Author's Notes
Mind That Kitten! Episode 7 in the Twelfth Doctor Adventures, featuring the Doctor and Charlie Drake.
(I really wasn't taking anything too seriously when I was writing this. After all, it's entirely based on a throwaway line from one of the Brilliant Books. Also, sorry about some of the chapter titles.)
The story so far…
Travelling through time and space, Charlie Drake is having the time of his life. Adventures with the Doctor are the perfect escape – he can scarcely believe it's all real. Alien worlds and Alan Turing? Giant spiders and living computers?
Egypt, 48 B.C.
"Down there!" yelled Charlie, ploughing straight into a polished marble column. He picked himself up, and massaged his bruised collarbone.
"Ow," he muttered retrospectively.
The Doctor sped past him, his arms flailing like a flightless bird, upsetting a large golden urn as he dashed round a corner.
"Come on!" the Doctor called. "We can't let it get away! Millions of lives depend upon it."
"No big," wheezed Charlie as sarcastically as he could manage under the current circumstances. He stumbled after the Doctor, down the lavishly adorned corridor.
They glimpsed a long, fluffy tail sweep the floor as it disappeared behind a large statue of a jackal-headed deity.
The Doctor skidded to a halt, leaving black rubber marks on the stone floor with a sharp squeak. He glanced at Charlie in confusion.
Charlie gestured towards the statue.
"It went behind there. I'm sure of it."
They edged closer to the figure, upholding great caution. Shifting aside a vase encrusted with precious stones, the Doctor grunted. There was nothing there.
He shook his head. "It's imperative that we find it."
"We're in Ancient Egypt! We're looking for a cat!" hissed Charlie. "How will we know if we've even found the right one?"
They both sensed a movement, and turned around. A purple curtain, gilded with an intricate pattern, swayed from side to side. Shrinking underneath it, the whiskered nose of a fluffy tabby kitten. Its wide, terrified eyes observed the Doctor and Charlie slowly approaching it.
"You make a good point," the Doctor conceded. "But I'm sure this is the one. I recognise the markings."
The Doctor grinned at it, and crouched down, so as not to appear intimidating. He offered his hand.
"And you recognise us, don't you, sweetie?" he cooed. "Come on, don't be frightened. It's alright."
The kitten backed away, and darted behind the curtain.
The Doctor looked at Charlie in mystification.
"You scared it off," Charlie moaned.
The Doctor raised his eyebrows, demanding an explanation.
"It's probably your eyebrows."
The aforementioned facial features dropped into a scowl.
"What?" Charlie challenged him, as he threw the curtain aside, and stepped through the doorway.
The Doctor raised his hand in alarm – but he was too late. "Ah! Don't go through there!"
He closed his eyes in apprehension, as if expecting to be slapped.
Charlie stopped. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Six pairs of eyes turned aggressively towards him. He raised an index finger in protest, but withdrew it again.
Ten of the eyes belonged to some rather burly, thuggish guards, armed with swords. The other eyes glowered at him, but they sparkled like emeralds; they were quite pretty, really.
They belonged to a very opulently dressed woman, reclined on what Charlie would describe as a lounger. A diadem, in the shape of an asp, rested atop her lengthy, braided black hair.
The woman's nostrils flared. Her dark skin was flushed, in infuriation. She was clearly a person of great importance, and also happened to be rather cross.
He wondered for a second what they must think of his appearance: an English teenager, dressed in clothes that wouldn't be fashionable for another two thousand and fifty years.
"How dare you enter here!" the woman cried. "This is my private chamber, and I am waitin' on a visitor."
Charlie was taken aback by her rather streetwise accent; not the sort of tone he'd expected from an Ancient Egyptian lady.
"I-"
"You don't have permission to speak!" she snapped. The Doctor ducked sheepishly through the doorway, and the woman's eyes narrowed.
"Your highness," the Doctor bowed slightly, extracting a thick roll of paper from his jacket pocket, and handing it to one of the guards. It was unravelled, and presented to the woman.
She looked over the yellowing page. But there was nothing written on it – it was blank.
"It's psychic papyrus," the Doctor whispered to Charlie. "It says we're envoys of the great god Set."
Charlie looked nervously at the woman, who was reading these apparent words with suspicion.
"Are you sure she'll believe that?"
"Don't worry, Cleo and I go way back. She's totally infatuated with me. This'll be a piece of cake."
"Cleo?" exclaimed Charlie. "As in 'Cleopatra'? Queen Cleopatra? Of Egypt?" he stared at her in incredulity.
"That's right. Cleopatra the seventh, last ruler of the Macedonian dynasty."
"I studied her in school," Charlie continued, star-struck.
"Yes, well, try not to do that now, she might take offence."
"We were studying Ancient Egypt," Charlie griped.
Now that he came to think of it, Cleopatra looked exactly as Charlie expected her to – just like the illustrations in that old school history textbook.
"You know she's not actually Egyptian," the Doctor informed him earnestly, "She's from a family of Greek rulers. It's rather an interesting story how I…"
The Doctor stopped talking. Cleopatra's eyes flickered from the scroll to the Doctor. She rose, and sauntered over to him, offering him a sweet, but sarcastic smile, and slapped him across the cheek.
"Ouch!" the Doctor reeled back in surprise.
"Did that… did that just happen?" Charlie uttered, staring vacantly at the scene unfolding around him. It was so unreal.
"Doctor," Cleopatra spoke acerbically. "Time Lord of Gallifrey. I see you have not returned with your lady friend."
"I think you've made a mistake…" the Doctor protested.
"Shut it!" she snapped. "By what devilish sorcery I don't know, but you have changed your face yet again. However, I still know who you are!"
The Doctor wrung his hands agitatedly.
"It wouldn't be too much to ask for a favour, would it? You see, there's this cat…"
"I ain't got time for this! I still remember the last time you humiliated me! Maybe you should think twice before bundling the Queen of Egypt into a carpet roll!"
Charlie watched the Queen unleash her fury on the Doctor with some amusement. In fact, he had to restrain himself from bursting out laughing.
"She didn't mean anything by it…" the Doctor's appeal fell on uncaring ears.
"Lock him up," she ordered.
"Ah…" breathed the Doctor.
Charlie watched in confusion, unable to do anything as the Doctor was escorted from the room by one of the guards. Cleopatra, on the other hand, simply turned her nose up.
Charlie was left standing awkwardly in Queen Cleopatra's presence. He wondered what was going to happen to them both. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be good.
The Queen turned to him, and Charlie offered her a small smile. She regarded the gesture for an uncomfortably long time, but eventually returned a warm smile.
"Are you his consort?" she asked.
"I beg your pardon?" Charlie mumbled anxiously.
"Are you his associate?" she repeated. Charlie felt a small tingle in his brain. He realised that Cleopatra had actually said the same word, but he had understood it differently. Probably something to do with the TARDIS translation circuits. Which might also explain her strange accent.
"Er, yeah, kind of."
She nodded. "I hope you have not fallen afoul because of him."
"I shouldn't think so." Charlie answered honestly. "We're actually trying to save the universe at the moment."
Cleopatra narrowed her eyes.
"I think that's highly unlikely."
"I understand you have a… history with the Doctor?" ventured Charlie.
"Yes," Cleopatra confirmed, "I found him very charming the first time I met him. However, I quickly saw through his façade. I found him to be very deceitful…" She frowned. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Charlie."
"You know who I am?" she asked, although not in a way which suggested vanity.
"Oh yes! Queen Cleopatra, surely greatest queen of all time," Charlie professed. "Except for, maybe… the band," he added awkwardly. "Freddie Mercury. Which isn't to say…"
"But you are European, yes?"
Charlie nodded.
"Where in Europe are you from? I can't quite place your accent. Not Italy?"
"No, England. Britain – Great Britain."
"I see. But you're fluent in Greek?"
"I am?" Charlie faltered for a moment, recalling the translation circuits once more. "Yes, I am…"
Cleopatra scrutinised the expression on Charlie's face. He was attempting to remain as courteous as possible, despite how nervous he was in the presence of such a famous figure.
"You are… quite attractive," she smiled playfully.
"Am I?" Charlie blurted, accidentally making eye contact with one of the guards. He shrugged.
Cleopatra smiled radiantly.
"Has no-one told you that before?"
Charlie was too surprised to speak. The Queen Cleopatra, revered throughout history for her beauty, was calling him – Charlie – attractive?
"Um…" Charlie muttered, his lip curling in unease. "…Someone did. Uh…"
Cleopatra noted Charlie's expression of discomfort, and gestured towards her lounger.
Charlie shot a nervous glance in the direction of the remaining guards, but took a seat as indicated. Cleopatra sat beside him – alarmingly close. So close, that Charlie felt the need to sidle away from her.
"Oh, come on Charlie, there's no need to be shy," Cleopatra simpered. "Tell me, what's up?"
"What's up?" Charlie repeated uncertainly.
"Yeah, what's up? It doesn't take a genius to see there's something buggin' you."
Charlie stared into Cleopatra's perceptive green eyes. There was something about her which didn't quite add up. She seemed way too… laid back?
But she was right: there was something eating away at him. And quite frankly, he was sick of people asking him about it.
"I'd rather not talk about it," Charlie muttered quickly.
Cleopatra shrugged. "Suit yourself." She sighed dramatically. "Just because I'm the Queen, don't mean I ain't gonna understand your problems."
"Well, no, I wasn't suggesting that…" Charlie added hurriedly.
"No, no, it's cool," Cleopatra insisted.
Charlie raised his eyebrow. "Okay…?"
Cleopatra ran her finger down the bridge of his nose, and Charlie flushed with embarrassment.
The Queen leant in close, and muttered, with some remorse:
"Well, it has been a pleasure speaking with you. However, you are an associate of the Doctor, so I'm afraid I will have to have you executed. I'm sorry about that."
Charlie frowned, his chest tightening. "But…"
"It's the rules."
Charlie's face fell, as the guards advanced towards him.