The Song of the Underground

by Wendy Reakes

  “It makes rubber. Very durable rubber, in fact. So durable it never erodes. It’s a remarkable man-made product that we can’t manufacture without access to their well and their heat source.” Geoffrey looked at his watch. It was getting late. He needed to get Mason out of the room.

  “Their heat source?”

  Geoffrey nodded. “They have an active subterranean volcano…and they’ve tapped it. They call it 'Damnation'… Morons!” He rolled his eyes."But it’s also used to smelt iron and to manufacture the rubber. It fires at two-and-a-half- thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Hotter than we could ever achieve.”

  “A volcano beneath London. You can’t be serious.” He went to the window and looked out upon the city. “So you’re going to ask them for their well.”

  “We’re not going to ask them, Mason. We’re going to take it.” Geoffrey could feel his anger rising through his belly to his mouth. “We control the vermin. We allow them to stay here.” He took a controlled breath. “The Prime Minister and others from the Royal Society, me for one, control Sous Llyndum. Christopher Wren and Isaac Newton were members at the beginning. It was they who provided this place to the Llyns…so basically you could say they’re our tenants and we’re the friggin’ landlords.”

  He could see Mason visibly cringe. He enjoyed getting a reaction from him. It gave Geoffrey the edge. “So, there you have it, Mason. The finer points we’ll discuss at the meeting with the king. So if you don’t mind..?” Geoffrey needed him to leave. He couldn’t be any clearer.

  “All right, Barnes. I’ll give you this one, but there’s more to this than you’re telling me, and I’m going to stick to you like glue until I find out exactly what that is.”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “Suit yourself…but, you have a very suspicious mind, you know that?” he chuckled. “Don’t forget your supply bag.”

  Geoffrey stripped off his shirt after Mason had left the room. He ran his finger along his left eyebrow, to the scar made by a passing bullet when he’d served in the Falkland’s conflict.

  He pondered their arrival to the city earlier. It was good to see Byron again. She was a fine looking woman. Geoffrey was no fool when it came to the ladies. He was attractive to them for his height and stature and the position he held within the army and the government. In turn, he knew the desire he felt for her was from the power she emitted; a warrior, a politician and a diplomat. The feeling was mutual. For him, the scars down the side of her face only added to her attraction. But despite that, he fancied her because she had told him she was from above ground and not from the sewer where the rest of the underworld rats had evolve. If she had been born down there, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance.

  He remembered checking out her background when he returned above ground following his last visit to the underworld. Her name, he’d discovered, was Annabel Byron and she was twelve when she was abducted from Hyde Park in 1972. She was from a wealthy family and her father, a Tory MP, had issued a substantial reward for her safe return. Sir George Byron never gave up searching for her and when he died only ten years later, his eulogy in The Times described him as never getting over the loss of his beloved daughter. Geoffrey wondered if he should tell Byron that, but decided he’d leave it as a card up his sleeve. Just in case he needed one.

  Now, bare-chested with just his combat trousers belted at the hips and anticipating what would surely happen next, the muscles on his arms shone as the heat suddenly hit him.

  The door opened and he watched her glide in. She came towards him with slow steps and just as she reached his side, she removed her black leather gloves and put her bare hands flat upon his chest. He kept his shoulders and his head erect as he looked down at her, and then he smiled and pulled her to him.

  There, for the first time that day, the colonel and the Bird Catcher finally let their guard down, as he put his hand on the back of her head and forced his lips against hers with savage desperation.

  Chapter 24

  On the way back to his room, along an open corridor where an ornate stone balustrade prevented its passers-by from falling to the canal below, Ben had an overwhelming feeling that Barnes wanted him out of the room for a reason. Call it gut instinct, borne from the loathing he felt for the colonel. Ben returned and hid inside a crevice, where a giant candlestick stood on the floor offering light from at least thirty burning candles. Behind the giant base, where the wax had spilled to the floor in a formation that looked like a petrified waterfall, he waited only five minutes before the Bird Catcher came gliding along the corridor towards the colonel’s chamber.

  Ben wasn’t completely surprised. He’d sensed a connection between the Bird Catcher and the colonel when they’d all met on the dock earlier, albeit the connection was predominantly on the side of Barnes. Ben remembered how his demeanor had changed. For the benefit of the Bird Catcher, he’d shifted his persona to a man who exhumed warmth and charm, as opposed to being his normal arrogant son-of-a-bitch-self.

  When Ben saw Byron enter the colonel’s room without knocking, and closing the door in her wake, he stepped out of the shadows from behind the candlestick and continued his way along the corridor back to his quarters. So they were lovers. That was interesting, He closed the door and went to the bed at the far side of the room. It was a solid looking structure, not as grand as Barnes’ swan shaped one; and the covering wasn’t so opulent; and the mattress looked lumpy, but nevertheless…the way he was feeling right then, the bed looked like a Lilly pad. He sat on it for a moment and thought about the last time he’d slept. Of course, it had been last night, but somehow, in that place, it seemed like days ago.

  He zipped open the bag the colonel had given him. He half expected it to contain a bomb, but that was his imagination doing overtime. Inside, was a pair of combat trousers, a plain white t-shirt and a thin cotton jacket with many zipped pockets, along with a pair of army-green socks and size eleven boots, which were just the right fit. From the bottom he pulled out a travel kit containing a bar of soap, tooth brush, comb, shaving gear, a pair of scissors, a sewing kit and shoe cleaning brushes.

  He ripped the wrapper off the bar of soap and held it in the palm of his hand. He sniffed it. It had a lavender kind of odour, not his thing, but it was so warm in that underground place, he would have used anything to wash the sweat and dirt from his body. He went to a silver coloured contraption that was fixed to the wall, just like the one the colonel had in his room. It looked like a swan with its neck folded into its body so that an upright oval shape remained. Feathers were etched onto the silver metal and there was a clasp at the top. He pressed it to allow the swan’s body to drop downwards, to reveal a shell-like sink with a single faucet in the part still on the wall. He grinned. He liked it. He turned on the tap and filled the bowl with fresh cold water. His mind was on Charlotte as he swilled his face, wondering if she’d believe him when he told her all about the amazing city underground. And as he dried his skin on a piece of woven cloth draped on a hook on the wall next to the sink, he decided she wouldn’t. Charlotte didn’t believe anything he said any more.

  Dirty water filled the bowl with soap bubbles floating on the surface. He puzzled over how to empty it when he spotted a small drain on the floor. “Okay, I get it.” He pushed the swan body bowl up to its attachment on the wall and as it closed the water ran away from a spout at the back, cascading to the floor and flowing down the drain. Quirky! Charlotte would love that.

  Charlotte! Today was their anniversary. Last week, despite their separation, he’d booked a table for lunch today at the Savoy. The idea was to talk her out of that crazy jealous mind-set of hers and spend the rest of the afternoon in bed. Now, with all the goings-on with the Prime Minister, Barnes and Sous Llyndum, he’d forgotten all about it. What was worse, he hadn’t cancelled the table and now he was wondering if the Maitre d' would ever take a booking from him again.

  Feeling cooler after his wash, Ben stretched himself out on the bed and placed his arms behind his head. He stared at
the vaulted ceiling and thought about the colonel and the plans for the future of Sous Llyndum. An oil well beneath the city! How would that fall into the plan of developing extra housing for the city of London? If it was left to him, he would never approve an industry of burning rubber next to a population of home owners. Surely the Prime Minister would know that.

  So many unanswered questions. Maybe it was time for him to up his game. Ben didn’t need to find out from Barnes what was going on, he’d ask the Bird Catcher when he got a chance, or maybe even the king himself. In the meantime he’d keep his eye on Barnes; that miserable son-of-a-bitch.

  Chapter 25

  Wren had means of avoiding sailing the canals. She had been told by Byron to stay away from the American, Mark Buzzard, until her father had been informed of his illicit presence in the city, but Wren couldn’t wait any longer. There was still some time before the banquet and she had to see him, if just to tell him that whatever might happen, she loved him. She didn’t know why. She couldn’t explain it herself. They’d met only one day before and yet her feelings for him had far outweighed any sense of logic and reason. She would do anything for him; even forsake her family and her people just to be with him…and to lie with him, to feel his arms about her, while she wore…nothing.

  Naked! Heavens! But she felt no shame in it. As far as Wren was concerned, the desire flooding her young body was as natural as the air coming from the hidden vents dotted about the city…which is how she travelled undetected, through the vents used for the purpose of providing clean breathable air to the population.

  Many years ago when the city was constructed, the forefathers had retained a single, naturally formed tunnel behind the city walls, circling the perimeter with natural air blowing from goodness knew where. Now Wren was skirting along those tunnels behind the walls of the city where the wind blew with a force that made her hair whip behind her, like a horizontal smoke stack.

  Not many knew of the air-tunnel. The creators knew about it, and the modern-day constructors who repaired the workings of the city, but other than she and Cannes and a few others, Wren could count on one hand who knew of its secret passageway. Cannes had shown her how to access it, years ago. It began at a small natural vent in the rock behind his abode and finished just behind the palace Atlantia. He’d told her it was their secret and that if an emergency ever arose where she needed to escape, she would know the best way to go about it. She often wondered if he’d been teasing her, but even so, she’d used the tunnel often to escape her brother Heron and her friends when they played hide and seek.

  Wren didn’t understand the mechanics of it all. Byron had once told her that some of the hidden pipes and tunnels were necessary to make their lifestyle more modern and ‘up-with-the-times’. The steam power for one. ‘Steam was their primary function,’ she’d said. ‘It gave them the rain and it powered their boats and their industry.’

  When she was a little girl, Wren recalled asking the Bird Catcher how the city functioned. She remembered puzzling over why the light in the city did not remain consistent. “Why do we have night and day, Bird Catcher?”

  “We must measure time, child,” she’d answered. “Living here as we do, we must be orientated, so that we may sleep and we may work. It is normal behavior taught to us by the forefathers. We light candles in the day and at night we let the lights glow. In these modern days the rain indicates the change, but before that, it was the music…the music we play to the city at dusk.”

  Wren was panting now as she neared the place where the tunnel stopped and where she would come out behind Cannes abode. She could see it ahead in the blackness, looking like a roughly carved oval slit. She stepped sideways and passed through it easily enough, and as she came out the other side, brushing cobwebs and dust from her clothes, a voice startled her.

  “Princess!”

  She jumped with fright. “Cannes.”

  “What are you doing here at this hour? And why have you come through the wind tunnel? How many times must I tell you it is not to be used for your convenience or recreation?”

  “I’m sorry, Cannes. I just want to see Mark Buzzard. Just for a moment.”

  “The Bird Catcher said you must be kept apart until she has opportunity to speak to the king. You mustn’t go against the law, princess.”

  “I know…but please, Cannes, I have to see him. Perhaps he is frightened. No one has explained anything to him. And what of his wound?”

  “I have tended that. He is sleeping now. He said he is jet-black.”

  “What does it mean when someone is jet-black, Cannes?”

  The guard shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps it is the name of a disease from the snake bite.”

  “Oh, my poor Mark Buzzard. Please, Cannes, allow me a moment with him.” Wren knew he would eventually agree. People found it difficult to deny Wren anything. She’d discovered that skill when she was quite small, but instead of using it often, she used it sparingly, so that when she really wanted something, it would have more effect.

  “Very well, but just for a moment,” Cannes said. “Take heed, if you are caught, I shall be answerable to the king. Remember that, Princess. I could be sent to Bedlam.”

  “Thank you, Cannes, but I don’t believe my father would send you there. Bedlam is for the ones who steal and disobey the law.”

  “It is true your father and I were friends as boys, but I assure you, he would still send me there if he knew I allowed you to meet with the stranger.”

  “I won’t get caught, Cannes, I promise.” She was already heading towards the arch in the rock, leading to his small dwelling, and just before she went though, she turned and offered him a disarming smile and a kiss blown from pretty pouting pink lips.

  Chapter 26

  Mark was exhausted and he’d lost all track of time. He was lying on Cannes’ bed with his eyes closed, willing himself to sleep so that time would move faster along. He felt disoriented down there in that strange city. It had been dusk when he’d met Wren at the cemetery last night, and then she’d brought him underground, where he’d been cooped up ever since. Still, he couldn’t imagine what time it was; he’d lost his watch somewhere between Highgate Cemetery and Sous Llyndum where he’d suffered that crazy ride on the rail board with Wren.

  Now, it must surely be the middle of the night, or early morning earth time, he just couldn’t tell. Rolling over onto his side, he contemplated the words of the Bird Catcher and her position in the city. The mattress was uncomfortable; it was horribly lumpy and it smelled stale and musty.

  He opened his eyes and then yelped like a wounded puppy. He jumped up into a sitting position with his legs over the side of the bed.

  It was Wren. Her face had been right next to his and in the dim candlelight, her eyes reflected green, like a cat's eyes. She’d scared him shitless. He took hold of her hand, and pulled her gently down next to him. “I didn’t expect to see you.” He put his arm around her.

  She looked up at him with her cheek resting on his chest. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Mark. I was just going to watch over you while you slept. Cannes told me you were sickening with something.”

  “No, I’m fine!” He stroked her hand, resting on his leg.

  “You’re no longer jet-black?”

  “Hmm?” Even though he didn’t know what she meant, he was becoming used to her odd phrases. He released her and stretched his torso, while his hand rubbed his lower back. With his finger, he could feel two tiny bite marks where the snake had ripped into him. “Honey, what is that mattress filled with?”

  Wren ran her hand over the coverlet. “Feathers.” He tried to fathom the strange look on her face. She looked like she had something on her mind.

  “Feathers, huh? What kind of feathers?”

  She shrugged and pouted her pretty lips. He got the impression she’d never considered it before. “All kinds, I think…But mainly chicken feathers.”

  “Chicken feathers?” He grinned. She must surely mean something el
se. “Where would you get chicken feathers from underground?”

  She ran her fingers through her long red hair, while her other hand dallied with a single thread coming from the pillow at the head of the bed. “We have many chickens in the tunnels on the west side.”

  It was probably the strangest conversation Mark had ever had. “Really!? Chickens?”

  She smiled a pretty smile. “Yes. We eat their flesh and their eggs, and we use the feathers for our comfort…” He watched her deliberating, wrinkling her brow as she pondered a topic, which she clearly hadn’t gone there to talk about. “And we use the egg shells for calcium. Each Sous Llyndum dweller takes one dose of ground eggshell every day. It is for our wellbeing. The chicken bones we grind for fertilizer for growing the okra.”

  “Okra?”

  She nodded and shrugged as if she was surprised he didn’t know all that stuff she was telling him. “Yes, the phosphorus in the chicken bones is very good for okra.”

  “You don’t say!”