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‘... and it just materializes,’ Christopher was explaining.

‘Out of thin air. Pop! Any place, any time. Although we can’t change history. Not one line, apparently. I mean, maybe the odd word or two. I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘And that’s it, basically. That’s what we do. It’s kind of like a job.’

He looked her in the eye.

‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ he asked.

‘Of course I believe you, Christopher.’ She tried her best to inject her voice with a dose of innocence and wide-eyed excitement. ‘Why would I not?’

He shrugged again. ‘You people haven’t even got space travel yet. If someone told me they were a time-traveller from a thousand years in the future... well, y’know.’

Duquesne forced a smile. ‘"There are more things in Heaven and Earth..." ‘ she began, hoping that the English quotation would appeal to him

Instead, he just stared. ‘More things than what?’

‘I’m sure it isn’t important, Christopher,’ sighed Duquesne.

There was a moment’s silence.

‘You’re taking all of this really well,’ he said, quietly.

Duquesne felt her spine rattle.

He knows. He knows I’m lying about just wandering into this TARDIS device. He knows that not all of this is new to me.

He knows I’m here for a reason.

What else does he know?

There was a muffled scratching from behind one of the wooden panels, and Duquesne was glad of the distraction.

They watched as a finger, razor-sharp and fashioned from bronze, tore its way through the wall. Soon there were other fingers, other scrapings and scratchings. It sounded like the things were taking the planetarium apart from the outside, removing the walls panel by panel.

‘What are they?’ asked Duquesne, but the look on Christopher’s face told her that he had absolutely no idea.

Roz Forrester sheltered in the side-street, her body strategically positioned between the wall of a house (she suspected that it was the Lincoln house, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that) and a six-foot stack of empty wooden crates that smelt of rotten fish. Roz wasn’t sure what empty crates that smelt of rotten fish were doing there, but then this was the kind of town that left its rubbish lying in the streets until it either sank into the dust or evolved into something worthwhile. Half of the buildings in Woodwicke looked like they were descended from ambitious piles of garbage. God bless America, thought Roz. Still in its infancy, and already building an empire out of trash.

From here, she could see the spectators that had gathered outside the church, but they couldn’t see her. At least, not unless they squinted through the smoke reeeeeeeal hard. She’d run from the church until she’d been sure that no one was on her tail, then doubled back and found the best vantage point.

She’d reached the side-street just as they’d dragged the Doctor out, cursing in a bizarre alien language that made great use of the letter X. A performance, Roz was sure, and she suspected that they’d only captured him because he’d wanted to be captured. But they’d been clubbing him when they’d pulled him away, pummelling at his head and shoulders until he’d stopped struggling. She was sure that hadn’t been part of his plan.

Behind her, something scraped against the wall.

Damn. She’d been followed after all.

She paused for a while before she turned, pretending that she hadn’t heard anything. She counted the seconds. If he (he?) was creeping up on her, it’d take him another... oh, call it four seconds... to reach her. Three. Two. In one movement, she rose and turned, fists clenched, ready to deck whoever was standing behind her.

Two sleepless brown eyes stared into hers. The face, blasted by dirty rain and pocked with stubble, looked so tired and helpless that Roz relaxed without even thinking about it.

‘Need help,’ said the boy. ‘You know. Know what it’s like trying to get out of this town. Hahh.’

‘There is, of course, a perfectly rational explanation.’

Isaac Penley was beginning to relax. The incident at the church could have been a catastrophe without precedent, but as soon as Catcher had said that word – ‘rational