The catacombs were dark, filthy, and smelled of stale water and air that had not moved significantly in years. Moss clung to the wall like the guest that wouldn't go away. There were all manner of unpleasant things swimming around over the ground… rodentia, worms, insects… and the water was brown and saturated with the detritus of the city. During hours of heavy hansom traffic the already dangerously low ceiling shuddered, with bits of plaster falling down and highlighting the risk of collapse. The final touch was the morbid presence of corpses lining the walls, stacked five, six, ten in an alcove.
The collection of well-dressed gentlemen made only one concession to the muck: high leather boots that protected their suits from the water. Otherwise they looked entirely out of place, hunched over and puttering around with lanterns.
"It's hard to believe anyone lives down here," one of the gentleman remarked in a quavering, soft voice.
"Well, they certainly don't do it by choice." The second man's voice was acidic and heavily accented, concealing any emotion he might have felt at what the group had discovered over the past few days. The first gentleman looked intimidated.
"Be quiet, both of you."
There was silence again, punctuated only by the dripping of water from the stones. The three men moved further into the old tunnels, watching for signs of the inhabitants they were told could be found here. They strained their senses, looking around, listening, even sniffing about for any sign they could find. Nothing.
"This is complete nonsense…" the accented voice finally spoke up, irritable. "I say we just…"
"Hush…" interruped his more timid friend. "Listen."
The three men froze.
"I hear it too…" They pelted down the corridors, for the moment giving no thought to where they were or where they were going except that they were going towards the sounds they had heard.
"I didn't hear a bloody thing," the accented man complained, but he was running no less frantically than the others, his hands clenched into tight gloved fists. They skidded around a corner, nearly knocking each other into the water.
And then, suddenly, they were right on top of them. There was screaming, lots of screaming, high pitched and childlike. Clothes flew everywhere, a sword was drawn, and a pipe came down on someone's head as all the lights went out at once. More shouting.
"Dammit, I can't see a bloody thing!"
"Will you be silent!"
The children were screaming, that was all any of the three gentlemen heard. The children were screaming, scared and cold and hungry and terrorized for years. They had been sent down into the catacombs with their heads filled with tales of children brutalized, murdered, manipulated into becoming thieves and young whores by a brutal society of older men and women… how much of it was true they had not yet found out, as none of the older men and women had yet been found. But for now, all they knew was the screaming, and children who needed protecting.
"Light!"
As if in response to the shouted command, a light was struck. Everyone froze and looked around, for the first time able to see who they were fighting.
A girl of perhaps fourteen stood with old iron skillet in hand, looking prepared to swing at anyone who came her way. A young boy who appeared to be her brother was on the other side of the room, defending himself against the gentleman's sword with an iron bar. Three other children who could not have been more than ten stood, similarly armed and bearing cuts and bruises. The rest were cowering in a corner.
."What the bloody hell just happened?" came a voice from thin air. All five armed children jumped, swinging their weapons wildly.
"Mr. Skinner, would you please put some clothes on? They're children, for Godsakes…" The sight of so many boys and girls shivering in cold and terror from their presence seemed to have given audacity to the previously timid man. He crouched down in the muck, which brought him to eye level with the boy. "We're not going to hurt you, lad. We're here to help… get you out of here."
"We were informed that you were being kept prisoner…" the third gentleman, ornately (and oddly, for London) dressed, reached out to the young woman. "Are your captors nearby?"
She shook her head, mute and still on the defensive.
"Oh, for pity's sake, we're not going to hurt you, girl." The voice was moving, and soon the pile of clothes that had been discarded were arranging themselves in the air, as though on a person. All the children gaped.
"Yeah, and how will we be knowing that, mister?" the boy asked.
The strangely dressed man sheathed his sword. "We can give you no assurances other than this: If you come with us, we will find places for you, send you to schools, and see you raised well…"
The expressions on the children's faces were no less scared.
"We'll give you a warm place to sleep, and good food to eat," the soft-spoken gentleman said, looking from the boy to the girl as they seemed to be the leaders. "And we won't…" he trailed off. All of the children bore bruises and cuts on their faces that could not be explained by the fight, and he didn't want to ask where they'd come from.
Tunnel-shaking thumping, and what sounded like a loud roar galvanized them all into action. Invisible arms scooped up the girl with the frying pan, as the soft-voiced gentleman urged the boy down the tunnel from where they'd come. The fancy gentleman began to herd the rest of the children in the same direction, drawing his sword again.
"We don't have much time," came the voice again. "Does anyone remember the way out?"
"Left!" called the swordsman, "And hurry!"
The collection of well-dressed gentlemen made only one concession to the muck: high leather boots that protected their suits from the water. Otherwise they looked entirely out of place, hunched over and puttering around with lanterns.
"It's hard to believe anyone lives down here," one of the gentleman remarked in a quavering, soft voice.
"Well, they certainly don't do it by choice." The second man's voice was acidic and heavily accented, concealing any emotion he might have felt at what the group had discovered over the past few days. The first gentleman looked intimidated.
"Be quiet, both of you."
There was silence again, punctuated only by the dripping of water from the stones. The three men moved further into the old tunnels, watching for signs of the inhabitants they were told could be found here. They strained their senses, looking around, listening, even sniffing about for any sign they could find. Nothing.
"This is complete nonsense…" the accented voice finally spoke up, irritable. "I say we just…"
"Hush…" interruped his more timid friend. "Listen."
The three men froze.
"I hear it too…" They pelted down the corridors, for the moment giving no thought to where they were or where they were going except that they were going towards the sounds they had heard.
"I didn't hear a bloody thing," the accented man complained, but he was running no less frantically than the others, his hands clenched into tight gloved fists. They skidded around a corner, nearly knocking each other into the water.
And then, suddenly, they were right on top of them. There was screaming, lots of screaming, high pitched and childlike. Clothes flew everywhere, a sword was drawn, and a pipe came down on someone's head as all the lights went out at once. More shouting.
"Dammit, I can't see a bloody thing!"
"Will you be silent!"
The children were screaming, that was all any of the three gentlemen heard. The children were screaming, scared and cold and hungry and terrorized for years. They had been sent down into the catacombs with their heads filled with tales of children brutalized, murdered, manipulated into becoming thieves and young whores by a brutal society of older men and women… how much of it was true they had not yet found out, as none of the older men and women had yet been found. But for now, all they knew was the screaming, and children who needed protecting.
"Light!"
As if in response to the shouted command, a light was struck. Everyone froze and looked around, for the first time able to see who they were fighting.
A girl of perhaps fourteen stood with old iron skillet in hand, looking prepared to swing at anyone who came her way. A young boy who appeared to be her brother was on the other side of the room, defending himself against the gentleman's sword with an iron bar. Three other children who could not have been more than ten stood, similarly armed and bearing cuts and bruises. The rest were cowering in a corner.
."What the bloody hell just happened?" came a voice from thin air. All five armed children jumped, swinging their weapons wildly.
"Mr. Skinner, would you please put some clothes on? They're children, for Godsakes…" The sight of so many boys and girls shivering in cold and terror from their presence seemed to have given audacity to the previously timid man. He crouched down in the muck, which brought him to eye level with the boy. "We're not going to hurt you, lad. We're here to help… get you out of here."
"We were informed that you were being kept prisoner…" the third gentleman, ornately (and oddly, for London) dressed, reached out to the young woman. "Are your captors nearby?"
She shook her head, mute and still on the defensive.
"Oh, for pity's sake, we're not going to hurt you, girl." The voice was moving, and soon the pile of clothes that had been discarded were arranging themselves in the air, as though on a person. All the children gaped.
"Yeah, and how will we be knowing that, mister?" the boy asked.
The strangely dressed man sheathed his sword. "We can give you no assurances other than this: If you come with us, we will find places for you, send you to schools, and see you raised well…"
The expressions on the children's faces were no less scared.
"We'll give you a warm place to sleep, and good food to eat," the soft-spoken gentleman said, looking from the boy to the girl as they seemed to be the leaders. "And we won't…" he trailed off. All of the children bore bruises and cuts on their faces that could not be explained by the fight, and he didn't want to ask where they'd come from.
Tunnel-shaking thumping, and what sounded like a loud roar galvanized them all into action. Invisible arms scooped up the girl with the frying pan, as the soft-voiced gentleman urged the boy down the tunnel from where they'd come. The fancy gentleman began to herd the rest of the children in the same direction, drawing his sword again.
"We don't have much time," came the voice again. "Does anyone remember the way out?"
"Left!" called the swordsman, "And hurry!"