Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

I know this has been a long time in the coming, people. I am sorry indeed, but my life has been particularly screwy before this, and this was really the first time I had to work on the story in a while. And, really, I think I could have done it better. It's one of those in-between sorts of chapters, where people are talking a lot – or running a lot, in this case - but nothing much happens at all. It's a bit like Yugi-oh episodes – most of the time they're playing card games, albeit card games with really spiffy monsters emerging and smushing each other up – and yet you (the viewer) keep coming back, because you've just got to know what's going to happen next.

I never thought I'd be comparing this to anime, let alone an anime like Yugi-oh. What is wrong with my mind, people? I need some sleep.

"She will find me," Adelaide whispered. "If I went to the bottom of the sea she'd find me and drag me out. She would."

The Ruby in the Smoke, by Philip Pullman.

I am the hunter, you are the game

Where are you, Erik? Where are you?

I'll find you. And when I do…

Raoul could hardly see. He could hardly breathe. The fire was tearing great rips in his throat and his eyes, and his body was protesting with every step he took, and one of his hands was practically on fire itself from pain where it had been scorched by a stray flame. But he had to find Erik and…

…and do what? He did not know. What could he do if he actually found him? The gun he held in his hand would not be as much use as he had thought it would be when he had hidden it under his black tunic only that morning. Erik was right; it would do very little damage to him, since a bullet in various places would exactly stop the walking corpse.

But he did know that he wanted to smash out those terrible yellow eyes. He wanted to fracture his arms and legs. He wanted to tear off his smirking lips and punch out his yellowed teeth. He wanted to break every single bone in him. If he couldn't kill him,then he would break him.

I won't let you hurt any of us anymore. I must stop you, before it is too late for us. Too late for Christine.

I'll hunt you down, and by God I'll cause you more inconvenience than even you can stomach, you monster.

He wiped his streaming eyes, and gazed furiously around the smoky ballroom. Apart from the wreckage of the chandelier, he could see little or nothing.

"Erik! Where are you, you coward? Come out and face me!"

There was no reply, not even a mocking remark, and as Raoul wheezed and spluttered and hacked, a horrible thought came to him. He had sent Christine away for her safety; what would have stopped Erik from going after her, save his own feeble efforts?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

"Merde!" he yelled, and said it again for the sheer novelty of it. It was rare that he swore these days, but this was definitely an occasion for it.

He turned to stumble to the door he had pushed Christine towards only a minute or so before, hoping that it was not blocked by burning rubble or flames; but instead he nearly ran into somebody else, knocking them over and causing himself to fall back.

Somebody else? Who's still in here except for me?

But as he made out the face of this new, mysterious personage, he felt all the rage and pain drain out of him to be replaced with something that was half joy and half fear. There was no wonder, though – after all he had seen there was hardly any innocence or potential for surprise left in him at all.

This is like a dream. This must be a dream. Or is it a nightmare?

"Nadir?" he said softly, incredulously, reaching out to touch the man's solid if very cool arm – which, he had to admit, soothed the pain of his burned hand immensely - helping him up. "Nadir, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, apparently." The now fully corporeal spirit scowled at him as he got to his feet. "Raoul de Chagny, despite all you have gone through it appears you can still be something of a nitwit, and you may die a stupid and meaningless death even if you don't deserve it. Now come on." He grasped Raoul by the wrist and yanked him towards a different door, away from the way Christine had gone, despite his struggles.

"Let me go! Christine went that way, and Erik went after her, I know it!"

"And you think you could do her any good if you went after her now? We need more behind us that your hot temper, Raoul, noble though it might be!" And Nadir pulled him through a doorway, out of the searing heat of the room and into the searing embrace of a very familiar person. He barely had a glimpse of two bodies lying upon the floor, propped up against the wall, before Meg's squeal rattled and shook his ears as her arms flew about his chest, and squeezed. Over her shoulder he saw Carlotta and Cecile staring wide eyed at the flames behind him just before Nadir banged the door shut. Then the eye-watering pain chiefly took over, and he turned what attention he could back to Meg.

"Raoul! Raoul, where've you been? We thought that you might be hurt or injured!"

"Not yet, at least," he managed to mutter through the swell of pain in his ribs, and the relief that at least Meg was safe, while pushing her away as gently as he could. "How is Carlotta?" he asked softly, knowing he might not like the answer.

"I have been better," came that familiar voice, and he looked back to see her more clearly now, sitting on the floor with her arms curved around her knees, her lips stuck out in a pout, looking remarkable well for someone who had been coughing up blood only a little while before; Cecile huddling back beside her. "The wine did not agree with me. So it came back up."

Raoul barely had time to marvel at the ridiculous nature of this before Nadir was stepping forward and speaking again, rapidly. "There is no time for this. I do not know how long I myself may remain here in any case; it was only by chance that I was able to break through the barrier between the worlds. We must act if we are to salvage the situation, and we must act quickly. Already one innocent life has been sacrificed in a most cruel manner."

Raoul's horror came back once again, as his joy at the girls' safety vanished. His sister, his precious sister, his dear sister, her screams of agony had rung in his ears, twisting at his heart enough to pluck it out. It couldn't be…

"Celandine…is dead?" The words that came from between his lips sounded more like a croak than something made by a human voice, as if Carlotta's toad had been spirited into his mouth instead.

"Oh, Raoul," and now all the light and life had gone out of Meg's voice, leaving it weak and small as her hand touched his arm, though he could hardly feel it. "Raoul, I'm so, so – mama!" She stared now over his shoulder, so surprised that he turned to see what she was looking at.

"Your sister is not dead, Raoul." He himself stared dumbly at Madame Giry – or was this Madame Giry? Certainly that lady would not be covered in soot and grime, her face grey with smoke and her still blonde hair now even slightly wild, a bruise on one cheek and the hem of her ripped skirt still smouldering faintly, leaning on the now open door frame for support! But yet, here she was, breathing heavily but still standing tall with determination.

"Mama!" Meg cried again, running into her arms. "Mama, are you all right? What happened to you?"

"I am perfectly all right, Marguerite," Giry said smoothly, embracing her daughter briefly and stroking her hair, before releasing her. "Struggling through panic stricken crowds and running across a burning ball-room does have some effect upon the appearance, sadly. Defarge managed to clear a way for me, though he had to hurry out with the rest of them afterwards. But," she went on, turning her sharp eyes back to the rest of them, "your sister is indeed alive, Raoul, though she has lost a great deal of blood. It was the baby that suffered the most."

Raoul felt as if he was truly going insane from all that was happening to him, so quickly. "Baby?" he repeated incredulously. "Celandine is expecting?"

Giry shook her head, her sharp mouth face softening with sadness and regret. "She was. But she is not any longer. She miscarried the child a short while ago. It was her cries of grief we all heard."

"Oh!" Meg's eyes were suddenly wide. "So that's what…the poison for someone else. I didn't think of that…"

The two Girys shared a glance, and Raoul could finally understand how much Meg was her mother's daughter when he saw the same hard understanding on both of their faces.

"You see the great peril we are all in," Nadir said softly; and if Madame Giry was surprised at the sight of an Asian man with an obviously slit throat, she did not show it. "The blood of an innocent was shed in order to allow Erik access to the surface world, a very life was supplied along with the blood. Who knows how much more blood will be shed this day? We must stop it, my friends. We must stop it together."

"But what can we do?" Cecile asked from her sprawl on the floor, her eyes still darting to the smoke leaking through the cracks in the door which Nadir blissfully ignored.

The Persian tapped his lower lip with his finger for a moment, only a moment, before speaking. "Raoul and I will go down after Erik. Erik would never harm Christine; I know this, even if he has caught her by now. But he might harm you, Raoul, very easily. You will need me with you, to quell his anger. Also, I can lead you to where he will probably have taken her."

"I will go with you as well." Madame Giry stepped forward, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "I have some idea of what is behind all this. I know of Erik and his fate, at any rate. Do not look so surprised, all of you; some I knew already, and Meg told me the rest, as I told her what I knew in my turn. I know what has happened to all of you, Defarge as well. And I know what has happened here must be solved. And so I believe a woman's touch would help in negotiations for Christine's safe delivery," she went on, walking over to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, warm through his sudden coldness, "and in assurance of your return, Raoul. I will not leave my other daughter trapped beneath the earth again, and I will not see justice left undone."

"What of us?" Carlotta demanded, as she pulled herself up from the floor, her face blazing with indignation. "You will not just leave us in a burning mansion, will you?"

"We won't be left behind. We have work to do, all of us, not just Raoul." He felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned to see Meg holding out her hand imperiously. "Give me your gun, Raoul."

"Pardon?" Forget his own madness; it seemed to be Meg who had finally lost her senses.

"Your gun," Meg said stolidly. "Give it to me. You won't need it where you're going. We, however, will."

"Meg, do you even know how to use a pistol?" He saw the sense in her proposition, whatever it would turn out to be, but he saw the extreme absurdity as well. And he would find a use for the gun in some way, even if he couldn't kill Erik with it.

"Yes," she said, far too quickly. Colour rose to her cheeks as she obviously dared him to defy her.

"I do," Carlotta said tiredly, as if this conversation bored her – which it probably did. "My mother, she taught me the basics of…guns; she is a truly remarkable woman. If you want someone to shoot that gun for you, Meg, then I will do it."

"Good." Meg pulled it out of his hand and passed it to her at once. "Cecile, you come with us as well; we won't leave you alone here. On your feet, come on," she added, as the maid hesitated, which was enough for Cecile to scramble to her feet hurriedly and move to stand beside Carlotta.

Madame Giry nodded. "Good. You all understand, I hope, or at least you will. Meg, you must move quickly, you know that?"

"I know, Mama." Meg abruptly stepped forward and placed a kiss on Raoul's cheek with a whisper of "Good luck," in his ear; before he had time to be surprised Carlotta boldly repeated the action with his other cheek, and Cecile shyly stood on her toes to gently touch her lips to his forehead, as Meg hugged her mother in what seemed like a good-bye. Again the older woman released the younger swiftly, though leaving her hands on her shoulder momentarily as she looked into her eyes.

"Enough of that. He went out by the main doors, but I saw him veer off to the West Wing. He may not have gotten far, but again, move quickly. Now, go."

Nadir was already pulling on his own sleeve, tugging him after him, as he watched the girls hurry away from them down the corridor. "We must go quickly as well. Time is not the same up here as it is down there, but it passes fleeting enough, and already I feel the underworld calling me back."

"Then we must be fast indeed." Giry fell into step alongside them with relative ease as they began to run. "Where are we going, sir?" she added, speaking directly to Nadir for the first time. "Will he have taken her back underground? How can we follow them?"

"It will be difficult but possible, Madame. There is enough blood from those who have been wounded as well as that poor dead child, I fear, to make a bridge both from and to where we must go."

"Could someone please explain to me what the girls are doing?" Raoul burst in, unable to hold his tongue anymore. Was he the only one left making any sense in this whole squalid affair?

"They are no longer girls, Raoul – for now, at least, they are hunters." Giry squeezed his arm while wiping her eyes; they were by this time half way up the corridor, but the girls had already disappeared ahead of them, and the smoke was already following them.

"Raoul, you stay on my left," Nadir said quietly but urgently, as they rounded a corner leading away from the trio, whose footsteps were already fading from hearing, "Madame Giry on my right. Keep one hand on my coat at all times, so that I may guide you, and the other hand at the level of your eyes, covering them, until I tell you otherwise. Close your eyes as well, but keep your hand over them nonetheless."

"Why?" he asked in between pants, doing as he was told even though he found it impeded his progress considerably, shutting out the view of where he was going so that he nearly missed grabbing on to the cloth of Nadir's coat. Giry still seemed to be running as fast as ever on the other side of Nadir, and he felt the tension in the coat that signified that she had grasped hold of it as well.

"There are sights on at least part of the way down, Raoul, that mortals were not meant to see, and still should not, even now." Nadir now sounded as he were standing at the far end of a ballroom – one that wasn't burning, of course. "Again, I implore you, if you wish to emerge from this business unscathed, keep your hand at the level of your eyes…"

And then, even between tightly closed eyelids and the pressing, fleshy thickness of fingers, there was light.

"Meg, will you not simply tell us what you are looking for?" Carlotta tried once again, but once again there was no answer. Meg simply forged ahead, her face hard and unchanging, wisps of golden, frizzled hair hanging about her face. She hadn't spoken a word since they had started to run, and it didn't seem that she would be starting now.

She sighed, and focused instead on the weight of the gun in her hands. It felt good, somehow…right. Perhaps it made her look threatening; certainly Cecile kept looking anxiously at her. Five shots left in it, perhaps; she couldn't remember if Raoul had actually fired a shot, since she had been rather preoccupied at the time. Perhaps six then, or only four. She would have to make each one count. If only Meg would tell them what she was doing, where they were going! But Meg was her friend, their friend, and whatever she was doing would help Christine – she hoped.

Abruptly Meg stopped and darted forward, picking up something red. They were near the ballroom again, having gone around in something of a circle to avoid the searing heat making its way through the walls. Only a few rooms away they could hear the shocked mumblings of the guests as the servants tried vainly to battle the flames. This was all too strange.

She hoped desperately that Ubaldo was all right. She hoped with all her heart that he had not been hurt when the chandelier began to fall, either by the shattering crystals or in the struggle to get out. She hadn't seen him in the crush. He was strong and sure, he was probably safe.

She shivered. Probably.

She couldn't think about it. Better not to think, for now. Don't think on her empty stomach, or the man she had left behind, or her friend, however much it hurt. It would hurt more to think on him - them. She looked back to Meg. "Meg? What is it?"

The blonde girl dropped it back onto the floor – a red flower, she could see now. "A carnation. He was wearing it in his button hole, I remember it. Well, at least he came this far, as Mama said."

"Will you just tell us what is going on?" she snapped, infuriated by Meg's elusive manner, as Cecile continue to stare at the flower on the floor. "What is happening here, Meg? Why do we need the gun?"

"Because we're tracking someone." Meg looked back at her, and her eyes were like hard sapphires. "Someone who has done some very bad things, Carlotta, and who'd deserve to get shot if he didn't need to be brought to justice in some other way. We need to find him, and fast, but…I don't know how…" she chewed her lip, for the first time showing some loss of confidence.

Suddenly, Cecile spoke up. "He had a lamp. An oil lamp. He lit it round about here. And went off that way." She pointed up the corridor, away from the sounds of life, into less well lit places.

"Are you sure?" Meg asked, looking curiously at the maid. "Can you smell the oil, Cecile?"

"No." The young maid looked very thoughtful, for a change, Carlotta couldn't help noting dryly. "I don't think…I know that there is still fire, in the ball room. I know that they haven't put it out. There is fire all around, even up that corridor where someone has taken it, and yet…I'm not afraid anymore. I just – know where it all is. I – can't explain it, really I can't. I just know."

This was all too complicated for her. They should just get on with it. "Then if you think our prey went up that way, let us go that way and catch him, yes?"

Meg nodded, though slowly. "If you're sure, Cecile…"

The maid's thoughtfulness was now replaced by grim determination. "I am sure."

Meg nodded again, still watching the younger girl with an odd expression on her face. "Then we might as well take a chance."

This is more like it, Carlotta thought. "Then the hunt is on."

"You may release my coat now, both of you, and it is safe to look once more," Nadir said calmly.

Raoul unclenched his fistful of cloth with a sigh of relief, and slowly opened his eyes – the last while had not been pleasant, stumbling blindly along some burningly bright but extremely narrow corridor, as if they were playing a nightmarish version of follow the leader.

He was surprised to see that they were still in a tunnel, though a far bigger one that they had been forced to squeeze through. There was light, of a much dimmer and redder kind, from some unknown source, which was a welcome relief to the burning brightness that had seared even through his hand and prickled his tightly closed eyes. Simply with his eyes closed, he might actually have been blinded. Here, the cool dusk was much easier to cope with, even if it did provide some cover for things to spring out at them.

"Where are we?" he asked softly, resisting the urge to loosen his collar – it was now getting unpleasantly warm again.

"We are fairly close to Erik's abode, but not too close – I did not want to alert him to our presence so early. This will give us the chance we need to get close enough without him barring the way to us."

"Because he'll be too busy with Christine?" The anger was rising in Raoul once again. The very thought of what that…thing might be doing to her, even if Nadir said he would never hurt his love, was wretched to him. You can touch someone without hurting them. You can kiss someone without hurting them, in more than one place…

Oh God, I'm going to rip his bloody head off.

He hadn't realised that he had spoken that last part out loud until he was given a very severe glare by Madame Giry, who had remained silent through the journey so far, seemingly cowed by her surroundings, though not now. "I doubt you will be ripping anyone's head off, Vicomte, bloody or not."

"I don't care! He deserves it!" He said that without thinking, but that didn't mean that he did not think it was true. Look at what he's done to us, all of us. Look at what he's done to Christine. Oh, he deserves everything he gets!

Nadir looked over his shoulder, pained; but before he could speak Giry went on. "Such harsh words, Raoul, but is there any strength behind them? You think that Erik is a monster. But Erik is not the villain in this story by any means."

"And you would know how?"

She gave him a cool look. "Let me tell you a story, Vicomte, as we travel ever down and down, and you Monsieur Nadir as well. Perhaps when I have finished it, you will know and understand more than when it began."

It felt as if they had been running for ever and ever. At least, it seemed that way to Carlotta. Occasionally they would pause when the corridor they were one spread out into two or more, and Cecile, after only a little deliberation, would point the way. It soon became obvious that a lamp might well have been needed, since whatever curtains that were here had not been opened, letting only tiny chinks of light through, and none of the lamps had been lit for a while. They were making their way into the less used parts of the house. What would they find?

Carlotta tried not to think about what they were leaving behind, or what they were running into. It was as if they had been running far longer than any distance any house could contain, even such a house as this. There was some bad taste upon the air, and it grew stronger and stronger in her mouth as they ran. A taste not of blood but of iron, tangy on her tongue. A taste of swords. A taste of…revenge.

We are the avengers…

She did not know what had made her think that. She only had to run, and run, and run. And keep hold of the gun.

At least they knew that they were on the right track, by whatever magic was enabling them to find their way through Cecile's new, odd gift; at one point they had found, by pure accident, a discarded jacket, which Meg had examined with a none too pleasant smile, and at another corner a silken cravat that had dropped to the floor. Evidently whoever they were hunting was getting hot from their flight, and Cecile smiled herself each time they found some new article cast aside to aid the escape that might not come after all.

And so they ran, getting hot themselves, casting off shawls and jackets as they went, pausing only briefly, and running again. Was this what hunting was like? If so, Carlotta could see why humans had taken to using horses instead of their feet. Already she was becoming tired, and would she be able to aim well when at last – if they managed it – they reached their quarry, whatever or whoever it would turn out to be?

This had to come to an end. They were bringing an end about, but what end it would be had still to be seen.

We are the avengers.

At length Meg halted, anxiety coming to her face. "There's something up there," she said, pointing forwards to possibly the darkest corridor they had encountered yet. "Something strange. I can…sense it. Feel it. Confusing. I've been here before, I think, but I can't remember when."

"He did go that way, though," Cecile said softly, her nervousness beginning to show again. "Up there. I think that he dropped the lamp there. The flame doesn't go on any further after that, I can tell."

"Bother." Meg glared into the darkness, and visibly made up her mind. "We have to go in. We must find him. Come on. Keep that gun ready, Carlotta, we may need it." So saying, she hurried into the shadows, Cecile following close behind her.

Keep it ready? How am I supposed to shoot if I can't see a damn thing? Carlotta thought some very bad words inside her head as she stamped forward swiftly after Meg and Cecile, only to nearly walk into them as a light abruptly flickered on above them.

What?...

Oh, no.

Mirrors.

Mirrors, everywhere. Lining all the walls, every one casting a reflection of all three of them, reflections upon reflections upon reflections. A myriad of girls pictured against a wooden wall, again and again and again, forever and ever and ever, circling all around them and cutting off any escape.

Mary, Mother of God, where are we?

She could see all their faces staring at them, over and over again, pale and terrified, a nightmarish version of a dressing table mirror, showing multiplied torn stained dresses and wild hair and round, staring eyes. Triads of mauled ladies, staring in at them, leering, perhaps laughing. The mirrors seemed to stretch their faces, their eyes slitted, their tongues forked – no, no, this was ridiculous. It was simply her imagination taking advantage of her.

Which was an odd thing, because since her childhood, when she had been so terrified by her sister's ghost stories, Carlotta Gudicelli had resolved never to let run her imagination run amok.

But still heat rose in her as she stared, the dull heat of terror beginning in her still empty stomach, hotter in some ways than the flames they had escaped. Truly if they stayed here they would go mad. She clasped the gun, and the smoothness of the metal revived her a little.

"We must get out of here," she muttered, to herself as well as to the others.

"How?" Cecile said softly, drawing near to her. "Where's the door? Where's the door, Carlotta?"

No door? It's gone? Already she could see what this thing was; it was meant to entrap and delude, to misguide and misdirect. Finding the way in to this place was much, much easier than finding the way out.

She barely had time to be even more afraid – and really, should I? – at this news, before she remembered someone who would be even more afraid, dying of fear by now. She looked around at Meg, and was surprised to see no fear on the girl's face, no terror, none of the phobia she had developed over the last few days. Instead she was looking in contemplation at her reflection in the mirrors; very like, she realised, when Cecile had first contemplated the sensation of flames and how they corresponded to her. There was no dread, no hiding, only herself laid bare, and the mirror laid bare in turn.

What is happening? Have our curses been lifted? Does this mean…does this mean that we are free? Is this why I no longer feel pain inside me?

The two of them watched in trepidation, Cecile's hand clutching her arm, as Meg dreamily made her way forward, her arms slowly rising from her sides to stretch out in front of her, like a fanciful representation of sleep walking – and her reflection came to meet her, holding out its hands in welcome, drawing her into the cool of the mirror, just as Raoul had been before her, and the life would be sucked out of her…no, of course not; it was simply her fingers meeting the surface of the mirror.

That was all it was. Nothing else.

Who can be frightened of a reflection?

But Meg was. Or had been. And though she had not said what she had seen, clearly they had not been pleasant things at all, worse than her own visions.

Now Meg stared into the eyes of her own reflection for a time, resting her hands on the mirror, before smiling slowly and walking to the side, to the side, along, feeling her way along the invisible wall that neither she herself nor Cecile could see, but which she could both see and sense and feel. There was something going on here, something not quite normal, something as far from normal as could be. From the slightly smug look on Meg's face, it looked as if she was repeating a lesson she had been taught long ago, and turning it on the one who had taught it to her.

A point came when Meg was standing far to their right, and their own images stood a little way beyond her. She breathed in once, twice, and her smile widened as her hand slowly slid down the surface of the mirror, one finger moving to a certain point, ready to press something.

"When I say run, "she whispered, apparently talking only to her reflection, "run."

Carlotta didn't know what on earth was happening, but she grasped Cecile's wrist and nodded her assent, just as Meg pressed something invisible on the surface, and jumped back as the mirror swung forward.

Well done Meg, she had time to think, as they surged forward into the darkness that lay beyond the room of mirrors.

Before, Raoul felt as if he were on fire himself, instead of the ball room. Now, he simply felt numb with what he knew.

Before, he had hated Erik. Now, all that he felt was pity for him. What could he do now?

"What must I do?" he asked, voicing his own thoughts. "What can I do, now that I know?"

It was Nadir who answered him, as the rounded another corner, a light growing steadily ahead of them. "You must do what you can, Raoul. No one can ask more than that of you."

Yes. That is true. But…I don't know what to do, now. I did once, but not anymore.

Why do I still live?

Carlotta did not know what she had been expecting, when they had barged through the doorway in the mirrors. But perhaps she had known it all along, all the way from when Christine and Meg had first arrived, to when Christine had come back, to when the ball room had burst into flames and Celandine had screamed and screamed and screamed.

Coiled inside us, all along…

She raised the pistol, and pointed it directly towards the man's head, hoping feverishly that her hands weren't trembling. It would never do at all to look scared in any way at this point.

But Comte Philippe the Elder, for some odd reason, didn't appear to mind three girls glaring at him, or one aiming a gun at him. He sat back in his chair, his crisp white shirt rustling slightly, and simply smiled and smiled at them, though rather tiredly.

"Good morning, ladies. I believe you've found me out, at last."

What to say about this? Perhaps I'll come back and fix it, perhaps I won't. Certainly it ties up some plot points, as well as keeping you on tenter hooks, but…I just don't know. I really don't. It needs something more. Perhaps I'll come back to it, when I feel more inspired to work on in-betweeny chapters. Heaven knows we want to get to the revelations, and the end – which is a pretty good one, I think, even if I do say so myself. I rather like what's coming next chapter, so I suppose that makes me feel better about this one.

How's that for a trip downstairs, people? For those who prefer Nadir showing Raoul the way, or Giry, well – I put them both in! Crowd pleasers make everyone feel better, I'm sure. And Giry will have a reason for being down there as well, as I'm sure you'll guess, or at least try to guess. I love working these little references in, even if people don't always get them.

For anyone who caught the other significant reference – yes, I luvs Doctor Who. Only my own mostly-beloved England could come up with a science fiction drama-comedy about a self-regenerating alien who mooches around in a time travelling police box that would end up becoming a cult classic, especially one who now has a sonic screw-driver. English science fiction is probably one of the best sorts, because they usually make it so darn funny at the same time, and what's the point of having space travel in a show if you're not prepared to speculate about what shape you might be in when you arrive at your destination? You know you'd wonder if you'd arrive with your spleen, admit it, people! Plus English people are daft enough to wonder how exactly everyone actually understands each other out in space, and to think up random ways to solve the problem. Forget translators or universal languages; suck some Tardis radiation into your brain or stick a fish in your ear and you're all set!

And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, you've been sadly deprived all your life. I'm not even going to begin on the robots.

Reviews for the half-Irish seamstress, please!