So Below: The Trilogy

by Matt Whyman

  “They’re not tricks,” Yoshi points out quietly.

  “OK,” Mikhail’s continues, deaf to the boy’s remark, “I admit you won’t catch me jumping stupid gaps for the thrill of it, but you can rely on me in times of danger.” His pitch falls away there, for Julius has yet to respond. In a last desperate bid to be included, he grabs the last fortune cookie from the tray, breaks it open carefully, and pretends to look amazed as a moth emerges from inside. “Impressive, huh? You never know when a stunt like that can come in useful.”

  The moth flits across the table, narrowly avoiding the flames from the candelabra. Julius Grimaldi watches it head for the shadows beyond, then returns his attention to the illusionist still clutching the cracked-open cookie.

  “Very well,” the old man sighs. “Somehow, I don’t think the release of a moth is going to be much use to us, but your determination is admirable. You may come on this journey with us, Mikhail. Just so long as you are prepared for anything. Some of the things you’ll witness could surprise you. Indeed, it could lead you to believe in a very different level of magic.”

  “You can count me in,” says the young Russian, and stops himself there. All of a sudden, he doesn’t seem so eager. “Erm, where are we going, exactly? In all the excitement I forgot to ask.”

  Julius gestures at the mouth of the tunnel behind them. “That way,” is all he says, and he invites Livia, Yoshi and Mikhail to prepare to move off. “As for you, Billy, I want you ready to have the Bridge on lockdown at a moment’s notice. Is that clear? Nobody goes in or out unless they have your permission. Aleister is perilously close to uncovering us. So consider yourself to be battle ready.”

  “Affirmative,” says Billy, as the twins hand out equipment from the chest. “One final question,” he adds. “How will we know if you’ve switched on this ring thing?”

  Julius swaps a look with Yoshi, who’s busy fitting himself with his own head torch now. “Put it this way,” he says darkly, “should we fail, every citizen in this city will find out about it.”

  18

  THE WORKING PARTS

  Otto Tempesta is in heaven. That’s what he tells the brute right now, in between mouthfuls of sticky rib meat.

  “You were right about coming here to eat, big man. This is terrific! How they get the sauce so rich and sweet is just out of this world. Do you think the chef would share the recipe if we asked real nice?”

  Aleister laces his hands behind his back, if only to stop himself from just locking them around Otto’s neck. “I doubt that,” he tells him, glancing at the traffic camera one more time. “This quarter is deeply protective of her mysteries and secrets. It’s what draws so many people here, including Blaize and Scarlett, if my instinct is to be trusted.”

  “So why don’t we ask around, Al, or stick up some missing persons posters?” He pauses there to tear off another hunk of meat. “We’re here to do a job, am I right?”

  “Indeed,” the brute concedes, thankful that the man has not entirely forgotten why he’s been flown in. “But I do believe our presence here is all that will be required to draw them out. Mark my words, it won’t be long before you’re reunited with your precious twins.”

  “Marlene will be delighted,” says Otto, chewing still. “Maybe once they’re back in the Foundation we can celebrate with an evening at the theatre. I hear the best shows come to London Town.”

  “Maybe so,” agrees Aleister. With some regret, he withdraws himself to a calm place in his mind. Somewhere that will help him to resist his driving need to cause this clown’s head to explode. When Otto begins to pick at his teeth, the brute turns away looking pained. Across the thoroughfare he spots the alley mouth, the one into which Yoshi had vanished on his escape from the Foundation. It doesn’t look like much, squashed between a restaurant and a Chinese laundry, but somehow the dead end had swallowed the boy whole. It was like he had just told Otto. This place hid many mysteries.

  “Let’s look around over there,” suggests Aleister now, aware of the camera bracketed to the corner of the laundry building. “Just stick close by me,” he adds, mindful of its field of vision. “There are thieves at large in the area.”

  Otto stops chewing and looks over both shoulders. “Really? It looks OK to me.”

  “It’s like I said,” replies the brute, already crossing the street now. “There is more to this quarter than meets the eye.”

  Otto hurries to catch up, waggling his hands on the trot now to dry them. Midway across, a rumbling sound builds beneath their feet, and then fades away just as fast. Otto stops dead, looks at the tarmac and then at Aleister in saucer-eyed surprise. “What was that?”

  “It’s just a subway train,” the brute assures him.

  Otto narrows his gaze, turning his tongue over his back molars. “What kind of rolling stock do they use over here? Sounded more like a stampede of animals to me.”

  “Will you relax?” snaps Aleister, finally boiling over now. “Just shut up and stand next to me.”

  For a second, Otto doesn’t move a muscle. Only his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in the wake of this outburst, such is his shock at Aleister’s sudden turn of character. “Buddy,” he says eventually. “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone of voice.”

  Aleister presses one paw to the fold at the back of his dome, and holds it there as if to restrain himself. He mutters what looks to Otto like a curse, and then softens visibly. “You’re right,” he says. “I apologise. I’m just anxious to return the twins to the care they deserve.”

  “Amen to that,” replies Otto, and crosses the street to join him. “When I set eyes on my little treasures, the first thing I’m gonna to do is hug them tight. Secondly, I’ll call Marlene so she can hear their sweet voices again. And the third thing . . .” There his voice trails away. Not because Otto has just realised that taking a belt strap to each twin in turn might not be what the Foundation’s director should hear, but because one end of the scarf around the brute’s neck has just risen up to greet him. “Stay right where you are, big guy! There’s some kind of python interfering with you.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Meet My Pretty,” says Aleister, as the snake’s diamond head rises to meet a pair of startled eyes.

  “That’s one helluva pet.” Otto grasps at the neck of his golf shirt, as if to help him breathe easier. “For a moment I really thought your time had come to meet your maker.”

  Aleister smiles, almost bashfully. “She’s been my companion for many years now. Wherever I go, My Pretty comes along for the ride.” Once again, he checks the traffic camera has a clear view of proceedings. “Don’t look so nervous,” he adds. “She won’t bite.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because,” states the brute, with some relish, “she only bites on my command.”

  Otto falls quiet, contemplating the snake’s potential. At the same time, yet another rumble can be heard moving under this cobbled quarter. On this occasion, even though he can literally feel it in his bones, Otto keeps his mouth tightly shut.

  19

  UNDER CHINATOWN

  When the lanterns in the passage start to sway, Julius Grimaldi turns to the ragtag procession behind him and says: “What you can hear is just a tube train. The rail tunnel runs just a couple of feet through the clay from here.”

  “That’s a strange-sounding locomotive,” comments Livia, who’s the only one with no need for a head torch.

  Yoshi follows behind, and nods in agreement. “It sounds more like a peal of thunder.”

  “Or a whole pack of animals on the loose,” adds this strange angel with the luminous aura. “Just listen to those brakes squeal! That’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard!”

  Bringing up the rear, Mikhail glances cautiously over his shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m going to like this,” he whispers. Behind him, the crescent-shaped glow from the Map Room continues to shrink, and then slips from view as they round a gentle corner.<
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  “We’re in good hands,” Yoshi assures him, having been this way before. The first time, Julius had escorted him on a tour of the city’s hidden levels that finished at the summit of the Seven Dials. From this central London monument, the boy had looked out full circle over the rooftops and counted seven steeples. It had been a still and star-crossed night, which helped Julius point out seven corresponding planets twinkling brightly in the heavens. Such a clear pattern, stitched into the jumble of streets, squares, parks and courtyards, had charged the boy with awe and wonder. It meant when Julius revealed that each steeple marked a point in a sacred force field, Yoshi hadn’t simply dismissed him as a dreamer. Indeed, on witnessing that mile-wide shadow unfurl out of the void, and sweep over London like some sinister bird of prey, he had returned to ground level convinced that forces of both good and evil were preparing to battle for control of the capital.

  And if the old man’s hunch is correct, laying claim to the seventh waypoint in the ring could decide the future of the city for generations to come.

  Right now, as Julius pushes open a hatch in the side of the passage, and leads them into a narrow corridor, that waypoint seems like a world away. Yoshi is the last to come through. As he does so, he catches the old man’s eye.

  “I feel lost already,” he says, eyeing the row of doorways. Each one is covered by silk drapes embroidered with oriental symbols. “Where are we now?”

  “In the labyrinth,” Julius tells them, squeezing past Mikhail and Livia to lead the way once more. Somewhere in the near distance, the sound of harp strings can be heard. This is punctured every now and then by the clash of blades and high-pitched shrieks, as if some kind of ceremonial sword fight is taking place. Above all, the heady scent of incense fills the air. “The whole of Chinatown is linked in this way,” he continues, swishing through the corridor now like an over-efficient guide. “It dates back hundreds of years, to when the first settlers from the Far East lived in fear of persecution. There was a time when the place wasn’t just out of bounds to tourists, but to anyone who valued their lives. Opium addicts, spice smugglers, money launderers and warring gangs were said to have made this place a no-go zone. Nowadays anything goes. It’s like a taste of the old country, right here under London.”

  As they skirt one of the chambers, Mikhail dares to part the drapes. He takes one peek inside, only for someone to babble at him angrily. To back it up, a playing card slices through the gap. It connects with his forehead, bouncing into his clutches. “My apologies,” he stammers, showing his palms. “As you were, gentlemen.”

  “What did you see?” whispers Yoshi, as the young Russian catches up.

  “A bunch of Chinese guys playing cards around a table,” he tells him. “With a lot of money stacked up there, too.”

  “Most likely a poker match,” Julius calls back.

  “I guess so,” replies Mikhail, turning the card face up. “You don’t need the joker to play poker.”

  “And we don’t need a joker on this mission,” the old man is quick to add. “Now please do keep your voices down. By rights, we shouldn’t be here at all. I only use it as a short cut to the river.”

  “So we’re on our way to the Thames?” asks Livia. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but wouldn’t it have been easier to hail a taxi or jump on a bus?”

  Julius pauses in front of several packing crates that block his path. He turns into the light cast by the girl’s aura. “If we were heading for Father Thames, I would’ve taken us by one of the culverts that drain in under the bridges. It’s kind of boggy underfoot, but you never know what treasures and trinkets you might come across. In a bus or a taxi you’re more likely to encounter someone else’s chewing gum on the seat. As for the river I have in mind, there’s only one way to reach the shores, and this is it.” He stops there to shove the crates from their path. But instead of clearing the way, it reveals a hole in the clay floor the size of a dustbin lid.

  “What’s down there?” asks Yoshi, peering forward with the others.

  Together with Livia’s aura, the beams from their head torches drop down into the void and pick out a free-flowing current of water.

  “My friends,” announces Julius, “you’re looking at the Walbrook. One of London’s eleven lost rivers.”

  Livia is the first to break the silence, as the three youngsters observe the dark water. It courses at a right angle to the passage they’re standing in, through a cylindrical brick tunnel scored by moss and tidemarks. “What a pong!” she complains, crinkling her nose.

  “Sadly, that’s because it’s been smothered by the advance of time and the demands of a growing city,” says Julius. “Over the years, they’ve all been redirected to suit the needs of architects and city planners, and practically squeezed out of existence. But even if these ancient waterways are out of sight and out of mind, you’ll never stop them from flowing. Like the ley lines, you’ll find all kinds of energy coursing under London. This one is a treat, as we’ll find out if you follow me.”

  “Wait a minute!” Livia stops the old man in his tracks, as he prepares to drop down into the void. “You want us to climb into the water?” She gestures at her long clinging dress. “I’m hardly prepared for it!”

  “It isn’t that deep, my dear. And I can safely say there are no alligators on this stretch.”

  Mikhail turns to Yoshi. Under his breath, he says: “Did I just hear that correctly? There are alligators under London?”

  “That’s the least of our worries,” Yoshi replies, wondering if they’ll ever get further than here.

  “I don’t mind getting wet,” Livia tells Julius. “But I do object to stinking like a drowned rat for my troubles.”

  “Hey,” says Mikhail, trying to be helpful. “We’ll all be in the same boat.”

  “If we had a boat,” she replies icily, “I’d be happier about going down there.”

  Just then, Yoshi finds Julius looking across the hole at him. The old man doesn’t need to tell him what’s at stake, and it’s more than a wet pair of feet.

  “Livia,” the boy says, “we have Julius to thank for our freedom from the Foundation. I trust him when he says this is something we must do for the sake of the city. If we succeed, maybe we’ll all come up smelling of roses.”

  Livia sighs, grabs the hem of her black dress, and rips it to the thigh. “Very well,” she agrees, preparing herself for the drop. “But hear this, Yoshi, I’m doing it for you.”

  “Dude!” This is Mikhail, cutting in with yet another whisper for Yoshi that everyone can hear. “She worships you!”

  “Not exactly,” replies Livia. “It means if we mess up, Yoshi will have to answer to me!”

  20

  MISSING IN ACTION

  On the Bridge, in the heart of the bunker, all the monitors in every row show the feed from the camera trained on the brute. The overhead spotlights are dimmed, but for three at the back. Under the central spot, Billy No-Beard is in the hot seat and he’s pecking at the keyboard with two fingers. He doesn’t once look down. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on the cinema-sized screen on the far wall.

  “What’s Aleister playing at?” asks Scarlett, who is seated beside him. “His snake has fangs, but I’m sure Otto can see that perfectly well for himself. He really doesn’t need to have it waved in front of his nose.”

  “It’s a message,” her sister Blaize observes, from Billy’s other side. “Aleister is showing us that he means business.”

  Billy No-Beard remains quite focused on his work. He stabs a button, and the footage, recorded just minutes earlier, speeds along at treble time. It leaves Otto looking a little comic, swaying as he does from side to side. Even the pedestrians and passing rickshaws look like clockwork toys wound up too tightly. What silences the twins is the way that the image of Aleister appears to remain quite composed within it all, as if he’s moving out of time with the world around him.

  “Is there something wrong with the equipment?” asks Scarlett.

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p; “Everything has been checked and double-checked,” Billy replies, mindful that they have seen this phenomenon once before, when the brute first came looking for Yoshi. “I still can’t work out how he does it.”

  As he speaks, the tape catches up with the action going on above ground, and reverts to real time. Now, Otto stands there dabbing at a grease spot on his shirt, while Aleister pokes about in the long weeds that line the alley mouth.

  “He’s close,” breathes Blaize.

  “He’s definitely toying with us,” Billy counters. “Aleister knows that there’s more to the buckled vent at the dead end, because that’s how Yoshi first gave him the slip. The thing is he’s built too big to squeeze through. What he’s doing is biding his time, waiting for us to lose our nerve and dispatch you both to the surface.”

  Blaize snorts at the very thought. “He’s wasting his time, then!”

  “But what about Otto?” Scarlett sounds more concerned. “I don’t think Aleister was bluffing when he threatened to set the snake on him by sundown. We’ll have to give ourselves up, surely?”

  This time, Billy breaks away from the controls, sits back in the chair and sighs. “We’ll just have to hope that Julius’s quest for this keystone isn’t as crazy as I think it sounds.”

  The trio fall silent there, but it’s clear from their faces that they’re each contemplating the worst-case scenario. The silence is only broken by a crackle from the intercom, and then a faint voice breaks through:

  “Bravo Team Leader to base. This is Bravo Team Leader, d’you copy?”

  Billy frowns, and collects the headset and mouthpiece boom from the desk. “This is most peculiar,” he mutters to himself. “There are no operations scheduled for today.”

  He dons the headset, snaps the mouthpiece in place, and brings the voice onto the main speakers. “Copy, Team Leader. This is base. Confirm your location, over.”