BACK IN THE TARDIS kitchen, Bryony heard a distinct thrumming sound and a voice which said, ‘I suppose that I couldn’t expect any better – evolution can only do so much and Earth is essentially inhabited by primates with a flair for interior design…’

‘Doctor?’ Bryony choked on her last mouthful of bread and span round. Then she span round again. But there was no monitor, no screen, there was no one to see. ‘Doctor?’

‘You’re a splendid girl, but there are a few more pressing things than simply shovelling Robert Frost’s best jam into your face. People think of him as a poet, I realise – but he had a gift for preserves. Can we get on now?’

‘Doctor? You’re answering me?’ She couldn’t suppress a rush of relief and excitement.

‘Well, I’m not giving myself another frankly dreadful headache for the fun of it. This isn’t easy, you know.’

‘But I don’t understand.’

There was no sign of the Doctor himself, but his voice was definitely very present. And annoyed.

‘Don’t just stand there gawping about like a stunned owl – I’m up here.’

And there, indeed, the Doctor was. In the high corner where the walls and ceiling met, Bryony could see the wavering and translucent outline of that familiar scarf, the disreputable shoes, the louche jacket – and the face she had longed to see.

‘Why?’

‘Bryony Mailer, of all questions you could ask…’ The image became exasperated and bounced lightly against one wall. ‘Why? Why what? Why am I bothering to use the Bah-Sokhar’s psychic field to amplify my own telepathic abilities and even – which is immensely tiring – projecting an image of myself for you, so you’ll know it’s me and – you’re in my kitchen. I just aimed for you – or what might be left of you…Remarkable…You’re in the TARDIS kitchen. How on earth did you manage that?’ The image managed a half-grin. ‘And well done for still being alive, of course. I am very pleased about that.’

‘Well, likewise. And I don’t know how we managed that. I think…the sand was eating us and there was this blue box and we nearly died and then…we were inside. We’re inside the box, your TRADIS.’

‘No. You’re inside the TARDIS.’ The Doctor allowed himself a laugh and then obviously regretted the amount of energy that required. ‘She’s a sly old girl.’ He looked much more serious. ‘When you say we…You mean…?’

‘Me and Putta.’

‘And where is Putta?’

‘Back in the hallway.’

‘I don’t have a hallway.’

‘The place with the screen and the front door and—’

The Doctor tugged his hair in frustration. ‘My dear girl, you left him there!’

‘He was too scared to go anywhere else.’

‘You left possibly the clumsiest being I have ever encountered in the nerve centre of a beautiful and delicate…If he touches anything…If he breaks anything…I’m assuming you triggered the defence message…?

Bryony was about to nod when a bell began tolling somewhere far away, deep inside the ship. The sound was melodious but also melancholy, it even suggested a note of warning. The kitchen light flickered for an instant and the air seemed to grow slightly colder.

The Doctor’s image flailed in mid-air, then descended and tilted until it was standing upright, its see-through brogues only a couple of feet off the ground. ‘What’s that? Ah!’ As soon as he’d asked the question, the Doctor grimaced with pain. ‘The TARDIS is…when my mind is this open and this…enhanced…She’s terribly unhappy. She’s even…She’s scared. I’ve never known her be afraid…I can hear a bell. Do you hear a bell? Tell me you can’t hear a bell.’

‘I can hear a bell.’

‘A rather musical regular chiming…? Clear chimes? That kind of bell?’

‘That’s right. It’s quite nice.’

‘Of course it’s not nice!’ The Doctor’s translucent arms thrashed in irritation. ‘It’s the cloister bell. That’s not nice, that’s…It’s always bad news. Bad news on a planetary scale. I think the Bah-Sokhar was able to hide from the TARDIS, but now I’ve…now I’ve done just what I shouldn’t and let her know it’s there. I am sorry. And –’ His face convulsed with pain. ‘I’m being…the Bah-Sokhar doesn’t want even my thoughts to escape, I…’

Are you all right? What can I do?’ Never mind the bell, Bryony understood that the Doctor being sorry was bad news – and him being in pain was even worse. ‘And why are you sorry?’

The image shook its head. ‘I don’t have long.’ It began to blink and blur. ‘The TARDIS will begin defending herself…Be very careful.’ There was another break in the transmission. ‘…to Putta’s ship and find more psy fluid, any psy fluid….contact you again. I need to…it may understand me, know me more, it may understand…’ The Doctor grimaced again and his voice stopped coming through.

Then the Doctor’s projection shattered and fluttered downwards in flakes and curls of light. After that it was gone. The air in the room seemed to dull, as if the TARDIS had wanted him to stay, had wanted to know what it should do.

The cloister bell continued to toll. Bryony thought it seemed more than a warning now – it was a threat.