Something in the Water

by Trevor Baxendale

  ‘Great,’ Owen muttered. ‘Now I’ve caught a cold.’

  ‘Well, hey, at least you caught something.’

  TWO

  Gwen Cooper put the back of her hand across her mouth in an attempt to hide the oncoming yawn. It was a hopeless task: the yawn was too big and too wide. Nothing could have disguised it.

  ‘Got you,’ said Toshiko Sato with satisfaction. ‘You lose.’

  ‘Sod it.’ Gwen rubbed her face with her hands and then threw her thick black hair back from her face in an effort to sharpen up. ‘It’s not fair, anyway. You never yawn. I’ve never seen you yawn, not once, ever.’

  They were sitting at a table in a motorway service station. It was almost deserted, but they had agreed to pull in and grab some caffeine before one or both of them nodded off in the car. They’d sat down with two large Americanos, and the yawning competition had started.

  ‘What are we doing here, anyway?’ Gwen asked, blowing into the foam on her coffee.

  ‘Well,’ said Toshiko with some enthusiasm, ‘the way I like to see it, we’re investigating specific chronon discharge in the area. The Rift’s been fluctuating so much recently, and this seems to be a focal point for some of the more obvious temporal spasms. Jack’s doing the same thing near the city centre.’

  Gwen blinked at her. ‘I was speaking philosophically.’

  ‘Ah.’ Toshiko had already taken out one of her scanning instruments, ready to demonstrate. She smiled quickly and returned it to her bag. ‘Philosophy. Not my strong point. Quantum physics and Stephen Hawking, yes. Metaphysics and Plato, not so much.’

  Gwen rested her chin in one hand. ‘Rhys once told me that, from the moment we’re born, we’re all on a collision course with death.’

  ‘If that’s philosophy then I’ll stick with Hawking.’

  ‘I think he read it somewhere in a novel. That’s why he’s in haulage, not philosophy. But it’s true, though, when you think about it. We’re all going to die some day.’

  ‘Well, all of us except Captain Jack Harkness, it seems.’

  Gwen nodded slowly. ‘The exception that proves the rule.’

  Toshiko thought about it for a while. ‘I suppose it does mean that one day, for the rest of us, we really will breathe our last breath. Say our last word. Think our last thought …’

  ‘The final act.’

  ‘You sort of stop thinking about it in our line of work,’ Toshiko said. ‘We’ve each faced “the final act” so many times, it just becomes—’

  ‘Part of the routine?’

  ‘—an occupational hazard.’

  ‘I had that already in the police,’ Gwen mused. ‘Rhys used to worry about it a lot. God knows what he would think if he knew what I did now.’ She stared into space for a long moment. ‘Poor Rhys …’

  ‘This is getting too maudlin,’ Toshiko warned. ‘A motorway services at midnight is no place to think these thoughts. You and Rhys are fine, you’re strong, you’re getting married. It’s good that you have a life outside Torchwood. None of the rest of us have that, not really.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Gwen sat up straight, brushed her thick black hair away from her face. ‘OK, non-philosophical question: what are we doing here, exactly? Something about chronic somethings, wasn’t it?’

  Toshiko smiled patiently. ‘Chronons are discrete particles of time. The Rift has been throwing them out like little sparks for some time. I don’t know if it’s anything to do with the recent time shift with 1918 but …’ Her smiled faded, just a little, as she remembered what it had taken to put things right then. The final act, once again. She looked down at her coffee and said nothing.

  ‘Hey,’ Gwen reached out, squeezed her hand. ‘Chronon particles. Tell me more.’

  Toshiko blinked, shook her head and considered the subject. ‘It’s not easy to explain. I’ve been monitoring the fluctuations in the Rift. I don’t know if it’s some sort of natural adjustment, like an aftershock or a hiccup, or whether something else is directly affecting it. But the results are plain to see: tiny threads of temporal activity all over the region, spreading out much further than usual.’ She sipped her coffee, licked the tiny line of froth from her lip. ‘Which is why we’ve ended up here, I suppose …’

  ‘Chasing ghosts,’ Gwen smiled. ‘Strange sightings in the mists near Newport … Spookiness in Splott …’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘Who ya gonna call?’

  ‘Torchwood!’

  They laughed and then quickly stopped, embarrassed at their loudness. It was gone midnight and there were only three other customers here. One of those looked like a vagrant; baggy black cords, trainers, old parka with the hood up. As Gwen looked the old guy over, he suddenly turned his head towards her and she visibly flinched. He had dark eyes but she could see them clearly in the shadows of his hood, almost burning like coals.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Toshiko.

  Gwen shrugged. ‘I dunno; just getting jumpy I suppose. I was checking out that old guy and he caught me eyeballing him.’

  Toshiko sneaked a look, took in the scruffy coat, scratchy grey beard and dark, dangerous eyes. The fingers which poked out of the sleeves of the parka were grubby, and there were big smudgy thumbprints on his tea mug, visible even from here. As Toshiko watched, the man dredged up some phlegm from the back of his throat and spat it out into the cup.

  Toshiko turned back to Gwen and leaned in, talking quietly. ‘Well,’ she said slowly and carefully, ‘maybe he fancies you.’

  Gwen barked out a loud, unladylike laugh, and the four other people in the cafe all looked up. ‘Tosh, that is just – eww, no!’ Gwen screwed up her face and tried not to laugh again.

  ‘Don’t look now,’ smiled Toshiko, ‘but he’s still watching you …’

  ‘No, you’re wrong,’ Gwen argued, grinning. ‘He’s watching you. Hey, I think you’re in there, Tosh!’

  The man was going through another series of coughs. Too many fags. Gwen drained her coffee, stood up and collected her bag, slinging it over a shoulder. ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

  Toshiko nodded in the old man’s direction. ‘What about …?’

  ‘You can have him if you like. He’s not my type.’

  ‘Too dirty?’

  ‘Not dirty enough.’

  Laughing raucously again, the two women headed for the exit. Toshiko held out her hand and asked Gwen for the car keys. ‘You’re too tired to drive. I’ll take us back.’

  ‘Won’t argue with that.’ Gwen paused to fish in her bag for the keys and, as she did so, drew level with the old man’s table. He reached up and put a hand on her arm and she jumped again.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said, showing the palms of his hands. ‘No offence, girl. I just wanted to tell you …’ He nodded back in the direction they’d come. ‘You left your purse on the table.’

  Gwen looked back and swore. Nestled between the coffee cups, the remains of a doughnut and a few screwed-up napkins was the red leather of her wallet. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and hurried back to fetch it.

  ‘You want to be careful with things like that,’ the old guy warned Toshiko. ‘Crooks these days want more than just cash. They want credit cards and everything. They steal identities too, y’know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Toshiko. ‘I know.’

  ‘Like Invasion of the Bodysnatchers,’ the old man continued. He coughed again and rubbed at his chest. ‘You ever see that film? Pod people. That’s what they called ’em. Now they’re just crooks like all the others.’

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Gwen as she returned. The old guy nodded and scratched his beard with a grubby forefinger. Gwen wondered if she should give him something, but Toshiko gave a minute shake of her head and urged her towards the door.

  ‘Just before you go …’ said the old guy, raising his voice slightly.

  Gwen stopped. ‘Here we go, he wants money,’ she thought, reaching for her purse.

  But he shook his bushy head and held up a hand. ‘Keep your cash, love. Not interested. Money don’t mean n
othing to me. I didn’t get where I am today by having money.’

  ‘Well, no,’ agreed Gwen.

  He cleared his throat. ‘If Torchwood really is looking for ghosts, you should try Greendown Moss. It’s haunted.’

  Toshiko gaped. ‘Did you just say Torchwood?’

  He stood up, towering over both women. ‘Don’t look so startled. I know all about Torchwood.’ He suddenly roared with laughter. ‘The look on your faces! He said it’d be priceless, and he was right. He was always right!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gwen.

  The man gave another laugh, full of warmth. ‘How is Cap’n Jack these days? Still looking like he’s dodging forty? Still going misty-eyed whenever someone mentions the war? I bet he’s still addicted to Glenn Miller and wearing that old greatcoat!’

  Gwen smiled despite herself. ‘You know Jack.’

  ‘I only ever knew him as Captain Jack. A damned fine man, even if he did wear boots with turn-ups. American, too, but that’s not his fault, is it? He was a glory-hunting maniac and the kindest man I ever knew. Saved my life twice in ’73, and then left me for a chorus girl from Boston. Give the smooth-talking bastard two fingers from me next time you see him.’

  ‘Uh, right,’ Gwen nodded.

  ‘Anyway,’ the man carried on regardless, ‘I owe him a favour or two, don’t I? And he sent a message to say you two would be coming this way. A looker and a genius, he said. Which one’s which?’

  Toshiko and Gwen exchanged another glance.

  ‘I’m an unnatural historian,’ continued the old man, not waiting for a reply. ‘Been studying the area and its ghosts and ghoulies for the last fifty years. Professor Leonard Morgan, at your service. You can call me Professor Len.’

  THREE

  Gwen pulled the Saab over to the side of the road and switched off the engine.

  ‘Now ain’t that a beautiful sight,’ said Professor Len softly. He was leaning forward, between the front seats, looking out at the sunrise. The sky was a brilliant eggshell blue, streaked with a dozen wide strips of orange and lilac cloud. The sun was low, little more than a glare on the horizon, and beneath it was a vast sea of mist. A distant line of bare winter trees cast long, ghostly shadows.

  The professor scratched his beard and let out a low, appreciative whistle, causing both Gwen and Toshiko to wrinkle their noses. It was far too early for beer breath. ‘One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.’ He looked at Toshiko and winked. ‘That’s Shakespeare, that is. Just showing off my education, see. Just so you know you’re not the only genius in the car.’

  ‘So you’ve decided I’m not the looker?’ Toshiko observed acidly.

  ‘Don’t worry, girl, I go for brains over beauty every time.’ He looked apologetically at Gwen. ‘No offence, mind.’

  Gwen was grinning at Toshiko. ‘None taken.’

  ‘You’re sure this is the place?’ Toshiko asked, leaning slightly away from the professor with a sour expression.

  ‘Of course I am. I was brought up around here.’

  Gwen was checking the OS map. They were miles from any main roads. ‘Yep, here it is: Greendown Moss. Marshland, mainly. We should have brought our wellies.’

  They got out, the two women wrapping their coats around them to keep out the cold. Professor Len stood and watched as Gwen locked the car. Away to the right was a long, undulated field covered with a blanket of grey mist and ringed by silver birch rendered almost invisible in this weather.

  ‘Is it safe to walk across?’ Toshiko asked.

  Professor Len shrugged. ‘If you know what you’re doing. It can be treacherous, though. You’ve got to treat it with respect. Greendown Moss is what’s known as a floating bog: it’s basically a great raft of peat floating on a lake. It’s over fifty feet deep. It’s dangerous because, although you can walk on most of the peat quite easily, there are holes in it that you can’t see – thin patches where a person can just slip right through.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ said Gwen.

  ‘But what about the ghosts?’ asked Toshiko. ‘Where do they come into it?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Professor Len. ‘Local legends. A woman – a witch – is said to haunt this place. They call her Sally Blackteeth. She lurks in the ditches and drags the unsuspecting traveller down into the bog. Men, mostly, it has to be said. Pulls them all the way down to the bottom and drowns them – if they’re lucky. You can sometimes see her around these parts, wandering the Moss, looking for her next victim.’

  Gwen and Toshiko watched the thin mist rolling across the bog. In was unnaturally quiet out here – there was no traffic and all they could hear was the occasional, distant cry of the ravens in the spectral trees. Otherwise it was silent.

  ‘Let every bird sing its own note,’ whispered Professor Len, his eyes closed, listening as though he was at an opera.

  ‘What do you mean, “if they’re lucky”?’ asked Gwen loudly and clearly.

  The eyes snapped back open. ‘Sometimes Old Sally would take a man down into the bog to live with her and have her babies. Fate worse than death, that. Dunno how she did it, mind, but I guess she can do it if she’s a witch.’

  Gwen and Toshiko were both smiling at him now, amused by his earnestness. He coughed and scratched his beard fiercely. ‘Some of her victims she throws back, when she’s finished with ’em, as a warning to others – to stay away.’ He looked sideways at them and then shrugged. ‘It’s up to you if you want to believe it or not. But you’re Torchwood, so anything goes.’

  ‘We like to keep an open mind,’ nodded Gwen.

  ‘I’ve seen Sally,’ the professor said. ‘She often comes here. Water hags tend to keep to their own patch. Black Annie, who lived in the Dane Hills of Leicestershire, used to live in a cave. She dug it out herself with claws as hard as iron and decorated it with the skins of the children she ate.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘They can be vicious, but they can also be fair. They’re sometimes called grindylows in Yorkshire. There was one there who took a man to be her husband, lived in a ditch with him for two years before his wife came and asked for him back. The grindylow agreed, but said she could only have him back if she could swap him for someone else. So the wife tricked another man into the ditch and got her husband back. The grindylow changed her mind because she didn’t like the replacement, so she let him go. He went and found the wife and her husband and murdered them both in their bed out of revenge. Seemed a bit mean-spirited, that, I always thought.’

  ‘You’re full of charming stories, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I know all of them. And what’s more they’re all perfectly true.’

  ‘And you say you’ve met this Sally Blackteeth person?’

  ‘Seen her. You’ve got to be careful, though. She doesn’t always look the same way twice. She’s got a bit of the bogie in her.’

  ‘Bogie?’

  ‘Shape-shifting spirits which torment menfolk. More common than you think.’

  ‘When does the Sally Blackteeth story date from?’ Toshiko asked. ‘Middle Ages?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, from right back then. But they reckon the last man to be dragged down to his death by Sally was in 1974.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They never did find his body. It’s probably still down there, rotting away.’ Professor Len smiled and gave Gwen a nudge with his elbow. ‘Food for the worms – and company for Sally, probably.’

  Toshiko had taken a small, hand-held device out of her coat pocket and scanned the field. It could easily have been mistaken for a sophisticated mobile phone, because that is what it had once been. Toshiko had redesigned it to accommodate a smart piece of alien kit that helped to track warps in the Earth’s localised time field, and she used it now to scan for alien technology or recent movements through the Rift.

  Professor Len eyes the device suspiciously. ‘What’s that, then? Ghost detector?’

  ‘Sort of.’ The little machine flickered with coloured lights like a miniature Ch
ristmas decoration. It bleeped and whirred as Toshiko studied the readings on the tiny screen. ‘Yep – got something,’ she announced as the device squawked. ‘Directly ahead; no, a little to the north east, about two hundred yards.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Gwen, starting forward.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said the professor. ‘You can’t go across there. You don’t know the safe routes.’

  ‘Then you lead the way.’

  ‘Are you completely mad? I’m not giving Sally Blackteeth any chances. I’m staying right here.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you really believe those stories!’

  He stared at her. ‘Of course I believe the stories. So should you. What kind of staff is Jack taking on these days?’

  ‘Only the best,’ Gwen replied. ‘OK, fine. Stay here by the car. You can watch.’

  The old man looked appalled. ‘Don’t be daft, girl. I didn’t think you were coming here to walk across the Moss. I thought you were only coming to look.’

  ‘Gwen, we have to hurry if we want to investigate properly,’ Toshiko said, studying the monitor intently. ‘The temporal trace could fade any moment.’

  Gwen smiled at Professor Len. ‘We’ll say hello to Sally if we see her.’

  ‘Never mind her,’ he said. ‘It’s the bog you’ve got to look out for.’

  Toshiko was already climbing down from the roadside, stretching a leg across a ditch to reach the moss. ‘Gwen, come on …’

  ‘Just take it easy,’ advised Professor Len, admitting defeat. He clearly knew better than to bother arguing with the two young women. ‘Keep to the firm ground, where the moss is. Don’t step anywhere you don’t like the look of.’

  Gwen hopped down after Toshiko and led the way. The ground was hard and firm for the first few metres, but then it suddenly became noticeably softer – there was a discomforting springiness underfoot, almost as if they were walking across a bed. The ground gurgled and burped beneath the thin mist swirling around their ankles.

  Toshiko followed, scanning all the time. ‘Keep going … directly ahead …’