|
|
Within, the contrast from the quiet alley outside could not have been greater. It was a huge space, at least by the standards of human construction; it would of course have been dwarfed by the vast airy underground caverns which I call home. I looked up; above me, the high ceiling was cluttered with girders and lights and sprinklers and all the paraphernalia deemed necessary by the guardians of Health and Safety that infest the interstices of the modern human world. Gumshoe and Rosie squinted through what I imagine seemed like near-darkness to them, especially after the brightness of daylight outside. I took off my sunglasses and tucked them carefully in an inside pocket; I never knew when I might need their protection again. It was clear that the lighting had been set at a level presumably intended as a compromise of convenience: dim enough to be comfortable to Goblins but still bright enough so that humans did not spend the entire time walking into things. The half-light was full of noise and movement. Figures scurried purposefully back and forth carrying boxes and cluttered clipboards, although not at the same time; figures whose distinctive shapes showed them to be human and Goblin in approximately equal measure. A large fraction of the space was filled with high racks of perforated metal supporting plywood shelves stretching up to the ceiling. The racking was filled with a profusion of goods, some strapped to pallets, others contained in wooden packing cases and cardboard boxes, and all clearly - if misleadingly - labelled in human script and more obscurely - and correctly, I guessed - in Goblin runes disguised as aerosol graffiti. Between the rows of racking, fork-lift trucks were being manoeuvred with great skill and dexterity by Goblin operators as well as humans, and with a surprising lack of that irrepressible, even manic, driving style that characterises all too many denizens of the Lower Realms when operating vehicles and powered machinery in the surface world. At one side, a couple of eighteen-wheelers had been backed into loading bays - all entirely under cover, I had already noted - with spaces for a dozen more similarly-sized trucks further down the space. These, at least, had human drivers in evidence: large men in overalls who stood together, cigarettes in hand, watching the bustle of other people with the wry amusement of those whose job does not require them to scurry around like lunatics. Across the floor, an archway marked an entrance to the Lower Realms stood against a solid wall, its edges picked out in a faint purple glow which indicated in was in operation. It was one in the larger size which is generally intended for high-volume transfers and outsize goods items. From what I could see, it was in near-continuous operation, with a stream of boxes and pallets being transferred in both directions. I could see at once that the whole block had been converted into a warehouse for goods in transit between the two worlds, no doubt for reasons of administrative and operational convenience while retaining the appearance of multiple separate buildings and independent businesses from the outside. Clever. Very clever. The kind of cleverness that would appeal to somebody like my sister. Trinity completely ignored the bustle going on at full speed around us, and stalked across the floor. She was clearly entirely familiar with the layout of the building. With no evident choice in the matter, I followed her, trailed by Gumshoe, Rosie and Nether. She nodded at one or two of those wielding clipboards as she passed but did not stop. She was single-mindedly heading for one of the offices situated on a mezzanine level at the side of the main floor, overlooking the expanse of the racks and shelving stretching into the dark distance. We trailed after her up a flight of stairs fabricated from steel gratings and girders, our footsteps banging and rattling on the steps. At the top, Trinity kicked open a door marked Operations Director in two languages. I followed her inside, trailed by Gumshoe and Rosie, with Nether bringing up the rear. Rosie looked askance at the gyred and curlicued Goblin script on the door, perhaps realising that this was a form of writing and not mere decoration. Judging by her curiosity, this may have been the first time she had encountered the undisguised everyday form of the Lower Realms script. Inside, to nobody's particular surprise, was a modern office space furnished with moderately expensive but efficiently nondescript furniture, indicative of those who expect to spend their time working for a living rather than impressing their visitors by the tasteful and sophisticated nature of their working environment. On one side, a large glazed window provided a comprehensive view over the warehouse floor, an essential feature for any hard-pressed - and hard-nosed - boss. On the opposite side, a high window let in a modicum of daylight although, to my relief, the blinds were sufficiently well closed that it was not uncomfortable. The other walls were lined with of new-looking grey-painted steel filing cabinets, and folders and files arranged on shelves. A few folders lay opened on the top of the cabinets, looking as if they were actually used on a regular basis.
|
Part 33