Unfortunately, it was a very brief moment, because almost immediately, my hands started to vibrate, like there was a very local earthquake happening only in the sink.
I opened my eyes. Then I yanked my hands back, because instead of water, fire was pouring out of the tap.
No, wait. It wasn’t fire. It was still water. But it was glowing with an inner flame. As it plunged down into the sink, it twisted and leapt downwards, in the same way a candle flame twists and leaps upwards.
Very, very, very carefully, I reached out and touched it. It didn’t burn, but my finger started vibrating again. I pulled my hand back.
I was a little freaked out, but only for ten seconds, because that’s how long it took for something really freak-worthy to happen. The weird, fiery, vibrating water started to clamber over the edge of the sink like a chimp escaping its cage.
This was not good. Fire burns down buildings. Water floods them. I didn’t know which one the firewater was going to do, but either way, Aunt Polly wasn’t going to be happy to come home and find out I had destroyed her flat. Plus, did glowing water mean it was radioactive? Was I downstream from some kind of nuclear meltdown?
I wanted to run out the door screaming, but I couldn’t just let this freaky wet hazard keep flowing out and onto the floor. What if I saved myself but the water flooded the whole building and killed everybody else in it? I figured I would give myself one minute to fix it, and if I couldn’t, I’d get the heck out of there and let somebody in a radiation suit try instead.
I tried to turn off the taps, but they wouldn’t budge. In desperation, I grabbed the wrench-hammer-shovel-hacksaw thing and slammed it into the hot water tap.
The tap whirred around rapidly and shut itself off.
I slammed the tool into the cold water tap, and it whirred around, too. The water was off. Now all I had to do was mop up the puddle on the floor before it leaked down into Lady Roslyn’s flat.
Unfortunately, the puddle didn’t want to get mopped up. I grabbed one of Aunt Polly’s fancy Egyptian cotton towels and threw it onto the floor – and the water dodged it. It just slithered over to the left.
OK. I didn’t know what was going on, but it was definitely not radiation. Maybe there were microscopic minnows in the water, which would explain why it was a funny colour, and when they darted around, they kind of sploshed the water around. And maybe the tingling was the fish nibbling my skin, like the time Aunt Mel took me to the spa where you put your feet in the water and fish nibbled off the dead skin. Yeah. That was the most logical explanation I could come up with.
I grabbed another towel and threw it at the puddle, which made the puddle jump out of the way again, so I threw another towel, and the puddle dodged that, too, but fortunately, I was smarter than a puddle of water, and I had planned my throws carefully. The water was now trapped between three towels. It seemed to know it, too, since it started trembling nervously, darting helplessly around.
With one last frantic effort, the puddle picked itself up off the floor and tried to jump over the wall of towels I had built. I don’t know how a puddle jumps, exactly, but however it did it, it couldn’t jump very far. It landed on a towel and got soaked up with a loud SPLOSH!
Well, almost all of it did. One single drop managed to spatter over the side. It slid along the floor, then skidded to a stop, stood up for a moment, and turned back towards me. It didn’t have eyes, but I swear, somehow I knew it was looking at me. (But no, that was impossible. It’s just little minnows sploshing around, I reminded myself. Right?)
Then the drop turned back the other way, as if it were looking at the wall.
I followed its gaze (or, at least, where its gaze would be, if it weren’t a drop of water). It was looking at a crack in the wall. It wasn’t a big crack, but it was just big enough for a drop of water to squeeze through.
We stood there for a moment, the drop of water and I.
And then we both leapt at once.
I leapt towards the drop, grabbing one of the towels off the floor as I flew through the air, like an action hero grabbing a gun in the middle of a big shoot-out.
And the water leapt for the crack in the wall.
What happened next felt like it was in slow motion. As I moved closer to the drop, the drop inched closer to its escape route. I was almost there – I stretched out the hand holding the towel – another split second and I’d have it—
—and just before I reached it, it slipped into the crack.
I slammed into the wall and slid down onto the floor.
As I lay there, the bathroom door swung open. But it wasn’t my mom. It was our downstairs neighbour, Lady Roslyn. She stared at the towel that had soaked up most of the puddle. It was writhing around like there was a rabid raccoon under it.
The funny thing was, she didn’t look baffled at the sight of a wriggling wet towel. She looked scared.
“Did any water escape?” she asked.
“No! Not at all! Except for one little drop. Maybe. Definitely.”
“You foolish girl,” she said. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just unleashed?”
“Um … minnows?” I said.
CHAPTER 4
Ignoring my answer, Lady Roslyn ran over to the sink and examined it. “You mixed hot and cold water?”
“I just didn’t want my hands to be chapped,” I said, although somehow, saying it out loud made it seem much less reasonable.
“I see,” Lady Roslyn said. “And I suppose you thought we English were too simple to have thought of mixing hot and cold water?”
“No! I just thought—”
“Oh, no need for shame. Why should the nation that discovered evolution, produced the works of Shakespeare, and conquered the entire globe be able to master basic bathroom plumbing? Who would imagine that we’d have a very good reason for keeping the hot water separate from the cold?”
“The shower mixes hot and cold water—”
“Exactly!” she said. “And you do your best thinking in the shower, don’t you?”
“Um… Yes, I guess…”
She grinned triumphantly, as if she had just proven some incredibly important point. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I felt like I needed to take charge of the conversation, so I said, “And what are you doing in my flat, anyway?”
“When my ceiling started glowing, I thought it best to investigate.”
“How’d you get in our front door?”
“Locks are easy, little girl. At least, mechanical locks.”
“First of all, I’m not a little girl. I’m twelve. Second, all locks are mechanical.”
I thought those were both excellent points, but she didn’t bother responding to either of them. “Have you had your kettle read recently?”
“My kettle?”
She sighed. “Yes, your kettle. To boil water in? To make tea?”
“Oh! You want to read my tea leaves? I don’t—”
“Nonsense,” Lady Roslyn said. “Only superstitious idiots read tea leaves. They change with every cup, don’t they?”
“Yes, but—”
“And do you suppose your fate changes that often? Awfully convenient, wouldn’t it be? ‘Oh, dear, I’ve just been convicted of murder and I’m about to head to the gallows. Let me just drink a different cup of tea, and suddenly I’ll be king of Sweden.’ Poppycock. Now, where’s your kettle?”
“It’s in the kitchen, but—”
Before I could finish the sentence, she had swept out of the room. I followed her into the kitchen, where she picked up the electric kettle on Aunt Polly’s counter. She flipped up the lid and peered in. I looked over her shoulder, but there wasn’t much to see – just a pattern of white curves on the bottom of the kettle, left behind when the water had been poured out.
At least, that’s what I thought it was. To Lady Roslyn, it must have seemed a lot scarier, because when she looked up at me, there was fear in her eyes. “Good God,” she murmured. “Sweet God in Heaven, have mercy
on us all.”
She kept staring at me. Finally, just to break the silence, I said the only thing I could think of, which was “It’s not actually my teakettle. My aunt is letting us stay.”
“I see. And this aunt said you should make yourself at home when it comes to the walls and the ceilings and the floors and all the furniture and all the plates and everything else except this particular teakettle?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then it’s your teakettle. And you have no idea how much trouble you’re in. How much trouble we’re all in.”
“I don’t underst—”
“How many rivers are under London?”
I actually knew the answer to this one. “I read that in a history book my grandmother gave me. There are a dozen or so rivers. They used to be above the ground, but—”
“A dozen? Pah. There are nine that matter. And by now, that drop of water you so carelessly lost could be in any one of them. And we are going to have to find it and get it back.”
I was getting pretty tired of being interrupted. I decided that my best chance to finish a sentence was to try one that consisted of a single word: “Why?”
“Because if we don’t get it back, it will mean the end of civilization. Every one of those rivers is—”
This time, it was Lady Roslyn who got interrupted, because somebody started knocking loudly on the front door. Whoever it was called out, “Postman. Sign for a parcel?”
Well, actually, they said, “Possssssssstman. Sssssssign for a parsssssel?” I thought the way they stretched out the Ss was a little weird – but Lady Roslyn seemed to find it much worse. She looked even more terrified.
“The Saltpetre Men!” she cried out. “They’ve found us already. We’ll have to run.”
I tried to stay calm. After all, this was a woman who’d just been frightened by a teakettle. I did not exactly have full confidence in her risk-assessment skills.
There was another loud knock on the door, which made us both jump. “Posssssssstman. Ssssssign for a parssssel?”
Lady Roslyn shook her head frantically. I hesitated. Should I listen to her?
But then she said, “Where does your mother keep her cleaning supplies?” and when I pointed under the sink, she pulled open the cabinet there and started rummaging through it frantically.
OK, I thought. Question answered. She’s crazy.
I went to the front door and opened it.
And I immediately wished I hadn’t.
Standing in the hallway was a shambling, stinking monstrosity. It was wearing the red uniform the postman usually wore, but there wasn’t much else human about it. It must have been seven feet tall. It had a perfect red circle running all the way around its bald head, but other than that, its skin was lumpy and pale grey with white droppings that looked like bird poop. In place of eyes, it had two bits of glittering rock, like the mica chips my aunt Rainey had once given me.
The whole thing looked like somebody had dug up the dirt underneath a pigeon-filled tree and poured it into a Royal Mail uniform and brought it to life and aimed it at me.
When Grandma’s words had changed in the book she’d given me, I’d figured it was just my memory playing tricks. When a glowing drop of water ran away from me, I’d convinced myself it was just radioactive minnows. But there was no scientific explanation possible for this mushy, smelly monster. It was magic. That meant everything I had believed about how the world worked was wrong.
I stumbled back in horror. The monster took a step forwards and lifted up its arm, which bent in a bunch of places no arm should ever bend. For a moment, I thought it was going to grab me, and I held up my hands to protect myself—
—but it just held out a clipboard. “Ssssssssignature, pleassse,” it burbled.
Since my hands were already up, I took the clipboard. There was an old-fashioned parchment attached to it, with an elegantly calligraphed message:
I, Hyacinth Hayward, do hereby pledge to return the lost drop of water to the nearest Royal Mail office by midnight, on pain of death. (Visit our website to find a Royal Mail office conveniently near you!)
Since the clipboard was the only weapon I had at hand, I threw it at the Saltpetre Man. A corner of it sank into the monster’s forehead and just stayed there. The Saltpetre Man didn’t seem to notice. “Sssssssignature, pleasssssse.”
Wait. Was there an echo in the hall? I craned my head to the side, looking past the monster’s bulk.
It was no echo. There were a dozen other Saltpetre Men behind it, all burbling, “Sssssignature, pleassssse.”
Run, I thought, but my legs wouldn’t move.
“Have no fear,” whispered Lady Roslyn’s voice in my ear. “There are only two things that can hurt a Saltpetre Man, and one of them is ammonia.”
I got control of my muscles enough to turn my head and look back at her. She was clutching a bottle of window cleaner. With a gleeful cackle, she pointed at the closest creature and squeezed the trigger frantically, filling the air with mist.
Nothing happened.
I tried to talk, but no words came out. All I could do was point a trembling finger at the little label on the environmentally friendly window cleaner Mom insisted on buying: MADE WITH PLANT-BASED CLEANERS. AMMONIA-FREE!
Finally, I got a word out. And that word was “RUN!!!”
I ducked under the Saltpetre Man’s arm. He swatted at me, but he moved so slowly that I could dodge him. Behind him, the others started bunching together to block me, but they were slow enough that I managed to dive between them.
As I did, I brushed against one of their legs and shuddered. It was slimy, but with a weird warmth. I was so freaked out that I stumbled a little, which gave it enough time to reach down and grab my arm. Its touch was wet and slippery and muddy, and when I jerked my hand back, its fingers crumbled slightly around the edges, which was absolutely disgusting, but it let me break free.
I caught my balance and ran down the steps, with Lady Roslyn close behind me.
We made it to the foyer and out the door and we were half a block away before they even lumbered out of the building.
I stood there, bent over, trying to catch my breath. When I straightened up, I noticed that Lady Roslyn didn’t even seem winded. That was a little weird, but it wasn’t even in the top ten weirdest things that had happened to me that day.
Fortunately, it seemed like we could both outrun the Saltpetre Men, whatever they were, so everything was going to be OK. We’d just run a few more blocks and lose them, and then I’d forget I had ever seen glowing water, and everything would be back to normal.
As I was thinking that, a cab pulled up in front of our building. Mom got out. Instead of noticing the gigantic mud monsters standing three feet behind her, she noticed me and waved cheerfully.
“MOM!” I yelled, running towards her. “Watch out for—”
“Mrrrghmrrgh,” Mom said as one of the monsters clamped a crumbling hand over her mouth. She struggled frantically, but she might as well have been wrestling a mountain. The Saltpetre Man picked her up and threw her into the back of a Royal Mail van that had parked nearby, as the other Saltpetre Men climbed into the front.
I reached the van just as it pulled away. The Saltpetre Man who was driving leaned out of the window as the van passed by. “Midnight tonight,” it burbled as it threw something small and shiny at my feet: an antique-looking penny. “Midnight tonight,” it burbled again.
I got a quick glimpse of my mom’s terrified face pressed up again the rear window. And then the van was gone.
I whipped out my phone and dialed 999, which is British for 911.
“Emergency operator,” said the emergency operator.
“My mother has been kidnapped by monsters!” I yelled.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how crazy they must sound. But the emergency operator was surprisingly matter-of-fact. “Are those monsters in Royal Mail uniforms, or unidentified other monsters?”
“Royal Mail,” I said.
“Did they state clearly for you the conditions, magical or otherwise, required for your mother’s return?”
“Yes, I guess so, but—”
“Then they’re acting within the law, ma’am. Please reserve 999 for genuine emergencies.” She hung up.
I stared at the phone for a moment, then dialed my dad, my grandma, and all eight of my aunts. Nobody picked up, which was kind of creepy. Mom and her sisters were constantly calling each other at all hours to solve some crisis or just to chat, and I couldn’t remember anybody ever taking more than two rings to answer.
Then I thought about what Grandma’s note had said, the first time I had read it: I write this with heavy heart, for you and your mother are heading into terrible danger you cannot possibly anticipate. I wish I could guide you through it, but you must face it on your own. All I can do is tell you this: your aunts and I have done what we can to prepare you. Remember, my child. As long as you remember, I will always be with you.
Well, I was remembering, all right, so I guess she was with me in spirit. But honestly, I kind of would rather have had her with me in reality.
I lowered my phone and looked up to find Lady Roslyn tapping her fingers impatiently against her arm. She knelt down, picked up the penny, and handed it to me. “If you’re quite finished wasting time,” she said, “perhaps we should go and find that drop of water.”
CHAPTER 5
“Tell me again why I’m buying an umbrella,” I said.
I was inside the news stand at the Hampstead Tube station, waiting impatiently while Lady Roslyn looked slowly through a collection of cheap black umbrellas. They all looked alike to me, but she was lifting each one out of the stand and scrutinizing it carefully.
“Because you failed to bring one with you when you left the flat,” Lady Roslyn answered.
The City of Secret Rivers Page 2
