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"As you commanded, venerable one."

"Let me see it."

Handstrong came from his cell, carrying a pole fixed with brass fingers. The digits grasped the casket as the Grelladian raised the contraption up towards the Pythia.

A rough box with a worn leviahide binding, profane that so precious an item should be smuggled out in such a package. Yet she could feel its power before she even raised the lid.

The eye stared up at her from a cushion of red silk. A globe of mottled amber streaked with a single black slit. The eye of the Sphinx. She was sure that the pupil contracted as it was exposed to the light. She lifted it up gently and it weighed heavily in her hand.

"How much?" she thought.

"Twenty thousand treazants, Highness."

"What does one expect from common thieves and cutpurses?"

"It will be missed from the Library."

"The Council Police contingent has always been a prime beneficiary of the Temple Welfare Trust. I have been their Matron for many years.

She cupped the glistening eye in her hands, feeling its peculiar energy diffusing through her brittle bones and dry sinews. "Begone," she said aloud.

The vot'ress bowed and left the Cavern. Handstrong remained, awaiting orders.

"I said, begone!" she cried.

She must be alone at this moment. The torchlight painted the Cavern of Prophecy with gold and black shadow. Water oozed on the sooty rock walls. The age-old legacy of Time gathered in this place like dripped tallow from a candle. It had been the hub of the Empire since the beginning and she was the core. The guardian and embodiment of that heritage. The unsullied symbol of the world's fertility.

She was Gallifrey.

Without her, the world and its Empire would slowly die an ageless living death.

That was her curse, and she laid it on Rassilon and all his followers.

Even as her guard slipped away, she opened her hands and looked into the depths of the Sphinx's eye.

At the Gate of the Future, the light was hazy. The wheeling birds cried hungrily overhead. She stepped forward and pressed against the bronze doors.

They would not yield. Mocking faces looked out from the grilles.

As she reached for the doors again, one moved of its own accord. A blade of the darkness beyond slowly widened as the door ground its way open. A cowled figure with a flaming torch stood in the archway.

"Who do you seek?" he said.

There had never been a gatekeeper before.

"I seek my successor," she declared. "He must be found."

"Come through," he said. "If you dare . . ."

He stood back to let her pass, but she faltered. A cold wind was blowing into her face from the Future.

The Doctor or the kid? There was no choice. No time to think. Ace nearly gave up on them both.

Across the street, the Process was slithering towards the child. He had edged backwards until he had pinned himself to a wall, transfixed like a frightened rabbit in the eye of an advancing snake.

She snatched up an umbrella and ran at the leech. She kept yelling at the kid to get clear, but he was too terrified to move. Holding the umbrella like a two-handed broadsword, she beat at the monster's rippling flanks.

The Process ignored the attack, intent on catching at least one victim. It reared over the kid, spluttering triumphantly.

Ace pulled out the second test tube of her new nitro-ten.

"Get clear!" she yelled at him. "Shonnzi! Get down!"

The kid's own name brought him out of it. He ducked low and darted clear along the street. The Process lunged after him.

Ace flung the nitro.

The Process took the full force of the blast. It screamed. A spray of grit and black blood hit Ace across the face.

When the smoke and dust cleared, the creature lay in a twisted mound at the edge of the bomb crater.

Ace wanted to yell, "Ace, dragon-slayer!", but the excitement came in cold fizzes and she felt sickened. She was blooded.

The kid was standing a couple of yards away. Ace reached out and hugged him tightly. She rocked him for a moment and kissed his head. Her tears were soaking them both. She wiped her face