The Doctor lifted himself up and smashed his chair down against the cellar floor. It was metal, but it was quite old. The legs buckled, so much so that he couldn't rest the chair back on the ground. Instead, he smashed it down again.

One leg broke off and another went without much more effort. With his legs free, it was the work of moments to smash the back of the chair against the wall.

He quickly found a hook on the wall, and prised the manacles apart enough to wriggle his hands out.

Free.

He stood for a moment, catching his breath and letting the blood reach his hands and feet. He'd not stood up for almost a day, and it was almost dizzying.

No time to hang around, though.

As he hurried to the door his eyes fell on the pile of books. He picked up the top one. Day of Wrath Day of Wrath, by Marnal, a paperback published a quarter of a century ago. He flicked through the first couple of pages, then put it to one side and rummaged through the other books. All by the same author, all on the same theme. A record of Gallifrey, in almost obsessive detail. One of the books, it appeared, had no story as such; it was more like a novel-length summary of a ceremony that was conducted only once every century.

It had been published in 1938 and was ill.u.s.trated by Mervyn Peake. Another was an obsessive list of the annual variations of his home planet's climate.

Gallifrey, it seemed, had more than two dozen seasons. Not that any of the Time Lords ever ventured outside the sealed domes that covered their cities to experience the weather directly they preferred the safety of books on the subject. The problem, the Doctor concluded, for the writer of adventure fiction set on Gallifrey was that nothing much ever happened there.

His coat was in one corner. He put it back on, and checked to see if anything was missing. Only the TARDIS key. He slipped three of the thinner books into his pockets.

The Doctor went upstairs, keeping as quiet as he could. He found himself in the kitchen. Rachel's book bag was on the counter. It was dark outside. He edged out into the hallway, standing perfectly still when he thought he heard something, but it was just a car going along the road outside. He could make his escape, find Fitz and Trix, come back for the TARDIS.

It felt wrong to run.

He knew he needed Marnal's help. Together, the two of them could come up with answers. More than that. . . actions had consequences. The Doctor had to face up to that. If you can't do the time, don't be a Time Lord.

However, this had to be done on equal terms. This was Marnal's turf, he had an a.s.sistant and he had a gun. The Doctor had to find a way to even up the odds a little. He pressed forward again, but stubbed his toe on a small table.

118.

He bit his lip, tried to steady the table, winced as the telephone directory fell on to the carpet with a thud that seemed to echo around the house.

The Doctor hesitated, and looked down.

It almost felt like cheating.

The crowd had chuckled a couple of times at the first one, they'd loved the Beatles song, but he thought it needed something a bit faster so he'd finished off with that Dramarama number he liked. He'd given Emma and her friend something to live up to. One of the university students there had said he was 'well weapon', which was apparently a good thing.

When he was younger, Fitz had dreamt of playing big concerts to thousands of screaming women, dozens of whom even just statistically, he felt would l.u.s.t after him. There comes a point, and it's when you're still ridiculously young, when you realise you're too old to be a pop star. He'd comfortably pa.s.sed that point long before he'd even met the Doctor, whatever he'd kept telling himself. But there he had been tonight, in a pub where a couple of dozen honest people had really appreciated what he'd done. And, after some of them had bought him a beer, Fitz was now on his way home with his beautiful blonde girlfriend on his arm and tomorrow morning. . . Well, he was living in the future now. Ever morning would be tomorrow morning.

He'd been paid 10 and his singing tonight wouldn't make him famous, but Fitz didn't think he'd ever been happier, at any point in his life.

Trix was hugging him as they walked up to the hotel.

There was a large man standing just in front of the entrance. He wore a dark suit and was holding up his ID. There were a couple of uniformed officers behind him.

'Patricia Joanne Pullman?' he asked.

'Yes, I Fitz, run!'

She turned to get away, but there was already another uniform waiting for her. He grabbed her shoulder.

'Patricia Joanne Pullman,' this new arrival was saying, 'I'm arresting you for the murder of Anthony Charles Macmillan. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken '

Fitz punched the policeman very hard in the face, and stepped over him.

'Come on!' he shouted.

Trix had already caught up with him. Together they hurled themselves round the side of the building. There was a tall fence in front of them, but a side door into the hotel to the left. They took it.

'Kitchen inspectors!' Fitz yelled at the chef who came hurrying towards them.

119.

They swerved both ways round him, and were out of the swing doors and into the restaurant. They made their way to the fire exit at the rear of the hotel. A minute later they were over a small brick wall, through an alleyway and on a main road.

Trix was pointing up the street at a bus. It was just pulling away.

They caught it up, persuaded the driver to stop and jumped aboard.

'Two, please, keep the change,' Trix said, handing the driver a 50 note.

They took their seats at the back.

'I've got a question,' Fitz said.

Trix bit her lip.

'All that running away from monsters kept us fit, didn't it?' he asked.

Trix was barely out of breath. 'Er, yeah. Have I told you I love you?'

'No, but I kinda inferred it,' he grinned. 'Now what?'

'Have you got your pa.s.sport with you?'

'Yes, I think so.' Fitz checked his pocket and confirmed that he had.

'Then how do you fancy a trip to New York?'

The Doctor peeked through the tiny garage window, but the curtain was drawn. The only way in was through the wooden doors at the front. He listened carefully, checked his watch, then made his way inside. The TARDIS took up one corner of the garage. The gla.s.s bottle contraption sat in the middle of the floor. Marnal and Rachel were nowhere to be seen.

With occasional glances towards the TARDIS, the Doctor set about examining the bottle. It was an ingenious piece of work, he couldn't deny that, ridiculously easy to duplicate. It didn't even require specialist knowledge. He was sure Fitz and Trix could cobble up one if they just knew The TARDIS door opened.

The Doctor tried to duck out of sight, before realising that there was nowhere to duck.

From Marnal's expression it was clear that the Doctor was the last thing he was expecting to see in here.

The Doctor smiled. 'Good evening.'

Marnal went for his stun gun, so the Doctor went for Marnal. He grabbed at the gun, pulled it out of Marnal's hand, then batted it to the far corner of the garage. By the time he had finished that. Rachel had emerged from the TARDIS.

'Or,' the Doctor said, 'we could talk.'

Marnal held back, looking as though he might lash out.

Rachel, though, looked more conciliatory. 'Talk about what?' she asked.

'You've seen the back wall?' the Doctor said.

Rachel nodded.

120.

'Do you know what it means, Marnal?' he asked.

Marnal shook his head. 'You do?'

'I don't. But I know it's important we ask the right questions. Together, we should be able to answer them.'

'He's right.'

'Be quiet, Rachel. You're a criminal, Doctor.'

'I'm not. I've been accused of a terrible crime, but I've had no chance to offer a defence. So, I propose a truce. If I've done wrong, I deserve punishment.'

Rachel smiled encouragingly. 'That's good, isn't it, Marnal?'

Marnal was still suspicious. 'What are the terms of this truce?'

'We investigate what happened, together. I agree to stay in your custody I don't leave the grounds of your house, but in return there's no tying up or waving guns. You will have my undivided attention until we've answered the outstanding questions,' the Doctor promised. 'With the investigation concluded, if I am found to have done anything wrong, I will submit myself to you for the appropriate punishment under the law of the Time Lords. I picked up a few of your books from the library to help me understand what that might be.'

He turned round, to show the book bag on his shoulder.

'We've established your hand in the destruction of Gallifrey, Doctor. What other questions could possibly be relevant?'

'Let's see, shall we?' The Doctor offered his hand.

'It makes sense, Marnal,' Rachel said.

Marnal shook the Doctor's hand.

The Doctor got down to business. 'There are all sorts of thing you haven't asked. For starters, why did I lose my memory? That's a good one.'

'If you did lose your memory.'

'Just for the sake of argument,' the Doctor said, smiling sweetly. 'Rachel?'

'Trauma,' she suggested.

'Post-traumatic stress? Something so horrible that I couldn't face it?'

Rachel nodded.

'You remember that, then?' Marnal said. He was still on his guard.

'Do you think it fits the facts?'

'Yes,' Marnal replied. 'You underwent a traumatic event. What's more, it's one that you initiated. Your guilt and cowardice conspired to make you block it from your mind.'

'You've been spying on me, Marnal, seen me on my travels.'

'Your interventions in history, you mean? Yes, I've seen you.'

'It wasn't a question. Would you say I'm usually racked with guilt?'

Marnal looked very self-satisfied. 'Rather the opposite. You have a callous disregard for consequences. You destabilise governments, but never stay to 121 check that the new regime you've installed is any better. You instinctively take sides in any conflict. You can kiss a woman one minute, forget about her the next.'

'So, I'm not the guilty type. Cowardly?'

'Reckless, if anything.'

'I've seen some traumatic things?'

'You seem to surround yourself with death and destruction.'

The Doctor nodded, a little sadly. 'You saw Sabbath?'

'A human time-traveller who fancied himself as a Lord of Time. An ape who would be a king.'

The Doctor nodded. 'With fists the size of hams, that's what I always remember about him. He gave me quite a lot of trouble for a while. Sabbath started playing with the time lines, created whole new histories. For the sake of the structure of time and s.p.a.ce, I had to correct that. For months on end I watched whole universes die.'

'More death.'

'Yes,' the Doctor said quietly. 'Millions of lives ended. Gone.'

'Your point?'

The Doctor perked up. 'Ah yes. So, to sum up: your theory of me is that I was racked with guilt, cowardly and couldn't stand the thought I'd killed so many people, so I had some sort of nervous breakdown and suppressed my memory of it because I couldn't cope. But all the evidence that you yourself have collected demonstrates the exact opposite. Hasn't it occurred to you that your theory might be flawed?'

Rachel was thinking this through. 'He's right.'

Marnal was trying very hard not to look worried. 'If you murder someone, you're a murderer. If you murder more people, it makes the first crime worse, it doesn't excuse it. Forgetting why you did it isn't a mitigating circ.u.mstance, and not knowing why you forgot it is entirely irrelevant.'

Rachel was struggling to keep up. 'I think you're right too,' she said unhelpfully.

'We've been asking the wrong question,' the Doctor said. 'There's a larger game being played here.'

'So you think we'd settle this if we knew why you lost your memory?' Rachel asked.