‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t think we want to wake them up. Must be pretty boring for them hiding out here. In the dark. Can’t even play cards, poor things.’
‘That light – sonic screwdriver?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s keeping the mirror open so we can get out again. It was a match.’
‘It burned for a long time.’
‘Everlasting match,’ he said, as if there could be no other sort. ‘There’s not a lot of light here. Which is sort of how it works, of course. The mirror takes light energy from the protons on the way through.’
There was faint, flickering light coming from down the corridor, from the open doors to the Great Hall. The Doctor’s dark, silhouetted shape licked his finger and held it up as if testing for a breeze.
‘And we’re actually inside the mirror?’
‘We’re actually inside the mirror. You want time to reflect on that?’
‘As much as you need time to think up some new jokes.’ But she was grinning back at him in the dim light. ‘Weird how there’s no smell, isn’t it?’
He let her go into the Great Hall first. ‘Is this a new joke coming?’
‘Let’s just get out of here,’ Martha said.
Across the Great Hall, Martha could see there was now a mirror hanging in the alcove – exactly where there had not been one earlier. In it, or through it, she could see the Great Hall, the real Great Hall.
The Doctor took her hand. ‘Come on. Just remember, as we go through, keep your eyes closed. We mustn’t look at each other.’
‘Right. Why not?’
‘If either of us sees the other one in the mirror, they’ll be trapped here for ever. Or what comes back through the mirror won’t be the real thing. I’d rather not find out which theory is correct.’
‘Oh great.’
‘You go first,’ the Doctor hissed. ‘And whatever you do, don’t look back. Even this side, once we’re in the light from the mirror, once we’re close to the threshold, it might make a difference. Just walk forward, and whatever you do, whatever happens, don’t look back.’
Martha started slowly towards the mirror, straining to hear the Doctor’s footsteps behind her. ‘Why not hold hands?’
‘Not sure if it can cope with the mass of two people at once.’ He sounded further away. Wasn’t he following her? ‘Another theory I’d rather not put to the test.’
‘Right,’ she muttered. ‘You still there?’
‘Right behind you. I’ve just got something to do. Won’t be a minute.’
‘What?’ She almost turned round, but forced herself not to look.
‘Don’t look!’
‘Doctor – what are you doing?’
No reply.
‘Doctor?!’
Still nothing. Or was that the sound of footsteps? Of claws scraping on stone? Heavy Zerugian breathing? The first sharp touch of a cold claw on the back of her neck?
‘Don’t turn round – don’t turn round,’ Martha said to herself, over and over. Out loud, but not too loud: ‘Doctor!’
Still nothing. Just a strange, shuffling sound – a foot dragging on the floor. Like some misshapen ghoul lumbering after Martha. Anything – it could be anything behind her…
Martha reached the mirror. She looked out into the Great Hall beyond. Saw how the image rippled and distorted as she reached into and through it. Heard the tearing of the fabric of space as she stepped out into the Great Hall. The real Great Hall.
‘Can I turn round yet?’
Silence.
‘Doctor – can I turn round?’
Then a rippling tearing sound as something came through the mirror behind her.
The something landed just behind Martha. ‘It’s only me,’ it said. ‘Nearly lost my shoe there. That’ll teach me to take the lace out. Still, I remembered to pick this up.’ The Doctor was holding the glass book, the diary Martha had gone into the mirror for in the first place.
Martha almost sobbed with relief. ‘Thank God for that. Thank God it’s you. I thought…’ She hugged him tight for a moment.
‘What’s that for?’
‘For being you.’
In the mirror, the Doctor and Martha watched the embrace. Standing separate. Reflections that did not mirror the action in the room.
‘Ah,’ the Doctor said seriously, disentangling himself. ‘Should have thought of that.’
He reached up quickly for the sonic screwdriver, attached to the frame of the mirror by his shoelace. The reflected Doctor reached up too.
But not for the sonic screwdriver. A hand rippled out of the surface of the mirror, grabbing the Doctor’s wrist. The reflected Doctor’s face was contorted in rage. His voice was a vicious snarl – the Doctor’s, and yet not the Doctor’s: ‘Let me out!’
‘No,’ the Doctor gasped. His fingers clutched desperately at the sonic. Scrabbled, caught it. Wrenched it away from the mirror.
Martha caught the Doctor as he stumbled back. He was still aiming the sonic at the mirror, the tip of the device glowing blue. The surface of the mirror shimmered and the protruding hand of the mirror-Doctor disappeared with a tearing scrape of sound.
The images in the mirror stared out at the Doctor and Martha. The mirror Doctor was still enraged. The reflection of Martha hurled herself at the mirror. The real Martha flinched as her reflected self crashed into the surface, like hitting a glass window. She staggered back.
‘They’re trying to get out,’ Martha said.
‘Mmm,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘I’ve closed the gateway between the worlds. Just need to sort out the osmosis damper.’
The Doctor in the mirror was hammering furiously, soundlessly, on the other side of the looking glass.
‘Can they break the glass?’
‘Hope not,’ the Doctor said. But he didn’t sound very sure.
Martha in the mirror crouched down, trying to push through – her palms hard against the glass. Her mouth was moving – pleading silently with her real self.
‘Let me out… Let me out!’
She looked frightened more than anything.
‘Why are they trying to get out?’ Martha said. ‘They’re just reflections, aren’t they?’
‘They don’t know that,’ the Doctor said. ‘Dark reflections. Distillations of aspects of our character – anger and fear, by the look of it. The mirror focuses what we felt when we were inside, like a lens. It’s as true a reflection as a distorting mirror at a funfair. That said…’ He sounded almost sad as he watched the figures in the glass. ‘… If you were trapped in there, wouldn’t you want to get out?’
Martha knew the answer without having to think about it. A life inside the dim, odourless, restrictive world she had so recently experienced?
The Doctor aimed the sonic at the mirror. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry.’
And, abruptly, the image in the mirror changed. The pitiful sights of Martha trying to push through the mirror, of the Doctor hammering on the glass, were gone. The Doctor was aiming the sonic. Martha was standing, mouth open, a tear welling up in the corner of one eye.
‘It’s just a mirror,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’
***
Gonfer was visibly relieved when Martha followed the Doctor from the Great Hall. She thought for a second he was going to hug her, but he shuffled awkwardly and restrained himself. So she hugged him instead.
‘Thanks for your help.’
‘It was nothing. No problem, really,’ he said, embarrassed.
The Doctor was looking round the corridor, peering into alcoves and turned to stare at shadows. ‘Where’s Janna?’
‘I think she got bored,’ Gonfer said.
‘I told you both to stay here.’
‘That’s all right. I told her I could manage.’
‘No, no, no – that’s not the point. I wanted to talk to her. I hadn’t finished. There’s stuff I need to ask her. Like, tons and tons of stuff.’
> ‘What about?’ Martha asked.
‘She saw a man come out of the mirror. Well, that’s not good. Not a man, probably either.’
‘A Zerugian?’
‘Maybe. But something that used the reflected light to make an image for itself. If she saw it in the mirror and it still came out…’ The Doctor turned back to Gonfer. ‘Definitely need to talk to Janna. So, where did she go?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She has hidey holes and dens all over the place. Or the gardens.’
‘Try her den,’ the Doctor said to Martha. ‘Then the gardens. But keep to the paths, yes?’
‘Yes,’ Martha agreed. She looked at Gonfer.
‘The paths are safe,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You’ll stay here, like I asked,’ the Doctor told him. ‘Keeping watch. I haven’t finished in there yet.’ He turned back towards the Great Hall. ‘There’s a lot I haven’t finished. Haven’t finished talking to Janna, haven’t finished sorting out that mirror. And before I can do that I have to finish reading the diary.’
‘And why is the diary important?’ Martha asked.
‘It’s Manfred Grieg’s account of how he was trapped in the mirror.’
‘So? We know that, don’t we?’
‘Do we? If he was trapped in the mirror, why didn’t we meet him? Why wasn’t he there with the red carpet and brass band keen to welcome us and make our stay long and enjoyable?’
‘Who says he wasn’t? Maybe we just didn’t see him.’
‘And how,’ the Doctor went on without pausing, ‘did his diary find its way out of the mirror and so conveniently behind a stone in the castle?’
‘Maybe it was never in the mirror,’ Gonfer said.
‘Yes,’ Martha agreed. ‘Maybe it’s just a story, or a fake.’
‘It’s not a fake,’ the Doctor said quietly.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because you can only read it when it’s reflected in the mirror.’
‘Even so…’
‘And because it’s made of glass.’
***
There was no sign of Janna in her hidden den, or anywhere nearby. Martha stood in the passage outside the secret door and listened. She knew the girl liked to hide and watch what was going on, and she seemed to have enjoyed following them. But there was no sign of her now.
Martha thought she glimpsed one of the guides, face hidden beneath his monk’s hood, but when she looked again there was no one there.
She made her way back out into the castle courtyard. Beneath the starry sky, she found Bill and Bott replacing one of the stone steps on the stairs leading up to the battlements.
‘We only did this one a couple of hundred years ago or so,’ Bill complained.
‘Tell me about it,’ Bott said.
‘OK. It was about ten in the morning, and we’d just…’
‘I don’t mean tell me about it tell me about it,’ Bott said. ‘I mean, like, tell me about it.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Martha said before Bill could respond. ‘But have you seen Janna?’
‘Frequently,’ Bill said.
‘Often,’ Bott agreed.
‘I actually mean recently.’
‘You’re looking for her?’ Bill asked.
‘Obviously.’
‘We’ll help,’ Bott offered. ‘Got to be better than replacing steps that we only did a couple of hundred years ago anyway and shouldn’t need it for another couple of hundred.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Bill said.
‘No – don’t start that again. I’ll be fine,’ Martha told them. ‘The Doctor wants a word with her, that’s all. So, if you know where she is…?’
‘Do we know where she is, Bill?’ Bott asked.
‘We might do, Bott,’ Bill said.
‘Good.’
‘And there again we might not,’ Bill went on.
‘Oh, do me a favour,’ Martha sighed in frustration.
‘What sort of favour?’ Bott asked. ‘Normally we don’t do favours.’
‘Normally it’s work,’ Bill said. ‘Not favours. Favours implies choice.’
‘No one gives us a choice.’
‘I’ll give you a choice,’ Martha said. ‘All right? The choice is do me a favour and tell me where Janna is – if you know.’
‘Or?’ Bill asked.
‘Got to be an “or”,’ Bott said. ‘Not a choice without an “or” is it?’
‘Or don’t.’
Bill looked at Bott, and Bott looked at Bill. Each nodded at the other.
‘She’s in the garden,’ Bill said.
‘Looked like she was heading for the maze.’
‘Thank you.’ Martha hurried towards the main gates out into the castle grounds.
Then she had a thought, and turned back to the robots. ‘Is the maze mined?’
‘I didn’t mine it,’ Bill said. ‘You, Bott?’
‘Not me, Bill. Who mined the maze?’ Bott asked Martha.
‘Well, I don’t know. Maybe no one. I just want to know – is it safe?’
‘Always has been,’ Bill said. ‘No mines in the maze, if you didn’t put them there.’
‘But keep to the path on the way,’ Bott told her. ‘It should be OK, but the mines were cleared by GA Sappers.’
‘What are they?’
‘They’re robots,’ Bill said, a hint of disdain in his electronic voice.
The same disdain was in Bott’s tone as well. ‘Never trust robots,’ he said.
The woman Martha followed the little girl into the garden. She wasn’t sure where she had gone.
From the main gate, Martha could look down over the grounds and gardens spread out before her. They sloped gently away to the abrupt horizon where the small world ended. Formal lawns, rose garden, and the hedges that she knew from seeing it from above formed the maze.
She shielded her eyes from the harsh light as she sought out the girl, Janna.
There was no point in running off into the gardens – even if there were no lurking landmines to avoid. She’d do better to watch for any sign of Janna. Shielding her eyes from the light of the bright floodlights high above, Martha looked out across the beautiful landscape, searching for any sign of movement.
She didn’t have to wait long. There – among the trees that lined the far side of the lawn. Something moved. Was it Janna? It was worth a look. Provided she kept to the path she would be all right.
Martha kept telling herself that she would be all right. She didn’t know if the mines were buried or if you’d be able to see the tips of the detonators poking through the ground. But she kept a careful eye on where she was putting her next step every inch of the way.
Somewhere ahead of her, someone laughed. A high-pitched tinkle of sound, evaporating into the air as Martha looked round for its source.
As she did so, she caught sight of the girl – a flash of fair hair catching the light. At the edge of the maze – just for a moment. Then gone, vanished behind one of the tall hedges. How had she got over there so fast? And without Martha seeing her.
She saw her by the trees, and then entering the maze. Or rather, she thought she did.
The laughter came again. And again, it seemed to emanate from the trees ahead of her. A trick of the acoustics, she decided. Maybe the planet – or asteroid or whatever the lump of rock floating in space was called – maybe it was so small that Janna’s laughter had travelled right round it and so seemed to be coming from the opposite direction.
‘Walk away from it to get there,’ Martha murmured, reminded again of Alice and her adventures in the looking glass. She set off carefully towards the maze.
There was a wide, gravel pathway that led from the trees and the rose garden beyond across to the maze. Martha kept to the path, right to the middle of the path, scouring the ground in front of her, and feeling more nervous with every step. She’d be happy once she was in the maze. The maze would be fine. Gonfer had said it would be fine. And Jan
na was in there.
What could possibly happen to her in a garden maze?
The Doctor turned the thin, brittle pages slowly and carefully as he read. And with every page he became increasingly worried.
‘This diary is old,’ he told his reflected self – who fortunately agreed in every corresponding movement. ‘It was walled up for a hundred years or more. It feels old. Yet…’ He turned another page. ‘Yet this is an entry for today. How can that be? Could he foretell what was the future when he wrote it?’
The words on the page were clear in the mirror as the Doctor read. As the Doctor felt the beats of his hearts quicken.
The woman Martha followed the little girl into the garden. She wasn’t sure where she had gone. She shielded her eyes from the harsh light as she sought out the girl, Janna. She saw her by the trees, and then entering the maze. Or rather, she thought she did.
The maze. It was just as originally planned in the drawings that Krunberg had made all those years ago. Planted by the Henderson brothers, it had grown so high that Martha could not see over the hedges. Which was always the intention, of course.
Inside the maze, Martha stopped, uncertain which way to go. She turned, and was startled to see
The Doctor held his breath as he turned the glass page, and held it up to see its reflection in the mirror.
As soon as she entered the maze, the hedges seemed to close in around Martha. The quality of the light was somehow different. Dappled green shadows played across the ground ahead of her. She now had no idea which way to go.
There was some theory about always turning left, wasn’t there? Or was it that you kept your left hand always in contact with the hedge?
Martha reached out, and found the hedge was surprisingly soft. So – start by going left.
As she turned, a figure stepped into the maze beside her. The cloaked and hooded figure of a monk. He turned slowly towards Martha, the space under his hood a dark emptiness. His cloak dappled green like the ground.
‘Who are you?’ Martha said, her voice quieter and more nervous than she’d intended. She took a step back as the monk approached.
When the monk spoke, his voice was also quiet. It was ragged and sharp and rasping, as if he was talking through broken glass. But it wasn’t the monk’s voice that made Martha’s blood run cold and her throat go dry. It was what he said to her:
Martha in the Mirror Page 10