Doctor Who BBCN22 - Martha in the Mirror

by Doctor Who

  178

  ‘You should put that in your diary,’ Martha told Grieg.

  He chuckled. ‘My diary is finished. It has served its purpose.’

  He took the glass book from a pocket of his cloak. It looked less fragile and dusty than when the Doctor and Martha had found it hidden in the wall.

  ‘So why did you write it all down anyway?’ Martha wondered. ‘Why not just tell us what was going on?’

  Grieg handed the diary to the Doctor. ‘I think you should have this. It isn’t quite up to date, but I have seen that it will serve its purpose.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the Doctor said, taking the delicate glass book.

  Grieg turned to Martha. ‘Who would listen to the ramblings of an old man?’ he asked. ‘Tales of a world behind the mirror, of reptile creatures and galactic wars, of treaties and murders and politics and trickery? No.’ He shook his head, the light reflecting off the broken edges of his nose and the cracks in his cheek. ‘But write them down, makes these things into a story, and perhaps – just perhaps – someone will want to know what happens.’

  ‘Must you go back inside the mirror?’ Martha asked.

  ‘This is no longer my world. There is no place for me here.

  And it is still a trap. If I miss my footing, if I knock against a table or brush against the wall, I could fracture and die.’ He held up his hand, as he had before, and it seemed to Martha that it was even more cracked and fragile than it had been the first time. ‘I would not last long in your world, and the pain –every day the pain would increase, until . . . ’ He lowered his arm and turned away.

  Martha followed the old man’s gaze and saw that Janna and Gonfer had come into the hall. With them was another girl –the image of Janna, but her face, even her clothes, were a web-work of lines and cracks.

  ‘He’s going to lose her again, or so he thinks,’ the Doctor said as the three figures approached.

  ‘You mean Janna?’ Martha said. ‘Or is it Tylda?’

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  ‘Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? No one could tell them apart, not by looking at them.’ The Doctor sighed. ‘One of them nice, the other not so pleasant. She wound him up something rotten, and he chased her into the garden. He thought he was chasing Tylda and it was really Janna – that’s why she was so scared. He was chasing the wrong girl.’

  ‘The kitchen boy?’ Martha said.

  ‘Gonfer. He worked in the kitchens then. He went after Tylda, but he found Janna and didn’t realise. It was Janna who died out there in the garden. Gonfer can never forgive himself.

  That’s why he looks after Tylda now – though he did think it was Janna. Till he realised the truth.’

  ‘But, why didn’t she tell him?’

  ‘Because it was her fault too. She teased and taunted him, and drove him to do it. She thought it was fun to upset him, and her sister died for it. And now,’ the Doctor said quietly,

  ‘they’re going to lose her all over again.’

  Gonfer looked pale and tired. Janna – or rather, Tylda – had a bruise on her forehead. Her cheeks were stained with tears.

  The glass girl walked slowly and carefully, watching where she put every tentative footstep.

  ‘Please stay,’ Tylda said, almost in tears. ‘Please, I can’t lose you again.’

  ‘I am you. I’m not our sister,’ the glass girl said, and her own voice was cracked with emotion. ‘And I can’t stay. If I do . . . ’

  She turned away.

  Grieg took a step towards her. ‘She is right. Our place is in the mirror. Look at her – so fragile, so delicate. She is lucky to have survived all this.’ He opened his hands and turned to indicate the whole room. ‘Would you have her stay? To stay is certain pain and then death for her. Even more certain than it is for me, and I too must go.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything?’ Gonfer asked the Doctor.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s too late, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But she’ll be safe in the mirror world,’ Martha said.

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  ‘Everything has its own time and space,’ the Doctor agreed.

  ‘Hers is in there. And ours . . . well, ours is in a sort of box, actually. And we should be on our way too.’ He pulled Gonfer into a hug. ‘Come on, big fellah – you’ll be OK. Look after Tylda.’

  ‘I will.’ Gonfer’s lips were tight as he pulled away, as he held back his emotion.

  ‘And you look after Gonfer,’ the Doctor told Tylda, hugging her tight.

  She hugged him back. ‘I will,’ she promised. ‘He’s my best friend.’

  The girl was trembling as Martha hugged her. She shook hands with Gonfer, not sure how he’d cope with anything more.

  The Doctor turned to Grieg. ‘You’d best be going. Thanks for this.’ He held up the diary.

  ‘You know what to do with it, time traveller?’ Grieg asked.

  ‘Oh I think I can work it out.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ Martha said. ‘How did you know we’re time travellers?’

  Gonfer’s mouth was open in astonishment.

  The Doctor grinned. ‘Not hard to work out, really,’ he said.

  ‘When you think about it.’

  ‘Goodbye, Doctor,’ Grieg said. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the Doctor countered. ‘I won’t shake your hand,’ he said with a smile. ‘Or yours,’ he told the glass girl standing beside Grieg. ‘You’re so brave. Be strong. And look after the old gentleman.’

  The girl nodded. ‘Goodbye,’ she said quietly, ‘To all of you, goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t go!’ Tylda sobbed. ‘You can’t go – please don’t leave me.’ She ran forward.

  ‘Careful!’ Martha warned as the two girls stood facing each other. Tylda had her arms open. Her reflection stood silent and still.

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  Then gently, so gently, Tylda closed her arms round the glass girl, barely touching her in the closest they could ever come to an embrace.

  Moments later they stood looking at the Mortal Mirror.

  Tylda, Gonfer, the Doctor and Martha stared into the reflection of the Great Hall. A reflection that was not a reflection, where an old man made of glass and a delicate, brittle girl stared out at them. The girl placed her hand against the glass, and Tylda put her own hand over it.

  They stood without moving, without speaking, tears rolling down their cheeks.

  Then the mirror rippled and shimmered, and Tylda was sobbing at her reflection. Her mirror image. Her twin.

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  Astrangerasping,gratingsoundechoedthroughthecorri-dors and passageways of Castle Extremis.

  On the other side of the castle, a banquet was just begin-ning. Kendal Pennard, Lord High Advocate for Anthium and the Governor of Castle Extremis, was about to make a presentation to the man who had masterminded the recapture of Extremis after the Second Zerugian occupation. He was about to give him a mirror.

  The two robots that were working in one of the conference rooms close to the main courtyard knew this. They had hung the mirror in the Great Hall – just as a hundred years later they would hang what they were told was its replica in the same place. But now they were getting on with more mundane tasks. It was their job to repair or replace the fabric and struc-ture of the castle as it grew old and wore out, or was damaged in battle. They were repairing a wall.

  ‘This stone’s had it, Bott,’ Bill said, jabbing at the wall with his metal arm. A spray of pale dust erupted from the metal point.

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  ‘Better replace it then, Bill,’ Batt said. ‘Give me the measurements and I’ll cut one to fit, then we can chop this one out.’

  The tall, slim man standing in the doorway watched with interest as the robots went about their task.

  ‘You know,’ he announced as Bott lifted the crumbling stone out of the wall, ‘you’re very good at this.’

  ‘Had a lot of practice,’ Bott told him.

  ‘Best in the business,’ Bill said.

&nbs
p; ‘And who might you be?’ Bott asked.

  ‘Not time and motion come to check up on us?’ Bill said.

  ‘Not time and motion, no. Well . . . ’ The man stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and walked across to inspect the hole they had made in the wall. ‘Not motion, anyway.’

  ‘So – can we do something for you?’ Bill enquired.

  ‘Or are you just going to stand around and get in the way?’

  Bott asked.

  ‘Sorry.’ The man stepped back and gestured for them to carry on.

  Bott lifted the stone he had just cut and lined it up with the hole. Bill steadied the heavy load as Bott inched it forwards.

  The man cleared his throat.

  Bill and Bott stopped. The stone remained motionless.

  ‘Problem?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Something you’d like to say?’ Bott checked.

  ‘No, no. It’s looking good,’ the man said. ‘Excellent in fact.

  Brilliant. I was just wondering though . . . ’

  ‘Yes?’ Bott said.

  ‘What?’ Bill asked.

  The man was holding something. Something he had taken from his pocket. It was rectangular, and looked like it was made of translucent plastic or glass. ‘I was wondering if I could pop this behind the stone?’

  ‘Why?’ Bill asked.

  ‘What for?’ Bott wanted to know.

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  ‘Well, actually it’s to impress a friend of mine. A young lady,’

  the man confided. ‘Then I’ll come back later, and find it again.

  As if by magic.’

  ‘Behind our stone,’ Bill said.

  ‘This stone we’re about to put in,’ Bott added.

  ‘That very one,’ the man agreed.

  ‘How will you get it out again?’ Bott asked. ‘We’re not having you messing up our work you know.’

  This is serious stuff,’ Bill said. ‘Not some parlour trick. This stone’ll be in place till it crumbles away and needs replacing again.’

  ‘And that won’t be for a hundred years, give or take.’

  ‘With the slow decay you get from the osmotic rendition caused by the barrier.’

  ‘So, I’ll need to come back in a hundred years?’ the man said.

  ‘Afraid so,’ Bott told him. ‘Near enough,’ Bill agreed.

  ‘Right. OK. Fair enough.’ The man beamed at them. ‘I’ll do that then.’

  Bill and Bott looked at each other. Then they looked at the man, who was still grinning at them with satisfaction.

  ‘Sure?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Positive?’ Bott checked.

  ‘Hundred per cent.’

  ‘Is that glass?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Sort of,’ the man told them.

  ‘It’ll scratch,’ Bott told him.

  ‘Wrap it in a bit of cloth,’ Bill suggested. ‘There’s some down there by the cutting tools.’

  The man wrapped a piece of cloth round the glass box or whatever it was. Then he pushed it carefully to the back of the hole Bill and Bott had cut in the wall. He stepped back to allow them to fit the new piece of stone. When they’d finished, the hole was closed, hiding the small bundle of cloth.

  ‘Thanks.’

  185

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘See you in a hundred years.’ The man paused in the doorway. ‘Oh, and if you could make like you’ve never seen me before, that’d be a big help.’

  ‘With impressing the young lady?’ Bill said.

  ‘Amongst other things. I’m cheating a bit by being here really. Tell you what,’ he said as a thought occurred to him.

  ‘Don’t sneak on me, and I’ll put in a word for you with the Galactic Alliance.’

  ‘You’re with the Galactic Alliance?’ Bill was impressed.

  ‘Didn’t think they operated in this sector,’ Bott said.

  ‘All a bit hush-hush,’ the man told them. ‘But we’re always on the lookout for reliable agents.’

  ‘What do we need to do?’ Bill asked.

  ‘You can rely on us,’ Bott assured him.

  ‘I know,’ the man said. ‘Someone will be in touch. And they will give you a special code, though they won’t expect you ever to need it.’

  ‘Sounds like work for work’s sake,’ Bott grumbled.

  ‘And we know all about that,’ Bill said.

  ‘You will need it though,’ the man went on. ‘It’ll be important, really important. And when I ask you for it, I want to hear that release code loud and clear, understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Bill and Batt said together.

  ‘Er,’ Bill said, ‘release code for what?’

  But the man had gone.

  Moments later, a breeze blew the dust across the floor as Bill and Bott worked on the next section of wall that needed repairing. If there was a strange sound accompanying it, a sound like reality itself splitting open, then Bott’s drill was making so much noise they didn’t notice.

  A hundred years later – give or take, more or less – a little girl in a hidden room concealed behind the wall of a castle corridor 186

  slipped into a restless sleep.

  A looking glass hung on the wall opposite the bed. Reflected in it, another girl slept restlessly, mirroring the real girl.

  Both turned together, breathed together, and finally woke up together.

  Both girls pushed back their blankets and walked towards the mirror. Each raised a hand and pressed it to the glass, just for a moment.

  ‘I miss you,’ the little girl said.

  ‘I know,’ her reflection answered. ‘I miss you too.’

  ‘You’ll always be there, won’t you?’

  ‘Always. I’m the girl in the mirror.’

  The girls went back to their beds and were soon sleeping again. In the morning, perhaps, they would remember the brief waking in the night.

  Or perhaps, after all, it was just a dream.

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  Acknowledgements

  As ever, I am indebted to many people for their help and en-couragement. Especially to Stephen Cole for his dependable and excellent structural editing, Gary Russell for keeping me honest and focused, and Steve Tribe for keeping me consis-tent and on schedule. Also, everyone at BBC Books for their unerring support and enthusiasm, especially Albert, Caroline, Nick and Mathew.

  And, of course, huge thanks to Russell T Davies and the Doctor Who writers and production team for providing such won-derful toys for me to play with.

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  Document Outline

  Front Cover

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Acknowledgements

  Back Cover