by Doctor Who
She could even hear the mangled notes of a poorly played piano wafting out from a saloon toward the other end of town.
‘Maybe that’d be true back East,’ said Nathan, ‘but out here folks don’t like to admit they might be licked by something they can’t see.’
The Doctor nodded in agreement. ‘People always try to put a brave face on things, no matter how bad it gets.’ Nathan didn’t see the 73
Doctor glance at him and then to Martha.
‘So what next?’ she asked.
He dismounted with a twirl of his coat. ‘Nathan, if you would be so kind as to hitch up the horses. And then we’ll go see a man about a cure.’
Martha made a move to climb out of the saddle and then paused.
‘Now, how do I get down and still look ladylike?’
Nathan shook his head with a faint smirk. ‘ City folk. Huh.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Let me help you, Miss Martha.’
‘Howdy!’ The Doctor tipped his hat and smiled. ‘I do love this hat, you know. It’s a very fine hat indeed.’
The stableman, a bald, stocky chap in a stained leather apron, gave the Doctor an up-and-down look. ‘You’re not familiar to me,’ he noted.
‘No?’ he replied. ‘Well, don’t let that worry you. I’m very nice once you get acquainted with me. What’s that old saying? Strangers are just friends you don’t know yet.’
‘You’re drawin’ attention, that’s for sure,’ said the man.
He was right; nearby, the Doctor saw a few thin children, a wary-looking Pawnee and a chubby washerwoman studying the new arrivals.
‘I so often do,’ he agreed.
‘I don’t mean to seem inhospitable, but it’s my estimation you might be best off getting back in the saddle and riding on.’ The stableman frowned.
‘And why might that be?’
The man gestured around. ‘Ironhill’s shaking off a sickness. Town ain’t in no state for whatever kind of business you’ll have.’
‘We ain’t here for work,’ Nathan said curtly. ‘We’re here to find a –’
‘A friend.’ The Doctor quickly spoke over him. ‘Well, more of a passing acquaintance really. I suppose you could call him a fellow academic, if you used the term loosely.’
‘ Very loosely,’ murmured Martha.
‘You’re talking about the Professor?’ The stableman’s expression changed. ‘Why didn’t you say? The man’s brought a ray 0’ light to this 74
godforsaken place, and that’s a fact!’ He grinned. ‘Last I heard, he was doing his good works over at the Widow Weems’s place. He’s made a lot of folks better with that potion of his. We’re mighty grateful.’
‘No one’s had the nightmares yet, then?’ said the boy. ‘The bad dreams?’
‘The what?’ The bald man’s brow furrowed.
‘Nothing,’ said the Doctor. ‘You were saying?’
The stableman thought for a moment. ‘His wagon’s parked over yonder.’ He pointed. ‘In the street behind the bakery.’
‘But where’s Godlove?’ Nathan’s voice was almost a snarl, and his hands tightened into fists.
Martha shot the Doctor a warning look.
‘Can’t say for sure where he is now,’ answered the stableman.
The Doctor pushed back his hat with a finger. ‘Martha, why don’t you and Nathan have a look at Professor Godlove’s wagon, see if he’s about?’
She nodded, catching the unspoken addendum in the Doctor’s look that said And stay out of trouble! ‘Gotcha. What are you going to do?’
‘I think I’ll take a stroll down main street, see if I can’t look up our good pal Alvin.’
The music inside the saloon was feeble, but it was mildly entertaining.
The few patrons at the bar were largely quiet, leaving the tables to the man of the hour.
Three of them, a group of roughneck brothers and apparent ne’er-do-wells, hoisted their glasses in salute. ‘Here’s to you, sir,’ said the tallest of the trio. ‘Any thin’ we can do to repay you for all you did, you just say the word!’
Alvin Godlove saluted back. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ He smirked.
‘You see, my dear,’ he said, reaching around the bar girl sitting on his lap to pick up his glass, ‘it is the burden of intelligent men to do their best for their inferiors. That is the path of righteousness, to use one’s skills for the betterment of one’s fellow human beings.’ He knocked back the whiskey and gave her a squeeze. ‘Don’t you agree?’
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‘If you say so, Professor,’ she giggled. ‘I never was allowed to learn no reading or writing.’ She toyed with his thin necktie, dancing her fingers over his silk shirt and the elaborate brocade waistcoat he wore over it.
Alvin leered. ‘Ah, but you have other talents in such abundance.’
The girl gave him a playful tap. ‘You’re a gentleman to say that!’
The saloon doors opened with a creak of hinges and Godlove’s gaze snapped up, alert for trouble. He grimaced as Walking Crow stalked over to his table, his face bleak. ‘I must talk to you.’
‘So talk.’ Godlove looked away. His good mood was fading again.
The free drinks and the attention of the saloon girls – the ones not too sick to show their faces, that was – had made him feel better after arguing with the Pawnee, but now here he was again, a redskin storm cloud cluttering up Alvin’s otherwise lovely day.
‘ Alone.’
Alvin blew out an exasperated sigh and gave the girl a tight smile.
‘My dear, could you be so kind as to get me a refill, while I address my bothersome assistant here?’ She wandered away and as soon as she was out of earshot, Godlove snarled at Walking Crow. ‘What now?
‘Strangers have arrived,’ he told him. ‘A man, a boy and a girl.’
‘And this is my concern how?’ He sniffed.
‘I know the boy. He was the son of the lawman in the last town we visited. You used the cure-all to heal him, remember?’
‘I think I do. Yes. Saving his life brought his daddy around to my way of thinkin’, if I recall. A good move on my part to do so.’ He shrugged. ‘What of it? If anything, him being here will be good for us. I can parade the lad around as an example of my skills!’
Walking Crow’s face darkened. ‘I heard him speak about the nightmares. His manner was not of one who has come to thank you.’
Godlove swallowed, faltering slightly. ‘I can’t be blamed for some excitable youth’s mental infirmity.’
‘If he has the dreams, then it is likely he knows that others have as well.’ He paused, thinking. ‘But it’s not the boy who concerns me.
The man. . . ’ The Pawnee frowned. ‘I do not know him but he walks 76
as if he is used to his authority. He wears a brown coat, he stands tall and clear-eyed. I saw a gun belt on him.’
The last pieces of Alvin’s good temper evaporated. ‘You think he’s John Law? A peace officer?’ Godlove felt a flutter of fear in his stomach. The motivating reason behind Alvin’s choice to flee the East Coast and try his luck out here in the West was to do with a number of massive gambling debts and the illegal things he had done on the way to incurring them. He believed that he was outside the reach of legal retribution for those deeds, but suddenly the possibility of that belief being wrong seized him and squeezed his heart in his chest. Alvin’s mind raced, teetering on the edge of panic. ‘Could be he’s a United States Marshal, maybe. They’ve been after me ever since St Louis. . . ’
He trailed off.
‘Perhaps we could reason with him.’
Godlove shook his head. ‘Don’t be stupid! Listen to me, now. Get back to the wagon and wait up until nightfall.’ He shot a look over at the three brothers thinking quickly. ‘Then you come lookin’ for me, out at the hidey-hole, you understand?’
Walking Crow sighed. ‘And we will run again? How many times does this make?’
‘Just do what I told you!’ he snapped, his voice drawing the attention of the bar
girl. He gave her a weak smile and looked back at his associate. ‘You heard me! Go!’
With a doleful glare, Walking Crow got up and left the saloon.
Godlove tapped his fingers on the table and then stood up, gathering his composure. He wandered over to the brothers. ‘Gentlemen,’
he began. ‘About what you said just a moment ago, about repayment?’
Alvin glanced down at the long-nosed pistols holstered at the hips of each man. ‘I find myself in need of some protection from a person-age of harmful intent. Could I call upon men of character such as yourselves to safeguard me?’
The tall man drained his whiskey and slammed the glass down on the bar. ‘There’s some varmint that means you ill?’ He grinned harshly.
‘Well, sir, the brothers Lyle would be happy to handle that for you.’
‘I am much obliged. The scallywag is outside, I believe, a long 77
fellow in a brown coat.’
‘Good. Haven’t had opportunity to shoot a man in weeks.’
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Nathan walked purposefully, his hands in his pockets, his jaw set.
Martha kept pace, watching. She considered telling him to head back to Redwater and leave her and the Doctor here, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not when those two long riders Kutter and Tangleleg were still out in the scrublands.
She felt useless. She wanted to say something to make him feel better, to assure the young man that everything was going to be all right; but Nathan had seen his father shot down in front of him, and she realised that nothing she could say or do would heal that terrible pain.
‘I’m sorry,’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Nathan glanced at her. ‘So am I.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘I know I gotta be strong, but. . . it’s hard.’ He looked away. ‘You ever lose someone?’
‘I’ve seen people die,’ she admitted. ‘Good people, innocent people.
It never gets easier.’
Martha thought about her own family, Mum, Dad, Tish and Leo, half a world and a century away from where she was; and she felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy, knowing how far she was from them but also knowing they were still there, still waiting for her. In 79
that moment, the thing that scared her the most was the thought that she might never see them again. ‘But we all have to be strong.’
He walked on, raising his head. ‘I think I see it.’
‘The wagon?’
Nathan pointed to a tall box on high wheels. It was a rectangular frame with a canvas roof and wooden panels lashed together by thick rope. Lurid text in foot-high letters announced that this was The Most Illustrious Medicine Show of Professor Alvin Q. Godlove.
‘Purveyor of Potions, Bane of All Ailments Under the Sun,’ she read aloud. ‘Blimey. Doesn’t have a thing about modesty, does he?’
They circled the wagon, finding a dozy grey horse tethered at the front, nibbling at a bale of hay.
Nathan patted the animal. ‘Where’s your boss at, huh?’
‘Not here,’ Martha admitted, peering at the crates and sacks lashed to the sides of the vehicle. ‘Perhaps we ought to take a peek, do you think?’
The boy frowned. ‘I’ve a mind to put a torch to the damned thing,’
he retorted.
‘I think the subtle approach might be better.’ She walked back to the rear of the wagon and balanced on t he wooden steps there. ‘Keep an eye out. I’m going to have a nose around.’ She pulled back the flap and scrambled inside.
The saloon seemed to be the best bet; every hamlet, no matter where or when you were, usually had an alehouse and a place of worship –or whatever the local equivalents were – as the focal points of their community. And Alvin Godlove, despite his name and in keeping with what the Doctor had intuited about his character, did not seem like the kind of man who’d be spending much time in church.
Hands in his pockets, the Doctor crossed the street towards the drinking den, which bore a sign proudly announcing its name as the Pioneer and offering drinks, dancing and games of chance. Unlike the compact Bluebird back in Redwater, the Pioneer was broad and open, and through the windows he could see tables set up for dice and the 80
like; this was more a casino than a place to get a drink, built to soak up the earnings of workers from the local iron mines.
But he never got to the doors. Three men in shabby coats and black hats stepped out and blocked the entrance. They did it with undis-guised menace, each of them giving the Doctor a predatory glare.
‘Hello?’ he offered. ‘Are you the bouncers?’ He smiled. ‘Let me guess.’ He pantomimed a gruff voice. ‘ You’re name’s not down, you’re not coming in. Is there a private party going on, then?’
‘Brown coat,’ said one of the men.
‘Yup,’ agreed the taller of the three.
‘Reckon it’s him?’ said the other.
‘Yup,’ repeated the tall man.
The Doctor studied them back. ‘Do I detect a family resemblance?
I do, don’t I? You’re all brothers!’ He grinned. ‘Brothers Grim, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘The name is Lyle,’ growled the tallest. ‘Guess you ought to know it before you take a dirt nap.’
He held up a hand. ‘Now let me stop you right there. I’m new in town, and I’m not looking for any trouble, far from it. . . ’ The Doctor paused. ‘Well, not any more trouble than the trouble I’ve already found, if you follow me. . . ’
One of the other brothers snorted and spat. ‘You talk too much.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Doctor, ‘that has been said, on more than one occasion. But I find communication is always the best place to start from –’
He broke off as the three men pushed open their jackets to reveal the butts of their pistols.
‘We’re callin’ you out, stranger,’ said the taller of the Lyles. ‘Step back and make your play.’
‘You’ve only just met me.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘It usually takes people, ooh, at least five minutes before they decide they want to kill me.’ A flicker of movement in the saloon’s window caught his eye and he saw a shifty figure peering out at him. One of the brothers gave the man a questioning look and in return he got a firm nod.
‘ Oh. OK, I get it now.’ Judging by the obvious finery of the shifty man’s clothing in comparison to the dress of the other folks in Ironhill, 81
there was only one person it could have been. ‘Alvin Godlove!’ The Doctor called out. ‘Could I have a word? There’s something we need to talk about. I think you know what I mean.’
‘He don’t want to waste no time with you,’ said the tall man.
‘I think he might want to, considering what I’ve got to say to him.
Trust me, the good “Professor” there is best off putting himself in my, uh, protective custody.’
Godlove gave the Doctor a sly smile and a shake of the head, and then he retreated from the window, disappearing into the shadows of the saloon.
‘Reckon that answers that,’ said the brother on the right.
The Doctor held up a hand. ‘No, look, you don’t understand. His life is in danger. Everybody in this town is in danger. People have already been killed.’ He pointed at the Lyles. ‘You could be next!’
The tall man made a mock-concerned face. ‘Why, did you hear that?
Sounded like a threat to me.’
‘Yup,’ chorused the other brothers.
‘We don’t take kindly to those.’
And all at once the Doctor noticed that the other townsfolk were ducking into doorways and shutting them, closing windows and pulling down blinds. He backed off a step and the Lyle brothers followed him out onto the street.
The inside of the wagon was a mess of boxes, with a makeshift work-top and big pottery jugs dangling from ropes. Martha picked one at random, uncorked it and took a sniff, The powerful stench of smelling salts hit her like a smack in the face and she reeled back, her eyes watering. ‘Ugh.
Lovely.’ She found bottles of rot-gut whiskey and parcels of stale old beef jerky, wads of roughly printed fly-posters announcing Godlove’s genius to the world, and a crate filled with brown bottles of his ‘panacea’, identical to the one that Jenny Forrest had shown them.
But nothing weird. Nothing strange or peculiar. Martha pouted.
She had been expecting to come across, oh, a glowing crystal? Some creature living in a cage, maybe even a time machine like the Doctor’s TARDIS. Not stinky bottles and unwashed clothes; but then again, she 82
reasoned, the wagon was Godlove’s mobile home, and most single guys didn’t clean up very well after themselves.
Her foot nudged a metal box and Martha paused. Hidden under a grubby blanket she found a small iron chest. The latch came open easily in her hands and her eyes widened. Inside there was a fortune in jewellery, thick wads of big paper dollars and cloth bags that rattled with coins. She didn’t know what counted as being rich in the Wild West, but Martha imagined it wasn’t far off this lot. And there was another strongbox, just the same – only this one had a padlock on it.
She tested the thing’s weight and it was light, rattling slightly.
Martha hesitated. That didn’t make sense. The unlocked box had all this money in it, but the locked one felt like it was practically empty.
‘What’s up with that?’ she said aloud.
The axle of the wagon dipped, creaking as someone limbed onto the back steps, and Martha turned. ‘Nathan, I said wait outside.’
The boy came through the canvas door flap but said nothing, because there was a man holding a hunting knife at his shoulder. The young man’s dark, leathery face was morose.
‘You,’ said the Pawnee. ‘You should not have come here.’
Martha was careful not to make any sudden moves. ‘I think you might be right.’
He glanced at the knife and sighed; then he did something she definitely didn’t expect. He put the blade away and let Nathan go. ‘I warned him,’ he said, sitting down on a box. ‘I warned him that one day someone would come looking. It was only a matter of time.’ He shook his head. ‘I always knew no good would come of it.’
