Okay, the impending doom wasn't so bad. I mean, it wasn't like it was the first time that The Doctor had gotten us stuck in an adventure that seemed to only conclude when we die, but I always liked to look on the bright(ish) side.
I got to meet King Henry the Eighth. Not many people can say that, back home.
King Henry proposed to me. I bet evenless people can say that in the year 2013.
And I love the smell of woodsmoke.
"Doctor, now would be a good time to do that fantastic thing where we get out of here alive," I mentioned over my shoulder, twisting to try to see him.
"Yes, Clara, it is a good time to do that," he agreed, "It most certainly is."
My eyes narrowed. "Um, you have a plan, right?" The servants were adding more firewood to our feet.
"Of course I have a plan," he assured me with confidence. "I just haven't thought of it yet."
Oh my God. We were going to die at the stake. Like witches. "Doctor!" I hissed.
"Yes, yes, calm down, Clara." He was struggling to reach inside his spiffy jacket. His arms – Timelord or no – were just that little bit too short. By a ruler. "Clara, I'm going to need you to get my sonic screwdriver out of my jacket."
"How? I'm shorter than you." It was a 'duh!' situation.
He was silent. I saw his face, and he had on the I'm-not-quite-sure-how-to-ask-you-this look.
Uh oh.
"My inner jacket pocket," he began, "is roughly the same height as your mouth." Wait. "And since how we're both going to die very soon," – the torchman began walking down the stone steps into the courtyard – "personal bubble really shouldn't be that much of a biggie right now." What?
Oh that was gross. That was really disgusting. The Doctor felt my shudder. "Oh, my pocket not good enough for you?"
"I've seen what you've put down there! You tucked away a half-chewed broccoli once!"
"It was the gift from the infant prince of the Lost Grace Galaxy! Our heads would've been cut off if I refused it!" He saw the oncoming torch, and began hopping in agitation. "Cla-ra!"
"Okay, okay! Hold still."
I swear, I smelt animal. A real, actual animal smell. Eww-ewwy.
"Gaw-tcha." It was between my teeth, and I plopped it down into The Doctor's hands.
We were bound with rope, so The Doctor couldn't just wizz us out with a whirly sound. But, he did flick it on, and smack it between his ear and shoulder, like he was listening for something.
It rang like a Nokia mobile, guitar ringtone and everything. The other side picked up.
"Hello darling!" The Doctor answered in a sweet, sing-song voice. "I'm in a bit of a pickle here, I don't suppose you could swing by and pick us up? Hm?" He listened. "Oh, me'n Clara." He frowned. Not a worried frown, more of a 'I'm sick of this,' frown. "I don't care how you feel about her, you two need to learn to get along. Bake cupcakes together of something else just as girly."
I kicked him in the shin, and his throat made the funniest sound. I wasn't impressed. Who was he talking to?
Ignoring me, The Doctor tried different tactics. "Please? Pretty please? I may be in peril, at this moment."
"Oo are y'talkin' ta?" One of the servants asked.
"The dead, I'm double checking if they have a comfy spot in the afterlife reserved for me and my maid," The Doctor responded without pause. My jaw dropped. The servant ran away, terrified.
Back to his screwdriver-phone thing, The Doctor spoke in a very silky voice. "I love you, you sexy thing," he purred.
The torchman chucked the torch at our feet, afraid to be near the devil-man talking to himself. The fire caught easily.
"Doc-tor!" I rushed.
Vwrooppp, Vwwroopppp, the TARDIS sang as she entered. She was forming around The Doctor and myself, and we were both whooping in glee. She had managed to form between us and the fire. I had to admit, she was a clever girl.
But, no one was inside. "Doctor, who did you call?"
He looked at me in surprise. "Clara, I'm disappointed." He smiled, and then said in a very warm, very affectionate voice, "I called the most beautiful, the most wonderful girl that I've ever known." He looked around him. "The one girl who has never left my side after all these years."
The TARDIS's lights in all of the corners took on a reddish hue.
While The Doctor's head was floating in the clouds, I realised a more immediate problem. How in the world are we going to get out of these ropes?
– The Copper Phoenix