It all started with the map. 

  Jack Witherspoon, Spoony to his mates, well mate, I suppose because Spoony was a small shy lad who didn’t seem to make friends easily. He only had one true friend, Billy Bates. Spoony called him Weeble because he sort of wobbled when he walked. 

  Anyway, as I was saying, Spoony was riding his bike across the recreation ground when a large piece of paper, blown on an errant wind, somehow managed to wrap itself around his head. The crash that resulted was quite spectacular. He instinctively let go of the handlebars and grabbed at the paper. The bike leapt sideways and carried on for a good few metres, then careered straight into the ditch that encircled the field. The ditch was about three feet deep. Usually it was full of water however as luck would have it on this occasion, it was dry.

  Once Spoony had disentangled himself from the wreckage of his bike and checked for broken bones, of which amazingly there were none, he turned his attention to the piece of paper. It was a map, an ancient map. The paper was all yellow and mildewy and it showed his home, Milltown. Overlaid in gold was another town, one that Spoony didn’t recognise at all. 

  There were points on the map that were named. Spoony couldn’t make any sense of them. They seemed to be in a foreign language. He sat in the ditch for at least an hour trying to decipher it. He eventually decided he needed help and well, there was only one person Spoony went to for anything and that was Weeble. 

  Spoony kicked his wheels straight and dusted himself off. He shoved the map down the front of his shirt and cycled to Weeble’s house as quickly as his not-quite-round wheels would allow. 

  Spoony got to Weeble’s house at about teatime. Weeble was in the garage tinkering, like the mad scientist that he reminded Spoony so much of. Weeble looked up as Spoony came down the drive. 

  “What on earth happened, Spoony, you all right?” asked Weeble, his voice full of concern. 

  “Yeah, just a bit of a prang, don’t worry about it,” reassured Spoony. “Look at this.” 

  He spread the map out on the meticulously clean workbench.

  “What is it?” asked Weeble, bending forward for a better look. 

  “A map of the town but with more. I’m not sure about the extra stuff!” explained Spoony. 

  “Well, let’s see, shall we?” Weeble said, reaching for a magnifying glass, complete with light. “Hmmm, it’s definitely Milltown. You’re right, there are extra landmarks. I don’t recognise the language, this says GrasTaag,” Weeble said, pointing to an area on the map that looked like a lake. “What could that mean, I wonder?” 

  Spoony scanned the map. “I don’t know but that there, where it says Ilchaall, looks like a pair of gates!” 

  “You’re right! Maybe it’s the entrance. What if it’s a town under Milltown?” Weeble mused, sucking on his glasses’ arm. 

  “How could it be? Surely someone would have found it, what with all the houses they’re putting up!” Spoony exclaimed. “There really is only one way to find out, you know!” Spoony smiled. Spoony was always up for adventure.   “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” agreed Weeble reluctantly, “but it’ll be dark soon. Why don’t you ring your mum and ask if you can stay the night? We’ll go first thing tomorrow.” 

  “Okay! What’s for dinner? I’m starving!” Spoony enquired. Reaching for his mobile, he phoned and sorted it out with his mum. After dinner, the two of them spent all night pawing over the map, trying to make some sense of it.      They set out at around nine a.m. Not exactly first thing as it had taken Weeble a while to knock the kinks out of Spoony’s bike. 

  “The gates are way across the other side of town,” moaned Spoony. “It’ll take forever to get there!” 

  “Wait until we get around the corner and I’ll tow you!” said Weeble, patting his bike. It was a weird-looking contraption, a normal bike with an engine and lots of battery packs attached to it. 

  “You’re kidding, you got the Lectrocycle to work!” Spoony said, shaking his head. 

  “The Lectrocycle Mk3 actually and yes, I did,” Weeble beamed like a new father showing off his first-born. 

  “What happened to the Mk2?” Spoony asked. 

  “You don’t want to know but Mrs Dorny’s cat won’t be walking in a straight line for quite a while!” said Weeble, looking very sheepish. 

  “Poor thing, you really should keep an eye out for him when you’re testing stuff. That cat can’t have many lives left the way you carry on!” joked Spoony.    “She should keep it inside, s’not my fault. Mangy old thing!” Weeble countered. 

  “Mangy! He’s won medals you know!” Spoony smiled. “Anyway shall we go? Day’s getting on!” Spoony suggested. They moved around the corner, Weeble pushed a button on his handlebars and the Lectrocycle Mk3 sparked into life. There was a reel of cord attached under the seat, which was attached to a tow bar. 

  “Neat!” Spoony declared. 

  "That’s nothing, you should hear the horn!” Weeble said, reaching for another button. 

  “Maybe later,” Spoony said, cutting short the hour-long demonstration which he knew would be forthcoming. “We ought to get going, otherwise it’ll be dark by the time we get there,” he finished sarcastically. 

  “Yeah, yeah, this thing’ll reach thirty miles per hour, you know!” Weeble gave him a sour look. 

  “Really? Just go steady, I’m not insured,” Spoony said with a wink. 

  “You’ll be okay, don’t worry,” assured Weeble. 

  “Tell that to Mrs Dorny’s cat!” Spoony quipped. 

  “Just grab on and keep it zipped,” said Weeble indignantly. 

  Spoony grasped the tow bar, Weeble twisted the right handgrip and they started off down the street, slowly gathering speed. Amazingly, apart from the odd large spark, the Lectrocycle Mk3 performed wonderfully. And in less than thirty minutes, they were at the point on the map that said Ilchaall.             Weeble propped the Lectrocycle Mk3 up on its side stand. 

  “Wow, that was brilliant, Weeble! You really got it to work. I’m well impressed!” Spoony dumped his bike on the grass. 

  “Yeah, I’m thinking of adding another motor and changing the gear ratio…” Weeble started to explain. 

  “This is definitely the place,” Spoony interrupted, knowing otherwise there would be a lengthy discussion, most of which he wouldn’t understand.               Weeble looked a bit disappointed but pulled the map out and said, “Look there’s the junction and that must be that big tree over there but I can’t see any gates.” 

  “You sure you haven’t got the map upside down or something?” Spoony asked, joining him. 

  “Course not. Look, the gate should be there, where the street sign is.” Weeble looked at the map and pointed to the sign, it was one of those ‘Welcome Please drive carefully’ signs that are on two legs. 

  “Let’s see the map,” Spoony said, grabbing it from Weeble’s hand. 

  “Careful you don’t rip it!” Weeble warned. 

  “Look, what’s that say? Under the word Ilchaall.” Tapping the map with his finger, Spoony said, “Lemeeian and then three dots!” 

  “Maybe you have to say it three times before anything happens,” suggested Weeble. 

  “Before what happens?” Spoony wondered. 

  “I don’t know in for a penny, in for a pound!” Weeble moved toward the sign. “Lemeeian lemeeian lemeeian!” 

  There was a grating sound, the area below the sign started to shimmer. Suddenly, it looked as if a waterfall were under it. “What the?” exclaimed Spoony. “… How’d you do that, Weeble?” 

  “I don’t know. I just said lemeeian leme…” 

  “No, don’t say it again!” shouted Spoony. “What do we do now? Should we go in?” 

  “What if we can’t get back out? What’s in there, if there is a there?” babbled Weeble. 

  “I don’t know but we’ve got the map. Why have a map if there’s nothing there to find? There must be something in there! Come on, Weeble, before it disappears or something,” Spoony pleaded. 

  “Spoony, listen to yourself. This isn’t possible and you want to dive straight in. What if it’s a disintegration beam or something?” Weeble said with a worried look on his face. 

  “I don’t know but we can’t just stand here.” Spoony stooped down and picked up a fist-sized stone and chucked it at the waterfall. It sailed straight through. 

  “Ow! Who be chucking rocks about, you coulda blinded a fella!” 

  Suddenly a head poked out from under the road sign. 

  “If you be coming in, come and close t’ gate, we don’t want everyone knowing where it is, you know!” the head said. 

  Weeble screeched and would have run had Spoony not grabbed him and dragged him through the gateway before he could recover enough to do anything about it. As they passed through, the waterfall blinked out and all that was left was a normal street sign. On the other side, however, it was another story. There lay spread out below them, a vast subterranean city with winding streets. The rock face had doors and windows in it, as though the rock behind had been hollowed out to form homes. The entire area was lit with orange glowing lights. 

  “Be ye t’ ’ooligans wot be chucking rocks?” asked the head that had poked out. 

  The head was attached to what can only be described as a dwarf. He was four feet tall with a bushy beard nearly as long, a large bulbous nose dominated a rough white face, he had big shaggy untrained eyebrows, which sat over kind sparkling green eyes. He had a piece of what looked like bone pushed through a hole in his earlobe. On his head sat a floppy brown felt hat with a purple feather in it. He wore a brown waistcoat and trousers with soft leather boots. 

  “Well, Taag got yer tongue?” he asked. 

  “Err, well, I mean, er,” stammered Spoony. 

  “B-b-b-but,” stuttered Weeble. 

  “Yer not quite right in t’ead, are ye?” said the dwarf with a frown. 

  “Sorry sir… Erm… We were just checking it was safe to come through,” explained Spoony. 

  “I ain’t no sir, I be Slammer Battleaxe and ye be?” 

  “Ah yes, I’m Jack. Friends call me Spoony and this is Billy or Weeble. Can you tell us where we are, Mr Battleaxe?” 

  “Slammer! Well I be friend, so Spoony and Weeble, ye be in Darkerden. Now how is it ye be in Darkerden? T’ gateway is meant t’ be secret!” demanded Slammer. 

  “Well, I found this map and we were trying to find out what it meant…” Spoony explained. 

  “Ye means t’ map found ye!” Slammer smiled. “T’is great. I knew it’d work,” he said hopping from foot to foot. 

  “What do you mean, found me?” asked Spoony. 

  “I means what I means, it found ye, well not ye I told t’ map t’ find me someone wot was clever and wily enough t’ ’elp me!” explained Slammer.   Weeble seemed to come out of this stupor at that moment. “But where are we? How can this be here under a street sign? I just don’t understand. How is any of this possible?” 

  “Listen, come t’me ’ouse and I’ll tell ye all ye wants t’know,” Slammer said and started off down the street. 

  “Hang on, we can’t just stay here. If we don’t get back for tea, our parents will come looking for us!” Weeble said, panicking again. 

  “Dinnae stress, laddie. I’ll get ye back afore then,” Slammer said over his shoulder, still walking away. 

  “Come on, Weeble! You have to be curious.” Spoony followed Slammer down the street. With a shrug, Weeble followed too. 

  They walked down the sloping road hewn out of rough rock. It had been worn smooth by centuries of travel. The area was surprisingly bright, considering it was underground. Slammer explained that the algae on the walls exuded light. As they walked further down the road, they started to hear sounds of life from the city; shouts and bangs, creaks from hand-pulled carts. The place was teeming with dwarves, going about their daily lives. Slammer led the gawping boys into the city, down a side street and into a small green-doored dwelling. 

  “Come in, come in,” said Slammer, taking off his coat and hanging it on the peg by the front door. The boys followed him in and stood in the middle of the room. It was a semi-circular room with chairs and a table that seemed to be carved out of the rock. Each chair had a big fluffy cushion on it. The room was lit by a smokeless fire, which also seemed to be where Slammer cooked. There were pots and pans of various sizes on a large shelf above the fire. An arched opening led to a similar room where there was a rock bed and a wall of pegs. There was a small stream running through the room, which pooled, then ran back out under the sidewall. 

  “Sit ye down, laddies,” Slammer said. He filled a pot from the stream and hung it over the fire. “Now then, what is ye’d be wanting t’ know?” 

  “Well, er, how come Darkerden is under Milltown and no one knows about it? And how come the language on the map differs from ours but you speak like we do? And…” blurted out Weeble. 

  “Whoa there, laddie. One at a time. Darkerden ’as been ’ere f’ centuries so Milltown is above it. Nae one knows about it cos we dinnae wants ’em t’know. T’ language thing be easy; t’map is in t’old tongue, we learnt t’talk like ye do so’s we could blend in wi’ ye topsiders. There be some o’ us topside now, some live there all t’while. Why there’s this’n one chap, ’e be in yon films. ’E even got i’self t’New Zealand in one o’ ’em! But mostly we keeps t’ ourselfs!” Slammer got up and started pouring hot water into three clay cups.   “Why did you send the map to us, Slammer?” Spoony asked, relaxing in the chair that, because of the cushion, was surprisingly comfortable. 

  Slammer looked up and said, “Well there’s t’thing. We ’as small amounts o’ magic, like t’gateways… Well I say ‘we’, wot I mean is me ’ammer ’as t’magic and well…” Slammer looked a bit bashful. “I dun lost it!” 

  “You lost your hammer…” Spoony said, hardly able to believe his ears. “Is that all?” 

  “Well no, wot I mean is, I ’ad me ’ammer and then I didnae. I guess it t’were found by sum topsiders and they dun took it off wi’ ’em. Ye see I be t’only mage in t’district. If’n we dinnae get it back, all t’gateways will fail and Darkerden will be open f’ anyone t’ enter and it’ll be t’ end o’ us.” Slammer handed Spoony a steaming mug. 

  “’Ere, ’ot rock water.” He handed one to Weeble, who took a small sip.             “Wow, that’s really good! It’s sort of fizzy!” Weeble exclaimed. 

   “Course it is, well, laddies, will ye ’elp me or nae?” Slammer asked, slumping into one of the chairs. 

  “Of course. I’m not sure what you want us to do but if we can, we will! Won’t we, Weeble?” said Spoony, sniffing at his mug. 

  “Yeah, I guess so!” Weeble was still somewhat in shock. 

  “When was the last time you saw your hammer, Slammer?” Spoony asked.       “Well, ye see I ’as t’ go topside every so o’fen t’ strengthens t’wards on t’gateways. I leant me ’ammer agin a wall t’ take a sip o’ rock water, t’is thirsty work ye understand, an’ when I turns around t’were gone.” 

   “Do you know where they took it, Slammer?” asked Weeble. 

   “Well, sort of, I can sense it when t’is near,” said Slammer. “They took it towards t’ centre o’ town.” 

    “Hmm… The Town Hall?” pondered Weeble. “Good a place as anywhere to start looking,” Spoony decided. 

    “What does the hammer look like?” Weeble asked fishing out a pad and pencil from his coat pocket. He never went anywhere without one. 

   “Ah yes, good question. It be yay tall.” Slammer held out his arm at shoulder height. “It be made o’ steel and t’ ’ammering bit be black onyx wi’ a pointy bit at t’back o’ it. It ’as jewels wi’ runes on’ t’side and t’ ’andle be red leather wrapped. It sort o’ pulses wi’ magical energies.” 

   “That shouldn’t be too hard to spot then!” said Spoony with a grin. “I guess we had best go look for it then.” 

   “Do ye nae wanna look around first?” Slammer was enjoying the company.      Weeble brightened and said imploringly, “Can we? Spoony. Please.”