A/N: Hello! I'm so very sorry that it's been a while since I've updated. I'm not going to necessarily going commit to a weekly update schedule, as I sorta need to pass this year at uni (already failed it once, oops), but I'm going to be spending more of my free time writing.

Also, Revolution of the Daleks! I had a couple of issues with it, but I really enjoyed it overall, and it's definitely one of my favourite episodes of the current era. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Woe, destruction, ruin and decay;

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

- Shakespeare's Richard II, 1595


"Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey," Shakespeare mourned as he paced up and down behind his desk. Ryan glanced to his side; the Doctor was leaning forwards, resting his elbows on the desk, fingers pressed into his temples, deep in thought.

"She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. We all ran like rats," Shakespeare continued, taking a seat opposite them. "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 replied, his interest piqued.

"You can't, it's someone else's."

"But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you," Martha pointed out.

"You're accusing me?" Shakespeare countered.

"No," Martha denied quickly. "But I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away –"

"On a broomstick?" Ryan asked, curious, leaning past the Doctor to address Martha.

"Yeah!" Martha replied with a slight laugh.

Ryan chuckled. First ghosts, now witches. Only skeletons remained, then himself and the Doctor would have encountered the unholy trinity of Halloween costumes.

Ryan turned his attention back to Shakespeare. "Swear you've written about witches."

Shakespeare frowned. "I have? When was that?"

Not yet then, Ryan guessed. "Maybe that was someone else," he said quickly. "Still, I reckon you could. Might be a nice idea."

Shakespeare considered this for a moment. "Peter Streete spoke of witches."

"Who's Peter Streete?" Martha asked.

"Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe."

"The architect," the Doctor said suddenly, after having been usually quiet during the rest of the conversation. "Hold on, the architect!" he shouted, hitting the table in excitement. "The Globe! Come on!" he continued to shout, grabbing his coat and dashing out the door, leaving no room for anyone to argue.


Ryan sat on the edge of stage, swinging his legs idly, with Martha and Shakespeare stood somewhere behind him. The Doctor paced around the now empty (and significantly less pungent) pit, verbalising his thought processes.

"The columns, there, right, and fourteen sides…" The Doctor spun back around to face the stage. "I've always wondered but I've never asked, tell me, Will, why fourteen sides?"

"It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all. He said it carried the sound well."

"But fourteen?" the Doctor pondered. "Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen…"

Ryan met his eyes and gave him a shrug – maths had never been his strong suit.

"There's fourteen lines in a sonnet," Martha said.

The Doctor started to pace back and forth again, Ryan recognising the signs that came with the Doctor trying to work something out, and link seemingly unconnected facts. "So there is… good point! Words, and shapes, following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets… oh my head!" He ran his hand through his hair, indicative of his growing impatience and frustration. "Tetradecagon! Think! Words, letters, numbers, lines –"

"But this is just a theatre," Shakespeare interrupted.

"Oh yeah, but a theatre's magic, isn't it?" the Doctor countered, with a gleam in his eye. He approached the stage, resting his forearms on it next to where Ryan sat. "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. Change them…"

Ryan frowned. "Change people how?"

The Doctor considered him. "You can change people's minds, just with words in this place…" he said, slowly. "And if you exaggerate that…"

"It's like your police box. Small wooden box, but with all that power inside," Martha said.

The Doctor grinned. "Oh! Oh Martha Jones, I like you!" Ryan wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment, and shot Martha a smile over his shoulder. "Tell you what, though, Peter Streete would know, can I talk to him?"

"You won't get an answer," Shakespeare replied, firmly. "A month after finishing this place, he lost his mind."

"Why, what happened?" Martha asked.

"He started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."

"Where is he now?" the Doctor questioned.

"Bedlam."

That name rang a bell, but Ryan couldn't place it. "What's that?" he asked.

"Bethlem Hospital, the madhouse."

The Doctor fixed his eyes on Ryan, his gaze steely. "We've gotta go there, right now," he said firmly, before turning on his heel and strode away. "Come on!" he called over his shoulder, as Ryan eased himself off the stage and Martha hurried down the steps. They jogged after him, and heard Shakespeare call out, telling them to take him with them, and him giving scripts to a couple of actors on their way into the Globe.

The Doctor slowed his pace a little, to allow the others to catch up, but Ryan could tell he was still stiff with tension. He hadn't seen him this tense in a while, but two people had already died, seemingly out of the blue. They only knew that they had a connection with Shakespeare, but that wasn't enough for them to be able to prevent any further losses without immediate action. And then there was also the matter of ensuring that history continued as it should.

Ryan took his hand and rubbed his thumb. The Doctor visibly relaxed a little, giving Ryan's hand a quick squeeze as a wordless thanks.

Shakespeare soon caught up to them, and immediately seized the opportunity to engage in conversation with Martha.

"So, tell me of Freedonia – where women can be doctors, writers, actors?"

"This country's ruled by a women," Martha countered.

"Ah, she's royal, that's God's business – though you are a royal beauty." Ryan cringed; in all fairness, he'd heard worse lines, but he had hoped that one of the world's finest writers could have come up with something better.

"Whoa, Nelly. I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country!"

Beside Ryan, the Doctor grumbled something unintelligible, before turning back the way they came, tugging Ryan along with him.

"But Martha, this is town," Shakespeare argued.

"Come on! We can all have a good flirt later!" the Doctor half shouted at them, irritated.

"Is that a promise, Doctor?" Shakespeare hastily asked. "And will you be joining in too, Ryan?" he added, sounding hopeful.

Both Ryan and the Doctor paused for a moment, neither of them expecting such blatant advances from the bard.

"Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air," the Doctor sighed. "Now move!"


They continued down the bustling, narrow streets to Bethlem Hospital. Inside the hospital, they were greeted by a large man, who lead them to what may as well have been a dungeon, even considering it wasn't underground. They walked down dank, dingy corridors, dimly lit by the occasional flickering candle. Men shrieked and yelled from behind bars, rattling chains. It was heart-breaking; these people were in desperate need of help, but were instead locked up and treated as criminals.

"Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits?" the man asked. "I can whip these mad men, they'll put on a good show for you. Bandog and Bedlam!"

"No. I don't," the Doctor replied, barely hiding his anger.

"Well, wait here, my lords, while I erm," the man vaguely gestured down the corridor, "make him decent for the lady."

He turned to walk away, but stopped when Ryan caught his attention. "'Scuse me, but do you think this is right?"

The man turned back around. "Sorry my lord, but this is just my job. I didn't make the rules."

"Yeah, but you chose to help uphold them. These people are suffering and you're making their lives worse, just because the people in charge say so. These people, around us, they need help, and protecting, but instead, you're just protecting the status quo!"

The man opened his mouth to argue back, but shook his head and walked off.

Ryan felt a hand on his shoulder, and twisted around to see the Doctor giving him a sad smile. He had tried, but he couldn't change anything; there would still be facilities like this in the future - relative to this time frame. The Doctor was a firm believer in that change could come from the most ordinary person. Ryan agreed with him, but today was not one of those days.

Martha turned to Shakespeare. "He's right – this what you call a hospital, yeah? Where patients are whipped to entertain the gentry. And you put your friend in here?"

"Oh, it's all so different in Freedonia," Shakespeare replied, mockingly.

"But you're clever! D'you honestly think this place does any good?"

"I've been mad, I've lost my mind. This fear of this place set me right again, it serves its purpose."

"Mad in what way?"

"You lost your son."

Ryan glanced up at the Doctor. His expression had been carefully constructed to appear neutral, but Ryan had known him long enough to see the subtle sadness in his eyes.

I was a dad once. That's what the Doctor had said, back in 2012, in Stratford. Too shocked by the very weird and alien concept of the Doctor having had children, it had never properly occurred to Ryan that the Doctor would have lost them in the Time War. Ryan had never seen the Doctor properly grieving for those he had lost – he would have the occasional moment, where he grew quiet and still, but then continued as if nothing had ever happened.

Ryan wished he could do something for him, telling him it was okay to be sad, but he couldn't. It wasn't his business, and if the Doctor wanted to talk about his children, then he would.

"My only boy," Shakespeare elaborated, solemnly. "The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."

"I didn't know, I'm sorry," Martha apologised.

"It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be… ooh... that's quite good."

"You should write that down," the Doctor suggested.

"Hmm, maybe not. Bit pretentious."

"Nah, I reckon you should," Ryan said. "Think it'll be quite recognisable, in the future."

Their conversation was halted by the holler of the large man. "This way, my lord!"

He showed them to a cell, unlocking it with a key from a large, saturated keyring. Inside, a man sat hunched over on a bench, his hair long, mussed and greasy, and his thin, malnourished frame dressed in rags.

"They can be dangerous, my lord. Don't know their own strength."

"I think it helps if you don't whip them," the Doctor snapped. "Now get out."

Wordlessly, the man left them, locking the cell door behind him.

The Doctor tentatively walked around to the other side of the cell. "Peter… Peter Streete?"

"He's the same as he was," Shakespeare as the Doctor crouched down in front of Peter. "You'll get nothing out of him."

The Doctor reached out to touch him on the shoulder. "Peter."

Peter bolted upright, shaking in fear. The Doctor shifted his fingertips onto Peter's temples.

"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."

Peter inhaled sharply then seemed to relax, the Doctor guiding him to lay down on the bench.

"That's it… just let go…" The Doctor stood upright. "Tell me the story, Peter," he said, firmly, "Tell me about the witches."

Peter began, his voice shaky. "The witches… spoke to Peter. In the night, they whispered… whispered…" He started to wiggle his fingers by his ear, scratching at thin air. "Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design. The fourteen walls. Always fourteen."

Everyone else glanced up at the Doctor; he had been right about the fourteen sides being important.

Peter continued. "When the work was done…" He started to laugh, manically. "They snapped poor Peter's wits…"

"But where did Peter see the witches?" the Doctor questioned. "Where in the city?"

Peter started to shake again, taking deep gulps of air. The Doctor crouched down again. "Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me, where were they?"

"All Hallows Street."

"Too many words…"

Ryan jumped. "Fucking hell!"

An old hag had appeared out of thin air, right next to the Doctor. He took several steps back.

"Just one touch of the heart," croaked the witch, delicately raising a single finger.

"No!" the Doctor yelled, as she brought it down to Peter's chest. He instantly fell still. Dead.

"Witch! I'm seeing a witch!" Shakespeare cried, pointing a finger at said witch.

"Now who would be next, hmm? Just one touch," the witch cackled. "Oh, oh I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals."

"Let us out!" Martha screamed, rattling the bars of the cell.

"Well that's not gonna work, the whole building's shouting that," the Doctor snarkily commented.

"Who would die first? Hmm?"

The Doctor took a step forward. "Well, if you're looking for volunteers,"

"Don't you dare!" Ryan said, through gritted teeth.

"Doctor, can you stop her?" Shakespeare nervously asked.

The witch looked at him. "No mortal has power over me."

"Oh, but there's a power in words. If I can find the right one, if I could just know you…"

The witch stood further upright, falsely confident in the power she assumed she had over her enemy. "None on Earth has knowledge of us."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here," the Doctor replied, leaning back away from the witch's approaching finger. "Now, think, think, think. Humanoid, female, uses shapes and words to channel energy," he quietly listed off. "Ah!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger in return. "Fourteen! That's it! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel Planetary Configuration!"

The witch started to whimper in fear. "Creature, I name you… Carrionite!" the Doctor spat. The Carrionite cried out in pain and disappeared in a flash of light.

"What the hell did you just do?" Martha asked, a moment after everyone had caught their breaths.

"I named her," the Doctor explained. "The power of a name. That's old magic."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Just yesterday you were saying that magic isn't real."

"Well, it's just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words, instead."

"Use them for what?" Shakespeare asked.

"The end of the world."


They made their way back to the Elephant Inn, to Shakespeare's room. The man himself was washing his face, as Ryan and Martha watched the Doctor pace back and forth.

"The Carrionites disappeared, way back at the dawn of the universe, nobody was sure if they were real or legend."

"I'm going for real," Shakespeare firmly said.

"But what do they want?" Martha interjected.

"Yeah, you said 'end of the world', Doctor, but like, how?" Ryan added.

The Doctor stopped pacing, and sat down on top of a desk, next to Ryan. "A world of blood and bones and witchcraft… and how…" He stared at Shakespeare. "I'm looking at the man with the words."

Shakespeare stopped towelling his face dry. "Me? But I've done nothing."

"Hold on though, what were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?" Martha questioned.

"Finishing the play."

The Doctor sat up straighter. "What happens on the last page?"

"The boys get the girls, they have a bit of a dance, it's all funny and thought-provoking as usual… except those last few lines. Funny thing is, I don't actually remember writing them."

The Doctor stood up, and slowly walked towards Shakespeare. "That's it! They used you. They gave you the final words, like a spell, like a code! Love's Labour's Won, it's a weapon!" the Doctor shouted. "The right words, spoken in 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 added, before hurrying out of the room.

Martha turned to Ryan. "Where's he going?" she asked.

Ryan shrugged. "Dunno. But I reckon we're gonna be making a trip to All Hallows Street, so he's probably gone to get a map." He sighed. "Always the London landmarks though," he muttered, to no one in particular.

"How d'you mean?"

"The London Eye, Downing Street, Battersea Power Station, Alexandra Palace, Canary Wharf…" He swallowed before continuing. "Thames Barrier, and now the Globe. Aliens like to use them as secret bases, or transmitters. Stuff like that."

"But hang on, Downing Street blew up a couple of years ago… you were there?" Martha questioned.

"Yeah, we were. Turns out the cabinet room is lined with steel, pretty useful when you're about to be hit by a missile. We fired it though, well, it was actually my friend, Mickey. The Doctor helped him hack into the navy. Didn't have a choice – there were also aliens in Number Ten, trying to get their hands on the nuclear codes, and we needed to stop them. Fast."

Martha's eyes widened in wonder and was about ask more questions, when the Doctor walked in, unfurling a map onto a desk. He quickly scanned the map.

"All Hallows Street, there it is," he said, pointing at the map. "Ryan, Martha, we'll track them down, Will, you get to the Globe; whatever you do, stop that play!" he said with urgency.

"I'll do it!" Shakespeare replied, determined. "All these years I've been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing!" he said, shaking the Doctor's hand.

"Oh, don't complain," Martha chuckled.

"I'm not, it's marvellous! Good luck, Doctor!"

"Good luck, Shakespeare! Once more unto the breach!" the Doctor called out, grabbing his coat as Ryan and Martha followed him out.

"I like that!" they heard Shakespeare say. "Wait a minute, that's one of mine!"

The Doctor stopped, and peered around the doorway. "Oh, just shift!"

They hurried down the winding roads to All Hallows Street.

They knew what would await them, and it couldn't end in defeat.

Woe, destruction, ruin and decay;

The worst is death, and death will have his day.


A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, comments are super appreciated! I love reading them and they help motivate me!