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'The magician?'

'Defrabax the charlatan,' stated the old Dugraq. 'He has all the supernatural powers of a mange-flea.'

'We were tricked,' continued the leader. 'We released the one operational worker to him.'

'Worker?'

'When this land was the surface — when, according to the fables we tell our children, we were slaves in the zoo of the devil-gods — mechanical workers were used. One remained operational.'

The Doctor smiled. 'So then I was right to think that the homunculus is actually an android.'

The old Dugraq shrugged his shoulders. 'Perhaps. I have heard the term before.'

Another Dugraq continued the story. 'And then Defrabax made contact with the Rocarbies and brought them under his influence.'

'I see,' said the Doctor. 'He asked the Rocarbies to attack the city, presuming that it would be taken as the fulfilment of the legends and prophecies concerning the Menagerie of Ukkazaal.'

'A diversion from his true intentions, which we do not know.'

'And the Taculbain?' asked the Doctor. 'I'm told they too are working for a surface-dweller.'

'We know not who governs their actions,' said the sad Dugraq. 'But recently the Taculbain have discovered that if they emerge on to the surface during dusk or night there is too little light to harm them.'

'There's just one thing I don't understand,' said the Doctor.

The leader chattered in amusement. 'Only one?'

'You said that there were four species. What is the other race down here?'

There was a long pause. The Doctor sensed that it was not that they did not want to tell him, but rather that such matters were never trivialized or made light of. When all the Dugraqs were silently staring at their leader he spoke again.

'Deep in this dark city, in a place that we hope the Rocarbies will never find, there exists the other race. These are the creatures that live at the heart of the Menagerie of Ukkazaal. This race has slept for centuries, and must never be awoken. Our legends say that they are awesome killers, evil personified. They are the source of the surface-dweller's own fears and legends. The fourth race are called Mecrim.'

Jamie and Kaquaan stood at the base of the Furnace, overawed by its huge size and blistering heat. It was an enormous, sprawling building, surrounded by muddy pathways and huge piles of timber and coal-bearing rock.

Blackened men with masks and overalls led horses pulling vast wooden sledges. Fuel was taken from the sledges and carried to the furnaces that fed the main generators and turbines, and huge steaming vats of hot ash were rolled away for disposal. Thick cables supported by leaning wooden posts carried the electrical current towards the city.

There was clearly more than one furnace now, but the singular name of the place hinted at the scarlet, boiling haze that passed over the area. It was as if some grim god had set up a forge in which to torture countless souls.

Warm soot speckled down from the chimneys on Jamie and the girl . They almost had to shout to be heard over the sound of the turbines.

'Leaving the castle seemed easy,' said Jamie.

'Good luck,' commented Kaquaan, 'long overdue. Let's find the fat man.'

'How will we —'

'Everyone knows the fat man.'

They walked inside. The multi-level brick building shook with the sound of the pistons. Inside were many more sleighs and carts, the fuel they carried being hurled into the furnaces in a desperate attempt to satisfy their voracious appetite. Huge metal doors swung open at intervals, revealing a bright hot hell of fire that was almost painful to look at.

Jamie noticed that no one was bothered by their presence.

Indeed, the young woman seemed familiar to a number of the workers.

They found Argaabil quickly enough. He was truly huge, twice Jamie's width and a foot or two taller. As he turned —

a huge hammer, upraised, over an altar —

an image flicked through Jamie's mind. This was the man.

Jamie drew the sword, and shoved its tip none too gently towards