Of course, it was more of a squeeze than I’d thought, but I soon found myself on the top rung of a ladder with a deep darkness rising from below. I took a couple of breaths and got settled, not knowing what awaited me at the end of my climb down toward a rumble of indistinct voices and activity. After about five minutes of descent, I could make out the cold stone surface that the ladder was attached to and sensed that I was close to the sounds that were echoing upwards. As I peered past my feet, the darkness seemed to be changing shape. Swirls of light moved like cream floating on a cup of coffee. The blackness gave way to shades of grey, and buildings emerged from the stones below. I fought off nausea as the stench of the sewer rose to meet me. I stopped for a breath and leaned back as far as I dared, looking over one shoulder then the other. The rumble was the sound of human activity.
What lay below me was the underground city that Jerome had spoken of. I realized I was climbing down a wall between two buildings that looked out onto a sort of street. I say “sort of” because it wound snake-like with passages shooting off in odd directions. The light was the same harsh metallic blue that I’d seen in the workshop on my last trip underground, and it began to illuminate the world below. What at first resembled wisps of smoke became people passing each other. Long, thin vehicles like tiny Métro trains without tracks rumbled and rolled by. Piles of rubble were scattered around, and drilling was going on in a couple of places I couldn’t see. Buildings had been carved roughly out of the stones, and the light that slipped through the cracks suggested a cave dwelling type of existence. Who would live here? What went on in a place like this? Did they eat mushrooms for breakfast? I’d soon find out.
As I touched down, I was grateful that my climb was over. I’m not afraid of heights, but you can only spend so much time suspended above the ground without some unease. The sense of relief passed quickly as I realized I had no plan, no clue where I was, and no one to help me figure it out. In a place of permanent midnight, you can’t wait for dark, so I took a deep breath and moved slowly toward the street. Strange people passed each other without speaking or even noticing each other’s existence, but I’d seen that above ground, so it didn’t seem so odd.
A clattering sound of wheels on stone warned me of an approaching mini Métro train, and I ducked behind a convenient pile of smashed-up rocks to watch it go by. The windows were tinted to make visibility impossible. A band of light where you might expect a bumper seemed to guide it down the stony street. Exploring as best I could without being noticed, I looked in slits of windows to observe the workings of this weird place. I was starting to get oriented and found I could fairly easily slip from one hiding place to another. I had no idea what anyone would do if they saw me, but I didn’t want to chance it. Certain passages were quieter and had odd-shaped doors with numbers that suggested homes to me. The streets the trains went through were a little wider, noisier, and there was more activity inside and out of the buildings. Curious as I was to see a Shadow shop, it wasn’t the time or place for souvenir hunting. A siren sounded and a horn blasted repeatedly until a mechanical voice came over a loudspeaker.
“Three point five slide in P 27. Crews blue four and five to P 27. All others avoid area.”
Within seconds, two groups of helmeted Shadows with shovels, picks, metal wagons, and dull blue flashlights zoomed past and out of sight. My heart resumed beating. I was tucked in a doorway waiting for the commotion to end when two figures approached, one looking very familiar. Beside a standard issue Shadow shape was a beefy hunk of human with more meat on him than a six-pack of Shadows. Blag! What was he doing here? I caught a snatch of conversation as they passed within inches of me.
“... how do you live like this? Everything falling down around you. Man, I’m no neat freak, but the stench down here could peel paint. What, no cleanser, smokey?”
I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked to see Blag with one of the Shadows, but it still took me by surprise. I’d kind of felt a bit sorry for him the other night when he’d picked me up and taken me back to CAFTA. Now I felt disgust, or worse. A chillingly familiar voice answered him.
“It wasn’t always like this, big boy, but it’s getting worse. Four or five slides a day, some bad. Last week a whole passage was blocked and abandoned. But Louche has a plan. Fear not, squarehead.”
It was the voice of Scar, the bony-handed Shadow from the club. They turned a corner and I followed, slipping in and out of doorways and spaces between buildings. The streets got quieter and the passages narrower, and they walked in single file until reaching a polished metal door recessed in a rock face that could easily have gone unnoticed. They stopped, and while Blag looked around and kicked at some loose stones on the path, Scar hissed the words “Black Mamba” into the door, and it slid open to admit them. For one terrifying moment I thought Blag looked right at me as I leaned out a little to see what they were doing, but then he turned away and passed through the doorway.
I seemed to be alone. The sounds of activity were in the distance, and even the ever-present sewer reek had faded a bit. I approached the shiny steel entrance to who-knew-where and stared at it. Sealed air-tight like a bank vault, it was perfectly smooth, with no doorknob or window to mar its gleaming surface. There was a small button on one side mounted with a speaker in the rock, and I knew what I had to do. I pushed it, and when a red light went on, I forced my voice as low as possible and barely whispered “Black Mamba.” The door slid open silently, and I stepped inside, grinning.
What I saw couldn’t have been more different from the stinking underground city just beyond the entrance. All was smooth and metallic instead of rough and rocky. Was that a faint odour of mint? It could have been ether; there was a somewhat chilly, hospital-like feeling to the place. I could see what looked like a satanic supermodel working at a computer in a waiting area. She was dressed in designer black leather and stiletto heels that looked like they could be used for acupuncture. Her hair was pulled straight back from her carved features, and her eyebrows resembled French accent marks. While she concentrated on her screen, I slipped past as quickly as possible, blocked from her sight by a huge vase of black roses. The sleek hallway was covered with black-and-white photos of every possible phase of the moon. Deep carpeting added to the funereal hush of the place. Expensive, tasteful, and slightly terrifying was the mood du jour. Passing offices with the doors shut and the throbbing glow of computer screens inside, I wandered for some time without seeing anyone until I turned a corner and almost walked into a pack of Shadows, all lighting up together. They sucked up the smoke like nutrition, and when they exhaled, it was a wonder they could see each other, never mind spot me.
“Okay, it’s time,” muttered one, and they all seeped into the nearest set of doors.
I followed at a distance down a stark blue-lit hallway as they joined others gathering in what looked like a science fiction laboratory, a room full of gleaming tubes, keyboards, and screens displaying charts and strange symbols. Dominating it all was a huge fish tank–like structure holding what appeared to be floating, spinning, sparkling drops of water, dancing like fireflies in the glassed-in space. A chubby scientist type, who looked like a Shadow in reverse with jet black rock star hair and a silver flowing lab coat, paced, hovered, and made adjustments as the group settled around a table. While the smoke and reek of this lot was disgusting enough, it made it easier to remain unnoticed in the hall. It was no surprise to me when the master of nasty ceremonies eased in through a side door and shook hands with the rock ’n’ roll doctor. The general coughing and clearing of raspy throats subsided as Fiat took command of the room.
“Mes amis, sons of the darkness ... ouiiiii ... yessss. The hour approaches when Paris will belong to the Shadows once more. When we will never again have to crawl back into the cracks, ashamed of what we are.”
I noticed he said “what,” not “who.” Low coughing sounds of agreement rumbled through the room. He went on, “As the lights of the city have dimmed, so too will the hearts of all who cannot embrace the darkness. As you know, our plan calls for ‘lights out’ during the Bastille Day fireworks, when the city will have other preoccupations, but that is just the beginning. I would like to introduce you to a friend of the underground, the brilliant Dr. Etienne Brouillard.”
More mucousy coughing and laughter like the hissing of leaking pipes greeted this announcement. The doctor, looking a bit sweaty and trying to appear dignified after this introduction, had the lights dimmed for his moment of glory and belched into his hand. I felt like I should be passing a “teacher is a pig” note to Penelope at this point.
“What you see in this tank,” he gestured to the glowing, floating specks behind him, “are clouds. Very small, almost invisible, but clouds indeed. And very smart clouds, because they have been individually charged to be self-sustaining once released. They devour dark matter — cigarette smoke, automobile pollution, industrial fumes, political conversation....” at this point, he allowed himself a swinish smile, “and they grow and hover over the city, keeping it in a never-ending midnight.”
The doctor looked very self-satisfied as bits of spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. He began speaking more rapidly. “We have seen how they have slowly darkened the city in recent weeks. At a signal from Monsieur Fiat, millions of them will be released through the sewer grates all over Paris.” He snorted audibly at this point, and his voice grew louder and higher pitched. “The clouds will cast a shadow over the city, a beautiful shadow that will never pass, one that ...”
Fiat signalled to turn the lights up, cutting off the foaming doctor and starting a brief burst of applause from the Shadows, who seemed more than a little confused by this demonstration. “Merci, Monsieur le Docteur, merccci. Yesss, but before that happens, there is one symbolic act that will cast the heart of Paris into sweet despair. The giant crane you have been working on so hard is finished, my friends, and tonight it will be wheeled into position beside the Seine in the Square Jean XXIII, where it will appear ready to go to work like so many others the next morning — fixing, building, repairing ... but it has a different destiny, does it not?”
Here he paused dramatically as the Shadows nodded and grinned their snaky smiles, knowing, no doubt, what was coming next. “And as it readies to pluck the spire of Notre Dame like a spiky blossom from the cathedral, I will personally inaugurate the launching of the great darkness ... with this.”
He held up what appeared to be an expensive, oversized bottle of champagne filled with black liquid. “Good enough to destroy the golden shine of the dome of Les Invalides, good enough for the rose window of Notre Dame, non, mes amis?”
As he called out a final “All right, let’s go ... much to do,” over the swell of approving sounds in the room, the meeting broke up into little groups that began to disperse. I slipped into a closet to hide until all was silent. I couldn’t resist taking a closer look at the cloud tank as I passed quietly out of the room. The sounds of Dr. Brouillard chewing and grunting from an adjoining room covered my departure nicely. Up close, the tiny clouds looked like pinpoints of liquid light, glowing from within, all whizzing around the tank like they were dying to escape and do their worst. At least that’s how I imagined it. Back in the hallway, I took a long breath and figured it was time to get out while I could. I had more than I needed to go to the police with. How to get out of here?
At that instant, heavy footsteps pounded down the hall toward me. I jumped back into the lab just in time to watch Blag crashing down the hall with a ferocious scowl on his face, no doubt sent on some nasty mission by Luc Fiat. After a bit of time had passed, it was quiet once more, and I thought I’d head in Blag’s direction. Instead of exiting, though, I found myself in a circular space with twin elevators painted to resemble the Arc de Triomphe at night with hallways fanning off like the boulevards at L’Etoile. Clever, but bizarre. Cool blue light oozed from above, and looking up, I saw one large room or office encircling the area with partially opaque glass. A strange scene was being acted out on this circular stage. Two identical figures gestured at each other in silhouette like a mirror with a delayed reflection. One would step forward, raising his arms and dramatically dropping them to his sides, then the other would respond with almost the same moves in reverse.
I watched, fascinated and intensely curious, until I saw one of the figures lift something large and pointed over his head and swing it wildly at the other. He must have missed his target, because the glass above me suddenly shattered with a huge crash, and jagged pieces flew into the air. I dove into the nearest hallway and watched while a vast panel of window opened to reveal Fiat, trembling and holding a shining golden cross at his side.
He spat out his words at the figure across the room. “I should’ve known when you told me to “Lighten up, Louche” that your ridiculous campaign was no cover-up at all. When we were children, you always put the sun in your pictures, didn’t you? And you were terrified of Papa’s shadow buzzards while I loved them. And don’t think I didn’t know about your secret weekend tennis and volleyball; that make-up didn’t hide your tan, you little lizard.”
I couldn’t hear the reply from the other side of the room, but I was furiously trying to figure out what all this could mean. The menacing voice lowered to its usual serpentine hiss. “Go ahead. You’ve served your purpose well, confusing people who can’t tell us apart, but now I don’t need you. It’s too late to stop me anyway, and you, of all people know it. Soon enough the Shadows will emerge from the underground, and I’ll be the king of midnight, rolling through the blackened streets of Paris in a limousine as long as a city block with a golden cross for a hood ornament.”
He stood glaring as he tossed the shiny weapon to one side. At this moment the elevator door opened, and out strode ... Luc Fiat!
In a rush it all became clear to me as he swept down one of the corridors looking like he was in a trance. In the office above, Louche, his twin brother I now realized, picked up his phone. “Phlegm?” He sounded completely calm. “My brother just left my office. Unfortunately, he’ll need to be detained until after the celebrations. Make him comfortable in suite zero, s’il vous plait.”
As I craned my head up to hear what Louche was saying, at that moment he decided to inspect the damage to his office window and looked right down into my eyes. A twisted smile came over his face.
“Ahhh, ma petite. Bienvenue. How perfect. Welcome to the underworld.”
I was frozen in place and helplessly watched him pick up his phone again without taking his eyes off of me. “Scar. We have an intruder in the Shadowcorps offices. A little puff of nothing. Ouiiii, good idea. Bring the gargoyles.”
He hung up, and a smile like the gleaming blade of a knife hung in the air until I ran and ran.