PS Creativity > Fan Fiction > Darkness on the Edge of Town > Interlude

a Fifth Doctor adventure written by Paul Clement


Interlude

The planet Arturia: 495 million years ago

Dread Cthulu looked upon the devastation he and his kind had reaped upon the planet and smiled.

The inhabitants of the planet had viewed the arrival of the Great Old Ones in awe, hopelessly unaware of the suffering the new arrivals were about to unleash. Cthulu and his brethren had rained down upon the planet like shooting stars as they travelled the stellar winds that had taken them from the Earth to the unsuspecting world. Once arrived, the killing frenzy took hold of the powerful beings and the Arturians felt the full onslaught as these godlike beings sated their uncontrollable bloodlust.

Cthulu stepped through the wreckage of a building one of his compatriots had demolished in pursuit of the inhabitants of this world, idly noticing the torso of an Arturian protruding from the rubble. When they had descended upon them, Cthulu was sure the populace had been horrified at the carnage his people had caused, no doubt a few had felt relieved that they had not fallen in that early onslaught. They hadn’t realised that the first to fall had been the lucky ones, once the initial urge to destroy had passed, Cthulu and his fellow Great Old Ones had taken far longer to kill the rest of the people they encountered. Delighting in the torture and maiming they caused, the unlucky Arturians spent hours alive in horrific pain for the delight of their otherworldly visitors. Soon though, even this frenzy passed and Cthulu, at last sated, strode around the destruction oblivious to the piteous mewling of the dying as well as the muted sobs of the survivors who were still struggling to understand what had come to pass.

Stopping, Cthulu noticed that one of his brethren, Lloigor, had set two of the Arturians facing each other. Intrigued, he moved forward to get a better sight of what was about to happen. The two, a man and a woman, were bound to large pieces of rubble, that Cthulu assumed were once part of their home, they both tired vainly to flinch away from Lloigor as he approached them. His movements leisurely, Cthulu could immediately tell that Lloigor was toying with his victims. The charade continued for a couple of minutes before Lloigor grew tired of the game and finally leant over one of the prone figures. A scream pierced the air, to merge with the screams of countless others around the world and then the man slumped forward against his bonds. Moving swiftly towards the woman, Lloigor repeated the actions, but this time the cry that escaped his victim’s lips was much shriller. The way Lloigor stepped back away from the two, the manner in which he watched them all signalled to Cthulu that the scene hadn’t yet been played out. Edging around to get a better view, he was a little surprised to see that the couple were still alive, though that fact would soon become academic. Lloigor had razor sharp claws, and it was obvious that he had sliced the bellies of the pair of them, they now stood facing each other, their eyes alight with the combined terror they must be feeling as they watched their intestines spill onto the dusty floor. They were going to die, but it would not be a quick death. They had perhaps hours left ahead of them to drown in the horror of the situation, watching as a loved one suffered a hideous death and knowing that the same person had thoughts mirroring your own.

Cthulu moved away from the scene, his face troubled. The wholesale slaughter he had witnessed held no repugnancy to him, he had partaken in it to a large degree himself. What concerned him was the bored expression on Lloigor’s face as he had watched the devastation he had caused. There was only so much carnage that his people could inflict before they tired of their sport, Cthulu knew that, and it seemed that the point had been not only reached but exceeded. The deaths would continue, but the pleasure taken in the taken of a life would diminish with each one, yet still they would continue. The bloodlust had been sated, and now the Great Old Ones killed out of habit, indifferent to the subtle nuances that each death could bring. Cthulu was aware that the planet would be utterly consumed by his brethren before they left, and this thought bothered him a great deal. His concern was not for the planet though, or its weak inhabitants. They were fodder before him, beneath both his mercy and his contempt, they did however serve a vital purpose. A planet destroyed today held little value for tomorrow, but given the chance, these people would rebuild their world and then when Arturia had restored itself, it would be ripe once again for a visitation from the Great Old Ones.
His course set, Cthulu set out across the world calling to his brethren. The time to leave this desolation had come, the survivors would rejoice that they lived, all the while mourning those who fell beneath the onslaught. His brothers flocked to his call and soon the Great Old Ones rode the stellar winds once more as they returned home to the planet Earth, but Arturia hadn’t felt the last of the Great Old Ones, one day they would swarm the planet again.

 

The sun was high in the cloudless sky, its heat drawing the moisture out of the cold earth, causing steam to rise from the earth in a thin miasma. The intensity of the light caused Turlough to squint as he looked across to the Doctor, causing the Timelord to look as if he has been sheathed in an iridescent glow. Raising a hand to his forehead to block some of the sun’s rays from his eyes, Turlough tried to look beyond the Doctor, keen to see some vestige of a house that would be grand enough to ensconce the local lord. The vantage point afforded him was extremely suitable, the inn had been built some distance from the rest of the town’s buildings, so he was able to see quite a distance over the tops of the houses. Nestled halfway up a hillock, there stood a house easily three times the size of any of the others, just beyond it, jutting over the crest of the hill could be seen the imposing structure of the mill.

“It’s that way, Doctor,” Turlough stated, indicating in the direction of the house with his free hand. “The mill too,” he added as an afterthought.

The Doctor mimicked Turlough’s stance as he looked in the direction that his companion was pointing, “Ah! Yes, that looks like the right place. The man that built it would have wanted to have a good view of his demesne. I wonder why he didn’t have it built at the very top.”

“It’s a good thing for us he didn’t,” Tegan added assertively. “Don’t forget that we’ve got to walk all the way there. The closer the better as far as I’m concerned.”

“Walking is good for the soul,” the Doctor countered.

“But not so good for my feet,” Tegan replied bitterly looking down at the tight shoes she was wearing. “They still haven’t recovered from the walk down to the town yet.”

“You should have put more suitable shoes on, Tegan,” the Doctor replied, shaking his head in resignation.

Tegan stepped closer to the Doctor, her voice going up an octave. “You didn’t tell me that we were going to go on a route march, a quick trip into the past is all you said.”

“Doctor!” Turlough whispered. “We’re drawing attention to ourselves.”

The Doctor looked around and noticed a few of the townspeople looking at them with curious eyes, obviously attracted by the raised voices. He looked back at Tegan. “Now really isn’t the right time.”
Striding off, his companions in tow, the Doctor seemed lost in thought. He had thrust his hands deep into his pockets and his measured gait did not seem to change whether he was walking on the roads or upon the still dewy grass. Suddenly he stopped, completely taking Tegan by surprise, her momentum causing her to bump into the back of the Doctor. “I really don’t think we all need to turn up on the lord’s doorstep,” he announced. “he might not take to kindly to us arriving en masse.”

“Is that a good idea, Doctor?” Turlough asked. “We might be better off staying together.”

“Nonsense!” The Doctor exclaimed. “We’re not in any danger here, it’s not likely that the locals are going to harm us, is it?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Tegan muttered, thinking of some of the situations they had found themselves in beforehand.

“Besides,” the Doctor cut in, ignoring his companions comment, “we can’t be sure that his lordship is at the house, he could well be up at the mill. It wouldn’t hurt for one of you to go straight there, in fact, it could help us a great deal.”

Turlough looked from Tegan to the Doctor, sensing a build up of pressure imminent. Despite the seemingly innocuous way the he had spoken, Turlough was extremely aware that the Doctor wasn’t offering up a suggestion, he was giving an order. “I’ll go,” he announced, averting any further argument between the two of them.

“Thank you, Turlough,” the Doctor responded looking almost pleased that another debate had been forestalled. “but if you do run into any problems, come straight back and find us,” he offered as a placating gesture to the still seething Tegan.

They walked through the village for another twenty minutes before reaching the base of the hill, the distance from the vantage point of the inn having looked deceptively shorter. The base of the hill was lined with an intricately designed wrought iron fence that showed little sign of any weathering on it. The gates stood taller by half than the fence itself, again made of wrought iron and proudly bearing the crest of the Marwood’s. The driveway snaked from the gate up to a semi-circular area of gravel just in front of the great house itself, cutting it’s way through the pleasant landscaped grounds.
The Doctor stopped outside the gates and looked left then right noting the lengthy fencing that skirted the base of the hill in either direction. Turning to Turlough, the Doctor seemed to make his mind, finally pointing off to his left. “Right, that way should take you to the mill. Just keep the fencing to your right and follow the hill round and you should reach it soon.”

Turlough nodded to the Doctor before turning and heading away. After a dozen paces, he glanced back to see Tegan looking after him worriedly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” he called back to her.

Tegan nodded back at him. “Be careful,” she added finally, and watched as Turlough headed off into the distance. She looked back at the Doctor, her face set. “How do we get in? I hope you don’t expect us to clamber over the gate.”

Moving over towards the gate, the Doctor leant up towards a rope hanging down from the wall separating the entranceway from the fence. He pulled down hard on it a couple of times and a deep chiming resonated from somewhere near the house. He looked back at Tegan with a sardonic smile on his boyish face. “We ring the bell, Tegan. What did you expect?”

 

In a surprisingly short time, Turlough found himself at the entrance to the mill. Even from the outer vantage point, he could see that the machinery was of the most up to date specifications. Certainly, to his own perspective the equipment he could see was extremely primitive, but looking beyond that, he was able to realise that Lord Marwood was certainly a man ahead of his time.
The looming frame of the mill was an intimidating sight as it towered above him, its shadow reaching out far beyond where he stood. A number of workmen were milling around outside, oblivious to his presence as they undertook their onerous tasks. A little to his left he could see the slow moving river that the building had been erected next to, where men lifted heavy sacks of grain at a small jetty to load them onto the waiting barges. The workers were at such a distance from him, that they seemed almost like ants, scurrying around at there busy tasks. The insect like behaviour struck him as somehow appropriate, they were all working towards a common task, under the leadership not of a queen, but instead under the commands of Lord Marwood.
Turlough shook himself with a start, realising that he had stood watching for more than a couple of minutes. Rousing himself from his reverie, he turned his attention to the problem at hand. He hadn’t actually thought about what he was going to say when he presented himself at the gates of the mill, and now that time was upon him, he found his mind racing as he tried to think of a plausible reason to ask to see Lord Marwood. He quickly dismissed the idea of asking for work, he could far too easily be passed on to a foreman instead, and worse still, he may even end up with a job. Work wasn’t a particularly pleasant notion to Turlough and manual work even less so. He pondered briefly on what the Doctor was going to say when he presented himself at the house, but nothing fruitful came to him. Then the idea struck him, so simple that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
Turlough strode purposefully towards the entrance to the mill, his eyes scouting out a suitable person. Eventually, he spotted a man in a cheap but sturdy suit who was directing the efforts of the men in front of him, his eyes occasionally glancing down to the parchment he held in his hands. Altering his direction so that he was now heading towards the man, Turlough picked up his pace.
As he approached the man, he looked up from his parchment and noticed him. He had a puzzled expression on his face, and he was eyeing Turlough’s clothing extensively. It was clear to Turlough that he was being compartmentalised as either an inferior or a superior, and the confused look on the man’s face made it clear that he wasn’t sure which one to place Turlough in.

“I would see Lord Marwood,” Turlough stated in a tone that brooked no arguments.

“I’m afraid he isn’t here, sir,” the man answered placatingly, his use of the word sir obviously indicating that he had decided to place Turlough in the superior category, perhaps as a result of the manner of his opening address. Noting the look of disappointment on Turlough’s face, the man continued speaking. “He’s a busy man, and sometimes his duties preclude him from spending as much time as he would like overseeing things here. His eldest son, Alexander, is here though. Perhaps you would like to meet him instead, his lordship puts great faith in him.”

Turlough considered for a moment. Perhaps the Doctor would encounter Lord Marwood at his home, but if he didn’t, then his eldest son would be the next best thing. He nodded his assent to the man. “Where can I find him?”

“As soon as you enter the mill, you’ll find a stairwell on your right hand side. It leads to Lord Marwood’s office, you should find Master Alexander there.”

“Thank you…” he let the words trail off.

“Hawks, sir,” the man supplied.

“Then thank you Mister Hawks, I’ll advise Alexander that you have been most courteous and helpful.”

Turlough marched away towards the main doors of the mill. The two large wooden gates had been opened inwards, and Turlough stopped on the edge peering inwards. Because of the bright sunshine outside, the interior of the mill looked somewhat darker than Turlough suspected it usually would, and it took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The noise of the machinery was deafening, he could see men shouting across to each other from between the equipment, but know sound of their voices reached Turlough despite his closeness to them. Looking off to his right, he spotted the stairway that Hawks had told him to look for and carefully made his way up. The stairwell ended on a platform dominated by the wooden office that was his destination with a small walkway running past it which would enable the office occupier to be able to look out upon the whole on the inside of the mill.
He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds, trying to listen to any sound from inside while simultaneously ignoring the loud noise coming from the machinery. An indistinct call from within the office reached his ears, and he hoped that it had been a call to enter. Bracing himself, he opened the door and stepped into the room, pushing the door firmly closed behind him.
The room was quite sparse, and exceptionally tidy, Turlough noted. The chamber was dominated by a large oaken desk that held a few sheets of parchment and an inkwell. Behind the desk, old wooden cabinets lined the wall, the door of one was slightly open, and Turlough could see a great deal of paperwork stored inside.
The rooms’ only occupant was a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties. Sitting behind the desk, he looked quizzically at Turlough as he entered the office.

“Can I help you?” The man was obviously surprised that the caller turned out to be a stranger, yet he was polite all the same.

Turlough smiled at the young gentlemen. “I take it that you are Alexander Marwood?”

“Yes, but you have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Alexander replied.

“My name is Turlough.”

“An unusual name,” Alexander noted before proffering Turlough to the empty seat on the opposite side of the desk. “Please, sit yourself down.” Alexander waited till Turlough was sitting comfortably before continuing, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Actually, it’s more what I can do for you,” Turlough responded pleasantly, “or what a friend of mine could do to be more precise.”

“Go on,” Alexander stated leaning a little further forward in his chair.

“I’m here on behalf of my friend, the Doctor…”

“Doctor! Is something wrong with my father?” Alexander jumped in concernedly, rising from his chair as he spoke. His eyes were wide and full of fear.

“No! no, it’s nothing like that,” Turlough assured the startled young man. “Actually, the Doctor wanted to offer his services to your father.”

Alexander looked puzzled. “But my father is not ill, what use would he have of your friend, the Doctor’s services?”

Turlough studied Alexander thoughtfully, trying to choose the best way of broaching the subject. The young man was earnest and sincere, of that Turlough was certain, and his reactions thus far showed he cared deeply about his family. That could be a starting point, but it could just as easily be a stumbling block, making him uncomfortable talking about his family in front of strangers. Deciding that the forthright approach had got him this far, Turlough decided to continue in the same vein. “My friend has quite a great deal of experience of medical matters of a more unique variety.”

“Unique in what way?”

“He has extensive knowledge of ailments of the mind,” Turlough added, considering for a moment how true this was. Almost everywhere they arrived, the Doctor seemed to find the odd madman or two. “He hopes to offer his aid in the case of your brother.”

“Sebastian?” For a moment, a look of anger passed over Alexander’s face, but that quickly passed as his mind weighed up the facts. “You heard from the townsfolk, I assume?”

Turlough nodded briefly to indicate that Alexander was right. “They seem to care about him a great deal,” he added in the defence of the inhabitants.

“I know,” Alexander agreed. He rubbed his hand across his eyes momentarily before looking up at Turlough again. “My family have always tried to put the needs of the town above our own, that’s often an unusual trait in the lords of this country. Perhaps they should try it more though, as you have noticed, it does tend to create a strong bond of loyalty.” Alexander looked back down to his desk, his hand stretching out for the quill that lay next to the inkwell. Tapping the nib onto the desk for a few moments, Alexander’s face looked pensive. Suddenly, he dropped the quill back to the desk. “A note to my father won’t suffice, he can be quite stubborn at times. It would be best if I went with you, I may be able to persuade my father to listen.”

“My friend has already gone to the house to try to speak to him,” Turlough responded. Noticing the look of surprise on Alexander’s face, Turlough continued, “We weren’t sure where your father would be, so we tried both here and at the house.”

“Ah! In that case we had better get there as soon as possible.” Alexander jumped from his seat and grasped his jacket and cane. He looked at Turlough briefly as he headed for the door to ensure that he was being followed then swiftly left the room taking the wooden stairs two at a time.

 

Despite the warmth of the morning, a small fire crackled in the grate of the study sending flickering shadows dancing around the darkened room. With the curtains pulled firmly shut adding to the heat from the flames, the room was stiflingly hot, evident by the beads of sweat forming on the forehead of the rooms’ sole occupant.
Lord Royston Marwood paced the floor, waiting for his visitors to be shown in. The room was warmer than he liked, but the fire was necessary. If it wasn’t set till evening, the room would still be frigid when he had to go over the accounts, and a little discomfort now would be infinitely more preferable to a great deal later.
The door to the study opened, and Jenkins emerged into the room with two strangers at his back.

“My Lord, may I present the Doctor and Miss Jovanka,” Jenkins stated politely.

“Thank you, Jenkins. You may go.” Lord Royston watched as Jenkins slowly walked out of the room and then turned his attention to his visitors. The Doctor, Lord Royston noted, seemed at first glance to be remarkably young for a man of medicine. His fair hair accentuated the boyishness of his face, but there was something about his eyes that spoke another story. Young he may look, but Lord Royston guessed that this Doctor was far older than his years suggested and had seen far more than most men had. He stood calmly waiting to be addressed, his eyes scanning the books lining the shelves of the study, passing over the ones recently deposited there on Sebastian’s instruction in distaste.
The young lady was obviously around the same age as his son, Alexander. Her face reminded him somewhat of his late wife, and he almost instinctively new that like his wife, Miss Jovanka would have a fiery temper. Her name puzzled him, Tegan Jovanka sounded almost Baltic, but her skin tone and facial features most definitely derived from Anglo-Saxon stock. “Please, take a seat,” he said quickly, remembering his manners. He waited till they had taken their places before continuing, “Now, perhaps you could explain yourselves. Jenkins only told me you had a matter to discuss with me of the highest import.”

The Doctor leant forward in his seat, his earnest face focused completely on Lord Royston. “What I am going to tell you may well seem far fetched, my lord. I only ask that you reserve judgement until you have heard all I have to say.”

With the Doctor’s eyes upon him, Lord Royston once again felt the age and experience that the man carried with him and he shuddered away from the immensity of what he perceived the Doctor to have seen in his life. He nodded resolutely. “I know not why I sense it, but you have an air of truth about you, so I will listen to all you have to say.”

Leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting softly on his knees, the Doctor looked squarely at Lord Royston his eyes never blinking. “You care a great deal for your people, and they in turn hold you and your family in high regard,” the Doctor stated as a fact. He paused for a moment, and a great sadness rose in his eyes. “In less than a day, all that will be left of your town will be a depression in the ground and a few weeds. The devastation approaches, Lord Royston, and it will be with your family that it all begins,” he finished sadly.

“My son, Sebastian?” Even before it came, Lord Royston knew what the answer would be.

“I’m afraid so,” the Doctor replied, “the signs are there already.”

“I said I would listen, Doctor,” Lord Royston responded to the Doctor’s challenging look. “It may not be easy for me to hear these things, but please continue.”

“Thank you, I know this can’t be easy for you.” The Doctor rose from his chair and paced towards the nearest bookshelf, Lord Royston’s eyes firmly fixed on him. Selecting a book from the shelf, the Doctor looked at it in distaste. The cover depicted a scene of mutilation and torture, unpleasant enough on its own, but as the Doctor leafed through the yellowed pages his face became even more disgusted. Turning, he held up the book to Lord Royston. “It’s written in blood. Do you have any idea what this is?”

Lord Royston shook his head. “Believe me, Doctor, it fills me with as much revulsion as it does you. It’s one of the books that Sebastian had sent here before he returned from his last expedition.”

The Doctor looked at Lord Royston thoughtfully. “Have you ever tried to read any of them?”

“Once,” Lord Royston admitted. “When they first arrived Alexander and I briefly looked through a couple of them. We couldn’t make head nor tail of them I’m afraid, not that we wanted to.” Noticing the Doctor’s questioning look, Lord Royston continued, “There’s a pervading air if evil around them, Doctor. We both sensed it.”

“It’s fortunate that you couldn’t understand it,” the Doctor responded. “If you had it could have ensnared you too.”

“It’s just a book, Doctor,” Tegan interjected from her seat. “It may look horrible, but it couldn’t control you.” Tegan’s tone had been incredulous, but the bleak look on the Doctor’s face sapped her derision. “Could it?” she asked fearfully.

“I’m very much afraid that it can,” the Doctor responded to Tegan. He placed the book onto the study table and moved back to the bookshelf, selecting similar books and laying them next to the first one. When he finished, he had a stack of eight books lying on top of each other, each bound in the same black leather and with covers portraying torture and maiming. “Is this all of them?” he asked Lord Royston.

Nodding his head, Lord Royston tried to avoid look at the books. “There were a few trinkets and the like as well, but Sebastian has already moved them to his chambers,” he added.

The Doctor thought about that for a moment, his lips pursed tight together. “They’ll have to wait, we have enough to be going on with here already. Lord Royston, do you think I could trouble you for a piece of parchment and a quill?”

As Lord Royston rifled through the desk, Tegan gave the Doctor an appraising look. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to decipher these books,” the Doctor replied, indicating to the stack with his hand.

“Doctor! You’ve just said that these books can take control of your mind if you try to read them.” Tegan retorted, her voice full of concern.

The Doctor raised his hands in front of his chest in a placating gesture, but his voice was quite determined. “I know a few techniques that should protect me,” moving quickly to cut off any arguments that Tegan may have presented, he continued, “besides, it’s the only way we can be sure of finding out exactly what we’re up against. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it is necessary.”

Grudgingly accepting the Doctor’s decision, Tegan stood up. “Do you want me to help you?”

“Ah! No. Between Lord Royston and myself, I think we should be able to deal with it.” Lord Royston offered the Doctor both parchment and quill. “Actually, it will be you that who needs them,” the Doctor stated, pulling the chair out for Lord Royston. “I’ll need you to write things down as I decipher them.”
The Doctor picked up the first book in the pile and held it in his hands. Grimacing, he opened the book and started to read.

“Well, if you don’t need me, I’ll go and get something to eat,” Tegan stated.

The Doctor looked up briefly from his book to glance at her. “You’ve not long eaten at the inn,” he protested.

Tegan laughed and glanced up at the clock on the study wall. The Doctor’s eyes followed, settling on the timepiece. “That was a long time ago now, Doctor.”

“So it was,” the Doctor answered ruefully.

Lord Royston cleared his throat, looking at Tegan all the while. “I have been most remiss, young lady. Please, go find Jenkins, he’ll be able to get the kitchen to rustle something up for you.”

“Thank you, Lord Royston,” she said giving the Doctor a pointed look that he seemed to totally ignore.
As she left the room, she looked back to see the Doctor pacing the floor, his eyes firmly fixed on the book held in his hands, while Lord Royston was poised, quill in hand, to write down whatever the Doctor told him to. They were oblivious to her presence already. “Bye, Tegan,” she muttered in annoyance under her breath as she let the door slide shut.

 

Tegan walked slowly through the house, admiring the décor. She stopped in front of a painting depicting the landscape of the town of Leaguesford and tried to spot the buildings she was familiar with. The inn was a little difficult to find at first, but she soon found it, and then she glanced at the house she stood in. It looked little changed, the rolling hillside that made up the gardens appeared as well kept in the painting as it did now. Her eyes moved beyond the house to the mill, but was surprised to find it missing, then she realised her error. Standing proudly just beyond the confines of the town, she spotted what must obviously be the mills predecessor, built as the new one was, upon the river but at a lower point. Tegan pondered for a moment just how much the painting would be worth in her own time before the sounds from her stomach intruded upon her musings.
The house was surprisingly quiet. Tegan had expected to hear the servants talking, which would have made it easier for her to find Jenkins, but the stillness of the house was unexpected and more than a little unsettling. Choosing a direction at random, Tegan walked along the hallway very aware of how loud the sound of her own feet was as she strode across the wooden floor. The passageway she was following had a number of doors on both sides, and she tried each one as she passed. A small few were locked, but the rest she looked into. She passed dining rooms, sitting rooms and one room whose walls were lined with hunting trophies, but none of the rooms were occupied.
A little exacerbated at her poor luck, and deeply conscious of the fact that she had paid little attention when Jenkins had led them through the house, and how easy for her to get lost it would be, Tegan began to mutter under her breath. She was just about to give up and head back to the study when she briefly caught the sound of soft voices ahead of her. Moving off in the direction of the noise with renewed enthusiasm, Tegan moved up the hallway, her ears straining as she tried to pinpoint where the talking was coming from.
As she drew closer, something about the voices alerted her. Stopping and listening intently, Tegan tried to fathom what it was that had sparked this wariness in her. The people were not that far ahead of her, she realised with some surprise. The voices were low but definitely close. She tip-toed her way across the last part of the hallway to where it ended in a stout wooden door. Next to the door stood a small paned window that allowed sunlight to filter into the passageway, careful not to be seen, Tegan looked through the glass and out onto the room beyond.
The three men within the room were speaking in low whispers, so Tegan was unable to hear what was said, but their movements suggested more than a little wariness. She recognised two of the men immediately as the ones who had knocked Turlough over outside the inn. Their faces didn’t shine with the same mocking glee this time however, they looked pensive and more than a little frightened. The third man turned slightly, and Tegan was able to get a glimpse of his face for the first time. There was a handsome quality there that the harshness couldn’t quite hide but it was a face that seemed devoid of normal human feelings. The similarities between Lord Royston and this man were profound, and Tegan intuitively knew that this was his son, Sebastian.
He held something protectively in his arms, but covered as it was in a light brown shroud. Tegan was unable to determine what it was, but the care with which he treated it suggested that it was something he placed great importance in. His body language clearly indicated that he was issuing commands to the other two men, and it was also readily apparent that they were not happy with what they were being told to do. For a moment Sebastian looked at the two men with contempt then he pulled the shroud off the item he held in his hand. The object was a reddish brown clay idol, grotesquely deformed with far too many limbs. Each limb, both arms and legs alike, held what appeared to be the representation of a human in its grasp, and one arm held what looked to be a struggling person up to its mouth. The idol was hideous, and Tegan let out an involuntary gasp when her eyes fell on it.
Pulling away from the window, Tegan listened carefully at the door hoping she hadn’t been heard. The room beyond had fell silent, and she braced herself to run if she heard footsteps approaching, but after a few moments the voices started up again. Bracing herself, she looked back through the window to see the two men leaving the building, holding the once again shrouded idol between them. Sebastian remained in the room watching them as the left the property, his face set in a contemptuous sneer. After a couple of minutes he followed them out of the building. Carefully opening the door, Tegan edged into the room and watched Sebastian leave. Briefly she contemplated letting the Doctor know, but something inside told her that it was too important not to lose sight of Sebastian. Making sure that he wouldn’t be able to see her, Tegan followed Sebastian out towards the town.

 

Sebastian paid no attention to the few people going about their business as he marched through the town. Indeed, he was so oblivious to them, that a number of the townsfolk found themselves moving quickly out of the way to avoid being brushed aside as he determinedly strode by.
As he quickly covered the ground, his eyes strayed from building to building searching for what he required. Having passed most of the town, he was getting quite close the small cobbled path that led down to the river and the old mill that was situated there. What he needed to do had to be done before he reached the pathway, but the closer to it the better. Veering off to his left, Sebastian quickly made for an alley that ran between two of the buildings. The passage was dark and had a dank smell to it that was a result of the puddles of old rainwater that the sun never shone on to evaporate.
He stopped a yard in and lent up against the moss covered wall of one of the buildings and waited. He could hear the footsteps approaching. Hesitant at first, the footsteps started to gather pace as the person obviously realised that Sebastian could have gotten away from them. Sebastian waited for the sounds to get closer, and when he was sure that the person was no more than a few feet from the entrance to the alley he stepped quickly out in front of them.

 

The girl gave a shocked cry as Sebastian appeared directly in front of her, but quickly seemed to regain her composure. Sebastian seemed a little surprised himself to find that the person following him had been a female, and not one he knew either. “You seem to have caught me. Or perhaps it is I who has caught you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tegan blustered. “What do you think your doing jumping out on people? You scared me half to death.”

Sebastian smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it, more a cynical amusement. “So much conviction in your words, and yet it is still a lie.” He made to move closer to her, but with every step he made she backed away slightly. “You’ve been following me since I left my home, and I also know why.”

“If you’ve known that I was trailing behind you, why did you wait till now to do anything about it?” Tegan had realised that her attempts at deception hadn’t worked, and the man’s superior attitude had begun to irritate her.

“It’s quiet here, isn’t it?” Sebastian’s tone was quiet but there was still something threatening in his voice. Emphasising the point he was trying to make, he pulled his coat open slightly revealing an ornate dagger held in his waistband.

Eyeing the blood red hilt, Tegan nervously berated herself. She should have told the Doctor what she had seen at the house, but instead she had decided to play the sleuth and now it had brought her here. “You may be the son of a lord, but I think even your own people would balk at letting you get away with murder,” she barked in her most contemptuous voice.

Sebastian’s hand crept to the dagger, and he began to slowly pull it free. When the blade was halfway out, he stopped and pushed it back, looking at Tegan thoughtfully. “I don’t think a stranger to the town will be missed all that much,” he answered scornfully. “It won’t be necessary though.”

Tegan was certain that he was about to do something. She felt as coiled as a spring as she watched him for any sign of action. Her ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps, and she almost sighed in relief. “You don’t want any witnesses now, do you?” Tegan had expected Sebastian to be at least a little concerned that people were approaching them. Although they would hardly be likely to take her word over the son of their lord, it would mean that he couldn’t act, for the moment at least. Warning bells started screaming in her mind and she started to turn to look at who were now almost on top of them. Tegan felt a sharp scratch on her neck and her hand whipped up to it, and came away with a thin trace of blood on it. She looked at the man who was now standing beside her and was dismayed to realise it was one of the men that Sebastian had been talking to. She swung her head back towards Sebastian, his sneering smile seemed to shimmer for a moment. Then his face went out of focus, her legs started to buckle underneath her.

Sebastian stepped forward and caught the falling Tegan in his arms. She was conscious, but only just. “When my master arises, he shall need a mate to spawn his progeny on.” Tegan’s eyes were closing fast, Sebastian gave her face a hard slap causing her to reawaken slightly. “You will be the vessel through which he repopulates this world with his own kind.”

Tegan struggled to stay awake, desperate now that Sebastian’s words filtered into her mind. She tried to push away from the man holding her but the darkness was descending again. As the blackness engulfed her, a silent scream that echoed through her mind. A cry of pure horror that none could hear but herself.

 

read on with Chapter Two

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