Chapter 4 – The Black Cat
Outside, a few cold streets down, they stop to catch their breath. The Doctor is exhilarated, curious, and can't wait for more. The Master, although he would never admit it, is beginning to like the Doctor's lifestyle. Virginia is holding back tears and panic. Edgar, on the other hand, is the cheeriest of them all. The Doctor wonders if it's the right Edgar Allan Poe.
"Are you alright?" the Doctor asks them both. Virginia takes turns shaking her head yes and no; on the other hand, her husband vigorously asserts his condition.
"That was brilliant! A giant, mechanical, black cat! With paws like razor blades and iron insides darker than the night! Wonderful! I wonder how it works."
"You seem...pleased," the Doctor struggles for the correct words.
"Of course. I have seen creatures like these nearly every day for the past week. They plague my mind, my dreams, for they simply walk past me, keeping a safe distance, and disappear into the shadows. I have seen them chase after a homeless urchin and tear him open alive," he seems entranced with the memory of ripped flesh; it triggers disgust in the Doctor and admiration in the Master. "But they ignore me every time, Doctor. Taunting me with their empty eyes, something I will never understand."
"Have you told anyone?" the Doctor asks.
"Virginia, a few close confidants. They believe me drunk!" he says with outrage. Virginia looks as if she believes him now. The Master sniffs quietly, using his sharp senses, and catches a whiff of alcohol about the man. "But you can see it too!"
"How comforting," the Doctor says uncertainly.
"There is no better remedy for a troubled mind than knowing you are not mad," Edgar says, smiling in spite of himself. Virginia is looking up at him with some sort of admiration on her face, the shock slowly melting away after observing the bravery of her husband. The Master nods in agreement, in spite of himself. He's starting to like this man. He's dark and broody, a genius, and thinks he's mad. The Doctor looks from one to the other, thinking this, and struggles to come up with words appropriate for this moment. It's strange, how being so close to a wordsmith always seems to take the words right out of him.
"How did it start?" the Master prompts him.
"Ah, I was on my way back from...business," Virginia gives him a look of disapproval; it's not hard to guess what this 'business' was. "When I saw a strange light down an alleyway, by a church. I was drawn to it, and found a strange stone, like ice in my hand."
The Doctor and Master look to each other.
"What was it like?" the Master urges. Edgar puts a hand to his head.
"Like fire and water, the overwhelming ringing of bells and beating of drums in my head. I dropped it, as if burnt, and ran home."
"Since then, you've seen the cat?" the Doctor asks.
"Nearly a week later, I first saw a cat like the one we faced, except smaller. It seems to have grown," Edgar says, and then shakes his head, as if to shake the ridiculous thought out of it. "And then, a raven, terrible haunting cherubs, twinkling metal scarabs that scuttled nearly a foot from my feet...I can't make sense of it."
"Those animals?" the Master asks, "all built out of the same machinery as the cat that we saw?" Edgar nods enthusiastically.
"All deadly beasts, I can assure you!"
"It's some sort of signal," the Master turns to the Doctor. "Think of it. What possibly could give out a signal so strong that it would control them to that level? That they could have low level scans and short term memory wipes? Those robots, the machinery! It's not just in perfect working order; it's a work of art! Beautiful, nearly sentient, low-level psychopathic wonders! It has to be-"
"The fragment," the Doctor says breathlessly, the beginnings of a smile of his face. "That's what was blocking the sonic! And it would have to be a good distance above these houses, and radio signals won't be around for years-"
"45 years," the Master adds. The Doctor is delighted and a little proud that he knows that.
"Which only leaves whatever church you found the light by-?"
Edgar points to the church steeple a few blocks behind them, the Time Lords turn to look.
"And that would be our steeple!" the Doctor says happily.
"It'll be in the bell tower," the Master adds, "sending off the signal for their little soldiers, to follow whatever directions they broadcast, whatever they're doing here in the first place." He grins before he can stop himself. The Doctor has a small smile on his own face when he watches the Master come to the conclusion no better than he could have.
"And what about us?" Edgar asks. His coat is draped around Virginia's small frame. "We can't go back to our house, it's in ruins."
"You'll have to go back eventually," the Doctor says apologetically. "It's not safe. That crystal...you were the first person to touch it. It imprinted on you. Whatever found it was influenced by your ideas, your mind."
"The cat...came from my mind?"
"In a word..." the Master trails off, looking at the sky. The Doctor looks up as well, catching the train of thought that he had instantly dismissed.
"We have to hurry. It's nearly morning, people will be about."
"Already?" the man says.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," the Doctor says seriously. "You are Virginia need to go back. Clean up, order new windows, and get some rest. After tonight, you'll never see anything like this again. The Master and I have got it covered." Virginia doesn't look assured, and Edgar opens his mouth to protest.
"It's no good," the Master says, "he values your bravery, but doesn't want to risk your neck. You're important. I wish it was the same for me."
"Important?" Edgar smirks, considering.
"Yes, and, we're going now," the Doctor turns, grabbing the Master's arm and leading him towards the church. "It was lovely meeting you, it really was, but we've got an appointment..." he's trying the disarming approach now, the Master notices, and they turn around a corner without much grace.
The Doctor drops his friendly pretense and the Master's arm all at once. The Master notices the change almost immediately.
"What is it?" he asks curiously, before mentally kicking himself for giving the appearance of caring.
"I don't know. I've run into a good number of clockwork aliens in my time. Met some clockwork cats from Katuria once, sent as a sort of guard for this Shade Vassily guy, you would've liked-"
"No, don't do that rambling picture of innocence thing, I know something's wrong," the Master stops in the middle of the dark street and crosses his arms. "One moment, you seemed so pleased that I was acting your pet, the next you act like you don't want to be here. You're the one that wanted to save everyone. What am I doing here with you?" He spits the last sentence with disgust for them both, but mostly himself.
The Doctor sighs, taking great care to avoid the Master's eyes. He isn't sure what he meant by help in the first place, he had never taken time to think that through. The last thing he had predicted was what he had asked for in the first place. He needs the Master's help, that's for certain. But will he really help him? Should he leave him back on Earth? Lock him up in the TARDIS? He thinks of the prophecy, the four knocks, and his eminent death. Did they mean the Master? The Doctor doesn't want to be alone, doesn't want to die alone, but he doesn't want to travel with a human, because they can't possibly understand.
All of this runs through his head and he can't properly look at the Master, can't even look him in the eye because he's known him so long that something like understanding might pass between the two.
Neither of them wants to be alone, which is the only other alternative that they have. Because, if the Master leaves the Doctor he'll just end up chasing after him again, and if the Doctor leaves the Master his conscience and his hearts won't let him carry on happily again.
The Doctor takes a deep, deep breath, storing the air in his lungs like the nerve and bravery he so desperately wants right now, and slowly lifts a hand, which he sets on the Master's shoulder. It's a simple gesture, a far too kind one. The Master wants to shrug him off with a sneer and crush his hopes, because he thinks the Doctor is going to say something, say one of those things that makes him run or hide, or dooms him to another death and another flight. Traveling with the Doctor is everything that he's ever imagined it to be, and a little bit more than he bargained for. It makes him feel almost vulnerable.
The Doctor opens his mouth to speak, but the Master turns his head at the sound of a mechanical whirring in the distance. The Doctor looks too, spots the cat slinking down the street. Their heads snap back, conveying an escape plan in a single glance. The Doctor looks around and unthinkingly takes the Master's hand, pulling him into a gap between two closely placed walls, hiding them from the cat. It moves slowly down the street, making the hissing and clinking noises that it did before as it slinks along.
The Master flattens his back against the wall. There's a rubbish bin preventing them from going any further than a foot or two into the gap, and they have no choice but to stand chest to chest in the cramped space. The Doctor swallows dryly, half of his mind extremely worried about the robot cat, the other half preoccupied with awkwardness at their close quarters and another kind of worry and fear.
They're both aware of how loud their breathing is; filled with adrenalin and excitement. Their clothes rub against each other, no matter how hard they try to stay away from each other. Their rustling, their breathing, their double heartbeat all seem so loud, so obvious, they both expect razor sharp claws to shred them to pieces any moment. The Master feels claustrophobic, he throws out his right arm, and with no where to put it, places his hand splayed out upon the brickwork, right next to the Doctor's shoulder. It's in the way of the alleyway, somewhere between a protecting shield and a confining wall. The Doctor feels cornered, scared and even more claustrophobic than the Master. It's a small victory, a sense of power to feel another type of panic in the Doctor.
The Master leans his head up against the bricks and laughs, silently, insanely, his breath steaming like a chimney in the cold December air. The Doctor watches him, entranced, staring at his Adam's apple, bobbing on his neck. He chews the inside of his lip, knots of stress tie up his stomach. The Master's arm is a wall, his body another, they flatten him against the bricks until he's tiny, frozen in place, and he barely dares to breathe.
It seems like an eternity passes, maybe two (they're Time Lords, they live between seconds) before the cat disappears down the street, presumably into the church. The Doctor breathes a sigh of relief, and it's like a maelstrom of noise after the complete silence of the winter night. The Master hesitates before letting his arm hang down. The Doctor is too proud to let him know how frightening and overwhelming the Master was just then, he leans against the wall and pants, panicking a little. He never panics like this.
"Doctor," the Master says, a little quieter than normal, his voice highly amused. "You can let go, now." He realizes with a jolt that he had never let go of the Master's left hand and had been squeezing it with his right. He drops it like its scalding and nearly jumps from their hiding place, mumbling "Sorry! I just-I'm sorry."
The Master bites his cheek to hide his smile and they continue quietly down the slowly lightening road, the Doctor trying to find the least personal and awkward way to walk beside the Master.
The church is dark and empty, maybe even abandoned. It's hard to tell in the shadows, even when the Doctor pulls a match (everlasting, of course) out of his pocket and lights it. Their footsteps echo and raise dust all around them, dust that tastes of grease and metal to them, not skin and hair. The Master opens his mouth to speak, but the Doctor raises a finger in the air to shush him. He frowns and complies.
They can both hear a faint whirring, something slightly above the highest pitch of human hearing. It's like a whining to the Doctor, like when the TV is left on mute, but it sounds like the drums, increased again, to the Master. They're loud, and they hurt, more than usual. Each beat is agony against his skull, and makes him feel dizzy and tormented in the surrounding silence. He clutches at his ears, even though he knows it won't help. The Doctor watches him out of the corner of the eye, pitying him, but doesn't say a word. He knows the Master won't appreciate his sympathy. He's also waiting for the mechanical cat to pounce on them from the dark at any moment.
Nothing happens, however, even when they've crossed the sanctuary and the Doctor has found a spiral staircase. The bell tower. The door opens without a sound, which the Doctor thinks is some kind of blessing until he realizes that it only means that the door is well oiled and used, unlike the rest of the undisturbed chapel.
The Master doesn't want to go on because the drumming in his head is getting louder and louder, but he follows the Doctor faithfully, gritting his teeth as they ascend the spiral staircase. They both wince at the first step, still anticipating the pounce of clockwork beasts. It's a long trip up the bell tower, and the staircase is old and narrow.
They reach the top of the staircase, panting only slightly when they stand on the cramped landing. Only a rusty iron door blocks their path. The Doctor softly lays his hand on the cold, crusty handle, looking at the Master with the quirk of a smile on the edges of his mouth.
"Ready?" he whispers. The Master licks his lips and nods his head, beginning to feel claustrophobic, crammed into the Doctor on the small step. Heat rushes into his blood as he anticipates the unknown behind the door. They both inhale sharply when the Doctor swings open the door to the bell tower theatrically, expecting a pouncing cat.
For a moment, there's nothing but their breath, steaming up into the dawn. They both spot the crystal fragment instantly, hanging from the noiselessly swinging clapper of the bell, not making a sound. They glance to each other, excitement and joy rushing through them both. The Master lunges towards the crystal without a second thought, drawn toward it, even though it sends pain through his entire body. It's agony, but glorious, victorious agony. He grins and tries to catch the clapper in his hands.
Then, something crashes onto the Doctor. The Master hears the Doctor's shout and a crash and turns, yells his name, and wishes he would have been allowed a weapon. The Doctor is thrown to the floor violently, the air knocked out of his lungs, and his head hits the floor, hard, knocking him out. The black robot cat is standing on the Doctor's chest, looking just as strangely light and agile as a real cat, although it's obviously heavy. The Master moves forward, yelling to the inanimate Doctor to see if he's alright. Of course, he isn't. The cat makes a noise that can only described as a howl before it jumps from the Doctor's chest and away from the Master.
He kneels next to the body of the unconscious Doctor to check his pulse. He's alright, the Master realizes with embarrassing relief. He pauses, checks that the Doctor is truly unconscious, and runs a hand over his chest, smoothing the wrinkles in his coat. He deftly pokes his fingers into his inside pockets, extremely aware of the heartbeats, the rising, warm, chest underneath his hands as he searches for anything that isn't a jelly baby. He pauses, looks at the Doctor's peaceful, sleeping face. He hasn't seen such a relaxed expression on his face in a long time. His own presence has always prevented that. He stares openly for a long, rare moment, then reaches out, his fingertips lingering millimeters from the Doctor's face. For a moment, this view belongs to him. His knuckles brush the Doctor's cheek, and it's surprisingly rough with some stubble. He realizes what he's doing and jerks away, jumps to his feet.
The cat is still there, ignoring the Master and focusing intently (as intently as a robot can) on the Doctor. It appears to be sniffing him, but the Master knows that it is simply scanning the Doctor. Only, what for? After a moment of feeling ridiculous, he opens his mouth to speak to the cat. Lots of people talk to cats, he reasons. And he kind of was one, once.
"You're scanning him," he starts. "What for? What about me?" The cat ignores him. "Poe and I…why are we special?" It's insane, he realizes, talking to this cat. It's as if he isn't even there. "Oh," he blinks. "I'm not."
The cat continues to scan the Doctor.
"I'm invisible. The beat is some sort of psychic code that keeps you together, or controls you, or something, you don't even notice it. My psychic field transmits the drums at a low level…you can't even tell I'm here. Which means," he grins wildly, then begins to slap his hands against his thighs, concentration on the beat of the very loud drums inside of his head.
one-two-three-four
one-two-three-four
one-two-three-four
one-two-three-four
"You will obey me," he says, psychically reaching out to the cat as he speaks. Its head snaps to him suddenly, and he smiles in triumph, trying not to break his concentration as he stops tapping and concentrates on the cat. "Answer all of my questions," he commands. The cat stares at him unnervingly.
"Okay, first," he says, "you're giving off an organic psychic field, and you're a robot. Nothing but cogs and odds and ends. Completely mechanical, but you are intelligent and sentient. What are you?"
The cat just looks at him before answering.
"I am I.R.O.N. 3/E.5 of the United Illuvoed Embassy." The Master takes a second to absorb this.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he admits. The cat says nothing. "Alright," he takes a deep breath, unsure of what to ask. This is more of the Doctor's thing than his. "Do you have a spaceship?"
"Our spacecraft crashed," it replies. He makes a face, it's a dead end.
"Do you have any weapons?" he asks next. The cat's razor sharp claws unsheathe, making a sharp, metallic noise. He winces.
"Yes."
"What are you doing here?"
"Our spacecraft crashed," it repeats. The Master opens his mouth to ask another, more specific question, but it continues. "We are rebuilding the spacecraft so that we may return to our fleet."
"What happened to the crew? Are you the crew? Are you just a…repair droid? How are you going to repair your spacecraft, you're in primitive America…on Earth?" The cat makes an audible whirring noise as it processes his questions.
"The crew was assimilated. I am the crew. I am not the crew. I make repairs. I will find resources" The Master is about to ask another question when it sinks in.
"You are the crew, but you aren't?" He asks. The cat begins to answer his rhetorical question, but he continues, "But how can you be…ah. Assimilated. I'm guessing that's how you got your psychic field. Assimilated their minds because their bodies were broken. I don't know what kind of physical shape they had, but their minds could almost be bonded together…How did you come to be?"
"I bonded when their psychic consciousnesses assimilated-"
"Using the already existing field of the crystal fragment, bonded to the mind of a genius, to gather together spare parts of the spacecraft and build yourself so you could fix the ship. Brilliant. They must have had some sort of pre-existing psychic communication." He pauses, the silence barely registered beyond the drumming in his head. "I'm talking to a cat," he realizes, feeling idiotic. He's turning into the Doctor. "But that's not enough. Their minds are hardly captured, the knowledge of fixing the spacecraft...How are you going to know what to do?" The cat's head jerks to the side.
"We will use you." The Master feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. "You carry the signal. You are compatible."
"Oh, no, no, no," he says, backing away as the cat advances, "you sound far too much like the Cybermen." He begins to panic. "What about the Doctor?" he asks.
"We will kill him," the cat answers simply. The Master's eyes turn dark and he advances on the cat instead, fury radiating from him.
"No one kills the Doctor," he says, stepping over the Doctor and snarling, "No one hurts the Doctor. No one lays a finger on him," he pauses, "except me." He pulls his hand from behind his back and points the Doctor's sonic screwdriver at the bell, with the fragment swinging on the clapper, broadcasting the signal. The cat makes a horrible screeching noise. He's vaguely aware of the Doctor jumping to his feet behind him, and he kicks the cat, hard, the heavy gears and parts of the robot smash over the railing of the tower to the street below. The Doctor runs to the bell and removes the crystal fragment from the end of the clapper, holds it up to the light.
They stare at it, heaving with effort of the sudden struggle, and the sun breaks over the horizon. The rays reflect off of the snow and the city, streak the foggy sky with peach and plum colors. The light refracts through the strangely cut fragment, reflecting rainbows on the ceiling, onto their clothes and the bell and the floor, every color known to man and one or two known only to Time Lords. The Doctor is completely enamored with the sight, and the Master hates him for a moment. He's so predictable, so easily amused or inspired. It's the last piece of Gallifrey that isn't already the Doctor's. The Master pauses, rethinks. It's the last nonliving piece of Gallifrey that isn't already the Doctor's. He belongs to no one.
"You're welcome," he says venomously. The corners of the Doctor's mouth turn up slightly as he watches the sun rise.
They both turn as the door bursts open suddenly. A panting Edgar Allan Poe emerges, looking strangely excited and red from running up stairs.
"The cat - pieces, on the street - people crowding - Christmas - you?"
"Calm down," the Doctor urges him. The man takes a few deep breaths before he continues.
"I've never seen anything like it!" he says, his eyes shining, "I escorted Virginia to the house of a friend, and came here as quickly as I could. I was approaching the church when I saw the metal cat, falling from the tower! It smashed on the ground!"
"That was me," the Master interjects proudly.
"Is it gone, then? The mechanical beast? "I believe it was pulverized, but I could not tell. People had begun to gather for early Christmas services, and crowded around it. I did not linger."
"We're pretty high up," the Doctor says. "But you know what they say about cats…"
"They always land on their feet," the Master finishes.
Edgar looks from the Doctor to the Master, oblivious to their concerned glance. The Doctor pushes past Edgar and the Master follows him down the stairs and through the sanctuary to the outdoors. Edgar trails behind, apologizes for being the third to run into the minister, and yells after them to ask about the hurry. The Doctor pushes through the crowd that has gathered outside apologetically. The Master runs head-on into a woman who is coughing violently into a handkerchief, knocking it from her hands.
The Doctor skids to a stop. A pile of nuts, bolts, and cogs is lying scattered in the middle of the street. Some of the people are poking at the pieces of metal, others pointing at the bell tower. The Doctor kneels down and picks at a few pieces gingerly.
"Anything interesting?" the Master asks, looking around at the other people self consciously.
"Nope," the Doctor answers, pulling out his glasses to examine the gears closely. The Master stares. "They're all from this time period, from clocks, watches, anything mechanical. I suppose it could shift its shape into anything from his mind. That reminds me," the Doctor says, looking up, "Where did Mr. Poe go?"
The Master shakes himself out of his thoughts as the Doctor tucks his glasses into a pocket. "Sorry, what?"
"Edgar. Where did he run off too?"
"I don't know," the Master says dismissively, "as if I should know." The Doctor looks around wildly.
"He may experience some ill after-effects." He begins to push through the crowd again, searching for Edgar. The Doctor spots him quickly and runs to him. Edgar looks unsteady on his feet, and is holding a hand to his head.
"It's merely a headache," he dismisses the Doctor's worried face. The Doctor nods.
"You were psychically connected to the robot. It used your ideas. Your head will clear up soon, after it gets used to the isolation," he explains. Edgar doesn't really understand him, but nods anyways. "Let's get you home," he begins to lead the man in the direction that he instructs, but a sharp voice cuts through the chatter.
"Edgar!" Virginia is running towards them, looking worried. She embraces him tightly. "I told you not to run off after them," she scolds.
"And I instructed you to stay with the Wilsons, Sissy. You'll catch cold," he puts a protective arm around Virginia.
"Let's go," she says, looking suspiciously at the Doctor and Master. "Please, aren't you finished with your silly quest? It's Christmas!" she chides.
"Yes, alright. Goodbye, Doctor, Master, it was a pleasure to meet you," he nods at them both, smiling. "May our paths cross again." He's a strange, singular man, lonesome in a way, but he means it.
"Oh, and it was brilliant meeting you," The Doctor grins widely, about to say something corny and mushy and inspiring, but Virginia sneezes loudly.
"Bless you!" the Master says, his voice oozing comfort and sympathy, and offers Virginia a handkerchief.
"Thank you, sir," she smiles back at him. The Doctor's mouth hangs open for a moment, the Master's eyes dart to him for a moment. He steps on the Master's foot and shoots him a stern look; the honeyed smile melts from the Master's face. Virginia, flattered, attempts a sort of curtsy; Edgar tips his hat and they walk away, arm in arm.
"What was that about?" the Master asks, "jealous?" The Doctor rolls his eyes.
"That was awfully kind of you," he says flatly. "Wait…" he turns to stare at the Master. " Where did you get that handkerchief?"
With a sly smile, the Master reveals, "Some poor old dear was coughing quite violently in the crowd. I relived her of it. I don't think she'll need it much longer." His voice is smooth and smug. The Doctor raises his eyebrows in shock, realizing what this means. "I'm only keeping history in check!" the Master laughs.
The Doctor sighs, feeling a little dejected. He chooses not to lecture the Master. It won't make any difference. Virginia's sickness, death, and Poe's consequential misery is essential to the quality of his work. He can't change a thing. He pulls the crystal fragment from his pocket and holds it in his palm.
"One down," he says cheerily.
"Three to go," the Master points out pessimistically.
"To the TARDIS?" The Doctor is trying very hard to contain his disappointment and be happy.
"Only because we've nowhere else to go," the Master answers, with amusement to the Doctor's frustration. He shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to walk in the general direction of the TARDIS, ahead of the Doctor.
The Doctor keeps a slow pace, tilts his head slightly and watches the Master rush a few feet ahead of him, his coattails blowing up in the wind. He still saved him, he thinks, when he could have stolen the TARDIS key and ran back to the TARDIS and ran away. Even have killed him.
But he didn't, and that's why the Doctor smiles and walks beside the Master the rest of the way to the TARDIS. It's Christmas, and it's snowing, but it's neither of those reasons which make the Doctor feel almost properly happy for the first time in a long while.
