The Doctor slid open the compartment door and walked out into the corridor. He looked back at Crowley, who was slumped dejectedly on the bed.
"I'll be sending for you later." He told Crowley, a thin smile appearing on his lips. "Don't go anywhere."
Crowley just stared at him, a mixture of fear and hatred on his face. His gaze flicked momentarily to the hookah pipe on the table, and to the small black box lying next to it. The Doctor understood from this that Crowley wouldn't be going anywhere in the near future.
He shut the door on Crowley and turned to walk back to the dining car. At the same moment the compartment door next to Crowley's cabin slid open and a short, immaculately dressed young man came out and almost bumped into the Doctor.
"Excuse me." The young man said in a precise, clipped voice. Then he took in the Doctor's appearance and seemed to recognise him. "You must be the man who is investigating the Sultan's death, from the steward's description."
"Yes, I suppose I must be."
"Very good, saves me the trouble of finding you." He drew himself up and fixed the Doctor with a firm look. "My name is James Prewett, and I wish to confess to the murder of His Majesty the Sultan of Rajmanali."
"Ah!" Said the Doctor. "In that case, perhaps I'd better come inside?"
---
Ace finally reached the end of the luggage car and climbed down the ladder to the small balcony at the rear of the train, still clutching the blood analysis machine to her chest. The door to the car had been completely smashed off its hinges, presumably the mummy's handiwork. Ace paused for a moment, trying to get the breath back into her aching body. As she stared into the gloom of the carriage she became aware of a humanoid shape, shuffling towards her, its arms outstretched.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Ace shouted at the figure as it advanced. "You just hit a bloody mountain and fell off a train. Why won't you die!"
"Waaagh!" Said the mummy as it tripped over some unseen object on the floor and went sprawling. "Blast it! I think I've broken my ankle."
Ace frowned. That didn't sound much like an undead tomb guardian. In fact…
"Jago, is that you?"
"Yes it is!" He didn't sound too happy. "Don't just stand there, come and help me up."
---
Prewett's room was fastidiously tidy. Everything that could be folded away or tidied away had been. There was a small table that had been folded down from the wall. On this a traveller's writing set had been placed, alongside a bound notebook which was opened to reveal a page filled with perfectly regular, tidy handwriting, which looked as though it had been written on a ruler. Prewett stood with his back to the window, his hands clasped behind him. The Doctor waited to be offered a seat, but when no invitation was forthcoming he sat down anyway at the chair in front of the table.
"So, you murdered the Sultan?" The Doctor's tone was neutral, his face was blank.
"Yes, that is correct."
"Would you tell me why, how and when you did it?"
Prewett frowned, as if the Doctor had said something slightly distasteful.
"I stabbed him through the heart with a knife, at around four o'clock this afternoon."
"That tells me how and when, but not why."
Prewett's face twitched, almost a flinch.
"Is that important? I have made my confession."
"It is very important, Mr. Prewett. Very important indeed."
Prewett pursed his lips together, breathing in sharply through his nose.
"Very well. I killed the Sultan because he caused my father's death, and was instrumental in sending my mother to the mad house."
"Tell me more."
A look almost like pain made Prewett's face screw up, and his right hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"My father worked for the Sultan as a draughtsman, when I was a young boy. He was a hard worker, and an honest man."
"Go on."
"One day he discovered, quite by accident, that one of the Sultan's distant cousins had been embezzling funds from a road-building project. My father reported this to the Sultan, expecting the cousin to be charged with theft. However, the Sultan didn't want to bring disgrace upon his family, so he contrived to blame my father for the theft instead. My father was convicted."
Prewett looked at the Doctor for a moment, then lowered his eyes to the floor.
"The punishment for theft in the Sultan's country was to have the right hand removed."
Anger flashed through Prewett, upsetting his composure.
"Can you imagine the horror and shame my father felt? A skilled draughtsman, losing his hand, his means of earning a living? Locked in a filthy cell to recover, like a common criminal?"
Prewett regained control of himself, calming his voice and returning his facial features to their usual emotionless state.
"Only he didn't recover. He contracted blood poisoning and died in that cell. My mother and I returned to England, to stay with relatives. But the shock of it unbalanced her, caused her to suffer a nervous breakdown. She was sent away to an asylum, and I was sent away to boarding school. I could only visit her during the holidays, and only then for a few hours."
The Doctor was watching Prewett closely, his face no longer neutral, but suffused with attentive compassion.
"I swore that I would make the Sultan pay for what he had done. I studied hard and did well at school. I applied to work in the Sultan's country, under an assumed name. Eventually I secured the position as his private secretary. He had no idea who I really was. The incident with my father was years ago, and he had never seen me then anyway. I waited for the right time to come, when I could kill him and get away with it. Finally, today, the chance came, and I took it. I killed him, and may he rot in hell!"
Prewett was not an ugly man. True, he had a weak chin, thinning hair and a feeble moustache, but his general features were quite pleasant and he was still young enough to have the freshness and vitality that goes with youth. However, now hatred had twisted his face and made him horrible to look at.
"Only you haven't got away with it, have you?" The Doctor said quietly.
"What?" Prewett snapped.
"You've confessed. You'll be tried as murderer. They'll hang you. You'll die a criminal, just like your father."
Prewett's face drained of colour, fear supplanting the hate. "Yes. But…" His voice tailed away, he looked confused and afraid.
"But what?"
"But he'll still be dead won't he? I'll have killed him and my mother and father will be avenged."
The Doctor looked sadly at Prewett. How many killers had he seen in his long life? Hundreds, maybe thousands. Some killed out of necessity, some out of madness. Some killed because they had been ordered to do so. A few killed because they were evil, through and through. Prewett didn't seem like any of these now, he didn't look like a killer at all. He looked like a sad little boy, a lost child looking for his parents.
"Is your vengeance worth the price, James?"
---
It turned out that Jago had not broken his ankle after all. In fact it seemed like it was only a light sprain, which Ace bound up using a bandana from her jacket pocket. This did not stop Jago from complaining loudly and blaming the Doctor for sending him, the rail company for not having proper lighting, and even Ace herself for shouting at him and distracting him. Ace was too tired and in too much pain herself to argue with him, although she did draw the line at supporting him as he walked.
"If you can't walk by yourself, then you'll have to stay here, alone."
"Well, I suppose I can limp along, at a pinch."
Ace had moved Jago to the doorway at the end of the carriage, where the moonlight was enough to see by. She had briefly considered going into the TARDIS to get some first aid equipment, but she wanted to get back to the Doctor with the analyser, she had already been gone far too long. Jago would have to suffer for a bit longer. Hopefully in silence.
"Come on! Let's go back. And tread carefully this time."
They managed to make their way across the car without incident, although Ace could hear Jago muttering something about light bulbs, luggage and litigation under his breath. They emerged into the corridor of the next carriage, thankful for the soft glow of the electric lamps.
"Do you know which compartment the Doctor is in?" Ace asked Jago.
"Sorry, George didn't tell me that. Anyway, I don't suppose he'd appreciate us barging in on him when he's in the middle of a tricky bit of interrogating."
Ace sighed. "You're probably right. Let's go back to the dining car and wait for him."
"Good idea! Perhaps George will be back with news about the Contessa."
"Who is this Contessa anyway?"
"Well, I haven't seen her myself, but Colonel Huntington tells me she is an American movie star who married an impoverished Italian Count so she could get his title."
"Great." Said Ace. "Sounds just like my sort of woman."
---
The mummy was within sight of the train now. During its journey it had spent some time formulating a strategy. Secondary processing units, dormant for thousands of years, had been reactivated and assigned to the task of identifying the strengths and weaknesses of its opponents. One advantage these humans had was their speed. The mummy had been configured for heavy lifting, moving huge blocks of stone, digging out vast pits from the shifting desert sands. It had now restructured itself for maximum speed and agility, although this meant a substantial reduction in strength.
It had found a weakness in the humans too: they needed light to see by. If it could remove the light they would easier to defeat. They could not protect the Doctor if they could not see what was coming.
The mummy was 20 feet away from the end of the train now. With a final burst of speed it leapt forwards and upwards in a carefully calculated arc, landing gracefully on the roof of the train. It immediately scanned the surrounding area and noted with satisfaction that there were no more tunnels within range of its sensors. The energy source for the electrical system on the train was in the front of the vehicle, where the primitive engines converted fossil fuel into steam to drive the pistons, and turn the dynamo which generated the electricity. The mummy set off across the top of the train, running lightly and easily, making barely a sound, despite its weight. When it got to the front of the train it planned to disable the electrical system, and it also had another plan in mind, which would give it a further advantage over the humans…
---
Litefoot had been bound, hand and foot, and then tied to a chair. A gag had been placed in his mouth, but the gun pointing towards him was enough to insure his silence. His captor stood back to admire his work. He was a Chinese man, dressed snappily in the latest American fashion, his hair slicked back and his shoes shined. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
"Not a bad effort, if I do say myself." He spoke with a perfect English accent. "What's the matter, professor? You surprise me no talkee Chinee?" He laughed at Litefoot. "You don't recognise me, do you?" He walked around the chair, clearly enjoying having a captive audience. "Still, it's been a long time, hasn't it? And I suppose we all look the same to you."
He sat down on the other chair in the room, facing Litefoot, resting the gun on his lap. He smiled as he looked at Litefoot.
"We've both come a long way since the House of the Dragon, haven't we?"
Litefoot's eyes widened when he heard this.
"Ah! Comprehension begins. Shall I fill in the gaps for you? My name is Zhang Heng-wei, although my American friends call me Tommy Zhang. I was born into a peasant family in China, over sixty years ago. I fell in with the Tong of the Black Scorpion and went to England in 1887 to serve my god, Weng-Chiang. I was there in the House of the Dragon when Greel's little killing machine went berserk and shot us all down with the Eye of the Dragon. Those who survived fled, leaving the bodies of the fallen. I was hit and wounded, but not killed. I fell unconscious, but I was alive when Greel's machinery exploded and I too received the gift of eternal life."
Litefoot tried to speak, but the gag turned whatever he was saying into muffled nonsense.
"Please, professor, let me finish. I've waited a long time to tell you this story. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I survived. I was alive, and I hated Greel for destroying my vision of the great Weng-Chiang, and I hated you and Jago and that meddling Doctor for your part in the whole affair. I swore that I would revenge myself upon you. I made an oath that I would never rest until you were all dead." He lifted up the gun as he said this, and pointed it at Litefoot's head. Litefoot started to struggle in the chair, and cried out as loud as he could through the gag.
Heng-wei laughed again, and lowered the gun. "Don't worry, Professor. A lot of water had passed under the bridge since then. I spent a great deal of effort in working out what had happened to me, and I educated myself so that I could understand it all. I made new friends, and I found a new life for myself in America. I discovered new gods to worship. Beauty. Power. Wealth. I am happy now, Professor Litefoot. One might even say I have forgiven you." He stood up and put the gun back into its holster under his jacket. "I just need to keep you out of the way for a bit, so you don't mess things up." He moved towards the compartment door, then stopped suddenly. There were voices outside, in the corridor. He drew his gun again, putting his finger to lips to tell Litefoot to stay quiet. He listened at the door and could hear a woman's voice:
"…he's down here? I thought I heard something from this room."
The door slid back to reveal Ace and Jago. Heng-wei had his gun levelled at them. "Well," he said, "looks like the gang's all here. Do come in, there's plenty of room for you all." He waved them into the room with the gun. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure." He was talking to Ace.
"The pleasure's all yours, believe me."
"Just lie down on the floor will you, whilst I tie you up." He grinned at Ace. "You know, under other circumstances this could be quite fun."
Ace rolled her eyes. "Perhaps if you tied the rope round your neck, then jumped out of the window?" She suggested helpfully.
"I'll take that under advisement. Now, on the floor please. And put that box down on the bed." He indicated the blood analyser.
With a sigh Ace dropped the analyser on the bed, then lowered herself down onto the floor, wincing from the pain in her chest and ribs. "Not too tight round the middle, alright? I'm feeling a little tender."
"You know kid, I like you. Look me up next time you're in Hollywood."
Ace was about to come back with a devastating retort, when the lights went out. She dived blindly towards Heng-wei, hoping to catch him before he knew what was happening. Pain surged through her as her damaged body collided with his. She grappled with him for control of the gun, and in the process it went off twice. The first shot went through the window and shattered the glass. But the second hit something else, and for a second Ace couldn't work out what it was. Then she felt something trickle down the side of her head. She let go of Heng-wei and put her hand up to touch her scalp, and it came away sticky. As she fell to the floor with a dull thud she realised she had been shot. A cold wave of blackness swept over her and she was carried away by it into a dark sea of oblivion.