Chapter 1.
His brain was on fire with anger, he wanted to hurt Finley so badly, he wanted to kill him, yes, kill him. Slumped under a conker tree in the park, numbly staring at the tattered remnants of the book in his hand, his fury building silently within him even as the sky got blacker under towering summer storm clouds above.
He wanted to kill him, slowly, painfully.
His left hand found a biro in his jacket pocket and he began to stab the shredded book with it, rhythmically, manically, murderously. Each thrust a little harder than the last, each thrust a little closer to committing actual harm. All the while under his breath he recited the same savage litany over and over as he rocked back and forth.
“Kill him. Kill him, Kill him.”
Stabbing, stabbing, stabbing.
His brain was locked in the homicidal cycle of words, churning relentlessly, building towards an awful crescendo of emotion.
“Fred ?”
A far away familiar voice spoke to him, concerned, but it couldn’t break through the all consuming cycle. Rocking, stabbing, reciting.
“Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”
“Fred.” Josef said more loudly as he stooped down in front of him and Freder finally looked up.
His twins face was red from crying but that was not what startled Josef. It was the wave of murderous rage that hit him almost physically at the same time as Freder shouted up into his face.
“Kill him !!!”
The intense moment was like the breaking of a dam and all that pent up hate and fury came pouring out just as a searing blue white flash of lightning grounded dangerously close by. Both boys felt the tingling shock of the strike and were pummelled by the hot blast of the shock wave that burst over them. Josef looked fearfully over his shoulder to see a tree barely a hundred metres away split in two and raw red flames leaping up into its crown. That was way too close, they had to move.

He turned back to his brother.
“Come on Fred, Mum’s going mental wondering where you are, let’s get home. It’s not safe out here.”
“Kill him !!!” Freder screamed back at him insanely and another intense flash and deafening clap of thunder broke over them, even closer this time.
Josef was really scared now, his brother had gone completely ape and they were in imminent danger of being fried under this tree. He grabbed his brother by his jacket and roughly dragged him to his feet.
“Fred ! Let’s go, we’ll be killed if we stay here !” He yelled at him and shook him hard.
Something changed in his twin, the rage fell away as he recognised him.
“Killed ?” Freder asked him weakly, his eyes oddly unfocussed as if he were looking through his brother at something beyond him.
A third lightning bolt slashed down out of the black sky and blasted them with a scorching scirocco, hard on the tail of the deafening thunder and an intense jolt of electricity that crackled through their trainers.
Now Freder gripped his brother painfully tightly as he understood the terrible danger they were in, this lightning was not random, it was directed.
“Jo, it’s after me.” Freder whispered in horror as he looked at the burning tree and the two smoking patches of ground. “Run !”
He shrugged off Josef’s grasp and sprinted away across the grass faster than Josef had ever seen him run before, he had to run really hard to catch him up.
“Run !” Freder sobbed between ragged breaths as the heaving sable heavens opened up and hailstones the size of marbles slashed down at the fleeing pair.
Yet even as Freder desperately sought shelter from the storm a little piece of himself was laughing maniacally and eagerly reaching up into the black sky, reaching for the power of the lightning. A fourth strike cleaved the big conker tree in a blaze of light and blast of sound.
“It’s after me Jo, it’s after me.” Freder panted desperately, as his brother drew level with him.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his words were all but drowned by the clattering roar of the hailstorm that beat down on them.
They were running hard approaching the junction of the paths, an old ornate cast iron lamp standard at its centre. Freder found that his legs were giving out on him, he veered towards the shelter of the distant toilets. Looking over his shoulder he saw Josef with his head down against the hail still heading on towards the lamp. Then he knew with awful certainty where his insane personal demon was summoning the next strike to hit – the lamp.
“Jo !” He tried to yell but he was too short of breath to make himself heard above the storm.
In blind desperation he swerved around and gave his last reserves to make the few paces separating them. He could feel the lightning begin its descent and flung himself headlong at his brother’s back, crashing into him just as the bolt came searing down.
He wasn’t sure what happened in those blinding fractions of a second, they should have died.
Yet he had a fleeting image of a silver river, rushing and sparkling like no other he had ever seen. Then he was immersed deep in it’s mercurial depths, but he wasn’t drowning, indeed he felt so intensely alive.
Then there was darkness, silence.

“Fred, Fred !”
He opened his eyes upon a blue sky with Josef bending over him.
“Jo, what happened ?” Freder asked weakly as his brother helped him sit up. “Where are we ?” He whispered anxiously as he took in the scene around them.
They were surrounded by a small group of very strangely dressed people all staring at them, then he looked down and saw that they were sitting in a very formal flowerbed,  mashed and trampled under them.
Standing over them was a tall ornate cast iron lamp standard in black and gold, its glass crystal clear and intact. There was a distinct sharp smell of ozone in the air and there seemed to be small sparks flaring off the metal work of the lamp, which some of the small crowd were pointing at fearfully.
They couldn’t decide what to do, it was all too much to take in, the storm, the strike, and this….this place. Just where were they ? Drawing close together they stared back at the people waiting for someone to rescue them.
Two figures pushed their way through the encircling people and regarded them stonily. They were dressed all in black, their knee length frock coats buttoned with big dull embossed black buttons, a large red hand embroidered upon the right of the chest and upon the black silk band around the tall pointed shako’s they wore on their heads. Everything about these heavily be-whiskered men shouted authority to the two frightened boys.
One pulled a small glass tube with a silver disc protruding from it out of his pocket and waded carelessly through the flowers to the lamp where he held it up to the metal. He was frowning as he turned around to show it to his colleague. Neither Freder or Josef could see what was inside the glass because of the angle, but some in the crowd could see clearly and there was a collective intake of breath and low muttering.

“Sinisterre.”
Immediately the circle began to back away fearfully while the man with the glass tube planted it on the ground then pointed it at Freder. He raised his eyebrows as he regarded it, then thrust it at Josef.
“You, boy. Touch the disc.”
Josef complied hesitantly and the man frowned before turning to Freder.
“Now you, touch the disc.”
Freder reached out with his left hand to touch it and was immediately given a resounding smack by the man.
“Don’t give me trouble boy or you’ll regret it.” He snarled. “Touch the disc.”
Freder didn’t know what was going on and he was about to raise his left hand again when Josef caught hold of it.
“Right hand.” He said very softly, he didn’t know why but he was sure it was Freder’s lefthanded move that had caused the problem.
Touching the disc with his right hand was accepted without comment and the two men looked at the glass together.
“You two had better come with us. There’s signs of sinisterre activity here and although both of you seem clear we want to be sure.” He said seriously as he stowed the little glass in his pocket.
“But…” Josef began to say.
“Quiet. Now on your feet.”
The man’s manner brooked no dissent, they meekly got to their feet and were escorted away from the little crowd that now huddled together to discuss the strange events in low trembling voices.

Nothing they saw was familiar as they were herded between the two forbidding figures through the beautifully manicured park where the lawns had edges sharper than a knife and rank upon rank of bright flowers filled the borders with almost martial discipline. All the people they encountered quickly gave way before their escorts and lined the path to watch them pass giving the twins ample opportunities to stare back.
Were they on a movie set ? All the bystanders were wearing clothes that could have come from a TV costume drama, the women had long flared skirts that reached the ground, the men sported whiskers and beards and all wore a hat, bowlers, derbys, top and flat. But there were no camera’s, no filmcrew in jeans and tee shirts, nothing familiar and nor comforting.
When they passed through the heavy decorative iron gates to stand beside the road an even more bizarre sight greeted them, horse drawn wagons and carriages were everywhere. Iron shod hooves filled the air with sound and the rich vaguely rank smell of horses assaulted their noses. In the distance a steam tram hooted and clattered over a road junction leaving a trail of dissipating dirty white smoke. Something vaguely resembling a veteran car chuntered by, its black coachwork gleaming in the sunlight, the richly dressed passengers staring out at them in astonishment. That was when Josef realised with a shock that he and Freder were the odd ones out here, their bright jackets, blue jeans and white trainers stood out like beacons. Everyone on the path, the horse drawn bus, the carts, they were all pointing and staring. He was almost relieved when their escorts stopped beside an all black carriage bearing the sygil of the blood red hand below the tiny window in its side and opened the door at the back.
“In.” They were ordered without ceremony and a lock clicked home as the door shut behind them.

“Where are we Jo ?” Freder asked him again, but now in a scared whisper, as they sat down in the gloomy interior.
“No idea. One minute you were rugby tackling me in a hailstorm, the next thing we’re in that flowerbed.” He paused to regard his brother with a frown. “Why’d you do that Fred ?”
“The lightning Jo, it was going to hit you.” Freder stopped at an unbidden thought. “Maybe it did hit, maybe….maybe we’re dead.”
“Give me a break.” Josef snorted derisively. “This place stinks, no way this is heaven.” He pulled out his phone and dialled up their Mum’s mobile. “That’s odd.” He commented as he put it to his ear.
“What ?”
“No dial tone.”
He looked at the display and his face looked dismayed.
“No signal. Try your’s Fred.” He said with an anxious tremor in his voice.
Reluctantly Freder pulled his own phone out of his jacket, the thing always gave him a headache when he used it. It was off as usual.
“You should switch it on when you leave the house Fred, no wonder Mum couldn’t get an answer from you.” Josef berated him.
“No signal.” Freder said as the display lit up, they couldn’t get in touch with anyone to let them know their plight. Even if they could, would anyone believe them ?
The carriage lurched and pulled out into the traffic, weaving in and out of slower vehicles, taking them, where ?
“What happened Fred ? Why were you sat there shredding your book ?” Josef asked him to take his mind off their predicament.
“I didn’t shred it. It was Finley Mouron and his goons.” Freder said angrily.
“Bloody Fatley.” Josef commented sourly, the kid was a bully and a menace.
“I was walking home reading and they came up, grabbed the book and started tossing it around. They wouldn’t give it back.” Freder said sullenly.
“Then ?”
“I pushed Fatley onto his bum.”
“Hey, good going Fred.” Josef said approvingly, Freder had always been too timid for his own good.
“That’s when they grabbed me and Fatley tore up the book, hit me in the face and they threw me on the ground.” Freder concluded grimly.
“Oh.”
That act of defiance hadn’t worked out so well.

They sat facing in each other in silence for a time, the improbability of their situation stifling any discussion of it.
“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s after me’ ?” Josef queried him, returning to the last seemingly rational thing he remembered.
“The lightning.”
“Eh ? Lightning strikes are random Fred, everyone knows that.” He scoffed lightly.
“Those weren’t, you saw how they were coming towards us.” Freder answered him darkly.
“I…well, yeah. But how did you know it was homing in on you ?” Josef couldn’t dispute the uncanny way the bolts had been following them.
“I don’t know, I just had this feeling, like there was some kind of link.” Freder tried to put into words the sensation he had felt.
It had been almost as if a part of him had reached up into the sky to pull the lightning down, but that would sound mad. Nor did he want to acknowledge that some part of him had craved the power of the lightning and had hungrily reached out for it despite the peril it placed both of them in.
“Oh.”
They lapsed into silence again.
Sitting in the dim interior Freder reached out and touched the lining of the walls, bizarrely it was made of rubber. The flooring was the same and the roof lining too he discovered by scrambling up onto the seat. He sat back down and looked his brother, the weirdness factor just kept going up.
“Why would they line the inside with rubber Jo ?”
His brother shrugged, what did it matter ? They were locked inside and going somewhere, that worried him far more than the interior of the van being rubber.
“I don’t know, maybe to make it easy to clean.”
Freder nodded, a very logical reason, but one that did not fit with his feelings. There was something missing here, not an obvious thing, it only clicked as he turned his phone off. That horrible low level buzzing he ‘heard’ all day, every day, particularly in rooms with TVs and computers, it was almost entirely absent here.

“Turn your phone off Jo.” He said quietly.
“Huh ? What if Mum or Dad calls ?” Josef replied, his phone still tightly grasped in his hand.
“No signal remember.” Freder reminded him. “I want to check something.”
Josef looked a bit dubious at the request but he switched his mobile off completely and the last annoying little buzz faded away, into ‘silence’.
“That’s better.” Freder smiled and closed his eyes.
Without the distraction of the static in his head it was as if a cloth had been taken from an unseen eye. He could ‘feel’ the other vehicles on the road which passed by them, putting metallic flesh on their shadowy forms. The low growl of a motor ground by and he ‘saw’ the heavy engine block, the metal frame and above it bright and wavering reds and oranges that looked liked a person sketched in cold flames. A steam tram blew its whistle behind them and he could put a shape to its metal boiler, and cylinders. This was all exceedingly odd, but a very pleasing distraction.
“What are you smiling at ?” Josef asked him sullenly, he certainly didn’t feel happy.
“I don’t think there’s a single piece of metal in this carriage.” Freder said without opening his eyes.
“And how do you work that out Fred, suddenly got x-ray vision ?” Josef asked him caustically.
Freder opened his eyes at the cutting tone and balefully regarded his twin.
“I can’t explain it any more than when I knew that the lightning was tracking me, but I’m certain of it.” He retorted irritably, but then he cooled down. “Why isn’t there any metal in this carriage, why is it like that ?”
“So it’s all wood, why is that special ?” Josef grumbled, this just wasn’t important at the moment.
“Every other vehicle out there has some iron in it, this one hasn’t even got a single nail, doesn’t that strike you as odd Jo ?” He asked him earnestly.
“Not half as odd as hearing it from you Fred. I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
Freder was deeply hurt by his twin brother’s comment, but this was real, he knew it was. Real it might be but wherever they were it was not home. He was becoming ever more certain that this wasn’t even Earth, but it wasn’t some totally alien world either.
“Jo ?” He asked him softly.
“What ?”
“Do you remember anything about when the lightning hit ?”
“I remember you coming in low and hard then whoosh, we landed in the flowers.”
“There was a flash ?”
“Not so much a flash as a sudden shadow with maybe some purple and blue colours in there come to think of it.” Josef answered slowly, remembering the event.
“Any sound ?”
“No, it was like someone shut off the hail, totally quiet, then we were in the flowers, people talking, birdsong, all that. What about you ?”
“Everything is jumbled but I got a sensation like being immersed in a silver stream.”
“What, wet ?”
“No it felt liquid but metallic, then I think I fainted.”
“You certainly were out of it for a time.” Josef affirmed. “I wondered if you had cracked your head on something.”
“I don’t think so.” Freder commented feeling his head for any sore spots and shook his head when he found none.

“What are you thinking Fred ?” Josef asked him directly, he could see his brother had an idea.
“Well it’s going to sound weird.” Freder said defensively.
“Weird is where we are Fred.” Josef replied in a slightly anxious voice. “Try me.”
“I don’t think we’re on Earth anymore.” Freder said quietly and watched as Josef’s face contorted through a range of emotions. “At least not our Earth, I think we have entered a parallel universe where things are similar but not identical.”
“Well that is weird alright.” Josef said slowly, but then he had no better explanation for the oddly dressed people and the primitive transport of this strange city.
He thought about it for a while and recalled reading in the New Scientist that there were theories that predicted a multitude of parallel universes. Could they really have entered another universe ?
“But you could be right Fred, it would explain the old tech.” Then he fell silent and saw that the same thought had already occurred to Freder – if this was another universe, how could they get home ?
The carriage swayed sharply to one side and came to a halt. The suddenness jolted them from their speculations back to their predicament, where in this strange world were they now ? The door opened and one of their guards waved them out onto the pavement. Clambering out they stood blinking in the bright light and looked up at the fortress-like stone building that frowned over them with it’s narrow windows and crenellated stonework; it sent a shiver down their spines. All about them were other men in the forbidding black garb of their guards, the red hand the only colour on most uniforms, but a few had a stripe of gold beneath it. Clearly this denoted rank as the two guards snapped to attention when a man with greying hair and three gold stripes approached them.
“Report.” He said briskly.
“Sinisterre activity in Gravelly Park sir, found this pair right in the middle of it.”
The newcomer glanced down, saw their youth and looked away, began to say something then turned back to them with a puzzled frown. Now he took in their strange and colourful clothing and even reached out to touch the fabric of Freder’s jacket. He didn’t look at all happy to be confronted with such oddities.

“Sinisterre activity.” He muttered to himself and looked back up to the guards. “Book them in. We may have to contact immigration, they look like foreigners to me.” He continued brusquely
“They don’t sound like foreigners sir.” One guard ventured.
A swift glance was rebuke enough and both saluted smartly as their superior went on his way without a backward glance.
“How many times have I got to tell you Jacksy, don’t cross the boss.” The second guard sighed. “He’ll have you down as a smartmouth.”
The other looked gloomy but said nothing.
“Get yourself a brew, I’ll join you after I hand this pair over.” He said giving his comrade a friendly slap on the back. “You two, with me.” He told the brothers sharply.
Obediently they followed him into the forbidding entrance of the building. Dark narrow slit windows looked in from both sides and Freder had the distinct impression that someone was coldly scrutinising them from behind the smoked glass, but the sensation faded as they passed through the heavy wooden doors that hung on massive wooden hinges. Freder nudged Josef.
“No metal.” He said softly and nodded at the hinges but Josef merely shrugged, so what, he was having enough trouble with their strange surroundings, never mind the fine details.
The high ceilinged lobby they entered looked like it had been used for a Charles Dickens TV play and the actors had forgotten to go home. All about was dark wood panelling on the lower walls, dour patriarchs staring disapprovingly down from their canvas redoubts above, numerous gas mantles adding a thin yellow glow to the dim grey light from the narrow dirt smeared windows. Sombrely dressed men in long frock coats with even longer serious faces made their busy way about them as they approached a long desk manned by half a dozen uniformed officers. One looked up at their approach, probably relieved at something to do other than shuffle paper judging by the grin that spread across his face.

“What have you got there Jenkins, couple of circus runaways ? I didn’t know we were doing the Peelers jobs too.” He chuckled.
“Sinisterre activity in Gravelly Park sarge. Captain Simmons thinks they might be foreign. Says to book them in.”
“Captain says, so we does.” The sergeant agreed with a wink. “Right then, can either of you speak British ?” He asked them slowly.
“Yes.” Josef answered him in an annoyed tone.
“A miracle in this benighted age.” The sergeant sighed dramatically, then became more businesslike. “Your family name ?”
“Adams, only one D.”
“Given name ?”
“I’m Josef, that’s J-O-S-E-F, and this is my brother Freder, F-R-E-D-E-R.”
The sergeant gave him a vaguely threatening look, spelling it out like that was insulting.
“Home address ?”
“42 Wingacre Crescent, Purley, Croydon.” Josef responded promptly.
“Cryden ?”
“No, Croydon C-R-O-Y-D-O-N.”
“Up from the country then.” The sergeant commented as he noted the spelling.
This time it was Freder’s turn to restrain Josef as he was about to deny this vehemently.
“That’s right.” Freder said.
“Oh ho, so you speak as well.” The sergeant rumbled good naturedly. “We’ll just check this. Take a seat over there.” He pointed to a set of hard wooden benches against one wall, all empty.
“Can I nip off sarge ?” Jenkins asked as the boys began to trail over to the benches.
“Yes, yes.” He waved him away distractedly and handed the completed form to a uniformed youth who scurried away to process it.

For a time it seemed that Freder and Josef had been forgotten, men walked back and forth but nobody paid them the least bit of attention, or so it seemed, until Josef stood up to pull his phone from his pocket and the sergeants beady gaze was upon him instantly. He sat down quickly even though he hadn’t been thinking of sneaking away but it was clear that would be very difficult under his covert surveillance. Eventually the youth re-appeared looking very harried and had a quiet conversation with the sergeant during which he looked at them several times and then stood up looking very formal.
“You two, over here.” He beckoned them. “Seems we don’t have a record of this address so you’re to go to Piddington Green where our central records are held. Gaspard here will escort you.”
The youth looked both proud and nervous of the duty and was clutching something very tightly in his hand, it looked like a slender silvery truncheon.
“Don’t mess him about or you’ll answer to me.” He told them in a tone that threatened dire consequences.
Both nodded obediently.
“Good. On your way now.”
“This way.” Gaspard told them in what he hoped was a serious business-like voice but just sounded squeaky with nervousness, nevertheless the twins trailed after him back out through the main doors.
Gaspard approached a stationary carriage bearing a red hand sygil on it that had a slightly more welcoming look about it than their previous one and waved the silver rod up at the driver.
“Crystal Place station.” He ordered the man.
The driver looked back at him without much interest but nodded his assent and Gaspard shepherded them into the carriage. He didn’t say anything to them during the ten minute ride and neither brother felt much like talking, their predicament was becoming ever more complex but still the reality refused to make any sense to them. They stared out of the windows at the streets that could have come from the pages of an old photo album or early movie footage. There were plenty of shops but none of them had a familiar name over the big glass windows and the customers all wore the fussy and formal clothes that came straight out of the nineteenth century. People bustled about their business, carts and carriages jostled for road space with the clanging, snorting trams and the cyclists were just as crazy as on London’s crowded roads, darting every which way between the traffic and jay walking pedestrians.

They drew up outside an immaculately maintained station building, which proudly boasted it to be a part of the Lahndarn and South Western Railway Company and were hustled into the booking office by Gaspard.
“Come’n we’ll just make the fas’ train to town.” He huffed as they gawped at the ornate interior.
He presented the silver rod at the booking office window and was waved through without delay, ahead of the patient queue of people, through the ticket barrier and onto the nearest dark green carriage.
Gaspard slammed the door shut behind them just before a loud whistle announced the trains departure and it smoothly accelerated out of the station. Gaspard found an empty compartment and pointed to the seats facing backwards to their direction of travel while he took the opposite side and sat there watching them constantly. He only took his eyes off them when someone passed along the corridor and he frowned unwelcomingly at one gent who opened the compartment door.
“Official business.” Gaspard he told him haughtily and waved the silver rod like a sword until the other retreated.
“There was enough room for him.” Josef remonstrated with him.
“None of your lip.” Gaspard responded in a hostile tone. “You’re under suspicion, no contact with anyone, them’s my orders. Sinisterre’s everywhere, got to be vigilant.”
“Who are these sinisterre’s ?” Freder asked him.
“You….what ? Are you a bit mental or something ?” Gaspard retorted in a nasty tone. “Everyone knows about the sinisterre’s.”
“I’m not mental and I don’t know about them.” Freder answered him sullenly.
“We wouldn’t ask if we knew, would we ?” Josef entered the fray on his twin’s side. “So how about you just answer the question without tossing insults about.” He concluded in his confident way that set Gaspard aback, unsure of these twins true status.
“Jus’ took me by surprise.” He said defensively. “Sinisterre’s the left handed wizards. They can do things.” He went on in a more conspiratorial tone. “I heard they can make lightning and bend metal like it was putty.”
“Really ?” Freder enquired his interest piqued by the reference to the left handed nature of these strange people.
“Dangerous types sinisterre’s, kill you as soon as look at you, we have to defend Britannia against them.” He said puffing out his slight chest and tapping the bright red hand upon it. “We’re the line ‘gainst the darkness, the Righteous Hand.” He concluded with what sounded like well rehearsed litany.
“They’re bad then, sinisterres.” Josef surmised.
“Worse than your worst murderer.” Gaspard affirmed with vigorous nodding of his narrow head that still left his greasy dark brown hair plastered down in place.
“Wouldn’t want to meet them on a dark street.” Josef said playing Gaspard like a fish on a line.
“Nasty types.” He confirmed. “My mate swears he saw one conjure up a light from thin air, seems a bit far fetched to me.”
“Probably a trick.” Josef agreed affably.

Freder lost interest in Josef’s mindgames with their escort and gazed about the compartment. The brown and green moquette fabric seats, dark stained wood, engraved mirror and woven rope luggage holders overhead all looked like the carriages on a preserved steam railway, old fashioned. He looked out of the window as houses rushed by at great speed and the whistle blasted above the smooth rush of sound of the wheels on the rails but the regular clatter was missing.
“Continuous welded rail Jo.” He said abruptly and caused his brother to stop his verbal game and listen.
“You’re right, no joints.”
“What you talkin’ about ?” Gaspard enquired suspiciously.
“The rails, they’re in very long lengths, very smooth.” Freder explained.
“’Course its smooth we’ve got the best railways in the world and Lahndarns railways are the best of the best.” Gaspard said proudly, as though showing some country cousins about the big city. “We’ll be arriving soon.” He said looking out of the window and as if in response they began to slow.
The train clattered across a wide dirty brown river and a vague whiff of decay mixed with the strong smell of coal smoke wafted through the open vent window. Tugs with tall blackly belching smoke stacks hooted loudly as they towed barges up and downstream. Large cargo ships were being loaded and unloaded along both banks of the river; hyper active cranes raising and lowering their lattice jibs like metal herons fishing, blew puffs of grimy white smoke from their cabs whilst stevedores swarmed like ants across the docks beneath them.
Other trains passed them and Freder gawped at the locomotives, gleaming green behemoths with streamlined casings that sent plumes of dirty white vapour streaming into the sky and filled the already noisy air with the whine of fast spinning turbines. They were not the sort of steam engine that he might have expected from the style of the carriages, they looked more like modern diesels, but clearly they were not. Then a huge shadow caused him to look up at the gigantic arch of the station roof that spanned every platform in this giant terminus in a single tremendous arc. Smoke drifted greyly under the massive girders that held the grubby glazing in place high over their heads. Curious pigeons gazed down from their high perches, searching for their next meal on the busy platforms.
“Where are we ?” He asked in quiet awe.
“Waterlew station.” Gaspard replied. “Come on, let’s get going.”
There was a squeal of metal as the train glided into the platform and came to rest with a whoosh of escaping steam.
Gaspard herded them ahead of him through the throng of disembarking passengers and warded off any who came to close with the silver rod, it certainly acted like a deterrent to everyone around them. He held it up imperiously at the ticket barrier and the man politely touched his cap as he waved them through. Gaspard guided them to the taxi rank where it had the same almost magical effect upon the driver of the Hackney cab.
“Piddington Green records and assessment centre.” Gaspard issued his haughty instruction.