TANAS
CHAPTER ONE
The air was warm, the sun mellow, and in the distance a church bell chimed. Tegan gazed out over the meadow, the profusion of wildflowers of e very species making her think of Monet's poppy field. She shielded her eyes, looking beyond the gently waving grass with its splashes of scarlet to the dark smudge of a wood to the east. She turned back to the TARDIS to see Adric and the Doctor emerging, the latter unscrolling his hat; she went over to join them. Nyssa was kneeling a few feet away, picking bunches of cornflowers and poppies, and arranging them into a posy with much more artistic talent than Tegan could have done.
"When did you say this was?" the air hostess asked. "We're in England, right?"
"Yes, we're 17.2 miles from London," Adric offered, lazily watching a bird of prey that could have been a red kite, a bird that was almost extinct in Tegan's time, hover high above the wood. "It's the 30th August 1823 AD."
"Ah, the Regency period," the Doctor enthused brightly.
Adric grinned back. "In fact in a few days' time there's going to be an astronomical event: Saturn and Mars will be in perfect alignment."
"The Malefics, excellent news!"
"The who, Doctor?"
"Malefics, Tegan. Saturn is known as the Greater Malefic; Mars the Lesser," the Time Lord explained. "Malefic meaning evil influence of course."
"Oh, of course," Tegan muttered.
The Doctor clapped Adric on the back. "Good choice of time and place, Adric!"
The youth tore his gaze away from the kite. "I didn't set the co-ordinates, Doctor."
The Doctor humphed. "Of course you did. I know I didn't. Therefore it follows, does it not, that you did."
"Doctor," Adric explained patiently, "I don't even know what a Regency period is."
"Mmm?" The Doctor was clearly not paying the least attention – again. His eyes were scanning the distance. "You know I do believe there's a village down there – I can see a church. What say you three to a bit of a stroll?" Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor was already striding off single-mindedly.
Tegan exchanged long-suffering glances with her two companions and the three of them hurried to catch him up, Nyssa slipping back to close the TARDIS doors first.
"So what is the Regency anyway?" Adric asked, as they waded through the knee-high grass of the meadow, Tegan pausing often to examine another species of wildflower that was extinct in her time due to intensive farming. She touched a light purple flower reminiscent of a bluebell.
"It's a harebell," the Doctor said, answering her unspoken question. "The local name is witch's thimble or the old man's bells – the old man being the devil, of course. Sorry, Adric; the Regency is a period in English history." He turned with an impish grin to Tegan. "Why don't you tell our friends all about it?"
Tegan raised an innocent eyebrow. "The Regency period denoted that period when the King, George III, was considered insane and therefore his son, George, Prince of Wales, acted as Regent." She smiled triumphantly at the Doctor's look of chagrin.
"What was wrong with the king?" Nyssa asked, her professional interest piqued.
"From the records available I would favour porphyria," the Doctor replied. "Of course, his condition was exacerbated by the primitive level of Regency medicine. His doctors thought that blistering his skin would draw out the ill humours."
"He used to talk to teapots and trees," Tegan added helpfully.
Unnoticed at first, a thin mist had drifted rapidly over the sunny meadow in a swirling cloud until Tegan felt she was viewing the world through a sheet of tracing paper. The Doctor was looking faintly troubled.
"There's something very wrong here," he declared, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Mist is formed when warm air near the ground hits cooler air. It hangs over lakes and rivers and the sea and is most common in late autumn and winter near nightfall. But it's only one o'clock in the afternoon on a very warm and sunny late summer's day. It's anomalous."
And indeed the strange vapour seemed to act in a way very unlike most mists; it swirled oddly despite the lack of a breeze and clung to the body, caressing it in a distasteful way that felt strangely, uncomfortably, like thousands of ghostly hands.
"We should go back," Adric stated and even in the poor visibility Tegan could see the way his eyes darted nervously.
Dispelling her own growing sense of dread, she said, "Relax, Adric, it's only mist. Funny mist – but still mist. It can't hurt you."
"You're forgetting about Mistfall," Nyssa reminded her, giving Adric a reassuring smile.
"It'll probably clear as we leave this hollow. Come along," the Doctor said, seemingly oblivious to Adric's discomfort.
It was soon evident, however, that the mist was not clearing – it was growing thicker until they could see each other only as ghostlike silhouettes against its swirling mass. Adric was now close to panic.
"I want to go back. Now! You don't understand." He had backed himself hard up against a tree and was shivering miserably. "It's evil. We have to go back before it's too late."
"Was Mistfall so bad?" Tegan asked, surprised and disturbed at the depths of Adric's fear – the boy hadn't turned a hair at the Mara or the Tereleptils.
The Time Lord had been squinting ahead, trying to discern their path, but now he turned back to his companions, Adric's fear at last breaking through his preoccupation. He rested his hands lightly on the youth's shoulders, feeling the pounding of his heart through the contact. "Mistfall to an Alzarian is analogous to a haunted mansion in a thunder storm to a human." He squeezed Adric's shoulders. "Adric, we can't find the TARDIS in the mist. Our only hope is to continue to the village."
"Varsh – the Marshmen came out of the mist. They killed Varsh."
Tegan glanced up from her two companions at the sound of a twig snapping sharply. The mist seemed to lift slightly as it swirled and eddied and just for an instant she thought she saw the shape of a huge wolf-like hound. Another waft of thicker fog obscured her vision and when she looked again the creature – if it ever existed – was gone. She turned her attention back to her friends.
"I know," the Doctor was saying, his voice calm and even, "but you still defeated the Marshmen. You confronted your fear and overcame it. This mist can hold no fear for you."
"Doctor, it's getting thicker," Tegan broke through, trying – and failing – to keep her voice steady. The Doctor was already moving, galvanised into action by the thickly swirling fog. He grabbed hold of Adric's hand and ordered the two women to join the chain, Nyssa holding Adric's other hand, Tegan bringing up the rear.
"Stay close," he commanded. The four set off, their pace much slower now as they edged forward into a white limbo world where only the solidity of the ground and the feeble light of the Doctor's torch offered any link with reality. The three younger companions fell and stumbled often, twisting their ankles on the uneven ground and tripping over tree roots and hummocks of soil; only the Doctor kept his footing.
To Adric, he was walking through a nightmare world. Every glimpsed shape, be it a tree or the Doctor leading the way, seemed to be a Marshman rising from the swamps. The mist was icy cold too, and it seemed to wrap itself around him, sucking out his energy, its touch repulsive. He clung to the Doctor's hand as if it were a lifeline. Nyssa's smaller hand trembled and felt as clammy as his own but the Doctor's was warm, reassuring.
A layer of filmy fog lifted and for just a second Adric glimpsed the tall figure of a man. He craned his neck to see more clearly, missed his footing and in an effort to save himself, let go of his friends' hands. He fell heavily.
"Adric!" The moment his friend had dropped his hand, the Doctor was alerted to his plight. He waved his hands in the air like a blind man, trying to make contact with him. The tips of his fingers brushed against warm skin and he caught hold of Nyssa's arm rather roughly. "Hold on to me," he yelled, his voice sounding flat in the deadening air. "Is Tegan with you?"
"I'm here," the Australian affirmed.
"Don't let go." So saying, the Doctor transferred Nyssa's clutching hands to his coat tails and walked forward five tiny paces, then back, then one pace to the left, the same five paces back and forward, covering the immediate vicinity inch by inch, all the time waving his arms. The fog eddied and swirled…
He saw Adric.
The boy was standing a few feet away with the figure of a tall man looming behind him. Before the Doctor could call out, the eerie fog roiled and the Time Lord could see that what he had taken for a man was nothing but a gnarled tree behind his friend.
"Adric!" he shouted in relief and then rushed forward as the boy's knees abruptly gave way. The Doctor grasped his wrist and pulled him up, hissing in surprise and concern at how icy his skin felt. The boy was staring, blinking owlishly, and the Doctor snapped his fingers in front of his face.
"No!" For a second stark terror flashed in Adric's eyes, then reality reasserted itself and he found himself staring, not at a nameless horror, but at his three companions. He began to shiver in earnest and Nyssa urged him to sit down on a fallen tree trunk, chafing his hands between her own. As she did so, she noticed the scarlet pocket on his tunic was torn – and then she noticed the blood. Her face paled.
"Adric, you're bleeding!"
The boy took a moment to register the comment and then he glanced down, touching the gash on his chest through the ragged tear. Memory danced on the edge of recall and then it was gone. "I must have caught myself on my badge. It'll heal," he said, blinking again as if to clear his mind. The Doctor, noticing his slight disorientation, titled his chin up in order to shine his torch into his eyes.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.
"Don't you know?"
"Never mind. Any nausea? Headache?"
Adric shrugged, finally succeeding in shoving the Doctor's hands away. "I don't think so. I've never had either of those things so I wouldn't know."
Tegan snorted. "You must have had a headache. Everyone in the universe has had a headache."
"I told you before, Alzarians don't get ill."
"No, you just fall over a lot and get injured," Tegan retorted, her concern for her friend coming out as anger. "Is it something about Earth that makes you fall over – you've fallen in both the seventeenth and the nineteenth centuries."
Firing at Tegan's words, Adric immediately fought back. "At least I don't get a cold or flu or hay fever every other day like you. Nor do I put my friends in danger by allowing my mind to be invaded or controlled."
"That's enough from both of you," the Doctor interposed sharply before Tegan could give a blistering retort. "We have company." He pointed down the meadow to where a tall, lithe man could be seen walking towards them through the now lightish mist. The man, Tegan noticed with some appreciation as he drew near, was dressed in the costume of the period, form-hugging breeches, riding boots, a jacket and a top hat. He was tall with jet black hair which framed his face like a mane, an aquiline nose and rather haughty, brooding, blue eyes beneath a heavy forehead. In short, Tegan thought with a broad grin, he looked like a feral Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.
"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen," he declared with a courtly bow to the two women. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Sir Tanas of Wolf's Dene. I happened to see your light in the fog some few minutes ago and, perceiving you in peril, came to offer my services."
With a boyish grin, the Doctor doffed his hat and bowed in return. "That is most obliging of you, Sir Tanas," he said, slipping into the formal phrases of the period with ease. "The mist caught us unawares."
"My humble residence is but a few miles away. I would be honoured if you would do me the favour of dining with me this evening. My housekeeper will provide fresh clothing for you as I see that your own habiliments have become soiled. Madam, if I may…" With another bow, he offered Tegan his arm and the air hostess, looking as if Christmas had arrived early, willingly accepted it.
Hopping down from the carriage, partly to avoid having to be assisted by the footman and partly to show the Doctor that he was quite well now, thank you, Adric turned to offer Tegan his arm before following Tanas up the flight of stone steps which looked as if they had been freshly scrubbed that morning. Under ordinary circumstances he would never have dreamed of offering his arm to a girl but Tanas' stilted formality amused rather than irritated him – and anyway it was fun seeing Tegan's startled reaction.
In the reception hall which was dominated by a sweeping staircase and a gigantic crystal chandelier, their host politely excused himself, leaving them in the capable hands of his housekeeper, Mrs Smith, a spindly, desiccated old woman who reminded Adric of a Marshspider.
"This is the guest suite," she commented ushering them into an elegantly furnished parlour. "I hope you will be comfortable."
"I'm sure we will," the Doctor said warmly. He had expected to see frantic housemaids pulling off dust sheets and lighting fires but all was in perfect readiness down to the mulled wine on the table. "You run a very efficient household, Mrs Smith, my compliments."
The old woman gave a dusty smile. "The master often entertains at short notice. Ladies, if you will follow me to your bedchamber?"
Once the ladies had departed, the two men went through to their own room. The two four poster beds were hung with rich, hand embroidered canopies, there was a tiny fire in the grate and two sets of clothing had been laid out. The jug on the washstand had been filled with hot water.
Adric bounced experimentally on the bed before going to the mantelpiece to examine a fine, cream-coloured clock, made of china. It was a lot heavier than it looked and it slipped an inch or two in his fingers; the Doctor coughed in gentle warning and the boy guiltily replaced it.
"That's Royal Creamware. In Tegan's time, a clock like that would be worth £300," the Doctor observed, beginning to peel off his frock coat; Adric watched him in clear astonishment.
"What are you doing?"
"It's been centuries since I last stopped by in Regency England. I've always had a fondness for its costumes. Hurry up!"
Without enthusiasm Adric poked at the olive green jacket that had been laid out for him; he supposed it was just about wearable. He turned to the fawn pantaloons, noting with horror the drop-down front which fastened with two enormous brass buttons. There was absolutely no way that he was wearing them – just the idea of the figure-hugging pants made him blush. He dropped them as if they scalded him.
"I think I'll stay in my own clothes," he said, trying to sound casual.
The Doctor was roving about the room again, clucking admiringly over several ornaments and artefacts. Adric swept his eyes up and down the Doctor's slender frame, and had to admit his friend looked particularly dashing in the navy blue double breasted waistcoat with the long frilly shirt underneath; the tight pantaloons however left nothing to the imagination. "Mmmm?" the Time Lord said, finally fetching up in front of the oval mirror and fiddling with his cravat. "Woops – no, that's not right. Now, my third self would have had no trouble with this – he was always rather fond of dandified clothes. Wore a lot of capes."
"I just bet he did. And I said I think I'll keep my own clothes on."
"Nonsense," the Time Lord responded absently. "It would be discourteous to refuse our host's hospitality."
Adric's gaze drifted back to the hated pantaloons. "They're far too tight," he said, feeling his cheeks heat up.
The Doctor regarded him for a moment. "We're all in the same boat - that's an expression, Adric - I'm sure you'll look splendid. Let's have a look at that cut." He had apparently managed to fasten the cravat which now hung rather like a large frilly cabbage under his chin; it looked incredibly silly.
Adric shook his head stubbornly. "It's probably already healed. It wasn't very deep."
"I want to check," the Doctor replied just as stubbornly. Adric lost patience.
"I am not a child needing nursemaiding! I'll be fine."
Rolling his eyes heavenward, the Doctor conceded defeat. "I see from your returning obstinacy that you are back to normal," he commented dryly, dumping the contents of his frock coat pockets on the bed; Adric hid a grin at all the rubbish his friend had accumulated, including a chocolate bar, a notebook, a Kinda necklace and, bizarrely, a rubber duck. The Time Lord passed him an adhesive dressing from a small first aid kit. "Make sure you wash the cut thoroughly."
"Yes, Doctor," Adric said meekly, grinning cheekily a moment later at the suspicious glare his friend directed at him: the Doctor knew from long experience that meekness was not in Adric's make-up.
Seizing up the chocolate bar, the Doctor left the room, leaving Adric alone with the tricky problem of his clothes. Peeling out of his outer tunic, he soon realised that the material was severely shredded, almost slashed in fact. He fiddled dubiously with his badge, wondering how on Earth the blunt prongs could have caused such damage. One thing was for certain: he could not wear the tunic even if he managed to scrub away the soaked in blood. He sighed and turned his gaze reluctantly back to the Regency clothes; he had no choice.
Once he had made his decision, he removed his olive under-tunic, wincing as the movement hurt his chest. He prodded the injury site gently, surprised to discover that the wound had not even begun to heal. There were two deep puncture marks from the badge's prongs which were still weeping blood, and the whole area was tender and swollen. He considered calling the Doctor back but abandoned the notion immediately as being alarmist. After all the cut would not heal if it was dirty. In addition, he had been chilled and in shock, both of which slowed down one's natural healing capabilities.
Pleased with his logic, he cleaned the wound thoroughly, before deciding he might as well have a proper wash while the water was still hot. He wrapped another towel round his middle and sluiced his whole body down, using the coarse soap vigorously until the skin on his torso and arms was red. He applied the dressing, and then, with the kind of sigh a soldier gives upon going into battle, began to struggle into the uncomfortable and downright impractical costume.
Tegan held the simple ivory and gold Empire-style dress up against herself and admired the effect in the mirror. The dress required no corset but it fit tightly under the bust, and the neckline was plunging to say the least.
"I always adored dressing up," she said to Nyssa who was unbuttoning her velvet tunic. She slid out of her air hostess jacket and was just starting on the blouse when there was a timid knock at the door and a very young girl in the livery of a maid slipped in, blushing and curtsying. Tegan grinned.
"Hello there! What's your name? I'm Tegan, this is Nyssa." Nyssa gave the merest of nods but the girl appeared overcome with nerves.
"Oh!" she squeaked. "It's Abigail, Miss Tegan, miss. I've brought hot water for you if you please, miss."
"Thank you," Nyssa said, her tone so curt that Tegan could not help but look over at her in surprise. The mousy maid, with another untidy curtsy, poured the jug full of searing water into the bowl and was about to leave when Tegan called her over.
"You couldn't give us a hand with this dress, could you?"
"Tegan," Nyssa said warningly and the maid gave her such a dumbstruck look that Tegan thought she must have said something offensive in Regency terminology.
"Me, miss? But I'm just the below-stairs maid, miss. I'll call the mistress's maid with pleasure."
Tegan caught her arm, determined to make the girl feel good about herself. "I'm sure you'll do splendidly, Abigail," she said warmly and slipped off her blouse. Abigail's mouth dropped open at her first sight of Tegan's bra. The air hostess realised to an eighteenth century contemporary, the lingerie looked completely alien - not to mention racy. She might as well have been wearing a black basque and fishnet stockings. She thought quickly.
"Relax, Abigail," she said, summoning up her brightest smile, "this er corset is all the rage in Paris."
Abigail looked tremendously, almost comically, relieved. By the time they had wrestled the Australian into the dress and Abigail was lacing it up at the back, the maid had grown more talkative, thanks to Tegan's encouragement; Nyssa barely spoke, sitting aloof at the dressing table while she pinned up her hair. "I've been in service to the master for almost three months if you please, miss."
"Just Tegan and it does please me," Tegan said. "Where were you erm in service before?"
"Oh! I was at the orphanage, miss. So was Rebecca and Jane, the cook hands."
"There! All done!" Tegan exclaimed, twirling round. "How do I look? I bet poor Adric's eyes pop out of his head."
Abigail smiled shyly, almost meeting Tegan's eyes. "You look beautiful, miss. You too, Miss Nyssa."
"Ready, Nyssa?"
"Yes," Nyssa said shortly and swept out. Even the supremely gentle and mild Traken could be bad tempered it would seem, Tegan thought as she followed her friend.
Tugging at the figure-hugging pantaloons which clung so disconcertingly to his lower half, Adric sidled out of their suite and down the hall; he spotted the Doctor's dashing figure on the upper landing admiring some oil paintings and went over to join him, thinking that there was at least safety in numbers.
"Ah, Adric, there you are. The girls haven't finished their toilette yet," the Doctor remarked somewhat dryly. "If the Cranleigh ball is anything to go by, they will probably be some time. Do you want half a Marathon?" He waved the chocolate bar under Adric's nose, adding admonishingly, "Stop fidgeting."
His stomach growled, taking his mind off the ridiculous costume and Adric eagerly took the chocolate bar, only to give it back with a disgruntled humph a moment later. "No thanks, it's got nuts in."
"Sorry. You know I told myself I wouldn't buy any of these after they changed the name." Off Adric's questioning look he explained, "The manufacturers in Britain changed the name from Marathon to Snickers. Something to do with falling in line with the Americans – absolute sacrilege if you ask me. I mean, really; 'snicker' is something a horse does."
"I see you are admiring my ancestors' portraits," Tanas interposed, appearing so soundlessly by their side that Adric jumped. The portraits in question appeared to go back at least four hundred years, judging by the style of clothes, including an impressive portrait of an ancestor dressed in Stuart costume; possibly Tanas' great-grandfather.
The Doctor was studying the biggest portrait, that of Tanas himself. "Very strong brushwork," he commented with his usual enthusiasm for all things historical.
Giving a grunt of assent, Adric studied their host's portrait. Dressed in formal attire of breeches and tailcoat, Tanas was standing next to a small table, his finger pointing portentously to a closed leather-bound copy of the Bible. Squinting in the poor light, Adric thought he could detect the shape of a hound in the background. He flicked his gaze back to the Stuart ancestor and back again. "Your family seems fond of dogs, Sir Tanas," he observed.
The Doctor looked more closely. "I do believe it's a wolf. Interesting!" he exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a small child. "That's very unusual – "
"It is a family motif, my friend," Tanas interrupted smoothly. "My ah ultimate grandfather slew a ravenous wolf which had been preying on the village – or so the legend goes. Ever since, we have incorporated the motif into our coat of arms and portraiture. Ah, the ladies approach." Crossing with feline grace to the two women, Tanas bowed low and offered his arm to each.
The four companions were led in stately procession into the drawing room where Tanas apparently thought formal introductions were necessary. "My friends, may I have the honour of introducing you to my wife, Lady Wilhelmina." A tall, very pale lady in a monstrous hat with an ostrich feather in it rose with stately grace and a frozen smile to greet them. She curtsied.
"How do you do?" the Doctor said, bowing in return and nudging his friends to follow his example. Nyssa curtsied perfectly, taking her cue from their hostess, Tegan barely managed to keep her balance. "I am known as the Doctor. May I present the Lady Nyssa, daughter of the Consul of Traken? Miss Tegan Jovanka and Mr Adric?"
Tanas gestured for the companions to sit down. The room was chilly despite its being only the end of August. His wife rang a bell pull and when the servant appeared ordered tea. She regarded her guests with barely concealed contempt. "Miss Jovanka. What an unusual name. Pray, who is your father and where is his residence?"
Tegan beamed. "I'm from Aus – "
"Ostend," the Doctor quickly interrupted: to their hosts Australia was infamous as the country to which convicts were sent. "My compliments on your house, Sir Tanas. The western aspect is early Tudor, is not it?"
"Precisely so, Doctor. The cellars and foundations date to the thirteenth century. Over the centuries my ancestors have added to the whole. My father created the parklands and south-facing aspect."
The doors opened and two liveried servants entered and, with soft-footed efficiency, placed a tea tray at their mistress's elbow along with a silver cake salver. Tegan smiled her thanks to the two servants but they resolutely refused to catch her eye; her hosts completely ignored them as if they did not exist.
Later, after some stiltedly formal small talk regarding the travellers' origins and purpose in the locality which the Doctor dodged smoothly, Sir Tanas invited his guests to a rubber of cards. Nyssa demurred, and seeing a grand piano in the corner volunteered to play instead. Lady Wilhelmina drifted over to join her and the two were soon playing a charming duet. Playing the piano had been one of the many accomplishments expected of her as the daughter of a consul and Nyssa knew she could play tolerably well; she discovered, however that she was in the presence of a master. Wilhelmina's fingers seemed almost to blur as they trickled effortlessly over the keys. After a virtuoso performance, and the Doctor's appreciative applause, Wilhelmina bowed her head regally and asked Tegan whether she played 'The Instrument.'
The air hostess, who had been sitting bolt upright in her chair in an effort to appear lady-like, thought back to one particular Christmas when she had played White Christmas with her grandfather. "My grandfather taught me the basics but I haven't practised for years."
Lady Wilhelmina gave one of her superior smiles. "Application, my dear, if you will permit the intimacy, is the key."
By now the late afternoon sun was shining in through the window; a shaft of light hit the polished surface of the piano. Wilhelmina rose grandly and, with a gesture to the footman waiting unobtrusively by the door, had him draw across the heavy velvet curtains, commenting, "The sun is uncommonly warm, is not it?"
She glided over to the card table. "Who wins, my dear husband?" she asked.
"Regretfully, I must confess that it is not I. Adric is a flawless player." He clapped Adric on the shoulder and the Alzarian jumped slightly as the man's cold fingers brushed his neck. "Have you some secret to your game, my friend?"
Adric shook his head, clearly perplexed by the assumption but pleased nonetheless. "Oh no," he replied, "it's a very simple mathematical equation."
"Ah, a student of the new discipline! Excellent. Which university do you attend?"
"Trinity College, Oxford," the Doctor replied smoothly. "I do believe you've beaten me again, Adric."
"Some wine, Miss Jovanka?" Lady Wilhelmina asked courteously, seeing Tegan stifle a yawn. "May I venture to suggest that your fondness for the gaming table is as limited as my own? Perhaps dancing is more your hobby?"
Amusing herself with the notion of replying that yes, she thoroughly enjoyed disco dancing, Tegan nodded.
"I am delighted to hear it, Miss Jovanka," Tanas exclaimed. "It is my intention to hold a ball in six days' time. I insist that you all do me the honour of attending."
Adric, who did not share his friend's enthusiasm for dancing, saw Tanas exchange a look with his wife, his eyes seeming to flash red in the candlelight.
There was a superior knock on the door; how a knock could be superior the Doctor didn't know but it was. Before he could call come in, Abraham, the butler entered the bed chamber, followed by two footmen carrying large buckets of steaming water. Under their superior's watchful eye they filled the bath already stationed by the fire and erected the hand-embroidered screen round it. One of the footmen made to exit but Abraham pointed imperiously to a small splash of water and the hapless underling quickly mopped it up, earning himself a clip round the ear for his trouble. Once he had dismissed his minions, Abraham stepped forward impassively.
"Your bath is ready, Mr Adric," he declared sonorously. His expression was that of the dutiful servant, blank, respectful, but Adric still felt like the man was regarding him with thinly concealed contempt.
"Erm," he said uncertainly, casting a desperate look at the Doctor who was absorbed in a book. "Thank you."
"Very good, sir," Abraham responded and waited.
"Erm," said Adric again. He looked from Abraham to the bath and back again, wondering why the butler was just standing there. Was he waiting for some word of dismissal from his erstwhile better? While he was still puzzling over the matter, Abraham closed the space between them and began to undo the buttons on Adric's jacket. His touch was so efficient and somehow detached that he had managed to remove the jacket and was starting on his shirt before Adric's brain caught up and he realised what the impassive servant was doing. He half climbed the nearest wall.
"Wait a minute," he exclaimed, his voice breaking embarrassingly. "You want to give me a bath?"
Abraham deigned to raise an eyebrow. "It was my understanding that you wished to bathe, sir," he responded, managing to make the word sir sound like an insult.
Adric could feel his cheeks flaming and unconsciously he wrapped his arm round his chest. There was absolutely no way … Thankfully, before he could self-destruct from embarrassment or Abraham could lose what little respect he still had for them, the Doctor intervened.
"Thank you, Abraham. Mr Adric will take his bath alone. That will be all."
The scandalised butler's eyebrows shot up. "Alone??" Gathering together his shattered dignity, he took refuge in his favourite stock phrase which he used whenever his betters dared to forget their station. "Very good, sir."
With a cold bow, he withdrew, leaving Adric still standing there open-mouthed. "He really meant to give me a bath? I mean actually … bathe me? No-one's given me a bath since I was five years old."
"Mmm," the Doctor responded, already returning to his book. "It's customary for a valet to bathe and dress his master." He spared the Alzarian a look. "I'd hurry up if I were you, that bath is made of tin which is a good conductor of heat."
Still struggling with the notion and wondering too how long a bath was supposed to take a member of the gentry before his valet came trotting back in, Adric shucked out of his shirt and pantaloons. The screen shielded him from the Doctor, he noted with relief, so he pulled off the long johns which were the most uncomfortable underwear he had ever worn, and slipped into the water. The bath was not very long and he discovered he either had to draw his knees up concertina-fashion or dangle his feet over the edge. He picked up the pebble-like soap which however hard you tried never produced a lather, and began to scrub his shoulders and arms. The wound on his chest throbbed and he noticed that the edges had pulled apart again: it still had not healed. More than alarmed, he was just about to inform the Doctor when he suddenly decided not to: he was naked after all. He'd seek the Doctor's reassurance after his bath. Seizing up the soap again, he scrubbed harder at his arm until the skin was lobster red, a strange peacefulness overtaking him.
It was the Doctor scraping back his chair and stretching that broke into his reverie. He blinked.
"I'm going to go downstairs, see if our hosts are still awake," the Doctor said, coming over and tapping his fingers on the screen. Adric was suddenly glad of the bath's short dimensions since it meant his knees were already drawn up. He gave a too-bright smile.
"Alright."
"Don't forget to snuff out your candle when you retire," the Time Lord cautioned. "A high percentage of Regency fires were caused by carelessness with candles. Sleep well, Adric."
Pulling the door shut behind him, the Doctor departed. The room seemed suddenly chill and full of shadows. Adric stared round nervously as a floorboard creaked. His gaze fell again on the nasty-looking puncture wounds. Surely the injury should have healed by now? He recalled Tegan's earlier mockery of his race's healing abilities and bit his lip in anger and shame: Varsh had taunted him for weeks when it transpired that he required laser treatment to correct his short-sightedness. Varsh had never been ill – he would never have allowed himself to be so weak. Fishing out the soap, he attacked his arms again until they were raw.
"Excellent vintage! You must keep an extensive wine cellar," the Doctor declared, draining his glass and politely declining a refill. To the Time Lord's delight Sir Tanas and his wife were still up and had courteously prevailed upon him to join them. The couple were witty and charming and he had greatly enjoyed the opportunity to glean the latest snippets of court gossip and to discuss the merits of the new craze for coffee shops which Lady Wilhelmina apparently deplored as an evil influence on the young.
Tanas seemed to take a moment to heed the question; he was staring out of the open door, his eyes intense. "I flatter myself that I do, sir." He swirled the crimson wine round his glass and drank deeply, draining the glass. Licking his lips he rose abruptly to his feet. "You must excuse me, Doctor. I have ...some business to attend to."
"Oh I quite understand," the Doctor replied, scrambling up himself. "I didn't mean to intrude – "
"Nay, good sir, the fault is mine alone. Your company is much more stimulating than the accounts I must examine. Lady Wilhelmina will entertain you. I bid you good night."
The Doctor watched Tanas drift catlike from the room and sweep up the grand staircase, a trick of the candlelight elongating his fingers and casting a crooked shadow behind him. A slight niggle assailed the Doctor and he made to follow the man; he had got no more than a few strides when Wilhelmina appeared seemingly from nowhere, blocking the door.
"Come, Doctor, one more rubber of cards, I insist," she said to him, smiling engagingly.
His fears melted away. "Thank you. Perhaps one more game."
Night drew on. In the upper gallery the grandfather clock chimed two, and in the guest quarters a strange mist, as cold as the grave, descended: evil was manifesting itself. An upright figure stepped out of the mist and flowed rather than walked down the corridor and into the parlour. It paused at the girls' door, seeming almost to taste the air, and then it dissolved itself through the solid wall as easily as a knife passing through butter. It loomed over Tegan, a cruel smile twisting its mouth and lighting up its red-tinged eyes, and then, abruptly, it was gone, melting through the adjoining wall into Adric's room.
Adric was curled up untidily half way down the bed. The figure approached, its movements sinuous and graceful, its eyes blazing as it regarded its prey. Adric stirred, his breathing accelerating from peaceful, slow breaths to ragged pants, and the hunter chuckled, the sound reverberating and fluttering round the room like bats' wings.
Adric's tossing and turning became frantic, and he mumbled desperately in his sleep, "No, never!"
Undeterred, the presence drifted closer, and oh so delicately reached out a skeletal hand to caress Adric's sleeping form. Wraithlike hands caressed his face, tracing the curve of his mouth and stealing his warmth where they touched. Adric seemed to tremble to the very essence of his being as ice cold lips played on his naked throat.
"You cannot escape, my prince," a merciless voice whispered, "You are mine."
