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'Why did you not convert more innocents to your cult?' Holmes asked. 'Why the subterfuge? Why not spread the Word to Maupertuis, or Warburton, or Tir Ram?'

The door opened to K'tcar'ch's push, and Sherringford stepped forward.

Well, lurched. He wasn't getting the hang of those wings.

'The Mark of Azathoth is not easily hidden, as you can see from Brother K'tcar'ch' he said. 'Azathoth's faithful worshippers would have attracted too much attention to themselves. In order to raise an army to rescue Azathoth from this purgatory, Maupertuis and Warburton had to travel. In Her infinite wisdom, Azathoth decided not to take the risk. I, of course, had little contact with anybody, and could hide whatever physical changes occurred beneath my robes. And besides, the Word is not something that can be explained quickly. Its subtleties and intricacies take time to explain. We did not have time to spare.'

'Vast amounts of physiological and psychological data to transfer,' the Doctor murmured to me as we followed Sherringford into the darkness.

'Even given data compression techniques and broad-band telepathy, it still takes an appreciable time.'

'And why did you steal the books?' Holmes asked as the airlock door closed behind us and embedded itself in some kind of rubber seal.

'Because the Doctor had asked to see them, dear boy. It was apparent that somebody had stumbled on our plans and we had to cover our tracks. I had to act, and act quickly. Once you began to show an interest in the books, Maupertuis's brutal manservant was the perfect choice to steal them.'

'Yes,' the Doctor said, 'that manservant. Did Azathoth have anything to do with the surgery?'

'Oh no,' Sherringford said, rather shocked at the idea. 'That was all Maupertuis's doing. He seemed to enjoy that sort of thing.' He shook his head at the folly of the world. 'Brother K'tcar'ch followed you, of course, to see how far your investigations had progressed, but alas you followed it back to the Library and we were forced to invent a tale to satisfy you. It seemed best to tell you the same story that we had told Maupertuis, with some small modifications.'

The Doctor obviously wanted to ask more, but the inner door opened, revealing a dark, echoing space, crisscrossed by beams of light from windows high above. In the middle of the space sat what I can only describe as a big fat slug. A big, fat slug with a mouth that drooled thick strands of black saliva. The stench alone made my eyes water.

'If that's God,' I said, 'then somebody should shoot Michelangelo.'

I glanced sideways at the Doctor, but he had an odd expression on his face. It looked like disappointment.

Sherringford was on his knees again, with his forehead touching the floor.

Deciding that discretion was better part of valour, I joined him. The Doctor, scowling, followed my example, but I saw him sticking his tongue out as he bent his head.

Something cold and slimy infiltrated itself into my mind. I shook my head violently to try and dislodge it, but I could feel cupboards and drawers being opened and ransacked, and old memories being held up to the light. I tried to turn my attention inwards and fight this thing that was skulking around inside my personality, my me-ness, but it was like trying to catch a rat in the beam of a torch.

It was disgusting. It was rape.

And then it was over. The touch withdrew, leaving a nasty taste in my mind.

'Azathoth!' Sherringford cried, 'all praise!'

The rakshassa repeated the words in its hissing voice.

For a long moment nothing happened, and then Azathoth spoke in a voice as sweet as honey.

'Sherringford, my child... ' it began, 'I am concentrating my energies upon the spiritual plane to ensure our success. You have done well. Disturb me not.'

Sherringford seemed surprised at this abrupt dismissal.

'I have brought you two more worshippers, oh great Azathoth.'

Azathoth seemed to pause, as if it was listening to something.

'Leave them here. I shall deal with them in my