Note: Edgar (UK) = Hazel (US)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and to all those reading. ^_^ It makes writing this all worthwhile.

Chapter 3: Machine Metropolis

[ - Hidden Memory #1 - ]

Jean Descole had always been fascinated by the brain's ability to create intangible and indefinable things, such as memories and emotions, from seemingly concrete, traceable electrochemical reactions. You could take your little finger, and trace a neurological pathway all the way up to the brain, and you would find all memories, emotions and experiences associated with that particular part of the body linked in the same part of the brain. It was why some amputees felt that a missing limb was still physically there. The brain fooled itself. The memory of the limb's existence remained within the brain, so the physical sensation - or so the brain thought - should be there also.

This made manipulating memories all the more fun, in Descole's opinion. You could play all sorts of little mind tricks with the brain and force it to come up with physical scenarios that didn't truly exist, if you knew how. Memories themselves were in turn connected metaphysically to the flow of time, and thus a working time machine with the means to travel to a true physical past was possible.

For example: if Descole were to take the chair next to him, then that chair existed in the now. In the present. If, however, he were to light a match and burn it down, it would no longer exist in the physical sense.

But the memory of its existence had been recorded. It still existed as an imprint within his mind. It was this that formed the basis behind one aspect of his temporal theories. If something existed once, for even just a fraction of a second, it could be used as a timeline reference point.

It also worked the other way, as well. If the brain had a project envisioned - a piece of art, or a musical composition - those thoughts of the future could be used in exactly the same way. If your mental will was strong enough, and you had the means to create a wormhole, you could go anywhere you wanted.

So, although Descole had failed to procure the elixir of life, he had not seen that as a setback. It had only made him all the more determined to find a way to extend his life. Before Melina had died, his Detragan machine had successfully stored a copy of her memories inside Janice's body, and the knowledge he had acquired from that process had not gone to waste. In the four years since the Ambrosia incident he had been working on a time machine that used the human brain as a reference point. And now it was almost complete.

In theory the machine should have been ready to start producing wormholes, but in reality he had reached a road block in acquiring enough energy to power such a device, and that meant that at the moment the time machine could only go one way. However, he had recently discovered that someone else had already attempted time travel nine years prior to him. He was particularly interested in the test subject. What the scientists had done was theoretically impossible, almost as if they had bent the rules of physics to accommodate them. He had to know more.

It was time to track down one Dimitri Allen.

[ - 1 - ]

The wind danced, blowing up dust particles around the pavement, and Layton held on tightly to his hat as the flying 274 bus came in to land in the middle of the road. There was a hot-air balloon affixed firmly to its roof, and as it landed, its metallic wings folded away neatly underneath. Apart from the obvious differences, it kept a similar design to the buses of the past; it was still very much a bright London bus red, and its entry doors were situated at the back.

The doors folded open, and a skinny, freckled man in a black uniform popped his head out. One could only assume he was the bus conductor.

"I thought it was you, sir. Fancy a lift?"

Ah, thought Layton. There's that fame again. The bus driver must have seen him from the air. He was beginning to wonder whether he should make more of an effort to keep out of the spotlight in his own time. Not that he deliberately tried to make the headlines... But he would have to go along with it for now.

"Good day, sir," he said. It occurred to him that the bus route may have changed, so he asked, "Does this route go towards central London?"

"It does now, sir. Where would you like us to take you?"

"Well, if at all possible, I would like to pay a visit to Gressenheller University, in Russell Square."

"Ah, giving them a surprise visit?" said the conductor. He tapped his nose with his index finger conspiratorially. "That'll keep them on their toes."

What does that mean? thought Layton. This situation just keeps getting more and more curious...

"We'll take you straight there, sir," the conductor said.

"You mean you can take us there directly?" said Luke. "Without any stops in between?"

"Of course! I'll just have a word with the driver and get our destination changed, and then we'll be on our way."

"But what about the other people on the bus?" said Layton, who found such changes in destination a bit of a bother whenever they happened on ordinary buses. "I don't want to be any trouble."

"No trouble at all, sir! The bus will get us to Russell Square in no time flat, so they won't have long to wait."

Layton frowned, not entirely convinced. "That's not the point," he said. "They shouldn't have to wait at all."

"I insist, sir. Trust me: no one will mind."

The sad thing was that that was probably true. He gave in. When in Rome... "Very well..."

The conductor led them upstairs, where Luke ran across the length of the bus, and Layton couldn't help smiling. The boy always became so excited at times like these, all the more so right now because of the television screen at the front of the bus. Even so, he uttered words of caution to him; after all, a true gentleman should remain calm at all times.

Luke always liked to sit next to the window when travelling, so he picked a seat towards the front of the bus. Layton followed him, and then reached inside his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

"How much is the fare for an adult and a child to Russell Square?"

"Oh, no, we couldn't have you paying, sir..."

"This time I insist," said Layton firmly.

"Well, um, you can't pay with cash anyway," said the conductor, looking flustered. "Don't you remember? We've got the Com Link system."

"Ah, yes. Of course," said Layton, who had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about. Fortunately, Luke served well in occasions such as these; as a child, he could ask questions without arousing suspicion, and this is precisely what he did.

"Com Link?" he asked.

"Out-of-towner, eh?" The conductor pointed to the headpiece on his forehead. "This is a Com Link." He pushed a button on it, and a visor mechanically unfolded in front of the man's eyes.

"See, you put credit on it, and use it to pay for goods and services. And - they've got loads of little features, like this ..." He pushed another button, and a map of central London appeared in mid-air.

Layton stared at the vibrant image, obviously some kind of projection - but how did it work?

"Wow! Cool!" said Luke. "Oh, er... but what if it gets stolen? That'd be pretty bad."

"Nah, they've got sensors that detect who's wearing them. Besides, they're cheap as dirt. Every man and his dog's got one.

"Anyway," he said, closing away the device, "we'd best get a move-on or we will be getting some complaints. If you really feel like you must pay, sir, we can set up a tab for you, but I wouldn't feel right, charging you, sir..."

"It's fine," said Layton. Did his future self really travel free on the buses? That didn't seem right. He was going to have to have a severe talk with himself.

"...If you say so, sir," said the conductor. "Oh... would you like me to contact HQ? Inform them that you're here?"

"Er... that... won't be necessary," said Layton, again not having any real idea of what he was talking about.

"Woah, guess this really is a surprise visit. Seatbelts on? Yes? Well, off we go!"

The conductor cupped a hand to his face and yelled, "HOLD TIGHT!"

He pulled on a string, making a ding! ding! noise - this, at least, was the exact same procedure as on the buses back home, and the driver took this as the cue to get going. The conductor then went downstairs to the lower deck, and this left Layton and Luke alone, free to discuss amongst themselves.

"This is all so amazing," said Luke, as the bus slowly climbed higher. "It's even better than I imagined! But... even so... something seems strange about all this, Professor. About your future self, I mean."

Layton agreed. He was pleased that Luke had picked up on it as well. "Yes, but I can't put my finger on why. I feel like there's something about my so-called future self that I'm missing. There's more to all this than meets the eye, Luke."

"What on earth are our future selves up to, that's what I want to know," said Luke.

"With any luck, we'll see them - or find a clue as to where they might be - at the university."

"Ah, Professor, look!" said Luke, pointing energetically out towards the window.

They had flown south over Regent's Park, and were now high enough to get a good view of London from above. The bustling city was a sea of sparkling blue and silver rooftops. It was London... and yet it wasn't.

Layton could see the familiar curves and bends of the streets, the very same central London junctions that he knew like the back of his hand - the odd looming skyscraper; the busy, thriving offices; the roaring, hiccupping pubs; the lively, snazzy hotels - but every single building had had huge motorised gears incorporated into their structure. With cogs winding and pistons grinding, it was as though someone had performed a mechanical upgrade on the entire city.

Metal pipes ran along the edges of the roads and up the sides of the buildings, providing the hot water necessary to keep the clockwork mechanisms running. Giant black solar panels were slanted at an angle on top of most roofs, and there were red lights in rectangular formation on certain other roofs, presumably for the multitude of aircraft floating through the sky.

"My word," he said. "London has been transformed into a machine."

Flora and Clive had come up out of the sewers into a street where large stone lions stood poised to attack any potential intruders, cooked chickens hung upside down in restaurant windows, and red lanterns were strewn across shop signs and lampposts. The narrow street was pedestrianised and paved with large stones. A few people walked past, some of whom were tourists stopping to take pictures beside the stone lions (which Flora had to admit, did look rather impressive, with their mouths open wide in mid-roar). Other people were just locals getting from point A to point B.

The day was bright and sunny, and not too cold, but what Flora noticed the most was that the smell had improved. Those chickens in the nearby restaurant were smelling quite delicious. There was a strange buzzing noise coming from up above, somewhere beyond this street. Flora couldn't quite place it; it sounded a bit like a helicopter rotor crossed with an airplane engine, and it seemed as though there was more than one source.

"I don't remember this part of London," said Clive.

"Neither do I," said Flora. She looked up at a long, colourful banner that hung from one side of the street to another, and read: "Welcome to London Chinatown."

Clive looked up at the nearest street sign. "Let's see, the postcode is W1, so... we're in central London. The West End."

Flora nodded, staring at her companion. Now that they were both out of the darkness of the sewers and in the brightness of the outside world, Flora could see why she had initially thought she was seeing her Luke coming round the sewer corner. Despite wearing a mixture of greens and browns - an outfit that included a green hat - Clive could easily have passed for Luke.

The subject of her scrutiny shifted positions, fidgeting awkwardly with the side of his light-green shirt. "...Are you still angry with me? I really am sorry for attacking you..." He trailed off rather miserably, and Flora instantly felt guilty for suspecting him of stealing earlier.

"Oh, no! Not at all. I'm sorry, it's just that you look like a friend of mine. I was just wondering if you were related at all."

He looked really confused now, as if he had turned into the world's largest question mark. "Um... well, I'm an only child, if that helps..."

"Sorry, it's nothing. Probably just a coincidence. We should probably try to find out where exactly we are... so we can figure out how to get to that Institute from here."

"Right!" he said, expression clearing. "I'll ask that guy over there."

Said person was leaning with his arms crossed, in the middle of a small pagoda structure.

"Um, excuse me, mister, do you know how to get to Hampstead from here?"

"Eh? You want the 24 bus, you do," said the man. "Or you could take the Tube, it'll be less busy. The Northern line goes directly there." He pointed towards a street over Clive's shoulder. "Take a left out of there, you should see the Tube station."

"Hampstead?" said Flora when Clive came back. The funny thing about living in London was that you could live there for years and still not see everything the city had to offer. "Is that where you live?"

"Yeah, it's in north London. Do you know Hampstead Heath? It's north of Camden Town."

"That sounds quite far for us to get to..."

"Shouldn't take too long if we're in central London and there's a Tube station nearby."

Following the man's directions, it only took them a couple of minutes to leave behind the lions and red lanterns. They exited from a small side street, and onto a busy main road, where the London Underground station sign clearly said, "Leicester Square". Flora now knew where she was. Leicester Square was part of one of London's entertainment districts, and people would come here to see a movie premiere, or to watch a colourful musical production, or to dine in an exquisite restaurant.

But this Leicester Square wasn't quite the same. In contrast to Chinatown, all the buildings here had large rotating wheels built into them. Pipes coiled around the metallic buildings and slithered along anything that required power. The bright red telephone boxes, the newspaper stands, the lampposts: they all had pipes.

And then there were the vehicles. Buses and cars were floating through the streets above by hot-air balloon, directed by traffic lights attached to the buildings at second floor level. There were even drawbridges across buildings, operated by the cog-filled machinery, lifting upwards when a traffic light turned green. On the ground, people rode what could be described as hovering scooters along the road.

"What is this?" said Clive. "This isn't London!"

Flora was amazed by the sight, but, as someone who had not only grown up in a village surrounded by robots, but who had also known an incredibly skilled engineer, she was slightly less surprised. "I thought you knew about the time machine? Isn't that where we're going now?"

He stared at her as though she'd suddenly grown six extra heads. "Time machine? You're not serious, are you?"

"Well of course I am. How else would you explain all this?"

"I knew it! I knew they were working on something dodgy! How far ahead have we gone?"

Without waiting for an answer, he took off towards the station.

"Wait!" said Flora, struggling to get past crowds of people in order to follow him. Central London had always been full of people, but it seemed that it was even busier in this future, and she didn't want to lose him. She didn't want to be alone in this place.

She panicked when he disappeared into the station, but fortunately he hadn't gone far. She found him inside looking at the information whiteboard, which had the current date scribbled in black marker pen at the top.

"Twenty years..." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've gone twenty years into the future... Unbelievable..."

"I've been sent forward only ten years," said Flora, coming to stand beside him. "So... let's see, that means you're from ten years in my past."

"That's strange... that we're from different times, I mean."

"Looks like we're in the same boat, though."

"Right..." said Clive, looking down at the ground despondently.

"We'll be fine!" she said, in an attempt to cheer him up. "Don't give up, we'll find a way out of this."

He whirled round to face her with a wild anger in his eyes. "How can you be so optimistic? We're lost in the middle of a futuristic London with no idea of how to get back to our respective times!"

She was startled by the strong reaction, but she recovered, meeting his glare head-on. "Well, we're not exactly lost. We know where we are, it's just that it's not the same time. There must be a way back."

"How do you know that? How do we even know the Institute will still be there when we get there? It exploded!"

"I know because of my friend Luke. You know, the one I told you about before. His future self sent for me... for us in the past. We were supposed to meet at London Zoo. Something must have gone wrong. But he must have known I was coming."

"Your friend?" His expression changed, softening into one of befuddlement. Flora had to admit that if she found out she had a twin out there somewhere, she'd be pretty nonplussed as well. "You mean... the one who looks like me?"

"Yes, same one. He's always with the professor. In fact..." She put her hands together as inspiration struck. "Maybe the professor is still teaching at the university! We could go pay him a visit first! He'll know what to do. The uni's nearer than Hampstead, too, so if we can get on one of those flying buses we'll be there in no time."

"Flying bus? Why can't we just take the train like normal people?"

"Where's the fun in that? I can take the Tube any day I want." She made a sweeping movement with her right arm, imitating a plane taking off. "Don't you want to see what's it like to fly through the streets of London? To soar through the air above, and see the city as you've never seen it before?"

She was never quite sure what it was about her keenness that was so infectious, perhaps because it was so assured, as if getting on a flying bus could and should be an every day thing to do, but now he was smiling, as though finally believing that all hope wasn't lost.

"Okay," he said, "you've convinced me. Who's this professor of yours?"

"Well, you probably wouldn't know him in your time, but in my time he's very famous. And he's incredibly smart. He can solve any riddle. If anyone can figure out what to do, he can."

She pointed a motherly finger at him. "Look, we're in this together, all right? Don't you dare run off without me again, hear?"

"All right," said Clive, still grinning. "Sorry I freaked out. It's just... well... Time travel? It's not exactly something that happens every day, is it?"

"Don't worry, it'll all be fine. You'll see. It's just like being on one of the professor's adventures."

Clive's shocked look returned. "You mean you do this kind of thing all the time?"

"You get used to it, really, you do. The professor gets into all kinds of weird happenings whenever someone sends him a distress letter asking him to help solve a mystery."

"Oh, so is he like some kind of detective?"

"Eh, you could say that. He would never admit it, though. He's really modest."

"Sounds like a really nice guy," said Clive. "I can't wait to meet him."

Edgar gingerly opened his eyes, aware of throbbing pains hitting him from all sides, but most notably his left eye, his mouth and his stomach. The Family had not taken kindly to his discovery that Hershel Layton was not at all the considerate gentleman he appeared to be on the outside.

He felt something lightly tap the side of his head and wished that it would stop because it was making his searing headache worse. The sneering voice of Bostro floated down to him, and he realised that the offending object was probably a gun.

"Awake, are ya? Good, the boss wants ta talk to you."

"Oh, goody," he felt like saying. In the interests of keeping his sides from receiving another kick, in reality he said nothing.

He heard someone struggling from the other side of the large cellar as they were being brought in, and he thought: You poor sod.

Knowing that he still had a gun trained on him, he slowly shifted position, flinching when several differing aches all screamed to announce their presence at the same time. He sat up, just about managing to see his fellow captive. The unfortunate man was currently under Layton's cold gaze.

Apparently Layton had just entered the room as well; he motioned for one of the thugs to remove the gag from the prisoner, who immediately erupted with rage.

"What kind of operation are you running here, Layton?"

"I should think you'd know very well, Avogadro..."

"This is a disgrace! You're an affront to all of humanity!" So angry was Avogadro that flecks of spit flew from his mouth as he yelled. Edgar noticed that he was wearing a strange coronet on his head. It looked nothing like a Com Link, though.

Layton didn't acknowledge the outburst, retaining the calm he was so well-known for.

He continued, "...Since you have been leaking very sensitive information to Max Cunningham..."

"What on earth are you blabbering about?" growled Avogadro. One of the thugs - Fisheye, Edgar thought - gained an unsettling glint in his eyes, rather like a lion staring at its prey.

"...And now Luke Triton knows the precise time and date of the launch," said Layton.

"You're barking mad! I don't know any Luke Triton."

Layton's face twitched, a tiny curve of a smile appearing. "Don't lie, Avogadro. It makes you look rather the fool."

"I'm not lying!"

Fisheye's glint turned malicious, while Layton's half-smile became a full-blown smirk.

"Tsk, tsk. Allow me to put you out of your misery. That machine on your head is a cognitive capture device. That is to say, it captures memories. Your memories have been analysed, and we have determined that you did, in fact, meet Max two weeks ago, inside the Old Red Lion pub in Angel. Furthermore, you have been frequently supplying him with information concerning the Infinity Project, such that Luke now knows the launch date. Alas, that is a point in time that we cannot change, but it matters not. I have been working on a project of my own, one that will ensure our absolute success."

It seemed Avogadro had given up all pretence, because he said, "You're so goddamned sure of yourself. And that's going to be your downfall. You can't possibly prepare for everything."

"Oh, this will work, without fail," said Layton, with a chuckle. "Indeed... the one thing we could not extract from your mind was the location of the rebels' base."

"Ha! Max wasn't stupid enough to tell me something like that."

"Of course not. And yet, knowing this, I still had you brought before me."

Avogadro's scornful look turned to one of confused surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I have all the information I require from you. There really was no need to question you in person."

"Other than to toy with me," Avogadro snarled.

"Yes," said Layton, "but there was also another reason for your presence." He glanced over at Edgar, who cringed.

"You... you monster!" said Avogadro, shock overcoming his anger for a moment as he too looked across the room and noticed Edgar's sorry state for the first time. "Chelmey was right about you!"

Edgar's thoughts tried to line themselves up so that they could come up with something resembling coherency. Was Avogadro talking about Chelmey, of Scotland Yard? Was it the same Chelmey who had been the best man on the Met police force - until he had mysteriously vanished without a trace?

"It's funny you should mention Chelmey," said Layton, looking bored. "He reacted in much the same way as you."

"What have you done to him?"

"He has proven to be a useful test subject for my experiments. However, you are here to serve as a demonstration. This is what happens to those who betray me."

Layton's eyes turned so icy that winds blowing through Antarctica could not have chilled a person more to the bone.

"Kill him."

A stream of bullets struck Avogadro in the chest. Edgar shut his eyes, unable to watch, though he did hear the body slump to the floor.

"Dispose of the rubbish, would you?" said Layton, and there were some shuffling noises. The thugs were getting rid of the poor man's body.

"As for you... I hope I've made clear what will happen to you if you mention this to anyone."

When Edgar opened his eyes, it was to see Layton's cold face staring down at him. "C-c-crystal," he said weakly.

"Now... there is something I'd like you to do for me."

"M-m-me?"

"Yes. I need you to perform a simple task. Once you've recovered from your wounds, of course."

Edgar's thoughts now argued amongst themselves. One thought said that this task could potentially be a good thing, because it meant that Layton wasn't going to kill him right away. Another thought wondered: just what exactly did Layton want him to do? The third thought wanted the other two thoughts to shut up so that they could all go to sleep.

"B-b-but... I-I..."

"Cease your whimpering, it's rather tiresome. A child of ten could carry this out. Now: you work at Gressenheller University, correct?"

"Yes..." said Edgar tiredly, wishing that Layton would get to the point so he could leave this dreadful place.

"You need to watch out for a boy named Clive. My men are on the lookout for him, but I would also like you to keep an eye out as well. All you need to do is contact me if and when he arrives."

"That's... it?"

"Yes, that is all. I will send you a detailed description and a photo of him when you've recovered."

Now Edgar was truly torn. While he feared greatly for his own life, he didn't want to send a poor child into Layton's clutches. Just what did this maniac have planned?

"Why...?" he had to ask. "What... are you going to do to him?"

Layton sighed in irritation. "A conscience. Such a cumbersome quality to have in a subordinate."

He snapped his fingers. The four guns that suddenly clicked in Edgar's direction caused all the thoughts in his brain to sit up straight and pay attention to the very real threat to his life.

"N-no! W-w-wait, please! I-I'll do anything!"

There was a terrible moment when Layton's eyes ran over him, like a jeweller appraising a ring. How much is it worth? Is it worth keeping?

Edgar could feel sweat dripping off his nose as the seconds ticked by.

"Very well," said Layton finally. He waved a careless hand, signalling the Family thugs to withdraw their guns. "You will carry out this task, or you will die. It really is that simple."

"I'll... do what you say..." Edgar croaked.

"Good. My men will be watching you very closely."

Edgar didn't even have the strength to shudder.

Clive and Flora walked towards Piccadilly Circus, having learned that they would have to own a Communications Link Device in order to board a bus. After discovering that Com Links weren't very expensive, they found that they had enough money between them to buy one each, and so they made their way along the West End streets towards the nearest vendor, a newsagents just off one of the main roads.

"Hey, look at these!" said Flora.

They had come to a line of scooters on the pavement, stacked against some kind of metallic block, and all coloured black. They were the floating scooters that Flora had seen earlier, and the odd thing about these scooters was that they didn't have any wheels. Their base was completely flat. They also had a roof over them, so they sort of looked like a one-seated car without doors, though a couple of them had room for one passenger behind the driver's seat.

There was a sign next to them, with instructions. Clive read aloud:

" 'Renting hover-bikes

Instructions for use:

1) Push green button on docking station.

2) Push yellow button on Com Link Device. This will synchronise the hover-bike with your Device…' Hmm..."

"Oh, wow! Solar-powered hover-bikes! Let's ride one of these to the university! Look, it says the first half an hour is free."

Clive was more cautious. "Do you think we'll be allowed to ride one?"

"I don't see why not. I mean, there's no traffic in central London any more, is there? Cars and vans and things all land upstairs now."

She paused for a minute, reading the fine print. "Hmm, it's like riding a bicycle or a mini-scooter, you don't need a licence, but... let's see... we're… not allowed to ride without a helmet. We can get helmets from the same shop, apparently. Come on, come on, let's ride one!"

He chuckled. "You just want to ride it because it can fly, don't you? Okay, Miss Optimism, let's give it a go."

They continued down the road, making a right turn into the next side street, and then entered the small shop, where they found Com Links of all different sizes hanging on display next to the counter. Some Devices were made to fit around the ear, others still were designed as bracelets. It was like looking for some jewellery, and after some browsing, and with some help from the shopkeeper, Flora chose one that she could wear around right her neck, while Clive opted for one that fit comfortably around his wrist. Next were a set of helmets, which, with their golden goggles, looked more suited for the pilot of a large aircraft.

Flora pulled the goggles over her eyes. "Hey, how do I look?"

"Like something out of Doctor Who," said Clive.

"Ha-ha," said Flora.

After making their purchases, putting on their gear, and leaving the store, Flora was overjoyed that she still had quite a bit of money left. The more cynical Clive wondered whether their helmets were just cheap knock-offs intended to rip off unsuspecting tourists.

"You're terrible!"

"I'm just being realistic."

Flora suspected he was grumpy because he hadn't wanted to take off his green cap.

As they walked back towards the hover-bikes, they turned the corner to the left into the main road, walking right into a rather unpleasant looking man in a green suit. He had a malicious look in his eyes, one that made Flora think of a spider about to devour a fly.

" 'Ello," he said, leering at Clive. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Ah! You're -!" Clive rapidly yelled to Flora as he began to run. "Flora! Run!"

Flora didn't quite react fast enough. As the man pulled on her arm, she kicked him in the kneecap - her boots were deceptively sturdy - forcing some choice swearwords from her would-be captor, and made to run. However, a second man had joined the fray, and he swung an arm around her chest, dragging her backwards, away from the main road and back into the side street.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll come along quietly, like," he said.

She felt something firm and cold pressed against her back. She froze, eyes widened.

"That's it, no sudden movements."

"Hey, Lockjaw. Bring her over this way."

There was a distant, small-sounding 'click', and her pulse thumped in her head, a cold sweat coming over her. The first man was advancing with a shiny knife in one hand, and a lazy grin sweeping across his features.

Strangely - and somewhat happily - Lockjaw's reaction was one of surprise. Although he kept his hold on her, he tensed in hesitation. "Eh? What're ya doing? The boss wants 'em alive. We'll get a right bollocking if anything happens to them."

"You idiot. Why do you always have to open your big mouth? In any case... The boss is after the boy. He didn't say anything about this girl. She owes me big," he licked his lips, "and I always collect my debts."

Lockjaw made a sigh of disapproval. "We can use her as bait. The kid might come back for her, I don't think-"

He was interrupted mid-sentence and the next few moments were a whizzing blur of events. There was a SMACK! noise; the unnamed man said, "Whumf!" and the knife clattered to the ground; at the same time Lockjaw was distracted and Flora pulled free; she lost her balance, her right leg twisting as she tumbled to the ground; another SMACK! noise and Lockjaw grunted, dropping his gun.

She used her arms to prop herself in a seated position, and looked up to see Lockjaw unconscious on the ground, the horrible knife-man scrambling to his feet with a snarl, and Clive ten metres away. The boy leaned forward, teeth gritted, both hands gripped tightly on the steering bar of a hover-bike, and his brown hair flew wildly around his goggled helmet as he charged forwards, forcing the other man into the wall. Happily, this time the man fell unconscious.

Immediately afterwards Clive reversed in a sort of wonky 'S' direction, not quite having got the hang of the bike, but he managed to regain control and righted himself. He lowered the scooter so that it was nearly touching the ground, and extended a hand to her. "Care for a lift?"

"Thank you, Clive," she replied, taking his hand and sitting behind, inside the passenger seat.

"Oi!"

Both Clive and Flora turned their head round in the direction of this shout. A third man had appeared a little way down the main road, wearing a white suit, and with a slightly hunched back. Flora would have described him as a gorilla, but that would been insulting the animal species. Behind this ugly man, a group of several more men in suits and ties had gathered, a couple of whom had pulled out machine guns.

"Oh, bugger!" said Clive. "That Bisto guy, or whatever his name was... Hold on tight!"

She grabbed onto the back of Clive's seat as the hover-bike rose, and he steered it round in the other direction. He called out a mocking "Toodle-pip!" before shooting off.

"It's not gentlemanly to use profanities in the presence of a lady," she said, knowing exactly how the professor would have reacted to that sentence.

"Yeah, you're probably right, but you're gonna have to forgive me. This is an extreme situation," he said, sounding quite amused. Perhaps he'd never considered himself a gentleman before.

They turned another corner, and now they were almost back to where they had started, going straight past Leicester Square Tube station and heading north along Charing Cross Road. Flora chanced a look back, but none of the gangsters had followed them.

"At least the layout hasn't changed," said Clive, who seemed to know where he was going - but then the West End was one of those places that 'most every Londoner had visited at least once while living in London. He continued straight ahead into Tottenham Court Road, and Flora knew that the university wasn't far from here. They'd be safe once they reached the professor.

"I don't think they followed us," said Clive. "But you'll have to give me directions from here."

"Right," said Flora. "It's near Russell Square. I'm glad to see you're taking this adventure in stride."

"The violent gangsters with guns I could do without. But I can't say I've ever flown a hover-bike before. Have to admit, it makes a nice change from going to school."

Flora made a small sigh, pausing for a moment to let the silence clear her thoughts. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"There's no need to thank me," said Clive, sounding a bit surprised. "I'd never have left you alone with those uglies. We're in this together, right?"

"Yes, but... even so, we don't know each very well. I mean, we've only just met..."

"That's no reason to leave you in such obvious danger. Weren't you the one telling me how a gentleman should act?"

Flora smiled. Even though she knew he couldn't see it, she hoped it would come across in her tone. "Yes. I did. But thank you, all the same."

The warm smile definitely came across in his tone. "Eh... you're most welcome," he said.