The Ogre of Oglefort Read Online Free PDF

way.
    â€œI don’t like this,” said the wizard. “I don’t like it at all.”
    Nobody liked it, but keeping close together, they made their way down a flight of steps into a freezing and derelict ticket hall. The machines were wreathed in cobwebs; a torn poster said DIG FOR VICTORY , which was what people had been told to do in the war.
    â€œThis used to be the deepest underground station in London,” said Ulf.
    They huddled together, wondering what to do next. Then a faint blue light came on above a sign which said TO THE TRAINS .
    But of course there weren’t any trains. There hadn’t been any trains for years. The notice led to what seemed to be a hole in the wall but was actually the top of a curving concrete staircase.
    â€œThey want us to go down there,” said Ivo.
    â€œBut who are they?” There was no one to be seen.
    They began to walk down the stone stairs and all the time it got colder and colder.
    â€œI didn’t know there were so many stairs in the world,” said the Hag.
    They reached the bottom at last and found themselves on a platform with a row of broken-down vending machines and some battered wooden benches. There was a smell of decay and oldness.
    â€œNow what?” wondered the troll. “We can’t go any lower.”
    And then, incredibly in this station which had been closed for years and years, they heard the sound of a train!
    The sound came closer. The train appeared in the mouth of the tunnel. It slowed down but it did not stop. In the dim light inside the carriages sat rows of dark-clad specters, staring at the ground.
    â€œA ghost train!” said the wizard. “Who would have thought it?”
    Ivo felt a chill run through him; he’d never seen ghosts before.
    The train moved off. The ogre-slayers waited in eerie silence.
    After a few minutes the ghost train reappeared; the same dark specters sat staring at the ground. They were on a circle line, doomed to go around and around forever.
    Once again the ghost train vanished into the tunnel; once again the slayers waited. Then for the third time they heard the noise of a train, but this one did not only slow down, it stopped, and a disembodied voice said, “Enter.”
    It took a lot of courage to get into the train. The seats were ripped and covered in harpy feathers; rats scuttled about on the floor.
    The doors shut. The train began to move.
    They went through a number of stations. On one, the sign said RIVER STYX . Another said MEDUSA’S LAIR . It looked as though the Underworld had taken over the underground.
    Then the train slowed down, stopped. The doors slid back and the poor slayers, frightened and bewildered, got out.
    The wall behind the station had collapsed; it was probably near here that the bomb had fallen, because they were in a kind of hollow cave.
    The smell was vile; harpies roosted on the ledges; water dripped from the roof.
    But on a platform in the center of the cave was something familiar: the great bed of the Norns—and all three of the Old Ones were in it, leaning against the pillows.
    For a moment the Norns stared with their bleary eyes at the group of people coming toward them. Then they shook their heads. They had forgotten how bad it was.
    There was a pause, and because it looked as though the Norns might drop off to sleep, the troll said, “You have orders for us?”
    The Norns sat up. “Orders,” they agreed.
    â€œAnd gifts.”
    They clapped their hands and one of their attendants came forward carrying a leather pouch full of black beans. Beans are often magical, and these were very magical indeed, because they enabled the person who had eaten one to understand the speech of anyone they were talking to, whether it was a human or an animal.
    The slayers thanked them and the Hag put the pouch carefully in her handbag.
    The second gift was a ketchup bottle filled with a yellowish liquid.
    â€œFoot water,” said