Part 1 (1/2)
DOCTOR WHO.
THE MARK OF THE RANI.
by Pip and Jane Baker.
Prologue.
Evil cannot be tasted, seen, or touched. Yet in Killingworth, a mining community in the north east of the British Isles, the perception of evil was so overwhelming that even the fabric of the modest terraced dwellings seemed saturated with it.
Famine, earthquake and plague would all sink into insignificance if the contamination afflicting the area were not contained. Like a virus, evil would spread; national barriers, mountain ranges and oceans would be unable to offer protection. If allowed to flourish, the poisonous epidemic could reduce humankind to a harrowing role that would give a dung beetle superior status...
1.
House of Evil.
In a swirl of dust, a small avalanche of coal was being tipped from a truck on an overhead track. Simultaneously a bell pealed, clangorously signalling the end of a s.h.i.+ft.
Flexing his shoulders, the begrimed miner manning the tipping operation, straightened, easing his aching spine.
No sophisticated machinery existed to lighten his burden.
No lifts or mechanical loaders. No pithead showers or automated equipment. For this was England at the beginning of the nineteenth century, prior to the age of the machine.
As the miner, Jack Ward, descended from the track, he was joined by others coming off s.h.i.+ft. Dirty, dragging weary feet, they made for the tavern to wash the coal dust from their throats before trudging the muddy roads to the tiny, stone-built cottages that were their homes.
But Jack Ward did not enter the tavern.
'Not coming in, Jack?' Tim Ba.s.s, the creases in his jovial features lined black, blinked with astonishment.
'Nay, lad, don't think I've strength to lift a Toby.'
Jack's two mates, Edwin Green and Sam Rudge, fell into step beside him. He gave them a tired grin of greeting.
'I were thinking of trying bath house!'
Rudge and Green exchanged quizzical looks. They had never been to the bath house. It was an innovation; an idea an old woman started in a derelict building not far from the pit.
'Costs though.' Sam Rudge was always money conscious.
They all were, come to that; had to be.
'Aye. T'will. Even so. Just this once.' Fatal words. For as the brawny, round-faced Jack led his two friends up the hill towards the bath house, he little knew that he was leading them into a macabre and horrendous trap that would completely change their lives...
Little did the Doctor know of the trap he was heading for either.
The TARDIS was performing impeccably. Not an unknown phenomenon. In fact, just what was expected from a time-machine by the Doctor anyway. So far, no aberrations. He didn't want there to be. His young companion was excited about this trip.
Peri had expressed a wish to see Kew Gardens at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the horticultural extravaganza was in its infancy. The Doctor, never loath to visit his favourite planet and curious to see the reactions of this twentieth-century botanist to the endeavours of her British forebears, was checking the console. He had set the time and s.p.a.ce co-ordinates so that they would arrive beneath the famous lilac trees on a Royal Open Day.
'Must get the co-ordinates spot on,' he mused. 'Don't want to land the wrong side of the English Channel. Smack in Napoleon's lap!' A pause for thought. The prospect had some appeal. The Doctor placed an arm across his chest, tucking the hand under his lapel a typical Napoleonic stance.
'Wonder why he always posed like this? Could ask him.'
He rumpled his unruly mop of fair curls. Be infinitely more interesting than traipsing round a lot of greenhouses!'
Before he could yield to temptation, Peri came sashaying into the control room, her trim young figure decked in a becoming ankle-length gown. Yellow with red tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, it had shoes and parasol to match. Her dark, s.h.i.+ny hair, usually worn short and straight, was fas.h.i.+oned into a bun with bobbing ringlets. She looked good and felt good.
'Hey, Doctor, this is great.'
'The costume is too large?' His mind was still with Napoleon.
'Large?' She was puzzled. The fit was perfect.
'Isn't that a synonym for ”great”?'
Antic.i.p.ating an inevitable lecture on the purity of the language, Peri pirouetted towards him. She wasn't about to get into an argument. Any minute now given nothing went wrong with the temperamental TARDIS she'd be in Kew Gardens. Mixing with royalty! The Doctor seemed a big hit wherever he appeared, so maybe she'd get an audience with King George the Third and his Queen!
Great! Reflected glory, sure, but some honour for her, just plain Perpugilliam Brown of New England, USA.
The Doctor was still artlessly absorbed in his theme. 'Of course, ”great” can also be used for high degree of magnitude. Someone elevated to supremacy. Like Napoleon !'
A judder!
A tremendous lurch!
Taken by surprise, the Doctor and Peri were thrown off balance. He clung to the console, but she, in the midst of a graceful pirouette, was sent reeling...
The old crone running the bath house squinted myopically at the approaching miners. She was swathed in a voluminous, coa.r.s.e, grey dress that brushed the cobble-stones. A shawl, draped over her straggly tresses, practically concealed her gnarled and wizened features.
'Tha's the wise ones. First here, when water's hot and clean.' She extended a mittened hand for payment.
'Nay, not wise, Granma. Just fair wore out.' Jack gave her a coin, little dreaming that his hard-earned cash was about to buy him the worst experience of his life...
A final tremendous shudder then the TARDIS settled onto an even keel.
'What is it? What's happening?' Despite her frequent exposure to the machine's eccentricities, Peri was scared.
Already at battle-stations, the Doctor scrutinised the stabilising unit.
'Well?' Peri's anxiety made her sound aggressive.