Doctor Who_ Grave Matter Part 4

'Think I don't know that, Nick? I been killing chickens since I was seven. I know that.'

'So?' the first man - Nick - said again.

'So they usually just run a few yards. Just till their brains realise they're dead, like.'

'And what did this one do?' Peri asked. Despite herself she took a swig of the beer. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

Jed swallowed. He was looking at the table, unwilling, it seemed, to meet anyone's eye. 'It just kept running,' he said.

'Blood stopped almost at once. And it just kept running.' He suddenly reached for his beer and took a long drink. 'Be running still, if I hadn't...' His voice died away and he drank again, draining his gla.s.s.

'Hadn't what, Jed?' one of the women asked, her voice was edged with nerves.

Jed's own voice was noticeably shaky now. 'I kept hitting it,' he said. He was staring off into s.p.a.ce. 'Again and again.

But it just kept on running. Until it was chopped into little pieces, like. And even then...'

'What?' Nick asked him huskily.

'Even then they were...twitching.' He stood up abruptly, his chair sc.r.a.ping noisily across the floor. 'I need another drink,' he said, and stumbled off towards the bar.

There was silence at the table for a few moments. Then Nick said to Peri: 'I'm sorry. Thought he had a joke or something. Break the ice, like. Not some d.a.m.ned fool horror story.'

'That's all right,' Peri said. She realised with surprise that she had almost finished her beer.

'He was making it up, of course,' Ian put in. 'Wasn't he, Nick?' he added nervously. 'Making it up, wasn't he?'

'Yeah,' Nick said, adjusting the position of his gla.s.s on the table top. 'Making it up. Course he was.'

The gas lamps were lit now. Their pale light suffused the room with a yellow glow that made everything seem somehow older. Even the people.

The Doctor was half-way through his second pint. He had already decided he had better not have another. It was a strong ale, he could tell. And while his body could metabolise the alcohol so that it had no effect on him (if he wanted), it might provoke unwanted attention if he drank too much of the brew with no apparent effects at all. Also, he was not at all sure he wanted Peri to drink too much. Carrying her across the moorland back to the TARDIS did not altogether appeal, especially as the evening was drawing in.

And he had learned much of what he wanted. He still had not managed to glean the exact date, though, and he was worried by the anachronisms he was spotting. For instance, the silvering on the mirror behind the bar looked just a little too smooth for its own good. But that could be the result of a caring craftsman, a lucky quirk of the manufacturing process, or his own temporal paranoia.

But he knew now where he was. The Dorsill chain of islands was off the south-west coast of Britain. He could find it in the TARDIS data banks, he was sure. All he really needed was the name and approximate location. But in the process of getting that, he was now privy to the islands' climatic conditions (mist, fog, rain), navigation data (don't even try unless you're an expert on local currents and know every rock by name and repute), and population statistics (this small village on the main Dorsill island, and a mansion house on a small island just off the northern edge called Sheldon's Folly).

Enough to call it a day, the Doctor decided, as he watched the shadows lengthen and the windows grow dark.

It was just as the Doctor was finally convincing himself that there really was no mystery or excitement to be had here and they should be on their way, that the door opened and a man came in.

He was tall and extremely thin. He walked very upright, which made him seem even taller, especially in the low-ceilinged room. His hair was silvery grey, receding from his forehead. His eyes were pale with age and the skin on his face was like yellowed parchment in the gaslight. It was stretched so tight that his face resembled the skull beneath. He carried a wooden walking stick, holding it in a determined grip in his right hand. As he crossed the room, he held out the stick, pointing it at Dave Madsen, who was standing talking with several people close to the door.

'You, sir!' the man exclaimed. His voice was strong and deep. Madsen turned, startled.

'Yes, you!' the man said again. 'Why did you let him do it? What on earth were you dreaming of, man?'

Madsen was obviously unsettled by the peremptory address. It was equally obvious that this was an argument he had suffered before. He sighed and tried to draw the man to one side. But the older man refused to budge. 'I don't think this is the time or the place, Sir Edward,' he said. 'I really don't.'

'Oh, don't you?' Sir Edward obviously did.

The Doctor looked quizzically at Trefoil, who leaned forward and whispered: 'Sir Edward Baddesley. Taken Cove Cottage, just outside the village. Nothing but trouble since he came.'

The Doctor raised an eyebrow by way of appreciation and turned his attention back to the argument.

'Of course I let him be buried,' Madsen was saying.

'There was absolutely no need for a postmortem.'

'Huh!' Sir Edward snapped back. 'In your opinion.'

'In my professional, medical opinion.' Madsen was exasperated. 'The poor man drowned. An unfortunate accident. Regrettable.' He glanced at the people he had been talking with when Sir Edward came in. 'Tragic,' he corrected himself. 'But straightforward in medical terms. There's absolutely no mystery, absolutely no doubt. And certainly no need for a postmortem.' He smiled thin apologies to the mourners standing silent witness to all of this.

Sir Edward seemed now to notice the group of mourners for the first time. Suddenly he was quieter. He bowed his head solemnly and mumbled something. Then he turned back to Madsen. 'Be that as it may, I suppose we shall never know now, shall we?'

'Please,' Madsen began.

'Be that as it may,' Sir Edward repeated, over Madsen's attempted reply, 'I hold you responsible. What in G.o.d's name were you thinking of, sir? Letting that poor man go to sea with a broken arm. Eh?' he demanded.

It was one of the mourners who replied, pus.h.i.+ng his way through the group and standing bristling in front of Sir Edward. He was smaller than the old man, but stared up at him in obvious anger. '"Poor man"?' he repeated. 'You don't even know his name, do you?'

'I -' Sir Edward began.

But it was his turn to be cut off. 'Do you?' the smaller man shouted. Then he turned on his heel and walked across to the bar. Behind him, Sir Edward Baddesley hefted his stick, held it shaking for a moment. Then he turned and marched out of the pub.

As the Doctor watched him go, he caught sight of Peri standing at the edge of the group by the bar. He guessed she had come over to see what was going on. She caught the Doctor's eye, then looked over at the door. The Doctor considered for a second, then nodded, just enough for Peri to see. He raised his eyebrows slowly in what he hoped would be interpreted as a 'be careful' sort of way. Then he turned towards Dr Dave Madsen. Perhaps there were a few things to clear up before he was on his way.

Outside the pub, the evening was drawing in. It looked darker from inside, but even so, the sky had darkened to gunmetal grey and the streetlights were splodges of light marking the edge of the street.

It took Peri a moment to catch sight of the man. He was walking briskly up the street away from the pub, towards the church. His heavy coat was open and flapped in the breeze as he walked, stick stabbing briskly into the cobbles. He looked, Peri thought, every inch the typical Victorian gentleman.

As Peri watched, the man stopped and turned, looking back. She ducked into the pub doorway, hoping she had been quick enough not to be seen. She gave it a few moments, then peeped cautiously round the wall.

The man was walking on again, and Peri hurried after him, doing her best to keep to the shadows and out of the direct light of the street lamps. He had almost reached the top of the street when he stopped again.

Peri pressed herself back into the gloom, and watched. The man hesitated, still looking round, as if checking there was n.o.body watching him. Then he slowly pulled something from inside his coat pocket. Peri strained to see, it looked like a small black oblong box. As she watched, he flipped open the lid and pressed his finger to the surface revealed beneath. Peri gasped. He was pressing b.u.t.tons. A moment later, the man lifted the box to his ear, cradling it almost invisibly in his hand.

She was not close enough to hear what the man was saying, but Peri could see his lips moving. He was speaking into the box - into a sophisticated communications device.

Whatever else he might be, Peri now knew, he was not a typical Victorian gentleman.

Chapter Four.

Anachronisms The white face of the clock on the wall had faded to a dull creamy colour behind the stark black of the Roman numerals.

The wooden surround was chipped and in need of a good polish. It gave the time as just a shade after quarter past eight, and there was no reason to doubt it was correct.

The Doctor and Peri had returned to 'their' table in the corner of the bar. n.o.body bothered them, or seemed particularly interested now. It was as if they had already been absorbed into the small island community, as if they were now part of the social landscape. The Doctor frowned into his beer as Peri quietly described again the device that Sir Edward Baddesley had surrept.i.tiously spoken into beneath the gas lamp.

'I think,' he said as quietly as he ever said anything, 'that it's time we had a bit of a mooch round. See what we can find.'

'You mean here? In the pub?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Check out some of the rooms, see how the people live. Hunt for clues.' His eyes were gleaming with enthusiasm.

'And how do we do that?' Peri asked. 'It's not as if we're inconspicuous.' She stared pointedly at the Doctor's garish multicoloured coat.

'Oh nonsense.' He brushed her comment away with a dismissive wave of the hand that came dangerously close to connecting with his gla.s.s. He leaned forward suddenly, and Peri grabbed his gla.s.s and moved it away. 'One of us,' the Doctor said, raising an eyebrow in a way that suggested to Peri that he already knew which one, 'needs to excuse herself.'

'Herself,' Peri checked.

'Mmm.'

'Excuse herself.'

The Doctor nodded, and tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. 'You've got it.'

'And then what?'

'Have a look round.' He flung himself back in the chair, evidently pleased with his plan. 'It's perfectly natural. You feel a bit embarra.s.sed having to ask for...you know. So you have an excuse to go snooping about a bit.'

'Ask for the rest room?' Peri said.

The Doctor was leaning forward again immediately, grabbing her hands across the table as he shushed her and looked round. 'I was hoping not to have to say that,' he hissed at her.

'And you think I'm the one to feign embarra.s.sment?' Peri asked. 'Just checking.'

'Try not to attract any attention,' the Doctor advised her.

'Play it cool, as you would say.'

She considered the plan, sniffed, and stood up. 'Just one thing, Doctor.'

'What's that?'

'You've spilt your beer.' She nodded at the table, at the pint gla.s.s lying in the middle of it, and the trail of liquid running off the side and into the Doctor's lap.

The Doctor leaped to his feet, pus.h.i.+ng his chair noisily aside and exclaiming at the top of his voice in what might have been ancient High Gallifreyan. Or not. Heads turned, people looked. Someone somewhere laughed.

'Try not to attract any attention, Doctor.' Peri told him as she turned and headed towards the bar.

There was a door beside the bar that led out into the rest of the building. Peri tried not to look round as she pushed her way through it. She waited on the other side of the door, expecting someone to call out to her, or to follow and tell her she should not be there. But nothing happened.

On the other side of the door was a hallway. A flight of stairs led upwards, and the hall continued through to the back door of the pub. There were three doors at the foot of the stairs, and they were clearly marked. The ladies' toilet was next to the gents'. Beside them, on the end, the third door was labelled 'Private'. The sign was a hand-painted block of wood fixed to the door at eye level. There was very little chance that someone would miss it.

Peri paused in front of the door, straining to hear if there was anyone on the other side. She glanced back at the door she had come through, the door into the bar. She was half expecting it to open as she stood furtively in front of the door marked 'Private'. After a few moments of nothing happening, she carefully turned the handle of the door and pushed. Maybe it was locked.

It was not locked, though it squeaked alarmingly as she swung it slowly open, prepared to mutter an apology and duck straight out again. In fact, there was n.o.body inside the room beyond. So Peri crept furtively inside and closed the door behind her.

The Doctor made a big show of brus.h.i.+ng himself down. He was, he decided, rather proud of the way he had organised this little diversion, so that Peri could slip away un.o.bserved. Once she was safely through the door by the bar, the Doctor picked up his empty gla.s.s and made his own way over to the bar. He handed the gla.s.s to Bob Trefoil and accepted a grubby hand towel in exchange.

'For the table,' Trefoil told him as the Doctor dabbed at his trousers.

The Doctor beamed. 'Of course.' He made his way back, mopped up the beer from the table and the floor, then returned to the bar.

'Another one?' Trefoil asked as he took the towel back.

His tone suggested that he did not think this would be a good idea. Further along the bar, Dave Madsen cradled the remains of a pint and watched for the Doctor's reaction.

The Doctor took the hint and shook his head. 'I don't think so, thank you. Excellent though it is. Do you brew it yourself?'

he hazarded. From the amused expression on Dave Madsen's face as he turned away, the Doctor guessed he had hit the mark.

Trefoil at once launched into a description of yeast and fermentation, and talked about the quality of the island water as the Doctor watched Madsen drain his pint. Trefoil moved on to an explanation of finings, accompanied by encouraging sounds from the Doctor, and Liz Trefoil refilled Madsen's gla.s.s. They were both smiling at her father's enthusiasm.

As soon as seemed polite, the Doctor cut Trefoil short.

'Fascinating,' he said. 'I always find the trick is in keeping the temperature right for the secondary fermentation.' He held up his hand before Trefoil could reply. 'We must talk some more,' the Doctor told him. 'Soon.' He smiled widely. 'But if you will excuse me just for a moment, I would like a quick word with the good Dr Madsen before he escapes.'

Trefoil seemed not at all put out by the Doctor's excuse, and Madsen allowed himself to be led away from the bar.

They stood a few feet away, Madsen still smiling back at Liz Trefoil as she wiped down the counter.

'I would have rescued you,' Madsen said. 'Eventually.'

'Thank you. Something of a pet subject of his, I a.s.sume?'

'Oh, you could tell.'

The Doctor looked at Madsen, then made a point of following his gaze across towards the landlord's daughter. She caught his eye, and looked away embarra.s.sed. 'Sometimes it's very easy to spot where a man's interest lies,' the Doctor said with a smile.

Madsen smiled back. 'Obvious, is it?'

'Well.' The Doctor paused a moment, then went on. 'But I did actually want to ask you something.'