Doctor Who: The Mark of the Rani (10 page)

The wardrobe had gone.

And so had the Doctor.

Peri’s heart sank. ‘Now what’s he done?’

The Doctor had not done anything. The TARDIS had simply started up and dematerialised of its own accord.

‘Incredible! Absolutely incredible! A TARDIS that operates on remote command. The Rani is a genius.’ The praise was genuine. To think she could summon her TARDIS from wherever she happened to be! It was an achievement which had eluded him.

He scrutinised the pulsator. That was where he’d come to grief on the last occasion. Walloped into that tower.

Where was it? Pisa?

The wardrobe materialised in the old mine as the Rani pressed the final tab of her mini-transmitter.

‘You’ve discovered the means of operating a TARDIS

by remote control! Brilliant! Quite brilliant! In tandem, you and I will rule the Universe!’

The Rani gave the Master a withering look. This egoist would never rule the Universe. If anybody were to attain that, it would be her. And she’d need no help from him.

Help? The man was nothing but a hindrance! Now she would have to take him into her TARDIS. Something she was reluctant to do.

The scratch of the key alerted the Doctor. He darted into a corridor.

Entering, the Rani discarded the old crone’s drab apparel. Underneath, she was wearing her own clothes: skin-tight black leather trews, tapering into knee-high boots, were topped with a black leather, long sleeved jerkin decorated with a discreet motif in silver. The outfit clung to her trim form. This was the Rani as she chose to present herself.

Even the Master spared her an admiring glance; it was only a fleeting digression however. ‘Do I detect a lack of enthusiasm?’ he asked.

‘Grandiose schemes of ruling the Universe will mean nothing if that dilettante Doctor is still at large!’ said the Rani.

Dilettante? Him? The Doctor, eavesdropping from his concealed position, was affronted!

‘Dratted man!’ Having energised a scanner, the Rani was studying the laboratory on the monitor. She had expected to see the Doctor’s asphyxiated corpse. Instead, all she could see were those of the assistants. She flicked off the scanner.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve botched something!’ the Master taunted. ‘What did you do? Leave a trap for the Doctor?’

Ignoring the jibe, she went to a cupboard and began sorting through a stack of discs.

‘Is that why we couldn’t use your TARDIS? Its power was needed to operate the –’

‘Here! Carry these!’ She shoved several of the discs at him. ‘And be careful!’

Her rudeness provoked only apprehension. ‘Why? What are they?’

Just the question the Doctor himself wanted to ask.

From his angle, they resembled frisbees and looked as harmless.

But they could not be, of that he was certain.

The cycloid discs, with a radius of thirty centimetres, bulged in the middle where a digital detonator sensor obtruded. The enigma was, what malevolent genie waited to be unleashed?

The Rani’s reply compounded the mystery. ‘Let’s say they’ll change the Doctor’s lifestyle.’

‘How? Will he suffer?’

A slow smile lit the Rani’s classical features. ‘Well, I promise you he’ll never be the same again...’

The joke was too ambiguous for either of her listeners fully to appreciate.

‘Excellent. But why not kill two birds with one stone?’

The Doctor’s forehead wrinkled; who else was on the Master’s hit list?

The Rani did not catch on either. ‘Who’s the other candidate?’ Carrying a number of discs, she was about to exit.

‘George Stephenson.’

‘How will that threaten the Doctor?’

His explanation was lost as the door whirred shut on them.

How indeed?

Vacating the corridor, the Doctor hurried to the scanner screen control intending to capture the departure of the Time Lords on vision.

The unit refused to function.

‘Programmed to respond to her thumbprint,’ the Doctor chuntered.

He wondered whether to chance following after them.

But since he was unsure of where the Rani’s TARDIS had landed, he could have been exposed the moment the door opened. Opting for safety, he decided to stay put until his adversaries had got well clear.

Meanwhile, idleness was not a characteristic that afflicted him. On the contrary. He delved into his waistcoat for a screwdriver.

‘ "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may..." ’ he quoted, although flower-picking was not on the agenda as he knelt under the control console.

14

‘That Doctor chappie. Strange sort. He was onto something. Try finding him.’

This had been Lord Ravensworth’s instruction to the guard. For all his bluster, he was compassionately worried about the condition of Ward and Dobbs. Tying them up was an expedient, not a solution.

Unfortunately, the guard’s return brought little relief.

‘No sign of Doctor, m’lord, but met his bonny lass.’ He ushered Peri into the office.

Clutching at straws, she had come to the mine. If her maverick Don Quixote had any choice, he would certainly show up here, where his own TARDIS was.

Ravensworth was less than polite. ‘Devil take you, man!

It’s the Doctor I wanted to see!’

‘That makes two of us!’ Peri, too, was in no mood to stand on ceremony.

‘You must have some idea of his whereabouts.’

‘Must I? He could be anywhere in the Universe!’

‘Make sense, girl. Calm down and think. He can’t just have disappeared!’

‘Oh, can’t he!’ That was exactly what had happened.

One second he was there and the next – whoosh! He’d gone! But how did she explain this to the noble lord? She wouldn’t have credited it herself before becoming the Doctor’s travelling companion. She smoothed the multicoloured coat draped over the desk, and inadvertently incensed Ward. His struggles and ranting increased.

‘The man has to be found.’ Anger was tinged with sorrow. ‘We need his help.’

Peri agreed; but, to be honest, she was primarily concerned with her own plight. ‘I’ve more reason to find him than you have! Otherwise I’ll have to spend the rest of my days mincing about in these ridiculous skirts!’

Collecting the multicoloured coat, she pranced out.

The apparent non-sequitur confounded Ravensworth.

‘Do you know what she’s getting at?’ he demanded.

‘Nay, m’lord.’ The guard wisely altered the subject.

‘Don’t seem right seeing Jack Ward like this, do it?’

The recalcitrant aggressor, although almost spent, continued to strain at his bonds.

‘No... See if you can find young Luke. Tell him we’ve got his father in my office.’

Someone else intended to enlist Luke’s services.

‘You’re sure you can get George Stephenson here?’

Emerging with the Master from the gloom of the old mine, the Rani blinked in the autumnal sunlight.

‘Positive. I govern the mind of his apprentice. Lure Stephenson here and the Doctor will come galloping to his rescue!’

The rationale appealed to the pragmatist in the Rani.

‘Then give me those. You’re wasting time.’

Glad to be relieved of the discs, the Master set off for Killingworth.

On this occasion, the Rani was content to accept his assurances. She recalled that the Master had fed Luke one of her impregnated maggots. Her practical instincts quashed resentment. If their scheme succeeded, she would have to organise mass production of the parasites. Tens, even hundreds of thousands. The magnitude of the operation would necessitate a transfer to where there was an ample supply of the human primates. London? New York?

Laden with the discs that were to launch this grisly enterprise, she made for a spinny of trees known as Redfern Dell.

‘The coast must be clear by now,’ the Doctor muttered.

Pocketing the screwdriver, he extricated himself from beneath the Rani’s console and activated the circuit operating the door.

Outside, darkness greeted him. Nevertheless, he impetuously blundered on – and promptly collided with a loosened pit prop. Dislodged gravel trickled onto his shoulders.

The incident sobered him. An entombing rockfall would not be just a personal tragedy, but a disaster for George Stephenson; more than that, for the whole of humanity. This was not vanity. Only a fellow Time Lord could hope to combat the two pitiless renegades from Gallifrey.

He was jolted from these reflections by a further shower of dust, ominously accompanied by a rumbling groan from the roof...

What the heck would she do if the Doctor never returned?

Peri sat disconsolately beside the pit shaft nursing the multicoloured coat. She couldn’t believe that would happen and yet here she was, shipwrecked. Or should that be spacewrecked?

Sooty eight year old urchins, scavenging for coal, tottered past with heavy baskets. Why weren’t they at school, she wondered, then remembered George Stephenson saying he was working down the mine at the age of nine. How romantic the prospect of this visit had been only a short while ago! Now she thought of the mean streets, cramped dwellings and the lack of hygiene.

Hygiene? What if she were ill? Medical science didn’t exist. Depression making her morbid, she gazed at her leg.

Suppose she had an accident and it had to be amputated?

Anaesthetics hadn’t even been dreamt of! She’d just have to – what was the phrase? – bite on the bullet –

‘Ah, so there you are, Peri.’ The Doctor, beaming cheerfully, hailed her.

Relief ignited anger. Peri flung the coat at him. ‘Did you come back for that, or me!’

‘Both.’

Sulkily, she refused to be humoured. He decided against telling her how near he had been to calamity. Thankfully the invaluable tuition of the Shikari hunters had again come to his aid. Even the barren rubble strewn floor of the old mine bore traces of the Rani’s and the Master’s spoor, and he had been tutored to detect it. Keen eyes and absolute concentration had got him through the maze of unstable tunnels into the sunlight without further mishap.

‘Peri, did you really believe I’d abandon you?’

‘So – what happened?’

‘Later. Where’s Stephenson?’

‘I haven’t a clue. But Lord Ravensworth wants you in his office. Ask him!’

That seemed a sensible suggestion.

It wasn’t. But the Doctor could not know this.

A rasp slipped, grazing Stephenson’s knuckle.

‘Tha’ startled me, Luke! Don’t thee know better than to creep up on folk?’ He had failed to hear Luke’s silent approach as he fashioned a bracket for the Blucher.

Luke’s expression did not change. Nor did he respond to the reproval. He had just come from the perimeter fence where he had received the Master’s latest directive.

‘It’s Mr Faraday. There’s been another attack!’

Stephenson was sucking the knuckle. ‘Faraday? Here in’t pit?’ How could he be? The meeting had been cancelled. ’Tha’s made mistake, lad.’

‘Nay, not in’t pit.’ More pressure was needed. ‘He were on’t way. Coach were overturned in’t woods –’

‘Overturned! Is he hurt?’

‘Scared, more like. Hiding out, he is.’

Michael Faraday’s profound discoveries on electromagnetism were destined to bring light to the world; provided, that is, destiny remained as written.

‘Reckon tha’ should go to him, sir.’

‘Hiding out, tha’ said?’

‘In Redfern Dell.’

‘Fetch gun for me, Luke.’

Complying – the Master had said nothing about guns –

Luke got the blunderbuss from its rack.

‘Get thee to th’office.’ Stephenson took the weapon.

‘Tell his lordship I want all the men he can spare.’

Luke was temporarily disorientated. This instruction did conflict with his mission. But Stephenson, without realising it, resolved the quandary.

‘Make haste. ’Tis urgent. I must be off to Redfern Dell.’

Placated, Luke departed. Methodically, using lead slugs and gunpowder, Stephenson began to prime the blunderbuss. It was a derisory defence for what lay in wait.

Redfern Dell was verdant with wild berries, ferns and grasses. An inviting, peaceful spot.

So it would have been but for the Rani’s sinister presence. After setting a dial, she placed a disc on the ground and covered it with leaves.

She moved a pace to the right, then ’planted’ the next.

And the next.

Until the halcyon dell was a minefield of the deadly camouflaged discs...

15

‘There’s nothing I can do. The men need rest.’ The Doctor’s dismissal was impatient. Certainly Ward and Dobbs, exhausted to the point of collapse, were pitiable, but he wanted to get to George Stephenson.

‘Rest?’ Ravensworth did not understand.

‘They’ve been robbed of the power of sleep.’

‘Robbed of –? Confound it, man! I don’t know what you mean.’

Ravensworth had Peri’s sympathy. Decoding the Doctor when he was in this mood would have defeated even an expert cryptologist!

‘I haven’t time to explain. Peri, see what you can do.’

Turning to leave, he collided with Luke in the office doorway. ‘Ah, Luke, is Stephenson in his workshop?’

Luke answered without hesitation. ‘Nay, sir.’

‘I must find him. Is he at the forge?’

‘Nay, sir.’ Luke’s laconic manner disturbed the Doctor.

‘Did he give you any idea where he’d be?’

‘Nay.’

Ravensworth, too, considered this unusual. ‘Not at all?’

‘Never said nowt, m’lord.’

The Doctor, who had been studying Luke intently, exited abruptly.

A bewildered Ravensworth glanced at Peri.

‘Don’t bother to ask,’ she said, resignedly. ‘I haven’t a clue what he’s up to.’

The Doctor’s destination was the workshop. The taciturn replies had convinced him Luke was lying.

‘Primed and loaded.’ He referred to the blunderbuss tucked under Stephenson’s arm. ‘You’re expecting trouble?’

‘Likely as not. I’ve had message from Faraday. He’s taken shelter in Redfern Dell.’

‘Message?’

‘Aye, he’s been attacked. Now out of road, Doct–’

‘Luke. He brought you the message.’ A statement not a question.