by Doctor Who
Kristine turned to Martha. ‘A long-standing arrangement,’ she explained. ‘Petr and Saul have not seen much of each other for some months.’ She performed another half-bow in Martha’s direction. ‘You would, of course, be more than welcome to come.’
‘Thanks.’ Martha turned to Saul. ‘Do you mind if I tag along? I need to stretch my legs. . . ’ In truth, Martha remained convinced that there was more to the forest than met the eye, but she wasn’t about to tell Saul that.
Saul looked Martha up and down, as if assessing her suitability to be a companion on his trip. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll meet over by the lake. I need to get some things first.’
He bowed to both women, and then was gone. Kristine continued to stare into the middle distance, a distracted look on her face.
‘Petr told us about the missing children,’ said Martha quietly. ‘A terrible thing to have happened.’
Kristine managed a weak smile. ‘We lost Thorn a month ago. Our only child. I suppose it means we can share in the sadness of the others, but even so. . . ’ She glanced downward, perhaps wanting to hide the extent of her emotion from Martha. ‘All I want is for Thorn to comeback.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Martha. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea. . . ’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Kristine sharply. ‘It’s wrong for me to want to see Thorn again!’
‘I’m sure it’s perfectly natural. . . ’
48
‘No.’ Kristine looked up, tears softening her features. ‘If Thorn, if the other departed children, return to us. . . Then the village will be destroyed.’
49
The Doctor stood before the little house at the edge of the village.
Before he could even knock, the door slid back, as if the old woman had been standing there, listening for his arrival.
She was stooped and her skin was cracked and folded, but her eyes were bright and they danced continuously, as if trying to make sense of this strange man standing on her doorstep.
‘Hello,’ said the Doctor brightly. ‘I’ve got some questions about the history of the village. I’m told you’re the person to speak to.’
‘Ah,’ said the woman. ‘You’re the man who thinks we’re all a figment of someone else’s imagination.’ She smiled, a rictus of dry lips and crooked teeth.
‘Blimey,’ said the Doctor, his face falling. ‘Word travels fast around here, doesn’t it?’
‘People who don’t really exist obviously have little else to talk about,’ said the woman, her voice rich with sarcasm.
‘I said you didn’t exist,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s perfectly clear that you do now.’ He paused. ‘At least, I think that’s what I said. It’s a complicated situation. . . ’
‘Are we real?’ demanded the woman firmly, ‘or are you the phantasm, a wandering spirit designed to unsettle us all. . . ? As if we don’t 51
already have troubles enough,’ added the woman more quietly.
‘I thought I was supposed to ask you the questions,’ said the Doctor after a pause.
The woman smiled again. ‘Come in,’ she said, moving aside so the Doctor could enter. ‘I will make some tea.’
‘Of course,’ said the Doctor, relieved. ‘I find metaphysical questions much easier to handle over a nice cuppa. . . ’
Kristine refused to say anything else about her son and disappeared back inside the house. Martha was left in the cool afternoon sunshine, wondering if there was some way she could comfort Kristine, or if she should just follow her instinct and go back into the forest with Saul.
She sighed, and headed in the direction of the lake, wondering if facing monsters in the woods was somehow easier than aiding a grieving mother.
As she walked, she turned Kristine’s words over in her mind. How could the return of these poor kids be linked to the destruction of the village? If they weren’t dead, if they hadn’t been murdered – and Petr had indicated that all the children had simply ‘disappeared’ – then where had they gone?
Martha found Saul standing by the lake, talking to a bright-eyed girl who must have been about twelve. It seemed that school had finished for the day as other children were spilling out from their classrooms, delighted by their long-promised liberation. The girl seemed rather serious for her age, addressing Saul confidently. Martha caught a little of their conversation before both became aware of her presence.
‘You know as well as I do,’ said the girl. ‘The legends about the island and the fog. . . They’re absolutely clear!’
‘And I’m not a great believer in legends,’ said Saul. ‘Things I can see and touch. . . That’s all I’m interested in.’
‘Normally I’d agree with you,’ said the girl. ‘But the coincidence of it all! First the disappearances, and then Farah coming back. . . ’
‘You’re mistaken,’ said Saul gruffly. ‘Your friend Farah will not be returning. I’m sorry.’
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At that moment they heard Martha approach and turned. Saul beamed, wrapping a huge arm around the girl’s shoulders as though nothing was the matter.
‘This is Jude,’ he explained. ‘My daughter.’
‘I think I’ll come with you,’ announced the girl, shaking herself free of Saul’s embrace and obviously still spoiling for a fight with her father. ‘I haven’t been up in the woods for ages!’
‘Not today,’ said Saul, a low, warning note in his voice. ‘You know you’re not supposed to go there at all.’
‘Oh, father, don’t be silly! It’s not like I’m asking to go to the island or anything. It’s perfectly safe.’
‘ No,’ said Saul, even more firmly. ‘Sorry.’
Jude was about to continue the debate but obviously caught the stern look in her father’s eyes. ‘See you later,’ she said with a frustrated sigh before bowing to Martha and turning away. She wasn’t exactly in a strop, but it was clear to Martha that she wasn’t best pleased either.
Saul watched her go, parental concern clear on his strong features.
‘Kids, eh?’ said Martha, trying to lighten the mood.
‘You have children of your own?’ asked Saul, looking her up and down. ‘Babies, perhaps,’ he added hurriedly, as if to avoid causing offence.
‘No, no,’ said Martha hurriedly. ‘But I’ve got a family. Mum, dad, sister and brother. Amounts to the same thing.’
They started to ascend the hill towards the dark slab of trees.
‘You want to protect your daughter from the monsters,’ said Martha.
‘That’s understandable.’
Saul glanced over his shoulder at the receding buildings. ‘But if the village is no longer safe. . . ’
‘Kristine told me about the children who’ve gone missing,’ said Martha. ‘She mentioned some sort of legend, but wouldn’t say anything else about it.’
‘You should talk to the Dazai,’ said Saul. ‘She knows of such things.’
‘That sounds like the Doctor’s territory,’ said Martha. ‘I think he’s on his way to see her.’
53
Saul smiled. ‘Two very strong wills. . . I imagine they’ll get on well,’
he said.
Soon Martha was back under the canopy of leaves at the forest’s edge. She wasn’t quite sure what she was hoping to find, though she supposed some trace of the research vessel Castor was quite high on the list. The station meant a link to the TARDIS, and the TARDIS meant home. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Martha’s stomach; it reminded her of the panic that had gripped her on one package holiday to Ibiza when she thought she’d lost her passport and tickets in a bar and – ridiculous though it later sounded
– wondered if she’d ever see London again.
In the shady tranquillity of the trees, Saul proved as matter-of-fact as the Doctor had been delighted and intrigued. He said little of con-sequence as they ventured deeper, beyond identifying occasional birds from their trilling calls and showing Martha the muddy tracks of some bea
r-like creature. She still thought the forest was magical. She didn’t understand why or how any of it was here, but she appreciated its haunting beauty well enough.
A bit like life, she supposed.
Moments later, Saul bent down to concentrate on one of a series of metal traps, smaller equivalents of the device that had snapped shut around the Doctor’s ankle. He cracked open the metal jaws, and pulled out a blood-streaked rabbit. He hooked the creature onto his belt and reset the trap.
‘Your friend recovered very quickly,’ said Saul, not looking up.
‘He’s amazing,’ said Martha, remembering her first proper meeting with the Doctor, and the surprise she’d got when she’d heard two beating hearts through her stethoscope. ‘For all I know, you can chop off his arm and he’ll grow a new one.’
‘That’s handy,’ said Saul, keeping a straight face.
Martha thought back to the creature in the clearing. ‘This morning. . . I suppose we were making a bit of a racket. It must have attracted that monster we saw.’
Saul frowned. ‘I suppose.’
‘What then?’ asked Martha, picking up on the uncertainty in his 54
voice.
Saul looked up, as if suspicious that the forest could hear their words. ‘You asked me earlier why I don’t travel beyond the woods,’
said Saul, standing and wiping his bloodstained hands on his trousers.
‘The thing is, I am the only one in the village who even shows any interest in going further. The others. . . They seem satisfied to just stay put. I don’t suppose they share my desire to explore.’
‘Life in the village has never been enough for you,’ observed Martha.
Saul nodded. ‘I’m content enough. I have a daughter and a wife and I love them both dearly. But I’m happiest if I’m moving, if I’m doing something.’ He looked around him again, as if the forest were suddenly alive – and something to be feared. ‘I told you I respected my brother’s wishes, and that’s true. But. . . Once or twice. . . I have tried to go beyond the edge of the forest. I want to see what happens when my maps run out. . . ’
Martha smiled. ‘Here be monsters,’ she said, remembering the ancient maps from Earth history that indicated all manner of dragons and beasts at their uncharted extremities.
‘That’s it,’ said Saul, nodding. ‘That’s exactly what holds me back.’
‘Monsters?’
‘Like the thing we saw. And worse. . . I can guarantee if you keeping heading north from here, that’s what you’ll see.’
‘Monsters, guarding the edges of your world,’ said Martha, thinking aloud. She pointed towards the mountains and to the area just south of the village where grassland began to merge into stonier terrain.
‘And in that direction?’
‘The same,’ commented Saul. ‘I’ve tried walking in every direction
– and each time I’ve returned, my tail between my legs. A coward.’
He bowed his head, ashamed.
‘If I were you, Saul, I’d run a mile from these things as well.’
‘I don’t know that the creatures are dangerous,’ continued Saul.
‘The one we saw didn’t look exactly friendly,’ said Martha. ‘How do traders get through?’
Saul shrugged. If the unexplored and distant mountains didn’t really exist, Martha supposed, then perhaps the visitors were also en-55
tirely unreal.
‘Everyone else just accepts these things,’ said Saul. ‘No one ever ventures into the forest, we are barred from the island in the lake. . .
It never occurs to anyone to ask why this is.’
‘Apart from your daughter.’
Saul nodded, sheepishly.
‘What about your brother?’
queried Martha.
‘He seems bright
enough.’
‘If such things trouble him he has never told me,’ said Saul simply.
‘I had thought, when Thorn went missing. . . Perhaps it would make Petr less cautious.’ Saul sighed. ‘It’s just made him even worse. Soon I wonder if I’ll even be allowed in the forest.’
‘You think Petr will stop you coming up here?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Saul. ‘Perhaps it will be too dangerous by then anyway. When I first saw that creature watching you and the Doctor in the clearing. . . I was deeply troubled. I had never seen one of the monsters in that part of the forest before.’
‘They’re getting closer to the village?’
Saul looked around, sensitive to the very air as it gusted and moved around him. He seemed on edge now, bent close to the ground, coiled as if to strike.
‘Saul?’ queried Martha, concerned.
‘I think we’re being watched,’ he said in a low whisper.
The Doctor settled down at the Dazai’s table. ‘I popped into your local earlier,’ he said, gratefully accepting the tea she offered. ‘I was expecting a sudden hush, an anxious barman offering me a jug of ale. . . Suspicion and dread.’
‘And instead you found. . . ?’
‘Tiredness,’ said the Doctor. ‘Resignation. Indifference.’
‘It is not yet evening,’ said the Dazai. ‘I am told that things are. . .
more exciting. . . later in the day.’
‘Really?’ said the Doctor. He took a sip of the tea. ‘Anyway, they all agreed you were the woman I must speak to.’
‘Ah,’ said the Dazai. ‘My. . . reputation.’
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‘Which is?’
‘A source of wisdom – though not the only one, lest you accuse me of arrogance.’ She smiled. ‘The Dazai is an honorary title, passed on from mother to daughter in an endless cycle. At least, that’s what most people think. . . ’
‘And others?’
‘Rumours abound that I am the only Dazai, and that I have been here since the creation of all things.’
The Doctor laughed. ‘Oh, go on. You don’t look a day over fifty to me!’
‘Flatterer,’ said the Dazai. ‘You think you can make your talk sweet, and then convince me of the falseness of our lives?’
‘You reckon that’s why I’m here?’ asked the Doctor.
‘I know I must learn from all who pass through our village,’ said the Dazai. ‘And, perhaps, be of benefit to them, too. The truth, Doctor –do we exist, or not? Are we real?’
The Doctor sighed. ‘Depends what you mean, I suppose,’ he said.
‘Even if you could convince me,’ said the old woman, watching the Doctor closely as he sipped at his tea, ‘I am not sure it makes very much difference to the conversation we are having. There are some that say we are all but the dreams of God.’ She grinned, and the Doctor saw immediately the intelligence that animated her features.
‘Can you prove to me you are not the expression of some higher life force, some other entity or vast cosmic machine. . . ?’
‘That is a tricky one,’ said the Doctor, puffing his cheeks. ‘I can only really tell you what I’ve seen – that I’m pretty sure none of this was here earlier, that it all came into being just like that. . . ’ He clicked his fingers.
‘By our own eyes – by the evidence of our senses – we create the universe,’ said the Dazai. ‘Even if, by science, we think we can make some statement about the age of the universe. . . It makes no difference to anyone of us as an individual. When we sleep, it is as if the universe blinks out of existence.’
‘ Cogito ergo sum,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m thinking, therefore I exist.
Yes, that’s a very interesting way of putting it.’
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‘But you did not come here to debate philosophy,’ said the Dazai, suddenly getting to her feet and shuffling to the rear of the room.
There, stretching from floor almost to ceiling and very nearly as wide as the room, was a great wooden bookcase, blackened with age and use. On it were row upon row of leather-backed books, each spine lined with golden lettering and fitting snugly against its neighbour.
‘T
he history of our people,’ said the old woman. ‘One of the roles of the Dazai is to record all events of great importance.’
The Doctor whistled, amazed at the sheer number of volumes before him. ‘Births, marriages, deaths. . . ?’
‘That, and more,’ said the Dazai. ‘Every meeting, every decision. . . ’
The Doctor selected a book at random. ‘Do you mind. . . ?’
The Dazai shook her head. ‘Go ahead. See the true extent of our history.’
The Doctor tugged the book from the shelf, pulled it open, and saw page upon page of notes and annotations. Different inks, different standards of neatness, even – every now and again – entirely different handwriting. ‘Fascinating!’ he exclaimed. ‘Quite fascinating.’ He flicked through the book quickly, a blur of parchment and ink, then paused, examining the book from numerous angles as if expecting it to explode at any minute. ‘You have many meetings, then?’ he asked.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said the Dazai with a smile.
‘It’s just. . . A little place like this, no links to the outside world, seemingly no big dilemmas or problems. . . What on Earth do your leaders talk about all day?’
The Dazai said nothing and, just for a moment, the Doctor wondered if she’d gently encouraged him to ask these questions, with a view to ending up at this position. It was entirely possible that the Dazai was driving the discussion, manipulating the Doctor into thinking that he was the one in the driving seat.
He grabbed another book from the shelf, opened it, flicked through its pages – more of the same. Amongst the prosaic details he found frequent mentions of the woods that surrounded the village, the fog that came across the lake – and the forbidden island at its heart. ‘Would I be right in thinking,’ he said, casually, ‘that something is going on at 58
the moment? That there is some sort of problem. . . ?’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked the Dazai.
‘Petr told me about the missing children,’ said the Doctor. ‘Anyway, call it bad luck, but when I arrive somewhere. . . Within five minutes it’s monsters and life ’n’ death and chaos, guaranteed.’
