The attendant shrugged. Directing his gaze past Kit, he called, “Next!”-although there was no one in line.

Accepting temporary defeat, Kit made his way back up to the street. There were numerous shops where he might have changed a five-pound note-if not for the fact that it was Sunday and all were either observing weekend hours or closed for the day. “Typical,” sniffed Kit, and decided that it would be easier, and no doubt faster, just to walk the three or so miles to Wilhelmina’s. With this thought in mind, he sailed off, dodging traffic and Sunday-morning pedestrians in the sincere belief that he could still reach Mina’s on time. He proceeded along Pentonville Road, mapping out a route in his head as he went. He had gone but a few hundred paces when he began to experience the sinking feeling that he had become completely disoriented and was going the wrong way-something that had happened to him before around the no-man’s-land of King’s Cross. Realizing that he had to head north and west, he turned left onto Grafton Street, tooled along avoiding a barrage of roadwork, and quickly reached the next street north-an odd little lane called Stane Way.

So far, so good, he thought as he charged down the narrow walkway-really, nothing more than an alley providing service access for the shops on the parallel streets. After walking for two minutes, he started looking for the crossing street at the end. Two more minutes passed… He should have reached the end by now, shouldn’t he?

Then it started to rain.

Kit picked up his speed as the rain poured into the alley from low, swirling clouds overhead. He hunched his shoulders, put his head down, and ran. A wind rose out of nowhere and whipped down the length of the blank brick canyon, driving the rain into his eyes.

He stopped.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he flipped open the screen. No signal.

“Bloody useless,” he muttered.