Two very strange things happened as they travelled back to the Dawn Star Hotel. On the way, they rushed straight into a public toilet where Tim created a change of clothes, as well as hats and glasses to conceal their identity. Also – and by now he was way past feeling guilty about such things – Tim made a few big wads of cash to buy train tickets to Glassbridge. Again, he shook his head at Clarice’s face on the notes.
After this they headed towards the train station, passing through a familiar part of London. It was so familiar, in fact, that Tim had to stop and study his surroundings. It took a few seconds, but then he realised they were standing on a quiet side street right next to where the Diamond Building should be. But TRAD’s headquarters were now nothing more than a block of flats. The area looked rough – broken windows and boarded-up, derelict shops, covered in graffiti and dirt. Up ahead, Dee turned and waited near a doorway which was glowing red with a flickering neon light. Tim was about to explain why he’d stopped, but—
‘Spare any change, lad?’ a husky voice whispered from low down. Tim was startled. He hadn’t even realised a person was there, sitting on the damp pavement next to a scraggy dog.
The tramp was huddled over, wearing a thick brown jacket and holding a small cup in his lap, which was covered by an old blue sleeping bag. Like his skinny dog, he had scruffy hair on his head and his face. His fingers were black with grime and shivering, even though it wasn’t cold.
‘Um … I,’ Tim started. But then he paused and squinted in the faintly red light. ‘Rick? God, Rick, is that you?’
The man was alarmed by this, and nodded warily. ‘Aye, do I know you?’ he said, his accent just how it used to be.
Tim snatched his disguise glasses off, exposing his face, but then sighed when there was no reaction. ‘No. You don’t,’ he whispered. ‘Of course you don’t.’
Earlier, Tim had blamed Rick Harris for everything. But seeing him like this – this new version of the man – he only felt sorry for him. He looked up at Tim – his eyes were bloodshot and wet with absolute, pure sadness. A sudden guilt hit Tim and all he wanted was to help however he could.
‘Come on,’ Dee said from further up the street, waving him along.
But, before he left, Tim took his rucksack off his back, crouched and reached inside. He grabbed the big wads of cash – he had no idea exactly how much – and placed them gently into Rick’s dirty hands. His mouth hung open. He was so surprised that he looked almost scared. Maybe scared to believe it was actually happening.
‘I am sorry,’ Tim said. ‘Things will get better. I promise.’
Everyone will have a safe place to sleep in the next universe, Tim decided.
‘Sorry?’ Rick hugged the money against his stomach, still stunned. ‘Why are you sorry? You’re some kind of angel.’
Was this another one of Clarice’s punishments, Tim wondered, or had Rick’s life just gone differently in this universe? Either way, Tim knew there was more to him than met the eye. He knew there was a reason, a story, a cause for him sitting on the damp pavement.
Tim tried to smile, then stood and caught up with Dee – it was clear Rick wanted to thank him more, but they didn’t have the time.
‘Who was that?’ she asked.
‘Nobody,’ he whispered. For some reason he didn’t feel like discussing this difference.
At the end of the street, they took cover in a dark doorway as a procession of Grey Guards, marching like soldiers, and a huge armoured van, trundled past. Like all the vehicles, it was electric, but so big that it still managed to be loud. Heavy metal tank-tracks rumbled over the tarmac, tingling in Tim’s chest and feet. He saw the ‘GG’ logo stamped on the side. Above, three drones flew, spinning slowly as they went, scanning and searching with slow rhythmic beeps. They’d know by now that the helicopter had crashed.
Tim, Dee and Phil made it to the station and boarded their train to Glassbridge, sitting quickly and not speaking at all. The whole way, which was quite a journey, Tim was poised to spring into action, ready to take flight again and run and hide, things which were becoming quite a habit. At one point two Grey Guards, armed with black machine guns, passed through the train carriage – Tim heard their beeping radios, little crackling conversations echoing from within. One of them stopped and looked right at him. Tim stared back, through the helmet’s tinted visor and swallowed his terror. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but it was obvious where they were pointed. This was it, Tim thought. But then the guard hesitated and headed off up the carriage.
‘Phew,’ Tim said, all his muscles relaxing.
‘Maybe they didn’t recognise us,’ Dee whispered.
Having snuck back into the hotel, they both dived to hug Eisenstone up in room ninety-eight – relieved he hadn’t been arrested. The professor, still wearing his tuxedo, said he’d been worried sick when he watched the news and heard that two suspects were in custody over a break-in at Crowfield Tower.
‘Clarice herself was on Black Feather News. She said it was all under control,’ he explained. ‘Am, am I right to assume you were unsuccessful in finding the imagination station?’
‘Sadly, yes,’ Tim said. ‘Not there.’
Although they were in an almost completely hopeless situation, Tim was still able to relax in room ninety-eight. It was now his favourite place in any universe. So much comfort and safety. Being back here was like pressing pause on it all. Again, as before, he wished they could stay forever, tucked away in this cosy nest.
‘So … a life behind bars, hey?’ Eisenstone said. ‘Maybe, indeed, the best place for us.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Tim asked, alarmed.
‘All my work …’ The professor seemed lost. He kept looking at his hands. ‘My entire career … I never wanted to be responsible for such things … the potential for wrongdoing. Maybe … maybe we’re not ready for this technology.’
‘You can’t uninvent things,’ Tim said.
Eisenstone narrowed his eyes. ‘What if we could? What if we could take it all back? What if I’d never invented it? What if we could live in a world without these machines?’
‘You once warned me that in the wrong hands it could be catastrophic,’ Tim admitted. ‘But in the right hands …’
‘I, I … I just fear there’s no way back for us.’
‘There is,’ Tim said. ‘Honestly. We just need that imagination station and I can create the perfect universe – utopia, paradise. It’ll rock.’
‘I want to be a movie star,’ Dee said. ‘Or an astronaut. It’s hard – is there any way I can be both?’
‘Course,’ Tim said. ‘Anything is possible. Everyone can get what they want.’
‘Tim, no, no.’ Eisenstone sighed. ‘There’s no paradise. There can’t be. Don’t you see? You may think you know what’s best for everyone, for the world, but I assure you that you don’t. One man’s heaven is another man’s hell. We must not play God.’
Tim hadn’t really thought that much about the universe he would create – what he had planned was to put everything roughly back to how it was. Of course, there would need to be slight amendments to keep everyone he loved safe. And then, as well, there would be a few bonuses and tweaks. No harm in making the Dawn Star more successful, giving Elisa a break, and maybe then Chris wouldn’t have to work so hard. It had seemed so straightforward. Now the professor had said this, however, it seemed altogether more complicated. What about homeless people, like Rick? What about diseases and earthquakes and war and, and … the list went on.
‘But we still need to find the device,’ Dee said. ‘Whatever reality Tim can imagine is surely better for us than this absolute cluster-mess.’
Tim agreed with that at least.
‘If only we could make Clarice tell us its location,’ Phil added.
Nodding, Tim pointed at the monkey. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s the only way.’
‘Somehow I don’t think she’ll just blurt it out,’ Dee said.
‘Plus, you cannot simply telephone the Prime Minister can you?’ Phil looked to the professor. He shook his head. ‘I fear she will have all kinds of security, like the Queen.’
‘The Queen?’ Dee said.
‘Yeah,’ Tim added. ‘She’s got like hundreds of bodyguards wherever she goes.’
Dee sniggered. ‘You have a queen in your universe?’
‘You don’t?’
‘Have you got princes and princesses and dragons too?’
‘We have some of those things.’
‘You’re winding me up.’
‘Hang on, shh,’ Tim whispered. There was a noise coming from outside the window. ‘What the hell is that?’ he asked, staring at the table they had used to block the glass.
Turning his head to listen, Tim stepped tentatively towards the sound. He arrived at the window and very gently edged the table sideways to look. A sharp light dazzled his eyes, then metallic commotion outside made him flinch. It was a drone – hovering there, its scanning search beam locked on to them now.
‘No,’ Tim yelled, shoving the table back. ‘How? How did they find us? We were so careful, we—’ Then he saw it, stuck on the side of the imagination box: a small black gadget. ‘A tracking device,’ he said. They must have put it on in the helicopter. ‘We led them straight here.’
‘That’s why the guards on the train let us go,’ Dee said quietly. ‘Not because they didn’t recognise us, but because they did.’
There was a crunching sound: glass shattered and the window frame splintered as the drone bashed the table, trying to get inside. Before Tim could get his weight against it, the machine made it through and was right there, right in the room, looming large and loud. Its wild searchlight sent black shadows up the wall and a taser fizzled blue on the end of a stick.
A brutal zap and a bolt of what looked like lightning hit Tim on the shoulder, sending him flat. Spinning and wobbling, the ceiling seemed to drift away, the walls too. Dazed, he rolled on to his side and heard people wrestling against the furniture in the doorway – stomping boots and angry voices. An electric shock had put Tim on the ground, but it was the weight of fear that kept him there.
Room ninety-eight, the only safe place, had fallen.