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'Yes. But forgetting sets him free. He feels innocent until he remembers.

But I don't remember and I don't ' The Doctor suddenly seemed tired. 'You can always run my description through your computers.'

'I have.'

'Find anything?'

'No.'

'There you go.'

'All that means is that you were never caught.'

'I don't believe,' said the Doctor in a thin, strained voice, 'that there is anyone left to catch me.' His hand, resting on the table, twitched.

Rust just looked at him for a few moments, a hard, cop's stare. The strong morning light turned his hazel eyes almost yellow, like a wolf's.

'I don't think you're my murderer,' he said at last. 'I think you might be a collector interested in that charm, though.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'I don't want it. But I'm very curious about it.'

'As a scholar?' said Rust dryly.

'Why not? As Thales said, the markings are very queer. If you could pronounce them, what would they be? The song the sirens sang?'

'You believe in this stuff.'

The Doctor hesitated. 'I try not to disbelieve in anything. I'd like to help you, Lieutenant, if you'll let me. If you can trust me.'

'Well,' said Rust, his yellow eyes unreadable. 'I guess I will for now.'

Chapter Six

Gods and Monsters

The Doctor turned up punctually at two o'clock outside the Zombie Bar.

Despite the relatively early hour, a few hardy souls were already inside starting the serious business of the day's drinking. The Doctor knew that studies indicated that New Orleans' citizens were at more risk of stroke, heart attack and other excess-related diseases than those of any other city in America. He also knew that polls showed New Orleaneans really didn't give a damn.

Carpe diem, he thought, watching an entwined couple amble by sucking daiquiris through straws. Easy to do if you had no yesterdays. In some ways he considered his situation fortunate. True, there were frustrating moments, such as that time he hadn't been able to recall which planet was home to the Swiftly Dropping Bears of Death. But he'd noticed that most human beings seemed desperate to escape their pasts. And they live such a short time, he reflected. How can it become so unbearable for them so quickly?

People strolled past or entered the bar, but nobody else appeared to be waiting for the ghost tour. This clearly miffed Dupre when he popped through the alley door with a flourish of his cloak. He eyed the Doctor sourly. 'Is it just you?'

'Just me,' said the Doctor apologetically.

Dupre scanned the pavement, but no one showed signs of heading his way. He swore. 'Maybe you'd like to come back tonight. There'll be more people.'

'Actually,' said the Doctor, 'I rather like the idea of a one-on-one tour. I was intrigued by your pamphlet.'

'Were you?' Dupre looked at him closely for the first time. The Doctor was leaning casually against the brick wall, arms crossed, wearing his most amiable and impressionable expression. 'Why?'

'I got the impression you took these matters as seriously as they deserve.'

'And just how seriously is that?'

'Very, in my opinion. I dare say I sound like a crank to you. I apologise. I'm sure you run into more than your share of nutters.'

'But you're not nuts.'

'Well,' said the Doctor disarmingly, 'that's not a judgment anyone can make about himself, is it? I will say this: if I am a nut, I'm an extremely well-mannered one.'

Dupre smiled slightly. 'What if I'm nuts?'

'I'm rather counting on it. Sane people tend to be intellectually timid.'

Dupre's smile expanded a centimetre. 'Are you a practitioner?'

'Just a student.' The Doctor wondered what the proper word was for someone who, like him, was being practised on. Practitionee? Subject?

Prey?

'Who are you?'

'People call me the Doctor.'

'Oh really? Do you know what they call me?'

No:

'Le Monstre.'

'Sucre?

Dupre's smile widened enough to show his teeth. 'Not at all sacre. Profane.

Even blasphemous.'

The Doctor smiled back, genuinely.