"A sunken church with docking ports. Sediment has built up against the lower walls, and long ago choked neglected crypts and crooked tombstones. The interior is sealed; yet the deep peals of the tower's bell can be felt even through a zubmarine hull."[1]
Low Barnet is a sunken church with no altar, no priests, and no god. It is located not far from London.
The Storyteller's Haven[]
"The competition? The best story wins. Cap'n says it's all in the delivery, but you need a fine yarn to spin, too."[2]
Low Barnet is a house of stories. The congregation is one of storytellers, and the church is one of tales and great feats. Zee-captains often come here to recite accounts of their adventures zailing the Unterzee. Some may tell tales so revolting the locals flee the room, and others may tell stories so enthralling the locals invite them to their ranks.[3] Contests are held regularly to see who has the most fascinating tales beneath the Zee.[4]
Those who win the contest are allowed entry to the Bell Tower, which lies behind a well-guarded door. Within lies a single Bell; its peals can be heard throughout. Curiously, those who ring the Bell never return.[5]
The Bell[]
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"Soon you are within reach of the bell. The metal shape is colossal in the confined space, its exterior still shiny despite, presumably, years beneath the zee. You lean over to look inside. The clapper is covered in a dark residue. And the interior seems soft, blackened, wrinkled. Covered in pieces of-
"Suddenly, you know what happens to those who ring the bell."[6]
The Bell is actually a living creature that devours both the bodies and the souls of those who ring it. The Bell was erected by the New Sequence, back when they were still a splinter faction of London's Admiralty.[7] It can be assumed that the Bell's purpose is to gather souls for the Dawn Machine, as the rope of the Bell itself seems to avoid the hands of the soulless and the thoughts of those that ring the bell:
"You are light, all of you. The sun that turns; the touch that burns. The voice of fires and falling spires. The wheel within the wheel within the wheel, contemplating, constructing, consuming. Each click of the cog, the circles colliding and guiding-"[6]