Martha in the Mirror

by Justin Richards

  But – just for a moment – Martha had been sure it was a little girl.

  The place was a mess. It looked like it was still being built, Martha thought. There were piles of stone stacked up by the walls of the wide corridor. Tiles were missing from the floor. An arched doorway was only half built – the stonework crude and unfinished.

  Gonfer was holding his hands out. He bunched them into fists and mimed hammering one on top of the other.

  ‘How many syllables?’ the Doctor asked. ‘Nah, only joking,’ he went on quickly. ‘Still building this bit?’

  The monk’s hood shook slightly.

  ‘No – restoring it then?’

  Gonfer nodded.

  ‘What’s with the monk-y business anyway?’ Martha wanted to know.

  ‘Castle Extremis was originally built as a monastery by the Mystic Mortal Monks of Moradinard,’ the Doctor said, like everyone knew that. ‘Before either Anthium or Zerugma realised the other was there and started fighting over the place.’

  By the time he finished speaking, the Doctor was having to shout to be heard over the sound of a drill coming from the other side of the unfinished archway. He led the way through, Martha close behind. She was vaguely aware of a thudding sound behind her. Probably the monk, Gonfer, had tripped on the uneven floor. She didn’t embarrass him by turning to watch.

  Also, she was distracted by what she saw in the room. It was stripped back to the bare stone – much of it crumbling away. One wall had been refaced with new, smooth stone. Another was half complete. Two workmen were just finishing cutting along the edges of an old piece of stone and were lifting it away ready to replace it.

  Two robot workmen. They were both vaguely humanoid, but neither would ever be mistaken for a man. One was tall and thin, with ball and socket joints oozing oil. It had metal prongs for hands that were easing under the stone like a fork-lift. The other robot was shorter and broad. It looked like it had been bolted together out of plates of rusty metal. Its hands were armoured gloves as it took the lump of stone from its fellow and swivelled at the waist to set it down on a pile of old, discarded rubble.

  ‘So I said to him,’ the tall thin robot was saying in a high-pitched nasal voice, ‘I said – do you expect us to work for nothing? Give us credit.’ Reedy laughter echoed off the bare stone walls. ‘Give us credit.’

  ‘Very good. Yes,’ the shorter robot rumbled. ‘Nice one, Bill.’

  ‘Thank you, Bott. And though I say so myself, you’re right.’

  They paused as they saw the Doctor and Martha watching them.

  ‘We’re doing it, all right,’ the tall thin robot – Bill – said quickly.

  ‘We’re doing it now. Straight away,’ Bott agreed. ‘Just as soon as—’

  ‘Doing what?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘That… thing. What you wanted doing,’ Bill said. ‘Everyone’s full of orders and loads more seem to get downloaded from the GA all the time. Report on this, give us status on that. You know.’

  ‘Oh, right. That,’ the Doctor said. ‘That thing. Good, that’s good. Isn’t that good, Martha?’

  ‘It’s great,’ she agreed. ‘Only we didn’t want anything doing, thanks.’

  There was silence. Bill looked at Bott and Bott looked at Bill. Then they both turned and looked at the Doctor and Martha.

  ‘That’s a first,’ Bott said. ‘Someone who doesn’t want anything doing.’

  ‘Unique,’ Bill agreed. ‘Usually it’s mend this or polish that.’

  ‘Stick this behind there. Take down that picture. Put up this mirror.’

  ‘Mirror?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Might be a mirror,’ Bott said. ‘Or anything really. I was being hypothetical.’

  ‘Did you put up the Mortal Mirror?’ Martha asked.

  Bill laughed his thin reedy laugh. ‘How long do you think we’ve been here?’

  ‘For ever,’ Bott muttered. ‘As you well know.’

  Bill’s laughter died. ‘Yes, well, actually we did put it up. That was only a hundred years ago. We’ve been maintenance and renovation since before the monks left.’

  ‘And it was their mirror, after all,’ Bill went on. ‘At least, it wasn’t because it was after their time. But it was named after them. Mortal Monks – Mortal Mirror. There’s a sort of reflection there. Get it? Reflection?!’

  The two of them shook with electronic laughter.

  ‘I think Martha meant the replica mirror, actually,’ the Doctor said. ‘That just arrived. With General Orlo.’

  ‘Oh that, yeah,’ Bott said. ‘Don’t know about replica though.’

  ‘Looks just like the real one,’ Bill agreed.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘That is sort of the point of a replica.’ He walked over to where they were working and inspected the new stonework. ‘This is very good – excellent workmanship. Or work-robot-ship I suppose, strictly speaking.’

  ‘Only the very best,’ Bott said proudly.

  ‘Quality takes time though,’ Bill said. ‘Not a lot of people appreciate that.’

  ‘Oh I do,’ the Doctor told them. ‘So does Martha. And Gonfer there too.’

  Martha turned and saw that the monk was standing close behind her. She smiled at the dark space under the hood, and thought she saw a gleam of reflected light inside.

  ‘Must be interesting,’ the Doctor was saying. ‘You do all the work – everything?’

  ‘Course we do. We’re programmed in masonry, stonemasonry, metalwork, carpentry,’ Bill said proudly.

  ‘Glazing, gardening, fixing, smithing and French polishing,’ Bott went on. ‘Though I’m expecting an upgrade patch for that any day now.’

  ‘Not before time,’ Bill muttered.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit boring?’ Martha wondered. ‘I mean, if you just keep repairing the same things and replacing them over and over again down the years?’

  ‘Might be if we’d built the place,’ Bill conceded. ‘But we weren’t here then. So there’s some bits that keep needing doing.’

  ‘Vacuuming,’ Bott said.

  ‘Cleaning the silver,’ Bill said. ‘But a lot of it we are getting to for the first time. First major renovation the place has ever had.’

  ‘And well overdue at that,’ Bott said.

  ‘I guess there are some surprises then,’ the Doctor said. ‘I know in a lot of these old places the original builders and stonemasons left their own personal mark.’

  ‘Like, carved their initials?’ Martha said.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Or even left things behind. You find it in cathedrals and churches, holy places mainly. You remove a panel, or lift out a stone…’ He ran his hands over the old stone next to the gap where the robots had just been working. ‘This one’s loose, you see.’

  The Doctor gripped the stone, easing his fingers into the gap behind and rocking it forwards until he could lift it out. ‘And then, suddenly, when you’re least expecting it, you find…’

  He pulled the stone away. ‘Well, in this case you don’t find anything of course,’ he said. ‘Just hypothetical, like you said.’ He dropped the heavy stone on the pile of rubble and dusted his hands together. ‘But, you know, sometimes…’ The Doctor frowned and peered into the hole where the stone had been.

  Martha ran to look. ‘What is it? Or are you mucking about?’

  The Doctor reached into the hole and took something out. It was old and dusty – a package about the size of a sandwich, wrapped in old cloth. Martha sincerely hoped it wasn’t a sandwich. Especially as the Doctor was now unwrapping it.

  ‘That was lucky,’ the Doctor said. ‘I mean, what are the chances of just taking out a stone at random like that and finding…’ He dropped the cloth to the floor. ‘This.’

  It was rectangular, smooth and dark like translucent, coloured plastic.

  ‘Chances are pretty high if you put it there in the first place,’ Bott said.

  ‘Did you?’ Martha asked.

  ‘Not me,’ Bott said.

  ‘Nor me,�
� Bill added. ‘Impressed the lady, though.’

  ‘It’s been there a long time,’ the Doctor said. The top lifted, hinged along one side. Maybe it was a box. ‘Is it plastic? How long ago was that stone put there, would you say?’

  ‘I’d say 100 years, 3 months and 6 days,’ Bill told them. ‘Give or take an hour or so.’

  ‘It’s not plastic,’ the Doctor said. ‘Too brittle, too delicate, too cold.’ He lifted it up and tentatively touched it with the tip of his tongue. ‘Glass. Very old, tinted glass.’

  At first Martha thought there was another glass lid under the first as the Doctor lifted that too. Then she realised: ‘It’s a book.’

  ‘A book with glass pages.’ The Doctor held it up to the light. ‘Something there, written on it. Not a language I know or understand.’

  ‘Or the TARDIS? Shouldn’t it translate the text for us?’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to have done.’ The Doctor closed the book and held it out to the monk, standing close by them now. ‘Any ideas, Gonfer?’

  The monk’s hand glinted strangely as it whipped out to grab the book.

  The Doctor pulled it away. ‘Careful. It’s old, brittle. Fragile.’

  The monk lashed out again.

  Again the Doctor kept the book out of reach. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Gonfer?’ Martha reached for the hood of his cloak.

  The monk turned quickly, and pushed her away. Then ran from the room.

  The Doctor ran after him, Martha close behind. She reached the arched doorway in time to see the monk disappearing into the castle courtyard. But the Doctor wasn’t following. He was helping a young man with brown hair and freckles to his feet.

  The young man looked confused and embarrassed. He was rubbing the back of his head, and he appeared to be dressed only in long underwear.

  ‘What happened?’ the man said. ‘Doctor?’

  The Doctor looked at Martha.

  ‘You know who he is?’ Martha said to the man.

  ‘Course I do, Martha.’

  ‘And you are?’ the Doctor prompted.

  ‘Gonfer. I’m your guide – remember? Look, sorry, but who hit me? And why did they take my costume?’

  The Doctor left Martha to check the young man was all right, and ran back out into the courtyard. The light from the nebula and the stars cast long, spiky shadows across the ground and up the walls. The four towers at the corners of the castle were stark silhouettes against the almost-black sky.

  There was more light coming from outside the castle – through the main arched gateway. Artificial sunlight, by the look of it. He ran towards the gatehouse, since it was as good a direction as any. There was no sign of the pretend monk. Or rather, he thought as he ran, the fake pretend monk.

  He could see before he reached the gatehouse that a paved pathway led out of the castle and down into ornate gardens – gravel paths criss-crossing between rolling lawns, a formal rose garden, lakes and trees and what might even have been a maze.

  But no sign of a monk.

  ‘Lost him,’ the Doctor said out loud.

  ‘He went back into the castle,’ a voice said from the shadows at the base of the gatehouse towers. ‘That way.’ The girl stepped out of the shadows and pointed back towards the door where the Doctor and Martha and Gonfer – the real Gonfer – had emerged earlier. The same little girl the Doctor had seen when he came out of the TARDIS.

  ‘Do you know who he was?’

  ‘Mortal Monk.’

  ‘Not a real monk, not even a pretend real monk,’ the Doctor told her. ‘But to reuse a well-worn old joke, he was certainly up to monk-y business.’

  The girl laughed. She looked about twelve years old, with straggly blonde hair and a face smudged with dirt. Her clothes were little better than rags, but she looked well enough fed.

  ‘I’m the Doctor,’ the Doctor said. ‘You saw me earlier. You’ve been following us, haven’t you – me and my friend Martha. Why’s that?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘You’re new. You’re funny.’

  The Doctor grinned. ‘Yeah. Both those things. So, what’s your name?’

  ‘Today I’m called Janna.’

  ‘That’s a good name. Don’t think I’ve met a Janna before. Do you have another name on other days?’

  The girl looked away. When she looked back, her smile had gone and she looked suddenly even younger, more vulnerable. ‘Bye,’ she said before the Doctor could speak. Then she ran through the gateway and down into the garden, skipping along one of the paths.

  ‘Bye, Janna,’ the Doctor called after her.

  The girl turned and waved, before running on into the distance.

  It seemed that Gonfer was allowed to talk if he wasn’t actually wearing his monk’s costume. Now, somewhat embarrassed, he was leading the Doctor and Martha through the castle to the servants’ quarters. He had been rather wary of Martha checking his head to make sure he wasn’t too badly hurt, and waving her fingers in front of him while she checked he wasn’t concussed. So she could imagine he didn’t feel entirely at ease walking through the castle dressed only in his undies.

  ‘It gets so hot in that cowl,’ he’d tried to explain.

  ‘That’s all right,’ the Doctor said easily. ‘Don’t mind us. Well, don’t mind me. You might want to mind Martha. Up to you, really.’

  ‘I promise not to stare,’ Martha said solemnly.

  ‘And this would be the most deserted route to the servants’ quarters, would it?’ the Doctor enquired innocently.

  ‘Stop teasing him,’ Martha whispered.

  ‘I was just saying.’

  ‘Well, don’t. Can’t you see how embarrassed he is about all this?’

  The Doctor grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh yes.’ Then suddenly he was serious again. ‘You didn’t see who clonked you on the bonce then?’

  Gonfer shook his head, then looked like he wished he hadn’t.

  ‘It’s all right, you can talk when you’re not wearing your habit,’ Martha said.

  ‘So,’ the Doctor said, ‘why do you suppose someone would want to nick your costume?’

  ‘Disguise?’ Martha suggested. ‘You can’t see who’s inside those things.’

  ‘Good thought, good thought. But why do they need a disguise?’ The Doctor weighed the glass book in his hands as they walked on. ‘He was interested in this, wasn’t he? But he couldn’t have known we were about to find it any more than we did.’

  ‘He or she,’ Martha pointed out.

  ‘Or it,’ the Doctor added encouragingly. ‘Not a Zerugian, their teeth stick out. And their noses, snouts – whatever.’

  ‘Robot, like Bill and Bott?’ Martha suggested.

  ‘There aren’t any other robots,’ Gonfer said.

  They arrived at Gonfer’s room, and he left them on the landing outside while he went in to find some clothes.

  ‘Someone watching us, you think?’ Martha asked while they were alone. ‘You saw a little girl when we arrived. I saw her too, in the courtyard.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Too small to inhabit the habit. She was still in the courtyard. Her name’s Janna.’

  Gonfer came out of his room in time to hear this. Martha was relieved to see he’d put on loose trousers and collarless shirt and not another silent-monk outfit.

  ‘You met Janna?’ Gonfer asked

  ‘Best mates, me and Janna,’ the Doctor told him. ‘Who is she, by the way?’

  But Gonfer didn’t seem to hear. He was too busy rubbing his head again and groaning. ‘I could do with a lie down,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll take you back to the negotiating chamber, if that’s all right. They’ll be breaking for lunch soon.’

  ‘Good, I’m starving,’ Martha said. She hadn’t realised it till a few minutes ago, but she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten anything.

  ‘Ah, I was hoping for a tour of the gardens,’ the Doctor said with exaggerated disappointment.

  Gonfer shook his head. ‘Best ask
someone else.’

  ‘Not your specialist subject?’

  ‘It’s a minefield out there.’

  The Doctor nodded sympathetically. ‘All those different types of plant to remember, finding your way through the maze, not losing anyone in the duck pond. Yes I can see that.’

  ‘No, really,’ Gonfer said. ‘It’s a minefield. With anti-personnel mines, and mantraps and everything. Defences left over from the war, in case of incursion. That’s how Janna’s sister…’ He broke off. ‘We can cut through the Long Gallery, there are some interesting paintings there.’

  The Doctor and Martha looked at each other.

  ‘Tell us about Janna,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘And tell us what happened to her sister.’

  They stood on the battlements, overlooking the formal gardens laid out below. Tall lighting rigs blazed artificial sunlight across the lawn making it look like a football ground. Martha and the Doctor leaned out to see better.

  Martha found it hard to believe that the beauty and elegance she was looking at was tainted by hidden death traps. Beyond the lawn she could see a lake, and there were formal gardens too, with flowerbeds and low hedges. To the side of the gatehouse she could see the higher hedges of a maze and just make out some of the paths inside.

  In the distance, beyond the lake and the lawns, the world just stopped. The lights reached to the broken edge of the grounds, and beyond it the night sky was full of stars. It was as if some cosmic giant had bitten the end off the world, leaving just a ragged edge hanging impossibly in space…

  ‘They were born here,’ Gonfer said. ‘Janna, and her sister – her twin sister.’

  ‘What was her sister’s name?’ Martha had gathered that the sister was no longer around.

  ‘Tylda. Janna and Tylda. No one could tell them apart, at least, not by looking at them.’

  ‘By temperament?’ the Doctor wondered.

  ‘Oh yes. Though even so it was difficult to tell for sure which was which. One of them – Janna – was happy and bright and clever and helpful. She’d work in the kitchens or with Bill and Bott. Nothing was too much trouble.’

  ‘Tylda was different?’

  ‘They were opposites. Her sister was surly and stubborn. She’d do nothing to help – just run off. One was polite and sympathetic. The other, well, she teased and insulted and bullied…’ Gonfer turned away, his eyes moist.