TARDIS – Time Vortex:
"Oh, stop moping."
The time rotor had been pumping for most of the day and the Doctor had been moving listlessly about the console for much of that time, but it seemed that no destination was forthcoming and Amy was, quite frankly, bored. There could have been any room she desired in the TARDIS – probably was, somewhere – but somehow, the time capsule just felt empty. Lifeless. There were times when she couldn't quite shake the feeling that there ought to have been someone there to share it with her, someone by her side exploring the winding corridors and bizarre menagerie of rooms… Even if the sensation was gone almost as quickly as it had struck, it still nagged at her – and the Doctor's distracted silence wasn't helping.
"Moping?" the Doctor exclaimed, his face the picture of indignation. "Why on Earth would I be moping? I've got a time capsule and the whole of time and space to save. We could go anywhere, do anything…"
"So, take me somewhere."
"All right, then." The Doctor gave the wheel under his hand a final spin and turned to face Amy, leaning on the edge of the console and tugging the lapels of his jacket. "Where would you like to go?"
"Ooh, I don't know," Amy shrugged. "Aren't there any…big, unsolved mysteries out there in space? Something to make you feel all clever – something all…big and shiny…"
"Big and shiny…" A thoughtful expression passed across the Doctor's face. "A big, shiny unsolved mystery…" Not quite the wording Amy had had in mind, but a gleam had at last entered the Doctor's eye and she gripped the handrail at her back – and not a moment too soon, as the Doctor suddenly whirled and threw several levers in quick succession, sending the TARDIS lurching out of the time vortex. "A big, shiny unsolved mystery – can't believe I didn't think of this before! Come on."
"Where are we?"
"Planet One. The oldest planet in the universe – and there's a cliff of pure diamond, and according to legend, on the cliff, there's writing. Letters fifty feet high. A message from the dawn of time, and no-one knows what it says, 'cause no-one's ever translated it. 'Til today…"
"What happens today?" Amy asked happily, and the Doctor reached out and tapped her on the nose.
"Us." He hopped down the stairs in a single bound, and Amy was glad to see the spring returned to his step. "The TARDIS can translate anything – all we have to do is open the doors and read the very first words in recorded history…" Beaming, Amy followed him out the doors to step up beside him when he stopped short.
There were the cliffs of diamond, as promised, towering over a lush, otherworldly landscape of succulent trees and gigantic toadstools like beach umbrellas sprouting out of the ground. And there were the words, as promised, clear as day and perfectly readable to the two time travellers:
HELLO SWEETIE
A set of temporal coordinates followed; the Doctor's mouth curved upwards in bemusement as he took note of them, and then with a laugh of disbelief, Amy followed him back into the TARDIS and they were off, rocketing through the time vortex. Gleefully sidestepping around the console, his hands darting deftly across the controls, it was a matter of minutes before the Doctor once again pulled the TARDIS out of the vortex and onto solid ground.
They emerged onto a thinly wooded hilltop lightly cloaked in mist. Eyes fixed on his watch, the Doctor was rapidly explaining the coordinates to Amy.
"…Earth, Britain, 1:02am. No, pm. No…" Finally, he raised his head and took in their surroundings for the first time. "…AD."
Spread out across the plains before them, lined up in rows of military precision, were hundreds upon hundreds of neat, white tents. Distantly, horses whinnied and steel clanked as figures strode between the tents, the late afternoon sunlight glittering off their polished armour.
"That's a Roman legion…" Amy realized aloud, staring in astonishment.
"Well, yeah," said the Doctor as though it were a perfectly natural observation. "The Romans invaded Britain several times during this period."
"Oh, I know – my favourite topic at school." Amy didn't bother to hide the satisfaction that entered her voice and raised an eyebrow. "Invasion of the hot Italians. Yeah, I did get marked down for the title…" she added at the perplexed look the Doctor sent her. Their attention was quickly called away, however, as a clattering of steel announced the arrival of a rather out-of-breath Roman centurion – a real, live Roman, Amy thought to herself – jogging up the hill, saluting and dropping onto a bended knee before the Doctor.
"Hail, Caesar."
"Hi," the Doctor replied, and paused expectantly.
"Welcome to Britain," the centurion puffed. "We are honoured by your presence."
"Well, you're only human." The centurion lowered his head even further; Amy rolled her eyes. "Arise, Roman…person…"
"Why does he think you're Caesar?" she muttered in the Doctor's ear. Raising his head, the centurion blinked at them with slightly dazed eyes and the corner of his mouth, smudged with a trace of pink lipstick, curved up in a serene smile.
"Cleopatra will see you now."
Amy's eyes were as round as saucers by the time they had reached the edge of the encampment, where a large tent in rich, sumptuous red velvet and golden silk hangings stood slightly apart from the uniform white tents of the Roman army. They stooped to enter and found themselves in the presence of a woman seated on a throne of plump cushions, attended reverentially by two men in simple cloth tunics. A face framed by crimped black hair smiled back at them, kohl-lined eyes twinkling as she raised a golden goblet for one of the attendants to refill. For a moment, Amy thought she saw her angling her head slightly as though to glance over the Doctor's shoulder, but then the curtain fell closed after them and her gaze returned to his face.
"Hello, sweetie."
"River!" Amy recognized the woman immediately, even with the wig and the elaborate jewellery that covered most of her head and body. "Hi!" The Doctor's greeting was not so cheery – he stepped up in front of her and lowered his voice sternly.
"You graffitied the oldest cliff-face in the universe."
"You wouldn't answer your phone," she shot back. Abruptly, she clapped sharply and the attendants vanished, backing out of the tent and bowing low without a word. She reached down beside the chair and picked up a rolled canvas, which she held out to the Doctor.
"What's this?"
"It's a painting," she answered. "Your friend Vincent. One of his final works." The Doctor snatched the painting and all three gathered around a table where he unrolled it and spread it out. "He had visions, didn't he? I thought you ought to know about this one." Again, her eyes darted around the rest of the tent and her lips, pressed together in a grim line, showed the faintest trace of a smile – but when Amy caught sight of the painting on the table, all else fled from her mind.
It was the TARDIS – even in Vincent's distinctive streaked, impressionist style, the shape of the familiar blue police box was unmistakeable. But something was wrong – the solid form was fragmented, breaking apart at the seams in a swirl of destructive orange and yellow, splintering out into the blue-black of deepest, emptiest space. At the very heart of the painting, a shattering explosion of white-hot at the centre of the TARDIS itself, violent splashes of bright red stood out starkly, flowing outwards from the broken edges of the TARDIS as though…
"Doctor…" Amy's words choked in her throat and she felt her blood run cold. "Doctor, it looks like it's…bleeding." Without a word, the Doctor straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slowly; Amy looked to River instead. "What's happening to it?"
"It might not be that literal." River's words should have been reassuring, but her grey eyes were like steel. "But it could still be some kind of warning. Anyway, this is where he wanted you – date and map reference on the door sign, see?" Amy bent over the painting to peer at the tiny lettering on the painted door of what remained of the TARDIS. Behind her, the Doctor had collapsed into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly deep in thought.
"Does it have a title?" he spoke up suddenly.
"'The Pandorica Opens'," River replied.
"The Pandorica?" Amy echoed, puzzled. "What is it?"
"A box, a cage, a prison?" River guessed. "It was built to contain the most feared thing in all the universe…"
"…and it's a fairy tale, a legend – it can't be real!" the Doctor interrupted, rising to his feet and beginning to pace up and down the length of the stuffy tent.
"If it is real, it's here, and it's opening – and it's got something to do with your TARDIS." The Doctor hardly appeared to be listening to River – gathering up an armful of scrolls from about the tent, he set them down roughly on the table on top of the painting, hiding the chilling image from view, and spread one out. "Hidden obviously, buried for centuries…you won't find it on a map."
"No." The Doctor glanced up at her, and Amy saw that he had indeed opened out a roughly drawn map of ancient middle Britain. "But if you bury the most dangerous thing in the universe…you'd want to remember where you put it."
Their heads moved together over the map and Amy found herself nudged to one side, waiting and biting her nails anxiously while River and the Doctor traced their fingers over the faint lines and whispered rapidly to each other. Within just a few minutes, another sharp clap from River called the attendants instantly back to her side, startling Amy.
"I will require three horses saddled and bridled for a swift ride to Stonehenge," she commanded them. They bowed – first to River, and then to Amy and the Doctor, and appeared about to repeat the ritual to River before she clapped again and they scurried from the tent. Some minutes later, the heavy stumping of boots outside the tent preceded the grizzled head of the gruff stablemaster entering the tent. He too bowed, as well as he could in his stiff leather apron.
"My finest steeds are being saddled as I speak, my lady," he said, eyes respectfully averted from River, although they moved surreptitiously over Amy and the Doctor. "And the legion's finest swordsmen sharpen their blades-" River cut him off with a raised hand.
"We ride alone."
"Then…surely my lady's slaves were mistaken," he stammered, "but they said my lady and her…guests…ride for Stonehenge."
"And they were correct." River fixed him with her most haughty glare and raised a pencilled eyebrow. "But I will be touched by no phantom. Do you doubt that the gods ride on the wind with Cleopatra? I require no further protection."
"Of…of course, my lady. Forgive me, my lady." Still stuttering apologies, he stumbled from the tent. The moment he was gone, River began pushing aside the cushions of her throne, searching among them.
"Phantom?" Amy inquired of the Doctor, who shrugged.
"They call it the Hengeghost," said River, pulling out a pair of riding boots from behind the throne. "A local superstition – nothing more. Certainly nothing we need to worry about." On the last words, she reached into one of the boots and pulled out a solid-looking revolver. Ignoring the Doctor's disapproving frown, she twirled it deftly in one hand with a cool smile.
Before being shooed out of the tent for River to change out of her light silk robe, the Doctor had grabbed Vincent's painting off the table – and once outside, to Amy's shock, he folded it into a small square and slipped it casually into his pocket.