Martha in the Mirror

by Justin Richards

  ‘I’ve made my choice, Doctor,’ Stellman said.

  As Orlo’s hands grabbed the Doctor’s shoulders from behind, Stellman opened his jacket – just enough for the Doctor to see the sparkle of glass, the flash of reflected light from the gun tucked into Stellman’s inside pocket.

  ‘You’re finished, Doctor,’ Orlo snarled. ‘You can do nothing.’

  ‘Maybe,’ the Doctor said. ‘But I’ve got something you haven’t. Something that can still win the day and sort you out. Something I bet you’ve not even thought of.’

  Orlo gave a derisive laugh. ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Friends. I’ve got Martha. She’s brilliant, she is. She’ll think of something.’

  Some of the Zerugians were damaged – chipped and broken. All of them were weakened and cracked. But they were coming through the gaps in the barricade quicker than Colonel Blench and his depleted force could hold them off. With little or no ammunition, the fighting was hand to hand. Soldiers were hurling chairs, swinging their guns like swords, kicking and punching.

  Bott had taken up guard position in front of the sound equipment. One of his heavy arms flailed and thumped. The other was fitted with a blowtorch attachment – the jet of intense blue flame melting into a Zerugian that hurled itself at him. His other arm punched the blackened, twisted remains to pieces.

  Martha was kneeling beside Janna, gently patting the girl’s cheeks. But there was no sign of her coming round.

  ‘Let me,’ a voice said. A figure crouched down and lifted the girl. It was Gonfer. ‘Let me get her away from here.’

  Martha bit her lip – without Janna, they were lost. But she couldn’t keep the child here. She nodded.

  Gonfer lifted Janna in his arms. His face was streaked with tears. ‘I told her not to – I said there must be another way. But she wouldn’t listen. It’s my fault, and she’s going to die again – because of me.’

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ Martha insisted above the shouts and the shots and the crash of breaking glass. ‘Get Janna away from here, take her to one of her hiding places. You’ll both be all right.’

  ‘Not Janna,’ Gonfer said, his voice catching in his throat. ‘Tylda.’

  Then the screaming started.

  The sound was deafening. The girl’s screams echoed round the hall, accompanied by the percussion of exploding glass.

  Only the Mortal Mirror seemed immune as Orlo’s troops – already cracked and weakened by the sound wave generated by the sonic screwdriver – shattered to fragments around him.

  Orlo held the Doctor by the shoulders and watched in horrified amazement.

  ‘I did tell you,’ the Doctor said. ‘Didn’t I?’ he said to Stellman. ‘Tell him I told him.’

  With a furious roar, Orlo hurled the Doctor aside. ‘You’re nobody,’ he hissed. ‘You are not even fit to be a hostage.’

  ‘Well, excuse me, I’m the guy who sorted out your crack troops.’ The Doctor’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘Sorry, a bit tactless there. Maybe “crack” wasn’t the best word.’ He ducked to allow a shower of glass to fly past.

  But Orlo wasn’t listening. He leaped forward and dragged Lady Casaubon up from her chair.

  ‘I’m getting out of here, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Or she dies.’

  The girl’s mouth was wide open as she screamed. A network of cracks spread across her face, along her arms, over her whole body. Martha could only watch, horrified.

  Bill and Bott were frantically rewiring the damaged part of the sound desk where Orlo had ripped the wires out.

  ‘We can’t record her till it’s mended,’ Bill was saying.

  ‘Can’t play back the recording we can’t make either,’ Bott agreed.

  ‘Stop!’ another voice shouted.

  The cloaked figure of a monk staggered through the doors. ‘Enough!’ Manfred Grieg croaked through cracked glass lips.

  Tylda stopped screaming. Her body creaked as she turned to face Grieg. She shivered, but remained intact. ‘Is it over?’ she asked.

  Grieg’s face was also cracked and crazed. ‘It’s over,’ he said.

  ‘You did it,’ Martha said, struggling to hold back her emotions. ‘You saved us all.’

  The girl was holding up her hand, staring at the lines and fissures where the glass had fractured inside. ‘I did it,’ she said quietly. ‘Will Tylda be all right?’

  The claws were pressed into the wrinkled skin of Lady Casaubon’s neck.

  ‘If you try to stop me, I will kill her,’ Orlo hissed. ‘A moment is all it takes.’

  His feet crunched on broken glass as he dragged the woman across the hall.

  The Doctor stood impassive. ‘Where do you think you can go? What can you do?’

  ‘I can assemble another army, and this time we will take Castle Extremis.’

  Lady Casaubon struggled to shake her head. ‘No, Orlo – haven’t you learned anything? Haven’t you lost anyone?’

  ‘Silence, hag!’ Orlo roared.

  With a whimper, Lady Casaubon sagged. Orlo bent with her as she became a dead weight. Her arms trailed along the floor for a moment before Orlo hauled her upright again.

  ‘Let me go – please,’ Lady Casaubon said.

  ‘Never. You are weak and decrepit, just as your people are weak and decrepit. You will never win against Zerugian might.’

  Lady Casaubon sighed. She looked at the Doctor, and at Stellman standing powerless next to him. ‘What can you do?’ she said, like a teacher talking about an unruly child. ‘This is your fault, you fool,’ she added. She was speaking to Orlo, turning, bringing up her small, ancient hand. And stabbing the long icicle of glass she had scooped from the floor into the back of Orlo’s claw.

  The General’s hand spasmed and he let go of Lady Casaubon as he cried out in surprise and pain. He wrenched out the glass and reached for her again, his eyes blazing with fury.

  He never reached her. A glass bullet hammered into his skull, and General Orlo crashed to the floor, lying dead in the remains of his splintered army.

  ‘Thank you, Stellman,’ Lady Casaubon said calmly. ‘Perhaps now they will send us someone who can negotiate the Zerugian position sensibly.’ She turned to the Doctor. ‘And thank you,’ she said. ‘We owe you everything. We owe you our future.’

  The Doctor nodded. He looked round the Great Hall, and saw Martha walking slowly towards him. ‘I won’t say it’s been a pleasure,’ he said quietly.

  But his words were lost in the noise from the speakers all around as Bill’s electronic tones exclaimed: ‘And just who do you think they’ll expect to clear all this up, Bott?’

  Most of the glass had been swept up – despite the complaints from Bill and Bott that this was above and beyond the call of duty and that, as accredited GA agents now out in the open, they ought to be exempt from any further cleaning duties.

  As the two robots grumbled on in the background, the Doctor and Martha stood in front of the Mortal Mirror.

  ‘How come it didn’t break?’ Martha asked.

  ‘Because it is not made of real glass,’ Manfred Grieg told her. He was still wearing the monk’s outfit he had taken from Gonfer. With the hood pushed back, he looked like a cracked, chipped statue.

  ‘It isn’t a real mirror at all,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Otherwise we’d be on the lookout for a girl with a red balloon,’ he added quietly, before going on: ‘There’s a whole world in there. It gets darker the further into it you get. But you know we’re going to have to shut it off permanently, close the doorway between the worlds.’

  ‘I know,’ Grieg said. ‘You can rely on us to keep it closed. Just as I have these past long years.’

  ‘Us?’ Martha said.

  At that moment, Defron came hurrying across the Great Hall. ‘Oh, Doctor, and Martha, I’m so glad I caught you. Gonfer said you were preparing to leave.’

  ‘Our work here is done,’ the Doctor told him. ‘You know how it is – places to see, people to go, worlds to save, lives to change. Sort of thin
g.’

  ‘But the GA will want to thank you. The General Secretary herself is coming, along with the new Zerugian representative who apparently is very keen to get the treaty signed. It seems that General Orlo was something of a rogue element.’

  ‘Rogue, certainly,’ Martha said.

  ‘And since you know Madame Secretary…’ Defron went on.

  ‘Do you?’ Martha said to the Doctor, surprised.

  ‘Oh yes, great friends. We’re like…’ The Doctor struggled to cross his fingers, gave up and held them apart in a victory V instead. ‘Like that. Tell you what,’ he went on quickly to Defron, ‘we’ll stay if we can, but no promises. We have so much to do. I have to mend my sonic screwdriver, for one thing.’

  Defron nodded enthusiastically. ‘That is so good of you, Doctor.’

  ‘But whatever happens,’ the Doctor said, taking Defron by the arm and leading his aside, ‘don’t get too chummy with her. If you want my advice, you’ll pal up with Teddy Enkit. Maybe put a small bet on him being GA General Secretary within the year.’

  Defron was surprised. ‘You think so? But he’s so inexperienced.’

  ‘Rising star. Trust me.’ The Doctor winked and steered Defron towards the door.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Martha asked when he returned.

  ‘I really shouldn’t be giving clues,’ the Doctor said. ‘But Defron will be the main sponsor and proposer of Edward Enkit for the role of General Secretary when Canasta Ventron is taken ill next year. Good chap, Teddy.’

  ‘You should put that in your diary,’ Martha told Grieg.

  He chuckled. ‘My diary is finished. It has served its purpose.’ He took the glass book from a pocket of his cloak. It looked less fragile and dusty than when the Doctor and Martha had found it hidden in the wall.

  ‘So why did you write it all down anyway?’ Martha wondered. ‘Why not just tell us what was going on?’

  Grieg handed the diary to the Doctor. ‘I think you should have this. It isn’t quite up to date, but I have seen that it will serve its purpose.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the Doctor said, taking the delicate glass book.

  Grieg turned to Martha. ‘Who would listen to the ramblings of an old man?’ he asked. ‘Tales of a world behind the mirror, of reptile creatures and galactic wars, of treaties and murders and politics and trickery? No.’ He shook his head, the light reflecting off the broken edges of his nose and the cracks in his cheek. ‘But write them down, makes these things into a story, and perhaps – just perhaps – someone will want to know what happens.’

  ‘Must you go back inside the mirror?’ Martha asked.

  ‘This is no longer my world. There is no place for me here. And it is still a trap. If I miss my footing, if I knock against a table or brush against the wall, I could fracture and die.’ He held up his hand, as he had before, and it seemed to Martha that it was even more cracked and fragile than it had been the first time. ‘I would not last long in your world, and the pain – every day the pain would increase, until…’ He lowered his arm and turned away.

  Martha followed the old man’s gaze and saw that Janna and Gonfer had come into the hall. With them was another girl – the image of Janna, but her face, even her clothes, were a web-work of lines and cracks.

  ‘He’s going to lose her again, or so he thinks,’ the Doctor said as the three figures approached.

  ‘You mean Janna?’ Martha said. ‘Or is it Tylda?’

  ‘Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? No one could tell them apart, not by looking at them.’ The Doctor sighed. ‘One of them nice, the other not so pleasant. She wound him up something rotten, and he chased her into the garden. He thought he was chasing Tylda and it was really Janna – that’s why she was so scared. He was chasing the wrong girl.’

  ‘The kitchen boy?’ Martha said.

  ‘Gonfer. He worked in the kitchens then. He went after Tylda, but he found Janna and didn’t realise. It was Janna who died out there in the garden. Gonfer can never forgive himself. That’s why he looks after Tylda now – though he did think it was Janna. Till he realised the truth.’

  ‘But, why didn’t she tell him?’

  ‘Because it was her fault too. She teased and taunted him, and drove him to do it. She thought it was fun to upset him, and her sister died for it. And now,’ the Doctor said quietly, ‘they’re going to lose her all over again.’

  Gonfer looked pale and tired. Janna – or rather, Tylda – had a bruise on her forehead. Her cheeks were stained with tears.

  The glass girl walked slowly and carefully, watching where she put every tentative footstep.

  ‘Please stay,’ Tylda said, almost in tears. ‘Please, I can’t lose you again.’

  ‘I am you. I’m not our sister,’ the glass girl said, and her own voice was cracked with emotion. ‘And I can’t stay. If I do…’ She turned away.

  Grieg took a step towards her. ‘She is right. Our place is in the mirror. Look at her – so fragile, so delicate. She is lucky to have survived all this.’ He opened his hands and turned to indicate the whole room. ‘Would you have her stay? To stay is certain pain and then death for her. Even more certain than it is for me, and I too must go.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything?’ Gonfer asked the Doctor.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s too late, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But she’ll be safe in the mirror world,’ Martha said.

  ‘Everything has its own time and space,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Hers is in there. And ours… well, ours is in a sort of box, actually. And we should be on our way too.’ He pulled Gonfer into a hug. ‘Come on, big fellah – you’ll be OK. Look after Tylda.’

  ‘I will.’ Gonfer’s lips were tight as he pulled away, as he held back his emotion.

  ‘And you look after Gonfer,’ the Doctor told Tylda, hugging her tight.

  She hugged him back. ‘I will,’ she promised. ‘He’s my best friend.’

  The girl was trembling as Martha hugged her. She shook hands with Gonfer, not sure how he’d cope with anything more.

  The Doctor turned to Grieg. ‘You’d best be going. Thanks for this.’ He held up the diary.

  ‘You know what to do with it, time traveller?’ Grieg asked.

  ‘Oh I think I can work it out.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ Martha said. ‘How did you know we’re time travellers?’

  Gonfer’s mouth was open in astonishment.

  The Doctor grinned. ‘Not hard to work out, really,’ he said. ‘When you think about it.’

  ‘Goodbye, Doctor,’ Grieg said. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the Doctor countered. ‘I won’t shake your hand,’ he said with a smile. ‘Or yours,’ he told the glass girl standing beside Grieg. ‘You’re so brave. Be strong. And look after the old gentleman.’

  The girl nodded. ‘Goodbye,’ she said quietly. ‘To all of you, goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t go!’ Tylda sobbed. ‘You can’t go – please don’t leave me.’ She ran forward.

  ‘Careful!’ Martha warned as the two girls stood facing each other. Tylda had her arms open. Her reflection stood silent and still.

  Then gently, so gently, Tylda closed her arms round the glass girl, barely touching her in the closest they could ever come to an embrace.

  Moments later they stood looking at the Mortal Mirror. Tylda, Gonfer, the Doctor and Martha stared into the reflection of the Great Hall. A reflection that was not a reflection, where an old man made of glass and a delicate, brittle girl stared out at them. The girl placed her hand against the glass, and Tylda put her own hand over it.

  They stood without moving, without speaking, tears rolling down their cheeks.

  Then the mirror rippled and shimmered, and Tylda was sobbing at her reflection. Her mirror image. Her twin.

  A strange rasping, grating sound echoed through the corridors and passageways of Castle Extremis.

  On the other side of the castle, a banquet was just beginning. Kendal Pennard, Lord Hi
gh Advocate for Anthium and the Governor of Castle Extremis, was about to make a presentation to the man who had masterminded the recapture of Extremis after the Second Zerugian occupation. He was about to give him a mirror.

  The two robots that were working in one of the conference rooms close to the main courtyard knew this. They had hung the mirror in the Great Hall – just as a hundred years later they would hang what they were told was its replica in the same place. But now they were getting on with more mundane tasks. It was their job to repair or replace the fabric and structure of the castle as it grew old and wore out, or was damaged in battle. They were repairing a wall.

  ‘This stone’s had it, Bott,’ Bill said, jabbing at the wall with his metal arm. A spray of pale dust erupted from the metal point.

  ‘Better replace it then, Bill,’ Bott said. ‘Give me the measurements and I’ll cut one to fit, then we can chop this one out.’

  The tall, slim man standing in the doorway watched with interest as the robots went about their task.

  ‘You know,’ he announced as Bott lifted the crumbling stone out of the wall, ‘you’re very good at this.’

  ‘Had a lot of practice,’ Bott told him.

  ‘Best in the business,’ Bill said.

  ‘And who might you be?’ Bott asked.

  ‘Not time and motion come to check up on us?’ Bill said.

  ‘Not time and motion, no. Well…’ The man stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and walked across to inspect the hole they had made in the wall. ‘Not motion, anyway.’

  ‘So – can we do something for you?’ Bill enquired.

  ‘Or are you just going to stand around and get in the way?’ Bott asked.

  ‘Sorry.’ The man stepped back and gestured for them to carry on.

  Bott lifted the stone he had just cut and lined it up with the hole. Bill steadied the heavy load as Bott inched it forwards.

  The man cleared his throat.

  Bill and Bott stopped. The stone remained motionless.

  ‘Problem?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Something you’d like to say?’ Bott checked.

  ‘No, no. It’s looking good,’ the man said. ‘Excellent in fact. Brilliant. I was just wondering though…’