The Doctor had returned to Tamerlane's side. Now they watched and waited. The Doctor leaned forward, his eyes shining. This must have been the part he liked best: seeing his patient's fear rise like a body to the surface of a lake.

Ward woke gradually into the reality of his situation. A slow, drowning panic fell over him. A sour stench emanated from the chair, the smell of the sweat and fear of all who had sat in it before him. He jerked in his bonds but it was no good: the leather collar around his neck had more give than the manacles on his wrists and ankles, but he would choke himself before breaking it. He concentrated on his right hand, turning it as far as he could one way, then the other, allowing his sweat to lubricate the manacle, then letting the hand to go limp and boneless, but when he tugged it gently back the manacle held fast. It was too tight. Would it be possible to tear his hand free? He might find out, towards the end.

The silence dragged out like a wire.

Ward wondered how it would be with Lightfinger. Would he talk in the end? Would the Doctor take pity on a fellow mute? Perhaps the guard had hit Lightfinger so hard that the boy never woke up. That might be a blessing.

Now the doctor was refilling the syringe from the vial of red liquid. Ward noticed that he only drew a few drops up into it. Then he came across the room pointing the syringe away from his body.

"It's a poison," Tamerlane explained. The suddenness of his voice returning made Ward jump. "Very rare. It's extracted from a mushroom that grows in forests far to the north. One drop won't usually kill a human, but the pain it induces is very great. It has been described as being burned alive from the inside out."

The Doctor was still and silent beside Ward, holding up the syringe and watching Tamerlane.

"Now let's continue where we left off," Tamerlane said, his voice flat and conversational. "The Catacombs. Lie again and Brother Ignatius will start."

The Doctor made a thirsty movement with his mouth.

"Why were you down there?" Tamerlane said.

"I got lost," Ward said, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. He went on quickly, as if by talking he might delay the terrible doctor. "In the tunnels. I couldn't see anyth -"

"Who sent you?"

"Nobody."

"You just... got lost." Tamerlane turned to the Doctor. "Proceed."

"No! Wait." Cold sweat popped out on Ward's forehead. He couldn't tell Tamerlane the truth. It was too crazy to sound like anything other than a lie. But he had to tell him something. "Saint Nick sent me."

Tamerlane held his hand up at the Doctor. "Why?" he said.

"To find out what was under the Temple."

"To steal something from it, perhaps?"

"He didn't ask me to steal anything."

"That wouldn't be like him. How did you get into the Catacombs?" Without warning he nodded to the Doctor, who plunged the syringe into Ward's arm. Ward felt his skin tighten. He couldn't take his eyes away from the bead of red sitting inside the syringe. The Doctor put his thumb on the plunger but didn't depress it.

Ward spoke fast now. "New tunnel. Nick dug it before he left." A sudden, desperate hope rose in his chest. "I could take you there! Show you where it is!"

Tamerlane appeared to think about this. His face had gone slack. He examined the backs of his hands, stroking his fingernails. "Two failed plans in as many days," he said. "I don't see Nicolas Faust behind either of them. He doesn't make mistakes. Who sent you?"

"I told you. It was Nick."

"Who is conveniently thousands of furls away." Tamerlane rose ponderously to his feet, using the table to support himself, and came around it, his hands clasped across his belly in monkish fashion, his face calm and philosophical. He stopped before Ward and spoke softly. "The methods of the early Inquisitors would leave their subjects permanently disfigured – unpleasant to look at. As effective as they were, they were messy. Now we have less invasive methods. Pain," he indicated the syringe in Ward's arm, "is usually enough. But if not, we have another way." Tamerlane didn't look towards the table and the vial containing the sinister black liquid. Ward's first thought had been that it killed you. But that couldn't be right. No, it had to be something worse than death.

Madness, he thought. It drives you insane.

As the realisation dawned on Ward's face Tamerlane nodded.

"I've told you everything," Ward pleaded. "You have to believe me."

"But I don't." Tamerlane said, and nodded to the Doctor, who pushed the plunger all the way in.

A joke now would be in exceedingly bad taste.

Hold my beer.