"Business as usual?" the Master asked.

"Nearly." Izzy shook her head. "Those children keep finding new ways to get under my skin. River claims she's read that story you're telling the children and she knows what's going to happen in the end. Only she won't tell anyone."

"I see she still retains the dregs of good sense."

"Oh, yes. But she goes around whispering about spoilers all the time. It's infuriating."

"Has she read the book?"

"At the age of two? Normally, I'd say not a chance. But you know what sort of kids we're dealing with here."

The Master took his seat in the storytelling chair. "I can guess."

Master / Narrator [vo] :
The following morning, Agnes was found, still unconscious, by Lady Montbarry.

[Morning. Ella is bending over the bed, on which Agnes is out cold.]

Master / Narrator [vo] :
She told her husband, who gave the problem careful consideration.

[Lord Montbarry enters, takes one look at the petrified Countess, and averts his gaze.]

Adric / Lord Montbarry :
Um. I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for all of this. Agnes must just have been tired after her long journey. She must have had some sort of hysterical attack. She's a girl, that's the sort of thing girls have, isn't it? And the Countess was suffering from petrifold regression. Yes, that all sounds quite reasonable.

Master / Narrator [vo] :
Agnes remained unconvinced, however.

[The drawing room adjoining room 13A. Agnes is pacing up and down. Henry enters.]

Harry / Henry :
How are you? My brother said—

Ace / Agnes :
I know what he said. If you're just going to repeat it you can bog off.

Harry / Henry :
Anyway, he's agreed to spend the next two nights in that room, so you don't have to.

Ace / Agnes :
So I share with Nyssa? Well, if she can put up with it so can I. What have you found out about the Countess?

Harry / Henry :
She was telling the truth when she said her brother was dead. We asked the United States Consul at Milan, and he showed us the announcement in an American newspaper.

[Briefly, we see Morton Dill showing Henry a copy of the Weekly World News. The front page sports a giant headline reading 'Atlantis Discovered' and a picture of Professor Zaroff.]

Ace / Agnes :
Anything else?

Harry / Henry :
Well, I was going to suggest you confronted her and forced her to tell you the truth, but it's a bit late for that now.

[As he speaks, Treader 27 emerges from the bedroom, holding the petrified Countess under one arm.]

Ace / Agnes :
Yeah. Unless you did a 'look left for yes, look right for no' sort of thing. Tell you what, let's search her room for clues.

[The Countess's room. Agnes is sitting at the desk; Henry hovers uneasily in the doorway.]

Ace / Agnes [picking up a bulky manuscript] :
This is that play she was writing. Here, you have it.

[She tosses it to Henry, who manages to catch it.]

Ace / Agnes :
Not much else. Except a page out of an old book.

Harry / Henry :
What does it say?

Ace / Agnes :
"I have now completed my literary survey of the first floor of the palace..."

[With an appropriate flashback effect, we mix to the palace as it was decades before. John Cleese's art critic from 'City of Death' is striding through the rooms, while Polly takes down his comments in shorthand. His voice takes over the narration.]

Art Critic [his voice filled with disdain] :
"... of the palace. At the desire of my noble and gracious patron, the lord of this glorious edifice, I next ascend to the second floor and continue my catalogue or description of the pictures, decorations, and other treasures of art therein contained." [Aside, to Polly:] You're sure we're being paid by the word, aren't you?

Polly :
Definitely.

Art Critic :
Splendid. "Let me begin with the corner room at the western extremity of the palace, called the Room of the Caryatides, from the statues which support the mantelpiece."

[They enter the Room of the Caryatides — the one with the colossal fireplace. The critic looks it over from all angles, with an expression suggesting he's sucking lemons.]

Art Critic :
"This work is of comparatively recent execution: it dates from the eighteenth century only, and reveals the corrupt taste of the period in every part of it."

Polly :
If you ask me, I think it looks rather fab.

Art Critic :
Then it's a good job I didn't ask you. These dim-witted noblemen don't want to hear that their property is 'rather fab'. They want to know what's good art and what isn't.

Polly :
But according to you, nothing's good art. You've found fault with every piece you've looked at.

Art Critic :
They like that even better. That way, when their friends admire something, they can tell them how wrong they are and feel all smug and superior. Ready? "Still, there is a certain interest which attaches to the mantelpiece: it conceals a cleverly constructed hiding-place, between the floor of the room and the ceiling of the room beneath. The machinery of this curious place of concealment has been kept in good order by the present lord, as a species of curiosity. He condescended to show me the method of working it."

Polly :
Really? Are you going to put the secret in your book?

Art Critic :
Does it increase the word count? Yes? Then in it goes. "Approaching the two Caryatides, rest your hand on the forehead (midway between the eyebrows) of the figure which is on your left as you stand opposite to the fireplace, then press the head inwards as if you were pushing it against the wall behind."

[The flashback ends; his voice blends back to Ace's.]

Ace / Agnes :
"... against the wall behind."

Harry / Henry :
A huge bad-taste marble fireplace... That's got to be number Thirty-Eight.

Ace / Agnes :
Right. Let's get up there and see what's what.

[Room Thirty-Eight. Despite the changes in the rest of the room, the colossal fireplace, supported by two marble figures, looks just as it did decades before.]

Ace / Agnes :
Well, go on then. What are you waiting for? [She indicates the left-hand figure.] Smash his face in.

Harry / Henry :
Now, just a minute. I mean, steady on, old thing.

Ace / Agnes :
Look, if it doesn't work we can always use Nitro-nine.

Harry / Henry :
Here goes, then. [He reaches out to the figure, then stops.] Um. Just a minute. Isn't Agnes supposed to be too squeamish to stay for this bit?

Delgado Master / Narrator [vo] :
Yes, she is. And if Miss McShane refuses to play along, she'll regret it.

Ace / Agnes :
What's that supposed to mean?

Delgado Master / Narrator [vo] :
Agnes's stomach began to churn. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She really wasn't feeling at all well. Perhaps she was sickening for something...

Ace / Agnes :
All right, I get the message.

[She leaves, slamming the door behind her.]

Delgado Master / Narrator [vo] :
... Or perhaps she'd just been swimming too much in polluted canals. But to return to the topic at hand: Before Henry could do anything, the hotel manager came in.

[François enters.]

François :
Ah, dopey guest. François pleased to see dopey guest again. Dopey guest appetite not affected by ghost in hotel this time round?

Harry / Henry :
No, no, everything was fine.

François :
François see you admiring famous fireplace. We have range of overpriced fireplace merchandise downstairs. Dopey guest interested in souvenir postcard, framed picture, or plaster replica?

Harry / Henry :
Not just now, thank you. You know, I thought, looking at the fireplace, that this head was a bit loose.

[He pushes it. The head retracts slightly; with a grinding sound, the hearthstone slides away, revealing a dark hole.]

François :
Hmm. New sales opportunity here. Fireplace toy with realistic secret compartment action. [He sniffs.] Fireplace-themed perfume, François less sure about.

Harry / Henry [His handkerchief over his face] :
What a vile stench! This must be what my brother described smelling downstairs.

François :
Wait here a moment. François fetch light.

[He leaves, returning shortly afterwards with a lit taper. He and Harry peer into the hole.]

François :
Something down there. Hold onto light for François.

[He hands the taper to Harry, reaches in, and produces the head of the Mickey auton, from 'Rose'.]

Harry :
Aargh!

François :
Head without body. Merchandising opportunities sparse for such demographic.

Delgado Master / Narrator [vo] :
For the avoidance of doubt, children, this is supposed to be the same head that Agnes saw the previous night.

François :
Best to avoid publicity. Guests not wanting to visit hotel if they think, guest's head likely to be forcibly removed and hidden in fireplace. You stay here while François summon police, have discreet investigation undertaken.

[He leaves. Henry paces up and down trying not to look at the head.]

The Head :
So, d'you do this sort of thing a lot?

Harry / Henry [jumping, and looking down] :
What?

The Head :
Forensic investigations, solving crimes, getting the girl. That sort of thing.

Harry / Henry :
Oh, quite a bit. Never a dull moment, really. What about you?

The Head :
I've been stuck in a fireplace all year. You don't get to see a lot from a secret compartment. Mind you, since they opened the hotel, I've heard all sorts of stuff. People say the weirdest things in bed.

Harry / Henry :
You depraved creature!

The Head :
Hey, it's not like I had any choice in the matter. I can't exactly put my fingers in my ears, can I?

[There is a banging on the door.]

Ace's voice :
Oi! What's going on in there?

The Head :
Nothing to worry about, sweetie/doll/babe/sugar/angelface.

Harry / Henry :
Um. Wait a moment. I'll come out.

The Head :
Can't you move me over to the window before you go? It'd be nice to see the view...

[But Henry has already left.]

The Head :
Typical human. Give me the Master any day. At least then I might end up driving a Toclafane.

[François enters, carrying a box.]

The Head :
Hey, what's going on now?

François :
You coming with François. Next stop, police station. Superintendent Moggie want word with you.

The Head :
What, I get shut up in some dark confined space again? Why can't I go skiing or something?

François :
Head gliding about on pair of skis. This mental image, François not wanting.

The Head :
Where's the other bloke? The one with curly hair?

François :
Dopey customer taking latest girlfriend to collect evidence. Or so he say. François suspect he planning romantic tour of Venice, try to win heart of violent girl. This not Ogron way. Ogron way involve stout clubs cut from wood of Grug tree...

[He departs, still holding forth on Ogron courtship rituals.]

[Henry's room. Enter Henry and Agnes.]

Harry / Henry :
Well, really, old thing, I don't think there's much of a mystery left. That head's got to be all that's left of Ferrari.

Ace / Agnes :
Yeah, but that doesn't explain anything. There wasn't any reason for them to bump Ferrari off and hide his head like that, and if it was Ferrari why would it be our family that gets all the hauntings?

Harry / Henry :
But there's no-one else left it could have been. We know my brother died of bronchitis and was buried in one piece. You had all that out with Doctor Bruno.

Ace / Agnes [grudgingly] :
She knows what she's talking about, I'll give her that.

Harry / Henry :
You know, I was thinking. It really isn't good for you to be hanging around here. Agnes, let me take you away from all this.

Ace / Agnes :
Is that a proposal of marriage?

Harry / Henry :
Um. I suppose so.

Ace / Agnes :
And I'm not getting out of the story until I say yes?

Master / Narrator [vo] :
Correct.

Ace / Agnes :
Oh, Gordon Bennett.

[A hasty fade to black.]

"She doesn't look vewy happy," little Mel said.

"Would you?" Zoë asked. "She's got to marry someone wiv less processing power than a toaster — ow! Sarah, you pinched me!"

Baby Sarah gave her a frown. "You were being nasty to Harry."

"But you're nasty to me all the time!" Harry protested.

"That's different," Sarah said vaguely, looking somewhat flustered.

[The Palace Hotel. Lord Montbarry's room. Henry enters.]

Harry / Henry :
Steven, I must speak to you.

Adric / Lord Montbarry :
What about?

Harry / Henry :
This is the manuscript I found in the Countess's room. It explains the whole thing. Take a look.

[He hands the manuscript to his brother, who opens it and reads.]

Adric / Lord Montbarry :
"Allow me, dear Mr. Francis Westwick, to introduce to you the persons in my proposed Play.

[A second level of Story Space opens before them.]

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
Behold them, arranged symmetrically in a line: My Lord.

[With a puff of smoke, Pete Tyler appears.]

The Baron.

[With another puff of smoke, the Pryce Master materialises.]

Pryce Master / The Baron :
Yes! It is I! Kneel before me, weaklings!

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
The Courier.

[A 1980s Cyberleader appears.]

The Doctor.

[Jackson Lake appears.]

Jackson Lake / The Doctor :
Stand aside, ladies and gentlemen. This is a task... for a Time Lord!

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
The Countess.

[Jackie Tyler appears, dressed in a suitable Countess Narona outfit.]

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
... Is she supposed to be me? I cannot believe it.

Jackie / The Countess :
Believe it or not, love, it's what you're getting.

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
It seems incredible to me. But be that as it may: 'I don't trouble myself, you see, to invest fictitious family names. My characters are sufficiently distinguished by their social titles, and by the striking contrast which they present one with another.'

Pete Tyler / My Lord :
Ain't that the truth?

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
I should perhaps state at this point that all characters and events are fictional and no resemblance to any individuals now alive or dead is intended.

Jackie / The Countess :
There you are. I'm not supposed to be you. I'm some entirely different countess who just happens to dress like you and visit the same places you do.

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
'We are at Homburg, in the famous Salon d'Or, at the height of the season. The Countess (exquisitely dressed) is seated at the green table...'

[A run-down amusement arcade in an anonymous seaside resort. The Countess, dressed in the exquisite fashions of the Powell Estate, is trying her luck with a one-armed bandit.]

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
'Strangers of all nations are standing behind the players, venturing their money or only looking on. My Lord is among the strangers.'

Pete Tyler / My Lord :
Hey, are you gonna hog that thing all day?

Jackie / The Countess :
Nah, I'm out of money. That's it for me.

[My Lord hands her 50p.]

Pete Tyler / My Lord :
Here you go. Have this one on me.

Jackie / The Countess :
Thanks. You're a star.

[She puts the coin in and pulls the lever. A jackpot. Money cascades from the machine.]

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
'Her brother, the Baron, trying his fortune in another room, hears of what is going on, and joins my Lord and the Countess.'

[The Baron enters, to the accompaniment of a scare chord and a clap of thunder.]

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
'Pay attention, if you please, to the Baron. He is delineated as a remarkable and interesting character.'

Pryce Master / The Baron :
Of course. How could he be less?

Gwendoline / Narrator [vo] :
A profound knowledge of the occult sciences has persuaded the Baron that it is possible to solve the famous problem called the "Philosopher's Stone."

"Stop him!" Little Victoria shouted, jumping to her feet. "Stop him!"

"What'th the matter?" Rose asked.

"That's what Mr Maxtible was trying to do," Victoria explained. "And a lot of people died because of it. One of them was my daddy." At the thought, she began to cry. So, a moment later, did Rose. Then Peri began to sob, too, and in moments half the room was in tears.

The Master scowled down at them. Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was at a loss. He had a wide variety of skills, but they came into their own executing schemes of universal domination. None of them seemed to apply to crying toddlers.

While he was still trying to avoid facing the inevitable conclusion — that he'd have to ask for assistance from Izzy or one of the other helpers — the door opened to reveal Izzy herself.

"Out," she said curtly. "I'm not having you make the children cry."

"It wasn't my fault," the Master complained, following Izzy to the exit.

"Maybe not. But it's obvious you've got no idea how to deal with children. Get out. I'll let you know later if I'm going to let you come back."

The Master stalked off. Izzy watched him go.

"... And maybe I'll get you to kneel before me," she said quietly. "Fair's fair."