The Doctor lay quietly in his cell, listening to the drip of water and the insistent whispers of fear. Not for the first time he wondered where Jamie and Zoe were.

Perhaps he should look within himself for some of the peace of Det-Sen. If he liberated his mind from its earthly confines he would be better prepared to face whatever evil lay within the menagerie. Although the Doctor did not greatly believe in the veracity of mere feelings he knew that something deadly rested beneath the city. He caught a sense of the evil from time to time, not from the source itself, which seemed dormant, but from the fears of the humans.

The tenor must have derived, perhaps over the centuries, from something very tangible indeed.

He let his mind wander still further. He allowed phrases and images from the recent past to reform into something new. 'Bloodthirsty . . . I cannot agree to that request .. .

Outside is ... Nothing . . . No one believed . . . A war they cannot win . . . Immediate results . . . If you kill me .. . Want to return . . . The Doctor's going . . . Evacuate the area . . .'

Faces, images he had not even seen - all began to blur in his mind, forming a pattern, an image, a sensation. And - Someone shouted from a cell further down the corridor. A guard clanged on the door until the noise subsided.

Sighing after the interruption, the Doctor struggled to remember his mind's composition. When he relaxed it returned to him once more. It was an image and a phrase, from so far in the past the Doctor could not count on its accuracy.

It was a woman's face, talking earnestly into a computer recording device. Her face was grey with worry. Her words repeated over and over in the Doctor's mind.

'I request immediate evacuation.'

Five.

Diseaeda had seen countless marvels on his travels. On this trip alone he had explored a towering city of gla.s.s, crossed a lake of fire, and examined at first hand what was claimed to be the claw of some huge reptile. He was privileged enough to have been the first outsider to smoke the legendary urparfel plant in the company of the elders of Tebrain, after which they took him to see the famed backwards-running river at the top of the mountain.

However, by then his vision was so distorted he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking at.

All these things he had seen, and more. And yet nothing amazed him more than the excruciatingly slow pace of his horse. The animal was well fed and excessively pampered, and she repaid her master with a slow, resolute pace.

Extremes of terrain and temperature did not affect the animal in the slightest. Plod plod plod. Diseaeda's horse was about as accurate as the ticking clocks of Hacoruin.

As the nameless city of the Knights of Kuabris began to creep into sight down in the valley, spreading like a grey mould, Diseaeda jabbed with his spurs, to no avail. He didn't like visiting the city. He was always keen to pa.s.s through as quickly as possible. As a man whose mind had been expanded by travel the awful insularity of the knights cast a dark chill over him. He was not a superst.i.tious man, but he made a few signs in front of himself, accurately copied from the preparations of his acrobats. He wasn't sure what they meant, but he needed all the help he could get.

The city had turned up many an interesting exhibit or act in the past, and he couldn't afford to skip it, but on occasions he woke up with a nightmarish vision of the Knights of Kuabris still fresh in his mind.

Just get in, he reminded himself, check with Xaelobran at the market, and get out again. Avoid trouble with the knights. Travel light.

He'd sent the fruits of this most recent exploration ahead of him, to the show. Now it was just him, and that d.a.m.n horse.

He could see the chimneys of the power station known as the Furnace, and the Castle of Kuabris gripping the hillside like the crystalline skeleton of a hunting beetle. A light wind was beginning to blow the clouds and fog away, leaving only the fumes from the Furnace behind. He'd never been to the city and avoided the rain before. Perhaps it was an omen.

Diseaeda reached down into one of the leather bags slung to the side of the saddle, and unfolded a wide-brimmed hat.

The sun was already making his neck itchy, although the wet noise of the horse's hooves as they sank into drenched gra.s.s reminded him that such a state of affairs was purely temporary. From the other saddle bag he produced a small bottle of ointment. He splashed a little into his weathered palm, and then slapped some on his neck. He made sure that the bottle was well concealed before the gatehouse came into view.

Avoid trouble. Travel light.

As usual it was the rather pathetic City Guard who manned the gate. There were four of them there, and the youngest, barely out of school, was booted into the sunlight to examine Diseaeda's papers. The others continued with their furtive gambling. Now Diseaeda knew a trick or two.

When he had owned nothing but his own stall and the clothes he stood in he'd relied on such conjuring. But he fancied he'd get little from the guards. Best to keep quiet.

Concentrate on the boy.

'You got papers?' asked the boy.

Diseaeda looked down from his horse. 'Of course.' He produced a sheaf of parchments from his pocket. The folds had become tears, and the boy had great difficulty extracting the required authorization. A tiny stream of sand poured on to the guard's boots as he fumbled with the papers. 'Aren't you a little young to be carrying a sword?'

asked Diseaeda without thinking.

'Still your lips,' said the boy, giving Diseaeda's letters of authorization back. 'My ma's a great lover of roast tongue, and she ain't too partial where it comes from.'

'Apologies,' said Diseaeda, cursing his joking that would one day surely be the death of him. He nudged his horse forwards as the gate squealed open, and made straight for the market.

A horse was doubtless a rare sight in the city, and Diseaeda was well aware of the looks he was receiving.

Despite his fear, it did wonders for his ego. He fanned himself regally with his papers before stuffing them away again.

A woman rushed up to him, gabbling something about her dead husband. Diseaeda smiled, but didn't stop.

He dismounted at the edge of the market, and looked around for Xaelobran. It didn't take him long to spot the man, making a show of juggling some small yellow fruit whilst bellowing that his produce was the best, the cheapest, and the most wholesome.

'Xaelobran, you old dog!' shouted Diseaeda, causing the trader to fumble.

Xaelobran turned, his feet now stained yellow, and started to laugh. 'I thought the stink in the air was a blocked chimney. I should have known better!' A woman took over Xaelobran's position at the front of the stall as the two men embraced. 'Not seen your face for a long while.'

Diseaeda nodded. 'Been busy with the show.'

'Successful?'

'There are good months and bad months. Yourself?'

'Wouldn't like to say.'

'The knights can't stop you having memories,' said Diseaeda, suddenly lowering his voice.

Xaelobran nodded, his eyes defensively examining the faces in the crowd. 'Aye,' he said. 'But they keep on trying.'

'Madness,' said Diseaeda. 'A city built on the principles of madness.'

'And the influence of the blessed knights extends day by day,' hissed Xaelobran. He turned to pat his friend's horse.

'A fine creature. I'll get my son to water her and keep her safe.'

'Thank you.'

'So, what are you looking for this time?'

'Difficult to say until I've seen it. Heard anything?'

'Two things we must do before you leave. I've just been told about something that might interest you. Some sort of dead animal in a metal box.'

'Sounds like a pa.s.sable side exhibit. And?'

'There's an auction this afternoon. We might find you some deformed creature . . . Or perhaps some cheap wh.o.r.e who's not paid her fines.'

'Well, you dirty old dog,' said Diseaeda. 'We all live in hope.'

'We'll make a good team, Cosmae,' announced Jamie, pushing his plate across the table. The young man had brought Jamie to a lodging house, saying that he dared not return to his master.

Cosmae held his head in his hands. 'Maybe.'

'Come on, man,' said Jamie, shaking the boy by the shoulders. 'We got around that guard, didn't we?'

'But the girl I'm looking for wasn't there. Defrabax will kill me if I don't get that key back.'

'Where do you think she is?'

'In the castle. I had hoped that they'd finished questioning her and sent her back to the guards.'

'I'm sure that's where the Doctor will be as well,' said Jamie.

'But we'll never get in there,' said Cosmae.

'Why?'

'Because it's the castle of the Knights of Kuabris. What more do you need to know?'

'I'm a traveller,' said Jamie. 'Tell me more about the knights.'

Cosmae couldn't take his eyes off the castle, framed through the stone window. 'They protect us,' said Cosmae.

'At least, that's what they claim. They uphold our laws, intercede for us in prayer, and wrestle with problems of justice and morality.' There was a slight mocking lilt to his voice.

'Presbyters with claymores,' said Jamie, but Cosmae didn't hear him.

'They are only interested in the present, the here and now.

For them the past is gone, and the future is unknown. We are to seek the Higher as best we can from moment to moment.'

'Is that why you fear them?'

'Of course not,' snorted Cosmae. 'Religious twaddle. At least, that's what my master says, and I've no reason to doubt him.'

'Then why?'

'Something happens when you become a knight. You see men - kind and gentle men - initiated into the ways of Kuabris, and they are never the same again.'

'The Doctor would call that brainwashing,' said Jamie.

Cosmae stared blankly for a moment, and then continued.

'Day by day they simply surrender to their worst instincts. It is only to be expected, I suppose.'

'So far,' noted Jamie, 'you've described nothing more than evil men with swords. If you saw some of the things that the Doctor has come up against -'

'But it's the potential power of the knights that frightens me,' interrupted Cosmae. 'They have centuries of learning, which they vigorously destroy. They have dark secrets and powers far beyond even my master. By their destruction of knowledge and their consumption of the secret workings of the world, they become stronger and stronger.' Cosmae looked Jamie straight in the eye, his pupils dilated. 'It is the souls of the knights that I most fear.'

Zoe awoke with a sinking feeling in her stomach that was becoming all too familiar. Where once the sounds of her own city coming to life had woken her, today she came to because she could no longer block out the stink of the cell and the harsh pressure on her neck and spine. Her travels with the Doctor made her long for comfortable beds and people who were actually pleased to see her. She'd finally nagged the Doctor into installing some sort of orthopedic bed in her room in the TARDIS, but just at the moment she'd settle for a pillow. And some air freshener.

The weak light filtering into the room reminded her that the soldier had said she'd be sold at a market in an hour.

And that was about five hours ago. Since she'd been moved to this smaller cell she hadn't heard a single voice.

'Peasants!' she finally exclaimed, her voice ringing against the walls of rock. 'Primitive peasants!' Such an emotional response would have been frowned upon by her tutors at the Earth School of Parapsychology, but to h.e.l.l with them. The logic of this particular situation was inescapable: place one young woman in some benighted, centuries-old gaol, give her zero items to help her with any escape plan that she might formulate, and the end result was a very angry, impotent prisoner.

'Doctor, Jamie,' she muttered to herself. 'Now would be a good time to come to the rescue. A very, very good time.'