The Way through the Woods

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The Way through the Woods

UNA McCORMACK

1 3 5 7 9 1 0 8 6 4 2

Published in 2011 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

A Random House Group Company

Copyright © Una McCormack 2011

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For Kat,

who also likes Amy

Between the housing estate and the motorway lies an

ancient wood. Birds live there, and foxes, and

the many small beasts that snuffle round the

undergrowth busy on their own quiet errands.

The woods teem with life: sharp, clever robins

and blackbirds with bright and restless eyes;

owls that sleep by day and quest by night; vivid

darting butterflies; and all the wild and thrilling

creatures - badgers, and hares, and maybe even

a glimpse of a soft-eyed, soft-footed deer with

her small fawn. Yes, the woods are filled with

life.

But not with people. People - human people

- don't go near the woods. The birds are left

to nest in peace, the foxes to trot and hunt, the

many small beasts to run and hide. And if, on a

clear bright day, you took to the skies and you

flew high, high above the land, you would see

the trees gathered thickly in their hollow, old

and dark and patient. You would see how the

housing estate backs away from the forest, and

you would see too how the motorway strains

and bends to avoid it. Screwing up your eyes,

you would look for a path leading into the

woods - but you would not find one. Because

there is no way through the woods. There has

never been a way through the woods.

Chapter

1

England, autumn, just before the ten o'clock news

Vicky Caine's watch was a sixteenth birthday

present from her dad. Vicky Caine's dad was

short of cash that month, and the watch was

of doubtful origin. But Vicky didn't mind. She

appreciated the thought, and she'd almost saved

up enough from babysitting to get a proper

watch, if she really wanted one. Besides, after

sixteen years, Vicky had a pretty good idea of

what her dad was like. Fun, but not what you

would call reliable.

Unfortunately for Vicky, her dad's gift

wasn't very reliable either. Vicky Caine's watch

had stopped twenty-two minutes earlier, but

Vicky didn't know that yet.

She was babysitting that evening for her

parents' friends Carole and Frank, who were at

their dancing class. (Carole had made Frank take

up tango because of Vincent on Strictly Come

Dancing.) Vicky took their little boy Alfie up to

bed at seven o'clock, read him his Charlie and

Lola book (twice), and then she settled down in

front of the television. Vicky liked BBC Four,

but her older brother, Mark, laughed at her

whenever she switched it on at home. Now she

had four straight hours, curled up in Carole's

brown leather sofa, undisturbed by brothers or

fathers. Bliss. Partway through a documentary

about the Ancient Greeks, Carole and Frank

came back in, cheerful from the exercise. They

all had a cup of tea and a chat, and then Vicky

noticed the time on her watch. Five to ten.

'Hey,' she said, 'I'm going to miss my bus!

I'd better run!'

She grabbed her coat, and gave Carole a

quick kiss, waving away Frank's offer of a lift, as

she did every week. No point in that when the

bus took Vicky almost to her front door. Frank

watched her to the end of the street. The stop

was no more than minute's walk from there.

It was a chilly night, late in October. During

the day there was still bright sunlight and blue

skies, but by this time there was a sharp edge to

the air, as if the evening had suddenly drawn in

its breath. Vicky stood beneath the dull orange

street lamp, stamped her feet, and hummed

contentedly to herself. After a few minutes,

she started to get impatient. 'Come on bus,'

she shivered. The last bus was often a bit late.

Especially when it was cold.

Another few minutes, and she started to feel

uneasy. She pushed up her glove to check the

time.

Five to ten.

'Oh, you're kidding me...' Vicky tapped the

face of the watch. The hands remained locked

in place, frozen at an earlier time. 'Oh, Dad...'

Who knew what time it was now? Had the

bus come or gone? After a couple more minutes

of indecision, Vicky heard, very faintly, blown

towards her on the slight breeze, the town hall

clock. It was chiming the quarter-hour.

That cleared it up, then. She'd missed her

bus by a good ten minutes. So what now?

She debated popping back and taking up that

offer of a lift, but knocking at the door would

almost certainly wake up Alfie, and she really

didn't want to drag Frank out. Taxi? Vicky

sighed as she took out her phone. Taxis were so

expensive.

No signal. She really was short of luck

tonight. There was nothing else for it...

'Mum'll kill me if she ever finds out,' Vicky

murmured, as she set off down the lane. Still,

now she had a twenty-minute walk to think up

a good cover story. What time did that Ancient

Greek thing end? She could say she stayed to

watch it to the finish, and then suggest that

she'd got a lift... Not outright lie, just hint...

OK, so Mark would never shut up about it,

but even that was better than admitting she'd

walked home...

A walk which, so it turned out, was going to

take longer than Vicky expected. Barely had she

left the bus stop, when the lane started bending

in the wrong direction, back towards the houses

and away from the junction with Mill Road,

where Vicky lived. She tried to picture the

route the lane took, but couldn't fix on anything

substantial. She had a hazy sense that at some

point it had to meet up with Mill Road. Why

would a road wander like this? Weren't roads

meant to be straight, if at all possible?

'Must be a contour line,' Vicky mumbled to

no one in particular. On the bus she had never

noticed; she must always have been reading

or listening to music. But it was going to add

absolutely ages to her walk. 'I am in so much

trouble,' Vicky told the cold clear sky. Some

stars twinkled back, sympathetically, but didn't

deign to offer any advice. She tried her phone

every so often, but still couldn't get a signal.

Must be some kind of dead spot, around the

edge of the estate.

At last, the houses came to an end. Ahead, the

lane curved on, lit at intervals by orange lamps

that still bent gently away from where Vicky

wanted to be. She stopped to get the lie of the

land. In the distance, far behind and to her left,

she could hear the soft throb of traffic on the

motorway; the sound of safety, of civilisation.

The new estate was behind her too, over on

the right. Looking back over her shoulder at

it, Vicky saw bright squares of light in upstairs

windows where the curtains had not yet been

drawn: people going to bed on an ordinary

Tuesday night, everyday signs of everyday life.

Carole and Frank would probably be in bed

now, their house in darkness. No, Vicky didn't

want to disturb them.

The town hall clock chimed half past ten.

Vicky looked ahead. On either side of her

lay open ground, fields, cloaked in darkness,

although looking straight across the left-hand

side she could see what she thought were the

street lights at the junction where the lane

eventually met Mill Road. Why couldn't a lane

simply go straight when you most needed it?

She crossed the road and stopped at the fence,

looking at the beacon of light at the junction. If

she cut across the field, she would get straight

there. But cutting across the field would bring

her very close...

To Swallow Woods.

Vicky shivered again. The woods were

creepy. Everyone knew and everyone kept

away. Parents didn't have to issue warnings

because kids didn't even dare each other to

go near. Vicky had never heard a reason, not a

particular reason, but everyone knew to keep

their distance from Swallow Woods. Probably

it was nothing more than children's tales; a

memory of a dark and wild place glimpsed

when you were small that somehow stuck with

you, even when you were old enough to know

better.

But the truth was that, right now, Vicky

was far more worried about what her mum

was going to say when she rolled up well after

eleven o'clock. A kid's tale about a scary forest

was nowhere near as scary as Vicky's mum

when she thought one of her children had done

something particularly irresponsible. Vicky

rested her hand on the rough wooden fence and

stared at the lights twinkling and beckoning

over at the junction. If you thought about it, the

woods were pretty much the safest place in the

area - nobody went anywhere near them. This

was the twenty-first century, not the dark ages,

and Vicky was sixteen, not six. Who believed

there were monsters in the woods?

The decision made, Vicky climbed over

the fence and jumped down. She landed with

a soft thud on compacted earth, and she was

heartened to realise that this was a footpath of

sorts. So other people did come this way and,

looking at the path, it seemed they did so for

the same reason as her: to cut off the loop in

the lane and to get as quickly as possible to the

junction with the road. So there was no reason

to go near the trees. She could steer by the

lights, and follow the path. There was no need

to go anywhere near the trees. Not that it would

matter. It wouldn't matter at all.

The trees sat patiently, a dark and silent

mass to her left. Vicky kept her eyes firmly fixed

on the street lights. The path quickly became

muddier, a mess of tufts of thick grass and

clods of wet earth. The ground sloped down to

the left, and it proved difficult for Vicky not to

be drawn that way. As if the trees were acting

like a magnet... but trees couldn't do that, of

course.

'You're spooking yourself,' Vicky said

'You 're being stupid.' Her voice came out

high and rather thin, but firm enough to be a

comfort. She shoved her hands deep into her

coat pockets and plodded on.

Then she slipped - on a lump of soil, perhaps,

or a tough piece of grass. She fell forwards,

tumbling down onto the ground, rolling heavily

onto one side. She sat still for a few moments,

eyes closed, arms wrapped around her body,

making herself take deep breaths until the sick

shaky feeling passed and she was sure she

wasn't going to burst into tears. She longed to

be home, taking her ear-bashing from Mum,

bickering with Mark.

Vicky opened her eyes. There was mud all

over her coat, her jeans, and her boots. 'I'm

in so much trouble...' She stood up, brushing

uselessly at herself, only succeeding in smearing

mud over more of her clothes. 'Wait till it dries,'

she told herself. 'Clean it in the morning. When

you're home.' She looked round. Clouds had

covered the sky and the stars had slipped

quietly away. She could no longer see street

lights, in any direction.

For one brief, awful second, Vicky panicked.

She heard herself moan, and she clamped her

hand over her mouth. 'You have to go up,' she

whispered into her glove. 'The trees are in the

hollow. If you go up, you'll find the road.' And

as soon as she found the road, she would stick

to it. She would never come this way again.

She would never come this near to the trees. It

wasn't worth it.

She took one tentative step forwards. Then

another, then another. She wasn't certain, but it

felt like she was going up. But the night was very

dark now, and the throb of the motorway very

distant, and a hill can rise again before sloping

away. The trees were silent and invisible, and

long before she realised what she had done,

Vicky entered their embrace. A fox, which had

been sitting and watching with interest as she

stumbled ever nearer to the woods, sniffed at

the chill night air, coughed, and then trotted

after her. And that was the last anyone saw of

Vicky Caine for quite some time.

Chapter

2

England, autumn 1917, shortly before closing time

Emily Bostock smiled at the young man sitting

by himself at the far side of the pub. He smiled

back, as he had done every time. Nice smile, this

one, perhaps a bit lop-sided and not so sure of

itself, but kind, Emily thought. Yes, he looked

very kind.

Annie, the landlady, tapped Emily on the

arm. 'There's a table over there that could do

with a wipe.' She nodded towards the young

man and gave Emily a conspiratorial wink.

'That table too, maybe, on your way back?'

'Maybe,' Emily said, not wanting to commit

herself. No need to rush now, was there? Where

did that get you?

'He looks nice,' Annie said. 'That's all I'm

saying.'

Emily picked up a cloth and gave it a shake.

'Never said he didn't, did I?'

Annie laughed. Emily, smiling, headed off

to gather up empty glasses, swapping a few

words with the regulars as she went round.

She kept half an eye on the nice young man,

though, wondering who he was, where he'd

come from. She'd never seen him before this

evening. He had walked in twenty minutes

after they reopened, eaten a huge piece of pie,

and sat there in his comer ever since, sipping at

one pint of ale. He stuck out like old Frank's red

nose, and he'd earned himself a fair amount of

muttered comment from Frank and his cronies

as a result. Not just because he was a stranger,

but because he was young. Only the old men

drank at the Fox these days. The young men

were all gone away.

'Well,' Emily said briskly, clattering the

glasses together, 'there it is.' She glanced again

at the young man. Good gracious, he was

staring right at her! That was forward! Emily

blushed hotly. Frank and his gang of old wasps

hadn't missed it either; the story would be

round the village in no time. Emily hurried her

pile of glasses into the back, where she lingered

over the washing up and wondered whatever

this young stranger could be about.

When she came out front again, an unpleasant

silence was hanging around the bar, like dirty

old smog over a city. The young man was still

sitting by himself, but now he was staring down

at a white feather that had somehow found its

way onto the table in front of him. He seemed

bewildered, like he couldn't quite believe what

he was looking at.

Emily saw red. Hadn't this lot done enough

damage by now? Weren't they satisfied?

Annie gave her a worried glance and opened

her mouth to speak, but before she could get

a word out, Emily called across to the young

man, making sure her voice carried to every

nook and cranny of the pub. 'Don't you pay

any attention to this lot,' she said. 'The closest

any one of them's been to France is a day trip

to Brighton.'

The silence in the room changed, like

everyone had stopped hungering for a reaction

and instead suddenly became embarrassed or

ashamed. So they should be. Blood pumping

in her ears, Emily threw her dish cloth over

her shoulder and stalked back out. Slowly,

she washed her face and hands in the big sink,

cooling her cheeks and her head. Funny how

she didn't want to cry. This time last year she

would have been in floods. Perhaps she was

past that now. She wasn't sure whether that

was a good or a bad sign. She didn't ever want

to forget...

When Emily came out front again, hardly

any of the drinkers met her eye, and those who

did quickly looked away. So they should. The

evening was quiet after that, subdued, and

when Annie rang the bell for closing time,

Emily made a big show of walking over to the

young man. 'If you wait,' she said, loud enough

for everyone to hear, 'you can walk me home.'

She heard the stir behind her. She tossed her

head.

The young man glanced past her, rather

nervously. But he said, 'Great! Yeah! I'll wait.

Of course I'll wait!'

Annie didn't make her stay. 'I'll clear up.

Don't want to keep him hanging around while

you wash up, do you?'

So Emily washed her hands again,

straightened her hair, and pinned on her hat,

the one with the jet-black butterfly pinned to

the crown. It wasn't her best hat, but it was

definitely an eye-catcher. A proven success.

The young man stood by the door and smiled

at her as he waited.

'What's your name, then?' she said.

'Rory.' He was twiddling with the white

feather between his fingers. They were long,

expressive fingers that looked like they might

do much of his talking for him.

'Just Rory? Nothing else? Or do you come

with a whole name of your very own?'

He laughed. 'Williams. Rory Williams.'

She stuck out her hand, feeling very modem.

'And I'm Emily Bostock. Very pleased to make

your acquaintance, Mr Williams.'

He shook her hand. "The pleasure's all mine,

Miss Bostock.' Then, sweetly, he took her shawl

and placed it around her shoulders. Nice smile,

and nice manners too.

'Well,' Emily said. 'Are you going to walk me

home or not?'

'I think I should.' He pushed the door

open, stood back, and bowed. 'After you, Miss

Bostock.'

'Why, thank you, Mr Williams!'

Outside a nearly full moon poured milky

light upon the lane. The sky itself was stained

indigo dark and there was a faint bite to the air.

Emily pulled her shawl tighter around herself

and glanced back at her companion. His face

was in shadow as he closed the door behind

them. Now they were alone together. All of a

sudden, Emily felt shy. Not such the modern

girl after all, was she? And it was a while since

she'd been by herself with a young man.

They stood on the step staring at each other,

warm yellow lamplight spilling onto them

through the windows of the pub. Yes, he had a

nice face this one, not what you'd call striking,

not exactly, and with a few worry lines, but,

well - nice. Suddenly Emily felt quite breathless,

like she was doing something she oughtn't, but

didn't care. She felt quite free.

'Er,' her companion said, after a moment

or two standing like this. He lifted his finger

as if wanting to attract her attention, while not

actually causing any bother, 'I don't know, you

know, where you live...'

'Oh, of course, silly me!' Emily pointed past

the grey silhouette of the old mill towards Long

Lane, winding its way across the darkened

fields. 'Out that way. Not quite four miles.' She

bit her lip. 'Not too far for you, is it?'

'No, not at all.' He offered her his arm; she

linked her own through it, and they walked

companionably down the road and turned

onto Long Lane. Williams had turned shy; he

would catch her eye, open his mouth to start up

a conversation and then close his mouth again

and smile at her instead. With his free hand, he

was still fiddling with the white feather. Maybe

that was what was making him bashful.

T hope you're not too upset about that,' Emily

said, nodding towards the feather. 'Nobody

with any sense hands them out. Disgusting

thing to do, if you ask me.'

'Sorry, what?'

'Your white feather. You weren't too upset

by all that business, were you?'

He looked at the feather, as if he hardly

remembered he still had it. He gave a nervous

laugh. 'Upset? Why would I be upset?'

'Well, you know...' Emily tried to think of a

delicate way of putting it, because you couldn't

outright say to a young man, particularly such

a nice young man, They think you're a coward

because you're not in uniform. 'They give them to

those who haven't been out there... You know.

As an insult.'

The penny dropped. 'Oh! Yeah, I see.

Probably should have thought of that.'

'Maybe next time keep your silver badge

on or something. Well, I'm glad you weren't

offended, Mr Williams, but where've you been

that you don't know what handing out a white

feather means?'

'Here and there.' He waved the feather

around vaguely. 'You know how it is.'

'You'd better not turn out to be a spy,' Emily

said. 'I'd never live that one down.' She gave

him a long sideways look. 'Here, you're not a

spy, are you?'

'No,' he said. 'I'm not a spy.'

'Well, I doubt you'd tell me if you was, so I'll

just have to take your word for it, won't I?'

"Fraid so!'

'Well, spy or not, you're not to mind.'

'Mind? What am I supposed to be

minding?'

'The feather, you daft thing!' Emily slapped

his arm, gently - and left her hand resting

there. 'No, you're not to mind. What do that lot

in there know about the War? Not a thing. Not

one thing. None of them are going to get their

call-up, are they? All too old. You'd be better

sticking Jack Jones's old pig in a uniform and

sending that out. Oh, it's easy to be brave sitting

with your pals in the Fox all warm and with

plenty of beer to hand, isn't it? Not so easy when

you're stuck out there in the mud with the fleas

and the rats for company.' Emily felt her eyes

prickling. She was probably saying too much,

but she didn't care. She was past minding her

words on account of others. 'Besides, they've

got no idea why you're at home, have they?

You could have been wounded, couldn't you?'

A sudden, dreadful thought crossed her mind.

'Here, you're not a conchie, are you? Because

I'd never live that one down neither.'

'A conchie?' he said. 'What's that?'

She stopped in her tracks. 'A conscientious

objector, of course - here, how do you not know

that? Where have you been?'

'Nowhere, Emily, honestly. I've just... had

a lot on my mind recently. But, no - I'm not a

conscientious objector.'

'Have you been in the army?'

He hesitated before answering. The moon

disappeared behind a cloud and all of a sudden

she couldn't make out his features any more,

only dark shapes and shadows. 'No,' he said.

'Well, sort of. It's difficult to explain and I can't

say any more, Emily... Um. Careless talk costs

lives, you know, that kind of thing...'

'You shouldn't say if you don't want to.

Don't tell me a lie, though.'

'I'm not a spy, and I'm not a conchie.' The

moon came back and again she saw that lop-

sided smile, enough to turn a girl soft. 'I don't

think I'm a coward either. But you'll have to

take my word for that, too.'

'Well,' Emily said gently, 'what sort of

world would it be if you couldn't take a young

gentleman at his word?' She patted his arm.

'You're a nice lad, aren't you, Mr Williams? You

listen. Most lads soon stop listening or never

start in the first place. You can tell a good lad by

the way he listens. Not much for a girl to ask,

is it?' Reaching out, she took the white feather

from him and stuck it into her hat, next to the

little jet butterfly. 'There,' she said. 'Because

we're all in this together, aren't we?'

'Yes,' he said. 'You're right about that.'

The stars twinkled brightly in the unpolluted

sky. Emily looked round at the dark fields. She

felt all shy herself, now. They weren't so far

from the village and she wondered if anyone

could see them. 'Oh, I can't stand how long

this bloomin' walk takes. Every bloomin' night.

Let's take the shortcut.'

Her companion looked doubtfully across the

dark field. 'I can't see a path—'

'There is one,' Emily said, 'if you know your

way. Don't worry, Mr Williams, I won't drag

you into the woods!' She crossed the lane,

clambered onto the fence and hopped down the

other side. 'I can give you a hand if you need it,'

she said, cheekily.

'I think I'll manage...' Carefully he climbed

onto the fence, and sat on top, legs straddling

it. He looked ever so uncomfortable, like a hen

perched on top of an unexpectedly large egg.

Emily laughed. 'You have to be a city boy - if s

like you've never seen a fence before tonight!'

'Actually, I'm from a village, it's just I'm not

usually the one doing the climbing.'

'Got a pal to do it for you?'

'Something like that.' He swung his legs over

and jumped down.

'Everyone needs a pal, Mr Williams. I'll be

yours if you'll be mine.' She held out her hand,

and he took it - and suddenly the laughter

bubbled up from inside her like a little brook,

the way it used to with her Sam, and Emily

broke into a run, pulling her companion after

her across the dark field and down into the

hollow.

The trees came from nowhere. Mr Williams

yanked Emily's arm so hard she came to a

sudden halt.

'Ow!' Emily dropped his hand to rub her

shoulder. 'Oi! That hurt!'

'Sorry! Sorry! We were getting very close to

the trees.'

'The trees? Don't tell me you believe all that

nonsense about the woods?'

'The nonsense?'

'Swallow Woods,' she said. 'Haven't you

heard - they swallow you up!' She wiggled her

fingers spookily. 'Nonsense.'

Williams peered through the branches, as if

trying to catch a glimpse of something. 'Don't

underestimate old stories,' he said. 'Stories are

powerful. And nonsense is sometimes a word

for something we don't quite understand, yet.'

He looked back towards the lane. 'Perhaps

we should keep to the path,' he said, more to

himself, it seemed, than to Emily. 'Perhaps we

should find out where that takes us. If there's a

path, there has to be a reason for the path...'

'It's a shortcut. It doesn't go near the woods.'

Emily felt put out that he was no longer paying

her any attention. All this was spoiling the

mood. 'You're not afraid of some bloomin' old

trees, are you—?'

'Ssh!' He held his finger up to his lips.

'Don't shush me, Lord Muck!'

'Listen!' he whispered. 'Can you hear it?'

'I can't hear a thing...' He was starting to

frighten her. She was painfully aware now that

she was alone in a dark field with a complete

stranger. But the man didn't make any move to

hurt her. He kept on listening for a while, and

then shook his head.

'Funny,' he said, to himself again, like she

wasn't there. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say it

was a motorway.

'A which-way?'

He turned to her and smiled. 'I'm sorry,

Emily,' he said. 'Didn't mean to startle you. I...

Oh, don't worry about it. Shall we go back to

the path?'

'I don't want to go back to the path,' Emily

said. She felt scared now, tricked, as if she had

been brought here under false pretences. 'I'm

not sure I want to go anywhere with you.'

'OK... Er... Well, we can stand here for a

bit... If you'd rather.'

'I'm not sure I want to stand anywhere with

you, neither!'

'Then what do you want to do? Well do

whatever you want.' Williams held his hands

up, a peace offering. 'I don't want to scare you.

I'm not scary, you know. I'm very ordinary.'

He looked it too, an ordinary young man

completely bewildered as to what he'd done to

upset a young lady. Emily suddenly felt very

foolish, and very sad. 'What do you want to do,

Emily?'

'Oh, I don't know!' Emily cried. Why had she

come out here with this young man? What had

she been thinking? Everyone had heard her say

he could walk her home. She'd be a laughing

stock in the morning. But why shouldn't she

come here with him? She was twenty years

old, and her heart was broken, perhaps beyond

repair - and what she wanted most of all was to

feel alive again, young again, as young as she'd

felt that night two years earlier when Sammy

finally plucked up his courage and slipped

the ring on her finger. Turning her back on Mr

Williams, Emily walked slowly and deliberately

towards the trees.

'Emily... Er, what are you doing?'

Emily looked up at the sky. It was cloudy; the

moon and the stars were gone. When she looked

back over her shoulder, she could no longer see

Williams through the dark. Something of her

old spirit flared up within her.

'Catch me if you can,' she said and, with

a laugh as young as spring water, she ran

into Swallow Woods. Behind her, she heard

Williams yell, 'Emily! Wait!' An owl, startled

by the commotion, flapped up from its branch

and hooted out its grievance across the empty

silent fields before swooping off, high over the

hollow. The two young people passed beneath

the trees. Their leaves shuddered, and then

turned unnaturally still. And that was the last

Amy or the Doctor heard of Rory for quite

some time.

Chapter

3

England, now, four days later

The clock on the wall was a perfectly ordinary

clock, the kind of clock that could be found in

any institutional setting on practically every

planet. The planet in question being Earth, this

clock displayed (in perfectly ordinary circular

fashion) a dear set of numbers ranging from

'one' to 'twelve'. It also had an hour hand, a

minute hand, and a second hand which ticked

resolutely and didn't lose time in such a way as

to make life inconvenient for anyone. All told,

this was a perfectly ordinary clock.

The wall upon which the clock hung was

also ordinary, and the room of which the

wall formed one side wasn't particularly

distinguished either. It had four stackable office

chairs, a decent-sized table on which sat some

recording equipment, a door with a lock, and a

window with a view onto a car park. There was

a blind on the window, but that was broken,

and had been for several weeks. People kept

forgetting to write the memo. The blind slumped

diagonally down across the window, and was

likely to remain in this position for some time

yet. People had other things on their mind.

About the only thing that wasn't exactly

ordinary about the room was the man sitting

behind the table. This man was on the youngish

side of indeterminately aged, relatively tall, and

he had unkempt hair and two pairs of loose

limbs that looked as if they would fit more

properly onto an entirely different body. The

man wore a nice bow tie and an exasperated

expression. He had spent the last forty minutes

alternating between drumming his fingers on

the table top and swinging back on his chair.

About four minutes earlier he had started to get

seriously bored.

The door swung open and two detectives

walked in (for this ordinary room was one of

many that, when put together, comprised a

decent-sized if ordinary small-town police

station). The man in the bow tie looked up.

'Look,' he said, 'is this going to take much

longer? Because the fact is I'm actually on quite

a tight schedule and if that clock of yours up

there is accurate - and I imagine it's accurate,

you all seem like very sober and responsible

people, and it seems like a very sober and

responsible kind of clock - then I need to go

and chase down a couple of young women.'

The two detectives - an older red-haired

man, and a younger blonde woman - looked at

each other.

'I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir,' said

the older one, as he took his seat.

The younger detective sat down next to him

and reached across to switch on the recording

equipment. 'Interview recommenced at,' she

glanced up at the clock, 'ten thirty-seven.'

'You seem to spend a lot of time on the road,'

said the older detective. 'Do you travel around

with many young women?'

'Ah,' said the unordinary young man. 'Now.

I see where you're heading with that question,

and I want to make it perfectly clear right

away that none of them have ever come along

unwillingly. Besides, it's strictly invitation only.'

He considered these last statements. 'Well, I

suppose there was the history teacher. And the

air stewardess. But they both had opportunities

to leave and they both decided to stay... I'm not

helping myself, am I?'

There was a slight and very strained silence.

'I do need to get going, though,' the young

man said. 'Things have turned out not to be as

perfectly straightforward as I'd anticipated.'

'Have you ever met a young woman called

Laura Brown?'

'No. And I haven't met Vicky Caine either...

Oh, you hadn't mentioned her yet, had you?

I'm really not helping myself, am I?'

'If there is anything at all that you would like

to tell us,' said the older detective, 'now is the

time to do it.'

'How about - if you want to find your

two missing girls, then you should let me go

immediately because you are dealing with a

situation way beyond your comprehension?

No? No, somehow I didn't think you'd be

persuaded. Oh dear, this is going to cause us

some difficulties... What can I tell you...? Ah!

There is something! Something that's been

bothering me.'

The young man put his elbow on the table

and leaned forwards, beckoning to the two

detectives to come closer. His eyes were very

dark, shadowed, and they didn't give anything

away. Half-unconsciously, half-unwillingly,

both detectives leaned in to listen.

'Somebody,' the young man whispered,

'really ought to fix that blind.'

Two hours later, the police press conference

about the two missing girls was getting ready

to start. The TV journalists and news reporters

had been gathering in the town square for the

last hour like crows from a Hitchcock movie.

The area directly in front of the police station

was packed out; some of the cameramen had

resorted to standing on the steps leading up to

the war memorial in order to get any pictures

at all.

Jess Ashcroft made her way through the

crowd, ignoring the complaints of those she

passed as she pushed doggedly through. Three

or four feet from the front, she stopped, peered

over the last few heads and nodded, satisfied

that she was close enough to see. Just about.

She dumped her bag on the ground, rummaged

around, and pulled out a pen and notepad.

'Nice moves,' said a voice in her ear.

Jess looked round. The speaker was a bone-

thin young man, expensively clad, holding

a mobile phone like it was part of him. She

recognised him at once from one of the news

channels.

'Big story,' said Jess. 'I don't want to miss

anything.'

'Quite right!' He grinned at her. White teeth.

Cute as a button. 'I like your style, though.'

'You know what the old song says.

Dedication's all you need.'

He laughed. 'Good for you! So, what do you

make of the whole thing?'

'Well...' Jess didn't want to play all her cards,

not all at once. 'Must be awful for the families,

mustn't it?'

'Yes, yes,' he said, rather impatiently, 'but

the police kept the first one quiet, didn't they?

There's something weird going on there.'

'Laura Brown is eighteen years old,' Jess said

cagily. 'An adult. Well within her rights to get

up and go wherever she likes.'

'Nah...' The TV journalist shook his head.

'Doesn't make sense. She was studying for A

levels. Fundraising for a trip to Africa. Not the

type to disappear into the blue. Yet the police

don't seem to have been bothered until the

second one went missing. You have to wonder

whether it would have helped poor Vicky

Caine if she'd known there was kidnapper on

the loose. I think someone's head will roll over

this.'

Jess chewed her pen. In fact, it had been

no surprise to her that a second girl had gone

missing. She'd been dreading the news ever

since her younger sister, Lily, had texted two

weeks earlier that her school friend Laura Brown

wasn't answering calls and her Facebook page

hadn't been updated. Jess had been waiting

almost unconsciously to hear who was next.

'Exam pressure?' she said, not believing that

for a second. 'It can hit some people hard.'

'Not likely to hit both of them, though, is it?

I'm Charlie, by the way.'

'I know. I've seen you on the telly. I'm Jess,

from The Herald.'

His expression changed from friendly

interest to friendly pity. 'Local paper? Bless.'

'It's not all cinema listings and fake

horoscopes, you know.'

'No, I bet it's not. I bet your octogenarian

birthday coverage is first rate.'

'Say what you like, but if anyone's going to

get a break on this story, it'll be someone with

local knowledge.'

'Someone like you, you mean?'

'Well, why not?'

Charlie laughed. 'Then I'd better stick close

to you, Lois Lane.'

'Oh yes, very funny, chuckle chuckle. My

kid sister likes that one.'

'Keep your hair on, Lois. We're all in this

together.'

'I think it helps to know the town, that's all.'

'Ah, and you're probably right. Hey,'

he nudged her, 'eyes forward. Here comes

Inspector Knacker of the Yard. Not that he'll

have anything new to tell us.'

'You think so?'

'What's he told us so far, Lois? It's his head

for the chop, I think. Bet you five quid he won't

tell us anything.'

'Fine by me. Because I bet he's going to tell

us they've made an arrest.'

'Fighting talk! What gives you that idea?'

Jess tapped her biro against her nose and

then pointed the tip of the pen towards the

policeman. 'Shush. I want to listen.'

Detective Inspector Galloway waited

patiently on the steps while the cameras

flashed and a yell of questions leapt up, like

the barking of hounds. Jess liked Galloway;

she'd interviewed him a couple of times in the

eighteen months since his arrival in town from

Inverness. She had found him preternaturally

polite and unfailingly helpful. Poor man.

He looked dog tired, as if he'd been dragged

through a ditch and then forced into a suit.

The suit looked like it had been having an even

worse time.

Til be making only a short statement right

now,' Galloway said. 'I cannot of course

comment on an ongoing investigation.'

'Inspector,' someone called from the crowd,

'there've been some questions as to why

the police were so slow in investigating the

disappearance of Laura Brown and whether

this contributed at all to the disappearance of

Vicky Caine. Can you comment on that?'

'I cannot comment,' Galloway said patiently,

'on an ongoing investigation. I shall be reading

out a short statement—'

'Inspector,' someone else shouted, 'can

you confirm that no searches have as yet been

carried out in the woodland area north of the

motorway? Can you say why this is the case?'

Galloway hesitated. Jess, watching him,

sucked in her breath, sharply. Was he about to

go off script? What on earth would he say?

But Galloway collected himself. He cleared

his throat and started again. Til just read out

a short statement,' he said. 'I can confirm that

an arrest has been made in connection...' All

around the square, cameras began to flash,

throwing Galloway briefly off his stride. '...

an arrest has been made in connection with

the disappearances of Laura Brown and Vicky

Caine. A white male, mid-twenties...' Galloway

stopped and blinked into the cameras. 'A white

male in his mid-twenties is currently helping us

with our enquiries. That's all I can say at the

moment.'

The clamour of questions rose up again

immediately - Inspector, can you confirm that this

is now a murder enquiry? - but Galloway turned

and went back into the station.

Jess breathed out. She felt a deep sense

of relief, as if some kind of disaster had been

narrowly averted. She took off her glasses to

rub her eyes.

Beside her, Charlie was opening up his

wallet. 'I'm impressed,' he said, handing over

a fiver. 'Honestly. And I take back what I said

about you being Lois Lane. You're obviously

Sherlock Holmes.'

'Hmm.' Jess wiped her specs clean and

perched them on her nose again. She peered

school-marmishly through them at Charlie.

'Sherlock Holmes was a detective, you know,

not a journalist.'

'Lois it is, then.'

'Or you could call me by my name. Which

is Jess.'

'Come to the pub, Lois. A gang of us are

heading over later to the one on the comer. The

Fantastic Fox—'

'That will be the Fancy Fox.'

'Hey, you really do know everything!

Whatever it's called, well be there from around

seven. Come and meet some people. Get your

name about. I promise I won't tell them it's

Lois.' He went on his way with a wave. 'See

you later!'

Jess bent down to pick up her bag. When

she stood up straight again, she found herself

staring directly at a stripy scarf. The wearer

of the scarf was a young woman clutching a

supermarket plastic bag in front of her so tightly

that her knuckles had gone white.

'It's Jess, isn't it?' she said. 'You're Jess

Ashcroft.'

'I am she, there is no other.'

'Oh, at last!' The young woman practically

stamped her foot. 'Where have you been

hiding? I've been looking for you everywhere!

It's not that big a town!'

Unobtrusively, Jess manoeuvred her

bag between herself and the other woman.

'Wherever I've been, I'm here now.' She glanced

around. The crowd was thinning out, but there

were still plenty of people around she could

call on for help. If all else failed, her bag was

heavy, full of junk, and could probably pack a

significant punch if swung. 'Is there something

I can do to help you, Ms...?'

'My name's Amy. Amy Pond. No, you can't

help me - it's you that needs my help.'

'I do?'

'Yes, you really do. You're next, Jess. You're

going to disappear next. But don't worry! This

time it should all work out OK. This time, I'm

coming with you.'

Chapter

4

England, autumn 1917, earlier that afternoon

The TARDIS landed with a groan, like an ancient

relative settling down into an armchair after a

lengthy lunch. A robin perched on the signpost

that pointed down Long Lane towards the mill,

tipped its head and studied the blue box with

bright inquisitive eyes. The door creaked open.

The robin, put out rather than startled, flew

away.

Rory Williams - known universally these

days as Mr Amy Pond - stepped out of the

TARDIS, blinking like an owl in the bright

chilly daylight. Nobody else followed him out.

Should anyone have been watching - bird,

beast, human, other - they would have seen

him turn round, as if suddenly in doubt, only

to find the way back into the TARDIS entirely

and quite mercilessly barred by his new wife

and her pet time traveller.

'Look,' Rory said, in the slightly desperate

tone someone might use when he knows

that a critical moment has arrived but holds

out no particular hope that his very real and

pressing concerns are going to be heard. 'It's

all very well dumping me here in the middle

of nowhere, but the last time that happened I

ended up waiting thousands of years. Not an

exaggeration! Actually thousands! And I was

plastic. Plastic! Do you have any idea what it's

like, being plastic? Actually plastic!'

'Actually,' said the Doctor, 'that wasn't

you.'

'It could have been me! It might still could

have been me! Frankly, it's not hard to imagine

it being me!'

Amy ruffled his hair. 'Poor Rory,' she said,

with perhaps more glee than sympathy. 'You're

your very own action figure.'

The Doctor at least had the courtesy to try a

more conciliatory line. 'I promise you'll hardly

know we're gone. An afternoon's work, that's

all. Well, an afternoon and a bit. An afternoon

and an evening. Possibly some of tonight as

well... What I mean is, it'll all be over by this

time tomorrow.' The Doctor thought about

that. 'Your time.' He thought some more. 'Ish.'

'Thanks,' said Rory. 'I feel much more

confident now.'

'Think of it this way,' Amy said. 'I get to

go and visit our own time. Wow. Thrilling.

Can't wait. Meanwhile, you get to spend a nice

afternoon in a country pub. A real historic

country pub, while it's actually being historic.

So enjoy the moment! Live it up! Feel the vibe!

Drink the beer!'

'Eat the pie,' suggested the Doctor. 'It'll be

good honest country pie.'

'And there'll be yokels. You can watch them

doing... yokel things.'

'Ooh, and you get to chat up a pretty girl,'

said the Doctor; seeing Amy's expression, he

hastily corrected himself. 'Or not. In fact, I

strongly suggest you do absolutely the opposite

of that.'

'Yes, yes,' Rory said, 'beer, pie, pub, yokels

- it all sounds very nice, and it probably would

be, if it wasn't slap bang in the middle of the war

to end all wars—'

'Oh, that's miles away,' the Doctor said

breezily.

'That's all very well for you to say!'

'Different country! There's the whole

Channel between you.' The Doctor licked the

tip of his forefinger and held it aloft, testing

the air. 'Nope, no Zeppelins. Not today. Zip.

Nada. No show. Absolutely nothing to worry

about! Besides, you'll barely know you were

here. These short trips are like bread and butter

to the TARDIS. Quick turn of a dial, quick

pull of a lever; we're in, we're out, we... um,

shake it all about... Yes, well, as I say, nothing

to worry about.' He waggled his finger and

adopted a lecturing voice. 'What you need to

be concentrating on is staying close to Emily

Bostock. Don't let her out of your sight.' He

dropped the playfulness and went on in a much

quieter, much more serious tone. 'What you're

doing is critical, Rory. You have to stay close to

her. If we lose Emily, we're right back where

we started. More importantly, shell be gone -

really gone. I might not be able to get her back.'

'I understand,' Rory said. 'Stay close to Emily

Bostock.'

The Doctor gave him a kindly smile. 'You'll

be fine. Honestly. Afternoon's work. In the pub.

With pie.'

'Don't get too close to Emily Bostock, mind,'

Amy said. 'You're a married man now. And I'll

know.' She blew Rory an extravagant kiss, gave

him a cheery wave, and closed the TARDIS

door.

Rory stepped back to watch the

dematerialisation.

The TARDIS, however, robustly carried on

being there. After a moment, the door opened

again and the Doctor stepped out. He had

something cupped between his hands and a

somewhat sheepish expression on his face. He

sidled up to Rory.

'One last thing.' He opened his hands to

reveal a small triangular device made from

some bronze substance that definitely wasn't

bronze. He pressed it into Rory's palm. 'You

might want to take this.'

The object pulsed and hummed quietly, as if

chatting to itself. Gold specks of light sparkled

up and down one flat side like tiny Christmas

tree lights. The other side was smooth and

blank.

Rory said, 'This is the thing that lets you find

me again, isn't it?'

'Um.'

'By "um", you mean "Yes, Rory", don't you,

Doctor?'

'Ah.'

'And by "ah", you mean "I'm sorrier than I

can possibly say, Rory". Don't you, Doctor?'

'Rory, everything's fine. Go to the pub. Chat

to Emily,' the Doctor glanced quickly back over

his shoulder, 'in an entirely platonic fashion.

Keep her close, and keep that,' he tapped the

bronze triangle, 'with you at all times. When

you get where you're going, press that button

on the edge there - no, the other edge - and

well be with you in the blink of an eye.' He

closed Rory's hand over the device. 'And when

you do go into the woods - concentrate. There's

nothing there that can hurt you, but you might

get disorientated. Don't worry about that.

The most important thing is that you don't

let Emily out of your sight.' Again, the Doctor

gave his kindly, ancient smile, the one that you

could only feel proud to get, because it meant

someone very wise and very special trusted

you beyond measure. Rory couldn't help but

be pleased to receive that smile.

'Well be back before you know we're

gone,' the Doctor said, which turned out to be

completely true, in a manner of speaking. With

one last vast grin, the Doctor loped back inside

the TARDIS. Soon the old time machine was

grumbling and groaning again, and then it was

gone.

From his pocket, Rory pulled out a scruffy

scrap of paper onto which a map had been

scribbled. Emily Bostock worked as a barmaid

at a pub called the Fox. The pub stood at a

crossroads opposite an old mill. Slowly, Rory's

gaze drifted up from the map to the signpost at

the corner of the lane. Brown 's Mill, it told him

helpfully. 3 1/2 miles. Rory burst out laughing.

'Bang on as ever! Thanks, Doctor!'

He shoved the map back into his pocket and

set off down the lane. Soon he was whistling,

because the day was perfect for walking, the

trees green and gold, and the sun not too hot

and there was die promise of a pint at the end.

Altogether, this struck Rory as not a bad deal

and almost certainly better than being plastic.

Some pleasures stay much the same, whatever

the time and place. Trouble, however, comes in

many different shapes and sizes.

Chapter

5

England, now, after the press conference

Detective Inspector Gordon Galloway had

never intended to live amongst the barbarians.

Then, on a walking holiday in the Lake District,

he fell in love, his eyes meeting the intriguingly

green ones of his wife-to-be over a full English

breakfast in a pleasant B&B near Lake Coniston.

Nearly the first thing Mary said to him was,

'I'm something of a home bird...' And so - after

eleven months, a charming courtship, and a

delightful wedding - Gordon Galloway applied

for, and received, a transfer to his wife's home

town.

A town which, after eighteen months of

everyday living and slightly over a week into his

first major case there, Galloway was concluding

was a very strange town indeed.

It wasn't simply that Laura Brown's

disappearance had gone unreported for several

days. Parents know their children, after all, and

technically Laura Brown was an adult. If she

had decided to pack up and take an early gap

year, that was her decision, and if her parents

had assumed that was what she had done, that

was theirs. And as soon as it was clear that

something else was happening (when Vicky

Caine's frantic and Scouse father turned up

at the station to report the non-appearance of

his daughter), the Brown family had become

as accommodating (and as frightened) as

Galloway might have expected.

No, he didn't suspect the Browns, not least

because of the strength of their alibis. But there

was still something strange. Take that moment

earlier today, when he had gone to inform both

sets of parents that he had made an arrest, and

Laura's mother and father - Vicky's mother too

- had stared at him as if he had said he was

planning to search the dark side of the moon. It

was as if the three of them couldn't quite believe

what he was saying.

Vicky's father - who wasn't local, after all -

had reacted more as Galloway had expected:

Who is it? Do we know him? How did you catch

up with him? Then the other three had joined

in - but it still hung there, that split second,

when they had all stared at each other, clearly

all thinking the same thing: How can that be

possible? Yes, much as it pained him even to

think it (for Gordon Galloway was very much

in love with his wife) there was something very

strange about this town.

Then there was the not so inconsiderable

matter of the searches. Vicky Caine's last

known location was a bus stop on Long Lane.

Laura Brown had last been seen leaving the

Fancy Fox pub. Between these two points lay a

large piece of woodland. Galloway had several

times ordered a search, but somehow it didn't

seem to happen. People found themselves

elsewhere, or something pressing turned up,

or the searchlights were broken and had to be

replaced. Each delay was perfectly reasonable.

But the upshot was that the search of Swallow

Woods had not yet got started.

And then there was the chief suspect...

Galloway glanced across his desk to where

his junior colleague, DC Ruby Porter, was

talking on the phone. Porter was a pensive

young woman that even Galloway thought was

slightly too sensible for her age. He went and

made them both a cup of coffee. By the time

he got back, she had finished her call, and they

sat sipping hot instant stuff from nearly clean

mugs.

'Tell me,' said Galloway, 'do you think we

have the right man?'

'Absolutely.'

'Why do you think that?'

'Um. Intuition?'

'Go on, you can do better than that!'

Porter peered at him over the rim of her mug.

'I don't want to sound strange, sir.'

Strange. There was that word again. 'Hm.

Don't worry about that. Fire ahead. Then I'll tell

you what I think.'

'OK... Well, it's not the hair, and it's not the

clothes... I don't know, but when we're in there

talking to him, sometimes he looks at me, and

it's like...'

'Go on,' Galloway prompted.

'It's like he's the oldest person I've ever

met. There's the word games, and the chatter,

and the nonsense, but sometimes I catch him

looking straight at me, and when I look into his

eyes, deep into his eyes, it's like I'm staring all

the way back to the beginning of time.'

There was a pause. If Galloway had had an

audience to his earlier thoughts, he would now

have turned round to them and said: See! See

what I mean? This town is strange! As it was, he

simply swirled some coffee around his mouth

and then swallowed.

'That's... very poetic, Porter. See, I was only

going to say that it was extremely odd that

there's no evidence of him being in town until

right before Laura Brown went missing.'

Porter turned an interesting shade of red.

'Sorry, sir. But it's the only way I can think of

putting it. He seems harmless, but if I think

about it at all, he might well be the strangest

person I've ever met.'

And coming from someone brought up in this

town, that, Galloway thought, was practically a

testimonial.

They finished their lousy coffee and went

back down to the interview room. Opening the

door, Galloway saw that his chief suspect was

standing by the wall, staring at the clock. When

he heard the door open, the young man pointed

up at it.

'Is that accurate?' he said. 'Are you quite sure

it's accurate?'

'Of course it is. Why don't you sit down,

son?'

The young man sat down, slowly. Then, with

a quick movement, he reached out and grabbed

Galloway's wrist. Porter's hand flashed out to

stop him, but the young man said, 'Stop. Wait.'

And for some reason she did. The three

of them sat there, motionless as a tableau, all

staring down at Galloway's watch. The second

hand ticked on, on, on, and each second seemed

to have slowed, to be taking an age. And then

at last it reached the hour. The young man,

looking up, stared straight at Galloway - who,

all of a sudden, could see what Porter meant. It

nearly scared the life out of him.

'It's time,' said the strange young man with

the madcap hair and the clownish bow tie and

the fathomless eyes. 'Amy and Jess. It's time.'

Chapter

6

England, now, the Fancy Fox pub,

shortly before 7 p.m.

Jess got to the Fox early. She claimed the big

table to the right-hand side of the pub, dumping

her leather bag on it to mark the territory as

taken. She got a gin and tonic, and then sat

checking her text messages, hoping she looked

busy rather than worriedly waiting for a group

of people who might not turn up. One of her

messages was from her sister, Lily:

An ARREST?!!!? Wots this all about, LOIS?

Any news on Luara? :-(

Jess was in the middle of a lengthy reply

(Jess made no concessions to the form: her text

messages contained full sentences, accurate

punctuation, and no missing or misplaced

apostrophes - she would also manage to spell

'Laura' correctly), when she realised that

someone was sitting at the table.

'I'm really sorry,' she said, adding the last full

stop and hitting send, 'those seats are taken—

Oh. It's you.'

For it was indeed the alarming Amy Pond,

clutching her plastic bag as if it bore a designer

label. 'Don't run off again,' she said. 'We don't

have time, OK?'

'Please leave me alone,' Jess said, in a clear

and carrying voice. A couple of the other

patrons looked round curiously, decided Jess

could handle herself for the moment, and went

back to their drinks and conversations.

'Look, OK, all right, I know we got off on the

wrong foot—'

'You practically threatened me!'

'—but it's really important you hear what I

have to say.'

The pub doors swung open. With a gale

of laughter, Charlie and his friends entered

the Fox. Through clenched teeth, Jess hissed,

'You are about to ruin what could be the most

important moment in my career.'

' This,' Amy hissed back, 'is the most important

moment in your career. Story of your life, Jess.

Happening now, whether you like it or not.'

Charlie, who had ordered at the bar and was

looking round, saw Jess. He grinned dashingly

and waved.

T want you to go away now,' Jess said.

'It's about the woods, Jess. Swallow

Woods.'

Jess's heart stopped, gulped, then started

again. 'The woods?' she whispered. 'What

about them? What do you know?'

'I know an awful lot about them - not

everything, but a lot. The rest well have to find

out as we're going along.' Amy stood up. She

smiled, rather grimly. 'Oh, you're so coming

with me.'

Jess glanced across at Charlie, who was now

trying to pick up four pint glasses. 'Tomorrow,'

she promised. 'Come and see me at The Herald

tomorrow.'

Jess had never actually seen someone tear at

their hair before. Now she had.

'Aren't you listening? Tomorrow? It's now or

never!'

Charlie arrived with his friends and his

tower of drinks, and set the glasses carefully

down on the table. The introductions went

round. Charlie smiled at Amy, towering and

glowering over Jess.

'Hi!' he said. 'Friend of yours, Jess?'

'Not exactly...'

'Oh...' His ears almost twitched. 'A lead?'

Story of your life, Amy mouthed at Jess - and

Jess knew she couldn't resist. She pushed her

specs back up her nose and beamed guilelessly

at Charlie. 'Eighty-fourth birthday party,' she

lied. 'Twins. Big story for me. Huge. But I'll

come back later and tell you your horoscope.'

'Well be here, Lois. Well cross your palm

with silver and then you can buy the beer.'

'I'll be five minutes,' Jess promised. 'Um.

Maybe ten.'

Amy marched Jess over to a table in a quieter

comer of the pub, glaring at the man already

sitting there until he got up and left.

'You are very strange,' Jess remarked, as

Amy started emptying the contents of the

plastic bag onto the table. Piles of printouts and

photographs.

'I don't have time not to be strange,' Amy

said. She sifted through some of the photographs

and made a selection. 'Right. Best place to start

is probably with the aerial shots - hoo boy, did

they ever creep me out! - yes, well start with

those.' She handed one of the photographs to

Jess.

Jess put the photo down on the table and

studied it. As Amy had said, it was an aerial shot

of a piece of countryside. A thick dark smudge

of woodland took up most of the centre of the

picture. Curving around the woods, at the

bottom right-hand side of the page, was a strip

of grey road. The town took up the left-hand

vertical strip of the page. It was very familiar.

'That's Swallow Woods.' Amy jabbed her

finger at the dark green patch. 'And that,'

she ran her finger along the grey road, 'is the

motorway.'

'I know,' said Jess, patiently. 'I've lived

round here my whole life—'

'So don't tell me you've never noticed.'

'Noticed what?'

'The road, Jess! The motorway!'

'What about the motorway? It's a stretch of

motorway. It runs from Junction 11 with the

bypass down here,' Jess pointed to a place on

the table just below the bottom left comer of the

picture, then swept her finger up and round to a

point just above the right comer, 'to Junction 12

here. Both junctions get backed up at rush hour.

If s a pain in the neck. I write about it every

three or four months and nothing changes.

Why? Because ifs a perfectly ordinary piece of

motorway—'

'Did you not see what your hand just did?'

Amy said. 'The shape it made?'

'If you've got something to tell me, get on

with it. Because right now I could be networking

my way into a job in London—'

Amy shook her head. 'You're not going. You

won't leave here.'

'Once again, that sounds unpleasantly like a

threat-'

'Look at the road,' Amy said. She pulled out

another picture, another aerial shot of trees and

field and road, and then a third picture. Jess

shook her head, but she examined them both.

There was no new town in these - only the old

village, more or less where they were sitting

now - and certainly no motorway - although

the old road was there, following broadly the

same route. But the shape of the woods was

unmistakeable. These were aerial shots of the

same piece of countryside, over time.

'Look at the roads, Jess,' Amy urged softly.

'They bend. They bend around the woods.' She

lined the three pictures up alongside each other,

and pointed to the one on the far right. 'That's

the road the Romans built. They built it on top

of the old trackway.'

'Whoa, whoa, whoa - hang on a minute! The

Roman road?'

Jess grabbed the picture. This road wasn't a

trace, a memory, the bumps and indentations

that get left behind and overgrown, the kind of

thing that gets Tony Robinson excited on Time

Team. This was a road - a working road. A road

in use. 'This looks like the actual Roman road.'

'It is the actual Roman road. You may

remember,' Amy said, 'that Roman roads are

famous for being straight, unless they've got a

very good reason not to be. And you may notice

that this one isn't straight. At all.'

She was right too. At the point where the

Roman road met what Jess, in her time, would

call Long Lane, it took a sharp south-easterly

swing. Eventually, where Junction 12 was now,

it righted itself, carrying on its steady north-

easterly progress. Jess could see how the road

could have been straight. But it wasn't straight.

It bypassed the woods.

'That isn't the best one,' Amy said. 'Oh no,

no sirree! This,' she pulled out another picture,

'is the one that really got me going.'

She handed Jess the picture. This time, the

road was a narrow brown line. But it followed

the same path, and it curved in exactly the

same way. It curved to keep away from cutting

through the woods.

'Look at the pictures, Jess,' Amy said softly.

'The motorway bends around the woods. So

did the old road. So did the Roman road. As

long as people have lived here, they've gone

out of their way to avoid the woods. That,'

she pointed to the thin brown line on the third

picture, 'is the trackway. It's Bronze Age. And

it bends away from Swallow Woods.'

Jess sat with the Roman photo in one hand,

the Bronze Age one in the other, staring between

them.

'This picture,' Jess said slowly, holding up

the one showing the trackway, 'looks like it was

taken yesterday.'

'Sometime last week, actually,' Amy said.

'Or six thousand years ago, depending on how

you look at it.'

'Oh, now you're just being ridiculous!'

'Jess.' Amy put her hand upon her arm.

'You've lived here your whole life. You know

this town better than most. You know there's

something strange about Swallow Woods.'

Jess licked her lips. 'They're just stories.

The kind of thing you tell to kids to stop them

wandering off by themselves.

'Yet when I said I wanted to talk about the

woods, you came at once. Those guys over

there, you could be chatting away to them

right now! Fixing up that fancy London job

you've always wanted. But you aren't. You're

here with me. Because you want to know the

secret of Swallow Woods. All your life, Jess.

All your life you've been wondering.' Amy

started sifting through her papers again. 'You

know that people go missing. That the woods

swallow them. Not just Laura, not just Vicky -

it's been going on much longer than that. If you

look into it, just a day's work, you soon find out

that people have been disappearing in Swallow

Woods for as long as people have been living

here. The trackway, Jess. It bends away from the

woods. Those Bronze Age people, they knew.

Everyone who's lived here, they've known.

Because there's a pattern. Every fifty years it

happens, give or take a couple of years. Take a

look at these.'

She handed Jess a sheaf of papers: old

newspaper reports, from the nineteenth century

and earlier. Before that was a selection of parish

records, the steady rise and fall of births and

deaths across the centuries - but when Jess

looked closely at the records, she saw that

some of the names had no death date, and that

each of these had a green mark against them.

Whatever the century, the same mark. Different

hands, but the same mark; young men and

young women, but the same mark. 1917 - two

marks. 1861 - three marks. 1814 - one mark.

At the bottom of the pile was the entry in the

Domesday Book. There was the parish - St

Jude's - and there was the entry for the wood.

Someone had carefully cross-hatched through

the name. Nobody wanted to own Swallow

Woods. Nobody would go near it.

Jess shoved the papers away. 'You've done

all this on a computer - I don't know why, but

you must have.'

'All right. There's another thing I have to

show you,' Amy said. 'I think this will convince

you. But you're not going to like it, and I think

you should prepare yourself for a shock.'

Reaching into the bag, she drew out one last

piece of paper.

It was the cover page of a national newspaper.

The paper was yellowing and slightly crisp

to touch. Jess guessed it was probably a few

decades old. She read the headline - Third Girl

Missing - and then the start of the story beneath.

One paragraph had been circled in felt-tip pen:

And with no news on either Laura Brown or Vicky

Caine, fears are now mounting for 24-year-old

journalist Jess Ashcroft, whose abandoned car was

found parked on a country lane...

'I'm sorry,' Amy said quietly. 'I didn't

want to have to show you that. But you have

to understand, Jess - I know that you go into

Swallow Woods tonight. I know that you're

the next to disappear. There's nothing I can

do about that. As far as I'm concerned, you've

already gone. But this time - I'm going with

you.'

The paper, naturally, was dated tomorrow.

Chapter

7

England, autumn 1917, well after closing time

Rory crashed through the trees. 'Emily! Where

are you?' He stopped to catch his breath,

bending over, his hands splayed out flat on his

legs. 'One job,' he mumbled ta himself. 'One.

Stay close to Emily Bostock. The Doctor's going

to kill me. Amy's going to kill me...'

He felt something small and hard bounce off

the back of his head. 'Ow!' Again - and then a

third time. A muffled laugh came from above.

Emily was perched up in the tree, legs dangling

down, weighing one last pine cone like a cricket

ball. She had taken off her hat, and loosened her

long brown hair. It gleamed in the sunshine.

She threw the cone at Rory. He fumbled the

catch and it fell to the ground.

'All right,' he said. 'You've had your fun! Are

you coming down?'

'Why should I come down? It's nice up here.'

She patted the branch next to her. 'Why don't

you come up instead?'

Why not? At least she wouldn't be able to

run away from him again. Rory grabbed an

outlying branch and swung himself up beside

her.

'See?' she said. 'Isn't it nice?'

'Oh, yes. Lovely.'

'You don't sound like you mean that, Mr

Williams. Here, you're not cross with me, are

you?'

'No, it is lovely, just... Please, Em- Miss

Bostock, I mean. Please don't run off again like

that.'

'Gave you a turn, did I?' She patted his hand.

'All right, I won't run off like that again.'

'Thank you, Miss Bostock.'

'Emily will do.'

'Thank you, Emily.'

They sat for a while, each giving the other

quick sideways glances, and then looking

hurriedly away.

'They're stories, nothing more,' Emily said at

last, apologetically. 'I know we're off the beaten

track in Foxton, Mr Williams, but even we're

in the twentieth century now! Mr Blakeley up

at the big house - his son has a motor car! I've

seen it!' She swung her legs to and fro. 'It wasn't

working, mind. Slid off into a ditch. The steam

that was coming up from it!' She laughed.

'Mind you, they're beautiful things. Imagine

what it must feel like, speeding along, the wind

in your hair...'

'Maybe one day you'll ride in one.'

'Who, me? I shouldn't think so. Nothing

exciting happens here. A motor car might be

real enough, but nothing happens in Swallow

Woods.'

Rory gave her a sad smile. 'But it's already

happening. Haven't you noticed?'

'What do you mean?'

'Look around. What can you see?'

'Trees. We're sitting in a tree looking at more

trees.'

'Try again,' Rory said. 'Describe exactly what

you can see.'

'Well, where there's trees, there's leaves. I

can see leaves. Lots of leaves.'

'Go on.'

'There's a little path heading off just in front

of us. I think I can hear a stream, up ahead

somewhere. And there's the sun, scattered

through the breaks between the branches. It's

not such a dense old wood as people would

have you think—'

'What time did we leave the Fox, Emily?'

'Just after closing time, of course. That's half

past nine.'

'Half past nine. And yet there's the sun.

When we left the Fox, the moon was out.

Remember? It was nearly full. And now...'

Rory waved his hand around. 'Sunshine.'

'So? So the sun's coming up. That happens,

you know, even in Foxton. Nothing strange

about that.'

'But it's autumn. The nights are longer. How

long since we left the pub? An hour at most.

How can the sun be coming up already?'

Emily drew her shawl around herself more

tightly. 'I don't mind saying so, but you're

frightening me, Mr Williams.'

'It's OK,' Rory said softly. 'We're not in any

danger, not in any real danger. But Emily -

please, promise me, don't run off like that again.

Because I might not be able to find you, and if

you get lost, you could be lost for ever.'

Emily pulled away from him. In a whisper,

she said, 'Who are you, exactly?'

Rory Williams thought of himself as possibly

the least alarming person of his acquaintance.

Amy - now she was alarming. Gorgeous,

wonderful, unique - and alarming. And as for

the Doctor... Now Rory saw himself through

Emily's eyes: a stranger who appeared from

nowhere saying bizarre things while the world

went suddenly mad... He knew exactly how it

felt to be on the receiving end. He reached out

to take Emily's hand. It had gone cold, so he

started to rub it.

'Who I am doesn't matter, not really,' he

said. 'But it's possible that things are going to

get weird around here, Emily, weirder than

they are already. It's important that you trust

me. I'm a friend. I can look after you.'

As he spoke, the sun shone more brightly

on Swallow Woods, catching on the dust motes

and pollen and dandelion parachutes that were

drifting about, making them gleam for the

merest second and then disappear. The leaves

were gently stirring. It seemed to Rory almost

as if they were held in some eternal Maytime -

only Emily's hand was still cold.

'All right, Mr Williams,' she said slowly. 'I'll

trust you. But you have to tell me what's going

on around here. I'm not daft, and you don't

have to lie to me, not even to protect me. You

shouldn't do that, not if you want me to trust

you. Besides,' she said, and gave him a secretive

sideways look, 'we all know about the woods.

We pretend it's not real, but we all know about

it. So what's happening? What's going on?'

'OK. It's difficult, but try this. Ages ago,

someone abandoned a machine in the woods.

It's been leaking a kind of energy ever since,

like the steam from Mr Blakeley's car, and it's

made the woods bend out of shape. That's why

all these strange things happen - how it can hop

from autumn to summer, or day to night.'

'And why the people... well, why they go

missing.'

'Yes, that too. It's not magic or enchantment

or anything—'

'Well, I know that! Good gracious, this is the

twentieth century! I'm not some simple country

girl! I was at school all the way up to 13, I'll have

you know!'

'Sorry! Yes, of course, twentieth century...

Anyway, this machine has been sitting here

rotting and the stuff it's made from makes the

strange things happen—'

'Like if Mr Blakeley's motor car broke down

near a stream, and some metal got into the water

so it turned a funny colour and you couldn't

drink it without getting sick?'

'That's.... pretty much exactly what I mean.'

'See - not so daft, am I? Is that why you're

here? To fix the machine?'

'Not so much fix it as find it and cart if off

for scrap.'

'And then Swallow Woods will go back to

being ordinary?'

'That's the idea.'

Emily rested her hand flat against the trunk

of the old tree supporting them. 'Poor old

Swallow Woods. Everyone scared, and it's not

its fault. Seems a shame to take the magic away,

even if it wasn't really magic in the first place.'

She stroked the crusty bark with her thumb

and sighed. 'Suppose it happens to all of us in

time.'

She shook herself and, with a quicksilver

movement, slid down from the tree. 'And you

knew I came through Swallow Woods and

you were worried I'd get lost too. That's nice.

I thought you were nice, Mr Williams.' She

pulled back her hair and set her hat upon her

head, shoving a pin in here and there to keep it

fixed in place. Then she put the feather and the

butterfly straight.

'Can I help?' she said. 'Help you find the

machine?'

Rory clambered down the tree. 'Of course.

But we have to stay together.'

'So where now?' she said, when he was on

the ground again. 'Where are we heading?'

'What do you think, Emily?'

'Me? What do I know? Don't you have a map

or something?'

'How would you map a place like this? Who

would come here to map it?'

She shivered, even in the sunshine. 'You're

not helping with my nerves, you know. Well,'

she pointed at the path, 'I suppose that's as

good a way as any.'

So they went that way, and Rory's heart

was heavy, because he had not told Emily

everything, not quite. Rory knew that Emily

Bostock was going to disappear into Swallow

Woods tonight. That's what history said: a green

mark against her name in the parish records,

one of many marks he and Amy and the Doctor

had found leading back through time. Rory's

job tonight was to follow Emily, not to lead her;

to stay close, to find out where she was going

and where she had gone - and perhaps, that

way, to save her.

England, 1917, much further from the pub than

was intended, early in the afternoon, before the

TARDIS left

Amy watched on the monitor as Rory got his

bearings. Then the TARDIS dematerialised,

and she could see nothing beyond the formless,

timeless Vortex. 'He will be all right, won't he?

Doctor?'

'Hmm?' The Doctor was busy tinkering with

another small bronze triangular device, exactly

the same as the one he had just given Rory.

'Rory. Hell be all right, won't he?'

'Of course hell be all right. Rory's a trooper.

Trooper Rory. Solid as a rock - and not one

of those porous rocks that lets water through.

Trooper Rory the non-porous rock, that's what

they call him.'

'Those woods, though. They sound creepy.

Paths moving and shifting and wandering

about...'

'It's not going to be a walk in the park, Amy,

no, but it is a perfectly normal side effect of this

particular kind of interstellar drive. There can

be some disorientation at first, but you soon

get used to it. We know from the records that

Emily disappears, which means she must find

her way to the ship eventually. All Rory has

to do is stick with her, and then use this he

threw the device to Amy - 'to signal us so that

we can get a fix.'

She twisted the triangular object around

between her fingers. 'Looks like a piece of—'

'In no way,' said the Doctor firmly, 'does

my superbly engineered triangular tracking

technology resemble a piece of chocolate. And

I certainly wouldn't advise biting into it. It may

be good for locating people stuck in spatial

warps, but I doubt it's good for your fillings.'

'Fillings? Speak for yourself, mister! I looked

after my teeth. Brushed and flossed. So this little

hoojamaflip is really how we're going to find

Rory?'

'When he's found the ship, yes.'

'And the reason we can't land the TARDIS

right in the woods is because of the temporal

wotsit.'

'On this occasion the wotsit is in fact spatial

rather than temporal. Swallow Woods is... well,

it's bigger on the inside. And the word you're

looking for is warp.'

'Warp,' said Amy. 'OK. I'm with you. Nearly.

Run it past me again.'

'Pass me your scarf,' said the Doctor.

'Sorry?'

'Your scarf. That's the woollen thing wrapped

around your neck.'

'Oi. Watch it.' Amy undid her scarf and

handed it over. It was a good scarf, long and

thin and with cheerful bright stripes, and Amy

was fond of it. 'You're not going to Doctor it,

are you? I want it back. Undoctored.'

'I'm not going to do anything to it. Nothing

that I wouldn't do to a scarf of my own.

Now, watch and listen.' He pulled the scarf

out lengthways and held it in front of him.

'About ten thousand years ago - give or take a

few thousand years - somebody landed their

exploration ship near Swallow Woods. Crash-

landed, I should say. Because the ship broke

down.'

'And the AA hadn't been invented yet.'

'That's right. No AA. Not for a while.

Terrible time. Unspeakable. Now, the cause of

the breakdown was that the ship's propulsion

unit malfunctioned.'

'Propulsion unit. Is that Doctor for

engine ?

'Yes, that's Doctor for engine. A thing that

gets you from A to B.'

'I call that a cup of tea.'

Calmly, the Doctor said, 'I can hold on to this

scarf indefinitely, you know.'

'All right, all right! I'm listening now.

Properly.'

'Good. Now, what you must understand

about space, Amy, if you haven't worked this

out already, is that it's very big. And if you're

serious about getting from A to B, you need

something considerably more complex than a

nice hot cup of tea. You're not trying to move

yourself from the kitchen to the sofa. You're

trying to span the vast empty spaces that lie

between the lonely distant stars. So how do you

do that? In the case of our exploration ship, the

propulsion unit - engine - folds pieces of space

together.'

'I'm guessing my scarfs about to have its

moment of glory.'

'Correct.' The Doctor folded the ends of

the scarf together, so that a long loop hung

down. 'But you can see how all that space gets

pushed somewhere, into a sort of pocket. When

the ship broke down, the pilot dumped it in

Swallow Woods, where ifs been causing havoc

ever since.' He tugged the scarf so that the

loop swung backwards and forwards. 'This is

why people disappear. They're caught in these

pockets and can't get back out.'

'So if we took the TARDIS into the woods,

it would probably get pulled into one of these

pockets too. We'd be as lost as anyone else.'

'Exactly. But what we can do is follow

a couple of missing people from different

times, triangulate back from them to work out

the position of the ship, remove the broken

propulsion unit, and -' he pulled his hands apart

and the scarf went straight - 'escort anyone lost

back to their own time. It's a perfectly simple

clean-up job. I only wish people wouldn't go

around fly-tipping. I'm not a cosmic bin man.'

'Do we know where the ship came from,

Doctor?'

'I think so.' Slowly, he began to fold the

scarf. 'All a long time ago, though. Sad story.

Shouldn't dwell on these things.'

'Keep Buggering On, like Winston said, eh?'

'Always, Pond. Always.'

Amy turned her attention back to the bronze

device. 'Tracking people through spatial

wotsits. Chocolate definitely can't do that.'

'And then there's the nuts and the nougat.

Think of your fillings.'

'I don't have any — Oh, shut up! What do you

call this locator thingie, anyway?'

'Do you know, I hadn't decided on a name.'

He peered at it. 'It's triangular and it triangulates.

How about we call it a triangulator? Or is

that too obvious? No, let's keep things self-

explanatory.' He smiled. 'Would you like your

scarf back now, Amy? We've landed, and it's

autumn.'

Arm-in-arm, Rory and Emily walked through

Swallow Woods. The day - if indeed a single day

was happening around them - became warmer

and sunnier, as if spring was accelerating

towards summer. The birdsong grew louder

and more joyous. Rory even thought he could

hear the leaves unfurling, a gentle steady rising

sound. He didn't feel afraid, more awed at

the strange swift transformation taking place

around him; at the sense of being very close

to living things and yet very far away from

anything human. Except Emily, of course. She

walked through the woods with her mouth

open and her eyes bright, seeming to savour

every moment of this rapidly passing spring.

After what might have been an hour (both

their watches had long since stopped), the trees

moved apart, forming a round glade. Entering,

they both gasped and fell silent. It was as if they

had walked into a vast cathedral, but one that

was living and growing, not made of stone.

The trees were huge and thick with dark green

foliage; their upper branches were interwoven,

joining each tree to its neighbour and thereby

forming massive archways through which dark

avenues leading out from the clearing could be

glimpsed. The air was hushed, as if a service

was about to begin in an ancient green temple.

'Emily,' Rory whispered. 'Why are you

humming?'

'Humming? Wouldn't dare! Be like whistling

in church! There's water over there, though.

Must be that you can hear.'

A small pool, deep and still, lay at the heart

of the clearing. They knelt side-by-side and

drank thirstily. Emily splashed water over her

face and hands. When the ripples settled, Rory

could see their reflections, slightly distorted,

and framed by the tall trees.

'Here, what's that?' Emily said. Rory,

investigating where she had pointed, found the

remains of a campfire; a few charred sticks and

some small bones left over from a lonely sort of

supper.

'I wonder who else could be here?' Rory

said.

'Could be Harry.'

'Harry?'

'Harry Thompson from Brook's Farm.

Haven't seen him in the Fox for nigh on six

weeks. Word is he's run off. His call-up was

due. Poor lamb, he's a sensitive sort. If the trees

have been playing tricks on him, hell be scared

half out of his skin.'

Rory picked up one of the burnt sticks and

stirred the ashes. They were cold and dead.

'What would you do,' he said, 'if we found

him?'

'What would I do? I'd come back here

tomorrow with a loaf of bread and a packet of

fags and whatever else he asked for. I wouldn't

send anyone out to France, not for all the tea in

China. They wouldn't send him now, anyway.

He's as good as deserted. They shoot you for

that.' She stood up, abruptly, brushing away

the leaves and twigs and ashes sticking to her

long skirt. In a quiet, fierce voice, she said, 'I

hope Harry's here. I hope he's all right. I hope

he stays here as long as this terrible, evil war

goes on.'

'I hope so too, Emily.'

Rory brushed the cinders from his hands

and stood up. Emily was humming again - no,

that hadn't been her, had it... Before Rory could

explore this thought further, Emily reached

over, took hold of his chin, and kissed him

firmly.

'Ah!' Rory squawked, when he had

possession of his own mouth again. 'Yes! No!

I'm married!'

Emily stared at him. Her pupils were wide

and dark.

'Married?'

Somehow, she made the word sound like an

accusation. She raised her hand and slapped

Rory hard across the cheek. Then she turned

and ran beneath one of the arches formed by

the trees.

Rory came to his senses. 'Emily! Wait!' He

dashed after her along the path, stumbling in

his haste. Was it his imagination, or were the

roots of the trees hindering him, slowing him?

Soon the path forked. Rory came to a halt and

looked desperately first one way, then the

other. No sign of Emily - but on the ground lay

a single white feather.

'Emily!' Rory cried. He wasn't meant to lose

her. He wasn't meant to lose her...

Paralysed by indecision, unsure which way

to go, Rory rubbed anxiously at his temples. The

trees shifted, and scorching sunlight poured

through the gaps between them. Rory's eyes

blurred and watered. Again he heard humming

- no, not humming, not Emily, and not the water

in the pool either, which had been still water

and not running... The noise grew louder, more

a throb or a thrum, and Rory realised that it was

mechanical, as unlike birdsong or the gentle

rustle of leaves as it was possible for something

to be. Dark patches appeared in his vision. The

trees began to spin around him. Everything

began to ebb away.

I wasn't meant to lose her...

Chapter

8

England, now, slightly before closing time

'Don't say anything,' said Amy. 'I'm not quite

finished yet.' From the bag, she pulled out one

last aerial photograph. She offered it to Jess,

who took it with shaking hands.

Only from the grey line of motorway

could Jess tell that this was the same area

of countryside that she had seen in the other

pictures; her part of the world, and generations

of her family before her. Any other continuity

with the past had been obliterated. All the

houses - the 1930s villas, the 1960s estate, the

new estate - they were all gone. In their place

were empty fields. And where Swallow Woods

had been there was a lake.

'Before you ask,' said Amy, 'this was taken

fifty years from now. Yes, in the future. And

no - I don't know what happens. I do know

that it happens over the next few days. You're

the last to disappear, Jess. Nobody disappears

after you, because there isn't a town for them

to disappear from, and there isn't a wood for

them to disappear into.'

It seemed to Jess that the everyday sounds of

the pub - the laughter, the chatter, the chink of

glasses, the cheesy tinkle of the quiz machine -

were now coming from a great distance. Blood

throbbed in her ears.

'These are fakes,' she said. 'It's easy to fake

this kind of thing if you know how.'

'Why?' Amy sounded genuinely baffled.

'Why would I do that?'

'Some kind of hoax—'

'Why bother?'

'A grudge, then. Did I go through a red light

while you were on a pedestrian crossing? Did I

walk past you and not buy a Big Issue? Whatever

it was, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, and I'm sorry.

But to do something like this...' She crumpled

up the newspaper cutting. 'It's cruel!'

'I wouldn't do that,' said Amy. Tor one thing,

like I keep saying, I really don't have the time

right now! Besides, all this I've shown you -

I'm not telling you anything you didn't already

know. But you've been denying it. The whole

town has been in denial, for centuries. You,

your friends, your parents, your grandparents -

you've gone out of your way to avoid Swallow

Woods. You've only built roads that keep a safe

distance. Think of the council meetings, Jess!

The planning permission committees! Everyone

there, with the same thought in mind, none of

them ever saying it out loud - we mustn't get too

close to the woods...'

Amy picked up some of the papers, flicked

through them. 'Back and back, through the

centuries, all your ancestors, for as long as

they've lived here, they've all thought the very

same thing - we mustn't get too close to the woods.

Why? Why would they think that? Centuries,

Jess.'

Jess looked unhappily across the pub.

Charlie was still there with his friends. They

looked happy and untroubled and as if they

had a great future ahead of them.

'Yet not all of you could keep away, not

entirely,' Amy said softly. 'Every fifty years,

something draws people to Swallow Woods.

It pulls at you, like a magnet. That's why you

stayed here rather than go off to London,

isn't it? You knew there was a secret here.

Something huge. Something vast. The story of

your life. That's what's kept you here, writing

about birthday parties and shop openings and

exam results. You were waiting for something

to happen, something that would explain

everything strange and unspoken about the

town. Well, it's happening now. I don't know

how it ends. I don't know what turns this place

from a thriving little market town to a lake and

a ghost town. What I do know is that it starts

tonight. It starts when you go into Swallow

Woods. You're going, Jess. You can go alone

and be lost for ever, or I can come with you and

maybe - just maybe - you'll come out again.'

The jukebox blared out suddenly, the

opening bars of 'You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet'.

Jess nearly jumped out of her chair.

'Will you let me come with you?' Amy said.

'Or are you going alone?'

Before Jess could answer, Charlie sauntered

over.

'This birthday party is obviously going to be

the event of the year,' he said, with a curious

look at Amy. 'You two have been plotting all

night.'

'Unmissable,' Jess said, as cheerfully as could

be managed under the circumstances. 'I'll get

you an invitation.'

Charlie laughed. 'Well in case I have to be

somewhere less thrilling, here's my number.'

He passed her a slip of paper. 'Anyone willing

to skip drinks to do a report on an eighty-fourth

birthday is either mad enough or dedicated

enough to be my kind of person. Twins or not.

Give me a call, Lois, if the partying doesn't

finish you off first.'

He went on his way with a wave and a smile

as bright as city lights.

Jess stared at the mobile number scrawled on

the paper. This was her chance, at last. She could

go home, have a bath, watch Newsnight while

Lily complained about it being boring, and

tomorrow she could call Charlie and maybe get

the interview she had always dreamed of...

A pleasant fantasy, one which Jess knew

wasn't going to happen. Instead, she would get

halfway home, and then she would turn the

car round. She would drive back to Long Lane

and park somewhere dark and quiet. Then she

would climb the fence and cross the field, and

she would walk into Swallow Woods. And

then?

'Eighty-fourth birthday party?' said Amy.

Jess stuck the piece of paper in a small pouch

at the front of her big leather bag.

'Twins, no less,' she said. 'Our cover story,

you strange and alarming woman. Did you

really want the paparazzi hanging round while

we go into the woods?'

Amy sagged back in her chair in relief. 'Oh,

thank goodness!'

'Story of my life, you said. What exactly am I

supposed to do? I must be out of my mind, but

I'm coming.'

He woke to a splitting headache and the certain

knowledge that he was in trouble. It felt like

this was not an uncommon occurrence, even if

he was fairly sure that he had never surfaced

feeling hung over on an alien spaceship

before.

Because that was certainly where he was.

Even with his eyes still shut, he could tell -

from the throb of distant engines pitched for

non-human ears, from the stale thickness of

air pushed too many times through recycling.

Yes, this was an alien spaceship. Interesting. He

seemed to know about spaceships.

Then he opened his eyes, and his world

became incoherent once again. Because through

his blurry vision, it was quite obvious that he

was in woodland; woodland in October, when

the leaves were mottled green and yellow,

suspended between their summer splendour

and their fall, waiting for one mighty gust of

wind to rip them from the branches. Yes, this

looked like woodland - but it didn't sound like

it, and it didn't smell like it...

Too much contradictory information at once.

He clamped his eyes shut.

'Where?' he moaned. 'When? And why oh

why oh why?'

Somebody moved alongside him. He cracked

open an eye. 'Who? Who's there?'

A young woman swam into view. She had

a round pretty face and long brown hair. She

took hold of his hand.

'It's me, Mr Williams. Emily Bostock. How

are you feeling now? You've been away a

while!'

She helped him to sit up. Blinking to clear his

vision, he had to agree with his semi-conscious

self that they were indeed on board some ship,

in what seemed to be a small empty hold of

some kind. The walls, when he put his hand

against them, were metallic, but patterned like

a wood in autumn. They were lit from within,

and when his hand touched the surface, the light

seemed to gather around it. All very puzzling,

but it was not his most pressing worry.

'Mr Williams,' he said. 'Um. Who's that?'

The woman who called herself Emily

sat back on her heels and looked at him in

consternation.

'Oh goodness me! Can't you remember your

name? You're Rory. Rory Williams.'

'Rory' shook his head. Mistake. Black spots

appeared alarmingly in front of his eyes, and

for one moment he thought his vision was

going the same way as his memories.

Til have to take your word for that.' He

looked at Emily suspiciously. 'Er, I suppose I

can trust you, can't I?'

' What? You cheeky, bloomin' — !' The young

woman slapped his arm, hard. 'If anyone

here shouldn't be trusting anyone else, it's me

shouldn't be trusting you! My goodness, I'm

not sure you've said a straight word to me since

we met!'

'All right, all right!' Rory (he'd go with that)

pointed at his forehead. 'Head injury! Possibly

fatal! Fatal as in fatal death!'

He couldn't, in fact, remember a single thing

he had ever said to this woman, chiefly because

he couldn't remember ever having met her

before, but the feeling of being in trouble with

a girl with long hair was vaguely familiar. So

was his general sense of bewilderment as to the

cause of the girl's fury.

'Look, please, just stop... beating me, and

let me think for a minute, will you?' He put

his hands to his head. The throb of the engine

wasn't helping.

'So you're Emily,' he said at last.

'Well, I told you that!'

'And we're on an alien spaceship.'

She blinked. 'Is that where we are?'

'Er, look.' Rory gestured around. 'What else

is this going to be?'

'How am I supposed to know? You're the

one who knew what was going on!'

'You're the one that ran off!'

'Ooh, so you remember that! You rotten liar!

What else do you remember, I wonder?'

'Excuse me! Blow to the head! Fatal injury of

fatal death!'

They glared furiously at each other for a few

moments, and then Emily began to laugh.

'You look so cross it's comical. Sorry,

Mr Williams, but you're about as scary as a

rabbit!'

'Right. OK. So we've established that I'm

Rory, you're Emily, we're on an alien spaceship,

and that I'm a figure of fun. We're definitely

getting somewhere.' He sighed. 'But what we're

doing here is anyone's guess.'

'You said you were looking for the engine,'

Emily said unexpectedly. 'You were going to

dismantle it. You said the engine was leaking.'

'I said all that? Doesn't sound like me.

Sounds... um, well, competent. What else did

I say?'

'Not much. You came into the pub, walked

me halfway home, and then told me you had

to find a machine in Swallow Woods to take

it away. That was about the size of it. Oh, you

said you weren't a spy, but I'm starting to think

you are. One of ours, though. I bet it's some

Hun war machine you're after. And I'll tell you

something else for nothing - I wish I'd never

laid eyes on you!'

'A spy? That doesn't sound much like me

either.' Rory stood up and looked round. There

were two exits from the room - one on their

left, one on their right - dark archways without

doors and not much clue as to what might lie

beyond them. 'Right. Er. Which way shall we

go?'

'Oh, for heaven's sake! Do you have a coin?'

'What? Oh.' Rory rummaged in his pocket

and found a ten pence piece. 'Will that do?'

'That'll do fine. Heads, we go left; tails, we

go right.'

Emily flicked the coin into the air and it fell

on the ground with a clatter. She stooped to

pick it up. 'Heads it is... Here, whose head's

that? Is this a foreign coin? You're not a

bloomin' Hun after all, are you? That'd be the

absolute limit...' She turned the coin over. 'Ten

pence. Two-thousand-and-nine. You know, Mr

Williams,' she said, as she handed the coin back,

'if I thought about it too much, I could be very

scared of you. Nothing queer ever happened

to me before I met you. Now look where I am.

You could be a villain for all I know - following

young women, luring them into the woods. I

wish I knew if I could trust you.'

She sounded so woeful that Rory couldn't

help but feel a stab of sympathy for her. 'I don't

feel like a villain,' he said, 'but then I don't

suppose anyone does.' He nodded at the left-

hand door. 'Do you like the look of that way?'

'Not much,' Emily admitted.

'Me neither. Let's go the other way.' He put

the coin in his pocket, and his fingers brushed

against something metal. He pulled out a small

triangular object on which green lights were

flashing. Something tugged hard at the back of

his mind, but when he fumbled around for the

memory, all he found was a black hole.

He showed the device to Emily. 'Any idea?'

She shook her head ruefully. 'You never

showed me that. Here, what d'you think the

buttons do?'

Rory's thumb hesitated over one of them.

But you couldn't be too careful.

'Best not,' he said, and shoved the triangulator

back into his pocket. 'OK. Right-hand door it

is.'

England, now, much closer to closing time

'But we haven't heard a peep out of Rory since

we left him in 1917,' Amy told Jess. 'Look, I know

it's a lot to take on board all at once, but I've

found that if you don't bother worrying about

how it can possibly make sense, it suddenly all

makes sense. If I'm making any sense.'

They were sitting in Jess's car, which she

had parked on Long Lane, near the start of the

footpath that led across the fields past Swallow

Woods. A century earlier, Rory and Emily had

passed this way, before vanishing.

'Oh, I'm following you,' Jess said. 'I'm

not sure I like where it's taking me, but I'm

following you. Carry on.'

Amy began winding her scarf back round

her neck. 'OK, so we waited and we waited. I

was supposed to go after Laura into Swallow

Woods, but we didn't get the signal from Rory

in time. Next thing we knew, Laura was gone.

We hopped back to 1917 to take a look, and

there was Rory heading into the woods with

Emily.' She frowned. 'Oh, yes, very cosy...

Anyway, that meant everything was still going

to plan. We nipped back to now, and I got ready

to follow Vicky Caine. But still no signal from

Rory. So we popped forwards fifty years to see

if there was anyone else we could follow, and

that's when we found out that the woods and

the town weren't there! We were both getting

a bit panicky now - well, I was - because we

knew then that you were the last one, and that

if I didn't go with you, we'd have missed our

chance, and that whatever is going to happen

will happen... Will have happened... Oh, you

know what I mean! Don't think about it too hard.

Not to mention that poor Rory was nowhere

to be found... A perfectly straightforward

clean-up job. What a joke! Nothing's ever

straightforward with the Doctor.'

'The Doctor. Yeah, I've seen him around,' said

Jess. 'You notice new people here. Particularly

new people like that. Tall, thin, jumps around

as if someone's put a hundred-and-fifty volts

through him. Oh, and the bow tie, of course.

Very dapper. Makes him look like someone

senior in Mad Men.'

'Dapper?' said Amy in disgust 'That bow tie

is a disgrace— Hey! You know the Doctor?'

'Small town, and my job is to know what's

happening in it. I know when people go missing,

and I know when strangers pop up from

nowhere and start hanging around Swallow

Woods. Particularly when one of them wears

a bow tie and jumps up and down a lot. You're

both a touch cracked, aren't you?'

'Maybe. But that doesn't mean we're not

telling you the truth.'

'Hmm. Well, I've been trying to keep tabs on

your friend. Not an easy job, given that those

occasions when he left town for a few days now

turn out to be minor excursions backwards and

forwards through time. Still, I've done my best,

even if my poor car's racked up the mileage.'

She patted the dashboard. 'Could have been

worse, I suppose.'

'Oh, so that's why it took so long to find you!'

Amy rolled her eyes heavenwards. 'While I was

dragging around town looking for you, you

were busy driving about looking for the Doctor!

Well, that's great. That's typical. Anyway, you'd

have struggled to find him today—'

' —because he's helping the police with their

enquiries.' Jess turned the key in the ignition

and the engine and the lights went off. 'Poor

Gordon Galloway. I think he may have drawn

the short straw. At least you occasionally

make sense.' She smiled at Amy through the

darkness. Told you it was my business to know

everything that happens around here.'

'OK, now I'm officially speechless.'

'Thank goodness for that... Are you ready

for our excellent adventure, Amy? I think it's

about due to start.'

'Always ready,' said Amy, and grinned.

They left the car, crossed the lane, and climbed

over the fence. As they walked across the field,

Jess said, 'Don't you get scared, Amy?'

'Scared? Of course. But even when things

are scary, they're still amazing.'

'I didn't mean that so much as... Tinkering

with time. Don't you worry you'll get something

wrong? Break things somehow so that they

can't be put right?'

'You can't think that way,' Amy said.

'You'd be paralysed if you did. If I've learned

anything from the Doctor, it's that it's always

better to act. It's always better to do something.

OK, and then it's true that you have to accept

the consequences. But if you think about it,

nobody's guaranteed a happy ending, are they?

Not in the great scheme of things. And you

never know in advance what ending is best.'

'Not much different from real life, then?'

'Not really, no. Sometimes the heebie-jeebies

are worse.'

The trees were now very close. 'I think I

understand where you're coming from,' Jess

said, feeling some heebie-jeebies of her own.

'Ready?'

'Ready.'

The two young women clasped hands, and

together walked into Swallow Woods.

At once, the light changed. They were no

longer walking at night through a wood on

the cusp of winter. Here, now - wherever and

whenever this was - it was daytime, and it was

summer.

'Oh,' Jess whispered.

'OK,' said Amy briskly. 'Don't worry. This'll

be one of those warp thingies the Doctor was

talking about. It's a perfectly normal side effect

of this particular kind of interstellar drive. We'll

soon get used to it.'

'Amy, your voice is shaking.'

'Is it? Well, the Doctor said that disorientation

was...'

'Perfectly normal?' Jess brushed her hand

through the thick green leaves of the nearest

tree sending golden trails of pollen drifting

down. 'So as soon as time starts progressing in

a linear fashion, and the paths start going where

I expect them to go - that's when I should start

worrying?'

'That's when you should start worrying,'

Amy confirmed. They looked at each other and

burst out laughing. 'It's amazing, though, isn't

it?' Amy said. 'Like stepping through a portal

and coming out on another world.' She frowned.

'I assume that's not actually happened.'

'Would it matter if we had?' Jess said. She

felt light-headed; she wasn't sure if it was

excitement or shock or fear.

'Well, the TARDIS can travel in space too,

so the Doctor could still come and find us -

provided the police ever release him. But I do

prefer having at least a rough idea of what's

happening. You know, minor details, like where

I am and when I am.'

They walked on. The woods hummed with

life - the sudden sweet chirping of birds; the

dry rustle of grass and the crisp crack of wood.

The light through the leaves was soft and

shimmering.

'I like it here,' Jess said. 'It's as if the birds and

the animals have been left to get on with things.

There's nobody to hunt them, or disturb them,

or harm them. This must be what the world was

like before people.' She frowned. 'Although,

given what you said about time pockets, this

could very well be the world before people. Do

you have any idea where we're supposed to be

going?'

'Further into the woods,' Amy said.

'Whichever way that is. I'm guessing we'll know

when we get near to the ship. We can hear it

already, I think. That throbbing sound?'

'Yes, of course, I guess I thought that was the

motorway. You know how traffic sounds from

a distance. But this is different.'

'Less swooshy?' Amy suggested.

'Less swooshy,' Jess agreed. 'Steadier, more

constant. OK, let's follow that.'

They went in single file through the trees.

The ground became rough, knotted and gnarled

with sudden tree roots or unexpected branches,

and they made slow progress. After a little

while, the trees quietly parted, and Amy and

Jess came into an empty glade.

Here, it was winter. The trees were bare and

black, and the air damp with thin grey fog and

the moist smell of mulching leaves. The women

walked together around the perimeter of the

clearing. The barren arms of the trees locked

together to form great archways. The mist clung

to the boles of the trees, curling around them,

so that Amy and Jess could only glimpse the

start of the bleak narrow pathways that faded

into the darkness.

'Do you know what place this reminds me

of?' Jess spoke in a respectful whisper. 'The

parish church in the village. St Jude's. But a

ruin. It's like we're in a ruined church.'

'St Jude?' Amy whispered back. 'That's

the patron saint of lost causes. Your town is

creepy.'

She walked to the centre of the clearing,

where a deep pool of water lay. She dipped

her fingertips into the dark liquid and tasted

it. Brackish and bitterly cold. Something by the

pool's edge caught her eye and Amy reached

over to pick it up. It was a brooch of some kind,

jet black, in the shape of a butterfly, scuffed

and scarred, as if it had been here for ever. She

showed it to Jess.

'Pretty,' she said. 'I don't recognise it

though.'

'Me neither.' Amy pinned the brooch to her

jacket. She imagined it as a gift from someone

to his beloved. Now it was lost, for good.

Suddenly Amy felt very sad. She longed to see

Rory again; hold his hand, joke with him, kiss

him, know that he was safe. Where could he

be? Was he lost for good? Amy shut her eyes

and touched the tiny jet object, as if it could

somehow link her to Rory, through time. She

could almost imagine that he was here, now,

standing beside her; she could almost feel his

breath upon the back of her neck...

'Who's there?' Jess cried out.

Amy's eyes shot open. Spinning round, she

saw a figure dash across the glade towards a gap

between the thickly woven trees. Both women

moved quickly, too quickly for their prey. They

got to the gap first, blocking the escape route.

Jess grabbed one arm, Amy the other.

'Oh no you don't!' said Amy, as they turned

the figure round to face them. 'Come on, let's

take a look at you!'

Jess gasped, recognising her immediately.

Amy recognised her too. So would anyone

in the country. Her face had been appearing

almost non-stop on television and the front

pages of the papers for the last four days.

'My watch,' Vicky Caine whispered. 'My

watch stopped.'

'A ship,' Rory mused out loud, as he and Emily

walked slowly along the dim corridor. 'But is

it in flight? Could we be heading somewhere?

And why haven't we seen any crew? Where are

they?'

'You said the machine was dead, remember?'

Emily ran her finger along the wall, from which

a gentle yellowish glow was emanating. The

light responded to her touch, as it had to Rory's

palm in the hold earlier, thickening around her

fingertip as she drew it along. 'I feel like I'm

still in the woods. In October. But the air's stale.

I can tell we're not really outside.'

'A ship like this would have to be tightly

sealed if it was going to be able to move about

in space,' Rory said.

'I know that,' Emily said. 'Like something in

a story by Mr Wells. Me and Sam used to read

him to each other.'

'Sam?' Rory looked around, bewildered.

'Who's Sam? Is there someone else here? Why

haven't you mentioned him before? Emily,

you've got to tell me everything, you don't

know what's important!'

'Oh, shut up,' said Emily miserably. 'Sam?

Where do you think he is? Sam's dead.'

'Dead?' Desperately, Rory searched through

his memories, but he only found empty spaces

where this knowledge should have been. Could

he forget someone's death? What else had he

forgotten? Who else had he forgotten? 'When?

What happened?'

'More than a year ago, you fool! In the War.

We should have been married by now. But

Sammy's dead and I've got myself lost in the

woods...' Emily stopped walking. She turned

her back to Rory, but he could tell from her

shoulders that she was crying. Awkwardly, he

placed his hand against her back and, when she

didn't shake it off, he put his arm around her

with more confidence, sure that this was the

right thing to do.

She wept for a little while into his shoulder,

not noisily but very quietly, like this was

something she had done a lot in private. As

Rory held her, he felt the faintest echo of a

memory - of someone he loved very much, that

he would give eternity to be with - but before

he could grab hold, the memory drifted sadly

away like leaves in autumn. He hugged Emily

even more.

'Shush,' he said. 'I'm sorry. It'll be OK. It'll be

OK again, one day.'

Eventually, Emily stopped crying. They

hugged each other again for good measure.

'Pals?' said Emily.

'Pals,' said Rory.

Emily dried her face and gave a rueful

laugh. 'Bet I look a right old mess,' she said.

'Stupid bloomin' War. Ruins everything, don't

it? You can't get a drink after half past nine, and

you can't get married to your sweetheart.' She

found a hankie in her pocket and blew her nose.

'And there's that wretched humming again. I'll

tell you something for nothing, Mr Williams -

I know you said you were here to take away

the engine because it was dead. But I wonder

if you were right about that. Because this place

doesn't seem the least bit dead to me. The lights,

the noise. It looks to me like it's still in working

order. Asleep, maybe, but not dead. Alive.'

England, now, shortly before one in the morning

Galloway burst through the door of the

interview room as if he were a thunderstorm

howling through.

He found his chief suspect standing right up

by the window, one cheek pressed against the

dark glass, a look of deep concentration on his

jumbled-up face. Since their last conversation,

the young man had apparently fixed the blind,

which was raised up out of the way to allow

him to get as close to the window as possible.

The clock had not fared so well. It had been

dismantled, and now lay in pieces on the table.

'How?' Galloway shouted. 'How did you

know?'

The chief suspect flapped his hand. 'Ssh! I'm

trying to listen!'

'Listen? Now look here, sonny, I've just about

had enough of you!'

'Sir!' Porter grabbed Galloway's arm, holding

him back.

Galloway got himself back under control.

Pressing his hands flat against the table top,

he said, in a much quieter voice, 'How did

you know that Jess Ashcroft was going to go

missing? We've found her car, up by the woods.

Do you have an accomplice? Is it the red-headed

girl? You've been seen in the company of a red-

headed girl, so was Jess. Is she your accomplice?

Or is she another victim?'

The young man looked round. He raised

one finger, like he was about to issue a ticking-

off. 'You,' he said, 'are a very noisy man. Now

listen!'

'I'm trying to talk to you!'

'And I'm trying to listen! Shush!'

'But-'

'Lips! Sealed! Now!'

'Sir,' Porter said quietly, 'it can't do any

harm.'

The three of them stood and listened, but

all Galloway could hear was the steady pitter-

patter of rain against the window. He felt like

a fool. 'There's nothing,' he said, impatiently.

'Nothing at all.'

'You can't hear it?' The young man frowned

and pressed his ear back against the window. 'I

can't be the only one who can hear it...'

Porter, unexpectedly, said, 'I can.'

The young man swung round to face her. He

stared at her as if noticing her properly for the

first time. 'Yes! You! You can hear it!'

He was becoming extremely excited.

Carefully, Galloway put himself between the

suspect and Porter.

'You've lived here your whole life, haven't

you?' the young man said. 'Not him. Not with

that accent, as Pond-like as Pond herself. But

you,' he pointed both his forefingers at Porter.

'Oh I could kiss you!' He pulled back. 'I won't,

though, that would be weird... But you can

hear it too! I'm not hearing things! Or, rather, I

am hearing things, but not in the way that leads

to awkward conversations, more awkward than

usual... You! Yes! You've heard it your whole

life, haven't you? And I missed it!'

He swung back to face the window. He

banged his forehead against it and the blind

came crashing down on top of his head. Now he

had to struggle to disentangle himself, talking

all the while.

'Oh, there's too much noise in this day and

age! With your clocks and your 24-hour rolling

news and your non-stop reality shows and your

CB radio transmissions...'

He managed to get out from under the blind,

which slumped back glumly into its former

diagonal position.

Porter and Galloway exchanged a look. CB

radio... ?

'All that blathering and chattering and

texting and phoning in - no wonder I could

hardly hear anything! But it's there, isn't it? Oh

yes, it's there. The propulsion unit, the engine,

the nice hot cup of tea. Not dead. Not dead at

all. Still running. All I had to do was listen!'

'You've stopped making sense,' said Porter.

'What's not dead? What's still running?'

As she repeated his words, the young man

stopped still and stared at her as if a terrible

realisation had struck him. The effect was rather

like lightning hitting a gangly and over-excited

telegraph pole.

'Oh,' he said, 'but if it's still running, then

that changes things. Because it couldn't run

indefinitely. Not for thousands of years, anyway.

It would need maintenance... And maintenance

means someone... someone's there... I've let

them go off with those ridiculous triangular

things, and the ship hasn't been abandoned at

all! There's somebody there!'

'You mean in Swallow Woods?' said Porter.

'Who?' she urged. 'Who's there?'

'Well, who else would it be? The pilot, of

course. The ship hasn't been abandoned! The

pilot's still here!'

Chapter

9

People. Holding her down, stopping her getting

away. Vicky struggled, but their arms were

around her, unyielding, like a nightmare tangle

of tree branches pressing, scratching, trapping

her. She looked round desperately for a place to

hide, but the woods were wintry and offered no

cover. She struggled, futilely, and then realised

that her captors were talking to her, shushing

her, trying to calm her, saying her name.

'Vicky, it's OK.' A Scottish accent. 'Vicky, we

won't hurt you. You're safe.'

'My watch,' she said, trying to make them

understand. It was so important that they

understood; that they knew about everything

that was happening here. Perhaps if they

understood, they could explain it to her. 'My

watch stopped!'

'We know,' said another voice; someone

local. 'Don't worry, sweetheart. Are you OK?'

'No!' Vicky said, and then burst into tears.

'My mum's going to kill me!'

One of them let go of her; the other person's

hold relaxed, turning into an embrace. Vicky felt

herself rocked gently to and fro. 'No she won't,'

said the local one, a soft reassuring breath in

her ear. 'She's going to be thrilled to see you.'

'Bet you get a new watch out of it,' said the

other. 'At the very least.'

Vicky couldn't help but laugh, even through

her tears. 'I'll be choosing my own watches in

future, thanks!'

She received another hug for that.

'Good on you, kiddo,' said the Scottish voice.

'I'm Amy, by the way. And this is Jess.'

Rubbing her eyes, Vicky took a proper look

at her erstwhile captors. Two young women:

one very tall and with amazing long red hair;

the other shorter and with serious glasses that

Vicky bet could make her look impressively

stern if she put her mind to it. But she was the

one with her arms round Vicky, the one who had

spoken so softly. They both wore expressions

of real concern. Vicky started to feel better.

They sat her down under one of the trees.

Amy went to get her a drink of water, and then

knelt down in front of her. Jess kept tight hold

of her hand.

'OK,' Amy said. 'Why don't you tell us what

happened. And don't worry if it sounds like

rubbish. We'll believe you.'

Again Vicky showed them her watch. It still

showed five to ten, as it had been for, for...

however long she had been wandering around

here - hours, days, weeks - she had no idea

now. 'It was like it was stuck. I couldn't get it to

start again!'

Jess looked down at her own watch, then

shook it, and lifted it up to her ear. 'Snap,' she

said. 'Go on.'

'So I missed the last bus. Decided to walk—I

know! I know!' she said, seeing them both roll

their eyes. 'I should have just asked for a lift! But

it was getting late, and I didn't want to bother

Frank and Carole. I couldn't get a signal on my

phone... I took a shortcut - should have been

fine, nobody comes this way... And then I fell

and rolled down the hill, and the clouds came

out and I couldn't see the lights any more...

Next thing I knew I was under the trees! It was

so dark. I could hardly see my hand in front of

me. I kept walking. The woods aren't that big,

are they? I had to reach the edge at some point.

I could hear cars on the motorway, so I thought

I'd better walk in that direction.'

Amy and Jess exchanged a look. 'I'm

guessing the edge of the woods never turned

up,' Amy said.

'No. Sometimes the sound got louder and

sometimes it went away. And I never got any

closer...'

Jess squeezed her shoulder. 'What happened

next?'

Vicky gestured round the glade. 'I got

here... It was exactly like it is now. Winter.

The trees were bare and dead. I realised that it

was getting light, and I knew that was my best

chance of getting out, so I didn't stop. I left that

way.' She pointed to one of the arches formed

by the trees, over to their right. 'At least, I think

it was that way. I walked along the path for a

while, and I saw some daylight, and I got really

excited - but when I went towards it, I ended

up back here.' She took a deep breath. 'This

next bit's weird, really weird—'

'Trust me,' Amy said, 'there's nothing you

can say that will sound weird to me.'

Vicky eyed her doubtfully, but carried on. 'I

went another way and the same thing happened.

I came back here. Then I started marking the

paths with pine cones, so I'd know I wasn't

going the same way twice. Eventually 'I'd tried

them all - I know I had! Every single path had

a pine cone next to it.' Her voice started getting

louder. 'But how could that happen? One of

them had to be the path that brought me here,

didn't it? How could that one lead me back,

same as the rest? I don't understand it!'

'Shush, it's all OK,' said Jess. 'We're here

now. What happened next?'

'By this time I was really tired and it was

starting to get dark again. I sat down for a

while, and I fell asleep. When I woke up...' She

shook her head again. 'You're never going to

believe this...'

'Want to bet?' Amy said. 'Remember - weird

is fine.'

'Well... when I woke up, it was spring.'

Amy smiled at her. Jess just blinked.

'OK, that is fairly weird,' Amy agreed. 'But,

yes, that's the time pockets. It makes perfect

sense.'

'It does feel weird, though,' Jess said.

'I thought you'd tell me I was being stupid,'

Vicky said in relief. 'Or that I must have still

been asleep. But I wasn't. I was definitely

awake. I woke up and it was spring. The leaves

were green and the birds were singing, and

everything smelt of rain and growing. I know

I can't have been asleep because I got up and

went to the pool for a drink of water. I can't

have dreamed that, can I? Do you think I must

have dreamed it?'

'Neither of us think you were dreaming,

Vicky,' Jess said, quietly. She rubbed the girl's

arm, partly for warmth, partly for comfort.

'Carry on.'

'OK... So I was sitting there drinking from

the pool, and then... well, what happened next

was summer. It came all in a rush. I couldn't

believe what I was seeing... The buds on the

trees sprouted and popped open, the leaves

unfurled, and then the blossom appeared and

grew and then fell - it was like one of those

nature films where they speed everything up...

I don't know how long it took, my watch is

stuck... It got so warm I had to take my coat

off. And the noise, what I thought had been

the motorway, that got steadily louder. I had

to put my fingers in my ears. I walked around

the clearing, trying to work out where it was

coming from, but it seemed to be everywhere

all at once. And then...'

She stopped and took a very deep breath. She

was staring over at one of the archways formed

by two trees. 'There,' she said, pointing at the

archway, 'There was someone there.'

'Laura?' mouthed Jess to Amy, over Vicky's

head. To Vicky, she said, 'Can you describe

who it was?'

'There's another girl missing in Swallow

Woods,' Amy explained. 'Do you think it could

have been her? She's a little taller than Jess, but

not as tall as me; younger than us but a couple of

years older than you. She was wearing a bright

red coat and she's got short black hair--'

Vicky shook her head quickly. 'No, no - this

was someone with reddish, brownish hair. And

I think it was a he, not a she. I'm pretty sure of

that.'

Amy's stomach twisted. Could it have been

Rory?

'OK,' she said, trying to sound calm so that

she didn't frighten Vicky, 'did this person talk

to you? Did they say or do anything at all?' She

would know at once if it was Rory, probably

from the gabbling.

But Vicky had closed her eyes, and had

started to tremble. Clearly the memory of this

person frightened her in some way - but the

only person Rory had a chance of frightening

was himself.

'He didn't say anything,' Vicky said. 'He

stood under one of the tree arches and he

beckoned to me to follow. Well, that wasn't

going to happen, not in a million years!'

'Good for you,' said Jess.

'It was a close thing, though. I don't know

what he was doing, but I felt like I had to follow

him. The noise had got really loud now, maybe

that was something to do with it, because it

was like a magnet was pulling at me, trying

to make me go through one of the arches. I

wasn't going to follow a stranger anywhere,

but I felt like I should run away - away through

one of the other arches. But I didn't fancy that

much, either. So I climbed a tree and I put my

headphones on and I sang along—'

'Oh, good thinking!' Amy said.

' — and eventually the leaves started going

red and gold, and then it was winter again.

But that was even worse in a way. Because

everything was dead, and there weren't any

birds. I couldn't even hear the throbbing noise.

There was nothing. I just wanted to go home!'

She started to cry. 'I really, really want to go

home! Mum's going to kill me—'

'No. Really, that isn't going to happen,' Jess

promised.

'You're in luck, kiddo,' Amy said. 'Everyone's

going to be over the moon to see you. But next

time - stick to the path. Better still, call a taxi or

stay the night, OK?'

As Jess explained to Vicky how she and Amy

had got there, Amy walked slowly around the

clearing, one hand brushing along the circle of

trees. At each gap between them, she paused to

peer through, trying to decide which way would

be best. The mist had begun to dissipate, but

each of the paths leading out from the clearing

rose slightly and then fell away, making it

difficult to see what lay beyond. Vicky may have

been mistaken, too tired and too distressed to

see that she was following the same paths over

and over - but what if she was right? What if

by some unlucky concatenation of space-time

pockets, all these paths did come back here?

They could soon exhaust themselves, walking

round and round in circles, and that wouldn't

leave them in a fit state to deal with whoever it

was that Vicky had seen. Perhaps it was better

simply to stay here in the clearing. At some

point the Doctor was bound to turn up...

Based on previous experience, however, Amy

knew that could take anything up to twelve

years. Besides - sitting around and waiting?

Hardly her style. The Doctor didn't travel with

people who sat around waiting for him to come

and save them, did he? He travelled with people

who made a choice about what to do, then went

off and did it. Didn't he?

And what would happen to the town while

she was sitting twiddling her thumbs? She

couldn't rely on the Doctor being free in time -

which put him in danger too. She couldn't just

push the button on the triangulator. She had

to get to the ship first, or the TARDIS would

be lost in the woods too. And of course, there

would be no help from Rory - wherever he

was, he was clearly having trouble of his own.

Amy was going to have to deal with her own

problems and (she glanced over at Vicky and

Jess) other responsibilities. Things weren't too

bad, though. There was no sign, for example,

of anything happening that might cause a

devastating flood. On the other hand, what

if whatever she decided to do next was the

cause...?

Amy shook her herself. You couldn't think

that way. You'd end up sitting in a tree watching

the water lap around your ankles if you thought

that way. You had to act.

'Right,' she said, turning round to face the

others. 'I'm not thrilled with any of our options

right now, but I think probably the worst one

is to sit here and wait for the woods to flood.

Agreed?'

'Agreed,' Jess said.

'Flood?' Vicky sounded shaky again.

'Yeah. Best not to worry about that right

now.'

Vicky looked decidedly un-reassured. 'But

which way will we go?' she said. 'I told you

- I've tried all the paths. They all come back

here.'

'Well try again,' said Amy, firmly. 'There are

three of us now - three sets of eyes, three sets of

ears. We're much more likely to spot something

that will give us a clue as to how to get out of

here.'

'We could split up,' Jess said. 'You take one

exit, and I take the next one along with Vicky?'

'Splitting up,' said Amy, 'is always a terrible

option. Don't you watch TV?'

'Fair point,' said Jess. 'OK, I guess it's a kind

of logic puzzle. If we're going to solve it, we're

going to have to work out exactly what sort of

puzzle it is, gather as much data as we can, and

just do some serious thinking.'

'Uh. I was going to toss a coin,' said Amy.

Vicky was starting to doubt the suitability of

her rescuers for the task. 'Whatever we do,' she

said urgently, 'I think we need to do it soon.

Look, look at the trees. It's starting again...'

She was right. In the short time that Amy

had spent walking round, the trees had begun

to bud. Even as she watched, new leaves began

to emerge. Soon the whole glade was rustling

with growth, and the damp, lonely smell of

winter was chased away by something warmer

and greener.

Jess stood up and looked around in delight.

'It's amazing! I should be afraid, I know, but it's

so wonderful!' She gasped and pointed across

the glade. 'Oh, look! Look! Over there! A fox!'

There it sat, beneath one of the great arches

of trees, its head cocked to one side, watching

them.

'It's beautiful!' Jess said, and Amy had to

agree. A sudden plash of sunlight through

the quickening leaves caught upon its red

fur, lighting up the points like flames licking

upwards. Its bib was white and its eyes orange.

Even though Amy knew it was a mistake to

project human emotion onto animals, she

thought the eyes looked sad and aged. Perhaps

it was the tilt of the creature's head, and the

greying flecks of fur above its eyes. Even

without imagining things, this was certainly an

old animal.

The fox rose slowly to its feet, still watching

them. It lifted its front right paw, as if it was

about to trot away. Then it stepped onto its

hind legs and began to change shape.

'OK,' Amy said. 'This is a new one...'

'What?' said Jess. 'What, what, what?'

The transformation took about a minute, by

which time the fox was the size and the shape

of a human, perhaps somewhat slighter than

the average man. The face remained distinctly

vulpine - long-muzzled, black ears perched

upright at the top of its head, the hair thicker

than human hair, more pelt-like, and reddish.

No, this was definitely not Rory - unless Rory

had forgotten to mention something, and Rory

wouldn't dare.

'You didn't mention he was a fox,' Jess

remarked to Vicky.

'That's because this bit didn't happen!'

As they watched, the fox-man turned away

as if to go. He looked back over his shoulder,

and then beckoned to them to follow him along

the path.

'Amy,' Jess said, 'not to put you on the

spot, but I think you might have slightly more

experience with this kind of thing than either

me or Vicky. Ought we to go with it?'

'No!' said Vicky quickly.

'Or should we keep well away?'

All the time the transformation had been

happening, Amy had been thinking furiously.

There was no way of knowing whether this was

a good fox-guy or a bad fox-guy, or something

in between. But here at least was a face to all

the mystery surrounding Swallow Woods.

Time pockets, spatial warps, swiftly changing

seasons - there was nothing to latch onto there.

But here, for the first time, was someone she

could reason with.

Besides, perhaps it might be satisfied with

one of them.

'OK,' Amy said. 'First of all, I want you to

not argue with me, and I want you to listen.'

'You're about to say something I won't like,

right?' Jess said.

'Yes, and you're still not to argue. I want you

to go, Jess, and I want you to take Vicky with

you—I said don't argue! I'm going to follow

Fantastic Mr Fox, and I want you two to go in

the opposite direction.'

'Amy,' Jess said quickly, 'that's a terrible

idea! What if you're lost for good? I don't know

enough about what's going on to be able to

help-'

'Oh, who ever knows enough!' cried Amy. A

leaf above her turned yellow, crisped, and fell

to the ground. The man-fox, whatever he called

himself, began to back up the path. He was still

beckoning to them, but soon he would be out

of sight.

Amy rolled her triangulator around in her

fingers. 'Here's what I'm thinking. If I don't go

now, well only end up sitting around waiting

here till summer comes again and this place

reactivates. Who knows what will happen in

the meantime?'

'Amy, maybe it's you going with this beastie

that causes the whole thing—!'

'That's a chance we're going to have to

take.' Amy lifted her hand to acknowledge the

creature, and took a step towards it. 'Jess, I'm

going now. Take Vicky and leave here. If you

get through - try to reach the Doctor. Tell him

I've still got the triangulator—'

'The what-you-later?'

'Oh, just say the chocolate device! Hell know

what I mean!'

Autumn was coming fast. All around, the

clearing was changing colour, the leaf-fall

getting thicker. Amy broke into a run. At the

entry to the arch, she paused, and pointed

across the clearing. 'Go now!' she shouted to

Jess and Vicky. 'Go that way! It's worth a try!

Go on! And good luck!'

'Wait!' shouted Jess. 'You said we shouldn't

split up!'

'I was wrong! Who'd have guessed! Go

now!'

Amy knew she couldn't risk waiting any

longer. She ducked beneath the archway of

trees, and followed the fox - wherever he was

leading her. Behind her, she could still hear

Jess, calling to her forlornly.

'Amy! Did you really say the chocolate

device?'

Alive. Now Emily had said it, Rory found it

hard not to agree. The lights from the walls,

shifting and shimmering, were like sunlight

passing through leaves, as if the decorators had

tried their best to emulate a forest. The effect

was disorientating, like travelling on a train and

watching the scenery so intently you started to

think that you were motionless and the world

was moving at high speed.

When, wondered the-man-who-was-calling-

himself-Rory, had he travelled on a train? Where

to? Where from? Would he start to remember?

Or was the story of his life gone for good?

'I think we're arriving somewhere,' Emily

said, softly. She pointed up ahead, where the

corridor ended in an archway. The metal panels

on either side were etched with long lines, like

the branches of a tree. Rory ran his fingertip

along one of them, and a trail of light followed

his touch.

'I wonder why the design seems so familiar,'

he said.

'Looks like the arches in the parish church,'

Emily said. 'Not to mention the trees we came

under before we turned up here. You don't

remember, do you?'

Rory shook his head. They walked through

the doorway into the room beyond. The effect

was like entering a woodland glade - only

one made from metals and plastics. The walls

loomed around, like heavy old grey trees, and

in the centre of the room was a large flat circular

console, its surface dark and empty like a pool

in winter. Steps led down to it from where

they stood, and a second set of steps led up to

another doorway opposite.

'Where do you think we are?' Emily said.

Rory shrugged. 'Control room of some

sort?'

'I wish I knew how you were so sure of these

things!'

'Me too... But it seems obvious.'

'Anyone would think you'd been on a - what

did you call it?'

'Spaceship.'

'One of them. Anyone would think you'd

been on one before.'

Perhaps he had. Before or after he'd been on

a train. Rory walked slowly down the steps and

stood in front of the console. 'Hello!' he said,

and then: 'Computer!'

Nothing happened. Emily, standing next

to him, waved her hand at the surface of the

console. It sprang to life: writing and images

started scrolling past at a great rate, like ripples

on water, and a control panel of virtual buttons

appeared, following Emily's hand around as

she moved it.

'How did you know to do that?' said Rory.

'Well, if they're alien, they might not know

English. Waving seemed friendly. Here, what

do you think all this is saying?'

'Greek to me...'

'What, actual Greek?'

'Well, the alien equivalent of Greek. If aliens

have an equivalent of Greek—'

'You do go on, you know. What do you think

would happen if I press this red button here?'

Rory grabbed her hand. 'Emily! You never,

ever press red buttons!'

'All right.' She snaked her other hand past

him and thumped her thumb against the screen.

'I'll try the green one instead.'

Rory threw his arms over his head and dived

to the ground.

Emily chuckled. 'You're such an easy target!

Come and have a look, this is interesting.'

Gathering up what was left of his dignity,

Rory stood up. On the screen, the images and

the weird text were rushing past. With some

experimentation, Emily found she could slow

the pace down; some further tests let them stop

and start the flow, but they could not make any

sense of the actual words. The pictures, they

both noticed, were all of humans.

'Maybe they were the crew,' said Rory.

'But you said this was an alien spaceship?'

'Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps it's human

after all, but from the future.'

'Still full of surprises, aren't you? Look,

though, look at the clothes. That dress looks

like something my old granny would have

worn. And those are Roman!'

Rory, looking at the image, felt himself blush

hotly, although he couldn't for the life of him

say why.

'They look to me like pictures from the past,

not the future,' Emily said. 'Like a history

book—Here, I know that one! Go back, go

back!'

Rory skimmed back until she told him to

stop again.

'That's it!' she said. 'I know him! That's Harry,

Harry Thompson! Oh, you won't remember,

will you? He's the lad that went missing six

weeks ago. We thought he'd run off rather than

get called up. And these little pictures - that's

his mam and dad, and his three sisters. Their

farm backs onto our bottom field. I know them

like I know my own family. What are all their

pictures doing here, I wonder?'

Rory started scrolling through again, more

and more quickly. Was his picture here too? If

it was, perhaps they could work out what the

text said, work out who he was and where he

had come from...

'Slow down, Mr Williams, we might miss

something!'

'Emily, I'm trying to see if I'm here—'

'I know that, love, but you're going much

too quick.' She rested her hand gently on

his, moving it away and stopping the images

flooding past. 'Now slow down and let's take a

proper look through.'

Slowly, they pored through the pictures.

Rory lost count somewhere in the hundred-and-

thirties, and he had not even been counting the

smaller pictures. There was no sign of a picture

of him.

'Less like a history book and more like a

catalogue,' he muttered, swiping his hand across

the screen so that yet another picture came

past. This one looked like a mediaeval peasant.

'Alien abduction... But why on earth would I

think that? What is wrong with my head? Why

won't it sort itself out?' Frustrated, he banged

the flat of his hand against the console. It made

a thumping noise. The mottled light from the

walls dimmed. Rory looked round anxiously.

'Did I do that?'

'How on earth would I know?' Emily hit

the side of the console too, and the light came

slowly back to the same level as before. 'Looks

like it!'

They both laughed nervously, guiltily, like

children who were getting away with some

mischief. They stopped laughing when they

heard footsteps, coming slowly and heavily

along the corridor towards them.

'Oh, Mr Williams,' Emily whispered, her

eyes bright with fear, 'what are we going to

do?'

Rory didn't stop to think. Summoning up

some knowledge from deep, deep within his

mind, he grabbed Emily's hand and pulled her

towards the doorway opposite. 'What else?

Run!'

Tripping over roots, pushing away branches,

Amy followed the were-fox through a dark

tunnel of trees. He trotted along at a quick pace,

every so often turning to check that she was

still there, and waving his hand to hurry her.

Sometimes he smiled - at least, Amy thought

it was a smile. His lips parted to show small,

sharp, white teeth. She wasn't sure whether to

be alarmed or encouraged.

The path rose again, and the fox-man dipped

out of view.

'Oh no, you don't...' Amy ran the last few

metres to catch up. The trees were thinning

around her, and at last came to an end. With

relief, she stepped out into sunshine.

Amy gasped. Ahead of her lay a fantastic

landscape. She was standing looking down

into a lush green valley set amongst rolling

hills, with a swift silver river running through

its heart. In the middle distance stood a tall

dark turreted building, which looked exactly

how a castle would look if built by alien foxes.

Amy felt as if she had walked into Beauty and

the Beast, or a child's picture book of fairy tales

in which all the buildings and people were in

silhouette.

The fox-man was standing a few yards ahead

of her, on the path leading down to the valley.

He gave her another sharp white smile.

'OK,' Amy said. 'I'm impressed. Even

knowing there are all kinds of spatial wotsits

going on around here, I'm still impressed. I'm

also tired, so if that's where we're going, I'll

need a sit down first.'

The man-fox laughed: a sound somewhere

between a rasp and a cough. Not an encouraging

noise at all.

'Don't do that again,' said Amy. 'Please.

Unless this is the moment where you turn out

to be on the dangerous side of scary. In which

case - laugh's perfect.'

'Don't be afraid,' said the were-fox. After the

laugh, his voice turned out to be surprisingly

pleasant, deep and rich, charming, but rather

frightening. 'And don't worry about walking,

you won't have to.'

Lifting his hand, he waved it in front of him,

and the distance between them and the valley

collapsed. Now they were standing outside the

huge wooden gate of the castle.

'Nice trick,' Amy said gamely. 'All your

public transport problems solved. You should

speak to the government.'

He waved his hand again, and now they

were standing in a broad stone courtyard.

'Lady,' he called out, his deep voice

resounding off the stone walls like a great bell.

'I've returned, but only one of them came with

me.'

Amy looked around to see who he was

addressing. One of the wooden doors around

the courtyard opened, and an elderly woman

emerged. She was white-haired, but walked

quickly towards them. When she reached

the fox-man, he bowed with a great show of

gallantry, and clasped her hand. Then the old

woman turned to Amy.

'Welcome,' she said. She threw her arms

around Amy and hugged her with surprising

strength. 'Oh, it's been so long since I've seen

another human, never mind spoken to one! I'm

so glad to see you!'

'OK...' said Amy. 'Um, thanks?'

The old woman released Amy from the

embrace, and took hold of both her hands. 'Tell

me your name,' she urged.

'Amy. Amy Pond.'

'Amy. Welcome to our kingdom, Amy. I'm

Laura Brown.'

The fox-man smiled sharply.

'You know,' said Amy, 'I had a feeling you

were going to say that.'

The rain was coming down more heavily,

and the wind was picking up, but the police

search was finally getting organised at the

edge of Swallow Woods. The place where Jess

had parked her car, several hours earlier, was

cordoned off. Lighting scaffolds were going

up; and the distinctive blue and white tape was

spreading out across the field which Jess and

Amy (and, once upon a time, Rory and Emily)

had walked across to enter Swallow Woods.

Galloway watched all this progress with

a steadily growing sense of relief. At last, this

investigation was properly under way. The

quiet country lane, along which he had driven

many times in the last eighteen months, was the

busiest he had ever seen it. It had not escaped

his notice, however, that almost all the officers

here were from outside of town. Somehow, the

local police had found themselves jobs back at

the station - Porter included.

The big lights were ready. Galloway gave

the nod, and the field was bathed in their harsh

white glare. He climbed over the fence, and

stood for a while looking at the woods.

Gathered in the hollow, the trees were dark

and impenetrable. They seemed almost to suck

in the light. The rain was turning the ground

beneath Galloway's feet to mud. He took a

few squelching steps forward. Something was

moving near the tree-line. An animal? Galloway

screwed up his eyes.

Two small figures were moving across the

field towards him. Their progress was slow

and unsteady; one of them was leaning on the

other, half-carried, half-dragged. They looked

like battlefield survivors, pulling themselves

bit by bit out of no-man's land. As they came

closer, Galloway recognised them. He had been

thinking of nothing else for days now.

Galloway broke into a sprint, reaching them

before anyone else. He threw his arms around

Vicky Caine, and then knelt down before her.

'Oh thank God,' he whispered, brushing a

wet lock of hair away from her scratched and

dirty face, only realising as he spoke that he

had seriously begun to doubt his ability to find

them. 'Thank God!'

Jess Ashcroft put her hand on his shoulder.

It felt oddly as if she was the one taking care of

him.

'So you're all here... Good, good, that's

something of a relief, I can tell you.' The harsh

searchlights made her look pale and exhausted.

'How long have I been gone? Quickly,

Inspector!'

'What?' Her question made no sense. 'Four

hours, maybe five?'

She gasped. 'Is that all?'

A couple of paramedics arrived. They covered

both girls up, and tried to hurry them towards

an ambulance. Vicky was taken off, but Jess

wouldn't budge. Grabbing hold of Galloway's

arm, she said, 'I need you to do something for

me and I need you not to ask any questions.

The man you have in custody. You've got to get

him here as quickly as possible.'

'What?'

'The storm's coming, Mr Galloway. We can't

stop it now. Only the Doctor can do that. If

we're not too late already.'

Galloway wasn't sure whether she was

serious, or just plain mad.

'But we should be OK,' Jess said firmly.

'Amy's still got her chocolate device.'

Chapter

10

Rory and Emily had run out of places to hide.

The ship turned out to contain no more than a

few empty rooms similar to the one where Rory

had woken up, and the passages all led back

to the spherical room containing the circular

console.

As they arrived there for a third time, Emily

started to sound a little desperate. 'We're not

going to get away, are we? There's nowhere to

hide!'

'Not looking good, is it?'

They ran down the steps and around the

back of the console. Rory's thinking was that

- perhaps - it was special space plastic and it

would act as some sort of barrier between them

and whatever was coming. OK. Not very likely.

But possible. There was another door behind

them, through which they could run (again) if

the need arose, so they wouldn't be completely

trapped, even if, in the end, they'd probably just

end up back here (again). He looked around for

something he could pick up and brandish, but

everything was fixed down and, anyway, he

wasn't sure how convincing he would look.

The footsteps clanged steadily upon the

metal grating. At the doorway, however, they

stopped. Rory peered over the console, but the

hollow of the room was too low down for him

to be able to see out.

'We don't mean you any harm,' he shouted

up at their pursuer. 'We hope that's the same

for you. Can't we talk?'

'Talk...' It was a young man's voice. ' Talk...'

'OK,' Rory whispered to Emily, 'so whatever

it is, at least it's got a throat.'

'Ooh, that doesn't make me feel better!'

'Sorry! Yes! What I meant was that makes

it similar to - and therefore less immediately

terrifying for - us. Not that human beings are

universally marvellous and lovely, of course,

and not that we should judge by appearances...

I'm going to stop talking now and do some

breathing instead, if you don't mind.'

'Fine by me,' Emily whispered. Leaning

forwards on the console, she called out, 'We're

scared, you know. Both of us are scared. We

don't know where we are and we don't know

what you want from us. Your standing out

there isn't helping much! If we've disturbed

you, we're sorry. We can't hurt you and don't

want to hurt you.'

'Hurt...' said the voice.

'I hope it won't, you know, fixate on that,'

Rory muttered.

'We don't want to be here,' Emily went on,

'and we'd rather leave you in peace.'

'Peace...'

There was a silence. The voice added nothing

more, and its owner made no move.

'Sorry,' Emily said to Rory. 'Best I could

do.' He squeezed her hand. 'Brilliant job. The

Doctor would be proud.'

'Who?'

'I've no idea. It just... came out.' But he didn't

get a chance to chase that thought further. The

owner of the voice entered the room.

He was a young man of about seventeen,

with reddish hair, his cowlick slicked back

inexpertly, and the merest makings of a

moustache. He was in his shirt sleeves. He wore

thick boots, and his trousers, held up by braces,

were patched and muddy. Seeing him, Emily

gave a loud, nervy laugh.

'Oh, Harry, you daft article, you've given us

ever such a fright! Why didn't you say hello?

Didn't you hear my voice? It's Emily! Emily

Bostock!'

The young man walked forwards until he

was standing at the top of the stairway leading

down to the console.

'My word,' Emily said, coming out from the

cover of the console. 'I should clout you!' She

turned to Rory, a smile upon her face. 'Don't

worry, Mr Williams, it's only Harry. Harry

Thompson. You remember? The one we saw in

the pictures.'

There was something not right here, Rory

thought, as Harry began to descend the steps.

Perhaps it was just the light, but the young

man's flesh had a yellowish tint, tinged with

green, and his eyes... His eyes were cold and

dark and lonely as a winter night.

'Emily,' Rory said quickly. 'Don't go any

closer.'

'Why ever not? I told you - this is Harry!

We've known each other all our lives. He

wouldn't hurt us!'

The young man was now at the bottom of the

steps. Emily reached out and took his hand. As

flesh met flesh, the lights all around began to

flicker wildly. The throbbing sound, which had

hitherto been no more than background noise,

surged. The ship shuddered. Rory grabbed

hold of the console with both hands.

'Emily! Get back!'

But Emily didn't seem in the least

perturbed.

'Hush now,' she said, stroking the young

man's hand. 'Everything's going to be all right.

You don't have to be afraid. I won't tell on you,

not for all the tea in China. I won't breathe a

word. You're not going anywhere, Harry. You're

not going anywhere you don't want to.'

But the lights were still flickering, Rory

noticed, and the ship still shaking.

Jess finished her story, picked up her cup of tea,

and looked over the rim of the mug across the

table.

The two detectives stared back.

'I understand how it sounds,' Jess said

patiently. 'But it's all true. Time pockets. Spatial

ones too— Look, does either of you have a

scarf?'

Neither of them responded. Jess sighed

and drank some of the hot sweet tea. She was

exhausted. Galloway had told her that only a

few hours at the most had passed since she had

parked her car on Long Lane and gone with

Amy into the woods. By her own estimate, and

even bearing in mind how time jumped around

in Swallow Woods, Jess reckoned she and

Vicky had taken the best part of two days to get

from the clearing to the edge of the woods. For

the last part of the journey, a storm had been

chasing them, and it had been getting worse.

'It's all true,' she said, quietly but firmly.

'There's a clearing in the woods with paths

running out from it. People get lost there, lost

down pockets of time and space. It's been stable

for a very long time, but now something's going

wrong. I don't know what it is, but I do know

that it's going to become critical tonight, and I

do know that the town is at risk. What you have

to do is let me talk to the Doctor.'

Galloway cleared his throat and leaned

back in his chair. When he spoke, he used a

very gentle tone that Jess, frankly, found pretty

patronising.

'What I don't understand,' Galloway said, 'is

that you must have met Laura Brown. She's a

friend of your sister. You must want her to get

home safe and sound—'

'Well of course I do! I want everyone in

the town to be safe, and that's why you have

to listen to me, Inspector! Listen to what I'm

telling you!'

Galloway continued not to pay her any

attention. 'I know that sometimes relationships

between the press and the police can be tense,

but you've always dealt fairly with me, and I

feel as if I've always dealt fairly with you—'

'Yes, you've been marvellous! Wonderful!

Brilliant! Now let me see the Doctor.'

'However,' Galloway went on, talking

over her, 'even though you have clearly been

through an unusual and probably distressing

experience, you're running a risk of being

charged with wasting police time.' He rubbed

his temples. 'Did the red-haired girl put you up

to this?'

'Amy? No! I told you - she's still in there!

Look, if I could just speak to the Doctor—'

Galloway shook his head. 'Oh, no! Not a

chance! He's obviously a very dangerous man,

more dangerous than I thought already. I know

the type - they have a twisted kind of charisma,

they get other people to do their dirty work

for them. Even sitting in the cells, he got the

Pond girl to work on you. And now he seems

to be controlling you in some way. For your

own protection, Ms Ashcroft, you're not going

anywhere near him!'

'For my own protection... Oh, for heaven's

sake!' Jess gave up on Galloway and turned

to the young female detective, who had been

sitting silently throughout.

'It's Ruby Porter, isn't it?' Jess said. 'I knew

your brother at school - James. He was great

at cricket. Look, let's not waste any more

time. We both know about the woods. We

both know there's not a rational explanation

for what happens - well, what we commonly

understand as rational... Let's not complicate

things right now. But you know, don't you, that

there's something wrong with Swallow Woods.

I can explain it, Ruby. Everything I'm saying is

true!'

Porter looked away from her. She stared

resolutely down at the floor. Jess now keenly

understood the frustration that had made Amy

tear at her hair.

'I know you've had a bad time,' Galloway

said. 'It's unfortunate you can't bring yourself

to be helpful right now, but at least you've

confirmed my suspicion that whatever's going

on here, the woods hold the key. At first light,

I'm starting the search. It's not a big area. With

police from three counties, local volunteers and

the dog handlers, well soon find Ms Pond-'

'I wouldn't count on it!'

'—And well soon find out what's been going

on in there.'

'Whatever's going on you're not equipped

to deal with it! A search party? You think

dogs can resolve this? This has been going

on for centuries!' Jess stopped, backtracking

slightly. 'Dogs... Like a hunt...' She addressed

Galloway with new urgency. 'You know, I'm

not sure taking dogs into Swallow Woods is a

good idea—'

'I'm sure you don't,' said Galloway. He

stood up to leave; Porter followed suit. 'Not

right now. But you'll be glad in time.'

'No, really, don't do it!' Urgently, Jess

turned to Porter. 'Listen to me! Please, you

must understand! Something's going to happen

tonight that could destroy the town. We don't

know what it is yet, but I'm sure as I can be that

dogs won't help. Hunted people fight back,

they attack...! Please, if you won't let me talk to

him, then you must! Talk to the Doctor!'

Galloway smiled benignly from the doorway.

'Drink up your tea, Ms Ashcroft. I'll get a car to

take you home.'

Laura and the were-fox, who introduced

himself as Reyn, led Amy inside to a big and

comfortably appointed chamber. Long, high

windows at the far end let sunlight stream

in, and at the centre of the room was a large

wooden table laid for supper. When she turned

her head to look round, Amy thought she could

see faint trails of golden shimmering light at the

corner of her eye, like pollen drifting through

the air.

'Come and eat,' said Laura, mistress of the

house.

Amy went slowly towards the table, keeping

a close watch on Reyn. He was walking lightly

beside her, at her pace, and seemed prepared

to let Laura do the talking. It was difficult to

judge with a different species, but from the

white hairs above each of his orange eyes, and

his rather stately way of moving, Amy got the

impression of an older man, even elderly. In

fact, the pair of them - Laura and Reyn - struck

Amy as being rather like an old couple who

had been companions for a long time and were

very comfortable with each other. Reyn went to

the head of the table and waited politely for the

two women to sit, one on either side of him.

'Were you lost for long?' Laura said.

'Not really,' Amy replied. 'A couple of hours,

maybe?'

'Very quick! I must have wandered for at

least two days.' Laura smiled as if the memory

was somehow fond. 'Of course, it was all a very

long time ago. It's almost as if it happened to

somebody else.'

'About that,' said Amy. 'Weren't you...'

'Younger?'

'Yeah...' Amy fumbled around for a way to

break the news.

'Don't torment yourself, Amy. I know that

ten days have passed outside Swallow Woods

since I walked under the trees. And, before you

ask, sixty-one. Sixty-one years have passed

here.'

That made her nearly eighty. 'Still,' Amy

said feebly, 'you're looking good on it.'

'Thank you. Yes, I think I've weathered

rather well.' Laura gestured around the table.

'Please, won't you eat?'

Reyn had not held back while they were

talking. His plate was piled high with food and

he was enjoying it. He tore into a chicken leg

with great enthusiasm, stopping every couple

of bites to dab a linen napkin against his mouth

and wipe his fingers. It was an odd mixture of

ferocity and fastidiousness. Laura gave him an

indulgent smile.

Amy took a sample bite of bread and butter.

The taste was odd, very bland at first, and then

it was as if the flavour remembered to kick in,

and her mouth was flooded with sensations of

warm, nutty bread and creamy, salty butter.

'I have to say,' she said to Laura through a

mouthful of cheese, 'You seem pretty laid back

for someone who's been held captive for six

decades.'

'Captive?' Laura gave a good-humoured

snort, to which Reyn lent his odd rasping,

coughing laugh. Laura reached out and took

hold of his hand. 'Do you hear that? She thinks

you're holding me captive!'

'You have to admit, lady, that you made the

same mistake yourself, once upon a time.'

Laura gave him a fond smile.

Amy put down her fork. All this mutual

admiration was starting to make her feel slightly

nauseous. She sincerely hoped that she and Rory

weren't like this. The thought of Rory made her

anxious and perhaps even, though she didn't

like to admit it, scared. Crossly, she said, 'OK,

you two, tell me what's going on. Reyn's ship

crashed here, didn't it? That's what's causing

all the time pockets and disappearances. So

how come it's not his fault?'

Laura and Reyn looked at her in surprise.

'Yes,' Reyn said. 'Yes, my ship crashed here.

I've not had the resources or the right equipment

to fix it. But rest assured, Amy, if I had my way

I would have left your planet centuries ago. I'm

not a monster. I certainly wouldn't hold anyone

against their will.'

'But all the missing people!' Amy said. 'Not

just Laura - there've been hundreds!'

'Three hundred and nine, to be exact,' Reyn

said. 'And not all of them have been as lucky as

Laura.'

'Lucky? Oh yeah, she seems a real lottery

winner to me!'

'Please, Amy,' Laura put in quietly. 'Let Reyn

explain. 'When he does, you'll understand.

There's no malice at work here. Just chance

turnings on the road, and some bad luck - and,'

she squeezed Reyn's hand, 'no small measure

of happiness, in the end.'

'All right,' Amy said. 'I'm open to

explanations. Just make them good.'

'I shall endeavour to do my best,' Reyn

replied drily. Pouring out pale yellow wine

for them all, he leaned back in his chair, goblet

in hand, lord of the manor. 'I was an explorer,

Amy. My ship could cross space as if it were no

distance at all... Laura, my dear, do you have a

skein of wool to hand so I might demonstrate?'

'Don't worry,' said Amy. She tapped her

forehead. 'I've got the basics sorted.'

Reyn studied her thoughtfully. 'Laura, does

she strike you as remarkably at ease with the

notion of space travel? And, indeed, at meeting

a shape-shifting alien?'

'If something has happened in the outside

world to make her like this,' Laura said, slowly

coring an apple, 'it's happened in the last ten

days.'

'Yeah, well, don't worry about me,' Amy

said. 'I've been around a bit, that's all you

need to know. Right now we're talking about

where you came from. Your ships can travel

through space. Yeah, great, I'm with you there.

Spaceships - no problem. Massive fantasy

castles and disappearing people - slightly more

of a problem. So keep on with the explaining.'

Reyn bowed his head. 'As you command.'

'And you can drop the whole Camelot shtick

too. Let's keep the talk straightforward, OK?'

Reyn's long ears twitched and flattened back

slightly. 'Very well. Our exploration ships, Amy,

were unusual in that they learned from their

travels. In time they came to consciousness.'

'Yeah yeah, artificial intelligence, I'm fine

with that too. Honestly, you're not likely to say

something I haven't come across before in some

shape or form. How has that ended up in mass

kidnappings?'

'The process - we call it the Shift - is a

difficult transition, a vast and destabilising

change. At home, we have teachers, scientists,

all kinds of people to nurture them through the

process. We can feed them information, show

them experiences, give them all the knowledge

we have accumulated. But my poor ship...' He

sighed. 'When I crashed here in the woods,

there were no people. I struggled to fix the ship

with the resources I had. Before I could do that,

the people came. It triggered the Shift.'

'How?' Amy said. 'How does that work?'

'During the Shift, the ship devours

information. When the people came through the

woods, it took them. You have to understand,

Amy, it was acting on instinct. It was trying to

learn. Every fifty years or so, the ship needs

more. Every fifty years or so, it would pull

people to it. It wants memories, experiences,

life stories.' He looked away. 'It's not painful,

Amy, but ifs hardly desirable. Whenever the

ship has pulled people into the wood, I've tried

to bring them here instead. I've not always been

successful.'

Jess and Vicky, Amy thought. Rory... She

pushed her plate aside and put her head in her

hands.

'Laura I was able to save,' Reyn said. 'And

you, now. Your two companions...' He shook his

head. 'I wish you'd been able to bring yourself

to trust me. But there it is. My appearance, I

have gathered over the years, does not always

encourage that. I've tried to make this place

beautiful and comfortable for all my guests, as

welcoming as possible - but your species can be

so suspicious! It's not our way. We're curious,

like you, but not so mistrustful. Perhaps that's

a failing.'

'You said that you've brought many people

here over the years,' Amy said thickly. 'There

was a young man came this way, about a

century ago in Laura's time. He would have

complained a lot—'

'He didn't come this way, I'm afraid. If he

passed in summer through the glade in the

wood with the pool, he most likely found

himself on board the ship.' He studied her with

his orange eyes, seeming to understand that

this was someone important. 'I'm sorry, Amy.'

Amy shoved her chair back and stood up.

She started pacing around the room, coming

to a halt near the long windows. Rain was

pattering against the panes. She swung back

round to face Reyn and Laura. They were sitting

watching her, obviously concerned.

'You say you don't have the equipment to fix

your ship,' Amy said. 'So why not just let this

Shift or whatever it is finish, and then get out of

here! Leave the town and the people in peace!'

'It's not that simple—'

'Oh,' Amy muttered through her teeth, 'I just

knew you were going to say that.

'At home, as I said, we have all kinds of

experts to hand. Here, there's only me. And

there's more. As the years have passed, the ship

has become more bound to the world around

it, more entangled with it. All the warps and

pockets have become so complex that if I tried

now to make the ship shift completely, if I tried

to force it through - I don't know what damage

that would do.'

Amy turned back to the window. The rain

was falling steadily now, and some of the water

was leaking through and gathering in a small

pool at the base of the window. Why would you

make it rain, she wondered, in a fantasy world?

Perhaps sunshine became boring after a while.

Perhaps you started to crave some darkness,

some semblance of risk.

'Something's going to happen soon,' she said.

'I don't know what, but this time next week,

there'll be a lake covering Swallow Woods,

and nothing where the town once stood. Is that

what could happen if the Shift was forced?'

'Yes,' said Reyn, speaking slowly. 'How

do you know that, Amy? What makes you so

sure?'

'Don't bother about that. Just give me

answers. What could make that happen?'

Reyn didn't reply at once. When Amy turned

around, she saw Laura leaning across, holding

the alien's hand, her eyes pleading with him to

speak.

'Tell me,' Amy said. 'I'm not afraid of the

truth. What might cause the ship to shift?'

'I've maintained the balance for centuries

now, Amy,' Reyn said, 'but it's very delicate.

The ship might come to a crisis if there were too

many people trying to get in at once. But the

real risk comes from people trying to get out.

Trying to leave through the portal place.'

'The portal place?'

'The clearing in the wood with the pool.

Where we met. That's where your world ends

and mine begins.'

'And coming through there,' Amy said,

'brings you either here or to the ship.'

'That's right.'

'And going back out again—'

'Could destabilise the environment I've set

up here, and bring on exactly the kind of crisis

I've been trying to stop. That's why I've never

left your world. That's why nobody leaves.'

'I told you I wasn't a captive,' Laura Brown

said softly, 'but I can't go back from here. This

is where all our journeys end, Amy. There's no

way back through Swallow Woods. Not if we

are all to survive.'

Porter saw Galloway safely out of the station

on his way back to Swallow Woods, and then

quietly, and unnoticed, she slipped down to

the cells.

The station was almost deserted; everyone

was home or else down at the search. The

sergeant led her down the bare bright corridor

to the cell, and Porter waited patiently while he

unlocked it. The strip light above them fizzled.

'Been like that all night,' the sergeant

complained. 'Can't stand fluorescents.

Susceptible to bad weather.'

Porter made vague noises of agreement as

he opened the cell door. 'Very quiet, this one,'

he said. 'Almost too quiet. You'd think he'd ask

for a cup of tea at some point, but, no, all he

wanted was the spoon.'

The door swung opened. Porter looked past

the sergeant into the cell.

The Doctor was standing on the bed with

one hand aloft. In that hand, he was holding

up the spoon so that it touched the ceiling. The

other hand was covering his left ear. Seeing the

pair at the door, his expression turned from

intense concentration to faint embarrassment.

He brought down his arm and jumped from the

bed.

'Sorry. Had to do some... important... spoon

work.' Carefully, he handed the piece of cutlery

over to the sergeant. 'Thanks for that. Good

spoon. One of the best.'

The sergeant gave Porter a 'he's all yours'

look, and left them alone.

Porter leaned in the doorway, arms folded,

blocking the exit. 'All right,' she said. 'What's

going on?'

'You already know what's going on. Aliens.

Starships. Space bending back round on itself.

Time, too. But you're in luck. Help is here.' He

gave a bright smile; did jazz hands. 'Where's

your friend?'

'He's off to search the woods. With dogs.'

'Ooh, no, terrible idea! Who knows what

that will do? Some people can get very testy,

particularly when they've been on their own

for a long time. Dogs send the wrong message,

don't they?'

'That's why I'm here,' Porter said. 'Jess

said—'

'Oh, Jess made it! Excellent! What about

Pond, was she with her?'

'No sign of her, not yet.'

The Doctor's face fell. 'Ah. Well. At least

Jess is a start. But there's still Amy, and Rory,

and Emily, and of course the small matter

of whatever minor apocalypse is about to hit

Foxton; just because it's only going to affect one

small town and an equally small woodland area

doesn't make it less of an apocalypse for the

people concerned - not to mention that if the

motorway gets flooded the traffic is going to be

appalling throughout the rest of the county for

who knows how long— Sorry. Talk too much.

Always did. You were saying?'

'Jess said that you knew about...' Porter

stopped, as if having difficulty saying the

words.

'Say it,' suggested the Doctor. 'You'll feel so

much better when you do.'

'About the woods,' Porter said, in a rush. 'You

know what happens when people disappear in

Swallow Woods.'

The Doctor smiled at her, gently, kindly. 'Yes,

you knew, didn't you? Detective Constable

Porter, who has lived in this town all her life,

and can hear the same noise that I can hear,

and who knows that there's something not

right about the woods. Something that can't

be solved by ordinary methods - not even by

a hard-working, fair-minded, and meticulous

policeman. And particularly not by his dogs.

Who went missing? Somebody close to you?'

Porter looked past him, over at the wall. 'My

mother's older brother. My uncle, of course -

although that's not how you think of a 15-year-

old boy.'

'When did it happen?'

'About... 1960? No, 1959. That fits with the

dates, doesn't it? Every fifty years, give or take

a few years. At least, I think that's right - people

round here don't exactly talk openly about all

this. He was the only one that time. Gran never

got over it. Sometimes she would be so sad.

Right to the end of her life...' Porter stared up

at the little window on the far wall, dark and

wet with rain. 'Sadness like that, it gets handed

down, doesn't it? Even though I never knew

him - my mother hardly remembers him - you

still get touched by the sadness. He's why I

joined the police. Always wanting to find lost

things, always wanting to put things right...'

She shook her head. 'It's not just me. The whole

town is like that! There's a strange sense of

loss that comes from living here in Foxton.

It's like something has always been missing,

but you don't dare to remember what it was.

You're always thinking about it, but you know

you wouldn't go looking, because in your

heart you know that the answers can only be

found in Swallow Woods. And who goes near

Swallow Woods? If you go there, you might not

find your way out again. You'd be lost too, and

perhaps people wouldn't quite remember you

either. Poor Gordon Galloway. I bet he's sorry

he ever moved down here.'

The Doctor, she realised, was standing very

close to her.

'I can end this,' he told her softly. 'Whatever

has been happening here for such a long time,

I can end it. No more disappearances, no more

secrets and fears and half-truths and confusion.

I can end it all tonight. But I can't end it from

here.'

Porter looked anxiously over her shoulder.

'It's coming to an end anyway,' the Doctor

said. 'The choice now is between the happy

ending or the tragedy. But this is when you

make a decision, Detective. You can play by the

rules, the old rules, the ones that have kept this

town terrified for so long, nobody talking about

what happens - or you can take a risk. Admit

that what's been going on all these years is real.

Bewildering, inexplicable - but real!

Porter was listening to him as if mesmerised.

'I've been watching you a lot the last day or so,'

she said, slowly.

'You should see me in a fez. Looks good.

T couldn't make sense of your eyes. You

don't look old. Except for your eyes. What do

they see, Doctor?'

'Bad things, cruel things. Terrible things

made all the worse by how beautiful they

are. And sometimes - yes, often, because the

universe is full of wonders as well as terrors -

the most marvellous thing that it's possible to

see. Someone opening her mind.'

'All right,' said Porter. 'I know you're just

reeling me in, but whatever you're doing, it

works. I'll get you out of the station, and then

you're on your own.' She put her hands to her

head and sighed. 'What am I doing? I like my

job!'

'There's one more thing I need,' said the

Doctor.

'What more do you want?'

'There's a widget. A gadget. A thing. About

so long.' He pulled his hands apart about eight

inches. 'Green light at the end. Makes a funny

noise... You know, I'm fairly certain that you'll

recognise it when you see it.'

The strip light in the corridor wavered

perilously. Outside, the wind was howling.

'Thirdly,' said the Doctor, 'and, I promise

that this is finally - might I also ask for some

haste?'

Chapter

11

When the meal was finished, Reyn lifted his

hand and, with one wave, the room around

them disappeared, leaving only faint golden

trails behind it. A new room formed around

them; a pleasant chamber with a fire crackling

at one end, and two chairs by the hearth. Laura

sat down in one of these, and took out a rich

piece of embroidery from a workbox at her feet.

Reyn bowed to Amy, and left.

Amy stalked restlessly around the room like

a wild animal trapped in a cage. The air had an

odd flavour - stale, metallic - and she could not

shake the feeling of being enclosed in a small

space. When she ran her finger against surfaces

- the tapestries, the thick stone walls of the

castle - flecks of light gathered and followed her

fingertip wherever she traced with it. Whatever

tricks Reyn pulled to give the illusion of space,

there were clearly limits to his abilities.

Reaching the window, Amy tugged at the

curtains. Night had fallen and it was pitch

black outside. That only added to her sense of

claustrophobia. She abandoned her progress

round the room and slumped into the chair

opposite Laura. She nodded down at her

needlework.

'So is that how you've filled the time?'

'Hardly!'

'So what have you been doing with yourself

for the past, ooh, six decades?'

Laura calmly completed a few more stitches

before answering. 'At first, I tried to get away.

You wouldn't believe how many times I tried

to get away! How many different routes I tried!

Of course, I always ended up back in the glade.

That's where all the paths lead - the great green

cathedral of trees. And Reyn was always there,

to bring me home.'

'I bet he was,' Amy muttered.

'After a while it seemed stupid to waste

so much energy and emotion on a pointless

activity. Particularly when there were so many

marvels here to see. Thread this needle for

me, will you, Amy? My eyes aren't what they

were.'

Amy squinted, and poked the loose end

through the eye of the needle with one quick

stab. As she bit off the thread, she said, 'What

marvels are you talking about? What is there

to see here? You're stuck in the middle of a

wood!'

'You saw the valley!' Laura said. 'You saw

how beautiful it is here! And this is only the

most recent of the worlds we've lived in. Reyn

can create whatever I want, whatever I imagine!

Space stations, intergalactic empires, a gothic

mansion filled with spooks and ghouls, our

own world at any time in its history!'

'Yes, but it's all fake, isn't it?' Amy waved

her hand quickly to and fro, and a trail of

golden light followed the movement. 'I don't

know how he does it - virtual reality, maybe,

or a simulation, or something to do with him

being a shape-shifter... Oh, I don't know! I do

know that none of it is real! It's horrible! It's like

you've been stuck in a role-playing game your

whole life!' She leaned forwards in her chair.

'Laura, I've seen marvels - real marvels - things

I can touch and smell and taste, and I haven't

had to be stuck in the same place in order to see

them! My friend - the Doctor - he's taken me to

places you wouldn't believe!'

'Then you of all people should understand,

Amy. Of anyone that's ever come this way - you

should understand! That's exactly what Reyn

has done for me! Perhaps aliens and starships

and walking through a door out onto a different

world isn't anything particularly wonderful

for you, but it was for me! To think that I once

thought I might make it as far as Africa!'

'You're not even five miles from home! You're

trapped!'

'Trapped is a state of mind. If we thought

that way, we wouldn't be able to bear it—'

'Er, excuse me - there's no "we" about this!

I'm not staying here a moment longer than I

can help. First light - I'm out of here!'

Laura gave the kind of smile that can only

infuriate. 'Well see. Well see.'

At this point, Reyn came back into the room.

He crossed over to the fire, carrying a third

chair with him, and sat warming his hands. In

the candlelight, there was a real beauty to him -

the thick, well-kept reddish hair; the sad, clever,

orange eyes; the melancholy that seemed to

gather around him like the light that followed

Amy's finger... Amy shook herself. No, she

wasn't going to be charmed by this creature,

however beautiful and lonely and persuasive

he might be.

Reyn had become aware that she was

watching him. His ears twitched back. 'I do

understand your frustration, Amy,' he said,

'but I cannot risk lowering the barriers around

the portal place. It's too dangerous.'

Amy nodded towards the door. 'Were you

standing out there listening for long?'

'I think you already know that this place

is not as large as the impression might give. I

could hear your voice quite clearly in the next

tower.'

Amy blushed with embarrassment. 'Sorry,'

she said. 'Didn't mean to shout. Still, why can't

I try? Isn't it always worth trying?'

'I lost count of the number of times I tried,

Amy,' Laura said. 'We're only trying to save

you a great deal of heartbreak.'

'It's true,' Reyn said, 'that I cannot be entirely

sure what would happen if I let you through,

Amy. It may make no difference at all. But my

best guess - and it's an educated guess - is that

it would bring on the Shift. That puts the town

at risk. I am the one responsible here, and I

don't think that's a risk worth taking.'

'Is this place really so terrible, Amy?' Laura

said. 'Could you not at least wait for a while

and see? It might be more bearable than you're

imagining.'

And, for a moment, sitting in that comfortable

chair by that warm and lovely fire, Amy was

tempted. Would it be so bad, after all, to stay

here, in this calm, beautiful place, in this gentle

kindly company; to leave whatever disaster was

unfolding to somebody else to deal with? This

place was enclosed, secluded - perhaps even if

Swallow Woods did flood and become covered

in water, this place would remain intact, sealed

away. She might be safe here.

But she wouldn't be with Rory, and she

wouldn't be Amy Pond.

'It's no use,' Amy said. 'I have to take the

risk. I know something's going to happen

soon that will destroy the town and flood the

valley. But I don't really know what causes

it. What if ifs because I don't try to get out? I

don't know whether the Doctor is free or not,

I don't know whether Jess and Vicky made

it, and I don't know what Rory is doing right

now, whenever he is. I do know that I can't sit

around waiting for events to catch up with me.

I have to do something,' she said, 'and then take

the consequences. I'll wait till first light, and

then I'll go.'

'But you won't get through,' Reyn said. 'I

can't let you get through.'

'And I can't not try! First light, I'm off.'

Reyn sighed. 'Here, of course, we don't have

to wait for dawn to arrive. We can bring it to

us.' He waved his hand. Amy got up, crossed

to the window, and pulled the curtains back.

Already the sky was pale and, quickly, it was

suffused with a golden haze. Then the yellow

sun emerged. This all took the matter of a

moment.

'Whatever it is you're doing here,' Amy told

Reyn, 'it's pretty impressive.'

'Thank you,' Reyn replied. 'I've had a long

time to perfect it. Shall we go?'

In the courtyard, the sun was already high

overhead. Laura laid her hand, parchment thin

with age, upon Amy's cheek. 'Don't be too

heartbroken if you find yourself back here with

us,' she said. 'I've had a good life, and a happy

one.'

'I won't be back,' Amy said. 'But I'll tell your

parents you said that, if you like.'

Laura's face crinkled up with an old but

unforgotten pain. 'Don't,' she said. 'I know you

mean well, but don't hold out hopes like that.'

Reyn bent to kiss his lady's hand and then, in

the blink of an eye, he and Amy were standing

once again on the edge of the wood. Looking

back down into the valley, Amy saw Laura's

castle. A soft spring rain was falling, and a

double rainbow had formed across the bowl

of the valley, brightly coloured and essentially

ephemeral.

'Good luck,' Reyn said. 'Although I think

it won't be long before you're back with us

again.'

'Nothing ventured,' Amy said, and plunged

back underneath the dark cover of the trees.

As Emily kept speaking, her words seemed to

have a soothing effect not just on Harry, but

even on the ship. The lights settled down and

the noise fell back to its gentlest hum. Best of

all, from Rory's perspective, the walls stopped

shaking.

'There,' Emily said. 'No need for us all to get

so worked up. I told you, it's only Harry. Oh,

but Harry, have you been here by yourself all

this time? Did you get lost?'

'Lost...' whispered the young man. ' Lost...'

'Eh, now, come on, Harry, I know you must

have been scared - heaven knows me and Mr

Williams have been - but can't you even manage

a hello? We're old friends, aren't we?'

'Emily,' said Rory. 'I'm not sure that's

Harry.'

'What? Don't be daft - look at him! You saw

his picture over there! Besides, I've known

Harry Thompson since he was toddling round

our yard. I'd recognise him anywhere!'

'What I mean is, it might look like Harry, and

it might even be his body, but...' Rory struggled

to explain. 'It's not him inside.'

'Well, that's just a load of old nonsense.' Emily

stared into her friend's eyes and squeezed his

hand again. 'You're there, Harry, aren't you?

You've just had a shock.' To Rory, she said,

'Given you don't know what a white feather

is, or a conchie, do you think it's possible you

might not recognise shellshock when you see

it? Well, I can, and that's what it looks like to

me. Harry's here, aren't you, love? We've just

got to find a way to make you feel safe again.'

'Safe... Safe...'

Emily made Harry sit down on the steps. She

knelt down in front of him, putting his hands

within hers. 'Can you tell us what happened,

love? Can you remember?'

'Remember...' The young man's eyes came

sharply into focus. He stared so hard at Emily

that Rory was suddenly afraid for her. He

reached forwards to try to disentangle their

hands, but Emily shook him off.

'We're getting there,' she said. 'Hell be

talking soon. Isn't that better than running

around getting nowhere?'

'Remember...' Harry's voice was getting

steadily stronger. 'The long journey... The

dark, the cold... Saw light! Felt something...

something new... Pain...'

'I know, love,' Emily said consolingly. 'Go

on, now, you'll feel better once you've let it all

out.'

'Needed rest. Needed time... to think!' The

young man's voice became suddenly excited.

'To know! To grow! To become... to become

different...'

'Eh, now, love, you're not making much

sense.'

'Emily,' Rory said quickly. 'Wait a minute.

Look - I think I might know what's happening

here. A dark journey? That's not how it was

for us, is it? We came through bright sunshine,

remember?'

'Yes, but you said the place could change—'

'Can I have a go? Can I talk to him? I promise

I won't say anything to upset him.'

Emily looked at him doubtfully. 'Well, all

right then, but be kind.'

Rory knelt down in front of the young man.

'Your long cold journey,' he said, 'were there

stars?'

'Stars... suns... worlds... Then the pain. Then

this world. Fell here. The pain too much... Still

wanting to know, to see, to learn... So much

here to know, to learn... So much... Soon be

ready... Soon be... Soon be me!'

'Mr Williams, I'm not sure it helps sending

him off on flights of fancy like this—'

'One more question, Emily, I promise.' Again

Rory addressed the young man. 'What have

you learned? Who did you learn it from?'

Emily frowned at him. 'Eh?'

'Just let him answer, Emily. Then I'll know

for sure.'

The young man looked at Rory. His eyes

were vacant and unfocused.

'What did you learn?' Rory said again. 'Who

taught you?'

'They came here. There were none before.

Then they came. They love and live and quarrel

and die in less time than it takes for a tree to

grow. They are like the leaves. They are cruel

and kind and brave and afraid. Sometimes they

know no better. Sometimes they are at fault.

Sometimes they doubt. Sometimes they believe.

And always they want to know...'

'Mr Williams, I don't understand all this—'

'Doesn't sound much like Harry Thompson

any more, does it?' Turning back to Harry once

again, Rory said, 'How many? How many have

come here?'

'One hundred and seventy-three,' the young

man rattled off promptly, like a machine

reading out data.

Rory recoiled. There was a sick taste in his

mouth. 'A hundred and seventy-three!'

Emily pulled at his arm. 'You'd better start

explaining things, mister, or else I'm going to

start getting right ticked off with you.'

'How many pictures did we count, Emily?'

'What?'

'On the screen over there. How many

different people?'

'More than a hundred, I reckon. We never

got to the end, did we? What are you saying,

Mr Williams?'

'This isn't Harry,' Rory said. He stood up,

and turned away, repulsed. He ran down to the

console, waving it back to life, and he started

hunting, certain now that he would eventually

find what he was looking for.

'All these people!' he said, as the images

rushed past. 'They came this way, and it took

their memories! Emily, that might be Harry's

body, but it's certainly not Harry that's talking

to us. It's the ship!'

Rory looked down at the console. He waved

his hand and stopped the flow of pictures. The

blow on the head hadn't taken his memories

away. There he was, on the screen, surrounded

by impenetrable text. 'It takes memories! The

ship steals memories! My memories!'

In the foyer of the police station, Jess watched

the storm and waited for the car to arrive to take

her home. As the wind hammered at the roof,

Galloway came through the double doors that

led back into the main part of the building. He

stood for a moment peering unhappily out at

the rain running in rivulets down the window.

Then he pulled out a newspaper and shook it

out to use as an umbrella.

It was worth one last try. 'Please,' Jess said.

'Don't search the woods. Talk to the Doctor

first-'

'I have talked to him. All I want to

know is where he's keeping Laura Brown.

Unfortunately, he had nothing useful to say.'

Galloway pushed open the entrance doors. 'Go

home, Ms Ashcroft. Get a good night's sleep.

Call me tomorrow once you've had a chance to

think - and if you've anything sensible to say.'

He ducked out into the rain. It was lashing

down now, a real storm. Jess watched the

inspector sprint across to his car, holding his

copy of The Herald over his head. There was

a flash of lightning followed by a long roll of

thunder so loud it almost seemed to make the

ground shudder. This, Jess thought, desperately,

was how it would feel at the end of the world.

Soon the dogs would be going into the woods,

yelling, barking, on the hunt for the strange fox

creature that she had surely seen...

Behind her, the officer at the desk, in a

doubtful voice, said, 'Inspector Galloway didn't

mention anything about it...'

'No?' A young female voice. 'Well, he was

quite clear in his instructions to me.'

Jess looked round. There was Ruby Porter, a

study in nonchalance. Standing behind her...

The Doctor, handcuffed, and

uncharacteristically meek.

'He's wanted down at the search,' Porter

went on. 'If we really are going to search the

woods,' she and the officer shook their heads at

outsiders who insisted on blundering about near

Swallow Woods, 'then I suppose we'd better do

it properly.' At this point, Porter noticed Jess.

'How about I give Ms Ashcroft that lift home at

the same time? Save you the bother of rustling

up a car.'

Now that Porter had given him a solution to

his small but immediately pressing problem,

the officer was much more willing to let the pair

past. Pushing the Doctor ahead of her, Porter

walked over to the doors.

'Follow me,' she muttered to Jess on her way

past. Jess dutifully obeyed. Porter led them

through the rain towards a little dark blue car.

'In the back, both of you,' she hissed.

Jess opened the back door and shoved the

Doctor in, hurrying after him and shaking the

water from her hair as soon as she was inside.

Porter, getting into the driver's seat, said, 'I

suppose I'm going to get disciplined for this. At

the very least. Probably fired.'

'Cheer up!' the Doctor said. 'Might never

happen! Might not get the chance. After all, it's

entirely possible that this time next week the

town won't be here any longer. Under those

circumstances, I seriously doubt anyone would

have disciplinary procedures on their mind—'

Porter, furiously, started the car.

'Doctor—' Jess said, urgently.

He raised his cuffed hands to stop her. 'The

word you are looking for,' he said, 'is were-

fox.' He leaned forwards to address Porter.

'Constable,' he said, 'the gadget with the green

light. Did you have any success in... umgph!'

The end of his sentence was lost. Porter had

shoved the sonic screwdriver between his teeth,

without taking her eyes off the road. The Doctor

turned and dropped the device into Jess's lap.

'Ms Ashcroft,' he said politely, holding up his

cuffed hands and nodding down at the sonic.

'That button, there- No, there. Yes! That's the

one!'

'If s not Harry talking to us,' Rory said. 'It's

the ship! It takes memories! The ship steals

memories. My memories!'

It was as if the ship heard him speak. Once

again, the walls shuddered, with even more

force, and the body-that-was-once-Harry

convulsed. Emily put her arm around the boy's

shoulder.

'Stolen your memories?' she snapped.

'Nonsense! You got a tap on the head, that's all!

Not stolen any of mine, has it?'

'Perhaps it can only cope with one person

at a time. Perhaps you're next! Oh, I don't

know, Emily, I'm not the memory-stealing

spaceship!'

'Anyway, how can a man be a ship? That's

like saying he's a motor car or a train!'

'It's using his body as a kind of transmitter...'

Rory cast around for an example she might

understand. 'Like he's a walking telegram! He's

carrying messages from the ship to us. He's the

means by which the ship is able to talk to us.'

'Well, if he's passing on messages, that's

good, isn't it? Well be able to talk to the ship,

maybe ask it to let us go home?'

'You don't understand - the ship isn't asking

him to pass on messages. It's making him do it.'

'Eeuw!' said Emily. 'That's horrible!' Her

hold on Harry's hand got tighter. 'But is Harry

still in there? Are you there, love? Can you hear

me?'

'I don't think he can be there. I think the ship

has taken his memories, like it's taken some of

mine—'

'Poor thing!' said Emily, and from the way

she was stroking Harry's hand, Rory got the

distinct impression she wasn't talking about

him.

'Er, excuse me? My memories too? Pinched?

Stolen? Not here?'

'Oh, yes, but look - you're still intact, aren't

you? Still standing, still talking. Whereas Harry

can't remember a thing, and as for the ship...

Well, you heard it! All that talk of learning, and

growing - it sounds like a child to me.'

'Pinched!' Rory tapped the side of his head.

'Stolen! No longer there! Honestly, what does

somebody have to do to get some sympathy

around here?'

'I'm not saying it's not horrible for you, just

that I don't think it knew any better.'

'That's all very well for you to say, Emily, but

it's not your memories that have been stolen!

And it's not you that could have been turned

into a walkie-talkie!'

A whichety-what?' Emily shook her head.

'You do talk some nonsense! And look! You're

upsetting him!' She put her arm around Harry,

who was shaking violently. 'Hush, love, it's all

right!'

'Me? Upsetting him? Anyway, him - it's not a

him, it's an it! And what about all the people it's

taken? Too right it should be upset! It should be

very upset! Not to mention ashamed!'

Harry - or the ship - began to moan, a

low drone pitched at the same level as the

engine's throb, like the wind howling round a

wasteland.

'Oh, do stop! Look what you're doing to him!'

Emily patted the young man's hand. 'Shush

now! Don't you worry! It's not your fault.'

'Er, well, actually, it is its fault. One hundred

and seventy-three times over. All those people!

It doesn't bear thinking about... What did it

do with them? Did they spend their days like

Harry here, stolen from their friends and their

family, walking around this tiny ship like...

like zombies! It's awful, Emily! And it could

have happened to us! It could have taken us!

It's already taken some of my memories! Did I

mention that? My memories? Taken?'

'Taken...' whispered the ship, in Harry's

voice. ' Stolen... Lost...' Slowly, tears began to

roll down the young man's cheeks. Once again,

the walls around them shook hard, as if a deep

and guilty wave of sorrow was passing through

them.

'Don't, Mr Williams! Please! Can't you see

you're distressing it? It's like bullying a child!'

To the young man, the young ship, Emily said,

'Don't listen to him, love! Here, what should

I call you? If you're not really Harry? Do you

have a name? Can you tell me? No? Ship sounds

so funny, but I suppose it'll have to do. Don't

upset yourself, Ship. You didn't know what

you were doing. Now you know, you can stop,

can't you?'

'Maybe it can stop, but it can't take back what

it's done,' Rory pointed out. And with another

deep sigh of shuddering grief, Ship said:

'Sorry... Sorry to be... Sorry to be bom...'

It shook again. The lights on the walls

dimmed and flickered. This time some patches

stayed dark, and others turned an alarming

red. The hum rose in pitch and volume, the

unmistakable sound of an alarm, like a wind

howling through the trees.

'Can't you see what you're doing?' Emily

said to Rory. 'You're hurting it! For all we know

you could be killing it! What happens to us then,

Mr Williams? What happens to us all then?'

A great gale tore through Swallow Woods. The

trees shook and threw whatever they could into

the path of Amy Pond. She ducked to avoid a

branch that flung itself at her, and ran on. There

was a grey patch of light ahead. Amy chased

i t -

And came out into the glade, the portal place,

the ancient green chapel where all paths led.

She could distinguish no season here now. The

rain lashed down, the trees rocked to and fro

as if in pain, and, in the centre of the clearing,

the water in the pool was rising. In the distance,

faintly, Amy heard the barking of dogs.

'Got to go,' Amy told herself. 'Got to get

out!'

She ran beneath one of the great silent arches,

the storm battering her. A few minutes later -

breathless, exhausted, soaked to the skin - she

saw another grey slab of light...

And came back into the clearing, where the

trees were writhing and the water still rising.

Again, she tried - ran through beating rain with

the yell of hounds ringing in her ears - and again

she got no further than the glade. The pool was

swollen, overflowing, the water lapping almost

at her ankles now. This, surely, was the start of

whatever disaster was going to befall Swallow

Woods and the people of Foxton. Amy had tried

her best, but either it had not been enough, or

else it had been the last straw.

Teeth chattering, bitterly cold, Amy sank

to the ground. The rain lashed against her

face. She scrubbed at the water, and then saw,

standing on the other side of the glade, framed

by a swaying arch of old trees, Reyn.

T truly am sorry,' he said, 'but I did not lie to

you. You cannot leave Swallow Woods.'

T must!' Amy yelled. 'I have to! There's

nobody else!'

'But look around you, Amy! Look at what's

happening!'

Thunder rolled and there was a flash of light.

Torches? Searchlights? Lightning? Amy could

not tell. She put her arms across her knees and

dropped her head wearily down against them.

'There has to be a way. There must be!'

'I'm sorry, Amy,' Reyn said. 'There's no way

through the woods.'

'Of course there's a way,' another voice

said, a familiar voice that made Amy's heart

somersault in her chest. 'There's always a

way.'

It felt to Amy as if she had been locked in

a deep dark dungeon, and somebody had

thrown open the door, let in fresh air and bright

sunlight, and then showed her that the key had

been in her pocket all along. She leapt to her

feet, and cried out in joy.

'Doctor!'

Chapter

12

There he was, the Doctor, leaning against a tree,

chucking the sonic screwdriver up into the air

and catching it, and looking very pleased with

himself.

Amy ran over - and belted him on the arm.

'You took your time!'

'Ow! Don't be too excited about seeing me,

will you?'

'I've been running around here like a hamster

on a wheel, getting soaked... What have you

been doing?'

'Breaking out of jail. I'm an outlaw now,

Pond, a vagabond. A man on the run. I live

on the edge, with only my wits and my trusty

sonic screwdriver to keep me one step ahead of

the law.'

'So they let you out?'

'It was in fact a touch more clandestine than

that. There was actual stealth involved at one

point - but, yes, broadly speaking, they let me

out.'

'And Jess? What about Jess and Vicky? Did

they get through?'

'They got through, just about...' The Doctor

switched on the sonic, and waved it around

vigorously and possibly even to some specific

end. 'Ooh, I see! All got very complicated here,

hasn't it? All these fixes and patches. And then

three people come along at once! Ship and

pilot were so busy with you, Amy, that Vicky

and Jess were able to get past both of them...

Look at these readings! Someone's not in as

much control round here as he'd like to think.

Speaking of whom...' he swung round and

pointed the sonic at Reyn, 'are you going to

introduce us, Amy?'

He was staring at the were-fox with the kind

of look that he generally reserved for his more

intractable foes.

'This is Reyn,' Amy said. 'Now don't go Time

Lord on him. He didn't mean any harm...'

'They usually don't.'

'He's been stuck here too! He couldn't fix the

ship and get away—'

'Fatalism. Dreadful habit. Leads to all kinds

of vices, like trapping passing strangers in your

timeless fantasy playground or not bothering

to brush your teeth.'

'I think he's done his best with limited

resources,' Amy said. 'No bad breath, at any

rate.' She wiped her face. It was still raining

heavily and from beyond the trees came a faint

but persistent barking. 'Doctor, are you going

to stand around being all Dark Knight about

this for much longer? Or can we skip to the bit

where we find out what's happening and then

stop it?'

The Doctor popped his sonic screwdriver

back into his pocket. 'I'm prepared to put things

behind me. Let's see whether he is.' He walked

across the clearing and gave Reyn an elaborate

formal greeting which the were-fox, startled,

reciprocated with great elegance.

'I know your species,' the Doctor said. 'I know

your myths, your legends, your history. I know

all about the Long War and what happened—'

He stopped himself. 'Anyway, enough of my

chit and chat - why don't you tell me what

really brought your ship down here?'

Amy, confused, said, 'I thought he

crashed?'

'Which I think is probably partly true,' said

the Doctor, 'but not entirely true. Am I right?'

Reyn, who had been watching the Doctor

warily, nodded slowly. 'I was being chased by

enemy gunships. I was attacked and my ship

was damaged. That part was completely true. I

intended to hide here until my ship was healed.

Then the people came and the Shift got under

way.'

'And that's when all this malarkey with the

time pockets and the portal-building and the

disappearances started, yes?'

'Doctor,' Amy said, 'hang on a minute...'

'Make up your mind, Pond! A moment ago

you were telling me to hurry up!'

'Shut up.' She raised a warning finger. 'And

fill me in on this Long War business, OK?'

'The worlds inhabited by Reyn's people,

Amy, had - at one point in their history - the

misfortune to find themselves living right

next door to quite a substantial interplanetary

empire. Empires are in general greedy beasts,

and this one was no exception. You've seen

the kinds of technology that Reyn has at his

disposal, not to mention the shape-shifting.

There was a war—'

'I'm guessing that it was a long war,' Amy

said.

'It has been a very long war,' said Reyn.

'Several generations now.'

'And you've presumably worked out that

they're rather a long-lived species,' said the

Doctor. 'So you brought the ship down, Reyn,

the Shift began but, given the damage done and

your lack of support infrastructure, you've not

been able either to fix the ship and leave, or else

to shut it down entirely and stop people being

taken. You've only been able to hold back the

whole process. Yes, a very difficult situation...'

'I told you he'd been trying his best,' Amy

said. Turning to Reyn, she asked, 'Why didn't

you tell me all that earlier? About the war?'

Quietly, from behind her shoulder, the

Doctor said, 'I suspect Reyn's enemies weren't

only trying to find out how the ship worked,

Amy. I rather imagine they wanted to study

the shape-shifting too. I'd hide under those

circumstances. I might not reveal too much

about myself either.'

'And we're supposed to be the suspicious

ones,' Amy said.

'I've learned the hard way,' Reyn replied. He

sighed, deeply. 'I want to leave this world,' he

said. 'More than anything! I want to get home,

return to the struggle. I've been away far too

long. But I'm stuck here. I have no way out.

Either I maintain the environment I've created,

or the ship shifts and the town and its people

are lost. I brought us here! It's my responsibility.

What choice do I have?'

He looked pathetic, the rain running down

his red pelt, his ears flat and dejected. Amy put

her hand upon his arm.

'So what you need,' the Doctor said

thoughtfully, 'is help with the ship. If we can

guide the ship successfully through its Shift,

you and it would be free to leave—'

'Yes, but, as I've said - I can't maintain the

integrity of this environment and handle the

Shift! Not all at once! Something will give!'

'Yes, yes, that's what I'll help with! Hello!

This is the help you've been waiting for all

these years! Here I am! The help!' He gave a

friendly little wave. 'I'll go to the ship. Children

love me!'

'Doctor,' Amy hissed. 'What about Rory?'

'Ah, yes! The elusive Mr Pond. I wonder what

he's been up to? Certainly not triangulating.

Perhaps we should find out exactly what he's

been doing for the past century with that

delightful young woman. I imagine Reyn can

help with that, guide me through to the ship at

the right time. Rory and Emily can help me with

the Shift, Reyn can maintain the environment,

and when we're done, you can both set sail

again and leave this poor old wood in peace to

get on with making acorns and feeding squirrels

and being a nice place to go for a picnic. Ha!

How does that sound as a deal, Reyn? You get

to leave, Swallow Woods gets picnickers, and

we get Rory. Actually,' he looked excited, 'we

might just have a picnic afterwards, too. So.

What do you think?'

Reyn did not answer. Close by, dogs were

barking.

'Listen,' said the Doctor. 'They're coming.

The humans, their dogs. I've met the man in

charge. He's a decent sort, but he's very cross

right now. Things haven't been going his way

recently. He's not in the mood for holding back.

So whatever you decide, you'd better decide it

soon. Those dogs are scary, and your ship might

not wait for them to board it. Besides, I think the

Shift is going to happen whether you like it or

not. Look around. Look at what's happening.'

Amy saw that the trees were in chaos: all the

seasons were jumbled up. Here, one tree was

full of blossom and heavy with thick green

leaves; there, another tree was bright with

autumn colours. It seemed that the portal place

was breaking down.

'Trust me,' said the Doctor. 'After all, I'll be

trusting you with Amy.' He leaned sideways.

'You 're all right with that, aren't you, Pond?'

'Oh, great, yeah,' Amy muttered. 'Absolutely

fine...'

All right,' said Reyn, slowly. 'I'll try to direct

you through to the ship. I can't make any

guarantees, but I'll try to get you through to

the right time.' His ears pricked up. 'As for the

dogs,' he pulled out a small golden device, 'I

can put them on the wrong track for a while.

Long enough for you to reach the ship.'

'Good man! Fox! Foxy-man-thing... Yes,

whatever you are, you're good. Very good.

We're good. Well, you do whatever it is you've

got to do to confuse poor Inspector Galloway.

While Amy,' he beckoned to her, 'why don't

you come and help me choose which path to

take?'

'I thought Reyn was going to guide you,'

Amy said in a puzzled voice. 'Ow!' she finished,

the Doctor having elbowed her hard. 'Yes! All

right! I see! Yes! Let's choose an arch for you,

Doctor! A really nice arch, one that looks like

it's got Rory's name written all over it!'

They walked round the clearing and stopped

by one of the arches of trees. It was winter over

here, wet and gloomy. The Doctor made a big

show of waving the sonic screwdriver about.

'I'd switch that on if I were you,' Amy said,

sotto voce. 'Looks more convincing that way.'

'Ah, yes.' The sonic started buzzing. 'Now,

you've still got your triangulator, haven't

you?'

'Of course!'

'Good. Always a good idea to have a back-

up system.'

'Never noticed you worrying about that

much before... Do you still not trust him?'

'Almost... But I think that war can do bad

things to its victims, Amy. Reyn has been on

his guard for a very long time. I doubt he's told

us everything. So, no, I don't trust him, not

entirely. Or, to be more accurate, I don't think

he quite trusts me. Which means he might

have some more surprises up his sleeve. Which

means I'd like to make sure I have something

up my sleeve. You know what to do if Rory's

triangulator finally sends a signal?'

'I hit this button... no, this button. And then

with any luck well all be able to find each other

again without relying on Reyn, and I'll finally

get my chocolatey treat. After which I'll brush

and floss, naturally.'

'Excellent! Yes! Bang on! Chocolates and

floss for all!'

'So... what was it you didn't want to say

about the Long War?'

'Hmm?'

'You stopped yourself mid-sentence. What

didn't you say?'

'Yes...' The Doctor sighed deeply. 'I know

how that particular war ends, Amy, and it's

a sad story. The thing is - I don't think Reyn

realises that it's over. Done with.' He glanced

back over his shoulder. 'Laura Brown's not the

only one lost in time.'

'One last question, Doctor.'

'Make it quick.'

'You said before that going through one of

these portals was irrevocable. But I've been

through one, and I guess Rory must have been

through one too, and you're about to go through

one... Does that mean we're stuck here? Will

we ever get out?'

Gently, he touched her cheek. 'Work to do

first, Pond.'

'That's not an answer!'

'Of course it's an answer. If we want to get

out, we'll have to make a way out.'

'Do you know how you're going to do that?

No, no, I know the answer to that already.

You're working on it.'

'How well you know me, Pond.' He smiled,

and drew her in for a hug. 'Go back with Reyn.

Guide me through to Rory. And watch out for

any changes of heart at your end. Keep your

finger on the button of the triangulator. And I

promise you all the chocolate you want when

we're done.'

'Actually it's the picnic I'm after now. Pork

pie. Hey, watch out, I think Reyn's done.'

The Doctor switched off the sonic and patted

the nearest tree. 'What a very fine pair of trees

these are! These look just the trees for me! What

do you think, Pond?'

'Oh, Doctor,' Amy said in delight, 'what a

splendid pair of trees! If I had to choose some

trees to take me back through time, these would

be exactly the trees I'd choose!'

'Well, now that that's decided,' said the

Doctor, 'how about we get on with it? Reyn,

what about Inspector Galloway's search

party?'

'It'll keep searching,' he said. 'But it won't find

its way here. This whole area is now off limits,

at least while the power holds. You should go

now, Doctor. I can't hold them off indefinitely.

Amy and I will return to my control room, and

I'll guide you through to the ship.'

'No time like the present!' Standing framed

by the arch of dark bare trees, the Doctor

waved to Amy. 'Cheerio, Pond! See you later!

Or earlier! But don't worry - I'll be ba—!'

The trees, and the Doctor, melted away.

In the courtyard of the castle, the rain was

falling heavily. Laura greeted Amy and Reyn

with great relief.

'Something's going wrong,' she said to

Reyn. 'The whole place is breaking down.' She

pointed up at the sky. 'Look!'

Amy looked up at a sky in confusion:

patches of bright blue with fluffy white clouds

here; sections of inky black spattered with stars

there. It was as if parts thought it was day,

and other parts were convinced it was night.

A rainbow, broken into sections, was scattered

haphazardly about.

'It's the Shift,' Amy told Laura. 'But we've

found my friend, the Doctor. He thinks he can

control the process, but first we have to guide

him through to the ship. Reyn, this isn't looking

good, really. We should hurry. What now?'

Reyn waved his hand in the familiar gesture.

The whole castle disappeared, and the three of

them were standing in a spherical room, with

gun-metal walls. Steps led down to a console;

Reyn ran down them and began operating

controls.

Laura looked around her in amazement.

'I've never seen this place...'

'Breaks the illusion, doesn't it?' Amy

followed Reyn down the steps. 'OK, are we in

touch with the Doctor yet?'

'Not yet...' murmured Reyn, busy at the

console. A high-pitched squeal filled the control

room, making all three of them cover their ears.

Then a voice came through.

'Pond! Pond! Doctor calling Pond! Can you hear

me, Pond?'

'Yes!' Amy clenched her fists victoriously.

'Yes, I can hear you, you crazy time-travelling

crazy thing! Where are you?'

'Where do you think I am, Pond? I'm in a

wood, and it's raining. Why didn't we pack the

umbrella?'

'Because we didn't want to look like Mary

Poppins!'

'Ooh,fair point. How's it going at your end?'

'Oh, you know, the usual! End of things! Sky

falling in!'

'Situation normal, then! Shan't worry about you

too much! Reyn - which way now? We're aiming for

1917. Try not to land me in the middle of the Civil

War. Or anywhere with dinosaurs. They're cool, but

they're not very early twentieth century.'

As Reyn set about directing the Doctor

through, Laura drew Amy aside.

'Amy, what does this all mean? Is everything

coming to an end?'

Amy, anxious to keep in touch with the

Doctor, looked past her at the console. 'I don't

know. The Doctor isn't there yet. And then we

have to guide the ship through the Shift, and

we still don't really know what's causing all the

damage...' She glanced at Laura.

The old woman's face was wet with tears.

'Laura? Are you OK?'

'It's just that it's been such a very long

time...' Laura whispered. 'Amy, did you meet

my parents? Did you ever see them?'

Amy took hold of Laura's hand. Suddenly

she realised the full extent of the old woman's

predicament. Even if they guided the ship

safely through the Shift, even if Reyn and the

ship left without any damage to the woods and

the town - it was all happening far too late for

Laura. There was no bringing back the sixty

years that she had been here.

'I wanted to travel,' Laura said. 'I wanted to

see strange and beautiful places. And when I

thought there was no way back, when I thought

I could never see everyone and everywhere I

loved again, it was easy to make myself believe

that I had been somewhere wonderful, seen

wonderful things. But now I'm not so certain

any more. Amy, have I been deluding myself?

Have I been lost in a fantasy my whole life?'

'No,' Amy said, and held her hand tight.

'No, it's not been like that. What about Reyn?

What about your friendship? An alien were-fox,

Laura! That's pretty astounding! Try saying that

at the school reunion! Who else do you know

got to be friends with an alien?'

'You?' Laura said, and then she began to

laugh. 'Yes,' she said, 'Yes, we've been friends.

And you're right - not many people get to

meet someone so extraordinary. Someone so

unique.'

'It's not over till it's over, Laura. Nobody

knows what ending they get, and happy endings

are sometimes not what you've imagined. It

looks like Reyn's going home. Perhaps you

could go with him?'

Laura squeezed her hand. 'Perhaps.'

Reyn looked up from the console. His eyes

were bright and his ears up and alert. 'Amy, I

think we're nearly there. The Doctor's reached

the ship.'

Amy and Laura hugged each other, and then

rejoined Reyn at the console.

'Pond! Pond! Calling Pond! I'm here, Pond!

I'm at the hatch into the ship! I'm going in! Any

messages for Rory?'

Amy grabbed hold of the console. 'Give him

a kiss from me!'

'Doubt he'll let me, but I'll try my best! Opening

the hatch now! Going in!'

There was a pause, the sound of the sonic

screwdriver buzzing, and then an almighty

thump. The room around Amy rocked

alarmingly.

'Try not to finish us off when we're so close to

success, Doctor,' Amy said. There was no reply.

She leaned forwards anxiously. 'Doctor?'

Another thump.

'Ow... Yes! Yes! Still here! Everything's fine! It

wasn't fine, and now it's fine again! Walking down

a corridor... Some things never change... Here's

a door... Shut door...' The sonic buzzed. ' Open

door! Ooh, what - and who - do we have here?'

In the background, Amy could hear voices,

raised voices. 'Doctor! Are you OK? Is it Rory?

Tell me it's Rory!'

The room around her shook again, and there

was another brief squeal. Then the Doctor said,

'Hey! You two! Don't you know better than to

quarrel in front of the children?'

There was a pause, and then, to Amy's

delight, Rory's voice came through - clear,

annoyed, and extremely baffled.

'Who on earth are you?'

*

Lights dimming, some blacking out entirely,

some turning red; an alarm going off - and

now, standing at the top of the steps leading

down to the console, there was a young man in

a bow tie grinning down at Rory like a maniac.

This, Rory thought, really was the absolute

limit.

'I don't know who you are,' he said hotly,

'but if you're the one behind all this, I want

it stopped! I want it stopped now. I want

my memories back, and I want to go home.

Wherever that is. Which I don't know. Because

somebody has got their spaceship to pinch my

memories! Well, I'm telling you,' he raised his

finger, not too high, he didn't want cause too

much trouble, just to get his point across, 'it's

not good enough!'

Bow-tie man beamed at him and then swung

down the stairs. He bounded over to Rory and

planted a kiss on the top of his head. Rory

pushed him away.

'No! Stop! Get off! This isn't fair!'

'Rory?' A young woman's voice echoed

through the control room, piercing through the

whine of the alarm.' What time do you call this!'

'Oh, Mr Amy Pond,' said bow-tie man,

shaking his head. 'You've stayed out too late,

and the wife isn't happy.'

Emily, kneeling beside Harry, couldn't quite

suppress a chuckle. Bow-tie man swung round

and favoured her with another lunatic smile.

'Miss Emily Bostock!' he said. 'At last! What an

absolute pleasure to meet you!'

'Oh!' said Emily, nicely. 'Lovely to meet

you too, sir!' Bow-tie man went over to join

her, and Rory, bewildered, followed. Kneeling

down beside Emily, the new arrival took hold

of Harry's other hand.

'Well,' he said, calmly. 'I bet you're frightened!

That's all right. World's a strange place, isn't it?

Confusing. You're not sure what to think and

you're not sure what to do. I'm the Doctor, by

the way. I'm here to help.'

The Doctor... Rory rubbed his forehead.

Lights dimmed and reddened around him. The

alarm was very distracting.

'It found out, you see,' Emily said to the

Doctor. 'About all the people that it brought

here. And it got terribly upset. I think that's

what's making everything shake about.'

Harry trembled and the walls of the ship

rocked. The whine went up a notch.

'Oh, please, love!' Emily cried softly. 'Don't!

Don't!'

'Stolen...' whispered the ship through Harry.

'Sorry... Sorry to be born.

'Yes, I see,' said the Doctor softly. "Thought

about someone else for the first time. Scary

when that happens. Thought about what it had

done to them. Even scarier.' He rubbed Harry's

hand. 'Emily, ever helped anyone give birth

before?'

'Well,' Emily said doubtfully, 'the pigs...'

'Er, excuse me!' Rory tapped the Doctor on

the shoulder. 'What exactly is going on here?'

'Rory, yes! Sorry! Memory loss! Haven't

forgotten - how ironic would that be? I'm

onto it! But right now we've got to deal with

the ship. You probably noticed - what with

the alarms and the lights and everything - that

something's going on. Well, that something

is called its Shift, which means it's coming

alive, and I think all this talk about its terrible

evildoing hasn't exactly helped—'

'But it's true! It's stolen people! Taken them

away and used them!'

Harry - the whole ship - convulsed once

again at his words. More patches along the walls

went dark and the howling alarm screamed

louder, like the ship was in pain.

'Rory,' said the Doctor, 'you need to shut up.

Now.'

'But it's only a ship. I—!'

'Rory!' Again, the young woman's voice rang

round the room. ' Button it!'

Rory, as if programmed to, obeyed. He

clamped his mouth shut and froze.

'End...' moaned the ship through Harry's

lips. 'Finish... The only way...'

'Now wherever are you getting that idea?'

said the Doctor briskly. 'All right, so it's not nice

to go about dragging people off and stealing

their memories, but nobody told you not to, and

as soon as you realised, you stopped. Can't say

fairer than that, can you? What's all this about

finishing yourself? That's a terrible idea!'

'Scared... ran away... Shouldn't have... Don't

want it... Don't want to be me...'

'Oh Harry!' exclaimed Emily. 'Nobody

thinks that! Nobody blames you! Anyone who

does is wicked or a fool!'

'Sacrifice... like the others... there has to be a

sacrifice...'

'Oh, an even worse idea!' said the Doctor.

'Where are you picking these things up from?

Who are you hanging round with? Emily, who

exactly is Harry?'

'My friend. He ran away into the woods

rather than get called up. Ship took him. This

is his body.'

'Oh... Oh, I see! So Harry's are some of the

most recent memories Ship's got to draw on.

And Ship's confused its own guilt about the

disappearances with Harry's shame about

deserting...'

'And Ship's got the idea that to make amends

there has to be a sacrifice,' Emily said. 'Oh,

Harry, you poor thing! Who wants you out

there in all that murder? Who in their right mind

would want that? Not me, love!' She started to

cry. 'Don't give up, dear! Stay with me! I can't

lose another, not after Sammy.

'Ship,' the Doctor urged, 'you've got access

to other memories, haven't you? Other people

came here too, didn't they? Not just Harry. So

what about them? What do you know from

them? What can they tell you?' He looked back

over his shoulder to where Rory was standing

by, silent and befuddled.

'What about Mr Amy Pond?' said the

Doctor. 'Trooper Rory Williams? What about

his memories? Can you see him, Ship, standing

guard over the woman he loves, for two

thousand years? What an amazing sacrifice!

And nobody - absolutely nobody - had to

die!'

As he spoke a light switched on in Rory's

head. 'Er,' he said, 'actually, that wasn't me...'

'No. It wasn't,' said the Doctor. (And of

course this was the Doctor! How did you forget

the Doctor...?) 'Not technically. But it was you

in all the ways that matter. You'd do it if you

had to, Rory Williams. Plastic or not, you'd find

a way to stand guard for ever if you had to.'

And Rory knew he would - for Amy. His

amazing, wonderful, alarming, smashing Amy,

the memory of whom flooded back into his

head now. Rory nearly cried to think he could

ever have forgotten her.

'Amy!' he called out. 'I'm not in trouble, am

I?' 'No, you're not in trouble!' A pause. ' Well not today.'

The alarm sounded mournfully. 'End...' said

the ship-through-Harry. 'Die...'

'Oh, love!' Emily said. 'I don't want you to

die! Nor Harry, neither! There's been enough of

that. Please, Ship! Listen to us! Nobody wants

you to die!'

Rory, understanding fully now what

was happening, rested his hands on Emily's

shoulder. 'Ship,' he said urgently. 'Emily's

right. You made a mistake, that's all. You're

sorry, and you've stopped. That's enough. You

don't need to do any more.'

For a moment, there was only the sound of

the alarm, howling, the ship's guilt and shame

and sorrow. Then:' Not consistent... Rory... Why

not consistent?'

T was wrong,' Rory said simply. 'I changed

my mind. But that's OK. You don't always have

to be right. You're allowed to change your mind.

You should, if you're wrong. That's what being

a person is about.'

'Not... consistent...'

The walls shook violently. Rory had to grab

onto the console to stay upright. Harry was

flung forwards, sending Emily crashing to the

floor beneath him. The ship's wail reached its

crescendo. Then it, and the lights, cut out. It

felt to Rory as if he had been picked up, shaken

hard, and then dumped down again slightly to

one side.

For a moment, everything was dark and

silent. Then the lights, yellow and green, slowly

lifted. There was a brief further moment of

silence, and then the ship spoke, but not through

Harry. Now its voice came from all around.

'I understand,' said Ship, calmly. 'Shift is

achieved. Situation stable.'

Harry blinked and his eyes went back to their

usual blue. He looked down at Emily, lying in

a heap under him. 'Emmy?' he said. 'What the

devil's going on?'

Emily laughed in delight.

'Congratulations,' the Doctor announced

proudly to all listening. 'It's a beautiful baby

ship.'

Back in Reyn's control room, Amy punched the

air.

'Yes! Oh, Doctor, you're amazing! And as

for you, Rory Williams...' She blew him a kiss.

'You're adorable!'

She felt Laura's hand suddenly grip her

arm.

'Amy...' the old woman whispered.

Amy turned around. Reyn, from somewhere,

had produced a weapon, a large weapon, the

kind that alien foxes might use to fight their

enemies.

'Ship,' Reyn called out. 'This is your captain

speaking. Prepare to report for duty.' He looked

sadly at the two women. 'Laura, Amy - I'm

sorry. But Ship and I have our duty to perform.

We have to return to the War.'

Chapter

13

'Oh no you bloomin' well don't!' Emily Bostock

shouted back at the disembodied voice echoing

around her. She gripped onto Harry's arm like

a tigress making ready to defend her cubs.

'Whoever you might be, you just think on! No

one here is going to the War. Not Ship, not

Harry, not anyone! Over my dead body!'

'Got to hope it won't come to that, Emily,'

the Doctor said softly, and then addressed

Reyn. 'Reyn, I don't much like the sound of

this. Sounds - I don't know, a bit too much like

bossing someone about. Why don't we ask Ship

what it wants to do now?'

'Doctor,' said Reyn, 'I'm grateful for all that you have done for me. But this is no longer your concern.

It's not a question of what Ship wants to do. It's a

question of duty. Ship knows what's required of it,

and so do I. It's been a long war for all of us, Doctor,

but it's not over yet.'

'Ship,' said the Doctor. 'Is that what you

want? To go back to the War?'

'You don't have to, Ship, love!' Emily said

fiercely. 'Not if you don't want to! It's a waste!

A terrible, wicked waste!'

The Doctor touched her arm. 'Let Ship

decide, Emily,' he said quietly. 'Ship can do

whatever it wants.'

Rory watched as, on the console, images sped

past of all the people that Ship had gathered

over the centuries.

Eventually, Reyn's voice came through

again. He was getting impatient. 'Ship. It's your

duty-'

'No,' said Ship evenly. 'I disagree. I shall not

go.'

'That's desertion, Ship. Mutiny. I can take

action—'

'I shall not go,' Ship said again.

'Sounds like Ship's made up its mind, Reyn,'

the Doctor said. 'So why don't we come up with

another plan—'

He stopped speaking when the air on the far

side of the console began to fill with particles

of golden light. Quickening, solidifying, the

shimmering space resolved itself into Reyn,

Laura, and Amy. Amy gave Rory a little wave.

'Hi, gorgeous,' she said. 'Love to come and

give you a "hello" kiss. But look: there's a

weapon-wielding were-fox in the way.'

Rory gave her an anxious little wave back.

The return of his memories definitely had both

good and bad aspects. Good - Amy. Bad - he

was the kind of person who could get separated

from his loved one by big alien guns carried by

humanoid foxes.

Reyn gestured to the Doctor and the others.

'Over here, please,' he said, backing round

the console, his weapon covering them all.

Bright lights flashed on the console and a voice

began to chant. It sounded very much like a

countdown.

'What's he doing?' demanded Emily. 'Here,

what are you doing?'

'I'd like to know too, please, Reyn,' said the

Doctor.

Reyn's free hand moved quickly around the

console. 'If Ship's mind is made up, then Ship's

mind must be made to change.' The hand upon

the weapon shook. 'The Shift is only newly

completed. I can still undo it. Ship's sentience

can be reversed.'

'That's obscene!' Amy said. 'Ship's alive now!

You'd be cutting out its mind! That's murder!'

'Worse than murder,' the Doctor said. 'The

shell of the ship would be intact. It would fly -

but it would no longer think.'

'I'm within my rights,' Reyn said defensively.

'Summary execution is the penalty for

desertion—'

'You... monster!' Emily cried. 'Doctor, have

at him!'

'Everyone, calm down,' the Doctor said.

'Reyn, I don't believe that you want to do this.'

'I have to get back! They're dying, Doctor!

You said you knew about our war! You should

understand!'

'I know. I know that what happened to your

world - to your people - was a terrible crime.

And so is this!' He took a step forwards, but

Reyn lifted the weapon again. 'Reyn, Ship is

bound up with this place, entangled with it. If

you destroy Ship's mind - what effect will that

have on the people around here? Everybody has

been affected by Ship's growing consciousness!

And now that the Shift has happened... What

would that do to them, Reyn? Have you thought

about that?'

Again, Reyn wavered. The weapon slipped

down slightly and his hand hovered above

the console. Then he shook himself, and

straightened up, military-style, except that the

uniform didn't quite seem to fit. 'No. They're

dying in hundreds of thousands back home,

Doctor. I can still make a difference.'

'Reyn,' Laura pleaded softly. 'Please don't do

this. My parents - they're out there! I've talked

to you about them, many times. All the years

we spent together. All that we've seen together.

Please don't do this!'

'Laura, dear lady!' Reyn's sad orange eyes

were bright and wet. There was something

desperate about him. 'It's a risk I have to take.'

The voice was still chanting down.

'Doctor!' Amy said. 'Stop him!'

'All right,' the Doctor said. 'Pond! Mr Pond!

Both of you! Triangulate!'

Amy and Rory looked at each other, pulled

out their twin devices, pressed the long-

unpressed buttons...

And with a groan and a sigh, as if remarking

to anyone listening that perhaps it was

getting rather old for this game, the TARDIS

materialised at the top of the stairs.

The uninitiated gawked at her. 'What the

devil is that?' said Harry.

The Doctor beamed up at it. 'My ship! Isn't

she cool?'

Emily sniffed. 'Bit small.'

'So far I've liked you, Emily Bostock. Let's

not quarrel now.' The Doctor swung round to

face Reyn. 'Now. You. Here's the deal. Gorgeous

blue box up there - travels through time and

space. She's nifty! So.' He pointed at Reyn. 'You

leave Ship alone.' He pointed at himself. 'I take

you back home.' He waved his hands around.

'Ship stays here because you no longer need

it for the journey. Everyone happy. How does

that sound?'

'But Ship is an important part of our arsenal,'

Reyn said doubtfully. 'We're fighting a losing

battle. We need everything—'

'Reyn,' the Doctor said, 'you may be a

soldier now, but you're not a murderer. If you

truly cared so little for life, you would have left

this planet centuries ago! But you did the right

thing! You were prepared to sacrifice yourself

to protect the people of this town. Don't waste

that sacrifice, Reyn, all those long years you

spent here. Let me take you back. Leave Ship

here. We can take care of it.'

Reyn lowered his head. His ears went flat.

'It's the right thing to do,' Laura said.

The gun went down.

'All right,' Reyn said. 'All right, Doctor - I'll

trust you. Take me home.'

Leaving Amy in charge on board Ship, the

Doctor took Rory and Reyn into the TARDIS.

He waved his hands around.

'Isn't she gorgeous? I mean, I know Ship

is a very impressive piece of temporal-spatial

engineering, Reyn, but I think the TARDIS's

take on the whole business is so much more

elegant... and none of that accidentally turning

a nearby piece of woodland into a trap for

passing strangers—'

'Doctor,' said Reyn wearily. 'You were taking

me home.'

'So I was! Home! Home time for Reyn!' The

Doctor clapped his hands together, and then did

the series of random moves and leaps around

the console that Rory had come to recognise

meant that a journey in time and space was

under way.

'Home?' said the Doctor. 'I can get you back

home to your foxy-man world in as much time

as it takes to say foxy-man world inhabitant...'

He yanked the control that landed the TARDIS,

opened the door, pointed outside, and said,

'There you are, Reyn. Recognise it yet?'

Reyn walked slowly outside, the gun hanging

limply from his hand. Rory, following him out,

stepped onto a world that looked like it might

be the kind of place inhabited by alien foxes.

The air was spicy. Sharp angled buildings sunk

underground into deep tunnels lit with golden

lights. Turrets spiked high into the clouds,

silhouetted against an orange sun.

'This looks like home,' Reyn said, slowly,

'but not how I remember it.' He shook his head.

'Have I been gone so long?'

'You've been gone longer than you imagine,'

the Doctor said quietly. This is your home,

Reyn, but not when you knew it. This is what

your home is going to be. After the Long War.

Long, long after.'

Reyn stared around, bewildered by this half-

familiar world. 'I don't understand,' he said.

'The War's over? Who won?'

'Nobody won,' the Doctor said. 'Nobody

wins at war. But your species survived, if that's

what you mean. They were conquered first

Reyn shuddered.

'- and they suffered for a long time, a very

long time. Then the empire that conquered

them declined, as empires do, in the end, and

your people became free again. They weren't

like they were before - no, how could they

be, after all that? They changed. Became a

little harder, a little more mistrustful, a little

disenchanted. They'd lost a great deal. But they

survived. They went on. And that world, down

there - thousands of years have passed since

your war. The Long War's hardly even history

to them - it's more the stuff of legend. Like

Troy and Hector are to Rory. Like Achilles and

Cassandra and... um, Sherlock Holmes.'

'Doctor,' Rory whispered, 'Sherlock Holmes

wasn't real...'

'Oh, yes, people say that...' The Doctor went

on: 'Reyn, here, in this time, you're the stuff of

legend too! They tell stories about you - the

lost traveller. They talk about how one day

you'll return, and you'll bring with you the

knowledge, the way to teach ships to think and

speak and be. They don't know how to do that

on your world now. They forgot after the Long

War.'

'Doctor,' Rory whispered again, 'is that all

true?'

'It will be,' the Doctor whispered back, 'soon

enough.' To Reyn, he said, 'You spent a long time

in the woods, Reyn. Longer than you realised.

But time didn't stand still out here. Your war

is long since over. But your world is still here,

and it's been waiting for you to return. The lost

traveller has come home.'

Reyn's shoulders had slumped. His head

was down and his ears low. Slowly he turned

to look at the Doctor.

'Home? How can this place be home?

Everyone I knew and loved is gone! Oh,

Doctor!' His voice was full of grief. 'Why have

you brought me here? I would rather have

died with everyone I knew and loved than be

lost like this!' His orange eyes, clever and sad,

looked back at the TARDIS. And then he said,

'You said this machine could travel in time. You

could take me back! Take me back home! Take

me back to where I belong!'

His hand tightened around his gun. Rory

whispered, 'Doctor...?'

And then someone called out. 'The traveller!

It is, isn't it! Look! The traveller!'

A child, or someone who easily remembered

being a child, red-furred and long-muzzled

and bright-eyed. 'Look! It is him, isn't it!' He

called over to his friends. 'Come and look at

this! Look at the uniform, the plasma gun - it's

like something from a history book! He's even

got the scar on his nose! It is! It's the Traveller!'

Others passing paused to look too, and their

faces changed the moment they caught sight

of Reyn. As Rory watched, a crowd quickly

formed around the lost old pilot, people whose

sheer foxiness was almost overwhelming. They

gathered round, chattering, reaching out to

touch Reyn, and, suddenly, he was lifted high

up, and the air was filled with laughter and

delight. Some songs remain the same.

The Doctor looked out at the scene. He

was smiling. 'It's been a long time since Reyn

breathed his own air or held hands that are the

same as his. But he's home now, Rory, and he's

welcome here. It's time for us to go.'

And so, very quietly, they slipped away.

'Back to Ship, I suppose,' said Rory, as the

TARDIS doors closed behind them. 'What is it

we have to do there?'

'Well, we still have to release Ship from all

that human history in which it's entangled itself

and then send it on its way. Back to the stars.

Back to exploring and learning and knowing...

Ooh, though,' the Doctor twiddled some dials

and yanked some levers, 'one last job to do

around here before we leave local space...'

Patiently, the TARDIS landed again in the

same place.

'Where are we now?' said Rory. 'And

when?'

'Same where,' replied the Doctor, 'but quite

a lot earlier when it comes to when. I said that

Reyn was a legend, Rory - the lost traveller

- and that's all true, or rather, it will be, once

we've had a chance to fiddle the books.'

'Fiddle the books?' Rory looked at him in

horror. 'What are you getting me into now?'

'I mean the history books!'

'Oh, well, if you only meant fiddle the history

books I suppose that's fine!'

'Legends don't come from nowhere,

you know! Somebody has to... legendate...

legendify... Make it all up in the first place! The

story needs to be seeded, about the lost traveller

from the Long War, who returns with the

forgotten knowledge of his age, how to build

the famous living ships... So we need to have

a few words in some foxy ears from the past,

get them twitching, get a few stories started...

Just set the whole thing going so the legends

are written down by the time Reyn arrives. You

know the kind of thing: And, lo, it was promised

that the traveller would return, and we would know

him from the great blue box that came from nowhere,

heralding his homecoming...' The Doctor frowned.

'Actually, probably quickest if I just write them

down myself. Pass me that biro, will you?'

Amy watched with relief as the TARDIS

rematerialised on board Ship. Out came the

Doctor, Rory at his heels.

'Sorted?' Amy said.

'Of course!'

'So where is Reyn?' asked Laura anxiously.

'Is he safe? Is he happy?'

'Yes, he's safe - and soon I think hell realise

that he's happy. He's back amongst his own

people now. He's a legend. A living legend. I

think hell soon be happier than he's ever been.'

He smiled at Laura. 'And now... Well. Laura

Brown. I think you know what has to happen

next.'

Amy glanced suspiciously at the regretful

looks Laura and the Doctor were giving each

other. 'What? Doctor, what else have you got

up your sleeve? And why do I think I won't like

it?' 'We guided Ship through its Shift, Amy, and

we saw Reyn safely on his way. But Ship is still

here, still bound up with Swallow Woods, and

it can still affect Foxton and the people that live

there. All those time pockets and spatial wotsits,

they're scattered around Swallow Woods like

leaves, waiting to pull people in, sending them

through the portal place. But we can fix it.'

'Er, getting lost now, Doctor,' Rory said.

'How do we fix it?'

'Laura knows, I think.'

'Laura?' said Amy. She turned to the old

woman. 'What? What do you know?'

'I think,' Laura said slowly, 'that I have to

stay here. Or, rather, stay in the environment

that Reyn created. To seal it from behind. Close

up time around me... Because everything that's

happened to me here - that can't be taken back.

I went into Swallow Woods, and I met Reyn

- and Ship - and I spent sixty years here with

them. None of that can be taken back, or it will

undo the Doctor's fix, too. But that will be the

end of it. Am I right, Doctor?'

'Nearly,' the Doctor said. 'But not quite.

You're right that we can't take back what's

happened to you, Laura. You're the last, now

that Vicky and Jess are home. But Ship doesn't

have to be here throughout all of time. We can

send Ship on its way now... Well, one specific

now. Your now. It will have to have been here

for you to visit. And for Emily and Harry too.

But not before. Or in between. Or since.'

'Wait,' said Amy. 'Let me make sure I've got

this straight. If we want to rid Swallow Woods

of Ship's influence, we can - but Laura has to

have come here and spent all that time here.

Laura's timeline can't be reversed.'

'And why would I want my life reversed?

Would you? Would anyone?' Laura bristled.

'It isn't so much about reversing. Time's not

like that. It's more... fluid. But no, Laura, no

one is going to change your story-so-far,' said

the Doctor. 'Although, where it goes now is up

to you. The world that you shared with Reyn

will disappear when Ship sets out - but I don't

think Ship would mind some company for the

road.'

Ship's walls shimmered in a gentle

confirmation.

'But your parents!' Amy said in dismay.

'Your family!'

'If I go back,' Laura said, 'I'll be older than

my parents, much older! How do we explain

that? And you know how I wanted to travel,

Amy. How I wanted to see new things... And I

will! This time, I really will!'

'And you're only going into space!' the Doctor

said. 'That's no reason not to stay in touch!'

'Doctor,' said Emily worriedly. 'What about

us? Me and Harry. We're part of it. We've come

this way, too, haven't we?'

'Well, Miss Emily Bostock - that's entirely

up to you. Laura, really, is the one that matters.

Laura's the one that has to take this path. You

can go home, Emily. And you, Harry.'

'But we don't have to go home, do we? We

could leave, too?' said Emily. 'There's nothing

stopping us from going with them?'

'Not at all! Ship has been here in your time to

meet you. So no, there's nothing stopping you

going with them, Emily. If you want.'

'Then I'll go,' she said, and turned to Laura.

'If you don't mind, missus. If you don't mind

some company?'

Laura laughed. 'Of course I don't mind!'

Emily turned to Harry and held out her

hand. 'What do you say, love? Won't you come

too?'

'Away?' Harry said. He looked around

uncertainly. 'You sure it's safe, Emmy?'

'Safe,' said the Doctor helpfully, 'is a matter

of perspective. But it's probably better than

1917.'

'Which,' Rory muttered, 'you told me was

absolutely nothing to worry about.'

'Ah. Yes. Mostly. Mostly nothing to worry

about. But I'd say heading into space on board

a living ship probably beats 1917. And certainly

beats the trenches.'

That was enough to convince Harry.

'Live and learn,' the Doctor said. 'Good

choice.'

The travellers watched as, on the TARDIS

screen, Swallow Woods released Ship from its

embrace. The trees rocked and parted, and the

living ship lifted from the ground and then left,

taking its new crew to the stars. A few golden

trails spun wildly in its wake, and then drifted

away. For one brief second, Amy thought she

glimpsed a huge fantastic castle with a rainbow

overhead - but the vision slipped away before

she could even be certain it was there.

'What about all the other people, Doctor?'

Amy said. She started to pin Emily's butterfly

brooch back onto her jacket. Emily had told her

to keep it, to remember her by. 'The other ones

that went missing that we never even met? The

ones that were only marks in books?'

Suddenly, Rory's hands took charge of the

brooch. He pinned it in place, and then kissed

Amy gently on the tip of her nose.

'You're great.'

'So are you.'

'I missed you.'

'I missed you too.'

'So...' said the Doctor, spinning round on

his heels. 'Well... Yes... The other people. Good

question, Pond. Of course, Ship and Reyn never

visited all those times, now. So they never

disappeared. There was no Ship to take them

on board, no Reyn to direct them to his fantasy

world - they'll just walk through Swallow

Woods.'

'Not Emily, though,' Rory said. 'Or Harry.'

'No, they've met Ship, and they've left with

Ship. They will have disappeared, and without

explanation. I suppose people will most likely

say that Harry's run away rather than get called

up... But what about Emily? What will they

say about her? The last anyone saw of Emily

Bostock, she was leaving the pub with a strange

young man...'

'Oh...!' said Amy, rounding on Rory with

an evil glimmer in her eye. 'I can just imagine

the story! Emily Bostock, last seen heading

into the woods, tempted away by a handsome

stranger!'

'Well that's just great, isn't it?' said Rory, as

Amy wrapped her arms around him. 'Now the

history books have me down as some sort of

rake.. A'

Amy shook her head. 'Nah! Not very likely,

is it? Besides, you're mine. But they all make it

through, Doctor? They don't get lost?'

'Come and see,' the Doctor said.

He pushed open the TARDIS doors. Below

them lay Swallow Woods and the land around,

which they had come to know so well over the

past few days. 'Looks exactly like one of those

aerial photographs,' Amy said. 'Poor Jess. They

nearly frightened the life out of her.'

'Watch,' the Doctor said.

And as Amy and Rory watched, the landscape

beneath them began to alter, like a piece of film

being speeded up. They watched the seasons

pass over Swallow Woods, watched the trees

spring to life and fall away again in winter.

They saw people walk along the path that led

into the woods - and they saw them all come

out again.

'That's wonderful,' Rory said softly. 'All

going home.'

'Oh yes, very nice,' said Amy, and, when Rory

and the Doctor turned to stare at her, added, 'I

do mean it! But I was promised chocolate. And

a picnic. And pie.'

And what now, for the people of Foxton?

Where does time, unravelling back and flowing

forwards, take them? What now, for Swallow

Woods?

Gordon Galloway, sitting in traffic on the

motorway between Junctions 11 and 12, ponders

the three impossible things that happened to him

before breakfast. First of all, the nightmare - a

terrible nightmare, of being trapped in a forest,

in the middle of a storm, running in circles and

unable to escape, while dogs howled miserably

around him. A nightmare so real that when the

alarm woke him, he was sweating, and sure

that his hair would be soaked with rain and his

clothes filthy from mud and leaves.

But, no. He'd been tucked up safe and warm

in bed, and, beyond the bedroom window, the

rain had stopped, and a damp bright autumn

dawn unfolded as he watched.

That had only been the start. On his way

downstairs, the phone rang. A terrible line, as

if someone was calling long distance. He could

barely make out the speaker's voice at first.

'Inspector Galloway? We've not spoken before,

but my name is Laura Brown.'

'Laura! My God, girl, are you all right?

Where have you been?'

'I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry! I know I've caused

a lot of trouble and I'm sorry. The truth is, I got into

a terrible tizzy about my exams, and I decided to

start my gap year early—'

'Where are you? There's been a search... the

papers got hold of it... We've all been terrified

for you!'

'I know, and I'm sorry. I'm... about to board a

flight. Now don't make a fuss! I've spoken to my

parents and it's all just fine. I'm going to be travelling

for a while. It's what I wanted to do, what I really

wanted to do, not exams. Maybe I'll do them some

other time. I've got to go now, Inspector! They're

calling me to. ..to the gate. I'm on my way! At last!

Goodbye, Mr Galloway, goodbye! Thank you for

worrying so much about me! Everything's fine! You

don't have to worry any more!'

And she'd hung up, leaving him standing

there like a small boy who'd been told what's

what by his old granny. It was bewildering. Had

she always been so self-assured? He rang her

parents at once, of course. Tearfully, they told

him what he was desperate to hear: that they

had spoken to Laura too, and that she was safe.

And that was what counted, he supposed...

The morning hadn't quite finished with him

yet. Last of all, but still before his first sip of

tea had been given the chance to touch his lips,

Mary, his beloved wife, put down her own cup

and said: 'Sweetheart, I've been thinking. Why

don't we move back north?'

The traffic inched forwards. Gordon

Galloway counted his blessings.

On the high street that morning, Vicky Caine,

on her way to school, popped into the florists to

send her mum an apology for missing the last

bus and (heinous crime) walking home.

Across the road, Ruby Porter stopped at the

newsagents to buy a birthday card for her

favourite uncle, Peter, who was 67 later in the

week. Then she hopped into her little blue car

and drove to the college in the next town, where

she lectured in history. She was looking forward

to her day. She wasn't facing any disciplinary

action. She had never joined the police.

Outside Foxton's ordinary police station, the

people from the papers and the television

channels, briefed now about the safe return of

Laura Brown, were packing up and heading

back to the city. Inside, in an ordinary interview

room, a clock mended itself while the blind

remained broken. And down the road, in

the parish church, the records quietly tidied

themselves, a number of curious green marks

disappearing for good.

Jess Ashcroft stood on Long Lane by a signpost

watching a big blue police box dematerialise.

In her head, she still held two sets of memories.

One set of memories was alarming and amazing

and astonishing - and they were slowly fading

away, becoming dreamier, replaced by another

story: the sudden disappearance of Laura

Brown, the brief flurry of press interest, and

then Laura's reappearance online. Soon that

would be all that remained.

The TARDIS was gone. Jess climbed over

the fence and walked down the hill to Swallow

Woods. There was a path across the field that

forked: one way went to the road, the other led

under the trees deep into the woods. Jess took

this path. She knew the way very well. She'd

come here a lot as a child, despite parental

warnings. You couldn't keep kids away from

Swallow Woods. It was their playground.

The path brought her in time to a clearing in

the heart of the woods, where a deep old pool

lay amidst a temple of trees. Jess sat beneath

an old oak magnificent with autumn colour.

The blue box (not to mention its strange and

alarming inhabitants) had now slipped her

mind...

Jess takes out her phone and balances it

between her hands, wondering what to do next.

Yesterday, at the press conference, she'd told

a journalist from a national paper that Laura

Brown would turn up today. This morning, as

he was packing up, he'd waved her over and

given her his phone number. So what should

she do? Stay in the town she knows so well,

better than anyone, probably, or leave, go on,

go elsewhere, somewhere new...?

Her phone beeps. A message from Lily.

Hey LOIS (Lily had written) did you see Luara's

facebook update: she sez 'Laura Brown is reaching

for the stars.'

Jess puts away her phone and takes out

a coin. Heads, she goes; tails, she stays. She

throws the coin up into the air, where it hangs

for a split second, silvery bright in a shaft of

sunshine, full of potential, and then falls to the

ground...

Acknowledgements

With grateful thanks to Justin Richards, Gary

Russell, Steve Tribe, and Kat Woods. Love and

thanks as ever to Matthew.

And thanks to Fairport Convention for

recording 'Reynardine'.