'Good night, Dr Chiltern.'

He went down the steps to the pavement and then two more paces, at which point, for no visible reason, his head twisted violently sideways and he fell dead.

Constance Jane screamed.

After a while, the Doctor managed to roll out of what was left of the machine on to the stage floor. After another, longer while, he turned his head. Chiltern was sprawled several feet away, his head at a grotesque angle. He wasn't alone. The Angel-Maker lay crumpled nearby, her throat torn open. Sabbath was kneeling beside her.

Sabbath raised his head. He and the Doctor looked at each other for a long time.

'She saved your life,' said Sabbath.

'She saved more than that.'

Very gently, Sabbath gathered the Angel-Maker in his arms and stood up. The Doctor didn't move, just lay staring at the confusion of flesh and foliage that had been Chiltern. With his face turned away and his deformed hand hidden; he might have been a man who had simply fallen asleep under a low-growing rose bush. Except for the toaster, of course. And the hilt of the Angel-Maker's knife in his lower back. And his neck. Sabbath must have broken it with his bare hands.

Shakily, the Doctor sat up. In the wings, Sabbath had carefully settled the Angel-Maker on a shabby blue velvet sofa from the ghost-show set. The Doctor got unsteadily to his feet and went over to them. Sabbath stood with his arms folded, his eyes on the body, absolutely expressionless.

'Once again,' he said, his voice betraying no emotion at all, 'I've helped save you.'

'She killed him to save your life, not mine.'

'The fact remains, you are alive and she is dead.' Sabbath turned his dark gaze on the Doctor. 'I should never have saved your life that first time.'

The Doctor shrugged. His eyes were empty and old. 'I told you I'd make you regret it.'

With a sound that was half-snarl, half-groan, Sabbath plunged a hand into the breast of his coat. The Doctor stepped back. Sabbath's features contorted; he clutched the arm of the sofa to stay upright. Then, face pouring sweat, he straightened and flung something at the Doctor's feet: 'There. Mortal again.'

The Doctor looked down at a black quivering piece of meat. 'Is that the one you loved her with?'

'That?' Sabbath lifted the Angel-Maker a final time, resting her head against his chest. 'That is not a human heart.'

He walked into the shadows. The Doctor heard the inter-dimensional door to the Jonah open, the throbbing engines, the distant cry of apes. Then the noises stopped. Sabbath was gone. The Doctor stood staring at the bloody thing at his feet.

Dead at last.

Epilogue.

Hugo sat on the steps of his caravan, cleaning a harness. The late August days were still long, and though the fair had shut for the evening an hour ago, the sun wasn't yet down. But summer was passing. He could feel the chill in the waning day, smell the dying grass.

'Good evening.'

Hugo looked up quickly, then got to his feet. 'Doctor!'

'I didn't mean to startle you.'

They shook hands. Hugo thought the Doctor looked much better than when he'd last seen him. More colour in his face. Sturdier. He was wearing what appeared to be a new velvet coat and carrying a square box under his arm.

'How's business?' said the Doctor.

'No complaints. How about you?'

'The same. Off to the country soon, aren't you?'

'In a fortnight.'

'So you'll be bringing out your, erm, collection.'

'What? Oh.' Hugo laughed. 'Aye. I've got to give the calf a good cleaning. I'm afraid the moth's got at it.'

'Well,' the Doctor set down the box, 'I hope you don't mind, but, remembering the help you gave me, I've taken the liberty of getting you a new nutria.' Hugo started to protest. The Doctor raised a hand. 'No argument. It's being delivered to you at the fair next week. And there's something else.'

He looked suddenly... what? Hugo couldn't quite read the expression. Shy? Embarrassed? Sad? The Doctor nudged the box with his toe. 'Open it.'

Hugo sat on the step and opened the box. Inside was a large jar. He lifted it out. Something floated inside. 'Cor!' Hugo was impressed. 'That's a marvel and no mistake. It looks real.'

'Doesn't it?'

'Meant to be some sort of heart, is it?'

'It is. I thought you might say it was from,' the Doctor hesitated, 'oh, I don't know. An abominable snowman. Or a hobgoblin, if you want something closer to home. Or even a creature from another planet.'

Hugo chuckled. 'Not likely I'd persuade anyone of that. But it's marvellous strange, and I'll think up something worthy. Look here, Vera,' he called as the bearded woman came around the caravan. 'See what the Doctor's brought us.'

She nodded at the Doctor. 'You're looking well. What's this then, Hugo?'

'See what you think.'

She raised the jar, squinted at the contents. 'A heart,' she said slowly.

'But not like any you've ever seen, eh?'

'No indeed.' She handed the jar back to him. 'Best lock it up as soon as possible.'

'Oh, aye. Don't want anything to happen to it.'

Hugo hurried off with his gift. Vera turned a curious eye on the Doctor. 'Lovely piece of work. One of the best I've seen. Where'd you find it?'

The sun was finally setting, among lilac and salmon-coloured clouds rimmed with gold. The Doctor seemed unable to take his eyes from the sight. 'Oh, in a curiosity shop in London. One of those places out of Dickens where you expect the owner to spontaneously combust.'

'Mm. Do you know what I think?'

'No,' he said innocently.

She stepped forward and tapped him on the chest. 'I think it's yours. The heart that was taken from you. That left that scar.'

He looked down at her. 'That's a very strange idea.'

'You're a very strange bloke. Only, if I'm right, how can you be standing here talking to me?'

'Oh that's simple.' The Doctor smiled. 'I'm growing a new one.'

Thump. Thwack Thwack.

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'He's driving me nuts is what,' Fitz said.

'Hm?' said Anji.

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They were standing in the TARDIS kitchen. Anji was rummaging through a cabinet. Fitz was irritably watching the electric kettle.

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'What's he doing, anyway?'

'He's playing with a ball,' she said, head still in the cabinet.

'I know that.'

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'But what's he doing it for?'

'You don't play with a ball for for anything, do you?' anything, do you?'

'He might,' Fitz muttered darkly. 'You never know.'

Anji emerged with a jar of peanut butter. 'If you don't like it, go in another room.'

Thump. Thwack Thwack.

Pause.

'I'm waiting on the kettle. Takes for bloody ever.'