Doctor Who

  ‘She saw her sister because she’s worried about her?’ asked Amy.

  ‘It’s all she can think of,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Plus, she suspects us of being involved somehow because we’re strangers, so that boosted the subliminal response. Plus—’

  ‘There’s another plus?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘I think there’s a general level of tension here that’s heightening emotional resonance.’

  Bel was watching their rapid conversation with increasing amazement.

  ‘You know she’s standing right there and she can hear every word we’re saying, don’t you?’ Amy asked the Doctor.

  ‘Yes, I had noticed.’

  ‘And you’re aware her general level of freak-out is going to sky-rocket if we keep talking like this?’

  ‘Indeed I am,’ said the Doctor.

  He turned back to face Bel through the bars of the cage.

  He smiled.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Arabel – it is Arabel? – Arabel, we really want to help you. We really do. We didn’t harm your sister or take her away. We didn’t even see her. But we’d like to help you find her. What’s your sister’s name, Arabel?’

  ‘Why would I tell you that?’ asked Bel.

  ‘So that we can help you?’

  ‘And why would you help me?’

  ‘To be honest,’ said Amy, ‘we’re in a bit of a fix here. If we can do something to help you, maybe we can prove to your…’ She hesitated, then gestured up the stairs behind Bel. ‘… to your community that we’re nothing to be afraid of.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let nothing you dismay. We come in peace. Besides, no one deserves to be lost in weather like this.’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ agreed Amy, shooting the Doctor a significant look.

  ‘So what’s her name?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘Vesta,’ said Bel cautiously. ‘Harvesta Flurrish.’

  ‘And when did you last see her?’

  ‘Last night, before bed. She was gone this morning.’

  ‘Do you know where she might have gone?’ asked the Doctor.

  Bel shook her head. ‘But she took her boots and her coat.’

  The Doctor glanced at Amy, and then looked back at Bel. ‘Arabel,’ he said, ‘it’s not supposed to be this cold, is it?’

  ‘Is it not cold where you come from?’ Bel asked.

  ‘Not this cold,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s getting colder each winter, isn’t it? Every year, a little worse. How many years has it been going on?’

  ‘Three or four.’

  ‘And the reverse is supposed to be happening, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bel. ‘That is the goal of all Morphan work. As you should know.’

  ‘I was just thinking aloud,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Guide tells us,’ said Bel, ‘that patterns may worsen in the short term while the greater changes take effect. So the Elect teaches.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said the Doctor. ‘Sometimes. With major projects, that’s certainly true, sometimes. You’re dealing with continental weather systems. Global climate. But I’m not sure. That’s why you haven’t done anything drastic, isn’t it? You’ve been telling yourself it’s just a symptom of short-term climate change.’

  ‘What’s this all about, Doctor?’ Amy asked. ‘Why are you talking about weather?’

  ‘Look at her clothes,’ said the Doctor. ‘Her everyday clothes are well made but worn from long use. Her overcoats, and shawls, her boots… they’re all new. The people here are not used to winters this cold.’ He looked back at Bel. ‘Will you let us out, Arabel?’

  Bel glanced nervously at the stairs. ‘I should not. It is against the word of the Elect.’

  ‘If you let us out, we will help you,’ said the Doctor.

  Bel wavered.

  ‘But I do not have the key!’ she declared.

  ‘Arabel, tell me why people are so worried about conjury?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘It’s a Cat A crime,’ said Bel. ‘We are taught we may only do what Guide tells us to do. If it is unguidely, then it is forbidden.’

  ‘Arabel,’ said the Doctor calmly, ‘just for a moment, you’re going to have to accept that Guide has told me how to do things that may not have been mentioned to other people.’

  Bel Flurrish blinked and then narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

  The Doctor took the sonic screwdriver from behind his back. He adjusted it, ratcheted open the pincers, and aimed it at the cage door’s lock. It glowed as it warbled softly. The lock sprang with a click.

  The Doctor opened the cage door.

  Bel stared at him.

  ‘Let’s go and find your sister,’ he said.

  They slipped up the stairs of the compter, the Doctor leading the way. The sound of voices drifted from the assembly hall.

  ‘They will be talking for hours,’ Bel whispered.

  One of Duggat’s men was watching the doorway, leaning on the handle of the shovel he’d been carrying as a weapon. He was watching the council debate through the half-open door. A strong, cold draft was coming down the side corridor. Arabel indicated that direction with a tilt of her head.

  Hugging the chilly stone of the wall, they crept past the guard, and hurried down the corridor to the rear gate. Bel struggled a little with the heavy bolt. The Doctor helped her. Amy kept glancing over her shoulder. She was certain the guard was going to hear the screech of the bolt withdrawing.

  The Doctor managed to pull it silently. He ran his finger along the bolt.

  ‘The same metal as the nails,’ he whispered.

  Amy glared at him.

  He gauged her reaction. ‘No? Not the time for that?’ he asked, still whispering.

  She shook her head.

  They scuttled outside, into a little snowy yard behind the assembly. Amy carefully latched the door as quietly as she could.

  Bel stepped up to the Doctor and put her hand flat against his chest, pushing him firmly against the yard wall.

  ‘I am only doing this to help my sister,’ she said. ‘I will not have her die too.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘If you play me for a fool…’

  ‘I won’t, Arabel. I promise.’

  ‘This is our house,’ said Bel, closing the door behind them. No lamps had been lit, and no heat stoked up either. Bel had left the Flurrish house early in her search for Vesta. The house ached with cold. Daylight leaked in through the snow-dusted windows.

  ‘We won’t be disturbed here,’ said Bel.

  ‘It’s splendid,’ said the Doctor. ‘We just need somewhere to think, just for a minute. There’s no sense in running around the countryside looking for Vesta in this weather. We need to work out where she might have gone.’

  ‘I’ll raise some heat,’ said Bel, heading for the stove.

  Amy was rubbing her hands together briskly. As Bel moved away, she leaned close to the Doctor.

  ‘Really?’ she asked quietly. ‘No sense in running around the countryside? Not even to, I don’t know, get away from here?’

  ‘We’re safe enough.’

  ‘And not even to look for my husband?’

  ‘Rory’s safe enough too,’ said the Doctor. ‘He’s probably sitting in the TARDIS right now, making a cup of tea.’

  ‘I don’t believe you sometimes,’ said Amy.

  ‘Trust me, Pond,’ the Doctor replied, flashing an impish smile. He began to look around the spare and simple room. ‘Something’s going on here, and it requires attention.’

  Bel returned from banking up the stove. A rumour of heat began to infuse the room.

  ‘Everything’s hand-crafted,’ mused the Doctor, looking at the furniture and the construction of the house itself. ‘Beautifully made, but old. A lot of wood. Local timber, I’d guess, and expertly cut and finished. And the nails and handles, you see? The screws?’

  ‘Shipskin,’ said Bel. ‘Not much of that left now.’

&nbs
p; ‘Shipskin,’ the Doctor echoed. ‘Of course it is. Shipskin.’ He looked at Amy. ‘Hull metal,’ he said, ‘salvaged from the vessel that brought the Morphans here.’

  ‘Earth before and Hereafter,’ Bel said.

  ‘And how long have you lived here, Bel?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘All of my years,’ she said.

  ‘I meant, how long have the Morphans lived on Hereafter?’

  ‘Twenty-seven generations,’ she replied. She paused, and stared at the Doctor. ‘Guide help me, why would you ask that?’ she said. ‘You cannot be a Morphan and not know that, but there is no one else on Hereafter who is not a Morphan.’

  ‘There is now,’ said the Doctor. ‘Arabel? Bel? I know it’s a lot to grasp, but you have to keep trusting us. Think of it this way. Guide sent us to help when you needed us most. Tell me this, Bel, why were the men who found us armed?’

  ‘They were searching for Vesta,’ Bel began.

  The Doctor shook his head.

  ‘The Morphans have no weapons, no firearms or anything,’ he said. ‘They had to grab makeshift weapons… axes and pitchforks, that sort of thing. Why would men do that to go looking for a missing girl? Why would they arm themselves when they’re not even used to bearing arms?’

  ‘They…’ Bel began. She stared down at the old kitchen table as she thought about her answer. ‘We… we have lost livestock. Just this winter, never before. Something has been feeding on sheep and goats. We think maybe it is a dog that has got out and run feral. Maybe from another plantnation.’

  ‘It would have to be that, wouldn’t it?’ said the Doctor. ‘Because there are no other animals here. Only the ones that you Morphans brought with you. Hereafter has no indigenous animals that could kill a sheep.’

  ‘I don’t know what that word means,’ said Bel, ‘but the men took staves and axes because they were afraid that…’

  ‘That whatever’s doing the killing might have gone after bigger prey,’ said the Doctor.

  Bel nodded. Her lip trembled.

  ‘How long has there been trouble here, Bel?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Life here is always hard,’ said Bel, with forced lightness. ‘But three years ago, the winter started going white, and worse each year. Then we really started to struggle. Not enough food, not enough fuel to get by. We used to see people from the other two plantnations quite regular, particularly at festival time, but not since travelling got hard. It’s not just that the winters are cold, it’s what the cold winters mean.’

  ‘They mean it could all be failing,’ said the Doctor. ‘The entire terraforming programme.’

  ‘The Terra Firmers will never fail,’ said Bel emphatically. ‘It’s part of our duty to maintain them. Our plantnation is called Beside because it is beside the Firmers. That is the great task Guide has given to us.’

  ‘Now, you told me,’ said the Doctor, ‘that Guide tells you that can happen sometimes. That sometimes the winters get worse before they can get better.’

  Bel nodded again. ‘That is what Guide says.’

  ‘But you don’t believe it, do you?’

  Bel shrugged. ‘We must trust in the Elect and the council, but I don’t think Bill Groan believes it either. It is hard to trust that things will get better when they get worse.’

  ‘There’s more to it, though, isn’t there?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘There have been signs. The livestock dead. And some say they have seen people in the woods around the plantnation. The shadows of tall men, watching us. No one has seen them clearly, but they are big. And they cannot be men, because all men from Beside are accounted for.’

  She looked at the Doctor.

  ‘Until today,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but I came and said hello, so it can’t have been me,’ said the Doctor.

  Bel sat down at the table and rested her nose against her clasped hands as though she was praying.

  ‘I told Vesta not to go about alone,’ she said quietly. ‘I told her. She said there were no giants in the woods, and she could scare off any rogue dog. But I had seen the stars, and she had not.’

  ‘The stars?’

  ‘It was the other sign. Stars that go by at night, overhead. They make no sound. I’ve seen them, and a few others have. Old Winnowner says that the stars are an omen. The worst of all the signs. They warn us that the world is in turmoil, and that despite all our patience, the Morphan effort is in danger.’

  ‘You said something just now,’ said Amy quietly.

  The Doctor and Bel looked at her.

  ‘You said you were only letting us out to help your sister, because you didn’t want her to die too. Who else has died?’

  ‘Our mother died years ago,’ Bel replied. ‘Then we lost our dad four years ago to a fever. I won’t lose another Flurrish, I swear to Guide, I—’

  She stopped abruptly.

  ‘Oh Guide help me!’ she cried, looking at the Doctor and Amy in dismay. ‘I think I know where she went! I think I know!’

  ‘Where?’ asked Amy.

  ‘I had forgotten the day,’ said Bel, scraping back her chair and getting up. ‘Vesta remembers these things, I don’t. It’s the anniversary of our father’s death. She… she would have gone out early to lay flowers on his grave. She would have gone up to the memory yard before the start of labour.’

  ‘Then that,’ said the Doctor, ‘is where we should look first.’

  Out of breath, Rory slithered to a halt. He tried to get his bearings from the three mountains that the Doctor had said weren’t mountains at all. He could see them through the trees, pluming steamy white clouds against the perfect blue of the winter sky.

  It felt like it was past midday. The air was clear and the sun was high and bright, but it was still as cold and hard as glass.

  Rory had a stitch, and his legs ached from bounding through the snow. Panting, he turned in a full circle, checking the trees around him.

  He heard a sound. A crunch of snow. A footstep biting into the soft fall. Surely, after all that running, he’d outdistanced those dreadful lumbering figures?

  He edged forward, listening intently. The woodland clearing was silent, the light bouncing off the snow so bright it made him squint.

  Another crunch.

  He took another step, his heart beating very fast.

  A figure stepped out in front of him. He was big, but he looked scared too. He was holding an axe.

  Rory recoiled. ‘Oh, hello,’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Who are you?’ the man asked, his voice thickly accented. He took a step forward and the axe rose a little.

  ‘Listen,’ said Rory, ‘listen to me. There’s something in the woods. These… figures. Very, very big figures…’

  He glanced from side to side. Other men dressed like the bearded man with the axe were emerging from cover, surrounding him. They carried an assortment of picks, mattocks and pitchforks.

  ‘Have you seen the Doctor at all?’ Rory asked hopefully.

  ‘Where are you from?’ one of the men demanded.

  ‘Um… Leadworth?’ Rory tried.

  ‘What kind of unguidely answer is that?’ asked one of the others.

  ‘I don’t know his face,’ said the man with the axe.

  ‘I’m a friend! I’m friendly!’ Rory declared, holding up his hands.

  ‘He’s a stranger,’ said a man with a pick.

  ‘Where is Vesta Flurrish?’ the man with the axe asked Rory.

  ‘Is it… near Leadworth?’

  ‘Take him,’ said the man with the axe. ‘Bind his hands. The council can decide what to do with him.’

  ‘There’s really no need for any of that!’ Rory cried. ‘Why don’t I just come with you? Without any need for binding of any sort? Why don’t I just come along with you?’

  Despite his protests, they grabbed him. They were strong, they pinned his arms behind his back and turned him around, steering him by the shoulders.

  Then they all stopped.

  Something had walk
ed into the clearing behind them. It stood gazing at them through glinting, red, triangular eyes. It was green, the colour of moss on the underside of a stone, and its thick skin was whorled and ridged like the hide of an alligator. A faint rasping, hissing wheeze of respiration was coming from its barrel-thick chest.

  It was at least two metres tall and built like an oak tree.

  ‘Told you,’ said Rory.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE HOPES AND FEARS OF ALL THE YEARS

  The green thing hissed out a breath and took a step. Rory flinched. The man with the beard let out a great howl of fear and fury, and swung his axe.

  The axe was a good one, with a head fashioned from shipskin. It struck the green thing square in the centre of the chest, and actually bit into the crocodile skin bulge of the scaled armour.

  The green thing didn’t even jolt. It was as though the bearded man had buried his axe into an ancient and unyielding tree.

  The axe was stuck fast. The bearded man tried to pull it out for another swing. The green thing made a grunting hiss and lashed out with its left arm. A massive, pincered hand caught the bearded man on the upswing and hoisted him into the air. The impact was an ugly, bone-cracking sound that made Rory flinch again. The bearded man flew backwards and upwards, particles of snow fluttering off his legs, and tore into the low canopy of the trees. He crashed back down onto the snow, bringing broken branches, twigs and a heavy fall of snow-gather with him.

  Once he had landed, he stopped moving.

  The other men registered a moment of shock at the sheer force that the upswing had communicated. A single swipe had propelled their leader metres through the air. Chastened, they hurled themselves at the green thing, raining blows with picks and mattocks and other stout farm tools.

  It was brave. It was a terrible mistake. The blows rebounded ineffectually. The green thing threw out its right pincer and knocked a man sideways into a tree. The impact jolted snow out of the branches. Taking another step, the green thing reached up, grasped the haft of the axe buried like a handle in its belly, and pulled it out. Then it swung the axe, catching another man in the face with the back of the axehead. The impact lifted the man clean off his feet. He landed on his back in the snow with his mouth open, dead or profoundly unconscious.