Warren nodded. ‘She lost contact with her brother when the Shroud attacked. I think that may have been whose memories I encountered.’

‘Doctor, you and your friends might want to come and see this …’ Wobblebottom had poked his head through the tent flap and was beckoning for the group to join him.

The Doctor glanced down at Clara. ‘It’s OK,’ said Orma with a smile. ‘She’ll be fine with me.’

The Doctor led Mae and Warren out of the tent. Wobblebottom gestured to the stage at the front of the room. The performers had moved to the sides, allowing a pair of larger Clowns to lead a man onto the centre of the stage. It was the Wanter they had captured earlier, now fully awake. He reached out towards the props, but the large Clowns held him firmly in place.

Wobblebottom turned to Mae, sensing her distress. ‘We have to hold him still,’ he explained, ‘at least at first. For the restoration sessions to work, the patient must remain in one place, from where he can hear and see everything that happens around him.’ He took a whistle from his pocket, raised it to his lips and blew it. ‘Let the treatment begin!’ he cried.

The musicians around the room began to play a new song – rousing, upbeat and jolly. At the sound, the Clowns on stage began to perform together. They spun around the Wanter, laughing and smiling. Some of them juggled lengths of brightly coloured cloth between them, while others rode on unicycles or twisted balloons into animals. The overall effect was a dizzying spectacle of colour and sound.

The Wanter turned his head from side to side, not knowing which way to look. He thrust out his hand more than once, reaching to try and grab a juggling club or balloon animal. Occasionally, such an item was handed to him by a laughing performer, who quickly grabbed a new prop from the side of the stage and joined in with the fun once more. Everything the Wanter was given, he immediately dropped to the floor as he focused on the spectacle around him.

Then, after almost ten minutes, the Wanter laughed. It was a small laugh – barely a chuckle – and could easily have been missed among the choreographed chaos but the Clowns let out a rousing cheer as soon as they saw it. Wobblebottom blew his whistle again, the performance ended, and the man was led off stage.

‘He’ll be taken back to his room for food and rest now,’ said Wobblebottom. ‘We’ll run another therapy session with him tomorrow and, if all goes well, he could be joining the Clowns around us in just over a week.’

The Doctor spun to face Wobblebottom, his eyes sparkling with sheer joy. ‘I’ve seen a lot of wonderful things in my time,’ he said. ‘Kind gestures, selfless acts, caring behaviour … But that is one of the best.’ With that he grabbed the Clown by his cheeks and planted a friendly kiss on his forehead.

‘They’re weren’t so wonderful with me,’ groaned a voice behind them.

The Doctor, Warren and Mae turned to find Clara heading their way.

‘There you are!’ cried the Doctor, sweeping her into his arms. ‘You’re up and about, then?’

‘You try sleeping with that racket going on,’ Clara whined.

‘Careful,’ warned Mae teasingly. ‘Don’t moan too much or they might mistake you for a Rager again.’

Clara accepted a drink from a passing Clown’s tray and downed it in one. ‘So,’ she said. ‘What did I miss?’

‘Wobblebottom here has been showing us how the Clowns restore the victims of the Shroud,’ said the Doctor. ‘And it’s got me thinking … What would happen if we were to try the same with people who were still attached to the Shroud? People who hadn’t yet had all their grief consumed.’

‘I’ve no idea,’ admitted the Clown. ‘We didn’t come up with the process until after the Shroud had finished with us and moved on. Aside from the few of us who were spared, everyone on Semtis falls into one of the tribal groups you’ve already seen – as far as we know at least.’

‘I wasn’t talking about Semtis,’ said the Doctor. ‘I wish I’d known about the Shroud and been here to help you at the time, but it’s too late for that, I’m afraid. I’m talking about Earth.’

‘You think we could free people from the Shroud by performing for them?’ asked Warren. ‘You think it could sever the links?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Doctor. ‘But I’m willing to try.’ He checked his watch. ‘We have less than five hours until the entire planet is infected and people reach an acceptance of their fate. By then, it will be too late.’

‘But so many people are already being feasted on, Doctor,’ said Mae. ‘How can we round up enough performers in five hours?’

‘We may not have to,’ replied the Doctor, turning to Wobblebottom. ‘Will you help us?’

The Clown’s painted eyes grew wide. ‘You want us to come with you to another planet?’

‘Just for a little while,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s only a short hop through the wormhole and, if we succeed in banishing the Shroud, I’ll bring you all back first class in my TARDIS.’

‘You keep talking about a wormhole,’ said Wobblebottom. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got this one,’ said Warren. ‘It’s like a tunnel through time and space – a bit like a sock with the foot cut off. It bends the rules of the universe to connect two locations together, allowing you to pass from one to the other while avoiding a trip that could take thousands of years.’

‘Very well put,’ beamed the Doctor. ‘The Shroud used a wormhole to travel from Semtis to Earth,’ he continued. ‘It’s a bit of a bumpy journey, with a few living nightmares along the way – but all in all a fun ride.’ He turned to Wobblebottom. ‘Will you help us?’

‘Well, who’s going to turn down the chance to do that?’ beamed the Clown. ‘I can’t spare everyone – there’s still important work to be done here – but I reckon I can round up a troupe of about a hundred or so performers.’

‘You’re still forgetting something important,’ said Clara. ‘We lost the ambulance in a battle with a bear or three. We need a vehicle to get back through it, or we’ll be blasted into atoms as soon as we pass through the portal.’

‘She’s right,’ said Warren. ‘And it will need to be something big if there are going to be over a hundred of us on the return journey.’

‘We can handle that as well,’ said Wobblebottom. He produced his whistle again and blew it. ‘Bring out the wheels!’

After a moment, a new sound could be heard over the constant music.

Putta-putta-choof! Putta-putta-choof! Putta-putta-choof!

And a tiny car painted in orange and green flowers chugged into view.

‘Wait …’ said Clara with a frown. ‘We’re all going back to Earth in that thing?’

‘Of course!’ exclaimed the Doctor, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Inspired by Gallifreyan technology such as the Type 40 TARDIS, you’re looking at just about the only other dimensionally transcendental vehicle in the universe. The clown car!’

Mae climbed into the back of the clown car and chuckled to herself. The Doctor was right. It really was bigger on the inside. She’d visited the circus with her grandmother as a girl, and had always wondered how so many clowns had managed to fit inside such a tiny vehicle. Could those comedy cars have worked the same way?

A face painted in bright colours appeared through the doorway and handed her a box which she knew would be packed with props. Juggling balls, hooters, magic tricks and more – all of which they would use to try to free the people of Earth from the terrible clutches of the Shroud. It was going to be an uphill battle, but the Doctor assured her that he still had a trick or two up his sleeve that would help.

Mae tucked the box carefully to one side, then accepted a bundle of costume bags from another Clown. Back in high school, she and her drama group had toured a play they’d written around elementary schools in the area. Getting the clown car ready for the journey home felt very similar to packing up their small van for the tour.