Hello.
About a year ago, I started writing a Dr. Who novel called The Laughing Elders. It was to be a story in three parts; I completed the first part. Then, I tried to interest BBC Books, the publishers of Dr. Who, in publishing it, but they only accept submission from writers approved by the producers of the TV series. Makes sense. So, I contacted the agent of Russell T. Davies to see if I could interest him in it, but she politely informed me that he was too busy. Okey doke.
I've decided to put the complete first third of the novel on my Web site, Les Pages aux Folles (.ca), in September to celebrate its seventh anniversary. Until then, I've decided to give those interested on this site a taste of the story: I will publish a chapter every second week of July and August.
I started writing the other two parts of the novel, but moved on to other projects when I hit the BBC wall. If there is any interest, I may take them up again.
Enjoy,
Ira Nayman
Dr. Who:
The Laughing Elders
PART ONE: Harlequin's Toy
Chapter Four:
Interlude, With Soy Sauce
Underground caverns. Lots of planets have them. They're always dark and dank, with the sound of dripping water in the background. In a specific cavern on an unnamed planet, one spared the noise of chattering rats, at least, three unlikely characters are sitting down to dinner.
"Mmm, I love Chinese takeaway," Harlequin said through a mouthful of lemon chicken. "You gonna have that extra egg roll?" she asked a fussy little man with a black bird's head on top of his body sitting on the opposite side of the rock they are using for a table for their cardboard cartons, paper plates and cups and plastic utensils.
"Yes!" the birdman squawked. Harlequin removed her chopsticks.
The third person sitting on the ground around the rock, a tall, muscular blond in sheepskin clothing, looked up from the plate full of ribs that he is in the process of ravenously devouring long enough to ask, "So, how did your story go?"
"I was interrupted!" Harlequin complained. "It started off well enough: the Quantum Gun worked as it was supposed to. However, before I could reverse the effects, this man showed up. Not only did he know what the Quantum Gun was, but he chased me away with a weapon of his own. Oh! – and you know what the worst part was? The Quantum Gun didn't work on him!"
The blond man looked impressed. The birdman looked worried. "Who was this man?" he squawked.
Harlequin shrugged. "Calls himself the Doctor."
"That's all?" the birdman pressed her.
"Oh, yeah," Harlequin continued. "He said something about being a thyme lord. I thought that was weird. I mean, why should I be impressed with somebody who has control over seasonings?"
"A Time Lord!" the birdman seemed to shrink a little into himself.
"Uhh, yeah," Harlequin agreed, uneasily.
The birdman clucked to himself, "A T…T…T…Time Lord. This can't be good. Not good. Not good. Not –"
"What's the problem?" the blond man asked.
"The Time Lords are…legends," the birdman explained. "Their race was ancient when my people were evolving. They have…powers."
"So do we," the blond man assured him. The three discussed how Harlequin could bring her story to a satisfactory conclusion. They eventually agreed that she should return several hours later, after the Time Lord had presumably lost interest and left. Throughout,
the birdman was very nervous and unhappy.
NEXT: Chapter Five: The Place Imagination Goes To Die