The door into the bar was locked, or bolted. Peri guessed that the back door of the pub would be barred too. They had been taking no chances on her escaping. That left only one route. Up the stairs. She raced back, just as Liz emerged from the smoke. Liz grabbed at Peri as she ran past, caught at her, almost managed to take hold. But Peri pulled free and started up the stairs, two at a time. Behind her, Liz Trefoil began to follow with slow deliberate steps.

Madge Simpson sat in her kitchen, snuggled inside a towelling dressing gown. The kettle was on. A mug stood ready beside it with a tea bag stuffed inside. She tried to make sense of the girl's phone call. She had seemed confused, distressed. And then there was the screaming, the shouting before she was cut off.

Never one to panic, Madge considered her options carefully. She could call the police, but she wasn't really sure what she could usefully tell them. She could ignore it and go back to bed, but her conscience was unlikely to allow her to sleep much afterwards. She could wait for the girl to call again, a.s.sume that there was nothing more wrong than a broken connection. Or she could call the ministry and see if anyone there knew what was happening. But she was loath to do that - she knew that Sir Anthony had not wanted anyone but herself to know where he was. There would be a reason for that. With Sir Anthony there was a reason for everything.

The kettle started to boil, and she came to a decision. She would make the tea, give the girl another few minutes to call back. And if there was still nothing, Madge would call the one number she did have. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would be able to get through. If not...Well, she would worry about that when she needed to.

Janet Spillsbury was sitting on a laboratory stool, her fingers knitted together in her lap, twisting all the time. She stared straight ahead, her pupils tiny dots in her wide, pale eyes. The Doctor spared her the occasional glance as he worked. He did not want her to succ.u.mb completely to the alien influence without his realising, though he had no idea what to do if and when she did. Sheldon was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rocking back and forth and humming. The sound was just loud enough to be annoying. The Doctor tried to tune it out, almost succeeding. Sheldon was nursing his healing hand, clutching it close to his body. Stubby fingers had sprouted from the stump of his new palm. It was somehow fascinating to watch the genetic healing process, and at the same time grotesque.

The Doctor tried to concentrate on the view through the microscope. It was a sample of blood he had taken from Sheldon's new arm. That had seemed like the best place to start hunting for the alien material. Sir Anthony was standing nearby, his old, grey eyes watching the Doctor intently, as if a.s.sessing his progress, his proximity to success.

Eventually the Doctor looked up. 'I think I've managed to isolate the Denarian material,' he said, with a certain amount of pride. He gestured for Sir Anthony to take a look. He did.

'Means nothing to me,' the elderly man confessed as he stepped away from the bench. 'What's the next step?'

'Well, I've doctored this sample, if you'll forgive the expression.' The Doctor grinned. 'Now I can synthesise a solution of the pure alien material.'

'Thought that would be the last thing we need,' Sir Anthony grumbled.

'Yes,' the Doctor said with exaggerated patience. 'But once we have that, we know what we're fighting and I can develop an antidote, something that will neutralise it genetically.'

'Simple as that?'

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 'I very much doubt it,' he confessed. 'Now, could I have just a little bit of peace and quiet, do you think?'

As he worked, the Doctor tried to ignore the sound of Sheldon's humming, the intense stare of Sir Anthony, the nervous movement of Janet's fingers. He slotted two test tubes of material into a centrifuge and turned it on. And frowned.

It was making the most peculiar noise. A high-pitched buzzing. Almost like...

And it did not seem to be coming from the centrifuge at all, now he came to listen properly, the Doctor decided.

Insistent, regular. Almost like...

Almost like a mobile phone ringing.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw Sir Anthony reach into his jacket pocket. He fumbled for a moment, then the sound stopped.

He had his phone.

Hidden in his pocket.

And the Doctor had sent Peri back to the main island to get it.

Suddenly a lot of things were clear to the Doctor. Not least that he needed help. 'So,' he said without looking up from the centrifuge, 'you do have your phone with you. And it can get a signal even down here.'

Sir Anthony was standing absolutely still. Sheldon had stopped humming. Janet's fingers were still. The centrifuge spun to a halt.

'That's why you really came here, to Dorsill, isn't it?' The Doctor went on, still not looking up. He removed the test tubes from the centrifuge and placed them carefully in a wooden rack beside it on the workbench. 'Not that I think you knew, not really. Any more than you really, consciously knew you had the phone with you when you sent Peri off to find it.

You've been consciously struggling to ascribe motives to your subconscious actions all along, haven't you?'

He did look up now, fixing Sir Anthony with a steely stare. He had a.s.sumed the man's eyes were pale with age.

Now he could see how wrong he had been. 'I guess you must have been infected even before Packwood.' The Doctor took a step towards Sir Anthony. 'That's why it's you that is the host for the controlling, sentient part of the Denarian. Isn't it?' He reached out his hand suddenly. 'The phone please.'

Just for a second, the Doctor thought Sir Anthony was going to give him the phone. He reached into his pocket. But when his hand emerged, it was holding a small, flat pistol.

The Doctor hesitated. He was just too far away to grab Sir Anthony's hand. Too close to risk trying to dive away. So he stood still and slowly raised his hands, fingers splayed out. 'So why did you let me get this far?' the Doctor asked quietly.

'Partly because you're right, Doctor,' Sir Anthony told him. 'I really didn't know what I was doing. But I see it all now. I see the great vision that Packwood held. I see how it ends.'

The Doctor nodded as if he understood. 'Partly?' he prompted.

'And partly, Doctor, because I am an old man.'

'I wouldn't say that,' the Doctor murmured.

'I may have the advantages of the Denarian enhancement within me, but I fear that my frame is still brittle and frail. I can heal, I grow stronger, but for the moment I am still an old man who feels the cold.'

'Ah, of course.' The Doctor turned slightly to see Janet Spillsbury push herself off the stool and approach them. 'So you were waiting for Janet.'

'Or Peri,' Janet said quietly, behind him. 'But I was further advanced.'

'Peri?' The Doctor's eyes widened. 'You don't mean Peri is infected too?'

'Of course,' Janet said. 'Couldn't you tell?'

'Oh, Peri,' the Doctor breathed.

'Everyone is infected,' Sir Anthony said. 'Or will be.

Soon.' He turned slightly to address Janet. 'Would you do the honours, please?' As she moved to take the test tubes the Doctor had placed in the rack, Sir Anthony went on: 'I really must thank you, Doctor, for synthesising a pure Denarian solution. Most useful.'

The Doctor turned enough to see Janet push the needle of a syringe into one of the test tubes. She drew out a portion of the clear liquid into the syringe.

'I think it's only fair to point out,' the Doctor said, 'that I'm a little further on than I led you to believe.'

'Oh?'

Janet paused, holding the syringe upright, the needle glinting in the harsh lighting of the laboratory, a bead of liquid escaping from its tip and running down the side of the needle.

'Yes.' The Doctor smiled winningly. 'You see, that's actually the antidote, not the Denarian.'

Sir Anthony nodded. 'I see,' he said. 'You guessed that I was infected, so you synthesised the cure without letting on. Is that it?'

'In a nutsh.e.l.l.'

'Rubbish,' Sir Anthony barked at him. 'Not a very good bluff, Doctor. I expected better.' He nodded to Janet, and she approached the Doctor, syringe levelled. 'If that were true, Doctor,' Sir Anthony was saying, 'you would hardly tell me.

Would you?'

'Double bluff?' the Doctor suggested. It sounded lame even to him. The syringe was close to his arm. 'Would you like me to take my coat off?'

Janet hesitated. And as she hesitated, Sheldon suddenly launched himself across the room at her. None of them had seen him rise slowly from the floor, none of them expected this. Janet fell heavily. The syringe skidded from her grasp and scuttered across the floor. The Doctor was sent sprawling, one arm half out of the coat he had been intending to throw at Janet.

Sir Anthony took a step backwards, turning to aim the gun.

The Doctor managed to disentangle his arm from the sleeve and flailed at the gun with the coat. A bullet rocketed into the ceiling of the lab with a dull echoing explosion of sound.

Janet was scrabbling for the syringe. Sheldon was standing up. Sir Anthony was trying to get his gun out of the lining of the Doctor's coat, dragging the still-entangled Doctor back and forth as he did so.

Then Sheldon was on Sir Anthony, punching him with his good hand, ignoring coat, gun and Doctor. 'I'll put you back in that wheelchair,' he screamed, his face contorted with fury and pain.

Abruptly, Sheldon went rigid, his head snapped back and his back arched as Janet Spillsbury plunged the syringe into his upper arm. He gave a short, high-pitched wail, and sagged, flopping to the floor. As he fell he dragged the Doctor's coat with him. It fell over him as if covering a corpse.

The Doctor stood in his waistcoat as Sir Anthony, again, turned the gun towards him. Janet was already refilling the syringe from the second test tube.

Between them the coat moved. Sheldon emerged slowly, painfully from beneath. He sat staring into s.p.a.ce, the coat wrapped round him as he huddled inside. His voice was slow, deliberate, calm. 'I thought it was such a triumph,' he said with complete lucidity. He turned to look at the Doctor, his eyes clear and bright. 'That was before...it was when a small blood sample was enough. Or so it seemed. A miracle cure. Sir Anthony, crippled since his teens, walks again.' He gave a short laugh, shook his head. 'A drop of blood, the odd nail clipping.' He lifted his hand and stared at the stubby blunt fingers that were reforming. 'A small price for the use of a man's legs.' He drew a deep breath. 'But what a terrible cost it turned out to be.'

The Doctor said nothing. He stared down in sympathy at the pathetic figure sitting on the multicoloured island of his coat. He barely noticed the triumphant expression on Sir Anthony's face, hardly saw Janet approaching with the syringe, scarcely felt the sharp impact of the needle as she drove it through his shirt and into the fleshy part of his upper arm.

The image of Sheldon swam before his eyes as he swayed on his feet, reaching out desperately for support that wasn't there.

The only real plan Peri had was to escape. She had no idea how that plan could be put into action. At the top of the stairs there was a landing with doors off it. Peri had run past her own room and the Doctor's, fearing that Liz Trefoil was close behind her. She had no idea which of the rooms ahead of her could be locked, or which had windows that would open sufficiently for her to get out, or how to get down to the ground from them. Apart from falling.

As she dithered, as she heard the steady tread on the bare boards behind her, Peri saw the hatch in the ceiling. There was a handle attached to it and, almost by instinct, she took a running leap, reaching up as high as she could, and grabbing the handle, dragging the hatch down.

A steel ladder swung down as the hatch opened, clattering as it extended to the floor. In a moment, Peri was climbing, two steps at a time, not daring to look back, hearing a cry of anger from Liz Trefoil.

As soon as she was at the top, Peri pulled the ladder back up, telescoping it back into the attic area. She dragged the hatch shut, and looked round for something to jam it.

It was light. Not very light, but a dusty, grimy moonlight filtered into the attic from somewhere. It was enough for Peri to make out the broken handle of a broom nearby and ram it through the ladder and hatch mechanism in the hope it would prevent Liz from opening the hatch from outside.

It was also light enough for Peri to make out the outlines of boxes and crates stacked and strewn haphazardly across the rafters. There were cl.u.s.ters of shadows and dark recesses to the attic area. And, at the far end, allowing the hint of moonlight to creep inside, was a window.

Feeling with her feet for the rafters, Peri made her way slowly towards it. There was a creaking and straining from the hatch behind her as the broom handle struggled to hold its own against Liz's efforts to open it. Peri could imagine the girl standing on a chair from one of the bedrooms, pulling at the hatch handle. She hoped the makeshift wooden bar would hold.

As she approached the window, her eyes grew more accustomed to the pale light and she could make out shapes within the shadows. And as she worked out what they were she could also hear them, crying softly and shuffling. There must be a hole in the roof somewhere. Not big enough to be of any use to her, but of a sufficient size to admit the seagulls that had made their homes here inside.

Or was it their home? Wouldn't people downstairs in the building have heard them? And would so many live so close together? As she stepped cautiously across the boards, Peri fancied she could see tens - hundreds even - of the birds perched on the roof supports and beams. And as their eyes blinked and stared in the grimy vestiges of light, she saw that they were watching her. Every one of them.

A rustle of wing feathers in the gloom. Then a sudden rush. Peri was running now, trying to measure her frantic steps to hit the wooden struts and not plunge through the ceiling of the floor below. The sharp feathers were at her face, flapping in her hair. A blur of motion, loss of clear vision, the world moving, shaking in a whirlwind of confusion.

Then the claws and beaks. A rip at her cheek, tearing at her hair, screeches of anger cutting through her screams as she ran, pushing her way desperately through the tangle of birds.

She could feel her clothes being shredded from her, her foot crunched on something that let out an almighty scream of high-pitched pain, and she dared not look down as she slipped on its remains. An eye close to hers, pale yellow, unblinking, moving suddenly aside to be replaced by a sharp beak that rushed towards her. Peri batted it aside, feeling her finger tear on the sharp point, knowing it had connected sideways with her cheek, seeing the blood drops as red splodges in her field of vision. A spray of red mist.

She threw her hands in front of her face again, gave up worrying about what her feet were doing, staggered, stumbled, slipped, fell forwards heavily, connected with feather, claw, beak, warmth. Then an all-embracing shattering of gla.s.s as she plunged head first through the window. A shower of gla.s.s, feathers and squawks accompanied her as she plummeted downwards, the lights of the pub a blurry haze above and behind her. The ground a huge dark ma.s.s in the night as it hurtled upwards, blotting out everything. A sickening, bone-shaking crunch as she connected with the ground.

Then nothing. At all. In the night.

The villagers crowded into the room outside the laboratory seemed to know what was happening. There were only a few of them waiting in the room. Bob Trefoil stood at the front, still holding the sledgehammer across his chest. Beside him stood Rogers. Most of the others now waited silently throughout the house and the grounds, as if protecting it from the night outside. The villagers who remained in the cellar room waited patiently, silently, as the door swung ponderously open. Janet was covering the Doctor with the gun while Sir Anthony opened the door. Sheldon was sitting on the floor again, looking glum but with his eyes now close to normal.

Gone was the intense, manic stare. His face seemed more relaxed somehow, less anxious.

The Doctor stood by the workbench, leaning against it for support. Slowly, he straightened up.

'Doctor,' Sheldon said quietly as he too stood up. 'Doctor, I'm sorry. For all this.' He gestured round the lab. 'My fault.'

'You seem suddenly very lucid, Mr Sheldon,' the Doctor said. It sounded as if it were an effort for him to speak.

'Yes,' Sheldon admitted. 'But not for long, I don't think. I can feel the new material taking hold already. Much quicker this time.'

'Of course.' It was Sir Anthony who answered as he gestured for them to leave the room. 'The strength of the Denarian grows as it spreads, as it extends its influence. And this time there was no casual, slight infection. You've been injected with pure material. Already it is coursing through your veins. Already it's working its way into the synapses and the cerebellum, neutralising, controlling, superseding. It won't be long now.' He was grinning, his face a parody of how Packwood's had been. 'You are indeed fortunate,' he said.

'Doctor,' Sheldon hissed as the two of them walked slowly towards the door, Sir Anthony ahead of them, Janet behind - with the gun. 'Doctor, we don't have long, either of us, before it takes complete control. Third generation control. Whatever we do, we have to do it now.'

The Doctor turned towards him, as if to reply. His face was fixed in a huge grin, all teeth and drawn-back lips. 'It is done,' he replied, his voice at its normal volume, echoing round the room for all to hear. 'Finished.' A huge, grandiose intake of breath. 'I welcome the new reality,' he said grandly, arms outstretched.

Janet smiled back at him as she pa.s.sed them, following Sir Anthony out of the room, to join the small group of villagers.

They were all smiling in greeting - rictus and terrifying.

Sheldon stumbled, almost fell. The Doctor caught him.

'You need never stumble or fall again,' he said. 'Not now. Not now that we are Denarian, now that we are enhanced, better, superior.'

In the doorway Sir Anthony and Janet waited, welcoming, expectant, and the Doctor strode towards them, Sheldon shuffling desolate and afraid behind. As he reached the door, the Doctor threw his arms out again, turning a full circle as he declaimed: 'We are become life!' Then he threw back his head and laughed.

Chapter Fifteen.

Overdosage As he turned, laughing, the Doctor's outstretched arm knocked Sheldon back into the room. As Sheldon staggered back, the Doctor continued to turn, his arm coming right round, catching the edge of the heavy metal door and swinging it shut.

Sir Anthony cried out in sudden disbelief and alarm. Janet started forwards. But she was just too late. The door clicked ma.s.sively shut and the Doctor lowered his arms. He stopped laughing and his face was grave as he helped Sheldon to a stool.

'You're absolutely right,' the Doctor said. 'We don't have much time at all, I'm afraid. How long do you think you can hold out against it?'

Sheldon was shaking, whether from fear or the alien influence he wasn't sure. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I can feel it within me. Stronger, more obvious this time.' He looked closely at the Doctor. 'But what about you?' he asked. 'How long...?'