Thank you so much to those who followed/favourited and a special thanks to everyone who reviewed and let me know there are people still interested! Because of you, I'm once again getting really excited about this story and have started to regain my muse.
Special shoutout to Tahkaullus01, whose review made me laugh :)
I really loved writing this chapter, and there's a scene at the end that I had a heap of fun with. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did!
The three of them burst into Shakespeare's office, where the bard jerked up as though he'd fallen asleep on his desk. The first thing Rose noticed was the barmaid, Dolly, lying on the floor, and the second was a rustling at the window.
Leaving the Doctor to check on Dolly, she followed Martha to the window and the pair of them watched as a dark figure, silhouetted by the moon, on what appeared to be a broomstick flew off, laughing manically as she went. Goosebumps erupted on Rose's arm and she shivered.
"Her heart gave out," the Doctor announced gravely. "She died of fright."
"Doctor?" Martha called, and he rushed to their side.
"What did you see?"
Rose and Martha exchanged a look, confirming they'd seen the same thing. "A witch."
The four of them spent the next few hours bouncing ideas back and forth, but by the time the sun rose they were still no closer to an answer.
"Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey," Shakespeare sighed mournfully. "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 quoted.
"I might use that," Shakespeare said thoughtfully.
"You can't," the Doctor answered glumly. "It's someone else's."
"But the thing is," Martha said to Shakespeare, bringing their focus back to the issue at hand. "Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you."
"You're accusing me?"
"No!" Martha assured him. "But I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches!"
Rose was really starting to regret not paying attention to Shakespeare's work when she was in school. Maybe if she had she'd be able to help them, but as it was she was useless – a feeling she absolutely hated.
"I have?" Shakespeare frowned. "When was that?"
"Not, not quite yet." The Doctor muttered to Martha in an undertone.
Thankfully Shakespeare didn't seem to hear. Instead he told them, "Peter Streete spoke of witches."
"Who?" Rose asked quickly.
"Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe."
"The architect," the Doctor noted. "Hold on. The architect! The architect! The Globe! Come on!"
They made their way swiftly through the relatively empty streets until they reached the Globe. Once inside they spread out and examined the place, Rose, Martha, and Shakespeare taking to the stage while the Doctor paced below them in the Yard.
"The columns there, right, have fourteen sides. I've always wondered, but I never asked. Tell me, Will. Why fourteen sides?"
Shakespeare shrugged. "It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all. Said it carried the sound well."
"Fourteen," the Doctor considered. "Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen."
"There's fourteen lines in a sonnet," Martha offered.
"So, there is. Good point. Words and shapes following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets. Oh, my head. Tetradecagon. Think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!"
"This is just a theatre," Shakespeare dismissed.
"Oh yeah, but Rose said it last night. A theatre's magic, isn't it? 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."
Rose caught on and added urgently, "Change them! Doctor it can change them!"
"Exactly! You can change people's minds just with words in this place. But if you exaggerate that…"
"It's like your police box," Martha piped up. "Small wooden box with all that power inside."
"Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, I like you. Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would know. Can I talk to him?"
"You won't get an answer," Shakespeare informed them. "A month after finishing this place, lost his mind."
"How?" Rose wondered.
"Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."
"Witches – sounds like we're on the right track," Rose noted, and Martha nodded.
"Where is he now?"
"Bedlam."
"What's Bedlam?" Martha questioned.
"Bethlem Hospital. The madhouse."
"We got to go there. Right now. Come on!" The Doctor whirled back to the entry way, where two men were coming towards him, and Rose jumped down from the stage to follow.
"Wait! I'm coming with you," Shakespeare announced. "I want to witness this at first hand."
He handed the script in his hands to one of the men who'd just walked in. "Ralph, the last scene as promised. Copy it, hand it round, learn it, speak it. Back before curtain up. And remember kid, project. Eyes and teeth. You never know, the Queen might turn up." As he moved away from them, Rose thought she heard him mumble, "As if. She never does."
Rose hurried forward to catch up to the Doctor, leaving Shakespeare to walk beside Martha.
"So, tell me of Freedonia," he requested. "Where women can be doctors, writers, actors…"
"This country's ruled by a woman," Martha stated simply.
"Ah, she's royal. That's God's business. Though you are a royal beauty."
Rose snorted at the obvious flirt and shot a grin at Martha over her shoulder.
"Whoa, Nelly," her friend said, stopping in her tracks. "I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country."
"But Martha," Shakespeare argued, as Rose tugged the Doctor's arm to stop him getting too far ahead of the others. "This is town!"
"Come on," the Doctor cried impatiently. "We can all have a good flirt later."
"Is that a promise, Doctor?"
"Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air. Now move!"
Rose suppressed a grin and they picked up the pace, not talking until they reached Bedlam.
Bedlam was larger than Rose expected, and the dawn light coupled with the moans and howls issuing from inside made her shiver in fear. The Doctor draped an arm around her and she huddled into his warm body.
Inside was even less pleasant, with men in cages clawing and screaming for escape. The group was silent as the Doctor presented his psychic paper to the warden.
"Lord Doctor and my companions. We're here to see Peter Streete."
The warden, a large man with a short-cropped beard, was all too happy to lead them through the cells.
"Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits?" He asked. "I can whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for you. Bandog and Bedlam."
Rose felt sick to her stomach at his casual tone. Since travelling with the Doctor she'd seen some awful things and whenever she came across an ignorant individual she normally took it upon herself to let them have it, but she knew that, for now, talking to Peter Streete was their top priority. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to explode at the warden, lest he deny them access to Peter's cell.
"No, I don't!" The Doctor said firmly, clearly in the same position she was.
"Well wait here my lords, while I, uh, make him decent for the ladies."
The warden shuffled off and Martha immediately rounded on Shakespeare.
"So this is what you call a hospital, yeah?" She asked him in disgust. "Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?"
"Oh, it's all so different in Freedonia," the bard replied defensively.
"But you're clever!" Martha insisted. "Do you honestly think this place is any good?"
"I've been mad. I've lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose."
"Mad in what way?"
"You lost your son," the Doctor stated gravely. Rose felt a rush of sympathy for the writer even she was still angry that he condoned this hell-hole.
"My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."
"I didn't know," Martha relented. "I'm sorry."
"It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be." He paused, deliberating, and added, "Oh, that's quite good."
"You should write that down," the Doctor suggested.
"Eh, Maybe not. Bit pretentious?"
The Doctor gave a non-committal hum, waiting until Shakespeare had turned away before winking at Rose.
"This way m'lord!" The warden called from the end of the passageway and their group made their way towards him.
The warden led them to the right cell and pulled out the keys to unlock it.
"They can be dangerous, my lord," he warned as they moved into the cell. A man dressed in rags was hunched over with his back to him. Peter, Rose assumed. "Don't know their own strength."
"I think it helps if you don't whip them!" The Doctor said furiously. "Now get out!"
"Peter?" Rose asked, moving closer to the huddled man until she was crouched in front of him. "My name's Rose, I'm here with my friend, the Doctor, and we'd like to ask you some questions. Is that okay?"
The man didn't even look up.
"He's the same as he was," Shakespeare told them. "You'll get nothing out of him."
The Doctor placed a light hand on Rose's arm and she shuffled over so that he was directly in front of the poor man.
"Peter?" He asked softly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Instantly the builder's head shot up – so fast that Rose jumped back slightly, startled as she was. His eyes were huge and pale, and he was quivering in fear. The Doctor placed his hands over Peter's temples and the prisoner relaxed a fraction, although he was still visibly terrified. Rose wished there was something she could do to help him.
"Peter, I'm the Doctor. 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. That's it. That's it, just let go."
Peter gasped and the Doctor lowered him gently to the floor. "Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches."
Peter twitched and jerked as he revealed what had happened to him. Rose was tempted to go comfort him, but she didn't want to risk upsetting him further.
"Witches, spoke to Peter. In the night, they whispered. They whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The fourteen walls. Hee. Always fourteen. When the work was done, they, they snapped poor Peter's wits."
"But where did Peter see the witches? Where in the city?"
Peter merely gulped and shook his head.
"Peter, tell me," the Doctor urged. "You've got to tell me, where were they?"
"All Hallows Street."
"Too many words!" A voice behind Rose hissed, and she shrieked at the unexpected contributor. The Doctor yanked Rose away so that the two of them were standing by Martha, facing the creature that had just appeared. Rose felt as though her heart was going to beat out of her chest.
If she had to describe the being, she would have said it resembled a storybook hag; long, thin hair hung past a wrinkled face with an oversized nose and chin, and the thing's hands were claw-like with wicked looking nails.
"What the hell?" Martha cried, inadvertently denoting Rose's own thoughts.
"Just one touch of the heart," the hag whispered forebodingly, moving towards Peter with an outstretched finger. Rose realised what was happening too late and could only watch as the creature pressed Peter's chest and the ex-architect stopped moving.
"No!" The Doctor shouted furiously.
"Witch!" Shakespeare pointed. "I'm seeing a witch!"
"Ah, who would be next, hmm? Just one touch," the hag waved her hands about menacingly. "Oh, oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals."
The Doctor stepped in front of Rose, and Martha ran to the bars.
"Let us out! Let us out!" She screamed desperately.
"Well that's not going to work," the Doctor noted. "The whole building's shouting that."
"And who will die first, hmm?" The witch-creature sneered.
"Well, if you're looking for volunteers."
The Doctor stepped forward but Rose grabbed his arm.
"Don't you dare," she said sharply.
Shakespeare added in a low voice, "Doctor, can you stop her?"
"No mortal has power over me," the thing spat at him.
"No, but there's a power in words," the Doctor said and Rose saw the hag's face fall in trepidation. "If I can find the right one. If I can just know you."
"None on Earth has knowledge of us," it denied.
"Good thing we've got the Doctor then," Rose replied firmly. "Doctor?"
"Humanoid female, uses shapes and words to channel energy… Ah! Fourteen! That's it! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration! Creature, I name you Carrionite!"
The hag screeched loudly, dissolving in front of them until there was no trace of her left. Rose breathed out a sigh of relief and loosened her grip on the Doctor's arm, which she was still clenching.
"What did you do?" Martha asked him inquisitively.
"I named her. The power of a name. That's old magic."
"But there's no such thing as magic!" She refuted.
"Alright, uncle Vernon," Rose ribbed.
"It's just a different sort of science," the Doctor explained. "You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. The Carrionites use words instead."
"Use them for what?" Shakespeare wondered.
"The end of the world," declared the Doctor.
x
"The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe. Nobody was sure if they were real or legend."
"Well, I'm going for real."
They were back in Will's study at The Elephant inn, where the Doctor was pacing up and down while Shakespeare splashed cold water on his face. Martha was leaning against a large bookcase and Rose was perched on the edge of the table.
"But what do they want?" Martha asked, beating Rose to it.
"A new empire, on Earth," the Doctor speculated. "A world of bones and blood and witchcraft."
"But how?" Martha pressed.
"I'm looking at the man with the words," the Doctor said, with a pointed look at Shakespeare.
"Me?" The bard realised, stunned. "But I've done nothing!"
"Well you were there when Dolly died," Rose rationalized. "You must've seen something?"
The writer shook his head.
"She's right, though," Martha pushed. "What were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?"
"Finishing the play."
The Doctor's head shot up. "What happens on the last page?"
"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."
"They wrote in the last few lines?" Rose guessed. "Why would they do that?"
"They used him," the Doctor realised, turning to the author. "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 spun around at the same time as Rose jumped down from her seat.
"We need to find All Hallows Street," the Doctor demanded as she said, "Do have any maps in here?"
Shakespeare ran across the room and pulled out a few papers from the bookcase Martha was leaning on, before rushing back to the table and spreading them out.
The four of them crowded around the table to get a better look. The Doctor whipped out his glasses and Rose had to remind herself to concentrate on the map.
"All Hallows Street, there it is," the Doctor pointed out. "Rose, Martha, we'll track them down. Will, you get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play!"
"I'll do it," Shakespeare pledged, holding out a hand to shake the Doctor's. "All these years I've been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing."
"Thanks for that," Rose rolled her eyes. "His ego's big enough as it is."
"Anyway, don't complain!" Martha said to Shakespeare.
"I'm not," he stated merrily. "It's marvelous! Good luck, Doctor."
"Good luck, Shakespeare. Once more unto the breach!"
Rose, Martha, and the Doctor rushed out of the room as Shakespeare called, "I like that. Wait a minute, that's one of mine."
The Doctor popped his head back around the corner to say, "Oh, just shift!"
Rose reached the end of the street first and the Doctor caught up and took the lead, bursting through the narrow streets and dodging the people bustling around them.
He stopped on street that was oddly empty and announced, "All Hallows Street, but which house?"
"The thing is though, am I missing something here?" Martha frowned. "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 the infinite temporal flux?" The Doctor deliberated. "I know! Back to the Future. It's like Back to the Future."
"The film?"
"No, the novelisation," the Doctor retorted sarcastically. "Yes, the film. Marty McFly goes back and changes history."
"And he starts fading away," Martha finished for him. "Oh my God, am I going to fade?"
"You and the entire future of the human race. It ends right now, in 1599, if we don't stop it."
Martha gave a determined nod, although Rose suspected that his words had her more worried than she let on.
"We can do it," Rose said confidently, hoping it was enough to reassure the other woman.
"But first we need to figure out which house," the Doctor said. The door of the largest house on the street, the one almost directly in front of them, swung open eerily. "Ah. Make that witch house. Hmm?" He raised his eyebrows at Martha, hoping for a good reaction to his pun. When she didn't respond, he turned to Rose, "Hmm?"
Rose groaned. "It was awful. Come on."
She led the other two into the house, which was extremely dusty and lit only by candlelight. She drew back a dusty curtain leading into a large room where the girl Rose had seen both at the theatre and when Lynley died, was waiting for them.
"I take it we're expected," the Doctor deduced.
"Oh, I think Death has been waiting for you a very long time," the girl replied, making Rose tense. She relaxed marginally as the Doctor's hand made its way into her own.
"Right then," Martha announced, moving forward to point at the witch. "It's my turn. I know how to do this. I name thee Carrionite!"
The woman gave a fake gasp before letting out a mocking chuckle.
"What did I do wrong?" Martha wondered uncertainly. "Was it the finger?"
"The power of a name works only once," the Carrionite sneered. "Observe. I gaze upon this bag of bones and now I name thee –"
"Sherlock Holmes!" Rose cut in quickly.
The Doctor and Martha shot her questioning looks and even the witch paused, stunned. It was the Doctor who spoke first.
"Rose… What – what are you doing?"
She'd realised as soon as the creature had started chanting that it was going to curse Martha, or something similar, using her name, so Rose figured that the only way to stop it was to divert the power to different words. Before she had a chance to explain herself to her friends the Carrionite recovered and began the chant again.
"I gaze upon this bag of bones and now I name thee –"
"Garden Gnomes!" Rose shouted the first rhyme that popped into her head.
"Seriously Rose, what are you doing?"
"If it doesn't name Martha then it can't hurt her," she enlightened them succinctly, relieved to see comprehension dawn on their faces.
The witch, now visibly irate, tried once more, but this time the trio was ready.
"I gaze upon this bag of bones and now I name thee –"
"Mobile Phones!"
"Student Loans!"
"Wide Hipbones!"
"I'm sorry, wide hipbones?" Rose repeated incredulously.
The Doctor shrugged. "It was the first thing I could think of."
The witch growled in frustration.
"Fine," she hissed. "It would not have a fatal impact, in any case – she is somehow out of her time. And as for you, Sir Doctor. 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 burns."
"The naming won't work on me," he warned.
Rose had accepted long ago that she would probably never know his true name, but the stark reminder made her ponder for the first time in years how he'd gotten his title of Doctor. She made a mental note to ask him later. Caught up in her thoughts as she was, Rose didn't notice the meaning behind the Carrionite's next words until it was too late.
"But your heart grows cold. The north wind blows, and carries down the distant Rose."
And Rose knew no more.
Please leave a review! It honestly means the world to me.