K9's return journey from the k'thellid undercity and through portside was far more uneventful than his outward journey. While he was again coated in protective mucus and secured to the back of an undulating m'n'ch'k, the little robot dog was both switched on and fully functional. He also found himself unencumbered by his master's incessant distractions, although he did find the comparative silence of Protector K'thellid and its accompanying entourage left him running more diagnostics and parallel algorithms than usual, as well as taking a microsecond to speculate on what the Doctor would have called the sensation: boredom.
It was a bored K9 that catalogued and stored flora and fauna as he passed them; that processed environmental, geospatial and relational information; that compared and contrasted the data uploaded from the tychomnemonic array with the data acquired by his passive sensors. As he processed the information, a number of system alerts competed for priority until the information coalesced, allowing K9 to arrive at an inescapable conclusion.
The planet was unstable.
The psychic backlash that had forced K9 to sever his link with the Doctor had also caused untold damage to the Oculus, which, K9 concluded, had been venting excess heat as a means of sustaining a habitable environment.
Levitating ahead of the group on a large circular palanquin, Protector K'thellid was the first to pass through the city gate, his large bulk glowing as the k'thellid equivalent of sun screen was lit up by powerful ultraviolet rays.
As they passed through the city square, K9 considered the consequences of sharing his newfound discovery with the Protector, and concluded that there were too many negative variables involving the Doctor. With no obligation to divulge the information, K9 decided that his first priority would have to be to find and inform his master.
Abbot Gesar impatiently paced up and down the front hall of the constabulary as he awaited Aldus's return. Leaving Malthus in charge, armed with a particularly nasty looking shock-gun, the sheriff had taken it upon himself to go out and fetch the City Elders. The other monks had taken to sitting on the floor around Brother G'sheth, whose skin had regained its former greyish-pink hue, and whose nervous tentacle-twitch had settled down into a more regular swaying.
"How is he?" asked Gesar, neither slowing his pace, nor concealing the impatience in his voice.
"Better," said Brother Xerinar, who sat gently keeping the k'thellid bathed in water. The shock of his encounter with the sheriff had clearly stopped the alien monk from producing the regular secretions necessary to keep his rough skin moist.
The abbot's enquiry was cut short as a grating sound drew his attention to the outer wall. This noise was followed by a gentle vibrating hum, and the monks closest to the wall began to scatter. Across the room, Sergeant Malthus rose to his feet.
Like magic, the whitewash of the wall faded away to reveal bare plaster, which itself peeled back to expose the brickwork. This in turn spiralled away into nothingness, and a hole spread downwards from roof to floor. It was as if the wall had never been constructed.
On the outside of the constabulary, the shimmering bulk of Protector K'thellid became visible, its appendages outstretched, shedding an eerie light upon K9 and the retainers that accompanied them.
"Protector?" The Abbot stepped forward to greet the k'thellid.
Gesar, the great cephalopod responded, its skin flashing as it levitated forwards and into the room. Behind it, the m'nch'k bearing K9 on its back pitched towards the ground and the little dog trundled forwards, breaking through his mucus bonds and entering the room at the Protector's side. As K'thellid slowly relaxed its tentacles, the wall rebuilt itself behind them, blocking out the rest of the k'thellid and m'n'ch'k.
"This is… unexpected," said the abbot, breaking out into a smile, "but it's good to see you. "
These aren't good times, Gesar.
"No, no, they're not. I take it we're here for the same reason?"
The carnifex.
Gesar nodded. The Protector's response was, like his own, to be expected.
"I lost G'thon," he said. "Have there been many casualties in the undercity?"
Minimal. This… robot prevented further catastrophe.
"A robot?" Gesar looked down at K9. He'd never seen anything quite like it before, and it certainly didn't conform to any k'thellid design. "Is it yours?"
It belongs to the carnifex.
"And yet it saved you?"
Yes. Its master would seem to be an unwilling party to these events. I suspect his arrival here may have triggered his programming.
"Really?" It was a bold conclusion, thought Gesar. "Are you aware that the carnifex wasn't alone, Protector?"
I was. But there is only one carnifex, correct?
Gesar nodded. "The other time lord displayed no signs of the power."
Only one carnifex is needed. You've seen what he can do?
"With my own eyes, Protector. His first attack accelerated the cycles. There's no knowing how much damage the Oculus has suffered."
Then we must see to it at once, Gesar.
"The carnifex needs to be dealt with first. That's why I'm here."
And I.
"With respect Protector, you're probably his primary target."
He must be found.
"He's already here. In one of the cells. The sheriff has him in custody."
With the k'thellid and m'n'ch'k left outside, and the Protector deep in debate with Abbot Gesar, it took very little effort on K9's part to use their conversation as a distraction. There were others present – monks, the sergeant – but the Protector's air of authority seemed to have given K9 a legitimacy which left his progress unchallenged as he began to move around the chamber.
With his exitonic circuits blown, the little robot was relying on more traditional methods of detection to track down the Doctor. His first clue lay in the air. K9's atmospheric sensors picked up traces of hyperoxygenated blood vapour in a state of accelerated decomposition. 47 parts per million and rising as he moved closer towards the source.
The Doctor had once explained to K9 that all time lord blood was of the same type, and was infected with a nanovirus developed by a paranoid Arcalian surgeon who feared that the many properties of its serum might make it a medical panacea for lesser species. When separated from its host, the nanovirus would render the blood useless, causing many of its more interesting components to evaporate into the atmosphere.
Darker than that of humans, K9 recalled that the Doctor's blood also had a rusty orange tint similar to that which graced the floor on the other side of the chamber, forming a trail which led through a doorway and into a corridor beyond. A brief infrared scan of the area behind the door revealed the second clue: a single heat source.
Trundling forwards, K9 nudged his way through the doorway and into the corridor. His red eyes glowed in the darkness as he made his way towards his quarry.
In the world of darkness he had made his own, the Doctor was painting himself a new pair of eyes. In place of a brush he was using his trusty sonic screwdriver, and in place of a canvas he was painting upon the darkness of space. For a palette, he used his scarf, which he draped across his left arm.
The colours he was using – both in the scarf and in the sky – weren't the mundane ultramarines and burnt umbers of an artist's palette, but the dynamic and shifting colours of time and space. So far, the Doctor had used his canvas to create a self-portrait in the stars, their twinkling lights really bringing out his best features – the unruly curls, the bold nose, the iconic smile. Which brought him to the eyes. Stars were fine, but if the eyes are the window to the soul then he needed something really exciting. Maybe he should change his style? The realism of Hardy was fine, but the Doctor considered himself to be more of a surrealist. Daliesque, perhaps? Or Picasso? Whatever eyes he ended up with, he was going to have to live with them, and he couldn't help feeling that one of the eyes might end up in the back of his head. Useful for avoiding the occasional backstabber, but not aesthetically pleasing to the mind's… ah.
Perhaps, thought the Doctor, I've been a bit rash. It's not like I've ever had to pluck my own eyes out before. He reached up and felt his empty sockets through Malthus' dressing, and very nearly failed to notice the familiar hum of a robot laser being applied to a prison lock.
"Who's there?" He called out.
The door creaked open. "Master?"
"K9, it's you! Excellent. Well done. How's your head?"
The Doctor reached blindly forwards, tracing his fingertips of the robot's casing. Tracing up across his name and over the buttons of his data-entry pad, the Doctor reached the dog collar he had fashioned, expecting to find a hole filled with trailing cables where the unit's head should be. Instead he came palm to cheek with a pristine robot head.
"With the exception of the exitonic relay circuit, this unit is operating at one hundred and ten percent efficiency."
"A hundred and ten percent? Why, that's very nearly full working order. K9, I think you have some explaining to do…"
In the bowels of Mount Madronal, Romana and Teyamat picked their way through cramped, half-lit corridors that smelled of moss and rising damp. They were cold and uninhabited, and not at all what Romana was expecting.
"You're sure this is the same level as the TARDIS and the Well?"
"Of course," said Teyamat reassuringly. "All the smaller rooms and chambers are situated closest to the surface. There are more of them down here because we're nearer to the foot of the mountain."
Romana sighed. "It's just that last time I came down here it was, well, more lived in."
Several feet ahead, Teyamat turned, exposing more light from the torch as she prepared to turn another corner. "It's alright, we're here," she said, ducking out of view again, leaving only the glow of the torch in her wake. "This way."
Rounding the bend, Romana found herself at the old crone's side. A narrow, unlit corridor stretched ahead of them, and Teyamat urged her forwards.
"It's a bit dark," she said, making her way along what was beginning to feel more like a crawlspace. "Are you sure about this?"
"I'm right behind you."
Romana smiled as she peered into the fading gloom. "That's my point," she said. "A moment ago you were right in front of me. Now you're behind me and I can't see."
"Here," said Teyamat, passing her light forwards, "take the torch."
"Thanks, I… hey…" Romana found herself standing before a strange door in the middle of the corridor. It was strange because until now all of the doors had been standard, rectangular, perpendicular, straight edged doors. But this one… it had five edges instead of four, and none were of the same length. It was like a skewed pentacle stretched to accommodate human form. It wasn't quite the shape of a coffin.
"Open it," urged Teyamat, as a perplexed look fell across Romana's face.
In the centre of the door was an oddly crafted handle. Like the door, it had five edges. This time, as well as not matching each other, their shape didn't seem to match that of the door either. She twisted the handle, and pushed.
As the door opened stale air made the torch flicker. Romana stepped forwards, but the light of her torch seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. Her hearts in her mouth, she couldn't tell if she had entered a chamber or a corridor.
As she moved forwards, the door closed behind her. Romana turned round to find that the five-edged door had no handle on her side. She was trapped. For a moment she felt a range of feelings well up inside her. Fear, panic, claustrophobia, paranoia, embarrassment.
"Teyamat!" She called through the door. "What are you doing?"
There was a brief moment of silence before the old crone replied.
"It's alright, Romana," she said. "It's just a quick detour. You'll be perfectly safe."
"Safe? What are you…?"
"Remember what Abbot Gesar said, about an ordeal?"
Romana felt a strong sense of betrayal. For whatever reason, and no matter how creepy she had seemed, Romana had trusted Teyamat throughout their time together. Even now, with the old woman's betrayal evident, things didn't seem quite right.
"What are you doing? Let me out of here."
With the door closed, the light of Romana's torch was dwindling. Despite this, what had first been unfathomable darkness had now become a small secluded chamber, with corners – lots of corners – scattered around the room at odd and, Romana found herself thinking, disturbing angles. It was small; the walls were smooth; and there was nothing in there with her.
"Calm down, Romana. We'll get to your TARDIS and your precious Doctor shortly, but if you're going to be taken seriously by the abbot, you have to take this test."
"This test?" Romana looked around again. She looked for spikes in the floor or moving walls, but there was nothing. Not even cobwebs or rat-holes. Just seamless grey plaster walls. "It's just an empty room."
"Teyamat?" The torch sputtered again as she called out. "Whose side are you on?"
From the other side of the door Teyamat answered, her voice desperately trying to reassure. "My loyalty is to the Silver Queen, Romana. You know that. But if you pass this test, my loyalty will be to you."
"If I pass this test? A moment ago you said I'd be perfectly safe. You're beginning to sound about as reliable as the Doctor."
"You will be safe. Relax."
Romana's hearts were still racing as she cast her mind back to their conversation with Gesar, desperately trying to anticipate what was about to happen. "Aren't I supposed to have prepared my mind?"
"The abbot doesn't know what he's talking about," said Teyamat. "He never did. Now relax, you have nothing to fear."
As the light of her torch sputtered and died, Romana dropped it to the floor. The rich red glow of its tip faded as she began to hammer on the door.
"Teyamat! Let me out!"
There was silence.
On the other side of the door, the old crone held her breath, chewing on her lip as doubts crept into her own mind. Maybe Romana wasn't as safe as she believed.
"Teyamat!"
Faltering, the old woman reached for the handle. She felt its edges pressing into her palms and, for a moment, considered going back on her actions. But there was no going back. Not now. She stepped away from the door, her firsts clenched, her faith tested. Inside the room, Romana had slumped to the ground, twisting so that her back was to the door, and her eyes were peering into the darkness.
As she looked, the darkness shifted. Shadows receded and the room seemed to be bathed in some kind of light. No, it wasn't light. It was unlight. Romana could see, but she shouldn't. The corners of the room were clearly visible, but with the torch gone there was no light source. What she saw was in her mind. And her mind told her that the corners were moving; and multiplying; and twisting.
What she was sensing, Romana realised, were dimensions beyond the room. For years the Academy had prepared her for the experience, and in her mind's eye she had always been aware that the higher dimensions were there, just out of reach. She'd been trained to see, hear and smell almost all of the eleven dimensions, and she and the Doctor had even managed to enter Calabi Yau space once, but this was different: the higher dimensions were coming to her.
The sensations were completely alien to anything she had experienced before. She was staring into a non-Euclidean kaleidoscope where everything was shifting but nothing was moving, all at the same time; she could smell the pungent, acrid odour they exuded; and she could hear them, whispering, slavering, and baying eerily, announcing their convergence upon the chamber.
Something was coming.
From the corners of the room Romana could perceive something. Pale, grey, grainy. Like some strange peripheral shore beyond time and space where, out of the corner of her eye, she saw them.
For a moment, Romana found herself standing on the otherworldly shore, and they were there, shadowy and incorporeal; distant but aware.
As she smelled them, so they scented her, and turned towards her. Their form was indescribable, and yet familiar; like a trio of emaciated, spectral wolves, they turned, and in the unlight of the chamber, they shifted into greater focus.
Cracks appeared in the walls of the chamber as the shores faded around them. The room began to gently vibrate as they loped towards the threshold between dimensions, squeezing themselves into the chamber like dry ice through gaps in floorboards, passing through the strangest angles in a bid to reach their prey. And their prey was Romana. Pressing her back against the door as the smoke became more concentrated, she stifled a scream as chunks of plaster began to fall from the walls and ceiling, and the creatures slowly became more tangible, folding themselves into existence like origami hounds crafted out of smoke.
Lean and hungry, they moved closer.
And closer.
The creatures came so close that Romana could feel their rasping breath upon her throat, their teeth only inches away from her flesh. They were so close that their tongues…