Night had fallen across Petrograd as snow pelted down upon the drab houses of the poorest area of Petrograd. A bitter Siberian wind rushed through the narrow alleyways, chilling the souls without even a slum in which to seek shelter. Some huddled together in the gutters as their hands grew numb; by morning, the frostbite would have increased its hold, probably terminally.

 Angela Ferris stood at the single, filthy window of Mikhail's home, gazing out into the darkness. The night was clear, as cold nights are wont to be, punctuated only by the steady shower of snowflakes that whirled in an elaborate ballet as they tumbled to the ground and joined the thickening carpet of snow that had started to gather. She watched with a detached interest as one of the snowflakes came to rest on the window-pane. It stuck for a moment, before melting, gradually, shrinking back into a tiny white dot before vanishing forever, leaving only a narrow trickle of water to mark its passing.

 "Kak dela?" asked Mikhail. He was hovering uncertainly behind her. She turned to face him, tearing her attention away from the window.

 "Tak sebe," she replied automatically.

 "Good."

 She hesitated, considering her words. "When?"

 "We move soon," Mikhail told her, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper, as if the howling wind outside would carry his words to the ears of his enemies. "As soon as Evgenii can muster enough support. We still have a few friends within the guard; they will help us when the time comes."

 Angela nodded thoughtfully. She believed the plan doomed to failure: she had seen similar situationss before - the noble underdog rising up against the savage despot. It was a romantic idea, but an unrealistic one.

 *So, Angela Ferris, why are you helping them?* she thought to herself.

 "Why have you stopped?" he whispered to Jadi.

 Jadi shushed him and gestured with his hand for Wil to stay back. He was standing with his head held high, like a hound sniffing the air. Wil was reminded of Jadi's professional background. It was easy to forget when you were with Jadi, but Wil knew that he was skilled with almost every conceivable type of weapon, trained to stalk his prey like a wolf. And to bring it down.

 "It's OK," murmured Jadi, "we've lost them."

 Wil gave a small sigh of relief. "Jadi?"

 "Uh-huh?"

 "I've told the Doctor. I want to go home, back to Paracastria."

 Jadi turned to stare at Wil in surprise and concern. "Why? Because of me?"

 "Don't flatter yourself."

 "Look, I know me and Angela..." Jadi paused, embarrassed. "Well, you know. You'll get over it, kid."

 "Stop calling me kid!" yelled Wil, suddenly and inexplicably furious. "I'm not a kid. Stop treating me as though I'm your baby brother. I have responsibilities too."

 Jadi's voice fell, now quieter but still more dangerous than Wil's. "Look, you have problems, we all do, but you can't just run away all your life. You *are* a kid, Wil. You have to deal with your problems instead of running away from them like an awkward teenager."

 "That's not what I'm doing!"

 "I don't know what your problem is, but I suggest you stop taking it out on everyone else."

 Wil opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak Jadi added: "Without yelling." Wil closed his mouth: he would explain to Jadi, but it could wait for the moment.

 They walked on through the icy wind, silently.

 "It's time," he said.

 "You have something against me?" Stalin asked coldly. His voice had a slight accent that was notably different from the other Bolsheviks.

 "I and the rest of the *civilised* universe."

 Stalin snorted and motioned for the Doctor to take a seat at the foot of the carpeted stairway. "Who are you working for? The Mensheviks? The Germans? The British?"

 "I work for no-one. If I can help it," the Doctor said.

 "Then what is your grievance?"

 The Doctor grimaced. "What is it a man would have against his brother's murderer? What is it the woman in the street would have against a psychotic maniac?"

 "Me? A psychotic maniac?"

 "Yes."

 Stalin laughed. "I'm afraid you must be thinking of someone else."

 "Oh no," said the Doctor through gritted teeth. "Evil is not a word I use lightly, but I feel justified applying it to you."

 "Comrade Lenin appears to have confused the Institute with a mental asylum..."

 The Doctor stormed to his feet. "More than a million innocent people, many more, were put to death at your orders!"

 "Now, now," Stalin scolded him, "that is ridiculous. I've never been in a position to do such a thing."

 "That's not to say you wouldn't have, though, is it?"

 Stalin smiled. "I'm only a politician."

 "Democide," the Doctor said sadly, "is, I believe, the term for such crimes. Certain madmen who were 'only politicians' have more blood on their hands than all of this planet's serial killers put together." He sat down with a sigh. "Hitler will have nothing on you, Soso."

 Stalin snarled, "What are you, a mystic? A colleague of our late friend Rasputin, perhaps?"

 "No. And you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

 Stalin smiled once more. "Why don't you try me?"

 

 "All right?" he asked, grudgingly.

 Wil nodded in answer. Since Wil's outburst the two had exchanged barely a dozen words. Wil was, in truth, rather embarrassed by his display, and was trying to work up the courage to apologise.

 Jadi was surveying their surroundings; despite the extreme cold and the lateness of the hour he was as alert as ever. He gestured towards a door in the opposite wall. "I think we can get in there," he said, "but it'll mean crossing the courtyard. Risky, but worth a try."

 Wil shrugged, "I'd rather be shot than freeze to death - at least it'll be quick."

 Jadi grinned. "OK. I'll go first. If I wave my left hand, follow. If I wave my right hand-"

 "Leg it," Wil finished. "Got you."

 Jadi nodded. Glancing around again, he set off at a brisk pace across the wide, snow-covered expanse of the courtyard. Halfway over, he suddenly came to a halt and desperately waved his right arm before running at a right angle to his previous path, towards some unseen corner of the square.

 Wil stood for a moment, quietly panicking. The rough, savage barking of one of the vicious guard dogs stirred him to action and he followed Jadi's path, briefly glancing back to see a large, hairy hound racing towards them from the farthest side of the courtyard.

 "Sir," Mikhail whispered, bowing before the prostrate figure.

 "Leave us," the man said, with a voice as deep and commanding as his burning eyes. Mikhail bowed again before leaving the room, glancing at Angela as he passed.

 "You are Angela Ferris," intoned the man, pronouncing his words as though they were part of a deeply important religious incantation.

 "I am. I don't believe I know your name."

 "No, you don't." The man smiled. "It is not important. What is important is that you have promised to help our cause. The Tsar must be restored, that is imperative. If we fail, then the motherland will be subjected to the evil of Lenin and his Bolshevik army."

 Angela nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

 "I want you to go with Mikhail. Tonight or early tomorrow, the Bolsheviks will begin to move against the Provisional Government-"

 "How do you know?"

 The man glared at Angela, annoyed at the interruption. "The Bolsheviks are not the only ones with spies," he said. "As I was saying: tonight, the Bolsheviks move. We must be prepared to move also. Once the Provisional Government is gone, the country will be in chaos as Lenin attempts to assert his authority. That is our chance. We will restore the Tsar to his God-given place and simultaneously return the Bolshevik rabble to the obscurity which most befits their like."

 Angela could feel the fervour of the man's convictions, overwhelmingly strong. Frightening, in fact. She could see him as a dictator, his disciples following him thoughtlessly, carried along by his enthusiasm alone.

 "Are you with us, Angela Ferris?"

 And without even thinking, she had answered.

 "Well, I did," Wil replied, rather breathlessly.

 "I didn't mean *after* me. I had to use the last of my blaster's power on them. I should have left you for dog meat."

 "Better dog meat than frozen food. Anyway, we got away, didn't we?"

 Jadi sighed in exasperation. "That's hardly the point, is it?"

 "I beg to differ."

 "OK, OK, you win. Let's just try and get out of this damn weather."

 "Agreed. It's cold enough to freeze the cock off a weather-vane."

 Jadi had started to edge his way along the low wall onto which they had clambered following the encounter with the dogs. "Hopefully we won't get hounded up here," was Wil's judgement of the move.

 "Hey, Wil," Jadi said, looking over his shoulder towards the Paracastrian.

 "I'm still here."

 "I think I can see a way in." He waved towards an open window in the shadow of the wall.

 "Okey dokey."

 "We'll have to climb down," Jadi said, already beginning to lower himself towards the ground. Wil followed, dropping the last metre into the pile of snow that had gathered at the base of the wall. He picked himself up, spluttering and cursing, to find Jadi convulsed in a fit of laughter.

 "Har-dee-har," Wil said, brushing snow from his hair and under his collar.

 "It's snow joke, is it?" Jadi quipped.

 "Leave the puns to me, bounty hunter," Wil replied darkly. "Comic timing is a rare gift."

 "I'd noticed."

 Wil gave a theatrical groan and set off towards the window. Jadi followed, chuckling to himself. Having reached their goal, Wil stood there, shivering, rubbing his hands and arms, and stamping his feet. Jadi stood beside him, looking up at the impressive building, a vast construction, all white stone and gold spires, like an enormous wedding cake.

 "Not bad," was Jadi's opinion of the edifice.

 "Not bad?" Wil spluttered. "It's beautiful." As an afterthought he added, "Best erection I've ever seen."

 "We haven't seen the inside yet," Jadi reminded him, as he began to prise the window open. It didn't take long for the bounty hunter to undo the primitive latch, and in a few moments both he and Wil were standing within the Winter Palace. The corridor that they had entered was as impressive as the exterior of the palace had suggested. It was the epitome of European opulence. The walls were hung with grim paintings of stern-faced Russians, the floor covered in thick, scarlet carpet. Along the walls, gas lamps burned in golden holders, with the effect that there were pools of light and darkness the length of the passage. The entire plastered ceiling was dotted with bosses, intricately carved and painted.

 "Nice," Jadi said. "I bet those are worth a fair few mazumas."

 Wil sighed. "We're inside one of the most beautiful buildings on this planet, and all you can think about is how much it's worth. You mercenary."

 "You've got me there. But yeah, it is quite pretty, I suppose."

 They began to wander down the corridor, Wil pausing every so often to gaze at one of the paintings or tapestries that lined their route.

 "Come on," Jadi said eventually, dragging Wil by the arm after him. As they travelled down the passageway they left a trail of slush and melted snow in their wake.

 "Mmm," she spluttered.

 Mikhail laughed, rich and deep. "I can see you haven't tasted the fruits of Mother Russia before."

 "Not at this percentage," Angela replied.

 "God's own drink. I remember the first time I tasted it. My father sat me down on his knee and said, 'Mikhail, once you have drunk true Russian vodka, even death loses its bite.'"

 "On his knee? How old were you?"

 "Nine."

 They laughed together, for a moment. Despite the centuries that lay between them, they connected on some level, their essential humanity unaltered by time or space.

 "So," Angela began, "who is that man?"

 Mikhail looked suddenly serious. "Ivanov? A great man. He was one of the Tsar's most trusted advisers before..." He gestured in the air vaguely, a look of great sadness on his face. "The enemies of the Tsar had him removed from office, stripped of privileges. They threw him out with nothing. Nothing. I found him dying, took him back with me. That was before I was expelled also. Our family have been sheltering him from the Provisional Government."

 "Why?"

 Mikhail looked at her as though she were a fool. "The Provisional Government claims Ivanov is an enemy of the state. If they find him, he will be killed." He gave a bitter laugh. "He's already as good as dead anyway. It's only a matter of time before he succumbs to the tuberculosis. I sometimes think it is only his loyalty to the Tsar that keeps him alive."

 Angela nodded. "I can believe that."

 At that moment there was a sharp series of knocks at the door. Mikhail cocked his head, listening. After a few seconds, he rose to answer.

 "They are here," he said.

 "Ah, Josef! Has Comrade Doctoyevsky been wandering around freely?"

 Stalin afforded himself a brief glance in Lenin's direction, keeping the Doctor in the corner of his eye. "He must have escaped. Don't worry, Vladimir, I shall take care of him."

 The Doctor jumped to his feet. "My goodness, it *is* you."

 Lenin was puzzled for a moment. "Ah, the disguise." His normally bald head was covered by a thin toupee; a set of pince-nez spectacles adorned his face.

 "Yes, yes, it's superb!" the Doctor said. "Certainly convincing."

 "Thank you, Doctor. It has its uses."

 Stalin cleared his throat very deliberately. "If you are through being friendly, comrade, I shall take the opportunity to question this foreigner further."

 Lenin glared at him for a moment. "Platitude, Josef, is something you might study when you have some spare time - once the people are the rightful rulers of the state."

 "I may be able to help you with that, Vladimir," the Doctor interrupted.

 "Silence!" Stalin yelled, striking the Doctor with the back of his hand. The Doctor stumbled backwards, rubbing his smarting cheek. "Death solves all problems, 'Doctor'. Speak out of turn again and I'll shoot you without hesitation."

 "That will not be necessary," Lenin said quickly. "Join the others, Josef. I shall deal with the Doctor myself."

 Stalin seemed about to protest, but instead he nodded and pocketed his pistol before disappearing into another part of the Institute.

 "I trust you were not badly injured?" Lenin asked, helping the Doctor to his feet.

 "He's dangerous, Vladimir."

 "He has his faults, Doctor, as do we all. Now, do you have a constructive suggestion for me regarding the seizure of power, or were you just currying favour?"

 The Doctor grinned. "I'm sure I can come up with something if pressed."

 "Stop that, you're making me sleepy," Jadi muttered, rubbing his eyes.

 "Can't we just find somewhere to kip for a bit," Wil moaned. "I'm knackered."

 "I know how you feel."

 They had been wandering the seemingly endless corridors of the palace for nearly an hour. Every so often a servant, or men in impressively expensive-looking clothes had wandered across their path, causing them to cower behind pillars or freeze in pools of shadow. So far, and to Wil's surprise, they had evaded detection.

 "In here," Jadi hissed, vanishing through one of the doorways that punctuated the passage at regular intervals. Assuming they were in danger of being caught, Wil dashed through the opening after him.

 "What is it?" he whispered.

 Jadi smiled, turning the ornate key in the door, locking it behind them. "I think I've found us a place to lay our weary heads."

 Wil glowered at him. "I thought we were rumbled."

 "Don't be so edgy, there's hardly anyone about. Odd, that."

 "They probably have other things on their mind," Wil replied. "Like the fact that the country is about to erupt into revolution maybe?"

 "Maybe." Jadi had started to investigate the room. Wil watched him sniff around like a dog in an unfamiliar house.

 "Is it safe?" Wil asked, sarcastically.

 "I think so."

 Wil had spotted the bed pushed into the corner of the chamber and, by the time Jadi had finished his inspection, he was already pulling off his damp clothes.

 Jadi glared at him. "If you think you're having the bed, you're very much mistaken."

 "I saw it first," Wil said defensively.

 "Age before beauty," Jadi retorted, dragging Wil's legs onto the floor.

 "Oi! Get off!" yelled Wil.

 "Shh," Jadi giggled, releasing Wil as he put his fingers to his lips.

 The two of them collapsed on to the bed, desperately trying to suppress their laughter. After a moment, Wil said, "Tell you what, we'll share it."

 Jadi considered the offer. "Fair enough, but I'm sleeping next to the wall."

 "It's a deal."

 "And no funny business," Jadi said with a wink.

 "Oh, go on. Funny *is* my business."

 Within a few minutes the only sounds in the room were Jadi's gentle snores and Wil's unheard murmurs of complaint.

 "Mikhail," Angela said, seeing her friend leave Ivanov's room.

 He shot her a quick grin, before turning to address the men.

 "My friends," he began. "We stand at a moment of transition. Mother Russia is in danger as never before. The Tsar, the Lord God's appointed ruler of the motherland, has been displaced by the self-serving Provisional Government. These soulless wretches are to be overthrown by the Bolsheviks, subjecting us to rule by the peasantry, Lenin and his rabble. *They* would have us surrender to the German barbarians, without honour or pride. This we cannot allow. If the Tsar is not restored, then Russia will suffer a century of chaos. We will be at the mercy of our bitterest foes. I ask you, brothers - will you surrender your pride, your honour, to those avaricious mercenaries at the Winter Palace?"

 "Never," shouted one of the men. His cry was taken up by his companions. Soon, every man in the room was cursing the Provisional Government and demanding the restoration of the Tsar.

 Angela stood in the corner, silent, gripping her mug in her hands.

 They were after him, chasing him through the streets like an animal.

 They were after him, with their rifles, and swords, and high-power disrupters.

 What a Fool he'd been, to think he could outrun them. Had he taunted them? He couldn't remember, but it didn't matter. What was important was the here and now: they wanted his blood.

 They were after him, and soon they were going to catch him.

 He stumbled on the pavement but managed to maintain his momentum, sprinting, desperate to find safety. The street seemed to go on forever, with nowhere to seek solace. Nowhere to hide.

 They were after him, ever closer. Hunters.

 Was he a criminal? If so, the law was unjust. He'd always meant well.

 They were after him.

 Someone was standing ahead, gesturing to him. Mother. He didn't recognise her face, but he knew it was her. He could join her at last. It wasn't his fault...

 They were killing him now, slashing him with their swords, hitting him with the butts of their rifles, and firing blast after blast of searing energy into his chest.

 He was lying face down on the dirty ground. There was no pain. He was dead.

 There was no pain.

 And then they rolled him over and he saw them. Two of them.

 "I'm sorry," said the male, laughing. The woman just looked down at him, expressionless.

 And the Doctor was there, and for a moment there was a strawberry blonde at his side.

 "He's dead," the woman said.

 The Doctor shook his head. "Poor Jadi."

 **...And thus the Dream Sequence was concluded.**

 Jadi woke like a shot, breathing heavily, trying to separate in his mind the nightmare from the onslaught of reality. Someone was tugging his arm urgently; there was a banging at the door.

 The men cheered loudly, and began to filter from the room, eager to begin their work. Angela still stood alone in the corner, watching them leave. After a moment, Mikhail joined her.

 "You know what you must do," he said.

 "Yes."

 "Then come, history awaits."

 Angela followed him out, into the frozen night. Into the pages of history.

 As she went, only one thought occurred to her. She wished the Doctor was there to tell her whether they would succeed. Whether the Tsar would be restored to the throne.

 But the Doctor was elsewhere, and the thought passed.

 To be continued...