London Underground: An Unofficial Legend of The Secret World (Unofficial Legends of The Secret World Book 2)

by Blodwedd Mallory

  The custodian crossed the room in two strides and pulled back its arm for another swipe when its motors malfunctioned a second time, and it dropped into a crouch. I ran back toward Sevenoir.

  “Don’t get too close!” he warned.

  “Copy that.” I agreed, breathlessly. “How much juice do you think that thing needs?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m feeling it,” he said, his face tight with strain.

  “Assuming we can fill it up, it should open to Agartha, right?” I speculated, as I bent over, hands on my thighs, to catch my breath.

  “That makes sense,” he grunted and with a twitch dropped to his feet, escaping the portal’s pull. “You go again. I’ll keep the custodian occupied for a while.”

  Assuring myself he was beyond the pull of the portal, I stepped into the edge of its range again, rising into the air, as the flow of my anima to the source resumed. I concentrated on not resisting its pull, letting the portal have my anima. I wondered what would happen if I ran out.

  The custodian rose to its feet a third time and started to stomp toward me. I squeaked in alarm, but Sevenoir was on it and dashed in front of the goliath, waving his arms and yelling. They jockeyed across the room, Sevenoir feinting and dodging out of harm’s way as the giant robot swung at him time and time again.

  I was starting to feel faint, but the custodian’s motor was not failing this time, so there was no opportunity to change places with Sevenoir.

  Stars popped before my eyes, and the room started to take on a gray tinge. I sure hoped this wouldn’t result in anima depletion. I had experienced that once before and was in no hurry to do it again. A buzzing noise filled my ears, and I could feel my consciousness slipping away. Sevenoir ran toward me yelling something, but I couldn’t make out the words. He grasped my legs as the custodian tromped up the steps of the dais behind him.

  With a burst of light, the pull of my anima stopped, and I fell limp-limbed from where I was suspended, my head spinning. Sevenoir caught me as I fell and hoisted me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, scrambling out of the way of the custodian.

  Instead of turning to pursue us, the metal guardian continued its march up to the portal, then stepping through, it disappeared.

  Sevenoir put me gently down on the far side of the dais and urged me to put my head between my knees as I struggled to recover from the near faint.

  “Keep your head down until it passes,” he cautioned me. “It’ll keep you from blacking out.”

  “What happened to the custodian?” I asked, weakly, as the world stopped spinning.

  “The portal must have regained enough of a charge to reconnect with Agartha,” he said. “So, the custodian returned to where it belongs. I’ll have to talk to the Stationmaster about getting it checked. I’ve never seen one of those things go rogue before. And, I frankly hope I never will again.”

  I shivered and nodded my head in agreement, which made my stomach lurch. I realized this little adventure had taken hours and I was both hungry and thirsty. It had been a long time since I had my coffee and plantain chips. I said as much to Sevenoir. He told me to rest, and pulled out his cell phone and made some calls. I marveled at the technology able to connect through the hundreds of feet of dirt and rubble underground, but he winked and mouthed the words “anima powered” when I asked him about it.

  Within 15 minutes, a small army of uniformed Templars had joined us in the underground temple and began cordoning off the area with “Do Not Cross” tape. One of the agents was bearing a Bingo! Cola, a sandwich, and a bag of chips for me—the English call them “crisps,” I learned. I was thankful and exhausted. Sevenoir walked over to the agent-in-charge and got into an intense discussion with her. Even curiosity and concern for my standing couldn’t bring me to move from where I was sitting, enjoying my food. I’d have to pry it out of him later.

  When I had eaten and recovered sufficiently, an agent walked with me back up the stone stairs of the temple, out through the excavation tunnels, out of the sewers to the twilight illuminating Ealdwic’s streets, right to the blue front door of No. 5 May Queen Market, where he bid me adieu. I trudged up the stairs, unlocked my door with the old skeleton key I had tucked in my backpack, and, after securing the door behind me again, I stumbled into my bedroom and collapsed on my bed to sleep. There would be time enough later to deal with the consequences of my discovery.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Allies

  Bang, bang, bang.

  A sharp knocking filled my small flat, startling me from sleep. I looked around, groggily. What time was it anyway?

  I needed to put a clock on the list of things to purchase apparently. I could see a faint tendril of light coming in my bedroom windows heralding dawn. Good grief. Who could be knocking for me at this time?

  Since I hadn’t bothered to get undressed before collapsing on my bed—when? Last night?—I climbed off the bed and shuffled out into the living area to the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Message for Blodwedd Mallory from Richard Sonnac,” an all-business male voice boomed from behind the closed door.

  I flipped open the lock and cracked the door. A tall, uniformed Templar stood at the threshold. I opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter, but he shook his head and handed me a sealed letter instead, then nodded and turned on his heel and marched down the third-floor stairs.

  Pushing the door closed and latching it, I looked at the envelope in my hand. It was too dark to read anything still, so I flipped on the light, wincing as the bulbs illuminated my tiny flat. I broke the wax seal on the back and hurried to open it. I took out a small card.

  Ms. Blodwedd Mallory

  No. 5-F May Queen Market

  London, England UK

  Mr. Richard Sonnac

  Temple Hall

  London, England UK

  June 17, 2012

  Dear Ms. Mallory,

  Your presence is requested at Temple Hall at 7 a.m. sharp on Sunday, June 17, 2012. Formal business attire is advised. Don’t be late.

  Regards,

  R. Sonnac

  Argh! That was this morning. Business attire? What time was it, anyway?

  Panic set in and I ran around my flat in a flurry. What was this about? I wracked my still sleepy brain, and then I remembered what I had done yesterday.

  Right. That was probably it. Uh oh. I was in deep trouble.

  My stomach cramped, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as dread filled me. The chickens of my ill-advised adventuring yesterday had come home to roost, and now I was being called to account.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! I knew better than this. I had worked for these past few months to not be so headstrong, so impulsive, and what did I do the first day out on my own?

  I groaned and rubbed my face. Well, there was nothing for it but to face the consequences, if that’s what this was. First course of action, find out the time. Grabbing my keys, I locked my apartment and flew down the stairs, out to the sidewalk and ran next door to Plimmy’s home, and knocked rapidly.

  She opened the door a few moments later in her housecoat. “What is it, dear? You look upset.”

  “I just got a notice for an appointment this morning, and I don’t have a clock yet,” I explained breathlessly.

  “It’s just past 5 a.m. Would you like to come in for a cup of breakfast tea?”

  I shook my head. What I really needed was a cup of Plimmy’s special tea. “Thanks, I wish that I had time, but I’ve got to get ready.”

  Miss Plimmswood gave me an understanding smile. I apologized for my abruptness and then turned and ran back up all three flights of stairs to my flat.

  After showering and putting my hair up in its usual bun, I dug through my small wardrobe and came up with the black skirt and a red button-up dress blouse—they were the closest things I had to business attire.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a Templar uniform to wear but hoped the red shirt would signal my loyalties. I grabbe
d a conservative black jacket and my black pumps as well. I didn’t know what I was going to be walking into but decided that I would do my best to meet the expectation for my dress.

  Jogging through the cobblestone streets of Ealdwic, I made it to Temple Court as quickly as I could. As I approached the main stairs, I was stopped by the guards stationed outside. Someone would come for me, they indicated, when the time was right.

  Turning away from them, I wrung my hands. I was a nervous wreck, my mind filled with worry at the summons. Was I about to be disciplined? But the letter had come from Richard Sonnac. Could it be my initiation? I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that it wasn’t why I’d been called to Temple Hall.

  The weather outside was as dark as my mood. Despite it nearly being summer, the sky was overcast and gray, and a brisk wind blew. I could smell dampness in the air. No doubt there would be rain later. I was glad of my suit jacket because fear of what was to come was making me shiver. My hands were damp, and I clenched them to attempt to warm them up as I paced in front of the building until my feet started to hurt.

  Eventually, the guards signaled me over and instructed me to follow another uniformed guard into Temple Hall. We mounted the outer steps, walked through the arched threshold and into the greater hall. I followed the guard closely, my heels ringing as we walked across the marble floors. I looked up at the giant rotunda, gray light filtering through the glass, and marveled at the centuries of history reflected by the space. The four-armed cross was carved on every column and set into the marble floor so that none could mistake the weight of tradition here.

  The guard led me to a large set of doors on the right side of the hall, beyond where I knew the Crucible lay. We stopped before them, and he knocked briskly. The heavy door opened and I was ushered in past him into a large room, embellished in a similar style. The floor was covered in a thick red carpet, and in the front of the room was a tall ornately carved judicial bench of dark wood. The room was lined with chairs on each side, like a courtroom.

  Seated there was a panel of three uniformed Templars, Dame Julia in the center. The others were unfamiliar to me. Richard Sonnac stood near a table at the left of the front of the room. Along the left wall were two frightening looking figures. One was wearing a neat brown suit with a lighter brown waistcoat and a red tie. His hands were covered in red gloves, and his face was hidden behind a white full-faced mask. The other stood on his right side and was dressed in a full set of plate combat armor with a deep red hood emblazoned with the four-armed cross in white on his forehead. His face was obscured by a cross-visored helm underneath the hood.

  Fresh worry flooded my body. My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard to keep my composure. I stumbled slightly, my heel catching in the deep carpet, as I approached the bench.

  “Ms. Mallory.” Grim-faced, Richard Sonnac gestured for me to sit at the table beside him.

  “Proceed with the opening statement, Richard,” Dame Julia intoned from the front of the room.

  Sonnac stepped out from the table and approached the bench, gesturing to the room and then back to me. “This is an informal proceeding. We are here to evaluate the…events that took place yesterday in the Mithraeum dig located in the Ealdwic municipal tunnels under Darkside.”

  He turned to face me, and I felt myself shrink in my seat at his attention.

  “Ms. Mallory, please describe for us your actions and mindset that encouraged you to break into the locked archaeological dig, bearing in mind that your behavior not only reflects upon me as your sponsor for candidacy to become a Templar but on the venerable Templar organization as a whole. Understand that we have already taken testimony from Sevenoir on the matter.”

  The weight of the panel’s gaze fell upon me, and Dame Julia gave me a skeptical glare. Resolutely, I cleared my throat and stood up. I might have been exploring without authorization and perhaps even criminal in breaking and entering, but I wasn’t a coward or a liar. I would accept the consequences of my actions.

  Taking a deep breath, I launched into the story, from my encounter with Mama Abena in the market, to the Fallen King’s strange words, and the gusts of mystical wind from the park that drew me down into the sewers in the first place. I explained my thought processes upon seeing the face in the mosaic, which emboldened my further exploration. I described my startle at Sevenoir’s appearance, and my beseeching him for assistance in solving the puzzle that ultimately revealed the rusty custodian and the entombed anima well, being careful to absolve him of any responsibility.

  “So you decided it was within your own mandate to pursue this course of action?” Dame Julia questioned me when I had finished.

  Chagrined, I admitted that I honestly hadn’t given it sufficient thought at the time. I had been caught up in the mystery and had, once again, dived in headfirst without considering the broader implications to my desire to become a Templar.

  “I want to know what made you realize the mosaic was a puzzle lock.” A dark-haired middle-aged woman on the panel at Dame Julia’s right asked me. My mind went blank at her question, and Dame Julia turned to scowl at her.

  “She clearly showed initiative and intelligence, Honored Dame,” the woman retorted in response. “The Oxford dig team has been struggling to open that door for weeks. Ms. Mallory figured it out in the course of an afternoon. We want our agents to have these qualities and not be a bunch of mindless drones.”

  “But, they also must have discipline and show forethought and strategic thinking,” the man at Dame Julia’s left responded. He looked like a business executive or political candidate, with carefully coiffed silver hair. “Ms. Mallory, I must admit I find these qualities to be significantly lacking in your judgment in this instance.”

  I hung my head. “That is true, sir. I struggle with forethought in particular.”

  He chuckled, not unkindly. “You are not the first nor the last candidate for whom that is the case.”

  “Nor was Ms. Mallory specifically prohibited from exploring the area around Ealdwic. She hasn’t been here long enough to have been given any context around expectations for her role,” the dark-haired woman added. “We can’t blame her for what she doesn’t know. It’s our role to train her in those expectations.”

  “She broke into a locked door and did just as she pleased,” Dame Julia said throwing up her hands in exasperation. “At a minimum, there are legal consequences for that!”

  “I’ve spoken to the municipal board with regards to Ms. Mallory’s breaking and entering,” Sonnac said. “They are looking to follow our lead in this matter.”

  Dame Julia harrumphed and narrowed her eyes at me. “Very well. This panel will discuss the matter further and provide any further guidance to your sponsor within a few days. In the meantime, Ms. Mallory, I suggest you keep your nose clean and avoid any further behavior that might cast doubt on your worthiness to become a Templar.”

  I met Dame Julia’s eye and nodded gravely. I had learned my lesson. No more running off on bootless errands for me.

  “Thank you, Ms. Mallory, that will be all for now,” Richard Sonnac said as he gestured to the exit.

  I nodded, stepped out from behind the table, and made my way back to the tall doors at the far end of the room. I felt a prickle on my neck as I walked and glanced back over my shoulder at the imposing pair against the wall. With a jolt of apprehension, I noted that the helmed warrior was following me with his eyes and wondered why. I was left with the impression that something in particular about me interested him, something beyond the proceedings in the room.

  Before I knew it, it was Monday again. I had spent most of the day Sunday after meeting with the panel in bed resting. Who knew the hangover from charging an agent anima battery and getting called up to account felt like the flu? By Monday morning, however, I was feeling right as rain and woke up early to get to the Crucible, ready to start my training, if they let me in the front door.

  Luckily, the big red doors opened easily when I pushed them.
I stepped in, ready to wave to the bartender when I heard Brigadier Lethe bellow at me from across the room.

  “Ah, the prodigal daughter returns, I see. Decided you needed a little instruction before you hare off on your next solo adventure? So glad you could join us.”

  News had apparently traveled fast around Temple Hall. I grimaced. The bartender raised his eyebrow and gave me a rueful smile.

  I trudged down the stairs to the practice area and approached Lethe half-heartedly to explain, but he waved away my excuses and instructed me to begin stretching before we started working on strength training. I stepped over to the stairs, thankful that he didn’t seem to bear a grudge, and began stretching out my calf muscles. They complained loudly. It had been a while since I’d been to the gym.

  “Breathe while you stretch,” Lethe barked at me from where he was standing. “And do it gently unless you want to tear a muscle.”

  I spent the morning in a humiliating round of exercises that made it only too evident that my physical conditioning was a complete pile of crap. I’d done plenty of running around at Innsmouth, but my application of effort to actual exercise had been sorely lacking.

  To hear Brigadier Lethe tell it, my stamina was nil, my muscles were all weak, my flexibility was “shite,” and I was sure to get myself skewered as soon as I got into a “proper bout on a proper assignment.” I complained bitterly in return that this was all new to me and that I could hardly be held responsible for things no one had ever taught me.

  “Don’t pretend you’ve never encountered a locked door before,” Lethe yelled at me, clearly in Dame Julia’s camp with regards to my adventure. “You had no business running off by yourself. You’re weaker than a puppy, soldier. A blind man would kick your arse.”

  I scoffed openly at that but realized my mistake as Lethe pointed to his own eye patch. Then, he got a devious look on his face and turned away to make a phone call. I had a feeling it didn’t bode well for me.