Word of Honour

by Michael Pryor

  The stairs seemed to go down forever, much further down than the level of the basement of the building. At irregular distances, candles in jam jars had been left, just enough to make the darkness difficult instead of impossible.

  Jack held up a hand to caution Aubrey. 'Almost there.'

  'Almost where?' Aubrey said. He looked around at the platform that stretched to left and right from the end of the stairway. 'This tunnel isn't part of the railways, is it?'

  'Not as you know it.' Jack ran his hand along the tiled wall and stepped out onto the platform. 'This is all that's left of the hydraulic railway.'

  Aubrey stopped dead. The hydraulic railway.

  Great engineers were great engineers for many reasons. Great magicians, likewise. Sir Cosmo Principality Beauchamp was both. The first member of a famous engineering family to show any magical aptitude, he went on to fuse magic and engineering in ways that had never been conceived of before.

  Beauchamp fascinated Aubrey, especially his tragic end. As a young man, he had immediate success in designing bridges. He managed to blend high quality steel and spells drawing on the Laws of Attraction to span gaps many thought impossible. He moved on to shipbuilding, aqueducts and other structures, all stunning in design.

  Then, forty years ago, Beauchamp had fallen in love with railways.

  His obsession began easily enough, engineering the Moulton–Snapesby line with its cuttings and river crossings. Soon he was engaged to construct stations, locomotives, rolling stock of all kinds, one of the many men who were bringing steam rail to the countryside of Albion.

  Beauchamp's great vision was elsewhere, however. He wanted to free the choked streets of the capital, to transport people from one side of the city to the other in speed and comfort. It was the beginning of the age of the underground railway.

  But being a visionary, Beauchamp scorned the normal approach of tunnels and steam engines. He had a grand plan, one that removed the steam engines from the depths and put them on the surface, for easy maintenance and repair. Instead, he dreamed of a hydraulic railway. Tunnels, not to keep water out, but to keep water in. Watertight carriages, huge steam-driven pumps to move the water – and the carriages – in smooth, quiet, cushioned grace. No wheels, no engines, no smoke, simply comfortably upholstered capsules to seat dozens of passengers.

  It all fell apart, of course. The seals on the tunnels weren't tight enough to allow efficient pumping. The huge engines on the surface were plagued with problems. The tunnels leaked; the capsules ground to a halt. Beauchamp died, penniless, of lung rot brought about by supervising his workers too closely when tunnelling.

  Only a short, experimental stretch of the hydraulic railway was ever finished and Aubrey was now standing in it.

  'Aubrey.' Jack nudged him. 'Are you all right?'

  Aubrey blinked. 'I'm fine, Jack. Just impressed.' Dozens of candles gleamed. The air still smelled damp, years after the last hydraulic capsule had come to rest.

  The platform was in the outer of the double tunnel – Beauchamp's brilliant idea. It was essentially a long walkway, a concourse, with doors that opened onto the inner tunnel, the water-filled one where the capsules ran. Aubrey counted twelve black openings in the long, convex tiled wall, and imagined passengers filing through, stepping into the capsules that were ready to surge to the next station.

  It was a grand idea and a grand failure. Nevertheless, Aubrey admired Beauchamp for the audaciousness of his vision.

  The platform had never looked like this when Beauchamp was in control, Aubrey decided. An assortment of battered furniture, most likely rescued from rubbish heaps, had found its way down to the depths, to give the place the appearance of a long, narrow parlour, albeit one decorated with a complete lack of consistency or taste.

  Candles and the occasional lantern were propped up on tables; lamp stands, bookcases, kitchen dressers, ironing boards and other spliced-together pieces of furniture made the place look like a particularly jumbled jumble sale. Aubrey thought he saw a tall construction that was part pulpit, part dog kennel.

  He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. The tingle of magic brushed him; it was distant, low-level, but intriguing. He wondered if Beauchamp had used magic in his construction and he immediately had an urge to explore, but Jack had moved on.

  Jack marched along the concourse, past figures reclining on hessian bags, swathes of tattered fabric that still had curtain rings attached, piles of clothing too ragged to be worn. The faces that stared up at them were curious, guarded, grubby and young.

  None of them older than ten, I'll warrant, Aubrey thought as he followed Jack.

  'No parents,' Jack muttered as they approached a large dining table. A paraffin lamp stood at one end, while three children sat, solemnly, like a panel of high court judges.

  'None of them?'

  'No. They're lucky to have each other. I help when I can. Now,' he said. 'Hello, Maggie. This is Aubrey Fitzwilliam.'

  Aubrey couldn't judge how old Maggie was. Fourteen? Fifteen? He settled for young, even though she was clearly older than anyone else in the disused station. She studied him carefully and he assumed it was her customary approach, something she would have learned on the streets. She had long black hair, in a single plait. She wore a green dress and yellow cardigan. Both were threadbare, but they were clean, as was her face. She stood and offered Aubrey a hand, which was also clean. 'Mr Fitzwilliam. Thanks for the work you've sent our way in the past.'

  The two boys either side of Maggie were tall, strong looking, and didn't say a word. She glanced at the one on her right and in an instant he was fetching chairs for Aubrey and Jack.

  'How's things, Maggie?' Jack asked.

  'Well enough, thank you, Jack. We haven't lost anyone lately.'

  'Lost anyone?' Aubrey said. Old before her time was the phrase that echoed in Aubrey's mind, but in Maggie's case it had little of the sadness it usually carried. Her gaze was direct, her speech was measured and careful.

  'No-one looks out for us, you understand, Mr Fitzwilliam. Living this way, we have a habit of disappearing, one way or another. The Crew look after each other, where we can.'

  'Safety in numbers.'

  'You might say that. This is our home. We have food, a bit of money. It's better than what we'd have otherwise.' She looked troubled. 'Apart from the stinks.'

  'Stinks?' Jack said.

  'From the tunnel. Doesn't happen all the time, but rotten smells come out of it. Didn't used to.'

  Aubrey looked at the gaps in the tunnel walls. They were holes into space.

  'Business is thriving, I hope,' Jack said.

  'You should know, Jack,' she said primly. 'You send most of it to us.'

  She glanced at Aubrey. 'You were expecting someone older, weren't you?'

  'Perhaps. I didn't know what to expect, really.'

  'I am the oldest, you know.' She gestured at the two or three dozen who were watching the discussion with varied levels of interest.

  'And she has the best head among them,' Jack said. 'She keeps a ledger, even.'

  'I learned some figures, some reading,' she said. 'Before Ma and Pa died.'

  'It was TB,' Jack said softly. 'Your clinic helped, Aubrey, but it couldn't save them. Maggie has no other relatives.'

  'There was just me,' she said, 'so I decided to do what I could.'

  'She started the Crew,' Jack said. 'Just a few, like her, in the beginning.'

  'Now we have more than we can take on,' Maggie said. 'That's no good.'

  'She's tough with them, too. They have to do lessons a few days a week. She won't have any stealing.'

  'I won't abide thieving,' she said. 'It's the road to ruin.'

  'I'm impressed,' Aubrey said. 'And I'd like to do more business with you.'

  'Very good. What do you need? Errand runners? Delivery boys? Dog walkers?'

  'Watchers.'

  Aubrey outlined his plan. Maggie listened carefully, asking questions, adding suggestions along the way
. Jack sat back, arms crossed, pleased at how his protégé was managing.

  'Done,' Maggie said finally. The boy on her left produced a large, leather-bound book. She opened it and whipped out a pencil. The boy on her right moved a candle closer. 'Around the clock watching of one Mr Spinetti, the singer, for one month,' she said slowly as she wrote.

  Aubrey had initially thought two weeks would be sufficient, but had found himself persuaded to take on a month. 'That's it. With daily reports.'

  'Daily reports,' Maggie repeated, writing this down.

  'We'll get letters to you, all right?'

  'Excellent.'

  'Half now, half when we're done.'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'You pay half our fee now, straightaway. At the end of the month, we get the rest.'

  Aubrey reached inside his jacket for his wallet, without much reluctance. 'If I'm satisfied with the quality of your work.'

  'You will be.'

  Maggie handed the cash over to the boy on her left. He counted it, laboriously, and nodded. Then he reached down and deposited the notes in a metal box.

  'In the special place, Irwin,' Maggie said.

  The boy nodded again. Then he looked at Aubrey and Jack.

  'Don't worry about them,' Maggie said. 'Go, go.'

  Irwin disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the platform, evidently to Maggie's satisfaction. 'Safe as houses,' she declared.

  Aubrey cocked his head. The low-level, background magic he'd felt ever since he'd entered the tunnel had suddenly surged, peaking in a powerful upwelling that made his eyes widen. He tried to locate it, but the magic disappeared before he could tell which direction it came from.

  Then he felt the concrete beneath his feet start to vibrate.

  'What's that?' Jack asked.

  'Where?' Maggie asked.

  'It's coming from the tunnel,' Aubrey said.

  He stood. A rumbling noise was definitely coming from the inner tunnel. Along the platform, children were rising, some half-asleep, others more curious, eyes shining in the candlelight.

  The noise grew louder. Soon, it was an angry, bellowing sound and Aubrey could feel it as much as hear it. The floor shook and dust trickled down from overhead. He was on his feet, but uncertain whether to run – and in what direction.

  'Aubrey?' Jack asked.

  Aubrey hushed him with a gesture. He closed his eyes, frowned, then opened them again. 'It's not magic. Not any more.'

  'Then what is . . . ?'

  With a hissing roar, water burst out of the inner tunnel, a solid stream smashing through the first doorway. Jetting with such force that it looked like a solid bar of metal, the water slammed into the wall opposite. Instantly, the air was full of spray. With the moisture, all the candles went out, leaving only the few lanterns to shed any light.

  The thunder of the water shook the whole platform. Over the shrieks and cries of the children, another jet burst through the second portal, then the third, and the next, and the next right along the length of the platform.

  Each jet slammed into the wall opposite and exploded, venting its fury in all directions. Water surged upward, roaring along the curve of the tunnel, and to either side. The concourse became a world of spray and panic, underscored by the growl of an ocean let loose.

  Aubrey barely had time to grab a brass pipe running along the wall when he was engulfed. His breath was taken away by the cold, but by the time he could cry out, it had rolled over him and was gone. He shook the water from his eyes then another wave struck and tried to tear his grip loose. For an awful instant, his fingers felt as if they were slipping. Aubrey had visions of being swept away, smashed against the tiles by the hurtling water, unable to draw breath. He gritted his teeth and hung on.

  After these two surges, the flood slackened. Aubrey let go, panting, his clothes sodden and heavy. The water was waist-deep. Desperately, he sought for Jack and Maggie but couldn't find them. He was surrounded by children who were floundering, panic-stricken, wailing and cursing. The water regathered its strength and roared through the doorways.

  Abruptly, the flood began to ease. Each doorway became a mere torrent, then a cascade, and – to his vast relief – Aubrey was able to slog through the water. By the time he reached the first of the children, the doorways were dribbling like a tap on the top floor of a tenement building.

  Jack appeared through the misty gloom. He looked as if he'd been dunked in the village pond. His glasses were fogged. 'What can we do?' he said stoutly enough, with only the barest quaver in his voice.

  'Ignore the ones who are crying.'

  'What?'

  'It's the ones who are unable to cry who may be hurt worst.' Aubrey forced his way through floating bundles of cloth and furniture. He scanned the bedraggled Crew. 'If they have enough energy to cry, we can safely tend to them later.'

  Not far away, a small form floated. Desperately, Aubrey staggered through water that was only knee-deep, but his heart fell when he made out that the child was face down.

  He scooped the young girl up in both hands. Her eyes were closed, but she rewarded his efforts with a huge, gasping cough, and another. 'Take her, Jack.' He thrust the girl on his blinking friend.

  Maggie and some of the older children joined the search. Aubrey found more in distress. One was unconscious, a lad of five or six, drifting on his back. He had a gash on his forehead, but he was breathing. 'Can you get him to a doctor?' he said to Maggie, who'd joined him in his task. 'Easy there,' he said to the small boy, who groaned and opened his eyes.

  Right at the end of the platform, he found a boy tangled in a tattered woollen blanket. He wasn't breathing.

  Aubrey remembered his cadet training. He made sure the boy's mouth was clear, then pumped his chest with his hands, squeezing the water from him.

  The lad hawked, choked, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He opened his eyes and sat up. 'I'm all wet,' he said with wonder.

  Aubrey's body responded. His knees gave way and he sat, with a splash, in a puddle, as around him the children dragged themselves about, crying, chattering, looking for somewhere dry.

  The water had almost drained away, leaving a scene of devastation. Furniture was overturned and sodden. Heaps of bedclothes had fetched up against the walls, like seaweed after a storm. A few candles were being relit with tapers from the surviving lanterns.

  Maggie sloshed over. 'I think we've got a broken bone or two. We're taking them to Dr Wells.'

  Aubrey stood. He started brushing himself off, but quickly gave up. 'Isn't that a long way to go?'

  'He'll treat them for nothing,' Jack said, 'and he doesn't complain about being woken up.'

  I must make sure Dr Wells is handsomely paid, Aubrey thought.

  'Does this sort of thing happen often, Maggie?' Jack asked.

  'Never seen it before. I thought we were safe here.'

  Aubrey looked toward the doorways. 'Are you in a hurry to go, Jack?'

  'Why?'

  'I'd like to do a little exploring.'

  AUBREY LEANED THROUGH THE PORTAL AND HELD OUT HIS lantern. The inner tunnel was completely round, made of iron segments twice the height of a person and – as Maggie had noted – it smelled.

  Just inside the first doorway, he could make out the huge iron ring that would slow down a capsule as it came into the station and hold it at the right level for embarking and disembarking. The leather padding on the inside of the ring was hard and cracked, and still dripping from the flood that had thundered through.

  He turned to his left and saw four more great rings, each with slip-sockets to allow release and capture of the capsule.

  He shook his head in admiration at Beauchamp's daring. It was a folly, but a glorious, spectacular folly.

  'D'you think this is a good idea?' Jack said from behind him.

  'Possibly not. We'll know soon enough.'

  One-handed – the other holding the lantern – Aubrey climbed through the portal and down the curved ladder. />
  Even though the sloping sides of the tunnel were still wet, he was able to stand without slipping into the knee-deep water at the bottom. His lantern glinted on it and reflected off the wet metal sides, scoured clean by the flood that had disappeared as fast as it had come.

  Behind him, a curse and a splash. He turned in time to see Jack stagger to his feet, dripping. 'I didn't think I was wet enough,' he said, and he wiped his face with a hand. 'But this should do it.'

  Aubrey studied the weak current in the bottom of the tunnel, then turned and edged in the direction the water was coming from. He'd only gone a hundred yards or so – with Jack gamely following – when he came to the bricked-up end of the tunnel.

  'Aubrey.' Jack tugged on his arm and pointed.

  A ragged hole had been punched through the metal of the tunnel on the left, a few feet from the brickwork. A yard or so across, Aubrey couldn't imagine the sort of force required to make such a rent. Water still trickled from it. He bent, but couldn't see far, and had to jerk back his head when a wave heaved out, splashing into the tunnel. Jack danced aside with a cry of dismay, the sort that a wet man gives when he realises he's just become wetter.

  Aubrey could hear the sound of rushing water coming through the gap, and a strange, whirring clatter, but he couldn't see a thing.

  'Any ideas?' Jack asked.

  'The river's down that way. It could be an aquifer, a drain, something diverted down in this direction.' Aubrey straightened. 'The water was clean.'

  'Relatively. I take it you mean that it wasn't sewage.

  Thank goodness.'

  'Quite. No, this was river water. What time is it?'

  Jack looked startled, then consulted his pocket watch. 'Just after one.'

  'High tide.'

  Aubrey hummed a little. If the tidal surge up the river had become diverted into a nearby tunnel, which couldn't cope and burst, diverting water this way . . .

  'Are there any other tunnels around here?'

  Jack laughed. 'The city is full of 'em, Aubrey, I thought you knew that. Not just the underground, but access tunnels for repairs to building basements, sewer mains, even private pneumatic tunnels and miniature railways that some companies have put in, electrically driven, to scoot packages all around.'