Vega nodded. “This way. A definite tug from...” She frowned. “It’s easy to lose track of the curve, isn’t it? Can I again, will it carry to be a problem?”
“Nah. Nothing near us, ‘cept some cellars, thirty, forty feet up,” Frankie said. “Please do.”
Vega nodded, and without any fuss, took another of those half-steps, settling into what Farran assumed was the best posture for this sort of singing. It was the same chant, but this time, in a much smaller space, it sounded different. There were harmonics implied. He knew enough music to understand what they were doing. She sang it once through, the same words in a language she was confident about. And then she sang it again, as if chasing some thread of magic through a larger bit of weaving.
This time, the silence was a little longer when the last note trailed off. It lasted until Vega cleared her throat. “That way. Can we go that way?”
The two older men conferred, speaking in a dialect that was nearly as incomprehensible as the singing had been. This time, Farran was certain that they were, in fact, speaking English. But between what he assumed were a range of specialised terms, a smattering of station names, several combinations that he thought weren’t actually stations, and more, it became increasingly baffling.
Finally, though, they nodded in unison. “There’s a door, bit past. Tunnel goes a bit. There’s some dunno. Spaces. Too deep to be proper cellars, but I suppose they might have been someone’s once. We can go to the opening with you, don’t wanna go further. Not our territory, right?”
“Will there be other people down here? Do you know?”
“Might. Might not. Some people get a mind to live down here. Don’t think anyone right now. But you know, men who had a Bad War and want somewhere no one can sneak up on them, to sleep, or keep their things.”
“The last was Johnny, though, three months ago. Just before the flood, anyway. You was worried, until it turned out he’d been put up in hospital for a bit.”
“And then someone found a sister, and she took him in. No, you’re right. Don’t think there’s been anyone since Johnny. Down here, needs someone who knows where things are. This way. None too much time. We’ll need to be heading out prompt, before they turn on the trains.”
“All right. Which way?” The thing of this was, it was like sorting things out at Thebes had been, when Vivian and Uncle Cadmus had needed to be brave and go forward. The way to change something was to move. Into the unknown, or at least the personally unknown. But other people had been down here, maybe recently. And it needed doing.
Frankie led the way, down a narrow passage, through another door, and then across something that could generously be described as another tunnel. It had a dirt floor, not cement or any sort of man-made brick, and the roof also looked suspiciously like dirt. The sides were held up with some wood supports, every eight or ten feet. And across from where they came out, just at the edge of the light, there was a dark opening on the other wall.
“There. Can give you...” Bill fumbled, then looked at a watch he pulled out of his pocket. “An hour. One of us will be by here, the other needs t’do some work.”
“Sixty minutes.” Farran pulled out his own watch. “Four.” They’d been down here even longer than he’d realised, if it were already three. “Best get moving then.”
“Yell if there’s something, blow your whistle. That’ll carry. We know which direction you’re going, but if you make a turn, you leave a mark with chalk.” Farran held up the stick he’d brought; there were three more in different places in his bag, and two more in the bag Vega was carrying. And he patted the bag, reassuring himself that the set of potions was still where it ought to be.
“Thank you.” Vega made it like a regal blessing. “Come along, Farran.” She took a step across the tunnel to the dark gap. Farran immediately followed her, holding the lantern up to get the best distance out of the light that they could.
The first room was long. It might well have been someone’s cellar, ancient storage for food over the winter. Or wine, maybe. Farran saw shapes further back in the spaces to each side of the central walkway that might have been great urns for wine. “Still going the right way?”
Vega nodded. She hadn’t reached to touch him, but both of them needed a hand free for the lantern. And if one of them slipped, better if both of them didn’t tumble. “I’ll try again, that end. Maybe something a little different. I can feel something, though. In my pocket, the talisman, as well as the singing.”
That was, at least, a little reassuring. Farran kept wanting to crane his neck, to see what was tucked into the storage spaces— they must be storage spaces— along each side. “Do we think this was Roman?”
“Maybe. The arches look it, don’t they? And the bits of pottery. Most of it long shattered, I suppose.” They seemed to be coming up to the end of whatever storage they’d been in. Maybe it had been a stable, or for docks, when the land and water levels were vastly different. Farran knew people could figure that sort of thing out, but he had not nearly as much idea as he ought about how they did that.
Vega stopped, and he immediately halted. “One more time?” he asked.
“Yes. Can you hold both lights?” She sounded almost distracted, handing the lantern to him. Farran turned, so he was facing her at an angle, able to see both where they’d come from, and then the wall in front of them, with two darker hollows on either side. “Something different, this time.” Vega definitely sounded as if she were focused on something else now.
This time, it definitely wasn’t anything like any language Farran had ever heard. It had a rill to it, like Welsh did, an inherent musicality that suggested harmonies and echoes and counterpoint. But it also had the spareness and beauty of early monastic chant, a mobility that wasn’t like anything modern.
He’d heard something somewhat similar when he’d visited Vivian’s family estates, but nothing that was quite like this. Those were all designed for many people to sing, with harmonies and moving voice parts. This was just Vega, her voice filling the room with waves of sound that seemed like they couldn’t just come from one body.
It wasn’t just the sound. As she went on, a pattern of theme and variation, coming back to the same line, then expanding, then returning, Farran realised that the air had changed. Where it still had the damp smell of ground— nothing dangerous, just the eternal damp of England— it seemed warmer, more like a spring day after a few hours of sun. Then there was a far stronger scent on the air, night-blooming flowers with a compelling fragrance, and beyond where the light was strongest, what seemed like a shimmering of stars.
Chapter 35
3AM, BELOW LONDON
As Vega let the last sounds die away, she could feel they were close. Close to something, anyway. The talisman in her pocket was warm enough to feel through the fabric of her trousers. She kept blinking to try to clear her vision before she realised it was stars. And not just stars, but particular stars.
Most people didn’t notice that. They saw a pattern some artist had made of the night sky and didn’t concern themselves with the accuracy of the placements. Now, she could see stars, constellations, laid out against the wall in front of them. Two sets, one on either side of where she now stood. There were flowers along with it, night-blooming ones, moonflowers and star jasmine, along with entirely unseasonal honeysuckle. The moonflower was a little unexpected, but it had been turning up in a whole host of moments across the various estates. That did not matter here. She was fairly sure of it, anyway.
“Can you put out the lights, please?” Her voice didn’t shake as she spoke. Farran didn’t argue. He didn’t even ask the entirely reasonable question. He just extinguished his own light. Granted, she knew they could both produce charmlights, and he had an electric torch and she had candles and matches and a lighter in her own bag.