by Susan Calman
‘What is it? Why are we whispering?’
‘I don’t think we’re alone,’ she said, pointing to where she’d seen the movement. ‘I saw something up there. Maybe it’s someone else trapped in here? We could ask them for help finding the way out.’
She suddenly sneezed again, trying to stifle the noise with the Doctor’s hankie as best as she could. Now was really not the time to be making sudden loud noises!
The Doctor shook his head. ‘No! If they’re trapped in here, they won’t know where the exit is, will they?’
Clara was determined. She spoke quietly and firmly. ‘I’m going over. You can wait and see what happens. If I need rescuing, you can jump in.’
Before the Doctor could argue, Clara started to edge slowly towards where she had seen the movement.
‘Hello?’ she said, trying to keep her voice light and cheerful. ‘Hello? Is there someone there?’
As she moved closer, she was sure she could discern a figure shrouded behind the yellow flowers covering the wall. With every step, the figure seemed to move closer and became more clearly human in form.
‘Are you trapped here as well? We don’t want to hurt you. We just need some help.’ Clara hesitated. ‘Say something? Please?’
The Doctor, who had crept along behind Clara, was ready to pounce at the slightest whiff of danger.
Clara was now within touching distance of the figure, with only the hanging curtain of yellow flowers between them. With one swift move, she reached out a hand and brushed the flowers to one side – and screamed.
The Doctor shot forward, gangly limbs tangling with each other, making his attack seem more like a puppy running for its dinner than anything that might threaten someone.
‘CLARA, OUT OF THE WAY!’ he shouted, as he struck out at the figure.
He yelped as his knuckles made contact with something solid, the impact reverberating through his body.
‘Doctor, it’s me!’
‘What do you mean it’s you?’ he said, hopping around in the dirt and clutching his hand to his chest.
‘Look, it’s me! It’s a mirror!’
Still wincing, the Doctor watched as Clara moved the flowers aside and gestured at the wall. It was indeed a mirror – and, as he looked around, he saw that mirrors had appeared everywhere. The walls of the maze were now made of glass instead of stone. There were even some reflective surfaces on the ground.
‘It’s like the funfair in Brighton,’ Clara said. ‘A hall of mirrors!’
She was right.
The mirrors varied vastly. They weren’t all flat and perfect. Some were warped, and the reflections were contorted, ugly, squat and stretched.
‘Clara. This is far more than a normal maze. This is something far worse than a normal maze …’
Clara moved to the Doctor’s side. ‘Would now be the time to panic?’
He looked at her. ‘Panic is a strong word, Clara. Let’s move to “be more concerned” first, shall we?’
Short of any better ideas by this time, the Doctor and Clara carried on through the maze, but the mirrors made their progress difficult. They soon became dizzy and disoriented, as they whirled and lurched round corner after corner.
Clara heard her breathing becoming louder and louder, and it echoed in her eardrums until there was a constant hum in her ears. It was unbearable. Lungs almost bursting from the effort, she shouted, ‘I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t!’
‘Don’t look at the walls!’ the Doctor called back. ‘Keep your eyes on the ground. It’ll stop you from feeling sick.’
It was like being stuck in a terrible nightmare. It began to seem they had been trapped in this awful maze forever, and indeed it soon became evident they had been running around in circles for several hours as, eventually, the gentle light of a new day started to illuminate the pathways and passages ahead of them.
Abruptly, the mirrors disappeared, and the Doctor and Clara stepped into an area that was definitely new: a courtyard brilliantly lit with sunshine, the walls solid and bright white as if freshly painted. Clara could suddenly see and breathe and think clearly again.
‘Well, look at this,’ the Doctor said, pointing at one wall of the courtyard. Three sturdy doorways, each identical in structure and each with a large exit sign hanging above it, faced them.
‘Three doors. Which is the right one?’ the Doctor muttered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. This was clearly another puzzle, but as with all the other obstacles they had faced in this maze there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. It was chaotic, like the maze itself had been left to dream up its own twisted, nonsensical challenges.
Knowing how important it was that Clara believe they were going to get out of here – and that he believe it too – he stated with certainty, ‘It’s the middle one, of course!’
‘Doctor, it can’t be as simple as just picking the middle door.’
‘Of course it can. It’s always the middle one. This maze just wants you to think this puzzle is more complicated than it actually is. Mark my words, when faced with three doors, always go through the middle one. Every time. No doubt.’
Clara sighed. ‘We should go through together, just in case anything happens.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes. Together.’
He put his hand on the doorknob and turned. It rotated easily, and they both heard the click of a lock opening.
‘See,’ he said. ‘It’s always the middle door!’
He opened the door as far as it would go, but all that waited for them on the other side was darkness. Hand in hand, the Doctor and Clara stepped through it.
After a few seconds in the darkness, the Doctor bumped into something solid in front of him.
‘Seems we’ve got another door here,’ he hissed to Clara.
He turned the handle until they heard the familiar click, then opened this new door. They were immediately blinded by sunlight. They’d finally made it out! Clara cheered and hugged the Doctor.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the light. Shading her face from the glare, Clara saw the Doctor doing the same thing – and then she realised what had really happened.
They hadn’t escaped.
They had walked through the middle door and then come back through the exact same door.
They were back in the courtyard again, in front of the three doors, exactly where they’d started.
‘We didn’t turn round, did we?’ Clara asked.
‘Maybe we did. It was dark. Let’s try again.’
Once more they walked through the middle door, and a few seconds later walked out into the courtyard again.
‘I’m not sure it is always the middle door, Doctor.’ Clara walked towards the door on the left. ‘Maybe we should try the others?’
She turned the doorknob and gestured to the Doctor to follow her into the now-familiar darkness, then opened the door that they found beyond … and walked through the middle door again, back into the courtyard.
‘This is fine,’ Clara said, in a deliberately calm, controlled tone. ‘It just means that the real exit must be this one.’ She walked purposefully to the door to the right of the middle door and opened it.
The Doctor stayed where he was, watching Clara disappear through the right-hand door. Almost immediately she bumped straight into him, as she reappeared through the middle door.
For a moment, their eyes locked.
Is this it? Clara wondered. After everything that they had been through, would this be the end?
The Doctor was the one who had brought them here; he thought that this place would be fun, beautiful, even relaxing. But when Clara looked at him now she only felt fear, because for maybe the first time since they’d travelled together he looked lost – as lost as she was.
Then the Doctor turned his head sharply. He’d spied something in his peripheral vision; something he hadn’t noticed before. Had it been in the courtyard all this time? It was a narrow passageway between two walls covered in yellow flowe
rs – tiny, but definitely there.
‘Clara! Over here!’ he said, walking over to the passageway. As he peered down it, he could see another courtyard a short distance away.
‘This could be it,’ he whispered to himself, turning back to Clara – but Clara was nowhere to be seen.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, he saw that another passageway had appeared. It was the mirror-image of the one he stood next to. Doors, mirrors, passageways, mirror-passageways – the maze was throwing everything it had at them!
‘CLARA!’ the Doctor yelled, sprinting across the courtyard, desperate to catch her before they lost each other for good. He tore down the passageway, gasping for breath as he reached the mirror-courtyard, and gave another enormous cry, every ounce of his being behind it. ‘CLARA OSWALD! ANSWER ME!’
He listened. Nothing but silence. And then he heard it. Far away and quiet, but definitely there.
‘Doctor! Where are you?’
‘Clara! I’m here! Move towards my voice!’
Clara was in another part of the maze. She had gone through the middle door again and this time found herself in a different courtyard. When she had turned to look for the three doors, however, she had discovered to her horror that they had disappeared. She was sitting on the ground trying to work out her next move when she heard the Doctor calling her name.
‘Keep talking!’ she called back. ‘I’ll try to find you!’
She stood up and listened carefully.
‘Okay … erm, hello! I’m in a maze,’ she heard him saying, and despite her fear she smiled. He was rambling. ‘It’s not the kind of maze that I like. Usually I prefer one in the garden of a nice castle or something. Somewhere you can get an ice cream if it gets too hot. I mean, it’s not my fault. Well, it kind of is my fault. But last time I was here I got an amazing pedicure – I didn’t think I’d like it, but once you’ve had your toenails clipped by a tiny air-breathing shark-like creature who uses his actual teeth you’ll never go back …’
As the Doctor rattled on, Clara worked her way towards him. Finally, she was sure that she was right beside him, but between them stood a wall that was too tall to climb over and too thick to knock down.
‘Doctor!’ she interrupted him. ‘I’m here! Can you hear me?’
On the other side of the wall, the Doctor pressed his hands to the brick, as if by touching them he could get closer to her. ‘Clara, I can hear you. Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. I can’t see a way of getting through this wall to you, though. Is there a way through it on your side?’
‘I’ll see.’ The Doctor had already started patting the bricks and working his way methodically along the wall, searching for any sign of a potential weak point or gap. ‘Sing a song so I can tell where you are.’
‘Why do I need to sing? Can’t I just talk?’
‘No. Sing. Singing is easier to follow than talking. That is a fact.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Clara reluctantly started humming a tune.
‘Louder than that!’ shouted the Doctor. ‘Give it some welly!’
Clara started to sing loudly. Amplified by the echoes, her voice seemed to stretch up to the sky. She stopped to cough and suddenly sneezed. She took out the Doctor’s hankie and blew her nose. She sneezed again.
‘Keep singing, Clara!’ The Doctor sounded further away, so she started singing again, but her nose was blocked.
‘Doctor, come back!’ she called, coughing. ‘You’re going the wrong way!’
She was seized by a fit of sneezing. How strange. What could be making her sneeze? She didn’t feel like she was coming down with a cold.
She coughed with such force that she had to grab on to the wall to steady herself. As she did so, she brushed against one of the yellow flowers. From it cascaded a waterfall of yellow dust, a shower of tiny pellets that floated in the air around her like a mist.
It couldn’t be as simple as that, could it?
Clara dropped to the ground, immediately placing the hankie over her nose and mouth. As she took shallow breaths, things slowly began to change in front of her eyes. The walls started to shimmer and became more and more transparent.
That was it!
The very flowers that the Doctor had insisted they should stop to smell were trapping them. Clara wasn’t sure whether it was a hallucinogenic effect or not – all she knew was that the longer she stayed on the ground breathing through the hankie the more the walls disappeared.
In the distance she could see a figure: it was the Doctor. He was running round and round in a circle. It would have been comical to watch if it wasn’t so terrifying. Clara now realised that there were no walls – there had never been any walls – but the Doctor was still seeing them.
‘Doctor! I know what’s happened!’ she called.
‘I’m coming for you, Clara!’ He looked blindly in the direction of her voice. ‘Don’t worry! I’m coming for you!’
‘Doctor, listen to me. You need to get on the ground and breathe through your hankie!’ As Clara finished her sentence, she realised that she had the Doctor’s hankie.
‘I’m nearly with you!’ the Doctor shouted, still running round in a circle.
‘Doctor, use your shirt sleeve. Breathe through it. It’s the flowers! They’re doing something to us!’
‘Nonsense!’ he scoffed. ‘It’s a simple puzzle. I’ll have it all worked out in a jiffy!’
‘STOP!’ Clara shouted.
Hearing the tone of her voice, the Doctor skidded to an abrupt halt.
‘Do you trust me, Doctor?’ she asked slowly and deliberately.
The Doctor turned his head towards the direction of her voice and she saw him smiling. ‘Always, Clara.’
‘Then get on the ground and breathe through your sleeve.’
‘I think a hankie would be more appropriate,’ the Doctor said. ‘I always carry a spare one for just such an occasion.’
‘Doctor, I’ve got y–’ Clara began, but she stopped short and shook her head in amused disbelief as she watched him pull a massive spotted cloth out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He shook it with a flourish, then placed it over his mouth and nose and dropped to the ground.
Within moments, the Doctor saw the walls of the maze shimmer and start to disappear. He could at last see that they were in a small courtyard just beside the alleyway in which they had first entered the maze. All they had been doing for all this time was walking round and round in circles. He set eyes on Clara, and scurried across to her on his hands and knees.
‘It seems that there may have been a reason why the people abandoned Cui Palta,’ he said. ‘What say we do the same?’
Clara didn’t need asking twice. Still holding their hankies over their faces, they both got to their feet and ran – back up the stairs, past the temples, until they saw the TARDIS. It was right where they had left it.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, the Doctor pulled out the TARDIS key and held it up.
‘It must have been here all along,’ he said, scrutinising it, as though making extra sure that what he was looking at was indeed really there. ‘And the sonic must have been connected with the TARDIS all along too. That pollen did such a thorough job of clouding our senses that we weren’t able to see it. Except clever old you worked it out, Clara.’
He pushed the key into the TARDIS’s door, then threw the door open. ‘After you,’ he said, as Clara burst through it. Once they were both inside, she slammed the door shut, taking a deep breath as she sank to the floor.
‘Thanks for the relaxing day,’ she said, the glimmer of a smile appearing at the corners of her mouth. ‘I really needed that.’
The Doctor seemed thoughtful, leaning against the central console with his head bent down. ‘All those people, having fun, relaxing … driven away by the visions the flowers created, maybe even driven mad …’ He turned to her and fixed her with a serious look. ‘Clara, I was wrong to not listen to you sooner. It was the maze, doing funn
y things to my judgement … But I really do trust you. I hope you know that.’
Still catching her breath, she reassured him with a smile in return. ‘I do, Doctor. And it’s okay. You can owe me: one proper spa break, to be redeemed any time of my choosing.’
The Doctor laughed. ‘We’ll come back here for a pedicure, shall we?’
‘No thanks!’ Clara replied emphatically. ‘So much for stopping to smell the flowers, eh? I’d find a battle on a planet that’s about to self-destruct from fabric-softener overload more relaxing.’ She thought of Artie and Angie, and how pleased she was that she’d get to see them again – messy habits and all. ‘How about we just go home for a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, yes! And, for the trip home, snacks!’ The Doctor pulled the remaining popcorn from his pockets, looking rather proud of himself. It had by this time melted together into one big, messy toffee-and-popcorn lump, and bits of grey lint fuzzed the outside edges. Clara grimaced. As the Doctor held it out towards her, a tiny yellow flower detached itself from the sticky mess and floated innocently to the floor of the TARDIS.
The two of them watched it land between their feet, then looked at one another.
‘Maybe some biscuits instead …’ the Doctor conceded.
Bill and the Three Jackets
BY DOROTHY KOOMSON
‘I’m telling you, Bill – there are rooms and rooms of jackets in this TARDIS. In fact, I think there’s a whole level devoted to jackets. Jackets created by some of the most important and noteworthy designers of the modern age! Nardole will help you choose one. You do not need to go out there and shop.’ The Doctor navigated the console of the TARDIS, an ever-watchful eye concentrating on one multi-coloured control panel while he talked to Bill Potts.
‘Yeah, but it’s not the same,’ Bill replied. Stood on the other side of the main console, she looked at the readings on the screen in front of her but wasn’t really paying attention. The readings were usually interesting, sure, and if the Doctor asked, she would obviously monitor them. But to Bill, the TARDIS felt alive. The console room was its beating heart. Like there was always someone there with her, looking out for its passengers – even when she was by herself.
