information pillars fizzed and sparked. It was about seven feet tall, all brushed steel and touchscreens. The sort of object that Ashe always suspected was designed to make life as complex for the user as possible. He walked up to it, slightly wary of its flickering screen. He was still only too aware that things in this house rarely had the visitor's best interests at heart. Further along the arcade another of the information posts was mirroring the behaviour of the one in front of him. The St. Pancras logo dispersed in a snowstorm of pixels to be replaced by the head and shoulders of a man. He appeared in his late forties, a miserable expression crumpled beneath an old-fashioned train conductor's peaked cap.
  "Yes?" the man said. The screen flickered as if disturbed by his impatient tone.
  "Erâ¦" Ashe looked over his shoulder to check on Sophie. She was still sat where he had left her, quietly mumbling to herself.
  "Well?" the man on the screen insisted. "I've better things to do than sit here waiting for you to make your mind up about where you want to go."
  "Where I want to go?"
  "Yes, where you want to go⦠this is a train station isn't it? Usually people have a fixed idea of where they want to get to."
  "I need to go to lots of placesâ¦"
  "Philosophically interesting but still no use to me. I need a specific destination."
  Ashe thought about the timeline of the box. The first stop needed to be Carruthers in Tibet. "Tibet, 1904."
  "Tibet, 1904 he saysâ¦" the man snapped. "Precision!"
  Ashe pulled out the notes he'd made. "The Dhuru Monastery, 20 miles or so south of the Nepalese border. I need to be there on the third of March."
  "Time?"
  "Doesn't matter, it's a flying visit."
  The man stared at him for a second, sighed, and then his eyes rolled up to reveal their whites as he mumbled to himself. "Dhuru Monastery, arriving, 16.58, March third." He reasserted himself and stared at Ashe. "How long do you need for your visit?"
  "Not long, a few hours..."
  "'A few'⦠how helpful."
  Ashe growled slightly, losing his patience with the man's rudeness.
  The screen flickered violently, like a TV suffering from storm interference. "Wait!" the inspector barked.
  With a fizz of electrics, a hand emerged from the screen holding a pair of train tickets. "Return tickets to Dhuru monastery, 3rd of March 1904. Arriving 16.58 leaving seven hours later at two minutes to midnight. Don't lose them," the man insisted, as if speaking to a particularly dense child.
  "How do I find the train on the way back?" Ashe asked.
  The man smiled in a particularly unpleasant manner. "It will find you," he said. The screen fizzed once more and he was gone, replaced by the station logo.
Â
6.
Â
The champagne bar was a better class of joint than Tom was used to but if there was a dress code in place the phantom staff didn't enforce it. He made his way behind the ridiculously long bar, grabbed a glass and wondered what to fill it with.
  "When in Rome," he said to himself, grabbing a bottle of champagne. He couldn't pretend to know the difference between labels but wasn't fussed. When you went about it seriously, drink was a vehicle and a battered Ford got you to your destination just as surely as a beamer. He sat down on one of the bar-side swivel chairs and began to unwrap the foil from the bottle's neck.
  "The longest champagne bar in Europe, apparently."
  He glanced up at Elise, who had appeared on the stool next to him. He wasn't altogether surprised to see her, he was a man comfortable with delusions. "So I read on the sign coming in." He cast the foil aside and begin uncoiling the wire cap.
  "Seems a strange ambition to me," said Elise. "Not the nicest or best-stocked, the longest ."
  "You know what Brits are like," Tom replied,
  "Yes?" the man said. The screen flickered as if disturbed by his impatient tone.
  "Erâ¦" Ashe looked over his shoulder to check on Sophie. She was still sat where he had left her, quietly mumbling to herself.
  "Well?" the man on the screen insisted. "I've better things to do than sit here waiting for you to make your mind up about where you want to go."
  "Where I want to go?"
  "Yes, where you want to go⦠this is a train station isn't it? Usually people have a fixed idea of where they want to get to."
  "I need to go to lots of placesâ¦"
  "Philosophically interesting but still no use to me. I need a specific destination."
  Ashe thought about the timeline of the box. The first stop needed to be Carruthers in Tibet. "Tibet, 1904."
  "Tibet, 1904 he saysâ¦" the man snapped. "Precision!"
  Ashe pulled out the notes he'd made. "The Dhuru Monastery, 20 miles or so south of the Nepalese border. I need to be there on the third of March."
  "Time?"
  "Doesn't matter, it's a flying visit."
  The man stared at him for a second, sighed, and then his eyes rolled up to reveal their whites as he mumbled to himself. "Dhuru Monastery, arriving, 16.58, March third." He reasserted himself and stared at Ashe. "How long do you need for your visit?"
  "Not long, a few hours..."
  "'A few'⦠how helpful."
  Ashe growled slightly, losing his patience with the man's rudeness.
  The screen flickered violently, like a TV suffering from storm interference. "Wait!" the inspector barked.
  With a fizz of electrics, a hand emerged from the screen holding a pair of train tickets. "Return tickets to Dhuru monastery, 3rd of March 1904. Arriving 16.58 leaving seven hours later at two minutes to midnight. Don't lose them," the man insisted, as if speaking to a particularly dense child.
  "How do I find the train on the way back?" Ashe asked.
  The man smiled in a particularly unpleasant manner. "It will find you," he said. The screen fizzed once more and he was gone, replaced by the station logo.
Â
6.
Â
The champagne bar was a better class of joint than Tom was used to but if there was a dress code in place the phantom staff didn't enforce it. He made his way behind the ridiculously long bar, grabbed a glass and wondered what to fill it with.
  "When in Rome," he said to himself, grabbing a bottle of champagne. He couldn't pretend to know the difference between labels but wasn't fussed. When you went about it seriously, drink was a vehicle and a battered Ford got you to your destination just as surely as a beamer. He sat down on one of the bar-side swivel chairs and began to unwrap the foil from the bottle's neck.
  "The longest champagne bar in Europe, apparently."
  He glanced up at Elise, who had appeared on the stool next to him. He wasn't altogether surprised to see her, he was a man comfortable with delusions. "So I read on the sign coming in." He cast the foil aside and begin uncoiling the wire cap.
  "Seems a strange ambition to me," said Elise. "Not the nicest or best-stocked, the longest ."
  "You know what Brits are like," Tom replied,
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