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'You buffoon。 There is no reputation worth more than five pounds and the man who is five pounds to credit needs no reputation whatever。'
'Ah well； let's look on the bright side。 I think I can say without any fear of contradiction that nothing else can possibly happen to us today。'
It is of some small consequence to note that had Jim been possessed of that rare gift of foresight； even to the degree of a few short hours； he would certainly not have made that particular； ill…considered and totally inaccurate remark。
8
Brentford's only cinema； the Electric Alhambra； had closed its doors upon an indifferent public some fifty years ago。 The canny Brentonians had shunned it from the word go； realizing that moving pictures were nothing more than a flash in the pan。 Miraculously； the building had remained intact； playing host to a succession of small industries which had sprung up like mushrooms and died like mayflies。 The last occupier； a Mr Doveston； Purveyor of Steam…Driven Appliances to the Aristocracy； had weathered it out for a full five years before burning his headed notepaper and vanishing with the smoke。
Now the crumbling edifice； about the size of the average scout hut and still sporting its original mock rococo stuccoed fagade； was left once more alone with its memories。 The projection room； which had served as governor's office to many a down at heel entrepreneur； now deprived of its desks and filing cabinets； suddenly took to itself once more。 With the collapse of some lop…sided partitions； the old and pitted screen made a reappearance。 But for the lack of seating and the scattered debris littering the floor； the ancient cinema emerged； a musty phoenix from its fifty…year hibernation。
The 'Sold' notice was up out front and rumour had it that the dreaded Lateinos and Romiith had the place earmarked for redevelopment。 A light evening breeze rattled a corrugated iron shutter upon a glassless window； and something that looked very much like a giant feral torn stole across the floor。 In the eaves a bat awoke and whistled something in an unknown dialect。
A gaunt and fragile shadow fell across an expanse of littered linoleum and a pale hand moved into a patch of light。 Ghostly fingers drew away a cowled hood； revealing a head of pure white hair； an expanse of pallid forehead； and two eyes which glowed pinkly in the failing light。 Surely we have seen this pale hand before？ Known the Jason's fleece of snowy hair； and marvelled at the flesh coloured eyes？ Can this be he who now dwells beneath； shunning the realm of sunlight and changing seasons？ He who tills the subterranean waters in his search for Shamballa and its legendary dwellers in that world of forever night？ Yes； there can be no doubt。 The name of this seeker after the hidden truths below is well known to the folk of Brentford。
Soap Distant； it is he。
Soap spat his roll…up from between his teeth and ground it to oblivion beneath a boot…heel。 He scrutinized the luminous chronometer upon his wrist and said； 'Ten thirty…two。 They'll be a while yet。' He paced slowly to and fro； his shadow clattering soundlessly along the corrugated shutters to merge with the blackness as he moved beyond the range of the limited illumination。 At length； his chronometer chimed the three…quarter hour； and Soap ceased his pacing。 From without came sounds of approaching feet。 Harsh footfalls echoing along the deserted street； acpanied by the sounds of foolish giggling and the occasional bout of coughing。 'Pissed again；' said Soap to himself； 'but no matter。'
The inebriated couple； one with a fat eye and the other sleeveless； came to a halt outside the cinema； and Soap could make out snatches of conversation that penetrated the numerous cracks in the wall。
'Who's on then？' asked a voice。 'Where's my opener？'
'William S。 Hart；' said another。 'Open it with your teeth。'
'I never could abide that body's hat。 I was always an Elmo Lincoln man myself。 Christ； there goes a filling。 You've got my opener； I remember you borrowing it。'
'I gave it back。 Stand aside man； I need a quick jimmy。'
'Not in my doorway！' Soap threw open the shattered glass door to admit a stumbling Jim Pooley； flies gaping。
'By the grave；' said that man。
'By the roadside； but not in my doorway。'
Omally squinted towards the dark void which had suddenly swallowed up his panion。 'Soap？' said he。 'Soap Distant？ I know that voice。'
'e in out of the night； and pick your friend up。'
Omally bumbled in and Soap slammed shut the door upon the Brentford night and； as far as John and Jim were concerned； life as they had once known it。
'Where's the bog？' wailed Pooley； struggling to his feet。
'Stick it out through a crack in the wall and be done。'
Pooley did so。
'How would you two care to make thirty quid for a swift half…hour's work？' Soap asked when Jim had finished his micturition。
Omally was about to say 'Each？' but after his experiences this day he thought better of it。 'I think that we would be very grateful；' he said。 'This has been a bad day for us both； financially。'
'If it is decorating；' said Jim； 'I do not feel that half an hour will be sufficient。'
'It is not decorating； it is a little matter； below。'
'Below。。。 ah； well now。' Both Pooley and Omally had in chapters past had very bad experiences 'below'。
'Are you sure this is safe？' queried Omally。
'As houses。'
Pooley was more than doubtful。 Sudden chill memories of former times spent beneath the surface of the globe flooded over him in an icy…black tide。 'You can have my half； John；' he said； 'I think I'll get an early night in。'
'It will take the two of you I am afraid。' Soap raised his palms in the gloom。 'It is a simple matter。 One man cannot move an object； three men can。'
'Things are rarely as simple as they at first appear；' said Pooley with a wisdom older than his years。
'e below then。'
With that； a thin line of wan light appeared in the centre of the floor； growing to a pale square illuminating a flight of stairs。 Soap led the way down。 'Follow me；' he said gaily。
Pooley sucked upon a knuckle and； like the now legendary musical turn； dilly…dallied on the way。 Omally nudged him in the back。 'Thirty quid；' he said。
Soap's newly…hired work…force followed him down the stairway； and above them the trapdoor slammed shut with what is referred to in condemned circles as a 'death…cell finality'。 The stairway； as might be imagined； led ever down； its passageway hewn from the living rock。 At length it unexpectedly debouched into a pleasant looking sitting…room； furnished with a pale green Waterford settee and matching armchairs； and decorated with Laura Ashley wallpaper。 'Nice； eh？' said Soap as he divested himself of his ankle…length cloak to reveal a natty line in three…piece tweed wear。
'Very；' said John。 'And the Russell Flints？' He pointed to a brace of pictures which hung above the hearth。 'No expense spared。'
'A gift from Professor Slobe；' said Soap。
Pooley； who had a definite sway on； sank into a fortable armchair。
'We have a couple of bottles of brown with us；' said John。 'If you have an opener？'
'It's a bit close down here。' Pooley fanned at his brow。
'It was a bit close down that hole today； wasn't it Jim？' Soap popped the stoppers from the bottles and ignored Pooley's similarly popping eyes。
'How did you know？'
'There's not much that goes on beneath ground level that I don't know something of。 Those buggers from Lateinos and Romiith have been making my life a misery lately； sinking their damned foundations every which way about the parish。'
'Progress；' said Pooley in a doomed tone。
'Some say；' said Soap。 'Listen now； let us dispense with brown ale。 I have some home…brewed mushroom brandy which I think you might find interesting。'
'That would be a challenge。'
''Tis done then。'
Something over an hour later； three very drunken men were to be found some three miles beneath the surface of planet Earth a…rowing in a leathern coracle over a stretch of ink…black subterranean water。
'Where are we？' asked an Irish surface…dweller。
'Below the very heart of London。'
'I don't recognize it。'
The splish…splash of the oars echoed about