The Smallest of Things by Ian Whates

Author:Ian Whates [Whates, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, Science Fiction, Thriller
ISBN: 9781786362384
Amazon: 1786363623
Publisher: PS Publishing Ltd
Published: 2018-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

The trip back took longer than it should have. Despite his best efforts Chris had failed to memorise the route properly. They got lost in the hi-tech London and had to return to the same spot—one that they both agreed they’d passed on their first trip through—several times before eventually stumbling on the gateway. The surprising part was that they were in this hi-tech realm for more than an hour without once encountering another living thing, just the cars zipping around high above their heads and the occasional segmented transporter. Given the technology in evidence and how out of place the two of them so obviously were, Chris couldn’t believe that authorities at some level weren’t aware of the intrusion. Perhaps they simply didn’t deem them worthy of attention.

Once they found the gateway back into Smogworld things were pretty straightforward, and they retraced their steps through the different layers of London without hindrance or brown coats. The women’s boutique and charity shop were both closed, forcing them to break a window to exit the latter, but Chris left them a gem-laden trinket that would more than compensate for the damage. He considered it a small price to pay for successfully ditching the brown coats.

Even so, it was still past midnight when they eventually arrived back ‘home’.

“Does it ever worry you?” Claire asked, as they stood on familiar streets at last. “The thought that one day you might not come home at all and never even realise it?”

“What, you mean that I might find myself in a London that isn’t actually the one I left but is so similar that I wouldn’t know the difference?”

“Yes.”

“No,” he lied. Of course the thought had crossed his mind. He had always told himself that he could feel which London was the right one, but what if that was just a comforting delusion? It was a subject he tended to shy away from, suspecting that somewhere down that road lay the path to madness. “Besides,” he continued, a little disingenuously, “if I came back to somewhere that similar, would it really matter?”

“Maybe not, but the possibility would still freak me out big time.”

He changed the subject. “We’re going to have to find a place to stay.”

They’d missed the last train and all the underground stations were shut, the subway entrances guarded by locked iron grilles. Neither of them fancied risking Claire’s flat for obvious reasons. Fortunately, this was Central London, where the nearest hotel is never more than a short walk away. Unfortunately, due to the hour, most of the more affordable ones—and that’s always a purely relative term in this city—would be closed.

They plumped for an upper range mid-price establishment—not the Dorchester but not a youth hostel either, though it harboured aspirations towards the former. God only knew what they must have looked like as they strode up to the desk, but the tall, smartly suited receptionist didn’t bat an eyelid.

“I’m afraid the only room we have available at such short notice is a suite, sir,” he said smoothly.

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