Down: Trilogy Box Set

by Glenn Cooper

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said, his pulse quickening. “Who did you say you were and who are you with?”

  “Giles Farmer. I write for Bad Collisions. It’s a blog about the dangers of supercolliders.”

  “Well, Mr. Farmer, you seem to have wandered into the wrong press conference.”

  “Don’t think so, actually. Five weeks ago there was a well-publicized start-up of the MAAC, followed by an intruder report and a shutdown. Less publicized were five weekly Thames-region power-grid perturbations, consistent with quiet restarts. The last one, six days ago coincided perfectly with your incident at South Ockendon, which is directly above one of the MAAC super-magnets. So, again, why is no one here from MAAC to answer questions? I would like to be able to speak to Dr. Emily Loughty, the research director.”

  Ben waited a moment to ensure his tone didn’t channel his inner turmoil. “As I said, this is a press conference concerning a terror incident at South Ockendon so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  With that, the press secretary for the Met announced that the news conference was at an end. Ben left the auditorium for a room behind the stage where Anthony Trotter was lurking watching on a monitor.

  “That went well, except for the last question,” Trotter said.

  “Clever chap,” Ben said, draining a bottle of water. “He seems to have connected a good number of dots.”

  “We’ll want to keep tabs on Giles Farmer,” Trotter said. “I’ll have a team put on him.”

  “I think we have more urgent business than doing surveillance on a blogger. Besides he’s domestic which puts him under the jurisdiction of MI5 not MI6.”

  “You’ve got your head in the sand, Ben. This nation is facing an unprecedented threat. The prime minister and his cabinet have appointed me acting director of MAAC, and in that capacity, everything is under my jurisdiction.”

  10

  Solomon Wisdom was at a loss for words. Caffrey, his stout and ever-ready manservant, had fetched him from his study to alert him to the arrival of “more special new ’uns” so he was primed for the possibility of live souls of the same ilk as John Camp and Emily Loughty.

  But the sight of children was almost too much for him.

  On their journey from Dartford, Sam and Belle had been scared of the horses at first, but after a while they began to enjoy bouncing around in their saddles. Sam had even found his tongue, turning to the captain of the guard who held the reins with one hand and Sam with the other.

  “Did you know the horse smells better than you?”

  Sam hadn’t understood the answer. “That’s ’cause he’s very much alive and I’m very much dead.”

  Arabel and Delia had been considerably more frightened and uncomfortable, crammed onto saddles with filthy soldiers. Arabel’s rider seemed as scared of her as she was of him and had left her alone, but Delia’s, an older fellow with yellow teeth, had become randy. She kept removing his creeping hand from her bosom.

  Delia was prepared for the geographical similarities of Hell but the wildness of the countryside was hard to reconcile with the cityscape she knew. Yet as a Londoner, the snaking contours of the Thames were familiar and when Wisdom’s mansion house came into view, she recognized the hill. They were in the geographical equivalent of Greenwich.

  When he appeared at the door of his grand house, Wisdom’s skeletal frame, black frock coat, and dour expression scared Belle and Sam. They cowered behind their mother.

  Wisdom finally found enough voice to utter a single word. “Children.”

  After tossing the soldiers an unusually heavy purse, he instructed Caffrey to bring the visitors to the dining room and have the cook prepare food. Then he disappeared into his study to compose his thoughts. He would defer customary pleasantries and introductions for now. Word would spread fast and he had important decisions to make.

  In his chamber he paced and talked aloud as if the only counsel worth receiving was from himself.

  “This is an opportunity of grand scale, Solomon, grand scale. Another such opportunity may never present itself. Two live women and two live children! To augment the profit your execution must be flawless. Think, think! Who are the best buyers and how many lots shall I offer? Two lots, I should think. Deal the children to one buyer, the women to another. King Henry has not yet returned from his misadventure in Francia. Perhaps, when he does, he will want the children as a distraction or as a gift for his Queen. I think he will pay well. As for the women, King Pedro of Iberia, I should think. The Iberian ambassador was up in arms, most unhappy he did not get a chance to bid on Emily Loughty. So, let us give him a chance to open wide his purse of gold. And perhaps there are other bidders lurking about the court. A grand scale, I say. An opportunity of grand scale indeed.”

  He summoned Caffrey, gave him instructions, then breezed into his dining room, prepared for a robust charm offensive calculated to put his guests at ease. Delia and Arabel had been gazing out the windows at the sloping meadows behind the house and the children were playing under the table.

  “I do apologize for the lack of a proper greeting. I had some minor business to attend to and now you shall have my full attention and hospitality. I am your host, Solomon Wisdom, and I bid you welcome to my humble abode.”

  Delia replied, puffing herself up and delivering the strongest rebuke she could muster. In his interviews Duck had said he thought Emily had been taken from Dartford to a “flesh trader” but he hadn’t mentioned a name. “I don’t know who you are, Mr. Wisdom, but we are not chattel to be bought and sold. I demand you have us taken back to Dartford immediately.”

  His artificial smile faded. “Bought and sold? My dear woman, why do you make such an accusation?”

  “You gave those men a bag of coins. What else clinks like that?”

  “That was only some small payment for their troubles. They bring all new arrivals in the area to me for—a welcome. I am told people are appreciative of the information I am able to impart. I do it as a service to my fellow man. I have been among the fortunate few in this unfortunate land and it is charity at work, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You must think I was born yesterday,” Delia said.

  “I have no idea when you were born, my good woman.”

  “So you’ll send us back to Dartford?”

  “Of course. Anywhere you wish to go. But first, I insist you share my table. You must be hungry and thirsty after your long journey.”

  From under the table, Sam asked for a lemon squash.

  “We’ll eat with you,” Delia said, “then we want to go.”

  “Anything you wish. Ah, I hear footsteps. The feast cometh.”

  His heavyset housekeeper and cook, her white hair up in a kerchief came in looking about, sniffing, and carrying a large tray. She’d been told there were live children in the house and only when she put the tray on the trestled table did she see Sam poking his head out from under it.

  At the sight of him she began to cry.

  “Now stop that,” Wisdom said sternly, “and fetch the drink. The women will have wine. I really don’t know what the children shall have. What do children drink?”

  Arabel spoke for the first time. “Is there any fruit juice?”

  “I’m afraid we have no such thing,” he answered.

  “Water then, if it’s clean,” Arabel said.

  Belle appeared and the cook was overcome with another wave of emotion.

  “Why are you crying?” Sam demanded.

  “Because you are both so lovely and precious,” she answered.

  Sam had already lost interest in her tears and was staring at her face full of moles. “Why do you have so many black spots on your face?”

  Arabel tried to hush him but the cook laughed it off and said, “They are my beauty marks and as you can see I am beautiful indeed, my dear.”

  Seated at the table, Wisdom personally carved the joint of meat and allocated a few root vegetables to each plate before saying, “Let us eat
and let us talk.”

  “Are you going to say grace?” Sam asked.

  “We don’t do that here,” Wisdom said. “I doubt I can even remember the words.”

  In a clear voice Arabel said, “Dear Lord, for what we are about to receive, we offer our thanks and gratitude.”

  “Ah, it conjures memories,” Wisdom said, stuffing his mouth with mutton. After a few chews and a swallow, he said, “Now, let me see if you are aware of your rather fantastic circumstances.”

  “We know where we are,” Delia said. She tried the wine, seemed to like it and had some more.

  “I see, excellent. Well, the Hell you see is quite different from the Hell we are all taught to fear on Earth.”

  “Please don’t use the H word in front of the children,” Arabel whispered.

  “Why not?” Wisdom asked.

  “I don’t want to frighten them. I’ve told them we’ve entered a make-believe world from one of their story books.”

  “I see. What shall I call it then?”

  “Anything but that.” She carried on, cutting the meat into small pieces for the kids.

  “All right, I shall call it by the name the simple folk use. Down. Will that suffice?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  “Well then, Down is quite different …”

  “I know all about it,” Delia said, “and I’ve told Arabel.”

  “Then I am relieved of a long exposition which I have delivered countless times.”

  “I’ve got a question, though,” Delia said, her speech slightly slurred by the wine. “How come you’re not the least bit curious about us? Leads me to wonder if you haven’t seen living people here in the past. The very recent past.”

  “Indeed I have. The very recent past, just as you suggest. I had the pleasure of briefly entertaining two singular individuals, a woman, Emily Loughty, and a man, John Camp. Given the circumstances of their arrival, I would not be at all surprised if you did not know of them.”

  “Emily’s my sister,” Arabel said softly.

  “I see a resemblance,” he said. “I was told of some great, infernal machine in your time which has opened a channel of sorts between our two worlds. I imagine the four of you must have become ensnared by the teeth and gears of the machine and spit asunder.”

  “Something like that,” Delia said.

  “Are you two ladies scientists like Miss Emily?”

  “Hardly,” Arabel said. “She’s the brain in the family. I’m just a mother.”

  “A difficult enough profession if I recall. And you, Miss Delia?”

  “I’m not a scientist either. I’m a spy.”

  Wisdom lowered his utensils in astonishment. “A spy you say? I was in disbelief that a woman could be a scientist and now I am in disbelief that a woman could be a spy. I am glad I did not live in your time. I would have felt quite off my balance. Are you a spy in the employ of the crown?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And whom are you spying upon?”

  She started on her next glass of wine. “Right now I’m spying on you.”

  After a pregnant pause, he looked down his long nose and burst into raucous high-pitched laughter that frightened Belle and set her off into a fit of tears.

  Young Charlie, consumed by fear, set the pace, sprinting ahead of the pack. His brother, Eddie, was next, followed by Martin and Tony, the two women, and finally, Jack, whose heavy gut and thick legs made him the least well-suited for speeding through a forest. Martin looked over his shoulder and seeing Jack falling behind called for the sons to help their father along.

  Charlie was too scared to slow down but Eddie answered the call and fell back, but before he could reach the portly man Martin heard a cry and slowed.

  “Don’t stop!” Tony screamed, one hand holding up his sagging boxers. “Stay with me!”

  Torn by indecision, Martin picked up the pace again and kept moving forward.

  Eddie reached his father who was lying on his side, his heavy body molding the organic forest floor. Blood was oozing around the arrow embedded in his thigh.

  “Dad! Come on, I’ll help you up,” his son said.

  Another arrow whizzed overhead.

  “I’ve had it, boy. Save yourself.”

  “No. I won’t leave you.”

  “I said go! Mind your father. You’re the boss now, all right? Look after Charlie and tell your mother I love her. Now go, for fuck’s sake!”

  Tears streaming, Eddie rose from his father’s side and took off running.

  Soon he and the others heard a blood-curdling scream and Jack was gone. His severed head was kicked into the bushes as if it were as cheap a thing as an old football. The rovers quickly stripped him of his overalls and work boots then resumed their hunt for the others.

  Despite being partially blinded by his tears, Eddie surged ahead of Martin and Tony and called out to his brother, “Charlie, Charlie, where are you?”

  Martin could no longer see Alice and Tracy behind him. Despite Tony’s protestations, he refused to leave them to the same fate as Jack Senior and Jack. He stopped and reversed direction, calling for them to hurry along.

  Soon, he understood why they had fallen behind. Tracy had stepped on a sharp branch and had punctured her bare foot. Alice was doing her best to move her along but the young mother was hobbled and crying in pain and fear. Just as Martin caught up to them he saw the rovers coming fast, crashing through the woods. There were at least four of them. Three were brandishing long, curved knives and one had a bow. On a full run, the archer nocked an arrow and began to draw the string. Though he was at least thirty yards away, Martin felt the archer’s cold eyes upon him. He wondered what it would feel like to be shot by an arrow. It was the kind of cool, dispassionate thinking for which Tony often derided him.

  Boom. Boom.

  The deafening blasts rang out in rapid succession.

  The arrow sailed high and wide of its mark. The archer dropped his bow and clutched his bleeding chest before dropping to his knees.

  One of the rovers cursed and grabbed his gunshot arm then shouted at his comrades. They left the fallen archer behind, turned tail and disappeared into a thicket.

  Two riflemen stepped from behind a pair of large trees, not ten yards from where Martin, Alice, and Tracy stood in shock.

  They were in their forties, clean-shaven, dressed almost identically in dirty-white and threadbare Oxford shirts, rough, cloth jackets, ancient-looking hide leggings, and worn, modern shoes laced-up with rawhide. Their rifles were muzzleloaders. One of them re-loaded and tamped the powder while the other, the taller of the two spoke.

  “You’re safe now. They won’t be coming back.”

  The riflemen slowly approached and Martin inserted himself between them and the women. “Who are you?” he asked, finding his voice.

  The taller man responded incredulously, “The more interesting question is who the hell are you?” Before Martin could say anything, he told his partner, “Do you smell ’em, Murph?”

  Murphy sniffed like a bloodhound and swore a low oath. “For Christ sakes, Jason. What gives?”

  Rix, the taller man, said, “We’ll find out soon enough. Call your mates back so we can deal with the lot of you.”

  “Why should we trust you?” Martin asked.

  “’Cause we just saved your bacon?” Murphy said. “Good enough reason?”

  Tracy sank to the ground, too overwhelmed to do anything but sob. Rix propped his musket against a tree and dropped to his haunches beside her. “Look, luv, I’m guessing you’re having the worst day of your life, and I’d emphasize the word, life, because I can’t explain it but I don’t reckon you’re dead. But you’re safe now. Me and Murphy’ll see to that.”

  Tracy flinched at his odor but his benign eyes seemed to soothe her. “Thank you.”

  “What’s your name, then?” Rix asked her.

  “Tracy.”

  He lifted his head to the other woman. “And you?”

&
nbsp; “I’m Alice.”

  “Will you tell us where we are and what’s happening to us?” Martin asked.

  “We will,” Murphy said. “But first we need to get you lot back to our village.”

  Persuaded, Martin cupped his mouth and shouted, “Tony! Everyone! Come back. We’ve found help. It’s safe.”

  Delia was the first to wake the next morning. Arabel was in the adjoining bed with the children, all of them in dreamy repose. She wished she could have escaped into sleep longer herself but she was wide awake, her skin prickling from the coarse bedding. After a check for bedbug bites she got up and discreetly used the chamber pot in the corner then looked out the window. From the top floor of Wisdom’s mansion house the muddy Thames looked like a brown snake, frozen in curved locomotion. Wisdom’s barge was tied to its moorings. It hadn’t been there when they rode past the day before. It had arrived from London earlier, carrying a party of visitors. On the deck tiny figures made the casting motions of fishermen.

  The door to their room had a heavy iron latch that she tried to lift. It wouldn’t budge. Her blood boiled at their imprisonment. If it hadn’t been for the sleeping children she would have banged the oaken door and hollered so she checked herself and merely seethed.

  Under the circumstances she was glad to have something to occupy herself. Before retiring for the night she had asked the white-haired cook for some sewing materials to alter their clothes to deal with the absence of elastic, zippers and buttons. Sitting back on her bed she took stock of what she had to work with—an iron needle with a large eye, heavy thread, assorted lengths of hemp, and a pile of wooden buttons. She picked up Sam’s denims first and began to sew a button.

  In the dining room Solomon Wisdom sat in his customary place munching on cold meat and bread and washing it down with ale while two groups of men huddled in their respective corners, whispering in their native languages.

  Growing impatient, he called out to the two men to his left, “Come now, Prince Heirax, I haven’t all day.”

  Heirax, the Macedonian ambassador to King Henry’s court, raised a finger and exchanged one more word with his colleague, a nobleman named Stolos.