by Doctor Who
'Oh, for the mists of Clom,' groaned the Doctor. 'I have 47
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nothing to do with your family. For whatever reason, you saved my life earlier, and I'm just trying to return the favour. Honestly. You'll be in terrible danger if you stay here.'
'From the local wildlife, you mean?' Emily shuddered. Fear of that animal was one thing she didn't need to lie about. 'It's got the locals so rattled, I've had a hard time blending in.'
'It's called a Krillitane, and it's not exactly a native.' The Doctor looked at the young woman. Her cover story was pretty tenuous, and he felt certain she knew more than she was letting on. Perhaps a little nudge might get some truth out of her.
Digging into his capacious pockets, the Doctor retrieved the device he'd found earlier, turning it over in his hand.
'What do you make of this?' he asked and threw it to Emily, who caught the silver white object adeptly. The Doctor watched her, carefully.
'I don't know,' she said with a noncommittal shrug. 'Could be some kind of tracking monitor, or a geo-location node. It's broken, though.'
'Yeah, I'd figured that much out for myself, thanks. Problem is, that's alien tech, and it belonged to the man that the Krillitane murdered.'
'So he was an off-worlder?' Emily thought aloud, as she studied the device.
Now this was unexpected. She wasn't familiar with these Krillitane creatures, but she knew that this one 48
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was being used to hunt humans, for reasons she couldn't begin to imagine. She'd assumed the victim had been just another hapless Earthling, but perhaps the beast had turned on its master? Perhaps the Doctor wasn't the man she'd suspected him to be after all and really was a random traveller, as he claimed. Or perhaps he was unwanted competition? This job had seemed so simple when she'd taken it on.
'Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary since you arrived?
I mean, apart from the string of brutal murders and a very tall winged killing machine?' asked the Doctor.
Emily threw the device back to him, shaking her head. 'Nothing. I've been keeping my head down, trying not to draw attention to myself. I just figured that's how life is here.'
'Don't underestimate the people of this little planet,' the Doctor enthused. 'Once they invent the digital watch there'll be no stopping them. In just eight hundred years they'll have set foot on their moon.
In celestial terms, that's a spit in the sawdust. A hundred years after that and they'll have colonised the planet next door...' The Doctor caught himself, noticing Emily's expression of disbelief. 'Probably,'
he added. 'Anyway.
He leapt from his chair, and paced across the room, deep in thought.
'I need to find out what the Krillitanes are up to and, more importantly, where they're hiding. You've been lucky, so far.
Krillitanes don't often travel alone. Where 49
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there's one, there's a dozen more, and they don't take kindly to people interfering with their plans.'
'You mean they're intelligent?' Emily frowned.
'Oh yeah. They're brilliant. Stupidly brilliant. Last time I met them they'd manipulated the intelligence of human children, turning them into an organic network of computers to crack the Skasas Paradigm and conquer all of time and space.'
The... what?'
The universal theory that would have seen the Krillitanes become more powerful than their own gods. As I say, brilliant, but they do suffer from delusions of grandeur. Luckily, I turned up with my pet dog and we stopped them.' The Doctor smiled, remembering the friends who'd fought alongside him. Good times.
Their whole plan revolved around the use of high technology and fertile, well-educated young minds, which won't be on offer here for centuries.' The Doctor paused for thought. 'Well, we can worry about what they're up to later. First we've got to figure out where they've set up shop.'
'It has to be somewhere out of town,' she suggested. 'Creatures like that couldn't stay hidden.'
'Didn't I mention? They're shape-shifters. Well, morphic illusionists to be precise... They'll have adopted human form, blended in. I could be one. You could be one.'
'Well I'm not,' protested Emily.
'Neither am I,' replied the Doctor quickly. There was 50
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a moment's uncomfortable silence, as they eyed each other up suspiciously, before the Doctor spoke again.
'Right then. Neither of us is about to flap our wings and make an early breakfast of the other. That's a good thing. So... we're looking for a location within the city walls, big enough to accommodate a large group of humans without anyone paying any attention...'
'Oh my God,' Emily gasped with a sudden realisation. The Sheriff.'
It was all so obvious. Why hadn't she given more credence to the tittle-tattle of shopkeepers and street hawkers? Too involved in her mission, and too much of an amateur to recognise the importance of background detail, that was why.
The old Sheriff must have been one of the first victims of the Krillitane.' Emily spoke quickly, struggling to remember what she'd heard. 'When the new Sheriff took up residence, he arrived with a small garrison of his own troops, and immediately put the night curfew in place.'
'Brilliant.' The Doctor's eyes sparkled. 'Perfect cover by day, and free reign of the city by night. And the Sheriffs job comes with its own Castle. What else could a covert alien taskforce ask for?'
The Doctor grabbed his coat and headed for the door. 'Well, come on then.'
'What?' Emily was nonplussed.
The Doctor grinned. 'Let's go and have a look.'
51
FOUR
hat do you mean, "he had a parchment"?' Darke could not Wbelieve what he was hearing. Some kind of house arrest when the guards simply let the prisoner wander off.
Butcher rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the muddy confusion that had filled his head since his recent encounter with the prisoner.
'In a small leather pouch, sir. A parchment, upon which it was written that John Smith is on official business for King Stephen himself, and that he should be allowed the freedom of the city. He said I'd get a promotion, or the Victoria Cross at the very least. Or something called a Blue Peter Badge?'
Darke glared at Butcher. 'And you read this parchment yourself, did you? Having acquired the learning to do so some time between evensong and midnight?'
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'Well, he told us what it said, sir,' Butcher admitted miserably.
'So you let him go.' Darke grimaced. If the Sheriff got wind of this, who knew what would happen. He wasn't known for being particularly forgiving. Looking at the forlorn foot soldier before him, the Captain was hardly surprised. His men were way beyond breaking point, and it was a wonder they weren't making more mistakes. 'How long ago did they leave?'
Hewse, the soldier who'd been watching the back door, piped up, hoping to mitigate whatever punishment Butcher had earned them.
'Not very long at all, sir. Minutes at most. They can't have gone far.
We'd have heard the alarm by now, if they'd got as far as the city wall.'
Butcher continued to squirm. 'It must have been witchcraft, Captain. That Smith fellow used magic on me, or something.'
'Magic? Yes, I'm sure that's what it was. Not that you're a gullible old fool a child could have tricked his way past. Get back to the barracks, both of you. And don't mention this to anybody. I shall deal with the matter myself.' The Captain watched his troops march sullenly away. Nothing that had happened tonight made any sense, and questions were beginning to pile upon questions.
Tonight's attack had had a different feel about it. The Huntsman hadn't struck within the city walls since the curfew had been introduced, and previous victims had been snatched and taken to a more remote spot before
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being eviscerated, rather than devoured in such a public place. Darke knew it was unusual for a predator to change its hunting patterns to such a degree, and this was surely true for mystical hunters as much as for animals. So something had changed.
Now this John Smith, if that was his real name, had disappeared along with his female friend. Was she really his wife, or merely an accomplice? Darke couldn't decide, but it seemed obvious that they were here for a reason. Perhaps this enigmatic visitor really was on a mission for the King? He was certain something bigger was happening here than mere superstition could account for, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
The fugitives must have left some evidence in the house, Darke reasoned, and made his way up the stairs to the main room. It didn't take long to ascertain that there was nothing of any interest in there, not even personal effects. He tried the door to the bedchamber. It was locked.
He was in no mood for an obstruction as minor as a missing key, and kicked the door hard with a well-aimed boot. It crashed open, banging against the interior wall, and Darke stormed into the small room. Moonlight reflecting off the snow outside cast a square of blue light against the far wall, allowing him to make out the shape of an unmade bed, a chamber pot tucked underneath it, and a chair that had seen better days. The only storage in the room was a medium-sized crate under the window. Rushing over to examine it, Darke barely registered a
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floorboard creak and sag under his weight.
Wrenching the crate open, Darke was immediately disappointed to find nothing more than a small collection of blankets and threadbare garments inside. The crate was otherwise empty. The Captain smashed his fist on the window frame in frustration. If this had been a marital home, then the loving couple must have been very happy together indeed, having no need for the kind of trinkets and keepsakes that defined most relationships. Darke was in no doubt now that the Smiths were nothing of the sort.
Poor old Hewse had been right about one thing - if they had headed for the city walls, the alarm would certainly have been raised. This meant they had another objective. Where would they have gone? Staring into the night through the room's small window for inspiration, Darke's searching gaze drifted towards the Cathedral tower. He'd decided, years ago, that the good Lord would not provide him with any of the answers he sought, and he saw no reason why this would change now. On the other side of the Cathedral grounds were the Castle and the bed he hadn't had a full night's sleep in for weeks. Tonight was looking like no exception.
In his reverie, he almost missed a black shape on a rooftop, not more than three streets away, until it moved against the snow, reaching for something hidden in the building's eaves. Tensing, Darke peered at the shape, trying to make sense of it. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like Smith's partner. If he moved quickly, there 56
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was a chance he might catch them.
The Captain made for the door, but stopped, this time more aware of that creaking floorboard. He realised he'd been an idiot. The crate had been placed in plain view, an obvious distraction from the real hiding place. Darke brought his heal down hard and, with a sudden crack of splintering wood, his foot smashed straight through the floor. He snatched at the remains of the floorboard, which had split and evaporated under his boot, throwing them to one side impatiently, and allowed himself a grim smile. He'd found what he'd been searching for.
Hidden under the boards was a collection of objects the like of which he had never seen - silver and white canisters of metal, the size of apples; pouches made of some transparent material that had the feel of polished leather; brightly coloured gourds containing who knew what -
and none of them he could identify as having any practical use. Except for...
Darke reached in and carefully took hold of a pipe, the length of a man's leg and as black as coal. It had a dark, not quite wooden stock at one end, and a grip crafted from the same cold, hard material halfway along its shaft. On its top side was a complicated eyeglass, and underneath was a single lever that would accommodate the squeeze of a finger. He could feel the object's power, sense its deadly purpose, and, though the concept of a rifle was centuries beyond his comprehension, he knew instinctively that this was a weapon.
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'Haven't you finished up there yet?' whispered the Doctor, urgently.
Emily had been quite insistent on retrieving some stuff she'd hidden earlier, and she was taking her time about it. The Doctor wasn't keen on remaining out in the open any longer than they had to, and glanced around nervously. A tap on the shoulder caused both his hearts to skip a beat.
'Yep, just about,' whispered Emily with a cheeky grin, having crept silently up behind him. She adjusted her backpack and got her bearings. 'Come on. The Castle's this way. We can cut across behind Copenhagen Street and be there in less than fifteen minutes.'
She was on the move before he'd had a chance to reply, and the Doctor had to hurry to keep up. Moving cautiously, but with as much speed as possible, they made their way swiftly across the city until they were within sight of the Castle. The night was drawing to an end, and the first of the patrols would no doubt soon be marching back to base.
Tor someone who's new in town, you seem to have pretty good local knowledge. Or did you get it all from the back of a cereal packet?'
'I've been here long enough.' As she spoke, Emily halted at a junction, checking it was safe to move on. 'First rule of survival —always know where your exits are. Why do you think I chose to take rooms near a city gate?'
The Doctor was impressed. 'Good rule. One of my favourites.
Maybe not number one, but definitely up
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there. Top five at least.'
They stopped momentarily to catch their breath, and the Doctor checked the sky for the first signs of sunrise. 'We have to get inside before dawn breaks. The curfew will be over in less than an hour, and then the Castle will be crawling with soldiers wanting breakfast.'
'Let's hope it isn't us.' Emily joked darkly. 'So what's your plan? Or were you thinking of flashing your little "get out of jail" card again to get us inside?'
The Doctor patted the wallet in his pocket. 'Psychic paper. Never leave home without it. I don't know, sneak in, have a look around. See what turns up.'
'You call that a plan?'
'Works for me,' protested the Doctor. 'Most of the time. What's in the bag, anyway?'
'Essentials.'
'Uh-huh. Packet of chewy mints and the latest Alan Titchmarsh?
OK, maybe the chewy mints aren't all that essential but we all love a bit of Alan
Emily chose to ignore the Doctor's obscure references. Was he ever serious about anything?
'Binocs, a scanning unit and some field rations. It pays to keep some emergency kit with you, when you're on the run. I thought the binocs might come in useful when we get to the Castle.'
Emily thought it best not to mention the phase pistol she kept reassuringly bolstered in the lining of her jacket.
'Hold it,' hissed the Doctor, pulling Emily behind a row 59
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of barrels, as a pair of unhappy-looking soldiers stomped across the street ahead of them, apparently bickering. The Doctor recognised them as the guards from Emily's safe house.
This was bad news. If these men had been sent back to barracks, then their escape had been discovered. Strange that no alarm had been raised, but perhaps the authorities were hoping to avoid the chaos that had followed his arrest earlier in the night. The Doctor strained to hear what they were saying.
'I'm telling you, Hewse, he had official papers. I'm not a complete idiot you know,' Butcher insisted, but his companion was having none of it.
'If the Captain says you are, then who am I to argue? If I end up on latrine duty again because of you, then I'm staying top
side, and it's your turn to do the shovelling.'
'Come on, I was in the pit last time...' Butcher complained.
As the grumbling duo moved out of earshot, the Doctor gave Emily a mischievous grin. 'You know, what we really need to get into the Castle is a disguise.'
'You, there. Butcher, isn't it?'
The two soldiers stumbled to a halt as the Doctor stepped out of the shadows ahead of them, blocking their path.
'Oh no, it's him again,' Butcher almost wailed, unhappy at the prospect of yet more trouble.
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are not who you say you are.' Hewse puffed out his chest, and waggled his pike without much confidence. He wasn't used to confronting authority figures, and he had to admit the tall man had some presence, but there was a chance here to make amends for Butcher's earlier mistake. 'I hereby place you under arrest.'
The Doctor wrinkled his brow in confusion. 'But you've already got me under arrest, haven't you?'
'Oh, yes. Well, back under arrest then,' Hewse spluttered.
There's obviously been a bit of a misunderstanding here. I think you'll find this parchment should explain everything.' The Doctor held up his wallet, giving both soldiers plenty of time to stare at the blank sheet within. 'Orders from the King. Look, it's got his official seal and everything.'
Butcher and Hewse glanced at each other, knowing they'd seen nothing of the sort but unable to ignore the fact that they were sure they had.
'Even so, the Captain definitely wants a word with you.'
'Yes, yes, I'm sure he does.' The Doctor made a show of slipping his wallet back inside his jacket pocket. Another wallet, the same wallet in fact, appeared as if by magic in his other hand. He handed it to Butcher. 'Actually, I've already had a little chat with the Captain, and he's given me this signed pardon, so we're all good.'
