By Gundrea's Request

'...And then I killed the puppy.'

'You killed the puppy,' repeated Hel.

'I thought it was a guard dog.'

Hel rocked on his feet and arched a sardonic brow. 'Tell me, has it been your aspiration to become the evillest man alive, or was it just something that happened?'

Planted atop a boulder in the middle of their little camp site, Hel's compatriot scratched his chin. 'I can't say it has been, but now you mention it, "Darken the Evillest" does have a certain blunt ring to it.'

'Shit, why not just call yourself "Lord of Tyrants" and be done with it?'

'That's good too,' said Darken, hopping down from his rock, 'Could be punchier.' Then he spun on his heel and jabbed a finger at the edge of the clearing. There was a flash, a thunderclap, a yelp, and the mingled scent of burned cloth, plants and ozone. A woman staggered into the clearing.

'I find introductions easier when one of us isn't hiding in the undergrowth,' shrugged Darken. The woman glared at him, but that was nothing to the concentrated blast of pure hate she proceeded to turn on Hel.

'Ohhh... Hell,' he said.

Nor Hel A Fury

A Tale of the Triumvirate

She was a tall woman, incredibly slim, almost malnourished, but the strength with which she carried herself eclipsed any notion of weakness. She was attractive and striking, an effect undermined only slightly where her tunic was still smouldering. The tiniest distortion of her lip belied fangs, but you'd only see it if you were looking for it.

Darken waggled a finger between the pair. 'Do you two...?'

'Yes,' said the woman, turning her back on Hel again. 'We do. And we did.' She gave a thin smirk. 'Frequently.'

'Ah,' said Darken. 'I see. You're a vamp.'

'And you're an arrogant shit,' she spat.

'Truly, your politesse shames me.'

'Darken, this is Tsuria. Tsuria, this is Darken.' Hel gestured between them with a theatrically put-upon air. Darken saw right through it.

'I see. And what has she done to make you so uneasy that you're affecting false good humour?'

Tsuria's expression flared. 'What have I done? Me? Oh, I do hope you haven't been deceived by that unassumingly wet façade, little chauvinist. Despite appearances, I can assure you Hel is quite capable of some particularly imaginative violations and abuses.'

Hel's eyes flashed and his voice rose. 'I never abused you!' he hissed.

Tsuria forgot Darken and her mask of sarcasm. She turned on the mage. 'Didn't you? Do you really think not? Did you forget how our last meeting ended, then? Or do you really think it was justified?' Her voice cracked.

Hel's own voice was tremulous, his breathing deep and unsteady. 'I did what I had to do. I did it and I hated doing it. So DON'T you dare suggest you were the only injured party! You forced my hand. YOU did it!'

'You bastard... You incredible bastard...' Tsuria actually laughed. 'I can't believe even you could have the arrogance to suggest that...' She put her hand to her mouth. 'Oh my god. You're certifiable. As if your charity wasn't grand arrogance enough.'

'My charity? I'm sorry, what? Are you suggesting that somehow I was wrong in helping you? Actually, I'm not sure I disagree. I should have left you where you were. Stupidly, I thought you were more than a murderer.' He emphasised the word, and the way he watched Tsuria's face suggested he knew that it would hurt.

'I'm not... I'm not a...' She started, and tailed off. Hel's shoulders sagged, and he sighed.

'No. I know you're not. Or I thought you weren't. You know that. I trusted you... But you,' he shook his head irritably. 'You killed someone. Again. For no reason.'

'You've no idea what my reasons were. He wanted my blood. If I'd left him alone he'd have killed me in time. And probably you too. He was a fanatic. You've never understood that. I don't think you can understand that, because you're so desperate to believe everyone can be reasonable. Well they can't, Hel. He would never have stopped coming because he hated my kind. More than everyone does. He couldn't stand to let me live.'

Hel shrugged. 'And apparently you couldn't stand to let him, so what's the difference? I know, I know, you have been persecuted. I wish you would accept that I'm not disregarding that, but...' He hovered awkwardly. 'But you can't kill everyone. It just doesn't work that way. You have to find other answers. I was going to help you find other answers. Didn't you believe that?'

The girl shook her head. 'That's not even the point. I did something I had to do, and you still don't have the perspective to see that. Even though I know you've done the same.' Hel's eyes twitched to Darken against his will. Tsuria's temper seemed to rise again. 'You don't even- You can't even see why what you did to me was wrong.' She almost shouted the last word. Her expression was wandering, as if troubled over whether to commit itself one way or another. Her eyes seemed to soften and harden again as she watched him. There was a long silence, that seemed to foreshadow some sort of conclusion. Darken ruined it.

'Mind if I ask what he did?' he put in, brightly. Tsuria snarled at him.

'Fine, why not? Let me tell you. He raped me.'

'I DID NOT!' Hel exploded. He was shaking with rage. He advanced on Tsuria and stopped a foot away, shaking, flexing his arm impulsively. 'I, I... I NEVER did that. I... How can you even SAY that... I might have killed you for what you'd done... Or turned you in, which would have amounted to as much, or worse... But I didn't. I didn't! I let you go! I was as humane as I could possibly have been!'

Tsuria forced herself to keep a cold shoulder to her enraged ex-partner. Instead she continued to speak to Darken, as if in appeal. 'He poisoned me. He took my blood and he made up an agent to cripple me. An anti-vampiric. And he injected me with it... Whilst we lay together.'

Darken choked. 'Wo-hoah!' he laughed. 'Cold day in Hel.'

Tsuria wrinkled her nose, concluding that Darken was as much of a pig as she suspected and turning her back on him. She finally deigned to look back into Hel's eyes, now red and watering. He was still shaking. She waited, curious as to what he would say next. After a moment he took a rattling breath and whispered, 'I... Cured you.'

Tsuria slapped him with her right backhand and drew a tight paper scroll from her belt with the left, in a fluid display of motion which Darken admitted was entrancing. She extended the scroll toward him, at arm's length, as if she disdained to get near him. He frowned and took it.

'What's...?' Hel realised his mistake too late. A wide ring of fire spiralled out from between the pair. It engulfed Darken and carried him to its edge. The paper crumbled away. Hel blinked around at the magic barrier. 'Oh, I see,' he said. 'You're going to kill me.'

Tsuria shook her head. 'You're a fool,' she said, and drew her swords.

They were beautiful things. She'd had them even when Hel knew her. In fact, he thought bitterly, he'd added refinements for her himself. The blades were short and incredibly slender. Rune-engraved steel folded around magically reinforced elkbone cores. Lodestones in the grip held binding enchantments that made her nearly impossible to disarm. And they weren't just for show; Tsuria's skill was every bit worthy of the weapons.

She advanced in a few fluid strides, curving gracefully as she came. Hel dived left and under the opening strikes. Easy; she was just testing the water. But she was coming around, quickening her moves, everything flowing so naturally, that grace specific to her that had entranced him in their previous engagements. Spirits bedamned, she was distracting him just by being there. He couldn't cast and dodge those blades at once. At least not to any useful effect. He feinted, ducked right, came up under her arm and took a few quick steps toward the tree line. A few longer-reaching roots and branches crossed the threshold of Tsuria's magic circle. Hel brought his arm up, murmuring a complex entanglement of simple spells. A branch fractured a couple of feet from the tip and flew to his hand. He caught it neatly, and brought it up and around to counter an overarm swing from Tsuria, who was almost on top of him. As he parried he channelled more incantations into the branch and it changed to iron in his grip. Tsuria, swinging her blade at full force, was momentarily stunned by the impact.

Hel pushed the advantage, swiping left and right, succeeding in driving the vamp back a few feet before falling back into the breathing space he'd cleared and refocussing. He began to chant again. Darken had left a long dagger embedded in the earth by his tent. As Tsuria came back at him again, he cast a translocation, exchanging his iron club for the blade.

They fenced briefly, though the mage was clearly outmatched here and couldn't hope to make serious gains. His hopes lay on an opening, not for his blade but for a spell. He was murmuring almost constantly now, preparing and repreparing spells that died away, waiting for the moment when his summoned power would converge upon a weakness in Tsuria's guard and he could unleash his skill.

Darken perched on another rock between the tents, watching the blades ringing together, enjoying the spectacle. Quietly, though, he was keeping one eye on the invisible magic barrier, allowing his vision to sink into an arcane spectrum, picking through the weave of the thing visually, looking for clues to its construction, hunting for gaps.

Hel's muttering became more urgent. He fell back then came at Tsuria from a slight crouch, moving upward, leading with the blade, hooking the hilt of his weapon under the edge of hers. His ability for physical combat was pretty good (Darken was a little surprised), and he was able to judge the moment when his full strength came to bear well enough. He channelled a powerful pulse of magical nullity down his arm and into the dagger, using the weapon as a focus, concentrating the effect on Tsuria's hand. The holding enchantments faltered and the hilt came out of her grip. The blade spun upward erratically. Hel stepped back from the swinging tip, failing to follow through on his manoeuvre. His adversary recovered, throwing him off balance with the flat of her arm and snatching the weapon back out of the air.

Later, Hel congratulated himself on this bluff. As Tsuria's hand fell upon the sword, Hel antagonised the steel with magic. It blazed with light and a corona of fire danced across its edge as it seared the shocked woman's palm. She screamed and dropped it, falling back defensively and cradling her ruined hand.

'BASTARD,' she screamed. She turned on him with the blade in her good hand, running him down with a violence he had never seen in her. The speed and power of her attack was unexpected, and Hel, who had in fact been momentarily paralysed by a twinge of conscience, utterly failed to defend himself.

The cuts were quick and disorientating. He felt them fall upon his shoulder, his forearm and his face but he couldn't see. He dodged and weaved as best he could, and the cuts felt brief and mercifully light. Then a deep, biting pain filled his left arm. The world came back into focus, then swam dizzily. He saw Tsuria's outstretched blade withdrawing from his side through a slow, thick syrup of perception. He faltered, staggered back, dropped his blade and clutched his arm.

His once-lover stood watching him, chest gently heaving, eyes bright but furrowed, as if debating whether she had punished him enough. She didn't speak, and Hel was momentarily too lost to offer any sentiment of his own. If he told her to stop he couldn't in all conscience proceed to attack her, could he? That would be disdainful. Worthy of Darken. But she was going to kill him. Was she? Would she kill him, even though he loved her? Some part of him tried to register that what mattered was whether she loved him. He didn't know if she did. Could they settle this amicably now? He didn't know. He wanted to ask, but he couldn't find his mouth. He'd just got his lips moving when the long moment ended and Tsuria whirled on him again.

Jerkily, Hel swiped a palm through the air. A wall of force deflected the vampire sideways. He lashed out again with an empty backhand which knocked her off balance. Finally he threw his palm forward. The concussive force was intense, and threw Tsuria onto her back.

This display might have looked impressive to a peasant, but Darken was not one of them. This sort of kinetic elementalism was far outside Hel's purview, he knew. And he was gesturing, which was a bad sign. Hel's mastery of arcane theory had allowed him to dispense with material catalysts and physical gestures. In fact, Darken had to admit there was something deeply impressive in the young mage's ability to direct magic through sheer willpower and verbal expression. It was what had first made him an intriguing curiosity. For Hel to be gesturing, he must be floundering badly. He was sweating now, bent over and panting. Those blasts had been large and blunt, they'd taken a lot out of him. Darken's show threatened to turn into bloodsport, and it happened that he wasn't in the mood for that at the moment.

Hel was starting to wobble on his feet. He wanted to talk to Tsuria. He wanted to work things out. He didn't hate her. He could give her a chance. Couldn't she see that? Maybe she could... Maybe she'd calm down now long enough for him to get his breath back, and they could talk.

The girl leapt back to her feet, and her eyes were blazing again, like they had been when she first arrived. She seemed to have taken a lot of offence at being knocked down. She strode forward and-

'Oh, for the love of...' Darken muttered. He jumped down from his seat and pushed his way into the barrier. Purple sparks began to coruscate around his flesh, but the circle slowly gave way.

'Stay out of this!' Hel wheeled on Darken, finding his voice. His good arm flew up and the circle sealed shut, its bindings redoubled. Darken was thrust backwards.

'Idiot', he harrumphed.

Hel turned back to Tsuria. She'd sheathed her blades now. Maybe she was going to talk. But she had another scroll in one hand, and an orange light shone around the first two fingers of the other. Hel couldn't fight her any more. She walked up to him and jabbed him in the chest. He fell down.

Hel's joints protested as his limbs were cinched inwards. The conjuring scroll dissolved into cinders as the chained manacles reified about his wrists and ankles, binding him into an uncomfortable hog tie. Dumbly, he thought about making a joke, but thankfully his reactions were still dull enough that he realised this would be a stupid thing to do before he said it. No need to imitate Darken's level. Still, he'd found his voice.

'I'm sorry,' he croaked. 'This isn't necessary. We can work this out. I'm sorry for what I did to you, it wasn't the solution.' He stared up a shapely leg into her face. It was regarding him with curiosity. He was too out of it to notice the twinge of hardness creeping into it. 'I know I sound like some crawling rat right now and you think it's because you've got me, you know, 'at your mercy'. But, well, I guess it partially is. But honestly, I mean it. It wasn't the way. I was treating your identity like the problem. But it's not! I can accept that. We could still be good. As friends I mean, just friends! But I could help you. We could find a better answer! Please, let me?' He stopped weakly. Tsuria twisted her lip. She picked a small glass trinket from her pocket and regarded it blankly, then began to roll it around in her hand, so that when she replied, it was with an exaggerated sense of distraction and disinterest.

'I was just a charity case to you. Just a project. A project with benefits.' She kicked him hard. 'I still am.' She crouched beside him. He just stared back, silently. 'Let me explain to you. Let me see if you can finally get it. I don't have problems. You see? I am not a problem. I am not to be solved for your edification. You need to realise, when you're so desperate to help people, you're only doing it for you.' Hel still didn't reply, but Darken, who had seen this coming even whilst Hel was still talking, was amused by the thought that Tsuria was just as bad as him. 'Anyway, I came here to try and introduce you to your own fuck ups. For self improvement, you see? My little bit of charity for you. For myedification. So, fair enough, you wouldn't kill me. Most likely that's just weakness masquerading as morality than any true virtue, but fair's fair. You wouldn't kill me, so I won't kill you.' She snapped her fingers shut around the little glass object. It was a phial of some watery green liquid. 'This I got from an apothecary after quite a lot of asking around and dealing with charlatans. I understand it's made from a rock of some kind, but I couldn't get it in powder form. Or maybe it's already dissolved, I don't know. Anyway, you swallow this, rather than injecting it, but the principle's the same. It'll seep through your system, nullify all your hocus pocus abilities, and leave you weak as a lovely little kitten. As it happens it only lasts for a week, rather than - did I mention? - seven years, but I can't be bothered to keep tracking you down to administer the next dose, so that'll have to do.' She smiled at him. 'But I know you'll understand. You've always been so understanding.'

Her fingers snaked around his jaw to the pressure points that would force open Hel's gullet. If she noticed the faintest of vibrations, she didn't register it. Darken leant forward slightly in his new seat on the ground. A few months after he'd first met Hel, his (well concealed) wonder at the boy's particular skill was renewed by a new discovery. Because it wasn't strictly true to say that Hel needed only a verbal direction to control his spells; should he be feeling particularly clear of mind – or just maybe, really bloody furious – he could rely upon no more than an almost undetectable subvocalisation. It was slower, but if he had a good long lead-in – like, say, someone giving a long, arrogant monologue – there was little difference in its efficacy.

The phial exploded, instantly crippling Tsuria's good hand. The whole of the backdraft was swept magically toward her, showering her in glass shards and the burning chemical. She fell back, screaming, and rolled desperately across the floor, trying to douse herself. It was difficult work – the harness for her blades stuck in the earth until she succeeded in tearing it off, burning all the while. Hel stood calmly, the manacles suddenly devoured by rust and crumbling to nothing. He turned his back on his very much ex paramour. Tsuria finally patted out the last of the flames and turned where she lay, gasping and wide eyed, to stare after him. He didn't look round. The girl seemed to shocked by what had happened even to react. Not just shocked by the explosion, but shocked by Hel himself; suffering the reprisal due the arrogance of believing one knows a person utterly. Shakily, she got to her feet.

Hel approached the boulder that Darken had been sitting on when they were first interrupted. His eyes were almost glazed, not fiery with rage as might have been expected, and his face quite relaxed, but his brow was just slightly knotted. His lips were moving. He had dispensed with physical catalysts and extravagant gesticulation as means for the casting of spells, save in those cases when he was desperately fatigued... Or those cases when ordinary potency was not sufficient.

The boulder was enormous, when compared with the tiny stones Tatula had sometimes used in rituals. Hel stepped towards it and traced a symbol on its surface with a fingertip. Then he turned and faced the catatonic Tsuria. He made a sweeping gesture, almost like a polite supplication. Then he drew his hand above his head, striding towards her. His eyes focused and narrowed, and his finger fell.

The boulder vaporised. The magic circle breached and shattered. Darken was thrown onto his back. Hel was lifted bodily and thrown ten feet. For a moment the atmosphere of the clearing itself seemed to taste wrong, as the power of the spell knocked it out of kilter.

Hel lay on the grass for a long while, just staring up at the sky. It was cool and pleasant. But he had to face the consequences. When he finally sat up, Darken was stood by Tsuria, giving the vampire an appraising look.

'Such a strong nose, such burning eyes! And yet so delicate! And the pose, the pose! Unsure, yet powerful! A masterpiece, for sure! Sheer art!'

He stepped to one side as Hel drew up, scratching his chin in parody of a collector. Hel could only manage to raise an eyebrow. Before the pair of mages was a perfect stone statue of Hel's lover. Darken traced a finger across her cheek, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

'How long will it last?' Hel asked.

'Not long,' his companion replied. 'Give it six months and she'll run off with a Laboran farmhand. ...Oh, you meant the enchantment!' He added, with a comical look of realisation. He chuckled. 'Well, it's not a precise estimate, but pretty much forever, I'd say.' Hel whistled. 'Yeah,' Darken continued. 'Good of you to show off, once in a while. Means I don't look arrogant. Interesting case study, the way everything conspired like that. The high magical atmosphere, the reflecting and amplifying effects of the barrier, the residual weaknesses of the chemical in her bloodstream. Quite an impressive effect.' He didn't say what he was really thinking. 'So what now?'

They turned to look at the statue again. Methods for disposing of petrified grudge-bearing vampires was beyond the contingencies Hel or Darken had prepared for. Hel shrugged.

'I can put a delayed reversal enchantment on her. Take her weapons maybe. Maybe you could teleport her into a local prison in one of the larger cities? Something like that.'

Darken smiled and shook his head. 'She was right, wasn't she?'

'About what?'

Darken didn't answer. Instead he raised the camping mallet he'd been holding by his side. 'Let me do you a favour,' he said, and brought the hammer down.

Time Out of Mind

There was a voice in the Doctor's head. It was prattling nonsense. He shut it out. He had no time for it, he had to- ...The Doctor realised he was unconscious, and woke up.

“Where am I?” the Doctor snapped at no-one in particular. He sat up, holding his head. “The TARDIS... I was... Energy, draining my...” Suddenly he straightened. “Ben and Polly!” he exclaimed, and focussed on his surroundings at last.
His gaze found a strange young man crouching several feet away, a curious jumble of expressions on an equally curious face. It was bluish-grey. Alien.
“Who are you?” demanded the Doctor, pulling himself together and getting to his feet. The boy stood paralysed for a second.
“Ah... Doctor?” he managed finally.
“That is who I am,” agreed the Doctor. “Know me, do you?”
“Y-yes, that's right,” confirmed the fellow.
“Then be so kind as to tell me what I was doing down there on the floor, hm? And indeed, where in the universe this floor is?”
“We're... On the planet Pryton. You, uh... Passed out-”
“Passed out, did I? Well!” The Doctor did not seem pleased. “And where are Ben and Polly?”
“They're... Back in the TARDIS,” the boy answered. The Doctor studied him. Had that been hesitation? Yes... Well, he would see about that in time.
“So, know about my TARDIS, do you?”
“Yes... You told me.”
“I must say, I don't remember you. Not a thing!” He paused and looked at the boy again. “You aren't one of my travelling companions.” It was as much a statement as a question.
“No... I just met you. I've been helping you.”
“Helping me! And with what do I need help, eh?”
“The Psychologians. They made some kind of mind weapon. You were... Zapped.”
The boy's eyes had flickered, the Doctor noted. Well, well, another lie. He'd get to the bottom of them, soon enough.
“I see. Now where were we going?”
“To the Control Room.”
“The Control Room?”
“Yes... We were going to destroy the weapon... You remember?” the alien asked, hunting for a hint of recognition. The Doctor decided he was being patronised.
“Hm? Yes! Of course I remember! Must you keep pestering me? Come along!” He waved the alien away irritably, but as soon as the boy backed off, he beckoned him to hurry up. The alien rolled his eyes and followed in his wake.

“Strange...” the grey fellow muttered, when they'd been walking for a while.
“What's strange?” demanded the Doctor.
“I was just thinking, we haven't seen any guards recently. There were plenty around when we first arrived, but we haven't met any for ages.”
“And what do you suppose that means?”
“I don't know... They're setting some sort of trap?”
“Maybe, maybe... Or perhaps they have reason to wish to be somewhere else,” the Doctor suggested.

It was an infuriating fact about the Doctor that he was more often than not correct. Much to the dismay of his alien hanger-on, this was one of those times. A scant few minutes since the Doctor had left his ominous suggestion hanging in the air they heard, faintly at first, but growing undeniably louder, the sound of scurrying footsteps in the walls. When they sounded barely more than a few feet away, the alien felt the need to say something.
“Doctor...?” he queried. “Can you hear that?”
“Of course I can hear it!” he snapped. “I am not deaf. I have been able to hear it for just so long as you have. I merely have not yet come up with a solution. Have you?”
“Well, no,” admitted his companion. “We've hardly got much to go on. Or can you devise a plan by listening to footsteps?”
“Indeed not,” said the Doctor, and then, all of a sudden, he sat down. “So I suggest we wait and see.”
The other man hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and sat down beside him.

It didn't take for long for their predators to descend. They came out of service gratings in the ceiling and dropped deftly to the floor. They moved like wild animals, which was somewhat at odds with their appearance...
“Humans!” the alien exclaimed. And indeed they were, after a fashion, but their clothes were ragged and there was little human in the way they stared hungrily as they circled in on the pair.
“Once,” said the Doctor. “Something, hm... I rather think something dreadful has been done to them.” He stared into the eyes of the nearest one. It stared right back. “Regressed to some sort of primal state. Yes, pre-human I should think. Some sort of temporal mind-wave...”
The creatures were within lunging distance.
“Doctor,” the alien said, warily. “Have you g-RUN!”
The boy shoved the Doctor one way as the creatures pounced the other. They collided behind them, snarling and hissing, and the sound of scrabbling footsteps told them they were close at heel.
“I think... you made... a mistake... my boy!” the Doctor shouted between breaths. “These creatures... have been reduced... to pure impulse. I rather think... running... has only incited... their natural... killer instinct!”
“Helpful, Doctor,” panted the boy, a few steps behind. “If you'd thought of it a minute ago.” The Doctor's eyes flashed.
“Oh, but it might be the most helpful thing!” he cried. “Yes, the most helpful! If these creatures have the basic hunting instinct, perhaps they also bow to the dominant male, hm?”
“What-” the boy began, then he froze, mouth open, because the Doctor had turned and was lunging at the creatures, stamping his foot and hollering. It seemed like lunacy, but sure enough, the creatures drew up warily.
“Yes, just as I said,” affirmed the Doctor, “Sub-conscious obedience to a more assertive creature.” He rubbed his chin and gazed around thoughtfully. The creatures craned their necks and swayed, eyeing the pair.
“And now I rather think that it is time to be going.” He looked again at the things, once people, now watching them with animal eyes. “Yes... Time to be going.”

“Definitely a temporal aspect... Retrowave resonance generated by taranium decay, I shouldn't wonder.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the alien, for the Doctor had been muttering such things for some time now.
“Nothing you would understand,” said the Doctor. The alien glared.
“Thanks for your respect.”
“Respect you? Hm, well. Perhaps if you had done something to gain it.” It seemed that asserting himself against the ferals had stirred the Doctor up, and now he had determined to confront the stranger.
“Done anything? What about when you were unconscious – you snore, by the way – I watched out for you then, didn't I?”
“Didn't you, indeed? Well, well, maybe you did.”
“Maybe I did? And what? Maybe I didn't? You don't trust me, do you?” the alien narrowed his eyes.
“Well, perhaps I would be more inclined to trust you if I knew your name!” the Doctor snapped. This gave the boy pause.
“My name..? It's C- Crayne.”
“Crayne is it now?” asked the Doctor, disbelieving. Then suddenly he furrowed his brow and an expression of great perplexity crossed his face. “Do you know, I don't think that it is. What do you make of that, eh? I don't think you're Crayne at all. I think I know your name, though I can't think why. I think it's C'rizz... Yes...! C'rizz!”

***

Once the spark was lit behind the Doctor's eyes, it didn't take long for him to piece it all together, with only occasional prompting.
“So I am not really me at all. I suspected as much. Why would I wear such ridiculous clothing, hm? And I am sorry, my boy, but I'm afraid you're not quite quick enough to hide things from these eyes, eh?” He grinned and tapped the side of his head. “'We arrived' you said. Gave it away, didn't you? So 'I', that is, this new me, arrived here with you. But these... What were they? 'Psychologians'... shot me with this 'regression wave', and turned my mind back a few centuries! My, my, what a going on. Is that right?”
C'rizz took a moment to reply, somewhat stunned by this turn of events.
“Almost, but it was me that got zapped. Then you did some funny Time Lord trick so it affected you instead.”
“Good...” The Doctor smiled distantly. “Then I think after all those years I am still the same man.”
“But Doctor, just before you collapsed, you told me it was vital that I not tell you anything about your current incarnation.”
“And it was!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Why, that wave must have left me in a most delicate state. One wrong word might have damaged my mind irreparably. But clearly this new me didn't think that I might work it out myself, you see? Dear me, I must give myself more credit.”
“You mean, because you worked it out, your brain accepted it, whereas if I just told you, it'd have rejected it?”
“Yes! Very good, dear boy. Very good.” The Doctor stood and dusted himself down. Then he gazed off into distance and gave a little sigh. “And now, I think it is time I said goodbye.”

There was a voice in the Doctor's head; it was his own. Now it filled his head. Now the prattling wasn't nonsense, because this Doctor understood it. It was this Doctor's mind. And this Doctor realised he was unconscious...

…And woke up.

“Doctor?”
“C'rizz!” The Doctor laughed delightedly. “Glad to see me?”
“Yes! But... How did you...”
“Change back? Ah, that was easy once I'd worked out who I was. You see the regression wave has a temporal aspect. It doesn't just change people's minds, it exposes them to the past. That's why those humans had retreated to a pre-human state. But a Time Lord mind also has a temporal aspect. That's why I didn't become one of those creatures too. And it enabled me to fastforward myself back to my present day mind. Much more comfortable in here.” He smiled, but C'rizz's grin faltered.
“You mean... If you hadn't done whatever it was... I'd have been one of those things, too?”
“That's right.”
“In that case,” said C'rizz, “Let's get to that control room and shut this place down. For good.”

***

There was a voice in C'rizz's head.

There were many voices.

Now they were shouting, afraid. He closed his eyes against the tumult and thought of the Doctor and Charley. His friends; they were stability, they made him who he was, made him the man he wanted to be. But the Doctor had changed. Whatever had been done to him – had nearly been done to C'rizz – echoed through the Eutermesan's mind. He could feel the shifts in the Time Lord's nature threatening to unseat his own like a tide across loose shale. C'rizz feared the regression wave. He feared what it might do to him. He remembered those primal humans. He doubted it would stop there...

C'rizz suppressed his fear as they entered the Control Room, as the Doctor explained the plan, as he began wrenching up cables and flicking switches. Now he daren't move lest his horror overwhelm him.
It was a simple plan. The Doctor would set up a counterwave in the complex's resonance matrix. This would cause a rapidly amplifying harmonic that would cripple the matrix, silencing the transmitters and, conveniently, generating a shockwave sure to attract the authorities. The Doctor reckoned the guards would give in shortly afterward. After all, it was the Psychologians who'd been tampering with nature, no reason they should get dragged down too.
There was just one problem - the Doctor was in a rush. They'd sealed the door but it wouldn't hold for long. He'd had no time to check his calculations. And if he'd made a mistake, the counterwave could be every bit as devastating and terrible as the regression wave.

You had to trust the Doctor. You had to. You couldn't live this life if you didn't. But... Which Doctor? An hour ago he'd been a completely different person. A person who heretofore had shown no sign of existing. How much did C'rizz really know about the Doctor? How much didn't he know? Could he trust him? When the alternative was... Again he thought of those debased humans... The cabling was strewn mere feet away. It would take a moment to stop the Doctor making a terrible mistake...

Glancing up, C'rizz saw the Doctor frozen, hesitating - he didn't trust himself! He wasn't going to do it! The guards were at the door...

A memory surfaced in C'rizz's thoughts. Or... Was it a memory? Just for a moment, it was more like a voice in his head.

'Perhaps if you had done something to gain it.'

C'rizz strode forward, shouldered the Doctor aside, and pushed the button.

***

“Well!” exclaimed Charley Pollard, flopping into a chair in C'rizz's room hours later. “That is certainly not my idea of Allan Quartermain!”
“What are we talking about?” asked C'rizz dozily.
“Oh, honestly, C'rizz! The picture I went to see. Do wake up, it's nearly lunchtime.”
“Not everybody spent yesterday on a jolly outing!” he grumbled.
“Oh yes, the Doctor said something about that. What happened?”
“It wasn't very pleasant,” said C'rizz, his face darkening. “Misguided idiots messing with people's heads.” There was an awkward pause, so C'rizz added, “Oh! And I met the Doctor.”
“Ah, C'rizz...?” Charlie gave a bemused chuckle. “Are you sure they didn't mess with your head? You met the Doctor ages ago.”
“My head's fine.” His face soured again. “Despite their efforts.”
He filled her in on events, recieving a barrage of questions about the 'other' Doctor. As he did so, his face took on an unreadable expression. Chameleonic, like his skin. Eventually he sighed.
“He didn't trust me,” he said.
Charley laughed.
“Aw, poor C'rizz! I suppose you can't blame him, you were hiding something.”
“Yeah...” said C'rizz. “I guess I was.”
“Well, we've got good old, familiar Doctor back now. Doctor Classic,” Charley smiled.
“Yeah,” said C'rizz. “Now where's lunch?” But even as they sauntered to the kitchen, joking and chattering, C'rizz couldn't help thinking that the Doctor didn't seem that familiar at all, any more.

Interlude - The Lamentable Tribulations of Nicodemus

"Evening, Nicodemus."
"Ohh, fuck."
The wiry man's already narrow face screwed up into a vicious frown and he spat. "What. What do you want? Why are you here? You got no reason."
A tall man in a grey cloak, hooded and indistinct, detached himself from the wall on the opposite side of the street. He drifted across the cobbles and the mist swirled back almost as if he were directing it. Perhaps he was.
"I have got plenty of reason, Nicodemus. Believe I would not come here merely for the sake of the ambience."
"Fuck you. What do you want?"
"I might wish a little more courtesy if you are going to make demands of me."
"Fuck you again."
"Fine, then. Well, I am going to kill you."
"What? What the fuck? Are you mad? What the fuck?" Nicodemus had no pretence to dignity as he scrabbled backwards into his doorway. His face was wild with panic and bile. "What the fuck are you on about? Are you fucking serious? I did what you said. You can't fucking kill me. Fuck you, you can't."
"I can, and you are hardly dissuading me. Don't think you would be missed, Nicodemus. You don't exist. In fact, you are already dead."
"Yeah, I know, just like you fucking wanted! I did like YOU fucking said!"
"You could do with a wider vocabulary, Nicodemus. It's a wonder you have enough words to make your spells."
"Yeah, well maybe I forgot a few. My mind's not what it used to be." His face darkened into a truly hateful scowl, and something shifted in his tone. Despite his fear, he'd found an edge to it.
"People can be so clumsy," muttered the cloaked figure with the slightest of shrugs. He was standing oddly still, almost seeming to deaden the air about him.
"So why haven't you killed me, then?"
"Oh, you can be sure, I already have," said the agitator. "At least, as far as anyone is concerned."
"You know what? I'm not fucking grateful. I wish I hadn't disappeared. Not for you to do this to me. Well fuck you, kill me if you want to. Fucking kill me."
"Maybe not," said his potential murderer, as if musing about an idle fancy. Nicodemus virtually convulsed. The unhappy wretch has clearly consigned himself to doom and had only been holding himself together by throwing himself full-bloodedly towards it. Now he suddenly realised his tormentor had never meant to do it. He burst with fury.
"Fuck you, Vivendi!" he screamed. The name echoed around the street and died there. Vivendi moved a step forward.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't advertise my presence."
"Fuck you."
"No matter." He came to the point at hand. "I have a job for you, Nicodemus."
"What the fuck? After that you expect me to work for you?"
"I always expect you to work for me. That was why I saved you."
"I wish you fucking hadn't." Nicodemus glared for a second, then his defiance died. "What is it?"
"I need to know if you can remove ink from a book."
"Of course you can. Scourge it."
"Selectively."
"Oh. Well, yeah. I can do it."
"Show me how."
Nicodemus was dusting himself down and straightening up, now the conversation had become a less directly agitative business.
"Well, sure, ok, if I have to. When do you want to do it?"
"Now."
"What? You bastard. I was going out. I don't have the bloody time. Do it tomorrow."
"Now, Nicodemus. You do have the time. You have all the time of your life and you owe it all to me." He paused. Nicodemus might have been about to say something. Then Vivendi spoke again. "And this won't take long at all."
Nicodemus frowned in incomprehension at this last statement.
"Not sure how you know to lecture me on how long it'll take to teach you something you know nothing about, but whatever. Fuck it. Come in. Let's do this fast."
"We shall. Let's do it here." Vivendi was raising an arm.
"What...? Oh fuck me, no." Nicodemus began backing into the doorway once again. His Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes rolled wildly and his legs kicked as he pressed himself into the shade. Vivendi strode towards him, raising a hand, palm outstretched in the manner of someone signalling 'halt'. Nicodemus was panicking now.
"No, no, please no. Fuck, no. Please. Gods. No. Fuck, no, no, no no no. PLEASE." His face was wet with tears now, his legs had sagged and he was dangling with his arms gripping the wall. Vivendi's hand brushed lightly against the front of his face. Nicodemus opened his mouth but only belched a wet sob. Then he began to wretch and bring up wind, his throat convulsing of its own accord. His arms went limp and dropped him into a heap by the foot of his door. His legs kicked aimlessly at the dust. He wretched and gulped up vomit, snot and saliva in a glob that bubbled out onto his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head and tears flowed freely. He began to twitch, the side of his head smacking nastily into the concrete again and again. He went over on his side against the ground. His lips moved and stretched in an endless moan. Yet he made no sound at all until Vivendi withdrew his hand. The robed man's lips moved briefly in what might have been a sigh, and a thin grin was just visible on his shadowed face.
Now that Vivendi had withdrawn his hand, Nicodemus made incoherent whimpers. He tried to mouth indistinguishable words and he coughed up more phlegm onto his chin and chest. His eyes stared up naively, like a newborn child's. One hand pawed aimlessly at the side of his head. Vivendi sighed, and flicked the hand he had brushed the man's face with in what looked like an irritable little gesture. Nicodemus moaned.
"Glough..." he choked. "God. God." He rolled fully over on the dirt until he was sprawled face down across his step. "No..." he gurgled again, and then pushed himself to his knees, shaking several inches on unsteady hands. He clumsily braced himself in the crook of the door and he stared up at Vivendi with semi-focussed eyes.
"You're a fuckin' monster, Vivendi..." he slurred. "You're gonna die..."
"Later rather than sooner, I think," replied the man, then he turned on his heel and left.

It was two full minutes before Nicodemus dragged himself through his bile smeared front door and the clunk of it closing echoed out into the street behind Vivendi. Vivendi had spent nearly an hour watching that very same door earlier that day, making strange gestures at it with the first two fingers of his left hand. Nobody had paid him any attention – he'd made sure of that. Now as he departed through the thickening fog, Vivendi swiped the air with the same fingers. Nothing happened immediately, and the man walked away.

When the watch belatedly investigated the charred ruin of the ratty little flat the next afternoon, they noted that one inhabitant had perished in the flames, apparently trying to fight his way out through a front door which seemed to have sealed itself mysteriously shut.

In Which Theo Goes For A Walk

Theo walked absently at first, no destination in mind, only half-thinking. He was brought back to the present when he narrowly avoided striding into a severe-looking woman emerging from an intersecting street to his right. He shook his head to wake himself up, and from the depths of his mind came the reminder that people were out to get him. He needed to stay alert. It was easy enough to get lynched in the city without wandering around in a daze. Maybe this had been a mistake, Theo thought, and rocked on his heel hesitant over whether to go on or turn for home. He shook himself again. He was being silly. He'd got into one mugging. That was practically miraculous luck for a nobody like himself living in the grimy corners of a big metropolis. He squared himself and strode on with a bit of his old confidence restored.

Idly he remembered the great, colourful, irrepressible youth he had been not a million years ago. Of course he had had his dispensation from his parents then. Theo hadn't been kicked out, as such. His parents had merely hinted that a boy of his age could really spread his wings out in Salrissa these days, and surely he'd start to find the smalltown life of Narnberg stifling soon? And here was some money his mother had put aside to see him started off. And did he know they were ever so short of running boys in the big city offices of the press and the publishing houses lately? Something to think about. Well, Theo had thought about it. He knew his parents really just wanted him to go and start making his own way. He was 16, it was time. They had a narrow view of life, that involved solid but dull work for forty years, before settling into an equally dreary retirement, along with making a home and family somewhere down the line. His father, no doubt, was already cultivating a healthy disappointment in the boy, not that he said anything. He simply sat reading fiscal reports in his chair, and his mother did all the talking. Theo wasn't interested, but he was interested in the city. It was true that he did hate life in the grey little town, and the city would be and adventure. A wiser, cynical part of him noted how this was quite the cliché view of wide-eyed and naïve smalltown protagonists in any number of stories. He ignored it, took his parents money, and left with their half-sincere blessing.

Salrissa was an enlightenment. To his credit, Theo was already fairly insightful in his assessment of 'real' life (Narnberg was barely life at all). Nevertheless, even he was somewhat thrilled by just how much bigger the scope of everything was in such a place. Such was evident when he arrived back at his tiny attic flat on his fourth night in the city.
"I just got propositioned by a whore!" he exclaimed.
Theo's flatmate, another youth named Michaelson, was only a year or so older, and still had an air of innocence about himself, so he took every opportunity to play the jaded veteran to the one person he could.
"Well, don't get too flattered about it, that's what they do," he observed.
"Yeah, but it's only eight o'clock... I didn't think they'd come out that early!"
Michaelson laughed.
"When did you think they came out, Theo? The dark of the night, when all good men are asleep in their beds? Hah."
Theo looked a little bashful.
"Yeah, alright, fair point... That's what's so great about the city – everything so readily available."
He'd admit now that the joke was probably an attempt to seem less of an innocent youngster, but it came out painfully stupid. Michaelson tutted.
"You don't want to sleep with prostitutes," he said. "That's one thing you really don't get into." He looked up at Theo for a second. "You're a virgin, right? Well for god's sake, don't go losing it to a hooker. Prostitutes are cold, there's nothing romantic there. Save it for someone good. Or, at the very least, go find some sloshed girl at a tavern to show you what to do. At least you'll both enjoy it and there won't be any grotty transactions afterward."
Theo regretted that he hadn't taken this advice.

There were a couple of fallen bricks in the road. Theo kicked one maliciously, remembering the like one in the alley to which he owed the sting of his face. This whole city was falling down. Similar debris littered the streets of the city, in the manner of the last dregs of snowfall from some strange dusty freeze. Any building contractor with an ounce of wisdom knew to keep friendly with the council, as a perpetual need for renovation, demolition and construction work ground from the decaying metropolis. Right now they were building a new Academy of the Arts over on Crown's Mound, since the old one had collapsed into a pit the month before.

There was another big site just off Hollamen Square. A huge square of brown earth spread some 400 yards between Morton Street, Hollamen Chase and Hollamen Row which bordered it on three sides. Coming up Morton Street now toward Hollamen Chase, Theo realised that as he was intending to turn right, he could cut diagonally across the land and save himself five minutes. There was a fence around the whole area, of course, but there was nothing blocking the big openings for workers that punctured it here and there. It was abandoned at present, which was no surprise. Builders knocked off at all hours, everyone knew, and in Verne a site could be deserted for months at a time, as the council faffed about re-evaluating finance. Theo shrugged and quickly cut in to the open gateway and started to make his way along the field of dirt.

There was nothing to suggest what this place was going to be, not structure had been erected yet. The place was merely a field of cleared earth, with mounds of shale and sand overturned here and there, although deep trenches had been dug in a gridlike fashion across the middle of the ground. Theo's path now sloped into one of these trenches.

"Turn around."
The voice was calm and the words spoken so softly and suddenly Theo was only half sure he heard it. When he turned, there was a man before him, standing atop the banked sand, ten feet away or less. He wore a heavy cloak with the hood up, but his face was unhidden. It was middle-aged but youthful underneath, and warm.
"Who are you?"
"A friend."
Theo's eyes twitched with a smirk.
"I never trust anyone who gives that introduction," he said.
"Very wise," said the man. "But alright. Call me an associate."
"Ok. And why are we associating?"
"Because I want to help you out."
"Go on."
"Three men wanted to kill you."
Theo stiffened and narrowed his eyes, but in truth he had already suspected the connection.
"They thought you knew something; I don't think you do."
"How can you tell?" asked Theo, before the answer came from the back of his head. "Have you been spying on me?"
To his credit, Theo spoke the question surprisingly calmly, the trepidation and indignation remaining swallowed in his throat.
"That's right," said the associate.
"That must be very boring."
"It is." They paused, then the man gave a thin smile. "Strangely, I find I much preferred to pay to watch you than to be paid."
Theo was disappointed with himself for betraying his surprise when he answered.
"You're a fan, then?"
"Somewhat. I have missed you recently."
"Work is scarce. Now tell me what you need to say." It came out quite aggressively. Not intentional, but Theo was becoming uncomfortable, and the voice in his head had a notion that he was being mocked.
"Men of standing have become concerned that you may possess unwanted information. As I say, I don't believe you do. They want to have you killed, but I believe I can resolve the situation amicably. When you return home, you will immediately collect the books you have on loan from the city archive, one of which is several weeks overdue already, I'd point out. Place them outside your door, then retire to your chair and refrain from entering the corridor for fifteen minutes. Do not think to read the books; I will know if you delay. And if you don't let me help you, they will kill you."
The associate spoke quickly, but his voice remained calm throughout, and still there was a certain warmth about him. Theo nodded.
"Ok. I trust you. More fool me. But why help me?"
The man raised an eyebrow.
"How very trite. I have many associates, Mr. Eiphel. I believe this is in the best interests for all of them. I do not revel in unnecessary violence. In fact, I deeply regret death, violence and pain of any kind."
Something in that last sentence sounded like a threat, decided the back of Theo's mind.
"Pain too?" he asked. "Because I know this very good whore."
The associate smiled.
"I'll be going now. A good evening, Mr. Eiphel. I hope you appreciate it."

Theo didn't know if he appreciated it or not. He certainly didn't appreciate that people had decided to do mysterious things like try to murder him or sneak up on him on building sites. But the guy had said he wanted to help him, and as Theo had said, he believed him. He didn't plan to walk blindly into anyone's trap (not again, anyway), but he couldn't see any harm in returning those books, if what his friendly associate said was true. Plus, Theo felt he had quite a good sense for veracity. He looked back when he reached the far side of the site, but the mysterious man had gone, no surprises. As he turned and carried on his way, a fellow leaving Hollamen Row stopped him.

"Here mate, how long til it's done?" he asked. Theo looked confused for a moment, then looked back at the site exit and laughed.
"Oh, no, I'm not a builder," he said. "I'm an entertainer." Theo never missed an opportunity for self promotion, and the unexpected complements of the mysterious visitor had bolstered him. He was about to introduce himself when he was interrupted.
"Good one, mate," the fellow chuckled, then disappeared off up the street. Theo stood looking stupid for a couple of moments, then closed his mouth. He looked down at himself and wondered if he looked like a builder. He was wearing dull brown and grey leathers and woollens that he'd bought after the encounter the other day and which he couldn't really afford. He could do to look less conspicuous when not soliciting business, he'd decided, and somewhere in his mind the bit which revelled in gutter humour noted that the same was true of prostitutes. Besides, his other clothes were dyed, and relatively expensive, and he was wearing them out with everyday use. Still, he probably did look more like a workman than a thespian in these clothes. His face, too, was looking less striking, since he'd shaved off the neatly clipped goatee beard to staunch the bleeding of a nasty cut beneath and now was merely beginning to show the first signs of a rough stubble.

Slightly amused by the misunderstanding, Theo turned for home smiling but lost in uneasy wondering about his mysterious advisor. On his way back, he stopped for a moment and pondered. Then he nipped back up Sires Street and visited the listener's building for a moment. Probably nothing would come of it, he thought, but it couldn't hurt to try...

In Which Theo Remembers

Blades clashed again, and slid away. Theo stepped back to come on again, matching steel with the strong, dark eyed opponent who sneered into his face. Another crash and the audience cheered. Theo smiled inwardly at the sound; it bouyed him. He added a little flourish to his sweep. Ippolio was supposed to be the inferior fighter, lacking the finesse of the noble trained Lucien, but Theo felt he could be permitted one twirl. Rodrin, though, struck out again, and caught him a heavy blow on his arm. Theo didn't need to perform the pain. He steadied himself, but Rodrin was already coming on again with a series more blows. The blades were thick and heavily blunted, little more than rod clubs, but they could still hurt, or even break bones. Theo caught Rodrin's eye, to signal him to slow his pace. Then he chilled. When he saw Rodrin's eyes, he knew the part of the jealous suitor was not an act for the surly player. He saw the jealousy, and the hate at having to hide that jealousy. 'Poor fool,' he thought. Theo was close to Lena, the company's bewitching female performer. For sure, he cared about her, but he didn't want romantic entanglements. That was a half truth, a little voice pointed out. Of course he wanted it, but he knew it was never going to happen. He wouldn't be right for her even if she was open to it. Rodrin had nothing to fear.
There was something else, though, Theo saw. Rodrin and Lena weren't involved, not explicitly. But there was an implicit bond between the two of them. Rodrin was angry with Theo not so much for what he'd done, but for the suggestion that maybe, if the youth had turned Lena's head, what Rodrin thought that bond had meant had only ever been in his head.

Well damn it, Theo thought. He was the better swordsman anyway; Rodrin was a lumbering incompetent. Theo slammed away the blunt strikes. Rodrin's eyes flared with anger. Theo felt his legs rise into a proper fighting tense. But then Lena hit her cue:
"Hold, gentlemen! For I am not worth such blows! Neither am I worth to die for nor to kill for! And to be sure whoever should kill the other would be the friend of Gaoler Snatch before morning, and I would never know them. Part your blades, for the love you say you hold me."
Theo backed off, lowering his point cautiously, the apprehension on his face quite real as he watched to see what Rodrin did next. But the larger man dropped his blade, held him in a look of noble contempt, and spat his line:
"I'll spare the welp. It is befitting my class to do charity, just as it is not worthy to spill such low blood on my shirts."
Theo relaxed.

They finished the play with a steely rigidity. Nobody sat around the campfire that night. Tomo the company master sat alone, staring glumly into the flames and toying with his fingers. After a while he walked over to Theo, who was leaning on a low stone wall at the roadside, reading by the light of an oil lamp he'd perched beside him.
"The," he said. His voice had a sympathetic note, but a pleading one too. "The... I've got to talk to you about something."
Theo looked up and smiled at the little man. Tomo was older than he and Lena, and wiser than all three of them, but he was diminutive and weedy.
"What's up, Tomo?"
He paused.
"You know we only hired you to do this play?"
"Ah. I thought this might come up."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, The. But we really can't afford to keep a fourth actor on full time. It would stretch our takes too thin. I know there was some unspoken suggestion that we would take you with us, but I've been doing the numbers. I looked at the books, and we just can't manage it. I'm sorry, The."
The player shook his head amicably.
"No, that's fine. Like you said, you only hired me for this one. And of course, Rodrin's seeing love triangles outside his scriptbook. I get that problem."
Tomo bowed his head at that.
"Sorry, The. You're right, of course. I'm sorry about that. But it's true anyway; we really can't afford to work as a four. I'm sorry about the way it's been handled. Wasn't your fault."
He'd lingered a moment longer in awkward silence, then stumbled back to his fire and his books. Theo had finished his chapter, finished the bottle of wine he'd been drinking, and walked back past the fire, throwing Tomo a goodbye as he went. He looked in at Lena's tent as he passed. She gave him an unhappy look that he couldn't quite read. 'Is that scorn?' queried the voice at the back of his mind.
"Hey Lena, I'm going now," he whispered. She nodded.
"G'night."
"Night," Theo said, and dropped the canvas. Then he walked back into the city and tried to think of anything else.

* * *

Theo swallowed a poor whiskey. That had been nearly a year ago, and Theo hadn't really performed since. He'd spent some of the time playing for change on street corners and most of the rest taking whatever scratty jobs were offering scant silver. Eventually he'd taken a courier job running a coach from Salrissa to Verne for a modest sum and afterwards had stayed in the city, finding it marginally kinder to paupers.

He had a lot to thank Mrs Hannon for, he thought; he might have been on the streets were it not for her room. She offered it him for whatever cost he could pay and he was dearly thankful for that. He suspected the woman mostly appreciated having some company; from what he had ascertained she had been alone most of her life. In the back of his mind he felt a bit like he was taking advantage of her, she'd probably let him live for free if he asked, but in truth he really couldn't afford to pay more. And it was true that Mrs Hannon could afford to be generous. She had inherited or somehow acquired a sizable fortune for a lower-class woman, and this, along with her steady income from a laundering business, kept her quite comfortably with two properties, the lodging house and the laundry. Theo thought he probably ought to see her a bit more often, rather than spending all his time in his room reading by dim lamplight.

Wearily he drained his glass of the tasteless liquor. It was cheap, and still too expensive. He hadn't had a job for weeks. The problem was, what could he do? As an entertainer you picked up a secondary skill set and in the stretches between gigs, you put it to work doing odd jobs. That was how it worked, but what were Theo's skills? He could do physical labour, but there were plenty of dumb oxes in the city who could lift a cart and were too stupid to think or talk to their employers, so why would they want Theo? He was competent with a blade and really rather talented at the vicious knife-fighting of the streets, but there were better bodyguards, and that was rarely a part-time job. He was intelligent and well read; conspicuously so for someone on the bottom rung. That was more a hindrance than a help, though. People were suspicious of smart guys and treated them with contempt. Theo sighed. He was the exemplary jack of all trades, master of none.

He thought dimly of visiting the Strangled Cat. He hadn't been there in weeks. He'd fetched up there his first week in Verne, not realising it was little more than a base of operations for the working folk of the alleys. His naivety had brought great amusement from the bartender and a girl at the next stool who it transpired was a prostitute. After a short while Theo had begun to suspect the joke, and he was becoming uncomfortable when the bartender had banged down a drink on the house.
"It's horse piss, mind," he'd cautioned, and Bird and Annie had been his close friends ever since. He missed them now. He'd neglected them recently, and everyone else. When had he become such a hermit? He decided to take a walk that evening.

"Whilst someone is trying to kill you," reminded a voice in his head.

In Which Theo Loses a Perfectly Good Rapier

The drizzle could cost him his life. It was a thought that angered Theo as he staggered in the dirt. No matter what karmic balance he might have racked up, if he died from the drizzle, he was going to feel quite unfairly treated.

'No you won't,' said a voice in his head sardonically. 'You'll be dead.'

Something pressed hard into the back of his thighs. Broken bricks, he realised as they scraped painfully into his flesh. Not paying attention, damnit. They'd caught him completely off-guard. His head had been somewhere else entirely. Now he was fighting to retain his focus as the three assailants savaged him. Well, two now. He'd layed a nasty slice between the legs of one with his blade upturned. He was still sat howling in a truly impressive pool of blood at the mouth of the dirty little alley.

The largest man, a genuinely muscled heavy who barely opened his mouth even to grunt, bore down on him. He hadn't got a proper weapon, just a heavy length of iron bar. As far as Theo was concerned, though, it was very much a proper weapon.

The heavy bulled into him with the length of his right forearm, driving him back over the tumbled chunk of bricks. Theo's legs went from under him and he fell. Driving himself to keep thinking, he tucked his chin in hard and held it there as his back slammed into the dust and drove his breath from him. The heavy was coming over the low scrub of debris, now, getting right over him before dropping vertically onto his chest. He'd probably crush Theo's lungs. At best, his ribs would be shattered.

Fighting the swimming pain in his head with everything he had, Theo channeled the momentum of his fall up and over his head. His legs swung up and he tried to keep them together, but wavered in spite of himself. He felt the wind of the heavy as his arm swept the empty air an inch from his legs. Now Theo was stood on his shoulders and neck, his body pointed straight up above him. He sprawled in the position, unable to balance properly, but he'd held it long enough. The heavy gave the slightest of snarls as his drop found no target, and he clumsily rose to strike out.

Theo dropped his legs, spreading them and rocking his head off the ground. His weight fell along the length of his body and slammed into the heavy's shoulders as he rose. In one smooth movement his legs locked around the thug's arms and his body curled over the man's head, so that he found himself perching on his shoulders in reverse. He made sure to sag slighty in his seat so as to keep his valuables out of biting reach of the man. He clamped his left hand onto the bald pate of the man's head and drove his thumb hard into the eye. In spite of himself he coughed a mouthful of vomit across the heavy's back when the wet flesh popped beneath his thumb. He felt his unwilling steed twist and stagger beneath him and quickly leapt from the man's back as he tumbled and crashed to the ground. Now, finally, the man made a noise, a huge, bellowing roar of pain, as he thrashed in the scree.

The third man had had time to get the perfect angle on him though, and was waiting. A skinny, angular man in a rough leather waistcoat, shorter than Theo but much less fatigued, he came at him with a vicious shortblade. Theo had just enough time to parry with the rapier in his right hand before he would have been run through. Endlessly thankful he hadn't lost his sword in his fall, Theo fought desperately for position. The skinny man was coming on at him with quick, hissing slashes, and Theo's legs were tangling beneath him. He slipped in a rivulet of the first attacker's blood, and almost closed his eyes as time slowed down and he became detached from himself with the sureness that it was all over. His assailant slammed into him hard trapping him against the wall. The man's left hand cut across his neck and right wrist. The rapier fell and Theo thought his throat had collapsed. Blue dots burst across his vision. He couldn't move. The weight of the attacker held him hard. His left hand had been pinned at his side and his stomach was being crushed painfully. The edge of the man's blade hovered beneath his chin, but didn't move. He realised the man wasn't going to kill him yet. He had a feeling it was certainly on the cards for later, however.

In spite of his situation, an inappropriate imp at the back of Theo's mind was curious as to what the man wanted. He waited for him to speak. A few feet from the pair was a stained sewer grate. The attacker kicked his rapier into it. It vanished with a gently grinding of steel on grit.

"You know who we are?" asked the skinny man. Theo shook his head a fraction. The man looked up and met his gaze, then. Theo felt a chill. The hate in the man's eyes told him that he had nothing but death in mind. Theo didn't wait for more answers. The hand at his waist twisted fast beneath the pinned wrist. His finger tips caught the pommel of a knife. A nasty little street weapon. It fell into his palm as his hand was already moving upwards, and he drove it under the little man's ribs.

The assassin sprang back in shock. The blade caught in his chest and wrenched free of Theo's numb hand. Theo had half a second. He took it. Slamming himself forward, saving nothing to regain his stance, he threw himself at the man. If this didn't work, keeping his posture wouldn't save him. The killer brought the blade up but not in time. Theo caught the blade painfully and slid his hand over the attacker's, forcing it down. As they staggered and fell, Theo wrenched his dagger free, and as they hung in the air he lashed viciously. The first strike cut the killer across the face in one long line, splitting his top lip, opening his left nostril top to bottom and letting the blood from his brow. The second strike buried it in his throat.

Theo blinked sweat and tears from his eyes, gasping for breath as blood ran from his hand and a hundred other cuts. He returned to his feet shakily and looked dumbly back up to the mouth of the alley. By now his other attackers had fallen silent, or were doing no more than gurgling gently. He could hear shouts and a whistle in the not too far distance. Damnit. The guard would be coming. They'd waited long enough to make sure that most of the threat would be over and now they were coming to show their faces so they could claim their paychecks.

Theo looked down. His cloak had been split across the breadth, and gaped open. Underneath his gold-and-scarlet performing clothes were clearly visible. Damnit. He'd have to take to wearing less identifiable garb. He grabbed the ugly horsehair cloak off the biggest of the trio. It was far too large for Theo's medium stature, but it would have to do. He pulled it around himself and ran for home.

He was a couple of streets away when his brain started working again through the blood haze. He'd entered that alley to stop a mugging. Some scrawny urchin was being defenselessly beaten by an alley rat for coin he clearly didn't have. Theo stepped in to wave his rapier and scare the scum away, as he had from time to time. Things had got confusing then. The urchin seemed to recover instantly from his beating and was miraculously on his feet, with a heavy one-handed club in his grip. The alley rat now held a shortsword and a look of cold malice that was a far cry from the half-scared cruelty of the bottomfeeders. And then a shadow had indicated that a big, heavy, third man had appeared behind him. His brain had just about processed these facts when he was hit in the back of the head.

Now his thoughts were moving. His mind had caught up. That attack had been planned. Theo quickened his pace and pulled the cloak hard around him. Somebody wanted him dead.