The World Beneath (The Mira Brand Adventures Book 1)

by Robert J. Crane

  “I thought everyone in London was wrapped up in their own thing,” Carson said.

  “Yeah, and most of them are. But when you get three people stood awkwardly in the middle of the street like us, soaked from head to toe like they’ve just been splashing around in the fountains over there in Trafalgar Square,” I waved a hand to my right, “that tends not to hold true anymore.”

  True enough, another passer-by, this one a middle-aged bespectacled man a long way into the process of balding, pointed at the spear-become-umbrella and said, “You know that thing’s more than for just looking pretty; it protects from showers too.” His overweight wife, hanging onto his arm, tittered.

  “You’re a real gem,” I tossed after him. He ignored me, though.

  “We can’t stand here forever,” Carson said.

  “Look, let’s just wait for a big enough crowd to pass, and duck in then,” said Heidi. “There’s one coming now, see?”

  Foot traffic was like vehicular traffic: it came in stops and starts. A handful of people would pass, all separated; then a crowd of some dozen or more, like a clot. True to Heidi’s word, one of these clots was coming our way. All of them in worlds of their own, they stumbled along, totally oblivious of the congealed mass of people they had been swallowed into.

  We waited. I clutched my talisman tight, free hand at my side but ready to jerk up at a moment’s notice and open the gateway.

  The blob overtook Heidi—

  “Now!” she whispered.

  Carson and Heidi huddled close. I sliced a line, praying that it was hidden between ourselves from the thirteen or fourteen people passing by, and that they obscured any white glow from making its way to the rest of the street.

  The gateway opened—

  “In,” I said, already stepping through.

  “I’ll close,” Heidi started. I assumed she would have finished, ‘it when we’re through.’ But the words were lost as London swept away, and I passed through the familiar swirling lightshow.

  I landed back on my feet in the library under the “LONDON” sign.

  Carson followed. And lastly, bringing up the rear, was Heidi.

  “Closed,” she said. “I assume unseen, too—whoa.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” I said, all of a sudden a librarian. “Not until we’ve dried off.”

  “You’ve got a bathroom here?” she asked.

  “In the back. And towels. This way.”

  I headed down the library’s central spine. Heidi and Carson fell in behind me. Although he’d seen it before, he took the place in much the same as she was: by craning his neck, eyes drifting over the lights, enormous shelves, across tomes which had been lightly dusted in the long years since they were last retrieved.

  I wondered, as I went: why had I even entertained bringing them here? I was supposed to be freeing myself of the anchor that was Carson Yates. As for the debt to Heidi, I considered that repaid. She knew what the ‘famous Mira Brand’ was up to; more than that, she knew that the Chalice Gloria was still out there, and that I knew where. Anything beyond that didn’t concern her in the slightest.

  So why was I here, not alone like I intended, but joined by Yates and Luo?

  It was, I supposed, to prove a point.

  Where the last shelves ended, and the floor opened out into the space before the fireplace, desks were arranged. I suspected there had once been chairs, when this place actually was used as a library, so patrons could sit for a spell. Today, only one remained: a battered thing, stained very dark, with a deeply uncomfortable seat.

  As I made for the kitchen, Heidi dawdled at one of the tables.

  A small collection of books remained on it, abandoned in a stack. There was also a newspaper, so old the text on it had almost faded to the color of the paper.

  She bent over, sideways so the drips from her hair would not land on its crumpled surface.

  “November 11, 1912,” she read off. “Has this place been disused since then?”

  “It was empty when I got here in January,” I said. “As for the other hundred and five years, I couldn’t tell you.”

  I led us into the kitchen. Trying that trick of opening the steampunk fridge door and hoping the contents had miraculously changed since the last time, I was disappointed.

  “You, um, want a carrot?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” said Heidi. “Ate before I got here.”

  On cue, Carson’s stomach gave a sorry grumble.

  “Carrot?” I offered, holding one out.

  “Um … maybe we can just stop off somewhere so I can get something when we’re back in London.”

  “Suit yourself.” I stowed the orange vegetable. Didn’t blame him really. I made steps to eat healthy (energy drinks today ignored, of course), but even hungry I wasn’t likely to snack on a carrot to keep me going. Especially not this one. The telltale leafy sprouts at the top showed just how long it had been in here. And it had grown a whole bunch of stringy white things down the sides, too. Totally harmless (I didn’t usually bother peeling them off if I was cooking), but not very appetizing.

  I attempted to fill out the hole in my stomach with my last apple, made a mental note to rustle up the funds to buy some more, and filled myself a glass of water.

  “So, this Cup—” Heidi started.

  “Not yet.” I held up a finger. “I’m not talking about anything until I’ve changed out of these clothes and dried off.”

  “I can get behind that,” she said, nodding. “Have you got anything in my size?”

  Hmph. It wasn’t enough that I was saddled with her, but now she wanted to borrow my clothes, too?

  “Doubt it,” I said, looking her over. “My stuff will come up a bit big on you.”

  “That’s fine, I can deal with that.”

  Carson cleared his throat. “What, um, about me?”

  “Definitely not,” I said. “Unless you want to walk around the streets of London in a tank top?”

  He didn’t. Which was unfortunate, because after the day I’d had, I could really use the laugh.

  Once I’d stripped, dried, and changed, I dug out some things for Heidi to wear. I made a point of finding my least liked t-shirt, a red and black thing with a band’s logo printed on the front. It was mostly faded by now, not unlike my interest in their music. I wouldn’t have even had it if I hadn’t packed on such short notice, snatching it from the top of a pile awaiting hanging. Then, I’d figured I’d replace it at the earliest opportunity. Months later, foisting it on Heidi was probably as good as I was going to get.

  Carson, I gifted a towel. He took off his glasses and manbag, and rubbed it over himself with little vigor. His hair stuck up in spikes that were about as close as Carson would ever come to looking ‘cool.’ Then, of course, the eyes shifted down to his sweater plastered to him, with a great gaping hole through to his shirt, and the paper-thin illusion was quashed.

  Heidi returned to the kitchen, breaking the awkward quiet with a, “Much better.”

  Her hair was arranged in those same loose waves she’d had outside Lady Angelica’s. Still damp, they’d regained about half of their previous volume. Without a hairdryer on hand to help things along, it was about as close as she’d come here; sun and air would have to do the rest.

  In the shirt and tank top and jeans she’d shrugged out of, she didn’t look particularly incredible. Not super fashionable, but not out of place either. She had looked put-together.

  Now, in my clothes, she looked anything but. Even if they hadn’t been a couple of sizes too big for her, my jeans looked ratty, the bottoms fraying at the back where I’d spent months treading on them. The band t-shirt was the same, crumpled and dull.

  I felt a self-conscious stab opposite her. Was this what I walked around looking like?

  If Heidi thought the same, she had the good grace not to mention it.

  She took in Carson’s spiky brown hair. “Looking good.”

  A laugh almost burst from my lips. I held it in;
I figured he probably needed this one.

  “Y-you think?”

  “The hair, sure. Suits you. The clothes stuck to you … not so much.”

  He laughed nervously. “Yeah, I thought as much. No danger of this becoming the latest fashion trend, right?”

  Bang on there, buddy.

  “So, this Cup—” Heidi began, picking up from before our pause.

  “First things first,” I cut over. “The Chalice is mine, and mine alone. We’ve got to be clear on that.”

  “All right,” she said.

  “I’m serious. I’m letting you on this trip with me only because you’re so insistent. I don’t want you here, and I don’t want you here.” This was to Carson. He shuffled awkwardly and avoided my eyes. “But if you’re intent on coming, even helping me—” another look to Carson “—then we need to be in agreement before we go even a step further.”

  “Okay,” Heidi said, “got it. Chalice is yours. You don’t need to tell me twice.”

  I eyeballed her, debating whether or not she was trustable.

  Potentially. She was connected to Lady Angelica at the very least, which was a good sign.

  Besides, going by the look on Heidi’s face, she still didn’t believe I had any idea what I was talking about anyway.

  “Okay, then,” I conceded. “Now that’s out of the way: the Chalice is held in a temple. As you’ve already made clear you’re aware, Decidian’s Spear acts as a key. The second key is Feruiduin’s Cutlass.”

  “Thanks for repeating our conversation on the train,” Heidi said sarcastically.

  Carson’s lips silently worked at the name Feruiduin. “How do you spell that?”

  “F,” Heidi started.

  “This isn’t a spelling bee, so it’s irrelevant,” I cut across. “What’s important is how we get it—how I get it.”

  “I’m listening,” said Heidi.

  “It’s … a little dangerous,” I began.

  “Keep talking,” said Carson.

  I looked at him like he’d gone mad.

  At his side, Heidi did the same.

  Carson hesitated. Tugging his manbag’s strap tight to his chest, he said, “What?”

  19

  From over my shoulder, Heidi said, “That’s not good.”

  We were on King William Street, outside Regis House. An eleven-story high-rise, it made the apartment buildings in Kensington, and Lady Angelica’s house, look positively dinky by comparison. Ornamental trees were planted off the curb, spindly trunks rising from wooden planters. More than a few cigarettes had been stubbed out in the closest one. Stay classy, London.

  The time was approaching three o’clock now. We’d been slowed so Carson could nip into a little corner shop and pick up a sandwich. He blanched at the price of the first one he chose, settling instead for tuna and cucumber.

  “Do you, err, want me to get you anything?” he offered.

  Heidi had declined, and so had I. Now, midsection feeling like an enormous black hole once more, I wasn’t sure if I regretted doing so. I hated the idea of taking anything from Carson—or anyone else for that matter.

  Still, I lamented, lips pressed into a thin line, I’d saved him from the Order of Apdau outside Piccadilly Circus, and kept him clear of danger in the Forest of Glass. If anything, he owed me. Buying me lunch seemed only fair, in the scheme of things.

  The sun was sinking now, shadows growing across the streets. A breeze had picked up, bringing with it a chill that reminded me that no matter how bright it was, we were still just a couple of weeks into spring. At least the short-lived warmth had done something to dry Carson out. He was still damp, of course, but his hair looked mostly normal again (although he kept running a self-conscious hand over it, I spied from the corner of my eye), and his clothes weren’t clinging to him quite as much as they had been back in my hideout. He probably wouldn’t be totally dry by nightfall, but I figured however the afternoon went, he’d be back at his hostel by then, high and dry and out of my hair at last.

  “What’s not good?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

  “Boundary,” said Heidi.

  I held my compass so he could see. The image was split almost directly down the middle. Both sides were dark, but coals flickered in the one on the left: a distant campfire, by the looks.

  “We’ve been going up and down for ten minutes,” I told Heidi. “It’s not getting any better.”

  Carson said, “Can’t you find where the edge disappears?”

  “No,” I said shortly.

  “I’m telling you, it’s going to be in one of those somewhere.” Heidi pointed at the store fronts to left and right of the grand glass doors into Regis House itself: Waitrose and Pret a Manger respectively. “Maybe even the office itself.”

  “Brilliant,” I muttered. “Let’s just pop open a gateway on the side of a box of corn flakes, shall we?”

  “Well, is that our only option, or isn’t it?”

  My lips thinned. My research showed a slightly back-and-forth trek ahead of us before we would come close to where we needed to be; a jump back into London would be necessary after passing through this next gateway. Accessing this midpoint from here was going to be impossible, though—which meant finding a connection point to the darkness on the right side of the compass was a necessity.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Which do we check first?”

  “Waitrose,” said Heidi immediately. “Easier to loiter in a supermarket.”

  We made our way inside.

  This Waitrose was small, and even boasted as much: ‘little’ stood atop the Waitrose logo in white letters. One of the convenience branches, this particular shop had sprung up like so many others to take advantage of London workers too lazy to put together their own lunch, or caught short and needing to grab something for dinner on the way home. Everything was overpriced, even by the combined standards of London and Waitrose, itself a knock-off Marks and Spencer as far as I could tell.

  We wove through aisles, me with an eye on the compass all the while. No suspicious looks here; Carson looked like he’d been caught in a short-lived if somewhat intense shower, so except for the occasional squinted glance as a shopper tried to recall whether or not it had rained today, we made our way around the shop without much notice paid to us at all.

  By the time we reached the end, the thin line of my lips had become even thinner.

  “Not in here,” I muttered, heading out the door.

  “Let’s try Pret a Manger, then.”

  “How are we supposed to sneak around a bloody sandwich shop?” I hissed. “Let alone cutting a gateway through.” I didn’t want to even think of the possibility that a safe connection point might be in the men’s toilets.

  “Just act natural,” Heidi said, holding the door into Pret open for us. “Walk like you know where you’re going.”

  “I do know where I’m going,” I griped. “I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to get there with half of London watching me over baguettes and overpriced coffee.”

  A serving station greeted us almost immediately, curving alongside the door and then making its way farther back into the restaurant. A small queue was arranged already. Two servers busied themselves making drinks. The fellow at the end of the line, who was somehow even shorter and skinnier than Heidi, and sported a thick coating of facial hair, was alternately evaluating a display of cakes and trying to catch the eye of one of the staff.

  Cake. God. Cake.

  Sugar cravings be damned. More important things going on, remember?

  The rest of the restaurant was open plan, round and square tables arranged in some semblance of order on a polished hardwood floor, very light in color. Only a third were occupied, most of these by the windows. A couple of occupants glanced our way in typically nosy British fashion as we stepped inside, then resumed people-watching through the glass.

  I stepped in—

  “Yes,” I hissed almost immediately.

  “Got it?” H
eidi asked.

  I showed her the compass face. The boundary had vanished instantly, not pushed away but simply gone in a single step. There was only darkness now, the faintest glow coming from somewhere to the left. Less than ideal, usually, but right now I swelled with excitement.

  “But where do we cut through?” Carson asked.

  I glanced up. No one inside was really looking our way. But we still could hardly open a gateway on the wall. Uninteresting as we might be, I figured a great long bar of shimmering white light would probably change that pretty quickly.

  Fortunately, at the very end of the counter was a drinks cabinet. Filled to the brim with what looked like all thirty-eight current variants of Coca Cola, or however many there were, fruit juice and bottled water were relegated to the very bottom. No price list printed on it, like the cabinets I tended to cross paths with (in off-licenses, mostly), but I bet they were expensive.

  If we just ducked around the side …

  “I’ll need you to block me from view,” I told Heidi and Carson. Mainly him, though I was grudging about it. Heidi would block little more than my left arm. At least thanks to his height, Carson had one use. “I’m opening it here, on the side of the cabinet.”

  “In view of the street?” Carson asked, eyes wide. Something flashed in them; not fear, but excitement.

  “It’s the street alone, or street and the restaurant. Now let’s—”

  “Are you all right there?”

  One of the servers had called to us. She looked at us expectantly, eyebrows raised and mouth open. Opposite the counter, the man eyeing the cakes followed her gaze, looking none too pleased we were keeping him from the slab of coffee cake the server was midway through placing on a plate.

  “We’re fine,” said Heidi, smiling politely. “Just browsing.”

  “All right.” And the server went back to the cake man.

  “Let’s be quick,” I said. “Come on.”

  I maneuvered to the edge of the drinks cabinet. Checking one last time that the compass still indicated the dark place on the other side, and no hint of the encroaching boundary toward the street, I clutched my talisman, feeling its warmth. Carson arranged himself very close to my back, blocking as much of the window as he could—it wasn’t anywhere near enough—and Heidi pressed in from the other side.