Chapter 13
The Understreet
Skelmir Alley.
Mal read the name off a brass plaque on the ground as he took his first steps out into the Understreet.
A secret street, in a secret city. If iniquity had dens, then this was where you’d find them.
It was cramped and narrow, and much busier than Mal had expected.
Crooked buildings loomed over each side of the cobbled path, as if the buildings were trying to hide the street from the rest of the world.
Between shop fronts and windows were dark crevices and side alleys with no signage.
The sun was starting to set, but the street was still hot with city heat.
No breeze could find its way here, just a blanket of warm fog that smothered your body.
Mal caught the tail end of a lungful of smoke that added to the street’s off-putting bouquet: chemicals, sweat, sewage, urine, burnt rubber, BO, avarice, lust, and weed.
The smells combined into a sludge that filled Mal’s nose and coated his tongue.
The street was packed, from crowds cheering and chanting, bingeing on drink, to quiet, sleek individuals trying to go unnoticed.
Mal was starting to get a headache from all the noise, but he was just happy it wasn’t his death sense’s doing.
Was he really going to keep calling it that? It seemed to have stuck.
The real attraction, and the reason everyone was there, were the shops.
Mal saw monks in beige hoods coming out of a brothel named the Idle Hands.
Mal peeked in and saw things that would put the internet to shame.
Every other shop seemed to be a pub or bar full to heaving, their inhabitants overflowing into the street.
Between them were odd shops, with odder names, selling objects of obscure origin.
A narrow shop, about the width of a door frame, named For Keeps Sake, boasted having the finest collection of magical knickknacks in the world.
Wanders and Broom was a sophisticated shop, hosted by a very posh gentleman, that had wands, staffs, and broomsticks lining its wood-paneled walls.
A transmutation service called Gold for Cash blared brightly at them with artificial lights; Mal thought the sign was the wrong way around until he saw a man leaving the place with a solid gold turd.
Of Bugs, Bezoars, and Birds seemed pretty straightforward as shops went, but Mal didn’t recognize any of the ingredients or creatures within, and was worried that some fell under more than one category.
Backchannels had a line of people out the door, all of them holding personal items. Its sign implied they could tell you secrets about an object’s owner; most of the patrons seemed to be holding something belonging to their partner.
A shop with no signage except for a skull had a dog-headed man standing at the door.
Walters assured him that if anything in there was legit, the Order would have already taken it.
Mal looked through the window of a shop called Prolific Potions, hoping to see some interesting wares, but it was just another pub.
Finder’s Fee, a shop for tracking down missing objects.
Port’s Porters, a teleportation moving service.
Devil’s Due, a cabaret club full of, you guessed it, horned dancers.
On the street a rough-looking man attracted a small crowd with a stand.
At first Mal thought he was selling toy cars, but as Mal got closer he saw their prices and realized it was a shrunken car auction.
Walters told the man he had ten minutes to pack it up or he’d be back with uniforms. The man, and the crowd, quickly scarpered.
Alchemical Revels sold potions, Enchantdress sold enchanted clothes, and Ogden’s Augments sold what Mal assumed was just magical steroids.
Mal had never seen anything like it. Every time he thought it couldn’t get any stranger, a new and weirder shop emerged around the corner.
Knights Night took the biscuit: it had a wooden boxing ring at its center, and within it men and women would fight with swords and full suits of armor.
Cheering and betting shook the place as the combatants went at each other.
Mal watched as a man had his arm taken clean off, causing blood to spew out over the crowd.
As soon as his arm hit the floor five or so medics jumped up, and stuck it back on; the once-armless man raised a drink with the unsevered limb, and the crowd roared.
Neon lights popped to life as they snaked farther down the street; the sun was setting.
Mal couldn’t tell if the place was about to break into a riot, or if this was just business as usual.
Des seemed extremely unimpressed by the whole show, but Hala and Yu were enjoying its spectacles as much as Mal was.
It had taken them about twenty minutes to get past the hustle and bustle, and now they walked along the quieter end of Skelmir Alley.
The path split, delving the lost into yet darker corners, but Walters knew the way.
Now that the noise had softened, Mal had regained the ability to hear his own thoughts.
He wondered where the hell Walters was taking them.
As if reading his mind, at that moment Walters stopped them in front of a shop called Avec Le Bois.
It appeared to be a music shop selling violins and woodwind instruments.
Having taken GCSE French, Mal should have known what this meant—he didn’t.
Walters went down a narrow passageway on its side and stopped in front of a sunken door.
“What is this place?” Mal said.
“It’s a safe house I keep for emergencies. No one will find you here,” Walters said, unlocking the door.
“Must set you back a bit,” Hala said.
“Not really. Not even the banks know about this place, that’s how I know it’s safe.” Walters pushed open the door and ascended some old carpeted stairs. The group followed.
Inside was a quaint, if dusty, apartment. A few bedrooms, a bathroom in need of a clean, and a kitchen with large windows that jutted out over the street. Des gave the place a once-over.
“Not exactly subtle,” Des said, inspecting the large windows as the group made themselves comfortable in the kitchen.
“They’re one-way enchanted,” Walters said, “so feel free to stare out them all you like.”
Yu put the kettle on, and got out five cups. Walters shook his head and Yu put one of them back.
“So, it’s nine o’clock now …” Walters said.
“It’s nine? Oh, fuck.” Mal pulled out his phone.
It was erupting in a hail of texts and missed phone calls.
His family was going ballistic. Every Monday evening he’d head back to his familial home and keep his parents alive for another week.
It was a tradition Mal hated, but obliged because it was easier than letting his parents die.
He did this every week without fail. Not illness, nor exam, nor car crash could stop him.
He’d gotten so caught up in all of this that he’d completely forgotten.
While Mal thought being attacked, abducted, and attacked again would be a sufficient enough excuse for a normal family, he knew it wouldn’t matter to his.
Mal wondered if any of the texts would be of concern for his whereabouts or health, but he was, expectedly, disappointed.
“What is happening?” Walters said, taking the phone from him.
“They’re gonna kill me. I have to go. It’s my parents, y’know …”
“No one is going anywhere,” Walters said. “Not even for that. Everyone is staying here until things have calmed down. It’s not like it’s life or death.”
“It kind of is …” Mal went silent, quieted by Walters’s stare.
“Sit tight,” Walters said. “You can resurrect your parents when we’re out of this mess. I have to go help clean it up, but when I know what’s happening, you’ll know.” Walters handed Mal’s phone back and gave him a look that said, Don’t make me regret this. Mal nodded.
Walters was right, of course. This was more important, and if someone was trying to kill them, going back to his parents’ house would just put his family in danger.
For now, he would do as he was told. Even if it meant his siblings hating him for a few months, and taking a heaping spoonful of shit from his parents.
Yu brought him over a cup of tea as Walters gave Des the rundown on the safe house.
Mal inspected Yu as he thanked them. What were they still doing here?
Yu could have slipped off at any point, changed their face and disappeared into the crowds.
Mal was grateful they hadn’t; he was beginning to enjoy their dry sense of humor, and having a genius around was quite helpful.
Yu had regaled them with historical tidbits as to Skelmir Alley’s origin as they’d gone along it.
Apparently, the hidden street first served as a hideaway for the pickpockets of Dunwich; they would pinch a coin purse, then vámonos into one of the many side entrances of the street.
Then, as pickpockets needed to flog their wares, it became the go-to place for fences and anyone looking to purchase extralegal items. Its notoriety snowballed from there, and it became the vibrant underground market it was now.
Clearly the police knew about it, Walters had suggested that much, but he hadn’t seen any cops there other than Walters and Des.
Maybe they gave it a wide berth. Either way, Mal was glad Yu had stuck around.
It gave them a much better chance of solving the case—something Mal desperately wanted to get back to doing, as opposed to being chased by the dead.