I listened to him laugh and sheathed my blade.

I listened to him laugh as the ice beneath us cracked.

I listened to him laugh as I turned to run. Back to the ship. Off the ice.

Now Before I joined him in death.

The ground split as I moved, splitting beneath me, breathing frozen screams into the air as I ran, slipped, finally slid down the last slopes and- - scrambled to a halt just short of falling into the water, where I surely would have frozen to death.

Hands grabbed me and hauled me upright. The men cutting ice for water. Ropes were thrown from the ship, its hull a welcome shadow looming through the fog.

We scrambled up the ropes, hands sticking to the frozen hemp, every arm-wrenching pull a struggle.

We made it on to deck just in time to see the mountain of ice cleave along one foggy peak and split in two. Balance disturbed, the smaller section rolled beneath the water, producing a huge wave which smashed against the side of the ship. The larger section, far bigger than the ship, trembled, hesitated, then simply flipped over. The noise was indescribable, at least as loud as the storm had been. A wave of sea water broke across the port side of the ship, which rocked as if slapped by a giant's hand. I knew then for certain that we had found the lair of Cryuni on this world and now the demon would stop short of nothing to take us all, as it had taken its servant, Stump.

As if to show I was right, the smaller part of the berg now rose again, tilting with slow but deadly force. One ma.s.s of green-grey ice after another smacked into the waves, giving rise to huge fountains, which soaked the already shivering crew, and then immediately began to freeze. Ice and snow swept from the tilting berg swirled around the decks and masts until sight, already fogged, was impossible. The bosun was already shouting orders. The sails unfurled, snapping into the wind and showering us with dislodged ice.

The last sounds I heard as the crash and roar of the berg rumbled into watery silence were the foggy echoes of Stump's cracked laughter, following us as, repairs unfinished, Tweed Tweed made all possible speed for safer waters. made all possible speed for safer waters.

10.

Hunted

Early the following afternoon I stood in the foyer of the George Hotel in Portsmouth and listened to Stockwood argue with a uniformed desk clerk about whether the Doctor had booked our rooms or not. The clerk told Stockwood he had never heard of the Doctor. I felt cold. Something was wrong. The Doctor never failed to do something he said he would do. So why had he now? Unless someone had stopped him. Perhaps Cryuni had other agents apart from Stockwood's butler. Perhaps the death spirit still wanted Stockwood's soul. Perhaps Fennel's death had not satisfied it.

So many questions. The Doctor would be proud. He told me to question everything. He told me it was the sign of a healthy mind.

Very well, then, I would question everything. I would question his disappearance.

I walked out of the hotel, leaving Stockwood and Royston arguing with the desk clerk, who now claimed there were no rooms available. The uniformed man standing at the door looked at me strangely as I pa.s.sed him. I had seen him open the door for other people entering or leaving the hotel. He hesitated as I approached. Did he sense I was a hunter and needed no special privileges? He probably did, for he did not open the door for me. I opened it for myself with a smile to show him I returned his respect. He scowled. 'We don' want your sort here,' he whispered as I pa.s.sed him.

Puzzled, I took one of the gold coins given to me by Stockwood and gave it to him. His expression became one of disgust. I thought about killing him, then simply walked past. I had more important things to do.

The Doctor was in trouble. I knew it. He needed my help.

Outside the hotel I paused. Which way to go? Portsmouth was a big village. Not as big as London but big enough. I knew I could hunt until sunset and not cover half of it. And the Doctor could be anywhere.

The journey from London had been by carriage. It had taken half a day and at every step I had to listen to the horse complaining about the roads it was forced to travel. Stockwood had constantly urged the driver to greater speed, a stupid and dangerous thing to do considering how much baggage there was strapped to the roof. Now, that baggage was outside the hotel, still beside the carriage, while the driver waited impatiently to be told whether he could feed and water his horses.

He stared at me as I left the hotel.

'Made their minds up what they're doing yet, 'ave they?'

I shook my head. 'The Doctor is missing. No rooms have been booked.'

'Well, if you think I'm going to take you back to the Smoke you've got another ruddy think coming,' The driver sat despondently on the step of the carriage. He reached around to stroke the flank of one of the horses and his voice softened. 'Never mind. Nice stable soon. And water.

You wait.' He turned back to me. 'I want my money, you know. You can tell your husband that from me.'

I scowled. 'Stockwood is not my husband!'

'That so, is it?' The driver looked at me in much the same way as the doorman. 'In that case he can definitely afford to pay me.' I ignored the driver, walking quickly away from the hotel. I was angry. I was beginning to think I would have to kill every man in this land. No one so far had shown the respect due to a hunter. Were there any hunters here? Or was this land so rich that n.o.body wanted for anything?

I looked around me as I walked. Portsmouth was full of beautiful buildings made of stone and wood. I felt like I was in a holy place. I tried to make as little noise as possible. The people I saw were all obviously priests. Their skins were well made, they wore hats and carried many objects of metal. I wondered what they thought of me.

They all stared at me. I exaggerated my hunter's stride, displaying my knife prominently on my hip so that they would know who I was but keeping it sheathed so they would know I intended no harm.

The hotel was located on a street leading to the harbour. I could see huge wooden vessels, like the canoes I had used to hunt fish but many times bigger, with poles sticking out of the tops that held up sheets of cloth that would have covered half my village. I stared at the distant vessels in awe. They were so big and yet somehow they floated. Were these the sailing ships sailing ships the Doctor had spoken of? Were we to travel on one of these to the Place of Rapa Nui? the Doctor had spoken of? Were we to travel on one of these to the Place of Rapa Nui?

I thought I would like to explore one of these vessels. I began to walk towards the harbour, then remembered I was supposed to be looking for the Doctor. I stopped. I had no way of knowing where the Doctor was. Portsmouth was full of noise and movement. There were birds, dogs, children running about. The priests were everywhere. I couldn't believe there were so many. Some of them stopped to look at me. I returned their stares arrogantly and most of them turned away. I sniffed the air, but it told me nothing. I crouched to examine the ground but all I could find were dirt and animal spoor and what were obviously temple offerings of fruit and vegetables which had been left in the sun for too long.

Then I caught the smell of blood. It seemed to come from the direction of the harbour. I followed the scent, stooping now and then to lift handfuls of dirt and check I was still moving in the right direction.

I moved quietly and quickly between the huts - buildings buildings -following the scent, wondering if it would belong to the Doctor or some other. -following the scent, wondering if it would belong to the Doctor or some other.

Maybe even an animal. There were those in my tribe who could tell the difference between animal and human blood. They were the most respected hunters. They ate the best of the kills and chose the best mates.

I was not one of them.

I found the source of the scent in a dingy street walled in by buildings like sheer cliff faces. The place smelled old. Forgotten. The small windows that opened on to the street were closed. One opened just long enough for someone to throw a bucketful of foul-smelling water on to the cobbles almost at my feet before slamming shut again. I blinked. It wasn't that the smell was bad, it just masked the blood spoor.

Then I saw a place where the ground was stained reddish brown and I didn't need the scent any more.

I drew my knife, moving forward and crouching to examine the ground. There was nothing except the blood. And a few scuff marks in the dirt. One clear print seemed to be about the size of the Doctor's shoe. I lifted some dirt and sniffed it. Dirt. Blood. It told me nothing more than I already knew. What had happened here? The ground was so hard it had not taken an impression of footprints. I could not even tell how many people had been involved in the struggle. I stood up. There was more blood on a nearby wall. I examined it. It too was less than a day old. It smelled like that on the ground. Then I noticed something. On the ground nearby was a sweet. I picked it up. A mint humbug, still in its wrapper.

The Doctor had been here.

Running footsteps sounded behind me. I turned, knife at the ready.

A child (Mother Father its hurting me it's) skidded to a halt a short distance from me and was staring at me.

No. She was staring at the sweet I held.

I offered it to her. 'I won't hurt you.'

The child said nothing.

'Unless you are a servant of the Evil One,' I added, just to make sure the G.o.ds knew I was alert.

Suddenly the child ran forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the sweet. She was very fast. I was faster. She grabbed the sweet but I grabbed her wrist, spun her round and threw her on to the ground. 'Show respect!' I hissed through clenched teeth. I could have gutted her.

The child looked up at me, silent, obviously frightened. I frowned. She was no servant of Cryuni. I sheathed my knife but held on to her wrist. A grown man would have opened his fingers and cried with pain at that grip. Her hand remained a fist, fingers clamped tightly about the sweet. Was it so important to her?

I prised open her fingers. 'You have seen one like this before?'

She said nothing, though her face showed the pain I knew she felt.

'Tell me and I will let you go.'

She said nothing. I considered what to do. I could break her wrist easily. That didn't seem right. She had not hurt me. But she might know what had happened to the Doctor. What would he do in this situation?

'All right. I'm going to let you go. I won't hurt you. I am your best friend.'

I let go of her wrist. Immediately she scrambled away, began to run. I started after her, but almost immediately she stopped. I stopped too. She turned. We stared at each other.

She held out the humbug. 'The last bloke I saw wot 'ad a sweet like this 'un had gold too. He gave me some. You got any gold, 'ave yer?'

I had the gold that Stockwood gave me. I showed it to her. 'Tell me what the man you saw looked like.'

The child came closer, small, hesitant steps, greedy eyes fixed on the gold piece I held.

' 'E was tall. Like you. Loads of 'air. Bloomin' great scarf, 'e 'ad. An 'e smiled a lot. George Fern said he must've bin mad t'give us gold. You mad too, are yer?'

I pointed at the blood on the ground nearby. 'You see that? Someone was hurt here. Did you see what happened?'

The child shrugged. 'Wot if I did?'

I flicked the gold piece up into the air and caught it again. I watched her watching the money. Her face was like a hunting web-tree spinner, total concentration, total focus.

She unwrapped the humbug and put it in her mouth. 'Gi's the gold an'

I'll tell yer wot 'appened t'yer bloke.'

'Tell me what happened and I'll give you the gold.'

The child frowned. 'Awright. But you got to promise.'

'I promise.'

'On your mother's grave.'

'I will promise on my sister's grave.'

'You got a sister?'

'Not any more. Now tell me what happened here.'

The child thought for a moment, then said. 'Well, I was out, right, wiv Georgie an' the others. We was dossin' about, yeah? George was supposed t'be runnin' an errand fer Bleggs, the butcher. But we sees this bloke, right, the bloke what's tall, like you, an' we says to 'im, we says, "Got any money, guy?" like that, and he gives us a sweet like what you had, an'

then he gives us some gold each and then we ran off, but I stayed back, right, 'cos, I was brung up proper and I was gonna say ta, like, and so I did, and then I ran off, but I followed 'im, see, to see if he had any more gold, like, and so I sees him get attacked by this cutthroat, an' a right nasty bit o' stuff 'e was, so I hid, like, and watched, and your bloke, he did sommat an' the cutthroat fell on his own knife, like, and then while he was trying t'save 'is life, not that I'da bovvered like, Ida just scarpered, but 'e was awright, your bloke, an' tried t'save the cutthroat, an' anyway while he was tryin' t'do this another bloke pulled a pistol on 'im and marched 'im off towards the docks, like, and that's when I thought it was time t'be gettin' back t'work, like, where I shoulda bin t'start wiv, see?'

I stared suspiciously at the child. 'How do I know you're telling the truth?' She was, I could see it in the set of her limbs, the jut of her chin, the unblinking stare. I wanted to make sure. I gained nothing by taking a chance. Hunters who took chances rarely lived long enough to use them.

The child rummaged in her pocket and held out a humbug. The wrapping was identical to the one I had let her keep. It was enough for me. 'And you say the Doctor went to the docks with this other?'

' 'Sright. There's a tavern there. The Three Tuns.'

'And what did he look like, this man who took the Doctor?'

'Well, 'e was short, and mean-lookin'. His face was all pinched up, like 'e was angry or summat. An' he smelled of whisky. An' his hair was red.'

'Thank you.' I gave the child the gold piece. She grabbed it and ran off, turning once to call, ' Ta, missus!' before vanishing round the corner.

So I began to walk towards the docks. As I walked, I thought. The Doctor had been captured. Why? For his gold? His knowledge? His humbugs? This was a strange land - any of these could be true. I had a feeling it was something to do with Stockwood. Stockwood and our journey to Rapa Nui. What if Royston had told Cryuni we were coming here to Portsmouth on the first part of the journey to Rapa Nui? Cryuni could be lying in wait for us. For the Doctor. The red-haired docker could have been another servant, like Royston. Now I was in a quandary. I had left Stockwood alone with Royston. Both he and now the Doctor were in danger. Which should I try to save first? It took only a moment to work out that saving the Doctor was more important - if only because he could probably save Stockwood if Royston tried something before I got back from the docks. But what if Royston killed Stockwood? Even the Doctor couldn't bring a man back from the dead, could he? And worse - what if Cryuni claimed his soul? Then what would I do?

I became aware someone was following me. The child, after more gold, or humbugs? I looked back. Nothing. The road was empty. I listened.

Nothing. I continued to walk. Still nothing. Then I heard footsteps again, soft, stealthy, deliberately trying to match mine so as not to be detected. I broke into a run. I could run very fast. But my aim was not to lose my follower but to tire him out. Then I would attack. I ran through the backstreets, pacing myself, occasionally leaning against a wall and feigning exhaustion if I thought my follower was falling too far behind.

Gradually I let my pace falter, my pauses lengthen, drawing my pursuer out and making him overconfident. I looked back once or twice, but whoever was following - hunting - me was very good at concealing himself. Then, as I stopped and leaned gasping against a wooden fence, I caught my first glimpse of the man hunting me. He seemed short and powerful, but the only real detail I managed to get was his hair - it was red. The way the child had described the Doctor's attacker. All right then. I had seen him. He was getting confident, sure I was nearly exhausted. One more sprint and I would be ready for him. I staggered to my feet and stumbled on. There was a corner ahead of me. I would stop just round it and lay my ambush there. I staggered around the corner - and found myself in a backstreet marketplace.

There were many people. Stalls full of goods. And animals. Some of the animals were obviously being bartered, some were running wild, hunting for sc.r.a.ps and barking at anyone who tried to stop them. People shouted and laughed and argued about prices. Some were singing. Children and dogs ran underfoot. I smelled smoke, cooking meat, dirty clothing, the spoor of animals. I stopped. The crowd simply washed around me like fog in the forest. I moved into the crowd, listening carefully, trying to separate the footsteps of my pursuer from those of the rest of the market-goers. For he would surely follow me here; here where the advantage of anonymity was his. Here he would be concealed, one face among many. A face I did not know. But I knew his hair and I could look for that. Then I saw that many of the people were wearing cloth caps or hats. All my pursuer had to do was conceal his hair and I would not be able to recognise him among the crowd.

I kept moving, ignoring people who shouted at me and tried to get me to buy things, food, clothes, animals. I tried to ignore the ma.s.s of people around me but everything was too intense. There were too many smells, too many sounds. Everything was too much. It was like being in a storm.

A storm of people.

I stopped, spun around, tried to get my bearings. I could not see the edge of the marketplace. All I could see were distant buildings rising beyond the crowds. And above them the masts of ships. I headed for the masts, then stopped. The footsteps. They were - No, it was a child. A dog. A man chasing someone who had stolen from his stall.

I closed my eyes, shut out the confusing world of sight. Instead I listened. Shouting. Laughing. Bargaining. Arguing. Singing. The sound of a fight. The sound of tools. The wet slap of fish. The screech of a bird as its neck was broken.

And footsteps. Many footsteps. Running. Jumping. Jostling.

Stamping.

And one set whose deliberate pace was familiar. Behind me. Close!