Doctor Who: The Triple Knife

by Jenny T. Colgan

  ‘Look, Mure!’ I said. ‘Look!’

  And the huge beast began to topple, just as the little boy gazed at the fireworks, and shouted ‘Lights!’, and the Doctor leapt first, and was there supporting me, just as Mure leapt into my arms, as the robot landed on the arena floor with a crash that shook the earth.

  Mure propelled us both back onto his mother, who took more than the brunt of it, but neither of them cared; she grabbed the child and smothered him in a mixture of hard hugs and kisses. The huge robot lay motionless and lifeless, half a section of seats completely squashed beneath it.

  ‘Thank you, River and Doctor, for saving my baby,’ said the Doctor pointedly.

  ‘You’re very welcome, polite and attentive parent,’ I said, dusting myself down. ‘You know, I think I’m going to leave it to you to retrieve the screwdriver.’

  Outside, there were people screaming and rushing for the exits. We marched through them, looking for the Command Centre. We found it behind another beautiful village square, with its thatched roofs and half-timbered tumbledown houses and picturesque blondes performing an apparently traditional dance which involved quite a lot more exposed flesh that one would expected that far up in a planet’s northern hemisphere, but that’s a post-Earthly fantasy paradise for you.

  If you crept round the back of the town square, though, there was a high thicket of trees, facilities for a variety of biologies; and a very small, unsignposted path. We looked at one another and nodded.

  The Command Centre was an unobtrusive grey bunker, without windows, and several control panels on the roof. There was a keypad by the door and as we approached, several dark-suited people marched sharply up towards it and keyed it open, and we simply slunk in behind them.

  Inside was a vast space down a flight of stairs; it must have extended underneath the park. Which made sense. Indeed as I looked around the huge underground control centre I saw, amongst myriad screens and working computers – and a big smiling 3D picture of Thor exhorting the staff to ‘FIGHT WIN SMILE!’ – were long tunnels, careering off everywhere, with little white travel cable pods, moving at remarkable speeds, delivering Vikings, dancers, cleaners, catering staff, who waited for the subway system like oddly dressed commuters, presumably so nobody had to watch Thor queue for the toilet. It was quite a sight.

  ‘Who are you?’ said an unfriendly voice. I looked up. The voice belonged to a species I didn’t recognise, but looked a bit like a beaver. It was humanoid size though, and stood on two stilt-like legs, it was kind of cross and cute-looking all at once.

  ‘Hullo!’ said the Doctor. ‘We’re on the VIP tour! This bit’s great!’

  ‘No you’re not,’ said the beaver. An outbreak of shouting was taking place over by a bank of monitors. ‘Now, clear out, this is a restricted area.’

  He folded his tiny paws, not very impressively, although his expression was serious, as was the blaster tucked into the pocket of his frankly adorable beaver overalls.

  ‘Out!’

  The commotion got louder.

  ‘Did you see those guys on the screen?’ came a voice. A smaller, greyer creature – more mole-like, although with the same augmented limbs – came clattering over. ‘They saved a kid in the crowd! We should give them an award or something. Actually, you know what, boss, having an event that almost goes horribly wrong and then comes good at the last minute… that might be an idea you know. Might add a good level of jeopardy to the crowd…’

  HIs voice petered out as he took us in standing in front of him.

  ‘And here you are!’

  ‘It’s a small world, after all,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Well done, you guys.’

  The beaver scowled and reviewed the monitors. ‘Was that you?’

  ‘Saved the day!’ said the Doctor. ‘Where were security, by the way?’

  The beaver frowned. ‘Helping people towards the exits. Preventing a panic. Exactly what they’re meant to be doing.’

  The beaver, the mole and I peered round the cavern. People were yelling and dashing around.

  ‘Glad to see there’s no more panic… I’m the Doctor, by the way.’

  ‘And I’m the Professor,’ I said, smiling politely.

  ‘So. What happened to your dragon?’ asked the Doctor.

  The beaver sniffed. ‘I’m Caius Roose. Park Director,’ he said. ‘And it’s nothing to worry about. Small mechanical failure. All fixed now.’ He glanced at me. ‘Are you one of the Brunhildes?’

  ‘Enough of that.’

  ‘Cause you sound just like her.’

  The Doctor looked around. ‘Are you going to close the park?’

  Caius shook his head. ‘Naw, just a minor technical issue. No one got hurt.’

  ‘We should close it,’ said the mole. ‘Double-check everything.’

  ‘I agree,’ said the Doctor.

  Caius scratched his head. ‘We can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s our busiest time in the year. We close the park, we lose our profits, then next thing you know word gets out we’re dangerous, and before you know it everyone stays away and we’re out of business.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because you are dangerous,’ I said.

  ‘It’s one mechanical failure,’ muttered Caius again.

  ‘We should still failsafe,’ said the mole.

  Caius turned on him. ‘Postumus Fearne!’ he said, exasperated.

  ‘I’m just saying!’ said the Mole.

  ‘How many kids you got at home, Postumus?’

  ‘Eleven,’ said Postumus fondly.

  ‘Right. And what are they going to eat when they find out Daddy’s lost his job?’ Caius turned back to us. ‘There’s 76,000 people work in Asgard™.’

  He gestured a paw towards the long lines of people queuing for the subway trains, scooping them away, another tired-looking horde alighting as the cars stopped.

  ‘It’s a major source of employment in a very depressed part of the galaxy. And I’m responsible for them.’

  ‘And for them,’ said the Doctor, showing the screens that covered all of the park. Everywhere were happy youngsters out strolling with their families; with horned shaped balloons; babies in buggies; people having wonderful days in the sunshine.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Caius. ‘And look: there’s no panic. Because everything is fine. And we’ll investigate the mechanical fault and then everything can carry on just as it was.’

  He looked around.

  ‘I have the finest team in the galaxy, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Thanks for your help just now, but I’m not shutting this place down and sending them out to starve without a very good reason. Off with you now please. I only ask nicely once.’

  Postumus showed us the door. His whiskers looked defeated.

  ‘Postumus… do you think it’s just a mechanical failure?’ asked the Doctor quietly on the way.

  Postumus glanced around. ‘That should… it just shouldn’t happen,’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s the most sophisticated technology available. Should be unbreakable. I mean, it wouldn’t just be an error. It wouldn’t.’ He fingered the pens in the top pocket of his dungarees. ‘It’s not how we do things at Asgard™,’ he said. ‘It just isn’t. This is the happiest place in the galaxy.’

  The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Now, where have I heard that before?’

  Postumus accompanied us out the back way, and we emerged into the more sublime landscape of the park at large. We blinked in what was once again bright mid-afternoon sunshine. Above us circled lazy great golden eagles, which could be harnessed and ridden; ahead, grazing in a beautiful, endless elysian fields were the winged white Valkyrie horses, saddled up at night for the spectacular northern lights display that ended each day at the park.

  There were signposts to the ‘Enchanted Forest’ ahead that led to, eventually, the great feasting halls of Valhalla, that supplied mead and sweetmeats at any hour of the day or night.

  The Doctor looked back at the small door to the Command Centre, even now fading away be
tween the trees.

  ‘Those subways… they go all round the park, right?’

  Postumus nodded.

  ‘So if we wanted to get in and have a better look without Caius setting any furry goons on us…’

  Postumus looked even more worried. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘He’s tough, but he’s a good boss, Caius. I wouldn’t want to get into trouble or anything.’

  ‘No, no, I realise that,’ said the Doctor. ‘But you think there’s something wrong, don’t you?’

  Postumus nodded. ‘Try under the great feasting halls of Valhalla,’ he whispered. ‘There’s so many caterers and performers coming out of there all hours of the day and night, they’d barely notice you. Especially you…’ He pointed at me. ‘All you need is the metal breastplate.’

  ‘I don’t look like…’ I started, as the Doctor smiled triumphantly, and I gave up. Instead, we set off towards the Enchanted Forest through the once more cheerful throng.

  Following the path through the forest was curious. Firstly, no matter how many thousands of people approached the narrow dirt path at the same time, as soon as you entered the trees, everyone was completely dispersed so you couldn’t see anyone in front or behind you; you felt completely alone.

  Secondly, we entered the forest in early summer, hot yellow sun filtering through bright young green leaves, waterfalls tinkling with snow melt; and timid fawns scampering out of our way as we approached; but as we progressed, the leaves turned a darker and darker green, then began to coil up into themselves; to turn bright shades of yellow, red and orange; then they started to tumble down off the trees, and grouse took off into the sky, and the air became crisper, with the scent of bonfires in the air, and the sun turned mellow and golden and mists coiled along the bottom of the leaf-strewn path, as we kicked our way through them, speaking of what might have gone wrong with the park, and this and that, and he lent me his elbow, and I took it.

  Do it, I told myself. Do it now. We were perfectly alone, perfectly peaceful. And the crunching leaves beneath my leather boots had turned, I noticed, to crunching snow, and the air was suddenly twilight and chill, the first flakes, now. swirling down, two snow-geese taking off above our heads, silhouetted against a newly minted moon; and I leaned in closer to him – he never feels the cold.

  Just ask him, I told myself. It’s not like he’s not used to questions.

  ‘Oh, look over there!’ he said suddenly, just as I opened my mouth to speak. A gap in the trees had appeared, and I could see the snow-capped mountains of Asgard to the North – floodlit, and filled with gleeful skiers careening downhill, shouting and yelling in excitement.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to try that. I should think I’d be very good.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be daft, your centre of gravity is far too high. You’d look like Crazy Legs the Crane. Anyway,’ I continued. ‘Look, there’s something… something I need to ask you, and I don’t even know if it’s theoretically possible, and it’s not even about you… probably… but if you thought no I need to see how that feels, and if it’s yes I’d need to see how that feels, but I just need to ask, just once, and I have no one else to ask and… Do you think one day… I mean… I mean, one time. Do you think we… I… I might… do you think I might ever…’

  Then there was a small blip, like I’d blinked a moment too long, and suddenly he was brushing snow off his jacket shoulders.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Lost concentration for a sec. What were you saying?’

  I dropped his arm and stared at him. ‘What did you just do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Something glinted inside his jacket. I grabbed at it.

  ‘What’s this?’

  It was a gold medal. Inscribed on it was ‘Helsinki, 1952’.

  I looked at him for a long time.

  ‘So what were you going to ask me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Forget it.’

  I stomped off through the blizzard.

  ‘Hang on, River!’ he shouted after me. ‘I can’t run, my knees are shot.’

  I did not ‘hang on’ and was almost out of the forest. Already I could see the braziers lighting the way to the palace of Valhalla up ahead, sending their flames high into the night.

  And I could hear screaming.

  The Palace of Valhalla looked like an optical illusion, because it was. It was tower upon tower, in thick grey granite; it resembled a great cathedral organ. Hundreds of windows were lit with thousands of glittering candles; you could enter any one of the 540 huge wooden doors.

  I couldn’t figure out where the screaming was coming from. A great smell of roasting meat and mead came towards us. I didn’t notice this at first; for I was also dealing with the confirmation of something I knew all along: of course neither of us were remotely fit for parenthood. And I was an idiot even for thinking it, and wouldn’t again.

  We ran along the frosted path to the bottom of one of the towers. A girl in a metal breastplate lay unconscious on the ground; still breathing. She had the white cloak of one of the Valkyries; she was very young, and heavily made up. Her long wig lay in the snow. I knelt beside her, but as I did so, a troupe of security rushed up with a stretcher and erected a tent around her. ‘Move along, please, she’s fine, she’s fine,’ said a large mouse-like creature bossily. ‘Just an accident. We do warn people not to run on the battlements.’

  In an instant, she was whisked away, into one of the many doors in the walls.

  ‘Another accident, huh?’ said the Doctor. ‘It does seem very careless, this place.’

  We followed through the door through which they’d just disappeared; but we found ourselves in a huge hall, with only one set of doors.

  I couldn’t see how a stretcher could possibly have just come through here: inside, everyone was partying. The room was obviously an inter-dimensional trick: it contained a great long wooden table that went on for so far, the sightlines converged.

  Everywhere along it were different families and groups together, eating, drinking happily, laughing and of course, making great toasts. Every so often there were huge fireplaces, above which meat was turning on spits, covered in herbs. Serving staff refilled goblets from huge, never-ending pitchers of mead.

  ‘Ah,’ said the Doctor.

  He walked out, then came in again.

  ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘No,’ he said, gloomily. ‘I came in a different door. Try it.’

  I did so, and found myself exactly where I’d just been standing.

  ‘A dimensional extension,’ he said. ‘Well, how else would you feed half a million visitors an hour, and make them all feel they’re in the same great hall? They’ll have gone somewhere else altogether.’ He looked round. ‘Something’s very wrong here. What is it? Let me think.’ He lifted a goblet of mead from a passing tray, drank it in one, then made a face.

  ‘Sip stuff if you don’t know you’re going to like it!’ I said crossly. I was about to try one for myself when one of the serving girls came running up to me.

  ‘You’re meant to be downstairs!’ she hissed. ‘The second show’s about to start.’

  The Doctor raised his eyebrows at me.

  ‘Fine,’ I said, as the girl pressed a carved wooden rose inlaid next to the fireplace, and a previously unnoticed door slid open in the wall. I followed her as we descended the steps to the corridors below.

  Downstairs, everything was organised chaos. Thousands of identically clad wench-like girls were grabbing plates of hot meat and huge jugs of mead from a vast dispensing fountain – I rather liked that – in a complex but effective pattern.

  Everything was hot and shouty, and I wandered into an endless kitchen full of workers of every conceivable stripe, hollering. They barely glanced up at me, and then I found a dressing room full of crying Valkyries, which led to an underground stables, full of pawing horses.

  The girls asked me if I was Calinth’s replacement and I said yes, and took the breastplate and the sword they
gave me – it was a rather fine specimen – then I marched on, until I reached a side door marked ‘Security’, where I saw an empty stretcher.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, walking in. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You can’t be in here,’ shouted someone.

  ‘Really?’ I said, fingering the sword. ‘Well, tell me what’s going on with Calinth and I’ll leave quietly.’

  A familiar furry figure stepped up, his whiskers twitching slightly.

  ‘No, no, it’s all right, Tullus,’ he said. ‘She’s on our side.’ He looked around. ‘You’ve disconnected the cameras, right?’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  Postumus looked crestfallen. ‘It’s the dimensional calibrator,’ he said. ‘Now somebody’s messing with it.’

  ‘Messing with it how?’ I said.

  ‘Well, it’s carefully calculated, so everyone gets their Valhalla dining experience, whenever they want it. But someone’s started folding the dimensions in. That poor girl was standing in a room that suddenly winked itself out of existence. She fell out of nothing.’

  I blinked.

  ‘She’s going to be OK, though,’ he added.

  ‘And you don’t know who would do that?’

  The mouse called Tullus looked up. ‘We love this place,’ he said, and the others snuffled agreement.

  ‘I need the Doctor,’ I said.

  I’d expected him to be doing what he usually did: making friends with everyone and becoming the centre of attention whilst pretending that sort of thing didn’t matter to him.

  Instead, he was sitting sulkily on the side by himself, pushing some food around his plate.

  In front of the fire, an armoured chap with a huge glittering spear was roaring, ‘So Odie, I said. So, Odie, let me tell you a thing or two about the bridge between the worlds. I mean, my bro and I got beef!’ and the audience was either falling about laughing or hanging on to his every word.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ I hissed.

  ‘Well, he looks nothing like me, for starters,’ said the Doctor crossly.

  ‘Why would he?’ I asked surprised.

  ‘Oh, no reason,’ he said. ‘Just, you know. Mythological shapeshifter from ancient Earth history? Wears many faces? Plays tricks?’