Above the roar of the Argosy’s engines and the clink of fine china — made light-weight for air travel according to our attentive steward — Dr Sally’s conversation makes for pleasant company. She is elegant but not flirtatious and smells of violets. Clever how they do that.

With the bump of wheels on the tarmac of the runway, we land at Le Bourget Airport. As I stand to get off, out of the porthole windows, I see banners still up proclaiming the landing of the aeroplane Spirit of St Louis, flown by Charles Lindbergh on the first trans-Atlantic flight a few weeks before us. More period dressing from Miskatonic.

From Le Bourget, we catch the train into central Paris, which takes twenty minutes. I sit next to Sally who stares out the window. I’ve never been to Paris, but it strikes me how different Paris 1927 looked from London 1927. I guess historically places are different, even though by 2027 they’re all the same. Paris even smells different.

The odour of Gaulois and Gitane cigarettes smoked openly by the passengers fills the carriage. I find it pleasant. The sunshine is warm on my face through the glass, and it is wholly possible to forget I’m in a virtual-reality game, taken deep under by a patented hallucinogenic with my senses electronically massaged to see what the game wants me to see through clever use of the neural net and game goggles.

We arrive at the Gare du Nord, and it is as bustling as London Victoria was, but smells and sounds different. The colours are different too and the architecture. A porter comes up looking to carry my luggage, but I have none. Dr Sally has a small case which she could easily carry and which I should offer to lift for her but she lets the porter take it for a tip of a few centimes.

He shows us to a taxi. As I get in next to Sally, unable to ignore her shapely legs — “realer than real”, as they say, I mutter, ‘So where are we going?’

She smiles , still looking out of the window, clearly loving virtual Paris in all its Spring glory. ‘We need a base. I thought the George V Hotel would do? Technically, they don’t build it until next year, but Miskatonic have played a little loose with history on that one. It’s so grand. When I see it on the Darkworlds Paris Wiki site, I really want to stay here.’

‘Because?’

‘Because it’s the grandest hotel in Paris, built for the visit of King George V of England and all theanglais and americains have to stay there.’

‘And then we explore?’

‘Yes, indeed. Then we look for the dark heart of the Paris infestation.’

I glance out into the crowds of taxis and cars and horses and delivery waggons. I say, ‘In this sunshine, it doesn’t look like it has a dark heart.’

‘Preston thinks it has.’

‘Maybe it’s a wild goose chase.’

She shrugs.

She tells the driver where to go in French and we set off through the busy streets. As we travel along the Rue La Fayette, I see an Alchemist Shop, the kind I’d visited in Glastonbury and London. I point through the window. ‘I could do with stopping and using their Laboratory to make potions.’

‘You don’t have any?’

‘I have some but could do with more health and mana just in case.’

She laughs. ‘So you’re an alchemist priest?’

‘Messed up class-wise, really. I took a mix of skills.’

She nods. ‘That’s the beauty of the game. You can mix many skills. It allows for some powerful builds. Ever make Soma by the way?’

I shudder. I recall the Soma I’d drunk in London and its withdrawal symptoms only too well. I shake my head. ‘Not that shit. Evil muck.’

She says, ‘Worth having some to stave off total insanity. You don’t want to go Warm.’

She refers to the state of becoming a Warm One when your sanity drops to zero. If bad guys get hold of you in that state, you become be a power source and research item for whatever Great Old One inserts its slithery tentacles into you first.

I say, ‘Maybe. But the withdrawal is too hard.’

‘It can be a lifesaver, despite the withdrawal. You should make some.’

She didn’t persuade me but I pretended she had. ‘I’ll think about it. So can we stop at this Alchemy shop?’

‘I’d rather get to the Hotel, set up camp and then look around there. There’s a good Occult Bookshop I want to visit.’

I study her with interest. Since we are talking skills and classes, I want to know hers. ‘So what’s your class?’

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

She smiles, showing her pretty white teeth. ‘I guess I’m a Shadow Mage.’

‘And you’re not crazy? I thought all that magic would send you nuts’

‘I drink a lot of Soma.’

The King George V Hotel is opulence itself. Although it shouldn’t even be open in 1927, I forgive Miskatonic for that historical error once I step out of the taxi and into the magnificent hotel.

The reception is full of top-hatted porters and suited meeters and greeters. They try me in French until they realise I speak no French. I have a hundred skill points unallocated. I needed to put some into learning French or getting round Paris will be more difficult than it needs to be.

The place is all cool marble floors, huge glittering chandeliers, gilt chairs and onyx tables. Lots of rich looking NPCs sit around conversing in French, but also English with a mix of accents. I hear British standard, Irish, North American and Australian, or maybe New Zealand. The hotel reception rooms are enormous.

Dr Sally and I stand at the huge mahogany reception desk. Behind it are rows of pigeonholes for room keys stuffed with messages for the guests occupying those rooms. The reception smells of beeswax, coconut hair products and ladies’ perfumes. It is warm.

Sally fans herself with a menu she picked up from the reception top.

The elegant hotel clerk with his waxed black moustache and heavy eyebrows is graciousness itself as he greets us. ‘Sir and madam, I welcome you to the Hotel George V, the newest and most comfortable of all the grandsmaisons in Paris.’

We grin.

He raises only one of his eyebrows. ‘Are sir and madam, Mr and Mrs? Or should I say Reverend and Madame?’

He knows Catholic priests can’t marry so his programming is extensive enough to realise I’m Anglican. I shake my head anyway.

Sally smiles. ‘We’d like a suite please. At least two bedrooms, with a lounge and a desk please.’ As if to explain, she adds, ‘We’ll need to do some studying.’ She glances at me as she says that.

‘Of course, madame.’ He is looking at her now. Everyone realises, including me, that she is the boss.

She nods, pauses, places her index finger against her bottom lip and says, ‘And can we leave things locked in the hotel safe for security?’

‘Of course. Do you have anything you’d like to give me now? I can secure it in a jiffy.’

‘Not now. But we might in the future.’

I say, ‘We might?’

‘We might.’

The suite the bellboy shows us up to is as grand in architecture and furnishings as the rest of the hotel. We have a lovely view from the east-facing window onto Avenue George V. The 1920s cars trundle along, and elegant pedestrians in their best clothes promenade on the boulevards below.

After messing around until she is satisfied with the room, Sally says, ‘Do you want to look for the Alchemy Shop?’

I nod. I’ve invested a huge proportion of my skill points into Alchemy as I’ve levelled up — probably too many as most of the rest of my skills are pretty poor — but it means I can make a range of potions.

She says, ‘I want to check out the Occult shop just off Boulevard Raspail near the Luxembourg Gardens. I’m sure you’ll find an Alchemy Shop on the way.’

We leave the hotel and saunter through Paris sunshine. Once again I marvel at the detail. The trees are in full leaf and birds tweet from them. Street sellers sell balloons and ice creams and pastries. Most of this is just dressing but there are players walking through the crowds who aren’t concealing their blue floaty names. If you don’t want other players to know you, you could switch your name off, otherwise it is there for all to see. Mine is off.

There are plenty of shops around that sell everything you might need including furniture stores and light stores for those players who’ve purchased an apartment and want to kit it out.

For the average player, there are the more practical gun stores and equipment stores. We pass a car showroom selling Citroëns and Renaults.

‘Players run some stores, you know,’ Sally says.

‘Really?’ I scratch my head. I think I knew that. The thought suddenly occurs to me to set up myown alchemy shop, sell potions and grow rich, but then that would just be falling into the trap of playing the game while the world ended. I’m on a mission here after all.

We walk down the Boulevard Raspail and onto a sidestreet where we find the Librairie ésotérique and step over the threshold to a darker cooler space than the street outside. All around stand tall bookshelves of ancient looking texts reaching up to the ceiling. The place smells of must, old leather and patchouli oil. If a bell has rung on our entry, I don’t hear it but something summons a thin nervous looking man in a white shirt and waistcoat from the bowels of the shop.

He speaks in French. Sally prattles away with him and he shows her a particular volume. I stand while they talk. They are both engrossed so I look at the books, running my finger along their spines. I can read the titles of the French ones, but little else. I have more luck deciphering the Latin (60 points in that) and German (25 points in that). The books include:

Librum N’gaa

Voyages à l’est

Le Manuscrit de la RévélationHermétique

Le Grimoire d’Al Khidr

Le mystère descathédrales

Le livre de la visionpestilentielle

De cultu magna Piscium

When my attention wanders back to Sally, I see her nodding, apparently about to buy the big tome, Sally turns with a grin. ‘With Preston’s generous donation into my bank account, I can buy what I want.’ She taps the cover. ‘This one has some rare shadow spells.’

I say, ‘I don’t know much about magic. I have a few spells, but very low level.’

She says, ‘You know you can learn new spells from grimoires, right?’

I shrug. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘How long have you been playing this game?’

‘Not long. Weeks.’

‘Ah, right. So you majored in Alchemy.’

‘Yes. Majorly.’

She laughs. ‘You must know you can learn new alchemical recipes from books?’

‘No.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Blimey. I will have to teach you a thing or two.’

I muse that that could be interesting and possibly pleasant, but don’t speak my thoughts out loud.

‘I’ll buy you a little present then,’ she says. She speaks to the shop owner again in French and I follow as he leads her to the Alchemy Section.

She converses, smiles , peruses the books he hands her, and finally gives me one. It is small, much smaller than hers and quite thin. The faded gilt tooled lettering on the old black leather cover reads:

Les Visions Alchemiques

Sally says, ‘So, you commit skill points to it, like you would with an NPC or player teacher. Then you learn the recipes.’

I frown. ‘But it’s in French.’

‘Ah,’ she says and converses with the shopkeeper again. He shrugs apologetically, looking very French. I don’t understand exactly, but she seems to say that it wasn’t a problem but then she turns and says, ‘I asked him whether he has Teach Yourself French, but he doesn’t. Strictly occult, you see.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Learn French somehow. Read your Alchemy book. Easy. Anyway, let’s find your potion shop.’