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Seventeen degrees centigrade and raining.'

'Just what we need to know.'

Fitz tried another button. A screen lit up with Q-Bert. Bit retro, that, but then the Doctor wasn't really the Doom type.

Anji slapped the flat of her hand on the console. No response. Never worked for the Doctor, either, she remembered. 'You daft machine! You're supposed to care about him!'

'We really ought to get him to give us lessons.'

'If we ever see him again. Some friend you are!' she said to the console.

'I don't think that's helping, Anj.'

She leaned over and swatted at the time rotor. 'Show us where he is!'

The door slid open and the Doctor, water running off him, came in from the lightning-shattered night.

Anji was glad he wasn't hurt. It frightened her when he was hurt. But he seemed all right, though very sombre, and uncharacteristically confused about what day it was.

'It can't be,' he insisted, rubbing his hair with a tea towel while the kettle boiled.

'Straight up,' said Fitz. 'That business with Dupre was three nights ago.'

'But it's been ' The Doctor stared wonderingly. "The spirits have done it all in one night,' he murmured.

'Sorry?' said Fitz, but the Doctor had darted back to the console. Following, Fitz saw him poring over a screen of airline schedules.

'Rust might just have managed it,' he muttered, 'if he moved very fast, and I'm betting he did.'

'Managed what?'

'To return from France already. On the other hand, perhaps not.' The Doctor studied the screen, tapping his front teeth with his forefinger. 'You and Anji should go to the airport, in case he has yet to arrive.'

'And if he arrives?'

'Just watch him. The next flight from Paris is in two hours. Call me at Owl if he turns up on it.'

'Water's ready,' said Anji from the kitchen doorway. 'If you want tea.'

'No time. I have to get to Rust's house, in case he's already back.' The Doctor looked at her sadly. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

She nodded briefly.

'If he's there,' said Fitz, 'can you stop him?'

'I don't know,' the Doctor said and, nearly slipping in one of the puddles he'd tracked in, dashed out into the storm.

The Doctor ran through the rainy streets of the French Quarter, haring along under the galleries, splashing across the intersections. The pavements were empty. The light from the gas lanterns blurred in the downpour; water slid around the twisting ironwork of the balconies. As he ran, the Doctor fancied he could hear the buildings settling, ready to give up and sink beneath the Mississippi. Why fight any longer? Water and wind and heat would win in the end. The river wanted the land back. In the rain, the old city melted towards death.

He approached Rust's house, wetter, if possible, than ever, ruefully considering that ten extra seconds to grab an umbrella probably wouldn't have made any difference. He checked his pockets to see whether at some point he'd stowed away one of the little folding varieties. No. At least he'd put on shoes back in the TARDIS. Pulling up his collar, he trudged around the house and went up on the back porch.

The Doctor didn't have much faith in the sonic screwdriver's helping him break into this particular house, and his scepticism proved justified. He resorted to simple lock picks, kneeling in front of the door and working patiently, but these too proved useless. With a sigh, he sat down, shoving his dripping hair behind his ears. The rain rustled in the trees and pounded on the porch shingles. It was good to be under a roof, even if he wasn't exactly dry.

He thought about Rust. That had been an uncharacteristic mistake, trusting in the contract with the swamp goblins. Perhaps, having sensed that in the Doctor he had an element more volatile and unpredictable than he might be able to handle, Rust had half hoped the bogles would kill him - and save Rust the trouble later. The emotional as well as the practical trouble - the Doctor knew Rust didn't want to kill him. But if he had to, he would, and find another medium, not as ideal, maybe, but still workable.