Which is just as well really. For under London, beneath pavement and cobble, garden and yard, the cesspits and the sewers are beginning to churn and boil. Culverts are inundated as water levels rise. Generations of subterranean toshers are swept away in an eyeblink, their lanterns put out, and their staffs torn from their hands. They turn and bob in the dark, their mouths and ears and eyes plugged with the unimaginable. The tributaries of London are waking! The Walbrook, the dour-hearted Tyburn, the Fleet, and the Effra—abused, re-routed, dammed and buried. Some no more than a silty dribble;
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