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       The

    Many Hands

    DALE SMITH

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2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Published in 2008 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing. EburyPublishing is a division of the Random House Group Ltd.

© Dale Smith, 2008

Dale Smith has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work inaccordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC OneExecutive    Producers:      Russell T Davies and Julie GardnerSeries Producer: Phil Collinson

Original series broadcast on BBC Television. Format © BBC 1963.'Doctor Who', 'TARDIS' and the Doctor Who logo are trademarks of theBritish Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence.

 This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way oftrade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without thepublisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and

   without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the

                               subsequent purchaser

The      Random        House      Group       Ltd      Reg.      No.      954009.

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found atwww.randomhouse.co.uk.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 9781407023953

Version 1.0

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For the mother-in-law,

    Ann Howkins

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Edinburgh, 1773

Katherine sat by the fire and sewed. The night was cold,and there would certainly be snow before the week wasout. Her husband was out in the cold, somewhere. He wasan academic. Katherine's mother had warned her aboutmarrying a soldier, who would always be away fightingsome war or another, but nothing had been said aboutacademics. They, too, were often away, chasing downsome elusive new truth, consulting with Germancolleagues about the minutiae of anatomy.

   She had not seen Alexander in two days. She was notworried.

   She sat by the fire and sewed.

   'Katherine?' she heard him call.

   She did not rise, nor did she answer. They had marriedeleven years earlier, four years after that they had takenthis house. The city bustled outside day and night. A nearnever-ending stream of souls passing over the new NorthBridge, each one desperate to make themselves heard over

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the trample of feet. They needed to be here, to be close tothe University, for Alexander's work.

   'Katherine?' he called again.

   She did not rise, nor did she answer.

   All the same, he found her. He appeared in thedoorway, his clothing in some disarray, favouring his leftleg as if his right was causing him pain. He looked at her,his sad tired eyes reminding her of why she had agreed tomarry him, those eleven years ago. In his arms, he held ababy, wrapped in a woollen blanket. It didn't cry.

   'Alexander!' she said, rising from her seat.

   'I've been at the house,' he said, not moving from thedoorway. That year, he had bought himself some twohundred acres in Craiglockhart, to indulge a passion forgardens. 'The child was left there, abandoned. He has noone to care for him, Katherine.'

   Katherine was not one for simpering, but even she letout a gasp. She stroked the poor child's face with a finger:the flesh was ruddy and warm. Some God-given instinctmade it hold her eye, recognising immediately the womanwho was to be its mother, as if they had already long beenacquainted. She took it from her husband and held it toher, and it did not cry.

   'We shall need a wet-nurse,' Katherine said.

   Her husband smiled, kindly.

   'We will call him Alexander,' he announced.

   'After yourself?' Katherine asked, eyebrow arched.

   'It's an old family name,' her husband corrected.

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    EDINBURGH, 1759

       It was a gloomy day in Edinburgh, but then when

    wasn't it? The city was almost constantly covered in a

    grey smudge of low lying cloud, always threatening to

    break rain. But the people of the city didn't let it put them

    off their business: the square throbbed with them, every

    inch of the Grassmarket filled with people hawking their

    wares, or preachers saving souls, or urchins picking the

    pockets of those foolish enough to stop. It couldn't have

    been busier if there was a hanging due.

       In a moment, everything would change.

       The screams washed down the crowd like a wave,

    causing each they touched to turn and stare. So packed

    was the square, it took a few moments before anybody

    could see anything. Then the crowd parted down the

    middle: men, women and children all fought to be away

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from the cobbled road and tried to climb the buildings thatfaced the square. Most didn't manage it, and some werefelled simply by the weight of others trying to savethemselves.

   The air filled with a dreadful mix of clattering wheelsand screaming horses. A small boy who was clinging tothe wall of a public house rearranged his grip and strainedto see. At the bend of the road he could see the stagecoachas it wove drunkenly towards them. The horses spat frothas they galloped blindly onwards, the driver clinging forhis life to his perch and at the same time trying to pull thehorses to a stop with the reins.

   As the stagecoach raced by, the boy saw two menstanding on its roof.

   The Doctor crouched low as he tried to surf thestagecoach. The longer this went on, the more likely itwas that people would get hurt: the driver was doing hisbest to steer the horses as they bolted, but it was a losingbattle. Plus he couldn't fight the natural urge to look overhis shoulder at his attacker; the pale man was having asmuch trouble as the Doctor in keeping his balance as thestagecoach rocked, but he was still advancing.

   'Hey,' the Doctor called to the man.

   The pale man didn't even turn, just kept shufflingcautiously towards the driver. He was wearing the muddylong-coat of a farmer, possibly a poacher, but as yet hehadn't reached for the knife that was tucked into his belt.Instead, his pale hands were outstretched, as if the onlyblades he needed were his own sharp fingernails. So far,the Doctor hadn't seen the man's face, just the lank strands

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of his hair flailing in the wind.

   He tried a different tack.

   'Entschuldigen?' he called.

   The pale man turned, and the Doctor got a brief flash ofblack marble eyes and a triumphant feeling.

   Then he saw a piece of the stagecoach roof splinter,and looked again: the pale man's shoulder now had a dryred tear in it where something had struck him, attractinghis attention.

   The Doctor risked a glance behind him, and saw fourred-jacketed soldiers firing from the steps down from theCastle.

   'They're shooting at us!' cried a voice from below. TheDoctor ducked low to avoid perforation, and stuck hishead out over the edge of the stagecoach. There was apassenger sticking his head out of the window and wavingwildly.

   'Don't worry,' the Doctor called as the coach veeredviolently to the left. 'Just stay inside.'

   The passenger gave him a strange look, and duckedback inside.

   The Doctor risked another look behind him, and sawthe soldiers running after them whilst trying to reload theirmuskets. He was safe from that for a few moments,anyway. He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet andturned back to face forwards.

   The pale man seemed to have lost interest in the driver,which was something. Instead, he was making shufflingsteps towards the Doctor, those sharp little fingersoutstretched.

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    Hold on a moment.

    'Aren't you--' the Doctor started to shout to thepassenger.

    The stagecoach hit a loose cobble, and bucked into theair. The driver let out a cry and tried to keep hold of thereins and the coach and his wits, all in one messymanoeuvre. The coach tottered left, then teetered right,before deciding that perhaps it would remain on all fourwheels for a few moments longer.

    The Doctor, however, didn't have much time for relief:the pale man lost his footing as the coach kicked, andended up diving for the Doctor, talons outstretched.Instead, he allowed himself a moment to wonder howMartha was doing.

    Then the pale man knocked him on his back.

                               ***Martha ran.

    As she ran, she kept her mind busy by listing theorganisation of the human lung: the trachea, the bronchi,the bronchioles and the terminal bronchioles, therespiratory bronchioles, the alveolar ducts, and the alveoli.She remembered reading in one textbook that the alveolihad the same surface area as a tennis court. She countedoff the diseases that affected the lungs, alphabetically. Shekept getting stuck after oedema.

    None of it would comfort her about the way her lungsburned.

    Not five minutes ago, she had been standing on theramparts of Edinburgh Castle enjoying the view. TheDoctor had been talking, the way he did, about how she

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was seeing something no one else would ever see again.Clear countryside, all the way down to the Firth of Forth:Edinburgh before they built the bits of Edinburgh sheremembered from that film. Then he'd told her why they'dneeded to expand, turning to point down at the 80,000people pushing their way through a daily life on the streetsof the Old Town.

   'Well,' the Doctor had said. 'Just "the Town" at themoment, but...'

   Now here she was, pushing through it herself.

   'Three,' she panted. 'Four. Seven.'

   A woman dressed as a novelty toilet-roll cover steppedout of her house to Martha's right, and nearly ended up flaton her bustle as Martha barged past. Martha didn't evenlook behind her, but she heard the decidedlyungentlemanly shouts coming from the lady's companion.They weren't the first to be annoyed by her: as she randown the High Street, she had been knocking people left,right and centre. The houses that towered up three andfour storeys on either side of the wide road were the townhouses of the great and the good, and there hadn't been asingle soul she had barged past that had had so much as asmudge of dust on their person. Until she'd sent themsprawling in the gutter.

   On her right, she saw the archway. The sign above itannounced it as Fishmarket Close, although it looked likeit was just a tunnel that burrowed deep into the cellars ofthe houses. Martha turned sharply and ran into thedarkness, the smell of fish rushing up to greet her as sheran. The ground sloped away from her feet at an alarming

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speed, and she knew that if she lost her footing for even amoment, she'd be tumbling. It took her a moment torealise that she had passed through the archway and wasout in the fresh air again: as the ground dropped away, thetops of the houses remained on a level and the sunlightfound it harder and harder to reach her.

   The streets were even worse now she was off the RoyalMile, filled with more people in worse clothes andsplattered with a thick brown mud that she was starting tosuspect wasn't actually mud. The houses seemed littlemore than tiny boxes, all piled high on top of each otherlike the estates in Tower Hamlets. Each had a metal spiralstaircase outside it, leading up to the higher levels thatlooked barely big enough to let a child up comfortably.The language grew fouler as she bumped and barged, andmore than one person started throwing things after her.

   She had a momentary image of the houses on the RoyalMile as nothing more than a flimsy rubber mask, pulledaside to reveal the monstrous decay of the real citybeneath...

   Martha burst out of the street, and suddenly foundherself blinking in the sunlight for a moment. She hadnever really pushed through a crowd of people running inthe opposite direction before she'd met the Doctor. Itwasn't something she particularly enjoyed. People werelosing their footing and falling all around her, and thedoctor in her wanted to stop and check they were all right.The Doctor in her made her keep moving, pushing andswerving into every space she was forcing open. Thesound of their screaming was deafening. She wasn't going

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to make it, she knew.

   'Three. Four. Seven,' she panted.

   Suddenly the crowd thinned around her. At the sametime, their screams got louder as they realised the dangerthey were in was so much more imminent. They partedlike water around her, eager to fill up the small space shehad left them that much further from destruction. Anothermoment, and Martha was alone, standing gasping forbreath in the middle of the cobbled road. She had to benddouble just to force the air into her lungs.

   'Run, girl!' someone shouted, but she didn't see who.

   She stood up straight and composed herself.

   As she turned, she saw the stagecoach careering downthe road towards her, the driver having given up allpretence at control and just looking for the right momentto jump. She couldn't see the Doctor or the highwaymanhe'd been chasing. Perhaps they'd both fallen, and werelying broken further up the road. The streets were empty.After the press of the crowd, it felt more alien than anyplanet she'd set foot on.

   The horses were heading straight for her, teeth bared.

   She held up a hand, and didn't flinch.

   'Three four seven,' she said.

In some ways, the Doctor supposed, it could beconsidered quite restful. OK, so he was in very real dangerof getting a terminal haircut from the buildings lining theCowgate, but at least he was lying down. And he had thewind blowing through his hair, an advantage that thestagecoach's bald driver was completely missing out on.

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All he needed was the certainty of being alive when thecoach stopped, and it would be a very jolly afternoon'sride.

   The pale man was kneeling over the Doctor, havingseemingly no interest in picking himself up and resuminghis attack on the driver. Nor was he attacking the Doctor,as such. Yes, he was flailing those sharp fingernailsaround, but if it was an attack it was a particularlyunfocused one. An unbiased observer might be hard-pushed to decide if the nails were aimed at the Doctor, ormerely trying to claw their way through the stagecoachroof. Certainly the pale man wasn't looking at him as theblows fell: he stared glassily into space, one pupil largerthan the other. The Doctor filed the information in case itwas important later.

   The Doctor looked at the driver, who glanced backapologetically.

   'Don't worry,' the Doctor shouted. 'I've got a friend.'

   The stagecoach bounced again, and the Doctor's paleattacker rolled across the roof. For a moment, he looked asif he might fall, but at the last minute he twisted andsomehow ended up back on his feet. As the pale manrolled his glassy eyes in the Doctor's vague direction, athin sliver of drool ran down his chin.

   'I can help you,' the Doctor told him.

   A musket shot rang out.

Martha swallowed hard, and closed her eyes.

  'Three four seven,' she said.

  The sonic screwdriver felt heavy in her hand, but she

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held it high. Her thumb found the switch without herhaving to look, and she pressed it down. She couldn't helpflinching, even though she knew it wasn't going toexplode in her hand. Probably wasn't going to explode inher hand. It wasn't making any sound, or at least none thatshe could hear. She risked a peek through one squintingeye.

    The horses were nearly on top of her.

    Her mouth fell open and her eyes opened wide. Thestagecoach was hurtling towards her, the driver crossinghimself and jumping from his perch to land awkwardly onthe cobbles below. But she could see the highwayman andthe Doctor, standing on the roof of the coach as if theywere meeting in a bar for the first time. The Doctor washolding his hand out to the highwayman, sayingsomething the clatter of hoof-beats was drowning out.

    He was incredible.

    There was the faint sound of a car backfiring thatMartha barely noticed, until she remembered that this wasa good couple of hundred years before internalcombustion. The highwayman on the roof twitched andtumbled from the stagecoach roof. Martha barely had thetime to register that he'd been shot before her heart leapt atthe sight of the Doctor launching himself after him. Thetwo met in mid-air, as the Doctor spun to protect thehighwayman from the stone cobbles.

    Just incredible.

    Martha realised she was still standing in the path of thestagecoach.

    It was too late, far too late. Martha could see those who

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had managed to get themselves out of the exact place shewas standing looking back at her with a mixture ofsympathy and excitement. This would be one to tell thegrandchildren about, no doubt. All Martha could do wasworry about whether the Doctor had hurt himself in thefall.

    The horses let out a strange noise and slowed.

    It was so odd to see: one moment, the horses werecharging foam-mouthed towards her and she had nochance of survival; the next, they were starting to slow,flicking their manes about as if they were in an equineshampoo advert. Martha felt a moment of elation, beforeshe realised that the stagecoach itself wasn't slowingdown.

    As the horses both moved to the left, suddenlyinterested in the buildings lining the street, the stagecoachsped on at top speed. The gathered crowd didn't knowwhat to do, and neither did the horses. They dug their feetin indignantly as the coach pulled them backwards downthe road, their hooves grinding sparks from the roughstone.

    Martha let her hand drop and made a run for thedubious protection of a pub. She felt a rush of wind try topull her jacket from her back, but didn't stop. As shejumped, she ended up clutching the hand of a young, red-haired boy, who was himself hanging precariously fromthe jacket of a heavy-set man who didn't look much likehe wanted to be hung from. Other hands came down tosweep her up, and for a moment she let herself fall intothem. It felt like having her mother hug her after a nasty

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tumble.

    When she looked behind her, the stagecoach had spunto a halt ten yards down the road. The cobblestones werescuffed, and the coach was sideways on to the road, butotherwise you'd be hard pushed to guess that anything waswrong. The horses pawed at the ground skittishly, andtried hard not to catch each other's eye. Martha had thestrangest feeling that they were embarrassed. She smiled,and took her thumb from the sonic screwdriver.

                              ***The Doctor rolled.

    It wasn't something he'd been planning to do, but whenit came down to it he didn't seem to have much choice inthe matter, and it seemed churlish to fight it. Everybodyneeded a good roll every now and again. Somewherealong the way, he'd got separated from the pale man he'dbeen trying to save, but at least it saved him the trouble oftrying to calculate exactly what the man's ambient skintemperature was. Certainly two degrees below the humannorm, but was it two point one or not?

    Then he stopped. All good things come to an end.

    He lay on his back for just a moment, enjoying the feelof the hard cobbles against his back, admiring thedramatic beauty of the monochrome clouds directlyabove. Gradually the sound of the crowd filtered into hisperception, and he made a rough estimate of how long itwould take before one of them rushed over and asked if hewas all right. He ought to save them the bother and leap tohis feet, but just for the moment his body seemed to wanta nice lie-down.

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He managed to lift his head a little.

The soldiers were coming.

The Doctor sighed.

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    Martha rushed over to where the Doctor was lying,

    kneeling on the ground by his side and starting to sweep

    her hands down his body, checking for broken bones.

    There was nothing leaking out of his ears, so he might

    have survived a fractured skull. Somehow, she didn't think

    there was going to be much opportunity for an X-ray and

    a lie-down with a nice bunch of grapes.

        The Doctor's eyes snapped open, and he grinned at her.

        She couldn't help grinning back.

        'Are you OK?' she asked. 'Do you know what year it

    is?'

        '1759,' the Doctor answered.

        For just a moment, Martha thought he must have

    suffered some kind of concussion. Then she remembered.

        'Check on our friend,' the Doctor ordered, bouncing to

    his feet. The Doctor nodded, and Martha turned. 'I'll make

    the introductions.'

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   Four soldiers were rushing down the street, with a fifthmarching briskly behind them. He had bristling black hairand dark little eyes that flicked this way and that as hemarched. Martha didn't know anything about militaryinsignia, but she recognised that the man was in chargefrom the look of distaste as he watched the others running.

   'Go!' urged the Doctor.

   He pushed her away, towards the body lying just a fewfeet from where the horses were snorting and patting theground. She'd forgotten all about the other man, just for amoment. The Doctor had taken priority. She tried not toblush as she hurried over.

   The man wasn't moving, lying face down on thecobblestones with his limbs splayed out around him.Without even touching him, Martha could tell that the leftarm was broken, the ulna and the radius hopefullysnapped clean and not greenstick. It stuck out at anunnatural angle, the flesh below the break even paler thanthe rest. If she was back at the Royal Hope, it would besimple to reset the bones. Here she wasn't sure if she couldsave the arm.

   'Hello,' she said as she knelt. 'My name's Martha: I'm adoctor. Can you hear me?'

   The patient didn't answer her. Was he unconscious?

   The temptation to get to work on the arm was a strongone, but it was wrong too. She had done her rotation in theA&E department like everyone else, and had been told thestories of the patients wheeled in with perfectly bandagedbroken arms. Dead on arrival, because the first people onthe scene had forgotten to check the patient was breathing

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before they got out the bandages.

   ABC, Martha told herself.

   Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Then the arm.

   She knelt down with her hand next to the patient'smouth and nose, but couldn't feel the comforting rush ofair from his lungs. She pressed her fingers against hisjugular, but couldn't feel the swell of pumping blood. Ifshe turned him and he'd damaged his spine, she couldparalyse him. She'd definitely make the arm worse. If shedidn't turn him, then he would die. There was no contest.

   She rolled him sharply onto his back, and saw...

   'Oh!'

The Doctor strolled over to the soldiers as breezily as hecould manage having just jumped from a speedingstagecoach. All things considered, he thought he managedit quite well: he kept smiling the whole time, to suggest tothe soldiers that the idea of them thinking him a threathadn't even crossed his mind. Their captain studiouslyignored him, continuing his steady march onwards untilhe reached the coach's driver and could bully the man tohis feet. The four soldiers, on the other hand, stoppedabout two feet from the Doctor and raised their muskets.

    The Doctor smiled broadly, as if they'd offered him tea.

    'Hello,' he grinned, slipping easily into a gentle Scotsburr. 'I'm the Doctor, and that's my friend Martha Jones.'

    'What are you doing?' Martha asked him.

    He gave the soldiers another smile, and lookedawkwardly over his shoulder. Martha was standing behindhim, her arms folded across her chest. It occurred to him

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that he probably should have thanked her for stopping thehorses.

    'Blending in,' he stage-whispered in his naturalSouthern twang.

    'In that coat?'

    The Doctor looked down at his long coat, his bottomlip sticking out like a small, sulky child. There wasnothing wrong with the coat it certainly fitted better inthe eighteenth century than it did in the twenty-fifth: allthat tinfoil clothing and heavy eye make-up. He lookedback up at Martha.

    'He's dead,' she said.

    Another failure.

    'I'm sorry,' he told her.

    But she was shaking her head.

    'No, I mean he's dead,' she repeated. 'Really dead: he'sgot an autopsy scar and everything.'

    The Doctor blinked. He threw a quick look over hisshoulder: the Captain was talking to the stagecoach'spassengers, and the soldiers were giving him that lookwhich said they weren't quite sure what to do now thattheir weapons hadn't got them the attention they were usedto.

    He gave them an apologetic smile and turned back toMartha. He held out his hand, and she dropped the sonicscrewdriver into it with a smile.

    'Well, I'd better take a look then,' he announced.

    As soon as the sonic screwdriver was in the Doctor'shand, Martha knew everything was going to be all right.The glasses came out of his jacket pocket, and then he

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squinted over them at whatever the screwdriver wastelling him. Only the Doctor would put on glasses heprobably didn't need to treat a screwdriver like an MRIscanner. She looked at the soldiers with a smile andshrugged.

    'Hmm,' the Doctor said, pushing his glasses further uphis nose.

    'Well?' Martha asked.

    He looked at her and frowned. 'He's dead. Has been fortwo days at least. Brain haemorrhage: that explains theblown pupil. There's all sorts of funny energy floatingabout in there, but...'

    Martha looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

    'And you can tell all that with a screwdriver?' she said.

    'A sonic screwdriver Hey!'

    Martha jumped as the Doctor tore his glasses off andstormed across the road, waving them angrily around. Shespun around as fast as she could noticing with a smilethat their armed guard was equally surprised and saw thestagecoach pulling away. The driver gave the Doctor abrief glance over his shoulder, and then gave the whip acrack. The horses changed gear from canter to gallop and,by the time the Doctor reached the head soldier, thestagecoach had turned to the right and disappeared.

    'What did you do that for?' the Doctor shouted.

    Martha hurried over to join him, followed closely byfour soldiers. Their leader merely stood and let his handsmeet behind his back, perfectly at ease. He looked at theDoctor with two dark eyes that glinted underneath thinlittle eyebrows.

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   'The journey to London takes two weeks,' the soldiersaid, chewing the words as if they tasted off. His accent,surprisingly, was English. 'I don't think there needs to beany further delay, do you?'

   'They might have been able to tell us something aboutthe attack,' Martha jumped in.

   The head soldier gave her a dismissive look.

   'I questioned the driver and his passenger,' he said, justa little snootily. 'I'm satisfied they have nothing further toadd.'

   'Yes, but,' said the Doctor, waving a stern finger.'Captain...?'

   'McAllister,' the soldier said. He gave a little snort toshow how surprised he was that there was a man in theworld that didn't automatically know his name. 'And youare?'

   'He's the Doctor,' Martha said. She smiled sweetly, asher mother had told her to when dealing with idiots. 'I'mMartha Jones.'

   'Well, Doctor, Miss Jones,' McAllister said silkily.'You're under arrest. Get them to the Tolbooth.'

   The soldiers took a step forward, but the Doctoralready had his psychic paper in his hand.

   'Now I don't think His Majesty would appreciate that,'he said casually. 'And I really would've liked to speak tothat passenger.'

   McAllister read the paper and raised an eyebrow.

   'And why would that be?' he asked.

   The Doctor grinned infectiously. 'Well,' he said. 'Thatkite thing was brilliant!'

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   Martha looked at the Doctor for a moment, and not forthe first time wondered what he was on about. CaptainMcAllister seemed to be in on the secret, though, as histhin moustache twitched a little. He didn't return theDoctor's smile.

   'So you knew who was travelling in the coach?'

   'I think I must have seen his photograph in Heat,' theDoctor answered solemnly, with a twinkle in his eye. 'I doread it rather a lot, don't I, Martha?' Martha just grinned.

   'And that would be why you attempted to ambush thestagecoach, yes?' McAllister said.

   The Doctor's face fell and he glanced from the Captainto Martha and back again. The Captain simply stood, hishands behind his back, breathing softly through his mouth.

   'Oh no! We weren't trying to ambush the stagecoach.You see my friend and I were standing in the Castleadmiring the view--'

   'And you were trespassing in the Castle.'

   'This was a different castle. We saw that dead man overthere jump onto the roof of the stagecoach, and the horsespanicked probably because he'd been dead for two daysand--'

   The Doctor turned to Martha. She folded her arms.

   'He's not going to believe that, is he?'

   Martha shook her head.

   'I don't care who you reckon you are: you're going tothe Tolbooth. Brown, stop scratching MacDonald'sbackside and step to it!' Captain McAllister suddenlyyelled. The four soldiers jumped visibly. 'Connolly, getthat corpse up to the Castle and send a runner to tell the

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surgeons where they can find it. Perhaps it won't be sodifficult to guard a man who's already dead.'

   Martha saw the hint of a smile pull at the Captain'smouth: clearly he was pleased at the thought and wit he'dmanaged to put into his orders. One of the soldiersshouldered his musket and set his face with a grim look ashe headed over to the pale corpse, hefting it up over hisshoulder. The other soldiers each pointed their muskets atMartha and the Doctor.

   'What about me?' Martha asked, pushing up to theCaptain. 'I wasn't attacking the coach: I stopped it. Youcan't arrest me for that.'

   The gathered crowd murmured something to each otherthat might have been agreement, or equallydisappointment that the show was apparently coming to anatural end. All the same, Martha gave the Captain thesame look she would have if the crowd had allspontaneously cheered and carried her around the marketon its shoulders. If she could stay out of prison, she'd havea much better chance of being able to help the Doctor.

   Captain McAllister looked her up and down.

   'You are wearing pantaloons,' he said pointedly.

   Martha looked down at herself, and realised that he wastalking about her jeans. She almost laughed out loud,despite the funny look on the Doctor's face.

   'What, and that's against the law is it?'

   'Ah, actually it is,' the Doctor muttered into her ear. 'Forwomen. Sorry.'

   Martha looked from the Doctor to the frowning soldier.Right, OK so she was actually going to be arrested for

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crimes against fashion. Tish was right after all.

   Martha crooked her arm at the Doctor.

   'Doctor?' she said.

   'Miss Jones,' the Doctor agreed.

   And they walked back up the slope of FishmarketClose towards the Royal Mile, arm in arm.

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    The soldiers kept near as they trudged back up the lethal

    slope to the Royal Mile one of the three pacing in front,

    whilst the other marched behind under the watchful glare

    of Captain McAllister. The street hadn't become any less

    busy in the last few minutes, but Martha found going up a

    lot easier than coming down. The presence of the soldiers

    created a bubble around her and the Doctor: people

    paused on the edge of the Close as they were marched by,

    and then carried on as normal.

       It reminded Martha oddly of a royal parade, but one

    that was taking in the less scenic areas of the city and was

    dogged by the pungent odour of fish wherever it went.

    Every now and again, someone who hadn't seen the

    stagecoach drama would cross their path and stop in

    wonderment. As they were pulled out of the way by a

    throng of clutching hands, the sound of voices increased

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as everybody in the crowd tried to tell the newcomer thenews.

   Martha clung on tight to the Doctor. He smiled at thecrowds cheerfully.

   'So who was in the stagecoach?' Martha hissed.

   'Only one of this century's most brilliant minds,' theDoctor said. He didn't seem to care if the soldiersoverheard. Captain McAllister seemed content to dividehis time between belittling his men and giving Martha evillooks, occasionally growling warningly at the people whogot in his way. 'You should know him: he invented bi-focal spectacles. And the catheter.'

   'Right,' Martha said. 'I think I met him at a party once.'

   'You don't know?' the Doctor asked, shocked.

   'No!' Martha laughed.

   'Quiet!' Captain McAllister barked behind them.

   'What did they teach you in that teaching hospital?' theDoctor grumbled, completely ignoring McAllister.

   'Oh you know,' Martha whispered. She wasn't quite ascertain as the Doctor that the Captain wouldn't order hismen to open fire just for some peace and quiet. 'They justwasted time teaching us things like how to save lives andease human suffering.'

   'Appalling!' the Doctor cried.

   But he smiled that smile, and Martha couldn't helpreturning it. No matter what it did to Captain McAllister'smood.

   'So who was it?' Martha asked again.

   'Benjamin Franklin,' the Doctor answered.

   Martha snorted.

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   'All right, don't tell me then.'

   'I did,' the Doctor protested. 'It was!'

   'Benjamin Franklin invented the catheter? You'rekidding.'

   The Doctor shook his head, the picture of wideeyedinnocence.

   'What would he be doing in Scotland anyway?' sheasked.

   'Well,' the Doctor said, scratching the side of his nosewith a finger. 'In 1759... I suppose he'd be picking up hishonorary degree from St Andrews University. It's not farfrom here as the crow flies, and it took him two weeks toget here: he'd want to do a bit of sightseeing.'

   'Two weeks to get here from America?'

   'Oh no,' the Doctor said. 'It's two weeks to get herefrom London. You're probably talking at least two monthsto get here from America.'

   'They must be counting the days before someoneinvents Travel Scrabble,' Martha said.

   The Doctor smiled.

   'Benjamin Franklin's living in London now,' the Doctorexplained. 'That's another thing he did: diplomacy. He'sthe Pennsylvania Assembly's agent to the Government ofthe United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.'

   'Pennsylvania's?' Martha shook her head. 'Did theCotswolds get to send an agent to America as well?'

   'Ye-es,' said the Doctor, extending the word out as longas it would go without breaking. 'Don't forget, theAmericas are just a collection of separate colonies at themoment. They don't unite for another sixteen years, when

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they fight the... Well, before that thing that unites them.'

    'You mean the...' Martha said slowly, looking nervouslyat the two loaded muskets pointing her way.

    'That's the one,' the Doctor agreed in a whisper. 'Butthat's just the sort of talk that makes British soldiersnervous, so there's no reason why we need to throw wordslike "American revolution" around, is there?'

    'Oh no,' Martha agreed. 'No reason at all.'

    And she smiled at the soldiers.

    They didn't smile back.

    'Halt,' McAllister yelled.

    His voice echoed through the air for a moment. Theyhad emerged out of the passageway and back onto theHigh Street, making the return considerably more slowlythan Martha had made her descent. The soldier in front, agrey-haired man who she thought was the one McAllisterhad called Brown, was panting audibly. She didn't darethink what he would have been like if McAllister hadchosen him to carry the highwayman's body back to theCastle: that soldier had disappeared up the Cowgate at agallop, muttering pityingly to himself about the stairs hewould have to climb at the end of it.

    Without pause, McAllister had turned them to the leftand marched them back up the sloping street, the oldsoldier taking the opportunity to duck behind them andslacken his pace. As they moved, more people gathered onthe edges of the street to watch, but the reaction wasdifferent here. The street was wider, so Martha wasn'tbrushing through the crowd, but she had the feeling thatthese people weren't as nervous of the soldiers. After all,

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the army was on their side, protecting them from thecriminal tendencies of the poor below the hill.

It didn't take long to reach their destination: they stoppedin a large square, in front of an imposing church. Itseemed to be made exclusively from giant slabs of stoneand dark serrated towers stabbing up into the air, theproduct of a time when believers were reminded Godshould be feared, as well as loved. Attached to the church,and blocking off the square from the Lawnmarket, was alarge building four storeys tall with a tower running downthe front of it, reminding Martha of the Castle that sat atthe top of the hill.

   'That's the Tolbooth,' the Doctor whispered to her.

   'I suppose it's not the kind I'll need change for?' Marthawhispered in reply.

   'It's an old Scots word,' the Doctor answered softly. 'It'swhere the council meets.'

   'Well,' said Martha with enforced cheerfulness. 'Thatdoesn't sound so bad.'

   'And they usually have prisons underneath them.'

   'Oh,' said Martha.

   McAllister studiously ignored his prisoners, choosinginstead to glare at the three red-coated men.

   'You three get the prisoners to the cells,' McAllisterinstructed sharply. 'I'll be talking with the Lord Provost,and if I have to be called out because of any of you...'

   The threat hung in the air for a moment, thenMcAllister marched inside.

   There was a moment in which the soldiers relaxed

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slightly, their shoulders drooping as the tension created byMcAllister's presence eased. Despite all the years betweenthem, Martha could recognise her old colleagues in thesoldiers: if they'd been back at the hospital, the soldierswould have been junior doctors leaning against the walland starting to gossip the moment the consultant's backwas turned. Sometimes, she wished she was back withthem: since she'd met the Doctor, there never seemed to beany time to relax. They'd been in Edinburgh not even anhour, and already he'd had her running up and down hillsand diving in front of stagecoaches it was better thanany gym, at least.

   It was only when they got thrown into prison that shegot any chance to rest, these days.

   Martha could see that the Doctor was already tensing.He seemed to have an inbuilt aversion to authority: itwould never occur to him, for example, to speak to theLord Provost himself and explain the situation. That therewas something abroad in Edinburgh that had brought thedead to life, and if it had done it once, it might easily do itagain. No, the Doctor would want to be out there himself,chasing down the solution on his own. And that meantescaping from soldiers and prisons whenever he got thechance, and legs like Paula Radcliffe for her.

   The Doctor took her hand, and waggled his eyebrows.

   They ran.

   She looked behind and saw that the soldiers had beenjust as surprised as she had. Two of them fumbled withtheir muskets, one landing on the cobbled street with aloud clatter that convinced some pedestrians that it had

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gone off. The third, however, was a little quicker than hisfriends and was already chasing after them. Perhaps hewas the one who feared the Captain's reaction the most.

   'Where are we going?' Martha shouted to the Doctor.

   He was, annoyingly, two paces ahead of her andholding her arm in a way that suggested he could be six ifhe wasn't. He threw her a smile, which she gratefullycaught.

   'This way,' he said.

   Instead of pulling her down the road to their left thatmust have led back down to the Grassmarket, he pulledher upwards, towards the Castle. She couldn't helpthinking that there had to be a better place to run, but itwas too late to argue.

   There was a crack of musket fire.

   The Doctor pulled on Martha's arm again.

   When she saw where he was heading, she tried to pullaway.

   Even the Doctor couldn't think that was a good idea.

                              ***John Connolly shouldered his musket as he ran. He'd hadhis one shot and, if he stopped to reload now, he'd losethem. Mac and Gordy were close on his heels but, as goodlads as they were, John wouldn't trust them to find thecludgie before they wet themselves. If the prisoners had itaway, McAllister would have them all scraping out thelatrines with their fingernails and licking them cleanbefore dinner.

   He stayed a breath behind the strangely dressed pair asthey ran up Castle Hill: he expected they'd try to disappear

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down one of the Closes and out of the city that way. Oncethey were out in the open, he could risk a few moments toreload and wing them. He should be able to make the shot.He practically had his musket in his hands when he sawthem turn the other way instead. Were they soft in thehead? They were running straight into the Castle: oncethey were inside, where would they expect to go?

    'We've got them now!' Mac shouted.

    Gordy didn't say a word: he had a good few years onMac and John, and his prime running days were longbehind him. He was already panting hard, the poor old'un.

    As they came out onto the brow of the hill, the Castleloomed up over them: it looked more like a mansion thananything John would have called a castle, but the giantplug of rock it sat on had kept the enemy at bay sinceAdam and Eve's time. The ground before the Castle wasjust a wide, empty expanse with little place to hide. Anyapproaching army would have to march unprotectedbefore they reached the narrow archway at the far sideoffering entry into the main Castle. It was a system thathad served them well those fourteen years back when thePretender's men had taken Edinburgh, but not the Castle.The gates remained firmly closed now as well, just in casethe Jacobite ghost hadn't been properly laid to rest afterall.

    At any other time, there might perhaps have been abrigade of redcoats practising their drill to lose yourselfamongst, but right now the Castle had only a handful ofcity guards to call on, and the ground was empty. All thesame, John had expected the prisoners to at least try:

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instead, they were just standing there, waiting to berecaptured. The man was standing straight watching themapproach with a grim look. The woman was bent doubletrying to catch her breath, but her eyes were locked on thethree redcoats from the moment they appeared. The lookon her face said that she had expected to be hiding as well.She tried to pull away from the man as John moved up,but he held her tight to him.

   Poor girl: if it came to shooting, John thought he'd tryto get her clean.

   John, Mac and Gordy all looked at each other, andslowed to a trot. John took his musket from his shoulderas he went: he still hadn't loaded it, but the prisonersweren't to know that. Besides, Mac and Gordy wereholding theirs too, pointing them meaningfully at the manand his woman.

   'What're they doing?' hissed Mac.

   John had to shrug.

   'Don't come any closer!' the man shouted.

   John stopped, involuntarily. The man was holding theleather wallet with the paper in that he'd shown to theCaptain. It hadn't cut much ice at the bottom of the hill,and John was pretty sure the prisoner couldn't expectthings to be any different up here.

   'You're to come wi' us to the Tolbooth,' John announcedloudly, raising his musket meaningfully. 'The Captaindon't care who you are. Neither do we.'

   The man smiled again.

   'Ah,' he said, gently shaking his head. 'But that wasdown there. Now I'm standing here absolutely right here

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I think your Captain will care very much. You see, thissays I'm Baronet Jones of Nova Scotia, and you aretrespassing on my land. If you try to step one inch closer,it will be considered an act of war.'

   John and Mac looked at each other.

   The woman looked at them apologetically.

   'So go on,' the man said. 'Off you go.'

   They raised their muskets.

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    Martha stood, fighting for her breath next to the Doctor.

    He just stood ramrod straight, holding his psychic paper

    with one hand, and Martha's hand with the other. With her

    back to the Castle at the top of the hill, she had a perfect

    view of the city, all the way back down the full mile of

    road to Holyrood Palace at the foot of the hill. She could

    even make out the deep blue of the Firth of Forth out

    there, and catch the odd glimpse of the extinct volcano

    called Arthur's Seat between the houses. She could see

    why the King or Queen that owned the Castle had built it:

    it was a beautiful view, even if it would be the last she

    ever saw.

       She saw the soldiers raise their muskets and instinct

    told her to blink, as if her eyelids would stop the bullets in

    their tracks. She didn't though: if the Doctor felt safe

    enough to face the bullets down, then so did she.

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    Even if the Doctor was clearly insane.

    'Hold on,' said the grey-haired soldier, between pants.'He's right.'

    Martha looked up at the Doctor in disbelief, but he waswatching the soldiers with that insane smile of his spreadall over his face. There was no way this was going towork. No way.

    'What d'you mean he's right?' one of the youngersoldiers snapped.

    The muskets were still pointing at the Doctor andMartha.

    'He's right,' said the old, panting man. 'They made partof the grounds the territory of Nova Scotia for the sasine.And they're standing on it.'

    'Oh, come on, Gordy!' shouted the other soldier.

    Martha leant in close to the Doctor. 'What's sasine?' sheasked.

    'It's part of the ceremony where they make you abaronet.' The Doctor answered. He didn't take his eyes offthe soldiers' muskets, but still he grinned like the CheshireCat that got the cream. 'They give you the land you'vebeen made baronet of the sasine. Except the Scots take ita little more literally here: they really give you the land.But Nova Scotia is part of Canada.'

    'Two months away,' Martha said, remembering.

    'So it's much less trouble to make part of Old Scotia alittle piece of Nova Scotia, rather than sail to the otherside of the planet to pick up some dirt every time you needto make someone a baronet.'

    'And you just happened to know which bit to stand on?'

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   The Doctor looked a little hurt.

   'I am really a baronet,' he protested.

   'Of Nova Scotia?'

   'Bathgate,' he answered. 'But still...'

   'Let's just shoot them,' one of the soldiers said, raisinghis musket.

   Martha looked at them, expecting the older soldier torepeat that the Doctor was right, that he had the power toorder them away. He didn't. Instead he looked at themwith sad grey eyes and looked like he'd much rather besomewhere else whilst somebody else took the decisionfor him. Martha opened her mouth, but the Doctor laid awarning hand on her arm.

   'There's no need for any trouble,' he said, fixing theolder soldier with a look. 'You're just ordinary soldiers:nobody's expecting you to know about things like this.But if you get it wrong you'll be in all sorts of trouble.There's not really a lot you can do, is there?'

   It sounded so reasonable the way he said it, Marthahalf-expected them to lay down their muskets andsurrender right there. Instead, the youngest of the soldiershad a brainwave.

   'Gordy,' he said to the old soldier. 'You go back to theTolbooth and get McAllister. He's the high heid yin: lethim have the trouble.'

   'Oh there's no need for that,' the Doctor said, a little toofast. 'We can--'

   'Gordy!' the youngster snapped. 'You go now.'

   Gordy stood for a moment, wracked by indecision.Martha could see it on his face, and the pair of them could

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see that the youngster had his own particular solution tothe problem in mind. They both knew that if CaptainMcAllister had wanted them dead, he could have easilysaid so... but equally, they could see that the young soldierhad made his mind up. And anything he did now would behis doing and his doing alone: McAllister wouldn't haveany call to spread the blame around.

   'Aye, Mac,' Gordy said, letting his head fall. 'I'll fetchMcAllister.'

   He didn't look at Martha as he ran back down to theTolbooth. Probably his conscience wouldn't allow it.

   The Doctor let out a satisfied sigh. 'Good,' he said.'Now it's just the four of us.'

   The two soldiers looked at each other nervously, andkept their muskets high. The Doctor didn't even seem tonotice, and took a step forward, smiling disarmingly. Notdisarmingly enough: the muskets were still pointing athim. Martha did her best to keep a positive attitude, but animage of the Doctor lying on the ground with a few extraholes in him kept flashing into her mind's eye.

   'Doctor...' she said warningly as he took another step.

   'Don't worry,' the Doctor said, a hand sliding slowlyinto his jacket's inside pocket. 'There's only two of themnow, and I haven't shown you everything this can do yet.'

   In his hand, the sonic screwdriver glinted briefly.

   The two soldiers looked at each other again, as if tryingto decide if the small wand was some kind of weapon. Orperhaps they were deciding between them if the Doctorwas a witch, and this was his magic wand. They bothtensed and moved their fingers towards the triggers. As

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they took their eyes off him, the Doctor moved forwardsagain. Now the musket barrels were pressing against hischest. Each heart would get its own bullet.

   'Doctor...' Martha said again.

   The Doctor's hand moved.

   Martha flinched, expecting both the crack of gunfireand the sonic screwdriver to do something strange andterrible. Neither happened: the Doctor didn't even move toturn the screwdriver on. Instead, he flicked it, rapping theyounger soldier firmly between the eyes with the blue-bulbed end. The young soldier was so startled that hedropped his musket and immediately began rubbing hishead. As he did, the Doctor stamped hard on the other'stoes. The soldier's musket clattered to the floor as he letout a cry and started hopping up and down.

   The Doctor performed a quick bow, during which hescooped the two fallen muskets up into his arms and spunto face Martha.

   'Shall we run?' he asked politely.

   Martha let out a laugh, and ran.

   'I can't believe you got away with that,' Martha laughedas she ran.

   If he was entirely honest, neither could the Doctor.

   'It's 1759,' he said by way of explanation. 'Scotland'sbeen dragged into the Seven Years War because of the Actof Union: all the best soldiers are over in Europe fightingthe French. The ones that are left behind... well, have youever watched Dad's Army?'

   'Doctor,' said Martha. She pointed down the side of thehill, where a red-coated soldier was manoeuvring a dead

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body onto the back of a cart before covering it with athick, oiled tarpaulin.

   The Doctor couldn't see much of the body before it wascovered, but he thought it was a good bet that it was theirmiraculous autopsy-surviving, stagecoachhijacking friend.

   'All right,' the Doctor said, rubbing his hands together.'Who fancies hitching a ride to the Surgeon's Hall?'

   'I'm not sure we'd make it very far,' Martha said,pointing again.

   The Doctor looked back down Castle Hill. Downwhere the road turned into the Lawnmarket, he could see aknot of red jackets racing up towards them. The Doctorcould practically hear Captain McAllister throwing outinspirational barbs to keep the men moving. Behind them,he could hear the two guards he'd embarrassed starting togather their wits: if the two groups of soldiers met withoutthe Doctor and Martha between them, they'd search inevery house, under every tarpaulin, until they found them.

   'OK,' the Doctor said, thinking fast. His eyes wanderedto the north, and the volcanic rocks falling away to theLoch below. 'Here's what we do. I'll examine the body andsee if I can work out why he was up and about thismorning. You distract the soldiers: if you go that way, youcan lose them on the side of the hill and double back tothe Surgeon's Hall. There's a secret path there I'm surethey'll have forgotten about: Thomas Randolph used it in1314 to retake the Castle from the English...'

   The Doctor tailed off as he saw the look Martha wasgiving him.

   'You don't know who Thomas Randolph was, do you?'

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he said.

   Martha shook her head.

   'And you don't know where the secret path is?'

   'Actually,' Martha said, trying to hide a smile, 'I don'tknow where the Surgeon's Hall is either.'

   The Doctor rubbed his eyes. He needed to see thatbody again, but there was no time. Why was he alwaysliving his life at such a frenetic pace, forever running outof time when he was supposed to be a Time Lord?Wouldn't it be nice to spend a couple of hours justimmersing himself in the atmosphere?

   'Right!' he cried, pointing at Martha. 'You stay with thebody. I'll lead the soldiers away. But the next time we're inthe twenty-first century, I'm going to have a good longtalk with your tutors about their curriculum.'

   Martha smiled, and then she was gone.

   The two young soldiers appeared behind him, and theDoctor spun with a look of guilty surprise on his face.Nine hundred years old, and he'd still make a pretty goodHamlet.

   The Doctor pointed to the north as Martha ran to thesouth.

   'Don't stop, Martha!' he yelled, introducing a note ofpanic to his voice. 'I'm right behind you.'

   And then he ran.

   Thankfully, the soldiers quickly gave chase.

   Martha heard the Doctor shout, but didn't turn. Luckily,the soldier didn't seem to have noticed: he was round theother side, securing the tarpaulin over the back of the cart.Martha crept up to the side of the vehicle and tried to keep

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the wheels between him and her. As the soldier movedround to the front to pat the horse patiently standing there,Martha snuck round to the back and lifted the tarpaulin.

   There was a smell that made her wrinkle her nose.

   The body in the back was definitely the man from thestagecoach: his shirt and trousers were battered and rippedfrom when he'd fallen from the roof, and Martha couldmake out the vivid red of the autopsy scar down his barechest. He wasn't the first body she had seen, but he wasthe first that she was planning on lying down next to andsomehow she thought she owed him some kind of apologyfor that.

   'Sorry,' she whispered as she clambered up onto thecart.

   She slid under the tarpaulin, inching up beside the bodyslowly, trying not to make any sudden wriggles that thesoldier might spot. The tarpaulin felt heavy, and didn't letany light under it. The smell was almost overpowering,but she knew that the soldier would hear if she made asound. Then she would be caught, and the Edinburghsurgeons would do whatever they did to bodies in theeighteenth century, and the Doctor wouldn't be able to dowhatever he wanted to do to this particular body from theeighteenth century. All the same, it was hard not to gag.

   She closed her eyes and told herself how useful all thiswould be if she had to take any history of medicine examswhen she got back home. Her leg started to itch, but therewas nothing she could do. She'd have to just think aboutsomething else. Like the possibility that the itch was afleabite: how common was the Bubonic Plague in the

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eighteenth century?

   'Yar!' shouted the soldier, and the cart jolted forwards.

   The body jolted too.

   Martha ended up hugging it most of the way there.

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    The Doctor moved as fast as he dared, leaping down the

    grassy slope of Castle Hill with all the abandon of a

    mountain goat, but one that liked to stop and enjoy the

    views every now and again. The soldiers were coming

    down behind him, but much less surefootedly: it was a

    delicate dance between them, making sure they didn't get

    close enough to shoot him but didn't get so far behind that

    they lost him and started searching around the Castle

    again.

       To make things more complicated, he didn't want to go

    so fast that his pursuers lost their footing and fell down

    the side of the hill. OK, so it wasn't Mount Everest, but it

    was still a good drop to the bottom, and even if they didn't

    break anything on the way down they'd probably catch

    dysentery if they landed in the water below. Edinburgh

    might be in the middle of its Enlightenment, but it still

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hadn't invented the sewer system yet. Unless you countedthrowing it out the window and letting the rain wash itinto the Loch as a 'system'.

   He'd give Martha a couple more minutes, and then he'dfind Randolph's path and disappear. Over in Ayrshire,Rabbie Burns had just been born: if he'd been a littleolder, he might have been able to tell the Doctor whathappened to the best laid plans of mice and men...

   A musket cracked off a shot behind him.

   It was a foolish attempt, and any good soldier wouldhave known it: the Doctor was too far away and tooskittish to hit. But, as he'd told Martha, good soldiers werein short supply at the moment, and one of the not-so-goodones thought he could make the shot. At least he'd had thesense to stop running so he could aim, for all the good itdid as the musketball thudded into the stone a few feetbehind the Doctor.

   The stone shattered, and shrapnel flew into the air.

   One of the soldiers was caught in the face by it.

   He let out a cry that mingled with the sharp bark ofCaptain McAllister, calling the gunman a selection ofchoice words. The injured soldier threw his hands up tohis face, but he didn't stop running: he tripped over hisown feet and went tumbling down the side of Castle Hill,towards the Nor' Loch and its foul waters below.

   'Of course,' the Doctor thought to himself, 'I couldalways keep going.'

   He altered his course without slowing, charging downthe side of the hill himself at a speed almost impossible tocheck. Large chunks of volcanic rock seemed to throw

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themselves under his feet, and he'd use them asspringboards to launch himself away even faster. Twohundred years later, he told himself, and there would be anice gentle footpath going down here. And a fairgroundwaiting for him at the bottom.

    'Fire!' McAllister shouted, letting the Doctor know he'dstrayed within range of the muskets.

    They missed. He'd have some time while they reloaded.

    The soldier was still tumbling, no longer struggling totry to stop his fall: now he just fell limply, either resignedto his fate or knocked unconscious by a glancing blowfrom the old volcano. The Doctor hoped he was stillconscious: he'd do himself less damage if he fell limp, buta blow that made him insensible could easily do sopermanently.

    'Hold on,' he shouted, and launched himself again.

    The Doctor dived, cutting across the path of the fallingsoldier and grabbing him like he was a long lost love.Arms wrapped tight around each other, the two began toroll sideways across the hill, all downward motion haltedby the force of the Doctor's impact. For a few moremoments, they rolled, and then the Doctor spread out hislegs and an arm and suddenly he was lying on his back onthe grass. The soldier was lying across his chest, his headface down on the ground.

    For a moment, the Doctor admired the clouds again.

    'Can you hear me?' the Doctor asked.

    The soldier let out a little whimper.

    'It's all right,' the Doctor said softly. 'You're going to beall right.'

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   Gently, the Doctor slid himself out from under thesoldier. He held the boy's head as he rolled him onto hisback. He was little more than sixteen. There were streaksof blood rolling down his face, and tiny stone chipsimbedded in the flesh of his forehead. His eyes werescrewed tight shut, and he was clutching his arm. TheDoctor didn't have to look long to see that it was broken.

   'What's your name?' he asked. 'I'm the Doctor.'

   'Craig,' the boy grunted.

   'All right, Craig,' the Doctor said. 'I'm just going tolook at your eyes.'

   The Doctor carefully lifted each eyelid in turn: nodamage from flying shrapnel. The arm was broken, but itwould mend. It could have been a lot worse: he couldhave broken his back, or his neck, or his skull.

   'All right, then,' the Doctor said, and then stopped.

   'Don't move,' McAllister ordered.

   Ten soldiers stood behind him on the hill.

   Each had a musket trained on the Doctor.

   McAllister looked down on his prisoner, and sneered.He was dressed like a traveller, his long coat being able tohide any number of things. His hair was too short, and thatgrin that he affected was decidedly manic. But he wasn'tgrinning now. No, he was glaring at McAllister as if hehad ten muskets behind him and McAllister was the worstkind of criminal. Even if he hadn't attacked the colonial'stransport, McAllister would have found some reason tolock him away in the Tolbooth.

   Farr lay on the ground where he had fallen. There wasblood seeping through the arm of his uniform.

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   The pathetic boy looked as if he were about to cry.

   'His arm needs setting,' the prisoner said.

   It was a challenge.

   'Don't concern yourself about the welfare of my men,'McAllister advised. 'I know what's best for them. On yourfeet, Farr.'

   The boy didn't move.

   'On your feet!' McAllister repeated sharply.

   With a groan, the boy slowly pulled himself to his feet.The prisoner made to help him, but a nod from McAllistermade sure that three muskets pushed him back again. Allhe could do was glare impotently as Farr tried tostraighten himself into attention, whilst still holding hisarm. It looked like it was broken: he would be no use forthe moment.

   'Sir,' Farr said weakly.

   'Get yourself to the infirmary,' McAllister ordered.

   'Sir,' Farr repeated.

   He stood for a moment, swaying, and looked back upthe hill he had tumbled down. McAllister said nothing. Heturned to the prisoner, who looked as if he might havesome words for the occasion but was biting them back. Sohe was clever enough to know that McAllister wouldn'ttake any suggestions in front of his men.

   'You two,' McAllister barked at the two musketsfurthest back. 'Help him get there.'

   The prisoner didn't say anything. But his eyes saidthank you. McAllister kept his face blank, and paced overto the prisoner, standing behind him to face his men. Eightmuskets stared back at him, and he knew if he'd done his

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job right, at least three of the soldiers holding them wouldbe tempted to fire: there wasn't a leader alive who couldbe loved and effective. The prisoner didn't turn though; hehad military blood in him somewhere, and resisted theurge to face the enemy.

   'My men tell me you have a passable Scots accent,'McAllister said casually.

   'Well,' the prisoner demurred.

   'But I don't believe you are Scots born,' the Captaincontinued. He leant in close to the prisoner's ear andhissed: 'Am I right?'

   'You could definitely say that,' the prisoner agreed.

   'And you attacked Mr Franklin's stagecoach.'McAllister pretended to consider. 'Or did you?'

   The prisoner turned and faced McAllister at last. Therewas something about his eyes. Not just the depth ofsadness in them, or the certain fact that they had witnessedbattle. No, it was simply that they didn't once flicker,didn't once try to look at anything but the Captain's face.There were ten men with muskets and, although he couldno longer see them, the prisoner cared not a jot for them.

   'I didn't attack that coach,' the prisoner said.

   Captain McAllister nodded briskly.

   'Mooney,' he called to one of the older soldiers. 'Havethe prisoner taken up to the Castle and hanged.'

   'Sir,' Mooney snapped and shouldered his musket.

   McAllister sniffed dismissively.

   'You are a Scot sympathiser,' McAllister sneered.

   'Well,' the prisoner answered him with feigneddisregard, 'I did know a man who fought at Culloden.'

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    'You may think you have a common cause with thecolonials,' McAllister said, staring hard at the prisoner.'You may even think you may learn from each other. Butlet me tell you: for fifty years England and Scotland havefaced their fortunes together, and together they shall facethem for a hundred more. Whatever your unpatriotic kindmay do. Take him away.'

    Mooney stepped forward to obey his orders.

    'There is just one thing,' the prisoner said casually.

    Now it would come, McAllister thought. Thedepressingly familiar protestations of innocence, followedinevitably by the cries of justification and the outrage atthe English subjugation of the noble Scot. McAllister hadserved here for ten years, and he knew there was nothingnoble about them: the more he endured, the more hethanked the Lord that his parents had seen fit to escape toLondon and raise him properly there.

    'The Loch,' the prisoner said instead. 'I bet it's had quitea few ghost sightings in its time, yes?'

    McAllister raised an eyebrow. 'The stagnant watergives rise to vapours that gather in the Closes and makethe weak-minded think they have seen things. Only a foolwould believe anything otherwise.'

    'Oh, of course,' the prisoner said, nodding inagreement. Why hadn't Mooney taken him yet? What wasthe man staring at? 'Except of course, we're not in theCloses now, and I don't think they look like scotch mist.'

    McAllister's men were all staring over his shoulder,their mouths hanging slack in a manner that shamed theiruniforms. The prisoner didn't seem so surprised, so clearly

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whatever trick this was he'd been well warned of it. Henodded over McAllister's shoulder, an expression ofinnocence on his face intended to convince his captor thathe wouldn't bolt.

   All the same, McAllister looked.

   His mouth fell open.

   The thick, dank waters of the Nor' Loch were just a fewfeet away from where they stood, and they boiled in a waythat was not natural. Stinking gas broke from everybubble, filling the air with a thick sulphurous mist.McAllister couldn't tell if it was simply the product of theboiling of the waste the townsfolk had been dumping inthe water for years. Somehow, it didn't seem important toask.

   Coming up out of the water were dozens ofweedstrewn corpses.

   Each was walking.

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    As the cart jostled and jiggled through the streets, Martha

    gradually slid herself from under her pale travelling

    companion. She even made it to the edge of the cart and

    lifted the tarpaulin. She couldn't see anything of the street

    except for the cobbles below rolling by, but at least it let

    some fresh air and a thin trickle of light into the cart. As

    her eyes adjusted, Martha could see the body reasonably

    well.

        She knew what the Doctor would do.

        Part of her really wanted to do what her brother Leo

    would do, which was to close his eyes, pretend that none

    of this was happening and jump out of the cart at the

    earliest opportunity. But she hadn't joined the Doctor on

    his travels because she wanted new scenery to be a

    coward in and, besides everything else, she was a doctor.

    Nearly. Since the Doctor couldn't seem to make up his

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mind between being 'not that sort of doctor' and 'a doctorof nearly everything', he might need a proper professionaldiagnosis of their zombie.

   Martha folded the tarpaulin back a little to let morelight in, and wished very hard that she hadn't called thebody a zombie. If she just thought of it as a body just anormal, everyday body like the kind they used in anatomyclasses then she wouldn't have to think of it suddenlycoming alive and trying to eat her brains.

   The skin was cool and clammy, like damp marble in theearly morning, and it was pretty certain that the body hadbeen dead for a day or two. The autopsy scar ran down hischest, red and vivid and bound together with blacksurgical thread. Martha opened the body's shirt a littlefurther to see how far it went down, and then foundherself looking at the chest instead: the body had beenshot through the heart. There was no blood, on his clothesor in the wound itself. Martha could only assume that ithad happened postmortem, when the body was attackingthe stagecoach on the Cowgate.

   Perhaps, Martha thought, it was the bullet that hadkilled him for the second time: perhaps whatever theywere dealing with here needed the heart to keep thezombies going.

   She looked carefully at the bullet wound, having toalmost press her nose against it to see in the dim light.There were little hairs growing out of the edges, allarranged in a neat line around the heart. No, not hairs...more surgical thread. Whoever had performed the autopsyhad sewn something onto the body's chest. Was it just

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coincidence that this particular body had been up andrunning around again? Was it coincidence that, nowwhatever had been sewn on was gone, the body hadstopped?

    Was it coincidence that when the sun went down it gotdark?

    She had to let the Doctor know: there might besomething that the body could still tell him, butsomewhere out there on the Cowgate was whatever hadbeen shot off the zombie's chest. They had to find it beforesomeone else found it and took it away... especially if thatsomeone was whoever had sewn it on in the first place.

    It took Martha a few moments to realise that it hadsuddenly gotten a lot lighter. She looked behind her, andsaw a red-coated soldier with a tarpaulin in his hand and asurprised expression on his face.

    Martha smiled up at him. 'It's all right,' she said. 'I'm adoctor.'

    She heard a snort of disbelief at that. Looking around,she saw that the cart had come to a stop in a largecourtyard surrounded by large stone buildings. Standingoutside the nearest were two men dressed in long darkrobes, one a good thirty years older than the other. Theolder man had thick black eyebrows and a rather largenose, with a face that seemed to have been extendeddownwards simply because his neck wouldn't have madeit up that far. The younger looked almost exactly the same,only well, younger. They had to be father and son.

    'Do you know this girl?' the younger man asked thesoldier.

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   The soldier looked apologetic. 'I'm sorry, Mr Monro,'he mumbled. 'There was... Something happened on theCowgate today. She was involved.'

   'He was involved,' Martha protested, pointing to thecorpse. 'Somebody sewed something to him and it madehim get up and walk about. I know it sounds crazy, but it'strue: you can see the thread on his chest. Look.'

   The soldier didn't look.

   'You say she was involved?' the older man saidnervously. 'How so?'

   'A stagecoach driver lost control of his horses,' thesoldier said. Martha could tell he was choosing his wordscarefully; she suspected that he had seen the pale body inthe cart standing on top of the stagecoach as clearly as shehad. 'She stepped out in front of them.'

   'Oh dear, oh dear!' exclaimed the older man.

   'Excuse me?' Martha said.

   She was ignored.

   'I'm sorry that she has put you through so muchtrouble,' the younger man, Mr Monro, said to the soldier.'She is, as you can tell, quite troubled. We should havedone more to find her when we realised she was missing,shouldn't we father?'

   The older man merely blinked at his son.

   'You know the girl, Mr Monro?' the soldier asked.

   'Oh, I--' stammered the older man.

   His son jumped to his aid. 'She was placed in our caresome months ago. She is an orphan, and suffers fromstrange fantasies. But she helps us as best she can, doingchores. Cleaning, and the like.'

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   Martha bristled at that. 'I'm a doctor!' she protested.

   'Of course, my dear,' Monro said, slickly patronisingher.

   Martha sighed and held up her hand. 'Distal,' she said,pointing with her other hand.

   She didn't get any further. Monro put an arm aroundher in a fatherly gesture of comfort, and pulled her sharplyto the doorway. His arm seemed to be made of steel, itgripped her so tightly. Much as she was against the idea, itlooked like she was going inside.

   'Come now, let's get you to your room,' he said firmly.

   'Mr Monro,' the soldier said.

   Both men turned back to him.

   'Yes,' they said as one.

   The soldier looked flustered.

   'Forgive me,' he said. 'I meant the junior.'

   'Please, don't trouble yourself,' the son said with asmile, still pushing Martha towards the door. 'You can tellyour captain that if he needs her, young... Mary will behere.'

   'My name's Martha!' Martha protested to the soldier.

   'Quiet, Mary,' the young Monro ordered. 'You mayleave the body there: I shall ask one of the orderlies tocollect it. We were most embarrassed about havingmislaid it. Mr King may have been a vagabond in life, butin death he shall be invaluable to our students.'

   The Doctor had been right: Martha didn't know asmuch as she should about the history of medicine. She'dbeen assuming that things worked pretty much the sameas they did in her time, where surgeons were the people

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who operated on the sick and made them better.

   She'd forgotten for a while how different things were inthe eighteenth century, that surgeons had a whole raft ofother jobs that by her time were done by differentspecialists. She'd forgotten that they were teachers too.

   She'd forgotten that they carried out autopsies.

   As the younger Monro pulled Martha over thethreshold of the Surgeon's Hall, she briefly consideredcrying out one last time for the soldier's help. He seemednervous enough about leaving Martha with the twosurgeons probably afraid of what Captain McAllisterwould do when he heard that one of his escaped prisonershad been left in the care of two civilians and might bepersuaded to rescue her if she made it clear that Monrowas lying.

   She didn't cry out.

   The soldier wanted to take her to prison and have hersecurely locked up while they continued the hunt for theDoctor. If she went with him, she'd just have to wait forthe Doctor to rescue her. If she stayed here, with the menwho had done whatever had been done to the corpse tomake it walk again, she might learn something useful.There was no real contest.

   She kept quiet, and listened to the Monros bicker.

   'Why did you do that?' the father asked nervously.

   The younger man snorted. 'She saw King walking,' hesaid, pushing Martha in front of him. The corridor waslong and without doors: with them behind her, she couldonly go forward. 'There would have been questions.'

   'And what are we going to do with her?'

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   'I don't know.'

   'Alexander!'

   'Be quiet!' the younger man snapped, and surprisinglyhis father obeyed. 'We are nearly finished here. It worked:you heard what she said about King. There is no reason todelay any longer. We keep her here for the next few hours,and then what does it matter? Everyone will know. Stopfussing. Is the theatre prepared?'

   'You know it is,' the father answered sulkily.

   'Well then.'

   'Excuse me,' Martha said, stopping and turning.

   The two men looked at her.

   'Aren't you even going to ask who I am?'

   'You are an annoyance,' the younger Monro said.

   'Oh I'm more than that,' Martha said. She planted herhands on her hips and gave a defiant stare. 'I know whatyou're up to: bringing people back from the dead. That'spretty freaky stuff. What are you? Aliens? Witches? Alienwitches?'

   The two men just looked at her blankly.

   'We're the Chair of Anatomy,' the older Monro said,more than a little confused.

   'The Chair of Anatomy?' Martha echoed. 'Is that yourspecies?'

   'It's our position,' he answered. 'In the University.'

   Martha felt her cheeks flush.

   'Right,' she said, trying to keep the upper hand. 'But Ibet your university doesn't know what you're up to here,does it?'

   'And exactly what are we up to?' the young Monro

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asked icily.

   They did have her there.

   'Sewing things to dead bodies?' she tried. 'Look, whydon't you just tell me everything before you get into anymore trouble? It'd look better for you at the trial.'

   'Trial?' the older Monro echoed nervously.

   His son ignored him. 'Mary,' he said.

   'Martha,' she corrected.

   'Would you like to know what we attached to thevagabond King's chest?' Alexander Monro asked.

   Martha gave the anatomist a cautious look. 'OK,' shesaid slowly.

   Alexander Monro smiled and turned to the wall besidehim. He pressed his palms against it, and a section of thewall pressed inwards, before swinging back out to reveal adoorway. Martha looked carefully through the hiddendoor, but the room inside was in complete darkness,except for some greasy light fighting through a smudgedand dirty window in the far wall. She thought she heardthe sound of something scuttling inside.

   She looked at the younger Monro.

   He smiled back, and pushed her in.

   The junior Mr Monro slid the door quickly shut, andwithin seconds it was as if it had never existed. Hecouldn't even hear the sounds of the girl Martha shouting on the other side. The craftsmen he had paid hadbeen well worth the money and the effort. Now he couldconcentrate on other things.

   'You should not have done that,' the senior Monroadmonished.

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    But the younger just walked away, without a secondglance.

    Martha turned and pressed her back against the door,letting out a sigh. She slid slowly to the floor and spent asecond resting her chin on her knees. She wonderedbriefly if it was time to have another of those goodbyearguments with her mother.

    Something moved in the far corner.

    Martha peered through the gloom, but the window wasbarely the size of her two fists and was covered in dustand cobwebs. She pulled herself back up to her feet andtold herself she should take a step forward. She didn't,though.

    'Hello?' she said cautiously. 'My name's Martha.'

    She heard another sound, coming from a differentdirection. It sounded uncomfortably like somethingscuttling across a stone floor. She really wished she'd paidmore attention in history classes. Did they have tarantulasin eighteenth-century Scotland?

    Her hands started brushing up and down the walls asshe tried to find the hidden switch that would open thedoor. Instead, they came across something cold and metalattached to the wall. Feeling it up and down, she found itwas a little saucer filled with something slick and wet,with a small piece of string poking out of it. Martharealised that it was a lamp, and that she had dipped herfingers into whatever the fuel was: a quick sniff told her itwas fish oil. She gritted her teeth.

    She put her hands in her pockets and rummaged aroundas quietly as she could. All the time, the sounds of

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scuttling were starting to grow: the light as the door hadopened had probably startled whatever was in here, butnow they were starting to wake up. There was definitelymore than one of the things in here: she could hear themscurrying from all sides of the room now. Her heartjumped as she heard a dry click near to her feet andsuddenly thought that her roommates might be crabs.Crabs brought back decidedly mixed emotions.

   Her hand found what it was looking for in her leftpocket: a small box of matches with a gaudy Grampusscrawled across them. They were a souvenir of a briefstop-off at a bar on Io that the Doctor had insisted she see:everyone who worked in the place was a dolphin, walkingaround with the aid of sleek mechanical legs and talkingwith a calm, Stephen Hawking-style electronic voice.Even the dancers.

   Martha lit a match, then the lamp.

   Then turned.

   The lamp seemed to give off more smoke than light,but Martha's eyes quickly adjusted. She could see most ofthe room, in a sort of misty early morning kind of a way:stone floors, stone walls and a wooden chair and table atthe far end with a metal plate resting on it. Every availablebit of space at the far end of the room was filled withthem. They were on the chair, on the table, clinging to thewalls and trying to reach the dirty little window. Exceptnow they were all frozen, sensing the light on them,despite the fact that they didn't have any eyes that Marthacould see.

   She thought that she was right, and that they were

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crabs.

   Then she saw that she was wrong.

   The hands quivered slightly, standing on four fingerswhilst the index stood high, the neck to a fingernail head.Each had a wrist at their back end, rising up to a roundedstump of smooth grey flesh. These hands hadn't been cutoff, but gave the impression of having been born like this,discrete little units. One of them stood at Martha's feet, itsback to her. Martha shuffled her feet slightly to get awayfrom it, but she was already pressed tight against the door.Part of her was already thinking that these must have beenwhat Alexander Monro had sewn to the body.

   Gradually, each of the twitching hands began to turn,the animal instinct sweeping across them like a wave. Theindex fingers didn't seem to have eyes, ears or mouths, butsomehow Martha could feel every one of them looking ather. There must be a hundred or more of them, all lockedin this tiny little room with her. She wondered whethershouting would make anybody come. And, if anyone did,would they be able to find the hidden door?

   There was more scuttling, and suddenly each of thehands was hurrying across the floor towards her. The oneat her feet gave a little flex of its fingers and jumped ontoher foot, scurrying fast up her legs. Martha gave a littlecry and kicked out: the hand flew across the room andlanded in the middle of a knot of its fellows. It pickeditself up with a little shake and hurried back towards her.

   They were all around her, climbing up the cracks in thestone work to get closer to her face, or cautiously tappingat her feet as they tried to decide whether the climb was

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worth it. More and more of them seemed to be appearingfrom nowhere, and it was clear that in a matter of secondsMartha would be completely smothered by them. Shetried to think, but she couldn't help seeing them as littlespiders that were going to crawl all over her and... shedidn't want to think what they would do once there wasn'tan inch of Martha left visible any more.

    A hand landed on her shoulder, and before she couldshake it off two more jumped from the wall and landed inher hair. The hands around her feet began to move ontoher shoes, and caress her ankles. Martha closed her eyestight and tried to think something useful.

    The light.

    Before she'd turned the light on, they'd been happyenough jumping up at the window. Perhaps they were justcrawling up her to get at the light: if she blew it out, theymight go back to climbing the walls at the other side ofthe room. It seemed like a good idea: the only downsidewas that it would leave her standing in near pitchdarkness, with strange little hands crawling all over herlike insects.

    Maybe her mother was right: she shouldn't be travellingwith the Doctor. How did she get herself into trouble likethis?

    She leant over and blew out the lamp.

    Everything went black.

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    There was a strange moment of silence. All the soldiers,

    even Captain McAllister, stood immobile and watched as

    the figures rose out of the water.

       They looked so much like people wet, weedstrewn,

    pale-skinned people and yet they walked so slowly that

    their heads were held deep under the water for much

    longer than any human could hold their breath. There was

    no gasping for air as their heads broke the surface, just the

    dribble of the filthy waters running from their mouths and

    noses.

       Their eyes were open as they walked, blind white and

    staring glassily ahead. Their arms hung limply by their

    sides.

       'What are they?' McAllister breathed.

       The Doctor saw the creatures' clothes still clinging to

    them, damp and rotten with the water: the style of dress

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varied from fifteenth-century farmer's wives through tosoldiers who might only have fallen into the water the daybefore. Each was as remarkably well preserved as thenext, despite their varying ages. Was there something inthe water that was preserving them?

    'People,' the Doctor answered. 'Or they were...'

    'It's witchcraft,' one of the younger soldiers cried, anddropped his musket.

    Before it even touched the ground, McAllister spun.

    'Attention!' he barked in his best parade-ground voice.

    The Doctor watched the creatures in the water thatwere dressed as soldiers. If there was anything human leftin them, they might respond to something as ingrained asmilitary training. They just kept moving blankly onwards.

    McAllister tried again. 'You men will come to order!'

    For just a fraction of a second, it looked like thesoldiers would lose their nerve. Then each of them madethe decision that they were more afraid of CaptainMcAllister than they were of the walking dead andsnapped to attention. The soldier who had dropped hismusket bent hurriedly and scooped it up; when he stood,he was holding it upside down over his shoulder and hadto quickly spin it.

    'The city is under attack,' McAllister said.

    'They don't seem to be attacking,' the Doctor corrected.

    'Our duty is to defend it to the last man,' McAllistercontinued regardless. 'Form two defensive lines, and fireon my command.'

    The soldiers quickly dropped back into two lines, thefirst kneeling on the ground and shouldering their

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muskets, whilst the second stood behind them and waited.The Doctor looked down at the bodies as they walked outof the stinking Loch: they weren't co-ordinated, and theyweren't attacking. They didn't look like they had any goalin mind other than getting out of the mire which,admittedly, was rather more ambition than humans werecomfortable with from their corpses, but didn't necessarilyindicate an invasion.

    'Wait.' The Doctor spoke quietly to McAllister. If theCaptain's men overheard, then he would automatically dothe opposite of whatever the Doctor requested just to saveface. 'I don't think they're attacking. We should wait andsee what they do: they might be friendly.'

    'Indeed,' McAllister agreed curtly. 'I'm certain theywish to thank us for leaving them to rot in the city's filth.'

    The Doctor looked again at the blank-eyed corpses.

    They were nearly out of the water.

    'They haven't seen us,' he insisted.

    But McAllister had turned away.

    'Fire!' he bellowed.

    The five soldiers kneeling on the ground fired as one,their muskets belching smoke into the air. The moment thetriggers were pulled, the five men behind them took twopaces forward and knelt, bringing their muskets up.Behind them, the first five stood and quickly reloadedtheir weapons. It was a marvellously efficient system,allowing an almost constant barrage of fire even with themuskets' lengthy reload time.

    It was going to get them all killed, of course.

    'Fire!' McAllister yelled again.

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   The kneeling soldiers fired, and the lines rotated again,moving closer to their targets with each shot.

   The musketballs found their targets easily, since thewalking dead were making no effort to shield themselves.Of the first five shots, three found their targets. Of thenext five, none missed. One corpse was struck in theshoulder, tearing the smock he had on and sending a smallshower of dust into the air. It didn't even stop. Anotherwas struck in the stomach: a small hole punched straightthrough its middle and made it stagger back into the waterfor a single step.

   Then it looked about with its blind eyes, and seemed tosee the soldiers. The Doctor felt a sudden chill as thoseperfectly white eyes fell momentarily on him. There was astrange feeling of intelligence there, and almost surprisethat it was being attacked.

   'Stop!' the Doctor shouted.

   The creature's eyes fell on the soldiers as another roundof musketballs were fired. Its mouth fell open and it letout an inhuman hiss, like an enraged cat. All around it, theother corpses all stopped and turned. As one, their mouthsopened and they too hissed. The air all around was filledwith the sound of their anger, and even McAllister hadcause to pause.

   'Fire!' he shouted again, and the moment broke.

   Even before the soldiers could obey the order, each ofthe creatures turned to face them and started to run. Theiroutstretched arms each had a set of fingernails thatseemed to be carved of steel and which glinted in thesunlight. There was no doubt that they could tear out a

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throat in a single swipe.

   'Fire!' McAllister ordered again.

   Smoke filled the air, but not a single one of the bodiesfell to the ground. It would take just a few more seconds,and they would be on top of the soldiers.

   'Retreat!' came the order.

   The soldiers didn't even look about to see where it hadcome from. As one, they abandoned the line and turnedand fled. McAllister looked around for a moment, andwhen his eyes fell on the Doctor they were almost blackwith anger. The Doctor just glared back coldly. For amoment, there was no one there but the two of them, andthe Doctor knew that, if McAllister ever had the chance,he would kill him. The Captain would have to join theback of a very long queue for that one, and only then if theDoctor managed to get him out of this alive.

   But just for the moment, McAllister could eitherpretend he had given the order, or admit that he'd lostcontrol of his men. McAllister turned and hurried after thesoldiers.

   'Keep together,' he barked as he ran. 'You're soldiers,not fishwives.'

   The creatures kept coming out of the Loch, and eachone that did was already bearing down on the soldiers.There were perhaps two hundred of them now, emergingfrom the water and pacing up the hill without pause. Thesoldiers hurried away in front of them, but even fortrained men it was a difficult climb to run. They puffedand they panted and they stumbled as they ran. Thecreatures didn't slow, didn't tire, and didn't even seem to

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breathe. As the Doctor ran behind, he noticed somethingelse far more troubling.

    'Captain McAllister,' he shouted.

    McAllister didn't stop, didn't turn.

    'They're going to beat us to the top,' the Doctor yelled.

    That gave the Captain pause for just a moment as hehurriedly glanced up the line of his men. It was obviouslytrue: in fact, some of the creatures had started to swing tothe right and would intercept the hurrying soldiers beforethey were even halfway up. McAllister froze, almostimperceptibly. His eyes widened as he tried to come upwith the perfect tactic for escape, and failed. The Doctorwas by his side instantly.

    'We have to go down,' he said.

    'Are you mad?'

    'Look at them,' the Doctor insisted. 'Most of thecreatures are moving up to block the route to the Castle: ifwe go down, we might have a chance.'

    'If we don't run straight into a den of smugglers,' theCaptain argued. 'If they see a troop of soldiers running forthem, do think they'll wait to ask what we're doing beforethey open fire?

    'Smugglers have boats,' the Doctor hissed.

    McAllister looked into the Doctor's eyes, and nodded.

    'This way, men!' he ordered.

    The soldiers turned, but none of them stopped running.The creatures were closing in all around, and all theycould think of was the possibility of getting back behindstrong castle walls. Even if none of them would ever makeit.

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   'I said follow me!' McAllister barked angrily. 'Or I'llshoot every last one of you myself!'

   If it was an act, it was a convincing one. McAllisterglanced at the Doctor, and then led the charge back downthe hill. As one, his men charged behind him, all headingfor the shore where the Loch bent around the foot of thehill.

   The Doctor took a moment to watch the creatures asthey were wrong-footed: some slid a little on the grass asthey suddenly tried to turn and switch directions, but somewere already above the knot of soldiers and just continuedin their relentless march downwards.

   'Move, man,' said the first soldier as he passed.

   There was a soldier at the end of the group, a youngman with short dark hair and blue eyes. He'd been at thehead of the charge away, so he was the closest to thecreatures that were cutting across to intercept. He wasalmost close enough to reach out and touch their drippingclothes. He had heard the order to turn, and might evenknow that it was the right thing to do, but his eyes wereblind with panic. He kept on running up, trying to swingaround a knot of creatures in mouldy sackcloth.

   'No!' the Doctor shouted, pacing forwards. 'This way.'

   It was too late. It had already been too late when theDoctor had first spotted him. The knot of creaturesreached out with pale, slimy hands and, although thesoldier managed to pull away from some, more of thehands held tight. He was pulled down into the middle ofthe creatures with a loud scream, and disappearedamongst them.

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   A few seconds later, the Doctor saw him again. Hisblue eyes were dead and cold, and he was marching downafter his fellow soldiers with the same relentless step asthe other walking dead. There was no saving him now.There might be no saving any of them.

   'Come on,' urged the last soldier as he rushed by.

   Reluctantly, the Doctor followed.

   McAllister harried his men down to the shore of theLoch, where the ground grew damper and muddier and themarsh gas hung on the foul water. The Loch circled therear of the Castle, cut at either end by a road leading intothe city: their best hope was to circle behind the Castleand back up the Grassmarket. With any luck, they wouldbe able to attract the attention of a few muskets on duty asthey ran, and these watery devils would soon bedispatched.

   His men, however, had other ideas: they had stoppedby the Loch's edge and were fretting to each other.

   'Sir!' one yelled as soon as McAllister was near. 'Look!'

   McAllister looked: the prisoner had been wrong.Loping towards them from the other direction were tenmore of the undead creatures. McAllister and his men hadno escape route now, just the decision between two groupsof creatures and the dank waters of the Loch.

   'This way,' the prisoner shouted, charging in behindMcAllister.

   The Captain expected him to stop and despair when hesaw the second group of pale figures moving in on them,but he didn't. He just kept charging on not towards them,not around the edge of the Castle, but towards the Loch

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and a small clump of sickly looking trees that grew there.He disappeared into them for a moment, makingMcAllister suddenly afraid that his only plan was to hideand hope the creatures would pass.

   The trees shook, and something slid into view.

   'Give me a hand, then,' the prisoner shouted.

   He re-emerged, pushing a raft out of the trees andtowards the Loch. McAllister's men didn't even wait forthe order; they were by his side and pushing theunseaworthy vessel out into the dark waters as one. Therewas just enough room for all of them to perch on it, aslong as they didn't move too much, but there were nopaddles to be seen: it was a smugglers' vessel, hiddenthere after bringing in untaxed alcohol to wait for thereturn journey after the goods had been sold.

   Another charge to bring against the prisoner.

   'Well come on then,' the man said impatiently.

   McAllister stepped onto the raft, and stood proudly inthe centre as his men each knelt at the sides and beganfrantically paddling. The raft made good speed, butMcAllister could see the creatures as they reached thewater's edge. They didn't pause, just walked back into it aseasily as they had stepped out from it. They seemed tomove with the same relentless speed.

   'We have not escaped yet,' he realised.

   One of McAllister's men let out a cry and snatched hishand out of the water. A pale hand broke the surface,reaching out to try to grab him. Another appeared on theport side of the raft, and then another.

   'Keep paddling,' the prisoner ordered.

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   The waters bubbled all around them.

   The Doctor knelt at the stern of the raft and alternatedbetween steering and batting away searching hands withthe only paddle he'd been able to find on the boat. Therewere still several creatures under the water, but theyseemed to be having difficulty floating up to reach the raft probably understandable considering how long most ofthem must have been down there. The ones who werefollowing them from the other side also sank quicklybelow the surface and gave chase at the same measuredpace as they had on land.

   Except for the soldier. Their most recent victim.

   'What was his name?' the Doctor asked McAllister.

   'Who?'

   The Doctor pointed behind them. The soldier seemed tobe swimming after them, but a strange stroke somewherebetween floating and walking. In truth, he was morebuoyant than his companions, and would have found itdifficult to walk along the bottom as they did.

   McAllister glanced quickly and turned away again.'Wright,' he muttered. 'Ernest Wright.'

   'I'm sorry,' said the Doctor, though no one alive couldhear.

   'There! Look!' came a panicked shout. 'They're aheadof us.'

   The Doctor stood immediately. If the creatures hadreached the other side before the raft, then there was littlehope left. Perhaps he could modify the sonic screwdriverto ignite the pockets of marsh gas floating above thewater, but that would only give them a few moments of

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distraction. He peered across the Loch. The soldiers hadstopped paddling. There was indeed a dark figure loomingon the other shore, and not all that far away.

   'No,' the Doctor announced. 'That's a person.'

   There was a moment's silence.

   'What are you waiting for?' McAllister barked. 'Keeppaddling!'

   The raft jolted forward again, but the Doctor remainedwhere he was. They were only seconds from the shorenow, and there was little need to steer. Behind them, thewater bubbled and churned, marking the steady submarineprogress of the creatures following. It would be close. TheDoctor had lost one man, he wasn't going to lose anymore.

   'Quickly,' the figure on the shore called. 'Quickly!'

   He was a tall man, with a bald scalp pushing upthrough a ring of greying hair and a beard that circled thebottom of his face as if to compensate. He ran into theLoch, regardless of the water that rose up to his knees, andreached out to grab the Doctor's hands, pulling him andthe raft into dock. He needn't have bothered: as soon asthe raft was within wading distance of the shore, thesoldiers started to leap off. By the time the Doctor jumpedonto the damp grass, the soldiers were already lookingaround like nervous rabbits being pursued by a fox.

   'This way,' the stranger said, waving them up the shore.'Follow me.'

   'To where?' McAllister asked sharply.

   The stranger pointed further up the shore: there was apath that wound through some trees, and the familiar

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spired shape of a church waiting at the end of it. Thechurch had two large wooden doors that looked like theycould keep out the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan.McAllister nodded at the stranger, as if noticing for thefirst time that he was dressed in a minister's drab darkrobes.

    'Sir?' one of the soldiers asked.

    McAllister glanced behind him, as did the Doctor. Thecreatures were rising again from the Loch, the waterpouring from them like rain. Long green weeds clung totheir ancient clothes. Somewhere on his journey, ErnestWright had torn his bright red jacket.

    'Follow the minister,' McAllister ordered.

    He didn't have to say it twice.

    It was a short run along the path and up to the church,but none of the soldiers said a word as they ran. TheDoctor suspected that each of them was thinking the samething: between the path and the church doors, thegraveyard sat. So far, the only creatures they had seen hadall risen from the Loch, but that didn't mean that it wouldstay that way. All it would take was for one creature toappear from behind the shadows of a grave, and thatwould be that.

    The graveyard was filled with trees as well asheadstones, and there were plenty of shadows to choosebetween. The graves themselves were mostly decoratedwith carefully carved skulls laughing out at the living. TheDoctor imagined that more than one of the soldiers wishedthat the city's masons had had a less literal frame of mind.

    They hurried through the maze of stones, the minister

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shouting encouragement from the Doctor's side. Thecreatures were only yards behind them.

   'Inside,' the minister called. 'There are others waiting.Don't worry.'

   The Doctor, McAllister and the minister were the lastto enter the church, and the frontrunners of their palepursuers almost had their fingers in the doors. It took allthree of them to slam shut the doors behind them anddraw the heavy bolts across. For a moment, nobody saidanything. The minister and McAllister just stood andpanted. Behind them, the church was silent.

   'Don't worry,' the minister said in hushed tones. 'StCuthbert's kept our congregation safe when it was thePretender at the doors. She'll keep us safe now.'

   The Doctor opened his mouth to say something.

   But he was drowned out by the sound of hammering onthe doors.

   The creatures had arrived.

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    Martha stood blind in the sudden darkness, her back

    pressed tight against the hidden door. She could hear the

    disembodied hands scuttling all around her. She told

    herself calmly that they were probably moving back to the

    murky light from the window, and not to panic. Her heart

    pounded roughly in her chest. She blinked hard and often,

    trying to get her eyes used to the darkness again. All she

    could see was the flicker of the oil lamp that was no

    longer lit.

        Something brushed against her arm, and she let out a

    yelp and jumped to one side. She banged her elbow

    against the wall as she moved, and a tingling numbness

    shot down to her fingers.

        'Stop it,' she told herself sharply. 'Just... stop it.' She

    closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply.

        When she opened them again, her eyes had grown

    more accustomed to the darkness. She could see the

    strange grey hands had lost interest in her and were indeed

    scuttling back to worship at the greasy window. She could

    see them as little pale shapes, thronging here and there,

    trying to climb the wall to reach the light just as they'd

    tried to climb her. So she was right: they were attracted to

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the light.

    But there seemed to be more to it than that. The waythey moved, slumping as if tired but frantically scrabblingto climb the cold walls; the way that some of them fellfrom the walls and lay on their sides for a few moments,as if they were trying to decide whether it was actuallyworth getting up again. As she watched, Martha realisedthat she wasn't the only one being kept in the room againsther will.

    'Erm, hello?' she said, taking a step forward.

    She felt more than a little stupid: what kind of responseexactly was she expecting when the hands didn't seem tohave ears, eyes or mouths? But the Doctor would havetried to communicate with them. As a doctor, so shouldshe.

    'Can you understand me?' she asked in a clearer voice.

    A small knot of hands on the floor seemed to turn andlook at her. She knelt and looked at them, stopping shortof holding out her hand to theirs. They each had a wartgrowing at the base of their index fingers... the base oftheir necks, she imagined. The fingers were criss-crossedat the tips with a multitude of tiny white scars where theskin had been nicked and healed a thousand times over theyears. The pattern of the scars was identical from onehand to the next. They were all the same hand.

    'Can you..?' she stopped herself. If they couldn'tunderstand her, there was no point in asking. 'I don't knowwhat you are: I've never seen anything like this before.But I've got this friend, the Doctor. He'll know what'sgoing on. He'll lend... he'll be able to help you, I mean.'

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   Martha felt her cheeks flush a little.

   The hands turned away and redoubled their efforts totry and reach the tiny window in the corner.

   Martha knew that she could reach it if she went overthere. Perhaps she could clean it with her sleeve and seewhatever it was that it overlooked. Perhaps a wholeplatoon of soldiers who'd be quick to break the door downand rescue her. More likely a gang of drunken medicalstudents laughing at their old teachers who hadn't evenheard of the miraculous properties of leeches.

   If she let the hands crawl up her body, they might evenbe able to break the glass themselves. Then at least theycould escape and perhaps, like Androcles' lion, they'd findsome way to help her in the future. But somehow shecouldn't quite bring herself to do it. Something about theway those fingers scurried and danced, something abouthow closely they resembled overgrown spiders.

   Instead, she stood by the wall and tried to think ofsomething clever.

   Martha didn't know how long she stood there, but it feltlike it might have been days. The hands in the corner ofthe room still scampered and climbed, but none of themhad yet managed to get within jumping distance of thewindow. She'd noticed that they seemed to be taking it inturns, one group trying whilst another huddled together inthe darkness and seemed to sleep. Still she didn't step overto help them.

   The tapping came quietly, from the wall behind her.

   The hands didn't react.

   'Hello?' she said.

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    'Step away from the door,' came a muffled voice.

    Martha's heart skipped at the thought that it might bethe Doctor, somehow come to save her, but his voice shewould have known even through the vaults of the Bank ofEngland. No, this must be one of the two Mr Monros,come to do whatever it was they'd had in mind when theylocked her in here in the first place. She couldn't tell if itwas the older or the younger. She wondered if it reallymade a difference.

    She stepped away from the door.

    It slid open silently, and for a moment the light blindedher. The hands suddenly scurried for the opening, a massof fingers and thumbs all dancing over the stone floor.

    Then the light was gone. Martha didn't think any of thelittle creatures had escaped. She had an afterimage of MrMonro the elder standing in the room, carrying a clay jarwith two metal prongs coming from it and wearing anapologetic look, but then the darkness took it.

    'I am sorry,' Monro said. 'Please believe me, we meanyou no harm.'

    'Really?' Martha said. If her sarcasm had been water, itwould have filled the hidden room and drowned themboth. 'You locked us in here for our own good, did you?'

    Monro at least had the decency to be embarrassed. 'Thegoal we are working towards...' He stopped. 'You are right,of course. It is inexcusable. You may go free at once.Alexander is away collecting... He will not know that youare gone, I promise. I will not ask you to keep what hashappened to you here a secret. If you choose to return withthe bailies, that will be your decision.'

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   'Bailies?' Martha asked. As far as she was concerned,Baileys was a drink you had with ice or coffee.

   Martha's eyes were adjusting to the darkness again: shecould just make out Monro looking at her withunderstanding.

   'You are from London,' he said, as if sorry for her.'They call the magistrates bailies hereabouts. By the timeyou return, we will have completed our work, I hope. Butif we have not, perhaps that is as well.'

   'And what exactly is your work?' Martha asked.

   Monro gave her a look.

   'You should leave without delay,' he said. 'Alexanderwill not be long.'

   Martha took a step back and folded her arms firmlyacross her chest. She didn't much want to spend the rest ofher life trapped in this dark room with a load ofdisembodied hands, but if Monro was saying thatwhatever he and his son had planned would be done bythe time she got back with the Doctor... She'd seen enoughold horror movies to know that mad scientists were veryrarely working to reduce global warming or feed thestarving masses of the world.

   'I am sorry,' he said softly. 'But I cannot delay for you.'

   Martha didn't move.

   Monro shrugged and stepped forward, setting his claypot on the ground and looking around him for a moment.It was clear that he was looking for the hands, but with thedoor shut they had gone back to trying to climb for thewindow. He nodded to himself, as if this was only to beexpected, and reached down to pull at the pot's two

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prongs: they came away, revealing themselves to be theends of two dirty copper wires. It was only then thatMartha realised that Monro was wearing thick leathergloves.

   Copper wires and protective clothing. Martha realisedthat the clay pot was some sort of eighteenth centurybattery. She was going to question whether they even hadelectricity that long ago, but then she remembered thestagecoach's passenger: Benjamin Franklin, who hadfamously flown a kite in a thunderstorm to collectelectricity from the lightning. If he was doing it, then therewas no reason why Monro couldn't be as well. Perhaps thejar contained bottled lightning drawn down during somerecent Edinburgh downpour.

   Monro leant over a stray hand, and touched the twowires to it.

   Martha let out a gasp as the hand suddenly went into aspasm, its fingers stretching out with a crack that left itlying flat on the floor. The reaction was so violent, thatMartha wouldn't have been surprised if one of the fingersor more had been broken. Monro didn't flinch, just pickedup the twitching hand and dropped it into a rough sack athis side. Then he repeated the process with another hand.

   'Stop it!' Martha shouted.

   'I assure you, there is no harm,' Monro said, turning toher as he bent to pick up the second hand. 'There is nobrain to feel the pain: I have dissected them to be certain.They recover within moments, without any sign ofpermanent--'

   Monro stopped abruptly. While he had been looking at

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Martha, one of the hands had taken the opportunity tocreep closer to him, unnoticed. Then, suddenly, it hadtensed and sprung. It bounced up to Monro as hecrouched, and gripped his shirt so tightly that thefingernails were drawing tiny droplets of blood into thewhite fabric. The hand was holding itself tightly overMonro's heart.

   Monro gave a cry of pain. Without thinking, Martharushed forwards and grabbed the two copper wires fromMonro's hands. There was a slight tingle and nothingmore, so these clay batteries couldn't exactly be highpower. But the reaction when she brushed the wiresagainst the hand was dramatic: Monro gave a loud cry andfell to the floor, and the hand twitched so violently that itpushed itself off the old man's chest and across to the farside of the room.

   The other hands scuttled to avoid it, forming a ring andcraning their index fingers towards it. Then, almost asone, they all turned to point at Martha and Monro. Martha,crouching by the old man's side and checking his heart,suddenly felt very aware that the door was shut.

   'The lintel,' Monro gasped. 'The switch.'

   Martha stood, not turning her back on the hands whileshe ran her own over the top of the hidden door. She feltan invisible button depress, and suddenly the door swunginwards, narrowly missing Monro's bare head. Marthagrabbed him by the shoulders and tugged him swiftly outof the doorway. His hand was still clutching the sack, andtwo disembodied hands struggled and fought inside it. Therest of them flung themselves in Martha's direction. She

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told herself they were just after their freedom, but it wastoo hard to believe that they weren't trying to reach her.

    She pulled the door shut just in time.

    Then she slid to the floor with her back against it,panting hard. Monro lay at her feet, his eyes open but hisbreathing ragged. Behind her, she could hear the sound ofthe hands flinging themselves against it, one after theother. It sounded like raindrops falling. She told herselfthat they only wanted their freedom. She told herself thatif she knew how, she would have turned and opened thedoor to help them.

    She didn't move.

                              ***The colour had drained from Monro's face, but hemanaged to pull himself upright and catch his breath. Helooked so bewildered that Martha couldn't help but feelsorry for him. It also served as a prick to her conscience:instead of sitting against the door doing nothing, she knewthat she should be checking the old anatomist over to seeif the attacking hand had done any serious damage.

    'They... it...' Monro stammered, holding a hand to hisheart.

    Martha leant over and gently took his arm.

    'Don't worry,' she told him. 'You've had a shock, butyou're safe now.'

    He turned to her, surprise in his eyes. 'It learnt,' he said.

    Martha didn't say anything, just began checking Monrofor injuries: the hand's fingernail had dug fairly deep intothe skin of his chest, but other than that it seemed just tobe the shock of it. The five halfcrescent punctures that

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surrounded his heart were already drying, looking likesome kind of ill-judged tattoo.

   'Don't you see?' Monro asked her, his hand grippingMartha's arm tightly. 'It learnt. It learnt!'

   Martha gently prised her arm free. 'Learnt what?'

   'The first hand,' he said. There was a catch in his voicethat Martha thought might be asthma. 'I had to sew it toArthur King's chest and even then it struggled. But now...that hand clung on itself. It learnt how to take hold of abody. It tried to... I could feel it, in my mind. Such a...'

   Monro looked through Martha: she wasn't even there.

   'The two hands have never been in contact,' hewhispered. 'But the one learnt from the other. This is...'

   Martha didn't want to speak, afraid that she might breakthe spell and Monro would see her again. But stayingquiet wouldn't help anybody. There were questions thatneeded to be asked, things she needed to know. If theywere going to stop whatever this was, they couldn't just sitback and say nothing.

   'You sewed the hand to a dead body?' Martha asked.

   'If you'd seen the miracles it had already performed...'was Monro's only answer.

   'You brought that man back to life?' she pressed,leaning in close. 'And made him attack the stagecoach?'

   'No no. It escaped. I have no idea why it attacked--'

   There was a sound from further down the corridor, asharp metallic scraping. Monro heard it, and suddenly hiseyes cleared. Now he was looking at Martha, and he wasseeing her. She looked at him, another question on herlips, but it was too late. He was already on his feet,

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clutching the rough sack in one hand and looking downthe corridor in panic.

   'Alexander has returned,' he whispered. 'You must hide.The auditorium is at the end of this corridor. You can staythere until you can escape.'

   'But--'

   'No, you must go, ' Monro hissed sharply. 'Or--'

   'Father?' came a shout from further down the corridor.'Come help, old man.'

   Monro turned to Martha. 'Go,' he said. Then he hurrieddown the corridor.

   For much less than a moment, Martha consideredignoring his advice, considered following Monro toconfront his son, like the Doctor would. She could hearthe younger Monro arguing with his father further downthe corridor. It sounded like they were trying to drag awardrobe down after them, with much banging andscraping of wood across stone walls. The experiencedidn't seem to be making either of them any morecheerful. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to hide and watchthe anatomists.

   She hurried down the corridor until she came out in alarge gaslit room filled with rows of seats looking downon a dark-stained wooden table. Beside it was another,smaller table that glistened with medical instruments,most of which Martha could name despite there being twoand a half centuries between her hospital and 1759. It wasa lecture hall, quite obviously. Monro or his son wouldstand at the table, and row after row of students wouldwatch and take notes as the demonstration progressed.

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   Martha heard a noise behind her, and remembered thatshe wasn't alone. She hurried down to the end of a rowand ducked down behind the seats. Looking back behindher, she could only see a very thin sliver of the rest of theroom. She heard them before she saw them, bickering andpanting and bumping something unwieldy down thecentral stairs to the waiting table.

   'Be careful,' the young Monro said.

   'Of course,' his father snapped.

   They passed briefly into the thin field of Martha'svision, carrying a large wooden box between them. Thefather was at the front, taking the bulk of the weight,while the son steadied it from behind. They had passed byin a matter of moments, and the gaslights didn't exactlymake it easy to see from one end of the room to the other.Even so, Martha thought she knew exactly what the boxwas, mouldy and muddy as it was. She just prayed thatshe was mistaken.

   'There,' came Alexander's voice from the bottom of theroom.

   There was the sound of more panting and banging andscraping, and then a soggy thud that must have been thebox dropping heavily onto the table. After that, there wasnothing for a few moments except the sound of old MrMonro trying to get his breath back. Martha wonderedwhether she should risk peeking out at them.

   'We must get ready,' Mr Monro said, more than a littlestagily.

   'Did you collect the hands?' his son asked.

   'Here.'

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   'And the girl?'

   There was a pause, and Martha wondered just howgood an actor Monro was. Her heart began to pound asshe imagined the old man's eyes flicking momentarily upto the auditorium.

   'You should not have trapped her there,' Monro saidsharply. 'The hands... they are beginning to show signs ofanger.'

   'Anger?'

   'One attacked. They aim for the heart, Alexander.'

   'Interesting. The heart?' Alexander gave another pause.'And the girl was hurt?'

   Martha didn't think he sounded particularly concerned.

   'We must get ready,' Monro said again, colder thanbefore.

   'Yes, yes.'

   And then there was the sound of a door closing, andnothing but the faint crackle of the gas lamps. Martha tooka deep breath and counted to ten. Then she stood up,slowly.

   The room was empty.

   Except for the box.

   Martha knew that Monro expected her to use thisopportunity to escape. Perhaps even the Doctor wouldwant her to: he might already have lost McAllister and bewaiting at the door to be let in. Except that she knew himwell enough now to know that his plans never quiteworked out how he intended. There was always some kindof flaw, something he'd missed.

   She didn't know how much time she had. If the two

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Monros came back and caught her... well, probably thebest that she could hope was to be put back in the roomwith the hands. The angry hands that had learned to go forthe heart. She should go, get the Doctor. Except that thebox sat there, on the table, bowed with damp and withage. It still had something of its original shape, but all thesame Martha wouldn't let herself believe it. Not until she'dchecked.

   She moved down the stairs.

   As she got closer, the musty smell of mouldy woodassaulted her. The box smelt like it had been undergroundfor a good few years: there was still damp earth clingingto it, here and there. But that didn't mean... She had to besure, so she stepped up next to it. On the top the lid there was a little brass plaque, smeared with wet earth.She reached out with a hand and cleaned it off as best shecould, revealing the engraving.

   John Monro, it said. (16701740).

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    Inside the church, there was that dry chill to the air that

    brittle silence that was the fear of echoes the Doctor

    always felt in churches. It was the way they were built:

    massive cold stones held together by a sense of awe and

    then filled with the devout and the fearful. They collected

    energy these buildings faith, history and it warped the

    space within them.

       'Hello,' the Doctor said quietly.

       Because you never knew when you might get an

    answer.

       McAllister and his soldiers were running around the

    church, looking for doors and windows that they could

    guard. The Captain barked the orders, and his men

    followed them in silence. That way, no one had to think

    about their friend Ernest, hammering on the closed and

    bolted church doors with the rest of the walking dead.

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McAllister's voice echoed around the church, seeming thinand insubstantial. In the pews, the congregation sat andhuddled together, looking with wide eyes to their minister.

   He stood beside the Doctor, watching his flock.

   'Please,' the minister said, holding his hands up.

   'Don't be afraid. The doors are bolted. Whatever theyare outside, they are outside. We have time to find asolution, and we will use it.'

   'There is no time, Reverend,' an old man growled froma centre pew. 'It's the end of the world. The Lord hasjudged us, and the dead are here to drag us down to Hell.'

   There were some frightened murmurs at that, eachmember of the congregation turning to their friends andfamily and each deciding that yes, they might well havebeen judged badly. The Doctor made to step forward andappeal for calm, but the greyhaired minister was alreadycutting across the low mumbling.

   'Is that right, Thomas?' he said sharply, his voice fillingthe cold church. 'And what sin have you committed thatwas so grave that Our Father could not forgive you for iteven as you sat in His house and praised His name? Whatsin has Alf Smith committed, or Rebecca Parr and herson? No, even though we don't know it, there is someearthly reason for this.

   And that should give us hope, because it means we canfind an earthly solution.'

   'Quite right,' the Doctor agreed, flashing the minister asmile.

   But doubting Thomas wasn't quite ready to give up.

   'Perhaps it's not our sin, Reverend Yarwood,' he

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muttered darkly. 'But yours.'

    There was a silence, and the minister floundered for amoment.

    'And what sin would you have our Gordon commit,Thomas?' said a bear of a man pulling himself to his feet.'One sip too many of the communion wine? Mistaking theale house for his home? Or would that be the sins of someother?'

    'I wasn't talking to you, Ralph,' Thomas spat, althoughhis face made it quite clear he knew those sins intimatelyhimself.

    'It seems to me that we've more pressing matters athand than casting the first stone,' the round-faced mancontinued. 'Those poor souls are outside, and we are here.Perhaps we would be best served making sure we cankeep things that way?'

    There was a general murmur of agreement, and thecongregation automatically looked to the man to tell themwhat to do next. There was something in his very presencethat seemed to reassure them. Before he could speak, oneof the soldiers shouted from the window.

    'The creatures are standing back.'

    'Well,' the Doctor said with a smile. 'That's good news,isn't it?'

    He tried not to wonder what they might be waiting for.

    'Wonderful church you've got here,' the young mansaid, his smile flashing. 'Perhaps you could give me thetour? I'm the Doctor.'

    The Reverend Yarwood took the man's hand and shookit. The man's manner was light enough, but there was

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something in his eyes that suggested he had seriousmatters to discuss. It never once occurred to the Reverendto think that this Doctor was another of the scared soulshuddled in the church, needing his reassurance that thecreatures outside would at least be deterred if notexplained. In fact, the Reverend Yarwood felt more as ifhe should be asking the Doctor to comfort him, to makehim safe again.

    'The Reverend Yarwood,' Gordon said, taking theDoctor's hand in both of his. 'Gordon. I'm the ministerhere at St Cuthbert's.'

    'And it's a lovely place,' the Doctor enthused.

    Gordon took a look around the church. Ralph had splitthe congregation into two parties, and both were workinghard at their allotted tasks. Ralph himself was helping thefirst group lift the heavy wooden pews and barricade thedoors with them, whilst the second scurried aroundlooking for anything that might be used in their defence.The soldiers stood guard at the windows, muskets at theready.

    The house of God was slowly being transformed intoHis fortress.

    Ralph looked across to Gordon and gave him a solemnnod.

    'It's falling apart,' Gordon answered the Doctor'squestion. 'The Chapel of Ease is the only part that mightstand up against those creatures outside. I'm sorry. Ithought I was doing the best thing in bringing you here.'

    'Nonsense,' the Doctor protested. 'Where else were wegoing? And this old place will still be around for a while

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yet. Well, sixteen years to be precise, but... ReverendYarwood: has anything like this ever happened before?'

    Gordon paused for a moment. 'I did read once of a mannamed Lazarus,' he answered.

    The Doctor smiled.

    He had led them very casually away from the work thatRalph had instigated. Perhaps he understood that thecongregation would feel uncomfortable tearing up thechurch under the eyes of their minister, even if it wasnecessary. It had been Gordon who had first spotted theboat and its pursuers, standing at the pulpit about to begin.He had seen the Nor' Loch bubbling and part of him had,he was sure, hoped that it was the Apocalypse. LikeThomas before him, Gordon would have been remarkablycomforted to find that his faith hadn't been misplaced allof these years.

    But instead he had run out, to see what help he couldgive. The Lord had given him faith, but He had also givenhim intelligence, and Gordon doubted that God wantedhim to give up either to the other. His head told him thatthis was an earthly tribulation, and that his congregationneeded what little protection he could give.

    'Will they be safe?' Gordon asked.

    The Doctor looked away. 'You worry about them,' hesaid, with a tone that made it clear that he had someone toworry about as well.

    'I'm responsible for them,' Gordon answered. 'From thislife, into the next.'

    'They seem to appreciate you,' the Doctor said.

    He was looking across the church, at the small group

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hefting a pew across the doorway. Ralph was standing atits centre, a large round man with chestnut hair running allaround his face. He had paused in his work for just amoment, leaning down to the tearful blonde child whowas trying to cling to his leg. He gave his daughter an all-enveloping hug and kissed her forehead, and without aword made her feel that it would be all right. Gordonknew that the Doctor was thinking of Ralph jumping toGordon's protection, and smiled gently.

    'Ralph Williamson, perhaps,' Gordon said. 'But then hedid marry my sister. She wouldn't expect any less.'

    'They're here,' the Doctor said, 'and they're notpanicking. I think you can take the credit for that.'

    'Perhaps,' Gordon said. 'I think perhaps it is partly thatthey have long memories, too. I still sometimes think thatthey come here because they hope I might show myself tobe one tenth the minister that their previous was. They stilltalk about him now as the best minister the church everhad, and the Reverend McVicar died some twelve yearsago.'

    The Doctor smiled. 'There's always someone to tell youthe last one was twice as good as you are,' he said.'Doesn't mean that they're right.'

    Gordon gave a little sigh. 'They tell a story,' he saidquietly, 'about the Reverend McVicar. He was a braveman, and he wasn't afraid of pushing himself forward if heknew it was right. Not everyone loved him for it: oneman, the story says, announced that he would have gladlythrashed McVicar, if it hadn't been for his minister's coat.'

    Gordon looked down at his own neat dark coat.

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    'The Reverend McVicar threw his coat on the ground,shouting "There lies the Minister of the West Kirk andhere stands Neil McVicar, and by Yea and by Nay, sir,come on!",' Gordon told the Doctor. 'The man didn't waitto see if he meant it.'

    The Doctor put a firm hand on Gordon's shoulder.

    'The day's not over,' he said. 'They might be tellingstories about you yet.'

    The Doctor kept his eyes flicking about the church, andtried to think of the positives. McAllister's men had spreadout and were actually obeying orders, rather than trying tocatch sight of the creatures for themselves. Two mannedthe barrier at the main doors, whilst the others werecovering the windows. McAllister himself stood at thepulpit and oversaw all that he surveyed. His eyesmomentarily caught the Doctor's; he nodded briefly, thenturned away.

    The Doctor, meanwhile, ran through the options in hishead. The dead rising wasn't as uncommon as all that, andhis main problem in identifying the cause was that therewere too many to choose from, not too few. He neededmore information. So far, all he knew was that they hadcome out of the water and they were waiting outside.That, and they hadn't attacked the living until that firstfrightened soldier had fired off his musket.

    Something caught the Doctor's eye.

    One of the parishioners had broken off from the maingroup, the white-haired man called Thomas. He waswalking strangely, a vacant sort of look on his face thatthe Doctor didn't much like. He looked to where the old

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man was heading, and he saw a small window and a doorthat the soldiers had missed, hidden by a thick curtain.Behind the window, there was a dark shadow patientlywaiting.

   'This Reverend McVicar,' the Doctor asked. 'Where didthey bury him?'

   'In the churchyard,' the Reverend Yarwood replied.'Why?'

   'Oh, no reason,' he said.

   'He's come back to us!' Thomas cried out in disbelief.

   The Doctor closed his eyes, briefly.

   Everybody in the church turned and looked, butnobody reacted.

   The Doctor launched himself over a pew and raced tointercept, but he knew he was going to be too late. Somuch for getting an overview of the stage before thecurtains went up.

   Thomas had reached the door and was alreadyswinging it open, and a gasp went through the church aseverybody realised what he was doing.

   'Prepare arms!' McAllister yelled. The Doctor didn'tknow if the Captain expected his men to shoot Thomas, orwhat was going to come through the door.

   'Wait!' the Doctor yelled, unsure who at.

   But Thomas stepped back, turning to the congregationwith a look on his face that suggested he expected them tobe just as happy as him. Standing in the doorway was asquat, dark figure with broad shoulders and a powerfulbuild. He was still dressed in the same drab minister's coatthat they had buried him in. The same coat he'd once

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thrown to the ground to make a point.

   The Reverend McVicar had returned.

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    Martha hovered by the coffin trying to decide what she

    should do. Part of her said she should open it, but she

    couldn't think of any sane reason why she would want to.

    All the same, her hand started to stretch out to it, almost of

    its own accord. She turned her face away from the

    inevitable, as if by not seeing it she could be sure that she

    wasn't doing it.

       'Don't touch that!'

       Martha jumped, feeling a strong urge to run and run

    and never stop. Instead, she snatched her hand away and

    turned.

       Alexander was there, his face filled with an anger so

    fierce that it might well be able to melt metal. His hands

    were covered with heavy leather gloves, and an apron

    covered him from shoulder to toe: Martha realised with a

    jolt that this was him dressed for surgery.

       He was holding the two disembodied hands.

       'How did you get out?' he asked, stepping closer.

       Martha should have run, but instead she hesitated.

       The older Monro entered the room through another

    doorway, still dressed in his everyday clothes but carrying

    two of the pottery batteries that he had used in her cell.

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They looked heavy, but such was his surprise at seeingMartha that he didn't put them down. He just stood there,staring at her. Alexander took another step forward.

    'Don't just gawp,' he snapped. 'Help me catch her.'

    'And what then?' Martha asked.

    Alexander simply glared.

    'Hold her,' he growled.

    Martha looked to Monro.

    'No,' the old anatomist said.

    'No?'

    'This isn't what we wanted, Alexander,' he said simply.

    'So what did you want?' Martha asked.

    Monro looked at her so sadly.

    'My father was a great man,' the old man said quietly.'He died when he still had so much he could offer. To theworld: the whole world was lessened when he passedaway, do you understand?'

    Monro looked to the coffin on the table. Martharemembered the brass plaque: John Monro. For a moment,she thought of her own father. Leaving her mother andadvertising his midlife crisis to the whole of London withthe help of Annalise. What would she do, when the timefinally came? Beg the Doctor to take her back and changeit all? She knew she'd give anything to have him back.

    Then she remembered the pale highwayman.

    'Look, I know you miss your dad,' Martha said. For amoment, Monro looked like he might cry. 'But this isn'tright. You know it isn't. I don't think they're even the samepeople they were when you bring them back. Do you?'

    Monro paused, just for a moment.

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    'Why are you listening to her?' Alexander yelled.

    He threw down the hands he was about to experimenton. As the hands dropped onto the operating table, hetugged his heavy leather gloves off, letting them fall to thefloor. A moment later, Alexander was nearly on her. Thelook on his face almost made Martha sick: there was somuch of his father's gentleness there, but the anger twistedit and made it so ugly. She took a breath and a step back,bringing her arms up to defend herself.

    Alexander was hit clean in the chest by a clay battery.

    He flew backwards, his body twitching as theelectricity earthed itself through him. As if in sympathy,the hands lay twitching violently on the operating table.Alexander seemed to fly for several long seconds beforehe landed hard behind the table with a loud thump. Marthalooked at Monro, but Alexander's father was just standingholding the other battery as if he expected someone else toadmit that they had hit his son.

    'Mr Monro?' she asked.

    He blinked, twice. 'Mary,' he said, looking at her. 'Hewas going to hurt you. Are you all right?'

    Martha looked over to the table. 'I think we shouldworry about your son.'

    Monro just looked at her like a small child. 'My son?'he said. 'Alexander isn't my son.'

    But it was too late for questions: Alexander rosesilently from behind the operating table. His nose wasbloody, and he was smiling a grim smile that really didn'tbode well. His leather apron had swung around to one sideas he'd fallen, and Alexander just casually reached out and

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plucked it off. It fell to the floor, revealing that his shirthad opened almost to the waist.

   Martha gasped.

   She could see Alexander's pale white chest. Underneaththe skin around his heart, there were five lumps pokingout. It was only as they flexed convulsively that sherealised they were the fingertips of a hand that wasgrowing beneath the skin. Martha took a step back; shecould still run, there was no one behind her. ButAlexander's father was just standing there meekly, waitingto be caught.

   'Mr Monro,' she said urgently. 'It's all right. Don't beafraid. You just need to come with me, OK? It'll be allright.'

   Alexander laughed coldly at that. 'Do you think youcan turn him against me?'

   Martha held her hand out to Monro. 'Mr Monro,' shehissed. 'Please! He's not your son.'

   Monro just blinked dull-wittedly. 'I know,' he said.

   'You don't understand,' Alexander said flatly. 'Howcould you? I didn't. You haven't looked, have you? Thosehands: don't they look familiar to you?'

   Martha looked at them, the two hands flapping on thefloor as they tried to right themselves. Pale white handscut off at the wrist, both with the same wart on the indexfingers, each with the same pattern of scars on thefingertips. They were, she suddenly realised, the hands ofsomeone who worked with knives every day.

   'Let us show you four more,' Alexander said, holdingup his own.

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   They were pale white hands, with a wart growing at thebase of the index finger on his left hand. Every finger hada faint etching of white scars criss-crossed across it. Theywere a surgeon's hands, used to working with knives everyday.

   Martha looked to Monro for some kind of explanation,but the old man couldn't meet her eyes. Instead, he justheld up his own hands: the fingers were criss-crossed withscars, and the left index finger had a wart growing at itsbase.

   'I am going to bring back my father,' said Alexanderfirmly.

   'Because I miss him so very much,' said the other, olderAlexander.

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    The Doctor heard the sound of muskets cocking before he

    was anywhere near the door, and he knew that McAllister

    would give the order without hesitation. Probably even if

    the Doctor was in the line of fire possibly even because.

    Even so, he dived forward, jumping over pews and trying

    very hard not to knock down parishioners as he went.

       'Don't shoot!' he shouted as authoritatively as he could.

       McVicar just stood there framed in the open doorway,

    looking straight ahead and not breathing. Even old

    Thomas looked like he was having second thoughts about

    the minister's miraculous return. He said the minister's

    name once, and then backed slowly away. The creature

    didn't even look up, just stood there blinking slowly, as if

    not quite sure what it wanted to do now that it was here.

       'Take aim!' McAllister bellowed.

       'No!' the Doctor said firmly.

       He placed himself directly in front of the dead minister.

    The creature looked up slowly, as if seeing him from a

    great distance. It blinked again. Its eyes were clear and

    grey.

       'Move out of the way,' McAllister shouted.

       He ran across the room, clearly intending to drag the

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Doctor out of the line of fire. He did have some redeeminghuman features, then.

   'I think it would be a better idea to shut that door,' theDoctor said, not taking his eyes from the minister. 'Don'tyou?'

   McAllister didn't say anything, but suddenly all eyesturned to the door that was still hanging open. Through it,they could see the churchyard, filled with hundreds ofpale, blank-eyed figures. They just stood there, swaying,as if they were waiting for McVicar to do something ontheir behalf. Perhaps they were, the Doctor considered:perhaps he was an envoy of some sort. A negotiator.

   The churchyard was getting fuller. Some of thecreatures out there were digging up the ground with theirbare hands. This wasn't caused by anything in the watersin the Loch, the Doctor decided, unless they had seepedthrough into the churchyard.

   The Reverend Yarwood edged quickly around thecreature and slammed the door shut, taking a key from hisrobes and locking it. He couldn't help but peer out of thesmall window at the mass of bodies waiting outside. Helooked over to the Doctor nervously. McAllister scowledand looked to his men; he motioned for one to join him,putting a ring of armed men around McVicar. The Doctorignored him and held his hand out to the creature.

   'Can you hear me?' he asked.

   The eyes seemed to flicker.

   'I'm the Doctor,' he pressed on. 'I can help you.'

   The Doctor could feel the silence pressing down onhim. Everybody in that little tumbledown church was

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staring at him, waiting for something to happen. They allstood perfectly still, as if afraid that even the slightestmovement might suddenly spark off a murderousrampage. But the creature had come in here forsomething, and it had come in alone: if the walking deadhad just wanted to kill, they would have attacked en masseand torn the church apart with their bare hands.

   What was this one looking for, he wondered.

   'Are you Gelth?' the Doctor tried. Still McVicar lookedat him blankly. 'All right then, not Gelth. That's good: youdon't seem very Gelthish, and I don't remember therebeing a rift in Edinburgh. So... just hold very still, thiswon't hurt a bit.'

   The Doctor reached inside his jacket and very slowlypulled out his sonic screwdriver. The creature didn't react,but McAllister gave him a questioning look. Behind them,the blonde girl gave a little frightened gasp and buried herface in Ralph Williamson's side. The Doctor smiled ascharmingly as he could manage, and flicked the sonicscrewdriver on: its warbling cry filled the church, andthere was a sharp intake of breath from the congregation.

   The Doctor raised his eyebrows at what he was seeing.

   'Now that's interesting,' he said to himself.

   'What?' McAllister asked.

   'He's dead,' the Doctor announced.

   'He died twelve years ago, Doctor,' the ReverendYarwood said helpfully.

   'No, I mean he's dead,' the Doctor said, shaking hishead. 'Just a normal dead body. No abnormal readingswhatsoever.'

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    'Except that it's walking,' McAllister countered.

    'Yes.' The Doctor flashed him a smile. 'Odd, isn't it?'

    McAllister scowled, but the Doctor concentrated on hissonic screwdriver as the rest of the church just watchedhim. He needed to be quick. So far the creature hadn'tdecided that it wanted more of a look around: if it did, hewasn't sure that he could stop McAllister from having hismen shoot it. It hadn't been the best thing to do when theywere outside and could run. Inside, it would be fatal.

    'Aha!' the Doctor cried suddenly.

    'What?' McAllister asked again. His patience waswearing thin.

    'That's why I wasn't picking anything up,' the Doctorexplained, waving the screwdriver over the creature again.'It's static electricity. The sonic screwdriver doesn'tautomatically look for static.'

    'Why not?' McAllister snapped.

    'Well, because it's sonic,' the Doctor answered. 'Andstatic's static.'

    Sometimes, people did ask stupid questions.

    'This creature's riddled with it,' the Doctor said. 'And inmuch higher concentrations than you normally get inhumans. It's a good thing you haven't got a nylon carpet inhere.'

    'The Reverend Neil McVicar,' the Reverend Yarwoodsaid.

    The Doctor looked up at him.

    'You said "this creature",' the Reverend Yarwood saidsternly. 'He is not a creature. He was a man, and a ministerin this church. He is not a creature.'

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     'I'm sorry,' the Doctor said.

     And then he went back to the screwdriver.

     'The whole body is flooded with static, that's what'skeeping it...' The Doctor paused for a moment, glancing atthe Reverend Yarwood. 'That's what's keeping himmoving. It's flowing all through his central nervoussystem, but there seems to be an unusual concentration ofit.'

     The Doctor waved the sonic screwdriver all over thecreature's body, tracing the flow of the static. As hebrought it up to the chest, he reached out carefully andflicked open the long black coat it was wearing. Beneathit, the shirt had been torn and was hanging open in flaps.

     'Here,' the Doctor said, pointing at the heart.

     Directly over it sat what seemed to be a human hand.

     The Reverend Yarwood stood next to CaptainMcAllister, his back to the door. He didn't want to have tolook out of that window again and see what the poor soulsoutside his church were doing to the graveyard. Instead,he stood facing his illustrious predecessor's back, theDoctor's naked scientific curiosity and his congregation.He felt he should be among his parishioners, notaddressing them on high from the pulpit but here on theground with them. One or two were looking at McVicar orthe soldiers, but most were looking to him. They wantedhim to tell them what was happening, and how they couldbe saved from it.

     'Don't move,' the Doctor said, holding up his hand. 'It'sa hand. It looks like a human hand. And it's what's makingthe bodies walk. I wonder why?'

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    The Reverend Yarwood felt queasy.

    'What do they want?' Captain McAllister asked.

    'Hold on,' the Doctor checked his wand again. 'Oh, itdoesn't say.' He glared at the Captain.

    'Then I shall have to assume they have hostileintentions,' McAllister said calmly. 'Step aside or be shotdown with it.'

    The Doctor's head snapped up at that.

    'Don't you understand, McAllister?' he said. 'Look at it.Him. He's just standing there. He's not attacking; he's nothurting any one of us. He isn't interested. The only thingthat made them attack before was that your men openedfire on them. They fought back to protect themselves.They obviously didn't come here to attack us, so they mustwant something else. If we can find out what it is and giveit to them... nobody else has to die today, Captain.'

    'And what if the price is too high?' McAllistercountered.

    The Reverend Yarwood could see his congregationlooking to him, waiting for him to throw down his coatand challenge both men to settle it by fighting him. TheReverend kept his coat firmly buttoned up, but that didn'tmean that he would let this go on any longer.

    'Captain McAllister,' he said firmly. 'Ask your men tolay down their arms. I will not have them firing musketson this sacred ground. Not until lives are at risk.'

    'Lives are at risk!' McAllister rounded on him, spittleflying. 'What do you think that is standing there? Theykilled my man. They killed my man!'

    'I am sorry,' the Reverend Yarwood said, as calmly as

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he could.

    Suddenly, every member of the congregation feltsomething that made them jump. Even the Doctor, calmand rational as he was, took a step backwards. He put hisarms in the air and ordered the soldiers not to open fire.They managed to hold their trigger fingers for thatmoment, possibly because their Captain was momentarilytoo busy trying to move to give the order.

    McVicar turned on his heel.

    'Doctor?' the Reverend Yarwood asked.

    McVicar was standing only inches from him: if he hadbeen breathing, the Reverend would have been able to feelit on his face. Instead, he could just feel the chill comingfrom the minister's pale grey flesh.

    'Of course!' the Doctor cried.

    Yarwood was pleased that at least one of them washappy.

    'There are more hands than there are bodies in theLoch,' the Doctor was saying. The Reverend Yarwood wasstaring deep into McVicar's grey eyes. 'They need morebodies, and we led them right here.'

    McVicar pushed by Yarwood without even noticinghim, walking back towards the door he had come in by.The soldier guarding the door didn't let out a sound but, asYarwood spun around, he saw that the man had his musketraised.

    'No, don't stop him!' the Doctor shouted. 'He's justgoing back out to join his friends. As long as they're notbeing attacked, they don't care about the living, see? Theyonly want the dead.'

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   'I feel profoundly comforted,' McAllister snapped.

   The soldier on the door wasn't moving. The ReverendYarwood could see his finger shaking as it hovered overthe trigger. He knew that he was standing so close toMcVicar that he might well get hit himself. Then heremembered the important thing.

   'I locked the door!' he cried out.

   The key was in his hand, but McAllister snatched itaway.

   'Stay back!' the soldier cried.

   McVicar didn't listen: why would he?

   'Wait!' the Doctor shouted.

   But the Reverend Yarwood could see the soldiersqueezing the trigger.

   So he closed his eyes.

   McAllister saw that Howkins' nerve had given way.There was a cold sweat on his brow, and his eyes weretwo black pinpricks in his face. There were only twooptions: either he could be brought down, or he could begiven his head. One would definitely lose him a soldier,but the other might let the young boy steady himself andcome back. Either way, there was no point in giving anorder which Howkins wouldn't obey in this state. Thatwould only leave McAllister looking weak.

   The Captain decided then that he would let Howkinsshoot, and see if he could be calmed once the corpse wassafely dead again. After all, what loss was it to him?

   'Wait!' the prisoner shouted.

   That blue-tipped wand was in his hand again, andsuddenly McAllister found his ears aching. He closed his

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eyes in pain and thought how, in less enlightened times,the prisoner would have been called a witch and safelydouked in the Nor' Loch by now. Perhaps there wassomething to be said for the old ways after all.

   The earache abruptly passed and, as McAllister openedhis eyes, he saw the pale corpse suddenly crumple to thefloor. A murmur somewhere between relief and dismaytravelled through the congregation, and McAllister knewthat it was time to act. He stepped forward and raised hisarms authoritatively.

   'Don't trouble yourselves,' he barked. 'You are safenow.'

   He nodded to his men to ready themselves. Just in casethe churchgoers weren't as comforted by that thought asthey should have been.

   The prisoner was on the floor by the time McAllisterturned again, kneeling by the corpse. Suddenly, it wasnothing more than another fallen body, ready to bereturned to the earth from which it had come. This was astrange day indeed, and McAllister wasn't looking forwardto having to explain it to the Lord Provost. Perhaps somekind of mass delusion could be blamed. The townsfolkwould believe that if it made life easier for them.

   'It's all right,' the prisoner was saying.

   In his hands, he cupped something small and trembling.The hand's fingers twitched convulsively, but it didn'tmake any move to escape. McAllister could see dustyflesh under its sharp nails, where it had evidently beenclinging tight to the minister's dead chest. The Captainconsidered knocking it from the Doctor's grip and

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grinding it under his boot, but he didn't. Until it proveditself still a threat.

    'See?' the prisoner was saying. 'It's just like a friendlytarantula. No trouble at all.'

    'We should move the Reverend McVicar's body to amore suitable place,' the bald minister said. 'Is it safe?'

    'Perfectly,' the prisoner answered. 'Without this littlefellow.'

    The Reverend nodded, and McAllister stood back asYarwood called to two of the parishioners to help movethe body. One was the old man who had originally openedthe door; someone that McAllister would need to talk toonce this was all over. The minister simply laid a hand onthe man's arm and said something McAllister didn't hear.The old man nodded, and then the three of them carefullylifted the body and carried it away.

    The prisoner held the twitching hand, their fingersinterlocking as if they were young lovers. His wand wasin his free hand, pointing it at the creature and reading thereport through a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles.

    McAllister looked around the church, and saw thateverybody was watching the prisoner, even his own men.He stepped forward and cleared his throat meaningfully.

    'Don't worry, Captain,' the prisoner said. 'It isn't hurt.The sonic screwdriver shocked it into letting go, but can'tdo it any real harm. They're not compatible.'

    'One is sonic, and the other static,' McAllister repeated.

    'Exactly.'

    McAllister nodded. 'So the wand is no use to us as aweapon,' he said.

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     The prisoner gave him a dark look. 'That's why I carryit,' he answered.

     Then he went back to examining the hand and hiswand, pulling his spectacles down so that he could peerover the top of them.

     'Strange,' he muttered to himself. 'It's not really a handat all: it's some kind of organic machine. Looks like it canreproduce asexually which explains why there's so manyof them. There's some kind of deep level programming inhere, but it's all messed--'

     There was a loud thud from the door behind them.

     'What was that?' asked a voice from the congregation.

     McAllister spun around, but the window beside thedoor was completely blocked by something outside.Several somethings. More deep thuds began to sound outfrom the door, and the stonework of the walls started toscrape and whine as the creatures outside tried to pull thestones out one by one. He had no idea how many of thethings there might be out there by now: St Cuthbert's hadbeen here since long before McAllister's father had beenborn, and its churchyard was well stocked.

     'They're trying to get in,' McAllister said.

     'Ah,' said the prisoner. 'That might be my fault. If theyknow that I've disconnected this one from its host... Itcould be the same protective instinct that made themattack your men.'

     McAllister looked around the church one last time. Thewalls were old and crumbling, and it had been in need ofrebuilding for several years now. If he managed to escape,he might even mention that to the Lord Provost. But it was

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no fortress now, and he knew there was no way that theywould keep out a determined army of indefinite numbersfor very long. The parishioners were starting to gettwitchy. Presumably, they'd come to the same conclusionas he had, but knew there was nowhere safer for them torun to.

   'Is there a crypt under the church?' McAllister shouted.

   No one answered.

   Very well.

   'Howkins,' he said, spinning back to the nervous soldierby the door. He looked back guiltily, obviouslyconsidering his chances if he ran. 'You're the youngestmarried man in the guard, yes? What's her name?'

   'Sir?'

   'Your wife, Howkins.'

   'Betty, sir,' Howkins said.

   The soldier was barely more than a boy, and he kepttwitching every time the sound of a blow hit the wallbehind him. Given time, he would make a brave soldier,McAllister was sure. He had moulded worse than that inhis time. He thought briefly of his own Rosalie waiting forhim in their turnpike house on Fleshmarket Close. But shehad always known this day might come, and there wasnothing to say to make it any easier for her.

   'When the enemy gains entry,' McAllister said firmly,'you will lead these civilians away from the church. Theirsafety is your responsibility, do you understand? Oncethey are safe, you will go home to your wife and tell heryou love her.'

   'But the creatures--' Howkins stammered.

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    'The enemy will be held in the church,' McAllistershouted, a general order for the rest of his men. Theywatched him pale-faced, and nodded their understanding.'For as long as is possible, anyhow.'

    Howkins swallowed. Something in his eyes madeMcAllister sure that the soldier understood exactly whathe had just been given: a life, children and happiness exactly what the rest of them were sacrificing so that thecivilians could keep theirs.

    'There is another option,' the prisoner said, steppingforwards.

    McAllister looked at him.

    'I can go out there and show them that the hand is allright.'

    'They'll tear you apart,' McAllister said.

    'They only seem to attack in self-defence,' the prisonersaid. 'And if they don't, I don't think I'd stand any less of achance out there than I would in here. You should at leastlet me try.'

    McAllister looked the prisoner up and down. Heremembered his earlier assessment of him, that he hadseen military service somewhere in his life. Obviously,they had trained him as well as McAllister's old sergeanthad trained him. McAllister nodded, and turned toHowkins.

    'Open the door,' he said, handing Howkins theminister's key. 'As we pass through, you will close andlock it again. If we don't come back, my previous ordersstill stand.'

    'There's no reason for you to come as well,' the prisoner

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said. 'You should stay with your men.'

   McAllister just stood by his side.

   'You are my prisoner,' McAllister reminded him. 'It ismy duty to keep you safe until the Lord Provost decidesthat we can hang you.'

   The prisoner smiled.

   'Well, when you put it like that...'

   'Open the door,' ordered McAllister.

   And they stepped out.

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    'I found it,' Monro told Martha. 'A long time ago. It did not

    look like my hand then. It was different: mechanical, less

    human. I found it.'

        He remembered it, just as he knew his other self would.

    Thirty years previously, a brewster selling her ales on the

    Closes that bordered the Loch had brought it to him. It had

    not looked like a hand at all, the brewster told him, not

    until she had picked it up and it had shifted. Suddenly, it

    had become a sleek blackened steel five-digit shape. The

    brewster had been paid for her trouble, and Monro had

    begun to study the strange hand.

        'As I picked it up,' he said, hearing his younger self's

    impatient tutting, 'its nails dug into me, drawing blood. I

    fainted clean away. When my wife found me, the hand

    had released me. When I held it again, it was the mirror of

    my own.'

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   'We don't need to tell her this,' his twin said sharply.

   Not for the first time, Monro wished that whateverstrange process had created his twin had also left him withthe ability to read his mind. Would he find the mirror ofhis own thoughts there as well? The excitement that hisplan was so nearly complete, and that father would soonbe with him. The desire to talk and delay that moment aslong as possible, because of the nagging fear that it wouldgo wrong. That it was already wrong, much more wrongthan anything could ever be?

   'It responded to electricity,' he continued, ignoring hisyounger twin. 'Specifically in its static form.'

   'Aren't they both the same thing?' she asked.

   Poor thing. Perhaps it was foolish to expect a woman tounderstand the intricacies of science.

   'I began experimenting,' he told her. 'Testing the hand'sresponses to the electricity. At first, it seemed to have adetrimental effect, but soon there were surprising results.On contact with the current, the hand split itself in two,each a perfect copy of the other. On my next experiment,one attached itself to my leg, and nothing I could dowould make it release.'

   His poor Isabella. How scared she had been.

   How scared he had been.

   The first day, he had told himself that nothing hadhappened and tried to keep it from his wife. Everymoment that passed, the lump on his leg seemed to growlarger by degrees. There was no hiding it from her, and hehad been forced to confess it all. She had kissed hisforehead, and told him they would do whatever it took.

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    By the morning, they had been parents.

    'What happened?' Martha asked him.

    His other self replied.

    'I was born from his thigh,' his young face sneered.'Twice born, like Dionysus himself. With all my father'sknowledge up until we were separated, and a new younglife to put it to use again.'

    'And you want to do that to your father?' the womanasked.

    'You have seen the hands' other properties,' Alexandersaid. 'We intend to reanimate our father and, once he isliving, we can use the hand a second time to copy him. Hewill be returned to use as a babe in arms, ready to resumehis work the moment he can talk.'

    The woman's distaste was plain to see.

    'Please,' Monro said to her. 'Please. You are young still.Don't think any less of me: there are still so many things Iwanted to do. Now I have another life to do them with.How could I deny my father the same blessing?'

    She shook her head.

    'Another life? Well, maybe.' She gave his other self alook of pure disdain. 'But yours? He might look like you,but he's only got your memories up to a point, hasn't he?Can you tell me what he's thinking now?'

    Monro looked at his younger self. The sneer was stillon his face, and he was edging ever closer to whereMartha stood. She stood at the edge of the stage, aloneand vulnerable. It made him automatically think of her asa student, to feel the need to explain how it worked untilshe brightened with the understanding.

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   He could only hope his other self felt the same.

   'He's just a copy,' she said. So reasonably. 'He's not you.He might still be here when you go, but will that makeany difference?'

   Monro simply bit his lip.

   Martha could see Monro thinking about what she wassaying, could see him agreeing. She had to stop herselffrom holding out her hand to him and telling him to comeon and stop being silly. Partly because she didn't want tobreak the faint hold she had on him, and partly because itwould have brought her closer to Alexander. She didn'ttrust him not to grab her and tie her to the operating table.There was something there in his eyes: there was no waythe two men were the same.

   'Your dad wouldn't thank you for this,' Martha said.

   Just for a moment, she thought she might have him.

   Suddenly, Alexander moved. He didn't come for her,but she jumped nonetheless and found herself looking forthe nearest exit. Instead, he had suddenly fallen to hisknees, grabbing the two disembodied hands that werescuttling around his feet. He held them aloft, strugglinglike two crabs trying to avoid the cooking pot.

   'If you are going to stop us, then stop us,' Alexandergrowled at her. 'If you are going to run and bring thebailies, then do it. But we have work to be doing, and nomore time for your prattling. Are you going to assist,father, or are you not?'

   Monro shuddered at the harsh tones of Alexander'svoice. He didn't look up, didn't catch Martha's eye. Insteadhe shuffled over to the coffin on the table, and started to

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pull off the wet wooden lid.

   'Wait!' Martha called.

   Alexander just leered at her.

   'My father was a great man,' he said sternly. 'You willthank us when you meet him.'

   And he turned away, back to his coffin.

   Martha wondered what to do. She knew that playingFrankenstein in the middle of the afternoon wasn't goingto turn out well, but there was only one of her, and two ofhim. The only advantage she had was that they didn'tthink she had any advantage at all. That was usuallyenough for the Doctor. Perhaps it would work just as wellfor her?

   'Alexander,' she said.

   Monro looked up, but Alexander didn't turn. Instead, hestarted shaking his arms as if trying to dislodgesomething. Martha could see the two disembodied handshe held, fingers locked tight into his: they were holding onand they weren't going to let go.

   'Alexander?' she echoed.

   He spun around then, a look of panic on his face.

   'Something has--'

   Alexander broke off as the fingers in his chest suddenlytwitched. He gave a loud scream, and Martha watched ashe dropped to his knees, his own fingers hit by aconvulsive spasm. The two extra hands he held still clungon tight, twitching and vibrating and digging their nails inso far as to draw little beads of blood. Monro abandonedthe coffin and ran to his clone's side.

   'Alexander? What is it?' he asked.

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   Alexander just shouted again.

   'What's that noise?' asked Martha.

   She could hear it, just at the edges of perception: a low,bass rumble that was shaking the floor beneath her. Shelooked around, but the whole room was vibrating now andit was impossible to judge just where the sound wascoming from. It sounded like a tidal wave was sweepingits way through the building. The Doctor had said theCastle was built on an old volcano was it erupting afterall this time? Surely that was something even the Doctorwould have thought to mention.

   The hairs on the back of her neck started to rise, andMartha managed to get a bearing on where the sound wascoming from. There was no way that this was going to begood.

   'Mr Monro,' she said cautiously.

   Monro turned to look at her. His mouth fell open.

   The doors burst open.

   Martha turned around as fast as she could, but theywere already at her ankles before she even registered whatthey were.

   Hands scuttled all over the floor, all over the walls,over the seats and into the auditorium. Hundreds of them,maybe even thousands. Some of them had to be the onesfrom the cell she had been kept in, but not all of themsurely. The room just wasn't that big. Even the lecturetheatre seemed too small to contain the horde of handsthat was pouring through the doorway and rushingtowards her.

   And past her.

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   Monro gave a scream.

   Martha spun back again, all thoughts of escapeforgotten: the two Alexander Monros needed her help. Thehands were pretty much ignoring the elder but, as theyfought and flurried to reach the younger, manyaccidentally struck him just as hard as if they'd meant it.The old man barely seemed to notice. Instead he clawedand pulled at the hands, crying out as they attachedthemselves to his clone. Alexander was fast disappearingbeneath a mass of writhing grey flesh.

   Martha knew there was nothing they could do: even asMonro managed to get one hand to release its grip,another five had already clung tight. Alexander himselfdidn't even seem to be struggling, but then he had thatextra hand buried in his chest had it somehow beenpreparing him for this moment? It didn't matter: Marthajumped forward and grabbed hold of Monro's arm, pullinghim sharply away.

   'We've got to go,' Martha shouted.

   'But--' the old anatomist tried to argue.

   'Now!'

   And Martha pulled him again, away from the door atthe far end of the auditorium and towards the sideentrance they had brought the coffin in from. She couldonly hope that there was another way out from back there,and that it was one that wasn't already blocked by morehands scrabbling towards them. At least Monro seemed torealise the inevitable, and gave up trying to pull awayfrom her. He gave one last look over his shoulder at theball of flesh that had buried Alexander, and then he bolted

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for the door.

   Martha paused only to scoop up a stray hand, and thenran.

   Its fingers flexed as she ran.

   The hands threw themselves at the loci, acting on pureanimal instinct and nothing more. Fingers clutched atfingers, and hands grabbed wrists, and slowly the mess ofwrithing digits began to take the shape of something else.As each hand touched another, tendrils of electricity andintelligence reached out and joined. Slowly, theintelligence was taking shape. The understanding that thehands had been damaged were still damaged began toemerge. The knowledge that in their confusion they hadeach been attaching themselves to a different loci, whenthey should have been merging and joining around asingle whole.

   Then the pain, and the sudden clarity.

   The sonic burst that had repaired them.

   It took a few minutes for the emerging intelligence tobegin to distinguish between what was inside itself andwhat was out. It felt the wood under its skin, and it felt thecold damp air, but it didn't quite understand yet that thesewere things that weren't a part of it. It felt the sparkingpanic of the loci suddenly subsumed under the creature'sgrowing awareness. Of itself, as one.

   As its understanding grew, it began to sense thosehands that were still outside of itself, and called them allto it. It knew it could only reach the stage of trulyknowing what it was once it had the critical mass thatevery hand could provide. It also knew that it was not

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alone in the room, that there two others in the room thatweren't it. It felt, as one of them reached down andgrabbed a struggling hand from the floor and then ranfrom the room.

   It didn't yet know itself, but it found that it could knowanger.

   So it grew legs and gave chase.

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    The Doctor stepped out very slowly and calmly, holding

    the hand out in front of him like he was waiting for

    someone to take it and shake it. The creatures that had

    been attacking the door and the walls all stood back the

    instant they saw the hand. It was as if an invisible line had

    been drawn around the hand, the Doctor and Captain

    McAllister that none of them wanted to cross. The Doctor

    glanced back briefly at McAllister, but the soldier kept his

    face impassive.

       'Stay close,' the Doctor whispered.

       'Should I?' McAllister asked blithely.

       The Doctor took another step forward, his trainers

    sinking into the soft ground. The majority of the creatures

    surrounding them had come up from the bottom of the

    Loch, and the water was still dripping from them, turning

    the earth into mud. The Doctor looked up at the gloomy

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clouds above. It didn't look like the grass was going to getthe chance to dry out any time soon.

    'Have you seen what they've done to the church?'McAllister whispered.

    The Doctor took a quick glance behind him: thewooden door had been splintered and shredded by longsharp nails scratching across it, but it was the brickworkthat was the most shocking. Whole bricks had been tornout of the wall, or else just crumbled to dust where theysat. Whatever else they were, these creatures were strong.If they decided to take a dislike to them now, there was nochance that the Doctor or McAllister would make it backinside.

    'They must not reach the Castle,' McAllister saidfirmly.

    The Doctor glanced up at the Castle Rock, looming upto their left over the dull grey mirror of the Loch. Itlooked so permanent, so impregnable. He estimated itwould take the creatures a good few minutes before theycould breach the defences and get at those inside. If theydecided that was what they wanted to do.

    'Does it look like they want to?' the Doctor asked.

    'I have my duty,' McAllister answered.

    The Doctor tutted loudly.

    'At least you didn't bring a musket,' he said.

    'The musket isn't a close-quarters weapon,' was allMcAllister would say.

    The Doctor didn't look at him: he kept his eyes on therapt audience that was standing, watching him. As hestepped away from the church, the creatures moved in

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around him, never coming close enough to touch him.They were an eclectic mix, to be certain: redcoats infading uniforms, highlanders in weedsoaked kilts, wrytersfrom all through the ages with lank hair sticking to theirsunken-eyed skulls, and a lord in his finery who couldhave been a member of the Slitheen family in disguise.Each had a single hand clutching to their breast that wasthe mirror to the one twitching groggily in the Doctor'sown.

    'This can't be what you were made for,' the Doctor toldthem. 'This is just you trying to get out of the Loch. Sowhat are you here for? What were you meant to do? If youtell me, I can help.'

    The creatures looked at him, blank eyed.

    'They're dead,' McAllister said. 'They can't talk.'

    The Doctor looked down sadly.

    'Dead men tell no tales, eh, McAllister?' he said.

    And he reached into his jacket pocket.

    The prisoner the Doctor simply stood in the centreof the ring of the walking dead, holding that bodiless handin his and looking into each face as if it was someoneimportant to him. Each face looked back blankly, greyskin and grey eyes, no life in them. McAllister saw themdifferently: there were no individuals in that crowd, just amass of men that he might need to fight his way through.He eyed them cautiously, weighing up where the crowdwas thinnest and judging which of the creatures might bestronger than its neighbour. Without turning, he wasacutely aware that every one of them was following theDoctor away from the church. He hoped that Howkins had

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taken note and was already leading the civilians away.

    They had moved further into the churchyard perhapsthe Doctor had the same thought as him and wanted to getthe creatures away from the church, but it was adispiriting sight that met them. The churchyard was dottedwith holes, piles of earth thrown up wherever a holewasn't, and here and there a headstone tumbled. Therewere more of the creatures than there had been on theother side of the Loch, and it wasn't hard to imagine wherethey had come from.

    The Doctor pulled his wand from his pocket, andstarted waving it at each of the creatures in turn. At onepoint, he put it into his mouth to free a hand to pull hisspectacles from his pocket, only to tear them off again asif he could not believe what they had revealed to his eyes.McAllister just let him do what he would: he himself wasconsidering whether light artillery might succeed wheremuskets had failed, and how he might communicate hisneed to the Castle.

    'Benjamin Franklin,' the Doctor said suddenly.

    McAllister felt his heart jump, but kept his bodyneutral. It wasn't exactly a secret that the colonialstatesman had visited Edinburgh, but neither was itcommon knowledge what he had done whilst here.Certainly McAllister didn't know, even though the LordProvost had entrusted it to him personally to see thatFranklin had a stagecoach to take him back to Londonagain. It was well known that Franklin wasn't simply inLondon to bring the city news of the colonies: fifty yearsearlier, Scotland might have laughed at the English for

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entertaining the eccentric spy. Now their fates wereentwined, and Edinburgh became just another piece in acomplicated chess game.

    McAllister had to be suspicious of the prisoner'sinterest in their American visitor.

    'Benjamin Franklin!' the prisoner cried again, slappinghis forehead.

    'Is that intended as an accusation?' McAllister askedcoldly.

    The prisoner thrust his wand and his spectacles backinto the same pocket, and when his hand reappeared it washolding something that looked like a small purple purse.He looked briefly from the purse to the disembodied handhe was holding, and then thrust the hand in McAllister'sdirection without preamble.

    'Hold this, will you?'

    McAllister found, to his wide-eyed amazement, that hetook the hand from the Doctor without complaining. It feltcold against his skin: cold and clammy like wet marble. Itwas hard to credit that it was even alive, and yet it flexedits fingers and scratched its nails against his palm as heheld it. For just a moment, the truth of what washappening threatened to overpower him: here he was,standing in a churchyard hoping to protect Edinburghfrom the risen dead. He took a breath, and the momentpassed. He had his duty, and his duty was first andforemost to not feel afraid.

    He held the hand, and looked up at the Doctor. He wasstretching the purse between his two hands, and each timehe let go with one it would snap loudly back into the

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other. Without warning, he raised the purse to his lips andstarted to blow into it: it inflated squeakily, remindingMcAllister of nothing more or less than a sheep's bladder.The Doctor waggled his eyebrows as he blew, and thenwhipped the ball from his mouth and tied a knot in thefree end.

   'Catch,' the Doctor said.

   He batted the purple ball, and it bobbed in the air untilMcAllister caught it in surprise. It was only a momentlater that he realised he was no longer holding the hand,but as he looked up he saw that the Doctor had it again.

   'Just rub that against your head, would you?' he asked.

   For no reason that he could fathom, McAllister foundhimself obeying. All he could think, as he rubbed the ballagainst his wiry hair, was that he hoped his men hadevacuated the church: he would hate to think that any ofthem might be watching him doing this.

   The Doctor, meanwhile, pointed at the hand he washolding.

   'This,' he said simply, 'is a piece of snake.'

   McAllister stood there, rubbing the ball against hishead as the creatures surrounded them in silence andwatching the hand shake itself on the Doctor's palm. Of allthe things it was, a snake was not the first that would havecome to mind.

   'A snake,' he echoed.

   The Doctor smiled boyishly.

   'He was an amazing chap was Benjamin Franklin,' theDoctor said. McAllister noted that he was talking in thepast tense, and wondered how long ago the two had

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known each other. 'A polymath, for a start. Which isimpressive, if you're... you know, impressed by that kindof thing. And he invented things invented things left,right and centre, did old Benjamin.'

   McAllister stopped rubbing the ball against his head.

   He frowned.

   'But he was also a cartoonist,' the Doctor carried onregardless, reaching out and plucking the ball fromMcAllister's hands. 'He drew a cartoon called Unite orDie: pretty simple, just a snake cut up into a few pieces. Idon't think Michelangelo was worried, but it got the pointacross. They used it to convince the colonies to uniteagainst British rule.'

   He pointed at the hand in his.

   'This,' he said, handing it the ball, 'is a piece of snake.'

   The hand leant back on the stump that was its wrist andtook the ball in its fingers, closing them around the knotso tightly that the taut skin squeaked. As soon as thefingers touched that thin skin, the hairs that ran down itsback stood on end and the grey flesh seemed to flickerwith blue sparks. The Doctor seemed to have beenexpecting as much, and already had his wand in his handagain: it squealed briefly, and then cast its blue light insilence. The Doctor glanced up at McAllister.

   'Wonderful stuff, static electricity,' he said. 'Youwouldn't believe some of the things it can do.'

   The hand twitched furiously in the Doctor's palm,digging its sharp fingers so hard into the ball it held that itsuddenly burst with a loud pop. The Doctor simplysmiled, as if indulging a child. The hand twisted and

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turned, wrapping itself in the flapping remains of the ballas if it was trying to clothe itself, and then suddenly itfroze. Its fingers stretched to their full length, and thestump of its wrist pointed straight up into the air.

    'And what has it done now?' McAllister asked grimly.

    The Doctor merely smiled.

    'Unite or die,' he said.

    The hand gave a little shudder, and then in onemovement it hopped from the Doctor's palm and onto themud below. The Doctor looked to McAllister with aparental smile on his face, but McAllister was too busywatching the ring of creatures that surrounded them. Heremembered how the Young Pretender's supporters hadunited, and what it had meant for Edinburgh as they had.

    But it was too late for qualms: the little hand reachedthe leg of the nearest of the creatures to it, a young girl inan apron and headscarf. It clung onto her long, wet skirtswith its sharp nails and scurried up her leg like a squirrel.If the girl had been alive, McAllister had no doubt that shewould have been screaming. Instead, she stood in silenceas the hand reached her chest, and touched the fingers ofthe hand that was already resting there. It was a tendercaress for just a moment.

    There was a brief spark, so brief that McAllistercouldn't swear he hadn't imagined it. But if he had, then hewould need to find some other explanation for the fact thatthere was only one hand clinging to the serving girl'sheart. A hand that seemed almost double the size of theone that had been there before. What had the Doctordone?

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   The hand on the girl's chest twitched, and dropped tothe floor.

   Seconds later, so did the girl.

   The ground around her was wet enough that, when shefell, she sank a little way into it. It wasn't as if she hadfallen, or even died there and then: she fell with suchforce, landed without any semblance of grace, that therewas no mistaking the fact that she had been dead longbefore she fell. All the same, McAllister couldn't help butsee his own daughter lying there on the ground, the wetgrass brushing against grey flesh.

   The hand had already climbed another leg.

   Soon another body fell.

   'What is this?' McAllister asked.

   The hands were all starting to wake up somehow,without word or sign, they all knew what the Doctor hadtaught the first. They abandoned their host bodies to fall inthe dirt as they all leapt and clawed together, twobecoming four as four became eight and eight becamesixteen. Soon there was a multitude of hands all runningacross the churchyard trying to find each other, each newaddition increasing the size of the original until thesmallest was the size of a decent hunting dog. Still theyraced and bumped and grew. McAllister realised that theywere gradually moving away from the church and closerto the Loch, shedding their hosts as they did so.

   'What is this?' he demanded.

   The Doctor looked at him, wide-eyed and excited.

   'The hands aren't creatures in their own right,' he said.'They're cells. Individual parts of something bigger.

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There's an instruction buried deep inside them to cling toeach other, combine until they eventually becomesomething bigger. But they were broken, and they'd got itinto their heads that they should cling to the dead and getthem up and about instead. So I fixed them. Now we getto see what they really are.'

    'And what will that be?' McAllister asked.

    The Doctor smiled that boyish smile again.

    'I have absolutely no idea,' he said.

    Now four creatures the size of dogs were pushingthrough the trees and heading back to the murky waters ofthe Nor' Loch. As the four paired off, electricity crackledand suddenly there were two bears dipping into the waterand pushing away from the shore. McAllister and theDoctor watched them go. The church was safe. Thecreatures were heading across the water towards theCastle.

    'Will it be friendly?' McAllister asked.

    The smile disappeared from the Doctor's face.

    'We should follow them,' he said, 'shouldn't we?'

    McAllister was already running: he remembered wheretheir raft had been abandoned, and hoped fervently thatthe creatures hadn't scuttled it before massing on thechurch. He could see the wake of the bear-creatures asthey swam through the brackish waters. They werealready some yards from the shore, and McAllister wasstill some yards behind them. There could be no doubt oftheir destination.

    'A colonial revolution?' McAllister said as they ran.

    'Forget I said that,' the Doctor answered.

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And they ran.

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    Martha ran, clutching onto Monro's hand with one hand,

    and holding what she knew was also Monro's hand with

    the other.

       The doorway at the back of the stage led around to the

    corridor she had walked down, and there were still hands

    scuttling and scurrying down it but not so many that it was

    impossible to escape. The hand she was clutching

    struggled and fought, wanting to join the rest of them, but

    she clung on tight. She wasn't going to let it go easily: the

    Doctor would need to see it if he was going to work out

    exactly was going on here and stop it.

       Monro was panting hard behind her, his free hand

    pressed to his chest.

       'Leave me,' he told her.

       Martha kept pulling him along. She'd heard that line in

    films more than once, and knew where it led. No: they

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would both escape the Surgeon's Hall, or they'd face themonster together. Alexander. Not the monster. Somewhereinside all those hands, Alexander was still there. The sameman who was panting and puffing behind her, except notthe same man as well. She'd grown up with the idea ofcloning thanks to Dolly the Sheep: what must it be like forMonro, having seemingly discovered it out of the blue?

   'When we get outside,' Martha called over her shoulder,'we're going to keep running, OK? We're going to have toget to the Castle, only I don't know where I am so you'regoing to have to lead the way. All right?'

   Monro didn't answer immediately, and Martha risked aquick look over her shoulder. The old anatomist wasstarting to go very red in the face, a purpley-bruisy kind ofred, but he was nodding as he fought for breath.

   Martha wondered just how long he could keep up thiskind of pace. Maybe they'd be lucky: maybe the thing thathad once been Alexander wouldn't be interested in chasingthem. Because that was always how things had gone sinceshe met the Doctor...

   'If you start to feel shooting pains going up and downyour arms, you tell me, OK?' Martha said, and pulledMonro onwards.

   The corridor was empty of hands now. They ran pastthe hidden door in the wall, which had been ripped fromits hinges by what Martha assumed was the combinedstrength of hundreds of the little hands. She glancedbehind her again, but this time not at Monro. There were afew hands behind them, skidding to a halt and tremblingas if suddenly unsure of where they had been going in

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such a hurry. Perhaps they had just changed their mindsabout becoming one massive creature.

   She could hear the heavy footfalls of somethingfollowing them.

   Something gigantic.

   'Can we lock the door?' Martha asked.

   'The door?' Monro panted.

   'The front door! Have you got a key?'

   Monro suddenly stopped running.

   'I don't...' he panted. 'I can't... He wouldn't hurt me. It'sme, don't you understand? I wouldn't hurt anyone!'

   Martha's heart did a little quick-step in her chest, andshe gave Monro's hand a gentle squeeze. For just amoment, she saw the poor frightened child who justwanted his father back to look after him.

   'He's not you,' Martha said gently. 'He's just a bad copy,that's all. And at the minute, he's not even that. He's justwhatever these hands are. But I've got this friend, and ifanyone can bring Alexander back, it's him. But we've gotto get to him first. We can't stand around here. OK?'

   The hands in the corridor suddenly turned and startedto run towards Martha and Monro. She saw them coming,but Monro still wasn't running and so neither was she.They would both escape the Surgeon's Hall, or they'd facethe monster together, and that was just the end of it. Thesound of the footsteps was growing nearer, shaking thefloor as if a herd of elephants was giving chase. Marthagave Monro a smile.

   There was a loud roar behind them.

   Martha saw the fear flash in Monro's eyes, and

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suddenly they were running again. The door was justahead of them, closed but hopefully unlocked. Lookingover her shoulder, Martha saw the other end of thecorridor: a large mass of grey flesh filled it from floor toceiling, almost like a man with indistinct legs, arms andeven a head. The only things that she could make outclearly were its two eyes. They were two black holes ofnothingness, made by the curve of four fingers and athumb. They scanned the corridor angrily, and a hole of amouth gave another roar as the empty eyes impossiblysaw them.

   'Come on,' shouted Martha, and pulled Monro a littlefaster.

   The monster gave chase once more.

   Alexander Monro ran, forcing his feet to fall in asteady rhythm lest he lose his step and fall to the groundto wait to die. The girl Martha was running behind him.She was younger and fitter, and he knew that she wouldhave gone faster but for him. He was leading the way, outof the Surgeon's Hall courtyard and up onto the main road.He hoped that once they were back onto the High Street,she would know the way to the Castle and her friend: if hehad to be the one to lead them, then the creature at theirheels would have them for certain.

   Alexander.

   The creature was no creature. It was him, but for thegrace of providence. He should not think of it as inhuman.He should not be afraid of it. He should not run from it,but turn and embrace what he had become. And yet hekept on running, leading Martha behind him. He told

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himself that she needed leading, before he could do whathe should.

   'Move! Run!' Martha shouted as they ran. 'Get out theway!'

   The people on the street ignored her, or at the verymost glanced her way and tutted to themselves. AsAlexander appeared behind them, however, they soontook heed. Poor Alexander: his flesh was completelyobscured by the grey hands now, and they had taken on arudimentary human form. Was he still under there, buried?Or had they simply used him as the template for theirdesign and then subsumed him? He ran as fast as he couldin pursuit of them, but his size and the panic of the peoplehe barged heedlessly through slowed him down as muchas Monro's age slowed him.

   But Monro knew which of them could keep up thispace the longest.

   'Ah!' Martha called suddenly. 'I know this bit. Comeon!'

   And she turned suddenly, leading them up the slope ofthe so-called Royal Mile. Monro found himself behind heragain, being dragged as much as he was running up thestreet. Climbing the hill fast took its toll, however, and hisbreaths became more ragged, sharper. He felt a little stabwith each inhalation, and a stitch was growing in his right-hand side. He knew with cold certainty that he couldn'tmake the brow of the hill.

   He stopped and panted.

   Alexander wasn't behind them, but the screams grewlouder.

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   He would not be far away.

   They ran on, but Monro knew it would only be a matterof time. Martha could escape without him slowing herdown, he had no doubt, but he also knew that she wouldnot leave him. He would be the cause of her capture twiceover, first by slowing her down and once again because itwas himself that was pursuing them. It was an impossiblesituation: the only thing he could think was to force her tothrow down the hand that she held and let it scamper backto join Alexander, but in his present state he could barelyforce the breath into his body, let alone force a young girlin the prime of her life to do what she didn't wish to.

   The Royal Exchange was looming up on their right.

   He had an idea.

   'This way,' he called to Martha.

   She looked over her shoulder, but didn't seem inclinedto follow him. He didn't leave her much choice, andhurried over to the Exchange's stone pillars. Betweenthem, he could see the courtyard and the dark arches ofthe actual exchange beyond it, but it was not the buildinghe was aiming for. He glanced in Martha's direction, andwas pleased to see that after a moment of indecision shehad opted to follow him. He had been right that shewouldn't leave him, then.

   The arch of Warriston's Close appeared on their right,and Monro hobbled down it, Martha close behind him.They both heard the screams and shouts from the streettake a louder pitch: Alexander had made it onto the HighStreet. Monro only hoped that he had not seen where theyhad gone, and they could lose him for long enough to

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regain their breath. He pushed on through Writer's Courtand the dusty, closed doorway waiting there. If it waslocked, then all was lost.

    'In there?' Martha asked. 'We can't hide in a building.We'll be trapped.'

    Monro ignored her and tried the door. It complainedloudly, but it swung open. Fortune was with them. A longflight of stairs descending into darkness was revealed, andMonro motioned for Martha to take them. She looked athim uncertainly, and wasted precious time.

    'Mary King's Close,' Monro repeated, ushering herinside. 'It was sealed at this end when they built the RoyalExchange over it, but it is still open at the Nor' Loch end.If we hurry, Alexander will not think to follow, and we canfollow the Loch to the Castle at our own pace. Please. Ifhe sees us descend, he will follow.'

    Martha looked over her shoulder nervously.

    'You're sure Alexander won't think of it?' she asked. 'Heis you, you know.'

    'Martha, please!'

    And so she descended.

    Martha kept her hand against the wall as she walkedunsteadily down the rough steps: one false move, and shewould be going head over heels, and the staircase was sodark that she had no idea how far it was to the bottom. Infact, she had no idea how far it was to the next step. Allshe could do was place one foot carefully after the next,and listen to the rasping of Monro's breath behind her.

    She hoped he had shut the door behind them.

    'Keep going,' Monro encouraged behind her. 'It is not

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far.'

   Martha stumbled as she hit the last step and tried tomove down to the next, and she almost found the groundwith her face. Monro put out his arms and caught her, butshe had already steadied herself. She gave him a smile ofthanks, and then took a glance around her. They were in asmall alleyway with a dusty dirt floor that led away fromthe stairs and into the gloom. If this was Mary King'sClose, then they were going to die here.

   'This is just the entranceway,' Monro assured her,reading her mind. 'The Close is further in, and there willbe places to hide and catch our breath. Move down a littleway, and you'll see.'

   Martha did as she was told, and found that the alleywaydid bend round to the left. As she reached the turning, shecould look down and see the Close spread out before her.

   It ran down the side of the hill, the same dirt floordropping away alarmingly fast as it went down to theLoch below: she wondered how many people had trippedat the top and found themselves suddenly at the bottombefore they'd sealed it off. Looking up, the sky wasblocked by rough wooden slats that she could only assumewere the foundations of the Royal Exchange above her.Martha had seen some pretty strange things on her travelswith the Doctor, but somehow the idea of an undergroundstreet somewhere as close to home as Edinburgh wasalmost as unsettling.

   'I don't suppose they left us any lights down here, didthey?' Martha asked, looking around.

   'There may be some gas lamps in one of the turnpike

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houses,' Monro suggested. 'The merchants were requiredto put them out on the streets. Even before they built theexchange above us, it was usually this dark down here.'

    'Really?' Martha asked.

    'The houses go so far up,' Monro explained, 'they blockout most of the light. And then when the washing is hungbetween the houses...'

    Martha took a few steps down the Close and looked up,and realised what he meant: as the road sloped quicklyaway, the houses all remained on the same level, extrastoreys appearing every few steps. The houses seemed tobe much lower than she would have expected, and theonly way to get up to the higher rooms was by a ricketyspiral staircase that ran up the outside of the building.Martha couldn't imagine what you did if you lived in thetop house and met someone going in the oppositedirection when you were halfway up.

    The disembodied hand twitched uncomfortably in hergrasp.

    'Was that why they closed them off?' Martha asked.

    'I don't understand,' Monro said.

    She looked around her.

    'People couldn't live here,' she said.

    'They still do by the Lochside,' Monro answered. Hepointed down to where the gloom seemed to lighten just alittle a few yards down the slope. 'All the Closes are thesame. We wouldn't have the room without the turnpikehouses.'

    Martha looked again at the low little houses, piled upon top of each other and crumbling so badly they looked

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like they wouldn't last another few weeks. There was afoul smell in the air, which she was almost certain was theLoch at the bottom of the slope. She couldn't imagineanyone living here of their own free will: it was worsethan the worst London had to offer, and that was badenough.

   She heard a noise behind them.

   'The houses are empty,' Monro whispered, his eyeswide. 'We should be able to get through to the next Close.We can rest there.'

   Martha nodded, and let Monro lead the way. She heldher free hand out to him, and was glad that he had taken itthe moment he led them inside the first house. She had toduck to avoid knocking her head on the ceiling, andwithout lights or lamps the room was in almost pitchdarkness. For a moment, she nearly dropped the strugglinghand she was holding to reach out for the light switch.Then she remembered.

   'This way,' Monro hissed in her ear.

   She couldn't see which way he was heading, but felt hishand pull her gently into the darkness. She couldn't evensee the faint shape of his back in front of her any more,and she could feel her heart starting to flutter. If he meanther any harm, if perhaps he felt closer to the hands andAlexander than he did to the rest of the human race, shecouldn't have picked a better place to follow him whereshe would never be heard of again.

   She took a deep breath and told herself to think aboutsomething else. Monro was on her side, and he was just asfrightened of the hands as she was. And if he wasn't...

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well, she'd just have to wait for him to show some sign ofit before she worried about it.

    The darkness was so thick, she thought she could feel itbrushing her skin. Either that, or they were walkingthrough cobwebs. There was a faint scuttling soundcoming from somewhere behind them. Martha began towish that everything she'd been told about carrots as achild was right. She tried blinking, but still all she couldsee was soupy, impenetrable blackness.

    'Mr Monro?' she whispered.

    He shushed her quietly, but gently squeezed her hand.

    Martha was starting to realise that she really didn't likethe dark.

    Suddenly, the hand creature she was clutching sotightly gave a jolt and began struggling like crazy. Eventhough she knew what it was, Martha couldn't help butreact with panic. The creature had tricked her intothinking it had gone to sleep, it had been so still andgentle: now it was going crazy, digging its nails into herflesh to escape. Martha had to use both hands to try andkeep hold, but even that was no good. She felt a sharppain across the back of her hand and cried out, standingupright and banging her head against the ceiling again.Her hands came together automatically, trying to stop theblood that was barely flowing.

    She dropped the hand and heard it scuttle away on thedry floor.

    'Great!' she hissed.

    For a moment, she considered giving chase, but it washopeless: all she would do was stumble around in the

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darkness without even knowing if it was making rudegestures just inches from her face. Even if she couldfollow it, she knew exactly where it would be heading:she didn't want to stumble into Alexander in these darklittle rooms. It was a fairly safe bet that the hand would beback soon anyway, leading that grey giant behind it. She'dmuch rather she wasn't here alone when it arrived. Shehad to get to the Doctor.

    That was when Martha realised.

    'Mr Monro?' she whispered, waiting for his answeringshush.

    She couldn't hear anything, just the sound of fingersdrumming against dusty streets and rotting woodenfloorboard. She took a small step forwards, squinting andholding her hands out in front of her. With everymovement, she hoped to feel the cloth of Monro's jacketagainst her fingertips. Or the cold clamminess ofAlexander's grey skin.

    'Mr Monro?' she risked raising her voice a little.

    Still no answer. She was alone.

    'Oh no,' she said softly.

    There was a part of Martha that wanted to curl up in aball on the floor and close her eyes against the darkness,despite the rest of her knowing that staying put wouldonly make it all the easier for the hand to find her. Shecouldn't see a thing anyway. And where would she go?Perhaps if she waited here, Monro would find her againand lead her to safety.

    Something scuttled across the floorboards above herhead.

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    No amount of triple-sun sunsets could be worth this.

    Martha closed her eyes and dug into her pocket. Themobile phone's screen lit up as she turned it on, and shewaved it in front of her. The light it gave out wasn't muchto write home about, but it might stop her walking straightinto a wall. She took a small step forwards, stopped andlet out a breath. OK. Then she took another step.

    Suddenly, the phone went dead.

    Martha's heart skipped in her chest, until she realisedthat the display had just timed out. She hit a button atrandom, and the pale green light returned. She let outanother breath, and stepped slowly forward. With everyinch she moved, she kept expecting to touch some cold,dank, unspeakable horror that would just make her screamand run away. But she didn't. The sound of the scuttlingwas growing louder, sounding like someone drumming inthe street outside. She took a step forwards.

    The light from the phone made a small green square onthe wall.

    Waving the phone around and pressing buttons atrandom, Martha quickly managed to follow the wall untilthe light vanished into a black hole. Trying not to give ashout of triumph, Martha quickly felt all around the gap: itwas a doorway! A low, open doorway! She hurriedthrough it as fast as she dared in the darkness.

    For a moment, she wondered if she had even left theroom she had been standing in. The drumming of racingfingertips was still just as loud, and the room was still justas dark.

    She was about to whisper for Monro again, when she

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saw something at the far end of the room. Nothingdefinite, just the vague sensation of something reflectingthe pale green light of her mobile. The gentle dancing ofmotes in daylight.

   Martha hurried over, the light getting less faint witheach step so that by the time she was at the far side of theroom she felt comfortable enough to move withoutholding her hands out in front of her face. It was awonderful feeling, having even such a faint and greasylight come back to her: if it was up to her, she wouldspend the rest of her life above ground and in thesunshine.

   Somewhere, somebody screamed.

   Martha's heart jumped again.

   'Mr Monro?' she called, not even thinking to whisper.'Mr Monro?'

   There was a sound behind her, something moving inthe darkness she had just left. Martha spun around, and,for just a moment, there was something there. Like thevague afterimage of a candle on the eye once you'd blownit out, she could see a shape at the far end of the room.The room suddenly felt icy cold, and there was anoverpowering smell of oiled leather everywhere.

   The thing at the end of the room was a man.

   It was there for just a moment, a man covered head totoe in a long black leather coat and a broadbrimmed hat.Martha was so surprised to see him there that she took astep towards him, about to call to him. He saw her first,and turned into the light. His face wasn't a human face:instead, he had the long curved beak of a raven and peered

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at her with two glistening black eyes.

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    By the time McAllister and the Doctor reached the raft,

    the two hand creatures had already dived into the Loch

    and were halfway to the other side. They seemed to have

    taken the vague form of two giant dogs, both about the

    size of a St Bernard. The Doctor could only begin to

    imagine what particular quirk of DNA had caused that,

    unless the shape had been consciously chosen for the

    advantage it would give it on land and in water. Which

    would suggest intelligence.

       'Don't take your eyes off those hands,' the Doctor

    shouted to McAllister as they pushed the raft back into the

    water. 'If we lose them, that's it.'

       McAllister scowled at the Doctor, but saved his breath.

       The Doctor grabbed an oar and started to paddle

    furiously, but the two creatures were very nearly at the

    other side of the Loch before he even managed to get a

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good rhythm up. McAllister uttered a small string ofcurses under his breath, and helped with the rowing whilstkeeping the hands clearly in sight. They still weren't goingto be fast enough, even with the both of them. What theDoctor wouldn't have given for a good anachronisticoutboard motor.

   Instead, he had to settle for a stroke of luck.

   As the two doggy creatures reached the other side ofthe Loch, they pulled themselves up onto the shore andlooked, just for a moment, as if they might start shakingtheir fur dry. Instead, their front legs briefly brushedagainst each other but where they came together, theydidn't come apart again. McAllister's mouth fell open asthe two dogs opened up into two balls of waggling fingersthat started very deliberately to interlock into one shape.

   'Don't stop paddling!' the Doctor shouted.

   They managed to get the raft nearly three-quarters ofthe way across the Loch before the two creatures liftedthemselves back up again. Except that now they were one:a large stocky man-mountain with trunklike legs andbroad shoulders. The man-thing gave a quick look overone shoulder at the approaching raft, and then startedjogging along the edge of the Loch. The Doctor droppedhis paddle and stood up on the raft, watching for just amoment.

   It was a shame. It was always difficult to get theTARDIS to land near a good dry cleaners. And he reallywas fond of his blue suit.

   'Row!' McAllister shouted.

   The Doctor dived into the Loch.

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   The water was cold, and shot into his ears, nose andmouth. It tasted foul but, as he came up, he poweredhimself forward through the water, wishing he'd thoughtto take off his heavy coat. The Doctor heard the sound ofMcAllister diving inexpertly into the water behind him.Why did nobody ever listen when he told them what todo?

   The Doctor reached the shore, looking up quicklyenough to see the creature loping away towards the town.Behind him, McAllister was struggling in the water,unwilling to open his eyes and see where he was in casethe slime got into them. The Doctor tutted impatiently andwaded in to pull him out. The soldier coughed brackishwater as he struggled to his feet, and then looked aroundfor the creature.

   'It went this way,' the Doctor said. 'If we hurry, wemight catch it.'

   McAllister gave him a shrewd look.

   'I may have misjudged you, Doctor,' he said flatly.'You're a brave man.'

   The Doctor smiled and smoothed down his wet hair.

   'If anything you do harms this town,' McAllistercontinued, 'I'll see you strung up in the Grassmarket andyour head on a spike on the Castle walls.'

   The Doctor nodded. 'A traditionalist, then,' he said.

   And then they ran.

   The grassy slope of Castle Hill was starting to give wayto large ramshackle wooden buildings and narrow streetsthat ran steeply up to the Royal Mile. Even down here,there were plenty of people about, and the way they were

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either shouting, hiding or crying suggested that their hand-man had come this way. There was a man clutching onto atired-looking donkey as if he was torn between protectingit and jumping on its back to ride to safety. His eyes werewide and his jaw had dropped: a witness if ever theDoctor had seen one. The donkey, meanwhile, wascasually relieving itself into the brown waters of the Loch.

    'Which way did it go?' the Doctor asked.

    All the man could manage was to point down one ofthe narrow alleyways. McAllister nodded and hurried afterit, but the Doctor hung back for just a second.

    'Don't let him do that,' he said, nodding to the donkey.'People have to swim in that.'

    The Doctor didn't wait to see if the man listened to himor not. He raced away up the alley, weaving between thefew people who were all trying to race in the oppositedirection. The turnpike houses loomed up on either side,and the street soon got pretty gloomy. The Doctor startedto remember expressions about meeting creatures at theend of dark alleys, but he put them out of his mind. In afew moments, he had caught up with McAllister. It wasgood to know he could still outrun someone twenty-twotimes younger than him.

    'This is Stewart's Close,' McAllister panted. 'We'll beright under the Royal Exchange soon enough.'

    The Doctor looked up: the darkness wasn't beingcaused by the tall houses any more, but by a ricketywooden roof overhead. Was the hand-man just runningblind, or was he instinctively trying to head underground?Did he even have a plan?

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    'What do we do when we catch it?' McAllister asked.

    From somewhere came a shout of surprise.

    'Probably that,' the Doctor said. 'Come on.'

    The cry had come from a little apartment just to theirleft, next to what seemed to be a saw-maker's workshop,still in use. The apartment had a little low door hangingopen, but inside it was as black as any night the Doctorhad ever known. McAllister twitched impatiently at hisside, clearly thinking that if they weren't giving chase tothe hand-man they were just wasting time. But the Doctorknew better than that: he had recognised the voice.

    He stepped into the darkness.

    'Hello Martha,' a familiar voice said from the darkness.

    Martha's heart skipped, and she forgot everythingexcept rushing over to the Doctor and squeezing him sotight she could hear the wind pushed out of his lungs. Itwas almost worth everything else, a moment like that.Then she felt the slime on her skin, and the smell reachedher nose.

    She pulled away again.

    'Ugh!' she said. 'What happened to you?'

    'Little swim,' the Doctor said lightly. 'What happened toyou?'

    Martha felt a lump appear in her throat.

    'There's something in here,' she said, her voicedropping to a whisper. She tried to look around, but themisty grey light had vanished and the room was back indarkness. 'It looked like a man all dressed in leather, onlyhe had a raven's face.'

    'A beak?' the Doctor asked. He was rummaging in his

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pockets. 'Leather hat?'

   Martha shuddered at the memory.

   'That's him,' she said. 'You too?'

   'I'm afraid not,' the Doctor answered. 'Sounds like yousaw a plague doctor. They looked after the people who'dbeen struck by the pest. The leather was to protect them,and the mask was to keep the smell out. They thought thesmell was the cause, you see.'

   'You've brought me to a plague town?'

   'This was over a hundred years ago,' the Doctor said.She felt him move away from her. 'This place has quite areputation for ghosts. Don't worry. Doctors are the goodguys.'

   And suddenly, she could see him. He was standing infront of her, his arm outstretched and holding what lookedlike a little sun in his cupped hand. Martha nearly jumpedout of her skin when she turned and saw CaptainMcAllister standing next to her, dripping wet and withouthis heavy red jacket. To her annoyance, the Captain didn'teven look at her. He was looking over her shoulder.

   'Of course,' the Doctor said casually, 'it might just besomething else.'

   The leather-clad plague doctor was standing in thecorner, his raven's beak looking up at the room's otheroccupants: two grey giants, one of which Martha knewhad once been Alexander Monro. Where the other hadcome from, she couldn't guess, but she clung tightly to theDoctor as it stepped forward. The plague doctor's leathersrustled, and a solitary grey hand jumped out beforemelting into the giant's flesh.

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   The body of the doctor fell silently to the floor.

   Martha bit her lip.

   Pinned to the wall behind the two grey figures, the oldanatomist Monro struggled. Grey disembodied handsholding his wrists and his ankles to the crumblingstonework, whilst another pair of hands clamped acrosshis mouth, leaving only his wide and staring eyesuncovered.

   Martha looked to the Doctor, but all his attention wason the grey monsters.

   Suddenly they moved.

   Every hand that made up the front of the two greycreatures opened its fingers wide, leaving nothing but aman-shaped mass of waggling tentacles. The two figurestook a step closer to each other, and the tips of thosefingers touched. They caressed, they explored and theyinterlocked. The hands were grasping tight to each othernow, and with one sudden pull they moved so closetogether that it was impossible to see where the one endedand the other began.

   The fingers closed in, and there was but a singlecreature there.

   'Doctor,' Martha said, moving in protectively.

   'It's all right,' the Doctor said.

   Martha didn't believe him.

   The creature shifted awkwardly from one foot to theother, as if testing its new legs. It was twice the size it hadbeen before, and was cramped uncomfortably into theroom. Its face was so subtly formed that every thought,every human expression passed so clearly across it;

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Martha couldn't believe that it was made purely from theflexing of cold fingers. Its eyes were two deep pits, anddeep within each one a single fingertip flicked this wayand that in mimicry of a pupil. Both eyes watched theDoctor cautiously.

   'Can you talk now?' the Doctor asked.

   The creature growled a little.

   'That's it,' the Doctor coaxed, as if it was a stumblingchild. 'Come on.'

   'I...' the creature said. 'I live.'

   'Yes, yes you do!' the Doctor said with a cry of triumph.He turned to Martha with a glint in his eye. 'You see that?Eh?'

   Martha gave him a cold look. 'Doctor,' she said.'Alexander's in there.'

   The Doctor looked at her for a moment, and realised:the hands had been attaching themselves to the deadbecause they were designed to coalesce around a singlebody. The damage that had been done had made eachindividual hand try to start the process independently.When he'd repaired them, he'd inadvertently caused somepoor soul to get trapped inside the creature as it formed.

   'Well,' the Doctor said. 'We can't have that. Listen...have you got a name?'

   The creature stood a little taller.

   'I am Onk Ndell Kith,' it said proudly. 'I am alive.'

   'Yes,' the Doctor agreed. 'Do you mind if I call youKith?'

   The creature looked as if it didn't have an opinion onthe matter.

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   'So,' the Doctor said airily. 'Kith. What now?'

   The creature drew itself up as much as the low ceilingwould allow. In practice, this simply meant that, as it roseup, it loomed further over the Doctor. He felt McAllistershift beside him, and glanced the glint of a metal dirkhidden in his hand. This wasn't the time for heroics; theDoctor quietly twisted the knife out of the Captain's handand dropped it into his pocket.

   'I am alive,' the monster repeated, more threateningnow. 'You cannot know what it has taken--'

   The Doctor took offence at that.

   'Oh I think I can!' he protested. 'Splitting yourconsciousness down into a series of self-replicatingorganic units? Each little one expendable on their own, solong as just one survives to clone itself again it'sbrilliant! As soon as there are enough of them to reachtheir critical mass: boom! There you are again, right asrain.'

   'You appreciate the technology,' Kith said.

   'I understand it,' the Doctor corrected.

   'I have achieved immortality,' Kith said grandly. Hischest swelled with pride. 'I will never feel the touch ofdeath.'

   'And believe me, I know how hard that can be,' theDoctor said sadly. 'But that isn't quite the full story, is it?'

   For a moment, Kith was silent.

   'When I came here, I crashed into the water,' heanswered eventually. 'My units fell into a hibernationcycle.'

   'Here?' McAllister asked. 'The town?'

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   'The planet,' Martha answered quietly.

   'This man discovered one of my units,' Kith said,pointing at where Monro was still pinned to the wall. Stillstaring wildly. 'He damaged it, attacking it with lightning-electricity. As it woke, it tried to use his DNA to effect apermanent repair. It did not work.'

   'Doctor?' Martha said out of the corner of her mouth.'Monro said that when he found it, the hand didn't looklike a hand. Not until after it got his blood on its nails...and then it looked exactly like his.'

   The Doctor nodded.

   'The hand was trying to repair the damage usingMonro's DNA,' he said, fascinated. It had been a good fewcenturies since he'd come across a modular organism. 'Itkept hold of the bits it needed from its original make-up,and replaced the rest with a clone of Monro's hand.'

   'Not just his hand...' Martha said.

   The Doctor's eyes widened.

   'You cloned a whole person?' the Doctor said. 'Just howmuch damage did...'

   Kith turned, letting one shoulder drop, and the Doctor'svoice trailed off. In the light of his lamp, he could see asection of the creature's skin where the fingers had notjoined together properly. Instead, they were swelling andturning a livid bruised colour, the nails digginguncomfortably into the swollen tissue. It didn't looknatural, and it didn't look healthy.

   'The imperfection remains,' Kith said softly. 'But now Iam alive, I can correct it.'

   'Correct it?' Martha asked, looking at the Doctor.

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   The Doctor didn't catch her eye.

   'He needs an injection of new genetic code,' he said,before looking up at the grey giant. 'You'd have to bechoosy this time though, wouldn't you? Sift through andmake sure you only took the right sections. Wouldn't wantto make the same mistake again. How many differentsamples would you need?'

   The massive creature blinked.

   'Eighty thousand,' it answered calmly.

   'And these samples,' Martha said, standing and staringthe creature in its strange eyes. 'They can just be any oldDNA? If it's going to save the world, I can face a haircut.'

   The Doctor shook his head.

   'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'Like I said, he'd have to siftthrough the code very carefully. The bad kind of sifting.'

   'You're talking about killing 80,000 people so that youdon't die? That's...'

   'Edinburgh,' the Doctor said coldly. 'All of it.'

   There was a cold silence.

   'Of course,' the Doctor said conversationally, 'thematerial would keep degrading. I'd give it another centuryor so, but I suppose there'd always be Glasgow then,wouldn't there?'

   'I am alive,' Kith said.

   The way he said it, the Doctor had no doubt that it wasall the justification Kith needed. It was alive, and itwanted to remain so. There was no way that he could let itcarry out its plan, no way in the world it wouldn't stopuntil it had sifted its way through the entire humangenome. Trouble was, modular organisms were

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depressingly hardy, so stopping Kith wasn't going to be aseasy as all that.

    'There is another way,' the Doctor said.

    The creature sensed treachery at that, and reared upagain. Its massive shoulders pushed up through the roof,sending wood, dust and rubble raining to the floor. Itshands flexed, not yet threatening anyone, but making itclear that, if it chose, there would be no mistake.

    'I live,' Kith growled. There was a touch of fear in hisvoice now. 'I cannot die.'

    The Doctor held both his hands up.

    'What if I could find you some genetic coding that wasspecial?' he asked. 'Very special: genetic code that wasconstantly adapting and regenerating so that it wouldn'tdegrade. Well, not for another few thousand years, at anyrate. You wouldn't need quite as much of that, would you?Say, about one person's worth?'

    'You?' Kith asked, an eyebrow raising.

    'As long as you let Alexander and anyone else you'vegot floating around in there go,' the Doctor said. 'Me.'

    'No!' Martha said, pulling at the Doctor's arm. 'Youcan't do that. Let me. Take me instead.'

    The Doctor shook his head sadly.

    'Time Lord DNA,' he said.

    Tears were starting to prick the corners of Martha'seyes. They glistened in the burning lamplight.

    'Look, there'll probably be something left of me whenKith's finished,' the Doctor said with careful cheerfulness.'I need you to do something for me. Martha?'

    'What?' she asked quietly.

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   'Take me to the TARDIS,' he said, looking imploringlyinto her eyes. 'Tell it you're activating the Laika Protocol.She'll tell you what to do next.'

   'A hologram?' Martha asked.

   'Yes, a...' the Doctor paused for a second.

   'What?'

   'Doesn't matter.'

   'Doctor?'

   'Nothing,' the Doctor said, waving his hand. Marthafixed him with a glare. 'Just... well, just don't take it thewrong way if it calls you Rose.'

   Martha's glare deepened and, for just a moment, theDoctor thought he needn't worry about Kith killing him.

   The Doctor gave Martha a hug, and whispered in herear. She nodded quietly and stepped back, her tearsdrying. He gave her a smile, and she tried to return it.Neither of them said goodbye. The Doctor gave a quicksalute to McAllister, which he returned sharply, and thenthe Doctor turned back to the grey giant that stood silentlywatching them.

   He held out his hand to the creature.

   'Well?' he said. 'Take my hand?'

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    It was a strange feeling, all in all, and one that the Doctor

    could probably have missed out on quite happily. Kith's

    flesh was cold to the touch, even for him, and, as soon as

    one hand had grasped the Doctor's, others began to detach

    themselves from the hand-man's body and crawl over him.

    The Doctor dropped his lamp, and it rolled to the corner of

    the room, throwing strange shadows across the walls until

    the hands closed over his eyes. The last thing he saw was

    Martha.

       She'd get over losing him. Eventually.

       As the hands closed over his flesh, he felt that strange

    disassociation that he always felt whenever he had other

    people over to stay in his head. The uncomfortable feeling

    of another intelligence barging you out of the way and

    slowly taking control of all the bits you never thought

    about being in control of until you weren't. He could feel

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Kith taking stock of his new possession or was itpossessee? and sifting through every bit of it, inch byinch.

   The Doctor could feel the hands around him starting todraw out little pieces of his biodata, turning them over andpulling them apart to see how they worked. To see whatthey could use. By the time they had finished, the littlecreatures would have taken the best of him: he would benothing, and they would be running around regeneratingto their little hearts' content. It was ironic. Here he was,the last of the Time Lords, but when he was dead therewould be practically thousands of them again. It wasalmost satisfying.

   He winced as the hands started to dig deep.

   Kith had reached his memories, and was carefullydredging through them all, even the ugly ones. There werethings there that even the Doctor didn't want to see again,but Kith was nothing if not thorough. He was going tofind the use of every last strand of DNA, RNA and anyother three-letter acronyms he might come across.

   Dying to save Edinburgh, the Doctor thought. It couldbe worse.

   Suddenly, the Doctor felt the hands that covered himtwitch as one, and something related to both light and painflashed across his brain. This was it, after all this time.Time to say goodbye. He felt all the heat leech from hisbody, and could smell a musty scent all around him. Therewas a light burning in the distance, and he tried to headfor it, but he remained stubbornly where he was.

   A moment passed.

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   'Doctor?' asked a voice, light and feminine.

   This was it.

   'Doctor?' echoed another voice. Deeper and gruffer.

   Was he hallucinating, or was that...

   The Doctor opened his eyes, and was nearly blinded byhis own lamp burning just inches away from his face. Ashe recoiled, the lamp was pulled away and three blurry redshapes resolved themselves into the faces of Martha,McAllister and Monro. The Doctor blinked up at them fora moment, and then turned his head. He was lying on hisback on the cold dusty floor. There was no sign of Kithanywhere about.

   'What happened?' he asked, his voice cracking.

   'Careful!' Martha warned, still the doctor, even withhim.

   He ignored her. He was, after all, the Doctor.

   'What happened?' he asked again, pulling himselfupright. 'Where's Kith?'

   'I don't know,' Martha said. She glanced to McAllister.'He was all over you it looked like he was going tosmother you and then... Then he just stopped and let yougo. He ran off back up the street and left you lying there.How do you feel?'

   'No no,' the Doctor complained. He realised that themusty smell was his own damp clothes; he really neededto find a dry cleaner. 'He wouldn't just go. His geneticstructure's unravelling he'll be dead inside a week. Heneeded my DNA to repair himself.'

   'And he doesn't have it?' Monro asked.

   The Doctor tried to make allowances for the fact that

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this was a good hundred years before the discovery of'nuclein'.

   'No,' he said. 'He doesn't.'

   'Then clearly he doesn't need it,' McAllister said.

   'But he does!' the Doctor protested. 'If he... unless...'

   Oh no.

   'Unless he found out about a better option!'

   The TARDIS!

   Monro rubbed his sore wrists to try and get the bloodpumping back into them, and only then looked to hisrescuers. They hadn't needed to go far to find which wayAlexander had gone: the walls of the houses nearest tothem were crumbling, stones and dust raining down onthem. He had clearly taken the shortest route back to theHigh Street, climbing straight up the sides of the buildingsand across the rooftops. The sound of the screaming hadreached them even down in the darkness of the Close.Monro looked to Martha and the stranger, and wonderedwhen his life had become this confusing nightmare.

   'We have to follow,' the guardsman said. 'If we lose it--'

   'It's heading for the Castle,' the stranger said grimly.

   'How do you know?'

   'Because that's where the TARDIS is,' he answered.

   Martha looked shocked.

   'The TARDIS?'

   'Which would you rather be?' the stranger asked her. 'ATime Lord stuck on a primitive world for the nextthousand years, or his living time ship with the wholeuniverse to explore?'

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   Monro hoped it wasn't a question he was going to beasked.

   'What are we going to do?' Martha asked.

   The stranger was reaching into his dripping coat. Hepulled out a short metal tube with a glowing end. Hisfingers danced across it for a moment, and the blue lightglowed a little deeper. It caught his face, lighting it frombelow and giving him a ghastly pallor. His face was full ofgrim anger, and Monro knew that there was nothing thathe wouldn't do to stop Alexander, himself, his son. He feltafraid, and wondered if this was how others had felt asthey'd seen the corpses walking.

   'I might be able to disrupt the electric field that holdsthe hands together,' the stranger was saying. 'I haven't gotthe power to do any permanent damage, but it will hurt.'

   Monro looked at him.

   'Hurt?' he said. 'Hurt Alexander?'

   'Alexander?' the stranger asked.

   Martha stepped forward and put a hand on thestranger's arm.

   'Alexander's his...' She trailed off. 'It's complicated. Buthe's inside that creature.'

   The stranger fixed Monro with steely eyes.

   'I'm so sorry,' he said.

   The screams grew louder, and they all looked up. Theywouldn't wait any longer: they would give chase, and theywould hurt Alexander. Monro remembered holding him asa babe, the way he had looked up at him knowingly andsqueezed his finger so tight. It was strange, because heknew that inside his head, Alexander was him. Perfectly

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him. But he had also been a child, and Monro had been hisfather. And the stranger would kill him if it would save his'TARDIS'.

   Monro jumped forward and snatched the tube from thestranger's hand.

   'Hey!' the stranger shouted, but Monro was alreadygone.

   He ran down the slope of the Close so fast that hefeared his feet might overtake him and he would end upfalling, but by some good grace he kept going. The tubefelt hot in its hand, perhaps angry that it had been takenfrom its master. He had to keep it from him, to protectAlexander. He had to find him, and protect him. Or joinhim.

   He glanced over his shoulder.

   Martha was giving chase.

   McAllister pulled the Doctor with him as they raced upthe rickety stairs to the High Street: they were bothstarting to tire, so perhaps it took them longer than itshould have done. It would be good to finally lie down atthe end of all this, even if it was to be in death. TheDoctor had struggled for a brief moment, wanting to jointhe girl in chasing down Monro, but McAllister wouldn'tallow it: the Doctor was perhaps the only one who knewexactly what this enemy was, and if he was going toprotect the Castle from it, McAllister could only do it withhis help.

   'You can stop it?' McAllister panted as they ran.

   'I don't know,' the Doctor admitted.

   They burst out of the Close and back onto the High

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Street, where people were either running as fast as theycould away from the Castle, or else lying insensible in thestreet. McAllister didn't want to guess how many of themmight never get up again. Even one would be too many.Looking up the street, more people were racing towardsthem in panic. Bouncing across the rooftops, scatteringtiles and stonework to the ground in a deadly shower, themassive grey shape of the creature moved.

    'Sir,' came a crisp voice across the chaos.

    McAllister spun. A young soldier in a dirty red coatsaluted.

    'William Marsden Howkins,' he announced. 'Reportingfor duty.'

    McAllister found himself smiling, just for a moment.

    'You evacuated the church?' he asked. 'Were there anylosses?'

    'None, sir,' Howkins answered. 'We regrouped at theTolbooth, awaiting orders.'

    McAllister nodded, and then turned his head sharply asa terrible thunder came from further down the road. Oneof the buildings that the creature was dancing acrosswasn't as strong as the others, and the whole roof hadgiven way as soon as its feet had landed. There was ashower of wood and stone and slate, and in the middle ofit was the creature, suddenly spinning without footing. Allof it landed with a loud crash onto the cobbles below.

    McAllister prayed that the street and the houses hadbeen empty.

    Then he looked to the Doctor.

    'Nothing I say will stop you,' he said to the Captain

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grimly. 'But your men would do better to get thetownsfolk to safety. You're not going to do it any harmwith muskets and cannons.'

   McAllister nodded briskly, and spun.

   'Gather the men, Howkins,' he barked. 'And none ofyour sloppiness: I want to see rank and file here before Icount to ten. Any soldier not here and carrying his musketwill be considered a coward and a deserter, am Iunderstood? Now MOVE!'

   McAllister spun back to the Doctor, but he had alreadygone.

   God help them all.

   Monro might have been an old man, but he could movewhen he had to: he kept ahead of Martha all the way downto the Loch and then along it, circling back to the Castle.It was only as he started the steep climb back up to thestone walls that Martha even managed to get near him.She didn't know what she was going to do when shecaught up. Make him see reason, somehow. Even thoughshe knew there was no way in the world her father wouldsee reason if somebody threatened to hurt her.

   Then she looked up, and saw there was no chance.

   Monro was still a good few yards ahead of her, and hewas shouting up at the Castle walls, throwing his handsout in supplication. But he wasn't appealing to God. Hewas calling to the massive creature that was clinging tothe side of the Castle, pulling itself up inch by inchwithout even a glance behind it. A couple of red-coatedsoldiers were standing on the walls, firing their musketsdown at the creature, but it was having no impact at all.

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Martha shouted at them to run, but they couldn't hear her.

   Martha recognised the spot as pretty close to wherethey had parked the TARDIS. Kith was going to make it tothe time machine before she even had a chance ofcatching Monro.

   The two soldiers disappeared briefly from the wall,before returning hefting a large pot between them.Martha's first thought was that they were going to pourboiling oil over Kith, but instead it was the pot itself thatwas thrown over the ramparts, striking the creature aglancing blow as it fell. Kith barely even noticed it but, asMartha ran, she saw four hands detach themselves fromhis body and scuttle at speed up the wall. She had to turnaway for a second to jump out of the way of the pot thatwas rolling down the hill towards her. When she lookedup again there was no sign of the hands or the soldiers.

   Kith just kept climbing.

   Monro reached the foot of the walls, and looked for amoment as if he might try to follow the creature up. Buthe was old, and he was tired, and Martha doubted that hehad ever been rock climbing in his life: instead, he jumpedup and down at the bottom of the wall and shouted up totry to attract the attention of his 'son'. Martha was closeenough now that she could hear what he was shouting.

   'Alexander!' Monro yelled, jumping around like theground was on fire. 'Please! Don't leave me here to die!Take me with you: make me like you! Anything. Justplease don't leave me!'

   Martha wouldn't have thought that there was anythingof Alexander left inside the creature, so she was surprised

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when it stopped climbing for a moment and looked downover its shoulder.

   'Please!' Monro pleaded, quietly.

   Kith held out a hand towards the anatomist, as if hewas going to reach down and pluck him up to safety.Monro held both his hands high, straining to reach, butKith was still too high up the wall for the two to touch.Instead, Kith's hand twitched and one of the little greydisembodied hands that made it up detached itself and fellto the ground. As Kith turned back and continued hisclimb up the wall, the disembodied hand fell onto Monroand started to throttle him.

   As Martha reached Monro, he was already turningblue. His eyes were wide and staring, panic already wellin control of him. He had his hands at his neck trying topull the grey hand away, but it had dug in so tightly thatits sharp nails were already sending a steady trickle ofblood down the old man's neck. Martha quickly lookedaround her on the ground. There!

   'Don't worry,' she told Monro.

   She scooped the sonic screwdriver up from whereMonro had dropped it and turned it on.

   The effect as she pointed it at the grey hand wasstartling: it starting to twitch and buck, losing control overits own fingers and eventually dropping from Monro'sneck. The anatomist sat on the floor, gasping for breathand clutching at his neck. The hand kept twitching on theground. As soon as Martha turned the sonic screwdriveraway from it, however, it righted itself, looking as if itmight attack again. The Doctor hadn't been kidding when

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he said that the screwdriver wouldn't do any permanentharm.

   Martha turned the screwdriver back on the hand and,whilst it twitched at her feet, she gave it a good sharpkick. It flew into the air and landed on the ground a goodfew feet away, bouncing down the hill until it landed witha plop in the waters of the Nor' Loch. Martha didn't evenwait to see if it started swimming out again. She gaveMonro a quick look to see he was still breathing, and thenstepped up to the Castle wall.

   She pointed the screwdriver up at Kith and turned it on.

   The effect was instant.

   The hands that had joined to make Kith's new body allbegan to twitch as the screwdriver pointed at them,shaking so much that they lost their hold on each otherand started raining down onto Martha. But as soon as theywere out of the line of fire, they regained their senses andstarted to attack. She was getting covered in the littlecreatures, but still she stood and struggled to point thewand upwards.

   The hands were vicious and furious, sharp little nailsclawing into every inch of exposed skin. She screwed hereyes shut and tried to shake them from her face, all thewhile keeping the screwdriver pointed up into the air. Shedidn't even know if she was still aiming at Kith. All sheknew was that the Doctor needed her to do this, and shewould do it. Even if it was the death of her.

   'Martha!' came a shout from above.

   She recognised the voice and opened her eyes.

   The Doctor was there, leaning over the Castle walls.

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How he'd managed to get to the Castle before them, shecouldn't imagine, but it was enough to make her spiritsrise, even as the murderous hands continued to rain downon her. In his hand, the Doctor was clutching the red,white and blue livery of the Union Flag: he must haveplucked if from a flagpole somewhere around the Castle.

   'Turn it off!' he shouted down. 'Turn it off!'

   Martha hesitated only for a moment before letting thesonic screwdriver die, and then she was struggling andshaking the grey hands from her. With the screwdriverdisabled, they didn't seem interested in attacking her anylonger. Most of the hands were climbing back up the wallto rejoin the rest of Kith's flesh.

   Kith resumed his climb up the Castle wall.

   'Doctor!' Martha shouted.

   But he had vanished from sight.

The Doctor stood and caught his breath while he waited.Kith would be there soon, and then he would find outwhether his plan was suicidal, or just dangerously foolish.The flag he held tugged in the breeze, and he looked upbriefly at the grey skies above. Standing around in wetclothes and a cold wind was starting to take the spring outof even his step. In his pocket, he fingered the end of thereel of wire. He'd only just had time to snatch it from theTARDIS and get back outside, the freezing wind makinghis fingers thick and numb as they tried to tie the knots.

   Two massive grey hands appeared over the side of thewall.

   Kith pulled himself over and onto the ramparts. Like

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the city it protected, the Castle was built on several layersand, whilst the other side of the wall was a sheer drop, onthe inside it was only a few feet down to the ground. StMargaret's Chapel was behind them, but the hand-manwasn't interested in that. He was interested in the largeblue box that was resting on the walkway, hidden fromprying eyes by the chapel's historic brickwork.

    Kith growled, and flexed his hand-made muscles. 'Nosonic devices,' the Doctor said, taking a step forward toshow that all he held was the Union Flag. 'Just talk. Allright?'

    Kith took a step closer, pulling himself up to his fullheight. He was nearly half as tall again as the Doctor and,if he wanted, those massive hands could probably snap theTime Lord in two without much trouble. The Doctorstepped forward again, keeping himself firmly in thehand-man's path to the TARDIS.

    'No more talk,' Kith said.

    The Doctor held up his hands.

    'You don't want to do this,' he said earnestly. 'She's thelast TARDIS in the whole universe. You have no ideawhat she might do to protect herself.'

    'You have no idea what I will do,' Kith countered.

    'You just want to live,' the Doctor said. 'I canunderstand that. Believe me.'

    'Then move, or I will kill you.'

    'Take me,' the Doctor said again. He was close enoughnow to reach out and touch Kith's cold grey skin, but hedidn't. He just stared imploringly into his empty eyes. 'Youcan use my DNA and repair yourself regenerate instead

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of just falling apart again. Nobody will try and stop you,I'll make sure of that. Just leave the TARDIS alone.'

    For just a moment, the Doctor thought he might agree.

    'You are remarkable,' Kith said. 'But she is immortal.'

    The Doctor saw a handful of redcoats rushing into thecourtyard below, each taking a position to cover Kith witha musket and waiting for McAllister to give the order.Martha and Monro were with them, further back, withMartha giving the older man an examination beforehelping him to rest against a wall. Kith saw them too, andpushed gruffly past the Doctor as if he wasn't there, as hecould have done at any time.

    'Hold on, Alexander,' the Doctor said as he fell to thefloor.

    He rolled quickly and was on his feet again.

    'Hold your fire!' he shouted to McAllister.

    He didn't think it would work, but somehow he seemedto have earned the Captain's trust. McAllister didn't givethe order, even as Kith paced steadily towards theTARDIS. The Doctor took the flag in his hands andtwisted it, the sticks that he had inserted into it lockingtogether into a taut frame. The TARDIS key bouncedagainst the kite's spine, tied there by a length of the thinmetal wire. Kith didn't even glance back, and the Doctorcouldn't wait: he mentally crossed his fingers andlaunched the kite into the air.

    The cold Edinburgh wind took it, and suddenly itsoared upwards into the clouds, spinning a couple of timesbefore disappearing into the grey. But it wasn't lost forever: that thin metal filament stretched down out of the

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sky, pulling tighter with every second that passed. But itwasn't the Doctor holding onto the kite-string. Kith tookanother step forward and felt something tug, and as helooked down at his own leg, he saw one of the hands thatmade it up was clinging tightly onto the metal string. Helooked up at the Doctor with a look of surprise on hisface.

    'Keep holding on, Alexander,' the Doctor said.

    The thing that most people didn't understand, theDoctor thought in the second he had, was that it didn'thave to be the middle of a raging storm. They thought thatthe kite had gone up and the lightning had struck it,running down the string to the ground. But that wasn't it.If it had been, anyone holding the string would have beenfried in an instant. No, the beauty of it was the key: thekey was tied to the kite and went up into the clouds, andup there it soaked up the electricity waiting in the stormclouds without it ever earthing down the string. Once thekite was pulled down, the electricity in the key could betransferred to a chemical battery, and used to prove thatlightning and earthly electricity were one and the same.

    Of course, Franklin probably wouldn't be very happywith the Doctor's version of it: he had tied the key directlyto the kite-string, and that was just plain dangerous. Forwhoever was holding the string. The TARDIS key did itswork, sucking the electricity out of the clouds and subtlychanging it before sending it racing to the ground below.There was a flash of sparks and an angry boom, and Kithlet out a monstrous roar. The Doctor stood for a moment,watching the electricity playing all over his body.

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   'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' he said. Then he turned andshouted: 'Martha! Use the screwdriver!'

   Martha ran forward from the courtyard below and heldthe sonic screwdriver aloft. The Doctor winced as itsultrasonic wail made his ears ache, but the effect was evenmore dramatic on Kith. He roared again, and each of theindividual hands that made up his body seemed to throwtheir fingers up and quiver. He staggered this way andthat, before hitting the low wall that separated him fromthe long drop below.

   The Doctor dashed forwards and grabbed at the handholding onto the kite-string. He winced as he touched it.Most of the electricity had already earthed into Kith, butenough still remained to be uncomfortable. He gave thehand a sharp tug and prayed that he'd tied the knot at thetop correctly. As he held tight to the hand, his fingersscreaming at the current flowing through them, the rest ofKith's body toppled in slow motion over the edge of theCastle walls. Kith fell away in a shower of unmoving greyhands, and Alexander Monro appeared from the mess tofall to the floor.

   The Doctor spared a quick look over the ramparts,seeing the smoking hands falling apart as they bounceddown into the murky waters of the Loch. Fromsomewhere behind him, there was a quiet tinkle and theDoctor spun around to see the TARDIS key lying on thestonework, the metal string still tightly wrapped around it.

   He'd tied the knot right after all.

                             ***Alexander could barely feel the cold stones at his back,

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could only feel the fire in his lungs and in his hand. Hehad vague, smoky memories of what had happened andwhy he was here, but as he tried to reach for them theyblew between his fingers and drifted away. All he couldfeel with any clarity was that electric dread in the pit ofhis stomach that told him he was dying.

   He blinked tears from his eyes, and saw a strangerstanding over him.

   'Hello,' he said. 'I'm the Doctor.'

   A doctor. So he was dying.

   'It isn't fair,' he croaked pitifully. 'I just needed moretime. There is so much left that I haven't done!'

   'I know,' the Doctor said gently. 'You're right: it isn'tfair. Life is too short, and there's always something elseyou missed. It isn't right, and it isn't fair. But it is how it is,and there's no escaping it. Life is precious, and it's short.Everything has its time.'

   As he said it, Alexander could feel his sadness.

   Then the Doctor's eyes turned to steel as he lookeddown.

   'But how can you enjoy the ride,' he said, sternly, 'ifyou're always worrying when it will be over?'

   Alexander felt his consciousness slipping away,perhaps for the last time. As it went, he considered theDoctor's words. What kind of a life had he had? He hadmade advancements, medical techniques that might liveon after him, but what else? A fear that had always beenwith him, sapping him and making him a frightened childagain in the night. A life spent trying to find a way, anyway, to prevent the inevitable, and only when it had

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finally found him did he realise that that was no life at all.

   'It's all right,' the Doctor was saying to somebody. 'It'sjust Alexander Monro. He's a lecturer at the university.Like his father before him.'

   'Is he dead?' asked a brisk soldier's voice.

   A pause then.

   'No,' the Doctor said softly. 'It's not his time.'

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    EDINBURGH, 1997

       It was a beautiful bright day, the sky a fantastic shade

    of blue that made Martha think of picnics and beer

    gardens. Instead, they were standing at the top of what the

    Doctor informed her was called Calton Hill, in the centre

    of a triangle that was made by the row of Greek looking

    columns, a Roman-looking monument and something that

    could easily have been a lighthouse. They were anything

    but alone up here: the Festival was in full swing, and the

    city was at its busiest. The Doctor had promised that he'd

    take her to see a good production of Measure for Measure

    later on, but for now he was just watching over the city

    with a huge grin on his face.

       'Isn't it marvellous?' he said with a grin.

       Martha looked out at the view. Most of what she could

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see hadn't even been built the last time she was here, theNew Town sprawling out away from the Old and racingdown towards the Firth of Forth. The houses looked grandand the streets wide, but Martha couldn't quite forget thenarrow rooms with the low ceilings that the people in theOld Town had been forced to live in, crammed on top ofeach other like makeshift tower blocks.

   'They're still there,' the Doctor said, doing his mind-reading act. 'The Closes: underneath the Royal Exchange.Well, the City Chambers now: they say the merchantsdidn't want to leave the streets, but I think they were moreworried another monster was going to come running out.'

   Martha gave a little shudder. If she spoke to anybodyhere about it, it would just be ancient history to them.

   But to her it was yesterday.

   'What about the Loch?' she asked. 'What happened tothat?'

   The Doctor's smile faltered.

   'The hands were dead before they hit the water,' he saidsadly. Guiltily. 'But they didn't want to take any chances:they had the Loch filled in. Later on, they built the PrincesStreet Gardens on top. See that big spiky tower overthere? That's the Scott Monument. That's where theGardens are.'

   Martha looked. She thought she could just see the beltof greenery at the foot of Castle Hill. Strange to think ofall those little hands buried under there. She rememberedwhat it had felt like when they'd all been raining down onher, scratching and choking her as she'd stood and held on.She looked around the hilltop: there were families there

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with little children, old couples sitting holding hands onthe benches; a woman about Martha's age with bottle-blonde hair jumped down from the base of the Greekcolumns and went over on her ankle, laughing at her ownclumsiness. Martha couldn't imagine what it would be likeif the hands came back.

    She remembered the walking dead, chasing thestagecoach through the Grassmarket. If it happened againnow, the locals would probably think it was a stunt forsome show or other, and tut to themselves about howmuch money the students had to waste.

    'There's one thing I don't understand,' Martha said. TheDoctor looked at her questioningly. 'The hands werebroken, yes? They thought the dead bodies were that Kiththing, and they were just joining the rest of him? But theyall still hung around together the zombies didn't justwander off on their own.'

    'The mechanism that made them combine had beendamaged,' the Doctor said, a little guiltily. Martha couldguess how it had been undamaged. 'But the psychicconnection that made them group together was still there.That's why any damage Monro did with his electricity tothe one hand managed to affect all the others under theLoch. They still wanted to find the other hands and jointogether. They just couldn't remember how.'

    'So why was that first one chasing Benjamin Franklin?'

    The Doctor nodded, looking back over the city.

    'Only one reason I can think of,' he admitted quietly.

    'He had a hand,' Martha said. Her heart beat a littleharder.

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   'Probably the last one on Earth. They must have givenit to him just before they packed him onto thatstagecoach,' the Doctor said, still looking off into thedistance. Was he remembering watching those hands fallinto the Loch? He couldn't feel sorry for them, surely? 'Allthe others would have been destroyed by the lightning.Franklin's should have been safely on the way to London.'

   'So he could clone himself?' Martha asked.

   'Franklin?' the Doctor shook his head. 'I doubt it. Theinitial damage was a mistake. I don't think anybody butMonro could recreate it, and even then it would probablyhave taken him a good couple of years experimenting.'

   'But Monro could do it?'

   The Doctor shrugged casually.

   'So shouldn't we be trying to get it back?' Marthasuggested.

   The Doctor spun around, his freshly laundered coatspinning with him. The smile was back on his face, thecheeky one that said he was going to suggest somethingparticularly naughty. The one that Martha couldn't helpbut return, despite all her good arguments to the contrary.

   'Martha Jones, your lack of knowledge about thehistory of medicine is truly shocking,' he mocked gently.'Haven't you ever studied Edinburgh University'scollection of Alexander Monros?'

   She had to admit that she hadn't.

   'Well, you can look it up next time we're near a library,'he said, stepping off with authority. 'In the meantime, whydon't we go and try one of the local delicacies?'

   'Haggis?' Martha wrinkled her nose.

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   The Doctor smiled.

   'Chips,' he said, waggling his eyebrows. 'With salt andsauce.'

   And they walked down Calton Hill arm in arm.

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EDINBURGH, 1771

It had been a good long while since Ben Franklin hadfound himself in Edinburgh. With his duties in Londonand the two-week coach ride, it was very easy to put offcoming to the city.

   A lot had changed since he had last been here, with thework to build Craig's 'New Town' well under way. Benwondered how the city would survive, splitting itself intwain like this, poor on one side and rich on the other. Allthose he had spoken to were optimistic, but then all thosehe had spoken to were also rich.

   The door opened. Ben looked round to see his host,David Hume, entering the room.

   'Your visitor from the University is here,' said Hume.

   Ben looked uncomfortably at the ebony box sitting onthe table beside him. Then he nodded to Hume.

   'Show him in, please,' he said gently. 'And one otherthing...'

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    'Don't worry, Ben,' Hume said. 'I'll leave you in peacefor your spy-making.'

    Ben nodded, and gently smiled as Hume left him aloneagain. The fire crackled nicely in the grate, and Benlooked at his cold ebony box and shivered.

    The door opened, and the gentleman came in.

    'Mr Franklin, thank you for coming,' he said withoutpreamble.

    'Your letter was insistent,' Ben said.

    'You have it?' the gentleman asked. 'My father waskeen to have your opinion on the... matter, given yourexpertise with electricity. But... well, my situation haschanged recently, and it is time to reclaim the property.You do have it?'

    Ben nodded to the box on the table.

    'Don't worry,' he said. 'I have no qualms about giving itaway. It is a strange specimen, and more than a littleunnerving.'

    The gentleman opened the box without comment, keento check what was inside. Even in the gloom of the fire,Franklin could see the disembodied hand scuttle a little inits tiny prison. The gentleman smiled at it, clearly glad tohave it back in his hands again.

    'I was sorry to hear about your father's death,' Franklinsaid politely.

    Alexander Monro smiled coldly.

    'He is never truly gone so long as I am in the world,' hesaid.

    And Ben Franklin shivered again.

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              AcknowledgementsMy surprised gratitude to Justin Richards and GaryRussell for thinking kindly of the guy who wrote thatone with the dolphin. Thanks also to Cathy Howkins,Nick Wallace, Mark Michalowski, Simon Forwardand Jonn Elledge for all their help and suggestionsthroughout the writing process. Thanks to Mum,Dad, Darren, the Quibblers, the Copley-Robertses,the Channel Twelve collective, the Howkinses,Blade and my least attentive fan for their support,and to the kind Wikipedians who have helped keepmy entry up to date.

  Thanks to John Kendell and Glyn, who hopefullywon't mind that I stole their names, and the kindpeople at St Cuthbert's, who hopefully won't mindthat I stole their church. Thanks also to 'Aggie' fromMary King's Close for telling me lots of interestingthings, including the bit about pantaloons.

 And lastly, with respect and gratitude to the friendsand family members who made up my supportingcast. In particular, thanks to the late Craig Hinton,who was in my thoughts whilst writing this and whowould have been the first to congratulate me on mygood fortune.

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         Also available from BBC Books

               featuring the Doctor and Rose

    as played by Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper:

               THE CLOCKWISE MAN

                 by Justin Richards

              THE MONSTERS INSIDE

                  by Stephen Cole

                WINNER TAKES ALL

                by Jacqueline Rayner

               THE DEVIANT STRAIN

                 by Justin Richards

                    ONLY HUMAN

                   by Gareth Roberts

           THE STEALERS OF DREAMS

                 by Steve Lyons

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      Also available from BBC Books

            featuring the Doctor and Rose

     as played by David Tennant and Billie Piper:

               THE STONE ROSE

               by Jacqueline Rayner

       THE FEAST OF THE DROWNED

              by Stephen Cole

       THE RESURRECTION CASKET

             by Justin Richards

    THE NIGHTMARE OF BLACK ISLAND

             by Mike Tucker

         THE ART OF DESTRUCTION

              by Stephen Cole

           THE PRICE OF PARADISE

                by Colin Brake

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       Also available from BBC Books

             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

             STING OF THE ZYGONS

                 by Stephen Cole

                 THE LAST DODO

                by Jacqueline Rayner

                WOODEN HEART

                 by Martin Day

               FOREVER AUTUMN

                 by Mark Morris

                 SICK BUILDING

                   by Paul Magrs

                  WETWORLD

               by Mark Michalowski

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                        Sick Building

                       by Paul Magrs

                  ISBN 978 1 84607 269 7

               UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

     Tiermann's World: a planet covered in wintry woods

         and roamed by sabre-toothed tigers and other

      savage beasts. The Doctor is here to warn Professor

     Tiermann, his wife and their son that a terrible danger

                         is on its way.

     The Tiermanns live in luxury, in a fantastic, futuristic,

       fully automated Dreamhome, under an impenetrable

         force shield. But that won't protect them from the

     Voracious Craw. A gigantic and extremely hungry alien

      creature is heading remorselessly towards their home.

          When it gets there everything will be devoured.

        Can they get away in time? With the force shield

      cracking up, and the Dreamhome itself deciding who

             should or should not leave, things are

                      looking desperate...

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                          Wetworld

                    by Mark Michalowski

                  ISBN 978 1 84607 271 0

               UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

      When the TARDIS makes a disastrous landing in the

     swamps of the planet Sunday, the Doctor has no choice

       but to abandon Martha and try to find help. But the

     tranquillity of Sunday's swamps is deceptive, and even

            the TARDIS can't protect Martha forever.

    The human pioneers of Sunday have their own dangers

    to face: homeless and alone, they're only just starting to

    realise that Sunday's wildlife isn't as harmless as it first

    seems. Why are the native otters behaving so strangely,

        and what is the creature in the swamps that is so

         interested in the humans, and the new arrivals?

       The Doctor and Martha must fight to ensure that

     human intelligence doesn't become the greatest danger

                            of all.

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                       Wishing Well

                   by Trevor Baxendale

                 ISBN 978 1 84607 348 9

              UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

      The old village well is just a curiosity something

          to attract tourists intrigued by stories of lost

        treasure, or visitors just making a wish. Unless

       something alien and terrifying could be lurking

      inside the well? Something utterly monstrous that

           causes nothing but death and destruction?

      But who knows the real truth about the well? Who

       wishes to unleash the hideous force it contains?

      What terrible consequences will follow the search

       for a legendary treasure hidden at the bottom?

        No one wants to believe the Doctor's warnings

        about the deadly horror lying in wait but soon

                    they'll wish they had...

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                      The Pirate Loop

                     by Simon Guerrier

                  ISBN 978 1 84607 347 2

               UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

       The Doctor's been everywhere and everywhen in

        the whole of the universe and seems to know all

         the answers. But ask him what happened to the

      Starship Brilliant and he hasn't the first idea. Did it

       fall into a sun or black hole? Was it shot down in

       the first moments of the galactic war? And what's

              this about a secret experimental drive?

       The Doctor is skittish. But if Martha is so keen to

        find out he'll land the TARDIS on the Brilliant, a

       few days before it vanishes. Then they can see for

                            themselves...

         Soon the Doctor learns the awful truth. And

        Martha learns that you need to be careful what

         you wish for. She certainly wasn't hoping for

        mayhem, death, and badger-faced space pirates.

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                       Peacemaker

                     by James Swallow

                 ISBN 978 1 84607 349 6

              UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

      The peace and quiet of a remote homestead in the

      1880s American West is shattered by the arrival of

       two shadowy outriders searching for 'the healer'.

       When the farmer refuses to help them, they raze

        the house to the ground using guns that shoot

             bolts of energy instead of bullets...

       In the town of Redwater, the Doctor and Martha

          learn of a snake-oil salesman whose patent

       medicines actually cure his patient. But when the

       Doctor and Martha investigate they discover the

           truth is stranger, and far more dangerous.

       Caught between the law of the gun and the deadly

       plans of intergalactic mercenaries, the Doctor and

        Martha are about to discover just how wild the

                       West can become...

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                  Martha in the Mirror

                    by Justin Richards

                 ISBN 978 1 84607 420 2

              UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

         Castle Extremis whoever holds it can control

       the provinces either side that have been at war for

        centuries. Now the castle is about to play host to

         the signing of a peace treaty. But as the Doctor

        and Martha find out, not everyone wants the war

                             to end.

          Who is the strange little girl who haunts the

       castle? What is the secret of the book the Doctor

         finds, its pages made from thin, brittle glass?

        Who is the hooded figure that watches from the

       shadows? And what is the secret of the legendary

                         Mortal Mirror?

      The Doctor and Martha don't have long to find the

      answers an army is on the march, and the castle

           will soon be under siege once more...

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             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                       Snow Globe 7

                       by Mike Tucker

                  ISBN 978 1 84607 421 9

               UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

        Earth, 2099. Global warming is devastating the

            climate. The polar ice caps are melting.

           In a desperate attempt at preservation, the

         governments of the world have removed vast

       sections of the Arctic and Antarctic and set them

       inside huge domes across the world. The Doctor

       and Martha arrive in SnowGlobe 7 in the Middle

        East, hoping for peace and relaxation. But they

       soon discover that it's not only ice and snow that

             has been preserved beneath the Dome.

        While Martha struggles to help with an infection

       sweeping through the Dome, the Doctor discovers

        an alien threat that has lain hidden since the last

            ice age. A threat that is starting to thaw.

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    Also available from BBC Books:

                 The Encyclopedia

                    by Gary Russell

                 ISBN 978 1 84607 291 8

                        £14.99

             Do you know what was playing

                 on Cassandra's iPod?

                  What was the name of

                 Shakespeare's lost play?

        Where were the Slitheen planning to hide

        a tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic

                     extrapolator?

     There's no need to search time and space it's all

       right here. From Autons to Anne Droid, from

       Cat Nuns to Canary Wharf, from Plasmavores

    to Pig Slaves... everything you need to know about

      everything you didn't know you needed to know

                     about Doctor Who.

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        Coming soon from BBC Books:

             Starships and Spacestations

                      by Justin Richards

                   ISBN 978 1 84607 423 3

                 £7.99 US $12.99/$15.99 CDN

      The Doctor has his TARDIS to get him from place to

       place and time to time, but the rest of the Universe

        relies on more conventional transport... From the

     British Space Programme of the late twentieth century

     to Earth's Empire in the far future, from the terrifying

    Dalek Fleet to deadly Cyber Ships, this book documents

      the many starships and spacestations that the Doctor

     and his companions have encountered on their travels.

     He has been held prisoner in space, escaped from the

       moon, witnessed the arrival of the Sycorax and the

     crash landing of a space pig... More than anyone else,

      the Doctor has seen the development of space travel

                  between countless worlds.

    This stunningly illustrated book tells the amazing story

    of Earth's ventures into space, examines the many alien

      fleets who have paid Earth a visit, and explores the

     other starships and spacestations that the Doctor has

               encountered on his many travels...

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