He blocked the first blow but never saw the second one at all. He staggered backwards against the wall and came out swinging. Much good it did him. He was dimly aware that corridor brawls aren’t in the least bit like the films. His assailants didn’t wait politely so he could deal with them one at a time. They all piled on at once. There were more kicks and punches than he could possibly deal with. His main thought was to protect his head and stay on his feet. The moment he was on the ground this would become serious. Well – serious for him. He suspected being kicked to a pulp would be regarded as just typical Time Police high spirits by everyone else.

Blows rained down. He was just beginning to wonder if he’d be better off curled in a ball on the ground after all when a tremulous female voice called, ‘Hey. Stop. Stop that. Leave him alone.’

Oh great – of all the potential rescuers in this building, he’d got the little wimpy one. Bloody Lockland. Who should get out of here. He didn’t think they’d start on her but at least she could go for help.

The blows ceased. Everyone stepped back, panting slightly.

He couldn’t see all that clearly, but he knew she’d pushed her way to his side. He felt some exasperation. They hadn’t gone away. What did she think she was going to do? This was more than just a quick scuffle in the corridor. This was going to be ugly and he wanted her out of there.

His lips felt stiff and puffy. ‘Lockland, what are you doing here? I know you mean well but you’re not really a lot of help, are you? Even against a group of Neanders, some of whom are barely sentient.’

He was dimly aware of a surge towards him.

Lockland held up a finger. ‘One moment, gentlemen, if you please. I believe I have a prior claim.’

Astonishingly, probably more surprised than obedient, they halted.

She turned to Luke. ‘What do you mean – not a lot of help?’

He wiped a trail of blood off his chin and raised his arms in exasperation. ‘Well, for God’s sake, Lockland, look at you, you’re about as much use as . . . Ooooof.’

He staggered sideways, briefly hung on to the wall for support, and then when that failed him, slowly sagged to the floor where he rested on forehead, nose and knees. Several of those present instinctively winced in sympathy.

A voice sounded at the back. ‘What’s going on here? Let me through,’ and North was pushing her way through suddenly frozen Time Police officers like a Russian icebreaker determined to get back to port before the vodka ran out.

North-like, she summed up the situation at a glance and then turned to address a pale and trembling but resolutely determined Lockland.