The Song of the Underground

by Wendy Reakes

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Ben had a table booked at the Savoy for lunch today. His diary said, lunch with C.”

  “C? Well that can’t be me. He knows I’d never agree to have lunch with him…” Charlotte paused, and then grimaced. “Claire! That’s the name of his new slut slash lover slash bitch.”

  “Yeah, well. He didn’t show up and neither did C, whoever she is. And his secretary hasn’t had a call from him since. He always calls in, apparently.”

  Peter tapped her on the arm as she leaned over the desk. They were almost head to head. Peter could see something in her eyes, which must have meant she knew something. “What is it? Do you have an idea?”

  “Yes,” Charlotte answered. “That bastard was taking her to the Savoy so that he could screw her all afternoon in one of the rooms.”

  He frowned. “No…I mean, about why Ben would be linking up with Colonel Barnes?”

  Charlotte looked out of the glass dome to the men, all talking about her husband in the editor’s office. “I’ve no idea. But when I get hold of him, I’m going to kill that miserable son-of-a-bitch.

  Chapter 29

  Ben sat upon the seat that was right next to the king. The Bird Catcher was sitting on the king’s right and the colonel was on Ben’s left. Ben wondered why Barnes was pushing him to the front of negotiations. It didn’t really make sense, seeing as how he still hadn’t been filled in on the whole deal. He knew the government wanted the Llyn’s oil well and their rubber plant, and he knew they wanted to open up Sous Llyndum to create housing for the increasing inhabitants of London, but what he didn’t know was how the hell the government was expecting to achieve that. Surely the king wasn’t going to let his kingdom go for any small sum?

  The king spoke. His eyes went straight to the colonel. “You have returned.”

  Barnes responded with a single respectful nod.

  “Yes, we have been expecting you.” Ben detected malice in the king’s voice. If he was any judge, the king didn’t like Colonel Barnes any more than Ben did.

  “The last time was unfortunate,” Barnes offered. “Our talks didn’t go well, because I was unable to commit to your request until I had spoken to my superior.”

  The king didn’t respond. Instead he addressed Ben. “The Bird Catcher tells me you are a mason?”

  “Well, ehm…yes.” Ben figured it wouldn’t be wise to contradict the Bird Catcher nor the king. Besides, he did work in stone…well, concrete! “But I am also called Mason.”

  The king nodded his understanding.

  Talks were interrupted by servants handing them drinks in metal goblets. The heavy cups were black and silver, old and ornate. Ben watched the king hold out his own goblet in front of him. The Bird Catcher followed suit, as did the colonel. Ben stretched his arm and the four metal goblets clinked.

  Ben put the cup to his lips. It looked like white wine and it smelled like wine. He tasted it. It was wine, but nothing like he’d ever tasted before. Ben wasn’t a lover of white, he preferred red or shorts, but this drink had a liquor taste about it. It was palatable. He was pleasantly surprised. He copied them and drained his goblet as they drained theirs. “You make wine in Sous Llyndum?”

  Byron answered. “Of course. We call it Cokra.”

  “Coka?”

  The colonel corrected him. “Cokra! It’s made from okra. They grow it in tunnels on the west side.”

  “It’s delicious.” Ben was pleasantly surprised.

  He saw the Bird Catcher look sideways at the king. The king was happy with the compliment.

  “Delicious!” Ben repeated.

  “So, Minister Barnes, your Prime Minister has agreed to my proposal?”

  Ben turned to regard the colonel, whose face was contemplative. “He has,” Barnes said. “He has agreed to the match.”

  Ben’s eyes flickered. He? Last time he looked Alice Burton was a she.

  The king’s eyes widened as he looked to Byron for affirmation. “This is good news you bring.”

  The colonel held onto his goblet with a smug grin on his face. He was lying to them. Ben wondered if the king knew that.

  Ben gazed at Byron who was sitting back against her seat. She was watching Barnes with suspicious eyes.

  What did the king mean by a match? Ben wondered if it was that the colonel was holding back from him?

  “There is a great price to pay for this alleged match,” Byron snarled. “A marriage between our two worlds is not enough.” Her words had a distinct bite to them. “The Jellalabad wants access to our industry. What else do they want?” The question was thrown into the group. The other Llyns, sitting around the auditorium, stopped talking and turned to face the royal group and their visitors. Some subdued comments were thrown into the arena and it suddenly became clear to Ben that these people weren’t about to give up their world to the British Government. In fact, it had only just occurred to him that they were leading Barnes along. Christ! Ben thought, these people are yanking the colonel’s chain and the colonel doesn't even know it.

  Chapter 30

  Mark Buzzard remained hidden at the back of the crowd as the banquet in honour of the Jellalabad’s arrival became louder and rip-roarious. Earlier, when he’d asked Wren to marry him, and after she had thrown her arms about him and accepted his proposal, without a single hesitation, Wren had concocted a plan to get Mark out of Cannes’ apartment and into the thick of the party, held in the centre of the city.

  “I feel a little foolish, truth be told,” he’d muttered into her hair as she’d clung to him earlier, like a child embracing her father. Except she wasn’t a child, she was a woman, and he desired her as much as she did him. They were paired now. In the spirit of an engagement. Not physically! He’d refused to do what she wanted to do on that bed. He wanted to wait for her father’s permission and he was adamant in his reluctance. She was less respectful to the king’s wishes. She wanted him there and then, and as she snuggled into him with one hand resting on his thigh, nibbling his neck with her teeth and those soft, soft lips…her other hand pulled his head down so that he could see…and almost taste … those breasts bulging above her corseted bodice.

  He pushed her away then and stood up while she continued to lie on the bed in a state of ecstasy at the thought of doing what she clearly had in mind. What was that other book she’d acquired from her brother? Mark wondered, as he looked down and watched her hair spread out on the coverlet, with her arms stretched above her head, and her legs beneath her skirt bending and twisting with the movement of her hips…

  “Wren, can you stop doing that please. It’s distracting.”

  She turned on her side and leaned on her arm to support her head. She was looking at his crotch. He saw her eyebrows rise at the sight of the bulge there. He adjusted himself and coughed.

  “Why did you feel foolish, my Mark?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said you felt foolish.”

  He thought back to the notion, before she’d got him all worked up. “Oh, yes,” he said. “When I saw the procession of boats coming down the canal, I thought it was for me.”

  Her expression changed to a look of seriousness. “No, it was for the Jellalabad. They have come.”

  He sat down next to her and put his arm across her body to lean on the bed. “The Jellalabad? Who are they?”

  She looked surprised at his question. “They are the soldiers who rule us. How do you not know them?”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “But they are from upside, from your world.”

  “Well, I’m from the States, which is probably why I’ve never heard of them. It must be a British thing.” Mark made a mental note to Google them when he went back up. “So you have people come from…’upside’ down here. They know about your city…this place?”

  “Of course. They gave our forefathers this place to reside when a big fire wiped out most of London. It was a long time ago, four hundred years. The Jellalabad have always g
overned us, but we hate them. We don’t trust them.”

  “Well this must be England’s best kept secret because I never heard of…”

  “Oh yes, Mark. We have to be a secret. It is a matter of security, you see, otherwise our world would be under serious threat. The Bird Catcher told me if the people upside found out about us, our world would never be able to exist because they would want to take it from us. We are all sworn to oath for fear of being sent to Damnation. We must never reveal where we live.”

  “But you revealed it to me.”

  “Yes. This is why the Bird Catcher is angry with me.”

  He stroked her hair hanging across her shoulder. “Why did you risk yourself for me?”

  “Because I love you. From the minute I saw you, I knew we would always be together. It was as if my mother were speaking to me from her grave beneath the angel. I think she must approve of you if she did that...do you not think, Mark?”

  “I guess…So these guys…”

  “The Jellalabad.”

  “The Jellalabad…why are they here now?”

  “My father has been expecting them.” Wren sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, tucked-up under her chin. “There is one…the leader of them all. He is a dangerous man, my father told me. He wants things from us.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “I don’t know, but when he was here last time, he incurred the wrath of my father and there was almost a conflict.”

  It was getting interesting. “What kind of conflict?”

  She scowled prettily. “I was taken away. I was not allowed to witness it…but my brother told me that the man Barnes challenged my father to enter the dispute arena with him. Can you imagine that, Mark? The king fighting in the arena!”

  Her eyes were as big as saucers. Could she be any more beautiful than she was in that candlelight..? “What if this man Barnes had won?”

  “Oh no, Mark. That could not happen. No one must hurt the king’s person.”

  “So basically this Barnes dude was screwed.”

  She shrugged. “All I know, the man Barnes left with his two men when our people objected to the fight. He was chased out by the Llyns and we haven’t seen him since, until tonight.”

  Mark pondered the incident. “So whatever he’s come back for must be pretty important.”

  She nodded. “I think that too.” Wren looked towards the entrance. She seemed worried about being caught in Cannes’ abode. “Mark, you must eat and you would like some exercise, I think.”

  He was feeling pretty stifled being in that room for so long. “I guess.” Mark had already washed the grime of the subway from his face and neck. There was a stone sink, jutting out of the wall as if it had been built into it. It had a tap above it and the water drained out through a grille in the floor. There was no soap, but it was enough to get the grime from his face and hands. Next tot eh sink was an old brown coat belonging to Cannes.

  “After the crowds gather for the banquet,” Wren said, “put the coat on over your clothes and go to the side of this dwelling where you will see a bridge. That will take you to the centre of the city. Stay in the shadows and take care not to let anyone notice you. You can have some food and wine and you will be able to see me with my father. Take care you don’t talk to me or draw attention to yourself.”

  “Okay, I understand.” He pulled her into his arms once more. “Tomorrow I can go to your father and I will ask him for your hand, in the manner of a true princess.”

  “Oh, Mark…” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and started up again. But, he resisted her. Naturally!

  Now, there he was, on the central platform, surrounded by crowds of Llyns and watching his darling Wren sit next to her father and the people they call the Jellalabad. Mark wondered if things could be any crazier? Man, he hoped not.

  Chapter 31

  Food was served from huge platters, by wenches of all things. They were all dressed the same, in long skirts with bibs and elastic-edged blouses beneath, their bosoms spilling over as one would expect given the title wench. The one serving Ben had her skirt hitched up on one side, displaying boots over black stockings, but the one thing that made them all stand out was not just the spoons and other eating and serving contraptions dangling from their waists, but their headdresses, holding their long, coiffed hair with exotic and heavily decorated combs.

  The colonel told Ben that the wenches were not deemed as servants. They were members of a highly skilled order, which was revered by the townsfolk of Sous Llyndum. The order was a closed sect and entrance was gained only by fulfilling a five-year apprenticeship. There were many levels, from the top food scientists, to the young recruits who would dedicate their lives to food production. The wenches were somewhere in the middle; they prepared the food for the banquet and when the celebrations began they would decorate their hair with bejeweled combs and present their offerings.

  Ben compared their obvious dedication and love of food to the French’s own devotion to the art. He had spent a few years living with a family in the southwest city of Bordeaux where as a student he studied the language and was schooled in French building techniques. The experience served him well, especially being part of a family for so long, observing their culture and their love of food and wine, but mostly the experience of a meal, partaken with the whole family. Always an occasion, even when it was just a snack of homemade apple tart in the afternoon, when the whole family gathered around the table with a pot of good strong coffee.

  Ben was intrigued by the choice of delicacies on offer. Not only was the wine excellent, but the food was a delicious concoction of two types of fish, wild mushrooms and a vegetable, which he was informed was okra. He’d never eaten it before. He’d seen it on menus in some modern London restaurants, but he’d never had the urge to sample it.

  The king was devouring his food in a Henry VIII kind of way, except this king was using a two pronged fork. He spoke with his mouth full. “You like the fish?”

  Ben nodded. “I do indeed…but I am curious how…”

  The Bird Catcher spoke. “We harvest our fish. They are called Charmain. It is a crossbreed of Carp and Salmon.”

  Ben chewed a piece and gave them a nod of approval. “Delicious. I can taste honey.”

  “Yes, we flavour it with our own honey. Tomorrow, I will show you the hives,” Byron said. “As for the fish, the canals around the city are filled with them. But we don’t eat those. Charmain spawn just like salmon. They go towards the falls across the other side…” Ben turned his head in the direction she was pointing, but there were too many people to get a view. “No matter we will show you tomorrow.”

  “And this…?” Ben indicated the other fish on his plate next to a pile of fried mushrooms.

  The colonel interjected. He pointed to the fish with his fork. “That is the same fish, but it is hung and smoked. There is a place far below the city. They call it Damnation. They hang sides of fish and it’s smoked from the fire below.”

  “Damnation?”

  The colonel lowered his voice. He shrugged. “It’s as hot as hell, caused by the volcano from where they get their heat source for the rubber plant.”

  Ben could see the revelry amongst the crowds. People were getting inebriated from the wine. Men were grabbing the women and kissing them. Groups of Llyns were laughing and cheering and banging their goblets together in a spirit of celebration. The noise was so great he could hardly hear the king and the Bird Catcher speak. In the end, he gave up and observed the celebration. He noticed the girl behind the king. She was a beauty. He watched her straining her neck, fidgeting on her seat as she searched the crowds. She was looking for someone.

  The Bird Catcher was as rigid as she had first appeared. Her back was erect and her eyes were watching the people like a mother would her children. The king was as jovial as the rest, and the colonel seemed to be relaxing, even though he had hardly touched any of his wine.

  “Play the music.” The king stoo
d up and raised his goblet into the air. The crowd cheered. “Let us hear the song,” he shouted.

  Two men went to the centre of the place where they were all congregated. An array of tubes of different sizes and lengths, coloured silver and black and copper red, were clustered in the middle like a giant circular display of random organ pipes. One of the men went onto his belly and reached underneath the display, while the other crouched down and watched him operate. Suddenly steam began to hiss and smoke around the structure, as if it were a machine, warming-up. A cloud of vapour began to blast out of the bottom, like a train, hissing steam from its wheels.

  The girl behind the king stepped forward. She was holding her skirts up so that she could make her way to the central tube structure. There, she faced the king and his guests, her hair blowing about her and her skirts whipping her ankles as the steam bellowed. It resembled a staged backdrop with smoking special-effects. It was a spectacular sight, but nothing was more spectacular than the music that began to play.