'I am Greyjan,' he said. 'I am here to reclaim my Presidency for the last doomed days of Gallifrey.' He seemed to be bored by the announcement, speaking slowly as though begrudging every word, as though the whole thing was just too much trouble. As though the whole thing was a tedious ceremony.

But the onlookers in Romana's entourage were astonished by the stranger's outrageous claim, this disrespect of a longdead leader of Gallifrey.

After which, the impostor swept past Romana, reached into the display cabinet, and took out the coronet. In seconds, it was on his head.

The nearby onlookers gasped. They knew he was inviting serious injury or death. Only the President had access to the Matrix.

The impostor turned to face her. He tilted his head in an odd, almost affectionate way. She recognised his jowly face, that lazy eye, from the histories. And the diadems around the coronet were sparkling in sequence as his mind accessed the Matrix seamlessly.

She felt Timon's hand on her shoulder, pressing down hard through the heavy material. He spoke what she was already coming to accept, despite everything.

'It is Greyjan.'

Romana rolled her eyes when she saw Timon going down on one knee. She was even less impressed when the rest of her entourage followed suit.

'My Lord Greyjan,' said Timon. 'Lord President, War Emperor of Kasterborous, Head of State, Most High Sovereign of the Five Houses. And Master of the Four Gallifrcys.'

'Master of the Four Gallifreys,' echoed the crowd.

'Oh come on!' rasped Romana. 'Are you serious?'

Greyjan studied her with his odd eyes, but there was something incurious about his manner.

'I reclaim my Presidency. My biorecord predates yours, my term of office has not been formally dissolved. Your access to the Codex and the Matrix is rescinded.'

'You died,' said Romana coldly.

Greyjan held out his hands, stretching out the material of his white robe so that he looked almost like an angel. 'I beg to differ.'

The yellow rain seemed to have stopped now. Greyjan brushed a small pile of flowers off his shoulders, then folded his hands together. He spoke in a clear voice: 'Guard Captain, it seems that the Lady Romana is the only person unconvinced of my right. Take her below, and keep her under house arrest.'

Romana shook off the guards who stepped forward to take her by the arms. 'I can walk perfectly well by myself,' she stated, her tone icy.

She unclipped her collar, and cast it aside with a contemptuous gesture. All through the Panopticon, all around Gallifrey, they would see her from any angle, she decided. The ceremonial gown slipped from her shoulders and into a crumpled heap on the ground behind her. ExPresident Romana held her head high as she made her own way to captivity.

Chapter Thirty.

House arrest

'Now you,' said Fitz, 'were the last person I expected to be sharing a cab with.' He was pleased to see that she was narked by his comment. He leaned back and made himself comfortable as the opentopped transport launched from the platform. 'Well, I suppose it gives me the ideal opportunity to say "I told you so".'

'I can see that you do indeed know the Doctor,' said Romana, and she tossed her head imperiously so that her dangly earrings waggled about. 'Some of his arrogant style has clearly rubbed off on to you.'

'All my own style, lady.'

'Lady Romana,' she snapped, then prodded the guard in the front seat. 'I demand to be transported in a different car from this rabble.'

The driver was studiously deaf to her repeated protest. Fitz laughed out loud at her spluttered indignation.

'Now listen. I risked a lot trying to warn you about old One Eye. And the company he keeps ...' He trailed off. 'Nice place you have here.' Fitz looked at her sideways from the corner of He trailed off. 'Nice place you have here.' Fitz looked at her sideways from the corner of his eye and pretended to be enjoying the view. 'Oh, sorry, I mean nice place you had here.'

Romana swivelled in her seat and stared Fitz boldly in the ear. 'Very well, Mr ...?'

'Fitz.'

'Mr Fitz -'

'Just Fitz.'

He could see her mentally counting to ten. Then she said, 'Very well, Fitz. You have my undivided attention. You told me so, and I didn't listen. So why don't you tell me about Greyjan now?'

Fitz stretched his left arm out across the rear of the back seat, behind Romana, as he used to when he took a black cab across town with his girlfriend Mary. He waved his free hand airily, encompassing the entire huge domed structure through which they were being driven. 'What is this place?'

'The Panopticon,' replied Romana, evidently making an effort not to shrink from his outstretched arm.

'Ah!' He stared at her, amazed. 'I've heard of that.'

'Bully for you.'

'I thought it had six sides.'

Romana shook her pretty head. 'No, it's only ever had five. With a statue at each entrance, one for each of the funding colleges.' She sarcastically made a great show of pointing things out to Fitz, as though he was on a school trip: 'Rassilon, Omega, Pandak, Apeiron and the Other.'

'You've forgotten the last one?'

'No, he was known as "the Other", 'Romana observed testily. 'Now, do I get any answers to my questions?'

Fitz allowed himself to look at her properly for the first time. She didn't look away, which impressed him. 'Nothing to tell,' he said in a voice that could be overheard by the driver. But immediately after he mouthed the words, 'Later. More private.'

It actually took them a good forty minutes before they were finally escorted to their place of detention. Romana had pointed out that, even if she was under house arrest, she had privileges as a former President. Those privileges included being able to choose her house guests. And her choice was Mr Fitz Kreiner, an associate of another former President of Gallifrey who, in the melee at the ceremony, had not actually been formally charged with any crime.

Fitz admired her calm demeanour, her haughty treatment of the Chancellery Guard, even in her current reduced circumstances.

He also admired her fine lodgings, which were more sumptuous than any hotel he'd ever stayed in. 'If this is house arrest,' he announced, 'lock me up and throw away the key.'

Romana draped herself decorously over a piece of low furniture. 'A temporary arrangement, I do trust, Mr Kreiner. Fitz.' She patted the chaise longue, inviting him to sit beside her.

'You'd better tell me about Greyjan, hadn't you?'

Fitz explained about the events in MidTown, how he had appeared as part of the seance, and how subsequently he had become involved in the bizarre plan to resurrect Greyjan. He also told her that he had accompanied Mother Tarra, Father Kreiner and Keilen on their journey into the Capitol, only to escape from their group in an attempt to warn the High Council before Greyjan reappeared at the ceremony.

Romana eyed him warily. 'You're telling me that Greyjan is a Faction construct.'

Fitz nodded.

'And you're also saying that the Doctor may be a Faction agent.'

Another nod.

'And you are a travelling companion of the Doctor's.'

Another nod. Then, 'Oh, be reasonable!'

She studied her nails. 'You can imagine how it looks. I could really do with more proof of this.'

Fitz could tell she was just testing him. 'And I could really do with a pint of Watney's Red Barrel,' he snarled, 'but I have to make do with what I've got. Look, it's Tarra Mother Tarra she's in charge. She even brought this ... Father Kreiner back from wherever the hell he was.'

'Mmm. You know that Tarra is actually the daughter of Kandarl, a former High Councillor.'

'Well tell him she's a very naughty girl,' snapped Fitz. 'Unless your exCouncillor is a very, very old man, she is not his daughter.'

'Kandarl is dead,' said Romana dismissively. 'But you're right: I think we must assume that the real Tarra is also dead. But this Faction woman now has access to everything that Tarra did. She has access to college research systems, for example. And lodgings in the Capitol.'

She heaved the deepest sigh. 'With Greyjan in charge now, who knows what the Faction will do. I mean, they could unpick every moment in Time Lord history since his Presidency last ended.'

Fitz met Romana's eye. "That would be impossible.'

'That would be the whole point,' she replied.

Chapter Thirtyone.

The promise of impossibility

The boy, Ressadriand, was getting on the Doctor's nerves. He was already irritated that the bone spiders were still following them around the Edifice like puppies chasing their mother.

And as they walked through the warped corridors of the Edifice, Ressadriand's incessant chatterings and imperious demands were wearing the Doctor down. It was all 'I insist on knowing' and 'I demand to be told' and 'What you must tell me'. He put up with this for what seemed like an hour though it could have been longer the effects of the Edifice made it difficult to judge linear time. But after quite a period of politely ignoring him, the Doctor finally snapped.

'For goodness' sake! Will you never stop your inane prattling?'

Ressadriand stared at him, obviously not used to being addressed in this forthright manner.

'How dare you?' he began. 'What right have you to -'

The Doctor rounded on him, staring him into sudden silence. Around them the chill wind of the Edifice whistled its familiar, mournful lament. 'I think I have every right to feel a bit miffed. I'm trying to concentrate, and all you can do is interrupt me with your obtuse demands. If it wasn't for you, you bluff young idiot, I wouldn't be stranded here with Compassion gallivanting off who knows where. To lose one TARDIS might be considered an accident, but to lose two well that smacks of carelessness.'

'I don't know what you mean,' mumbled Ressadriand, crumpling.

The Doctor decided he could feel little sympathy for him. He stalked off down another corridor, knowing that the boy would follow. The clatter of bone on bone told him that the spiders were following too, hesitating just out of sight. 'What are you doing here, Ressadriand?'

Ressadriand explained haltingly about the seance, and how Kellen and Tana had usurped his role. Initially, the Doctor merely rolled his eyes in resignation as the youngster piled on the selfpity about how his simple plan to impress his college friends, and the women in particular, had gone wrong. But as he realised what Ressadriand had actually been orchestrating, his exasperation started to turn into something else, a darker emotion that he hardly recognised in himself, a kind of cold anger.

'You stupid, stupid fools. What made you think you could dabble in the occult rituals of Faction Paradox? Didn't you learn anything at your Academy?'

'It was supposed to be harmless fun,' protested Ressadriand, still with a spark of indignation.

'I knew things were getting out of hand when Tarra summoned the loa and materialised the monkey boy's future self.'

The Doctor stopped abruptly. 'Monkey boy?'

Ressadriand nodded. "The human.' He studied the Doctor's astonished reaction. 'Fitz Kreiner.'

'And you summoned up his future on this Visualiser? This was no student prank, was it, Ressadriand? This was something more.'

Ressadriand looked more miserable than ever. 'It wasn't my idea of a joke,' he moaned. 'It was Kellen's idea to resurrect Greyjan with the biodata extract. Kellen and Tarra's idea to -'

'What?' The Doctor was appalled. 'What in the world possessed you to -' He broke off at this thought.

Stared at Ressadriand.

'Possessed you?' He walked around the dumfounded youngster, circling him like a prowling animal closing in on its prey. 'This Tarra was no student, was she, Ressadriand? What junior academician would have access to the ancient rites of Faction Paradox? What student could understand the forgotten technology of the Remote's remembrance tanks, hm? First I thought you were a prattling, interfering nuisance, Ressadriand. But what you've done is far more dangerous than that.' He stopped pacing, and closed his eyes. 'Perhaps I should have suspected this all along ...'

He allowed his mind to drift away, slowly feeling his body disconnect from its immediate location.

'No!' shouted Ressadriand. 'Where are you going? You can't -'

The Doctor opened his eyes again. Ressadriand was standing perfectly still, his mouth open in midprotest, his eyes wide with indignation but unblinking. Frozen in the moment.

'Very good,' said an ancient, splintered voice from the depths of the nearest corridor. 'You're getting the hang of this, Doctor. You make a fine agent.'

The Doctor stepped into the corridor, and could make out the wizened figure of Uncle Kristeva. To reach him, he had to pass between the legs of two bone spiders which stood like menacing statues, unmoving but ominous, drops of blood glistening on their slick bellies.

Kristeva cackled at the Doctor's apprehension. 'You're certainly in control of them now, Doctor. No need to fear them, they'll do your bidding. Intuitive control of bone constructs, another Faction talent that you have honed.'

The Doctor tried not to show his revulsion. Or was it that he just didn't want to accept that Kristeva might be right? 'I summoned you to ask about these student rituals on Gallifrey.'

'Summoned me,' agreed Kristeva, revealing his rictus grin. 'Another Faction talent.'

'Yes yes yes,' agreed the Doctor hastily, 'well done me. Now tell me about these student rituals.'

Kristeva pursed his cracked old lips. 'You know it already, don't you, Doctor? Our Faction agent, Mother Tarra, steered these enthusiastic amateurs in the Rituals of Paradox.

Channelled their raw energy, focused their halfbeliefs and turned it to our use.'