The Ghosts of London

by Amy Cross

  I look over at another door as I realize that there's another couple making love in the next room. There are similar sounds coming from a room at the end of the landing, too, and more coming from upstairs. As a woman groans at the peak of her ecstasy, I realize that my initial fears were completely true.

  "This is a brothel," I say after a moment, trying to stay calm and focusing on the fact that I just need to get out of here as fast as possible. "There's no way around it, so don't even think about denying it. This is a real, actual brothel, with real, live prostitutes."

  "Now that's where you're wrong," she replies, grabbing my shoulder and turning me until I'm facing her. "The 'live' part, I mean." She stares at me, and slowly something seems to change about her; it's as if her skin is becoming duller and tighter, and her eyes are sinking deeper into her head while also turning a sickly shade of yellow. "There are some real sick bastards around," she continues, holding my shoulder tighter with her increasingly thin, skeletal hand, "people who like a little death mixed in with their sex, and where there's a gap in the market, someone's always gonna start offering a service. It's Capitalism 101, yeah?"

  I take a step back, but before I can get too far I feel someone standing behind me. Turning, I see that Simeon has come up the stairs, and now he's blocking my way.

  "Oh yeah," Izzy continues. "When I said he'd be out for a while, basically I was lying. I lied about a few other things, too. Like when I said this place isn't as bad as you think. In fact, it's far worse than you could possibly imagine."

  "Don't be frightened," Simeon says, with a new sense of calmness in his voice. "It's gonna be okay, Katie. Everything's smooth and chill, yeah? It's just gonna take you a little while to wrap your head around certain things."

  "Trust me," Izzy adds, leaning over my shoulder and smiling. "You're gonna love being dead. It's a real blast."

  Chapter Eight

  Rachel

  "Are you sure?" Alexander asks as the chauffeur slams the door shut. "You don't have to do this, you know."

  "It's my new job, isn't it?" I reply with a faint smile. I wait for the chauffeur to get into the front, and then I turn to Alexander. "I promised that I'd take you up on your offer," I continue, "and that's exactly what I'm going to do. You want a live-in assistant, and I think I'm more than qualified for the task, so all I need to do is pack up the stuff at my flat and..." I pause for a moment, as a moment of doubt crosses my mind. "And then I'm all yours," I add finally.

  "We'll drop you off on the way," he replies as the chauffeur starts the engine and the limousine starts rolling toward the exit of the hotel's underground parking lot. "I have a busy day ahead. For one thing, I have to check on my investment with this dam program. If they ask for more money, I'm going to be tempted just to pull the plug. Pun intended."

  "How much have you spent on it so far?" I ask.

  "Too much," he mutters darkly.

  "I didn't know you were so interested in civic engineering."

  "I'm not," he replies, "but the returns should be strong. Besides, helping to fund the dam means that I can get through a lot of doors that used to be closed. Even the prime minister's grateful."

  A few seconds later, we pass a barrier and then up a small ramp that leads out into the gray London morning. Having been in Alexander's penthouse suite all night, I almost feel as if it's been an eternity since I was outside. Watching cars going past and pedestrians making their way along the pavement, I can't shake the impression that I'm not part of the real world anymore. I've died so many times over the past couple of months, I'm starting to feel like a ghost, even if I seem to still be made of flesh and bone.

  "You'll get used to it," Alexander says after a moment.

  "To what?" I ask, turning to him.

  "To this," he replies. "The lifestyle. It's not necessarily the easiest thing in the world to go from a normal life to one where money isn't really an object, but I think you'll be okay, Rachel. There'll just be a little culture shock first. That's all. Sometimes you can end up feeling a little like a ghost, though, making your way through the world in a kind of bubble."

  "Was that pun intended?" I ask.

  "You know what I mean. Money doesn't solve every problem, Rachel. It makes some go away, but it makes others become much bigger."

  I smile politely, but the truth is, I'm already feeling as if I'm way past the culture shock phase. I have no idea what's happening to my life, and I don't even know if it's wise to stay so close to Alexander. At the same time, he knows the truth about me, and he seems to be inextricably linked to my life. I figure I can handle myself, and that until I understand a little more about what's happening, I might as well at least see if he can help. This all started with Alexander, so he has to be linked to it in some way, even if he doesn't realize.

  "What the hell's going on up there?" Alexander mutters, peering ahead before checking his watch. "Can't these idiots clear the way? Is it some kind of carnival?"

  "Traffic's backed up, Sir," the chauffeur says to him. "I'm gonna get on the phone and see if I can come up with a way to get around them." He grabs a tablet phone from the dash and starts flicking through various live traffic update programs, but up ahead the crowd is getting busier and busier. Somehow, I don't think we're going to be able to get through any time soon.

  "Is it some kind of demo?" I ask.

  "It's the river," Alexander replies, craning his neck in an attempt to get a better view of the mass of people currently flooding across the street and pushing toward the banks of the Thames. "They all seem to be staring down at the water. For God's sake, do they have nothing better to do?"

  In the distance, more sirens can be heard.

  "They can't just block the traffic, can they?" I reply, starting to get a little worried. I was in London back in 2005 when the bombings happened, and I was in Brixton in 2011 when the riots erupted, and ever since then, any hint of panic or chaos in the streets is enough to make me start worrying. Still, this feels different somehow; everyone seems to be drawn to the river, as if something's happening down there. No-one's running or screaming. They all just seem to be amazed by whatever they're seeing.

  "Stop the car!" Alexander shouts suddenly, banging on the glass partition that separates this part of the limousine from the driver's section.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  "They're staring toward the dam," he mutters. "I need to see what's happening."

  As soon as we come to a halt, Alexander opens the door and steps out. I watch as he wanders over to join the crowd that has gathered at the edge of the river, and they all seem to be staring down at something that's out of my line of sight. Figuring that I need to find out what's happening, I climb across the seat and step out, before hurrying over to join Alexander.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, as I follow him through the crowd. "Has there been an accident?"

  "Jesus Christ," a woman mutters next to me. "The smell..."

  As Alexander and I continue to fight our way to the front, I realize that the woman's right: there's a horrible stench in the air, like death and decay and human waste all rolled together. Up ahead, Alexander comes to a halt as he reaches the wall that runs along the side of the Thames, and a few seconds later I squeeze through to join him.

  "What is it?" I ask. "What -"

  And that's when I see it.

  A few hundred meters away, the new state-of-the-art dam is making a loud gurgling sound, accompanied by several loud bangs. Below, though, where the Thames should be lapping at the shore, there's nothing but a vast, empty channel of mud, with various boats marooned in the slush along with other items that must have sunk to the bottom of the river over the years. All the water has drained away, and as far as the eye can see in both directions the Thames is completely dry, like a long, wide trench running through the heart of the city with the riverbed completely exposed.

  "I think that's a skeleton," shouts a man, pointing down to where the water used to flow.

  Looking down, I see
that he's right: a skull is partially sticking out from the mud, along with what appears to be part of an arm and some ribs. A little further away, there's yet another body, and after a moment I realize that the entire riverbed seems to be dotted with jagged little pieces of bone. It's as if, after all this time, the river has drained away to reveal the secrets it was supposed to hold forever.

  Despite the stench, I can't turn away, not even as Alexander starts fighting his way back to the limousine. I can't explain it, but as I stare at the riverbed, I feel as if I've witnessed something like this before.

  Epilogue

  "Twenty-seven miles," she says, her voice sounding crackly for a moment over the phone. "All the way from the main dam down to their systems control base at Dartford. So far, the water has mostly been contained in the underground reservoirs they built over the past couple of years, but there's a danger of flooding in the estuary area."

  "And they can't just flick a switch and reverse it all?" Robinson asks as the car sweeps through central London, headed for the river. Sitting in the back of the vehicle, he's juggling several devices at once as he tries to get to grips with the crisis.

  "They say it's not as simple as that," she continues. "The reservoirs were only designed to release water at a certain rate. Gravity helped get the water down there, but it's unlikely to be much use now. They tried to use the pumps, but it was no use. The motors died and now they're scrambling for replacement parts."

  "Keep me posted," Robinson replies as the car speeds past Buckingham Palace. He quickly brings up a set of the latest images, showing mile after mile of drained riverbed. News crews are swarming all over the area, and the government has so far only been able to offer a few reassuring words. Environmental agencies are screaming blue murder, while the major utility companies are warning that they can't possibly cope with the situation. There's even talk of the army being brought in to maintain peace.

  "Do you want the dam itself," asks the driver, "or the control station about half a mile further west?"

  "The dam first," Robinson replies. "I need to see this mess with my own eyes."

  "And smell it," the driver adds. "I'm told the stink was picked up as far as Bow Bells."

  As the car reaches the embankment area, it crawls to a halt in an attempt to negotiate the huge crowd that has gathered to gawp at the exposed riverbed. Stopping the car, Robinson climbs out and moves quickly over to the corner of a nearby bridge, which is filling up rapidly as people take photos of the disaster. Already, a few intrepid souls have ignored police warnings and started climbing down into the mud, and one enterprising woman has started working with a metal detector.

  "Stand back!" a police loudspeaker crackles. "Anyone who attempts to climb down to the riverbed risks arrest and prosecution for public disorder."

  "Good luck with that," Robinson mutters, as a cheer goes up from the crowd. When he reaches the middle of the walkway, he pushes through the crowd again and takes another look down at the riverbed. To his surprise, he spots several long pieces of metal poking out of the mud, and after a moment he realizes that he's looking at an old horse-drawn carriage that must have plunged into the river many years ago and been left un-recovered ever since. He pauses for a few seconds as he glances over toward the opposite shore and realizes that there's no way the police are going to be able to control the situation for long.

  Feeling his phone start to vibrate, he pulls it from his pocket and answers.

  "I hope you've got some good news for me," he mutters as he makes his way to the other side of the bridge. "The smell down here isn't getting any better."

  "Get used to it," his assistant replies. "I've just spoken to the minister, and the latest estimate is that nothing can be done for at least forty-eight hours. You can't just flood all that water back into the system at one go. They need to work out the practicalities, and then this is going to have to be a controlled operation."

  "How long?" he asks.

  "Days. Maybe a week."

  "In the meantime," Robinson mutters, as a group of nearby men try to goad one of their number to dive into the mud beneath the bridge, "there are a hell of a lot of secrets that are going to rise from the depths."

  He watches as a man takes his shirt off, climbs up onto the wall and prepares to jump.

  "Secrets, Sir?" his assistant asks, with a hint of confusion in her voice. "What kind of secrets?"

  "For more than two thousand years," he replies, "this city has been dumping its trash into the Thames. Bodies, treasures, God knows what else. It was all supposed to stay down there, but now the water's gone and I'm pretty sure there are going to be some interesting things turning up. For one thing, I've already seen several skulls down in the mud. Anyone who ever tried to hide something in the river is going to be feeling pretty nervous right now, and with good reason. The Thames was never supposed to give up her secrets like this."

  "You make it sound almost sinister," his assistant replies. "I do like it when you sound sinister."

  Robinson watches as the young man on the wall prepares to dive. He seems to be a little nervous, but finally he leaps off the edge and his friends roar their approval. Hurrying over to the wall, Robinson looks down and sees that the jumper is fine as he wallows through the thick mud that's already caked all over his body. A couple of his friends immediately jump down to join him, and as a police helicopter heads in their direction, Robinson turns and continues to make his way across the bridge.

  "So do you think this is connected to any of the other incidents?" his assistant asks.

  "Such as?"

  "The increased paranormal activity along the banks of the river," she replies. "I know you know what I'm talking about. It's almost as if the ghosts of London had an inkling that something was going to happen."

  "You might be right," Robinson says as he gets to the other side of the bridge and turns to look at the dam in the distance. Cutting the call, he puts his phone away before glancing down into the mud. The first thing he sees is another skull, half-buried in the mud. Fully aware that the river has been used for many years as a place to hide unwanted truths, Robinson knows only too well that this latest development could change the city forever. After all, he's tossed a few secrets into the river himself over the years.

  Part Five

  The Empty River

  Prologue

  "I'm sorry, Sir, this is a restricted area."

  Pausing for a moment, Robinson turns to the police officer.

  "This is a restricted area," the officer repeats. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me while I escort you from the site. I don't know how you got in, but the general public is banned from entering this facility."

  "Oh," Robinson replies after a few seconds, "no, it's okay, I'm allowed to be here. I have full security clearance. I think I even have a badge somewhere."

  "I'm going to need to see that badge," the officer replies with a skeptical tone.

  "Sure. I'll have a look for it later and swing by your desk."

  "I'm going to need to see it now, Sir."

  Frowning, Robinson puts down the polystyrene cup he was fiddling with and starts rooting through the pockets of his suit. Eventually fishing out a small laminated badge, he passes it to the officer and then immediately picks up the cup and resumes his work.

  "I just have to confirm the details on here," the officer says after a moment, before activating his radio and taking a few steps away while he confers with one of his colleagues.

  "Whatever makes you happy," Robinson mutters as he uses a pencil to poke some holes in the side of the cup. Glancing down at the muddy riverbed, he spots a figure in the distance, wandering through the shadows beneath a bridge. After a few seconds, the figure stops and stares directly at Robinson, their eyes briefly meeting before finally the figure turns and seems to vanish entirely.

  "Thought so," Robinson says quietly.

  "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Sir," the police officer says, coming back over and passing t
he badge back to him. "I didn't realize your lot were involved in all this."

  "My lot?" Robinson asks, his eyes scanning the bridge in an effort to spot the figure again. After a moment, he turns to the officer. "Did you see that?"

  "What, Sir?"

  "Never mind."

  "It might help if you wear your badge on your lapel, Sir," the officer continues.

  "Of course," Robinson replies, tucking the badge back into his pocket.

  The officer pauses for a moment, seemingly a little confused by the polystyrene cup. "If you don't mind the question, Sir," he adds, "might I ask why your lot are down here? I mean, this doesn't really seem like a..."

  Robinson waits for him to finish. "Like a what?" he asks eventually.

  "Well, you know... The kind of thing that your lot would be interested in."

  "We're interested in everything," Robinson replies, pulling some string from his pocket and starting to pass it through the holes in the side of the cup. "We get about a bit, too. Just because we don't go storming into every situation, guns blazing, announcing our presence to all and sundry, please don't assume that we're not around."

  "I wouldn't say we go storming into situations, Sir," the officer replies. "It's more -"

  "You have flashing blue lights on top of your cars," Robinson points out, "and they make this awful, loud noise, like..." He pauses. "Wee-waw," he adds eventually. "Wee-war, wee-waw. Like that. I mean, it's not exactly subtle, is it? Even when you're trying to go undercover, you stick out like a bunch of sore thumbs, and don't even get me started on those uniforms. They look like..." He pauses again. "I'm sorry," he continues with a sigh, "I tend to get carried away sometimes, but the truth is, I really don't like loud noises and flashing lights very much, so I tend to get a little edgy whenever your lot show up. I'm sure you have your uses, though, so why don't we each just concentrate on our strengths, okay?"