Smeng looked at her as though weighing something in his mind, as though trying to decide whether he could trust her.

Finally he gave her a smile and held out one hand. “Well, come see a little of it then. I can’t show you much, Rani, because it’s not safe to let spitsiders know too much about the place. You understand?” It wasn’t really a question. “Some of our people believe that overgrounders who find out too much should never be allowed to leave. But without your help some of us would be dead now, so we owe you. Strictly speaking, I guess we’re quits, but I wouldn’t hear a word about keeping you here.” His tone suggested that some of the others might have demanded that precaution.

“Anyway, come on. Work to do.”

Smeng ducked his head under the door and headed back into the first tunnel complex, leading her by the hand. Both of them had their pistols readied. Rani would have thought it was safe here, but maybe having your weapon ready for use at any moment was the trick to staying alive in this new existence she’d discovered. Not that life expectancy was ever ensured.

Eventually they came to a connecting passage, and Smeng pointed out the various routes they could take.

“More Civil Defense that way,” he growled, pointing sharp left. “Most of the dwarfs hang out down there. They strip stuff out of the tunnels and service ducts. Last year they even got a half-mile or so of copper cable, the lucky buggers. Bought them enough beer to keep them sozzled for a month. You get a power failure overground, and I bet you fifty-fifty it’s because of a crack team of dwarf cable-strippers." Smeng laughed and it sounded like distant thunder.

“Down that way,” he said, indicating another direction with a sweep of his right arm, "well, that leads to other territories. We got all sorts down here. There’s a great network of mail tunnels below the old sorting office complex, but it’s too much of a warren for anyone to live there. We guard some of the exits, and so do the Ratskinks. They’ve been allies of ours for a few years now. More of us stay alive that way. They’re good kids, most of ‘em, though there’s the odd trancer and crazy. But then you get that kind anywhere."

"Who are the Ratskinks?" Rani asked. Something small and dark scuttled away down one of the tunnels accompanied by a high-pitched squeaking.

“Street kids, mainly. Dumped into the streets and back alleys by East Enders too poor to feed ‘em. Mostly, they die of exposure or starvation, or they get picked up by the meat hunters looking for fresh tissue to sell to the body shops. Feed ‘em up, whack ‘em full of vitamin shots. When the scans say the body’s okay, it’s time to cash in." He drew a finger across his throat with a grimace.

“Some of ‘em get picked up by agencies supplying nobles with young flesh as pleasure slaves. There’s a racket like that at the London Hospital, right on your patch. Pediatrics give ‘em prefrontal implants to dull awareness and some heavy motor conditioning for the right reflexes. Unofficial, of course, but everyone knows about it."

Rani was aghast. Mohsin worked at the London Hospital; did he know about this? Good God, did he even participate? His headware implants were the best street doctoring available in the area. She shuddered at the possibilities.

"Anyway, those who don’t end up that way may get picked up by a Ratskink and brought down here. They look after their own. The older ones, they protect the kids. The clan leaders, King Rat and his bodyguards, they’re old men by anyone’s standards here. Clazz, some of ‘em must be in their early twenties. They’re poor, but they’re great scavengers. Corner ‘em and they’ll fight like demons. Got nothing to lose."

She was silent. To someone from her background, the idea that a family could abandon their young to such horrors was intolerable, and her mind rebelled against it.

Now it was time to move on again. They walked a long way down the central tunnel, until it opened out into a great arched vault with curved and flowing pillars supporting the ceiling. Rani stared in awe. She’d never been in a Christian church, and wondered if that’s what this was.

“Not quite. Church crypt-or at least it used to be. Built by the Templars around 2030. Word is they did some heavy magic down here and then never came back. We’ve blocked off all the routes to the surface. Hi, term!” This was said to a limping dwarf toting an archaic shotgun as he stomped across the chamber toward the far door.

"Yo, plazzman!”

“Ho, stumpy!”

They traded jocular insults for a bit, then the dwarf hefted the gun barrel over his shoulder and continued on his way. "Hilda and Stan comin’ for tea. See youse."

Smeng turned her around. "He means-"

“Trolls, yeah, I know. You got them down here too?” It was a rather pointless question, but he was happy to answer it.

“Troll gang down in the old sewer complex west of here. They’re not happy folks. The sewers are really jazzed down there and they get flood waters in from the river. There’s seepage from the deep dumps, too, so they also get chemical shock epidemics from time to time. I hear say they’re hunting new territory, but they’re slim guys for trolls and they ain’t got much to bargain with. We ain’t gonna let them in, but we may decide to join with them to open up some new areas. Never did like the Blindboys much, so we might get something arranged there. Trolls get the living space and we get the booty. Everyone says the Blindboys got some good stuff. They steam on the surface from time to time. Seem to know how to pick the right targets.”

It sounded like the Blindboys were muggers, but Rani wasn’t up to asking for more details. She was still overawed by the enormity of this incredible unknown world.

“We better go now. You’ve seen some of it, more than most overgrounders ever will. You’ll keep your mouth shut about it, right?"

"Safe." Rani hardly used street slang in her everyday life, but this wasn’t everyday life. Anyway, Smeng’s language was odd enough; half the time he talked about complicated matters such as prefrontal lobotomies, the other half he talked like he’d had one. Guess life down here changed a person.

As they trudged back through the tunnels, Smeng asked Rani what she’d been doing out alone so late the night before.

"It wasn’t that late. And I had no reason to expect any trouble."

“You kidding? Fog as thick as a troll’s skull, well past anyone’s bedtime, and you an Indian girl to boot?"

She bristled a little at that, then calmed herself down. By now she should be used to hearing what being an Indian girl meant, but she probably never would.

“I was doing a little business of my own. The gun, for a start." She emboldened herself with the lie. “Got people to meet and things to collect, yeah?"

He laughed quietly as they passed the first check, three dwarfs with pistols and a series of beautifully concealed tripwires. He showed her how to avoid the mantrap with the triggering plate locked into the narrow rails of the mail wagon tunnel.

"Rani, you ain’t no runner I’ve ever met. You’re too young and your face gives you away too easily.” He patted her on the back to reassure her he meant no insult or offense.

“Well, no, it’s not a regular thing. But! went on a run recently and it was a set-up. Three of my cousins were killed. My brother, he organized it, and now he’s hiding his face. He’s not going to do anything. Me, I want revenge. I could have been killed myself. You going to tell me that if White Lightning killed a bunch of your people, you wouldn’t start making moves to pay them back?”

"No.” He sighed. “No, we always try to do what we can. Sometimes we set up a lure and draw them to the bait. And yes, when we get revenge, it always tastes sweet." He stuffed a hand into his pocket. “Sorry, Rani, time for the blindfold again.”