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‘But why have they sent an adjudicator?’ This was Dory Chan –

one of the few Councillors to have challenged any of Pallister’s recent suggestions. She had a hard face and disturbingly penetrating eyes.

‘And why didn’t he make himself known to us all?’

‘He made himself known to me,’ Pallister pointed out gently, omit-ting the fact that it had been he that had had gone to the Doctor. ‘As for why. . . ’

He let the silence hang for a while, knowing that almost all the Councillors (except, perhaps, Chan) would be desperately wondering whether they’d done something wrong – some silly little infringement of the Council rules, some stupid mess-up in protocol. And then, when he’d let them panic enough, he said: ‘I’ll handle the Doctor.’

The sighs of relief were audible.

But Chan wasn’t quite so ready to hand over responsibility to Pallister. She brushed her black hair back over her ear and coughed pointedly.

‘Would it not be a good idea,’ she ventured, an edge to her voice,

‘for the Doctor to meet with us? All of us? And if he knows something about the ship. . . I take it you’ve sent someone out to investigate? To check that he’s not lying?’

Pallister spread his hands.

‘It’s all in hand, Councillor Chan. And I would agree with you about us all meeting with him, but adjudicators are a law unto themselves, as I’m sure you know. To demand his attendance here might just antagonise him further.’

‘What d’you mean, “further”? As far as I can tell, we’ve not antagonised him at all yet –’

Chan stopped and frowned, glancing around the Council.

‘What’s that noise?’

Pallister listened hard.

From somewhere, somewhere in the walls of the building, he could hear scratching noises. Tiny, almost inaudible scratching noises.

Pallister tapped at the intercom in front of him.

‘Eton,’ he snapped to his aide, waiting in the outer office. ‘What’s that noise?’

‘Noise, Councillor?’ came back Eton’s tinny voice. ‘I. . . ’

Eton’s voice suddenly cut off with a sharp thump.

‘Eton?’ barked Pallister, stabbing at the button again. ‘Eton!’

There was no reply. But from the intercom came a chittering and squeaking.

‘Eton?’

Pallister pulled the door to the outer office open sharply, not quite sure what he expected to see. Behind him were the rest of the Councillors, puzzled and confused. The office was empty, the chair behind the desk lying on its side.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Marj Haddon, pushing past him. ‘Where’s Eton?’

The front door was open, and she crossed to it, peering out into the night. The square was silent and deserted.

‘Listen!’ hissed Chan, and Marj turned suddenly.

They could all hear it now: a frantic scrabbling and scratching, an animal noise from behind the walls and under the floors. Nervously, the Councillors began to back into the chamber, muttering amongst themselves.

‘Oh God. . . ’

It was Chan: she was staring into the shadows under the tables and cabinets around the Council chamber. Shadows that were moving; shadows that slid out from under the furniture and into the room, raising themselves up.

All around them, their eyes glinting as they opened their mouths to show their teeth, were dozens and dozens of otters.

‘What. . . what do they want?’ whispered Chan, drawing back and bumping into the tight little clot of Councillors that had formed in the doorway.

‘They don’t “want” anything,’ snapped Pallister, trying hard to stamp down the edge of fear in his own voice. ‘They’re animals.’

‘Why are they here?’ someone else asked.

‘Didn’t they take the adjudicator’s friend to one of their nests?’

asked another, his voice trembling. ‘Didn’t they?’ The otters were silent and motionless, up on their back legs, front paws hanging down as they watched the Councillors.

‘Food!’ hissed Marj. ‘They want us for food!’

‘They’re vegetarians,’ Pallister said.

‘So Ty says,’ retorted Chan, clearly unconvinced.

Pallister tried to ignore their frightened mutterings and calmed himself with steady breathing, despite the hammering of his heart.

He couldn’t have gone through