by Cavan Scott
Schofield thought she’d been scared before. That time she’d been cornered by a guy twice her size in Wythenshawe. When she’d she realised that her daughter wasn’t with her during a shopping trip to the Arndale Centre.
But nothing compared to this, not even the sinking dread of realising that her little girl wasn’t holding her hand any more. At least Elsie was safe at home with Martin. At least she wasn’t here, being hunted through a forest that broke all the rules.
Hunted by those things.
‘Boggarts,’ the Doctor had called out as they had been chased from the clearing, the creatures on their hills.
‘What?’
‘That’s what they’re called. I always think it’s better to know what you’re being chased by.’
‘So you can name it while it eats you?’
‘Two thousand years of running and I’ve not been eaten yet. Happy with that record. Don’t expect it to change today.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence!’
The Doctor laughed. He actually laughed. She was scared witless and he was leaping over logs and ducking beneath low-reaching branches as if being chased through an alien wood was just another day at the office.
Her legs burned with the exertion, her lungs ready to burst. She wanted to stop, to drop to the floor – to throw up! – but she knew it would be suicide. She could hear them crashing through the trees behind them, murderously close.
She glanced over her shoulder, the sonic sunglasses jogging from her nose. She grabbed them before they could fall. The last thing she needed was to drop out of the Doctor’s sonic cone.
‘They’ve gone,’ she said, slowing her pace.
‘No they haven’t,’ the Doctor insisted.
‘Seriously, they’re not there.’
They weren’t. The three figures with their long swinging arms and loping gait were nowhere to be seen.
There was a flash of green hide through the trees to the left of them.
‘They’re playing with us,’ the Doctor shouted from where he had sped ahead.
‘Cat and mouse,’ she agreed.
‘Something like that. Although here the mice eat the cats so it might be the other way round.’
‘You’ve been here before then?’
‘A long time ago,’ he admitted.
‘And you got home again?’
‘I had a little help.’
‘What from?’
Something snarled to the left of her. She turned to see and her toe snagged a root. She tumbled forwards, the sonic sunglasses flying from her face.
The world smothered her, all the light and sound the Doctor’s gadget had been keeping at bay rushing in. She was drowning in her senses, her eardrums fit to burst.
Hands gripped her arms. She fought back before realising that the fingers didn’t end in claws like steak knives. It was the Doctor, helping her up, shoving something into her hands. The sunglasses.
Fumbling with the arms, she pushed them back on her nose. The glare of the Invisible retreated, but there was no time to sob in relief. The Doctor was pulling her on.
‘We need to keep going.’
‘Easier said than done,’ she wheezed, her legs like jelly.
‘This way,’ the Doctor said, dragging her down a sudden drop. She slipped, crashing to the bottom, this time clutching onto the sunglasses as if her life depended on it, which it probably did.
Again, the Doctor went to help her up, but this time she batted his hand away. ‘I can manage.’
‘Are you sure?’
They were standing beside a dazzling stream, the water an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colour. Oranges, greens, blues and purples washed together; a liquid rainbow filled with tiny silver fish that swam against the fierce tide.
‘Running water,’ the Doctor exclaimed, clapping his hands together. ‘Thank you, universe!’
‘How’s that going to help?’
‘The Fae can’t cross it,’ he said, as if this was something she should know, a fact as obvious as the sun rising in the east, or day following night. ‘Fairies, gnomes, Boggarts and elves. It disrupts their psycho-magnetic field. Very nasty.’
‘I thought that was vampires?’
‘What?’
‘The thing about running water. That’s vampires, not fairies.’
‘Have you ever met a vampire?’ he asked.
‘I suppose you have?’
‘Trust me, this’ll work.’ He glanced up the incline to the trees. ‘It won’t take them as long to find us.’
‘But how are we supposed to get across?’ she asked, looking at the water. ‘We can’t exactly wade through, not with that current. We’ll be swept away.’
‘It’s not the current you need to worry about,’ the Doctor told her.
‘Then what is it?’
He nodded towards the water. ‘See the fish. Think piranhas, but these ones don’t stop when they get to your skeleton.’
‘You’re making that up.’
‘Feel free to test that theory.’ He started backing up.
Her mouth dropped open. ‘You’re not going to jump.’
‘It’s either that or fly.’
‘It must be three metres across!’
‘Which is why I’m taking a run-up. Do you always talk this much when you’re on the run from a dangerous predator?’
The first of the three Boggarts appeared at the top of the rise, thick strips of saliva hanging from its jowls as it scrambled down towards them.
‘Ladies first,’ Schofield said, charging towards the bank and throwing herself into the air. She sailed forwards, arms and legs pin-wheeling, before realising that she wasn’t going to make it.
She splashed into the stream, the current immediately taking her legs away from beneath her. She went under, grabbing the side of the bank. Her fingers closed around grass and she pulled herself up, breaking the surface. She gasped for breath, her stomach heaving. The water tasted like honey, thick and sweet.
She tried to haul herself out of the water, but the grass tore away from the earth. The water snatched her away, pain shooting up her legs as dozens of tiny jaws went to work on her calves. Either she was going to drown, or she was going to be eaten alive. One way or another, she was finished.
Chapter 24
Sense of Direction
There was a dull whumph near her head, and she glanced up to see the Doctor had made it across the stream without even getting wet. Of course he had. But he also had a long branch in his hand that he thrust into the water.
‘Grab it!’
‘I’ll pull you in.’
‘No you won’t,’ he insisted.
Swimming against the torrent, she got hold of the Doctor’s lifeline, grasping it with both hands. The Doctor pulled back, slipped and toppled into the water with a splash.
The branch slipped from her fingers and washed away. The Doctor was floundering in the water ahead of her, all arms and legs. Some rescue attempt.
Something whacked her on the side. It was a large rock, standing firm in the water, the torrent gushing around it.
She grabbed it and held on tight. The Doctor rushed by and she snatched at him, grasping his jacket.
Her fingers slipped on the wet stone, and she thought they would be dragged away again, but her grip held. Spitting water from his mouth, the Doctor took hold of the rock and, ignoring the pain from the fish that were literally making a meal of their extremities, they helped each other out of the water and onto the bank.
The Doctor rolled on his back, gulping for air.
‘No time for that,’ she gasped, using a tree to clamber to her feet.
‘No time to breathe?’ the Doctor asked.
‘You need to learn to multi-task.’
He pushed himself up, pointing across the fast-running water. The steep bank was empty. ‘We’re fine. The Boggarts are gone. At least for now.’
‘I guess you were right,’ she admitted.
He leant on his knees,
still fighting to breathe. ‘Music to my ears. Although, it won’t put them off for long,’ he admitted. ‘They’re tenacious beasties. They’ll be finding another way around the stream as we speak.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ she asked, brushing down the sleeves of her fleece. That was weird. They were already dry … and they were gold!
Her entire uniform; her skirt, vest, fleece and shirt had been dyed a brilliant yellow.
‘What the hell?’
The Doctor was appraising his own wardrobe: both his jacket and trousers had a similar gleaming hue. ‘Golden thread. John Dee would love that. Instant alchemy.’
She pulled up her sleeve, checking her arms. ‘But what will it do to my skin?’
‘You probably won’t need fake tan for a while.’
‘It’s not funny,’ she told him. ‘We’ve no idea what this place is doing to us, what we’re breathing in. You’ve seen the mushrooms.’
‘I told you. I’ve been here before, and I’m just fine.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘Granted, I was in a different body back then.’
‘Do you ever make sense?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ He pulled an old-fashioned fobwatch out of his pocket, and shook it against his ear to check if it was still working.
Schofield was boiling. The water hadn’t been cold as she expected, but warm, like a hot bath. She felt like she was burning up and hoped it had nothing to do with her new colour scheme. Peeling off her vest and fleece, she watched the Doctor flip open his watch. It didn’t have a clock face, but a digital compass which whirled around like a Russian dancer.
She tied the sleeves of her fleece around her waist like a belt. ‘So where are we heading?’
‘That’s a good question.’
‘I know. That’s why I asked it. You’re the one who’s been here before. I’m relying on you.’
He snapped the watch shut. ‘Multiple poles. The compass doesn’t know whether it’s coming or going.’
‘But you do?’
He pointed at the rushing stream. ‘This world runs differently to yours, but there are a lot of similarities.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘The terrain is largely the same. We’re standing in the Invisible’s version of Boggle wood.’
‘Then why didn’t we arrive in the middle of a fairy building site?’
‘Because they don’t have buildings here, at least not how we understand them. We were in the same spot, but how it looked long before Huckensall village popped up, before humanity started encroaching on ultra-terrestrial territory.’ He licked his finger and held it up to the air. ‘Luckily I have an unerring sense of direction …’
‘And an ego to match,’ Schofield muttered.
‘Oh no, that’s far more developed.’ He pointed ahead, away from the stream. ‘This way.’ He started through the trees, taking Schofield by surprise.
‘This way, where?’ she asked, catching up with him.
He pulled a key on a long chain out of his pocket, and dangled it in front of him as if he was about to hypnotise someone. It was a normal Yale key, the kind Schofield had seen on countless keyrings, with one major exception. This one was glowing. It was only faint, but the metal was pulsing, like a heartbeat.
‘What is it?’ she said, as he stepped over a fallen branch.
‘The key to my TARDIS. She’s waiting, back in the Visible. And before you ask, the TARDIS is my ship and really rather clever and would take too long to explain right now.’
‘I believe you.’
‘If we can reach her location, then perhaps I can persuade the old girl to jump the grooves and pick us up.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Well, actually it sounded like complete nonsense, but it was all she had to work with.
The Doctor smiled at her, displaying what looked suspiciously like genuine warmth. ‘I like you, PC Schofield. When you’re not about to arrest me.’
‘Jane.’
He stopped tramping ahead. ‘Sorry?’
‘Jane. It’s my name.’
The Doctor smiled and held out his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Jane.’
‘Good to meet you too, John.’
He pulled his hand away. ‘John?’
‘That’s your name, isn’t it? John Smith.’
‘Ah yes,’ he said, continuing to follow his key. ‘About that.’
She sighed. ‘You’re not called John.’
‘I had to shut you up somehow.’
‘So you lied?’
‘Not exactly. It’s a name I use from time to time.’
‘But not actually yours.’
He laughed. ‘Not even close,’ and then, as if realising that she might find this a tad annoying, added a hurried apology: ‘Sorry, Jane.’
She stomped ahead to take the lead. ‘You can call me PC Schofield.’
‘You don’t know where you’re going,’ he called after her.
‘I’m sure you’ll delight in telling me.’
A howl rang out through the trees; far away, but not far enough. The Boggarts were back.
‘Which way?’ she asked, their squabble forgotten.
The Doctor pointed straight ahead. ‘Run.’
She did, not waiting for him to catch up. The Doctor ran behind, barking directions as they pelted through the forest. Left. Right. Over the log. Mind the branch. Down the slope. Up the rise.
She kept her eyes ahead, knowing that the Doctor kept glancing behind. He’d tell her if he saw the monsters. Probably. She thought she trusted him; hoped that she could, even if he wasn’t really called John.
What other choice did she have? He was her only way out of here.
‘Left at that big tree.’
‘They’re all big.’
‘The really big one!’
The Boggarts were closer now. She could hear them crashing through the underground, leathery feet pounding, teeth gnashing together.
She scrambled to the left, following the Doctor’s instructions and charging forwards.
‘That’s it. She’s just ahead. Carry on.’
Jane Schofield ran as she had never run before. She had no idea what she was running towards, what this mystical TARDIS actually was, but she couldn’t hear the Boggarts any more. Maybe they had lost them. Maybe they could get out of this alive.
She allowed herself to glance back, seeing the Doctor running full pelt, arms and legs not quite working in harmony. But the light from the key was intense now. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
She never saw the arm reach down to wrap around her waist, never realised the danger she was in, until she was pulled up high into the air.
Chapter 25
Tit for Tat
‘I’ve got one,’ screamed a voice. ‘Here it is!’
It was a woman’s voice, impossibly old and yet implausibly young at the same time; as if a crone and a toddler had spoken in unison.
Jane Schofield was up in the air, long fingers encircling her waist, squeezing just that little too tight. At least, she thought they were fingers, scaly and rough, until she looked down and realised that they were made of wood.
She twisted around in the vice-like grip, looking up at what had snatched her from the ground. It was a tree!
Its arm was a gnarled tangle of wooden limbs wound into a contorted mockery of muscles and sinew, the scales she’d felt on its fingers lumps of coarse bark. It had a face of sorts; a hideous mouth and misshapen eyes formed by slashes across its thick trunk that creaked as it yelled in a sing-song voice: ‘Come and get it!’
‘Put her down this instant,’ the Doctor commanded from below. Too far below. Schofield was caught between the urge to break the tree’s grasp and the knowledge that she would break herself if she fell from this height.
‘It’s alive,’ she yelled down to the Doctor.
‘Of course I’m alive,’ the tree said. ‘What do you expect?’
‘Don’t worry,’ th
e Doctor called up. ‘Its bark will be worse than its bite.’
‘Ha ha!’ she snapped back, her legs dangling helplessly in her gold-stained trousers. One of her equally gilded shoes had slipped off and was down on the ground. Schofield half-considered getting the Doctor to lob it at the tree, not that it would do much good.
‘There’s no need for this,’ the Doctor continued. Schofield thought at first that he was talking to her, before realising that he was addressing her timbered abductor.
‘There’s every need,’ the tree replied. ‘They’ll pay me handsomely for this one, and for you too!’
The Doctor stepped back as another gnarled arm swept down to catch him, the leaf-tipped talons raking the front of his shirt.
Schofield wriggled in the giant hand, trying to get to her belt. She still had her baton, she was sure of it. There was also her CS spray, of course, but she didn’t know how effective a burst of tear gas would be against something that technically didn’t have eyeballs.
‘What does a tree want with money, anyway?’ she grunted.
‘Money? Who mentioned money?’ the tree croaked. ‘The Boggarts will give me a sun of my own, to warm my branches and no one else’s. Then the others will be sorry they ignored me. They’ll reach out to me, their leaves hungry, but the nutrients will be mine, all mine.’
Around them, the branches of the surrounding trees rustled, as if the trees of the forest were shaking their trunks in disapproval.
On the ground, the Doctor laughed. As if anything about this situation was funny. In the distance, Schofield could hear the baying of the Boggarts. The problem was that the distance suddenly didn’t seem so distant after all. Their pursuers were closing in and she had no way of breaking free.
She tried sinking her nails beneath the chunks of bark on its fingers, as if they were scabs ready to be ripped from the fresh skin beneath, but the tree only tightened its hold of her, making it hard to breathe.
Still the Doctor wouldn’t give up. ‘Can’t we come to an arrangement?’
That shut the tree up. It regarded the man in the golden coat with renewed interest, rubbing its gnarly stump of a chin. ‘I’m listening …’
‘Excellent. Because that’s how things work around here isn’t it? Deals? Bargains? I scratch your bough, you scratch mine.’
