'You should have let me know you were coming,'

Packwood said amiably as he appeared a few minutes later.

'Janet's off to the main island in a few minutes. You could have borrowed her boat and taken it back later.'

'Let you know?' Madsen asked. 'What - by carrier pigeon, I suppose? It's about all there is in this G.o.dforsaken place.'

'And I thought you were getting on so well with the natives,' Packwood admonished. He paused beside the drinks cabinet and considered. 'Not quite over the yardarm yet, I'm afraid,' he decided. 'I can ring for tea, if you like.'

'I don't want tea,' Madsen snapped.

'Then what do you want?' Packwood's voice was suddenly low and quiet.

Madsen took a deep breath and looked away. 'I want out,'

he said.

For a while Packwood did not reply. He crossed to the window and looked out over the grounds of the house. 'You know,' he said at last, 'when Christopher's great-great whatever grandfather built this house, there must have come a time where he knew that the money was gone. He must have realised that he wasn't going to be able to do it, to make his dream a reality. But despite that, he went on.'

'He went bankrupt,' Madsen pointed out.

Packwood whirled round, his eyes blazing. 'He had a vision. A dream. And he was strong enough and brave enough and astute enough to see that although he could not fulfil that dream, it was too late to stop. And whatever happened to him, someone else would realise his vision.' Packwood shook his head. 'He didn't stop, he didn't back out. He had come too far.

Just as we have.'

'But it isn't working!' Madsen insisted.

Packwood raised his eyebrows. 'Oh? I thought Janet was a.n.a.lysing the results, not you.'

'I see the results every day,' Madsen told him. 'I live with them, remember. And I tell you it isn't working.'

'And on what exactly do you base this a.n.a.lysis of yours?'

'The deaths for one thing.'

Packwood sat down close to Madsen. 'We've been through this, Dave. Teething problems. There are always teething problems. There have been no more deaths, have there? The fishing accident was just an accident, you know.'

'What? Oh yes, I know. No, no more deaths. Not from...'

He rubbed at his forehead with his fingers, trying to ma.s.sage his thoughts into some sort of coherent order. 'It's just...the ethics of it all.'

'Ah. Ethics.' Packwood rubbed his jaw. 'We've talked about that too, as I recall. The ends justify the means, remember.'

Madsen sighed. 'I'm not sure they do any more,' he confessed.

'But think of the ends, of what we are achieving,'

Packwood hissed at him.

'I have.' Madsen told him. He looked up, met Packwood's eyes, held his gaze. 'I have thought about it.'

'Oh?'

'And I've thought about the cost too. The human cost.

About what we're doing to these people. I know I agreed to it.

But that was before I knew them. Before I was a part of their community.' He reached out suddenly and grabbed Packwood's surprised hand. 'It isn't right, Packwood, what we're doing to them.'

Packwood stared at Madsen's hand as it gripped his own.

Then he pulled away and stood up. 'Them?' he demanded angrily. 'Them or her her?'

'Her? What do you -'

'Liz Trefoil,' Packwood snapped. 'Oh, don't think I don't know about that. News travels faster and further than you'd ever believe in a close-knit community like this.'

'But that's the point,' Madsen was standing too now, almost shouting. 'It is is a community. It's not a laboratory, these people aren't rats or mice or guinea pigs.' He paused for breath, shaking with emotion. a community. It's not a laboratory, these people aren't rats or mice or guinea pigs.' He paused for breath, shaking with emotion.

From out in the hall came the sound of a clock striking noon. As it struck, Packwood's expression mellowed, his anger seemed to fade. 'Now it really is time for a drink,' he said. 'Will you join me? Brandy?' He waved Madsen back to his seat.

Madsen shook his head. 'No, thank you.'

But Packwood handed him a gla.s.s anyway. Then he sat opposite Madsen, swirling his brandy round the large gla.s.s as he watched the doctor. 'We've made great progress, you know,' Packwood said. His voice was calm and level again now. He sipped at the brandy and smacked his lips together in appreciation. 'Did I tell you that we've developed a strain that can be administered orally?' he asked. 'No?' He nodded, pleased with himself. 'Makes your job easier,' he said.

'I don't have a job here any more. I'm out of it, I told you.'

Packwood took another sip. 'So you did,' he murmured.

'So you did. Still, it will save you the trouble of all those injections into the carotid artery. No more double doses of the flu vaccine, eh? Just a simple tablet.' He sipped again. 'Or it could be dispersed in liquid, of course.'

Madsen stared at him. Then slowly, carefully he put his brandy down on the table beside his chair.

'Not drinking?' Packwood asked. 'So, we're just awaiting the results of a human test now. We had a successful trial on cattle. Mrs Painswick's cows actually. Seems to work well. No side effects as far as I know. Rogers put it in their troughs the other night. You've not been called out to them in the meantime, I hope?'

Madsen shook his head dumbly.

'Good. Good.' Packwood frowned suddenly at Madsen.

'This brandy is really excellent, you know.'

'I'm not thirsty.'

Packwood nodded slowly. 'I know what you're thinking,'

he said, swirling the gla.s.s again. 'But I'd hardly tell you this if I was hoping to slip something into that drink, now would I?

Nor would I be drinking it myself, of course.' He took another sip by way of demonstration.

'I suppose,' he went on after a short while, 'that we could have used Mrs Painswick herself as a test subject. She will undoubtedly be infected by this strain by now. As no doubt will a few others who work at the farm. But since they may already be infected from other sources like the sheep, it's hardly a control. And Janet says we need a control.'

'And you have a control? A human control?' Madsen asked despite himself.

Packwood was smiling now. It was not a pleasant smile.

'We do,' he said proudly. 'You know, I really don't understand why you won't drink with me. I a.s.sure you that brandy is perfectly safe and pure.' He paused, just for a split second before he added: 'You had a drink last time you were here.'

'Last time?' For a moment Madsen's world tilted sideways. He felt his head swimming.

'Whisky, as I recall. Scotch on the rocks, that's what you asked for.'

'The whisky?' Madsen's throat was dry. 'It was in the whisky?'

Packwood was still smiling.

'No,' Madsen realised. 'No, you drank too. From the same bottle. You're bluffing.' He breathed out in relief. 'You think that if you convince me I'm infected I'll have to go on, to prove it works. Make it work. For my own sake.'

'There is a certain logic to that,' Packwood agreed. 'And you're almost right too. As you realise, there was of course nothing in the whisky. Nothing at all.' His smile seemed to have widened as he drained his gla.s.s. Then he leaned forward and picked up Madsen's discarded brandy gla.s.s. He stood up, holding the gla.s.s carefully by the stem.

Packwood crossed to the drinks cabinet and set down the gla.s.ses. He poured himself another brandy. 'I'm so sorry,' he said, 'I forgot.'

'Forgot?' There was something in the tone of Packwood's voice, in his continuing pasted-on smile, that made Madsen feel suddenly sick and dizzy.

'Yes,' Packwood said in the same tone of voice. 'You have ice in your drinks, don't you?' The satisfaction, the pride oozed from his words. 'I never take ice myself. Even if it's made with the purest island spring water.'

Madsen found himself taking back the gla.s.s without thinking. His mind was reeling, racing, shying away from the implication.

'The great thing about the orally administered strain of material,' Packwood was saying, his voice seeming to come through layers of water. 'The real advance, is that it's pa.s.sed on between individuals through bodily fluids. That's why Mrs Painswick will be infected of course. Dairy cows, you see.'

Madsen felt the gla.s.s slip from his fingers. He heard the c.h.i.n.k of the ice as the drink fell towards the wooden floor, a fraction ahead of the explosion of breaking gla.s.s.

'Just think how much further ahead we are now with delivery,' Packwood was saying. 'When it can be pa.s.sed on to a subject even by a simple kiss.'

Peri sneezed again. She was sitting in the corner of the pub lounge, hands tight round a mug of coffee. So far she was the only person there, apart from Liz, who was tidying up behind the bar.

Peri had been sniffing all morning and had readily agreed to the Doctor's suggestion that she get some rest and then keep an eye on the pub and ask round to find out about any other odd occurrences recently. The Doctor and Sir Edward had agreed to meet again at first light and try to trace the steps of the walking dead man after he left the churchyard, to find out where he had been heading, and perhaps why.

When she had finished her coffee, Peri stared at the empty mug for a while. It was strange how the difficulty of coming to a decision seemed to have no bearing on the magnitude of that decision, she thought. To follow someone wheeling a corpse he's just dug up in the middle of the night was a no-brainer.

But whether or not to have another mug of coffee was something that required serious consideration.

She came to a decision and took her mug over to the bar.

Liz seemed distracted, distant somehow, this morning. Usually she was smiling and happy, willing to chat. Today she was short-tempered and her face was set in a frown that did not suit it at all.

'Another one?' she asked Peri, taking the mug.

'Please.'

Liz took the mug into the back room without comment.

She reappeared a few moments later, the mug filled.

'Thank you.' Peri took the mug and set it down on the counter. 'Liz?'

'Mmm?'

'Are you all right?'

The young woman looked at Peri. There was a sadness in her eyes. Her mouth opened, and she was about to answer when the door to the pub opened and someone came in. She gave a weak, half-hearted smile. 'I'm fine. Really.' Then she turned to serve the woman who had come in.

'Can I have a mineral water? Still, not sparkling.'

Liz retrieved a bottle from under the bar.

'I'll open it, thank you,' the woman said quickly.

Liz shrugged and handed her the bottle. She put a tall gla.s.s on the counter. 'Ice?'

'No thank you.' She fished some coins from her purse.

Peri looked at the woman as Liz took the money. She was tall and slim with a neat bob of black hair that reached just to her collar. She was wearing a trouser suit that would normally have been smart but casual. Here in the pub on Dorsill it seemed she was hugely overdressed. She was carrying a large shoulder bag.

'Just visiting us?' Liz asked as she handed over the change.

'Thought I'd take a break. Get some air.'

'Miss Spillsbury works over at Sheldon's Folly,' Liz explained to Peri.

'Really?' Peri introduced herself as Liz retreated to the back room. 'I'm visiting, with a friend,' she explained. 'He went over to Sheldon's Folly yesterday - perhaps you met him? The Doctor.'

The woman regarded Peri for a long moment.

'Yes,' she said at last. 'Yes, I met him.' She smiled suddenly and held out her hand. 'Janet Spillsbury,' she said.

'Shall we find a table?'

'I don't think that will be difficult,' Peri said as she led the way to the table in the corner where she had been sitting. 'You get some sun here, otherwise it's all a bit dark with the small windows.'

'Good thought.'

They settled themselves at the table. Janet set down her bag beside her chair and sipped at her water without enthusiasm. Peri held her coffee and tried to smell the steam that rose from it, but her nose was blocked and she could barely smell anything. 'So,' Janet said. 'You're visiting.'

'That's right.'