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  The boy’s words stalked her down the corridor. ‘Kraals, Thals, the Fendahl, Haemovores, Tritovores…’

  Yaz was being pursued, but by what exactly she couldn’t be sure. Whenever she risked a backwards glance, her timing was just off and she failed to catch sight of it. Either the lighting was too dim to make out more than a blurry shape, or the thing would be round a corner and not quite in view. She wasn’t about to wait for it to catch up.

  It’s not real, she tried to persuade herself. It’s just another construct. But her rational brain was overwhelmed, swamped by primitive instinct. All she could do was run.

  ‘Robots of Death, the K1 Robot, the Kandyman, L3 robots, White Robots, clockwork robots, Handbots, Illyria Seven robots, robot knights…’

  It was coming for her. Slouching, slithering, marching.

  ‘Ice Warriors, Sea Devils, War Machines, Time Zombies, Weeping Angels…’

  As Ryan’s voice droned on, something strange happened to the corridor. It began to alter its appearance. Sometimes it was dark and cavernous, other times bright and shiny. One second the walls were smooth and curved, the next they were stony and rough. Briefly, it was lit by guttering torches, then by powerful floodlights. Yaz would skid round the next corner to find herself ankle-deep in murky water, and a moment later be forced to pick her way through a series of criss-crossing laser tripwires.

  And, always at her back, the sense that something was about to dig its claws into her.

  ‘What scares you, Yaz?’ Ryan had asked. ‘There are fifteen hundred years’ worth of fright in here. Every monster the Doctor has faced. Voord, Ood, Judoon, Mandrels, Argolins, Destroyers…’

  She felt her heart beat faster, her throat tighten.

  ‘Jagrafess, Reapers, Pyroviles, Silents…’

  The walls of the corridor bulged with faces contorted in terror. Yaz stumbled and fell, one leg folding awkwardly beneath her.

  ‘Snowmen, Whisper Men, Cybermen…’

  It was coming for her. She could hear it, snorting, groaning, screeching.

  ‘Extermi–’

  Wait!

  There was a door. At the end of the corridor. The first she’d seen since arriving in this purgatory. Maybe it led to another corridor, but it could be a way out. Either way, it was her only option. She picked herself up, wincing as she put weight on her left leg. She’d twisted her ankle. Ignoring the pain, Yaz limped for the door, her only thought to escape.

  ‘Hurry,’ said Ryan evenly. ‘It’s going to get you.’

  She felt a whoosh of air as something clawed at her back and missed. The door flew open and she let out a scream as she tumbled through it.

  * * *

  —

  Yaz had fallen right back into the TARDIS console room. She spun round to slam the door in the face of whatever pursued her, only to find that both had vanished – as had the pain in her ankle. There was no sign of Ryan, either.

  The Doctor was here, though, feverishly working the TARDIS controls and too intent on her task to notice Yaz. The TARDIS lurched as if it was caught up in a storm, and Yaz grabbed the edge of the console to steady herself.

  ‘Doctor,’ she said, surprised at how feeble her voice sounded. Her experience in the corridor had left her shaken.

  ‘Yaz! Good to have you back.’ The Doctor waved away the smoke that was pouring from the damaged console. ‘Sorry I couldn’t help. Been a bit busy outrunning the Gardener warship.’

  A map appeared on the wall of the TARDIS, displaying the path of the pursuit, using two dotted lines to mark the progress of each ship. So far it looked as if the warship had chased the crippled TARDIS through an asteroid field, round a black hole, and briefly into the upper atmosphere of a nearby planet. As Yaz watched, the Doctor heeled the TARDIS round a small moon, and the warship adjusted its course to follow. It stuck to its quarry like green on a leaf.

  ‘Did you get the co-ordinates?’ asked the Doctor.

  Her heart sank as she was reminded of Mrs Knowles’s unbelievably trite words. Useless. Completely and utterly –

  Wait a minute.

  Of course! That’s why the TARDIS didn’t move. It was already where it needed to be. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I have something even better.’

  The Doctor glanced up briefly, her expression uncha­racte­risti­cally puzzled.

  ‘Remember the prophecy in the rose garden on Tellus IV? You said they’d got it wrong – that the number thirteen referred to the vault, not to you. You were right. And you were also wrong.’

  Yaz reached for the loop of string round the Doctor’s neck, gently pulling on it until the object at the end of it popped above her collar.

  ‘The key to Vault Thirteen,’ said Yaz, dangling the TARDIS’s key in front of her.

  The Doctor peered at it for a moment, then a broad grin split her face. ‘Result!’

  Briefly, Yaz thought of the creators of the Galactic Seed Vault, aided by the Time Lords in hiding their keys across the universe. They could have picked anywhere and anywhen. It was neither chance nor fate that the latest key had ended up here. Yaz studied the Doctor, who was intently focused on coaxing more speed from the TARDIS. If Yaz wanted to keep the most precious item in the universe out of the wrong hands, she would have entrusted it to the Doctor too.

  There was a dull thud, and the TARDIS shook from side to side. This knock felt different from the previous attacks.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Yaz.

  ‘We’re in range of their tractor-beam,’ said the Doctor.

  Yaz pictured a big green farm vehicle straining against a tow rope tethered to the TARDIS. The console room juddered, as the ship resisted the pull of the beam.

  ‘Can you shake it off?’

  ‘We’re in a TARDIS, Yaz.’ The Doctor’s tone was haughty and dismissive. ‘Even in one that’s on the blink like this one, it’s like racing a Formula One car against…a patio.’ She hovered a hand over a lever, looked up and grinned. ‘Watch this!’

  Graham regained consciousness to find himself being dragged along an underground passage by the creature that had snatched him from the garden. He bumped along on his back, one leg stretched out before him, ankle clasped in the thing’s dirty, sun-starved paw.

  In the gloom, he could make out a pair of powerful hind legs and a sleek fur coat. He wrinkled his nose. The creature reeked. The sharp smell awakened the recent memory of the ritual, and angry thoughts flooded him as he recalled Delgado and the Never Square residents offering him up to this monster as a sacrifice. If he got out of this, he swore he’d extract his revenge – maybe trample over their precious flower beds. Right at that moment, though, payback seemed a long way off.

  The creature adjusted its direction, and Graham felt himself swing round a bend. He saw something glint beneath the other front paw, tucked close to the creature’s body. The espresso machine. For one horrible moment, he pictured the creature making itself a cappuccino and dunking him in it like a human biscotti. He had to escape before he became elevenses. But how? His one free leg scuffed along the ground. If he timed it right, a well-aimed kick might release him from its grip. But, even if by some miracle it dropped him, what then? He could run, but it was faster.

  The creature swerved to avoid an obstruction. Graham glimpsed it as they swept past: a fat metal tube poking from the tunnel roof. It was riddled with rust and its blotchy surface was ringed with several angular fins, so that it appeared as if a space rocket had misjudged its landing. Graham didn’t give it any further thought. There were probably loads of weird things buried down here.

  Several turns later, he detected a faint light up ahead and felt the creature pick up the pace. Graham could sense its hunger to get to what he presumed must be its lair. His final destination. Desperately, he dug his fingers into the soil floor of the passage, trying to slow their progress, but his captor was too strong and he succeeded only in leaving two long furrows in th
e earth. Even though he knew it was futile, he kicked out, but the beast simply shrugged him off. All he had left were curses, but insults weren’t going to have any effect on its animal brain. It was feeding time. The light grew brighter as they approached the lair. The creature scrabbled under a low archway and came to a dead stop.

  There was another of the creatures in here, waiting.

  Graham groaned in horror. He was dinner for two.

  Then, to his astonishment, he felt the unyielding grip loosen. He was free – at least, he was for now.

  The monster let out a squeal, flared its star-shaped nose and charged at its dinner companion. It covered the short distance in a matter of seconds and, running full tilt, smashed head first into the other creature. There was a bone-cracking crunch as the two met and then, to Graham’s puzzlement, the other creature collapsed in a noisy tumble of shining pans and trays, chrome taps and polished kettles.

  He now saw that the kitchen appliances had been carefully stacked against a wall to create a makeshift mirror. There was no second monster, only a reflection of the first.

  The creature unsteadily took a step, then collapsed to the ground. The collision had knocked it out.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said a man Graham didn’t recognise, emerging from the shadows. ‘It worked. Kid, you’re a genius.’

  The man was addressing a second figure, who Graham now saw was Ryan.

  ‘Graham!’ Ryan’s face lit up.

  Graham pulled his grandson into a hug. For a change, Ryan didn’t resist.

  ‘This is Tom,’ Ryan said by way of introduction. ‘He’s a rubbish pest exterminator.’

  ‘Time to go,’ said Tom. ‘That thing stunned itself, but it won’t be out for long.’

  ‘The key,’ blurted Graham. ‘It’s here. Has to be.’ He snatched the lantern from Tom and swung it over the mess of homewares.

  ‘Key? What key?’ asked Tom, watching bewildered as the other two scoured the space. Despite his pleading, it was clear they weren’t going anywhere until they’d located it, so with great reluctance he joined in the search. Five minutes turned into ten, with no success.

  ‘Please,’ said Tom.

  Graham was on his hands and knees among the bones. ‘Not yet. Just a few more min–’

  He’d spotted something poking out of the eye socket of a skull. A highly polished silver key.

  With rising excitement, Graham darted a hand towards it, and just as he did so the mole creature’s hind leg twitched. He felt his fingers close round the cool metal, and jumped up, making for the archway alongside the others.

  Since both Ryan and Tom had been unconscious during their journey to the lair, it fell to Graham to lead the way back to the surface. Guided by the lantern, he did his best to retrace the creature’s steps. He took the first couple of turns confidently, but the mole had carved out a maze beneath the garden. The task grew increasingly difficult.

  He hesitated at an unfamiliar junction. ‘This way,’ he said striking off down the right-hand passage.

  ‘You sure?’ asked Ryan.

  He wasn’t, but then he noticed something halfway along the section of tunnel. ‘Definitely. See that space rocket?’ By the lamplight, he pointed out the object he’d noticed earlier.

  ‘That’s not a space rocket,’ said Tom.

  ‘Well, obviously.’ Graham wasn’t a complete idiot.

  ‘But it is a rocket. A German one.’

  Graham froze. ‘It’s a bomb?’

  ‘A UXB,’ muttered Ryan, remembering his conversation with Jonathan. ‘Is it still dangerous?’

  ‘Could be,’ said Tom. ‘Or it could be a dud. But, if it is live, it won’t take much to set it off. I’ve heard stories. One touch of a spade, a good shove, even a harsh vibration and kaboom!’

  ‘Shh!’ hissed Ryan. ‘D’you hear that?’

  The other two instantly fell silent. As Graham listened, he registered the dreaded scuttling sound coming from the passage behind them and felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Hurry!’

  One by one, they edged past the bomb, each holding their breath as they ducked under the jutting device. As he passed it, Ryan had a thought. He reached into a pocket and drew out the Doctor’s cube, then carefully wedged it into the mud roof of the tunnel as close to the bomb casing as he dared.

  ‘Ryan,’ Graham whispered urgently. ‘What are you doing? Come on!’

  Ryan held up a finger. He needed time. ‘Okay, Doctor.’

  ‘Hello, Ryan,’ said the hologram. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Are there any people nearby?’

  ‘Other than you three, I detect no human life signs in a seventy-eight-metre radius.’

  ‘Okay. In thirty seconds, I want you to play some Mariah Carey.’

  ‘We belong together,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘I know,’ said Ryan sadly. ‘But I can’t take you with me.’ He understood that she was only a hologram, but even so he felt bad leaving her here.

  ‘No, Ryan. I mean the song. “We Belong Together”. Okay?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right.’ The scuttling was getting closer. He was running out of time. ‘Thirty-second countdown, then full Mariah. Got it?’

  ‘Got it, Ryan. Good luck. Thirty…twenty-nine…’

  ‘Run!’ Ryan yelled to the others.

  The three men didn’t look back. Ryan kept up the countdown in his head, as they bolted along the passage. When he reached twenty, he was sure he could feel the ground begin to slope up towards the surface. They were almost out of here. Then, as they rounded the next bend, they came to a dead end.

  Fifteen seconds.

  ‘I think I might’ve taken a wrong turn,’ said Graham.

  Ryan felt a waft of fresh air at his feet and looked down. ‘I know where we are.’ He pointed at a square hatch in the wall. They’d almost missed it in the darkness. He kicked it open, and the three of them squeezed through the gap, coming out in the air-raid shelter. ‘Quickly, find something to cover the hole.’

  Tom and Graham pushed the bench against it, as Ryan mouthed the final countdown.

  ‘Three…two…one.’

  He held his breath. He knew it was unlikely, but he was convinced that at that exact moment he heard Mariah Carey’s powerful voice hit a bomb-trembling high note. A second later there was a dull whump from deep within the network of tunnels. The makeshift barrier of the bench was blown over in a cloud of dust and debris, and the corrugated-iron shelter shook like an angry giant was trying to tear it apart with his bare hands. The three men crouched on the floor, covering their heads with their arms as they waited for the effects of the explosion to subside.

  After the initial detonation came a series of thuds, as if something was banging on the outside of the shelter’s roof. Then silence.

  When, after a cautious delay, the three of them ventured outside, it was to find the garden a smoking wreck. Lights had come on in all the surrounding townhouses, and the scene was illuminated by the glow. There was a large crater where the lawn had been, small fires had erupted across the flower beds, and two sides of the iron fence railings were completely flattened, opening the view up to the street. The thudding they’d heard was the sound of clods of earth raining down across Never Square. The devastation was total. However, it seemed the party had broken up following the end of the ritual, so there were no casualties. At least, no human ones. Livid chunks of the mole creature lay across what was left of the garden – in the herbaceous borders, and hanging off the branches of the well-tended trees. Ryan prodded a piece with his toe. It smelled even worse on the inside than it had on the outside.

  The explosion had also thrown bones from the creature’s lair to the surface. Graham contemplated the remains. The sacrificial victims sent to their doom by Delgado and his neighbours had finally made it back to the upper world. His thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a met
al gate being thrown open. It was Delgado and the others. They poured into the garden, their faces displaying shock and dismay at the carnage. Delgado caught sight of Graham, who gave him a cheery wave and a big smile.

  ‘Why are you grinning at him?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Just picturing the moment he and his cronies have to explain all of these human remains to the cops.’

  From a nearby street came the wail of approaching sirens. The emergency services were on their way. They were not the only ones. Out of the corner of his eye, Graham noticed a flashing blue light beyond a section of the fallen fence railings.

  ‘The police are here,’ said Tom.

  ‘That’s not a patrol car,’ said Graham, striding off across the garden, taking particular pleasure in treading through the flower beds. ‘Stick that in your by-laws,’ he muttered. ‘Ryan?’

  ‘Right behind you.’ Ryan turned to a bewildered Tom. ‘Uh…’ Leaving people without a proper goodbye or much in the way of an explanation was turning into a habit. In the end, he simply stuck out a hand and said, ‘Nice to meet you. Good luck with your moles.’ With that, he shot after Graham.

  They emerged on to the street outside the garden to find the TARDIS waiting for them at the same corner where they’d been dropped off earlier that day. As they approached, the door glided open. They stepped inside.

  ‘One slightly saliva-covered key,’ said Graham, holding it up triumphantly. ‘You have no idea what we went through to get it, but rest assured I plan to fill you in on every excruciating detail just as soon as I’ve had a long bath and a cup of –’

  He froze at the sight of the frightening figure standing over the TARDIS’s control console, bandolier of blooms strung across his chest, blaster clutched in his hand. A worm wriggled across one leafy cheek.

  ‘Nightshade.’

  Nightshade surveyed the Time Lord and her sorry crew, lined up before him on the command bridge of – what had she called it? – the TARDIS.

  He had captured the vessel with his tractor-beam and brought it aboard his flagship. At first, the Time Lord had refused him entry, so he’d threatened her with a dose of noughtweed. The remarkable weed was capable of eating through any material in the universe, and she evidently did not relish the thought of it taking hold of her TARDIS. She had opened the doors promptly and, faced with a boarding party of his finest shock troops, she and her companion had put up no further resistance.