Beyond the stile was a ploughed field. She stared at it in horror and dived for the hedgerow.

By the time that Greeneye had scrambled over the burning remains of the stile, his quarry was nowhere to be seen. ‘You haven’t vanished, Professor!’ he called, turning slowly to examine the trees and hedges around him, invisible sword in one hand and gun in the other. ‘We only want the Pod. Tell us where it is and we won’t harm you.’

Benny didn’t reply. She was curled up in the ditch by the hedge, a mass of ferns wrapped around her. She was busy undoing her skirt as quietly as possible. The damn thing had nearly sent her sprawling head first into the stile.

‘Very well. Aphasia, it’s time for your balloon.’

Greeneye gestured to the little girl.

‘Should have done it right away,’ Aphasia sulked, untying the balloon from her wrist. ‘Balloon, find the lady and snuggle her.’ She let go of the string, and the red balloon floated up into the air. It stopped, just above head height and moved in the direction of the stile, until it stopped above Greeneye’s shoulder.

Benny had slid out of the skirt, and was trying to remain as still as possible. It wouldn’t be long, she reasoned, before somebody from the pub ventured into the garden and saw the burning stile. That might be fatal, since these two, whoever they were, didn’t seem to care if they were seen or not. But them being scared off seemed to be her only chance right now.

The balloon had floated down to the level of the ploughed soil, and was making gentle, circular motions.

Suddenly, it halted, and then sped off across the ground, straight towards the hedgerow where Benny sheltered. Greeneye dashed after it, his sword raised above his head.

The balloon dipped down into the ditch. Benny was amazed to see a red sphere pushing quickly through the ferns above her face, as if shoved by a hand. The thing paused a minute, and then rushed at her.

The surface engulfed her face.

She hadn’t had time to take a breath. The skin of the thing tasted warm and organic, not like rubber at all. She started to gag, but forced the reflex down, her hands scrabbling frantically at the balloon. Her fingers couldn’t seem to hold on to it, slipping off as they tried to grab it or burst it or something. The red material was trying to force itself down her throat and into her nostrils. She couldn’t breathe.

In a minute, she’d pass out, and they’d have her.

A shadow appeared over the ditch, and in a red haze, Benny realized that her attacker was standing over her, the ozone-stripping blade slicing vegetation with mere gentle movements a few inches from her face.

If she fell now, then the Doctor would be absolutely vulnerable.