Clara was right, I suppose. I must have been too hard on the Tardis before. Maybe she just made a mistake. Maybe the lock was genuinely broken for a bit, and she worked very hard to fix it for me. Maybe I should just go with that story and believe it.
This change of hearts is nothing to do with the fact that she hasn't said another clunk to me. Not a clunk nor a whistle nor a whir, but this is nothing to do with that. I'm not getting paranoid or anything. She's not going to guilt trip me into talking to her. Anyway, she's already forgiven, so I don't know what that would even have to do with anything. No, I'm being the bigger man out of the two of us because… Because I'm the only man, she's a machine, and a she, so… I'm being the bigger semi-sentient creation out of the two of us because I have chosen to be, not because she's awfully silent, behind her usual flight noises. Not because I'm afraid she might be going off me, after all these years. She wouldn't do a thing like that. She knows better. I am her pilot. And she is my home and my transport and my only occupation and
I am not panicking.
"Clara?" I'm not distracting myself. "Have a nice lie-in this morning?"
"Lie in? I had to get back up at seven to get the kids off to school."
"Want to skip the small talk, then?"
She grins, "Yes, please." Clara comes quickly round to me, expecting me to show her things on the monitor. Trouble is, there's nothing on the monitor. I'd have to get the sonic out and actually put something up there. I don't usually have to do that. Usually the Tardis knows what's coming and there's something just there.
Like I said, I could use the sonic. But I don't really want to give her the satisfaction. No, this time, I'm just going to rely on my storytelling skills.
"So?" she prompts. "Start with where we're going."
"Where we're going, my dear Agent Oswald, is deep, deep into the future, hence the long flight. And we're going there to chase a rumour."
"An intriguing rumour, Agent Doctor?"
"Oh, yes, I like that, go with that. Actually, go with Secret Agent Doctor. Secret agents are…?" Leaving it open, leaving it hanging, waiting for Clara-
"…Cool, Secret Agent Doctor?"
"That's my girl. And to answer your question, yes, a very intriguing rumour."
She leans back against the console, "Intrigue me." Which is a challenge, if I'm not much mistaken. She has asked to be intrigued. If I can't intrigue her, I'm failing. And I can't add a failure onto this day.
And so I begin to spin Clara a tale of danger and mystery. I tell her about a scientific instrument that was created for the purposes of totally legitimate research. I tell her how, for once in their long and not-so-illustrious history, humanity realized in time that it could be used for ill, that it could corrupt the user, that the cons outweighed the pros. But they were unwilling to destroy it entirely. So that it could be used again if necessary, it was sent to an isolated, barren planet on the edge of the system, and locked away, and guarded day and night by some of the most dedicated and highly trained staff you'll find for galaxies and galaxies around.
"But wouldn't the power of the weapon corrupt the guards too?"
"Not these guards, Clara. These guards are, rumour has it, from a special cadre. And before they become a part of it, they are tried and tested and tormented, so that they can prove themselves men and women of incredible character. They are stalwart and strong and honest, or they don't make the cut."
"They sound quite nice, for soldiers."
Well, that's what I thought, when I heard the rumour. They sounded like they'd probably listen to reason when I tell them I'm borrowing their precious charge.
Which leads us neatly to Clara's next question. "So what actually is this thing we're going to steal?"
"Borrow."
"Without asking."
"With every intention of giving back. Asking is not essential, giving back is. Somebody very wise and very smart and very lovely once gave me that definition of stealing." Somebody who I know can hear me and who is still refusing to click, whir, purr, clank, rattle, anything, sexy, give me a sign!
I do a quick circuit of the console, looking for flashing lights, for anything on the monitor, for anything. Clara, though, still thinks we're having our conversation and there's nothing more important on my mind. She follows me step for step, "Steal, borrow, whatever, what is it?!"
"A borrower. Potentially, if used by corrupt hands, a stealer."
Dark and expectant, "Of what?"
"Souls."
Clara just stops. Unfortunately, it's time to land and she should be holding on to something. Especially with those heels on, they weren't made to support her. Dropping out of the vortex drops her to the floor, sitting down hard in her delightful spy-wear. As soon as we're stopped, I take her by the arm and pick her up on our way to the door, and we run in tandem, happily, into the unknown, but-…
But we stop. Specifically Clara stops and I'm still holding onto her, so that I am tugged back nearly off my feet. I crash, with just as little dignity as you might imagine, on the steps.
I swear to you the Tardis laughs. If you've never heard her laugh I can't describe it to you, but she laughs. On fine form today, really she is. I'm starting to get offended.
Very slowly, trying not to take it out on her, I turn my head towards the woman who just made a fool of me in front of my machine, who was just waiting for something to giggle about. "Yes, Clara?"
"Wait."
"I'm already on my backside, dear, I'd say I'm waiting."
She takes a deep breath and sits down next to me on the step. It's hard to stay angry at her. She's nervous about something. I do like that about her, you know. Along with a lot of other things, but I like how honest she is when she's nervous about something. It won't stop her walking into this with me. She just wants to talk about it before we go. I think that's fair, and I like the way she brings it to me.
It's so easy to say I only ever brought her along because she was already dead twice. I do like a good mystery, I make no bones about that. But honestly, I'd be more offended by somebody saying that than by the Tardis giggling at my fall. It's easy to say it but it's so, so wrong.
"You said 'soul'," is how she begins. "We came across this before, and it nearly didn't end well."
I sling an arm around her shoulders. "We pulled it off."
"And I would understand if you wanted to, like, investigate it further. But why do you need a…a… a soul-borrower?"
"It has other, nicer capacities too."
"Oh," and just like that, she's back on her feet, and this time she's dragging me to the door. "Alright then, let's go."
It would be so easy to say, to say to my face, that Clara was only ever an interesting distraction for me. It would be easy for you say that. Your recovery, however, might be a little more difficult, because I'll… do something really mean. Can't think of anything off the top of my head, but I will get you. I'll fill your shoes with custard when you're not looking. Or I'll swap your perfume for salt and vinegar so that seagulls will mistake you for chips and attack you. Or I'll sonic you so you'll have a miniscule tremor inside every cell of your hand and every time you hold a can of fizzy pop to open it, it'll be fizzed up and spray everywhere and you'll never even know how it's happening. Oh, look, I did think of some things off the top of my head after all.
Clara opens the door and stands a tentative moment on the threshold. I put a hand in the small of her back and push her the rest of the way. She cries out at me, but she's giggling too, and that's better. I close the door behind us, then turn around and try letting myself back in. Absolutely fine. Close the door. This time use my key, check the lock. That's fine too. One more time for good luck. All fine.
"Doctor?"
Ah, Clara! Now there's an idea. I turn to her. "Put your hand out."
"What for?"
"I've got a present for you."
"What is it?"
"Fine, if you don't want it, I'll hold on to it for another d-" Her hand pops up under my nose as quick as you can say Daleks Smell, along with a gabble of 'sorry' and 'only joking' and 'I want my present'. I press the Tardis key into her palm and lean in to whisper in her ear; "I don't want to say it out loud in front of her, but she knows better than to lock a human out. Hold onto that, guard it with your life."
She hops up onto her toes and whispers back, "I want a proper present later on."
"What like? Chips? Ice cream?"
"Yeah. Ice cream should cover it."
"It's a deal. Put that key away in a spy pocket." I watch her do it, zipping it into an impossibly tiny pouch at the waist of her jacket. "Good. Now turn around and look at this incredible place, would you?" It's hard to keep the excitement out of my voice. I take her by the shoulders and help her with the turning, with taking a step forward so we can see everything properly, hear her gasp, looking up in wonder and awe.
Where we've landed, the resting place of what she calls the 'soul-borrower', is hard to describe. The easiest word to use is probably 'temple'. Whatever image comes into your head for the word 'temple', make it twice the size, cover it in gold, send it reaching into eternity with glittering spires, light it up with great plates of fire and a thousand candles, cover its front in exquisitely carved lions and you're still not even there.
How can I make you understand?
Clara is speechless. Does that work? Does that help you get it?
Well, nearly speechless. After the initial shock she manages, "We should have come as explorers instead of secret agents."
I never get tired of impressing her. While she's lost in her rapture, however, I make a quick circuit of the Tardis to make sure she's safe from every side. This is a dangerous place for her. A dangerous place for me too. I've been called a weapon before. If somebody here decides I'm too dangerous to just be running around out amongst the stars, she and I could be in trouble.
By the time Clara turns to talk to me, I'm back in position behind her. "I thought you said we were deep in the future? This looks like ancient… anywhere."
"Remember when I asked you why you were wearing that old charity shop dress?"
"Vintage," she corrects sharply.
"Of course. Do you remember what you told me, about why old things are cool?"
"Because they have stories. Because they make you remember where they came from."
"Well, when humans move away from Earth, they don't have any reminders left, do they? So they build new ones. It's not ancient, it's just… vintage."
"Old school." She comes out of her reverie and starts towards the five-thousand-some steps to the top of the temple. I don't. She's a good way on before she realizes this and turns around. "What? That's your 'I know something you don't know' face."
"That's because I know something you don't know." There's a fine line between teasing a companion and making them feel stupid and sulk. So I explain to her a few of the tricks of Old Earth history while I walk along the moat at the edge of the building. She falls into step while I tell her about the pharaohs. She already knows they built the pyramids, and is very annoyed with me for trying to tell her about that. But what she didn't know, was about the grave robbers. Pharaohs were buried with vast hoards of treasure, gold and jewels and everything you'd need to live as a king in the afterlife. Grave robbers knew this, and would break in as soon as the tomb was sealed. So in order to keep the pharaoh himself from being defiled, the people who designed the pyramids would seal him in a separate room, inaccessible to the grave robbers, because it would have…
"A separate entrance-" We are around the corner. I grab Clara's hand so I can lean across the moat at the length of her arm, standing on just a toe. While she leans back yelping to balance me, I tap the stones of the wall with the sonic. They separate, folding back from centre, disappearing into each other, back and back until they leave a sizeable hole in the wall, "Hidden from the outside world."
"Very clever," she mumbles through her teeth. I look back at her grinning and very quickly realize why she seems so terse. "Doctor?"
"…Yes?"
"Sorry." She can't keep hold of my hand anymore, and I can't swing myself back across the moat. I slip away and splash into the moat.
Luckily it's purely decorative so it's shallow and not dangerous. But I do get very wet, and I can tell you from here the Tardis is laughing again.
Clara apologizes again. She holds out a hand to try and help me up properly this time. Rather than accept it, I put both hands up. "Your foot, if you would."
"I said sorry! You're not dragging me in after you."
"No, it's to give you another foothold so you don't fall in like me."
She thinks about it a little more, deciding whether or not to trust me. Then she places her boot delicately onto my proffered hands. From there, she jumps over me through the secret entrance, and I crawl up out of the water behind her.
While I am wringing out my bowtie, I realize that Clara hasn't actually moved from the spot where she landed. "I know you're not dressed for it, but you could still explore, you know."
But as I get up I start to see what's stopping her. There are, to be specific, two things stopping her. One male, one female. Both looking quite fierce. Both carrying a spear and shield. Both wearing an eerily familiar leather armour that makes my mouth go dry.
"Doctor, are they-?"
"Roman legionaries."
Clara breathes out slowly, "Old-school."
"You have no idea," I tell her. Then, because I have Clara to protect and nobody else is talking, I step up. Get between them. Let Clara hide behind me and draw myself up to my full height. While I am speaking I redo my tie. It's a feat, you know, doing up a bow tie while talking about something else. It's a bloody difficult thing to do, and I hope our legionary friends are impressed. They don't really look impressed, but maybe that's part of their training. "Lady and Gentleman, there's no need for any hostilities between us. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Doctor, this is my assistant Clara, and we're here on a routine inspection, just to see what the security is like at this facility. And let me say, so far, we're very happy with it. Clara?"
"Oh yeah. Over the moon. Top notch, folks, keep it up."
The legionaries maintain their silence, and the level of their spears. "No? Not happening? I can show you my identification, if that helps." I fish out the psychic paper, make a very strong wish, and hold it out. "What? What's the matter?"
They look at each other, and they seem to decide between themselves that the lady is going to speak. "We have no external inspections," she tells me. "We answer to no one but the Centurion."
"Ah."
Clara rolls her eyes, sticks her elbow into my ribs. "Bit of research, Doctor, before you start lying."
"Why are you on their side?!" But while we bicker, the gentleman is moving around behind us, holding his spear in both hands like a bar to shepherd us along. The lady backs up in front of us, leading. Clara and I are clever enough just to walk, just to go where they're taking us. Clara is clever enough to stop talking. "Listen, please. Please. Legionary, Legionaryette, just let me explain to you why it is that we're here. You'll understand. You'll be sympathetic, I promise."
Legionary pushes a little harder with the shaft of the spear. "You can tell the Centurion when he gets here. He's the one that'll decide what to do with you."
We are being led down a marble hallway, just as detailed and elegant as anything else we've seen. The mosaic frescos on the walls are particularly interesting. The Legionaryette has turned away from us, holding her spear in the crook of her arm while she opens a barred cell door. That's where we get stopped. That's where I stop looking at the walls, because she says, "Tell you what; it won't go well for you, pretending to be the Doctor. You should drop that before you meet the Centurion. You'll never see the light of day again, talking like that."
"I beg your pardon!?"
Clara hisses at me, "Maybe leave it while they still have spears?"
"Leave it!? Leave it?! Listen to me, you two, go out and look at the mardy Tardis in your front garden and tell me I'm not the Doctor! Look! Look, look at this, look-" I fumble the sonic out of my inside pocket, "What do you call that? Gallifreyan multi-purpose sonic interference technology, that's what you call it, that's a sonic screwdriver and I am the-"
The sonic is snatched from my hand, confiscated by the Legionary. This is in the same moment that his friend gets the cell open and we are both put inside, and the door pulled to. Still, it's hard to stop. "Fine! Take it! You think I've never been put in a cell before, you think I've never had the sonic taken from me? It happens all the time, and do you know why that happens?"
"Because you're the Doctor?" Clara asks, and it's nice to finally hear her getting involved.
"Because I am the Doctor, Clara. Correct!" I turn back to the bars to put her point to the legionaries and find, again, that I am stopped by two very forceful things.
The first is the gentleman's fist. I find this very unfair. He is taking advantage of the fact that my nose protrudes slightly between the bars to punch me without hurting his knuckles. Clara cries out, and I fall away from the bars. The Legionaryette is telling him off for unnecessary violence, but she doesn't seem all that bothered, deep down.
The second thing is what I was really looking at when the hit landed. Maybe it's something to do with the pain of the blow, but it is burned into my mind, and it is all I see. But it wasn't real. It couldn't have been real. It's a fevered product of my brutality-addled mind. Has to be.
I am up off the floor in the same second I fall, scrabbling back to the bars. There is a fresco on the wall right opposite. I was too busy defending my identity to notice it before, but I see it now.
They're walking away, the Legionaries, leaving us here. "Wait!" I call. They stop. I am pointing, mouth flapping, not forming actual words.
On that wall, in little pieces of marble and tile, is the image of a large, square box, and on its sides are patterns of lines and concentric circles picked out in a blue so bright they seem to glow. A prison, that box, more terrible by far than the cell I stand in now. That box enslaved, for eighteen-hundred years, a length of time I can't even dream of yet, two of the bravest, strongest people I've ever known.
"Why is that on the wall?" I ask them.
They turn towards it, and both in perfect unison give it Caesar's salute, thumping a fist to their hearts. The lady answers, "It's why we do what we do."
They go away then. Clara comes up and puts a hand on my shoulder. Just that much, just that littlest touch, and I spin around, grab her up in both my arms. It's not like the last hug. This is different. This is me trying to hold her down, trying to keep her here. "Oh, Clara. Clara, run away from boxes. Do you hear me? Fear boxes, run away from boxes, just let boxes go about their business and never bother them and never draw any attention to yourself when it comes to boxes. Run away from boxes, Clara."
She pushes away from me, looks at me with a smile and a sweetly confused look on her face. From another tiny pocket on her jacket she produces a clean tissue and gives it to me for my bloodied nose. It's those children she hangs around with; Clara always has a clean tissue. "Except for one box, right, Doctor?"
Since we're not going anywhere, I sit down. As best as I can explain it to her or to you, is this: "When I woke up last, and got changed out of my starry jim-jams, and put on my tie for the day, I thought it was going to be a very different day to this."
