Chapter Six

"What are those things?!"

Usually, Martha found it enough of a challenge just to keep up with the Doctor whenever his instincts told him it was time to hotfoot it out of trouble, but this time was different; the layout of the floodhouse was so cramped and confusing that neither of them could run more than a few feet before being met with a tight turn. It didn't stop him from trying to reach his usual breakneck speeds, though.

"I have my suspicions!" he yelled, not looking back as he hit another wall, pushing away from it with the palms of his hands and literally bouncing off the corner. "One thing is definitely one-hundred percent clear now: they are most certainly not gods, but something far worse. That Hem netjer knows what they are, and they've brainwashed him into cooperation, or – worse – he's aiding them of his own freewill. I know what they are," he added grimly, "they're Wasgijs!"

"That their name, then?" she narrowly avoided careening into the walls herself by copying the Time Lord's exact movements. If anything, this was more challenging than just pelting forward after him. Figures, she grunted, he always takes me to the nicest places. "Wasgij?"

"What? Oh, nah…they're a puzzle, only –" he was cut short as he suddenly ground to a halt mere feet in front of her, and Martha couldn't stop herself in time, crashing into his back with all the speed of a ram. Arms windmilling wildly at his sides as his wiry frame teetered precariously at the tip of a ledge they'd suddenly found themselves at, the Doctor cried out involuntarily. With a gasp, she hooked her hands under his armpits and pulled back with all her might. Perhaps too much might…

The Doctor toppled back onto his young companion, the back of his head narrowly missing her nose as it fell to her right, dashing instead on the stone floor. He remained there for several seconds, and for those fear-filled moments Martha was sure he'd been rendered unconscious, leaving her all alone in a strange place with monsters baying at their heels. Then, a murmur, as his usually razor-sharp mind trying valiantly to recollect his thoughts, his mouth making an amusing goldfish impression as it failed utterly.

"Uhh…"

"Any time now, Doctor," Martha grumbled, pinned completely, " this is hardly fun for me, you know; for a weedy alien, you weigh a ton!"

"Oh, right," he clambered awkwardly to his feet, avoiding her gaze, "sorry about that, Martha – and 'ere!" he added, suddenly affronted, "I don't weight that much, cheeky! I just carry a lot of, um…stuff around with me, in my pockets and, er…stuff."

"Oh, really? Got any elephants nestled in there?" any further jibe was cut off by the sound of a feral growl, echoing down the maze-like corridors. "Or any cans of 'Gods-Be-Gone'?"

"I told you; they're not gods," he reiterated firmly, "they're…"

"I know, I know, they're 'wasgijs', puzzles. Isn't everything with you?"

"You don't get it," his brow furrowed in deep frustrated thought. "Wasgigs are fiendish little blighters created by one of your lot, who decided that your average jigsaw puzzle wasn't nearly puzzling enough. So they created a puzzle within a puzzle; it's a jigsaw, only the picture on the box isn't what the finished puzzle will resemble at all. Noooo, 'cos that would be too simple, that would. Instead, the box-art shows something related to the puzzle – like a traffic-jam, meaning the puzzle will reveal what's in front, causing the jam, what those stuck behind it are staring so irately at. These gods…are kinda like that."

"They're like a traffic-jam?"

"Well, they'd definitely cause one," the Doctor mused softly at the thought, "causing delays on the A1 simply 'cause everyone's stopping to watch them attack the Angel of the North for being a 'heretic idol'." He grinned that wide, madman grin she found so charming. "No, I mean they're like a wasgij in general; they may look like gods now, but I reckon that's only the box-art. The finished piece – whatever they are – looks totally different.

"Oh," she felt like mentally slapping her forehead. Of course! "I knew that."

"The real question is," he went on, steamrolling over Martha's valiant attempts to save face (had he even noticed?), "why go to all the trouble of masquerading as these peoples' gods? They're obviously aliens, so chances are they would've been treated as deities anyway, had they come as they are originally. Unless they couldn't, or they couldn't take the chance, which would mean…they were counting on the thoughtless loyalty the living gods would receive to achieve their goals…but what are they? Arrrgh, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" he snapped at himself, "You're so close! Think!"

"As much as I love to watch you go all 'Psycho-Poirot', Doctor, do you think you could do it sometime after we've escaped the crazed killer-gods and the imminent flooding? Although I hope we're out of here by then…"

"What did you just say?" he turned slowly, eyes glowing softly behind his glasses. "Say it again."

"Uh…'I hope we're out –'"

"Nah, before that."

"'Imminent flooding'…?"

"Bingo!" crowed the Doctor, fist punching the air. "Yahtzee! Boggle! Okay, so that one doesn't quite work – but, oh, you're fantastic, Martha Jones!"

"I-I am?" she stammered, trying hard not to blush. "Er, thanks…I think…"

"That's it, it just has to be! The flooding of the Nile," he breathed in the quiet mix of awe, fear and resentment that usually crept up when he figured out part of the enemy's nefarious scheme. He stepped back to the ledge Martha had pulled him back from and peered carefully over it.

Several feet below, the river Nile flowed quietly by, two irrigation pipes allowing it to enter and leave the building. Turning on his heel, the Doctor spotted another set of stone stairs leading down, and into the water.

"But that's still not the complete puzzle, is it now?" he mused aloud as the growling sounded again, a lot closer this time, and this time accompanied by the sound of several shuffling sets of footsteps. "Nah, all we've got so far are the pieces we were given to put together. If we're to complete this wasgij, we gonna have to get the rest from the fearsome foursome out there. Don't worry," he added, shooting her another reassuring smile, "I won't let anything happen to you. Besides, I couldn't get us out of her, anyway; the only way out is the way we came, and I think we can both hear who's coming from that particular direction."

"What about the river?" Martha looked down at the surface of the Nile. "Doesn't look too dangerous to me…"

"It could very well be," he shook his head sadly, "no, that wouldn't work – we don't know where those tunnels lead exactly, or how long they go on for before they even break the surface. Also, the surface of the river may seem calm, but looks can be deceiving; the current underneath could increase dramatically at any time, pulling us hopelessly under to a watery grave. No…believe it or not, you're safer up here."

"With them?" she cried incredulously.

"With me," he intoned with absolute authority and – just like that – she believed him.