Maps/Unterzee

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The Elder Continent

That vast continent to the South with a glowing mountain at its heart - where the Presbyter has ruled for a thousand years - is older by far than any of London's civilisations. Which is embarrassing.

Whither

A chilly city beside a waste of salt.

Codex

An isle of answers.

Venderbight

Few die in Fallen London. They come here instead.

Hunter's Keep

A hump of dark rock swathed in mist, like a hundred other Unterzee islands. But here's a grand house, windows aglow. Lawns, impossibly green and lush in the false-star light. Raked gravel paths. An unexpectedly warm breeze carries the faintest trace of lavender.

Fallen London

FALLEN LONDON! Deep. dark and marvellous. All voyages start here: and this is where successful voyages end.

Mutton Island

Once, this simple fishing village was part of the London suburbs, before London fell and the waters rushed in. Smoke spirals from cottage chimneys. A lonely hill rises behind town.

The Cumaean Canal

The Canal ascends, through locks and gates and shadowed turns, to the sunlight of the Surface.

The Iron Republic

Factory-engines roar like false lions. Blood thunders in the dock-pipes. Crimson lightning skitters across the deck, leaps to the rail, coils there like a cat. The city is reflected in glassy-calm harbour water: the citizens there have the heads of dogs and serpents.

Hell has brought freedom to the Iron Republic: freedom from all laws, even those of nature.

Grand Geode

File:SS grandgeode portgaz.png

A naval base, with the Royal Navy's emblems, curiously amended. Efficient, bright-eyed women and men work briskly. They are singing: hymns with unfamiliar words. Hard-faced Royal Marines bar entry to the Geode's heart. A plaque by the docks has been defaced with orange paint, 'STATION V (ADJUNCT)'.

Dawn Machine

HE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN T

Frostfound

Towers and ramps and galleries and stairs of ice, raised and spun like an architect's honey-dream. No spider ever wove so complex a web. The towers are utterly pristine, untouched by human life, but a pitiable encampment squats by the dock.

Gaider's Mourn

The Mourn is a stalagmite vast as a crag, and its foot has no safe harbours. The corsair's citadel nestles halfway up. An intricate system of winches takes the strain... and a ship rises slowly from the zee. Her hull creaks in protest. Grizzled zailors groan and cling to stanchions.

Higher, higher. The Unterzee shimmers like glass below. Children clambering in crevices cheer and wave alarmingly. The winch-motor slows, and it hangs in a cradle next to a red-bowed pirate cutter.

Shepherd Isles

"You heard of the Pillared Sea, where Irem lies? Wise man from Irem came here, oh, eighty year ago. He planted three pillars. They were as big as fingers when I were young. Now they're as you see them. In my son's time, they'll be big as dock-cranes."

Abbey Rock

A black spit of an island, far from anywhere anyone would want to go. And that's how the Sisterhood likes it. Here stands their fortress-convent. There are bear-traps that look friendlier than this.

Station III

Machinery hums behind high steel walls. Up the hill, there are visible outlines of warehouses and a building with a spire. But the lamps are low where they burn at all, and your ship the only one in harbour.

The Uttershroom

Climb the fungal-fibre ladders to its summit. Shaggy, suspicious villagers scratch a living here, amidst endless clouds of spores and scurrying mobs of plant-animal hybrids. None of them ever leave. "Monsters," one explains darkly. "Zee full of monsters."

Port Carnelian

London's first Unterzee colony sweats under a blanket of southern heat. To the right of the dock, the sapphire-mines yawn. To the left, the Governor's house stands, prim as an Elderwick mansion. Behind lies the fungal jungle, ghostly in white and violet.

The Ragged Crow

A deep, well-lit cavern, thick with a fungal smoke and cave moths. Far above, a lighthouse fire burns. The scent of it is curiously medicinal. It clouds your head and burns your lungs. Farther into the fog, you can make out laboured breathing.

Pigmote Isle

There is no habitation in sight, no market, very little in the way of a maintained dock. A stretch of sand thickens into damp, black earth, from which sprout stunted... Palms? Not quite: tall fungal growths with frond-like caps, as if someone sculpted the idea of a tree from a mushroom.

The Salt Lions

Two basalt beasts, cathedral-sized. They frown eternally at each other across the black waves. The north one carries an encampment: creeping human figures eat away at its features like rot, pick-pick-picking. There's a supply dock below.

Wrack

Ships lured by false promises and lights litter the zee-floor. Their broken hulls make a city for the wreckers. The citizens are in constant motion, working to survive and appease the Fair King, who sits deep within the city on his wheeled throne.

Demeaux Island

I & M has a funger operation here, felling giant bolegus shrooms for building materials, harvesting kirralee for its 'medicinal' properties. It's a desperate little outpost of something like civilisation.

Fathomking's Hold

Like an iceberg, like a Bazaar-Master's scheme, like the Neath itself, most of the Hold is invisible. You see only a tiny portion of sculpted coral - the rest waits below the surface. The Fathomking's bone-rooms and aquaria. His pearl-snares and his dining-chambers...

Aigul

The station is pinned to the surface of Aigul. Once it was a roving vessel, the Fortas Kettle, and floated freely from place to place. Now it is stuck on spines of fluke-rock.

Mount Palmerston

Sullen lights glow green at the jetty's edge. Behind the port buildings, the island is is knee-deep in ash. There are ruins here and there, of houses destroyed by fire. Far above, the mountain's top flickers red: just for an instant.

Anthe

They call it the city of flowers, but the flowers are crystals, spiral matrices grown on the walls of Anthean caves. The inhabitants of Anthe are at least partly crystal too: they call it "going sharp." Becoming more perfect, and clearer, and colder.

Nuncio

Taciturn functionaries walk the docks, in the uniforms of postmen. An enormous crowned statue casts a chilling shadow.The shadows gleam with rats' eyes. Their ceaseless chittering rolls like the tide.

Nook

A gap in this colossal sea monster's throat has been forced open with thick heartmetal beams. They strain under the pressure, but hold. As you pass through, your zubmarine lights pass over a message carved in a floating piece of some unfortunate's hull. BEYOND IS NOOK. BEYOND IS FREEDOM. BEYOND IS- The rest is scratched out.