She turned her back on us and stalked out of the Wulfshead. Digger Browne shook hands politely with all of us and followed her out. And Molly Metcalf, Girl Flower, Mr. Stab, and I went off to see Manifest Destiny. One witch of the wild woods, one elemental of rose petals and owls’ claws, one legendary serial killer, and one very confused ex-agent for the good.
Some days you just shouldn’t get up in the morning.
We left the Wulfshead Club by a back door I didn’t recognise and ended up in a dimly lit alley just off Denmark Street, deep in the dark heart of Soho. It was late evening now, with all the twilight people spilling out onto the streets, rubbing the day’s sleep from their eyes. Girding their weary loins to prey on the sheep, one more time. None of them paid us any attention. We very obviously weren’t sheep. Molly strode out into the middle of the empty road and looked around her, scowling.
"What are you looking for?" I said patiently. "You won’t find a taxi in this area, not at this time of night."
She looked back at me and sighed heavily. "All right; lecture mode. Pay attention, Drood, and you might just learn something useful. Once upon a time, way back during the most paranoid days of the Cold War, the establishment of that time arranged for the construction of a huge network of bunkers and tunnels deep under the streets of London. A last desperate bolthole to which the important personages of that time could retreat in the event of a nuclear strike. Presumably so they could continue to rule the radioactive ruins above. I love a government that thinks ahead, don’t you? Anyway, this very large bolthole was fully equipped and supplied, and very safe and secure. But the Cold War ended, officially, and the network of bunkers and tunnels was declared redundant. Abandoned and left to rot, guarded by just a few old Cold Warriors who were also pretty much redundant.
"Manifest Destiny occupies the network now, with, it is said, the winking acknowledgment of the current powers that be. Unfortunately, and this is the part you’re really going to hate, Edwin, the only way to access this network is via the city sewers. According to my contact, there’s a manhole somewhere around here that will let us into the system, so stop just standing around like a spare dick at a wedding and help me find it."
As it turned out, the manhole was right behind her. None of us said anything. She scowled down at the heavy steel cover and snapped her fingers at it, and the cover shot up into the air as though someone had goosed it. The cover hovered above us in midair, while we all gathered around the hole and peered dubiously down into it. Molly generated a witchfire, a shimmering silver glow around her left hand, but even that magical light could only show us a series of metal rungs leading down into the darkness. The smell coming out was pretty ripe, though. We all looked at each other, and finally Molly sighed heavily and led the way down into the sewers.
Once we were all inside, the manhole cover dropped back into place, sealing us in.
Underground, the smell hit me like a fist in the face. Shocked tears ran down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe only through my mouth. It didn’t help. The ladder deposited us in a long dark tunnel with curving walls and an uncomfortably low ceiling. Molly boosted her witchlight, pushing back the dark to give us a better view. The brick walls were slick with damp and slime and filth, and dark churning waters surged through a deep central channel, thick with refuse and unpleasantly familiar things floating in it. The walkway was only wide enough to accommodate two of us at a time, and the old stone beneath our feet was encrusted with foul matter. It was enough to make you vow never to use a toilet ever again. Girl Flower and Mr. Stab appeared entirely unmoved, but Molly was almost gagging from the stench. Two rats floated past us, crouched together on a particularly large…object. That was enough. I started to armour up, to protect myself from plague, but Molly whirled angrily on me.
"Don’t!" she said, in a harsh whisper. "We don’t want to attract attention."
"Attention from whom?" I said, not unreasonably. "Who else would be dumb enough to come down into the sewers at this time of night?"
"She has a point," said Girl Flower, glancing nervously about her.
"You do hear stories…Of things that have chosen to live down here, away from the light and the scrutiny of man. Awful, unpleasant things, darling. Not at all the sort of people you want to meet."
"Right," said Molly. "I’ve talked to people who work down here, and they all have stories to share that the civilised world doesn’t want to listen to. Not everything that gets flushed is gone forever. There are things down here that have learned to thrive in conditions like this, and they’re always hungry. Strange fruit grown from rotten branches, monsters grown out of discarded experiments, and some blighted shapes that might have been human, long and long ago. I’ll generate a low-level field to protect us from…contamination, but any stronger magic might call them to us."
"Maybe you should lose the witchlight, then," said Mr. Stab. "I’m almost sure I have a light about me somewhere…"
"No!" Molly said quickly. "No flames or anything that might generate a spark. Methane gas has a tendency to build up in pockets, and you can’t detect it through the general nasty ambience. Until it’s far too late."
"In the old days," Mr. Stab said conversationally, "the workers used to bring down canaries in cages. And when the canaries started to smoulder, they knew they were in trouble."
There was a pause, and then Molly said, "You’re really not helping, you know."
"Poor little birdies," said Girl Flower.
Molly conjured up her protective field, incorporating a simple directional spell that manifested as a glowing arrow floating on the air before us. We started off after it, slipping and sliding on the treacherous surface of the walkway. Our shadows leapt around us in the witchlight, huge and menacing. Sudden noises echoed away through the long dark tunnels, lingering on long after they should have died away. I kept a watchful eye on every shadowed tunnel we passed, and sometimes I thought I saw twisted, distorted shapes lurching away in the uncertain gloom ahead; but nothing ever ventured out into the witchlight to confront us.
The smell wasn’t getting any easier to take.
There were rats everywhere, scuttling and scurrying and pausing now and then to bare their yellow teeth at us. Many were bigger by far than any rat had a right to be, and they didn’t seem nearly scared enough of us to suit me. I’ve got a bit of a thing about rats. Most just watched us pass from their holes and lairs, dark beady eyes gleaming malevolently. Molly amused herself by pointing her finger at those who got too close, whereupon they immediately exploded wetly in all directions at once. Girl Flower squeaked loudly every time this happened and finally stopped to pick up most of a dead rat and hold it close to her bosom.
"Poor little ratty."
"Oh, ick," said Molly.
"I am flowers, darling," Girl Flower said stubbornly. "And all dead things are compost to my pretty petals."
She slipped the rat carcass inside the front of her dress, and it immediately disappeared. Molly looked at me. "Think about that, the next time she invites you to unbutton her blouse."
I looked determinedly in another direction. "If she starts coughing up owl pellets, she’s going back."
We moved on, into the darkness. Tunnel led to tunnel, twisting and turning deep under London’s streets. Others had been here before us, leaving their marks upon the brick walls. Some were hopeful; some were despairing messages to loved ones they never hoped to see again. There were arrows, pointing in varying directions, and even the occasional crude map scratched into the brick. Masonic symbols, odd phrases in old forgotten languages…I half expected to find Arne Saknussemm’s initials. Or Cave Carson’s. We pressed on, following Molly’s glowing arrow. Her protective field kept the filth at bay, even when we occasionally had to wade through the revolting waters to get to another tunnel. Pity it couldn’t do anything about the smell.