One of the poorest locales in London, the area is a stark contrast to the fashionable West End surrounding it. While there is no longer a St Giles Rookery, and the streets no longer feature the signs of alchemists and astrologers, the area is still known for both poverty and eccentricity.
What happened to Laura,On Harwood's instructions, you unobtrusively (Stealth) followed the foreigner in red. He strolls casually up Jermyn Street, eventually reaching the Piccadilly Circus tube station - where he goes down the stairs, and then promptly comes up them again! Now his demeanour seems altogether different. He strides rapidly with his head downwards, seemingly focussed on his shoes and paying no attention to those around him, although he doesn't collide with anyone - in fact, he seems to ease through the crowds with uncanny smoothness, for a non-Londoner. Only your superb Knowledge of the streets of London enables you to both keep up and keep out of sight.
The man walks rapidly towards the Strand and the theatre district. He strides east along back roads paralleling the Strand, then turns north to parallel Kingsway. Passing the Freemason's Hall, he seems about to head for Holborn Station but then turns west down Oxford Street, before walking south down Charing Cross Road. He walks right past Grant's, then turns west again and heads back noth to Soho and Oxford Street, where he walks East until Tottenham Court station is reached - where again, he goes down the stairs and back up them. Before he reaches the point on Oxford street where he was before, he cuts north a bit and heads northwest until he reaches Kingsway, along which he walks south, repeating the down-and-up act at Holborn station. He then walks west parallel to the Strand (though not the same roads), almost reaching his previous route, then again changes direction and walks back up the Strand itself, this time until he has crossed Kingsway, where he walks north in streets parallel on the east side, past Lincoln's Inn. He then walks west along Great Russell Street towards Tottenham Court, passes it, and heads south through Soho again - this time, though, he sticks to the West side of Soho square, whereas before he was on the East side.
The man's pace is simply staggering through the densely crowded streets of Saturday afternoon - the light is dimming, people are strolling or sitting outside the pubs, but he strides like someone headed to an important meeting. He crosses Charing cross and heads to Leicester Square, where he turns north, heading into the Seven Dials district. He heads almost as far north as Oxford Street before turning east, crossing High Holborn and heading south again, paralleling his earlier route past the Freemason's hall, towards the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. He then turns west, past the Royal Opera House and Covent Garden, and heads north towards the heart of Seven Dials - where he skirts the east edge of Seven Dials square itself, heading south again down Endell Street and past Covent Garden tube, where he does the now-familiar down-and-up the stairs thing.
At this point, despite your good health, this rapid walking is starting to make you feel dizzy. You have a disturbing feeling of something not being quite right. Glancing down a street, you gasp when you see a second man in red, following his earlier route - and then catch sight of yourself tailing him! You lose sight of the double(s) as he (and you) head past the other side of the Opera house and up the north end of Drury Lane onto High Holborn. It's getting dark, the gaslamps are being lit by the lamplighters, and there are now few Hansom cabs to be seen. The man slows slightly as he walks west along High Holborn, before heading south down the west side of Seven Dials square (Tower Street), then heads into the centre of Seven Dials.
It occurs to you, from your Knowledge of London streets and street culture, that the man was headed for the centre of Seven Dials all along, but has followed a path which spiralled around and around it, without ever crossing his own tracks. Also, if you put his movements on a map, they would resemble a hopscotch-like game/dance played by street kids, called the Troy Game.
He knocks three times on an inn-door - the sign shows a man with a bandage over his eyes, holding an unlit lantern - you know every pub in inner London, but you've never seen this one before - and enters. As you hesitate, the moon rises. Then the moon rises. Then the moon rises.The seven clocks of Seven Dials all show different times.
By the light of three moons, Seven Dials, one of the most crowded places in the West End, appears deserted of people. However, it is not deserted of the shadows of people; you can see them clearly, moving around on the ground.
One of the triple shadows strides up to you. "I say", it says in a plummy voice, "Would you like to sell your leg? Looks in good condition - I'll give you three guineas for it!" Terrified, you aim a kick where his/its crotch should be, and run blindly.
As you careen down the black cobbled streets, in the triple moonlight and the guttering streetlights, you see, or hope you didn't see, terrible and fantastical things:
A hansom cab drawn by a white toad the size of a horse.
A butcher calmly cleaves up his own body, hanging the parts on meat hooks, until only the forearm and hand holding the cleaver are left.
A string of wretched men and women dressed only in rags, chained together, being whipped along by a man dressed like a Roman soldier.
A hideous winged shadow blocks out one of the moons - everyone and everything you see (including the buildings and streetlamps), turns and bows to the East three times, before resuming what they were doing.
When the sun rises on Sunday morning, you find yourself standing, sobbing and exhausted, next to Cleopatra's Needle on the Thames embankment, in something that looks like the London you know. Gazing around, you hear a loud Splash, as if something or someone had just fallen in the river - however, there is nothing to be seen. You are cold, tired, scared, and very very hungry. Harwood. Harwood got you into this!