Doctor Who_ Human Nature Part 13

He watched the ripples of his arrival flow from his body to the sides of the metal bath, then bounce back again.

Yes, this mood was probably something biological, a funk caused by losing one's finger and all the fingery functions a.s.sociated with it.

'Oh well,' he sighed. 'It could have been worse.'

The dark mood stayed with him as he walked into town, despite the fresh sunlight of the Sat.u.r.day morning. The market was setting up its stalls, and the Romany Punch and Judy man had parked his cart beside the oak on the green. The ice-cream boy with the cool cabinet on the front of his bicycle pedalled by, crying his wares. Smith stopped at the edge of the market square and folded his arms around himself, looking at all the people.

He could barely remember most of the rubbish that his attacker had come out with.

None of it had really made sense, but it had still felt as if the madman was talking directly to him, as if there was some other essential John Smith that one might talk to and yet which John himself wasn't aware of.

He shook his head. Nonsense. He should stop reading lurid books and join in with the boys' sport a bit more. Exercise was the solution, and it might help his aching hand, too.

There was a bakery, Caldwell's, on the other side of the town square. Smith made his way to it, keeping his left hand carefully up against his chest and shaking his head at the barkers for the various stalls as they tried to sell him fish or vegetables or ice. A lot of the stalls seemed very empty this morning, and one or two of the owners were sitting behind empty displays, glancing impatiently at the road that led out of the square.

A wonderful smell of newly baked bread always permeated from Caldwell's, and that was what brought Smith there every morning before work, in search of his regular steak and kidney pie.

Well, that and Fiona. Fiona was a small, red-haired girl who always seemed to be smiling. She was second-in- command at the bakery, beneath the beaming Mr Caldwell, who, when he saw Smith, would always warble something in a thick Arbroath accent that Smith affected to understand. Fiona and Smith said three sentences to each other every day; they were always good sentences.

Today, she stood patiently waiting as Smith hovered by the pastry counter, his finger moving to and fro over the pies. He was the only customer at the moment, the mid-day rush not having started yet, so he could afford to take his time.

'Not having your usual then, Dr Smith?'

'No. l wanted something... Oh, I don't know, Fiona.' He looked up at her appealingly. 'I keep wondering... I wonder why I wonder why. I wonder why I wonder. I wonder why I wonder why I wonder why I wonder... '

Fiona looked from left to right, went to the door and glanced outside, then went back to Smith and hugged him carefully like you'd hug a teddy bear.

Smith hugged her back, rather abashed, for a moment. Then Fiona brushed down her pinafore and went back behind the counter.

'Do you feel better now?' she asked. 'Yes,' he muttered, amazed. 'And do you know now?'

'Yes,' Smith grinned. 'Could I have a m.u.f.fin, please?' Munching his m.u.f.fin, and feeling a little better, Smith headed for the police station. On his way, he pa.s.sed the gate of the little churchyard of St Anthony's, then paused. He glanced at his watch. He had time.

The inside of the church had that polished smell and the light scent of new flowers on top of it. No vicar about. Smith walked to the altar and looked up at the ribs of the roof that met overhead. His parents had been Presbyterians, very strict and conventional, and thus he'd grown up without religion.

Sometimes, it would be nice to have some.

So he tried. 'G.o.d?' he asked the root. Something in him expected an answer. 'What is it inside me that hurts so?'

'Can I help?' asked a voice from the vestry. A kind looking vicar was smiling at Smith, extending his hands, welcomingly.

Smith glanced ruefully back at the ceiling. 'No,' he muttered. 'I was just a little lost.'

He doffed his cap to the priest and left.

So, what was left was Joan.

He turned the comer beside the police station, hoping to see her there immediately, but instead there was a cl.u.s.ter of police vans, and an ambulance crew carrying stretchers out of the place.

Smith stayed where he was, watching. He should go forward and declare himself, say he had an appointment, ask if there'd been an accident. But he didn't want to get involved.

'Got you!' Joan said, tapping him on the shoulder. 'How is your finger?' She was carrying a picnic hamper.

Smith took one of the handles, resisting the impulse to embrace her. 'Getting better.' He nodded towards the police station. 'I think we've come at a bad time.

Shall we go?'

'Well, no, we cannot. Not really.' Joan frowned at the confusion before them.

'Come on, let's explain ourselves and get it over with.' She led Smith towards the policeman with the most insignia. 'Excuse me. We were due here this morning to give evidence.'

The policeman took their details, and was suddenly interested when Smith revealed his ident.i.ty. He took a full description of his a.s.sailant and went over certain aspects of it with him.

'I think that's right...' Smith pondered. 'Why do you want a description? Can't you see for yourself?'

The policeman flipped his notebook closed. 'I'm sorry, sir, I'm not at liberty to say any more. The station will be fully staffed again by midweek, and if you could return then, I'm sure they'll want to go into the more general matter of the breakin.

Good day to you.'

As they walked away, Joan frowned at Smith. 'He's escaped. That's what's happened, isn't it? He must have hurt some policeman doing it.'

'Oh? Oh no!' Smith turned round urgently. 'But what if he - '

Joan took his arm rea.s.suringly. 'Don't worry. Why should he come back? You said yourself that he was a burglar. That sort never visit the same place twice. And if he was one of these Balkan anarchists, he must have picked you quite at random.

You've got no connection with middle Europe, have you?'

'No.' Smith still glanced over his shoulder at the ambulance. 'But why are they keeping it a secret? They didn't say anything about the hospital in the paper, either.

It's as if something terrible's happening. They won't tell us about it.' He squirmed electrically, wringing the air with his hands. 'I feel like I should do something.'

'I'm sure they've got it all in hand. If you can do anything, they'll ask you. Now come on, I know the perfect spot for a picnic. Or don't you want to have a picnic with me in a quiet little meadow?' She raised a flirtatious eyebrow.

Smith patted her arm. 'That's one thing I'm still certain about.'

'I am rather glad you lost your finger, as a matter of fact,' Joan told Smith as they negotiated the hamper over the stile. 'I became so uncertain last night, that's why I wanted to drop a note off with your gloves. Suddenly having to look after you made it all so much easier.'

'You did more than look after me. You rescued me.'

'I suppose I did. Do you mind? I'm sure you'd have won the contest eventually.'

'Mind?' Smith helped her down into a meadow filled with dandelions, an old oak tree at its centre. The white seeds of the flowers scampered over the gra.s.s in the gentle breeze, and small birds chirped as they swung to and fro in the sky, s.n.a.t.c.hing for the first bees to wake in the approaching summer. 'I owe my life to you. How could anyone mind that?'

'I'm glad you see it that way. I just could not stand to see you being beaten.' She turned aside, leaving the hamper on the stile for a moment. 'The truth is that I'm feeling rather overwhelmed, John. To have a sweetheart again. It's been a long time. I think I have forgotten some of the words.'

'Then close your eyes.' He went to her, and put a hand on each of her shoulders.

'And listen.' He did likewise.

They stayed like that for a while, listening to the sounds of the birds and the distant calling of animals, and feeling the sun on their faces. Joan held his hand on her shoulder.

'Do you remember now?' he finally asked. 'They're singing this for you.'

'Is this our song, then? The call of birds?'

'Why have only one song?' Smith whispered. 'We can have them all. Do you remember how to be kissed?'

'Yes,' she said, and turned, pulling Smith to her, delighting in the feel of his hand in the small of her back and the complete contact of their bodies and strengths. Their mouths met and played with each other for a long time.

Finally, she let go, laughing. 'I think I've picked up several verses now, as well as the chorus!'

'You're blus.h.i.+ng.'

'Am I?' Joan went back to the hamper and gamely picked it up, smiling all over her face. 'Jolly good.'

Bernice woke up refreshed and quickly got dressed, ready for the morning's expedition. She wandered out into the little kitchen of the apartment area, wondering if Alexander was awake yet, and was surprised to see him at the kitchen [image]

table, snoring loudly over it. It looked as if he hadn't gone to bed. An empty whisky bottle sat on the table, beside the portable history unit.

'Been there, done that...' Benny murmured, plucking the unit up from the table.

She froze when she saw what was on the screen.

The Somme: Casualty Lists, Located and Missing.

One name was blinking away on the list beside a map reference, a regiment and an identification number.

Richard Hadleman, Cptn Dd, psn gas.

'Oh my G.o.d, Alexander... What have you done?' Benny sat down and deactivated the unit. She reached across to Alexander and gently shook him, waking him up.

He grunted, and then stared at her for a moment, bleary-eyed. 'How dare you?' he asked, gently and rhetorically. 'How dare you allow me to know?'

'I didn't even think about it. I'm so sorry.'

'This war. Can't you do something to stop it?'

'I'm marooned, Alex. I'm virtually helpless. If the Doctor was himself...' Benny stopped, stood up and went to the window. She looked for a moment at all the ordinary things outside, and remembered a dream she'd had that night about mud and armed men. 'No. No, I don't think he'd do anything either.'

Alexander stood up. 'The only reason for this war is so that modern capitalism can destroy the great empires. It's just a great shedding of men who would otherwise need jobs! Isn't anybody going to see that? Isn't anybody going to say that killing half the world over Serbia is insane?'

'No.' Benny squared her jaw at him, finding herself defending history as if her pet dog had savaged a sheep. 'They all dive in like it's a great relief to them.'

'What if I went to Sarajevo? Shot the man who kills the Archduke?'

'Somebody had a go a few streets earlier. Somebody else would be around the next comer. Besides, it isn't really down to him, is it? As you say, the industrial world is waiting for this war. A way would be found. I'm just sorry you had to find out about it.'

Alexander sat down slowly. 'We could push for a revolution now, declare a workers' state. I always thought it could be real now, that it could be done. But there's no time. d.a.m.n it, if only you'd told me earlier! I have to get a telegraph, there's only a few weeks before it all starts, have to...' He found that he was staring at his hands, and suddenly burst into great sobs. 'Poison gas? How can they contemplate poison gas poison gas?'

Benny went to him and held him. 'I'm so sorry. What have 1 done to you?'

'Did it to myself, loved one,' he said, quietening after a while. 'G.o.d, what do I say to Richard when I next see him?'

'There's nothing you can say. I don't want to raise false hopes, but it may not happen. His death, I mean. I don't know what records you were accessing, but if they're ones from the future, then all sorts of things may have happened in between. Time's very big. We don't get to see it all. That's all I can say, really.'

Bernice was rapidly starting to feel as if she'd killed Richard Hadleman herself.

'd.a.m.n it, Alexander, I wish you hadn't looked.'

Alexander pulled out a big spotted handkerchief and blew his nose, quickly wiping his tears away, though a hard emptiness remained. 'Why, if I may ask, did you and your friend decide to visit us here?' he asked. 'Are we morbid zoo creatures, on the brink of extinction?'

Benny leant on his shoulder. 'Wasn't my choice. He wanted to come here and suffer a bit, I think.'

The doorbell chimed. Alexander rose and visibly pulled himself together, b.u.t.toning his waistcoat. 'I'll have to go through all that business of going to prison,'

he muttered. 'I might be too old to be conscripted, though, at least initially. What a winter it's going to be for us all.'

As he wandered downstairs, Benny grabbed the unit, and tapped out a request.

Shuttleworth, Alexander: No records.

She leant back and switched the thing off, hiding it in a deep pocket. She had already broken several laws of time before breakfast. Oh, and ruined somebody's life. She was definitely going to have words with the Doctor about this.

a.s.suming, of course, the Doctor ever existed again.

Constance strode merrily into the room, wearing green velvet pantaloons. 'Put on my bloomers,' she explained. 'And how are you both this morning?'

Benny glanced at Alexander's deathlike face as he stamped back up the stairs.

'We've been better.'

'So, are we going to go and get this thing of yours from whoever's got it?'

Constance asked as Alexander led them through the darkened corridors of the museum, refusing to open any curtains.

'That's the plan. Alexander says he has something to help us,' Benny whispered, wondering why she was whispering. Despite everything, Constance's chirpiness was raising her spirits too.

'I do indeed, loved one!' Alexander boomed, overhearing. He was taking deep breaths, being immensely brave, They'd come to a locked room, for which he produced a vast and a.s.sorted bunch of keys to enter.

The room was a musty, wallpapered storage area, containing everything that the museum didn't see fit to display. Benny wouldn't have minded an afternoon in cataloguing the stuff; there were certainly a few pieces of old metal that might have been worth the trouble, but Alexander went straight to a packing case, and pulled out two revolvers and several boxes of ammunition. 'Belonged to an uncle who was at Spion Kop.' He glanced at Constance. 'I would have told your comrades of them, but I didn't want knocks on my door at all hours from maidens wis.h.i.+ng to be armed.' He handed her one of the pistols, 'I couldn't face handling one; perhaps you can.'

'We have never used firearms,' Constance told him, slipping the gun into the pocket of her bloomers. 'But I shall not hesitate to do so in defence of my life. I should have you know though, Bernice, that we may commit arson and explosion, but have not murdered anyone. We are sincerely moral campaigners.'

'Fine. One day, I'll learn to talk like that, too,' Benny opined, checking the sights on one of the pistols. She spun it, loaded it and dropped it into a pocket. 'Busy day.

Now, shall we - '

An explosion came from upstairs. Dust detached itself from the roof in a solid layer, then fell.