by Derek Landy
The smugglers were gone.
3
They ran back to the steps and climbed them quickly, Martha leading the way. She burst through the door at the top, out into bright sunlight filtering through the trees. She was dripping wet and shivering. The Doctor followed her out, shut the door and used the screwdriver to lock it.
‘What were those things?’ Martha asked.
‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ the Doctor said, his wet hair hanging over his eyes. He took her arm and led her through the trees. ‘I’m assuming they didn’t pop up in the book?’
‘I think I would have remembered them.’
‘It was almost as if that were an unfinished section. No one had bothered to venture down there in the book, so what’s the point of there being anything down there at all? Everything here is artifice. It’s here for show, but there’s nothing real or substantial about it.’
‘You mean like set dressing in a play?’
He snapped his head to her, suddenly smiling. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Oh, you are smart. Not as smart as me but, well … who is? Set dressing. To the audience it looks like buildings and trees, but behind the scenes it’s all propped up with bits of wood. We’re standing on a stage, Martha.’
‘One designed to look like an old children’s book from Earth? Bit random, isn’t it?’
The Doctor frowned, pulled the sonic screwdriver from his jacket and started scanning everything in range.
‘What are you doing?’ Martha asked.
The Doctor made some unintelligible sounds as he darted to and fro, getting more and more excited as he scanned. He burst through the treeline on to the grass, into the bright and warm sunlight. Martha hurried after him. She could feel herself starting to dry out already.
‘Wa-hey,’ he said, eyes wide. ‘Wa-hey!’
‘Doctor?’
‘Martha!’
‘Doctor, please tell me you know what’s going on.’
The screwdriver vanished back inside his jacket. ‘I might know,’ he said, sweeping his wet hair off his face. ‘It’s possible I might know. I have an idea. But I don’t know how … Well, I suppose if … Unless … No. Yes. Really? Yes!’
‘Doctor?’
He whirled round, his hair sticking out at crazy angles. ‘This, Martha Jones, this, all around us. I don’t think this is real.’
‘But you said it was real. You said everything scanned as real.’
‘Well, yes, but there is real and then there’s real, you know?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘What are we but our senses, Martha? Our eyes tell us we are standing on a flat surface, we can feel the ground beneath our feet, but what if our senses are lying to us? Take away our ability to touch, taste, hear, see and smell, and doesn’t our world change accordingly?’
‘Yeah,’ said Martha slowly, ‘except it doesn’t, does it? Take away our senses and we’re right where we were a moment ago, only now we don’t have our senses.’
He looked at her. ‘You take all the fun out of philosophy, you know that?’
‘I’m a medical student,’ said Martha. ‘I deal in facts. I see an ailment; I fix it. Explain this to me in practical terms.’
‘That’s just it – I don’t think I can. This entire planet seems to be an idea, a concept made solid.’
‘So this whole entire world that we’re standing on right now is … what? A story? Not a planet at all but a story? How can we stand on a story? How can a story have gravity, or light, or air for us to breathe?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Every good story has atmosphere.’
‘I’m … I’m going to do you a favour and pretend you didn’t just say that.’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
‘Martha …’
‘Fine,’ she said, and closed her eyes.
‘Picture yourself as a particle of dust floating in space,’ the Doctor said as he circled her slowly. ‘Around you, stars are born and die. Planets orbit. Meteors pass, asteroids drift, and every so often, if you’re really, really lucky, there is a flare of distant life.’
‘Am I lonely?’ Martha asked.
‘You’re a particle of dust,’ the Doctor said. ‘Of course you’re not lonely.’
‘I sound lonely.’
‘Well you’re not; you’re having a great time. So there you are, in space, all this stuff going on, and someone comes along with an agenda. Someone comes along with a purpose. Let’s call him … Bob. And purpose, to a little particle of dust like you, is this wonderful, wonderful new thing that you can’t get enough of. And so you’re pulled into Bob’s purpose, and you swirl around with all the other particles of dust and all the other minute elements of the cosmos, and suddenly you’re part of something bigger. You’re part of an idea. And you grow and grow and when you’ve finished growing you realise that you have become the idea.’
‘Can I open my eyes now?’
‘Sure.’
Martha looked at him. He was standing on a log, looking around. While her eyes were closed he’d fixed his hair. ‘So you’re saying Bob made this entire world out of willpower and dust.’
‘Essentially.’
‘So why, for God’s sake why, did he make it into a Troubleseekers book?’
‘I don’t think he did,’ said the Doctor. ‘Our senses are telling us we’re in a Troubleseekers book, my senses are telling me that my sonic screwdriver is telling me we’re in a Troubleseekers book, but I’d assume different people from different cultures are being exposed to different sensory information.’
‘So it looks like this for us because I read these books? But I’ve read a lot more, and a lot better, than Troubleseekers. Why did it pick this? And you haven’t read these books, so how come you’re seeing what I’m seeing?’
The Doctor jumped down off the log. ‘This world must be able to only take one form at a time. It picked a series of stories that have been in your memory for the longest period. Maybe it’s because you were the first one out of the TARDIS. If I had been first out, we could be in an ancient Gallifreyan fairy tale right now.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘Not really,’ the Doctor said. ‘Our fairy tales had teeth.’
‘So who is Bob? How do we find out who’s behind this?’
‘Elementary, my dear Jones,’ the Doctor said, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘We use our powers of deduction. We already have our list of suspects.’
‘You think it’s one of the characters?’
‘A being capable of forming an entire world around fiction. Do you really think such a being could resist inserting themselves into the story?’
‘Fair enough … but who is it? If it were me, then I’d make myself into either the hero or the villain. And seeing how the heroes are a group of insufferable kids, I’d say it’s the villain. So Bob is Cotterill.’
‘Do you have proof? This is a mystery. You must have proof. What have you observed about him?’
‘Uh, well, he is … he has a moustache and … he’s a smuggler, we know that much. He’s just like the others. Except …’
‘Except?’
Martha frowned. ‘Except he saw us. He saw us immediately. Everyone else here needs a moment to focus on us. But not him. He’s not like the others. He’s just pretending to be.’
The Doctor smiled. ‘I knew you had it in you, Martha Jones.’
‘But why did those things try to kill us? We haven’t done anything yet.’
‘Maybe we’ve strayed too far from the story. We went where we weren’t supposed to go, after all. So those things …’
‘They could be this planet’s immune system,’ Martha finished. ‘An infection was detected in a vulnerable area, and these little creepy soldiers were sent out to stop us.’
‘Precisely. We reached the edge and kept pushing. You’d be surprised how many people reckon I’m far more trouble than I’m worth.’
Martha gave a non-committal shrug, then got back to
business. ‘So what are we going to do? The smart thing would be get back to the TARDIS and get away from here, but I know you’re not going to do that.’
He raised his eyebrow at her. ‘You think you know me so well, don’t you? I happen to think that’s a wonderful idea. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here, and it’s like I always say: it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
Martha frowned again. ‘I know I’ve only been travelling with you for a few months, but I have, literally, never heard you say that.’
‘Nonsense. I say it all the time.’
She shook her head. ‘Never once.’
‘You might have been in the other room when I’ve said it,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I’ve said it, and I’ve said it a lot.’
‘When was the last time you said it?’
‘Last week. At the … ooh, I remember. It was with the thing. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard. I said it then. It’s not my fault if you – Oi.’
Martha looked round and saw Fatty hiding in the bushes. The little fat boy’s eyes widened when he realised he’d been spotted, and he squealed and ran off.
‘He really is annoying,’ Martha muttered.
‘Actually,’ said the Doctor, ‘he’s exactly what we need.’
She looked at him. ‘You knew he was there.’
‘Of course. And now he’s gone off to tattle on us, to let his master know we’re about to leave. That should stir him into the big reveal.’
‘Oh, you are clever.’
‘What have I been telling you? Come on.’
4
They left the woods and started walking back towards the TARDIS. At the corner of the cottage, Cotterill stood with one of the featureless creatures. They were waiting for them.
‘Here we go,’ the Doctor murmured, sauntering up. Martha followed.
‘Leaving before the story is over?’ Cotterill said, a smile on his face. ‘I must admit, I’m a little disappointed in you.’
The Doctor smiled back, hands in his pockets once again. ‘Hoping for everyone to gather in the parlour for the grand denouement, were you? I’m sorry, but I’m saving that for a mystery that deserves it. I like your friend, by the way. Does it have a name?’
‘Names are overrated,’ said Cotterill. There were others now, walking out of the trees, getting closer. ‘These are my Un-Men. They have their uses. Not much good for intelligent conversation, though, unless I give them a character, and even then they’re so very limited … Unlike you two. You two are fun.’
‘Clever, too,’ the Doctor said. ‘Only thing we haven’t figured out yet is what you get from all this.’
Cotterill’s smile widened. ‘I get to live.’
‘So you draw your sustenance from … what? The illusion? Or the people you trap here?’
‘Both. And neither. The illusion allows the people to give me the strength I need. Tell me, Doctor, what does every story require of its reader?’
‘The willing suspension of disbelief.’
Cotterill smiled. ‘Exactly. You have no idea the power generated each time somebody is told a story. When a conscious, sentient mind willingly ignores what is real, what is fact, and instead chooses to invest in people and places that never existed …’ He shuddered in delight. ‘It is magnificent. It amounts to nothing less than a rejection of reality. And when reality is pushed away, no matter how briefly, it leaves a gap, crackling with potential, with what-might-be. And what-might-be makes me strong.’
Martha glanced around. The Un-Men were getting dangerously close. The Doctor, of course, barely seemed to notice.
‘So you took that strength and made a planet,’ said the Doctor.
Cotterill laughed. ‘This? This is just the beginning. This is a stepping stone. Next I build a solar system. Then a galaxy. Then a universe. And when my universe is big enough, reality will snap, break and crumble, and I will be there to replace it with my own.’
‘With you as its god.’
‘Precisely.’
‘And should I even bother asking what becomes of the people?’
‘They will be cared for,’ said Cotterill. ‘I’m no barbarian. I’ll need people to fuel me, after all.’
‘Can I say something?’ Martha asked, stepping forward. ‘Can I? Thank you. You’re insane. I mean, seriously, this is an insane idea. I don’t mean it’s insane because it’ll never work or we’ll stop you; I mean it’s just insane. It is not sane. It saw sane coming and crossed the street to avoid it. Cotterill, you’re nuts. Doctor, you’re nuts for even having that conversation you just had. You’re not going to take over the universe with stories, Cotterill. It’s just too silly. I won’t allow it. On that basis, plus the fact that you’ve been trying to kill us, we’re going to put a stop to your crazy scheme and send you packing. Doctor. It’s about time you had a plan to stop him. Do you?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Will it require us running?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Then let’s go.’
They broke into a sprint.
‘Get them!’ Cotterill cried. ‘Off with their heads!’
Two Un-Men closed in, their bodies stretching and flattening, turning into playing cards with limbs, just like in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland but carrying swords. Martha ducked under their swinging blades and the Doctor grabbed her hand, pulling her on. They ran through the door of the cottage, emerged into the dining hall at Hogwarts and then, before a single wand could be turned in their direction, they were sprinting away through a door at the far end.
‘What is this?’ Martha cried.
‘Cotterill’s searching through the books in your memory,’ the Doctor answered, ‘trying to find something to stop us. This way!’
They ran outside and the ground shifted, became bricks that spun into place, revealing an underside of gold. Martha heard the beating of wings and the shrieking of monkeys from above and the Doctor yanked her sideways as something big and dark and hairy brushed by her cheek.
She lost her footing and they tumbled down a grassy hill, sprawling into snow. She was first up, looking behind them, making sure the Un-Men weren’t about to pounce.
‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?’ the Doctor asked, pushing himself to his feet.
‘Never read it,’ Martha said. They ran to a building up ahead. A big one, like a hotel. She saw the name, the Overlook, and veered off. ‘Not that way.’
The Doctor followed her and they left the snow behind and plunged into a tunnel. Their footsteps echoed through the darkness and they slowed, looked back, trying to catch their breath.
‘This plan of yours,’ Martha said, panting quietly, ‘do you really have one or were you just saying you did to look clever in front of Cotterill?’
‘I really have one,’ the Doctor said. ‘And I don’t need to look clever. I am clever. The fact that I look clever is merely a bonus.’
‘Could you please just tell me what we’re going to do?’
He grabbed her and she froze. Ahead of them, headlights snapped on like twin suns. The throb of a powerful engine reverberated around them.
‘Christine?’ said the Doctor.
‘Worse,’ Martha said, almost crying. ‘Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang.’
The car roared and leaped forward. Martha and the Doctor spun round and ran.
‘I loved the film so much I had to read the book!’ Martha yelled, the last word turning into a yelp as the Doctor yanked her sideways. The car rushed by as they stumbled through a narrow door and into a forest.
The Doctor put his finger to his lips and Martha nodded and followed him as quietly as she could. Wet leaves squelched under her feet. There was movement up ahead: two teenagers, a pale boy and a nervous girl, walked into a clearing. The sun broke through the clouds and the boy started to sparkle.
Martha felt the Doctor’s eyes on her and she blushed. ‘Do not judge me.’
‘Judging is for later,’ he said, and they continued on, giving the you
ng lovers a wide berth.
They stepped out of the trees, back into the sunshine. The TARDIS was right in front of them.
Martha broke into a run, the Doctor behind her. They were halfway there and no sign of any Un-Men. They were going to make it. They were going to –
A column of rock burst from the ground, taking the TARDIS with it. Martha lunged – she didn’t know why, she just lunged – and grabbed on, realising the stupidity of the move only as the column started twisting in place as it lengthened. It kept growing, the ground becoming a distant thing, the rock becoming brick, the column becoming a tower. Finally, the growth slowed and it settled, this tower with the TARDIS perched precariously on top, with Martha hanging from a narrow windowsill. She looked down. Oh, such a long way down.
‘In retrospect,’ the Doctor shouted from so far beneath her, ‘that was probably ill-advised.’
5
‘Help!’ screamed Martha. ‘Get up here and help me!’
The Doctor did a lap of the tower and came back. ‘I can’t see a door,’ he yelled. ‘What kind of building doesn’t have a door?’
There was movement, and then a rope came tumbling out of the window, batting gently against Martha’s shoulder, unravelling all the way down to the bottom. No, not a rope. A thick braid of golden hair.
‘You have got to be kidding,’ Martha muttered.
The Doctor was shouting again. ‘I know her! I’ve met her! Tell her I said hi!’
Martha grabbed the hair with one hand. There was a cry of pain from inside the tower. ‘Sorry,’ she called, and let go of the sill. There was a sudden drop and Martha’s stomach lurched, but then she jerked to a stop and hung there, swaying. She glanced up. A pretty girl glared down at her, her face red, arms braced against the window frame to stop herself from being pulled through it.
‘You’re not the prince,’ Rapunzel said. ‘The prince is meant to come and release me from my prison. You’re not him.’
‘This is true.’
‘The prince is lighter.’
‘Oi. No need to get personal.’
Rapunzel grunted as Martha climbed. It was only a few handholds but it was tiring stuff. She reached the window and clambered awkwardly through.