'Yes, I know. It's like something walked over my grave.'

Now Sadie gave a shudder. 'Ugh. I hate that expression. What on earth can it mean?' Angela gave a snort of laughter. 'Listen to me, I'm talking like Old Barney now.'

'Oh, I wonder if Martha and the Doctor have managed to find him?'

'I'd imagine so.' Angela sipped her beer, considering. 'Odd couple, weren't they?'

'I thought you said they were tourists?'

'I'm starting to wonder. They seemed very interested in the well.'

'Barney will tell them a few good stories.'

Angela frowned. 'That's what I'm afraid of. He'll fill their heads with all sorts of rubbish about the treasure. Oh, and that ridiculous story about his flipping cat!'

'Miaow!' said Sadie and they both laughed.

'No, but seriously,' Angela said eventually, 'you know what Barney's like. He can be a bit strange when he's talking about the well.'

'He's a bit strange at the best of times. But we did warn them, so stop worrying.' Sadie tapped the bundle of dog-eared notes on the table. 'Anyway, we're supposed to be checking over these plans for the windla.s.s installation. Tomorrow's the big day, remember.'

'How could I forget? No doubt our lord and master will be paying us a visit. Henry Gaskin won't waste a chance like this to come and spoil our fun.'

'Oh, go on with you,' Sadie nudged her friend. 'You're looking forward to it really!'

'Don't even joke about it! If that unctuous toad dares to come close enough I'll biff him on the nose and to h.e.l.l with the consequences.'

On the far side of the pub, Nigel Carson finished his drink and told the others to turn in for the night. 'I want you up early tomorrow,' he said tersely. 'Big day. Let's crack it and get out of this place for good.'

Ben and Duncan nodded. In truth they were both tired and the prospect of sleep was enough to make them leave without complaint.

They finished their drinks and headed for their rooms. Nigel watched them go, and then his gaze settled on Angela Hook and Sadie Brown.

They were still sitting in their alcove, huddled over a pile of papers and plans for their beloved wishing well. He wondered where the Doctor and his friend had gone.

Abruptly concerned, Nigel went quickly to his room. It was at the top of a narrow flight of stairs, right at the front of the pub. It had a wardrobe, a TV and a single bed. There was a desk in front of a small window that overlooked the village green. It had a clear view of the well.

Nigel locked the door of his room and went straight to the window.

He didn't turn on the light, because he didn't want to be seen. He pulled back the curtain and looked out. It was getting dark now, but there was plenty of moonlight.

The Doctor and his friend were standing by the well. They were talking to someone else a familiar-looking old man. Barney Hackett.

Nigel watched the three of them for a full minute before he took the stone out of his pocket.

The blood raced through his veins as he sat down at the desk and took hold of the stone. He could already hear it whispering to him, urging him to take action. It had led him here to the village, to the well, all the way to the treasure. It had guided him and urged him and cajoled and, yes, even punished him. But now it was nearly over.

He wouldn't let anything jeopardise his work here. Certainly not some interfering busybody.

'What should I do?'

no one must interfere 'How can I stop him?'

i will stop him Nigel allowed the chilly fingers to caress his mind, letting them gently search for a way into his innermost feelings, his deepest sense of self. He thought about the Doctor. The fingers probed his thoughts. . .

touched. . . suddenly gripped. He had to stop himself from crying out loud. It had been an almost instinctive reaction, a reflex, as if the Doctor represented some kind of threat that was even greater than he had first realised.

look at him Nigel's eyes snapped open, black and blood-rimmed, and he stared across the village at the Doctor and his friend. watch watch And Nigel knew then, beyond all doubt, that there could only be one option.

The Doctor had to die.[image]

The Doctor, Martha and Barney Hackett were all looking down into the black depths of the well.

'I can't hear anything,' said Martha. She glanced at the Doctor, who just shrugged.

'Well, he don't call up all the time,' Barney said. 'Otherwise he'd lose his voice, wouldn't he?'

'What does it sound like?' Martha asked.

'Like a cat of course. Sort of yowling noise. I think he misses me. . . '

The Doctor straightened and scratched the back of his neck. 'Well, he's not saying anything now.'

Martha looked at him and rolled her eyes. Barney Hackett was probably a bit daft, not to mention rather drunk. She could smell the booze on his breath. It was one thing humouring him, but this was getting silly.

'Tell us about the legend,' the Doctor said. 'The one about the highwayman and the treasure.'

Barney Hackett sniffed loudly. 'Some say it were Jack the Lad himself. . . '

'Jack the Lad?' smiled Martha. 'Jack Shepherd, highwayman,' explained the Doctor. 'Caused quite a stir in Regency times. Tall, thin, cool as a cuc.u.mber. Your mother would have hated him. It's where the term "Jack the Lad" comes from.'

'. . . but it weren't him, really,' Barney continued. 'No one knows who it was, but let's say 'is name were Joe, an' he were on the run from the law. He'd stole gold an' jewels worth a king's ransom from the Duke o' York by all accounts an' they'd set the Bailiffs after him.

Now Joe had already lost his horse, 'cos it fell lame a mile out from Buxton an' he used his last bullet to put the poor animal out of its misery. But then he were on foot, see, with the sound of gallopin'

hooves close behind. If the Bailiffs caught him he'd be 'anged for sure. So he had to find somewhere to hide an' quick.'

He was a good storyteller, Martha thought. She smiled and leaned in closer as Barney lowered his voice dramatically. 'Joe came right through Creighton Mere with the militia hot on his heels. He took one look at the well an' knew what had to be done. He tossed the bags o' loot down and then climbed over the wall. Carefully, he lowered himself down and hung on by his fingertips inside the well.

'The militia arrived a minute later. The place was deserted. The captain rode his horse right around the village but they couldn't find old Joe. Not until a dog trotted up to the well and started barkin' loud enough to raise the dead, anyways. Suspicious, the captain checked the well and found Joe hangin' inside, holdin' on for dear life. His arms must've been gettin' tired an' he would hardly be able to feel his fingers any more. He'd hoped the hors.e.m.e.n would've ridden right through the village an' left him be. But when he heard the dog bark he knew the game was up. He looked up an' saw the captain of the militia looking right down at him, a cruel smile on his face.

'Well, what was Joe to do? He'd led the Bailiffs a merry old race all the way from Leeds. He'd dropped the treasure down the well, and there was no hope of gettin' it back now. All he could do was plead for his life. But how was he to do that? What could he bargain with him in that position, danglin' from his fingertips?' Barney leaned back and smiled. 'Well, Joe told the captain that he'd dumped the loot in the woods, an' if he pulled him up out of the well he'd show him where it was hid. Then it could be returned to the Duke, or else the captain and Joe could split the takings between 'em and call it quits. Most of the lawmen were crooked in those days anyway, so it were a perfectly reasonable suggestion.'

Martha was captivated. 'So what happened?'

'The captain wanted the treasure for himself of course. They always do the greed of men knows no bounds. But he'd guessed by now that Joe had already dropped it down the well. So he leaned over and, looking Joe right in the eyes, plucked his fingertips off the wall one by one.'

Martha swallowed.

'They say he let out a terrible scream as he fell,' Barney continued.

'A scream that carried on an' on until they couldn't hear it no more as if Joe had fallen all the way to h.e.l.l itself.'

'Well,' said Martha, feeling slightly ill now. 'That's quite a story.'

'Oh, it doesn't end there, love,' said Barney with a gleam in his eye.

'I had a feeling you were going to say that,' said the Doctor.

Barney just smiled. 'Joe drowned along with his loot, but his bones never did rest easy. He'd sworn vengeance on the greed of men as he fell to his death, a vow that he never gave up. The next time the captain came to the village, which was a good ten years later, when he were newly married an' was on leave, he stayed at the inn overnight.

Joe was waitin' for him, though. That night he climbed up out of the well, found the captain an' his bride, and murdered 'em in their beds. . . '

'All right,' said Martha after a pause, 'now it's just getting silly.'

'Don't scoff, love,' warned the old man with a frown. 'It don't do to scoff about these things.'

'Did Joe ever kill again?' asked the Doctor blandly.

Martha could hardly believe her ears. Surely the Doctor, of all people, couldn't be taken in by this lurid tale of revenge from beyond the grave?

'Oh yes,' Barney replied eagerly. 'Many a time have Joe's cold, wet fingers closed around the throat of some poor wretch. . . ' 'Now I know you're having us on,' laughed Martha. '"Cold, wet fingers"?'

'You really don't believe me?'

'No,' said Martha. 'I really don't. Doctor?' She threw him a challenging look.

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again, as if reconsidering. He blew out his cheeks and raised his eyebrows.

Finally he stuffed his hands into his pockets and said, 'Well. . . '

'Oh shut up,' Martha said, slapping him lightly on the arm.

'I was just going to say,' the Doctor continued, turning to look at the well, 'that there's something strange going on here and it's connected with this well. I don't know exactly what it is yet '

'A dead highwayman with cold wet hands?' Martha wondered drily.

' but I intend to find out.'

'It's nothing but old wives' tales,' insisted Martha. 'You heard what Angela and Sadie said. People love this kind of stuff. They can use it on the tourists.'

'Wait a minute, Martha.' The Doctor turned back to Barney. 'You said something before about the greed of men. . .

What did you mean?'

Barney Hackett said nothing. He was staring at the Doctor with a strange look in his rheumy eyes.

'Barney?'

The Doctor and Martha looked at him, waiting for a response, but none came. He stared back at the Doctor, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

'Barney?' asked Martha. 'Are you OK?'

A thin strand of saliva ran from the old man's mouth as he stood, unmoving. Then his eyes rolled up into his head, showing only the whites, and a gurgle of pain welled up from his throat.

Instantly Martha moved forward to catch him. 'He's having some sort of fit!'

'Don't touch him!' yelled the Doctor, grabbing Martha's hand and yanking her back. 'Look!' A strange green light was shining from Barney Hackett's open mouth. It flickered briefly and then a thin spark leapt out, like a fluorescent green tongue, and Martha jumped back with a shout of alarm.

The light faded, but worse was to come. The old man let out an unearthly howl as his teeth seemed to move in his mouth, extending and pushing outwards like thin grey spikes from between his lips. He raised his hands and the fingers grew into long, bony sticks. Suddenly, with an unnatural crunch of breaking bones, long spines erupted from his flesh, emerging through his clothes like knitting needles.

'What's happening to him?' gasped Martha as Barney staggered backwards. The spines were all moving, waving like the antennae of a giant c.o.c.kroach, probing the air around them. The old man hardly recognisable now fell back and his heels drummed on the gra.s.s as the terrible metamorphosis continued. A piercing shriek of pain died on the night air as the writhing ma.s.s of twiggy legs and arms and spines looked up at the Doctor and Martha through terrified eyes.

'What is it?' Martha demanded as the Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver. 'What is he? Some kind of alien?'

The Doctor quickly scanned the creature with the screwdriver. 'He's as human as you are,' he said. 'Or he was. . . '

A crackling green light covered Barney's body like a sheet. The Doctor said, 'His molecular structure can't cope with the accelerated mutation. . . it's going to collapse!'

And with a final, deathly sigh, whatever was left of Barney Hackett turned grey, and then black, and tiny cracks spread over the remains of his body like a swarm of insects. The ashes broke into flakes of dead tissue, falling in on themselves until the chill evening wind blew them away. In seconds there was nothing left of him except a patch of grey dust in the gra.s.s.

Martha backed away, feeling sick and weak, until she came up against the well. 'It's like he never even existed. . . '

'No.' The Doctor fixed her with a burning stare. 'He existed all right he was every bit as much alive as you or me. Something did this to him something killed him!' 'But. . . what? What could have done that?' A horrible thought suddenly hit Martha. 'Something that wanted to stop him speaking to us?'

The Doctor circled the faint patch of dust, his features solemn. 'I don't know. His entire physiognomy was altered, right down to the molecular level. But it happened too quickly.'

'Meaning what?'

'The change was too drastic, too sudden. His atomic structure couldn't cope with it and just collapsed. Well, you saw it happen.

But whether that was intentional or not, I just don't know.'

'You mean something could have done that to him accidentally?'

'It's impossible to say.' The Doctor looked at the well, and Martha pushed herself hurriedly away from it.

'But how. . . ?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Did you see that green glow? That's some kind of telekinetic force field mental energy reacting with the visible spectrum. . . ' He rubbed his chin, lost in thought. 'But where from?

And why?'

'We should tell the others,' said Martha, starting for the pub, but the Doctor caught her hand and held her gently back.

'We don't know what's happened here yet, not really,' he said. 'And what could we tell them? That Barney Hackett's just turned to dust before our very eyes?'