(Welcome to Mock Trial. This story is part three of my Twelfth Hour series. As the next full entry, it is recommended, though not required that you read the first two instalments, as this one will reference those and some of the plotlines there in. I hope this one is enjoyable for you, though it does start slow. I would like to thank feline38 for her help with some of the... stranger plotlines, and MiricatBlackwood for beta reading. Get ready for puritan America ladies and gents, the Who way)
A cold fog reached out of the trees, as if to grip any who dared to enter the dark marsh. The further one traveled, the deeper the fetid water became, slowly engulfing the feet in its murky, muddy wetness. A miasma lingered over this place. Great evil had been done here. Dark things had been wrought. The remnants of such things lingered, draining all emotions from the air and drowning them in decay.
Slowly, the Time Lord known as The Doctor trudged through the ankle deep water. An older man, his spiny grey hair was matted with sweat and water, and his ancient blue eyes squinted in pain with each step. His wizened face not but a grimace; one part determination and two parts vehemence.
He looked down at himself. His waistcoat and grey plaid pants were splattered with gooey mud; permanently stained beyond all doubt. He sighed at the sight of himself, though it was the least of his worries.
Chained upon his back was a massive block of uncut wood. Chopped roughly from the center of an oak tree, his arms looped around it, his hands gripping the top, tied there. He struggled beneath its weight; at very least one hundred pounds, but probably more. Each step sent ripples of pain down his spine, and the weight made his feet sink all the deeper into the mire.
He snorted derisively at his situation. A weight to equal his mortal sins, they told him, a punishment befitting a servant of darkness. He had stopped to help them and this was the thanks he got. Try to do the right thing...
The man ahead of him glanced back. Wearing the vestments of a holy man, he carried a crucifix in one hand, and a lantern in the other. The reverend only smirked, and turned his back. The Doctor sneered. When he got out of this, and he had faith he would, that man would pay.
He stumbled beneath the weight, electric pain shooting through his vertebrae. He didn't fall however, shifting the weight on his back. He managed to stay on his feet half out of spite. The Scotsman didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He felt his boots fill uncomfortably with water, making him tense with disgust.
"I'm going to get out of this," he shouted to the man ahead, his brogue echoing through the marsh, "I hope you know that." He knew he was in no position to taunt but it made him feel better for some reason. Humanity was starting to rub off on him.
"God has ordained this, my son. There is no escape from perdition," the reverend replied stoically
"We'll see about that. I'll find a way. Then I'll find Sarah Jane," he replied.
"Allow me to guess, then you will seek your vengeance and end my life?" his enemy asked sarcastically.
"You won't be that lucky, trust me," The Doctor growled. He would get out of this, and when he did, there would be hell to pay.
**Three Days Earlier**
The silence that blanketed the landscape was broken by an alien whine, grinding rhythmically through the forest. At first there was nothing, but slowly, a rectangular shape began to appear. Winking in and out, the blue police box took shape, landing with a thud on the grassy ground. It was not long before the door creaked open, and a woman emerged.
Though middle aged, with a sweet face marked with wrinkles and brown hair that had begun to grey, she wore an adventurous smile of a woman half her age. Her clothes were subtle, a dark jacket buttoned in the middle and a pair of slacks. It could be considered formal and casual; intentionally so. Sarah Jane Smith never quite knew where she would be day to day, not while traveling with her old friend, The Doctor.
"Doctor!" she shouted worriedly into the TARDIS, cracking the police box's blue door a bit more, "I don't think this is right!"
"What do you mean it's not right?" The Time Lord's Scottish accent huffed from inside, "I programmed it..." As the older man walked out of the door, he looked around bewildered. His ancient eyes scanned the surrounding woods as he spun around twice, and then looked at his friend.
"Your right, this isn't right," he muttered. Oak and maple trees surrounded them, stretching in every direction. A mist settled upon the woods, blanketing it in silence like the grave. A light dirt trail led off to the west; he took note of the hoof prints in the soggy dirt. Definitely not the space port on Caramimus like he had wanted.
"What happened?" Sarah Jane asked, surprised that they were in the wrong place. He was an excellent navigator after all. He couldn't blame her for being shocked.
"I don't know... poor girl must have gotten it wrong," he whispered. He didn't want to hurt the TARDIS' feelings after all. He gave his ship a reassuring pat with his wrinkled hand, "don't worry sweetheart, I'm sure you'll get it next time."
"Do you know where we are then? Looks a bit like Earth," Sarah walked forward, and then turned around, a big grin on her face. He always liked that adventurous streak she had. Perhaps that was why they had been friends for most of their lives.
He looked around more, then up into the daytime sky.
"Yes... definitely Earth, around noon..." he moved to a tree, wrapping on it three times with his knuckles. "Sounds like springtime..." he nodded. He knelt down, rubbing his hand on the mossy dirt. He watched his old friend recoil as he licked his palm. It was a bit tangy... "seventeen hundred, Massachusetts to be exact! Well, Ms. Smith, we're in America!"
"Well, that's a change. Been awhile since we've been here!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, when was it? The Mechinoids right? In that cornfield in Ohio?" he clarified. It was hard to remember sometimes. He and Sarah Jane had done so much throughout all the years they had known one and other that it ran together at times. Only recently had they been traveling extensively together again. He was more than happy with the results.
"You mean the fake cornfield on top of the missile silo," she corrected, chuckling "you almost got that scarf of yours stuck in the automatic doors." He shook his head. Again his fashion faux pas of the past came back to haunt him.
"Probably should have just let it. Would have done the world a favor," he grumbled.
"Oh please, I liked it," she waved off, "so are we going to explore? I've always sort of wondered what puritan America was like."
"Trust me; it's not as much fun as you would think. It would be better if we just leave now," he argued. He was not a fan of this time period. People we're too quick to judge, and too harsh when they did. This wasn't far off from the Salem Witch trials after all. He didn't want to think about those.
"Oh come on, where's your sense of adventure?" she prodded with a big grin, "we'll just stop in and have a look around. No harm, no foul." Her smile was far too endearing. He sighed exhaustedly.
"All right, fine. But at the first sign of trouble we're leaving," he stipulated, "deal?"
"Deal! Come on! Let's go."
The pair began walking down the dirt trail, leaving the TARDIS behind. He still had a bad feeling about this but what could he really do? She wanted to stay. He was trying to be more open minded about what his companions wanted to do. As a self titled "control enthusiast", he felt it would be good for him to let go a bit, try and go with the flow. It wasn't working but he was trying. Not to mention his last few plans hadn't gone as well as he had hoped, specifically a trip aboard a luxury space cruiser...
He shook that out of his head. He didn't want to brood, not today. That was something Sarah Jane Smith was always so good at; opening up his head and letting him out. No one did it quite like his oldest friend.
As they walked, the trees began to thin a bit, giving way to more and more patches of mossy grass. He guessed they must have been somewhere near a swamp. The ground was too damp for them to be elsewhere.
The trail widened the further they went, rising up a steep hill. As they crested it they spotted a village down below, nestled in an idyllic, woodsy valley. A few homesteads and farms sat scattered around, with a circle of official buildings in the towns' center. All were built of wood and stone, with wooden or thatched roofs. A tall church was situated by the front gate, its prominent tower ever watching the small village. People of this time period were fervent in their beliefs. It was both a blessing and a curse in many respects. The Doctor could not decide if it was more or less of either.
Despite its nice appearance, something he could not place tugged at The Doctor. A shadow seemed to take hold of this place, for what reason he couldn't decide. Perhaps it was just his experience with Salem coloring his opinion, or maybe the bleak forest that they just exited. Perhaps it was something more. He didn't know, but he trusted his instincts. He would keep up his guard.
He felt around in his pocket for his sonic screwdriver, finding it comfortably in his shirt. His preferred tool had a variety of uses, and he tried not to go anywhere without it.
As they approached the gate, a sign greeted them.
"Wardwall," Sarah Jane read aloud, "that's an interesting name."
"Never heard of it," The Doctor grunted, "I'm sure it's because it's terribly boring. We should just turn around and leave."
"Why are you so keen to leave?" his companion asked, giving him a sideways glance, "you're never like this."
"No reason," he rebuffed.
"Come on then, just a little while more, even if I have to drag you screaming," she winked. He only shook his head.
They walked down the well traveled road into town. They were greeted by the comfortable smell of wood smoke, and the ringing for church bells. They immediately noticed a long, stone building marked the town hall, right next to the church. A blacksmiths shop sat across the way, smelling of hot coals and iron.
Townsfolk milled about, some carrying baskets of food or other goods, while more greeted each other politely. They wore somber garb; the men in black tunics and slacks with buckled shoes, the women simple dresses and a bonnet on the head. Typical puritans by all definition, no creativity whatsoever.
He saw the suspicious glances coming their way as they walked by, noting the uncomfortable looks on their faces.
"Doctor... why are they looking at us like that?" Sarah Jane whispered.
"Look at us, we look different. Puritan people had a strict code of dress. It's an affront to their morels," he looked down at himself, "plaid is apparently very offensive."
"I probably should have known that," she replied sheepishly. He shook his head. He didn't want her to feel bad. Unfortunately he was quite familiar with puritans, the good about them and the bad.
"Excuse me," a deep voice came from behind them. Both The Doctor and Sarah Jane turned around.
The man that greeted them wore the clothes of a priest. He was middle aged, likely somewhere around forty-five, old by the pitiful standards of the time. His sandy blond hair was cut short, and his most prominent feature, his nose, was sharp and straight like the beak of a hawk. His deep set eyes were confident, but something else hid in those green orbs; something The Doctor did not like. The look of a man who had stared into the abyss was unmistakable. This man had seen darkness. He did his best not to show his feelings of the man on his face, but the gut feeling took hold. He had barely opened his mouth and The Doctor already didn't like him.
"I don't believe I have seen you around here before," said the reverend before them, "so I have come to welcome you to our community. Welcome to Wardwall friend." The way "friend" came from his mouth made his skin crawl.
"We are just a pair of travelers," The Doctor replied, "just passing through on a long journey." It was technically the truth.
"You are welcome to stay here, as are all of The Lord's children. I am Father David Barman," he held out his hand. The Doctor glared at it for a second before shaking it with a fake smile.
"Doctor John Smith. This is my...er... wife, Sarah Jane Smith." Most times he would introduce her as his friend or partner or companion, but that was far too risqué for this time period. He saw her smirk at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Well... a Doctor, how fortunate. Ours is... indisposed," Barman returned. The slimy way he said the word indisposed made The Doctor's hair stand on end. He was sensing a pattern here.
"Oh we're not staying, we're just passing by," Sarah reiterated.
"Where are you from if you do not mind my intrusion? You're accent is not one I am accustomed to and you're clothing..." he left his statement hanging.
"Scotland. These are the most popular fashions there in recent months," lied the Time Lord.
"Yes to us, it's you all that look a bit odd," Sarah Jane joked with a disarming laugh. The Doctor did the same, to a stern face from the holy man.
"How did you come here? It looked as though you traveled through the marsh," he questioned.
"By ship of course." It wasn't exactly a complete lie. The TARDIS was a ship of sorts.
"Well, I must..." he began but a cacophony of shouts began to ring through the town. Sarah Jane and The Doctor turned around to see a man rushing toward them, holding onto his buckled hat as he ran.
"Someone help! Help! Someone's been murdered." He hollered.
"You said you were a Doctor?" the priest asked frantically. He inwardly kicked himself. If he wanted to leave quickly, telling someone he was a physician was not the best way to do so.
"Yes, I am. I can help, as can my... wife," he stammered, almost mixing up his lie.
"Then time is of the essence."
The man ahead led the way, winding through dirt roads to the back of a homey farmhouse. Indeed they saw a dead body, nearly covered by scraggly, low weeds.
A crowd of puritans surrounded it, all chattering in hushed tones to each other. Some offered prayers to God, while other made the sign of the cross.
The Doctor and Sarah Jane pushed their way to the front, followed closely by Father Barman.
It wasn't until he saw the state of the body The Doctor wanted to stay. He knew exactly what did this. He hadn't seen it in a long time, but he knew what it was.
"Sarah... I think we're staying a little longer than expected..." he announced, "one of the universe's most deadly killers is loose in America."