TWO

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"Well, that went surprisingly well," the Doctor commented grimly.

Martha stared at him. "Doctor, we're in a dungeon! A boiling hot, dark, humid, dank, smelly, black dungeon!" she cried, exasperated. She rattled her wrists in the chains holding them to the slick wall for emphasis.

"Well yes, I know that," he said dismissively. "Bit of a relief, really - sounded like they were just going to execute us at one point," he added conversationally.

"Why would they do that?" she asked clearly. "In fact, why have we been arrested anyway?" she demanded angrily. "All we did was land and open the door! Then that alien bloke thing just grabbed us both, he didn't even explain!" she protested. "What are we supposed to have done?"

"That's something I'd like to ask someone in charge," he said firmly, then looked down at his feet. He tutted suddenly. "Oh, look at that," he complained, lifting his left foot and shaking it suddenly. "Floccinaucinihilipilificus slime. That's never coming off properly. That's another pair of Chucks ruined."

"Doctor, how do we get out of here?" she asked plainly. He looked up at her, appearing suspiciously comfortable against the opposite, slimy wall. He looked at his wrists, up in the chains, then back at her slowly.

"BeeGees?" he said suddenly.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"The song - if there's nowhere to go, you won't go, if there's nowhere to run, you go slow. The BeeGees?" he hazarded.

"No!" she cried, outraged that he could be thinking about songs while she was tasking herself with trying to find a way out of the shackles.

"The Beatles?" he guessed innocently.

"No!"

"Oh. The Who?" he asked, then screwed up his face and shook his head quickly. "Nah. Doesn't sound like them – oh hold on, I know," he said suddenly. "It's someone like The Darkness, right? Is it The Darkness?" he asked eagerly, grinning.

"Doctor!" she snapped impatiently.

His face fell instantly. "Oh alright," he huffed. "Honestly, you humans are no fun when you're trapped in small dark boil-in-the-shackles dungeons." He sniffed and straightened slightly. "Martha, your foot," he said seriously. She just looked at him. "Come on, your foot!" he urged. "Guess what I've got in my pocket!"

"Doctor, this is hardly the-" she began, on the verge of embarrassment. The penny dropped. "Oh! Right!" she gasped, then leaned back on the wall as far as she could, pressing herself into it and ignoring the wet, slick feel squishing against the back of her neck.

She lifted her foot and reached out, aiming for his suit jacket. Luckily, it was still unbuttoned and falling open, and she quickly thanked any passing major or minor deity for that small miracle.

"I can't reach," she observed, finding the gap between them just a foot too far. He looked at his wrists, then leaned forwards as much as he could. She pushed herself out as far as possible and her foot brushed his shirt, leaving slimy, wet green trails on it. "Oh god - this is just not going to work!"

"That's what you say - come on," he said irritably. She took a deep breath and pushed, and he slid to one side. She found her foot pushing into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. He twisted himself up with a grunt and she watched his sonic screwdriver suddenly dive out of the pocket and onto the wet floor. "There!" he grinned, leaning back against the wall and looking down.

"Great!" she said sarcastically, "Now it's in the green mud slime instead of in your pocket."

"But oh Martha Jones, watch this," he said proudly. "I learnt this from George Best."

"You are joking," she sighed, but then watched as he moved his feet either side of the screwdriver, clamping it between his trainers.

He looked up to check where his wrists were, then shifted round slightly. "Right then, watch and be amazed," he grinned, looking down at his feet. Suddenly he jumped, flicking his feet out sideways. He made a grab for the screwdriver as it flew up into the air.

And then slapped back down into the green slime.

"Oh I am, very amazed," she said with a small smile, despite herself. "George Best would be proud."

"Look, he never had to catch the ball afterwards, did he?" he grumped, and she bit her lip, watching him try again. This time he yanked on the chain and caught the screwdriver precariously balanced in just two of his long fingers. "See?" he grinned, shifting it round into his palm. "Ouch," he said suddenly, pulling his wrist back and hissing.

"Right well, now you've earned yourself a place in the Manchester United first squad, can we go?" she said eagerly. "I have to soak in a big bathtub until I've stopped stinking of this place," she added.

"Take That?" he guessed suddenly.

She stared at him. Hard. He shook his head and looked at the screwdriver, shaking it free of green gunk before flicking it on and getting one wrist free in seconds. He switched it to his other hand and got himself free, stepping away from the wall and wiping the back of his neck, making 'yeuk' sounds and flinging the gathered muck to the floor.

"Doctor?" she asked patiently.

"Right, yes, sorry," he said quickly, still wiping at his neck as he opened her shackles for her. They landed on the ground heavily and he looked around. "Right then. We must be below the magistrate's block," he said thoughtfully. "Seriously, it's not Take That?" he asked curiously.

"No Doctor, it's not Take That. When we're safely back in the TARDIS, and clean, then I'll tell you the answer to the song quiz," she said slowly.

"Oh alright, have it your way," he sighed. "Come on, let's get some answers."

The sound of scraping metal suddenly drowned everything out and they pushed their hands over their ears quickly.

"You!" a voice shouted, and they turned to find three guards, completely clothed in black, staring at them.

"Hello!" the Doctor said cheerfully, stepping in front of Martha innocuously. "Could we have a word with whomever's in charge?"

"How did you get free?" one guard raged, storming in and lifting a hand. Martha grabbed the Doctor's arm, looking round him. He turned to reassure her. The look on her face made him turn back quickly. He hadn't even straightened as the guard struck the taller Gallifreyan smartly about the face.

He crumpled and only Martha stopped him from landing in the slime. As it was she was pushed to her knees.

"Oi!" she shouted angrily. "You're not supposed to harm prisoners!"

"He's not harmed," the guard scoffed.

Martha looked him up and down, noticing that everything about him was covered. Only a tiny black slit in the general eye area made you believe something alive might be in there. As it was, he was five foot five of black triangle, with no discernible feet, but three long arms. One of which was holding some kind of threatening-looking device.

"How do you know that? He's not exactly telling jokes, is he?" she demanded, outraged, trying to heft the unconscious Doctor more upright.

"Bring them," the guard said succinctly, and Martha was grabbed roughly by the arms. The Doctor slipped from her grasp and landed on his side in the slime.

"Doctor! Oi! Get up!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. She struggled against the three hands holding her. "Let go of me!"

The guard holding her simply lifted her off her feet and marched her out of the cell.

The other guard walked over and picked up the unconscious Doctor as if he weighed nothing, slinging him over his shoulder and following his colleague out of the cell and into the corridor.

The last guard simply looked around, checked the manacles against the wall, shook his concealed head, and followed.

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The hall was large and very, very ornate. Martha had to admit she'd never seen so much silver; it decorated everything and anything, shining and singing its value to the aliens present.

She stared round herself, she couldn't help it. Perhaps fifty beings of all different shapes and sizes were hanging about, watching with interest and buzzing with conversation over the sight of a dirty, smelly young Earth female being held upright by the not-so-small hands of a guard.

The other guard walked in after them, still carrying the insensate Doctor over his shoulder easily. Martha heard someone shuffle in and wrenched on the guard's hold on her. She was able to catch a glimpse of the Doctor's legs dangling over the alien guard's shoulder.

She swallowed and looked back round as she heard trumpets and shouting. She recognised it as some kind of song, rather than just blaring. The aliens quickly shushed their twittering and retreated further from the left end of the hall.

Martha looked over, seeing a slightly raised dais and a large, overly-ornate chair. She suddenly had a very bad feeling.

"Her Supreme Majesty, Lady Alafor Belannti, Ruler of the Vast Lands of the North," came a loud voice.

"Oh. My. God," Martha whispered to herself, watching a very tall and very thin female flounce onto the stage and seat herself.

She certainly looked almost human, only the third arm making you look twice. She had long blonde hair, twisted into pretty plaits at each side, tied with flouncy red bows that reminded Martha of a child's doll. Her face was long and narrow, and on second glance, perhaps she was older than she seemed. Her long, impressive dress had a semi hoop in the bottom, and Martha half-expected her to start talking like an extra from a BBC production of 'Casanova'. Instead she simply waved regally and leant back, watching with large, bright green eyes.

"Your Majesty," the guard behind her called. All eyes shifted to him, and by extension, Martha.

"Approach," the woman ordered.

The guard lifted Martha off her feet without apparent effort, walking forward. He stopped a good fifteen feet from the Queen, bowing and depositing Martha on the polished floor delicately.

"Found 'em hescapin', your Majesty," he said helpfully.

"Escaping what?" she drawled, in a very tight yet proper accent.

"Your own dungeons, mi'lady," he said, casting a sour look at Martha. She pulled her top straight and drew herself up resolutely.

"Really? Whatever were they doing in there?" the woman asked, bored.

"They'd parked on your beach, mi'lady," he said apologetically.

"Parked? On my beach? Oh my, my, my!" she said suddenly, sitting up and setting a harsh glare on Martha. "You, girl, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Pardon me, your Majesty," she said politely, trying to courtsy with no skirt, "but we didn't know it was your beach. The TARDIS just dropped us there, and, well, we-"

"The what?" she interrupted, staring wildly.

"The TARDIS, your Majesty," Martha said nervously.

"Then who are you, child?" she demanded tersely, putting a hand to the open neckline of her dress and leaning forward urgently. "Who are you? Quickly, quickly! Speak!"

"I'm Martha, your Majesty," she said helpfully. "Martha Jones. Not from round here," she added quietly.

"Oh!" the Queen said suddenly, leaning back in the throne and not caring that her relief was palpable. "I thought perhaps you were someone else." She looked away slowly, then looked over at Martha again quickly. "Did you come here by yourself, Jones?"

"No, I came with him, your Majesty," she said, chucking a thumb over her shoulder.

The Queen shot upright again, leaning to see. "You there!" she shouted to the guard currently standing with the Doctor casually hefted over his shoulder. "Bring that man to me!"

The guard lumbered forward and deposited the Doctor on the floor carelessly. Martha turned and pushed past her guard, avoiding his slow attempt at a grab on her arm. She dropped to her knees next to the Doctor, rolling him over onto his back and lifting his head from the cold floor.

"Doctor?" she said quickly, loosening his tie quickly and then rolling his head round to open an eyelid. "Doctor?"

"Did you called him 'Doctor'?" the Queen shouted suddenly.

Martha looked over at her. "Yes, your Majesty, and your ape there smacked him out cold!" she bit out.

The Queen took a deep breath, leant back, and opened her mouth.

"GUARDS!" she screamed.

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