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said.
    Still the man’s expression did not alter. ‘And who says the illiterate have no sense of irony?’
    Bellamy felt the anger rising in him. ‘The what? Are you insulting me?’ He took a step forward, fist raised.
    A few moments later, the tall man dressed all in black walked slowly away down the alley. He paused for a moment, body braced as if he was about to sneeze. His expressionless face twisted into a sudden and extreme snarl of pure rage. Just for a second, then the anger faded again and the man’s face settled back into its previous, neutral appearance.
    On the ground behind him, Bellamy lay twisted and still. The clothes seemed far too big for the wizened, emaciated husk of a body. A skeletal hand stretched out across the ground, fleshless fingers frozen in the act of clawing desperately at the cobbles as if trying to cling to the last moments of fading life.

Chapter
2
    ‘King Arthur.’
    ‘No.’
    Clara glared. ‘What do you mean, “No”?’
    The Doctor didn’t look up from the TARDIS console, just put up his hand like a policeman stopping traffic. ‘No. Not King Arthur.’
    ‘You said I could choose.’
    ‘Within reason.’ He still didn’t look up.
    ‘Not what you said. I can choose, you said. Any place any time any person, you said. So I choose King Arthur.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘We just did that.’
    ‘Still no.’ He did look up now. His eyes were lost in shadow so it was hard for Clara to see if he was joking or deadly serious. The rest of his face always looked serious, it was the eyes that were the clue. If you could see them.
    ‘So why not?’
    ‘Not a good time, that’s all.’
    ‘You got something better to do?’
    ‘The time of King Arthur is not a good time. Smelly, dirty, dangerous. You’d hate it. Besides …’ He turned back to the console, cradling his chin in his hand as he stared at the screen.
    ‘Besides?’ Clara went over to join him, staring over his shoulder at the jumble of lines and squiggles and blobs on the screen. ‘Besides what?’
    The Doctor sighed, straightened up, and waved his hand at the screen. ‘Well, look at it. Just look at it. There. See?’
    ‘Um, no. Is it broken?’
    That earned her a raised eyebrow.
    ‘What then?’
    ‘Power spike.’
    ‘Something wrong with the TARDIS?’
    ‘Not the TARDIS, no. A power spike in the late nineteenth century, right in the middle of London. Someone’s using a post-nuclear power supply, and that’s not good. Oh, they’ve got it shielded,’ he went on, striding round the console, hands behind his back and head down as he considered. ‘Which just confirms the fact that it can’t be a natural phenomenon or an instrumental anomaly.’
    ‘Well, quite. Late Victorian London?’
    ‘That’s what I said.’
    ‘Could it be Madame Vastra? Maybe Strax is messingabout with some new post-nuclear weapon.’
    ‘Very likely he is. But no.’ The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, no, no. They’d never be that careless. This is someone who doesn’t want to be found, but who has no idea of the anachronistic implications.’
    ‘So we forget King Arthur and go and sort out this post-nuclear spike, is that what you’re suggesting?’
    He was already working the controls. ‘It wasn’t a suggestion.’ He glanced across at Clara. ‘We’d better get changed into something that blends in a little more, don’t you think?’
    ‘You already look Victorian,’ she told him.
    ‘ “We” was a tactful term. It wasn’t actually me I was talking about.’
    ‘That’s a first.’ Clara looked down at her bright blue blouse and short skirt. Maybe he had a point. ‘I’ll find something that will fit in with late Victorian then.’
    He was working the controls again, pulling a lever and checking a dial. ‘Choose something practical. It’ll be smelly, dirty and dangerous,’ he warned her. ‘You’ll love it.’
    Frost clung to the trees like brittle blossom. The snow was filmed with a thick crust where it had frozen over.