"What did did he do to the miniscopes?" he do to the miniscopes?"

"He persuaded our people to ban their use across the nine galaxies. Miniscopes were a barbaric invention - zoos of intelligent creatures, miniaturized and kept in time loops for the pleasure of other, more "developed" races. The Doctor pet.i.tioned for their abolition and our people - for once in their long lives - acted."

Braxiatel shrugged. "The Doctor always was one for causing trouble. I, for my part, preferred to keep a lower profile."

"Great." Vicki c.o.c.ked her head to one side and gazed at Braxiatel.

"So you're one of the Doctor's people, then?"

He nodded. "You don't seem surprised."

"There seem to be a lot of you about," she said. "We met another one recently. He was pretending to be a monk in the time of the Vikings. He was planning to give atomic bazookas to some king named Harold. The Doctor stopped him."

Braxiatel nodded. "Mortimus. I heard he headed this way when he left... when he left our planet. What happened to him?"

"The Doctor sabotaged his TARDIS. Do you all meddle this much?"

"Far from it." Braxiatel laughed. "We're the exceptions that prove the rule."

Something suddenly occurred to Vicki. "But if the Doctor's back in Venice and this Cardinal Bellarmine is chairing the Armageddon Convention, shouldn't you be doing something? I mean, like finding the Doctor, or stopping the Cardinal?"

"What's the point? I can't suddenly push another Doctor in there and pretend nothing's changed. Even if I give the real Doctor a hologuise and make him look like the Cardinal, the envoys will realize that something about him has changed - his body language, or the way he phrases things. And besides, when I popped into the conference hall earlier on the Cardinal was handling himself very well. The envoys seem to be listening to him.

I don't know what he thinks has happened but the envoys'

automatic translators seem to be ironing out anything strange he says, and interpreting his religious p.r.o.nouncements as best they can. I think..." and he paused cautiously, "that it's working as well as can be expected. The last thing I want to do is to start changing things now" He shrugged. "Of course, this is all their their fault. If they had told me that I was talking to a Doctor from a different time stream and that they were going to wipe his mind of everything that had happened during the Omega crisis then I would have chosen a later incarnation." fault. If they had told me that I was talking to a Doctor from a different time stream and that they were going to wipe his mind of everything that had happened during the Omega crisis then I would have chosen a later incarnation."

"A later what?"

"Don't worry about it. The convention is progressing nicely, everyone is happy, and I'm not going to rock the boat. My job finished when the convention started. So, perhaps I can buy you lunch in the refectory, and then I'll take you on a quick tour."

Vicki laughed. " Buy Buy me lunch? I thought you built and ran this entire place?" me lunch? I thought you built and ran this entire place?"

He shrugged. "No privileges for the boss. The Jamarians would never forgive me."

"I meant to ask," Vicki said, "who are the Jamarians?"

"I couldn't organize all this without help," Braxiatel said, nodding toward the buildings and jungle of Laputa on the viewscreen. "I needed a.s.sistance, and my own race wouldn't cooperate. They gave me their blessing, of course, and they helped me find the Doctor - not that they did any more than they had to on that front of course, like telling me that they were going to wipe his memory just after I handed him the invitation. Oh yes, and they declared this area of s.p.a.ce and time closed for the duration of the convention, but apart from that, I was on my own. It was obvious that if I asked any of the galactic powers for help, the rest of them would accuse me of favouritism, so I chose a minor race with no power base, no weapons to speak of and no strategic position in the galaxy. Apart from a tendency towards paranoia and stupidity, the Jamarians are a perfect workforce. Great organizers. They'll make someone a lovely civil service one day." He smiled. "Come on, let's get some food."

William Shakespeare reached out a trembling hand and touched Christopher Marlowe"s shoulder. "I can't believe it," he said for the fifth time that night. "You were stabbed by Ingram Frizer in the house of Eleanor Bull: Walsingham himself told me that Nicholas Skeres and Robert Poley were there and saw the whole thing. It was an argument over a bill of reckoning for the fare that you all had consumed. For sixteen years I've believed you dead."

"Marlowe?" The man with Marlowe looked puzzled. "I thought your name was Chigi?"

Christopher Marlowe swigged back a draught of wine and wiped his hand across his mouth. "It is," he said. "A man can have many names during his life, as he has many natures. Once, long ago, I was known as Kit Marlowe to my friends, and as a fiend in human form to my enemies, of which there were many." He glanced at Shakespeare. "Will, this is Steven Taylor, a beautiful lad who has as able a facility at making enemies as I do. Steven, this is William Shakespeare, a playwright of some small repute in London."

"Pleased to meet you," Steven said, shaking hands with Shakespeare.

"We were at Eleanor's house, true, 'tis true," Marlowe said to Shakespeare, "but it was a meeting, not a meal. You know that Skeres and Poley were in the pay of Walsingham?"

Shakespeare nodded. They had all been working for Walsingham: Shakespeare, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Skeres, Poley, Frizer and others. Sometimes he had felt that it was difficult to move in London without tripping over an agent of the Government on the lookout for seditious activity or evidence of blasphemy.

"You remember when Thomas Kyd was arrested in April of the same year," Marlowe continued, "he was brought before the Privy Council and accused of writing atheistic and seditious literature?"

"I remember." Indeed he did. Once one playwright was arrested for sedition, the rest immediately reread everything they had ever written, wondering if they would be next to hear the knock on the door.

"Kyd told them that I I had written those papers, not he. The Privy Council sought other witnesses: aye, and found them." had written those papers, not he. The Privy Council sought other witnesses: aye, and found them."

"You made enemies, Kit," Shakespeare said. "You had that way about you. After all, you committed -"

"Fornication? Aye, but that was in another country, and besides, the lad is dead." Marlowe smiled. "Not that it mattered. The Queen herself was sent a doc.u.ment part ent.i.tled The Most Horrible Blasphemies Uttered By Christopher Marlowe, in which people were prepared to swear that I had called Christ a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Mary Magdalene dishonest and all Protestants hypocritical a.s.ses. They also imputed to me the words 'if there be a G.o.d or any religion it is the papists.' Now you know me, Will." He spread his hands imploringly. "I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance. Would I, who believed in no G.o.d at all, claim that the Pope was G.o.d's only messenger?" As Shakespeare shook his head, Marlowe continued: "They were to call me before them to answer for my sins. I would have been tortured and killed.

Walsingham was my... my friend, as well as a generous employer.

He knew what fate lay ahead of me."

"A fate he might have shared," Shakespeare said, "if he also fell under suspicion."

"Indeed." Marlowe frowned. "He contacted Skeres, Poley and Frizer, and together they concocted the tale of my death. The Coroner of the Household of our Lady the Queen was bribed to pa.s.s a verdict of death in self defence. Frizer was not punished in any way - indeed, the Privy Council were very pleased with him for removing me."

Shakespeare's head was awhirl with fragments of thought. He could hardly reconcile sixteen years of belief with what he had just been told. The two contradictory stories sat together in his mind, indigestible and uncomfortable. "I tried to find your grave at Deptford," he said finally, "but it was not marked."

"As befits a man who has no truck with G.o.d or with churches,"

Marlowe laughed. "I am alive, Will. Believe the evidence of your own senses."

"I'm confused," Steven Taylor sighed from the other side of the table.

"But... sixteen years!" Shakespeare breathed. "Where did you go?

What did you do? Why didn't you communicate with any of us?"

Marlowe looked away from Shakespeare's accusing, wounded gaze. "Do you remember," he said, "three years before my purported death, I disappeared from London for a year. n.o.body could find me."

Shakespeare nodded. It had been a minor scandal of the time.

There were many who had believed that Marlowe was on the run from his debtors, or from justice, or both.

"During that time," Marlowe continued, "I travelled to the New World, to the Roanoake colony that had been set up in the land of Virginia by Walter Ralegh."

"Ralegh?" Shakespeare cried. Heads turned around the tavern.

Marlowe smiled at Shakespeare's expression. "Her Majesty was suspicious of Ralegh, believing that he was not loyal to her. You must have known that Ralegh too was an atheist, Will. A group of us used to meet at his house and debate theology. The School of Night, we called ourselves. Not knowing then that I shared his beliefs, Her Majesty instructed me through Walsingham to obtain statements from the Roanoake colonists as to Ralegh's demeanour, and his statements about Her Majesty to them. I had to be seen to go, otherwise I would have been tarred with the same brush as Ralegh. I shall not dwell on the journey, which was long and tedious, but while I was there, the colony was wiped out - attacked by animals the like of which I pray that I will never see again." Marlowe winced, and raised a hand to his head. "Strange creatures of this New World with hard skin, wings and many arms.

I was knocked unconscious, and the animals left me for dead.

When I awoke the next day, the bodies had gone: eaten, I presumed, or taken for strange, unnatural rites. The colony was deserted. I returned to England on the next supply ship, having survived until then on the dead colonists' supplies and local food, and I reported the matter directly back to the Queen, and to John Dee."

"Who's Dee?" Steven Taylor asked.

"Doctor John Dee," Marlowe replied, "the Queen's personal astrologer. Some of us believed that he had more influence upon her than was entirely healthy. Shortly after that, while wandering around London, I saw saw one of the colonists from Roanoake! I recognized her, as clear as day, but when I approached her she ran! I swear she fell beneath a brewer's dray and was greviously injured, and yet she climbed to her feet and ran off as if her leg were not bent almost in half." one of the colonists from Roanoake! I recognized her, as clear as day, but when I approached her she ran! I swear she fell beneath a brewer's dray and was greviously injured, and yet she climbed to her feet and ran off as if her leg were not bent almost in half."

"Are you -?" Shakespeare began.

"Sure?" Marlowe nodded. "As sure as I am that you are sitting here before me. I told Walsingham the news, and he suggested that I should investigate what had happened to the colony. Shortly after that, I "died"." He laughed. "But I hear you took on my mantle, Will, and discovered Ralegh to be a traitor."

Shakespeare nodded weakly. "Walsingham put me to spy on him.

As William Hall I infiltrated his circles and pa.s.sed reports back.

When Elizabeth died and James was made King, ten years after you... after you vanished... Ralegh plotted with various Catholics to kill the King and enthrone his daughter. His plot was discovered, and-"

"Discovered?" Marlowe clapped Shakespeare on the shoulder.

"You do yourself a disservice, Will."

Shakespeare shrugged. "No matter. Ralegh was imprisoned in the Tower, and rots there still. But you - where did you go when I thought your your bones were rotting in Deptford, done to death by slanderous tongues?" bones were rotting in Deptford, done to death by slanderous tongues?"

"In my strange afterlife, the only kind that I am expecting, I have trailed these vanished colonists around the globe - from England to Spain, from Spain to France, from France to Germany, from Germany to Austria and from Austria to Italy, gaining in numbers all the way - until they have all come together here."

"Here?" Shakespeare repeated.

"Venice," Marlowe confirmed. "I have listened to their conversation in taverns and in alleys, and they talk of a conference which is to occur here, one that will concern great wealth and weapons whose like has not been seen before. I know not what is to happen at that conference, and I know not how these colonists from Roanoake are connected to it, but I like it not." A scowl crossed his face, and his fingers trailed through the puddles of spilled wine on the table, drawing patterns. "And I swear that late at night, I have seen a creature akin to the ones that attacked the Roanoake colonists flying above the spires of this fair city. Walsingham having died during my travels, I sent a message back to his cousin telling him of my discoveries. He knew that I was still alive, and he contacted the King. His Majesty, trusting in you, Will, sent you to investigate my claims."

Shakespeare shook his head. He felt as if he had fallen into a fast-flowing torrent of words, and was being dragged along by the current. "Kit, if your story were played out on a stage now I should condemn it as improbable fiction, but as it is you telling the tale, I must perforce accept it as it is. And now I am in Venice, the more fool I: when I was at home I was in a better place, but I suppose travellers must be content."

"What I still want to know," Steven asked, "is what you were doing in that house: the one with the bas.e.m.e.nt and the pool?"

"The lost colonists have been congregating near it," Marlowe replied. "They drink in taverns around it, they lodge in hostels near it and they stand outside it, watching its doors. It has some connection to their presence, and this conference."

Steven looked from Marlowe to Shakespeare and back again.

"There's a man I think you both should meet. He's called the Doctor, and I think that he has some pieces of the puzzle that you need."

"And that," the Doctor proclaimed, pointing at an expanse of ocean on the map where two hand-drawn lines crossed, "is where we will find Laputa." He leaned back in his seat and, hands folded on top of his cane, nodded firmly.

Around Galileo and the Doctor, the hurly-burly of the Tavern of Fists carried on as if n.o.body had been kidnapped, pieces of the moon had not fallen to the Earth and creatures like demons did not stalk the streets and swim in the oceans.

"Let us not extend logic into areas in which it is not comfortable,"

Galileo muttered. He took hold of the bottle of wine and poured a generous measure into his tankard: then, for good measure, he swallowed the rest directly from the bottle. "We know," he continued after he had wiped his hand across his wine-sodden beard, "that this astral coach has fallen to Earth. We know -" and he indicated the map, "- as best we can ascertain, where the coach came to rest. We a.s.sume a.s.sume that at that point is this island of which you speak. We cannot prove it." that at that point is this island of which you speak. We cannot prove it."

"We can prove it," the Doctor snapped, "by going there with as much haste as we can. You forget, sir - my companion is in danger.

""Galileo smiled despite himself and shook his head. "You have gall, I'll say that for you. Old men should be timid and cautious, but you... By G.o.d's breath, I like you, Doctor."

The Doctor smiled. "Thank you, Mr Galilei. I shall take that compliment in the spirit in which it was -"

"Galileo Galilei?" a voice said from beside them.

"Not again again," Galileo sighed, and turned to see a man of medium height and build standing next to him. The man was unremarkable both in terms of looks and the expression upon his face. "Yes,"

Galileo said, "I am he. And you are -"

"Your a.s.sa.s.sin," the man replied. His hand appeared from behind his back, holding a knife, which he thrust toward Galileo's eyes.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The curious noises of the various envoys eating reverberated through the marble hall, making thought difficult and conversation nearly impossible. Near where Vicki was sitting waiting for Braxiatel, an eight-foot tall ferret was pulling live rodents from small plastic boxes and letting them run, squealing, across the table before s.n.a.t.c.hing them up and swallowing them whole.

Compared to them, Albrellian and his group of Greld at the next table were the models of decorum, although the slurping sound of their extendible mouthparts as they sucked the juices from small, anemone-like objects was a trifle obtrusive.

"And when did you die, my child?"

Vicki looked up from her food to find an elderly man smiling down at her. For a moment she thought it was the Doctor come to rescue her, and she smiled in relief. It took her a few seconds to realize that, apart from the long white hair and the angular features, the man looked nothing like her mentor and protector.

"You must be Cardinal Bellarmine," she ventured, the smile fading from her face. Glancing around, she spotted numerous empty places at the tables in the refectory. Of all the places he could have chosen to sit... and there was no sign of Irving Braxiatel with their food.

"Indeed I am," Bellarmine confirmed, carefully placing his tray on the table and sitting down opposite her. "And I am relieved to find another person here who isn't an angel." His gaze nickered across to the group of Greld, whose voices were beginning to raise in argument. He frowned slightly. "You're not an angel, are you?"

Vicki shook her head. "I'm as human as you are."

He pursed his lips. "No my dear, we were were human. Now our souls are with G.o.d. When human. Now our souls are with G.o.d. When did did you die?" you die?"

"I'm not -" Gazing into Bellarmine's eyes, Vicki suddenly noticed the wild gleam of barely suppressed hysteria. The Cardinal had built himself an entire edifice of fantasy and was doing his best to cram the facts into it. He must have known by now that he wasn't in Heaven, but any other explanation would have driven him mad.

"I'm not sure," she continued. "It's all very hazy."

"Indeed." He picked up an implement that looked something like a half-melted fork. "As it is with me. Heaven is so -" he shrugged helplessly "- confusing. I confess, some of the discussions I have been mediating today have been completely beyond my understanding."

"You seem to be doing okay," Vicki said. "I hear the talks are going well."

Bellarmine took a mouthful of food, and chewed it cautiously. "It had never occurred to me," he said, "that we would eat food in Heaven."

Vicki was about to make some anodyne reply when she suddenly caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of the conversation from the table of Greld nearby.

"- All promised to die, have we Albrellian," one of the Greld was saying, "all of us. And now trying out of your word to wriggle are you -" The rest of the arthropod's words were obscured by a particularly loud squeal from the eight-foot ferret-like envoy nearby.

Albrellian was replying, but all Vicki could hear was, "- have changed! About the Doctor and his companions did not know we -"

The rest of the group obviously disagreed with him, because they were shaking their bamboo-like limbs violently. "For the sacrifice should be prepared you!" one of them shouted, its voice cutting through the din. "To die with the rest of us should be prepared you, but too scared are you. Cannot now run out on us, just when together are coming carriers!"

Albrellian tried to quieten down the argument while two of his eyestalks rotated to see whether anybody was listening. Vicki quickly stared down at her plate, but she was sure that Albrellian had seen her. After a few moments, she looked up. Albrellian was still staring at her. She smiled hesitantly, and he finally looked away.