Upon entering the Fantasy Factory, the Doctor and Glitz had braced themselves to find some terrible and hideous danger waiting for them. They were thus a little surprised to find themselves in what appeared to be an ordinary Victorian office with old wooden filing cabinets propped against the walls and shelfs holding up piles of dusty books and paper work. In one corner of the room was another door, while in the centre of the office was a rectangular oak desk, upon which was a large oil lamp which gave a bit of dim light to the otherwise shadowy room. Sitting at the desk was a middle-aged round-faced man dressed in the attire of a Victorian clerk, busy scribbling away with a quill pen on some documents laid out on the desk. In fact, so engrossed was he in his work, he did not seem to notice the Doctor and Glitz, who came over and stood by the desk.
"How do you do? I think we're expected," announced the Doctor. But the man at the desk did not seem to hear the Doctor at all and simply continued with his writings.
Glitz gave the Doctor a doubtful look. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"
The Doctor deferred from responding. Instead, he waved his finger in the air, before hitting the push-button of a small silver bell that sat on the desk. The bell gave a loud ding and, like a machine, the clerk automatically looked up at the two men standing before him.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said the clerk simply. "My name is Popplewick. May I ask your business here?"
"We'd like to see the proprietor, please," said the Doctor with a friendly smile.
"Do you have an appointment, sir?" asked Popplewick quietly. "Mister Chambers only sees people by appointment. Most particular about appointments is our Mister Chambers."
"I think you'll find we're expected," replied the Doctor confidently.
"What is your name, sir?"
"I am known as the Doctor, and this is Mister Sabalom Glitz," said the Doctor, gesturing to Glitz, who gave another of his chivalrous bows.
Popplewick did not seem at all impressed and simply began to check through the list of appointments in his book.
"If this Valeyard wants you dead, he's got a funny way of going about it," muttered Gliz to the Doctor.
"I've told you. It's called humiliation," said the Doctor wearily, before turning back to Popplewick, who was still checking through the list in his book. "Could you hurry up, please? We haven't got all day."
"There are procedures to follow, sir," explained Popplewick in an unhurriedly tone of voice. "Necessary routines to be completed. Even when I've found your names, there are many forms to be inscribed before you may move on to the next stage of processing. Processing is very important in this establishment. I'm sure that even you will understand that such things cannot be rushed, sir."
The Doctor gave another calm smile. "Oh, I don't know. I've always been a bit of an iconoclast by nature."
And before anyone could stop him, he whirled around and pulled open the door that led to the next room.
"You can't go in there, not without an appointment!" protested Popplewick.
But the Doctor and Glitz ignored the clerk and leapt into the next room... only to find themselves in another office, facing another Popplewick sitting at his desk!
"Ah, Doctor," greeted the second Popplewick almost smugly, his appearance identical in every way to the first clerk, save for the circular metal-rimmed spectacles perched at the end of his nose.
Astonished, the Doctor and Glitz looked back through the doorway into the first office from which they came, where the first Popplewick was still there, sitting at his own desk and returning to his work. Then they stared incredulously at the second Popplewick waiting for them.
"Well, at least you're expecting us," said the Doctor as he and Glitz stepped into the second office and closed the door behind them.
"We all are," said the second Popplewick calmly.
"Your lookalike out there wasn't," said Glitz, his expression being one of utter confusion.
"He is the exception. The very junior Mister Popplewick isn't permitted to expect anyone," explained Mr Popplewick senior as he got up from his desk and balanced his quill between his right ear and the rim of his glasses.
Glitz looked at the Doctor for an explanation. "What's he talking about?"
"I think it's called bureaucracy," sighed the Doctor.
"I prefer to call it order," retorted Mr Popplewick, "and the holy writ of order is procedure. I'm sure you agree."
"Oh, yeah, of course." said Glitz with yet another confused smile.
"For example," continued Popplewick with a wag of his finger, "you wish to see the proprietor. Now, the correct procedure is to make an appointment."
"But we're already expected," pointed out the Doctor with a frown.
"But the junior Mister Popplewick isn't allowed to expect anyone," countered Mr Popplewick senior sharply.
"You knew we were coming. Why didn't you give him the nod?" asked Glitz.
The second Mr Popplewick looked positively outraged at this very suggestion. "And upset the procedure?! The junior Mister Popplewick has his pride too," he exclaimed.
Glitz could not believe what he was hearing. "I don't understand any of this. Here we are, waiting to duck a terminal knuckle sandwich, and all this screeve's going on about is whether we've got an appointment or not!" he said to the Doctor in frustration.
"Is there no way to expedite the procedure?" the Doctor asked Popplewick tactfully.
Popplewick gave an expression like someone who had found that some salt had been put in his tea.
"Expedite?! I am a senior clerk, sir. To me, the procedure is sacrosanct. My work is a celebration of all that is perfect. Why speed perfection?"
"Because your employer wants me dead," said the Doctor simply.
For a moment Mr Popplewick gaped at the Doctor. Then he dejectedly sat back down at his desk and picked up a sheet of paper.
"You seem to have found the one little weakness in our procedure, sir," he sighed, handing the Doctor the parchment in his hand. "Would you sign this?"
"What is it?" asked the Doctor, eying the paper suspiciously.
"A consent form, sir," explained Popplewick. "The corridors in this factory are very long and dark. Should you unexpectedly die, our blessed proprietor, Mister J.J. Chambers, insists he inherits your remaining lives."
"Obviously the Valeyard doesn't trust the High Council to honour their side of the bargain," remarked the Doctor dryly. He began to reach for the quill balanced on Popplewick's ear, but the clerk brushed off the Time Lord's hand and simply handed over another quill pen from his desk. The Doctor accepted the quill with a friendly smile and proceeded to dip the pen in the desk's inkwell in order to write his signature on the parchment.
"Sign that and you're a dead man!" warned Glitz in alarm.
"We're in the Valeyard's domain. He can try and kill me any time he likes," pointed out the Doctor as he signed his name on the form. "I'll sign my remaining lives away to Mister J.J. Chambers."
Glitz could not believe the Doctor's recklessness and he stared wide-eyed as the Time Lord tossed the signed form onto Popplewick's desk.
"Are you sure about this?" Glitz said again, considerably worried that if the Doctor got bumped off, he would be next!
"Absolutely," said the Doctor confidently as he turned to look at Popplewick, who was studying the signature thoroughly. "Now can we see your proprietor?"
Without even looking up, Popplewick gestured to another door in the corner. "The waiting room is through there. You will be summoned as soon as your signature has been verified."
The Doctor began heading for the door and was about to grasp the handle, when Glitz tried to pull him back.
"This is madness!" protested the conman again, not at all keen at the idea of walking into the lion's jaws.
"Not if it precipitates my meeting with the Valeyard!" insisted the Doctor. He pulled the door open, stepped through...
And found himself in the middle of a desolate desert!
"This is a very odd waiting room," remarked the Doctor as he took in his surroundings. All around him were sand dunes of various sizes, with no sign of civilisation or visible horizon whatsoever. Despite the fact that the sky was clear with no clouds at all, there was a definite wind blowing around, making loud whistling noises about the barren landscape.
The Doctor tutted to himself. "Where are the hopelessly out of date magazines? Hmm? Glitz? Glitz?"
But Glitz was not there. As the Doctor whirled around, he realised that the door through which he had just stepped through had vanished. He was quite alone...
Except for a cold and sinister laugh that echoed all around him, just like it had done back in the courtyard. The evil laugh of the Valeyard.
"What have you done with Glitz?" demanded the Doctor, looking up at the sky, trying to ascertain the direction that the evil laugh came from.
"Look to your own predicament, Doctor," came the evil voice again. The Doctor looked down at his feet, in time to see a withered and decaying hand emerge out of the sand and grab his right ankle!
"This is an illusion! I deny it!" declared the Doctor. But no sooner did he say this, than another hand emerged on the other side of him and grabbed his left ankle.
"Not this time," came the Valeyard's voice again as still more undead hands emerged and began grabbing the Doctor, trying to pull him down.
"This isn't happening!" the Doctor stated again as he tried to pull himself free. But as more and more grisly hands came out of the sand and grabbed him, he lost his balance and fell backwards onto the grainy ground, which seemed to be rapidly liquifying into quicksand, pulling him under. The Doctor desperately tried to pull himself free, but the hands around him were now able to get hold of him completely and began pulling him under...
"You are dead, Doctor," laughed the Valeyard's voice. "Goodbye, forever! Bwahahahahahaha!"