'I would imagine.'

'You're a close-mouthed one, ain't you?' The Doctor smiled noncommittally. She sniffed and started to roll a cigarette. 'It's all right, you know. Your secret's safe with us.'

'Vera...' said Hugo.

'No harm getting things on the table. We know you're a freak,' she said to the Doctor.

'How?' he said after a beat.

'Your blood's funny, your skin's too cool, your heartbeat sounds like nothing I've I've ever heard. Course, maybe you just have some exotic disease. In which case, I hope it ain't contagious.' ever heard. Course, maybe you just have some exotic disease. In which case, I hope it ain't contagious.'

'I don't.'

She nodded, eying him assessingly. 'Pity it don't show. No way for you to make a living from it. Course you're lovely, so you could be tattooed all over and display yourself.'

The Doctor laughed.

'Vera!' said Hugo.

'Well,' she said defensively, 'is it true or not?'

'How'd you get so far on the bad side of Micah?' said Hugo quickly.

'I asked too many questions about his mirror.'

'Aye.' Hugo sloshed some hot water around in the teapot to warm it. 'He's very protective of that mirror. Won't even leave it up at the Palace; brings it home each night.'

'Excuse me?' The Doctor sat up straight, like a squirrel sensing that a passer-by has a nut. 'Do you mean to say it's here?' Hugo nodded towards the dark hulk of a large caravan. 'I don't suppose I could have a look at it?'

Vera sighed and moved the kettle off the boil.

'Hauls it home every night,' said Hugo, as he led the Doctor to the caravan. 'Great heavy thing it is too.'

'It's amazing he hasn't broken it.'

'Well, that's a funny thing. I've seen him bang it or drop it more than once. But it's never broken.'

'Really?' the Doctor murmured. Hugo had undone a heavy lock. Now he ducked inside with the lantern. The Doctor stepped after him and almost jumped as the light hit a staring object floating in a jar. In another second, he realised he was looking at a baby with an extra leg.

'Wax,' said Hugo. 'Vera'd never let us have a real one, after her own came stillborn. Good as Madame Tussaud's in my opinion.'

'Very effective, yes.' said the Doctor a bit nervously. His gaze roamed over the other jars glinting in the lantern light, each with its own grotesque inhabitant, deformed aquarium creatures in their formaldehyde-filled tanks: a hand with a vestigial finger, a frog with six legs, a siamese lizard. In a corner, a two-headed stuffed calf leaned against the wall. 'Why aren't you exhibiting these?'

'Well, they're a bit stuffy in London. Squeamish. They want to see this sort of thing, all right, but they're embarrassed that they want to. Someone always complains to management, or sometimes the law. So we only put these on show in the country and the small towns. Not that they draw much.' Hugo sighed. 'We could do with a really first-class exhibit. Now, where's your mirror? Well, that's peculiar.' He scratched his head. 'It's not here.'

'No?' said the Doctor tensely. He scanned the caravan interior. Hugo was clearly right. Nothing as large as the mirror could be hidden in this small space. His eye was caught by a sign on an empty cage: Giant Rat Of Sumatra.

'A nutria from Brazil,' Hugo explained. 'But it took against the climate and passed on. We'll ask Vera about the mirror.'

'Yes,' said the Doctor politely, though he was unsure what Vera could do. He followed Hugo out the door. 'I'd like to get another nutria,' the giant confided, as they descended the stairs, 'but they don't come available that often. And they come dear.'

They walked back to the stove. Vera had rolled a second cigarette and was leaning forward to light it, holding her beard back from the fire, against her breasts.

'That mirror of Micah's,' said Hugo, 'what about it, then?'

She was puzzled for a second, then her face cleared. 'Didn't bring it tonight, did he? Didn't come down here till he brought you.' She nodded at the Doctor.

'Ah,' he said in relief. 'Then it's still in place in his exhibit.'

'Until tomorrow night, anyway. Right now, we need to think about getting you safe away from here.'

'Erm,' said the Doctor, 'actually, I think it would be better if I got back in the box.'

They both stared at him.

'You've gone a bit off,' said Hugo kindly, 'from the laudanum.'

'No, seriously. You see, I need to find the man Scale is interested in taking me to. Also, frankly, if I leave, he'll know that you're the ones who freed me.'

'Scale wouldn't try anything with us,' said Hugo flatly.

'Not directly, I'm sure. But he's a nasty piece of work, just the type who'd do something sly to your most vulnerable member, or find a way to block your licence renewal.'

'Well,' said Vera, 'you've got him down right enough. See here, though.' She squinted at him. 'There's no guarantee this mystery bloke won't do the both of you.'

'Well, no, but I assume he'll at least want to talk to me first.'

'He won't care about talking to Micah. So you might be taking him to his death. Not that I particularly care, mind you, but there you have it.'

'Oh dear,' said the Doctor. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that. He didn't like the answer. Sabbath's accusation returned and stung him: he was taking things personally. More human every day. He felt a sudden weariness.

'You don't look good,' said Hugo. 'Sit down.'

The Doctor sat. 'I can't think of a way around it,' he said after a moment. 'Except to warn Scale. There's nothing else I can do.'

'If he'd succeeded in knocking you out, you wouldn't even have to be worrying about this,' said Hugo practically. 'Here.'

He handed the Doctor a cup of tea. The Doctor drank some of it. The hot, tannic bite made him feel better. He warmed his cold hands against the cup. 'I'd like to write a note to my friends,' he said. 'Could you get it to them?'

'Better hurry,' said Vera, squinting again, this time past him. 'I see a wagon lantern across the field. Must be Micah coming back.'

The Doctor looked over his shoulder. The light was still some distance away, small as a firefly. He shut his eyes for a few seconds, smelling the grass and the hot tea, feeling the little night breeze play with the edges of his hair. When he opened his eyes, the light was still far away, but noticeably larger.

Well, he thought, here I go.

Chapter Fourteen.

Scale nearly jumped off the cart when the voice came out of the box.

'Scale?' it said.

Scale caught his breath. His eyes darted around to see if anyone else had heard, but the dark narrow street was empty.

'I know you're there,' said the voice from the box.

'Shut up,' said Scale.

'That's better.'

'I won't talk to you. You're supposed to be drugged.'

'That's all right, I just want to talk to you.'

'I won't listen. Shut up, I tell you, or I'll gag you.'

'Very bad idea,' said the man in the box. Damn him, Scale thought desperately. He'd known he was trouble from the minute he saw him. What if he called for help? Could Scale overpower him and stop his mouth if the man wasn't drugged? Should he stop the cart now and try?

'Listen, Scale,' said the man, 'have you really thought this through?'

He wasn't shouting for help. In fact, he was speaking quite moderately. This was a queer one, all right. 'What?'

'Have you thought this through properly?'

'Thought what what through properly?' through properly?'

'This kidnapping business.'

'I know what I'm doing.'

'Well, now, you see, that's where we disagree. You're taking me to someone and trading me for a certain amount of money, am I right?' Scale didn't reply. 'I'm right, aren't I?' No reply. 'I'll take that as yes. Now, that raises a question. How do you know the person in question will pay you?'

'He won't cheat me.'

'Why not?'

'He wouldn't dare.'

'Why not?'

'I'd bring the law down on him. I could do it and not get caught meself.'

'Even if he kills you?'

There was a long, long pause.

'What?' said Scale faintly.

'Well, think about it,' said the man in a maddeningly conversational tone. 'Why shouldn't he? It will save him money. Not to mention guaranteeing you won't spill the whole thing when you're in your cups.'

'You're just trying to get me to let you go!'

'No,' said the man. 'On the contrary. I very badly want to meet this fellow. I suspect he knows something about your mirror, maybe something about all your mirrors.'

'Shut up!'

'In a second. One last bit of advice: as soon as you've delivered this box, you'd be wise to try to get out of there. Think about it, Scale; you'll see I'm right. Now I'm shutting up.'

Scale couldn't be sure, but he thought he could hear the man begin to hum softly to himself. He slapped the reins nervously against the horse's back and it grudgingly picked up its pace. Though the night was cool, Scale felt himself begin to sweat.

In his box, the Doctor relaxed. He had thrown out the laudanum-dampened cloth and Vera had provided him with a clean towel to fold under his head, so this second journey wasn't quite as uncomfortable as the first. And he'd done his best for Scale. The man might even pay attention; he seemed to have a fairly strong sense of self-preservation. Additionally, he'd made sure that Fitz and Anji would be notified about what was happening and though this was somewhat mitigated by the fact that he didn't actually know what was happening, at least they wouldn't be at a complete loss. All in all, a satisfactory situation. He went to sleep.

He woke abruptly when the box tilted and he banged his head. Clearly, he thought, bracing himself with his hands and feet, they had arrived. The box wobbled some more as what seemed to be two men hefted and carried it. The Doctor stayed very quiet. He heard laboured, wheezy breathing which he presumed was Scale. The other man didn't seem to be having as much trouble. A door was unlocked. A corridor echoed. Another door. A couple of steps, stone by the sound of it. Then the box was set down with a jar, and the Doctor hit his head again. He rubbed it ruefully, listening hard. Scale and the second man had apparently moved to the other side of the room. Another voice joined theirs. The Doctor couldn't make out what was being said.

Footsteps approached. The bolt scraped in the lock. '...might be coming around,' Scale was saying, 'but I've got him tied ' The lid lifted and the Doctor shot out like a hare.

'Scale, you idiot!' he shouted as he slammed into whoever had opened the box. 'They're going to kill you!' He leaped past the man he had knocked over and looked for the door. It was blocked by a large familiar figure: the sanatorium orderly O'Keagh. The Doctor spun to see behind him. Scale was standing stupidly in the middle of the room, and Chiltern was angrily picking himself up off the floor. 'Oh dear.'

Chiltern stood for a moment regaining his breath and straightening his clothes. 'Mr O'Keagh,' he said finally, 'please return the Doctor to the box.'

The Doctor let O'Keagh grab his arms and propel him forward. As they came up to where Chiltern was standing, he yelled, 'Scale, will you for goodness' sake, get out of here get out of here!', snapped his head back into O'Keagh's teeth and swung both feet up into Chiltern's stomach. All three went down, but the Doctor was up in an instant and heading for the door, pulling the stunned Scale behind him.

The Doctor wondered where they were. This was no part of the old wing he'd seen. He and Scale hared down the flagstone corridor, around a corner, and right into a locked door. A second later, O'Keagh barrelled into the Doctor, knocking his breath out, and shortly after that he was back in the box, with Chiltern sitting on the lid.

The Doctor breathed deeply, holding his aching stomach muscles. Before dragging the Doctor away, O'Keagh had punched Scale hard in the head. Now he'd apparently gone back after him. The Doctor felt the sour misery of failure. He himself needed to ride this out until he actually found out what was going on; he was almost certain that if Chiltern didn't have the time machine himself he knew where it was. But he wished he'd saved Scale. Of course, maybe O'Keagh was even now paying him, had only hit him to stop him panicking... The Doctor grimaced in self-disgust at his own enforced, self-protective naivete.

He began to shiver. His heart raced. Too much time in a box. He had an absurd but pressing desire to curl into a ball which the narrowness of his prison prevented. Whence this claustrophobia? Had he been traumatised by an early game of hide-andseek? He really should ask a psychiatrist about it sometime. It occurred to him that an opportunity was even now presenting itself.

'I have a question,' he said. No response. He raised his voice. 'I said, I have a question.'

'Be quiet,' said Chiltern.

'No, seriously. You see, I'm always uncomfortable in a box.'

A pause.

'Are you often in a box?'

'Well, not a box as such, no. Small confined spaces in which I'm, erm, confined, yes.'

'Why?'

'Sort of a professional liability.'