Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
[...]
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody who wants to do us harm
No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them.

 (From 'Song of a Man Who Has Come Through', by D.H. Lawrence.)

 *****

 The Junk came into the cove from the South East, riding the warm summer currents from the Indies. It dropped anchor in the dead of night, and Rupert Vickers (late of the Parish of Westminster) was rowed into the bay. He hated using these Oriental types, but good European pilots were so hard to find in this day and age, and in these waters. He kept a tight hold on the metal casket cradled in his lap, and winced when one of the pirates who helped carry it ashore allowed the relic to fall, hard, onto the pebbles of the beach. They dragged it up to the edge of a track into the village, the clear moonlight picking out the heavy trail across the beach. Rupert instructed them to leave it there, and set about the incantations, while the pirates retreated to smoke foul-smelling cheroots - not that he wouldn't have killed for one, had the rites not demanded complete physical purity.

 He sprinkled the ashes of his ancestors - all seventh sons of seventh sons - into the air, and pulled the heavy key from around his neck, crouching to slide it into the intricate lock set into the top of the casket. He was so absorbed in the chanting that he failed to see the villagers descend and gorge themselves on the pirates, failed to hear the pirates' panic-stricken and, frankly, blasphemous screams - not that he would have cared. Rupert came to the end of the incantation, opened the casket, and stood, drawing himslef up to his full height. He saw the orange-purple lights and whirls, welling inside the container both right in front of his eyes and an unimaginable distance away.

 For a moment he became absolutely aware of his surroundings - the tropical waters lapping against sand and stone, the animals and birds in the jungle all around, the blessed villagers advancing upon him (blacks, mulattos, and the odd European, he noticed), with empty - no, hungry - eyes. And then his mind was filled by something new, and ancient, and intent on completing the task for which it had been waiting all these millenia. The blood in his veins and arteries fermented, his antibodies grew diseased, his skin curdled into a putrid and fetid green. And the villagers smiled with recognition. The saviour had come.

 "Destroy the Ajare! That weapon won't help you! Die, DIE!!!!" The box quivered with anger, adrenaline and delight. Leela turned towards it. She must help the Doctor. The box was concentrating on its machine-things and animal-things, and had forgotten about her. She imagined it was like the Doctor's box - bigger inside than it looked out - but how could anyone get in? She did not want to consider that, it would only distract her. Without its steed, the creature inside the box would be at her mercy. Leela flexed her muscles, trying to ignore the pain from the cuts and the fall and being grabbed by the tentacled thing - it had not been a good day, she decided. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she launched herself at the creature.

 The box yelped, suddenly aware of her presence, but she had caught it off guard and vaulted up to it before its mount could react. She grabbed the black box and yanked, hard. It came away in her hand, revealing shiny, insect-like legs, imbedded in the grey flesh below. The tentacled thing seemed shocked for a moment, and then collapsed beneath Leela. She landed softly on its .... on it, and pulled herself to her feet. Everything in the room was going mad, doors were opening and closing, weird clunking things were clunking, and so on. Leela felt a flash of pride at the total chaos such a simple act seemed to have caused.

 "You will not harm the Doctor, box!" she shouted, fumbling with it.

 "Release me, you beast!"

 "Call off your Slim-thing!"

 "Xhirlim! And I cannot. The Ajare will be destroyed, and there is nothing you can do about it. So there! Now put me down, or you'll regret it!" The box was getting desperate, its voice getting higher in pitch.

 "No!"

 "Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you." The box vibrated in Leela's hand, shocking her whole body. She released the box in surprise and pain, and started blowing on her hand.

 "Ha," the box piped, "I bet you don't even know what electricity is!" It scuttled away into the shadows. Leela, somewhat flustered, lost sight of it. She turned her gaze back to the screen.

 "I'll try and find you, Doctor!" She ran out of the room, past the quivering tentacled things, and through the door which seemed to be having trouble making its mind up about being closed or open.

 The Doctor was slowly walking backwards. Rakshan, who was fumbling with his holster, seemed completly ignorant of the Doctor's presence. The giant worm in front of them, however, was not. Rakshan raised the object from his holster and went to fire. Nothing happened.

 "Damn you Doctor!"

 "Well, I didn't want you shooting anybody until I know what's going on. Especially not me."

 Rakshan threw the carrot away. At least the Time Lord possessed some powers - some kind of telekinesis no doubt.

 "This is a bit different, Doctor. Give me my weapon!"

 "Of course. Now, where did I put it?"

 The weapon had been nesting in the Doctor's pocket for a while now, and he was loathe to disturb it. Oh well, do or die as they say. "Ah-ha." He produced the small bio-mass and handed it to Rakshan.

 Rakshan levelled it at the worm, and it strained in his grasp, suddenly aware of what it had to do. In a flash, it launched three small globules, consisting of spikes and a gooey bile-like gel. The first one impacted just above the worm's impressively large mouth. It swallowed the other two. The worm reared back slightly.

 "Yes! How's that?" Rakshan was grinning. Until the worm gave a low, warbling sound, and carried on advancing, that is. "That's not possible. It should be in complete agony. I gave it three vomits." Rakshan frowned and turned a very, very deep red.

 The worm was only a dozen feet away now, wriggling forward and flexing its segments. It was a little bit taller than the two beings in front of it, roughly two-thirds the size of the tunnel.

 "We'll never outrun it," shouted Rakshan.

 "No," said the Doctor. "So let's not try!" And he charged straight at the creature.

 "Doctor?!" This Time Lord was full of surprises. Well, to Rakshan anyway.

 The Doctor jumped forward with unbelievable agility, and landed on the top of the worm's head, scrambling over it and narrowly avoiding the mouth. The creature reared up, and the Doctor collided with the top of the tunnel. He pulled himself back along its body. It had stopped moving forward, and twisted round on itself to follow him. From Rakshan's point of view, the worm was now turned in half, completely filling the tunnel. It snapped at the Doctor, briging its tail up to try and cut him off. He propelled himself forward, grabbing the tail, and then swinging round it just as the creature went to swallow him. Its mouth clamped around its tail, and it swallowed hard. It was too squashed in by now to get a good purchase to release itself, and was stuck in a circle, like a giant onion ring.

 The Doctor looked at it forlornly. "An ill omen indeed. What would the druids say? Rakshan?"

 "Doctor?"

 "Rakshan," the Doctor smiled.

 "I don't think I can get through."

 "No."

 "I'll head back the way we came then."

 "Yes."

 "I'll, er, see you later then. OK?"

 "Fine."

 They headed in seperate directions.

 "Merde." He left the room again, straightening the sheets as he did so, and worked his way downstairs, searching as much of the house as he could. He found Madame in the kitchen, wandering aimlessly, drooling over the floor that he had mopped that morning.

 "Oh dear," he said.

 "Aigthassssinmotchulp," she replied.

 "Of course, madame. No trouble at all. Now, we really need to keep you out of the Doctor's way until our new arrival... err... arrives. The cellar, I think." Lynch took mother by the arm, and guided her towards the heavy door that led to the wine cellar. He opened it and manoevured the woman through, and down the steps.

 At that precise moment, a wodden panel in the music room slid open, and the Doctor popped out.

 "This is almost too convenient," he mused. He'd traced forward along the worm tunnel, and found it ended in a dead end. Literally - what with the remnants of animal and human bodies. However, behind a rather sticky secretion in the corner he found footholds which led up to a tunnel halfway up one wall. It was just big enough for him to squeeze through. He followed this for a few hundred yards, and came to a small flight of stone stairs, which had brought him out here. His attention was drawn to the window which overlooked the path up from town.

 By the light of the moon, he could make out a large group of people slowly winding their way along it towards the villa.

 A fair distance in front was a single figure, heading in the same direction at the same pace.

 "Dinner guests? I wonder". The Doctor smiled at his cleverness, and headed out of the room, pocketing a set of pan pipes. He made a bee-line for the first floor.

 Lynch came back out of the cellar, having calmed Mother down and got her to stay put. He'd drawn her attention to the rats in the corner of the cellar, and managed to slip away. He removed his pistol from his pocket, and walked out the back door.

 "Mr. Andrews?" He called into the jungle again. No response. "I wondered if you might like a snack, sir. Your mother is just tucking into something warm. Sir?" He checked his pocket watch. About the right time - and it probably would be best not to be around when the new guest arrived. He decided to walk the perimeter of the villa. Andrews, or the Doctor, must be around here somewhere.

 "Arzchangbraqthomehtastpaqwhim."

 The figure turned and surveyed Rupert sardonically. "Ooh, nasty. I would see a doctor about that if I were you."

 Rupert stalled, confused. The being inside him searched for the appropriate words.

 "You...do not...speak in tongues."

 "Only if I'm in the mood." The curly-haired one grinned. "How do you do, I'm the Doctor."

 "You speak...Englisssch."

 "Yes, it's a rather primitve accomplishment really."

 Rupert frowned, bursting a couple of pustules on his forehead. "You are not the Great Mother."

 "Well, you certainly have a gift for spotting the obvious" the Doctor grinned again, relieved that his four stomachs were empty.

 "Where is...she?"

 "Around here somewhere, I imagine."

 "You will...die."

 "Well, that's one thing to be thankful for. At least you won't try and impress me with displays of your power and obscenely over-the-top adjectives."

 "I am...poweful."

 "Bully for you. I can only hope you want to put that power to good use."

 "Good...use?"

 "Yes. Do something nice."

 "Nice?"

 "Yes, nice. Cure some illnesses. Rescue some animals. Help the people of this planet grow and improve. You could start by bringing those geraniums back to life, if you're so poweful" The was-Rupert thing follwed the Doctor's gaze to some plants in the corner. "This is the wrong climate for them, of course."

 These are...unimportant. I must...mate."

 "But there's more to life than that."

 "No more...time."

 "Oh, no, don't go."

 "I mussst."

 The Doctor was about to try and stop Rupert, when he heard a shout from outside. Not so much a scream, more a battle cry. "Leela. Yes, it seems I have more pressing matters, as well."

 The Doctor rushed out of the front door, while Rupert trudged off towards the kitchen... and the door to the wine cellar.

 "Weeelll," leered Andrews, wrapping his tongue around the words. "The savage *is* still alive. I thought you'd died, or something."

 "I get knocked down, but I get up again," Leela replied, adopting a fighting stance, and moving her knife in an arc (thank the spirits she had that back).

 "Yes, clearly. I'll have to see what I can do about that."

 Leela shouted her best hunting cry, and made to run at Andrews. He brought his right hand up, revealing an antique flint-lock pistol. Leela snarled - instincitvely aware of the danger of the weapon. At that range, Andrews could not miss. And they both knew it.

 "I could kill you right now. You know that, girl. I've done it before. I've killed before. I'm a hero. I've got medals. I was brave, and killed, and sur...survived." His chin trembled, waggling his jowls in an almost comical way, and his eyes bulged slightly. He smiled, nervously, and then frowned. And then he crumpled onto the floor, weeping. Leela stood, uncomfortably, for a moment. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and then put her knife away and crouched beside Andrews. She placed her arms around him and let him rest his head on her shoulder, stroking him tenderly. Andrews' tears soaked into the leather of her top, and the two them rocked backwards and forwards slightly.

 "No kill to be made here," Leela said under her breath. And a smile touched the corners of her mouth.

 The room was large - one of the largest in the Parisienne Headquarters of the Directory. The floor was a black and white marble in a diamond pattern, with a large rectangular carpet of deep orange placed with great precision in the centre. On this stood a large walnut burr desk, inlaid with Mother of Pearl on the top. There were two rectangular chairs this side of it, and a large black circular affair on the other side. The door through which Peret had entered was in the centre of one wall. There was a short staircase leading down from this, which ran the length of the entire wall, and a collonade of gold columns at the bottom. Oriental images in gold, ivory and ebony decorated the two side walls, in between white panels, and the opposite wall had more stairs, leading up to a huge bookcase in black laquered wood. A white, stepped ceiling, which doubled the height of the room, ended in a dome directly above the desk.

 While most members of the Directory has resisted the temptation to indulge in the frivolous and celebratory mood that seemed to have gripped Paris in the couple of years since the war ended, a few (even in the highest ecehlons) had been rather taken with the innovations, Peret mused. Not to his liking - and entirely out of keeping with the conservative style and antique decor in the rest of the building, but Lacey seemed to like it. He stood in front of a walnut drinks cabinet in the far right corner, stirring a silver cup with an ivory-inlaid handle, wearing a dark blue pin-stripe suite, and a matching silk tie and shirt in cream.

 "Tea?" Peret always had trouble with the man's Celtic accent. Thank God the man didn't try and speak French.

 "Thank you, no, monsieur Lacey."

 Lacey raised a carefully plucked blonde eye-brow. "Deuan, please Peret, Deuan. Now, shall we press on?"

 Yes, Lacey not only had poor taste in architecture, he was insufferably informal. And he was eight years younger than Peret. If it hadn't been for his grand vision and unimpeachable research, he would not be here. But, this was his project - and it would mean so much. Some opposed these new steps, but Peret was pleased with the more active approach. Peret opened his brief case and extracted the folder which detailed the exact nature of the project and the Directory's plans. Lacey's plans. And smiled.

 "Espionage is a very dangerous game," the Doctor whispered in Leela's ear. She whirled round, levelling her knife at his throat.

 "Doctor! You are alive. I nearly killed you."

 "I remember saying to dear old Kit, on that fateful afternoon at the end of May: 'You can never truly leave the shadows, and there will always be a reckoning if you try'. Perhaps if I hadn't retired early that day...."

 "Doctor, I nearly killed you!" interrupted Leela.

 "Yes, you did," harrumphed the Doctor. "But I forgive you," he broke into a broad grin. "Whats our friendly neighbourhood butler up to?"

 "Who?"

 "Lynch. The man you are so blatantly watching. Him," the Doctor pointed.

 "I do not know. He looks like a hunter to me."

 "Hmmm. I think I ought to have a word with him. You stay here, come if I call for you."

 Before Leela could protest, the Doctor had shot off towards Lynch.

 "Oishkatta," she said. The process had exhausted her, but there was still much to do.

 Rapidly dissipating in the dank air of the cellar, Vickers' soul cried with relief. He was confused about what had happened, but still sure of his salvation through the coming of the end. He searched in desperation for something to hold on to, some corporeal form, some physical anchor, some way to make the Great Mother aware of his presence, so that she could reward his loyal service.

 The Great Mother felt her stomach. Something new lived there. The future was growing inside her. She raised her head. She could sense her brothers and sisters approaching from the village, ready to protect the unborn. She stalked up the stairs towards the kitchen. Below her, on one of the racks against the far wall of the cellar, a bottle of Amontillado started to bubble frantically, trying to get her attention.

 "You know what's going on here, don't you Lynch?"

 Damn. Damn, damn! "What makes you say that?"

 "There are diseased villagers running around, assorted monsters and maniacs, your employer has the strangest hobby I've ever heard of, and yet you are utterly calm, taking it all in your stride. It's that disparity which concerns me." The Doctor sounded like a mother chiding her son. "Now, either you are utterly gaga, the best trained butler in the galaxy, or somehow responsible for all of this. You have been using these people, to your own nefarious ends."

 "Not me personally. Besides, it's just a matter of advancing what was going to happen naturally anyway."

 "I'd hardly call what's happened to Andrew's mother natural." "She came here to convalesce, after her husbands death, you know. This is her brother's place, he settled here after the Boers kicked them out of the South. He's gone now. Andrews came home from the war. Well, that's not strictly true. He'd been in a clinic in Scotland somewhere for a few months when the war ended. They sent him here after that. The project was already running by then. He was too, ah...distracted to notice, or to listen to the rumours of dissapearances and demons. When he did realise, the night his mother tucked into his cousin's head rather than the usual roast lamb, it was a bit too much. In fact, with everything he's been through in the past few years I'm surprised he's not in a permanent state of catatonia. Mind you, it's not over yet. Shame, really. I rather liked him. Now, Doctor. I'm afraid we must say our goodbyes." Lynch levelled his pistol at the Doctor.

 Suddenly, a hand clamped over her mouth, another grabbing her right hand, in which she held the thorns, and twisitng her wrist. She dropped the thorns, and was forced forward into the floor. Damn - something was clouding her senses. People should not be able to creep up on her like this, she thought, as a knee was shoved into her back. The hand on her wrist now moved to her throat, and she was pulled back. She flailed her arms, to no avail, as she was dragged along the ground. Andrews watched, his eyes bulging, his body shaking. he wasn't sure what scared him more - seeing that thing take Leela, seeing the patches of red starting to break out on Leela's skin, or just being here. He glimpsed the first light of dawn, and fell into unconciousness.

 "I can't let you get in the way, Doctor."

 "That seems rather harsh."

 Lynch paused. "It's nothing personal, Doctor."

 "Leela! Now Leela!"

 "Oh don't be foolish. I saw Andrews drop her down a well hours ago."

 "Leela! Listen, couldn't we just talk about this?"

 "There's no time Doctor." Lynch opened fire.

 *****
'Not to be born is best'
(Sophocles, 'Oedipus at Coloneus')

 To be continued...