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Was Rust possibly feeling doubt about the whole endeavour? After all, he had given the Doctor the charm to begin with all those years ago, inviting future interference. Had that been a childish error, or the intuitively self-limiting action of someone who, even that young, felt and feared his own power? And why had he subsequently forgotten? The Doctor found that puzzling in the extreme. Clearly, Rust remembered most of that night's events vividly. Why not recall a stranger appearing to pull him from the wreckage and -

He suddenly saw Rust's face, heard his voice: 'It was all my fault.' Because he had fled, breaking the circle, cracking the half-finished spell. The Doctor himself had seen the boy run. From the adults. Through the doors to the veranda. Away into the dark.

Out of the house entirely.

The Doctor took a deep breath. No wonder Rust hadn't recognised him.

Why should he remember being dug from beneath a wall that never fell on him?

Thales listened to the rain. He wondered if there would be flooding.

Experience having taught him that the electricity would fail at some point, he had brought out his emergency lights -

candles set protectively in old jam jars. Homely but, he had discovered, quite effective.

He had opened one of the tall windows in the front room and was standing before it, leaning on his crutches, letting the water blow in on him. He loved the clean smell. There hadn't been enough rain recently. It seemed to him this storm had been coming for a long time.

His legs ached terribly. The damp always made the pain worse. That was a nice irony. Thales was tired of irony. He was tired in general. Just lately, he felt much older, as if years had claimed him in a night. His joints hurt. His arms didn't support him as easily. His heart sometimes stuttered. The body was wearing out.

What was going to become of him?

He shut his eyes, feeling the moisture on his face.

What was death?

The doorbell made him start. He hobbled to the front window and, peering between the shutters, saw the Doctor at the gate. Thales hurried to press the lock release.

'My dear Doctor, come in,' he urged, as the Doctor walked soggily up the steps and through the door. 'You're very, ah, wet, aren't you? Quite natural, of course.'

'I do seem to be shedding water all over your rug.' The Doctor looked around for someplace else to stand.

No matter, no matter,' Thales said soothingly. 'The storm is picking up, isn't it? I had better ' He limped to the open window and made to push it shut.

The Doctor came and helped him. Thank you. Quite a wind. I think I must go ahead and light the candles; the power will almost certainly cut off.' He started making his way from jar to jar. The Doctor, towelling himself with the dry inner side of his coat, watched him. 'I don't believe we've had one of these storms since you've been here. They're quite impressive. Sometimes the thunder is so loud it sounds as if logs are breaking across the roof.'

'I wasn't sure you'd be up this late.'

Oh, I rarely sleep much. Old age, you know.'

'I don't usually sleep much, either.'

'There.' Thales lit a final candle. "That should take care of us if the lights go out. But you're quite a young man.'

'Not really' said the Doctor. 'Things are rarely what they seem on the surface. Are they?'

Almost unnoticeably, Thales's shoulders tightened, as if in anticipation of a blow. He glanced timidly at the Doctor. 'Why are you here?'

'I wanted to tell you about Flood.'

'Floods?'

'No, Flood, it's a man's name. He's the one who murdered Chic and stole the charm.'

'Oh my.' Thales lowered himself into the cane-backed chair. 'Has there been an arrest?'

'No. Flood is dead. His wife killed him.'

'Dear me, this is all rather violent. His wife, you say?'

The wind shook the panes at the Doctor's back. 'His wife who had no eyes.'

'But that's terrible. Had she been in an accident?'

'In a way. She ended up in the wrong body. Of course, for her, any body was the wrong one. There's never an exact fit when