So Below: The Trilogy Read online

  First published as an ebook bind-up in Great Britain in 2013 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd, a CBS company.

  Copyright © 2013 Matt Whyman

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Matt Whyman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor, 222 Gray’s Inn Road, London WC1X 8HB

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-4711-1849-4

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  www.mattwhyman.com

  Contents

  SO BELOW: KEY TO THE CITY

  1 WHAT A WORLD!

  2 WELCOME, YOSHI

  3 OUR KIND OF MAGIC

  4 ACTION STATIONS!

  5 DEEPER DOWN

  6 TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE

  7 AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

  8 THE GREATEST TRICK

  9 HOW WE DO IT

  10 OUT OF HERE

  11 WHO AM I?

  12 KNOW YOUR STRENGTH

  13 SUN IN MY EYES

  14 IN THE PICTURE

  15 FAR FROM IT

  16 A HEAD FOR HEIGHTS

  17 THIS MAN IS NO GHOST

  18 SECOND NATURE

  19 WITHOUT WINGS

  20 FROM THE TOP DOWN

  21 ONE SUGAR OR TWO?

  22 BACK FOR YOU

  23 LET THERE BE LIGHT

  24 WATCH CLOSELY

  25 SHADOW SIEGE

  26 A SHOW OF STRENGTH

  27 WHAT GOES UP . . .

  28 LEAP OF FAITH

  29 WHERE DOES IT END?

  30 HERE WE GO

  SO BELOW: SIEGE UNDER THE CITY

  PROLOGUE

  1 LOOK TO THE SKIES!

  2 WHAT LIES BENEATH?

  3 IN THE WINGS

  4 UP ON HIGH

  5 ALEISTER INBOUND

  6 WHAT MAKES THEM SO SPECIAL?

  7 VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE

  8 LET’S SEE THAT AGAIN

  9 YOU CAN’T TRICK A TRICKSTER

  10 RISE AND SHINE

  11 THE KEY TO UNLOCK THEM ALL

  12 ONE STOOGE AND AN EARPIECE

  13 A KERNEL OF TRUTH

  14 ALL YOU CAN EAT

  15 THE FUTURE IN A FORTUNE COOKIE

  16 FOLLOW THAT RICKSHAW!

  17 A MOTH CLOSE TO THE CANDLE FLAME

  18 THE WORKING PARTS

  19 UNDER CHINATOWN

  20 MISSING IN ACTION

  21 SOMETHING LIKE A HELLHOUND

  22 RACE ACROSS THE ROOFTOPS

  23 A FLUX IN THE FAERIE RING

  24 FALL OF THE FIERY ANGEL

  25 THE BUTCHERS’ SYMPHONY

  26 INTO THE BREACH

  27 IN THE CLOUDS

  28 A BAD GUY IN THE BUNKER

  29 AMONG BONES

  30 NOBODY COMES HERE, NOBODY LEAVES

  31 UNDERGROUND SHOWDOWN

  32 IN THE EVENT OF AN EMERGENCY

  33 THE RESURRECTION TRICK

  34 SIEGE UNDER THE CITY

  35 DESTRUCTION TO DISTRACTION

  36 FADE TO BLACK

  37 END OF THE LINE?

  1 Where in the world?

  2 We’re not here for your porridge

  3 The craziest thing I ever heard

  4 Break-out from Bear Mountain

  5 Early birds

  6 A little monkey business

  7 Voodoo Ash

  8 Is this going to be messy?

  9 A moment of clarity

  10 Of butchers and beasts

  11 A sacrifice for the city

  12 Seven into one

  13 Wheel of fortune

  14 The lunch hour is over

  15 Food for the soul

  16 Stand behind the yellow line

  17 No heroics, big boy

  18 Are you in charge?

  19 Hidden treasures

  20 Let Mae Lin be your guide

  21 One of our mummies is missing

  22 In case of emergency, make magic

  23 Call of the caged brute

  24 Hip deep in trouble

  25 Into the back of beyond

  26 Who’s that knocking?

  27 Old friends, new tricks

  28 Light at the end of the tunnel

  29 Show me the waypoints

  30 Freedom of the city

  31 I must be on my way

  32 Closer to God

  This book is dedicated to Grace

  1

  WHAT A WORLD!

  Let’s drop through winter clouds one night in the Year of the Snake, until London takes shape on the ground. From here, it’s just a million points of light like the stars above. The River Thames divides the city. She may look like a glistening black serpent, but appearances can be deceptive at this hour. Pleasure cruisers are moored along the banks, while tourists from every country on this earth are tucked up in hotels for miles both north and south.

  Sail in closer and the streets emerge, with terraced rows and high-rise blocks providing order to the tangle. Monuments and landmarks are bathed in floodlight – from Buckingham Palace to Nelson’s Column – and form a pattern of their own. The London Eye may not turn until day cracks over the eastern skyline, but the big wheel makes the British capital look like an urban fairground.

  Here, in these upper reaches, the chill is enough to freeze the blood. So, despite the attractions and distractions, it’s time to plunge on towards a quarter at the heart of this metropolis. Within it lies a warren of side streets marked out from the rest by strings of paper lanterns and blinking neon dragons. A low fog may have crept out from the river, but swoop in quickly and we’ll catch up with a small boy, careering over the cobblestones.

  For this is London’s Chinatown, and the kid is running for his life.

  His name is Yoshi. He’s thirteen years old, oriental on one side or the other, and soon that’s about all he’ll be able to say about himself. This boy may have a bright future ahead of him, but his past is set to become a mystery.

  Behind him, an unseen force is closing in swiftly. Yoshi sprints through the deserted market now, upturning pushcarts and poultry cages. Must. Get. Away. He urges himself between breaths. Can’t. Go. Back. He dares to glance over his shoulder. There’s nothing to see but a soupy fog, which quickly begins to stir and draw in on itself. The boy doesn’t need to hang around to know what’s about to push through it. He snaps his attention ahead once more, only to barrel right into a stack of empty packing boxes . . . Ooomph! The stack collapses around him, but he’s up on his feet and into a side alley before the last box hits the ground.

  Now what’s this? His first impression is of a cut-throat kind of cut-through, but at least from here Yoshi can catch his breath and let his eyes adjust. He presses against one wall, head up high as he gulps the air. Seconds later, a shadow stretches across the street he’s just left behind. Struggling not to squeak, Yoshi turns to make his escape – and finds himself face to face with a very dead end.

  On one side he makes out a laundry, shuttered for the night, and further up a backroom kitchen with bins outside too full for Yoshi to climb into and hide. The door to the kitchen is ajar, however. The boy creeps towards it, on tiptoes now. Hot steam billows through the gap, with a light shining brightly inside. There’s a chef at work in there
, but the chop knife in his hand persuades our boy not to trespass in a bid to save his own skin. Instead, he creeps on by with his breath well bated. There’s nothing beyond but darkness, but at least he can be sure that he’s hidden from sight. Until, that is, Yoshi takes one step too far into the gloom, and causes several pigeons to flock into the air.

  “There you are, child!”

  With his heart in his throat, Yoshi spins to see a figure take shape at the mouth of the alley: a bull of a man in a long white mink coat. Beneath his furrowed brow both eyes are tight on the boy. His nostrils flare, and he takes a slow step forward. Yoshi backs away. A cry dies in his throat as he connects with the far wall, only to gasp when his heel finds a drop just in front. Crouching among weeds now, he uncovers a grille of some sort: old iron bars buckled apart at the centre. If he breathes in deeply, he thinks to himself, the gap might just be wide enough for someone his size to squeeze through. Lowering himself out of sight, the boy hears the man’s idle chuckling turn into a mystified growl, followed by thunderous footfalls.

  The space he’s in down here feels no bigger than a coffin, and that’s precisely what the poor boy believes it’ll become when two baleful eyes appear above the bars.

  “Show yourself, little worm! Let’s make this easy for us both.”

  “Get away from me!” In desperation Yoshi wriggles from a meaty paw. The litter that has gathered down here is damp and stinky, but the boy is prepared to bury himself in it to avoid being hauled out. “Do you hear me?” he cries out again. “You can go to hell!”

  “Come and finish the programme like a good boy!” this fearsome figure bellows. “Let’s make this easy for us both.”

  “I’d sooner die than go back again!”

  Yoshi twists and turns until his pursuer quits trying to grab him. Glancing up, the boy catches sight of him reaching inside his mink instead.

  “So be it,” the brute sighs, sounding genuinely sorry up there. “If I can’t put the squeeze on you then maybe this can . . .” What he draws from his pocket strikes terror into the boy: a snake, tail-first, and a long one, too. Hand over hand he uncoils this scaly rope, until a diamond-shaped head clears his coat with a hiss, and a forked tongue flicks towards the boy. “It’s a vintage year for you, my pretty. And Yoshi here would like to help you celebrate it!”

  Panic-stricken, the boy tucks tightly into his pit. At the same time, he senses that the floor feels unsteady. It’s a sheet of corrugated iron, he realises, which is sagging with his weight where it meets the wall. Yoshi barely has time to take in the points of light breaking out as the sheet dips further still. What he can’t ignore is the sight of the snake coiling around the bars, slowly invading his hiding space. It hisses again, so close to his face now that it might be whispering to him. All Yoshi can do is shut his eyes, praying that the embrace he can expect from it will finish him off quickly.

  “You have a key to this city,” the man growls. “If I cannot unlock what is mine, then you must take it to your grave.”

  “No!”

  “Hey, mister!” Another voice cuts in, causing the man in the mink to stand tall and spin around. He still has the snake in his grip, however, and its eyes seem to pop out on stalks at this sudden exit from the pit.

  “The restaurant is closed. What’s your business outside my kitchen?”

  The chef! thinks Yoshi, but there’s nothing left in his lungs to cry out for help. He sees his pursuer slip him a murderous glance, and then turn to explain himself:

  “I’m catching rats,” he offers. “Slippery ones.”

  “With a snake?” says the chef, suspiciously.

  “It’s a new form of fishing,” the brute replies, sounding less sure of himself now. “You just cast your snake into the drains and wait for a bite, so to speak. You should try it,” he suggests, with yet another glance at the boy watching through the bars. “In fact, you should’ve seen the one that got away just now.”

  The chef considers his story silently for a beat, clearly not buying a word of it. “Mister,” he says finally, “any rats around here get their tails chopped off by me. The same applies to snakes if I find them lurking outside my kitchen, and that means human snakes, too, if you get my drift. Now scram, before I call out the boys from my backroom. They don’t like to be disturbed from their card games, especially by sneak thieves.”

  “I’m not here to rob you! This is urban angling.”

  “Sure it is. Now, I’m going to count to three, mister. What’s it to be?”

  The man in the mink considers things for a moment, and then sighs heavily. From the pit, Yoshi sees him drape the snake around his neck, and then loop it like a scarf to keep out the cold. “Maybe I’ll wait on the street,” he grumbles, before making his reluctant retreat. “My rat’s going to have to make a break for it some time.”

  “You do that,” the chef agrees, sounding more relaxed now. “And tell your robber friends that anyone caught around here after dark is likely to lose fingers!”

  Yoshi doesn’t breathe out until he’s sure that his pursuer has left the alley. He draws the air in deeply, and then promptly holds it in his lungs when the chef appears above the buckled vent again. Yoshi can’t understand a word he’s muttering to himself, but the chop knife in his hand gives out an unmistakeable message. His apron is spattered with blood, as is the blade that he swipes through the shadows now. If this crazed-looking cook is hoping to connect with cornered vermin, he comes close to a big surprise. Finally, with what sounds to the boy like a curse, he gives up and returns to his kitchen.

  It’s over, thinks Yoshi to himself, still shaken to the core by what he’s just been through. The man in the mink might be lurking at the alley mouth, but the boy knows he has the time and space now to find a way over the wall and up onto the safety of the rooftops. He reaches up to climb out of the pit, not knowing whether to whoop or weep at his lucky escape. Popping his head through the bars, he’s delighted to find the coast is clear. He savours the cold night air, his first taste of freedom . . . and promptly takes it down into the depths as the pit floor drops away.

  2

  WELCOME, YOSHI

  Am I in the underworld? This is Yoshi’s first thought when he comes to his senses. If he is, then it stinks to high heaven and has cooked him up an infernal headache. He wiggles his toes and fingers, slowly reconnecting with himself, and then braves opening his eyes. His vision swims. The light in here is an eerie red, but the roof through which he fell looks quite solid. A line of hinges suggests it might be some kind of trap door, like the sort of device employed by a stage magician to make an audience member vanish. The only thing missing is a mattress to cushion the fall. Instead, Yoshi’s sprawled on top of bin bags reeking of rotten fish. Without them, he would’ve broken bones. Then again, a hard landing might have kept him out for the count a little longer. Given the dreadful stench, it almost seems preferable. Even smelling salts wouldn’t have roused him this quickly, which might explain why he feels so fragile.

  Wincing now, Yoshi lifts himself onto his elbows. He touches his head, just to check it isn’t cracked like an eggshell, and looks around feeling dazed and very confused. Three walls are made from brick and crumbling mortar, but the one behind him is solid steel. In the centre is a hatch with a flywheel. Above it, on a bracket, he spies a closed-circuit camera with a light on top. The camera, poised like some river bird stalking its prey, is aimed directly at him. Slowly, Yoshi clambers to his feet. The camera lifts a notch accordingly. Testing it now, the boy steps to one side, and again the camera keeps him in the frame.

  Yoshi pulls a face, daring the lens to do likewise. The camera simply swivels, as if taken aback by his behaviour, and then the red light on top turns to amber. Next, a rumbling sound builds behind the steel wall. Yoshi backs into the brickwork behind him, wishing his head would stop hammering so he can think clearly.

  The noise grows louder still, then halts abruptly with a thump. With nowhere to run or hide, all Yoshi can do is watch
as the flywheel begins to turn. The light switches to green, causing him to catch his breath. And, with a squeak from the poor boy as well as from the hinges, the hatch pops open.

  “Ahoy!” comes a voice from inside, sounding polished and noble like an old-school swashbuckler. The light from within is so strong that Yoshi is forced to shield his eyes. Next a silhouette forms out of the glare, dipping through the hatch to join him in the cellar. Under the green bulb, it’s clear that this apparition is human and no older than Yoshi. If his entrance had startled Yoshi then his outfit leaves him speechless. The breeches and bandanna certainly make the boy look like some kind of pirate. The roller blades, however, suggest something altogether more theatrical.

  “The name’s Billy,” he says, looking down his nose at Yoshi. “Billy No-Beard, on account of the fact that I can’t grow one yet. I keep trying,” he points out, and strokes his top lip, “but savages like you think it’s clever to call me Billy Bum-Fluff.”

  “I see,” says Yoshi, and rubs his eyes just to check he isn’t still out for the count. “I’ll call you whatever you like if you can tell me what I’m doing here.”

  “I recommend a rest,” says Billy next. “I’ve just watched you flee across half of London.”

  “You have?” Yoshi frowns, unsure what to make of all this. He can dimly recall racing through the night, and some drama in an alley, but anything before that is lost in the mist of his mind. Nervously, he runs a palm over his head. There’s a bump back there so big it could slow traffic.

  “You’re pretty nimble for a landlubber, but you could’ve given that big oaf the slip much earlier. Whenever you’re in a tight spot, it’s always worth looking down to find a way out. What did he want with you, anyway?”

  Yoshi opens his mouth to explain everything, and then freezes. He looks mystified, at himself mostly. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I can’t remember.”

  “So what’s your name?”

  Again, the boy pauses, searching his memory for something. Anything. “I . . . I forget.”

  “What’s with the dog tags?” Billy rolls forward, and draws his visitor’s attention to the chain around his neck. Inspecting the nickel plates, Billy pinches them both between his fingers as if estimating their value. “Says here you’re Yoshi. Yoshi 5.”