, no doubt, but painfully relevant, now.

  Grugulochs.

  The sound Malcolm Joseph had heard when the Sunken City shook his home.

  By the time Letty circled back to the Ripton Chapel, the road out front was packed with vehicles. A dented grey Transit van, two dirty Astras and a little Hyundai. The dilapidated, nondescript cars of the Ministry might have looked like civilian vehicles if they weren’t parked by an abandoned building surrounded by men in suits.

  Letty watched from the steeple of a church two blocks away, where only a finely targeted faeometer would pick her out. Tucking her knees up under her chin, pistol in hand, she wouldn’t be averse to bleeding the lot of them if they’d hurt Pax. Even if the lummox had the gall to grab her like that.

  Letty checked her phone again. No updates from Rolarn, but he might be on the move.

  She watched some goons exit the chapel in white plastic suits, like the place was toxic. The one in front tore off his outfit and tossed it to a waiting attendant. He was tall, ginger-haired, and carried himself like he was in charge. Behind him was the lady who’d rumbled them. A humourless-looking bitch, all right angles. She was talking. Ginger didn’t answer back, apparently not as high-ranking as he wanted to
be.

  Their discussion was cut short by the return of Agent Landon, the Ministry’s chief ape. He took about a million years longer than necessary to straighten his car against the curb, with the crowd watching, before he got out and Ginger barked some angry words at him. Landon replied huffily. Letty could imagine the conversation perfectly:

  “You didn’t catch that super-cool Fae, you giant sack of lard?”

  “No, but I did better than you would’ve.”

  “You idiot, your breath smells!”

  “That’s because I eat shit!”

  The square woman steps between them and addresses Landon.

  “It’s okay, you tried. She was just too super-cool for any of us.”

  Landon makes a face like he’s farted.

  “And you –” The woman turns to Ginger. “Your breath doesn’t smell so good either.”

  A silent acceptance of the truth.

  “What are all these people doing here?” Landon says. “I’ve gotta shit.”

  “Obviously,” the lady answers, “we needed a hundred people to go over this empty building and make sure it was empty. We’re still not sure.”

  Ginger gets his phone out. “It’s the head office. The tests are in. We all stink.”

  The lady looks stunned by the results, she might cry. “Not me!”

  “All of us,” Ginger assures her.

  “Well we’re not getting clean here,” Landon says, waving a hand over his head. He’s older and fatter than the others so they take notice, time to pack up. The first couple move towards their cars. Square lady gets a final word in, really taken by the phone call, but no one’s listening.

  Landon confides in her: “You do stink. Same as the rest of us.”

  “I know.” She looks between her feet, sad as a short giraffe.

  And then they’re all leaving.

  Someone started locking up the chapel again, adding a chain this time. Letty sat forward, confident that Pax was long gone. Hopefully in Broadplain by now, free as a Fae. Unless Ginger just got a tip on where she was.

  Letty sprang into the air and rose above the buildings, keeping one eye on the Ministry cars as she tried to spot any dumpy lummoxes tumbling over garden fences.

  The Ministry goons all headed in the same direction. Southwest.

  With the street empty, Letty glided over the next road and realised the MEE vehicles weren’t the only ones gone. No sign of Pax’s crappy scooter, either. She’d better follow this Ministry horde in case they had a bead on her. But as she flew higher, watching the convoy, something else caught her eye.

  Across the city, a cloud of smoke was rising.

  Sam braced a hand against the dashboard as Landon took them through the city, on course for the Bristol Street Underground station and the reports that there had been another quake, this time causing (or caused by?) a Tube accident. Landon drove with remarkable efficiency for someone sticking solidly to the speed limit, narrowly skimming through gaps in traffic and barely slowing for corners. However quickly he got them there, they were already too late, Sam knew that.

  Having come face-to-face with Pax Kuranes, she understood that whatever the civilians and the Fae were up to was more important than the after-effects of what had already been done. The noise the praelucente was making and the word on the wall, Pax’s claim she’d seen a blue screen, the simple fact that Kuranes was following Apothel’s example with the help of the Fae. It all added up to an underlying issue that the Ministry were missing. These civilians had recovered that unusual weapon, after all. They had somehow damaged the praelucente and possibly caused today’s surges.

  “We’re chasing symptoms,” Sam told Landon. “Apothel understood something about the praelucente. Pax knows something. That word on the wall is important in explaining what’s going on with it, and we’re spending time chasing the results.”

  “Explaining words is your job,” Landon replied. The hint of bitterness in his tone was standard street-level Ministry fare. They knew how ineffective IS was, though they had no idea why and she wasn’t going to waste breath explaining.

  Sam said, “Could Pax have taken Casaria?”

  Landon grunted at the question, seeming to disapprove of thinking about her. Between his and Casaria’s reports, Sam had developed a quick impression of Pax as a victim in this, and she’d felt for her, recalling how Casaria ensnared her in the same way. But Pax knew the Fae, somehow. What if she knew Rufaizu, too? Landon said, “She already used Cano. He’s weak in a lot of ways, did stupid things for her. He attacked me, you know?”

  The agent said it like a point of curiosity, no animosity in him. Something about his dull nature shielded him from that kind of emotion. He saw Casaria’s instability as an unfortunate flaw, not something to be scorned.

  Sam said, “But he approached her.”

  “Maybe they planned that.”

  “They being who?”

  “The Fae, or those thugs we ran into at her place?” Landon suggested. He was referring to the two men they’d reported at Pax’s property the day before, Ordshaw locals who had been after the Fae weapon, seemingly on Pax’s command. One of them had carried a gun. That didn’t sit well with Sam; the MEE’s files showed Pax led an unusual life, but there was no evidence she was a criminal.

  “What possible reason,” Sam said, “could anyone have for kidnapping Casaria?”

  “He took the Dispenser from us before,” Landon said. “Hit me. Then came back to us with his tail between his legs, saying it was a mistake. She made a fool of him. Maybe she didn’t want to risk him coming after her? One way or another, Casaria got himself all tied up in knots with this girl.”

  “The praelucente did, too,” Sam thought out loud. “Whatever she’s up to, or connected to, is dangerous. And it connects to that word, and Apothel, and that Fae weapon.”

  Eyes on the road, Landon didn’t look convinced. He said, “What do I know, I’ve barely slept.” Sam paused, realising he’d had his own problems. He took his confrontation with Casaria stoically, but he’d barely mentioned his partner being killed. His eyes said he was thinking about it, and didn’t like what had happened, even if his flat voice betrayed little. “Gets you thinking about yourself, you know.”

  Sam didn’t know. She had never known anyone who was killed violently, nor been in situations where it might happen to her. When Casaria had put her in danger in the field, she’d outrun the threats before they properly manifested. She said, “I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn if I say this whole situation has been handled badly. From the top down.” The usual way.

  Landon grunted again. Either he agreed or thought she was part of the problem. He ran his hands over the steering wheel. “Got a better car out of it, anyway. The Cavalier did the job, but I always wondered how a Ford drives. It’s smooth.”

  This was good, something more personal. Sam had been surprised when she’d read in the report that the Ministry-issue car stolen from him was over twenty years old, and said so. “You should’ve had an upgrade years ago. Better-equipped staff do a better job. That’s the sort of basic logic we’re lacking.”

  He gave her a third non-committal grunt. Accepting, or thinking she was over-complicating his simple pleasure?

  They drove in silence, but she felt him glancing over. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. The MEE only had a handful of female field agents across the UK, so it was likely most of Operations hadn’t shared a patrol car with a woman before. And if they had, they wouldn’t choose her.

  “It was your first time,” Landon said, finally, “seeing one of the little people.”

  “Yeah,” Sam admitted. “And it wasn’t really positive.”

  “Not sure that Casaria was far wrong about them.”

  “Absolutely not. They’re capable of rational discourse.”

  He was quiet again, and she knew it had come out too severe. And too lofty; this was not the environment for words like rational discourse. Confirming she
’d ended their conversation, Landon turned the radio up. Middle-of-the-road country music, exactly what she’d have expected.

  As they went through a set of traffic lights, Sam spotted a sign for Bristol Street station. “You’ve never seen that word before, Agent Landon? ‘Grugulochs’? It was the noise this thing made during the building quake this morning.”

  “Not one I recall.” Landon lazily turned the wheel.

  There was a police cordon ahead, tape across the road, civilians standing on tiptoes trying to get a look. Beyond all the hubbub, the street was partially concealed by dusty smoke, thick and motionless in the still air. A fire engine’s blue lights spun. Landon slowed down. “Lot of things make noises down there. Apothel wrote a lot of mad words. Doesn’t all mean something. This, though” – he pointed ahead – “is important.”

  She followed his gesture. Smoke piled out from the Underground entrance beyond. Firemen were barking at one another, the danger apparent. A woman pushed through the police line, wailing and clutching her head. Blood streamed through her fingers. A policeman rushed to her, putting an arm around her. There was nothing Sam could say without sounding dispassionate. The same as ever; there was always something that made it hard to speak, in the halls of the Ministry, in the conference calls, in superiors’ offices. The general public needed protecting, and that made most of her concerns moot.

  You couldn’t ask difficult questions when they detracted from the suffering public.

  Landon unbuckled his seatbelt, struggling to navigate it around his gut. “I’d better get down there.”

  Another car pulled up beyond them and two men in suits started flagging down the police. She recognised the bearded one. Farnham? He looked like he was in his element, almost smiling as he issued orders to the police. The Operations team would lock this down, quieten the story and keep whatever had happened under careful wraps. They’d brush over the difficult questions to make sure life rolled on as usual.

  Sam took a breath.

  “I’m coming with you.”