To Clara, the invisible staircase was like a comfort from childhood.
No, it wasn't truly invisible. But when she looked down at her feet to find the next step, it was like her mind was telling her to look away. It was the strangest feeling, but when her feet felt each higher step, she thought of it as if it were the streets and floors she'd walked since she was old enough to. Thus, she turned unease into familiarity! She was being made not to think about the steps, so she treated them as if she didn't need to.
And below her, the people of London went about their business, trawling through the last night's snow and not even bothering to look up. Whatever it was, it was hard enough for her to see it, and she was walking on it! Imagine if they weren't even looking for it. She looked up, past the stairs, into the clouds. They were dense, and something about them told her they were a wall. Or a fence. Something meant to keep her out, and others like her, too curious to forget.
Oh, fess up, man! I'm only here on these stairs to the heavens because you didn't check if anyone was following - your mistake, not mine. Judging by your coat and hat, you fancy yourself someone clever. And since you have this, you clearly are. But your daft little nose and that big bloody chin stuck in those books, you hardly bothered to look for me.
She sneezed, and she could almost see her spit turning to ice as it flew, only to be carried off by the wind.
Of course, not that you know me. But surely you must've known this contraption would eventually let someone through. Or is this a test? Am I to prove myself worthy of something?
The winter wind of London was not kind, even from the ground. But up here it blew right through her, through her skin and organs and bones, leaving a bitter feeling in her. Every step became punctuated with a shiver. The air got colder. Thinner. Didn't some idiots in a balloon try going this high, and didn't they nearly freeze and choke on the air? She couldn't remember for sure. Maybe this spiraling staircase would take her awareness first, and then her memories. Maybe it was a predator left for her! A predatory staircase, that's a story she would never, ever tell the Latimer children.
No mind now. Just keep climbing. See what's at the top.
She never got the chance. The wind got angry and shoved her against the guardrail - a thing she could barely feel if not for it poking, steely, into her stomach, burning her hands in frost. (Why haven't I bought gloves?!) She lost balance and began to tumble, letting loose yell before - !
She blinked. It was like she blinked and suddenly she was indoors again. She was sitting. She ached.
And her feet were wet. She wanted out of these cheap shoes!
In front of her was a green-skinned woman. If not for her upper-class wardrobe, a black dress and retracted veil, she would pass perfectly for The Missing Link, that thing between man and reptile. But then Clara saw the thing's eyes: they were like those of a human. And her mouth was open, poised to speak. She half expected a garble of hiss and growl.
But no. Very calmly, evenly, and with the poshest of poshy class that only the English could muster, the green woman spoke:
"You have found yourself wandering into something you should not have. And we've brought you here to - "
"Am I being interrogated?"
- KHSSSS! -
The woman's face suddenly changed. The reptile side shone through, and Clara nearly tipped her chair in fright. That's when she noticed her wrist were bound to the chair's arms. Why had she not noticed that first? The woman suddenly regained herself. Clara imagined it was like a child forgetting manners when eating. She could even see the woman dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief.
"...My apologies, but you are not to speak yet. Not while I still have more to say, much for you to understand. But make no mistake, this is an interrogation. Now, you will keep your answers short. If you are ready, then do not speak. Nod."
Clara nodded, nervous. She fought the urge to say yes instead.
"Excellent! Now, when we found you, you had discovered a staircase: a thing which none in London are supposed to notice. But you did. Why?"
"Following a man."
"What sort of man?"
"Man in a top hat."
"Didn't he notice you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"He wasn't looking."
The woman took another second to process this. And Clara's eyes were exploring. This room was clearly part of a mansion. She would have to guess it was a smoking room, judging by the extravagant décor and the light smell. It was a lot like the Latimers' smoking room, though most of her time was spent in other parts of their house. She knew men of high caliber liked to smoke. But what sort of men would this woman associate with?
"He wasn't looking?"
"No. He wasn't. Sulking is more like it. Does he just go on walks?"
"Remember, miss, I am the one asking the questions. Keep your answers short." Clara nodded again out of reflex. What would happen if she disobeyed? Or if she had answers they didn't like? What then? Kill her? Eat her? And what was this woman anyway? The questions kept coming, the green woman didn't even have to speak for her to hear question after question - ...!
"Now... tell me. About yourself. Keep your eyes on me. Do not look around, you won't need to know about this place anyw - "
The door burst open. To her left. She tried getting up again, but remembered her hands were bound. She really should remember why her hands were bound. And why were her feet so wet?!
It was a short, squat, brown man dressed in a butler's suit. He looked almost like a golem, that clay creature the gypsies of the alleys sometimes rambled about. Was she having a nightmare? Must be. Cradled in the Butler Golem's arms, rather like a baby, was a slug, and the biggest one she'd ever seen. She gasped. And then, never mind gasping, she let out a yelp.
"Silence, boy! Madame, I have finally recovered the worm!"
"Oh, for God's sake, Strax, we've already used the worm! Where are your gloves?" He looked puzzled at this. The worm writhed, either suffering or waking up. Just like a baby, you could never tell. And... already used it? What, on her?
"Gloves?"
"Yes, Strax, the gloves." Again with the puzzled look. His face was almost blank. In a moment of deja vu, she was reminded of herself, in this situation.
"Why would I need gloves?"
"For the worm!" The creature called 'Strax' looked down to the worm-baby nested in his sleeve.
"No, I don't! This squelching imp is no threat to a Sontaran!"
"Strax, do you remember what we sent you to the worm for?"
"For the boy, Madame. We found him on the Docto - "
"STRAX!"
"Oh. It seems I have said too much. Carry on!"
And with that, the golem butler called Strax left the smoking room. Leaving Clara alone with... Strax had called her Madame. That seemed about right. Was this a house for freaks?
"What does this place have to do with the staircase?"
The Madame turned her head sharply. Again, that rage of an animal shone through the human stance and style.
What had Strax said? The Doctor? Doctor of what?
Never enough questions. And she doubted she would get answers.
"I know your rules, Madame. But if I know more, I can help. Could be easier for both of us."
After a moment, the rage settled again. The Madame sat back.
"All right, then. It is likely you remember more than we've let you. And in this case, we might need to undo the worm's effects."
"Oh, great, you couldn't have done that before?"
The look was now one of sympathy. Or maybe it was just a courtesy, something learned like a profession. Either way, the attitude had already shifted.
"We've never done this before. But you have."