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‘Yes. Please excuse me. Sometimes I forget where I end and the TARDIS begins.’

Daniel didn’t ask what a TARDIS was. The word seemed to make sense, all of a sudden.

‘But you’re a child of the Age of Reason,’ the mouth continued. ‘In you, the powers have evolved. Tuned themselves for life on a rational planet. You have an instinct for those forces that rule the world now, in an age where mankind is beginning to leave the darkness behind, and understand its capabilities. And its responsibilities.’

‘History,’ said Daniel. ‘Is that what it is you’re saying?

Like I’ve got an instinct for history.’

‘Yes.’

Daniel just nodded. Part of his head was telling him that this was stupid, that none of this meant anything, but the rest of him was taking it like it was old news. ‘Am I the first?’

‘Not quite. There are others like you. Many in France, I believe. But you belong to the first generation that can truly be called psychic, unlike Marielle, whose abilities were vague and undefined. They used to call that "The Sight".’

Daniel cocked his head. He could hear the voices whispering, proper words this time instead of garbled hisses.

And now he realized that the words had always been there, but only now – in the presence of this thing that called itself a ship

– could he hear them properly.

‘History’s calling me,’ said Daniel.

‘As always,’ said the mouth.

Some of the Indian tribes believed that if the eyes of a dead man were removed, the soul would be unable to find its way to the happy hunting grounds, or wherever it was they were supposed to go. Erskine had heard stories of colonists deliberately shooting out the eyes of native corpses, just to irritate the families of the departed.

But the blinded spirits had returned now, and they were leading their ghostly buffalo herds through the heavens, tearing crazed zigzags across the skies. On Burr Street, the hoofs of the Devil’s cattle had ripped open the roofs of the houses as they’d passed overhead, and there were cries of horror from the occupants as the impossible rain lapped at the rooms inside. Most of the townspeople had shut themselves in their homes and barricaded the doors when the troubles had started. Now it didn’t seem to make much difference.

Erskine tried not to remember what had happened – what had almost happened – outside the King George. Even the memory of the man in the white hat would have to be pushed to one side, if he wanted to get through this bastard night without losing his grip. Without losing his grip again, he thought. He guessed the others were feeling the same way; even Walter Monroe seemed willing to forget his previous zeal, and now he was ushering the refugees from Burr Street towards the few places of shelter that remained, trying his best to appear concerned and sympathetic. The sackcloth masks littered the streets, discarded and unwanted.

Monroe still looked like an arse, though.

A figure in a stovepipe hat ran past. Erskine only caught a glimpse of the face, but he was sure the man wasn’t a local.

The stranger was screaming himself stupid, yelling French words in an American-English accent and tearing at the flesh of his arms with his fingernails, making stripes of blood that ran in the rain.

Erskine tried calling out to him, offering him help. The man didn’t listen. He vanished into the alleyways of Woodwicke, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. Erskine frowned. Satan’s Cock, he thought, perhaps there are some people who just can’t be brought back from the edge.

‘WhaT di?d YOU do?’ asked Catcher.

The room was glorious to behold. The walls were solid, the roundels perfect circles. The ceiling was ablaze with white light. The dais sparkled.

‘Your cellar was still linked to the TARDIS,’ the Doctor muttered, his hands playing across fresh new buttons and dials. ‘Just a matter of pulling everything together and pouring the contents of one into the other.’

Catcher blinked, and had the sudden irrational feeling that one of his eyelids was about to drop off. ‘My CeLLar...?’

‘Has been absorbed