The Doctor was not, as Zach had expected him to be, a resident of Stormhold but rather a visitor from a far-off land—a really far-off land. A traveler, he was, a traveler who jumped from one place to the next, only stopping at places that snatched his attention and pulled him towards them like a yearning lover, only staying for as long as his conscience told him to. For him, Stormhold was merely a pit stop, and had it not been for the events that transpired during his stay he would have left it as quickly as a current in a fast-flowing river.
It all started with that purple ball, which he had first detected in the flaming, rose-red curtains of the Horsehead Nebula in his personal spaceship, careening through it like a comet, a comet that was traveling thousands upon thousands of miles a second like a lunatic missile.
"Spaceship?" Zach asked. To him, the word seemed to jump out from nowhere.
"Right, spaceship," the Doctor said proudly. "I'm a space traveler. The thing we were running to in the forest was my ship. It's called the Tardis."
"That's absurd," Zach said flatly. "If you were a spaceman, you'd be wearing, well, a spacesuit."
The Doctor pointed at his clothes. "Is this not good enough for you? I guess I should give the jacket a rest, though; maybe put something else on for a change. Won't give up the bowtie though—that stays."
"And Tardis? That's a made-up word," Zach said.
"Scintillating," the Doctor replied.
"What?"
"Scintillating. What's that mean?"
"Uh . . . glittering, sparkling. Why?"
The Doctor grinned a little mischievously. "Because that was also a made-up word once, as well."
Zach rolled his eyes. If the Doctor was trying to convince him that everything around him was real, he wasn't doing a good job.
"If what you're saying is true, then what's this Tardis look like?"
The Doctor waved a hand. "As an old friend of mine once said—spoilers. You'll see my ship in time. Anyhow, as I was saying . . ."
The Doctor's ship was terribly damaged from some unprecedented attack that sent all of the controls and systems into the red. His only hope was in the purple ball, which he believed could fix the ship quickly and efficiently. Using whatever resources he had left, the Doctor calculated the ball's trajectory and discovered that it was heading towards Earth and would arrive on a lovely Tuesday morning. With this in mind, the Doctor pulled a few levers on his ship's sparking, flaming control panel, pushed a few glowing buttons here and there, and passed through the fabric of time to arrive on that particular Tuesday, maybe even a bit earlier so that he could get his business done and attend his scheduled Ramones concert at six.
"Time travel?" Zach scoffed at the mere mention of this concept. "If you're trying to convince me that this isn't a dream, you're not doing a good job of it." He saw that the Doctor looked a trifle offended by this comment.
"Well, what was I supposed to do, just follow it like every other bloke out there? And yes, I did say time travel. I'm a time-traveler too, also. Pleasure to meet you."
"Time travel isn't possible," Zach said dryly.
"Oh, isn't it now?" the Doctor said, his eyes narrowing a bit. From his left pocket he excitedly pulled out two objects, one of which was a green pamphlet and the other an old silver coin. "Take a look at these," he said, and handed Zach the two items, beaming.
Zach looked at them and his eyes widened a bit. The pamphlet claimed to be from the Hindenburg airship, and the coin turned out to be from the Roman times, complete with the side of a Roman emperor's face printed on its head. Zach recognized the face as the emperor Titus.
Holding one item in each hand, Zach looked at the Doctor quizzically. "How is this proof? You could've gotten these anywhere."
"You're absolutely right," the Doctor, who had been expecting Zach to be doubtful, affirmed. "It's good that you're a bit skeptical, Zach; I like that." He snapped his fingers and pointed at Zach. "Skepticism in small doses is good, but never have too much. Trust me, though, they're from the past. Once we get to my ship I'll prove it."
Zach was amazed at how confident the Doctor sounded; you could almost believe what he was saying, time travel and all. And for a moment he actually found himself almost believing what the Doctor was saying. He had many new questions to ask him now, but the only thing that came out was: "If you're a time-traveler, then what year did you come from?"
"Again, spoilers. Now, let's get back to the story, and this time hold your questions till the end, or else I'll end up finishing up by nightfall."
Zach sighed and listened.
When the Doctor arrived at the ball's landing site, which was the birch forest Zach landed in, it was nowhere to be found. He assumed that the Tardis had miscalculated the ball's exact landing point thanks to it's overly-damaged tracking system and thus pulled out one of his "special devices." He had many dozens upon dozens of different types of equipment, each from a different world or time, but he always kept a select few close at hand for his travels outside the ship. One of these pieces of equipment was a special tracker that could trace and label certain kinds of energy in a one-hundred mile radius. Pulling out this device from an inside pocket in his jacket, the Doctor flipped a switch at its side. At the top half of the device a screen lit up, and the device asked the Doctor what kind of energy he was looking for in green letters. The Doctor told it to find any close by, and a few seconds later a green arrow pointing north appeared. Below the arrow, the device told the Doctor that it had detected high traces of an unfamiliar energy somewhere up north. And below this message was a series of coordinates telling the Doctor the energy's exact location.
"Huh, less than a mile," the Doctor said, satisfied, and thus went on the move, admiring the high birch trees all around him, breathing in the crisp forest air.
The Doctor found the energy source the detector had found in a small cave next to a gurgling brook, but strangely enough no ball. The only things he did find were the moist, smooth stone walls and a few thick tree roots dangling from the cave's ceiling like strange, gnarled fingers.
"Why'd you have to lie to me like that?" The Doctor asked the device like a father who's figured out that his son didn't actually get an A-plus on his math test. This question came out gently because the device hadn't lied entirely; there was a large amount of energy in here, the Doctor was standing right inside it, he could feel it pricking up the hairs on his skin, but there was nothing making it.
Rubbing his chin, the Doctor made up the most logical explanation possible: someone had taken the ball, and the energy the device found was simply residue from its long rest in the cave, having seeped into the rock floor. But how on earth had it gotten into the cave in the first place? Did it roll in from the outside? Did it just happen to land at this exact point? If the second theory was correct (the first one sounded rather impossible; the cave, although small, was still too deep for the ball to get this far) then shouldn't there be a hole in the ceiling?
No matter now. These questions could be answered later. What was important now was where the ball was. Turning a small dial, the Doctor increased the device's detection range and was surprised to discover that there was another, more powerful energy source at least ten miles away. It had to be the ball. Quickly, the Doctor left the cave and jogged back to the Tardis, panting lightly.
Just before he started up the Tardis's engines, the Doctor paused for a moment. Ten miles. That was how far the ball was, according to the tracker—ten miles. Hadn't he arrived at the exact moment the ball had, if not a bit earlier? If that was so, then it surely would have still been in there, lying in wait. And if someone had taken it, then how on earth had they managed to get ten miles away from the cave so quickly? A car or some kind of vehicle was the most logical answer, but the Doctor had heard no engines nearby. Maybe the person had some special kind of technologically advanced shoes? That answer was absurd, laughable, but not entirely out of the question—the Doctor had seen some unusual things during his travels, and shoes that could make you run a hundred miles an hour sounded almost normal by comparison. Alas, however, there was only one real way to find out.
The Doctor activated one of the Tardis's monitors and typed in the keyboard below it, his fingers moving dexterously. A few seconds later a message popped up on it, and upon seeing what the message said the Doctor slapped his forehead, making his head bend back a little, and groaned.
How could I have been so stupid, he thought.
The Tardis computer system told him that he had not landed on a Tuesday morning, as he had hoped, but on a Monday morning. A Monday morning in the far-off year of 1853 A.D. It had completely miscalculated his desired landing date.
Some men might have cursed and swore at their ship, might have probably slammed their fists into the control panel even, had they messed up as badly as the Doctor had, but he did no such thing. It was his mistake, he had failed to take into account his ship's state, and now he was going to pay the price. He looked at the control panel sadly, then began to stroke it lightly like an injured animal in need of comfort.
"That damaged, are you, girl?" he said softly. For a second he thought about piloting the ship to the ball's new destination, but then decided not to; if the Tardis had failed to take him to Tuesday, then it would probably fail to get him to where he wanted to go now. At this the Doctor reluctantly stepped out.
Looking north, the Doctor pulled out his energy tracker and looked at it again. The coordinates still said it was ten miles away. Good. At least it wasn't a hundred miles away or more. Glancing back at his ship, the Doctor said, "I'll be back soon enough, don't disappear while I'm gone," straightened out his jacket, adjusted his bow tie, and began to walk.
He arrived at Stormhold two-and-a-half hours later, his legs starting to ache the sort of ache that makes one think of couches and beds and relaxation.
Gazing upon the majestic beauty of the kingdom and the landscape of mountains beyond it, the sunlight making the snow shine brightly, the Doctor paused for a moment. Even if he was to stay for a day at most, he felt it necessary to take in everything around him. Such sights like these, he knew, were temporary, could be swept away like a sandcastle when a wave comes. Of course, he had heard this statement over a hundred times or more, but he always took it to heart. He had good reason to believe in it, especially after everything he had seen during his travels. Those travels were not always full of the magical sort of wonder one may think he constantly felt; no sir, not at all.
The Doctor snapped out of his mesmerization with cynicism. He wasn't here to sightsee; he was here to look for something lost. He pulled out the energy tracker again, reading the coordinates closely. According to them, the ball was somewhere inside that kingdom.
Oh, boy, and I was just getting started, the Doctor thought, and thus began to head towards the kingdom, wondering just how many more steps he would have to take before his legs buckled underneath him.
Searching through Stormhold's many streets should have been a quick, albeit taxing task, but that day must've been a busy one because they were all filled with vendors and citizens and merchants and traveling salesmen selling items both legitimate and quackish; the Doctor found it irresistible to stop for a moment, for he couldn't help but be enveloped by the bright voices and colors of the local culture. He paused his walk here and there to visit some of the vendors or talk with the local townsfolk, maybe see if he could gain any information from them. Most of the things he actually did get, however, were nothing too special, just little quips about local grievances, local trivialities, and other sorts of gossip one would expect to hear from them.
While attending a booth, wondering whether to buy a bag of multicolored, sugared candies or a small iced pastry, the Doctor heard the sounds of angry banter to his left. Looking from the corner of his eye, he spotted a vendor selling meat having an argument with a man wearing clothes that screamed high authority. Although he couldn't exactly tell what the argument was about due to all the conversations around him, the Doctor could make out that the authority figure was angry because the vendor had apparently short-changed him, which the vendor vehemently denied. After a few hostile back and forths from the two the authority figure went away in a huff, but not before indignitanly proclaiming that he would make sure the king knew of everything that happened. The Doctor turned around to watch him go, and the vendor attending him sighed and shook his head.
"And I was just getting comfortable here," the Doctor said, turning back to face the vendor.
"Ah, don't worry about him, sir. He always thinks he's above everyone because he serves the King," the vendor said with mild contempt.
"The king, huh?"
"Yes, don't you know that?"
"Sorry, I'm from far away."
"He's the King's advisor. Or, as I like to call him, the King's tattletale. Now, would you like a pastry or some candy?"
Before making a choice, the Doctor held up his hand. "Just a second. Did you happen to see anything strange recently? Sorry if it sounds weird. I've asked many people this question."
The vendor rubbed his chin, pondering what the Doctor just said. "Not really. I guess the only strange thing around here was that one purple thing I saw."
The Doctor's eyes widened. He leaned towards the vendor a little. "That's what I've been looking for. Tell me about it."
"Well, the King passed by here on Thursday with his sons, and he was holding something glowing under his coat, as though he were either protecting or hiding it. If he was hiding it, he wasn't doing a good job."
The Doctor began to grin, filling up with excitement, and the vendor gave him a funny look. "Is that what you wanted to hear, sir?"
"Oh, yes, definitely. Thank you."
"Oy, are ya gonna make up your mind or somethin? I've been waitin forever!" the person behind the Doctor complained.
The very top of the kingdom was filled with a few palatial white buildings, some resembling the Parthenon in Greece, and the main castle, which was a huge ornate tower at the opposite end of a large circular wall—the same wall that reminded Zach of the Colosseum. At his end was a closed iron gate and two guards in armor flanking it. Through the gate the Doctor could see the cobbled courtyard, and several royal figures walking through it wearing fancy uniforms. While debating whether to pose as one of those figures or simply climb the wall, the Doctor heard some talk from behind him. Turning around, he saw the king's advisor having a conversation with another man, and that gave him an idea.
The King of Stormhold—the 81st, to be exact—had ruled the kingdom for several decades or more. He wasn't the greatest or the worst of kings Stormhold had had during its long existence and hadn't done anything extremely remarkable during his rule. He followed the traditions of Stormhold's kingship without question, without alteration, and he made sure to plant those traditions into his sons—all seven of them—so that one of them may take his place one day, hopefully making a name for themselves unlike he did.
Pushing open the doors to his lavish courtroom lined with plush sofas and supported by marble columns and lit by glistening crystal chandeliers and windows to one side of it, the King of Stormhold entered, followed closely by six of his seven sons, each of them wearing a differently colored coat. Flanking them were several royal guards.
"Tell me father," one of his sons, a man in a red coat, said, "how is the conflict in the region of Glenidor holding up so far? Any progress?"
Sitting at his throne of silver and gold, his bones creaking underneath his wrinkled, faded skin—he was an old man, going on seventy—the King answered, "Quite splendid, Secundus. As soon as we claim our stake there and send those barbarians from Lussor back, Stromhold will be even greater than ever, and they will have me to thank for it." He ordered one of his servants to fetch him a goblet of some of the finest wine in the castle cellars, an expression of smug satisfaction on his face.
Another one of the King's sons, a man whom the Doctor would come to know as the one and only Septimus, warned as the King drank, "Those barbarians are very cunning. To underestimate them would be foolish."
The King patted Septimus's arm. "Not as cunning as I am, Septimus. And with our special prize, who knows what horrors we could bestow upon them?" He chuckled, showing his surprisingly white and healthy teeth. "Now, where is my advisor? I would like to discuss sea trade with him. Hendrick?"
The King turned to his left, where a pointed wooden door with purple swags above it stood. No one came out of it.
"Hendrick? Where are you?" No Hendricks of any kind responded.
"Hendrick, I order you to come out now!" the King snapped, and that was when the door burst open. Hendrick however, was not the one to step through it.
Instead of his advisor, the man who entered the courtroom was none other than the Doctor. Over his eyes were a pair of reading glasses, and open in the palm of one hand was a book he was currently reading. The index finger of his other hand slowly passed under the words as he read.
"Sorry," he said, not looking up, "just catching up on a bit of Shakespere at the moment. Such a wonderful man he is, hope he's doing great. You know, I think this place needs an entire library section dedicated to famous poets, what do you think?" He looked at the King pleasantly, as if the King had already been engaged with him in conversation, seemingly unaware of all the shocked faces around him.
For a second no one moved, then all six brothers pulled out their swords, the metallic SHING! of the blades being pulled from their scabbards very loud in the room. The King looked at the Doctor with the bewilderment one feels when someone they don't know sits at their table in a restaurant.
"Woah. Slow down, I'm unarmed, look," the Doctor said, holding up his hands. The book under his arm fell to the floor with a clap.
"Who the hell are you?" the King asked, backing up in his throne a bit.
"Just your new advisor, that's all," the Doctor said, hands still raised. "Please don't hurt me."
"New advisor?" the King said incredulously. "Where's Hendrick?"
"He's gone," the Doctor answered simply. "Off on vacation. I'm taking his place until he comes back."
"On vacation? Don't be ridiculous, Hendrick never goes on vacation!" The King looked at his guards and ordered: "Take this man away!" Instead of moving, however, the guards only looked at the King as though he had asked them to answer a question regarding quantum physics. When he ordered them to move again, this time barking his orders, one of them stepped forth, his hands held together in front of him, and said: "Um, Your Majesty, he actually is the new advisor. He proved it to us himself."
The King looked at the guard, baffled, then turned his attention back to the Doctor and said, "If that's true, then show me the proof, strange man."
The Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black wallet. He opened it up in front of the King, revealing nothing more than a small white rectangle on the bottom flap.
"Here," he said, "my official, um, royal advisor certificate. Signed by Hendrick himself, see?" He showed it to the King, who looked at the rectangle closely, squinting a bit, bending a little in his throne. Before his eyes, words appeared on the white rectangle, first looking like nothing more than squiggles a child would put on a piece of paper, then adjusting themselves so they could be properly read. This happened so quickly that the King did not notice the change in the slightest. He read them, nodding, and said, "Ah, I see now."
This is what he saw, written neatly in black:
This here certificate states that this man, JOHN SMITH, shall take my place as your royal advisor until I return. I assure you that he is very well-trained and has done excellent work in several respected regions, all of which are friends of Stormhold. He will serve you well until I return, Your Majesty.
-Hendrick
"John Smith?"
"That's me," the Doctor affirmed.
For a moment the King was silent, then he said, "Well then, Mr. Smith, I suppose I should apologize for my rash judgement. It appears as though you really are who you say you are. My sons, put your blades down, there's no need for them anymore."
They did as they were told, Septimus doing it reluctantly, and the King asked, "Tell me, Smith—if Hendrick is gone, then where is he?"
"On vacation, like I said. To the Isles of Quentios, I believe. He won some tickets to a raffle and couldn't refuse."
"And why didn't he tell me this at all?"
"Boat was leaving very soon, and he didn't want to miss it. Told me to tell you about it."
The King nodded again, understanding. When he said nothing, the Doctor said, "So, am I hired? Or should I just . . . show myself out?" He put away his wallet and held his hands together in front of him.
The King looked at his sons, then the Doctor, and then to the door on his left, as if expecting his previous advisor to pop out. Hendrick gone? This sounded absurd. Hendrick had never missed a day of work. And he never asked for a vacation, even when he was offered one. Septimus, who was watching him, saw the slightly distressed look on his face and came over, and then said in a low voice that wasn't exactly a whisper: "Father, don't listen to this charlatan. He may be dangerous."
The King looked at the Doctor again, watched him straighten out his bowtie and pick up his fallen book. He didn't look like the sort of man to be a traitor, nor did he look like any old quack who thought himself a wise man above all or a seller of fine things. He had a friendly, almost boyish face that suggested he was as dangerous as a bundle of hay, and an attitude that was surprisingly confident and suave.
And as for Hendrick? Well, he was a hard worker, a persistent worker, but even the best of men like him needed a break every now and then, let alone a vacation, right? As the old saying goes, "all work and no play." And only the best men could choose the best people to replace them.
"I suppose you can replace Hendrick for now," the King said with some reluctance. "But be warned, if I see anything strange or funny . . ." He smiled again, but this time it looked a little unpleasant.
Septimus, who had been looking at the Doctor with suspicious contempt, quickly ejaculated: "You don't really mean to trust this man, do you, father? He just comes right out of the blue and to your very quarters!"
Patting his arm again, the King said, "Relax, Septimus. If he has anything against us, I will make a quick example out of him. Besides, Hendrick has never once lied to me. I can trust him." He looked towards one of his servants and ordered: "Take this man to his sleeping chamber, and then show him to his work quarters."
"Already know where they are, Your Majesty, but thank you," the Doctor said amiably, and then bowed gently. After this, he went his way, Septimus watching him like a hawk as he went through the door Hendrick usually came out of.
Once he was secured in Hendrick's work space, which was a large room with a big wooden desk covered in scrolls and papers and lined with bookshelves filled with heavy reading material, the Doctor marveled at how well his plan was going so far. Certainly it would have fallen through, had his little trick not worked out the way it had. The wallet with the white rectangle was yet another one of his "special devices" he had obtained from a far-off world, which was given a simple and fitting name—the psychic paper. Upon looking at it anyone could see what he, the Doctor—or anyone else holding it, for that matter—wanted the person being shown it to see. And as for the name John Smith? Well, that was just a placeholder title he had used over a hundred times or more.
Sitting at Hendrick's big desk and mulling over the papers, most covered in writing that seemed to be smaller than a pinhead, the Doctor learned about Stormhold, or at least, what he needed to learn in order to fulfill his role as advisor for the day. He also learned about the six brothers, all of whom were given names that somewhat corresponded to their age status—Primus, obviously named after the word prime, for he was the oldest; Secundus, named after the word second because he was the second oldest (it's pretty much like this for the rest of them); Tertius, Quartus, Quintus, Sextus, and Septimus. All of whom he had seen in the courtroom, save for one. Probably doing some out-of-country work or something. The rest of the information was just about finance, armory, trade, politics, relations to foreign nations—not the kind of information he was really interested in. For that, he found nothing at all.
"Must really like that ball, don't you?" He muttered as he filed through the papers. "Won't even let the advisor know about it. No wonder you suspected nothing."
After about a few hours of just working—he might as well do his job, he was the advisor now—the Doctor decided it was time to get moving, time to get to the meat and potatoes of his business. Pulling out the energy tracker, he turned it on and it showed him that the ball was somewhere close by. Probably somewhere secret, he thought, somewhere hidden away from everyone else.
The tracker took him through the halls of Stormhold's castle, which were just as elegant as the courtroom, with jeweled chandeliers and beautiful paintings of past kings and mystical lands he didn't recognise hung on the walls.
Mustn't hold out the tracker at all times, he warned himself. Every time someone passed him, he hid it behind his jacket, giving the passerby a wave or a smile. Most of them simply did nothing or smiled back before going their way.
While walking down a hall, the Doctor heard footsteps and hid his tracker like usual, this time stuffing it into his pocket. At the end of the hallway was an intersection, and coming from around the corner was Septimus, his hands balled into fists as his arms swayed back and forth, his face stern and hard. He was looking past the Doctor, though, and that gave him some relief. Just as they passed each other, however, Septimus opened a hand, pushed it into the Doctor's chest, and then pinned him to the wall on his right. The painting hanging from it shook a little.
"Is this how you greet people here?" the Doctor asked him.
His hand still pushing against the Doctor's chest, Septimus drew his face close to the Doctor's and said coldly, his breath smelling of strong cider: "Don't think you've fooled me, Smith, if that really is your name. You may have done so to my father, but not to me."
"Fooled him? Why would I do that? If you want to see all the work I've done so far, go right ahead and read it. Might take you a few hours, though."
"Nothing gets past me. Never think it." Septimus's eyes blazed with a fury that did not show on his seemingly dead face.
"Let him go, brother, or you may push his heart in," a voice warned. Both of them turned and saw a man wearing a purple coat standing just beyond them, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Primus by the looks.
Septimus let the Doctor go with a grimace on his face, and then said in a low voice, "I'll be watching you, just as my father said, only even closer. Don't forget it." He left just as soon as he entered, passing by Primus as though he were a ghost.
"And a nice day to you, too," the Doctor said petulantly, watching him go. As he straightened out his jacket, Primus came up to him.
"I apologize for my brother," he said. "He's always like that. Being the youngest one, he has to always be a pain." He introduced himself and held out his hand. The Doctor shook it. "Welcome to Stormhold. I'm sure you'll grow to love it here, for it's a very beautiful kingdom."
"Hope I will," the Doctor said. It didn't sound very much like it coming from his mouth at that moment, but his remark was genuine; the kingdom really was a beauty to behold. "Thanks for saving me back there."
Primus smiled warmly. "No problem, sir. If you need anything, John Smith, then just come to me. Trust me, I'm probably the only one here with some kind of sanity. Hope your day is well."
"Yours too," the Doctor said. Primus nodded, and then went off to wherever he needed to go, the Doctor watching him. Just before he was out of sight, the Doctor called out, "Oh, and try to convince your father about that poet section, I think it might actually work," and then pulled out his tracker, resuming his quest for the ball.
The Doctor finally found it in a huge chamber lit only by web-encrusted torches and walled with huge stone blocks.
He had managed to find the entrance to the chamber in a seemingly innocuous room with bookshelves and a single window flanked by drapes in the castle's first story thanks to the tracker (the King's courtroom and his quarters were in the second-to-last story, and his encounter with Septimus occurred in the fifth). Looking around the room, the Doctor had first scanned his surroundings, then began to feel the air flowing around him. It was slightly cooler there than the rest of the castle by only a few degrees, but to him the air felt like it came from a chilling blizzard, for his senses were up, up high, as they often were when searching for things of great importance. With the tracker, he discovered that the entrance was hidden behind one of the bookshelves.
First patting at it, then gently kicking it with his foot, the Doctor had found that the bookshelf trembled when hit, which meant only one thing—it could be moved. All he had to do was find out how to do it. Pull a special book placed in a special area? Press a secret button, perhaps? While wondering, he heard sounds of speaking coming from behind it, growing louder at each second, and quickly ducked behind the window-curtains. A few moments later the bookshelf slid forward, then to the left, revealing a rectangular hole behind it. Two knights came out of it, chatting amongst themselves. One of them turned around and pushed the shelf back into its formal position, then pulled out two books, one of them red and the other green, and switched their places. There was a click, and the knight gave a satisfactory nod before leaving with his partner. None of them noticed the Doctor, who had peeped out from behind the curtain to watch.
Once they left, the Doctor had come to the shelf and saw the two books. Pulling them out, the Doctor did the reverse of what the knight did with them, and the bookshelf disclosed the hole, the cool, dank-smelling air rushing out of it to meet his face.
Stepping inside the hole, the Doctor had found a button to his right and pressed it. The bookshelf slid back into position smoothly, and after doing so looked as though it hadn't been moved at all.
"Pretty elaborate contraption," the Doctor commented quietly, then looked to see where he had to go. A long staircase led down to a gloomily-lit chamber below him, and he went down it cautiously, minding his step. He wasn't supposed to be here, and if he made any mistake or got injured in a way that would incapacitate him he would be discovered, and then he wouldn't have to worry about the ball anymore.
Have to be quick, he thought. Those guards are probably on shift. Got to find the ball before the next one comes around.
The chamber had many doors on either side of it, all of them bound by chains, most likely because they hid Stormhold's most elaborate and prized treasures. The Doctor paid no attention to them and simply obeyed the tracker's directions. At the end of the chamber was a doorway connected to a winding hall, and through this hall the Doctor passed, feeling as though it were growing smaller with each step he took, feeling as though he was going deeper and deeper into the ground. He went past several other doors, these also chained up, then abruptly ended at a wall. To the right of this wall was an arched entryway, and this led to the chamber with the ball.
Now the Doctor scanned his surroundings just as he did in the room. The chamber was long and empty, but the Doctor didn't trust the emptiness at all; only a complete idiot would walk into an empty room to get something valuable. On the floor of the place were tiles, all the same color, which was light pink. Looking to his left and right, the Doctor saw two long holes built into the walls, and through those holes he could hear the sounds of breathing—or at least thought he did; in places like this, your imagination soared. At the end of the chamber the ball sat on a white pedestal in a kind of cell, seeming to glow extra bright as if beckoning the Doctor to come close. It was protected only by a rusty metal gate.
Analyzing the place once more, the Doctor decided to test his luck. Stepping into the chamber, he took one careful step, then another, and then another, breathing as little as possible. No arrows tipped with poison came out of the holes, nor did any jaguars with sharpened teeth ready to tear him to streamers of flesh. Good. The Doctor took more slow steps, his eyes darting from the ground to the ball, and then back to the ground.
Finally, when he was a little more than a quarter halfway to the ball, he heard the chimes.
Placing his foot down, the Doctor already knew he was in for it when the tile he stepped on depressed. There was a loud, discordant jangling noise from above him, and the Doctor looked up and was dismayed to see a bunch of holes in the ceiling. Inside these holes he saw wind chimes, all of them painted black for camouflage. Only the dim torchlight exposed them, and even then it was close to impossible to see them without adjusting your eyes.
Frozen, the Doctor anticipated something to come out of the two holes in the walls, and indeed something did from the one on his left, but it wasn't jaguars or arrows (well, jaguars might have been close). Instead, two huge, pale alligators, each about as long as a car, crawled out of it, hissing like snakes, their sharp claws leaving scratches in the tiles, saliva dripping from their nasty, toothy grins. Their tiny, slit eyes regarded him for about five seconds, and then they sprinted with a speed their size did not suggest. Fortunately, the Doctor's paralysis broke at the moment they started their run and he managed to dodge to the left; they only wound up biting the air. The Doctor fled back to the entrance, chased by the gators, and stepped on another tile-trap. More ringing filled the air, and then three snouts appeared from the hole where previously nothing came out. The owner of the snout closest to the entrance revealed itself to be another alligator, and it managed to cross the Doctor's path. Unfortunately for it, however, it couldn't face the Doctor in time and he leaped over it, its head rearing back as he did so in a futile attempt to grab him.
Landing beyond the arched entryway, the Doctor stepped back from the alligators and put his back against the wall. Of course, he could have just made a run for it, leaving the gators to their own business, but he was too full of shock to move. The alligator that couldn't face him earlier did so now, and it charged towards him, its mouth open wide revealing an equally pale tongue, one that was ready to be painted red.
Then there was a new sound of metal sliding against smooth stone, but this time it wasn't coming from above. Instead, it was coming from behind the gator, which tried to lap the Doctor up in its mouth but couldn't; there was something keeping it just out of reach from him. Looking at it closely, the Doctor saw a spiked collar on its throat attached to a thick chain that snaked into the hole.
"Oh . . . thank the maker, wherever you are," the Doctor sighed with great relief, and wiped his brow with his forearm, laughing. The gator tried again and again to get at him, yanking furiously on its chain with all the force under its scaly hide, but its efforts proved useless. Finally, after one last attempt, it gave up and crawled back to its dark hole, but not before glaring at the Doctor with hungry malevolence as if to say that it would be waiting. The other gators followed its example, breathing as quietly as a baby that's peacefully asleep.
The Doctor watched them go, re-collected his stature, and then, remembering the knights, the ones on shift who no doubt served as extra protection for the ball, quickly went back to the bookshelf that served as a door out of this secret place. Even before he started, however, his mind began to formulate new plans, as it had always done and always would.
The next few days were beauties to behold, but the Doctor spent most of them indoors at the castle. All of the action was happening there, and for it he would trade even the most glorious of days. (Well not all of the days—even he was susceptible to the temptation of simply kicking back his feet and smelling the roses—but with the issue of the ball, along with the added challenge of the gators, he simply could not allow himself to be distracted by any sort of recreation until his job was done. After all, was this one of the many reasons why he gave himself the name of Doctor, a long time ago in a land far away?)
Everything began with him in the King's courtroom, an open scroll in his hands and several more held under his arm. He was telling the King all about Stormhold's troubled relationship with Lussor and how they were refusing to give up their claim of land when Septimus and Quintus, the fifth brother, entered the room, Septimus carrying a sword and Quintus a battle axe. The two regarded each other for a moment, and then Quintus said, his chin up high, "Father, may we interrupt your business for a moment, for me and Septimus have something to say that may interest you."
When the Doctor looked up from the scroll, he saw the two armed brothers and felt gooseflesh form on his skin. Had these two managed to discover his secret and decided to take action against it? Before he could make any further mental conclusions, the King ordered the Doctor to stop his reading, and then allowed Quintus to speak.
"Me and Septimus have decided to settle the issue of who will be the next King right here and now, in front of you."
The King's eyebrows went up, along with the Doctor's. He felt a sense of relief, but inside him a voice told him that trouble wasn't over just yet.
"Right now? Is this true?" the King asked. He leaned forward on his throne.
"Yes father, he is telling the truth," Septimus answered.
Looking at the Doctor, and then back at his two sons, the King motioned for the Doctor to put away his scroll. "Are you absolutely sure? You both do know what happens to the one who loses, am I correct?"
"Yes, father," both of them said with determination.
A smile grew on the King's face. "Very well, then, my sons, you may commence. Today's a splendid day for some fighting, don't you think?" He was looking at the Doctor when he said this, as if expecting him to answer, but before the Doctor could do so the two brothers faced each other, held up their weapons high above their heads as though they were preparing to chop something in half, and then began to fight, their blades creating tiny flashes of sparks as they clashed together.
The fighting was very loud in the room, the only thing matching in its volume a catcall from either brother, who either shouted something along the lines of, "Fool! No wonder Quartus was better than you in swordsmanship!" to "Once this little play-fight is over, I will be one step closer to the throne." The Doctor watched this battle with amusement. And with growing unease.
Leaning over to the King, the Doctor asked in a whisper, "Um, does this normally happen?"
Not looking at him, the King answered, "Are you anxious, Mr. Smith? Does the battle discomfort you?" The Doctor said nothing.
The brothers continued to fight, constantly switching their places in the room, Septimus at one side of the room and then on the other, Quintus doing likewise. Their dance-combat ritual continued without any alteration for about another minute, and then, after Quintus managed to push Septimus to the ground with the side of his axe, his sword having been cut in half thanks to a strong hit, things got ugly.
"Oh, dear brother, it looks like I have bested you yet again," Quintus said, shaking his head sadly. "And after so many years of us growing up together. What a shame, what a shame."
Glowering at his brother, his eyes giving Quintus the same look they gave the Doctor when he met him in the hall, Septimus said, "Stop your mindless talk and have at it. You're boring Father."
"Oh, yes, I will have it. Very much indeed. But don't worry. When Stormhold's mine I will make sure to commemorate you."
"I don't wish to invade your show, but isn't this the time someone, uh . . ." the Doctor said quietly to the King. The King gave the Doctor a slightly annoyed expression, and then said in a voice just as quiet: "Hush! What's gotten into you? Don't you know what happens next?"
The Doctor didn't, but he wasn't exactly sure if he was ready to find out either. Already, he had an idea that if things went south, he would try to do something. If he was quick enough.
Quintus pointed the tip of his axe at Septimus, and asked him the one question that assured the Doctor that things were going south indeed. "Any last words, dear brother?" He raised his axe again in that same I'm-going-to-cut-something-in-half stance. Seeing this, the Doctor finally decided he had enough.
"Wait, stop!" he cried, and Quintus did, looking at him confused. Before the Doctor could say anything more, however, he suddenly bent forward and clutched his chest as though he had been punched there with a strong fist and made a violent gagging noise. White foam began to sputter from his mouth. His axe slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.
Seeing this, Septimus smiled, uttered "Fool," and then got up and harshly shoved Quintus, causing him to spiral herky-jerkily away as though he were drunk, and then grabbed Quintus's axe. When this happened the Doctor began to make his way to him, his hands outstretched and ready to make a grab for the axe, yelling "Septimus, don't!" He was too late, however, and Septimus planted the axe deep into Quintus's head, making a wet chopping sound. Quintus fell to the ground, foam still spilling out of his now dead lips, his body shuddering lightly.
After finding his voice, the Doctor said in quiet disbelief: "You . . . killed him."
"Yes, I did. You're quite observant, Smith," Septimus responded with almost no emotion in his voice save for a small glint of pride, admiring the body of his dead brother which lay on the floor.
The Doctor was about to say when he heard the bellowing laughter of the King. Turning to him, his face hiding the growing disgust he felt, the Doctor said in that same quiet, disbelieving voice: "You allowed this to happen?"
The King's laughter died down, but his smile remained where it was, looking like a sneer. "I suppose you really don't know of Stormhold's traditions, after all, Mr. Smith, but what am I to expect from an outsider?"
"But he was your son," the Doctor said, placing great emphasis on the word son. "And you let him die."
"Yes, and now he is in the world above our own, just like my fourth son Quartus. I'll have you know that this has been tradition for over two centuries or more. I myself had twelve brothers, all of which I slayed before my father was even ill!"
"Two centuries? Tell me, doesn't that ever get old?" Anger slowly started to fill the Doctor's voice. It was subtle, but it was there. The King's glare deepened.
"Are you trying to challenge my authority, Mr. Smith?" he asked. "I highly suggest you be careful. I understand this is all unfamiliar to you, but I think you should end your little lecture right here and now." The King's eyes narrowed, almost challenging.
The Doctor wanted to say more—had a lot more to say—but his rational thought told him of his position and who exactly he was addressing. If he said the wrong thing now, then his business with the ball would be over, along with plans for a new business he had in mind. And he'd probably be killed, too; Spetimus was standing right behind him.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I guess I'm just not used to killing and such," the Doctor relented, hoping the King didn't understand sarcasm. The King answered this with a satisfactory nod, which suggested he either didn't or just didn't detect it.
"Good, Mr. Smith, good. Now, let's get back to our discussion about Lussor, shall we? The day is wasting, and I wouldn't want to spend it all on this talk."
That night, in his work quarters, the Doctor was arranging books when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Primus greeted him. The Doctor allowed him to step inside.
"My, no wonder Hendrick wanted some time off," he said as he marveled at all the books and papers in the room, along with the various books stacked on the floor.
"Yeah, just don't touch anything. I arranged it all to make it easier for Hendrick when he comes back. To this . . . wonderful place." The Doctor smiled, but a large part of it was forced.
Primus nodded softly, seeming to understand what was on the Doctor's mind the moment he saw him. "I heard about what happened in the courtroom. I just came in to see if you were all right. I heard you almost made a scene."
The Doctor pulled a book out of the bookshelf, read it for a second, and then replaced it. "You said that I could come to you whenever I wanted to, right?"
"Yes, I did. Yesterday, if I remember."
"Well, how do I start? Oh, that's right—why'd I have to see a man get killed right in front of me?" The Doctor stepped close to Primus like an interrogator, who backed away slightly mostly due to the Doctor's height, which was about five-foot-eleven. Tall for a man. Taller than Tertius, even, for he was the tallest amongst the brothers.
"Don't you already know?" Primus asked, looking up at him. The Doctor gave him a sharp look that said to just get to the point. "It's to see who will be the next king, of course." He said this as though the answer was painfully obvious.
"Yes, I figured that, but why exactly?"
Primus let out a puff of air from his lips. "It's a long, long story that dates back centuries. Long before even my great grandfather was born. It may take me a while to tell you."
"Just give me the basic details, I'll be fine with that."
Primus gathered his thoughts, took in a deep breath, then began. "Well, long before the days of Stormhold, the land we're currently standing in was once called Faerie, which was allegedly ruled by trolls and dwarves and witches and, well, fairies—the creatures you'd probably see in a child's storybook. These beings ruled Faerie for millenia, until men like us came along and started to build their kingdoms, this one included. The creatures of Faerie didn't agree to that, and they declared war on them. Many died during this war, and several of these kingdoms were ruined. Stormhold, however, refused to back down, which resulted in the Faerie-folk holding siege to it until it budged. Which it didn't; the king—Charles the II, his name was—was very stubborn. During this time Charles the II had three sons, all of whom were worthy of the throne. However, due to increasingly pressing times, he decided to change the way things worked. Instead of the eldest son being chosen to take his place—that would be too risky, he claimed—he declared that the brothers would turn against each other, forget their love and their relationship, and the last one standing would be crowned. They did as they were told, and soon a new king was in place: Daniel, the second oldest. He successfully battled the Faerie-folk until they scattered.
"Shortly after this, Daniel decided to turn his father's tactic into tradition, believing it to be the only way to determine Stormhold's next king. As he said so himself, 'Only the most cunning and strong shall lead forth Stormhold's future, and the only challengers worth testing a future king shall be their own blood.'"
The Doctor nodded in grave understanding.
"And as for the people of Faerie—well, we don't hear much about them except for a few stories every now and then. Most of them are probably made up anyway."
"And you believe all of this?" the Doctor asked.
"To a certain extent. There is still some magic left over from the old world—nothing more than a few small traces scattered around. As for the creatures, I haven't really gotten any glimpses yet.
"Do you believe in them, I wonder?"
The Doctor pondered this question, his thumb and forefinger on the tip of his chin. During his travels in the black place where nothing is held down and breathing is all but a bad joke, he had seen some strange, if not downright out of the ordinary, things—things people might never even conceive of in their entire lives, things that may drive ordinary men mad with a mere glance. But fairy tale creatures? No, he didn't believe in them at all. But you never really knew until you saw one, right?
"I've seen the very edges of creation where the ruins of existence lie and worlds wink out by the second like shattered lights, but I can say for certain that the universe is big enough for them," he said, speaking of these things as though they were as regular as a vegetable garden.
Primus gave him a look filled with dreamlike wonder. That answer to his question was probably the best one he had ever heard, even if he didn't understand the first half of it. "Well, I hope you're satisfied with what I told you. Any more questions?"
"Plenty. Why have these traditions continued until now? Has anyone tried to stop them even once? Surely someone has."
Primus put his hands on his hips and looked around the room. "Unfortunately not. The hardest thing to break are traditions. But there have been some changes to make it more . . . fair, I suppose. Recently, my father declared that if he died before a new king was crowned—and his death is coming very soon, I believe—we would engage in some kind of challenge."
The Doctor's eyebrows went up. "Your father's challenge? Let me guess: people are going to die."
"I can't say for sure, Mr. Smith, but I'm hoping not."
The Doctor folded his arms across his chest. "You don't sound too enthusiastic about all this, I'm noticing." He eyed Primus sternly. "Do you engage in all this?"
"Actually, I don't at all," Primus said, straightening his jacket. He sounded truthful. "In fact, I hope that as soon as all my brothers kill themselves or I beat my father's challenge, I will take the throne and change these . . . barbaric rituals."
The Doctor nodded in agreement to this, but he wasn't quite satisfied yet. "And what's this challenge of your father's, anyway? A football match?"
Primus let out a puff of air from his lips. "If I'm being completely honest, Mr. Smith, I can't say for sure. But from what I can assume, it's going to be a searching game. For what, exactly, I don't know."
"A searching game, huh? And if your father does initiate this searching game, then what are the rules?" the Doctor asked.
"Simple. The one who has whatever Father wants us to find wins, no matter what they do to get it." Primus looked at the Doctor with light suspicion. "You seem to be very interested in all of this information, I'm seeing. Are you implying something, if I may ask?"
"Yes I am," the Doctor said simply. "I want to help you."
Primus stifled a bit of laughter. He didn't mean to laugh at the Doctor, but the thought of a man who didn't even know Stormhold's most basic history suddenly offering to help him win the throne was insane. "Help me? Pardon me for saying so, but . . . you've only been here for two days."
"You're right," the Doctor agreed, "I have been here for only two days. Long enough to call myself an advisor, in my opinion. But after hearing about your father's challenge and all the backstory of this lovely little town I've been able to come up with a plan. One that you might find interesting, if you care enough to hear."
"Just now?" Primus had never met anyone who thought up a plan that quickly before.
"Well, I'm still working out some of the kinks, but yeah, just now. Do you want to hear?"
Primus did, surprisingly. He asked in a low voice: "What is it?"
"Before I tell you, can you keep a secret?" the Doctor asked.
"A secret? What sort of secret?"
"You won't know until I tell you. Now can you?"
Silence.
"Well?"
A sigh. "Yes, I can."
"Promise not to tell anyone?"
A pause to think. "I promise. What is it?"
The Doctor gestured for Primus to come forth, and when he did the Doctor gripped the back of his head with his hand and drew him close, as though he were going to hug him; then, once his mouth was close to Primus's ear, he told him about the ball in a voice as quiet as a conspirator's. An expression of utter shock swam into Primus's face.
"Impossible," he breathed. The Doctor only closed his eyes and shook his head in response.
"B-but how do you know about this? How—" Before he would say anything more, Primus pulled something out from his belt. It was a dagger, its small but sharp blade throwing off glimmers of light from the torches that lit the room. He pointed it at the Doctor's chest. "You're not really an advisor, are you?" he said.
The Doctor held up his hands again, just like he did in the courtroom on his first day in Stormhold. This time, however, he did it with less haste; he could see a trace of reluctance in Primus's eyes like diamonds in a pool of water. Primus was still interested in the plan, it seemed.
"Relax, don't worry, I'm not a traitor or anything, I am an advisor. But I'm more than that, also. I'm a traveler from far off, and that purple ball your father's holding is mine," the Doctor said. He didn't mention the fact that he needed it for his ship. That information would simply sound too outrageous to the eldest prince.
"What do you mean, it's yours? My father found it first," he said.
"Where? In the cave?"
Again, that shocked expression came upon Primus's face. In the cave, he had said, not a cave. To say the latter would suggest the Doctor was making a random guess. His knife, which was pointing steadily at the Doctor's chest, faltered slightly.
"You-you know about that?" he asked, astonished.
"Yes, I do. I was heading there to retrieve it because it, well . . . got lost, but your father beat me there and took it before I had a chance to get it back."
Accusation dawned in Primus's eyes. "You're lying." He would've been surprised to know that he was right, the Doctor was lying; but if you were to look at his face you would have been convinced he was telling the truth. He had lied to a great many during his travels to get ahead, and he had learned how to make himself look and sound convincing over the years. A little too much, perhaps.
The Doctor said, "Oh, come on, don't play that game. You know no one was there when he found it." He went over to the fireplace, took the poker lying against it, and gently stoked the flames. Swarms of sparks drifted up into the chimney.
"Except for me. And my brothers. We were all there, on a hunting trip."
"Sorry, I meant your father and you and your brothers. Can't know everything, right?" The Doctor gave a nervous chuckle. "Anyhow, the point still stands—no one outside of you and your loved ones knows about it." A pause. "Oh, and me, of course." And that one vendor, too, he thought. But what could that one vendor really do?
Primus mulled over what the Doctor had said. The Doctor was right; there was no one else besides him and his brothers and his father at the cave. He had a keen eye for things, Primus, and if he had seen anyone else besides his own family that day, he would have pointed it out in a flash.
But still . . .
"Well, if this ball really is yours, then how did you know where it was?"
"With this." The Doctor pulled out the energy tracker from his jacket. He did not hesitate; he believed that if Primus and his family could believe in a wild concept like magic, then they could handle something as simple as a tracker . . . from the 25th century.
"What is that supposed to be?" Primus asked, looking at the device gingerly.
"A tracker," the Doctor answered casually. "One that can find energy sources like the ball. Here, want to look? It took me all day to find it."
He held up the tracker to Primus's eye level so that he could see it more closely. Primus looked at its screen and saw a tiny red dot in the center and a tiny green dot in the upper left corner, slowly pulsing. He could also hear it speaking, making a faint blip-blip sound. He found it interesting, but only mildly; as he had said, he had seen small traces of magic before, and he assumed this was an example of one.
"That's the ball, you see. And here"—the Doctor pointed at the red dot—"is us." And then, before Primus could start accusing him, he promptly added, "Don't worry, I still don't know exactly where it's at so your secret's still safe." He deactivated the tracker and put it away.
"What magic does that light-box use?" Primus inquired. Judging from this, the Doctor could tell that Primus believed in him, or at least in the tracker. "Is it light, I presume?"
The Doctor felt like rolling his eyes at this. Magic, it was always magic that was assumed, especially in times like these where people thought creatures like trolls were real and lightning was no doubt a sign from the heavens. But he decided to indulge in Primus's beliefs anyway. It would make things easier. Quicker.
"It's good magic," he said. "It won't hurt you at all." He felt like chuckling at his own response. "Now will you help me get the ball?"
"Just a moment. Why do you even need that ball in the first place? Certainly it's for something important, if you're coveting it so badly."
"It is important," the Doctor said, and Primus saw all the humor, which had been present on his face since the start of their talk of the ball, leave. It was replaced by a grave, determined look, one Primus only saw on soldiers. "Because if I don't get it then a lot of people, and I mean a lot of people, are going to get hurt. Killed even. That ball is the only way I can get to those people before anything happens to them."
Primus considered this deeply. He looked at the Doctor's face and saw no sign of deceptiveness in it, only that same serious look. "If I am to believe in all this and help you, then do you promise to help me deal with my brothers?"
The Doctor put an assuring hand on Primus's shoulder. "Yes, I will, in any way that I can. I make that a solemn promise. No killing though."
For a few more moments Primus considered. The man before him seemed to be of a truthful sort, but there was something about him that just didn't make him feel right. Still, though, he seemed to be a potential tool that could aid in his desire to change Stormhold's ways forever, liar or not. And he was perfectly fine with no killing—despite his tense relationship with them, he really did love his brothers. If this man was true to his word, then the throne could very much be his own. He would gladly have that over some magic purple ball any time.
"Very well then. But"—he drew close to the Doctor and put the side of his dagger close to the Doctor's throat, then changed his tone so that it was low and cold—"if I sense even the slightest sense of betrayal I'll make sure the last thing you'll feel is a cold blade. Do you understand, Mr. Smith?"
"Totally, totally." The Doctor nodded swiftly.
Primus finally put away his dagger, and the Doctor gave a sigh of relief. "Finally. I was wondering when you'd get tired of holding that."
"Now that this is all settled, how about we have some wine?" Primus looked at the Doctor with an almost easy going attitude, as though he had forgotten that he had just been pointing a dagger at him. The Doctor didn't really care much; he was just glad that he was one step closer to the ball.
"Sure," he said. "Wine would be fine."
They sharpened out their plan until they both felt satisfied, then talked like two close friends until the moon was in the center of the sky.
Friends. Could he consider Primus a friend of his? Not exactly, but a part of him was tempted to think so. Certainly Primus was the best out of all the brothers, and he did contain a sense of nobility and honor that he had to respect, along with a sense of ruthlessness that was both chilling and a bit admirable at the same time. But even without his flaws, the Doctor still doubted that he could open his heart and accept him.
Not again, he thought. Not after what happened last time. Besides, the only reason why I befriended him and told him about the ball in the first place was because I needed someone to help me, should my plan screw up.
After Primus left the Doctor, the Doctor went to his quarters to sleep—it had been a long and hectic day. As he drew the covers up to his chin he wondered about the plan again, just to make sure there weren't any holes in it. None that he could think up of so far. That was good. If any did come, he would tell Primus tomorrow. He turned his body to the left so that he could face the window, which was open and letting through a cool midnight breeze. Outside he could see the stars, a million pale jewels on an endless sheet of black satin.
A shooting star etched an arc of silver across the sky, making the Doctor smile. Then he fell into a quiet, dreamless sleep.
The castle kitchen was a huge, steamy room with walls covered in tiles nearly as white as a fresh sheet of paper. The pots and pans at the stovetops were filled with bubbling soups and steaming lobsters, frying meats and sauces that were no doubt going to be poured onto said meat. At the counters, prep cooks chopped up fresh vegetables from the farms on Stormhold's outskirts, and dishwashers labored at their bubble-filled sinks. They were so caught up in their work that they didn't care at all for the two outsiders who stepped in to discuss their plan.
Passing by a basket full of peaches, the Doctor took one and tossed it upward in the air. "You know," he said, catching the peach and then tossing it back up, "peaches and nectarines are essentially the same thing. The only difference between them is that only one has fuzzy skin." He passed the peach to Primus, who caught it and took a large bite. Sweet juice flowed down the sides of his mouth. "To be honest, I was never really a big fan of peaches. Whenever I hold one it feels like I'm holding a ball of . . . of skin. Primus, who was still chewing his bite of peach, stopped abruptly, his mouth halfway open.
The Doctor turned around and said apologetically: "Uh, sorry if I took your diet away."
The two walked through the crowded kitchen and passed by the counters, the Doctor taking an empty metal bowl from one without glancing, until they found a table in the corner of the kitchen that stood in front of a cupboard filled with randomly assorted spices in glass jars. After reaching it, the Doctor said: "Do you have it?"
"Shh, not so loud!" Primus hissed. The Doctor put a finger to his mouth and nodded quickly. "And yes, I have it. Found it behind the painting in Septimus's bedchambers." From his coat Primus pulled out a medium-sized bottle filled with a clear liquid. The Doctor took it, pulled off the small cork that held it shut, smelled the liquid inside, and then put it down with a look of disgust, squeezing his nose shut with his fingers.
"Definitely poison, all right. Enough to kill twenty people with one teaspoon. I know just what to do with it," he said, trying his best not to gag. He poured a small amount of the poison into the metal bowl, then examined the cupboard and saw a stone bowl and pestle sitting on the top shelf, which he took. To his left was a box filled with empty milk bottles, and he pulled two of them out.
"Don't use too much. I don't want Septimus getting suspicious," Primus warned. His voice was calm but stern.
"I still prefer we just take it from him indefinitely," the Doctor said morosely. He turned to the shelf with the spices and analysed each one carefully. "Now, I need . . . I need . . . ah, yes!"
The Doctor pulled from the cupboard three jars, the first with a red powdery spice, the second with seeds that reminded the Doctor of autumn, the third with dried green leaves. These contents he poured into the stone bowl, mentally measuring just how much of each he needed. Then, with the pestle, he ground them together until he created a brown powder with a dusty scent, which he poured into the bowl with the poison. There was an immediate reaction of bubbles and smoke which Primus blocked with his body. Finally, after the reaction was finished doing its job, the poison, which was clear, became a light, elegant shade of blue. And when the Doctor smelled it, he smiled. The scent was strong but not as horrible as it was before.
"Here we are," he said proudly, tilting the bowl so that Primus could see the new concoction swirling about within.
"So this is the drink that will cause the gators to go to sleep?" Primus asked doubtfully.
"Do you want to try it to make sure?" the Doctor offered. He moved the bowl with the concoction closer to Primus's face, who backed up.
"No thanks," Primus said, waving a hand. "Just make sure it works, though, so I can use it on my brothers."
"Don't worry, it'll work," the Doctor said nonchalantly. "Besides, I won third place in an intergalactic chemistry competition. Could've gotten second if that. . . competitor hadn't cheated." He poured half of the blue concoction into the first milk bottle, then the rest in the second, which he gave to Primus, who looked at it and marveled despite his doubts.
"Thank you, Mr. Smith. With this, I'll be able to get a head start when my father enacts his searching game," he said, smiling.
"Yes, yes," the Doctor said. He was in a hurry to leave. "And once you're finished with it you can . . . I don't know, use it to pull pranks on your brothers or something. Whatever counts for fun here. Just keep them from killing each other until then."
"I think I can manage that."
"Good. Well, I'll be off, then. Good luck with your brothers and the throne."
The Doctor patted Primus's shoulder twice, then made his way towards the door. Behind him, Primus called out: "You're not even going to have some breakfast?"
Still moving, the Doctor turned around and said, "Can't. I'm in a bit of a rush. But maybe afterwards, I suppose, if they're serving fish sticks and custard. I've been getting a weird craving for them recently . . ."
The Doctor did not have breakfast with Primus because he was too focused on the events that lay ahead. In his bedchambers, he had a servant get him a dozen roasted lamb chops. The chops, roasted to perfection and rubbed with savory spices, made his mouth water and his stomach grumble, but he did not eat them, for they were not his.
In the chamber with the gators now.
The Doctor held in his hands a silver platter holding the lamb chops he had ordered. They had lost much of their warmth and he couldn't smell the spices rubbed on them anymore, but he thought the gators wouldn't care much for the quality of meat. To them, meat was meat, and they would sink their teeth into it no matter where it came from.
Taking a big chop from the platter, the Doctor tossed it to the center of the room. It hit a tile, and the Doctor expected the chimes to start ringing. They didn't, and he threw another, smaller chop to another tile. No ringing after this one either.
"Hey, I got you all an early dinner!" he called out to the gators he hoped were listening, waving around a chop by the bone as though it were a set of keys before tossing it. He threw the rest of the chops quickly, hoping one would either grab a gator's attention or cause a tile to depress, but neither effect happened. Across from him, at the end of the room, the ball glowed and seemed to watch him like a purple eye behind its rusty cage.
Beads of sweat were forming on the Doctor's brow. The guards, the ones on shift, had just left, and he didn't know how much time it would take before the new ones arrived. Very quickly and with much desperation (and caution; even now, the Doctor knew to be careful), the Doctor stepped into the chamber and began tapping the tiles with his right foot like a soldier trying to find mines in a field. Almost immediately he found a tile that depressed, and the discordant jangling of the chimes filled the air. In the dark rectangular holes that lined the chamber's walls he heard sounds of growling and movement, and he darted back to the entrance, knowing what was coming.
The gators all climbed out quickly, as though covered in slick oil, some still drowsy from being rudely awakened. They looked in all directions for their prey, their triangular heads snapping left and right, and then saw the lamb chops sitting on the floor. Quickly, they went over to them, sniffed them attentively, and then did what the Doctor had wanted them to do: snap them up like candy. This process took some time, with some of the gators fighting over the chops with angry hisses and snarls, but in the end they all managed to snag a chop, some gulping them down without even chewing.
Suddenly all the gators began to groan and tremble as though they had all cursed with stomach aches, and then one by one their heads fell to the floor with meaty thuds. Some heads landed on tiles that sent the chimes ringing, but the gators didn't seem to care; they were so overcome with sleepiness that they cared for nothing at all but to close their eyes and sleep; maybe dream of twisting apart zebras in the savanna.
All this the Doctor watched with childish glee and wonder. It had worked extraordinarily well—a little too well, in fact. The sleeping agent he had rubbed into the lamb chops—the one he had made with Primus in the kitchen—had done its job perfectly, and now there was only one thing he had to do, one simple little thing. Ah, the magic of chemistry!
The Doctor weaved his way through the group of snoring gators (retaining his caution in case the agent failed) until he reached the gate at the end and pulled it. It shook but did not open; it was held shut by a big rusty lock. But this lock wouldn't stop the Doctor a bit, and he pulled out one of his "special devices" to deal with it, one that he had used more than any of his other devices. It was more resourceful than even the most elaborate of Swiss Army knives, more efficient than the most powerful of computers. It had turned the tides of battles and wars and had saved the lives of millions—all with the single press of a button. One would expect such a tool deserved a grand name, a name that struck those who heard it with great wonder, and this tool most certainly did. What else was better than the sonic screwdriver?
The Doctor pulled out the screwdriver—which was about as long and as big as an actual screwdriver, made of what appeared to be bronze, and had a silver claw-like attachment at the end that partially enclosed a green gem-like object—pointed it at the rusty lock, and pushed the button on its side. Immediately the green gem at the end came to life, and a warbling buzzing sound like the chirp of a bird emanated from somewhere inside it. Then there was a flash of sparks as the lock burst open and fell to the ground in two smoldering pieces. Satisfied, the Doctor put the screwdriver back in his jacket and patted it.
He yanked open the gate, which screeched rustily in protest, and stepped to the ball on its marble pedestal, feeling the weight of its power in the chamber, feeling the weight of everything that had built up to this moment. He was at the finish line now, and soon he would be back in the stars, back traveling through time and space: back to normal, essentially. He flexed his hands in anticipation of holding the ball, the ball he had worked tirelessly for. It seemed to beckon him, to congratulate him for accomplishing his goal with his cunning.
The Doctor gripped it delicately as though it would crumble in his fingers, felt its warm and glassy surface, and immediately a surge of power rushed through his body like fire, a fire that was searing yet somehow soothing, like smooth, caressing fingers. He stared into the ball's purple glow and found himself becoming more and more transfixed by its eldritch charm by the second.
What is it you're trying to do? The Doctor thought to it dreamily. He found that, despite his resistance, he could not break from its strange calling. It seemed to be speaking to him through many disembodied voices, telling him to stare harder and harder, and that if he did it would show him all the wonders of the universe that it had seen; all the strange, alien wonders beyond even the greatest of imaginations, including his own: Come, Doctor. Come close and see. See what we have to show you. See what we might have to offer! The Doctor found himself both rejecting and obeying its whispery temptations, his mind opening and closing like certain flowers during their day-night cycles, his body trembling.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" a voice called, and it was this voice that snapped the Doctor out of his hypnotized state. He whirled around, ball still in his hands, and his wonder melted away, being replaced with worry. The two guards he had feared would arrive had come, and they weren't looking at him with friendly eyes. The ball of amazing wonders had distracted him long enough for them to come in time to see him steal it.
Getting a grip on his senses, the Doctor stuttered, "I'm, uh, just inspecting the ball, that's all," and put it behind his back like a child hiding a stolen cookie. The guards had none of it and marched over to him, seeming to not notice the sleeping gators at all. The Doctor assumed that the gators were loyal to them.
"Hold it right there," one of the guards, a middle-aged man with the start of a beard on his chin, ordered, and pulled out his sword. "Don't move, or I'll cut you into pieces and feed you to the crocs!"
Alligators, actually, and they won't be interested in me or anything else for a while, the Doctor thought, but he obeyed the command regardless. He could feel the ball warming up the small of his back.
The other guard, a man who appeared to be only a few years younger than the Doctor, said, his own sword pulled out: "You're the advisor aren't you?"
"Yes, that's me," the Doctor replied. "The King sent me down here for . . . reasons. Very important, completely legitimate reasons. Sorry if I didn't tell you."
The guards were not convinced in the slightest, and the older one barked, "Drop it!"
The Doctor did not comply, but he did bring his hand out from behind his back to show them the ball. He didn't realize how hard he was gripping it then, but if he did he would have been surprised by its sturdiness despite the fact that it seemed to be made of glass. When the guards saw it they became entranced, almost like the Doctor, but they did not become completely hypnotized. Their orders to protect the ball seemed to override that.
"Give it to us now," the older guard said, and held out his hand. The Doctor still did not comply and instead pulled out the sonic screwdriver, which he pointed at the ball.
"Do you know what this is?" the Doctor asked them, hoping the sight of it would intimidate them. They did not answer, did not seem to really care about it at all; they only looked at him with their hard eyes, the older guard still holding out his hand, as though waiting for a handshake. The Doctor stepped back but retained his composure.
"Look to your right, and see what it can do," the Doctor said, and the younger guard did, and upon seeing the broken lock his eyes, still full of the wonderment of his childhood days, widened.
"My goodness," he mumbled. "You're . . . you're a—"
"Yes, that's right," the Doctor said threateningly, "I'm a magician, and once I use my . . . magic wand here, the ball goes up in flames, along with the rest of us, so stay back!" He pushed both the ball and the sonic into their faces to startle them both; only the younger guard backed off.
"But surely, you can't be . . . the warlock, right? Surely not," he said fearfully, his sword trembling. The Doctor quickly answered almost without any thought, "Um, yes, I am the warlock, so just give me some space and I'll let you live." Seeing his worried face, the Doctor felt a small twinge of guilt for tricking the young guard, but he was in a fix, and when you're in a fix, you sometimes have to take whatever is in front of you to get out of it. And as for this warlock character, he had no idea who he was or what he was. Nor did he really care. He had the ball, and that was all that mattered now.
"Hush, boy, there's no such things as warlocks," the older guard growled, and stepped up to the Doctor. "He reads too many damned stories, this one"—he gestured to the younger guard—"but I don't. Now hand over the ball." He held out his hand to the Doctor so that he could receive it.
The Doctor's mind quickly scrambled for a plan, and when it found one—a very desperate, foolish one, but probably the only one that could save him now—the Doctor asked the older guard "Wanna bet?" and then activated the sonic, which was still pointed at the ball. It's electric buzz made the younger guard's skin prick up with gooseflesh and made the older guard's eyes widen, just as the younger one's had when he saw the broken lock. Seeing this, the Doctor tossed the ball in between the two of them and yelled "Abra Kadabra!" It bounced off the tiled floor once, twice, and then hit the wall at the back of the entrance. The two guards watched it go down the chamber, both too anxious to see what would happen, and then were suddenly pushed aside so powerfully that they fell to their sides, their armor clattering on the tiled floor. Dazed, they watched the Doctor sprint ahead of them and scoop up the ball.
"Sorry about that!" he called out to them, and then made a run for it.
Running through the corridors on his way back to the library shelf that also served as a door, the Doctor quickly examined his prize. It hadn't even cracked when he threw it, he found, and felt extremely relieved. Behind him, the shouts of the guards ordering him to stop echoed off the stone walls. They were far, but that didn't stop him from running.
Making his way up the stairs whilst skipping every other step, the Doctor saw the rectangular light that was the entrance to this place and sped through it; then he quickly spun around and pushed the bookshelf back in its place. The guards, who had made it to the bottom of the stairs, saw what he was doing and quickly climbed them, shouting for him to stop. He didn't obey them, didn't even seem to hear them, and pushed the shelf back into its place and rearranged the special green and red books so that it would lock. The cries of the guards were blotted out completely—the Doctor assumed that the special shelf was sound-proof—and the room returned to its original quiet peace.
Pleased at how well his last-minute escape turned out, the Doctor began to make his way out of the castle.
No time for last-minute goodbyes, no time for last looks—the Doctor paced through the elegant halls of the castle on his way out of there, not stopping once, not letting anything stand in his way, brushing past maids dusting the old paintings depicting Stormhold's past and officials in finely-tailored suits holding their heads up high in pompous fashion. He made sure to not look into the eyes of anyone, lest they suspect him of anything funny. The ball bulged in his jacket pocket like a weird tumor, and if one were to look at the Doctor the right way they would have seen its ghostly glow peeking out from within.
The hall turned to the left and spilled out into the middle of a great corridor with beige walls and an ornate carpet of deep blue with golden trim; the Doctor entered it and then turned to the right. There were doors at every other interval of this place, and in between them were tables holding large ceramic vases with beautiful depictions of blue valleys and mountains on their sides. Most likely from China, the Doctor quickly mused while passing them.
The thing that marked the end of this corridor was a great pointed door of carved oak, and past this door was the main hall with its royal staircase and giant chandelier. And past the main hall? Why, the great outdoors. The Doctor was so close to leaving this place for good that he could almost feel the sun from inside.
Just before he gripped the door's silver doorknob, a gruff and humorous voice called out from behind him: "Advisor, I've been looking everywhere for you! Do you have a minute?" He stopped, turned around grudgingly, and saw Sextus standing at the end of the corridor, his long hair and jacket slightly unkempt, as though he had just woken up from a rough night's rest. When he knew the Doctor had noticed him, he smiled broadly and walked over to him, his arms swaying back and forth.
"Before you go out and do whatever it is you're doing, do you mind doing me a quick favor?" he asked. The Doctor wanted to say no, wanted more to just ignore him and leave, but before he could make a choice Sextus put his arm around his shoulders and began to lead him away from the door.
"Can you tell me where the ale is stored? I heard they moved it recently, and I forgot where exactly they put it," he said drunkenly. His breath smelled of the drink he desired. The Doctor tried to weasel his way out of his grip but could not.
"What's the rush, Mr. Advisor? Got a date or something? If you want any tips, you should just ask me!" Sextus said, and burped.
"No, I have, um, a meeting, a very important meeting outside the castle. Now can you let me go?"
"After you tell me where the ale's at."
This is ridiculous, the Doctor thought. "Uh, it's in the cellars to the east of the castle," he said. He had no idea where the ale was actually kept; he just gave Sextus an answer that would satisfy him.
"Ah, good, good!" Sextus said. He did not release the Doctor. "Well, I'll be off now, so—hey, what's that you got in your jacket?"
The Doctor felt panic rise inside him. He hoped that Sextus was too drunk to notice it on his face. He tried to fumble for an easy answer, but before he could Sextus said something that added even more panic to his state: "It's glowing, I can see. It's pretty. Mind if I take a look?" Sextus reached out a hand towards the pocket where the ball was. The Doctor said nothing, did nothing, could only think that now, his doom had come. He struggled for a solution.
And then, before Sextus could reach his hand into the Doctor's jacket, there was the terrific sound of shattering porcelain. Sextus suddenly went down, a silly grin on his face, and behind him was Primus holding a piece of vase in his hands. On the ground were several porcelain shards, along with an unconscious Sextus, a large red bump growing on his head. He was still grinning.
"You're welcome," Primus said, and rubbed his hands. The Doctor nodded his thanks in return. "I suppose this is the last time we'll see each other."
"Possibly," the Doctor said. He believed it was so. "But you never know. Don't bother waiting, though."
Primus smiled, then gave a light bow. "If that's the case, then I wish you good luck, Mr. Smith. It's unfortunate that we couldn't know each other more, but I understand that you have much more important matters at hand." He held out his hand in a final gesture of farewell, and the Doctor quickly shook it.
"Farewell. And good luck with your ship."
"Thank you," the Doctor said; then he turned, went out the doors, and found himself outside a few moments later.
Septimus entered the room that contained the hidden entryway to the secret chambers, holding with him a small gem-encrusted silver box intended to hold an item that was held down there, a glass blade that was apparently very powerful. He was going to get the blade so that he could show it to a historian, one his father had ordered, in order to better understand it.
After arranging the special red and green books, the shelf revealed the entryway, and Septimus was surprised to see two guards, one old and one young, fall out of it, their bodies making a loud thud on the floor. Both looked tired and sweaty, as though they had been jogging all day, and when they looked up and saw Septimus their faces lit up with gratitude.
"Lord Septimus, how I thank you!" the older guard said, and bowed. The younger one followed his example.
"No need for formalities," Septimus said, and the guards got up. "What's going on here?"
"The advisor!" the younger guard blurted. "He stole the ball and ran away with it!"
"Yes, and we tried to stop him but he outran us and locked us in!" the older guard added. "Please forgive us!" He bowed again.
"Impossible . . ." Septimus was so furious that the guards feared he would kill them both in a split-second. Instead he turned away, went out the door, and ordered for a few men to come with him.
Outside in the castle courtyard, Primus had left the Doctor a beautiful white stallion, young and strong. He climbed on it and began to make his way down the main road, the one that wound its way through the city and went out of it. He tried to ride as quickly as possible, but due to the heavy crowds during that time—he had heard it was crowded it was some kind of summer festival, one that would last for a week—it was difficult. Not that it really mattered, though; no one at all knew that he had the purple ball tucked safely in his jacket. Right?
When he was about halfway down the kingdom, in the place where the upper and lower districts met, he felt himself freeze as he heard the last voice he wanted to hear yell out from a few meters behind him: "We are looking for this man! Have any of you seen him?" He had no time to figure out how Septimus had managed to discover that the ball was stolen. Quickly, he led his horse into an alley, and after he found a safe hiding spot behind a few fruit-filled boxes he looked out and saw Septimus, along with a few knights, on the main road riding their own horses. Septimus had a piece of parchment in his hand and was showing it to everyone around him.
"My second day here, and they already have a picture of me," the Doctor remarked discreetly. The people of this kingdom continued to astonish him in ways he didn't find to be to his liking. He wondered how many would be able to remember his face, and this made him realize that he didn't have a disguise. He cursed himself for his carelessness, and then searched around for something to conceal himself in. It was just his luck: the Doctor looked up and saw a few sheets drying on a railing. He yanked one of them off and wrapped it around himself in a shroud, doing his best to not mind the fact that it was still moist from being washed.
The Doctor waited until Septimus and his men had passed the alley, and then stepped out and rode slowly down the main road, not making eye contact with anyone, lest they look at him too long and recognize him.
So long as I'm behind and away from them, I'm fine, he thought. Beyond him, disappearing behind a crowd of people, were his pursuers, Septimus still holding out the parchment. The further they got, the more calm he felt. What helped him feel even more so was the fact that his disguise, simple and almost comic, wasn't attracting much attention. He thought that perhaps his little adventure in Stormhold would end on a good note.
Throughout most of his trip down, Septimus stuck to the main road with his small band of armored men. The Doctor stayed just a few meters behind him, always making sure to never get too close or too far. Every now and then Septimus would see someone wearing a shroud around their head and he would either pull it off harshly or look at the wearer with scrutiny. The Doctor worried that Septimus might do the same to him if he should spot him, but Septimus never showed signs of turning around. He thought about maybe taking a shortcut, but then decided not to; Spetimus would most likely have sent out knights to search every nook and cranny of the kingdom for his presence, so he decided to stay closely behind him, thinking that maybe, if he was extra lucky, Septimus's men would assume that the last place their target would be was right behind their boss's back.
In the end it was a gamble that paid off surprisingly well: no knights thought to search him or pull off his shroud, and whenever a knight did come around they did not give him attention. They most likely assumed their boss had already checked him. The Doctor felt giddy with joy.
He was very close to the bottom of Stormhold, now. Ahead of him, the main road turned to the left, away from the kingdom, and ended at a bridge that passed over a small gorge with a river at the bottom. On the other side it started up again and went over the grass-covered foothills beyond Stormhold and made its way to the lush forests beyond—the forests where the Tardis was. He was so close to the end that he almost felt tempted to put his horse into a gallop, but did not. He had been cocky once, back when he thought Septimus or anyone else would never discover that the ball was stolen, but he had learned his lesson, and the last thing he wanted to do now was complicate things.
Septimus, seeing the bridge, turned to his men and spoke to them about something briefly; then they all turned around and began making their way towards the Doctor, most likely intending on going back up the road. Almost on instinct, he covered his mouth with the sheet and gave him a wide berth as he passed, allowing a fairly-sized group of people to go between them. As he did this he got a quick glance at his face, seeing extreme boredom and tiredness, along with bitter disappointment. Septimus gave him only a minute glance in return, causing him to tense, but did not show any signs of recognition. Nor did he try to remove his sheet.
He was free. Free at last.
The Doctor wanted to put his horse into a gallop now, but thought that if he did Septimus would hear and immediately give chase, and resigned himself again. Ahead was the last building that he would pass, a large rectangular prism made of stone blocks with arched entryways and windows. Several people were spilling out of these entryways while chattering with their companions. A few had dogs. The Doctor passed this building casually, not looking at the people once, only looking ahead and at the bridge over the gorge.
Something pulled at the corner of his sheet, which was dangling off the side of his horse. The Doctor looked down at it distractedly and saw a large brown doberman, its long thick tail wagging, with the corner of sheet in its jaws. It pulled again playfully and he felt himself almost falling out of his saddle.
"Stop it! Cut it out!" he hissed, regaining his balance, but the doberman did not obey and continued to play tug-of-war with the sheet. If he continued to let it do so, it would eventually make him tumble out of the saddle in a reverse somersault, and what a humiliating thing that would be. The Doctor tried desperately to shoo it off with more curses but it refused to listen; in fact, it seemed to pull even harder. It was dragging behind like a boulder, yanking his sheet back, and growling through its clamped teeth. Several onlookers saw this show and laughed hysterically.
His face flaring with embarrassment, the Doctor bent down and tried to shoo the doberman away once more, this time more loudly and angrily. The darn animal still didn't obey. He was about to ask the jeering crowd who the dog's owner was when a voice politely asked: "Is there a problem here?"
The Doctor felt instant regret for his small outburst as Septimus and his men began approaching him on their horses. He was so caught up in the fear of being caught that he did not move or make a sound. The dog was still pulling the sheet, but now the Doctor didn't really notice.
"Is that creature there causing you a disturbance, sir?" Septimus asked. His voice was pleasant, the voice of a man who wants to help because he feels as though he must. The Doctor was impressed to see Septimus talk like this, but he also thought it was slightly bogus. He couldn't really see him being this altruistic on a daily basis. And to answer his question, the Doctor only nodded quickly.
"I see." Septimus said in that same pleasant tone. He faced the crowd of laughing denizens. "To whoever owns that mongrel pup, get it under control! There's a man trying to pass!" Immediately the crowd stopped laughing and a pimple-faced man appeared. He looked at Septimus reproachfully, then dragged the doberman away by its collar, whispering curses at it.
Septimus came up to the Doctor, their horses so close to his own that they could touch one another. He asked in a conversational tone, one that sounded a bit too conversational: "Fine day today, isn't it, sir? I would like to think so."
He's playing with me, the Doctor thought. He knows very well who I am. Or at least thinks he does.
"You know, I've come a long way down here for a reason. I'm looking for this man, have you seen him?" Septimus showed the Doctor his own wanted poster. He thought his portrait, drawn in black lines, was all right, but it needed some work—the hair was too short and the chin was too sharp. And who thought his eyebrows were that thin? He shook his head at Septimus's question.
"That's too bad. I've been looking for him all day." Septimus's fierce eyes locked on to the Doctor's own, which tried their best to look calm. He wanted madly to just get out and leave this, but he knew Septimus was anticipating that and did not. He noticed just how warm it was under the sheet; he could feel sweat poking out from under his clothes.
"Perhaps you can help me, sir. I've been thinking that this man here is in disguise. Would you be so kind as to remove your shroud and show me yourself, just so I know you're not him?"
Not even trying to be subtle, huh? The Doctor thought. He braced himself as Septimus got even closer. He thought he could almost smell the oils on Septimus's skin, which were strong but not actually that bad. Of course, though, he was exceedingly rich.
"Well? Do you want me to do it for you?" Septimus reached out a hand ready to grasp.
The Doctor felt like backing away, but knew that would only confirm Septimus's suspicions. He tried to find a solution to his problem but could not; he had nothing on him that would help. Septimus's hand drew closer, his fingers less than an inch from his sheet.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the Doctor decided that he no longer cared about being hidden anymore. Now all he cared about was getting out of here without dying and with the ball in his hands. So he gave Septimus one last look, said "You could have just got me without wasting your time" and then gripped the back of his sheet and threw it as hard as he could on Septimus's unexpecting face. As he struggled to get it off his body the Doctor urged his horse into a run with his spurless shoes, which it did without any hesitation whatsoever; it had been trained well, and he thanked Primus for choosing it. The Doctor felt himself being pushed back, almost fell out of the saddle once more, and then grabbed the reins with both hands to right himself up. Behind him, he could hear the sound of many horses' hooves clopping on the cobbles of the main road and a voice roar: "Get him!"
On the other side of the bridge, the Doctor and his horse followed the main road for about half a mile, then turned to the left, in the direction of the forest. Septimus and his men, like the doberman, did not stop, only kept pursuing their prey, their horses creating a sandstorm behind them on the road, which was dirt on this side of the kingdom. They seemed to be nearing; the Doctor could almost feel their horses' breath on his neck.
"Faster, boy, faster!" the Doctor urged, and his horse pumped its legs harder in order to gain speed. He put his hand on its calf and felt the muscles working under the skin, stretching and contracting, stretching and contracting. The wind blew his hair back and caused the tail of his jacket to fly out and made him tear up as it blew into his eyes. He did not let go of the reins to dry them; he was only focused on getting to the forest.
To his right he heard something whistle past him. He turned around and saw one of Septimus's men had a crossbow with which he was currently reloading. To Septimus's right was another one of his men, aiming his own crossbow at his head, and the Doctor ducked without even knowing it as the man fired at him. An arrow flew an inch over his head and landed in the grass at an acute angle.
The forest was at the bottom of a small cliff, one he had spent some time climbing over in order to get to Stormhold, and he could see the top-half of the birch trees, their leaves perfectly still in the summer air. He made his horse turn to the left, which it did obediently, and rode just on the cliff's edge. Clods of dirt and rocks tumbled down its steep side as he did so.
Another arrow flew by, this one so close that, had he been only a few inches to the left, he would have been impaled in the throat. Again he turned around and saw one of Septimus's men reload and rewind his crossbow, a determined look on his face. The other one aimed his crossbow at him and fired a calculated shot. It missed, but it grazed the Doctor's shoulder. He cringed as he felt a flash of silvery pain there, and hoped that the arrows weren't tipped with poison.
The cliffside became less steep as he continued to ride beside it, becoming a slope. A few brave birches grew on its side alongside ferns and other bushes. The Doctor considered riding his horse down it and threw away the thought; it would be too dangerous for the both of them. He wondered how long it would take for him to reach a place where they could enter the forest safely, and estimated that it probably take at least another half-mile, if not a full mile. He wouldn't have time to reach that distance. He would be dead before he could.
The Doctor turned around once again, and saw what he expected: Septimus's men rewinding their crossbows, ready to aim and fire. Septimus himself had unsheathed his sword and was preparing to make an attempt to cut off his head. The Doctor was still far enough away to avoid that fate, but he wondered for just how long. His horse, strong as it was, would not be able to go on forever.
And then one of Septimus's men aimed, but not at the Doctor. Instead he aimed at the Doctor's horse—more specifically, at its calf. It was here the Doctor decided that this chase would finally end, at least for the time being. What he planned to do was risky, but it was less deadly than him tumbling down the side of the slope with his horse, which would no doubt crush him and break every bone in his body like toothpicks.
"Oh no you don't," he said defiantly, and then he rolled off the side of his horse, tumbling roughly down the slope, his face being slapped by bushes. He landed at the bottom on his chest, cushioned by a large fern. He had not struck a single tree while falling, nor a piece of rock poking out of the ground. From above, Septimus and his men watched him get up with shocked expressions on their faces.
His head felt like it weighted more than his entire body; his arm, the one that got minorly cut, ached heavily; his legs felt a little wobbly, but otherwise they were still useful. He wondered if he had broken any bones and was fortunate to find that he did not. He dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out the ball. It was not harmed in the slightest. Satisfied, he put it away, and then was startled when he saw an arrow pierce a tree in front of him. He looked up, saw Septimus and his men standing on the slope's edge, taking aim, and fled into the forest.
He ran. His ears were on edge, waiting to pick up the sound of horse hooves or the calls of angry men. He heard none and continued onward.
He ran for about ten minutes, and then, when he couldn't run any longer, he jogged. And when he couldn't jog, he fast-walked. He was away from Septimus and his men, but that didn't mean they weren't combing the forest for him. He kept his alertness on high.
The Tardis was close. He could almost feel its presence baking off of it.
He heard the sounds of rustling coming from somewhere east. He turned, seeked, and thought he could see figures in the greenery, which was thin but not entirely impossible to hide in. He turned away from them and continued on, moving stealthily, passing through clusters of fern bushes and walking over beds of dead leaves.
Ahead of him were several large, smooth boulders. He remembered seeing these boulders when he first arrived at Stormhold and felt joy rising inside him, along with a twinge of sadness. It had been a good adventure, this one, but now it was time for it to end. It was time for him to go back to the stars, where he truly belonged.
And then he found Zach standing behind the largest of the boulders, looking like he didn't know where he was.
"So what do you think?" the Doctor asked. It had taken him more than two hours to tell his tale. The long slanting beam of sunlight coming through into their cell from the window had grown longer and was at an angle.
Zach tried his best to find holes in the Doctor's tale or anything that just didn't make logical sense. There was the ball, of course, the magic ball that apparently spoke to the Doctor, and he found that to be absurd. As for everything else—the gators, the sleeping potion, the brothers' familicide routine—he found them all equally absurd but surprisingly believable. For the first time in a long time, he couldn't find any real conclusions. As someone who liked answers to his questions, it annoyed him.
"I suppose the story's good enough," he said at last.
"But do you believe it? Like actually believe it?"
A drop of water splashed onto Zach's cheek, and he brushed it off without thinking. "Well, you were being chased by those men, and I did see the ball."
"I'll take that as a yes then," the Doctor said approvingly.
"But one thing I don't understand: if that ball was trying to get away from you, then why didn't it just run when you came near it?"
The Doctor opened his mouth to answer, then stopped before any words could come out. That question, it was a good one: why hadn't the ball just run when he came? And for that matter, why didn't it run when the king and his sons found it? He himself hadn't considered any of this until just now. Oh, how slow he could be!
"I honestly don't know," he said. "I really, really don't know. But I'm the Doctor, and it's my job to figure it out, right?"
Zach shrugged. "Whatever. Can you figure out how I should wake up, also?"
"You still think this is a dream?" the Doctor asked.
"Yes," Zach said. Plain and simple.
A look of disappointment came on the Doctor's face. "So much for trying to sound convincing," he muttered to himself.
"I mean, time travel? Spaceships that go to other worlds? We haven't even sent a man to the moon since 1972."
"I thought I showed you proof," the Doctor said.
"You did show me 'proof'," Zach said, making air quotes, "but I said that it didn't mean anything, and it still doesn't. Besides, if you really were a time-traveler I'd have seen you in the history books.
"Maybe you're not looking hard enough," the Doctor said, not unkindly.
"Oh, please. I always look hard." At that moment Zach sounded almost like his father.
Another drop of water, this one as long as a pinkie, splashed Zach's cheek. He wiped it away, then looked up to see where it had come from with irritation. "All right, you said that this Primus man was going to help you in case your plan failed. Where is he right now?"
The Doctor scratched his head. He looked at the wooden cell door. "I honestly don't know. He was supposed to show up a while ago."
"Well, he better show up soon. I'm getting tired of this place. If I stay too long my intellect's going to dampen."
The Doctor chuckled.
They waited, the Doctor and Zach looking at the door in anticipation. Nothing happened. Then the two both heard the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, growing louder as they grew closer to their cell. Suddenly, there was the distinguishable noise of many keys being pulled out of a pocket, followed by a click at the cell door. It swung open, hitting the cell wall and rebounding, trembling. Zach recoiled when it happened. A man was standing in the doorway, with hay-colored hair that reached his shoulders and a jacket that looked almost exactly like Septimus's save for its color, which was a pale purple. Zach's eyes widened and his mouth opened in astonishment. He couldn't believe it, and yet he knew it was true all the same: the man at the door was Primus, the prince the Doctor had befriended. The Doctor saw his reaction and made a well-pleased smile.
"I know it's a bit late," Primus said, "but do you want to have that breakfast now?"
