by Doctor Who
Jack looked across at the Doctor and Rose. The groom’s side of the seating was empty but for them, alongside a huge Irish gaggle of O’Gradys. ‘Next give me something hard to do,’ he whispered.
After picking up Jack they’d jumped forward a couple of weeks to catch the wedding. The Doctor was leaning back in his chair, beaming.
Jack was stretched out like a cat, looking pleased with himself. Rose couldn’t take her eyes away from the linked hands of Das and his new wife. She thought back to Reddy and Ka, kissing in that quiet corner of the forest just before the humans attacked. They must have been killed.
Still. Quilley and all the others – Tillun, Nan, Sakka and her baby –had been dead for 28,000 years.
But now, through Das, just a piece of that strange wild world would live on.
And 28,000 years before, another wedding was taking place.
T. P. Quilley flinched as the priest slapped the Great Fish of Matrimony in his face and cried, ‘Turn to the stone of Brelalla!’
As the sun hit the stone he looked across at his new wife. ‘So I’m one of the Family now?’
Nan smiled back. ‘You are, my love. Shame we couldn’t have had a nicer day for it, ain’t it?’
‘Not to worry,’ mumbled Quilley. ‘It’ll warm up in about another 23,000 years.’
He surveyed his new family. Tillun was teaching Jacob to make spears for fishing; Reddy and Ka were playing with Sakka’s child while her mother took a rest; and the last Hy-Bractor was sitting by the 162
fire, tearing off huge chunks of meat from the boar it had killed and handing them round. Occasionally it sniffed at a human, but then all Quilley needed to do was hold up the picture drawn by the Doctor to remind it of its instructions.
‘And now I’m part of the Family,’ said Quilley, ‘grant me this request, my dear.’ For effect he leaned in and kissed Nan on the cheek.
She quivered with pleasure. ‘Anything for you, dear.’
‘My special wedding guests –’ he indicated Ka and the other Neanderthals – ‘let them stay here, join the tribe.’
Nan looked suspicious for a moment – but when Quilley kissed her again she melted. ‘I suppose so. For you.’
Quilley sighed. He couldn’t change history. But he could help to make this small part of it more civilised – more humane.
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Acknowledgements
Thanks to Russell T Davies for his inspiration and Springhill, Justin Richards for his understanding, Helen Raynor for her advice, Steven Moffat for his instant messages, Rupert Laight for eternal friendship, Tom McMillen for being New Friend, Chris Theodoridis for the xeni-cal, all the Not Players, the Wifes and No. 1 Who fan The Peden, David S. Taylor for his Republican heart of stone, Marianne Colbran for load-sharing, Rebecca Levene for her patience and Mark Gatiss for his thick, evil and somehow alive fog.
Particular thanks for notes and suggestions go to the owner of Het-herington, on behalf of the Duchess of Gladstone and her lady-in-waiting, the Lady Petunia.
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About the Author
Gareth Roberts has written seven previous Doctor Who novels, together with TV scripts for Emmerdale, Brookside, Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased), Swiss Toni and His and Hers.
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Document Outline
Cover
Contents
Prologue
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
Acknowledgements
About the Author
