The Golden City

by John Twelve Hawks

  “The lost rivers. The ones that flow under the streets.”

  “So where are they?” Maya asked. “Any underneath Ludgate Circus?”

  Roland shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t tell you that. And I won’t say something that’s not true.”

  “We called her Crazy Nora,” Jugger said. “She had maps ”

  * * *

  A quick Internet search gave them an address in Finchley, and a few hours later Maya and Simon were walking past the cricket grounds on Waterfall Road. There appeared to be a great many parks and playing fields in Finchley. Jamaican nannies with phone headsets pushed baby carriages while schoolboys kicked a ball. But the largest space in the neighborhood was taken up by the weeping angels and mausoleums of the Great Northern Cemetery. Maya had a vision of thousands of dead Victorians traveling on a ghost train to this final resting place.

  Simon turned the corner on to Brookdale Street and stopped under a flowering cherry tree. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Just a little tired. That’s all.”

  “You were harsh with Jugger and Roland. Usually, it is better to be gentle with your friends—delicato. The Free Runners want to be helpful, but they are frightened.”

  “I don’t have the time to be diplomatic.”

  “Anger can also waste time,” Simon said. “You have always been like your father, careful and deliberate. But lately—not so much.”

  “I’m worried about Alice Chen. She’s the same age I was when a lot of bad things happened.”

  “Would you like to talk about that?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anything else you would like to talk about? I’m sure it troubles you that Gabriel has crossed over ”

  For a moment, she wanted to break down, embrace her father’s old friend, and tell him about the pregnancy. No tears, she told herself. Tears won’t save Alice or Gabriel or anyone else in this world. As Simon watched, she rearranged her sword carrier and stood a little straighter.

  “I’m alright. Let’s find this woman and see if she has any underground maps.”

  They continued down the street until they reached number fifty one—a two-story brick house that had once displayed grand pretensions. Greek columns created a portico leading to the front door and a Doric façade ran around the edge of the roof. Signs had been placed among the weeds and brambles of what had once been a front lawn. FREE THE RIVERS. Inquire Within.

  Maya and Simon walked up a flagstone pathway and knocked on the door. Almost immediately they heard a woman’s voice coming from a distant part of the house. “I’m here!” The woman kept shouting as she passed through different rooms. “Here! I’m here!”

  Maya glanced at Simon and saw that he was smiling. “Someone dwells within,” he said pleasantly.

  The door was flung open and they faced a small woman in her seventies. Her long gray hair went off in every direction, and she wore a T-shirt that displayed the slogan: Break Your Chains.

  “Good afternoon, madam. I am Dr. Pannelli, and this is my friend, Judith Strand. We were walking to the park and saw your signs. Ms. Strand is curious about your organization. If you are not busy, perhaps you could tell us a bit more.”

  “No!” the woman said with a big smile. “Not busy. Not busy at all. Come in, Mister I didn’t hear the name.”

  “Dr. Pannelli. And this is my friend, Ms. Strand.”

  They followed the woman into what had once been the front parlor. All the chairs and tables were covered with stacks of pamphlets, books and yellowing newspapers. There were plastic pails filled with smooth river stones and glass jars sealed with red wax and marked with cryptic labels.

  “Just push away the clutter and find someplace to sit.” The woman took a stack of books off a wicker chair and dumped them onto a folding cot. “I’m Nora Griggs, the Chairwoman and chief recording secretary of Free the Rivers.”

  “An honor to meet you,” Simon said smoothly. “So what exactly does your organization do?”

  “It’s all rather simple, Dr. Pannelli. Free the Rivers describes our vision and our goal. I could have called it ‘Free the London Rivers,’ but once we’re done here, we’ll move on to the rest of the world.”

  “Is the Thames not free?” Simon asked.

  “We’re talking about all the other rivers that used to run through London, like the Westbourne, the Tyburn and the Walbrook. Now they’re covered up with brick and concrete.”

  “And your organization wants to—”

  “Blow up the concrete and let the rivers run free. Imagine a London where pensioners can fish in their neighborhood trout stream. A city where children play and lovers stroll along the banks of a babbling brook.”

  “A charming vision,” Simon said in a soothing voice.

  “It’s more than charming, Dr. Pannelli. A society that frees its rivers can take the first step toward freeing their minds. Children need to realize that rivers don’t follow straight lines.”

  Maya glanced at Simon—this is going nowhere—but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I work near Ludgate Circus,” he said. “Is there a river in that area?”

  “Yes. The River Fleet. It starts in Hampstead, and then runs beneath Camden Town, Smithfield Market and Ludgate Circus.”

  “And you’re sure it’s still there?” Maya asked.

  “Of course it’s there! You can cover up the rivers, dam them and fill them with rubbish, but they will always fight back. In time, all the skyscrapers and office buildings will fall down, but the rivers will remain.”

  “Brava, Ms. Griggs! This sounds like an outstanding organization.” Simon reached into his coat pocket and took out his wallet. He hesitated and then—very deliberately—put the wallet away. “You speak with such passion and sincerity that it feels indelicate to ask any question.”

  “Be my guest,” Nora said. “Ask away!”

  “Do you have any proof of your statement? Do you have photographs or maps of these rivers.”

  “Maps? I’ve got plenty of those.” Nora pulled out a cardboard box, and everything fell onto the floor. Quickly, she knelt down and began scooping up pamphlets.

  “Do you have a map of the River Fleet? Ms. Strand and I enjoy exploring London. It would be most educational to the follow the course of the Fleet through the city.”

  “The Fleet starts up on Hampstead Heath and empties out of a nasty little drainage pipe beneath Blackfriars Bridge. The rest of the time, it’s underground, flowing beneath our madness and confusion.”

  “I see. But you know where it goes.”

  Nora finished picking up the pamphlets and made a sly smile. “And you would, too—if you become members.”

  Once again, Simon took out his wallet. “Do we pay dues? Sign a petition? What’s the procedure?”

  “Five pounds apiece and you get membership cards, although I might have misplaced the cards.”

  Looking flustered, Nora hurried off into what had once been the dining room and began to rummage through boxes and paper sacks.

  Maya leaned forward spoke quietly to Simon. “Do you believe any of this?”

  “That the River Fleet is still there? There’s no question of that. And ten pounds is a fair price for a good map.”

  “Here we are!” Looking triumphant, Nora Griggs stood in the doorway and waved her treasure. “Membership cards!”

  30

  W earing a yellow hard hat and a reflector vest with the City of London logo, Maya stood across the street from the Evergreen Foundation building on Limeburner Lane. It was about ten o’clock in the evening and no one was out, but she was wary of the surveillance cameras mounted on the wall over the building’s entrance.

  Roland was halfway down the block searching for a storm drain that emptied rainwater into the Fleet River. According to Nora Grigg’s map, the river was directly below them, flowing in the darkness toward the Thames.

  At night, the Evergreen building looked like a chess board—a grid of lines marking out black or gray squares. Light came from the vertical line of windows marking the emergency staircase and from two curtained windows on the fifth floor. Maybe Alice is bein
g held there, Maya thought. Or maybe some accountant forgot to switch off his desk lamp.

  Roland raised his hand and she hurried down the street to join him. The Free Runner was also wearing a hard hat and reflector vest. He rummaged through a knapsack and pulled out a flashlight attached to thirty feet of nylon fishing line.

  “This drain is the closest we can get to the building. But I can’t promise you that the outflow pipe leads to the river.”

  “Do it anyway. It’s better than nothing.”

  Roland switched on a flashlight with a dark red bulb and lowered it through the grate. “When you walk north, you’ll see green, white, blue and red lights. This red flashlight is the most important one. It means you’re thirty meters from the target.”

  He tied the end of the fishing line to the grate, and they headed down the street to Ludgate Circus. A hundred years ago, this had been a busy square filled with peddlers, but now it was just another sterile intersection with a grid of yellow lines on the pavement. There were plenty of storm drains in the area, and they lowered the blue flashlight through a grate near the lane. Continuing down New Bridge Street, they lowered the white flashlight near the Blackfriars pub and headed for the Thames.

  The fourth flashlight was left in a drain near the Unilever building, a large cream-colored structure with an outer façade that made it look like a Greek temple. Maya knew the building was just another statement of power, but the grand gesture in the classical style was very appealing. And what’s the symbol for my generation? she wondered. A surveillance camera?

  When they reached Blackfriars Bridge, they took a staircase down to Pauls Walk, the pedestrian pathway that ran alongside the river. Blackfriars Railway Bridge was directly overhead, and Maya heard the click and clatter of a train crossing over to Waterloo Station.

  Jugger sat on a bench with a waterproof knapsack that carried her equipment. He finished a conversation on his mobile phone and switched it off. “I just talked to Sebastian. He followed the charwoman back to her flat.”

  “I don’t want her working tonight,” Maya said.

  “No worries. Simon Lumbroso called her and said the building was closed because of a chemical spill. She won’t be coming in.”

  Maya walked over to the parapet wall and gazed out at the city lights reflected on the Thames. In the daytime, the river was simply part of the scenery. Tourists rode to the top of the Millennium Wheel and took snapshots of Westminster. But at night the Thames seemed dark and powerful, passing like a silent force through the flash and bustle of London.

  A steel ladder was bolted to the parapet. It allowed maintenance worker to climb down to a culvert that dribbled water into the Thames. According to Nora Griggs, this outlet was all that remained of the mighty River Fleet.

  Roland and Jugger stood beside her with the gear. During the last few days, they purchased most of her equipment and helped her organize the plan. Both Free Runners were still wary of her anger and Jugger looked tense whenever weapons appeared. After rummaging through his knapsack, Roland pulled out a pair of rubber waders. “Better put these on. You’re going to be walking up a river.”

  A grim-faced jogger ran past them followed by an East Asian couple holding hands. No one seemed surprised that she was pulling on the waders. With their hard hats and vests, Maya and the two Free Runners looked like city employees about to deal with a drainage problem.

  Jugger held up the waterproof knapsack and she slipped it over her shoulders. She adjusted the straps, pulling them tight. When everything was ready, she placed the two special shotgun rounds into the outer pocket of the waders.

  “I thought the shotgun was already loaded,” Jugger said.

  “Linden gave me these. They’re breaching rounds for blowing out a door lock.”

  “Bloody hell ” Jugger looked impressed.

  Roland handed her the bolt cutters, and she clipped them to a ring attached to the waders. “Watch out for sink holes and don’t touch your eyes,” Roland said. “Rats live in the tunnels. If bacteria from their waste enter your body, you might get something called Weil’s disease. It’s difficult to cure.”

  “That’s a pleasant fact. Anything else I need to know?”

  Roland looked embarrassed. “I would like to ask one last question.”

  Because you think I’m going to die, Maya thought. But she nodded to the Yorkshireman. “Go ahead.”

  “You Harlequins say: ‘Damned by the flesh. Saved by the blood.’”

  “That’s right.”

  “So whose flesh and whose blood?”

  “We’re damned because we’re human beings. But we’re willing to sacrifice ourselves for something more important than our own lives.”

  Roland nodded. “Good luck, Maya.”

  “Thank you. You’ve fulfilled your obligation.”

  Both Free Runners relaxed and Jugger made a nervous smile. “It was an honor to help you, Maya. I swear that’s true. During the last few days, Roland and me have felt like Honorary Harlequins.”

  Mother Blessing would have slapped him across the face for that presumptuous statement, but Maya let it to go. If everyone’s life had value and meaning, then she had to respect citizens and drones.

  “Keep your mobiles switched on,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get out of the building.”

  Maya scrambled over the wall and climbed down the ladder to the grate. Using the bolt cutters, she cut off a rusty padlock, pulled open the hinged grate, and stepped into the culvert. Mother Blessing had always insisted that weapons come first. Everything else is second. Maya’s two knives were already strapped to her forearms. Shifting the knapsack, she pulled out her sword and a combat shotgun with a carrying strap. She tied the sword’s scabbard to the side of the pack and slung the shotgun strap around her neck. Finally, she pulled out a high intensity headlamp and touched the switch on the power pack.

  Moving the light beam back and forth, Maya studied the culvert. She had expected to find a large concrete pipe, but the Fleet was contained within a brick-lined tunnel about eight feet high with a level floor, curving sides and an arched ceiling. Although London’s citizens took the Tube to work, they rarely thought about what was underground. The River Fleet had flowed through London during riots and wars and the Great Fire. It had existed in Shakespeare’s time and in the Roman Era. Perhaps it had drained the melting glaciers from the last Ice Age. All that was past, and now the river was held captive. The lower part of the tunnel was covered with algae, and the rest of the tunnel had a white crust that reminded her of toothpaste left in a sink.

  Knee-deep in the cold water, she took her first step forward. Ripples appeared and waves sloshed against the walls. The base of the culvert was covered with silt mixed with gravel. When her boots sunk six inches into the muck, she realized it would take time and effort to reach Ludgate Circus.

  Her shadow glided across the walls as she headed up the tunnel. Ten minutes later, she saw the glow of green light coming from a drain pipe that emptied into the tunnel. At least she was moving in the right direction. There was a “Y” juncture about twenty yards north of the light. Using a can of spray paint, Maya made a diamond sign on the wall. She went to the left, following the river where the current felt stronger.

  She couldn’t find the white flashlight near Blackfriars pub, but continued onward. The culvert became smaller—about five feet high—and her hard hat scraped against the rough brick surface. Fiber optical cables appeared, fastened to the top of the culvert with brackets. The communications companies who wired the city for the Internet had realized that ripping up the streets would cost millions of pounds. Somehow they had persuaded the city authorities to give them free access to the Fleet. Maya wondered if Internet cables followed the routes of the other lost rivers.

  Throughout her journey, she had passed through pockets of sewage. When the culvert turned right, she smelled an even stronger odor. Grease. Cooking oil. She was walking beneath a London restaurant that was draining its waste into the river.

  A rat—about eight inches long from nose to tail—scur
ried across the bricks. As the cooking smell grew stronger, more rats appeared, and she felt sick to her stomach. Some of the rats ran away from the light, but others stayed frozen on the sloping sides of the culvert. Her light made their eyes look like little red beads. The culvert angled left, and when she came around the corner she saw hundreds of rats clinging to the wall. The light caused a panic, and some of the rats leaped into the river, making high-pitched squeaks as they splashed over to the other side.

  The river current pushed the rats toward her. The water was high now, almost to her waist, and she could see the rats’ sharp noses and thin tails. Maya drew her sword and used the tip of the blade to flick the rats away. The grease smell was almost unbearable. A drop of water fell on her forehead. Don’t touch your mouth or eyes, she told herself. A child is inside you, growing within this body.

  After twenty yards of culvert, the rats began to disappear. A few stragglers scurried away when she sloshed up the tunnel. She found the blue light near a Y-juncture, but there was no indication about which way to go. She took the right fork and was relieved to see the red marker.

  How far to the Evergreen building? Was it thirty yards? Forty? She continued up the culvert until she found two fiber optical cables that ran into the culvert from a maintenance pipe in the ceiling. The pipe was about three feet wide and sealed with a hinged steel plate. When Maya tapped the plate with her knuckles, she heard a hollow sound.

  Water swirled around her and white foam clung to the waders. Trying not to slip and fall, she loaded one of the breaching rounds into the shotgun. Then she held the weapon close to the plate and fired. The noise echoed down the tunnel. It was so loud that she almost fell backward. A six-inch hole had appeared in the plate, and she used the bolt cutters to hack through the steel.

  Sweat covered her face, and she tried not to panic when it touched her lips. After transferring her weapons to the knapsack, she tied the bag to a nylon cord and looped the other end around her shoulders. Grabbing one of the cables, she began to climb hand-over-hand, the knapsack swinging beneath her. The cord dug into her skin and the dead weight tried to pull her down, but she kept climbing until she reached a closet-sized switching room. The breaching round had been very loud—the noise might have been picked up with a sensor. Perhaps the guards had been notified and now they were there, waiting for her.