Doctor Who: The Triple Knife

by Jenny T. Colgan

  'Well, I did.'

  "That's why you scuttle so much.'

  'I do not scuttle! I...'

  'Flounce?'

  'Glide!' Clara tried again. 'We'll go up the tower! See the ballroom! And the illuminations! And I'll make you eat candyfloss!'

  There was a very long pause. The Doctor's face was stem. Then he turned round, slowly.

  'I love candyfloss.'

  The TARDIS wheezed to a halt. Dressed in a black top and mini-skirt, Clara ran delightedly to the door.

  'Home!' Then she turned round and regarded the Doctor. 'You'll have to take that coat off.'

  The Doctor looked up, surprised. 'Well, I don't think so.'

  'It's Blackpool. Nobody ever wears a coat.'

  'Oh dear. A deal breaker.' He turned back towards the console display.

  'You always get like this when you're doing something nice,' shouted Clara cheerily as she headed for the door. 'I just ignore it. Mind you,' she went on, almost to herself, 'Blackpool in November... maybe we can let you off just this once.'

  Then she stepped out of the TARDIS into a steaming hot jungle.

  The vines hung heavy in the trees, which were weighed down with strange brightly coloured fruits. The air was damp and sweet with the scent of rotting vegetation. Underfoot were fallen fronds and burst pomegranates, decaying where they lay.

  'Oh no,' said Clara, looking round, her hands on her hips. 'This isn't Blackpool. Stupid TARDIS.'

  The Doctor popped his head out of the door, then glanced back at the console readout. 'It most certainly is,' he said as he stepped out into the lush green landscape. 'Oh, it's lovely! You should have said!'

  'No!' said Clara. 'This is a jungle! Blackpool has a Ferris wheel. And a beach! And...' She looked up. Overhead, the great wrought iron structure of the Blackpool Tower was slightly tilted. It had oxidised, and great vines twisted their way through the gaping holes in its structure. Brightly coloured birds swooped round the top. In front of them was what remained of the Golden Mile. Smashed lightbulbs crunched underfoot from the ruined illuminations; the promenade was completely overgrown, and high black waves lapped right across the cracked tramlines. In the distance, through the broken-down struts of the Big One rollercoaster, she saw, stilting along awkwardly -

  '.. .giraffes?' Clara whipped round to face the Doctor. 'Giraffes? What's happened to my hometown?'

  The Doctor took out his pocket watch. 'Oh. Yeah. Bit late.'

  She glanced at the writhing greenery. 'Is this the trees doing a thing again?'

  The Doctor shook his head sadly. "Fraid not. This is here to stay. It's 2089. It's climate change. The real deal.

  Looks like all those Bags for Life you bought didn't quite do the trick.'

  Clara stepped forward, horrified. 'The Golden Mile, the sand... it was already eroding in my time, you could see it. But they built these sea defences...' She looked at them. The concrete barriers were overwhelmed with water; crumbled away.

  Horrified, Clara started to run down the promenade, broken glass crunching under her feet. The pier sagged heavily into the high seas, bent and twisted into cruel shapes, dripping vines. Past the pier, a spit of black sand remained, in front of the ruins of the fish and chip shops; upturned plastic ice cream bins bobbing up and down in the water; a shipwrecked tram. She stopped and stared, mouth open.

  Hurtling across the sand at full pelt, their heads and manes tossing in the warm wind, their hooves galloping in the rushing water, was a herd of wild donkeys. They looked beautiful and strange, outlined against the dark seas.

  Clara's hand went to her mouth.

  The Doctor came over, casually eating a handful of grapes that stained his mouth. 'This place is amazing... What?'

  'The donkeys! They're running wild!'

  'Beautiful..

  As they watched the animals gambolling in the surf, suddenly, as if out of nowhere, came a flashing, buzzing noise. A jagged silver disc, smaller than a frisbee, zipped through the sky, and embedded itself in the side of one of the donkeys, which immediately whinnied in distress and collapsed on the beach.

  'Oh no!'

  Clara darted across the sand towards it, as the herd left the creature behind. The wounded animal was tossing and writhing in pain, and she couldn't get close for the thrashing hooves.

  'That projectile was about the size of a CD,' said the Doctor, coming up behind her. 'I wonder what it was. Simply Red? I mean, I can understand the urge to throw...'

  The donkey was grunting and screeching as the Doctor moved closer, his face taking on an expression, Clara thought, rather gentler than the one he habitually wore when dealing with creatures on two legs.

  'Sssh,' he said. He knelt down away from the animal's pistoning limbs, and put both hands either side of the donkey's head.

  The flailing, terrified creature was immediately soothed at his touch, and quietened its terrible keening and thrashing.

  'Sssh.'

  The donkey and the Doctor regarded one another, as the Doctor very carefully and steadily, making no sudden movements, took one hand from the creature's head, and slowly pulled the jagged silver weapon from the donkey's side, hurling it away. Then, without breaking eye contact, he took out his sonic and quickly sealed and cauterised the wound.

  The donkey's muzzle relaxed in the Doctor's hands, and it made a quiet braying.

  'There, there.'

  Clara looked around. She screwed up her eyes against the sun.

  'Who did that? Who was it?'

  Bang. The next silver disc missed the Doctor's boots by inches. He jumped up, patting the donkey briefly on its flank.

  'Don't worry, Meghan. We'll get this sorted, OK?'

  Pow!

  The disc shot straight across the black sand. The sun poured through the canopy of overgrown bushes on the promenade, as Clara and the Doctor backed away rapidly towards the water.

  'The donkey's called Meghan?'

  'She's not called anything... Thought she might like Meghan.'

  They splashed through the black water and crouched behind a twisted stanchion, as the Doctor pointed towards a distant window in an overgrown boarding house. A tumbled sign read 'The Arnold Guest House'; Clara remembered it well. It had already been nearly derelict when she was a girl.

  Now, the jungle had grown straight through it. Thick vines had broken through the tiles of the roof, so it looked like the guest house had come down from the sky and landed on a tree, rather than the other way around. Every empty window frame was a mass of twisted greenery. In one of the upper windows, Clara suddenly caught sight of a flash of light; and in the next instant, a buzzing silver disc shot right over their heads.

  The Doctor grabbed her by the hand and they splashed deeper backwards into the water under the eerie blackness of the skeletal pier. Clara blinked as, from the waves, a shoal of flying fish leapt up, their strange yellow webbed fins glinting in the spots of light; then they splashed back underwater.

  'Whoa!'

  Together they spied an abandoned pedalo; flotsam, bobbing underneath the pier. They glanced at one another.

  'I don't think so/ said the Doctor.

  'Pedalos are cool/ pleaded Clara. 'It'll be fun!'

  The latest disc bounced off the top of the water.

  'It's not a day for fun!' said the Doctor.

  'Yes, well, that's becoming clear,' said Clara.

  Instead, they waded across to the other side of the pier, out of range, then splashed full pelt over the esplanade wall that was covered in broken glass from the shattered lights. They ducked across the tramlines, faded and dull underwater. Then they circled round and backed up Pleasant Street, looking out for the sniper. Clara noticed in passing her old favourite chippie, but all she could smell now was thick green vegetation, heavy and exotic fruit.

  The Doctor opened the rotting wooden back door of the Arnold with a swift kick.

  'Hey!' he shouted loudly. 'Sniper boy! We're completely unarmed and you're playing "Now That's What I Call
Chopping Up a Donkey Volume 1", so how about you come down and we have a wee chat about that?'

  There was silence. The ancient carpet beneath their feet was brown and moist, but in here, amongst the damp creepers, Clara could still sense something of the many, many old breakfasts, the bacon and the sausage and over-stewed tea and HP sauce. She found it comforting.

  There was no noise. The building was large, with many creaking, chipped old doors opening off a long corridor, covered in peeling fire exit signs.

  "Third floor, fourth window from the left,' whispered the Doctor. They stopped and listened.

  Suddenly, overhead, there came a footstep - steady, heavy in tread - then another.

  'Come out, you big feartie!' shouted the Doctor

  'What if he comes down and shoots us with his silver frisbee thing?'

  'I'll talk him out of it with my friendly wit and charm.'

  'So we're doomed, then.'

  There was a creaking of a vine, and a large pineapple bounced down the stairs straight past them. Clara jumped, and glanced at the Doctor, whose face was impassive.

  The footsteps continued slowly, and Clara found she was holding her breath.

  'Hello?' she shouted. The staircase, wound around with vines, headed upwards into darkness.

  The footsteps stopped over their heads. Then, very slowly, a foot appeared at the top of the twisted stairwell. It was wearing a very worn, grubby sheepskin slipper, over a pair of very baggy tan-coloured tights. The Doctor and Clara watched as another leg continued down, revealing a matching slipper: but the leg in this slipper was a skeletal steel.

  'Are you going to shoot us?' said Clara, trying to sound brave.

  'It's after 9 a.m.!' came a harsh metallic voice. 'No guests in the guest house after 9 a.m.!'

  Clara backed away. The figure continued to descend. It was half a very old woman, swathed in layers of nighties and a huge filthy floral patterned housecoat. Ancient rollers were wrapped in thin dead wisps of hair, under a dirty headscarf. The other half of her face, where the wizened skin had been worn away, was metal.

  The half-woman, half-machine brandished a large silver circular launcher at them.

  'What is she?' asked Clara.

  'Most horrifying creature in God's creation,' whispered the Doctor. 'A landlady!'

  That got the half-woman's attention.

  'No guests in the guest house after 9 a.m.!'

  The Doctor moved forwards. 'I'm sorry to disturb you, madam. We were hoping to rent a room for the night?'

  'Off-season! No guests in the guest house after 9 a.m.!'

  She blinked very hard suddenly, looking slightly confused, and Clara wondered if she knew what she was.

  'Where did everybody go?' asked Clara gently.

  'Off-season! Off-season!' Her voice was sounding more robotic. She lifted up the blaster. 'No guests in the...'

  Clara moved towards her.

  'No, wait!' said the Doctor, trying to stop her. But Clara shook him off.

  'Are you all right?' she asked gently. The woman's face suddenly looked more human than robot, and Clara felt very sorry for her.

  The woman looked down. 'I don't like it when it gets dark,' she said. 'The animals make noises.'

  'What are you doing shooting animals?' asked the Doctor in consternation.

  The woman's face turned still and her voice took on a metallic tinge again. 'Got to have sausages for breakfast! Guests need sausages! Sausages and out by 9 a.m.! But you're not guests, are you? Are you sausages?'

  The woman moved forward suddenly, incredibly swiftly, and opened her mouth. The scream, when it came, was horrifyingly loud.

  'NO GUESTS!' she screamed, advancing with the blaster. 'NO GUESTS!!!!!'

  The Doctor grabbed Clara by the hand and led her backwards towards the door.

  'Wait!' wailed the half-woman.

  'But she's...' said Clara, still stricken. There was a sudden whirring noise outside.

  'Clara, she's not a confused old lady!' said the Doctor, furiously. 'Have you seen how they make sausages?'

  They ran out of the old boarding house - but it was already too late. Four spaceships were hovering above the ground, surrounding them. They were small ships, open at the top, and in each was a young man or two, staring at them, laughing, pointing their blasters in their direction.

  The spaceships were silver: pointed at the front, short range, nippy- looking things, and they bobbed strangely up and down in the air. They reminded Clara of something, but she couldn't think what.

  'Hands up!' came a loud, entitled voice. The Doctor let out an irritated growl.

  'Nice ships,' whispered Clara, putting up her hands.

  'What!? They're all round... and slick, and aerodynamic-y,' said the Doctor in disgust.

  A young man in a bright red jacket popped his head out of the top of one of the ships and waved his arm crossly. 'I say, what the ruddy hell are you doing in my hunt?'

  'Your what?'

  'My hunting grounds. It's clearly marked. All of the Pleasure Beach is a hunting ground.'

  'It's a what?' said Clara again.

  The man sighed. 'Oh lord, are you frightfully dim? My friend and I have hired out the Hunt. You're trespassing on my shoot.'

  'Climate change drove people out... so they turned it into a hunting zone?' said Clara, incredulously.

  'Well, you would keep electing those posh boys,' murmured the Doctor.

  The man's lip curled. 'Anything that comes across our path is fair game, what?'

  All his fellows laughed and passed a bottle amongst themselves, and one launched a silver disc straight up into the air. It caught the sun as it fell, slicing through the air. The man took a large swig of his own hip flask, and smiled unpleasantly.

  'We were hoping to bag a big one today - it's my stag night.' He glanced at his fellows. 'Shall we bag an oik, boys?'

  The other men laughed unpleasantly.

  'Debag the oiks, more like!' squealed one excitedly. 'Let's go, Triss!'

  The Doctor stepped forward, gripping his lapels. 'I don't think so.'

  'Oh, it talks'.' said Triss. 'Calm down, dear.'

  The other men guffawed.

  'You probably want to think very seriously about what you're doing here/ the Doctor went on.

  Triss whirled round in his silver ship, his mouth slack and wide.

  'No we don't]' he roared suddenly. 'We have to live in a world your generation ruined. We have to live in a world nobody your age "thought seriously about" at all. You left us with black sand and black water and black pools. And all we have left is a damn rare chance to have a little sport. And this is my stag night. And I shall have my sport, old man.'

  He unleashed a disc that struck the Doctor's foot, and would have made anybody else jump.

  'Hang on... Who on earth would marry you?' said Clara, stepping forward.

  'I own the very last snow-topped mountain in Switzerland,' said the man called Triss. 'They're queuing up, I assure you.'

  His friends laughed again. Triss looked down on Clara and the Doctor, a dangerous look on his face, and took another swig from his flask. 'The landlady wasn't expecting you,' he said. 'Which means nobody knows you're here. I wonder if you'll be missed?'

  The others laughed. He raised his circular blaster. 'Three... two... one - tally ho!'

  And one of the others blew a hunting horn.

  The Doctor and Clara pounded down the esplanade and hurled themselves into the first building they came to, a huge old crumbling edifice of brown stone. They found themselves in a large ticket office with glass windows facing inside and out.

  Clara looked around. 'Oh my god,' she said. 'This is the old circus! My nan brought me here!'

  'What animals did they have?' said the Doctor.

  'Oh, now you're interested in my childhood... Are they really trying to kill us?'

  'Hunting is a savage pleasure, and we are born to it/ quoted the Doctor, then leapt forward and pulled Clara to the ground, as a jagg
ed silver disc shot right through the rotten wood, embedding itself where her neck had been moments before.

  The Doctor got up and pulled the disc out of the wall. It was incredibly sharp. Clara looked at him from the floor, her heart thudding in her chest. She looked around the ruined palace.

  'Is this what happens? Is this it? Is this what happens to the town I was born in? To my home? To the world?'

  The Doctor shrugged. 'It's not a fixed point in time, if that's what you mean.'

  Clara's face brightened, a little, and she straightened up. 'Then that's good enough for me.'

  She crept very carefully closer to the small window, and eyed up the little silver ships, buzzing and bouncing around the sky, the men boasting and shouting to one another.

  'Is it just me, or is there something odd about those ships?' said Clara. 'They don't look like they're being steered properly, they just bump all over the place.'

  'You're right,' said the Doctor, joining her. 'You'd expect them to move differently depending on who was driving them. But they don't. They all look the same. Like-'

  'Like dodgem cars!' burst out Clara, suddenly. 'They wobble around each other like they're being really badly steered. Like dodgems!'

  'But dodgems have an overhead power source.'

  'I know.'

  The Doctor held up his sonic and did some fast triangulation. 'If you connect up the angle of their aerials/ he said. 'You come back to the power source...' He followed the line with a long finger. Then he stopped and stabbed at the sky. 'It stops just overhead. What's overhead?'

  'The tower,' gasped Clara, suddenly realising. 'We're at the bottom of the tower.'

  'Hunting ships for hire,' said the Doctor. 'But attached.'

  Triss suddenly stood up out of his ship again, laughing dangerously and pointing at them.

  'Why is he laughing?' said Clara nervously.

  'You know how I was asking what animals they had in the circus?' said the Doctor.

  There was a sudden, low growl just outside the dusty space.

  Clara jumped up. She could see the lion now, through a window in the office door. It was prowling through a great cavernous dusty space, with a wooden floor and old peeling posters for long-gone attractions. It was old, shaggy of mane, thin and hungry-looking, pacing the floor as if it didn't know what else to do; occasionally raising its great mangy head to sniff the air.