Chapter One
Author's Note: The inspiration for this fic came from two sources...
First off, in Jim Wight's biography of his father, Alf (the actual James Herriot), he mentioned that Alf and Brian Sinclair (who was Tristan in real life) used to come up with these odd little stories involving vets treating dinosaurs that had invaded their village. I thought this was a hopelessly endearing quirk and have wished more than once that it had made it onto the show somehow.
Second, a friend of mine and I were talking about that bit from the biography and thought about how amusing it would be if Siegfried had actually read some of those stories. Thus, the inspiration for this fic was born.
"Tristan? Tristaaan, where are you?"
Siegfried burst into the surgery and was disappointed by the result. He had just finished searching the rest of Skeldale for his little brother and had hoped to find him here after all those other failures. He'd even had a tiny spark of hope that Tristan would be doing some real work rather than idling away his time which was how Tristan usually filled his hours.
But no, unfortunately, the surgery was empty. By now, James was out inoculating some of Rob Benson's sheep. Tristan's current location and activities, however, remained a mystery.
Siegfried paced about the surgery, scowling. Tristan must have found out somehow that he had intended to send him out this afternoon to check on Dent's latest batch of piglets. His little brother had a knack for knowing just when to avoid him in order to get out of doing additional chores that came up. At this point, there was nothing else that could be done other than putting it on the lists of jobs for tomorrow.
Heaving out a huge sigh, Siegfried pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on while strolling over to the desk. He sat down and began searching for the daybook so he could start planning tomorrow's lists.
Just as he started to reach for it, however, something else caught his eye. Lying on a corner of the desk was a large, hardcover book with a blank, black cover. It only took a second for Siegfried to recognize it as some sort of journal he had seen Tristan using more than once around Skeldale.
'Well, at least little brother must have gotten in some swotting while he was lazing around here,' he used.
Siegfried tilted his head, still staring at the journal sitting in front of him. He thought back to those times when he had seen Tristan writing things into it. Tristan had always appeared engrossed by the activity. In fact, there were even a couple of times when he seemed…amused. At the time, Siegfried had merely been pleased to see his brother being so industrious with his revision.
Then, suddenly, Siegfried realized that whenever he saw Tristan writing his notes, he never had any textbooks around him. No textbooks, no academic journals, no other notes or papers of any kind.
'Then how the devil could he be writing notes for revision without any study materials? His so-called retentive memory isn't that good. So just what sort of revision is this anyway?'
Siegfried put a finger to his chin, his feet sliding back and forth on the floor. He knew that he shouldn't pry into Tristan's private journals without his little brother's knowledge. That would be a justifiably unforgivable breach of trust on his part. But this didn't really look like a personal diary of any sort. Then there was the fact that he considered himself Tristan's mentor and a partner in his little brother's education. Far more of a partner than any of Tristan's instructors would ever be. Consequently, it was his duty to keep an eye on the methods Tristan's used in his swotting and to evaluate their results.
Siegfried slowly stood up and crept back to the doorway of the surgery. Mrs. Hall was upstairs still tidying up. Helen wasn't due to return from her errands for at least another couple of hours. And of course, there was still no sign of little brother. Probably snuck off to the Drovers for another pint.
Satisfied that he would be alone for a while, Siegfried slid back into surgery and quietly closed the door behind him. Then he sat back down and picked up the journal from the corner of the desk. He would just skim through his brother's notes. That's all. Just to see if there were any areas where Tristan could use some extra guidance.
He opened the book and flipped to the first page. The entries were dated and didn't appear to be any sort of systematic revision at all. Instead, they appeared to be some kind of prose.
Siegfried's brow furrowed as he glanced through the next few pages. He was starting to wonder if this was a personal diary after all when a fragment of a paragraph near the bottom of the page he was currently looking at caught his attention.
"….Corbyn crouched down and peered at the silvery river that wound around the village. Foster had gone ahead of him almost twenty minutes ago and there was still no sign from him. Corbyn knew he could not wait much longer. The thin streaks of pink and orange in the sky signaled the coming dusk. Soon, they would lose any advantage they had over what was creeping in the underbrush a few yards away….."
Siegfried blinked in surprise. This wasn't anything to do with veterinary studies at all. Nor was it a personal account of Tristan's life. It was a story. But when had Tristan started to write fiction?
"A roar from behind the trees told him that they were already too late. It was only seconds after that that the Centrosaurus appeared, crashing through the brush. He was not like the others. He only dashed about like this if there was a good reason. A reason like the recent appearance of the terrible Drytosaurus that had infiltrated the fells of late…."
Siegfried blinked again, his astonishment growing as he immediately turned back to the beginning of the journal so he could scan the pages in order.
He soon realized that all of these writings focused on the story of a young vet named Corbyn and his world-traveling adventurer and best friend, Foster who found themselves stumbling upon an isolated village in the Dales. A village which just happened to have been overrun by smaller versions of dinosaurs from ancient history.
Siegfried shook his head. What absurd ideas his little brother came up with. A vet studying and treating dinosaurs in modern times? An English village that was built upon caverns that hid the remains of a lost civilization? How on Earth did Tristan imagine such things? On the surface, it seemed like the sort of dross that that American writer, Burroughs, would write. Not that all of Burroughs' work was subpar, but still….
Once more, he went back to the beginning, and this time, he carefully read each page, occasionally despairing over Tristan's sloppy handwriting. Mainly to assess his little brother's literary prowess, of course. Siegfried hated to think that all those years Tristan spent in that fine public school had gone to waste.
The earliest parts were disjointed, as if Tristan was simply trying out a variety of characters that amused him. Other paragraphs were descriptions: of the village, the underground caverns and the archeological treasures inside them, and naturally, the dinosaurs. Of all of it, Siegfried appreciated the detailed commentary on the dinosaurs the most as the descriptions demonstrated a thorough thought process about their theoretical anatomy and knowledge of the latest finds in paleontology.
The actual tale did not begin until several pages in. Once it did, Siegfried swiftly became engrossed. Tristan had painted a vivid picture of life in a small English village that went about its daily routines with the ever-present knowledge of the wonders below their streets.
In many ways, this town reminded Siegfried of Darrowby and its inhabitants. He could see a lot of Biggins in the difficult constable who always seemed to be wandering the streets day and night. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Mrs. Pumphrey as the kindly, philanthropic grandmother who lived in the mansion just outside the village and Tricki as the eager young historian who was her grandson and who lived with her.
Although, Siegfried couldn't quite figure out whom Tristan was thinking of when his little brother created the mayor of the town, an overall good-hearted, but rather tyrannical figure. Not that it mattered. Siegfried enjoyed the character immensely and frequently chuckled at mayor's witticisms and sympathized with the difficulties he faced in trying to keep the village affairs running smoothly while dealing with an outbreak of dinosaurs.
"…A sharp snap halted their approach to the cavern entrance. It was the sound of wood, green and new, breaking under the pressure of heavy footfalls. Footfalls that were not likely to be human ones. Corbyn and Foster hid behind a rotting log.
"Allosaurus," Foster mouthed.
Corbyn felt the cold thrill of dread course through him. So far, they had found ways to tame the ferocious instincts of every Allosaurus they had run across, however, their luck could not hold out forever. There had been too many carcasses of sheep found in this area to assume that all of them could be tamed.
Foster reached down, placing his finger onto the trigger of his gun as they readied themselves to run."
One of the dogs barked in the hallway which immediately inspired the rest of them to join in. The noise made Siegfried start and nearly drop the journal in his hands. The barking soon increased in volume, and Siegfried scowled as he sat the journal down, leapt to his feet, and marched out of the surgery.
"Shut up, you lot," he bellowed into the corridor. The cacophony immediately stopped with the dogs rushing out from the living room.
Instead of contrition though, Siegfried was greeted by a sea of smiling furry faces and wagging tails. He let out a sigh of resignation and reached down to pat each head.
"Oh all right, I will take you lot out for a walk later," he told them. "Now, go on. Shoo, shoo!"
Siegfried waved his hands at them and they scattered off again. Satisfied that they'd be quiet for a while, Siegfried started to back up into the surgery.
"Mr. Farnon?"
Siegfried closed his eyes in frustration and waited until he could put a polite smile onto his face before re-opening them.
"Yes, Mrs. Hall?" he replied, facing toward the kitchen. He thought that he had managed to keep all of his impatience out of his tone, but the slight frown that appeared on Mrs. Hall's face was evidence that he wasn't entirely successful.
"Would you like me to serve afternoon tea now?"
"Yes, yes, tea would be…no, no, wait, I…."
Siegfried pulled out his pocket watch and consulted it. James should be almost finished with the sheep, but still had one other stop to make. And as for Tristan, he now suspected that the new barmaid at the Drovers was the explanation for his little brother's disappearance. Siegfried knew that she tended to leave the pub in time to cook dinner for her family which would most likely coincide with his little brother's decision to finally head back home. Thus, Siegfried calculated that he had about an hour before they would be back.
"Um, how about we wait until, say, an hour from now, Mrs. Hall? So that James and Helen will have time to get back and have tea as well."
Mrs. Hall crossed her arms in front of her. "That will put it close to dinner."
Siegfried did his best to impart even more Farnon charm into smile. "I know. I know it will, but, well, there's no sense in my having tea by myself, is there? And I am certain that we can all enjoy your exquisite cooking twice with no need for a long interval in-between."
Mrs. Hall actually showed remarkable restraint by only rolling her eyes slightly before silently heading back into the kitchen. Once she was gone, Siegfried took one last peek up and down the hallway and then in the surgery's waiting room before finally sitting back down with Tristan's journal.
The more he read, the more Siegfried became convinced that Tristan's prose reminded him not so much of Burroughs' as he originally thought. Perhaps more like H.G. Wells instead. Yes, it was full of action and even some romance courtesy of the plot line which involved the local blacksmith's daughter falling in love with Corbyn, the handsome, energetic vet who was an obvious reference to Tristan himself. Although, Siegfried could not stop being incredulous at the notion that Tristan could actually consider himself "energetic".
However, in-between the breathless moments of action and the humorous asides with the local residents, there were some deeper thoughts about the value of unspoiled nature, the preservation of the past versus the need to progress into the future, and the idea that women could be true equals in society.
As he read, Siegfried was shocked whenever he checked his pocket watch again and realized how much time had flown by. He had become entranced by the mysterious and yet whimsical world that Tristan had concocted and simply could not stop reading.
Perhaps the most fascinating thing of all to Siegfried was how much of Tristan he could see in his little brother's words. It was all there. Tristan's abundance of humor, his vivid imagination, his sentimental inclinations in romantic matters, his wit, intellect and curiosity. All of it was infused into every page of this journal. Of course, the prose wasn't perfect. There were a few grammatical errors and some minor plot inconsistencies, but there was also vast potential.
All of which made even more questions spring to Siegfried's mind. Like why hadn't he noticed Tristan's gift for storytelling before. And why had he started writing here recently. Was this something Tristan only viewed as a hobby or could he have more serious ambitions in mind?
Another chorus of barks made Siegfried jerk upward in his chair again and toss the journal back to where he found it on the corner of the desk. The sound of the front door opening and closing a few seconds later confirmed his suspicions that he had run out of time. Unfortunately, it was just as Corbyn and Foster were getting ready to open the secret iron door that had previously been hidden in the darkest corners of the underground caverns. He missed his chance to find out what they were about to discover inside.
Eager to keep up the subterfuge, Siegfried jumped up from his chair and began making a show out of cleaning some of the instruments. Not long after he started, the surgery door opened.
"Hello, Siegfried."
Siegfried looked over his shoulder to see James walk in and sit his bag on one of the counters.
"Hello James…how did it go at Benson's?"
"Fine," James answered. "No complications at all."
"Good, good," Siegfried said as he flicked water from his fingertips. He dried the scalpel in his hands and took it over to the sterilizer before finally getting to the question he actually had in mind.
"You wouldn't happen to know where Tristan is, by any chance, would you?"
"Tris? I'm not sure." James dug some bottles out of his bag and placed them onto the counter. "He did say something to me earlier about doing a follow up for you at Wiggins'. Those two dogs you've been treating for conjunctivitis."
"Yes, yes," Siegfried replied, waving his index finger. "I asked him to see if the treatment I've got them on now was having any effect. I'd already arranged for him to stop by Sharpe's place and they're just down the road from each other."
"And you do know that today is Janet Watson's day to work later at the Drovers?" James grinned at him. "So I'm sure he found time to stop by for a pint."
"Yes, as if he needs an attractive girl as an excuse for his usual excesses," Siegfried snorted.
James chuckled again and finished emptying out his bag before putting the vials and bottles away. He dropped off some money into the office's cashbox and made a couple of notations in the ledger. He looked as if he was about to leave when he suddenly paused and looked down at Tristan's journal. Then, much to Siegfried's surprise, James picked it up and tucked it under his arm.
"Something the matter, James?" Siegfried asked, making careful note of the odd expression that had suddenly appeared on James' face.
"No, no, it's nothing," James hastened to reply.
"Oh yes, I was wondering about that book on the desk," Siegfried continued. "I found it while I was looking for the daybook, but didn't recognize it. Is it yours?"
"No, um, it's Tris' actually," James said cagily. "You know, he's been swotting a lot here lately, so I told him I'd help him with his revision notes. He must have left this here for me to look over. I think I'll drop it off in his room."
Siegfried was about to try another question, but James darted off before he could say any more.
Still, what he had managed to glean was very interesting indeed. So, James knew about the journal, but was trying to hide it from him. Could they be collaborating on this story together? And why were they trying so hard…and so clumsily…to keep it a secret? Curiouser and curiouser….
Siegfried shook his head and went back to cleaning the rest of his instruments. Of course, it wasn't really his business anyway if James and Tristan wanted to write fanciful science fiction in their spare time. There certainly were worse hobbies his little brother could get involved with. Siegfried knew that he probably should just drop it for the time being.
Still…there was that secret door…and Corbyn and Foster were sure to find a key to deciphering the code on those stones on the other side of it….
Siegfried sighed. He cursed himself for not reading a little faster so he could have found out what happened next. Now he might not ever know.
And that, well, that was quickly becoming completely unacceptable to him.