'Down in Devon just a few months back. We was wintering there, and I took one glass away to clean, and all the others was stolen. Oh it were hard, sir, it were hard.'

'How many went missing?'

'There was eight to begin. This is the only one left.'

'And how did you have it set up before? Not like this, surely.'

'No, sir. As a hall of mirrors. Here,' Scale became suspicious, 'why're you so bloody interested?'

'A hall of mirrors?' said the Doctor, ignoring the question. 'And what did it show? Not the usual thing, I'll wager.'

Scale abruptly lit the lamp. 'Show's over.'

The Doctor paid no attention. 'What is this?' he said, leaning over the railing to tap the table with his forefinger. 'It's not like any glass I've ever seen.'

'I said, show's over.'

'Your hall of mirrors,' said the Doctor. 'When people entered it, what did they see? Their futures or their pasts?'

Scale was across the little room so fast Fitz didn't even have time to react. He got the Doctor by his collar and pushed him against the wall. 'How do you know so much about it?'

Fitz started to step forward, a little uncertainly since he had no real idea of how to tackle the much larger Scale. The Doctor's eyes flicked towards him warningly. 'I'm by way of being a scholar of time,' he told Scale, unruffled. 'Horology, chronology, temporal aerodynamics, also known as Why Time Flies. Did you ever wonder that? It might just as well flow. Like that river in your mirror. That's the Thames, isn't it?'

Scale's hand tightened. 'Might be.'

'Oh I think it definitely is. Though not exactly the same river. You know what Herodotus said about stepping in rivers twice. You need my help.'

'And you need a good thrashing.'

Scale raised his fist. Fitz darted forward to shove him off-balance, even as the Doctor slipped from his grip like water, and as a result Fitz and the Doctor collided and went down together, knocking into Scale and toppling him too. For a moment, there was a confused scrambling. Fitz smacked into something hard, the Doctor and Scale yelled in unison, and there was a floor-shaking crash. Fitz covered his head. When, after a second, nothing had fallen on him, he peeked out and saw that the table was on its side. The mirror had slid off the trestle legs and slammed to the floor on Its back. As he got up, Fitz was amazed to see the glass hadn't even cracked.

The door banged open and Fitz met Anji's alarmed eyes. Scale had rushed to his precious mirror, abandoning his assault on the Doctor Fitz hauled him up, and he and Anji pulled him outside. A crowd was forming. An enormous figure detached itself from the throng and stepped forward. Fitz, Anji, the Doctor, and behind them the pursuing Scale, froze, looking up at a bald man in a leather tunic, with arms thick as logs.

'What's all this, then?' said the apparition. Fitz put him at at least seven feet.

'N-nothing,' whimpered Scale.

'Looks like something.'

'Really,' said the Doctor, 'it's all right.' His voice sounded wheezy. Fitz looked at him and saw with alarm that he was ashy-white. The giant narrowed his eyes at the Doctor, then spoke over his head to Scale.

'The thing about you, Micah, see, you haven't got a showman's personality. I always say, what's the sense of going into this sort of business if you haven't a showman's personality?'

Without another word, Scale faded back into his octagonal room and shut the door.

'That's all,' said the giant to the curious crowd. 'All over now. But I recommend to you an exhibition of the wonders of nature, of which I am a foremost example.' He pointed to the gaudy neighbouring showfront. 'Temporarily on our teabreak, but bound to please and amaze when we return in just half an hour just half an hour, ladies and gentlemen, for the thrill of a lifetime. I personally have been known to lift a full-grown bull. Will I do it again this afternoon? Come and see.'

Fitz and Anji had leaned the Doctor against the wall of the Black Chamber. 'I'm all right,' he kept muttering irritably though he didn't straighten up. Anji noticed he held his coat closed. But when the giant turned towards them again, he stepped forward and offered a hand. 'Thank you.'

'My pleasure, sir,' said the man, enfolding the Doctor's hand in one with fingers like sausages. His face changed, and he peered at the Doctor curiously.

'The pleasure is all ours,' said the Doctor. 'I think introductions are in order. I'm the Doctor and these are my friends Anji Kapoor and Fitz Kreiner. And you are...?'

The man pointed proudly to a boldly lettered sign on the neighbouring showfront: SEE H HUGO THE THE H HUGE T THE H HUMAN J JUGGERNAUT. 'That's me. Forgive me, sir,' he looked closely at the Doctor again, 'but are you all right?'

'Fine,' said the Doctor pleasantly, and fell over.

Anji thought she wasn't going to be able to bear it if the Doctor kept fainting like this. Was there any way of locking him in the TARDIS? she wondered frantically, as the Human Juggernaut caught the Doctor mid-fall and lifted him in his arms as easily as if he were carrying a child. Fitz began to assure concerned passers-by that it was all right, their friend had these spells. She followed the giant up the steps to the rococo entrance to the freaks' hall.

After the ornate showfront and doorway, the inside was surprisingly plain: passages defined by dark blue curtains, interrupted periodically by cubicles containing small raised platforms. These were empty except for one in which a clean-cut, dark-haired man whose body stopped around his fourth ribs was balanced serenely on a wooden chair, arms folded, napping.

'That's Johnny Bind, the Human Torso,' said the Juggernaut conversationally. 'He's a twin half a twin, he'd say and they had a great act together. His brother was regular size, you see. So he'd get into a casket, assistant would fake sawing the casket in half, Johnny'd jump out and scamper around on his hands. Didn't half fit people. Grown men would faint,' he finished proudly.

'I'm sure,' Anji murmured.

'Then his brother got married and left the business. A shame, really, but, of course, not everyone's cut out for it.'

'Like Mr Scale.'

'He's bitter, is Scale. Used to have a gorgeous hall of mirrors. Someone pinched it.'

'Yes, he said. What was so special about it?'

'Well, it was peculiar, to be sure. Strange. You never knew what you'd see in those mirrors. I only went through it once myself. That was enough.'

Anji was about to ask for details, but they had come into a long room that ran across the back of the building. This was crammed with trunks, boxes, props, tins of paint, rolled canvas, ropes and a rack of costumes. At one end a space had been cleared around a little portable stove on which an iron kettle steamed, and around this, on boxes and rolled-up canvas, several people were seated having tea. They stared at Anji, not entirely welcomingly. She lowered her eyes, embarrassed at intruding and unsure where to look, for every one of the tea-drinkers was physically extreme. She had glimpsed the bearded woman who was advertised outside, a hugely fat man covered with tattoos, a pinheaded woman, a midget and a man with neither arms nor legs smoking a cigarette. She wasn't paying these people for the privilege of gawking at them; she had trespassed into their privacy.

'What's this then, Hugo?' said the bearded woman suspiciously.

'Micah hurt a chap.'

There was a general murmur of sympathy; Micah was apparently not well liked.

'I'm sure it's not bad,' said Anji, as much to reassure herself as them. 'My friend's been ill.'

Everyone was moving around, piling up some rugs and blankets for a makeshift bed. In Hugo's arms, the Doctor hung bonelessly limp, as if he might suddenly flow to the floor in a puddle. Anji had never seen a human body sag like that; no human being had that sort of muscular-skeletal frame. For a frightened instant, she felt more kinship with the man with no limbs than she did with the Doctor.

'Consumptive, is he?' said the bearded woman.

'Oh no,' said Anji, though, looking at the Doctor's white, thin face she understood the diagnosis. 'He's had an operation,' she continued, feeling as if she were babbling. 'It made him weak. Thank you for your kindness.'

Hugo carefully laid the Doctor on his back. His coat fell open, and Anji saw smears of blood on his shirt. Scale must have ruptured some of the operation incisions. 'It's nothing,' she blurted in relief. 'Just some burst stitches.'

An examination by the bearded woman confirmed this. She looked curiously at the hard, dead-white keloidal ridge on the right side of the Doctor's chest. Anji stared too. She had never actually seen Sabbath's surgical handiwork. She felt slightly ill.

'What's up, then?' said Fitz in her ear.

'Where've you been?'

'Had to reassure this copper everything was all right. Is it?''

'I think so.'

As if to confirm this, the Doctor opened his eyes. He looked around, then followed everyone's gaze to his chest: 'Hm.'

' "Hm"?' said Anji. 'That's all you have to say?'

'Oops?' tried the Doctor. 'Oh, gosh?'

'Smart lad, en't he?' said the bearded woman, unimpressed.

'I am, in fact, quite intelligent,' said the Doctor. 'You're not seeing me at my best. Tell her,' he said to Fitz.

Fitz said to Anji, 'I think he's still a bit woozy.'

'Hello,' the Doctor said to everyone. 'Sorry to have interrupted your teabreak.'

'Imagine you'd like some tea yourself,' said Hugo. 'And maybe a doctor.'

'Neither, thank you.' The Doctor sat up, pulling his coat shut. Fitz and Anji started to protest, but he stopped them with a glance. 'This looks much worse than it is. It's very kind of you to have looked after me like this. Thank you again, Mr...?'

'Hugo Little, at your service.'

'Stage name?' said Fitz. Anji kicked his ankle. The giant looked affronted.

'Never have chosen anything so obvious. But it's the name my father left to me, and I'm proud to keep it.'

The Doctor's beautiful manners had surfaced. He introduced himself and Anji and Fitz to the others. The bearded woman was just Vera, but everyone else had a title: Henrietta the Narrow-Minded, Reginald the Colossus, Rudy the Dynamic Diminutive, and Wobry the Human Serpent. The Doctor seemed to know something about carnival life, as he did about so many unexpected topics, and he talked shop, particularly with Hugo and Vera, about the rigours of touring, the changes in fairs since the steam-powered rides had come in, and the arbitrary and idiotic regulations imposed by village councils who knew nothing about the practical realities of running a fair. Everyone had tea. Wobry was curious about India and Anji was sorry to have to disappoint him by explaining she'd been born in London. 'Like to travel there,' he said, rolling his cigarette to the other side of his mouth. 'See those fakirs. They They know something.' know something.'

'Tell me,' the Doctor said to Hugo, 'this being a relatively small performing world do you know anything about a fellow with a conjuring act who calls himself Octave?'

Hugo and the others exchanged sombre glances. 'Only that he's dead,' the giant said.

'Dead?' repeated the Doctor. What colour he had blanched out of his face and Anji was afraid for a moment he was going to pass out again. 'How? When?'

'Last week. Dreadful thing he was murdered. Knifed to death after his show, up in Liverpool. No one knows why. Why do you '

But with a brief 'Excuse me,' the Doctor, white to the lips, had risen, slipped past him and was gone. Making awkward thank-yous, Anji and Fitz hurried after him. They came out of the back of the exhibit building, next to one of the towering glass walls. The Doctor's green coat was just visible vanishing into the crowd, and they ran to catch up. Hugo and Vera stood in the doorway, looking after them.

'His blood was queer,' she said. 'Queer colour. Orange-ish. And did you feel when you carried him in? His skin?'

'Yes.'

'Too cold. And his pulse wasn't proper neither.'

'No,' said Hugo. 'You're right. He's one of us.'

Chapter Ten.

The Angel-Maker worried about Sabbath. She did this unreflectively, oblivious to any irony in her concern for the welfare of a man so obviously powerful. Nor, indeed, had she had any doubts about him personally. Her faith in him was perfect. But she suspected that he had dangerous enemies, more devious and capable than he realised.

She was particularly mistrustful of the pale man with pale eyes that Sabbath called the Doctor. He was wrong wrong, why couldn't Sabbath see that? He didn't fit fit. Time warped so strangely around him, the way grass rippled when a wind passed through. It hurt her head to look at him. She didn't like thinking about him either. Doing so now, she frowned and plucked at a loose thread on her bodice.

Was this Doctor perhaps one of the Gentry? They were said to be fair, and he was certainly very beautiful to the eye. His coat was green. He played tricks too, as they did, and his attitude was not respectful. But no, he must be mortal, for she could sense that he was ill and in pain. Still, there was something to him more than human. Since he was Sabbath's enemy and Sabbath might perhaps be the Devil, he could not be the Devil. So he must be one of the unfallen, on the side of Heaven. This frightened the Angel-Maker a little. She was not herself on the side of Heaven, but she doubted her strength against a representative of that kingdom.

Contemptuously, she threw aside her fear and sat up straighter. He was mortal. He could be killed. That was all that mattered. She did not understand why Sabbath would not let her kill him now. He would have to die sooner or later. Sabbath had not said so, but she knew he believed that. Yet he hesitated. He seemed... not fond of the Doctor, but impersonally tender towards him, as a man might be towards a sick animal. She did not understand this at all. Sick or not, he was dangerous. She sighed. She must trust Sabbath, indeed she was very foolish and disrespectful not to. His dark wisdom was simply beyond her understanding.

And yet... did he truly understand this Doctor? Did he know everything about him? Did he know, for example, what the Angel-Maker had glimpsed that when the two were together, something not unlike the distortion around the Doctor shimmered around Sabbath too? It was faint, very faint, at first she had thought it a trick of the light. But it was no trick. And her heart chilled when she remembered that she had seen it before.

It had been when he fell ill so frighteningly some ten days ago. She had been sitting on a little chair in the hallway outside the closed door of his study. He wanted her to spend her free time on things that amused her, or to study lessons he had set for her but she didn't like to let him get too far away. She didn't like to let him out of her sight at all, but constant surveillance annoyed him, and if she tried a subterfuge such as watching from the garden, he always sensed her presence. He was tolerant of this solicitude, but discouraged it. Still, though she took his direction in all things, she could not bring herself to follow his wishes in this. Shortly after her arrival, she began to leave her bed after she was certain he slept and, though she would never have dared to open his bedroom door, stretch herself across his threshold and rest there till she heard him rise at dawn. He knew that too, of course, as he knew everything, and finally took pity on her and let her in. After that, she no longer worried in the night.

Except on nights like this one, when he worked very late. So she sat quietly in the hall, a book of The 1001 Nights The 1001 Nights open on her knee, reading but also alert, more alert than reading, truly, for the man behind the study door was more wonderful than anything in the stories. His ship was grander than any magic carpet, and he commanded beasts. Time itself submitted to him. And yet he could sit in a room in a house like any man. The room should explode, she thought. The house should burn. How did they contain him? And it was just as she was thinking this, as if in answer, there came a crash from the study. open on her knee, reading but also alert, more alert than reading, truly, for the man behind the study door was more wonderful than anything in the stories. His ship was grander than any magic carpet, and he commanded beasts. Time itself submitted to him. And yet he could sit in a room in a house like any man. The room should explode, she thought. The house should burn. How did they contain him? And it was just as she was thinking this, as if in answer, there came a crash from the study.

She was through the door in an instant, but of course the room was not exploding. Indeed, in the light from the fire and the desk lamp, everything was quite in place and peaceful, except that she could not see Sabbath. Had he gone? Then she heard a groan from behind the desk.

He had fallen from his chair. His eyes were shut and his face pale as death. She stared at him, panicked: he was too large; she could never move him. Dropping to her knees, she pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbed at the drops of sweat on his brow and upper lip. He was cold and his breathing was irregular and shallow. At her touch, his eyes opened slightly, but they were dull and unseeing. It was then she noticed, as he moved his head slightly and the lamplight fell more fully on him, that distortion she had seen around the Doctor.

Furiously, she called his name and shook him. She pinched him. Finally she slapped him, and slapped him again, and then began hitting him in rage and terror, her hair coming loose and falling down into her face, half-blinding her. Though she wasn't crying, she made a strange moaning noise. She clasped her hands and pummelled his chest, as if her fists were a hammer and she could knock consciousness back into him. Should she pray? But to whom or what? 'Ah, Jesus,' she gasped she couldn't help it. 'Ah, Jesus and Mary.' No, that was wrong. That would kill him. 'Ah, the Devil!' she cried, and then, at once, he sat up so abruptly he knocked her over.

He immediately reached a hand to the edge of the desk, to keep from falling again. His face was still pale, and he looked at her confusedly. She sat up, catching her breath, pushing back her hair. It was a miracle, surely. She had prayed to the right one. He put his other hand to his chest, where she had pounded him, and winced. The ironic glint came back into his eyes and he looked at her with sardonic appreciation. 'Congratulations, my dear. You have just invented what will someday be called CPR.'

He placed both hands on the desk and, with a grunt, heaved himself to his feet. She saw the sweat break out again on his face. She sat with her clenched hands at her mouth, staring up at him. 'It was him.'

'What?' he said distractedly.

'Him. The Doctor.' He glanced down at her irritably. 'He did this.'

'Nonsense,' said Sabbath hoarsely. He moved carefully around the desk and towards the fire. She knew better than to try to help. She watched him walk slowly to the leather armchair and, equally slowly, sink into it. His damp face glistened in the firelight. He stared at the flames, breathing deeply and raggedly.

She stood up. 'It was,' she insisted stubbornly.

Without looking at her, he waved a dismissive hand. 'Leave me.'

So she returned to the hall. After a little while, she heard him moving again, towards the door that led to the back of the house from where, somehow, he could enter his ship. She knew that he would be all right there. For the first time, she noticed the dropped book sprawled on the floor. She bent and picked it up. Several pages were creased, and the spine broken.

It had had been the Doctor, she thought now, still picking tensely at the loose thread. It been the Doctor, she thought now, still picking tensely at the loose thread. It had had. He had reached out somehow and hurt Sabbath. Impulsively, she got to her feet and left her room. On the broad staircase, she stopped, gripping the banister, at the sound of voices from the study. She recognised them both: Sabbath's resonant bass, and the Doctor's tenor, strident now in anger. She rushed down the stairs and flung open the door.

The Doctor spun around. His eyes were a hot, dark blue, like dying flames. 'Call off your pet psychopath!' he spat.

She glanced to Sabbath, who was in his chair by the cold Fireplace. He nodded at her calmly. After a last, assessing look at the Doctor, she stepped back out of the room, pulling the door to.