"I'm bored," said Rose, turning over on her sun lounger and dropping the book she'd been reading.

The Doctor looked up from the sandcastle he'd been sculpting into the shape of the Palace of Versailles, with a little assistance from the sonic screwdriver. Rose studied this creation with as much equanimity as she could; she was well aware of the Doctor's continuing preoccupation with everything connected with 18th century France.

Perhaps sensing her mood, he switched off the screwdriver and focused on her.

"Bored?" he asked. "With the whole of time and space at your disposal? Humans!" he said dismissively, and then picked up her discarded book, turning it over. "Mind you," he went on, "I don't think your choice of reading matter is helping much."

They shared a pained look at the cover art, which showed a swooning, beribboned female locked in the arms of a muscular man with orange skin.

"I can't help it," said Rose, snorting. "That was the best of the lot in that beach shop."

"There was worse than this?" said the Doctor, his voice festooned with horror. Rose nodded.

"You try going up to the counter with a copy of 'Lady Maria's Bloomers' in your hand and see how far you get," she said. The Doctor, who had been holding the book between finger and thumb in any case, dropped it back into the sand.

"Okay," he said, brightly. "We'll go and get you another book. You name it, and I'll find it for you. Can't say fairer than that," he added, with his most endearing grin.

Rose wrinkled her nose in thought, and found that thought was one thing that was suddenly in extremely short supply. Any book? She felt as if she'd been asked to 'say something' and, with the whole of the English language at her disposal, had run dry of words. She squirmed over on the lounger to buy herself some time; the Doctor's encouraging grin hadn't had time to fade.

"Right," she said. "There's a kids' book I've wanted to read again for years, but the problem is, I can't remember what it's called. All I know is that it was about a little kid who meets up with some monsters in the forest. Um," she added, winding down.

The Doctor frowned; a shade too intensely, thought Rose, feeling ever so faintly mocked. He tapped the screwdriver against his chin, thoughtfully.

"I can't say it rings a bell with me," he said, eventually, "but I know someone who might have an idea. Come on," he said, bouncing to his feet and holding out a hand to help her up.

"Can I ask where we're going?" said Rose as she followed the Doctor's long strides back to the TARDIS, which they'd parked just above the high tide line.

"We're going to see an old friend of mine," he told her, without looking back. Then he pulled up sharp and fished in his pocket for the key. "Actually," he added, "'friend' is probably stretching it, but I think I can bribe him. Wait there."

The Doctor dashed through the console room as soon as he was inside, leaving Rose to close the door behind her. She'd barely thought to ask what the hell he thought he was playing at when he returned, clutching a bunch of –

"Bananas?" asked Rose, and then checked herself. "Wait a minute. If you think I'm going back to Versailles..." she began, but the Doctor waved the fruit at her and set it down on the console.

"Not Versailles," he said, and arched an eyebrow at her. "Definitely not Versailles. Hang on," he added, pulling out his glasses and perching them on his nose, "this could get a bit bumpy."

Rose grabbed for a stanchion just in time; the TARDIS took a nauseating lurch and almost threw her to the floor. She watched in bewilderment as the Doctor secured both himself and his bananas, and then she felt everything in her stomach rise up to meet her as the TARDIS dropped as if it were an elevator with a broken cable.

"Sorry," called the Doctor across the floor, "I did say it was going to be a bit bumpy, didn't I?"

"..." said Rose, only a lack of air coming between her and a fine stream of invective. She hauled in another breath, this time meaning to finish the job, and then the TARDIS thumped to a halt.

The sudden lack of motion, after that brief but powerful rollercoaster ride, was disorienting. Rose let go of the stanchion only by peeling her own fingers back one at a time. Her knuckles were white-shading-to-blue.

"We're here," said the Doctor, strolling over to her, looking hatefully calm and unflustered. Oh, thought Rose, and cute, but she wasn't about to let him off so lightly.

"Where's 'here'?" she asked, standing upright again on the fourth attempt.

"You'll see," he told her, smiling sidelong.

He took her arm and opened the door. Rose stepped out into a library. It had to be a library, she told herself; there were books. Lots of books. Lots and lots – she strained her eyes into the gloom – and lots and lots of books.

The library, wherever it was, was dark, although it was several degrees from quiet. Rose turned, apprehensive, as she heard the clink and skitter of a chain somewhere in the distance.

She looked up to find the source of what little light there was, and laid eyes on a gorgeous glass dome, more than fifty feet above them. It was supported by a network of narrow steel girders, and there were eight carved niches beneath it, each sheltering a statue of a woman. One of them was holding a kettle full of parsnips.

"That's Bissonomy," said the Doctor, so close behind her as to make her yelp. "Best not to ask about the parsnips. It's a bit of a sore point, apparently."

Rose gathered herself, slowly and deliberately.

"I'm not going to ask about the sodding parsnips," she whispered, in deference to the fact that however peculiar it was, it was still a library. "I'm asking you where we are!"

"This," said the Doctor, stepping around her and peering between shelves, "is the Library of Unseen University." He turned around and looked down at her, clearly disapproved of the expression on her face, and stood back. "Good grief, don't tell me you've never heard of Terry Pratchett?"

Rose's reply had to be postponed, for it was at that point that a screaming pile of red fur bore the Doctor to the floor.