AN: A quick word on time. According to the show, S3 takes place in 2007. (There's the implicit reference of Martha not having read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and the explicit reference in "Human Nature.) But according to people with calendars who can actually count, it has to be 2008. Simply put, at some point between "Aliens in London" and the end of S2, they forgot that in the show's internal timeline, they skipped a full year. I'm fixing that.
Chapter 10: Enter Three Witches
Rose grinned at Martha, then grunted when the TARDIS' bumpy flight nearly knocked her to the grating. She frowned at the console and adjusted the temporal telemetry, and their flight smoothed out.
"Thanks," the Doctor said absently as he turned the control on the wormhole refractors.
Martha straightened warily, then smiled when she was able to stay standing without holding onto the console. Rose felt her watching as she and the Doctor flew the TARDIS.
"But how do you travel in time?" she asked. "What makes it go?"
The Doctor sighed. "Oh, let's take the fun and mystery out of everything. Martha, you don't want to know. It just does. Hold on tight."
Rose looked up in time to see Martha make a face at the Doctor's back as he started the landing sequence, and she bit back a laugh before bracing herself for the landing. Martha, who'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the smoother flight, tumbled to the floor.
"Blimey," she said as she dusted herself off. "I think I prefer your wife's flying to yours, Doctor."
Rose laughed out loud at the Doctor's outraged, "Oi!"
"No laughing at the designated driver," he said, pointing at them. He pulled his coat on and ran towards the door. "Now are you going to stand here mocking me all day, or are you coming?"
Martha shook her head and picked up her coat, looking at the Doctor as she shoved her arms into the sleeves.
The Doctor reached for the handle and looked at them expectantly. "Outside this door—brave new world."
"Where are we?" Martha asked, sounding half excited, half scared.
The Doctor pushed the door open and leaned back against the railing. "Take a look."
Rose put a hand on her back. "Go on, Martha."
Martha moved hesitantly down the ramp and out the door, then froze when she saw their surroundings. Rose slid outside behind her, and even she was impressed. It was Elizabethan England, just like she'd picked up from the coordinates, but it was one thing to know intellectually where they were going, and another to see the Tudor buildings with their overhanging eaves and children running around in period—no, it wasn't period dress, it was contemporary clothing. Contemporary to the turn of the 17th century.
"Oh, you are kidding me," Martha breathed. "You are so kidding me. Oh, my God, we did it. We travelled in time. Where are we?" She held her hand up before the Doctor could correct her. "No, sorry. Gotta get used to this, whole new language. When are we?"
Rose heard a creak above their heads and looked up to see a man leaning out of his window with a bucket in hand. Her mind clicked through everything she knew about the period, and she stepped around to the side of the TARDIS while the Doctor grabbed Martha's arm and pulled her back against the doors.
"Mind out," he said.
The contents of a slop bucket dropped right where they'd been standing. "Gardez l'eau!" the man said, a bit late.
"Somewhere before the invention of the toilet," the Doctor said in answer to Martha's question. Rose came back to his side now that it was safe and took his hand. "Sorry about that."
Martha shook her head. "I've seen worse. I've worked the late night shift A&E." Rose and the Doctor started to walk down the street, but Martha stopped them with a hurried question. "But are we safe? I mean, can we move around and stuff?"
Rose wrinkled her brow. "Well yeah, why couldn't we?"
"It's like in the films." She looked at them apprehensively. "You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race."
Martha was so earnest and new to time travel, and Rose tried to remember what she'd been like on her first few trips. She'd figured out ages ago that the Doctor liked to travel with humans because they made things new for him. She hadn't expected to feel the same.
But right now, the Doctor's weariness over having everything compared to films and books made Rose giggle. Martha looked at her, confused, and she pointed to the Doctor.
"Tell you what then, don't step on any butterflies," he suggested. He looked her up and down through narrowed eyes. "What have butterflies ever done to you?"
They started walking down the street, but Martha still wasn't done asking questions. "What if, I don't know, what if I kill my grandfather?"
The Doctor turned and walked backwards. "Are you planning to?"
"No."
He turned back around and they continued walking. "Well, then."
"And this is London?"
"I think so." The Doctor looked around at the buildings and caught a scent of the era. "Round about… oh, 1599."
"Oh, but hold on," Martha said, and he wondered what objection she'd thought up now. "Am I all right? I'm not going to get carted off as a slave, am I?"
That question completely threw him. "Why would they do that?"
Martha tilted her head down and narrowed her eyes. "Not exactly white, in case you haven't noticed," she said, pointing at her face.
"I'm not even human. Just walk about like you own the place. Works for me." Rose huffed out a breath, and the Doctor looked down at her. "What?"
"It works for you because you're a white male," she said patiently, and the two women shared a commiserating look.
He tugged on his ear, thoroughly baffled now. "What?"
"It's just different for us, that's all," Rose said.
The Doctor's gaze shifted from Rose's patient smile to Martha's crossed arms and tapping toes, and he finally understood Martha's question. "Oh. OH! I forgot that history books in your time still spread that ridiculous nonsense about medieval and Renaissance Europe being an all-white society." He grinned sheepishly. "Honestly, Martha, there were plenty of free black people in Elizabethan England. At the worst, you might encounter the same unfortunate attitudes that still persist in your time—which is certainly unpleasant," he added hurriedly, "but they won't assume you should be a slave."
Rose nodded, then smiled at Martha. "So you see, no matter where you go in time, people aren't that different from what we're used to."
"That's right," the Doctor said, eager to move the conversation forward. "Elizabethan England, not so different from your time. Look over there." He pointed to a man behind them, shovelling horse manure into a bucket. "They've got recycling." Up ahead, two men were talking beside a water bucket. "Water cooler moment."
Up ahead, a street preacher tried to catch their attention with emphatic gestures. "And the world will be consumed by flame," he exhorted.
"Really, seriously, some things never change," Rose drawled, drawing a laugh from Martha and the Doctor.
"Oh, yes, and entertainment." The Doctor spun around, getting his bearings. "Popular entertainment for the masses. If I'm right, we're just down the river by Southwark, right next to…"
He grabbed Rose's hand and ran down the street, hearing Martha's footsteps behind them. Just beyond Southwark Cathedral, he turned a corner and there it was.
"Oh, yes!" The Doctor stared in delight at the gleaming white building. "The Globe Theatre! Brand new, just opened. Though, strictly speaking, it's not a globe, it's a tetradecagon. Fourteen sides. Containing… the man himself." He rocked back and forth, grinning at Martha.
"Whoa, you don't mean—" Martha looked at the theatre, then back at him. "Is Shakespeare in there?"
Rose laughed. "Sometimes I think half the reason the Doctor travels is to meet all his heroes." She bumped her shoulder against the Doctor's, considering what her first Doctor had taught her about Shakespeare in his crash course in English literature. "Too bad you can't get an autographed first edition like you did when we met Dickens," she said. "Considering the First Folio wasn't published until after he died, no one would believe you."
The Doctor heaved a fake aggrieved sigh. "Do you want to stand here teasing me all night, or do you want to go to the theatre?"
Rose pursed her lips and tapped her chin. "It's a tough choice, but…" She squeezed his hand. "I'll go anywhere with you."
The Doctor wondered how long it would be before statements like that from Rose wouldn't make his breath hitch. Catching his thoughts, Rose's eyes softened, and he had to force himself to look over at their friend.
"And you, Martha? Interested in taking in a little culture?"
Martha clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes glowing with excitement. "Oh, yes," she said, and they started walking again.
"When you get home, you can tell everyone you've seen Shakespeare," the Doctor suggested.
Martha snorted quietly. "Then I could get sectioned."
"Martha Jones, I like you," Rose declared through her laughter.
The Doctor sighed and led them to the gate, where he paid the three pennies required for them to sit in the pit.
You don't have modern currency, but you carry Elizabethan coinage in your pocket? Rose asked.
The contents of my pockets are often a surprise, even to me.
They weaved their way around people, and the smell of unwashed bodies wafted up to their noses. The play had already begun when they found a spot relatively close to the stage, and the three time travellers watched in rapt amazement as the King of Navarre and his court attempted to avoid all romantic entanglements.
I could have told him that wouldn't work, the Doctor told Rose.
She shook her head and chuckled. You could now, but admit it, Doctor. Two years ago you were just as determined—and not even so you could dedicate yourself to studying.
Yes, and that's exactly why I could have told him it wouldn't work.
The Doctor found the conclusion of the play just as oddly abrupt as he had every other time he'd seen it, but the audience burst into applause as soon as the final words were spoken. He looked down at Martha, whose eyes were wide with amazement.
"That's amazing! Just amazing." She waved her hand under her nose. "It's worth putting up with the smell. And those are men dressed as women, yeah?" she asked, looking at the actors costumed in women's finery.
The Doctor nodded. "London never changes."
"Where's Shakespeare? I wanna see Shakespeare." Martha craned her neck to see around the people in front of her, then raised her hand and started shouting, "Author! Author!"
The Doctor's eyes widened, and she looked up at him. "Do people shout that? Do they shout, 'author?'"
"Author! Author!" Rose took up the cry next, and the crowd joined in.
The Doctor glanced around the crowded theatre, filled with people calling for Shakespeare to come out. "Well, they do now."
Their cries were answered when a man of medium build leapt through the stage doors, entertaining the audience with a high kick. He waved at the cheering crowd, blowing kisses at his adoring public.
"He's a bit different from his portraits," Martha noted.
"Yeah, not quite as bald," Rose agreed.
The Doctor could hardly contain his excitement. He'd just seen a play at the Globe Theatre, and now he was going to hear Shakespeare speak. "Genius. He's a genius. The genius. The most human human there's ever been. Now we're going to hear him speak. Always he chooses the best words. New, beautiful, brilliant words."
"Ah, shut your big fat mouths!" Shakespeare said.
The crowd laughed, but the Doctor's shoulders slumped. "Oh, well."
Martha leaned in. "You should never meet your heroes."
Rose patted his arm in consolation. At least Charlie lived up to your great expectations of him.
He cracked a grin. Excellent punning, Rose.
She shot him her trademark smile. Guess you're rubbing off on me.
On stage, Shakespeare was still talking. "You've got excellent taste, I'll give you that." He pointed at one of the groundlings. "Oh, that's a wig."
The people laughed again, and the Doctor remembered what he had forgotten: Elizabethan humour was typically bawdy and rude.
"I know what you're all saying," Shakespeare said. "Love's Labour's Lost, that's a funny ending, isn't it? It just stops." He held up his hand and clenched a fist. "Will the boys get the girls? Well, don't get your hose in a tangle, you'll find out soon." As one, the audience begged for the sequel, and Shakespeare shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. All in good time. You don't rush a genius." He bowed with a flourish.
The Doctor rocked back on his heels; Love's Labour's Won was one of the greatest literary mysteries of the ages.
Shakespeare's body suddenly jerked upright. "When?" he said, sounding dazed. "Tomorrow night. The premiere of my brand new play. A sequel, no less, and I call it Love's Labour's Won."
Rose looked up at the Doctor. Did you see…
He nodded. Something's not right, but we promised Martha just a quick trip to say thank you.
Ask if she'd be okay with staying a bit longer.
Martha actually brought it up herself on their way out of the theatre. "I'm not an expert, but I've never heard of Love's Labour's Won."
The Doctor blew out a breath. "Exactly. The lost play. It doesn't exist—only in rumours. It's mentioned in lists of his plays but never ever turns up. And no one knows why."
"Have you got a mini-disc or something?" Martha asked. "We can tape it. We can flog it. Sell it when we get home and make a mint."
"No," the Doctor and Rose said in unison, visions of clicky-forehead Adam coming to mind.
To her credit, Martha caught on immediately. "That would be bad."
The Doctor nodded a few times, a disapproving frown still on his face. "Yeah, yeah."
"Well, how come it disappeared in the first place?" Martha said, asking the question of the hour.
Rose and the Doctor exchanged a glance, which didn't go unnoticed by Martha. "What? Do you know something?"
"We don't actually," Rose told her.
"We were just going to give you a quick little trip in the TARDIS," the Doctor said, "but if you're game, Miss Jones, I think this warrants a bit of investigation."
Martha's bright smile was all the answer they needed. After asking around a little, the Doctor found out where Shakespeare lived and they set off.
"Will there be space rhinos this time?" Martha asked as they walked through London.
"Nope. No, the Judoon don't have jurisdiction on Earth, so we won't see them."
Martha nodded. "Oh right, that's why they took us to the moon. But do you think it's alien?"
"It might be nothing more than the play not being well-received and Shakespeare throwing away every copy," Rose said, though she highly doubted that was the case.
"Here we are!" the Doctor said when they reached The Elephant. The stable was on the ground storey, so they climbed the outside stairs up to the front door, then filed into the inn. "We're looking for Shakespeare," he said.
The disinterested barmaid pointed to the stairs. "Top of the stairs, all the way down," she said.
Rose watched in amusement as the Doctor took the stairs two at a time, his coat flapping behind him.
"Is he always like this?" Martha asked.
"Enthusiastic and talking a mile a minute?" Rose said. "Most of the time."
They reached the upper storey in time to see the Doctor skid to a halt at the end of the hallway. "Hello!" He knocked on the door twice, then entered the room. "Excuse me, not interrupting, am I? Mr. Shakespeare, isn't it?"
Peeking around the Doctor, Rose saw Shakespeare put his hand to his forehead. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Who let you in? No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me. And please don't ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove—"
Rose raised an eyebrow when his eyes widened appreciatively as his gaze landed on her and Martha. "Hey, nonny nonny. Sit right down here next to me," he said, gesturing to the chairs on either side of him.
The Doctor took Rose's hand, a move she didn't think went unnoticed by Shakespeare.
The playwright looked at the other men sitting at the table and waved them off. "You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go."
"Come on, lads," the innkeeper said, patting them on the back. "I think our William's found a new muse—or maybe two."
"Sweet lady," Shakespeare said, addressing Martha alone this time. They sat down across the table from him, and he kept his attention focused on her. "Such unusual clothes. So… fitted."
He leered at her, and Martha laughed nervously. "Er, verily, forsooth, egads."
"No, no, don't do that," the Doctor said, reminding Rose of a time when she'd attempted a Scottish brogue. "Don't."
He held out the psychic paper to Shakespeare. "I'm Sir Doctor of TARDIS and this is my wife, Dame Rose of the Powell Estate. Miss Martha Jones here is our companion."
"Interesting, that bit of paper." Shakespeare tapped his finger against it. "It's blank."
The Doctor gaped at Shakespeare like a giddy schoolboy meeting his idol. "Oh, that's… very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius."
Shakespeare rolled his eyes at that, apparently having heard the compliment one too many times to be flattered.
Martha pointed to the paper. "No, it says so right there. Sir Doctor, Dame Rose, Martha Jones. It says so."
Shakespeare looked at her. "And I say it's blank."
"Psychic paper, Martha," Rose interjected. "Basically, it says what we want it to say… unless the person looking at it is too brilliant to be fooled."
"Psychic?" Shakespeare repeated, tilting his head back as he considered the word. "Never heard that before, and words are my trade. Who are you exactly?" He looked back at Martha and leaned his chin on his fist. "More to the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady?"
Martha's jaw dropped. "What did you say?"
Shakespeare winced. "Oops. Isn't that a word we use nowadays?" He looked at the Doctor and Rose, then back at Martha. "An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric?"
Martha looked over at the Doctor and Rose, shocked amusement on her face. "I can't believe I'm hearing this."
The Doctor rubbed at his eye, searching for a way to explain Shakespeare to Martha, and vice-versa. "It's political correctness gone mad," he told her, then turned to the playwright. "Er, Martha's from a far-off land. Freedonia."
"Excuse me!" The Doctor turned around and saw a well-dressed man wearing the gold chain that identified him as the Master of the Revels. "Hold hard a moment. This is abominable behaviour," he said, stepping forward with his eyes fixed on Shakespeare. "A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mr. Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed.
The lines around Shakespeare's mouth tightened, and the Doctor had a feeling this wasn't the first time he'd butted heads with the Master of the Revels. "Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'll send it round."
"I don't work to your schedule," the man said, his voice deceptively soft. "You work to mine. The script, now!"
"I can't!"
The man drew himself up in malicious triumph. "Then tomorrow's performance is cancelled."
"It's all go around here, isn't it?" Martha muttered as the man strode to the door, and Shakespeare smirked in reply.
"I'm returning to my office for a banning order." He stopped at the door and looked back at Shakespeare once more. "If it's the last thing I do, Love's Labour's Won will never be played."
The mistress of the house entered the room with three more tankards of ale moments after he swept out of the room. "Was that Lynley I saw leaving, Will?" she asked as she set the drinks down in front of the Doctor, Martha, and Rose.
"It was, Dolly. He's all indignation because I didn't tell him I was going to stage my new play tomorrow."
Dolly put her tray under her arm and looked at Will reproachfully. "You know better than to announce a new play before it's been cleared by the Master of the Revels, Will," she chided.
Shakespeare shrugged, an impish grin on his face, and Dolly sighed and left the room.
"Well then, mystery solved," Martha said. "That's Love's Labour's Won over and done with. Thought it might be something more, you know, more mysterious."
A man screamed in the street, and Rose gratefully put down her ale and ran out of the inn with everyone else—Elizabethan ale wasn't quite what she was used to."Lesson one of travelling with us, Martha," she panted. "Saying things like that guarantees that things will suddenly get worse."
Lynley was staggering around the courtyard, his hands on his neck and water spewing out of his mouth. "It's that Lynley bloke," Martha said.
"What's wrong with him?" the Doctor asked. Lynley took another step towards them, more water pouring out of his mouth. Rose, watch the people, the Doctor told her. See if anyone's acting unusually. I don't think this was an accident.
"Leave it to me. I'm a doctor." He strode over to the man and took him by the arm, holding him up.
Martha followed the Doctor and took Lynley's other arm. "So am I, near enough."
Lynley groaned loudly and collapsed onto the straw. Martha put her head to his chest, then muttered, "Got to get the heart going."
Leaving attempts to revive Lynley to Martha, the Doctor jumped up and jogged over to the street the Master of the Revels had entered the courtyard from, looking for an assailant still lurking in the shadows. There wasn't anyone there, which meant whatever had done this might be in the courtyard still.
He ran back to the dead man and put his hand on Martha's shoulder before she could bend over to do CPR. Water gurgled up from Lynley's mouth, and she gasped. "What the hell is that?"
"I've never seen a death like it," the Doctor said, taking in his vitals. "His lungs are full of water. He drowned and then, I don't know, like a blow to the heart, an invisible blow."
He stood up and spotted Dolly, standing right behind him. "Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural, if unfortunate, demise. Call a constable and have him taken away."
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"I'll do it, ma'am," a serving girl replied, then turned and walked swiftly away.
She was acting funny the whole time, Doctor.
The Doctor narrowed his eyes and looked at the girl more closely.
"And why are you telling them that?" Martha demanded quietly.
The Doctor sighed. "This lot still have got one foot in the Dark Ages. If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft."
She nodded quickly. "Okay, what was it then?"
He thought of the girl Rose had pointed out and the odd sequence of events leading to Lynley's death. "Witchcraft."
oOoOoOoOo
Will invited them back up to his room, and they all filed soberly back upstairs.
"I got you and your wife a room, Sir Doctor," Dolly told them. "You're just across the landing from Will here, and Miss Jones is in the room next to you."
Will slouched against the table. "Poor Lynley. So many strange events." He looked sharply at Martha. "Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?"
"Where a woman can do what she likes," Martha retorted.
Something in Shakespeare's eyes told the Doctor he was seeing through their disguise. The playwright blinked, then looked at the Doctor. "And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?"
"I do a lot of reading," the Doctor said, his tone saying the conversation was over.
Will nodded. "A trite reply, yeah. That's what I'd do." He looked at Rose, then back at the Doctor. "Your wife knows you well, but she's the only one."
"That's what it means to be married, right?" Rose said, trying to redirect the conversation.
Will just raised an eyebrow and looked at Martha. "And you? You look at them like you're surprised they exist. They're as much of a puzzle to you as they are to me."
Martha exchanged looks with the Doctor and Rose. "I think we should say goodnight." Rose nodded and followed her out of the room, leaving the Doctor alone with Shakespeare for a few minutes.
Will looked away from the Doctor. "I must work. I have a play to complete."
The Doctor walked to the door slowly, feeling both uncomfortably exposed and disturbed by the unexplained death they'd just witnessed.
Will stood up and walked over to the desk in front of the window. "But I'll get my answers tomorrow, Doctor, and I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours."
The Doctor hesitated by the door, but he couldn't resist. "All the world's a stage," he said, unsure if Will had started writing As You Like It or not.
"Hmm." Will sat back in his chair and gave the Doctor a look that said he hadn't evaded the playwright's questions entirely. "I might use that. Goodnight, Doctor."
The Doctor was unused to the feeling of being dismissed, and he discovered he didn't much care for it. "Nighty night, Shakespeare," he muttered, trying not to scowl.
oOoOoOoOo
"You didn't have to come with me," Martha told Rose as they left Shakespeare's room.
"Actually, I was thinking we should probably all talk before we turn in, so I was going to ask you to come into our room for a minute."
She opened the door and let Martha go in first. The room was sparsely decorated, but the bed against the opposite wall was big enough for them both to sit on. Rose sat down cross-legged in front of the large red velvet pillows and patted the bed, inviting Martha to do the same.
"I reckon Shakespeare was onto something, wasn't he?" Rose asked, trying to draw Martha's attention away from Shakespeare's insightful questions.
Martha looked down at the bedspread, and Rose took a deep breath. Deflecting wasn't going to work, apparently.
"Okay then, are there any questions you want to ask? I guarantee you'll get more answers from me than you will from the Doctor."
Martha snorted. "Yeah, I'd already worked that bit out."
She leaned back on her arms and looked up at the ceiling. Rose waited patiently for her to sort out which questions she wanted to ask first, and a moment later, Martha looked back at her.
"Well, start at the beginning, I guess. How long have you travelled with the Doctor?"
The Doctor entered their borrowed bedchamber and leaned against the wall. "Three years, one month, two weeks, and three days," he said.
Martha looked from him back to Rose. "Right. And you've been together all that time?"
He shook his head and pushed off the wall, tugging at his tie as he crossed the room. "No, that only started one year and four days ago."
Rose reached up and linked her hand through his. "And we got married six months and two weeks ago," she said, answering the question before Martha could ask.
Martha blinked. "I guess you'll never forget your anniversary."
The Doctor and Rose laughed. "Now there's a benefit to time senses that I hadn't considered, Doctor," Rose teased.
"I take it we're going to talk about what's going on?" the Doctor asked. Rose nodded, and he looked at the two of them, taking up the entire bed. "Where am I supposed to sit?"
Rose pointed to a bench against the window, and he dragged it over. "All right, where shall we begin?" he asked.
"Well, magic and stuff," Martha said. "That's a surprise. It's all a little bit Harry Potter."
The Doctor leaned back and smiled. "Oh, I loved book seven."
"He cried," Rose whispered to Martha.
"Oh, I wasn't the only one, Rose Tyler." The Doctor pointed at her. "'Here lies Dobby, a free elf.' Need I remind you?"
"But is it real, though?" Martha asked eagerly. "I mean, witches, black magic and all that… It's real?"
The Doctor made a face. "Course it isn't!" Rose glared at him, and he looked at Martha. "Oh. That was rude, wasn't it?"
"A bit, yeah," Martha said. "I've only just started believing in time travel—give me a break."
"Right. Sorry. It's just been a long time since I've travelled with someone new."
Rose mentally cheered for Martha. She missed having a friend around, but if you travelled with the Doctor, you couldn't be so awed by who he was that it kept you from standing up for yourself.
The Doctor jumped up and started pacing the room, running his hand through his hair as he did so. "Looks like witchcraft, but it isn't. Can't be. There's such a thing as psychic energy, but a human couldn't channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we'd have spotted that. No, there's something I'm missing."
Rose caught Martha trying to hide a yawn. "Well for one, you're missing that Martha's probably been up for almost 24 hours."
"Oh, humans and your need for sleep," the Doctor grumbled.
"Go to bed, Martha. We'll give you a shout in the morning."
Martha looked from the Doctor to Rose, eyes tired, but clearly unwilling to miss anything. "Are you sure? If I could help…"
"No, go on," Rose told her. "The Doctor will pace a bit and talk to himself; you won't miss much."
"Thanks." Martha stood up and grimaced. "I wish I had some kind of toiletries with me."
"Oh!" The Doctor reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a toothbrush. "Contains Venusian spearmint."
"Right. Good night then." Martha took the proffered toothbrush and left the room.
"What am I missing, Rose?" the Doctor asked once Martha was gone. "There's something there, something right in front of me."
Rose shifted on the bed until she was sitting with her back against the tapestry on the wall and her feet out in front of her. She patted the empty space next to her and said, "Sit with me, and we'll work through it together."
He hung his jacket up next to his coat, then sat down next to her. "All right then, Miss Tyler," he said as he unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves. "What have you come up with?"
"Well, first of all, it seems like this is definitely about Shakespeare. That moment in the theatre when he suddenly announced the play's performance, and then Lynley dying—the one person who could prevent it from happening."
The Doctor nodded. "Put together with the mystery of the lost play, and that's compelling evidence. But who would care so much about a play? And who could kill a man without touching him?"
Rose ran her tongue over her teeth. "Doctor, you said humans couldn't channel psychic energy. Are there other species that could?" She remembered the young woman who'd acted so strangely. "Species that look like humanoid females?"
The Doctor stared at Rose for so long that she almost felt self-conscious. "What?" she asked.
"Nothing. It's just… you are absolutely brilliant, Rose. Completely and utterly brilliant." He pressed a kiss to her lips. "The most obvious answer, and I completely missed it. I said so, didn't I?"
"Good thing I'm around to point out the obvious answers to you," Rose teased.
The Doctor shook his head at his bond mate. "That is only one of the many reasons I'm glad you're around."
Rose scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder. A moment later, he felt their bond deepen from the constant connection to full telepathic communion.
Yes, he agreed as he welcomed her mental touch. This is another reason. But even if you weren't telepathic, even if we couldn't share this, I would still want you here with me, in whatever way was possible.
Timelines blurred, and for a moment, they could see a version of this trip without her. An awkward conversation with Martha and a Doctor who needed Rose's complementary strengths—the image came and went quickly, but it left them feeling just as grateful as they always did when they were reminded of how close they'd come to losing each other.
Rose yawned, and the Doctor slid down onto the bed, pulling her along with him. "Come on. You still need some sleep."
She rolled over and blew out the candle, then curled up into his side.
The Doctor lay awake after Rose fell asleep, thinking about the ideas she'd given him. There were other species who could harness psychic energy in a way that would look like witchcraft. The problem was, there were too many of them for that to narrow it down much. The fact that Rose had seen a young woman helped a little, especially since he knew she wasn't wearing a shimmer.
But still… there's one last thing, one piece I don't have yet.
A scream pierced the air, interrupting his thoughts. Rose woke up instantly and they ran from the room, joining Martha in the hallway as they all went to Shakespeare's room.
Dolly lay on the floor, and the Doctor bent down to check her pulse, sad but not surprised when he didn't find one.
At his desk, Will was looking around groggily. Rose looked down at him worriedly, and he asked, "What? What was that?"
"Her heart gave out," the Doctor said. "She died of fright." Will looked shocked, and Rose went over to stand by him.
"Doctor?" Martha said from the window.
There wasn't anything out of the ordinary when he joined her. "What did you see?"
She blinked twice. "A witch."
oOoOoOoOo
It took hours to deal with the aftermath surrounding Dolly's death. Rousing the constable in the middle of the night was harder than it should have been, and even then he had a few more questions than any of them felt comfortable answering, given that this was the second death on the premises that night.
It was almost dawn when everything was cleared away, and Rose, the Doctor, and Martha were sitting across Will's desk. The light coming in the window brightened, and a cockerel crowed. (The Doctor thought that was pretty cliche, since cockerels crow whenever they feel like it.)
Will paced in front of the window. "Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey. She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place when we all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit." He sat down and stared right through them, his shock putting him in a daze.
The Doctor rubbed his hands over his face. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Will pointed at him. "I might use that."
"You can't. It's someone else's."
"Do not go gentle into that good night," Rose murmured, and he felt grief for the woman's needless death in her compassionate heart.
"But the thing is," Martha said, "Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you."
Will leaned away from her. "You're accusing me?"
"No," she assured him, "but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches."
"I have?" Will asked. "When was that?"
The Doctor shook his head minutely at Martha. Shakespeare was brilliant, and she'd mentioned enough anachronisms to rouse his curiosity. "Not, not quite yet," he said out of the side of his mouth, hoping the playwright wouldn't hear.
Will seemed to let it slide. "Peter Streete spoke of witches."
"Who's Peter Streete?" Rose asked.
"Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe."
"The architect," the Doctor said, and his mind latched onto the idea. "Hold on. The architect! The architect!" He slapped his palm down on the desk, then jumped to his feet. "The Globe! Come on!"
He ran out of the room and down the stairs, trusting the others to follow him. A hand slipped into his as he burst into the courtyard, and he looked over at Rose. "I'm so close," he told her as they turned a corner. "I was thinking earlier that I'm just missing one piece, and I think the last clue has something to do with the theatre."
When they reached the theatre, Will unlocked the door and let them in. "The actors should be here soon to begin rehearsing for tonight," he told them.
The Doctor stood in the pit, slowly turning around to take in the design of the theatre. "The columns there, right?" He shook his head; the columns weren't what mattered. "Fourteen sides." He faced the stage where Will was standing, holding the play manuscript. "I've always wondered, but I never asked. Tell me, Will. Why fourteen sides?"
"It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all," Will said, gesturing vaguely with the sheaf of paper in his hands. "Said it carried the sound well."
"Fourteen." He spun again, trying to put his finger on the missing detail. "Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen."
"There are fourteen lines in a sonnet," Martha offered.
The Doctor nodded, impressed by her logic. "So there is. Good point. Words and shapes following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets." He tugged on his hair. "Oh, my head. Tetradecagon. Think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!"
"And humanoid females who can channel psychic energy," Rose reminded him.
Will looked at them, baffled. "This is just a theatre."
The Doctor spun back around to look at him. "Oh yeah, but a theatre's magic, isn't it? You should know. Stand on this stage," the Doctor said, leaning against it, "say the right words with the right emphasis at the right time. Oh, you can make men weep, or cry with joy. Change them. You can change people's minds just with words in this place."
The power of words—the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite grasp it. "But if you exaggerate that," he said quietly, letting the sentence hang unfinished while he tried to wrangle his thoughts.
"It's like your police box," Martha suggested. "Small wooden box with all that power inside."
The Doctor nodded in approval. "Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, I like you." Switching his attention to Will, he said, "Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would know. Can I talk to him?"
Will shook his head. "You won't get an answer. A month after finishing this place," he said, gesturing to the open roof, "he lost his mind."
Martha looked over at him. "Why?"
"What happened?" asked Rose.
He shrugged. "Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."
Witches again. Now the Doctor was certain he needed to talk to the architect. "Where is he now?"
"Bedlam."
"What's Bedlam?" Martha asked, unfamiliar with the history of the oldest mental institution in the world.
"Bethlem Hospital," Will explained. "The madhouse."
The Doctor turned and headed for the door, his long strides moving quickly. "We're going to go there. Right now. Come on."
"Wait! I'm coming with you," Will insisted. "I want to witness this at first hand."
Two men entered the pit as the Doctor was leaving, and Will called out to them. "Ralph, the last scene as promised. Copy it, hand it round, learn it, speak it."
Out on the street, Rose caught up with the Doctor and jogged beside him. He slowed his pace so she could keep up more easily, and she turned and walked backwards a few steps, watching him as they talked.
"So… fourteen, and witches. Getting any ideas?"
"I think so, and unless I'm wrong, we need to see Peter Street to learn where they are. The fact that he claimed to see witches too certainly implies that the same creatures who killed Lynley and Dolly had a hand in designing the theatre. But why?"
Behind them, Will walked alongside Martha. "So, tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors."
He's chatting her up, Rose said, amused.
"This country's ruled by a woman," Martha pointed out.
"Ah, she's royal. That's God's business. Though you are a royal beauty."
Oh, my god. What a line.
The Doctor reached for her hand and tugged her closer. Rose's amusement shifted, now directed at him. Your line was better.
He shot her a sidelong glance. I didn't use a line.
"Did I mention, it also travels in time?" Rose quoted, drawing a reluctant smile from the Doctor.
Martha and Will were still standing in the street, and the Doctor walked back to prod them along. "Come on. We can all have a good flirt later."
Will looked the Doctor up and down. "Is that a promise, Doctor?"
Rose's amusement finally broke out into giggles, and the Doctor looked at them all, nearly speechless. "Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air. Now move!"