Part 3 (1/2)

From out of the square panel that had opened in the dome, a red balloon floated, its string dangling. It hovered to Aphasia's hand, and she grabbed hold of it. 'You can close it up now.'

Hoff did so. The construction hummed with power as a defence s.h.i.+eld activated.

'Let's explore, see what we're about,' August decided, pointing vaguely in the direction of town. 'If anybody sees the subject, or this companion of his, then call it in. And there's a TARDIS about somewhere, remember, which is very probably where the target is.'

They set off, Greeneye tossing his boater from hand to hand. Glancing at some animal movement in the bushes, possibly the dreaded cat, he missed, and the hat fell to the floor. He winced, as if bruised, as the evening breeze sent it tumbling across the ground. He halted briefly, concentrating.

The boater steadied itself, and, on some unseen means of propulsion, ran back across the forest floor to Greeneye, hopping back on to his head.

'Whatever this Time Lord's doing here,' he muttered, 'I hope he's enjoying it, because, let me tell you, it's going to be his lifetime's work.'

'Miaow...' said Hoff.

Chapter Two.

Maius Intra Qua Extra

'So...' George Rocastle, MBE, leaned back in his chair and smiled. 'How are things working out, John?'

Dr Smith had plopped down in the chair on the other side of the desk. He pulled at his collar, and grinned giddily. 'Fine... fine.'

'Only I was disturbed by something I heard today. As headmaster, I have to keep an ear out for everything, you know. Why did you venture into Upper School today?'

'It's where the boys were. I wanted to ask them about cricket. Was that wrong?'

'Not... wrong, not as such, no. But there's more of an order to life here than what's in the rulebook. Rather like Great Britain herself, we're proud of our unwritten const.i.tution. Maius intra qua extra Maius intra qua extra, you know. Pars interior ingentior est quam Pars interior ingentior est quam exterior pars? exterior pars? ' '

'Ah ...' Smith nodded wisely.

'What does that mean?' Rocastle's moustachioed upper lip quivered, then he controlled himself. 'It happens to be the school motto. If you don't know what it means, I suggest that you look it up.'

'Yes. I will. Do go on.'

'Dr Smith, when I took you on, it was largely on the strength of a superb set of references, possibly the best I have ever seen, from the Flavian Academy of Aberdeen. Your behaviour in the six weeks that we've had you has, thus far, not matched those references. For a start, there's the matter of your hysterical outburst when you sat in on Mrs Denman's biology cla.s.s - '

'She suggested that the world might have been created in six days. That Darwin's theories were unproven. I had to laugh.' Smith's happy gaze caught Rocastle's disapproving expression. 'Perhaps you had to be there.'

'Then there was the incident over the punishment Mr Challoner had prescribed for Atkins.'

'They were on a cross-country run. The boy was hurt.'

'Mr Challoner's view is that he was slacking. He completed the course twice, so he can't have been too badly injured, can he? Well, can he?'

'No, I suppose not - '

'Listen, Smith, I'll be plain. Your interference in other teachers' lessons is bad for discipline. I've heard that your own History cla.s.ses run remarkably smoothly. Why can't you let others get on with their work?'

'I...' Smith lowered his head. 'I don't know. I'm sorry if I caused any trouble. I'll try not to meddle.'

'That's the spirit. I admire a man who knows when he's wrong. As for this afternoon's little sortie, well, it's not really done for a housemaster to enter into the personal business of his House. Bad form. I don't know how they did it up in Scotland - '

'My last headmaster, Mr Gothley, was very keen on knowing everyone's affairs.'

'Well, that's the trouble, then. You're just getting used to how we do things south of the border. The Celtic temperament's a fine thing in war. I remember a rather stirring bayonet demonstration given by the Scots Guards at a tattoo when I was a lad. However, the way of discipline and stability is our chosen path, and we do well enough with it.'

'Yes.' Smith nodded. 'I see.'

'Good man. I'm sure we shan't have to talk like this again. Good Lord, is that the time? Not on evening prep, are you? No, well then, I shan't keep you from getting back to the lodge. How are you finding it?'

'I haven't had any trouble. It's always been at the bottom of the drive,' Smith told him seriously.

Rocastle wasn't listening, thumping some papers into shape on his desk. 'Good, good.' There was a knock at the door. 'Enter.'

Joan Redfern entered. She was in her early forties, a science teacher, with an occasional strand of hair escaping from her carefully pinned coiffure.

'Excuse me, Head and, oh, h.e.l.lo, Dr Smith, I was just wondering if I could use your telephone at the weekend. My aunt in Grims appears to be ailing, and I'd like to discover the precise situation.'

'Of course,' said Rocastle. 'Will you be requiring time off, Mrs Redfern?'

'Oh goodness, no, it's not as serious as all that. Thank you anyway. Good day.'

She nodded to Rocastle, gave Smith a little smile, and left.

A moment later, when Smith left the Head's study, Joan was waiting for him in the corridor, sitting on the little bench outside normally reserved for quaking schoolboys.

'Sent to see the Head, eh?'

'Yes.' Smith bit his bottom lip worriedly.

'What did he want to see you about?'

'Nothing important. I'm a bad influence. Are you going home?'

Joan stood up. 'Yes. I was hoping that you would walk me to the gate, Dr Smith. If you'd like that.'

Smith stuck his elbow out. Joan raised an eyebrow at it, and, abashed, he took his black umbrella from the coat rack and hung it there.

'I heard that you wrote...' They walked stiffly down the gravel driveway, the crunching of their feet being the only sound in the beautiful blue twilight. A full moon was rising, its surface rippling with the haze of the departing day. Its light turned the rest of the sky into a negative, expectant and s.h.i.+ning, the first brave stars appearing over the hills. The school was an enormous dark edifice behind them, a block of shadow which suddenly started to come alive with light as, at once all over the building, prefects turned on oil lamps. In seconds, the light fluttered all over the gothic structure, filling the windows with a sickly glow.

Smith had glanced back over his shoulder, watching as the window of Rocastle's study also slowly illuminated. 'Light...' he muttered. Then he turned back to Joan.

'Sorry. Miles away. What did you say?'

'I said that I heard you wrote. Fiction, I mean.'

'It's nothing. Stories. For children. Magic, elves, you know.' Fireflies were dancing through the trees along the drive.