Dead Boys by Gabriel Squailia Read Free Book Online Page A

the street, mosey to the nearest watering-hole, drink away weeks or months, and climb up again when he’s had enough, or run out of gewgaws to trade for swill. Most guzzlers, however, end up too muzzy-headed to stay in one place, and end up lost in the labyrinth, emerging after an absence of years in some far-off corner of the city! And those are the lucky ones: go alone, and you’re liable to be caught in a collapse, or trapped by a riot, or swallowed in a flood. The whims of the city are wondrous; why, I could lead you to the lip of a well at the bottom of which two lovers are arguing in Sumerian, where they’ve been trapped for thousands of years! Every so often we drop a bottle down to them by way of rope and bucket, and are rewarded with their renditions of ancient Babylonian drinking songs.
    “But we won’t be touring such wonders on this trip, I’m afraid, due to that cross on Jacob’s treasure map, which needs baring, and quickly! Am I right, Master Campbell?”
    “You are, Leopold, you are,” said Jacob from the rear of the train, gazing up at the mangled buildings of his erstwhile neighborhood as if he didn’t know whether to curse them or bid them a maudlin farewell.
    Remington, fascinated by Leopold’s stories of the Tunnels, kept up a steady stream of questions as they walked. “Why do they call it the Underground University?”
    “It’s the best place in the underworld to learn new languages. Simply sit down at a table where everything’s Greek to you, let the liquor flow, and a few months later, you’ll stand up fluent in a language lost to the Lands Above for hundreds of years.”
    “Where do we go to get down there?”
    “I’ll tell you all,” said Leopold, “but first, I have some difficult news to break. Bring that bird below, Remington, and you’ll never fluff its feathers again, for nothing is more unwelcome than a crow in the Tunnels, except for an open flame. Crows go for the eyes when they’re cornered, you see.”
    “Oh,” said Remington, knocking at his skull. The crow flapped out and perched on a nearby turret, squawking mournfully at their backs.
    “Excellent! Now, regarding entrances and exits, the Tunnels have all sorts: some are no more than ragged holes punched into aboveground buildings, while others are great ramps built for the masses. We could take one of those, but then we’d end up in a bar full of immigrants—no offense, boy, but the ones with brains are often odious. The die-hard debauchees prefer out-of-the-way apertures, such as this shaft you’re about to plunge into. Watch your step, boy, or you’ll never walk again!”
    Remington tottered at the edge of a mineshaft echoing with distant voices, located incongruously at the end of a zig-zagging alley. At Leopold’s urging, he climbed out of Dead City’s perpetual afternoon into an equally endless night, lowering himself down a rope of knotted bedsheets into pure, obliterating darkness. “You guys, I’m blind!” he shouted as his feet scraped the bottom, but then he raised a hand in front of his face. “Oh, wait,” he said as he waved it around, perceiving its dark outline, the downy hairs on the backs of its knuckles, even the fading color in its cuticles, “I spoke too soon. There’s no light, but I can see—everything!”
    “Indefatigability. Post-mortal immortality. Sight without light. Death does have its benefits, I suppose,” said Jacob as he touched down.
    “Not to mention freedom from the humiliating pain of a stubbed toe,” said Leopold. “Onward, fellows. Follow the sound of flowing booze!”
    “Not that you’ll be drinking any, Remy,” Jacob warned. “You’ll need to keep sharp—and stay close.”
    “Don’t you worry, my boy,” whispered Leopold to Remington, “we’ll loosen his apron-strings even if we have to force the swill down his throat.”
    Remington laughed as he followed Leopold’s head down a tilted hallway overflowing with echoes. As they crouched down,