The Doctor was a strange character, thought Nard, and not a native to Rendulix. Setting down his drink, the boy withdrew a pocket-quill and notepad, and proceeded to scribble down a message for the Commander.
"Faran," he slid the note across the bar, "can you do me a favour? Get this to the Sheriff urgently." Nard jerked his thumb towards the exit, through which the Doctor had disappeared, "I'm going to follow him."
"Are you sure?" Faranberth was concerned, but took the note. "He seems a little… unbalanced."
"He's disoriented," said Nard. "I think his babbling means he's only just been borne."
"Right. You'd best get going then. Ulfar…" Faranberth called to another customer as Nard hastened from the inn. As he reached the exit, he spotted the Doctor on the other side of the road, heading towards the city gate. He appeared to be staggering.
"Bloody useless beer," muttered the Doctor. More than half a dozen pints in as many minutes and the fermented sugars were having little effect. If anything, the Doctor felt more rather than less alert. The high mineral content of the ale seemed to be a greater stimulant than the alcohol content was proving to be a relaxant.
The Oculus shone high over the mountain, and was at last shedding the brilliant white light of a blazing sun. For an hour or two, at least, the Doctor could take full advantage of some proper daylight.
Passing through the gate and beyond the city walls, the Doctor found himself on a hard path which bore the fresh imprint of hooves, which he estimated had been left only a few hours earlier. Following them backwards he began to retrace the journey which had brought him to the city.
While Teyamat was running their guest through the investiture rehearsal, the abbot and Brother G'thon paid a visit to the reliquary. Set amongst the darkest, deepest recesses of the mountain, it was a small, stone-hewn chamber, not served by the reflected light of the Oculus.
"Do you think she is Our Lady, G'thon?" Gesar asked, manipulating the stone locking mechanism, which protected the relics within from prying eyes.
I sensed no duplicity from her. She seems genuinely bewildered by recent events.
"Hmm," the abbot said, gently easing the chamber door open. Stone grated against stone as he pushed. "It would help if I trusted Teyamat more, I suppose."
The Old Mother? Why would you question her motives?
"Teyamat has been here since the beginning, and those long sleeps of hers seem to have preserved her first body beyond the entire lifespans of many brothers. And she remembers so much more than we do."
G'thon nodded, flushing his features with phosphorescent pigment as they entered the chamber. He cast an eerie glow bright enough to be reflected by the off-white bone from the countless humanoid skulls that lined the chamber's walls. There were thousands upon thousands of them, peering through eyeless sockets back at the two priests, who picked their way carefully through the ossuary.
You think our purpose has changed, and that Teyamat follows an agenda that is no longer known to us?
"Perhaps."
It was rare for Gesar to visit the reliquary. A dozen weathered battlesuits, half-buried among the skulls, cast dark shadows over the walls, a remnant of those warriors whose mortal remains first graced the chamber. The original Honour Guard.
At the far end of the chamber, G'thon was clearing skulls away from a solid metal casket about a metre square. Inscribed with prayers and dedications, it bore the crest of mammoth rampant, the animal totem of Kaydengarde, foremost of the Martial Houses.
Taking an end each, Gesar and G'thon prised the casket open, revealing the bejewelled skulls of the battlesuits' former occupants. As physical, and later spiritual protectors of the Silver Queen, it would be their silent duty to guard the twelve points of the great circle throughout the impending ceremony.
Teyamat is unlike us, abbot, thought G'thon, but she is loyal to Our Lady. It is our first duty to enforce the will of Pengallia.
"Enforce?" Gesar laughed sadly, lifting the skulls one by one and passing them to G'thon. "It's been a long time since the Madronites were warrior monks, G'thon. Our first duty is to preserve the Order she created, and we have been doing that for longer than any of us can remember. Did you know I have to read my own journals to preserve my memories of the past?"
It's no better for me. G'thon carefully took the skulls from the abbot, wrapping each in rags before lowering them gently into a padded muslin sack. All I have is my link to the collective.
"It's different for you. You're newborne. You've never had memories of your origins."
Placing the last skull into the sack, G'thon pulled on the drawstring, gently lifting the precious cargo over his shoulder.
The collective provides me with race memories.
"Yes, and I don't envy you. At least when you transform you'll be able to have private thoughts."
G'thon considered. His telepathy was often a curse to those around him, but he wasn't sure if he was quite ready to think in silence. It would take some getting used to.
I have a few centuries to prepare, at least.
Gesar sighed. G'thon had been a recent initiate, and he still wasn't completely relaxed around humans. Since the vigilante attacks, the k'thellid intake had slowed considerably, and it would soon be taking its toll on the population.
You are thinking of the sleepers? G'thon was referring to the bodies Romana had discovered, and to a number of similar ones scattered throughout the monastery.
"Yes." Gesar agreed. "It feels like we're under siege. They need to be reborn. They won't stay fresh for much longer."
Paternosters weren't a new experience for Romana. For as long as the Chapter Colleges had been served by the noble Houses, the more leisurely technology of the humble paternoster had ensured that the near-instantaneous transmat did not supplant it as Gallifrey's most common mode of transport.
As its cubicles scrolled upwards, Romana and Teyamat stepped into the paternoster, which carried them up, across and down. The mountain rock swished gently past as they descended. Its pace was still leisurely, but compared to the long, spiralling walks she had experienced thus far, Romana considered their journey to be immeasurably quicker.
"So what's your plan?" Romana asked. "Is this some kind of dress rehearsal?"
Teyamat nodded. "Of sorts," she added, cryptically. "You have your script?"
Romana held up the leaflet in confirmation.
"Good."
At regular intervals numbers, painted on the walls of the paternoster shaft, counted down through the many levels, whose corridor spaces were interspersed between them. As they neared their destination, Teyamat took a firm grip upon the Romana's hand, her grip ready to communicate the precise moment for them to disembark. As they stepped out into the correct corridor, Teyamat let out a small whoop of glee.
"It's been ages since I did that," she said.
Romana arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "So where have you been?"
"Meditating," said Teyamat. "Travelling the astral plane."
"And did you find anything while you were there?"
"Yes," the old crone grinned, placing a hand on Romana's shoulder, causing her to flinch. "I found your TARDIS, and I found you."
Sensing the Gallifreyan's unease, Teyamat drew back, reaching into the folds of her robe. "Here," she aid, pulling out a pair of the smooth mirror-masks. She offered one to Romana. "Put this on."
Romana slipped the mask over her face, its polarised surface filtering out much of the light scattered through the corridor. Teyamat then ushered her into the shrine, where brilliant reflected light of the Oculus shone brighter, and stronger, than before. It was yellow, like that of a normal sun.
Upon entering the chamber, Romana saw the TARDIS was still where it had been summoned, and that the room positively glowed with an overabundance of light. Even with the mirror-mask Romana had to squint before she could make out the blurred outline of the altar and the large archaic circle that was inscribed into the floor.
"Is anybody else joining us for this?" Romana asked.
A large click followed as Teyamat closed the chamber door and locked it from the inside. This startled Romana. The sense of mild unease she felt around the old woman was growing.
"What's going on?"
"A slight change of plan, my Lady."
Crossing over to the altar, Teyamat ascended three short steps. Reaching down, she lifted a small object from the altar. It was a remote control of some kind, and moments later the brilliance of the light dimmed, and the giant mirror slipped out of alignment, sliding sideways to reveal a circular pit three metres wide by two deep.
At the heart of the pit sat a large metal sarcophagus, and upon it lay the sculpted form of the Silver Queen.
"Behold," said Teyamat, "the Tomb of Pengallia."
With the wet bog up to his knees, the Doctor busied his mind by whistling the tune to a thousand green bottles. He was making slow progress towards the forest, and was grateful at least that he was wearing his boots rather than his old brogues. With the city well behind him, the Doctor's route was entirely determined by the deep impressions of hooves, which had welled up with boggy water.
A few hundred yards behind, Nard also picked his way across the bog, keeping the curly top of the Doctor's head within range as he noticed that the stranger appeared to be following the hoofprints left by the Honour Guard. So there was method to his madness after all.
Statistically speaking, Sheriff Aldus could count upon the loyalty of between ten and twenty percent of the population. Besides the dozen active members of the Guard there were their kith, who were largely supportive, plus the sponsors, and, of course, the spotters. Recruited from among the closest homes to the city's edge, the spotters were the Honour Guard of the future, recently borne and keen both to prove their mettle and to earn the trust of the Lord Commander. One such spotter was young Nard, whose hastily scrawled message had just reached the Sheriff. Another such spotter was young Thuvis, a scrawny ginger-haired lad whose shortness of breath indicated that the news he brought from the edge of the city was fresh.
"Well?" Aldus asked.
"I saw menks, Commander, moving out from the shanty town and heading towards the forest."
"After light break?" Aldus was confused. The m'n'ch'k were active during the twilight cycle, but it was practically unheard of for the nocturnal k'thellid to ride them when the Oculus was visible. "Are you sure you saw mounts and riders?"
Thuvis nodded vigorously. "Three of them."
He was a good lad, but he lived in fear of the Sheriff since he had been caught scavenging in a recently vacated lodging-house. Aldus was in no doubt that he was telling the truth. Tipping the lad with one of his home-baked savoury breadsticks, he dismissed the boy and turned to Malthus.
"Well, Sergeant," he said, "it looks like we've forced their tentacle."
Malthus laughed. "They must be desperate. But why?"
It was a question that had plagued them since the early days. The monks alone knew why their ancient enemies would leave the safety of their watery empire to travel to the top of the mountain, cycle after cycle. There were theories, that perhaps the monks and menks were in league with each other, or that maybe they were making pilgrimage to an ancient shrine deep in the mountain. But none of the newborne that came down from the mountain had ever retained any memory of their time there.
"Why doesn't matter, Sergeant. What matters is that we stop them."
"But we can't ride out in the light, Aldus."
"This says otherwise," said the Sheriff, holding up the note from Nard. "We can't go as the Honour Guard, but I have every reason to see what the Doctor is up to. Round up a couple of the regulars, we're off to visit a crime scene."
As Gesar and G'thon carried their cargo to the paternosters, the k'thellid brother paused for a moment. He raised his hand to his head, and blushed slightly.
"What is it, G'thon?"
The Protector. There was a pause. He's communicating with the k'thellid.
"What does he say?"
There are k'thellid in the forest, on their way here.
"That's great news, but…," the abbot paused, considering the consequences of k'thellid excursions during the orange shift, "during the twilight cycle?"
The k'thellid were a species used to living in darkness, their only use for light as a means of communicating with other species not sophisticated enough to respond to psychotronic broadcasts. Indeed, before the arrival of the fallen, K'thellid had been an unlit world whose hollow interior had never felt the direct touch of sunlight. While they could tolerate the invisible spectrum, visible light was uncomfortable to their natural form.
It was considered necessary, thought G'thon, but they have been discovered.
"Discovered? By the Guard?" Gesar was uncertain of what to suggest. He could dispatch several of the monks, but they would be unlikely to arrive before…
No. By the Doctor.
The Doctor? "Romana's colleague?"
G'thon nodded. They have been instructed to seek him out…to help him.
"Help him?"
He is not considered hostile.
Gesar's thought radiated concern. The Doctor was a Time Lord, an ancient enemy of the k'thellid, just as the fallen had once been. It wasn't the response he had expected. "I trust the Protector knows what he's doing."
"Doctor, what are you doing?"
Nard caught up with the Time Lord at the edge of the forest. The Oculus had moved into the orange shift, heralding the second half of the cycle, and shedding a warm sleepy glow across Rendulix.
The Doctor turned, his face dark and moody. "I should ask the same of you," he snapped. "I didn't ask for you to follow."
Conscious that he might reveal his purpose, Nard tried a gentler approach. "I was… concerned. You looked like you were in shock."
"Yes, well," the Doctor's features softened, but not much, "I'm just missing my dog."
"Your dog?" Nard had never heard of such a thing.
"Yes. We got separated last night, and I'm worried."
"What is a dog, exactly?"
The Doctor smiled reflectively. "I find myself asking that of K9 quite a lot. Any other dog would love this many trees."
"I don't understand."
The Doctor turned back towards the forest, drawing a small object from his pocket. "That's what you're here for." Placing the object – a whistle – to his lips, the Doctor blew three times, but no sound appeared to follow. "Look," said the Doctor, still a little distracted, "I'll explain later."
The Doctor set off into the forest at a pace which Nard struggled to keep up with. Long purposeful strides soon brought them to a small clearing, where the Doctor stopped. Moving over to a patch of ground, the Doctor crouched, examining it carefully.
"That's odd," he said.
"What?"
"This is where K9 and I…" the Doctor's voice trailed off. There were tracks which suggested that K9 had been able to leave under his own power, heading off towards the city.
"What are you doing?" Nard had been intrigued by the Doctor's behaviour.
"K9 – my dog – was in no condition to go anywhere," he said, "and neither were…"
A few yards away, where the ambushed m'n'ch'k and its rider had been, there was now a small mound of freshly disturbed earth. They had been buried. The Doctor's eyes darted around the edges of the clearing, looking for more clues.
"K9…" the doctor whispered, blowing into his whistle again.
Silence.
"K9?" The Doctor shouted into the trees. Moments later they could hear a faint rustling.
"What was that?" Nard asked, straining his ears. The undergrowth rustled again, but this time it was accompanied by the unmistakable clickety-clack of chitinous feet scuttling across the hard ground.
"Menks!"
"What?" The Doctor's expression darkened once more. "Oh no," he mouthed to himself, as the first glint of orange light reflecting from the jewelled shell of a m'n'ch'k as it entered the clearing. Three of the mounts sidled into view, bringing the Doctor eye-to-tentacle with their riders: the k'thellid.
The Doctor made a break, running towards the treeline in the direction of the TARDIS' landing site. He didn't look back.
"Doctor?" Nard was rooted to the spot as his worst nightmare became reality. "Doctor, stay here!" He pleaded. But the Doctor paid no heed as the three m'n'ch'k surrounded him, closing off his own escape.
"Come back," he whimpered, bracing himself for the creatures' attack.
"Doctor!"
A soft orange glow filled Pengallia's tomb, making the silver sarcophagus at its heart shine like gold. Set in a roughly carved depression where long-faded glyphs had been etched into the stone sides, the rectangular coffin rested upon a circular dais. Inlaid with ornate Gallifreyan scroll-work, it was topped with a statue of Pengallia in repose. The resting form represented her as a military leader, fully armoured in a decorous battlesuit. Her armoured fists clutched a large ceremonial sword. Framed by the curls of her long hair, Romana was again reminded that Pengallia's regal features were easily recognisable as her own.
Under the shadow of the TARDIS, which stood on the opposite side of the pit, Teyamat set aside her mirror-mask and descended into the depression. Within moments her hands had settled upon the thin crown that rested on top of the statue's head.
"What are you doing?" Romana asked as the old crone unfastened the crown, revealing it to be a separate adornment to the rest of the statuary.
"You still have your script?" The old woman was flashing yet another of
those disturbing smiles that she seemed to reserve exclusively for Romana. who waved her papers.
"Yes." The Time Lady waved her papers. "But, what…?"
"I wanted you to see, Romana. I want you to understand."
"Understand what?"
Stepping out of the depression, Teyamat stretched her arms wide, drawing attention to the chamber. "This tomb," she said, "it's not Pengallia's final resting place."
Romana was confused. "It's not?"
"No," continued the crone, walking over to rejoin Romana. "She left us, and I've been looking for her ever since. That sarcophagus is all that remains of the greatest time ship ever constructed."
"Timeship?" Romana regarded the coffin. "That thing's a TARDIS?"
"Was a TARDIS," Teyamat corrected. "Now it's her eternal prison."
"Was?"
Teyamat continued to explain. "This chamber is where Pengallia left us, promising that one day she would return."
"And what part does the Ceremony of Investiture have to play?"
"None," said Teyamat. "It's just an old pantomime designed to ensure that anyone claiming to be Pengallia gets access to this." She held up he crown.
"Her crown?"
"This is more than just a Royal Crown, Romana. It's a dynatropic lattice. When Pengallia left us, she downloaded her memories into it. Memories that can only be accessed by someone with the same biodata. You."
"Come on then, you bastards!" Nard scrunched up his eyes and braced himself for an attack, which never came. The k'thellid ignore him. Opening first one eye, and then the next, he saw the creatures scuttling away from him, focused instead on their pursuit of the Doctor. Cautiously, he started to follow them, picking his way through the trees as they began to close in on their prey.
Several metres ahead, the Doctor plunged forward, regardless of the obstacles in his patch. Pushing his way through the grey-green tree-stalks, he pressed on towards the TARDIS with barely a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, the click-click of pereaopods told him of the m'n'ch'k's hasty pursuit. Breaking through into another clearing, the Doctor passed the marker stone and continued on. Moments later it played silent witness to the Doctor's pursuers, and several more moments later to Nard.
The boy paused before the monolith. He'd not seen its like before, and his fingers played across its cold stone surface. It stood cold, and silent.
"Doctor?" The click-clack of the creatures ahead of him reminded Nard that the stranger was in danger. Nard resumed his pursuit even as the Doctor reached his destination.
As the sound of the m'nch'k's drew closer, the Doctor stared down at the small square of displaced ground, which parked the place where the TARDIS had stood. It was empty.
With a heaving sigh the Doctor looked back over his shoulder, catching the tell-tale glint of the oncoming crab-mounts.
Beaten, he sank to his knees.
With their precious cargo of martyr's skulls, Gesar and G'thon arrived outside the shrine.
"Hang on," said Gesar, adjusting their load, "we need to get this door open."
Reaching for the opening mechanism, the abbot found that the door wouldn't budge.
What's wrong? G'thon asked.
"It's locked."
Locked? Why would that be?
Pressing his ear to the door, the abbot could hear voices. "Teyamat and Romana are inside. They must be rehearsing.
But why lock the door?
"Quite," agreed Gesar, hammering on the solid stone. "Teyamat? It's Gesar!"
"Open up!" The sound of the abbot hammering on the door was captured and amplified by the room's catacoustics.
"Quickly, take off your mask and put this on." Teyamat offered up the crown.
Reluctantly, Romana accepted the offering, turning the object around in her hands. It was a familiar design, lighter and more feminine, perhaps, but it was clearly based upon the one of the Great Artifacts – the Coronet of Rassilon.
"Why now?" She asked. "Why not wait until the Ceremony?"
"Because if you aren't Pengallia," said Teyamat, "I need to know sooner rather than later. You've seen what this planet has become. If you turn out to be a fraud, what do you think will happen?"
Romana considered. She was certain that there must be a connection between her and the Silver Queen, but the whole thing could just be coincidental
"I don't know," she replied. "What will they do to me?"
"You?" Teyamat sneered. "It's them I'm worried about. You're their last hope, and if you aren't Pengallia, we're going to have to fake it."
So, even Teyamat wasn't a hundred per cent certain that Romana was the Scion of Pengallia. Things could still go horribly wrong.
"Why would we have to fake it?"
"Because those are my orders."
"Orders? Whose orders."
"The Queen's. Now put the crown on, before the abbot works out how to open that door."
"Alright."
Romana raised the crown to her head, gently lowering it into place. Where the cold metal made contact with her forehead, the skin began to tingle, and a burning sensation encircled her head as it were surrounded by a ring of fire. Her vision blurred and her ears began to ring with a kind of tinnitus which quickly resolved itself into more discernable sounds, while her mind's eye began to make similar sense of new visual stimuli.
"Oh my…" she said. Pengallia's life began to flash before Romana's eyes.
The three mounted k'thellid had ringed the kneeling Doctor when Nard reached them. Keeping hidden, he watched with fascination as one of the k'thellid began to pulse with various colours. It was establishing contact with the collective.
We have found the Doctor. It thought. He does not appear to be in any danger.
Excellent. It was another mind, one of the k'thellid counsellors. It was relaying the Protector's interactions. Touch his mind. Help him to understand us.
Nard watched as the lead k'thellid extended its tentacles. Its cranium flushed scarlet as its mind reached out to make contact with the Doctor.
The Doctor's eyes were wide open, but the pupils were rolled back into his head as he concentrated his efforts away from the world surrounding him. His awareness of reality faded as he found himself kneeling upon a familiar cobbled path. His memories scattered in all directions like startled gazelles as he turned, finding himself staring up at a dream analogue of the tychomnemonic array. This time, the vevers burned with dark fire. At the heart of the stone was a key.
The key turned its way through four quarters until the lock clicked. The sound of stone grinding against stone echoed as the Doctor saw the vevers rotate, creating a new pattern which, in turn, burned new memories into the darkest recesses of his time brain.
Doctor? He felt the mind of a nearby k'thellid reaching out for him, its gentle psychic caress touching the outermost parts of his mind.
No, stay away from me. He willed. Don't probe my mind. You don't understand.
The k'thellid mind reassured him. It's alright Doctor, we mean you no harm.
As the voice of the k'thellid echoed through his mind, the whites of the Doctor's eyes darkened until they were like black coals. They burned with energy.
"Nooooooooooo!" The Doctor's mind and voice screamed out as one.
Hidden in the trees, Nard saw great gouts of black fire burst forth from the Doctor's eyes to envelop the startled k'thellid.