Thread by @LRBbookshop

nice old buffer came in to see if we wanted to buy some antique geological maps. told him that we didn't buy secondhand, but he insisted on showing us anyway & spread his maps out over the counter. they were very handsome, mostly mid-Victorian & beautifully inked

as i thumbed through them politely something caught my eye: the words "bury pl. wc1". i reached for my magnifying glass and studied the map more closely (point marked with arrow). "that's us", i said, handing the magnifying glass to the customer.

he stared for a moment at where i was pointing, then dropped the magnifying glass and looked at me with wild eye and shaking hand. "d'ye know what this means", he said. "your bookshop is sitting right on top of the largest vein of silver in london". "well i'll be" i said softly

"do you have a shovel and pick" said the old man. "that we do", i cried, procuring them from behind the counter. "these old hands haven't worked a vein in forty years", said the old man staring down at them, "but i'll warrant the strength is still there sure enough."

leaving gayle to mind the till we flew downstairs. the old man consulted the map once more. "ten degrees sou'south west", he motioned, "then strike plumb down. you take the shovel and i'll take the pick, young man. ho! to the diggins"

as we worked, he sang a song, which to be honest i could have done without. (it was of his own composition and entitled "silver's the blood of the moon, the moon".) by 11.48 we had made substantial headway. our excavation had taken us well beneath the poetry section's dais

around half eleven we reached a layer of concrete. the old man swung his pick mightily, but when he heard the sound it made stepped back, startled. "hollow!" he cried. "strange doings here. ready with the shovel, boy". i was unsure about this demotion but stood ready all the same

we broke the layer with a crash - he was a remarkable worker with his pick - and when the dust had settled an astonishing sight confronted us.

we were looking down what appeared to be an ancient flight of stairs ("roman", my companion whispered), at the bottom of which an underground stream stretched away. the steps terminated in a stone wharf, where an old but sturdy boat was chained to a iron hoop

"a lantern! quick". i dashed upstairs for one. "gayle have you seen the lantern", i asked, but she was busy with a customer. it was not in the top drawer nor in the footwell under the till. i didn't know where it was

"we definitely *had* a lantern, didn't we" i asked. "yes we definitely did", said gayle. "i remember putting it away before the danny dorling event. have you looked in the cupboard under the stairs?" "i was getting tote bags from there this morning and i didn't see it" i said

by this time natalia had come upstairs. "natalia have you seen the bookshop lantern?" asked gayle. "hmmm. i think i did see it recently", said natalia. "is it on the post shelf?" i ran down to take a look but it wasn't on the post shelf. "it must be somewhere", i said

"excuse me, are you looking for a lantern?" said a helpful customer. "there's one on the floor under the new fiction table". "so there it is", i said and ran back downstairs with it. the old man was sat in the boat and tapping his ancient feet impatiently

the single oar was rotten, but it hardly mattered - it was easier to propel the boat by pushing the oar against the stone. i drove us forward while the old man sat in the boat's prow holding the lantern, rigid as a figurehead

for a while there was nothing but the sound of wood scraping on stone. finally the old man spoke. "what do you see". i looked around. "the passage is widening slightly?" i suggested. he nodded. "there's another wharf there", he said. "let's tie up the boat"

he left the lantern resting in the boat as we stepped from it. when something crunched beneath my feet i reached back for it, and the lantern's beam fell onto a jumble of human bones. i started back but the old man laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder

"these dry bones are all that remains of the last men who dug here", he explained. "they can't hurt us now. press on, and with good heart! lanterns ahead!"

we followed the passage until we came to a curious door. it seemed to be operated by a strange runic contraption to its right; but in the event, it was standing propped open. a staircase extended away beyond it. i quickly sketched the arrangement on some till roll

"nothing we've seen yet has alarmed me", said my companion slowly. "but this door alarms me. who left it open? when, and for what purpose? dim the light, boy, and let's tread soft, for i like this not"

as we crept upstairs, i began to share the old man's misgivings. an occasional flicker betrayed a light ahead of us, and we could hear sounds - a steady tapping, like a marble against glass, and more unnerving still, what might have been low voices somewhere ahead

we came to a ledge and a ladder. by now the light and low voices were palpable. i rested a little while to sketch the arrangement, then me and the old man crept forward on our bellies to assess our situation.

we could hear two voices very distinct. "damn you, captain blake", said the first roughly, "and damn your tales of silver. i didn't sign on with you to labour down some sewer like a navvy. where's this famous jade skull you promised, eh?"

the second voice responded in an insinuating purr. "while i'm captain, dick, you'll do as i say. wasn't it all as the bald man's chart predicted? didn't that lead us, plain as day, to the cataract and the hidden door? stow your tongue, then, dick burstock, stow your tongue"

the old man crouching by me was trembling with excitement. "smugglers!" he whispered fiercely, on what seemed to me very inadequate evidence

the old man signalled with a flick of his wrist, we dropped back a little to talk through our next steps.

"the captain mentioned a bald man's chart", said the old man. "we need to get our hands on that chart. i'll make a distraction, boy; then hie you to the captain's trunk"

without waiting for my reply, he dipped for a stone; then flung it, with more force than i'd imagined he was capable of. captain blake was standing alongside an antique candelabra, its top candles lit - all three candles went flying into the straw. the captain roared

that was my signal. ducking through the shadows, i ran past capt. blake and dick burstock battling furiously with the flames, up to the captain's concealed trunk. luckily it had been left unlocked. buried in the linings was the chart we sought.

i tried to run back the way i came. but dick burstock had turned from the fire to find water, and caught sight of my shirt-tails. "Oi!" he screamed, running to intercept me. my escape cut off, i doubled back, vaulting a pair of barrels and diving down a passageway

the furious dick burstock was in hot pursuit; but luck of a sort was with me. i collided with a lever, which sent a portcullis tumbling down to block his path. i was away, and i had the chart, but i was cut off from my guide and in a strange place

having no lantern i guided myself with my phone's torch; aware, however, that the battery would not last long. "if there's a path upwards i'll take it", i thought, and hummed a verse of 'silver's the blood of the moon, the moon'

but the passageway showed no signs of turning upwards, although it seemed to widen, and the stonework seemed to become rougher. stranger still, i could hear a sound which reminded me of a tide lapping the shore. i rounded a corner and a curious sight indeed confronted me

it was what i can only describe as the strand of an underground ocean. the roof of the passageway suddenly lifted up very substantially; high up in it, I could see veins of silver picked out like constellations. the water stretched away further than i could see.

hauled up onto the shore was a sailing vessel, a death's head flag hoisted from the mizzen-mast. "so it was this which carried captain blake and dick burstock here", i said to myself. there was a campfire smouldering alongside the boat; i moved the teakettle into place above it.

i needed to think carefully. my intention was to push out in the boat and seek a further shore. but what were my responsibilities to the old man? if he hadn't been discovered, would he be able to make his own way back down the passage to our "diggins", and from thence the shop?

and then, what if he *had* been discovered? surely it was my responsibility to assist him. but how? the knife on captain blake's belt proclaimed him a deft close-quarters opponent; i had no weapon, and doubted my strength. "what would gayle do", i wondered

there was another consideration; if i went back and rescued the old man, it seemed inevitable that blake and burstock would be able to regain the boat. this, perhaps, was our only chance to get a jump on the ruffians. "forgive me, old man", i whispered as i pushed off the boat

having made my decision, i explored the boat. there were two cabins; one, cramped and filthy, clearly belonged to the wretched burstock; the other, velveteen and luxurious, to none other than captain blake. i stowed my gear in the captain's cabin and headed up to take the wheel

a very large nugget of silver in the "roof" - some hundred metres above me - provided enough light to steer by. i hoisted the mainsail and the prow cut through the water, crisp and easy

i set my course in the direction which seemed most promising, and then unfurled the bald man's chart. i could plainly see the 'cataract' and the 'hidden door' the captain had mentioned. more puzzling was the sketch in the bottom corner of an ominous creature