by Doctor Who
‘Saul says the woods are full of monsters that stop you going too far,’ said Martha.
‘Then he’d best be our guide,’ said the Doctor. ‘Hopefully he can take us back to the clearing where he found us.’
Martha nodded. She supposed it made sense. ‘If what you’re saying is true. . . It explains something weird that happened earlier.’
‘Oh?’
‘When Saul and I came back from the forest. . . ’ Martha thought for a moment, trying to remember where she had seen the sun setting.
‘We appeared on the north side of the village, over by the lake.’
‘But when you left. . . ’
‘We left the village heading south, towards the woods.’ She paused.
‘There’s no way we can have looped around like that. Absolutely no way. What we did was. . . impossible.’
‘Space is folded up on itself,’ observed the Doctor. ‘You can probably walk in a straight line and find yourself back where you began.’
‘But why’s this happening?’
‘To conserve energy, I suppose,’ said the Doctor.
‘Just like the
day/night cycle on the Castor. This world. . . It’s not running off a couple of triple-A batteries, you know. When I was inspecting the Dazai’s library, the books seemed normal enough at first. Loads of information, vast amounts of data, all written down in ink, page after page. . . And then suddenly the books became blank. . . ’
69
‘Like you’d used up all the data in a computer’s memory or something?’ said Martha. ‘There’s a delay as new data has to be fetched from somewhere else.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘And remember how it felt like we were going round in circles in the forest? Well, perhaps we were.’
‘We couldn’t go any further until the next bit of reality was ready for us,’ said Martha.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
Martha considered this for a few moments. ‘Reminds me a bit of when you’re dreaming,’ said Martha. ‘Your mind only supplies the important bits of information, and pretty much makes the rest of it up as you go along. Even changing the rules if it has to, like you’ll start off somewhere, then imagine you’re somewhere else, but with some important feature of the first location carried over. . . ’
‘That’s exactly it,’ said the Doctor. ‘But whose dream is this? And can we get out of it again?’
‘You think all this is some sort of dream?’ asked Martha.
‘Whatever it is,’ said the Doctor, ‘it seems to be breaking down.
Those children that are going missing – it’s like having a broken hard drive in a computer. Random chunks of data are just being lost.’
‘But these are people!’ exclaimed Martha. ‘They’re not just strings of zeros and ones!’
‘Are they?’ said the Doctor. ‘They look like people, behave like people – I’ll grant you that. . . ’
‘But you’re always the one telling me not to jump to conclusions,’
said Martha. ‘What right have we to assume that these people don’t really exist? Whatever they are – they’re people, they matter, they have consciousness!’
She paused for a moment, almost physically shaking, wondering where all that had come from, wondering what the Doctor would say.
She was also aware that Petr, Saul and Kristine had paused momentarily and were now looking at her intently.
The Doctor waited for the others – who said nothing in response to Martha’s outburst – to return to their chores before continuing. ‘Of course,’ he said in a quiet voice, ‘you’re absolutely right.’ He sounded 70
determined – and calm. ‘We will bring the children back. We can do that from the space station.’
He turned back to Martha, his face strongly lined by shadow. ‘But I don’t think either of us want to be standing right here when reality itself boils away, do you?’
71
Jude was a good girl and always did what her mother told her. Or, rather, on those occasions when she didn’t do what she was told, Jude always made certain the benefit was worth the risk, and then ensured that her mother never found out.
Jude lay in bed, looking at the stars through the window. She had opened the shutters once her mother had gone back downstairs – the creaking board four steps from the bottom meant Jude always knew when someone had moved out of earshot.
It was a perfect night, with barely a cloud in the sky – though, if she propped herself up on her elbows, she could see that the fog was seeping out of the woods and across the lake towards the village. She kept glimpsing shapes moving about in the mist, then sternly told herself that if you look at anything expecting to see something, you’ll find it soon enough. The reality was, Jude was hoping to see Farah again, though whether this was out of fear or expectation, Jude wasn’t quite sure.
Her mother had said that Saul was going for a meal with Uncle Petr and Auntie Kristine, but that her father was going on his own because he had ‘bridges to mend’. Jude wished grown-ups wouldn’t keep covering over reality with flowery language – it was obvious to 73
everyone that Saul and Petr just liked arguing with each other. The sad truth of the matter was that sometimes Saul became angry, and he didn’t want his daughter or wife around if the two men came to blows.
Jude had asked her mother if the two strangers would be there as well, and she’d said that she supposed so, given that they were honoured guests and were staying with Petr and Kristine. Jude had then asked if the Dazai would be joining them, and her mother had replied that Petr was wary of the old woman and her cryptic advice – and so should Jude be, if she had any sense. Jude hadn’t, in actual fact, seen much of the Dazai over the years, preferring impersonal books from the library to the Dazai’s rambling and elusive wisdom. Anyway, the Dazai seemed to have far too many teeth missing. And she smelled funny – she stank of old skin and hair, not like the wonderful, musky aroma of the documents and manuscripts Jude loved to pore over.
Jude slipped out of bed and started pulling on her thickest blue robes. A pillow under the sheets should fool anyone who glanced in, though she only planned to be gone an hour or so at most. There was something important going on within the village, something that impacted on the future of everyone who lived there, and yet most people seemed to want to ignore it. Not Jude – her aim was to be there when important things happened and, just at the moment, that meant being close to the Doctor and his friend. For all his silly words and occasional moments of unsettling mania, the Doctor had ‘importance’
stamped all over him.
The window creaked open, and Jude held her breath for a moment
– but no one was coming up the stairs. Indeed, it sounded as if her mother was still moving about in the kitchen, tidying away the remains of the small meal they had shared together while father spoke in low tones about the rabbits he’d got for the feast at Petr’s house.
There was a great, knotted vine growing up at the back of the house.
It pushed its tendrils into wood and slate and stone and now appeared almost part of the structure, though these days it rarely managed to sprout any glossy orange leaves. Perhaps this was because Jude used it so often for escape – anyone looking closely at the ground beneath 74
her bedroom window would have seen stripped bark and a scattering of frayed leaves.
But no one looked at the back of Jude’s home, because no one knew that Jude ever escaped this way.
Jude lowered herself out of the window – each bend and swelling of the vine absolutely familiar to her – and began to descend towards the ground, pushing the window shut behind her. She wished sometimes her father had built a smaller house – most of the buildings in the village were simple, single-storey dwellings, but her father had always said that his traps and hunting equipment required a lot of space. Indeed, there were rooms that Jude had never even glanced into, though she imagined them piled from floor to ceiling with trophies of his prowess. Stu
ffed and mounted heads of bears and wolves, no doubt – and maybe even the remains of the monsters that he sometimes talked about when he’d had a drop of ale. Jude’s mother always told Saul to be quiet at those moments, and he’d refuse to elaborate when Jude questioned him later, so the beasts in the outermost forest had for a long time lived only in Jude’s mind, as great monsters in the darkness and mementoes in mysterious, locked chambers. Now, of course, she knew them to be real – the Doctor’s friend Martha had seen them. Worse still, she’d said they were coming closer to the village.
Jude stepped down onto the ground and began to walk towards the green at the heart of the village, hugging the shadows and the edges of the houses. Once or twice, she was passed by men talking in low tones – patrols or just fathers returning home after an evening in the inn, she wasn’t quite sure – but she simply stopped each time and pressed further back into the darkness, and they moved on soon enough.
From the green she skirted around the bakery – it smelt luxuriously of wheat and yeast even when the ovens were cool, as they were now-and then ducked into a small, ornate garden of cultivated plants and hanging lanterns. Moments later she was outside her uncle’s impressive home. Light poured from the dining room window. It always reminded her of the great feasting chamber at the heart of the vil-75
lage hall, though in truth it was a good deal smaller. Whereas the whole village came together in the great hall to commemorate the passing of the seasons and successful harvests, Petr and Kristine’s dining room was often used for family events – an obscure uncle’s first child, a cousin’s unexpected marriage. Jude couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would be before Petr and Kristine accepted the inevitable and marked the loss of their son.
Hearing voices, Jude crept under the window. Everyone was talking
– it sounded like her father had been drinking a little and was louder than usual, making some bad joke at Petr’s expense – and the Doctor and his friend Martha were using this as the backdrop to another one of their whispered conversations.
‘You said you’d tell me why the name of this place was important,’
said Martha.
‘Just a vague echo in the name of this place, that’s all,’ said the Doctor. ‘Herot. Battle-hall in an old poem. I wasn’t sure it meant much at first, but now. . . ’ Jude caught a sigh from the traveller. ‘It’s as if so much of Earth culture has been boiled down and presented to us as a living, breathing reality. And just think of the people we’ve met – the brave hunter, the thoughtful leader, the wise old woman. . . ’
Safely hidden in the shadows, Jude scratched her head.
She
couldn’t follow half of what was said, but the tone was clear enough –both the Doctor and Martha were tense, as if finalising a secret plan.
Both seemed impatient to leave, though the Doctor was better at hiding his concerns.
‘You mean they’re. . . archetypes?’ said Martha, moments later.
‘That’s how they seem to have started,’ said the Doctor. ‘But, you’re right, now they’ve changed, developed, evolved. . . ’
‘With monsters pressing in on them, and legends about dead children rising from a lake,’ added Martha. ‘And it’s night-time. So in a few hours everyone in the village will be asleep, the research station will switch to its night cycle. . . ’
‘And if we’re still here it’ll be Hello, vacuum; hello, deep space. . . ’
There was a pause, footsteps from within the room – instinctively Jude pressed herself even further into the shadows under the win-76
dow. She glanced around. The fog was thicker than ever now and the shapes within it, the patterns of movement, were getting more pronounced all the time.
‘Have you enjoyed your meal?’ Petr’s voice sounded incredibly close to Jude. He must have been standing at the window, half-turned to the Doctor and his friend.
‘It was lovely!’ exclaimed the Doctor. ‘My compliments to your dear wife.’
‘She is a woman of many talents,’ said Petr in a low voice. ‘I am lucky to have her.’
Underneath the window, Jude resisted the temptation to make gagging noises.
‘I’m afraid we must be going,’ said Martha. ‘So soon?’
‘I’m sorry, Petr. You’ve been very hospitable, but. . . We’re needed elsewhere.’
‘You won’t stay the night?’ persisted Petr.
‘Impossible, I’m afraid,’ said the Doctor firmly. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow, but for the moment. . . ’
‘You have been an ambassador like no other,’ admitted Petro ‘I’m still not sure of your purpose amongst us,’ he said with a chuckle.
Before the Doctor could say anything, Jude heard the dining room door slide open with a crash. Petr’s laughter died away to nothing as someone rushed into the room, sobbing and incoherent. An awful hush fell over the room, punctuated by cries and the sound of Auntie Kristine trying to comfort the newcomer.
Another set of footsteps across the oak floorboards brought Jude’s father towards the Doctor, Martha and Petr.
‘Another disappearance,’ said Saul simply. ‘The Sabato family.’
As the wailing within Petr’s house increased in pitch, Jude turned once more to the fog that drifted and surged through the village. She imagined, just for a moment, that she could see a new figure in there
– a new child now one with the fog.
The Doctor and Martha ran, at once, to the household that had been overcome by tragedy, but there was – literally – nothing to see. The 77
child’s window was locked from the inside, and the bedroom door led straight into the family’s living quarters, where mother and father had sat all evening, staring at the dying embers of the fire in the grate.
The child’s bed was still warm, and the mother found a single strand of golden hair upon the pillow. Her face crumpled and, despite her husband’s stoic presence, the wailing began once more.
The Doctor turned to Petr, his face both uncomprehending and defi-ant. ‘We’ll sort this out,’ he said firmly. ‘I promise. But we’ve got to go back into the forest. We must go back to the spot where Saul found us.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
Petr had turned to his brother, who was standing at his side and trying to calm the hysterical mother of the disappeared child. ‘You will take them, of course?’ It was part question, part statement.
Saul nodded curtly. ‘I will.’ He paused for a moment, still looking at his brother. ‘You will come with us. . . ?’
Petr shook his head. ‘No. My business is here, in the village – with those who suffer loss and hardship. The woods are your territory.’
‘Within your parameters,’ Saul muttered under his breath.
‘Sorry?’
‘I thought the Doctor and Martha were your guests,’ said Saul, more loudly. ‘I thought. . . ’
‘Yes?’
Saul turned to the Doctor and Martha. ‘I thought you would help us.’
‘We will,’ said the Doctor. ‘But we need to leave the village. Once we’re away from here I’ll be in a better position to help you.’
Saul turned away without saying anything else – Martha couldn’t tell if he took the Doctor’s words at face value or if he was disappointed by what he’d heard.
Petr smiled with official finality. ‘It is arranged then,’ he said.
And so it was, with seemingly indecent haste, that Martha and the Doctor found themselves once more back in the forest. They both carried a sputtering torch, though Saul preferred to have his hands 78
free. Martha thought at first this was to enable him to push aside the toughest branches without encumbrance, but then she noticed the swords at his belt. He carried two this time though in truth one was barely longer than a dagger. But just before they’d left she’d glanced out of the window and seen Saul polishing his blades and carefully sheathing them. Saul was, if anything, even more on edge than normal.
‘It’s not far,’ he breathed after some time, dropping to his knees to examine tracks on the ground. ‘This used to be a safe place,’ he added sadly, ‘but with the creatures gaining ground all the time. . . ’
‘Does that belong to one of the monsters?’ asked Martha, pointing at the tracks.
Saul shook his head. ‘Bears,’ he said. ‘Though, if they’ve been disturbed by what’s been going on. . . You still wouldn’t want to run into one of them.’
Martha didn’t especially want to run into a bear, whatever its mood.
They trudged along for some considerable time, Martha desperate to spot something she recognised from their first appearance in the woods that morning. But it was dark now, the trees reaching around and over her like suffocating shadows, and it was all she could do to keep her feet from stumbling over hidden roots and broken branches.
She’d have to trust in Saul.
‘We’re almost there,’ said Saul suddenly as they came into a clearing.
The harsh lines of the trees were dappled and softened by starlight.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Martha suddenly, pointing to a small stump a distance away. It resembled a squashed teddy bear. ‘I remember this bit. . . ’
‘I found you just over there,’ said Saul, pointing, ‘and you were coming from this direction.’ And he set off again.
Martha turned to the Doctor. ‘Is it much further?’
‘Hard to tell in this place,’ said the Doctor. ‘We were going around in circles when we first arrived. Perhaps, with Saul’s help –’
The silence of the dark forest was suddenly split asunder. Someone was screaming at the top of their voice – a shrill, instinctive noise. A 79
child.
‘Come on!’ said the Doctor, already at Saul’s shoulder and running at his side.
Within moments they found themselves in another small open space between the trees. The floor of the clearing was covered with moss and tiny brambles, and in the centre crouched a girl in pale blue robes.