And so, when the court house clock in Ballston Spa tolled out seven o’clock that evening, we found ourselves in a position to hear it, having made our way back into town along the Malta road. We wound through Ballston’s closed shops and quiet houses, then around the train depot and up Bath Street, passing beneath Mr. Picton’s window. El Niño was sleeping in the bed of the wagon, Miss Howard was deep in her own thoughts as she rode next to me, and I was having a tough time keeping my eyes open, as my mind was lulled into relaxation by the slow, steady clatter of our faithful Morgan’s hooves.

Which, of course, was exactly the sort of moment when all hell was bound to break loose.

“Stevie!” I half thought the voice was in my head, part of some dream I was slipping into. “Stevie! Sara! Dammit, can’t you hear me?”

Miss Howard roused me, and together we turned to look at the quiet blocks around us, failing to see a single soul; but when the voice called out to us again, I marked it as Mr. Picton’s, and realized it was coming from his office window.

“Up here!” he said, at which point we glanced up to see him hanging almost half out of the court house, waving his pipe in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, trying desperately to get our attention. “Listen, Stevie,” he went on, “you’ve got to get out to the Westons’ and bring the Doctor back here! They don’t have a blasted telephone, and we need to talk! He was going to be back by nine, but I’ve just had a wire from John-we’ve got to go over it now!”

“But the hearing’s in the morning,” Miss Howard tried to answer, “and he’s still got to-”

“That doesn’t matter-all taken care of!” Mr. Picton shouted, confusing the hell out of both Miss Howard and me. “Sara, you’d better take my surrey and go fetch Lucius and Cyrus-but Stevie, you’ve got to get the Doctor, as fast as you can!”

In one quick move Miss Howard jumped to the ground, starting toward High Street and the court house steps at a run. She turned around when she was about halfway there to tell me, “Wake El Niño up, Stevie-he can keep you from drifting off again!”

“Like that’s gonna happen!” I said, full of new energy. “I wanna know what the hell’s going on!”

Miss Howard smiled, gathered her skirt together, and turned to keep running. Thinking the matter over, I figured I could in fact use some company to break the monotony of a drive back along the road we’d just come in on, so I gave my companion on the bed of the wagon a good shake, causing him to bolt upright, produce his kris, and ready himself to throw it, all in one lightning move.

“Take it easy, son,” I said, patting the driver’s bench where Miss Howard had been sitting. “Come on up here and grab ahold of something-the ride’s about to get a little rough!” With a gleeful laugh at the idea of being graduated to the bench, El Niño jumped up beside me and got ready to roll as I turned the wagon around and slapped the reins against the Morgan’s backside. We wouldn’t be able to travel full speed until we got outside town again, but once we did the little stallion showed he was no worse for the day’s work, and as we barreled along we raised such a cloud of dust-not to mention such an unholy racket-that El Niño couldn’t resist breaking into another song, what he told me he’d picked up during his pirating days in the South China Sea.

It was still fully light out when we reached the Westons’ farm, a testament as much to the durability of our horse as to my driving talents. Josiah Weston, though taken off guard by the sight of the aborigine in my evening clothes, told me that the Doctor and Clara Hatch were somewhere down by the stream behind the house, once again drawing. This didn’t surprise me; the Doctor had amazing patience when it came to these things, and if a given kid responded to a certain form of treatment or communication, he could stay with it for days on end. Telling El Niño to get some feed and water for our horse, I took off down toward the stream at a run.

Shooting around the big vegetable garden, then through a cornfield and down along the banks of the loud, clear brook, I found myself getting more and more excited, about just what I had no idea. I jumped and bolted over the rocks and muddy grass of the streambank, searching for the Doctor and Clara but not finding them right off; and, even though I knew that they wouldn’t be able to hear me over the noise of the rushing water, I called out their names a couple of times, never pausing to listen for an answer. Finally, after some five minutes of dashing and leaping, I caught sight of the Doctor’s back about half a mile upstream from the house. He was sitting underneath a large maple tree, one whose roots had grown out to form a kind of platform over the streambed. Clara was sitting quietly across from him, sketching away.

When I finally did get within earshot of the Doctor, I slowed down a bit. The part of the stream where the two of them were sitting was a little bend where the water spread out into an undisturbed pool, and grew quiet enough for me to hear the Doctor’s gentle voice as he spoke with Clara. He was obviously at a critical juncture in his effort to reach the girl, based on what I could hear of his words:

“… and so you see, Clara, I began to understand that what had happened was not my fault-and that if I only told others the truth about what had happened, it would help. It would help me to stay safe, and it would help my father to stop doing such things.”

This was all fairly predictable: again, I’d heard its like before, from the Doctor, and though I knew enough to approach quietly, I also calculated that a pause in the conversation-brought on by Clara’s silent attempt to wrap her troubled young mind around his last thought-would follow. I waited for it, figuring that at said point I could gracefully step in and break the news that we were urgently needed back in town.

What happened instead was that my jaw dropped at the sound of Clara answering the Doctor in a soft, slightly hoarse, but still amazingly clear voice:

“And did your papa get better?”

I could see the Doctor nod slowly. “He was a very sick man. Like your mama. But yes, he got better, eventually. So will she.”

“But only if I tell the truth…” Clara said, quietly and with real fear.

There was no doubt about it: they were having a conversation.

CHAPTER 39

I did my damndest not to interrupt the scene, knowing that what was happening was crucial; but the sogginess of the streambank below me prevented the attempt. Standing there holding my breath, I began to feel my foot sinking into a deep patch of grassy mud. Letting out a little holler, I yanked my leg up, a move what produced a loud and slightly humorous sound. The pair of these noises caused the Doctor and Clara to spin round quickly and get to their feet. The little girl rushed to hide behind the Doctor’s leg, though when she saw it was only me-and then that the bottom of my leg was covered in a thick sludge-she began to laugh some, in that hoarse little way of hers. The Doctor smiled, too; as for me, I could feel my own face going red.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking chunks of clay and mud off my boot. “I didn’t mean to barge in, but-” I just looked down at my foot, and then the two of them laughed even harder.

“Well, Clara,” the Doctor said, “I think that someone’s been trying to sneak up on us. What do you think?” The girl’s laugh shrank to a smile as she looked at me; then she reached her head up, wanting to whisper into the Doctor’s ear. He bent down to listen, then laughed again. “No, he certainly is not very good at it!” Giving me a meaningful look what said if my business wasn’t important I’d best beat it, the Doctor went on, “And so, Stevie, what brings you?”