Chapter One

"...so this is one of the last paintings Van Gogh ever painted," the museum curator began, addressing the group of tourists. "Those final months of his life were probably the most astonishing artistic outpouring in history. It was like Shakespeare knocking off Othello, Macbeth and King Lear over the summer hols. And especially astonishing, because Van Gogh did it with no hope of praise or reward, he is now acknowledged as one of the foremost artists..."

The first thing Robyn noticed about the art gallery was that it was alive with activity. The curator droned in the background, but that was easily ignored, and she tried to keep herself entertained by all the colours in the pretty paintings. Although she'd complained about it back on the TARDIS, visiting the Musee d'Orsay was actually quite exciting, because she'd never been to a museum before, and she'd never known what they were really like.

However, from Amy's perspective, the trip felt odd. Pleasant enough, as were the trips to the Trojan Gardens, and to Arcadia, which the Doctor had insisted, for some strange reason, that it be the Arcadia in Greece. No, this felt weird. The Doctor was nice to her, and liked to see her happy, but there was something about it all that felt like he was almost apologising for something. As if he'd done something wrong. "Thanks for bringing me," she said, smiling happily and flicking her scarf at him.

"You're welcome," the Doctor said quickly, and a little apologetically.

"You're being so nice to me." She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

The Doctor frowned. "I'm always nice to you," he protested.

Robyn smirked, rolling her eyes. "Of course you are, Dad," she said.

"I am!" he insisted.

"You don't have to convince me," Robyn replied, nodding at Amy. "It's her who's suspicious, not me."

"What?" the Doctor spluttered. "It's not. There's nothing to be suspicious about."

The look of genuine hurt on the Doctor's face was disconcerting, and yet in Robyn's eyes, it indicated that there was something else going on, something that Amy couldn't detect. Maybe he was trying to make up for something. Lost time, perhaps? Well, whatever it was, there was no way she was going to be able to ask him with Amy still around. This was something she would need to ask him about privately.

Meanwhile, Amy was taken aback by the Doctor's reaction to her good-natured teasing. "Look, okay, I was joking." She frowned. "Why aren't you?"

Without answering her, the Doctor walked over to the tour group to listen to the rest of the curator's speech.

"...each of these pictures now is worth tens of millions of pounds, yet in his lifetime he was a commercial disaster. Sold only one painting, and that to the sister of a friend. We have here, possibly, the greatest artist of all time, but when he died you could've sold his entire body of work and got about enough money to buy a sofa... and a couple of chairs." The tour group laughed, although it was clear that what the curator was telling them was not actually meant to be a joke. The curator sighed, and pointed at one of the paintings. "If you'll follow me now..."

As he led the group away, Robyn noticed a pair of schoolboys looking at a particular painting. They were whispering to each other, talking about the subject, a man that she didn't recognise at all. She overheard them say 'The Doctor', and tugged on her Doctor's jacket. "Are they talking about you?" she asked. "You haven't met Van Gogh, have you?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, haven't had the pleasure," he replied. "Met Dickens once, and Shakespeare. Even went to a garden party with Agatha Christie..." He smiled sadly, remembering the adventure he'd had with Donna, then sighed. "Nope, haven't met him."

"Oh."

"Look!" Amy cried suddenly, her eyes darting between her brochure and a painting on the wall. She dragged the Doctor over to it, and Robyn had to scramble to keep up with them. "There it is!" She held up the brochure in front of the painting, the pictures matching exactly. "The actual one!"

Robyn stared at the painting in awe. "Wow, that's pretty."

The Doctor grinned. "Yes," he said reverently. "You could almost feel his hand painting it right in front of you, carving the colours into shapes..." He trailed off, noticing something in the window of the church.

Something that shouldn't be there.

"Wait a minute," he murmured, taking a closer look, and almost squashing Robyn in the process.

"Oi, watch out!"

The Doctor winced, and stepped back slightly. "Sorry," he said, brushing her off.

Robyn cocked her head to one side. "You've seen something," she said, looking at the painting again. "You only get that way when you see something bad."

Amy looked at them in confusion. "What? What is it?"

The Doctor pointed at the painting again, specifically at the third window at the front of the church. "Well... just... look at that."

Amy inspected the painting, trying to see what the Doctor was pointing to, but she wasn't seeing it. Not straight away at least. "What?"

"Something very not good indeed."

Robyn looked at him with worry. "And how bad, on a scale of one to... let's say... eleven, is something very not good?"

The Doctor thought for a moment, calculating an appropriate answer. "Oh, I'd say... about a nine?"

"Nine? What would make it eleven?"

"When it's extremely very not good. Which is only reserved for particular cataclysmic space-time events."

Robyn's face turned pale. "Oh. Okay, then."

"What are you two going on about?" Amy asked in annoyance.

The Doctor pointed at the painting again. "Look, there, in the window of the church.

Amy looked at the section the Doctor had pointed out... then gasped. "Is that a face?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"Yes, and not a nice face at all." The Doctor's face darkened. "I know evil when I see it, and I see it in that window." He took the psychic paper from his pocket, then approached the tour group, waving it in front of him. "Excuse me, if I could just interrupt for one second," he said authoritatively. "Sorry everyone, uh, routine inspection. Ministry of Art and... Artiness. So, um..." He fumbled, trying, and failing, to remember the curator's name.

"Dr. Black," he prompted.

"Yes, that's right." The Doctor pointed back at the painting of the church. "Do you actually know when that picture of the church was painted?"

Dr. Black's face lit up. "Ah... well... ah.. What an interesting question. Most people imagine -"

"I'm going to have to hurry you," the Doctor interrupted. "When was it?"

"Exactly?"

"As exactly as you can, and without a long speech, if possible. I'm in a hurry."

Dr. Black paused for a moment. "Well," he began. "In that case, probably somewhere between the first and third of June."

"What year?" the Doctor coaxed.

"Eight-teen ninety, less than a year before..." Here Dr. Black became choked up, as if he were recalling the death of a friend. "Before he killed himself."

The Doctor smiled and nodded, pleased that he'd found the information he'd needed. "Thank you, sir. Very helpful indeed." He noticed Dr. Black's bow-tie, and his smile widened. "Nice bow-tie. Bow-ties are cool."

Robyn giggled. "On you? Always."

Dr. Black smiled. "Yours is very..."

"Oh, thank you, I mean..." The Doctor gestured to the tour group. "Keep telling them stuff." He turned to Amy, taking Robyn by the hand at the same time. "We have to go."

"But what about the other pictures?" Amy protested, unimpressed that the outing had been disrupted in such a way.

The Doctor took her by the hand, dragging both her and Robyn to the exit. "Art can wait," he said. "This is life and death. We need to talk to Vincent Van Gogh."

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The TARDIS' arrival in 1890 was swift, probably because she sensed the urgency that her pilot had displayed from the moment he arrived back in the console room. She landed, as discreetly as possible, in an alleyway. The perception filter would keep her mostly hidden until the Doctor needed her, because he always needed her at some stage. As the trio exited the ship, they could hear a bell tolling in the distance, and a dog barking somewhere else, but on the whole, they were alone.

"Right, so, here's the plan," the Doctor began, making his way up the cobblestone street. "We find Vincent, and he leads us straight to the church and our nasty friend."

Amy laughed. "Easy peasy."

The Doctor shook his head. "Well, no, I suspect nothing will be easy with Mr. Van Gogh."

"So, how are we going to find Mr. Van Gogh?" asked Robyn. "If he's not going to be so easy to find."

"Oh, he'll be easy to find, just not easy to work with. He'll probably be in the local cafe; sort of orangey light, chairs and tables outside."

"Like this?" asked Amy, checking her brochure to see if there were any pictures that matched the Doctor's description. Eventually she found it, a photograph depicting one of Vincent's own paintings, a cafe bathed in orange light, chairs and tables arranged outside underneath a large awning.

The Doctor nodded, glancing at the picture. "That's the one."

Amy studied the picture for a few moments longer, then looked up... and then she smiled. Right in front of them, not a few feet away, was the very cafe that had been immortalised in the painting. Everything matched, even the big blue doorway at the side of the picture. "Or, indeed, like that, she said, pointing to the building and feeling quite pleased with herself.

Robyn smiled. "Well, there you go!" She laughed. "Found it on our first go!"

The Doctor grinned. "Yes, exactly like that!" He took Robyn by the hand, and approached the cafe. "Good evening!" he called pleasantly, addressing the man who looked like he was the owner of the establishment. "Does the name Vincent Van Gogh ring any bells?"

The man the Doctor was speaking to sighed in disgust. "Don't mention that..." he said, walking into the cafe as quickly as he could.

Robyn snorted. "Well, excuse us," she said in annoyance. "Just because we're asking about someone you don't like, doesn't mean you have to be rude to us."

"No, it's okay," said the Doctor. "I expected that." But his resolve wasn't shaken, and he turned to the maid attending to the table closest to him. "Do you know Vincent Van Gogh?"

The maid huffed. "Unfortunately," she replied.

Amy frowned. "Unfortunately?"

"He's drunk," the maid replied. "He's mad, and he never pays his bills."

The Doctor smiled. "Good painter though, eh?"

The maid and her friend laughed at him, and the sound was harsh to Robyn's ears. The cruelty of some people disgusted her, especially when it was directed at people in the art world. In some of the books she'd read, she'd learned about the way artists saw the world, and none of them saw the world in exactly the same ways. Sure they came close, especially if they used the same techniques, but Vincent Van Gogh was unique, and after the visit to the museum, she didn't like the way he was treated one bit. She opened her mouth to voice her opinion on the matter, but she never got the chance, because she realised someone was coming out of the cafe. The Doctor led her over to a table, and the two of them sat down to watch what was going on.

Out of the cafe walked Vincent Van Gogh himself, attempting to cajole the cafe owner into letting him have another drink. "Come on, come on!" he pleaded. "One painting for one drink, that... that's not a bad deal!"

But the owner was having none of it. "It wouldn't be a bad deal if the painting were any good." He sighed. "I can't hang that up on my walls. It'd scare all my customers half to death. It's bad enough having you in here in person let alone looming over the customers day and night in a stupid hat. You pay money, or you get out."

"I'll pay if you like," the Doctor said quickly, gaining the artist's attention.

"What?"

"Well, if you like, I'll pay for the drink, or I'll pay for the painting and you can use the money to pay for the drink."

Vincent eyed the Doctor suspiciously. "Exactly who are you?"

"Oh, I'm..." He caught himself before he could let slip anything that might cause the artist some alarm. "New in town," he finished, eliciting a fit of giggles from Robyn.

"Well, in that case, you don't know three things."

"Go on."

By now, Vincent was becoming quite annoyed by the Doctor's interruptions. "One, I pay for my own drinks, thank you." At this response, the entire cafe filled with laughter. "Two, no one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town. So if you want to stay in town, I suggest you keep your cash to yourself. And three, your friend's cute, but you should keep your big nose out of other people's business." He turned back to the cafe owner. "Now come on, just one more drink, I'll pay tomorrow."

"No."

Vincent wasn't about to let the issue go, and he made one last effort. "Or, on the other hand, slightly more compassionately... yes?"

"Or, on the other hand, to protect my business from mad men... no!"

Amy rolled her eyes, clearly having had her fill of the two men's' squabbling. "Oh, shut up, the pair of you!" she yelled. Once she had their attention, she sauntered up to the cafe owner purposefully. "I would like a bottle of wine please, which I will then share with whomever," she looked at Vincent pointedly, then smiled at him, "I choose."

Vincent smiled back. "That could be good."

This development seemed to satisfy the cafe owner. "It's good by me."

Amy smiled at Robyn and the Doctor, pleased that her efforts were well received. "Good."

"Well, that went well, sort of," said Robyn, standing up to follow Amy into the building. "At least we got Vincent's attention."

The Doctor stood, taking her by the hand. "True," he said in agreement. "Now we just have to get him to trust us."

"He likes Amy, that's a good start, isn't it?"

"Well, it's something." He frowned when the cafe owner shoved Vincent's painting into the artist's arms. "But we'll worry about that later. It's time we talked to Mr. Van Gogh."

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The inside of the cafe was bathed in soft light, coming from lanterns, and a fireplace at the back of the room. It was warm too, and a welcome change to the cool evening air. The cafe owner lead the group to an empty table, and a maid brought over a bottle of wine, a pitcher of water, and four glasses. It was apparent that the water was for Robyn; even though none of them had requested it, but she was grateful all the same since she didn't wish try the wine at all. But sitting there, with the Doctor, and Amy, and Vincent Van Gogh, of all people, was just a surreal experience. This man, who had been dead for centuries where she'd come from, was sitting right next to her, and alive!

However, Vincent was much more interested in Amy. "That accent of yours," he began. "You from Holland, like me?"

"No," said Amy, while at the same time, the Doctor said, "Yes."

Robyn looked at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"She means yes," the Doctor reiterated, shooting Robyn a look she hoped meant that he'd explain later. "So, start again," he continued. He held out his hand. "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

From the expression on Vincent's face, this had obviously been the wrong thing to say. The artist snorted. "I knew it," he said angrily.

"Sorry?"

"My brother's always sending doctors," Vincent explained. "But you won't be able to help."

Robyn looked up at him and smiled. "You never know, we might."

"It doesn't matter," Vincent replied, not even willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You still won't be able to help."

The Doctor laughed nervously. "Oh, no, not that kind of Doctor." He pointed to the painting by Vincent's side. "That's incredible, don't you think, Amy?"

Amy grinned, looking at the painting with glee. "Absolutely, one of my favourites!"

"I like it too," added Robyn, hoping to endear herself to the artist just as much as Amy had.

But their behaviour only served to make Vincent more suspicious of his new acquaintances. "One of my favourite whats?" he asked, his face darkening. "You've never seen my work before!"

The thought crossed Robyn's mind to tell him that they had seen his work before, and very recently, but that would mean outing themselves as time travelers, and that could make the poor man think he really was starting to go mad.

"Ah, yes," Amy replied, realising she'd have to hastily change her answer. "One of my favourite paintings I've ever seen..." She raised her glass to her lips, and took a sip of her wine. "Generally."

"Then you can't have seen many paintings then." Vincent lifted the canvas so they could all see the picture, and sighed. "I know it's terrible, but it's the best I can do." He dropped the painting to the floor, and Robyn winced, dismayed that he'd treat his own work with such contempt. "Your hair is... orange," he said slowly, leaning across the table and inspecting Amy carefully.

Amy leaned forward, meeting him in the middle. "Yes. So's yours," she countered.

"Yes. It was more orange... but now it, of course... less."

Meanwhile, the Doctor knew they were getting nowhere fast, and he still didn't know how the creature in the painting of the church had gotten there. He'd have force the conversation in the right direction, or Vincent would be going on about Amy's looks forever. "So, um, Vincent?" he said, trying to ease into the subject casually. "Painted any churches recently? Or any churchy... plans? Are churches, chapels, religiousy stuff like that something you'd like to get into, you know, fairly soon?"

Vincent frowned. "Well, there is... one church I'm thinking of painting, when the weather is right."

The Doctor grinned. "That is very good news." Before he could say anything more, an elderly woman ran into the cafe, screaming for help. "That, on the other hand, isn't such quite good news." He leapt to his feet, and raced for the door. "Come on, Amy, Robyn, Vincent!"

Without a moment's hesitation, they were off, although Vincent paused to down the last of his wine, running as fast as their legs could carry them. The old woman led them through the streets until they came to a crowd of people surrounding a body of a young girl lying on the ground.

"She's been ripped to shreds," Robyn heard a man say as the Doctor tried to push through the crowd to inspect the body. She swallowed, hoping that the Menolissian Wolverine she used to dream about somehow hadn't become real. "Dad?" she said quietly. "What happened to her?" She'd been scared before, but this felt worse. She'd never actually seen someone actually lying on the ground, dead, because someone, usually the Doctor, or even Amy, had kept her as far from it as they could. But not this time.

She could see everything.

"Robyn, just stay back, you don't need to see this," the Doctor replied, although he was too distracted by the body of the poor girl. He rubbed his face with his hand. "Oh, no, no, no, no."

"Get away all of you vultures," a woman cried, running into the street and kneeling by the girl's body. "This is my daughter!" There was no doubt that the woman was beside herself with grief, and that anger was soon to follow. "What monster could've done this," she wailed. The Doctor moved to console her, but she lashed out. "Get away from her!" When she laid eyes on Vincent, that was the moment when her anger, and that of the townspeople, decided to manifest. "Get that mad man out of here!" she screamed. Led by the poor girl's mother, everyone started to pelt them with food, and there was little they could do but run from the onslaught, the girl's mother cursing Vincent's madness as they went.

They didn't stop running until they were out of harm's way; even then, Robyn knew she'd never get the sight of the girl out her mind.

"You all right?" asked the Doctor, addressing Vincent, but looking at her.

"Yes," Vincent replied. "I'm used to it."

Robyn remained silent, but the look of sorrow on her face spoke volumes.

Nodding grimly, the Doctor turned his attention back to Vincent. "Has anything like this murder happened here before?"

"Only a week ago," Vincent confirmed. "It's a terrible time."

"As I thought," said the Doctor, taking Robyn by the hand and leading her down the street. "As I thought." He stopped briefly, and turned to Vincent. "Come on, we better get you home."

Vincent regarded the Time Lord and the little girl carefully. "Where are you staying tonight?" he asked. "It's not safe for anyone, let alone a little girl like your daughter there, to be out this time of night. Especially after what we've seen."

The Doctor smiled with relief. "Oh, you're very kind," he replied, taking Vincent's words as an invitation. Amy giggled nervously, then ran after him, Vincent following close behind, once he'd jammed his hat on his head.

It was going to be a long night.

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