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By Root 447 0

around the bend in the tunnel and they emerged inside an open area. The ceiling was low – so low in some places that the Doctor had to duck his head to get past ridges of red rock – but it was broad across the width where the miners must have chipped into the seams of long-vanished iron ore. A ramshackle lift shaft and pulley system sat in the middle of the chamber, thick with cobwebs. It appeared far too dilapidated to be workable, the ropes in coils on the floor, a rusted metal ore trolley wedged in place by fallen stones. The Doctor’s keen vision could make out the gloomy patches of blackness that had to be other tunnels leading to different parts of the excavation. When the mine was at its height, this area would have been full of men digging out the raw ore and hauling it off into the daylight.

Now it was an echoing cavern, empty of life.

Almost empty.

Off to one side was a wooden trestle table surrounded by a cluster of boxes and barrels. The source of the light, another oil lantern like the one found by Nathan, cast a sombre glow that didn’t reach all the way into the dark.

The man they had come to find sat with his back to them on an upturned barrel, not moving, not even breathing.

125

What if he’s dead? The frightening thought struck the Doctor. If they had arrived too late, and Godlove had perished. . .

But then the figure moved slightly, turning on the makeshift stool.

Godlove peered over his shoulder at the Doctor, and a thin, snake-like grin threaded out across his lips. ‘You again,’ he said. ‘Hello, Marshal.

And lookee here. You brought the brat and that dusky little missy to boot.’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘Like I tried to tell you in the town, you’re mistaken. I’m not a lawman.’

‘Is that so?’ Godlove spoke slowly, measuring each word. ‘Well, now. Tell me then, if you didn’t come lookin’ because you carried a tin star, then why did you?’

‘I’m the Doctor,’ he said simply.

‘His face,’ whispered Nathan, lowering Martha to sit atop a crate.

‘Doctor, his face! He’s like death warmed up!’

The Doctor silenced the boy with a wave of his hand, but Godlove nodded. ‘The lad there has a point. In all honesty, I have been feeling rather unwell of late.’ Nathan was correct; bits of Godlove’s skin were puffy and peeling away from his cheeks. His eyes were hazed with dark fluid, his hair matted and greasy. He glanced around. ‘Pray tell, but where is that redskin of mine?’

‘He was shot,’ the Doctor explained. ‘Killed by two men who are here looking for you. . . Looking for what you found out in the woods.’

Godlove hesitated, a brief flicker of regret in his misted eyes; but then the emotion was gone and he nodded curtly. ‘Ah. Of course.

They’re close. I knew they’d come, sooner or later. It’s our way. It’s how we were made.’

‘ We?’ said the Doctor warily.

Godlove got up from the table and turned so he could face them.

The ornate waistcoat the Doctor remembered from the Pioneer saloon hung loosely now on the man’s wiry frame and his posture was all different. He was ramrod straight and moved a little awkwardly, as if his joints were stiff; and in his right hand, in the curled fist of slender, pallid fingers, was the slab-sided shape of a Clade Weapons Module.

126

Festoons of wires as fine as human hairs connected the monstrous gun to Godlove’s flesh, burrowing and glittering just beneath the surface of the skin in the lantern’s light.

The weapon was a grotesque, top-heavy parody of a Peacemaker pistol, bloated to twice normal size, with a profusion of multiple muzzles glistening with oily residue.

‘As you can see,’ Godlove noted, ‘I have decided to defend myself.’

‘Holy cats!’ Nathan’s jaw dropped. ‘I never saw a shootin’ iron like that in my life.’

From where she sat, Martha rested against the stone, panting. ‘Are we. . . too late?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Doctor grimly, slowly approaching the other man. ‘Who am I talking to now?’ he asked. ‘Alvin Godlove? Or something else?’

Godlove smirked. ‘Oh, as you might be able to intuit, there’s a goodly amount of dear Alvin still in here.’ He