by Doctor Who
The Doctor stood on the shore of Black Island, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets, staring up in admiration at the lighthouse that loomed over him.
The journey out had been decidedly choppy, as Bronwyn’s little motorboat was tossed about like a leaf on the wild sea. It had taken them quite a while to get prepared for the trip. The outboard motor had been in a terrible state and the Doctor had had to practically strip it down and rebuild it before it would start. At least that had impressed Bronwyn, who promised to give him a tin of Welsh cakes to take away with him, and possibly some bara brith too.
They had hauled the boat’s trailer across the shingle, finally manoeuvring it to a small concrete ramp at the water’s edge. Bronwyn was considerably stronger than she looked, and soon the little boat was bobbing in the surf.
Unperturbed by the icy water, Bronwyn had slipped off her shoes, hitched up her skirt and clambered aboard the boat with apparent ease. The Doctor had been less successful and his trousers were soaked to the knees.
By the time they were under way the day was getting on and the wind had picked up considerably. The waves battered the little boat hard as it cleared the shelter of the harbour. Despite Bob Perry’s concerns, Bronwyn had proved herself to be a fairly experienced sailor and soon the boat was chugging determinedly towards the island.
The canvas bag had proved to be full of nothing more than provisions for the local wildlife and Bronwyn hurled handfuls of stale bread into the wind for the seagulls. Before long a huge white cloud of them was shadowing the boat, swooping down each time Bronwyn delved into the bag.
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As they approached the island itself, landing had seemed an impossible task to the Doctor. The black rocks were viciously jagged and the waves pounded against them, sending great flumes of spray into the air. Bronwyn was obviously a regular visitor, though, and had steered skilfully round to a long shelf of rock that deflected the bulk of the waves. She had kept the boat hovering just off shore until a lull came in the swell, then gunned the motor and sent them speeding between the rocks to a small sheltered cove.
She was down on the rocks now, tossing fish to where half a dozen seals bobbed in the water. The Doctor had left her to it and headed for the base of the lighthouse.
Wind swept his hair back as he stared up at the tower. It was impressive: tall and tapered, made up of dozens of steel sections held together with hundreds of huge rusted bolts. Paint flaked untidily from the sides and high overhead a rusted walkway circled the lamp room like a collar.
Most of the glass in the lamp room had long since gone and the top now resembled a huge birdcage, an image that was reinforced thanks to the evidence left by hundreds of seabirds that streaked its sides.
What intrigued the Doctor was that it was so obviously unused, with no sign whatever of anyone having been in it for years. The door at the base was bolted and padlocked, and years of corrosion had practically rusted it shut.
‘So why was there a glow from the lamp room last night?’ he muttered.
Bronwyn wandered over to his side, wiping her hands on her oilskin. ‘Thought you were interested in the seals, not the lighthouse.’
Her tone was accusing.
‘Oh, I am, I am. Seals. Love ’em. Some of my best friends are seals.
Great at parties. But I’m also intrigued by this. Isn’t it beautiful?’
Bronwyn looked up at the tower and sniffed dismissively. ‘S’pose so. In a way.’
‘When was it abandoned?’
‘Back in the 1970s. Elwyn Merritt was the last keeper. Got themselves a lightship out on the sandbanks now. Shut this one down, 62
didn’t they? Always the way. Things change. People move on.’
‘And some come back, don’t they? Some like Nathaniel Morton.’
Bronwyn said nothing, but the Doctor could see her jaw clench.
‘Something happened between you and Morton, didn’t it?’ The Doctor kept his voice low and gentle. ‘Something a long time ago, when you were young. He went away, but you stayed.’
‘Shouldn’t have come back.’ There was anger in Bronwyn’s voice.
Anger and fear. Told him not to come back!’
‘Why?’ The Doctor was urgent now. ‘What happened?’
Bronwyn’s anger erupted at the Doctor. ‘What’s it to you? What good is it going to do to dig up the past again? Best left buried! It’s best left buried, all of it! They can’t bring him back.’ Tears blurred her eyes, then the anger faded for a moment and she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. They can’t bring him back.’
Sniffing, she turned and hurried away from the Doctor. He called after her but the wind whipped the words away. He rubbed at his chin.
He wasn’t going to get anything else from Bronwyn at the moment, but everything here was connected somehow. He just had to find the common link.
He did a slow circuit of the lighthouse, looking for anything unusual, but he saw nothing. To the casual observer, it was nothing more sinister than an abandoned lighthouse on a deserted island.
He pulled his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, determined to solve the issue of the glow in the lamp room if nothing else, when Bronwyn suddenly scrambled back into view, pointing down towards the shore.
She struggled to the Doctor’s side, breathless and frightened.
He caught her arm, steadying her. ‘What is it? What have you found?’
‘Down there. In Pillbox Hole.’
‘Pillbox Hole?’
‘A cave. By the shore. It wasn’t there before. Been here hundreds of times, I have.’
‘Show me!’
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He caught hold of the old lady’s hand and the two of them made their way carefully over the wet rocks. They reached the top of a narrow set of crude steps that had been hacked out and Bronwyn pointed down to a narrow crevice at the bottom.
‘In there.’
‘OK. Wait here a moment.’
The Doctor released her hand and scampered down the stairs. At the shoreline they flattened out, leading through a sea-worn gash in the side of the island. He slipped through the gap carefully, emerging on to a narrow ledge in the side of a tall cave where the wind and waves echoed mournfully, eerily.
The Doctor stared into the cave and grinned. ‘Hah! I knew it!’
Floating in the black water in front of him, rising and falling with the swell, was a spacecraft.
Rose had crept through the tunnel for what seemed like an age and was on the verge of giving up and heading back to Ali and her friends when she felt cold air across her face.
She could still see nothing – the light from the entrance had long since gone as the tunnel had curved slightly and Rose had edged her way forward by feel alone. But now the breeze told her that she was nearly through.
She gave a sigh of relief and tried to rub the crick out of her neck.
Being unable to stand was starting to get painful and she wished she could be Ali’s height – for the next few minutes at least.
She was about to continue when a noise from behind made her freeze. She held her breath, concentrating on listening, trying to convince herself that it was just her imagination.
The noise came again. A soft scraping on the brickwork. There was something in the tunnel with her! Rose strained to see through the oppressive blackness, suddenly aware of what a stupid idea it had been to head into the tunnel without any form of light.
She could hear something approaching from behind. And there!
Lights flickering. Green and red and blue lights, dancing across the 64
wet brick. Rose pressed herself against the wall, aware of how pointless it was.
‘Rose?’
Ali’s voice was thunderously loud in the confined space. Rose nearly screamed.
‘Rose, is that you?’
Ali emerged from the shadows, a tiny torch in her hand. The LEDs in its tip were cycling through the primary colours.
‘Ali, you’re gonna be the death of me!’ R
ose could hear the cracks in her voice. ‘You’ve just taken years off my life! What are you doing in here?’
‘Sian remembered she had a torch on a keyring. It was free with a magazine.’ She held it out to Rose. ‘I thought it might help.’
Rose hugged her. ‘Thank you. But you shouldn’t have come down here. It could be dangerous.’
‘None of the others would do it,’ Ali said, extricating herself from Rose’s grip. She looked embarrassed.
Rose took the little torch from her. The LEDs were bright enough to see the way ahead. She couldn’t send Ali back without it and she’d certainly make better time in the remainder of the tunnel with it.
She caught the girl by the hand. ‘OK, you can come with me. But you’ve gotta promise me that you’ll do exactly as I tell you, right?’
Ali nodded.
Torch held out in front of them, the two girls headed forward.
The Doctor hopped from rock to rock, dancing out of the way of waves, examining the spacecraft. It was small and cigar-shaped, about twelve metres long, with ugly, powerful-looking engines hanging from fins at the rear. The surface was a dull silver-grey, etched with alien hieroglyphics. There were no windows visible, but thick black cables arced from underneath the ship and wound their way up the cave walls, vanishing through neat holes in the rock.
He scrambled up on to a large boulder and peered at them. ‘No prizes for guessing where they go!’
‘Doctor?’
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Bronwyn poked her head tentatively into the cave.
‘Bronwyn! Lovely! Come and look at what you’ve found. Smashing little interstellar hopper. Dual plasma-injection engines, toughened duralinium hull with built-in force-shield deflectors, go-faster paint job and probably a CD changer in the boot!’
Bronwyn shuffled forward nervously. ‘Are there. . . are there any. . . ’
‘Occupants? Nah! Not round here, at any rate.’
He jumped down from his perch to her side. ‘I think that they think they’ve parked somewhere safe. See that?’ He pointed at a cluster of circuit boards hanging from an exposed hatch on the side of the spacecraft’s hull. ‘That’s the imaging circuit of a cloaking-shield generator, or at least it would be if it wasn’t all banged up and broken and nibbled by sea bass. That’s how they’ve kept it hidden all this time and why you’ve not seen it before now. But they’ve been unlucky, didn’t bargain on the sea being so unpredictable. It’s bashed the ship against the rocks, quite recently by the looks of things, hit a vital spot, probably invalidated their no claims bonus. Now, that’s very unlucky for them, but very, very lucky for us, ’cause otherwise you’d never have found it.’
‘But why?’ Bronwyn was looking frightened. ‘Why are they here?’
The Doctor nodded at the cables that clung to the walls. ‘I think it’s got something to do with the lighthouse. Come on! Let’s go and see if I’m right!’
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Rosehadneverbeensogladtoseetheskyinherlife. Usingthetorch that Ali had brought, the two of them had made swift progress through the tunnel, eventually reaching a large metal shutter bolted to the wall. It was rusted and corroded, but had been levered open with an old railway sleeper. By the two boys presumably. A shaft of weak sunlight sliced across the wet brickwork, rain spattering fitfully through the gap.
Rose looked at how far it had been prised open. It was going to be a tight squeeze to get through. Ali had wanted to go first, but Rose held her back, still not sure of what they were going to find on the other side.
Handing Ali the torch, she peered through the gap. The tunnel opened into a ramshackle lean-to in the corner of a sprawling courtyard. Packing crates, oil drums and the remains of an old sit-on lawnmower stopped her getting a better view. She pushed herself flat against the wall, forcing one shoulder through, then the other.
Rust and dirt streaked the front of her parka but Rose didn’t care, she was out.
Keeping low behind the piles of junk, she scurried forward, check-67
ing that the coast was clear. The courtyard was empty. It had obviously been stables for the rectory at one point, though now it was more like a junkyard. Once-ornate furniture lay in disregarded piles, the upholstery sodden and dirty. Paintings with broken frames and torn canvases were stacked against one wall, while a huge elegant dining table, its varnished surface streaked with scratches, was propped up in a corner. Presumably they had all been cleared out to make way for the beds and medical equipment that Morton had installed in the dining room.
On the other side of the courtyard was the house. Half a dozen tall, cylindrical metal bins were clustered together along the rear wall next to a winding fire escape. At some point Rose needed to take a look in those bins, but not with Ali around. God only knew what she was going to find inside.
Alongside the bins, almost at floor level, was a row of small, dirty windows. The cellar. Rose nodded. The two boys had said they’d been able to see into the cellar. That was where she would start.
‘Rose!’
Ali was watching her from the tunnel, eyes wide. Rose had hoped that common sense and more than a little fear would make the girl stay put in the safety of the shadows, but Ali seemed to be determined to join in the ‘adventure’.
Rose beckoned her across and Ali darted over to where Rose was crouched. Rose caught her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
‘I need you to be very quiet now. You see those windows across there?’ Rose pointed across the courtyard. ‘I’m gonna go and have a look. Once I’ve done that, I’m gonna look in the bins and then we’ll go back down the tunnel to find Billy and the others, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Now I want you to stay hidden here.’
Ali opened her mouth to protest, but Rose raised a finger to her lips.
‘I mean it, Ali. It’s not a game. Stay here, all right?’
The little girl didn’t look happy but she nodded nonetheless. Satisfied, Rose peered out into the courtyard again. It was still deserted.
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‘Well, now or never,’ she muttered to herself.
Slipping out of the lean-to, Rose hurried across the courtyard, keeping to the wall, using the piles of furniture as cover. There was no movement from the house, no light from any of the windows. There wasn’t even any birdsong. It was eerie.
A noise made her start and she ducked down behind a high-backed chair. A door opened and a white-coated figure emerged, carrying a bulging black refuse bag. The figure crossed to the bins and tossed the bag in, then hurried back inside the house.
As the door slammed shut Rose shot a look over at where Ali was hiding. She had tucked herself deep into the shadows of the lean-to.
Rose waved at her to stay put.
One eye on the door, Rose darted across to the house, pressing up against the stone, making herself as small as possible. She ducked down, peering in through one of the narrow windows. The glass was filthy and she had to wipe at the dirt with her sleeve. She cupped her hands around her eyes, pressing her face against the glass.
The room she could see was large and low-ceilinged, lit by a single light bulb. Dozens of cardboard boxes piled high with books and ledgers were stacked against one wall, rolls of carpet underlay against another. A wine rack full of dusty bottles and spider’s webs dominated a third wall and an old exercise bike was propped up in the far corner.
It was like a million cellars in a million homes: boring, dull and ordinary. Rose felt a wave of disappointment. She’d hoped to be able to report back to the Doctor with proof that Morton was up to no good and, given what the boys had told her, she’d thought the cellar was her best bet.
She cursed under her breath. This was turning out to be a waste of time.
She was about to go to investigate the tall metal bins instead when something caught her eye in the shadows of the cellar. A bag tossed casually into a corner, half covered with an old tarpaulin. A long canvas bag, with fishing rods protruding from the open zip.
down at the shore. She leaned her weight against the window frame, seeing if it would move. The catch inside flexed slightly but the frame held. She wasn’t going to get in here.
She started to work her way along the wall of the house, pulling and pushing at each of the narrow windows in turn, oblivious now to the rain that had started to pour from the leaden sky. There! One of the catches was loose, the screws pulling from the rotten wood. She needed something to lever with.
Keeping low, she ducked over to the pile of furniture. Leaning against the back of one of the chairs was a roll of stair carpet. The house was quite old-fashioned. If she was lucky. . .
She pulled the chair to one side and allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. There. Stair rods. Perfect. Hefting one of them in her hands, she crossed back to the window. Slipping the stair rod through the narrow gap, she levered it back against the brickwork. The rod bent slightly, but she could feel the rotten woodwork starting to give. . .
She readjusted her position, getting a better angle to push against the catch, and leaned all her weight on the stair rod.
There was a splintering crack and the window popped open, the catch pinging off. Rose stumbled forward, just catching the window before it swung closed again, wincing at the noise of the catch as it clattered on the flags toned floor of the cellar. She shot a wary glance at the back door. Nothing.
Carefully she placed the stair rod on the floor and swung her leg through the open window, feeling with her toes for a firm foothold.
With a quick glance back at the waiting Ali, who was watching her open-mouthed, she slipped through the gap and into the house.
