Doctor Who: The Knight, The Fool and The Dead (Doctor Who: Time Lord Victorious)

by Steve Cole

  ‘You know us, little one.’ The whisper curled like winter leaves. ‘We are the Kotturuh.’

  Chapter Four

  The Doctor held very still. ‘I wondered all my life if I’d ever meet you. The bringers of death.’

  ‘Death is our treasure. Our blood. Our doctrine.’

  ‘Just as the legends say.’ The Doctor felt physically sick standing so close to the creature; he could feel her will pushing into his mind, shifting his cells like beads on an abacus, but did his best to keep the pain from his face. ‘You killed everyone here?’

  ‘The Andalians are indolent. They have little to contribute to the greater universe. Judgement has been passed.’

  ‘You killed everyone?’

  ‘Life will still endure. But in a pattern of our choosing.’

  The Doctor looked around beneath a sky that writhed with shadows. He saw a single Andalian child crawl from the sprawl of bodies. It peered around, mindless of the devastation, then scooped dead flies from the ground and ate hungrily before running away.

  ‘From this day, the Andalian lifespan endures a single lunar orbit,’ the Kotturuh announced. ‘Born. Feed. Reproduce. Die.’

  ‘A span of, what – seventy, eighty days?’ Heartbroken, the Doctor shook his head. ‘The Andalians have endured for millions of years … and you’ve left them barely more than mayflies?’

  ‘The living time of Andalia’s flora and fauna has been adjusted also, to help support this new life cycle.’

  ‘Adjusted,’ the Doctor sneered. ‘Curtailed! Ended! Why?’

  ‘One day this world will be of strategic value. If won in war, the death would be worse. This is our gift.’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘It’s like trying to fix a broken watch with a sledgehammer.’

  ‘Our hearts beat to the Kotturuh Design.’

  ‘These people have a whole civilisation, a history, a culture. Who are you to sweep all that life away!’

  ‘Who are you to save it?’ she countered softly. ‘Who here on Andalia chose when the existence of a fly was ended? The superior form of life.’

  ‘A plague of locusts isn’t superior to a field of wheat because it destroys it.’ There among so many dead, the Kotturuh’s cold-burning eyes upon him, the Doctor felt horribly exposed, but refused to let it show. ‘Prove your superiority: reverse that process. I mean, if you’re using some kind of airborne DNA-altering retrovirus—’

  A chill voice sounded in his ear: ‘Be silent.’

  ‘Whoa!’ The Doctor started, spun round – another of the Kotturuh had drawn up behind him. This one was bigger, squatter, wearing velvet garments adorned with complex patterns that seemed to shift as he tried to take them in. While the first Kotturuh had regarded him with a hunter’s cold indifference, the Doctor sensed an appetite in this one. He held very, very still, as the creature’s damp eyes took him in and grey fingers, marbled silver like a slug’s trail, hovered at his temples.

  ‘Do not seek to explain our mysteries with your own notions of science,’ the Kotturuh purred. ‘You are from times to come. You are not part of our Design.’

  ‘I’m a Time Lord.’ The Doctor smiled. ‘Your so-called Design doesn’t even come close to a bloke who walks in eternity. You can’t touch me.’

  ‘Your lifespan has been allotted, your arrangement with Death completed.’ The Kotturuh shivered closer, the veil gusting in her cold breath. ‘You should not be here.’

  ‘Makes me hard to predict, doesn’t it?’ The Doctor dropped his smile. ‘There was a time when Time Lords kept away from this age. But things change, don’t they?’ He gestured round. ‘I’m here on inspection, and I don’t like what you’re doing. And that means I’m going to do something about it, and that means I’m obliged to give you due warning: stop.’

  ‘The knight riding to the rescue.’ The first Kotturuh had slipped nearer, icy voice mocking. ‘Is this how you see yourself?’

  ‘Hard not to. I’m very good at rescues.’ As the Doctor glanced between the two threatening creatures, he saw Estinee move inside the battered transporter, trying to climb quietly out through the window. He tried to keep his face neutral. ‘Now, the stories say you take a creature from each inhabited world and bring them into your Design so Judgement can be passed …’

  But the Kotturuh had already turned from him. They moved and shivered as if agitated and in the blur of a second they were both beside the wreck, staring in.

  ‘The child who tries to hide,’ hissed the first.

  ‘Doctor!’ Estinee shouted, reaching out for him.

  ‘Leave her alone!’ The Doctor started towards them.

  Without even looking, the Kotturuh gestured to him and their fingers twitched. The air about him burned bright with terrible power. The Doctor was flung to the ground, back arching, his skin scorching hot, a pressure like fingers on his throat.

  The creatures gazed down at him, dispassionate.

  ‘He thinks he is a knight come to the rescue,’ sneered the larger of the two. ‘But I see only a fool … surrounded by the dead.’

  ‘Then I’d check your great Design, Kotturuh.’ Defiant, the Doctor pushed himself up on one elbow. ‘Cos I don’t think you see what’s coming.’

  The two figures weren’t even listening. They shimmered and their forms blew away into the patterns of the sky and were lost from sight.

  The Doctor scrambled painfully up, as the ghosts and darkness slowly faded from the heavens. All that was left was the silence and stillness of an aftermath. He got up, painfully, and again stumbled over to the wreck of the hovercar.

  Estinee was gone.

  The Doctor leaned heavily on the metal hulk, thought of those who had driven it in its long existence, and how now they were bones and dust. He could feel, instinctively, how everything had changed, in just a few minutes. A world and a way of life – a celebration of life – was over. His hearts felt close to breaking.

  There was movement from behind one of the pyramid temples. The Doctor looked up, hopeful for more signs of life.

  The Ood in the tux stepped out into the hard light of the setting suns.

  ‘Stop.’ The Doctor pulled out his sonic and levelled it at the advancing Ood. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I know you were trying to kill the girl. And after what’s just happened …’

  ‘The Kotturuh have made their Judgement.’

  ‘And I’m ready to make mine,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Another step and I overload that translator sphere of yours. Boom. Make a terrible mess of that lovely dinner suit of yours.’

  The Ood inclined his head politely. ‘Mr Ball would sooner avoid going boom.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I am designated Brian.’

  ‘Brian!’ The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘Ood Brian! I’m the Doctor.’

  ‘Doctor?’ Brian’s eyes seemed to flame a deeper red. ‘You know of my species?’

  ‘I know that you’re carrying your hindbrain – Little Brian – in the sphere. You were born into slavery. When are you from – forty-first century? Forty-second?’ The Ood didn’t answer, so the Doctor flicked the sonic to a warning whirr. ‘What are you doing here, billions of years before the Ood Brain even came to exist?’

  ‘Earning a living,’ said Brian.

  ‘You’re paid to kill?’

  ‘My objective was not to kill Estinee of Destran. I was testing the capabilities of the Lifeshroud.’

  ‘Wait …’ The Doctor lowered the sonic, felt a rush of hope. ‘The Lifeshroud! The Andalians were buying them – maybe some of them were wearing them when the Kotturuh …?’

  ‘There are no survivors,’ Brian said flatly.

  The Doctor hesitated, swallowed hard. ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because I told him so myself.’ A deep, plummy voice with a metallic edge oozed from the ruins of the temple pyramid. ‘Doctor, is it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, good Doctor, I have searched for survivors w
ith my remote trackers … and there are none to be found.’

  Another of the bronze rugby balls rose up into sight. The Doctor raised the sonic again, but it only projected a bleached-out image, faint and flickering in the fading light. It showed the plaza strewn with bones, some clutching hold of Lifeshrouds in skeletal fingers, some even wearing them.

  ‘It seems the Lifeshrouds will not function without certain crystals of the correct charge,’ said the voice. ‘Said crystals sold … separately.’

  ‘A con, then.’ The Doctor scowled. ‘Where are you? You were watching, scanning and trying to kill me. Before we get to the why, let’s start with the who …’

  ‘Of course …’ A 3D image shone from a lens in the cam-bot’s casing. It showed a diminutive, carbuncled being. The creature had only vestigial arms and legs but with three thick and sturdy tails working like a tripod to hold it in the air. A single yellow eye shone through the warts and hair of the face.

  ‘I am Verv-Hoondai Chalskal,’ the image declared. ‘High Ambassador of Skalithai and Standing Throne-Being of the Pan-Victis Defensive Alliance.’ Another tail, sinewy and prehensile, snaked out from the middle of its back, holding some sort of official seal. ‘May my diplomatic credentials entice your consideration and understanding.’

  The Doctor duly glanced at the proffered documents and shrugged. ‘So basically you were trying to murder me on official business, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I blush to confess that I believed you to be a thief and a saboteur, good Doctor,’ said Chalskal. ‘When you abducted the child of Destran I believed you were attempting to steal the Lifeshroud, and I could not allow that to happen.’

  Brian piped up: ‘Estinee’s surviving the crash despite extreme neck trauma would seem to be further proof of the Lifeshroud’s efficacy.’

  The Doctor glared at him. ‘Not exactly a controlled experiment.’

  ‘In any case! Having remotely observed your altercation with the Kotturuh, I now know the truth of things. Please accept my bow of apology.’ Chalskal tilted forward on two of his tails, and remained there, staring at the floor. He kept it up for over a minute.

  The Doctor cleared his throat. ‘OK, apology accepted—’

  ‘No, no. Please, Doctor. Allow me to conclude my bow.’

  ‘There’s really no need …’

  ‘Forgive me, I must.’ Chalskal paused. ‘Allow me to incorporate an additional bow for this inconvenience.’

  The Doctor gritted his teeth and turned to Brian. ‘You work for him?’

  ‘On a freelance basis,’ Brian agreed.

  ‘A mercenary?’

  ‘Mr Ball prefers the term condottiere.’ Brian shrugged. ‘Truth to tell, I am primarily an assassin. Who better to test a garment that’s said to keep its wearer alive in the most … testing of circumstances.’

  ‘Estinee has been taken by the Kotturuh,’ said the Doctor. ‘Why? She’s already been judged, she’s felt their touch. Why would they take her?’

  ‘Perhaps because she wears the Lifeshroud, and they fear its implications? Hence they attacked before it could be employed,’ said Chalskal. ‘The important thing is, we must save the child! Brian’s services are at your disposal, and I will aid your mission in any way I can.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa, hang on a minute,’ the Doctor said. ‘Are you sure it’s the girl you want to save – or this Lifeshroud? That’s what your Ood came here for, isn’t it? To test it – and if it worked, to steal it.’

  ‘To place it in the public domain,’ Chalskal protested. ‘To dress the frightened peoples of the Pan-Victis Defensive Alliance in its protection—’

  ‘To steal it,’ the Doctor said flatly. ‘That’s why your tracker forced me and Estinee down, why Brian came after us. But what about this Fallomax, and her ship—’

  ‘It departed even before your crash,’ said Brian, ‘cloaked to evade detection.’

  ‘But all is not lost! May my tails upend me if I lie.’ Chalskal held resolutely still on his fleshy tripod for a few seconds as if to prove it.

  With a sigh, the Doctor sank down to his haunches in the ruins of Andalia’s ancient temples and of its fresh, far-reaching dead. ‘It feels like all is very much lost.’

  ‘Listen to me.’ Chalskal leaned in closer. ‘Estinee’s employer, the estimable Professor Hana Fallomax, has been developing the Lifeshroud for almost a century, originally to protect the wearer from potentially fatal accidents. Then her people were judged by the Kotturuh. Judged and found wanting …’

  The Doctor knew he was plucking at any distraction to lift him from the horror he’d just witnessed, but was intrigued despite himself. ‘How did she survive?’

  ‘Fallomax was working far off-world, in a secret facility,’ Brian explained. ‘But no one can outrun death.’

  Chalskal merely sniffed. ‘The professor does a fair job of it. As far as we know, Fallomax has sold Lifeshrouds in bulk only on seven worlds – and each was invaded by the Kotturuh before the crystals vital to their operation could be supplied.’

  ‘Taking action before Lifeshrouds can stop them.’ The Doctor considered. ‘Could the Kotturuh have taken the girl to get to Fallomax?’

  ‘It is possible,’ said Brian, ‘if unexpectedly elaborate.’

  ‘But if the Lifeshroud falls into the Kotturuh’s hands, then the best hope for countless worlds’ survival is lost.’ Chalskal rocked back and forth on his tails. ‘We need to move quickly. My tracker injected a signal device into the child’s genetic profile.’

  ‘Snoop DNA,’ Brian translated. ‘We can find her, wherever she’s gone.’

  ‘I know now, good Doctor, that you are not some opportunistic thief. You are a philanthropist such as myself. When I possess the Lifeshroud, I will offer protection for all, so the Kotturuh can be fought! So we can prevent another Andalia …’ Chalskal tipped forward to the point where he was almost kissing the virtual floor. ‘I beseech you, with this magnificent bow, to aid me in my endeavour. I will naturally reimburse you for your time and assistance. Brian will confirm I am most generous.’

  ‘I don’t want your money.’

  ‘Your purity of spirit shines forth,’ said Chalskal smarmily. ‘Brian has the wherewithal to track the child, and a fast ship with which to reach her.’

  ‘We’ll take my ship,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘I am eager to see it,’ said Brian.

  ‘And I will be awaiting updates most keenly.’ Chalskal rotated almost upside down, his longest tail providing a fourth support to the existing tripod. ‘Kindly accept – in this further magnificent bow – my best felicitations for the success of your mission.’

  The flickering image of Chalskal stayed in his curious posture for many, many minutes, although the Doctor and Brian had gone, and the dead could take no notice.

  First Interlude

  Fire licked and spat through the sockets of the three skulls perched on the flaming torches. Barbara held a fourth; if the others represented Ian, Susan and the old man, she supposed this one was hers. She stared into those gaping eyeholes, wondering what the face had looked like, masking the bone. What had this man or woman done, who-knew-how-many thousands of years ago, to end their miserable days here in the Cave of Skulls with a stone axe in the back of their head?

  The skull’s blank grin seemed to mock her incomprehension. Yesterday had been lessons and staff meetings and bad coffee, just as normal. Today, sense and logic were as lost as she was and death seemed all but certain. And all because she’d forced her way through a blue door into madness, into the old man’s terrifying world.

  He was suddenly beside her, weary and impatient, trying to wrest the skull from her hands. ‘Let me do it. We may not have long.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, turning from him. She placed the skull over the torch. The fire crackled through the split in the top of the skull, and the empty eyes belched greasy smoke.

  She looked over to Ian, who was peering through a crack in the wall with Susan, keeping wa
tch for their captors’ return. The plan with the skulls had been his: ‘To all intents and purposes, we are going to die,’ he’d said. If the tribe holding them believed that their prisoners had turned into fiery demons, they might run and cower, afraid for their own lives.

  ‘While they’re distracted, we’ll escape.’ Ian had spoken with such certainty. Yesterday he’d been just a colleague. Now he was already a rock to her, as strong as the one that blocked the exit to this cave.

  She surveyed the baleful Halloween sight of the skulls on their sticks. ‘Do you really think it’ll work?’ she said softly. ‘Convince the tribe that we’ve turned into fiery demons?’

  ‘I should hope so. Yes, I should hope so.’ The old man had retreated to the shadows at the back of the cave. ‘You’ve seen how stupid these people are.’

  ‘Primitive isn’t the same as stupid,’ said Barbara.

  He patted the sand beside him. ‘Come. Rest your legs. We will need all our strength to get back to the ship.’

  Barbara did so. The sand was cold. The animal grease they’d rubbed on the torches stank as it burned, her throat felt parched. The skulls grinned back at her. ‘It’s like we’ve died already.’

  ‘Now, now. You mustn’t talk that way.’ The old man put his hand on hers for a moment. ‘Susan and I, we’ve cheated death before, you know, and we shall again.’ He paused. ‘We all shall.’

  The skulls went on staring.

  ‘You’ve reminded me. There’s a folk tale of a man who cheated death,’ said Barbara, ‘by the Brothers Grimm. About a tailor who had twelve children, and a 13th on the way that he couldn’t afford to feed. So he tried to find someone who’d be godfather to the newborn.’

  ‘Did he, now?’ She caught the derision in the old man’s sniff. ‘Did he, indeed?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Barbara wrapped her arms about her knees. ‘I’m only talking because … just waiting like this in this terrible place—’

  ‘Quite right, my dear. I feel we could both use our minds being taken off our predicament a little.’ His eyes twinkled, softening the craggy face. ‘Tell me this story. It can’t be more Grimm than our current predicament, hmm?’