The War of London

[Artemis]

Title: The War of London
Author: Chris Cook
Rating: PG to NC-17 - I really don't know yet.
Disclaimer: Based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy, and Neverwhere developed by Neil Gaiman and Lenny Henry.
Feedback: Please?

Note: As you may have noticed, I haven't been writing as frequently as I used to. I look back on turning out a chapter of Hellebore pretty much every week - or TARA every other day, almost - and think yeah, those were the days... Granted I need to spend time on my hopefully-this'll-earn-me-some-money novel (which is taking its sweet time itself, grumble), but I want to get back into the habit of just writing something in free moments. Hence this story. What you'll see here will be what I type into the posting box, from my keyboard direct to Pens (and subsequently copied to Through the Looking-glass, of course) - no drafts, no revisions, no writing ahead, just ideas worked into a story any old how. Hopefully I won't find myself wanting to abandon the idea after a week or two. Obviously I don't know how often I'll be updating, but I'll try not to let this one stall. And I will be continuing my other fics, none of which are abandoned - they all have their finales planned, and hopefully this weird little thing will help me get back into the swing of writing, and thus contribute to finishing off Smut Bunnies, Space Quest, Princess Tara et al.

And if you haven't seen the TV series Neverwhere, I highly recommend it. It won't be necessary to understand this story, though it may make some things more obvious sooner - but in the end, I'll be treating this as if it's all on its own.

(Also, sorry if I mess up the details of London. I'm just making it up as I go.)

[center][br]
CHAPTER ONE: THE LAST DAY OF WILLOW ROSENBERG'S LIFE[/center]

Smooth out today's schedule. Call developers. Make changes to applets. Tote that barge. Lift that bale. Is that the saying? How do you tote a barge, anyway?

Danielle Rosenberg slumped at her desk, tapping a few keys to look busy, while in fact she ignored the windows that popped up and down on her screen. This morning, planning ahead while she brushed her teeth, she had hoped to finish off a troublesome memory allocation bug, but that seemed unlikely. Everything up until midday had been wasted implementing a new feature in a personnel monitoring system that even Danielle, junior as she was in the hierarchy of office management, could see would be absolutely useless once it was up and running. But the client had insisted, and like the proverbial sheep, Danielle grimaced, her boss had agreed and passed the job along.

Danielle mentally crossed off the idea of taking a take-away lunch to the park and reading a book. At this rate, she would be lucky to snatch fifteen minutes before she had to be back for the first afternoon meeting - fifteen minutes in which she would no doubt be graced by Anya's company. Her co-worker seemed oblivious to how little return she got for the ceaseless torrent of opinion and complaint she let wash over Danielle, under the guise of conversation, whenever they shared lunch.

I could pretend I have a cold. A very contagious cold. Flu. Mad cow disease. Scratch that, if she hasn't already got that nobody has.

Danielle felt vaguely guilty about such an uncharitable thought, and threw herself back into her mildly profitable but ultimately purposeless work to keep herself from dwelling on the social shortcomings of, more or less, God help me, her only friend.

[center]-----[/center]

One hundred days until the armada.

[center]-----[/center]

"Spare a bob, luv?"

Danielle tossed a coin, still in her hand from the change the cashier had given her at the take-away Thai place a block down from the building where she worked. Anya shot a disapproving glance at Danielle as the homeless man caught the coin with a muttered thanks, and ambled off in the other direction.

"You shouldn't encourage them," she said flatly.

"It was fifty p, I won't miss it," Danielle shrugged.

"You know some of them are muggers," Anya persisted, falling into step beside her. "If you walk on by they'll ignore you and wait for someone else. Give them something and they'll follow you and get your purse - if you're lucky, just your purse. I read about it."

"This is a main street in broad daylight, Anya," Danielle replied, turning up the corner of her plastic food container and sniffing at the contents, getting a mildly pleasing whiff of No. 23 With Vegetables. "And I'm not about to turn down some deserted alley."

"Bus fare?" someone asked from where they were huddled against a column in the building's facade.

"Not today," Anya replied smoothly, almost as if she hadn't had to actually engage her brain to say it.

"Mind Jack," the someone muttered, looking away.

"'Bus fare' will just turn out to be a bottle," Anya went on to Danielle. "Just ignore them."

[center]-----[/center]

The sun was westering when the struggling figure finished its difficult ascent. The side of the building had proved treacherous, edges worn by time and rain, smoothed and made slick by the accumulated droppings of countless pigeons. Panting heavily the woman lifted herself onto the roof, among droning air conditioning blocks, and turned her eyes north, to Big Ben. She dropped her heavy patchwork coat to the ground and waited.

The clock began to strike five o'clock, and she nodded, picking up her coat and pulling it back over her thin frame.

"I understand," she muttered, alone on the office roof. "I'll do it."

[center]-----[/center]

Beep. "Danielle it's me. Can you be in the office at eight thirty tomorrow? We might be having a conference thingy with Berlin, and, never mind, call me if you can't make it." Beep.

Beep. Click. Beep. Hung up when they heard it was a machine.

Beep. Click. Beep.

Danielle glanced again at the clock - Ten, how did I spend that much time at work and not get anything done? - and opened her fridge, unpacking the plastic bags of groceries on her kitchenette counter.

"Oh, darnit," she muttered, spotting an almost-empty container in the fridge door. "Forgot the milk." She mentally calculated the profit-loss equation for a trip to the conveniece store versus not having milk on her cereal the next morning, and reached for her coat.

[center]-----[/center]

At 9:12pm, some time before Danielle arrived at her flat half a city away, the man who was going to kill London walked home. He passed by a pub at 9:13pm, still mildly rowdy with patrons and a football match. At 9:15pm he bought a six-pack of lager from an off-license, and on arriving home - 9:23pm - he put five bottles in the fridge, and drank the sixth while watching the remainder of the sports news on TV. At 9:54pm he left the empty bottle where it was on the kitchen counter, and checked his email before going to bed.

[center]-----[/center]

Danielle walked quickly back towards her building, keeping to the street side of the pavement. The occasional huddled figure of a homeless seemed more threatening in the dark, with Anya's words still lingering in her head. She told herself not to be silly, but was nonetheless relieved that no-one seemed to pay her any attention whatsoever.

She reached the building's front door and rummaged in her pocket for the swipe card that would open it, noting a new coat of graffiti across the alcove wall - 'below 4ever', a tag she vaguely recalled seeing here and there the past few weeks. She finally found the card, swiped it, opened the door, and was just closing it behind herself when she heard a voice.

"Willow?"

Danielle turned, fear suddenly hammering in her chest, reflex pulling the door shut with a resounding tremor from the plate of reinforced security glass set into its centre. The voice had been female; the person it had come from was swathed in rags and at least three coats, buried between two woolen scarves and a beanie with a ragged old pom-pom on top. She lifted a gloved hand to pull down a scarf, revealing a striking, elegant face lit in the most dazzling smile of relief and exaltation Danielle had ever seen.

"Oh by the streets, it is you!"

Then she seemed to hear something, glanced over her shoulder, and in an instant she vanished into the shadows. Danielle, wide-eyed, peered out through the glass into the darkness, but she was gone.

[SithLordWiccan]

DIBS!

ETA: Looks interesting. Can't wait for future updates. But for the love of God, Chris, update your other fics, first.

[PancakesinBellies]

Interesting...Very interesting. I heart Neil Gaiman, so I look forward to seeing where you go with this. Hopefully we will soon be deluged with updatey goodness. Nice start!

[Willowtree252]

I can,t wait for this story I am glad you are are here It is so great to have you back where you belong

[songbird]

Well, I can't say I understand much of what's going on, but it certainly seems like an interesting start. I hope your Muse helps you and you keep writing, I don't think I've read a fic by you that wasn't absolutely fabulous. You have a gift!

[writerfreak]

Yes yes, definitely a very interesting start. I've never seen that show I guess it is. But I might have to start watching now. I can already tell I'm going to love this story. Great job!

writerfreak

[JustSkipIt]

Hey Chris,
First off, I was thrilled (I think it's chuffed in British?) to see your name on the thread (any thread really). I'm glad to hear you're writing a bit and even glad to hear that you're pounding on your novel. I didn't know there was a tv series but I love the novel Neverwhere. "Mind the Gap!" Lol. My friend bought mind the gap thongs in London in celebration of Neverwhere. Tee hee. I love the start here. It's just confusing enough to pull the reader in but not to give much of anything away.

Re: people on the streets. The other day I gave money to a guy on the way to lunch which I don't normally do anymore. Understand, it's not that I don't give them anything. I carry boxes of granola bars and those pop-top meals in my car and pass them out at intersections or take people into restaurants to buy them lunch but I rarely have money. But it was freezing and raining and the guy just looked f-king miserable so I gave him the 1.50 I had. I didn't really think about doing it in front of two co-workers until we were past and one just shrugged and the other was like, "yeah. I only have a credit card with me..." My observation from years and years of giving people food is that they're generally not dangerous. They're generally hungry. Anyway, that's OT.

On-topic: yay for your fic.

[Alcy]

Hi Chris,
I wholeheartedly agree with Debra, it's always great to see your name on a fic as I know there will be a great story to be told and enjoyed by me! I'm kinda glad that I've never heard of the TV series or the novel so I can better enjoy your writing for the wonderful stuff that it is and be completely baffled by what is happening.

I laughed when Willow forgot milk, I'm an avid tea drinker (earl grey of course) but milk is the thing I always forget at the supermarket and I constantly find myself walking back to get it through rain and hail, whatever, I have to have the milk!

Looking forward to the next installment and learning about Willow's mysterious stalker,

Cheers
Alcy

[JustSkipIt]

Hey guess what? Of course Netflix has Neverwhere so I just added it to my queue. Quite excited.

[Artemis]

Alex: Thanks. Actually, since starting this the other night I've worked on Princess Tara a fair bit, so perhaps it's working

Amber: Thank you. I don't really know Gaiman very well - just Neverwhere and Good Omens - but I hope I manage to live up to his work.

Dianneswillowtree: Thanks, it's always good to be posting here. I hope it'll be a much more regular occurence from now on.

songbird: Thanks. In all honest, I don't understand some of it either. Hopefully I'll think of an explanation at some point - some of it I've got vaguely planned, but some scenes I really have no idea where they'll lead, or I might change my mind, or who-knows-what?

writerfreak: Thanks. Neverwhere's an interesting show - you can get all six episodes on DVD now. On special here, at the moment, which is why I bougth it without having a clue what it was about, and was pleasantly surprised.

Elvis: Thank you. Anya's paranoia was a bit of an homage to one of the characters on the TV show, who likewise goes off on a just-ignore-them rant at the hero, just before the heroine stumbles into view. There'll be more about the homeless sooner or later - most of them, as you note, are just hungry and broke, a few may be dangerous, and some are something else entirely.

As for watching Neverwhere, one thing to be aware of: it was filmed on video, and intended to be 'filmised' in post-production to change the look of it, but the BBC (I think) changed their minds on the filmising after all the shooting was done, so they were left with a load of footage that was lit all wrong for video. Consequently the show looks a bit cheap and TV-ish, especially compared to the visual standards of TV today. Damned shame - it's an incredible show.

Alcy: Thanks. Hmm, Earl Grey - he might show up Neverwhere does a lot of playing with names, which I'm going to try to mimic and build on here and there. And we will definitely learn more about Willow's 'mysterious stalker'.

Title: The War of London
Author: Chris Cook
Rating: PG to NC-17 - I really don't know yet.
Disclaimer: Based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy, and Neverwhere developed by Neil Gaiman and Lenny Henry.
Feedback: Please?

[center][br]
CHAPTER TWO: ALONE[/center]

Danielle finally trudged into the office, late and dispirited. Her encounter of the night before had left her unsettled, trying to recall the face she had glimpsed for a fraction of a second, a face that tugged at her memory but refused to connect to anything real. Her dreams had been disturbed and disjointed, and in spite of her alarm clock remaining stubbornly silent when it should have gone off, she felt thoroughly un-rested despite the unintentional sleep in.

Remembering her early morning start - already missed - the previous night's mystery didn't seem so important, and when a broken fridge full of thawing food, and taxis that steadfastly refused to pick her up, added their quotients of irritation, she had decided that she had quite enough to worry about without inventing more headaches for herself.

The meeting was still going - Danielle opened the door quietly, casting an apologetic smile at her co-workers as she entered. Her boss ignored her as she pulled a chair over from the side of the room and seated herself, wedged between a fellow programmer and an assistant, both of whom were evidently too absorbed in making the odd note and pretending to listen to make more room for her.

She balanced her laptop on her knees and surruptitiously tried to log in to the office wireless network, only to be met with stubborn refusal from the password prompt. Fortunately her boss had finished his spiel for the moment, and was silent as he tried to bring the next Powerpoint slide up.

"Uh," she raised a hand, feeling foolishly childish. "Is anyone else having trouble with logging-"

"Right, here we are," her boss spoke over her, finally seeing the slide appear on the meeting room's screen. "We're going to be looking at expanding our mobile technology work, so Justine, seeing as you did that Bluetooth security thing a while back-"

"Actually, that was me," Danielle snapped, surprised at how annoyed she was letting herself be, but too irritated by life in general to shut herself up.

"-if you can finish up your work on that, what is it you're on, the database for those video people? We'll put you with Colin on a project I'm hoping to secure this afternoon."

A strange, nervous shiver ran down Danielle's spine.

"Hello?" she asked, suddenly nervous. "Excuse me?" There was a pause in the conversation, a few heads turned slightly, almost looking at her, then everything resumed as before, as if she'd never spoken.

"Hey!" Danielle stood up, pushing her laptop onto the table. "Not wanting to be pushy, you know me, meek and polite girl, but doesn't this strike any of you as being a little rude? Sorry," she added quickly, suddenly aware of the spectacle she was making of herself.

Again, there was a pause, then her co-workers seemed to dismiss her outburst from their attention. Her boss began outlining the new project, Justine and Colin nodded attentively, and the others made vaguely affirmative noises whenever appropriate, and generally waited for something concerning them personally to be said.

"Hello? This isn't funny," Danielle tried, her voice slightly panicked and shrill. She waved a hand in front of Colin's face, but he just frowned as if he had a headache and paid her no attention. Danielle strode around the table, leaning over to look into the faces of her colleagues, none of whom seemed to notice her. Anya was sitting in the corner as usual, contributing nothing and reading some trashy romance novel - Danielle put a hand on her shoulder and pushed gently. The woman swayed with the push, looked up in apparent confusion, then gave a puzzled shrug and returned her attention to her book.

Danielle's breathing came in short, desperate gasps. She turned and fled the room.

[center]-----[/center]
Ninety-nine days until the armada.

[center]-----[/center]
Danielle ran from person to person on the street. Everyone she stopped, everyone she talked to, even shouted at, seemed to notice her slightly, like a mosquito buzzing near their ear, then put her out of their mind and move on with their lives. She stood firm in the middle of the pavement, and the pedestrian traffic simply flowed around her. She darted in front of people and stopped; just in time to avoid bumping into her they paused, as if a thought had struck them, then sidestepped her and continued on their way.

Danielle stumbled along, confused, frightened, and alone, desperate for some proof that she existed.

[center]-----[/center]
Deep beneath the streets of London, two men met in a shadowy tunnel. There was a rhythmic rumbling in the walls beside them, as if just on the other side of the old, crumbling brickwork a river was thundering along its course.

"I really don't have time for fool's errands," the taller of the two, a dandy in a top hat and frock coat, said lightly.

"I'm no fool, and you know it," the other said, squinting with his one good eye, the other covered by a strip of cloth across his face, a makeshift patch.

"I know many things," the dandy smiled, "but if I ever knew such a thing, a lifetime's experience of you would surely have contradicted it far beyond my powers of comprehension. I have business to attend to. You know my master doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"My master ain't the kind to wait," the other said darkly. "You want to hear what I have to say, trust me on that."

"Very well," the tall man sighed theatrically. "Do astound me with your prodigious well of rumour and hearsay."

"I hear say," the short man said deliberately, "that she went above. Last night. Alone."

"Again? I thought the Earl had forbidden it."

"Ar," the man nodded sagely. "You know her, though. The quiet type, but not a woman who'll be forbidden anything if she don't want to be. She went... and she saw Willow."

The dandy's air of complacent calm vanished like water on a hot plate.

"Where?" he demanded.

"Don' be silly, she'd never risk that being overheard," the rumourmonger snarled. "But if I were you, I'd get my boots on. She ain't the only one's been looking - nor are you."

"Indeed," the dandy said, regaining some of his composure.

"Methinks you owe me silver," the other man said out of the side of his mouth.

"For the rumour? Or to see that it stops here?"

"I can't be held responsible for what others say," the short man shook his head. "But you know my price, and you know I'm worth it."

"I doubt it very much," the dandy smirked. "But I have a reputation for generosity to uphold, so..." He held out a hand, and something clinked into the palm of the shorter man.

"Who else knows?" he asked, as they both turned to go their separate ways.

"No-one from me," the rumourmonger shrugged. "But I wouldn't count on the Baron not having his own sources. Better get a move on, 'adn't you - if he finds Willow, I wouldn't give two bob for your life."

"Lucky I'm not selling it today," the dandy said over his shoulder.

[center]-----[/center]
Danielle sat dejectedly on a park bench, munching a sandwich and picking crumbs from its crust, absurdly interested in determining whether or not the pigeons could see her. At present she was leaning towards the affirmative, but it was difficult to tell - their attention span seemed limited at the best of times. She was fairly certain they could see the crumbs, because they were eating them, but whether they had grasped any kind of relationship between them and her, she couldn't yet say.

She had tried to call someone - her parents, wherever they were on their lecture circuit, the police, directory assistance for the nearest psychistrist, or possible asylum - but her cellphone refused to connect her with anyone. Payphones returned any coin she tried to put in them. She had returned home to find her swipe card had stopped working. Five ATMs from three separate banks had spat her card back out at her and refused to cooperate. She had no idea what to do next. The waitress at the park cafe had ignored her, just like everyone else, so she had reached over the counter and taken a sandwich, leaving the money for it on top of the cash register.

"Ello?"

Danielle jumped and looked up. A boy was standing in front of her, no more than ten years old, with wavy hair that fell to his shoulders, wearing a well-fitting suit and ragged old sandshoes.

"C-can you see me?" she asked, not sure which answer she'd find more disturbing.

"You're Danielle Rosenberg?" the boy asked. "And no-one can see you or hear you, yeah?"

"Yes. Yes!" Danielle yelped in relief. "Who- what- why- how- what's going on?"

"You gotta come wif me," the boy said cheerfully, ignoring her outburst.

"Where? Who are you?"

"I'm Mem," the boy said.

"Mem," Danielle repeated.

"S'right," Mem nodded. "You comin'?"

"Where?" Danielle asked, getting to her feet.

"London," Mem said.

"We're in London," Danielle pointed out, glancing around just to make sure - she wouldn't have put anything past the day she was having.

"Yeah," Mem said evenly. "But not the one you want. Come on."

With a hundred questions warring for attention in her brain, Danielle followed Mem in silence towards the street.

[center]-----[/center]
In a dark, quiet place, a huddled form stirred. It stood, though even at its full height it remained stooped over, as if weighed down, and when it shuffled a few steps its motion was jerky and painful to watch. From beneath the black hood and cloak that concealed its entire body, a parched whisper emerged.

"...mem..."

One arm reached down, the training sleeve disappearing into the sludge covering the ground. When it lifted up, it brought with it a gnarled old staff.

"...mem..."

With considerable difficulty it reached beneath its robes with its other hand, and brought out a bundle wrapped in dirty rags. It brought the bundle to its other hand, and screwed something inside onto the end of the staff. The rags fell away, revealing a bent, rusted scythe blade.

"...memory..."

[PancakesinBellies]

*quivers in excitement*

This is awesome. I can't wait to see where you take this with the next update. But Chris, I just have one question for you. Where's our pervy dragon sex?

[songbird]

Willow is invisible? Or something. Damn, I think I better start Googling Neverwhere. Google, Wikipedia, here I come!

Curiouser and curiouser... Keep going, this is very interesting.

[JujuDeRoussie]

Hello !

Hmm this is interesting... :-)
i like it.

Julia

[Knock yourself out]

Oh, I like this very much.

Ironically Neverwhere is only just being released on DVD in this country (where it was made - grr) but I did manage to see it a couple of years ago and it was excellent with the added bonus of the lovely Laura Fraser (and Paterson Joseph who was Nigel in Ghosts of Albion). The book came after the series and there is also a comic book version by Mike Carey and Glenn Fabry.

I'll stop being boring now.

This is really well written and I can't wait to see how how our heroines interact.

[PancakesinBellies]

Oh, I like this very much.

Ironically Neverwhere is only just being released on DVD in this country (where it was made - grr) but I did manage to see it a couple of years ago and it was excellent with the added bonus of the lovely Laura Fraser (and Paterson Joseph who was Nigel in Ghosts of Albion). The book came after the series and there is also a comic book version by Mike Carey and Glenn Fabry.

I'll stop being boring now.

This is really well written and I can't wait to see how how our heroines interact.

Nigel is in Neverwhere? Why did I not notice this? *dies* *revives and runs off to watch Neverwhere again*

[taralicious]

Chris,
Like so many of your followers have noted, it is nice to have you back where you belong, cue belting out show tunes from "Hello Dolly."
"Neverwhere" has become my second favorite book of all time, right after "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."
My turn for Neil Gaiman trivia. He wrote the "Don't Panic" Compendium which was a sort of guide to the various incarnations of the Guide in all the forms of media.
Love what you're doing with the mythos of London Below.

[JustSkipIt]

So well done on the part where Willow/Dannielle hasn't figured out that she's out of sync yet. Actually it made me want to go reread the book because as I was reading it I was like, "oh yeah..." You've really captured the confusion for her and the conspiracy of the London Below. Well done.

[justin]

This is a great start to the story. You've certainly captured my interest with the first chapter being "the last day of Willow's life" and these references to the Armada.

As JustSkipIt said I think you've done a good job of capturing how the protagonist felt in Neverwhere when everyone started ignoring him.

So why is everyone so interested in Danielle/Willow?

Also the way you're writing this is interesting. It reminds me of the stories of Harlan Ellison writing in the front of a book shop and whenever he finished a page it being taken and stuck in the window of the shop.

[watty]

Heehee. Another story based in a universe I know absolutely zilch about. *shrug* I know, I should know about this one, but I don't. I like the improvised nature of this story, it feels really fresh and sharp. And so much bubbling unknown under the surface. Especially when Willow is seen by ... presumably Tara or someone like that? and something strange happens to her. Interesting that she can interact with inanimate objects (laptop, sandwich, even the park bench) and yet can't connect with people. I'm wondering if the pigeons know. Here's an interesting question -- if you can take a sandwich without the people in the shop noticing, why do you leave money? And besides, can those people see/touch your money?
[br]

[Alcy]

Hi Chris,
I kinda succumbed and read the wikipedia summary about Neverwhere so I’ve got the general gist of the idea and much to my delight I found out Laura Fraser is in it, now I will have to find a copy somewhere (its disgustingly difficult trying to find DVDs in NZ, there’s only one dvd store that rents out Deep Space 9 and they’re always out….must be too many geeks in town!) or a least the book.

I loved it how Willow left the money for her sandwich despite the fact she could so easily take it…not to mention anything else she wanted…but that’s exactly what Willow would do.

I love the premise, it suits your wonderful prose and I’m looking forward to what comes next for Willow in the strange occurrences that have starting happening to her…not to mention all the other questions that are flying about! It’s all about intrigue…and I’m definitely intrigued and waiting for the next instalment.
Cheers
Alcy

[Willowtree252]

Along with other kittens I have never seen this so I am opening a new world but with you it is always that way it is refreshing I am loving it

[Artemis]

Amber: Thanks. Well, you've got your pervy dragon sex now and I think this story is indeed doing its job of getting me back in the habit of just writing whenever the mood takes me.

songbird: Thanks. Not invisible, exactly, more like everyone's ignoring her - only it's so strong no-one even realises she's there, no matter what she does. It'll be explained more in this chapter (I think, anyway - seeing as I'm only just about to write it).

Julia: Thank you

Knock yourself out: Thanks. It was absolute luck that I got Neverwhere - I was in the DVD shop, and saw it (for only $15), and thought that sounded pretty good, for six episodes of something Neil Gaiman was involved in, and it sounded all spooky and fantastic. I'd never even heard of it before - didn't know if it was new or old or what. Turned out to be a good decision, but last time I had a look in the shop they'd sold out, so it was just as well I bought it on a whim when I did.

taralicious: Thanks. I'll be getting into London Below, and trying to put my own spin on it - all I'll say for now is that this is set some time after Neverwhere, and just as London above is a different place, so is the one below.

Elvis: Thank you. I had fun with that confusion, though it was kind of odd to write - I do so much writing about sci-fi or fantasy that it's unusual to have the chance to write how a 'normal' would react to all this freaky stuff that the inhabitants of stories usually just take for granted.

justin: Thanks. As you say, various people are interested in Danielle/Willow, for various reasons - some of which even I don't know yet

watty: Thank you. As I said above, it's more that Willow is being ignored - something is making her 'unimportant' to the people around her, so that they ignore her no matter what she does. There'll be more on that, from various angles. And yes, that was indeed Tara who found Willow. Why did Willow bother leaving money... I guess just because she's Willow. It's partly innate honesty, and partly that Willowish thing she has where she's always, on some subconscious level, worried that someone's watching her and will be giving her a score out of 100 on everything she does, so she has to get it right.

Alcy: Thanks. Yes, leaving money is Willowy - like I said above, part honesty, part slightly neurotic anxiety that she'll be graded on everything she does somehow. As for what comes next, well for the most part it'll be a surprise for both of us

Dianneswillowtree: Thank you.

Title: The War of London
Author: Chris Cook
Rating: PG to NC-17 - I really don't know yet.
Disclaimer: Based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy, and Neverwhere developed by Neil Gaiman and Lenny Henry.
Feedback: Please?

[center][br]
CHAPTER THREE: ABOVE AND BELOW[/center]

Danielle walked in Mem's wake, still wary of the strange... something that had her - both of them - in its grip. They were walking along a crowded street, but pedestrians just happened, by chance, not to bump into them, or even be in their way much. Mem strolled along looking this way and that, as if perfectly acclimatised to this strange condition; Danielle walked with a nervous stood, scurrying a few steps at a time and perpetually sure the spell would break and one of the bustling people would cannon into her.

"Where are we going?" she tried again, as they turned down a side street.

"Told yer," Mem said without slowing. "London."

"But-"

"Oh, a'right, Blackhorse Road if you must know."

"B-but... that's the other way," Danielle frowned, pointing over her shoulder. "And quite a way, are we going to walk all that-"

"Nah, not that one," Mem shook his head, grinning. "Almost there, 'ang on."

"It... it really is the other way," Danielle said, mostly to herself, as she allowed herself to be led on.

[center]-----[/center]
The dandy put a hand to his top hat's brim and inclined it ever so slightly, making the gesture seem cheerfully disrespectful. The woman he had come to see gestured to a seat, quite accustomed to her visitor's manner and apparently not ruffled by it in the slightest. The dandy sat on the edge of the worn old leather armchair facing the woman's couch, and looked around the room.

Portraits stared back at him from every wall, the many sizes of their frames fitting together like Mayan stonework. Between the rich, thickly painted canvasses and their ornate, gilded frames, it was difficult to tell if there were walls behind them at all. Only two doors broke the diverse uniformity of the room's decorations - the one the dandy had entered by, and closed behind him on the dusty passageway beyond, and the other, behind the woman's couch. The doorknob was polished, but not completely - rather, constant use had shined it irregularly. The dandy's eyes lingered on it, then returned to the woman.

"I met a man, as I was a-walking here today," he said, with a musical lilt in his voice.

"The Keeper of the Keys?" the woman asked.

"Milady has, as always, a most keen insight," the man smiled, again managing to make 'milady' sound roughly as respectful as 'hey you,' but with a mitigating touch of humour in his voice.

"Milady knows you better than you think, Colonel," the woman said, mimicking the man's tone of voice very well. "You always get a particular expression on your face when you've been down that way."

"I'm horrified to think that I might be so transparent," the 'Colonel' replied. The two let their gazes meet, and the air of humour dropped from around them.

"I was seen, I know," the woman said quietly.

"You must be more careful!" the Colonel insisted, also keeping his voice down, though his warning lost none of its urgency for being delivered in a near-whisper.

"I had to know," the woman shrugged.

"If you'd but told me, I could have come with you and watched your back-"

"And we all know how many eyes watch you," the woman said, shaking her head. "You know I couldn't have asked that of you. If your master finds out what you've been up to..."

"Pshaw," the Colonel dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.

"Don't" the woman said quickly. "You and I both know there are some things even you can't talk your way out of, and... you've been a good friend. Losing you would be..." She trailed off, and made no attempt to hide the stricken look in her eyes.

"Would be a sad blow to your potential as an unscrupulously devious rogue," the man finished for her, injecting a little levity into the conversation. "Don't think it's been easy, getting you to so much as bend the rules - I'd hate to leave such a grand accomplishment half-done."

"I saw her," the woman said softly. The Colonel's gaze met hers, then dropped to study the patterns on the polished wooden floor.

"That's what the rumour was," he admitted. "But you know rumour... You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, in a voice which allowed no contradiction.

"And?"

"She... Knave, I swear to you, I was as close to her as you and I sit now, and she didn't recognise me. I was disguised of course, to go above without being stopped, but... she didn't know me. My voice."

"Aye," the Colonel nodded.

"You knew?" the woman demanded, letting her voice rise.

"No," he said quickly. "No, but... Damn it all, I saw the two of you together often enough. I'd wager good money that the only way she'd have gone, and stayed gone, was if somehow she didn't know how to come back to you."

"She didn't know me," the woman said, shaking her head. "How... Why would anyone do something like that to her? To us?"

"Why do people do anything?" the Colonel said grimly. "Greed, fear, ambition, jealousy - you're high among us still, but while you and she were together, you know better'n I how much weight the two of you carried in our city's affairs."

"I don't know what to do," the woman said, sniffing back tears. "I could barely be there a second, with the bats and the Beneathers about, but I thought if only I could find her, if only I could be with her, it would all... just... What do I do?"

"You... sit tight," the Colonel advised, getting to his feet. "And wait for word of me. I'm going to see what can be seen, out and about. And when that's done, and we know better where we stand... well then, you're going to get her back."

The woman looked up at him, speechless but grateful by her smile, which he returned before turning to the door.

"I promise," he said, over his shoulder, just before leaving. "You'll get her back, Tara."

[center]-----[/center]
At 4:28pm the man who was going to kill London received an inoccuous email from a man he had come to think of as a brother. He read it, betraying no surprise, replied briefly, and continued with his work, his co-workers unaware of the event that had taken place. He knew there would be another email soon, to his home, private.

[center]-----[/center]
"We're going down there?" Danielle asked, when Mem had led her down another side street, into an alley, into an even smaller alley, and was now standing on the threshold of a dimly-lit access passageway between two warehouses. Buildings had encroached on the space, from either side, and covering it from above, leaving little more than a tunnel, with only the faintest glimmer of light from the other end.

"Shure," Mem nodded. "C'mon."

"I don't believe this," Danielle grumbled, stooping down to follow the boy into the tunnel.

"S'not the best way down," he said as he scuttled along before her, his voice echoing oddly. "But it's the safest - at least, that's what they say, but I reckon the White City's not so bad, s'long as yer got a quick pair o' feet. Okay, 'ere's good." Danielle bumped into him as he stopped abruptly.

"What?" she asked.

"Turn around," he said.

"What?"

"Turn around. Just once, turn right around so's you end up facing back t'wards me."

"You want me to...?"

"Yeah."

"Turn around," Danielle said to herself, manoeuvring awkwardly in the cramped tunnel. "If this is some kind of practical joke, I'll... wha..."

She straightened up instinctively, ducked in sudden fear she'd hit her head, then straightened again as she realised she hadn't. At some indeterminate point as she had been turning the damp, dingy length of the tunnel had vanished, and in its place were doorways, stone arches with wooden doors in them, lit dimly by flaming torches in iron brackets far up above them. Danielle stared up, but couldn't see the sky.

"This one," Mem said, pushing on a door. It creaked as it opened, and Danielle jumped in fright as Mem suddenly stepped back from it, startled. As the door swung open she saw what he had seen - a woman just beyond the door, dressed in a black evening dress, a cigarette in a long silver holder in her hand.

"Lamia," the boy muttered, moving his hand across his chest in a way that reminded Danielle, somehow, of a person crossing themselves.

"Thank you, dearest," she said to Mem. "I'll take her from here."

[center]-----[/center]
Far away, a man lit his pipe and scowled at the darkness. The tiny flame of the match in his hands was the only light, and for all that it lit he might have been in a room barely the size of a closet. But there was a sound, all around, creaking wood, shallow waves slapping on hulls, sails whipping, wheels trundling, sound that filled the mind's eye with huge forms, and the sound, and the space it occupied, stretched on forever and ever and ever.

[PancakesinBellies]

I like how you're not just rewriting Neverwhere for this story, but going in a completely different direction based upon Gaiman's basic premise. This is a highly intriguing update.

*goes into nerdy fangirl overload*

[JustSkipIt]

Chris - What a great update. If the reader had any doubt, s/he now knows that we are in a very different world as is Danniele/Willow. What I'm most impressed with here is the scene between Tara and the Colonel. First off, Tara's heartbreak and pain is absolutely palatable. But I applaud you because I know how very difficult it can be to write a scene in which you (the writer) are keeping secrets regarding who someone is. It's so much easier to write "Tara addressed the Colonel..." and then the rest of the paragraph than "The woman said... The man said... The woman..." It's hard and you do it very well.

I can't wait for more.

[watty]

the only way she'd have gone, and stayed gone, was if somehow she didn't know how to come back to you.

Gods. That's so heart-wrenching. Both for Tara, for losing Willow; and for Willow, who doesn't even know what she's lost. I'm glad Tara has a friend in Knave, but he has a master to report to, and they're doing something clandestine behind someone's back. Perhaps those hidden puppetmasters were responsible for causing whatever it is to have happened to Willow. Talking about Willow, where/when is she? Who is this Lamia with the 1940s evil elegant chick look? Ack, I don't know the right terminology for this universe, hope I'm making sense.
[br]

[Alcy]

Hi Chris,
Another excellent chapter, heart-wrenching to quote watty but I also also feel a real sense of excitement with Willow and Tara drawing closer together...although I feel the loss at the fact that they were obviously close and have been separated for some reason. I take it whoever or whatever separated them in the first place will not be happy with Willow's return...or has she even returned? I look forward to the next chapter in what is an engrossing tale

Cheers
Alcy

[Artemis]

Well, here we are again. Ironically, the longer-than-I'd-hoped gap between updates is because this story is doing its job, and getting me writing others (the novel among them).

Amber: Thanks. Yes, it's not a rewrite - this is some time after Neverwhere, a decade or two perhaps. Most of the characters from Neverwhere won't appear, or if they do, will only be in passing - something (which even I don't know) happened after Neverwhere that changed London Below, swept out the old figures and brought in new ones. The old characters are still around, mostly, but different, and not central the way they were. They're not all gone, though, and some that were gone might find a way back...

Elvis: Thank you. I found it tricky to write Tara's scene, partly because, as you say, it had to be done all without calling her 'Tara' (though I did suspect some readers would guess that anyway), but also because I still don't really know who she is - or rather, I know who she is herself, but not really how she fits into her world. And with Willow being the 'displaced' one, I think Tara is very much a part of her world, and her position in London Below influences who she is a great deal. I just don't know what it is, yes. I'm assuming it'll come to me in time.

watty: Thanks. There were Lamia in Neverwhere, vampire-type women, but I'm not using them exactly as they were, so basically, you're not missing out on any background anyone else would know. I think Lamia will get plenty of dialogue this chapter, so we'll learn more about her. Tara and Knave are indeed up to something behind someone's back, and it's a powerful someone - whether it's the someone who's responsible for Danielle not knowing she's Willow, who knows?

Alcy: Thanks. I think the separation of Willow and Tara, and them coming together, will be something that continues through this story, probably for a long time after they meet too. Who took Willow's memories, and why... I've got a vague idea of the who, and the why, but why they did it that way is something I'm still figuring out.

So, onwards...

Title: The War of London
Author: Chris Cook
Rating: PG to NC-17 - I really don't know yet.
Disclaimer: Based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer by Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy, and Neverwhere developed by Neil Gaiman and Lenny Henry.
Feedback: Please?

[center][br]
CHAPTER FOUR: DOWN STREET, Part One[/center]

Danielle watched, in a state of mild shock, while Mem and the 'Lamia' woman had a heated argument. The woman was claiming, Danielle gathered, to have been sent for benign reasons, while Mem was clearly agitated by her presence, as if she posed some particular threat. Between the surreality of what she had witnessed, and the profusion of words they used that she had no idea the meaning of - and a fair few she recognised, places and so on, but that she felt for some reason meant something entirely different the way they used them - Danielle was simply unable to stir herself to action.

"Don't be so melodramatic," Lamia said at last, airily, appearing to grow bored of the conversation.

"T'ain't nuffin' but sense to be wary of a snake!" Mem snapped. Lamia ignored him for a moment, taking a long drag of her cigarette, and finally flicked the ash off the end of it, over the shoulder of Mem's well-worn jacket.

"Dear boy," she said to his challenging glare, "I'll use force if I must." Mem instantly fell back a step, before regaining his composure and advancing again, suddenly fierce.

"You wouldn't dare!" he hissed. "The Earl-"

"Sent me, dearest," Lamia chuckled, unimpressed by his diminutive bravado. "The way you need to bring your, aha, guest, here, isn't safe."

"Says you."

"Says me," Lamia nodded calmly. "Will you bar my way, or will you accede to my wishes?"

Mem hesitated, shot a dark glance at Danielle, then shrugged.

"I come wif," he said sullenly.

"I'm sure I couldn't stop you," Lamia sneered sarcastically. She turned to Danielle and extended a hand.

"Come, child," she said with a disturbingly anticipatory smile.

"Don't touch 'er," Mem warned.

"Uh," Danielle said, "are we... is she... Mem, what's... what?" she finished, despairing of even knowing where to begin.

"It's complicated," the boy sighed.

"It's quite simple," Lamia cheerfully contradicted him. "You need answers, and we are here to bring you to the person who can provide them. The route is littered with the needlessly violent detritus of a society suffering some minor upheaval of little consequence, said detritus consisting of many a ne'er-do-well who'd happily waylay an unwary wanderer such as yourself-"

"This is 'er bein' simple," Mem muttered.

"-and, very well, I'm here to be your bodyguard. The man we're going to see sent me to look after you. Shall we go?"

"Bodyguard?" Danielle asked. "Wh-what are we going into? I mean, if this is dangerous, shouldn't we... you know, not?"

"With me, child, I assure you there's no danger," Lamia smiled.

"'Cept from 'er," Mem spat. "A'right, look... best to go wif 'er. I don't b'lieve she's 'ere to do you harm. She's a terror and you'd be well not to touch 'er, but the Earl'd 'ave 'er skinned and drowned if she tried anyfin' on 'er own."

"Ah, the ringing endorsement of a thief," Lamia chuckled. "Come then, the pair of you - lost child and child lost. Down Street will serve."

"Mem, where are we?" Danielle insisted, as they followed the strange woman down one of the medieval-like tunnels.

"My my, quite the stranger," Lamia answered instead. "What's the matter Mem, why didn't you tell her? Perhaps he just wanted to see the look on your face when you saw, he's a child of endless jest. Right up to the point where you wish it weren't so infernally difficult to slit his throat."

"I don't reckon you'd want ter try," Mem glared.

"Not simply for fun, no," Lamia agreed. "And so long as we both serve the same master, I doubt anyone could offer me enough to betray both of you. My dear child," she glanced over her shoulder at Danielle, "you are in London Below."

"This is under London?" Danielle asked.

"This is London," Lamia said. "Countless years of hopes and dreams and cast-off memories and legacies. All the shed skins and skeletons of bygone eras and nostalgic ages, all the rubble and ruin and the gleaming fantasies of one of the greatest cities in the world... London Below, child, is the truth atop which your London sits like the new season's coat of fresh paint, a facade that thinks it is the thing itself. All the people and ideas above come and go, with fire and fashion... All that remains, becomes London Below, and lives forever."

"Um... what?" Danielle ventured.

"Yes," Lamia deadpanned, "this is a city under London. But, and I hope you will be able to wrap your hopelessly Pavlovian mind around this, the truth is that this is London, and London Above is merely the crustacean that, knowing nothing of beauty, ignorantly builds the scintillating shell that delights any who look upon it."

"But we still call our place London Below," Mem put in, evidently taking some pleasure in undercutting Lamia's lavish prose.

"Yes, well, there's no accounting for moronic habit," the woman grumbled. She led them from the tunnel into what seemed to be a grand staircase, stretching up and down for as far as Danielle could see, in a vertiginous rectangular shaft, with light neither above nor below, but seeming to simply exist everywhere, dim and omnipresent.

"And, people live down here?" Danielle asked, as they started down.

"Oh yes," Lamia smiled. "Live and die, believe me. And among you, up above. Like Mem here, invisible because none of you want to see us. You dismiss us from your minds, forget us as soon as you've seen us. Our camouflage, and I must say the irony is staggering, is not seeming to matter to you."

"Wait..." Danielle almost stopped, but Lamia didn't slow and Mem seemed reluctant to get too far behind, so she hurried to catch up.

"So," she tried agian, "you mean, all the street people, homeless and so on... they're actually-"

"Oh my word no!" Lamia laughed. "No, your lovely city manages to produce its own destitute, in droves. We simply get... overlooked, in much the same way."

"Always wondered," Mem said, "all those big places up top, all the glass towers an' such... 'ow come there's not enough room for everyone?"

"Don't ask me," Danielle shrugged, feeling suddenly alone.

"And you, dear child, are one of us," Lamia said casually.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You are from London Below," Lamia explained. "You were born here, raised here, engaged, I believe, here-"

"No," Danielle shook her head. "I've never been here before - any of this, I never even knew..."

"I am, thankfully, not responsible for what you believe," Lamia said lightly. "But I am quite certain that you are Willow, and London Below is your place."

"Willow?" Danielle asked. That other woman called me 'Willow.'

"Yeah," Mem nodded. "S'true. I wasn't gonna tell you meself." He shot a glare at Lamia. "Figured mebbe she's prefer hearin' it in a bit more comf'table a setting? Call me a jester..."

"I am entirely unrepentant," Lamia smiled.

[center]-----[/center]
Stories below, quite unseen, the ever-present light in the stairwell dimmed further, and gave way to a hooded, cloaked shape. With difficulty, leaning on the scythe in its hands, it began hobbling up the stairs, towards the echoing, drifting sounds of the conversation taking place above.

[drdj2006]

DIBS.....? i think

anyway

really kool story

i like how your just writing it and not overly thinking about it

cant wate fot the next part

SIX

[tazraven]

Ooooh, intriguing. Especially since I've never seen the tv show. I really loved Lamia's dialogue. She's very eloquent, lol. Sort of reminds me of the speeches from V for Vendetta. Not that has anything to do with this story. Anyways, very cool, and really looking forwards to figuring out what's going on, hehe.

~Sara

[Willowtree252]

This story keep,s us on the edge for sure . wonerful