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them, or something?
Guy nodded, then beckoned her to return to the wagon.  We should, before
the wolves and foxes scent the blood. Fifty of them, and in this ground, would
take a week or more. I think we can leave the Church army to deal with them,
as reinforcements will certainly be on their way to divine why this site is so
important. He looked around with a look of contained fire, and then joined
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her back at the wagon.  This is no country for you. We must return these
supplies to the Roc. You take the reins, while I follow and attempt to hide our
tracks as best I can.
The light from the pen-torch had been much less than that from the flambeaux
earlier, but still enabled the Doctor to make his way through the warren of
tunnels. Many were very narrow, and he wouldn t have got through them if
he d been much larger, but, by persevering, he had slipped through.
Judging by the distances and few turns he had made, the tunnel encircled
the outer wall of the Roc. He had seen only one other exit so far, which was
in what he judged to be the west wall, and it refused to open, indicating that
it was probably blocked by something. That being the case, it had probably
been forgotten about. This was some fifty yards along the wall, which would
place it in the stables, if his calculations were correct.
His hands had brushed against strange sensations as he felt his way along,
but so far he had resisted the urge to turn the torchlight on his fingers to
see what it was. Something suddenly gave way under his fingertips, and he
stopped to investigate more closely. He hadn t long since turned left, and this
was another latch already.
Pushing open the door, he blinked in the yellow torchlight.
He was in one of the scribes annexes off the library, the desks dusty and
untouched, but the walls thickly padded with scrolls and handwritten books.
Turning, he saw that he had emerged from a bas-relief pillar set into the wall.
Stepping away from it, he lifted the nearest couple of texts from their shelves.
Albucasis, St Antony . . . 
With raised eyebrows, he pulled the magnifying glass from his pocket and
looked closely at the slightly distorted images of the fingerprints he had taken
from the dagger.  About three per cent longer and thinner than Girard s print.
Yes, that would be fairly average. He dropped the glass back into his pocket.
 I wonder which of the two it was, and why . . . 
190
Chapter 19
 I don t know about you, Benny said gloomily, filling a small bowl with the
first batch of her home-made vodka,  but I sure as hell need some of this.
 You say it was Philippe de Citeaux? the Doctor was asking Guy, as the sat
on a couple of barrels next to the smithy, which was where Benny s still had
been moved to for the benefit of forthcoming customers.
 I knew him well, once, Guy said.  He ambushed us, and I believe it was his
men who killed Edouard and the others, but he will not do so again unless it
is as a revenant.
The Doctor relaxed, seeming quite relieved.  You ve no idea how much of a
burden that takes off my shoulders. There s still work to do, though. We have
to get that skull from its hiding place. Fortunately, I believe I know where it
is.
The hooch felt as if it was about to strip the flesh from Benny s gullet, but
she wasn t complaining.  RomuluS Hiq it isn t, she croaked as best she could,
 but it ll do. Why are we still wasting our time looking for this skull? Surely
we can just leave as soon as the TARDIS arrives?
 No, we can t, for three reasons. One: there s still a murderer loose, and
finding the skull should be a perfect lure. Two: no matter what happens,
we have to prevent it from falling into de Citeaux and Guzman s grubby little
protruberances, because it s destined for other things, if my theory is correct.
Three: Hugues will need it for tonight s New Year ceremony, and its non-
appearance could shatter so many people s faiths in here that history might
also be at risk.
 They might be saved, you mean. The Parfaits could disguise themselves
and make a quick getaway with everybody else.
The Doctor gave her a stern look through hooded eyes.  I doubt it.
Benny gaped at him.  We can t help them escape?
 All the Parfaits and those who converted on the last night here died  you
know that from the fact that the Inquisition kept detailed records which are
invaluable history texts for centuries to come. There are ten thousand soldiers
out there ready to do their bit for their god by killing anyone they can get
their hands on, so I m rather afraid they ll die anyway. At least after their
New Year ritual  I gather it s supposed to energize their spirits, or some such
thing  they ll be a little more . . . sanguine about it. It ll also reduce the risk
191
of innocent non-believers getting cut to pieces in the middle if the Parfaits
should decide to resist.
 You mean, better to go with a smile?
 If you put it like that . . . Yes.
Jeanne straightened from examining the wheels of the first haywain, shaking
her head as she did so. It was a very rough and basic construction, and she
was determined that no patient of hers would travel in it. She wanted those
in her care to recover, not get yet more broken bones from bumping around
in a shoddy cart.
Giselle looked at her understandingly.  Either they go in these, or they stay
for the flames.
 If Girard and Hugues had been better prepared as I suggested . . . Very
well. She turned to a mound of empty sacks and torn blankets that had been
brought out to the carts in the open section of the stable. If they laid down
enough of these, Jeanne thought, it should make a suitable cushion for those
travelling in it. So she hoped, anyway. She bent to lift a double armful of the
sacks, tossing them into the cart and spreading them around.
 Surely that is not the Doctor going into the library? Giselle asked suddenly.
Concerned at her partner s comment, Jeanne came round the side of the
cart, peering across the bailey at the north tower. Some of the refugees were in
the way for a moment, but their movement took them out of the way quickly
enough for Jeanne to make out the short pale figure vanish in through the
door.  It is the Doctor . . . and de Carnac and Bernice, I think. She wondered
what they could possibly want in there at this hour. Had not the Doctor men-
tioned something about leaving today? She took a few steps away from the
cart, then thought better of it, and returned to tossing sacks into the cart.
Perhaps the Doctor was just interested in his scholarly activities.
 will you excuse me a moment? Giselle asked absently.  There is
Jeanne,
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