‘No!’ Ace shouted helplessly. She made one last desperate lunge for her baseball bat in the sand, but it was too late. She was being taken away from Chantelle and Kim, away from the huge smoking factory that everyone else was making for. ‘No, I won’t go.’

The Ratt smiled. ‘If Halogi-Kari wants to know you, darlin’, you’re gonna be known.’

There was a hole in the dusty desert, as if the ground had grown a mouth.

It closed around the Ratt and Ace, who found herself dragged on into the hot, spiteful darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘Could’ve been worse,’ Graham said ruefully, leaning against a featureless wall. ‘Could’ve had us mucking out the stables.’

‘Stable would be nice and cosy,’ Ryan said. ‘Though this whole “War Chariot” spaceship thing smells like horse anyway.’

‘True enough. You’d think they’d give us straw and a saddlebag or something.’ Graham paused. ‘You know, I rode a horse once.’

‘Wow.’ Ryan scoffed. ‘You should tell them. They’ll be well impressed.’

The centaur creatures had fitted them both with metal collars and led them in chains through the shuddering space station into their golden warcraft. It wasn’t much of a guided tour; pushed through the corridors and into a cold holding area, a cell with nothing in it but a contraption built into the wall that might’ve been a toilet and a trough with water in it. Ryan was subdued and fiddling with what looked like a small silver torch. Still recovering from his ordeal with the Ratts and the time-storm, Graham supposed, as well as the major elephant in the room.

Elephants, horses and rats, Graham reflected. This was a right menagerie.

‘It’s gonna be all right,’ he said, trying to sound confident. ‘The TARDIS’ll be along in a minute. Rescue wagon knocking at our door.’

‘You said the Doctor got hit, though.’

‘She’s been through worse. You know her. Tough as anything.’ Graham nodded, hoped he was doing a good job of seeming self-assured. He sat stiffly on the floor. ‘You’d think they’d give us a chair.’

‘You ever see a horse sit on a chair?’

‘Don’t they ever have guests? I know we’re prisoners but we must have some rights?’

‘Nothing but wrongs, I reckon. Still. Feeling sorry for ourselves won’t help.’

‘It’s you I really feel sorry for,’ Graham said. ‘You look rubbish, mate.’

‘Thanks a lot!’ said Ryan, but he was smiling as he turned his gaze back to his torch. ‘Ace gave me this in the batcave before me and Chantelle left.’

‘Hope they’re OK,’ said Graham.

Ryan nodded. ‘We need to find them.’

‘First we need to be found ourselves. You’re wearing your tag, though, aren’t you? Bleeping away every second, a big distress call. Couldn’t ask for more, right?’