ROMANA WAS WORRIED. ‘Anyone that could send a signal directly to the TARDIS must be terribly advanced.’
‘Terribly’s the word,’ agreed the Doctor. ‘And what’s more…’ He nodded towards where the Professor was absent-mindedly clearing away the tea things, ‘they not only had to know who we are, they have to know who the Professor is.’
Romana considered. ‘Then it can only be a Time Lord.’
The Professor tutted across at them. ‘Really, my dears, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’
Romana remembered the voices they’d heard on the river and shuddered. She wasn’t at all sure about that.
The Doctor held out a hand and started to tick off items on his fingers. ‘So. Whoever it is sent the signal, they know me, they know you, they’re probably a Time Lord—’
Suddenly the Professor jumped and clutched at his hearts. ‘Wait!’
They waited. He stood in the same position, his expression a curious mixture of enthusiasm and embarrassment. More seconds ticked by.
‘Professor?’ ventured Romana.
Chronotis sprang into life again. ‘Well, now you put it like that, young fellow,’ he said with a broad smile, ‘I’ve had an idea about who might have sent that message. Someone who knows you, knows me, and someone who – yes, quite – just happens to be a Time Lord.’
Romana considered. The Time Lords had produced a share of genial exiles – the Doctor, the Professor and, she supposed, herself – at least. But they had also spawned a number of criminals and renegades.
‘Yes, I think I know who sent that message, all right,’ said Chronotis.
‘Who?’ demanded the Doctor. His grave expression told Romana that he also was fearing the worst. ‘Who!?’
The Professor chuntered on. ‘It all adds up, you see. Obvious, really.’
‘Who was it?’ spluttered Romana.
Professor Chronotis flung his arms wide, and shouted: ‘Me!’
Romana and the Doctor looked at each other.
The Doctor snorted. ‘But you just said that you didn’t send it!’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Chronotis, shaking his head a little sadly as if to rattle the thoughts around inside it. ‘The old memory’s getting a bit touchy of late. Doesn’t like to be prodded about too much.’
Romana’s hearts went out to the old Professor. It wasn’t polite to ask, but she estimated that he must be about twelve or thirteen thousand years old. Even the amazing capacities of a Time Lord brain must bow down eventually to age and decay.
With that surprising agility of his, the Professor crouched down and rifled under the sofa, pulling out a battered, dusty wooden box. He flipped open the lid, revealing an ancient contraption that Romana just about recognised as a very old-fashioned space-time telegraph. These had been used by Time Lords to communicate with each other through the vortex, that mysterious medium through which TARDISes travel, before the days of message boxes and time rings.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, tapping a weakly flashing bulb on one arm of the old machine. ‘Yes, it was definitely me, there it is, in the Sent Mail folder.’ He squinted at a tiny readout screen. ‘But my dear old things, I sent that message ages ago, simply ages ago.’
Romana smiled. ‘I told you, Doctor. You got the time wrong.’
‘I know,’ said the Doctor, ‘but you’re always saying that.’
‘Well, you’re always getting the time wrong.’
The Professor slammed down the lid on the box and pushed the telegraph back under the sofa with one slippered foot.
‘Professor?’ the Doctor asked gently.
‘Yes?’ replied the Professor. ‘Ah, you want more tea.’
He started to move in the direction of the kitchen again. The Doctor caught him gently by the shoulder. ‘First – what was it about, Professor?’
‘What was what about?’
‘The message.’
The Professor shrugged. ‘How should I know? You’ve seen it more recently than I have. Something about coming to see me as soon as possible, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor, as patiently as he could. ‘Yes, but why? And why so urgently?’
‘Was it to do with the voices?’ asked Romana.
‘What voices?’
The Doctor coughed. ‘When we were on the river we heard a strange sound, a sort of babble of inhuman voices.’
‘Oh, just undergraduates talking to each other I expect,’ said the Professor. ‘I’ve tried to have it banned.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t like that at all. It was the sound of humans – or ghosts – very quietly…’ He searched for the right word.
Romana supplied it. ‘Screaming,’ she said with another involuntary shudder.
The Professor snorted. ‘Overwrought imaginings, Doctor. With your lifestyle, I don’t suppose it’s surprising. The next thing, you’ll be seeing sea monsters rising from the Cam—’ He interrupted himself, clutching his head as if to grip a thought that had popped up in there. ‘No, now I remember!’
‘Remember what?’
‘No, I remember why I wanted you to come and see me.’
‘Why?’
The Professor shot a glance at Romana and lowered his voice. ‘Delicate matter, slightly. Er, we can trust your young friend?’
Romana nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Completely absolutely. She’s a good sort.’
‘Well,’ said the Professor. He fidgeted. ‘Well, the reason I sent for you… well.’
The Doctor looked as if he might finally explode.
Romana gave Chronotis her warmest smile. ‘Please, Professor, just tell us.’
‘Well,’ said the Professor again. ‘It’s about a book.’
The Doctor blew out his cheeks. This revelation couldn’t help but come as something of anti-climax. ‘A book? Is that all?’
The Professor squirmed. ‘Well, you see, it’s a rather special book.’