They would have lingered once the train pulled into the station to assist the gentleman-soldier off the train, but he waved them away with a smile. The platform looked totally unlike any of the platforms either of them had seen in that station before.
Standing on the platform, waiting to get on the train was a curious looking bunch; three young women and a young man, all dressed up as if for a masquerade ball or some other event. The young man wore a kilt made out of PVC, while the other women wore curiously elaborate Victorian-looking clothes. One of the women, with dark hair, had graceful spirals painted in black around her eyes.
"Are you sure we're at the right station?" asked Nics, trying not to stare at the group.
"Everyone else looks like they know where they're going. We'll just follow them," replied Chas, with a confidence he didn't quite feel.
Sure enough, the old-fashioned cobblestone platform soon gave way to more modern (and dirtier) concrete. An abrupt turn around a corner and the pair were in the station proper, its cavernous ceiling echoing with the footsteps of hundreds of people coming and going.
Chas turned to look back the way they'd come. An old-fashioned wooden sign hung on the wall behind them, with a very faded painted finger pointing to the left, and bearing the inscription "Platform 2B" in an ornate, curling typeface. He promptly got distracted by a man in grey overalls who walked past them, carrying over one shoulder what looked like a pink plastic flamingo wrapped in several layers of bubble wrap.
"Right," said Nics decisively. "Let's find the tube. I've got an hour to get to my appointment."
They walked quickly through the crowd, dodging people hauling little suitcases on wheels, people carrying piles of parcels and handfuls of bags, and people talking very loudly into their mobile phones. One man bumped heavily into Nics. She gave him a filthy look and clutched her bag tight to her body.
"Yeah, I'm at the station!" seemed to be a very common cry into a variety of mobile devices. Nics could have sworn she saw a small girl-child with a banana held to her ear like a mobile phone, talking animatedly into it. But she found herself far more disconcerted to see the people just walking around talking to themselves. Nics was never sure if they had one of those hands free kits for their mobiles, or if they were just plain crazy.
Scrawny-looking pigeons skittered out of the crowd’s way, stopping at every opportunity to peck at pieces of paper, dust and cigarette ends, in the vain hope that they might be edible. Here and there a pigeon-scrum would develop around a carelessly dropped chip or piece of sandwich.
The tube was packed with commuters all doing the thousand yard stare. Not an single one of them wanted to make eye contact for fear that they might be accosted by some person who might ask them for money, or even worse, try to talk to them.
There was only one conversation happening in the whole carriage. A few feet away from where Chas and Nics were swaying with the motion of the train, a man in a black business suit was complaining bitterly to his companion, a man in a grey business suit, about how someone kept emailing him scanned pictures of squashed fruit. Bananas featured prominently in this tirade.
They got to Nics' destination with time to spare.
"I don't know how long this meeting could drag on for," she said. "So why don't you head off for a bit, and I'll meet you back here in time for lunch. Say, half one?"
"Sure," said Chas. "Suits me."
A thought struck him.
"Give me the locket, and I'll go to Whitehall and see if I can track down any info about our mysterious lady-friend."
"Good plan," said Nics, handing it over. Chas shoved the locket into his jeans pocket.
They kissed, and Nics disappeared through the heavy revolving doors of the office building.
Chas was walking back to the tube station when something caught his eye. From out of an alleyway on his side of the road, a duck's head appeared. It looked both ways carefully, then vanished back into the gloom. A few seconds later, it reappeared, followed by the rest of the duck and five other ducks. Calmly, trying not to draw any attention to themselves, they waddled off across the road and down the path towards the river.
About ten seconds after they'd turned the corner, Chas could hear a muffled thump, and a wisp of smoke escaped from the mouth of the alley. Another ten seconds, and a fire engine came screaming up. One fireman firmly ushered Chas to the other side of the road, while a pair of other firemen ran into the alleyway with a hose, sprayed water for a few minutes, then walked out again, with the smug air of a job well done. They got back into the fire engine, and drove sedately off.
All this drama had taken no more than five minutes. Chas shook his head in bemusement, and carried on walking along the river bank.
A pair of malicious and very wet eyes watched him go from the shadows of the alleyway.
On the tube, a woman dressed in a nineteenth century hoop skirt with a large overcoat over the top, very pale makeup, unnaturally red lips and a huge bruise over one eye stood calmly chatting to a man dressed in a black frock coat carrying a shovel. The man too was very pale, with what looked like dried blood smeared at his temple.
The lady caught Chas staring at her worriedly, and grinned at him. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a flyer, which she handed to him. It read:
"Come visit the Chamber of Horrors! Tours start 12:00 noon and run every hour up to midnight!!"
The lettering was done in such a tacky way that it looked like the letters were dripping blood. Below the lettering was a rather indistinct map. Chas shoved it into his pocket, next to the locket.
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