Childhood's End
He had been human once. He had to remember that. But it was so hard. When the 
blood-lust came over him, he could almost taste the kill in his fangs, feel the 
small bodies crunching, become intoxicated by the fresh blood that would dribble 
down his throat. He tried to fight it again, as he tried to fight it each and 
every time. 
And, as always, he failed. 
Night had fallen, burying the humans who lived here in their small houses, 
huddled together for companionship and warmth. He had no one. There was nobody 
to keep him company, no companion to offer him warmth. His only warmth came from 
the thrill of the hunt, his only companionship from the prey he ran down and 
then devoured. He was alone, unique, the sole member of his kind. 
But he had been human once. 
Long, long ago. He could barely remember those days. In his new state, time had 
little meaning. His mind wasn't working as it had once. Days and weeks blurred 
together. The only times were night or day, feast or famine. By day he hid, 
knowing that if anyone saw him, he'd be killed. Nights he hunted. If it was a 
good night, he ate: crunching the fresh bones, draining the delectable marrow, 
chewing on the tough sinews. If it was a poor night, he fasted, waiting for the 
following day, his belly growling and complaining. That always made the 
blood-lust worse. 
Rabbits were good prey, but they were fast. He had to be faster to catch them.. 
But with rabbits one bite from. his massive jaws was more than sufficient to 
kill. Foxes were good too, with their rich, predatory taste and hunter's blood. 
Foxes he admired. They were almost as good at killing as he was. But he could 
kill them, and they avoided him. 
The small ponies were a feast, but much harder to take down. They were wiry and 
tough, fighting with their hoofs and teeth, kicking and snorting. And he 
couldn't kill them with a single bite, as he did with the rabbits and foxes. For 
the ponies, he'd developed a trick of biting their throats and then hanging on 
until they died choking in their own blood or until one of his paws could break 
their necks. If he took a pony, then he could drag it to his lair and eat for a 
week without having to venture out to hunt and to risk being seen. 
Not many people came out onto the moors, and virtually no one was foolish enough 
to try the trip at night. But humans were tricky, and they were curious, and 
they were lethal. There was no animal that could hurt him out here. Even the 
ponies could only bruise him through his thick fur. Humans could do more, with 
their guns. He'd been shot at once, and in the stormy weather he could still 
feel the ache from the shot. 
They wouldn't ever get another chance to shoot him. 
The clouds covered the crescent moon, and he was satisfied. Sniffing the air 
cautiously, he could tell that there were no humans around. They were not smart 
enough to be able to hide from his heightened senses. He could detect the faint 
trail of rabbits, and the merest hint of a fox. The main scent this night was 
badger. 
Badgers had claws, and they fought hard and long. But his fur warded off their 
worst slashes, and they were good eating. He could almost taste the hot, 
delicious blood in his mouth, and the blood-lust came down over his senses like 
a curtain at the end of a play. 
He had been human once. 
But now he was only a killer beast. 
Howling his happiness, his anger, his hunger, his hatred for what he had become, 
he sprang out onto Dartmoor. With long, loping strides, he began to cover the 
distance to his prey. 
Tonight would be a good night. Tonight, he would feast. 
Tonight, something would die. 
  
Ben Tolliver loved the sea as he had never loved any human being. He'd been 
married twice and fathered eight children, but he loved none of them as much as 
he adored his silvery mistress. He'd loved these waters as long as he could 
remember. He'd been born beside them, and he knew he'd die beside them - or in 
them, as his father and grandfather had done, and as his brother and two sons 
had done. 
The sea was a fickle mistress, Tolliver knew. She could be sweet and serene, 
romantic and flirtatious. She could coyly beckon you down to her cold embraces, 
then turn violent and murderous in an instant. She was his only mistress, but he 
wasn't foolish enough to ever think of trusting her capricious moods. He was 
content simply to be with her, sharing the same night breezes that stirred the 
dark surface of the waters. He felt an empathy with the sea. When she was calm, 
he felt rested. When the waters raged, he felt helpless and imprisoned. 
He'd spent more than sixty years here, either floating in his small boat in 
these waters, or else in his small cabin where he could look down on the sea. It 
had been a rough life, and a poor one - no question at all about that. No 
Tolliver had ever grown wealthy from the sea. But he was content. Even with the 
loss of both wives and his sons, he wouldn't have wanted anything to have been 
different. Then he chuckled to himself. Well, maybe that saucy lass at the Dog 
and Pony. Now, if she'd agreed to some of those romps he'd often suggested . . . 
But aside from that, he was content. It had been a hard life, true. but a fair 
one. He'd been able to live as he'd wished. 
And here he was as always, floating gently on the sea in his old boat. It was a 
lot like him: grizzled, getting no younger, and maybe a slight achy in places, 
but overall a good, stout craft that had many a year left to it. And, like him, 
his boat was built for the sea and would be at home nowhere else. 
Tolliver sighed and straightened up from his nets. He'd checked them thoroughly, 
as he always did. One small tear in the mesh could ruin a nights fishing. He'd 
seen plenty of foolish fisherfolk lose their entire catch like that, but it had 
never happened to him. Nor would it. The day he lost a single fish was the day 
he'd retire from the sea; the day he'd lie down and die. The sea was his 
mistress, and he knew that if he treated her right, showed her the proper 
respect and care, why then she'd be flattered and give generously other bounty. 
He heaved the net into place, ready to cast it over the side and into the dark, 
nocturnal waters. 
Then he paused, astounded. 
There'd been talk in the taverns recently from some of the younger men about 
mermaids and fairy fires under the sea, but he'd always dismissed it as the 
foolishness of poor men in their cups. He'd believed it was the beer talking, 
not the youngsters. Why, he'd fished these waters sixty years and never seen any 
sights such as they had claimed. 
Until tonight. 
The moon had hidden itself behind the clouds, and the silvery reflections on the 
waves were gone. But the sea wasn't dark and impenetrable as it should have 
been. Far below the surface, Tolliver could see light. The fairy fires, then, 
were real! With the surface breaking and shivering as the waves lapped past his 
small craft, it was impossible to make out much. Just that there were lights 
down there, lots of them. Small, pinprick lights shivering and shaking with the 
movement of the waters, but real. 
Moving to the bows, Tolliver discovered that he had a better view of them. As he 
stared downwards, a pattern started to become clear. It was as if the fires were 
on the spokes of some immense wheel, maybe two hundred feet across. The pattern 
was quite regular, the lights all lined up, neat as you please. The centre of 
the wheel lay about a quarter of a mile to starboard of him. As he watched, 
utterly wrapped up in this beautiful mystery, Tolliver realized that the wheel 
analogy was very appropriate. 
The lights were moving, turning about their hub, just like some immense wheel in 
motion. The procession of light was slow and ponderous, but it was nevertheless 
quite real. 
Tolliver was captivated. He'd loved the sea in all her strange and often 
terrifying moods for six decades, but he had never been a witness to a sight 
like this. Just like a woman to keep all her best secrets hidden till it was too 
late for you to take advantage of them! Tolliver couldn't tear his eyes from the 
sight. What could be causing this? He had no idea. 
He'd heard enough foolish talk in his years as a fisherman to know plenty of 
legends of Davy Jones and his ilk. He knew for a fact, though, that such talk 
was utter nonsense. There was plenty of life in the sea, but it was all victim 
to line or net or harpoon. None of it was intelligent, none capable of building 
the sight he was seeing now. 
But neither could man. In this year of grace eighteen hundred and eighty there 
were many marvels about that Tolliver had never dreamed of seeing in his simple 
life, but there wasn't a man alive who could have built this wheel of light he 
was watching. That engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunei - now there had been a 
genius! Building ships the like of which this world had never seen before. Many 
folks had laughed at him, but Brunei had been proven right time after time. A 
man with vision, Brunei had been. But even he could never have dreamed of 
constructing anything like this. Besides, he'd been dead for twenty years now, 
and there wasn't a man alive that could hold a match to his candle. 
Then what was he seeing? What could be the explanation for this strange wheel of 
lights, turning with grim relentlessness off his starboard bow? Tolliver had 
heard from some of his colleagues about fish that had their own light, a bit 
like those fireflies whose bums burned bright on nights they were looking for 
love. So Tolliver could believe those stories. Still, even granted that there 
were fish whose backsides were filled with fire, he couldn't imagine anything 
that would induce them to line themselves up as if they were ready for a dance 
and then slowly turn around a common centre. It went against everything Tolliver 
knew. 
So, then, what - 
A shape flickered past barely under the surface of the water, blocking the 
lights for a second, and it was then gone. It must have been a fish. What else 
could it have been? It couldn't have been what he had thought. It couldn't have 
been - 
It rippled past the boat again, and Tolliver shivered in shock. Cartwheels of 
fire were bad enough. Maybe he was going senile. Or maybe his old mistress was 
having fun with him. 
He had seen a human face, and then the flicker of a fish's tail. 
A mermaid? 
Tolliver wished he could laugh at this stupidity. Mermaids were seen more often 
in the bottom of a jar of ale than in the bottom of the sea. But he hadn't been 
drinking this night. And he had seen something that looked like a woman's face. 
A bit of a body, and then there had been the fish's tail, grey and smooth. Not 
at all like the legends suggested. No green scales or over-ripe breasts. Just a 
face, slim form and tail. 
He had to have imagined that! There were no such things as merfolk who farmed 
the pastures of the sea. They were just legend and tall tales. 
On the other hand, if there were some kind of folk who were - God alone knew 
how! - able to live under the sea, then perhaps they had made that monster wheel 
below him. It went against his experiences and all he knew about the world. But 
it did make a sort of off-kilter sense of its own. 
Tolliver leaned over to get a better look. Maybe that whatever-it-was would pass 
this way again and he'd get a better look at it on its next pass. Maybe - 
In a sudden explosion of spume and cold water, something shot up from the sea. 
Tolliver reeled back, horrified and screaming, but he was not fast enough to 
escape this thing. In the last half-second of his life Tolliver made out sleek 
skin, the thrashing tail that had propelled this creature out of the black 
waters, and the huge mouth filled with pointed teeth. 
And then the thing bit his face entirely off. 
  
Sir Edward Fulbright knew precisely what he liked and didn't like. He liked, for 
example, Fulbright Hall, the ancestral home. Portions of it dated back to the 
fifteenth century, when it had been founded by William Fulbright. but the 
majority of it had been either constructed or restored by his grandfather, 
Augustus Fulbright, in 1842 There was absolutely no question that the Hall was 
not merely an elegant and spacious domicile, but also the most architecturally 
interesting home within the boundaries of Devon. 
He liked even more the Great Hall. This spacious room had been constructed by 
old William for those grand medieval feasts, with a huge stone fireplace in the 
centre of one wall, the family crest carved in the stones above the immense 
mantel. In the old days whole hogs had been roasted within that fireplace; 
nowadays, of course, the cooking was all accomplished in the Hall's capacious 
kitchens. A huge, cheery fire blazed instead in the grate. The wall opposite the 
fireplace had been one of Grandfather Augustus's main achievements. The old, 
small windows of the house had been removed and large glass doors - in the 
French style, but still very attractive -had replaced them. This allowed easier 
access to the large grounds of the Hall, and gave a superb view across the moors 
in all seasons. There was, at the far end of the Great Hall, a minstrels' 
gallery that had been carefully rebuilt, and for this occasion held the small 
orchestra that had been engaged for these festivities. 
He liked parties, and this was one of the best he'd ever hosted. His wife had 
outdone herself this time, and everyone who was anyone in the region - and quite 
a few from London - was here. Still, it wasn't every day that one's only 
daughter announced her engagement. Fulbright watched her whirling one of those 
new-fashioned dances - he never could recall their silly names - with affection. 
He liked Alice a great deal. She was a dutiful and beautiful girl of nineteen, 
who brought him much pleasure. 
And he liked her fiance, young Lieutenant Roger Bridewell. He was a handsome 
figure of a man, with the prospect of a fine military career. He was smart, well 
bred and quick to understand and follow orders. He was just the kind of son that 
Fulbright had always wished for. One day, of course, he would inherit Fulbright 
Hall. Pity that the family name would be gone, but at least Fulbright could rest 
easy that the Hall would be retained by good blood. Bridewell's father had 
served in the Crimea with Fulbright and had died bravely at Sebastopol, having 
never seen his new-born son. Fulbright had always felt as if Bridewell's son 
were a member of the family, and he was most gratified that he was finally to 
become precisely that. 
What he didn't like was that friend of Bridewell's. His eyes scanned the room 
and the many guests dancing, drinking or chattering. Eventually he saw the man 
again, and he frowned. The disturbing young man was engaged in conversation with 
Sir Alexander Cromwell, the local Justice of the Peace. What the deuce was he up 
to now? Fulbright had known this Colonel Edmund Ross for barely a week, but he 
knew that the man had a quiet intensity and some hidden purpose for being here. 
If he hadn't been Bridewell's guest, Fulbright would have asked the man to 
leave. 
There were a number of small matters that disturbed him about Ross. Individually 
they were almost insignificant, but together they painted a very puzzling 
portrait of the young man. For example, he wasn't even thirty yet but had 
managed to acquire the rank of colonel. He was terribly vague about the regiment 
he actually served in, and had in the course of conversations admitted to 
serving in three different places at the same time! Fulbright would have assumed 
that the man was a simple blackguard and confidence man, but Bridewell had, 
rather unusually, gotten rather prickly when Fulbright had raised the 
possibility. 
'Sir,' Bridewell had replied stiffly, 'Colonel Ross has impeccable credentials 
and is in a position of utmost trust. I would appreciate it if you would not 
attempt to besmirch his reputation.' 
Fulbright had agreed, but his suspicions still lingered And, just before the 
commencement of this ball, his butler had mentioned a fresh problem which was 
still troubling Fulbright. As he watched Ross, he saw Sir Alexander laugh at 
some witticism and move off. Seizing the opportunity, Fulbright crossed the 
crowded room to his most troublesome guest. 
'Sir Edward,' Ross said, bowing slightly. 'Allow me to congratulate you on a 
most entertaining evening.' 
'Thank you,' Fulbright replied gruffly. He stared at the young man. Ross was a 
handsome scoundrel, no doubt of that - tall, well built, with saturnine dark 
looks and grey eyes that hid his thoughts but not the intelligence behind them. 
He dressed impeccably and had the manners - if not the breeding - of a 
gentleman. Fulbright again sensed the feeling that there was far more going on 
with Ross than he ever allowed anyone to know. 'I'm sorry that I have to speak 
to you about that manservant of yours.' 
'Abercrombie?' Ross barely hid his smile. 'And what has the poor fellow done 
now?' 
'He's been scaring the serving maids half out of their wits,' Fulbright 
complained. 
'Dear me,' Ross said. His sympathy seemed quite feigned. 'He hasn't been making 
unwanted advances, I trust?' 
'Nothing like that,' snapped Fulbright. 'He's been lurking in the bushes.' 
Ross raised an eyebrow. 'Lurking? In the bushes?' He shook his head. 'Dear me. 
Perhaps the maids have simply mistaken his interests in nature for other less 
polite activities? Abercrombie is quite an avid bird-watcher, you know.' 
Fulbright almost laughed at the thought. He'd seen Ross's man a few times during 
the past several days. He was a small, shiftless-looking individual with a 
prominent nose and one of those horrible low-class London accents. If the man 
looked at birds, it would be only ones that were on his dinner plate. 'At 
night?' he asked sceptically 
Ross shrugged. 'I understand that many birds are nocturnal. Owls, perhaps. But I 
quite understand your concern, Sir Edward. I shall instruct Abercrombie to 
confine his avian interests to the daylight hours in future.' 
Fulbright realized that this was probably the most he could expect. 'I should 
appreciate that,' he agreed. 
Bridewell and Alice moved to join them. 'Hello, Papa,' Alice said, her eyes 
sparkling with delight. 'Isn't this a marvellous affair?' She nodded to Ross. 
'Edmund, are you enjoying yourself?' 
Ross bowed to her. 'How could I not?' he asked. 'Your father is a most gracious 
host and provides excellent entertainment.' He smiled slighdy. 'Though I fear 
the activities of my man Abercrombie are somewhat taxing his patience.' 
Bridewell laughed. 'What's the old scoundrel been up to now?' 
'Upsetting the servants, I'm afraid,' Ross replied. 
'Really, Edmund,' Alice said, T don't know why you tolerate the man. I'd have 
dismissed him long ago. He's positively creepy.' 
Ross didn't seem at all upset by the remark. 'He has his uses,' he answered. 
'He's not the best manservant in the world, perhaps, but he's absolutely devoted 
to me.' Ross smiled. 'I'm afraid that all the dancing has tired me. I feel the 
need for a breath of fresh air.' 
'Dancing?' Fulbright snorted. Perhaps Bridewell and even Alice liked this fake, 
but he didn't. 'I haven't seen you dance a step.' 
'I haven't,' Ross agreed cheerily. 'But watching everyone else has quite 
exhausted me.' 
'I could do with a little air myself,' Bridewell offered 'Alice?' 
She laughed happily. 'I feel as though I'm floating on it.' She took her 
father's arm and smiled at him affectionately. 'Why don't we all step outside?' 
Fulbright didn't really want to socialize further with Ross, but he couldn't 
deny his daughter's whim. 'As you wish,' he said. 
The music was still almost as loud outside, and there were a few knots of other 
guests out on the terrace. Alice led the three men toward the Italianate 
fountain that dominated the small walk down toward the formal gardens. From here 
in the daytime was the best view of the moors. Now, of course, it was simply 
darkness. Clouds hid the moon, and beyond the angelic dispenser of water lay 
only black night. 
'Isn't it glorious?' she asked. 
'If you like it,' Bridewell replied, 'it must be glorious. You have such 
exquisite taste.' 
Alice laughed. 'That must be why I'm marrying you,' then,' she said happily. 
Fulbright was pleased to see his daughter so happy. Marriages weren't 
necessarily an impediment to love -his own had always made him content - but 
neither were they exacdy conducive to it, either. It was good to see that Alice 
and Bridewell were not merely marrying, but looking forward to the estate. The 
only dark spot on his pleasure was that damnably secretive Ross. What was he 
really after? Perhaps he was indeed a friend of Bridewell's, but there was more 
to it than that. Ross had the air of a man with many secrets, the sort of person 
who let no one into his thoughts if he could avoid it. 
So why was he here? 
Fulbright was not impolite enough to come right out and ask the man direcdy, but 
it was a close thing. And he suspected that Ross knew this - and that it amused 
the younger man for some unfathomable reason. 
Ross smiled at the couple. 'It does the heart good to see a couple so in love,' 
he said. 
'Then why don't you try it for yourself?' asked Alice, bantering. 'Don't think I 
haven't seen the looks you've been getting from some of my friends.' 
'And most nattered I am, too,' Ross replied with a laugh. 'But I'm not prepared 
to setde down with any woman yet. On the other hand, if Roger hadn't snatched 
you up at the first opportunity, perhaps you could have persuaded me to change 
my opinion.' 
Alice laughed, but Fulbright was appalled. It was bad enough having to tolerate 
this man as a guest. The thought of his courting Alice was too much to bear. 
'See here, Ross,' he began roughly. But he never finished. 
Despite the strains of music from inside the Great Hall, there was un 
unmistakable sound of a howl in the air. The cry rose and fell, the ululation of 
some weird, wild hunting beast. It struck through to Fulbright's soul, the cry 
of some terrible creature in pain and anger. 
'Dear Lord!' gasped Alice. 'What in the name of heaven was that?' 
Bridewell clutched her to his side protectively. 'Some creature on the moors,' 
he said, looking almost as pale as the girl. 'But I've never heard a sound like 
that before.' 
'I have,' Fulbright snapped, glad to have something other than Ross to vent his 
anger against. 'The day before you arrived. We found one of the ponies ripped to 
shreds the following day. Some monstrous travesty of nature had torn the poor 
beast to shreds. The servants tell me that this wasn't the first such 
slaughter.' 
There was a stir of movement in the darkness beyond the fountain as the 
unearthly howl rent the night a second time. The figure that slid out of the 
shadows was revealed to be none other than Ross's strange manservant. 
'It's that blinking hound,' he announced, ignoring everyone but Ross. 'Two, 
perhaps three miles out on the moors.' 
'I had gathered as much,' Ross said drily. 'It seems to be a fine night for a 
ride. Sir Edward,' he commented, turning to his host. 'With your permission, 
I'll have Abercrombie saddle a couple of horses.' 
Bridewell gasped. 'You're not thinking of going out after that creature alone?' 
'Not alone,' agreed Ross. 'Abercrombie's coming with me.' 
'What?' Abercrombie shuddered. 'Begging your pardon, sir, but I'd rather stay 
right where I am. I don't like the sound of that thing.' 
'You never like the sound of anything like work,' Ross said without concern. 
'Sir Edward?' 
'I'll be damned if I allow you out on the moors at night,' Fulbright snapped. 
'It's dangerous enough out there if you don't know your way, let alone with 
whatever made that terrible cry out there hunting.' 
'Then perhaps you would be good enough to loan me a guide?' Ross asked. 'I 
assure you, this is no frivolous whim.' 
'I'll do better than that,' Fulbright growled. 'I'll accompany you. Nobody knows 
the trails better than I do.' 
'Papa!' exclaimed Alice. 'I don't think anyone should venture out there tonight. 
I don't know what that thing was, but it sounded monstrous.' 
'By tomorrow it will have vanished, just like last time,' Fulbright answered. 'I 
want to stop whatever is killing those ponies.' 
'Then I'll go along with you,' Bridewell stated, brooking no argument. 'The more 
of us there are, the safer we'll be.' 
'Blooming Ada,' muttered Abercrombie. 'It'll be a ruddy circus out there.' Then, 
as a thought struck him: 'Here, with all this help, you won't be needing me, 
will you?' 
'Nice attempt,' Ross told him. 'But you're still coming along.' He turned back 
to Fulbright. 'I'd be grateful for your help, Sir Edward. But you are coming to 
catch the beast, not to keep an eye on me, I take it?' 
You almost had to admire the impudence of the man. 'A little of both, perhaps,' 
Fulbright replied frankly. 
Ross smiled and nodded. 'Thank you. It's nice to know where one stands. Well - 
shall we go?' 
Fulbright turned to Alice. 'I'm sorry for the interruption, my dear, but we 
probably shan't be very long. Keep the guests happy, please.' 
'Take care, Papa,' Alice said. She was obviously very worried. 'You, too, 
Roger.' She turned to Ross. 'And also you. Colonel.' 
Fulbright led the way, and found to his disgust that Ross's man Abercrombie was 
walking almost next to him. Didn't the disgusting creature know his place? Ross 
had fallen back slightly, conversing with Bridewell in low tones. Fulbright 
glared at the ugly little man beside him. 'Perhaps you, at least, will have 
something to show for this night,' he said coldly. 'You could indulge in a spot 
of ornithology.' 
'What?' Abercrombie stared at him blankly. 
'Bird-watching, man,' Fulbright snapped. 'I understood it was a hobby of yours.' 

Abercrombie guffawed. 'Watch birds? Me? Stone the crows, whatever gave you that 
idea?' 
'I don't recall,' Fulbright answered icily. So ... as he had suspected, Ross had 
lied about his man's activities. What was Ross's real purpose here, then? And 
why did he tolerate this obnoxious low-life? Perhaps it was time that this 
so-called colonel's secrets were revealed. 
  
The TARDIS gave up its secrets rather sparingly. Sarah Jane Smith lay on her 
back in what the Doctor had dismissingly referred to as 'the bath' and lazily 
stirred her hands and feet. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able 
to wear a swimsuit - let alone inside the TARDIS. It felt good to be able to 
simply relax and enjoy herself for once, particularly after the series of 
harrowing adventures she'd experienced. 
The Doctor had been very moody of late. Well, he was always moody; Sarah 
imagined it was because of his alien nature and incredibly lengthy life-span. He 
claimed at various times to be anything from four hundred to a shade over a 
thousand years old. For a being who travelled in time as much as the Doctor did, 
he seemed to be very shoddy about keeping note of his personal time. Either he 
wasn't certain how to calculate his age due to all the varying times he had 
stepped into and out from, or - which Sarah personally believed - he had 
virtually no interest in it. 
She couldn't blame him, really. Imagine the size of the cake he'd need to fit on 
several hundred (or a thousand) candles! You'd need a flame-thrower just to 
light them, and even the Doctor could never blow them all out with a single 
breath. 
Which all meant that the reason the Doctor seemed unsure of his age was because 
it wasn't simple to work out. But he was showing all the signs of some sort of 
mid-life crisis. If, of course, four hundred to a thousand years old was 
mid-life for a Time Lord. The Doctor was always pretty vague about that, too. 
He'd once claimed to be 'immortal, give or take a few years' and at another time 
had said he was as mortal as the next man. Consistency was not a virtue he 
believed in or practised. 
Something was clearly bothering him, and it was a something that their recent 
encounter with the renegade Time Lord Morbius on that nightmarish world of Kam 
had exacerbated. The Doctor had been broody enough before that, but now he was 
positively grim. He had taken to prowling the corridors of the TARDIS, hands 
rammed firmly into his capacious trouser pockets, his battered felt hat perched 
precariously atop his mop of thick, dark curls. His sombre face looked more 
inscrutable than ever, and his tooth-filled grins had virtually vanished. Even 
his long multi-coloured scarf seemed to have become more subdued to match his 
mood. 
Sarah had tried her best to tease him into talking, but that had been no use. 
When he wanted to, the Doctor could talk the hind legs off a donkey, and 
probably the front ones, too. But when he was in a mood you couldn't even get 
the time of day out of him. Assuming he either knew or cared what time it was. 
Sarah had always been rather wary about exploring the TARDIS too far from the 
main control room. The ship had so many corridors and rooms that it made a 
labyrinth seem positively simple. You needed either a guide or a long ball of 
string to find your way around. She had been reading in the room she'd taken 
over for herself when the Doctor had wandered past her open door, lost in his 
morose thoughts again. Tagging along, she had attempted to cheer him up without 
any noticeable success. Finally, she'd asked him what some of the rooms they 
were passing were. 
'Bathroom,' he'd growled, and then ignored her. 
'Which one?' 
'All of them.' 
This hadn't made much sense to her until she'd opened the first door. She'd been 
expecting almost anything from a small closet with a toilet to a whirlpool bath. 
So she simply stared in amazement at the room within. 
It was the size of several football fields, and held an Olympic-size swimming 
pool. Surrounding this were recliners and huge potted ferns and other plants she 
couldn't even begin to classify. The ceiling was a glowing panel stretching into 
the distance. 
'That's a bathroom?' she gasped. 
'Yes,' the Doctor answered, looking at her as if she were some kind of idiot. 
'Can't you see the rubber duck in the tub?' There was indeed a small yellow 
plastic duck bobbing up and down in the water. He rolled his eyes and strode on. 

Since she clearly wasn't going to get any further by talking to him, Sarah had 
rushed back to her room, and into the closet. Like the rest of the TARDIS, her 
closet seemed to expand to accommodate the clothing she placed in it. The room 
had clearly belonged to at least two other people before her, because she'd 
discovered outfits in two distinct styles and sizes already in the closet. One 
set had been pastel-shaded Victorian outfits; the other had been all silver and 
leather. Presumably at least two of the Doctor's previous companions had stayed 
in here. Sarah had simply pushed their stuff to the back and added her own 
closer to the door. Now she shuffled through the spacy-lookmg clothes, searching 
for something she could recall seeing once. Finally she found it: a one-piece 
bathing suit of some kind of opalescent material. It shimmered with pinks and 
silvers as she held it up to see if it might fit her. She'd never thought to 
bring along a swimsuit of her own. Most of the seas they had landed beside 
turned out to be filled with acid or monsters. Or both. 
The suit had moulded itself to her body when she'd tried it on. It was perhaps a 
trifle daring, being very low-cut in several places, but for the TARDIS's 
bathroom it was fine. And here she was, lazing in a huge pool, inside a time and 
space machine taking her who-knew-where in the cosmos. It was something that 
anyone else might have found utterly bizarre, but which Sarah simply accepted. 
One thing you had to take into your stride with the Doctor was the unexpected. 
And at least this was pleasantly unexpected, unlike the usual turn of events. 
Eventually, though, she tired of lazily swimming around and returned to her room 
to dry off and dress. She -considered returning to her book again, but she was 
getting a trifle hungry. That meant a trip to the food machine. Since that was 
in the room next to the control room, she supposed she ought to take a look in 
there as well, in case the TARDIS had landed or the Doctor had decided to do 
more of his running repairs. 
Munching on a Mars-bar-like meal of calimari in clam sauce, she wandered into 
the control room. She wasn't too surprised to discover the Doctor already there, 
brooding over the time rotor. The lights from the spinning vanes within the 
rotor cast weird shadows across his gloomy face. 
'Is it Halloween already?' she asked lightly. Sometimes that helped drag the 
Doctor from his introspections. 
The Time Lord gave a sudden jerk, as though he hadn't noticed her arrival. It 
was quite possible that he hadn't. As he straightened up, a dismal cloud seemed 
to lift from within his eyes. There was a sudden flash of teeth, and he brushed 
back his tangled hair. 'Hello, Sarah Jane,' he said brightly. 'I'm afraid I've 
been neglecting you, haven't I?' 
'Uh-huh,' she agreed, crossing the large room to join him at the central 
console. She was relieved that he seemed to have cast off his depressing 
introspection. 
'I'm sorry.' His eyes sparkled with the old humour once again. 'I was lost in my 
thoughts. I have so many, it's easv to get lost.' 
Sarah grinned and wolfed down the last of her meal 'Do you have two brains as 
well as two hearts?' she asked. 
'No. Perhaps I should, though. I'll have to put in a request. Or would that make 
me a dinosaur?' He started to study the instrument panel. 'Ah, we're still in 
flight.' 
'Where are we going?' asked Sarah. Most of the instruments on the panels weren't 
labelled, and they didn't seem to be measuring anything that was at all 
familiar. The few dials and meters that did have labels were generally named in 
the kind of scrawl that a drunken chicken with its head chopped off might have 
made. 
'Nowhere. Anywhere.' An idea seemed to strike him. 'I'll tell you what - why 
don't you pick our destination?' 
'Are you joking?' Sarah gave a snort. 'You know that the TARDIS never gets us 
where you aim for.' 
'That's not true!' the Doctor exclaimed. His innate honesty compelled him to 
add: 'Well, not always true. And the old girl is in a good mood right now. 
Aren't you?' he asked the mushroom-shaped control console, patting it fondly. He 
often spoke as if the TARDIS were alive and understood every word they said. For 
all Sarah knew, that might well be true. The TARDIS was at the very least an 
incredibly sophisticated machine. That it might be aware and intelligent 
wouldn't surprise her too much. 
'Do you really think you might be able to get where you're aiming?' asked Sarah. 

'Probably. Let's try, shall we?' He gave another of his grins. 'So where in all 
of time and space would you like to go? Metabelis? Tarbethon Beta? Argohs?' 
Sarah shrugged. 'I don't know,' she confessed. 'I've never really thought about 
aiming to go anywhere. I've got rather used to simply wandering.' 
'My moods must be infectious,' he replied. 'Well, is there anybody you've always 
wanted to meet? Anyone at all? Plato? Genghis Khan? Llandro Cabot? Charlie 
Chaplin?' 
Laughing, Sarah considered the idea. To be able to meet anyone, anyone at all, 
from any world or time . . . 'Are you really serious?' 
'Cross my hearts.' 
Sarah shook her head in wonder. 'You mean you could really control the TARDIS if 
you want to?' 
He shrugged. 'Only when it's very important.' He gave her another of his 
engaging smiles. 'To be honest, Sarah Jane, I usually don't bother. It's much 
more fun to let the old girl take me where she wills. After all, I've got 
nothing but time, and my appointment book is almost empty this millennium. So - 
who'll it be?' 
'Well,' Sarah began, her mind having finally focused, 'you'll probably think 
this is silly.' 
'Oh, I doubt it,' he replied airily. 'After all, once you've met Marie 
Antoinette almost anyone after that seems to be very serious.' 
'I'd like to meet Rudyard Kipling.' 
'Kipling?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'That's very unusual.' 
'It's just that he was a journalist who became an absolutely marvellous writer,' 
Sarah explained quickly, afraid he did think her choice was rather frivolous. 
'And I grew up on his stuff.' 
'I'm not complaining,' the Doctor assured her. 'Quite the contrary. I'm rather 
fond of Kipling myself. 
Far-called, our navies melt away - 
On dune and headland sinks the fire -
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget! 
'Stirring, eh?' The Doctor grinned again. 'It's just that he's one of the people 
I've never met and always wanted to. That means that this will be a doubly 
interesting trip.' He stared at the panels and began resetting the controls. 
'Hang on to your hat, Sarah Jane.' 
'Are you sure you can get us to meet Kipling?' she asked. 
'Trust me,' he replied. 'When have I ever let you down?' 
'Too many times.' 
'That was in the past. And we've already passed through those times. This time 
we'll defmitely get there. Now, where and when exactly?' 
Sarah wasn't sure she could really believe him. Still, maybe it was worth the 
risk. If he messed up as usual, at least she wouldn't be too disappointed. 
'Lahore, India. February 1889, when he was just getting established as a 
writer.' She watched him enter figures into the TARDIS's controls. 'I'd feel a 
lot happier if this thing came with an owner's manual.' 
'It does,' he said, dancing around the console to another panel. 'I think I 
still have it somewhere.' He frowned. 'You know, I think I may be a trifle 
overdue for her three-thousand-year check-up.' 
'There is a handbook for this thing?' Sarah could hardly believe her ears. 'Then 
why don't you use it?' 
'She didn't mean to be rude,' the Doctor whispered to the panel, and patted it 
consolingly. To Sarah he said, 'That would be so boring. It's much more fun to 
experiment, don't you think? Besides, I can't remember where I put it. Or who I 
was when I put it there.' He shrugged. 'If it's needed, it'll turn up.' 
Sarah didn't know what to say, so she settled for an exasperated sigh. It was 
extremely difficult to believe that the Doctor would actually manage to get them 
where and when he had promised. 
He looked up at her. 'Better get changed,' he advised her. 'Its very hot in 
India. Something white would be best.' 
'If we get to India,' she retorted. She remembered one of those Victorian 
dresses in her closet that she'd worn before. It had been that time they'd had 
the run-in with Sutekh. The Doctor had mentioned that it had belonged to a 
former companion of his, called Victoria. Leaving the Doctor to fiddle with the 
controls, she went to put it on. 
  
The night was cold, chilling the marrow in Fulbright's bones. The wind howled 
mournfully around the bare rocks and craggy outcroppings which rose like grey 
ghosts from the blackness of the moor. The moon was gone and clouds scurried 
like rats across the sky. It was a night, the locals would say, when Satan 
himself was known to walk upon the moor. 
Fulbright remembered with a shudder some of the tales he'd been told as a child, 
growing up out here in the bleak wilds before being sent to the boarding school 
that had beaten the child out of him to make him the man he was today. Tales of 
the devil striding across the snow-strewn hills, or of giant, fiery hounds from 
hell running down their terrified human prey. Tales of monsters that lived 
within the bogs, reaching out with twiggy fingers to grip the ankles of unwary 
travellers and drag them down to the murky depths where they would be devoured. 
On nights like these, it was hard to completely dismiss such tales as rank 
superstition. He knew, with the intellectual part of his mind, that such legends 
were fancies born in drinks and fears. But in the darker, deeper, colder 
portions of his mind the fears were still there and still as potent as they had 
been when they had induced nightmares and bed-wetting in a four-year-old boy. 
But he was no longer that boy; he was a man, and this was a task for a man. 
Burying the terrors that wanted to seize and shake him, he hunkered down in the 
saddle and pressed his nervous steed onward, into the jumble of rocks. 
Behind him he could hear the other horses nervously picking their own paths. 
Both Bridewell and Ross were superb horsemen, having no trouble keeping up the 
pace. Abercrombie, on the other hand, was merely adequate, and Fulbright 
suspected that the reason he seemed to lag behind had more to do with fear than 
lack of riding ability. 
Since the initial sounds that had drawn them out onto the moor this dismal 
night, there had been no further indication that their quarry was still around. 
Then again, if it were hunting, it was hardly likely to advertise its presence, 
was it? And what were they hunting? Some wild beast escaped from the menagerie 
of a collector, perhaps? During his days in India, Fulbright had seen both 
cheetahs and tigers make their kills. Both were powerful, silent hunters and 
quite capable of disembowelling the ponies that roamed the hills here. But 
neither was capable of producing the terrible sounds they had heard earlier. The 
beast had sounded more like a hound of some kind. 
But what kind of dog ever known to man could have produced a howl such as they 
had heard? None that Fulbright knew, and anyone in the county would have 
admitted that if ever a man knew his hounds, that man was Edward Fulbright. The 
memones of the local boys telling tales of a spectral hound that haunted the 
moors flooded back to him. The beast was supposed to possess eyes of fire, teeth 
of pure flame and an insatiable appetite for wicked children. Nothing more than 
a horror tale told to terrify the young. And yet . . . 
And yet there were children missing. Cromwell had mentioned it earlier in the 
day. As a Justice of the Peace, Cromwell was perforce privy to police reports. 
Several local children seemed to have vanished without trace recently, including 
one from a boarding school in the area. Most disappearances could be laid easily 
to any number of factors, but the schoolchild had been the son of a minor Indian 
official and there had been an investigation. It had turned up nothing, but 
there were many questions unanswered. 
Was it even barely possible that there was something out here that stalked the 
night and was preying on human beings? 
Even as the thought fastened hold on his imagination, Fulbright gave a start of 
shock. Out of the blackness ahead came a scream such as he'd never heard in all 
his days. He'd seen action on three continents, and seen and heard men die in 
terrible pain. Never outside the pits of hell would he expect to hear such a 
scream. It was a high-pitched howl, throaty and filled with horror. It didn't 
sound even remotely human, and it set fire to every nerve in his body. 
And not his alone. As his mount shied in terror, he fought to control the 
horrified steed. His companions faced similar struggles as the other horses were 
equally unnerved. 
'Bloody Nora!' exclaimed Abercrombie, his voice trembling. 'What the bleeding 
hell was that?' 
'Whatever it was,' Bridewell exclaimed, his own voice shaking, 'it can't have 
been human.' 
'It wasn't,' Ross announced with certainty. He alone didn't sound on the verge 
of panic. Was it because he knew something that the rest of them didn't? 'It was 
one of the local ponies. Our target must have just slaughtered it. Come along!' 
Ross kneed his steed hard, urging it forward. The beast - perhaps wiser than its 
rider - fought and bucked to retreat instead. Ross wore it down, however, and 
pressed ahead. 
Fulbright would just as soon have returned home, but he couldn't back down now. 
Instead he managed to control his own rebellious, terrified mount and forced it 
after Ross. Bridewell fell in behind him. 
'Lummee,' Abercrombie announced, 'I ain't staying around here alone.' He brought 
up the rear as they moved through the rocks. 
The cry had certainly been close. As they threaded the minimal pathways, 
Fulbright hit what was almost a wall of such an overpowering stench that he 
almost vomited on the spot. Blood, bile and other noisome odours gripped his 
throat and lungs. Then, as they rounded a rocky pinnacle, they saw the 
unfortunate prey. 
It probably had been one of the local ponies, as Ross had claimed. It was almost 
impossible to be certain, so little of it remained intact. The stocky little 
body had been ripped apart by a creature of massive power. What remained of the 
poor beast's hide was torn by the tracks of savage claws. The pony had not 
merely been disembowelled but shredded. Globs of flesh, dripping and steaming, 
were scattered across some twenty feet of the pathway. Even in the poor light, 
Fulbright could make out far too many details. Even if he could have seen 
nothing, the stench alone would have told him more than enough. 
'Dear God,' he muttered, fighting back the urge to be sick. 'What monster could 
have done such a thing?' 
'Whatever it is,' Ross told him, his face strained and grim, 'it is only a short 
distance ahead of us. It must be carrying the missing portions of this 
unfortunate creature to devour at its leisure. Perhaps it will be unable to 
outrun us.' 
'You want us to chase a creature capable of doing this?' Bridewell waved his arm 
at the grisly remains. 
'You and Sir Edward have done more than enough, Roger,' Ross replied. 'No one 
could fault you for returning home.' 
'I could,' Fulbright snapped. 'This monster roams where I make my home. I'll be 
damned if I allow it to escape me.' 
Ross gave him an appraising glance. 'Good for you, Sir Edward,' he replied. 
'Then stay close to me. We may need one another's aid before this hunt is over.' 
With a sly smile he pressed his horse onward again. 
Fulbright fell in slightly behind Ross. This man might be an enigma but he 
seemed to be brave enough. Or . . . Was the situation something he knew more 
about than he was letting on? It was impossible to dismiss the feeling he had 
that Ross was more than he claimed. 
The night was broken once again by another unearthly noise. This one didn't 
sound like any they had heard yet, nor did it sound entirely natural. It was a 
booming noise about a mile or so ahead of them, rising and falling like the 
pounding of some immense steam-hammer or an off-key hurdy-gurdy of immense size 
and power. Before Fulbright could make out more, the noise had ceased. All he 
knew for certain was that it was ahead of them, and that the quarry they were 
hunting must have been heading in its direction. 
* * * 
'India?' Sarah Jane shivered with cold as she stepped out of the TARDIS's doors 
and into the bleak night. This doesn't feel like a tropical country to me.' 
The Doctor shrugged. 'It gets very cold at night in the Indian foothills,' he 
told her. 
'These aren't foothills,' she answered as something squelched under her feet. 
'It feels more like a swamp. Are you absolutely certain this is India?' 
'Absolutely.' 
'Then it's probably the Isle of Ely. Or another weird alien planet.' 
The Doctor half-turned. He was hardly more than a shape in the gloom. 'Do I 
detect a note of cynicism?' 
'A note?' Sarah laughed bitterly. How could she even have fantasized that he 
would get this right? 'More like a whole ruddy symphony!' 
'Well,' he said, sounding hurt, 'I may be out by a little - ' 
'A little?' she cried. 'If this is anywhere near Lahore, I'm a Dutchman. I'd be 
very surprised if we're even on the same planet!' 
'This is definitely Earth,' he said, sounding miffed. 'Its smell is 
unmistakable. I'll agree I may have strayed a few miles, but that's all.' His 
foot squelched down in something. 'We're most likely in the vicinity of some 
river. Probably the monsoon season.' 
'Then you've missed the right time, too,' Sarah snapped. 'Honesdy, I don't know 
why I ever listen to you.' 
'Because I'm such a wonderful conversationalist,' he answered. 'Well, let's just 
find a native, and then we can - ' 
Before he could finish his thought, there was a noise ahead in the darkness. 
Sarah tried to make out what was making it, but saw nothing. It sounded like 
some animal running hard. Something large and - 
It sprang out of the blackness, and seemed to be almost as startled to see her 
as Sarah was to see it. The beast paused in mid-stride, then opened its mouth. 
Something it had been carrying in its huge jaws fell to the ground, spraying 
fresh blood as it bounced. The monster bared massive fangs and growled deep 
within its immense throat. 
Sarah staggered back, terrified. 
The beast was a dog of some kind - in the same way that a great white shark was 
a fish of some kind. This apparition was immense; over five feet at the 
shoulder, the size of a horse. Its body was powerfully muscled, its jaw 
overcrowded with four-inch fangs that dripped saliva and blood as it growled at 
her. Great eyes glared at her in shock and hatred, and four massive paws clawed 
at the ground. 
Sarah felt her strength and sanity giving out. Her heart seemed to be trying to 
hammer itself free from her ribs, and she was in danger of fainting. As she 
stared at the monster, it gave a challenging roar and leaped straight toward 
her. 
2
Predators
For a second, Sarah was certain that she was dead. The powerful body hurled 
toward her, lips drawn back from the vicious teeth in a furious snarl, the claws 
of the powerful limbs spread ready to rip the flesh from her bones. There wasn't 
time to move, to scream, to do anything. 
And then the monster passed over her, the claws barely touching her hair. She 
heard the beast slam into the ground quite a way behind her, and keep on going. 
Giddily, Sarah spun about and stared into the gloom. Her heart was still 
hammering away at the inside of her rib-cage, but her adrenalin high was 
starting to evaporate. Reaction to the close passage of death made her weak. 
'Did you see that?' exclaimed the Doctor, excitement making him almost hop up 
and down. 
'See it?' Sarah yelled. 'That monster almost killed me!' 
'Oh, don't exaggerate,' he replied, scuttling along the ground and then bending 
to examine the spoor where it had landed. The creature had managed a running 
leap of some twenty-five feet, Sarah realized. He glanced up at her. 'I could 
see the poor thing was simply running away, not attacking you. It was scared.' 
'It was scared?' she exclaimed. 'What about me? I almost had a heart attack!' 
'You're too tough for that,' the Doctor answered dismissively. He whipped a 
magnifying lens from one of his overstuffed pockets and started to crawl about 
on the ground. 'Fascinating, utterly fascinating.' 
You can't tell me that we're on Earth,' Sarah complained as she joined him. 
'Nothing like that beast ever lived in India.' 
He gave her a thoughtful look. 'No, Sarah Jane,' he agreed. 'That was no animal 
native to your world. But - ' He broke off and pointed back down the faint trail 
in the direction that the creature had come. 'Company.' 
Sarah heard the sound of riders, and an instant later four horsemen emerged from 
the darkness. Startled, they reined in their steeds. 
'Good grief!' exclaimed the leader, a grizzled and dignified man in his fifties. 
'What on earth are you doing here?' 
'Good evening,' the Doctor replied, politely raising his hat. 'Nice weather for 
the time of year, isn't it? Incidentally, what time of the year is it?' 
'What year is it?' growled Sarah under her breath. 
'Stone the crows,' a tubby little man with a prominent nose and shifty features 
said. 
'Well,' the Doctor commented, giving Sarah an I-told-you-so glare, 'I think that 
proves we're on Earth, at least.' 
A third rider, darkly handsome, stared at them. 'You must be lost, I assume?' 
'You wouldn't believe how lost,' Sarah told him, glaring back at the Doctor. 
'Did you see anything running past here?' asked the elderly man. 
'Only a monster hound,' Sarah replied. 'It almost killed me.' 
'We'd better get moving,' the fourth man snapped. 
The Doctor moved to block their way. 'It was terrified,' he said quietly. 'And 
now I know why. Let it be.' 
'What?' the leader spluttered. 'That beast is a mad killer, sir! I aim to 
destroy it!' 
'Do you indeed?' asked the Doctor. For a moment Sarah thought he was about to 
drag the man from his horse, but then he shrugged. 'I doubt you'll even be able 
to catch it. It has a considerable head start by now, and it's not a good night 
for tracking.' 
'Perhaps not,' the handsome rider replied. 'But we have to try.' 
'I can't stop you,' the Doctor agreed. 'But is there perhaps somewhere around 
here where we might be able to get shelter? The night's getting a trifle 
chilly.' 
The elderly rider thought for a moment, and then nodded. 'Follow this trail back 
about two miles,' he said. 'Don't stray from the path. There are bogs out there 
that will suck you to your doom before anyone can help. You'll come to Fulbright 
Hall. Tell the servants there that Sir Edward directed you.' Then he glowered. 
'Wait for me there. I wish to have words with you when I return.' 
Despite the fact that this was a not-too-veiled threat, the Doctor grinned as if 
it were a compliment. 'And I with you,' he answered. 'My thanks. Come along, 
Sarah.' 
'I could show them the way,' offered the Cockney rider. 'Or offer the lady me 
horse.' 
'Come along, Abercrombie,' the handsome rider snapped. Spurring on his horse, he 
led the four riders off into the night. 
The Doctor turned to Sarah. 'And what do you make of that?' he asked her. There 
was a twinkle in his eyes. 
'A hunting party,' she replied. 'After that monster we saw.' She frowned. 'They 
were definitely English.' 
'So we are on Earth,' he chided her. 'And in about the right period, judging 
from their dress.' 
'But not in India,' Sarah retorted. T remember Fulbright Hall from a story I 
did. It's in Devon.' Why wasn't she surprised to discover the Doctor had made a 
mistake again?' 'I don't suppose you'd consider just going back to the TARDIS 
and trying again?' 
'Sarah,' he said reprovingly. 'There's a mystery here. I can smell it.' 
'That's just doggie doo-doo you can smell,' Sarah complained. But she knew that 
there was no point in arguing. Once the Doctor had made up his mind, a planet 
was easier to deflect than his intentions. With a sigh, she started back down 
the pathway that Sir Edward had indicated. 'Just what I wanted,' she said. 'A 
two-mile hike over the moors.' 
'Exercise is good for you,' the Doctor informed her. 'It gets the blood 
flowing.' 
'That monster almost got my blood flowing,' Sarah snapped. 
'It wasn't attacking you,' the Doctor insisted. 'It was just trying to escape. I 
don't think Sir Edward and his merry men will catch it.' 
Something in his voice made Sarah wince. 'You're not thinking of looking for 
that thing tomorrow, are you?' 
He simply grinned in reply. 
  
Bernard Faversham generally liked his job as Bodham's sole representative of law 
enforcement. Bodham, on the whole, was a quiet little town where the worst crime 
was normally a spot of drunk and disorderly behaviour on a Saturday night. 
Faversham lived in a small cottage on the edge of town, which doubled as his 
police station. There was no jail here, and there had never been the need for 
one. It was usually a quiet little post, which suited Faversham fine. 
Until recently. 
Then there had been the problem of missing children. And now . . . 
He was a trifle overweight, he knew, but it wasn't just the unexpected exertion 
at this time of night that was making his heart pound and his nerves jangle. Jim 
Brackley had roused him from his bed with the news that Ben Tolliver was dead. 
Tolliver had been a fixture in the village for more than sixty years. Faversham 
had grown up here, and Tolliver had always been one of the local characters. He 
flirted with the barmaids, joked with the other fishermen and had been pretty 
tolerant of even the most unruly of children. Faversham had many memories of the 
old man. It was hard to think of him being dead. And even harder to picture what 
the shocked Brackley had described. 
As they arrived on the small wharf, Faversham slowed down. There was already a 
small crowd gathered near the end of the wooden structure. News travelled fast 
in Bodham, and Tolliver had been well liked. Most of the crowd were women. The 
men would still be out at sea for another few hours, making their living. Only 
the old, like Tolliver, or the injured, like Brackley - whose right sleeve 
flapped as he moved - were home. 
'Stand aside,' Faversham ordered, panting. The crowd melted slowly. Faversham 
saw shocked expressions on several faces, and traces of vomit staining clothes 
and chins. Brackley had warned him that Tolliver's body was mutilated. Faversham 
tried to steel himself for the sight. 
Even so, he almost contributed to the stench on the boards. Holding down the 
bile with difficulty, he drew closer to the old man's corpse. 
Tolliver had been dead only a couple of hours, that was clear. And the cause of 
death was more than apparent. Something had bitten through half of the old man's 
head. The face was completely gone, and only grisly remnants of his brain and 
other organs were left. Bone showed through, stained and scored. The left arm 
was also missing, ripped from the battered body. 
Brackley moved close. 'We found his boat,' he said quietly. 'Poor old Ben was in 
it, just as you see him.' 
'Has - ' Faversham began. Then he had to fight back nausea before he could 
continue. 'Has anyone gone for the doctor?' 
'Doctor Martinson is up at the Hall,' one of the women offered. 'At Sir Edward's 
big do.' 
'Someone had better fetch him,' Faversham decided. 'There'll have to be an 
autopsy. We have to fmd out what did this to old Ben.' 
'I'll go,' Brackley offered. 'I can borrow a horse from Marlowe.' 
'Good.' Faversham nodded his approval. 'You'd best alert Sir Alexander to the 
news, too.' As the local Justice, Sir Alexander would have to be notified and 
make a ruling on the cause of death. Brackley grunted and moved off. He looked 
relieved that he didn't have to stay with the body. Faversham took one of the 
lanterns that were burning beside the body and turned to the villagers. 'You'd 
best all go home,' he said, trying to sound like the pillar of the law that he 
was. 'I'll take care of things now.' 
Millicent Chadwick shuddered. 'What do you think it was?' 
'It's too soon to say,' Faverham replied. 'Rest assured, though, that as soon as 
we know, steps will be taken.' 
'To the Devil with steps!' Millicent yelled, pale and angry. 'My Ronnie is out 
there at sea this night! All our husbands are! Will whatever did this - ' she 
gestured at the ravaged corpse ' - go after them next?' There was a mutter of 
agreement with this view from the others. 
'Please, Millie,' Faversham said gently. 'Go on home. I'm sure that Ronnie and 
the others will be fme. Old Ben always went out alone, and just into the bay 
here. The menfolk are further out, and all together. They'll be fme, just you 
see.' 
This seemed to calm the women down. As he knew, half the battle was sounding 
like you knew what you were talking about, even when you didn't. Especially when 
you didn't. 
'But,' he added, 'it might be best to keep the young ones away from the water 
for now. Until we're certain that whatever did this isn't still about.' 
The women started to drift away, save for Jen Walker. the barmaid from the Pig 
and Thistle. She moved to join Faversham. 'There's a doctor on that ship that 
docked this morning,' she offered. 'A young man, but he might be able to help.' 
'The whaler?' Faversham had forgotten about that recent arrival. It was rare to 
get the whalers in here. They generally made for the larger ports, but the 
captain of this one had business with Breckinridge at the factory, and the ship 
was stopping over for a couple of days. 'Do you think you could ask the 
gentleman to step down here, Jen?' 
She nodded and faded into the night. In a few moments, Faversham was alone with 
the body. He gave it another quick glance, then looked away. Poor old Ben must 
have died swiftly, but it had been a gruesome death. Moving to a pile of 
supplies, Faversham dragged out an old tarpaulin. He settled it over the corpse, 
which made him feel a little better. Then he gathered his courage and sat on a 
bollard to await the first of the arrivals. 
  
Doctor Doyle shuffled through his notes in the small cabin he had been assigned 
as ship's surgeon to the Hope. The vessel was a stout three-master that had 
weathered a seven-month stay in the Arctic Circle well. The holds were filled 
with seal skins, whale bones and vats of oil, and the crew was anxious to return 
to their home port of Peterhead as soon as possible. Aside from wishing to see 
his family again, Doyle was interested in the money that this voyage would bring 
him. His share of the profits was a handsome three shillings a ton of the oil 
money. 
Thankfully there had been little call for his services during the voyage. He'd 
spent considerable time aiding in the hunting of seal and whale, in fact. The 
captain, John Gray, had even offered him a double berth for the next voyage as 
both surgeon and harpooner. Flattered - and tempted by the money he could make - 
Doyle had nonetheless turned down the offer. He was longing to get his feet back 
on solid land for a while. He had been hoping to be back in Edinburgh by now, 
but Captain Gray had made an unexpected and unannounced detour to this small 
Devonshire fishing village instead. The only reason he had given for the lengthy 
detour was 'business'. While Gray was a fair and able captain, he was not 
inclined to explain his actions. 
So, faced with a few extra days on the ship and with little to occupy his time, 
Doyle worked on the notes he had taken during the voyage. He was trying to work 
out some way to turn them into a story, but the threads of plotting eluded him. 
Chamber's Journal had bought and printed his fledgling attempt at fiction the 
previous year, and he was rather proud of 'The Mystery Of Sassassa Valley'. It 
had taken him a good deal of work, but had fetched him the sum of three guineas. 
The idea of following this tale with others appealed to Doyle, but it was a 
matter of finding the right storylines. Mysteries were always sought after, and 
- 
There came a rap at the cabin door. With a sigh, Doyle replaced his journal. 
'Yes?' he called. It was typical that after an uneventful voyage his services 
should be required while the ship was calmly docked. 
'Doctor?' came the voice of Jack Lamb. The wiry little fellow was the ship's 
steward, and a staunch supporter of Doyle's skills with both medicinal and 
boxing dispensations. They had sparred any number of times together these past 
few months. 'There's a woman from the village to see you. Claims it's very 
urgent.' 
'Thank you, Jack.' Doyle rose to his feet and picked up his medical bag. Bodham 
had its own medical practitioner, but Doyle supposed that the man was 
unavailable for some reason. Oh well, perhaps he'd earn himself a fee while he 
was here. More likely, though, he'd end up with an unpaid bill. Still, if there 
was a need for his services he could hardly turn down the call. 
He went up onto the deck, where a young woman, attractive in a rustic sort of 
way, stood waiting for him. The way that she stood on the gently swaying deck 
confirmed that she was no sailor. 'I'm Ship's Surgeon Doyle,' he informed the 
woman. 'I take it you are not the patient?' 
'I'm Jen Walker,' the woman replied, the Devonshire burr prominent in her voice. 
'And there's no patient, Doctor.' 
Doyle frowned. 'Then what is the meaning of this call?' 
'It's a dead man, sir,' she replied. 'The local constable would appreciate it if 
you'd have a look-see at the body.' 
'Ah.' Doyle began to understand. 'Drowned, has he?' 
'I doubt it.' The woman gave him a dour look. 'He were on his boat when the men 
found it drifting.' 
'Hmm.' That sounded more promising. Perhaps a small autopsy fee ... 'Well, lead 
on, miss.' Jen Walker nodded, and started down the gangplank. Clutching his bag, 
Doyle followed along. 
  
Sarah had been walking for almost twenty minutes now, following the Doctor as 
best she could. He had long legs and seemed never to tire. Hands thrust deep 
into his pockets, he simply strode along. She, on the other hand, was feeling 
the effects of this night tramp. 'Oi!' she called. 'Can we take a breather?' 
The Doctor halted. 'Five minutes,' he agreed, without looking around. 
Collapsing onto a convenient rock, Sarah didn't much care that the cold stone 
numbed her behind. It felt so good to get the weight off her feet. 'What a 
dismal place,' she complained. 
'Dartmoor,' the Doctor answered. 'It's not hard to see why it's reputed to be 
haunted, is it?' He stared all around. 
'It doesn't need any legends,' Sarah commented. 'There really is something 
running around out here, and it certainly wasn't any ghost.' She shuddered at 
the memory of the monstrous beast. 'Do you have any idea what that thing was?' 
'I always have ideas,' he replied enigmatically. 'What do you think it was?' 
'I asked first,' Sarah objected. Then she shrugged. 'Off hand, I'd say it was 
some prehistoric ancestor of a rottweiler or something.' 
The Doctor shook his head. 'No dog on Earth has ever looked like that,' he told 
her. 'It's very, very wrong. And there were definite signs of intelligence.' 
'What?' Sarah stared at him in astonishment. 'Look, I like dogs as much as the 
next person, but I wouldn't call them intelligent. Personable, yes. Clever, 
maybe. But that's about it.' 
'That was no dog, Sarah,' he said softly. 'I examined the pawprint, remember? 
The foot structure was all wrong. And it had a semi-opposable thumb.' 
'Come again?' 
'It was almost able to use its paw as a hand.' The Doctor shook his head. 'We 
must be somewhere around the turn of the twentieth century, but that creature 
was more like a dog from twenty million years in the future.' 
Cold sweat started to trickle down Sarah's spine. 'You mean that it's from the 
future somehow?' 
'No, I don't think so.' The Doctor frowned. 'The TARDIS may be a trifle grouchy, 
but the old girl would have detected a temporal disturbance of that order.' 
'Then would you kindly explain what you mean?' snapped Sarah. 
He wrinkled his nose as he stared out into the darkness. 'It's as if something 
has somehow accelerated that poor creature's evolutionary trends,' he replied. 
'That paw is all wrong.' 
'That dog is all wrong,' Sarah retorted. 
'Yes,' agreed the Doctor thoughtfully. 'That dog is definitely all wrong.' He 
gave her a smile. 'Come on, time to get going again.' 
'Do we have to?' complained Sarah. 'My feet are killing me.' 
His eyes twinkled. 'You want to stay out here on the moor with that creature? 
Besides, I'U wager that Sir Edward has a well-stocked cellar. A nip of Madeira 
would hit the spot right now, wouldn't it?' 
'You talked me into it.' Sarah slowly clambered to her feet. 'Let's get on with 
it, then.' 
  
Doyle hurried along the wharf to the lonely pool of light cast by several 
fitfully burning storm lanterns. The local constable, a slightly rotund man in 
his forties, sat hunched on a bollard, guarding what appeared to be a pile of 
tarpaulin. It was obviously where the victim lay. Doyle felt a surge of almost 
excitement, and then a twinge of guilt. This was at least out of the ordinary, 
but it was a shame that a man had to perish to break the day's monotony. As he 
approached, the constable glanced up, then slowly rose to his feet. 
'Ship's Surgeon Doyle,' the doctor introduced himself. 'I understand you have 
need of my services.' 
'That we do,' agreed the policeman. 'I'm Faversham.' He nodded at the bundle on 
the planks. 'Old Ben Tolliver was killed tonight.' 
Killed? Then this was no simple accident, or some unfortunate old man whose 
heart had picked an inopportune time to stop working. The excitement began to 
rise within Doyle again. A murder, with him helping out the police! This would 
be something to remember for future stories. A doctor who helped to solve 
crimes... it had possibilities. 'So you're talking murder, then?' he asked. 
'Maybe,' the constable agreed guardedly. 'That's what I want a professional 
opinion on.' He reached down to remove one comer of the tarpaulin, then halted. 
'It's not a pretty sight,' he warned. 
'Neither is watching a man dragged to his maker by a dying whale,' Doyle 
replied. 'But I've seen that.' 
Faversham nodded, then drew back the covering. 
Doyle had to fight the urge to throw up his meagre supper onto the dock. Judging 
by the smell, others had failed at this task. It was no easy thing for Doyle to 
retain control of his stomach. He'd seen bodies dissected as part of his anatomy 
classes, but nothing to match this. The dead man was missing most of his head 
and one arm. God alone knew what else the rubber sheet prevented him from 
seeing. 
'What could have done this?' he gasped. 
'I was hoping you could tell me, Doctor,' the policeman answered drily. 'That's 
why you're here.' 
Doyle nodded, then stopped the motion, afraid it would make him sick. 'It 
appears to have been some violent action,' he said. Trying to wipe from his 
appalled mind the fact that this had been a human being who lived and loved and 
laughed just hours earlier, Doyle bent slowly to study the mangled corpse. Once 
his nausea was under control, his curiosity came to the fore. 'This is most 
unusual,' he finally announced. 
'Aye,' agreed Faversham, with sardonic humour. 'It's the first body I've come 
across that's missing its face. But can you tell me anything of help?' 
'Several things, I think,' Doyle told him. One of his professors at Edinburgh, 
Joseph Bell, had astounded people by his inferences and deductions based on 
small facts. Doyle knew he couldn't emulate the master fully. but he could do so 
in some small measure. 'First, obviously, the man died recendy - within the past 
three or four hours, I think.' 
'That's most likely true,' agreed the constable, 'seeing as how I had a drink 
with Ben myself late this afternoon.' 
'His death was clearly caused by the facial wound,' Doyle plunged ahead. 'If it 
had been inflicted after the man was dead by some sort of means, there would 
have been less bleeding. And it was performed by some animal with rather large 
and incredibly strong teeth.' He gestured at what remained of the sphenoidal and 
frontal bones. 'You can see the scoring of the bones where the teeth clamped 
together.' 
The constable frowned. 'You mean he was attacked by a shark or something?' 
'Not a shark,' Doyle said firmly. 'For one thing, no shark's teeth I've ever 
seen or read about could score the bones in that way. And sharks attack limbs, 
not the head. Besides which, he would have had to have been in the water to have 
attracted a shark's attention. There is no sign of dampness on the clothes, and 
I perceive a pouch of tobacco in his pocket which appears to be still very dry. 
Therefore whatever attacked this benighted soul was on the boat and not in the 
water.' 
Faversham shook his head in puzzlement. 'Well, it certainly beats me, sir.' 
Doyle nodded. This was a most intriguing mystery indeed! 'I could tell you more 
if there were some well-lit place to perform an autopsy,' he offered. 'Would 
that be possible, do you suppose?' 
'I reckon,' the policeman agreed. 'I could speak with the landlord of the Pig 
and Thistle. He has an old stable that might be of use.' He glanced down at the 
body again. 'Would you mind staying here, sir? I can't leave poor Ben 
unattended.' 
'Oh, I understand perfectly,' Doyle replied. 'I'd be happy to stay and await 
your return.' There was no way anyone could drag him away from here at the 
moment: this was far too intriguing to pass up. He reached down to cover the 
face of the body, though. It was one thing to wait here, but quite another to 
stare at that sight alone as he did so. 
'Thank you, sir,' Faversham said. 'I don't know what this world is coming to. 
This used to be such a quiet little town.' He shook his head sadly. 'I've 
already had to send to London about the missing children. I'd hate to have to 
write to them again. They might think I'm not up to this work. Still, you don't 
need to hear about my troubles, do you, sir?' He managed a small smile. 'I'll be 
as quick as I can. I promise.' 
'Take your time,' Doyle answered airily. Then he sat on the bollard, and was 
lost in his thoughts before Faversham had gone five steps. 
A medical man helping the police to solve their crimes. Yes, it had distinct 
possibilities for story-telling. 
  
'Bear up, Sarah,' the Doctor said, irritatingly cheerful. 'We're almost there 
now.' 
'You've been saying that for the past fifteen minutes,' Sarah objected. 
'Then we're at least fifteen minutes closer to our destination, aren't we?' he 
rejoined. 
Sarah sighed. No matter how often he was proven wrong, the Doctor always managed 
to end up thinking he was somehow right all along. Before she could object to 
his latest load of cheek, he held up a warning hand, Mindful that the monster 
was still at large on the moors somewhere, Sarah promptly stood still, peering 
into the darkness nervously. 'Is it that monster back again?' she whispered. 
'Worse,' the Doctor answered in his normal, velvet tones. 
'Worse?' Sarah tried to imagine what could possibly be worse than that giant 
hound. She doubted her imagination was warped enough. Shivering, she stared 
fruitlessly around. 'What?' 
'Boys.' 
'What?' Sarah felt like punching him for scaring her further. 
'Young boys,' the Doctor said, striding across to a bush that was barely more 
than a shadow in the gloom. 'You know,' he remarked pleasantly, 'if you really 
want to hide, you'll have to switch to a less pungent brand of tobacco.' 
There was a rustle of movement and three smallish shapes emerged from their 
hiding place. One, tall and thin, turned to one of his companions. 'I told you 
that weed was noxious, Gigger.' 
'Lay off. Duns,' his target complained. 'I'll wager it was your socks he could 
smell anyway. Or McBees bad temper.' 
Sarah stared at the three apparitions with some surprise. It was not quite so 
much their unexpected appearance from the night that astonished her, but that 
she knew who they were. The tall, gloomy looking lad was L. C. Dunsterville; the 
smaller, darker youth was George geresford. And as for Gigger . . . 
He was a strange-looking boy, of that there was little doubt. On the stout side 
and shorter than his friends, he wore steel-nmmed glasses with pebble lenses - 
his nickname came from these, derived from 'Giglamps' - and there was the faint 
but unmistakable trace of a moustache on his upper lip. He possessed penetrating 
blue eyes and a strong, blunt manner. 
Sarah punched the Doctor on the arm. 'You're a decade early,' she complained. 
'He's still a schoolboy.' 
'I may only be fifteen,' Gigger said with as much dignity as he could muster in 
the circumstances, 'but I'm a man.' 
'Ah,' said the Doctor, with understanding. He held out a hand. 'Rudyard Kipling, 
I presume.' 
Kipling took his hand and shook it seriously. 'Do I know you, sir?' he asked. 
'No,' the Doctor replied. 'But we know of you. My friend here wanted to meet 
you. This is Sarah Jane Smith, and I'm the Doctor.' 
Turning to Sarah, Kipling took her hand and bowed over it, planting a kiss. 
'Enchanted.' 
'Don't hog her, Gigger,' Beresford complained. 'Let us have a go, too, you 
beast.' 
'Quit your jawing, McBee,' Kipling snapped. 'She came to meet me, remember.' 
Sarah was not at all sure she wanted three overly active fifteen-year-old boys 
fighting for her attention. Trust the Doctor to miss their target by several 
continents and a decade! Still, he had managed to get to the right planet, at 
least. 'Okay, enough,' she announced, pulling her hand free of Kipling's 
surprisingly strong grip. 'What are you doing on the moors at night? Shouldn't 
you be in school?' 
Dunsterville snorted. 'There? They don't much care where we go, as long as we're 
back for morning prayers.' 
'Don't you know that the moors are dangerous at night?' Sarah asked. 
'We scoff at danger,' Beresford replied airily. 
'How remarkably foolish,' the Doctor muttered. He glared at the boys. 'Didn't 
you hear the hound out hunting?' 
'That thing?' Kipling shrugged. 'It's often out. It doesn't hurt anyone. Just 
animals.' 
'You've seen it, then?' asked Sarah. 
'Not as such, no,' Kipling admitted. 'We've heard it and found its tracks, 
though.' 
'But we're not afraid of it,' Beresford added quickly. 
'You should be,' the Doctor snapped. 'Three heads, and not a brain between you. 
What possessed you to come out here?' 
Kipling scowled, obviously not keen on being lectured. 'We were looking for 
Anders. He went missing a couple of weeks back, and there's been a frightful 
stink about the whole thing.' 
'It was Gigger's idea,' Beresford explained. 'He thought we might find some 
clues the local policeman missed.' 
'At night?' Sarah asked incredulously. 'What do you think you'll find at night?' 

'A pretty woman, for one thing,' Kipling answered. 
'Suck-up,' the Doctor muttered. In a louder voice, he added, 'And to get a 
chance to smoke in peace, eh?' 
'That too,' agreed Dunsterville, not at all embarrassed. 'Two birds with one 
stone and all that rot.' 
'Speaking of rot,' Sarah said, 'don't you know smok-ing's bad for you?' 
Kipling stared at her in amusement. 'Now that's rot. Smoking is an art-form. And 
it makes a man out of you.' 
The Doctor shook his head. 'You're a century too early,' he informed Sarah. 
Staring at the Doctor, Kipling announced, 'You're an odd fellow.' 
'And you're an impudent wretch,' the Doctor replied, grinning. 'Does that make 
us even?' 
'What are you a doctor of?' asked Kipling. 
'This and that. That and this. Mostly that.' The Doctor grinned again. 'Why 
don't you go back to school tonight? You'll have much better luck if you search 
for clues in the morning.' 
Kipling shrugged. 'I suppose we could do that,' he agreed. 
'Besides,' added Beresford, 'we've smoked all we brought with us.' 
'That's the spirit,' the Doctor approved. 'By the by, where is this local 
constable located?' 
'Bodham,' Kipling said. 'You do know where that is, I take it?' 
Sarah scowled at him. The youngster was definitely on the cheeky side. 'I 
imagine we can find it if we want,' she replied. 
'Anyway,' Dunsterville asked, 'what are you two doing on the moors at night?' 
Kipling poked him in the ribs. 'Don't be so naive, Duns,' he said in severe 
tones. 'What else would they be doing out here alone?' 
Sarah felt herself blushing. 'You've got smutty minds,' she informed him. 
'And smutty bodies, too,' Beresford piped up. 
'At the moment,' the Doctor interrupted them, 'we're heading for Fulbright Hall. 
It's just ahead, I take it?' 
'About a ten-minute walk,' agreed Kipling, not bothering to hide his grin. 'Got 
lost in the night, eh?' 
'Maybe we should show Miss Smith the way next time,' added Beresford, 
snickering. 
Sarah had almost forgotten how obnoxious teenage boys could be - even if one of 
them was to become one of England's greatest writers. 'Grow up,' she advised 
them. 
'Show us how,' suggested Dunsterville, which reduced all three of them to a fit 
of giggles. 
'If you want to live to grow up,' Sarah said firmly, 'you'll knock it off right 
now. And you'll go back to Westward Ho! Now move it.' 
Kipling threw her a mocking salute, and the three boys faded back into the 
night. Sarah could still hear them giggling as they moved away. She glowered at 
the Doctor. 'You were a lot of help.' 
'You were doing fine,' he replied. 'Anyway, the Hall's just ahead, like I told 
you. Come along.' He strode off into the night. Sarah rolled her eyes, but 
followed. 
  
Sir Edward reined in his steed, holding up a hand to halt his companions. 'It's 
no use,' he announced. 'The beast has gone too far into the marshes. We can't 
possibly follow it further on a night like this. We need torches, at the very 
least. It's not safe in this gloom.' 
Ross slapped his fist into the palm of the other hand. 'Damnation.' Then he 
glanced across at the leader. 'You're right, of course. Further pursuit would be 
pointless - and most likely dangerous to boot. However, if you'll permit me a 
moment?' Without waiting for a reply, Ross slipped' down from his mount and 
examined the ground. 'Abercrombie,' he called, 'bring me the dark lantern.' 
'Fetch me this, fetch me that,' grumbled Abercrombie. Fishing under his clothes, 
he pulled out a compact metallic lantern and opened the lens. Striking a match, 
he lit the wick inside, then dismounted and brought the light to his master. 
Taking the lantern, Ross examined the ground at the edge of the bog. He seemed 
absorbed by the task. 
'What the devil are you up to?' asked Fulbright a few moments later. 
'Looking for prints,' Ross replied without getting up. 'There are numerous.' 
'So?' Fulbright couldn't restrain his impatience. 
Ross clambered to his feet, blew out the light and handed the lantern back to 
Abercrombie. 'So it proves that the beast we were chasing traverses this path 
often. Animals, as I'm sure a keen sportsman such as yourself knows full well, 
tend to keep to the same paths. I suspect that we've discovered one of our 
quarry's home trails.' 
'Capital!' exclaimed Bridewell. 'So all we need do tomorrow is to return here 
and take up the trail once again in the daylight.' 
'Or simply await the monster's emergence tomorrow evening,' Ross suggested. 
'Either way, we have it. Provided Sir Edward can return us to this spot.' He 
glanced up at his host as he remounted. 
'I can indeed,' Fulbright replied. 
'Splendid,' said Ross. 'Then I suspect we shall be able to clear up at least one 
aspect of this intriguing mystery before another day has passed. For the moment, 
however, I am certain that a glass of your excellent Jerez would be more than 
welcome to us all, Sir Edward.' 
Fulbright nodded. Whatever else this man was, he was neither a fool nor did he 
lack discrimination. The sherry was a particularly fine batch. 'Then let us 
return to the Hall,' he agreed. 
  
The sight of lights suddenly appearing from the darkness cheered Sarah up 
immensely. She had begun wondering if Fulbright Hall was some sort of mythical 
place, like Brigadoon or Shangri-La, and it was comforting to have proof that 
something physical existed at the end of their journey. 
'The end is nigh,' she muttered happily. 'I wonder if I can get a footbath 
there?' 
'We're Sir Edward's guests,' the Doctor pointed out. 'I should imagine you can 
get whatever you want.' 
'I don't recall him using the word guests,' Sarah objected. 'In fact I got the 
impression that we were to be held to account.' 
'Semantics,' the Doctor replied dismissively. 'I'm sure he meant us to think of 
ourselves as guests. Hello!' He grinned again. 'Do you hear what I hear?' 
Sarah listened carefully. She could just make out the strains of violins. 
'Music?' 
'Right.' His teeth flashed. 'I do so love a party, don't you? Fancy a dance?' 
'After this slog?' Sarah snorted. 'Besides, I don't imagine they know the twist 
or anything else I can do.' 
'We are a bit before the Beatles,' the Doctor agreed 'Pity.' 
They had come to a pair of wrought-iron gates that stood some fifteen feet high. 
Lanterns blazed on either side of the gates, showing tall walls stretching off 
into the night. The gates had been flung open, and the gravel driveway showed 
evidence of the passage of a number of carriages. Without hesitation the Doctor 
marched along the lawn on the side of the drive. Sarah followed his lead, 
dodging around patches of flowers and shrubs. Their way was illuminated by 
lanterns on small pedestals that stretched up to the main doors of the Hall. To 
reach these doors, they had to ascend a flight of wide steps. The Doctor rapped 
on the door, and then bent to examine the knocker. 
'Fine workmanship,' he observed. 'Sir Edward's family obviously has taste.' The 
door opened, and he was staring at the midriff of a portly butler. 'Hello, I'm 
the Doctor and this is Miss Smith.' 
'Quite, sir,' agreed the functionary. His face was absolutely impassive. 'And 
you are here for the affair?' 
'Naturally,' agreed the Doctor, giving Sarah a big wink. Sarah simply grimaced 
and followed him inside. 
The hallway showed taste and money in about equal amounts. Sarah's knowledge of 
art was spotty at best, but she was fairly sure that the portraits of various 
personages on the walls included a Gainsborough and a Holbein. Suits of armour 
stood guard at the base of the main stairs, and guests and servants circulated 
about the pedestals which held vases and busts. 
A lovely young woman broke through the throng, her pretty face flushed and 
eager. 'Roger? Papa?' she began. Then, seeing the two arrivals, her face fell. 
'Oh. Your pardon. I had hoped - ' 
'Quite,' agreed the Doctor amiably. 'Papa, I take it, is Sir Edward?' 
'Yes,' the young lady replied. She offered her gloved hand, which the Doctor 
solemnly touched to his lips. 'I'm Alice Fulbright.' 
'Charmed,' the Doctor assured her. 'I am the Doctor, and this is Sarah Jane 
Smith. Say hello, Sarah.' 
'Hello,' said Sarah obediently. 'We did meet your father and three other people 
out on the moors.' 
'Were they all right?' asked Alice, concern in her voice. 
'They were when we left them,' Sarah answered. She decided against mentioning 
the beast they had been pursuing, afraid the young woman might faint or 
something. 'Your father suggested that we meet him here when he returned.' 
'Oh. How rude of me.' Alice blushed at her lack of manners. 'Would you care for 
a glass of something?' 
'A glass of anything,' Sarah admitted. 'My throat's parched.' 
'Of course.' Alice led them into the main hall. This was still quite active, 
despite the lateness of the hour. It had to be at least one in the morning, 
Sarah judged. but the ball was in full swing. She felt a little under-dressed 
amid all the military uniforms, dress uniforms and bejewelled dresses. The 
Doctor, naturally, seemed to feel he was perfectly attired, despite his ratty 
appearance. He managed to snaffle two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter 
and handed one to Sarah. 
It was, of course, first class. Sarah had to fight the urge to down it in a 
single gulp. It felt good to get something to soothe her throat at last. 
'I don't know if you know anyone,' Alice said. 
'I know a lot of people,' the Doctor admitted, 'though I doubt any of them are 
here.' 
Alice smiled. 'I'm sure you do. Doctor. You have the air of a man of the world. 
Do you travel much?' 
'You wouldn't believe how much,' Sarah assured her 'It's our first time in 
Devon, though.' 
'At least this century,' agreed the Doctor. 
Alice laughed, delighted at what she clearly thought was politely silly 
conversation. 'Come along, then,' she said. 'I'll introduce you around.' She 
took them to the closest knot of people. 'This is Sir Alexander Cromwell, Lady 
Bumwell and Captain Kevin Parker,' she announced. To the trio, she explained, 
'This is the Doctor and Miss Sarah Jane Smith.' 
'Charmed,' replied Parker, a tall, neatly bearded military man. He kissed 
Sarah's hand. 'A pretty lady always lightens up the room.' Sarah curtsied, 
smiling at the compliment. 
'Doctor?' asked Sir Alexander. 'Of what field of studies?' 
'All that I've found,' the Doctor replied modestly. 'I dabble a lot.' 
'Are you interested in astronomy, by any chance?' 
'By every chance,' agreed the Doctor. 'It's a special study of mine.' 
'Capital!' exclaimed Sir Alexander. 'Mine also. I've my own telescope set up at 
home, you know. I've been cataloguing nebulae.' 
'Really?' The Doctor gave him an engaging grin. 'Perhaps I could have a peek 
sometime? I've always been awfully fond of a good nebula myself 
There was a slight motion in the surrounding crowd, and one of the liveried 
footmen approached. 'Begging pardon, sir,' he said to Sir Alexander, 'but 
there's a man from the village come to see you. Says it's very important.' The 
servant lowered his voice. 'There's been a death.' 
'A death?' Alice gasped. She went pale. 'Is it. . . ?' She couldn't finish the 
sentence. 
'One of the villagers, my lady,' the footman assured her. 'No one important.' 
'Thank goodness for small mercies,' said Sarah sarcastically. 'It's just a 
villager.' 
The footman flushed and looked away. 
'I suppose I'd better speak with the man,' Sir Alexander apologized to the 
group. 'If you'll excuse me?' 
'Allow me to accompany you. Sir Alexander,' the Doctor said quickly. 'Perhaps I 
may be of some small help.' 
'Thank you.' Sir Alexander moved across the room, the Doctor in his wake. 
Sarah eyed her empty glass and sighed. She'd have liked another, but she 
couldn't let the Doctor out other sight. 'Oi,' she said to the footman. When he 
looked at her, she stuck the glass in his hand. 'Thanks.' Then she made off 
after the Doctor. 
Sir Alexander stopped at the front door, where a one-armed man was hovering 
nervously, clearly out of his depth at this posh function. 'What is it, my man?' 

'My name's Brackley, sir,' the man replied, tugging at his forelock. Sarah had 
never seen anyone do that before. 'Constable Faversham sent me to tell you that 
there's been a death in the village. Old Ben Tolliver.' 
'Tolliver?' Sir Alexander thought for a moment. 'Isn't he that old fisherman 
whose wife died several years ago?' 
'The same, sir,' Brackley agreed. 'We found his boat adrift earlier tonight, and 
him dead on the deck.' 
'Natural causes?' asked the Doctor. 
Brackley snorted. 'Not unless you count having half his head missing as natural, 
sir.' 
'I see,' Sir Alexander said. 'Very well, tell Faversham I shall be with him 
first thing in the morning.' 
'Aye, sir.' Brackley tugged his forelock again. 'Will you tell Doctor Martinson 
as well, please, as he'll be needed, too.' He then slipped out of the front 
door. Sir Alexander sighed and pulled out a large gold pocket watch. 
'I suppose I had better retire now,' he said. 'I will have to rise early. One of 
the drawbacks of being the local Justice of the Peace, I'm afraid. I have to sit 
on the Coroner's Court for every death. And I'll break the news to Doctor 
Martinson as well. He'll have to examine the body for the report.' 
'Perhaps I could come along?' offered the Doctor. 'I may be of some use.' 
'That's awfully decent of you,' Sir Alexander said. 'Eight sharp, then?' 
'Absolutely.' The Doctor watched him leave and then turned to Sarah, his eyes 
sparkling with excitement. 'Isn't this intriguing?' 
'Oh, yes,' gushed Sarah sarcastically. 'I've spent the evening being attacked by 
a mutant chihuahua with an attitude and I get to spend tomorrow looking at 
mutilated corpses. It's the perfect holiday, isn't it?' 
'Sarah, Sarah,' the Doctor chided her. 'Where's your sense of adventure?' 
'I think it's still out there on the moors. That monster scared it out of me.' 
She scowled. 'Let me guess: you think this death might be connected to that 
thing we encountered?' 
He gave her a big smile. 'It would have to be a rather large coincidence 
otherwise, wouldn't it?' 
Sarah sighed. She knew when she was beaten. 'You think we could get a room for 
the night here?' she asked. 'If there's more walking to be done, I've got to 
rest my feet.' 
'Let's ask Alice,' the Doctor suggested. 'She seems to be a kindly soul. I'm 
sure she'll take pity on your feet.' 
'I'm glad somebody will,' muttered Sarah. Following the Doctor around seemed to 
be a habit she'd acquired and she dutifully wandered along, ignoring her 
protesting metatarsals. She snagged a sandwich, a slice of meat pie and another 
drink as they moved about the main hall, looking for their hostess. The food and 
drink helped to mellow Sarah's mood a little, but she was still in desperate 
need of a rest and was starting to suspect that the party would never wind down. 
It was like something from Dante's Inferno, where the giddy socialites might be 
doomed to spend eternity in one long round of dull social soirees. That would be 
hell, all right. 
Finally, though, they stumbled across Alice again. Naturally, before Sarah could 
ask about a bed for the night, there was another commotion at the door. This 
time it heralded the return of the hunting party. Sir Edward strode into the 
room, followed by Ross, Bridewell and Abercrombie. 
'How was the hunt. Sir Edward?' called Captain Parker cheerily. 
'Damned pointless,' the host growled. 'I think it's high time we wound this 
blessed evening down, don't you?' 
Alice had run across the room to hug her fiance, and to smile happily at her 
father. 'Of course, Papa,' she agreed 'I'm so happy that you're all safe.' 
'Safe?' her father barked. 'Of course we're safe. It was just a wild goose 
chase, when all is said and done.' 
'Hardly that, Sir Edward,' Ross put in mildly. 'We've tracked the creature 
almost to its lair, and tomorrow we can finish it off.' 
'What?' exclaimed the Doctor, catapulting out of the chair where he'd thrown 
himself. 'You'll do no such thing!' 
Sir Edward appeared taken aback, and then he turned crimson. 'You again!' he 
thundered. 'What are you doing here?' 
'You told us to meet you here,' the Doctor replied. 'So here we are.' 
Their host glared at him again. 'I do not appreciate your questioning my 
decisions continually,' he said. 
'Then stop making them without thinking,' suggested the Doctor blithely. 'This 
creature you're hunting is not some monster to be slaughtered, you know, and 
you're not Saint George spearing a dragon.' 
'How dare you, sir?' thundered Sir Edward. 
'It's about time someone told you the truth,' the Doctor snapped. 'I don't 
suppose you get a lot of that around here.' 
Sir Edward was clearly not appreciating the Doctor's candour. 'That monster is 
slaughtering ponies and other wildlife in this area,' he said, struggling to 
keep his temper. 'It is a menace and must be killed.' 
'It's just hunting for food,' the Doctor countered. 'You should attempt to 
capture it and study it. There's something unnatural about it.' 
'You may study it as much as you wish,' Sir Edward countered, 'after I've made 
good and certain that the beast is dead.' He poked a finger in the Doctor's 
face. 'The trouble with you scientific types is that you're too keen on studying 
from the ivory towers of your universities, and loath to get to grips with the 
real world.' 
'And you're a typical military man,' retorted the Doctor. 'Anything you don't 
comprehend must be killed first and studied later.' 
'Papa,' Alice broke in, attempting to sooth his ruffled feelings, 'the Doctor 
and Miss Smith are our guests. They're going to help Sir Alexander in the 
morning. Try to be a little kinder.' 
'Sir Alexander?' her father asked. 'Whatever does he want their help with?' 
'There's been a death in the village,' the Doctor explained. 
'Really?' asked Ross, his curiosity clearly piqued. 'An unnatural one, I take 
it?' 
'Very,' agreed the Doctor. He grinned. 'An eventful night, wouldn't you say?' 
'Definitely,' Ross agreed. He gave a thin smile. 'And in such a pleasant, 
isolated community, too.' 
'Odd, isn't it?' The Doctor returned the smile. 'And why are you here? Not a 
local, are you?' 
'No more than you are. Doctor,' Ross replied. He made no effort to answer the 
other question, however. 
Sarah frowned. There were obviously undercurrents at work here. She caught the 
black look that Sir Edward darted in Ross's direction. Obviously the host wasn't 
too much at ease with the guest. 'Look,' she broke in, 'it's late, and we're all 
tired. My feet are killing me. Can't we call it a night and start arguing again 
in the morning?' 
'Miss Smith is right. Papa,' Alice said. 'We're all tired.' She smiled and 
rested her hand on his arm. 'And you are getting a little grouchy.' 
For a moment it seemed as if Sir Edward was about to throw another tantrum. Then 
he patted his daughter's hand fondly. 'You're quite right, Alice. It is time to 
retire. Tomorrow is likely to be a busy day for us all.' He glared at the 
Doctor. 'Do you and your friend have anywhere to stay the night?' he growled. 
'Courtesy forces me to offer you a room.' 
'And forces me to accept,' the Doctor answered lightly. 'Thank you.' 
Alice took Sarahs arm. 'You shall have the room adjoining mine,' she said. 'I'll 
show you the way and loan you a few necessities.' 
'Thanks,' Sarah gave her a warm smile. It was impossible not to like the young 
woman. Anyone less like her aggressive, cantankerous father was difficult to 
imagine. Sarah nodded to the group. 'Good night.' 
Alice gave her father a peck on the cheek, and another to her fiance. 'Good 
night.' Then she led Sarah up the marble stairs. 'You must forgive my father,' 
she said softly. 'He has a lot of responsibilities.' 
'I understand,' Sarah told her. 'And you'll have to excuse my friend. He 
sometimes gets a little carried away with his ideas.' 
Alice smiled. 'It sounds like we both have a lot of practice being tolerant,' 
she said. 'I'm glad to have met you, Miss Smith.' 
'Sarah,' Sarah told her. 'You make me sound like a schoolteacher.' 
'Sarah,' agreed Alice. She smiled. 'I hope we can be friends.' 
'That would be nice.' Sarah couldn't help liking the young woman. She was very 
open and friendly. She only hoped that the Doctor and her father could resolve 
their differences. It would make things so much easier. She knew from 
experience, however, how little chance there was of that occurring. 
  
He lay in his lair, panting from exertion and licking his sore paws. His sides 
heaved and his head rang. It had been a hard chase, and he had been hunted as 
though he were some monster. But he wasn't! He couldn't help what he had become! 

And he'd been forced to abandon his prey before he had done little more than 
taste it. His stomach cried out for food, but he didn't dare leave his lair 
again tonight. The men might still be waiting for him, with their guns. He 
didn't want to die, even if his fate was repugnant to him. He hated being the 
monster he had become, but he feared death more. 
Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He didn't want to hurt anyone, even 
though he knew it would be easy to use his powerful jaws on a person. It would 
take less effort to kill a man than a pony. Men couldn't run as far or as fast. 
But he couldn't kill! He had been human once. But not any more. Men treated him 
like he was a monster, hunting him, hounding him, never allowing him peace. 
Well, if that was what they wanted to make of him, maybe he should become what 
they expected. Maybe he should accept his fate, and be the monster that he had 
been transformed into against his will. He recalled the look of revulsion and 
terror on the face of that lady he'd jumped over. He'd been careful not to hurt 
her, and she'd still been terrified and repulsed by him. 
Well, if that was all they saw in him, then maybe that was all he should be. 
He had to eat tomorrow. And if any hunter tried to stop him, then he would have 
no choice. 
He would have to kill. 
Interlude 1
Lucy
She was growing used to her new world, and that scared her more than anything 
had so far in her life. She was used to fear. And uncertainty. And abuse. And 
hunger. She wasn't used to feeling useful, and that was what was scaring her. Of 
course, there was plenty to hate in this new world. The work, for one thing. The 
Guards forced everyone to work, even when the jobs didn't make sense, and 
sometimes even when they were obviously pointless. Lucy realized that it wasn't 
the work that mattered, just that they were all forced to do it. It showed Lucy 
and the others that their place in this new world was one of slaves. 
That Lucy could understand. Her life before this had been bad enough. This was 
hardly much worse, if you didn't count the Change. 
Of course, how could you not count the Change? That was what had brought them 
here, to this new world of theirs. It was different from the old world 
physically, but not much else had altered. She was still an orphan, still 
unprotected, still forced to live on the edge of death constantly. But now she 
had responsibilities too. The Guards had made that much clear. She'd been the 
first, and she was the oldest here. It was her duty to teach the newcomers, to 
help them to adjust to the Change. To stop them killing themselves in despair. 
And to see that they worked. If they didn't work, the Guards would rough them 
up. And if they caused too many problems, like Tim had done, then the Guards 
killed. 
And they forced the others to watch. 
Lucy still had nightmares, still hearing Tim's screams, seeing the blood 
fountaining from his body as the Guards tore him apart. That had been 
horrifying, but what was worse was that the Guards had enjoyed it. They had been 
longing for someone else to give them the excuse to kill again. So far, Lucy had 
made certain that it had never occurred. 
The day's work was done, and the Guards prodded them all back into the dormitory 
for the night. They had all eaten - and there had been many days in her old life 
when Lucy had gone to bed feeling hunger eating at her insides. At least here 
they all ate, even if it was a monotonous diet. Her muscles ached from working, 
but she felt fairly good otherwise. It was nice to go to bed with a full 
stomach. 
'Come along, everyone,' she called to the younger ones. 'It's time for bed now.' 

'Tell us a story,' begged Vicki. She was one of the youngest here, only about 
eight. There were twenty of them now since Joshua had arrived two days ago. He 
still hurt from the Change, Lucy knew. And he was having troubles adjusting to 
this new life. 
'Yes,' Joshua agreed. 'Tell us a story.' 
Lucy hesitated. It would help him and the others if she could take their minds 
off their states. 'I don't know any,' she confessed miserably. 'I never learned 
to read, and my folks died when I was too young to be told any.' 
'You know one story,' Vicki objected. 'You know your own.' 
Lucy smiled. 'But you've heard that one dozens of times already,' she objected. 
'You must know it by heart.' 
'Joshua doesn't,' Lizzy pointed out. 'He's new. He'd like to hear it. You tell 
it so well.' 
'Yes,' agreed Joshua eagerly. 'I want to hear it.' 
Lucy shook her head and laughed, a clear, tinkling laugh of pure happiness. 'Oh, 
very well,' she agreed. As they gathered around her, she looked out at their 
expectant faces. 'Well, every good story starts with Once upon a time . . .  ' 

  
Once upon a time, I lived in a nightmare. I don't remember my parents at all. 
When I grew up, I lived with an old man called Cherry. He was gruff and 
sometimes mean, but usually only when he got drunk. He didn't have much money, 
so he couldn't get drunk too often. When he did, I tried to hide away until he 
passed out. If I couldn't, he'd hit me, and knock me around the little hut we 
lived in. He told me once that my father had been a sailor drowned at sea, and 
that my mother had died of gnef, leaving me an unwanted orphan. He'd taken me in 
because he'd been related to my mother, and it was only out of the kindness of 
his heart. I didn't know he had any kindness, because he never showed it to me. 
As soon as I could walk, he took me out onto the beaches and rocks. There he 
showed me how to scavenge for things brought in by the tide. Pieces of wood, 
mostly. He had a big knife that he used to carve the wood into all sorts of 
shapes. Some of them I knew, like boats and things. Some of them I'd never seen: 
seals, for example. He used to be a whaler, he told me, and had often seen 
seals. He had gone off on a ship to a land of ice, where night had never come. I 
laughed once when he told me this, thinking he was making it up. That made him 
mad, and he hit me and swore it was all true. 
It was funny, really. He didn't have much goodness inside of him, but he could 
really carve the wood into beautiful shapes. Then he'd take them into town once 
a week or so and sell them. With the money he'd get good and drunk, so I soon 
learned to hide away until he got over it. He felt sorry for himself because he 
couldn't go back on the ships and off to hunt the whales and seals, you see. On 
his last trip his foot had been hurt, and he'd lost it. Instead of a real foot, 
he had a long piece of wood that he'd stomp about on. It made him slow, so I 
could dodge out of his way if I was lucky. 
It hurt him to move about on this wooden foot, so I soon found out that the real 
reason he'd taken me in had nothing to do with him taking pity on me, or me 
being a relative of his. I think he just lied about that part. I was there to do 
all the things he couldn't manage, like getting the wood from the rocks for his 
carvings. Or getting food from town, if he had any money left after his 
drinking. Usually I had to steal the food, or take it from the farmers' fields. 
That was scary, because some of the farmers would have killed me if they'd 
caught me. I got to be pretty good at hiding, what with the farmers and old man 
Cherry. But I wasn't good enough when it mattered. 
Sometimes, if a ship was wrecked at sea, I'd find other things on the rocks when 
the tide washed them in. I found a whole box filled with eating things once. Not 
food, the stuff you eat food with: knives and forks and spoons. Cherry was very 
pleased with that find because the things were made out of silver, which he told 
me was worth a lot of money. He got really drunk three times after he sold those 
things. Once I found some books, but they were all soggy and you couldn't read 
them because they'd been ruined by the water. I didn't much care, since I can't 
read anyway, but it might have been nice just to look at the pictures. I found 
all sorts of stuff, and Cherry would sell them and then get drunk. 
I was about ten when he died, and everything changed. 
That was almost two years ago. He'd been getting worse and worse all the time, 
with his temper and everything. And I was growing up and getting stronger and 
different. He started to look at me all funny, and sometimes instead of yelling 
and throwing things at me, he'd make me come over to him and he'd touch me. It 
was horrible, and I'm not going to tell you those bits because it would scare 
you and disgust you. He was a horrible old man, and I hated him more and more 
every day that passed. Sometimes I'd go to bed at night and pray that God would 
kill him. I wanted the sky to open up and a thunderbolt to come down and bum 
Cherry up. In the end he did die, but it wasn't a thunderbolt that killed him. 
It was his own knife. 
He'd had one of his good selling days in town again, and had gone to get drunk. 
I knew what that would mean when he got back. He'd either hit me or touch me, 
and I wasn't about to stand for either. I knew that when he went off drinking, 
it would be hours and hours he'd be gone, until either the pubs would close, or 
they'd throw him out, or he'd run out of money. Well, I knew he had lots of 
money because I'd found a box on the beach that had sailor stuff in it. Metal 
instruments that could see far away and things like that. He'd sold them for a 
lot of money, so he was bound to get good and drunk. 
I made up my mind that when he came back, he wouldn't have me there for him any 
more. I didn't have any things of my own, except for a few tattered old clothes 
he'd bought me from time to time, so I didn't need to pack much. And I had a few 
coins I'd managed to find around, or steal when he'd been too drunk to notice. 
I'd planned all this for a long time, you see, till I got enough courage to try 
it. 
Of course, despite all my planning, things went terribly wrong. I had expected 
Cherry to spend the whole evening at the pub, but he'd met two men there and 
they had started talking. The men had persuaded him to buy drinks to bring home 
with him so they could all get drunk together. So when I slipped out of the 
cabin door, instead of being able to escape in the night, I ran right into the 
three of them as they arrived. 
Cherry was slightly drunk, but he wasn't stupid. He could see what I was up to, 
and he was furious, of course. If there had just been him I could have escaped, 
because he couldn't move as quickly as I could with his wooden leg. But there 
was nothing wrong with his companions. One of them, a rat-faced man they called 
Raintree, grabbed me before I could run. The other man was tall and almost all 
muscle, named Brogan. You've all met the two of them, since they brought us all 
here, but they had just begun their work at this point, and were celebrating 
with Cherry. They were all a little drunk, and that made them even nastier than 
normal. 
Raintree held me too tightly for me to break free, with his thin arm around my 
throat. He and Brogan encouraged Cherry as the old man ranted and raged about 
how ungrateful I was, and how evil I was, and how terrible I was to leave him 
alone in his old age to die. Raintree kept slipping his sly little comments in, 
working Cherry up. He wanted to see me hurt. It wasn't that he disliked me any 
more than he disliked the rest of the world, but he enjoyed seeing people hurt. 
Finally Cherry drew that carving knife of his. 
'I've carved many things with this,' he told me, waving it drunkenly under my 
face. 'You won't be the first person, either. And I'll be very artistic with it. 
I'll cut you so that you won't die. You'll just wish you would. When people look 
at you from now on, they'll shudder at what they see. And they'll know better 
than to ever cross Cherry again.' 
I knew he meant it, too. He was going to use his knife to give me dreadful pain, 
and then to leave scars all over me so I'd be hideous and repulsive. He knew I 
couldn't get away, and Raintree and Brogan were laughing and crying aloud to see 
me hurt. I was terribly afraid, because I knew he'd make me suffer. 
But Raintree was so intent on what was promising to be his idea of sport that he 
wasn't as careful as he should have been. The terrible, choking grip he had on 
me loosened just enough. I could take several gasping breaths, and I knew I had 
only once chance. I bit his arm as hard as I could. He screamed and his grip 
faltered again. Spitting out his vile blood, I pulled myself free. 
At that second. Cherry lunged at me with his knife. I didn't have any choice but 
to dive forward to try and escape him. Cherry collided with Raintree instead of 
cutting me, and his knife sliced Raintree's hurt arm even more. I rolled out of 
the way, and staggered to my feet. As I was about to flee, I looked back. 
With a roar of pain and rage, Raintree lashed out at Cherry. Unsteady on his 
feet because of the drink and his wooden leg, the old man fell down. Raintree 
grabbed the carving knife from Cherry's hands and plunged it down into the 
fallen man's stomach. Cherry gave a horrible scream, and twisted. He died 
slowly. I couldn't move, I was so terrified and sickened. 
Then I felt Brogan's huge hand grab my arm, and I was a captive again. I 
couldn't escape his strong grip, and he dragged me back to where Raintree was 
getting back to his feet and staring down at the screaming, dying old man. I was 
horrified, but I couldn't feel any pity for Cherry. I was glad he'd finally met 
the end he deserved. He couldn't beat me or touch me ever again. But I was still 
in a great deal of trouble. 
'You've killed him,' Brogan told his ratty friend. 'Now what do we do?' 
Raintree looked at me with his little, evil eyes. I knew that he wanted to kill 
me so there wouldn't be any witnesses. But I was lucky, because greed was 
stronger in him than his love for blood. 'We get away from here,' he said. 'And 
she comes with us.' 
Brogan stared at me. He wasn't very bright, and he didn't understand. 'Why don't 
I just break her neck?' he asked. 'That way, nobody will know anything.' 
'Idiot,' Raintree said. 'We're being paid to get children for the doctor, aren't 
we? And isn't she a child?' 
'Oh, I get it,' Brogan said. 'Once she's been changed, she won't be able to tell 
anyone, will she?' 
'Right,' agreed Raintree. 'And if she dies . . . Then we didn't kill her, did 
we?' 
As you can imagine, I didn't have a clue about what they meant. All I knew was 
that Cherry was rattling his way to death, blood and stuff spilling out of his 
stomach, and that I was free of him. Raintree and Brogan had something in mind 
for me that was probably horrible and scary, but I didn't much care right then. 
I was free of Cherry at last. 
  
Lucy stopped her story and smiled at the younger ones about her. 'That's enough 
for one time,' she told them. 
There was a chorus of moans. 'You can't stop now,' complained Joshua. 'What 
happened next?' 
Til tell you the rest after work tomorrow,' promised Lucy. She ignored the 
complaints. 'If we talk too long, the Guards get angry,' she explained. 'So we'd 
better get our rest. We'll have a lot of work to do tomorrow, you know. They 
always make sure of that.' 
With the odd grumble, the children began settling down for the night. Lucy 
checked on them, making sure they were comfortable. She left Joshua for last. He 
smiled up at her. 
'You're very brave,' he told her, admiringly. 
'We all are,' she answered. 'We have to be. You're one of us, now. I'm sorry you 
were chosen, but you are welcome as part of our family. We have to look after 
each other, because nobody else will look out for us.' 
Joshua nodded and gripped her hand tightly. 'You'll be here for us,' he said. 'I 
trust you.' 
'Good night,' she replied. Then she gently pulled her hand free. As he settled 
down, she crossed to her own sleeping area. She knew that the other children 
were drawing on her strength to survive the Change with their minds intact. If 
only she was as certain that she could hold up under the stress as they seemed 
to be. But she had to go on, despite everything, for their sake. They needed her 
so much. She couldn't let them down. 
3
Bodies
Though morning seemed to come too early, Sarah managed to rouse herself. The bed 
she'd slept in was so comfortable that it was a struggle to get up, but she'd 
eventually won the fight. She scrambled back into the clothes she'd worn the 
previous day, wishing she'd thought to bring along a change from the TARDIS. Of 
course, she'd not expected the events of the previous day. What she'd hoped for 
was a pleasant chat with Rudyard Kipling on a veranda in India somewhere, and 
then back to the TARDIS. 
She should have known better by now. 
There was a pitcher and basin on the dressing table, both made from china 
decorated with red flowers of some indeterminate species. She splashed water on 
her face, then used a brush that Alice had loaned her to comb out her hair. It 
wasn't a very good toilet, but it was the best she could do in this place. What 
she'd give to be back in the TARDIS's bathroom! 
There was a gentle rap on the door. When Sarah opened it, Alice was waiting 
outside. 'I thought a little breakfast and a cup of tea might help you before 
your journey into town,' she said. 'The breakfast room is being prepared, and 
I'll take you down.' 
'Bless you!' said Sarah happily. 'I could just murder a cup of tea.' 
Alice laughed. 'You have a strange way of speaking, Sarah.' 
'I've got a lot of strange ways,' Sarah answered, as they walked down the 
elegant corridor together. 'That's what happens when you travel as much as I do, 
I suppose.' 
'It must be nice,' Alice remarked wistfully. 'I've not been about much. When 
Roger and I are married, though, he has promised me that we shall honeymoon in 
Paris.' Her eyes sparkled. 'That sounds quite exciting. Have you ever been to 
Paris?' 
'Lots of times,' Sarah admitted. 'It's a great place. I'm sure you'll love it 
there.' 
Alice sighed. 'Oh, how I envy you. You seem to have done so much, and I so 
little.' 
Sarah laughed. 'You don't know the half of it.' 
  
It took a great deal of effort, but Sir Edward Fulbnght managed to hold his 
temper in check. It seemed as though his house was filled at the moment with 
guests that he either disliked or distrusted. In Ross's case, perhaps both. 
After dressing for breakfast, he emerged from his room to almost run into 
another barely welcome guest. 
'Good morning,' said the Doctor, politely doffing his hat. 'I hope you slept 
well?' 
'Tolerably,' growled Fulbright. 
The Doctor gave him a warm smile. 'I suspect we got off on the wrong foot last 
night, Sir Edward,' he said. 'I'm certain that we both want the same thing - the 
removal of the creature that hunts on the moors at night. Our only difference is 
that you wish to slay it and I wish to remove it for study. I'm sure we're both 
reasonable men; can't we come to some sort of amicable arrangement here?' 
Fulbright grudgingly had to admit that the man had a point. 'What do you 
suggest?' 
'Let me make one attempt to capture it,' the Doctor offered. 'If that fails, 
then you can have a try at killing it.' He grinned. 'I'd let you have the first 
go, but your solution is a trifle more permanent than mine.' 
Fulbright grunted. 'I'll consider it. Doctor,' he finally said. 'If you can come 
up with a scheme that sounds like it'll work, I'll go along with it.' 
'More than fair,' the Doctor answered happily. 
Perhaps he'd misjudged this fellow, after all. Fulbright had to concede that he 
hadn't been in the best of tempers the previous evening, and the chappie seemed 
to be pretty reasonable. 'Do you think you can help Sir Alexander with this 
mysterious death in the village?' he asked. 
'I can but try,' the Doctor answered. 'I've some small acquaintance with matters 
of mystery.' 
'And,' broke in Ross's voice, 'some contributions of your own to the cause of 
mystery. Your last name, for instance.' 
Fulbright's brightening mood instantly started to cloud over once again. He 
hadn't even heard the man approaching. 'The Doctor is trying to help,' Fulbright 
pointed out. 'Which is more than you appear to be doing.' 
Ross raised an eyebrow. 'I see. So my leading the hunt for that monster last 
night was no help at all?' 
'I'm still not convinced that you've told us all that you know about that 
apparition,' Fulbright snapped. 'You have a secretive air about you.' 
'And this Doctor doesn't?' asked Ross, mockingly. He turned to the stranger. 
'You still haven't told us your last name.' 
'No,' agreed the Doctor amiably. 'I haven't. And why are you here?' 
'Counter-attack, eh?' Ross appeared to be amused. 'As a guest of Sir Edward's 
daughter and future son-in-law.' 
The Doctor shook his head slowly. 'Oh, no. That's not it at all. Colonel. Sir 
Edward is perfectly correct - there's something you know that you're not telling 
us.' 
Ross smiled. 'I see. And you, of course, have been perfectly candid with 
everyone?' 
The Doctor matched his smile. 'As much as I can be Do you intend to take part in 
this autopsy today also?' 
'Goodness me, no!' Ross shook his head. 'It all sounds very messy and quite 
disgusting. I had thought that my man Abercrombie and I would take a stroll on 
the moors. 
'Bird-watching?' asked Sir Edward acidly. 'Your man said he's no ornithologist.' 

Ross didn't look at all embarrassed. 'I doubt he could pronounce the word. 
Actually, I had thought about collecting a few wild flowers.' He bowed to them 
both. 'If you'll excuse me?' 
Fulbright watched the man leave, scowling. 'I don't trust him at all,' he 
admitted candidly. There was something about the Doctor, though, that made him 
seem to be trustworthy. And something about the way he dressed. Fulbright 
shuddered at the garish scarf and silly clothing. 'Do you intend to go along 
dressed like that?' he asked. 
The Doctor appeared bemused, as though he'd never considered anything else. 
'Why? Too flashy, you think?' 
Fulbright snorted. 'Sir Alexander is rather . . . traditionally minded,' he 
commented. 'If you wish to make a good impression, you'd dress more 
conservatively.' 
The Doctor looked confused. 'I'm afraid all of my luggage is stuck out on the 
moors right now.' 
'Not a problem,' Fulbright assured him. 'You're about my size. I'm sure I can 
loan you a few items to tide you over.' 
'Most generous,' the Doctor replied. 'I'd be very grateful.' 
'This way, then.' 
* * * 
Sarah had polished off a plate of kippers and three cups of tea when the footman 
announced that the coach was ready. She felt much more prepared to face whatever 
the day would bring, and the news that she wouldn't be walking into the village 
cheered her even more. Saying goodbye to Alice, she followed the servant out of 
the large main doors. In front of the steps stood a landau, with a coachman 
already at the reins. Beside the carriage, chattering animatedly, stood the 
Doctor, Sir Edward and Sir Alexander. Sarah couldn't help smiling at the 
Doctor's appearance. 
He'd put aside his normal attire for once, and actually looked rather dashing. 
He wore a chequered cape coat and a deerstalker hat. Sarah slipped up beside 
him. 'Didn't you get a pipe with that outfit?' she joked. 
'It's in my pocket,' the Doctor replied gravely. 'Thankfully it isn't lit.' 
'Ah, Miss Smith,' said the magistrate, bowing over her hand. He turned to 
Fulbright. 'Well, old man, it looks as though we're ready to go now.' 
'You will all return for dinner, I trust,?' asked Fulbright. 
Sarah grinned. 'If it's half as good as breakfast, Sir Edward,' she assured him, 
'wild horses couldn't keep me away.' 
'Or wild hounds, either,' added the Doctor. 
'Splendid.' Fulbright beamed at them both. 'Well, I mustn't keep you from your 
work. Good luck, all of you.' 
  
Alice watched the carriage leave the driveway, smiling to herself. She was 
certain that she'd discovered a new friend in Sarah. She might be a trifle 
unusual, due to her nomadic lifestyle, but she was pleasant and personable, and 
Alice was glad of another woman her age about the house. It was nice to have men 
about, but she liked another woman to talk with. 
She was about to move on from the window alcove she'd been observing the grounds 
from when she heard Edmund Ross's voice. She rather liked the young officer, 
whom Roger had known for several years, even though she knew her father was not 
so fond of the man. Before she could emerge to introduce herself into the 
conversation, however, she realized Ross was speaking to that strange little 
servant of his, Abercrombie. 
'It's a shame that Sir Edward didn't go with the others, Abercrombie,' Ross 
commented. 'It would have made searching the house so much easier.' 
Alice stopped still, shocked at what she had just heard. It would not be a wise 
move to show herself now, she decided. Instead she waited, hoping to hear more. 
'You want me to have a nose about?' asked Abercrombie. 
'Yes,' replied Ross. 'And do try to be a little more circumspect. The maids have 
been noticing you, and not because of your debonair charms. I thought you were 
supposed to be the best burglar in the West End?' 
'Yeah, but this ain't the West End,' Abercrombie complained. 'I'm doing my 
best.' 
'I'm sure you are, but do better.' Ross paused a moment, then added, 'I'm going 
to search inside the house. If you see anything of value, you know how to 
contact me.' 
Alice hardly dared breathe in case she was discovered. With relief, she heard 
the men move away from the alcove. She waited another couple of minutes, and 
then timidly peered around the comer. The corridor was empty; the men had gone. 
What should she do now? It was quite clear that Ross was not here as Roger's 
friend, whatever he had claimed. And he had called that creature of his a 
burglar! It was obvious to her that Ross was here to steal something from the 
house. She felt angry and betrayed, but she didn't know how to handle this. If 
she told her father what she'd heard. Papa would probably have Ross 
horsewhipped. The only thing Alice could think of was to tell Roger and let him 
handle his so-called friend. She hurried off to find her fiance. 
  
Doyle had breakfasted and shaved by the time that the one-armed ex-sailor, 
Brackley, turned up on the Hope to say that Constable Faversham would like him 
to come along. Doyle had already cleared this with Captain Gray, so he scooped 
up his medical bag and followed Brackley with anticipation of an interesting 
day. 
He'd had a good nights sleep, and had risen early to check through the few 
medical volumes he'd brought with him on the voyage. There had been references 
to shark attacks in one of these but, as Doyle had already felt certain, the 
patterns didn't match the case of the previous evening. Nothing more had really 
occurred to him, but the conviction had grown that this was no shark attack, and 
that there was a definite mystery behind the corpse. 
'Whatever happened to the poor man's boat?' he asked Brackley, as they hurried 
along the quay toward the Pig and Thistle. 
'The men brought it in, sir,' the retired sailor answered. 'It's berthed behind 
the tavern. Will you be wanting to see it later?' 
'I believe so,' Doyle replied. 'There may be evidence or clues aboard it that 
will aid in the investigation of this matter.' Taking one of his few remaining 
half-crowns from his pocket, he slipped it to the one-armed man. This would be a 
good investment if a story came out of this mystery. 'See that it remains 
undisturbed, will you?' 
Brackley gave him a broken-toothed grin. 'You can count on me, sir.' 
'I'm sure I can.' Doyle felt that he'd done all that he could for the moment. 
There was a real sense of excitement growing within him. It was a shame that the 
old man had died - and perished so brutally - but it might be the opportunity 
he'd been praying for. 
The Pig and Thistle was a smallish building, a typical country pub. There was a 
tap bar and a smoking lounge, plus a couple of rooms upstairs for the landlord 
and his wife, and one for the barmaid. There were two other rooms that were 
rented out if they were needed, but Doyle knew they were currently empty. There 
weren't a lot of travellers that passed through Bodham. If the Hope sailed on 
before he was done, Doyle was certain he could take one of the rooms for a 
modest price to enable him to see this through to the end. 
The body of old Ben Tolliver was laid out in the stables behind the tavern. 
Constable Faversham was seated outside the small building, dozing slightly in 
the morning sunshine. Doyle wondered if the man had stood - or sat - on guard 
all night. He had mentioned something about being the only law officer in the 
area. He was probably glad to have Brackley around to carry messages for him. 
Faversham snapped awake with a jerk as Doyle hurried over. 'Good morning. Sir,' 
the constable said, rising uncomfortably to his feet and straightening his tie. 
'I was just catching a few nods, waiting for you all to arrive.' 
Doyle pulled out his watch. 'Almost eight thirty,' he observed. 'Do you think 
that Sir Edward will be here soon?' 
'I'm expecting him any time, sir,' Faversham answered. 'Ah, this is Doctor 
Martinson now.' 
Doyle glanced around to see an elderly man walking carefully across the tavern's 
cobbled yard. Some of the stones were rather slippery from ale spilled the 
previous night. Martinson was clearly into his sixties, but a spry old bird for 
all that. He had an aquiline nose and a shock of white hair that gave him more 
than a passing resemblance to an eagle. Doyle stuck out his hand as the older 
man approached. 
'Ship's Surgeon Doyle,' he introduced himself. 
'Martinson,' the other replied, shaking his hand firmly. 'I gather from 
Faversham here that you made a preliminary examination of the body last night?' 
'Purely a cursory one, I'm afraid,' Doyle answered. 'The light was very poor, 
but I feel certain that Tolliver was not attacked by a shark. What did kill him 
is a mystery thus far.' 
'Ah.' Martinson chuckled. 'I, too, am sure he wasn't killed by a shark,' he 
commented. 'I didn't need to examine the body to tell you that. There have been 
no such attacks around here for decades, to my knowledge, and certainly not in 
Bodham Bay.' He winked. 'So we'll have our work cut out for us today, I 
imagine.' 
'Rather,' agreed Doyle. He was quite warming up to the old man. 'I trust you 
have no objection to my assisting you?' 
'My dear chap, of course not! Many hands make light work, as they say, and at my 
age you appreciate the lightest possible work.' He spun around to face the 
street. 'Ah, this must be Sir Alexander! Capital, we can soon commence!' 
A landau drew to a halt outside the tavern entrance and the footman jumped down 
to offer his hand to the first passenger that descended. To Doyle's surprise and 
pleasure, it was a young woman. And a pretty one, too! She was followed by an 
older man, richly dressed, and clearly the Justice himself. The final figure who 
emerged from the carriage caught Doyle's eye. He was almost as interesting as 
the young woman. In his cape coat and deerstalker hat, with a prominent nose and 
a steely eye, he was clearly a man to be reckoned with. 
The trio came through the gateway and into the courtyard. Doctor Martinson waved 
as they approached. 'Glad you could make it. Sir Alexander,' he called. 'Who are 
your friends?' 
Sir Alexander shook the medical man's hand. 'Glad you're here, Walter. Allow me 
to introduce Miss Sarah Jane Smith and the Doctor.' 
'Doctor, eh?' asked Martinson. 'Of what?' 
'Everything but medicine,' the Doctor replied, his gaze resting on Doyle. 
'Haven't we met somewhere before?' 
'I don't believe so,' Doyle replied. 'You don't look like the sort of man I'd 
forget in a hurry.' He held out his hand. 'Ship's Surgeon Doyle.' 
Sarahs eyes lit up at this. 'Off the Hope?' she asked eagerly. 
Doyle was taken somewhat aback at her knowledge. 'Why, yes. But how the blazes 
did you know that?' 
Sarah laughed in delight. 'I've read your stories,' she told him. To his 
surprise, she shook his hand as a man would have done. 'You're one of my 
favourite authors, you know. Arthur Conan Doyle.' 
Doyle felt himself blushing. 'Actually you flatter me too much. Miss Smith,' he 
replied. 'I've had only one story published so far, but it's most gratifying to 
know that you enjoyed it so much.' 
'I'm sure we'll be reading much more by you in the future,' Sarah told him. 
'You're a natural.' 
'Well,' broke in Sir Alexander, 'I hate to stop all this cheeriness, but we do 
have work to do, gentlemen - and lady 
Faversham stepped forward. 'Ah, begging your pardon, sir, but. . .' He shuffled 
somewhat uncomfortably. 'I don't think that the body is a fit sight for a lady.' 

'Oh. Quite.' The Justice turned to Sarah. 'Perhaps you had better wait for us 
here, young lady.' 
'What?' Sarah's face fell. 'Come off it! I'm not squeamish, I'll have you know.' 

The Doctor patted her shoulder. 'I think it would be better if you waited, 
Sarah,' he said. 'I'll fill you in later.' 
'Well, thanks a lot!' said Sarah huffily. She threw her hands in the air and 
stalked off. Typical! Going off to have all the fun and leaving her to her own 
devices. As if she hadn't seen plenty of dead bodies in her travels with the 
Doctor. 'What a start to the day,' she grumbled. 'I'll bet it just gets worse.' 
There was a low whistle from outside the gateway. Sarah hurried over and peered 
around the comer -straight into three familiar faces. 
'Morning!' said Rudyard Kipling breezily. 
'It just got worse,' sighed Sarah. 
  
The stable had clearly been neglected for a number of years. There were small 
holes in the walls that allowed light in, and windows that were so encrusted 
with dirt that they didn't. Cobwebs laced the whole structure -possibly helping 
to hold it together, Doyle mused - and the only evidence of any recent use was 
the empty ale barrels stacked for collection. There was a musty smell, mixed 
with the sickly stench of decay permeating from the direction of the body. 
Faversham had been thoughtful enough to provide nosegays for them, which offset 
this a trifle. 
Half a dozen barrels had been pressed into service to act as a table to bear 
Tolliver's corpse. It was still covered over with the tarpaulin, presumably to 
keep off the rats that Doyle had heard scurrying for cover when they had entered 
the stable. 
Faversham started to unlace the covering, and glanced up at the Doctor. 'Would 
you happen to be the gentleman that Scotland Yard promised to send out, sir?' 
The Doctor frowned. 'You couldn't possibly have contacted the Yard yet about 
this matter,' he observed. 
'No, sir, not about this. About the children.' 
'Ah!' The Doctor shook his head slightly. 'I have on occasion worked with 
Scotland Yard, constable, but I remain for the most part an independent 
observer. I am here only to offer my expertise if Sir Alexander or either of 
these medical gentlemen wish to avail themselves of it.' 
'I see, sir.' Faversham sounded disappointed. Doyle asked, 'Children?' 
Sir Alexander sighed. 'Some of the local urchins have gone missing, it appears. 
It didn't seem to me to be anything for concern, as Constable Faversham is quite 
capable. But one of the boys from Westward Ho!, the local school, went missing 
several days ago. His parents are apparently well connected, and they demanded a 
plea for aid from the Yard. So far, other than promises, nothing much has 
materialized.' 
'Would that be a boy named Anders?' asked the Doctor. 
'That's right, sir,' Faversham said, pausing in his work of uncovering the 
corpse. 'Joshua Anders. I thought you weren't involved with that?' 
'I didn't think I was,' the Doctor said thoughtfully. 'But Miss Smith and I met 
three of his friends last night. They mentioned his name. How many are missing 
in all?' 
'Hard to say, sir,' Faversham informed him. 'Seeing as how most of them have 
neither kin nor friends, it's hard to be exact.' 
'Be inexact then.' 
'About fifteen, perhaps more,' Faversham admitted. 
'Fifteen children missing!' the Doctor exclaimed. He rounded on Sir Alexander. 
'And you didn't think that significant?' 
'They are merely wharf rats and street urchins, Doctor,' the Justice protested. 
'We don't know that anything has happened to them at all.' 
'Of course not,' the Doctor agreed sarcastically. 'Probably just popped off down 
to Brighton for a paddle in the sea. Hello!' 
The constable had finished unwrapping the body now, and pulled off the 
tarpaulin. The Doctor peered at it in fascination. Both Sir Alexander and Doctor 
Martinson paled and turned away. 'What do you make of it, Doyle?' asked the 
Doctor. 
Doyle stepped forward eagerly. 'As you can see, Doctor,' he explained, 'Tolliver 
was killed by the bite to the face. The teeth have left striations on what 
remains of the frontal and sphenoidal bones. The arm was taken off in a 
subsequent attack after he was already dead. There is too little blood marking 
the side of his jacket, so the heart must have stopped pumping by that point in 
time.' 
The Doctor nodded approvingly. 'Excellent deduction, Doctor.' He whipped a small 
magnifying glass from a pocket and bent over the grisly remains of the head, 
apparently oblivious to the nauseating stench. 'And what do you make of the 
angle of incisions?' 
Doyle frowned. 'I'm not sure I follow you. Doctor.' 
'Well, look at the way the bones have been shattered in the face and how the 
flesh is torn from the arm.' He glanced back at the two older men. 'I'm sorry; 
would either of you care to take a closer look? I didn't mean to hog the best 
position.' 
'No, Doctor,' Sir Alexander replied, blanching at the suggestion. 'Please, carry 
on. I'm more than happy to listen.' 
'As you wish.' The Doctor seemed puzzled at this reaction. Ignoring it, he 
turned back to Doyle. 'Do you think a shark could have done this?' 
Grinning, Doyle shook his head. 'No. Sharks always attack the limbs, and 
invariably the limbs of a person in the water. But the limb was severed after 
the bite to the face. And Tolliver was never in the water.' He gestured at the 
corpse's waistcoat pocket. 'As you see, his baccv pouch is dry.' 
'Capital!' approved the Doctor, slapping Doyle heartilv on the back. 'Absolutely 
sound reasoning. You noticed, also, no doubt, that the angle of the bite is all 
wrong. I think we can safely assume that poor Tolliver here was staring down at 
whatever killed him. The attacker ripped off the front of his face. Sharks have 
their mouths on the underside of their heads, so to be able to rip off the face, 
a shark would have had to have been swimming on its back at the time. So we can 
discount that. Whatever creature did this has to have its mouth forward on its 
head - and offhand I can think of no species of aquatic animal that is native to 
the Earth that might be held accountable.' 
Doctor Martinson took a nervous step forward. 'Does it have to be a marine 
creature that killed him, Doctor?' he asked. 'After all, Tolliver was found on 
his boat, which was drifting. Is it not possible that there was on board with 
him some terrestrial animal, such as a savage dog, that killed him?' 
'And then vanished?' asked the Doctor sceptically. He shrugged. 'It is a 
possibility,' he agreed. 'After all, Sir Edward and his friends were hunting 
some such creature on the moors last night.' 
'Well, there you are then,' Martinson exclaimed. 'Surely that is the creature 
we're after?' 
'I don't believe so.' The Doctor looked very thoughtful. 'For one thing, it was 
quite a distance inland and not much later than the time when Tolliver died. I 
myself saw the beast, and it showed no signs of having been for a swim.' He gave 
a sudden smile. 'Still, there's one way to be certain, isn't there?' He turned 
to Faversham. 'I take it that Tolliver's boat is somewhere around and hasn't 
been touched?' 
'Aye, sir. It's moored up just behind the tavern.' 
'And,' added Doyle, 'I paid Brackley to keep an eye on it and see that it wasn't 
disturbed.' 
'Excellent,' approved the Doctor. 'I'm beginning to think that I'm really not 
needed here at all. You seem to be proceeding perfectly well without my aid.' 
Sir Alexander frowned. 'But what will the boat tell us about Tolliver's death?' 
he asked. 
'Where it occurred,' the Doctor answered. 
'But we know where it occurred,' the Justice retorted. 'At sea.' 
'Yes, but from the sea or from the boat?' asked the Doctor. 'If the creature 
that killed him was on the vessel with him, then there will be buckets of blood 
all over the deck. If it was from the sea, then the majority of the blood would 
have gone into the water and the decks will be relatively clean.' 
'Wonderful!' exclaimed Doyle. 'You are most certainly proving your worth. 
Doctor. Well, are we done here?' 
'Almost,' the Doctor answered. 'Let's see if we can't make poor Tolliver bear a 
little further witness against his slayer first.' 
'Surely,' objected Doctor Martinson, 'we've got all we can already from this 
noisome relic?' 
The Doctor gave him a wide smile. 'Bear with me, Doctor. Let's make a few small 
assumptions. First of all, whatever killed Tolliver didn't do it for food. An 
animal that hunts aims the blow at a vulnerable area - a limb or the throat, 
depending on whether it kills by biting or strangulation. This creature instead 
attacked the face. A small target, if you think about it.' 
'But the only one offered ifTolliver was leaning across the bows of his boat,' 
Sir Alexander put in. 
'Correct!' The Doctor's eyes sparkled. 'Another blow against the idea that his 
killer was on the boat with him. Now, the body was on the boat when it was 
found, so Tolliver must have fallen backwards. The missing limb led Doyle to 
suggest that the killer attacked the corpse again as it fell. There wasn't a 
great deal of time for that, so the odds are that there were in fact two 
creatures that attacked him, almost simultaneously: one killing first with the 
bite to the head, the second severing the limb.' 
'I say!' exclaimed Sir Alexander. 'So now instead of one mysterious killer 
creature, we now have two?' 
'More than that,' the Doctor commented. 'Two hunting together. Intriguing, isn't 
it?' 
'Intriguing?' The Justice shivered. 'It's downright scary.' 
'That too,' agreed the Doctor. He turned to Faversham. 'Well, that's about it 
for here. Perhaps we could examine the boat now?' 
'Very good, sir. If you care to go on ahead, I'll cover the body again.' The 
constable turned to Sir Alexander. 'Can I inform the rector that the body is 
ready for burial now, sir?' 
'You can indeed,' Sir Alexander answered. 'The sooner the better, if you ask 
me?' 
  
Sarah grimaced and stared at her three admirers. 'Don't you have something 
better to do?' she asked them. 'Like lessons, for instance?' 
'No,' Kipling replied. 'Term starts next week, so we're free.' 
'And at a loose end,' added Dunsterville. 'So here we are.' 
'And you're awfully pretty,' Beresford finished, 'so we don't mind being seen 
with you. It'll do our reps scads of good.' 
'Wonderful,' Sarah muttered. 'And my nerves irreparable harm, probably.' She was 
starting to wish she hadn't wanted to meet Kipling. As an adult he would have 
been fascinating, but as a fifteen-year-old boy . . . well, he was a 
fifteen-year-old boy, and that said it all. Now what? Well, since the men had 
effectively shut her out from their autopsy, she might as well get to work on 
something else. 'This fnend of yours who vanished,' she said, hoping that this 
would distract their attention from her body for a while. 'Tell me about him.' 
'Well, he wasn't really our friend,' Dunsterville confessed. 'He's only ten, 
after all.' 
'And not at all sophisticated, like us,' Kipling added. 
'Give me a break,' muttered Sarah. 
'And he's more like a responsibility,' Dunsterville said, staring at Beresford. 
Beresford nodded. 'His pater and mine are chums, you see, and we were asked to 
sort of keep an eye on him.' He pouted. 'And you know how infernally dull that 
can be.' 
Sarah was starting to catch on. 'And what did you do with him?' she asked. 
'Nothing!' Beresford protested. 
'Well, almost nothing,' Kipling amended. 
Raising an eyebrow, Sarah surveyed them sceptically. 'Let's have it.' 
Both the other boys looked at Beresford, who shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 
'Well, the truth of the matter is that we ragged him a bit. Told him a few fibs 
about ourselves, and said he'd got a lot to learn.' 
'Such as?' Sarah prompted. 
'Well, about women, for example,' Beresford admitted. 'We spun a few yarns - ' 
'You did,' said Kipling smugly. 'Mine were all true.' 
' - a few yams,' Beresford continued, 'about the fish-girls here in the village. 
So he skipped out one night last week and never came back.' 
'I see.' Sarah sighed. It was typical of teenaged boys, but Anders had been a 
young and impressionable target. 'So how much of this did you actually tell the 
police?' 
'Faversham?' Dunsterville looked appalled. 'Just that Anders left early in the 
evening, nothing more. He wouldn't understand what it is to be a man of the 
world, like you do.' 
'Thanks, I think,' said Sarah dryly. 'Okay, let's start from there. Do you 
happen to recall if you mentioned any names to Anders, or were you too polite 
for that?' 
Kipling sniggered. 'We did casually let Jen Walker's name crop up.' 
Now she was getting somewhere. 'And did this lady ever see Anders?' 
Dunsterville shrugged. 'We don't know. She isn't speaking to us just at this 
moment.' 
'I can't imagine why,' Sarah said. 'So where can I fmd her?' 
Kipling hooked a finger over his shoulder. 'She works here, as the barmaid,' he 
told her. 'Dark-haired and almost as pretty as you are.' He glanced at Sarah's 
ankles. 'I'll bet you have nicer legs though,' he added hopefully. 
'Dream about them,' Sarah suggested. 'Right - you lot stay here. I'll go and 
have a chat with this Jen Walker.' As she started to move off, she added, 'And 
try not to harass anyone while I'm gone, okay?' 
'Us?' asked Kipling, the picture of innocence. 'Would we do that?' 
'You'd better not,' Sarah advised him. 'Or there's likely to be three more 
missing kids by this evening.' 
* * * 
Tolliver's boat was a typical small fishing vessel. The nets were still on the 
deck and the sail had been furled, obviously after it had been moored. 
Otherwise, Brackley assured them, the boat was exactly how it had been when the 
men had found it adrift. 
The Doctor scurried aboard and began peering at the gunwales. Doyle, Martinson 
and Sir Alexander followed him. Brackley hovered at the top of the plank. 
'Where was the body discovered?' Doyle asked. 
'Fore of the cabin, sir,' Brackley replied. 
Doyle nodded, and skirted about the tiny structure. On the deck was a splash of 
dried blood. 'Ah!' he exclaimed. 'Not sufficient for Tolliver to have been 
attacked on board.' He glanced at the cabin. 'And nowhere for any terrestrial 
animal to hide, either. So he was definitely attacked from the sea.' 
'I agree,' the Doctor commented, kneeling beside the gunwale close by Doyle. 
'What do you make of this?' 
Doyle bent to examine the marks the Doctor had found. The Doctor offered the use 
of his magnifying glass, which Doyle accepted. 'Scratches in the wood,' he 
observed, puzzled. 'I'm afraid that the significance of it escapes me.' 
'Recent,' the Doctor commented. 'The wood exposed is unweathered. And it's close 
to where the body fell. I'd say that whatever killed Tolliver made these marks. 
There are just the two of them, here and here.' He pointed to the two gashes, 
about two and a half feet apart. 'That suggests a width for the creature. The 
marks are probably the result of its flippers or fins striking the wood.' 
'There's no sign of blood in the marks,' objected Doyle. 'Surely any blows 
sufficient to make these gashes would have scored the skin of the attacker and 
drawn blood.' 
'Unless the hide was too tough,' the Doctor said. 'In many aquatic creatures the 
skin, especially on the nippers, is extremely tough.' 
Sir Alexander frowned. 'Are you suggesting that he was killed by something like 
a seal? Your mention of nippers suggests that conclusion.' 
The Doctor gave a large smile. 'And some seals have very sharp teeth,' he 
pointed out. They are carnivores, after all, and their mouths are positioned 
well for the attack.' 
'But they have never been known to attack a man!' protested Martinson. 
'No,' agreed the Doctor thoughtfully. 'But this has all the indications that 
they have started now.' He pondered ideas for a moment. 'And they are 
trainable,' he mused. 'I wonder.. .' 
Sir Alexander was almost spluttering. 'But there are only a few grey seals about 
this coast,' he protested. 'And they are perfectly harmless.' 
'I agree,' the Doctor said. He looked up at Doyle suddenly. 'Is the Hope a 
whaler alone?' 
'Why, no,' Doyle replied. 'We've also got a fair supply of seal skins.' 
'No live ones, though?' 
'Of course not,' Doyle answered. 'There's no market for them.' 
The Doctor removed his cap and ran his hand through his mane of curly hair. 
'Isn't your vessel out of some Scottish port?' he asked. 
'Peterhead.' 
'Ah!' The Doctor gave another of his smiles. 'And what brings it to Devon, 
then?' 
Doyle shrugged. 'Captain Gray had business here; that's all I know.' 
'Look here,' broke in Sir Alexander, 'surely that is irrelevant to the matter 
ofTolliver's death?' 
'Irrelevant?' The Doctor stared at the Justice as if he were a silly child. 'A 
whaling ship stops off here instead of Scotland, barely hours before a man is 
killed and its irrelevant? It has a cargo of seal skins, and the man is 
apparently killed by a pair of attack seals, and it's irrelevant?' He whirled 
around to face Doyle. 'I'd like to have a word with this captain of yours.' 
Doyle shrugged. 'I can introduce you to him when he returns to the ship this 
evening, but he's not aboard right now.' 
The Doctor nodded. 'And who is it that he has business with?' 
'A man called Breckinridge, that's all I know,' Doyle answered. 
Sir Alexander smiled. 'Well then, that's no problem, is it?' 
The Doctor glared at him. 'It might not be,' he snapped. 'It might help if I 
knew who this Breckinridge was.' 
The Justice stared at him in amazement. 'Surely you must have heard of him.' 
'If I had,' the Doctor retorted, 'I wouldn't need to ask questions, would I?' 
'Well,' Sir Alexander said, taken aback, 'he's an industrialist who built a 
factory on the edge of the village last year. He's very well known, and quite a 
pleasant chappie.' 
'You know him?' 
'Well,' Sir Alexander admitted, 'I think he's done splendid work since he 
arrived here, and he's given many of the locals jobs when they would otherwise 
be starving. He's a very generous and kind man. I'm sure you'd like him.' 
'I'd appreciate the chance to meet him,' the Doctor agreed. He looked around as 
Faversham hurried up the jetty toward the boat. 'Ah, there you are. What kept 
you?' 
The policeman was almost out of breath. 'Another crime has just been reported,' 
he announced, huffing and panting. 
'And I thought this was such a quiet little town,' the Doctor observed dryly. 
'Well, what's the latest event in this crime spree?' 
'Somebody broke into the cemetery last night,' Faversham said. 'They dug up the 
grave of Missus Bellaver and stole her corpse.' 
4
Wild Hunt
'Curiouser and curiouser,' said the Doctor, intrigued. 
Sir Alexander stared at him. 'Surely you don't believe that there's any 
connection between Tolliver's death and the stolen body?' 
The Doctor rolled his eyes. 'Unless this sleepy little town has suddenly 
developed a crime wave of epidemic proportions, we have to assume a connection.' 

Doyle looked puzzled. 'I can't see one.' 
'Nor can I - yet,' admitted the Doctor. 'What did this Missus Bellaver die 
from?' 
'Purely natural causes,' Doctor Martinson broke in hastily. 'I myself was there 
when she expired. She was eighty-seven years old and very frail. She died three 
nights ago, before the Hope arrived.' 
'So,' Sir Alexander said gruffly, 'there is no connection.' 
'No,' the Doctor argued. 'We simply haven't found one yet.' He stared 
thoughtfully at the constable. 'Is this the first time somebody dead has turned 
up missing?' When Faversham didn't answer immediately, the Doctor turned to Sir 
Alexander. 'Well, is it?' 
'There have been two other cases recently,' the Justice admitted carefully. 
'Then why didn't you say so?' the Doctor snapped. 'I know, I know, they didn't 
seem relevant. Well, how recently?' 
'Just over six months ago and about twelve weeks ago.' Sir Alexander looked a 
little crestfallen. 
'And when does the first missing child date back to?' asked the Doctor, with all 
the patience he could muster. 
'Approximately the same length of time, sir,' Faversham admitted. 
'I see.' The Doctor glared from the constable to his superior. 'And you didn't 
see any connection?' 
'How could there be one?' argued Sir Alexander, reddening slightly. 
'How could there not be?' the Doctor countered. 'And all this began happening 
since your philanthropic Mister Breckinridge arrived in town?' 
'My dear Doctor!' exclaimed Doctor Martinson. 'Surely you are making too many 
inferences from too few facts.' 
The Doctor considered the point. 'Perhaps I am,' he agreed. 'But that points to 
the need to gather more facts, doesn't it?' 
'We were working on the assumption,' Sir Alexander said, 'that Resurrectionists 
were responsible for the missing bodies, and that it is entirely unrelated to 
the missing children.' 
'Were you indeed?' asked the Doctor. 'This information changes everything, 
though. I had hoped that the children were alive, but if there are 
Resurrectionists involved, isn't it possible that the missing children were 
murdered and used as a substitute form of bodies?' 
'Just a moment,' argued Doyle. 'I don't believe that Resurrectionists could be 
involved here. For one thing, their foul trade hinges on their procuring fresh 
corpses for the teaching hospitals. There are no such hospitals within a hundred 
miles of this place. The bodies would begin to decay long before they reached a 
hospital. Added to that, Missus Bellaver died three days ago, so her body was 
hardly fresh in any event.' 
'Capital reasoning, Doctor,' said the Doctor. 'I couldn't have put it better 
myself He turned to the constable. 'I think you had better let us have a look at 
the scene of this fresh crime, don't you? Then we'll be able to deduce whether 
all these events are linked or separate.' 
Sir Alexander glared at him. 'I doubt that you'll find your hypothetical killer 
seals are responsible for digging up Missus Bellaver.' 
'Why don't we wait until we've had a chance to examine the site before making 
decisions?' snapped the Doctor. He thrust his deerstalker back on his head. 
'Come along, Doctors. Faversham - lead the way!' 
  
The three schoolboys had been right in saying that Jen Walker was pretty. It was 
an unrefined prettiness, of course, since this was well out in the provinces, 
but she clearly had no lack of admirers as well as the boys. When Sarah found 
the barmaid she was flirting gently with one of the local fishedads. 
'Could we talk?' Sarah asked, giving the youth a pointed stare. 
'Off you go, Tom,'Jen said, tossing her dark curls. 'No doubt I'll be seeing you 
later this night?' 
'For as much of it as you like,' agreed Tom cheekily. 
'Be off with you!' Jen laughed. Then she turned to Sarah. 'And what would you 
like to talk about, miss?' she asked. 
'Schoolboys,' Sarah replied. 
'Oh.' Jen scowled. 'I thought I seen Gigger and his mates around earlier. Cheeky 
little buggers, aren't they? They been giving you trouble, too?' 
'None I can't handle,' Sarah informed her. 'But they told me that you might have 
seen one of their friends.' 
Jen scowled in sudden suspicion. 'You the sister of one of them, come to 
complain?' she asked sharply. 'I don't need no lip from the likes of you. Boys 
will be boys, and they have to learn their experiences somewhere.' 
Sarah stared at the barmaid in disgust. 'Look, I'm not here to get you into 
trouble,' she snapped. 'I'm looking for a missing boy, not for someone who seems 
to enjoy under-aged suitors. And I hope even you would draw the line at 
ten-year-olds.' 
'Oh.'Jen twitched her nose. 'That missing kid, Anders, you mean? Well, honest to 
God, I never seen him in me life.' 
'He was on his way to see you when he vanished,' Sarah replied. 'Apparently 
Gigger and his chums talked up your charms and availability, and he wanted to 
become a man.' 
'Well, he never did with me!'Jen replied. 'Strike me dead if I'm lying. I never 
saw the kid. And I wouldn't have done nothing if I had. I have me morals, you 
know.' 
'Really?' asked Sarah sceptically. 'I'll take your word for that. So you have no 
idea what might have happened to the boy, then?' 
Jen's eyes narrowed. 'Now I didn't say that. I just said I didn't have anything 
to do with it. I might be able to help a little, if you can make it worth me 
while. Get my drift?' She scratched at her palm. 
Sarah's blood was starting to boil. 'I get your drift,' she said, striving to 
keep her temper. 'And if you aim to keep those good looks that bring in the 
customers, you'd better tell me what you know.' She examined her nails 
thoughtfully. 'I doubt you'd earn so much from even curious boys if you had 
scars down both cheeks.' 
Realizing she'd gone too far, Jen backed away slightly. 'I didn't mean nothing,' 
she whined. 'Just trying to make an honest living. You can't fault me for that, 
can you?' 
'Guess again,' Sarah answered coldly. 'You've got ten seconds to say something I 
want to hear.' 
'Like I said,' Jen answered hastily, 'I don't know nothing myself. But you 
should talk to Billy. He knows everything that happens in the village.' 
'Billy?' 
'Yeah. He's one of the wharf rats, you know.' Jen pointed down to the shore. 
'He's got a little lean-to by the docks. There's a house down there with a red 
roof and door. Past that, down the shore a bit is where Billy lives. Tell him I 
sent you, and he'll talk to you. I'll bet he knows something.' 
'Something he wouldn't tell the police, you mean?' asked Sarah. 
'Police!' snorted Jen. 'Billy wouldn't have nothing to do with the police. 
Better sense than that. Billy's got. But you speak to him.' 
Sarah nodded, and left the tavern. As she'd dreaded, Kipling and his two pals 
were eagerly waiting for her. 
'Learn anything?' Beresford asked. 
'More than you have in years of schooling,' Sarah told him. 'If I find out what 
happened to Anders, I'll let you know. Now buzz off.' 
'Never!' said Kipling defiantly. 'We're here to offer you our protection and 
assistance.' 
'And crude comments too,' Sarah retorted. 'I don't need any of them. Clear off.' 

Kipling's face fell. 'Oh, come on,' he begged. 'He's our responsibility, you 
know. Well, McBee's at least. And we could be useful, couldn't we?' He gave her 
a pathetic look of hope. 
Against her better judgement, Sarah took pity on them. 'Oh, all right,' she 
agreed crossly. 'But one untoward comment from any of you, and I'm sending you 
back to school with a flea in your ears. And don't think I wouldn't.' 
'Honestly,' Dunsterville assured her, 'we believe every last word you say. Miss 
Smith.' 
'Now you're starting to learn,' Sarah approved. 
  
'I can quite understand your concern, Alice,' Bridewell told her, holding her 
hand comfortingly. 'I will confess, what you overheard does sound rather bad for 
Edmund.' 
'Bad?' Alice stared at her fiance. 'He is planning to rob this house, Roger! 
That manservant of his is a common thief!' 
'Alice,' Roger said, his face twisted by indecision, 'please trust me. I know it 
looks bad, but please believe me. I know that Edmund is planning nothing that 
would hurt you in any way. Despite what you heard - ' 
'Then tell me what he is planning, if you know,' begged Alice. 
'I can't,' Roger replied, not looking at her. 'But if you love me, Alice, trust 
me on this matter.' 
Alice was torn: she did love him, but he was asking a great deal of her. His 
explanations - if they were in fact explanations and not evasions - were not 
making her feel any better. 'Roger, I want to trust you. But I can't trust him 
without some reason.' 
Roger nodded miserably. 'I shall have a word with Edmund,' he promised. 'Perhaps 
that will help.' 
'Perhaps,' agreed Alice, unconvinced. Roger kissed her hand rather perfunctorily 
and then fled down the corridor. She stared after him, wondering how well she 
really knew her fiance. He was certainly keeping some secret about Edmund from 
her, but what? What kind of a hold did the suave Colonel Ross have over Roger? 
Friendship? Money? Blackmail? She didn't know, and if Roger wouldn't confide in 
her then perhaps she had better do a little prying of her own. She was not about 
to trust Ross without some convincing proof of the innocence of his intentions. 
And Roger was about to warn the man other suspicions. 
Making up her mind, she headed for Ross's rooms. She felt dreadful about 
searching them, but what else could she do? Perhaps something would be revealed 
to resolve her quandary. 
  
The graveyard was small, and set on one of the hills overlooking Bodham Bay. An 
ancient, weather-beaten stone church guarded the high spot on the rise. The 
tower was definitely Saxon in styling and in need of a little work, and the 
windows in the grey stonework were small. The graves were gathered about the 
church, as if seeking the protection of those old stones. 
Most were marked with simple headstones, many of which had been worn into 
virtual unreadability. There had been some efforts to tend the graves, but 
several were overgrown with patchy clumps of unkempt grass. Against the grey 
sky, the whole site looked dreadfully depressing to Doyle. 
Faversham led the way across the graveyard as the harsh wind tugged at their 
coats. The Doctor, hands thrust in his pockets, his face inscrutable, followed. 
Behind Doyle, limping slighdy, came Sir Alexander and Doctor Martinson. The 
policeman halted beside a dark gash in the ground. The gravestone had been 
knocked over, and a hole dug straight through the fresh earth. The Doctor peered 
in the gap, and Doyle stared down over his shoulder. 
The coffin was still down there, a simple wooden affair of local timber. The top 
had been staved in by a spade, and the body had been dragged out through the 
gap. A piece of the shroud had caught on a long splinter of wood in the coffin 
lid, and flapped like a trapped butterfly vainly striving to escape. 
The Doctor looked up, his face grim. 'Stay back,' he called over his shoulder to 
Martinson and Sir Alexander. He glanced at Faversham and Doyle. 'Both of you 
stay where you are,' he said. Without explanation he went down on one knee and 
began to stare at the ground around the grave. 
Doyle stared at him in fascination. 'What are you doing. Doctor?' he asked. 
'Looking for clues,' he snapped. 'Be quiet.' He sprang to his feet and wandered 
across the grounds, staring intently at the ground. Making his way back to the 
small stone wall surrounding the church, he examined the top stones, and then 
walked slowly back to the grave. 'There were two men,' he announced. 'One was 
tall and heavy-set, the other shorter and thin. They came from the village and 
went back that way with the corpse.' 
Doyle was astonished. 'How on earth could you possibly know that?' 
The Doctor cracked one of his wide, toothy smiles. 'Elementary, my dear Doyle.' 
He pointed to the ground. 'Aside from a set of woman's shoe-prints that I assume 
to be the cleaner who discovered the robbery, there are two recent sets of 
shoe-prints. One is a large size, and sinks deeply into the disturbed fresh 
earth. Hence a large man, and rather heavy. The other set is small, and not as 
deep: a smaller, lighter man. The same prints show on the pathway from the 
village at the gate, and they return that way also. On the return trip, the 
large man's prints sink even deeper, so he was carrying the woman's corpse with 
him.' 
'That's remarkable!' exclaimed Sir Alexander. 'And can you tell us where the men 
went in the village?' 
The Doctor shook his head. 'The ground is too rocky, and by the time we get down 
to the village, the cobble-stoned streets will not carry prints. This is all I 
can tell you for the moment, gentlemen. But the culprits must still be somewhere 
in the vicinity.' 
'That's quite astounding,' Doyle enthused. 
'Scientific method,' the Doctor answered. 'Now, we have several separate 
mysteries that I feel certain must be intertwined. You know what we need now?' 
'What?' asked Doyle. 
'Lunch. I'm starving. Come on!' The Doctor rubbed his hands together and started 
back towards the village. 
  
'You've left me in the deuce of an uncomfortable position, old man,' Roger 
complained. 'I know I promised to help all I could, but with Alice getting 
suspicious - ' 
Ross nodded thoughtfully. 'I know, Roger, and I'm sorry. I suppose the best 
thing to do would be for me either to leave or come clean. But I'm so close now. 
I know it! I'm fairly certain that what I'm after isn't here at all.' 
'Which I told you from the start,' Roger pointed out. 'I know you did,' agreed 
Ross. 'But you know I couldn't simply take your word for it. Now I have 
Abercrombie checking out other possibilities. The problem is that matters have 
become rather more complex than I had anticipated. This Doctor fellow, for 
example. He's a factor I hadn't foreseen, and I'm not at all certain whose side 
he's on - or what his reasons are for getting involved with this in the first 
place. Then there's that whaling ship, the Hope. It can't be a coincidence that 
it was diverted here at this time. But how does it figure in? Will it interfere 
with my plans?' Ross sighed. 'I had anticipated a fairly straightforward time 
here, but it's definitely far too complex now. Still, that's my problem, and I 
shall have to make the best of it.' 
'Then what do you aim to do?' asked Roger. His friend patted his arm in a kindly 
fashion. 'What I don't aim to do is to come between you and your fiancee, old 
man. I promise you, I'll square things with her somehow. I just have to work out 
what would be best.' 
Roger smiled with relief. 'Thanks. I'd certainly appreciate your getting me off 
the hook with Alice.' 
  
The room that Ross had been given was in the west wing. Alice slipped inside it 
and gazed around. It was a simple bedroom, with little adornment other than a 
few paintings on the wall. There were two large trunks positioned beside the 
chest of drawers, one of which was unstrapped. Both trunks were covered with 
small stickers. Alice took a closer look and saw that they were paste-on labels 
from hotels all around the world: Cairo, Cadiz, San Francisco, Panama, Rio de 
Janeiro. Obviously Edmund Ross - or at least his luggage - was well travelled. 
Feeling a twinge of guilt, Alice used the straps to open the unlocked trunk. As 
she did so, she felt a slight prick in the end other finger. She winced and then 
saw a drop of blood forming. Some kind of needle in the strap must have . . . 
She felt herself growing rather heady. She gasped, and tried to straighten up. 
But her legs refused to obey her, and she couldn't stand. Her knees gave way and 
with a sigh she collapsed to the floor, unconscious. 
A few moments later, Ross strode into the room. He stopped in his tracks and 
stared in despair at the girl on the floor. 'Oh dear,' he sighed. 'This does 
complicate matters rather more.' It was certainly not turning out to be one of 
his better days. 
  
Sarah led Kipling, Dunsterville and Beresford to the small lean-to shack that 
the barmaid had described. It was even flimsier and filthier than Sarah had been 
expecting, and it was hard to imagine that anyone actually lived here. The wind 
was rising now, whipping at any exposed portions of Sarah's skin. She could 
imagine what it would be like here in the winter, and was astounded that the 
rickety little hut managed to survive those months. 
As the four of them approached the dwelling, there was a sudden movement. A 
small girl, dressed in dark clothing that flapped raggedly, seemed to flash from 
behind a rock on the sea walk and into the hut. A look-out, obviously, probably 
gone to warn whoever else lived in the hut that visitors were coming. 
'Right,' she said firmly to her companions. 'You three stay here.' 
'We want to help,' Kipling objected. 
'As far as these kids are concerned,' Sarah pointed out, 'you're rich brats. 
They won't trust you.' 
'And they will trust you?' asked Beresford scornfully. 
'They might,' Sarah answered. She had been wondering the same thing herself. 
These wharf rats had never been treated as anything other than vermin in their 
lives. Would they even want to talk to her? 'I'm going to try. So stay put, and 
stay out of trouble.' She ignored Kipling and his friends and marched on down 
the quay towards the hut. 
The door opened as she drew close, and a tall, thin boy stepped out. He was 
obviously underfed, and his clothing was tattered and didn't fit at all well. 
His dark eyes were haunted and angry, and he ran thin fingers through dusty 
blond hair that had probably only been washed if he had fallen into the ocean. 
'What you want?' he asked. His voice was cold, angry and impatient. 'You ain't 
welcome, you know.' 
'I only want to talk, Billy,' Sarah said, pitching her voice low and warm. 'I 
think we may have a problem in common.' 
Billy laughed sharply. 'You and me?' he snorted. 'Get on! We got nowt in 
common.' 
'Missing children,' Sarah said. 
That made his eyes narrow. His right hand came up, and Sarah saw that he held a 
fish-gutting knife at the ready. Unlike Billy, the knife was clean and obviously 
well used. She suspected that Billy had used it to defend himself many times in 
the past. 'What do you mean?' he growled suspiciously. 
'Those three boys,' Sarah waved vaguely in Kipling's direction. Billy's eyes 
flickered off her face for only a second, and then returned. 'One of their 
friends has gone missing. I talked to Jen Walker and she said that some of your 
friends have gone missing too. And she said that you might be able to help me 
find them.' 
'She says too much,' Billy complained. 'She shouldn't talk so much.' 
Sarah smiled. 'Maybe, Billy. But have some of your friends disappeared too?' 
'What do you care?' asked Billy. 'They're just street rats. Nobody cares about 
they except I.' 
'I care,' Sarah told him. 'Whatever they are, they're human beings. I know the 
police don't care much, but I promise you that they matter to me.' 
'You're just saying that,' the boy retorted angrily. 'You're like the rest, want 
us gone. Why should I trust you?' 
Sarah shrugged. 'No reason at all, Billy. I can't prove that I care, or that I'm 
telling the truth. But unless you give me a chance you'll never know, will you?' 
Was she getting through to him at all? He had obviously lived on the streets and 
off his wits almost all his young life. Suspicion and fear were his constant 
companions. Could she possibly break through those barriers and reach him? 'All 
I'm asking for is a little help from you so that I can help you in return.' 
'We don't need your help,' he answered, brandishing the knife. 'We look after 
ourselves.' 
'You do need help,' Sarah countered. 'Because some of your friends have 
disappeared, haven't they? And you haven't been able to stop it. Well, maybe I 
can - if I have some idea where to start looking.' 
Billy thought hard for a moment. Sarah stayed silent, knowing this was a battle 
he'd be waging with himself, and that anything else she said now might swing him 
the wrong way. It would not be an easy matter for him to trust her, but had she 
made him realize that he had no other genuine option? 
'No skin off my nose,' he finally announced ambiguously. 'If you get yourself 
killed,' he added. 
'Then you do have some idea what may have happened to the missing children?' 
asked Sarah. 
He shrugged. 'No,' he answered, dashing her hopes. 'But I know who might. 
Factory man.' 
Sarah started to feel hopeful once again. 'Factory man?' she asked. 
Billy gestured with the knife. 'Go see him,' he suggested. 'Look hard. Now just 
go' 
Knowing she'd get no more this time, Sarah nodded. 'All right, Billy. Thank you 
for your help. I promise I will do my best to find your friends, too. I'll let 
you know if I find anything out.' 
'Don't do me favours,' Billy snapped. But he looked at least part-way pleased at 
her response. 
Returning to Kipling and his companions, Sarah asked, 'What do you know about a 
factory man?' 
Kipling scowled. 'You must mean old Breckinridge. He owns a factory on the 
outskirts ofBodham. You must have seen it as you came into town. Big, modem and 
very impressive. He's really into progress and what-have-you. Shame he's such an 
unpleasant fellow, though.' 
'Does the fish-boy think that Breckers has something to do with Anders' 
disappearance?' asked Beresford. 
'Billy does,' Sarah said, stressing the youngster's name. 'And with a few 
others, too.' 
'Can't think why he'd want to,' Dunsterville said. 'He's a mean sort, but not 
such a bad egg.' 
'Maybe he's a worse egg than you think,' Sarah told him. 'Why don't we go and 
see if we can have a chat with him?' 
'I'm game,' agreed Kipling. 'I'll be scout.' He set off down the road. 
Sarah followed behind, ignoring Beresford's comments as he droned away. She 
couldn't help wondering whether Dunsterville had a point: why would a successful 
factory owner be connected to missing children? Was it possible that Billy was 
sending her on a wild goose chase just to get rid other? 
  
As the Doctor reached the Pig and Thistle, he halted and turned to Sir 
Alexander. 'Why don't you and Doctor Martinson order up some lunch?' he 
suggested. 'I'd like to see if Captain Gray is back on the Hope yet. I've an 
idea that he may be able to clear up a few items that are nagging at the back of 
my mind. If he's not back yet, Doyle can leave him a note to get in contact with 
us when he does return.' 
'Oh, very well,' the magistrate agreed. 'Though I still think you're off hunting 
red herrings. Doctor.' 
The Doctor grinned. 'I've a particular fondness for herrings,' he replied. 'Come 
on, Doyle.' He started down the wharf toward where the Hope lay at anchor. 'Do 
you think I'm off on a tangent here also?' 
Doyle shrugged. 'I have to admit. Doctor, that it does look like you're 
connecting matters that are unrelated. On the other hand, your scientific 
methods are impeccable, and you are certainly skilled at deduction. I'm willing 
to indulge in a few wild ideas if they help to settle this case.' 
He rubbed his hands together eagerly. 'And it certainly is proving to be a most 
fascinating affair, isn't it?' 
'It would be more fascinating,' the Doctor replied, 'if people weren't dying. 
But it is unique.' They had reached the plank leading up to the whaler now. 
'After you, my dear chap.' 
'Thank you.' Doyle led the way aboard. There was no one in sight on deck, and 
Doyle gestured. 'The captain's quarters are over here,' he said. 
'Where is everyone?' the Doctor asked. 
'Shore leave,' Doyle informed him. 'The captain gave us a day or so off while he 
concluded his deal, then the ship will head back home. I imagine most of the 
crew are off getting blind drunk while they can.' 
The Doctor nodded. It sounded more than reasonable. They reached the door to the 
captain's cabin, and Doyle rapped on it. 
The door swung slowly open. 
'Odd,' Doyle muttered. 'This is usually kept locked if-' 
There was a sudden flurry of movement and a hunched form shot out of the cabin, 
slamming into Doyle and knocking the medical man backward with a whoosh of 
breath. Doyle slammed into the Doctor, and they collapsed in a tangle of arms 
and legs. It took Doyle a moment to catch his breath and stagger back to his 
feet. 
'The scoundrel's getting away,' he wheezed, clutching his stomach with one hand 
and the wall of the cabin with the other. 
'Got away,' corrected the Doctor, regaining his own feet. 'I doubt either of us 
could catch up with him now. Besides, I know where I can find him anyway.' 
'You do?' asked Doyle, his face returning to its normal colour and his breathing 
regular once more. 'You recognized the man, then?' 
'Yes,' the Doctor said. 'I only saw him briefly last night, but there's no 
mistaking that nose and build. His name is Abercrombie, and he works for a 
Colonel Ross.' 
Frowning, Doyle followed the Doctor into Gray's cabin. 'He must have been here 
to rob the captain,' he said. 'We'd better let Faversham know, so he can arrest 
the villain.' 
'Not yet,' the Doctor cautioned. 'I'd like to know what he expected to find in 
here that's worth his while. Men who spend several months in the Arctic don't 
usually take many valuables with them, do they? If Gray is off-ship, he's not 
likely to leave much cash around either.' 
'True,' agreed Doyle, puzzled. 'We won't really get any money till we dock again 
in Peterhead and sell the bulk of the cargo.' He glanced around the cabin. 'Not 
much has been disturbed,' he observed. 
'Except this,' the Doctor answered. He gestured to the ship's log, which was 
open on the captains desk. 'To today's entries in fact.' He scanned the page. 
'Hello! Now that is interesting.' 
'What?' Doyle peered over the Doctor's shoulder. 
'Met with Breckinridge and Ross,' the Doctor read. He grinned. 'That was 
yesterday,' he said thoughtfully. 'Breckinridge again. He seems to be turning up 
at every twist in the road, doesn't he? And I wonder why your captain met with 
this mysterious Colonel Ross?' 
'And why was Ross's man here reading that?' Doyle asked, perplexed. 'Unless 
maybe he aimed to destroy the reference so we couldn't read it?' 
The Doctor snorted. 'Come on, Doyle. We wouldn't have even looked at it if 
Abercrombie hadn't left the page open.' He shook his head. 'Another mystery.' 
Doyle sighed. 'It seems as if at every turn, matters get more complex and 
confusing,' he complained. 
'I know,' agreed the Doctor happily. 'Isn't it fun? Right, leave Gray a note 
asking him to contact us as soon as he can, and let's be going. I'm famished.' 
  
There it is,' said Kipling. Sarah couldn't help noticing a distinct trace of 
pride in his voice. She remembered that he was very keen on progress, and had 
even written a couple of science-fiction stories as a young writer. 
'Breckinridge's factory.' 
It looked like one of Blake's 'dark, satanic mills' to Sarah. It was large, 
block-shaped and grim. Three tall chimneys were pouring thick, gritty fumes into 
the atmosphere. There were few windows visible in the walls, and the entire 
bottom half of the building was invisible behind a tall stone wall. A single 
road led to the structure, and the sound of machinery came from within, audible 
even at this distance of about a mile. 
'So what does he make?' she asked as they strode along briskly. She was glad 
that she had had a good breakfast and a rest before all this marching around. 
Bodham was only a small town, but it seemed as if everything she wanted to see 
was at opposite ends of it. The factory was on a small hill to the west of town, 
facing out into the bay. She could make out a pipe that led from the base of the 
hill and which was discharging into the sea. Pollutants, no doubt. 
'A jolly good living,' Kipling answered, grinning. 'Aside from that, wire and 
cables, I believe.' 
'Wire and cables?' Sarah was puzzled. 'Isn't this a trifle out of the way for 
such things? I would expect the market for them to be closer to London.' 
Kipling shook his head. 'Ah, but Breckinridge is a great believer in progress. 
He's talking about laying a telegraph line between England and the United States 
that would carry ten times the load of the ones Lord Kelvin laid fifteen years 
ago.' 
'And if that was done,' Sarah said, catching on, 'he'd be able to supply the 
necessary materials from here instead of having to ship them out from London. 
Clever!' 
'Rather,' agreed Kipling. 'This man has an eye on the future, no doubt about 
that. And he's very interested in the telephone. He came to our school last term 
and gave a talk about it being the future of communications, and even envisions 
a time when telephonic lines will cross the Atlantic and replace telegraphs. Its 
jolly interesting stuff.' 
Of course! This was 1880, and it was only a year since Bell had demonstrated the 
telephone to Queen Victoria. The great explosive growth of this new industry was 
poised to start. Breckinridge was definitely being visionary if he was already 
planning to take advantage of that new technology to lay submarine cables for 
it. 
Then why had she never heard of his name in that connection? He was certainly in 
the right place at the right time with the right product. Why hadn't he been one 
of the first media barons, then? Did his failure have something to do with the 
events that were unfolding? It was lucky that the TARDIS had brought them here, 
then, instead of meeting up with Kipling in ten years' time in India. 
Or was it luck? Too often, Sarah reflected, the ship had landed her and the 
Doctor right in the thick of things. Could it be nothing more than coincidence? 
Or was it possible that the TARDIS - or some other force, unknown as yet - was 
deliberately bringing the Doctor to points in space and time where help was 
needed? 
As she mused on this thought, they drew closer to the factory. There was a 
definite odour in the air now. All factories seemed to be intent on producing 
stench as a primary product, she reflected. There was a small guard box beside 
the door, and a bored-looking rat-faced man inside it. He glared at the four of 
them as they approached, as if irritated that they should deign to disturb his 
rest. 
'I'd like to see Mister Breckinridge, please,' Sarah said firmly. 
'Sorry,' the guard replied. 'He's not available for visitors.' 
That wasn't a very encouraging start. 'When will he be back, then?' 
Rat-face sniggered. 'Did I say he was out? I just told you, he's not seeing 
visitors.' He was clearly enjoying his role as guardian of the gates. 
Sarah examined the gates carefully. There was no way through them without the 
man's permission, that was clear, and it didn't look as if he was interested in 
letting anyone pass. 'I'd prefer to hear Mister Breckinridge say that himself,' 
she snapped. 'Can you take a message to him?' 
'I'm a guard, not a messenger,' the man replied haughtily. 'I guard. I don't 
carry messages. And I was told point-blank not to let in visitors.' 
'Really?' Sarah glowered at him. 'Have you turned many others away today?' 
'No. You're the first. Goodbye.' 
'It's a waste of time,' Beresford said. 'Why don't we just go somewhere more 
interesting?' 
Sarah shrugged. For once she was inclined to agree with Beresford, but she 
wasn't going without firing off one last salvo. 'Well, tell Mister Breckinridge 
that I was here, please. The name is Sarah Jane Smith, and I'm staying with Sir 
Edward Fulbright. You could mention that I was asking about missing children.' 
Rat-face scowled at her. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he demanded. 
Sarah smiled sweetly. 'If you were a messenger and not a guard, I might explain. 
Bye.' She waved, and started back towards the village. Let's see what effect 
that produces, she mused. If any, of course. Her three musketeers promptly fell 
in beside her. She'd have felt better about them if they weren't continually 
staring at her ankles or her chest. She knew she had their attention only 
because they were hoping to take advantage of her later. Fat chance, she 
thought. 
She gave a start as Billy suddenly stepped out into the road ahead of them. He'd 
been behind a tree, and Kipling and his friends yelped and almost jumped out of 
their skins. Billy sneered at them. 
'I can see why you needed my help,' he told Sarah. 'Brave as rabbits, they is.' 
Beresford stepped forward. 'You want a serious duffing-up?' he growled. 
Billy produced his knife, and Beresford retreated again. Giving a crooked grin, 
Billy winked at Sarah. 'I followed along to make sure ye were on the level,' he 
explained. 'You really are looking for the missing 'uns, aren't ye?' 
'Yes,' Sarah agreed. She was starting to quite like this little hoodlum. For one 
thing, she liked the subduing effect he had on Kipling and company. 'But I 
didn't get very far, did I?' 
'Didn't think the factory man would hand them over, did ye?' 
'No,' admitted Sarah. 'But I would have liked the chance to meet this 
Breckinridge. I've got good instincts, and the nose of a reporter. If he tried 
to cover up anything, I'd know.' 
'I like ye,' Billy said. He stuck out a filthy hand. 'I'll help ye.' 
Wondering how many diseases she was risking, Sarah shook his hand gingerly. 
'Thanks, Billy. But help me how?' 
'Me mates'll look and listen,' he promised. 'Anything turns up, I'll fetch ye. 
You've me word on it.' 
'You wouldn't trust a tramp like that, would you?' asked Dunsterville in 
disgust. 'I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.' 
'You wanna throw me,' Billy said slyly, 'you can try.' 
'There's no need to fight,' Sarah told them all firmly. 'Yes, I do trust Billy. 
On his own, there's not much he can do. Joining forces with us makes us all 
stronger.' She turned to the beggar boy. 'You can find me - ' 
'I can find ye when I want,' Billy said, sniffing loudly in disdain. 'Don't need 
no map.' He tossed her a ragged salute and dived off the road into the trees 
again. Within seconds there was neither sight nor sound of him. 
'Interesting character,' said Sarah. She was most amused by the look of disgust 
and irritation on the faces of the three boys left with her. They all knew they 
had been outdone, and by a boy they felt utter contempt for. 'Cheer up,' she 
told them. 'Maybe you'll actually be of some use later.' The looks on their 
faces almost made up for the troubles she'd endured at their hands so far. It 
was starting to shape up into a fine day after all. 
Still, where was she actually getting? She'd really discovered nothing of much 
use, and her only gains thus far were to have three schoolboys and one drop-out 
join her side. She could only hope that the Doctor was having more luck. 
  
Ross could only hope that Abercrombie was having more luck than he was. He had 
managed to carry Alice back to her own room unobserved, and quickly checked that 
his booby-trap hadn't caused any serious medical condition. She would wake up 
when his little drug wore off in a couple of hours, but he wasn't expecting her 
to have no clue as to what had happened to her. When she awoke, there was going 
to be trouble. 
He couldn't afford to wait around for that. It was bad enough that she suspected 
his motives and that her father was so implacable in his own suspicions. Now she 
finally had some proof for her theory that Ross was up to no good. After all, 
why would a man with nothing to hide set traps on his luggage for the unwary? 
There was no option but for him to leave before she awoke. He couldn't possibly 
get out of here with all his luggage for the moment, which meant leaving it 
until later. On the other hand, he doubted that anyone else would be foolish 
enough to try and open it, given Alice's experience, so it should be safe enough 
for now. 
If only there had been some sign of what she was after! 
Carefully removing several items from his locked trunk, Ross reset the traps and 
then locked the case again. He slipped the items into his pockets, save for the 
rifle case. That he would have to carry. He glanced at his watch and frowned. 
Abercrombie should have been back by now if everything had gone well. That 
suggested another problem. Just what he needed. Why couldn't this whole thing 
have worked as smoothly as most of his jobs? 
He eased open the door to his room and carefully scanned the corridor outside. 
There was no sign of any of the servants, so he slipped out. Staying close to 
the wall and poised to hide if necessary, he made his way to the stairs leading 
to the rear exit of the Hall. There he paused, hearing the soft sound of 
movement on the stairs. He glanced around and then moved to the closest door. It 
was locked, but to his skeleton keys that was no bar. He moved into the room and 
closed the door almost entirely, leaving the barest crack to peer through. The 
room was an unmade guest room, and smelled vaguely fusty. 
He stiffened as there came the sound of someone entering the corridor, and then 
breathed a sigh of relief. It was Abercrombie, trying to sneak into the Hall 
unobserved as he'd been instructed. As Abercrombie passed the room, Ross opened 
the door and tapped his companion on the shoulder. 
Abercrombie squealed and jumped, then spun about so fast he almost fell over. 
'Stone the crows,' he complained, seeing who it was. 'You enjoyed that, didn't 
you?' 
'Yes,' admitted Ross. 'About face; we have to leave immediately.' 
'How come?' 
'Miss Fulbright attempted to open my luggage,' Ross answered, waving the little 
man back towards the stairwell. 
'Blooming Ada,' Abercrombie muttered, scutding back down the stairs. 'That's 
torn it.' 
'It has indeed,' agreed Ross. 'We'd better lay low until this evening.' He 
hefted the wooden case he was carrying. 'I've brought the Townsend.' 
Abercrombie made a face. 'You going to have to use it?' 
Ross sighed. 'I doubt I'll have any option but to kill,' he replied. They had 
reached the base of the stairs. Beyond was a door to the servants' quarters, and 
he could hear sounds of activity and voices through there, but this side was 
clear. He led the way out to the rear of the Hall, and then sprinted for the 
closest trees. A moment later, Abercrombie joined him. 'Until this evening, we'd 
better lay low,' he said. 'Meanwhile, how did your research fare?' 
'Good and bad,' his companion answered sourly. 'Did you bring any food? I'm 
famished.' 
'No, there was no time. About your findings?' 
Abercrombie scowled at the news, and then smiled as he delivered his own. 'He's 
here,' he reported. 'At the factory.' 
'Excellent,' Ross replied. 'Typical, isn't it? Only two possible locations, and 
I selected the wrong one.' 
Abercrombie shrugged. 'Can't win them all,' he opined. 'So, do we go down to 
break in now?' 
'Not just yet,' Ross replied. 'First things first. The factory can wait until 
the morning, I think.' 
'What about me stomach?' asked Abercrombie, rubbing it as he spoke. 'I need food 
to keep going.' 
'We could try getting a bite to eat at the local tavern,' Ross suggested. 
'That might not be such a great idea,' his companion replied. 'That Doctor bloke 
and another geezer spotted me on the ship. 
Ross gave him a severe look. 'You're slipping up. But you're right. We'd best 
not go back to the village, in case they arrest you.' 
Abercrombie looked wistful. 'Yeah. But they'd feed me.' With a deep, mournful 
sigh, he followed Ross into the woods. 
'Maybe we can fmd you some nuts,' Ross suggested with a smile. 
'Do I look like a ruddy squirrel?' 
  
Sarah was just getting her appetite when they arrived back at the tavern. There 
had been no sign of the Doctor or his companions at the barn, and even the body 
of old Ben Tolliver had vanished. Since the carriage was still waiting, Sarah 
realized that the Doctor was probably still investigating. As it was past noon, 
the tavern was open and several of the locals were already inside, pints and 
pipes in hand and mouth. 
Jen Walker was there, collecting and refilling glasses. She nodded at the back 
room. 'Your mate's in there,' she said. 'Tucking into a pie.' 
'What a marvellous idea,' said Kipling loudly. 
'Come on,' Sarah said, realizing she was unlikely to be rid of her three shadows 
for a while. She crossed the smoke-filled lounge and moved into the slightly 
less smoky air of what passed for a dining room. As the barmaid had said, the 
Doctor was there, cheerfully eating a large wedge of some kind of local pie. Sir 
Alexander and Doctors Doyle and Maninson were also enjoying a meal and a glass 
of wine. 
'Ah, there you are,' the Doctor called out. 'And your cheering section, too.' He 
gestured at the empty seats about the large table. 'Make yourselves 
comfortable.' 
'Absolutely,' said Kipling, snatching up a spare plate and cutting himself a 
large chunk of the steaming pie. His two friends followed suit, and settled down 
to stuff their faces. 
It was a good thing Sarah hadn't really been expecting better manners of them. 
She helped herself to a smaller piece of pie and sat beside the Doctor. 'So,' 
she asked conversationally, 'how was your morning?' Doyle passed her a glass of 
the white wine, which she accepted gratefully. The pie was delicious, and as she 
ate she listened to the Doctor and Doyle recounting their findings. Then she 
told them other own escapades. 
'You've done well, as always,' the Doctor said approvingly, as he cleaned his 
own plate. 'Smart move to win over young Billy like that.' 
Doyle frowned. 'I think it's dashed irregular to use young urchins as agents,' 
he complained. 
'But very wise,' the Doctor countered. 'People are used to seeing them about, 
and they can go places and listen in where an adult would be immediately 
suspected as a spy. And from the sound of things, young Billy is likely to turn 
up any amount of helpful information.' 
'What concerns me, though,' Sir Alexander interjected, 'is all this stress 
you're laying on poor old Breckinridge. The man's merely a businessman who's 
helped out the village when he didn't have to. I feel certain that he's innocent 
of involvement.' 
'He may be,' agreed Sarah. 'But unless we can check him out, we won't know for 
certain.' She gave the magistrate a winning smile. 'You know him; can't you 
arrange for him to allow us to visit the factory?' 
Sir Alexander flushed slightly, obviously appreciating her attention. 'I can but 
try, young lady. When I get home later, I'll send a man around to ask.' 
The Doctor nodded. 'We'll assume that Breckinridge agrees,' he commented. 'That 
means tomorrow at the soonest will be a visit to the factory.' 
'Is that a problem?' 
'No.' The Doctor gave another of his wide smiles. 'After all, tonight we go out 
hunting the beast of the moors.' He smiled at Doyle. 'Are you up to that, do you 
think?' 
Doyle nodded eagerly. 'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' he announced. 'The 
game's afoot!' 
5
Hounded
Sir Alexander remained behind in the village when their late lunch was finished. 
Kipling, Beresford and Dunsterville reluctantly took their leave. Doctor 
Martinson shook the hands of the Doctor and Doyle before heading back to his own 
home to finish the death certificate on Tolhver. That left only Doyle to 
accompany the Doctor and Sarah back to Fulbright Hall. 
As the coach ambled through the countryside, Sarah turned to the Doctor. 'Is any 
of this becoming clearer to you?' she asked. 
'Not really,' he answered cheerfully. He had slouched down in the seat, the bnm 
of his deerstalker pulled down over his eyes in an attempt to make it look as 
though he were sleeping. Sarah knew him too well to believe this ruse, and knew 
that he was merely attempting to avoid answering any questions she or Doyle 
might have. 
'Do you have any idea what is going on here?' she persisted. 
'I always have ideas,' he answered sombrely. 'But until I have more information, 
I'm not going to share them. If we can capture this beast tonight, then I'll be 
able to be more specific. Until then, all I have is theories.' 
Doyle shifted eagerly in his own seat, opposite Sarah. 'What is this monstrous 
hound like?' he asked. 
'Like a monstrous hound,' she answered. 'It's huge, and its mouth is filled with 
razor-sharp fangs. It's like nothing I've ever seen on Earth before.' 
'Intriguing,' Doyle mused. 'An unearthly hound, eh? Sounds like the perfect idea 
for a story.' 
Sarah couldn't hide a smile. 'Believe me, it is.' She gave one of the Doctors 
knees a poke. 'Oi, you going to be like this all the way back?' 
'Yes, and probably much later,' the Doctor muttered through his hat. 'I'm sure 
you can amuse yourself until the hunt.' 
'I'm sure I'll have to,' Sarah answered. He was in his usual taciturn mood 
again, and she knew he was feverishly thinking through what they had discovered 
so far, as well as planning their evening's escapades. She chatted pleasantly 
with Doyle about his adventures on the whaler, and his plans to enter private 
practice when he returned to Edinburgh. 
As the coach rolled to a halt outside Fulbright Hall, Sarah was startled to see 
Sir Edward come running down the steps, his face ashen. Ignoring the footman's 
offered hand, she jumped down to the gravel. 'What's wrong?' she asked. 
'It's Alice,' he said. 'One of the servants found her in her room, unconscious. 
I hoped that the Doctor might be able to explain - ' 
Doyle and the Doctor virtually leaped from the landau, Doyle clutching his 
medical bag. 'I'm a doctor, sir,' he said briskly. 'I'd be happy to offer my 
opinion.' 
'Thank you,' said Sir Edward gratefully. 'This way.' He led the three of them up 
to Alice's room. Roger was there, wringing his hands helplessly, as was one of 
the serving maids, presumably the girl who had discovered Alice. 
It took Doyle and the Doctor a very brief time to come to the same conclusion. 
'She's been drugged,' Doyle explained. 'The effects should wear off in a short 
while and leave her with no ill effects.' 
'Drugged?' her father exclaimed, aghast. 'But who would do such a thing?' 
The Doctor glanced around the room. 'Offhand,' he suggested, 'I'd suspect the 
one person missing from this picture. Which is Colonel Ross's room?' 
Roger gave a strangled cry. 'You can't think that Edmund would possibly - ' 
'I can and I do,' the Doctor snapped. 'He's a very secretive person, and he's 
conspicuous by his absence.' 
'But he's my friend,' protested Roger. 'I'm sure - ' 
'I'm sure you're a blithering idiot,' Sir Edmund grunted. 'Come along, Doctor. 
I've long said that the man is a scoundrel. Let's take a look in his room.' 
Sarah was torn for a moment between staying to look after Alice, who she rather 
liked, and keeping up with the action. Action won, and she gave Doyle a quick 
wave before diving after the Doctor and Sir Edward. 
Ross's room was further down the corridor, past the one Sarah had been given. 
Sir Edward rapped hard on the door and then threw it open. 'Nobody here,' he 
reported, disappointed. 
'But his bags are,' the Doctor said, going to his knees in front of the first. 
He didn't touch it until he had conducted a thorough examination of the straps. 
'Aha!' he exclaimed happily. 'Just as I expected.' Taking his magnifying glass 
from his pocket, he held up the strap using the handle. Sarah saw the glint of 
something in the leather. 'Ingenious. He's booby-trapped it so that anyone who 
opens his bags unaware gets drugged.' 
Sarah frowned. 'So you're saying that Alice was trying to rummage through his 
things?' 
'It looks that way,' the Doctor agreed. 'She was obviously suspicious of his 
motives and wanted some information.' His eyes sparkled. 'I wonder why Ross felt 
it necessary to rig this kind of trap for his bags? It's hardly the action of an 
honest man, is it?' 
The man's a scoundrel,' repeated Sir Edward. 'I should have Faversham arrest 
him.' 
'On what charge?' asked the Doctor. 'He hasn't actually done anything criminal 
that we know of, and the only way your daughter could have been injected is if 
she were burgling his trunk. I think we'd be better off leaving the constable 
out of this.' 
'But we have to do something,' protested Fulbright. 
Sarah jerked her head at the two trunks. 'He won't go too far without his 
luggage, will he?' she said. 'That they're rigged suggests there's stuff in 
there he needs.' She looked down at the Doctor. 'You going to open them up?' 
He shook his head. 'I don't think so. There may be other traps, and I doubt Ross 
would have left anything terribly incriminating behind. Let's just wait for him 
to turn up again, shall we?' 
'So now what?' asked Sarah. 
Getting to his feet, the Doctor slipped his glass back into his pocket. 'Rest,' 
he suggested. 'We'll need all our energies and wits tonight when the sun goes 
down.' 
  
The hunger in his stomach almost overcame the fear in his soul. Waiting in the 
ancient mine for the sun to go down taxed him almost beyond endurance. He tried 
to sleep, but hunger continually wakened him. It was only the certainty that if 
he ventured out in the daylight then he might as well just kill himself that 
kept him from throwing aside caution and padding out onto the moors. 
The wind had risen, whipping at the grasses and sparse shrubs, bringing to his 
sensitive nostrils the scents of life. He could almost taste the prey in his 
mouth, feel the blood pulsing in their furry bodies, hear their bones snap as he 
bit down . . . He whimpered in agonized indecision, desperately wanting to feed, 
but terrified of the consequences. 
He had not asked for this fate, didn't deserve it. Why was he so tortured and so 
afflicted? He stared down at the paws he now possessed instead of hands. They 
were much more powerful in some ways than his old hands bad been. He could kill 
with a single blow, and the claws be possessed could rip through branches, bone 
or flesh. but he couldn't hold a pencil. And his mouth! The fangs he had grown 
were capable of ripping the throat out of a horse, but he had lost the ability 
to speak. All he could manage were the whimperings he was now producing, or the 
growls, barks and howls that he gave vent to in the night. 
Despite all of that, he knew that he had been human once. A long, long time ago. 
Now - what was he? Neither man nor beast but some terrible, cruel mixture of the 
two, twin natures that could never intermix as his physical forms had done. 
He wanted to howl out his pain, his fear and his rage, but he knew that would 
bring the hunters to him faster. One day, he was sure, they would kill him. One 
day, perhaps, he would get some peace in the arms of death. He wasn't afraid of 
that so much. Death would be welcome, though he would never actively seek it. 
What terrified him the most was that he might not be killed. He'd been human 
once. He knew what people would do with him if they ever captured him. 
Worse, he knew what Ross would do if he found him. This was all because of Ross 
in the first place! Had it not been for the man, he wouldn't be in this state. 
He would still be human. If he was doomed to die, he'd die happily if he could 
only kill the man who had done this to him. He envisioned fastening his fangs 
into Ross's throat and shaking the man like a rat until his spine cracked, his 
skull split and he could eat the fiend's brains for a final meal! Ah, then they 
could kill him! 
But he knew that he was fooling himself. There was no chance that Ross would 
give him the opportunity for vengeance. Ross was too smart for that. He'd have 
others out to do his work. The hunters would be others, either bought by Ross or 
else fooled into doing his black deeds. 
Hunger gnawed at his insides again, and he whimpered once more. He stopped 
pacing up and down in the confines of the tunnel and stared at the darkening 
sky. It would be twilight in an hour, and then he could venture out. In the 
darkness, he knew, he could give any human the slip. All he needed to do was to 
kill, quickly and silently, the first prey he came across. 
And if it was a hunter, a human? Well, so much the worse for that man, then. He 
had only wished to be left alone, and the men with their guns wouldn't allow him 
to live. So be it. If there was to be a confrontation, he would not shy from 
killing. 
And, though the thought was repugnant, his stomach insisted that good food could 
not be wasted. Has it come to this? he agonized. Am I really considering 
cannibalism? 
But was it cannibalism? He had been human once -but he was not human now, and 
could never be again. He'd take animal flesh if he could, and he was more animal 
than human now. If that was right, how could it be wrong to feast on the flesh 
of those who would kill him? He resolved that he would kill whatever prey came 
to him first, man or beast. And he knew that he would eat anything that was 
presented to him. 
He settled down to await the setting of the sun. Then the hunt would begin. 
  
Alice joined the rest of them in the dining room for an early supper, though she 
didn't eat much. She insisted that she was feeling much better, but appeared 
pale and still tired despite her long, enforced rest. Roger fussed over her, and 
her father appeared much relieved. Sarah could see that Sir Edward was genuinely 
fond of his daughter. Despite his somewhat gruff manner, she realized that 
Fulbright was actually quite a pleasant person. He became much more animated 
with the reappearance of Alice. 
After they had eaten, he led them all onto the patio overlooking the back lawns 
and the beautiful fountain. Sipping at her wine, Sarah found it very relaxing to 
be here. It was difficult to turn her mind to the evening's activities. She 
simply wanted to sit out here and enjoy the cool of the dying afternoon. Despite 
the rising breeze, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. 
'I've arranged for the grooms to prepare four horses for us,' Sir Edward told 
the Doctor. 'I take it you can ride?' 
'Naturally,' the Doctor answered. He looked satiated. Considering how much of 
the supper he'd packed away, Sarah reflected, he should. 'And so can Sarah.' 
'Miss Smith?' Sir Edward stared from her to the Doctor. 'I assure you sir, this 
is no expedition for a woman.' 
'And I assure you,' the Doctor retorted before Sarah could start her own 
protest, 'that I would sooner have Sarah beside me than any three men. I know I 
can rely on her implicitly.' 
'Thank you,' Sarah said, touched by his compliment. He wasn't often that 
generous with his praise. 
'But it's not right!' spluttered Sir Edward. 
'You'd better accept that I'm coming,' Sarah told him. She turned to Alice. 'I 
hope I can borrow a pair of riding trousers, though.' 
Sir Edward almost had apoplexy. 'Men's clothing? What is this world coming to?' 
Alice patted his hand. 'Don't be so old-fashioned, Papa,' she said. 'I'm quite 
sure that Sarah and the Doctor know what they are doing. And a dress is so 
impractical for a hunt, isn't it? She smiled wistfully. 'If I were not so weak, 
I'd want to come along as well.' 
'Never!' her father vowed. Then he sighed. 'Oh, very well. I suppose I have no 
choice but to agree.' He took a swig of his own brandy. 'I'd better have them 
ready five horses, I suppose.' 
'Four should be sufficient,' the Doctor replied. 'I think it would be better for 
Roger to stay here and look after Alice.' 
'Here, I say!' Bridewell exclaimed. 'I'm jolly well coming if she is. I can 
handle a gun.' 
'Probably not as well as Sarah,' the Doctor informed him. 'Anyway, I aim to 
capture the creature, not blow its brains out.' He gave Bridewell a wide grin. 
'Besides, if your friend Ross reappears, I think it would be better for you to 
be here to question him, don't you?' 
'If Ross turns up,' Alice promised, 'I shall make certain-he is here when you 
return, if I have to sit on top of him!' 
Sir Edward sighed. 'What is this world coming to? Women shooting and hunting, 
and now me own daughter talking about getting into a fight.' He shook his head. 
'That's what comes of living in a country ruled by a Queen, I suppose.' 
Sarah laughed. 'Cheer up,' she told him. 'You may grow to like it.' She turned 
to Bridewell. 'Please do as the Doctor suggests,' she begged. She wasn't sure 
why, but she had a definite suspicion that the Doctor was simply trying to get 
rid of Roger. 
'Oh, very well,' Bridewell agreed with a sigh. He took Alice's hand. 'I wish I 
were coming along, though. It sounds like such sport.' 
Alice laughed. 'I promise, Roger, you won't be bored in my company.' 
'Time for you to change, Sarah,' the Doctor observed. Then meet us at the 
stables. By the time you're ready, we can set off for the moors.' 
'I say,' exclaimed Doyle, draining his glass. 'This is jolly exciting, isn't 
it?' 
'The best is yet to come,' the Doctor promised. 
  
After she'd changed, Sarah hurried down to the stables. Sir Edward gave her an 
askance look but didn't comment on the trousers and jacket she was now wearing. 
Instead he simply handed her a rifle. 'You can really use this?' he asked. 
'Want to see me try?' asked Sarah cheekily. 
'No,' he answered, managing a slight smile. 'I suppose I am rather too 
hidebound, aren't I?' 
'To be honest,' she told him, 'I think you're doing pretty well, all told.' She 
accepted the reins of a rather fine mare. 'She's beautiful. Aren't you, girl?' 
Sarah patted the mare's nose, and slipped the rifle into the boot on the saddle. 
She mounted the horse and rode over to where the Doctor was waiting. 'You didn't 
want Roger along, did you?' she asked softly. 
'No,' he agreed, just as quietly. 'I think our friend Colonel Ross may turn up, 
and I'm not sure whose side our Mister Bridewell would take. I preferred not to 
have him make a choice. Besides,' he added with a grin, 'what could he do that 
you can't?' 
'Not a lot,' laughed Sarah. 
Sir Edward rode over, and one of the grooms handed them all dark lanterns and 
matches. 'Right,' the aristocrat said. 'I think we're ready. Now, stay close to 
me. The moors are considerably more dangerous than they might appear, and twice 
as bad at night. There are marshes and bogs that undoubtedly contain several 
bodies, and I'd be happy if we didn't add any more.' 
'I'll drink to that,' Sarah muttered. The thought of being sucked to her death 
at the bottom of a bog was discomforting, but she intended to see this through. 
Sir Edward nodded, then turned to the Doctor. 'As I promised, Doctor, I'll give 
you your chance to capture this beast alive. But if it looks like any of us are 
in danger, or that the creature will escape, I aim to shoot it down like the 
animal it is. I trust you can accept those terms?' 
'You're being more than fair,' the Doctor answered. 'I am certain that we won't 
be in danger from this creature, but if there is trouble then I won't hesitate 
to kill it either.' 
'Excellent.' Sir Edward gave them all a tight smile. 'Then let us be off.' 
Sarah fell in behind him as they filed out of the stables and down the riding 
path. There was a slight queasiness in her stomach that she knew was nerves. 
While she'd faced greater troubles beside the Doctor - not least of which being 
the all-too-recent hunt for Morbius on the devasted surface of Karn - there was 
always something indescribably eerie about the unknown on Earth. She was fairly 
sure that the Doctor knew what he was doing, but there was always the knowledge 
that he also had a habit of messing up rather badly from time to time. She could 
only hope that this wasn't one of those times. 
The ride was pleasant, with the setting sun tinting the woodland landscape in 
rich autumn colours. The wind was getting colder, however, as the sun paused on 
the horizon before bidding them all goodnight. Sarah shivered, and knew that 
only part of this was due to the chill. 
The path led them out onto the moors proper, and it was as bleak and raw a 
landscape as any that even Kam could have offered. Grasses and stunted shrubs 
were littered haphazardly across the moors, but the soil over the base rocks was 
too thin to support much growth. What little that struggled to survive had to 
compete with the winds that seemed eager to hurl any growths away. In the 
gathering gloom, the pathside pools and swampy areas were little more than 
patches of black in the grey landscape. 
Sarah could see why the locals so fervendy believed that this was a landscape 
carved by the devil himself, and that the forces of evil walked about here when 
honest folks were warm and safe abed. Given her choice, that was where Sarah 
would have been by now. But she couldn't desert the Doctor when he might have 
need of her. 
She glanced at Doyle, who seemed to be enjoying this adventure. It was a long 
time since she'd read his Hound Of The Baskervilles, but she recalled enough 
details to know that at least part of what he was experiencing this night would 
end up in the novel. Was the creature they were after the basis for the hound 
itself? Doyle had credited a local friend with the source of the legend, but 
perhaps that was to cover up his involvement in this strange hunt? She knew that 
none of his biographies had ever mentioned this stay-over in Devon. Nor had they 
mentioned his meeting with the young Kipling. But, as Sarah well knew, history 
was merely what posterity chose to record, and not necessarily what had actually 
occurred. 
The night pressed in close about them. There was the sound of an owl hooting in 
the distance, but few other signs of life. Sarah knew that deer lived out on the 
moors, as well as the hardy local ponies. There were smaller animals too, like 
hares and foxes, and no doubt plenty of mice to temp the owls. 
Plus there was the monster that they were after, whatever it might be. 
They rode in silence. Sarah kept her eyes darting about, but there was less and 
less to see. Bizarre rock formations melted into the darkness, and the weird, 
twisted stumps of trees ceased to stand out against the black sky. There was no 
moon again, probably because of clouds, since there were few stars glittering 
either. It was like riding on the far side of the moon, far from any life at 
all. 
After a while, Sir Edward gestured to a side path. 'That should take us close to 
where we lost the creature last night,' he said softly. 'We'll have to camp out 
once we reach the bogs and wait. I daren't take us further.' 
'It will come to us,' the Doctor informed him. 'The poor creature is most likely 
starving. It must take a great deal of fresh meat to keep a beast that size 
alive.' 
'Good.' Sir Edward snapped his reins and his steed slowly took the side path. 
Sarah's mare shied slightly, nickering a soft protest. It could probably smell 
the spoor of the creature they were after. Sarah gently insisted that it stay on 
the path, and the horse reluctantly obeyed. The feeling of oppression grew 
stronger in Sarah now, along with a horrible feeling that there were eyes out in 
the darkness, watching her. She tried to shrug the impression off as being just 
a case of the jitters, but it wouldn't leave. If there was any basis in fact to 
it, it had to be just some wary animal out there. It couldn't be the monster, 
could it? 
After another ten minutes or so. Sir Edward halted. Sarah could barely see him 
on his steed now, the night was so dark. 'This is as far as I dare go,' he 
called softly. 'We'd better leave the horses here.' 
Sarah slid off her mare and tied its reins to one of the twisted trees. The mare 
whinnied softly, then settled down as Sarah rubbed its nose. 'Easy, girl,' she 
murmured. 'Everything's fine.' She drew her rifle, though, and felt comforted 
holding it. Stepping out, she fell in with the Doctor, Doyle and Fulbright. 
Together they moved further into the darkness. A minute or so later, the 
aristocrat signalled a halt. 
The Doctor nodded and bent to examine the ground. There was the rasp of a match 
and the barest nicker of a flame in his cupped hands as he looked around. Then 
he blew out the light. 'Its not emerged yet,' he reported almost inaudibly. 
'Positions.' 
Sarah nodded. Ahead was the mire, and behind the pathway leading back to their 
mounts. Around were the tumbled remains ofboulders. She moved to one of them, 
which was an outcropping of cold stone about ten feet tall. She setded down on a 
flattish portion and composed her mind to wait. There were soft sounds about her 
as the other three took their positions, and then silence. 
How long would they be here? Sarah was very alert right now, but she knew that 
the edge would be taken off her wits if the wait was too long. Still, if the 
Doctor was right, their target would be out as soon as it felt safe. Would it 
sense them? At least the wind was such that it would carry their scent away from 
the creature, so it wouldn't have that as a warning. 
To pass the time, Sarah tried making sense of what they had discovered so far. 
What connection could there be between grave-robbers, giant dogs, and monsters 
at sea that killed lone fishermen? What was Ross's role in all of this, and how 
did Breckinridge fit in? Or was he no more than an innocent party? What about 
the whaler, and the business its captain had in town? Try as she might, there 
was only one connection she could see - that this monster they hunted and the 
one that had killed Tolliver were hardly naturally occurring species for these 
parts. 
The Doctor had mentioned something about their quarry being evolutionarily odd. 
Was it possible that someone here had brought creatures from the deep past or 
future into the local area? She and the Doctor had encountered examples of 
temporal interference before, so she couldn't rule out the idea completely. If 
the monsters weren't from some other time, then just what was their origin? 
If she could only - 
She froze, blanking out her mind. In the darkness, from the direction of the 
mire, she'd heard the sound of splashing water. Hardly danng to breathe, she 
concentrated all her attention on her hearing. Had it been some nocturnal bird? 
Or an animal? Or was it the hound? 
For long seconds, she heard nothing more. Then came the rusde of something 
moving in the darkness. Her throat went dry and her palms went wet. She wiped 
her hand slowly and carefully on her trouser leg, and then gripped the rifle. It 
could well be the beast. 
She tried to see something, anything, in the darkness, but there was no use. 
Aside from a few jumbled shapes of the rocks, she could make out nothing. There 
was the sound of another footfall, and then a vagueness in the rocks. 
It was the creature. 
Then there was sudden movement to one side. The beast was poised - to run? to 
attack? - and the Doctor's voice broke the stillness. 
'SIT!' 
His best Barbara Woodhouse impression! Sarah almost laughed with giddy relief 
and shock at the silliness of the command. 
But the creature thumped to the ground. 
There was the glare of a match, and then she saw the Doctor holding up his dark 
lantern, its soft light cast over the eerie scene. She gasped as she saw the 
beast, which hunched down, shaking, eyes darting about the clearing. 
It was a dog, but not any kind of canine she'd ever imagined. Her startled 
glimpse of the creature as it had lumped over her the previous night had not 
been incorrect, but it had been incomplete. Sitting, it was still as tall as she 
was, its massive head staring straight at the Doctor's grin-flecked face. It was 
covered in shaggy fur, tangled and matted, dark in colour. Teeth glittered in 
the glow of the Doctors lantern, but the creature made no move to attack him. 
But it was the eyes that captivated Sarah. Large, expressive and filled with 
pain, sorrow and fear. And, despite everything, not the eyes of some dumb 
animal. There were definite signs of intelligence within them. 
'Lord!' breathed Doyle. 'That's a creature from the pits of hell itself!' His 
hand was shaking on the rifle he held. 
'No,' said the Doctor softly. 'You're a good boy, aren't you, fellow?' He 
reached up and scratched the monster under the chin. Then he reached into his 
pocket and pulled out a large, cold pork cutlet. 'Here we are, then.' He held it 
out to the beast. 
Sarah held her breath, expecting the creature to take the Doctor's arm with it. 
Instead, it gingerly set its teeth about the meat and then gulped the offering 
down. It looked at the Doctor, eager for more. 
'As I said,' the Doctor told his companions without looking around, 'he's as 
gentle as a lamb if handled properly. There's no need to harm him, is there?' 
'I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it,' said Sir Edward, still shaken 
by what he was witnessing. 'This is utterly extraordinary.' 
It certainly was, Sarah reflected. They were all standing about the creature 
now, the Doctor having returned to scratching its head as if the thing were a 
lap-dog. 'What is it?' she demanded. 
'I'm not entirely certain,' the Doctor replied. 'But its no more a dog than I 
am.' 
'It seems intelligent to me,' Sarah observed. She gave the beast an encouraging 
smile. 'Who's a good boy, then, eh?' She nervously reached out and patted its 
snout. 
The animal used its huge tongue to gently lick her fingers. 
Sarah couldn't help giggling as she shook her hand to get rid of the drool. 
'He's a friendly chap,' she commented. 
'Yes.' The Doctor stared at the creature darkly. 'I don't like its existence one 
little bit. There's something very-odd about it.' 
Then something changed. The beast suddenly sprang to its feet, its long snout 
twitching as if some scent had caught its attention. A low, savage growl seemed 
to roll out from the back of its throat, and its hackles started to rise. Sarah 
gasped and stepped back. The doctor whipped around, holding up his lantern. 
The beast exploded into action. A huge paw slammed Sarah out of the way as it 
sprang past her. She whirled around, crashing painfully to the ground, and saw 
only a jumble of images. There was Colonel Ross, caught in the glare of the 
Doctor's lantern beam. There was the beast, fangs bared, snarling and leaping. A 
soft phffi!, and she was aware that something Ross had been holding had been 
dropped, and Ross was gone. The monster fell, the growl changing to a cry of 
agony that ended in the gurgling of blood and a choking sound. Then silence 
before a veritable storm of sound: 
'I'll get the blackguard!' Doyle yelled, jumping forward. 
'No, man!' cried Sir Edward, gripping his arm and dragging him back. 'You'll 
only get lost in the dark and stumble into some pit!' 
There was the sound of the horses whinnying in fear and shock, and of Ross's 
footsteps fading into the night. 
And there was the Doctor, kneeling beside the fallen beast, its head cradled in 
his arms. 'He didn't have to do this,' he said, his voice filled with anger and 
pain. 
Doyle held out a hand and helped Sarah to her feet. 'Are you all right?' he 
asked, worried. 
'Only bruised and winded,' Sarah assured him, grimacing as she flexed her foot 
and stood on it. 'I've felt better, but I've felt worse, too.' She limped over 
to the Doctor and the fallen monster. She could see that half of the creature's 
chest seemed to have exploded, and blood was oozing out over the dirty fur. 
Bubbles showed that the lungs and probably the heart had been punctured. It was 
quite clearly dead. Sarah felt a pang of sorrow, but she could see there was 
much more in the Doctor's hearts. 
'There's nothing you can do,' she said softly. 
'There's plenty I can do,' he replied grimly. He let the dead beast's head 
settle down to the ground and wiped its blood off onto the fur. His eyes held a 
dangerous glimmer in them as he stood up. 'I want to know what Ross was up to,' 
he said coldly. 'He came here specifically to kill the poor thing.' 
'But what did he use?' asked Doyle, bewildered. 'I didn't hear a shot.' 
'It was a rather powerful air rifle,' the Doctor answered. 'Virtually silent. 
The weapon of an assassin, not a hunter. He didn't count on my hearing him, and 
obviously expected to kill and escape before we knew what was happening.' 
'Was it one of us he was aiming at?' asked Fulbright, shocked. 'I know he's a 
scoundrel, but I didn't think he'd stoop that low.' 
'No,' the Doctor answered. 'He aimed at the creature. Ross is obviously too good 
a shot to have been after anything else. He hit it through the heart as it 
moved. A difficult shot in the daylight, but almost impossible in this light. If 
I didn't abhor what he's done so much, I'd have to admire his skill.' 
Sarah couldn't quite grasp what the Doctor was talking about. 'You mean Ross 
came here to deliberately kill that monster?' 
'Yes.' The Doctor stared at her thoughtfully. 'I think he knew exactly what this 
poor beast was, and this is why he was staying at Fulbright Hall. He's connected 
to this travesty of nature rather intimately. He's going to have some questions 
to answer when I catch up with him. And I'll take great delight in beating the 
replies out of him.' 
Fulbright stared down at the dead creature. 'Well, Doctor, one way or the other, 
our work here is done. The poor thing is dead, and there will be no more 
killings.' 
'Done?' The Doctor looked at him as if he were insane. 'It's hardly begun!' He 
gestured down at the body. 'We have something very solid to work on now. I aim 
to perform an autopsy in the morning to see what this actually is.' 
'I'd be happy to help in any way I can,' Doyle said eagerly. 
'Good.' The Doctor sat down on a rock. 'I think that the best thing that you can 
do right now is all go back to the Hall and get a good nights sleep. I'll stay 
here and keep watch over the body. First thing in the morning. Sir Edward, I'd 
appreciate your returning with a cart large enough to carry this back to the 
Hall. And then lending me somewhere I can dissect it.' 
The aristocrat looked surprised, but then nodded. 'As you wish. Doctor. Your 
ideas have been good so far.' 
'And what about me?' asked Sarah. 'What am I supposed to do while you're up to 
your armpits in monster intestines?' 
'Ypu have to go and see Breckinridge, remember?' the Doctor reminded her. 'I 
want you to take a good look at the factory of his. Make sure it really is 
manufacturing cables' 
'And not monsters, eh?' Sarah grinned. 'Should be a doddle.' 
  
In the morning when Sarah went down to breakfast, she discovered Alice was 
feeling much better. Bridewell was very subdued, however, and Sarah realized he 
was probably trying to reconcile Ross's actions with their supposed friendship. 
Sarah was content to let him stew. She wasn't surprised to discover that Sir 
Edward and Doyle had both left at the crack of dawn with several servants and a 
cart to collect the slain monster. 
As he had promised. Sir Alexander arrived after breakfast was over. He had his 
own carriage and horseman, and had secured access to Breckinridge, as he had 
promised. Sarah was very grateful, and happy to have his company for the grand 
tour of the factory. On the trip out, the magistrate spent the time talking 
about his family and the local gossip. Sarah was content to allow him to chatter 
on. She couldn't help wondering what might turn up at the factory. 
There was a different man on the gate this morning, a heavier, duller-looking 
individual. As soon as he saw Sir Alexander Cromwell, he unlocked the gate and 
opened it. Very different from her last visit! It was amazing what money and 
influence could do. 
The journey from the gate to the main door was a short one. The factory was one 
main building of several storeys, with a cluster of a dozen or so smaller 
box-shaped constructions about it. Sarah assumed that they were storage sheds. 
There was a side entrance, presumably for the local workers to enter by, and a 
rather impressive large front doorway. Its two huge oak doors were open, and 
Sarah could see a short entrance hall beyond. 
Sir Alexander insisted on helping her from the carriage, and she linked arms 
with him to walk up the short flight of steps to the doors. As they entered the 
small hallway, Sarah saw that it was lined with glass cases showing the various 
forms of sizes of wires and cables the factory produced. To her surprise, the 
hallway was illuminated not by softly hissing gas lamps, such as were used at 
the Hall, but by glowing electrical lamps. 
'I wasn't aware that electrical lighting was commercially feasible yet,' she 
commented to Sir Alexander. 
'It isn't,' a voice said from a doorway. Sarah saw a tall, angular man emerge, 
his face illuminated by a wide smile. He was dressed conservatively but neatly, 
in a dark suit and with a dark tie over a white shirt. Small pince-nez glasses 
were perched on his thin nose, and mild blue eyes peered at her through them. 
His hair was dark, tinged with grey at the temples, thinning and swept back, 
showing a high forehead. 'I'm Tobias Breckinridge,' he said, extending a hand. 
'You must be the Miss Smith who was so eager to visit me yesterday.' 
'Sarah Jane,' Sarah replied, shaking his hand. 'I'm pleased you agreed to show 
me around.' 
'I am very proud of what I have accomplished here,' he answered. 'Sir Alexander 
has been very supportive of my work, and I do believe that I have latched onto 
the wave of the future.' 
'Like the lighting?' asked Sarah, gesturing at the lamps. 
'Quite.' Breckinridge's eyes glimmered as he stared at the closest. 
'Incandescent lamps. The invention just last year of the American Thomas 
Edison.' He blinked. 'Have you heard of him?' 
'Thomas Alva Edison?' Sarah grinned. 'Who hasn't? A genius, they say.' 
'I suspect they say it with great accuracy.' He waved his hand about. 'This 
factory would not have been possible without some of Edison's inventions. We are 
on the boundaries of science here. Miss Smith. I have an even dozen of his 
bipolar generators hard at work here. They power most of my machinery. Come, 
allow me to show you around.' 
'I've seen this before, Tobias,' the magistrate interrupted. 'And my legs aren't 
as up to this as they used to be. Would you mind if I sat this out?' 
'Of course not. Sir Alexander,' the factory owner said smoothly. 'I'll have my 
secretary bring you fresh tea.' 
'Dashed decent of you.' Sir Alexander smiled at Sarah. 'I'm sure you'll learn a 
few things on this tour. Most interesting. Wish I were up to it myself.' 
'Thanks.' Sarah turned to Breckinridge. 'I'm absolutely fascinated. Please, tell 
me all.' 
'Certainly.' He gestured for her to walk with him down the short corridor. 'It's 
very gratifying to discover a person of your age and sex who is interested in 
such mundane matters as my humble factory.' He opened the door ahead of them and 
ushered her through. 
'Don't be so modest. Mister Breckinridge,' she replied. 'This may be a factory, 
but it certainly isn't humble. You are, as you say, on the cutting edge of 
science here. And I'm fascinated by science. My colleague, the Doctor, is 
constantly teaching me about it.' 
The noise level had increased here, and Sarah saw that they had emerged onto the 
main floor of the building. There were large vats with smoke and steam rising 
from them. Trolleys on wheels ran from these vats across the floor to what 
looked like large lathes and presses. Beyond those, other machines were whirring 
and chuff-ing away, spinning threads into cables. There were almost a hundred 
men hard at work down here, Sarah estimated. Apart from brief glances, none of 
them stopped working as they passed. 
The vats are where we load the raw materials,' Breckinridge explained. 'We 
import iron and other metals mostly from the Midlands. I'm thinking of 
installing a railway line out here to bring them faster than the ships and 
carriages can at the moment. We get through quite an amount of iron, as I'm sure 
you can imagine. It's melted down in the vats. Next, we check the purity of the 
mix, and add whatever small trace metals are needed for conductivity. Then the 
resultant mix is extruded through the next batch of machines. There it is 
pressed into wire of uniform thickness and purity before being cooled and wound 
onto those large spools that you see. Some of these are simply shipped off. We 
have a large storage area at the back, and we continually receive and send 
supplies.' 
'And the rest of the machines?' asked Sarah, pointing to the far end of the 
floor. 
'There we spin and weave cables, Miss Smith,' Breckinridge explained. 'They are 
corded together in bundles for carrying electrical impulses. I'd take you down 
on the floor, but it is important to maintain safety. Besides your own, I am, of 
course, concerned with that of my men.' He gave her a smile. 'A lady as pretty 
as yourself might distract them from their labours, and inattention can be 
dangerous, if not fatal.' 
'I wouldn't want to cause trouble,' Sarah assured him. 
'Thank you.' Breckinridge gestured to a door beside them. 'This leads to the 
stairs to the next level. If you'd care to?' 
'Try and stop me,' Sarah said cheerfully. She opened the door and started off up 
the stairs. Breckinridge followed her up. They emerged into a short corridor, 
and when they closed the stairwell door behind them, the sound of the 
lower-level machinery was much diminished. 
'This floor contains such dull but essential departments as the accountants, the 
shipping clerks and the laboratories,' the owner explained. 
'Laboratories?' Sarah asked. 'You do research here, then?' 
Breckinridge laughed. 'Don't I wish! I am certain that we English could 
duplicate and surpass the achievements of Edison, given half the chance. After 
all, scientific method was mostly born in this country. Davy, Boyle, Kelvin and 
so forth. No, the laboratories are mosdy to check samples of the cable for 
accuracy and conductive properties, that kind of thing. You could take a look in 
if you wish, but you'd most likely find it rather boring.' 
'I'll take your word for it. Mister Breckinridge.' Was he being honest, or 
simply trying to divert her attention? Sarah wasn't absolutely sure what to make 
of the man. He appeared to be open and honest, and he certainly had a winning 
way about him. But was this merely illusion, to cover some hidden depths? Or was 
she searching for clues to something that didn't in fact exist? 'Is this 
everything?' 
'By no means!' Breckinridge's eyes sparkled. 'There is the final floor. I think 
you might well enjoy that. Come along.' He led her past the wooden and 
smoked-glass doors leading to the 'dull' areas, and to another door. As Sarah 
had expected, there was a further staircase beyond. 
'Have you thought of installing elevators?' she asked. 
'It had occurred to me,' he replied. 'But hydraulic elevators are not as 
efficient as they might be. I hear that our American cousins are experimenting 
with electrically powered models. I'm certain that they will soon become 
practical, and then I shall certainly install them. Until that time, alas, we 
have to endure the omnipresent stairs.' 
Sarah nodded, and followed him up to another door. This was locked, and 
Breckinridge removed the key on a chain from his waistcoat pocket. 'This is my 
private part of the factory,' he explained. 'This is where I come when I wish to 
relax or to cogitate.' Throwing open the door, he gestured her to precede him. 
Inside, Sarah was impressed. It was a single large room that must have spanned 
about a third of the entire floor. There was a gentle hum of machinery and the 
sound of water splashing gently, but it was otherwise quite serene. Large 
aquanum tanks lined the walls everywhere except by the windows. Inside the tanks 
swam all manner of species of fish. Sarah recognized a few of the species, but 
many were strange to her. Some of them were clearly foreign. She stared at 
Breckmridge in respect. 'An impressive collection of species,' she observed, 
nodding at one tank. 'Is that a sand shark?' 
'It is indeed.' His eyes lit up. 'You are an admirer of fish?' he asked 
hopefully. 
'Mostly with chips, I'm afraid,' Sarah admitted. 'But I realize this is a most 
impressive collection. Is this your hobby?' 
'More of an obsession, I'm afraid,' he admitted, like a boy with a guilty 
secret. 'And a fairly recent one, too. I began to study the oceans when I 
considered the laying of a telephonic cable to the continental United States. As 
I studied, marine life began to fascinate me. I've made a small fortune from my 
manufacturing plants here and in London, and was able to indulge my curiosity.' 
He gestured her over to the windows. 'I often stand here and simply stare out.' 
Sarah emulated him, and saw that from this vantage point the bay was visible. 
She could see the waves on the surface of the grey waters, and from time to time 
spume flying as the waves crashed against rocks in the water. It really was very 
pleasant in this lofty perch. 'Is that why you met with Captain Gray?' she 
asked. 'Does he supply you with some of these samples?' 
Breckinridge appeared surprised. 'You know about the captain?' 
'His ship's surgeon, Doyle, is helping my friend, the Doctor,' Sarah explained. 
'He mentioned that the captain bad business with you, that's all.' 
'Ah, I see.' Breckinridge shook his head. 'No, the captain does not bring live 
specimens back, I'm afraid. I met with him to offer him a job. I wish to finance 
my own cable-laying ship, and the good captain would be a perfect choice to 
skipper such a vessel. But, alas, I shall have to search elsewhere. Captain Gray 
is wedded to his love of whaling, it appears. I tried to convince him that 
whaling cannot last much longer, but he wouldn't listen. He knows that there are 
probably less than three hundred Greenland whales still in those waters, but 
seems impervious to suggestions that the whaling should at least pause for a 
while to allow their numbers to be replenished. A terrible shame.' 
'Quite.' Sarah was amazed at his enlightened attitude. 'One day, I'm sure, more 
people will feel as you do. Perhaps then the whalers can be put out of action. 
'I only hope it's soon. Miss Smith.' 
Sarah stared out of the window at the sea. So far, Breckinridge appeared to have 
been very honest and straightforward. She could see why men like Sir Alexander 
Cromwell and Sir Edward Fulbright were taken with him. This was the age of 
progress, and Breckinridge seemed poised to take advantage of it. 
A movement in the yard some eighty feet below caught her eyes. Several small 
figures were moving about between the small outbuildings. 'Are they children 
down there?' she asked, unbelieving. 
Breckinridge frowned at the tone in her voice. 'Yes. We have several dozen of 
them working here.' He gave Sarah a penetrating gaze. 'Ah, I take it that you're 
a supporter of Mundella's Act, and think that all children should be in school, 
not in work.' 
'I am. indeed,' said Sarah firmly. 
'I can sympathize with that point of view, Miss Smith,' Breckinridge answered. 
'But I don't actually agree with it, especially in these cases. You have to 
understand that the children you see down there are happy to work here.' 
'I'll just bet they are,' Sarah said sarcastically. 
That made him irritated. 'I see no cause for such animosity,' he snapped. 'Most 
of those children have lost their fathers at sea. They often have younger 
brothers and sisters dependent on them. Without the wages they earn here, they 
and their families might well all perish, and this nonsense about sending them 
to school wouldn't keep them alive. I feel that what I am doing here is helping 
them, not harming them.' 
Sarah realized that she was projecting ideas a hundred years in advance of their 
time on Breckinridge. It was unfair to judge him by the light of her era when he 
was doing what he believed to be nght. 'I'm sorry,' she apologized. 'It was rude 
of me to criticize you in that tone.' She stared down at the sad little figures 
in the courtyard below. 'Nevertheless, I do feel that they would be better off 
being educated than worked.' 
'And if the law passes,' Breckinridge said, 'we may well get to discover which 
of us is correct. You believe they will be helped. I believe they will simply 
avoid going and many will become transients upon the city streets, as they were 
before I helped them. Until then, perhaps we could declare a truce?' 
'Of course,' agreed Sarah. She smiled. 'I believe you're wrong, but I admit that 
you are sincere, and I have to admire you for doing what you believe is right.' 
Breckinridge was mollified. 'Good. And I admire your outspokenness. Miss Smith, 
for a cause you obviously believe in. Now, would you like tea and sandwiches 
with our truce? Or would you prefer to see more?' 
'A cup of tea would be marvellous.' 'Excellent.' He gestured toward the door. 
'Shall we go?' 
  
Thankfully, Sir Alexander didn't press her for details on the way back. Sarah 
was lost in her thoughts, unable to decide how she felt about Breckinridge, and 
whether he was merely a factory owner or something more sinister. She couldn't 
help wishing he'd seemed less idealistic and more exploitive. Then she'd have 
been happy to consider him the enemy. As it was, she simply couldn't decide. 
He had apparently shown her everything at the factory. She'd peeked in at the 
laboratories on the way downstairs, but they had seemed to be exactly the kind 
of thing he'd described. He'd even allowed her to look around the yard and chat 
to a couple of the children without interference, which strongly suggested that 
he was hiding nothing. And the two young boys she'd spoken to had been grateful 
for their jobs as messengers and carriers at the factory. As Breckinridge had 
claimed, they were orphans who were supporting siblings with their wages. 
Sarah sighed. It was so appealing to see the factory owner as a slave-driving 
villain, but the reality didn't resemble the prejudice much. He was enlightened 
and far-sighted. His schemes were all well within his grasp, and he showed a 
vivid certainty about the future that Sarah knew from experience was based in 
fact. 
And yet - he was unknown in her age. She couldn't understand this. He should be 
dominating the field within five years, and yet he was destined for obscurity 
somehow. Why? How come he had never achieved his dreams of world-spanning 
communications? It was going to happen, and Breckinridge should have been there 
on the ground floor. He was prepared to seize the opportunity. Something 
obviously was going to go badly wrong for him? But what? And could it be that 
she and the Doctor might be in a position to prevent it? She had often wondered 
what she would do if she were faced with the possibility of altering the past. 
Travelling in the TARDIS rendered such a thought more than academic. On her very 
first trip in the TARDIS, for example, she'd gone back to the Middle Ages. One 
change there could have affected the whole course of history. Now, here she was 
again, this time in Victorian England. 
She had met and was interacting with two of the most famous English writers of 
their day - Arthur Conan Doyle and Rudyard Kipling. A little nudge from her, the 
wrong word even, and their lives could be altered. And while it might not change 
the entire course of history if Kipling never wrote The Jungle Book, say, 
something wa^ bound to be affected. 
It was a tremendous responsibility to rest on her shoulders. She could see why 
the Time Lords, the mysterious race behind the Doctor's past, strongly forbade 
interference in the history of other worlds. Though even they would meddle if 
they felt it was justified. They'd tried to destroy the Daleks at their birth, 
for example. 
There was no use in looking for trouble, though. As far as she knew, there 
wasn't much chance that she and the Doctor would change history. None of what 
they were doing now had ever made it into any history she'd ever heard of. At 
the moment, it seemed that the most they were doing was influencing a couple of 
authors by providing them with plot materials. Hardly earth-shaking stuff! 
On the other hand, there was something very wrong going on here. She'd bet her 
life on that. Sea-monsters and giant hounds were even more out of place here 
than she was. But was Breckinridge involved in this or not? He did have a 
fascination with the sea, but that wasn't necessarily an indicator of any kind. 
His own explanation for it was sufficient. However, she found his excuse for 
meeting Captain Gray to be a bit thin. Why offer the skipper of a whaling ship 
the job of running a cable-laying boat? Still, real life often did have thin 
threads of logic to it, and she might just be being a bit too suspicious there. 
The problem was, she reflected, that life was never as tidy and neat as it 
tended to be on the telly or in a book. In fiction, all plot points were 
relevant and everything ded up neatly at the end to make sense. In real life, 
events often simply happened with no rhyme or reason, and resolutions either 
never came or passed so fast you could miss them if you blinked. Maybe 
Breckinridge was nothing more than he seemed: a man of vision and integrity. And 
maybe this was nothing but a mask that concealed a darker nature. She still had 
no real clue either way. All she could hope was that she and the Doctor could 
compare notes and that some enlightenment would come from it all. 
The carriage drew up at Fulbright Hall, and Sir Alexander smiled at her. 'I 
trust you enjoyed your visit, my dear?' 
'Very much, thank you.' Sarah shook his hand. 'You were super, Sir Alexander, 
and I really appreciate your help.' 
'Any time, young lady.' He winked. 'It never hurts my reputation to be seen out 
driving with a pretty woman. Scandalizes the neighbourhood, you know. Let's be 
certain to set tongues wagging again, eh?' 
'It's a date,' Sarah promised with a laugh. The groom helped her down from the 
carriage. 'Bye, Sir Alexander.' 
'Goodbye, my dear.' He waved his driver on, and the carriage pulled away. Sarah 
went up to the door, which was opened by a footman. 'Any idea where the Doctor 
and Doctor Doyle are?' she asked him. 
'I believe they're in one of the outhouses, ma'am,' the groom answered. 'If you 
wish to fmd them, take the path to the rear of the house, and then ask one of 
the gardeners.' 
'Thanks, Jeeves.' She gave him a grin and humed to follow his instructions. At 
the rear of the house, one of the locals was raking leaves, and pointed her in 
the right direction. After a few minutes, she could smell the tang of 
formaldehyde in the air, and a sickly stench of decay. The rest of the joumey 
was obvious. 
The door to the small shed was open wide to provide some ventilation. One of the 
servants stood upwind of the shed, looking uncomfortable, while inside the hut 
were the Doctor and Doyle. 'So,' asked Sarah, 'made any great discoveries?' 
'Indeed we have,' said the Doctor. His voice was tinged with anger and worry. 
'It's been a most productive morning.' He gestured at the remains of the carcass 
on the tresde table behind him. 'Do you have any idea what that is?' 
'Morbius's reject heap?' she guessed. 
'You're very close, Sarah,' the Doctor replied. 'That isn't any known animal at 
all. In fact, it isn't even an animal.' 
'Then what is it?' 
The Doctors eyes were haunted. 'Off the cuff, I'd say it's a ten-year-old boy.' 
'What?' Sarah couldn't believe her ears. 'What do you mean?' 
'I mean someone is tampering with the fabric of the human cell,' the Doctor said 
darkly, 'perverting its secrets to their own purposes.' 
6
Swimming with the Sharks
Sarah gazed in shock and revulsion at the remains of the - the whatever on the 
table. 'I know some kids are ugly,' she said weakly, 'but that's a bit extreme, 
don't you think?' 
'Extreme and extremely immoral,' agreed the Doctor. 'It's perversion of the 
natural order on a scale I've seen only once before.' 
'But. . . there's no way that thing could be a ten-year-old child,' objected 
Sarah. 
'It isn't. At least, it isn't any more.' The Doctor was very grim and she could 
detect the undercurrent of moral outrage below his surface. 'But that's how the 
poor creature began.' 
Doyle, wiping his hands after having washed them thoroughly, walked over to join 
them. 'Even I don't understand how it has been accomplished,' he admitted. 'But 
there's no doubting the Doctor's core theory. That is not some animal.' 
Sarah shook her head. 'Look, I know I'm not really up on the science stuff, but 
I'm no dummy either. It's impossible to create hybrids of humans and animals, 
isn't it?' 
'Generally speaking, yes,' agreed the Doctor. 'But this isn't general. It's very 
specific. Without access to much more sophisticated analysis techniques, I can't 
be too sure what's happened, but the basics are fairly clear. The body structure 
of that creature is that of a normal human child. Somehow, though, his genedc 
material has been melded with that of a canine - possibly a wolf, most likely a 
dog of some kind.' 
Sarah frowned. 'Come off it,' she said. 'Are you telling me that thing's an 
honest-to-God werewolf?' 
'It's not honest to anything, Sarah Jane,' the Doctor said hollowly. 'Its as 
dishonest as they come. And it's not a werewolf in the sense you imagine. This 
is a deliberately engineered monstrosity.' 
'Somebody made a kid into that?' Sarah was appalled beyond any words. 
'Yes.' The Doctor spoke quietly but firmly. 'The genetic match isn't too good, 
and the poor creature must have been in pain constantly, and probably more than 
half insane.' 
'But that's not possible in this time period, is it, Doctor?' she insisted. 
'Time period?' Doyle's eyes went wide. 'What the deuce are you talking about?' 
'Later!' the Doctor snapped at him. To Sarah, he said, 'No, it isn't. Which 
means that we're dealing with something intrusive. That kind of genedc 
manipulation won't be possible on this planet for at least two hundred years.' 
'Then what is happening here?' demanded Sarah. 
'One possibility is that we have an intruder from the future.' 
That sparked something in Sarahs mind. 'Wait a minute - I just met someone who 
seems to be a bit too aware of what the future might bring.' She told the Doctor 
and Doyle about her visit to the factory. 'Is it possible that Breckinridge is 
from the future, and that he's come back to this time to alter the course of 
history? That he aims to get rich when the communications boom comes in a couple 
of years?' 
'It's possible,' agreed the Doctor. 'I don't know how likely it is, though. 
Aside from his ideas - which a shrewd businessman of this time could still come 
up with - and this pitiful beast, there's nothing to suggest time travel.' 
'That's it,' said Doyle firmly. 'I refuse to be shut out of this conversation 
any longer. Will you two please tell me what you are discussing here? Time 
travel?' 
That had sunk it. Sarah sighed. 'Look,' she said. 'It's very complicated, and I 
know you won't believe it, so let it drop, okay?' 
But Doyle was having none of that. 'Wait a moment,' he insisted. 'The only way 
that what you have both been saying makes any sense is if you claim to be from a 
different time period to this. The future, I assume, and you have somehow 
transferred back in time. Is that what you are claiming?' 
'We're claiming nothing,' Sarah replied. 'Let it drop, please.' 
'Oh, no,' Doyle said firmly. 'You can't just raise the idea and then walk away 
from it. The very concept is preposterous.' 
'It is, is it?' asked the Doctor. 
'Yes, of course it is.' Doyle waved his hands about his head. 'One cannot simply 
move freely back and forth between the ages. I'm a rational man, and I accept 
only those matters that science can demonstrate to a rational man.' 
'Then heaven defend us from rational men!' the Doctor yelled. 'A pox on 
rationality! Has it never occurred to you that the human understanding of 
science is a small and pitiful thing? That there might exist vast areas outside 
of human knowledge that can still be explained scientifically, but not in terms 
of the puny knowledge that the human race possesses at this time? That there 
just might be realities undescribed by and unknown to your limited grasp of 
science? A rational man! Hah!' 
'Well,' said Doyle, somewhat taken aback by this verbal assault, 'if you choose 
to put it like that - ' 
'I do so choose!' the Doctor replied. 
'Then I have to say that you are correct. Doctor' Doyle shook his head slowly. 
'It is arrogant to assume that everything we know is everything there is to 
know.' 
'Congratulations,' Sarah informed him. 'You've JUSC made a huge step forward. 
Ignorance isn't so bad, but refusing to see ignorance is.' 
'But I still find it hard to accept the notion of transference in time,' Doyle 
added honestly. 
The Doctor gestured at the carcass on the table. 'Then merely accept it. You've 
seen it, you've touched it and you helped me to dissect it. Explain that in 
terms of nineteenth-century knowledge.' 
'I cannot.' 
'Good. I'd have called you a damned fool and a liar if you tried.' The Doctor 
patted him encouragingly on the back. 'Well, let's get a pot of tea and some 
scones, shall we? I do hope they have clotted cream and strawberry jam.' 
'You're just leaving that where it is?' asked Sarah, jerking her thumb at the 
corpse. 
'You're welcome to bury it if you wish,' the Doctor told her. 'But I thought 
we'd do better leaving that to the local vicar.' He set off back towards the 
Hall briskly. 
Falling in beside him, Sarah asked, 'What's next on the agenda? After afternoon 
tea?' 
'I wonder if we can hire a boat.' 
'A boat?' asked Doyle, struggling to keep up. 'Whatever for?' 
'I feel like a spot of fishing,' the Doctor replied. 
Sarah grinned. 'Let me guess: you want to see what's out at sea.' 
'You know me so well, Sarah Jane.' 
'Here, I say,' objected Doyle. 'Isn't that likely to be a trifle dangerous, 
given what happened to old Tolliver?' 
'No,' the Doctor replied. 'It's likely to be very dangerous. You needn't 
accompany me.' 
'You'll need my help,' Doyle insisted. 'I'm a decent hand with a harpoon, you 
know, and a fair shot.' 
'And you'd better not even dream about leaving me behind,' added Sarah. 
The Doctor gave her a wide grin. 'There's no one I'd sooner have beside me,' he 
assured her. 'I knew you'd never stay behind.' 
'You know me so well. Doctor.' 
  
'That's a damned strange request, even for you, Doyle.' Captain John Gray stared 
at his ship's surgeon in surprise. 'The loan of a harpoon? There are no whales 
in these waters, man.' 
Sarah rather liked the gruff old seaman. His receding hair was a wiry grey, 
matching his name, and his spade-like beard was full and thick. There was the 
tinge of a Scottish burr to his words, but no mistaking his puzzlement. 
'I understand that. Captain,' agreed Doyle. 'But there is some kind of creature 
in the bay that killed a fisherman a couple of nights back.' 
'Then what the blazes are you doing going out after it?' Gray gave a grim smile. 
'Wait dll the morning and half the crew would volunteer to accompany you on a 
hunt.' 
'I suspect this beast only emerges at night. Captain,' the Doctor offered. 'And 
I doubt your men would be willing to indulge in a spot of night fishing.' 
Gray snorted. 'After a day in port, they're in no shape to even stir this 
night.' 
'Besides,' added Doyle, 'we may well not be attacked at all. The harpoon is 
merely for defence.' 
'Oh, very well,' Gray agreed. 'I know you can use it, man. But be careful. 
You're a good shipmate, and I'd hate to have to bury you.' 
'I assure you, we will take every precaution,' the Doctor replied. 
'Incidentally, when do you sail?' 
'Tomorrow morning, or the next,' Gray answered. 
'Ah.' The Doctor nodded. 'Then your business transaction with Mister 
Breckinridge has concluded?' 
Gray looked surprised again. 'Aye, that it has. What concern is it of yours?' 
'Possibly none,' admitted the Doctor candidly. 'But might I presume to enquire 
as to the nature of the business?' 
'You may not!' thundered Gray, getting to his feet. 'It is of a private concern, 
and no affair of yours, you impudent wretch!' 
'Captain,' Doyle said hastily, moving between the two. 'The Doctor is from 
Scotland Yard, and is aiding the local police in solving two or three very 
mysterious cases. It is possible that Mister Breckinridge may have some 
connection with one or more of these cases.' 
'A suspect?' growled Gray. 'Breckinridge has been an honourable man, and dealt 
fairly with me.' 
'He may be innocent,' Sarah said gently. There was no point in clarifying 
Doyle's erroneous assumption of the Doctor's standing. 'But a little help from 
you could clear his name.' 
Gray shook his head. 'I promised him that our transaction would remain our 
secret. Something to do with industrial espionage, or something.' 
Sarah nodded. 'Not a job offer, then, piloting a cable-laying ship?' 
'Good Lord, no!' Gray looked amused. 'Whoever told you that must be completely 
out of their heads. What would an old whaler like me do piloting a cable ship?' 
'What indeed?' asked the Doctor cheerfully. He shook the Captain's hand. 'Thank 
you; you've been more than helpful.' 
'My pleasure.' Gray shook his head in bemusement as they left his cabin. 'A 
cable layer,' he muttered. 'Me! These police chappies are all mad.' 
As they passed onto the deck, Sarah smiled at the Doctor. 'So we know that 
Breckinridge bed about one thing at the very least.' 
'But nothing more,' the Doctor chided her. 'Gray's story of Breckinridge being 
wary about industrial spying could well be true. There's a lot of it about, and 
their deal could well be honest.' 
'I'm certain that it would have to be, from the captain s side at least,' Doyle 
offered as he selected a harpoon and began to coil the rope about his arm. 'Gray 
is one of the straightest, most decent men I've ever met.' 
'I'm sure he must be.' The Doctor stared out over the gentle seas. 'A perfect 
night for a sail, isn't it? Hardly a swell in sight.' 
'And where are we going to get a boat from?' asked Sarah. 
'This is a fishing town,' the Doctor replied. 'The place is littered with them.' 

'We can't just take one,' argued Sarah. 
'I wasn't going to.' The Doctor led them off the Hope again and back along the 
quay. 'Tolliver's boat is still moored behind the Pig and Thistle,' he 
explained. 'He won't be having much use for it, seeing as they buried him 
today.' 
'Constable Faversham might consider it stealing,' Sarah objected. 
'Faversham is guarding the grave tonight,' the Doctor countered, 'in case the 
robbers show up again. I'm inclined to let him. I doubt the villains are stupid 
enough to strike on the night of the burial. They waited last time, and they 
will undoubtedly wait again.' He flashed Sarah a grin. 'And I aim to tell Mister 
Brackley that we're just borrowing the boat for the evening, and pay him to 
alert anyone who asks.' 
'He'll just get blotted,' said Sarah. 
'All the better. Then he's not likely to object, is he?' 
He didn't. When the Doctor flipped him a shilling the one-armed sailor promised 
to keep a watch out for anyone asking after them. Sarah noticed that he was 
apparently aiming to spend the vigil warm and well lubricated, since he shot 
into the tavern before the three of them had even cast off the moorings of the 
small fishing boat. 
'Are you familiar with these boats?' Doyle asked the Doctor. 
'I'm familiar with all boats from coracles to catamarans,' the Doctor answered, 
slipping free the fore rope and jumping down to the deck. 'Or do I have to tie a 
sheath of sheepshanks to prove it?' 
'I'll take your word for it.' 
'Good.' The Doctor and Sarah raised the sail, while Doyle watched the wheel. 
Sarah stared out across the bay. The main fishing fleet had departed earlier, to 
get well out to sea where the fishing would begin. That meant, at least, that 
there was no chance of a collision in the bay. Sarah was no great shakes on a 
boat; it hadn't been a terribly realistic option in South Croydon. She had done 
a little sailing, and did know that the pointy end of the boat went first, and 
that sailors insisted on port and starboard instead of left and right like 
normal human beings. After that she was lost. 
At least it was looking like a calm night. That meant her stomach might well 
behave itself. She'd never actually been seasick in her life, but tonight would 
not have been a good time to start. Still, with the sun low on the horizon, it 
looked like being a calm and beautiful night. The wind that had nipped at her 
last night had died down, and there was just a light breeze to fill the sail and 
carry them slowly and gentry along. The clouds were sporadic, and stars were 
already starting to twinkle. She wished that this were simply some pleasure 
cruise and that there was a packed picnic hamper and a bottle of some feisty 
plonk instead of harpoons, rifles and nets aboard. 
Wouldn't it be lovely to actually be able to enjoy things for a change instead 
of having to fight or hide from things? Or would that just be normal and boring 
for her now? 
Sarah glanced up at the Doctor, and saw the light of excitement in his eyes. How 
he must have been bored as one of those stuffy, legalistic Time Lords back on 
his home world of Gallifrey! No wonder he enjoyed meddling so much. He was 
making up for more lost time than Sarah could even begin to imagine. She began 
to sing softly: 'Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down.' 
'Heigh ho!' the Doctor agreed. 
  
Standing on the headland close to Breckinridge's factory, Ross surveyed the bay 
through his collapsible binoculars. 'It's hard to see clearly in this light,' he 
commented, 'but that small fishing smack down there has three people aboard. One 
of them is definitely this Doctor, and the other two are probably Miss Smith and 
that Doctor Doyle from the whaler.' 
'So what?' asked Abercrombie, munching on a cheese and chutney sandwich he'd 
liberated on the way there. 
'I wonder how much they know about our business, that's what.' 
Abercrombie shrugged. 'What's the difference?' he asked. 'If they're out there 
in the bleeding bay, they don't know much. And they won't be alive long enough 
to learn more, will they?' 
Ross sighed. 'It's a pity, Abercrombie,' he said, 'but I fear you are quite 
correct. Sadly, the Doctor and his friends are likely to have a very lethal 
boating accident this evening.' 
  
Once the Doctor decided that they were far enough out in the bay, he and Doyle 
dropped the sail and let out the water anchor. 'Now we just wait,' he said. 
'So who brought the cards?' asked Sarah. 
Doyle couldn't resist a smile at her easy manner. 'Do you two do this kind of 
thing often?' he enquired. 
'Too blooming often,' Sarah answered. 
'We do have a knack of walking into trouble,' the Doctor admitted. 
'Walking?' Sarah laughed. 'Running headlong, more like.' She grinned at the 
medical man. 'You really wouldn't believe some of the adventures we've had.' 
'Try me,' suggested Doyle. 
Sarah shook her head. 'No, I mean it: you really wouldn't believe them. If you 
think the idea that we might be from another time is hard to accept, you should 
try taking the Doctor's pulse sometime.' 
'I should?' 
'No, you shouldn't,' the Doctor snapped. 'I'm in perfect health, as you can see. 
Sarah, stop trying to cause trouble.' 
'Me cause trouble?' she asked in mock innocence. She simply couldn't resist 
baiting the Doctor at times. 'I suppose sitting out here in a tiny boat at night 
with an unknown killer is playing it safe?' 
'It's as safe as I could make it,' the Doctor answered. 'But I need some answers 
to too many questions. And this is the only place to get them.' 
Sarah stared over the surface of the sea. The sun had gone down now, and the 
Doctor had vetoed the idea of burning a lantern, wanting to stay out of sight of 
possible observers. Stars sprinkled across the blackness were also reflected 
choppily in the waters below. They were the only lights visible, and it was like 
being afloat in space. 
And then - 
'Doctor!' she hissed, not wanting to raise her voice too loudly. Both doctors 
joined her in the bows, and they all stared out into the depths. 
Far below the boat, lights were visible in the water that were definitely not 
stars. There was a greenish tint to them, though that could be nothing more than 
the water casting a hue to white lights. There were hundreds of these lights, 
spread in a gigantic cartwheel-like shape. The hub of this wheel was several 
hundred yards to the left - port! - of the small boat. As Sarah stared in awe 
and astonishment at the shape, she could see that it was slowly turning. 
'What is that?' she asked, spellbound. 
'I've heard about phenomena like this,' Doyle answered her, just as gently. 
'It's phosphorescence of some land, as I understand it. There are minute sea 
creatures that glow in the night and live in colonies of thousands of 
individuals.' 
'And they're all big fans of Wagon Train', the Doctor scoffed. 'Doyle, those 
minute sea animals live in much warmer waters than these, and they certainly 
aren't organized in regular battalions. That's not a natural phenomenon.' 
'Then what is it?' asked Doyle, somewhat peevishly. 
'I'm not entirely sure,' the Doctor replied evasively. 
'Then be a little uncertain!' 
'Offhand, I'd say it was some kind of activity taking place on the sea bed.' The 
Doctor frowned. 'And one controlled by considerable intelligence.' 
Sarah snorted. 'Oh, right. Davy Jones is a little restless tonight, so he's 
holding a dance.' 
The Doctor shook his head. 'Sarah, Sarah,' he chided. 'I expect incredulity from 
Doyle; after all, he's a rational man. But I had hoped for better from you; 
after all, you're a journalist.' 
'Thanks a heap.' Sarah couldn't take her eyes from the slow, majestic movement 
of lights. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it was. 'Are you suggesting 
that there's somebody down there right now doing that? In 1880?' 
'Yes.' 
'But how? The submarine hasn't been invented yet.' 
'Actually, it has,' the Doctor contradicted her. 'Simply not developed yet. But 
I don't think that what we're seeing is native to this time. Or, perhaps, native 
to this world.' 
Doyle gave an inarticulate cry. 'This is getting too preposterous,' he 
protested. 'That's the second time you've mentioned some kind of intrusion from 
another era, and now you also imply that this anomalous phenomenon might be the 
product of some otherworldly forces?' 
Forget your preconceived notions, Doyle!' thundered the Doctor. He gestured over 
the bows of the boat. 'Use your rationality to explain that if you can! If not, 
shut up and listen to wiser heads than yours.' 
Doyle subsided, but Sarah could tell that he wasn't at all happy at whatever 
thoughts were passing through his mind. She could hardly blame them: the notion 
of time travel and alien intruders must be horribly far-fetched to him. Even his 
character of Professor Challenger hadn't faced quite this kind of puzzle, and he 
wouldn't create that irritable man of science for years yet. 
Sarah stared out at the waters, and smiled. 'I don't know what is causing it,' 
she admitted, 'but it's very pretty.' There was also something vaguely familiar 
about the lights, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. 
'Pretty isn't a scientific term,' the Doctor said softly. Then he grinned. 
'But it is accurate. It's like a Christmas tree underwater, isn't it?' 
'Perhaps we should be a little more cautious,' Doyle suggested, 'in leaning out 
to observe those lights. After all, Tolliver was obviously looking over the side 
of the boat when he was attacked.' 
The Doctor appeared astonished at the thought. 'My dear chap,' he cried. 'Of 
course! That's exactly what must have happened. He saw these lights, then leaned 
over for a better look and - ' 
Sarah and Doyle both dragged the Doctor away from the gunwale as he looked set 
to re-enact the accident. 'We may be safer here,' Sarah said, with a thankful 
nod at Doyle. 'Smart thinking.' 
'I knew what I was doing,' the Doctor said peevishly. 'There was no need for 
that.' 
'Whatever you say,' Sarah agreed. She could still see the wheel turning slowly 
below the water, though not as dearly. The surface of the water was starting to 
get choppy, breaking up the image. 
'This is all very - ' Doyle began. 
The boat gave a shudder as something slammed into it from below. It heaved in 
the water, and twisted, falling back with a crash. Sarah, caught completely 
off-guard, skidded across the small deck and into the gunwale. She barely had 
time to yelp from the pain to her shins when the boat was rammed a second time 
from underneath and it gave another lurch. Arms nailing wildly, Sarah attempted 
unsuccessfully to regain her balance. She heard the Doctor cry out, and then she 
was falling. 
The water was cold and hard as she splashed down into it. The force of the 
impact stunned her, and she felt herself going under. At least she'd taken a 
gulp of air as she'd fallen, and she held her breath as she sank into the inky, 
frozen depths. As soon as she could move, she started to stroke with her hands, 
slowing her descent. 
Her clothing was thoroughly wet. The Victorian dress, long and flowing, had been 
so impractical on the surface; here, waterlogged, she was afraid it would drag 
her down to her death. Frantically, she tried to stroke back toward the surface, 
but it was too hard. It felt as if an icy hand was dragging her down to her 
doom. 
  
'My God!' exclaimed Doyle, badly shaken but managing to retain his grip on the 
mast, 'what the devil was that?' 
'Something rammed us from below,' the Doctor growled, fighting to stay on his 
feet. 'Sarah! Sarah!' 
Doyle's eyes whipped around. 'She must have gone overboard!' he exclaimed. He 
started to move toward the side. 
'No!' the Doctor ordered. 'That's what those creatures want us to do! Then 
they'll attack.' 
'Let them,' Doyle growled. He picked up his harpoon and hefted it. 'They'll get 
a taste of cold steel if they attack me. But what about your friend?' 
The Doctor appeared ashen. 'They're most likely going after her.' He shucked off 
the cape coat and tossed the deerstalker on it. 'I'm going after her.' 
'They'll kill you!' Doyle said in horror. 
'They can try,' the Doctor growled. 'But I'm harder to kill than I look.' Before 
Doyle could say anything else, the Doctor sprang onto the gunwale, and then 
executed a clean dive into the darkness beyond. 
Doyle shook his head, and staggered across to the side. The harpoon was cold and 
familiar in his hand. If any of those monsters came after him, they'd get a 
fight. And if, somehow, the Doctor or Miss Smith survived, Doyle could help them 
regain the boat. 
  
Slowly sinking, Sarah struggled with her encumbering clothing, trying to either 
shed it or rip it free. But it was no use at all. She couldn't manage, and her 
lungs were almost bursting. 
Then there was a sudden movement in the water. She felt something like a 
pressure wave slam into her. A dark shape grazed her, and she felt fire in her 
left hand as something raked across it. She could barely restrain a scream of 
pain, and the attacker was gone. She'd caught only a glimpse of it, but it had 
seemed to be some huge seal. 
And it had to be coming back. 
There was agony in her hand, and she knew that the beast had been toying with 
her. It could have killed her, but had instead just bitten her. The next time it 
might go for the kill, or for another wounding. 
She saw movement again, as something approached her. It was hard to make out, 
between the darkness and the blotches in her eyes from the strain and pain, but 
this shape appeared to be very different. She could make out a tail, and what 
seemed to be hands. Struggling to get out of the way of this fresh attack, she 
flailed about without much effect. Then the creature came in closer. 
It was incredible. This was not her attacker. It looked like a young girl, 
perhaps twelve or so, with long, light hair floating like a halo around her 
head. She smiled encouragingly, and gripped Sarah's uninjured arm. Sarah, 
struggling to stay conscious, was too astounded to know what to do. The girl 
seemed quite at ease - if she were real, and not some nightmare of the deeps! - 
and she gnpped Sarah's skirt. She bent her head, and bit at the fabric. Her 
teeth must have been made of steel or something similar because they cut through 
the skirt without effort, and the girl ripped the rest of it free. 
A huge weight fell away from Sarah, and she stroked out with her hands. She felt 
herself rising at last, and then the gende pressure of the girl's arms helping 
her. Sarah wondered what had happened to the monster that had attacked her, but 
concentrated on heading for the surface As she did so, she saw another form 
close in suddenly. She had no energy left to fight it off, and then she felt the 
Doctor grab her arm tightly, and saw his face close beside hers. He smiled 
encouragingly. 
The girl was gone in a flicker of motion. Sarah wasn't certain, but it looked 
like the girl had left by flicking a tail and charging away at an incredible 
speed. She had no strength left to wonder, though, and all she could concentrate 
on was reaching the surface once again. 
And then she was there, bursting back out of the icy water into the cold night 
air. She emptied her lungs in a single burst and whooped in a fresh breath. She 
choked a little, but the fire in her head and chest started to die down. 
The Doctor still supported her, and Sarah could see as she took another gulp of 
air that they were quite close to the boat. 'Chin up, Sarah,' the Doctor gasped 
encouragingly. 'Almost there.' 
She nodded, and put her strength into stroking out toward the boat. The pain in 
her left hand was almost unbearable, but she had to get out of the water as soon 
as possible before - 
There was a wake in the water as something threw itself toward her and the 
Doctor. It was the creature that had attacked her before, sleek, dark and 
deadly, coming in for the kill. Sarah didn't have the strength to fight it off, 
but she freed herself from the Doctor's grip so that he might have a chance. 
And something whipped past her head, missing her by only feet. Belatedly she 
realized it had been the harpoon. Doyle must have thrown it. The slim blade 
whipped through the air and slammed into the approaching creature. The beast's 
own speed helped drive the weapon home. Sarah heard a scream and a thrashing in 
the water, and the rope almost sang as it went taut. 
'Got it!' she heard Doyle yell. 
'And I've got Sarah,' the Doctor called up to Doyle. 'Haul that thing in!' 
Sarah managed to make it back to the boat. The Doctor was floating there, 
holding onto a rope. She managed a small smile at him as he helped her up from 
the water to the side of the boat. It was a fight, but she managed to struggle 
aboard. She could barely use her left hand, and saw that it was badly skinned 
and still bleeding. Ignoring it, she turned to help the Doctor back aboard. 
Doyle was concentrating on reeling in his catch. The harpoon was sticking up 
from the water at an angle, glittering in the light of a lantern Doyle had 
blazing. Sarah could see he had pierced some dark beast, very seal-like, but 
huge. As she bent to offer the Doctor her good hand to help him aboard, she saw 
an explosion of water close to the monster. A second creature leaped from the 
sea, and its large, teeth-packed snout ripped at the line to the harpoon. 
Doyle gave a cry, falling backwards as the line parted. There was a splash as 
the second beast fell back into the cold waters, and the dead creature sank 
beneath the waves. Sarah felt the Doctor grab her hand and he hauled himself 
over the side. There was another shock as something hit the boat right where he 
had been. 
'Thank you, Sarah,' the Doctor gasped, regaining his feet. 'That thing almost 
had me.' 
Doyle staggered across the small deck to them. 'It got away,' he howled angrily. 

The Doctor grinned. 'I think you've lost your deposit on the harpoon,' he 
agreed. 'And I trust this attack is over. Would you mind taking a look at Sarah? 
I think she's injured her hand.' 
Sarah was propped up against the side of the boat. She was shivering, partly 
from shock, partly from the soaking and partly from the fact that she had no 
clothing left from a foot below her waist. She looked at her left hand, which 
still bled very badly, and then up at Doyle. 
'Oh dear,' she gasped, and lost consciousness completely. 
Interlude 2
Lucy
The Guards ushered them all into the dormitory, then locked the door as they 
left. The children were all excited, scared and confused. They crowded about 
Lucy, all of them talking and asking questions. 
'Settle down,' she ordered, taking control of them. 'Calm down. We have to be 
quiet, or the Guards may come back.' 
'I doubt it,' Joshua said, his face split by a huge grin. 'They're too busy 
panicking.' 
Vicki tugged at Lucy's arm. 'Are you gonna get into trouble for what you did?' 
'That was very brave,' added Lizzy. 'I wish I had the courage you do.' 
'It wasn't bravery,' Lucy replied. She swam over to help two of the younger ones 
into their sleeping berths. 'I just couldn't let them drown that lady.' 
'She was from Topside, wasn't she?' asked Vicki. 
'Yes,' Lucy answered. 'We were all from Topside once. But we can't ever go back 
now.' 
'Do you want to go back?' asked Joshua. 
'It doesn't matter what I want,' Lucy told him. 'We can't go back.' 
'But would you, if you could?' he persisted. 
'Would you leave us, Lucy?' asked Lizzy, worry in her voice. 
'I'd never leave you,' she promised. 'Never. We belong to each other now. We're 
a family. All we have are each other. We have to all look out for one another.' 
'Good,' said Vicki, satisfied again. 
'Do you think the Guards will punish you for what you did?' Simon rarely spoke, 
but he couldn't stay quiet now. 'I won't let them hurt you. I'd sooner die!' 
'I don't think they will.' Lucy ran her webbed fingers through his curly hair. 
'And I know you'd defend me. But I don't think they really noticed what I did.' 
'And,' added Joshua with a laugh, 'they're too busy burying the dead Guard and 
panicking. There's only three of them now. There are twenty of us.' He grinned 
'I'll bet we could take them out if we tried.' 
Lucy didn't like that kind of talk. 'There may only be three Guards left,' she 
cautioned him, 'but they're faster and much stronger than we are.' 
'Are you scared to fight them?' challenged Joshua. 
'Of course I am!' Lucy snapped. She flicked her tail at him contemptuously. 
'Calm down, Joshua. We may be twenty, but most of us are very young. If we try 
and attack the Guards, some of the younger children are bound to be killed. I 
won't endanger their lives.' 
Joshua was still too new to understand fully. 'You'd rather stay here, cooped up 
like hens?' he exclaimed angrily. 'Doing what Ross tells us to do and waiting 
until the Guards get mad enough to kill us, like they killed Tim?' 
'No,' Lucy replied. 'We all want to get away. But we need to pick the right time 
to do it. We need some advantage, some way to win. What we have to do is to keep 
our eyes open and watch for that chance.' 
'We could be waiting forever,' grumbled Joshua, but he did seem to be getting 
the idea. 
Lucy swam over to him and touched him on the shoulder. 'Joshua, we won't be here 
forever, I promise. Haven't you noticed that the past few days the Guards have 
been very distracted by something? And today one of them was killed. They're not 
invincible, and even Ross can't foresee everything. I think that somebody 
Topside is on his trail. With a little luck, that may give us our chance. So, 
please, try and be patient for a little longer. You've only been here a short 
while. I've been here almost a year now. I hope none of us will have to endure 
this slavery for very much longer.' Lucy smiled at the younger ones. 'Now, it's 
time to get some rest.' 
'Aw,' complained Lizzy, 'you promised to tell us the rest of your story.' 
'It's very late,' Lucy replied. 'And the same thing happened to all of you. You 
already know the rest of it.' 
'You promised!' complained Vicki. 
Lucy could see that this was an argument she wasn't likely to win. 'All right,' 
she agreed. 'But it's going to be very short.' 
'That's okay,' Lizzy answered. 'We just like the way you tell it.' 
Lucy couldn't help smiling. 'Well, I was captured and knocked out by Raintree 
and Brogan. When I awoke, I was in a strange room with all kinds of machines and 
stuff. It was some kind of scientific laboratory, I suppose, but you've all been 
there. You've seen it. I didn't know what all the glass things were called, or 
the liquids and stuff bubbling away. I was on a sort of table, strapped down so 
that I couldn't move. And I didn't have any clothes on at all.' 
'Were you scared?' asked Lizzy. 
'I was absolutely terrified,' admitted Lucy, smiling. 'I didn't know where I 
was, or what was happening to me. All I knew was that Cherry was dead, but I 
wasn't free at all. If anything, I was worse off than before. I remembered 
rat-faced Raintree and the nasty Brogan, but they weren't around at least. I was 
afraid they'd brought me to this place just to kill me. Or, since they'd taken 
all my clothes, maybe other things first. 
'Then Ross came in. He's quite good-looking, but I could tell that he wasn't a 
nice man. If he had been, he'd have set me free. Instead he came over and smiled 
down at me . . .' 
  
'You're a very lucky young lady,' Ross said, his eyes shining with excitement. 
'Please,' I begged him, 'let me go. I won't tell anyone anything. I promise!' 
'Let you go?' He laughed cruelly. 'I can't do that. You have a wonderful destiny 
in front of you. You're about to become the first member of a new species.' 
I didn't know what he was talking about, but I could tell he was going to do 
something to me. And he wasn't going to let me go, that was clear. 'What's a 
species?' I asked, hoping I could keep him talking long enough to escape from 
the straps. I was cold and scared, but he didn't care. 
'A species, child,' he told me, 'is a distinct order of animals that can only 
interbreed with themselves and not with other creatures. A species is something 
distinct, with special adaptions that other creatures don't possess. A human 
being, for example, can breed with other human beings, but not with - oh, cats, 
shall we say? And cats are a species, which can't breed with dogs.' 
'I don't understand you,' I told him. 'What are you going to do to me to make me 
different?' 
Ross smiled, and I shuddered at the look on his face. He didn't see me as a 
person at all, just as some kind of experiment. 'Well, right now you're 
nothing,' he told me. 'Some dirty little girl who barely manages to survive on 
her wits. There are thousands like you, filthy creatures who'd be better off 
dead. And if it were not for me, I suppose Raintree or Brogan would have snapped 
your scrawny little neck or something. But you have been selected by destiny to 
become the forerunner of a new race, a new species. By the time I'm through with 
you, you will no longer be a dirty little girl. You'll be the shining star of a 
new kind of creature.' 
'Don't hurt me!' I begged him. 'Please, let me go.' 
'Stop whining,' he snapped, annoyed that I didn't seem to share his vision. 
'You're on the verge of a wonderful experience. You are about to extend the 
threshold of science and become the first member of a new race.' 
'What kind of race?' I asked him, still struggling with the straps. If he saw 
what I was doing, it didn't bother him. I don't think he saw me, really. He was 
so lost in his mad ideas. 
'Have you heard stories about mermaids?' he asked me. 
'Of course I have,' I replied. 'I've heard lots of stories.' 
'Do you like the ones about mermaids?' Ross asked. 
'Yes,' I said. 'I don't believe there really are such things, though.' 
'There aren't,' he agreed. 'Not yet, anyway. But there will be, because you're 
going to be one.' 
I couldn't believe what he was saying. 'That's stupid!' I cried. 'It's 
impossible! Nobody can do that, even with magic.' 
'Magic?' Ross laughed at me. 'You stupid little girl, science is much more 
powerful than magic! I can do what I say and turn you into a mermaid.' 
'I don't want to be half a fish!' I told him, crying at the thought. 'Don't cut 
me in half!' I thought that what he was going to do was to chop off my legs and 
sew on a fish's tail, and you can imagine how scared that made me feel. 
'Stop that weeping,' he ordered, 'or I'll give you something to cry about.' He 
glared at me angrily. 'I'm not going to do anything like that. You're not going 
to be any part of a fish.' 
'But isn't that what a mermaid is?' 
'In stories, yes,' he agreed. 'But you can't mix people and fishes. They're 
completely incompatible. People are mammals, a separate class from fish. There's 
no common ground there.' 
'Then what are you going to do to me?' I asked him. He wasn't making much sense, 
even for a lunatic. 
'There are mammals that live in the sea,' he told me 'Dolphins, seals and 
whales. What I am going to do with you is to change you into a hybrid creature, 
half-girl, half-dolphin.' 
I didn't know then what a dolphin was, of course, but I still didn't like the 
sound of it. 'You can't do that!' I screamed. 
He didn't understand what I meant. 'Nobody else can,' he told me. 'But I can do 
it.' He pointed to this big vat in the centre of the room. 'Look at that.' 
I could see that it held a sort of thick, white jelly. It was a bit like 
ointment, I suppose, but that was all I could make out. 'What is it?' I asked. 
'That's my transmogrifying fluid,' he replied. 'It enables me to combine two 
sorts of animal cultures, blending them into a single, viable whole.' 
I still didn't know what he meant. 'You can't,' I protested again. 
'I've already done it once, by accident,' he told me. 'When I discovered the 
fluid, I didn't know what it was, except it was some kind of medicine. Then a 
boy who'd been bitten by a rabid dog was brought to me. I could see he was going 
to die anyway, so I decided to try the fluid on him. It was incredible! Instead 
of dying, the boy began to change. He started to get hairy, and grow teeth and 
eventually he changed into a hybrid - half-boy, half-dog. It was fascinating. 
Then I realized that this fluid enables two different forms of cells to join and 
become one, as long as they're of the same order - both mammals, for example. 
When I saw my boy-dog, I started to think about other possibilities. And you're 
my next experiment.' 
He was really scaring me now, but I couldn't get free. All I could do was try to 
be brave. I wouldn't let him see me scream any more. 'You're going to use that 
stuff on me?' I asked. 
'Yes,' he replied. 'And I'm going to mix into you some dolphin extracts. With 
luck, you should become a real live mermaid.' He shrugged. 'There's a chance you 
won't survive, true, but sometimes we have to make sacrifices for science.' 
'I don't want to be a sacrifice for anything!' I yelled. I could see he was 
really much madder than I had thought. He didn't care if I died or not. I was 
just an experiment. 
'Oh, shut up,' he told me. He pulled on a pair of gloves. Then he picked up a 
large, sharp knife. 
'You said you weren't going to cut me in half!' I sobbed. 
'I'm not,' he said impatiently. 'But I have to mix the fluid and extracts within 
your body. So I'm going to make a small incision, that's all. Stop whining, or 
I'll gag you.' Then he cut my arm open, just below the elbow. It started to 
bleed, and he put his hand into the vat and rubbed some of the fluid into the 
cut. After that, he picked up a bottle of some greyish liquid and poured that 
over the wound, too. 
It hurt me terribly, like there was a fire burning inside my body. I wanted to 
be brave, but I couldn't stop myself from screaming. I could feel whatever the 
liquid was doing to me, like it was ripping me apart. Finally the pain was too 
much, and I couldn't take it any longer. I was knocked out. 
When I woke up, I was still in the laboratory, but not on the table. I was 
inside a huge glass cylinder. I felt sick, but not as bad as I had before. I 
groaned, and then looked down at the cut on my arm. It was completely healed, 
and I couldn't believe it. 
Then I realized what had happened to me. I stared down at where my legs had 
been. Now I didn't have legs - I had a tail! Ross had done what he'd said he 
could do. He'd made me into a mermaid. I had a tail, but not like a fish's. It 
was smooth and grey. I could move it and it seemed just like I'd always had it. 
Then I saw that I was actually underwater, but I felt fine. I should have been 
drowning, but I wasn't. I felt perfectly normal. Ross was crazy and horrible, 
but he was right. I had been changed, made into something very new. I wasn't a 
normal person any more. I was the first mermaid. 
  
Lucy looked around at the younger ones. 'And that's what he's done to you all,' 
she told them. 'You've all been through his laboratory and tank. You've all been 
given the powers to live and breathe and work underwater. We're all something 
new now. We're not human beings any longer. We're merpeople, something that's 
never existed before. I know Ross wants us to stay his slaves forever, but we'll 
get free some day. Then we can start a life for ourselves. Then we won't have to 
worry about being beaten, or hurt again. We can go somewhere where people will 
never find us, and we'll start a life together. We all love one another, and 
we'll take care of each other. One day, we'll be free. One day. I promise.' 
She stared at them all, trusting and believing in her. Even Joshua accepted what 
she said. And she was determined to make this promise of hers come true. One day 
they would be free, and they'd take care of one another. Even if she didn't know 
how they could do it. 
7
Grave Events
'To be perfectly frank. Doctor,' Fulbright declared, 'your story sounds utterly 
preposterous and like something that over-imaginative French author Jules Verne 
might have invented.' 
'This is beyond anything that Verne might have imagined,' the Doctor snapped. 
'Pass the kippers please, Doyle.' 
Doyle complied, helping himself to more bacon. He was enjoying breakfast after 
the activities of the previous night. For one thing, he was glad to be still 
alive. 'I agree, Sir Edward,' he offered as he munched, 'it is a trifle 
difficult to accept, but - ' 
'A trifle?' Fulbright gave a sharp bark. 'It's completely impossible, man! 
Mermaids!' 
'Did I mention that word?' asked the Doctor, annoyed. 'I simply said that there 
was a humanoid, sentient creature under the water last night. Plus, of course, 
the seal-like killers. I don't care what you want to call the creatures, but 
don't simply dismiss them out of hand.' 
'After all. Sir Edward,' Doyle added, 'there's that poor boy-turned-hound in the 
shed out back. How difficult is it to accept a girl-tumed-fish after that?' 
'I only have the assertions of the Doctor and yourself that that monster was 
once a boy,' growled Fulbright. 'And frankly, at the moment I'd be inclined to 
doubt the pair of you if you told me the sun was going to rise again tomorrow 
morning.' 
The Doctor glared at him, then speared his kipper. 'At least I know where we 
stand, then,' he commented. 'I take it that you are not willing to help me any 
longer.' 
'I didn't say that,' Fulbright protested. 'But try and keep your requests 
rational.' 
'Ah,' said the Doctor grimly, 'I should have known it: another rational man.' He 
made it sound like a swearword. 
There came a gentle knock at the dining room door, and one of the maids came in. 
'Begging your pardon, Sir Edward,' she said meekly. 'I've been given a message 
for the Doctor.' 
Fulbright grimaced. 'Then deliver it. Nan, and stop cluttering up the room.' 
She curtsied. 'Miss Alice said to tell you that Miss Smith is awake and would 
like to see you at your convenience.' 
The Doctor grinned. 'I see. Nan. And would those have been Miss Smith's words as 
well?' 
Nan coloured. 'Umm . . . Not precisely, sir.' 
'I imagine not,' the Doctor commented cheerfully. He nudged Doyle. 'Stop making 
such a pig of yourself and let's go and see Sarah, shall we?' 
Doyle bolted the last of his bacon and took a quick swig of tea. 'By all means,' 
he agreed, patting his lips with the napkin. 'If you'll excuse us. Sir Edward?' 
Fulbright waved dismissively. 'Out, out,' he growled. 'I've got some thinking to 
do.' 
'Very wise,' the Doctor approved. He strode out of the dining room and followed 
Nan up the stairs to Sarah's room without pausing to check if Doyle was 
following. The maid tapped on the door, then opened it to let the men pass. 
Sarah was sitting up in bed, her hand bandaged and her face scowling. It was 
clear that she didn't want to be there. Alice sat at the bedside, a grim 
expression on her face. 
'Doctor,' Sarah started, but Alice broke in. 
'Doctor, tell your friend that she must stay in bed and rest. She won't listen 
to me.' 
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 'And you think she listens to me either?' he 
asked. Then he smiled at Sarah 'Try and be a good patient, please, Sarah Jane.' 
Waving her bandaged hand, Sarah snapped, 'This is all that's wrong with me, and 
it'll heal just as well out of bed as in it.' She glared at Alice. 'Are you 
going to get me my dress, or do I have to walk around the house in my 
nightgown?' 
Alice blushed, but didn't back down. 'You're an immoral girl, Sarah.' 
There was no way that Sarah could scowl after a remark like that. She collapsed, 
laughing. If you'd seen some of the gear I wear,' she gasped, 'you'd be certain 
of that.' 
'Why don't we compromise?' suggested Doyle. 'You stay in bed till lunchtime, 
then get up - but only if you promise to come back to bed if you don't feel 
well.' 
Sighing, Sarah nodded. 'Deal,' she agreed. 'Now, will the pair of you tell us 
what's going on out in the bay? I gave Alice the gist of what I know, and 
neither of us is very enlightened.' 
'I think she must have cracked her head. Doctor,' Alice explained. 'She claims 
that she was saved last night by a mermaid. And everyone knows that there are no 
such things.' 
'Then everyone is wrong,' the Doctor replied. 'Because I caught a glimpse of 
one, too.' He looked vaguely puzzled. 'I'm not sure how it was created, but 
there definitely are mermaids living at the bottom of your garden, so to speak.' 

'Told you so,' said Sarah smugly. She turned to the Doctor. 'Then what was it 
that attacked me?' 
'There are two different kinds of creature down there,' he answered. 'The young 
- well, let's call her a mermaid for now, for want of a better word - is one, 
and that other creature looked more like some mutant seal.' 
'Obviously the creature that killed old Ben Tolliver,' Doyle commented. 
'Yes,' the Doctor agreed. 'Some kind of a guardian, I'd venture to say. It is 
supposed to kill or scare off anyone who gets too close to the lights we saw.' 
He slapped Doyle on the back. 'But you killed one, and its companion took it 
away to prevent us from getting a good look at it.' 
'But it's got to be related to that hound in the outhouse,' Sarah commented. 
'Right?' 
'Yes.' The Doctor frowned. 'It's certainly more than any seal born naturally on 
this world. The basic structure appeared to be a common grey seal, but it had 
been enhanced.' 
Doyle nodded. 'You think, then, that it was another constructed beast, like that 
hound? A child mutated somehow into a seal?' 
'Not exactly,' the Doctor answered. 'I think it was the other way around: a seal 
that had human characteristics like enhanced intelligence grafted onto it.' 
Sarah was almost ahead of him. 'And that mermaid,' she said slowly. 'She was 
real, so she must have been a child merged somehow with a fish.' 
'Not a fish,' the Doctor argued. 'More likely a dolphin or a porpoise. I only 
had a glimpse of the girl in poor light, but her tail was smooth, not scaled.' 
He snapped his fingers. 'Of course! Mammalian natures combined. Just like the 
boy and the dog.' 
Doyle nodded. 'Something that occurs to me, Doctor,' he offered, 'is that the 
Hope has plenty of mammalian matter aboard it in the form of whale and seal 
products. Perhaps Captain Gray's business with Breckinridge had something to do 
with those, do you think?' 
'Right!' exclaimed Sarah. 'And Breckinridge is fascinated with the sea. Maybe 
he's behind these mermaids?' 
'It's quite possible,' agreed the Doctor, holding up a hand. 'But this is mere 
supposition. We have no evidence linking him to the mermaids, do we?' 
'We could get it,' said Sarah, 'if we sneak into the factory and have a good 
look-see.' 
'Oh, no,' said Alice. 'You are staying here, Sarah.' She looked very crossly at 
the other woman. 'I can't follow everything that you've been saying, but this is 
obviously quite dangerous. It is no task for a woman.' 
The Doctor grinned. 'She's right that it's dangerous, Sarah. You rest up, while 
Doyle and I check into it.' He winked at her. 'Maybe you could talk to Alice 
and explain a little about women's lib.' 
'Darned right,' Sarah growled. 'If I have to stay here, I'm going to set her 
straight.' 
'Women's lib?' asked Alice blankly. 
The Doctor nudged Doyle. 'Come on,' he said. 'Want to wager that by the time we 
return Sarah will have turned the whole social order at the house upside down?' 
'Good Lord!' exclaimed Doyle. 'She's not one of these militant females, is she?' 

'Of course not,' the Doctor answered. 'Nothing that mild.' 
  
The Doctor dismounted from the horse that Fulbright had loaned him before he 
reached Breckinridge's factory. Doyle, puzzled, reined in his own steed, but 
didn't dismount. 
'We've still got a half mile or more to go. Doctor,' he said. 'Or were you 
planning a side trip?' 
'Not exactly,' the Doctor answered. 'Just a thought that struck me.' He pointed 
ahead of them at the ugly brick building. 'That's Breckinridge's factory, 
right?' 
'Indeed.' 
The Doctor swung around about forty-five degrees until he was pointing out to 
sea. 'And that's the bay we were in last night, isn't it? I wonder if it's no 
more than coincidence that the factory overlooks the bay?' He rubbed his chin 
thoughtfully. 'I wonder if you can see the bay from the top floor of the 
factory? That's where Sarah said Breckinridge has his private retreat.' 
Doyle shrugged. 'From the angle, I'd say it was quite likely. Why?' 
'Because Breckinridge should have been able to see the wheel of light from up 
there, in that case. And yet he's never reported doing so. I wonder why?' 
'Perhaps he never works late. Doctor,' suggested Doyle. 
'He's a self-made man,' the Doctor snapped. 'You never get to be one unless 
you're prepared to work long hours. I think Sarahs right, and that he's mixed up 
in this affair somehow.' 
Doyle frowned. 'Perhaps he is. Hadn't we better move on and see if we can get in 
to talk to him?' 
'In a moment,' the Doctor answered. 'I was rather hoping that the boy hiding 
behind that tree over there would come out and talk to us before we left.' 
'What?' Doyle stared at the trees, but could see nothing to indicate they were 
other than alone. 'Are you sure there's somebody there?' 
'I'm sure.' The Doctor gave a large grin. 'Billy, isn't it?' 
There was a stir of movement, then a thin, ragged boy stepped out from the 
trees. His face held a look a little way between annoyance and awe. 'How did ye 
know I was there?' 
'It's my business to know things. Billy,' the Doctor replied evasively. 'How do 
you do. I'm the Doctor. I believe we have a mutual friend in Sarah Jane Smith.' 
Doyle shook his head in amazement. 'Astounding, my dear Doctor.' 
This was an opinion Billy evidently shared. He gave the Doctor a look of 
respect. 'Not many can spot me, mister. You be pretty clever.' 
'Thank you, Billy. Now, did you just come here to tell me how brilliant I am, or 
do you have some news for me?' 
The boy scowled slightly. 'It were for Miss Smith, really. But, seeing she ain't 
here, I suppose I could tell you. Early this morning, just after daybreak, there 
were a big wagon made a delivery at the factory.' 
'That's hardly surprising,' Doyle commented. 'They must get supplies there all 
the time.' 
The Doctor shook his head. 'Not that early,' he commented. 'The workers wouldn't 
have arrived. And it meant that the wagon must have been waiting nearby since 
yesterday to make a delivery at that time. It suggests they didn't want to be 
seen, doesn't it, Billy?' 
'It do,' agreed Billy, smiling. 'And it weren't no supplies such as that factory 
needs.' He scuffed the dirt with his foot. 'I can't read, so I don't know what 
were in them, but it were barrels of some sort.' 
'Excellent work. Billy,' the Doctor said approvingly. 'I doubt it was just floor 
polish, eh?' He took a shilling from his pocket and flipped it to the startled 
youth. 'Let me know if you hear or see anything further, will you?' Then he 
grinned at Doyle. 'This makes a foray into the factory more pressing, don't you 
think?' 
Billy winked, and vanished into the woods again. 
Doyle sighed and shook his head. 'This is all very peculiar,' he announced. 'I 
still don't comprehend it all.' 
'Nor do I, yet,' admitted the Doctor, springing back up into the saddle. 'But 
some of the answers at least must lie within the factory. Come on. And follow my 
lead when we get there.' He urged on his steed and Doyle fell in behind him as 
they cantered the rest of the way to the factory gates. 
As they approached, a rat-faced man jumped to his feet in the guard hut. 'Stay 
where you are!' he cried. 'There's no admittance.' 
The Doctor glared down at him from his horse. 'Are you out of your mind, man?' 
he snapped. 'Didn't your master tell you to expect us?' 
Rat-face looked surly and annoyed. 'I wasn't told to expect anybody.' 
'Then someone has made a grave error,' the Doctor replied haughtily. 'We are 
with Lord Shaftesbury's committee. We have had reports that children are 
employed at this site, and are empowered to investigate and report on their 
working conditions. I am certain that Mister Breckinridge was notified of our 
arrival. Now let us in.' 
The guard scowled. 'I wasn't told about no arrivals,' he replied sullenly. 'I 
can't let you in.' 
'By thunder!' Doyle exclaimed, getting into the spirit of the masquerade. 'This 
is intolerable!' 
'I'll say it is,' agreed the Doctor. 'Very well, we shall return with the local 
magistrate and a court order in fifteen minutes.' He glared at the guard. 'And 
the constable with a warrant for your arrest. Impeding an official enquiry is a 
serious charge. What's your name?' 
Rat-face went pale. 'Here,' he protested weakly, 'there's no need for that.' 
'Then announce us to Mister Breckinridge,' snapped the Doctor. 
'I can't,' the guard answered. Before either visitor could protest, he added: 
'Mister Breckinridge isn't here at the moment.' 
'Then who is in charge, man?' demanded the Doctor. 
'The factory manager, Mister Kinney,' the guard replied. 
'Then we'll see him,' the Doctor said. 'Go and get him.' He leaned forward in 
the saddle. 'Now!' 
The guard bolted across the open yard. Doyle moved slightly closer. 
'Do you think this bluff will work?' he asked quietly. 
'All the better for Breckinridge not being around,' the Doctor assured him. 
'Flunkies are much easier to hoodwink than bosses. They're terrified of making 
mistakes that could get them fired later. Stay in character, and ask pertinent 
questions about the welfare of the child workers.' 
The guard came rushing back, with a harried-looking man in tow. The newcomer 
appeared flustered and embarrassed. 'I'm Jack Kinney,' he said, panting 
slightly. 'I'm afraid Mister Breckinridge said nothing about any inspection.' 
'That's not my fault,' the Doctor snapped. 'You'll have to do for now, I 
suppose. When will the owner be back?' 
'Later today, sir,' Kinney answered, wringing his hands nervously together. 'I'm 
not certain precisely when. If you'd care to return then - ' 
'What?' Doyle thundered. 'And allow you the opportunity to cover up all your 
scandalous practices? Do you think we're feeble-minded, man?' 
Kinney was practically wetting his trousers with fear. 'I assure you, there's 
nothing untoward happening here, and we have nothing to hide.' 
'Then let us in,' the Doctor said coldly. 'We are the ones who will determine 
the truth of that, not you.' He dismounted and fished in his pocket. 'Here, you 
blithering idiot. My credentials. Don't you think to ask to see them?' He handed 
over a card and a bundle of papers through the gap in the gate. 
Kinney took them as if they were booby-trapped. 'Ah . . .' he muttered, peering 
over the wad. 'Doctor John Smith of UNIT? I thought you said - ' 
'That I work at the moment for Lord Shaftesbury?' the Doctor snapped. 'I'm on 
loan as a specialist, man. Can't you see that for yourself? How can you be in 
charge of a factory when you can't even read plain English?' 
Kinney, flustered, handed back the papers and card. Well, I expect it's all in 
order,' he agreed. To the guard, he said, 'Let them in, Raintree.' The guard, 
still scowling, unlocked the gate. The Doctor led his horse inside, followed by 
Doyle. The guard then ostentatiously locked the gate behind them. 'Now, what do 
you gentlemen need to see first?' 
'Where, precisely, are the children employed?' asked Doyle. 'I must make a 
thorough inspection of their work area to ensure its compliance with all 
relevant legislation, you know.' 
'Quite, quite,' agreed Kinney, wiping his hands on his trouser legs. 'Ah, over 
here, this way, this way.' He led his two difficult visitors on a whirlwind tour 
of the factory. 
Doyle, quite relishing his role, really entered into the spirit of it, asking 
pointed questions and jotting down the replies in a small notepad. At one point 
he borrowed a tape measure, made several arcane determinations and scribbled 
down the results disapprovingly. Kinney was getting so agitated that he barely 
noticed that the Doctor was examining areas that were not included in the tour. 
On the accounting floor, the Doctor suddenly barked, 'Where are the shipping 
logs? What chemicals do you use here? Are any of them endangering the health of 
the children?' Kinney, white and trembling, pointed to the relevant accounting 
tomes. The Doctor scanned them and slammed them shut. 'And what's upstairs from 
here?' he growled. 
That's Mister Breckinridge's personal offices,' Kinney answered. 
'Do any children work up there?' asked Doyle. 
'None at all!' Kinney exclaimed. 'Nobody but Mister Breckmridge works there.' 
'We'd like to see it to be certain of that,' snapped the Doctor. 
'That's quite impossible,' the manager replied, shaking. 'Even I don't have a 
key to that floor. Only Mister Breckmridge does.' 
'And he's conveniently absent,' growled Doyle. He made another mark in his book. 
'This does not bode well, you know.' 
'I think, in that case,' the Doctor announced haughtily, 'that we've seen all we 
care to for the moment.' He glared at Kinney. 'But tell your employer that we 
shall return tomorrow morning and expect to be met by him personally and shown 
around.' He leaned forward and said softly, 'And if there is any sign of 
alterations upstairs, we shall bring down the full force of the law on his - and 
your - head. Do you understand me?' 
Kinney nodded until his head looked as if it would fall off. 'Oh, definitely. 
There'll be absolutely no problem, I'm certain of that.' 
'There had better not be,' Doyle commented, closing his notepad with a snap and 
sliding it back into his pocket. 'I would hate to have to report further 
infractions.' Then he strode to the door, forcing Kinney to follow him. This 
allowed the Doctor a few seconds to scan the other open accounting books before 
following them. 
As they left the factory and headed for the town, Doyle grinned at the Doctor. 
'I was starting to rather enjoy the part,' he confessed. 'How did I do?' 
'Rather admirably,' the Doctor replied. 'You distracted the poor chap perfectly, 
allowing me to make my own determinations.' His eyes sparkled. 'I am more 
convinced than ever that our missing friend Breckmridge is involved in this 
little business. Let's head along to the Pig and Thistle and grab a little lunch 
and liquid sustenance, and I'll tell you what I discovered.' 
When they were suitably ensconced with a pint and a slice of pie, the Doctor 
started in on the food and his explanations. 'Young Billy was quite correct in 
his suspicions. There are signs of a burdened cart having arrived and departed 
this morning. About a dozen drums were unloaded and taken into one of the 
storage sheds.' 
'You could tell that from the marks in the dirt?' asked Doyle. 'I saw no such 
drums in any of the sheds we examined.' 
'They've been moved again already,' the Doctor answered. 'But there was the 
unmistakable scent of formaldehyde in the second shed we were shown.' 
'And what possible use could that have for manufacturing wire?' 
'None,' the Doctor said, grinning. 'But it's marvellous at preserving tissues, 
isn't it? There is something going on at that factory all right. And the 
shipping logs I examined don't have any entries concerning chemical deliveries.' 

'Not entered yet, perhaps,' Doyle suggested, playing devil's advocate. 
'Not even a shipping bill,' the Doctor replied. 'That delivery this morning 
didn't officially happen, which I find rather significant.' 
'Then whatever answer there is to this mystery is to be found on the third 
floor?' asked Doyle eagerly. 
'No.' The Doctor finished his pie, then looked up thoughtfully. 'Sarah's been 
shown that floor, and she didn't see anything significant. I suspect that the 
secrets are hidden below ground rather than above.' 
'Below?' 
The Doctor nodded. 'I was quite intrigued by the chips and grooves cut into the 
stone floor beside one of the lathes that doesn't appear to have been operated 
recently.' 
Doyle's eyes lit up. 'Ah! You suspect a secret entrance to a cellar area.' 
'I do indeed.' The Doctor grinned. 'I think Mister Breckinridge has a little 
more invested in the future of this village than he's let on to anyone.' He 
glanced around the half-empty pub. 'You know, this is rather a nice tavern, 
isn't it? I wonder if they have any rooms to let?' 
Doyle frowned. 'I imagine so. Whatever for?' 
'I'd like to stay in town this evening,' the Doctor replied. 'It'll be easier to 
slip into the factory that way.' 
Doyle laughed. 'I like your manner of thinking, Doctor. I'm your man.' 
'I rather thought I could rely on you to help.' The Doctor was abruptly serious. 
'We may well be walking into grave danger, you know. These people would appear 
to have already killed to cover up their secrets. Do you possess a revolver? And 
would you be willing to use it if the need arises?' 
'Yes and yes,' Doyle answered eagerly. 'I'm very keen to see this mystery 
through to the end.' 
'Fine. Then you'd better settle matters with Captain Gray. I'll meet you back 
here at the stroke of midnight.' The Doctor stood up, and sang: 'Come, friends, 
who plough the sea/Truce to navigation/Take another station/Let's vary 
piracee/With a little burglaree!' With a grin, he added, 'Gilbert and Sullivan. 
Trust me, it'll be all the rage later this year.' 
Doyle, puzzled, simply shook his head. 
  
'I don't know how I let you talk me into doing this,' said Alice worriedly. 
'Stop complaining,' Sarah answered as she saddled a horse. 'I thought you'd 
agreed that you had to know the truth about matters.' 
'Yes,' agreed Alice, working on her own saddle. 'But going off alone like this - 
it could be very dangerous, you know.' 
'Look,' said Sarah with a sigh, 'you can't hide behind men all your life, you 
know. Sometimes you've got to step out and face life full in the face. Otherwise 
what are you? A slave, a dish-rag or a wimp.' 
'The Doctor will be annoyed,' Alice said, tightening the clinches. 'My father 
will be furious.' 
'Let them be,' Sarah dismissed the problem. 'Look, if I'm right, we've got a 
good chance of getting a real lead on whoever's behind this whole plot. 
According to the Doctor, old Ben Tolliver was buried yesterday. Constable 
Faversham guarded the cemetery last night, but he can't pull night duty twice in 
a row. He has to sleep sometime. And the villains that nabbed Missus Bellaver's 
body took it on the second night last time. I'll bet that they'll try again 
tonight. All we have to do is follow them, then send for the authorities, who'll 
catch the gang red-handed. That's why I need a bit of help. I can't watch the 
crooks and go for help at the same time.' Her steed was ready, so she swung up 
into the saddle. 
'I don't know that I'm up to this,' Alice confessed. 'I'm frightened.' 
'You'd be daft if you weren't a bit scared.' Sarah patted her hand 
encouragingly. 'Honest, it won't be as bad as you think. And you'll be surpised 
how fast you can get used to this sort of escapade.' 
'I'm sure you do it all the time,' agreed Alice, clambering onto her mount 
slowly. 'You're awfully brave, and I'm not.' 
'It's just a matter of getting used to it,' Sarah assured her. 'Anything a man 
can do, a woman can do better. Believe me.' 
'I'm starting to regret that I ever listened to you,' Alice commented. 
Sarah grinned. 'Yeah, I know. I often wish I didn't listen to me, either. Let's 
get with the Hi-ho, Silver routine, shall we?' 
'I'm afraid I don't understand you.' 
'Let's ride.' 
  
Ross examined the factory through his eyeglasses and then frowned down at 
Abercrombie. 'Eating again?' he chided. 'I'd ask where you got that sandwich, 
but I'm sure I probably don't want to hear the reply.' 
'Likely not,' agreed his assistant, chomping down. 'It needs more bleeding 
chutney, mind you. Still, since I didn't pay for it, no sense in complaining.' 
He nodded his head toward the object of his boss's scrutiny. 'How's things?' 
'Getting intriguing,' admitted Ross. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'The 
Doctor and his friends appear to have somehow survived their little expedition 
last night. He and that man Doyle have been in and out of the factory this 
morning. And I very much doubt that this will be their last planned excursion of 
the day.' 
'Me too,' agreed Abercrombie, licking his fingers of the last drips of chutney. 
'I had a few words with a barmaid named Jen. She says that the Doctor rented a 
room at the Pig for tonight.' 
'For once, you seem to have been doing your job,' Ross commented. 'So it looks 
as if the Doctor plans to make an unheralded visit to the factory this evening. 
I think we'd better be prepared to intercept him, don't you?' 
Abercrombie groaned. 'Have a heart,' he complained. 'I needs me beauty sleep.' 
'Far be it from me to argue with that assessment of your looks,' Ross answered 
with a hint of a smile. 'But you'll have to catch up on it later. Tonight there 
will be plenty of work for you to do.' 
'Bleeding hell,' muttered Abercrombie. 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull 
boy, as me mum used to say.' 
'Then it's a good thing your name isn't Jack,' the colonel said. 'It isn't, is 
it?' 
'You know it ain't.' 
'Then stop complaining. Get a little rest now, so you'll be fresher tonight.' 
Abercrombie just scowled and tried to setde down. It was clear he wasn't at all 
keen on roughing it. But it was equally apparent that Ross didn't care. 
  
It was starting to get dark when Sarah and Alice arrived on the outskirts of 
Bodham. For the last fifteen minutes of the ride, Alice had been absolutely 
silent. Sarah glanced at her companion, seeing that the girl's hands were 
absolutely white, and that her pretty face was pinched and drawn. She started to 
feel guilty about what she'd put the girl through. It was hard for her to 
remember sometimes that not everyone was born brave. 
'Listen, Alice,' she said, reining in her mount. 'I think you'd better go back 
home.' 
'No, Sarah,' the other girl answered. Her voice was strained, and she was trying 
to put a brave face on it. 'I promised to help you, and I will not back down 
now.' 
Sarah nodded. 'I know, but I bullied you into it. Look, I think you've done more 
than I should have asked. It's much harder for you to go through this than it is 
for me. We've had very different upbringings.' An idea struck her. 'Look, ride 
back to the Hall and make sure your father stays up for a few hours. Then tell 
him where I am and what I'm doing. If I read Sir Edward right, he'll insist on 
coming to my help with a rescue party. That way, if I get into trouble, he can 
help bail me out of it, can't he?' 
'You think that's a good idea?' asked Alice eagerly. 
Sarah could see that she was looking for an honourable way out of her dilemma. 
She really was terrified of spending the night in a cemetery, but she didn't 
want to let Sarah down. 'I'm sure it is,' she said gently. 
'But what if you need help?' 
'I'll get in touch with Billy, that boy I told you about,' Sarah replied. 'I'm 
sure one of the kids will be more than willing to bear messages for me. Someone 
will help me, I guarantee it.' 
Alice hesitated, not wanting to look too eager to desert her friend. Then she 
nodded. 'You can count on me,' she vowed. 
'I'm sure I can.' Sarah waved as Alice rode off. Then she sighed. 'Someone will 
help me,' she muttered to herself. 'Great line.' 
'Luckily for you,' said a familiar voice, 'someone is more than willing to help 
out a maiden in distress.' 
'Lord,' asked Sarah, her face turned toward the heavens. 'What have I ever done 
to deserve this?' Then she glared down at Kipling, who had crept out of hiding 
behind a wall to grin lecherously up at her. 'What happened to the other two 
Stooges?' 
'McBee and Duns?' Kipling laughed. 'They were caught smoking behind the 
groundsman's sheds. They're in detention, silly buggers. But I'm here and eager 
to help.' 
'Lucky me,' said Sarah with a sigh. Well, she supposed it was her own fault. She 
had wanted to meet Kipling in the first place, hadn't she? And she could use 
someone to keep her awake and alert and to run for help if need be. 'Okay, you 
can come along. But you'd better behave. That means no lewd comments, 
understand?' 
'Absolutely,' assured Kipling. 'The soul of honour, that's me.' 
'Why do I find that so hard to believe?' asked Sarah, rolling her eyes. 'Don't 
answer that. And follow me.' She rode over to the Pig and Thistle, where she 
stabled her borrowed horse. Darkness was closing in on them now. Sarah took the 
dark lantern from her saddlebags and slipped it into one pocket of the jacket 
she wore. Then she led the way to the small graveyard. 
As she'd expected, there was no sign of the portly Faversham. The poor, 
overworked man was probably at home right now, snoring his head off. She could 
sym-oathize with him. He had to be utterly out of his depth with the strange 
occurrences that were going on. On the other hand, she was right in her element 
here. In the failing light she examined the small burial ground. Tolliver had 
been buried near the entrance, in the poorer section of the cemetery. Several 
hundred yards further in, by one of the stone walls, there was a larger, more 
impressive monument. Some kind of a mausoleum, she assumed. She could barely 
make out the signs of a step well. 
'Over there,' she decided. 'We'll be under cover, and we'll have a good view 
across at Tolliver's grave.' She grinned at Kipling. 'Not nervous, are you?' 
'Me?' Kipling laughed scornfully. 'Not likely. But if you need a little comfort 
. . .' 
'I won't,' Sarah assured him. 'Trust me on that one.' 
  
Alice was feeling terrible as she rode back from Bodham. Despite everything, she 
was certain that she'd let Sarah down. This mission to get her father to help 
out was, she was certain, merely a sop to bolster her up. Sarah was doing all of 
the work and taking all of the risks, and she had done nothing but - what was 
that strange word that Sarah employed? - wimp out. 
But she couldn't help herself. She was not by nature a brave person. The thought 
of spending the night in a graveyard, even with Sarah for company, terrified 
her. It was bad enough just thinking about being surrounded by mouldering 
corpses, but Sarah seemed to think there was a real chance of there being living 
people turning up, people that were desperate and despicable enough to rob the 
graves. She shuddered in horror at the idea. 
This was not what she was supposed to do with her life. Her father had never 
intended that she should be adventurous. And she knew that Roger would have been 
appalled if he'd known what she had almost done. Roger loved her, of that she 
was certain, and he would always protect her. Even if he did seem to be a little 
odd when on the subject of that friend of his. 
As if the thought of him had produced the reality, Edmund Ross stepped out 
suddenly into the road ahead of her, waving at her to stop. With a cry of shock, 
Alice reined in her steed. Ross marched over and grabbed the reins to prevent 
her from leaving. 
'A little late to be out riding, isn't it?' he asked pleasantly. 
'I'll do what I wish and when I wish it,' Alice replied, with as much courage 
and contempt in her voice as she could muster. 'I'll thank you to release those 
reins.' 
Ross didn't remove his hands. 'Alice,' he said gently, 'there's no need to be so 
angry with me.' 
'Is there not?' she asked him coldly. 'After what you did to me yesterday? Or is 
that of no consequence in your eyes?' 
'You can hardly blame me for that,' Ross answered. 'You were trying to go 
through my luggage. The drug was merely a sleeping draught I use to protect my 
cases when I travel abroad. You'd be surprised how many foreigners have tried to 
rob me.' 
'I find that a feeble excuse,' she snapped. 
'Then I'll try and invent a better one,' Ross promised her. 'Please, Alice, 
don't be so harsh in judging me. I assure you that I bear neither you nor anyone 
dear to you any malice, nor intend to cause harm to them. But I have work to do, 
and that work must not suffer.' 
'Work?' she asked, scornfully. 'Work that involves that thieving little friend 
of yours, no doubt.' 
'Abercrombie, yes,' admitted Ross. 'I know he's not the most appealing person in 
the world, but he does have his good points.' 
'Such as his skills at burglary?' suggested Alice, annoyed. 
Ross didn't bother to deny her accusations. 'There are times when such skills do 
come in handy, yes.' 
At Fulbright Hall?' 
Ross scowled. 'Alice, I resent the implication that I intend or intended to rob 
your family. Do you really think that little of me?' 
T don't know what to think of you!' she exclaimed, frustrated. 'You evade simple 
questions, you sneak about my home, and you ask me to trust you! How much of a 
fool do you think I am?' 
'Obviously more of one than you may be,' he answered, equally annoyed. 'And not 
as great a fool as I am for thinking that you'd accept anything I had to say.' 
She glared down at him. 'Then tell me what I want to know: what are you doing 
here, Edmund?' 
He shook his head. 'I am not at liberty to tell anyone that right now. In a few 
days, perhaps, but not now. There is too much happening, and too many people 
involved.' He sighed, and then looked up sharply. 'When you passed me earlier, 
Miss Smith was with you. Where is she now?' 
'I don't see that that is any of your concern,' she replied imperiously. 'Let me 
pass.' 
'She hasn't gone to the factory, has she?' he asked sharply. 
Annoyed by his tone, Alice glared at him. 'I refuse to answer any more of your 
insufferably rude questions.' 
Ross grimaced. 'I take it that means our enterprising friend is engaged in 
something most likely foolhardy and probably dangerous as well. Why won't any of 
you let well enough alone?' 
'Why won't you let me alone?' cried Alice. In sudden rage she slapped at his 
hands. Startled, Ross allowed the reins to fall. Alice set her heels to her 
horse, and Ross barely had time to jump out of the way before the steed leapt 
past him and bore Alice away. 
Ross was still staring ruefully after the vanishing horse and rider when 
Abercrombie emerged from the woods, a wide smirk on his face. 'Got a way with 
women, haven't you?' he asked slyly. 
'Not one of my more useful traits, sadly,' Ross replied. 'Well, I think we may 
take it as read that Miss Smith has dealt herself a hand in this game. A pity. I 
was starting to like her.' 
'So what does this mean for us?' 
'It means that we'll be getting into the factory a trifle earlier than I had 
planned on.' 
'Heigh-ho,' muttered Abercrombie. 'More bleeding work for me, that's what it 
means.' 
  
Sarah found it difficult restraining her temper with Kipling. Not that he was 
exactly misbehaving, but he was trying to get as close to impropriety as he 
could without getting her completely furious. Now he was getting on her nerves 
by complaining about the darkness. 
'If we had a light,' she hissed, 'then they'd be able to see us and wouldn't 
come, would they?' 
'I know that,' Kipling agreed. 'But I resent being forced to act as a camping 
ground for so many dratted insects that can see me even in the night.' 
Sarah was about to give him a sharp rejoinder when the nagging thought at the 
back of her mind finally crystallized. 'Light,' she muttered, smacking herself 
on the forehead. 'That's it.' 
'That's what?' asked Kipling, puzzled. 
'Last night I saw lights under the sea out there in the bay,' explained Sarah. 
'At the time there was something that struck me as odd about them, but I 
couldn't place it. Now I have. What sort of lights will burn underwater?' 
'I shouldn't think any would,' Kipling objected. 'The water would put them out. 
Unless they were covered with globes to prevent the water reaching them.' 
'That's what I thought, too,' agreed Sarah. 'But wouldn't gas lights flicker? 
The ones I saw were quite even and steady, which suggests that they were 
electrical.' 
Kipling frowned. 'I've heard about those devices,' he raid, 'but there's none 
around here, are there?' 
'Breckinridge has them installed in his factory,' Sarah told him. 
'Ah!' Kipling caught on. 'So if there are lights under the bay, then they are 
most likely a part of his system.' 
'Right,' agreed Sarah. 'Yet another probable connection between our friendly 
philanthrope and the mystery.' 
'Evidence is absolutely piling up,' agreed Kipling. 'Why don't we just tell the 
police?' 
'Because it's all circumstantial,' Sarah pointed out. 'There's nothing that 
definitely ties him to anything, much less to a crime. Even if those lights are 
his, there's no crime in lighting up the sea bed, is there?' 
'But - ' Kipling started to say. Sarah suddenly clapped her hand over his mouth. 

'Shush!' she hissed, and pointed through the darkness. 
There was a movement by the far wall of the graveyard, and the faintest of 
lights. It was sufficient to thro\\ the strange shapes of decaying stones and 
figures into weird relief. Sarah shivered, partly from the cold. She wasn't 
superstitious, but after travelling with the Doctor for a while, you could never 
assume that even a graveyard was as still and safe as it appeared to be. 
As they watched, a bulky figure slipped over the wall. The newcomer was carrying 
a dark lantern, slitted to allow only a tiny beam of light to escape. It 
sufficed to show his motion, but was not enough to allow Sarah to make out any 
details. 
Kipling grinned excitedly. 'The grave-robbers!' he mouthed silently, and she 
nodded. At this time of the night, it certainly wasn't anyone taking a short-cut 
home through the graveyard on his way home from the pub. 
The intruder moved slowly around among the tombstones, clearly looking for 
Tolliver's grave. Sarah watched intently, waiting to see what he would do. There 
was little doubt in her mind that they would have a longish wait while this 
person unearthed the casket, but it was exciting to see that she'd guessed 
correctly. Now they had a really good lead. All she had to do was follow him 
back to his base - she was certain it would be the factory - and then send 
Kipling to fetch help. The case would be sewn up, no thanks to the Doctor for 
once. 
There was the faintest of sounds behind her. Belatedly she remembered that the 
Doctor had mentioned there being two grave robbers. As she turned, she caught a 
quick glimpse of a huge man towering over them. His upraised hands held a jar of 
some kind which he threw down at their feet. As Sarah started to rise, thick 
fumes enveloped her. 
She gasped for breath as the fumes filled her lungs. She felt an icy chill, and 
then it was as if she were falling down an infinitely long tunnel into 
nothingness. 
8
Explanations and Mutations
Billy was shaking with indecision as he saw the big man leaving the graveyard 
carrying two bodies. One of them was one of the three boys from the posh school. 
He couldn't care less about that little creep. But the other was Miss Smith, and 
she'd been fair and decent. For a second, as he hid behind the tree. Billy 
fmgered his fish-gutting knife and considered the possibility of jumping out and 
plunging the blade into the big man's back. He knew, though, that it wouldn't be 
easy to make it a killing stroke in this light and with such a huge target - and 
that the man could move fast enough that he'd not have the chance for a second 
stroke. 
Then the rat-faced man appeared beside his companion, and Billy dropped his plan 
of immediate attack. Instead, he decided, the best thing to do was to follow the 
men and see what they did with Miss Smith. He already knew that the Doctor was 
staying over at the Pig and Thistle. Once he was certain of the men's 
destination, he could call in help. 
One thing he was certain of, even though he couldn't explain the conviction, was 
that the Doctor was the best possible person to have on his side in the looming 
battle. 
  
Alice was almost shaking after her encounter with Ross. It was mostly anger, not 
fear. She couldn't believe the arrogance of the man. How could he demand so much 
and offer so little? And then appear to be annoyed with her simply because she 
refused to trust him? Hadn't he proven over and over again that any such trust 
would be sorely misplaced? 
She couldn't understand how Roger could possibly be friends with the man, or 
fall for his claims. True, Ross was superficially charming, but what lay in his 
depths? But she knew that Roger was no fool, so what had possessed him to trust 
Ross? She simply couldn't work it out. 
All she could do was to ride home and wait until near midnight, and then deliver 
the message she'd promised to her father. 
He would know what to do. He always did. 
  
Doyle had been unable to get any rest at all. He'd returned to the Hope to 
discover that Gray was firm about sailing the following forenoon. Uncertain 
whether or not he'd be finished with the mystery, Doyle had packed his few 
personal items and moved over to the tavern for the night. There he'd attempted 
to get some deep, since it was likely to be a long evening. But rest had eluded 
him; excitement burned inside, and his mind was in a whirl. 
He was still unable to make out too much of the mystery. The best he could say 
was that at least the various puzzles seemed linked by the factory. But how they 
could be linked was still way beyond his imagination. Maybe he'd be better off 
giving up the idea of becoming a writer. If he couldn't even make out the 
threads of reality, how could he ever hope to invent any? 
Finally, at a little after ten, he gave up all attempts at resting and elected 
to take a stroll outside to clear his head. It was a bright but cold night, with 
the ever-present Wind whipping up leaves and trash in the streets. The town was 
quietening down, with the patrons of the Pig and Thistle having left for home 
earlier. The fishermen were at sea and their families abed. He seemed to be the 
only one on the quiet streets. 
Then he heard the pattering sound of bare feet on the cobbles, and around the 
comer flew a scarecrow of a bov Doyle recognized him instantly. 
'Billy!' he exclaimed. 'Whatever is the matter?' 
The youngster skidded to a halt, looking at him waril\ before his identity 
penetrated. 'Oh, it's you,' he said, relieved. 'Quick, we got to warn the 
Doctor!' 
'Warn him about what?' asked Doyle, alarmed. 
'His friend - she were in the graveyard. Two men've took her to the factory.' 
'Good Lord!' Doyle was shocked. 'She was supposed to be recuperating at Fulbnght 
Hall. What the dickens was she thinking of? Still, no time to worry about that 
now.' He thought fast. 'Billy, are there any of your irregular fnends you can 
rouse?' 
'Aye,' the boy agreed, puzzled. 
'If there's one who can ride a horse, the Doctor has one stabled here at the 
tavern. Send a message to Sir Alexander Cromwell and tell him what's happened. 
He'll have to organize the forces of the law.' 
'Aye. What about the Doctor?' 
'I'll rouse him myself.' Doyle gave him an encouraging smile. 'We were going to 
go to the factory tonight anyway. The game has just become a trifle more urgent, 
that's all. On your way, Billy.' 
'Righto, sir.' Billy saluted in a ragged fashion and then ran off. 
Excitement glowed within Doyle as he ran back inside the tavern and up the 
stairs to the Doctors room. He hammered on the door and called his friend's 
name. A moment later the Doctor threw open the door. 
'Whatever is the matter?' he growled. 
Doyle was pleased to see the man was fully dressed and nulling on his 
deerstalker. 'It's Miss Smith,' he gasped. 'She's been taken by two ruffians to 
the factory. She was in the graveyard, apparently. And you told her to stay at 
the Hall!' 
'Sarah never does what she's told,' complained the Doctor. 'She's almost as bad 
as me in that respect. Right, let's go.' He hurried past Doyle and down the 
stairs. The medical man whirled around and followed him. 
'What was she thinking of?' complained Doyle as they tame out into the street. 
He fingered the revolver he carried in his pocket, a trusty Adams .450 that 
constantly threatened to fall to the ground as he humed to keep up with the 
Doctor. 
'She realized that there was a good chance of the grave-robbers striking again,' 
the Doctor snapped. 'She must have been waiting for them and been captured.' 
'Oh.' Doyle considered this a moment. 'Didn't you think there was a chance of 
them striking?' 
'Of course I did,' the Doctor growled. 'That's why I left them to it. I figured 
that if they stole the body, we'd discover it at the factory when we arrived. 
That way there would be clear and conspicuous grounds for the arrests of all 
concerned. As usual, Sarah's jumped the gun and landed us all in senous 
trouble.' 
It was beginning to dawn on Doyle how little he'd anticipated the Doctor's 
complex planning. 'It was a smart idea,' he approved. 
'And now wasted,' the Doctor complained. He gestured ahead. 'There's the factory 
now.' 
'Right.' Doyle drew his revolver. 'Do we storm the walls, break down the gate or 
what?' 
'I'll go for the what,' the Doctor replied softly. 'We aren't the first people 
to arrive here tonight. Unless I'm very much mistaken, there goes a man I'm 
eager to have more than a few words with. Quickly, follow me, but don't shoot or 
make any untoward noise!' 
He sprang forward, like a leopard after a gazelle. Doyle struggled to keep up 
with him as he dashed through the few remaining dark streets after the shadowy 
figures ahead of them. He and the Doctor were almost upon the two men when the 
leader whirled about with an exclamation He lowered a walking stick as he saw 
who it was. 
'Doctor!' exclaimed Colonel Ross, startled. 'I was not expecting you quite yet.' 

'I didn't think you were,' the Doctor growled, coming to a halt a few feet from 
him and Abercrombie. The tubbier man looked shocked and worried. 'But it was a 
smart move to hold off using that air rifle of yours. As it is, you're a sight 
too free with it for my liking.' 
'I had no option,' Ross protested. 
'There are always options,' the Doctor snapped. 'But what I want right now are 
some explanations. You've played the man of mystery long enough.' 
'Doctor,' exclaimed Doyle, gasping to catch his breath after their sprint, 
'can't this wait until later? Miss Smith could be in grave danger inside there.' 

'Nothing that a few moments now will affect,' the Doctor answered. 'And Colonel 
Ross's information may aid us considerably once we penetrate that lair.' He 
turned back to the man again. 'What have you been hiding? Aside from that 
scoundrel Breckinridge, who did you expect to find in there tonight?' 
Ross hesitated, his face troubled. Finally he seemed to realize that he had no 
way out of this situation other than to provide the Doctor with what he wished 
to know. With a deep sigh, he admitted: 'My brother.' 
  
A putrid stench in her nostrils shocked Sarah back to awareness. Gagging, she 
struggled to move her hands to cover her mouth, but was not able. As she coughed 
and choked, her mind started to focus once again. As she began to become aware 
of her surroundings, she wished she were still unconscious. 'Take it away,' she 
gasped, and the offensive odour was finally capped. 
'Back in the land of the living, are we?' asked a cheery voice. 'At least for 
the time being, that is.' 
Sarah struggled to free both her mind and body, but only the former worked. Her 
vision sharpened and she could make out only too clearly where she was. It had 
to be some kind of a laboratory, hewn out of base rock. Presumably deep 
underground, since there were signs of moisture on the wall and a constant 
dripping noise in the background. The air had that stale taste of caves or of 
old, musty books. The room was roughly twenty feet across in both directions and 
about ten high, but it was unfinished and none of the walls were terribly 
smooth. The floor, as a contrast, was almost polished to a shine. Though 
electric lights were scattered about the chamber at irregular intervals, the 
place was still dark and creepy. 
That was without including the other trappings that made it even creepier. 
She managed to straighten herself up, finding there was floor beneath her 
unsteady feet. Her hands were manacled together above her head, above a pipeline 
that had supported her while she was out. The circulation in her hands was 
barely adequate, but she doubted that an appeal for freedom would cut any ice 
around here. 
The pipe she was chained over was one of about a dozen leading from the 
uncertain realms behind her into this room. Most of them led into a series of 
large glass tanks, but three of them led into a huge glass cylinder that stood 
in splendid isolation opposite her. The lights seemed to be concentrated about 
this tank, which was about five feet across and stretched almost to the ceiling. 
A thick, bluish liquid filled the column almost to the top. Bubbles gently 
stirred the liquid. 
Inside the glass cylinder was a mermaid. 
Well, no, not exactly. It was male, for one thing, that much was clear. A young 
boy by the look of him, with curly black hair and haunted eyes. There were what 
looked like gill slits in the side of his neck which pulsed regularly, issuing 
some of the tiny streams of bubbles that rose within the column. The hands 
appeared webbed, the muscles of the shoulder abnormally strong. 
From the waist down, any resemblance to a human being ceased. The skin there was 
greyer, and the legs fused to make a longer body that ended in a tail that 
gently thrashed from side to side, enabling the merperson to maintain a constant 
position in the tube. 
Sarah was enthralled and sickened by the sight. 
When she could drag her eyes away from the creature, she swept them quickly over 
the rest of the room. Stacked along one wall were open vats of chemicals. In the 
center of the room was a large pit. Within the pit and rising to about four feet 
above the hole was a large metal vat. Within it was some kind of gurgling, 
bubbling mess. It had the appearance of hand cream, but one that was pallid and 
unsettled, moving and venting constantly. 
There were about a dozen tanks in the room that contained various forms of 
aquatic life. Sarah recognized a baby seal mewling in one tank. Another 
contained a dolphin that looked rather the worse for wear. Several others gave 
off the pungent aroma of formaldehyde and contained various organs and portions 
of internal anatomy. 
There was one person in the room with her, regarding her with a mixture of 
amusement and interest. He was a tall, slighdy chubby man with dark hair 
untidily brushed He had piercing blue eyes and an almost cherubic face. 
'I'd ask you to explain that comment,' Sarah finally answered him, her voice 
thick and still speckled with pain. 'But I doubt I'd like the explanation.' 
'Probably not,' the man agreed readily. 'Dear me, Miss Smith, your inquisitive 
nature has really caused you trouble this time, hasn't it?' 
'Oh, I'd say it was about par for the course,' she replied. The strength was 
returning to her tired muscles now. If she could just keep this man talking long 
. . . What? Maybe she could break the handcuffs with a mighty tug? Fat chance. 
She wondered what the time was, and whether Alice had managed to convince her 
father of the need for action. If she stalled long enough, maybe help could 
arrive. Besides that, there was always the Doctor. Sarah doubted he'd be too far 
away once the action began. But would he be close enough to do her any good? 
'Speaking of which, just what is the course?' 
Her captor gave her another of his happily innocent smiles. 'Miss Smith, you 
have a terrible habit of wanting answers to questions you shouldn't even be 
thinking about in the first place. Haven't you ever heard the old saying about a 
little knowledge being dangerous to your health?' 
Sarah grunted. ' If a little knowledge is dangerous,' she quoted,' where is 
the man who has so much as to be out of danger? ' She gave him a thin smile. 
'Thomas Henry Huxley.' 
'Oh, very good!' the man approved. 'You have quite a wit about you.' He 
shrugged. 'Of course, it is about all you do have about you. And, speaking of 
danger, you are in it, and I am not. I suppose that makes me the man that you 
refer to.' 
'And what makes you think I'm in danger and you aren't?' asked Sarah, putting on 
the most innocent expression she could muster. She didn't really expect it to 
fool him for a second, so she wasn't too disappointed when he laughed at her. 
'Oh, you really are something special!' He shook his head sadly. 'Miss Smith - 
may I call you Sarah? Miss Smith sounds so formal.' 
'Oh, by all means, let's dispense with formality,' Sarah answered. 'I'm not one 
to stand on etiquette. A step-ladder, maybe, but not etiquette. And what do I 
call you - that's polite in mixed company?' 
'My name is Ross, Sarah.' 
'Ross?' She narrowed her eyes and peered hard at him. 'You wouldn't happen to be 
related to a Colonel Edmund Ross, would you?' 
'He is my brother.' 
'Ah.' Some of this was starting to make a strange kind of sense to her now. 'And 
what do your friends call you? Assuming you have any, that is.' 
'All men have friends, Sarah. Mister Breckinridge, for example, is a very good 
friend of mine. I allow him to call me Percival.' He smiled at her. 'I imagine I 
could extend that courtesy to you, too, while you are still with us.' 
'Charmed,' Sarah replied. 'I'd shake hands, but it's a trifle difficult right at 
the moment.' She studied her captor with interest. This was definitely a man 
whose elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor. 'Percival, what are you 
up to here?' 
'My, my, my,' he chided. 'Curiosity killed the cat, Sarah. And I'm afraid it's 
going to kill you, too.' 
'Can we drop the corny literary allusions?' Sarah begged him. 'If you intend to 
kill me, where's the harm in telling me what I've got to die for?' 
Ross shrugged. 'Why not? Immediately, you have to die because I sent those two 
blockheads after a dead body and they brought me back two live ones instead.' 
Well, that was something. 'Kipling's still with us, I take it,' Sarah asked. 
'For the time being, yes.' Ross gestured to the large cylinder at the end of the 
room. 'As soon as that chamber has been vacated, he'll probably end up in there. 
I'm not entirely certain that the process will work on someone who has so 
evidently passed the point of puberty as Master Kipling, but if it kills him 
then it saves me the bother of having to see to the task personally. And if it 
doesn't kill him, we'll have another worker.' He patted her gently on the arm. 
'You, my dear, are obviously considerably past the age of puberty yourself. The 
process would definitely kill you - which is, I'm sad to report, your fate 
anyway. But it would also damage your internal organs, which would be a terrible 
waste.' 
Sarah's mouth was definitely on the desert side of dry right now. 'Yes,' she 
agreed, trying to sound flippant. 'I'd hate to see my organs go to waste. You 
know what they say about a mind being a terrible thing to waste.' 
Ross laughed, genuinely amused. 'Oh, you are a one, Sarah. It's a shame that 
you'll be staying with me, albeit in a number of small containers. I really 
would have liked the chance to spar with you a little more.' 
'Well, you can't have everything,' Sarah managed to joke. 'You may have my body, 
but you'll never have my mind. Unless you intend to pickle that, too.' She was 
trying very hard to avoid thinking about his promises. 'But aside from the 
fascination of taking my liver out on a date, why do you want my body parts so 
badly, Percival?' 
'For my work, Sarah,' Ross explained. He gestured toward the cylinder and the 
merboy within. 'As you can see, I've managed to create my own rather unique 
lifeforms. I believe you came face to face with a number of my creations over 
the past few days?' 
'Yes.' She shuddered. 'Mutant hounds, killer seals and a rather pretty young 
mermaid.' 
'The tip of the iceberg,' he assured her. 'Here in this laboratory, I have the 
means to achieve fusion of different animal species, combining their traits to 
form prototypical creatures that before now existed only in the imagination. 
Thanks to me, mermaids do exist.' 
Sarah shook her head. 'I can't quite bring myself to believe this is just a 
hobby for you,' she said. 'I mean, most people just take up collecting 
butterflies or stamps for a pastime. Are you just doing all this because you 
can?' 
Ross looked shocked. 'Sarah,' he chided, 'how petty you must think I am! Though 
I must admit that part of this is merely the desire to see what limits I can 
break. But my experiments do have a noble end: I am creating separate species of 
human beings that will take mankind beyond the oldest boundaries imposed on our 
species. My merfolk are the first - if we don't include that dreadful hound-boy, 
which was unplanned - but I hope to create more very shortly.' He waved his 
hands in the air like a comic-opera sorcerer. 'Imagine crossing human beings 
with cheetahs, for example, and creating a race with the endurance and cunning 
and prowess of the major cats. What warriors and athletes they might become! Or 
taking a simple bat and making from it winged beings that could ride the air 
currents and really fly! Isn't that a project worthy of great imagination?' 
'It's certainly great something,' agreed Sarah. 'B.S., mostly. You can't be 
serious.' 
He glared at her, his good humour vanishing in an instant. 'How can you say that 
after what you've witnessed?' he asked. 'My powers are quite real. The merfolk 
are alive, their bodies stable, and they are viable. Do you understand what that 
means?' 
'Yes,' agreed Sarah, impressed despite herself. 'That they can have children 
when they mature. And that they will breed true.' 
'Precisely. They can breed true. If I were to step aside now, the merfblk would 
continue to live and grow. I have done what no man has ever done before: I have 
created a new breed, a new genus, as my legacy. I have achieved what nobody has 
even dreamed of before -least of all that obnoxious, overbearing older brother 
of mine!' 
  
'I suppose it's partly my fault from the beginning,' Colonel Ross admitted. 
'Everything Percival has ever done in his miserable life was an attempt to 
either prove that he was better than me or else to try and hurt me for being 
what I am.' 
'And what are you?' asked the Doctor carefully. 'If you're merely a military 
man, I'm a humbug. You remind aoe a little of a Brigadier chappie I know.' 
Ross sighed. 'I've been attempting to avoid answering that question since I 
arrived here, Doctor. But in the interests that seem to have linked us, I have 
little choice left to me now, do I?' 
'None at all,' the Doctor replied cheerfully. 'If I don't like or don't believe 
your replies, Doyle and I will truss the two of you up here and mark you Do Not 
Open Till Christmas.' 
Doyle privately wasn't sure that the Doctor's threat could be carried out quite 
that simply, but it appeared that Ross had already made his decision anyway. 
'I am a special agent working directly under the command and authority of Her 
Majesty Queen Victoria,' he answered. 'It is my job to investigate those matters 
that lie outside of the conventional. Since the reports were first received 
about a monster hound on the loose on the moors down here, I've been working to 
track down the guilty parties.' 
Doyle's eyes went wide. 'You can prove that claim, I take it?' 
'Don't be an idiot, man,' replied Ross, his voice edged with weariness. 'In this 
line of work, how long do you think I'd last if I carried papers that proved I 
was under explicit orders of the Queen herself? Quite frequently I have to 
operate outside of both the law and this country' He nodded at the Doctor. 'I 
think your friend knows I'm telling the truth.' 
'I'm inclined to believe most of what you said,' the Doctor agreed. 'As I say, 
you have the same manner as the Brigadier about you.' 
'Brigadier?' asked Doyle, out of his depth. 'What brigadier?' 
'I'll explain later,' replied the Doctor. To Ross, he added, 'But I don't 
believe that shooting the hound was under explicit orders from anyone. There was 
no need to kill the poor creature.' 
Ross shook his head. 'Doctor, you do not seem to understand what my brother is 
capable of. I am attempting to eradicate every last foul deed he has 
perpetrated.' 
'Are you indeed?' asked the Doctor coldly. 'Well, let me give you fair warning. 
Colonel: if you attempt to eradicate a single one of those merpeople he has 
somehow managed to create, I shall take great delight in feeding you to his 
seals piece by bloody piece. Do I make myself perfectly clear?' 
'Indubitably.' 
'Good. I'm so glad we understand one another.' The Doctor abruptly smiled. 
'Aside from those misguided attempts to cover your brother's tracks, you seem to 
be a reasonably decent sort of chappie.' 
'Well, I'm still considerably in the dark here,' Doyle protested. 'What has 
looking for your brother and his manufactured monstrosities got to do with 
staying at Fulbright Hall? The whole family seems convinced you were planning to 
loot the blasted place.' 
Ross shrugged. 'A misunderstanding. Alice overheard me giving instructions to 
Abercrombie, and managed to misinterpret them. True, Abercrombie is a thief and 
a scoundrel, but in this line of work, it would be difficult to find a better 
partner.' 
'Thanks a lot,' muttered Abercrombie. 'Talk about being damned with faint 
praise.' 
'But what were you doing at the Hall?' persisted Doyle. 
'I first latched onto these experiments of my brother's in London,' Ross 
explained. 'There he had set up an inhuman laboratory to experiment upon living 
creatures. He's long been fascinated with the concept of improving on the works 
of Nature. He read Darwin's On The Origin Of Species while in college, and 
decided that natural selection was an inefficient means of advancing change.' 
'So he's elected to try unnatural selection,' muttered the Doctor. 
'Precisely.' 
'But how does he achieve this?' mused the Doctor. 'Technology on the Earth in 
this time period is certainly not up to anything on the order of change that 
he's managed. What is he doing?' 
'I really have no idea how he works the technique,' admitted Ross with a shrug. 
'Science is a background study for me. I know enough to get by on my missions, 
but little more. Percival is, in fact, the genius where that is concerned.' 
'Genius my foot,' snapped the Doctor. 'What he's doing is beyond impossible.' He 
sighed. 'I suppose I shall have to ask him his laboratory methods myself. What 
else?' 
'Well, his experiments cost a great deal of money,' explained Ross, 'and he was 
financing some from the proceeds of - ah, the production of extremely fine 
replications of the official currency.' 
'Printed his own,' Abercrombie put in helpfully 'Damned good queer it was, too.' 

'Quite,' agreed Ross dryly. 'Well, we destroyed his presses, but by the time I 
was certain that was done, he had fled. I had seen his first experiment, that 
poor unfortunate hound, and when the reports of a gigantic beast on the loose 
reached me, I knew it had to mean that Percival had begun work again in this 
vicinity. The problem was deciding where. 
'Since he needed a good deal of cash for his work, and there was no chance he 
could be printing it this soon, I knew he must have found someone to back his 
schemes. The only two people in this area with sufficient wealth were either Sir 
Edward Fulbright or Breckinridge.' 
'Ah!' Doyle exclaimed with satisfaction. 'And you chose to investigate Sir 
Edward first.' 
'Precisely. A foolish error, which has caused a good deal of trouble and 
inconvenience for me.' 
'But why him?' asked Doyle. 'Surely Breckinridge was the most likely suspect?' 
'Yes,' admitted Ross. 'And to my mind that made him less likely. You see, 
Percival employed a pair of assistants in London named Raintree and Brogan. Both 
men are currently employed as security officials at Breckinridge's factory. I 
reasoned that Percival planted them there as bait to lure me from the correct 
scent, since it was otherwise ludicrously obvious where he was.' 
The Doctor couldn't restrain his laughter any longer. 'Oh, wonderful,' he said 
between gasps. 'Your devious little mind overlooked the obvious because it was 
obvious. I'll bet your brother is chuckling about that still.' 
'He probably is,' agreed Ross shamefacedly. 'There was another reason, also. I 
could gain simple entry to Fulbright Hall because my old college chum Roger 
Bridewell had become engaged to Sir Edward's only daughter. I told him enough of 
my suspicions to make him willing to do anything to clear the suspicions against 
his future in-laws, so he managed to get me invited to the Hall. I'll admit that 
I was not the most popular guest they've ever entertained, but I did manage to 
confirm that Sir Edward was innocent of involvement. That left only 
Breckinridge.' 
'And so you elected to break in here tonight to check on your suspicions,' the 
Doctor finished for him. 
'Yes. I realized that you were going to come here eventually. I had to beat you 
to the mark, I knew, but you seem to have anticipated my moves.' 
The Doctor grinned. 'Sheer dumb luck, if that's any consolation,' he admitted 
cheerfully. 'I had planned to be here later, but Sarah has managed to force my 
hand.' 
'Sarah?' Ross frowned. 'What has she done?' 
'Managed to get herself captured by your brother, at a guess,' the Doctor 
answered. 
Ross went white. 'Then we had better end this conversation and get inside fast,' 
he said. 'My brother needs three things for his experiments: young children, who 
become the victims of his changes; animals, from which he makes the extracts to 
affect those changes; and third, he needs fresh corpses, from which he extracts 
human elements. These he uses on living animals, giving them humanoid speed and 
wits. I fear that Sarah is about to become the late Miss Smith - and that 
shortly afterwards, various portions of her will find their way into various 
other species of creatures.' 
Interlude 3
Ross
'Have you ever been to Limehouse, Sarah?' asked Percival Ross. 
'No more than I've been forced to,' she admitted. 
'Understandable.' He seemed almost adrift in the sea of his memories. 'I always 
found it a loathsome place. Its name comes from the lime kilns that burn there, 
and you can really have no idea what a dreadful stench they produce. And the 
whores that patrol the streets there -painted Jezebels whose faces would fall 
apart if they washed off the layers of make-up they wear. And men who seem to be 
engaged in discovering the limits of human endurance when it comes to preserving 
their livers in alcohol. A disgusting place, the cesspit of the planet. I was 
there for three years.' 
Sarah managed a cheeky smile. 'You can always tell a man by the company he 
keeps,' she quipped. 
'Most droll,' Ross answered. 'I had little option, though. I needed a place 
where I could procure subjects for my experiments without too many questions, 
and a place to dispose of my failures without arousing too much concern. I 
founded what I liked to call a Chanty Hospital -though the patients mainly 
contributed to me through their deaths. I used this as a cover for my 
experiments and probed the vast unknown areas of evolution, without notable 
success. Until, one day, the answer came to me in a flash.' 
'Take up gardening instead?' suggested Sarah. 
'No, I speak of a literal flash, Sarah.' He smiled at her. 'A star fell on 
Limehouse. The locals called on me, since they were terrified that the heavens 
were visiting divine vengeance on them. If God Almighty had done so, I couldn't 
have been too surprised, but it was nothing quite like that. . .' 
  
As my carnage arrived at the place where the so-called star had fallen, I 
immediately realized that I was in the presence of something from vastly outside 
my limited sphere. The star had descended amidst some old warehouses that had 
been abandoned down by the nver. Flames illuminated the night, burning with 
preternatural splendour and defying all efforts by the terrified residents to 
douse them. The women were gone and the men were panicking. They were ready to 
believe that the flames were the product of Old Nick himself, I think. Several 
wounded people had crawled out of the area, where vagabonds spent their 
miserable nights waiting for the dawn of bleak days. 
It fascinated me, because I had never seen anything quite like this before. 
Despite the fears of the locals, I could see that what I was confronted by was 
certainly not celestial in nature - at least, not in the sense of the word that 
they chose. But there was something inside the broken buildings that lived, 
because I could hear a strange screaming. It was a little like the cry that an 
animal in mortal pain makes shortly before it expires, a sound I've heard many 
times in the past. 
Steeling myself, I walked carefully into the damaged area. Fires burnt all about 
me, consuming even the bricks themselves. Yet there was surprisingly little 
physical heat, and I possessed barely more than a faint sheen on my skin as I 
entered the area. The greenish glow of the flames made everything appear 
supernatural, but I felt that at the heart of this mystery lurked something 
considerably more mundane. 
I was, in fact, utterly wrong. Oh, I admit it freely: I was out of my depth at 
the start. I came across shattered and blazing chunks of metallic substances, 
and strange, broken instrumentation of a kind and order that I could not even 
begin to comprehend. It started to dawn upon me that I was in the presence of 
some kind of transportation device A flying cab, if you like. It had suffered 
some calamity and come crashing down to the Earth. I realized that I was dealing 
with neither demon nor angel, then, for neither such creature could require a 
conveyance to move across the heavens. Excitement mounted within me as I pressed 
forward. 
In the centre of the area of destruction lay the core of this conveyance. It had 
once been large and circular, like a flying dish of some sort. Little of the 
outer shell was intact, however. That was clearly the source of the strange 
metals and instruments that blazed about me. The interior of the craft had 
suffered no less damage, but it was still in one piece. After a moment in which 
I fought off the noxious smoke fumes from the craft, I began to make sense of 
what I was witnessing. 
Do you recall the line from the Book of Revelations. 'There was war in Heaven'? 
The evidence that this was true lay before me. The star cab that lay there had 
been damaged in some great battle fought way above our world. In its 
death-throes it had crashed to the Earth and lay there before me, burning with a 
strange fire. There had been a war and here was the loser, a broken conveyance, 
along with its expiring driver. 
I had never seen any creature like this before. It resembled a jellyfish 
somewhat, being almost shapeless and gelatinous, but it was far too large for 
any such beast. It was some four feet across, and the source of the screaming 
sound I had followed to this spot. That this was no mere animal was apparent, 
because it was as burnt and damaged as the cab itself, yet it was moving with 
volition and purpose. Its - not skin, but whatever held the being together - was 
blackened from the crash, and it had to be in grave pain. Yet it had somehow 
formed a portion of its body into some kind of tentacle, and it was tearing 
apart a portion of its craft in search of something it desired badly. 
This monster had no eyes, and yet it seemed to sense me nonetheless. I cannot 
say that it turned, but somehow I knew that its attention was focused on me now, 
while it had not been aware of me before. The tentacle that it had been using 
wavered, and then gestured toward a portion of the craft as yet untouched by the 
fires. 
I was torn by indecision. This hideous creature was obviously asking me to risk 
my life to get it something from the craft. I saw no need to endanger myself to 
do anything for a being so repulsive. Then again, had the creature been the 
archangel Michael himself and asking the same thing, I'd have been as little 
inclined to aid him. The only thing that prevented me from leaving the thing to 
die was a single thought: if, in its dying moments, the being desired something 
brought to it from its ship, it must be something of immense value. 
In which case, I could use it better. 
Protecting myself as best I could from the flames, I plunged into the wreckage. 
The vile creature had indicated some kind of a cupboard inside its conveyance. I 
wouldn't have known how to open it, so I was fortunate that it had sprung apart 
in the crash. Inside the compartments was a single container. This was obviously 
what the being desired, so I snatched it up and fled the star cab. Behind me, as 
I ran, the flames engulfed the craft, and explosions began to rack the area. 
The foul creature attempted to make me stop as I rushed past it. Somehow it 
extruded a tentacle in my direction. I succeeded in evading its foul grip and 
made my way out of the blazing warehouse. Behind me the shattered roof collapsed 
and the horrendous screams of the dying creature were cut off at last. I brushed 
past the spectators and hurried back to my laboratory with rny treasure, still 
uncertain of what I had found. Yet it had come from a craft that had never been 
constructed by human hands. Whatever I had salvaged, I reasoned, must be worth a 
fortune if I could only deduce its purpose. 
In the safety and peace of my laboratory I opened the container, to discover it 
filled with a gooey semi-liquid At first I couldn't comprehend what it was, and 
then it finally came to me in a moment of inspiration: this was some kind of 
healing gel for the dying creature. It had wished to cover the burnt sections of 
its skin with this material. I had suffered a number of small bums in the fire, 
and so I hesitantly applied a small amount of the gel to my skin. I knew that I 
could be making a terrible mistake: the creature had not been human by any 
stretch of the imagination, and perhaps its metabolism was vastly different from 
my own. What might cure the shapeless creature might serve only to kill me. But 
I had to know the answer. 
It came within seconds, as the bums healed over, leaving pinkish, fresh skin in 
their wake. I could hardly believe my luck! This was some kind of miracle 
cure-all, it seemed. But I needed to do further experimentation to see what its 
limits were. 
As I mentioned, I was working in the area under the guise of a Mercy Hospital. 
One of the patients that had been brought to me was a young boy who had been 
bitten by a hydrophobic dog. There had never been any chance that he would 
recover, but I was fascinated to study the effects that rabies had on his body 
as he slowly died. Now a thought came to me: no matter what effect the cream I 
now possessed had, it could hardly do more than kill the boy, which the rabies 
was already well in the course of achieving. So I applied some of the salve to 
the bitten areas, and waited to see what would occur. 
Within hours I was witness to the most astounding of changes. The symptoms of 
the disease had vanished almost entirely, and he appeared to be recovering well. 
I had visions of being the first man to announce a cure for rabies - which would 
surely have brought me fame and fortune, towards neither of which am I averse. 
However, as I watched, something even more astounding began to take place. The 
boy, I realized, was growing hair on his exposed skin. Now this was a boy of 
perhaps ten years of age, no more. How could this be happening? As I watched, 
his body became more and more distorted, and I realized that he was gradually 
taking on the characteristics of a dog, which were becoming admixed with his 
human characteristics. 
This was utterly unforeseen and unheard of. I knew that I was on the verge of 
the major discovery of my life here. The gelatinous mess was somehow fusing the 
boy's human characteristics to those of a canine! 
You can imagine how excited this made me. I stayed up three days in a row, 
watching and waiting to see and record every small change, to note every detail. 
It was fascinating, watching this gel change the boy into a viable hybrid. It 
had somehow picked up on the canine elements present in the boy's wounds and 
fused them into his own structure. As I watched, I puzzled over how this could 
have come about. Then, finally, I realized that the gel was more than simply 
some kind of healing cream for that unearthly creature that had perished in the 
blaze. I had noted that the being had possessed a kind of amorphous structure. 
Presumably on the cellular level, the creature had been similarly uncertain. The 
salve, in order to heal, must have therefore needed to somehow analyse what was 
to be repaired and then accomplish the deed. 
Naturally, when I had applied it to myself, it had healed me with no strange 
effects. But when the boy's bodily structure had been invaded by the cells of 
the rabid dog, the salve had then latched onto both patterns and somehow fused 
them into a single viable entity. It was staggering - the mechanism I had sought 
had been literally delivered into my hands from the sky! 
As I watched, I worked feverishly. I had a good supply of the salve, but it 
would hardly last forever. I experimented in various ways, and finally came up 
with a method that enabled me to reproduce the gel if I supplied it with the raw 
elements it needed to reproduce itself. This left me with a self-regenerating 
supply of the gel, which now rests in the large vat within my current 
laboratory. 
I was forced to flee London in somewhat hurried circumstances before my 
researches were quite concluded. I did bring with me the vat of gel and my 
hound-boy. On the way here, however, the hybrid managed to escape the carriage 
bearing it, and roamed free on the moors until it was slain a few nights ago. I 
didn't really care whether it lived or died, for my studies of the beast had 
enabled me to formulate my plans, and to work on achieving my goal. 
Financed by Breckinridge, this laboratory area was hollowed out of old caves in 
the rocky cliffs and connected to his factory above. Here I was able to plan my 
next step: the creation not of an individual but an entire race! Breckinridge 
was fired with a similar vision to mine, and the concept of the human/dolphin 
hybrid was one that seemed natural to us both. I managed to get samples of the 
marine creatures I needed, and Raintree and Brogan supplied me with a prime 
subject, a young street urchin. 
Breckinridge wanted a species that could live and work underwater, which was a 
ticklish proposition. Dolphins, as you know, possess lungs and breathe air. I 
didn't feel that the merfolk could be kept secret if they constantly had to 
surface to breathe, nor could their work levels be terribly high. In the end, I 
managed to create a dolphin-like creature that possessed gills. This I then 
grafted into my test subject. To my delight the grafting took instandy, and I 
was able to monitor her changes. She came through it perfectly, and is the proud 
leader of my new superhuman race. 
Changing the children was one thing, but training them quite another. Like so 
many children, they did not wish to work to repay us for our efforts. We were 
therefore left with no option but to compel them by force to do as we wished. 
For that, we needed guards. I took several immature harbour seals and grafted 
human elements into them. These elements are taken from the fluids extracted 
from recently deceased humans. This increased both their intelligence and their 
aggression level. It rendered them perfect for their tasks. They guard the 
merfblk and ensure that they work as required. They also patrol the area to keep 
out intruders and spies. 
I have achieved my dream, and even as we speak the new race that I envisioned 
and formed is working on the sea bed. I have achieved the greatest possible 
triumph for a man of science - I have turned my dreams into reality! 
9
Survival of the Fittest
Sarah stared at Ross in anger and pity. The guy was a total nut-case, apparently 
oblivious to the incredible pain and suffering he had caused in the pursuit of 
this insane dream of his. He had detailed without any shame or remorse crime 
after crime against human - and non-human - species. And he seemed to think that 
she should be pleased to die so he could use her for spare parts! 'You're mad, 
you know that?' she asked him. She tried to sound cheerful and brave, but she 
was terrified of him. 
He didn't seem at all bothered by her comment. 'Sadly,' he informed her, 'one of 
the guards was slain last night, and I need to produce a replacement. This is 
where you will provide me with the help I need, Sarah. Your fluids will enable 
me to mutate a new guard and allow my work to continue. You should be very proud 
of your contribution to science.' 
'Thanks a lot, but I could skip the honour,' she answered. 'Couldn't I just 
leave you my body in my will?' 
'Come now,' he admonished her. 'Don't be so reactionary. You have to die anyway, 
since you persisted in investigating matters that were none of your concern. 
Raintree and Brogan would happily murder you for an evening's entertainment if I 
allowed it, but they would be unlikely to return your corpse to me in a state I 
could use. This way, I promise you a painless death and some achievement once 
you have expired. Wouldn't you prefer that?' 
'Can I sleep on it and let you know in the morning?' she asked. 
Ross laughed, genuinely amused. It was scary how he could divorce his conscience 
and his mind like that. 'Oh, I'm rather sorry to lose you, Sarah. You do provide 
me with such amusement.' 
'Court jester extraordinaire, that's me,' Sarah said. 'Look, why don't you just 
buy me a nice fool's costume, and I'll be happy to hang around and entertain 
you.' 
'I'm sorry,' he replied, and he did sound genuinely sad. 'But that's not a 
viable option.' He picked up a scalpel from the table beside him. 'Goodbye, 
Sarah. It's been a pleasure chatting with you, but I'm afraid that it has to end 
now. I'm on a rather tight schedule, you know, and business is business.' 
Sarah s eyes focused in horror on the sharp tip of the instrument as he moved 
towards her. Her heart was pounding, and she wanted to scream. Terror welled up 
within her as he moved slowly and relentlessly across the room to murder her. 
  
As the small party reached the locked gates to the factory, Ross turned to 
Abercrombie. 'Time for you to earn your pay,' he said. 
Abercrombie sighed, and moved to the padlock. 'I've been meaning to speak to you 
about that,' he said. 'I think I deserve danger money for these here jobs. I'm 
in grave danger of being murdered once we get inside here.' 
'You'll need it even more if you don't hurry,' Ross informed him. 'I'm likely to 
murder you here and now.' 
'Is that what you call an incentive?' grumbled Abercrombie. As he complained, he 
worked on the lock using a piece of bent wire and a nail-file. After a second 
there was a soft snick and the padlock sprang open. 'You may applaud if you 
wish.' 
'We don't,' Ross answered, helping to remove the chain that held the two gates 
together. One by one they filed through the gate, leaving it slightly ajar as 
they passed on towards the main building. 
'I believe the route we have to take is through the main working area,' the 
Doctor informed Ross. The colonel nodded, leading the way to the side entrance 
There was a large oaken door here, sturdy and padlocked During the day it would 
be opened to allow the delivery of supplies to the work floor. In the comer of 
the larger door was a smaller one, also equipped with a strong-looking lock. 
'Can you open that up quickly?' Ross asked Abercrombie. 
His assistant examined the lock carefully under a tight beam from his dark 
lantern, then shook his head. 'No way,' he replied. 'It's too modern for that. I 
could be here all night fiddling with that.' 
'What do we do now?' asked Doyle, frustration tinge-ing his voice. 
'Use the other option,' replied the little thief. 'Here, hold this.' He gave 
Doyle the lantern, and then removed a small hammer and spike from his pocket. 
Using the spike, he gestured at the hinges. 'Typical dumb mistake,' he pointed 
out. 'Put on a big lock and think the door's imprega-blooming-ble.' He grinned, 
and then used the spike to tap out the rod from the hinges. Ross and the Doctor 
then pulled the door apart. 'Easy when you know how,' Abercrombie said, 
grinning. 
'We'll send you a thank-you later,' the Doctor informed him. He peered 
cautiously inside the factory floor. 'It appears deserted. Come on.' 
The small group hurried after him to the lathe he'd spotted earlier. Now that 
Doyle looked closely, he could see that there were indeed scratch marks in the 
floor in a quarter-circle, starting at the lathe's left comer. 
'Now ain't that corny,' sighed Abercrombie. 'You think they'd be more bleeding 
inventive, wouldn't you?' 
'It appears to work,' the Doctor answered. 'There's probably a release catch 
somewhere on the base that prevents it from moving accidentally.' 
Ross nodded, and bent to examine the bottom nm of the heavy base with his own 
lantern. After a second, they all heard a click. 'I think that's it,' Ross 
announced, .straightening up. 'Shall we?' 
The four of them pushed on the right-hand side of the lathe. Sdendy it swung 
about on a pivot, revealing a dark pit below. The top five or six steps of a 
flight of stairs leading down into the ground were visible in the dim light cast 
by their lanterns. 
'Will you step into my parlour?' intoned the Doctor. 
'What other choice do we have?' asked Ross. 'I'll go first.' Using his walking 
stick to probe the darkness ahead of him, he led the way down. The Doctor and 
then Doyle followed. 
'I'll just wait for you here,' suggested Abercrombie. 'A rear guard, if you 
like.' 
. 'You'd better guard your rear if you don't come on,' growled Ross. 'Else I'll 
deliver a swift kick up it.' 
Abercrombie sighed and started down the steps after them. 
Ross and Doyle had their dark lanterns opened partway, allowing only trickles of 
light out. As a result, their descent of the stairs was carried on in a small, 
dull circle of illumination. Ten steps down and it was as if they were in 
another world entirely. There was the soft sound of dripping water from ahead of 
them. In silence, they slowly descended the stairs. 
After about a hundred steps, the stairs ended in a short passage that sloped 
gently forward. Ross risked opening the aperture of his lantern slightly so that 
they could see down the passageway. It culminated in a large iron doorway about 
twenty feet ahead of them. Turning down the light, he led the way to the 
bulkhead door. In the centre of this was a wheel. 
'In case of trouble,' the Doctor murmured. 'We must be below sea-level now. This 
can be locked in case of leaks.' 
'Yeah,' muttered Abercrombie. 'Plumbers must be hard to come by down here.' 
Ross gestured for the others to stand back, and then gripped the wheel. Slowly 
he turned it anti-clockwise. Soundlessly, it moved, and then the door swung open 
Beyond it lay another dark area. Silent again, they filed forward, while Ross 
started to close the door behind them. 
Doyle used his lantern to examine the room that they were in. It was hewn from 
the rough bedrock, and only about six feet across. It was completely empty, but 
an identical door to the one they had just passed through stood slightly ajar 
opposite them. The Doctor nodded to indicate their way forward. Doyle started to 
push the door open when it was suddenly yanked from his grasp and swung wide. 
Two almost intolerably bright lights snapped on, dazzling the four adventurers. 
Doyle cried out in pain and surprise. 
'Good evening, gendemen,' Breckinridge said amiably from beyond the glare. 'I 
fear you're a trifle late for the daily guided tour, but please do come inside.' 

Shielding his eyes from the brightness, Doyle staggered forward as the Doctor 
shoved him from behind. He stumbled across the threshold and past the two 
glowing lights. Beyond them he saw the factory owner and two nasty-looking 
customers carrying side-arms that were pointed in the direction of the four of 
them. 
Breckinridge pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and glanced at it. 'Almost 
midnight already. Dear me, if you'd simply made an appointment earlier with my 
secretary, all of this tedious waiting could have been avoided.' 
'I shall remember that,' the Doctor promised, 'the next time I plan a secret 
mission to stop the grandiose schemes of a deluded megalomaniac.' He grinned at 
Breckinridge. 'No offence meant.' 
'And none taken, Doctor Smith.' Breckinridge's smile seemed quite genuine and 
unforced. 
'Doctor who?' asked Abercrombie of his master. Ross stomped on his foot, making 
the tubby thief wince. 
'If you've all quite finished?' asked Breckinridge. 'I dunk you've kept me up 
quite late enough as it is. Shall we get this over with so that I can get a 
little rest? I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow, you know. You really can't 
imagine how hard it is to run a factory.' 
'You scoundrel!' exclaimed Doyle. 'Do you expect us to sympathize with you?' 
'No, Doctor,' Breckinridge answered. 'I expect you to die. Then I expect the 
little fishies outside will have a feast. Beyond that, I couldn't care less what 
you do.' He gestured with one hand, and the two men with him raised their guns. 
'Excuse me,' said the Doctor, politely raising his hand. 'Could I ask for a 
teensy little favour first?' 
Breckinridge sighed. 'Really, Doctor, you do try my patience, you know. I do so 
hate late nights. Early to bed, early to rise and all that.' 
'I always preferred Thurber myself,' the Doctor replied. 'Early to rise and 
early to bed, makes a man healthy, Wealthy and dead.' 
'Well,' Breckinridge told him, 'you're about to prove the truth of that saying. 
Now, what is this favour of yours?' 
The Doctor glanced at the floor. 'It's a failing of mine,' he confessed, 'but 
I'd really hate to be killed without knowing exactly why I'm being murdered. I 
mean, I can see that you're a busy man, things to do, worlds to conquer, 
infinitives to split and all that. But could you spare just a little time to 
enlighten me on a few points?' 
The businessman smiled. 'I suppose I do owe you that, at the very least.' He 
considered the matter for a moment. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'I'll illuminate you 
concerning my plans. Then Raintree and Brogan will kill you. Happier now?' 
'Absolutely ecstatic,' the Doctor assured him. 'So, what's it all about, Alfie?' 

'I'm sorry?' 
'Ah, this whole scheme,' the Doctor said, gesturing about. 'Hiding in slimy 
little tunnels, killing poor innocent fishermen, snatching bodies, breeding dogs 
that Crufts wouldn't even think of giving a blue ribbon to. That sort of thing.' 

Breckinridge nodded. 'You're wondering what the point of all this activity is, I 
take it?' 
'Exactly!' The Doctor beamed. 'How succinct. So tell me: what's the point of all 
this activity?' 
'Progress, Doctor, progress!' Breckinridge smiled happily, and waved his hands 
around. 'This is the wave of the future. Doctor.' 
'Really?' asked Ross, mildly amused. 'Humanity is going to start living in leaky 
subterranean tunnels? Doesn't sound like much of a future to me.' 
Breckinridge glared at him. 'Mock me if you choose,' he said coldly, 'but 
remember who holds the power here.' He turned to the Doctor. 'Really, how could 
you ally yourself with such a crass individual?' 
The Doctor shrugged. 'Necessity makes for strange bedfellows,' he suggested. 
'Now, what was that you said about progress?' 
Breckinridge nodded. 'Come with me. Doctor, and I will show you more wonders 
than any man has ever imagined.' He glared at Raintree. 'Watch them all. If any 
of them makes a false move, shoot him. Otherwise, don't harm them until I'm 
finished.' With a charming smile, he said, 'Gentlemen, if you'd care to follow 
me?' 
'I think I speak for us all,' the Doctor murmured, 'when I say that we're a 
captive audience. Lead on, Macduff.' 
  
Holding the scalpel in front of him, Ross moved slowly across the laboratory 
towards Sarah. 'I promise you,' he said, 'this will be as swift and painless as 
I can manage. I have no desire to hurt you.' 
'Well, I've plenty of desire to hurt you,' snapped Sarah. Her pain and fear had 
built within her to almost fever pitch, but she wasn't about to let him get away 
with his insane plans. She gripped the pipe over her head with her hands, and 
waited for him to move closer. As he stepped within four feet other, she 
exploded into action. 
She whipped up her right foot with as much force as she could muster. Her toe 
slammed into his wrist with bone-shattering impact. The scalpel flew from his 
nerveless fingers, clattering to the ground in the distance. Ross screamed and 
used his good hand to grip his smashed right wrist. Suspending herself from her 
hands, Sarah whipped up her legs, hooking her right foot behind his neck and 
pulling him toward her. Then she slammed down her left foot on his back. She 
felt the heel of her shoe crunch down hard on his ribs, and heard the distinct 
sound of a bone breaking. 
Ross screamed wordlessly as he fell to the cold floor. 
Panting, Sarah twisted about to try and use her feet on him again. But though 
Ross was wounded and in pain, he wasn't stupid enough to stay still. Crab-like, 
he scuttled out of her reach, then tried to straighten up. He winced, and his 
skin turned a sickly shade of white as he succeeded in regaining his feet. 
'My hand!' he screamed. 'You've broken my hand!' 
Sarah glared at him through her fringe. 'What a wimp,' she mocked him. 'You 
don't care how much pain and misery you've inflicted on others, do you? But 
break one little bone in your hand and you start blubbering like a baby.' 
'You'll pay for that,' he hissed, glaring in anger and agony at her. He was 
still nursing his broken wrist, and was slightly hunched over as a result of the 
blow from her heel. 'Oh, you'll pay for that.' 
'It'll be worth it,' she told him. She wanted him mad enough to attack her 
again. Despite appearances, she was actually at an advantage here. Ross had been 
expecting some meek Victorian maid who'd faint at the thought of what he'd do to 
her. He probably still didn't realize how much she was capable of- but he'd find 
out if he gave her half a chance. 'Come on,' she encouraged him. 'I'm not going 
anywhere, am I? Almost as easy as kidnapping helpless children, isn't it?' 
He cast his eyes around the laboratory, clutching his hand. 'I've got to get 
this seen to,' he muttered, refusing to be baited. 
'Stick it in your healing jelly,' she suggested. 'That should do the trick.' She 
grinned. 'As long as there's nothing else in there, of course. You didn't swat a 
fly, did you? Maybe you'll grow compound eyes if there's a fly in your 
ointment.' 
That taunt hit home. Ross stared uncertainly at the container of the salve. He 
was obviously a basically weak and insecure man, prey to nightmares and massive 
feelings of inferiority. Sarah was certain that she could get him worked up 
enough to become reckless, if she had the time alone with him. 
She didn't. 
The door to the laboratory opened and the Doctor walked in. 
'Doctor!' she exclaimed happily. 'Am I glad to see you! It's a bit tiring, all 
this hanging around.' 
The Doctor shook his head and pointed to Breckinridge, who had followed him in. 
One by one, Doyle, Colonel Ross, Abercrombie, Brogan and Raintree filed into the 
room. 
'This isn't a rescue, I'm afraid, Miss Smith,' Breckinridge said pleasandy. 
'It's not even a party,' agreed the Doctor. 'I forgot to bring the cake.' He 
peered at Ross. 'Ah, you must be the mad scientist, I assume.' He held out a 
hand. Ross whimpered. 
'Sorry,' Sarah apologized. 'He's not going to be shaking hands for a while. I'm 
afraid I broke it. Careless of me, I know.' 
'Very,' agreed the Doctor. 
Colonel Ross stepped forward and glared at his younger brother in disgust. 
Tercival,' he growled, 'you've certainly disgraced the family name.' 
'Percival?' echoed the Doctor in mock horror. 'This whole insane scheme was 
dreamed up by a man named Percival? Oh, that's too dreadful for words.' His eyes 
darted about the laboratory, intrigued, and came to rest on the vat of gelatin. 
'Ah! So that is what is behind all this.' He wandered across to it. 
Brogan raised his revolver, lining up on the Doctors back, but Breckinridge 
shook his head. 'There's no need for that - yet,' he said. 'So, Doctor, what do 
you think that is?' 
His face almost in the goo, the Doctor replied, 'It's obvious: Rutan healing 
salve. The store brand, too, by the stench of it.' He dipped his finger in and 
examined the glob. Then he sucked it off his finger. 'Cherry - my favourite 
flavour.' 
Breckinridge stared at him in shock. 'Don't you know what that can do to you?' 
he gasped, appalled at what he'd just witnessed. 
'I know what it can do to you,' the Doctor countered. 'It won't affect me.' 
'It affects any human being,' croaked Ross, ashen at the thought of what the 
Doctor had done. 
'Precisely,' agreed the Doctor. He wandered over to the closest aquarium tank 
and stared down at the baby seal inside. 'Hello, little fellow. Lost your 
mummy?' 
'Doctor,' Doyle asked, 'what the blazes is going on here? Do you really know 
what that stuff is?' 
'Yes,' the Doctor replied, spinning about on the balls of his feet. 'It's Rutan 
healing salve. The Rutans are a species of amorphous nature that live - ' he 
gestured vaguely in the air ' - in a galaxy far, far away. They have the ability 
to alter their appearance because their cellular structure is unstable. As a 
result, when one of them is injured, they need a medication that's pretty 
unstable too. Like this goo. The problem is that the salve works on the basis of 
reforming the amorphous cells. When it comes in contact with some non-Rutan 
tissue, it causes genetic fusion.' 
'Which we witnessed in the hound-boy and the mermaids,' finished Sarah. 
'Precisely.' 
Colonel Ross raised an eyebrow. 'And these Rutans of which you speak; they are 
of other-worldly origin?' 
'Very.' The Doctor grinned at the agent. 'Do you find that rather incredible?' 
'No,' Ross replied. 'I've seen too many strange things during the course of my 
life to balk at the thought of a non-Earthly lifeform.' A thought seemed to dawn 
on him. 'Ah! Doctor, am I to take it that you are another?' 
The Doctors smile grew even wider. 'I knew it would dawn on someone sooner or 
later.' 
Doyle shook his head. 'This is all getting far too preposterous for me,' he 
opined. 
'Me too,' agreed Abercrombie. 'Non-humans. I hate non-humans. I've had enough 
bleeding non-humans to last me several lifetimes.' 
Sarah realized that the Doctor had obviously learned something about Colonel 
Ross's past that was still hidden from her, but it was obvious that Ross was on 
their side -at least for now. Which definitely made matters interesting. 
Counting Ross's brother, there were four of the villains here; not counting her, 
since she was manacled and hardly free to move, there were four on the other 
side. Even forces, if Brogan and Raintree had not been armed. She decided that 
the best thing she could do was to keep attention focused on her and trust the 
Doctor to improvise something as usual. 'Junior Ross here,' she said, nodding at 
the scientist, 'mentioned finding the stuff on a flying saucer that had crashed 
in Limehouse.' 
'Part of their almost eternal war with the Sontarans, Sarah,' the Doctor 
answered. 'They've been fighting in this sector for a while. The Rutan must have 
been a casualty and come down in flames.' He glared at the tub. 'Which is where 
that stuff belongs.' 
'No, Doctor,' Breckinridge broke in. 'That stuff belongs with me. Ross and I 
have a great deal more use for it yet.' 
'I don't get it,' Sarah said, puzzled. 'I can see what Frankenstein-hopeful here 
gets out of all this. He's just wild about breeding his own lifeforms, like the 
poor kid in the bottle over there But what's in it for you? Just the pleasure of 
hurting little kids, robbing graves and killing people?' 
Breckinndge was stung by this 'Miss Smith!' he protested 'You do me a grave 
injustice. I am not some mindlessly sadistic monster. Surely that is obvious?' 
'What is obvious,' Colonel Ross said coldly, 'is that you are a depraved human 
being who has no thought for the consequences of his actions' 
Oh, well done! thought Sarah Ross's accusation had really wounded Breckinndge's 
pride The factory owner went almost purple with rage, and then managed to gather 
his wits together 
'Very well,' he said, frost dripping from his voice 'No thought for the 
consequences of my action, indeed? Well, I'll show you just how wrong you are.' 
'Breckinndge,' the scientist said, the pain still twisting his voice, 'he's 
taunting you. He does this all the time. Kill him now Better yet, let me kill 
him.' 
'Brotherly love,' murmured the Doctor dreamily. 
'How much of a fool do you think I am?' growled Breckinndge. 'I know what he's 
trying to do. And if you want to murder him, you can be my guest But not until 
after he's seen what I am creating here.' He glared at the colonel. 'I am not 
having him die thinking I'm a savage.' 
'Oi,' put in Sarah. 'What about me?' 
Breckinndge studied her for a moment, then he nodded at Ross. 'Get her down from 
there. I want her to see this as well' 
Ross shook his head. 'I don't trust her,' he protested 'She's already broken my 
hand and - ' 
'And I'll break the other one for you if you don't do as you're told!' screamed 
Breckinndge. He raised his hand, on the verge of slapping Ross. It was clear to 
Sarah that Breckinndge didn't like his orders questioned - even when they were 
quite idiotic. 
Ross, terrified of further pain, ducked and scuttled across to where Sarah was 
hanging from the pipes. It took him a minute to fish the key to the handcuffs 
from his pocket, and even longer to manage to unlock them one-handed. Sarah 
sighed happily as she could finally lower her arms. They'd felt like the joints 
were about to break at any moment. Rubbing her wrists, she joined the other 
captives. 
Breckinndge smiled at her. 'And, lest you think that my decision to allow you to 
join us shows evidence of any favour in your direction, or weakness on my part. 
. .' His hand whipped around in a savage blow to her cheek that threw her 
backwards across the floor. 'Think again, please.' 
Sarah cried out in pain and stumbled backwards into the tanks, smacking down 
hard on the floor. Her backside stung, and there was the taste of blood in her 
mouth. 
'There was no need for that,' the Doctor growled at Breckinndge. 
'On the contrary,' the businessman purred 'Or would you prefer me to have Brogan 
shoot someone so that you understand the situation here? Brogan would happily do 
that; he likes to kill people.' Breckinndge sighed theatrically. 'He does have 
such simple tastes, but he's a dedicated worker.' 
'It's okay,' Sarah said. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her nght hand. 
Blood smeared across it, which she wiped off rather obviously on to her skirt. 
'I'm not badly damaged' She groaned as she started to rise, but for effect and 
not from pain. 
The scalpel she'd knocked out of Ross's hand earlier now lay inside her left 
sleeve. Her ostentatious mannensms with the blood had been to distract attention 
while she'd palmed the fallen weapon. Simply having it gave her more courage. 
Breckinridge and his minions might aim to kill them all, but she would go down 
fighting, if she went down at all. 
'Very well,' Breckinridge announced. 'Let's be moving out of here. Ross - Doctor 
Ross,' he added with stress, 'lead the way to the viewing room.' He turned to 
the Doctor. 'I'm sure Miss Smith informed you that the ocean is something of a 
passion with me?' 
'It's nice to see that you have a few innocent passions,' the Doctor answered as 
he fell in beside his adversary. 
'Oh, I have lots of them,' the man laughed. 'Though you may not believe it.' 
'You're right,' agreed the Doctor, just as cheerfully, 'I don't.' He glanced 
around as Sarah joined him. Doyle, Colonel Ross and Abercrombie - muttering 
gloomily under his breath - followed them, and the two thugs brought up the rear 
as they paraded out of the laboratory 
Sarah realized that the rest of the subterranean passageways and rooms that had 
been added to the factory were all in roughly the same shape as the laboratory. 
The passageway bent at odd angles several times, showing chat it had been cut to 
follow the pathway of an old cave system. The rooms that they passed were 
closed, and presumably had been cut from larger openings. The walls were rough 
and unfinished, with electric lights at set intervals, linked by thick cables 
that snaked along the passageway. The sound of dripping water increased, and the 
floor shone in spots where puddles gathered in the uneven surface. She had the 
distinct impression that they had now travelled under the sea bed. 
At one of the doors they passed, the Doctor halted, frowning. 'What's in there?' 
he demanded. There was the sound of movement within the room. 
'Precautions, Doctor,' answered Doctor Ross. 'The seals aren't the only guards 
I've bred for this place. Thus far, though, the guardians in there haven't been 
needed.' 
'More abominations,' muttered Doyle. 
'My brother has a fertile mind when it comes to such matters,' Colonel Ross 
said, quietly but audibly. 'What he lacks in intelligence he makes up for in 
depravity.' 
His brother whirled to glare furiously at him. 'I've been in your shadow all my 
life,' he snarled. 'It was always you're not half the man your brother is, 
Percival and look how well Edmund is doing at Oxford, Percival. Well I've had 
enough! Today I shall prove to everyone that I'm the more intelligent Ross, 
because I'll be alive and creating a new world, and you'll be dead.' 
'So there,' added the Doctor. 'Talk about an inferiority complex.' 
'I've never seen a more complex complex,' Sarah offered. 
Breckinridge shook his head sadly. 'Please can we dispense with the silly jokes? 
I'd hate to have to dispense with either of you before you see our triumph. 
Through the next door, if you please. Doctor.' He stood aside to allow the 
Doctor and Sarah to precede him. 
Sarah dutifully followed the Doctor into the indicated room, and then stood just 
inside, staring in wonder at what she could see. 
The far wall was almost entirely glass. It was about twenty feet long and half 
that in height. She couldn't guess its depth, but it had to be pretty thick to 
hold out the pressure of the water beyond. As a result, the glass wasn't crystal 
clear. Patches had a smoky appearance and some parts were not quite level. But 
it was enough to show what lay outside. 
Outside lay the ocean. Rows of lights led away from the gigantic window, set 
into the sea bed and glowing faintly. The illumination was low-level, but 
sufficient to show them what lay out there. Sarah took several steps forward as 
the others crowded into the room behind her. She heard Doyle gasp in amazement 
at the view. 
'Quite staggering, isn't it?' asked Breckinridge proudly 
Sarah didn't want to admit that it was, so she continued moving. There was only 
one piece of furniture in the room, a table of sorts. Strapped to it, 
unconscious, \\as Kipling. She spared him a quick glance to be certain he was 
still breathing, then moved until she was touching the huge window. 
The sea bed looked marvellous. Rocks, pebbles and sand were illuminated gently. 
In the distance - probably only a few hundred yards away in the dark waters - 
was a large wheel, set in a spool. Attached to the wheel were more lights. This 
was clearly the source of the mysterious lighting that they had witnessed from 
their boat the previous night. 
Closer to the window was a garden of sorts. There were seaweeds there, and other 
plants, all in neat, short rows. They were obviously being cultivated, and Sarah 
gasped as she saw the workers in these strange fields. There were almost two 
dozen of them - merfolk, all children. Each of them was naked, their upper 
torsos human, their lower sections dolphinine. They moved slowly along the rows, 
weeding and checking the growing plants. Sarah stared at them, and recognized 
one of them as the girl who had saved her life. She looked as if she were the 
oldest one among them, and seemed to be in some kind of charge over them. 
Beyond the workers, though, were three dark shapes that moved continually: the 
seal guards. 
'Dear Lord!' said Doyle fervently, from behind her 
'They're bleeding real,' muttered Abercrombie. He glanced uncertainly at his 
boss. 'I guess your warped brother ain't entirely mad.' 
'On the contrary,' the Doctor said, in a soft, dangerous voice that Sarah knew 
too well, 'he's criminally insane.' The Doctor whirled around to glower at 
Breckinridge and Ross. 'Those are children out there that you've mutilated.' 
'Mutilated?' Breckinridge sounded incredulous. 'Doctor, they're not mutilated at 
all! They're magnificent! They can stay out there indefinitely, harvesting the 
sea, and they are viable, the nucleus of a brand new race. I assure you, they 
are not ill-treated.' 
'They're slaves,' the Doctor thundered. 'That's why you need those guards: to 
prevent your slave army from escaping!' 
'They're useful, for the first time in their miserable little lives,' protested 
Breckinridge. 'Doctor, every one of those children out there was doomed to die 
if they stayed here on the land. They're all from the docks and wharves and 
gutters. Parasites, scavengers and worse. Now, thanks to Ross and myself, they 
have useful, productive lives.' 
'Useful to you,' the Doctor countered. 'Production for you. None of them. was 
given the chance to decide whether they wanted that life or not. You made that 
choice for them.' 
'They were hardly in a position to make rational judgements, Doctor,' 
Breckinridge argued. 'Dirty, ill-educated, disgusting little urchins from the 
dregs of the street. Now look at them - they're magnificent!' 
'Not all of them,' Sarah said quietly. 'One of them is a boy named Anders, from 
the same school as Kipling. He's got parents that care for him, and he wouldn't 
have been a parasite.' 
'True,' agreed Breckinridge. 'But he stumbled across us one night when certain 
supplies were being delivered. It was either change him or kill him.' He nodded 
at the glass. 'I assume you approve of the choice I made?' 
'I approve of nothing you do,' she answered. 'It's inhuman, disgusting and 
perverted.' 
Breckinridge flushed. 'I should have known you wouldn't understand,' he snapped. 
'Can't you see that those children are better out there than they would be if 
this asinine Government of ours had their way? All this talk of educating the 
street brats. What a waste! Thev don't have the minds or the imaginations to 
take advantage of an education. And who would pay for their waste of time? 
Businessmen like myself, that's who! Well, out there -' he gestured savagely out 
of the window again ' - is my response to the unwanted children. We can 
transform them, put them to useful work, to extend Man's dominion.' 
'To enslave them,' the Doctor added coldly. 'To make them work for you. That's 
the real reason, isn't it?' He pointed to the garden. 'That's pathetic, a sham. 
What you really have in mind is to make the children work for you, isn't that 
it? That wheel of light of yours has no real point, does it?' 
'It has its reasons, Doctor,' Breckinridge responded. 'I'm training those 
children because, as you rightly observe, they will have to work to repay me for 
all I've done for them. I foresee a future. Doctor, where the world is linked by 
communication. The telegraph is outmoded, and the telephone is just beginning. I 
see a day when pictures as well as words can be transmitted through such cables. 
And he who has the network in place will be the master of this new world.' 
'So that's it,' said Colonel Ross. 'Those children are being trained to work so 
they can lay your cables.' 
'Precisely,' agreed Breckinridge. 'Do you have any idea how expensive it is to 
lay cables from ships? And if one breaks, there's no way to repair it. You have 
to start over again, laying a new sea-bed cable. But with my race of merfolk out 
there, those problems cease. They can lay the cables and even repair them, if 
needed, at any depths. They're the perfect workers, and they will help me to 
bncome the leader in a new world order.' 
'I pity you,' the Doctor said, in that icy, dangerous tone of his. 'Ross, at 
least, is doing his filthy work as a perversion of science. But you are doing it 
simply to make more money.' 
'And what's wrong with making money?' cried Breckinridge. 'Without men like me, 
this world would grind to a sorry halt in days. It is my money that gives the 
people here in town work. It's my money that funds research, and brings on the 
future!' 
'It's your money that bastardizes everything that we hold holy and just,' 
snapped Colonel Ross. 'This perversion is sickening, and must be destroyed.' 
'No!' snapped the Doctor. 'Ross, try and control that indignation of yours.' He 
pointed out of the window. 'Those are children out there. They never asked for 
the fate they've been given, and they're innocent of any blame.' 
'Whatever they may once have been,' countered Ross, 'they are abominations now.' 

'If you touch one of those children,' the Doctor vowed, 'I shall personally take 
great pleasure in breaking every bone in your body - commencing with those in 
your inner ears.' 
Breckinridge laughed. 'Come now, gentlemen,' he said. 'Please don't argue about 
this. After all, you seem to forget who is in charge here. It is I, not you, who 
decides what shall happen. You are both powerless.' He smirked at all his 
captives. 'The future belongs to me, not to any of you, because none of you has 
a future.' 
'You're wrong,' said Sarah flatly. 'You don't have a future. I know, because I'm 
from it.' 
'What?' Breckinridge stared at her, his face a twisted mass of emotions. It was 
clear that he didn't quite believe that claim, but also that he wasn't certain 
what she was up to. His eyes narrowed. 'You expect me to believe that'' You're 
just trying to - ' 
'Believe it,' Sarah told him. 'I'm not due to be born for over sixty years yet. 
I'm from that future you're talking about, and I can tell you that nowhere are 
you mentioned. Oh, everything you've talked about is there, and more. But 
there's no genius named Breckinridge anywhere in it.' She gestured towards 
Kipling. 'In fact, he's going to become far more famous than you could ever be. 
He's going to become a great writer.' 
'That snotty-nosed little schoolboy?' sneered Breckinridge. 'You're trying to 
say that he will be known and I won't?' 
'Yes.' Sarah glared at him. 'So believe me: you may think you're winning, but 
you're doomed. Your insane plan can't succeed, because I'm from the future where 
it hasn't succeeded.' 
Anger and disbelief waged war for the businessman's features. Anger finally won. 
'I'm still not sure that I believe you, Miss Smith, even though you are like no 
other woman I've ever met. But I can disprove your little theory quite simply.' 
He glared at Ross. 'Take Kipling there to your laboratory now, and give him a 
dose of the salve.' He smiled tightly at Sarah. 'Let's see if he can still 
become a great writer when he has to spend the rest of his life underwater. His 
paper is liable to get a trifle damp, I fear.' 
Sarah gasped with shock. 'No,' she said. 'You can't do that. You can't change 
history.' 
'Your history, Miss Smith, not mine.' Breckinridge smiled, self-assured again. 
'And if I change that small detail, then everything else will change as well, 
won't it?' 
'Yes,' agreed the Doctor darkly. 'If you can change one brick, the wall of 
recorded human history will tumble down.' 
Breckinridge nodded happily. 'Then do it,' he ordered Ross. 
Sarah watched in horror as the scientist crossed to the unconscious schoolboy 
and started to unfasten him from the table. She'd really done it this time! 
She'd hoped to convince Breckinridge to give up, but all she'd managed to do was 
to make him grimly determined to change the course of history as she knew it. 
Was it possible? Could he somehow succeed? The Doctor seemed to believe it could 
happen. Was Sarah about to be the unwitting pivot about which history would 
shift and change? 
  
Lucy pulled another strand of seaweed from the vegetable patch and slipped it 
into the collecting bag that she carried slung across her shoulders. As she did 
so, she glanced at the observation room in front of her. Sometimes she had seen 
Ross in there, watching his 'creations'. At others, Breckinridge would be there, 
staring out at the empire he was hoping to create for himself. Lucy stared in 
astonishment as she saw that the viewing room was almost overflowing with 
people. 
And she recognized two of them. One of them was definitely the young woman she'd 
prevented from drowning. The other one was the man who had helped the woman back 
to the surface. 
What were they doing here? She swam closer to the glass wall to get a better 
look. Then she saw that Brogan and Raintree were there, the two men who'd 
captured her in the first place, and three other men that she didn't recognize. 
And there was another person strapped down to a table. Brogan and Raintree had 
guns, so the two people she knew and the other three had to be prisoners. What 
was going on? 
'Joshua,' she called to the newcomer. He'd been with them only a little while, 
but he seemed to be filled with fire and intelligence. She liked him, and felt 
that she could rely on him. 'Look at the viewing room.' 
Joshua swam slowly to join her. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. 'What's going 
on?' he asked softly. 
'It looks like the woman I helped last night is in trouble again,' Lucy 
explained. 'I think she and her friends are trying to stop Ross and 
Breckinridge.' 
'It does look like that,' Joshua agreed. 'In fact . . .' He gave a little jump 
of shock. 'That boy on the table! I know him! That's Gigger!' 
'Who?' 
'Someone from my school,' Joshua explained, excited. 'He must have been looking 
for me. These people are trying to fight those villains, I'll bet!' 
'Then they're not doing very well,' Lucy observed 'They're in serious trouble, 
by the looks of things.' 
'Then we have to try and help them, Lucy,' said Joshua eagerly. 'If they can 
manage to stop Ross and Breckinridge, then we'll be free.' 
'Do you think so?' She wanted so desperately to believe that. But - 
One of the Guards swam swiftly over, squealing a warning at them. Lucy knew that 
it meant return to work. The seal's mouth opened to show its cruel fangs. She 
knew that it was hoping for some excuse to attack. It loved to maim and kill, 
and with the slightest excuse it would rip into them all. 
'We'd better do as it says,' she told Joshua. 
'No!' he yelled. 'I won't! You said that you were waiting for the best time to 
break free. Well, this is it! There are only three Guards left, and it looks 
like Ross has his own troubles.' 
'Joshua!' she yelled, but it was too late. He npped the collecting bag from his 
shoulders, and threw it in slow-motion to the sea bed. 
'I'm not going back to work!' he yelled at the Guard. 'What are you going to do 
about that?' 
Horrified, Lucy saw exactly what the Guard intended to do. It swam away 
slightly, and then whipped around, teeth bared. 
It was going to kill Joshua! 
Without hesitation, she snatched up Joshua's discarded bag. As the Guard shot 
past her, she threw the strap from the bag about its neck and then hung on 
grimly. The strap tightened about the Guard's throat, cutting deeply into its 
windpipe. Unlike the merfolk, the Guards still needed to breathe air from time 
to time. Even though the Guard could go for half an hour between breaths, its 
instincts told it that it was being strangled, and it panicked. The raking teeth 
missed Joshua entirely as the Guard twisted, trying to get Lucy off its back. 
She held tight to the straps, twisting them in her hands to get more leverage. 
She'd almost forgotten that the Change had increased her strength until she 
heard the snap of the Guard's neck, and felt its death throes. In shock, Lucy 
let go of the straps. The broken body of the dead Guard sank slowly to the sea 
bed. She could do nothing but stare at it, hardly able to understand what she 
had done. 
'Lucy!' cried Joshua happily. 'You did it! You killed the Guard!' He whirled 
about to face the other children. They had stopped working to watch what they 
had felt certain would be Joshua getting killed. Instead they had witnessed the 
unexpected - a miracle. 
'They're vulnerable!' Joshua yelled, pointing to the fallen Guard. 'And there 
are only two of them left!' 
The children needed no further urging. As one, they went for the two remaining 
Guards. The seals had been bred to be killers, but even they couldn't stand 
against this force. One of them fastened its teeth onto Patrick's arm and tore 
the limb apart in a spray of blood that clouded the water. Patrick screamed and 
went rigid in death. The Guard didn't even have the time to spit out the arm 
before six of the children, wielding stones torn from the sea bed, battered it 
into pulp. 
The final Guard tried to flee, but the children were faster. Two of them grabbed 
the Guard's flukes and the rest of them descended on it like locusts, hammering 
away at it, not letting up until it was a bloody smear in the dark sand. 
'We did it!'Joshua cried triumphantly. 'We're free!' 
  
Sarah watched numbly as Ross loosened the straps on Kipling. The boy, 
thankfully, was still unconscious and thus unaware of what was in store for him. 

'Are you still so certain that I cannot change the future?' asked Breckinridge. 
'Yes,' the Doctor broke in. 'I think you'd better take a look behind you.' 
Breckinridge laughed. 'Come, Doctor! How naive do you think I am?' 
The Doctor shrugged. 'What are my choices? But this is no bluff. Your undersea 
slaves are revolting. And they appear to be winning.' 
With a cry, Breckinridge glanced over his shoulder. He saw in horror what Sarah 
saw in hope: the merchildren had turned on the Guards and were beating the 
living daylights out of them. Ross stared at the scene too, transfixed, 
supporting Kipling with his one good hand. 
The Doctor moved slowly, uncurling several lengths of his scarf. Then, while 
even Brogan and Raintree were distracted by the batde beyond the glass, he 
whipped out a length of the scarf, looping it neatly about Raintree's gun hand, 
and jerked the thug off-balance. 
'Now would be a good time to use that stick,' he snapped at Colonel Ross. 
Ross smiled and whipped up his walking stick. Sarah recalled his use of the 
stick during the hunt, and that it was actually a single-shot air rifle. There 
was a loud hiss of the compressed gas going off. Ross had aimed at Breckinridge, 
but the industrialist - either through luck or some preternatural instinct - had 
moved slightly. The bullet missed him and slammed into the glass wall beyond. 
Instantly, spider-webbed cracks started to form in the glass. 
'Dear God!' cried Doctor Ross. 'The pressure outside!' 
It was obvious what he meant: they were way down below the water level here, and 
the crack in the glass gave it a terrible weak spot. In seconds, the wall could 
collapse. 
Sarah slipped the scalpel she'd hidden into her hand and stabbed at Ross with 
it, striking his good hand. Ross screamed as blood bubbled up, and let Kipling 
fall. Sarah grabbed for the boy, managing to hold onto him. As she tried to 
straighten up, the room degenerated into mad confusion. 
Raintree had staggered aside as the Doctor jerked him off-balance. Panicking, he 
fired. The bullet slammed into the glass wall, creating another series of 
growing cracks before the Doctor could wrest the gun from his hand. Brogan 
whirled around and brought his gun up, centring on the back of the Doctor's 
skull. Sarah cried out, but there was nothing she could do. 
The revolver that had somehow appeared in Doyle's hand spat fire. Brogan was 
thrown backwards, his chest a mass of blood. He was either dead or dying. 
Colonel Ross spun about and reversed his grip on his walking stick. He whirled 
it in a lethal arc that finished in Raintree's skull, splattering blood and bone 
about. 
'You've got to stop this habit of killing,' the Doctor snapped. 
'We've got to get out of here,' Ross countered. 'That glass won't hold for much 
longer. Abercrombie!' he yelled. 'The boy!' 
Sarah was still trying to get Kipling up when Abercrombie gently but firmly 
pushed her aside and scooped the boy up. He flung Kipling over one shoulder, 
giving her a quick grin. 'Time for the better pan of valour,' he grunted, 
scuttling off under his burden. Sarah didn't need any further encouragement. 
Over the groans and yells she could hear the sound of cracking, and that meant 
that the water was about to break through. 
As she sprinted out of the room, she saw she was behind Abercrombie and Doyle, 
who were both haring down the dank corridor ahead of her. Despite his load, 
Abercrombie was managing a respectable speed. Sarah glanced back and saw that 
Ross and the Doctor were hard on her heels. 
How far did they have to get to be safe? She had no idea. And how long did they 
have before the glass wall gave way and the sea rushed in? It couldn't be more 
than minutes, and possibly not even that long. Once the water came through, it 
would flood the corridors in next to no time. She tried to remember her 
hydrodynamics, but science had never been her strong point. Didn't water speed 
up when faced with a constriction? If so, then as soon as the ocean broke into 
the corridor, it would send a killer wave after them all. 
Talk about encouragement for speed! Sarah's ribs ached, and her lungs felt as if 
they were on fire as she ran for her life. 
* * * 
Breckinridge glared about the viewing room, fury eclipsing every other emotion, 
even his drive for self-preservation. His prisoners had escaped - at least for 
the moment - and his world was crumbling. Raintree lay dead on the floor, his 
blood and brains leaking from his shattered skull. Ross had vanished with the 
others. His slaves outside in the ocean had finished killing the guards and had 
vanished into the darkness beyond. 
Cold rage building inside him, he started for the door. As he passed Brogan, the 
injured man reached out a trembling hand. 
'Help me,' he gasped. Blood was frothing up in his chest wound, and he was 
desperate. 
'Go to hell,' Breckinridge growled, kicking away the groping hand. Ignoring the 
weakening pleas of the dying thug, he left the viewing room and ran up the 
corridor to where the final Guards were kept. He unlocked the door and threw it 
open. 
Snarling, the four enhanced dogs strained at their chains. They were monsters of 
their kind, taken from attack dogs bred in Europe and given extra cunning and a 
drive to kill by Rosss salve and human fluid implants. All four were ready to do 
his bidding, desiring nothing more than to kill. Breckinridge crossed to the 
main link of the chain and unlocked it. As the heavy chains fell away, he 
gestured at the door. 
'After them!' he screamed. 'Instruments of my vengeance! Kill!' 
Three of the beasts leaped to obey him instantly, dashing through the door. 
The fourth whipped around and bared its teeth. Breckinridge barely had the time 
to realize that Ross had made these dogs too well. Their only drive was to kill, 
and they didn't care who their victims were. He backed away as the hound jumped. 
Teeth raked through his upraised arm, shredding flesh and bone alike. 
He had dme for one last scream before the dog's teeth fastened onto his throat. 
  
Doctor Ross, whimpering and racked with pain from his injured hands, staggered 
into his laboratory. Everything had gone wrong! Breckinridge had ruined it all, 
insisting on boasting and playing games with his captives. The man's ego had 
brought everything crashing down about them - and in seconds that could become 
more than just a metaphor. Ross saw that his plans were finished, and everything 
had crumbled. Once again, his accursed brother had beaten him. 
He whimpered from the agony in his hands, caused by Sarah. One hand was broken, 
the other ripped apart from the scalpel she'd wielded. He couldn't bear the pain 
any more, and he staggered across to plunge his hands into the healing salve. In 
seconds, most of the pain was gone and he felt the gel soaking into his body. 
And then the world exploded. He heard the shattering of the glass in the viewing 
room even from this distance. Blindly he looked around, wondering where he could 
run or hide, but there was nowhere left. A roaring sound filled the corridors as 
the waters crashed in, flooding through in a wave of tidal fury. 
It slammed into the laboratory like a hammer, shattering equipment, splintering 
the tables, and then soaking him, throwing him back against the wall. It felt as 
if his spine had been crushed, and pain and fire filled his ravaged body. 
The gel was still working, however. Even as he fought against the rising water, 
struggling for breath, he felt the burning within his limbs as the salve took 
control of his body. Would he drown, or would the cream cause some mutation that 
might enable him to somehow survive? 
There was no way to tell, and no time left. As he lost consciousness, his body 
burned about him. 
  
Sarah ran as fast as she could, trusting that Doyle and Abercrombie knew the 
route back. She'd not seen it, of course, as she'd been insensate when she was 
brought here. Dimly, in the distance behind her, down the twists and turns of 
the passageway, she could hear something. Even over the pounding of blood in her 
ears, there was no mistaking the howl of a dog. Several dogs. 
The guardians are out! she realized desperately. There was no doubt that they'd 
be coming down the passageway after them - to get away from the water, if 
nothing else. And they had been bred to kill . . . 
She simply couldn't move any faster. As it was, she didn't know how much longer 
she could keep up her current pace. She ached terribly, her lungs felt like they 
were burning inside her, and her legs were almost ready to seize up. 
'We're here!' Doyle gasped back to her as they came to the bottom of a flight of 
steps that appeared suddenly from the gloom. He was still holding his revolver, 
and he stopped, waving her on with it. 'I've got a couple of bullets left,' he 
panted. 'Go on. I'll cover us.' 
Sarah didn't waste time or breath arguing. Instead she started up the stairs, 
every step jarring and painful. After what felt like minutes she saw Abercrombie 
shoot out of sight at the top, and then Sarah plunged onto the factory floor 
right behind him. 
'Out the door,' he gasped, leading the way. She saw that he was almost on the 
verge of collapse, so she went to offer him help with Kipling. 'Move it,' he 
sighed. Together they half-carried, half-dragged the boy to the doorway. Behind 
them they heard rapid footsteps, and then the Doctor, Ross and Doyle were with 
them. The Doctor wasted no time or words, but simply kicked open the factory 
door. 
And then the dogs bounded out of the gap in the floor. There were three of them, 
and in the dim light all Sarah could make out was powerful bodies and rows of 
sharp, drooling fangs. 
Suddenly there were hands helping her through the doorway. Through the red haze 
that had settled over her eyes she could make out several people. 
'Get them out of the way!' Sir Edward Fulbright snapped. He had a rifle at his 
shoulder, and was poised to fire. 
Sarah accepted the help without question, and she was dragged aside by two 
people. She fell against one, and realized that it was Alice. 
'Thank God we got here in time!' exclaimed the girl. 
'Indubitably,' agreed Sarah, as she sucked in the fresh night air. Then there 
was a barrage of firing as Fulbright and his men let the three attacking dogs 
have the full force of their guns. The animals howled in pain, but went down. 
The Doctor dropped to the ground beside Sarah. For once he looked as if he had 
been through the wars, too. There was a gash down one cheek, and his deerstalker 
was missing. His scarf fluttered in the breeze, and there was a happy gleam in 
his eyes. 'Three cheers for the Seventh Cavalry,' he joked. 
'Is it over?' Sarah asked. There was a ringing in her ears as Fulbright and his 
men fired a second time. All sounds and movements from the dogs ceased. 
'No,' the Doctor informed her. 'It's far from over. But the war is done. Now we 
have the peace to negotiate. I have to stop Ross from doing anything foolish - 
which isn't likely to be very easy.' 
Coda
Sarah stood on the stony beach as the sun began to rise. There was a chill in 
the air, but less of one in her heart now. It had been a long night, but the 
dawn promised to wipe a great deal of the pain and loss away. She glanced around 
as Alice came to join her in staring out over the choppy waters. 
'Father says that the underground passageways have flooded,' she said softly. 
'They found the body of the last dog in the water there.' 
'But not Doctor Ross or Breckinridge?' 
'No,' Alice sighed. 'But Edmund - Colonel Ross - has finally explained 
everything to my father.' She shook her head. 'If only he'd told us some of this 
earlier.' 
Sarah couldn't resist a smile. 'What did your father say when Ross told him he'd 
been the chief suspect for a while?' 
Alice laughed. 'He was about ready to challenge him to a duel, I think. Then he 
saw the funny side of things, and they're getting along rather well now.' 
'He's not such a bad person, is he?' 
'Edmund?' Alice shook her head. 'Only he's so secretive, even when it's not 
needed.' 
'I guess it comes with the job,' Sarah replied. 'He's a little like the Doctor 
in some ways, you know. They both keep secrets, sometimes too well.' 
'I've been meaning to ask you,' Alice said, 'where is your friend? Nobody's seen 
him for a while, and everyone has questions that they want answered.' 
Laughing, Sarah said, 'That's why he's not around. He hates explaining things. 
Besides, he's gone to fetch the TARDIS.' 
'The TARDIS?' Alice frowned. 'Is that your carriage?' 
'Something like that,' Sarah agreed. She just hoped that the Doctor was right, 
and that he really could make the short hop from Dartmoor to the beach. He'd 
probably have to go via Mars to make it, though. She'd had to trust him, because 
she had been too worn out from her adventures to accompany him back to the ship. 

Another figure stumbled down the path from the town towards them. Sarah winced 
as she realized it was Kipling. She couldn't help liking the boy, but sometimes 
he could be such a nuisance. 'How are you feeling?' she asked him. 
'Like I've got a hangover,' he admitted. 'I missed out on all the fun, I 
gather.' 
'You were almost a part of it,' she told him. 'Breckinridge had a change in mind 
for you. Luckily, it didn't come about.' She smiled at him. 'Do you recall 
anything about last night?' 
'After the graveyard?' He shrugged. 'All I know is that I dreamed of wolves, 
howling all about me.' He shook his head. 'Odd. Oh well.' He looked up at her. 
'Will you be going now?' 
'Soon,' Sarah admitted. 
'Pity.' Kipling suddenly leaned forward and kissed her cheek. 'It's been fun, 
though. I won't forget you, Sarah Jane Smith.' 
'Nor I you, Rudyard Kipling.' She laughed. 'You're going to make lots of people 
proud of you.' 
He waved, nodded at Alice and then started back up the path. 'School's going to 
be ruddy dull after this,' he muttered. 'Wolves, graveyards, mermaids . . .' He 
disappeared, still muttering to himself. 
'Not a bad sort, really,' Sarah said. She glanced at Alice. 'You're going to 
hear a lot more about him, you know. I'm glad I got to know him.' 
Alice stared at her uncertainly. 'Are you . . .' she began. Then she screwed up 
her courage: 'Are you really from the future? The others were talking, and . . 
.' She gave a quick gesture of uncertainty with her hands. 
'Yes,' Sarah admitted. 'I am.' 
'Then you know what becomes of us all?' asked Alice. 
'Not all,' Sarah admitted. 'Just a few of you, the ones I happen to have heard 
about for one reason or another in my time.' 
'Oh.' Alice stood quietly beside Sarah, staring out to sea. 
It was pleasant, standing here, with nothing much to think about. Sarah felt 
happy, just watching the sun rise and hearing the sound of the seagulls wheeling 
overhead. In the distance she could see several small boats. 'The fishing 
fleet's coming back,' she murmured. 
There was a roaring, crashing, grinding sound that slowly began to fill the air. 
It appeared to be coming from a spot about ten feet down the beach. Alice went 
white and clutched at Sarah's arm. 
'It's okay,' Sarah reassured her. 'I think that's my cab arriving.' 
The air shimmered as the familiar outlines of the TARDIS formed and then 
solidified. There was a final thump and the sound died away, then the door was 
flung open and the Doctor stormed out. He was back in his usual costume, his hat 
rammed down over his curls, and the scarf trailing free once more instead of 
being tucked inside a cape coat. 
'Right,' he said briskly. 'Time to finish things. Come along, Sarah, don't 
dawdle.' 
Pulling a face at his retreating back, Sarah followed him up the pathway and 
back to the factory. Alice, fighting down the questions she obviously wanted to 
ask, struggled to keep up with them. 
The factory had been closed for the time being, until decisions could be made 
about its future. There was a small knot of men there, talking in animated 
fashion. Sarah recognized most of them: Colonel Ross and Abercrombie, Sir Edward 
Fulbright and Roger Bridewell, Arthur Conan Doyle and Sir Alexander Cromwell, 
Constable Faversham and Doctor Martinson, and the one-armed fisherman, Brackley. 

'Ah,' Fulbright growled as they joined the party. 'Glad you're back.' 
'So am I.' The Doctor turned to Ross. 'Now, I assume the main problem left is 
the children?' 
'Yes,' he agreed. 'We've agreed that everything else can be kept quiet. There's 
certainly no need for any of this to come out. The salve is destroyed, I hope?' 
'I believe so,' the Doctor answered. 'It doesn't mix too well with salt water. 
Even if it's not gone, it's so diluted now as to be useless.' 
'Splendid.' Ross nodded briskly. It was obvious that he'd taken charge by virtue 
of his office as special agent to the Queen. 'But the children are a distinct 
problem.' 
'Why can't we just leave them alone?' asked Doyle. 'They didn't ask for this, 
and they're harmless, surely?' 
'No,' replied Ross and the Doctor, almost as one. The Doctor glared at him, and 
then amplified his response. 
'The human race isn't ready to share this world with another species, Doyle.' 
The Doctor looked grim. 'And that's what those children have become. They can't 
stay here.' He glanced at Ross. 'There are always people who wouldn't rest until 
they were destroyed - or worse. I've a friend called the Brigadier who's a bit 
like that. He means well, but sometimes jumps the wrong way.' He stared at Ross. 
'One of your failings,' he added candidly. 
'Possibly,' agreed Ross. 'But this is a real problem, and unless you have a 
better solution, I'm going to have to have those merbeings hunted down and 
killed.' 
Doyle frowned. 'A brigadier who means well . . .' he mused. Then he blinked and 
stared at Ross. 'What you propose is nothing short of murder,' he snapped. 
'Don't you think I'm aware of that?' asked Ross. He looked very pained. 'But I 
cannot allow those creatures to exist. They may be children now, but one day 
they will grow up and breed. Then we will have a nasty mess on our hands. Who 
knows how their minds will work?' 
'Those creatures are, as you say, children.' The Doctor frowned. 'And I cannot 
condone your solution. I propose instead that I remove them from this planet and 
take them to another where they can set up their own society in peace.' 
'Another world?' spluttered Sir Alexander. 'Are you out of your mind?' 
'No,' Ross answered. 'He isn't.' He nodded to the Doctor. 'An admirable 
solution. As I say, I've no wish to harm them. Do you think they'll agree to 
this?' 
'Given their options,' the Doctor answered, 'how can they refuse?' 
'Quite.' Ross held out his hand. 'Well, Doctor, I wish you luck. As soon as 
everything is tidied up here, I'll be returning to London. Then who knows 
where?' 
The Doctor considered for a moment, then shook the offered hand. 'Try to 
restrain that itchy trigger finger of yours,' he advised. 
Doyle pulled his watch from his pocket. 'Well,' he said, reluctantly, 'Captain 
Gray sails within the hour. I'm sorry to miss out on the last bit, but I think 
I've done as much as I can.' 
'You've been a marvellous help,' the Doctor replied. 'And I'm sure you'll have 
no problem with the writing.' 
Doyle smiled. 'If nothing else, I've had a few ideas for stories from all of 
this.' 
Ross glared at him. 'You'd better be certain that the incidents are very much 
disguised if you use any of this.' 
'Otherwise,' the Doctor explained solemnly, 'her Majesty will not be amused. 
Take care, Doyle. I'd hate to think they'd reopen the Tower just for you.' 
With a cheery wave, Doyle headed back towards the docks and the waiting Hope. 
Sarah turned back to the Doctor. 
'These mermaids,' she said. 'You think you can talk to them? Can they still 
speak English?' 
'I doubt it,' the Doctor informed her. 'I suspect they use a modified sonar 
method for speech, derived from the dolphin base. Fortunately I speak dolphin 
fluently.' He strode off towards the beach. 
'Is he joking?' asked Alice. 
'Haven't the vaguest idea,' Sarah answered. She wouldn't be too surprised if he 
were telling the truth. On the other hand, it could have been one of his jokes. 
'Well, I guess it's time for me to say goodbye. Take care, Alice. It's been 
fun.' 
'That's one word for it,' replied Alice. 'But it's not the first one that 
springs to my mind. Take care, Sarah. Shall we see you again?' 
Sarah gave her a grin. 'Save me a slice of the wedding cake,' she suggested. 
'I'll see if I can't pop round to eat it. Cheerio.' 
'Are you coming, Sarah?' called the Doctor, without looking around. 
With a final wave, Sarah dashed after him. 
  
Back in her room in the TARDIS, Sarah changed into her borrowed swim-suit. The 
iridescent fabric moulded itself to her body again. Then she grabbed a towel and 
set off down the corridor towards the bathroom. 
The TARDIS was in flight once again. Soft hums filled the corridor, just on the 
threshold of audibility. The Doctor had set the co-ordinates and vanished off in 
one of his mysterious mood swings again. Sarah didn't care how long the flight 
took, or even really where they were going. Some water planet in Andromeda was 
all the Doctor had bothered to explain. 
She pushed open the door to the bathroom and walked in. A large beach-ball 
bounced off the tiles in front other. High-pitched squeaks came from the pool. 
Laughing, Sarah chased the errant ball and tossed it back. 
In the pool, twenty merchildren were romping and enjoying themselves. They were 
splashing, mock-fighting and laughing in squeaky voices. It was self-evident 
that they were happy. They had accepted the Doctor's offer of a new home without 
hesitation. 
Sarah slipped into the water to join them. It was warm and there was the tang of 
salt. The Doctor had tipped in a bucketful to enable the merchildren to survive 
in the pool. Sarah pushed off from the side and swam out to join her new 
friends. The leader, Lucy, came to join her with a nimble flick of her tail. She 
held up her hand, palm forward, and piped a happy greeting. 
Holding her own palm flat against Lucy's, Sarah smiled. 'Hello, friend,' she 
replied. 
It didn't matter how long this voyage lasted. It was going to be a lot of fun. 
Semi-Historical Notes
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle went on to become the 'writer he'd always dreamed he'd 
be. Aside from creating the bad-tempered man of science known as Professor 
Challenger (who the Doctor insists is not based on him), he also became the 
scribe of choice for a private consulting detective who preferred to be referred 
to as Sherlock Holmes. To further aid in this mysterious man's quest for 
obscurity, Doyle had his illustrators depict the detective in a deerstalker and 
cape coat. 
Alice Bridewell went on to become one of the founders of the Women's Suffrage 
Movement, backed by her husband Roger and her ageing father. 
Rudyard Kipling turned his hand to writing; first as a journalist and later as a 
novelist. Some of his tales dealt with time travel, and others with a child 
brought up with wolves. 
Colonel Edmund Ross and his man Abercrombie continued in service to the Queen, 
having further strange adventures that may perhaps be safely related at a future 
date. 
Lucy, Joshua and the others moved to a small world whose star is hardly even 
visible from the Earth. 
The Doctor continues to travel. 
Author's Note
Many of the details in this story are reasonably accurate. For help with 
information on the early life of Arthur Conan Doyle, I'd especially like to 
thank Bill vande Water, B.S.I., who came through with just the right material, 
as always. Some historical facts have been tampered with to better suit the 
plot, so please don't blame Bill for that. 
Thanks are due to Rebecca Levene, Peter Darvill-Evans and Andy Boole at Virgin 
for their patience and understanding, despite extreme provocation. And, finally, 
thanks to Alister Pearson for another stunning cover, and for allowing me to see 
the painting in advance.