Unto the Universe
Chapter Seven: The Hound of the Crack: The Moors
By Lumendea
…..
Rose's hands flew between the controls as the Doctor gave her instructions. A wide smile lit up her face, and a laugh escaped her as she lunged to pull a lever. The Doctor leaned around her and adjusted another control as the TARDIS jolted.
"Alright, press that button, and she'll go into random," the Doctor explained. He pointed to a button that was made out of an old doorknob. "No telling where we'll end up!"
"When do I get to drive?" Jack asked. He was on the pilot's seat, trying to look calm, but holding onto it tightly.
"We'll talk about it later," the Doctor said.
"Just pointing out the favoritism," Jack teased.
"Rose has been on the TARDIS longer, and the TARDIS likes her better than you."
"Such harsh words! The TARDIS likes me just fine. I acknowledge her as the stunning beauty she is."
"What is it with you two and flirting with my ship?" The Doctor looked between Rose and Jack as the TARDIS evened out in the vortex. Rose's hand shifted one of the knobs, and the shaking eased further.
Rose laughed. "When I came on board, you were using a mallet on her." Stroking part of the console, Rose gave the Doctor a tongue touched smile. "Don't you like us respecting your ship and complimenting her magnificence?"
"I like that you two recognize that she's alive," the Doctor admitted. "But-"
"But he's worried about the impending mutiny that will result in you becoming captain of the ship," Jack called over, laughing at the look on the Doctor's face. Then he tisked and shook his head. "Really, Doctor, we all know who is in charge in the TARDIS."
"Yes, me."
Rose managed not to snort and laugh. Beneath her hands, the TARDIS shuddered a tiny bit, and Rose got the distinct impression that the TARDIS had, in fact, snorted. Judging from the look the Doctor gave the console, he had that impression too.
"The pair of you!" the Doctor huffed, but he couldn't hide his smile. "Why do I put up with you?"
"You know you love us," Rose teased back. Going up on her toes, she kissed him quickly just to prove it before grabbing his hand. "Come on, the screens say it's safe, so let's see where we are."
The Doctor allowed himself to be pulled over to the door where Jack was pulling on a beige jacket. Rose paused and released his hand just long enough to pull on her red coat. Jack eyed the Doctor's jacket and shook his head before tossing open the doors and stepping outside. The smell of crisp air hit their noses, and Rose followed him outside.
"Where are we?" Jack asked, taking a few steps away from the TARDIS.
Rose looked around. It was a windswept landscape with short wild grasses and dotted with boulders. There were no trees in sight, and Rose turned to look behind the TARDIS. It was more of the same with gently rolling hills. In the distance, she could see a village or a town. Due to the angle of the settlement and the hills, Rose couldn't get a good estimate of its size.
"This is Earth," Rose said confidently. "The Moors."
"Right," the Doctor agreed. He was looking around too. "Not sure why the TARDIS chose this on the randomizer. Earth is hardly random to us. But yes, we're in England. Probably the west country." He cast his eyes around. "Everything seems calm."
"It often does," Jack pointed out. He nodded and turned slowly to look around. "Give it another minute." A slow smile took over his face. "This isn't bad. I mean, it's not the most stunning scenery, but there's something to it."
"Peaceful," Rose offered.
She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "But there's a sense of loneliness. I don't know, isolation maybe."
"The moors," the Doctor said, letting the word linger.
"I've never been here before," Rose admitted. She peered out across the landscape. "Any idea what town that is?"
"Not sure," the Doctor said. Grinning, he offered Rose his arm. "Shall we?"
Rose took it with a smile while Jack sighed loudly. The Doctor rolled his eyes and offered his other arm to Jack, who squealed in glee. Laughing, the trio headed across the landscape. It wasn't far before they did release each other's arms so they could better keep their balance on the uneven terrain. The thin layer of green was deceptive, and the ground was rockier than Rose had expected.
"We're not the only ones out for a walk," Jack remarked, drawing Rose's attention.
He nodded to their right, where a pair of men were sitting on one of the outcroppings. One of them was writing in a thin moleskin book, wearing heavier clothing for the cool climate that Rose estimated to be early spring or late fall. Rose wasn't the best at fashion, but he looked like he had stepped out of a turn-of-the-century period piece. She put him in his late thirties or early forties. The second man was dressed much the same and was writing in a notepad of his own, though less frantically than the first and was a bit younger.
Then the first man looked up as if sensing that they were being watched. Rose, the Doctor, and Jack kept walking towards them at a lazy pace. The Doctor caught Rose's hand and squeezed it before adjusting her arm, so it was resting in the crook of his arm once more.
"Bobbles!" the older man called to the other man. "We seem to have company."
It was an unusual nickname for the strapping man around thirty that seemed to answer to it. He had brown hair and a thick moustache. His eyes lit up with curiosity as Rose and the others finished closing the distance. Both men closed their books and put away their pens before rising to their feet.
"Hello," the Doctor greeted. "Wasn't expecting to find anyone else out and about."
"Nice to meet you," Rose greeted more politely. "My name is Rose."
"Jack Harkness," Jack offered with a nod, shaking the dark-haired man's hand. "Pleasure to meet you." His smile was a touch too friendly, and the man didn't seem to know what to make of Jack.
"Ah, yes, a pleasure to meet you." Then the man held out his hand for the Doctor to shake. "I'm having a look at the area myself. I just returned from a long trip to Africa. It's refreshing to see such an English landscape."
"Hello, I'm the Doctor," the Doctor introduced, shaking the man's hand. "I didn't catch your name."
The man paused and seemed to resign himself. "Arthur Conan Doyle. Yes, the one who writes Sherlock Holmes, but please, I'm on a bit of holiday at the moment."
"Ah yes." The Doctor's eyes lit up, and Rose could see he was fighting to restrain a smile. "I do enjoy your work, but it's understandable that you're looking to rest." He released Conan Doyle's hand and peered at him thoughtfully. "You must have just returned from South Africa, correct?"
Conan Doyle seemed surprised but nodded. "Yes, I was serving as a volunteer physician." Then he shook himself. "Visiting some friends in Dartmoor." Conan Doyle turned to the man who was accompanying him. "Allow me to introduce Bertram Fletcher Robinson. He's a journalist and a man who knows all about this area." Conan Doyle inhaled and looked around at the moor. "There is something about the moors, isn't there. Inspiring and haunting all at once."
"I quite agree," the Doctor said. "Out for a walk ourselves."
"Indeed." Conan Doyle's eyes went to Rose, but he didn't comment on her choice of clothing.
"You're a medical doctor?" Rose asked she hoped pleasantly. "And a successful writer, that's quite an achievement."
Conan Doyle's posture relaxed slightly. "Indeed. I studied at the University of Edinburgh Medical School."
"I can see how that knowledge would help you write such wonderful mysteries," Rose added. Then she decided to get off the topic of writing as the man hadn't wanted to speak about it, she looked around. "We've only just arrived. Are there any sights that you recommend?"
"A dear lady, a man comes to the moors to escape the sights other than the moor," Conan Doyle replied with a chuckle. "Though, with Bobble's help, I've been looking into an interesting local legend if you are interested in such things."
"I love a good story," Rose replied.
"Well, it is the legend of Squire Richard Cabell of Brook Hall, in the parish of Buckfastleigh," Conan Doyle explained. "Cabell lived for hunting and was, by all accounts we've heard, a monstrously evil man. Some claim that he even sold his soul to the Devil and murdered his wife."
"Not a pleasant fellow," Jack murmured, only for the Doctor to hush him.
"After he died, people saw a phantom pack of hounds come baying across the moor to howl at his tomb. From that night on, he could be found leading the phantom pack across the moor, usually on the anniversary of his death. If the pack were not out hunting, they could be found ranging around his grave howling and shrieking." Conan Doyle chuckled. "And there are many stories of phantom dogs in this area. It's an interesting tale."
"Are you writing about it?" the Doctor asked. "Sounds like a good basis for a story."
"I'm considering it," Conan Doyle allowed. There was a slight smile on his face at the mention of it. "You're right that there is something interesting to it. I feel that it the sort of story to grab a reader and stay with them. Though, I haven't decided on the details yet." He gestured around at the moors. "Simply gathering inspiration." Conon Doyle's expression changed. "The locals have been reporting sightings of a phantom dog lately, which only adds to the mystery.
"Really?" The Doctor asked. "Someone has seen a phantom dog recently?"
"So they say," Conan Doyle agreed. "I have not as of yet. I was rather hoping to while out on the moors." Conan Doyle chuckled and shook his head. "But enough about that," Conan Doyle said. "Are you staying in the area?"
"Haven't decided yet," the Doctor said.
"That's…" Rose could see the confusion on the faces of the two men and held back a laugh. "Well, the people are pleasant enough if you're thinking about lingering," Robinson offered.
"So is Dartmouth that town there?" the Doctor asked. He nodded to the town in the distance. "Got a bit turned around, I'm afraid."
"That's easy to do out here," Robinson said more seriously. "No disrespect, sir, but you should be more careful before you and your… wife take a walk on the moors."
"Indeed," the Doctor agreed. Rose held back a smile that he didn't argue with the wife assumption. "It's not a mistake that I shall repeat. We found our way farther than we were expecting."
"I'm grateful that we ran into you," Rose added. "I'm sure we would have been alright, but knowing we're going the right direction is reassuring." She nodded to Jack beside her. "My brother has a terrible sense of direction."
Despite the fact that Rose and Jack didn't look anything alike, the two men nodded in understanding now that Rose had clarified the relationships of the strange woman and two men who had appeared. Conon Doyle looked up at the grey sky thoughtfully.
"Well, it is a bit of distance back to the town. You are welcome to ride in our buggy. It will be a bit tight, but I would hate to worry about your safety out here after dark."
"Thank you," the Doctor replied, a hint of glee in his voice.
Conan Doyle and Robinson began packing their things up while the Doctor turned to Rose and Jack. "Alright," the Doctor whispered. "The year is 1900, and Conan Doyle will be working on The Hound of the Baskervilles, his most famous piece any day now. He hasn't written a Sherlock Holmes story in eight years at this point," the Doctor explained softly. "I'm not sure if he already has the story in mind since he's got his guide. This story will be his most famous and encourage him to bring Sherlock Holmes back for good." The Doctor looked over at Conan Doyle. "In fact, I doubt that putting Sherlock Holmes into whatever story he's working on has occurred to him yet. The story was started as more of a horror story and uses a lot of older writing techniques, similar to Dracula."
Rose smiled at the intense interest in the Doctor's voice. It wasn't the pure glee he had when talking about Charles Dickens, but there was respect and curiosity there. Now that she thought about it, Rose was surprised by the notion that the Doctor would enjoy mysteries.
"I've listened to some of his stuff," Rose said. She shrugged. "It was good to have on as audiobooks when I was running, but I only listened to the free stuff, so I don't think Hound of the Baskervilles was one of them."
"And I have next to no clue," Jack admitted. When they both looked at him, he shrugged. "There are a lot of great writers that are must-reads by my time. You can't get through them all. I've seen videos, but those are adaptations, so I can't make assumptions."
"And we shouldn't make assumptions," the Doctor said. "The ghost hound sighting could just be a local telling tales. But if there is anything strange going on here, which there might not be." Jack snorted at that. "If," the Doctor stressed though he didn't seem convinced. "There is anything strange happening here; we can't assume that it has anything to do with the book. Tales of dark spirit dogs that hunt people or haunt them go back centuries, if not longer. There's a lot of variations."
"So, it probably has nothing to do with the theme of the book," Rose said. Then she shook her head. "Except…"
"Except?" the Doctor asked.
"We did ghostly beings with Charles Dickens on Christmas and fairy tales coming to life with the Brothers Grimm. There seems to be a pattern in how the universe is playing out when we meet authors." The corners of the Doctor's mouth twitched, and Jack snorted. Rose shrugged but knew that she'd made her point. "I just saying, we can't dismiss that something is going to happen with a big black dog."
"When you put it that way, I'd bet on it," Jack agreed. "So what's his thing about Holmes? I figured he'd be thrilled to be recognized as the writer."
"He killed off Sherlock Holmes in The Final Problem a few years ago. He was always pretty ambivalent towards the character, even though the popularity made him one of the highest-paid writers of the age.
The Hound of the Baskervilles will be his most popular work." The Doctor nodded towards Robinson with a smile. "And that man will receive a third of the royalties for helping Conan Doyle navigate the moors and research the local color."
"Well, that's nice to hear," Jack said. "He's attractive. Provided you don't mind moustaches."
"This is 1900," the Doctor reminded him. "Don't get yourself in trouble, Jack."
"They both seem nice," Rose said softly. "A bit stuffy maybe, but that's not surprising given the era."
The Doctor chuckled. "He might surprise you, Rose. I think you'll get along with him rather well. Keen sense of justice, he personally investigated two closed cases, which led to two men being exonerated of the crimes of which they were accused. Though, he hasn't done that yet, but those cases will lead to the establishment of t the Court of Criminal Appeal in 1907."
"Doctor," Robinson called over. "We're ready to go if your party is."
"Yes, thank you," the Doctor said. He guided Rose over to the carriage and helped her inside. Rose managed not to roll her eyes. "And thank you again."
"Oh, it's no trouble," Robinson said. He had climbed into the driver's seat, meaning there was just enough room for four people, though no comfortably. "Can't have someone wandering the moors in the dark, not with the talk of the phantom hounds."
"Forgive him," Conan Doyle sighed. "He thinks that he is amusing."
They settled into a light conversation about Conan Doyle's time in Africa and his family. He was married with two children who lived with their mother in London. Rose personally couldn't understand returning from service and then going on a holiday without your wife and children, but he didn't seem to think anything of it. She wondered if there was more to it, such as the man trying to adjust back to life in England before being too close to his family, but she didn't dare ask. Sharon had mentioned once that attitudes towards mental health at the turn of the century had been even more negative than they were in her own time. If that was the reason, Rose wasn't going to muck around in it. Or maybe she just didn't understand how family dynamics of the time worked.
Robinson chimed in a few times, and the Doctor did his usual masterful job of keeping the attention on Conon Doyle, his work, and the local area rather than answering questions about himself and his companions. Rose listened with one ear and kept looking around. The sun was sinking lower in the sky as the horse followed a worn-down road across the moor towards the village.
A howl ripped through the calm air of the moor. Everyone in the carriage jumped at the sound. Conan Doyle was on his feet and leaning over the side of the carriage to look around. They didn't need to look far. There on the rocks before them at the turn of the road was a hunting hound with pitch-black shimmering fur, snarling at Conan Doyle and Robinson. A cold wave crashed over Rose, horribly familiar and terrifying.
"Neverwere," the Doctor gasped.
The hound howled again before vanishing without so much as a flicker.