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Vrayto looked down at her shoes, disapprovingly, offering the card. ‘Technician First Class Waymivrudimqwe wishes to talk to you,’ she announced. ‘Despite the hour.’

Larna nodded, unaware of any problems with the eighth hour of the day. ‘Waym,’ she said, buttoning herself up. ‘I’ll see him.’

‘Like that?’ Vrayto asked.

Larna looked down at herself. ‘This night-gown covers parts of my body I didn’t even realise that I had, Vrayto.’

‘You’re a Time Lady, now, ma’am. There are standards.’

Larna sighed, and walked out the door.

Waym was standing by her sofa, still in his Technician’s uniform. Vrayto hadn’t offered him a seat. Larna corrected that, and sat next to him, both feet firmly on the floor. Thanks to Vrayto she felt absurdly self-conscious. Her housemaid hovered at the edge of the room, chaperoning them carefully.

‘I’m sorry to come round unannounced, but you’re the best-qualified person I know.’

‘You’ve not dragged me out of the shower to help you with an essay?’

‘No, no.’

‘Relax, Waym. Look. I know I’m a Time Lord now, but it’s still me.’

That seemed to put him at his ease. ‘Larna, I noticed a problem when I was running the Chamber this morning. I think the aliens might have infiltrated it.’

Larna frowned. ‘What sort of problem?’

‘I noticed it just before the fleets arrived. Look, it’s going to be easier if I show you. I’ll meet you in Chamber Epsilon iii a couple of minutes.’

Larna stood. ‘Why can’t I come now?’

Waym pointed vaguely towards her. ‘You’re in your nightshirt.’

She was already on her feet. ‘It’s ankle length. Epsilon is only up on the next level. Come on.’

There was barely time to aim a triumphant smile at Vrayto before she strode out of the room –

– and straight into the Doctor, who had been running past her doorway. He steadied her, and himself. He had found the time to change into his normal clothes, or rather the clothes he normally wore. The Doctor was the only person on Gallifrey to wear a battered cashmere jacket, pressed silk shirt and tailored tan trousers. He peered down at her over his glasses. She began apologising.

He didn’t seem to notice what she was wearing. ‘Like I just said, Larna, we’ll need to discuss it, but I’m busy with the alien delegations. Come to my room at Nine Point Five Bells.’

The Doctor hurried away, his jacket flapping behind him.

Her hearts sank. He needed to discuss her behaviour.

Conduct was very important to the Time Lords. She would not have been able to graduate from the Academy without knowing that. Some Time Lords were still best-known for minor transgressions of decorum they had performed centuries before. Lord Glebun would be Glebun the Flatulent until the day he died, despite his groundbreaking research into fluid dynamics. Such actions could blight careers, exclude you from the best circles and societies. What she found most disappointing was that Vrayto had been proved right. She could picture her servant now, a smug grin on her face.

‘That’s hardly fair,’ Larna scowled at Waym. ‘It was him running, not me.’

The Doctor sat on Rassilon’s foot, legs dangling, wriggling as he tried to get comfortable.

In his own day, Rassilon had been thought of as an architect. That was difficult for some modern Time Lords to believe. Nowadays Rassilon was the greatest of the founders, the Father of Gallifrey, the man who not only saved the planet but gave it the gift of time travel and the wisdom to use that gift wisely. His achievements went far beyond designing some pretty buildings. Modern Time Lords knew the Panopticon, took it for granted. They barely used the elaborate exitonic landscapes of the Matrix any more. The Citadel had been there for so long that there was no power in the way it both dominated and blended into the enclosed cityscape of the Capitol. And so it was that some of the most awe-inspiring buildings in the known universe became everyday experiences, places you had to walk through to get to or from lectures.

The Doctor envied the Sontarans and the Rutans the experience they would have this evening as they saw Gallifrey