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It was very late. Alex and Nicky were very tired, and it was obviously time for bed. Alex began to get nervous about the sleeping arrangements.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" asked Alex.

"Well, you know."

"Huh?"

"You find out I'm a prince and you don't have anything to say? What's going on in your mind?"

"I dunno. I really don't know. I don't know what to say, what to think, or what to do. I don't know where to go, or anything. I'm tired and confused. What do you want me to say?" said Alex with a small bit of irritation in his voice.

"You can stay here and tomorrow we can worry about what the day holds for us. Will you stay with me? I'd offer you a guest room, but they're all full with the celebration."

Alex looked around and didn't see another bed, "Yeah, I guess I can sleep on the floor."

"As you wish," said Nicky with an odd look. "Would you prefer to shower now or in the morning?"

"Now. If it's ok with you, that is. I mean if it won't use all of your hot water."

"That's fine. There are towels in the cupboard to the left of the sink. You can put your things in my closet if you'd like."

Alex went off to the shower, and spent some time trying to figure out how it worked. It definitely wasn't modern plumbing. It took a few moments for Alex to figure it out, but he finally did. He shut the door, and began to undress.

As Alex closed the door, Nicky pulled out his flute. As he began to play, the flute seemed to warm up as it always did. His own feelings began to flow into it; his breath, the oils from his hands and lips became one with the flute. He played an ancient tune, Scarborough Fair, which he always loved. In a way, it was a very sensual feeling. He moved his lips gently around the mouthpiece to change the timbre of his music, whilst rapidly repositioning his fingers. The secret, he knew, was to breathe from the diaphragm and not the lungs and to give your heart and soul over to the music. He'd been playing forever, and wanted to be great, yet no matter how much he practiced, greatness was always a step away. One day, he knew, he'd breathe the flute to life like some of the great flute players of the past.

Inside the shower, Alex heard the strains of Scarborough Fair playing over the sounds of the running water. It caused his mind to wander as listening to good music always did. He began thinking of what the morning would bring. This was all so odd to him and made him full of fear, yet part of him felt so right doing it. He really was confused. He stepped out of the shower, and as soon as he turned off the water, the music stopped.

When Alex exited the washroom, Nicky was already in bed under his covers, his flute packed away next to his bed. The lights were very dim. There were some coverlets on the floor near, but not too near, Nicky's bed. Alex was suddenly self conscious when he realized he would have to change for bed. Somewhat embarrassed, he excused himself, and returned to the washroom in order to change. He reappeared moments later, lay on the floor, got under the covers, and tried to sleep.

"Nicky, you awake?" inquired Alex.

"'Cor! It's not a respectable hour anymore you know, but yeah, mostly. What do you want?"

"I can't sleep. I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to ... to ... tell you how much I liked your music."

"Anyone who, like me, has a real passion for music, will understand what I am about to tell you, Alex. Have you ever heard a song or piece of music -- the genre doesn't matter -- and were so profoundly affected by its message that it changed your life forever? I mean, it changes your whole outlook; your major life decisions, sometimes even your understanding of why you're alive. I've had that experience many times in my life, which is why I love to play," said Nicky.

Nicky continued, "I get so frustrated by people who say they are 'listening' to music, yet at the same time they are talking, reading, doing chores, and so on. That isn't listening. That's what background music is for. Listening is using all your attention, dedicating your entire consciousness to whatever music it happens to be. Listening is understanding that someone, be it the composer, the lyricist, or perhaps both, had something to say, and being interested in what that person was saying, and then making the effort to understand it. You don't have to accept it as the truth, just listen and understand."

"Wow. You really feel passionately about it, don't you?" inquired Alex.

"Yeah, I do. Music is part of my soul. But the thing is, it's part of everyone's soul. It's just that not everyone lets it in." The rest came out in a mumble as Nicky clearly was falling asleep.

Alex tried to fall asleep, but still wasn't having much success. Alex saw Nicky was already out cold, on his back, dead to the world. Finally Alex relaxed and dozed off too. It was a fitful and restless sleep.

Alex awakened in a bed. He was confused momentarily, and began to look around. He saw Nicky come out of the washroom, his hair wrapped in a towel. Much to Alex's dismay, Nicky wasn't wearing anything else.

"How did I get here?" demanded Alex, gesturing wildly towards Nicky's bed.

"Last night you climbed in and said you couldn't take the floor anymore," said Nicky offhandedly as if it were nothing, a common occurrence.

Alex was appalled. Had he climbed into someone else's bed? Now that same person was here in front of him, wearing nothing? That was just too weird. But Nicky didn't seem to mind at all and in fact appeared to be totally unconcerned about it. Yet, Alex felt terribly uncomfortable himself; he wasn't sure what to do, or think.

But, he could act, so he quickly got out of bed, grabbed his things, and sped into the washroom, where he brushed his teeth, and changed for the day's adventures. He came out and, once again, Nicky stared at him with a bemused expression on his face.

"Ok, Alex, we're going up top."

"Up top?"

"Your world. I did promise to take you back to the airport, you know. If you want to catch this flight, we'd best get moving because you've only got a few hours. Time down here and up there isn't quite in sync as you may have noticed."

"Yes, but that makes no sense to me. I mean, how can that be?"

"That's one question of yours I can't answer. I just don't know. It has always been like that for our people. Even before we came here from our old country it was like that. Nobody knows. Perhaps it was lost in our past. My guess is the last person who knew would have been my father's father and he died long before I was born, when my father was just a small boy."

"Ah. Right, then. Let's go," said Alex totally dissatisfied with the answer, but not willing to push further at this point.

"Right," said Nicky.

"FUCK!" swore Alex, out loud. "STOP!"

"Well, what was that about? 'Cor, you have a foul mouth for such an early hour."

Alex replied his voice trembling, "I can't do it. I can't go. As much as I feel how weird this whole situation is, part of me keeps saying this is where I belong. It's not right for me to go. I feel -- I don't know -- somehow, um, er, never mind."

"What?" questioned Nicky, realizing Alex was hiding something.

"Just forget it. Please?" Alex knew what he wanted to say. He just couldn't. As odd as it was to him, he had feelings for Nicky. He didn't know what kind, but they were different. He also knew he didn't want them, didn't know how to deal with them, yet here they were. He also knew it was no use trying to pretend they didn't exist. Nonetheless, he resolved to try to carry out that very deception.

"I will, but only for now. I'd like to say that friends shouldn't keep secrets from friends. I realize that, at this point, saying we're really friends is a bit of a stretch. But one day, I hope, we will be great friends. I feel almost as if it's destiny. I know we have unsaid things between us; I'd be a liar if I said there weren't things I want to say but can't," said Nicky, trying to find the right balance between what he wanted to say and what he could say. Could say. It galled him to say that.

A heavy silence hung between them, like an overused cliché.

"Let's go up top, as you say," said Alex, unable to bear the silence any longer.

They worked their way up and into Lord's tube station. Alex intently studied the world-famous tube map plastered on the wall. It didn't looked right. "Nicky, how come this map is different?"

"Well, as you may know, this station doesn't exist anymore. Or maybe you don't know. We inhabit the subterranean parts of London. Our entrances and exits are through closed tube stations. We travel along them until we get into the regular stations where we mix with the topsiders and move unnoticed. You'll see stations that have been long closed, and even entire legs that have been closed, some for over a hundred years. Notice those stations are in outline instead of solid colour, so you know which ones are ours. You can't get to any of them from above, but once you're on a train you can get there, the same way you originally got here."

"But I don't understand, don't the people from above know the train is stopping somewhere it shouldn't?"

"No, they never even board these special cars. It's like they don't exist for the moment when the train stops to let the doors on the special car open. There's a fleet of them roving the tracks. You will see them everywhere except the Jubilee, Victoria, Waterloo & City, East London, and Docklands lines -- they're all too new or too small to have closed stations so they don't have any of our special trains."

"So there are no trains besides yours that use this station?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Alex. This station has Jubilee trains that run through it because it shares tracks with the Metropolitan line, but they never did stop here. This is a real ghost station, so to speak. Swiss Cottage isn't a ghost station because while the Metropolitan hasn't stopped there since 1943, the Jubilee line stops there. Our stations are only the true ghost stations. I could go on for hours about this; it's a hobby of mine, you know. I've studied Mr. Beck's maps carefully for years. I've been to every inch of the system except the small part of the Bakerloo line from Waterloo to Elephant and Castle. Nobody is allowed there."

"Why not?" asked Alex as their train pulled in and they boarded.

"Damned if I know. I've been told there are good reasons, and the only ones who know are the reigning monarch and the Exarch."

"Where are we going?" asked Alex, realizing he wasn't going to get any better answer.

"Well, since you've decided to stay, I'm taking you to the tailor's shop. We have to get you appropriate items to wear. A few nice bespoke items and you'll be fine. You can't go 'round dressed as a topsider the whole time. It won't do at all."

"I don't have enough money left to pay for a new set of clothes."

"That shouldn't be a problem. As you were so excited to point out, we have money."

They got off at Baker Street, switched lines, and continued towards Bond Street.

"I can't let you pay," insisted Alex.

"I want to pay. Consider it a gift. A gesture of our future friendship. Whatever you'd like."

"Why can't we get these clothes in one of your shops? Why do we have to go back up?"

"We could, but we're going to the best tailor there is. Makes clothes for my father, the King, and the Royal Family as well. You're going to look right proper."

The train stopped at Bond Street, where Nicky directed them up to street level and a wide variety of shops including the famed tailors of London. As they came up, they were greeted, as every tube traveller is, by the tabloid hawkers. Alex gave a gasp of shock, followed by Nicky as the headline screamed "American Boy Missing: Foul Play Suspected" along with a picture of Alex underneath.

"Quick! Turn around and be as invisible as you can," commanded Nicky without realizing how utterly impossible his command was. He bought copies of the tabloids and ushered Alex through the crowd and down a side street. Nobody seemed to notice them, giving credence to the theory that the best place to hide is in plain sight. They came to a row of small shops and stopped at one called The Endive Tailor, and Nicky ushered them inside.

"Are you being served, my good sir?" said a very stiff, traditional British voice.

"Knock it off, Matthew; he knows. It's okay," said Nicky good-naturedly.

"Very good, sir. What may I do for you, my lord?" said Matthew. Matthew began eyeing Nicky's companion. "Not to be forward sir, but isn't this the young man in the paper?"

"Yes, he is. We're going to clothe him properly and take him back down."

"I beg your pardon? Does your father know? This certainly is irregular!"

"Yes, he knows. He doesn't approve, but he knows."

"Well then, come here, young sir," Matthew directed at Alex, "and we'll take measurements." Matthew put Alex on a small dais in front of a set of angled mirrors and began measuring. After thirty minutes of being subjected to dozens of measurements with the tape, Matthew seemed satisfied. "We'll prepare everything and send it down."

"Thank you. Please add it to my bill."

"Very good sir," said Matthew. "Thank you for your custom."

Alex quietly asked Nicky, "I thought you guys were a secret? He seems to know everything."

"He's one of us. A number of us have regular jobs up top. Sometimes it's just easier to have shops up here. It also serves a useful purpose for letting us keep track of what goes on as well. And of course, it gives us additional access to money, supplies, and other things we don't have but might need. As I'm sure you noticed, down below we dress a bit more old-fashioned."

"Well, I'd say more conservative than old-fashioned, not that it matters to me," said Alex, "Now, what are we going to do? If I go back outside, I'm sure to be spotted by someone. After all, since I'm on the cover of the paper, I'm probably pretty easy to recognize."

"Yeah, I noticed. I was stalling for time, trying to come up with something, but you know I've not been able to think of a thing. I think we just have to return home for now. Once we're on the tube, it'll be easy to stay hidden behind a newspaper. I'm willing to bet nobody will notice, though."

"Thank you, Matthew. Please do your best to speed them along," instructed Nicky before turning to Alex and saying, "Ok, then, let's go."

Nicky led Alex back to the tube stop, all further plans for the day forgotten. Both knew that if Alex were spotted, he would be on his way home instantly. Nicky didn't want that, and although Alex wasn't sure what he wanted, he knew that he wanted to be around Nicky -- he just didn't know why. That was a big question: why?

They rounded the corner and descended into the tube station. They got on the train as quickly as they could, and Nicky gave one of the papers he had purchased earlier to Alex and said, "Read this paper to hide your face."

It was amusing , in a sick sort of way, for them to read about Alex's disappearance. Apparently the running theory was he'd been kidnapped by a taxi driver on his way to the airport. He supposed it made sense. Too bad they'd never get anywhere with it. He felt bad about how his parents must feel. He started thinking that perhaps he should call them. He might run the idea by Nicky later.

The train ride was quiet and uneventful. As on subways around the world, everyone was lost in their own thoughts, their own conversations, and nothing short of a disaster would break them free to notice the world around them. It was one of the silent, unspoken, inviolable rules of public transportation.

They arrived, after a change of trains, back at Lord's station. They went straight to Nicky's quarters, and sat down in two chairs facing each other.