As Carmen left the Old City, Grim following at a discrete distance, Ward followed Saint Nick through the Wharflands. Lights were winking on in the hovels that lined the docks. Skeletal ship masts reached into the purpling sky, the funnel of a gigantic steamer like a tombstone. A collier down on the river blew a long mournful note that rolled away across the Fens. There was a sooty smell in the air, and a waiting quiet, and the indescribable feeling of a world drawing to its end.
"Ironfield," Nick said, when they came to the overgrown field opposite the wharf. It was the first word he'd spoken since they'd left the Slough and Bellows.
Ward followed Nick down a muddy slope and found himself in a forest of flowering weeds that swayed disconcertingly above his head. He soon lost all sense of direction. They skirted foul-smelling pools of water and crumbling foundations and gaping holes. Often they were forced to clamber over stacks of iron beams – what purpose they served, apart from giving the field its name, was a mystery. Nick moved deceptively fast. Sometimes Ward lost sight of him in the dark, and would stumble on in almost-panic until he caught up again.
They came to a gantry-like building perched upon stilt legs. A ladder spidered up the side to a room at the top. Nick stopped beneath it and lifted a manhole cover that had been hidden in the shadows. A gush of dank air escaped.
"You first," he said.
Ward didn't move.
"There's a ladder in the shaft," Nick said.
Ward swallowed his fear and eased himself down into the hole. He found the rungs with his feet.
"Right to the bottom," Nick said. He followed Ward down the shaft and pulled the manhole cover back into place.
Ward descended blindly, rung by rung. It was hard to know how far he'd gone – it seemed like forever in the dark. Then he sensed the shaft opening out into a larger space, and a moment later his feet touched the ground. He didn't hear Nick reach the floor, but suddenly a light flared beside him. A match.
"Lamps over there," Nick said, pointing.
Ward chose a bull's-eye lanthorn from the three hanging on the tunnel wall. He handed it to Nick, who lit it. Its glow strengthened in sputters.
They were standing on a raised platform recessed into the wall of a tunnel that curved away into the distance. Two pairs of iron rails, like those in the field above, ran along the tunnel floor. Trains were a new thing in his world, and Ward did not recognise the tracks.
In one direction the tunnel rose towards the surface. Nick, following Ward's gaze said, "It's blocked that way. Caved in long ago."
"What is this place?"
"You'll see."
They climbed down to the tunnel floor, then set off, Nick moving in a long lope, Ward sometimes breaking into a trot to keep up. The tunnel curved gently to the east. Pipes, festooned with cobwebs, spread across the ceiling. Ward thought he saw darting movements along the walls from time to time.
"Snokeys," Nick said, as if reading his mind, and as if they were no more than flies.
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