Inktail

Chapter ten ~ Underground

I leaped in feet-first, crossing my arms over my chest like a kid on a water slide, and fell straight downwards... for about three feet.
The startled looks on my companions' faces were worth it.
I cackled, then ducked the rest of the way into the crawlspace under the floor, shuffling along on my knees, while the others dropped with me one by one. As we scrambled along through several inches of dust on the dirt floor, I turned my head back to face Dan, who was wearing the intense expression of someone trying very hard not to sneeze. My tail fanned out into a peacock-like train, keeping the view of my derriere covered, and trailing a swirling pattern through the grime behind me. "I had the floor raised to keep the books away from the damp earth," I explained, "they stay nice much longer if there's no mold or wetness. Plus it makes a convenient hideaway inside the hideaway, if you know what I mean." I leaned further sideways to see Nat just beginning to come after us. "Would you please close the trapdoor behind you? Thank you."
I turned back, and crawled a few more paces forward to the center of the room. Before me, a massive hole gaped in the earth. Perfectly round, and nearly big enough to drive a car through if it were upright, the only sign that it wasn't an entrance to hell was the fact that a set of ladder rungs were driven directly into the side of the stone-lined well.
Without hesitation, I reached around to the backpack I had strapped to me, switching on a small torch, then passing it to my tail so I could aim it straight downward and still grip the ladder securely. I turned around and took a step down, then glanced up to see the highly concerned faces of the two younglings. I raised an eyebrow.
"You want to stay in the room, then?"
They looked at each other, and I started climbing down again. When I got a good eight or nine rungs down, I heard shoes scuffing and felt a tickle of dust in my hair. I smiled to myself.
Down we went, the metal under my hands growing more and more damp and rusted, the scent of dust giving way to the smell of sitting water and mud and wet stone. I was puffing a little by the time we reached the bottom. I need to stay in shape. These books aren't THAT heavy.
The rungs stopped, and I put a foot down tentatively to find the floor, aiming the light around at the walls of the partially-natural cave that we were now in. The floor was crusted with cracked, dried earth, which had once been rich river mud. A tiny trickle flowed from a crack in the wall and down to the center, where it meandered along the floor and out of sight. The hole through which we had come was a good ten feet overhead, opening up into the side of an uneven tube, large enough for a subway train - which is what the original plan for it had been. Dan and Nat stared around as they both reached the bottom, eyes wide. I explained what it was.
"So why doesn't it have tracks and trains?" Dan asked, brushing dirt out of his hair.
"Because it leaks." I pointed to the crack in the wall. "When they first dug this far, they misjudged the distance from the Thames. That's river water coming through the wall. If they had continued digging, the tunnels would have flooded."
They both straightened up and eyed the ceiling nervously. I laughed.
"It's not going to come down any time soon. Come on, we need to get going before our 'Jailers' catch up."
I turned and jogged along the bottom, dirt crunching underfoot as the others followed. I heard Nat whispering to Dan, sound bouncing oddly from the rough walls, making her voice sound like a crowd in the distance. His reply was deeper, sounding more like ocean waves against rocks.
From far away, I heard the echoing rumble of a train in a connecting tunnel, and they both fell silent as the screeching thunder faded away again. I kept up the pace toward the noise, the torch, now in my hand, the only light in the vast darkness. It felt as if we were traversing some giant beast's lair, trying to make our way through uninvited, and the rumbling and screeching in the distance were it's cries as it searched for us.
Occasionally, we came across an unfinished platform, or even another ladder built into the wall. I kept going, searching, until finally I nearly stumbled across the first railroad tie, covered in dust, but otherwise still looking as new as the day it was laid. A few more ties along, and a rail appeared, followed by another. Ahead, I could see a propped-up wooden construction, the steel braces buried in the ground alongside the track, that was for stopping runaway trains before they ran off the end. Beyond that...
"WHAT is that?" Nat's incredulous voice floated behind me. I smirked.
"THAT, my dear, is London Underground Track Maintenance Vehicle 1919, which I acquired that same year while working undercover as a railway hand. She's pretty old, but she'll run, as long as..." I stepped up and swung myself up the side of the tiny cab next to the massive hulk of an engine, one of the few working gasoline engines from the era. This particular vehicle needed to be able to move along pieces of track that were not electrified at need, which made it perfect for what I wanted. I moved to the back of the cab, grabbing the gas can and brushing the layer of dust off of the top, then snagging an ancient brick of a walkie-talkie before hopping back out and trotting around the side, motioning for them to get in. "I'll be done in a minute. Don't touch anything!"
Nat snorted, and Dan just shrugged at me before following her up inside. I flipped up a panel, uncapping the fuel intake, and began pouring. While the liquid glugged it's way down the long pipe into the belly of the beast, I held up the radio with my tail, flipping it on, and made sure it was on the correct channel before speaking into it.
"This is maintenance vehicle 1919 requesting permission to embark for Morden via the Brixton line, location offshoot B12. Code zero one zero zero, one zero one one. Over." I listened to the faint static for a moment, before a startled voice on the other end replied, "Um, sorry, repeat message?"
I set the now empty can down and took the radio in both hands. "I said, maintenance vehicle 1919 requesting permission to embark for Morden via the Brixton line, location offshoot B12, code zero one zero zero, one zero one one, over."
Several more long seconds of static, before the even more surprised voice on the other end replied, "That's... um... it checks out. Uh, I mean, confirmed, you can depart in six minutes, please make sure your speed does not exceed 40 kilometers per hour, or drop below 30 kilometers per hour. H-have a pleasant journey, um, ma'am."
I snorted, then clipped the radio to my back pocket and picked the empty can up, leaping up into the cab and ignoring the startled looks on the faces of my friends as I stashed it back in it's cubby. Turning back to the array of buttons and levers that controlled the nearly-100-year-old piece of metal, I cracked my knuckles and lashed my tail, which currently resembled something from a goth biker's wet dream, covered in spikes and armor. "You guys ready?!"
Without waiting for an answer, I cranked the key and threw the throttle up, making the massive engine block roar to life, sounding like a thousand angry tigers booming out one massive, teeth-rattling growl. I throttled back down and then tipped the directional lever forward, hearing the grind and squeal of long-unused wheels coming to life, taking us toward light, and escape.