'Oh my God!' she exclaimed as the doors opened and she took in for the first time the majestic sweep of the Grand Axial Canal, Second Class.

'She plumett-ed

And hit his head

And gave him six pnedes as a tip!'

sang the gondoliers.

'Ohh!' The Journalist gasped as he stepped down into the nearest gondola, and missed his footing. Lucy caught him and held him for a moment.

You're hurt,' she said.

'Let's get on!' he returned. 'We have no idea when the bomb is timed to go off.'

Lucy helped him down into the gondola, and the singing stopped.

'Take us to the Engine Room,' gasped The Journalist, holding his stomach.

'Si! Si! Nitrogen-Loathing Respecters of Pressed Veal!'

'And make it fast.'

'Si! Si!'

The gondola set off down the Great Canal at no greater speed than any other. Lucy looked across at her former assailant: he was rocking backwards and forwards, hugging himself.

'Are you cold?' asked Lucy. She certainly was. But The Journalist didn't reply; he just gritted his teeth and Lucy suddenly realized he was in real pain.

'What happened?' she asked, and touched his arm.

'That bastard - Scraliontis - stabbed me with a table lamp,' growled the ex-murderer.

Lucy stifled a laugh. 'How can you stab someone with a...'

'It had a sharp end,' interrupted The Journalist 'Are you in pain?' asked Lucy. The Journalist grunted. Lucy leaned towards him and moved his hands away from his stomach. The unfamiliar smell of a being from another world caught her unawares - it was not unpleasant - quite the contrary - but it made her head spin.

'Leave me alone!' he growled.

'Let me look at it!' Lucy pulled him back onto the pillow and tried to open his clothes, where the congealed blood was thickest. 'I have no idea how to undo this,' she said.

'Thought-seal,' he said, and suddenly the garment opened so that Lucy was able to pull it back and reveal The Journalist's gouged flesh.