It levitated. Of course it did. The times of the newspapers, the news and the documentary crews was long gone, and now that Village, nestled in the valley of hills, the Levitating Village of Lower Upton, was left to its own devices. And there was something there, hidden, that seemed to change people - to make the cowardly brave, to make the sensible mad, to make the intelligent a bunch of doddery old men - Here was Douglas Uriah Layton, assistant to Frederick Trent of Trent, Marcus and Trent, Solicitors, five foot seven inches in his sensible shoed, grey socked, grey suited and underwhelming body. Plus his hair was thinning too. It had only been a couple of days ago that he had received instruction to visit the Village, to gain a signature on a contract from Sir William Marshall, owner and Manager of the Village’s Country Club, for some kind of Property Rights. What followed, however, turned out to be a galavanting escapade of gigantic proportions - of murder, of intrigue, of love, of lust, of bravery, honour and a Plague Doctor’s spirit haunting the land. But for Doug, it was only supposed to be a little distraction, in helping a young woman to find her missing Grandfather, who himself had an interesting truth, in principal of how the Village, in fact, had begun to levitate in the first instance. Yet nothing is ever as it appears, the more one looks at it. Something Doug was to find out, in spades.
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