The Song of the Underground

by Wendy Reakes

  “Why send you? Surely someone more experienced in that sort of thing could have done that?”

  “They told me that I would be the only one Ben would trust...” Charlotte was frowning as she rubbed a callus on the palm of her hand. “To be frank, I didn’t particularly buy that, but I was too involved at that point to back out.”

  Mark continued to tread the roof of the tunnel. His legs were aching badly, but he didn’t want to stop. The hard part had been getting the boat going in the first place. “So, why would she abort the project?”

  Charlotte thought about the question for a moment. “She mentioned something about English Heritage getting involved. I think perhaps they want to save the city.”

  “That is just as well,” Wren said.

  “Wren?” Mark wished he was lying the other way around so that he could see her face.

  She was matter-of-fact when she said, “My father would never allow your people to take our city. There would be a war.”

  “A war?”

  “Of course. The city has been ours for nearly four hundred years. We would never give it up. We couldn’t.”

  “She’s got a point, Charlotte. You know, hon’, I guess this isn’t my business, but what exactly did the Prime Minister have in mind to persuade them to give it up?”

  “I really couldn’t tell you. I don’t know.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter now. We just need to get you to your husband so that you can deliver the message.”

  Charlotte didn’t respond.

  They came to the end of the canal. Exhausted and dirty from sweat and grime, they stepped out of the boat onto dry land. Wren tied up the craft with a short length of rope. What do we do now?” Mark asked Wren as he took her hand.

  She looked suddenly alarmed. “I only planned this far, Mark. It was all I could think about, getting you out of Bedlam.”

  Mark and Charlotte exchanged glances. “I recognise this place from when they brought us,” Charlotte said. “Am I right in saying the tunnel at the side there leads to the main entrance of the city?” She was pointing to a small gap in the wall at the side of the landing.

  Wren nodded. “The smugglers tunnel, yes.”

  “But isn’t that under guard?” Mark asked.

  “Yes, but I know a way around the city at the back of it. We could go that way and I could perhaps get you into the palace without being seen.”

  Mark nodded. “Let’s do that then. But, guys, we cannot get caught again, you understand me? There’s no way we can go back to Bedlam. We just can’t.”

  Chapter 66

  The colonel instructed them all to pick up their clothes, leave the chamber of the waterfalls and allow their bodies to dry naturally from the heat. Only a minute later they stopped, and he instructed them to get dressed. The colonel explained that because it was so hot down there, if their bodies were wet, steam would form under their clothes and scald them. It made sense.

  They soon reached the end and entered the chamber on the other side of the veined wall.

  “That’s the wall separating the two chambers...it’s about forty feet thick,” the colonel shouted. Ben had never seen him so animated. He suspected he was enjoying the freedom of giving the others a tour of the Sous Llyndum industry.

  They were standing on a runway, where above their heads, fish hung like bats in an attic. Ben remembered the smoked Charmain as being quite tasty. They had eaten some with mashed okra for lunch.

  A dozen or more Llyn workers walked past them, making Ben, the colonel and his men pin themselves to the walls to allow them to go by.

  “Lunch time for the workers,” quipped the colonel with a grin.

  “They’re not deaf, man.”

  The colonel simply grinned that most arrogant of grins.

  As soon as the Llyns had gone, Ben got a better view of the cavern. Apart from the massive striped wall, which divided the two parts, the rest of the cavern was circular. It was smaller than the one with the waterfall and it was aglow with a red flickering light. Ben felt like they were ants inside a silo, except it was more like the inside of a volcano. He stepped forward and looked over the side of the shelf. The firing lava was miles below where they stood, which was just as well because the heat was searing even at that distance.

  On the far side, the Llyns had created their workshops, with machines now shut down as the workers retired for the day. There were two industries there, and according to the colonel, one was an iron works and the other was for producing the synthetic rubber.

  “You can’t produce rubber without crude oil or petroleum.” Ben made the statement, but he knew there would be an answer of sorts. It was time to put his thoughts into the hands of the underground. What did he know anymore?

  The colonel removed his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “If we have time later, I’ll show you the oil well. It’s further west.”

  Ben nodded. “Of course it is.” He raised the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket and wiped the sweat from his face. “What’s that?” Ben pointed to a lone cave with a gate covering its entrance.

  The colonel crooked his finger, so that Ben would follow. “Don’t touch the gate. It’s hot. It’s locked but you can see through it.”

  Ben went to its side and glanced through. Inside was a rounded tunnel like a chute with steps on its underside. Judging by its lackluster curves, Ben suspected it had been created from a natural vent in the volcano. Man-made stone steps went down and down and veered off to a rounded corner to blackness.

  “What is it?”

  “That, my friend is 'Damnation'. Step out of line and they lock the gate behind you. There’s only one way to go after that, and that’s down.”

  “My God. They really do that?”

  “Yep, as far as I know. Not so sweet now are they, Mason?”

  Ben could think of nothing to say, but then, before they left to go back up, he muttered something that was inaudible to anyone else. “Somehow, walking into hell seems a whole lot worse than being pushed.”

  Chapter 67

  Wren was leading Mark and Charlotte through the wind tunnels behind the city. At first they had been reluctant to go forward after Wren had smuggled them into a dark covered entrance behind the racks, where the Llyns stored their rail-boards. Mark remembered his own venture of riding the rails when Wren first brought him to the city. It seemed a lifetime ago and yet it was just the night before. Now, there he was in a narrow tunnel, hardly wide enough for them to walk through. Wind was blowing around it like a gale and it was as black as night, with no lights to guide them.

  Mark shouted above the whistling wind to get Wren’s attention. He took hold of her hand and the three of them crouched down on their haunches to avoid letting the wind blow their hair and faces. It wasn’t a lot different, but at least they had a firm grip on each other. “Wren, are you sure about this? What is this place?”

  Her hair was blowing upwards and out, like a fan of red. She tried to get control of it, but it was pointless; instead she let it go and allowed it to fly freely. Charlotte’s hair was tied back into a golden bun, but still strands came loose and flickered in the wind.

  Wren shouted above the noise. “This is our ventilation. I don’t know where the wind comes from exactly. Some say it comes from the force of the underground trains, but Byron told me it is a natural vent, coming from the earth; a gift from God to help us breathe.” Her eyes widened. “Along the way there are small drill holes where lights from the city will shine through to help you see. Until then I will guide you. I can see very well in the dark.”

  Mark still wasn’t sure. “It doesn’t seem very wide.”

  “Yes, it is narrow here, but it gets wider further along in some places. You must be careful not to trip if you cannot see your feet. The forefathers left much debris when the city was created. It is solid and it will hurt your feet if you kick it, as I have many times.”

  Mark could see Charlotte shaking her head. “Isn�
��t there another way? What if we get stuck?”

  “You won’t get stuck. You are not very fat.” It was meant as a compliment directed at Charlotte. At least Mark thought it was.

  He looked at Charlotte, noticing the frown on her face made her look more vulnerable than he had ever seen her in their cell at Bedlam “Are you claustrophobic, honey?”

  Charlotte shook her head, but she still had a look of dread on her face. For a moment Mark wondered what she was like in real life. He suspected she was a lot feistier than the woman he saw now.

  “Okay, Wren, you lead the way. Charlotte can go behind me.”

  Wren nodded. “I will try and warn you of any obstacles, but it is louder further in.”

  Mark made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, but he doubted Wren knew what that meant, judging by her cute frown. He looked at the black tunnel in front of them and he prayed Wren knew what she was doing. They should get going before he changed his mind.

  They stood up and began to walk, slowly first until the space widened and Wren quickened her step. They broke into a trot as Mark pulled Charlotte behind him, holding her hand as if he’d never let her go. The wind blew against their faces making their eyes water, and it was so dark that he and Charlotte ended up closing their eyes most of the time. It was easier that way.

  Mark saw a beam of light up ahead. It was a true guiding light, a beacon of hope. They stopped then, getting their breath by turning their faces against the force of the wind. Their chests were heaving and as they placed their backs against the side wall of the tunnel, they leaned down and put their hands upon their knees. All except for Wren, whose agility and fitness was unquestionable. Mark and Charlotte looked upwards to the beam of light, and then they looked at Wren to indicate they were ready to go again. Off they went, running like rats in a sewer.

  Chapter 68

  It was 1700 hours and they were assembled with Byron, who was once more at the forefront of operations. As she was speaking, Ben was staring at the colonel’s face, willing him to look back so that he could sneer at him.

  Earlier, when they’d emerged from the tunnel leading to the oil well and the volcano…and the waterfall…and Damnation, of all crazy things, Ben had caught up with the colonel to talk about what had been running like a speeding train through his mind.

  “Hold up there, Barnes,” he’d said.

  The colonel had turned and offered an expression of annoyance. “What?”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  “Well? What is it? Hurry up Mason, I need to bathe.”

  “The oil well…the rubber manufacturing…is that really what you’re after or is it the precious stones and minerals?”

  The colonel chuckled. “Mason, we’ve only got about fifty years worth of oil left before it runs out and that’s not taking into account how little we’ll have if the East want to cap it. Of course we want the oil.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re not after the mineral wealth.”

  “Believe what you like. My orders are to secure the oil and have access to the volcano so that we can produce the rubber. Rubber that is so durable that a set of five tyres will last one person a whole lifetime. Think about it! And don’t forget the impact on the environment.”

  “Yeah, like you care about that.”

  He shrugged. “There is space beneath London for new houses, not forgetting the interest generated from the discovery of the city. All of it will put Alice Burton under a major spotlight. That’s what she’s after. She wants another four years and that’s what she’ll get if she brings this baby home.”

  “And what about the minerals then. You’ll take the Scapolite, right?”

  “Not my problem, Mason. I’m just following my orders. The PM hasn’t mentioned anything about that or the stones.”

  Now there they were, back above ground, underground.

  “I am going to show you a side of the city reserved for our pleasure,” Byron said, “but first we will go to the waterfall where the Charmain spawn. Come with me.”

  They walked through the marketplace to the east. There was a bridge with wrought-iron rectangular plates alternating with wooden planks, all strung together to form a narrow walkway. The sides were draped with ropes, held at intervals by iron posts and at each end were a pair of statues of notables, carved from wood and dressed in metal garb. Each were depicted holding forth a single hand, from which the ropes of the bridge were suspended by a strong clenched fist, as if they were calling to one another, ‘Hold it tight, men, for they are about to traverse.’

  The bridge crossed the canal, like the others in the city, except on the east side, the canal was further down, running over a shallow waterfall where fish resembling salmon leaped upwards.

  “This is a good time,” Byron shouted over the noise of the gushing water. “You can see the charmain jump over the fall. They will go to the shallow pool behind that rock face and there they will spawn. After that, they will go back into the canal where they will be caught and processed for eating. The eggs in the pool will eventually hatch and when they are ready, the new fish will swim back into the canal where the cycle will begin again.”

  Ben was leaning over the balustrade watching the view of the ravine. Below the fall, the water was darker and crowded with fish. “What do they feed on?”

  “It is a plant under the water.” She pointed to a mass of green falling from the rock into the canal. “We believe the seed was brought to us by the River Fleet with God’s own hands. It was truly a blessing.”

  “River Fleet!? I’ve never heard of it.”

  Byron answered as if she was a museum guide. In a way, he supposed she was. “It is the larger of two subterranean rivers below London.” She had a look in her eyes that gave witness to her faith; it was one of admiration. “The plant, which feeds our fish, has evolved by adjusting to its conditions, just as the fish have evolved.” Byron tugged her black leather gloves, pulling them tighter over her wrists. “The water in the canal is fresh water, but it is also polluted by the impurity of our boats, which is why this species has evolved to tolerate it.” She turned to regard the men looking down into the water. “You can swim in it if you don’t mind the fish. The water is quite cool considering the higher temperature in the city.” She stepped away from the side and went towards the bridge. “We shall cross now. Come.”

  They followed her, each of them grabbing the ropes at the side. The bridge was sturdy but it also rocked as they all trundled along. It occurred to Ben that it was the type of bridge one would do well to run across, rather than to walk tentatively holding onto the sides. At the end, they were confronted by a wide entrance to one more tunnel going through the rock face, but this one was barricaded by a large wrought-iron gate.

  “The pleasure side is only open to those who wish to use it for a single purpose,” Byron explained. “We do not allow it to be used all of the time because we believe our people gain increased pleasure, rather than if it were available to them constantly.” She removed a large brass key from the belt around her waist and unlocked the gate. Inside was a dark passage where the only illumination was the reflection of the lights from the city behind them.

  A few paces in they turned a bend and entered a forest.

  Ben’s breath extinguished from his lungs into an audible gasp. It was incredible, it was unbelievable, it was...“How can this be?” he shouted as they all moved inside. “It is a vision, a fantastical vision...”

  Byron watched him, enjoying his pleasure.

  The forest was an emerald landscape under a cavern of rock, with a ceiling higher than the one in the city. And from that ceiling, vines fell. They were roots from trees above ground, yet inside the cavern they looked like a curtain of threads. Around the walls more vines twisted and turned, mingling with flowering climbing plants, except they were not climbing up, they were climbing down to the ground where a moss-like grass and clusters of flowers grew. Roaming about were peacocks, bold and brilliant, and an o
ccasional small rabbit, running and bounding across the moss lawns, chasing a mouse. But the greatest feature of all, apart from the birds flying about and settling on branches, were the trees, like bonsais, remarkably out of proportion, yet perfect. Their trunks were twisted as if they had been trained over hundreds of years and their leaves were tiny on large branches. The lights there were the same as the ones in the other tunnels, feeding the forest with artificial suns and providing a tropical heat. The whole thing was like a forest built inside a film studio, with lights that gave it that timeless essence. No night, no day.