The Water Room

corner of the borough. Here, swirling litter and glaring skateboarders warded off all but the hardiest visitors. Rainwater sluiced from the flyover on to the roof of the building, dripping through brickwork, rotting floorboards and spreading mildew into the damp-fattened books with wet fingers of decay.

Dorothy ran the library with her assistant, Frank, who was antisocial and unreliable, but who could afford to work for love of the printed word without being paid, because he had been left some money by an aunt. This was how unfashionable literature had been reduced to surviving: in crumbling repositories, guarded by the very last generation of book-lovers.

‘The five rivers of the Underworld,’ Bryant read aloud, ‘separated the land of the undead from the realm of mortals. Their presence made sure no one could enter or leave unharmed. There should be a picture here.’ He fingered the severed edge of paper.

‘We’ve had a problem with thieves cutting out the hand-coloured plates,’ Dorothy explained. ‘They frame and sell them in antiquarian bookshops. We have no way of making the building secure.’

‘I’ll try and get you an alarm.’ Bryant turned the damaged pages. ‘We’re talking about Roman mythology, obviously. My contact appears to be interested in Egyptian gods, and yet he mentioned the five rivers.’

‘Nothing is clear-cut in pagan mythologies, Arthur. You know that. Rivers are central to ancient-Egyptian worship because of the importance of the Nile, which continues to bring life and prosperity to the barren central plains of the country.’

‘Yes, but no one would blur together two entirely separate mythologies, surely.’

‘Certainly no one from either of those civilizations ever did,’ Dorothy agreed. ‘But then, of course, you had the Victorians.’

‘Why, what did they do?’

‘Having plundered, borrowed and stolen whatever pleased them, they drew on the parts of ancient mythologies that found most correspondence to their own beliefs. They rewrote entire histories, bowdlerizing, adapting, censoring. They weren’t the first, but they were the most confident. It wasn’t unusual to find statues of Ra and Thoth beside Diana and Venus in the well-to-do Victorian household. You were less likely to find Christian figurines, for that was the presiding active religion. All other beliefs and creation myths were treated largely as naive fairy tales, and their icons had use as decoration. Collectors weren’t averse to pairing up different creation gods.’

Bryant came to the page he was seeking. ‘So we have five nether-rivers: Cocytus, the river of lamentation; Acheron, the river of woe; Phlegethon, the river of conflagration; Lethe, the river of forgetfulness; Styx, the river of hatred and fatality and unbreakable oaths.’

‘That’s right. The Styx was an offshoot of Tethys and Oceanus, and flowed nine times around Hades. Like the Lethe, its water could not be stored in any flask or jar that tried to contain it. The Styx corroded all materials, even flesh. Only horses’ hooves could survive in its waters.’

‘Didn’t Thetis dip her son Achilles into the Styx to make him invulnerable? Obviously didn’t burn his flesh, then.’

‘Mythology is filled with paradox,’ Dorothy explained. ‘Which river are you particularly interested in?’

‘I’m not exactly sure. I suppose the Styx is the most important one.’

‘It’s certainly the most written about. But the Lethe is essential because of the belief in reincarnation and the transmigration of souls. Those passing across had to drink from the Lethe to forget their former lives.’

‘Cocytus and Acheron sound one and the same.’

‘Actually they’re not, although both are associated with wailing and misery. Acheron is the river over which Charon ferried the dead to Hades, not the Styx. Corpses not properly buried were doomed to walk the banks of the Cocytus for eternity.’

‘I sense myself being drawn into the backwaters, Dorothy. John has warned me about it many times. I have to stick to the central problem of my investigation.’

‘Which is?’

‘I wonder, is there any modern correspondence of the rivers to something in this city?’

‘Victorians were fond of finding explanations for everything. I believe they resurrected the idea that the five rivers of the Underworld matched the five main forgotten rivers of London.’

‘They weren’t the first to propose the concept, then.’

‘Of course not. The Romans made the same suggestion during their occupation of London.’

‘Do you have any books on the subject other than this one?’

‘Sadly, no,’ Dorothy admitted, ‘but I know some people who may be able to help you. A group dedicated to rediscovering the lost rivers of the Underworld. I can give you a contact number, but I warn you, they’re rather peculiar.’

‘Sounds right up my street,’ said Bryant with a sly grin.

27. THE MOVEMENT OF WATER

‘Darned shame about the weather,’ said Oliver Wilton earnestly. ‘You’ve missed seeing the Camden Canal Junior Canoe Club in action.’

John May waited beneath a willow tree while Oliver and his wife buttoned up their yellow plastic cagoules. A pair of tramps were arguing over a can of Special Brew on the bench behind them. Another was eating Spam out of a tin with his fingers. The canal water was studded with chunks of polystyrene, the linings from boxes of stolen stereo units. Even the birds in the trees looked as if they had cancer.

‘Your neighbour, Jake Avery, said I’d find you here or at the Christian Fellowship Hall.’

‘We like to do our bit at the weekends,’ Oliver told him, padlocking the club shelter. ‘The local kids haven’t really learned how to interact socially with one another, and we find that activities like canoeing, away from the council-estate environment, encourage teamwork.’ He looked as if he believed what he was saying.

‘Does Brewer enjoy canoeing?’ asked May, smiling at the morose child sitting on his ankles at the water’s edge.

‘God, we wouldn’t let him do it, the water’s filthy,’ Tamsin replied. ‘You can get Weil’s disease from rat urine.’ She grabbed the child’s hand protectively. May could see that one day very soon, Brewer would not allow his hand to be taken up so quickly. ‘He’s saying, “I want to go home, Daddy, I’m tired,” aren’t you, pet? We usually go to the house in Norfolk at the weekends, but Oliver likes to put something back into the community.’ The effort to smile nearly killed her. ‘I wanted Brewer to grow up in the countryside, but Oliver insisted we stay in town until it’s time to go to big school.’ She lowered her voice. ‘A nurse was raped on this towpath last month. A nurse. Shoved off her bicycle into the bushes. The police won’t come down here.’ It was difficult to miss the desperation in her eyes. She hated Oliver for imprisoning her in the city. ‘I’m from Buckinghamshire originally, and I can tell you, Mr May, this is not like home, not what I call home.’

She turned and began leading the boy away, so that May was forced to follow. Oliver doggedly fell in behind them, in what May took to be a permanent state of disgrace with his wife. Ahead, several pigeons blocked the path, dining from a spattered pool of sick.

‘My work keeps me here,’ Oliver explained.

‘What do you do?’ asked May.

‘I thought you knew.’ He seemed surprised. ‘I’m a senior executive at the Thames Water Board. You have no idea how much water London wastes through leaks each week. My job is to help locate them and replace the damaged pipes. Why did you come and find us?’

‘I wanted to ask you about-’ He had been about to say ‘Elliot Copeland’, but something made him change-‘Mrs Singh. I know the matter is concluded, as far as the authorities are concerned, but I wondered if you had any personal thoughts.’

‘It’s funny you should ask. I’d been thinking of what your partner said at our party, about her drowning in her own house. It struck a distant chord, I just couldn’t put my finger on it at the time.’

‘Oh? In what way?’

‘It sounds silly, but-darling, I think Brewer’s tired, could you take him home? I’d like to take Mr May to my