London Below, the Floating Market, and the world of "Neverwhere" in general are the property of Neil Gaiman. Please don't sue me, Mr. Gaiman; I'm very poor, so it wouldn't even be worth your while.


Despite the little heart-to-heart he'd had with himself, after cleaning and bandaging his hand Stan opted to stay out on the deck that night, eventually falling asleep in his chair after spending some time brooding. When he woke up, it was to the feel of early-morning sunlight on his face; he found that someone (gosh, I wonder who) had laid a blanket across his lap at some point, and left a fresh roll of bandages on his armrest. After cracking his neck and stretching his achy limbs, Stan checked his hand to see if the bandage needed changing. It still looked fine to him, and the bleeding had stopped ages ago, so he just got up, leaving the blanket on the chair, and wandered towards the kitchen. He paused just outside the doorway, and peered inside.

Both his companions were sitting at the end of the table farthest from the door, the laptop sitting in front of them while they ate. All was safe.

"Here I come, ready or not." Stan came inside and pointedly seated himself at the opposite end of the table.

Shanklin smiled at him hesitantly, and pushed over a frying pan full of bacon and hash browns.

Wow, real food today. That means Ford's trying to apologize.

It was a start, and it wasn't like he was gonna turn down some of his favorite food even if he was still kind of an emotional mess inside, so Stan grabbed a plate and generously helped himself.

Ford turned the computer so he could see that they were looking at a map of London. "I remember where I heard that a few possible entrances to London Below are, so we were just trying to decide where the best option is; I think we should go with one of these spots along the wharf."

Stan gave a small shrug. "That's fine."

Ford gave a satisfied nod, and went on, "Once we've actually gotten inside, we can just ask any of the people who live there where and when the Floating Market is; they have this sort of code of honor where they have to tell anyone who asks. So at least we don't have to worry about that. And there's a rule of complete nonviolence in the marketplace, so maybe for once we can be in and out of a place without anyone trying to kill us."

"...You know you're jinxing us by saying that, right?" Stan asked after swallowing his latest mouthful.

"Oh hush." Ford flicked a chunk of potato at him. "We're also going to need to wear these." And he set down two heavy-looking wristwatches on the tabletop. At least, they kind of looked like wristwatches, but if you looked closely you'd see that instead of numbers they had a series of alchemical symbols, there were no hands, and they emitted a soft humming noise that Stan could just barely pick up with his old ears.

Stan looked down at them in bemusement. "Is that like a fashion statement or somethin'?"

"No. You remember what I learned about Gravity Falls's law of weirdness magnetism?"

"It ain't exactly easy to forget that." Not when Bill Cipher had spent a day or something torturing Ford for a way to dismantle it, and Stan had been too busy nursing the chip on his shoulder to be willing to save him. He hadn't known his brother was being tortured, but that wasn't the point.

Ford went on, "Well, London Below has something similar: people who become part of its society are basically invisible to the outside world. They can come and go in London Above, but nobody will really see or hear them unless they make an effort to communicate, and even then their attention will be easily diverted away."

"Sounds kinda like being homeless," Stan grunted.

Ford might have flinched a little, but it might also have been his imagination. "Well, many of them are homeless people. It's like they fall through the cracks in our reality, and when they do they get erased from this world, even from the memories of their friends or family. I modified these, however, with a small deflection field that should still allow us to interact safely with London Below without becoming part of it."

Stan snatched up a watch and shoved it onto his wrist in a manner of seconds; he almost wanted to put the other one on too, just to be safe.


By evening, they were docking in the Port of London.

Apparently the barter system of the Floating Market was very atypical in terms of currency, so they just grabbed an assortment of odds and ends and stuffed them in their backpacks. Despite Ford's words about the nonviolence pact the market held, both twins also packed a healthy amount of weaponry on themselves; they were taking no chances.

Ford left his cellphone (the niblings had encouraged them to each get one before going on their trip, and then spent two whole days patiently teaching them how to use them) for Shanklin if there was an emergency.

"The Floating Market occurs at least a few times a week," Ford told Shanklin as they disembarked, "so hopefully if there's not one tonight it won't be too long before the next one."

"Don't take the boat for any joyrides," Stan warned.

Shanklin gave him a hurt look. "I wasn't plannin' on it."

"Liar."

The hurt look became a sheepish grin. "I woulda brought it back before you were done." He was met with two equally stern glares. "Okay, okay, I won't steal the boat. Geez, you guys both look like Dad right now."

"Ugh, you don't haveta get nasty," Stan echoed. And for the first time in a couple of days, he and Shanklin were able to give each other that 'we are so in sync and I love it' smile. Then Ford opened the map they'd printed up, and they set off to find London Below.


Also, I haven't been to London in years, so I apologize in advance for any geographical, cartographical, topographical or other -graphical inconsistencies I might make.