Spawn said in a tone as dead as the air in a mausoleum.
âI was already on my way.â Soames fumbled with his keys to hide his discomfiture and only faced the Spawn when heâd locked the door. âI donât see why I need a custodian.â
âCome with me,â it repeated. Soames didnât want to give it a chance to speak again in that dusty voice. He set off down the corridor.
Soames endured the journey to Greenwich with as much stoicism as he could summon. People on the Underground looked at him with unseemly directness. They were unwilling to look at his travelling companion, who sat far too close, and far too still, so he bore the brunt of their unease. At the pier, the steamer captain cast off as soon as they were aboard, flinching at the sight of the Spawn and shouting at his crew in compensation for his fright.
Soames had often wondered, with the curiosity that was deeply embedded in the perpetually greedy, about the Immortalsâ choice in locating their lair. Several hundred feet beneath the Royal Observatory didnât strike him as the most desirable address. With their riches â which Soames knew to be immense â they could afford a mansion in Mayfair, or a whole hotel in Kensington, so he assumed that their subterranean Greenwich location must have some other allure. Perhaps it had something to do with it being directly beneath the Prime Meridian, zero degrees longitude, the place from which all locations across the earth were measured, but heâd heard stories that the Immortals had been there before the building of the Royal Observatory and well before the fixing of the meridian.
When they reached Greenwich, the Spawn led the way. Its mere presence in the park made the few people about on the wet Friday morning scurry off and find something more interesting to look at. Much to Soamesâs irritation, the Spawn abandoned the path. Soamesâs shoes were soon soaking from the wet grass as they approached the dumpy brick Conduit House. Not one of Hawksmoorâs more inspired creations, Soames thought, but then again, perhaps the architectâs heart hadnât been in it. Designing a building just to hide the pipes and outlets leading into an underground reservoir? He probably gave the task to an apprentice as punishment.
Behind the Conduit House, the Spawn stood still, facing up the hill. Soames waited patiently. Even if it didnât appear to be taking in its surroundings, the Spawn was either waiting for a signal conveyed in some arcane manner, or simply waiting until it was sure they were unobserved. When it moved, without warning, Soames was ready. The lock on the Conduit House was easily bypassed and they were inside within seconds. The Spawn then found the iron manhole cover and lifted it with immensely strong fingers.
Soames went first, climbing down the ladder and flinching at the boom as the Spawn reseated the manhole cover and then came down after him. It was only a few yards to the underground reservoir and the Spawn stopped there for its lantern. The match it struck revealed the two-hundred-year-old space to be in reasonable shape. The brickwork had allowed some stubborn roots to gain access, but, with its gently arched roof and supporting columns, it was still remarkable.
The Spawn slogged through a slurry of mud and water in the bottom of the reservoir, but Soames kept to the relatively dry edges. In the fifth of the eight chambers, each separated by a decorative brick arch, the Spawn dragged itself out of the muck and stood in front of a blank wall. Then it reached up and hammered on a brick well above the height Soames could reach.
A rectangular section of the wall swung in and they were on their way to the Hall of the Immortals.
Donât slouch, Jabez, he told himself, hold your head up high and look them in the eye. After all, theyâre lucky to have you.
Soames couldnât help but be impressed. He knew that part of the
âI was already on my way.â Soames fumbled with his keys to hide his discomfiture and only faced the Spawn when heâd locked the door. âI donât see why I need a custodian.â
âCome with me,â it repeated. Soames didnât want to give it a chance to speak again in that dusty voice. He set off down the corridor.
Soames endured the journey to Greenwich with as much stoicism as he could summon. People on the Underground looked at him with unseemly directness. They were unwilling to look at his travelling companion, who sat far too close, and far too still, so he bore the brunt of their unease. At the pier, the steamer captain cast off as soon as they were aboard, flinching at the sight of the Spawn and shouting at his crew in compensation for his fright.
Soames had often wondered, with the curiosity that was deeply embedded in the perpetually greedy, about the Immortalsâ choice in locating their lair. Several hundred feet beneath the Royal Observatory didnât strike him as the most desirable address. With their riches â which Soames knew to be immense â they could afford a mansion in Mayfair, or a whole hotel in Kensington, so he assumed that their subterranean Greenwich location must have some other allure. Perhaps it had something to do with it being directly beneath the Prime Meridian, zero degrees longitude, the place from which all locations across the earth were measured, but heâd heard stories that the Immortals had been there before the building of the Royal Observatory and well before the fixing of the meridian.
When they reached Greenwich, the Spawn led the way. Its mere presence in the park made the few people about on the wet Friday morning scurry off and find something more interesting to look at. Much to Soamesâs irritation, the Spawn abandoned the path. Soamesâs shoes were soon soaking from the wet grass as they approached the dumpy brick Conduit House. Not one of Hawksmoorâs more inspired creations, Soames thought, but then again, perhaps the architectâs heart hadnât been in it. Designing a building just to hide the pipes and outlets leading into an underground reservoir? He probably gave the task to an apprentice as punishment.
Behind the Conduit House, the Spawn stood still, facing up the hill. Soames waited patiently. Even if it didnât appear to be taking in its surroundings, the Spawn was either waiting for a signal conveyed in some arcane manner, or simply waiting until it was sure they were unobserved. When it moved, without warning, Soames was ready. The lock on the Conduit House was easily bypassed and they were inside within seconds. The Spawn then found the iron manhole cover and lifted it with immensely strong fingers.
Soames went first, climbing down the ladder and flinching at the boom as the Spawn reseated the manhole cover and then came down after him. It was only a few yards to the underground reservoir and the Spawn stopped there for its lantern. The match it struck revealed the two-hundred-year-old space to be in reasonable shape. The brickwork had allowed some stubborn roots to gain access, but, with its gently arched roof and supporting columns, it was still remarkable.
The Spawn slogged through a slurry of mud and water in the bottom of the reservoir, but Soames kept to the relatively dry edges. In the fifth of the eight chambers, each separated by a decorative brick arch, the Spawn dragged itself out of the muck and stood in front of a blank wall. Then it reached up and hammered on a brick well above the height Soames could reach.
A rectangular section of the wall swung in and they were on their way to the Hall of the Immortals.
Donât slouch, Jabez, he told himself, hold your head up high and look them in the eye. After all, theyâre lucky to have you.
Soames couldnât help but be impressed. He knew that part of the
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