by David J Howe
DAEMOS RISING
DAVID J HOWE
First published in 2019 by Telos Publishing Ltd
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Dæmos Rising © 2004, 2019 David J Howe
All original characters from ‘The Dæmons’ © 1971, Robert Sloman and Barry Letts.
Captain Cavendish © 1994 Marc Platt
Kate Lethbridge-Stewart © 1994 Marc Platt and Keith Barnfather
‘Time Hunter’ format © 2004 David J Howe and Stephen James Walker
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Dæmos Rising is based on, and expands upon, the 2004 Reeltime Pictures drama production Dæmos Rising released on DVD by Koch Media and available from www.timetraveltv.com. It also spins off from the 1971 BBC Doctor Who adventure ‘The Dæmons’.All characters are used with permission of the relevant rights owners. This book has not been licensed or approved by the BBC or any of its affiliates.
Cover Art: © 2019, Matt Niblock
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
CONTENTS
Foreword7
Prologue 11
PART ONE
1The End of Time21
2The Book25
3Memories of Times Past32
4Reading the Book35
5London 258639
6Tea with Olive41
7The Attack47
PART TWO
1The Cottage55
2Cavendish63
3The Statue68
4Lost in Time69
5Tea with Douglas72
6Night Terrors79
7The Collection87
8Meet the Ghost93
9Doubles97
10Charm Offensive100
PART THREE
1The Caverns109
2The Dæmon116
3Discussions with the Devil121
4Endgame126
Epilogue129
About the Author131
Aeons ago, a mighty race toyed with life as children might play with ants. Earth was one such playground, but an emissary to that world became trapped. Blind and ignorant people with a lust for power released the sleeping devil and demanded of him a final judgement. But Azal was destroyed, his energies turned inward … dissipating deep into the Earth and in time luring the ambitious, the greedy and the broken. In the void between time the devils waited … patiently … to be summoned again … to pass judgement on the Earth …
Foreword
The book you hold in your hands is a slightly different take on the story which made it to DVD as Dæmos Rising back in 2004. For a start, one hopes that when you read the tale within, you will not literally become sucked into the future or the past, or summon Dæmons from a distant world to pass judgement on you …
The background to Dæmos Rising is interesting though, so please indulge me as I explain, as best I can, what happened.
Back in 2004, and following the success of the range of Doctor Who novellas, Telos Publishing decided to create a spin-off series featuring two of the characters created by Daniel O’Mahony for his Doctor Who novella, The Cabinet of Light. These were Honoré Lechasseur, a Time Sensitive, and Emily Blandish, a Time Channeller. Together they could travel through time, following people’s ‘time snakes’ and emerge at any point in their past or future. Thus by ‘hopping’ from person to person they could travel pretty much anywhere in time.
When Stephen James Walker and I devised the ‘Time Hunter’ series and concepts, we always knew that we wanted a circular plot arc, and that the ‘untold’ truth about what was going on would be revealed at the end of the series of books. Thus, in 2004, we had a pretty good idea about what was driving the series and where it would end up. One benefit to this of course, was that all the books we commissioned were true to this background, whether the authors knew what the background was or not – as editors, we made sure of it.
Enter Producer Keith Barnfather, who in 2004 approached me to write a script for his Reeltime Pictures company to produce. A Doctor Who spin off adventure, which originally was planned to feature the Sea Devils, and which would be set in a cottage and caves (as these were locations which Keith knew were available to use). Using the Sea Devils fell through because, also in 2004, unknown to us, the BBC were starting to gear up for production of a new television series of Doctor Who, and as part of that were contacting the various rights holders to see what past Doctor Who creations might be available to use. These included the Sea Devils and Silurians, owned by the estate of Malcolm Hulke. The estate, understandably, were excited by the BBC’s approach, and so when Keith also approached them for rights, were reluctant to say yes, unless the BBC also said yes: but of course the BBC owned no rights in any part of the production which Keith was planning, and had no reason to say ‘yes’ at all, and so we had to think again.
For Telos’ ‘Time Hunter’ series, we had secured the use of the characters of the Dæmons from Barry Letts and Robert Sloman (and later in the series we also gained permission from Chris Boucher to use the Fendahl) so I knew that potentially Keith could gain the same agreement from them. Thus we changed the basis of the script Keith wanted from Sea Devils to Dæmons, but still retained the cottage and cave locations.
Because at the time I was heavily into the planning of the ‘Time Hunter’ series, I wanted to try and bring that into the mix of the film as well, so with Keith’s blessing I created another time sensitive (our elusive unnamed Ghost), and crafted the script around the Dæmon Mastho’s first appearance on Earth. This was following the Dæmon Azal’s appearance in the Doctor Who adventure ‘The Dæmons’ where he self-destructed rather than handing over his powers, or destroying the Dæmons’ experiment: Humanity.
As it happened, the final book in the ‘Time Hunter’ series, Child of Time, written by myself and George Mann, tells the story of Mastho’s second and third – and final – appearances on Earth, and what happens … It also wraps up the story of Honoré and Emily, hopefully in a way which was clever yet satisfying to those who had stuck with the series of novellas. I’m still very proud of what we did there, and hope that Doctor Who fans will seek out and enjoy the adventures in the spirit in which they were intended: an adjunct to Doctor Who itself.
So coming to this novelisation of Dæmos Rising, I had the opportunity to neaten things up, and to bring this massive plot arc to some sort of resolution.
I see the events as taking place in three distinct segments.
‘Part One’ is the television Doctor Who story, ‘The Dæmons’, in which we learn of Azal, and of the Dæmons great experiment on Earth: the creation and development of Humanity; an experiment which is allowed to continue as Azal is, at the end, destroyed by the ‘alien’ human emotion of love, when Jo Grant offers herself as victim instead of the Doctor.
‘Part Two’ is Dæmos Rising, where we see the summoning of a second Dæmon, Mastho, to cast judgement on the Earth. But on this occasion, the events are being manipulated behind the scenes by a cabal called the Sodality … you will find out more about them in this book!
‘Part Three’ is Child of Time, wherein we discover the Dæmons’ true reasons for creating their experiment in the first place, and how the Sodality have managed to corrupt it, and
indeed, how they played into the Dæmons’ hands all along.
If you enjoy this book, and want to find out how the story ends, then seek out Child of Time, available as an ebook edition from Telos Publishing.
There is also a short story I penned for the Reeltime Pictures drama White Witch of Devil’s End called ‘Dæmos Returns’ which tells of a further encounter that Olive Hawthorne (a character from ‘The Dæmons’ on television) has with the residual power of the Dæmons. This again uses as a background the overall story arc which is being used again here. The story is expanded and developed in Telos Publishing’s novelisation of White Witch of Devil’s End (called The Dæmons of Devil’s End).
In the meantime, settle back, and enjoy the ride as we find out how events progressed following ‘The Dæmons’, and how a certain book of Dæmonic psyonic incantations fell into the wrong hands, and triggered the events of Dæmos Rising …
Oh, and incidentally, we had no idea when we made Dæmos Rising that the book of psyonic science, created by artist Bob Covington for the production, would go on to appear in another Reeltime Pictures drama, White Witch of Devil’s End, some fourteen years later!
David J Howe,
March 2019
Prologue
The church had been blown up.
At least that’s what Corporal Fitch thought had happened. Working for UNIT, you saw all manner of strange things. Blown up things. Blown out things. Things which looked like they had been blown in.
It was best not to ask. Just get in, do the job, and get back out again.
Some of Fitch’s colleagues had spoken of missions they had been on. Things they had seen. Much of which Fitch thought were embellished to the point of being science fiction, but which always had a strange ring of truth about them.
And then there was the Archive.
Best not to talk about the Archive.
That was real Black Ops territory. Need to know. Top security clearance.
So Fitch often didn’t know what to believe. He had seen some things himself. He had been stationed with a troop out near Nuton when something fell to Earth there. The power station was put on alert, lots of senior bods turned up, and he ended up guarding what looked like a gigantic squashed gourd poking up out of the shingle on the local beach. No idea why. Need to know.
That was always the response.
‘Need to know.’
Why were a load of shop mannequins brought in for investigation?
‘Need to know.’
Why did they go out and blow up a load of perfectly good caves in Derbyshire?
‘Need to know.’
Why were bazookas and other heavy artillery called to defend or attack a church in Wiltshire?
‘Need to know.’
To be honest, Fitch was getting somewhat fed up of ‘Need to know’. He really would rather know …
And now he was sorting through rubble and fallen beams in said church, now part-demolished by goodness knows what.
He pulled his beige beret off his head and mopped his brow. It was hot work.
He idly kicked at a piece of fallen stone and it clattered away into the gloom in the corners of what used to be the church’s catacombs, now a hazardous mess of brick and mortar. A voice hailed him from the doorway.
‘Hello? Is there anyone there?’
Fitch stepped gingerly across the floor and saw a woman peering in at him. She could have been in her thirties or late twenties … pinched face and with a cloak pinned to her shoulders.
‘Ah, hello, there you are,’ she said with a smile. As she smiled, her eyes crinkled and Fitch knew instinctively that he could trust her.
There was a movement at her feet and a black cat curled past her and stood for a moment surveying the damage, before heading out again.
‘Oh, don’t mind him,’ said the woman. ‘Rhad will be back. There’s no doubt mice and rats to be hunting.’
Fitch reached the doorway. ‘It’s not safe here, miss,’ he said.
‘Hawthorne,’ said the woman. ‘Olive Hawthorne. I live here.’
Fitch reached for her outstretched hand and gave it a cursory shake.
‘Here?’ he said, looking around the broken church. ‘Not sure it’s safe to live here.’
‘Oh I don’t mean “here” literally,’ Olive said. ‘The village. I live in the village.’
‘Ah,’ Fitch nodded and stepped out into the sunlight beside Olive.
‘Nasty business,’ the woman continued. ‘Glad it’s all over.’
Fitch nodded, and pulled the door as shut as he could behind him. ‘That should hold it until the boys can get a cordon up.’
Fitch looked at Miss Hawthorne who was standing beside him looking very expectant.
‘Can I … help with something Miss?’ he asked.
Olive grinned. ‘Tea.’
‘Tea?’
‘Yes. I was going to ask if you wanted some tea.’
Fitch looked around. ‘Well … I’m on duty, Miss.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. No-one is going to begrudge you a drink. And besides … there’s no-one else here!’
Fitch had to agree that she was right. He had come in early as there was no-one else around. He did have his instructions though. To carry out an initial inspection and to mark and cordon anything which seemed of interest.
When he asked what ‘of interest’ meant, his Captain, Yates, smiled, and said ‘You’ll know it when you see it.’
‘Tea would be lovely, Miss,’ he said, smiling at Olive.
They walked together around the ruins of the church. The cat wandered through the bushes, and pounced on imaginary mice, moving leaves and grass.
‘My cottage is just down there,’ said Olive. ‘I’ll pop down and get you a cup now.’
‘That’s very kind, miss,’ said Fitch.
They had reached another doorway into the church. From the information Fitch had, this led to the private quarters of the Vicar there, a certain Mr Magister.
He nodded to the door. ‘Got to check in here now,’ he said. ‘Won’t take long.’
Olive smiled and headed off down the path towards her cottage.
What a nice woman, thought Fitch. Shame that most people seemed to be hostile and unhelpful.
He mentally shrugged to himself and tried the handle to the door.
Locked.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his trusty UNIT issue skeleton keys. There wasn’t a lock made which these wouldn’t open.
After a minute or so of trying the various picks and jiggling the lock, it clicked, and the door swung open.
Fitch stepped out of the sunshine and into the chilly gloom of the apartment beyond.
‘You’ll know it when you see it.’
Yates’ words echoed in Fitch’s mind when he saw the large, leather-bound book sitting on a lectern to one side of the room.
To be honest, to Fitch’s trained eye, it looked like the place had not been lived in for some time. Especially not by anyone called Magister.
The table had a pile of unopened post for a Canon Smallwood. There were a few, but not many, religious books on the shelves. A selection of robes for various masses through the year. All dusty and unworn.
There was absolutely nothing to suggest that anyone called Magister had ever been there.
In one corner there was a strange empty area, as though something about the size of a large cabinet had stood there for a time, but which was now missing. There were marks in the dust on the floor, but no scuff marks, so it hadn’t been dragged somewhere else.
Fitch wondered how something of that size could possibly have been moved. Indeed, how it could have been removed from the room: the door was quite small, and the windows were also tiny, with old fashioned stained glass and leading intact.
But the book on the lectern.
Fitch reached out a hand to touch it, and in the cool atmosphere it felt warm. Was it leather? Or some other substance? It was hard to tell.
Fi
tch lifted the heavy cover, and noted that the pages seemed to be covered with an ancient script, interspersed with drawings and paintings.
The text seemed to blur before his eyes. Not only could he not read it, but he couldn’t even see it to be able to read it.
He turned a few more pages, and the strange blurred sensation in his eyes moved to his brain. He felt a little fuzzy, as though he had been drinking.
He squinted at the page. Maybe …
A little voice wormed into his head. A nagging thought that if he really focussed, then he would be able to read. And all he had to do was to read a small portion, and then everything would be so much better.
Fitch looked around the room. Everything was quiet and still, but he had a sense that something was poised, watching him. Waiting.
He turned another page, and a sense of happiness engulfed him. He was doing the right thing.
He looked at one of the images.
A massive, muscular beast-like humanoid, covered with coarse hair, and with two curling horns emerging from its head, was holding the figure of a man between its hands. But the man’s body was split in two, as though the beast had torn him apart.
Fitch frowned. He wasn’t meant to worry about that. Something was urging him on, to read something somewhere else in the book.
He turned another page.
The door behind him suddenly opened and a bright voice said, ‘Ah, there you are.’
The strange foggy feeling abruptly lifted from Fitch. The urge to read vanished, leaving a strange, nagging, empty feeling.
He shut the book, and turned to see Miss Hawthorne proffering a steaming hot cup of tea to him.
‘Thank … thank you Miss,’ he said, fully shaken from whatever had fallen on him.
He took the cup and saucer and sipped at the hot tea. It slid down his throat, which he realised had gone dry, as had his lips.