Doctor Who: The Eight Doctors

by Terrance Dicks

  'Somewhere you know very well, Jo - a little place called Devil's End!'

  Chapter 7

  Devil's End

  The village of Devil's End had changed surprisingly little since the time when the Master had occupied the post of Vicar there.

  True, after the recent, terrifying events quite a few villagers had moved away, especially those who had temporarily fallen under the Master's sway. There was no congregation left now for the little church, and no vicar either. In fact, there was no longer a church. It had been blown to smithereens - an unfortunate side-effect of the destruction of an almost all-powerful alien being called Azal.

  The Master had tried to take control of Azal's powers for his own purposes.

  The attempt had been frustrated by the Doctor and had led to the Master's capture and imprisonment.

  Now the Master smiled as he remembered the Doctor's promise to 'deal with him later.' He also remembered his own mocking reply:'You always were an optimist, Doctor!' And here he was again, free at last - free to deal with the Doctor.

  He drove along the side of the picturesque village green, heading for the heap of rubble that had once been an equally picturesque church. The church's destruction meant nothing to the Master. What interested him was the cavern beneath.

  The village of Devil's End had long been associated with legends of black magic and witchcraft. In the seventeenth century Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder-General had exposed a coven of witches in the village, and they had all been burned at the stake.

  In the early nineteenth century, the young and dissolute Lord Aldbourne had built upon village tradition with his own version of the famous Hell Fire Club. Here in the cavern he and his fellow rakes had played at devil worship, aided by doxies imported from London and copious supplies of claret topped up with laudanum - a ferocious mixture of opium and brandy.

  Not surprisingly, they'd frightened themselves into fits.

  In more recent times an enterprising parish council had converted the cavern into a sort of witchcraft museum, lining the walls with eerily-lit tableaux showing witches at their evil ceremonies. Others were shown being interrogated by the Witchfinder-General, tortured into confession or burned at the stake.

  It wasn't exactly the Chamber of Horrors, or the London Dungeon, but the little exhibition had made a modest contribution to church funds.

  'A case of evil serving good,' Canon

  Smallwood, the old vicar, used to say.

  That, of course, was before the

  Master murdered him, buried him in his own churchyard and took his place.

  For a time the Master had

  successfully combined the role of

  vicar with that of Magister, or Chief

  Warlock, of a newly revived coven of

  witches, using the psychic energy generated by the Coven to contact Azal. Everything had been going well - until the Doctor had turned up to spoil things.

  The Master parked the car outside the church, climbed out, and stood surveying the ruins. All that was left were the shattered remains of the tower and a few broken walls.

  To the Master's relief the entrance to the cavern, in what had once been the vestry, had been cleared of rubble.

  There was a noticeboard by the entrance.

  CAVERN CLOSED. DANGER. DO NOT ENTER.

  The Master took off the car-coat, the cap and the muffling scarf and threw them into the back of the car.

  Then, ignoring the sign he made his way down into the cavern, unaware that he was being observed from the other side of the village green.

  The watcher was tall and bony with drawn-back black hair streaked with grey. She wore a brocade dress and a long black cloak in some handwoven material. A heavy Celtic cross hung at her neck.

  Miss Olive Hawthorne was not only a fine specimen of the English maiden lady, she was also the village witch - a white witch of course, using her magic powers, in which she firmly believed, only for good.

  She had been suspicious of the new vicar from the first and had helped the Doctor and his UNIT friends to bring about the man's downfall. She remembered seeing the Reverend Mr

  Magister being driven away under heavy guard in an army jeep. He was, she had gathered, a master criminal with a long string of crimes to his name, destined to spend the rest of his life in a maximum security prison.

  So what was he doing back in Devil's End?

  'Up to no good, that's for sure!' muttered Miss Hawthorne, and hurried across the green.

  At the bottom of the steps the Master stood surveying the cavern. Some of the actual roof had been blown away and the place was dimly lit by shafts of daylight. The wax figures in the gruesome tableaux were broken and scattered, but the altar-like Stone of Sacrifice still stood in the centre of the cavern.

  When the little museum had been in full working order, it had never been really scary at all. Now in its semi-darkness and desolation, with the wind howling through the broken roof, there was something really sinister about it.

  Not that this bothered the Master, of course. He had eyes only for the Stone of Sacrifice. Making his way over to it, he put out his hands and leaned on the stone, relishing the faint tingle of power.

  A voice from the doorway called, 'Mr Magister!'

  The Master whirled round and saw Miss Hawthorne striding down the steps towards him. He gave a wolfish smile.

  'Miss Hawthorne! Such a pleasure to see an old friend again.'

  'I'm no friend of yours, as well you know, you evil man!'

  The Master raised his hands in mock protest. 'Really, Miss Hawthorne, is that the way to address your vicar? What was it you called me? "A rationalist, existentialist priest"!'

  'You're no priest,' said Miss

  Hawthorne. 'You brought death to this village - and the destruction of our lovely old church.'

  'You must blame that on your friend the Doctor, Miss Hawthorne. If he hadn't interfered with my plans for Azal -'

  'What are you doing back in Devil's End?'

  'Leaving, dear lady. That's the only reason I returned to this miserable hamlet - to leave it.' Suddenly there was a squat gun-like device in the Master's hand. 'But I shall settle with you first - you interfering old besom!'

  He raised the device, and then paused as the stuttering roar of a helicopter drifted down through the gaps in the roof.

  'The Doctor!' he cried exultantly.

  'How can you be so sure?'

  'Who else could it be? He finally managed to work out where I must be making for. Now I can say goodbye to another old friend!'

  ***

  The naval helicopter touched down on the village green and the tall figure of the Third Doctor jumped out, ducking to avoid the still-turning rotor blades.

  He turned to help Jo Grant down, and nodded to the pilot.

  'Thank you very much. If you could just wait here for a while? We shouldn't be very long.'

  'Shouldn't I come with you, sir? If this man's as dangerous as they say - '

  'No need, old chap. He's probably gone by now, but we'd better just check.'

  'Take this, then.'The pilot held out a massive revolver.

  'Certainly not,' said the Doctor. 'I don't approve of guns - nasty dangerous things.'

  'I'll have it,' said Jo, firmly, taking the gun before hurrying after the Doctor who was already striding towards the ruined church.

  Pausing by the Ford Cortina, the Doctor put a hand on the bonnet.

  'Still warm, so somebody's just arrived.'

  Jo pointed through the windscreen. Something was dangling from the driving mirror. It seemed to be a little manikin, a tiny replica of a tubby, red-faced, fair-haired man. The features of the grotesque little dummy were twisted in horror.

  'What a weird little thing,' said Jo.

  'Maybe it's a replica of the owner.'

  The Doctor studied the manikin and shook his head. 'I'm rather afraid it is the owner, Jo,' he said grimly. "The Master must have his little joke. Come on!'

>   He headed for the entrance to the cavern, with Jo hurrying after him.

  As they ran down the steps a voice called, 'Doctor, look out!'

  They stopped. There was the Master.

  He was standing close to the Stone of Sacrifice, covering Miss Hawthorne with a sinister black weapon, his Tissue Compression Eliminator.

  'Come on down, Doctor,' he called.

  'You too Miss Grant. And don't

  attempt to use that revolver, or it will be the worse for your friend Miss Hawthorne.'

  They continued slowly down the cavern steps, and halted just before the Stone of Sacrifice.

  The Master's laugh echoed around the ruined cavern. 'You're just in time to say goodbye, Doctor. I fear it will be your final farewell. I think I'll hang you on my TARDIS control panel as a souvenir!'

  The Doctor nodded towards the stone. 'Is that it?'

  'Naturally. My TARDIS is in full working order.'

  'I wish I could say the same. My dematerialisation circuit is useless.'

  'Ah yes, the Time Lord sentence of exile. Now I'm free and you're the prisoner. Never mind, Doctor, your exile is about to end. Look upon it as a happy release!'

  Suddenly Miss Hawthorne raised her voice in an eerie chant: 'Avaunt, ye evil spirit, creature of death and darkness. Avaunt, I say! Begone!'

  The Master chuckled. "That stupid mumbo-jumbo will do you no good, you foolish woman. I'm immune to spells. Besides, you've forgotten your broomstick and your pointed hat!'

  Suddenly a rushing wind sprang up inside the cavern. It seemed to be a kind of miniature whirlwind, directed at the Master alone. Step by step it forced him back until he was flattened helplessly on top of the stone.

  Jo brought up her revolver in a two-handed grip, covering him.

  'Quick, Doctor, get that gun thing in his hand!'

  As the Doctor sprang forward, the Master snarled and scrabbled furiously at the surface of the Stone of Sacrifice. All at once his body seemed to sink, and he disappeared from view.

  Seconds later there came a harsh roaring, grinding sound and the Stone of Sacrifice itself faded away.

  Miss Hawthorne turned to the Doctor. 'Magic, Doctor?' she asked with simple pride.

  Science or magic. It was an old dispute between them.

  The Doctor smiled. 'Magic, Miss Hawthorne!'

  ***

  Later, when they'd said their goodbyes and were heading back to UNIT HQ

  in the helicopter, Jo leaned closer to the Doctor, raising her voice above the roar of the engines.

  'So Miss Hawthorne really is a witch after all!'

  'Nonsense, she's no such thing.'

  'So how did she summon up that wind and disappear the Master?'

  'I think the wind was an example of latent telekinetic powers emerging in a crisis. A sort of controlled, benevolent poltergeist.'

  'You agreed it was magic.'

  'I didn't want to spoil things for Miss Hawthorne!'

  'What about the disappearing?'

  'She didn't disappear the Master.'

  'Who disappeared him then?'

  'He did it himself. The Stone of Sacrifice was really hisTARDIS.'

  'I thought they all looked like police boxes!'

  'The TARDIS has something called a chameleon circuit, Jo. It's supposed to be able to disguise itself, blend in with its surroundings. Mine got stuck as a police box on a visit to London - back in 1963 I think it was. I never got round to repairing it.'

  The Doctor sighed. 'Hardly seems worth bothering now. It might as well be a police box for all the use it is to me!'

  'Cheer up, Doctor. At least we've got rid of the Master.'

  The Doctor nodded. 'As he himself put it, he's free and I'm the prisoner.'

  He spent the rest of the journey in gloomy silence.

  ***

  Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, Commanding Officer of the United Kingdom section of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, gathered up a bulky file of questions, complaints and outraged protests about the conduct of his Scientific Adviser. Tucking it under his arm, he marched along hushed UNIT corridors towards the Doctor's laboratory.

  On the way he stuck his head into the

  orderly room, where a burly young sergeant was manning a communications set up, drinking tea and eating a corned-beef sandwich, all more or less at the same time. At the sight of the Brigadier, he stood up, hurriedly putting down his plate and cup on the desk and spilling his tea in the process.

  'Don't let me interrupt you, Sergeant

  Benton,' said the Brigadier. 'What news of the Doctor?'

  'Expected any moment, sir. He and Miss Grant are on their way back by naval helicopter.

  'From Portsmouth, presumably?'

  'No, sir, from Devil's End.'

  'What the blazes is he doing there?'

  'No idea, sir. Shall I tell him you want to see him when he arrives?'

  'Certainly not, Sergeant. Do that and he'll disappear again. I'll deal with the Doctor myself.'

  'Good luck, sir,' said Sergeant Benton impassively.

  The Brigadier gave him a quizzical look, cleared his throat and went on his way.

  Although UNIT'S involvement in the Sea Devils affair had been minimal, UNIT HQ in Geneva was still going to demand a full report, and the Brigadier knew who was going to end up writing it.

  He was going to get some answers from the Doctor, first, though, and since the Doctor hated answering questions and refused pointblank to write reports, the Brigadier had decided to ambush him. When the Doctor arrived, the Brigadier and his files would be waiting.

  He'd expected the laboratory to be empty, so he was surprised to see a tall figure on the far side of the long room, gazing at a handsome grandfather clock. The Brigadier couldn't recall ever seeing the clock before. Perhaps the Doctor had brought it home as a souvenir.

  'Doctor!' he called.

  The figure swung round and the Brigadier saw that it wasn't the Doctor at all.

  Or was it?

  The clothes were similar, old-fashioned and vaguely Edwardian. But the longish hair was brown, not white, and the handsome face was that of a much younger man. Though there was a certain resemblance, especially about the nose...

  An unnerving thought struck the Brigadier. He had been forced to admit once already that the Doctor's appearance had changed.

  Had it changed again?

  'Doctor?' he repeated, tentatively this time.

  To his horror, the stranger said,

  'Yes?'

  Chapter 8

  Old Friends

  The Brigadier reeled, his worst fears confirmed.

  'You really are the Doctor? You've changed again?'

  'I suppose I have. It's Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart, isn't it?'

  'Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. if you're the Doctor, you must know that!'

  'Been promoted, have you? Congratulations! Well deserved, I'm sure. I remember you did terribly well in that nasty business with the Intelligence -

  Yeti in the Underground and all that. Frightful business.'

  The Brigadier struggled to stay calm. 'Where's Miss Grant?'

  The stranger looked puzzled. 'I'm afraid I haven't the pleasure.'

  'You don't know Miss Grant, you don't know my current rank, yet you claim to be my Scientific Adviser.

  'Forgive me, I haven't claimed any such thing.'

  'But if you're the Doctor...'

  Suddenly the stranger smiled. 'Let's just say that I'm a Doctor. There's more than one, you know. Clearly, I'm not the one you were expecting.'

  'Ah!' said the Brigadier.

  It had never really occurred to him that the Doctor was anything other than unique, that somewhere in the universe there could be others like him.

  'You're a friend of the Doctor's, then?' he said. 'A colleague?' He looked at the curiously familiar face.

  'Perhaps even a relative?'

  'Yes!' said the stranger comprehensively. 'We're very close.'

&nb
sp; The Brigadier decided not to ask how the fellow had gained entrance to UNIT HQ. Presumably any close connection of the Doctor's might well share his peculiar powers.

  'We're expecting the Doctor at any moment,' he said. 'I'm sure he'll be glad to see you.'

  'I'm not!' said the newcomer. 'Last time we met he was downright hostile!'

  The Brigadier nodded