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'Tradition,' said the Doctor. The night was chilly and he wore his green velvet frock coat. In a crowd in which every tenth person sported a Santa Claus hat, he did not stand out. 'It's no different from making and burning a Guy.'

'But they're not as big. Not as much work.'

'It's for a good cause: the fire department needs the funds. And it gives the men a chance to burn something down instead of saving it, which is, obviously, much more fun.'

Anji decided this was one of those Boy Things, to which, she had noticed, the Doctor - for all his transhuman attitudes - was enormously susceptible.

Recently she had come across a forgotten model train set stored neatly away in boxes - an elaborate collection of carriages and landscapes that looked capable of covering an acre. Though she had hurriedly, if somewhat guiltily, hidden this even further back in the cupboard, she suspected it was only a matter of time until the morning arrived when she couldn't cross the console room without having to step over miniature tracks and leap tiny buildings.

Anji hadn't been at all certain she wanted to return to New Orleans, or even, in the Doctor's somewhat pedantic distinction, 'the New Orleans area'. They were west of the city, in what was popularly known as Cajun country, where every 24 December fires were lit along the Mississippi levees. Between the large structures, such as the galleon, stretched a series of smaller woodpiles, tepee-shaped and only ten or twelve feet high.

The final result was a line of Christmas Eve fires, ostensibly serving as signal lights for the airborne, gift-laden Pere Noel.

Being both non-Christian and sophisticated, Anji knew that the celebration went deeper and further back - that its roots were in rituals that welcomed the winter solstice, when the day at last began to lengthen and drive back the hours of night. This ancientness, and its attendant mystery, were what had finally drawn her out of the TARDIS to join the Doctor and Fitz. So far she wasn't sorry. The crowd was high-spirited and cheerful, and there were lots of children dashing about.

The Doctor took in the scene benignly, a faint smile on his lips. Anji had no idea what was going on in his head. Nor did she really want to. He had untangled the knotty story of Rust/Delesormes and Thales and the Floods for her and Fitz, but she had a sense he'd left bits out and she wasn't sorry.

It was an unhappy story, one she wanted to put behind her. She thought perhaps the Doctor did as well. He had paid to have the Delesormes tomb restored, an act of respect, even mourning, but also of finality.

By the time they had paid for their supper and joined Fitz up on the levee, the sun had set. Fitz took time off from examining the galleon and questioning the firemen to bolt down some gumbo. The Doctor replaced him, poking happily around the structure and listening with fascination to explanations of exactly how the fire would be set and controlled. Anji watched him.

'Do you think he's different?' she asked Fitz. 'Since New Orleans, I mean.'

'Different how?' said Fitz with his mouth full.

'I don't know. Calmer. A bit more at peace.'

'Maybe.' Fitz chewed thoughtfully for a moment. 'Yeah, actually. It's subtle, but it's there. Like he's resolved something.'

'What, do you think?'

'No idea. And no sense speculating. That way madness lies. This is bloody awful beer. That's why they chill it, isn't it, so you won't notice it's got no taste.'

Anji shrugged. She didn't drink beer.

A rotund black man dressed as Santa Claus passed by and gave each of them a peppermint candy cane: 'Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!'

Children followed him, open-mouthed, a little in awe.

The Doctor came running back, eyes bright, face flushed in the wind from the river. 'This is going to be marvellous! Come on, come on!' He plucked their sleeves, pulling them nearer to the galleon. Anji noticed the way faces turned to follow him, drawn by his