by Doctor Who
19
D O C T O R W H O
we've gone a week now without a disappearance, so it must be working.'
A curfew. That at least explained the lack of people out and about, thought the Doctor. But what was it that had this city hiding itself away as soon as night fell?
'Well I'd heard rumours, obviously. That's why I didn't want to risk travelling at night,' the Doctor said, leaning forward, conspiratorially, hoping to coax more from his host.
'Very wise, sir. Who knows when the Huntsman will strike again,'
replied John, and the big man shuddered, glancing almost without thinking at the window, as if this Huntsman were hovering right outside, ready to strike.
The Doctor thought for a moment, wracking his brain trying to remember the local legends of this period, the kinds of scare stories parents would tell their children in hushed tones, the implied threat that if they didn't behave then some hideous beastie would creep up and get them...
'Of course. The Devil's Huntsman," he exclaimed, pleased with himself. That's the one with the hellhounds, isn't it? Hunting down lost souls in the Clent Hills, and condemning them to eternal damnation. I love those old ghost stories. What was his name again?'
'Harry Cannab,' John told him, deadly serious. 'And it's no story, Doctor.
He's come back. And if Harry Cannab has set his will on hunting your soul, then your fate is sealed, sure as day turns into night.'
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TH E K R I L L I T A N E S T O R M
'Still, Worcester is a long way from Clent, isn't it? More than a day's ride,' pondered the Doctor. 'Why would he bother travelling all this way south? Aren't there enough souls back home to keep him busy?'
John took a long swig of his ale, and stared glumly at the table top.
'It's a question we've all been pondering, Doctor. All I know is people have gone, disappeared without a trace.' He sniffed. 'Even lost one of my regulars, I have.'
'How long has this been going on?' asked the Doctor, all hint of joviality forgotten.
John had another drink. If there was one thing to lift the spirits of a good innkeeper, it was spreading local gossip to his customers.
'Been nigh on three months, since that monk fella didn't turn up when he was supposed to. Caused a right stink up at the Cathedral, it did.
Then we started to hear about them as had gone missing in the villages hereabouts. We thought we'd be safe in the city, but then people started talking about the Huntsman...' John paused, and the silence was deafening. 'I suppose it was only a matter of time before he struck again. Not three streets from here. Robert Marsh, his name was. Didn't know him, but they said he deserved better. When they found him, down Sidbury way, his body was turned inside out.'
They sat quietly for a few minutes, lost in their individual thoughts.
Whatever it was out there, it was no phantasmagorical legend, the Doctor knew that much.
21
D O C T OR W H O
At the heart of every myth there lay some grain of truth, some real event that had had a profound impact on those involved. He should know, having played a part in creating a few himself. He was the Oncoming Storm after all. Even his own race had passed into legend. Tales of mythical monsters somehow became more 'real' as each generation passed the story on to the next. Something that happened to a friend of a friend, who'd heard it from someone, who'd heard it some place else, until the myth gained a life of its own. But rarely did the original actually turn up in person, centuries later.
Ignoring himself, of course.
No, outside there was a blood and bone creature, stalking this city and the surrounding countryside. It was probably nothing more than a wild animal, but it was as real as it was deadly.
A few hours had passed since their talk, and John had long since drifted off to sleep, snoring gently.
The Doctor stood by the shuttered window, listening intently to the quiet stillness of the night, all sound deadened by the thick snowfall. His thoughts turned to the families huddled inside their homes, no doubt fearing this would be the night the Huntsman's wrath would fall upon them. The Doctor wondered how many sleepless nights his host had spent sitting down here, sword at the ready, fighting fatigue to protect his wife.
The scream of some kind of bird rang out in the night sky, and John was awake, scrambling to his feet.
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'Doctor. Did you hear that?' he whispered, hoarsely, eyes wide.
Then the strangled howl came again. No, it was different this time, a human scream, and both men tensed, ears straining.
Gertrude clattered down the stairs, dropping her candlestick, and threw herself into her husband's arms, gripping him tightly.
'John. It's him. It's the Huntsman. He's back,' she sobbed, shaking.
The Doctor threw on his coat and made for the door.
'Don't go out there. It's not safe,' cried John, but it was too late. The Doctor was already haring off towards the horrible screeching.
'Leave him, John. If the Huntsman gets him, that's his lookout. At least he isn't coming for us.' She slammed the door shut and had it bolted in one swift movement.
The terrible screaming had stopped. Skidding to a halt, the Doctor listened keenly for a moment, trying to work out where in this maze of narrow streets it had emanated from. Making the best guess he could, he ran on, knowing it was now almost certainly too late.
His fears were confirmed as he hurtled around a corner and into a small yard. There was a body, or at least bits of one, scattered across the yard. Crouching over it, a dark, inhuman figure tore at the remains with dirty, yellow, bloodied teeth.
It stopped. Distracted from its feast, and becoming 23
D O C T OR W H O
aware of the Doctor's presence, the beast stretched its thin, muscular legs, unfurling wide, translucent wings, and turned to face the newcomer. Orange eyes locked on the Doctor's, and it screamed, a deafening, bloodcurdling, venomous howl.
This was no mythical beast, no local bogeyman. This was a creature of which to be truly fearful.
'Krillitane,' whispered the Doctor.
24
T W O
mily pulled back the hood of her all-weather jacket, _and ran her Efingers through her short blonde hair. With a sigh, she raised her binocs, scanning the rooftops for any hint of movement. Still there was no sign of her
Prey-Where the hell were they? It was cold, she was tired, and yet again she'd been unable to get the confirmation her client needed.
• It had taken a week to position the Bio-locator Pods at strategic points across the city. They were low-energy units, impossible to detect with security scanners, and she'd optimistically hoped they would give results first time out. Instead she hadn't picked up so much as a blip for the past three nights.
Stuffing the binocs back into her satchel, Emily 25
D O C T OR W H O
decided to call it a night. The snowstorm was making it all but impossible to see anything anyway, even from this hillside vantage point, high in an aged oak tree overlooking the city.
She'd taken a risk, staying out here in the open, knowing how dangerous it was, but she had a job to do and as soon as she'd done it she could get off this backwards rock and put the whole sorry business behind her.
A sudden flare caught her eye as it skittered across the screen on her scanning unit, catching Emily by surprise. She grabbed the device and checked its readings. There - an electromagnetic power surge in the city below, as unlikely as ice on a star. It had lasted no more than a second. Dammit.
She grimaced. A malfunction in one of the Pods, or perhaps this dratted weather was playing havoc with the signal. Either way, there was nothing for it, she'd have to head into town and check each and every Pod until she found the shot one.
Unhappily, the young woman packed up her gear and clambered resignedly to the ground.
Fifteen checked and fully functional
Pods later, Emily's mood hadn't improved. It didn't help that she'd spent most of her time dodging the heavily armed groups of men that were patrolling the streets.
They weren't hard to avoid, but it had slowed her progress to a point where she might as well have been crawling.
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Checking the coast was clear, she crept out of her most recent hiding place, and headed for the location of Pod Sixteen.
Annoyingly, she found a blue shed was blocking access to the small, spherical bio-detector. The shed definitely hadn't been there when she'd activated the Pod, a few days previously.
'Stupid place to build an outhouse,' Emily muttered, irritated, as she tried to figure out a way to get past the obstacle. The young woman frowned. There was something strange about this box. It didn't feel right, as if it didn't belong. Tentatively, she reached out with her gloved hand, sensing a slight vibration in the atmosphere surrounding the box...
And snatched it back as a horrific scream echoed through the streets. All thoughts of this mysterious structure were instantly wiped from her mind. Perhaps tonight hadn't been such a waste of time after all. Her prey was close at hand.
She was in no rush to get herself killed, and there was no point confronting anyone. All she had to do was get one good image grab, and she could do that without anyone realising she was ever there.
Maybe this box could be of use after all, Emily thought, and quickly scaled its sides, using its recessed panels as footholds and bracing herself between the box and the nearby wall. Once on its roof, she was able to step across to the wooden tiles of the closest building. Good.
Much less chance of getting spotted up here.
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D O C T O R W H O
A few carefully judged leaps later, and Emily had found what she was looking for. Crouching low, she peered over the edge into the open space below. A large, inhuman shape was moving against the bright snow.
Scrabbling for her binocs, Emily thumbed the record button before zooming in and focusing, and immediately regretted her haste.
Filling the viewfinder was a flap of crimson flesh, hanging from the jaws of something hideous. A head that seemed to be all teeth moved into view, and she got a glimpse of a tiny, evil eye. The thing flicked the meat fully into its mouth, blood dripping over its lips, and her stomach turned. Panning away sharply, Emily discovered the source of the creature's meal. A body, lying dead in the snow.
Suddenly a blurry figure sped through the frame, and Emily zoomed out, enough to make out the silhouette of a thin man in a very long coat, now standing very still and staring at the creature It had not, as yet, registered the man's presence, but when it did he would be a dead man. With mounting horror, Emily watched as the creature, a giant muscular beast of taut skin stretched over joint and sinew, lifted its head and turned towards its next victim.
The Doctor froze, and the alien predator took a threatening step towards him, tensing its muscles, ready to pounce. Then it stopped in its tracks. Nostrils flaring, the Krillitane took in the Doctor's scent, and cocked its monstrous head to one side. Was it confused?
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Suddenly, with a frustrated, hungry glare at the Doctor, it flexed its powerful wings and took to the air, sweeping up into the night sky and away.
The Doctor exhaled a mighty breath. Sometimes, when tearing along at full pelt, his sense of self-preservation couldn't keep up.
Donna had always been telling him to slow down, and he'd never listened.
Maybe she'd had a point.
That was a bit close,' he swallowed.
Only now that both hearts weren't in imminent danger of being torn out through his ribs, did the Doctor become aware of the clatter of approaching boots. The night patrol was coming. It must have been their scent that had rattled the Krillitane, its hunting instincts honed through generations of scavenging and adopting the strengths of other races. Thank heavens for medieval personal hygiene; the creature must've smelt them a mile off. Odd that it hadn't picked up his scent, though.
Odder still, what on Earth was a Krillitane doing in medieval England? They had been humanoid themselves at one point, so there could be little of any interest to them in human DNA, or the planet's current level of technology.
Judging by its appearance, it must have been one of the first generations to have adopted the wings of the Bessan. The neck was longer than the last time he'd encountered them, some 800 years in Earth's future, and the tail much longer, with a forked tip. Very much the traditional representation of the Devil in this period. How apt.
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D O C T O R WHO
Then an unwelcome thought struck the Doctor, followed by a sinking feeling. Here he was, alone, with a rather brutally murdered body lying at his feet. To the casual observer, this probably wouldn't look good. To the patrol, already on the hunt for a killer and very close now, this would look very, very bad indeed...
Then something caught his eye, a glint of metal, partially buried in the snow and just beyond the grasp of the messy corpse.
'Hello, looks like you dropped something. Don't suppose you'll have much use for it now.' He reached out, gingerly picking up the blood-spattered object. It wasn't much larger than a palm-sized computer or a mobile phone, a thumb pad and big red button filling the lower half of its battered fascia, while its small screen had been rendered cracked and useless, punctured by the fearsome claw of the Krillitane.
Whatever the device's purpose, it wasn't of Earth origin, and that suggested that this poor chap, to whom it almost certainly belonged, wasn't of Earth origin either. Curiouser and curiouser.
Scuffling footsteps now almost on top of him, the Doctor pocketed the ruined device and spun round, just as half a dozen or so soldiers burst into the yard, raising their pikes and swords defensively.
'It was him,' the Doctor gushed, breathlessly, as if he had only just arrived on the scene himself. 'It was the Huntsman, I saw him. He flew off.' He pointed upwards, in no specific direction. That way.'
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The soldiers looked at each other, uncertainty clouding their faces, their pikes wavering as they took in the dreadful scene before them. A burly man with a scar above his left eye, whom the Doctor assumed to be their leader, wasn't in any doubt about what had happened here.
'I want him bound and gagged now,' he barked. 'Get to it." He turned to his messenger, a terrified-looking young lad who couldn't tear his eyes from the Doctor. 'Get to the Castle as fast as you can. Report the capture and return with reinforcements. Go.'
'Hang on. I had nothing to do with this,' protested the Doctor, as the soldiers closed in around him. 'Look, not a spec of... well, him on me.
I'd have hardly had time to nip off to the dry cleaners now, would I?
Just give me a chance to exfflemffle...'
A gag being forced into the Doctor's mouth muffled his objections and, as the soldiers grabbed his arms and roughly tied his hands behind his back, he decided it was probably not the best time to put up a fight. These men were on edge, and carrying a serious armoury of very sharp weapons. Not a good combination. At some point he was bound to be taken before someone in a position of authority, someone he could reason with. He'd talk his way out of this tricky situation then.
As his troops continued their work, Captain Darke stared coldly at the prisoner, careful to keep his distance, taking the measure of this man, this supposed demon that had terrorised the city.
31
D OC T O R W H O
Darke was a career soldier, and had fought in truly bloody battles on home soil and abroad, even as far away as the Holy Lands, yet nothing compared to the carnage before him now. What kind of beast could do this? Was it even possible that this could have been the work of a man?
With the prisoner secured, Darke walked quietly, deliberately towards him, and spoke in little more t
han a harsh whisper. These words were for the Doctor's ears alone.
'I'm a soldier, have been since I was a boy. I've seen death. I've seen the horrors that one man can unleash upon another, and I long ago abandoned superstition. I know that darkness lies in the heart of men, and you...' he paused, disgusted. 'You, my friend, have the eyes of a killer.'
The Doctor could only stare back, widening his eyes in a silent protest of innocence, but it was to no avail. Darke turned away, raising his voice so all could hear.
'We have him. We have the Huntsman,' he cried.
Was that him, Emily wondered? The target she'd been searching for? Those clothes definitely weren't local, she reasoned, sizing up the tall, smartly dressed man. If it was him, then he looked nothing like she'd imagined from the scant details in his biog.
Pulling up the binocs' main menu, she selected a couple of clear images and saved the grabs to its data drive. She could run an ID
analysis sweep back at base
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later but, with that creature on the loose, she was anxious to get indoors.
The scene unfolding below didn't look good, however. If that was the man she was hunting, then it would do her no favours if the natives executed him. They had arrived on the scene too late to witness the alien creature's escape, and had obviously assumed this rather less fearsome catch was the culprit. If only they knew.
As she watched, the patrol began to move off, two soldiers ahead of the prisoner, with four bringing up the rear. One solitary guard had been left to watch over the bloody remains, and she didn't envy his task.
The check on the Pods would have to wait, she decided, and she set off in pursuit of the prisoner and escort.
As the small group marched through the narrow streets and alleys, the Doctor became aware of a growing hubbub rising in their wake.
Word was spreading, and the people wanted a glimpse of the Devil's Huntsman.
