And in the darkness and the noise:
A snap, a sizzle. A ball of watery green light the size of a plum rolled across the floor and landed at Amy's feet. Moments later it was joined by another, and another, till the room they were in did not resemble the darkness of the grave so much as the dim at the bottom of a shallow pond.
A human silhouette dropped from the ceiling and landed on the far side of the room. "You know how much they spent building this rock?" Another snap, another sizzle. Another ball of shimmering light slipped from the figure's hands and onto the floor. It barely illuminated a woman's friendly face and eager smile. She was wearing a dark coverall and carried a guard's gun. "All that money, and they can't drop ten quid on decent lighting. Break one thing and they all go out. Still, that's the Shadow Proclamation for you." There was rich humour and subtle meaning in her voice, a sort of verbal wink. "Hello, sweet-"
The woman's voice died in her throat as she registered Amy and Rory.
Amy still stood next to the warden, her mouth half-open. Rory was hunched over the wooden door, clutching the sonic screwdriver. It whistled away at full speed, until Rory remembered to lift his thumb from the control.
The sound petered out.
Above them, the loose ceiling panel swung perilously.
"River?" Amy gasped.
"Amy Pond." Then River said, "Oof," because Amy had leapt back over the desk and thrown her arms her.
"Thank God. We thought you were dead." Amy stepped back to look River in the eye. "What's going on?"
For now that the good cheer had drained from River's face, it was clear that something was going on. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but River seemed staggered by the presence of the two companions. Her eyes darted round the room like a trapped bird's, hunting for an escape or an explanation. She seemed to find Rory especially inadequate, her jaw tightening at the sight of the sonic screwdriver in his hand. Rory caught a sharp-edged rage in that expression-sharp and clear and unrelenting, reflecting a passion that was either very good or very evil.
And then, of course, she had a gun.
"And who are you?" River asked Rory. Then she squinted again. "No, wait I've got it." She snapped her fingers. "Roman centurion."
There it was again: the smoked-glass panic of un-memories. He didn't quite recognize River, but he didn't quite not recognize her either. "Actually, it's Rory. Rory Williams."
"Rory," she repeated. "And human again. How interesting." She did not sound interested at all; in fact she seemed to find him terrifically dull. "And you're the boyfriend, or something, hmm? It was all so long ago."
Amy said, "Husband." She wiggled her left hand, showing off her ring. "Just married last month. Rory, this is Dr. Song."
"Married. Right. Last month?" At that, River's gaze softened. She almost smiled. "Congratulations."
River took a deep breath and pulled herself together like a child reassembling a tower of blocks. It was so complete and so seamless that Rory marveled. A calm and commanding presence poured into River's face and settled there for good. "We're in danger here," she pronounced. "You're both lucky to be alive. Come along. I'll tell you all about it on the way."
"The way to where?" said Amy, though she had already stepped forward.
"Safety," said River. She followed their glances. "No, not through the ceiling. We'll take a different route down." She turned around, focusing on a vent near the floor that Rory hadn't noticed before. River got her nails underneath the edge and gave it a firm tug. "We're in a new section," she explained, giving the vent cover another pull. "Administrative offices. The whole thing comes apart like puzzle pieces." She pulled on the vent cover. "Well. Sort of like puzzle pieces." She gritted her teeth and pulled.
Rory tapped her shoulder and offered her the screwdriver.
River looked at it for a long time. "Keep it." She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice under control. "You might need it later."
One more firm tug, and an assist from Amy, and the entire vent cover came loose from the wall. They were looking down at a hole that was even darker than the room behind them.
"After you," said River, nodding at Amy and Rory. "Quick as you like."
Rory looked back at the warden. He was barely visible, but his eyes and teeth still shimmered in the dark.
"What about him?" said Rory.
"What about him," said River.
"He won't report us? Sound the alarm? Anything?" River was, after all, a prisoner of this place, and apparently an escapee.
"Oh, I shouldn't think so," said River. She stared at the warden. An idea struck her, and she smiled. The tiniest crack in the facade. "Think fast, Rory Williams," she murmured. She pushed him aside, whirled—
And smoked the man behind the desk.
Literally smoked him. The gun went whump, the man disintegrated into dust, and River blew a puff of smoke from the barrel before Rory had time to blink. He almost wet himself.
Amy was equally horrified.
"It's all right. " River peered at over the lip of the gun at the warden's empty chair. "Wait for it," she said softly. She held up a hand. "Wait..."
They tracked her gaze. There was a rushing noise like grains of sand on a distant tin roof. The dust congealed into a shadow, then a figure, then the smiling, nodding warden they'd seen a moment ago.
Amy and Rory gasped with astonishment and relief.
River grinned. "Honestly," she said. "It's just a Scarecrow."
"Okay," said Amy. She backed up, almost pressing herself into the wall. "Now that is weird. I touched him a minute ago."
Rory almost talked over Amy. "And what the hell is a Scarecrow?"
"'A mock human designed to frighten pests away from crops,'" said River, in an imagine-not-knowing-that tone of voice.
"And which are we," said Rory. "The pests? Or the crops?"
"Oh, I like you," River decided, speaking almost to herself. "Now, into the hole, children." She dropped the gun in a holster at her hip. "I believe we have some very important things to tell each other. And you never know who's watching us up here."
Before Rory went down the vent, River began to gather the green orbs. The last thing Rory saw were the sightless eyes of the faux warden, glistening in the fading light.
