by Doctor Who
‘Do you precipitate this chaos, or are you merely drawn to it?’
‘I do wonder sometimes,’ said the Doctor, snapping the book shut and replacing it on the shelves. ‘People say you cannot measure something or observe it without altering it in some way. . . ’
‘And by your very arrival you might inadvertently cause some change in your environment?’
‘Either that,’ admitted the Doctor, pulling another book at random from the shelves, ‘or the TARDIS has a real nose for trouble.’
‘TARDIS?’
‘My. . . ship. It’s thanks to the TARDIS that we’re. . . ’ His voice trailed away to nothing.
‘Is there a problem, Doctor?’ asked the Dazai.
The pages within the volume the Doctor was inspecting were entirely blank. He returned it carefully to its place on the shelf, extracted another book. This one had a few pages of writing towards the back, but otherwise seemed unmarked. A third pulled from its place on the shelves was also empty-until, as the Doctor stared at the page, words began to appear, lines of dark pigment spreading across the surface of the parchment.
‘No,’ he said slowly, rubbing his eyes. ‘No problem at all.’
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Saul nodded towards an expanse of shadowed leaves. Branches were shaking; the undergrowth was crackling as if on fire. Something was coming closer and closer.
Martha risked another sideways glance at Saul.
Crouching even lower to the ground, his face a mask of concentration, he had his elegant, short sword in his hand – Martha hadn’t even heard him draw it from his scabbard – and was staring intently at the low bushes. Martha could hear twigs snapping now, whole branches kicked aside – there was no stealth or subtlety here.
The thing – whatever it was – was shrieking, a high-pitched whine that set Martha’s teeth on edge.
She was just about to turn to Saul once more when the creature exploded out of the bush in a confusion of noise and scattered leaves.
It was like the animal that had disturbed her and the Doctor earlier.
Martha glimpsed a bristly brown hide, a gaping mouth full of spittle and tusks, and black-button eyes now wide with fear.
Martha almost laughed with relief, only now aware of her racing pulse and the weight of her heart as it thumped like an industrial piston in her chest.
She turned to Saul. ‘We saw one of these earlier. I thought it was. . . ’
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Then she saw that Saul’s countenance had not changed. He was making some impatient sideways motion with his head, still staring deep into the trees. It took a moment for Martha to understand what he meant, and then it hit her like a runaway bus. The monster’s still there.
The creature announced its presence with a long, drawn-out cry, like a lamb’s bleat filtered through a huge but broken megaphone. A sapling came crashing to the ground in a splash of silver trunk and mud-coloured leaves. Finally, through a forced break in the trees, a great, purplish creature staggered into the light. A vile, oozing body sat atop several great, twitching legs, multi-jointed like an insect’s but as thick as an elephant’s. Stunted wings covered with barbs and pus-tules flapped into the surrounding trees, breaking them effortlessly.
Martha had to crane her head upwards to see the head, which swayed from side to side atop a sinuous, tapering neck. The ‘face’ was flattened vertically, resembling the jaws of a Venus fly trap, edged by lidless black eyes.
The creature lurched forward, its scimitar-shaped wing casings slicing another tree asunder. Everything it touched ran with blue and brown slime and the stench that rose from its bloated body was almost overpowering.
‘What is that thing?’ hissed Martha, terrified.
Saul, as stoic and controlled as ever, shook his head in disbelief.
Martha and Saul edged backwards, still watching the beast intently.
One of its wings powered into the soil and leaves at their feet, but they jumped out the way easily. A warning shot.
‘I’ve never encountered one this close to the village,’ said Saul under his breath. He was clearly shocked by what he saw.
The beast rocked its head backwards, its circle of eyes now looking upwards, and let forth another reverberating cry.
‘Come on,’ said Saul, grabbing Martha by the arm. ‘The forest is thicker over here. It won’t be able to follow us.’
They plunged headlong into a grove of overlapping trees. Even the space between trunks and criss-crossing branches, it seemed, was filled with vines, creepers, brambles. It all became a blur as they ran, 62
forcing their way through the dense vegetation. Martha was painfully aware of the knotted undergrowth that tugged at her feet and the sinuous woody stems that slapped into her face and arms. At one point she glanced down at her hands, exposed and unprotected, and saw that they were already red and raw.
But none of this mattered if it meant they were escaping from the creature. She could hear it thundering behind them, pressing its bulk against the wall of trees and brambles, crying out in frustration and defiance. Then, mercifully, after a time, the noises began to dwindle, and Martha and Saul slowed, moving the larger branches and trailing vines out of their way instead of just blundering into them. Eventually the trees began to thin, becoming, once more, larger and more majestic, until eventually they were back in a more familiar expanse of forest. Sunlight filtered through the canopy like great golden planks, seeming almost as solid as the trees that surrounded them.
Saul looked around, getting his bearings and sniffing the air, and then headed off. ‘We should speak with the Doctor,’ he said.
Martha nodded, folding her arms so that she didn’t have to look at her throbbing and tender hands. Just at the moment she couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted more than to see the Doctor again.
Word had gone around the school that morning that some travellers had been seen in the village. It was said they were staying at leader Petr’s house, and their purpose in the village had soon become the subject of playground gossip. One boy had suggested that they were professional monster-killers, and another speculated that they were here to investigate the children who had gone missing. Soon, however, even Jude’s friends had tired of this interruption to normal life in the village. The boys had wanted to playa rough sport of their own invention that seemed to involve ball-throwing and copious amounts of mud, but the girls were only interested in their own forfeit game of truth and kisses. Jude thought them equally pathetic and had been attracted to neither game – not when there were much more interesting things to occupy her mind.
After school, having unsuccessfully tried to accompany the female 63
stranger and her father on a trip into the woods, Jude’s thoughts had turned to tracking down the other newcomer. On discovering that he wasn’t at the great hall or at uncle Petr’s house, she guessed – rightly
– that the wise woman would be his next port of call. She hid outside the Dazai’s house, listening to their discussion and trying to follow as much of it as she could. Then, when the man – the Doctor, he called himself – had finished, Jude slipped out of the shadows and followed him.
The Doctor wandered through the village for some minutes, walking idly and taking a most circuitous route towards the lake. It was almost dark by the time he came to the water’s edge. He sighed, as if disappointed – perhaps he had arranged to meet his friend and Jude’s father there. Jude watched the stranger as he crouched down; he seemed to be looking intently at the stones at his feet, though he would glance up from time to time to stare across the grey expanse of water as if expecting to see something emerge from its depths.
Suddenly he started scrabbling around on the stony foreshore. Jude chose that moment to step out from her hiding place. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Hello!’ said the Doctor brightly, still scrabbling through the rocks.
He made no attempt to ask Jude her name, or to question what she was doing there, or to tell her
to go away. Jude liked the man already.
‘What are you doing?’ she continued.
‘Ducks and Drakes!’ said the Doctor, getting to his feet to show Jude the contents of his outstretched hands. ‘You need a nice, flattish stone, a still expanse of water. . . It helps me to think.’
He paused, tongue locked between his teeth in concentration, then bent down, hurling the stone edgeways through the air and in the direction of the shrouded island. The stone skipped and bounced and arced across the water before eventually disappearing into the depths of the lake.
‘Six jumps,’ the Doctor breathed, counting the ripples. ‘Not bad!’
‘Oh, we call that Skipping Circles,’ said Jude dismissively. ‘A child’s game. I’ve never seen the point in it.’
‘Oh,’ said the Doctor, crestfallen. ‘Used to think it was wonderful 64
when I was a kid. . . ’
‘Then, forgive me,’ said Jude, ‘but you must have been a bit, well, dense.’
The Doctor simply grinned. ‘Oh yeah! Thicky thicky thick pants, that was me. . . ’
‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ said Jude, with a disarming smile. ‘You must be very wise, to have travelled so far.’
‘Aw, thanks,’ said the Doctor modestly. ‘I matured quite late, you see,’ he elaborated with an expansive hand gesture.
‘Like a fine
wine. . . ’
‘Or a smelly cheese,’ suggested Jude, laughing.
‘Gorgonzola!’ exclaimed the Doctor, wrapping his lips around every syllable. ‘I love a bit of Gorgonzola. Camembert, too. Do you know, I once bought some Brie from a village in Normandy and left it in a cupboard in the TARDIS. . . It was months and months before I found it again. You wouldn’t believe the pong!’
‘You’re funny,’ said Jude. ‘Are you some sort of jester, a trickster from a foreign court? I’ve read about them in one of my books.’
‘History?’ queried the Doctor, sending another flat stone skipping over the water.
‘Fiction,’ said Jude. ‘My father says there are only so many books full of long words you should read before you’re twenty. I like to relax from time to time. Something. . . What’s the word? Something flippant.’
‘I like to relax by throwing stones,’ said the Doctor firmly. ‘Can’t beat it. Who is your father. . . ?’
‘Saul,’ said Jude.
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Why am I not surprised to hear that? While your dad tries to push back the barriers by exploring, you’re trying to do the same – by reading loads of books!’
‘Your friend went off with him to explore,’ said Jude. ‘I know he wanted to check his traps, but. . . That’s sometimes code for “I fancy a bit of exploring today – don’t tell anyone.” He needs his peace and quiet, you see.’
‘Martha went with him?’ asked the Doctor, suddenly concerned.
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‘Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be quite safe.’ Jude pointed to a pathway that wound towards the side of the village furthest from the forest. It was just starting to get dark now and the two figures were illuminated by a single guttering torch. ‘Look, there they are!’
Jude waved at the taller of the two figures, then waited patiently alongside the Doctor. The silence as the evening darkened still further was interrupted as he threw another stone over the water.
It was impossible to count the number of skips now. The lake had become a mirror of the star-filled heavens, the stone seeming to frac-ture the night sky before sinking down into nothingness.
Martha came over to the Doctor in a rush, clearly out of breath and covered in scratches. ‘Doctor,’ she said hurriedly. ‘We’ve seen a monster. In the forest. Like something out of Salvador Dali.’ Martha paused, trying to steady herself. ‘Saul reckons there’s loads of them.
They’re getting closer to the village.’
‘Are you OK?’ asked the Doctor.
‘I’m fine,’ said Martha. ‘Though if I’d been in there on my own. . . ’
The Doctor turned to Saul. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. Saul bowed silently. The Doctor turned Martha away and whispered urgently to her. Jude had to strain to hear his words.
‘It’s just struck me,’ the Doctor whispered. ‘Those monsters might be the least of our problems. . . ’
Martha and the Doctor walked back to Petr’s home in silence, the Doctor having lapsed into brooding introspection, Martha aware of the pain in her hands and arms. Actually, now she came to think of it, her inner ear was throbbing again, as predicted by the research station’s machines. She felt rather dejected and sorry for herself as she slumped on some cushions in the main living area of Petr and Kristine’s house.
Kristine must have picked up her feelings as, within minutes of Martha’s return, Petr’s wife stood in the doorway, somewhat nervously, with a small, steaming bowl of liquid in her hands.
‘Hello,’ said Martha, forcing a brightness of tone into her voice that she did not feel.
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‘You’ve hurt yourself,’ said Kristine simply. ‘Saul told me.’ Kristine bent down, the bowl still in her hands, and for a moment Martha thought she was expected to drink the strange, swirling fluid. Instead, Kristine took out what looked like long, supple slivers of bark, and used these to dab the liquid onto the scratches on Martha’s hands.
Martha felt a strange heat spreading into the cuts – it wasn’t unpleasant, and reminded Martha of unexpected sunlight on a crisp winter’s day. Within moments the pain was gone. The scratches were still visible, but already the skin seemed to be closing together to seal the wounds.
‘Wow,’ said Martha. ‘That stuff really works!’
Kristine smiled her usual demure smile, though she seemed puzzled by Martha’s surprise.
‘I feel fine,’ said Martha. ‘Even my ear’s better now!’ She thought of her years of medical training, and the difficulty conventional therapies sometimes had in dealing with even relatively minor problems. And yet here Kristine was, able to administer aid easily and swiftly.
The Doctor bent down to look – Martha hadn’t heard him come into the room. ‘I’m still gobsmacked,’ he admitted. ‘The things we can do in this world, the effect it can have on us. . . ’
‘The pain seems real enough,’ said Martha, still staring at her hands.
‘Yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s what worries me. . . ’ The Doctor and Martha followed Kristine into the kitchen. They watched Saul, Petr and Kristine move silently around the room. Despite the lack of space, there seemed to be a distance between them all, even if the ‘banquet’
they were preparing was intended to draw the two brothers together.
Doubtless their disagreements about exploring further into the forest had come to a head when Petr and Kristine’s son had disappeared; the grief and mourning had in turn forced a wedge between Petr and his wife. Petr seemed to be a diligent leader, well used to tackling other people’s problems and working for the good of the entire community.
Now he was trying to mend a rift within his own family, and the extra weight that this put on his shoulders seemed almost too much to bear.
Martha watched Petr and the others as they chopped vegetables and skinned rabbits. The three barely spoke – the house was silent but for 67
the crackle of the fire and the noise of blade on chopping board –and the Doctor was forced to lean towards Martha so that he could whisper in her ear.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he said, an unusual urgency in his voice. ‘We’ve got to get back to the Castor.’
‘Why the rush? You were the one who wanted to explore.’ She glanced around, her own voice becoming a whisper.
The Doctor paused for a moment before continuing. ‘We think this place. . . snapped into existence this morning while we were exploring the station, right?’
‘Well, yeah,’ said Martha. ‘I suppose.’
‘I didn’t tell you earlier,’ said the Doctor. ‘When I scanned Saul. . .
; some of his readings were of a perfectly normal thirty-five-year-old bloke. And some said he was only four hours old!’
‘What?’
‘So, for sake of argument, let’s assume that all this is some sort of vast computer simulation, some. . . imagined world for the benefit of the people that live here.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t think it was virtual reality,’ said Martha.
‘Just bear with me,’ said the Doctor, impatient. ‘What if the land and the people are one? What if when all the people go to sleep. . .
Everything else switches off?’
‘So you’re saying this whole world stops when everyone falls asleep?’
‘Why not?’ said the Doctor. ‘Something the Dazai said earlier –when we sleep, if we’re not dreaming. . . It’s as if the universe blinks out of existence.’
‘And what’s this got to do with us?’
‘We don’t belong here,’ said the Doctor. ‘We can interact with this environment, but we’re not sustained by it. We breath its air, we can feel the soil under our feet – we can be hurt by its inhabitants. But if I’m right and the Castor switches back to night-time mode to save energy. . . And whatever is maintaining this world just turns it off until morning. . . ’
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‘Surely we’d find ourselves back on the research station,’ said Martha.
The Doctor sighed. ‘It might not be as simple as that. We’ve walked for miles. For all I know we’re actually in deep space now, with just this bubble of unreality protecting us from. . . ’
Martha swallowed hard, imagining the vast and deadly emptiness of space. Suddenly the ground she stood on felt a lot less solid. Without thinking she gripped the Doctor’s arm for support.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.
‘Get back into the forest,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’ve got to find the point where we appeared – the metal floor, the tree with the impression of a door on it. That’s our best chance.’
