Chapter 2: The Curse of Dracula

When she finally paused to catch her breath, her side had already begun to ache. While she'd had to run far more often in her travels with the Doctor than she had before, even she had limits. Limit number one was, of course, that when fleeing an indescribable something there was only so far she could go before she ran into a dead end.

She knew it was coming after her. Specifically her, though she had no idea why. Even the feeling that had spurred her flight seemed to have vanished, leaving her panting to catch her breath and with one hand pressed against her ribs.

"Think, Charlotte Pollard," she commanded herself, keeping her voice to a whisper. She was at a dead end, yes. Something was chasing her, yes. So she had to turn around, go back the way she came, and find another route.

Only problem was that she was certain the way back would only lead her into its clutches. Oh, botheration. She'd have to give it a name beyond 'it' or 'something.' It was hard to even think about without some sort of moniker.

Dracula. That would work. It was Dracula.

Right. Now that that was decided, she had no choice. Back the way she came. She turned and headed back at a brisk pace, straining her senses to hear Dracula's approach – provided, of course, that she could hear it. She'd seen fantastic things with the Doctor. A monster that made no sound would only be one of them.

Best not to think about it, she decided, and continued to listen.

Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe she'd dreamed it? Maybe this was a nightmare and all she needed to do was wake up? Just to be certain, she pinched herself and winced at the pain.

No. It was real.

Wonderful.

That was when she first saw the silver cat. It stared at her for a moment with wise emerald eyes before it turned and ran through – yes, through – one of the closed doors that lined the hallway. She blinked. The TARDIS had never had a cat as far as she knew. Nor had she sensed that the cat was Dracula. Instead, it seemed to want her to follow it. Follow a cat? What was next? A white rabbit?

She heard it, then, scratching its way down the corridor. Dracula. It was Dracula, she knew it. She could sense it.

It's coming, Charley...

She couldn't wait. She had no choice. Two paths she could follow. Down the corridor, retracing her steps and into Dracula's grasp, or following the cat.

"Well, Alice, down the rabbit's hole it is," she murmured and opened the door.


So, company. Normally he loved company. Sharing a spot of tea, scones, and a lively discussion by the fireplace. Wonderful, that. What he didn't love was as yet un-named entities making themselves at home in his TARDIS. Especially when said creatures disrupted the normal operations of his ship and, quite possibly, caused injury to his companion.

Right. Enough of that. He had to think. The mechanics section was gone. But maybe, just maybe, he could figure something out from what he did know. "Lists!" he exclaimed. How obvious!

Best to find something to write the list on, which meant paper. Paper, paper, ah. There it was. A lovely sheet of paper conveniently resting by his feet. Perfect. He leaned down and picked it up, barely noticing that one side already had something scribbled on it. "Now, a pen. Definitely mightier than a sword. It defeats me every time I try to search for one."

It was a library. It'd only make sense to have a stash of pens and paper for any time he might decide to scribble some interesting observation either in the margin of a book or else just for his own amusement. However, that was assuming that said stash hadn't migrated to wherever the mechanics section went to.

He turned and hurried toward the mahogany desk. Been years since he'd last actually used it, beyond it being a convenient resting place for the odd book – or dozen – or stray manuscript – or twenty. The drawer squeaked loudly as he pulled it out, the force of the movement causing one of the precarious towers of books to collapse in a flurry of dust. However, he didn't pay it much attention. He'd found what he was looking for.

Right. So, what did he know? He pulled the top off the pen and tapped it against his lips. It, whatever it was, could affect the TARDIS systems. He lowered the pen to the paper and stopped.

That wasn't right.

This was supposed to be a clean sheet of paper. Not have someone's meaningless scribbles all...

Oh.

Oh!

Omnivolinus chronoliensis.

"Omnivolinus chronoliensis!" he exclaimed after re-reading the words. "Stupid, Doctor! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He should've known. Or, at least, he should've guessed.

But why would a chronovore want to attack the TARDIS? It was a TARDIS, after all. They passed through the vortex all the time. There was nothing special at all about his TARDIS. Nothing...

At...

Charley. Oh dear. Charley! Of course!

"What do chronovores love to eat? Temporal oddities. Little fragments of time that shouldn't exist. Oh no. Charley...she's a buffet table to one of these creatures. Right. Think, Doctor. There's got to be something you can do to drive it off. And keep it out. But what?" He tapped the pen against his lips again, his brow furrowed in thought.

Never in all his lives had he been as conscious of the slippage of time.

A second was gone. The chronovore might've caught Charley, or she could be hurt and needing him.

Another second.

He had no time.

He had to think of something. He was a brilliant Time Lord. He'd debated philosophy with Socrates, invented new branches of science to deal with the anomalies that he'd discovered, and played games with masters of all disciplines. Surely the simple problem of a rampaging chronovore would be easy to solve.

Provided, of course, that he stopped thinking three-dimensionally. Eight dimensions. It was a transdimensional creature, existing in eight dimensions at once. Eight dimensions.

"Yes! I can use that!"

With the merest glimmer of an idea in mind, he shoved the paper into his pocket and charged out of the library.

He needed to get to the lab, and quickly, before one of two things happened.

One. Charley was eaten. No. It wouldn't happen. Couldn't happen. He'd make certain of it.

Or two. The TARDIS' internal dimensions began to break down due to the influence of the transdimensional creature. If she broke, nothing could prevent the chronovore from consuming the lot of them. Right before they were crushed out of existence, of course.

He rather preferred the third option, where he saved the day.

Then again, so would Charley.


Darkness.

She was surrounded by it, soothed by, protected by it. Nothing could find her here. She was safe, as safe as she could be. Even Dracula seemed miles away. Nothing could touch her.

Here, there was peace.

Here, there was safety.

Here – where was here? – there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing could be, would be, or ever was. It was safety, but it was solitude. It was protection, but it was a cage.

"Doctor," she whispered, and she was shocked by the hoarseness of her voice. What had happened? Where was she? Where was...

Light.

Much as the darkness had soothed her, the sudden light burned. She cried out as she raised her hands in an unconscious gesture to shield her eyes. So bright, so white. Where had the light come from? It'd been dark. Pitch black. And, now, it was bright. Brilliantly so. When the light no longer hurt, she carefully lowered her hands.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were white. Brilliant, blazing white. She frowned as she turned around. The door was gone. What had she done? Chosen to follow after a cat rather than face Dracula? How was this better?

At least outside she would've had a chance. Some sort of chance to escape. A possibility of finding another part of the TARDIS to hide in. She might've been able to find the Doctor. Instead she'd chosen to follow her own white rabbit and this was her reward.

Trapped.

In a white room.

"Blast," she murmured as she began to trace out the room with her steps. Forty two strides took her from one side to the other. Exactly one hundred and seventy took her around the edges of the room. While she walked, she felt the walls for any tell-tale cracks that would indicate a doorway.

Nothing.

She was being held in a room without any doors. Wonderful.

It was her own fault for following that cat. It was probably in league with Dracula...

A loud yowl of protest caused her to jump. It was there again. The silver cat was staring intently at her with a look of what seemed to be insult in its eyes. Insult? A cat? Surely she was imagining things.

The cat slowly blinked and tilted its head. Almost as if it were questioning something. Her thoughts? No. That was impossible. It was a cat. Admittedly it was a cat that walked through walls, but she must be rational about this.

She got the distinct impression that the cat was laughing at her.

"No one asked you," she told it tetchily and folded her arms before her. Right. The room had no doors. But she'd got in somehow. Which could only mean that there was a way out. But...what if this room was meant for something in particular? If it offered her some sort of protection?

Safe here, Charley…

She sighed. Safety was relative. Always was, always would be. But she had to get out. What if the Doctor needed her?

The cat growled low in its throat as it sauntered toward her, the bright lights casting an ethereal sheen on its silver coat. There was no threat in its movements, only a warning. A warning, she suspected, that meant, should she leave this room, she'd fall right into Dracula's clutches.

Wonderful. Trapped in a white room, with no doors, and a bossy feline. Ensnared for her own protection. And, not only that, she was attributing the cat with more intelligence than it should have. It was a cat.

No, Charley. More...

A shiver ran up her spine. What was it? If it wasn't a threat, if it didn't want her, why was the cat here? What did it want?

Safe…

It wanted her safe. But why?

"Why me?" she asked, dreading the possible answer. The cat did not speak, nor did any sensation pass through her of a response.

That was when she realised something else.

The cat's emerald eyes looked sad.


Oh, he was lucky. Very, very lucky. Most likely the luckiest Time Lord in the universe, really. Sure, he had a chronovore on board who intended to eat his best friend. And, yes, his TARDIS wasn't up to snuff. But the lab was still there.

Everything still worked. And, even better, he still had his sonic screwdriver.

A bit of wire here. A twist on the settings there. A bit of twine there and an old carburettor from Bessie right next to it… Oh! He mustn't forget to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow and…

"Oh, Doctor, you're a genius!" he congratulated himself as he held his creation aloft.

It didn't look like much. Just a chronoscope with bits of wire and metal attached at odd angles, but it'd work. And work well.

It wasn't often that he got to design and build a trap that was specifically aimed at chronovores, after all. Especially not when it would cause a rip in space-time to emerge inside the TARDIS, draw the chronovore to it, and give it a one-way ticket off his ship and back into the vortex.

He really was brilliant.

No more time for self-congratulations. He needed to find Charley, and find her fast. There wouldn't be much time left now. While he'd been mucking about, trying to figure out just what had gone wrong, Charley was probably being chased by the chronovore. He could only hope that she'd found somewhere where she could hide. Somewhere safe. Somewhere shielded.

But how could she?

She didn't know the TARDIS as well as he did. Without help, she wouldn't be able to find, say, the Zero Room. Oh! The Zero Room! Stupid, Doctor. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course. That'd be the perfect hiding spot.

How would she find it, though? Without his knowledge of the TARDIS, she could be lost for years. If she'd found the Zero Room and stayed there, she'd be safe. But if she hadn't… No. He wouldn't think about it. There was only so long one could run. She couldn't escape from it forever.

"Stop it, Doctor," he commanded himself, to little avail. How could she continue to escape when the TARDIS' corridors were being re-arranged at random by their friend the chronovore? The far too intelligent chronovore.

Right. Enough of that.

He needed to find the chronovore.

Now.

Charley, he reasoned, was fine. Had to be. He didn't want to consider what might've happened to her if she wasn't.

It was time for a little hunting trip. And to reduce the amount of 'company' on his ship to those who belonged there.

Just Charley and him.

As it should be.

To be concluded...