The Northern Line subway clicked loudly and motionlessly as it sped forward beneath the streets and tenements of London. While the weather above ground was gloomy and fresh, the air in the tunnel was suffocatingly hot, and the strip of lights burned Jonathan's eyes. Although it was already morning and all the commuters had long since arrived at their offices, the carriage was still packed with people, and his face was making annoyingly close contact with the armpit of a large, fat tourist. Jonathan looked up at the subway map in the carriage and calculated how many more stops he had to make before he could escape this boring prison.

　　The piece of paper he had gotten from Alan's study was tucked safely in the pocket of his jeans. From time to time, he stuck his fingers in the pocket to make sure it was still in place. When he saw it, Jonathan knew where he should go. He knew his dad well enough to know that Alan couldn't have gotten his hands on The Darkest Family at the local library, and the book wouldn't have been placed next to cheap murder mysteries and romance novels. Allan would likely be the only one who wanted to read it. No, there was only one place where Jonathan could have uncovered the secret: the British Library (the British Library).

　　If there was one aspect of life that Alan tried to teach his son, it was reading. Jonathan has many similar early memories of sitting in his dad's arms with a large book on his lap, spelling out words while being amused by funny pictures. Alan seemed to be able to cope with the make-believe world and fairy tales more easily than with real life. He often took Jonathan on regular visits to London's large and small libraries to make sure he was a registered patron of all of them. They sat shoulder to shoulder at the long reading tables, and Jonathan would follow his father's example and turn the pages carefully. For so many years, this was their closest form of communication.

 

　　The subway jolted to a halt. Jonathan did not stand still and crashed into the big fat tourist. The man yelped in surprise and managed to stop in his tracks.

　　"I'm sorry," Jonathan said nervously.

　　The man gave him a hard stare and shifted his eyes back into the distance.

　　After the longest ten minutes of his life, the subway pulled into King's Cross. The people disembarking the train swarmed like herds of cattle to the three ticket gates - a number that was a drop in the bucket for the number of people trying to get through. Everyone scrambled forward, causing numerous crashes and curses. Jonathan waited impatiently at the end of the line. With his dad lying in the hospital, it was his turn to continue Alan's dangerous quest. Although he wasn't sure what he was looking for or what secrets awaited him in the pages of The Darkest Family. What he did know was that he was close, and he was determined to find the answers.

　　King's Cross Station was filled with intricate tunnels and staircases, like a living breathing thing. People ran, pushed each other, poured through its arteries and veins like red blood cells, and no matter which platform they were going to, or whether those platforms led to the Victoria line, the Metropolitan Line or the Piccadilly line, everyone seemed to know exactly They always seemed to know exactly where they were going and were able to keep their eyes straight ahead. Jonathan pushed his way into the crowd and circled up the stairs and out of the subway station.

 

　　Even though it started to rain, it still felt good to come outside. There was some kind of major project under construction in front of the subway station, and part of the road was dug up. The sound from the drill bit echoed in Jonathan's ears. With fences and contradictory road signs everywhere, it was hard to find his way to the library, but Jonathan knew where to go. He turned right, walked past the dilapidated sister station of King's Cross, the much earlier St Pancras Station, then risked being run over by a car and crossed the Midland Road turnoff to find his ultimate destination.

　　The British Library is a modern red brick building on the corner of Euston Road. Jonathan walked carelessly past a coffee shop and into the front courtyard. All around were tall, neatly trimmed hedges and large stones placed smoothly between the foot of the columns. The whole layout reflects an orderly and calm grandeur. To the left is a large bronze statue of a man in a crouching position, peering between the hedges. Behind the library's slightly sloping roof revealed the Gothic tower of St. Pancras Station, which was currently trapped in a cage of scaffolding.

　　Jonathan trudged across the courtyard, through the automatic doors with entrance markings, and finally stood inside the main hall porch. It was spacious and bright, with a mesh of floors and stairs leading to the top floor in front of him, like a cross-section of an ant's nest. On the left hand side, a brightly colored painting dominates the wall. Somewhere in the hall, African tribal music is playing, and the cacophony of drums drowns out the chatter of conversation. The scene was less like a library and more like a luxury department store, if you will.

　　Jonathan went straight up the narrow corridor to the second floor, and halfway up he saw a large glass bookcase full of old books, and couldn't help but think of his own home again. The reading room was tucked away in the left corner of the second floor. The librarian at the desk smiled at the sight of him.

 

　　"Hello there, Jonathan. Where's your dad?"

　　"Hi, Jenny (Jenny). He's sick again. But I really need to read this book because of certain problems with school, and I can't find it anywhere else."

　　"You know, you're too young to come in alone."

　　"Please, Jenny. I always come here. It's just a book!"

　　The librarian frowned, leaned over and lowered her voice, "Okay, just this once. But I'll be in trouble if anything goes wrong."

　　Jonathan laughed, "This is a library! What could possibly go wrong?"

　　He walked around the desk and found a seat for himself in a hidden corner of the reading room. There was something very unique about this place - the low ceiling, the dim lighting, the smell emanating from the carpet - that reawakened Jonathan's memories of days gone by, where he had watched his dad read with silent admiration. Surrounded by these walls, they could basically pretend to be the most ordinary father and son. He shook his head, not having time to think about those things.

　　Borrowing books from this library wasn't as simple as just getting them off the shelves. Jonathan had to enter the name of the book he wanted to borrow and his seat number into the computer installed at the reading table. The librarian would retrieve it from storage. Jonathan loved to imagine this scenario: a vast labyrinth of books deep underground in the city of London, a large cave set in a large cave, with keepers searching inside with powerful flashlights and weapons. If the book he wanted was found, the light on the reading table would come on. There was no way to know how long that would be. In between, he could only wait. Jonathan sat back in his chair and began to doze off.

 

　　He woke up with a start. While he had been asleep, the reading room had been packed with people, and all the available space around him was occupied. He wished he hadn't snored. The light on the table was on and Jonathan stood up and went to the main desk to get his books. Upon hearing his request, the elderly janitor looked up, looked at him nonchalantly, and placed a black, unobtrusive book on the counter. Then he opened the register and handed Jonathan a pen.

　　"You'll have to sign here."

　　"Never had to sign before."

　　The administrator didn't say anything, just tapped the page with the pen. There were only three signatures on the register, the earliest registered by a man named Horace Carmichael, a long time ago, in 1942. Jonathan wrote down his name and walked toward his seat. Without a word, the administrator watched him walk away.

　　At the moment it was in his hand, and excitement slowly flooded Jonathan's mind. He was going to follow the page number his dad had written and turn directly to that page, but he sank back and looked at the book in general. According to the introduction, the author of "The Darkest Family" named Raphael Stevenson (RaphaelStevenson), is a famous Victorian explorer. As a young man, he traveled to the far corners of the earth, came into contact with many foreign tribes, and defeated countless beasts. However, he went insane at the age of forty-five or forty-six and was committed to an insane asylum. The page mentioned by Alain is at the end of the book, from where the whole work becomes strange and elusive.

　　After returning from a trip to the Indian subcontinent, I was captured by a drowsy weariness, and for several days I lay in bed in a dazed trance and listlessness. At first I thought I had contracted some foreign virus, but then I realized that it was simply the lack of danger and excitement in my life that I had experienced abroad. One foggy night, I decided to snap out of my drowsiness and use the night to search for ...... darkness.

 

　　Night roaming took me further into the dark heart of London, where women stood outside taverns, giggling like fowl; men hid unsuspectingly in doorways. More than once I had to be grateful for the sturdy cane. After a while, however, I became so accustomed to the evils of the neighborhood that I felt I could talk to the residents.

　　At first my dress and demeanor aroused suspicion, but little by little people had no qualms about me. I spent countless shillings on booze in seedy gin bars, trying to get information from the lowliest and most shameless people in London. But whenever I brought up the subject of "darkness" or asked where it might be, they exchanged meaningful glances and fell silent. Sometimes, someone would almost say something, but they would be stopped by others. The more people I talked to, the more I became convinced that there was some kind of evil barbaric place right in our capital, right on the shining cornerstone of the British Empire.

　　Persistent investigation had yielded no results. But when I met a young prostitute named Molly in the old part of Clerkenwell, I saw the light to end this quest. She responded affirmatively to my gentle words and promised to take me to a place in London that she swore I had never been to before.

　　We kept going in circles and changing directions, and there was no pattern to the whole journey. When I asked about this, she tilted her head, with a serious look in her eyes, and said we were following the Fleet River. The Fleet River! That foul-smelling and poisonous tributary was filled in with bricks decades ago, and it's most notorious for its intimidating waters. I asked Molly how she could still find the river's course, and she replied, "I can feel it coursing through my veins.

　　We walked briskly down the Thames when Molly suddenly changed her attitude. She became unusually anxious and restless, and begged me to turn around and go home. But I was very insistent, and we walked into the shadow of Black Friars Bridge, from which the River Fleet flows into the Thames. The river was at low tide, and we climbed to the riverbed, and it was here that Molly pointed out to me a crack that was the entrance to the darkness, and she got down on both knees, sobbing and begging me not to go in, but I had made up my mind. If I had known then what I know now, I would have listened to her ......

　　Jonathan clenched his fists. This was what Alan had been looking for! And now he had found it. He hastily wrote the details down on a piece of paper.

　　The lady sitting at the next table sighed loudly and flipped through a page of the book. She was wearing a plain white pants suit and her hair was dyed a bright purple. When Jonathan turned his face, the lady looked him straight in the eye and smiled slightly. Jonathan also stared back, mesmerized by her snow-white skin. The smile on the lady's face became more obvious, and she looked slyly from side to side, exploring her body and extending her hand. There was something very familiar about her, but the scent of perfume lingered at the end of Jonathan's nose and disturbed his thoughts.

　　"My name is Marianne," the woman whispered, "and I'm so bored with my book."

　　"Uh, I'm Jonathan," he replied. They were silent for a few moments. The lady seemed to be waiting for him to say something, "Well, in that case, why don't you look at something else?"

　　"It's nice to meet you, Jonathan. I was going to choose another book, but it took too long to order it and I have to leave soon. Is your book good?"

　　Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.

　　"Can I see it?"

　　It was darker outside, and the rain thundered against the window. Alarm bells went off deep in Jonathan's head, reminding him to be more cautious. He didn't think it was necessarily a good idea to show Marianne his book, but for some reason he desperately didn't want to disappoint the other man.

 

　　"Be careful, this book is very old."

　　Marianne took the book from Jonathan and frowned at the weight of it, "And it's heavy." She sniffed the cover again, "And it smells bad."

　　Jonathan giggled out loud. He really couldn't help himself. Maybe it had something to do with Marianne's perfume, it smelled really sweet and cloying. Marianne read out the title of the book loudly from the next seat.

　　"The Darkest Family. I think your book must be much better than mine. What an interesting title for a book. Why are you looking for this book to read?"

　　Jonathan controlled the desire to say the answer out loud, "I ...... my teacher made us read this book. It's part of my history homework."

　　She narrowed her eyes teasingly, "Jonathan, you're not lying to me, are you? That's very rude, especially to a stranger. One should never lie to a stranger, you know."

　　Jonathan shrugged again. Maybe it was time to get out of here. Marianne saw the note he had written and was staring at it with rapt attention.

　　"What did you write? It seems to be something else, well, yes, it was written for your 'teacher'. How about giving Marianne a sneak peek?"

　　"I have to go."

　　Jonathan struggled to stand up, but Marianne grabbed his wrist tightly. He was taken aback, but before he could scream out, Marianne cooed out a series of statements of a soothing nature, and he immediately felt less afraid, and in fact, a little more eager to sit beside the purple-haired beauty for a while longer.

 

　　"That's much better, isn't it?" Marianne whispered softly in his ear, "Now, let's take a look at that note."

　　Jonathan watched in confusion as she reached out her hand and opened the piece of paper. "A teleportation point? You've been naughty enough to lie to me. You've been reading about the Darkside, haven't you? Tell Marianne what you know about the Darkside, little one."

　　Jonathan giggled again, his head spinning, "It's some kind of weird place, or something," he said, "I really don't know."

　　Marianne clapped her hands together happily. "Well, you're about to find out the truth. You're going to the Dark Place, Jonathan! Trust me, it's a lot more fun if you come with us than if you go alone. Sometimes it can be a little dangerous there. It's always good to have company."

　　Jonathan allowed himself to be pulled out of his seat and out into the reading room. Marianne had a death grip on his hand and walked briskly toward the stairs leading to the main entrance.

　　"Where are we going?" He asked vaguely.

　　"Hush hush ...... We're going to meet up with my friends Humber and Skittles, followed by a short car ride. Look, they're right over there."

　　On the porch in front of the hall stood two men, one of whom was much taller and quieter than his companion. Marianne waved enthusiastically at them. The shorter man gave a few jumps in reply.

　　Jonathan's last remaining shred of sanity was urging him to flee, but his legs wouldn't listen; he just didn't have the strength to run away from Marianne. They slowly and carefully made their way down the stairs, Jonathan realizing that Marianne was afraid he would fall. He exerted all his strength to steady himself. After all, he didn't want to let the woman down ......

　　An oncoming man tripped on the stairs and crashed into Marianne. She cursed and let go of Jonathan's arm. Suddenly, the bond between them snapped and Jonathan's head cleared a bit. He was in a dangerous position - he had to act. He lunged for the stairs. Marianne lunged in desperation, but it was too late. Jonathan slid around a corner and disappeared from her view.

　　Jonathan didn't know where to go. The only thing he knew was to get as far away from that strange woman as possible. He darted across the second floor of the coffee shop, completely ignoring the people standing there staring at him. He ran up another flight of stairs two steps at a time. From somewhere there was a shout, I don't know if it was the librarian or Marianne. He didn't look back.

　　His head was much better. It seemed that Marianne had put some kind of spell on him, but Jonathan didn't think that was possible. One thing couldn't be clearer, though: she mentioned a place called the Dark Place. Dad already knew something about it, and Jonathan could follow the trail.

　　He kept going up the stairs until he reached the top floor. There wasn't even a soul here, although the noise and bustle of the lobby could still be heard. Jonathan slowed down and walked along the aisle to look down. From above, the hall looked normal. Elementary and middle school students were talking and laughing in small piles, while others sat comfortably in their seats, scribbling on notepads or fiddling with laptops. When he saw Marianne, Jonathan couldn't help but tense up. She stood as if nothing had happened near the exit, absently playing with a strand of hair. The two men were not nearby. Marianne looked up and turned her eyes this way, and Jonathan immediately left the aisle.

　　He was still in danger, and the two helpers could come right over and grab him. Jonathan knew only one exit out of the library, and right now Marianne was standing directly in front of it. Jonathan felt he could ask one of the librarians for help, but he couldn't envision what his chances were of explaining his problem. The adult was more inclined to disbelieve him, and he suspected that running into a kidnapping would be made suspicious by the words, "Look, this woman put some kind of spell on me ......" No, that would never work. There doesn't even seem to be a fire alarm button here that you can push.

 

　　Jonathan saw the small helper arrive at the top floor from the far corner of the aisle. He twitched his long nose, sniffing the air hungrily, and these nerve-wracking moves worked out Jonathan's bearings. Well, it had come to this, he had to take action. Jonathan ran again, he rushed past the bathroom and headed for a bright reading room with the word "map" lit above the door. As Jonathan ran that way, another helper came up to the top of his side of the stairs at a calm, even pace.

　　Next to the entrance, a sign reminded readers that neither bags nor pencils were allowed in the MapRoom. A smile swirled around Jonathan's lips.

　　From the porch, Marianne scanned the top floor anxiously, trying to see if there were any signs of a disturbance. Things were going well, just as they had in Trafalgar Square ...... yet the fool had bumped into her. She whispered a few curses. For now, she could only trust Hamburgh and Skittles to get the boy out without alerting the public. It was a miracle they hadn't been noticed by anyone by now. Marianne knew that her special perfume could divert people's attention for a certain period of time, but it couldn't go around like that. Nevertheless, she detected a frown from one of the library employees, as if he was trying to remember something he had forgotten.

　　At that moment, she saw Jonathan walking down the escalator, but a librarian grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go. Jonathan was grinning smugly. Hamburgh and Skittles followed them a few steps behind with disappointed faces. Seeing this, a security guard walked over, but the librarian shook his head.

　　"I really don't think that's necessary," the janitor said impatiently.

　　"Just because of a pencil?" Jonathan protested, "I can't believe you're kicking me out because I brought a retarded pencil!"

　　"You threatened to color in the maps," the keeper replied, "and those antique maps are priceless. That's why we're kicking you out, and we're confiscating your library card at the same time."

　　Jonathan sighed exaggeratedly and handed over his papers. He nodded glowingly at Marianne, headed for the door, and scurried off. The administrator turned to Marianne, "These kids. I don't know what parents are thinking these days, to educate them like this."

　　Marianne nodded approvingly. The administrator sighed again and walked back to the map data room with a heavy pace. No sooner had her figure disappeared than the smaller man came over and rambled away.

　　"Do you want Skitter to follow the boy?"

　　"There's no need," Marianne said, looking out at the overcast sky.

　　"We already know where he'll go."