Tunnels 02, Deeper

clarity passed and, in the abounding silence, she drifted into a dead slumber.

     

19

    The first rays of the sun tipped over the horizon, suffusing a narrow strip of sky with a dawn palette of reds and oranges. Within minutes, its nascent light was stretching low across the rooftops, pushing back the night and marking the start of a new day.
    Below in Trafalgar Square, a trio of black cabs jostled away from traffic lights as a lone cyclist weaved recklessly between them. Beyond the far corner of the square, a convoy of red double-deckers came into sight, pulling up at the bus stops. But very few passengers could be seen getting on or off at the time in the morning. The rush hour was yet to come.
    "The early bird catches the worm," Rebecca laughed mirthlessly, scanning the sidewalks below as she picked out the odd pedestrian walking there.
    "I think not of them as worms; they are worse than senseless things," the old Styx proclaimed, contemplating the scene with his glittering eyes, which were every bit as alert as Rebecca's.
    In the growing light, his face was so pale and unyielding it could have been carved from a block of ancient ivory. And with his ankle-length leather overcoat and his hands clasped behind his back, he resembled a conquering general as he stood by Rebecca on the very edge of the roof of Admiralty Arch. Both of them showed not the slightest fear at the sheer drop immediately before them.
    "There are those who would oppose us and the measures we are to take," the old Styx said, still regarding the square. "You have begun to cleanse the Deeps of renegades, but it does not end there. There are reactionary factions both here on the surface and in the Colony, in the Rookeries, of whom we have been far too tolerant for far too long. You have brought your late father's plans forward and, now when they are so finely poised, we cannot allow a fly in the ointment."
    "Agreed," Rebecca said, giving no clue that the decision had been taken there and then to kill several thousand people.
    The old Styx closed his eyes, not because the gathering Topsoil light bothered him, but because he had been struck by a thought that was tiresome.
    "That Burrows child..."
    Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but held her tongue as the old Styx continued.
    "You and your sister did well to pull in the Jerome woman and neutralize her. Your father was not one for unfinished business, either. Both of you have his instinct," the old Styx said, so softly that it could have been construed as affection.
    His tone resumed its usual hardness. "That being as it is, we have scotched the snake, not killed it. Will Burrows is contained for the moment, but he may yet become a false idol, a figurehead, for our enemies. They might seek to use him in their opposition of us and the measures we intend to take. He cannot be allowed to continue to roam unchecked in the Interior. He must be flushed out and stopped." Only then did the old Styx swivel his head slowly toward Rebecca, who continued to gaze down on the scene below. "And the boy might yet piece together what we're doing and sideline our plans. This is to be avoided... at all costs," he stressed.
    "It will be dealt with," Rebecca assured him with unerring conviction.
    "Make sure of it," the old Styx said and released his hands from behind his back, swinging them in front of him and clapping them together.
    Rebecca took her cue from his gesture. "Yes," she said, "we should get under way." Her long black coat billowed open in the breeze as she half turned to the troop of Styx waiting quietly behind her.
    "Let me see one," she ordered as she left the roof edge and strode imperiously toward the rank of shadowy men. There were perhaps as many as fifty of them in a perfectly straight line, and from this a single Styx snapped obediently to life, breaking from the formation. He kneeled down to slip his gloved hand under the lid of one of a pair of large wicker baskets that he and every one of the Styx on the rooftop had by their feet. From the basket came the soft sounds of cooing. He plucked out a pure white dove and closed the lid again. As he passed the dove to Rebecca, it tried to flap its wings, but she took it firmly in both hands.
    She held the bird on its side to inspect its legs. There was something around both of them, as if the bird had been ringed, but these were more than mere metal bands. Made from an off-white fabric, they sparkled dimly as the light caught them. Each band had tiny