In the twinkling vastness of space the most wondrous things are found. The silent gas dirigibles of the Hoothi drift between the stars, some of them as large as moons, ferrying their ancient passengers through the inky blackness. Great helices of energy swirl and pulse with terrible sentience, their convoluted minds bent to purposes beyond the comprehension of our poor organic brains. A glowing Rutan war-geode speeds towards battle in a war without end, without hope, its crystal facets reflecting the light from a sun it is about to destroy. Death comes to a Sontaran outpost in a beautiful prismatic spray of colour, and a million years of art and philosophy come to an end as the population of Samkhya V is wiped out along with Commander Skryle and his regiment of elite troopers. A line on a map is redrawn, the galaxies spin on. And a small blue box tumbles through the void, the lamp on its roof flashing out a warning, its engines groaning and thumping as it prepares to land.
"We're here!" exclaimed the Doctor, looking up from the chess board. There was no one else in the room as the rising and falling of the column in the centre of the console came slowly to a halt. He remembered that Ace had left the control room four hours ago, that she had asked him a question, and that he had not answered. He rested his chin back onto to his hands and stared again at the board, "We're here."
- - -
Anton shone his lamp over the crates and trunks in the luggage compartment. He paused briefly on the large crate that the Sultan had brought on board, wondering what it might contain, then continued on, the light coming to a halt on the tall blue box in the corner. He frowned slightly, he couldn't remember that being loaded on. Still, it all seemed quiet in here, there was nothing to explain the strange noise he thought he'd heard coming from inside. He shook his head as he closed the door, returning to his duties.
The door on the blue box opened, and the Doctor stepped out into the gloom. Only the faintest glimmer of light came in through the small windows high in the walls. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small penlight, flicking its narrow beam over the dark objects that filled the room.
"Are you coming out?" he asked, without turning round.
"What's that noise?" said Ace as she came out of the TARDIS, pulling on her black bomber jacket. The was a rolling, rumbling, clacking sound that filled the air, the floor vibrated and rocked, the whole room swayed from side to side.
"We're on a train," he sniffed the air, "A steam train, if I'm not mistaken."
"Cool. Where's the engine?"
"Somewhere at the front, I should imagine."
"Thanks professor, I could have worked that out for myself. Which way do we go?"
"Let's try this door," said the Doctor as his light fell on the same door that Anton had just closed. He walked over to it and found it was locked. He took out a paperclip from his jacket, knelt down, and began to work at the keyhole.
Ace looked around her, her gaze falling on the nearest crate, which happened to be the one that Anton had looked at earlier. It was taller than it was wide, and loomed out of the shadows, its top a good two feet higher than her head. She took a torch out of her pocket and gave the crate a more detailed inspection. It had "Archaeological Museum Istanbul" stencilled across the front, which was hinged to open towards her like a door. She gave this door an experimental tug, but it seemed firmly nailed shut. She gave up on it and turned back to watch the Doctor.
"By the way, you never answered my question. Where are we going? Or should I say, where are we?"
"I thought I'd take you to see a Noh opera. We might catch Kan'ami performing Matzukaze, it we're lucky"
"Do they often perform opera on a train?"
"Ah, well, not usually. No opera for us, I think…"
Ace groaned, "That's really weak, professor"
There was a click from the door, the Doctor looked up at Ace, smiling, "Let's see what's on the other side, shall we?" He stood up, opening the door and doffing his hat simultaneously. "Ladies first"
- - -
The dining car was pleasantly lit by soft electric lights on the walls, and by small oil lamps at each table. Anton passed through the car, carrying a tray with a silver cover over it. The train lurched and Anton staggered slightly, brushing against the arm of a middle-aged gentleman sat at one of the tables.
"I am so sorry sir," apologised Anton, in an outrageous French accent, "please forgive my clumsiness."
"Don't worry, my good man!" exclaimed the diner, "No harm done, eh?" He was a slightly plump figure, hair receding from his temples, with a dark moustache and long, rather old-fashioned sideburns. He was wearing an extravagant dinner jacket, although the style was more suited to a Victorian dinner party, than his current surroundings. A generous glass of brandy sat on the table in front of him, and he held a huge cigar in his right hand.
He looked across at his dinner companion, another middle-aged fellow, but with grey hair and a more distinguished look about him, although he too had the same slightly out-of-date look about his clothes and hair style.
"One has to expect a little hardship whilst travelling, what?"
"Quite true, Henry," said the grey-haired gentleman, "A very philosophical attitude, if I might be so bold."
"You may, George," said Henry, puffing on his cigar, "I pride myself in my practical philosophical persuasion."
"You are very kind, gentlemen," said Anton, with a slight bow, "Now, if you will excuse me, the Sultan is waiting for his supper."
As Anton walked away, Henry looked knowingly at George, "Sultan, eh? Must be the Sultan of Rajmanali, I read about him in the Times this morning. Rich as Croesus, so I hear."
"By Jove, I think you're right!" exclaimed George, "I read he was travelling to Istanbul to donate some items to the museum there. Bit of an amateur archaeologist, so I hear."
"Archaeology, eh? Maybe the luggage car is replete with Roman remains!"
"I hear he's more interested in ancient Egypt. Pharaohs and pyramids, that sort of thing. Not my cup of tea, really, I'm more interested in the far east."
Henry shuddered dramatically, "I've had enough of the far east for one lifetime, thank you!" He picked up his brandy glass and took a medicinal swig to calm his nerves.
"I say! Who's that coming into the car? Jolly rum looking fellows!"
George had noticed two people at the far end of the dining car. A short middle-aged man wearing a light-coloured suit jacket, plaid trousers and a panama hat. He was carrying an umbrella with a handle shaped like a large, red question mark. With him was a young man in a dark jacket and trousers, looking vaguely military. As George looked the young man turned his head to one side to reveal a pony tail.
"Upon my Sam!" George's eyes went wide, "That chap's a lady!"
Henry turned in his seat, "You're right! And they're looking this way."
The man in the hat was smiling at them, and lifting his umbrella in greeting. He began to walk towards them.
"They're coming over, George. Look sharp!"
The strange little man walked towards them, looking for all the world as if he had spotted two old friends. He came right up to their table and tipped his hat to them.
"Professor George Litefoot? And Henry Gordon Jago?"
"Indeed sir," replied Litefoot, "but you seem to have us at somewhat of a disadvantage."
"Yes," joined in Jago, "Would you mind telling us who you are and how you come to know us?"
"Ah," said the strange man, looking worried, "This might be a little tricky…I know this will seem impossible to you, but I am the Doctor."
If the Doctor was expecting shock or disbelief, then he was disappointed. Litefoot looked a little surprised at first, then a knowing look came over his face.
"Another one of you chaps, eh? There must be something pretty queer going on if they've sent one of your lot." He turned to Jago, "See Henry, another one of these Doctors."
Jago looked less impressed by this knowledge than his friend.
"How do we know he's one of them? He might be bluffing us"
"That's true, can you verify what you say, Doctor?"
"Wait a minute," said the Doctor, looking confused, "You mean to say you're not surprised to see me looking so, ah, different?"
"Of course not, that other Doctor explained it all to me"
"Other Doctor?"
"Yes, you know, the young man. All that business back in '94"
"You mean to say this is the third time you've met me? I mean, met one of us?"
"Yes, they must have told you about it. He helped stop…"
"Wait!" cried the Doctor, "Stop right there! Something has gone horribly wrong here." He pulled Ace aside, and whispered fiercely to her, "We have to leave, right now. I think the timelines have become crossed. I have no memory of what he's talking about, he must have met me in my future."
"What!" Ace looked unconvinced, "But he said you were a young man, how can your future self be younger than you are now?"
"It's a long story", said the Doctor, "I'll explain it in the TARDIS"
The Doctor tipped his hat again to Jago and Litefoot, "I'm sorry gentlemen, I must have made a mistake. We really must be moving along now." He was already dragging Ace by the arm towards the exit, ignoring the nonplussed questions and exclamations of the two gentlemen.
"Hold on!" said the indignant Ace, "What's going on?"
Before they were halfway across the car, the door at the end burst open, and Anton came running in, looking pale and frightened.
"The Sultan!" he cried, "He's been murdered!"