Rise of the Darklings (14 page)

“Sorry,” she said. She waited, but the faerie didn’t seem keen to accept her apology. Emily gave up and hurried after Corrigan, holding the bottle to light the way, trying not to jounce the poor creature around too much.

The tunnel started to slope downward. Corrigan was moving fast, but Emily’s longer stride enabled her to quickly catch up with him.

“A word of warning. Don’t talk to
anybody
. If someone offers you any food—don’t take it.”

“Why? What will happen?”

“You’ll be stuck here until whoever gave you the food becomes bored with you. Either that, or you’ll die of old age.”

They walked down the sloping tunnel until they came up against a brick wall. Emily stood back as Corrigan laid his hands against the wall and muttered something under his
breath. The bricks separated with a grinding noise and swung aside. Emily could hear the sound of rushing water coming from the other side of the hole.

Emily followed Corrigan through the hole. They were standing on a stone ledge in a huge tunnel that disappeared into the darkness to either side. A torrent of dirty water flowed through the tunnel just below the path.

“What is this place?”

“One of the old rivers,” said Corrigan. “The Tyburn, I think. There are loads of them down here. They all join up with the Thames, but as your lot kept building, they had to brick them up to make room for the city. They’re still here, though. You can’t just kill a river. It carries the blood of the city.”

Turning into a narrow corridor, Corrigan led them along the path, through dry sewer beds, and onto rickety bridges that spanned the underground rivers. As Corrigan wended his way through the sewers and tunnels, Emily was soon lost. They walked for what felt like an hour or so, and Emily was quickly tiring when Corrigan stopped at another dead end. Again, he touched the wall and muttered a word under his breath. The wall shuddered, dust sifting into the air. The bricks ground their way to the side, revealing another passage, this one lit by floating balls of orange light.

“Leave her here,” said Corrigan, indicating the faerie in the jar.

“Shouldn’t we let her go?”

“If you want. But you won’t be able to see when we come back out.”

“Oh. Of course.” Emily put the faerie down on the ground. She was banging at the glass again, and Emily felt a surge of guilt at leaving her like this. But they shouldn’t be long, should they? All they were doing was handing over Corrigan’s satchel. She’d be back out in no time. Then after that she would go and check on William. Emily knew he was safe at the shop, but she wanted to make sure, just for her own peace of mind.

They stepped through the opening, which scraped closed behind them. Emily studied their surroundings as they walked. They seemed to have left the manmade tunnels behind and were now in what looked like warrens. The walls were rough, the marks of chisels clearly visible, and the ground was paved with broken stones.

Corrigan saw her staring. “The Alfar did this.”

“Alfar?”

“Alfar—the dwarves. Before most of them disappeared. They carved all this.”

“Where did they disappear to?”

“No idea. We think the Order got hold of them. A few hundred years ago.”

Corrigan hurried on ahead. The tunnel again sloped
downward, and Emily thought they must be miles below London by now.

Eventually, the tunnel widened, and Emily began to see signs of life. Creatures like Corrigan scurried around, disappearing into tunnels that branched off the main thoroughfare. A faerie flew past Emily’s head, its golden glow lighting the tunnel before it disappeared around a bend up ahead. A jumble of sounds rebounded off the walls and washed over Emily in a confused mishmash of echoes and voices.

Then they rounded the corner, and the wall of noise and sight slammed into Emily’s senses like a slap across the face, bringing her to a sudden stop.

The scene put her immediately in mind of London Bridge, with its homes and shops lining the bridge itself. Except that instead of people bustling around selling their wares, drinking with friends, and stealing from strangers, it was the fey.

Creatures of all shapes scurried between stalls and over the roofs of shops. There were so many, and they were so varied in looks, that Emily could have spent all day there and not seen two that looked the same. Tall, short, fat, tiny, ugly, beautiful, pale, dark, blue, brown. Scarred, smooth, eyeless, noseless, mouthless.

Corrigan nudged her and she started walking again, inspecting the stalls as she passed by. They sold an astonishing variety of goods. One stall was completely covered with
glass vials filled with an assortment of liquids and powders. A tall, dark woman with white eyes gazed down at Emily.

“And what is your fancy, little girl? Trying to win the heart of a young man?” She cocked her head and looked hard at Emily. “But perhaps you are a little young for that. What else? A cure for the wasting disease? No? Take a look, then. Everything you see is perfect for shinecraft.”

Emily picked up one of the vials and read the label.
The First Laugh of an Unchristened Babe
, it said. She put it back and picked up another, this one containing a liquid that glowed white:
One Soul, Freely Given
, read the label.

Corrigan hastily guided her away, casting nervous glances at the woman.

“Come again, little girl,” she called.

Corrigan took her deeper into the crowd. As they walked, Emily noticed faeries hovering in the air above their heads, forming neat, stationary lines.

“They get paid to light the tunnel,” Corrigan said, catching the direction of Emily’s gaze. “Two beetles for every hour.”

“What do they do with the beetles?”

“What do you think? They eat them.”

They walked on through the crowds, Corrigan pausing every now and then for a brief exchange of words. Emily drew suspicious looks, but even so, she found the fey
curiously unaffected by a human girl in their midst. She asked Corrigan about it.

He shrugged. “It’s not as rare as you might think. And besides, most people know me well enough to know I wouldn’t bring you here unless I had a good reason.”

They eventually stopped before a small, unassuming shop front. As Emily and Corrigan approached, a group of strange-looking creatures exited the shop. They had the bodies of horses but the heads of old men. They grinned and leered at Emily, showing large yellow teeth.

“Phookas,” said Corrigan. “Don’t speak to them. Pains in the backside, they are.”

Emily did as instructed and the phookas passed them by, grunting and neighing. A moment later, the door to the shop opened again, and three tall, sad-looking men came out. Emily wondered where they were all coming from. The shop didn’t look big enough to hold so many people.

Corrigan opened the door and led the way inside. Emily followed, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. What she saw left her feeling slightly puzzled. The only item in the shop was a large bed against the far wall. Snuggled beneath the covers, the blankets pulled right up to their necks, were a wizened old man and woman, both of them about the same size as Emily. They had a distinctly gnomish look about them, like Alfrig back at the tenement door.

“Close that door,” snapped the woman.

“It’s freezing in here,” said the man.

“Freezing,” agreed the woman.

Emily quickly pushed the door closed. She didn’t think it did much good, as she could still see the light outside the shop through gaps in the wooden slats.

The woman leaned forward and peered at the two of them. “Corrigan. That you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Stintle.”

“That you, Corrigan?” asked the old man.

“Yes, Mr. Stintle.”

The man turned to the woman. “It’s Corrigan, dear.”

“I can see that. You think I’m blind?”

“What do you want?” she asked Corrigan. “Did you bring us that blanket you promised? We’re freezing in here.”

“Ah … no. Sorry. Been away on business. Next time, I promise.”

“Hmpph
. We know what your promises are worth, don’t we, dear.” She nudged the old man hard in the ribs. He winced and glared at her.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“I was saying we know what his promises are worth. Don’t we?”

“Yes. But there’s no need to break my ribs, woman.”

“Who’s the girl?” The woman nodded in Emily’s direction.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Corrigan quickly, heading off Emily’s offended reply. “We need to get below.”

“Below?” said Mrs. Stintle.

“Below?” said Mr. Stintle.

“Below,” agreed Corrigan.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You know what to do.”

Corrigan jerked his head in the direction of the back wall. Emily followed him over.

“What
do
we do?” she asked curiously.

“We hold on,” he said. “Very tight.”

As soon as he had uttered these words, there was a lurch under Emily’s feet, then a horrendous screaming noise and an explosion of steam from beneath the floorboards. Emily saw the old man and woman pulling on some kind of lever. Then the floor shifted beneath her and they began to drop downward.

“Probably best to sit down,” said Corrigan. “You don’t want to fall off.”

Emily sat as the floor rose above her head. They were sinking straight down through a long tunnel that had been cut into the very earth itself. Small globes of golden light were attached to the walls, illuminating the darkness.

They sank like this for about ten minutes, then the walls of the tunnel fell away and they entered a vast open space.

Emily’s mouth dropped in amazement.

“Home sweet home,” whispered Corrigan.

The place was so big that at first she couldn’t take it in. Her eyes were drawn to the lights, hundreds, thousands of glowing orbs hanging in the air. They lit the darkness with a golden glow, as if the sun were just sinking after a glorious summer’s day. Except … the lights
weren’t
hanging in the air. They were attached to the branches of the biggest tree Emily had ever seen. It was ten times the height of Big Ben, and the trunk was so thick it would take hundreds of people to encircle it. Thousands, maybe. The massive branches arched up into the huge cavern. Emily realized that the whole tenement building she lived in would easily fit inside one of the branches.

As they dropped lower, Emily saw that the tree was occupied. She could see hundreds of openings in the branches and trunk, small windows through which she caught glimpses of the fey going about their daily lives.

“Do you … do you all live in the tree branches?” she whispered.

“Not all. Only the favored.” Corrigan pointed to the side. Emily leaned over and saw that the tree’s roots snaked over the ground—huge, twisting walls of dark wood that formed avenues and streets, with windows and doorways cut into the roots so the fey could live inside. It was an entire city living inside a single tree.

“How long have you all lived here?” she asked in amazement.

Corrigan looked at her. “Do you still not understand? We were here
before
you. That tree was planted when we came here from Faerie. Your lot built your bricks and mortar over the top, taking land that was ours.”

Emily was about to respond when the platform stopped moving about halfway down the trunk.

“Come on, then,” said Corrigan, stepping onto a branch. Emily followed. The branch formed a wide walkway leading to the trunk. Corrigan touched the slightly shimmering bark, and a round door swung open with a damp, creaking sound. Warm light washed over them.

“Are you ready to meet the Queen?” asked Corrigan.

“Probably not,” said Emily.

But she followed Corrigan anyway, right into the heart of the faerie tree.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT