Since the initial sounds that had drawn them out onto the moor this dismal night, there had been no further indication that their quarry was still around. Then again, if it were hunting, it was hardly likely to advertise its presence, was it? And what were they hunting? Some wild beast escaped from the menagerie of a collector, perhaps? During his days in India, Fulbright had seen both cheetahs and tigers make their kills. Both were powerful, silent hunters and quite capable of disembowelling the ponies that roamed the hills here. But neither was capable of producing the terrible sounds they had heard earlier. The beast had sounded more like a hound of some kind.

But what kind of dog ever known to man could have produced a howl such as they had heard? None that Fulbright knew, and anyone in the county would have admitted that if ever a man knew his hounds, that man was Edward Fulbright.

The memories of the local boys telling tales of a spectral hound that haunted the moors flooded back to him. The beast was supposed to possess eyes of fire, teeth of pure flame and an insatiable appet.i.te for wicked children. Nothing more than a horror tale told to terrify the young. And yet . . .

And yet there were children missing. Cromwell had mentioned it earlier in the day. As a Justice of the Peace, Cromwell was perforce privy to police reports. Several local children seemed to have vanished without trace recently, including one from a boarding school in the area. Most disappearances could be laid easily to any number of factors, but the schoolchild had been the son of a minor Indian official and there had been an investigation. It had turned up nothing, but there were many questions unanswered.

Was it even barely possible that there was something out here that stalked the night and was preying on human beings?

Even as the thought fastened hold on his imagination, Fulbright gave a start of shock. Out of the blackness ahead came a scream such as he'd never heard in all his days. He'd seen action on three continents, and seen and heard men die in terrible pain. Never outside the pits of h.e.l.l would he expect to hear such a scream. It was a high-pitched howl, throaty and filled with horror. It didn't sound even remotely human, and it set fire to every nerve in his body.

And not his alone. As his mount s.h.i.+ed in terror, he fought to control the horrified steed. His companions faced similar struggles as the other horses were equally unnerved.

'b.l.o.o.d.y Nora!' exclaimed Abercrombie, his voice trembling. 'What the bleeding h.e.l.l was that?'

'Whatever it was,' Bridewell exclaimed, his own voice shaking, 'it can't have been human.'

'It wasn't,' Ross announced with certainty. He alone didn't sound on the verge of panic. Was it because he knew something that the rest of them didn't? 'It was one of the local ponies. Our target must have just slaughtered it. Come along!' Ross kneed his steed hard, urging it forward. The beast perhaps wiser than its rider fought and bucked to retreat instead. Ross wore it down, however, and pressed ahead.

Fulbright would just as soon have returned home, but he couldn't back down now. Instead he managed to control his own rebellious, terrified mount and forced it after Ross. Bridewell fell in behind him.

'Lummee,' Abercrombie announced, 'I ain't staying around here alone.' He brought up the rear as they moved through the rocks.

The cry had certainly been close. As they threaded the minimal pathways, Fulbright hit what was almost a wall of such an overpowering stench that he almost vomited on the spot. Blood, bile and other noisome odours gripped his throat and lungs. Then, as they rounded a rocky pinnacle, they saw the unfortunate prey.

It probably had been one of the local ponies, as Ross had claimed. It was almost impossible to be certain, so little of it remained intact. The stocky little body had been ripped apart by a creature of ma.s.sive power. What remained of the poor beast's hide was torn by the tracks of savage claws. The pony had not merely been disembowelled but shredded. Globs of flesh, dripping and steaming, were scattered across some twenty feet of the pathway. Even in the poor light, Fulbright could make out far too many details. Even if he could have seen nothing, the stench alone would have told him more than enough.

'Dear G.o.d,' he muttered, fighting back the urge to be sick. 'What monster could have done such a thing?'

'Whatever it is,' Ross told him, his face strained and grim, 'it is only a short distance ahead of us. It must be carrying the missing portions of this unfortunate creature to devour at its leisure. Perhaps it will be unable to outrun us.'

'You want us to chase a creature capable of doing this?' Bridewell waved his arm at the grisly remains.

'You and Sir Edward have done more than enough, Roger,' Ross replied. 'No one could fault you for returning home.'

'I could,' Fulbright snapped. 'This monster roams where I make my home. I'll be d.a.m.ned if I allow it to escape me.'

Ross gave him an appraising glance. 'Good for you, Sir Edward,' he replied. 'Then stay close to me. We may need one another's aid before this hunt is over.' With a sly smile he pressed his horse onward again.

Fulbright fell in slightly behind Ross. This man might be an enigma but he seemed to be brave enough. Or . . . Was the situation something he knew more about than he was letting on? It was impossible to dismiss the feeling he had that Ross was more than he claimed.

The night was broken once again by another unearthly noise. This one didn't sound like any they had heard yet, nor did it sound entirely natural. It was a booming noise about a mile or so ahead of them, rising and falling like the pounding of some immense steam-hammer or an off-key hurdy-gurdy of immense size and power. Before Fulbright could make out more, the noise had ceased. All he knew for certain was that it was ahead of them, and that the quarry they were hunting must have been heading in its direction.

'India?' Sarah Jane s.h.i.+vered with cold as she stepped out of the TARDIS's doors and into the bleak night. 'This doesn't feel like a tropical country to me.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'It gets very cold at night in the Indian foothills,' he told her.

'These aren't foothills,' she answered as something squelched under her feet. 'It feels more like a swamp. Are you absolutely certain this is India?'

'Absolutely.'

'Then it's probably the Isle of Ely. Or another weird alien planet.'

The Doctor half-turned. He was hardly more than a shape in the gloom. 'Do I detect a note of cynicism?'

'A note?' Sarah laughed bitterly. How could she even have fantasized that he would get this right? 'More like a whole ruddy symphony!'

'Well,' he said, sounding hurt, 'I may be out by a little '

'A little?' she cried. 'If this is anywhere near Lah.o.r.e, I'm a Dutchman. I'd be very surprised if we're even on the same planet!'

'This is definitely Earth,' he said, sounding miffed. 'Its smell is unmistakable. I'll agree I may have strayed a few miles, but that's all.' His foot squelched down in something. 'We're most likely in the vicinity of some river. Probably the mon-soon season.'

'Then you've missed the right time, too,' Sarah snapped. 'Honestly, I don't know why I ever listen to you.'

'Because I'm such a wonderful conversationalist,' he answered. 'Well, let's just find a native, and then we can '

Before he could finish his thought, there was a noise ahead in the darkness. Sarah tried to make out what was making it, but saw nothing. It sounded like some animal running hard. Something large and It sprang out of the blackness, and seemed to be almost as startled to see her as Sarah was to see it. The beast paused in mid-stride, then opened its mouth. Something it had been carrying in its huge jaws fell to the ground, spraying fresh blood as it bounced. The monster bared ma.s.sive fangs and growled deep within its immense throat.

Sarah staggered back, terrified.

The beast was a dog of some kind in the same way that a great white shark was a fish of some kind. This apparition was immense; over five feet at the shoulder, the size of a horse. Its body was powerfully muscled, its jaw overcrowded with four-inch fangs that dripped saliva and blood as it growled at her. Great eyes glared at her in shock and hatred, and four ma.s.sive paws clawed at the ground.

Sarah felt her strength and sanity giving out. Her heart seemed to be trying to hammer itself free from her ribs, and she was in danger of fainting. As she stared at the monster, it gave a challenging roar and leaped straight toward her.

2.

Predators or a second, Sarah was certain that she was dead. The powerful body hurled toward her, lips drawn back from the Fvicious teeth in a furious snarl, the claws of the powerful limbs spread ready to rip the flesh from her bones. There wasn't time to move, to scream, to do anything.

And then the monster pa.s.sed over her, the claws barely touching her hair. She heard the beast slam into the ground quite a way behind her, and keep on going.

Giddily, Sarah spun about and stared into the gloom. Her heart was still hammering away at the inside of her rib-cage, but her adrenalin high was starting to evaporate. Reaction to the close pa.s.sage of death made her weak.

'Did you see that?' exclaimed the Doctor, excitement making him almost hop up and down.

'See it?' Sarah yelled. 'That monster almost killed me!'

'Oh, don't exaggerate,' he replied, scuttling along the ground and then bending to examine the spoor where it had landed. The creature had managed a running leap of some twenty-five feet, Sarah realized. He glanced up at her. 'I could see the poor thing was simply running away, not attacking you. It was scared.'

'It was scared?' she exclaimed. 'What about me? I almost had a heart attack!'

'You're too tough for that,' the Doctor answered dismissively. He whipped a magnifying lens from one of his over-stuffed pockets and started to crawl about on the ground. 'Fascinating, utterly fascinating.'

'You can't tell me that we're on Earth,' Sarah complained as she joined him. 'Nothing like that beast ever lived in India.'

He gave her a thoughtful look. 'No, Sarah Jane,' he agreed. 'That was no animal native to your world. But ' He broke off and pointed back down the faint trail in the direction that the creature had come. 'Company.'

Sarah heard the sound of riders, and an instant later four hors.e.m.e.n emerged from the darkness. Startled, they reined in their steeds.

'Good grief!' exclaimed the leader, a grizzled and dignified man in his fifties. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

'Good evening,' the Doctor replied, politely raising his hat. 'Nice weather for the time of year, isn't it? Incidentally, what time of the year is it?'

'What year is it?' growled Sarah under her breath.

'Stone the crows,' a tubby little man with a prominent nose and s.h.i.+fty features said.

'Well,' the Doctor commented, giving Sarah an I-told-you-so glare, 'I think that proves we're on Earth, at least.'

A third rider, darkly handsome, stared at them. 'You must be lost, I a.s.sume?'

'You wouldn't believe how lost,' Sarah told him, glaring back at the Doctor.

'Did you see anything running past here?' asked the elderly man.

'Only a monster hound,' Sarah replied. 'It almost killed me.'

'We'd better get moving,' the fourth man snapped.

The Doctor moved to block their way. 'It was terrified,' he said quietly. 'And now I know why. Let it be.'

'What?' the leader spluttered. 'That beast is a mad killer, sir! I aim to destroy it!'

'Do you indeed?' asked the Doctor. For a moment Sarah thought he was about to drag the man from his horse, but then he shrugged. 'I doubt you'll even be able to catch it. It has a considerable head start by now, and it's not a good night for tracking.'

'Perhaps not,' the handsome rider replied. 'But we have to try.'

'I can't stop you,' the Doctor agreed. 'But is there perhaps somewhere around here where we might be able to get shelter? The night's getting a trifle chilly.'

The elderly rider thought for a moment, and then nodded. 'Follow this trail back about two miles,' he said. 'Don't stray from the path. There are bogs out there that will suck you to your doom before anyone can help. You'll come to Fulbright Hall. Tell the servants there that Sir Edward directed you.' Then he glowered. 'Wait for me there. I wish to have words with you when I return.'

Despite the fact that this was a not-too-veiled threat, the Doctor grinned as if it were a compliment. 'And I with you,' he answered. 'My thanks. Come along, Sarah.'

'I could show them the way,' offered the c.o.c.kney rider. 'Or offer the lady me horse.'

'Come along, Abercrombie,' the handsome rider snapped. Spurring on his horse, he led the four riders off into the night.

The Doctor turned to Sarah. 'And what do you make of that?' he asked her. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

'A hunting party,' she replied. 'After that monster we saw.' She frowned. 'They were definitely English.'

'So we are on Earth,' he chided her. 'And in about the right period, judging from their dress.'

'But not in India,' Sarah retorted. 'I remember Fulbright Hall from a story I did. It's in Devon.' Why wasn't she surprised to discover the Doctor had made a mistake again? 'I don't suppose you'd consider just going back to the TARDIS and trying again?'

'Sarah,' he said reprovingly. 'There's a mystery here. I can smell it.'

'That's just doggie doo-doo you can smell,' Sarah complained. But she knew that there was no point in arguing. Once the Doctor had made up his mind, a planet was easier to deflect than his intentions. With a sigh, she started back down the pathway that Sir Edward had indicated. 'Just what I wanted,' she said. 'A two-mile hike over the moors.'

'Exercise is good for you,' the Doctor informed her. 'It gets the blood flowing.'

'That monster almost got my blood flowing,' Sarah snapped.

'It wasn't attacking you,' the Doctor insisted. 'It was just trying to escape. I don't think Sir Edward and his merry men will catch it.'

Something in his voice made Sarah wince. 'You're not thinking of looking for that thing tomorrow, are you?'

He simply grinned in reply.

Bernard Faversham generally liked his job as Bodham's sole representative of law enforcement. Bodham, on the whole, was a quiet little town where the worst crime was normally a spot of drunk and disorderly behaviour on a Sat.u.r.day night. Faversham lived in a small cottage on the edge of town, which doubled as his police station. There was no jail here, and there had never been the need for one. It was usually a quiet little post, which suited Faversham fine.

Until recently.

Then there had been the problem of missing children. And now . . .

He was a trifle overweight, he knew, but it wasn't just the unexpected exertion at this time of night that was making his heart pound and his nerves jangle. Jim Brackley had roused him from his bed with the news that Ben Tolliver was dead.

Tolliver had been a fixture in the village for more than sixty years. Faversham had grown up here, and Tolliver had always been one of the local characters. He flirted with the barmaids, joked with the other fishermen and had been pretty tolerant of even the most unruly of children. Faversham had many memories of the old man. It was hard to think of him being dead. And even harder to picture what the shocked Brackley had described.

As they arrived on the small wharf, Faversham slowed down. There was already a small crowd gathered near the end of the wooden structure. News travelled fast in Bodham, and Tolliver had been well liked. Most of the crowd were women.

The men would still be out at sea for another few hours, making their living. Only the old, like Tolliver, or the injured, like Brackley whose right sleeve flapped as he moved were home.

'Stand aside,' Faversham ordered, panting. The crowd melted slowly. Faversham saw shocked expressions on several faces, and traces of vomit staining clothes and chins. Brackley had warned him that Tolliver's body was mutilated. Faversham tried to steel himself for the sight.

Even so, he almost contributed to the stench on the boards. Holding down the bile with difficulty, he drew closer to the old man's corpse.

Tolliver had been dead only a couple of hours, that was clear. And the cause of death was more than apparent.

Something had bitten through half of the old man's head. The face was completely gone, and only grisly remnants of his brain and other organs were left. Bone showed through, stained and scored. The left arm was also missing, ripped from the battered body.

Brackley moved close. 'We found his boat,' he said quietly. 'Poor old Ben was in it, just as you see him.'