So Below: The Trilogy

by Matt Whyman

  “You did good, soldier. You can stand down now, and stuff your face.”

  “Something’s wrong,” is all Yoshi can say. He blinks until his focus sharpens on his surroundings once again. The image in his mind has gone, but not the sense of foreboding.

  “No problems reported from here. The target can’t believe what she’s just seen, so who’s complaining? You’re kinda new at this game to be a perfectionist.”

  Yoshi is about to explain that it isn’t the illusion that concerned him. Then his eyes lock onto a figure through the crowd, and open wide in dread.

  The brute in the white mink coat prowls from one stall to the next. He’s entirely bald, with a neck so thick it folds at the back, and a brow at the front like a rock face. His sheer presence is impossible to ignore, from his height to his giant build. The boy watches him pick over the produce on offer, and barely breathes at this shock sighting. His memory might not go back much further than the fog-bound night in which he arrived, but he’s certain this guy is very bad news.

  “It’s him,” he croaks into the phone. “He’s come back for me.”

  A pause crackles down the line. The sound of the Bridge in confusion. “Soldier, you look a little unwell. Your order is to return to the bunker.”

  Yoshi cannot stop gawping at the man in the mink. He’s obviously arrived in search of something, but it’s clear he hasn’t spotted Yoshi. Then he stops, right beside Mikhail, in front of Mae Ling’s stall. He’s drawn, it seems, just like the Russian boy, to the tasty-looking snacks on display.

  “Oh no!” Yoshi freezes at what follows. For Mae Ling is still making an almighty song and dance about the vanishing act that’s just been pulled off in her honour. It’s enough to distract anyone currently picking over her produce, until they decide to see what all the fuss is about. Slowly the brute turns around. And for the second time in a matter of moments, Yoshi comes face to face with a pair of baleful, blue eyes. This time, they seem to bore right through the boy for real.

  “Get me out of here,” he yells down the line. “Now!”

  “Huh?” The voice from the Bridge doesn’t sound so in charge this time.

  “The mirrors!” breathes Yoshi urgently, just as the man in the mink begins to push across the crowd. The market is at its busiest, however, and for a moment Yoshi loses sight of him. When he spots the brute among the throng again he’s closer still. This time, however, he’s looking angered by all the people in his way.

  “Please,” the boy yells into the phone, “get the mirrors back in place!” Just then a squeal causes heads in the crowd to turn, upon which two porters attempt to push through. They’re shouting at one another, and seem to be in pursuit of something at ground level. Amid the chaos, the crowd on Yoshi’s side open up, and a loose pig scurries out. “Now!” he screams, seizing this last opportunity. “Make me disappear!”

  Billy No-Beard is there with the mirror in an instant. He’s evidently trained to act without question. Even so, the look he shoots Yoshi before covering the phone box makes it clear that he’s confused.

  “Both mirrors are in place, soldier. Do you want to tell us what this is about?”

  “The guy in the street,” Yoshi whispers, unable to see out himself now. “The big bald monster with the fancy coat. What’s he doing?”

  “Scratching his big bald head,” comes the response after a moment. “He looks a little lost.”

  “What else?”

  “He’s looking in your direction, and frowning hard. Oh . . . hold on.”

  “What?”

  “He’s heading your way!”

  “But I’m stuck! You have to help! It’s the guy who was after me the other night. He’s coming to get me and I’m trapped!”

  “Calm down, soldier. He’s stopped again. People are flocking across to see what all the squealing and shouting was about just now. The target is trying to steer around them but he isn’t getting far.”

  “Are you sure he can’t see me? Are the mirrors reflecting the brick wall behind this box?”

  “Of course they are! We’re professional street magicians, not hucksters! I can’t speak for the little piggy, but it seems you might just get away with this. The target is looking in your direction again, but there’s nothing to see. The illusion works a treat so long as nobody walks behind the box, and Billy has been briefed to stop that from happening.”

  “You guys think of everything,” says Yoshi.

  “You don’t need spells to make magic, soldier. Just thorough planning— hang on, there’s another swell of people in his way . . . That’s it! He’s giving up trying to cross to your side of the street. He doesn’t look happy, but you’re in the clear.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Seems he’s lost his appetite for dim sum, too. If you want me to carry on tracking him I’m going to have to switch traffic cams.”

  “You mean he’s leaving?”

  “Affirmative, soldier. Target has exited the market. Looks like we made you vanish in the nick of time.”

  A second later, a sound shoots up over the market like a firework. Those people passing Mae Ling’s stall turn in the direction of the noise, only to carry on about their business because there’s nothing to be seen. Just a worn-looking brick wall behind the stalls, though some might swear that a phone box usually stands there. There’s certainly something fishy about this scene. For as everybody knows, brick walls don’t whoop in relief.

  11

  WHO AM I?

  Back in the bunker, the Canteen is buzzing with chatter and the clink of cutlery. Nearly every place is taken along the benches. Even Julius Grimaldi eats with the crew, though he doesn’t pause to join in the conversation. He looks like someone plugged into a personal music player with the volume set to max. Despite the noise and excitement, he appears totally tuned out of what’s going on around him.

  The street team have returned, along with several other crews dispatched around town to make magic this morning. Mae Ling has certainly rewarded them well. But by all accounts, the stunt over at Smithfield’s Meat Market has earned the biggest feast of them all. Right now, the crew responsible are dining out on their success, reliving the story in between mouthfuls of hot, salt-beef bagels. They’re midway through the tale, bragging about how they had gathered a crowd of butchers in bloodstained aprons and persuaded a porter to hand over his wedding ring in front of them. First they appeared to make it disappear into thin air. Next they invited his associate to slice open the belly of a pig carcass that the pair had been hoping to sell on the side. It’s gruesome stuff, but they had read their audience well.

  “You should’ve seen their faces when he pulled out the ring!” one boy pipes up. “Each porter had bet twenty quid on such a feat being impossible. Not only did they lose, some market official then stepped out of the crowd and issued a fine for unlicensed trading.”

  “Serves them right for being so greedy,” shouts another.

  “Think of the pig!” chimes a wag from the back of the canteen. “Sounds like it was proper gutted!”

  Only Julius fails to join in with the laughter and uproar that follows. He smiles at their high spirits, but carefully pats his mouth with his napkin, then makes a quiet exit. For one crew member is missing, and this well-mannered old man doesn’t need to be a mind-reader to work out why.

  “I heard you had another narrow escape, dear boy.”

  Yoshi jumps and turns in surprise, just as Julius had expected. The old man hangs back from the lad, standing in the open doorway as he has for some minutes. The new arrival is alone in the Bridge, facing the giant screen at the front. The lights are on dim. The panels twinkle dreamily, but there’s no live action on the monitor banks. Most are switched off. The few that are still blazing show a video-game menu for some online tournament that has yet to kick off.

  “I haven’t touched anything,” says Yoshi, and shows his hands.

  “I don’t blame you,” Julius replies. “I wouldn’t dare to mess wi
th their settings, and frankly I don’t care to, either. Technology has rather run away with itself on the surface. At least the things you find by digging down relate to the past and not the future. It means you know where you are, no matter how low you go.”

  He joins Yoshi, drawing level to take in the big screen. The shot displayed is on freeze. It shows an overhead view of the main market drag, taken by one of the crowd-control cams just after the crew had made the phone box vanish.

  “I know where I am, all right,” the boy says eventually. “I just really need to find out where I started.” He nods towards the image, the last one taken before the Bridge had declared the morning’s operation closed. The bald-headed ogre in the coat dominates the frame, despite all the people in it. “I may not be able to remember anything, but I do know that my friend here wants me back.”

  “Seems so.” Julius twiddles with the tip of his beard. “Had we known he was lurking, we could’ve shadowed him. Some of the crew can creep right up on a person and stick to them like glue. Shadowing is a handy talent when it comes to planting cards or picking wallets.”

  “Everyone here has some cool skills,” says Yoshi. “But I doubt any of them would dare to get too close to this guy.”

  The pair fall silent. The moment in time captured up there says it all. With his back to the camera, moving against the crowd, the man in the mink looks like he is all set to cut an easy path for himself. It’s as if the people he’s facing have taken one look at him and stepped aside to let him through.

  “If I were unfortunate enough to witness him stomping towards me,” observes Julius finally, “I’d make myself scarce too.”

  “I saw him coming,” says Yoshi quietly, and glances at the old man.

  “I don’t doubt it. You can hardly miss a monster like him.”

  “You misunderstand me.” Yoshi faces him directly, and taps the side of his head. “I saw him coming – in here. Really. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I had a clear vision just seconds before he showed up. It was overwhelming, as if I had a bird’s-eye view of something I couldn’t possibly see.”

  Julius Grimaldi considers what Yoshi has just said. He tips his head to one side and touches his lips with one finger. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” is his first response. “In fact, dear boy, it makes perfect sense. Didn’t I tell you those tags around your neck marked you out as special?” Julius brings his hands together and his eyes seem to brighten behind his spectacles. “The gift of foresight and premonition is something the boys and girls inside this bunker can only pretend to pull off, Yoshi. With you, I think we’re only scratching the surface when it comes to your true gifts.”

  “Well, I know how to make myself invisible,” Yoshi confesses, “but I need a couple of mirrors first.”

  “This is about more than illusions, my boy. This is about the power of the human mind! That you can see things before they happen is impressive. It tells me you’re tuned in to a higher natural wavelength than the rest of us – though, of course, you’re not the first. Throughout history, individuals have tapped in to psychic energies, and we’re not talking about the toothless old crones who have fooled themselves into believing they can read tea leaves and crystal balls.”

  “The fortune-tellers are an act?” Yoshi looks at him in surprise. “No offence, Julius, but a trip to the fairground with you must be kind of a let-down.”

  “Yoshi,” he continues firmly. “I’m talking about upstanding members of society. Figures through time who have drawn upon their powers and stamped their mark on the world!”

  The boy thinks about this for a second, and frowns. “Are they magicians?”

  “Magicians who work with bricks and mortar,” agrees Julius. “Indeed, there are many buildings conjured up within these city walls that have cast a spell on us all for centuries. You saw some for yourself last night.”

  “The seven churches?”

  “Each with a steeple that together forms a very special shape, all thanks to the architect and visionary, Nicholas Hawksmoor.”

  “He saw things?”

  “Oh yes. Hawksmoor saw a great many things. He secretly devoted his life’s work to marking out the forces at work around this city.”

  “The Faerie Ring. I remember that.”

  “And I doubt you will ever forget it if I’m right about your potential, young man. You see, the ring must always rely on guardians if it is to continue to work as the founding fathers intended. By erecting a church on every waypoint in the ring, Hawksmoor was basically flagging up where to find it.” He sweeps his hand towards the door. “Come with me. It’s high time we put your talents to the test.”

  For a minute or so after they leave, the Bridge lies empty. Lights blink idly from one panel to the next, ticking over, it seems. A familiar rumble precedes the appearance of Billy No-Beard. He arrives with two other crew members in tow. The three fan out across the rows. Each boy takes up position behind a screen, and then summons up the same game menu.

  “Man your posts, me hearties.” Billy begins to peck at his own keyboard, not once looking at his monitor. Automatically, the spotlights above each boy’s station warm up. “Let me remind you this is an online tournament with some of the finest clans competing. I don’t want any pussyfooting about, trying to reload your weapons, is that clear? We can’t afford to waste our firepower. So, get in there and take down anything that moves. Give it all you’ve got. Shotguns. Nail guns. Rail guns. The works!”

  “Calm down,” says the boy to his left. “It’s only a soccer tournament.”

  Billy No-Beard stops typing in the start-up commands, and looks up sharply. On his screen, the virtual players are taking their positions on the pitch. “I knew that,” he covers after a moment. “I was talking tactics.”

  “Oh, sure you were.” His wingman opposite grins knowingly. “Gaming isn’t all blood and guts, you know. You really should get out more, Billy. See some of the real world for a change.” He nods at the big screen as if to illustrate his point, and then checks out the shot of the market. “Isn’t that the weirdo who’s been stalking our new arrival?”

  “Yep, that’s the guy. I wonder what Yoshi did to make him so mad?” Billy seems relieved to move away from the gaming screen for a moment. “We had to move fast to get that mirror zigzag back in place, I can tell you. If we’d messed up, I reckon a gorilla like this would’ve uprooted the whole phone box with Yoshi in it, slung it over his shoulder and marched off just like that.”

  “If he shows up again I expect Julius will order us to shadow him,” says the boy to Billy’s left. “You can count me out as a volunteer.”

  “Wise words,” his other wingman agrees. “There’s stealth, and then there’s sheer stupidity.”

  “Fellas,” says Billy, sitting back as if to referee them now. “Can we stop being such a pair of panty-waists? There’s no need to trail him to find out where he came from. We can do it from here, no sweat.”

  “But he’ll be long gone by now,” says the boy on his left.

  “And in so doing he will have passed under a string of closed-circuit cameras. The police at Scotland Yard record everything and keep it for a short period of time. Just in case a crime is committed and they need the evidence. That means we can track him by tape, without risk of being beaten to a pulp.”

  The wingmen glance at one another, and then watch as Billy unfreezes the street-cam image on the big screen. He jabs at several keys, and suddenly the crowd move in treble time. Billy toggles through different cameras, catching up with their quarry. And when he does, all three are silenced by a remarkable effect.

  For the man in the mink appears to move out of sync with the world around him. The images are stuttered and speeded up, the pedestrians scuttling like ants. And yet through every frame the subject under observation leaves a blurred trail of his own image.

  “There must be a fault,” mutters Billy to himself. “The camera never lies, unless it’s on the blink.”

  “Unless we’r
e looking at some kind of spectre,” quips one lad, and then falls quiet when nobody laughs along with him.

  12

  KNOW YOUR STRENGTH

  The breeze warns Yoshi that a tube train is approaching. It picks up just ahead of a distant tremor, and sweeps out of the tunnel like some spirit taking flight.

  “You’ll get used to it,” says Julius, peering down at the tracks. The pair are midway across a lattice footbridge, at one end of a platform last used as a shelter during the Blitz. A ghost station, is what Yoshi’s guide called it. One of several dozen, he had estimated, dotted and deserted under the city. The pair are leaning against the handrail, with the lamp at their feet. The candlelight flickers and then bends away, the wind strengthening all the while. The old man faces the boy, his unkempt hair blowing across his face now. “Sometimes you’ll see maintenance gangs spill out of the tunnel long before this blessed gale begins to even breathe. Those guys know how to recognise the warning signs, as you will too if you spend enough time with us.”

  “There’s certainly a lot to discover,” agrees Yoshi, looking around.

  Along the length of the platform, the walls are lined with peeling posters inviting young men to sign up for a war. Soot is piled under the benches, blown back by the trains that still pass through but never stop. Yoshi braces himself as the rails begin to flex and twang, the volume building all the time. “These maintenance gangs,” he asks. “If they don’t wait for the wind, how do they know when a train is coming?”