idea.
Whatever. That was his problem.
Behind him, the screen flickered. A graph that had been displayed vanished, replaced by a message she could read:
INCOMING CALL.
Aiden followed her gaze, the chair creaking as he swivelled around. His smile dropped.
“I have to take this. Go find Jo. She’ll take you Underground.”
“Underground?” They were already underground. Did he have a dungeon? How far did those stairs go?
He met her eye. “Not many can call this line, if you catch my drift.”
Right. Few people had access to the engines. She could guess who those ‘people’ were.
She walked out. The farther she got from Aiden, the smaller her flame shrank.
It guttered out on the stairs.
Jo led her back down the stairs. They passed the engine room without a glance. After a while, the stairwell lost even its spartan finishing, reduced to blank drywall, unpainted pipe railings, and naked bulbs. One had burned out.
Only their footsteps kept them company.
The final flight angled down a hole in the floor. Concrete surrendered to wood, which creaked as Jo’s heavy boots stepped down. Mieshka took a moment to peer around.
The walls sloped at a hard angle, supported by dusty wooden beams. Boxes and stuff were stacked all around. Some looked quite old. A standing mirror leaned against a beam, reflecting a glare of light on its grimy, dust-streaked surface. The bare bulb didn’t quite reach into the corners.
An aisle had been cleared through the boxes, and Mieshka found Jo bent over a contraption in the floor. It was a folded, wooden ladder complete with joints and neon yellow rope. She recognized it from some movies.
It looked like they were in someone’s attic, three storeys underground.
Underground?
“What’s underground?” Her voice seemed loud in the still room.
Jo paused. “I thought you were a refugee?
“I am.” So?
“You got housing?”
“Yes?” People didn’t get housing?
Jo turned around and leaned against one of the wooden joints. Mieshka tried not to look at her guns.
“Well, some cities are built on top of themselves. London, Rome—all built on their old counterparts. Same goes for Lyarne.”
“Why?” Lyarne wasn’t as old as the other two.
“Flooding problems, so I’m told. Building up made the problems go away. They could afford to do that, then.” Jo tapped her toe on the floor. “This is an old house.”
Mieshka had been right. This was someone’s attic. Nerves rushed through her. How old was this place? She looked again at the wooden beams. They didn’t seem so sturdy now that she knew they were buried.
“How does it stay up?”
“Good architecture.”
Jo pulled on the rope. Except for an initial creak, the staircase unfolded soundlessly down. It left a dark hole in the floor.
Jo, not soundless, stepped into it. Boots were heavy on the ancient-looking wood.
Mieshka approached the hole. A small forest of flashlights stood next to the path.
Convenient.
Grabbing one, she followed at a slower pace. The stairs creaked beneath her, leading her down into a hallway. White-painted walls lined both sides, with lighter squares in places where pictures must have hung. Jo disappeared around a corner. Mieshka rushed to catch up, her light bouncing off a hardwood floor. She turned down a carpeted stairwell, one hand trailing on a smooth, carved banister.
“Upper Lyarne was built on the old city before Chromatix B was discovered.” In the stairwell, Jo’s voice had a hollow echo. “Lots of refugees dug out homes here when the government started refusing housing.”
“People live down here?”
They passed a boarded window, the wall cracking at the corner of its frame. Jo’s light bobbed ahead, flashing over the dead screen of a TV. Old porcelain gleamed behind a cabinet's dirty glass. Shadows closed in behind her. Every haunted house movie she’d watched came back to dog her steps.
They entered a foyer, where a crystal chandelier glittered overhead like a
Whatever. That was his problem.
Behind him, the screen flickered. A graph that had been displayed vanished, replaced by a message she could read:
INCOMING CALL.
Aiden followed her gaze, the chair creaking as he swivelled around. His smile dropped.
“I have to take this. Go find Jo. She’ll take you Underground.”
“Underground?” They were already underground. Did he have a dungeon? How far did those stairs go?
He met her eye. “Not many can call this line, if you catch my drift.”
Right. Few people had access to the engines. She could guess who those ‘people’ were.
She walked out. The farther she got from Aiden, the smaller her flame shrank.
It guttered out on the stairs.
Jo led her back down the stairs. They passed the engine room without a glance. After a while, the stairwell lost even its spartan finishing, reduced to blank drywall, unpainted pipe railings, and naked bulbs. One had burned out.
Only their footsteps kept them company.
The final flight angled down a hole in the floor. Concrete surrendered to wood, which creaked as Jo’s heavy boots stepped down. Mieshka took a moment to peer around.
The walls sloped at a hard angle, supported by dusty wooden beams. Boxes and stuff were stacked all around. Some looked quite old. A standing mirror leaned against a beam, reflecting a glare of light on its grimy, dust-streaked surface. The bare bulb didn’t quite reach into the corners.
An aisle had been cleared through the boxes, and Mieshka found Jo bent over a contraption in the floor. It was a folded, wooden ladder complete with joints and neon yellow rope. She recognized it from some movies.
It looked like they were in someone’s attic, three storeys underground.
Underground?
“What’s underground?” Her voice seemed loud in the still room.
Jo paused. “I thought you were a refugee?
“I am.” So?
“You got housing?”
“Yes?” People didn’t get housing?
Jo turned around and leaned against one of the wooden joints. Mieshka tried not to look at her guns.
“Well, some cities are built on top of themselves. London, Rome—all built on their old counterparts. Same goes for Lyarne.”
“Why?” Lyarne wasn’t as old as the other two.
“Flooding problems, so I’m told. Building up made the problems go away. They could afford to do that, then.” Jo tapped her toe on the floor. “This is an old house.”
Mieshka had been right. This was someone’s attic. Nerves rushed through her. How old was this place? She looked again at the wooden beams. They didn’t seem so sturdy now that she knew they were buried.
“How does it stay up?”
“Good architecture.”
Jo pulled on the rope. Except for an initial creak, the staircase unfolded soundlessly down. It left a dark hole in the floor.
Jo, not soundless, stepped into it. Boots were heavy on the ancient-looking wood.
Mieshka approached the hole. A small forest of flashlights stood next to the path.
Convenient.
Grabbing one, she followed at a slower pace. The stairs creaked beneath her, leading her down into a hallway. White-painted walls lined both sides, with lighter squares in places where pictures must have hung. Jo disappeared around a corner. Mieshka rushed to catch up, her light bouncing off a hardwood floor. She turned down a carpeted stairwell, one hand trailing on a smooth, carved banister.
“Upper Lyarne was built on the old city before Chromatix B was discovered.” In the stairwell, Jo’s voice had a hollow echo. “Lots of refugees dug out homes here when the government started refusing housing.”
“People live down here?”
They passed a boarded window, the wall cracking at the corner of its frame. Jo’s light bobbed ahead, flashing over the dead screen of a TV. Old porcelain gleamed behind a cabinet's dirty glass. Shadows closed in behind her. Every haunted house movie she’d watched came back to dog her steps.
They entered a foyer, where a crystal chandelier glittered overhead like a
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