by Doctor Who
The woman shrugged. ‘The walking’s difficult, so the tourists stay clear. Few souls about at any time.’
Martha’s eyes met the Doctor’s. ‘Good place for something to hide?’
Just then there was a crash from the doorway behind them. Martha and the Doctor turned in surprise to find an athletic-looking man in loud-checked trousers, a dark waistcoat and rolled-up shirtsleeves, struggling into the room with a large, battered leather box. Lenses and eyepieces protruded from the thing in his arms as well as various brass levers and handles.
‘May I trouble you for more of your late husband’s insulation tape, Mrs Unswick?’ he asked in slightly accented English. Then he noticed the Doctor and Martha. ‘Oh, please forgive my intrusion.’
‘No intrusion.’ the Doctor assured him.
Mrs Unswick rose from her chair with some difficulty. ‘I’ll just fetch your tape, Monsieur, and let you introduce yourselves.’ So saying, she bustled from the room.
32
The Frenchman gave a small bow, and smiled at the Doctor and Martha – particularly at Martha. ‘Claude Romand, at your service.’
‘I’m the Doctor, this is Martha Jones, and this is a Pathe film camera you’re carrying, isn’t it!’ He grinned. ‘Can I see?’
‘You work for the newsreels yourself?’ Romand looked suddenly guarded. ‘I hope you are not here to – how do the Americans put it –scoop me?’
‘I’m an explorer,’ the Doctor informed him, ‘among other things.’ He took the large box from Romand, staring at it like a boy with a new toy.
‘You’re a journalist, Mr Romand?’ asked Martha.
‘I have been dispatched by News of the Globe in Paris to report on the strange events unfolding here,’ he agreed. ‘Alas, my camera’s refusal to focus is proving stranger than all else.’
‘Well, a precision instrument like this, it’s bound to go out of alignment from time to time. . . ’ The Doctor placed the camera down on the floor with due reverence – and then whacked the back of it with his fist. ‘Try it now.’
Romand stooped to pick up the camera, peered through the eyepiece attached to the side, and moved a sliding lever. ‘You have a magic touch, my dear sir!’ He grinned, set down the camera and embraced the Doctor. Then he turned to Martha hopefully.
She raised her eyebrows at him, and folded her arms.
Sheepishly, Romand turned back to the Doctor. ‘So, Doctor. You are an explorer, yes? Then you have come here because of the Beast of Westmorland, as I have?’
‘Pretty much,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Any sightings yet? Captured anything on film?’
‘No sightings,’ said Romand, more subdued now. ‘But I have visited Kelmore. The destruction there is. . . ’ He broke off, as if groping for the right English words to describe it. But the words did not come.
‘My editor thought these stories a big joke, he sent me here for a light-hearted piece. He does not understand. . . this thing must be found, and captured, and destroyed.’ Abruptly his mood lightened as he turned again to Martha. ‘But forgive me, speaking of such things 33
before a lady. . . ’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Martha told him good-naturedly. ‘What damage was done? What have you seen?’
Romand hesitated. ‘As it happens, I have had some stock developed at the request of the police. Manpower is limited, and they hope that screening my films in public places will provide them with volunteers, yes? And these reels, they are not collected until tomorrow. . . ’
The Doctor brightened. ‘So, you have the reels – do you have a projector?’
‘In my room, dear sir.’
Martha smiled. ‘Then how about we go there right now and you can show us your footage?’
‘Bet you don’t get an offer like that everyday, eh, Monsieur?’ The Doctor grinned. ‘Not even in Paris!’
Mrs Unswick shuffled back into the sitting room with a small black reel. Martha thought the woman looked somehow older now in the firelight. ‘Here’s your tape, Monsieur.’
‘We’re after bigger reels than that, Mrs U!’ cried the Doctor, dropping briefly into an American accent. ‘It’s show time! Movie screening upstairs, in Monsieur Romand’s room. The original home cinema! Do we have any choc-ices? I like choc-ices, the proper ones you get from ice-cream vans. No? Never mind. . . ’ He ushered Romand and Martha through the door. ‘We’ve got lights, we ve got camera – all we need now is action!’
34
Martha slept uneasily that night. The flickering, jerky black-and-white images she’d seen on Romand’s projector screen haunted her thoughts. CNN it wasn’t. Disturbing it was, and big-time.
It was so weird, looking at images that seemed so ancient and yet knowing they had only happened a couple of days ago. The grief, the confusion she’d seen would still be etched on the villagers’ faces. The smashed-in houses, the trampled gardens, the ruined church – and, more likely than not, those monster footprints – would all be visible too.
She checked her watch by the light of the candle on the bedside table. It was after three in the morning, and still she felt wide awake.
That was the problem with TARDIS travel, you never really knew what time it was or when you should be sleeping. Was it jet lag, or time lag, orA sudden banging on the door made her sit bolt upright. She threw on Clara’s clothes and got up. ‘Whatever’s the commotion?’ Mrs Unswick’s weary voice floated up from the hallway downstairs. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Victor Meredith,’ came the familiar voice. ‘I’m afraid it’s an emergency, Mrs Unswick. I’m calling for Miss Jones. . . or the Doctor. . . ’
35
Martha burst out onto the landing – only to find the Doctor was already running down the stairs in his suit, his coat under one arm, cupping the stub of a candle to light his way. She hurried after him.
Mrs Unswick was also still dressed. She opened the door, and Victor stepped inside. He looked pale and flustered in the candlelight, his overcoat thrown on over blue flannel pyjamas.
‘What’s happened?’ the Doctor demanded.
‘Apologies and all that,’ said Victor. ‘It’s a friend of mine, Eddie Lunn
– part of the hunting party – he went missing this evening. We were all worried sick, of course, only now he’s turned up in a bad way. Crack on the head, can’t get any sense out of him. . . ’ He looked at Martha and held up his bad hand, now sporting a sticking plaster. ‘Haleston can’t rouse his own doctor, and given the miracles you worked on my little scratch this afternoon I wondered if you might consider. . . ?’
‘We’d better get going,’ said Martha, leading the way out through the door into the cold night. The Opel’s engine had been left running.
She got into the back seat and the Doctor slid in beside her. Then with a wave to the bewildered Mrs Unswick, they set off at a fast roar for Goldspur.
Soon they were driving through the moonlit gardens and topiaries up to the house. Viewed from the front, it was a huge, forbidding rectangle of stone and ivy. A butler was waiting attentively by the front door. He almost went cross-eyed at the sight of Martha, who simply glared at him as she followed Victor and the Doctor inside.
The entrance hall was just as opulent and draughty as she’d expected, and the fancy spiral staircase that twisted up to the landing was like something off a movie set. The butler, Chivvers, led the three of them into a bedroom lit smokily by oil lamps.
A pale, handsome man lay in the middle of a four-poster with a crooked bandage round his head. There were deep scratches down his face and neck. On one side of him sat a petite woman with ivory skin and blonde hair arranged in a bun, holding his hand. Lord Haleston, dressed formally in a lounge suit, stood by the window, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously.
36
‘It’s good of you to come at this hour, since my own man’s indisposed,’ he said slowly. ‘But we’ll have none of your crank scaremon-gering here, please, Doctor.’
Martha gave him a look. ‘I’ll be examining the
patient,’ she said.
‘Mrs Lunn? Have you cleaned these cuts and abrasions?’
The woman nodded, looking slightly dazed.
‘It hurt him, so I
stopped. I. . . I fear that his mind still suffers.’
‘How is his head?’ She pulled at the crooked bandage round Lunn’s forehead. It fell away to reveal a nasty, purpling swell with a crusted bloody gash in its centre.
‘Told you.’ said Victor. ‘It’s a real sockdologer.’
The Doctor slipped on his chunky glasses and took a closer look at Lunn. ‘I’d say he’s fallen some distance, wouldn’t you, Miss Jones?’
She opened the top button of Lunn’s pyjamas to expose more angry welts. ‘Slid some of the way too, looking at these scrapes.’
‘I knew something was wrong when Teazel came home without him.’ said Mrs Lunn, still out of it, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Teazel is Eddie’s dog, do you see? He never leaves his side.
And yet, the wound on the poor animal’s back. . . ’
‘What kind of wound?’ Martha asked.
‘I’ve never seen a marking like it.’ mumbled Haleston. ‘Eddie came back not half an hour ago.’ Victor went on, ‘clinging to the back of his horse, black and blue, soaking wet, in a terrible state.’
Just then Martha caught a bob of movement from the doorway.
She saw a boy with neatly combed red hair peeping round furtively.
Clearly he wasn’t supposed to be up.
He looked at Martha and mouthed.’
‘Is my father all right?’
‘He will be.’ she mouthed back discreetly.
Looking a little happier, the boy disappeared once more from sight.
Martha started to feel for Mr Lunn’s pulse. Abruptly, he stirred, moaning like a man waking from a bad dream. Then his eyes snapped open; they were a staring, piercing blue. He looked up at Martha and his face twisted into a scowl. ‘Get off me. Keep away from me.’
37
Martha held up her hands and duly backed away. ‘So much for polite society.’
‘Do you remember what happened, Edward?’ said Haleston, crossing to join them around the bed.
Lunn’s face twisted, his breathing became hoarser. ‘Wolvenlath. . . ’
he said. ‘Hunting. . . in Wolvenlath. . . ’
‘Is that where you were tonight, Edward?’ Haleston demanded.
‘The little girl on the hillside.’ Victor remembered. ‘She was pointing the way to Wolvenlath.’
Mrs Lunn looked at him anxiously. ‘An omen?’
‘I saw her.’ Lunn whispered. ‘Pointing. . . ’
‘What else did you see in Wolvenlath, Eddie?’ the Doctor urged him.
‘Can’t remember. . . ’ Lunn put his hand to his head. ‘We must go there. . . Find. . . what attacked me. Something. . . in the forest. . . in the water. . . ’
‘Poor soul’s delusional.’ said Haleston bluntly.
‘He’s survived a deeply traumatic experience,’ said the Doctor, a sharp edge to his voice. ‘That can turn anyone a little crazy for a time, believe me.’
‘It’s possible the crack to his head has given him concussion,’ said Martha, in a more reasonable tone. ‘That can cause memory loss, disorientation. . . ’ She looked at the Doctor and lowered her voice.
‘Are there X-ray machines yet?’
He nodded genially. ‘Getting there.’
‘No X-rays,’ Lunn snapped suddenly.
Martha gave him a funny look. ‘But you may have a fractured skull, in which case –’
‘No X-rays,’ he repeated.
Mrs Lunn looked baffled. ‘X-rays. . . ?’
‘I’ll not submit to that hocus-pocus,’ said Lunn. ‘D’you hear?’
The Doctor shrugged at Martha. ‘As a medical aid, X-rays are in their infancy right now,’ he said quietly. ‘Shock of the new, and all that. . . ’
‘All right.’ Martha sighed. ‘Well, Mr Lunn, you should stay in bed under observation for the next two or three days –’
38
‘Watching me,’ Lunn muttered. ‘Wanting me. . . ’ He stared round wildly. ‘We have to go there, Henry. Hunt this thing. Have to find. . . ’
‘Yes?’ The Doctor leaned forwards. ‘What do we have to find?’
‘Patient’s getting agitated, Doctor. . . ’ Martha placed her hands on Lunn’s shoulders and eased him back down into a lying position. ‘Try to rest, now.’
As she spoke, a massive, muscular Mastiff trotted in, its short tail wagging, and sat by his master’s side. Lunn saw his dog and at once he calmed, reached out a hand to pat its head, started to breathe more deeply.
‘That’s better,’ Martha murmured.
‘The trusty Teazel, I presume.’ The Doctor reached down to fuss the Mastiff’s dark ears – and then frowned at the huge welt that had risen on the dog’s back. The skin had blackened the fawn-coloured fur around it, and the wound was starting to fester. ‘Looks like. . . a sting of some kind.’
Haleston harrumphed. ‘I’d like to know what on Earth could sting like that.’
The Doctor looked at him. ‘You wouldn’t.’
Martha turned quickly to Victor. ‘We’ll need some more warm water and a soft cloth to finish cleaning up those abrasions, and the dog’s wound too.’
Victor looked out of his depth almost at once. ‘You’re asking me?’
‘Tell Chivvers,’ said Haleston, ‘he’ll fetch them.’
Suddenly, Teazel started barking and sniffing at the Doctor’s coat pocket.
Martha frowned. ‘Got a Scooby snack in there?’
The Doctor patted his pocket and frowned. ‘P’raps we should be off.’ He jumped up from the bed and headed to the door with Victor.
‘It’s late, we’re tired. . . ’
‘And tomorrow, the hunt is on,’ said Haleston.
The Doctor paused. ‘You’re going to Wolvenlath?’
‘Naturally, we are,’ said Victor. ‘You can see the state Eddie’s in. This thing is a menace. It has to be stopped.’ Haleston nodded. ‘We dare not rest until the brute lies dead beside its fellow.’
39
The Doctor rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘But, your grace, you don’t stand a chance!’
At that, Mrs Lunn burst out into helpless sobs, and Teazel barked at the Doctor. Martha wasn’t convinced that the dog’s bark was worse than his bite. ‘Time to go?’ she suggested.
‘I dare say we’re all a little tired and edgy,’ Victor said tactfully. ‘I’ll drive you both back. Thanks awfully for coming here.’
‘Sorry there wasn’t more we could do,’ said Martha. ‘Without an X-ray –’
‘No X-rays,’ Lunn muttered, exhausted.
Martha shrugged. ‘If you like, I could check on him again tomorrow.’
‘Dr Fenchurch will be here in the morning,’ Haleston informed her.
‘Thank you all the same, my dear. Good night to you.’
She nodded. Teazel’s low growl was all the encouragement she needed to follow the Doctor and Victor from the room. And as Martha went out onto the darkened landing she saw the boy again, hovering in the shadows. She gave him a thumbs-up. He held up his own thumb and smiled before vanishing into the shadow. ‘Does Mr Lunn have a son?’ she asked casually as they went downstairs.
‘Young lad named Ian,’ Victor told her. ‘Good little urchin. Thirteen or so. Eddie’s been so busy of late, agreed to let him come so they could spend a little time together. . . ’ He broke off and sighed. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just creep to the kitchens and chivvy Chivvers along with the first aid essentials. Back in a jiff to play chauffeur.’ He walked quickly away, his heels ringing out on the wooden floorboards.
‘Funny, you know,’ said the Doctor. ‘I normally get on very well with dogs.’
‘Did the Zygons make that mark on him?’ asked Martha quietly.
‘They can sting.’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Sting to stun, maim or kill.
And y�
��know, that’s why I think Teazel was barking at me back there
– he was taking exception to this.’ He pulled from his coat pocket a gnarled orange growth. ‘He must have recognised the smell. I would say that the same hands that stung Teazel made this. Not literally the same hands – although, you never know. . . ’
40
‘Where did you get that?’ Martha turned up her nose. ‘It looks like. . . a poo.’
‘Organic technology,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s a kind of homing device, not so much made as grown. Tasty bit of kit – well, tasty to Skarasens, anyway. Sends out a signal that says “Eat me, eat me. . . "’
‘I get it,’ said Martha. ‘So if the Zygons have got something they want mashed, they set off the signal and let their pet monster slip the leash?’
‘A Skarasen would tear through anything to get to this.’ The Doctor pondered the wizened lump. ‘I sneaked this one from out of the teeth of that corpse by the lake.’
‘I wondered why you shoved your hand in your pocket after poking about in its mouth.’ She looked at him doubtfully. ‘So why’d you take it? Souvenir?’
There was a cheeky glint in his eyes. ‘Just trying to get on the enemy’s wavelength. . . ’
41
Haleston satstiffly in thechair by thewindow, watchingthe sunrise.
A shaft of bright, peachy light was already warming the room, motes of dust swarming there like flies. The dark corners of the house would slowly lighten. Soon he would hear clanking from the kitchens, the first thump of the house’s heartbeat as morning brought it back to life.
He cast an envious look at the mound of starched nightwear and eiderdown that was his sleeping wife. She had snored on, oblivious to Lunn’s return, while he hadn’t been able to sleep a wink since. He’d written up his journal, although committing the day’s strange events to paper had brought him no peace.
