"I imagine not, young man. Like most educated people, I considered the story of Atlantis to be a mish-mosh of unfounded legends and confused references to other parts of the world. But that was before I made my way down here and discovered the evidence to the contrary."
"The submarine?" I said.
"Oh, much more than that," said Felknap. "Indeed, my dear fellow, you're standing in part of Atlantis right now, or at least a far-flung outpost of it."
"But I thought- I thought it was called the Lost Coin World, or something like that."
"Aye," said Clagger beside me. "That's what I told you, and that's the name the toshers have for it. Because, you see, they've heard of the place and think it to be where all the coins and valuable things that are never found even by them eventually drift down to. Only a few of the oldest and wisest toshers working the sewers of London know what's really down here."
"And that is?" I asked.
"Well, now," said Felknap, "you might not credit it in such a gloomy environment, but I have a chamber nearby where we can talk in comfort. I've several casks of salvaged malmsey as well to aid in the exposition of pertinent matters. Excalibur as well is tucked away in a safe place there. Shall we?" He pointed to one of the torch-lit tunnel openings that flanked the shore.
"Lead on," said Clagger quite cheerily.
As our little group followed behind the professor, I looked back to where the small boats that had attempted to reclaim the submarine were now rowing up and being tied to iron posts set in the man-made shoreline. Even from this distance I could see the sharp looks of suspicion and distrust on the pale faces of the men. I hurried after the others as a deep foreboding stirred in my vitals.
"Permit me to ramble on unchecked for a while," said Felknap as he poured a thick stream of wine into the goblets before him. "An old man's prerogative, and a professor's as well." He looked up and noticed the attention with which I was studying, the goblet he had pushed toward me. "Ah, yes, solid gold that is. A lovely piece of Atlantean craft, you know."
"The designs," I said, tapping a nail upon the side of the goblet. "Those intertwined, serpentine knots. Quite a resemblance to the ancient Celtic arts."
"Indeed." He nodded approvingly. "Many of the old Celtic traditions have their origin in the lost culture of Atlantis. Not that the Celts are descendants by blood of the Atlanteans, of course, but there was a considerable amount of trade between the two peoples once. The Celts, being far less advanced than the Atlanteans, were able to absorb the superficial art motifs, but naturally none of the technology that could produce something such as that submarine. If I had a chalkboard I could make a proper lecture out of all this, I assure you. But to continue.
"I first became interested in the legends and rumours concerning certain remnants of the lost Atlantean culture that were supposedly somewhere beneath London while I was still at Edinburgh University. After much investigation I tracked down the source of these stories to an old drunken sewerhunter who had been driven away by his fellow toshers for using the cover of the sewers' darkness to practice certain loathsome vices-"
"By God," interrupted Clagger, "toshers are as high minded a bunch as any of the rest of mankind."
"Yes," said Felknap, "more's the pity. At any rate, this banished fellow had wandered north to try his luck in combing the sewers of another city, but had chanced to come upon an equally lucrative and more pleasant occupation. In return for food, beer – mainly beer – and a doss in one of the hall's cellars, he regaled the Edinburgh undergraduates with his preposterous ravings about the so-called 'Lost Coin World', and all the treasures that had drifted over the ages down into its keeping. The students regarded him as an entertaining loony and nothing more, and the entertainment value was wearing a bit shabby when I at last located him. I had to fuel his thirst in order for him to consider my questions, but his answers, when wrung dry and studied, were of the utmost intrigue to my mind. With a shaky pen he drew some of the designs and ornaments he had observed during his sojourn in the Lost Coin World, and their specific similarity to ancient Celtic motifs was easily beyond the poor sot's power of fabricating by himself.
"Was he an agent in some elaborate hoax? Or had he indeed seen such things far below the city of London? Be it a fragment of Atlantis or not, such a find would be of considerable archaeological importance. Secure in my professorship at the university, I was nevertheless bitten by the viperlike lust for fame. So I travelled to London on my sabbatical, leaving my initial informant behind as in his liquorfogged state he would have made a poor guide, and sought my passage through the London sewers."
"Twas me very own father he engaged to lead the way," Clagger informed the rest of us.
"And a fine man he was, too. Here's to his memory." Felknap took a long pull at his goblet and his listeners followed suit. The malmsey's warmth spread across my chest, fighting away the chill of the underground. "Yes," continued the old professor, "Moses Clagger led me straight and true to this very region, and told me all he knew of it as we travelled. He introduced me to his friends among the inhabitants of these depths, and arranged with them for my comforts and assistance in my research. At first I intended to stay but a few days or at most weeks, but when old Moses recrossed that great water he left me on this side." He drained his goblet and sat back, gazing into its glowing interior.
"You mean," I said, amazed, "that you've been down here all these years, without once returning to the surface?"
The silvered head nodded. "When first I came the gloom and damp and the weight of the earth above all quite oppressed my spirit. But I was soon caught up in my research and was as comfortable as if I were turning pages of some tome in the cosiest niche of the British Museum. For you see, I had found my life's work down here. These Stygian depths are the field upon which the seeds of my genius have been sown. The burning passion of the scholar, though it has nearly consumed my life, has nonetheless kept me warm down here. Though all this is but the tiniest fragment of the glory that Atlantis must once have been before its destruction, still this fragment is a richer, more rewarding object for my attention than all the much-handled bones and potsherds that were ever scrabbled up from the surface's dry dust. Think of it – Atlantis. And I found it." An immodest pride thickened his voice.
"There's no doubt of it being Atlantis?" I said.
"None whatsoever, my dear Hocker. I've managed to do some rough translations from a few of the runic inscriptions that were left behind by the departed Atlanteans. Their import is quite clear. This complex of underground chambers and tunnels once formed a sort of way-station in a network of subterranean passageways that once extended beneath most of the European continent. And perhaps even farther than that; an obscure reference exists to the most distant terminal in the network being located in the roots of the Tibetan mountains. All of these tunnels were constructed by the ancient Atlanteans with their lower depths filled with water, the temperature of which was ingeniously regulated so as to provide separate currents running in either direction. Submarines, such as the one with which you, Hocker, became so regrettably, acquainted were the devices used for transportation.
"A quite remarkable race were these Atlanteans. Their achievements and ambitions far outstrip ours. Indeed, only the greatest of geological calamities was able to vanquish them. Those who were not on their native island when it sank below the Atlantic apparently soon passed away in grief for their drowned brethren."
"All the Atlanteans died?" I gestured at the stone walls around us. "Then who are these other men who live here in these depths? I had presumed them to be the descendants of the lost race."