Doctor Who: The Clockwise Man

by Richards, Justin

  'I'm Rose. This is the Doctor.'

  'Hi,' the Doctor said, slumping himself down where the cat had been. 'We're told you're the man to ask about a room for the night. Maybe two nights.'

  Wyse laughed. 'Nothing much to do with me, but I can put in a word if you think it will help. I've been here longer than anyone else, so when Mr Pooter's away they listen to me. I'll tell Crowther to make up a couple of rooms. Have to be on the third floor, mind. Pretty full at the moment, and we're not terribly big really, you know.'

  'Mr Pooter,' Aske said, 'is the gentleman who endowed the club originally. It is run by a board of trustees that meets regularly. Mr Pooter is the chairman of that board.'

  'Not here now, though,' Wyse said. 'He lives on the fourth floor, top of the building, and he likes his privacy. Bit of a recluse, I think. When he's not travelling. Likes his own company.'

  'Yeah, don't we all,' the Doctor agreed.

  'You all right, Repple?' Wyse asked, leaning forwards. Repple was sitting in the armchair opposite with his eyes closed. They opened slowly at Wyse's words, and he stared back at the other man.

  'I have had a busy day,' he said. 'It's late.' His eyes closed again, and his head slipped to one side.

  'Yes, you're looking a bit run down,' Wyse decided. 'I'll give him a hand getting to his room.'

  'There's no need,' Aske said quickly.

  'Oh, no trouble. You stay and talk to your friends here. I'll have Crowther let you know where their rooms are soon as they're ready.'

  'Thanks.' Rose smiled at the man as he got up, and he grinned back.

  He made a futile attempt to smooth down his hair. 'Goodnight to you then.' Wyse tapped Repple gently on the knee, and the eyes opened again. 'Come along, time to turn in, I think.'

  Repple nodded, and Aske helped him up out of the chair. 'My apologies, Doctor, Miss Tyler,' Repple said. 'I just need some sleep. I shall see you perhaps for breakfast.'

  Aske made to help Repple, but Wyse waved him away. 'It's no trouble.' He helped Repple across the room. The cat watched their progress all the way to the door, then it sprang to its feet and ran after them.

  The Doctor was leaning forward, chin on his hands and elbows on his knees, looking at the chess game.

  'Who's winning?' Rose asked.

  'Since he is playing against himself, Wyse is winning.' He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. 'Interesting.'

  'Is he any good?'

  'I'd say so.' The Doctor nodded, then turned towards Aske. 'Nice of you to bring us here.' He stood up abruptly and turned a full circle, inspecting the room before sitting down again. 'Yes, very nice indeed.'

  'Is Repple all right?' Rose asked.

  'He gets tired,' Aske said. 'Part of his condition, I'm afraid.'

  The Doctor frowned. 'Condition?'

  Aske nodded. He was looking pale and drained. 'I'm not sure quite how to explain, but I have a confession to make to you both. I'm afraid that things are not quite as they seem.'

  The Doctor was fully attentive now, eyes focused sharply on Aske. 'Things are never quite as they seem.'

  'Is this about Repple's condition?' Rose wondered.

  Aske nodded. 'Tell me,' he said, fixing each of them in turn with his gaze, 'has either of you ever actually heard of Dastaria?'

  'No,' Rose admitted. 'But I'm rubbish at geography.'

  'I'm rather good at it,' the Doctor retorted. 'But no. No, I haven't.'

  This was obviously the answer Aske had expected. 'You have never heard of it, because there is no such place.'

  'Playing his cards close to his chest, is he?' the Doctor said.

  'You mean he didn't want us to know exactly where he is in exile from?' Rose said. If there really were assassins after him, then he would hardly advertise his presence, but why would he lie to the people who were supposed to be helping him?

  Aske was still looking serious, it is more complicated than that.'

  The Doctor nodded. 'Tell us, Major.'

  Aske sighed. 'It isn't Major. In fact, like you, I am something of a doctor. I dabble in the new sciences of the mind, though I cannot pretend to be anything of an expert. I am no more a soldier than my friend Edward Repple is an exiled ruler.'

  It took Rose a moment to work out what he was talking about. 'Hang on – are you saying he's not what he claims at all? He's going round saying he's ruler of this place that doesn't exist, what, to get freebie dinners and stuff?'

  The Doctor was shaking his head, i think poor Repple doesn't know he's lying. Is that right?'

  Aske nodded sadly. 'I thought it was a game at first. But it became so compulsive.' He sighed. 'I had better start at the beginning. You see, my friend was in a pageant, a show. Part of the Empire celebrations last year before the exhibition was opened. There was a parade, and he was playing the part of the Elector of Dastaria – a fictitious role, one he and I invented together for the occasion. I was his aide-de-camp, a major in the Dastarian army.'

  Aske got to his feet, pacing up and down in front of the sofa, his shadow crossing and recrossing the half-played chess game, one hand in his jacket pocket. 'It was a hot day. We were there, in the full sun for hours. Repple fainted. That was all, or so I thought. But when he came round. . . Perhaps it was the fall from the horse, I don't know. In fact, this interest of mine in the science of the mind, it stems from that moment.' His eyes were moist as he looked at Rose, as if begging her to understand.

  'His fiction became his reality' the Doctor said.

  'Yes. As I say, I thought he was playing the fool, having a joke with us. But no, he really believed – and still believes – himself to be the Elector of Dastaria. He has somehow rationalised the fact that he is in London and not ruling his country by assuming he has been deposed and is preparing to return in glory.'

  'To a country that doesn't even exist,' Rose said. It was sad.

  'And you haven't told him the truth?'

  Aske gave a short bark of laughter, though it was empty of mirth. 'Oh, I have tried, Doctor. I have spent many hours trying to talk him out of this delusion. But without success. I thought it would be difficult to play along, but I have to confess it has been very easy, once I accepted we would have to move away from everything he knows, or rather knew.' He sighed. 'The trustees were happy to allow us rooms here, and Wyse has been most eloquent on our behalf. Both Repple and I have modest private incomes that more than cover the costs.'

  'And you get invited to parties,' Rose added.

  Aske looked embarrassed. 'Yes. Well. The evening was a little more complicated than I had expected. It seems that Sir George had already spoken with Repple about this Russian business. I knew nothing about it until tonight and Repple was already offering to help. Offering help he cannot give.'

  'And that's what you wanted to talk to Sir George about,' Rose realised.

  'You tell him everything?' the Doctor wondered.

  'To my shame, no,' Aske confessed. 'J warned him merely that Repple's support in Dastaria is nowhere near as great as he hopes and expects and believes. That it is very unlikely he will be able to offer any material help at all. Sir George was disappointed, of course. But I'm afraid he still expects too much.'

  'I wouldn't worry about that,' the Doctor reassured him. 'Chances of Sir George's little adventure getting to the point where he'd want Repple's help must be slim to nothing.'

  'Yeah, no hope,' Rose agreed.

  Aske seemed to brighten at this. 'You think so?'

  'Don't worry about Sir George.'

  Further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a tall man with thinning grey hair. He stood in the doorway and coughed artificially.

  'Ah, Crowther,' Aske said. 'I gather you are sorting out rooms for our new guests.'

  Crowther's voice was abrupt and brittle. 'The rooms are ready. I shall be happy to show you to them.'

  'Ta,' the Doctor said. 'And thank you,' he said to Aske.

  'The least I could do.' He shuffled anxiously. 'Doctor, I have told
few other people about this. You will. . .'

  'Mum's the word,' the Doctor assured him.

  Their rooms were next to each other, with a small lounge between that was reached from either room by a connecting door. Each had a small bathroom en suite, which the Doctor murmured was as unusual as it was welcome. The rooms reminded Rose of what you might get in a posh country-house hotel. Not that she had ever been to such a place, but the four-poster bed and the worn leather furniture reeked of expense and comfort. She had not realised how tired she was until she saw the bed.

  Crowther showed them through the rooms, then handed them each a key. 'Just one thing, sir and madam,' he said in his dry voice.

  'Just one?' The Doctor smiled.

  Crowther ignored this. 'Mr Pooter's rooms are directly above you. I would request that you make as little unnecessary noise as possible.'

  'I thought Mr Pooter was away,' Rose said.

  'Indeed. But he often returns at very short notice or unexpectedly. We have a trustees' meeting coming up shortly.'

  'No wild parties, Rose,' the Doctor warned. 'No raves or binges or barn-dancing.'

  'And of course, you will respect his privacy.'

  'Of course,' Rose said. She was finding the man more than a little creepy and wished he'd just leave them. 'I thought he'd never go,' she whispered as soon as Crowther had left the Doctor's room.

  'Never is a very long time,' the Doctor said.

  They both flinched at the knock at the door.

  'I think he heard you,' Rose said.

  The Doctor raised his eyebrows, not convinced. He strode across the room and opened the door. Repple was standing there, and the Doctor motioned for him to come in. The black cat slipped in behind him, before the Doctor could close the door. It stretched out on the floor inside the door and watched them.

  The Doctor shrugged, and left the door open. 'Feeling better?' he asked.

  'I had to speak to you,' Repple said. He looked round, as if checking there were only the three of them there. 'Even now he may be listening. Somewhere, somehow. I pretended to be tired, so as to get away, just for a few minutes.'

  'From Major Aske?'

  Repple nodded. 'I'm sorry,' he said, looking from the Doctor to Rose, 'but I have not been entirely honest with you.'

  'There's a thing,' Rose muttered.

  'You mean,' the Doctor said brightly, 'you're not actually the rightful leader of Dastaria?'

  Repple stared at them, his expression not changing. He seemed about to speak, but then there was a sound from outside. A gentle thud – like the wind blowing a window shut, or a door closing distantly on another floor. Or a furtive footfall.

  'I misled you in some details,' Repple said quietly, glancing again over his shoulder. 'I am not the Elector of Dastaria, exiled and even now planning my glorious return to power.'

  The Doctor looked at Rose and raised an eyebrow in an 'I told you so' way.

  'What?' she retorted.

  Repple seemed not to notice. 'I cannot begin to plan my return, glorious or otherwise. You see, the truth is, I am a prisoner in all but name.'

  'Hang about,' Rose said. Are you the ruler of this place or not?'

  'I am. But as you know, I was deposed in an illegal coup. The rebels seized power without any warning or legitimacy. And one day I shall reclaim my title. But first, I must escape.'

  'Escape?'

  'From him. From Aske – my jailer.'

  Ah.' The Doctor made it sound as if everything was now clear, but he mouthed 'Eh?!' at Rose.

  Repple turned away. 'He watches me all the time. Only occasionally, like now, can I slip away for a few moments. But I must get back, before he becomes suspicious. I can plan nothing, talk to no one without him knowing. And if I step out of line for a moment, if he even begins to think I have violated the terms of my exile. . .' He shook his head at the thought. 'The man is a fanatic.'

  'Yes,' the Doctor said slowly, 'I'm sure.'

  'But what can he do?' Rose demanded.

  'You have noticed how he stands?' Repple demonstrated, mimicking Aske's distinctive posture – one hand tucked into his jacket pocket. 'A knife or a small pistol is never far away. I can take no chances. Not for myself, you understand. I do not fear death.' He looked from Rose to the Doctor. 'I fear for my people. Those left behind in the country that despite everything still flies our flag.'

  'Course you do,' the Doctor said, clapping his arm round Repple's shoulder. 'So, what's the flag of Dastaria look like?'

  Was he trying to catch the man out, Rose wondered? If so, it did not seem to work. Repple answered immediately. 'It is a white triangle emblazoned on a background of the night sky. And one day soon, despite what Aske and those he answers to might think, I shall return in glory at the head of an army that marches under that flag. For freedom. For Dastaria.' He stepped away from the Doctor, regarded him for a moment, then enfolded him in an embrace. Rose stepped quickly out of range. But Repple made no attempt to give her the same treatment. Instead he clicked his heels together and bowed in her direction. 'There is a degree of honour in you both,' he said. 'I know I can count on you.'

  Then, with a curt nod, he turned and walked from the room.

  The cat turned lazily without getting up and watched him go. Then it turned back towards Rose, and she gasped as she noticed its neck. A white triangle on its black fur.

  'Doctor – look. The markings on the cat.'

  'Yeah. Could be a coincidence.'

  'Or,' Rose said, completing both their thoughts, 'could be that's where he got the idea for the design of the flag. If he's making it up.'

  'Trouble is,' the Doctor said, 'it could be where he got it even if he's not making it up. A subconscious image.'

  'Is he lying? And if he is, does he know it?'

  'And if he isn't, why is Aske lying?' The Doctor tapped his index finger against his teeth. 'Curiouser and curiouser. Know what we need?'

  Rose nodded. A good night's sleep followed by a hearty breakfast.'

  'Spot on. See you in the morning.' He nodded at their feline visitor, still stretched out on the carpet. And knowing what curiosity did. . .'

  Rose grinned. 'Yes, you'd better put the cat out.'

  FOUR

  The view from the Doctor's window was of an icy morning in London. If he leaned out, breathing in the crisp air, he could see the Palace of Westminster. He could not actually see the icicles hanging from the clock face of Big Ben, as the clock tower at the Houses of Parliament was popularly called. But he could imagine them – slivers of frozen glass, glistening in the early light as the first drips thawed and rolled and fell from the ends.

  Beside the Palace of Westminster was the calm, gun-metal-grey surface of the Thames. He noted the position where the Millennium Wheel was conspicuous by its absence, and smiled at his memories of what was yet to come. Apart from the wheel, the general shape of the skyline would not change that much. Lower down it would – among the glass and concrete and neon that was not yet built. But the general impression of London, what made it instantly recognisable, was already set. With the addition of Tower Bridge, the image was complete. It had been there less than thirty-five years, yet already the bridge was a timeless emblem of the city. Like Big Ben, which had itself been there less than a century. Iconic and distinctive.

  Anyone looking up from the street below would see the Doctor's head and shoulders emerging from his window. His chin was resting in his hands, elbows on the wide sill. The eyes were ever alert, flicking to and fro, taking in every last detail. One might imagine, looking up and discovering him there, that the Doctor had been like this all night. Frozen like an icicle, staring out and thinking. And perhaps he had.

  But now he moved. Straightening up and withdrawing inside, the Doctor blew on his pale, cold hands and rubbed them vigorously together. It was morning, he could hear the distant sounds of the docks and the clatter of traffic in the street. London was waking, even if Rose was not. It was time to get started, time to get some a
nswers, time for breakfast.

  The first Rose knew of morning was when the door opened. She grunted something incoherent as she disentangled her head from the heavy blankets and sheet. It was meant to be 'Go away', but evidently it hadn't come out like that as someone had come into the room.

  Rose grabbed the blankets and pulled them up again, retreating. They seemed to separate and go everywhere – didn't they have duvets? Her gran used to call a duvet a 'continental quilt' so maybe convenience bedlinen had only got as far as France. She peeped over the sheet, and saw that there was a girl of about her own age or younger standing in the doorway. She had a bob of dark hair and a round face with a dot of a nose and wide brown eyes. She was wearing a dark uniform with a white apron.

  'Oh, I do beg your pardon, miss.' The girl curtsied awkwardly, as embarrassed as Rose was. 'The gentleman said it was all right to make up the beds and do the rooms, I didn't realise you was still asleep.'

  'I wasn't,' Rose lied. 'Come in, it's fine,' she decided. Trust the Doctor to get the maid to wake her. Or maybe he'd just forgotten she existed. Typical.

  'I couldn't do that.' The girl looked pale at the thought.

  'Don't be daft. It's time I got up.'

  The girl's name was Beth, and once she had got over the embarrassment she was quite chatty. Rose bombarded her with questions about the Imperial Club, but learned little more than she already knew. Getting dressed in her one and only set of clothes, Rose asked about where to go shopping for more. She hoped the Doctor had some cash that worked here – she couldn't see any of the rather staid-sounding shops that Beth suggested taking Galactic Express Gold Card or whatever.

  'How long have you worked here?' Rose wondered, sitting on the newly made bed and swinging her legs so that her pale-green dress seemed to blow out around her.

  'Oh, I've been in service for five years now.'

  'Five years?' She must be older than she looked, Rose thought. But she was wrong.

  'Yes, I started at Lord and Lady Hutchinson's when I was fourteen. Had a poky little room under the eaves. This time of year it was perishing, it was.'