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The Doctor's eyes fell to his hand. He frowned, as if he couldn't quite place it, then, calmly, as if the gesture were the most natural thing in the world, stuck it into the fire.

Rust yelled and dragged him back, throwing him into the armchair. The Doctor slumped, head bowed. 'What was it?' he said. Rust could hardly hear him 'What did I do?'

'Why do you think I'd tell you? I don't hate you that much.'

The Doctor shut his eyes. Rust thought he saw tears on his face, but it may only have been sweat.

The bayou smelled of decomposition - a warm, feverish smell, part fishy stench, part sickly sweetness. In places the water was so muddy that Rust had to switch from oars to a pole. The lantern in the bow of the flatboat cast a halo around itself beyond which the night was absolutely black. There was no breeze.

"This is a bad idea,' said the Doctor.

Rust glanced down at him. The Doctor lay in the bottom of the boat, his singed hand bandaged, his wrists and ankles cuffed with department-issue manacles of the sort prisoners shuffle into court wearing. He was curled up slightly, resting his head on the bow seat. The lantern backlit him, turning the fine edges of his hair gold. Rust couldn't see his eyes.

'Unless you want to kill me,' the Doctor added.

'Do you want me to?'

The Doctor shifted. His manacles clinked 'Goetic magic is inherently unreliable. I'm not telling you anything you don't know.'

'I have to go to Lyon. I can't leave you in the house. It's not safe.'

'Oh, and this is. What are these things to which you're consigning my well being? Do they have a name?'

Rust shrugged. 'I guess you could call them swamp bogles.'

'Charming.'

'We have an agreement.'

'As worthless as the paper it's written on. If paper is what it was written on. Which I doubt.'

'You're afraid of dying, aren't you?'

The Doctor hooked his chin over the side of the boat, gazing into the dark water. 'I prefer not to die in some stupid, avoidable accident. Once was enough.'

Rust stared at him. 'What the hell are you talking about?'

'I have no idea,' said the Doctor helplessly. 'A door opens and a remark falls out. It's as if there were somebody else living in here with me.'

T wouldn't be surprised.'

'It's not madness,' said the Doctor.

'No,' said Rust. 'You're hideously sane, aren't you?'

The Doctor didn't answer. He watched the water and Rust watched him.

'I know what I'm doing,' Rust said. 'You're no use to me dead.'

'Tell them: The Doctor rested his head again on the seat. Rust still couldn't see his eyes. 'So,' the Doctor said casually, 'you fetch the charm, perform the rite, get yourself a water spirit. Then you, what, kill it?'

Rust nodded. 'And absorb its essence.'

'Sounds complicated.'

'Not very. But everything has to be in place.'

'And I'm part of that everything. The medium.'

"That's why I don't want you dead.'

The Doctor snorted. Rust said irritably, 'I can take you back and stick you in that sarcophagus in the old family tomb if you prefer.'

'No,' said the Doctor after a beat.

"Then shut up.'

The Doctor sighed. Rust leaned hard on the pole as they traversed a particularly muddy stretch. He'd removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The Doctor could see the muscles working in his hard forearms. A few metres away, something heavy splashed off the bank into the water.

Rust turned an alert but unalarmed eye towards the sound. 'Gator,' he said briefly.

'I suppose if I get eaten the bits of me will still retain some usable energy'

'You're not going to get eaten,' said Rust. 'That happens to people around you.' He stopped poling and the boat sludged to a halt. The Doctor looked over the side.

"This is mud.'

'It's not mud,' Rust said firmly. 'It's just muddy'

'Where are my hosts?'

"They won't come out in the light.'

'Better and better.'

'You'll be -'

'Don't tell me I'll be fine.'

'Probably not,' Rust conceded. 'But you'll be all right.'

'With bogles? I'll be all right with bogles?'

'Don't insult