‘One should certainly hope so,’ says the War Doctor. Oh, dear, the old sausage is putting his tea down, and getting up. Looks like he’s off, don’t you think? Now, keen students may have already noticed a sort of flickering light on his hand. What do think that might indicate? QUIETLY please.
‘Well, then. Gentlemen,’ he’s saying, ‘it’s been an honour and a privilege.’
‘Likewise,’ says Tight Suit.
‘Doctor!’ adds Goofy, as if he’s bestowing a compliment.
Ahh, look at old War Doctor. He gets the point Goofy’s making, doesn’t he? And he’s so thrilled to be called the Doctor again. I think I’m having a sniffle. Oops, he’s about to make a big old speech, I think! He’s straightened up, and he’s looking at the other two, all serious.
‘If I ever grow to be half the man you are …’ Look at those two boys preen! Oh, but the War Doctor is turning away from them towards … ‘Clara Oswald, I shall be happy indeed.’
Ha! He got them there, didn’t he? But Clara’s loving it, isn’t she? What a smile!
‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘Aim high.’
Oh, look at the old boy go! The War Doctor is kissing her on the cheek now, the naughty devil. And look at the boys! I think they’re trying to out-sulk each other. Ah, now the War Doctor has turned back to talk to them. Oh, he’s frowning. Good at frowning, isn’t he?
‘I won’t remember this, will I?’ he asks.
‘The time streams are out of sync, you can’t retain it, no,’ says Goofy.
The old man looks sad, but then he manages a smile. ‘So I won’t remember that I tried to save Gallifrey, rather than burn it. I will have to live with that. But for now, for this moment … I am the Doctor again. Thank you.’ He’s looking at the row of TARDISes. Is he having a senior moment? ‘Which one’s mine?’
Oh dear, this could be a bit embarrassing. But no, he’s laughing. He was joking. Oh, the dear old soul, he’s a laugh-a-minute now, isn’t he? Look at him, chortling away, as he steps back into his TARDIS. Shame he’s about to cease to exist.
And there’s the wheezing, groaning noise, and off he flies.
Sorry, what? Cease to exist? Well, yes, of course. The flickering light on his hand? He’s far too old, he’s been holding off regeneration for years. I shouldn’t think he’s got much time left at all. Now don’t worry, settle down, he’ll be fine. He’ll go a bit northern, and his ears won’t know when to stop, but after a while he’ll be the same silly old dear he always is.
Ah, now the other two, are having a bit of confab, aren’t they. If I can just turn up the volume …
Oh, sorry, did he say Trenzalore—
*
Sorry about the asterisks, I just had to turn off the camera for a moment. Trenzalore is a bit of a security issue, and in any event, not on the syllabus for today.
You haven’t missed much. Tight Suit is just saying goodbye to his future self. ‘Good to know my future is in safe hands!’
Oh, that was a nice thing to say, wasn’t it? Goofy’s all pleased—he’ll be at that bow tie any second. But Tight Suit has turned to Clara. ‘Keep a tight hold of it, Clara.’
Oh! Ouch! There’s Goofy’s second aborted preen of the day. And now Tight Suit is kissing Clara’s hand (they’re all at it, aren’t they?) and stepping to the TARDIS.
‘Trenzalore!’ he’s saying. Oh, I didn’t hit the mute button in time, pretend you didn’t read that. Secret, secret, secret! ‘We need a new destination. Because I don’t want to go.’
Oh, pay no attention, he always says that. And there’s his TARDIS, dematerialising.
Goofy looks sad for a moment, then smiles. ‘He always says that.’
Oh, snap!
‘Need a moment alone with your painting?’ asks Clara.
Interesting. Why is she saying that? But look at Goofy. He looks like he’s going to cry. ‘How did you know?’ he says.
She’s stroking his face now. ‘Those big sad eyes—I always know. I guess you can sit here as long as you like. You’re the Curator, after all.’
And she gives him a little kiss (there’s just too much of this these days, isn’t there?) and she’s off into the TARDIS. Bye, Clara, I think that’s her last bit in the book. No, don’t applaud—she’ll hear! Now Goofy is alone. Oh, shall we just start calling him the Doctor, since he’s the only one left? Okay, we’re going to hang around a bit, because from what I understand, something very interesting happens now. According to Myth and Legend (lovely girls), the Doctor is about to meet a Mysterious Stranger. Possibly from his past, possibly from his future. Possibly from both. Shall we wait and read who turns up. Oops, hello! The Doctor has started talking to himself (I suppose he should be used to that by now!).
‘Yeah,’ he’s saying, ‘I could be a curator. I’d be great at curating. I’d be the great curator. I could retire and do that.’
Oh, listen to him! Silly old Doctor.
‘I could retire and be the curator of this place,’ he says.
Ha! Do you know, Doctor, I really think you might!
Oh! Oh, dear! He’s turned and looked at me. He just looked right at me. I must have said that out loud. Oh, I’ve been incredibly silly. Let’s just wait and see if he stops staring. No, sorry, he’s keeping going. And now he’s getting up and walking towards me. Oh, I really am hugely sorry about this, everyone. I’ve gone and accidentally fallen into the book. This is strictly against the rules, I’m not supposed to get involved in the narrative.
He’s staring right at my face now. To be honest, he has reason to. He used to have a face exactly like this. Well, it was a bit younger then, but basically the same.
‘I never forget a face …!’ he says.
Sorry, you lot, we’re all in this together now. I’m going in!
‘I know you don’t.’ That’s me talking now. ‘Of course you never forget a face. And in years to come, you might even find yourself revisiting a few. But just the old favourites, eh?’
I’m giving him a wink. Sorry you can’t appreciate it from that angle. And sorry if my nose is looming at all, it does that. Oh, he’s staring at me, all surprised. Don’t really blame him in the circumstances.
‘But you … are you …?’ he says. ‘But you can’t be!’
‘You were curious about this painting, I think. I acquired it in remarkable circumstances.’ Ah, yes, I probably should have mentioned—I own that painting. It’s an astonishing piece. Of course, no one really understands how a painting of the Time War can exist, or who the artist could have been, or how Elizabeth knew about it. Well, I do. But that’s another story. Oops, hang on, I think the Doctor is waiting for me to speak. ‘What do you make of the title?’ I ask him.
‘Which title?’ he says. ‘There’s two. No More and Gallifrey Falls.’
‘Ah, no, that’s where everybody’s wrong,’ I tell him. ‘It’s all one title: Gallifrey Falls No More. Now what would that mean, do you think?’
Oh, look at his face, look at all that hope. ‘That Gallifrey didn’t fall? It worked, it’s still out there?’
‘I’m only a humble curator, I’m sure I wouldn’t know.’
‘Then, where is it?’
‘Where is it indeed?’ I say. ‘Lost, perhaps. Things do get lost, you know. Now you must excuse me—you have a lot to do.’ Well, I’ve got this book to finish, for a start.
He’s excited now, isn’t he? ‘Do I? Like what? Is that what I’m supposed to do now? Go looking for Gallifrey?’
Brace yourselves, everyone, I’m going for wise and enigmatic. ‘Oh, that’s entirely up to you. Your choice. I can only tell you what I would do, if I were you. Perhaps I was you, of course. Or perhaps you were me? Or perhaps it doesn’t matter either way. Who knows. Who knows …’
Right, come with me, we’re off. I want to get out before this book gets completely out of control. We’ll all end up in the sequel if we’re not careful. No, don’t look back, keep walking! Round the corner, that’s right. Down the stairs, though th
e door, past the desk with the giant pot plant (if the plant winks at you, just wink back).
Phew! I don’t think he’s following. Everybody, deep breath and relax.
Well then, I hope you all enjoyed that. Because I’m afraid that’s me for the day. Yes, no, sorry. Time for tea and scones with Ohila and Elizabeth. I’ll leave you to read the last chapter for yourselves—it’s only a little one.
Oh, just tiny thing before I go. Did you all guess who I am? Go on, did you?
Yes, well done, that’s right! I’m the Curator of the Under Gallery. Of course I am. Who else could I be?
Sorry, what was that? Yes, fair point, I suppose. The Doctor is the Curator of the Under Gallery. So does that mean I’m the Doctor? Well you already know the answer to that one, don’t you?
It’s complicated.
Chapter 13
The Doctor
‘Was he a friend of yours?’ I asked. ‘A relative?’
Cass Fermazzi didn’t reply, but she took the bandolier I held out to her, and strapped it round her chest. She was looking at the sky, and there was something fierce in her eyes.
‘You look like you’re ready for a fight,’ I said.
‘Been ready all my life,’ she said. ‘I’m just admitting that now.’ She flashed a bleak little smile at me. ‘Thanks for looking after him,’ she said, and started climbing out of the crater.
‘What do you mean, all your life?’ I called after her.
‘Oh, you know,’ she said, without turning.
‘No, I really don’t.’
She turned at the lip of the crater, and sighed. ‘It’s going to sound stupid.’
‘Good. I hate things that don’t.’
‘When I was a kid I was in therapy.’
‘Weren’t we all?’
‘We weren’t rich though. I had one of those bots. Looked like a clown—God knows why. It was supposed to take away some of my memories, but it was so full of someone else’s, they all just kept spewing out.’
I felt my stomach turn over. It was exactly what I’d figured out, but it was chilling to hear it. ‘What kind of memories?’
‘Just vague stuff. About always fighting for what’s right, but trying never to hurt people. Never be cruel, never be cowardly, that kind of thing. Cheesy stuff, but it got to me.’
Yeah, I thought, me too.
‘Time to go and do like the clown says, I guess.’ She flashed another sad smile, and was gone.
I could never save her, I knew that. She was too wrapped up in my own timeline. But at least, just once, she’d looked at me without hating me.
And you can’t save everyone, I reminded myself. You just have to save all the ones you can. Was that what the Moment had wanted to teach me?
I thought about the Moment a lot, and I knew it sometimes irritated her. Once, sitting on a bench in Henry VIII’s third-favourite garden, I was brooding away on the subject, and suddenly she just sat down next to me.
‘Will you stop thinking about me all the time,’ she said, still in the form of Rose Tyler. ‘It’s getting annoying!’
‘But why did you do it?’ I asked. ‘What was in it for you?’
She smiled at me, as flirtatious as always. ‘I may be the interface of the deadliest weapon in the universe, but I still want the same thing from a relationship.’
‘Which is?’
‘Not to be used.’ And she winked and was gone.
The next time I saw her she was standing knee-deep in a fountain, at the heart of the Villengard banana groves. It must have been a year later but she resumed the conversation as if there had been no interruption.
‘I did it because the universe needs the Doctor to be the Doctor, and you were in danger of stopping. You have no idea how necessary you are.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said.
‘Truly, Doctor. If you didn’t exist we would have to dream you.’
‘The Doctor doesn’t exist—just a stupid idea in my stupid head.’
‘No, no, no, you’re always getting this wrong!’ She was stamping and splashing now, impatient with me. ‘The Doctor isn’t who you try to be—you are the Doctor, because you try.’
‘Are you absolutely sure you’re a weapon interface,’ I asked her. ‘You sound a lot like a Christmas cracker.’
‘Oh shut up,’ she said, and vanished, crossly.
She might have been flattering me, I thought, as I climbed out of the crater. But did weapon interfaces do that?
Well, anyway, enough brooding, I decided. The day of the Doctor was over at last, and it was time to get my head back in the game. Somewhere there’s danger, somewhere there’s injustice, and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Doctor, work to do.
So it was me who set off across the muddy battlefield towards the TARDIS, but it was the Doctor who opened the door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind her.
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Epub ISBN: 9781473531260
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BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
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BBC Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
Novelisation copyright © Steven Moffat 2018
Original script copyright © Steven Moffat 2013
Steven Moffat has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC One.
Executive producers: Steven Moffat and Brian Minchin
First published by BBC Books in 2018
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781785943294
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Cover illustration: Anthony Dry
Production: Phil Spencer
10: The Love of the Doctor
1 See Doctor Who and the Silence in The Library, available in all good alternate realities.
5: The Wedding of the Doctor
2 What promise? Indeed, what ceremony? Is the Doctor omitting certain details here? We shall return to this subject after the chapter is concluded. The section does seem strangely rushed, doesn’t it?
3 For an explanation of the Doctor’s confusion, see Doctor Who: Listen, available in early 2195.
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