Doctor Who_ The Room With No Doors Part 1

THE ROOM WITH NO DOORS.

by Kate Orman.

First Slice

The killing sword En largo camino paja pesa.

On a long journey, even a straw is heavy.

(Spanish proverb)

A better cla.s.s of portentous dream

Christopher Rodonante Cwej opened his eyes.

He was in the Room With No Doors.

'Oh no,' he said. 'Not again.'

He woke up.

Chris folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. 'Whew.'

For a while he just listened to the soft thrumming of the TARDIS, a sound you didn't hear so much as feel. He reached out a hand and pressed it against the white wall of the room, feeling that deep hum in his fingertips.

The s.p.a.ce-time s.h.i.+p must have noticed his movement. Some ripples of light moved across the ceiling, like reflections in fish tank, He smiled. The TARDIS could be pretty weird, but she took good care of her pa.s.sengers.

Chris got up and padded across his bedroom. He hadn't tidied up the place for a while. There were souvenirs and junk from half a dozen planets, some comic books, a bunch of T-s.h.i.+rts and underthings that needed was.h.i.+ng.

He'd been sleeping in his Daffy Duck boxer shorts. Now he tugged on a threadbare dressing gown, and pulled on a sandshoe and had done up the laces before he remembered that he still hadn't found the other one. He took it off, tossed it under the bed and went barefoot into the corridor.

He wondered if the Doctor was asleep. Most nights the Time Lord went into his room and locked the door. Sometimes shouts and even screams came from in there. You got used to it. Chris didn't want to know what the Doctor dreamt about.

It would be nice to go one night without any dreams.

The TARDIS liked to redecorate sometimes, moving the rooms around.

Tonight it put the kitchen across Chris's path. There was a food machine, programmed with about four bazillion recipes. A huge, untidy sc.r.a.pbook was leaning against it, with the codes for each meal written down in a jumble of Gallifreyan and English and other languages Chris didn't recognize.

There was a twentieth-century fridge, adding an unapologetically low-tech electric hum to the TARDIS's own quiet sound. Chris looked inside and found 3 a fossilised Archaeopteryx Archaeopteryx, a skateboard and a single gla.s.s bottle of milk. He peeled back the gold-foil lid and sniffed cautiously. It was fresh. He ate the cream from the top and put a mugful of milk on to warm on the stove.

He paused for a moment, eyes half closed, the taste still in his mouth.

You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, b.a.s.t.a.r.d, you could have killed me you could have killed me.

If it hadn't been for Elizabeth Shaw, he wouldn't be here now, breathing, tasting this.

There was a notepad tacked to the wall, with 'mushrooms chickpeas cereal helium' written on it in faded ink. Chris took it down, found a pen in the top drawer, and doodled on the pad while he waited for his milk.

Amongst the squiggles and rocket s.h.i.+ps he found himself writing the words 'Dear Doctor'. He looked at the pad.

'Dear Doctor,' he wrote, 'I give up.'

He scribbled that out and started again: 'Dear Doctor, these have been some of the best years of my life. Travelling with you has. . . ' h.e.l.l's bells, the milk!

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the saucepan away from the heat, just in time to prevent one of those gross skins from forming on the top.

'Can't sleep?'

Chris nearly spilt the milk.

The Doctor had noiselessly appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He had dark hair and a lined face and deep blue eyes, and was wearing an oversized orange dressing gown with a little cat embroidered over the breast pocket.

'You've got the right idea,' said the Tune Lord.

Chris glanced at the notepad on the counter, the saucepan steaming in his hand. 'Er,' he said. 'I have?'

'Warm milk.' The Doctor didn't look as though he'd been sleeping. Maybe he was just wearing the pyjamas for show. 'Best thing for insomnia.'

'Do you want some?' said Chris, immediately wis.h.i.+ng he hadn't. He sort of casually shuffled around until he was between the Doctor and the notepad.

The Time Lord shook his head. 'I just popped out to check the instruments.

We'll be landing in about five hours. Get some sleep.'

'Will do,' said Chris. 'Um.'

The Doctor hesitated in the doorway. They looked at one another for a few seconds.

'You'd better drink that before it gets cold,' said the Doctor. He smiled at Chris and went back out.

Chris put down the saucepan, ripped the sheet of paper loose from the notepad, balled it up and stuffed it into his dressinggown pocket.

The Doctor took one more look at the console room. The s.h.i.+p's instruments were flas.h.i.+ng and beeping softly to themselves as she drifted through s.p.a.ce-4 time. He watched the rhythm for a little while, a moire of light moving over his face, until he was satisfied with the erratic patterns.

He went back to his book-lined study and sat down at the typewriter. A single sheet of paper was protruding from the old machine, like the tip of a white tongue.

He put his hands on the keys, appreciating their mechanical firmness and the soft smell of oil and metal that the machine gave off. He let them rest there, like a concert pianist gathering concentration for the concerto.

Chris took his cocoa for a walk while it cooled. The TARDIS would get him back to his bed when he was ready.

He found himself in the archery range. The straw targets were piled in a corner, the bows and arrows safely stored away in an old trunk. It had been a while since the last lesson.

The Doctor had been teaching him Zen archery for. . . gosh, a couple of years now. Trying Trying to teach him, anyway. Chris hadn't got any better at it, missing the target as often as he hit it. But the Doctor said it wasn't a matter of hitting the target so much as to teach him, anyway. Chris hadn't got any better at it, missing the target as often as he hit it. But the Doctor said it wasn't a matter of hitting the target so much as becoming becoming the target. . . or something. The Doctor knew what he was doing. the target. . . or something. The Doctor knew what he was doing.

Chris sat on the trunk, taking warm mouthfuls of cocoa, looking at the painting that hung on one wall of the long hall. It was a copy of The Death The Death of Arthur of Arthur. The Doctor had done it himself, obviously while he was in a silly mood. James Archer would probably not have been amused by the little Dalek coming out of the lake, or the smiley badge that Merlin was wearing.

This morning the Doctor had been buzzing around the console, in a serious and frowning frame of mind. 'A minor temporal trace,' he had said, 'but one which certainly shouldn't be present in that segment of Earth's history.' His fingers had moved over the controls, urgent, never resting. 'We've got work to do.'

Chris sloshed the grainy stuff at the bottom of his cup around. Another adventure.

He kind of wished they didn't have to go.

The Doctor realized he had been staring at the sheet of paper for fifteen minutes.

'Dear Chris. . . '

He tore the sheet out of the typewriter with a whizzing sound, scrunched it up, and hurled it at the overflowing wastepaper basket.

5.

1.How to win

Aoi was still shaking. Thankfully, his father was too interested in the foreigners to notice.

They were kneeling on the gra.s.s, their wrists tied behind their backs and their arms tied to their sides. Father's oldest friend Kiiro stood behind them, arms folded. The foreigners' horses were tethered to a nearby pine, beside the three samurai's steeds.

The yellow-headed giant kept his eyes down, but the smaller one was watching the moonrise. As though he wasn't interested, as though he wasn't even here. Perhaps the little man was mad. Who knew how foreigners thought?

Aoi's father stood over them, arms folded. 'You were sent to find the G.o.d that fell out of the sky,' said Father.

'Yes,' said the smaller one.

'Tell us everything you know about the matter, and we will let you live.'

'Is that all you want?' The little man laughed. Was he drunk! For a moment, Aoi thought his father would cut the prisoner down then and there.

The giant was watching intently, looking back and forth between Father and the little man, as if he wasn't sure whether to speak. His pale face was splashed with blood. He looked frightened, but the little one just went on watching the moon, unafraid.

Aoi wished he knew how to be unafraid.

That morning the three warriors had ridden over the plains like thunder. Father and Kiiro side by side, Aoi following behind the two older bus.h.i.+ bus.h.i.+, the wind s.n.a.t.c.hing the laughter out of his mouth.

The daimyo's summons had come the night before. Aoi had never met Gufuu Kocho, warlord of the three districts. His father had spent an hour drilling Aoi in protocol before their departure.

Aoi wore his new armour. Two swords hung by his side. The front of his head had been shaved, the rest of his hair gathered up into a warrior's topknot.

7.As of yesterday, when he had come of age, he was a bus.h.i.+ bus.h.i.+ in the service of the Gufuu family. Aoi, the fearless and bold samurai, ready to lay down his life in an instant for his master. in the service of the Gufuu family. Aoi, the fearless and bold samurai, ready to lay down his life in an instant for his master.

After an hour's hard ride they reached the daimyo's castle.

The great wooden gate towered above them, guards peering down. ' Kaimon! Kaimon! ' his father shouted. 'Open the gate!' The trio rode into the courtyard, their banners fluttering hard. ' his father shouted. 'Open the gate!' The trio rode into the courtyard, their banners fluttering hard.

Aoi's heart had been pounding harder than the horses' hooves when they'd gone in to see the daimyo.

The old lord sat on a stool on his daiza daiza, magnificent in his armour, his helmet by his side. His hair was white and his dark eyes were sharp as arrows.

The three bus.h.i.+ bus.h.i.+ knelt before the raised wooden dais. knelt before the raised wooden dais.

Aoi tried to keep his eyes on the floor in front of them, instead of letting them wander around the great, empty room to the daimyo's personal guard of three ferocious-looking warriors, to the suit of decorated armour in the corner, to the great wooden b.u.t.terfly carved into the wall above the daiza daiza. A page sat beside the warlord, holding his sword. He wasn't much older than Aoi.

The daimyo had returned from a skirmish this morning, and would be riding out again soon. His advisers sat nearby on stools, also in their armour.

'I have a mission for you,' said Gufuu. 'A kami kami has fallen out of the sky in Han district, near the village of Hekison.' has fallen out of the sky in Han district, near the village of Hekison.'

A spirit? A G.o.d? The daimyo went on, 'That territory is disputed. At this time, anything could bring us a tactical advantage. Your task is to find the kami kami and bring it back here before any of my rivals learns of this matter.' and bring it back here before any of my rivals learns of this matter.'

' Hei! Hei! ' said his father and Kiiro together. Aoi was a moment late in joining their reply. ' said his father and Kiiro together. Aoi was a moment late in joining their reply.

Aoi felt his father's attention, even though Father had not turned his head.

The warlord nodded, and his father moved forward a little. 'My lord,' he said.

'My son Aoi turned sixteen yesterday. I would like to ask permission for him to accompany us on this mission.'

The daimyo looked down on Aoi, who had the sudden impression that the old man was sitting on a mountaintop, somewhere high above. Aoi bowed.

'Very well,' said the warlord. 'Now, the border is in turmoil at the moment: beware of enemy troops and spies, brigands, and even armed peasants.'

'How goes the war, my lord?' asked Father.

'The outcome hangs in the balance,' said Gufuu, honestly. 'I do not exaggerate when I say anything could affect it, anything could give us the advantage we need. Do not underestimate the possible importance of this mission.' Aoi's father bowed.

8.One of the daimyo's advisers said, 'Any battle may be the one that eventually determines who will rule the country. No matter how many warlords vie for power now, in the end one lord must unite the whole land.'

Gufuu said, 'There is more. I have received word that two men have been sent from Doa-no-naiheya Monastery to investigate the kami kami.'

'Monks?' said Aoi's father.

'Not according to the report,' said the daimyo. 'Two foreign travellers.'