The streets seem chaotic, but this is only an illusion.
Decrepit structures that have stood for centuries are draped with tarps that will not last out the year. They tower over narrow pathways littered with rubbish where stall owners hawk their wares and desperate locals ply their services. Locals huddle at small tables seeking respite in drink from the long and hopeless days. They conspire of escape, and struggle to bury the bitterness that might inspire a foolish grasp for something more. An act of violence or theft through which they might rise a rung up the ladder but would more likely plunge them deeper into the abyss.
It is a dangerous labyrinth to the unfamiliar, ready to consume the ignorant and the arrogant. But there is much to see and offer here: experiences, forbidden or exotic, and rare trinkets not attainable through legal or reputable means. For the careful and respectful visitor with funds there is some measure of safety because they bring with them more than their appetites and their coins, they bring access to the world beyond. Secrets, influence and information, all of which can always be exploited by the One who controls these streets.
The Tardis appears in a dark and unoccupied corner. It is unnoticed by the rushing crowds as is the person who exits its door which swiftly closes behind him. He glides through the crowds, not because they part for him but because he sees and seizes every inch of space in the mad rush of people. He is lithe and deliberate in movement. The shop owners have no time to shout their offers before he is past them. The broken denizens of the street, who have long surrendered hope and shame, can barely offer a desperate solicitation before he is gone in the crowds.
The Doctor has walked this path before and this is no labyrinth to him (and he has known deep and dark mazes where mind and life are quickly lost). He is here because the chaos is indeed only an appearance, a mere illusion to the uninformed. For there is a flow of control and obligation, from the broken in the gutter, the merchants, the angry drunken men, the barmen that medicate them, the hustlers and the thieves, all the way up to the One, the person he has traveled far this night to meet.
He turns abruptly up the steps of a building. It is larger than the others, well-lit behind shuttered windows, and with steps cleared of people. There are no guards on the steps because it is respect and fear that keep the locals off them.
But there are guards just inside, past the large open doors. Gargantuan men, good only for the appearance of strength or for clumsy brutish violence. Still they quickly part for the Doctor as he walks without hesitation past them and up the stairs; primal animal instinct warning them that despite appearances this is a creature best left alone.
On the second floor there is a single office door with another pair of brutish thugs on either side. They have been told he is coming and to neither delay nor disrespect him. They are dumb beasts, but they differ marginally from their brethren downstairs in that they can be trusted to follow simple instructions.
The One behind the door has other breeds of killer of in his employ; the efficient, the relentless, the monstrous and sadistic. He has accumulated them over the years as a skilled craftsman collects a selection of trusted precision tools. He has employed all of them in various capacities, but violence and fear are not where his power comes from. Nor is wealth, which is a mere outlet for his vanity. His power comes from Information, the rarest and most dangerous of treasures; and he hoards it. However, like anything rare and precious, information can blind its owner as much as those who seek it.
The Doctor stops at the door and the dull giant in front of him does not hesitate to open it. He is expected and the One on the other side knows there is no value and considerable danger in making him wait.
"Ah my old friend," the One calls out as the Doctor comes through the door, "it has been far too long".
He is pouring himself a drink from a small ornate flask, taken from a platter of other bottles. The platter rests on a large buffet and is flanked by tall silver candle stands and backed by a high polished mirror. He returns to his desk which is also large with a high-top chair, its back to the open balcony which stretches over the crowded, noisy streets. The walls are adorned with paintings and other objects of gold and silver. No theme other than to convey, like everything in the room, an image of careless wealth and opulence.
"No, it has not," the Doctor responds taking a seat opposite the desk, and the One laughs. There is no offence here for his part, they have had this dance before.
"I would offer you a drink but…" he trails off.
"I have not come for a drink."
"No," the One walks back to his desk, "and I have what you have come for." He takes another sip from his glass before sitting back in his chair. They sit silently, the noise of the streets below coming through the balcony behind the One's chair.
"I don't know why you always seem so unhappy in our dealings. I for one am always happy when we've concluded our business."
"Yes, you always are," the Doctor replies. "as I always promise you'll be. But once again I tell you what I always tell you, that you should simply provide me with what I seek. And in fact, in the future it is better that if you know where i may find something I am looking for, that you should simply tell me. You will find the compensation I offer freely more satisfactory."
"You do not appreciate the convenience I offer."
"You leave too much blood and spectacle in your wake."
"I've not heard you to be so squeamish."
"I am not, I despise cruelty, and you bring scrutiny to my affairs."
"Ah… well, I can't imagine those who would dare 'scrutinize' your affairs."
"They do not do so for long, but it is an…inconvenience."
"Well what can I say?" The One raises his arms and gestures grandly. "I must stay true to my nature, I am a thief and a killer, as I have always been, as was my father before me."
"Your father wasn't a thief."
"What…?
The One stops himself, takes another sip of his drink and sets it down. He is confused, and more uncomfortable than he thought he would be. Mind games of course. He decides not to engage.
"Well…we should discuss terms."
"The terms are as follows: You provide me with what I have come here for and in return I will provide you with compensation that I see fit and which you will find extremely generous."
The One laughs, "Your audacity is legendary… and if I refuse those terms?"
The Doctor gives a shallow sigh, "then first I will show you something, then I will tell you a story, then I will give you something else, and then finally you will provide me with what I came here for."
The discomfort in the One rose a little, surpassing slightly the anger that he felt.
"For what I have spent and the blood I've spilled to retrieve this item I will define the terms."
"Then you refuse?"
"Yes I…" snarls the One setting down his drink.
The Doctor's hands flash so quickly from the pockets of his tan trench coat that the One halts his reply. Believing that his visitor had flung a blade or some other weapon his hands instinctively reach up to check his chest for wounds. Finding none he looks back at the Doctor to see him sitting silently. Between them on the desk was a bracelet. It is thin, gold, and has several jewels affixed together.
"What…What is this? You offer me jewelry?" The One waves an arm around his office, "I have more than I could…"
"North of here, several hundred leagues away, there was an estate. It is long gone now, much of it left to ruin, the lands around it broken into small farms tended to by small families. In its time however it was significant in size and wealth, and the family that owned it was well thought of and respected by the inhabitants of the land for many generations."
The One stares down to the bracelet again. It was old and valuable, obviously, without being garish.
"But nothing lasts. And eventually only a single female heir remained. She was married off to a man whose great name and well-bred appearance masked terrible vice, savage appetites, and a talentless lack of ambition. He spent through what remained of the family's fortune, and the estate decayed and withered. They discovered that the Lady was unable to bare children and while she was somewhat relieved that her brutish husband's bloodline would end, he openly satisfied himself upon the women who worked the estate."
The One, never taking his eyes from the bracelet, and with sweat visible upon his brow, gave a nervous laugh.
"A young maid, with no family was used in this manner against her will and was soon with child. The others in the estate hid this as best they could but soon after giving birth she was discovered by the Lady. She knew immediately who the father was, and her anger and bitterness grew. The young woman and her child were to be sent away. Driven out into the wilds. But at the last moment, for reasons that were known only to the Lady, she stopped them. She took from her wrist a gold bracelet, adorned with jewels in the shape of the emblem of her House. She wrapped it in a silk cloth, handed it to the young mother and pushed her out the door."
"This…this bracelet…?"
The Doctor ignores the question and continues.
"The husband died as many like him often do, falling from his mount in a drunken stupor. The Lady spent her days alone in the estate sending staff away one by one over the years as what remained of her wealth dwindled. How and when she passed is unknown to me, but the estate is gone now, and nothing remains."
The Doctor pauses and the One reaches out and takes another sip from his drink.
"Surprisingly, good fortune found the young mother and her child. She was able to find some work in a large city far from the estate. Though nearly destitute she was able to feed and care for her daughter. Years later in a world of savagery her daughter found a good, honest man. An unskilled laborer with no prospects, still, he was caring, filled with love and they had hope and shortly before her own mother died, the young woman bore him a son. Only then did she show the man the bracelet. The one treasure passed down to her. "
At the back of the One's mind, a faint memory stirs, like strings plucked on a distant instrument playing a familiar melody, or a whiff of a near forgotten scent. An image flickers in his mind, a bracelet wrapped in silk, buried safe under a sleeping mat, brought out only the rarest of occasions. Wasn't the bracelet bigger in his memory? Or is that simply a child's perspective. Yes…because he had been a child …
"They had never sold it, not even when they were most desperate. Because it was more than a piece of jewelry, it was hope. So even when the young mother took ill, she begged her husband not to sell it. It nearly drove him mad."
Another clouded memory, the One is in bed, his father crouched on the floor, weeping. He thinks the One is asleep but by the light of the candle the One can see him rocking, clutching at the gold, jeweled bracelet.
"He knew his son was clever, that he could work numbers, and read faster than other children. He saw that the boy was strong as he fought through sickness without medicine. He knew he could lead, as the other boys listened and followed him. "
Here the One looks up at the Doctor who continues without pausing.
"But what to do? With no money for school, or any chance to move somewhere safer or with more opportunity he had to decide whether this was their moment. For his family to risk their one possession of value, passed down from mother to daughter, and now to her husband, to give their child a chance to be free from a life of poverty and violence.
So, the father set out from the slums in which they lived into the city. And he found a shop that looked… reputable… of course appearances mean nothing.
He offered the bracelet for sale to the owner. The owner looked the father up and down with disdain but after a brief silence told him he would assess the value of the bracelet and if the man were to return tomorrow, they could negotiate a price.
The father walked back to their home with more joy than he had felt since the birth of his child. He took a few coins from his pocket, all he really had, and purchased a treat from a stall. And he presented it to his son after they had finished their meager meal of rice. The look on his son's face, the wonder and amazement warmed him and that night he slept with a smile on his face and dreamed of the future that would be."
The Doctor stops here and the One's lips began to quiver as a tear wells in his eye. A shuddering sense of dread began to rise, and he grasps for his glass again as the Doctor continues.
"Of course, that is not the way of the world. When the father returned to the store the following day the shop owner laughed at him. He accused him of stealing it and refused to pay him a cent. It was a lie of course and the father trembled in shock and fear which quickly turned to anger. And as the shop owner moved to push him from the store the father, seeing his hope shatter and vanish, grabbed a heavy object from the counter and brought it down on the shop owner's head, rage and despair driving his blow. The shop owner crumpled to the floor which quickly ran with blood.
This was foolish and the father knew immediately that everything had all come to an end. As he turned and saw the crowd stop and stare at him, his hopes, his son's future, the dreams his son's mother, and her mother had had. He had crushed hope in that blow as much as his victim had stolen it moments before. "
The Doctor gives another short sigh.
"He fled, back through the streets to the slums. He was followed at a distance by witnesses and onlookers and knew he would be soon be caught. He had no time, and nowhere to go so he fled home.
He found his son just outside their shelter. Some other boys wanted to go play and the boy wanted to join them. The father clutched at him, suppressing tears, but the boy just wanted to leave. Taking his son's face in his hands, the father nodded. He followed at a distance and stood under a tree as his son played.
It would not be long now, and the father desperately watched his son, weeping, wondering how the child would survive. He desperately hoped that the son would look back and remember how his parents had loved him. Remember the taste of that treat from the night before along with any other moment of joy they had shared.
The police arrived quickly, and he called out his son's name. The play stopped and the boys stared, the son standing in the middle, as the father was dragged away. The father could not see the boy through his own tears. "
The One visibly trembles and clutches at the arms of his chair.
"You see your father was not a thief, and until that day he was not a killer. He had hope for you as your mother had and when that hope was lost it broke him. He did not live long in prison and died cold and alone."
The One wipes the sweat from his brow, and the tears from his face. His anger was that of a child.
"Why…Why tell me all this? And you offer me this…this simple trinket?"
"No. This I keep." The hands flash once again, and the bracelet was gone from the desk and in its place a small vial with a dark blue liquid in it.
The One sobs once. "What… what is this?"
"If you drink this, you will quickly forget our conversation. You will be filled with a sense of euphoria that will last the day. You give me what I have come here for and then you drink this and then all you will remember is that you are pleased, and that you got what you wanted."
The One sat in silence for a minute, staring at the vial. He had known suffering, and rage, and he had built his world up from the slums and the streets until he controlled it all. He had spent a lifetime burying the helplessness that had filled him that day. Until today he had felt pride in what he had accomplished. But not now.
He reaches into his desk and pulls out a red pouch. He means to toss it dismissively at the Doctor but thinks better of it at the last moment and instead places it on the desk and takes the vial.
Another flash of hands and in a brief instant the pouch is gone.
"You may also choose not to drink it. Choose to remember the story I've told you so that next time you come into possession of something I seek or know where it might be found, you offer it to me freely and receive better compensation than this."
The One sits back in his chair and pauses for a moment, imagining he can remember the touch of his father's hand. He wipes the tears and sweat from his face, looks briefly at the Doctor, pulls the stopper from the vial and drinks down the blue liquid.
The Doctor shows no reaction but rises from his chair and turns to leave. The One reaches for his drink and drains the rest of the glass. He thinks to ask how the Doctor came to know this story and where he had found the bracelet but realizes the danger in those questions.
"I had not heard of you to be so cruel."
The Doctor buttons his trench coat.
"When I am I always make amends, so I will give the compensation I had planned to give you to the poor outside your door. Give them... hope..." he trails off as he walks away from the desk.
"How did you know …how did you know this would work? That I would give you what you wanted?"
The Doctor does not pause as he reaches the door and opens it.
"Because it works every time we do business."