Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman Read Free Book Online Page A

a great cat.
    “Somebody killed Door’s family?” asked Richard.
    “We’re not going to get very far if you keep repeating everything I say, now, are we?” said the marquis, who was now standing in front of Richard. “Sit down,” he ordered. Richard looked around the alley for something to sit on. The marquis put a hand on his shoulder and sent him sprawling to the cobblestones. “She knows I don’t come cheap. What exactly is she offering me?”
    “Sorry?”
    “What’s the deal? She sent you here to negotiate, young man. I’m not cheap, and I never give freebies.”
    Richard shrugged, as well as he could shrug from a supine position. “She said to tell you that she wants you to accompany her home—wherever that is—and to fix her up with a bodyguard.”
    Even when the marquis was at rest, his eyes never ceased moving. Up, down, around, as if he were looking for something, thinking about something. Adding, subtracting, evaluating. Richard wondered whether the man was quite sane. “And she’s offering me?”
    “Well. Nothing.”
    The marquis blew on his fingernails and polished them on the lapel of his remarkable coat. Then he turned away. “She’s offering me. Nothing.” He sounded offended.
    Richard scrambled back up to his feet. “Well, she didn’t say anything about money. She just said she was going to have to owe you a favor.”
    The eyes flashed. “Exactly what kind of favor?”
    “A really big one,” said Richard. “She said she was going to have to owe you a really big favor.”
    De Carabas grinned to himself, a hungry panther sighting a lost peasant child. Then he turned on Richard. “And you left her alone?” he asked. “With Croup and Vandemar out there? Well, what are you waiting for?” He knelt down and took from his pocket a small metal object, which he pushed into a manhole cover at the edge of the alley and twisted. The manhole cover came up easily; the marquis put away the metal object and took something out of another pocket that reminded Richard a little of a long firework, or a flare. He held it in one hand, ran his other hand along it, and the far end erupted into scarlet flame.
    “Can I ask a question?” said Richard.
    “Certainly not,” said the marquis. “You don’t ask any questions. You don’t get any answers. You don’t stray from the path. You don’t even think about what’s happening to you right now. Got it?”
    “But—”
    “Most important of all: no buts,” said de Carabas. “And time is of the essence. Move.” He pointed into the depths revealed by the open manhole cover. Richard moved, clambering down the metal ladder set into the wall beneath the manhole, feeling so far out of his depth that it didn’t even occur to him to question any further.
     
    Richard wondered where they were. This didn’t seem to be a sewer. Perhaps it was a tunnel for telephone cables, or for very small trains. Or for . . . something else. He realized that he did not know very much about what went on beneath the streets of London. He walked nervously, worried that he’d catch his feet in something, that he’d stumble in the darkness and break his ankle. De Carabas strode on ahead, nonchalantly, apparently not caring whether Richard was with him or not. The crimson flame cast huge shadows on the tunnel walls.
    Richard ran to catch up. “Let’s see . . .” said de Carabas. “I’ll need to get her to the market. The next one’s in, mm, two days’ time, if I recall correctly, as of course I unfailingly do. I can hide her until then.”
    “Market?” asked Richard.
    “The Floating Market. But you don’t want to know about that.
    No more questions.” Richard looked around. “Well, I was going to ask you where we are now. But I suppose you were going to refuse to tell me.”
    The marquis grinned once more. “Very good,” he said, approvingly. “You are in enough trouble already.”
    “You can say that again,” sighed Richard. “My fiancée’s dumped me,