end of a short brick-lined tunnel, and the steel door at the other end was twisted open. The noise came from beyond.
Rats?
Jazz wondered.
A train in the distance?
She was already becoming familiar with how strange the noises were down here.
“It’s nothing,” Harry said.
Cadge glanced at Jazz and smiled. “Really was a good nick,” he said. “You’re becoming an expert.”
“I think she has the light hands and gentle touch of a thief, for sure,” Harry said. He squeezed Jazz’s shoulder. “I think you’ll go far.”
“I’m still not sure…” she said, but she trailed off.
“Still not sure you want to stay,” Harry finished for her. “That’s to be expected, and I honor that, Jazz girl. Honor it completely. If ever it’s time for you to go, you’ll go with our blessing. I tell that to all my kids, and I mean it.”
Cadge walked ahead of them, pretending to check out the open doorway.
“I’m certainly not going yet,” she said. Cadge turned around and smiled.
Something screeched in the distance. It seemed to come in from a long way off. Jazz was already learning to judge sound down here, and this one had lost many of its lower frequencies, swallowed by concrete, brickwork, and the solid rock of London’s legs.
The smile froze on Cadge’s face. Harry cocked his head and frowned. “Mr. F.?”
The screech came again and Harry shook his head. “No, Cadge. I think it’s just metal on metal. Something collapsing somewhere far off, maybe. Or perhaps someone else taking a secret tunnel to somewhere we don’t know.”
“Collapsing?” Jazz asked.
Harry nodded. “Old places down here, Jazz. And some bits are older than you believe. Sometimes it’s just time to fade away.”
“Sounded like a scream to me,” Cadge said. “And comin’ closer.”
Harry shook his head again. “I’ve heard it often enough,” he said.
“Heard what?” Jazz felt scared and excluded, and she looked back and forth from Harry to Cadge.
“Hour of Screams,” Cadge said.
The phrase chilled her, the echo of Cadge’s voice fading away to nothing in her ears.
“You mentioned that the other day,” she said, then turned to Harry. “Cadge told me I should ask you about it, but I’d forgotten. Is that what we just heard?”
Harry frowned at Cadge. “Not at all.” Then he turned to Jazz again. “Walk with us. Let’s get back to the kingdom. I wanted to tell you about this in my own time, in my own way. But it seems young Cadge has preempted me.”
“Sorry, Harry,” Cadge said.
“Don’t apologize, lad. It’s good to be worried about the Hour of Screams. Good to be scared. It’s something not to be trusted.”
Jazz thought of her mother’s advice on trust, and how precious it was, and how easily it was given out nowadays.
I trust Cadge,
she thought. And the idea gave her great comfort.
As they shone their torches ahead and Harry began to talk, Jazz reached out and held the boy’s hand.
“It’s something we’ve learned to live with,” Harry said, “though no one was meant to live with it. I would’ve told you about it earlier but, truth be told, it’s been months since we’ve had the Hour of Screams come through. I should’ve warned you sooner, Jazz. I’ve been meaning to. Just didn’t want to scare you off.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s a dead thing, the Hour. An old, dead thing.”
“I don’t understand,” Jazz said. “Is this about the…echoes?”
Harry frowned, shot a glance at Cadge, and then refocused on Jazz. “You hear them too, do you, or has Cadge just been speaking out of school?”
“I hear them,” she said, thinking how strange it was to be speaking so normally about something she would have thought impossible not long ago. But her perception of the possible and the impossible had changed radically of late. “Sometimes I
see
things too.”
He studied her. “What things?”
“Like silhouettes. Just flickers, really,” she lied, though she wasn’t
Rats?
Jazz wondered.
A train in the distance?
She was already becoming familiar with how strange the noises were down here.
“It’s nothing,” Harry said.
Cadge glanced at Jazz and smiled. “Really was a good nick,” he said. “You’re becoming an expert.”
“I think she has the light hands and gentle touch of a thief, for sure,” Harry said. He squeezed Jazz’s shoulder. “I think you’ll go far.”
“I’m still not sure…” she said, but she trailed off.
“Still not sure you want to stay,” Harry finished for her. “That’s to be expected, and I honor that, Jazz girl. Honor it completely. If ever it’s time for you to go, you’ll go with our blessing. I tell that to all my kids, and I mean it.”
Cadge walked ahead of them, pretending to check out the open doorway.
“I’m certainly not going yet,” she said. Cadge turned around and smiled.
Something screeched in the distance. It seemed to come in from a long way off. Jazz was already learning to judge sound down here, and this one had lost many of its lower frequencies, swallowed by concrete, brickwork, and the solid rock of London’s legs.
The smile froze on Cadge’s face. Harry cocked his head and frowned. “Mr. F.?”
The screech came again and Harry shook his head. “No, Cadge. I think it’s just metal on metal. Something collapsing somewhere far off, maybe. Or perhaps someone else taking a secret tunnel to somewhere we don’t know.”
“Collapsing?” Jazz asked.
Harry nodded. “Old places down here, Jazz. And some bits are older than you believe. Sometimes it’s just time to fade away.”
“Sounded like a scream to me,” Cadge said. “And comin’ closer.”
Harry shook his head again. “I’ve heard it often enough,” he said.
“Heard what?” Jazz felt scared and excluded, and she looked back and forth from Harry to Cadge.
“Hour of Screams,” Cadge said.
The phrase chilled her, the echo of Cadge’s voice fading away to nothing in her ears.
“You mentioned that the other day,” she said, then turned to Harry. “Cadge told me I should ask you about it, but I’d forgotten. Is that what we just heard?”
Harry frowned at Cadge. “Not at all.” Then he turned to Jazz again. “Walk with us. Let’s get back to the kingdom. I wanted to tell you about this in my own time, in my own way. But it seems young Cadge has preempted me.”
“Sorry, Harry,” Cadge said.
“Don’t apologize, lad. It’s good to be worried about the Hour of Screams. Good to be scared. It’s something not to be trusted.”
Jazz thought of her mother’s advice on trust, and how precious it was, and how easily it was given out nowadays.
I trust Cadge,
she thought. And the idea gave her great comfort.
As they shone their torches ahead and Harry began to talk, Jazz reached out and held the boy’s hand.
“It’s something we’ve learned to live with,” Harry said, “though no one was meant to live with it. I would’ve told you about it earlier but, truth be told, it’s been months since we’ve had the Hour of Screams come through. I should’ve warned you sooner, Jazz. I’ve been meaning to. Just didn’t want to scare you off.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s a dead thing, the Hour. An old, dead thing.”
“I don’t understand,” Jazz said. “Is this about the…echoes?”
Harry frowned, shot a glance at Cadge, and then refocused on Jazz. “You hear them too, do you, or has Cadge just been speaking out of school?”
“I hear them,” she said, thinking how strange it was to be speaking so normally about something she would have thought impossible not long ago. But her perception of the possible and the impossible had changed radically of late. “Sometimes I
see
things too.”
He studied her. “What things?”
“Like silhouettes. Just flickers, really,” she lied, though she wasn’t
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