Summary: The Doctor dazzles several government officials and terrifies a revolutionary. "Now, for this spectacle, I will transport this random pedestrian to another dimension."
Notes: This is the longest chapter, as it happens. It just wouldn't divide up any other way... Also, as a pointless aside, the Doctor's not the only one who's puzzled at the temperment of the Abledonians. Definitely my fault, though.
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Chapter Three: Sleight of Hand
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It was brilliant, really, even for him. He had the mysterious, other-worldly thing down pat. Heaven knew his wardrobe was esoteric enough. Hell, he even had a magic box, didn't he? Couldn't be better.
He looked in the mirror. Long black cloak; the scarf he'd picked up; black shirt and pants; would the pointy hat be a little too much?
He plopped it on his head. Nope, it worked. 'Course, for magicians, it was hard to go overboard.
He gathered up some supplies and put them in various pockets of the cloak. Cards, wand, rings, fancy chemicals, check. Beautiful assistant-- well-- one might've been kidnapped, but--
"Well, what d'you say? You'll help me?"
The TARDIS hummed faintly in assent.
He beamed. "Loveliest magician's assistant ever to grace the stage. We'll be fantastic. Now, where's that cart..."
He found it, and went outside.
"Where the hell did you get that?" Lyssa asked, agape.
"Ah ah ah, you know what they say about magicians and secrets..." He waved a finger at her.
"Yeah, they're really annoying when they have one..." she muttered.
"Either of you want to help me lift this, since you decided to tag along?"
Andy complied. "Why are you-- damn this is heavy! Damn!-- why are you putting this on a dolly?"
"So I can bring it with me, of course. Every magician needs a magic box!"
"Only thing magical about this box is how heavy it is," Andy muttered.
"Oi! I'm helping you guys, here! Comments from the peanut gallery stop now!"
"He's crazy enough to be a magician," Lyssa observed. "He might pull this off."
"Oi!"
"Sorry."
"The capitol building open this late?"
"This late? Festival week, we have to stay open all night, thirty-three hours a day... It isn't even dark yet..."
"Excellent. Which way?"
Lyssa pointed. "You really think you can pretend to be a magician?"
The Doctor glared at her. "You know, I am sick to death of this abuse!" He swung at her.
Lyssa yelped and jumped back, nearly knocking Andy to the ground. "What the hell was--"
She spun around, looking for the Doctor-- but he wasn't there.
"What--" said Andy, looking behind him. "Where'd he go?"
"Mister-- Damn! I don't even know his name!" Lyssa fumed at herself.
"Where the hell'd he go?" Andy ran around the TARDIS. "He was only gone for a second! Where could he have gone?"
"Maybe right behind you?" the Doctor suggested.
Andy yelled and jumped. "What the--!"
"It's all misdirection, you see," the Doctor explained. "I'm good with misdirection. Any more questions?"
"...What was your name, again?" Lyssa asked timidly.
"Never told you, but it's the Doctor. That all?"
"...Think so," said Andy, a hand pressed to his heart.
"Great. Let's get going." He started up again, pulling the TARDIS behind him.
"You know, I think he really will pull this off," Lyssa whispered, wonderingly. "I think we really might make it..."
His responsibility again to save the day... well, he was used to it by now.
Mostly.
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"Where do we go?" Andy whispered, looking around the lobby.
The Doctor walked up to the front desk. "Hi there. I was told to see someone about a subsidy?"
"Third floor, 408," said the secretary, barely glancing up.
"Thank you." He paused. "All right. You, Andy-- you take care of my magic box. Somehow don't think it'll fit in an elevator. Lyssa-- where are the stairs?"
"Elevator, over there," she said, pointing.
"Excellent. You two stick around somewhere outside the building. I should be back soon-- unless they make me fill out paperwork-- or figure out what I'm doing and send me to a gruesome death-- well, either way I'll be back in a titch. See you." He waved and waited for the elevator.
A man in a suit glanced at him. "What, you can't make it come with your magic powers?"
"No, I've used up all my magic powers on killing all the idiots who annoy me," he said, smiling cheerily back at him. "Could borrow yours..."
The elevator chimed.
"But really, it's easier just to wait for it. You're not coming in?"
The man did, warily.
"Which floor?"
"...Third..."
"Great! I'm fourth. We'll have time to talk."
"Uh..."
"As a master of magic, I have thirteen lives," he mentioned, offhand.
"Is that so."
"Mm-hmm. Gone through eight of 'em already."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
"You're all so catty on this planet. Is it something in the water?"
The elevator chimed. "Your floor."
"Goddamn BNS wackos," the suit muttered, hurrying off the elevator.
The Doctor filed the name BNS in his head for future reference and pressed the door-close button.
Another chime, and he was on the fourth floor. There was another receptionist here, so he walked up to the desk. "Hello. I'm here to see someone about a subsidy?"
The receptionist glanced up at him. "You have an appointment?"
"Nope."
He sighed and flipped through a few papers. "Mr. Ori will be back in five minutes or so. Until then, you could fill out this MRF."
"MRF?"
"Magician Registration Form."
"Brilliant. I'll do that." He took the forms and settled down in an uncomfortable chair by the wall. "Name."
"A lot of those are taken, let me warn you," said the receptionist.
"Really?" He frowned. "Stage or real?"
"Who the hell can get a magician to tell you their real name? We stopped trying years ago. Stage."
He blinked thoughtfully. "The Doctor?"
"Taken."
"The Professor?"
"Taken."
"The Magician?"
"One through Five. Simple-natured man, aren't we?"
The Doctor paused to give the matter some thought. He might need a name Rose would recognise... "Houdini?"
"Let me check." He rummaged around under his desk. "Nope. No Houdini. You're good to go."
"Great." He filled it in. Address: As 'sir' unless you buy me a drink. Gender: Is a social, culturally-defined term for psychological, not physical, characteristics, and therefore none of your business. Yearly Income: Haven't the slightest. Guild Status: Guild was destroyed. Long, tragic story. Rating: Can be rather insulting and discriminatory, so I never do it. Description of Typical Act: Depends on the audience. Spectacles mastered: Transformation. Transmutation. Illusion. Transportation. Divination. Disassembly. Mother's Maiden Name: Mother was never a maiden. Other long story.
He handed the forms back in.
"You magicians are hell on paperwork, you know that?" the receptionist sighed. "Never give a straight answer to anything."
"It's a fault of mine," he admitted.
"Yeah. Please wait here. Mr. Ori really shouldn't be much longer."
"Right." He sat back down and pulled out his deck of cards. "Say, d'you want to--"
"No."
The Doctor rolled his eyes and shuffled his cards. "No sense of fun, any of you."
"It's a fault of mine."
The Doctor cut the deck and glanced at the card he came up with. Queen of hearts.
"Jer, did you finish that-- oh, god, not another one."
"Mr. Ori, I presume?" the Doctor asked cheerfully.
"Yeah," the portly man sighed. "You're here for the subsidy, aren't you."
"It's like you're psychic yourself."
"Right. Step inside."
The Doctor followed him into his office. Pink walls, lined with books and knickknacks...
"Now, Mr-- what's your name?"
"Houdini."
"Right. Mr. Houdini. I am here as the first line of defense against third-rate hustlers and conmen who try to milk the state out of money. Show me a card trick."
"Sure thing." The Doctor took out his deck. "Pick a card..."
"...Any card." Mr. Poi sighed and took a card. "Right."
"You remember what your card is?"
"Yeah."
"Put it back in the deck."
He did; the Doctor shuffled, humming. "You do this a lot, I take it?"
"Came from the streets. Only one in the building who knows how to spot a con."
The Doctor glanced at the terminal on Mr. Poi's desk. It had a screen; there was a window behind the man. He cut the deck at random, slipping the sonic screwdriver into his other hand. "Is this your card?"
Mr. Poi looked at him, unimpressed. "No. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
The Doctor ignored him, shuffling a moment more while he finished his work. "Is this your card?"
"No."
"Ah." He put the sonic screwdriver back in his pocket. "Wouldn't happen to have been the three of clubs, would it?"
"It was, actually," said Mr. Poi.
"Ah. I thought I saw its reflection in the window."
"So you're telling me how you saw my card?"
"No, I don't think that's your card. Look for yourself."
Mr. Poi looked at the window-- which was reflecting an image of the three of clubs. "How the hell--" He swivelled around to look at his terminal screen, which was showing nothing but the image of his card. "How the hell did you do that!"
The Doctor smiled. "You know what they say aboiut magicians and secrets..."
"Yeah, when one's got one, he'll make you want to throttle him..."
"Seriously, is it something in the water around here? 'Cos I could help you fix it."
"What?" Mr. Poi shook his head. "Whatever. I'm convinced. Now, the subsidy is from the BNS, so you'll have to visit someone else to apply for that-- if you're interested. And I can warn you right now, they only take the people who can perform the flashy stuff. Girls in boxes, making people disapear..."
"I can pull that off," said the Doctor. "Where do I go?"
"Sixth floor, east wing. Go on the elevator and go down the left corridor. Jer, bring me Mr. Houdini's paperwork, would you?"
Jer obeyed. "Passed, did he?"
"Be trying to figure this one out for days," Mr. Poi admitted grudgingly. "Like how the hell you broke into my office."
"I didn't."
"Sure. Whatever." Poi scribbled something on the form, then flipped to the second page and signed. "Sixth floor, east wing, ask for Cirelli. Tell him Poi sent you. If you want the subsidy."
"Why wouldn't I?" the Doctor asked innocently.
"I dunno. No reason. I just know there's got to be strings attached."
"Yeah-- I figured. Thanks."
"Good luck," Poi said. "Be careful."
"Right. I will. Thanks." Oddly touched, the Doctor left Poi's office. Jer followed after, returning to his desk.
"By the way..." the Doctor said, leaning against the desk. "What's BNS stand for?"
Jer looked up. "Bureau of National Security."
"Right. Brain froze up for a second there. Thank you."
He went back to the elevators. National security. No surprise there, really.
Still left the question of what they did to their 'threats' when they found them...
The elevator chimed (he liked this chime a lot better than Earth's standard 'ding'), and he punched the button for the sixth floor.
I'm too used to trouble being obvious, that's the problem. There's no armed policemen here; there's no military state; there's no alien fleet invading; there's no war on. Most of the people are happy. Most of the government is good. The trouble's harder to find than I'm used to. That's why it fooled me.
Just bad luck we stumbled into it.
It is just bad luck... isn't it?
That question had been with him for at least eight hundred years, and he wasn't going to find an answer to it now.
He got off on the sixth floor and went left. The walls here were significantly lighter in color, and the hallway was particularly well-lit; the interior decorators clearly had a sense of irony.
"I'm looking for Cirelli," the Doctor said to the first receptionist he found. "Poi sent me."
"Third door to the left," the receptionist said, not looking up.
"Right. Thanks." The Doctor followed her instructions and knocked on the third door.
"Come in," came a gruff voice.
He did. This office was darker than Poi's, unsurprisingly. Fewer knicknacks, more books and a lot more binders.
"You got paperwork?"
"Yes." He handed it over.
"Mr. Houdini, eh? Where'd you get that one from?"
He shrugged. "Old friend."
"You say you've got experience in making people disappear?"
He nodded. "Magic box and everything."
"Show me."
"I'd need my magic box."
"We'll go get it."
This was far more proactive than a bureaucracy should be. Then again, given the urgency of his situation, he wasn't complaining. "Right. Parked it outside, actually."
"Let's go, then."
The Doctor led the way, only one worry on his mind. If he sees Andy and Lyssa-- will he recognise them? Is there a way to warn them away?
They got to the elevator, and waited for a moment. If I walk far enough ahead-- hopefully, they'll have sense enough to run when they see a government official behind me--
The elevator came, and the Doctor hit the button for the ground floor. But how likely is it, really, that this bloke would know every single dissident in the city by sight?
With his luck? Considerably more likely than it should be.
Well, we'll find out.
The doors opened, and the Doctor strode out into the lobby like he didn't have a care in the world. Lyssa was there, waiting for him-- but quickly turned away as she saw the man behind him. Clever girl. Good!
He went out the doors, and looked both ways. Andy was standing with the TARDIS a block to the left, and wasn't running. Well, I'll need an assistant anyway.
"This your magic box?" said Cirelli, skeptically.
"Yep. And this is a random pedestrian I paid 43 jir to keep an eye on it. Half now, half later, of course. Isn't that right, random pedestrian?"
"Uh, right," Andy stuttered, doing a passable job of not staring at the BNS agent in fear.
"Excellent. So, the trick." TARDIS, don't fail me now... Random pedestrian, have you ever met me before? Do you have any knowledge of how this trick is performed?"
"Uh, no," said Andy, just slightly panicked. "I don't know how the trick is performed."
"Excellent. Don't worry, you'll be fine. Step back a little, hmm?"
"What?" Andy blinked at him.
"Not very quick on the update when your back's against the wall, are you? I said, step back a little. I need to get the door open."
"Oh-- right." Andy obeyed, and the Doctor could only hope he'd gotten the message.
The Doctor opened the door-- which revealed, to his relief, a perfectly normal-looking blue particleboard box. This might work. "Perfectly normal box here. Random pedestrian, would you step inside the box here? It's a step up; please try not to break anything."
Andy obeyed; hopefully he'd understand that message in a minute, too.
"Now, for this spectacle, I will transport this random pedestrian to another dimension." He paused for dramatic effect. "This is a realm where few mortals have ever travelled. I can bring him back alive... but keeping his sanity will be up to him. Are you ready?"
"Probably not," said Andy.
"Excellent!" The Doctor closed the door. "Now, the transfer will take a moment. I will count backward from five. Five... four... three... two... One!"
The Doctor flung the door open. Yes, still particleboard. And Andy wasn't there. You are the best spaceship in the entire universe, have I ever told you that?
Cirelli clapped slowly. "Can you bring him back?"
"Of course. Unless you want me to leave him gibbering in another dimension."
Cirelli shrugged. "I don't really care, but go ahead."
"Right." The Doctor thumped against the door. "Now," he said, very loudly, "I will bring the random pedestrian forward out from the other dimension! Counting forward this time-- one, two, three, four, FIVE!"
He opened the door, a little more slowly-- still particleboard, and Andy was there, bless him, terrified out of his mind.
"What the HELL was that!" he cried, eyes wide.
"Other dimension, weren't you listening?" said the Doctor, smiling at him. "Now I know it's a bit of a shock--"
"What the HELL was THAT! What are you! You're not from here, are you! I don't know where you're from, but you're not from here!"
The Doctor shrugged at Cirelli. "The transition's a little disorienting. He'll get over it."
"Heh. Nice touch." Cirelli smiled thinly. "Come on back up. We'll file your paperwork. We can get you started on earning your subsidy by tomorrow."
"Fantastic." The Doctor beamed. "Random pedestrian, keep guarding my magic box, would you? And please don't go messing about in that other dimension; you could break something. Including yourself."
"You're from another planet, aren't you!"
The Doctor turned to Cirelli. "They usually get over it," he said, following him back into the capitol. "Eventually."
"YOU GET BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN THIS TO ME!"
The Doctor was, fortunately, very used to ignoring that request.
This could work; this could really work...
...if they bother to keep their prisoners alive...
...please tell me they bother to keep their prisoners alive, just for a little while. Please...
Please...
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