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ISBN -978-14059-0-805-4

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RICHARD DUNGWORTH

JACQUELINE RAYNER

RICHARD DUNGWORTH

Police Constable Sanderson was feeling rather sorry

for himself.

He stood on the corner of Fulton Road and

watched the parade of excited football fans pass

noisily by. There was a steady stream of people

moving south along the straight, broad route of

Olympic Way. Others were making their way from

Wembley Park Underground station, or spilling

out of bright red double-decker buses on the

Fulton Road, to join the flow. It was as if everyone

in north-west London was being drawn to the

same spot by some irresistible force.

Everyone except me, thought PC Sanderson

glumly.

The disappointed policeman knew only too

well where the crowd was heading. Olympic Way

led directly to the main entrance of Wembley

Stadium. The home of football. And today for

the first time ever, the scene of the FIFA World

Cup Final.

There was little doubt who most fans had come

to support. The cross of St George and the Union

Jack were everywhere PC Sanderson looked — on

flags, banners, clothing and faces. The air was

full of patriotic chanting, excited chatter and

the tatta-tatta-tatta of the fans' wooden football

rattles. Men, women and children, of all ages and

backgrounds, had come to cheer on their nations

heroes of the hour.

The young constable had seen big Wembley

crowds before. He had once been on duty on FA

Cup Final day. But he had never seen anything

quite like this.

However, there had never been a match quite

like this. A World Cup Final, at Wembley, with

the home side contending for the trophy. It was

the stuff of every English fans dreams.

And PC Sanderson was going to miss the

whole thing.

Trust my rotten luck, thought Sanderson

miserably. Only I could get the Saturday shift, today

of all days...

He gave a weary sigh as he watched yet more

excited England fans flood past. Right now, the rest

of his family would be gathered in his neighbour s

front room, watching the pre-match build-up.

And here he was, stuck on the beat, and not due to

clock off until several hours after the final whistle.

Maybe a cuppa would lift his spirits. It was a

sunny July afternoon, and under his black bobby's

hat and uniform, Sanderson was feeling the heat.

It was surprising how thirst-quenching a nice cup

of tea could be, even on a summer's day.

He turned away from the flow of fans, and

began strolling back towards the junction with

Albion Way. He had stashed his thermos flask in

the police call box there. It was common practice

for Met officers on the beat to use the nearest

box as a base. Its direct phone line to the local

station gave an on-duty officer a useful link with

headquarters. The large, dark blue, wardrobe-like

boxes had been introduced to London's streets a

little over thirty years ago. There were now over six

hundred dotted around the city - including the

one on Albion Way.

'Do you reckon the lads can win it for us,

officer?'

Sanderson broke his stride at the sound of a

familiar cheerful voice. Syd Marlin, a newspaper

seller who was a Fulton Road regular, was hailing

him from his stand on the opposite side of the

street. At least someone else was working, then.

Sanderson crossed the road. Syd was always up

for a chat.

'They'll have their work cut out, Syd, that's

for sure,' the policeman said as he approached

the news-stand. 'The Germans have some quality

players. Beckenbauer, Seeler, Emmerich - they all

know how to put the ball in the net. But I'd like to

think we'll give 'em a game.'

'Never thought we'd make it this far, misself,'

said Syd. 'What with young Jimmy Greaves out

injured, an all. Thought Portugal would do for us

in the semi. But Ramsey's turning out to be quite

some manager, ain't 'e? Played a blinder so far. And

there ain't a better number nine in the world than

Charlton, by my reckoning.'

'We've got the talent, all right,' agreed

Sanderson. 'Let's hope Lady Luck is on our side. I

guess we just have to keep faith, eh, Syd?'

PC Sanderson stepped off the pavement briefly

to allow a party of young men and women to pass

by. They, too, were heading for Olympic Way. All

were dressed in the very latest fashion.

Syd watched the group of youngsters move off

along the street. He shook his head and tutted.

'Look at 'em, officer,' he muttered. 'Right

bunch of peacocks, these young 'uns, ain't they?

My missis don't approve of them new "miniskirts".

Says they're not decent.'

Sanderson raised his eyebrows beneath his

police helmet. 'Well, they're certainly all the rage

this summer, that's for sure,' he said.

Syd nodded.

'Aye. There was a real pretty redhead along

just a minute ago, wearing one,' he said. 'Stopped

off to buy a paper, she did - or rather, one of the

two blokes with her did.' He hesitated, frowning.

'Funniest thing, though. Not one of the three of

'em seemed to have the faintest idea 'ow to pay for

it.' He shook his head again. 'Not a clue.'

PC Sanderson gave the vendor a puzzled look.

'How d'you mean, Syd?'

'Just what I say. They didn't know 'ow to pay.

The one who wanted the paper took out a whole

'andful of coins, and just stared at them, like 'e 'ad

no idea which ones to give me. His mate wanted a

few of them penny bubblegum specials.'

He pointed at a cardboard tray of sweets at

one side of his stand. Their green, black and white

wrappers bore the words "Bazooka World Cup

Footballers".

'With three of them, and the paper,' Syd went

on, 'it came to sixpence. But when I asked the fella

with the money for a tanner, 'e jus' looked at me

like I was talking gibberish. Then he gave me a

whole half crown - five times what he owed! And

'e wouldn't have anything back from me - tho' I

tried to give 'im 'is change, I swear.'

'Foreigners, maybe?' suggested Sanderson.

'That's what I thought,' replied Syd. 'But both

blokes spoke to me in the Queen's English. And

the lass was Scottish, clear as day - which is 'ardly

proper foreign...'

A transistor radio - the small, portable type that

almost everyone seemed to own these days - stood

on a shelf at the back of Syd's news-stand. A recent

Beatles hit had been playing in the background.

Now a new track began, with a burst of raucous,

angry-sounding vocals. It was The Who, blaring

out their hit, "My Generation". Syd reached for

the radio's tuning dial, and cut the up-and-coming

band off.

'That's enough of that racket. I don't make

much of this stuff the kids are all listening to

now. "Mods", they call 'emselves, don't they?

Not enough tune for my liking. I know its "in",

of course. But I never was one for all that fashion

malarkey.'

PC Sanderson smiled. 'Nor me, Syd.'

'My eldest is right into it, though,' Syd went

on. He twiddled the radio's tuning dial, trying

to pick up another station. 'Got 'imself one of

them Italian motor scooters, an everythin'. Wing

mirrors all over the thing.

Suddenly the crackle of radio static was replaced

by the sound of a well-spoken male voice.

'..and the stands here at Wembley are rapidly

filling with England's expectant supporters. The

atmosphere is truly electric. One can only wonder

how Alf Ramsey's players are feeling at this moment,

as they prepare themselves in the south-side changing

rooms for this historic encounter...'

'Not long till kick-off now,' said Syd. 'I'd best

get a move on. My sister's old man managed to

pick up a second-hand televisual set, on the cheap.

I'm off to watch the match at her place. How about

you, officer? I guess you're knocking off, too?'

'Afraid not, Syd. I was just going to grab a

cuppa. I'm on duty all afternoon - mores the pity.'

The newspaper seller looked horrified.

'No! You're missing the match?' he hissed. 'A

game like this only comes round once in a lifetime

- if you're lucky. It ain't right to miss it!'

'I know, Syd. I can't pretend I'm happy about it.'

Syd frowned. He appeared to think hard about

something for a few moments.

'Here.' He lifted the still-chattering wireless,

and presented it to PC Sanderson. 'You take this,

my friend. You can tuck it away in that police

box of yours. Have yourself a little listen to how

Ramsey's lads are getting on.'

Sanderson shook his head. 'That's very good

of you, Syd, but I can't,' he said regretfully. 'Not

when I'm supposed to be on duty.'

'Who's to know?' pressed Syd, still holding out

the radio. 'You can give it me back when you get

the chance.'

The constable dithered.

'Go on with yer! It's the World Cup Final, for

Petes sake! I'll not tell a soul.'

Sanderson gave a sigh. Ah, why not? You're

right - it might not come round again for a while,

eh?' He took the wireless, and tucked it under his

arm. 'Thanks, Syd. You're a gent.'

Syd grinned.

'No problem, officer. Now, I best shut up shop,

or I'll miss the start misself.'

PC Sanderson gave another nod of thanks.

Then, leaving Syd to close up his news-stand, he

set off along the pavement once again. This time,

there was real purpose in his stride.

A hundred paces or so brought him to the

junction with Albion Way. He turned the corner

briskly - and came to an abrupt halt.

Now that was odd. Very odd.

It was only just over an hour since Sanderson

had last called at the Albion Way box - to park his

police motorcycle beside it, and drop off his flask.

But within that time, there had been a very

obvious change on Albion Way.

There were now two police boxes.

They stood right next to one another, and were

more or less identical.

PC Sanderson was baffled. The second box

must somehow have been put in position during

the last hour. But how? And, more to the point,

why? There were no plans to replace the existing

box, as far as he was aware. Certainly nothing had

been mentioned at the station. Besides, the newly

arrived box looked in worse condition, if anything,

than the original one.

The obvious thing to do was to phone in, and

find out what was going on. But Sanderson found

himself hesitating. He looked at Syd s radio tucked

under his arm. Now that he had a chance to enjoy

at least some of the England-West Germany game,

he was reluctant to draw attention to himself for

the next couple of hours.

There would be plenty of time to sort out

whatever the muddle was afterwards.

Having made up his mind, he opened the door

of the familiar police box, stepped inside, and

closed it behind him.

'Yessss! Brilliant!' said Rory. 'I got Gordon

Banks!'

Rory, Amy and the Doctor were being

swept along Olympic Way by the tide of people

heading for Wembley. As they walked, Rory was

investigating his packet of World Cup bubblegum.

He had unwrapped the gum, popped it in his

mouth, and was now admiring the sticker that had

come with it. It showed a dark-haired man in a

yellow goalkeeper's shirt. The badge over his heart

bore the three lions of England.

Back home in his own era, Rory was a keen

collector of Match Attax footballer gamecards. He

knew they were really meant for kids. But Amy had

once bought him a pack as a joke, and that was it

- he caught the collecting bug. He now owned

an impressive set of twenty-first century Premier

League stars. The chance to get his hands on an

original "Bazooka" player sticker from the sixty-six

World Cup had been too good to miss.

He examined the sticker happily, then looked

up at Amy.

'Who did you get?'

'The lovely Norbert "Nobby" Stiles,' replied

Amy, holding up her sticker to show him. 'Has a

one-in-a-million smile, doesn't he?'

The sticker showed a cheery-looking player, in

a white England shirt, who was missing most of

his front teeth.

Rory laughed. 'He might need a little dental

work, but he's a fantastic player,' he told Amy.

'Toughest tackier we have. Or had, I mean. How

about you, Doctor?'

'Hmm? What's that?' As he loped along, the

Doctor was browsing the newspaper he had just

bought. He looked up distractedly.

Rory waved his sticker. 'Which player did you

get?'

'Ah! Right!' said the Doctor. He rolled up

his newspaper and slipped it into the left-hand

pocket of his tweed jacket. Then he delved in his

other jacket pocket for his own penny gum. He

unwrapped it, examined the enclosed sticker, and

pulled a face.

'Some chap called "Geoff Hurst". Likely-

looking fellow. Anyone know if he's any good?'

Rory looked at the Doctor as though he had

just asked if the South Pole was at all chilly.

'Not bad, yeah,' he said enviously. 'Just the only

player ever to get a hat-trick in a World Cup Final,

that's all!'

'Really?' said the Doctor. 'A hat-trick, eh? In the

final? Excellent!' He regarded the sticker cheerfully

for a few seconds, then looked enquiringly at Rory

once more. 'And what exactly is a "hat-trick"

again?'

Rory was about to reply when he noticed the

twinkle in the Doctor's eye. He was having him

on.

The Doctor grinned. 'I might not have your

encyclopedic knowledge of football trivia, Rory,

but I do know a bit about the beautiful game,' he

said. 'Even played a match or two myself, would

you believe? I remember one in particular, when I

was standing in for my flatmate

'Nah-hah!' interrupted Amy, shaking her head.

'Hold it right there, boys! No footballing stories

allowed,' she said firmly 'None. Of any kind. Its

bad enough that I let Rory talk me into this trip.

I'm about to spend ninety minutes watching a

bunch of men, in frankly very unflattering shorts,

running about after a pigs bladder. I really don't

need to put up with any macho sports chat from

you two on top of that.'

'It'll be a hundred and twenty minutes, actually,'

muttered Rory timidly. 'It goes to extra time.'

Amy let out a weary groan.

'Though I think they'll have slightly more

advanced equipment than you give them credit

for, Pond,' added the Doctor. 'Pigs bladder balls

were more your nineteenth century. Anyway, I

thought you quite liked football?'

'I quite like footballers,' Amy corrected him.

'Young, handsome, super-fit, twenty-first century

ones. Not middle-aged ones with comb-over

hairstyles.' She looked at her picture-card again.

'I mean, Nobby here isn't exactly David Beckham,

is he?'

Rory gave her a despairing look.

'It's how you play that matters, Amy, not what

you look like.'

'Not if you want to win the coveted "Pond Man

of the Match" award, it isn't!' replied Amy.

Rory looked a little hurt. Amy looped her arm

through his.

'Don't fret, petal!' she said, grinning. 'I'm not

really the WAG type. Much happier with a nice

ordinary fella than some fat-head with a Ferrari

and too much hair gel.'

Rory's expression brightened.

'Although they do pay footballers rather

better...' Amy teased.

'Not around now, they don't,' replied Rory.

'Players weren't nearly as spoilt, back in the day

- even when they got picked for their country. I

saw an interview with one of our sixty-six squad

once. He said they had to bring their own towels to

the final!'

'And of course whatever pay they do get will be

in old money,' added the Doctor. 'Which is utterly

baffling.'

Rory smiled at the Doctor. 'I noticed you had a

tough time paying that newspaper guy.'

The Doctor looked worried.

'Do you think I gave him enough? I'd hate to

have swindled him. Seemed very nice. But he said

"sixpence", then asked for a "tanner". Hadn't a clue what I was supposed to hand over!'

Amy smirked.

'What are you saying, Doctor? That your big old

Time Lord brain can keep the TARDIS ticking over,

but can't cope with pounds, shillings and pence?'

The Doctor blew out his cheeks.

'Absolutely! Give me a time-space dimensional

algorithm any day of the week! All this "half-a-

sovereign-three-shillings-and-sixpence" business

is terribly confusing! So many different coins!

"Guineas" and "farthings" and "threepenny bits".

Last time I was here, someone asked me for "two

bob" for something. Bob? Does that sound like

money to you? It sounds like something you're

supposed to do, or someone you know.'

He shook his head despairingly.

'Still, it could be worse, I suppose. On Mafooz

Minor they use different sized pellets of swamp-

vole dung as currency. That's complicated and

smelly.'

At that moment, a group of young fans jogged

past them, clattering their wooden supporters'

rattles enthusiastically.

'Those things make a fair old racket, don't they?'

said Amy.

Rory's expression became rather glum again.

'I could have topped that, easily,' he said sulkily.

'If it wasn't for a certain person not far away.

He cast an accusing look at Amy.

'Oh, not this again?' Amy groaned. 'It was just

a plastic trumpet, Rory. Its gone. Get over it!'

'It wasn't just anything,' grumbled Rory. 'It was

a proper 2010 World Cup vuvuzela. One of the

lads brought it back from South Africa. I was going

to be the only person in the crowd with one.'

'Precisely!' Amy snapped back, 'Showing yet

again how you spectacularly fail to grasp even the

basics of time travel, you clot. Rule Number One

- try not to stand out.'

'She has a point, Rory,' agreed the Doctor. 'That

zulu-wailer wotsit of yours would have looked

very out of place. Or time, rather. As Pond says, it's

generally a good idea to avoid drawing attention

to ourselves.'

Rory gave a snort. 'Oh, right. Of course. Like

you normally do, you mean?'

The Doctor chose to ignore this.

'On top of which,' he continued, 'it was proving

very hard to concentrate on locking the TARDIS

onto this precise dateline with you making a sound

like a flatulent Zarusian Blubberhog.'

'She still didn't have to snap it in half,' said

Rory sulkily.

'Oh, I so did!' contradicted Amy. 'It was either

that or your neck. The noise was driving me insane!'

'I was practising,' protested Rory. 'They're really

hard to blow.'

'You were doing my head in,' Amy corrected

him. ' That's what you were doing.'

'Now, now, children,' smiled the Doctor, 'let's

not squabble! After all, Rory, this was your dream

destination, remember? And we're here, aren't we?

Bang on target. Right place, right time. You're

about to get your wish of watching England win

the World Cup. I'd have thought you'd be chuffed

to bits - toy trumpet or no trumpet.'

'It wasn't a toy trumpet!' protested Rory. 'It was

a proper vuvu-'

'And unless I'm much mistaken,' continued the

Doctor, 'those are the twin towers of the Empire

Stadium just up ahead!'

The domed tops of two white towers had just

come into view over the heads of the people in

front of them. Moments later, the trio got their

first proper look at the impressive frontage of the

famous stadium.

Rory's sulky mood evaporated in an instant.

His vuvuzela was forgotten. The Doctor was right.

This trip was a dream come true.

'Wow.' Rory came to a standstill. He stood and

gawped, happily drinking in the scene. 'Wembley.

Real, proper, old-style Wembley.'

His face broke into a massive grin.

'Wicked!'

The Empire Stadium at Wembley opened to the

public in 1923. It hosted a wide range of sporting

extravaganzas. Every seasons FA Cup Final took

place on the Wembley pitch; the World Speedway

Championships were decided here; and, in 1948,

the stadium was the main venue for the London

Olympic Games.

Rory, looking up at the famous Twin Towers,

knew that the impressive list of Wembley events

would run on into the stadiums future, too. In

thirty years time, the final of Euro '96 would be

decided at Wembley. And perhaps the most famous

rock concert in history, Live Aid, would take place

here in 1985, just before he was born.

Right now, though, it was staging the event that

would secure its place forever in football folklore.

The grand old stadium would be demolished in

2003, to make way for a bigger, bolder Wembley.

But thanks to July 30, 1966, it would never be

forgotten.

The forecourt was bustling with excited fans,

and full of the cries of opportunistic salesmen.

Rory noticed a stand selling England rosettes -

and also ones in the colours of the top teams of

the elite First Division. He was fascinated to see

Leeds United and Leicester City among the big

name clubs.

Another yelling vendor moved through the

crowd not far off.

'Getcha match programmes 'ere! Only two 'n six!'

The Doctor frowned.

'Two what and six what, though?' he mumbled

to himself. 'Or are we supposed to add the two and

six together? Eight pounds, perhaps?' He turned to

Rory and Amy. 'Is that a lot for a programme? Or

not enough?'

The Doctor dug in his trouser pocket, and

pulled out a handful of coins. He displayed them

on the flat of his palm.

'We should be able to pay for one out of that

little lot, don't you think?' The Doctor peered

at the assortment of bronze, copper, silver and

gold coins. 'Ooo - hang on!' He plucked a thin,

blue-tinged disc from the pile. 'That's a 200,000

Drooble Piece. Only worth anything if you're on

Tartac Beta. Barely get you a cup of tea there.'

He thrust the remaining coins towards Rory.

'"Two and six" the man said. If I were you, I'd

try two of one sort and six of another. The little

twelve-sided ones are rather nice.'

Rory took the money with a wry look.

'Thanks. That's a big help.'

He hurried away to accost the programme seller.

It wasn't long before he rejoined them, proudly

waving a light-blue match programme.

'Remind me to take this home with us,' Rory

told Amy. 'They sell for a fortune on Ebay.'

'I reckon our tickets would fetch a fair bit, too,'

agreed Amy.

'Ah. Tickets. Yes.' The Doctor frowned again.

'Now how much do you think they'll cost? A lot of

bobs?'

Rory looked aghast. 'We don't have tickets

already? But there'll be none left! Not for a game

like this?

'Good point,' said the Doctor calmly. 'Simpler

to do without, anyway.'

'But they'll not let us through the barriers!' said

Rory.

The Doctor looked over at the main spectator

entrance, through which the fans were steadily flowing.

'Then we'll not go in through the barriers.'

He quickly cast his gaze across the rest of the

stadium building.

'We'll go in... there? He pointed to a small grey

door in the stadium wall, some distance from the

main ticket barriers. A uniformed security guard

stood beside it.

'You sure?' said Rory. 'What about the guard?

He's hardly going to let us just stroll past. I reckon

that entrance is for staff only, or something. Doesn't

look like we're supposed to use it.'

'Which is exactly why we're going to,' said the

Doctor brightly. 'All the best doors are meant for

other people. As for getting past the guard, you

forget, Rory - we have something much better

than tickets.' He delved in the inside pocket of his

jacket, then held up a small, blank notepad.

'One access-all-areas stadium pass...'

The security guard took a good long look at the

Doctor, then his psychic paper, then the Doctor

again.

'You'll have to excuse me, Mr...' - the guard

glanced back at the paper - '.. .Lineker. I'm afraid

I've not heard of this "Fair Organisation Of

Football Agency" before. What exactly is it you

do, sir?'

'Not heard of FOOFA?' The Doctor looked

surprised. 'Why, my good man, we're one of the

most important regulatory bodies in international

sport! As the name suggests, it's our job to make sure

that all major soccer competitions are organised in

a fair, unbiased way.'

He gestured to Rory, beside him.

'Herr Willhelms here, is from the West German

Football Association. I have invited him to visit

the team changing rooms to approve the facilities

provided for the German squad. To assure him

that there is no evidence of favouritism. Cheap,

shiny toilet tissue in one team's changing rooms,

luxury four-ply in the other - that sort of thing.'

The guard raised his eyebrows.

'And the young lady?' he asked.

'I'm an interpreter,' Amy told the guard curdy.

'Herr Willhelms doesn't speak any English.'

The guard checked the Doctors credentials again.

'Very well, sir,' he said, with a nod. 'Your pass-

card clearly states that you are authorised to visit

all areas of the stadium.' He spoke to Amy. 'Please

tell the foreign gentleman that I trust he'll find

everything above board. We English are very proud

of our reputation for fair play.'

Amy turned to Rory. 'Eins zwei drei vier funf!'

she barked at him, in her best German accent.

'Sechs sieben acht neun zehn!'

Rory nodded first to her, then to the security

guard, as though acknowledging his good wishes.

The guard unlocked the grey door, held it open

for the FOOFA visitors to pass through, then

closed it behind them.

They found themselves in a narrow corridor. Its

walls were hung with black and white photographs

of famous Wembley winners.

The Doctor nudged Amy with one patched

elbow, grinning.

'Good job our guard friend didn't know any

German himself, eh, Pond?' he whispered. 'He

might have wondered why you were reciting the

numbers one to ten!'

'It's the only German I can remember!' Amy

hissed back. 'I only did one term of it at school.'

Rory was already engrossed in looking at the

old team photographs. But the Doctor bundled

him on his way along the corridor.

'Come on! Let's take a look around! We still

have a little while before the match is due to start

- plenty of time to find a good spot in the stands.

But I bet you'd like a peek at some of the bits that

are usually off limits, eh, Rory?'

He strode ahead to where the corridor met

another, and turned left. Rory and Amy hurried

along behind him. They hadn't gone far when the

passageway's right wall became glass. There was a

door labelled "Press Room 1". The Doctor stopped

and peered through the transparent partition. He

turned and smiled at Rory.

'There you go, young man - how about that

for starters!'

Rory and Amy, intrigued, peered through the

window. The Press Room appeared to have been

commandeered for other purposes. Its furniture

had been completely rearranged. Chairs were

stacked neatly against the walls. In the centre of

the cleared floor was a single square table.

The only people in the room were four

uniformed police officers. They were stationed at

the table's corners, looking outwards. At the centre

of the table stood a glass case. Something golden

sparkled within it.

'Wow!' hissed Rory. 'That's the cup! The actual

World Cup!'

'Are you sure?' said Amy. 'It doesn't look much

like the pictures I've seen. I thought it was a globe?

Like a little world, with a bunch of guys holding

it up?'

'You're thinking of the current trophy,' said

Rory. 'This one's the original one. The Jules Rimet

Cup. It was replaced with the one you're talking

about after Brazil won it for the third time and got

to keep it. In 1970.'

Amy looked at him and shook her head.

'Sometimes it frightens me how much of your

brain is occupied with footy facts, Williams. You'll

never get a girlfriend, you know.'

Rory grinned.

'It's named after the French FIFA president who

had the idea for the World Cup in the first place,'

he went on. He was enjoying the chance to show

off his knowledge. 'It's made out of solid gold, on

a lapis lazuli base. Its meant to be Nike, the Greek

goddess of victory. You can see her wings, look.'

Amy looked back at the trophy - and at the

four burly policeman standing guard over it.

'They're not taking any chances with it, are

they?' she said.

'You cant blame them,' said Rory. 'Its been

stolen once already. Just a few months back. They

put it on display at this fancy stamp exhibition, and

someone walked off with it. They never found the

thief, but the trophy turned up again a week later.

A dog called Pickles sniffed it out, in the bottom

of a hedge, when he was out for his morning walk.'

'Clever pooch!' said Amy.

'It gets stolen again later on, too. In 1983, from

a bullet-proof glass display cabinet in Brazil. That

time, they never get it back.'

One of the police guards was now looking

directly across towards them. His expression

suggested that he found three faces pressed up

against the window rather suspicious.

'Shall we move along?' urged the Doctor.

They hastily drew away from the Press Room

window, and set off along the corridor once more.

They passed several other side-rooms, but the

Doctor strolled purposefully ahead.

'I for one want to see the players' area,' he told

them. 'That's right over at the east end.'

As they passed another side-door, Rory

came to a halt. There was a sign on it saying

"GENTLEMEN". A smaller one underneath read

"Officials only".

'Er... guys...' said Rory a little awkwardly. 'If

the match is going to last two hours, I could do

with popping in here beforehand.'

'Go on then,' said Amy. 'We'll wait.'

'I might be a couple of minutes,' said Rory. 'It's

a Gary Neville.'

Amy gave him a blank look.

'Number two,' Rory explained, with a smirk,

before ducking through the changing room door.

'Ew!' Amy grimaced. 'Like I needed to know that!'

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. 'Do you think

there's anything he cant put a soccer spin on?'

A few seconds later, they were both surprised to

see Rory reappear.

'That was quick!' said Amy.

Rory didn't reply for a moment. His cheery

expression had vanished. He looked like he had

just had a nasty shock.

'There's something in the toilet,' he told

them gravely.

Amy pulled another face.

'Again, way more information than we need,

Rory!'

'No, not like that!' said Rory. 'In one of the

cubicles.'

He looked from Amy to the Doctor, stony-faced.

'It's a body.'

Inside, the changing room was much like any

other. There was a slatted wooden bench running

along one wall, with hooks mounted above it; a

large sink with a mirror over it; a row of ceramic

urinals; and two toilet cubicles. But there was one

unusual detail. In the gap beneath the closed door

of the left-hand cubicle, the soles of a pair of shoes

were just visible.

'It s a bloke,' said Rory in a half-whisper.'You

can tell from his footwear.'

'Genius, Sherlock.' Amy said. Although the

fact that he's in the gents is a bit of a clue, too, don't you think?'

The Doctor immediately strode to the closed

cubicle and knocked on its door.

'Hello! Can you hear me? This is the Doctor!'

There was no answer.

'I already tried that,' Rory told the Doctor. 'I

even reached under and waggled one of his feet a

bit. Nothing.'

'Do you think he's dead?' asked Amy.

'Hard to say without a closer look,' replied the

Doctor. 'Could just be deeply unconscious. We

need to get this door open.'

Amy fully expected him to produce his sonic

screwdriver. But the Doctor just stared at the

cubicle door.

'A bog lock shouldn't give your sonic much

trouble, should it?' suggested Amy after a few

moments.

The Doctor shook his head.

'The lock isn't the problem, Pond. The door

opens inwards. Whoever's in there is squashed up

against the other side. If they are alive, they won't

thank us for squeezing them half to death trying to

get the door open.'

'So we need to force it outwards, somehow?'

said Rory.

'Exactly. Which means using something as a

lever... Ah-ha!'

The Doctor suddenly pulled his rolled-up

newspaper from his jacket pocket. He took out

his sonic screwdriver with the other hand. After

a little twiddling of the controls, he touched its

glowing tip to the end of the newspaper.

'If I can realign the carbon molecules into a

lattice...' he muttered, '...it should increase the

rigidity to a high enough degree...' He deactivated

the sonic screwdriver and, without warning, gave

the toilet door a firm whack with one end of the

rolled-up newspaper. It made a loud metallic clang.

'Excellent! Total petrification. Good as an iron

bar,' said the Doctor. He quickly set to work on

the cubicle door, using the now-rigid newspaper

like a crowbar. It didn't take him long to prise the

door off its hinges. He and Rory lifted it clear.

The man inside the cubicle was lying on his left

side, with his head against the toilet pedestal. He

was curled up, his knees drawn up into his chest,

his face covered by his raised forearms. He was

dressed like many of the male supporters they had

seen so far, in a smart suit, white shirt and tie.

Amy helped the Doctor carefully drag the

stranger out onto the changing room floor, where

there was room to examine him. As Rory checked

for signs of breathing, or a pulse, the Doctor

scanned his sonic across the mans body. His

expression remained grave.

'He is dead, right?' said Amy.

Rory nodded grimly. 'Fraid so.'

'Has been for about an hour,' confirmed the

Doctor.

'He's not very old, is he?' said Amy sadly. The

man looked to be in his mid-twenties. 'What

happened, do you think?'

The Doctor was now carrying out a more

thorough scan of the man's chest.

'Sudden death in humans is quite often due to

a myocardial infarction...'

Amy frowned. 'My-old-cardy'll what?'

'A heart attack,' explained Rory.

'Ooo! Get you!' cooed Amy impressed.

'What?' said Rory. 'I am a nurse, Amy!'

'...but there's no indication of heart failure in

this chaps case,' continued the Doctor. 'In fact,

he's a picture of health, inside and out. Other than

being dead.'

'You think he died from something other than

natural causes?' said Amy.

'Possibly. But there's no evidence of violence,'

replied the Doctor. 'No swelling from a blow,

bleeding from a wound. No trace of toxins, either.'

'Perhaps he had some sort of medical condition,'

suggested Rory. He pulled back the mans right

jacket sleeve to look at his wrist. 'Did they have

medi-alert bracelets in the sixties?'

'Dunno,' said Amy. 'You could check his

pockets, too.'

Rory quickly frisked the dead man. He slipped

a wallet from an inside jacket pocket, and tossed

it to Amy.

'See what you can find out from that.'

Amy began eagerly rifling through the wallet's

contents. There was a twinkle in her eye.

'This is just like one of those Amercian TV

cop dramas, isn't it?' she said, with a clear note of

excitement. 'An unknown corpse. You two, the

guys who do all that forensic-y pathology stuff.

Me, the glamorous, super-brainy female detective

trying to piece together the victim's identity...'

Her face lit up. 'I'm in Crime Scene Investigation!

CSI Wembley!'

Both Rory and the Doctor glanced up from

examining the body. Their disapproving looks

wiped the smile off Amy's face. She adopted an

expression of exaggerated seriousness.

'Sorry. Obviously I'm not enjoying this. Not

when someone has died. That would be wrong.

Clearly.'

'Found anything yet to suggest which someone,

Detective Inspector Pond?' the Doctor asked.

Amy turned her attention back to the wallet's

contents.

'Not really,' she said. 'There's not much here.

Nothing with an ID, anyway. No credit cards. But

I guess people didn't carry plastic in 1966, did

they? There's just a couple of big old one pound

notes. Cute.'

She tried another compartment in the back of

the wallet.

'Hang on. There's this, too.'

She pulled out a small slip of paper, and took a

closer look at it.

'It's some sort of receipt, I think. Dated

yesterday. From William Hill. That's one of those

betting shops, isn't it?'

'Let's have a look,' said Rory. Amy passed him

the slip of paper.

'Yeah, it's a betting chit,' said Rory. 'He must

have put some money on a horse. Someone's

written on the back of it. "Hot to Trot. 200 to 1.

Ten pounds, to win.'"

Amy frowned. 'Hot to Trot,' she repeated. 'I've

heard that somewhere before. I'm sure I have.

She clicked her fingers.

'Got it! It was when we stopped at that

newspaper stand on the way here. There was a

sports bulletin playing on that guys radio. The

lead story was about this no-hoper horse that had

won a big race. Hot to Trot. That was definitely

what it was called.'

Rory passed the betting chit back to her.

'Well, if you're right, this chap just won a small

fortune. At those odds, he'd have picked up two

grand in winnings. And round about now, two

thousand pounds is a lot of money. We're talking

enough to buy a house.'

Amy looked at the dead man pityingly.

'What a rubbish time to snuff it. Like winning

the lottery, then keeling over before you can

spend it.'

'Do you think maybe he works here?' asked

Rory.

'What makes you say that?'

'Well otherwise, how come he's allowed in here?

"Officials only" it said on the door.'

Rory suddenly pulled something from the

man's trouser pocket. It was a piece of printed card,

about ten centimetres square, in a leather sleeve.

Rory looked it over.

'I think I just found my answer. Listen to this.'

He read out the text from the card. "'VIP World

Cup Final Stadium Pass. Issued to the winner

of the Daily Express World Cup Spot-the-Ball

Challenge".'

'Blimey,' said Amy. 'So this guy had just won a

fortune on the horses and a nationwide newspaper

competition. He was having a seriously lucky day,

wasn't he?'

'Up until the moment of his sudden, lonely

death, you mean?' said Rory.

'Point taken.'

The Doctor finished examining the body. He

stood up, frowning.

'I can't find any obvious cause of death. Maybe

there's a clue in where we found him.' He moved

into the doorless cubicle, and began looking

around inside it. 'Why would he have locked

himself in here, do you think?'

Rory gave the Doctor an amused look.

'Er, you mean apart from the obvious reason?'

'Yes, Rory, I do,' The Doctor lifted one side of

the toilet cistern cover. He buzzed his sonic over the

water inside for a second or two. He replaced the

cistern cover, then lifted the lid of the toilet itself

and peered into the bowl. 'There's no evidence of

him having used the loo.'

Amy smirked at Rory. 'Not like when you've

been, then.'

Rory ignored her. 'How can you tell?' he asked

the Doctor. 'He'd have flushed it, wouldn't he?'

'The water in the cistern is at room temperature,'

explained the Doctor. 'Which means it's been in

there long enough to equalise with its surroundings.

This toilet hasn't been flushed for several hours.'

'I'm losing that cool TV cop show vibe now,'

muttered Amy. 'They tend not to major on loo

flushing.'

'Maybe he was just about to go,' said Rory.

'Boys!' Amy looked despairing. 'Enough already

with the detailed toilet analysis! Can't we dust for

DNA or something?'

'Or maybe,' the Doctor pressed on, ignoring

her, maybe he wasn't in there to use the toilet at

all. Look how he's lying. Back curved, knees up,

hands covering his face. The foetal position. The

posture of an unborn child. Humans instinctively

revert to it when they feel defenceless. And look at

his eyes. They're screwed tight shut.'

Amy looked at the Doctor.

'You're saying he came in here, locked himself

in, and curled up in a ball - because he was

frightened?'

'Exactly, Pond.'

'Frightened of what?' said Rory.

'No idea,' said the Doctor. 'But I intend to find

out.' He knelt beside the man's body again. 'I must

have missed something. I'll take another set of bio-

readings. You two check if he has anything else on

him.'

Rory obediently began a repeat search of the

man's trouser pockets. Amy rooted around in his

jacket to see if Rory had overlooked anything

there.

After a few seconds of silence, the Doctor

suddenly let out a triumphant cry.

'Ah-hah! Now that makes things a lot more

interesting!' He was running the tip of his sonic

slowly across the mans forehead.

'What is it, Doctor?' asked Amy.

'I cant find any evidence of endorphins

anywhere in his system. Not even the faintest of

traces. There shou-'

But before the Doctor could explain further,

something happened that brought their

investigation to an abrupt halt.

The changing room door swung open and a tall,

middle-aged man strode through. He was smartly

dressed, and carrying a large green kitbag. He had

silver hair, but very dark, thick eyebrows, and an

impressive, almost black moustache.

The man stopped dead in his tracks, his shock

obvious in his face. Amy, Rory and the Doctor

could hardly have looked more suspicious. A group

of strangers, in a restricted area, going through the

pockets of a corpse.

The mans wide-eyed gaze flitted to the forced

cubicle door propped against the wall behind

them, then back to the trio.

Amy smiled sweetly. This was going to take a lot

of explaining.

The man with the moustache let his kitbag drop to

the floor. He stepped forward towards the three

friends, scowling fiercely. He growled something

accusingly at them, in a language that neither Rory

nor Amy could understand.

The Doctor was on his feet in a flash. He hurried

to greet the newcomer.

'Hello there!' he said, beaming amiably. 'The

name's Lineker! We're here from FOOFA. Having

a spot of bother, as you can see!'

The man growled something else

incomprehensible. It sounded equally hostile.

'Yes, I can imagine this must look very bad

from where you're standing!' said the Doctor, still

smiling. 'What dark thoughts must be running

through that mind of yours, eh?'

As he said this, he gave the scowling stranger

a harmless tap on the forehead with his rolled

newspaper, still clutched in his left hand.

At least, it was meant to be harmless. What

the Doctor had forgotten, for an absent-minded

moment, was that the paper was now as hard

as iron.

The blow sent the moustached man staggering

backwards. His heels hit his discarded kitbag, and

he toppled helplessly over it. As he fell, the back

of his head hit one corner of the tiled wall. He

slumped to the floor, and lay still.

'Oh, great!' cried Amy. She and Rory jumped

up and came to join the mortified Doctor. He was

already bent over his unintended victim, hastily

checking his vital signs.

'Nice going, Doctor!' said Amy. 'Nothing

keeps a murder mystery alive like another dead

body. Forget CSI - this is getting more like an

Agatha Christie plot. Or Cluedo. "It was the

Doctor, in the changing room, with the iron

newspaper."'

'I haven't killed him, Amy!' said the Doctor

defensively. 'He's just unconscious.' He continued

to administer first aid, the sonic screwdriver

buzzing once more.

Rory, meanwhile, was staring at the

newcomers face.

'That's weird,' he muttered. 'I've seen this bloke

before. I'm certain I have. I recognise that tash...'

He bent down to unzip the stranger's kitbag,

and began rummaging inside. The first thing

he pulled out was a small orange flag on a short

wooden stem. He replaced this, and lifted out an

item of clothing. It was a black, long-sleeved sports

shirt with white cuffs and collars. Rory examined

the name label stitched inside the shirt's collar.

The colour was rapidly draining from

Rory's face.

'Oh, no,' he mumbled. 'No, no, no...'

'What's the matter?' Amy looked at the black

shirt Rory was staring at with such obvious dismay.

'That's a referee's kit, isn't it?'

'Not a referee's,' replied Rory miserably 'This

bloke is a match official, all right. But not the ref.

He's a linesman. Tofik Bakhramov. The Russian

linesman...'

'Azerbaijani,' said the Doctor, without looking

up.

'Bless you,' said Amy.

'No. This man. He's from Azerbaijan, not

Russia,' explained the Doctor. 'In Eastern Europe.

It's obvious from his accent.'

'Yeah. Right. Obvious,' said Amy. 'If you're

some sort of anorak-y accent spotter.'

'The term is "linguist", Pond.'

'OK, OK,' said Rory impatiently. 'So maybe

he's from Azerbaijan, not Russia. Whatever. All I

know is he's famous as the Russian Linesman.'

'Famous?' Amy looked at Rory. 'Famous how?'

'I can't believe you don't know! I thought

everyone English knew about th-'

Rory noticed the fiery glint behind Amy's

narrowing eyes just in time. Amy was Scottish, not

English. And it didn't pay to forget it.

'He's famous for helping England beat Germany

in the sixty-six final,' Rory stated simply.

'What - you mean he cheated? The match was

fixed?'

'No, nothing as dodgy as that. He made a really

tough call in England's favour. The whole match

was finely balanced - two goals a piece after ninety

minutes. Then Hurst scored another in extra time

to put England 3-2 up. Only it wasn't a definite

goal. Hurst's shot hit the crossbar and rebounded

down onto the goal line. It only counted because

the Russian linesman - Bakhramov, here - told

the referee that the ball had crossed the line.'

'Shame they didn't have goal line technology,'

observed Amy.

Rory stared at her. He was clearly stunned to

hear her offer such an informed opinion.

'What?' said Amy. 'I read about it somewhere.

About some dodgy decision in the last World Cup.

When Frank Lampard scored, but the ref said the

ball hadn't crossed the line. And about how it

wouldn't have happened if they'd had "goal line

technology". Whatever that is.'

Rory stuffed the linesman's shirt back into

the kitbag.

'It still makes me sick just thinking about

that Lampard no-goal,' he said bitterly. 'That was

against Germany, too. It would have made it 2-2.

Instead, we lost 4-1.' He shook his head sadly. 'A

lot of England fans think that decision sealed

the match.'

Rory pointed at the unconscious stranger. The

Doctor was still bent over him, busy with his sonic

screwdriver.

'This bloke made a crucial decision just like

that, back in sixty-six. Only then, it was in the

final, and it went England's way. He plays a vital

part in England's victory. And the Doctor has just

knocked his lights out!'

At that moment, the Doctor stood up, looking

greatly relieved.

'There, all done!' He noticed Rory's glum

expression. 'Don't worry, Rory! He'll make a full

recovery. I've triggered the blood vessels around

the point of impact to dilate, so there's no danger

of compression. And I've made sure he'll stay

under for a little while. Won't wake for at least a

couple of hours, I shouldn't think. That'll give the

accelerated tissue repair I've set in motion more

than enough time to take effect. When he comes

round, he'll be right as rain.'

If anything, Rory looked even more miserable.

'You're totally missing the point, Doctor!

Didn't you hear what I've been saying? England

need Bakhramov at the match! He's going to miss

it now, isn't he? When he doesn't turn up, he'll be

replaced by someone else - someone who might

not allow England's third goal. Which means the

result could go a different way. We might not win.'

He glared at the Doctor accusingly.

'There's a good chance you've just single-

handedly lost us the World Cup!'

Rory looked very disappointed that his dramatic

announcement hadn't caused more of a stir. He

clearly felt he had just dropped a bombshell. The

Doctor and Amy were supposed to be horror-

struck. As it was, neither of them looked very

bothered.

'Don't get your knickers in a twist, Rory,' said

Amy. 'England'll probably still be okay. Even

without this Bak-wotsit bloke. They're supposed

to win 4-2, aren't they? So they can spare one goal

anyway, can't they?'

'No!' protested Rory. 'That's not how football

works! A big decision can tip a match one way

or the other. If their third goal isn't allowed, the

lads might lose heart. They'd be going into the last

period of extra time all square. The result could go

either way!'

'A replacement linesman might still award the

goal, Rory,' pointed out the Doctor.

'He might, yeah!' Rory turned to Amy. And

England could probably still win. But that's not

good enough, is it? Were talking about the only

time we've ever won the World Cup! And we may

have messed that up!'

The Doctor still showed no sign of sharing

Rory's panic. But his expression did become more

grave. He strode over to stand beside the body they

had discovered in the toilet cubicle.

'For the moment, Rory, I'm more worried

about what happened to this lucky chap.'

'You mean "unlucky",' Amy corrected him.

The Doctor shook his head.

'No, Pond. Its his recent good luck that interests

me. I have an idea that it holds the key to his death.

And if I'm right, there may be more important

things at stake than the World Cup.'

Amy frowned. 'What do you m—'

'More important than England winning the

World Cup? spluttered Rory. He was looking at

the Doctor as if he had completely lost the plot.

'Like what?'

But if the Doctor had been about to explain his

theory he must have thought better of it.

'Never mind. You're probably right, Rory. We

ought to do something about this Bakhramov

chap. If he's missing from the match, it is possible it could turn out differently. And the sixty-six World

Cup Final isn't a piece of history I particularly want

the responsibility for rewriting. Even accidentally.'

He stared at Bakhramov's body in silence for a

few seconds, lost in thought. Then he clicked his

fingers, and became his usual animated self.

'Okay, Rory. Panic not. I have a plan. I have

right here... ' He delved into the left-hand pocket of

his tweed jacket, rooted about for a few moments,

then pulled a face. 'Or perhaps here...' He tried

the other pocket, and with a look of relief pulled

out something small, metallic and disc-shaped,

with a slim strap attached. 'Voila! The solution to

our dilemma!'

'A watch?' said Rory. 'I've already got a watch.

How is a watch going to help?'

'Not a watch. A shimmer,' announced the

Doctor. A piece of highly advanced morphing

technology manufactured by the master craftsmen

of the Vinvocci. You know the Vinvocci? Green-

skinned humanoids. Rather a lot of alarmingly

spiky bits. Otherwise delightful.'

'It's a stroke of luck I still have this on me,'

continued the Doctor. 'It's been in my pocket since

our visit to the Neutrino Casino. Back on Vegas IV,

remember?'

'You bet I do!' said Amy. 'I wont forget that

poker game in a hurry. Who'd have guessed aliens

play such a mean game of cards? Only time I've

played against someone with three poker faces. I

was cleaning up, too, till that big hairy goon ate

my betting chips.'

'I did warn you, Pond. Never play cards with a

Moslovian. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Vegas.

Do you recall the karaoke competition they were

running in the casino bar?'

'Sure,' said Amy. All those awful Elvis Presley

impersonators, competing to be "Cosmic King".

It's hard to forget. It was like The X Factor with

aliens. Extra-terrestrial Factor.' She snorted.

'Although there was one of them who was pretty

good. Came third, I think.'

The Doctor looked at her, raised his eyebrows,

and gave an impish grin.

'No?!' Amy's brown eyes widened with surprise.

'You?. Honest?'

'Uh-huh-huh!' replied the Doctor, Elvis-style.

'I wondered where you'd slunk off to!' said

Amy, grinning. 'But that third-place guy didn't

look anything like you! He was a dead ringer for

Presley!'

'I was indeed,' agreed the Doctor. 'And all thanks

to this little beauty.' He held up the shimmer. 'As

I said, it's a morphing device. Changes what you

look like - from the neck up, at least. It masks the

wearer's actual physical appearance and projects a

remarkably convincing fake one in its place.'

He took hold of Rory s left arm and began

hastily fastening the shimmer around it, just above

his normal wristwatch.

'A word of advice though, Rory.' The Doctor

snapped closed the shimmer's magna-strap. 'Leave

it switched off until you need it. The masking field

can make you feel quite ill once it's running. That's

why I had to drop out of the last karaoke round on

Vegas. Too queasy to make it through "All Shook

Up".' He grinned. Tronic, really.'

Rory lifted his wrist, looked at the alien device

now strapped to it, then back at the Doctor. He

shook his head.

'No. Sorry. I'm not getting it. How will me

looking like Elvis help? How does that change the

fact you just took out the Russian linesman?'

'Azerbaijani,' said Amy. Rory scowled at her.

'You're not going to look like Elvis,' explained

the Doctor impatiently. He quickly took out his

sonic screwdriver, and crouched down beside

the unconscious Bakhramov. He began slowly

scanning the sonic's glowing tip back and forth

across the linesman's face. 'A Vinvoccian shimmer

can be programmed to mimic almost any physical

appearance.'

He completed his forehead-to-chin scan of

Bakhramov's features, and stood up. Turning back

to Rory, he took hold of his left wrist again, and

gingerly touched the tip of his sonic screwdriver

to the flat face of the shimmer. He held it there

for a few moments. There was a soft bleep from

the shimmer, and a pulse of red light swirled once

around its outer rim.

'There!' said the Doctor. 'You're all set! I've

overwritten the facial modelling data. Give it a try.

Just twist the dial casing to activate it.'

Rory was still looking completely lost. But he

did as he was told. He twisted the shimmers dial.

Amy's eyes widened with astonishment.

'Wow. Now that is properly spooky,' she

said, impressed. She looked from Rory to the

unconscious linesman, then back again. 'They're

like twins! Even the tash is spot on...'

The Doctor smiled. He clapped Rory on the

shoulder.

'So - problem solved!' he said cheerfully. 'One

instant replacement Mr Bakhramov. As long as

you're wearing the shimmer, and have it turned

on, nobody will know you're not the real thing.'

Rory was slowly catching on. He pointed to the

unconscious linesman.

'You want me to impersonate him?'

'It's not what want, Rory. It's what you want,'

replied the Doctor. 'To save the match, remember.

England expects, and all that. And don't look so

worried. You'll do splendidly!'

He grabbed Bakhramov's kitbag from the floor

and thrust it at Rory.

'All you have to do is get changed into this little

lot, and get yourself out on the pitch in time for

kick-off.'

'But...'

'Then you can personally see to it that that goal

line decision goes England's way, yes?'

'But I'm not...'

'Because you'll be the one making it. Simple.

Can't fail. Well, not unless it does.'

Rory gave up. He silently took the kitbag from

the Doctor, turned, and skulked across to the

changing bench, shaking his head the whole time.

'As for you and I, Pond.

The Doctor held out his sonic screwdriver

at arm's length. He began moving it in arcs and

sweeps, like an instrument of magic. He squinted

at its luminous green tip intently for a few seconds.

'...I think we should get ourselves over to the

South Stand,' he muttered, fully focussed on the

sonic's flickers and pulses.

'You're still planning to watch the match, then?'

asked Amy.

The Doctor appeared not to hear.

'Actually, make that under the South Stand,' he

muttered. He finally lowered the sonic screwdriver,

and turned to face Amy. 'We may have a little

business to conduct there.'

'What kind of "business"?'

'But we probably ought to tidy up a bit first,'

rambled the Doctor, failing once again to answer

Amy. 'I should be able to patch up that door...'

He looked at the pair of bodies lying on the floor.

'Let's get these two somewhere out of sight to start

with. You grab our linesman friend -'

'Doctor!' Amy was getting annoyed. 'What kind

of business?'

The Doctor gave her a cheery look. 'Oh, you

know, Pond. Usual sort of thing.'

He reached down to grab the dead man's feet.

As he began dragging the corpse towards the door,

he looked over his shoulder at Amy.

'Just a deadly alien life-form to hunt down.'

Amy watched the Doctor reverse out through

the door. She gave a resigned sigh, bent down to

grasp Bakhramov's ankles, and set off after him,

dragging the unconscious linesman behind her.

'Course. Deadly alien hunt. Silly me for

asking.'

Rory was feeling extremely peculiar. The fact that

he had now been wearing the shimmer for some

time was undoubtedly one reason his insides felt

like he was on a rough ferry crossing. The Doctor

had warned him about this unfortunate side-effect

of using the Vinvoccian device.

But it wasn't only the shimmer that was making

Rory feel uncomfortable. The churning in his

stomach was as much to do with the situation in

which he now found himself.

He was standing in the mouth of the Wembley

players' tunnel, about to lead out the teams for

the most momentous football match in English

history in front of a crowd of 93,000 screaming

fans. Not to mention the largest ever TV audience

of over 32 million people. This wasn't the sort of

thing that happened to most ordinary lads from

Leadworth.

Rory glanced nervously at the other two match

officials standing beside him. So far, neither of

them seemed to have noticed anything suspicious.

Apart from its unfortunate side-effects, the

shimmer was working a treat. Now that he was

wearing Bakhramov's full black-and-white kit,

Rory was the spitting image of the Azerbaijani

linesman. Even Bakhramov's friends and family

would not have seen through the disguise - unless

by noticing that he had inexplicably lost a few

centimetres in height.

Rory's biggest worry had been what to do

if someone spoke to him. He might look like

Bakhramov, but he had no clever alien gadget to

make him sound like him.

So far, however, he'd been lucky. He had

only needed to return the occasional nod of

acknowledgement, smile, or gesture. In fact, it was

becoming clear that none of the officials expected

to talk much. Rory vaguely recalled something

from a TV programme on the 1966 final about the

language barrier between them. He was fairly sure

the referee was from Switzerland. And the other

linesman was Czech, wasn't he? If the three of them

had no common language, he'd hopefully be able

to bluff his way through whatever communication

was required. The odd shout, hand signal, or bit of

flag-waving might just see him through.

Rory looked over his shoulder, back down

the sloping concrete shaft of the player's tunnel

- and felt his stomach do another cartwheel. The

tunnel was crammed with footballing legends. At

the head of the line of players on the right-hand

side of the tunnel, wearing red shirts, white shorts

and red socks, stood the blonde-haired English

captain, Bobby Moore. On the opposite side, West

German captain and centre-forward Uwe Seeler

was in position to lead out his ten team mates.

The Germans were wearing their white-and-black

first kit.

Rory's eyes darted from player to player. There

was Geoff Hurst, right there; Bobby Charlton,

the legendary English midfielder; Jackie, his elder

brother; Alan Ball, the youngest in the squad, who

would win "Man of the Match" in this epic final.

And there, in the German line-up, a young Franz

Beckenbauer, another of the greatest players of

all time, who Rory knew would go on to captain

the World Cup-winning team in 1974, and coach

the German squad that triumphed in the 1990

tournament. These were footballers Rory had

admired all his life. He had watched the black-

and-white TV footage and glorious Technicolor

Pathe films of their historic sixty-six clash many

times. And now here they were, metres away, in

the flesh.

A nudge from the referee drew Rorys attention.

The ref was tapping his stopwatch. It was evidently

time for the teams to make their way out onto the

pitch. Without further ado, the Swiss official led

the way.

Rory took a deep breath, tried to get his insides

to stop churning like a washing machine on spin,

and set off after him.

A little over ten minutes later, Rory found himself

one of a small group of five men - the three match

officials and both team captains - gathered within

the centre circle of the Wembley pitch.

The short spell since the teams had emerged

from the players' tunnel had not been without a

few sticky moments. During the playing of the

teams' national anthems, Rory had been so caught

up in the moment, he had very nearly joined in

with the crowd's rousing rendition of "God Save

the Queen". Thankfully, he had come to his senses

just in time. A match official from Eastern Europe

belting out the English anthem would have looked

rather suspicious.

The Royal Box was directly above the stadium's

main entrance tunnel. The world champions

would climb the famous thirty-nine steps that ran

up to it to receive their winner's medals from Her

Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. Rory had a good view

of the dark-haired queen, in her striking yellow

coat and hat. He was struck by how young she

looked.

After the anthems, the English and German

teams had shaken hands, then jogged out across

the pitch's "hallowed turf" to warm up. As the

players began kicking about the match-balls they

had carried out with them, Rory noted how basic

these were. The plain, orangey-brown leather ball

looked a lot less flashy than the high-spec ones

used in top-level twenty-first century football.

There were many other ways in which the

scene around him differed greatly from the world

of football with which Rory was familiar. For one

thing, many of the spectators were standing. Rory

was used to modern all-seater stadiums. Fans from

both nations were mixed in together, too. West

German flags waved here and there among a sea

of Union Jacks. There was no dugout for coaches

and substitutes. In fact, there was no substitutes'

bench, full stop. Player substitutions weren't

allowed in early tournaments, Rory recalled. Only

four men sat on the England team bench, at the

side of the pitch - the manager and his coaching

team, all wearing pale blue tracksuits.

Before Rory had time to take in more than a

few period details, he found himself being led by

the Swiss referee to the centre of the pitch.

Now, as he stood at the very heart of it all, with

kick-off only moments away, Rory continued to

marvel at the noise and spectacle. The volume

of the crowd had somehow risen even further.

The atmosphere was like nothing he had ever

experienced.

He watched Moore and Seeler, the team

captains, exchange national tokens and shake

hands sportingly. Then they stepped back to allow

the referee room for the coin toss. Rory, looking

on, found it rather bizarre to be the only person in

the ground who already knew that Moore would

win the toss, and choose to let the Germans take

the kick.

As Moore withdrew from the centre-circle, the

referee turned to Rory and his fellow linesman and

gestured to his watch once more. He was signalling

for them to check their timekeeping devices, Rory

realised, so as to be sure they were synchronised.

Rory instinctively went to pull up his left sleeve

in order to check his watch - then changed his

mind. Exposing his shimmer would be a very

bad idea. The advanced alien technology of the

Vinvocci did not belong in the sixties. Besides,

having two watches would seem weird enough.

Instead, he slipped his hand under the cuff of his

sleeve and glanced down, pretending to check.

A moment later, the referee gestured for both

linesmen to take up their positions. The Czech

official jogged off towards the touchline in front of

the South Stand. Rory gratefully hurried away to

take up his own assigned position. It would be his

job - or, rather, it should have been Bakhramov's -

to keep an eye on play within the half of the pitch

furthest from the players' tunnel. England would

start the match defending his end.

As he crossed the pitch, Rory felt his pulse

quickening. His experience as a football official

was limited, to say the least - one stint as referee

at an informal match after a friends wedding,

between the bride and groom's male relatives. That

was it. And that game had ended in a brawl. And

here he was, at Wembley, trying to pass himself off

as a linesman of international standing.

Anxious last-minute thoughts flooded Rory's

brain. Even some of the laws of the game were

different back in 1966, weren't they? Wasn't the

goalkeeper only allowed three strides carrying the

ball, or something? And what about passing back

to the keeper? The rules about that had changed,

too, hadn't they?

Mind racing, Rory reached the touchline.

Feeling sicker than ever, he turned to face the

field of battle. The players had already taken up

their positions. Somewhere beneath his panic

and nausea, Rory's mind registered the familiar

formations: Germany were playing four up front,

with wingers; England had a four-four-two shape,

with Nobby Stiles in a slightly deeper, more

defensive position than his three fellow midfielders.

The two German centre-forwards were at the

spot now. Seeler had the ball at his feet. Rory saw

the referee put his whistle to his lips, and heard

its shrill blast. He gripped the wooden shaft of his

linesman's flag more tightly.

They were off.

Amy peered ahead into the gloom, and frowned.

She turned to the Doctor, beside her, who was

fiddling with his sonic screwdriver.

'So what exactly am I looking out for, Doctor?

An itsy-bitsy cute-looking alien, or something a

bit more, you know

She pulled a monster-style face, clawed at the

air with her hands, and stomped her feet.

'Embarrassing?' ventured the Doctor.

Amy scowled.

'I was doing "scary".'

She and the Doctor had now spent ten minutes

or more searching the area under the South Stand.

They had gained entry through a locked (not for

long) maintenance doorway. The Doctor had led

the way into the murky forest of dark grey columns

that lay beyond - the sturdy metal struts of the

grandstands steel skeleton. He had kept his eyes

fixed on the flickering tip of his sonic screwdriver.

Amy had followed, ducking under crossbeams

now and again, and trying not to stumble on the

roughly cast concrete underfoot. With only the

sonic screwdriver's glow to light the way, it was

fairly slow going. But by now, thought Amy, they

must be right under the centre of the grandstand.

And so far, there had been no sign of any

alien creature.

'Sorry, Pond,' said the Doctor. 'Haven't a clue

what it might look like, I'm afraid. All we know is

that it's some kind of luck-sucker.'

'Excuse me?'

'A luck-sucker. A neural parasite.'

'And again, excuse me?'

The Doctor left off re-calibrating his sonic

screwdriver for a moment to give Amy his full

attention.

'We know that poor chap back in the gents had

been on a remarkable run of good fortune, prior

to his death. Yes?'

Amy nodded.

'After the run of luck he'd been having,'

continued the Doctor, 'he must have been feeling

on top of the world this morning. His blood

would have contained unusually high levels of

endorphins.'

'Which are?' said Amy. 'In normal-person-

speak, please.'

'Bio-chemicals which make you feel euphoric,'

explained the Doctor. 'They generate the feel-good

rush.'

'Yup, remembering now!' said Amy. 'Eating

chocolate makes you release them, right?'

'Indeed. Among other things. The point is,

they're linked with the sort of emotional high

our friend must have been on. But my bio-scans

picked up no trace of any recent endorphin surge.

Quite the opposite. From my sonic readings, you

would have thought that the poor fellow hadn't

felt happy in days.'

'So the guy was a bit of a misery.' Amy gave a

shrug. 'Why has that got us hunting aliens?'

'He wasn't a "bit of a misery",' Amy. 'He must

have felt delighted - ecstatic, even - when he won

that horse racing bet. But something drained every

trace of that positive energy from his body.'

'Our mystery alien?'

'Exactly,' said the Doctor. 'I've come across

several species that feed on the positive neural

energy of others. Neural parasites. They target

those experiencing high levels of good fortune

and extremes of happiness, and drain the resulting

positive energy from them. Some folk call them

"Happiness Vampires". Or "Luck-suckers".'

Amy shivered.

'Sounds creepy. Kinda like the Dementors™ in

Harry Potter™?

'I suppose. Except real,' replied the Doctor.

'Some species only drain off small quantities

of neural energy, then move on. The host is left

relatively unharmed - just a little low-spirited. But

others drain everything they can -'

'And you end up dead in a toilet, right?'

'Not necessarily in a toilet. But dead, yes.'

'So that's what we're looking for?' said Amy 'An

alien luck-sucker?'

The Doctor nodded.

'And you're sure it's under here somewhere?'

'Almost certain,' the Doctor held up his sonic

screwdriver. Its tip was pulsing regularly. 'I'm

picking up clear signs of non-human life-form

activity. My sonic screwdriver detected them even

back in the changing room.'

'Couldn't they be coming from rats, or

something?' suggested Amy. 'Or really big spiders?'

She paused. 'On second thoughts, I might prefer

a nice alien.'

'No, it's something non-terrestrial. Or I'm a

Raxacoricofallapatorian.'

The Doctor slowly scanned the sonic screwdriver

to his right. His face lit up as its tip flared brightly.

'There, you see!' the Doctor excitedly thrust

the screwdriver towards Amy. 'Look at that, Pond!

If it was ail just concrete and steel under here, I

wouldn't be getting a bio-thermal reading like

that, now, would I?'

Amy hadn't the faintest idea which bit of the

sonic screwdriver she was supposed to be looking

at. Absolutely not,' she said solemnly. 'That would

be silly.'

'Come on!' The Doctor turned to his right and

strode away purposefully. 'This way!'

Amy did her best to keep up, picking her way

through the metal maze of girders as fast as she could.

She spotted one crossbeam a moment too late.

'Ow!' Amy stopped to nurse her head. She had

hit it quite hard. 'Arrrggh!' she growled, rubbing

her forehead. 'Whatever our wretched alien is, I

wish it had picked a nicer place to hang out!'

The Doctor didn't reply. He had come to an

abrupt halt just ahead of her. He had suddenly

become very still, and was peering ahead silently

into the gloom.

'Doctor?'

The Doctor turned, eyes sparkling. 'You've put

your finger right on it again, Pond!' he whispered

excitedly.

Amy looked defensive. 'What?' she hissed back,

not sure why they were whispering. 'I didn't touch

anything!'

'No, I mean - look!' The Doctor bundled her

forward, and pointed into the gloom. 'A place to

hang out is exactly what they were after...'

Up ahead, about twenty metres or so from where

she and the Doctor were standing, Amy could

make out some pale shapes amid the darkness. As

she concentrated her gaze, the Doctor increased

the intensity of his sonic screwdriver's glow a little,

to cast a bit more light.

Dangling from one of the higher crossbeams

of the grandstand's metal framework was a row

of twenty or so large, pale grey, sack-like objects.

Each of the flabby capsules was nearly three metres

long, and had a slight ribbing to its shape, like the

body of a maggot. The sacks hung from the girder

by thick bands of sticky-looking webbing. They

glistened, as though wet.

Midway along the row, Amy saw two sacks

that looked different to the rest. They were ripped

from top to bottom, as though they had burst. She

could see that they were empty inside, except for

the almost luminous silvery ooze that coated their

inner walls.

Amy flinched as she saw one of the sacks next

to the burst ones twitch. Something inside it had

moved.

'Look! There are more over there!' hissed the

Doctor. Amy followed his gaze. Away to the left,

a second row of grey sacks dangled from another

grandstand beam. She could just make out more

rows in the murk behind them, too. There must

be hundreds.

Amy had no idea what was inside the peculiar

grey sacks. Or rather, in the case of the two burst

ones, what had been inside. But she knew one

thing for sure.

They gave her the creeps.

Big time.

'What are they, Doctor?' hissed Amy.

'Vispic leeches.' The Doctor smacked the heel

of one palm against his tall forehead. 'Of course!

Vispics fit our suspect profile perfectly!' He stared

at the row upon row of dangling sacks. 'But I've

never seen a brood so large!'

At that moment, a pinpoint of orange light

suddenly appeared in the darkness ahead of them.

'And it looks like they're still arriving...'

murmured the Doctor.

The dot of light flared and widened, quickly

becoming a perfect circle, nearly a metre across.

Amy had the distinct impression that the light was

shining through - as if the circle were a hole in the

air, admitting the orange glow from somewhere

behind it.

She watched in horror as something pale and

wet began to wriggle out of the hole in the air. A

bulbous, maggoty body slowly squirmed its way

through. It was off-white, with blotches of grey.

Its flattened head - if that was what the first end

to appear was - was dotted with dark, fibrous

patches. It reminded Amy of the exposed surface

of a verruca.

As it dragged its tail-end free, the wriggling thing

flopped onto the concrete floor with an unpleasant

squelch. The luminous hole immediately shrunk

back to a pinpoint, then vanished.

Amy watched, transfixed, as the newly appeared

creature slowly squirmed itself across the floor

to one of the vertical steel columns. It began to

wriggle its way up towards a horizontal beam from

which several of the pale grey sacks already dangled.

'Is that what's inside each of those pouchy-

things?' Amy asked the Doctor.

'The cocoons? Yes.'

'Yuck.' Amy watched the creature squirm

slowly up the column. 'It doesn't look particularly

"deadly", though,' she observed. 'Gross, yeah. But

not dangerous.'

The Doctor gave her a dark look. 'Tell that to

our friend back in the changing room.'

'But how did one of those things even get near

him?' asked Amy. 'They look way too... sluggy to

corner anyone.'

'They didn't need to corner him,' said the

Doctor. 'Vispics can drain neural energy from a

host without any physical contact. As long as they

can get within a reasonable range, they can feed

at will.

'From under here, they'd have been able to

latch onto that poor chap we found without

any difficulty. Once they'd begun feeding, he

would have felt a growing sense of inexplicable

unhappiness, fear and ultimately utter terror. It

would have driven him to lock himself away, in a

desperate attempt to hide - though he would have

had no idea what from.'

'Sounds horrible,' said Amy.

'Indeed. And as the Vispics drained away the

last of his neural energy, he would simply have lost

the will to live.' The Doctor shook his head sadly.

'Dreadful.'

He was silent for a moment or two.

'And don't be fooled into thinking that Vispics

are always sluggish, Pond. You're looking at their

young. Their larval form. They're a species that

metamorphose as they mature. Change form

entirely. In time, given the right conditions, an

adult leech will emerge from each of those cocoons.'

The Doctor peered across at the nearest row of

dangling sacks.

'In fact, judging by those burst ones, I'd say

some already have.'

Amy was still watching the larva in horrified

fascination. It had now squirmed its way out along

the horizontal girder. It was busy securing its tail-end

to it with a blob of sticky goo it had just secreted.

'So - they're sort of like caterpillars turning

into butterflies?'

'A little bit, yes,' said the Doctor. 'If you can

imagine a caterpillar that feeds on neural energy

rather than cabbage. And instead of a butterfly,

a large, ultra-intelligent, ruthless predator. With

pincers. And no pretty wings.'

'The grown-ups are that bad, huh?'

'If you're after classic chase-you-and-eat-you

scary, Pond, an adult Vispic is about as good as

it gets.'

Amy gave him a hard look.

'You say that like you're impressed. Got a real

thing for monsters, haven't you? Its like being

out and about with one of those loony wildlife

presenters who only seek out the deadliest animals.

The ones that like prodding snakes or winding up

crocodiles...'

'The biology of the Vispics certainly fascinates

me,' admitted the Doctor. 'Their adult form is really

quite something.' His voice suddenly dropped to

the quietest of whispers. 'But don't take my word

for it. See for yourself!'

Three large, unearthly creatures had just become

visible in the gloom up ahead. They each had a long,

flattened body-shape, which broadened suddenly

at both head and tail-end. Their hammer-headed,

hammer-tailed bodies moved on six multi-jointed

legs. Their fourth and foremost pair of limbs were

hideously outsized, and ended in cruel, crescent-

shaped claws.

The creatures' mid-sections still retained

something of the bulbous maggoty shape of their

larval form. But instead of blotched white, their

bodies were now darker, and were covered all over

in a strange shifting, multi-coloured sheen, like a

film of oil on water.

One of the creatures was significantly larger

than the other two. Older perhaps, thought Amy,

as she stared at the alien creatures. They were

moving about under the dangling cocoons, as

though patrolling.

'Keep very still!' the Doctor mouthed at her.

'They don't know we're here. Yet.'

'Great, I really am in a wildlife documentary,'

Amy hissed back. 'How can you tell?'

'Because as soon as they do sense us, they'll

attack. And there's a very obvious sign when that's

about to happen.'

'Which is?'

To Amy's astonishment, the largest of the three

adult Vispics suddenly disappeared. Completely.

' That!' cried the Doctor. 'Run!'

Amy and the Doctor covered the distance to the

maintenance doorway a lot faster than on their

outward trek. The adrenalin rush brought on by

having a large alien predator chasing her worked

wonders for Amy's girder-dodging skills. As she

sprinted after the Doctor, she ducked, side-stepped

and hurdled obstacles like an athlete.

Not far behind her, she could hear the clatter

of many inhuman feet on concrete. There was the

occasional ring of claw on metal - presumably

the sound of the pursuing Vispic scrabbling over

or squeezing through the steel supports of the

grandstand s frame.

Amy glanced over her shoulder only once.

Despite the noises, there was nothing to see. She

turned back, and kept running, heart pounding.

Then, thank goodness, there was the door. The

Doctor narrowly beat her to it. He flung it open,

bundled Amy through, then dived after her.

The light in the corridor was dazzling after the

darkness under the stand. Screwing up her eyes

against the glare, Amy helped the Doctor pull the

maintenance door closed. He urgently applied his

sonic screwdriver to the door's lock, to secure it.

An instant later, something heavy slammed into

the other side of the door. Amy heard the sound of

something sharp scrabbling and screeching against

its inner surface for a few seconds. Then silence

fell.

The Doctor, breathing heavily, leant his back

against the door and slid down into a sitting

position. He brushed his unruly hair, which was

even wilder than ever after their mad dash, out of

his eyes.

'Phew!' he gave Amy a broad grin. 'Invigorating

stuff, eh, Pond? That's got my hearts pumping!'

Amy flopped down next to him. She was too

busy trying to get her breath back to reply for a

few moments.

'Do you think it's gone?' she said at last. She

put her ear to the door. 'I can't hear anything.'

'I imagine it's returned to the cocoons,' said the

Doctor. 'Its priority will be to protect them.'

'How did it just vanish like that?'

The Doctor gave her a smug look.

'I told you their biology was mightily impressive,

Pond. Adult Vispics have remarkably sophisticated

camouflage. They can adjust the pigmentation of

every area of their skin. Change the colour of any

part of their body at will.'

'Like a chameleon?'

'Like-ish,' said the Doctor. 'But a Vispics ability

to match its appearance to its background is much

more advanced. Its sensory organs can pinpoint

the exact position of any other living thing in

its proximity. The Vispic analyses the precise

background against which that particular observer

is viewing it, then matches its skin pattern exactly

to it - making itself more or less impossible to see.'

Amy looked thoughtful.

'But if their camouflage works like that, they

could only hide themselves from one person at a

time, couldn't they?' she asked. 'I mean, if two or

three people were hanging around near a Vispic,

they'd each see it against a different background,

right? Depending on where they were. It couldn't

blend in with all those backgrounds.'

'Clever girl, Pond. Absolutely right. If there are

multiple observers near it, the Vispic has to try to

take their different perspectives into account. It

calculates the ideal camouflage pattern for each,

then alternates between them, very, very quickly.

Its camouflage becomes less effective. You'd be able

to perceive its body - as a flickering area in your

vision. The more people the Vispic tries to conceal

itself from, the more skin patterns it has to cycle

through, and the more obvious the flicker.'

'So, if you've got plenty of company, you've a

chance of keeping track of where it's got to? But

if it only has to hide itself from you, it can pretty

much disappear?'

'Precisely.'

'So they're big, hungry and invisible.' Amy

raised her eyebrows. 'Lovely. Remind me to add

them to my Top Ten Favourite Aliens list.'

'Their only flaw as a predator is their modest

speed,' the Doctor told her. 'They're not particularly

quick on their feet. But if your prey can't see you,

you don't have to be especially fast to make a kill.'

'But what are they doing at Wembley?' asked Amy.

'Vispics are parasites. They have only one

motivation - to find hosts.'

'I meant, how did they get here?'

'In larval form, they have the ability to spatially

displace themselves.'

Amy gave the Doctor a look.

'You're talking Time Lord again.'

'They can burrow through space,' the Doctor

simplified. 'You saw one do it - under the stand.

That larva was cutting a dimensional wormhole, to

allow itself into Earth space. Spatial displacement.'

Amy remembered the glowing orange circle

in mid-air.

'Its how they live,' the Doctor continued. 'First,

locate a food source - a host population from which

they can drain neural energy. Then pupate. Wrap

up snug in a cocoon, within feeding range of that

population. From there, they soak up the energy

they need to metamorphose. When they've fed

enough to transform, they emerge, as carnivorous

adults. The adults prey on what remains of the

host population. They lay eggs, which hatch into

larvae, and the cycle starts again.'

'Charming. Not great pets, then.'

'It's no surprise that the Vispics have discovered

Earth at this particular point in her history,' said the

Doctor. 'The Space Race is going flat out, driving

technology forward. Rockets, probes, satellites -

they're all taking off around now. Literally. Earth

has just arrived on the galactic scene. And she's

obviously attracted some unwelcome attention.

'But why Wembley?' said Amy. 'It seems a pretty

random place to choose.'

'The Vispic larvae are luck-suckers, remember.

They feed on euphoria and joy. Right now, this

stadium is packed with tens of thousands of

football fans, all eagerly anticipating that their

nation is about to win the World Cup.'

The Doctor swept back his drooping fringe

with long fingers.

'To a Vispic, the supporters' excitement

probably smells like bacon frying. They've sensed

an oncoming feast. If England win, the leech larvae

will be in feeding range of thousands of deliriously

happy fans. They'll gorge themselves. There'll be

enough positive energy for every Vispic we saw

cocooned under there to metamorphose into an

adult.'

Amy didn't need the Doctor to tell her what

would follow - what the horrific consequences of

hundreds of hungry adult Vispics being let loose

on the streets of London would be. It didn't bear

thinking about.

'So, what do we do, Doctor? How do we stop

that happening?'

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

'Not sure yet.' His expression changed to a

frown. 'What puzzles me is how so many larvae have

come to displace themselves to the same location.

It suggests that they're being called, somehow. And

if that is the case...'

His voice trailed off as his nine-hundred-and-

something-year-old mind wrestled with this latest

catastrophic problem.

Amy too, tried desperately to think of something.

'I see what you meant now,' she said, after a few

moments. 'Back in the gents.'

'Hmm?'

'When you told Rory that there might be more

important things than the World Cup at stake.'

The Doctor suddenly leapt to his feet and gave

an excited whoop.

'That's it! Of course! The cup!' He looked down at the startled Amy, his eyes alight. 'Pond - we have

to get our hands on that trophy! Come on!'

And without further explanation, he sprinted

away along the corridor.

Amy hauled herself to her feet, scowling.

'Not you as well?' she grumbled. 'It's bad enough

having a soccer-obsessed husband. What is it with

boys? It's only a stupid game...'

With a long-suffering sigh, she set off to catch

up with the Doctor.

To Rory's great astonishment and relief, he had

made it through the first half without being

rumbled.

He had fully expected to make a howler of a

touchline decision at some point, which would

expose him as an impostor. He had also worried

that forty-five minutes of the shimmers sickening

side-effects might prove too much for him. But

thankfully, neither of these fears had come true.

In fact, he had been rather fortunate so far in

the way the match had unfolded. There had been

little need for either linesman to get involved. West

Germany's early goal, in the twelfth minute, had

been at Rorys end of the pitch. Helmut Haller had

fired in his shot after England's usually rock-solid

left-back Ray Wilson had failed to clear a German

cross. But as there was no suggestion of offside,

the referee had awarded the goal without having to

consult Rory. Hurst had equalised for England six

minutes later, at the other end of the pitch - which

was the other linesman's area of responsibility.

Apart from a handful of relatively straightforward

throw-in decisions, when Rory had only needed to

flag for whose throw it was, he had thankfully had

little to do.

The half-time scoreline of 1-1 meant that so

far, at least, the match was still on track - despite

Bakhramov's absence. But Rory knew he wasn't out

of the woods yet. Not by a long way. He still had

to survive another full hour of play - and nausea

- before he could make the all-important goal line

decision. Only that would guarantee England's

victory, and prevent history from unravelling.

But right now, he had a more immediate

challenge. He had to get through the half-time

interval without blowing his cover.

When the referees whistle blast signalled the

end of the first forty-five minutes, Rory didn't

hang around. He made sure he was the first of the

three match officials to leave the pitch, and swiftly

headed for their private changing rooms. Once

there, he immediately locked himself in a toilet

cubicle and deactivated his shimmer.

The relief was immediate and immense. For

the first time in nearly an hour, Rory didn't feel as

though he was about to throw up.

He sat on the toilet, with its lid down, enjoying

a few minutes of normal-feeling insides, and

hoping to stay well out of everyone's way until he

could return to the touchline for the second half.

Ten minutes or so passed. Rory didn't hear

anybody else enter the changing room. Perhaps

the referee and Czech linesman wouldn't need to

use it during the interval. That would suit him

just fine.

Hiding in the cubicle was giving Rory the slight

creeps. After all, it was in the cubicle next door

that he had found the dead man only an hour ago.

Rory had purposefully not shut himself in there.

He wondered if the Doctor and Amy had made

any progress figuring out what had happened to

the poor man. He wondered, too, where they had

decided to hide the real Bakhramov till he awoke;

and whether they had managed to catch any of the

first half of the match.

His thoughts were interrupted by the clatter

of studs on the concrete floor. The noise rose to

a crescendo, then began to fade. The players had

passed the changing room, heading back to the

tunnel for the second half.

When he was confident that the last player had

gone by, Rory emerged from the toilet cubicle

and slipped out into the corridor, planning to

follow the players back out onto the pitch at a

discreet distance.

'What are you doing down here, young man?'

Rory spun round guiltily. He found himself

face to face with a middle-aged gentleman in a

pale blue tracksuit with red-white-and-blue cuffs.

Rory recognised the man's stern face instantly.

He had seen many photographs of it in football

memorabilia and magazines. It belonged to Alf

Ramsey the England team manager.

Heart pounding, Rory groped hopelessly for

a reply.

'You're not one of the match officials,' growled

Ramsey, before Rory could think of what to

say. 'What business have you got in their

changing rooms?'

An alarm sounded somewhere in Rory's brain.

Why didn't Ramsey recognise him as Bakhramov,

the linesman?

His heart sank. He had forgotten to turn the

shimmer back on.

'Ah! I... er...' stammered Rory, now completely

flustered. 'I'm one of the reserve officials!'

'Reserve officials?' This role was clearly new to

the England boss.

'Uh-huh, yeah,' Rory blundered on. 'Er... you

know... in case any of the original three need

substituting?' he suggested hopefully.

Ramsey continued to glare at him suspiciously.

'New FOOFA rules,' Rory explained. 'To

ensure fair play...'

Ramseys frown deepened. 'Foofa?'

'That's right!' Rory was floundering. 'Anyway...

enough about me!' He tried desperately to change

the subject. 'How do you feel the game is going so

far, Mr Ramsey?' He smiled innocently. 'England

Manager. Sir.'

Ramsey raised his eyebrows.

'Could be worse,' he growled. 'Although we

made a bad defensive error to allow their goal.'

'Just a blip though, wasn't it?' said Rory

encouragingly. 'I wouldn't worry. I'm sure your

back four will play an absolute blinder for the rest

of the match.'

'You think so, hmm?'

'I do, sir. I know so. Trust me.'

A crazy idea suddenly popped into Rory's head.

After the many hours he had spent playing FIFA

11 and Football Manager, he liked to think he

knew a thing or two about getting the best out

of a team. And here was the only opportunity he

was ever likely to have to influence a real soccer

manager. And not just any manager. The most

famous English coach in history.

'I wonder, Mr Ramsey, sir... might I make

a suggestion?'

'Go on.'

'It's just... well, watching the first half, sir, it

crossed my mind that we might give their centre-

backs a bit more trouble if you told Ball to use that

near-post cross of his more. He's on fire today.'

Ramsey fixed Rory with a severe look for a

few unnerving moments. Rory was beginning to

realise that the England manager didn't really do

other kinds of look.

'Interesting suggestion, young man,' said

Ramsey at last. 'You might even have a point. Now

- if you'll excuse me, I have a World Cup team

to coach...'

Rory hastily stepped aside, with an awkward

half bow. He watched Ramsey move away towards

the players' tunnel, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

That had been a very close shave. And what was

he thinking, giving the England manager tactical

tips?

He ducked back inside the changing room, and

quickly twisted the dial casing on the shimmer to

reactivate it. The now-familiar sickening ache once

more gripped his stomach. He glanced across at the

mirror above the sink - and saw Tofik Bakhramov

staring palely back at him.

Daring to delay no further, Rory dived back

out into the corridor and hurried after Ramsey

and his players, ready - or as ready as he would

ever be - for the second half.

'Nearly there, Pond!' puffed the Doctor. ' J u s t up

ahead, on the left!'

The Doctor and Amy were still running - back

along the stadium corridor. It was the one they

had followed earlier, which led past the room in

which they had spied the Jules Rimet Trophy.

'There's someone coming out!' replied Amy. 'Look!'

They both came to a standstill. Twenty metres

along the corridor, a group of four police officers

had just emerged from the Press Room door. They

were the men they had seen earlier, guarding the

trophy. One of them had it with him now, carrying

it carefully in its glass case.

The police party began making its way in the

opposite direction to where Amy and the Doctor stood.

'Excuse me! Hello there!'

All four policemen looked round in surprise at

the Doctors shout. As he quickly strode forward

to join them, he slipped his hand into his inside

jacket pocket. He muttered a quiet aside to Amy.

'About time you and I had a career change,

don't you think, Pond? Been with FOOFA long

enough.' He pulled out his psychic paper. 'How

do you fancy being a plain-clothes police officer?'

Amy snorted. 'There's nothing "plain" about

your clothes, mister braces and bow tie,' she

whispered back.

'Hello, hello!' said the Doctor cheerily, as he

and Amy approached. He grinned. 'Or should that

be 'ello, 'ello, 'ello?' He hooked his thumbs in his

braces, and bent both knees to bob up and down.

The four police officers glared at him. Not one

showed even a trace of a smile.

'Just kidding. You know. Classic bobby-on-the-

beat thing...' persevered the Doctor, still smiling.

'No?'

The nearest policeman stepped forward. The

shoulders of his uniform bore the triple chevrons

of a sergeant. He was clearly in charge.

'How can we help you, sir?' The sergeant's tone

was rather severe.

'The name's Lineker. Agent Lineker,' replied

the Doctor. 'From Metropolitan Special Branch.'

He held out his psychic paper for inspection. The

sergeant peered at it warily.

'This is my colleague, Agent Beckham.' The

Doctor gestured to Amy. She gave the officers a

solemn nod.

The sergeant's suspicious gaze was still

fixed on the psychic paper. Finally he looked

back at the Doctor.

' You're with Special Branch?' he said, raising his

eyebrows.

'Indeed, sergeant. Plain clothes.'

Amy cleared her throat.

'And what can we do for you, Agent Lineker?'

asked the sergeant.

The Doctor extended one of his long fingers.

'I'd be terribly grateful if I could borrow that

trophy you've got there.'

The sergeant frowned.

'Can't let you do that, sir, I'm afraid. I'm under

strict orders to see that it gets to the Royal Box

safely. Her Majesty is to present it at the end of the

match. I was told not to let it out of my sight. I'm

sure you understand, sir - after the recent theft,

and all.'

The Doctor tucked away his psychic paper,

then clapped a hand on the sergeant's shoulder.

'Absolutely, sergeant. And you won't have to. Let

it out of your sight, I mean. I just need to take a quick

look at it. But it is rather important that I examine

the cup before it comes into the Queen's proximity.'

'And why would that be, sir?'

'Because, sergeant, we have reason to believe it's

a bomb.'

All four policemen looked understandably

alarmed.

'A bomb?

'That's right. As you say, the trophy went

missing recently. Special Branch has been looking

into exactly who took it. We've just uncovered

evidence that it was stolen - and then returned

- by a known anti-royal terrorist. One Rory "The

Wrecker" Williams. Very nasty piece of work.

Show them, Beckham.'

Amy was a little caught out. She hastily dug

out her mobile phone, and used its touch-sensitive

screen to open up her photo library. She filtered

the library for images of Rory. It didn't take her

long to find a pretty grim head-and-shoulders

photo of him. Boy, did she remember that party...

Amy selected the photo for full-screen display,

and held up her phone for the sergeant to see.

All four officers had watched the entire process

open-mouthed. None of them had ever dreamt

of, let alone seen, technology like this. To the

nineteen-sixties mind, Amy's twenty-first century

phone was about as jaw-dropping as pure magic.

Which, Amy realised, was precisely why the

Doctor had suggested she use it. In the eyes of the

four policemen, such incredible technology could

only have been issued by Special Branch. They now

bought the Doctor's story hook, line and sinker.

'Williams is a genius with explosives,' the

Doctor continued. 'And he has something against

the Royal Family. We've already foiled one attempt

on Prince Philip's life. Nasty business with a rigged

polo saddle. We believe Williams has booby-

trapped the World Cup trophy, knowing that it's

to be presented by Her Majesty.'

'Really, sir?' The sergeant was gripped now. 'We

can't have that, sir!'

'No sergeant, we can't,' agreed the Doctor

earnestly. 'So if I could just take a quick look.

At the sergeant's signal, the officer holding the

cased trophy hurriedly passed it over to the Doctor.

The constable looked rather relieved. He had been

a little fidgety ever since the mention of the word

"bomb".

'Now then...' muttered the Doctor, placing

the case gently on the corridor floor.

He took out his sonic screwdriver, then knelt

down to apply it to the lock on the case's lid. The

lock immediately released.

The four policemen looked on in amazement.

This lock-cracking gadget was obviously another

piece of Special Branch techno-wizardry.

The Doctor lifted the heavy trophy from the

case. He began scanning its golden surface with his

sonic screwdrivers glowing green tip.

He turned the trophy over. As he did so, it

momentarily slipped in his grasp. All four police

officers flinched visibly. The Doctor grinned

at them.

'Whoops!'

He turned his attention to the roughly cubic

block of lapis lazuli that formed the base of the

trophy. As he scanned its underside, the sonic

flickered more brightly.

'Ah-ha!'

The Doctor fiddled with the sonic screwdrivers

controls, then applied it once more to the exact

centre of the lapis lazuli. Very slowly, he began to

draw the sonics tip away.

Amy watched in amazement. Something thin

and pale pink was gradually emerging from the

trophy's base, as though drawn out by the pull of

the sonic. It was a spiralling filament, covered in

tiny frill-like swirls. It was made of a translucent,

coral-coloured material. In fact, that was what it

most reminded Amy of - coral. A long, slender

spiral of fragile coral.

'What's that?' she asked, before thinking.

The Doctor flashed her a look. He carefully

drew out another few centimetres of the whatever-

it-was. Its end finally emerged from the trophy

base, leaving no trace of a hole. The Doctor caught

it as it came free and passed it to Amy.

'High explosive strand, Beckham,' he said

gravely, with a discreet wink. 'As we suspected.

Complete with detonator. Very hi-tech. This

Williams monster knows his stuff.'

The Doctor stood up and tucked his sonic

screwdriver back in his pocket.

'There! All done!'

Without warning, he casually tossed the trophy

towards the police officer who had originally held

it. Fortunately, the constable had good reactions.

He caught the hefty gold cup, staring at it like it

was a live grenade.

'No need to worry!' the Doctor reassured him.

'It wont harm anyone now! Completely defused.

You can pop it back it its case, and get it over to

the Royal Box for the presentation as planned.'

He turned to the sergeant.

'And I'd appreciate it if we could keep this little

incident to ourselves, yes? National security, and

all that.'

He turned to Amy.

'Come, Agent Beckham!' He gestured to the

nearby open doorway. 'You and I have important

Special Branch type things to discuss.'

'Right.' Amy nodded. 'Absolutely.' She led the

way into the Press Room, still holding the strange

coral-like strand.

The Doctor gave the four dumbstruck police

officers a final broad smile, then followed, closing

the door behind him.

There was a long silence in the corridor.

'Sarge?' The youngest officer was first to speak.

'How hard is it to get into Special Branch?'

'So, Agent Lineker - what does this thing

really do?'

Amy was examining the peculiar coral-like

filament that the Doctor had just extracted from

the base of the Jules Rimet Trophy. The two of

them were alone in the Press Room.

'Its a displacement anchor,' replied the Doctor.

'Acts as both a beacon and a fixing point for the

Vispic larvae. Its what's calling them all here, to

Wembley. And it serves as a secure anchorage once

they get here.'

'You make it sound like they're having to

cling on.'

'They are, in a way. Displacing yourself isn't

easy. There are strong forces acting to keep you

at your point of origin. The Vispics can override

those forces if they have a sufficiently secure

displacement anchor to fix onto, in their target

location. That's what you're holding.'

'But where did it come from?'

'The first Vispic to burrow a wormhole into

Earth space must have managed to do so unassisted.

Probably the one that turned into the larger adult

we saw. It must have set up that anchor so that

others could follow.'

'But it was inside the World Cup,' said Amy. 'I

mean, that's a bit weird, isn't it? Why there?'

'Think about it, Amy,' said the Doctor. 'What

better place could there be? By its very nature, the

trophy is always a focus for celebration and joy.

Winning the World Cup creates mass euphoria

among the fans of the winning nation. And the

trophy is at the heart of that upsurge of good

feeling. Exactly where a hungry luck-sucking larva

would choose to be.'

The Doctor settled on the edge of the table.

'Rorys whole trophy-theft story struck me as

odd right away. Why did the cup turn up again?

Any thief capable of stealing it in the first place

would hardly have been so inept as to leave it lying

in a hedge. Unless of course they intended to be

recovered.'

Amy didn't look like she was keeping up.

'The police never did manage to track down the

culprit. But then they were looking for a human...'

The penny dropped.

'You mean - that adult Vispic took it?' Amy

looked at the filament. 'To put this inside?'

The Doctor nodded.

'I don't wish to take any credit away from

our canine hero Pickles, but it was part of the

Vispic plan that the trophy should be "found". It

was a simple way to ensure the trophy returned

to the centre of World Cup activity - with the

displacement anchor concealed inside.'

The Doctor put out a hand for the anchor. Amy

passed it to him. He took out his sonic screwdriver,

and gave the filament a quick once-over.

'Their plans worked a treat, too, hasn't it?' said

Amy grimly Ail those larvae under the stands,

ready and waiting for the fans to go crazy, so they

can suck all the happiness out of them.

'Don't throw in the towel just yet, Pond!' The

Doctor tucked his sonic away and slid off the

tabletop. He began pacing the floor, twirling the

strange frilled strand like a majorette's baton. 'This

thing may be the reason so many Vispics have

found their way here, but it might offer us a way of

sending them packing, too.'

'How?'

'As I said, there are forces that act to resist an

organism displacing itself. A strong pull back towards

the point of origin - a bit like being attached to

where you set out from by a piece of elastic. While

the Vispics have a secure anchor point...' - he

waggled the filament at her - ' . . . they can withstand

that pull. But if we were to destroy it...'

' Twang' cried Amy excitedly.

'Exactly. No more Vispics. The whole host of

larvae and adults would be instantly drawn back

to their original location.'

The Doctor stopped pacing, held up the

filament, and stared at it searchingly.

'This is the key to the Vispics' scheme, but also

its weakness. Another reason, I imagine, why they

hid it so well.'

'So what are we waiting for?' asked Amy. 'Lets

smash it up!'

'Be my guest.'

The Doctor tossed the filament back to Amy.

She took hold of it by its ends, and attempted

to snap it in two. She gritted her teeth, and tried

harder. But despite its fragile appearance, the slim

strand wouldn't break.

Amy decided to get serious. She dragged a

table across from against the Press Room wall, and

positioned it next to the one in the centre of the

room, leaving a narrow gap between them. Then

she laid the filament across the gap. She picked up

a sturdy wooden chair, lifted it over her head, and

brought it crashing down.

The chair disintegrated, splintering into a

twisted mess. Amy yelled as the jolt jarred her

upper body. She dropped what was left of the chair.

The filament lay on the floor, entirely undamaged.

Amy glared at the Doctor, red-faced.

'I'm not going to be able to break it, am I?'

The Doctor shook his head.

'You knew that already, didn't you?' said Amy.

The Doctor nodded. He reached down to pick

up the displacement anchor. He closed one eye

and squinted along its length, first from one end,

then the other.

'That, Pond, is our big problem. How to unmake

it. It appears to be built around a molecular core of

Paratraxium. Almost indestructible.'

'Almost?'

The Doctor hesitated.

'I can think of two ways in which it might be

destroyed,' he told Amy.

'Go on.'

'The first would involve subjecting it to a very high

temperature. The sort generated near the Earth's

core, or at the heart of an erupting volcano.'

'Not a great option, that one, is it?' said Amy

drily. 'I'm guessing there's not a lot of volcanic

activity in north-west London right now. What's

Plan B?'

'To run a powerful electric pulse through it,'

said the Doctor. 'Paratraxium has an extremely

high electrical resistance. If the voltage was

sufficient, it should cause the core to heat up

beyond its tolerance.'

'Now you're talking. Electricity we have - even

in the sixties.'

'Not at the sort of voltage we'd need. It would

take over a hundred thousand volts. No part of

London's city grid carries that sort of flow.'

'Isn't there any other way?'

The Doctor shook his head. But Amy wasn't

having it.

'There must be something we can do!' she

insisted. 'We can't just sit around and wait for half

the population of London to go down the tube.

The Doctor's face lit up. He seized Amy by the

shoulders.

'Pond, you're a genius! You've done it again!'

'What?' Amy looked confused.

'That's the answer! The Tube!' cried the Doctor.

'The London Underground! The whole track

is electrified!'

'You think we might be able to fry this thing by

hooking it up to a Tube line?'

'Not directly, no. The electrified track probably

carries about a thousand volts of direct current, at

most. One kilovolt isn't enough. But there must be

some way to amplify it...'

The Doctor began pacing back and forth once

more, running his hands through his hair as he tried

to think.

'Wembley's entire roof is supported on an

aluminium framework. I might be able to multi-

loop the electric flow through that. Create a

makeshift step-up transformer. Boost the voltage.

We'd need to run it through an inverter first, to get

an alternating current...'

The Doctor was taking shorter and shorter

circuits.

'It could work! If I get the roof-loop right, we

should be able to create a powerful enough electric

pulse to disintegrate the Paratraxium core!'

'Then bye-bye luck-suckers!' enthused Amy

'Brilliant!'

'I'd have to isolate the stands themselves,

of course...'

'Or?'

'Or 93,000 football fans will get a nasty shock,'

said the Doctor. 'Literally.'

Amy looked concerned. 'Okay... feeling slightly

less enthusiastic now.

'And it'll take me a little while to set up.' He

stopped pacing, and looked at Amy, his eyes

alive. 'I'll need you to make the connection to the

Underground system.'

'Course you will. And that'll involve more

running, presumably?'

'Possibly a little, Pond,' admitted the Doctor.

He flashed her a grin.

'But probably a lot.'

Out on the Wembley pitch, both teams were

giving it everything they had. There were only

three or four minutes of normal time left to play.

England were a goal up.

The teams had been locked in a 1-1 stalemate

for most of the gruelling second half. Then, in

the seventy-eighth minute, England had finally

broken the deadlock. They had snatched a crucial

second goal. It had come from an Alan Ball cross

- much to Rory s delight. Ball had delivered his

corner-kick to Hurst, whose deflected shot had

fallen kindly for his West Ham team mate, Martin

Peters.

As Peters' close range shot hit the back of the

German net, Rory, watching from the touchline,

had let out a triumphant whoop. A split second

later, he had remembered who he was supposed

to be. A neutral, unbiased official. He had hastily

tried to disguise his delighted reaction as a fit of

energetic coughing.

He needn't have bothered. The watching fans

weren't interested in the linesman's rather peculiar

behaviour. They were too busy either screaming

their heads off with delight, or hanging them

in despair.

Since then, West Germany had been doing

everything in their power to save the match. A goal

down, with time running out, they had pushed

everyone forward. They were mounting attack

after attack on the English goal.

But England, too, were digging deep. The

players were defending valiantly, determined not

to concede a goal. They knew that a famous

victory was within their reach. The World Cup

would be theirs if they could hold on for just a

few more minutes.

The English fans in the packed stands were in

an agony of expectation. One moment they were

cheering wildly as Nobby Stiles made yet another

vital tackle; the next they were gasping with relief

as Gordon Banks just managed to punch away a

fierce German shot. The trophy was so nearly in

their grasp...

No one was more on edge than Rory. He was

finding the suspense almost as unbearable as the

stomach-churning effect of the shimmer. He was

beginning to regret wishing that history should

follow its familiar course. That would mean the

match going into extra time. Another thirty

minutes of play. Rory wasn't sure he could hold it

together that long.

Maybe the Germans wont equalise, he thought

hopefully.

Despite his many TARDIS trips, Rory still

struggled with the whole re-living history thing.

Time travel did his head in, full stop - but

particularly going back in time. Was it inevitable

that events on the pitch would follow the pattern

he knew? Or not? Perhaps a straightforward 2-1

win for England was still a possibility. Maybe this

time around, there would be no extra time, no

controversial goal line decision to make...

Another tremendous roar went up from the

crowd as Banks claimed the ball from a dangerous

German cross. The England goalkeeper was playing

out of his skin.

The crowd had been brilliant, too. The rousing

support from the England fans had been constant

throughout the match. The atmosphere was fantastic.

No one was crazier for football than the English.

It struck Rory - not for the first time - as a

great shame that England hadn't hosted a World

Cup in his lifetime. He knew that during the

time he had been travelling with the Doctor, the

Football Association had tried once again to bring

the tournament to English turf. He had pinned his

hopes on their bid to stage the 2018 tournament.

But it hadn't come off. Wembley wouldn't see

another match like this in a very long time.

Rory's thoughts were brought back to the

here and now by another loud outburst from the

crowd. This time, it was a collective groan from

the England fans. The referee had awarded West

Germany a free kick, just outside the English

penalty box. Jack Charlton had been penalised for

a foul on the German captain, Seeler.

The match was now into its final minute. But

there was still time for the Germans to ruin the

English party.

The teams had changed ends for the second

half, which meant the English goal was now at the

end of the pitch furthest from Rory. He watched

anxiously from a distance, as West German winger

Lothar Emmerich lined up to take the kick. The

volume of the crowd fell dramatically, as thousands

of English fans held their breath.

Rory remembered this free kick only too well.

It looked likely that history was about to repeat

itself - or replay itself? - after all.

Sure enough, moments later, Wolfgang Weber

was streaking away from the English goal, arms

aloft in celebration. Emmerich's kick had been

bravely blocked, but the deflected ball had fallen

for Weber, rushing in at the far post. His close-

range shot had given Banks no chance. The

Germans had equalised within the dying seconds

of normal time.

Rory glumly looked up at the scoreboard. It was

mounted on a rather precarious-looking balcony,

jutting out from under the stadiums west-end roof,

to Rory's right. It showed the team names and scores

in white text on a black background. Two men in

white coats were perched on the gallery that ran

behind it. It was their job to manually change the

giant numerals that made up the scoreline display.

Rory watched one of the scoreboard officials

replace the "1" next to "Germany W." with a large

"2" - and heard the referee's whistle blow for the

end of normal time. He looked over his shoulder at

the North Stand, which had fallen very quiet. The

England fans were looking shell-shocked, stunned

by this last-gasp German goal. Rory looked back

across row upon row of dismayed faces.

He did a double-take. For a moment, he was

almost sure he had caught sight of a figure running

across the North Stand roof. A very familiar figure.

Rory shook his head to clear it. The shimmer

must be messing with his vision. He looked up again.

No, there was nobody up there. His eyes were

playing tricks.

Why would the Doctor have been on the roof,

anyway?

Rory turned his attention back to the pitch.

The England and West Germany players were

making the most of the short interval before extra

time, taking the opportunity to rest and stretch-

off. They would be hoping to stave off cramp and

somehow coax another thirty minutes of running

out of their tired legs.

I've got to hang in there, too, thought Rory

determinedly. He mustn't let his concentration

falter now, however grim the shimmer was making

him feel. Once extra time kicked off, he would

need to be on his toes. His big moment - Hurst's

controversial second goal - was fast approaching.

And if I don't get things exactly right in the next

thirty minutes, he thought anxiously, it could all be over for England.

Though Rory could not have known it, at that

very moment, up on the North Stand roof, the

Doctor was thinking exactly the same thing.

Amy sprinted north along Olympic Way,

heart pounding. For the umpteenth time,

she checked over her shoulder. Since leaving the

stadium, she hadn't been able to shake off the feeling

that someone - or something - was following her.

But as far as she could tell, she was still alone.

She didn't slacken her pace. Even if she wasn't

being pursued — for a change - she was still up

against the clock. The Doctor's plan would only

work if they could put it into action before the

Vispic larvae transformed. Which meant they only

had until the end of the match. Time was running

out fast.

Amy reached the junction with Fulton Road

and turned right onto its south-side pavement.

The main road, which had been so busy earlier,

was now deserted. Her route along Olympic Way

had been eerily quiet, too. Anyone who wasn't

actually at the match was tucked away inside

somewhere, following it on radio - or, if they were

lucky enough to have access to one, watching on

TV. London's streets had never been so empty.

Amy jogged along the pavement, then crossed

to the other side of the road. She passed the news-

stand where she, Rory and the Doctor had stopped

off earlier. It was locked up and unattended.

She was beginning to get a stitch. But it wasn't

far now. Albion Way, where the TARDIS had

materialised, was just up ahead. She put on a last

effort to keep up her speed, determined not to let

the Doctor down...

PC Sanderson's good intentions of listening to

'some' of the match hadn't quite worked out. The

game was now in its ninetieth minute, and the

young policeman was still shut away in his call box,

listening intently to the gripping commentary on

his borrowed radio.

'...and as Emmerich strides forward to take this

last-ditch free kicky a nervous silence has fallen over

the England fans...'

'Miss it, miss it, miss it...' muttered Sanderson.

He was perched on the edge of the box's bench

seat, with a forgotten cup of cold tea in his hand.

'...Emmerich's shot is blocked by Cohen and— oh!

Dear me! It's a goal! Weber scores for Germany!'

'NO!' Sanderson let out a groan of despair and

slumped back against the wall of the box.

'There are appeals from the English players for

handball! But the referee waves away their protests!

The goal stands. The West German centre-back has

snatched a last-minute equaliser...'

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. How

could they have let them score now, when they

were so close?

' ..and there's the whistle to signal the end of the

second half. So, it's all square at 2-2! Both teams will

need to summon the energy to play another thirty

minutes, to decide this epic contest. England, who

only moments ago seemed destined to lift the World

Cup here at Wembley; now find themselves still with

everything to do to win th—'

Suddenly, Sanderson stood bolt upright,

spilling his tea. Someone had just burst through

the door of the police box.

It was a pretty young woman with long red hair.

She was breathing fast. She looked as surprised to

see Sanderson as he was to see her.

'Ah...' She looked around the box's cramped

interior as though it wasn't what she had expected

to find. 'Sorry... my... mistake...' she panted.

'Wrong TARDIS!'

She took another second or two to get her

breath. Sanderson was still too taken aback to

speak.

The stranger flashed a smile at him. 'Sorry if I

startled you, officer.' She glanced at the radio set,

which was still chattering away. 'Been following

the match?'

Sanderson looked a little sheepish.

'I was... erm... just listening to a few minutes,

yes, miss.'

'Hows it going?'

'Not well. It looked like we had it won, but the

Germans just equalised. Its going to extra time.'

The stranger looked delighted.

'Yes!'

Sanderson frowned. He failed to see how

Germany scoring could be good news.

'But surely you don't want them to win?'

'No,' said the redhead. 'No, I don't want

Germany to win. I don't want anyone to win just

yet. Extra time is absolutely what we need.'

Sanderson was finding this unexpected

conversation increasingly confusing. He decided

to start again.

'May I ask your name, miss?'

'You go first.'

'Very well. PC Sanderson, of Harlesden Police

Station, at your service.'

'First name?'

'William. Bill.'

This wasn't going as Sanderson had intended.

Somehow, he seemed to have ended up answering

the questions.

'Bill.' The girl smiled. 'As in "the old Bill".

Good name for a copper. That and "Bobby".'

Sanderson once again tried to take charge.

'And you are?'

In response, the young woman pulled a

slim, shiny, rectangular object from her pocket.

She stared at its smooth surface for a moment,

stroking and tapping it several times with her

finger. Sanderson was amazed to see tiny luminous

pictures flit across the device's glassy face. The girl

held it up in front of him.

'Agent Beckham, Special Branch.'

Sanderson stared in disbelief. It was a miniature

display screen, not altogether unlike a tiny

television. It showed a picture of the redhead's

face, with the text "My Profile" above it. There was

more text underneath. But before he could read it,

the young woman withdrew her hand.

'What... what is that thing?' stammered

Sanderson. 'Its amazing!'

'Standard issue Special Branch equipment.'

'So, you're with the Met? Like me?'

'Uh-huh. But plain clothes, assigned to anti-

terrorist stuff.' She moved closer to address him

earnestly. 'We have a serious situation on our

hands, PC Bill Sanderson. A Code Thirteen.'

'Code Thirteen?'

'Extra-terrestrial invasion,' stated the young

woman, without flinching. 'How do you fancy

helping to save the population of London, Bill?'

'Extra-terrestrial inva-' Sanderson pulled a

face. 'Is this some kind of joke, miss?'

The young woman's expression didn't falter.

She was deadly serious, he could see.

'You're suggesting... aliens?' said Sanderson.

'But that's not possible!' He hesitated. 'Is it?' The

magical technology the young constable had just

seen in action had turned his idea of what was

"possible" upside down. 'I mean, they don't exist,

do they?'

'Oh yeah. They exist all right. And right now

they're out and about here, in London. Big scary

people-eating ones. And I could use a little help

dealing with them.'

Sanderson was finding this surprise meeting

most unsettling. Once again, he tried to get a grip.

'You say you're from Special Branch?'

The young woman nodded.

'Were they behind setting up that second call

box?' asked Sanderson. 'The one next to this one?

Has that got something to do with all this?'

Agent Beckham's eyes lit up.

'It has, Sanderson. Smart guess. And a quick

look inside there should change your mind about

the whole "impossible" thing.' She turned back

towards the open door. 'Come on - I'll show you

around.'

The bewildered police officer found the idea

of being "shown around" a five-foot-square box

slightly odd. But nothing about this meeting

had been anything but odd. Deciding to save

his questions for the time being, he followed the

young woman out of the police box door.

Amy watched PC Sandersons face as he struggled

to take in his surroundings. She remembered her

own first reaction to the TARDIS s mind-bending

interior. Sanderson was going through the same

sequence of emotions - total shock, shifting to

amazed delight, then on to utter bafflement.

'But...'

His voice trailed off. He continued to gawp

uncomprehendingly at the vast cavern-like interior

of the Time Lord craft.

Amy grinned at him.

'Loopy, isn't it? Bet you never realised Special

Branch was that special!'

She hurried up the ramp towards the central

circular platform, then made her way around the

console, to her left, peering down at the floor.

'Now then... third segment round, clockwise,

from the ramp. That's what the Doctor said.

One... two... three? She dropped to her knees

beside a rectangular panel in the floor. 'Top left

corner...' muttered Amy, reaching across it. She

made a fist, and gave the floor a good hard thump.

The opposite ends of the panel suddenly seemed

to shrink back slightly, and its surface became

scored with narrow concertina folds. Amy slipped

her hand into the gap that had appeared at one

edge. She slid the panel aside to reveal a crammed

storage hatch below.

Amy hastily began rummaging through the

hatch's contents. She lifted out a strange contraption

that looked like someone had covered a small fire

extinguisher with sink-plunger suction cups. Amy

laid it to one side, then fished out another equally

bizarre-looking piece of equipment. Then another.

And another.

'Who's the Doctor?'

Sanderson was still staring about, wide-eyed.

But he had regained the ability to speak, at least.

'Er, a fellow Special Branch officer,' Amy

replied, without leaving off her search. 'Agent

Lineker. What is that? She impatiently cast aside yet another peculiar device. 'He's running this

operation. "The Doctor" is sort of a codename.'

'Right,' the constable nodded numbly.

'He's our Code Thirteen expert,' Amy went on.

'Knows loads about aliens and stuff.'

'I see.

As she drew her next find from the hatch, Amy

gave a triumphant cry.

'Gotcha!'

She was holding a pair of very large crocodile

clips, locked together by their sprung jaws. They

had handle-grips made of colourful rubbery

material. Both had one red handle, and one yellow.

Amy got to her feet, and hurried back down

the ramp.

'What are they?' asked PC Sanderson.

'Connectors. Together they're a "cordless

extension lead" apparently. The Doctor - Agent

Lineker, I mean - thinks they might help us with

the save-the-city thing.'

'How?'

Amy made for the TARDIS door.

'I'll explain on the way there.'

'Where?'

Sanderson followed her, back out onto the

pavement of Albion Way. He was beginning to feel

embarrassed by his own aimless-sounding one-

word questions.

'Wembley Park Tube station,' Amy told him.

'We need to get there as fast as possible. Which is

where I was hoping you might be able to help. Do

you have a bicycle I could use?'

'Not a pedal bike, no,' said Sanderson. 'But

I could take you there on the back of my patrol

bike...'

He quickly led Amy round the back of his

own police box. Parked against the kerb was

a gleaming black motorcycle. It was a 650cc

Triumph Thunderbird, the standard patrol bike

of the Metropolitan force, and Sanderson's pride

and joy.

'Would that do?'

Amy looked at the immaculate motorcycle

admiringly. It was a truly classic machine. As a

teenager, Amy had had a poster on her bedroom

wall of a young Marlon Brando - in her opinion

the most gorgeous male movie star of all time.

It had been taken from the film The Wild One.

Brando was sitting astride a bike just like this one.

Amy gave Sanderson a broad grin.

' Absolutely, constable,' she purred. 'That'll do

very nicely indeed.'

Rory checked his watch. Not the fake Vinvocci

wristwatch - which he was beginning to hate

with all his heart - but his own, ordinary, non-

stomach-churning one.

Nine minutes of extra time were almost up. Rory

knew Geoff Hurst would score his controversial

goal in the eleventh minute. That meant he had

little over sixty seconds before his big moment

arrived. Then it would be up to him to make sure

the vital goal counted.

To his horror, Rory suddenly realised that so

far, he had given no thought as to how. How would

he communicate his decision that the goal should

stand? He knew from watching old TV footage

of the famous match that after Hurst's shot, the

referee came running over to the touchline to

consult Bakhramov. What was he going to do

when that happened?

Should he have prepared something to say?

In Russian?

Presumably, thought Rory, Bakhramov must

have said something like "Yes, it was a goal," when the referee asked his opinion - even if the Swiss

official didn't understand the linesman's exact

words.

But what on Earth was that in Russian?

Rory's mind raced. His knowledge of the

Russian language was almost non-existent. What

little he knew he had picked up from watching

old spy films, which often had a Russian character

as the criminal mastermind. Rory recalled a scene

in an early James Bond movie, in which a cold-

hearted Russian villain refused to listen to reason.

What did the baddy say as he shook his head

mercilessly?

"Nyet". That was it. So "nyet" was "no". But what was "yes"?

Rory tried to picture the same Bond villain

giving orders to his band of armed heavies. What

was it they grunted as they nodded obediently?

"Da". Of course! "Yes" was "da", he was sure.

As for the "it was a goal" bit, he would just have

to wing it. If he made up some Russian-sounding

words, maybe the referee wouldn't notice they

weren't genuine. A lot of Russian names ended in

"-ov" or "-sky", didn't they? He could include a few of those endings in whatever he said...

Rory's attention was drawn back to the game.

Alan Ball had just sprinted past right in front of

him, chasing the ball down the right wing. Rory

could see the two English centre-forwards, Hurst

and Hunt, hurrying forward in support. He

recognised the shape of this attacking move from

the many, many times he had seen these particular

seconds of play before - and knew the time for

planning was over.

This was it.

Ball whipped in a short cross to the near side of

the German penally box. Hurst had found space

to receive it. He controlled the ball with his first

touch, then span towards the goal and fired in a

fierce, rising shot. It rocketed over the flat-capped

head of the West German keeper, Tilkowski.

The ball hit the midpoint of the crossbar, hard.

It ricocheted off the underside of the bar, straight

downwards, and struck the ground between the

German goalposts.

The deflection off the bar had set the ball

spinning fiercely The spin caused it to bounce

up at an angle, out of the goalmouth. A desperate

German defender headed the ball over his own

goal, to put it out of play

But the English players were already celebrating.

They ran to congratulate Hurst, convinced that his

shot had crossed the goal line, and that he had just

put them ahead.

The West Germans felt otherwise. Rory watched

them surround the referee, protesting. The Swiss

official waved them away, then began to make his

way across the pitch towards Rory.

One thing Rory had never expected was that

when the time came, he would be in any doubt as

to whether he was doing the fair thing. To his own

astonishment, after witnessing the Hurst goal first-

hand, he was a tiny bit uneasy. He felt a twinge of

guilt that he was about to try his best to make sure

the goal stood. In truth, it really didn't look like

the ball had completely crossed the line.

Then he remembered the 2010 Frank Lampard

no-goal, and his moment of madness passed. He

was doing this for his country. For England. And

for Frank.

The referee was now hurrying towards him.

Heart pounding in his chest, Rory strode forward

onto the pitch to meet him.

The referee fixed him with an urgent, enquiring

look and said something in Swiss. From his

expression and body language, it was clearly along

the lines of 'What did you think?'.

Rory went for it.

'Da! Da! Goalsky!' He concentrated hard on

doing his best (not great) Russian accent. 'Da!

Goalsky!' He threw in some very earnest nodding

and finger-wagging. 'Nyet problemov! Goalsky!

Da! Da!'

It worked. The referee seemed to get the vital

message loud and clear. He showed no sign of

suspecting that his linesman was an impostor - let

alone a non-Russian speaking twenty-first century

time traveller disguised by an alien shape-changing

device. He simply nodded back at Rory, then raised

an arm and gave a shrill blast on his whistle. The

goal had been awarded.

As the referee turned and jogged back towards

the centre spot, Rory felt a flood of relief. He was

only vaguely aware of the several West German

players who came rushing up seconds later to

confront him. He knew as little German as he did

Russian, but he was pretty sure from the players'

angry expressions that they weren't saying "thank

you".

He didn't care. He'd done it. It was 3-2 to

England, like it had always been meant to be.

The match was quickly restarted from the centre-

spot. As Rory watched the two teams continue to

fight it out, he could clearly see how much the

Hurst goal had lifted the spirits of the English

players. They looked revitalised and resolute.

Despite his aching stomach and throbbing

head, Rory was glad he'd stepped into the missing

linesman's shoes. Watching the England players

pass the ball about confidently, he was more

convinced than ever that the Bakhramov decision

was a crucial turning point in the match. Now,

surely, England ought to be safely on their way to

their famous victory.

Nevertheless, as the match moved into the

second period of extra time, Rory awaited the final

whistle as anxiously as the many millions of his

countrymen watching with him.

Come on, England...

Amy took the steps down to the platform three

at a time. She had left the indignant ticket

attendant in the capable hands of PC Sanderson.

The constable was even now calmly explaining to

the man why Amy had just jumped the barrier. As

she sprinted away, Amy had heard him speaking

earnestly of "police business" and "national

security".

She bounded down the last few steps and

dashed onto the platform. Although Wembley

Park station was part of the London Underground

network, it was not actually underground. The

train tracks here ran in the open air, as they did in

many outer parts of the city.

A northbound Metropolitan Line train was just

pulling out of the nearest platform. Perfect. That

should mean she had a little time before the next

train was due.

Amy hurried to the platform's edge and quickly

lowered herself down onto the track. Thankfully,

the station was deserted. There were no well-

meaning bystanders to attempt to stop her. Most

Londoners were following the big match, no doubt

- blissfully unaware that the final whistle might

signal the end of London life as they knew it.

Amy took a good look at the track, wondering

where best to make the connection. There were

three rails, as on all Underground tracks. The outer

two were for the carriage wheels to run on. The

middle rail carried the electricity that powered the

trains - enough electricity to kill her, Amy knew,

if she accidentally touched the rail.

She turned to lay one of the two crocodile-clip

connectors on the platform edge. Holding the other,

she stepped over the near-side rail, then carefully

crouched down over the central electrified one.

Gotta get this right... thought Amy anxiously.

If she fastened the connector in the wrong place,

it would simply be knocked off by the next train.

That wouldn't do.

But if I clip it on from underneath...

Amy squeezed the insulated handles of the

connector together, and very gingerly clamped

its jaws to the underside of the electrified rail.

Her hand was shaking a little. But not enough,

thankfully, to make contact with the rail.

She twisted the red handle of the connector, as

the Doctor had told her, to activate it. Then she

carefully released her grip. The connector stayed

clamped in place, tucked out of the way of any

passing wheels, and more or less out of sight. So

far so good.

Amy had been so intent on avoiding

electrocution that she had failed to notice that the

two outer rails were giving off a faint whistling

hum. She heard it now. The hum was quickly

growing louder.

There was a train coming.

Amy fought against her fatal instinct to freeze

with fear. Instead, she sprang back over the near-

side rail and hauled herself up over the platforms

edge. As she rolled away from it, a blast of air and

noise rushed over her. A silvery blur rattled past -

another A-Stock Metropolitan Line train pulling

into the station.

As the train gradually slowed, Amy got to her

feet and brushed herself down. She felt more than

a little shaky. She had narrowly missed plenty of

trains before. But she had never had one narrowly

miss her.

She bent down to pick up the second connector.

According to the Doctor, twisting this one's red

handle would channel a flow of current from the

electrical source to which its partner was attached.

He had seemed confident that this cordless

extension lead' of his could carry the Tube track's

kilovolt supply.

The newly-arrived train drew to a halt. As it did

so, Amy heard a clattering noise from the far end

of the platform. It sounded very familiar. The eerie

feeling that she wasn't alone came over her once

more.

The train doors sliced open. Two passengers

stepped out from the door nearest Amy. A couple

more disembarked from a carriage further along

the train. Not many people were getting off. Just

the four.

But that was enough.

Amy stared hard at the spot where she had

heard the clattering a moment ago. A distinct area

of seemingly empty space, near the end of the

platform, had begun flickering unnaturally. Amy

had little difficulty recognising its shape and size.

She had been right all along. One of the adult

Vispics had followed her from the stadium. It had

used its sophisticated camouflage to stay hidden.

But now, in trying to conceal itself from more than

one person - the passengers that had just joined

Amy on the platform - the creature had become

partially visible.

Not for long. The handful of passengers were

already heading up the steps towards the station's

exit. To her horror, Amy watched the flickering

patch of air become still. The Vispic was once

more focussing on her alone.

The clattering noise came again. This time

it grew rapidly nearer. Amy backed away helplessly,

sensing that the camouflaged creature was

attacking.

At the last moment, a desperate idea sprang

into her mind. She clutched the connector in both

hands, thrust it out at arms length, and twisted

the red handle.

The Doctor had warned Amy about the danger

of activating the current. He had told her that she

was not, on any account, to twist both red handles.

A thousand volts could kill her stone dead.

Or save her skin.

The creature slammed into Amy just as she

activated the connector. It got the shock of its life.

As Amy sprawled backwards onto the platform,

she kept firm hold of the connectors handles. A

crackling web of white, lightning-like electricity

leapt from the jaws of the connector and danced

wildly around the outer surface of the Vispics body

The powerful jolt stunned the alien creature. It

became fully visible. With an unearthly screech,

it recoiled from Amy's improvised weapon. It

collapsed clumsily on its side on the platform,

where it lay twitching, ribbons of white energy still

skittering across its grotesque body.

Amy twisted back the connector handle and

hurriedly scrambled to her feet. She stared wide-

eyed at the Vispic. It looked like the largest of the

three that she and the Doctor had encountered

under the South Stand. She wondered, for a

moment, if she had killed it. But even as she looked,

the creature began to stir. The electric shock had

stunned it - that was all.

Amy didn't hang around to watch it recover

fully She turned, and sprinted for the stairs. She

bounded up them towards the station exit, pulse

racing. Only at the top did she glance back over

her shoulder.

The Vispic had vanished.

Amy put her head down, and ran for her life.

Outside the Wembley Park station entrance, PC

Sanderson was waiting anxiously on his patrol

bike.

Agent Beckham - the red-haired whirlwind

who had come ripping into his life and turned it

upside down - had told him to be ready to make

a hasty departure. She had spent the journey to

the station with her arms wrapped tightly round

him, yelling instructions in his ear over the growl

of the Thunderbird's powerful engine. Once she'd

done what she had to do at the Tube station, she'd

explained, she needed him to get her to the Empire

Stadium as fast as possible.

Sanderson smiled to himself. Looks like I'm

going to Wembley after all, he thought.

To his surprise, he realised that he hadn't given

the big match a thought for the last fifteen minutes

or so. It had been driven from his mind by the

fascinating stranger from Special Branch, with her

sci-fi technology, and her talk of alien invaders.

And here she came now.

Sanderson saw her burst from the entrance of

the Underground station. She was running like

the devil himself was after her, and clutching just

one of those giant crocodile clips she had brought

with them.

At the sight of him, she gave a wild yell.

'Start your engine!'

Sanderson did as he was told. He stamped

down on the Thunderbird's kick-starter, and the

bikes engine roared into life. He shuffled forward

on its leather saddle, to make sure there was room

for his pillion passenger.

But before she could reach him, Agent

Beckham stumbled and fell flat on her face. She

had gone down as though something had caught

her by the leg.

But there's nothing there...

Sanderson saw her twist onto her back. She

thrust the connector she was clinging to fiercely

upwards. A blaze of crackling electricity erupted

from its tip. Sanderson was temporarily dazzled.

But as the sparks faded, what he saw made his

heart falter.

Oh... my...

Any remaining doubts about the young woman's

alien-invasion story vanished from Sandersons

mind. A huge, hideous creature was lying on

the pavement beside her. It had appeared out of

nowhere. It was twitching horribly, its gross body

sparking and smoking from the electric shock it

had just sustained. But Sanderson could see that it

was still undeniably alive.

He gunned the Thunderbird's engine. As its

rear wheel span, squealing, on the tarmac, he

threw the bike's back end around. The motorcycle

mounted the pavement, and raced towards where

Agent Beckham was now struggling to her feet.

Sanderson sent it into another sweeping skid, so

that its rear end came to a screeching halt right

beside her.

'Jump on!'

As the young woman leapt astride the saddle

behind him, Sanderson saw the alien thing

begin to stir itself with more vigour. At close

range, it was even more grotesque. And it was

quickly recovering.

'Hold on tight!'

Agent Beckham didn't need telling twice. She

wrapped her arms around Sandersons waist, and

clung on. The young police officer opened up the

motorbikes throttle once more.

The Thunderbird roared across Bridge Road,

out onto Olympic Way, and headed south,

towards Wembley.

Amy's burning worry now was that she wouldn't

reach the Doctor in time. She had made the

connection to the electrified Tube rail. She was

still in possession of the second connector, which

would allow the Doctor to feed the Underground's

supply into his voltage-boosting device. But what

if she and PC Sanderson couldn't find him fast

enough once they reached the stadium?

Amy knew there could be only minutes left

before the football match ended, and the Vispic

larvae began to feast. Only minutes left to destroy

the displacement anchor, and save London.

But finding the Doctor proved less of a problem

than Amy had feared. Only moments after PC

Sanderson brought his patrol bike to a skidding

halt outside the main stadium entrance, and Amy

quickly dismounted, she heard a familiar yell.

'Ahoy there, Amelia Pond! Glad you could

make it!'

Amy looked up. She wasn't sure whether to feel

relieved or horrified by what she saw. It was good

to have found the Doctor so quickly. But what was

he doing up there?

A thin silver wire stretched all the way from

the flagpole on top of one of the stadium's twin

white towers to the flagpole on the other. Halfway

along it, dangling by one hand, was the Doctor.

The Vispic displacement anchor was clasped in his

other hand.

There was an alarming distance from the wire

to the stadium roof below. Amy seriously hoped

he knew what he was doing.

'I've got the extension lead!' she yelled back.

She held the connector high so that the Doctor

could see it. 'It's all plugged in, courtesy of London

Transport!'

'Splendid work, Pond! Who's your friend?'

PC Sanderson had now also dismounted.

He was standing beside Amy, gawping at the

Doctor's daredevil high-wire act. He turned to

look at her, puzzled.

'Amelia Pond?' That wasn't the name she had

given him.

'Er...' Amy looked awkward. 'Yeah. It's...

um... another Special Branch codename.'

She hastily turned her attention back to the

Doctor.

'This, Agent Lineker,' she yelled, 'is PC

Sanderson. He got me back here in one piece!'

'Good man, Sanderson!' The Doctor now

appeared to be attaching the displacement anchor

to the midpoint of the wire with his free hand.

A moment later, he let go of the slim filament. It

stayed in place.

'Right! That's it! She's all set! We just need to

connect up the juice!'

Amy and Sanderson watched anxiously as the

Doctor began to make his way, hand over hand,

along the wire, back towards the right-hand tower.

He was almost halfway to the flagpole when he

suddenly stopped.

'What's the matter, Doctor?' yelled Amy.

'Do me a favour, both of you!' he hollered back.

'Keep looking at that tower dome.'

Amy and Sanderson did as he asked. Both fixed

their eyes on the dome.

It took Amy a few seconds to see it. One area of

the white dome was flickering unnaturally.

'Thought so!' yelled the Doctor. Swinging

precariously by one arm again, he quickly pulled

out his sonic screwdriver. He aimed it at the right-

hand tower dome. A thin, metre-long bolt of green

light suddenly shot from its tip.

As the energy pulse struck it, the flickering

shape that Amy had made out solidified into a

hideous, multi-limbed body. The adult Vispic that

was clinging to the dome became fully visible -

almost highlighted, in fact, as its entire alien body

turned bright orange.

'I've calculated a frequency that messes up their

skin-pigment control,' the Doctor shouted down.

'Fixes it temporarily in one tone. At least I can see

what I'm dealing with!'

He twisted his arm to turn his dangling body

through one hundred and eighty degrees.

'And unless I'm much mistaken...'

He took aim, and fired off another sonic

pulse, in the direction of the other tower dome. A

moment later, the hulking body of a second adult

Vispic became clearly visible, crouching atop the

dome. This time, its skin colour had been locked

shocking pink all over.

The twin creatures lurking on the twin towers

were the size of the smaller adult Vispics Amy and

the Doctor had met earlier. These two had come

after the Doctor - just as the larger adult had

come after Amy. It looked likely that the Vispics

had figured out that Amy and the Doctor were

planning something, and were out to stop them.

The Doctor's situation didn't look good. He

was now hanging from the wire between the two

flagpoles, with a hungry Vispic lying in wait for

him at each of its ends. He had been left with

nowhere to go.

Amy saw the dangling Doctor look from one

Vispic to the other, then down at her.

'Wish me luck, Pond!' he yelled down. 'Because

as much as I'd love to hang around...'

Amy let out a shriek of horror as the Doctor let

go of the wire, and fell.

'DOCTOR!'

The Doctors body plummeted to the stadium

roof, dropping out of Amy's field of vision. She

stared at the point where he had vanished, waiting

and hoping for a sign that he was okay.

Several seconds passed. Still nothing.

Then, suddenly, Amy saw the Doctors wild-

haired head poke out from over the edge of the roof.

He was grinning playfully.

'Did you miss me?'

Amy, craning her neck, gave him an exasperated

look. She saw his smile vanish at the sound of two

heavy crashes. The Vispics had jumped down from

their tower perches to join him on the stadium roof.

'No need to panic!' the Doctor yelled down.

'They'll be displaced as soon as we connect the

power!' His right hand appeared over the edge of

the roof It was clutching a coil of electrical cable -

the old-fashioned black-and-white fabric covered

kind.

'I'm going to throw this down, Pond! Just clamp

the connector to the end, and switch it on!'

'Is that going to take a thousand volts, Doctor?'

From where Amy was standing, the cable didn't

look particularly heavy-duty.

'I've tweaked the core!' yelled back the Doctor.

'It's super-conductive now. It'll be fine. Ready?'

Before Amy could reply, there was an anxious

shout from PC Sanderson.

'Agent Beckham!'

Amy turned to see what the problem was.

The third adult Vispic - the largest one - was

clattering towards them along Olympic Way.

It looked more bizarre than ever. Its camouflage

seemed to be only partly working. Bits of its body

were clearly visible, while other parts still matched

themselves to their background, giving the overall

impression of a grotesque, moth-eaten monster.

Amy guessed that the double shocks she had

given the Vispic back at the Tube station had taken

their toll on the creatures camouflage. Or maybe

it was just mad enough not to care whether they

could see it.

Either way, it was still perfectly capable of

making a meal of her and Sanderson. They needed

to make that connection, fast.

Amy turned back to look up at the Doctor on

the rooftop.

'Ready, Doctor! Lob it down!'

The Doctor let the cable drop. It uncoiled down

the stadium wall as it fell. Amy put her arms out to

catch its free end.

But it didn't reach her. Not even nearly. Even as

its full length dangled down the face of the wall,

its end hung a good seven or eight metres from the

ground.

The cable was too short.

If the final whistle didn't come soon, Rory was

going to keel over. He wasn't sure which was more

unbearable - the effect of the shimmer on his poor,

aching body, or the atmosphere of raw nervous

tension that now filled the Empire Stadium.

West Germany had clearly decided that they

had nothing to lose. There were only a few minutes

of the second period of extra time left to play, and

they were still a goal down. They were throwing

everyone forward, in a last-ditch attempt to save

the match.

The English fans in the crowd were watching the

dying seconds in a frenzy of nervous anticipation.

Victory had already been snatched from the English

once, only half an hour earlier. They wouldn't dare

believe this match was won until it was over.

Rory knew that he shouldn't be sharing their

anxiety. After all, he knew how the result would

turn out. Or, at least, how it was meant to turn

out. But somehow, his nerves were on a knife-edge,

too. After all, it would only take one moment of

German skill to change the scoreline to 3-3.

There was nothing more he could do. He had

done his bit. Or, to be more accurate, he had

done Bakhramov's bit. Surely history must be back

on track.

He watched anxiously as the West German

players pressed forward again. There was a

tremendous roar from the crowd as Ray Wilson

bravely slid in to steal the ball. The England fans

were cheering every tackle now.

Rory checked his watch yet again. They were

into injury time. England just had to keep hold of

the ball...

But moments later, the West Germans had

won possession once more. Beckenbauer began a

dangerous, weaving run into the English half.

'Come on!' muttered Rory to himself. 'Blow,

ref, blow!'

Outside the stadium, the situation was equally

tense.

As soon as it had become obvious that the

Doctors cable was not going to reach her, Amy

had resolved to find a way to reach it.

Climbing was not her greatest strength at

the best of times. Climbing the sheer face of a

large building, which offered few handholds or

footholds, was proving a real challenge. A very

painful, very scary challenge.

She had now made it nearly six metres up

the stadiums wall. She was clinging on for dear

life, with one hand and both feet somehow

maintaining their purchase on the slightest of

holds, while she felt about desperately above

her for another ridge or ledge by which to pull

herself up. She had the crocodile-clip connector

clamped firmly between her teeth.

The exposed end of the cable dangled

tantalisingly close overhead. It was only a metre or

so out of her reach.

Amy could feel the strength ebbing from her

arms. The drop to the concrete below made her

feel light-headed. She felt sure she would lose her

grip at any moment.

But she had to keep going. All she had to do

was get to the cable, and make the connection.

Just a few more centimetres...

On the ground below Amy, PC Sanderson was

showing similar bravery in the face of danger. By

now, the largest of the adult Vispics - the one that

Amy had fought off at the Tube station - would

have overcome both of them, were it not for the

policeman's desperate actions.

As the Vispic came scuttling into the stadium's

forecourt from Olympic Way, Sanderson had

leapt back onto his faithful Thunderbird, and

kick-started the bike's powerful engine. With

little thought for his own safety, he had driven the

bike straight at the charging Vispic. He was

determined to keep the alien beast from harming

Amy, at all costs.

His headlong motorcycle charge had worked.

The Vispic was forced to throw itself to one side to

avoid a collision. It came to a halt, then began to

scuttle first one way, then the other, weighing up

its reckless opponent.

The two were now engaged in a one-on-one

stand-off, like the worlds most bizarre bullfight.

Man-and-machine against alien monster.

Meanwhile, up on the stadiums roof, the

Doctor was being kept fully occupied by the other

adult Vispics. They were having their own pitched

battle. It was playing out between the stadiums

gleaming twin towers. The two smaller Vispics

were circling the Doctor menacingly, while he

brandished his sonic screwdriver like a sword.

It didn't look like a fight the Doctor could

win. But so far, at least, he had managed to evade

each sudden, vicious attack - thanks to some

well-timed dodging, and the odd blast of stinging

sonic energy.

Down on the ground, the Vispic began its next

charge. Sanderson boldly urged the Thunderbird

forward to meet it head on.

But this time, the alien creature got the better

of him. It dipped its ugly hammerhead at the last

moment, then threw it back, flipping the front

wheel of the police bike into the air. Sanderson lost

control of it completely. He was thrown from the

Thunderbird s saddle. His body hit the forecourt,

skidded across it a considerable distance, then lay

still. His motorcycle screeched to a standstill on its

side, some way away.

The Vispic had no further interest in Sanderson

for now. It clearly understood what Amy was

attempting to do - and was intent only on

stopping her. It scuttled to the base of the wall she

was clinging to, and began to climb.

To Amy's great dismay, it seemed Vispic leeches

made better climbers than girls from Leadworth.

Only moments later, she felt an alien claw clutch

at her trailing leg. She risked losing her grip by

kicking down hard with one foot. She landed a

solid blow on the Vispics head, and a moment

or two later had the satisfaction of hearing the

creature hit the ground below, with a clatter.

Amy frantically scrabbled to regain her

foothold, then peered down anxiously.

The Vispic was already beginning to climb the

wall again.

Bobby Moore, the England captain, won the

ball deep in his own half. He looked up, and in

a typically inspired moment, spotted the perfect

pass to play. The desperate West Germans had

pushed up so far, they had left themselves wide

open to a fast counter-attack. Moore picked out

Geoff Hurst in space on the left wing, and sent

a gloriously well-judged ball into his team mates

path.

From the touchline, Rory watched Hurst

collect Moore's pass and begin streaking upheld

with the ball. As he did so, all sense of anxiety

lifted from him. Once again, Rory recognised this

moment. He had re-lived it on YouTube countless

times. It never lost its ability to fascinate and thrill

him. What was about to happen, Rory knew, was

the greatest moment in English football history.

'Go on, Geoff! GO ON!'

Rory cheered wildly as the England centre-

forward ran past him, the ball at his feet. He

didn't care any more that he was supposed to be

Russian, or Azerbaijani, or whatever. Nor did he

care that right at that moment, he had the most

terrible stomach ache of his entire life.

All he cared about was what was about to

happen.

After two hours of full-on football, Hurst

somehow found the energy to sprint the entire

length of the pitch. He took the ball past the

final German outfield player. As he bore down on

the German goal from the left wing, he drilled a

powerful left-footed, long-range shot towards the

top near corner of the net...

Amy, with one final heroic heave, pulled herself

up to within reach of the dangling cable. She let

go of the wall with her right hand, risking a deadly

fall, and pulled the connector from her mouth.

She stretched the fingers of her right hand to their

limit to grasp both its handles, and squeezed them

together.

Something cold and sharp scraped against the

back of her right leg.

She desperately raised the connector until its

jaws were around the exposed cable end, clamped

it on, and gave the red handle a firm twist.

One thousand volts of electricity instantly

surged along the cable. It flowed into the complex

inverter-transformer circuit that the Doctor

had ingeniously engineered from Wembley's

vast aluminium roof structure. The voltage was

boosted a hundred-fold, before the pulse finally

shot up the flagpole of the left-hand stadium

tower, and along the wire that connected it to the

other pole.

The displacement anchor, secured at the

midpoint of the wire, glowed brilliantly,

blindingly white for an instant. Then it exploded

into a million tiny pieces, like a puff of glittering

powder.

All three adult Vispics vanished in the blink

of an eye. Amy, the Doctor and PC Sanderson,

who had now struggled back to his feet, found

themselves alone.

And all along the north-west branch of the

Metropolitan Line, bewildered London Transport

employees wondered why the Tube trains they

were driving had just ground to a halt.

Amy wasn't out of danger yet. The last drop of

strength in her left-hand fingertips was draining

away fast. She couldn't hold on much longer.

With one last exertion, she twisted back the red

connector handle to kill the power. Then she

scrabbled at the wall hopelessly with her right

hand. But there was nothing to grip.

Her left foot slipped, and she fell.

A split second later, she found herself dangling

in thin air - but not falling through it. Something

was clinging to her right wrist. A hand.

'Gotcha!'

Amy looked up into the anxious face of the

Doctor. Much of it was covered by his drooping

hair, which had flopped forward, due to the fact that

he was hanging almost upside down. Somehow,

he had managed to drop from the stadium roof,

down the power cable, in time to catch her.

'Nice work, Agent Beckham!'

Despite the effort he was clearly putting into

keeping hold of her, the Doctor forced a smile.

'Never doubted for a moment that you had

things under control!'

Amy looked up at him, her pale face paler than

ever.

'Did we do it, Doctor?' she asked. 'Are they

gone? Do you think it's all over?'

At that moment, a deafening roar rose from

inside the stadium - the roar of tens of thousands

of rejoicing spectators. Hurst had scored his third

goal. The match was over. England had beaten

West Germany, four goals to two.

And under the South Stand, not a single luck-

sucking larva remained to feast on the elation of

the euphoric English fans.

As the Doctor replied to Amy, his grin

broadened.

'It is now!'

The Doctor, Amy and Rory turned off Olympic

Way and strolled eastward along the Fulton

Road.

The city streets were very different from the

last time Amy had made this journey, alone. The

pavements were packed with celebrating England

supporters. Some had spilled from the stadium

itself. Others were Londoners who had left their

homes to join the party. They were chanting,

singing, waving their Union Jacks, or simply

clinging to one another in sheer delight.

As the three friends crossed the street, they

had to hurry out of the path of a human snake of

whooping revellers, dancing the conga - "Dada-

da-da-da-da... PAH!" - along the centre of the

road.

Despite the party atmosphere, Amy felt a little

weary to be making this particular trek again.

'I still don't see why you couldn't let Bill give

me a lift,' she grumbled. She had enjoyed riding

pillion on the young police officer's patrol bike.

It would have been even pleasanter without a

pursuing alien.

'He has better things to do, Pond,' said the

Doctor. 'Good man, that Sanderson. I thought we

could trust him to tidy up a few loose ends.'

In fact, the Doctor - in his role as Agent Lineker

- had assigned the helpful constable a number of

important tasks before they parted company back

at the stadium. Sanderson was to check on the

condition of the unconscious Bakhramov, and

when the linesman revived, order him not to say a

word about his peculiar experience. He was also to

recover the body of the Vispics' victim - the man

they had found in the changing room - and ensure

that his death was put down to natural causes, so

as to prevent unnecessary alarm. Finally, he was to

keep this entire Code Thirteen affair secret - for

reasons of National Security.

The Doctor had made it very clear that he and

Agent Beckham, and indeed the entire population

of London, owed PC Sanderson a great debt of

thanks. Special Branch would watch his career

with interest.

'Aww! Its shut!' complained Rory. They were

approaching Syd Marlins news-stand once again,

where the Doctor had bought his paper earlier. 'I

was gonna get a few more of those player stickers...'

'Ooh - wait a second!' The Doctor came to

a halt, and began rooting about in his pockets.

He pulled out several coins. Although the news-

stand was closed, there was a narrow gap under its

shutters. The Doctor poked several of the larger

coins through this gap.

'Just a few shillings, or florins, or groats, or

whatever they are - in case I didn't pay that chap

enough...'

They set off along the pavement again. A group

of happy fans hailed them from the other side of

the road. The young men whirled their football

rattles. Over the loud tatta-tatta-tatta sound, they

began a rousing chorus of "Rule Britannia".

Rory was carrying a rattle of his own. He had

told Amy, when they had eventually managed to

regroup after the match, that he had found it, and

decided to keep hold of it as a souvenir.

Rory was in particularly high spirits. England

had just become world champions, after all. And it

was a huge relief to have removed the shimmer at

last. Rory couldn't describe how good it was to feel

- and look — like himself again. No more dodgy

tummy and daft tash.

His only regret was that neither Amy nor the

Doctor had seen his moment of glory. They didn't

seem to have caught any of the match, in fact.

When Rory had asked Amy why not, she had just

snapped that they had been "a little bit busy".

Rory saluted the singing fans with an

enthusiastic whirl of his own wooden rattle. He

saw Amy wince at the noise it made.

'What?' Rory gave her a hurt look. 'Aw, come

on, Amy! I just single-handedly rescued England's

World Cup win. I deserve something to remember

it by, don't I?'

Amy didn't answer. Instead, she changed the

subject.

'Speaking of "remembering" - you two haven't

forgotten our deal, right?' She gave both Rory and

the Doctor a steely look. 'About where we're taking

the TARDIS next? I only agreed to come here on

the condition that we go straight on to see the final

when Scotland win, remember?'

'Yes, Pond,' said the Doctor. 'We recall.'

'Good. So long as that's understood, boys.'

'You're absolutely sure the Scots do win it

sometime, Doctor?' Rory clearly found this hard

to swallow. 'I mean, the actual World Cup?'

Amy came to an abrupt halt. She confronted

Rory, hands on hips.

'And why shouldn't they?'

There was danger in Amy's fiery glare. Rory

opened his mouth to reply. But the Doctor cut in,

before things turned nasty.

'I guarantee, Rory, that Scotland are future

world champions,' he said quickly. 'As you will

both duly see for yourselves.'

Amy gave Rory a fierce "so there" look, then

strode off along the pavement again.

'Though we are talking about the very, very

far-off, future-y future,' the Doctor added, in a

whispered aside to Rory. Rory grinned at him.

They set off after Amy.

Anyway, another football outing is cool by me,'

said Rory, as they caught up with her. 'But this

time I'm not getting involved. Strictly spectating.

Come... on... you... blues!

As he practised his supporters chant, he gave

his wooden rattle another enthusiastic whirl.

Tatta-tatta-tatta!

Without warning, Amy snatched the rattle

from Rorys grasp. Before he could stop her, she

stepped off the pavement, held it over a storm

drain, and let it drop. The rattle vanished down a

gap in the drains grating.

'Amy!' Rory was devastated. 'What did you do

that for?'

Amy simply brushed off her hands theatrically.

Once again, the Doctor stepped in as

peacekeeper.

'Never mind, Rory,' he said briskly. 'Between

you and me, I've got an idea for a much better

World Cup memento. Less noisy, too.'

Rory continued to sulk.

'It would, however, involve us making a very

brief stop-off on the way to the Scotland final,' the

Doctor told Amy. 'How do you feel about a quick

detour to Rio de Janeiro?'

'Brazil?' Amy frowned. 'What for?'

'The headquarters of the Brazilian Football

Confederation to be precise,' the Doctor continued,

evading Amy's question. 'December 19th, 1983.

Around midnight, shall we say?'

Now Rory couldn't help being intrigued.

'I know that date,' he said. 'That's when the

Jules Rimet Trophy gets stolen for the second time.'

His eyes widened. 'You don't mean...? What, that

we could...?'

The Doctor grinned mischievously. 'better than

petty thieves having it, don't you think?'

Rory beamed from ear to ear. The World Cup

itself. As a souvenir. Wicked.

Amy reached a junction and turned left, leading

the others round the corner. They were back on

Albion Way, where they had first arrived. There

were the two dark blue police call boxes, side by

side.

Amy hesitated for a moment.

'There you are, old girl!' The Doctor strode

eagerly towards the left-hand box. Rory and Amy

followed. The three of them halted in front of the

TARDIS. The Doctor surveyed his faithful craft

with an affectionate gaze.

'There's no mistaking the real McCain, eh,

you two?'

'Its "McCoy", Doctor,' said Rory.

His words fell on deaf ears.

'Still stands out from the crowd, doesn't she?'

the Doctor went on proudly.

'Absolutely,' agreed Amy She looked a little

shifty 'Oh yeah. Unique.'

A sudden burst of raucous singing caused the

three friends to look back towards Fulton Road.

They watched another conga line of jubilant

England fans dance their way across the end of the

street.

'They certainly do love their football, the

English, don't they?' said the Doctor. 'I can

remember them going just as crazy next time they

win it.'

He smiled, then turned his attention back to

the TARDIS's doors.

It took Rorys brain a moment to register what

the Doctor had just said.

'Next time?' He looked puzzled. Then an

expression of pure elation slowly spread across his

face. Of all the thousands of football facts stashed

in Rorys head, not one was as exciting as this

revelation.

'So - England do win the World Cup again?

Yesss!' He did a little victory spin on one heel. 'I

knew we could! When?'

But the Doctor and Amy were no longer

beside him. They had already disappeared into the

TARDIS.

'Doctor? When?!

Rory hurried after them, closing the door

behind him.

JACQUELINE RAYNER

'The thing about the seaside,' said Amy, shielding

her eyes and gazing into the distance, 'is that its

beside the sea. That's where the name comes from.'

The pretty redhead directed a mock frown

towards the TARDIS as she waved a hand at the

surrounding sand. There was very definitely no sea

in sight. 'This is not the seaside. This is the sea-

not-side.'

The Doctor came out of his time machine.

He was wearing his usual tweed jacket, despite

the fierce sun beating down outside the TARDIS,

and was carrying a bucket and spade. He totally

ignored Amy's frown. Ah, summer holiday,' he

said with a happy sigh, and crouching down

began to shovel sand into the bucket. 'Might be

a bit tricky when we come to the moat, but there

should be no problem with sandcastles.'

The third member of the TARDIS crew exited

the police box. This was Rory, Amy's husband. He

was frowning too, although unlike his wife's mock-

anger he just looked confused. 'Southend's changed

since I was last here,' he said. 'Where's the pier?'

'That's because it's not Southend, it's a desert,'

Amy told him. 'Probably the desert planet of

Sando or something.'

'Don't be silly,' said the Doctor, sniffing the

air. 'Definitely Earth. It has a very distinctive

scent, Earth. Sort of marshmallows and hope.' He

upended his bucket and watched in dismay as the

sand collapsed in a heap. 'Oh.'

'You need wet sand to make sandcastles,' Rory

pointed out.

'I knew that,' said the Doctor. He bounced to his

feet, leaving the bucket and spade lying forlornly

behind him. 'Right, time to explore. Amy, to the

wardrobe! You'll get sunstroke wandering around a

desert like that, what were you thinking?'

'I was thinking I was going to the seaside,'

muttered bikini-clad Amy.

'- and Rory, there are two long white things

sticking out the bottom of your trousers, that can't

be right.'

'I'm wearing shorts, they're my legs,' said Rory

wearily. 'I just don't tan easily, that's all.'

'Well, wait here a moment...' The Doctor

vanished into the TARDIS, reappearing a few

minutes later minus his jacket but carrying a large

bundle of cloth. Soon the three time travellers were

dressed in long, flowing white robes with white

scarves wrapped around their heads.

'Well, look at you, Lawrence of Arabia!' said

Amy admiringly. Rory grinned.

The Doctor handed out water bottles. 'Can't be

too careful,' he said.

'But where are we going?' asked Rory. 'We can't

just walk out into the desert, that'd be silly.'

'I thought,' said the Doctor, spinning on the

spot and pointing behind the TARDIS, 'that we'd

have a look at that town over there.'

Amy and Rory followed his pointing finger.

Sure enough, there was some sort of settlement in

the distance.

'Oh,' said Rory. 'Right.'

And they set off.

'Hang on, what's that?' said Rory after they'd been

walking for a little while.

The Doctor peered ahead. 'Aha!' he said.

'Interesting. Tents.'

'Campsite? Music festival? Nomads?' Amy asked.

The Doctor grinned. 'Archaeological excavation!

Come on!'

They picked up speed. As they got closer, they

could make out a number of dark-skinned men

hacking at the sand with picks. Closer still, and

a couple of paler-skinned men in light-coloured

suits could be spotted too, walking here and there

between the trenches. 'Oh, just look at those

moustaches!' Amy whispered to Rory. 'Talk about

having a gerbil sellotaped under your nose...'

One of the diggers noticed them approach

and called out to his fellows. The two suited men

looked up and started to stride across the sands

towards them. The Doctor waved cheerily.

Surprise appeared on the men's faces as they

reached the Doctor's party. 'You're English!' one said.

'Scottish...' murmured Amy.

'We thought from the clothes -' The man

gestured at the white robes.

'Oh, we like to be comfy,' said the Doctor,

grinning. 'Anyway, robes are cool. Literally. Keep

out the heat, you know.'

The second man gave a short bow. 'You must

forgive our rudeness. We weren't expecting visitors,

especially Western ones. You're very welcome here.'

'Where is here?' asked Rory. 'We, er, got a bit

lost.'

The first man pointed over his shoulder at the

huts beyond the dig site. 'That is the village of

Behneseh - such as it is,' he told them. 'Once the

third most important city in Egypt with temple,

theatre and thousands of prosperous citizens,

reduced over the centuries to just a few squalid

huts.'

Rory nudged Amy and mouthed 'Egypt!'

excitedly. She mouthed back 'squalid huts' with

slightly less excitement.

'Would you care for some refreshment?' asked

the second man. 'I see you have water bottles with

you, but if you have walked far across the desert

I'm sure you will be ready for something more. A

cup of tea, perhaps?'

'Lovely,' said the Doctor. 'Lead the way!'

They walked through the excavations, watched

with interest by the diggers. Amy pulled Rory

to one side. 'When d'you reckon we are - early

twentieth century?'

'About then,' Rory agreed. 'Or Victorian

maybe? That's when everyone in Britain went mad

for Egyptian stuff, I think. Tutankhamun and all

that sort of thing.'

'Tutankhamun!' Amy laughed. 'That's what

Egypt should be about! Pharaohs! Pyramids!

Treasure! Baths of asses' milk! But we end up

with no seaside holiday and squalid huts instead.

Boring!'

Rory shook his head. 'I've seen the films.

There're bound to be booby traps and ancient

curses and walking mummies. Come on, this is

the Doctor we're talking about. When has he ever

taken us anywhere boring?'

Amy conceded the point. 'Excuse me,' she said

to the two men, who turned to her politely. 'Can

I ask what you're digging for here? Is it an ancient

tomb?'

'Golden treasure?' suggested Rory.

'Cursed relics?' said Amy.

The men chuckled. 'Oh, something much more

exciting than that!' said the first.

'Wow.' Amy was impressed.

'Yes,' said the second man. 'Papers!'

Amy waited for the exciting bit, but the man had

finished speaking. 'Papers?' she said after a moment.

'Well, mostly papyri, a few parchments; we use

the term merely for convenience.'

The Doctor jumped in. 'You see, Amy, for

anyone who doesn't have a time machine, which

is of course everybody, it's hard to discover what

life was really like in the ancient world. Only

really important documents tend to survive, those

carved on stone for example. Historians might

know a bit about important laws or great kings,

but not a lot about, oooh, building regulations or

the price of fish.'

'Yawn,' whispered Amy under her breath.

'That's right,' agreed the first man, luckily not

seeming to have heard Amy's comment. 'But this

is the most astonishing find. It will revolutionise

our views of the ancient world!'

His friend nodded. 'The circumstances are

unique. This,' - he gestured to the mound that the

workers were still attacking with picks - 'was one of

the many rubbish dumps for the city. Over the years

the people threw away thousands upon thousands

of documents, and the sand piled up over them.

There is no rain here, so they lay preserved forever,

safe and dry. Ready for us to find.'

Amy nudged Rory again. 'Squalid huts and

rubbish dumps!' she whispered. 'The Doctor is

really spoiling us!'

They were led down into a dip, sand giving

way to dried mud. 'This was once a branch of the

Nile river itself, a stretch of water known as Bahr

Yussuf, but it is dry now. The servants have to walk

some way to fetch water. But we have enough left

for today to make tea.'

They climbed up the other side of the dip - it

was clear, now it had been pointed out, that it was

a dry river bed — and walked up a scrubby, dusty

path to the village proper. A largish tent, a bit like

a marquee, had been put up in the middle of the

settlement, and it was into this tent they went. 'The

cookhouse,' one of the archaeologists explained, as

he lit a spirit stove and fetched a kettle to put on

it. 'No open flames are allowed near the papyri.'

'Very sensible, Mr Grenfell,' said the Doctor.

'Or is Mr Hunt?'

'I am Grenfell, yes. You know us, sir?'

'Oh yes. Now I know what this place is and what

you're doing here - well, your reputations preceded

you. Excellent work you're doing, gentlemen,

excellent work. But where are my manners? Let

me introduce Mr and Mrs Amy Pond -'

'Rory,' muttered Rory. 'Rory Williams. But I

am Mr - I mean, she is Mrs - well, we are married.'

'- and I'm the Doctor. So now we all know

each other, and tea may be drunk.'

The tea was not to Amy's taste, being sweet and

black with tea leaves floating in it, but it was very

welcome. The sun was beginning to sink in the

sky now, and the earlier warmth was disappearing

with it. She shivered.

The other man - Hunt - noticed her shaking.

'I hope we may offer you accommodation,' he

said. 'It's very cold out in the desert at night. And

of course, in the dark it's much harder to avoid the

snakes and scorpions.'

'Snakes and scorpions!' echoed Amy, her voice

rising. She gave the Doctor a hard stare. 'I don't

believe either snakes or scorpions were in the

brochure.'

'It's all right, Amy,' Rory put in. 'They'd be

more scared of you than you are of them.'

'Idiot, that's what people say about spiders! Not

snakes and scorpions!'

'Oh, there are spiders in the desert too,' said

Grenfell helpfully. 'About as big as your hand, but

not really that poisonous.'

'Yes, thank you, we would like to stay here

tonight,' Amy told him before the Doctor or Rory

could speak. 'Anything non-deserty will do.'

'Wouldn't mind a look at those papyri first,

though,' said the Doctor. 'Before the light goes. If

that's all right?'

'Of course,' said Hunt.

'Be still my beating heart,' Amy muttered.

'Come on, you might be surprised,' Rory

whispered back.

But Rory didn't suspect just how big a surprise

was in store for them...

The two archaeologists seemed delighted at the

Doctor's interest in their discoveries, and led the

travellers out of the tent and to a mud-brick hut

a little way away. There were two camp beds on

the floor, but most of the space was taken up with

metal boxes. 'Here we sort our days finds before

having them shipped back to Oxford,' Hunt

said, taking a box from a shelf and opening it.

'Our plan is to spend half the year here in Egypt,

working at the dig, and the other half translating

and cataloguing our discoveries back home.'

He took a scrap of ancient-looking papyrus out

of the metal box - an old biscuit tin - and laid it

out carefully on a trestle table. The visitors peered

at it. "'Whom the gods love die young",' Amy read

out loud. 'Well, that's us - we've died, what, three

times between us so far, Rory?'

She'd said the last bit under her breath, but

when she saw the amazed looks on the faces of

Grenfell and Hunt, she assumed they must have

heard her. After all, what was an everyday sort of

thing for people who travelled in time and space

sounded like madness to most people! But she

soon realised it was actually her first few words

that had surprised them.

'My word, a young lady who can read Greek!'

exclaimed Hunt. 'How wonderful! And how

extraordinary!'

'Pray tell where you were taught this skill,'

said Grenfell, just as amazed. 'A girls' school that

teaches Greek, indeed!'

'For a start,' began Amy indignantly, but the

Doctor jumped in quickly

'Very progressive parents, home educated,

actually we can all read it,' he said before Amy

could continue. 'A trio of wandering classical Greek

scholars, that's us. Or rather, linguists in general.

Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Old High Gallifreyan...'

He plucked another document from the tin and

began to read it out loud. '"Dear Mum, hope you

are well, the weather here continues hot" - hmm,

Ancient Egyptian postcard, interesting. Well, not

interesting exactly, but...' He trailed off as Hunt

and Grenfell turned their astonished stares to

him.

'The speed of your translation!' Hunt cried.

'Incredible.'

'Well, I don't like to boast...' the Doctor said

modestly. He reached forward to pick up another

paper. 'Ooh, now, this is interesting. The colour.

Not come across papyri like this before, wonder

what it means?'

'Pretty,' commented Amy, peering over his

shoulder.

'Ah yes, that tinge of purple - very unusual,'

said Grenfell. 'Of course, purple was the colour

of royalty throughout much of the ancient world,

we wondered if perhaps a touch of dye was added

during the process of turning the plant into paper

for important documents. This, as you can see, is

the funeral spells - the Book of the Dead - for an

important man.'

'Interesting,' said the Doctor. 'Of course,

parchments dyed purple were found in the Roman

and Byzantine empires, but were for use only by

emperors, and usually had gold or silver lettering.

And they were a much deeper, reddy colour, rather

than this lilac tint. Now that's interesting...' He

had unrolled the scroll a little further and was

peering at the paper with a frown on his face.

Hunt and Grenfell were beaming at him now.

'A true scholar of the ancient world!' said Hunt.

'What a lucky day it was for us when you came

this way, Doctor. All of you! This young lady here,'

- he turned to Amy - 'that she was a scholar of

such accomplishment I never guessed when first I

spied her...'

Rory had been peering dreamily into the

distance, not paying much attention to what was

going on. But he heard Hunt's last words. 'Spider!'

he yelled suddenly, and dived forward. 'Don't

worry, Amy, I'll protect you!'

Amy swung round as Rory tried to get in front

of her. He tripped over her feet, and as husband

and wife ended up in a heap on the floor, the

remains of Rory's cup of tea flew through the air,

splashing on to the papyrus in the Doctor's hand.

'Oh no, no!' Rory said, as the Doctor tried

unsuccessfully to shake it dry.

Hunt and Grenfell were models of courtesy.

Grenfell helped Amy to her feet while Hunt

assured Rory that no damage had been done, even

though that was obviously untrue.

'It's still readable,' said the Doctor. He sighed.

'Untouched by moisture for two thousand years,

then along comes Rory. It's not for nothing that

we call him Mr Pond - gettit? Water - pond?'

'I'm married to Amy, and her name's Pond,

so they call me Mr Pond even though it's not my

name,' Rory explained again. 'And I'm really, really

sorry about the papyrus...'

'Don't mention it, please,' Hunt insisted. 'The

Doctor's right, the ink has not run and once it's

dried out it will be fine. For now, let us work out

where you will sleep tonight, and then I hope you

will join us for the evening meal.'

The workers were returning from the dig by the

time two storage tents had been emptied to make

room for the three visitors. A savoury smell was

coming from the cookhouse tent, and the men

- over a hundred of them, by Amy's reckoning -

filed in to collect a dish of food each. Amy, Rory

and the Doctor joined the queue, then sat down

with Grenfell and Hunt to eat. Rory kept on

apologising about the ruined papyrus.

'I won't hear another word,' Hunt told him.

'My plan is to leave it in the cookhouse as that's

the warmest place here at night-time, then we'll see

what it looks like in the morning. It'll be perfectly

safe, our cook, Gahiji, sleeps there.'

'Besides,' added Grenfell, 'the help that

the three of you can give us in our translation

work more than makes up for your unfortunate

accident. Oh —' he looked embarrassed, 'I may be

presuming too much.'

'Oh no, we'd be delighted to stay on and help,'

said the Doctor. 'For a little while, anyway.'

The sun was very low now, and people started

to drift away to their beds. The two tents, one for

Amy and Rory and a separate one for the Doctor,

were near the outskirts of the village, on the banks

of what had once been the river.

Two minutes after they'd been left alone, a knock

came on the door of Rory and Amy's tent — or at

least something that they guessed was supposed

to be a knock, although it was rather canvas-y.

The Doctor undid the ties holding the doorflaps

together and popped his head through the gap.

'Come on in, then, we're all decent,' Amy

told him. 'You seem to know all about those

archaeologists, are they famous or something? Ooh,

is a terrible ancient curse about to be unleashed?

We said, Rory, didn't we, that a terrible ancient

curse was probably about to be unleashed. Is that

how you know about them?'

'The reason I know about them,' said the

Doctor, 'is because as should have become clear

by now, this is a very significant archaeological

discovery. 1896 to 1906, Grenfell and Hunt

excavated here for ten years. OK, so they might

call it Behneseh, but this is Oxyrhynchus, home

of the most famous rubbish tips in the world!

Well over half the ancient plays, poetry and so on

known by your time were discovered here. And

that's just the tip of the iceberg!'

'Ancient plays and poems that unleash a terrible

curse when read?' Amy suggested hopefully.

'No,' said the Doctor firmly.

'Boring,' said Amy.

Rory changed the subject. 'Paypyrus, that's

made from reeds, right?'

'From the pith of the papyrus plant,' the Doctor

replied. 'Ooh, try saying that a few times fast. The

pith of the papyrus plant, the pith of the papyrus

plant, the pith -'

'Yes, thank you, we've got the idea,' said Amy,

trying to look stern and not laugh.

'So, er, are they going to be expecting us to read

lots of old papers?' asked Rory. 'Because I'm not

sure I'm going to be very good at that.'

'Oh, we'll be fine,' the Doctor told him. 'You

read that bit of Menander, didn't you? It's a Time

Lord gift, you can read anything, any language, as

long as you're with me.'

'Wish I'd had that during my GCSEs,' muttered

Amy.

'Anyway, it'll be fun,' continued the Doctor.

'You get to have your seaside holiday after all -

all right, so without the sea, but with added

archaeology!'

Amy started yawning. 'I'm sure I'll feel much

more keen on reading ancient papers after a good

night's sleep. That was a hint, Doctor,' she pointed

out as he failed to move.

'Oh, right.' The Doctor shuffled backwards

out of the tent. 'Night night, sleep tight. Don't let

the bed-scorpions and snakes bite. See you in the

morning!' The tent flaps closed on him.

None of them would have slept peacefully that

night if they'd had any idea what the morning was

going to bring...

'Wakey wakey, rise and shine!' Amy sang out.

Rory yawned and pushed himself up on his

elbows. 'What's the weather like?' he asked. 'I'm

guessing sunny.'

'Well, let's go and see,' Amy replied.

She pushed open the tent door and looked

outside for a few moments. Then she let the tent

flaps fall and shuffled back inside. 'Tell me, did I

just imagine that there was a desert outside when

we went to sleep last night?'

'Er, no,' said Rory. 'You could tell it was a desert

by all the sand.'

'Well, unless this tent turned into a TARDIS

during the night and flew off, something pretty

weirds been going on out there.'

The two of them left the tent. 'Oh,' said Rory.

'Yes. That's a bit different, isn't it?'

'Doctor!' Amy yelled.

There was a rustling from the next tent, and the

Doctor's tousled head appeared. His eyebrows rose

in surprise. 'Amy, did you do this?' he asked.

'Of course I didn't,' she said.

The Doctor stood up, and the three friends

looked around. They were surrounded by plants,

thick-stemmed reeds with fronds fountaining out

from their tops. The stems nearly reached up to

Amy's waist.

'They look like papyrus plants,' said Rory.

'Except...'

'Except they're purple,' completed Amy.

'Doctor!' The two British archaeologists were

coming towards them, pushing their way through

the reeds. They looked very surprised.

The Doctor waved. 'Hello! Nice garden you've

got here.'

'This is astounding!' cried Hunt. 'How could it

have happened?'

'Its impossible!' said Grenfell. 'A plant that can

grow in the desert - without water - and at such

speeds - if I wasn't seeing this with my own eyes I

wouldn't believe it!'

'I wonder...' murmured Hunt thoughtfully.

'Papyrus has so many uses. It can be turned into

paper, rope, mats, shoes - even used as food. Surely

this discovery will be of great benefit to the British

Empire!'

'Well, that'd be nice,' said the Doctor. 'But don't

count your chickens yet. I suspect there's rather

more to this plant than meets the eye.'

Rory had been thinking. 'Doctor,' he said, you

know that papyrus we saw last night? Well, that

was a bit purple, maybe it was made from plants

like this.'

'You mean the papyrus you spilled tea on?'

Amy asked.

'Yes, I know, I'm a klutz, thanks for reminding

me —'

'Shut up, Rory,' the Doctor said, interrupting.

'You might just be a genius.'

'I might?'

The Doctor was already striding away through

the reeds. 'Come along, Ponds! And archaeologists,

too. We're off to find Rory's purple papyrus.'

They pushed their way through the vegetation,

heading for the cook tent where the papyrus had

been taken. Several bewildered Egyptian servants

joined them as they went.

A plant frond tickled Amy's chin and she

brushed it aside. 'These are definitely getting taller,'

she said. 'They must still be growing!'

'They probably are,' said the Doctor, 'but

that's not the reason they're taller here. They're

spreading out from a central source. These plants

are older than the ones by our tents. And the ones

right there,' - he pointed towards the cookhouse

marquee - 'are even taller. Which means we're

getting nearer to the place where it all started.'

Grenfell looked puzzled. 'But Gahiji has been

in the cookhouse all night - why didn't he alert us

to this?'

The Doctor stopped suddenly, flinging his arms

wide to prevent anyone else walking past him. 'I

think I have an idea why not. Go back, everyone.

Amy, don't look.'

Amy ignored him, leaning over the Doctors

outstretched arm to look ahead. She could see a

pair of sandals, with what looked like sticks lying

on top of them. 'What is it?' she asked quietly.

'It looks...' said Hunt in astonishment as he

circled round the Doctor, 'It looks like a mummy.

A mummified body, I should say. But we've

come across no tombs in our excavations, only

documents.'

'And Ancient Egyptian mummies don't usually

keep their clothes on,' the Doctor pointed out.

'I'm afraid we've found your suspiciously quiet

servant.'

Amy drew in her breath in horror.

One of the Egyptians pushed past the Doctor.

'It is Gahiji!' he cried. 'My friend Gahiji, what has

happened to you?' He knelt down beside his friends

body, pushing aside the clustered reeds with his

hands. Amy could see Gahiji now. His face looked

just like a mummy's. The yellowed skin clung tight

to the bones of the skull, the nose resembling a

mere fold of dry paper. It was a horrible sight.

'I would say,' began the Doctor, that every drop

of moisture has been drained from that body.'

The Egyptian kneeling on the ground started

to cry. 'What evil spirits have taken my friend

from me?' he said - and then he yelled. The

surrounding reeds had bent their leafy heads

towards him; a swift, jerking movement like a cat

that has suddenly sensed a mouse. He reached

out to push them away, and the yell turned into a

scream. 'It burns!'

The Doctor was there in an instant, grabbing

him and dragging him away. 'Everyone - back

NOW! RUN!' he shouted, and this time even Amy

didn't dare to disobey him. The Doctor, the Ponds,

the archaeologists and the few Egyptians who'd

been with them all ran as fast as they could until

they were back by Rory and Amy's tent, where the

purple papyri were still only knee-high.

'Everyone inside!' called the Doctor.

It was a squeeze, but they all got in, the Doctor

half supporting, half carrying the crying Egyptian.

'What happened back there, Nassor?' asked

Hunt. 'Are you all right?'

In answer, the man held up his left hand. It

was shrunken and withered, brittle skin clinging

tightly to the fingerbones.

Rory, his years of nursing experience coming to

the fore, sat down beside Nassor and tried to calm

him. He gently examined the bony hand. 'I'm

sorry,' he said at last. 'I don't think there's anything

I can do. It's just... dry. Completely dry.'

'Like every drop of moisture has been drained

from it...' whispered Amy, echoing the Doctor's

words from earlier.

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'I think we've found our

water vampire. It's the plants.' He leant over and

ripped two strip of cloth from the bottom of his

robe, then wrapped one round each hand. 'I'll

have a closer look. Everyone stay here.'

Of course Amy followed him anyway so did

Rory. They crept out of the tent, being extremely

careful not to allow any flesh to come into contact

with the reeds. The Doctor grasped a papyrus

stem in his bandaged hand and tugged. Nothing

happened. He got hold of several handfuls and

pulled again. Still nothing.

Amy took hold of his waist and helped him

pull. The plants stayed firmly rooted.

Rory took hold of Amy's waist and pulled too.

Still no good.

'Anyone remember the story The Enormous

Turnip?' said Amy. 'We need a little old man and

a little old lady and a dog and a cat and a mouse

before we're getting this baby out of the ground.'

The Doctor stopped pulling and stood up

straight. 'No good,' he said. 'Rory, pop your head

into the tent and see if anyone's got a pocket knife,

will you?'

A few seconds later Rory handed a small silver

penknife to the Doctor, who unfolded the blade -

with some difficulty as his hands were still wrapped

in cloth — and tried to saw through a reed.

To Amy's surprise, the knife cut straight through

the plant's stem. 'Oh!' she said in astonishment.

'Oh, well that's all right then, isn't it? I mean, they

probably don't have lawn mowers around here, but

we could get a few scythes or something.'

But the Doctor shook his head. 'Look,' he said.

Amy looked. The Doctor had cut the plant close

to the ground, but a shoot was already weaving its

way out of the hacked-off stump. 'Cutting them

down won't stop them. It won't help at all.'

Everyone was silent for a moment, then Rory

said, 'I'm guessing the plants are alien, right?'

'I'm guessing that too,' the Doctor confirmed.

'And you think they have something to do with

that papyrus document I spilled tea on?'

The Doctor nodded. 'The way I see it - and

yes, I am guessing a lot of it but what you need to

remember is that my guesses are always right -'

'Nine times out of ten,' put in Amy.

'Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a

thousand,' corrected the Doctor, kneeling down

to crawl back into the tent. 'As I was saying,' he

continued once they were all inside, 'the way I

see it is this. These purple plants somehow got

seeded along the Nile river a few dozen centuries

ago, where they grew alongside the papyrus

plants. And because they were very similar to the

papyrus plants, they got cut down and used in

the same way.'

'But people in Ancient Egypt didn't get sucked

dry like that poor man, did they?' said Amy.

'Maybe they did, maybe they didn't,' the Doctor

said. 'If the plants were growing in the Nile, they

were probably getting all the moisture they needed

from that. Anyway, they were made into paper, and

one of those documents ended up here. What you

have to remember is that the whole point of the

Oxyrhynchus excavation, the reason it's such an

incredible find, is that the papers have been kept

utterly dry for millennia. That's why they've survived.

The purple papyrus was just lying dormant -'

'- and I woke it up by spilling tea on it,'

completed Rory. 'Sorry about that.'

'Oh, don't be so hard on yourself,' the Doctor

told him. 'On the one hand, you're a clumsy idiot,

yes. But on the other hand, you might have helped

to save the world. If it had happened some other

time, when I wasn't around to sort things out, it

could have been disastrous. OK, it looks like new

plants are benign until they're fully grown - then

they start reacting to water, and will take it from

anywhere. Anywhere at all. And the human body

is about sixty per cent water...'

'Shouldn't we be thinking about getting out of

here?' said Amy.

The Doctor nodded.

'The other servants and helpers,' said Hunt.

'They must be warned!'

Rory was closest to the tent's entrance, and

he was starting to move out when he stumbled

and fell.

'You all right?' Amy began, then yelled as she

fell backwards. The groundsheet beneath their feet

was shaking.

A purple shoot burst through the floor of the

tent, then another, then another.

'Everyone out!' cried the Doctor as he hurried

to Amy's aid. Rory, the two archaeologists and the

Egyptians scrambled out of the doorway, but the

papyrus stems were growing fast now and Amy

and the Doctor couldn't get past.

'We're trapped!' said Amy 'There's no way out!'

Then she thought for a second and said, 'Oh right.

We're in a tent.'

The two of them scrambled to the back of the

tent and their fingers tore at the seams. The fabric

ripped and they climbed through the hole.

'Amy? Amy?' Rory was calling but she couldn't

see him. There was a wall of papyrus stems between

them now.

'Rory?' Amy began to run along the outskirts

of the camp, searching for a way through. The

Doctor ran in the opposite direction.

They met on the other side of the circuit. 'I

can't find a gap!' cried Amy 'We need an axe - a

machete - something to chop our way in! Ooh!

Can't you sonic them?'

'That would be with the sonic screwdriver in

my jacket pocket, would it?' said the Doctor.

'Yes!'

'The jacket pocket that's still attached to the

jacket that's back in the TARDIS?'

'Oooooh!' Amy growled at him. 'So what are

we going to do, then?' She jumped backwards as

another reed pushed out of the sandy ground by

her feet. 'The planet'll be overrun in a few hours!'

'Don't exaggerate,' the Doctor told her. 'It'll

take at least a week. By which time we'll have

thought of a solution.'

'By which time Rory'll be thin and crispy!'

'Hello?' Rory's voice came to them faintly across

the sea of purple. 'Amy, Doctor, can you hear me?

We're at the hut and it seems safe for now. The

plants aren't coming inside. Yet. Er - any idea what

we should do next?'

'Just stay safe,' the Doctor called back. 'Sit

tight, and Amy and I'll be back later.'

Amy looked at him in surprise. 'Later? How

much later?'

'Oh,' said the Doctor, 'about 2000 years later.

'We're not just leaving them!' said Amy in

amazement as she followed the Doctor out

into the desert. 'I mean, that's not what we do, is it?'

'Of course not.' The Doctor waved away her

concerns with a careless hand. 'But no point

faffing about where no obvious solution presents

itself, let's head for the source of the problem. We

need to find out how they dealt with those reeds

the first time round.'

'They probably wrote it down on papyrus,'

said Amy. 'All we've gotta do is search through the

millions of documents back there. Won't take us

long!'

'Silly Pond,' the Doctor knew she was joking.

'We re taking a little trip in a time machine instead.'

Amy's face lit up. 'We're going back to ancient

Egypt! Oh, that is so cool. Obviously, bad naughty

reeds, big danger, all that stuff, but - ancient

Egypt! That's more like it. Less rubbish and more

pharaohs. Oooh, ooh, can we visit Cleopatra? The

real one, I mean, not River Song.'

'Yes, that would probably be about the right

time — and she might not recognise me - but to be

on the safe side I'll aim for just a little bit earlier,'

said the Doctor, looking concerned.

'Oh, you!' said Amy, punching his arm playfully.

Then a few moments later: 'What, not really?'

The Doctor didn't answer.

Amy was really hot and thirsty by the time they

reached the TARDIS. 'OK, ice-cold drink first,'

she said as they entered the control room, 'then

you do the coordinates and I'll do the clothes.'

'No, thank you, perfectly fine in my own

clothes,' the Doctor told her, unwrapping himself

from the white robes and putting his jacket

back on.

Amy shook her head. 'Sorry, we did Ancient

Egypt in Key Stage Two. I know all about it. One,

I want the wig and the lots and lots of jewellery

thing, and two, I want to see you in make-up.'

'I don't think -' began the Doctor.

'Lots and lots of make-up,' said Amy, deliberately

ignoring him. 'I'm off to get the eyeshadow now.'

And with that she vanished further into the

TARDIS.

A short time later, a rather grumpy looking Doctor

operated the controls to open the TARDIS s main

doors. He was dressed in a knee-length white

tunic - sonic screwdriver tucked into the scarf tied

round his waist — and his eyes were heavily outlined

in black, with green powder on his eyelids ('To

match your lovely green eyes,' Amy had said as she

applied it. 'You wear eyeshadow now. Eyeshadow

is cool.')

Amy herself, whose tunic reached to her ankles

and who had definitely gone for the 'lots and lots of

jewellery thing', looked altogether happier as they

went out on to the sand. 'This is the same sand,'

she said. 'Well, I know it isn't, but it looks like

it. How about that? Back in time a few thousand

years and the sand looks exactly the same.'

But one thing that very definitely didn't look

the same was the river. As they approached it,

it became very clear that this was no dried-out

riverbed. 'Wow!' said Amy. 'That's what I call a

pond and a half.'

'I think,' said the Doctor, shading his eyes and

peering towards the high water, 'that we must have

arrived near the beginning of Inundation.'

'Inun- what now?'

"Key Stage Two", you said. "I know all about

it", you said,' the Doctor remarked casually.

'Oh, Inundation, the Ancient Egyptian season

where the Nile floods, that Inundation.'

'Yes, that Inundation. Which of course raises the

issue of how we're going to get to the other side of

this quite deep and rapidly getting deeper river.'

Amy looked along the river bank. 'We could

always borrow that boat,' she said. She looked up

at the sky, which was pink with the dawn. 'Let's

hope no one wants to go fishing before the sun's

properly up.'

They walked along the bank till they came to

the small fishing boat. Amy sat in it as the Doctor

pushed it into the water, then the Doctor jumped

in. 'Hey, is this boat made from papyrus?' Amy

asked as the Doctor began to row. 'It looks all sort

of reedy.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Not purple papyrus

though. Which is lucky for us. And for the fisherman.

Although...' He peered into the distance. 'Is it me,

which it probably isn't as my eyesight is superb, or

is that a purplish patch in the distance over there?'

Amy looked along the far side of the bank. 'Yup,

I'd say that was a purplish patch. And I also can't

help noticing that we're now heading towards it.'

It was true that the Doctor was paddling

rapidly to change their course. 'Well, can't examine

something without getting close, can we?' he said

reasonably.

'As long as we don't get too cl- aaaargh!' There

was a tremendous splash as Amy landed in the

water. She was taken completely by surprise and for

a few moments the impact and the cold knocked

all other thoughts from her mind. Everything was

suddenly cold and wet and she couldn't breathe.

As the shock faded, it became clear that air was

needed in the very near future. Amy whirled her

arms round, trying to propel her head upwards.

She broke the surface with a gasp, and began

dragging in huge lungfuls of air as she trod water.

The Doctor was floating next to her, looking very

surprised. The papyrus boat was upside down.

'What happened?' Amy spluttered.

The answer was a grunting roar. A huge, blunt-

toothed mouth chomped down on the boat.

'Aaargh!' she yelled. A hungry hungry hippo!'

'Swim!' yelled the Doctor, as the hippopotamus

chewed on.

Amy struck out towards the shore. Her long,

powerful strokes were carrying her away from the

hippo - but closer to the patch of purple reeds. She

barely noticed it, all her energy was concentrated

on the beast behind them.

She'd thought of hippos as dull, plodding,

rather comic creatures that basked in the mud

all day. There was nothing comic about this

ferocious creature. 'What did we do to upset it?'

she spluttered.

'Nothing! Just keep swimming! Nearly at the

shore!' the Doctor called in reply.

But the hippo had left the wrecked fishing boat

and was swimming after them. It was fast, and it

was angry.

'Keep going!' the Doctor yelled.

Then, just as Amy thought those terrible teeth

were about to sink into her wildly kicking legs, the

hippo veered away from her. It ignored the Doctor

too, and began swimming off in the opposite

direction.

'What on earth -' Amy began and then

realised where she was. The purple reeds were only

centimetres away. She swam to one side, avoiding

them.

The Doctor made it to the edge and scrambled

on to the bank. Amy hastily swam across to him

and allowed him to help her out of the water too.

'You OK?' he asked her. She nodded, still getting

her breath back.

'What was that all about?' she said at last. 'Why

did that hippo attack us, and why did that hippo

stop attacking us?'

'Its an interesting thing. If you ask people

what's the most deadly animal in Africa, possibly

in the world, they'll say lions or maybe crocodiles.

Its actually the hippo. Really very grumpy,

hippos. attack you for no reason, and don't give

up easily. Which is the second interesting thing. It

was almost as though it was afraid - of this.' The

Doctor walked over to the patch of purple reeds,

and bent over to look more closely at it.

'Not too close,' Amy said nervously. 'D'you

reckon the hippo knew this plant is dangerous,

then? By the way, your eyeliners running.'

The sun was higher in the sky now, and they

were beginning to feel the heat of an Egyptian day.

After the cold of the river, it felt glorious. At least

we'll dry out quickly,' the Doctor said. He took the

sonic screwdriver from his belt and shook it. Water

dripped out. 'Won't be using that for a while.' He

tucked it back in the scarf and pulled out a small

black rectangle. 'Lucky the psychic paper's in a

waterproof wallet.'

'Stop! Stop!' Angry voices came to them from

the direction of the town. They looked up to see

several men running towards them. The Doctor

gave a friendly wave.

'They look crosser than the hippo,' Amy

muttered out of the corner of her mouth. 'Do you

think we ought to start running?'

'No, that would look suspicious, especially as

they're yelling at us to stop,' the Doctor whispered

back. 'Not that they've specified what they want us

to stop, but I'm sure we'll find out very soon.'

They found out sooner than Amy would have

liked. In a few seconds the men were on them.

They grabbed the Doctor and Amy by the arms

and began to drag them away. 'Thieves!' one spat at

them. 'Low-lives! You take advantage of the death

of the Nomarch to rob us of our sacred treasures!'

'I think there's been a slight misunderstanding,'

the Doctor said. 'We weren't actually stealing

anything.'

'What other reason could there be for your

presence at the sacred spot?' said another of

the men.

'Well,' the Doctor said, 'I can think of thirty-

four reasons off the top of my head, not including

the truth, which is that we didn't know it was a

sacred spot, we just happened upon it, and anyway

we were only looking.'

The man laughed. 'Well, you will not have to

worry about "only looking" when your head has

been cut off.'

Amy's eyes opened wide. 'When the what now?

cutting off your head for looking at a few purple

plants? That's barmy.'

'You may be lucky. Perhaps they will only take

your hands. Or whip you,' the same man said with

a shrug.

'Yeah, that would be lucky,' said Amy. 'Look,

we re friends of Cleopatra, you know! The Doctor's

actually a really, really good friend of hers.'

'Quiet!' the Doctor hissed. 'Anyway, were a bit

earlier than that. But my friend's right,' he added

loudly. 'We come from the pharaoh to pay his

respects to your departed Nomarch. I, er, actually

have a note from him here.' He waved the psychic

paper that he was still clutching tightly in one hand.

The men stopped for a second and one took it

from him. Amy got a brief glimpse of the paper: it

was full of wavy lines and little drawings of eagles

and lions and feathers and things. The man stared

at it and shook his head. 'These symbols mean

nothing to me. I will consult a learned man while

you are prepared for judgement.'

'Is the psychic paper playing up?' Amy asked in

a whisper. 'Did it get water in its works after all?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. He just can't

read. Tricky script, Egyptian, there're more than

500 hieroglyphs.'

'Wow. Arm, owl, two reeds spells AMY. That's

all I remember from school,' Amy said. 'Don't

remember learning about Nomarchs, though,

what are they when they're at home?'

'Oh, governor, mayor, chief - that sort of thing.

Bloke who rules the district. Egyptian big cheese.

In this case, recently deceased Egyptian big cheese,'

said the Doctor. 'That's probably made things a bit

chaotic round here, which is going to make things

either easier or harder for us.'

'I'm guessing, harder,' said Amy. 'Us and the

easy option, they never go together.'

They were in the town now. If Amy hadn't known

it was the same place she'd been in thousands of

years in the future, she would never have guessed.

There were mud huts painted white and there were

tents, but there were also magnificent buildings

and stone pillars. Above all, there were people.

This was a bustling place, full of life, and she

remembered the Doctor saying it had once been

the third most important city in Egypt.

'This was the provincial capital,' the Doctor

said, as if reading her thoughts. 'Sort of a New

York of the ancient world.'

They were shoved inside a mud hut. One man

went off, taking the psychic paper away with him,

while the others stood guard.

'So, the purple papyrus is sacred here, huh?'

said Amy to make conversation.

'It would seem so. Not really a surprise. Gods

everywhere you look in Egypt. Hundreds of 'em.'

'Yeah, yeah, I know,' said Amy. 'All creepy

looking men with animal heads, birds and dogs

and things. Because a man with the head of a dog

is just the sort of being that everyone would look

up to. D'you reckon he sniffs other gods' bums

and pees up against sacred lamp-posts?'

'I think what you're doing there,' said the

Doctor, 'is confusing the jackal-headed god

Anubis with a Jack Russell. Easy mistake to make,

of course, but you wouldn't want a terrier judging

your worthiness to enter the afterlife.'

'All that stuff where they weigh your heart to

see if it's too heavy to enter heaven sort of thing?

I remember doing about that at school too,' Amy

said. 'Basically, the Egyptian thing is, be nice or

when you die a crocodile-lion-hippo thing will eat

you up. Don't know about you, but I'd probably

spend my life being nice if that was on offer.'

'Aren't you nice now?' asked the Doctor

innocently.

She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

'What d'you think?'

Footsteps were approaching from outside. 'I

think that if we're lucky we're going to get released

now,' the Doctor said.

'We're usually lucky,' said Amy, but she didn't

feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded.

She was right to feel worried. It looked like their

luck had run out. Hie men who entered the hut

were wielding swords. They looked pretty fierce.

'Nice to see you, I assume you've come to let

us go,' the Doctor said, trying to get past them to

the door.

He was pushed back roughly, and fell on to the

floor with an oof'.

'Oi!' yelled Amy, but one of the men grabbed

her arm and pushed her down on to her knees.

'The traitors' death has been ordered,' he said, and

raised his sword above her neck.

'Stop!' screamed Amy, as the man raised his

sword. 'Were not traitors! Believe me, you're

doing a really bad thing, the crocodile god'll eat

your heart up if you hurt us, I am serious!'

Beside her, the Doctor was also struggling.

'You're making a big mistake!'

'Stop! Stop! Stop!'

'Stop!' Amy only just realised that someone else

was shouting too. A male voice had joined in with

her cries. She stopped shrieking and decided that

it was safe to look up without risking bumping her

neck on a sword blade.

A man in his mid-twenties had entered the

house. He had bronzed skin and a shaved head

and he was holding the Doctor's psychic paper in

his hand.

'These are honoured visitors who come from

the pharaoh himself. Leave, now!'

The men slunk out of the hut without looking

back. The young man held out a hand to help Amy

get up. 'Please accept my heartfelt apologies at the

way you have been treated,' he said. 'I am Khenti,

scribe to the Nomarch.'

'The late Nomarch, would that be?' asked the

Doctor, climbing to his feet.

Khenti nodded. 'As yet we have no new

Nomarch. I continue to act as our Nomarch

would have wished. And he would not, of course,

have wished harm to come to representatives of

the pharaoh,' - he glanced down at the psychic

paper - 'the noble Doctor and Lady Amy.' He

smiled then, and Amy felt a wave of liking for him.

She would, she thought, have liked him even if he

hadn't stopped her from being executed.

'Well, no harm done,' said the Doctor, taking

hold of his own ears and shaking his head from side

to side. 'Yup, head still attached to neck. Do you

regularly execute people within minutes of their

arrival on no evidence without allowing them to

defend themselves, though?'

Khenti lost his smile. 'We do not, noble

Doctor. I am ashamed this has happened. The loss

of Senbeb, our Nomarch, has upset the way of

things. I have no doubt that a message got garbled

in the telling and I can only apologise again.'

'Apology accepted,' said the Doctor.

Amy shrugged. 'I guess I've had near-death

experiences that were closer to death than that. I'll

let you off this once. As long as it doesn't happen

again.'

Khenti seemed to understand the sentiment

behind her words and his smile returned. 'I am

glad. And I can assure you it will not happen again.'

'Well, let's keep our fingers crossed,' the Doctor

said. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the young

man. 'You know, you might be the very person to

help us. How would you feel about a small chat?'

'I would be honoured,' said Khenti. 'Would

you care to accompany me, noble Doctor - and

of course, you too, Lady Amy, most favoured

of Sutekh.'

The Doctor suddenly had a choking fit. Amy

gave him a slap on the back. 'Hey, you OK?' she

said.

'Just... er, what was that you said again, Khenti?'

'I remarked that Lady Amy, with her fair skin

and hair of a sunset hue, must be greatly favoured

by the god Sutekh who prized such things so

highly.' Khenti looked worried. 'I trust I have not

offended you.'

Amy glared at the Doctor. 'Nope, not offended at

all. Don't know what's up with "the noble Doctor".'

'Oh, just someone walking over my grave,' said

the Doctor. 'Let's go for that chat now.'

Khenti led them through the bustling streets.

'I have rooms in the Nomarch's house,' he said, as

they turned a corner.

'Oh wow.' The house ahead was not at all what

Amy had expected. More like a palace than a hut,

it appeared to be made out of stone rather than the

white-painted mud bricks found everywhere else.

It had three storeys and what looked like a garden

on top of its flat roof, sheltered with canopies.

Khenti led them round the side to a walled

courtyard at the back of the house. 'Oh wow,' Amy

said again. 'This is gorgeous.' Brightly covered tiles

covered the ground. There were palm trees, and

shrubs covered with heavily scented flowers. Geese

ran across the yard, hissing and honking. What

she thought at first was a swimming pool turned

out to be a pond full of dashing, silvery fish.

'Gorgeous,' the Doctor echoed, flatly. Amy was

surprised at his tone and turned to him with a

frown. He pointed towards the pond. 'I especially

like the little clump of sacred papyrus.'

Oh no. Amy looked over at the far side of the

water. The Doctor was right, of course. While

she'd been exclaiming at the beauty, he'd zeroed in

on the alien threat. The cluster of reeds was very

definitely purple. 'Great,' she said with a sigh. 'Get

a lot of that round here, do you?' she asked Khenti.

He shook his head. 'The sacred reeds are very

rare. And also very special.'

'Why?'

For answer, Khenti pointed over to the two

boys who had just run out of the house. 'Nebi and

Nubi, sons of the Nomarch. The gods sent the

sacred reeds to save their lives.' He told the story.

'The boys had found a strange seed pod in the

desert and had been playing "catch" with it. When

it was accidentally thrown into the water they

had jumped in to look for it. They didn't notice a

crocodile swimming towards them...

'Living near the river, the boys had been able

to swim almost since they could walk, and they

swiftly swam for their lives, crocodile in pursuit.

Escape seemed hopeless as the creature sped

towards them in the water...

'Then out of nowhere the strange purple reeds

had appeared, pushing their way through the

surface of the river behind the boys. The crocodile

had taken no notice, swimming on regardless. It

swam into the patch of reeds...

'It made a hissing sound - angry, even scared

- and then it just... stopped.' Khenti was silent

for a few moments, remembering. Then he stood

up and led the Doctor and Amy into the house.

'There,' he said.

Amy screwed up her nose in disgust as she

looked at the thing. It had been a crocodile once.

Now it was a desiccated thing of black and orange,

its teeth still white and sharp but looking huge

against its flattened head. If it was stood upright,

nose to tail, it would be much taller than she

was and the idea of meeting it in the water was

terrifying.

'I guess we know why that hippo was scared

of the reeds,' she said. 'Bad news like this would

travel.'

'You were unlucky to meet an animal at all,' said

Khenti. 'Most have avoided the river in the days

since the happening. The sound of this crocodiles

death lingers long in the mind. But not so long as

the screams of the men who followed it...'

The Doctor looked up sharply. 'People have

died here?'

'Three men,' Khenti said. 'That very night. You

would like to see them?'

'You've kept their bodies too?' Amy nearly

screeched. 'What kind of sick joke is that?'

'I do not joke,' said Khenti seriously. 'They

act as a warning to others. To touch the Water

Thief is death. Even the Nomarch himself was not

immune.'

'That's what you call it, the Water Thief?' said

the Doctor. 'Interesting. Because thief implies it's

taking something that doesn't rightfully belong to

it, but if it's sacred it's doing the gods' will.'

'I think,' said Amy, 'that you've homed in on

the wrong bit of what Khenti said just then. Even

their big boss guy, the Nomarch, has been sucked

to death by those purple papyrus things!'

But Khenti shook his head. 'No. That was

not the manner of his death. The Nomarch had

welcomed the sacred reeds, the saviours of his

sons. But after the deaths of the men, his mind

was changed. He declared them evil, and said they

must be destroyed. That very day the gods struck

him down. On his wife's orders, I had some of the

sacred reeds brought here to the palace, to be put

in a place of honour so the gods would know we

appreciated their gift and take no further revenge.

The priest Hetshepsu has made it very clear that if

harm comes to the Water Thief, harm will come to

our city.'

The Doctor had screwed up his face while

Khenti was talking, and Amy knew he was making

an effort not to say something rude. 'I'll say one

thing for the Egyptian gods, logical behaviour was

never their strong point,' he commented at last.

'What about the people who brought the reeds

here to the palace?' Amy asked hurriedly, before

the Doctor could say anything that Khenti might

find too offensive. 'How did they manage that

without getting crisped?'

'The men prayed to the gods for their blessing

and Hetshepsu, the priest, sacrificed a bull to the

gods to win their favour. It was the gods' will that

the men were dressed in garments of cow skin for

protection until the Water Thief was safely in its

sacred spot.'

'Leather gloves so their skin didn't touch the

actual reeds. Very sensible,' said the Doctor. 'You

know, getting everyone to dress head to foot in

leather while those reeds are around wouldn't be a

bad idea.'

Amy raised an eyebrow. 'Like an Ancient

Egyptian biker gang? That'd give the archaeologists

something to talk about back home.' She saw

Khenti looking at her curiously and knew that to

him she must sound like she was talking nonsense.

Always a problem with time travel. She cast around

for something else to say. 'Hang on a minute,' she

said, your Nomarch - if he did something that

the gods didn't like and they struck him down for

it, what's that going to mean when he gets to the

day of judgement? Will the crocodile-lion-hippo

thing eat him? Er, sorry, that's probably a bit of an

insensitive question, isn't it?'

She added the last bit because Khenti was

looking extremely embarrassed by the question.

His coffee-coloured skin was turning redder than

she'd have thought possible. 'We, his loyal subjects

and friends, must hope that the many good deeds

of Senbeb the Nomarch will lighten his heart

enough to escape the hunger of Ammit and let him

be conducted safely to the glories of the afterlife,'

he said.

The Doctor was looking at the scribe through

narrowed eyes. 'A very worthy thought.' He leaned

forward. 'But I think there might be a little more

to it than that. What don't you want to tell me,

Khenti, hmm?'

Khenti gasped. 'I do not know what you mean.'

'Oh yes you do,' said the Doctor. 'You're scared

to tell me something because you think I've - I

mean, because I've come from the pharaoh and

you're worried he wouldn't approve. You're worried

you're going to get into trouble - and perhaps get

other people into trouble too. You don't have to

worry. I don't get people into trouble with the

pharaoh unless I really, really have to. Your secret's

safe with me.'

But Khenti shook his head, still bashful. 'Lord

Doctor, I believe your words. But I must beg your

pardon and your indulgence. It is not my secret

to share.' There was a pause. Then he added, as

though carelessly, 'Perhaps you would be interested

in visiting Manu at the House of Beauty. It is a

most fascinating place.'

'Fair enough,' said the Doctor. 'I might just do

that, then.'

'Ooh,' said Amy. 'House of Beauty, can I come

too? Cos being dunked in the Nile did not do good

things for my make-up.'

Khenti's expression seemed to suggest he

thought she had made a joke but wasn't quite sure

what. Or why. The Doctor, on the other hand, was

just smirking. 'Yes, they'd probably like having a

living client to work on for a change.'

'Er, what?' said Amy. 'Oh great. You're going

to tell me that the House of Beauty's where they

pretty-up all the corpses, aren't you?'

The Doctor nodded cheerfully.

'Then I think I shall stay behind,' she said.

'It would be my pleasure,' Khenti told her with

a bow.

'Don't water the plants,' the Doctor whispered

in her ear as he passed her.

Yeah, right. Amy thought she was more likely

to try hugging the hippo they'd met earlier than

get close to those purple reeds. 'Good luck with

your dead bodies,' she said.

The Doctor gave them a cheerful wave, and

headed off in the direction Khenti had shown

him. That left Amy and Khenti alone with only a

mummified crocodile for company.

'Could we get out of here?' Amy said. 'That

thing is really giving me the shivers.'

'Of course,' the Egyptian replied. 'In fact, I

have been failing in my duty. As representatives of

the Pharaoh, I should first of all have taken you to

visit the Nomarch's family. Perhaps we should see

them now - they are waiting for me to report on

the plans for the party anyway.'

'Ooh, a party?' said Amy. 'Can I help? I love

parties. Fancy dress is good, although I guess you

can't go wrong as long as you have decent music

and some nibbles. Got a theme planned?'

Khenti raised an eyebrow. 'Well, as it is a funeral

party, the main theme will be the passage of the

deceased into the afterlife.'

'D'oh!' Amy slapped her forehead. 'Right, OK,

maybe not so much with the music and nibbles.

Sorry.'

He laughed. 'But of course there will be music,

the musicians are practising even now. There will

be feasting also, and wine, and entertainments.

Have you never been to a funeral before?'

'Er, yeah,' said Amy. 'Not quite so jolly as that,

though. Has to be said, pretty miserable in fact.'

'I'm sorry,' said Khenti. 'Nevertheless, I would

appreciate your help with the arrangements - if

you are still happy to make the offer?'

'Yeah, go on then.' She linked her arm through

his - a gesture he seemed surprised, but not

unpleased, by - and led him towards the door.

'Let's go and say hi to the Nomarch's family. I'm

guessing it's his funeral, right?'

'Indeed. I will introduce you to his wife. I mean

widow. The Lady Emu.'

Amy tried very very hard not to laugh. When

Khenti asked her what the joke was, she realised

she hadn't succeeded. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I don't

mean to be rude, honest. But where I come from,

being called Emu would be a bit like me being

called "Duck Pond" or something.' She paused.

'Well, "Duck Williams", anyway. Don't want to

upset Rory.'

'Rory?' asked Khenti.

'Oh. Yeah. My husband.' She felt a little twinge

of pleasure that he looked disappointed at that.

'But your husband is not with you?'

'No.' She shook her head.

'He is busy elsewhere, then?'

Amy grimaced. She'd almost put it out of

her mind - it was hard to remain connected to

something that was so far in the future. But in a sense

it was still happening right now too. Somewhere,

somewhen, Rory was in terrible danger. And there

was nothing she could do to help him.

There was silence in the mud hut for a few moments

after the Doctor's words died away. In was Hunt

who spoke first. 'Your friends are abandoning us,'

he said sadly. 'I cannot blame them. They must

save themselves.'

'Oh no. No no no no,' Rory insisted. 'No, the

Doctor and Amy wouldn't abandon us. I mean,

Amy's my wife, and the Doctor is - the Doctor.

Saving people is what he does. They'll be back.'

'Well, we mustn't rely on others for rescue,' said

Grenfell. 'We are the leaders of this expedition,

and we are responsible for those here. As well

as for the knowledge that must be preserved for

the world...'

His friend nodded. 'Absolutely. The first thing

is that everyone must be warned not to touch

the plants.'

A scream came from outside. Nassor the

Egyptian jumped in terror. 'What is happening to

my friends, my colleagues?' he cried.

'I think they've found out about the plants for

themselves,' said Rory. He gasped and stumbled.

'What was that?'

'An earthquake!' cried Hunt. The tightly packed

mud floor was cracking and heaving.

'The papyrus is trying to break through,' said

Rory. 'We need to find somewhere safer. Any ideas?'

Grenfell nodded. 'Yes! I have it! Even these

fearsome weeds would find it hard to get through

stone. And there is -'

'- the ruined palace!' Hunt completed. 'Yes, of

course. It's only really a floor with some fragments

of wall still standing, but it's big enough to house

everyone. But how to get there?'

Rory was about to take a swig from his water

bottle, but stopped with the bottle just touching

his lips. 'We can use this,' he said. 'We can decoy

them away from the path.'

He sprang into action. All of them had water

bottles. There were a number of clay pots with

stoppers, holding a variety of goods. Rory emptied

them all out, not bothering what mixed with what

on the floor, and put some water into each. The

others, grasping what he was doing, started to help.

Anything liquid that could be found was pressed

into service and poured into a clay pot.

Rory had more preparations to make. He pulled

off his white robes - the others stared in some

surprise at the shorts and T-shirt he was wearing

below them - and started to wrap the cloth around

his hands. 'Everyone do this,' he said. 'Make

sure there's no bare flesh for the plants to touch.

That'll buy us time.' His last act was to fashion a

megaphone out of a piece of stiff cardboard. 'Mr

Hunt, you shout out and see if you can make some

of your workers hear. Tell them what we're going

to do, and get them to do the same, then pass on

the message to others. If they haven't got water

they need to try to join up with someone who has.

We'll all meet at the palace.'

Hunt passed on the message. As he was yelling

out of a window, the first purple shoot made it

through the hut's floor.

'I think that's our cue to move,' said Rory.

'Everyone ready?'

The others nodded, determined looks upon

their faces. The two archaeologists were wearing the

kid leather gloves they used to handle documents,

and trousers were tucked into socks to stop plant

fronds tickling their ankles. The Egyptians had

used torn strips of robes to protect themselves as

Rory had.

'Right then - here goes!' At the door of the hut, he

hefted a stoppered clay pot in his hand. 'OK, plants

- fetch!' He flung the pot into the sea of purple on

his left and listened for the crash. Like a cornfield

blowing in the wind, the reeds swayed towards the

source of the sound. Rory heaved another pot to

the right, and was relieved to see a number of reeds

sway back in that direction. Between the two sets of

reeds, something resembling a path began to take

shape. Rory took a deep breath, and dived for the

gap. The others followed, throwing pots to either

side. Each time a pot crashed open, the plants bent

towards the moisture.

At last the ruined palace came into view. It was

really little more than a few stone blocks piled here

and there on a stone base, but their hearts lifted at

the sight of their sanctuary. More workers from the

dig were heading in from other directions. They all

collapsed, panting, on a flight of stone stairs that

led nowhere.

'I feel like I've run a marathon!' Rory said

between gasps. 'What I'd really like now is a nice

drink of water. Pity about that.'

'Your idea has saved us all for now,' said Grenfell,

'and I'm very grateful. But you make a good point.

Without water, we may not last here for very long.'

Rory nodded. 'I know. Let's just cross our

fingers that the Doctor gets back soon.'

Thousands of years earlier, the Doctor was paying

a visit to the House of Beauty. Despite its grand

name it was actually a fairly plain looking tent.

Would he find answers there? He hoped so.

The first thing he found in there, however, was

a body. He'd been expecting that, as he knew this

was where the dead were prepared for what was to

come. What did give him a slight shock, though,

was seeing a jackal-headed man brandishing a

vicious-looking metal hook at him. He took a step

back in surprise, but the creature began to speak.

'Hello!' it said in a rather muffled voice, and waved

with the hand that wasn't holding a weapon.

'Hello,' said the Doctor. 'I'm the Doctor.' He

held out the psychic paper. 'I've come from the

pharaoh.'

'My name is Manu,' said the jackal without

moving its mouth. 'I am the chief embalmer.'

The human hands reached up and pulled off the

jackal-head mask. 'Thank you for honouring me

with a visit.'

'Oh, no problem, like to see everything that's

going on. I'm here to pay the pharaoh's respects to

the late Nomarch and...' He looked at the body on

the table, I'm guessing this is him right here.'

Manu nodded enthusiastically. 'I have washed

the body,' he indicated a large tub of perfumed

water, and now am about to begin the process.'

'Mind if I stay and watch?' the Doctor asked.

'It would be a honour, oh guest who comes

from the pharaoh,' said Manu with a bow, narrowly

avoiding sticking the hook up his nose. 'Whoops,

not my nose it's meant for!' he said. He bowed

again, putting his hands behind his back this time.

'Please, remain as long as you desire.'

Manu put the jackal mask back on and the

Doctor watched with interest as the embalmer

stuck the hook up the corpse's nose and wiggled it

around. 'Just mushing up the brains a bit,' Manu

said. 'Easier to get them out through the nose

that way, it takes ages if you pull them out lump

by lump.'

'I thought you preserved the person's organs,'

said the Doctor. 'So they could use them in

the afterlife.'

'Only the useful ones,' Manu said with a laugh.

'No point keeping hold of something as pointless as

the brain. What goods a brain ever done anyone?'

'Right. No. Good point,' said the Doctor. He

helped Manu turn the body over so the liquid

brain drained out of the corpses nose. 'Look at all

that useless grey matter. Why would anyone even

bother having it?'

'Indeed,' said Manu, as he wiped up the brains.

He rolled the body back over, then picked up

a black stone knife and made a slit in the belly.

'Now, lets get those insides outside!'

The Doctor sniffed. An odour had wafted up

from the knife-cut, and not one that was usually

associated with dead bodies. The scent of bitter

almonds. 'Now that's interesting,' he said. He

was even more interested to see that the corpse's

internal organs were a distinctive shade of pink.

'Oh, I have seen the insides come in all shapes

and sizes and colours too!' Manu said as the Doctor

frowned over the body. 'You soon learn, in my job,

that no two people are alike.'

'But the pink colour - the smell - does that not

mean anything particular to you, then?' asked the

Doctor with a frown.

Manu looked puzzled. 'Smell?'

'Don't worry about it.' The Doctor moved away.

'I'm going to head off now. I'll pop back in and see

how things are going later, if that's OK?' Khenti

had obviously expected the Doctor to discover

something by visiting the embalmer, and it looked

like he'd discovered it pretty quickly.

Bright pink innards, a bitter almond smell -

these were signs that death was due to cyanide

poisoning. An accident perhaps, or even suicide?

Possible, but unlikely. No, the Doctor would be

willing to bet his remaining lives that the Nomarch

had been murdered. Not struck down by the gods,

but killed by some human agency.

The question was, though, how did Khenti

know about it? Was he the murderer? No, surely

not, confessing murder to a supposed representative

of the pharaoh, however sympathetic, would be a

rather foolish thing for a killer to do.

The Doctor also didn't want to believe he'd left

Amy alone with a murderer.

And aside from all that, what did it have to do

with the Nomarch being allowed into the afterlife?

He'd already made his views on Egyptians and

logic known, albeit mildly, but that one definitely

didn't make much sense.

'Thank you for your visit,' Manu said as the

Doctor turned away. 'I hope I will have the pleasure

of meeting you again before you depart. I will have

finished here in perhaps a few hours' time.'

The Doctor stopped still. 'Finished? You mean

finished this first stage of the embalming?'

'No.' The Doctor swung back round to see

the embalmer shaking his head - or rather, to see

the jackal mask wagging from side to side. 'I will

have completed the process.' He laughed to see the

Doctor's expression.

'Not getting the joke, I'm afraid,' the Doctor

said. 'It normally takes a month or two to dry out

a body - ah.' He let out a sigh of understanding.

'That's what Khenti was hinting at. Not the mur-

I mean, I get it now.' Best not to mention murder.

It seemed suddenly probable that he was the

only person who knew about it. Well, he - and

the murderer. CI wonder,' he continued to Manu,

would purple reeds be part of the process here, by

any chance?'

'Well...' The mask hid Manu's face, but the

Doctor could imagine the expression and was sure

he'd hit home.

'I think it might be worth my while to hang on

here for a bit after all,' said the Doctor.

Amy thought that if only she could get the idea

of Rory and what might be happening to him

out of her mind, she would be enjoying her trip to

Egypt. She liked Khenti, and now she also liked

Emu, the Nomarch's widow.

Emu was in her thirties, much darker skinned

than Khenti, and her black hair was arranged in an

elaborate style with gold chains and jewels woven

into it. She wore a lot of jewellery and her eyes

were heavy with make-up, but Amy didn't detect

any vanity there - it was society that demanded

the richness of the dress, not the woman herself.

The fact that when they entered the room, Emu

was sitting on the floor playing some sort of board

game with the two boys, Nebi and Nubi, added

to the impression that this was someone who

wouldn't stand on ceremony.

The widow had jumped to her feet as Khenti

and Amy approached, and seemed pleased to meet

the visitor. Her sons were sent off with their nurse,

a jolly elderly woman called Banafrit, and Emu

clapped her hands and asked a servant to bring

refreshment for everyone. This turned out to be

barley beer served in pots with straws - a bit bizarre

to Amy's eyes, but it turned out the "straws" were

strainers to sieve out the lumps. She was glad of

the drink, though, as she wasn't sure what to say to

the newly widowed woman. After their cups were

empty, Khenti asked Amy to excuse him while

he filled in Emu on the funeral arrangements to

date. Amy turned to leave, but Emu motioned for

her to stay. 'These matters are not secret,' she said.

Amy noticed a tear running down the lady's cheek,

which was quickly brushed away.

Amy suddenly felt hopeless. What was she

doing here? Intruding on peoples grief, for what

purpose? They were no nearer any answers. OK,

the TARDIS in her usual clever way had taken

them back to the right time - the time when the

purple papyrus appeared. They'd discovered that it

sucked the water out of living things. Well, they

had a pretty good idea of that already.

What they hadn't found out was any way of

dealing with the reeds. In fact, the one man who'd

tried to get rid of them had been struck down

dead, which wasn't particularly encouraging.

Rory could be facing death now, and here she

was, sitting in a lovely palace with nice people

drinking lumpy beer.

'Aren't you scared?' she said suddenly,

interrupting Emu and Khenti's discussion. Aren't

you scared that there's a deadly plant here and

you've brought it into your home?!'

Emu smiled a little. 'It is safer for us to show it

honour than not to do so. And we give offerings to

the sacred Water Thief, we have done so every day

since my husband left us.'

That sounded ominous. 'You don't throw

young maidens to the plants, do you?' Amy asked

in horror.

'Merely cattle.' Emu laughed at Amy's face.

'Don't worry, Khenti hasn't lured you here to be a

human sacrifice.'

'Well, I'm grateful for that,' said Amy. 'I'm

trying to keep my brushes with death to under two

a day. It's tricky, but I'll get there in the end. After

being nearly beheaded this morning I'd rather not

have to deal with being sacrificed this afternoon.'

'I don't understand,' said Emu. 'Nearly

beheaded? Did you meet with bandits on your

journey here?'

Amy explained and Emu was horrified. 'It is true

that the sacred reeds are not to be approached, and

that the penalty is death. But it is not for peasants

to decide upon or administer that penalty.'

'Well, they didn't,' said Amy. 'They ran off to

ask someone, and then came back ready to go for

the chop.'

Khenti was frowning too. 'I didn't realise that,'

he said. 'I thought the men were acting rashly, I had

no idea that someone had sanctioned their act. The

peasant who brought your documentation to me

made no mention of anyone else being consulted.'

'Oh great, now we've got a mysterious enemy.'

Amy groaned, then a thought struck her. 'You don't

think the Doctor could be in any danger, do you?'

'Where is your friend?' asked Emu.

'He's at the House of Beauty,' said Khenti. 'No

harm should come to him there.'

Amy sighed. 'This is the Doctor we're talking

about. Harm could come to him anywhere. And

in a spooky place full of corpses...' She trailed off,

realising that she was probably talking about Emu's

husband. 'Look, I'd feel happier if I could go and

find him, would that be OK?'

'Of course. I will show you the way.' They

said goodbye to Emu, and Khenti led Amy out of

the palace, back through the gardens - complete

with sinister purple reeds that made her shudder

- and back into the town. 'We will take a short

cut through the marketplace,' Khenti said. 'I did

not tell your friend this way because it is harder to

describe, but it will get us there quicker.'

They turned a corner into the marketplace.

Amy screamed.

Things were getting interesting. The Doctor was

trying to remember if he'd ever been present

during an embalming before. He didn't think he

had. Any chance to pick up new knowledge was

always welcome.

After removing the lungs, liver, stomach and

intestines - but not the heart, because, as Manu

told the Doctor, it contained a persons self and

would be needed for judgement in the afterlife -

the embalmer had placed the organs in canopic

jars. Then, with leather gauntlets protecting his

hands and arms, Manu carefully picked up an

armful of purple reed stems and placed them over

the Nomarchs body.

The Doctor watched with interest. 'You've not

done this before?' he asked Manu.

The embalmer shook his head, making the

jackal mask wobble comically once more. 'Not on

a man, no. I tried it out on a monkey that was

found dead in the fields, and it seemed to me that

nothing could be simpler.'

'You could be right,' said the Doctor. 'I think

its starting...'

The process had begun. The reeds lying on the

stomach moved, falling inwards as though the

corpse had taken a particularly deep breath in. The

skin of the chest sunk, clinging now to the ribs.

Reeds rolled off the table as the arms shrank into

sticks, and the Doctor jumped back so he wouldn't

come into contact with them. The face was the last

part of the body to be affected. Although the skull

held the shape of the head, the features collapsed

like a popped balloon.

In very little time, the man was completely

mummified.

'What now?' asked the Doctor.

'I will pack the body and oil it, then wrap it in

strips of linen,' said Manu. He was beaming. 'This

is going to revolutionise the embalming process!

What took days can now be done in minutes!'

'The fast-track to the grave,' said the Doctor.

'You'll have so much time off you wont know

what to do with yourself. So, tell me - was this

your idea, then?'

Manu looked just as sheepish as Khenti had

done when the subject had been brought up earlier.

'It's a good idea,' said the Doctor encouragingly.

'Saves everyone a bit of time. Don't have to wait

months for the funeral. People can get on with

their lives...'

'That's not why she's done it!' Manu burst out,

then quickly shut his mouth.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. 'I'm not here to

make trouble for anyone!' he said. 'You can trust

me. Honestly, you can. I'm here to find something

out, that's true. But not this. I just want to know

everything in case it may be relevant - or to make

sure it isn't. Well, that and because I'm nosey. Can't

help that, sorry. Although it must be said my nose

now isn't a patch on what it used to be. I'm guessing

that "she" is the Nomarch's widow, am I right?'

The embalmer nodded reluctantly.

'And from what Khenti said, this idea of using

the reeds might have something to do with the

judgement in the afterlife, am I getting warm

now?'

Manu nodded again.

'So assuming she's acting in the best interests

of her husband, which I have no reason to doubt,

could we skip the twenty questions and have you

just tell me what's going on?' said the Doctor.

Manu sat down, nearly knocking over a jar

full of intestines as he did so. He righted the jar

and took off his Anubis mask, putting it on the

floor by his feet and sighing. 'Oh, very well. The

Lady Emu's plan was this. It is usually more than

a month - perhaps more than two - before the

departed has to face Anubis and be judged for the

deeds of his life. By that time every deed has been

recorded within his heart. The lady knew that our

Nomarch was a good man, and his heart should

weigh light on the scales against the feather of

Ma'at. The gods had chosen to punish him for

his act of defiance with death. But if he could go

immediately to judgement -'

The Doctor almost laughed. 'He could be judged

before that final deed weighed down his heart. That's

brilliant! Mad, but brilliant. She's using the powers

of this papyrus to try to trick the gods!'

'Indeed.'

'You're not worried that doing this might weigh

down your own heart? That the gods might not

look kindly on someone trying to trick them?'

Manu said with simple dignity, 'I trust the gods

would know that I act out of respect and love for

the Nomarch's widow.'

'Well, let's hope so,' said the Doctor. 'I -'

And then he heard Amy scream.

The Doctor instantly dived for the door - but

his foot caught on Manu's discarded jackal mask

and he went flying. He put out his hands to save

himself...

...and landed on the reeds that had spilled off

the table.

The Oxyrhynchus workers had arrived at the ruin

with disturbing tales. Although many of them

had reached safety through Rorys water-bomb

idea, they had all seen people lost to the deadly

reeds. The two archaeologists spoke and understood

the native languages well, but Rory suspected

they didn't pick up on the tiny nuances, the little

expressions of fear or grief that were tearing at his

heart. Sometimes the gift of translation turned out

to be a curse.

But Rory was a nurse, and he'd been used to

coping with other people's fear and grief even

before he'd met the Doctor. He began to check over

the milling men; some had cuts and bruises and

sprains and he dealt with those as best he could.

The trouble was - and he felt very selfish for

thinking it - there weren't nearly enough injuries

to keep him busy. Soon he would be forced just

to sit, and wait. And also to have to try to avoid

as much conversation as possible that could lead

to him saying, 'Yes, actually I'm a nurse from the

future'.

He knew the Doctor would act differently. The

Doctor wouldn't just sit on the stone floor of a

ruined building, trapped by purple reeds. He'd

find a way out.

But Rory wasn't the Doctor. He was just going

to have to be patient.

It wasn't going to be a lot of fun.

Things happened very quickly. The Doctor was

falling - he fell - he landed - he felt a tug on

his hands, a vacuum-cleaner-on-the-skin type of

sensation - and then he suddenly felt very, very

wet. Again.

He scrambled to his feet, noted Manu standing

over him with an empty tub that he vaguely

remembered had once held perfumed water, and

ran to the door. 'Thank you!' he called over his

shoulder. c Very grateful to you for probably saving

my life but Amy's in trouble!'

Outside the House of Beauty he looked around

anxiously. He saw a flash of red hair in the distance

and he ran towards it. There was Amy, the scribe

Khenti beside her, and in front of them...

Raised on a stone plinth were three figures.

Once, probably, they had been human. Now they

were little more than skeletons covered with skin.

One was kneeling down, the others were bent

forward, twig-like arms outstretched, reaching for

something that was no longer there.

'I thought they were coming for me,' Amy said

as he reached her. CI know, stupid. Laugh at me,

why don't you?'

'Not today,' said the Doctor. 'Mummified

bodies in the middle of the street, anyone could

be forgiven for a bit of screaming.' He turned

to Khenti. 'These would be the gentlemen who

tried to steal or otherwise appropriate the sacred

papyrus, I take it? And here they are in all their

glory to scare people into leaving the plant alone.'

Amy put up her hand. 'Yup, you got me, I'm

scared. Believe me, I will not be touching that

plant. But there again, I wasn't planning to anyway.

And by the way, you smell nice.'

The Doctor frowned at her. 'I don't think my

odour is the thing at issue here.'

'Yeah, but it's nice.' Amy leant over and sniffed

his hair. 'You could market that. Eau de Doctor.

And talking of water, have you been for another

swim in the river?'

'No. But I have been finding out some

interesting things. For example —' he turned to

Khenti - 'did you know that the Nomarch had

been murdered?'

The scribe's mouth fell open. 'What? Surely

that cannot be true.'

'Not only can it, but it is. The Penalty of the

Peach, I believe it's called here.'

'The what now?' Amy wrinkled her nose. 'That

doesn't sound so bad. In fact it sounds quite nice.

Peaches, soft, juicy, peach-coloured, that sort of

thing.'

'And with stones full of cyanide,' the Doctor

told her. 'Interesting thing, cyanide. Kills you

quickly. Has a very distinctive scent of bitter

almonds although funnily enough, most humans

cant smell it at all.'

'Very interesting,' a new voice said.

They span round. Amy gave a gasp. A very

tall, shaven-headed Egyptian was standing behind

them. He was almost skinny enough to be mistaken

for one of the mummified bodies on the plinth

and his eyes were as black as skull sockets.

The Doctor, of course, didn't jump to

conclusions about people, but it wasn't the mans

creepy smile or the way his bare feet had crept up

on them so quietly that made him certain this was

an unpleasant person. He just knew, the way he

knew that it wasn't a good idea to trust a Dalek or

take tea with a Krillitane.

The skinny man bowed. 'Honoured visitors. I

am Hetshepsu.'

'The priest. Right,' said the Doctor. 'I'm sure

we're honoured to meet you too. Aren't we, Amy?'

'Er, yes. Of course. Very honoured,' said Amy,

who was still staring at the newcomer with a wary

expression on her face.

'But it's probably time we were getting on with

something,' the Doctor continued. 'Do excuse us.'

Hetshepsu nodded, but Khenti looked

concerned. 'Doctor, we surely must discuss -'

The Doctor cut him off. 'Later, Khenti. Later.'

'Very well.' Khenti gave them a short bow. 'I am

sure the Lady Emu would wish me to offer you the

hospitality of the Nomarch's palace. Would you do

us the honour of dining with us this evening?'

'Love to,' said the Doctor. 'Now come on,

Amy.' He took hold of her shoulders and steered

her towards the House of Beauty.

She pulled back as they got nearer. 'Is that the

dead-people tent? Not sure I fancy that just at the

moment, thank you very much.'

'OK. We'll go and look at something else,' said

the Doctor. 'Lets go and see some traditional old

Egyptian crafts.'

Amy frowned at him. 'Hang on, are we on a

school trip or are we investigating alien reeds so we

can save Rory in the future? Just wondering.'

' Were supposed to be visitors from the pharaoh.

We've also just discovered that murders been

committed here and we don't know who we can

trust,' he said. 'So lets behave as unsuspiciously as

possible for now.'

'I know who the murderer is,' said Amy.

'Definitely that Hetshepsu guy. Creepy or what?'

'Don't judge by appearances,' the Doctor told

her sternly. 'Ah, here we are!'

'"Traditional old Egyptian crafts"?' said Amy.

'They're making a coffin! Is everything here about

death?'

'Pretty much, yeah,' said the Doctor. 'Well,

that's not quite fair. They put in a lot of effort to

ensure a nice afterlife, though. Think of it as taking

out a kind of post-mortem pension plan. They

make the coffins human-shaped so they can act as

a body in the afterlife if they're needed. They'll also

make sure it's placed in the tomb with those eyes

painted on it facing east, so it can see the sunrise.'

One worker was painting a face on a wooden

mask. 'I guess that's supposed to be the Nomarch,'

said Amy. 'He looks younger than I'd expected.'

The Doctor smiled sadly. 'Here, you'd be

considered middle-aged. Someone twice your age

would be elderly. The ancient world wasn't the

safest or healthiest of places. Mind you, doesn't

matter how old or ill you get, if they make you

look young and healthy on the mask, you'll be

young and healthy for all eternity'

'Wow,' said Amy 'Take that, plastic surgery.

But can we talk about the you-know-what now?'

They moved away from the craftsmen who were

carving, painting and sticking things together.

'What are we supposed to do?' Amy began

when they were at a reasonable distance. 'Do we

have time to do the whole Sherlock Holmes thing?'

'We have to,' said the Doctor. 'I'm going to go

back to the House of Beauty first. Check I've not

missed anything. You don't have to come, though.'

She shook her head. 'You'll laugh at me,' she

said. 'I don't want to. I'm not squeamish, but -

well, I just don't want to watch. You go do your

CSI bit, though. I'll be fine.'

'You're missing out on a bit of living history,'

said the Doctor enticingly. 'Well, OK, dying

history, but it amounts to the same thing.'

'You sell it so well,' said Amy. 'I suppose it's

different if you're a thousand years old. All these

tiny human lives must seem like mayflies to you.'

For a moment the Doctor didn't answer. He

was staring into the distance. Without looking at

her he said 'Is that how you see me? Is that how I

appear to you?'

Startled by his serious tone, she reached out and

took his hand. 'I didn't mean it like that. I didn't

mean that you don't care. I know you care - more

than anyone else I've ever met. I'm sorry.'

'"Any man's death diminishes me, because I

am involved in Mankind",' the Doctor quoted

the words of John Donne. 'But you were right.

Sometimes I can't let myself care. The times when

I've felt it, really felt it - they're the times when I've

wondered about going on. Or, sometimes, they're

the times when I've tried to change things, and

that can be really bad news for the universe. Don't

forget that when you travel in time, it gets very

complicated.'

Amy walked over to the wooden coffin, reached

out a hand and touched the painted wooden face.

'You mean... today I don't want to see this man

dead, because I've talked to his wife and I know

someone killed him and it's all raw and sad. But if

we'd landed a century ago I'd never have heard of

him. If we'd landed last week, I might have shaken

his hand. And back where Rory is, in the future...'

'You'd visit the Nomarch in a museum without

a second thought.'

'Mm.' She smiled. 'I'd've still found it a bit

creepy, though.'

To her relief the Doctor finally met her gaze

and smiled back. 'Fair enough. But you see why

we have to investigate this murder. Cant leave a

murderer running loose. Whether someone lives

for fifteen or fifty years might not make much

difference in a few centuries' time, but today -

today it means a lot. It means grieving relatives

and a life cut short and I'm not going to let that

happen if I can stop it. OK?'

'OK. I'll go back to the palace,' Amy said. 'See

if I can pick up any info there - we might get a clue

from what the Nomarch had to eat and drink.'

Drink! It was all Rory could think about.

They'd had no food or drink since the previous

evening. There was very little roof left of the palace

and Rory had stayed huddled in one corner when

possible, trying to keep out of the fierce sun. Being

medically trained, he could recognise the signs of

dehydration. His head hurt and his mouth was dry.

Everyone was getting irritable and snappy, which

was also a symptom of dehydration, but could also

be because they had been trapped together for the

whole day.

At least the terrible heat should be fading soon,

taking with it the fear of heat stroke. But if the

Doctor wasn't back soon...

Rory wasn't sure they'd last another day - and

he felt that it was his fault. He was cursing himself

for bad judgement. The palace had seemed like a

sanctuary when Grenfell and Hunt suggested it -

but Rory should have thought quicker, suggested

they head for the town boundaries instead. OK,

so they'd have had to keep moving to outrun the

reeds, and they would be in the desert which was

not known for its water or food, but at least they

wouldn't have been trapped. There might have

been a chance for them out there somewhere,

whereas here - well, he couldn't see that they had

a chance at all.

It wasn't that Rory doubted for a moment

that the Doctor and Amy would succeed in their

mission and come back for him. He just thought it

likely they might not come back in time.

Rory buried his head in his hands. Hunt moved

over to him and spoke in a low voice. 'Courage,

my friend,' he said.

Rory looked up and shrugged. 'I'm not scared,'

he said. 'Just not sure we've done the right thing.'

He explained.

Hunt shook his head. 'Of course my first

thought was to leave. But more would have lost

their lives trying to get outside the town, the

distance was too great. And you saw how quickly

those reeds spread. Even those who made it in the

first dash would have been overcome by now. No,

this was the best course of action for us all. We

have at least survived thus far, which means there

is still hope.'

But how much hope was there really?

A shout came from somewhere among the

massed workers. A man jumped to his feet and

arms reached up, trying to pull him down again.

'Yafeu, no!' men were crying.

'Yes!' shouted the man called Yafeu. 'I will not

remain here to die! I am going to find water!' He

pushed his way through his fellows, shaking off

clinging hands.

'No, come back!' yelled Rory. 'You'll die out

there!'

'I'll die in here!' Yafeu shouted back. 'I will not

sit here waiting patiently for the end, like a sheep

waiting for slaughter!'

Rory, Hunt and Grenfell all got to their feet but

they weren't able to get close to the fleeing man.

They had barely pushed a metre or two through

the crowded ruin by the time Yafeu had vanished

into the twilight. They were only about another

metre further on when they heard him die.

'Sleep,' said Grenfell, turning back with a

shudder. 'The sun is setting and we should sleep

now. We must be ready to face the challenges

tomorrow will assuredly bring.'

Rory sighed and agreed. He glanced around

at the stone walls, trying to imagine the place as

the palace it had once been. His thoughts drifted

to the banquets that would have been held there,

the wine, water and beer that would have been

consumed...

No. He shut his eyes and tried to shut off his

thoughts too. That way madness lay.

Amy headed back to the Nomarch's palace. She

deliberately took the short cut through the

market, so she could pass the three mummified

thieves on their plinth and prove to herself that

she wasn't squeamish.

The market was almost completely deserted,

and she realised it must be nearly evening by now.

The day had passed in a blur, and she was feeling

pretty hungry. Then she looked at the plinth with

its horrific death sculpture, and suddenly stopped

feeling hungry after all.

She made herself stand close to it and study

it in detail. The man who had been kneeling had

black hair that hung in straggly strands around the

grotesque skin-covered skull. He was wearing only

a linen loincloth, now flapping loosely around his

waist, and every single rib could be seen in his bare

chest. The two standing men she thought must

have had shaven heads, like the majority of the

Egyptians she'd met. Now, however, with the skin

shrunk tight to the skull, a tiny amount of hair had

pushed its way through. One man's head showed

a gingery fuzz nearly as red as her own hair, the

other's skull was peppered with black stubble.

What had sent these men to the purple reeds?

What had made them grasp such an ugly death?

Had they been acting for good or for ill? Were

they taking orders or had they decided to do it for

themselves?

The answers would probably never be known,

and she wouldn't discover any more by staring

at the corpses. Amy considered that she'd now

conclusively proved her lack of squeamishness,

so she could go on to the palace with a clear

conscience. And maybe a little shudder. And

maybe walking really quite fast.

She was concentrating so hard on not being

bothered by the bodies that when she arrived at the

palace she headed for Khenti s office and walked

straight in.

Khenti and Emu jumped apart quickly.

It took a second for Amy to grasp that they'd

been kissing. When she did, she turned round and

hurried out, calling 'Sorry,' over her shoulder.

Khenti caught her up as she reached the pond.

'Amy! Wait! Please!'

She put up her hands. 'Hey, I'm not judging.

I snogged someone the night before my wedding,

what a woman does before her husband's funeral

is up to her.'

'I'm not ashamed,' he said, looking her in

the eye. 'I have always admired the Lady Emu,

as the wife of my employer. And it seemed that

she occasionally smiled upon me. She has been

wonderful, this last week, hiding her heartbreak as

best she can for the good of the city. But tomorrow,

she must say her final farewells...'

'And she got all upset and you were just

comforting her and before you knew it you were

kissing,' Amy completed. 'I said, I'm not judging!

Its OK!'

But it wasn't OK. Because what Amy had

suddenly realised was that here were two people

who had a motive for murdering the Nomarch.

Hey, they could have been responsible for her and

the Doctor nearly being beheaded when they first

arrived...

No. She shook her head at that unspoken

thought. Khenti or Emu, they were two of the

people that the blood-thirsty men might have

consulted and who might have issued the orders

to behead them, that was true - but it was Khenti

who stopped the blows falling, it was Khenti who'd

saved their lives.

So, not responsible for that little bit of fun. But

the death of the Nomarch - well, she couldn't be

sure about that. She'd have to tell the Doctor.

Khenti had been watching her face anxiously,

trying to trace her thoughts through her rapidly

changing expressions. Now she laughed to see him.

She linked her arm through his and drew him to

the edge of the fish pond. They sat down, Amy

letting her feet dangle in the cool water. Khenti

had been carrying a carved wooden box under his

arm, and he put it down by his side, resting a hand

on it.

'Honestly. Its OK,' she said, as he still looked

worried. 'Come on, you'll make some girl a lovely

husband one day. And if it turns out to be Emu,

then she's the lucky one.'

Khenti dropped his eyes in mock-sheepishness.

'Lady Amy, you flatter me,' he said.

She'd never liked him more than at that

moment. No, she wouldn't mention it to the

Doctor after all. So Khenti might have a motive

for killing the Nomarch, but she was certain he

would never have done it; certainly not in such

a sneaky, underhand way as using poison. Khenti

could never be a murderer. He -

There was a cracking sound. She felt a hard thump

on her back and suddenly she was underwater.

Splashing her arms around, she tried to propel

herself back to the surface, but strong arms were

holding her down. She tried to shout, but water

just flooded into her mouth.

She couldn't get free, she couldn't breath...

Amy realised with horror that she was about to

drown. Khenti was trying to kill her - and he was

going to succeed. She would never escape from

the water.

'Water!' Rory woke up and realised he'd shouted

out loud. He'd dreamed of water, of the palace

banquets with their overflowing jugs and goblets.

But that wasn't all he'd dreamed of...

Hunt had stirred when Rory cried out, and

now Rory put a hand on his shoulder. 'Wake up!'

he hissed.

'What is it?' asked the other blearily. Then,

waking fully, he sat up with a start. 'What's

happening? What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' said Rory under his breath. 'Don't

wake up everyone! Listen, I've had an idea. This was

a palace. It had to get its water from somewhere.

Did they have wells in Ancient Egypt?'

Hunt nodded. 'Yes! Yes, they did!' His face

fell. 'But where one might be I have no idea.' He

turned to where his colleague still lay asleep and

put out a hand to wake him. 'Grenfell may know.'

In whispers, they explained Rorys idea to

Grenfell. To Rorys immense disappointment, the

other archaeologist also knew of no clue to where

a well could be found. 'And if it had been fed from

the river it might be dry now anyway,' he said.

Rory screwed up his face. For a few brilliant

moments he had thought he'd found a solution.

Now it looked like the Doctor was their only hope

after all.

But Grenfell was looking thoughtful. 'I don't

know of a palace well,' he said. 'But I do recall

mention of a fishpond in the palace courtyard. I

saw a bill for marble for the floor and sides.'

'Yes!' Hunt agreed. 'You're right! I know the

document in question.'

'A fish pond would have dried up long ago,

though,' said Rory.

'Perhaps - but perhaps not. If it was fed by an

underground stream, one that was not connected

to the river - it is possible the source is still there.'

'Well, what are we waiting for, then?!'

The sun had not yet fully set, and there was

enough light for them to work by. The small

courtyard was stone, just like the palace floor, and

although reeds had crept up through some cracks

it was still a reasonably safe place to be. The three

Englishmen began trying to prise up the stones,

but only succeeded in making their fingers bleed.

'We need to get the men,' Grenfell said.

Hunt wasn't so sure. 'It may give them false hope.

We have no idea if there really is water down there.'

'No, Grenfell's right,' said Rory. 'We need their

help. And the hope may not be false. Just giving

them any hope at all might be enough for now.'

I'd rather die doing something, he thought,

than die sitting around waiting.

But, he added to himself, I'd rather not die

at all...

'I thought the wrapping of a mummy took

weeks,' said the Doctor, watching as Manu

shovelled sawdust into the slit he'd previously

made in the Nomarch's abdomen. 'Is this another

one of your "Get Judged Quick" schemes?'

Manu chuckled. 'I am acting on the instructions

of the Lady Emu, yes. Once I have reshaped the

body with this stuffing,' — he waved around his

wooden scoop, sending a cloud of sawdust over

the Doctor and making the Time Lord sneeze

violently — 'I will wrap it swiftly in linen. While

I will observe the necessary rituals, of course, any

delay could prevent the Nomarch from entering

the afterlife. Hetshepsu is not in favour of this, I

must tell you. But the Lady Emu has insisted.'

'Hmmm.' The Doctor tried to frame his

next question in an "I'm just interested, nothing

sinister going on here" way. 'Must be interesting,

all the things you found out. For example, you

could probably even tell me what the Nomarch

had to eat last, having removed his stomach and...

and everything,' he finished, with a casual wave

of his hand towards the canopic jars that held the

Nomarchs insides.

Manu laughed. 'Yes indeed. Although I could

probably have told you anyway. Pomegranates!

The Nomarchs favourite fruit.'

'Nothing else?' asked the Doctor.

'Nothing that was... obvious,' said Manu, which

the Doctor took to mean nothing undigested. So

the only thing the Nomarch had eaten shortly

before his death was pomegranate.

Having discovered what he wanted to know, he

could have left. But Manu's job was fascinating,

and the Doctor found it hard to drag his eyes away.

Manu worked swiftly and skilfully; he was clearly

a master craftsman. The Doctor sank into a chair

and gave himself up to watching the process.

Having shaped the body to his satisfaction, Manu

wrapped it in a simple cloth shroud, then turned to

what looked like several hundred bedsheets-worth

of white linen. He recited incantations as he began

to bandage the shrouded form.

'I never thanked you properly for your quick

thinking earlier,' the Doctor said after a while.

'Oh, it was nothing,' said Manu, not looking

up from his work. 'Indeed, you cannot really call

it quick thinking, as I barely did any thinking at

all! My hope was that the Water Thief would steal

its water from an easy source before turning to a

living being.'

'Well, it worked. And I'm extremely grateful.'

The Doctor sat there for a few moments, frowning.

'I'm wondering if you might have found something

that's going to save a lot more people...' he muttered

under his breath. 'That would be nice.'

Would it work - on a larger scale? Possibly. He

wasn't sure the Water Thief's behaviour had been

entirely consistent - but then again, he had seen

it at so many different stages that it was hardly

surprising there wasn't much of a pattern.

When the Nomarch's sons, Nebi and Nubi,

had thrown the seedpod into the river, the reeds

had shot up straight away. Despite having access

to a whole river-full of water, the plant had still

drained first a crocodile and then the men who

had tried to steal it. It was newly grown, however,

and as desperate for water as a newborn baby is for

milk.

One thing these reeds didn't do was multiply

everywhere, not like those on the future

Oxyrhynchus site. But then those ones were

relatively safe until they were fully grown. Perhaps

having a river - or a pond - full of water meant

there was no need for them to spread out.

So the ones in the future were spreading out,

searching for water — but they were also much,

much weaker without that water to sustain them.

From memory, the future papyri were skinnier -

ha, weedier! He laughed at his own pun - than

those he'd seen here in Ancient Egypt.

What about the cut reeds, the ones Manu had

used for the mummification process? Well, they

had had their source of water cut off - but they'd

been fairly sated already. He'd been safe for those

few moments until Manu had doused them. Once

they started to dry out, however...

'Where are the reeds?' he asked the embalmer.

'The ones you used earlier to dry out the body.'

Manu looked up, surprised. 'I placed them in

a box and the scribe Khenti took them back to

the palace,' he said. 'He said he might have need

of them, but I am hoping that the Lady Emu will

give me permission to use them again in future.'

'I wouldn't count on it,' said the Doctor,

jumping to his feet. 'Sorry to keep rushing off, but

I think I need to be somewhere else.'

He dashed out of the door. Those reeds would

be drying out by now, and they'd want water

again. They'd want to root again. Khenti might

not realise just how dangerous a burden he was

carrying - and by now, Amy would be with him.

Amy couldn't breathe. Her whole world was

water. The pressure on her back was forcing her

down, down...

And then it was gone. Strong hands were

pulling her up. She broke the surface, coughing

and spluttering. Her vision was blurred and wet,

but all she could see was - purple.

'Amy!' That was the Doctor's voice, calling for

her. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes,

hoping that the coughing would stop so she could

call back to him.

'Over here!' Another voice - Khenti's. It was

very close, and she realised it was his arms that were

holding her above the surface of the pond. She

pulled herself out of his grip, and her vision and

voice finally returned as she turned to face him.

'What d'you think you're doing?! Were you

trying to kill me?'

He shook his head. 'Lady Amy, no! I was trying

to save you - from the plants.'

She turned back to the side of the pond. Purple

papyri were waving over the edge, dipping into

the water.

The Doctor skidded to a halt at the far side of

the pond. 'I think he's telling the truth. I had a bad

feeling something like this was going to happen. Is

that the box you were keeping them in?'

Amy followed his gaze. The carved wooden box

that Khenti had put down beside them was split

open and reeds were sprouting from it. 'I heard it,'

she said. 'I heard it crack open. That was what made

the noise just before you pushed me into the pond.'

'I didn't have time to warn you,' said Khenti.

'The Water Thief was shooting towards us, I had

to get you out of its path. It was leaning into the

water, I thought it was going to get you...'

'And so you were holding me under the water

so it couldn't reach,' Amy realised.

'Only for a few moments,' said Khenti, 'until I

was able to propel you further away from the edge.'

Only a few moments. It had felt like hours. It

had felt like forever. It had felt like her entire life.

'Thank you,' she said.

The pond was shallow enough for her feet to

reach the bottom, but she struck out and swam

to the other side where the Doctor was waiting.

He reached out his hands to pull her up. Khenti

waded over and hefted himself out beside her.

'The reeds - it's like back at...' Amy trailed off,

realising that there was no way of completing that

sentence without Khenti thinking she were mad.

But of course the Doctor knew what she meant

without her having to put it into words.

'They want water,' he said. 'If they're thirsty,

they spread out until they find it.'

'But these were cut stalks - dead things,' said

Khenti.

'I don't know how it works!' said the Doctor in

an exasperated tone. 'They're rooting themselves,

they're sending out spores - I've no idea! In the

absence of a fully equipped laboratory - or at least

an electron microscope and a hazmat suit - we're

going to have to go by guesswork. Just keep out of

their way and keep them in water.'

Amy looked over to the other side of the pond.

The patch of purple seemed bigger now. 'Doctor,'

she said. 'I think they're still spreading.'

He nodded. 'Right. No more risks. They'll stop

spreading if they're in water. Probably can't uproot

them, as we couldn't before, but let's give it a go.

Khenti, I need those leather gauntlets that were

used to bring the reeds here in the first place...' He

stopped, frowning. 'They brought a whole clump

of reeds, roots and all,' he said.

Khenti agreed.

'Then it's likely the plants only root themselves

firmly on land. Sending their roots down as far as

they can go, trying to get to any water that's below

the ground. They don't need to do that if they've

got an adequate water supply. Right, slightly

amended plan. Khenti, leather gauntlets as before.

Amy, get me a bucket and spade.'

She boggled at him. 'You're not going to try to

make sandcastles again, are you?'

'That,' he said with a grin, 'is precisely what I

am going to do.'

Amy ran to the market, this time hardly glancing

at the three mummies on display. She'd seen some

of the traders using wooden scoops to serve out

grain into pots, and thought both scoop and pot

would be ideal as the nearest Ancient Egyptian

equivalent to a seaside bucket and spade.

Something was niggling at the back of her mind

as she took what she wanted from an unattended

stall, but she couldn't place what it was.

By the time Amy got back to the palace

courtyard, the Doctor was dressed up in his plant-

approaching armour. The reeds were still spreading.

The Doctor had ripped up the tiles that surrounded

the pond, revealing the bare earth beneath.

Now he took the "spade" from Amy, and began

to dig a narrow trench from the very edge of

the pond.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

'Rory wouldn't have needed to ask, he's a

sandcastle expert,' the Doctor said. 'I'm digging

a moat, of course. You dig a ditch round your

sandcastle then extend the channel down to the sea

and let the water fill it up. Only my castle is this

clump of plants and my sea is that garden pond.

Now go and help Khenti make sure everyone keeps

out of the way.'

She didn't have to. The windows of the palace

were full of people peering out to see what was

going on, and it was clear that they weren't

intending to get any closer than that. So Amy

stood and watched the Doctor as he dug his way

around the reeds. He was making it deep, and the

pond water was flowing further along with every

shovelful.

'Done,' he said at last, standing back.

The whole patch of plants was enclosed within

the "moat".

'I get it,' said Amy. 'The reeds'll end up in the

water, whatever direction they're growing in. Then

they'll stop spreading.'

'That's the plan,' the Doctor agreed. He leaned

closer and whispered in her ear. 'Just keep your

fingers crossed, will you?'

She crossed her middle and index fingers and

waved them at him.

Khenti joined them and the Doctor explained

what he'd done. 'Does everyone know not to

come near?'

'Oh yes,' said Khenti. 'They have all seen what

happened to the first thieves, they will not attempt

to approach the plants.'

'That's it!' Amy shouted. 'I knew there was

something wrong, something I'd seen out of the

corner of my eye. Doctor - one of the mummies

is missing!'

Amy, Khenti and the Doctor hurried back to the

empty market square. Amy was half hoping she'd

been mistaken, embarrassing as it might have been

to admit it, but no. Only two figures were on the

plinth now.

'No one would dare to touch them,' said Khenti.

'Well, he didn't just walk off on his own!' said

Amy. 'At least, I hope not.'

The Doctor had been scanning the market

place. Now he pointed to a tent to one side. 'Looks

like something over there,' he said.

They hurried over. Amy had a sudden rush

of deja vu as she once again saw a twig-thin

leg sticking out of a doorway. 'Yes. Here it is,'

said Khenti, looking down sadly on the

mummified figure.

Amy screwed up her face. 'What sort of mad

idiot carries off a mummy? "Oooh, I know what

my tent needs; a dried-out corpse would really

improve the decor.'" Having previously proved

she wasn't squeamish, she didn't feel there was any

need to look too closely at the body again. In fact

she was determined not to. But it was like having

an itch that mustn't be scratched - the urge became

irresistible. She looked at the mummy. And then

looked again, more closely.

'This isn't the same one,' she said.

'Don't be silly, Pond,' said the Doctor.

'Oi! I am not being silly. This is a different

person — mummy — whatever.'

The Doctor and Khenti stared down at it.

'Are you sure?' the Doctor asked.

'It had red hair. Now it hasn't.'

Khenti was peering at the skull. 'Lady Amy,

you can barely see the hair on this man's head, it

is shaven. I think you must be mistaken. Perhaps

it looked different in the light of the sun to in the

gloom of this tent.'

Amy was beginning to doubt herself now. 'Yes,'

she said reluctantly. 'I guess you're right.'

Khenti glanced up at the sky. 'Speaking of the

sun, it is getting very low. We should return to the

palace if we are to eat with the Lady Emu tonight.'

Back at the palace, a meal had been prepared and

was waiting for them. 'We have been eating

only simple food in this time of mourning,' Lady

Emu said. 'All my servants are busy preparing for

the great funeral feast tomorrow. I hope this does

not displease you.'

'Oh no. No, that's fine,' said Amy, who was

actually quite relieved. She'd been worried she

might have to eat hippo or something, whereas

the dishes of bread and fruit actually looked rather

appetising.

She wasn't so pleased to see their fellow guest at

the meal - the priest, Hetshepsu. A servant showed

Amy to a chair next to him, but the Doctor offered

her his chair instead. Amy gratefully accepted, and

it was the Doctor who sat down beside the priest,

while Amy sat by Lady Emu. Khenti sat slightly

apart on a cushion on the floor. 'What are you

doing down there?' Amy asked. 'Come and sit

with us!' She waved at an empty chair.

He gave her a puzzled smile. 'You are very

gracious, Lady Amy, but you offer me an honour I

do not deserve. I am only a scribe here, remember.'

Amy sighed. She'd put her foot in it again.

The servants were handing round food. Amy

helped herself to a handful of dates and figs. The

Doctor took a pomegranate and scored round

the peel with a small knife, then twisted the fruit

open to reveal the glistening red seeds inside. 'I

love pomegranates,' said the Doctor. 'My very

favourite fruit.'

Lady Emu smiled sadly. 'It was also the favourite

of Senbeb, my husband.'

'Then I hope he had eaten many of them before

he began his trip to the afterlife,' said the Doctor.

'It would be a comfort to you to know his belly

was full and he was content.' Amy stared at him.

There was making conversation, and there were

creepy inquiries about what your dead husband

had been eating.

Oh. Right. She got it, he was looking for clues

to the murder. 'Yeah, it would be good to think

that,' she joined in.

Luckily Lady Emu didn't seem to think the

subject was weird. 'I am afraid not,' she replied.

'That thought would have given me comfort

indeed. But Senbeb had eaten nothing since his

morning meal of bread and honey.'

'Ah. Well. Never mind,' said the Doctor.

The rest of the evening was taken up with

small talk and some discussion of the funeral

arrangements. Hetshepsu would be conducting

the ceremony.

'Did you receive delivery of the Book of the

Dead my scribe has prepared for the Lord Senbeb?'

Lady Emu asked the priest.

'Indeed,' he said, with a nod to Khenti.

'I'm sure you agree it is something very special,'

she said.

'Oooh, really?' That was the Doctor. 'You know,

I wouldn't mind a look at that. Would that be

all right?'

'I would be honoured,' replied the priest.

'Perhaps you would accompany me back to the

temple after the meal?'

'Oh yes,' said the Doctor looking him straight

in the eye. 'I would be honoured.'

After everyone had finished eating, the Doctor

reminded Hetshepsu of his promise. 'Let us go

now,' the priest said. 'If that is acceptable to the

Lady Emu.'

'Of course,' Lady Emu said. 'We have prepared

rooms for both you and Lady Amy, Doctor. The

servants will take you there when you return.'

'Thank you.' He turned to Amy. 'Don't wait

up,' he said. 'But I will be back. Don't worry.'

He stood up before she could say anything and

followed Hetshepsu out of the room.

At the temple, Hetshepsu offered the Doctor a

seat, and then went to fetch the scroll.

'Here,' he said, handing it over. 'The Book

of the Dead that will be used for the Nomarch's

ceremony, then placed in his tomb.'

The Doctor took it. 'Lovely,' he said. 'And such

a pretty colour. Unusual. Why would that be,

I wonder.'

Hetshepsu spread his hands wide in a gesture

of ignorance.

'Oh, I'm sure you know. It's written on papyrus

made from the sacred reeds, which I think you're

very interested in,' the Doctor explained.

'Of course,' said the priest. 'I am a servant of

the gods, so the things they send to us are always

interesting to me.'

The Doctor nodded. 'I'm just wondering how

interesting. And how important. And how far

you'd go to stop someone who wanted to get rid

of those sacred reeds? And then, how far you'd go

to stop someone you thought might have an even

higher authority - or who might find out what

you'd done?'

'I don't understand,' said Hetshepsu with

a puzzled smile. 'But wait, I am forgetting my

manners. I will fetch some refreshment.'

He went out of the room. Quickly, the Doctor

grabbed a reed pen off a table and dipped it in a

jar of ink. By the time Hetshepsu returned, he was

sitting back on his chair as if he'd never moved.

'Let me offer you a drink,' said the priest.

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, thank you.'

'Really?' Hetshepsu looked surprised. He put

down the jug and the bowl of fruit he was carrying,

and picked out a large orange-red sphere from the

bowl. 'Then may I tempt you with a pomegranate?

You said they were your favourite.'

'No, thank you,' said the Doctor again.

'Definitely not a pomegranate.' He jumped to his

feet. 'Well, I'd better be going. See you tomorrow

at the funeral. Bye!'

Back at the palace, a servant showed him to a

room on the first floor. A few minutes after he'd sat

down on the carved wooden bed, Amy popped her

head round the door. 'Knock knock, can I come

in?' she said.

He patted the bed and she came and sat down

beside him.

'I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier,' she

began. 'Don't really want to tell you now, actually,

feels like telling tales. But there's this thing between

Khenti and Lady Emu...'

The Doctor tutted. 'Oh, you humans and your

love affairs.'

'Oi, Mr Dismissive! I'm not gossiping, I'm

telling you they could have had a motive to murder

the Nomarch!'

He frowned. 'Oh, didn't I tell you? I know who

the murderer is. Nothing to worry about.'

Amy opened her mouth several times, and

finally said, 'You what? Were you planning to tell

me at any point? Who is it?!'

'The priest. Hetshepsu. Obvious when you

think about it. Someone who can read, someone

with an interest in sacred stuff - and, biggest clue

of all, he looks really creepy.'

Amy looked extremely put out and the Doctor

laughed.

'Are you having a joke with me?' she said. 'Just

because I said I thought he was the murderer?'

'You were right! You should be pleased.'

'So what are we going to do now?' Amy asked.

The Doctor shrugged. 'Well, if I were you I'd go

and get some sleep. Hetshepsu's doing the funeral

service tomorrow. We'll wait till that's out of the

way then have words.'

'You're making it sound like he's the local vicar

opening the village fete!' said Amy. She sighed and

stood up. 'Oh well, if that's what you thinks best...'

Amy went out of the room and the Doctor

looked around. What to do now? No point wasting

time with sleep; he still had to work out what do

about the problem of the purple papyrus.

There was a bottle and a golden goblet on a

small table by the bed. He picked up the bottle

and sniffed it. 'Fruity,' he said aloud. 'Pomegranate

wine. Don't mind if i do.'

He poured some of the pink liquid into the

goblet and raised it to his lips.

The wine was already going down his throat

when he detected the scent of bitter almonds.

Grenfell and Hunt had woken the workers. Many

were tired and sick and had not wanted to

get up, but once the plan had been explained to

them even the weakest of them began to dig. A

few stones were prised up then used as levers to

raise more.

Hours passed, the temperature dropped and

the moon rose, and still they dug. There was earth

underneath the stones, but under the earth they'd

found tiles, and the archaeologists expressed an

opinion that this could be the layer where the

pond had once been. Of course, even if this were

the case they would have to dig deeper still to reach

the water source.

So they dug on. Men fell, sick from thirst, but

others took over. Then they too would become too

weak to work, but those who had rested would

take up the challenge again. Even Nassor, who had

only one working hand, took a turn to dig — and it

was he who first gave the cry water!'

For a moment, Rory thought he'd imagined it.

The word "water" was a constant refrain inside his

head, it took a second for him to realise someone

else had said it out loud. But others were taking up

the shout. 'Water! Water! Water!'

It wasn't water, Rory discovered, it was only

liquid mud. But that was something - more than

something - it proved water was there to be found.

Everyone had a new lease of life suddenly. They

dug and dug as fast as they could - and they had

their reward. The water, when they reached it, was

still closely related to mud, but it was drinkable

- and there was enough for everyone. There were

risks in drinking it, Rory knew - cholera, typhoid,

other waterborne diseases - but if the alternative

was dying of thirst or, now the sun was rising

again, heatstroke...

He made his decision. He drank.

Even the iced ambrosia he'd drunk on Phintus

Beta was as nothing compared to this cocktail of

warm water and dirt. Rory gave a very contented

sigh.

Of course, now his thirst was quenched, he was

really beginning to feel hungry...

They dragged the Doctor into the room and held

him there, his arms still in their grasp and his

knees scraping along the floor. In front of him was

a set of scales, two brass saucers suspended from a

centre pillar taller than he was.

Crocodile-headed Ammit watched eagerly as

Anubis approached the Doctor. She did not want

the Doctor to pass the test. She wanted to feast.

Anubis had the head of a jackal but the hands

of a man. Yet they felt like talons as they reached

into the Doctor's chest and ripped out a heart.

'The heart contains all your deeds, good and bad,'

he boomed. 'Is your heart heavy with bad deeds or

light with goodness? It shall be weighed against the

feather of Ma at so judgement can be made.'

The feather of Ma at was on one side of the

scales. The Doctor's heart was tossed on to the

other side. The scales began to wobble up and

down - heavier, lighter, heavier, lighter...

They were settling now. The Doctor stared

hard, as though he could influence the scales with

his gaze. He knew, none better, how many deeds

weighed heavily on his heart. Yet he had always

tried to do right - would that be enough to save

him? 'The road to the underworld is paved with

good intentions,' he murmured to himself.

A tiny bit lighter, a tiny bit heavier... the scales

steadied. They stopped.

His heart was just lighter than a feather.

The Doctor went to breathe a sigh of relief,

then remembered he had no breath. He was

dead now. A passing thought wondered why he

hadn't regenerated, but then he'd always suspected

that wouldn't work forever. Sometimes things

went wrong.

Ammit turned her crocodile head away in

disgust. Beautiful Ma at was smiling, however. She

held out a hand to the Doctor to conduct him to

the eternal pleasures of the afterlife - and Anubis

roared 'STOP!'

He reached out towards the Doctor again. A

moment's agony, and Anubis held the Doctor's

second heart in his hand. He threw it on to the

scales - and the scale pan sank. A metallic clank as

it hit the floor, the heaviest heart ever seen.

'One heart records the good deeds, one records

the bad,' growled Anubis. 'Ammit may devour

both of them.'

The crocodile's jaws opened wide. Snap, snap,

the hearts were gone. She turned to the Doctor,

jaws wider than ever, and lunged at him -

The Doctor sat up. 'Wow,' he said. 'I thought I

was dead.'

Amy glared at him. 'So did I,' she said, sounding

furious, but the Doctor saw her brushing tears away.

Everyone at the palace had been up early

preparing for the day ahead. Amy had wandered

sleepily downstairs and found herself getting

in peoples way. She was surprised not to find

the Doctor there and wondered if he was out

investigating something or other.

Lady Emu had already left, leaving a message

with the servants that her guests would be welcome

to join them at the funeral. Khenti had also gone.

After helping herself to some bread and fruit, Amy

had finally decided she'd better check the Doctor's

room, just in case.

That was when she found him on the floor,

not moving. She didn't want to think about the

minutes that had followed.

'Clever,' said the Doctor, when he'd recovered

a bit and was sitting on the bed. 'Poison in the

goblet, not the wine. Must have done it even

before we had dinner - he'd overheard me talking

about murder so he already knew he was in danger.

Wouldn't have been hard to find out what room

they were giving me.'

'But how did you survive?' Amy asked. 'Cyanide

- its totally deadly!'

The Doctor grinned at her. 'Luckily enough,

I've been poisoned before. Long story, country

house, Agatha Christie was there, lets not go into

it now.'

'And that's lucky?'

'Mm hmm. Because my body already knew it

could deal with it. Just a matter of fighting, and

it had had practice. Added to that I realised what

it was extremely quickly and only swallowed the

tiniest drop.'

'OK.' She sat down on the bed too. 'What are

we going to do now? Your would-be murderers off

at the funeral parade, along with everyone else in

the city.'

'Well, we'd better join them,' said the Doctor.

'Although...'

'What?'

He looked suddenly serious. 'Let's not let

Hetshepsu know we're there, OK? Just in case. But

I have an idea for that...'

Twenty minutes later, a brightly painted jackal

head popped round the door of Amy's room.

'Woof, woof,' it said. 'Got it! Knew there'd be a

few at the House of Beauty. How do I look?'

Amy narrowed her eyes and peered at the

Doctor as he came through the doorway. 'Well,

apart from your skinny white-boy body that has

obviously not been living under the Egyptian sun

for years and years, you look fine. How about me?'

She held up Lady Emu's bronze hand mirror. It

was hard to see clearly in the shiny yellow metal,

but her reflection looked reassuringly unfamiliar.

The long black wig hid her own hair completely,

and the heavy makeup disguised her features.

She'd found a wrap of Lady Emu's that went round

her shoulders, and with golden cuffs and bangles

covering her arms and a jewelled collar around her

throat, her tell-tale pale skin was barely noticeable

at first glance.

'You'll do,' said the Doctor. 'Come on - better

get running if we're gonna catch up with that

coffin...'

Now Rory and his companions were no longer

thirsty, other problems had raised their heads.

Hunger of course, and heat, and impatience.

Grenfell and Hunt, although chiefly concerned

about the fate of their workers, could occasionally

be found gazing wistfully into the middle

distance as they wondered about the fate of their

many manuscripts, somewhere out there in their

biscuit tins.

The manuscripts! Didn't that mean things were

going to be OK? The Doctor knew all about the

archaeologists, knew too about all the manuscripts

they'd found. Surely he could only have come

across that information in the future if everything

was all right now.

Rory sighed. It was a comforting thought, but

somehow he was pretty sure things weren't that

clear cut with time travel.

He wandered into the courtyard. After the first

frenzy, where everyone had been so desperate to

get at the water, things had calmed down. Now

some people were sleeping while others worked to

enlarge the hole to the underground stream; later

they would swap roles.

All around the courtyard, the alien papyri could

be seen, growing taller and taller. They hadn't yet

penetrated the stone floor of the yard or the palace

itself, but Rory wasn't convinced their haven would

remain safe for much longer.

In fact, even as he was thinking that, it was

getting more dangerous. 'The death plant! It is

here!' The cry came from the bottom of the ditch.

Men were scrambling to get out, pulling rocks and

earth down on themselves in their haste.

Rory pushed through the fleeing workers and

stared down the hole. At the bottom was a tiny

shoot of purple. A spore from long ago that had

suddenly found itself in the light? A reed that had

found its way from outside the palace to this spot?

He didn't know. How it had got there didn't really

matter. But there it was, its roots greedily taking in

the water that should belong to the men who had

found it.

In their search for water, they had exposed

themselves to their original foe - the bare earth

was no barrier for the papyri, and the water would

draw them there. Rory briefly considered trying

to replace all the stones, but they didn't have the

tools to do the job well enough to stop the reeds

breaking through. Their best option was to retreat.

He followed the men back into the palace and

once more settled down to wait for the Doctor.

'Please hurry up, Doctor,' he whispered.

'Hurry up, Doctor!' Amy was worried they

wouldn't reach the funeral in time. Luckily

the desert procession was not fast-moving, and

a bit of jogging brought them to the rear of it.

They could see the brightly coloured coffin on its

ox-pulled sled, small in the distance ahead, and

began to make their way through the throngs of

mourners to get closer. A line of servants walked

behind the sled, carrying all sort of things - chairs,

jars, baskets of fruit, pairs of sandals - that would

be placed in the Nomarch's tomb for his use in the

next world. 'I'll give you a hand,' said the Doctor,

taking a bowl of pomegranates from a heavily laden

servant. 'Yeah, me too,' said Amy, relieving another

man of a bottle of date wine. They mingled with

the members of the procession, gradually getting

closer and closer to the front, and by the time they

reached the tomb itself they were near to the coffin.

The coffin was taken off the sled and stood

in the opening of the tomb. Two men in Anubis

masks held it upright. Thin trails of sweet-smelling

smoke spiralled down from bowls of burning

incense and curled around Lady Emu and her sons

as they came forward to drape garlands of flowers

around the coffins neck, large, brightly coloured

blooms that Amy didn't recognise.

Two priests walked up to the coffin. One of

them was easily recognisable as Hetshepsu, even

though Amy couldn't see his face. He held a small

metal instrument in his hand, a tool a bit like a

flattened axe. The second priest unrolled a scroll

of papyrus.

Amy reached out and grabbed the Doctors

arm, pulling him closer. 'Do you see that? It doesn't

look papyrus-coloured to me,' she hissed into the

jackal masks ear.

The mask wobbled up and down as the Doctor

nodded. 'Lilac,' he said. 'That scroll's been made

out of the purple papyrus.'

'So why isn't that priest sucked dry? Why aren't

there reeds popping up all over the place?'

The Doctor shrugged, making his mask almost

fall off. He hurriedly pushed it back into place.

'If you'd been cut, woven and pounded flat, you'd

probably not feel up to much either. In that state,

I suspect it needs a taste of water to remind it of

what it's missing, get it to pull itself together and

start growing. And I have an idea it's not going to

get that for a couple of thousand years.'

'Oh!' Amy stared at him. 'You mean, it's the

papyrus from the future? The one that started this

whole mess?'

He nodded. 'It was a Book of the Dead. I saw

that before Rory christened it with tea. And the

other thing I saw...'

'Yes?' said Amy.

The Doctor gave her a huge grin. 'The other

thing I saw was that at the bottom of the scroll

someone had scrawled "Dear Doctor, here are the

coordinates you need, love from the Doctor".'

Amy stared. 'You left yourself a note?'

'That's how we got here. To exactly the right

time and place.'

'I thought it was just the TARDIS being clever,'

said Amy.

'No,' replied the Doctor evenly, 'it was just me

being clever. As usual.'

'But when did you write yourself the note?'

'Last night,' he said. 'I saw the scroll at the

temple and thought it might be a good idea.'

She sighed. 'I'm guessing we cant go and

snatch the scroll now and destroy it instead and

stop the whole sorry mess from happening in the

first place?'

'The sorry mess that meant we came back in

time to be here to be around at the time to stop

the whole sorry mess from happening in the first

place? Well, we could try that, or we could wait for

another day before trying to destroy the universe.'

'I said, I guessed we couldn't do it,' Amy

grumbled.

Hetshepsu raised the metal tool and placed it

on the coffin's face. Awake, Senbeb Nomarch!' he

cried. 'May you arise to health, to eat and drink

the food we bring, and to join with the gods.'

Amy turned to the Doctor, alarmed. 'What's

going on? Some sort of black magic thing?'

'It's called the Opening of the Mouth ceremony,'

he told her. 'Symbolically reanimating the dead so

they can enjoy the rewards of the afterlife.'

'Phew!' Amy sighed. 'For a moment I thought

they were really trying to bring him back to life

ag-

Lady Emu screamed. The coffin lid clattered

to the floor, the garlands of flowers bursting apart

and sending a rain of scarlet petals over the crowd,

making it look like the many white robes were

splattered with blood.

The Nomarch was revealed, a bandaged form

with a golden painted mask for a face.

The mummy took a step forward. It reached

out with an arm wrapped in bandages and grasped

the horrified Hetshepsu by the shoulder as he

turned to flee.

Amy thought she would never forget the scream

the priest gave. She knew she would never forget

the terrified expression on his face as his features

crumbled inwards. His wide, frightened eyes

collapsed leaving gaping black holes. Worst of all

was his mouth, still screaming silently as his lips

became paper-thin, teeth bared in an eternal howl.

Then the mummy let go and the skin-covered

bones crumpled into a rattling heap.

It happened so quickly. Amy stood frozen,

staring, trying to process what she was seeing. He'd

been a murderer, he'd tried to kill the Doctor... but

to see someone die like that...

Then she saw that Doctor was running forward,

of course, and she had to follow. It was a battle to

get through the fleeing mourners, all pushing hard

in the opposite direction.

Lady Emu had fallen over in the rush and

was kneeling on the ground, using her arms and

body to shield Nebi and Nubi from the pounding

feet. Amy grabbed her arm and pulled her up, the

boys with her, tugging them out of the way of the

lurching mummy. 'Senbeb, my husband, no...' the

scared widow was whispering.

'Come on, let's get you away from here,' said

Amy. Lady Emu shrunk away. 'It's me, Amy,' Amy

told her, remembering she was in disguise. 'I'm

going to get you out of this. Trust me.' The crowd

was still milling around in terror and she couldn't

see a way out, so she put her head down and

charged, pulling Lady Emu and the children with

her. Her ankle-length skirt made speed impossible

so she ripped it up the side in order to run more

freely.

It was quieter now, the fleeing crowd too

breathless to scream. Desert sand flew in a storm

around the runners, making them cough and

choke. Amy stopped for a moment to look back,

hoping to see the Doctor, but the clouds of sand

were denser than fog and she had no idea where he

was now — no idea where the mummy was, either.

They were just following the crowd, but it

seemed to be making for the city 'Home! I want

to go home!' Lady Emu cried.

'We'll get you there,' Amy said determinedly.

They were nearly at the edge of the desert now.

Nebi and Nubi were slowing, exhausted from

their flight, so Amy and Lady Emu picked up a

child each and kept running. They crossed the

city limits and the crowd began to thin out, each

person making for their own part of town. Finally

Amy stopped, and to her own surprise she found

herself laughing, almost hysterically.

'What amuses you so?!' asked Emu, her voice

almost hysterical too.

Amy gulped air in through her laughter. 'I'm

not sure! Oh, yes I am. In every mummy movie

I've ever seen I've shouted at the screen, "Why

are you running? Its walking far too slowly to

ever catch you!" And now here I am in a real-life

mummy movie and I'm running like a mad thing.'

She gave a big sigh. 'And you're looking at me like

I'm a mad thing. Never mind. Come on. I'll walk

you back home - walk, note - and then I'll go

back and find the Doctor.'

Suddenly the screaming started again - but

now it was coming from in front of them. From

the direction of the market place.

'Oh no,' said Amy. 'Look, you can get back

to the palace on your own. I'd better see what's

happening.'

Not waiting to see if Lady Emu agreed, Amy

sprinted off again. At the edge of the market

square, she skidded to a halt, feeling a bit sick.

No, feeling very sick.

Bodies lay everywhere. Twisted, drained,

skeletal bodies. And stalking among the litter of

bony corpses were others of the same, their stick

arms held out in front of them, shrivelled fingers

grasping ceaselessly. Amy thought she recognised

the original occupants of the now-empty plinth,

and she suddenly realised with horror why one of

the mummies had disappeared earlier - and why a

new withered body had been found.

But there was something else, something worse.

She'd looked at those mummies for a long time,

their shrunken features imprinted on her brain.

But now...

They were a tiny bit fatter. A tiny bit less

emaciated. A tiny bit more bloated.

Amy worked it out in an instant. They were

draining the water from every living thing they

touched, and taking it into themselves.

And to her eyes, it looked as though their skin

had taken on the faintest hue of purple...

Amy realised there was nothing she could do

there. No one needed her to tell them to keep

out of the way of the mummies, they were doing

that all by themselves. Best thing she could do

would be to find the Doctor, let him know what

was happening.

She was on her way back to the desert when

she spotted Khenti. He was limping badly, and she

veered in his direction. 'You all right?' she said,

noticing there were smears of blood on his face

too.

He nodded. 'Just caught in the crush. Have

you seen the Lady Emu?'

'Should be back at the palace by now.' Amy

went to move off again, but Khenti was looking so

exhausted and unhappy that she turned back and

took his arm. 'Come on, lean on me. I'll help you

there.'

'The Lord Senbeb is angry,' Khenti said, almost

to himself, as he hobbled along beside her. 'He

knows that I embraced his lady. I have brought

this upon our city.'

'Don't be a silly goose,' said Amy. 'It's all a lot

more complicated - or possibly a lot more simple,

I'm not sure - than that. And decidedly more

alien, I'm guessing. Anyway, the point is, it's not

your fault.'

They reached the courtyard. The Doctor s moat

was still pooling water around the purple reeds

and Amy was pleased to note they hadn't spread

out any further. She led Khenti to the main door.

'Here you go,' she said. 'You'll be all right from

here - what is that?!'

Something was shuffling towards them, a long,

toothy creature mottled orange and grey and

mauve, looking like some bizarre bruised fossil.

'The crocodile - it is the crocodile!' cried Khenti,

and Amy realised he was right, recognising the

creepy mummified creature he'd shown her earlier.

They backed away. It was a slow moving thing,

Amy didn't exactly feel in any danger, but the sight

of the crawling monster almost hypnotised her.

She couldn't stop looking at it.

'Move!' Khenti hissed at her. 'Get out of its

way!'

With a start Amy moved out of the crocodile's

path. She'd expected it to follow her, but it didn't.

The beast kept on a straight path, heading for the

fish pond.

'It's going to fall in,' Khenti said. 'Do we - do

we try to stop it?'

Amy shook her head. 'The water's attracting it.

Let it go.'

They watched from a safe distance as the

crocodile dragged itself forward. It reached the

Doctor's moat but kept going, uprooted papyri

clinging to its skin. It passed the edge of the

pond and still didn't stop, its front legs waving

uselessly in the air until it overbalanced and tipped

downwards into the water.

Amy and Khenti followed it to the pond. They

hung over the edge and watched.

'It's getting bigger,' said Khenti after a moment.

'Yes — no,' said Amy, observing the crocodile

carefully. 'It's just swelling up. It's absorbing water.'

'But it's bigger now than it would have been

alive!' Khenti pointed out.

Amy realised he was right. 'It can't stop taking

in water!'

'I have seen this with insects,' said Khenti. 'They

come to suck your blood, but find they cannot

detach themselves. They take in more and more

blood, until finally...'

'They burst!' completed Amy. 'Quick! Get

back! Get back!'

She grabbed Khenti's arm, tugging him

backwards. He stumbled on his injured leg and

they both ended up face down on the ground.

From behind them came an extremely wet-

sounding crump. Something could be heard

splattering down to their rear. 'Ugh,' said Amy as

she pulled herself to her feet. 'That is one of the

most disgusting things I have ever seen.'

She helped Khenti to stand and they surveyed

the courtyard. Lumps of soggy crocodile were

plastered over the tiles.

'It is not a pleasant sight,' the scribe agreed. He

started to lean down to look at the remains more

closely, but Amy held him back. 'Don't touch,' she

said. 'We don't know what sort of powers this stuff

has. If I were you, I'd get it all cleaned up — now

- but for goodness' sake don't let anyone touch it.

Just in case.'

Khenti nodded. 'I will do as you say. But you -

what are you going to do?'

'I'm off to find the Doctor. He'll want to know

about this. I just hope...' She didn't complete the

sentence. There were so many things she hoped for.

The silence in the ruined palace was disturbing.

No wind blew outside, and Rory hadn't heard the

sound of a bird or animal since they arrived. By

now, people were barely speaking. So when the

noise came, everyone looked up.

A rustling, swishing sound. Someone - or

something - was coming towards them from

outside.

'It's the Doctor!' Rory cried in relief. He couldn't

see anything or anyone, just the forest of purple

that surrounded them, but who else could it be?

The Doctor would come striding into the palace,

dressed in some incredible spacesuit to protect him

from the plants. The ordeal was over.

The ordeal wasn't over, and it wasn't the Doctor.

Rory watched in horror as the reeds parted to let

through an ambling scarecrow form. He didn't

recognise it - no one could have recognised it -

but he thought he recognised the clothes.

Others recognised them too. 'Yafeu! Yafeu

has returned!' One man ran forward, whether to

greet or confront his one-time colleague, Rory

didn't know.

'Stop!' Rory shouted, and to his relief the man

halted at the edge of the stone floor. Because Rory

had seen that Yafeu was not alone. Other stick-thin

zombies were also shuffling towards the ruin. One

looked to Rory like the cook, Gahiji, the papyrus s

first victim.

The workers were running back, trying to get

out of the mummies' path - all except the man

who had run towards Yafeu. He was still perched at

the edge of the building, staring at the oncoming

creatures in horror, seemingly unable to move.

Rory tried to get towards him, but was crushed in

the crowd of panicking Egyptians.

As Yafeu reached the ruin, the man finally tried

to run. It was far too late. A withered hand reached

out and grasped him. He screamed.

Rory was still trying to push through the hordes

of workers; he didn't see exactly what happened.

But he could imagine it. And the mummies moved

closer and closer...

The Doctor was as surprised as anyone when the

Nomarch's mummy burst out of its coffin. He

tried to work it out as he ran towards the trouble,

discarding the Anubis helmet as he went - spores,

perhaps, spores from the plant pass to the victim

while its draining the fluid. Spores infect the host,

making it as desperate for water as its attacker,

just as the reeds spread and move out in search

of water, so the new host searches for water. Its

articulated structure means the host can be made

to move more effectively...

Yes. So although the host mummy had been

reanimated, there was no spark of intelligence there.

This shuffling creature bore no resemblance to the

person it had once been; it was just a collection

of impulses that had taken root in a human form.

The Doctor need have no qualms about dealing

with it.

If he could deal with it, of course. Best not to

just assume...

Around him, people were fleeing. He saw

Lady Emu stumble, but also saw Amy pick her up

and lead her and her children away, so he knew

he didn't have to worry about any of them as the

mummy kept striding forward.

The Nomarch had been a large man, and he'd

been wrapped in an enormous quantity of linen.

But, thought the Doctor, however fearsome the

mummy seemed, it was really only skin and bone

and cloth. Not particularly substantial. He hefted

one of the pomegranates he was carrying. 'I used to

be quite good with a cricket ball...' he said aloud.

'Sorry, Senbeb. You don't have a lot of luck with

pomegranates, do you? Howzat!' The pomegranate

hit the mummy in the centre of its chest and it

wobbled for a moment, off balance. The Doctor

grabbed another and threw again. The mummy

staggered backwards.

It took three more pomegranates to knock it

on to the floor. Even then its limbs kept moving,

trying to propel it towards anything that might be

a source of water. The Doctor looked at it for a

few seconds, wondering how much danger it still

posed. Probably quite a bit, he decided.

Hetshepsu's adze - the ceremonial tool - was

lying by the ex-priest. The Doctor picked it up and

stuck it through the mummy's bandages, using it

like a tent peg to pin the cloth to the ground. The

mummy began pulling like a dog on a lead, and

the Doctor knew the axe-like tool wouldn't hold it

down for long.

Suddenly, however, the mummy gave a final

shudder and lay still. Surprised, the Doctor crept

closer to make sure the threat was over.

Something was wriggling like worms beneath

the bandages. Something that was trying to break

free.

Purple shoots burst through the linen, some

upwards towards the light, others going downwards

to root themselves in the desert sand. The Doctor

stumbled back so the fronds wouldn't touch him.

But he knew he wasn't safe for long. In the dry

desert, the reeds would start to spread out further

and further in search of water, just as they had done

in the future. At least here in the past the river was

full - almost too full - and the reeds might stop

when they reached it. But what harm might they

do in the meantime...?

He'd better go and find Amy.

He set off - and then after a few steps came

running hurriedly back. He snatched up the fallen

Book of the Dead and unrolled it. "Dear Doctor,"

he read, "here are the coordinates you need, love

from the Doctor". Old High Gallifreyan. No one

on Earth would be able to read it. Hetshepsu had

probably thought it was some elaborate decoration.

But two days ago and in two thousand years time,

it would bring the TARDIS here.

Having found his prize, the Doctor headed off

again - but not towards the city, further out into

the desert. He had to make sure the scroll ended

up in a safe place - a place where the waters of the

Nile would never reach - so it could be dug up

again, far in the future, by Grenfell and Hunt.

His task complete, he approached the city

once more. He came across people who had been

injured in the rush from the funeral parade. The

Doctor helped up the fallen and sent them on their

way. They clung on to each other for support. One

man was lying unconscious, and when the Doctor

tried to roll him over on his back he discovered it

was Manu, the embalmer. Manu was heavy, but

the Doctor managed to pull him up and get him

across his shoulders in a fireman's lift. Bearing his

burden, he staggered off towards the city, to find

Amy. There were an awful lot of problems to deal

with here, but he'd just have to cope with them

one at a time.

As it turned out, it was Amy who found the

Doctor. The Doctor laid Manu on the sand

and he and Amy quickly began to swap news. The

Doctor was not at all happy to learn that there

were more mobile mummies around. In turn,

Amy was shocked to know that the mummies

might eventually start to sprout alien reeds.

'Maybe we could fashion some sort of digger,'

the Doctor mused. 'They might be clinging tight

to the soil - or sand - to get water from its depths,

but if we could somehow get deep enough we

could uproot them.'

Amy frowned. 'Hang on, the crocodile - I

haven't told you about the crocodile, have I?' She

explained about the mummified animal exploding

in the water.

By the time she had finished, the Doctor's eyes

were glowing. He grabbed Amy's arms and began

to dance her round and round, laughing out loud.

'Er, have you gone a bit mad?' she asked, laughing

too. 'Or is this some sort of Time Lord "I laugh in

the face of danger" bravado thing?'

'Neither!' he cried. 'Well, maybe the mad one

a bit. But this is pure, sincere, I-have-solved-

everyone's-problems laughter!'

'Well, good,' she said. 'That's nice. How?'

He stopped swinging her round. 'Water. I am

going to steal some water to catch the Water Thief.'

Amy had insisted she was coming with the Doctor

to help. He had been just as firm that someone

had to go back to the city to warn them what was

about to happen. Luckily for Amy, Manu had

recovered consciousness before the argument got

too heated, and the rather confused embalmer had

been dispatched on the errand instead. 'Just find

Khenti or Lady Emu,' Amy had told him. 'They'll

sort it all out if you can just explain what we need.'

'But what you say is impossible!' Manu

protested. 'Men cannot control the Nile!'

'So who can control it?' said the Doctor

patiently.

'Only the gods,' was the answer.

'And who is your living god here in Egypt?'

'The great pharaoh, of course.'

'And who do we come from?'

Manu's eyes widened. 'You mean...'

'That's right,' said the Doctor. 'We'll have a

word with the pharaoh, he'll have a word with

the rest of the gods, get them to send the flood

early. Nothing easier.' He dropped his light tone

and stared Manu straight in the eye. 'Manu, I'm

serious. This is going to happen. I'm relying on

you to make sure everyone stays safe.'

'You can rely on me, oh Lord Doctor!' Manu

cried eagerly. 'Thank you for bestowing this

honour upon me.'

'Oh, and say goodbye to everyone from me,'

Amy had called as Manu hurried off. 'Were

probably not coming back...'

Now she and the Doctor were on their way

back to the TARDIS.

'Is this really going to work?' Amy asked.

'Of course it is,' said the Doctor. 'Have you

ever known any of my plans fail?'

'Yes,' said Amy. 'There was -'

'OK, OK, OK.' The Doctor interrupted her

before she could start on a list. 'The point is, this

one won't. Probably. Look, you've discovered that

although the mummies are as desperate for water

as the plants, they're not built to take it. Dunk a

mummy in enough water and it'll explode.'

'Well, the crocodile did,' said Amy. 'We've just

got to hope it's the same for all of them.'

'No reason why not,' said the Doctor. 'Now,

that would still leave us with the purple papyri to

deal with, but we know that reeds are not only safer

if they've got a good water supply, they can also

be easily uprooted. If the city gets flooded, all our

problems get solved at once. The mummies go pop,

the reeds get swept up in the flow and we re able to

pick them up and deal with them at our leisure.'

'So we're going to go up these mountains and,

what, use a hairdryer on them?'

'Something like that,' the Doctor agreed.

Amy tried to dredge every last scrap of

information she'd learned about inundation from

the corners of her memory. The Nile flooded every

year on to the Black Land - so called because of the

fertile silt left behind when the water receded, the

substance that enabled them to grow crops. Some

years the Nile didn't flood enough and some of

the land remained infertile. Other years it flooded

too much and buildings were washed away. The

Egyptians believed that the gods sent the flood,

but it was really caused by the warmer summer

weather melting the snow on the mountains of

Ethiopia, which joined with heavy summer rains

to provide more water than the Nile could take.

Now the Doctor was aiming to bring the flood

a little early.

'We won't land,' he explained. 'Just hover a bit.

Extend out the TARDIS forcefield and agitate the

particles a bit so it gets warm. Lot of snowmelt,

rushing down. Then we go back to Oxyrhynchus.

A few nudges with the forcefield as soon as Khenti

and Lady Emu have got the place evacuated, then

the water sweeps through. By the time it gets here

it'll be powerful enough to take all the plants with

it. Then...'

'Yes, that's the bit I'm really worried about,' said

Amy. 'It sounds a bit — complicated.'

'Trust me,' said the Doctor.

Amy sighed.

Amy had to admit that the plan was working - so

far. The TARDIS was hovering above the city, and

the waters were flooding through. 'You wanted

to be by the seaside!' the Doctor yelled above the

roaring river.

'I'm not going paddling in this!' Amy shouted

back. 'And I haven't spotted a single ice cream shop

either.' What she had spotted was the bandaged

form of the Nomarch's mummy being tossed

along by the waves.' She called over her shoulder,

'Hadn't we better get going with the next bit of

your marvellous plan? Or the water's going to

carry those deadly plants over the whole of the

Nile valley.'

The Doctor started operating controls, his

fingers dancing around the console. 'Try to be a

bit patient, will you, I've never done this before.'

'Now you tell me...' Amy muttered under her

breath.

'There!' The Doctor hit a final button and

sprang back. He joined her at the open doors,

looking out over the churning waters. 'Force field

scoop - activated!'

It was an astonishing sight. The water below

stopped flowing outwards and started flowing up!

Like a backwards tidal wave it came higher and

higher until it was no longer touching the ground

at all, a vast ball of blue suspended in the air below

the TARDIS.

'Hang on a minute,' said Amy, you didn't

actually mention what you were going to do next.

What can we do with a million trillion gallons of

water?'

The Doctor grinned. 'I'm planning to kill two

purple birds with one watery stone...'

Rory and the others were huddled in the centre of

the ruin, a huge mass of scared men standing back

to back. The mummies were surrounding them,

moving in.

'Come on, Doctor,' Rory muttered. 'Now

would be a really good time to turn up...' He

turned to the archaeologists. 'If only we had some

water,' he said. 'Something to distract them.'

Hunts eyes lit up. 'No water any more... but we

have its opposite.' He drew a bundle of matches

from his pocket. Those things are dry as tinder.

They'll burn.'

'Are you sure it'll be safe?' Rory said. As a nurse

he'd seen the victims of too many accidents to be

complacent about fire.

Hunt shrugged. 'We'll just have to pray. Any

attempt is better than the alternative.'

They searched through pockets, finding

anything that might be combustible. Darting out

from the circle, Rory and the two archaeologists

threw screwed up papers in the mummies' paths,

then tossed on a lit match...

As each mummy reached the burning litter,

there was a whoosh of flame. The cowering men in

the centre of the room suddenly found themselves

enclosed in a circle of fire. 'This isn't good!' Rory

shouted.

And then the skies opened.

'Rory! Rory!' Amy screamed. 'Catch!'

She threw a lifebelt into the churning waters

below. During their short journey in the Vortex

she'd collected up anything she could find that

would float, from lifebelts (rather worryingly

labelled SS Mary Celeste) to inflatable ducks to

armbands and floats in the shape of whales and

even a rubber dinghy. As soon as they materialised

- in exactly the same spot from which they'd

dematerialised thousands of years earlier - the

Doctor had released the force field scoop that was

holding up the water. (He told Amy as he was

doing it that he really hadn't been sure it would

hold during the trip through the Vortex, and was

fairly surprised to discover his plan had worked.)

Now the Nile waters of long ago were sweeping

through Oxyrhynchus once again, extinguishing

the flames that had been threatening the palace

and taking with them the reeds, the mummies,

and everything else that wasn't glued down - which

included Rory.

Rory caught the lifebelt just as the giant wave

caught him. He had no control over his fate, all

he could do was cling tightly to the red-and-white

ring. A mummy floated past him - or at least what

had once been a mummy, it was now bloating up

like an overfilled balloon. And just as he made

the comparison, the mummy, like a balloon, burst

into bits.

And then, just as Rory was wondering if he

would be carried all the way to the Mediterranean,

the water calmed down. He stared around, trying

to work out where he was, trying to work out if

Grenfell and Hunt and all the other men were there

too. He spotted Hunt, who was holding on to an

inflatable ring with a swan's head on it, and swam

towards him. The archaeologist seemed slightly

dazed, but happy and amazed at the same time. 'I

don't believe it!' he cried. 'We're in the river! The

waters have filled the river!'

Rory realised the man was right. The flood had

found its natural home - it had drained into the

dried-out river bed. And here, landing on the bank

beside him, was the TARDIS. Amy waved from

the open door.

'Am I pleased to see you,' Rory said, paddling

towards the edge of the river.

'I'm a bit pleased to see you too,' said Amy,

giving him a kiss as he climbed up on the bank.

'Now, how d'you feel about helping us collect all

those reeds...?'

The flood hadn't reached the precious rubbish

heaps in the desert, and the town and camp were

a little damp but no more worse for wear than that.

Even the papyrus documents had kept perfectly

safe and dry inside their biscuit tins. The 'Water

Thief' reeds, loosened at their roots by the water,

were collected up with the help of some giant

fishing nets from the TARDIS - which the Doctor,

not wanting to explain in too much detail, claimed

he had found "just lying around". He also claimed

to have found a dozen fruit cakes, twenty entire

Edam cheeses and eighteen crates of bananas "just

lying around", which was even less plausible - but

Grenfell, Hunt and the Egyptians were too hungry

to ask many questions. While the archaeologists

and their team were feasting, the Doctor, Rory

and Amy hurried back to the TARDIS. Well, the

Doctor and Amy hurried, half dragging a reluctant

Rory, who'd been about to take a bite of fruit cake.

'I haven't eaten since the day before yesterday!'

he said.

'Well, I haven't eaten since something or other

BC, but you don't hear me complaining!' said

Amy, but gave him a big kiss. 'Didn't mean it, silly.

Come on, I've made us a picnic.'

They ate their picnic by the sea. At least we've got

our seaside holiday at last,' said Amy, munching a

stick of celery. 'Even if we had to jump through a

few hoops to get here. This is perfect. Sun, sand,

sandwiches, no crowds, and a lot of sea.'

'Ninety-nine per cent of the planet's water, the

Doctor said,' Rory confirmed. 'And uninhabited,

so no one'll be in danger even if the papyri suck

the world dry.'

'The purple papyrus s perfect planet,' said Amy.

Rory gazed out across the endless sea, where a

small speck was rapidly turning into the Doctor in

a dinghy. 'Funny, that. Yesterday I'd have given my

right arm for a glass of water, now here's a planetful

and I'm rapidly getting sick of the sight of it.'

Amy shrugged. 'We can go as soon as the

Doctor's got rid of the reeds. I think that was the

last lot.'

'I wonder where they came from in the first

place,' Rory said with a frown. And how they

got to Earth. I know it doesn't really matter now

the Doctor's sorted everything out, but it'd be

interesting to know.'

'Yeah, like it'd mean anything if we did know,'

said Amy dismissively. 'Ooh, purple reeds from the

planet Purplereedia fell through space; we'll never

have heard of wherever they come from anyway.'

'Oh yes you would,' said the Doctor, as he

pulled the rubber dinghy to shore nearby. 'They

came from a little planet we all know rather well

called Earth.'

'No way!' said Amy. 'You mean they were native

plants?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Not to that time.

Looked it up in the TARDIS databanks earlier,

while you were searching for your sun cream. Its

a genetically engineered crop from the twenty-

seventh century, developed specifically to grow in

desert regions. And d'you know what they called

it? The water hunter. Not thief, hunter. Hunters

provide, thieves take. It was meant for good.'

'But how did it get back to Ancient Egypt?'

Rory asked.

'Oh, who can tell? Time storm, time path, a

few spores carried on the coat of a time traveller, a

seed pod stuck in a crevice of a TARDIS...'

Amy almost shrieked. 'It couldn't've been us,

though, could it? The seedpod arrived in the past

before we did!'

'Not us, not this time,' the Doctor assured her.

'But I've been to Egypt before. I've been to the

twenty-seventh century before. I cant be sure it

wasn't me.'

'People died,' said Amy. 'The Nomarch,

those thieves, other people whose names I don't

know. The cook at the dig. Even that horrible ol'

Hetshepsu wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for

the reeds. He might not have become a murderer

in the first place. His heart might have weighed

lighter than a feather. Maybe this time travel lark

isn't all it's cracked up to be.'

The Doctor was silent. It was Rory who

answered, eventually. 'We can't think like that,'

he said. 'The Doctor's done so much good, Amy.

We've done so much good. Sometimes bad things

might happen too, but all we can do is try to be as

careful as possible. If we sat at home all day, never

going anywhere, never doing anything - well, we'd

never do any harm, but we'd never do any good

either. We always act for the best. You know that.'

'The road to the underworld is paved with good

intentions,' muttered the Doctor. 'But Ammit's

never going to get my hearts...'

'What?' asked Rory, puzzled.

The Doctor just said, 'Finished your picnic?'

'Yup. I'm stuffed,' said Rory.

'Ready to go then?'

'Yes,' said both Amy and Rory.

They had to try to make the universe a better

place. They didn't need the threat of a crocodile-

lion-hippo thing waiting for them at the end.

Wherever they might end up, Amy knew that

Rory had a point. They would do the right thing.

Just because it was the right thing to do.