––––––––
“Did you see the way his legs seemed to come a bit... sort of... later than he did?”
“They definitely didn't arrive at the same time as his ears.”
“Yes, the ears were strange weren't they? The way they went on ahead a bit and then sort of snapped back into his face. I think he's definitely going to have a couple of black eyes.”
It sounded like the same female voice, but was clearly a conversation between two, a conversation that made no sense to Spencer, but a conversation nonetheless. His eyelids seemed to be swollen and stuck together, his head was ringing like a bell for the second time in 48 hours and for some reason, he craved bacon. He put this down to good sense and concussion, which he almost certainly had.
The voices continued.
“Has anyone ever done it without having fog before?”
“I doubt it, who'd want to?! You get shell shock even with it, imagine what it's like without it?! He's going to need some fog when he comes to, that's for sure. And bacon of course.”
At the mention of the pig product, for which Spencer's craving was now reaching epic proportions, Spencer involuntarily spoke, or at least tried to.
“Ughh!”
“I'll get the fog.”
“I'll get the frying pan on.”
Spencer heard the sounds of two people walking away across a hard floor and the door closing behind them. He forced his eyes open into slits and looked around the room he found himself in. A shaft of light cut across the room from a window so thick with grime it cast the room in a buttery glow. Wooden floor filled the small space from the single brass bed Spencer was lying on fully clothed, to the door on the far side. There was nothing else in the room, no pictures, no ornaments, it was completely bare.
The door swung open suddenly, framing a shape that was roughly the same shape as the door frame it now filled. The figure strode in towards Spencer and the light caught fair hair, a jaw that you could almost certainly chop wood on and a chest (under a white shirt with one button too many undone) that could stop a train. The man fixed Spencer with a stare from piercing blue eyes and ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair.
“Hi there friend, good to see you made it through. The name's Colin. Quite the double shiner you have there, but don't worry, the ladies love a man with an injury, mothering instinct and all that.” He leant forward and winked at Spencer in what was clearly intended to be a conspiratorial manner.
“Don't worry, I can help you out here. I'm something of a big deal in these parts, maybe some of it can rub off on you.” He studied Spencer for a while as if deciding if this were possible.
“Right, see you soon friend!” He strode out of the door as abruptly a he'd come, though Spencer noticed he had paused for just a second in the doorway, framing himself and puffing his chest slightly before leaving.
Prat, thought Spencer.
Suddenly as though this thought had jogged his memory some how, he realised he was gripping something hard, tightly in his hands. He squinted down and stared into the face of the tortoise. Spencer's knuckles were white around it's shell. It gave him a look which suggested that it's all well and good staring at me through two blackening eyes and feeling sorry for yourself, but where's the lettuce? That's what I'd like to know... it was a very expressive look.
The door opened again and Spencer mentally confirmed that he was definitely concussed, as the same, slim and pale woman walked through the door twice. Spencer swung his feet off the bed and waited for every muscle in his body to stop screaming and for the room to stop spinning like that.
“Hi, you'll feel better once you drink this.” The one on the left handed him a tall glass with a cloudy liquid that resembled lemonade in it. There was ice and a slice of lemon, which Spencer definitely approved of. His mouth was so dry he wasn't entirely sure that it hadn't fused together. He took the drink and swigged greedily.
There are many sensations which are difficult to explain adequately. The gentle fall of snow on your face, the squeeze a loved one gives your hand, the first sight of your newborn child. If Spencer had been asked to describe his first taste of fog, he probably would have gone for something like this...
Imagine being punched down the throat with a fist made of sandpaper, whilst simultaneously your nose hair is singed by fumes which rush up to the sinuses and explode with pain. Imagine your chest explodes with a burning fire. Imagine your vision instantly blurs, daubs of colour dancing before you. Imagine every bit of adrenaline you have ever felt in your life multiplied by two and injected somewhere delicate at once. This all occurs in the first half a second of your first sip, from there things go downhill.
Spencer shot bolt upright onto his feet, clutching at his throat.
“Ugghaaarrrgllleehhh!”
“Yes, that's normally what people say the first time!” replied one half of the lady his concussion had supplied him with. The other half placed a small plate with a bacon sandwich on it beside him on the bed as Spencer slowly sat down again and began to vibrate. He was feeling better. In fact he was feeling great. Admittedly this maybe because around 30 seconds ago he was mentally and physically in a pretty accurate version of hell, but even so, this was better. The smell of the bacon was too much. He rather impolitely grabbed the sandwich and started talking for the first time since coming to, with his mouth full.
“What happened, and what the hell was that I just drank?”
“You’re shell shocked. It happens when you cross over, but normally it’s not as bad as that, but you hadn’t had any fog.”
He looked up at the the two women in front of him. They really were identical. He was starting to realise that these were in fact two different women, and not the result of a blow to the head.
They both had jet black hair in a bob to their shoulders, pale skin and large dark eyes that were sparkling with amusement. Tall and willowy, they wore matching black puritan style dresses which went straight down, as did they. The one on the right introduced them both.
“I'm Esme and this is my sister Eva. You need to sleep, so we have drugged your bacon sandwich.”
Spencer spluttered on the last mouthful as he shouted in panic, they both turned as one towards the door. Eva turning at the last minute as Spencer's eyes became heavy and not for the first time that day, the room began to swim.
“Night, night!”
~~~~
Becky Ness was staring intently at the handle of her handbag. It was probably the most serious attention anyone had ever paid to a handbag since the people of Ancient Egypt had declared, 'Do you know what? I'm bloody sick of carrying these papyrus leaves everywhere. I've barely got a hand free to whip a slave with.'
Becky's reason for such intense scrutiny was not borne of any lust for a material object, she wasn't that kind of girl. It was due to the aforementioned handle being the only thing currently keeping her from falling some twelve stories to an almost certainly squidgy end.
She was however, calm. It took a great deal more than impending death to rattle Becky Ness, at least, this is what she was telling herself furiously in her head. She was a difficult person to argue against.
She began to swing her legs forward then back repeatedly, the momentum of the rhythmic action sending her higher and higher until she caught her foot on the lead run-off pipe she had been aiming for. Getting firm purchase with both of her feet, she began to pull herself up the bag's handle toward the grotesque gargoyle's head it was caught on. She reached his pointy head and clasped it to her with both hands, swinging her feet back to the plinth he stood on. She caught her breath and looked down to the cobbled street below. People were gathering round the body now, pointing up at her. She had to get away. Now.
She swung up over the low wall that surrounded the roof she, and the now jam like body below, had recently fallen off. She hooked her bag over her head and started running. The rooftops of the inner city were almost all connected. Up here was her world, she knew every shortcut and every route back. She came to the edge and using the low wall to propel herself leaped across the narrow alley way below, meeting the next grey slate roof with a roll to soften her landing.
~~~~
Spencer woke up for the second time in the small strange room, just as confused as the first, though with a fair bit more anger this time around. He swung his legs off the bed and stood shakily, he was still woozy, but he could make it. He shuffled to the door and turned the round brass door knob. Heat rushed in through the widening gap as Spencer saw a group of people huddled around the far end of a long wooden table which filled the rectangular room. There were no windows, but a roaring fire at one end and large gas lamps dotted around the walls provided a yellowing light and warmth. He approached the huddle, and as his senses started to realign to something like normality, he heard their voices.
“So you're saying that all these blue dots are where the gangs have been losing people?” This voice Spencer recognised as Colin's, Spencer saw him on the far side of the group, stood next to the two identical women that Spencer had seen earlier.
“Yes! That's what I've been SAYING!” This voice seemed to belong to a small hunched figure with his back to Spencer. He had decided to stop approaching, just intent to hover on the edge of this group while his brain tried to get back its grip on reality.
“But it ain't just the gangs that are losing people," the hunched figure continued, "the coppers are too, Vine Street particulars have lost three according to 'Arry the Left.”
“Harry the Left?” Colin inquired.
“Yeah, he lost 'is arm and leg on the left 'and side in the Eagle Vaults Inn on Best Lane.”
“In a fight?”
“Nah, in a bet.”
There was a thoughtful, confused pause from the group which the hunched figure seemed oblivious to. The silence was broken by Colin noticing Spencer.
“Spencer! Good to see you up and about friend. Let me introduce you. Esme and Eva you have already met, dashed similar aren't they?! Twins you know!”
The twins stifled giggles at this for some reason unknown to Spencer. He pointed at the small figure.
“And this is our friend Norbert, he's a bit of a scamp aren't you Norbert?” He said in a way that attempted to be fatherly, but came off as gitly.
Norbert turned to Spencer for the first time, eyes still rolling from Colin's comment. He was short and dumpy, with black scraggly hair which reached to his neck. He fondled a battered purple top hat with pudgy, and somewhat grubby hands. The hat sparked realisation in Spencer, something had been bothering him. It was the clothes. He looked around the group and realised why they looked so odd. The twins plain black dresses now somehow looked dated. Colin's white billowing shirt and black leather trousers now looked more 'dashing pirate', than as Spencer had previously thought 'mid-life crisis.' The overall effect was that this was some kind of fancy dress party.
“Someone better tell me what the hell is going on right now! Including why you are all dressed like idiots and why the hell these two women drugged my bacon sandwich?!”
Suddenly he heard a voice behind his left ear.
“Alright. I'll tell you then.”
~~~~
Spencer was looking at Arthur Spangler. At least, he thought he was. Whoever it was, was certainly the spitting image of him, but at the same time, nothing like him. The incredible eyebrows were still there, but smoothed down and under control. The moustache was there, but had been trimmed back to a less unruly state. His whole manner had changed, his face harder and more pinched. His movements more in control and precise. The biggest difference though, was in the eyes. The genial, mischievous sparkle was gone. These eyes didn't sparkle, they burned with an intensity that was making the back of Spencer's neck itch. Well, that and the fact that Spencer had just been told something that was completely impossible, and completely terrifying.
“This is a different universe.” This wasn't a question. Spencer just let the words fall out in a dull, flat tone. He knew this was ridiculous, his biggest concern was that that didn't mean it wasn't true.
“Yes.” A silence followed which made it perfectly clear that Spencer was going to need more explanation than this.
Spangler continued, “When you tune a radio to a certain station, all other stations are silent. They cannot be heard. To access them, you have to tune to a different frequency. There is a device here which changes the frequency of anything in a certain radius of it. Tunes it like a radio to a new universe. This universe. If you had arrived at the time you were expected this morning, all of this would have been explained to you. As it is, you entered, without permission I may add, as the device was running. Luckily for you, you managed to follow one instruction at least and brought the tortoise.”
“The tortoise?” Spencer's normally self-assured nature had taken a bit of a battering over the last day or so, and this conversation really wasn't helping matters.
“Tortoises have a very good sense of their place in the universe.” Spencer looked at the tortoise in his lap, which categorically refused to give any sign that it was even aware of its own existence.
“The tortoise is...” he hesitated, frowning slightly. ... ”from here in a fashion, from this universe, and so when you entered the transmission, it guided you here. Without it, you could have ended up anywhere.”
Spencer thought about this.
“Then why did you write 'Prat' on it?”
Given the enormity of what he was being told, this would appear not to be high on the list of questions he should be asking. Spencer considered that what he normally thought of as his quite exceptional investigative skills, seemed to be letting him down somewhat in the recent, more pressurised situations. He made a mental note to work on this character defect as soon as he was back at home, with a cup of tea, and hopefully in the right universe.
A flash of mild surprise glanced across this new, grim faced Spangler, but soon returned the scowl as he answered,
“We didn't.”
Spencer thought about this for a second, but decided it wouldn't do to dwell, and ploughed on.
“Ok, so what is this job that I am supposed to do, in this other universe?”
“We are G.R.I.N. The General Revolutionary Investigative Network. We investigate slippage between worlds, things that fall through the cracks and into places where they don't belong.”
“Like what?”
“Like that unfortunate man you saw last night. He arrived from a world where things are quite different I'm afraid. As you could see, his reaction showed a certain amount of discomfort.”
“A certain amount, yes, what with the screaming and all that. Hold on. Was it you who knocked me out?!”
“Not me personally, one of my team. She did however leave a note apologising I understand?”
“Oh yes, I felt much better after reading that with half my skull caved in, thanks. So how exactly had this man fallen through?”
“It just happens. I have more important things to do Mr Blake, the others will fill you in on any more questions you may have and show you around.”
Spencer watched him stand up and walk out briskly. The others were still stood in a huddle on the far end of the table, they watched Spangler stride past them in silence. There was a distinct amount of shoe gazing among the group as Spencer approached.
“So you are all on board with this are you? This other universe stuff?”
“Well, yes. Can’t you feel it?” One of the twins answered. “Go and look.”
She opened the door behind him and gestured Spencer to go through. Spencer strode toward the door purposefully, effecting a look which suggested that he was certain that this was all nonsense, but with just a slight hint behind the eyes that betrayed that the crack of doubt was widening into a rupture. The twin’s words had actually got to him a little. He did feel it in his bones. He had since he had first woken up here. Something wasn't right, something was out of place.
Him.
He walked through the opening without hesitation, until he got to the other side, at which point he hesitated so thoroughly, he stopped. The room was full of machine parts. Cogs of all sizes, copper coloured pipes, coils of coloured wire and sheets of metal lay strewn around the top of long benches which stretched off into the distance of the long room. A haze of smoke and fumes swirled around the air, dancing in the light from the enormous round window which dominated the center of the far wall. A central round pane was surrounded by long rectangular panes which shot off in all directions, separated by bronzed metal. It looked like a giant eye, inviting him to look through. He approached it and saw, through its clean and clear glass, a city sprawled out below. Hundreds, thousands of rooftops appeared to climb over each other before him. In the distance he could see lines of tall chimneys belching black smoke into the air. Further to the left, the sea, where he could just make out the masts of tall ships crowded in what he guessed to be a port. It was then that he looked up. Row upon row of lines crisscrossed the sky as far as he could see. Small metal boxes moved along them slowly in all manner of directions. Though, as he looked more carefully, he realised they weren't small metal boxes, they were large metal boxes, just very, very high. He heard the others arriving from the other room behind him. The other one of the twins, he had no idea which was which, came alongside him.
“This is Augusta, the main city of Two.”
“Two?”
“We number them because they're all called Earth.” This was answered by the other twin who had spoken earlier appearing on his right.
“All?” Spencer said in an excellent portrayal of nonchalance.
“We've got seven logged so far, not all of them we can get to though. We think they’re infinite and that the further away the frequency of them is to our Earth, the bigger the differences.”
“Talking of differences, what's that?” Asked Spencer pointing at the lines in the sky.
“The Overground.”
“Right...”
“It works in basically the same way as the London Underground does, just in the sky. It even has a couple of the same station names, well two, Elephant and Castle and Cockfosters.”
“Well at least that proves the universe has a sense of humour. So the man I saw the other night, he was from here?”
“Oh no, he was from Seven. We've only recently been seeing things from there, but from what we've been able to work out, a few items from a lost property bin at Birmingham station leaked through in the sixties. Well, it was the sixties on One, but not the sixties on Seven as they are quite a bit behind us.”
“Hold on, is my world One?!”
“Yes, ours is One. We're all from there apart from Spangler and Norbert who are from here, so Spangler said it made more sense to refer to that as One.” Spencer's brain tried to untangle all of this, gave up, put its feet up and decided to just enjoy the ride.
“Anyway, a bowler hat, a leather jacket and some hippie's multicoloured trousers caused a bit of a stir in what was roughly their middle ages, but not nearly as much as the snorkel and Bermuda shorts did... They thought it was a message from God, but no one was sure what it meant. In the end they split into two factions, one lot wearing the bowler hat, jacket and trousers, or variations of, and the others wearing Bermuda shorts and a snorkel. They've been at war for years, though the fighting seems to have stopped more recently as they've started to argue amongst themselves regarding accessories. We think that man who slipped through thought he had landed in enemy territory and was understandably terrified. The punishment for trespassing is having your bowler hat shoved somewhere delicate. We got him back here and calmed him down before he slipped back anyway. Sadly if you enter a universe where there is an alternate version of yourself, that person pops out of existence.”
“So someone died when he came through? Someone in our universe?”
“No, they just don't exist while their alternate version is there. When the other version leaves, they sort of... pop back.”
There was a pause while Spencer took this in. He didn't really want to know the answer, but he had to ask the question.
“So did another Spencer Blake cease to exist when I came here?”
The twin on his right who had spoken to him last, turned to face him.
“No. You are a unique, there is only one of you across all of the universes, just like the rest of us here at GRIN. That's probably why you were recruited.”
“Oh, right.”
A bang echoed down the hall as the two wooden doors at the far end swung open, crashing into the walls on either side. Spencer spun round and looked into deep, brown, burning eyes which made his heart do a small backwards roll. She had wild, uncontrollable mousy brown hair which waved like Medusa's snakes above her head. She wore leather trousers, a white shirt, and leather waistcoat. She was also carrying a length of wood with a nail through it, and looked ready to use it.