“Very good!” said Melody. “Now consider the sheer amount of equipment packed onto this trolley and tell me how you’re planning to squeeze it all through that narrow gap.”

“You’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself one of these days,” said JC. “But it’s not going anywhere yet.”

“Why not?” said Melody, immediately suspicious. “What still needs doing?”

“Listen,” said JC. He stood very still, his head cocked slightly to one side, a single finger held up, as though testing for some spiritual breeze. “Listen . . . Get a feel for the place. It’s 5:07 P.M. Well into the city rush hour. There should be crowds of people flowing through this station, heading home after a hard day’s work or shopping. Men and women and children, workers and families—the city’s human lifeblood—chasing headlong through its arteries. They should be filling this place, loud and raucous and determined to be on their way.”

“God, you do love the sound of your own voice,” said Melody.

“It’s always worse when he gets like this,” Happy said gloomily. “It means he’s moved into full smug mode because he thinks he’s spotted something we haven’t.”

“All right, I get it, it’s quiet,” said Melody. “Can we move on now, please?”

JC looked at Happy, smiling his most superior smile. “Do you get it, Happy?”

“Maybe,” said Happy, reluctantly. “It’s the wrong kind of quiet. Not only the absence of noise but the actual suppression of all sound, of everything that’s alive and natural. As though something else has replaced the sound of people. An unwanted Presence, like a weight on the air, pressing down on the world. This light is all wrong, too. It’s too bright, too stark . . . merciless and forensic, like a dissecting lab. We are very definitely not alone down here.”

“Well,” said Melody, after a moment, “that was very nicely spoken, Happy. All very fab and groovy, splendidly atmospheric and ominous; but you’re as bad as he is. Feelings are useless until I can get my lovely machines set up, and we can start analysing the data! So suck it up, brain boy, and help JC and me lift this bloody trolley over the bloody ticket barriers. Preferably without dropping anything fragile.”

“Your vibrator broke down again last night, didn’t it?” said Happy.

“Stay out of my head!”

“Lucky guess, lucky guess,” said Happy, holding up both hands and trying not to grin. “Let’s shift the trolley and get this show on the road.”

“God loves a volunteer,” said JC. “Come, children, lift that barge and tote that bale; the ghosts are waiting.”