"Bugger Bognor," Julian scowled; misjudging the wind eddy, the Triumph XTC's descent vector was too acute. Manoeuvring as best he could, deep in to the shadowy chasm, the swampy milieu of New London fog and flurries of snow brought the visibility close to nil and the buffeting caused the vehicle's steering to jar. Julian remained resolute despite a squealing danger alarm and Clarkson readjusted the equilibrium matrix. Gritting his teeth, Julian's taut arms and soft wrists soothed the steering, careening the XTC in to a corkscrew landing. Clarkson compensated, blasting the parking balancers with one gut busting bounce.

"Dandy," Julian celebrated with brief, albeit strongly relieved, pump of his fist.

"Landing: complete. Please ensure your parking permit is valid," Clarkson advised sensibly as it down-powered. For a moment, they sat silently, until Balderick crowed.

"I concur.  We shouldn't be here," Julian said saliently, with a vocal quiver.

"Don't tell me you're scared," egged Chelsea, oblivious, and Julian breathed deeply, apprehensive. Looking green around the gills from the forced landing, Alistair blanched and Chelsea slapped his shoulder.

"Not got your flying guts yet eh?" 

Even Balderick laughed at his young friend and Alistair patted his belly, gulping air to stave off his nausea. The spooky mists swirled about the car and Julian removed his driving gloves and glanced at his watch.

"Now we're here, I'm not sure..."

Chelsea cut off Julian.

"Wise up suckers, we've got a crown to find. Don't let Roger Rimmel's ghost stories get you down," Chelsea asserted. "Now we're here, let's get cracking."

Julian didn't have a chance to persuade them otherwise as Alistair and Chelsea opened the car doors and leapt out of the XTC. A stench of death and damp wafted through their nostrils and Balderick plonked himself on Alistair's shoulder whilst flaky snow dusted every surface.

"Waiting forever?" she asked Alistair as she tic-tac'd on her HyperBoard; the boy dropped the Red Special at his feet and eased off after Chelsea whilst Julian rested his head on the steering wheel and groaned.

"Give me strength," Julian uttered, climbing out of his car and locking it.

Mere steps from the XTC, fearful warning signs had gone unseen; buckled and rusting, the poles leant to one side as if they were tired of being so grim. Julian hissed the children's names in to the mist as he dashed after them both, heeding them to stop.

"Wait!" he urged, using a gadget to allow them access without triggering the security sashes or the invisible electro-bubble. "See those turrets?" he pointed on the other side of the bubble. "Next time: kapow!" The mist swirled and they came upon a large, open space. Littered across the square were hundreds of bleached skeletons laying in various states of warped contortion; the life and flesh had been vaporised without fate warning. Creepy and unnerving, Balderick cawed mournfully and Julian agreed.

"My dear, I suggest this modest adventure is ended very quickly as I don't have a good feeling about this place. We should be leaving the dead to rest in peace."

"Wh-wh-what happened here," Alistair stammered.

"Horror happened here." Julian volunteered solemnly.  Chelsea moved on, her feet crunching snow. Alistair found it difficult to continue without averting his eyes upwards and a breath of air cleared the mists for a brief moment whereby a proud yet savaged building rose up before them. Its weathered façade was filled with undignified pock marks caused by past gun spatter and blast damage as well as years of foul weather. Graffiti, old and new, daubed the masonry and a few of the pillars had been painted red with Futurist markings at the top. Its grandeur diminished, Alistair still paused respectfully as the relic loomed before them. Balderick spread his wings and soared past the weary columns and up where a faded message Ich bin ein Englander was still daubed.

"My dears, this is St Paul's Cathedral," educated Julian , doing no justice to the magnitude of the tired and crumbling building that creaked from within and out. Chelsea ventured onwards, and bound up the stone steps to the giant door frame that was missing its doors. Alistair and Julian joined her as Balderick impatiently flew right over their heads and in to the cathedral.

"What a junk heap," Chelsea carped without a skerrick of pity. "Come on," she hurried before rushing over the threshold; Julian yanked her arm, wrenching her backwards.

"It might be ever so prudent to keep one's eye on situations missed," Julian admonished, pointing to a ragged gash in the flooring and Chelsea swallowed hard, peering down as crumbles of stone fell away in to the bowels of the unlit foundations. She reached around in to her backpack, retrieved a glow stick and snapped it, mixing the isolated substances.

Measured, Julian led the way as they snaked through the main entrance in to the nave. Pews were piled up as if making some sort of makeshift barricade, and as they inched their way in to the nave, they disturbed a residue which was a mix of soot, dust and grime that, once unsettled, created a terribly stale smell.

Chelsea's glow stick cast an eerie shadow and in the distance Balderick could be heard croaking. Moving under the edge of the dome, Alistair and Chelsea lifted their heads as shards of winter light cut through jagged tears in the dome surface and snowflakes gently fell down on to the broken roofing scattered at their feet on the marble flooring. More virgin snow crunched under their feet; St Paul's was in a state of chronic neglect and Alistair pressed Julian for an explanation.

"This is where the Futurists herded Loyalist supporters after King George was executed," Julian sighed. "Penning them in, at first the vanquished were ghettoised around the Cathedral. As the Futurists began deporting residents who weren't 'quite British', the Loyalist supporters imprisoned here knew their days were numbered. With the first whiff of insurgency, the Futurists vaporised every man, woman and child. It was so horrible the event is never spoken of and I'm guessing it's not something they teach in History class: the systematic murder of perceived or confessed Loyalists. However, it was a holocaust perpetrated by our own people on their kith and kin none the less."

Alistair felt overwhelmed as Julian crossed himself. "Forgive us our trespasses," Julian whispered penitently.

Skirting around a large pile of buckled timbers and smashed masonry, Julian covered his eyes as he looked up to the heavens. Through one of the dome holes, the fog had dissipated and he could see blurred building towers lording it over Wren's creation.

"You know this once was the tallest building in London," Julian said and the children were surprised.

"Really?" Alistair asked.

"Indeed," Julian confirmed.

"Now it's a bunion on the sole of New London's feet," Chelsea said opening up her bag and pulling out a battered tourist guide for St Paul's that Roger had provided them.

The Cathedral was spacious and Balderick launched off a pew, spread his wings and landed on a ledge ninety-nine feet above before he called out in anguish. Alistair could hear his talons clicking across the balustrade, followed by a few taps of his beak and another mournful caw.

"He's calling out for his own kind," Julian observed. "I know what that feels like," he added sadly. Stepping in and out of shards of gray light, Chelsea thumbed the tourist guide as Alistair stood shoulder to shoulder with her and unfolded his note.

"That's the Whispering Gallery above," Chelsea pointed.

"But don't we want downstairs?" Alistair replied. "That's where HN is."

"Yeah, well, I thought since we were here, we could have a look," Chelsea shrugged.

"Children, we're not on some playful jaunt. We've unsettled enough ghosts already, let's get this quest over with as quickly as possible," Julian sneered.

Chelsea shook her head contemptuously.

"Party poopers," Chelsea mumbled, as Alistair retraced his finger over the St Paul's plan.

"The stairs are over there," he pointed. "Though with half the roof fallen down, that way looks blocked. We can also go back and to the left."

The air was cold and empty and their eyes adjusted to the half-light gloom. Pews were now covered in thick tarpaulins caked in dust and as Chelsea slowly moved towards the staircase that led down to the crypt room below, Alistair took another moment to absorb the ambience.

"Hurry up," Chelsea hissed, "HN's waiting and we don't have all day."

Alistair obeyed whilst still above their heads, Balderick swooped down and landed on Alistair's shoulder.

"You ok?" Alistair asked and Balderick playfully pecked at his lapel.

Stepping around a gaping hole in the floor, they eased in to the North Transept, circled buckled meshing and smashed stone and eased back towards the crypt stairs. Unbeknownst to all, a surveillance drone had detected them back in the Square and had slyly floated in to St Paul's, lurking in the shadows. A weathered, semi-obsolete model, the drone saw through their fuzzboxes; remaining out of sight it fixated on Alistair as they scampered down to the crypt. It connected back to base, sampling the Overground fracas footage as a point of reference.  The old drone silently transmitted its serendipitous information and with its task completed, it retreated, returning to the Square, whereby it powered down and awaited the next disturbing miscreant.