Part 2 (1/2)

'Dare I question your sense of priorities?' she asked.

'You've done so before. Hop aboard!'

If the Time Lord had been concentrating less on George Stephenson, he might have noticed a weird apparition at the stile.

As the clip-clop of the horse's hoofs began, the ragged scarecrow, exuding a pernicious aura of evil, climbed the stile to follow the dray.

3.

The Old Crone Hobbling from the bath house, the old crone beckoned to a boy hooting a m.u.f.fin along the gutter.

'Here! Run to tavern. Tell men who want bath to come right now!' He accepted the proffered coin. 'Warn them us won't be keeping water hot much longer,' she called.

Lingering to welcome the next batch of customers, she was startled by a high frequency bleeping from a dray rumbling past.

The electronic discord came from the Doctor's tracking device. Hanging on as the wheels jolted over the cobbled street of the village, the Doctor and Peri stared as the broadcasting bleeps grew more shrill.

'Doctor!' Peri m.u.f.fled her ears and the dappled horse whinnied and s.h.i.+ed. Frantically, the Doctor tried to subdue his errant invention and the drayman to subdue his bucking horse. Both succeeded.

'Was that significant? Or just a hiccup?'

The Doctor was not sure. They had hit a nasty b.u.mp as they reached the bath house; that could have destabilised the delicate mechanism.

Something, too, had profoundly disturbed the old crone.

Suspiciously, she watched the dray clatter out of sight.

'Whoa, Daisy! Whoa!' The drayman tugged on the reins.

Coming from the tavern, Tim Ba.s.s gave a weary but friendly nod. He was accompanied by the old crone's messenger boy and two mates.

'Why are we stopping here?' The tavern had no attraction for the Doctor.

'I still feel a bit shook up. Need a Toby afore I tell them at pit about attack.'

The Doctor disembarked. 'Where will I find George Stephenson?'

'In't pit.' Nervous, taking the opportunity of using this oddly garbed but apparently benevolent individual to plead his cause, the drayman begged a favour. ''Appen tha'd put in word for me. They'll be none too pleased. 'Bout machinery.'

'Yes, yes.' Impatient to be on his way, the Doctor left the drayman to a.s.sist Peri down.

'In't mighty hurry, isn't he, Miss? Dost mean summat's wrong? More than attack on machinery?'

'It does, I'm afraid. But don't ask me what.'

Nothing seemed to be wrong at the bath house as the tired but cheery Tim Ba.s.s, a scarf jauntily wound about his forehead, paid the old crone.

'We're not last, Granma. T'others'll be along when emptied Tobys.'

Ushering the three miners inside, she looked again in the direction the dray took... then peered along the street in the opposite direction. A moment's consideration...

before following Tim Ba.s.s in.

What was she looking for? And why? The expression on her wrinkled face boded more than idle curiosity.

The answer did not come until the door slammed firmly shut. A floppy-brimmed hat was cast onto the mud. Wisps of discarded straw floated on the breeze. From the shelter of an adjacent alley came the scarecrow. Gone were the ragged labourer's jacket, tattered trousers and dirt-stained s.h.i.+rt. Now he wore a black velvet frock-coat with a silver encrusted collar and velvet trousers to match. His hair was carefully combed, his black beard and moustache elegantly trimmed. For this was the Master, the Doctor's implacable enemy.

Fastidiously brus.h.i.+ng the last vestiges of chaff from his sleeve, he gazed at the bath house. A sardonic smile stretched his lips at the sound of the bolt being thrust home.

'Primitive. An insult.' The smile faded. 'But first things first. I've a death to arrange.' He strode purpose-fully off in pursuit of the Doctor.

'What've they got in there? Coal, or diamonds?' Peri's remark was justified. A guard, flintlock pistol tucked in his belt, was at the pit entrance. Straining at the leash, fangs bared, his dog snarled a challenge to all intruders.

'Machinery, Peri. More specifically, George Stephenson.

And he's'

'You told me. One of the architects of the Industrial Revolution.'

'And I didn't exaggerate. Without his genius, your precious twentieth century would be a much sorrier place.'

The pit gave the impression of being a fortress protected by strategically positioned armed sentries.

'We have to get past, Peri.'

'Easier said... That dog doesn't look as though it's been fed today!'

In typical fas.h.i.+on, deciding to brazen his way in, and giving his pink lapel a confident tug, the Doctor strutted forward.

'Oy! Where dost think tha's going?' The guard lengthened the leash and the dog leapt ferociously, jaws snapping.

'To see George Stephenson. Can you tell me where he'll be?'

The Doctor's bluff cut no ice with the guard. It would be jeopardising his job to disobey orders. And there could be little doubt what they were!

'No-one gets in here without a pa.s.s.'

'My dear man, a pa.s.s? I am a VIP.' Autocratic as ever.

But useless.

'If tha be here for t'meeting, tha'd have special pa.s.s.'