by Gary Russell
We had seen an intermediary version of him, the Watcher operating independently while it waited to trigger the regenerative process that turned one Doctor into another.
And she had seen her father become young again, playing host to a new soul, if you like.
Was it any wonder that Nyssa wanted to believe the Doctor could perform more magic and bring her father back -
reverse whatever the Master had achieved?
But the Doctor said it wasn’t possible. That separating two individuals who have become molecularly bonded - I think that’s how he put it - was unheard of.
Not even the Time Lords could do that.
And so poor Nyssa, who had lost her father her stepmother her friends, her home and her entire planet to the evil of the Master had now lost that one final thing she had clung to, her reason for seeking out the Doctor in the first place.
She had lost her hope.
And as I watched a little piece of her die that moment, I think a little piece of the Doctor died as well.
You remember that feeling, Tegan Jovanka. Remember those emotions, that incident and everything associated with it.
Why?
Because the Doctor lied. He’s about to perform that kind of separation on someone else - not the father of his travelling companion, but someone he hasn’t considered rescuing in centuries.
And I’m afraid we must stop him, because if our god loses his power Dymok will be destroyed.
Why?
Chant, my brethren, chant! Louder than ever!
And Tegan? Here’s that little secret I promised you...
4
Never Turn Away
‘Where the hell have they got to?’ Oakwood threw a look at the Doctor, suggesting it was all his fault.
Which, upon reflection, it probably was.
‘To be quite fair, Commander, I didn’t ask Dieter to go after Nyssa.’
‘I could go and look for them,’ Desorgher suggested, but Braune put a hand on his shoulder, restraining his enthusiasm as well as his moving. ‘No, lad. Two missing is enough in this place.’
The Doctor looked hard at Braune. Did the security man also blame him? And if he did, well, why not? He had brought them here - even if the psychic call of the Toymaker/Rallon was the reason he did so.
The dream he’d had in the TARDIS came back to him. Had the Toymaker or Rallon mentally trapped him? Placed co-ordinates in his mind so instead of actually getting to Heathrow for Tegan, he took them all to Little Boy II.
‘Oh, finally it falls into place,’ said the Toymaker from the arched doorway. ‘I see my faithful have all gone - no doubt to listen to the treacherous words of the Observer. He amused me for a while, as did all the Dymova, but perhaps it is time to cleanse this planet of vermin. I grow weary of their demands.’
He raised his hand as if to perform a spell.
‘No! Wait,’ the Doctor stepped forward. ‘It’s me you want, no one else. Leave the Dymova. Leave these people and face me.
Alone.’
Oakwood stepped forward too, but the Doctor turned to him.
‘Er, Commander. I rather think this is best left to me, if you don’t mind.’
‘Oh really?’ Oakwood looked less than impressed.
‘Begone,’ muttered the Toymaker, and the Little Boy II party were, indeed, no longer there. ‘You are wrong, Doctor. They do have a part to play. Oh, and take that look off your face. They are perfectly safe. Some of my associates from the toyshop are finding something interesting for them to do.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ confessed the Doctor, and the Toymaker laughed.
‘Come, Doctor. Old friends such as you and I have much to discuss. Time has passed and I have readied a new challenge for you.’
‘No more trilogic games?’ In a previous battle with the Toymaker, the Doctor had barely escaped the realm. The Toymaker had used a game based around building three pyramids without letting a smaller triangular block rest atop a larger one and the Doctor had resorted to trickery to escape.
‘Cheating, I called it,’ the Toymaker interrupted, disturbing his reverie. ‘You spotted my clue above?’
The Toymaker raised a finger and pointed upwards, towards the surface of the planet.
‘Of course. The black pyramid, the indentations and the two stumps on either side. A giant trilogic game - that’s what gave it away.’
The Toymaker smiled. ‘You gain a few bonus points for that deduction, Doctor.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like I shall not destroy the Dymova nor, by association, your wilful friend Tegan.’ He gestured expansively. ‘Not yet, leastways!’
And the Doctor was back in the realm.
There was no sign of Rallon. Instead a grubby-looking man was standing on one side of the Toymaker He looked the epitome of malicious intent.
Presumably he was one of the Toymaker’s previous victims, allowed to serve his master as a human rather than a toy.
‘Say hello to the Doctor, Stefan.’
Stefan did no such thing.
‘Poor Stefan has endured my stories of you for many... well, for rather a long time.’
‘And you do go on so.’
The Toymaker chuckled. It has been said, Doctor, it has indeed been said. Now, of course you remember my Magic Robot, I’m sure. A product of the planet Kapekkca. I use it and thus Kapekkca still exists. Toys that amuse me survive, as do their homeworlds. Some toys bore me. Some of those no longer have a homeworld. Your three friends amuse me.
Tegan Jovanka and those from that space station orbiting dear Dymok are from Earth - a planet whose inhabitants I delve into frequently as the sheer scope of imagination there is a never-ending well of excitement. Nyssa is from Traken. It no longer exists, so I have no need to see whether she amuses me.
Similarly, Adric. His adopted world of Terradon, or his true home Alzarius, are in Exo space and are frankly too much bother for too little reward. So none of them intrigue me greatly. I could just erase them, but I feel that would upset you, so I won’t.’
‘Thank you.’
The Toymaker laughed. ‘Oh you are so charming, Doctor.
So... beguiling to have around. Observe my memory mirror - it shows us an image that I’m sure you’ll agree is quite entertaining.’
The Doctor stared at the sculptured glass mirror, oval and man-sized, that hung effortlessly in the air. Beside it stood another man - eighteenth-century dress, probably some small-time con artist from the American mid-West. Paddle-steamers and all that.
‘Allow me to present Monsieur LeFevre. Sleight of hand is his speciality.’
LeFevre nodded to the Doctor, who responded in kind, albeit with an exaggeration that bordered on irony.
In the mirror, or maybe through it, the Doctor could see green fields. As his viewpoint shifted away and up, he realised the fields were in fact squares on a vast chess board.
‘Behind you Doctor, dear Stefan is showing you a blank frame.’
Indeed, Stefan was. He held a tin out to the Doctor.
‘Humbug, Doctor?’
‘Are you?’ the Doctor retorted, refusing the tin.
‘Oh very droll,’ snapped the Toymaker. ‘Just take the tin, Doctor, my patience is not absolute.’
The Doctor took the tin but turned again to regard the Toymaker. The transformation was quite remarkable - he was scowling and his whole demeanour, indeed his physical look, had darkened.
Keeping Rallon’s essence inside him active was causing these schizoid moments.
The Toymaker’s face was gone. In its place was Rallon’s, grimacing with the effort of taking momentary control. ‘If you separate us - maybe he’ll finally die. And I certainly will.
That’s why I called you here. To kill me. Us. To finish what you started.’
‘I can’t,’ the Doctor shouted desperately. ‘Don’t you understand, I don’t know how. I don’t think it’s even possible.
I can only give you the same answer I gave Nyssa when she asked about
her father and the Master. It cannot be done.’
The Toymaker was back in control, although he staggered slightly with the effort. ‘I do want to be rid of Rallon, Doctor.
That’s the reason I summoned you. He wants to kill me but I’m too strong for that. A guardian cannot die. But I need a replacement body, Doctor, and you will be that replacement.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘Why should I give in so easily?’
The Toymaker had regained his original demeanour now, all smiles and gestures. ‘Oh, it’ll be a battle, Doctor. A two-pronged assault. You and all your friends are free to go if, and it’s a big if I have to say, your white team beats my red team at chess and you complete the jigsaw puzzle within the humbug tin.’
The tin burst open and four thousand jigsaw pieces flew up and positioned themselves in an empty frame floating in the air.
‘There, I’ve made it a bit easier for you.’
The Doctor looked at the jigsaw - the picture was clearly of him. It was also on the reverse, but upside down and back to front.
‘I said ―easier‖, Doctor. Not easy.’
‘Oh, thank you very much.’
‘But you must complete the puzzle at exactly the same moment as your chess team wins or you become mine.
Complete it a moment before or a moment after and all this disappears.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘But I, of course, stay behind and build a new realm as your new... co-host, yes?’
‘Precisely. I grow bored of white, Doctor. Next time, I might go for a more rustic look - wooden beams, a coal fire. Something that would fire your imagination. Rallon’s has got weary, Doctor.
A white void is the best he can do. Pitiful, really.’
‘Why not bond with one of your pets here - Stefan for instance?’
‘He’s human, Doctor. Most of the creatures I beat at my games are ephemeral. They could not survive the replacement process. That’s why I took Rallon from you in the first place. A Time Lord. Such possibilities, such promises... ‘The Toymaker stopped suddenly and gazed into the monitor on the Robot’s chest. ‘Oh look, the last dregs of ‘
your team are arriving!’
Adric was still running. Why he was no longer on the space station, but in a meadow complete with cows and daisies ‘
(weren’t cows black and white rather than green and yellow and wearing bowler hats?) he didn’t know. Or care. Nor did he ponder the fact that he was adult again.
All he knew was that he was running from... something.
He looked again at the cows.
‘Morning,’ said one in a feminine voice, raising a bizarrely well-jointed leg to doff its hat at him.
‘Good morning...’ he began to reply. ‘This is silly. Cows don’t talk.’
‘Maybe not on your world, little pink creature, but we do.
How rude of you to criticise us for it.’
Adric apologised. ‘This is rather surreal,’ he added after a moment.
‘Life’s like that here,’ said the cow, spitting a half-eaten jam doughnut on to the grass.
‘0i,’ squeaked a daisy, using its petals to wipe spittle and sugar off itself.
‘Your psyche must be spectacularly fractured to create all this,’ said the cow. ‘I mean, most people that come through here just run away, screaming about going mad. The fact you’ve struck up a conversation with me suggests that not much surprises you.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Well, that’s not right, is it?’ The cow wandered towards him.
‘I mean, if we all went around accepting any old tosh offered to us, where would it end? You must be particularly damaged.’
‘Oh, thanks. Actually we Alzarians heal quicker than most.
Which probably means you’ll disappear as soon as my right mind reasserts itself.’
‘Unless it’s already too late,’ squeaked the daisy. ‘If the damage is deep, it’ll be no good. You’ll be talking to cows and daisies for ever.’
Adric shrugged. ‘Surrealism works that way.’
‘Oh yes it does,’ agreed the cow. ‘But surrealism has a basis in interpretative art. Usually dreams. So, are you dreaming this, or are we created from your dreams... or is this real? Either you had too much cheese on your pizza last night or, as I said, you are damaged mentally.’
‘What’s pizza?’
The cow and daisy laughed. ‘Now we know he’s mad,’ and they turned away from him. The cow bent down, snatched the talkative flower out of the ground and ate it.
‘I need to know what pizza is. You’re talking about things I don’t understand. Just like Tegan and Nyssa always... always do...’
The cow ignored him, so he started walking forward again.
‘Life’s like a big picnic. In one corner is a small saltcellar, containing the action. Then there’s a slightly larger butter dish
- that’s the characters you meet. The rest is a vast chintz tablecloth covered with dreams and hopes and imaginings, none of which are remotely real.’
Adric decided not to be surprised that the speaker was a tiny wooden string puppet hanging from the branch of a tree, its burgundy cloak flapping in the wind. Being surprised might start up another ridiculous conversation. ‘Why are you running?’ asked the puppet. ‘I mean, neither Tegan nor Nyssa are here to persecute you. And the Doctor, well, he’s abandoned you. You might as well settle down here and enjoy the unpredictability of it all. It is unpredictability you seek, isn’t it, Adric?’
‘I don’t really know,’ Adric said. ‘Oh why doesn’t someone explain what’s going on? Could you tell me, please?’
‘Tsk tsk tsk,’ cautioned the puppet. ‘You’re whining again.
Grow out of it, Adric. Learn that it doesn’t get you what you want and I guarantee the girls will look at you in a new light.
The longer you act like a ten-year-old, the less acceptance you’ll receive.’
‘I don’t want acceptance,’ he shouted.
‘Nonsense, Adric. We all want acceptance. You want to be accepted by the others. The Doctor wants to be accepted by you. Tegan and Nyssa want to accept you. But it’s your fault none of these things are happening. You want the old Doctor back, but he represents the old you. When you stowed away on the TARDIS you were childlike, emotionally stunted and easily led. You thought it was all an exciting adventure. But as the Doctor transformed, so did you. You took on the responsibility of saving the TARDIS, of helping Nyssa grieve over Traken’s destruction. The only person who still thinks you are the spoilt brat you once were is you. The moment you let yourself realise you’ve changed, the others will too. Your destiny lies out in the stars, Adric. One day, you’re going to make a big impression somewhere, change the course of history or something. But until you do, bide your time and enjoy your friends rather than resisting them. Take them for what they are and they’ll do the same to you.’
Adric thought about this, but when he prepared to reply to the puppet it was gone.
In its place, a man and a woman stood before him, holding out a pink slip of paper.
‘Your Majesty,’ they said, albeit in less than reverential tones. ‘Your invitation to join the tournament.’
Nyssa felt the warmth of the sun on her cheeks and rolled on to her back, distractedly waving her arm across her face. As if brushing away cobwebs. Outside, the birds were singing and a slight and pleasant breeze washed over her, entering from the tiny window above the bed-head.
She opened her tired eyes, feeling the softness of the grey silk nightdress she wore. At the foot of the chintz bedspread sat a row of her stuffed toys, guarding her during the night, as always. She looked down at Big Bear, top guardian and leader of her pack.
‘Back to normal, I see,’ she said. ‘I suppose I should thank you for another safe night.’ She stared up at the ceiling. ‘I think I have got the idea of this, Toymaker. Can we try something new?’
Nyssa climbed out of her bed, went through the motions of washing, dressing and adjusting her
hair and then, with a final look at her toys, took a deep resigned breath and left her room.
‘Why haven’t you come to find me!’ screamed Tremas, pushing her back into the room. She fell on to the bed and the toys scattered.
Tremas was on the floor, tears pouring down his face, screeching hysterically.
‘Why did you betray me, daughter? I thought you loved me!’
Nyssa stared at him. ‘Father...?’ she said eventually.
He looked up, his face red, shaking with pent-up fury and despair. brought you up to honour me, Nyssa. To honour Traken. Is this how you repay me? By abandoning me?
Abandoning me to him?’
The Master walked swiftly into the room and stood arms folded, head slightly to one side.
‘Hello, Nyssa my dear.’
‘Go away,’ she replied. ‘Both of you. You are phantoms, created by the Toymaker to make me doubt myself. And the Doctor.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘But I deny this reality, Toymaker. I deny this dreamscape. And above all, I deny you!’
And once again, Nyssa was back in the Toymaker’s realm.
* * *
The Toymaker stood in front of the TARDIS, the robot, Stefan and Gaylord LeFevre beside him. ‘Very good, Nyssa. Your loyalty to the man who has betrayed you is very commendable. However, it still won’t give you the TARDIS back, nor will it save the Doctor. You have, however, earned enough points to move on to the next level of the game!’
And Nyssa was outside, in a field, breathing fresh air.
Letters spelling out the words ‘good luck’ hung in front of her on a series of banners that flapped in the breeze. ‘Doctor?
Doctor, where are you?’
There was no reply, so she walked forward, under the banners and towards a stile in a hedgerow.
She clambered over the stile unhesitatingly - she was determined to go on. However twisted the Toymaker was, he worked on a bizarre level of logic. If she was here it was for a reason, however obscure. Therefore, to stay still was pointless. If he wanted her to go on to the ‘next level of the game’, she would.
