The Sunken City Trilogy

by Phil Williams

  That was how it worked. You fall down, you recoup.

  Her hopes of enjoying that relaxing evening disappeared before Frankie’s door, though. She stopped in front of the club building behind its uneven parking area, the sign’s wiry lettering and cocktail-glass silhouette flashing first green, then blue, then pink, then red.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Pax huffed under her breath.

  Casaria pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning on to give her a small wave.

  11

  “Turning up like this,” Pax told Casaria, “is stalking.”

  “Stops people from cancelling,” he said.

  “Removes the choice,” Pax replied.

  “Yes. There’s something I want to show you. I guarantee you’ll find it interesting. You do have a choice, though, I want to be clear. You can walk away. No harm done, no strings attached.”

  “I don’t want to see your dick.” The response simply jumped out. Casaria grinned, his straight-toothed smile a little too wide, like someone had once told him this is what charm looked like. Pax skirted to the side, trying to move closer to the club doorway without getting nearer to him. “I need to get to this game.”

  He put a hand into his jacket, making Pax freeze, fearing the gun. He ignored her reaction, taking out a fold of cash. Pax could judge money well enough by sight: a hundred in twenties.

  “If that’s all you’ve got, I still need to get to that game.”

  Casaria smirked again. He put his hand back in the pocket and drew out another, bigger wad of cash. “Let’s be realistic. How well would you need to do to recover what you lost last night? How much luck is involved in that? Is that game” – he indicated Frankie’s – “even big enough?”

  Pax stared at the cash, unconsciously drifting closer like a moth drawn to light. That chunk of notes was definitely more than she could make at Frankie’s table, even on the best of nights. And he knew it. Did he know how much she needed that money, too? A government agency might. But would they go around waving cash at people? Her eyes shifted back to Casaria’s expectant face and she said, “Seriously. Is this a sex thing?”

  Casaria put the money away. “Please. I’d be doing you a favour.”

  “Ouch,” Pax said. He was smiling, of course. Thinking awfully highly of himself. A sex thing would’ve been simpler. “Rumour is it’s best to avoid your Ministry like the plague.”

  “I’m sure you don’t know anywhere near as much as you think.”

  “I know you beat on an innocent boy. And that you’re waving your cash at me like it’s...” Pax frowned. It was her own money, wasn’t it? By rights, she could kick him in the nuts and take it back. “Where’s the rest?”

  “Safe,” Casaria told her. “Like I said, you’ll get it all back. I can speed things up, if you’ll bear with me. A couple of nights, that should do it.”

  Pax looked at Frankie’s sign, imagining the comfort of a night at the table with a sedate crowd. Going away with a little money and no additional complications beyond the promise of a bullet in the ovaries, and a guilty conscience if she didn’t help Rufaizu. She looked back to Casaria’s cash and imagined the other possibilities. Disappearing under the auspices of some violent government agency. Learning things she wouldn’t be able to unlearn. The images from Apothel’s Miscellany sprang to her mind. The fantastic creatures with strange names, capturing Rufaizu’s excited attention. His connection to this ministry was a mystery. She said, “Tell me about Rufaizu.”

  “Huh?” The smile wasn’t so permanent after all. Casaria’s face was blank.

  “What have you done with him? What are you going to do?”

  “I thought you didn’t know him.”

  “He took my money. I figured it out. Filtered for nighthawks, isn’t that how you put it?”

  Casaria’s smile came back, apparently impressed that Pax had a memory.

  “Where is he?” she pressed.

  “Safe. It’s our job to keep people safe, Pax.”

  “Why’d you take him, then?”

  “A matter of national security.” There was that expression again, telling her nothing. But Casaria elaborated this time. “He’s not innocent, as you put it. At the very least, he knows something that would be dangerous to share. At the worst, he may have access to things he shouldn’t have. He’ll be interviewed and we’ll take it from there. Is that enough? Will you come with me now?”

  Pax kept her eyes on him, feeling something swelling in her chest. How was that supposed to be enough? “I need to see him. I need to see Rufaizu with my own eyes.”

  Casaria didn’t speak for a moment. His blank expression broke, though, and he rolled his eyes away from her. “Fine. You can see the boy – but not until after you come with me. By then, though, I think your priorities will have shifted.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. By then she might be locked up along with Rufaizu, or worse? Disappeared like Ronnie Sweet?

  Pax gave Frankie’s another glance. She could go in and tell them all about this guy. She could call Bees and insist he come with her. She could run. But if she did any of those things, her money might disappear, and Rufaizu along with it. To say nothing of what these people, and the others, might do if she didn’t play ball. Casaria was at least pretending this was an amicable deal, right now.

  “You’ll give my money back?” Pax asked. Casaria nodded. “All of it?”

  “In time,” he said. “But you need to give me some time. One evening is never enough.”

  “How’s a statement like that ever lead anywhere good?” Even as she questioned it, though, Pax realised that shitty comment was good in itself. Whatever madness he had planned, Casaria wanted her consent to join him at a later date. He was watching her, waiting for her to reach a conclusion. She shook her head. “I’ve got bills to pay. I’ve got a tournament on Thursday.”

  “Give me until Monday, then.”

  “Why?” Pax narrowed her eyes. “What for?”

  “It’s something I have to show you, there’s no point explaining it.”

  “Why?” she repeated, more firmly.

  He nodded, realising it wasn’t the process she was asking about. “Because there’s not many people who can handle it, what I want to share with you, and there needs to be more of us. I’m playing a hunch here, but I think you’ll be into it.”

  Pax didn’t blink, taking in his squared-off posture, no hint from his body that he wasn’t being honest. Unless he knew how to hide his emotions. Pax was good at reading eyes, though, and the way he broke her gaze, just for a second, confirmed her hunch that this was personal. “Three nights, that’s what I’ll agree to. But we see Rufaizu today. And you give me that cash now.”

  She held out her hand. Casaria stared at it, hesitating. He took out the hundred again, that was all. “This much. Only this, today.” Pax started shaking her head, but he thrust the notes into her palm. “Believe me, seeing the boy is a big concession.” He let go of the money in her hand, giving her a quick squeeze with his fingers to complete the handshake. The way fifteen-year-old boys give hugs. He immediately moved past her, pointing ahead. “This way. You’ll enjoy this, seriously.”

  Watching him go, Pax told herself this was progress. He might’ve abducted someone and all but blackmailed her into coming with him, but he liked her. For the first time all day, she felt like she had some kind of leverage.

  The icy silence of Letty’s dinner was interrupted by her phone ringing. As she finished her mouthful and read Fresko’s name off the Caller ID, she was aware that Mix and Gambay had frozen across the table, watching her like they thought she might shout at them for letting the phone ring. She tapped the green icon. “Speak.”

  “She’s going with him,” Fresko said. “Asked him about the kid, but nothing concrete. The mug agreed to take her to him after whatever they’re up to.”

  “Finally,” Letty said, closing her eyes with relief. “I’m coming to you.” She hung up and returned Mix’s rigid sta
re. He could’ve been a statue set in malice, his masonry block jaw set as squarely as his silver hair. Still pouting over the reams of insults she’d shouted at him earlier. She raised her eyebrows to prompt him to come out and say it.

  “We’re all going, right?” he said.

  “Like shit. The Ministry’s on her. I need subtle, not stupid.”

  Letty could predict Mix’s follow-up before it left his lips. He was tough as cheap beef, and old enough to be a father-figure, but tough was all he knew. “We corner Casaria, we can make him talk.”

  “Spin on it.” Letty pushed herself up from the table but kept her hands on it, looming over the others. “You’re gonna start thinking now? It was yesterday I needed you. Now you’d just get in the damned way. Casaria’s sweet on that girl, he’s taking her where we want to go.”

  Gambay spread his arms across the table with the grace of a prowling lizard, leaning into her plan. “Then we ice that Ministry prick!”

  “Stop being thick!” Letty commanded. She tossed her can at Gambay. He ducked, too slow, and it caught him on the temple. Toppling off his seat, Gambay turned on Letty with his teeth bared and fists clenched. Letty grabbed a curved knife, making Gambay freeze.

  “Give me an excuse,” Letty said. “It’d be less than you deserve.”

  Gambay glowered at her hatefully. He touched a hand to his reddening temple.

  “Please,” Letty said, savagely. He shook his head and sat back down. Letty continued, “Maybe it was good that you arseholes weren’t on Rufaizu when you needed to be. The shit you might’ve done. We need the kid, we don’t need a fucking war with the Ministry. Do I really have to spell that out?”

  Gambay mumbled something that could have been a no.

  “Here’s what happens now,” Letty said. “Me and Fresko keep on this broad and you two stay sober and wait for my call. Maybe – maybe – we put this behind us.” She threw an arm to the ill-gotten gains that littered the room. Gold, cash and trinkets in abundance. “We put all this behind us. No more mugging pedestrians. Boosting cars. Knocking over card games.”

  Letty grabbed Mix’s can from across the table and gulped down what was left of his drink. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, belched and turned to leave. Neither of the others moved or said anything, but she knew what they’d do in her absence. Gambay would grumble that he had no problem with mugging people and Mix would tell him to grow a pair and stand up to Letty. Then they’d down some vodka to make themselves feel like men. Not too much, though. They wouldn’t risk getting blind drunk again after last night. Now that they’d screwed up and she’d chewed them out for it, they’d be ready to make good. They’d tracked down the girl from the bar’s cameras in record time, after all, and Fresko had been a trooper trailing her all day. All she needed from the other two was their muscle, if it came to that. Hopefully it wouldn’t.

  Letty headed out feeling positive. Not great, exactly, but it was the first time in twenty-four hours that she didn’t feel like punching her head through a wall with frustration. Rufaizu couldn’t have been anywhere that secure. Casaria was promising to take the dumpy barfly to him, and no civilians got inside the fortress that was the Ministry offices. The prick must have put protocol on hold while he trotted after that piece of arse, and that was gonna save them all from an impossible situation.

  12

  Though visibly pleased with her choice, Casaria became quiet after Pax agreed to come. He led her away from Frankie’s, towards an unlit street, and her worries mounted. Flanked by dumpsters and hidden from street lights, the road was a den of shadows. A billboard rose over the area beyond a building, the partly torn image advertising a Dyson vacuum cleaner. It said The Future’s Spotless, but the image looked two or three decades old. A place that time had forgotten. He could rape her here, murder her. He had a gun, and even if he was unarmed she doubted she’d have the strength to fight him off. The exercise she paid lip-service to in bi-monthly twenty-minute bursts suddenly did not seem enough. She fought the fear, though: I’ve handled worse situations.

  Onward they walked, out into the safety of the street lights.

  Pax looked over her shoulder, to the passage they’d left behind, and told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. If he hadn’t attacked her there, where would he?

  As they continued, she decided talk would lighten her mood, and a comment came out unfiltered: “So definitely no rape, then?”

  Casaria paused as he gave her an odd look. Common to so many people she’d met, he wasn’t quite on board with her sense of humour. She tried an uneasy smile, which didn’t help. He said, in a tone that begged to be believed, “Honestly, this isn’t about sex.”

  “All right.” Pax took a moment. “Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

  “Underground,” he said, showing her his back as he continued.

  “What’s that mean? We need to get the Tube?”

  “No,” he answered. “Just its tunnels.”

  “What have you got to show me in the tunnels of the Tube?”

  Casaria did not answer.

  They continued to the end of the street and towards Wynbone Station. Its wide open stairs descended in the middle of the pavement, appearing incredibly foreboding. Wynbone was quiet at the best of times, far from the centre of the city, and at this time of night it was deserted.

  Pax slowed as Casaria continued. Her earlier question was answered – an Underground tunnel might be a better place to attack her than that street. It could house the many things her father had always feared on her behalf. The nightmares of Ordshaw he brought up every Christmas. A sex dungeon? Human trafficking? Keep working nights, with those people, she could hear him say, and you’ll end up chained in a sex dungeon.

  She always growled at him that such things never happened.

  Maybe they did, though.

  Casaria stopped and turned back, realising she was not following. He said, “You’ll be safe.”

  “Give me your gun and I’ll believe you,” she replied.

  “That would make you less safe,” he said. “I’ll explain once you’ve seen it.”

  “Maybe you should explain now.”

  “I’ve done this before,” Casaria told her calmly. “More than a few times. It’s better to see it first. Otherwise, you’ll just accuse me of making things up. More likely, you won’t want to come.”

  “Now you really need to tell me what it is.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Pax watched him continue, towards the steps, and knew it was true. She had to go with him, to pay her rent and look out for that poor kid and to save her ovaries. More than all that, though, now she had a big fat dose of curiosity to satisfy. What could possibly be down there, and was it remotely close to Bees’ idiotic ideas? As Casaria reached the station, never looking back, she rushed after him.

  “At least tell me where it is,” she said. “Give me something.”

  “You’ve got my word –”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s beyond the maintenance tunnels. I have a key that takes us to another set of tunnels. We’ll go about three minutes into them, not far. Then you’ll see it.”

  Pax kept walking, frowning. “Why are there extra tunnels that you have the keys to?”

  “See what’s there, then I’ll explain. That’s the deal.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, the station empty. It was one of the older stations, fading tile walls lined with cracks, steel-rimmed lights caked in so much grime that they gave only the vaguest yellow-green glow. The adverts here belonged in a collection with that Dyson billboard; there was a faded advert for Hooper’s Hooch, a Brand New! alcoholic lemonade. Didn’t that go out of fashion in the late 90s? As Pax tried to recall her alcopops history, Casaria stopped at a maintenance door a short way down the tunnel. He took out a key, opened the door and stepped aside. Pax stared into the darkness beyond.

  “Okay.” She took a breath. “Tell me one thing before we go
another step. Where exactly is Rufaizu?”

  Casaria shrugged. “I told you he’s fine.”

  She folded her arms. He stared at her.

  “All right. He’s in St Alphege’s. In a safe house. Waiting for me to process him. At that point he’s going to the MEE building in central Ordshaw, which you would not be allowed into. Okay?”

  Pax read his face, trying to judge how far to trust this. “Does anyone else know he’s there?”

  Casaria’s silence gave her the answer.

  “You’re not on the level, are you?” Pax said. “You shouldn’t be attacking suspects or imprisoning them in the sticks. Or bringing girls down here, for whatever this is...”

  His smile came back crookedly. Pax was starting to notice the difference – straight and toothy was his show smile. This cock-eyed smirk betrayed genuine amusement. He said, “The Ministry has a great deal of rules and regulations. Forms to fill in. I like to keep things casual until it’s absolutely necessary to go through the red tape. If I didn’t, your money would be lost in the system. You should be thanking me, really.”

  He waited as though expecting her to say thanks.

  “What’d he do?” Pax asked. “Exactly.”

  “It’s connected to this.” He indicated the doorway. “Again. The explanation will be so much easier after you see what’s down there.”

  Pax shot him a fierce look, to say this was not cool. Acknowledging that didn’t help, though. She walked on past him into whatever hell lay beyond.

  “There’s, what, three safe houses in St Alphege’s?” Letty shouted at Fresko as they sped through the city. “Send the others to the east one, we’ll cover the near two. We’ve got time to recover from this before he seals the deal with that vacant cow.”