by Doctor Who
The burly young men were from a carpentry firm in Congleton, and they had brought the new windlass. It was made of treated oak and extremely heavy, although Sadie assured them the well’s original uprights could take it. ‘It’s been made to measure,’ she said, ‘according to the plans and the engineer’s report. It’s perfect.’
The burly young men were happy enough to deliver the windlass, but they didn’t like the idea of helping to fix it in place – at least until Martha walked around from the far side of the Land-Rover. Then they were only too pleased, stripping off their shirts and arguing about which of them was going to take the heavier end of the windlass.
Martha smiled shyly at them, which only urged them to greater efforts, while Angela, Sadie and the Doctor all watched with amusement.
It took nearly an hour to install the spindle and the men were per-spiring by the end of the job. They collected their shirts and then looked for Martha, who smiled warmly at them and linked her arm 55
through the Doctor’s. The men glowered at the tall, skinny geek in the tight suit and then clambered wearily back into the cab of their lorry. Everyone waved as the engine started and the lorry drove off in a cloud of black exhaust.
‘Right then,’ said Angela, clapping her hands in triumph. ‘Let’s put it to the test!’
‘Already?’ Sadie asked.
‘Why not? At the very least it might help us see how deep the well is.’
The Doctor and Sadie installed the rope on the spindle, and then Martha wound it on. Her arms were aching by the time all one hundred feet was coiled around the windlass. Then it was simply a matter of attaching a bucket.
‘You won’t bring any water up, that’s for sure,’ cautioned Sadie.
‘You may not even reach the bottom of the well – the bucket may get caught up in some of the vegetation.’
‘Let’s find out!’ said Angela.
They wound the bucket down and slowly the rope uncoiled. Martha and the Doctor peered down the well-shaft but the bucket soon disappeared into the shadows. ‘It’s a deep one,’ said the Doctor as the rope continued to play out. Eventually it went slack as the bucket came up against something.
‘The bottom, do you think?’ asked Angela.
‘Can’t tell. We must be seventy feet down already, though.’
Suddenly the rope went taut again, as the bucket dropped a little further.
‘Hang on,’ said Angela. ‘It must have got caught on something, and now it’s free.’
Then the rope began to play out again, the windlass spinning on its own.
‘It’s falling,’ said Martha as the winch handle spun faster and faster.
The windlass whirred in its sockets and then suddenly jerked to a halt as the rope reached its end. A loud twanging emanated from the well-shaft as it drew as taut as a violin string.
‘Wow, that’s deep,’ said Martha with a nervous laugh.
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‘Hang on, something’s wrong.’ The Doctor peered down the shaft.
The rope was humming, a ruler-straight white line disappearing into the depths. ‘It’s being pulled!’
‘What?’ Martha ran to join him. ‘How?’
Suddenly the windlass gave a loud crack and the uprights shuddered.
‘It’s going to break the spindle!’ yelled Angela as the solid oak beam began to creak under the strain.
The Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at the rope and the tip glowed blue. The rope instantly unravelled and snapped, whipping like a headless snake as it was yanked down into the well.
Then silence.
‘What was that all about?’ wondered Angela quietly.
‘Something’s down there,’ said Martha, her voice shaking slightly.
‘Nonsense,’ said Sadie. ‘There can’t be anything down there. Probably the bucket dislodged some loose brickwork from the shaft on the way down and the weight did the rest.’
The Doctor exchanged a glance with Martha and then said, ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘What’s that?’
He grinned at her. ‘I’ll have to go down and have a look myself!’
Ben and Duncan had uncovered the entire skeleton, much to Nigel’s annoyance. He thought they were simply wasting time. ‘Just dig!’ he instructed them. ‘You’re practically through to the treasure chamber!’
Duncan looked up from the bones. ‘We don’t want to disturb the remains too much,’ he said. ‘This was a person, once, Nigel.’
‘Well it’s not a person now, is it? Leave it. Keep digging.’
‘Look at him, though. . . ’ Ben indicated the exposed corpse. It was lying slightly on one side, legs pointing towards the end of the dig.
There were some scraps of leather clinging to the feet, the remains of a pair of boots. The rest of his clothes were little more than pieces of material mixed with mud and stone, with the occasional bone sticking out whitely from the dirt. ‘You can see that this is where he fell,’ Ben 57
continued, enthused by his amateur post-mortem. ‘One leg is slightly bent and this arm – here – is outstretched. . . ’
‘Almost as if he was trying to get away from the treasure chamber,’
said Duncan.
‘Yeah – almost like he was crawling.’
‘It’s pretty sad, really,’ Duncan remarked. ‘He died down here all alone, probably terrified. Maybe there was a tunnel collapse and he suffocated to death.’
Ben looked up at the roof of the tunnel and swallowed. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’
‘Exactly,’ said Nigel. ‘So let’s get on with it.’ He made a show of checking his watch. ‘I estimate that we could have been rich beyond our wildest dreams almost fifteen minutes ago.’
Duncan got to his feet, wiping the mud from his jeans. ‘All right, all right. . . We just wanted to give the poor fella a bit of respect, Nigel.’
‘OK, fine, respect given.’ Nigel picked up the shovel and handed it to Duncan. ‘Now dig.’
‘Uh oh,’ said Sadie. ‘Look who’s coming. . . ’
Martha and the Doctor looked up to see Henry Gaskin striding across the village green. This time his trousers were tucked into green wellington boots and a lively looking Border Collie was trotting alongside him. Angela immediately bristled, standing upright and squaring her shoulders.
‘I’ve been on to the local council,’ stated Gaskin without preamble.
‘They haven’t sent anyone here today.’
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor, ‘that’s because you asked the wrong council.’
‘Wrong council? What are you blithering about, man?’
‘We’re from the Well Council.’
‘Well Council?’
The Doctor smiled. ‘All’s well that ends well, that’s our motto.’
‘I’ve no time for impudence,’ snapped Gaskin. ‘You’d better leave before I call the police.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Martha, ‘we’re not doing any harm. . . ’
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‘It’s pointless arguing with him,’ said Angela. ‘He won’t listen, he never does.’
‘I’ll listen if there’s anything worth listening to,’ Gaskin replied tartly. His dog was busily exploring the well, sniffing here and there at the equipment spread about. Gaskin’s beady eyes alighted on the new windlass. ‘What’s that?’
‘The new windlass,’ said Sadie.
‘You’ve no right.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said the Doctor. ‘All we need now is a new rope. Give us enough and we’ll hang ourselves, no need for you to put yourself to any trouble.’
‘The Doctor’s going to go down the well,’ Angela announced triumphantly. ‘Spot inspection, on behalf of the Well Council.’
‘Wishing Department,’ smiled the Doctor genially.
‘I absolutely forbid it,’ Gaskin said. He gave the Doctor a very black look. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here, young man, but I’m calling a halt to it right now. I know the sto
ries about this well – treasure and monsters and what have you. You lot are just trading on those stories for your own ends. There is no treasure and there are no monsters.
Fact. Now I am asking you, once again, to stop what you are doing and leave.’
Angela stepped forward, hands dug deep into her camouflage jacket pockets. ‘Now listen here, Henry. I’ve had just about enough of you trying to throw your weight around this village, and particularly this well. The truth is you have no business here, no authority, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us. Sadie and I were voted onto the refurbishment committee by the village Residents’ Association, and there’s not a blind thing you can do about it. We’re not after any treasure –frankly I don’t even believe in it – but we do want this well properly restored and fit for use. If you don’t want to help us with that, then at least don’t try to hinder us.’
Gaskin met her gaze steadily for a long moment. The two of them stared at each other, as if each was willing the other to break the silence. Finally, in surprisingly gentle tones, Gaskin said, ‘Very well, if that’s your final word on the matter – I’ll let you waste your time and 59
money on a pointless exercise. It’ll be your loss.’ He turned to leave and then paused. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you, Angela.’
And with that he strode off towards the manor, with the Collie dog at his heels.
Sadie clapped her hands. ‘Oh, well done, Angela! Bravo! You were superb!’
‘About time someone stood up to him,’ muttered Angela.
She
seemed suddenly deflated, as if the confrontation had taken all the energy out of her.
Martha was frowning. ‘But what was that all about at the end –what warning? What did he mean?’
‘Don’t take any notice, dear,’ Angela said wearily. ‘He’s full of hot air, that one. He’s just trying to frighten you.’
‘Which is interesting,’ the Doctor said quietly to Martha. ‘We’ve heard all about the treasure and the highwayman and the well. . . but he’s the first person to mention anything about monsters.’
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The Doctor checked the last buckle on his harness and grinned at Martha. ‘All set?’
‘No,’ said Martha, arms folded. Angela and Sadie were busy fitting a new rope to the windlass, having supplied the Doctor with the necessary equipment. Angela still had a lot of her ex-husband’s climbing gear and had dashed home to fetch it. Now the Doctor wore a sort of mountaineer’s belt fitted with leg-loops and various metal hooks over his own suit. ‘Isn’t there anything else we can do?’ Martha asked eventually.
His expression grew more serious. ‘Nothing – except just walk away.
Go back to the TARDIS and leave. And we’re not going to do that, are we?’
‘No.’
‘There’s no point standing around up here wondering what’s down there,’ the Doctor told her as he fastened a karabiner to his climbing harness, ‘when we can easily go down and just have a look.’
‘But you saw what happened to the bucket,’ Martha argued. ‘It nearly broke the windlass.’
He shrugged. ‘Sadie could be right, it could have been an accident.’
‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
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He didn’t reply. He simply turned to Angela and asked, ‘All set?’
She gave him the thumbs-up and demonstrated the winch and pulley system she had set up under the new windlass. ‘It’s a modern equivalent of a block and tackle,’ she told them. ‘Very simple to operate – it lets the rope out at a steady rate through this. . . ’ she rattled a steel handgrip through which the rope passed. There was a hand-operated lever attached so that it looked like an oversized bicycle grip and brake. ‘If I keep the lever pressed the rope plays out. If I release the grip then it locks. Safe as houses.’
‘This rope is a lightweight nylon mix used by mountaineers and potholers,’ explained Sadie, holding up a length of bright blue cord which led back to a large drum. ‘It’s perfect for this kind of job.’
‘You’re certainly well prepared,’ commented Martha, impressed.
‘The secret of our success, dear.’
‘We’ll lower you down,’ said Angela, as the new rope was attached to the Doctor’s climbing harness. ‘Take it slowly because we really don’t know what you’ll find – there could be partial collapse of the shaft wall, tree roots, undergrowth, anything. You’ll need this, too.’
She handed him a large torch. The Doctor switched it on and trained it on his other hand; even in broad daylight the beam looked powerful.
There was a lanyard attached, which the Doctor hooked onto his belt.
‘Take this as well,’ Sadie said, handing him a compact radio.
‘Walkie-talkie. You can stay in touch with us up here, and report back what you find. If there’s the slightest problem, yell and we’ll pull you up sharpish.’
‘It’ll be cold down there,’ cautioned Angela. ‘Don’t you want to put something warmer on?’
The Doctor said he was fine as he was and then swung his long legs over the parapet of the well-shaft. Martha looked down into the inky depths and shivered. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’
‘’Course I will,’ he replied cheerily, as if he was never anything but.
‘Don’t worry, I’m only popping down for a quick look. I’ll be back in five minutes.’ He checked the rope by giving it a hard tug, and then looked at her. Again, there was that seriousness back in his dark eyes and Martha felt an intense pang of worry. ‘Listen,’ he said, quietly. ‘If 62
anything goes wrong – go and see Henry Gaskin.’
Martha frowned. ‘What? Why him?’
But the Doctor had already swung himself off the wall and was dangling over the well-shaft. He swung gently to and fro, and Angela began to squeeze the winch grip. Slowly the rope began to move through the pulley hanging from the windlass and the Doctor was lowered into the well.
‘Good luck!’
Sadie called down after him.
He looked up and
grinned, already disappearing into the cool shadows. ‘Be careful!’
After a very few seconds Martha saw the Doctor switch his torch on and a bright white beam stabbed into the shaft wall. She caught a glimpse of crumbling brickwork as the light swivelled erratically; the Doctor was beginning to turn on the rope. The torchlight described a complete circle and the last thing Martha saw of the Doctor was a brief glimpse of his long, pale face looking back up at her. Then he was submerged in a pool of darkness and all she could make out was the distant glow of the torch. He had been completely lost from sight in a remarkably short time.
She forced herself to look up at the winch. There was still an awful lot of rope on the drum to play out. He had a long way to go.
Duncan and Ben were working their way past a large rock embedded in the earth. It took several big hits with the pickaxe to split the thing, but eventually they were able to pull the broken pieces out and discard them. They were taking less care with the loosened soil now because they knew they were nearly at the end of things; there was no need to ferry it all back up to the entrance and keep everything tidy.
‘Watch out for our friend,’ said Ben, as Duncan threw a chunk of rock across the tunnel and narrowly missed the skeleton.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Duncan grinned at the skull. ‘I wonder who he really was?’
‘I told you, it was the highwayman,’ said Nigel. He was leaning against the tunnel wall, hands on his knees, feeling very unwell. The others put it down to claustrophobia. He knew it was something far worse.
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‘I mean, what was his name?’ wondered Duncan.
Ben said, ‘We’ll have to call him John Doe.’
‘Nah, too American. He’s English: Joe Bloggs.’
‘Joe Bones, you mean.’
‘Hah! Yeah, Joe Bones. Hello, Joe, nice to meet you!’ Duncan bowed to the skeleton. ‘Hey, Joe, you’ve lost a bit of wei
ght.’
They laughed together, starting to feel a bit drunk on the prospect of being so close to the end. Treasure or not, they both wanted this digging over.
‘Hey, look at this,’ Duncan said, when they had calmed down a little.
He was pointing at the cavity in the earth where the big rock had been.
Immersed in the soil was a tangle of pale and fibrous vegetable matter.
‘What’s that?’
‘Roots or something, I suppose,’ said Ben.
‘I’d have thought we were a bit far down for roots,’ Duncan remarked. ‘There aren’t any trees near enough which could have a root system running this deep.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There could be some old growth down here, I suppose.’ He bent down to have a closer look. The tendrils were so pale they were almost white, straggling through the soil like thin wires. ‘It looks very pale – starved of sunlight. No photosynthesis.
Probably dead.’
‘Weird!’
Duncan moved the torch closer and the roots almost seemed to glow. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before!’
‘Come and have a look at this, Nigel,’ said Ben, indicating the remains of the white weed-like substances trailing through some of the soil and rock fragments. ‘What do you make of it?’
‘Nothing,’ Nigel replied, hardly sparing it a glance. He sounded distracted. ‘It’s not treasure is it? That’s all we’re interested in. . . ’
Duncan was watching Nigel closely. ‘Hey, Nigel. You don’t look well, you know.’
‘I’m fine.’
Ben looked. ‘Dune’s right. You look as white as a ghost. Why don’t you go and have a sit down, let us carry on.’
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By now Nigel was leaning weakly against the tunnel wall. ‘I think I’m just tired. We’re so close. . . ’
Duncan rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Do what Ben says. Go and have a rest. We’ll come back and get you the moment we find anything.’
‘I-I don’t know. . . ’ Nigel didn’t look happy about it.
‘We’ve got another couple of metres to go,’ Ben assured him. ‘It’s not much but there’s a lot of rock and it could take a little while longer.