Right, here we go, the first fanfiction I've done in a long time. Here is the prologue to my latest story, no idea when that'll be continued, but oh, well.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. Nor do I own Cornwall.

The timbers of the ship creaked ominously as the waves continued their relentless attack on the craft.

"COME ON!!!!" The grey-bearded master of the vessel roared into the air, the salt stiffening his hair and skin as seawater crashed into his faces, filling his eyes, ears and mouth.

"Keep your voice down!" one of the other occupants on the boat half-screamed through gritted teeth at him. "If they catch us..."

"Don't tell me you still fear death?" the older man sneered at him. He half-turned and spat into the sea. "I tell you, when you've seen the things I've seen, nothing the Revenue can do will scare you!" He glanced at his white-faced companion critically. "Although, looking at you now, I find it hard to believe there's anything that doesn't scare you."

"I fear the vengeance of the Lord," one of the rowers confided to his neighbour in his thick west-country accent. The leader strode purposefully across the sagging planks and back- handed the speaker across the face.

"Trust me, Johns, where you're going, it won't be the Lord you need to worry about." The fiercest gust of wind yet smashed into the boat, bringing with it a huge wave, which swept across the rowing- boat. Johns was picked up, smashed forcibly against the bulwarks, then dragged into the ocean, leaving only the echo of his last piteous screech in farewell. The leader only survived the same fate by gripping the cargo with whitened hands. The coverings of the mysteriously- shaped cargo tore slightly, revealing a flash of blue. The leader of the smugglers saw his drenched second- in- command staring, as snarled viciously at him. "Mine, d'you hear?!? You'll get your fair share of the rest, don't you worry!"

"I see something!" hissed a thin, bony man in the prow. The captain shoved his way forward.

"Impossible," he muttered. "We can't have reached the coast yet."

His Lieutenant joined them, on his hands and knees against the gale. "I told you! The Revenue have found us!" He watched as his leader grimly drew an already loaded flintlock from within his greatcoat, and, as the weather dipped into brief calm, aimed, cocked, and fired.

"Are you insane?" the younger man yelled, then was picked up and violently hurled along the length of the vessel by the answering shot, a bright flash of light that blasted its way into the smuggler, killing him instantly.

But also illuminating his killer.

The look-out let out a shrill scream of terror, and the grey- haired leader watched in uncomprehending confusion as he, too was blasted into silent death. He was thrown to his knees as the ship almost turned upside down as shadowy, lumpen figures heaved themselves over the sides and began hacking their way through the crew. One of the braver men blasted at the invaders with his pistol; one of them gave a tremulous cry as it pitched into the water. A webbed fist smashed into the captain's head as he tried to stand. A reptilian face glared down at him from above.

Has Beelzebub really sent his demons to claim us? he thought. He opened his mouth, but slowly closed it again as the creature jammed a glittering knife made of some greenish metal into his gut. Arms outstretched, he fell backwards, his head tilting sharply back, giving him a view of the rain washing over the corpses of his men, as the storm finally claimed the boat, smashing its battered timbers, the wind tearing through the tarpaulins covering the boxes and chests. The ship turned, sending dead humans and living invaders plummeting into the sea. One of the last things the man saw was his prized possession, the blue box with the doors and the lamp on its roof, the blue box with the miraculous interior, the large box the like of which would not be designed for another century and a half, slide into the sea, lost beneath the waves.

Then water.

Then nothing.

Reviews will be much appreciated.