He came pounding through waist-high, flowering gra.s.ses and weeds with arms flailing and breath heaving, as though the hounds of h.e.l.l were after him.

It was Will Chandler.

Will hadn't stopped running since he left the church.

He still kept glancing behind him in panic and now, as he looked over his shoulder again, his foot slipped into a rabbit hole and he tripped and fell headlong, disappearing from sight among the rank vegetation. Whimpering, he struggled to his feet, stumbled forwards and lurched into a run again.

His chest ached and his face showed the extent of his agony. But the sounds of the battle were still ringing in his cars; he was driven onward by the horrors of the fighting that was still going on inside his head, and nothing could stop him or slow him down.

Will intended to stop when he reached the shelter of the village, and not before.

Tegan stood at another window now, in Ben Wolsey's seventeenth-century parlour. She looked out at his garden, crammed with cottage flowers, whose loveliness expressed all the country pleasures she had hoped to find in her grandfather's home.

She sighed ... and stealthily moved her hand towards the window catch, which was just above her head. If she could reach that and open the window without the farmer seeing her, she would he out before he could move. Willow had left her in Wolsey's charge while he sought Sir George Hutchinson; since she was not so afraid of this gentle giant as she had been of the s.a.d.i.s.tic Sergeant, she was more willing to take chances.

But Wolsey, who was standing in front of the fireplace, had seen Tegan's arm move. He watched it slide almost imperceptibly upwards, and smiled to himself and shook his head. 'You wouldn't get very far if you tried to escape,'

he said.

The softly spoken words broke a long silence and startled Tegan. She twisted round and shouted 'What!' at Wolsey, in a voice so harsh it startled her even more than him. There was anger in it, and shattered nerves, and sheer frustration: she was close to breaking down.

Wolsey understood. His tone was sympathetic. 'There are troopers everywhere,' he explained.

'I wouldn't dream of putting you all to so much trouble!'

Tegan shouted.

Wolsey seemed embarra.s.sed. His manner was surprisingly uncertain, and even apologetic as he said, 'I rather think we're all Sir George's prisoners at the moment.' Then he smiled rea.s.suringly: 'If it's any comfort to you, your grandfather is safe.'

Relief gushed from Tegan in another shout, this time a cry of pleasure. She ran eagerly to the farmer. 'Then let me see him!' she demanded.

'All in good time.' A coldly calculating voice killed Tegan's happiness in the moment of its birth. She paused in mid-stride as Sir George appeared in the doorway. There was a smirk of victory on his face, and he gestured dramatically with his Cavalier's hat as he came into the room and walked slowly around her, appraising her, examining her in the May Queen dress as if he was looking at the points of a piece of horseflesh. 'You look charming, my dear,' he gloated, 'positively charming.'

The compliment, coming from those eyes and that smile, made Tegan feel unclean. 'Thanks for nothing' she said, and shrank away from hint, angry and embarra.s.sed.

'Can I have my own clothes back, please?'

Sir George leaned towards her. His face was eager and his eyes were as bright as stars. 'But you're to be our Queen of the May! You must dress the part.' He was purring like a cat now, a sound which made Tegan's skin crawl.

'Look,' she said frantically, 'I'm in no mood for playing silly games!'

'But this isn't a game.' Suddenly Sir George's tone and expression were deadly serious. They contained an intensity which shook Wolsey into alertness. His next words astonished both of them. 'You,' he said to Tegan, 'are about to take part in an event that will change the future of mankind.'

7.

Tegan the Queen

The bare brick walls of the hut had once been painted white; now they were merely dingy. A window protected by iron bars allowed barred sunlight to slant brightly across a floor furnished with forgotten bales of straw.

On one of these Andrew Verney sat. He gazed, without much hope, at Turlough who was testing the window bars for signs of weakness. He had tried them himself, and knew there were none.

'Solid,' Turlough sighed. He moved away from the window, leaned his back against a wall and looked curiously at the old man. 'Why are they keeping you a prisoner here?' he asked.

'Because of what I discovered,' Verney said, returning Turlough's scrutiny with a gaze tinged with sadness.

Seeing Turlough's uncomprehending expression, he added, 'Have you been to the church?'

'Oh, yes.' Now Turlough understood only too well. He picked up a dusty oil drum, carried in over to Verney and sat down on it beside him.

Verney shook his head sadly: 'Years of research, to discover that something as evil as the Malus was more than a legend.'

Turlough thought for a moment 'It wasn't active when you discovered it?'

'No.' Verney gave a wry, helpless smile. 'My mistake was telling Sir George Hutchinson. It was his deranged mind which caused its awakening.'

This sort of talk was making Turlough feel even more nervous and agitated. 'We've got to find a way out of here,'

he said urgently. 'We have to let the Doctor know what is happening.'

Verney shrugged. 'But how?' He had tried all the ways there were.

Turlough studied him. The old man had obviously been shaken by his experience and looked tired and worn; if they were going to get out of here it would be up to him to lead the way. He rose from his seat and returned to the barred window. Looking out at the deserted yard, he asked, 'Are there any guards?'

'I don't know.'

'Guard!' Turlough shouted through the window. He hurried to the door. 'Guard!' he shouted again. There was no reply, and no sound of movement outside. It was beginning to look as if they had been abandoned here.

Turlough tested the door. It was pretty solid too, but at least it was wood, and that would splinter if you applied enough pressure. The planks were old and gnarled, with gaps which let in strips of light. He was sure they could be made to give way.

He looked back at Andrew Verney, still sitting wearily on his seat of straw. 'What are you like as a battering ram?'

he asked him.

Verney's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

The underground pa.s.sage connecting the church with the ancient yeoman's farmhouse which now belonged to Ben Wolsey was long, narrow, low, winding and since it was strewn with rocks, pitted with holes and had to be tackled in a crouching position arduous.

So it was with a promise of considerable relief for her aching back and trembling legs that Jane Hampden negotiated the very last bend and saw, up ahead, the spiral staircase glimmering faintly in the light of the Doctor's torch. He smiled over his shoulder to encourage her. 'Not much further!' he called.

'Doctor ... Wait!' Jane panted. Eager though she was to straighten her back and rest her legs, there were some doubts which she had to clear up before she went a step further. Indeed, her understanding of the situation was still minimal and if she were honest she would admit that even the bits she thought she knew were pretty hazy. So she was relieved when the Doctor waited for her to catch up, and as soon as she reached him she plunged into the sea of doubts which surrounded her.

'Will said he saw the Malus in 1643 in the church.'

'That's right.'

'Then it's been here for hundreds of years.'

'Long before the Civil War started,' the Doctor agreed.

He set off again.

Frustrated, Jane ran after him. She had only just begun.

'Then why has it been dormant for so long?'

The Doctor paused at the foot of the staircase and explained it carefully to her. 'Because it requires a ma.s.sive force of psychic energy to activate it. When the Civil War came to Little Hodcombe it created precisely that.'

Ah, Jane thought. Another key piece of information brought another lightning flash. She felt the picture filling in, and as they crept quietly up the staircase together she whispered, with more confidence than she had felt at any time, 'And Sir George is trying to recreate the same event?'

'Yes. In every detail. Tegan's grandfather must have told him everything he discovered. It's the only way he knows the Malus will be fully activated.'

The Doctor's attention was beginning to stray, as he wondered what they might find at the top of the stairs, but Jane, tugging urgently at his sleeve, brought him back to the reality of the moment and he looked down at her worried face. 'Doctor,' she said, 'I've just had a terrible thought the last battle in the war games has to be for real!'

The Doctor grimaced. 'Precisely. The slaughter will be dreadful.'

Jane tugged at his sleeve again. 'You must stop him!'

'Yes, I know,' the Doctor agreed.

But how was that to be done? They reached the top of the stairs. Ahead, a short pa.s.sage led to a door, through which they could hear a murmur of voices. Prominent among them was the hectoring tone of Sir George Hutchinson. The Doctor put a finger to his lips, waited for Jane to catch him up again, and they approached the door together.

In the parlour, watched by a worried Wolsey, Tegan was arguing heatedly with Sir George across the oak table. She felt she had nothing to lose now, and had thrown caution to the winds.

'History is littered with loons like you,' she shouted, 'but fortunately most of them end up safely locked away!'

Sir George merely laughed, and said in the patronising, half-mocking voice which so infuriated her, 'Insight is often mistaken for madness, my dear.'

Wolsey's agitation suddenly got the better of him, too.

He rose to his feet and faced Sir George. 'I didn't realise the power of the Malus was so evil,' he said.

Sir George glared. He pointed a finger at Wolsey's eyes.

The finger shook with emotion and his voice was an uncontrolled shout tinged with hysteria. 'Don't worry, Wolsey!' he shouted. 'It will serve us!'

'It will use you,' Tegan countered.

'Tegan is right.'

And so saying, the Doctor pushed aside the heavy curtain drapes and entered the parlour through the secret door, with Jane following close behind him.

For a moment the occupants of the room were struck speechless with surprise. The Doctor marched straight to Tegan's side. His eyes dilated a little at the sight of the dress she was wearing, although his surprise was no greater than Tegan's at seeing him materialise out of a curtain. She knew she should be used to the Doctor's habits by now, but she still found them disconcerting.

The Doctor wasted neither time nor words. He turned at once to Sir George Hutchinson. 'You're energising a force so irresistibly destructive that nothing on Earth can control it,' he told him. 'You must stop the war games.'

Sir George went wild. The signs of obsession and hysreria, and his barely concealed joy at the war games'

cruelty had been indications of the road he was taking.

Now it seemed that the sudden appearance of the Doctor through the curtain had committed him to that path: something seemed to break loose inside his brain, and those eyes, which before had been unnaturally bright, now burned with an uncontrollable fury.

He aimed his pistol between the Doctor's eyes. 'Stop it?

Are you mad?' His voice pitched queerly. 'You speak treason!'

'Fluently,' the Doctor snapped. 'Stop the games!'

Sir George could take no more of this. With a jerky movement he almost threw the pistol at Ben Wolsey.

'Eliminate him, Wolsey,' he screamed. 'Now!' Grabbing his Cavalier hat, and forcing his wayward limbs to obey his wishes, he stormed out of the room.

For a moment after he had gone there was an awkward silence among the remaining occupants. The echoes of Hutchinson's anger hung in the air. Wolsey pointed the pistol uncertainly and without much enthusiasm at the Doctor.

'Put that down, Ben,' Jane said, in the gentlest voice.

Ben Wolsey shook his head, as if trying to clear it of all his illusions about Sir George. 'I don't understand him any more,' he admitted. He looked tired, and his voice was sad; the increasing bewilderment and confusion which he had been feeling for some time had drained him. Now it seemed that everything was beyond him; events had veered out of his control. He was speaking nothing less than the truth: he truly did not understand.

The Doctor felt a lot of sympathy for this kindly, confused man. 'Don't try,' he told him. 'Sir George is under the influence of the Malus.' Then he paused. 'Are you with us, Colonel?'

Weary beyond words, Wolsey sat down heavily. He was no longer pointing the gun at anybody. 'Can you tell me what's going on?' he asked. 'Because I don't know any longer.'

'Doctor!' Tegan interrupted him. She pointed a trembling finger towards a corner of the room, where something only too familiar to her although new to the others was happening.

Lights were forming against the wall. This time they developed quickly, much faster than those in the barn, and in no time the first point of brilliance had become a ma.s.s of moving stars which danced like fireworks in the corner.

The others gaped, half shocked, half entranced, but shock took over completely when the lights suddenly grouped together in a complex pattern out of-which there formed, with a phosph.o.r.escent glow, a rapidly stabilising image.

It hung on the wall like an obscenely bloated grey spider. Lights still flickered around it and it was not yet fully formed, but it contained in recognisable form all the features of the Malus the flaring, sneering nostrils, the sardonic mouth, hair like writhing snakes turned to stone, and the unmistakable aura of evil. While the others stood rooted to the floor, hypnotised by the manifestation, the Doctor moved slowly towards it.

'Be careful.' Tegan shuddered at the memory of her previous encounter; she was not at all pleased that it was happening again.

'That's the thing in the church!' Jane's voice had shrunk to an awed whisper.

'Not quite,' the Doctor decided. He was close to the wall, and was examining the image carefully. 'This is a projection of the parent image. It must be one of several energy gathering points.'

Projection or not, the Doctor was much too close to it for Tegan's comfort. 'Keep away from it,' she pleaded.