Chapter Four

Sandy's scales were rough under her hands, but Vicki loved the way he growled as she stroked him. His blunt little body wriggled when she tickled him under the chin, and his little antennae stood perfectly upright. He was the only thing left that loved her. The only thing left that she loved.

She stood up, Sandy nestling at her leg, and gazed out across the Didonian plain. The sun was just setting behind the mountains, sending plumes of scarlet and gold up into the atmosphere. Beautiful. She took a deep breath. The air was so clear and so cold that her lungs tingled. It was all so different from Earth. Bennett hated it here, but she had got used to it. So quiet, so peaceful. So undemanding.

It wouldn't be long before it was dark. She should be getting back to the ship. Bennett didn't like her to be out after sunset. He said that the Didonians were savages who would cook her and eat her, and he wouldn't be able to lift a finger to help. Besides, it was time to prepare dinner. He'd get angry if she didn't have it on the table on time. It wasn't as if he could do anything to her - he'd been paralysed in the crash - but his tongue was sharp, and his voice was loud, and she could not manipulate him with flattery and smiles the way she could manipulate everybody else: he didn't react in predictable ways. Sometimes she had to run all the way to Sandy's cave before she couldn't hear him shouting and cursing.

Vicki took a few steps away from the cave and towards the ship, but the smell of cooked meat stopped her. It couldn't be dinner - she hadn't even put it in the rehydrater yet. Surely Bennett couldn't have got to the kitchen by himself?

There was a noise behind her: a pitiful, mewling noise. She turned, and took a step backwards. Sandy was lying there in the cave mouth, his chest burned to a cinder. His foreclaws scrabbled in the sand as he crawled towards her, crying her name.

Screaming, she jerked awake.

She was lying on an upholstered couch in a room with lots of paintings, and someone had covered her with a blanket. For a moment she didn't know where she was, but then the memories fell back into place. Her name was Vicki, she was in Venice in Earth's past, and Sandy was dead, killed by Barbara Wright. Bennett was dead too, killed by the Didonians, who hadn't been savages after all. And Bennett hadn't been paralysed: he'd only been pretending. Things had been so simple before she met the Doctor, and sometimes she wished that they could be that simple again. But they never would.

"Unhappiness like smoke above this sleeping city rises your," a strangely musical voice said from the window. "No one as beautiful unhappy should be as you."

Her head jerked around so fast that she felt a tendon pull to its limit. That hadn't been the Doctor's voice. Or Steven's.

A dark shape sat on the window ledge. The flickering light from the square outside haloed its edges, and all she could make out were its claws on the wood of the window ledge and the faint suggestion of wings.

"Who are you?" she asked. For some reason she was perfectly calm. She tried to work up some fear, but there was nothing there. Nothing at all.

"Name Albrellian is my," the creature said. Its voice was like a flute playing.

"I'm Vicki," she said automatically, still worried by the fact that she wasn't worried. Perhaps she was still asleep, just surfacing briefly into semi-consciousness as she slipped from one dream into another.

"Universe a better place is now that met you have I," Albrellian said, shifting slightly in the window. She thought that she could make out eyestalks emerging from some sort of carapace, and a ruff of hair. "Your language well speak I, think do not you?"

"Er... yes, you're almost word-perfect." Vicki opened her mouth to say something else, but yawned instead. "Excuse me," she murmured, then continued: "How long have you been sitting in the window watching me?"

"Presence awake is keeping you my," Albrellian hooted in concern. "Apologies like water flow. Perhaps, if allow me to you, might to speak with you again return will I." He seemed to fall backwards out of the window, his wings opening to fill the space, and then he was gone and the stars were shining down upon her. Moments later, something soared against the pocked face of the moon, but it could have been anything.

Vicki shook her head and laughed. Dreams! You never knew what you were going to get.

She snuggled down beneath the blanket and closed her eyes. What next, she wondered? A handsome lover? A fairy-tale palace?

She dreamed. Again.

Steven tried to spring to his feet, or even just to turn his head, but he couldn't move. All he could do was gaze in horror at the crushed, mangled chest of the corpse on the ground in front of him. Whatever caused that incredible, charnel-house damage was standing behind him. Right behind him. He could hear it shuffling closer, ready to pounce. Its breath was hot against the back of his neck. He tried to will his legs to move, but the muscles were rigid and quivering with tension.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Steven pounded his fist against his thigh, trying to provoke some reaction, even if the muscle just spasmed and sent him sprawling on the cobbles. Nothing. Just hot breath on the back of his neck.

"I wouldn't punish yourself," a voice said from behind him. "The man's dead."

The paralysis left as unexpectedly as it had appeared, and Steven slumped to his knees. Turning, he saw a middle-aged man dressed in faded velvets. He had a bushy beard and watchful eyes.

"Who are you?" Steven asked, standing upright.

"My name is Galileo Galilei," the man replied, as if he expected Steven to recognize the name. To his own surprise, Steven did.

"The astronomer?"

Galileo nodded. "The very same. And you are?"

"Steven Taylor." Suddenly remembering the body at his feet, he blurted, "I didn't do it, you know," before he could stop himself.

"I know," Galileo said, walking around to Steven's side to gaze down on the corpse. He seemed strangely unmoved by the sight. "The wound was obviously made by something sharp and long - a sword, I would presume. You possess nothing of that shape about your person, and no scabbard to indicate that you ever had one. Logic would dictate, therefore, that unless you have supernaturally caused the weapon to vanish, you are innocent." He smiled, causing his bushy beard to twitch. "Of course, had you the power to cause a murder weapon to vanish into thin air, then you would not have required one to begin with, for you would have been able to strike the man dead with a word, or perhaps reach into his very bosom and crush his heart without so much as breaking the skin." He cocked his head to one side and gazed at Steven, frowning. "You are silent. Do you find some fault with my reasoning?"

"No!" Steven exclaimed. "Far from it! I'm innocent, and I'm not about to argue with anybody who believes me." He gazed wildly along the sides of the canal, but there was nobody but the two of them around. The crowds he had walked amongst earlier seemed to stick to well-defined tributaries, leaving little undisturbed Venetian backwaters such as this. "Shouldn't we call the police or something? I mean, there's been a murder. Someone should be told. I think -"

Galileo raised a hand. "I think not. I have but recently left the scene of another suspicious death. The local police may not believe me to be as innocent as I believe myself to be."

"Why not?" Steven asked. "I get the impression that death by violence isn't anything special around here." He caught the flash of expression on Galileo's face, and quickly added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to insult your home, but even so -"

"This isn't my home." Another twitch of the beard. "Although there have been times when I wished that it were. No matter, you are right that death is no stranger to this island, but the police would not be impressed with the fact that I insulted the one victim and knew the other."

Steven glanced askance at him. "Which one's this?" he asked, nodding down at the corpse.

"My landlord. I had no argument with him, but the police may wish to make something of the fact that I regularly owed him money." He snorted. "If the fact that I owe money were grounds for murder, then much of Padua and Florence would be free of human life by now."

"So, do you think the two deaths are connected?" Steven asked. "Apart from by you?"

Galileo shrugged. "Possibly. We do not have enough evidence to say, as yet. I would suggest, my friend, that we repair to my lodgings, where we can recover our wits with a few glasses of wine." He gazed down at the body, then up at Steven. "No doubt, as a man of obvious breeding and intelligence, you will have already appreciated the logical corollary to my problem."

Steven nodded. "You can't afford for the body to be found. Even if someone else reports it to the police, they'll come looking for you because you owed him money."

"Exactly. Might I recommend... ?" He nodded towards the murky waters of the canal. Steven looked from Galileo's face to the body and back. Dump it in the canal? Hide the evidence? His mind flinched at the thought, but there was no denying that if he were found by the police, standing over a dead body, there would be questions. A lot of questions. And with the Doctor impersonating a powerful cleric and abusing the Doge's hospitality...

Steven remembered the body hanging from the pillar in St Mark's Square and felt a shiver, like the tiny patter of rats' feet, across the flesh of his back. He bent down to the body. Galileo bent down as well, and together they rolled it towards the edge of the stone paving.

"Shouldn't we say something?" Steven asked. Galileo shrugged. "I am no priest. If it makes you happy... " He closed his eyes and, in a deep and sonorous voice, said, "Dear Lord, we know not how this man came to lose his life, but we commend his immortal soul to your eternal care." Opening one eye, he winked at Steven. "And we ask your protection over the following days for what may befall us," he added, then tipped the body over the edge. It bobbed without noise and floated for a moment before the dark, scummy water rolled over it.

Galileo stood up and brushed his hands against his breeches. "Are you still interested in that wine?" he asked.

"Lead the way," Steven replied. "Is it far?"

"We should be able to get there unseen. Follow me."

He moved away. Steven, after a last glance at the still surface of the water, followed.

Vicki was woken by the sound of water lapping against stone. She gazed up at the ceiling for a while, drifting through thoughts and memories. The early morning sun reflecting off the lagoon illuminated the ceiling with patterns of light that rippled and reformed themselves: always the same and yet different second by second.

More sounds intruded through the open window. Merchants were hawking their wares with shouts in various languages. Bells tolled briefly in the distance, calling the faithful to church, and far, far away she thought that she could hear a man's voice yodelling a similar call to the mosque. A brief volley of trumpets caused everything else to quieten for a few moments. Smells began to register: seaweed, ripe vegetables, spices.

Drifting, her mind alighted on the dreams of the previous night. She smiled as she remembered the dark winged shape at the window, and the polite way it had talked to her. What did that one mean? She drew the blanket tighter about her. That creature had such a deep, soothing voice. She could remember every word that it had spoken. None of her other dreams were that clear.

Eventually she threw the blanket to the floor and stood up. She felt amazingly awake and happy: better than she had for weeks. There was something about sleeping in the TARDIS that she hated: perhaps it was the dryness of the air, or the ever-present background hum, but she always woke up tired. For a while she had thought that she was ill, but all she had needed was a good night's sleep.

Pulling her clothes into some semblance of order, she wandered across to the window. The square outside was bustling with activity: people shopping, talking, drinking, walking or just standing around, singly or in groups. The costumes were gaudy: the faces full of character. This place was more alive than anywhere she had ever seen. Everybody looked like they were living the most important moment of their lives right in front of her.

She rested her hands on the window sill, ready to lean out and look to either side, but something stopped her. There were ridges beneath her fingers: rough, splintery ruts in the wood. She moved her hands and looked down at the sill. The wood had been crushed in two places, one on either side. The splintered areas were about the size of her hands, but they didn't look like they'd been caused by hands.

They looked like they'd been caused by claws.

"Good morning, my dear," the Doctor said from the doorway. "Did you sleep well?"

"Doctor!" She turned, smiling at the familiar elderly face. "I had a wonderful night!"

The Doctor beamed at her. He looked no different from the last time she had seen him: just as distinguished and just as sprightly. "Good, my child. This place seems to agree with us all. I spent a very instructive night in the Doge's library, and Steven seems to have "hit the town", as Chetter - Chesterton used to say."

"Doctor, come and look at this." Vicki gestured him over to the window. "I had the oddest dream last night. I dreamed that there was something sitting on the windowsill, talking to me. It wasn't human, and when I woke up this morning, I found these marks."

The Doctor examined them closely. "Hmm. Are you sure that they weren't there last night?"

"Well... " She thought for a moment. "I don't remember them."

"No, and more to the point, neither do I." He ran a hand across his chin. "I cannot explain it, not yet, but when added to the mysterious invitation, it begins to fit a pattern of sorts, doesn't it, hmm?"

"Does it?" Vicki frowned.

"However, my dear, we have a far more pressing problem on our hands."

"Do we?"

He nodded. "Apparently the Doge wishes to see us this morning. Now, I don't know whether he has ever met Cardinal Bellarmine or not. If he hasn't, then I have to try and pretend to be a confidant of the Pope. If he has, then I'm afraid all of our geese are cooked."

Vicki was about to say something when the door opened again and a haggard, unshaven figure entered. "Steven!" she cried. He looked terrible, and he was wearing different clothes to the ones he had left in - velvet trousers and a brown velvet jacket, embroidered with a maze-like pattern and with a laced shirt beneath.

"Where have you been?" the Doctor snapped. "We've been worried sick."

Vicki glanced over at him. The Doctor hadn't seemed worried when he entered the room. Catching her questioning glance, he winked at her. Obviously he wanted to teach Steven a lesson.

"I've been... " Steven hesitated for a moment. "... researching the parts we're supposed to be playing."

"And how precisely have you been doing that, hmm?"

Steven winced at the harshness of the Doctor's voice. Even from where she stood by the window, Vicki could smell the alcohol on Steven's breath. "I've been out drinking with Galileo Galilei," he said finally.

The Doctor had the good grace to look abashed. "Well, that's different," he said. "You appear to have made more progress than we have. What sort of person is he, by the way?"

Steven shrugged. "He can drink like a fish and he thinks he's God's gift to science," he said. "But why not find out for yourself? He's invited us round to dinner tonight."

The Doctor beamed. "You see how it's all beginning to fit together?" he said. "We'll get to the bottom of this mystery before you know it, and," he glanced over at Vicki, "along the way we'll find out what was squatting on your windowsill."

Steven looked puzzled, but a knock at the door distracted him. He was closest, so he opened it. Three guards in half-armour were standing outside. Their faces were bland, their expressions fixed.

"We've come to escort you to the meeting," one of them said.

"Excellent," the Doctor said, striding towards the door. "Come on, you two. We don't want to keep the Doge waiting."

"Look," Steven said, "I'm feeling a bit rocky. Mind if I duck out and get some sleep?"

The Doctor fixed Steven with his piercing gaze. "Don't make a habit of it. There are races who would quite cheerfully kill you if you insulted them by missing an important meeting like this." He strode off out of the door, leaving Vicki to follow on.

"How much did you two drink?" she asked as she passed him.

"I lost count after the fifth bottle," he said. Close-up, his eyes were bloodshot and the skin around them was puffy.

As she reached the door, she turned back and said, "The couch is very comfortable."

"At the moment," Steven rejoined, "I could quite happily sleep on the flagstones outside."

As Vicki closed the door, Steven was already stretching out on the couch. She ran along the tapestry-clad corridor to catch up with the Doctor and the guards. She was just in time to hear him say, "How long have we got, my good man?"

"All day, I think," one of the men said. "That's just today, of course. The whole thing will last for a week."

The Doctor frowned, and turned to Vicki. "I'm not sure I can keep up this masquerade for a week," he whispered. "I had assumed we would only be in there for half an hour or so."

"Perhaps he isn't serious," she said. She turned to the guard to clarify his answer, but he had already turned to say something to the man beside him. She strained to hear what they were saying, just in case it gave her some clue as to what was going to happen.

"Did they find Envoy Albrellian?" the man was saying. Vicki felt a cold shiver run through her body. Albrellian? For a moment her mind floundered as she tried to remember where she had heard the name before, and then the memory hit home hard enough to make her head spin. It was the name the alien in her dream had used.

"Yes," the second man said, "he went for a late night fly around the city. Said he needed to stretch his wings. Braxiatel was furious."

They laughed. Vicki clutched at the Doctor's coat sleeve. "Doctor, there's something funny going on here."

"Funny how, child?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure, but they're talking about something that happened in my dream."

The Doctor glanced at the two men out of the corner of his eye. "They look human to me - or, at least, humanoid. Hmm... " He thought for a second. "I'm not sure I want to go where they're taking us, not until I know more about what we're doing here, at least. If they're the real thing, they will expect me to be Cardinal Bellarmine. If they're not, and if they are associated with that invitation, then they will know me as the Doctor. Can you say something to them, something that will make them react to my name?"

Vicki nodded, thinking quickly. "Pretend to be ill," she said.

The Doctor nodded slightly, and reached out to take her hand. For a few seconds he squeezed it comfortingly, then he let it drop, stopped abruptly in the middle of the corridor and bent double in a coughing fit. He was so convincing that Vicki almost panicked. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Cardinal Bellarmine is ill!"

The first man just looked at her. "Who?" he said.

"Cardinal Bellarmine!" she said, pointing.

"She means the Doctor," said the second guard. "Quick, get a med kit!"

The Doctor straightened up and shoved the first man in the chest. He staggered back into his colleague. The Doctor took Vicki by the wrist and pulled her back along the corridor. "Come on, my dear. We'll make for our rooms!"

Stone walls and tapestries flew past in a blur as they ran. For an old man, the Doctor was capable of an amazing burst of speed when he tried. It was all Vicki could do to keep up with him. His hand was clamped so hard around her wrist that she was getting pins and needles. Her breath was rasping in her chest, coming in short gasps. She hadn't run this fast for years. How far were the rooms? She was sure that they hadn't walked that far away from them.

And then she recognized a tapestry as it flashed past, and knew that they were only a step or two away.

Something closed over her free wrist. She jerked to a halt. The Doctor ran on oblivious until her hand was wrenched from his. As he stumbled to a halt and turned around, trying to work out what had happened, Vicki looked back over her shoulder. One of the guards was grasping her wrist, while the other lumbered up behind. Desperately she tried to lever his hand away from her wrist, but her own fingers closed over something alien, like bumpy twigs. She lashed out at the guard's face, but her hand passed through empty air where his cheek should have been. Whatever he was, he wasn't human.