Part 9 (1/2)

They just sat there for a few minutes, Benny's head resting on his shoulder.

'You're so tense,' she murmured. 'Look, I just want you to know that I'm not going to totally ignore you while we're here.'

'It's not that,' said Jason. 'I hate being back here.'

'Back where?'

'Back in the English countryside in the eighties,' he said.

'I was born this year, you know.'

'My G.o.d, Jason,' she said. 'I hadn't thought about it.'

'I could go and find my dad too,' he said. 'Get on a train.'

She held onto his arm. 'Don't.'

Nah,' said Jason. 'It's history.' He shrugged. 'He's upstairs. Go on.' He looked at her with sad eyes. 'Go on and get to know your father.'

The Doctor had followed his dowsing rod for an hour, tracing a wide circle around Little Caldwell. He stepped carefully around fairy rings growing in the woods. He walked through a field of wheat, fully grown in the winter greyness, filled with the traces of crop circles. He made soothing noises to a pair of cows until they let him take a look at their legs. The small incisions weren't serious.

At last he came to an ancient, shattered cottage, huddled in the very corner of a field, just a cl.u.s.ter of walls like rotting teeth. A bitter wind was whipping the clouds through the sky.

It must have been over a century since the house had burnt clown. The rows of wheat curved around it, giving a wide berth to the eroded walls, the fallen stones and the weeds. Perhaps it had been the original farmhouse, unsalvageable, left to rot after the fire.

'A good place to look for ghosts,' he said, leaning over the wall.

The middle-aged woman started gratifyingly, nearly knocking over her tape deck. She turned around, half in a crouch, and glared up at him through her spectacles.

'I hope you've brought an umbrella,' said the Doctor. 'I don't like the look of that sky.'

The woman stood up, leant on the wall, as though they were neighbours chatting over a fence. 'Do you come here often?' she said dryly.

The Doctor smiled. 'It's the only landmark for miles. Do you know the history of the place? Any murders, suicides, that sort of thing?'

'Little Caldwell has a grey lady,' said the woman. 'She's supposed to appear here, at a crossroads near a bridge, and very occasionally in the town. Supposedly she's an Egyptian woman who married an English n.o.bleman. The story is either that he strangled her and set this cottage on fire to hide the crime, or that she committed suicide and was buried at the crossroads.'

'Is there any historical basis for it?'

The woman shook her head and held out her hand.

'Ellen Woodworth.' The Doctor shook her hand. 'Are you a local, Mister...?'

'Doctor,' he said. 'I'm on holiday.'

'I'm staying in Newbury for a few days while I do a little fact-gathering. You must be in the business yourself.'

'Oh, no,' said the Doctor. 'There just aren't that many things you can do with a ca.s.sette deck and a jar of plaster of Paris in the middle of nowhere.' A raindrop splashed him on the nose, and he blinked. 'Are you planning to stay overnight?'

'Just me and the bees.'

'Bees?' said the Doctor. 'In December?'

Woodworth smiled mysteriously. 'Look around you.'

The Doctor glanced around - and saw a trickle of buzzing insects, racing through the rain. 'There's a small hive in the far room,' said the ghosthunter.

'Remarkable,' said the Doctor.

'Do you fancy helping me set up the tent fly?'

Why not?' The Doctor followed the wall until he found a charred gap, the remains of a doorway. 'You can tell me more about your ghost,' he said.

She unzipped the heavy bag of equipment. 'Remind me to buy you a drink later.'

Joel sat on his bed, leafing through his 'zine collection. The little photocopied newsletters lived in a couple of big cardboard boxes, neatly organized into folders by year and topic. Well, they were neatly organized up until about the beginning of 1983, when Isaac had given Joel the job of archiving them.

He rummaged through the last year's worth. There were UFO bulletins, Professor X Professor X fanzines, some New Age and witchcraft 'zines, and - ah! That was the issue of fanzines, some New Age and witchcraft 'zines, and - ah! That was the issue of Who's Who's Who and What's That? Who and What's That? he was after. he was after.

He turned the pages. There. A blurry, but recognizable photo of the TARDIS.

Or possibly of a police box. The trick of reading 'zines was working out which bits were made up, which bits were distorted versions of real events, and which were the real thing.

Joel peered into the box of 'zines. There were a lot of questions the Doctor could answer.

Someone knocked on the open door. The Doctor's companion Chris was there. 'Hi,' said Joel.

The man beamed at him. 'Hi,' he said. He wandered into the room, taking up rather a lot of the available s.p.a.ce.

'Can I do something for you?' said Joel, putting down the fanzine.

'I just noticed your models,' said Chris. In fact, he'd had to duck under a Millennium Falcon to get into the room. Now his face was level with a Y-Wing. 'I used to build model s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps when I was a kid.'

Joel blushed a little. 'Yeah, well, you can't get those kits any more where I'm from.' He pulled out a cigarette and his lighter.

'They're neat.' Chris looked around the room. It always looked like a complete mess, though everything was where it was supposed to be, including the piles on the floor. Joel wished he could convince the Admiral of that. There were shelves crammed with books, and the desk was hidden under the Commodore 64 and a bunch of stuff.

Joel pushed the window open an inch and blew out a stream of bluish smoke. 'What's it like, being a companion?'