Martha screamed and flinched back, letting go of the console in her shock and falling to the ground. Rey blinked, but didn't mind the reaction. It was far from the worst to her landings. There had been that time when Milo had been ready to shoot her. And when she had surprised Donna by appearing behind her and was nearly punched. And whenever they found her in the middle of an escape attempt, the nurses and orderlies always whipped out batons or tasers or syringes filled with sedatives.
The Doctor rushed around the console to see what the commotion had been about. His face lit up in a wide, relieved smile when he saw her. It might have looked silly if not for how earnest it was. "Martha, what are you doing on the floor?"
"But— She— She just appeared out of nowhere! I saw it!"
The Doctor just waved his hand dismissively. "That's just Rey, she does that sometimes. Nothing to worry about." Martha was obviously unsatisfied with the lack of explanation. "Oh, come on, we were just in the middle of something, remember? Traveling through the Time Vortex."
As if on cue, the TARDIS gave a rough jolt, threatening to have him and Rey joining Martha on the floor. Martha carefully pushed herself back up as the other two worked the controls, stabilizing the ship. With a tone that very clearly implied we'll be talking about that again later, Martha obliged his obvious attempt to change the topic of conversation. "But how do you travel in time? What makes it go?"
"Oh, let's take the fun and mystery out of everything," the Doctor complained. "Martha, you don't wanna know. It just does. Hold on tight!" All but climbing up onto the controls to reach it, he finally flipped the switch he was aiming for with his foot. The room shook violently once more, knocking him off.
"Blimey! Do you have to pass a test to fly this thing?"
"He failed," Rey explained as the shaking finally stopped. If not for the TARDIS giving her pointers, she didn't think she'd be able to fly her any better than he usually did. "He also disagrees with the manual on a fundamental level."
Martha's lips stretched out in a grim line. "Typical."
The Doctor grabbed his coat and decided to ignore both statements. "Now, make the most of it. I promised you one trip and one trip only." Rey resisted the urge to roll her eyes—like that was going to happen. "Outside this door… Brave new world."
"Where are we," Martha asked.
"Take a look. After you."
He opened the doors for her, allowing them to step out into the Elizabethan era street. The moon hung high in the night sky, and there were still plenty of people milling about. Martha walked slowly, mouth gaping as she tried to take everything in. "Oh, you are kidding me. You are so kidding me. Oh my God! We did it. We travelled in time. Where are we? No, sorry. I gotta get used to this whole new language. When are we?"
Looking up, the Doctor pulled her back just in time to dodge the contents of the bucket a man carelessly tossed out of the first story window. "Mind the loo!"
"Sometime before indoor plumbing," Rey noted with disgust.
Martha shrugged. "I've seen worse. I've worked the late night shift at A&E."
She willed herself not to react. It had taken a little getting used to, but she was fine around Martha now. Just like with Rory, all Rey had to do was disassociate her from her occupation.
"But are we safe," Martha continued. "I mean, can we move around and stuff?"
"Of course we can," the Doctor said. "Why do you ask?"
"It's like in the films. You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race."
He shrugged the inquiry off. "Well, tell you what then, don't step on any butterflies. What have butterflies ever done to you?"
But Martha was full of questions. Rather than passively accept, she wanted to know everything. Rey liked that about her. "What if, I dunno, what if I kill my grandfather?"
"Are you planning to," she asked her honestly.
"No."
"Well, then," the Doctor said.
"Are we in London," Rey asked him. The streets felt a little familiar.
"I think so. Right about 1599."
Martha stopped in her tracks. "Oh, but hold on. Am I alright? I'm not gonna get carted off as a slave, am I?"
"Why would they do that?"
"Not exactly white, in case you haven't noticed."
Actually, the ambiance in the street made Martha look lovely. Rey thought she was more likely to attract suitors than slavers.
"I'm not even human and look at Rey. Just walk about like you own the place. Works for us. Besides, you'd be surprised. Elizabethan England, not so different from your time. Look over there: they've got recycling." He pointed to a man shoveling manure. "Water cooler moment." Two men across the street were having a conversation over a water barrel.
"…and the world will be consumed by flame," a man exclaimed, preaching to the rest of the street.
"Global warming," the Doctor joked. "Oh, yes, and… entertainment! Popular entertainment for the masses. If I'm right, we're just down the river by Southwark right next to…" They rounded the corner and came across a huge wooden stadium.
"The Globe Theatre?"
"Oh, yes! Brand new. Just opened. Though, strictly speaking, it's not a globe, it's a tetradecagon—14 sides—containing the man himself."
"Whoa, you don't mean… is Shakespeare in there," Martha asked excitedly.
"Oh yes." The Doctor held out his arm for her. "Miss Jones, will you accompany us to the theatre?"
Martha took his arm in hers. "Yes, Mr. Smith, I will."
"When you get home, you can tell everyone you've seen Shakespeare."
"Then I could get sectioned!"
Rey stopped abruptly in her tracks. Suddenly, all her languor dried up like fallen raindrops after the sun had come back out. "I think I'll sit this one out," she said, both hating herself for reacting this way but unable to stop herself from doing so. She felt weak and foolish. More than that, she felt childish, like she was not yet mature enough to handle the outside world on her own.
The Doctor opened his mouth, probably to offer calling the whole thing off, but she shook her head. She knew how much he loved Shakespeare, and this was Martha's first trip, she didn't want to ruin it. "It'll just be a little too loud and crowded in there for me."
It wasn't a complete lie, though she still couldn't look at either of her companions. She already knew what would be on their faces. Martha would look confused, probably a little pitying depending on how much of Rey's… abnormal qualities she's already noticed. The Doctor would look so terribly concerned and a little guilty, as if it was his fault she was so weird.
Luckily, she didn't have to put much effort in looking and sounding as she always did. It was probably the only benefit to her poker face. "Go ahead with Martha, I'll just be back in the TARDIS."
Enthusiasm tampered—and she hated herself for causing that too—the Doctor nodded. He put on a good show of being unbothered for her sake. Were she anyone else she might have been convinced. As it was, guilt ate at her as she walked back to the TARDIS. She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that he would lighten up as he was drawn into the performance of the play, but it was only a half-comfort.
Sensing her stormy thoughts, the TARDIS hummed lightly as she shut the doors behind her. Rey patted the console in thanks before ending up where she always did when she was feeling melancholy. The shelves of the library never failed to cheer her up.
She must have fallen asleep after some time, because when she next opened her eyes, the Doctor was in there with her. He sat in an armchair of his own, close enough that they were sitting together but far enough that he wasn't encroaching in on her admittedly large personal space bubble. The book she had been reading was in his lap.
"'It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived who you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee…'" he recited softly.
She listened to him for a while, until he had finished with the poem. The moment felt oddly fragile. Poe always transported her to a different frame of mind. His works were on the long list of forbidden materials at Nevermore—Dr. Usher insisted it didn't promote the proper mood for healing.
"How was the play," she asked. There was no need to be loud; the TARDIS was completely silent and empty except for them. The corners of the Doctor's lips ticked downward, a bad sign. She focused on that rather than the tenderness in his gaze. Problems she knew how to deal with, as they were the norm for traveling with the Doctor. The tenderness was a foreign concept.
"If you aren't feeling well…" It must have been bad if he was starting out with saying things like that.
"I'm feeling much better." Her limbs felt heavy and sluggish from the sleep, and the angle her head had rested at had given her a crick in her neck, but he didn't need to know that. "What happened?"
He caught her up to speed with what had happened at the Globe Theatre. Shakespeare had announced the premiere of his new work, "Love's Labour's Won" for the next evening. The lost play—a manuscript that shouldn't exist, or soon wouldn't.
"He's staying at a place called Elephant Inn. I was thinking we could stick around for a bit, make sure history runs its course and someone isn't trying to change things up."
"Alright then," Rey agreed, getting up. "Let's get started."
Typically, Martha didn't quite get the severity of the situation and the Doctor didn't feel like explaining it. So, it was up to Rey to explain to the other woman the ins and outs of time travel, and the Doctor's proclivity for getting into trouble. That last bit, Martha needed no convincing of. The crash course was brief; she only had enough time to go over the basics before they were knocking on Shakespeare's door.
"Hello," the Doctor said brightly. "Excuse me! I'm not interrupting, am I? Mr. Shakespeare, isn't it?"
"Oh no, no, no, no. who let you in," the man himself complained. "No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me. And please don't ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove—" The second he caught sight of Martha, his demeanor changed. "Hey, nonny nonny. Sit right down here next to me."
Rey exchanged a look with the Doctor, who shrugged then grinned. Martha looked confused, but also a little flattered. They took a seat as Shakespeare quickly dismissed the other two men in the room. "Sweet lady. Such unusual clothes. So… fitted."
"Um, verily, forsooth, egads."
"No, no, don't do that," the Doctor told her. He held up the psychic paper to Shakespeare. "I'm Sir Doctor of TARDIS, and these are my companions, Miss Rey and Miss Martha Jones."
Shakespeare leaned in closer. "Interesting, that bit of paper. It's blank."
"Oh, that's… very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius."
Martha turned to take a look. "No, it says so right there. Sir Doctor, Rey, Martha Jones. It says so."
"And I say it's blank," he argued.
"Psychic paper," the Doctor said to Martha. "Um, long story. Oh, I hate starting from scratch."
Rey shot him a look. She understood that he was probably still missing Rose, probably always would, but that was no need to give Martha the short end of the stick. "The paper displays what the holder wants it to," she explained quickly.
"Psychic," Shakespeare repeated. "Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly? More's the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady?"
"What did you say?"
"Oops. Isn't that a word we use nowadays? An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric…"
"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Martha said, looking like she was five seconds from storming out, possibly not before giving Shakespeare a lesson in manners.
"It's political correctness gone mad. Um, Martha's from a far-off land," the Doctor said, not quite lying. "Freedonia."
"Excuse me!" A portly man entered the room without knocking, red in the face and obviously furious. "Hold hard a moment. This is abominable behavior. A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mr. Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed."
"Tomorrow morning, first thing," Shakespeare replied dismissively. "I'll send it 'round."
"Then tomorrow's performance is cancelled," Lynley announced.
"It's all go, 'round here, isn't it," Martha quietly noted.
"I'm returning to my office for a banning order. If it's the last thing I do, 'Love's Labour's Won' will never be played." And with that declaration, he stormed out.
Rey, Martha, and the Doctor left the room soon after, more to regroup than retreat. "Well, then… mystery solved," Martha said dully. She wasn't about to admit it out loud, by Rey could tell she was a little disappointed to how things had ended up. "That's 'Love's Labour's Won' over and done with. Thought it might be something more, you know… more mysterious."
On cue, the screaming started. They rushed out into the streets just outside the inn where a crowd had gathered around. Lynley was on the ground, spitting up water like he was drowning. "Leave it to me—I'm a doctor," the Doctor said, shoving past the crowd.
"So am I—near enough," Martha said, also rushing to Lynley's side.
Before either of them could do anything, he collapsed, nearly falling on Rey if she hadn't swiftly sidestepped out of the way. The Doctor ran to look down the street for a culprit while Martha examined the fallen man. "Gotta get the heart going. Mr. Lynley, c'mon, can you hear me? You're gonna be alright." She tilted his head back and opened his mouth, preparing to perform CPR when water gushed out from his mouth. "What the hell is that?"
"I've never seen a death like it," the Doctor said, coming back to them. "His lungs are full of water—he drowned and then… I dunno, like a blow to the heart, an invisible blow." Brushing off the dirt from his knees he quickly stood and addressed Dolly Bailey, the owner of the Elephant Inn. "Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away,"
"Yes, sir," she replied.
A young woman joined them, offering to take on the task. Rey didn't like looking at her. It felt as if she were looking through a foggy and ill-placed window. She had the distinct feeling that what she was seeing wasn't the full picture. "And why is he telling them that," Martha asked, snapping her from her thoughts.
"It's only the 16th century. They'll panic and think witchcraft if the Doctor tells them the truth," Rey explained.
"Okay, what was it then?"
"Witchcraft," the Doctor said.
They returned to the inn after seeing the body off. Shakespeare, who despite his previous disagreement with the man, was mourning Lynley's death. Dolly had kindly offered them a room, though there was only one availability. It was just across the hall.
"Poor Lynley. So many strange events," Shakespeare said sadly. "Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?"
"Where a woman can do what she likes," Martha replied.
"And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?"
"I do a lot of reading," he replied, giving Rey a fond look.
"Ah, the mysterious Miss Rey. So strange you appear to be; a part of the world and yet apart from it. Tell me, are you also from this Freedonia?"
"No," she said simply, not sure how else to respond. Then, because she was feeling defensive and couldn't help it, she added, "I would think that this would be apparent to someone as keen as you."
Shakespeare nodded in understanding, not offended by her barb. He turned back to Martha, carefully taking her in. "You look at him like you're surprised he exists. They are as much of a puzzle to you as they are to me."
"I think we should say goodnight," Martha said, quickly leaving.
"I must work," Shakespeare said in agreement. "I have a play to complete. But I'll get my answers tomorrow, Doctor, Miss Rey, and I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours."
"All the world's a stage," the Doctor said, holding the door open for Rey.
Shakespeare hummed. "I might use that. Good night, Doctor, Miss Rey."
"Night-night, Shakespeare."
Martha was examining their room when they joined her, eyeing the single bed. "It's not exactly five-star, is it?"
The Doctor shrugged. "Oh, it'll do. I've seen worse."
"I haven't even got a toothbrush."
"Ooh." He stuck his hand into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a brush. "Contains Venusian spearmint."
"So, who's going where? I mean, there's only one bed?"
"We'll manage. C'mon." He flopped on one side, offering the other side to Martha.
Rey took a seat in the chair by a small desk. She had never shared a bed with anyone, and wasn't actually sure if she even could. People tended to move around in their sleep, and if she wasn't expecting it, one wrong touch could end up setting her nerves off. Besides, she didn't think she would be getting much rest anyway.
"So, magic and stuff," Martha said amicably. She was feeling nervous and trying to start a conversation so that she might relax. "It's a little bit 'Harry Potter.'"
"Wait 'till you read book seven. Oh, I cried."
"The epilogue though," Rey added. She'd hated it.
"But is it real, though," Martha asked. "I mean, witches, black magic and all that, it's real?"
"'Course it isn't!"
"Well, how am I supposed to know? I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break." She huffed, crossing her arms.
"Looks like witchcraft, but isn't," the Doctor insisted. "Can't be. Are you gonna stand there all night?"
She sat on the edge of the bed. "Budge up a bit then. Sorry, there's not much room. Us two here, same bed. Tongues will wag."
The Doctor completely ignored the comment, still fixated on figuring out what had happened to Lynley. "There's such a thing as psychic energy, I mean, look at Rey, but a human couldn't channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we'd have spotted that. No. There's something I'm missing." He turned, facing the side of the room where both Martha and Rey were, only he wasn't really looking at either of them. His eyes said that he was far away, looking at something only he could see.
"Something really close," he continued, "staring me right in the face and I can't see it. Rose would know. A friend of ours, Rose. Right now, she'd say exactly the right thing." Then he turned back on his back, seemingly snapping out of the melancholy. "Still, can't be helped. You're a novice, never mind. I'll take you back home tomorrow."
Rey felt something twist in her gut. Shakespeare's words echoed in her ears—a part of the world but apart from it. She didn't feel like part of the world. She felt invisible. Traveling with the Doctor was wonderful, and she wouldn't give it up for anything. And traveling with him had given her a glimpse of the universe that no book or article ever could. But it was still just a view. She was still just someone looking in from the outside.
Sometimes, the Doctor had this inexplicable way of making her feel like she was actually included for the first time in her life. And sometimes he had this completely inevitable way of making her feel like everyone else did—like she was the fog to be seen through, not the view to be taken in.
Judging from the way Martha stiffened, she had felt something similarly discomforting. "Great," she said, tone implying the opposite. She promptly turned her back on him and blew out the candle.
The hours passed slowly, as they always did where Rey had nothing to occupy her thoughts but self-contemplation. Eventually, she fell into a light but fitful doze. She was cold—no, she was freezing. Her breath was crystallizing like tiny white clouds, only instead of fading they lingered in the air. Larger and larger the cloud grew until it took on a human shape. Whispers echoed in her ears, deafeningly loud but completely incomprehensible. She caught snippets that didn't make any sense.
"…forget…"
"…No one… …ev… …coming…"
"Stage Two… … …ccording to plan…"
"…ot fair! …ake… from you…"
"… is no… … … Re… …ond…"
"Just forget…"
A scream jerked her back to sharp consciousness. She was on her feet almost before she was fully awake. Sharing a glance with the Doctor and Martha, they all ran for the door. The sound had come from Shakespeare's room across the landing, but it had been Dolly who screamed. She was lying on the floor, face contorted in fear.
"Her heart gave out," the Doctor said, examining the body. "She died of fright."
"Doctor," Martha called uneasily.
He and Rey joined her by the window, which she was staring out with denial splashed across her face. "What did you see," she asked calmly.
"A witch."
That wasn't very encouraging. The Doctor had on a complicated expression, like he wasn't sure he wanted to believe her. Rey had no doubt that Martha saw what she thought was a witch, but the Doctor needed a little more convincing. She could see the alternate explanations he was coming up with—nerves, still halfway asleep, hysteria—and it made her want to yell at him. She understood that he was missing Rose, but he was being completely unfair to Martha.
At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed at her disapproving stare. Rubbing a hand through his hair sheepishly, messing it up even further, he offered her an apologetic grin. She glanced pointedly at Martha—it was her he needed to apologize to, not Rey.
"Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey," Shakespeare mourned. They had to call someone to collect her body. Like with Lynley, the Doctor told them it had been a natural death. There was no tricking Shakespeare, however, not with him having been there when they discovered the body. "She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. We all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit."
"'Rage, rage against the dying of the light,'" the Doctor said, quoting Thomas about three and a half centuries too early.
"I might use that," Shakespeare said.
"It belongs to someone else," Rey told him.
"But the thing is," Martha said, bringing them back on track, "Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you."
"You're accusing me?"
"No, but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches."
"I have," Shakespeare asked. "When was that?"
"Macbeth hasn't been written yet," Rey mumbled.
"Peter Streete spole of witches," he said, suddenly remembering.
"Who's Peter Streete?"
"Our builder." He shook his head sadly. "He sketched the plans to the Globe."
"The architect. Hold on. The architect! The architect!" The Doctor slammed his fist on the table as realization hit. "The Globe! Come on!"
He grabbed Rey's hand and led the way out the door to the theatre. It wasn't a big as she'd imagined it would be, but that might be because it was empty. Without a crowd or actors on the stage to add dimensions to it, the Globe Theatre just looked flat.
"The columns there, right?" The Doctor pointed ahead of them. "14 sides. I've always wondered but I never asked…"
"Why 14 sides," Rey guessed, looking up at him for confirmation. He grinned and nodded.
"It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all," Shakespeare told them. "Said it carried the sound well."
"Why does that ring a bell? 14…"
"There are 14 lines in a sonnet," Martha offered.
"So there is," the Doctor agreed. "Good point. Words and shapes following the same design." He started pacing, back and forth. Seven steps one way, then seven steps back. "14 lines, 14 sides, 14 facets… Oh, my head. Tetradecagon… think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!"
"This is just a theatre," Shakespeare said.
"Oh, but words have power and a theatre's magic, isn't it," the Doctor argued. "You should know. Stand on this stage, say the right words with the right emphasis at the right time… Oh, you can make men weep, or cry with joy, change them. You can change people's minds just with words in this place. And if you exaggerate that…"
"It's like your police box," Martha pointed out. "Small wooden box with all that power inside."
"Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, Rey was right, I like you." She looked at him—when had she told him that? The Doctor winced giving her the answer without even saying anything. With a mental sigh, she filed it away in her growing pile of things to do in the future because she had, apparently, already done them.
"Peter Streete would know," she pointed out. "Can we talk to him?"
"You won't get an answer," Shakespeare told them. "A month after finishing this place… lost his mind."
"Why," Martha asked. "What happened?"
"Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."
A stone started forming in the pit of Rey's stomach. If Peter Streete wasn't already dead, then there was only one place he'd be. She clenched her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
"Where is he now," the Doctor asked.
"Bedlam."
Martha looked confused. "What's Bedlam?"
"Bethlem Hospital," Rey said. Her throat was as dry as a desert and her voice sounded very far away from her. "The first hospital in London to specialize in the mentally ill. Historically, it's considered one of the worst asylums of the era."
"We don't have to go," the Doctor said quickly.
"Yes we do." She had already chickened out once on this trip, how could she do it again? All she had to do was keep quiet and listen, and everything would be over quickly. As long as she didn't say anything or look too hard, she'd be fine. It wasn't as if they'd know about her if she didn't say anything.
"Wait! I'm coming with you. I want to witness this at first hand," Shakespeare called after them. He quickly turned and left some instructions to the workers before rushing to join them.
Rey kept up a steady pace on their way to Bethlem, knowing that if she didn't, she'd turn around and not take a step further. She had to do this, it was important. Peter Streete might be the only person who could explain to them what was going on. If she didn't go, then she was certain the Doctor wouldn't go either. What if more people died? How could she let that happen just because she was scared?
She tried to distract herself from their destination by listening in on Martha and Shakespeare. "So, tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors."
"This country's ruled by a woman," Martha pointed out.
"Ah, she's royal. That's God's business. Though you are a royal beauty."
"Whoa, Nelly! I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country," she said hotly.
"But Martha, this is Town."
"Come on," the Doctor said tensely. He had a firm grip on Rey's hand, and she held back just as tightly. If the Doctor was with her, maybe she could focus on trying to see him instead of seeing all the things wrong with the so-called hospital. Or seeing flashbacks of her past. "We can all have a good flirt later."
"Is that a promise, Doctor," Shakespeare asked.
Jack would love him, Rey thought. If he were there they would spend the entire time flirting and getting nothing done. Or, possibly, getting things done in no time at all.
"Oh, 57 academics just punched the air. Now move!"
The worst part of Bethlem wasn't the smell. It wasn't the horrid lighting or even the screams. Because as terrible as the conditions were, the attitude was even worse. The patients were treated like criminals, locked in cells and left to die. The jailer showing them to Peter offered entertainment in the form of torture while they waited.
Rey thought she might actually be physically ill.
"No, I don't," the Doctor yelled.
The jailer wasn't deterred. "Wait here, my lords, while I make him decent for the ladies."
"So this is what you call a hospital, yeah," Martha asked bitterly. "Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?"
"Oh, and it's all so different in Freedonia," Shakespeare complained.
"But you're clever! Do you honestly think this place is any good?"
"I've been mad," he shot back. "I've lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose."
"You don't cure mental illness, you treat it," Rey said through gritted teeth. How could anyone defend this place in any way? "And you don't do that through fear. If you think this prison helps anyone but the people in charge, then you're obviously not as forward-thinking as you pretend to be."
She kept her eyes fixed on the ground, focusing as if to count the individual grains of dirt. She wanted to run. She wanted to leave and never come back. She wanted to burn the place to the ground with all the staff in it.
"Mad in what way," Martha asked gently after some time of silence.
"You lost your son," the Doctor noted softly.
Shakespeare nodded. "My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."
"I didn't know. I'm sorry," Martha said.
"It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be… oh, that's quite good."
"You should write that down," the Doctor told him.
"Hm, maybe not. A bit pretentious?"
"This way, m'lord," the man called from down the hall. He unlocked the door to Peter's cell. "They can be dangerous, m'lord. Don't know their own strength."
"I think it helps if you don't whip them," the Doctor yelled. "Now get out!" If not for his hand on Rey's, she would have thought he might actually resort to violence. The Doctor was angrier than she'd ever seen him. Somehow, that anger was a comfort to her. It made her feel warm when right now, she otherwise felt very, very cold.
"Peter," the Doctor asked gently, slowly approaching him. "Peter Streete?"
Peter was unresponsive to all of the noise. He wasn't in a vegetative state, he just wasn't there with them. He'd retreated far into his own mind, but whether it was on his own seeking comfort or if he was driven here, Rey didn't know.
"He's the same as he was," Shakespeare said sadly. "You'll get nothing out of him."
"Peter?" The Doctor laid his hand on the man's shoulder. Suddenly, his head jerked up. His eyes were glassy and wide, his pupils blown, and he while he stared straight ahead, he couldn't fix his gaze on anything. The Doctor put his fingertips at either side of Peter's temples. "Go into the past, one year ago. Let your mind go back, back to when everything was fine and shining. Everything that happened in this year since happened to somebody else. It was just a story. A winter's tale. Let go. Listen. That's it, just let go."
"What's he doing," Martha asked in a whisper.
"Helping him dissociate from the trauma," Rey murmured back just as quietly. The Doctor couldn't force it, but he could help encourage the process.
"Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches."
"Witches spoke to Peter," he said. "In the night, they whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The 14 walls—always 14. When the work was done—" he let out a sound that only vaguely resembled a laugh— "they sapped poor Peter's wits."
"Where did Peter see the witches?" The Doctor crouched beside him. "Where in the city? Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me where were they?"
"All Hallows Street."
An old woman suddenly appeared next to the Doctor. Clothed in a black robe, with a hooked nose and a hunched back, she looked how they used to depict crones and wicked stepmothers. "Too many words," she warned.
The Doctor flinched back, retreating to stand beside the others. "What the hell," Martha asked.
"Just one touch of the heart." Doomfinger placed her hand on Peter's chest before anyone could stop her. He screamed, in terror and pain, and then he died.
"Witch," Shakespeare cried. "I'm seeing a witch!"
"Who would be next, hmm," Doomfinger asked. "Just one touch. Oh, oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals."
"Let us out," Martha shouted through the bars of the cage. "Let us out!"
"That's not gonna work," the Doctor told her. "The whole building's shouting that."
"Who will die first, hmm?"
"Well, if you're looking for volunteers." He walked towards her, taking in her appearance and trying to place her species.
"No! Don't!"
"Doctor, can you stop her," Shakespeare asked.
"No mortal has power over me," Doomfinger claimed.
"Oh, but there's a power in words," the Doctor said. "If I can find the right one—if I can just know you…"
"None on Earth had knowledge of us."
"Then it's a good thing I'm here. Now think, think, think… Humanoid female, uses shapes and words to channel energy…"
"14," Rey added. There had to have been a reason they chose that number.
"Ah, 14! That's it! 14! The 14 stars of the Rexel planetary configuration! Creature, I name you Carrionite!"
With a loud wail, Doomfinger vanished.
"What did you do," Martha asked breathlessly.
"I named her," the Doctor explained. "The power of a name. That's old magic."
"But there's no such thing as magic."
"'Magic's just science that we don't understand yet.'" It was Rey's turn to quote something. Doomfinger showing up had effectively knocked her focus from where they were to what the Carrionites wanted.
The Doctor smiled encouragingly at her. "Exactly. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words instead."
"Use them for what," Shakespeare asked.
"The end of the world."
Rey picked the lock of the cell and they quickly left Bethlem. It felt like they couldn't get out of there fast enough. She wanted to shower but had a feeling that no matter how hard she scrubbed, the air of that place would never leave her pores.
When they were safely back in Shakespeare's room, the Doctor continued with his explanation. "The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe. Nobody was sure if they were real or legend."
"Let's go with real," Rey decided. "Let me guess: they want to rebuild their empire on Earth?"
The Doctor nodded grimly. "A world of bones and blood and witchcraft."
"But how," Martha asked.
"I'm looking at the man with the words." They all turned to eye Shakespeare.
"Me? But I've done nothing."
"Hold on, though. What were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room," Martha asked him.
"Finishing the play."
"What happens on the last page," Rey asked.
Shakespeare shrugged. "The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It's all as funny and thought provoking as usual—except those last few lines. Funny thing is… I don't actually remember writing them."
"That's it," the Doctor realized. "They used you. They gave you the final words. Like a spell, like a code. 'Love's Labour's Won'—it's a weapon! The right combination of words, spoken at the right place with the shape of the Globe as an energy converter! The play's the thing! And yes, you can have that," he added before demanding that Shakespeare show them a map.
Rey pointed. "There's All Hallows Street."
"Right. You, Martha, and I'll track them down. Will, you get to the Globe," the Doctor ordered. "Whatever you do, stop that play!"
"I'll do it." Shakespeare reached over and firmly shook his hand. "All these years I've been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing."
"Oh, don't complain," Martha told him.
"I'm not. It's marvelous. Good luck, Doctor."
"Good luck, Shakespeare," he bid the other man, holding the door open for Rey. Then, before walking out, added, "Once more unto the breach!"
"I like that. Wait a minute… that's one of mine," Shakespeare complained.
"Oh, just shift!"
Luckily, and probably not on accident, All Hallows Street wasn't very far from the theatre. A row of houses, each looking fairly normal, awaited them. None of them immediately screamed "witch's lair" or "alien headquarters."
"The thing is, though… am I missing something here," Martha asked. "The world didn't end in 1599. It just didn't. Look at me—I'm living proof."
"Oh, how to explain the mechanics of infinite temporal flux?" The Doctor glanced at Rey who just stared back unimpressed. It was his turn to do the explaining. "I know! 'Back to the Future!' It's like 'Back to the Future!'"
"The film?
"No, the novelization. Yes, the film. Marty McFly goes back and changes history."
"And he starts fading away." The severity of what she'd just said struck Martha a moment later. "Oh my God, am I gonna fade?"
Rey nodded. "You and the rest of the future if we don't stop them."
"But which house," the Doctor asked. On cue, one of the slowly opened, inviting them in. "Ah, make that witch house."
The girl from the street, the one who offered to make the arrangements for Lynley's body, waited for them inside. She looked like an ordinary human, but that was likely the idea. One thing that hadn't changed since 1599 was that if you knew how to act the part, no one paid attention to the girl in the background.
"I think it we're expected."
"Oh, I think Death had been waiting for you a very long time," Lilith said.
"Right then, it's my turn." Martha stepped forward, full of confidence. "I know how to do this. I name thee, Carrionite!"
Nothing happened.
"What did I do wrong," she asked the Doctor, dropping the pointed finger she had up. "Was it the finger?"
"The power of a name works only once. Observe." Lilith pointed at her. "I gaze upon this bag of bones and now I name thee Martha Jones."
Martha's legs gave out on her. The Doctor managed to catch her before she fell, lowing her carefully to the ground. "What have you done?"
"Only sleeping, alas," Lilith noted, disappointed. "Curious, the name has less impact. She's somehow out of her time. And as for you, Sir Doctor!" She pointed again to no effect. "Fascinating. There is no name. Why would a man hide his title in such despair? Oh, but look. There's still one word with the power that aches."
"Leave him alone," Rey said angrily, knowing what named Lilith was planning to use. It worked to sway's Lilith's attention. Unfortunately, she hadn't quite thought it all through since the other woman's gaze was now fixed on her.
"And how peculiar you are, Miss Rey. Tell me, which of them is your real name?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Tick Tock goes the clock and so the river turns. Careful not to lose your place when the Child returns."
Her words felt strange. Both oddly familiar and distinctly new. It was like hearing something again for the first time when you had heard it in pieces before but never all together. Only, there was none of the understanding that usually went with it, just… a strange feeling.
The Child?
"The Carrionites vanished," the Doctor said, drawing Lilith's attention back on him. He stood by Rey's side, and both of them were standing protectively in front of Martha's unconscious body. "Where did you go?"
"The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness."
"So how did you escape," Rey asked.
"New words. New and glittering from a mind like no other."
"Shakespeare," she concluded.
"His son perished," Lilith told them. "The grief of a genius. Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance."
"How many of you," the Doctor asked.
"Just the three. But the play tonight shall restore the rest. Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And from this world we will lead the universe back to the old ways of blood and magic," she ranted.
"Hmm… busy schedule… but first you gotta get past me."
Lilith cooed. "Oh, that should be a pleasure considering my enemy has such a handsome shape." A hand came up to run along the side of his face.
"Now that's one form of magic that's definitely not gonna work on me."
"Oh, we'll see." Quick as a scorpion striking down with its stinger, Lilith yanked out a lock of his hair before quickly backing away.
"What did you do?"
"Souvenir."
"Well, give it back!" Lilith flung her arms up and the window behind her suddenly burst open. She propelled herself backwards, hovering in the air just outside. Rey and the Doctor rushed forward to the windowsill. "That's just cheating," he complained.
"Behold, Doctor. Men to Carrionites are nothing but puppets." She pulled out a doll from the pocket of her dress, wrapping the Doctor's hair around it.
"Is that a DNA replication module," Rey asked.
"I'd call it one." Behind them, Martha was slowly stirring. The Doctor gestured for her to get back and check on the other girl.
"What use is your science now?" Lilith stabbed the doll with a needle. As if he had been stabbed himself, the Doctor cried out, collapsing on the floor.
"Oh my God! Doctor!" Martha scrambled to his side, rolling him onto his back so she could listen for a heartbeat. Then she paused, remembering. "Hold on, mister. Two hearts?"
"You're making a habit of this." The Doctor pushed himself up and nearly fell again. "Aahh! I've only got one heart working. How do you people cope? I've got to get the other one started. Rey!"
She slammed her fist on his back, right where the stopped heart was. The first time this had happened she'd panicked, but it was almost like a bad habit now. He jerked and let out a cry of pain but was suddenly feeling much better. "Ahh, lovely. There we go! Ba-da-boom! Thanks."
"You're welcome," she replied easily.
"Well, what are you standing there for? Come on! The Globe!" He ran out of the house, Rey on his heels and Martha not far behind.
"We're going the wrong way," Martha shouted as they indeed followed him down the wrong street.
"No we're not!"
"Yes we are." Rey grabbed onto his sleeve and tugged him back. It wasn't long before they caught sight of the Globe, only instead of the magnificent sight of it that she remembered from the previous day, it was glowing dark red and there were screams coming from inside. Dark, heavy clouds gathered above them, rumbling with thunder as a storm threatened.
The preacher stood in the middle of the road. "I told thee so! I told thee!"
"Stage door," she suggested, ignoring him.
"Stage door," the Doctor agreed, taking the lead once more. They burst through into the backstage area, finding Shakespeare on the floor nursing his head. "Stop the play." The Doctor had to shout to be heard over all the noise. "I think that was it. Yeah, I said, 'Stop the play!'"
"I hit my head."
"Yeah, don't rub it, you'll go bald." The screaming in the front intensified. "I think that's our cue!"
From the stage they could see the three Carrionites up in the box seats, cackling around a crystal ball. Lilith was shocked when she saw the Doctor, but not discouraged. "Watch this world become a blasted heath," she screeched. "They come! They come!"
Channeling the energy released, the Carrionites flew out of the dark cloud above them, swirling around the Globe and adding to the chaos. The Doctor grabbed Shakespeare by the arm. "Come on, Will! History needs you!"
"But what can I do?"
"Reverse it," Rey shouted. She caught a flash of lightning from the storm.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"The shape of the Globe gives the words power, but you're the wordsmith, the one true genius," the Doctor explained. "The only man clever enough to do it!"
"But what words? I have none ready!"
"You're William Shakespeare!"
"But these Carrionite phrases, they need such precision," he countered.
"You could try trusting yourself," Rey suggested, wobbling a little. The fierce winds threatened to pick her up and send her flying through the air too. The Doctor grabbed hold of her hand, physically anchoring her down. "When you're locked away in your room, it's like the words just come, right?" She felt like that sometimes when she was writing about her adventures with the Doctor, and that couldn't even compare to what Shakespeare did. "Like magic."
"Words of the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm," the Doctor urged, "words that last forever! That's what you do, Will! You choose the perfect words. Do it. Improvise!"
Slowly, Shakespeare stepped forward. He glanced back at them uneasily, then composed himself and began to speak. "Close up this den of hateful, dire decay! Decomposition of your witches' plot! You thieve my brains, consider me your toy. My doting Doctor and Rey tell me I am not!"
"No!" Lilith shrieked in anger. "Words of power!"
"Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show! Between the points…" He looked back.
"7-6-1-3-9-0," the Doctor supplied.
"7-6-1-3-9-0! And banished like a tinker's cuss, I say to thee…" Again, he faltered, looking back at them.
"Expelliarmus," Martha blurted out.
"Expelliarmus," the Doctor repeated. "Good old JK!"
"Expelliarmus," Shakespeare declared.
The Carrionites all screamed. "The deep darkness! They are consumed! Ahhh!"
Like a vacuum specially set to Carrionites, the clouds above sucked them right back in. It was like watching a tornado in reverse, unraveling instead of forming. The papers that contained copies of the play were also dragged in. "'Love's Labour's Won.' There is goes," the Doctor noted.
All at once the wind stopped. The clouds dissipated, revealing the sky again. The crowd relaxed for a moment, then began applauding with vigor. The Doctor and Rey ducked back behind the curtains as cheers filled the air and the actors took their bows. They climbed up to the box, finding the crystal ball abandoned on the floor. The Carrionites were trapped in it, screaming, banging on the inside, demanding to be released.
"I know where you're going to put that," Rey said, recalling the storage under the grating.
"Do you? How's that?"
"One day, we're going to meet another famous writer, and then you'll know."
Surprisingly, they spent another few hours in town instead of taking off straight away as they usually did. Though, it was probably due to William's insistence. In the morning before they left, the Doctor rummaged through the theatre's backstage, ostensibly to give Martha and Shakespeare some time alone together. Really, he just wanted to play around a little.
"Good props store back there! I'm not sure about this though." He showed Rey the skull he had in his other hand.
"Reminds me of a Sycorax."
Shakespeare hummed. "Sycorax. Nice word. I'll have that off you as well."
"We should be on 10%," the Doctor complained. "How's your head?"
"Still aching."
"Here, I got you this." He removed the ruff collar he wore and put it around Shakespeare's neck. The man looked a lot more like the portraits of him that would later be drawn. "Neck brace. Wear that for a few days till its better, although you might wanna keep it. It suits you."
"What about the play," Martha asked.
The Doctor shook his head. "Gone. Rey and I looked all over—every single copy of 'Love's Labour's Won' went up in the sky."
"My lost masterpiece."
"You could write it up again," she suggested.
"It's probably better not to," Rey said. "Those words still have a lot of power."
Shakespeare was far from discouraged. "Oh, but I've got new ideas. Perhaps it's time I wrote about fathers and sons. In memory of my boy—my precious Hamnet."
"Hamnet," Martha repeated. Shakespeare nodded. "Ham-net?"
"What's wrong with that?"
The Doctor cut in. "Anyway, time we were off. I've got a nice attic in the TARDIS where this lot can scream for all eternity and I've gotta take Martha back to Freedonia."
"You mean travel on through time and space," Shakespeare corrected.
"You what?"
"You're from another world like the Carrionites, and Martha and Rey are from the future. It's not hard to work out."
It honestly wasn't with the way the Doctor went around blurting things out. Still, the human tendency to reject the unknown was astounding. "You'd be surprised," Rey told him.
"That's… incredible. You are incredible," the Doctor said.
"We're alike in many ways, Doctor." He turned back to Martha, taking her hand in his. "Let me say goodbye to you in a new verse. A sonnet for my Dark Lady. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate—"
"Will," one of his workers called, interrupting. "Will! You'll never believe it! She's here! She's turned up!"
"We're the talk of the down," another worker added. "She heard about last night! She wants us to perform it again."
"Who," Martha asked.
"Her Majesty! She's here!"
There was a short fanfare, the blare of brass instruments introducing Elizabeth I as she entered the theatre. The Doctor greeted her excitedly, but she was much less happy to see him. "Doctor!"
"What?"
"My sworn enemy!"
"What?"
"Off with his head!"
"What?!"
"Never mind 'what,' just run," Martha shouted. "See you, Will! And thanks!"
"Stop that pernicious Doctor," the queen commanded. Soldiers ran after them, ordering them to stop.
"What have you done to upset her?!"
"How should I know? Haven't even met her yet. That's time travel for you! Still, can't wait to find out."
Rey fumbled with the key, unlocking the TARDIS as quickly as she could. When she finally got the doors open, the Doctor jerked her aside just in time to avoid an arrow to the back. Martha slammed the doors shut behind her as soon as they were all in. The sound of more arrows embedding themselves in the TARDIS echoed behind her. "She's going to be cross with you," Rey warned the Doctor as they got ready to dematerialize.
"She's already cross with me!"
"I meant the TARDIS. Good luck finding your bed tonight."
I did promise foreshadowing, but hopefully I didn't give too much away. Fun fact, proto-Rey was actually going to be a play off Annabel Lee. The Poe references survived the Great Revision, but the name (among other things) didn't.