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On the other hand, the Doctor seemed totally indifferent to his situation. Casually, he gazed around the room until his eye settled on the revitalising modulator. It had been years since he had seen such a machine, and he suddenly had the overwhelming urge to use it.

'Where have you come from?' said Azmael, crossing to the Doctor.

'I've no idea,' he said, distractedly, his eye fixed firmly on the modulator. 'But I'd love a go in your machine.'

A hard blow from Noma's gun diverted the Doctor's attention.

'Where have you come from?' Azmael repeated.

For the first time, since entering the room, the Doctor brought his full attention to bear on his interrogator. Although a thick, swirling bank of fog separated his conscious mind from his memory, a tiny, distant, flashing beacon seemed to penetrate the dense void, telling him there was something rather familiar about the face before him.

'What are you doing here?' said the mouth belonging to the face.

Peri looked at the Doctor, hoping he had an acceptable answer.

'I won't ask you again.'

Noma pressed his gun against the Doctor's head. Even this didn't prompt a reply as he was still trying to decipher what the beacon was trying to tell him.

The Doctor's unwell,' said Peri desperately.

'Then you tell me why you're here.' Azmael now sounded tired rather than stern.

'We're pilgrims...' she said.

Noma sniggered.

'It's true. We're here in search of peace -'

Interrupting, Noma snapped. They're spies. Kill them!'

'What I'm telling you is the truth.' Again Peri looked at the Doctor, praying he would support what she was saying, but he didn't seem interested.

'As I've said, the Doctor isn't a well man. He needs a place to meditate...' Peri cursed herself for sounding so unconvincing. 'We were looking for a suitable cave when we stumbled into your service duct.'

Azmael eyed the Doctor's gawdy jacket, then the blouse and skirt Peri was wearing. He had met many pilgrims in his time. All of them had appeared a little mad, but none had allowed their spiritual exuberance to spill into their sartorial trappings in quite the way these two had.

Perhaps Noma was right, Azmael considered. Perhaps they should die. There was too much at stake to risk keeping them alive.

‘I know you!' the Doctor suddenly blurted. The beacon he had spent so much effort and time deciphering now made sense. 'As I live and breathe -Azmael!' The words trumpeted around the room like a fanfare.

The elderly Time Lord looked both confused and embarrassed as the Doctor bounded forward and grasped his hand.

'You old dog,' he said, shaking Azmael's hand with the same enthusiasm a canine wags it tail. 'What in the name of wonder are you doing here?'

Turning to Peri, he continued. This is my old friend and mentor, the Master of Jaconda!'

Azmael snatched his hand back. ‘I am nothing of the kind! I never saw you in my life!'

The Doctor laughed. 'Forgive me, my dear friend. Of course you don't recognise me. I've regenerated twice since our last meeting.'

He grabbed Azmael's hands and pressed them to his chest.

There you are. Two hearts that beat as one! I am a Time Lord - just as you are.'

That, Azmael couldn't deny, as the rhythmic pulsing of the twin hearts confirmed.

'And if you still pretend not to know me, let me remind you of our last meeting. That last night. You drank like twenty giants, and I pushed you in the fountain to sober you up.'

Azmael allowed a tiny smile to flicker across his lips.

He recalled the night only too well. They had laughed, drank and loved as though it had been their last day alive. He also recalled that the Doctor, as always, was without money, and he had had to pay for their joint self-indulgence.

Nodding, Azmael said, 'I must concede, you are who you say.'

The Doctor let out a loud cheer and fondly embraced his friend.

'But...' he added sternly, breaking away from the Doctor's grasp,

'this is not a good time to have met.'

'Whyever not?'

Azmael related the