by Doctor Who
Then he saw a lumpy silhouette, about a hundred metres away. A mute sentinel in the field. ‘Zygon,’ he murmured, urging Arthur back round behind the copse before they were spotted. His companions rode up alongside. ‘No good.’ he said quietly. ‘Might be others. We’ll have to go back and circle round to the next field.’
‘And if there’s a Zygon in that field too?’ Haleston wondered.
The Doctor looked at him. ‘Then we’ll try the next. We’ll get to the Lodge, find out if Martha’s there.’
Leaving Haleston and Romand to swap glances, he rode back the same way they’d come.
It took hours, and many times they had to turn away or outwait a Zygon patrol. But finally, the Lodge came into view, nestling in the hillside ahead of them.
‘Be careful.’ the Doctor told Haleston and Romand. ‘Like Goldspur, this is a Zygon outpost now.’
But as the Doctor urged his exhausted horse along the wooded track that wound round to the Lodge itself, he saw nothing sinister.
The night was silent save for the whistle of the wind, the rustling of branches and the mournful hoot of a hunting owl.
The front of the Lodge came into view. A single light burned in the hall window. A large, covered carriage was parked to the side of the house.
‘Someone’s still up at this late hour,’ the Doctor mused, jumping down from his horse. ‘Shall we find out who?’ He advanced on the front door, reached inside his jacket pocket for the sonic screwdriver
– then realised his double had taken it to trigger the adapted activator. With a sigh, he turned to Haleston and Romand. ‘Anyone got a hairpin?’
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But suddenly the door was flung open and a Zygon burst out from inside, its stinging claws swiping the air as it lunged for the Doctor’s face.
The Doctor hurled himself backwards out of the way, but the Zygon kept coming, leapt onto him. He gasped as the breath was knocked from his body. Haleston and Romand both tried to drag the Zygon away, but the creature shrugged them off. It tore at the Doctor’s coat and jacket, ripped at his shirt, trying to send its sting directly into the flesh of his chest. . .
Then there was a loud thud, and the Zygon went rigid. A further thump and it slumped forwards, lifeless to the ground. The Doctor stared up in alarm as a thin, wraithlike figure loomed over him: a bony woman whose hard, angular features were livid with bruises.
She was wielding a poker, and her black eyes held a frantic look.
‘How do you like it?’ she shouted at the fallen Zygon. ‘How do you like being on the receiving end? Eh?’
‘It’s all right, Miss Flock.’ Haleston put a gallant arm about the woman while Romand prised the poker from her grip. ‘Are there any more of these creatures in the house?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She shook her head, clearly in shock. ‘It left me for dead. I woke up, crawled away. . . I’ve been hiding upstairs for hours, and all the time, I could hear that thing talking to itself in the sitting room. It didn’t know I was here. And I didn’t dare move – until I heard your voices outside. And then, when it got distracted –’
‘You took your chance. Thanks.’ The Doctor sat bolt upright. ‘Have you seen Martha Jones?’
Miss Flock went lemon lipped. ‘That girl was here, but she’s gone.
She, Mr Meredith, the boy, they all cleared off. . . ’ She started to sob.
‘Ian Lunn was in my care!’
‘There, there,’ said Haleston awkwardly. ‘I’m sure he’s all right.’
‘But don’t you see?’ the nanny bawled. ‘If he isn’t, that’s me out of a job!’
‘Nothing like a sense of perspective, is there?’ said the Doctor, crouching to inspect the Zygon.
Romand eyed it nervously. ‘It is dead, Doctor, yes?’
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‘Yep. Already weak from dehydration. . . ’ He looked at Miss Flock.
‘What was the Zygon downstairs talking about?’
‘It was babbling.’ she told him. ‘Something about the last of the supplies, getting the carriage ready. . . Babbling.’
‘Or else talking into their hidden communicator, receiving instructions.’ The Doctor got up and went to inspect the carriage. ‘Lord Haleston, can you fetch me a light? And Romand, perhaps you’d search the house – carefully – and shout if you find anything interesting.’
Romand inclined his head. Haleston strode away, and the Doctor crossed to the carriage. Inside were a number of large, squat objects that looked like a cross between a tree stump and a pizza. They felt warm to the touch.
‘What are they?’ asked Haleston uneasily, returning with a paraffin lamp.
‘Portable larders, I think.’ breathed the Doctor. ‘Probably packed with lactic fluid from the Skarasen, it keeps the Zygons alive.’ He picked up one of the stumps and saw a puckered line like a scar running down one side, secured with a line of fleshy staples. They felt dry and taut to his touch. ‘Time release mechanism.’ he surmised.
‘As these strands dry out, they peel away, but until then they’ll keep sticky Zygon fingers out till feeding time. And it looks like we’re getting close. . .
Then Romand’s hoarse cry carried from an upstairs window. ‘Doctor, Lord Haleston! Quickly!’ He looked down at them helplessly. ‘I can see lights on the road. . . quite a few of them. Turning onto the driveway.’
Miss Flock stared out into the darkness. ‘Something’s coming.’ she said.
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Marthawatchedtheornatehandsofthegrandfatherclocktickheav-ily round towards five. Soon it would be dawn. The ladies lay slumped in their chairs, some drifting in uneasy sleep, others still wide-eyed and clutching their cards like little scraps of comfort. But the Zygons remained stubbornly on guard. They had a kind of rota system going on, each taking a turn to rest before resuming duty. And every attempt to shuffle closer to the French windows was thwarted with a hissed warning, a Do not move, or a Remain still.
Martha leaned over to Victor and Ian. ‘If we’re going to make a break, it had better be soon.’ she whispered. ‘We need a distraction.’
Bang on cue, the doors crashed open and a large, imposing Zygon burst inside. It was the one she’d surprised in Haleston’s study, as livid as the scar that ran down the side of its face. More Zygons tumbled inside close on their leader’s heels. One of the women screamed, and Lady Chisholm promptly fainted. Martha noticed that even their Zygon guard looked alarmed, turning in consternation.
‘Commander Brelarn,’ it hissed.
‘Is he here?’ the scarred Zygon demanded. ‘The Doctor, where is he?’
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The Doctor. Martha’s heart leapt. He’s alive, and causing trouble.
She looked at Victor and Ian while their surprised guard was looking to its superior.
‘It’s now or never,’ she muttered, and darted away towards the heavy drapes that hid the French windows from view. Once there, she stood up so she’d make less of a bulge in the thick velvet, and peeped out to check she hadn’t been seen.
Ian gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Turn the handle and jostle,’ he mouthed at her.
Martha nodded and tried the handle, which squeaked alarmingly.
Then she heard Ian stand up. ‘I know where the Doctor is!’ he announced.
‘Who is this child?’ Brelarn wheezed.
‘You’ve got my parents, Mr and Mrs Lunn. I’ll tell you, where the Doctor is if you let them go.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Ian,’ Victor snapped. ‘I won’t let you tell them a thing.’
‘Thanks, boys,’ muttered Martha, as their overplayed sounds of struggle and some flutters from the ladies masked the door handle’s protesting squeals. Bur the door itself remained shut fast.
‘Speak then, child,’ snarled Brelarn. He sounded horribly close.
‘Come on. . . ’ Martha rattled the door as hard as she dared. It wouldn’t budge.
‘The Doctor, he. . . he lives over in Horn Lane,’ Jan said. ‘The small cottage next to the dairy.’<
br />
An angry hissing started up. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘It’s not nonsense,’ Ian protested, ‘Dr Fenchurch really lives there!’
Martha heaved up on the handle and shook again. ‘Come on. . . ’
‘I do not require a human physician!’ roared Brelarn. ‘I must have the Doctor! ’
Ian cried out – just as the door clicked open. Martha peeped anxiously through the drapes and saw Ian sprawled at Brelarn’s feet. He winked at her.
‘Where is the dark-skinned girl?’ the guard demanded.
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‘Yes, the Doctor’s friend, where is she?’ Brelarn advanced on Victor, his hand outstretched. ‘Answer me, human. . . Where is she? ’
‘She’s off! ’ Martha shouted from the French windows. ‘See ya!’
‘Retrieve her!’ Brelarn boomed.
Martha ran out across the dew-soaked lawn, hoping they would leave Victor and come after her instead. Maybe then he and Ian could launch an offensive of their own. The cold air stung her skin, and her quick breaths were like puffs of steam about her. She didn’t hesitate, running as fast as she could, heading for the front of the house. A couple of carriages waited there, and Romand’s car was now parked beside Victor’s. Was Romand here, somewhere? She wouldn’t get far trying to drive the thing on her own.
Taking a deep breath, she forced her legs to move faster. She had to get away, get help – if she could only find a horse that wasn’t lashed up to a carriage and reach the main road, perhaps she could flag someone down. Or maybe she could-
‘Martha!’ came a delighted roar as she rounded the corner of the house.
Martha skidded to a halt on the pebbled drive. ‘Doctor?’
He was standing a stone’s throwaway on the lawn beside a bush, apparently alone. ‘Oh, Martha, I was so worried! I’ve been looking for you. . . ’
‘Stay back,’ she said, suddenly wary. ‘I’m not letting you try to kill me again. I mean, how could the Doctor just pop up here?’
‘But it’s me! It’s really me. I got out of the Zygon spaceship, I got everyone out – Mrs U, Molly Melton, Mr and Mrs Lunn, more cows than you could shake a stick at. Teazel, even. . . ’
‘What about Clara?’ asked Martha.
‘She wasn’t there,’ the Doctor admitted. ‘I thought she’d already left the Lodge?’
‘Clara didn’t leave. She was killed there.’
‘Oh, Martha, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ The Doctor turned those big, little-boy eyes on her, so impassioned, so full of hurt, so real. ‘But you know, they’re gonna kill so many more people if we let them and –’
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‘All right, shut up, it is you!’ Martha ran to him and grabbed him in a tight hug.
He hugged her back and grinned down at her. ‘I would have got here sooner but I had some problems with the neighbours. What’s the situation in Goldspur?’
As he spoke, he looked over to the house, and so did Martha.
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Not good, then. Never waste time in a hug.’
The front door hung open. Brelarn was glaring at them from the bottom of the steps, flanked by two large Zygons. More of the creatures were spilling out from inside the house, at least thirty, some dragging human prisoners with them – men and women alike. Despite her fear, Martha felt a pang of relief to see Victor was unharmed and Ian’s only obvious injury was a bruise shining on his cheek.
Brelarn’s eyes narrowed ‘Doctor. . . ’
‘Hello again, Brelarn,’ the Doctor replied, leaning forward and clasping his hands behind his back. ‘Thought I’d offer the Warlord of the Zygons one last chance to stop all this.’ He took a step forward, and his voice hardened. ‘Let these people go. Go back to your ship. Return to the amber and sleep away the centuries. Wait for your rescue.’
‘I have the chance to rescue this world from the fumbling grasp of humanity.’ growled Brelarn, clenching his misshapen fist. ‘And I shall take it.’
‘No, you shan’t.’ The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’ll stop you.’
‘How can you stop me?’ Brelarn sneered. ‘One man against the might of the Zygons?’
‘You know, Zygon might might not be enough.’ The Doctor’s eyes gleamed dangerously. ‘In fact, I think I might have found a match for it.’ He pulled one hand from behind his back to reveal a long safety match. ‘Aha! Here it is.’
Brelarn started walking slowly towards the Doctor. ‘You are a prat-tling fool.’
‘Don’t make me do this.’ the Doctor warned him. Martha watched anxiously as he struck the match against the box he held in his other 160
hand, and it sputtered into life. ‘I swear, this is all I need to destroy you.’
A low rattle like laughter sounded in the back of Brelarn’s throat.
‘You would seek to destroy us with a piece of tiny fire?’
‘Ah, but as anyone on this planet will tell you.’ the Doctor retorted,
‘it’s not what you’ve got, it’s what you do with it that counts.’
So saying, he shoved the match into the bush behind him and held it there for a few moments. Something in there began to smoke.
Brelarn hesitated in his advance. ‘What are you –’ Suddenly, with a piercing whistle, a distress flare flew up into the overcast sky, trailing red vapour. A loud crack echoed round the grounds. Some of the ladies squealed.
Martha watched the skies expectantly. But nothing happened.
The Doctor had shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression hard to read.
Brelarn looked at him. ‘You think to stop me with fireworks?’
‘It’s a start.’ The Doctor shrugged. ‘Right, who fancies a snack while we’re waiting for the next bit?’ He pulled his hands from his pockets, and Martha stared in amazement.
Each hand was jammed full of the root-like phials of Skarasen milk.
‘The lactic fluid bars are on me!’ yelled the Doctor, throwing the roots at the crowded steps. ‘Tuck in, boys and girls!’
Victor quickly stamped on one as it fell, and it burst open in a splash of green goo. Hungry hisses and a sulphurous stink filled the air, as orange hands started clawing for the roots.
‘Hey, those are my moves you’re nicking,’ said Martha, amazed. ‘I did that back at the Lodge.’
The Doctor beamed. ‘Great minds think alike?’
‘Or fools seldom differ.’ said Martha – as Brelarn charged towards the Doctor with horrible speed. ‘Look out!’ she yelled.
The Doctor ducked aside just in time, and stuck one of the roots in the Zygon’s mouth like a cigar. Then he dug his hands back into his coat pockets – ‘Martha, here!’ – and tossed another bundle of roots across to her. She caught as many as she could and started lobbing 161
them at the starving Zygons, some of whom were already stooping and stumbling about, trying to scoop up the precious food.
‘Do not react!’ Brelarn bellowed at his troops. ‘You shall be punished.’
‘Bad luck, you brute!’ Victor shouted, rescuing a young slip of a thing from the clutch of another drooling Zygon. ‘Looks like you’ve got another mutiny on your hands!’
And, breathlessly, Martha realised he might be right. She watched as two Zygons abandoned their prisoners to fight over the rations, while Chisholm tore free of his own captor, turned, and shoved it down the steps. The Doctor hit the casualty expertly on the head with another of the milk-stuffed roots.
But not all the Zygons were so easily swayed. One man was stung in the face and Lady Chisholm shrieked as alien fists smashed her to the floor. Ian helped the injured man to safety while Chisholm went back for his wife, kicking her attacker aside.
Brelarn roared again, an inhuman, throaty, whooping sound. His eyes were blazing red and he was out for blood now. Again he grabbed for the Doctor. Martha ran up behind and kicked the Zygon’s ankle, so that it turned and swiped at her instead.
‘Get out of here!’ the Doctor yelled at Victor and Ian as they haul
ed the last man and girl out of danger’s reach. ‘Run, and don’t stop running.’
‘That goes for us too, Doctor!’ Martha shouted, dodging clear of the Zygon commander’s scything claws.
‘Your attempts to thwart me are futile.’ Brelarn rasped. ‘My crew will regain their senses, and I shall recapture the humans before they can fetch help. You have done nothing but provide a pathetic distraction.’
‘That’s right, Brelarn,’ said the Doctor, a sad look in his eyes. ‘But it all goes to show, an army marches on its stomach, doesn’t it?’ He pointed past the Zygon to the gardens. ‘Just ask these boys.’
And suddenly, Martha realised she could hear hoof-beats.
She
whirled round – but didn’t believe what she was seeing. Soldiers.
There must have been twenty soldiers on horseback, each dressed in 162
red jackets piped with yellow, wearing funny black hats. Their swords rattled by their sides as their horses thundered over the ornamental gardens.
‘Here comes the cavalry.’ She looked at the Doctor in amazement.
‘How many times do you get to say that and mean it?’
‘The Eighth King’s Royal Scottish Hussars, to be precise,’ said the Doctor. ‘Waiting outside the grounds. That flare I sent up was the signal for them to charge.’
Brelarn stared at the Doctor, impotent with rage. ‘You tricked me.’
‘I tried to warn you,’ the Doctor shouted as the hoof-beats grew louder. ‘You’re a threat to the King. They’ll have orders to kill. Surrender to them now, Brelarn, while there’s still time.’
But the Zygon Warlord was already lumbering back towards his fellows, barking out instructions, bringing order to the disarray. At his command, two Zygons crossed to an abandoned carriage and up-turned it to use as cover. More Zygons were spilling from the house with shotguns liberated from the hunting party. Some took up defensive positions on the steps.
