A/N: Well. Not much to say about this one, except...here goes my first serious Neverwhere fic ^_^ The prologue occurs sometime halfway through the book...when Door, Richard, Hunter, and Lamia have left the Floating Market, and the marquis de Carabas *squeals and glomps him* arrives looking for them. The rest of it follows the book. ^^ Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me and other de Carabas fangirls, Neil Gaiman owns everything. I claim only rights to Nike, as of now. I will probably invent other charries later, and claim rights to them then. *g*

Yes, the title is under construction. Suggestions are greatly appreciated.

~* Neverwhere: The Journey Continues *~
~ Prologue ~

The marquis de Carabas entered the Floating Market with a shiver of apprehension. That, instantly, should have told him to leave. His intuition was rarely wrong – and he was liable to brag about this, given any opportunity to do so. Nevertheless, he proceeded inside – even if Door wasn't here, he couldn't take the chance of not checking and missing her.

He walked around the market, seeing various people pass him by. He marveled at them, as he always did. There was so much diversity down here. London Above was so...common, so bland, so similar. How did Topsiders stand it, anyway?

The marquis wondered at this sudden poeticness as he passed the Sewer Folk's stall. The stench was enough to jar him out of the mood. Frowning ever so slightly, he held his nose in a way that suggested that this was the latest fashion, thankyouverymuch, and anyone who didn't follow it was behind the times, and inferior to him. Several people passing by saw him and quickly copied his motion. He would have smiled, except it is difficult to really smile while holding your nose. It was painful, and the marquis de Carabas was never willing to endure any pain past that which was absolutely necessary.

After a thorough search of the Market, the marquis was forced to conclude that Door, Hunter, and the rather clueless Topsider weren't there anymore. He would have sighed aloud, but his throat was still healing, and he didn't want to be in any more pain than he had to be. So he satisfied himself with a dramatic lowering of his eyes and sweep of his cloak, before proceeding to exit the Market in search of them.

He did not know where they were, of course, nor where they had gone. He wasn't, however, concerned with such trivial matters now. He had enough contacts and enough faith in his charms to be able to figure out their path. No, there would be no problem in finding them...that is, if he didn't get himself killed. Again. He'd have to watch his step.

The marquis had not gone more than four paces away from the Market when a figure stepped into his path. Speaking of watching his step...

"Well, well," the figure said in a low, smooth voice. "What have we here?"

The marquis would have groaned aloud, but it would only antagonize his healing throat more, plus it would have been undignified. So he swallowed his annoyance and whispered instead, with a graceful sweep of his cloak, "My lady de Tarauger. What a pleasant surprise."

A snort of laughter followed his speech. "If I know you, de Carabas, it's nothing of the sort. But I am pleased you remembered me. My sister did not think you would."

"How could I forget so fair a face?" Then the woman who was standing in front of him drew a long slender rapier and held it a few inches away from his neck. The marquis coughed. "My dear demoiselle, is this really necessary?"

"Knowing you, de Carabas...need I answer?"

The marquis frowned. "Oh, come on now. After all, not only are we childhood – " he was going to say "friends", but thought better of it " – ...acquaintances, but you are violating Market Truce."

"And, conveniently enough, we are standing several meters away from the Market," finished the woman, her faint smile growing slightly. "Now. Where are you off to in such a hurry? Stay and chat awhile. I haven't seen you in years."

The marquis coughed again. "And, I imagine, are as happy about that as I am. Now...as to where I am off to, let's just say it involves the Lady Door, your sister, and men in possession of sharp pointy objects not unlike the one you are threatening me with." The sentence proved to be too much effort; the marquis doubled over as best as he could with a rapier at his throat and coughed up several mouthfuls of sewer water.

The woman frowned and lowered her rapier. "What happened to you? You sound terrible." Then, as if seeing him for the first time, she looked him over thoroughly. "You look terrible, too."

"I feel terrible," the marquis rasped in reply, coughing some more.

She surveyed him again, disdainfully. "You look," she added, "as though you've died." The marquis nodded, pleased that she was catching on. "Again?" He repeated the nod, and the woman's frown lessened slightly. She shook her head, amused. "So, what's your task? The one so important that you had to bring yourself back from the dead to do?"

The marquis cleared his throat with a few more coughs, satisfied that the sewer water was staying down. "Actually, I'm saving the Lady Door's behind from a rather untimely end," was his hoarse reply. "Now, if you don't mind?" When she didn't move, he added, rather pointedly, "I didn't get my throat cut to stand around and be threatened by a Godspeaker."

"Really? I thought that was your sole purpose in life." When he made no reply to her sarcasm, she continued. "So that's what that cloth is doing around your neck. I wondered." Again, he made no reply, and the woman sighed, a gusty, theatrical sigh. "Well...I suppose I should let you go. But only because it's the Lady Door." Sheathing her rapier, she stepped aside the narrow path, allowing the marquis to go by. He inclined his head as he passed her, a bow with only the slightest hint of mocking.

"De Carabas?"

He hadn't gone more than ten paces. Turning, he faced the woman squarely. "You said this involved my sister?" He nodded.

There was a plea in the woman's eyes, and her voice shook slightly. "After...after all this is over." A pause. "...Send me word of her, would you? How she's doing, where she is?"

The marquis's face softened. Almost gently, he nodded. Then, in one of his rare, completely sincere gesture, he threw the woman a sweeping salute. She inclined her head at him, a repeat of his earlier motion.

"Mademoiselle, good day to you." She said nothing, only nodded, and the marquis strode off, trying to pace himself, knowing his newly healed wounds and resurrected body could only take so much.