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  ‘What about Venice? Don’t you care that …’

  ‘I’ve burned through whole star systems faster than you can light a cigarette!’ spat Missy. ‘Now, the photo on that poster changed back to a candlestick … Proof that changes through the void can correct. So I’m going back into the Vortex so I can time-ram my TARDIS. Bump it out of the way, and prevent its original collision with the Gryphon ship. Now, hold on tight. This is dangerous.’ She seized the console. ‘Dangerous is English for pericoloso.’

  The display screen showed vessels converging in the swirling chaos of the Time Vortex … the TARDIS … the Gryphon timeship … and the TARDIS again …

  The discordant shriek of the engines filled the air around them. Missy committed the coordinates, and hung on for dear life.

  *

  A beady eye glittered disapprovingly from the other side of the TARDIS. But it was only the stuffed raven she’d once crudely stapled to the arm of a Queen Anne chair.

  Missy got up from the floor and straightened her hat. The control gauges confirmed that the time-ram had worked.

  ‘No original collision with the Gryphon timeship means the TARDIS never crash-landed. No crash-landing, no Vortex void. And evanesco for Hermione!’

  Antonia hauled herself onto the chair, her eyes red from weeping. ‘Venice is destroyed. It’s all gone.’

  ‘It never happened. Everything’s back in its right time zone.’

  Antonia calmed down a little. ‘Mario! His note said he was coming home. Let’s find him!’

  Missy frowned. ‘Don’t you feel some things are best left in the past? Old boyfriends. The Black Death. Mr Blobby?’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Give him a him a couple of weeks, and look him up on Facebook.’

  Antonia jumped to her feet in anger, and gestured around her. ‘You must be able to find him, with all … this. I want to see him!’

  Missy tutted sympathetically, her eyes glittering. ‘I can arrange that, my pet.’

  Fourteenth-century Venice …

  … was not what Antonia had expected to see when the signorina ushered her out. She stepped through the doors, and from behind a tapestry too gaudy for the room in which she now found herself.

  A commotion outside drew her to the window. She wiped grime from the cracked pane with her sleeve, and peered into the street.

  At the far end, she was astonished to see … herself in conversation with the signorina. But surely the signorina was in that large, bright room behind the tapestry?

  Antonia started back across to it, but stumbled over a dilapidated bedframe that protruded from the darkened corner. In the half-light, she could make out a sprawled figure on the bed. Hot bile rose in her throat, and she stumbled away from the broken body.

  Mario. Vado all’altro mondo.

  A commotion across the room startled her. She watched in bewilderment as the tapestry rippled and faded away, revealing a bare wall.

  She rushed to the window. The dark street was empty.

  Antonia collapsed to the filthy floorboards and burst into bitter, hopeless tears.

  Today …

  … St Mark’s Square in Venice bustled with activity. Locals and tourists criss-crossed the piazza in happy, animated groups as preparations continued for the Carnivale.

  Time had reset itself. The Gryphon timeship never crashed in fourteenth-century Venice. The catastrophic twenty-first-century flood never happened. None of the tourists or waiters or police who scuttled about the city would remember it, Missy realised; they’d not been in contact with active TARDIS technology the way she had. Her and that girl, whatever she’d been called.

  Saint Theodore looked down at Missy from his granite column. On the adjacent pillar, the stone statue of a winged lion stared at the horizon.

  The TARDIS looked like a bookcase when it landed in the museum library.

  Missy spent a while reading through historical accounts, to confirm that there was no record of Gryphons in Venice’s past. Just an echo of them in the image of a winged lion. She was safe from the wretched things now.

  She left the dusty volumes and manuscripts on the library desk, and went back to the TARDIS. A scrawny figure was studying the contents of the bookcase. Missy was startled to see that it was that girl again … Antonia, that was her name.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again, dear.’

  Antonia glared. ‘If it wasn’t for her, no one would ever have seen me again. And Mario …’ Further words choked her. She stuffed a note into Missy’s hand and stalked away.

  The note was from the museum curator. Missy skimmed it: two short paragraphs of neat handwriting chastised Missy for her lack of caution, and told her that she would need to try much harder.

  Outrageous nerve, thought Missy. Who did the little insect think she was?

  Filled with fresh indignation, Missy found her way to the curator’s office. She breezed through the outer room, ignored the assistant, and burst through the door without knocking.

  The office was empty. No books, no binders, no curios. A single carnival outfit hung on the hat stand: a plague doctor’s beaked costume.

  In the outer office, the assistant glanced up from his desk. The rollback of reality had restored him to life, but Missy was perfectly prepared to make him a powdery pile of cinders again if necessary. ‘All right. Where is she, your boss?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ he smiled. ‘As you can see, she has gone.’

  It was clear he had no more information, and could only repeat to Missy: ‘La dottoressa non funziona più qui … The doctor doesn’t work here any more.’

  Girl Power!

  Jacqueline Rayner

  Dear Doctor,

  Here is this week’s list of requests, for your approval (or otherwise):

  1 x can extra-strength hairspray.

  Book on the history of ‘this ridiculous planet, let’s see why he likes it so much’.

  Some of those sugar mice with string tails. (Because ‘you can dangle them by the tail and bite them and it feels like you’re eating something alive.’ I pointed out that this was not necessarily behaviour of which you’d approve, and she said, ‘Why not? I always imagined that was why he was so fond of jelly babies.’)

  Yours sincerely,

  Nardole

  N. Yeah, go on, she can have all of that. D

  Sir, I was expecting you to deny that thing about the jelly babies. N

  N. Really? I have to deny things now? Show a little faith! D

  You still haven’t actually denied it. N

  *

  Your Andromeda.gal.ax order #ZZ9-ZZZ-B

  Delivery Update

  Hello Mr N A Rdole!

  We’re going to deliver your package today.

  If nobody’s available to accept the delivery, we’ll leave it in your preferred time zone if you’ve selected alternative galactic coordinates under preferences. Otherwise, if possible we’ll teleport the package to a nearby life form that has reached an appropriate place on the evolutionary scale.

  Delivery Information:

  History of the World (hardback) by T.B. Dryden-Butler.

  This is the final part of your order. Your order is now complete.

  *

  Dear Doctor,

  Here is the latest list of requests, for your approval or disapproval:

  1 x mascara (black, volumising).

  Some more sheet music. Something classical (Bach, Beethoven, Stormzy).

  A book on the history of this ridiculous planet ‘that actually has some women in it’.

  A bag of marshmallows.

  A small campfire (for toasting the above).

  Yours sincerely,

  Nardole

  N. No to the campfire. If she’s still got that can of hairspray, we could be in big trouble. The rest is OK. D

  *

  Your Andromeda.gal.ax order #ZZ9-ZZZ-C

  Delivery Update

  Hello Mr N A Rdole!

  We’
re going to deliver your package today.

  Thank you for updating your delivery preferences. We have noted that you have updated your taxonomic profile to indicate that we are not to leave parcels with members of the kingdom Plantae (hereafter referred to as ‘plants’). We apologise for the error. We have corrected our system to indicate ‘plants’ are not the major intelligent life forms on planet Earth.

  Delivery Information:

  ‘Lovely Lovely Lashes’ (midnight black).

  The Girls’ Big Book of Historical Women (paperback) by Mirabelle Dolby.

  This is the final part of your order. Your order is now complete.

  *

  Dear Doctor,

  This is what she’s come up with this week, for you to say yay or nay:

  1 x pack blister plasters. Apparently wearing heels all the time is murder on your feet, but neither of us would know that as we’re just pathetic men with no understanding of what women suffer.

  A packet of liquorice whips. Or actual whips. Or liquorice whips that are big enough to be used as actual whips.

  A book on women in the history of this ridiculous planet ‘which isn’t just about who they’re married to’.

  A tiger.

  Yours sincerely,

  Nardole

  N. Yeah, that’s OK. D

  Actually, second thoughts, not the tiger. It wouldn’t be fair on the tiger. D

  Dear Sir,

  Aaargh! Already ordered it!

  N

  *

  Your Andromeda.gal.ax order #ZZ9-ZZZ-D

  Delivery Update

  Hello Mr N A Rdole!

  We’re going to deliver your package today.

  Thank you for updating your delivery preferences. We note that we are also not to leave parcels with members of the kingdom Fungi (hereafter referred to as ‘fungi’) and have noted that you consider the kingdom Animalia (hereafter referred to as ‘animals’) to be the dominant life forms on planet Earth, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  Delivery Information:

  Great Women in History (hardback) by E. Smythe (Dr). Panthera tigris, subspecies ‘Siberian Tiger’.

  This is the final part of your order. Your order is now complete.

  *

  Your Andromeda.gal.ax order #ZZ9-ZZZ-D

  Update

  Hello Mr N A Rdole!

  We have processed your requested refund for the following item:

  Panthera tigris, subspecies ‘Siberian Tiger’.

  Please teleport the item in unused condition to any depot in your nearest spiral arm within five working planetary rotations. Thank you.

  *

  Seven chickens belonging to the university chaplain disappeared mysteriously overnight. “They were shut in at night as usual and I padlocked their coop,” the Rev D. Thorne told us. “But in the morning they’d all gone. I had to have Rice Krispies instead of eggs for breakfast.” There was no sign of any break-in. Anyone with any information is asked to get in touch with campus security.

  *

  Dear Doctor,

  This is the new list, awaiting your approval:

  A packet of acid drops.

  500ml mercury.

  3 x azimuth sprockets.

  A book on smashing the patriarchy.

  Yours sincerely,

  Nardole

  N. Oooh, acid drops. Haven’t had those for centuries. Could you get me some too? D

  *

  Your Andromeda.gal.ax order #ZZ9-ZZZ-E

  Delivery Update

  Hello Mr N A Rdole!

  We’re going to deliver your package today.

  Thank you for updating your delivery preferences. We note that if you are not available when we attempt to deliver, we are to leave parcels only with members of the species Homo sapiens (‘human’). However we would like to point out that the species Gallus gallus domesticus (‘chicken’) not only shares sixty per cent of its DNA with Homo sapiens, its population also outnumbers the humans by almost three to one on planet Earth, so it was quite frankly a very easy mistake to make. Also, in our view, it was the responsibility of the chickens to have a clearly visible sign stating that they did not wish tigers to be teleported into their dwelling. However we have agreed to replace the chickens as a good-will gesture.

  Delivery Information:

  2 x Acid drops (220g).

  This is the final part of your order. Your order is now complete.

  *

  The campus was terrorised last night by what witnesses have described as “seven robotic chickens with laser eyes and guns”. Lecturer in Almost Everything, the Doctor, whom several witnesses claimed they saw chasing the chickens, told our reporter, “Just go home and have a biscuit or whatever it is you humans like to get up to on a Wednesday night.” Our reporter tried to contact university chaplain Rev D. Thorne to see if there was any connection between the appearance of these avian automatons and the disappearance of his chickens a few days ago, but found only a slightly smoking hat just outside the hen run. The Doctor, who coincidentally had also come to visit the chaplain, shouted, “Nothing to see here!” as he backed out of the chaplaincy garden, adding, “Squawk, squawk, zap, squawk, I don’t know what you thought you heard but that was definitely me squawking just now.” Anyone with any information is asked to get in touch with campus security.

  *

  Your Andromeda.gal.ax order #ZZ9-ZZZ-E URGENT RECALL

  Dear customer,

  It has come to our attention that certain carbon-based life forms have been mistakenly supplied with Acid drops (200mg) containing sulphuric acid rather than citric acid. If this applies to you, please do not ingest any of the contents and return for a full refund. If you have already ingested the contents, please see the section ‘Accidental harm, mutilation, dismemberment or death liability disclaimer’ in our FAQ.

  We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.

  *

  Dear Doctor,

  I am frankly quite sure she knew about the acid drops. She probably slipped them into the supply chain a couple of bodies back. I am also sure she knew that the tiger delivery would cause trouble and keep you distracted while she gets on with whatever she’s really up to. Here are the latest requests, for you to approve or DISAPPROVE:

  Sherbet lemons.

  A helmic regulator.

  Yours sincerely,

  Nardole

  N. All approved. D

  Sir, you did notice how I said ‘or DISAPPROVE’, didn’t you? N

  N. I am capable of discerning nuance in the written word, yes. I don’t know what your problem is with sherbet lemons. D

  Sir! A HELMIC REGULATOR! That means travel through the Time Vortex!

  N. Not necessarily. Just something to do with time. I’m interested to see where she’s going with this. Just keep an eye on things. D

  Dear Sir,

  I have been trying to ‘keep an eye on things’, but this morning she told me that I had very pretty eyes and wouldn’t they make a nice pair of earrings, so perhaps I should keep them to myself for a while if I didn’t want to tempt a girl. Which I think might have been her way of hinting she didn’t want to be watched so much.

  Yours in some considerable trepidation,

  Nardole

  Interesting. That suggests her plan is near to fruition. Let’s give her her head for a while, see where she’s going with this.

  Dear Sir,

  I note your suggestion to ‘give her her head for a while’, an expression which I see is related to loosening a horse’s reins. While fully appreciating your proposal, I would like to propose an alternative course of action, which is STOP HER STOP HER NOW WHATEVER SHE’S DOING PLEASE I’M BEGGING YOU. I would also like to casually mention another Earth saying about horses, namely: ‘There’s no point shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted,’ and to make it extra clear I will point out that by ‘horse’ I mean ‘Missy’, and by ‘bolted’ I mean ‘destroyed this entire planet’.

  You
rs pleadingly,

  Nardole

  Nah, she’s not going to do that. Don’t panic. D

  D. I wish I had your confidence. N

  *

  INVITATION

  Dear Marie Antoinette

  You are invited to join MADAM (Missy’s Army for the Demotion of All Men).

  It shouldn’t be ‘let them eat cake’, it should be poison the cake and give it to your husband, take over as ruler of France, guillotine anyone who doesn’t like it. Simple.

  RSVP

  Your friend,

  Missy

  INVITATION

  Dear Boudicca

  You are invited to join MADAM (Missy’s Army for the Demotion of All Men).

  Like your style. Have you ever heard of the AK-47? I can supply.

  RSVP

  Your friend,

  Missy

  INVITATION

  Dear Messalina

  You are invited to join MADAM (Missy’s Army for the Demotion of All Men).

  You go girl! Hint: get a dog collar. Kinky and good for neck protection.

  RSVP

  Your friend,

  Missy

  INVITATION

  Dear Eleanor of Aquitaine

  You are invited to join MADAM (Missy’s Army for the Demotion of All Men).

  Fab stuff with the Fair Rosamund and the cup of poison/dagger thing. I’m going to nick it. Hope you don’t mind. Of course if you do mind – I’ll offer you a choice …

  RSVP

  Your friend,

  Missy

  INVITATION

  Dear Florence Nightingale

  You are invited to join MADAM (Missy’s Army for the Demotion of All Men).

  The Lady with the Lamp? Yawn yawn. Try the Lady with the Anti-Tank Missile. Or the Lady with the Grenade Launcher. And surely you’ve got access to some bio-weaponry? Scrape off a few smallpox scabs or something. Come on!

  RSVP

  Your friend,

  Missy

  *

  Sir! This is most urgent! Acid! Mercury! Azimuth sprockets! And most obvious of all, sugar! Why didn’t we see it before? I don’t think I need to tell you how all those things combine with a helmic regulator – she has built a two-way space-time telegraph with time-scoop facility and is literally burning holes through the continuum! I’ve discovered she’s contacting women from throughout history and trying to get them to rebel – this morning I intercepted self-returning trans-temporal acceptances from Catherine the Great, Marie Curie, and all of Henry VIII’s wives! I recommend IMMEDIATE removal of all privileges.