The Tunnels Below Read online

  “All right, Koof!” he said, shooting Cecilia a look that said: this isn’t over yet! Cecilia got the distinct feeling he was right. It seemed that everyone knew Kuffi and everyone liked him; Cecilia was beginning to feel rather special walking around with him.

  Cecilia was feeling much more herself and having Kuffi stick up for her had made her feel somewhat safer than she had before. Many of the market traders were beginning to pack up and just as she was beginning to grow tired, Kuffi smiled widely and pointed out a bookstall.

  There were books piled high. Some even had familiar titles and authors. Cecilia found a handwritten leather-bound book called The Diary of a Button Collector sticking out of the bottom of one of the stacks. She shuffled it out like the bottom piece in a game of pick-up sticks, trying not to disturb the pile above.

  “How do I buy this?” Cecilia asked Kuffi, interrupting the conversation he was having with a fox-face called Edwina. She had a sharp smile, smooth voice and teeth that looked like they could do serious damage. She also had beautiful shoulder-length red hair that matched her fur.

  “It’s worth a button, babe,” Edwina answered, two dimples carving out her smile.

  “Unless you have something else to exchange for it? I’m always on the look out for new curiosities and you don’t look like you’re from round here—got anything of interest for me?” She smiled at Kuffi, clearly flirting with him.

  “Huh?” Cecilia was trying to read into what she was saying.

  “You need to exchange something for it. Buttons are the best way to go. I’d hold on to that ‘present’ you were given, if I were you. You never know when you might need it,” said Kuffi, helping her out.

  “OK,” said Cecilia, handing over one of the buttons that Kuffi had removed from her coat.

  “Do you want me to look after it for you, Cecilia? We can have a read later when we get back.”

  “Cheers, Kuffi,” said Cecilia as she passed it to him.

  “The Diary of a Button Collector,” he read aloud. “Thrilling, I bet!” He put it safely in his inside pocket.

  At that moment something familiar caught Cecilia’s eye. “Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens?” Cecilia was bursting with excitement “See, Kuffi, that guy, Charles Dickens, he’s from where I come from, up there—the light at the end of the tunnel or whatever you call it!” She bellowed as she pointed to a book a little way above her head.

  “No, he’s not. Charles Dickens lives just off the lime line in the lime-light district with the other celebrated dwellers.”

  “Dickens is DEAD!” shouted Cecilia loudly, losing control of herself.

  A hush came over the market. A murmur began, whispers spreading through the crowd before an old squirrel-face lady began wailing, “NO! Dickens is dead! DICKENS IS DEAD!”

  Chaos broke out; people began rushing about in a huge commotion, spreading the news to one another. But it didn’t last long. Overhead, circling in like ghosts of darkness, a group of cloaked bird-faces began to descend on the crowd. Fear settled in all around like a storm approaching and the chatter dimmed to whispers and then silence. Everything became very, very still. Swooping down and landing at different spots in the crowd, the black-winged birds took their positions to survey the dwellers. There were seven figures that inched their way through the dirt; they had the faces of jackdaws. The woman in charge was larger: a raven-face. She hopped up from the ground and flew into the air before gliding down onto the stage and walking up to the podium. Kuffi grabbed Cecilia’s hand and looked at her very seriously, bringing a finger up to his snout with his spare hand that said suggested she didn’t speak. No one spoke. In fact, they barely breathed. A spotlight flicked on and the hiss of speakers sent a sharp sound into the ears of the onlookers, forcing them to listen.

  “Ladies and gentlefolk. Please compose yourselves,” said the raven-face. The other birds strutted onto the stage one by one, a show of shadows with sharp black beaks and suits to match.

  “What is all the fuss about?” the raven-face speaker said, moving in jolting twitches. A brave woman among the crowd in a deep red velvet coat, with a mouse-face, tentatively raised her hand, addressing the raven-face by name:

  “Madame Helen, miss, we have just heard the news that Dickens is dead!” She wept.

  “Nonsense. Who told you that?” Madame Helen asked.

  There was silence once again and it was full of worried faces searching for someone to blame. Kuffi bent low and whispered in Cecilia’s ear. “It’s time to go, little thing. Do you remember where the Wasp 75 is?”

  Cecilia nodded.

  “Make your way though the crowd and meet me there. Do not stop and do not look back until you get there. Don’t be scared and move very slowly. OK?”

  Cecilia nodded again and began to move. It was terrifying. She tried not to bump anyone and she did pretty well at not being noticed. But she feared for Kuffi: he was big and tall.

  She climbed the limestone steps until she reached the top where she followed the path back to the parking lot. It wasn’t far and as she came up to it she could see the Wasp 75 right away. Cecilia broke into a run and went and hid behind the vehicle, grasping it tightly and trembling terribly. She felt awful, it was all her fault that trouble had broken out. If only she’d kept her mouth shut, she thought. Kuffi seemed to take such a long time but eventually she saw him enter the parking lot. He must’ve stayed back so as not to attract too much attention. Kuffi came over to the Wasp 75 and in a loud whisper he said, “I’m being followed, stay down.”

  Two of the guys Cecilia had just seen land in the crowd a few minutes before, the ones with jackdaw faces and black suits, swooped in on Kuffi. One landed right on top of the handlebars of the Wasp 75.

  “What have we got here then, Julius?” said the smaller of the two bird-faced figures.

  “Let’s see, shall we, Marvin? Tall, ginger, pointy ears and a silly hat!” said Julius, knocking Kuffi’s pillbox hat off his head.

  “Sounds like Kuffi to me, Julius!” said Marvin. He sounded like such a telltale.

  “Kuffi, Kuffi, Kuffi,” tutted Julius and he kicked Kuffi’s hat aside.

  Marvin bounced up and down on the handlebars as Julius squared up to Kuffi. Julius sneered at Kuffi.

  “ID papers, Mr Kuffi,” he demanded, throwing his wings back and extending an arm from beneath.

  Kuffi reached into his top pocket and handed over the papers.

  “Mr Kuffi McAllister, are you aware that your ID papers are almost out of date? You better get that sorted, or next time we meet I’ll be taking you in. Do you understand?” Julius began preening his jet-black feathers and flicked off a piece of fluff that had become caught. Kuffi stood proudly and quietly, looking quite unafraid. Cecilia stayed low; she felt so helpless as she listened to them trying to intimidate Kuffi.

  “Cat got your tongue, Kuffi? That’s not like you. Well, listen here, you’re not so special that you don’t have to pay to update your ID papers just like everybody else. There’s, nothing more I’d like than to take you to Jacques d’Or!” drawled Julius from his humble spot as Kuffi towered over him. But he was far from being humble—he was a nasty piece of work, Cecilia could tell. “We will get you one day, you useless lump.” Julius eyed up the Wasp 75.

  “Nice set of wheels you got here. See this, Marvin?” Julius said, grabbing hold of the other end of the handlebars where Marvin was perched. As he walked round he kicked dirt in Cecilia’s face. She tried not to breathe it in.

  “It’s only a matter of time before we take her for a spin.” Julius’ voice was dripping with contempt.

  “Joyride, more like!” cackled Marvin, hopping swiftly into the air.

  The two Corvus Community members made to leave, Julius kicking Kuffi’s hat along in the dirt some way before leaping into the air, his parting words echoing through the tunnels.

  “Watch your back, Kuffi. We’ll be hiding in the shadows, waiting. Your time will come!”

  Kuffi was very quiet
. He walked over to his hat without saying a word and bent down to pick it up. On his way back to the Wasp 75, he dusted it off and tried to batter some shape back into it.

  “Poor hat,” he said when he had returned. “It sure has taken a beating.” He placed it back on his head, completely disregarding what had just happened.

  “Right then,” he said. “We should get out of here. There’s a bad smell about the place don’t you think, Cecilia?”

  “Yes. Yes, there is,” she said, slowly rising from her hiding spot.

  “We might need a bit more juice though.”

  “Juice?” asked Cecilia.

  “For the motor,” replied Kuffi. “She’s not a carpet, Cecilia, she doesn’t run on hot air!”

  Cecilia had no idea what Kuffi was talking about and it sounded so ridiculous she started laughing. Kuffi burst into laughter too and both of them felt a great sense of relief. Thank goodness, they hadn’t taken Kuffi away. Who knows where she’d be without him, she thought.

  6

  Juice Boost

  They pulled into the filling station just as the Wasp 75 was about to run out of juice. It slowed down and Kuffi had to peddle it into the station by pumping the handle-bars up and down. It looked like hard work but it wasn’t for long. The filling station wasn’t very big and it was cobbled together using random bits of scrap metal. One lone white fluorescent tube hung low over the pump station, and apart from that there was nothing, no one and no other track riders either. A figure approached them from the darkness within. As it stepped into the light Cecilia gasped.

  “Hey, Rosie,” said Kuffi, looking up from shining the handlebars. “Cecilia, this is Rosie, Rosie, this is Cecilia.”

  “Hello, Rosie,” said Cecilia, stooping slightly to look into her big, round black eyes. Rosie was pink. A pink chimpanzee-face, with unusual shaggy fur covering her whole body. Cecilia liked the fake red hibiscus flower she had tucked behind her ear. Cecilia recognised the flower because it had been her grandpa’s favourite. Rosie was wearing small dark-blue pin-striped trousers and a hand-painted T-shirt that had the word “Lady-Bird” above a badly painted picture of a bird-like woman singing. Although Rosie was about the size of a ten-year-old child, Cecilia could tell she was quite a bit older than her size might suggest.

  “Feeling a bit shy, Rosie? That’s OK,” Kuffi said kindly. “Cecilia’s not so bad. She’s a friend.” He smiled as Rosie began to fill the small engine at the back of the Wasp 75 with “juice”.

  Rosie extended her free hand cautiously. “Hello,” she said in a soft but remarkably deep voice.

  “Rosie’s a bit of a super star!” said Kuffi.

  She looked up at him as she wearily tapped the pump on the side of the track rider and put it back in its holster.

  “She’s a very talented fruitolin player!”

  “I’m working, Kuffi. But the band and I will be playing at El Porto Fino later on tonight with Lady-Bird.”

  “Fruitolin?” Cecilia began but she was interrupted by Kuffi.

  “Lady-Bird? Oh, I can only imagine that will be something quite special. Send her good luck from me, if you get the chance.” Rosie smiled a big toothy grin as Kuffi snapped himself out of a passing daydream and handed her a big green button. “Thank you,” he said softly, fixing her hibiscus flower so it was just right.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said to Cecilia, flashing that toothy smile again; as she turned and walked back into her metal hut, Cecilia saw that she had an instrument case strapped to her back.

  “Pretty special, hey? I hope you get to taste her music,” said Kuffi.

  “Yeah. Me too.” She paused a moment. “Taste?”

  Kuffi began humming a tune that Cecilia felt like she vaguely recognised. “Can you play an instrument, Kuffi?”

  “Ha! No, not with these stubby fingers! Now, let me see, I bet you can. And I’m guessing it’s the t-rom-bone?”

  “Nope. Not the trombone.”

  “The flutsical?”

  “What’s a flutsical?” Cecilia was beginning to realise that Kuffi wasn’t making mistakes—he actually thought this was what the instruments were called.

  “Well, this won’t do. Fancy a trip to the music store? What’s your taste in music?”

  “I like jazz and blues.”

  “Never heard of them. I like sweet flavours… My favourite instrument has to be the marsh-cello… delicious!”

  “Well, it sounds like we might have very different tastes,” Cecilia said, “but I’d like to see what you’re talking about… And for your information, the piano… but quite badly.”

  “Nonsense.” Kuffi laughed.

  There was a long pause between them as they climbed back on the Wasp 75 and Kuffi got the engine going. They moved away from the juice station back onto the orange line, then Kuffi stopped the track rider for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Cecilia.

  Kuffi scratched himself roughly behind his ears.

  “What’s a piano and does it taste any good?”

  7

  Good Taste in Music

  Kuffi parked the Wasp 75 at a junction where the light in the tunnels changed from orange to blue, giving the atmosphere a slightly brown tinge. He pointed at the shop in front of them: Sensational Sound Bites!

  “Mmm, let’s find out what your taste in music is then!” he said, rubbing his furry hands together.

  As Kuffi pushed open the door, Cecilia’s senses were swamped in colour, sound and taste. Every toot, strum, bang and briiiiiiiing seemed to have a flavour that accompanied it. A tooting over to her left where a frog-face kid was playing some sort of horn instrument made her mouth water: it was sour, like lemons and limes. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and pursed her lips.

  “Guess that’s not for you,” said Kuffi, patting her shoulder. “Hmm, what about this?” He picked up an instrument shaped a bit like a guitar and a bit like an accordion. Kuffi slung it over his shoulder with a strap. He removed a drumstick that looked like a lollipop and began banging on the squeeze box, creating the most colourful sound Cecilia had ever heard and a flavour on her tongue that made her want to dance. It was a combination of strawberry cupcakes, salt and vinegar crisps and pineapple juice!

  “Yummy!” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

  “Yeah, I like this one too! You must have good taste. Shall we go and try my favourite? The marsh-cello!” Kuffi’s eyes shone brightly.

  “Yes, please,” said Cecilia, and she found herself licking her lips.

  They walked through rows and rows of curious-looking instruments. They were fascinating objects and many of them looked similar to ones she had seen back home but just when she thought she recognised something, she’d notice it had something extra or different about it.

  “You know, Cecilia, there are only a few dwellers who can make flavours by singing? It’s rare. But it is possible. Miss Lady-Bird, she can. She has the most beautiful voice and, well, let’s just say it has the power to touch your soul and it tastes like tears.”

  “Wow, I’d love to hear… I mean, taste that!” said Cecilia.

  “I’m sure you will. She sings down at El Porto Fino. Perhaps, you’ll go there one day.” Just then, a heavily bearded bear-face in a grungy T-shirt with the arms cut off, stepped out in front of them.

  “Can I help you?” he said in a gruff voice.

  Cecilia was struck by the taste of honeydew melon when he spoke, and the flavour rolled around her mouth like a sticky, sweet afternoon in summer.

  “Actually, yes. Can you point us in the direction of the marsh-cellos?” said Kuffi politely. Cecilia was surprised: this was one of the first people they had encountered that Kuffi didn’t know.

  “Head along this aisle here and hang a left at the acorn-dions. Look out along the way—it’s quite narrow along there.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The aisle seemed to narrow towards the end so Kuffi had to crouch right down to make sure he didn’t hit any of the instruments.
At the end of the aisle they turned left and it opened out onto a squirrel-faced girl playing the acorn-dion. Cecilia was disgusted, she wanted to spit: it tasted like earwax, bitter and sharp.

  “Quick,” said Kuffi. “Let’s move along.”

  The squirrel-face was in her element, swaying from side to side as she played. Cecilia and Kuffi passed her discreetly to get to where the aisle opened out a bit, then he turned and tapped Cecilia on the shoulder and said, “Tag, you’re it!” and sped off towards the end of the aisle in front of them.

  Cecilia ran after him as a voice zinging with honeydew melon called out, “Oi! No running! This isn’t a toyshop!”

  They got to the end and Kuffi stood before the wall of marsh-cellos, licking his lips.

  “Which one shall we try first?” he said.

  “That one,” said Cecilia, pointing to a lilac marsh-cello mounted on the wall.

  Kuffi took it down, pulled out its spike and rested it on the ground. Then he got something that looked like a tin can and ran it down the front of the strings towards the floor. The sweetest flavours tingled all about Cecilia’s tongue: a mixture of Parma Violets and pink marshmallows.

  “Such sweet music!” she cried out.

  “You’re getting it!” said Kuffi as he continued to play. “Grab one, Cecilia, have a go. It’s delightful!”

  Cecilia turned around and behind her she found a drum-like instrument with a funny-looking bubble on top.

  “Yes! Perfect, that bubble-drum will do nicely!”

  “What do I do, Kuffi?”

  “See if you can work it out for yourself, little thing.”

  Cecilia examined the bubble-drum and noticed it had a pipe on the side so she blew into it.

  “There you go.”

  A subtle strawberry bubblegum flavour mixed with the marsh-cello flavours, and it all came together in what could only be described as a soft, gooey rhubarb-and-custard flavour. She wasn’t sure how it worked and she didn’t care—it was delicious! They played for a while and then Kuffi felt they had maybe overstayed their welcome a bit when the bear-faced guy with the gruff voice that tasted like honeydew started looming over them. But as they put the instruments back and made to leave, he called to them and said, “Nice jam, guys. Rhubarb and custard… sweet.” He was nodding his head in appreciation. “Yeah, man, you guys stop in again sometime!”