The GoldenCity

“Good. Because when a Harlequin says ‘you have obligation,’ that does not mean that there’s a choice. I’m not wishing for your help. I’m not hoping for some benevolent impulse. I’m expecting your help now.”

“Right. No problem. Glad to be helpful.” Jugger was sweating. “But it’s going to be difficult to get into the building with a weapon. After you pass through the door, there’s an L-shaped hallway that leads to the security desk. I’m sure they do a backscatter scan of all their visitors.”

“If we can’t go in the front door, then we’ll have to break in from the top, the bottom or the sides.”

“The walls are too thick,” Simon said. “And we would have to gain access to a nearby building.”

“What about a hot air balloon?” Jugger seemed desperate to offer a solution. “You could float across the Thames and land on the roof.”

“Underground?” Maya asked Simon.

“Possibly. This is an old city-like Rome.”

“Hold it! Wait! I know what you need!” Jugger said. “You need an incredible disguise.”

“A few months ago, this old lady was at the Hope Pub,” Roland said with a solemn voice.

Jugger looked annoyed. “We don’t want to hear about some old lady. We’re trying to solve a problem here.”

“She was handing out pamphlets-about freeing the rivers.”

“What rivers are you talking about?” Simon asked gently.

“The lost rivers. The ones that flow under the streets.”

“So where are they?” Maya asked. “Any underneath Ludgate Circus?”

Roland shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t tell you that. And I won’t say something that’s not true.”

“We called her Crazy Nora,” Jugger said. “She had maps…”

***

A quick Internet search gave them an address in Finchley, and a few hours later Maya and Simon were walking past the cricket grounds on Waterfall Road. There appeared to be a great many parks and playing fields in Finchley. Jamaican nannies with phone headsets pushed baby carriages while schoolboys kicked a ball. But the largest space in the neighborhood was taken up by the weeping angels and mausoleums of the Great Northern Cemetery. Maya had a vision of thousands of dead Victorians traveling on a ghost train to this final resting place.

Simon turned the corner on to Brookdale Street and stopped under a flowering cherry tree. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Just a little tired. That’s all.”

“You were harsh with Jugger and Roland. Usually, it is better to be gentle with your friends-delicato. The Free Runners want to be helpful, but they are frightened.”

“I don’t have the time to be diplomatic.”

“Anger can also waste time,” Simon said. “You have always been like your father, careful and deliberate. But lately-not so much.”

“I’m worried about Alice Chen. She’s the same age I was when a lot of bad things happened.”

“Would you like to talk about that?”

“No.”

“Is there anything else you would like to talk about? I’m sure it troubles you that Gabriel has crossed over…”

For a moment, she wanted to break down, embrace her father’s old friend, and tell him about the pregnancy. No tears, she told herself. Tears won’t save Alice or Gabriel or anyone else in this world. As Simon watched, she rearranged her sword carrier and stood a little straighter.

“I’m alright. Let’s find this woman and see if she has any underground maps.”

They continued down the street until they reached number fifty one-a two-story brick house that had once displayed grand pretensions. Greek columns created a portico leading to the front door and a Doric façade ran around the edge of the roof. Signs had been placed among the weeds and brambles of what had once been a front lawn. FREE THE RIVERS. Inquire Within.

Maya and Simon walked up a flagstone pathway and knocked on the door. Almost immediately they heard a woman’s voice coming from a distant part of the house. “I’m here!” The woman kept shouting as she passed through different rooms. “Here! I’m here!”

Maya glanced at Simon and saw that he was smiling. “Someone dwells within,” he said pleasantly.

The door was flung open and they faced a small woman in her seventies. Her long gray hair went off in every direction, and she wore a T-shirt that displayed the slogan: Break Your Chains.

“Good afternoon, madam. I am Dr. Pannelli, and this is my friend, Judith Strand. We were walking to the park and saw your signs. Ms. Strand is curious about your organization. If you are not busy, perhaps you could tell us a bit more.”

“No!” the woman said with a big smile. “Not busy. Not busy at all. Come in, Mister… I didn’t hear the name.”

“Dr. Pannelli. And this is my friend, Ms. Strand.”

They followed the woman into what had once been the front parlor. All the chairs and tables were covered with stacks of pamphlets, books and yellowing newspapers. There were plastic pails filled with smooth river stones and glass jars sealed with red wax and marked with cryptic labels.