'Then you are saying we are merely the descendants of travellers from some mundane world?' Fostel asked.

'Well... yes. What's wrong with that?'

'It is blasphemy,' Zeckler said. 'Sarath was populated directly by beings created in the Maker's own lands: the Blessed Fields, Edran, Matherarth. Sarath was created in their image.'

'Edran?' she repeated. 'No, don't you see what's happened? The words have become distorted over the years.

Edran is Eden... and Matherarth might mean Mother Earth.

That's how people sometimes referred to it...' She trailed off as she saw the expressions on their faces.

'We cannot let these lies spread, my lord,' said Zeckler. 'If the people believe we are not the chosen ones, but are merely one mundane race among millions, the Church will fall.

Especially with the Ship about to embark upon the very kind of voyage this alien claims our ancestors made.'

Fostel nodded slowly. 'I agree. Besides, she has condemned herself as a blasphemous unbeliever.'

'I've told you the truth!' Susan shouted, but they ignored her.

'Put her to the ancient test, my lord,' said Zeckler, his voice suddenly sounding hungry. 'We have the means here.

Let the Maker decide her fate.'

Dare they? Fostel wondered. Then chided himself for the doubting thought. The years had made him soft. If he and Zeckler truly believed in the Maker they dared anything. Now was the time to make a stand.

'Let it be so,' he said.

The Believer stationed inside the rear entrance of the former health club paced back and forth stoically. The draughty corridor was a gloomy place to stand guard. He would have liked to witness the trial of the alien woman for himself, but his duty had been personally a.s.signed by Archdeacon Zeckler.

The guard held the Maker's talisman he wore about his neck, while silently reciting the precepts of obedience, and consoled himself with the knowledge that he served the holy purpose even in this humble station.

There was a scratching from the other side of the door that opened on to the backyard. There was that cat again.

The first time he had heard it he thought it was a rat, but then he had made out the husky purring. There were many such creatures roaming about Arkhaven; survivors of wartime raids in which their owners had died.

Now the cat was getting impatient and yowling indignantly. It began scratching more fiercely at the door.

Why didn't it go away? Maybe it recalled being fed here at some time in the past. If it didn't stop they would be able to hear it inside. It might disturb the bishop.

Hastily he drew back the bolts, pulled the door open and peered out into the yard, swinging his boot back in preparation for a kick.

'Get out of here, you little...'

There was no cat.

He never saw the figure flattened beside the door, or the hand that chopped down with trained precision on the back of his neck.

They piled silently into the corridor, dragging the limp form of the unconscious guard back in with them. Six dark-clothed figures with their faces half-masked by bulky night-sight goggles. Ian, the last inside, closed the door on the deceptive lights of the city. Through his goggles he could still see the interior clearly, as though it was lit by a grainy-green radiance.

Lant and his two colleagues from the Watch were in the lead, each carrying drawn hand weapons. They were followed by the Doctor and Nyra Shardri, who was clutching a medical bag. Ian brought up the rear armed with an official issue watchman's baton. They did not exchange a word. Plans of the building drawn from the city archives had already indicated the most likely places where Susan might be held.

They padded along to their first objective: a ground floor storeroom. Lant tested the door, found it unlocked and silently swung it open. He checked inside then closed it again and shook his head. They continued on. Ten paces down the corridor, Nyra suddenly held up her hand.

'Listen,' she hissed.

They strained their ears and heard the murmur of distant voices.

They followed the sounds through a door into a deserted changing room lined with dusty metal lockers. At the other end of the room reflected light shone through an open archway. They padded over to it, the voices getting louder all the time. The archway was the inner one of an offset pair connected by a short pa.s.sage. Beyond the second Ian could just see a narrow strip of tiled floor.

'...judgement of the Supreme Maker be carried out,' they heard an echoing voice intoning solemnly. It sounded like Fostel's. 'We consign you to His mercy...'

Lant dropped to his hands and knees, wriggled forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed a glance into the room beyond. Ian saw him start momentarily as though in surprise. Then he sprang to his feet and darted through the archway, the rest of them following at his heels.

The chamber beyond enclosed a medium-sized swimming pool, stained and grimy about the edges and filled with slightly murky water. Stacks of plastic moulded chairs and small tables were scattered about the poolside, as though the s.p.a.ce was being used for temporary storage. On the other side of the pool stood Bishop Fostel, dressed in the same ornate robes and chains of office that Ian and the Doctor had seen him wearing on the broadcast the day they had arrived. Beside him was a man in only slightly less magnificent dress.

Forming a semicircle about them were half a dozen figures in hooded white robes. What looked like a small diving board had been extended from the poolside out over the water.

Balanced on the end of it, gagged and bound hand and foot, was Susan.

'I am Captain Lant of the City Watch,' Lant called out. 'I hereby arrest you on charges of kidnapping and false imprisonment.'

His gun was pointing directly at Fostel. On either side of him his grim-faced fellow watchmen covered the rest of the group.

For a moment the strange tableau opposite remained frozen in surprise. Susan twisted her head around to face them, her wide eyes showing starkly against her pale face, and she tried to say something that was m.u.f.fled by her gag. Ian, the Doctor and Nyra started around the pool towards her.

'You would not dare pull that trigger, Captain,' Fostel said, recovering his composure.

'Don't count on it,' Lant said coldly.

'This is the Maker's will,' Fostel replied simply. 'It cannot be denied.'

As they rounded the end of the pool Ian saw that a cord ran from Fostel's hand down to the supports of the board on which Susan lay.

'He's holding something!' he shouted to Lant. 'Tell him to...'

The double doors on the far side of the room burst open and two men appeared holding handguns.

The watchmen fired by reflex, dropping one of the intruders where he stood. But the distraction allowed the ceremonial party to scatter behind the stacked chairs, the acolytes drawing guns from the folds of their robes. As Fostel threw himself to one side he tugged the cord.

The board flipped upwards and Susan dropped into the water with a small splash and vanished beneath the surface.

For an instant Ian stood frozen in horror. Than he flung his baton aside and made to dive in after her.

A fusillade of shots from the white-robes acolytes kicked spray up into his face and chips flew from the tiled edging of the pool. A flying fragment stung his cheek, driving him back to the shelter of a pile of tables beside the Doctor and Nyra.

The three watchmen were also taking cover. Gunfire criss-crossed the pool. But Fostel's side had more weapons...

enough to keep all Susan's rescuers pinned down until it was too late.

'Lant!' Ian shouted. 'Give me some cover!'

But Lant had evidently already a.s.sessed the situation.

'Take out the lights!' he ordered.

The watchmen's guns lifted and burred in rapid-fire mode.

The luminescent panels in the ceiling shattered. Wiring sparked and crackled. In a few seconds the pool room was plunged into darkness, except for the faint city glow filtering through a row of high fanlights. Fostel's unprepared followers were left shooting blind. Ian sprinted forward and dived headfirst into the pool.

He swam rapidly down through the murky water until he touched the bottom, then began working his way along, swinging his arms out wide as he tried to find Susan.

The water was like a dark opalescent mist around him. The sounds of battle above took on a m.u.f.fled tinny quality. He heard a distant crash and rattle, then the louder splash and rush of bubbles as something else entered the water. The seals around his goggles, which were not designed to be waterproof, were leaking. In a few seconds he would be effectively blind.

Then his hand brushed something. He clasped a pair of bound ankles that jerked feebly at his touch. In a second he had a grip around Susan's waist and kicked upwards.

They broke surface in the middle of the pool, stray bullets smacking the water about them. He lifted Susan's chin up, felt for the broad strip of tape covering her mouth and ripped it free, leaving her coughing and gasping for breath. Ian was disorientated, trying to see through goggles half-full of water while supporting Susan. Then his ears cleared and he heard the Doctor's voice calling out urgently: 'Over here, Chesterton, this way!'

He struck out towards the sound and in a few seconds touched the side of the pool where the Doctor and Nyra were kneeling. Ian boosted Susan up into their arms then began to lift himself out of the water. There was a crack of gunfire.

Tiles exploded into fragments at Ian's side and he felt the rush of a bullet past his forehead. At the same moment Susan jerked violently and gave a cry of pain.

The Doctor and Nyra slithered away from the pool edge as Ian heaved himself out of the water, dragging Susan with them. There was a dark stain spreading rapidly down the left side of her jumper.

'Let's get out of here!' Lant shouted from further round the pool.

As the Doctor was tearing the tape from Susan's wrists and ankles, Nyra pulled up the girl's jumper and sprayed foam from a small aerosol applicator over the wound. In seconds the foam set into a rubber-like pad.

'All right,' Nyra said.

Ian gathered Susan in his arms and they stumbled towards the archway through which they had entered, while the watchmen kept up a barrage of covering fire. They retraced their steps through the changing room and down the corridor to the back entrance. Lant had his pocket phone out.

'Come and get us,' he ordered.

As they ran out into the backyard a large jeep tore down the narrow service road and screeched to a halt, its doors swinging open to receive them. Carefully lifting Susan on to the back seat they scrambled in after her.

'City Hospital as fast as you can!' Lant directed.

The engine hummed with power and they sped off into the night.

When the last echoes had died away and he was certain the watchmen had departed, Archdeacon Zeckler shouted loudly from behind his sheltering stack of chairs: 'Lights! We must have light.'

Somebody felt their way along the wall until they reached the door to the corridor and flung it open. A fan of light shone in and sparkled across the surface of the pool. Zeckler cautiously stood up and looked about him, still dazed by the sudden turn of events. A guard and two of the acolytes were lying motionless on the ground. A third was resting against the wall clutching his bloodstained leg.

'The bishop? Where's the bishop?' Zeckler demanded.

Did they take him? Bring torches!'

There was no sign of Fostel around the poolside or in the adjoining rooms. Several minutes pa.s.sed before one of the acolytes thought to shine his torch into the pool itself.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Skin Deep The jeep drew up outside the City Hospital as the sky began to turn grey with pre-dawn light. A trolley and two attendants were already waiting for them, alerted by a radio call from Nyra.

Susan was transferred on to the trolley and taken through the accident unit entrance. Nyra had given her a localised painkilling injection during the journey and she had recovered sufficiently to relate her experiences remarkably calmly as they went inside. Ian smiled in relief as well as wonderment at her const.i.tution.

'It was like a medieval trial by water,' she explained, clutching her grandfather's hand as she was wheeled along.

'According to the bishop if I sank and drowned his Supreme Maker had granted me the absolution of a natural death. If I somehow managed to float I was obviously under the influence of an evil force and would have to be disposed of in some other way. When I went under I just tried to hold my breath as long as I could... and hope.' She looked at Ian.

'Thank you.'

'Yes, Chesterton,' the Doctor said gruffly. 'Thank you once again.'

'Well, if everything's under control here, I'll just report in to the mayor,' Lant said, taking out his pocket phone and stepping back outside.

Nyra Shardri, who had been conferring in low tones with one of the attendants, returned to them.

'I'm afraid we've had a minor system breakdown. There are no treatment tanks available right now. It's nothing to worry about, but Susan will have to wait on the support trolley until one is ready.'

Ian gestured at the empty room with its array of gleaming equipment.' What's all this for then? Can't you use it? You said her wound wasn't that serious.'

Nyra looked slightly uncomfortable. 'I could, in an emergency, but we usually leave surgery to the autosystems nowadays.'

'I doubt if you'll be able to maintain this level of automation on Mirath,' the Doctor said. 'You must learn to reduce your dependency on machines at some point.'

Ian suspected the Doctor was testing Nyra. The clinician looked at them uncertainly for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.

'You're quite right. I'm perfectly capable of this sort of work... if that's all right by you?' she asked Susan.

Susan smiled rea.s.suringly. 'I'm sure you'll do fine.'

Nyra called over an attendant to a.s.sist her.

In a minute Susan was lying on her side on a treatment table, covered by a silvery blanket with a window over the wound. A sterile field enveloped the operating area so there was no need for masks or gowns. The Doctor and Ian were able to watch from dose by.