by Doctor Who
‘The Prime Minister. . . my colleagues, my friends. . . ’ Haleston sank to his knees with dreadful realisation, wincing as the Zygon claws dug in harder. ‘You want to use me to get to them?’
‘Or the likeness of you, anyway. That’s why they needed you from the start, to reel in old Asquith and company.’ Suddenly, the Doctor appeared between two skeletal elms. ‘Abduction, death, manipulation, deceit. Just your typical Zygon Saturday night.’
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‘We have already taken Haleston’s dwelling.’ hissed Brelarn. ‘It will become a Zygon stronghold, a place where we may learn your ludicrous social rituals and study the leaders we will replace. Our imposture will be noticed by none. . . until it is too late.’
Why is it only talking? thought Haleston. Why not attack the Doctor now. . . ?
Then he saw what the Zygon must have seen. The same little girl he’d seen through his telescope that morning – a slight, sinister figure creeping up behind the Doctor in the thin lick of moonlight. The Zygons’ familiar, he realised, and opened his mouth to shout a warning.
Too late. The girl thrust her hand out to the Doctor’s back, and he gasped with pain, staggered and fell out of sight amid much crashing of foliage. The girl followed him.
‘Excellent, my child.’ Brelarn hissed, striding after them. ‘But do not kill him. His ingenuity may yet –’
The Zygon Warlord broke off, held still. The crashing in the foliage was growing louder. For a split second Haleston felt a tremble in the cold, damp ground beneath his knees.
Then a charging bull burst between the two elms and into the little clearing. Huge head lowered, it butted Brelarn aside into one of his aides. More cattle trampled into the clearing, their hooves cracking over sticks and Zygon limbs alike. One of Haleston’s guards lunged forwards, arm outstretched to sting the nearest. Haleston threw himself forwards, broke free of the grip of his remaining guard and struggled away. The madness continued as a horse came galloping into the clearing. It reared up, and Haleston ducked its flailing legs. A Zygon wasn’t so lucky – an iron-shod hoof cracked into its skull and it staggered backwards into the forest’s shadows.
Haleston ducked beneath a branch and ran desperately through the undergrowth, tearing through bracken, stumbling over rotting logs.
He couldn’t allow himself to be recaptured, but where was he? Where in God’s name could he find safety-?
‘This way, your lordship,’ came a hoarse whisper, close by.
There was no mistaking the French accent. Romand was standing just behind him.
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‘Keep away,’ Haleston hissed, staring into the man’s dark eyes. ‘I won’t be part of your filthy plans, d’you hear?’
He made to run again, but a Zygon had emerged from the wooded shadows, blocking his retreat.
Romand knocked Haleston to the ground with a kick to the back of his knees. ‘I have him,’ he told the Zygon coldly. ‘He will not escape a second time, I’ll see to that. Now, quickly – find the Doctor.’
The Zygon hissed its understanding and lumbered away. Haleston stared up at Romand with hatred.
Then, to his surprise, the Frenchman puffed out his cheeks and gave a low whistle. ‘Happily it seems I have fooled you both, no?’
he murmured, helping Haleston to his feet. ‘I am the real Claude Romand. I was, how do you say. . . ambushed by these creatures as I drove along the road this afternoon.’
Haleston heaved a shaky sigh of relief. ‘Yes, they got me in much the same way.’
‘Then let us vow they shall get us no more!’ Romand clapped Haleston on the back. ‘Please. Come with me to a place of safety, yes?’
Haleston allowed himself to be led away through the murky forest and out onto landscaped lawns. He recognised the toothy silhouette of the half-ruined Kelmore Manor against the starry sky, as Romand steered him towards a red-brick cottage. As they got closer, Haleston found his fellow survivors had got there ahead of him. Sir Albert Morton, back from the dead, was clutching his sobbing wife in a tight embrace. A battered-looking Edward Lunn clung to his wife, darling Cynthia, and the pair were joined by the stalwart Teazel, panting happily at his master’s feet. Mrs Unswick, from the Lodge, was slumped on the ground with a bottle of smelling salts. And there was the Doctor, lifting the young girl who’d sham-attacked him from the back of a large, black horse.
‘Claude! Lord Haleston, there you are!’ The Doctor gave them a beaming grin and started gabbling nineteen to the dozen. ‘Glad you could make it. As you can see, touching little reunion here – turns out it was Sir Albert’s Zygon double who was killed in the Skarasen’s spree, while the real McCoy slept through the whole thing. He and 144
his wife plan to celebrate by spending the rest of the night in the manor’s wine cellars looking after young Molly, Mrs U, Mr Lunn and the charming Cynthia here – out of sight and hopefully out of reach, but with Teazel to protect them on the off-chance.’ He looked wistful for a moment, staring into space. ‘So, no need to crack open a bottle of the 1811 Riesling just yet, though it would certainly knock out the nerves with style. . . ’
‘I can’t stay cosseted here,’ said Lunn, starting forward a little un-steadily. ‘I want to help.’
Cynthia placed an anxious hand on his shoulder. ‘You barely managed the journey through the forest, my love.’
‘Our son could be at the mercy of those monsters.’ His voice was hoarse with pain. ‘I can’t stand back and do nothing.’
‘You’ll be doing nothing ever again if you don’t try to rest,’ the Doctor told him. ‘I’ll see that Ian’s all right.’
‘And I’ll feel better with another man about the place!’ called Mrs U, the faintest sparkle returning to her eyes.
‘Lord Haleston, what news on the Beast of Westmorland?’ asked the Doctor.
‘But that’s been taken care of, you. . . ’ Haleston felt suddenly sick.
‘Of course, I was forgetting. It wasn’t you at all, was it?’
‘No. It wasn’t.’ The Doctor looked grave. ‘Has the Skarasen been secured?’
Haleston nodded. ‘Tranquilised, chained up and half-buried on the lakeshore at Templewell.’
‘Tranquilised, eh?’ The Doctor considered the news. ‘My little device worked then. Brilliant! Terrific! Not to mention, absolutely dis-astrous.’ He scowled. ‘With the Skarasen asleep they can operate to restore its control matrix, bring it back under their control. . . ’
‘Operate?’ Romand broke in. ‘Surely the attempt on King Edward’s life will be their priority?’
‘These Zygon creatures are mad,’ said Haleston bitterly. ‘To embark on such a scheme. . . they must be mad!’
‘Mad? No. Desperate, maybe. Shrewd. . . ’ The Doctor nodded vigorously. ‘Yeah, shrewd’s the word. Take over the Cabinet and you 145
wield real political control in Britain. Nobble the leaders of a dozen more countries at a very big and very posh function, and you stand to take control of most of Europe. Though conquest’s just a means to an end in this case. With a tip-top Skarasen and a long-term supply of lactic fluid secured, they’ll be set to put the peoples of the world on a programme of climate change and environmental engineering, turn this world into a Zygon paradise.’
‘But what you talk of, Doctor. . . ’ Romand looked bemused. ‘Surely, it is fantasy. . . a fiction?’
The Doctor looked at him gravely. ‘If only it was. You humans have already started the climate changes yourselves. . . ’ Suddenly he clapped his hands together, jolting himself back into manic action.
‘And what of my plans, you may well ask, now I’ve effected two very daring escapes, coaxed out the enemy’s plans and temporarily trau-matised a small army of kidnapped farmyard animals? Well, in the first place – Martha.’
‘I last saw her at Templewell while we were subduing the Beast,’
said Haleston. ‘She. . . I’m afraid she was in the company of your doppelganger when I left her.’
‘Then she escape
d from the Lodge. . . ’ The Doctor frowned. ‘I don’t know what happened to Felic, but if he did dupe Martha, chances are she’s been taken back there.’
‘Or to Goldspur,’ Romand reasoned.
‘We’ll look at the Lodge first, it’s closest,’ the Doctor announced. ‘I need to find her before Brelarn gets any clever ideas about using her against me.’
‘I pray we are in time to aid Miss Jones, of course,’ said Haleston solemnly. ‘But what of the King? He will be arriving at Stormsby tomorrow. He must be warned of this plot.’
‘Can you contact him by wire?’ asked Lunn.
‘For any remote communication I require the proper codes and pass-words,’ Haleston explained. ‘They were changed recently; I have them recorded in my journal at Goldspur, but. . . ’
That means the Zygons most probably have them too,’ said the Doctor. They’ve been snooping through your papers.’
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‘Then I must go to His Majesty in person!’ Haleston declared, staring out towards Stormsby. ‘It’s a twelve-mile ride from here. . . ’
But the Doctor shook his head. ‘Your grace, you’re the Zygons’
trump card. Brelarn will be watching out for you.’
Then we ride in force, together.’ Lunn threw up his arms. ‘Damn it all, man, we can’t let –’
‘Look,’ the Doctor cut in, ‘no offence, I’m sure he’s a lovely king, in fact, he is a lovely king. If you like kings. . . Anyway, we haven’t got the time to trek over to Stormsby and warn him right now. The Zygons are most likely healing the Skarasen as we speak, and if they succeed, old Edward won’t be safe anywhere – believe me.’ He frowned. ‘No.
No, we’ve got to stop this danger at source.’
Romand raised an eyebrow. ‘What would you suggest, Doctor?’
‘Oh, I dunno, I’ll think of something.’ He suddenly smiled. ‘While there are stout-hearted men with rested horses and a ridiculous op-timism that good will prevail, all is not lost!’ The Doctor threw an arm round their shoulders and steered them away towards the stables. ‘We must get to the Lodge. Allons-y, gentlemen – we’ve got a world to save!’
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Martha had encountered several alien creatures in her time, and was no stranger to their evil agendas. Yet the Zygons were the first monsters she’d met who forced their prisoners into playing cards.
It was a surreal situation. The ladies of the house, even the maids, were sat miserably in the drawing room playing games like Bridge and Bezique and Bid Whist, while Zygons stood about, watching in silence. One or two of the creatures were slumped against the wall.
Either the ridiculous rules had sapped their will to live or they were suffering badly from the rationing. Martha only wished a few more would keel over – that way, they might just stand a chance of escaping this madness.
Martha’s ignorance of card games had left her to endure a different role-play with Ian and Victor – that of taking a make-believe afternoon tea. She was on slippery ground there, too, but Victor was proving knowledgeable and she was trying to nod in all the right places. Ian just sat there, staring sullenly into space.
‘So you see,’ Victor was explaining to their impassive Zygon observer, ‘if one is drinking tea while seated at a table, the proper manner is to raise only the teacup, placing it back into the saucer between sips. However, if one is attending a buffet. . . ’
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Suddenly the Zygon reacted, but not to Victor’s words. Martha saw it was holding some kind of device in its clawed hand. It retired to the double doors and held it to the side of its oversized head.
‘This is lunacy,’ muttered Victor. ‘Teaching monsters to drink tea?’
‘Suppose it’s not enough just to look like someone in this day and age,’ Martha reflected. ‘Think about it, everything’s about manners and etiquette. The people they’ve chosen to impersonate so far have been shunning the social scene.’
Ian nodded. ‘Like my mother, always in her room.’
‘And your father, on his sickbed,’ said Victor.
‘Right,’ Martha agreed. ‘They must have been observing people like the Doctor and Mrs Unswick to get the gist of their characters, but they’re not high society. Now the Zygons must be setting their sights on people who are, and they’ll stand out like sore thumbs unless they can pick up some of the social graces.’
‘It’s the Prime Minister and his Cabinet they’re after,’ said Ian quietly. ‘Must be. Victor and I found a telegram inviting them here. My mother. . . ’ He broke off. ‘The thing pretending to be my mother must have sent it.’
‘Probably took the contact details from Lord Haleston’s diary,’
Martha realised. ‘Makes sense, Entertain the Cabinet, get them nice and relaxed and off guard, then steal their bodies. . . ’ She saw how upset Ian looked and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Look, at least you know for sure your mum’s alive, and your dad too.’ She glanced at Victor. ‘Even Teazel. The Doctor told me the Zygons need to update their body prints every so often or they can’t stay in disguise.’ Martha sighed. ‘I only hope that means they’ve had to keep him alive too.’
Now it was Ian’s turn to squeeze her hand, and she smiled.
‘I wonder why I’m not permitted to mingle with the chaps in the dining hall?’ Victor wondered. ‘Ever since that hell-hound sent me to sleep, they’ve kept me in here with the ladies.’
‘Don’t forget they’ve got hidden bugs all over the place.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Perhaps you have a reputation.’ Victor blushed. ‘Miss Jones, please. . . ’
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The Zygon by the double doors lowered the device from his ears and marched over to another observing the card games. ‘Algor reports that repairs to the Skarasen are being undertaken by Taro,’ it reported.
‘The operation should take only hours to complete. And once a fresh supply of lactic fluid is secured, we have permission to consume all emergency rations.’
At this, one of the slumping Zygons seemed to revive. ‘When will the next batch be sent?’
‘It will be sent at oh-five-hundred hours,’ hissed the Zygon in the know.
‘We shall feast,’ rumbled another of the creatures.
‘Er, excuse me?’ Martha called. ‘We could use some extra rations too. It’s close to eleven, been a long time since that rotten breakfast your friend cooked me. . . ’
The Zygon lumbered towards her, its dark eyes bright as berries.
‘When the carriage has delivered our food,’ it hissed, ‘it will take un-necessary humans to be stored in our ship.’
Martha tried to look unbothered. ‘And then you’ll get busy replicating, yeah? Ready for the big Zygon dress rehearsal.’
Suddenly, the double doors opened, and two Zygon guards led Chisholm inside. ‘Do not speak,’ one of them warned him. ‘Or the females will be damaged.’
Several of the ladies burst into tears. ‘Howard,’ Lady Chisholm sobbed. ‘Oh, Howard, please don’t let them hurt us. . . ’
Chisholm stared dismally round the room, but said nothing. His moustache was all-consuming, but it was a fair bet there was a stiff upper lip somewhere beneath it.
‘They are unharmed,’ the Zygon went on. ‘But if you do not serve us, they shall be destroyed.’
The two Zygons led him from the room and closed the door.
‘Making their point before our taxi-carriage arrives,’ Martha supposed. ‘Now we know why you’re in with us, Victor. You’re the only single man here. They must think some tame humans might be a useful social support to them –’
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‘So they bag them by threatening their wives.’ Victor scowled. ‘Ani-mals.’
‘And once they’ve fed and got their strength back,’ said Ian gloomily,
‘we won’t stand a chance of getting away.’
‘What chance would you say we stood now?’ Victor gestured around them. ‘The doors are guarded and they’ve locked all the windows.’
&nb
sp; Ian shook his head a faction. ‘The lock doesn’t work properly on one of the patio doors,’ he whispered. ‘If you shake the handle in just the right way, it ought to open.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Victor frowned. ‘And how would you know that, urchin?’
‘Something I discovered yesterday while sneaking in to avoid the wrath of Nanny,’ Ian confessed.
‘Well, God bless Nanny’s ire and your inquisitive nature,’ said Victor.
He looked at Martha. ‘We’re in with a chance, Miss Jones.’
‘Perhaps we are.’ Martha looked furtively round at the sheer volume of Zygon guards. ‘We’ve had afternoon tea. Time for something more substantial. . . ’
Bent forward in the saddle, his heels pressed hard to Arthur’s flanks, the Doctor was on the ride of his life. The wind howled in his ears and teased tears from his eyes as the horse shot like a dark arrow across the moonlit fields and lanes. Romand was following on Mrs Unswick’s gelding, while Haleston rode to the rear on a stallion borrowed from Sir Albert’s stables.
Occasionally they passed resting cattle and staring sheep, and gave them a wide berth. The Doctor thought crossly of the way the Zygon had appeared apparently from nowhere when he’d first summoned the Skarasen, the way he’d blithely burbled out his plans to Daisy the Zygon Cow up on Kelmore Hill. . .
‘You idiot.’ he told himself.
He supposed that if you were on reduced rations, taking the form of a mute herd animal was a good way to conserve precious energy.
Always out and about, you could observe the local customs, gain intelligence, set up communications relays and supply dumps; build a 152
secret infrastructure that allowed you to operate in plain view of your enemies, without them raising an eyebrow.
He’d forgotten how cunning Zygons could be.
The Doctor pulled up on Arthur’s reins, straightened in the saddle to slow down his steed as they rounded a copse of trees. He wiped his eyes and stared about, trying to get his bearings.
