Chapter Fifteen
The TARDIS was a time-machine no more. It now stood, doors wide open, sickly green light flaring from within. The Master was hunched at a table, a console of sorts on the table in front of him. He was twiddling a screwdriver (not sonic) and securing the frame of it in place. When he was done, he flicked a switch and it crackled into life. The cloister bell boomed once in the TARDIS, though he showed no reaction, accepting it as normal. The crackling intensified, green electricity sliding along the wires that connected the console with the TARDIS itself. A shuffling by the door set in the wall behind him drew his attention. He turned in his chair and raised his eyebrows impatiently. Two Orcs, dressed in hunting gear nervously entered.
"Is it done, my lord?" asked the one who had a chunk of nose missing. The Master nodded.
"Aye, it's done. The TARDIS is now a matter converter," he replied getting to his feet and crossing the room. He reached a large object obscured by the dirty cloth covering it and yanked it away. Revealed beneath was an object somewhat reminiscent of a washing machine, not that any inhabitant of Middle Earth would recognise it. It was cobbled together with dented iron, scavenged from the grounds of Isengard, mixed together with more technological materials stripped from an unwilling TARDIS, creating a rather disturbing hybrid. It too was connected to the TARDIS from one end, the other leading to the console the Master had erected.
"How does it work again, Master?" queried the other Orc, his back misshapen and hunched. The Master sighed, though there was an air of patience in it.
"You guys really are thick aren't you? I'd rather work with Telekhines… Right, you put something in this drum here," he said indicating the washing machine. "Then I flick a few switches, the TARDIS powers up and changes it into something else. It's a matter converter. Oh you wouldn't understand. Now then, in order to get the thing I need, I have to use organic matter. We have some of that in a great big pile downstairs…" His gaze became more insistent and luckily the first Orc was slightly smarter than his accomplice and took the hint.
"Right away my lord," he said, and they left with work to do.
Darkness had fallen by the time they were ready, a long line of Orcs, Uruks and Goblins, stretching from the room that housed the TARDIS all the way down the tower of Orthanc right out and into the grounds. Each member of the line clutched a bucket of ashes that had once been the Ents of Fangorn Forest. At the head of the line was the Orc that had enquired about the Masters progress. He clutched a gnarled bucket full to the brim with ashes. At a nod from the Master he chucked its contents into the washing machine like contraption and the Master started it up. He twirled knobs, flicked switches and pulled levers, keeping the machine steady. The line proceeded forward at a steady rate, each member throwing their load of ashes into the machine. The connection to the TARDIS sparked as the time machine gave one last weak noise of distress and then it was running smoothly. A whirring noise started up and then with a bang, green light exploded from the TARDIS. The Master paused from his work to watch his plan unfold. From out of the smoky green light strode Uruk-hai after Uruk-hai, fully armoured and armed to the teeth. They poured from the matter converter and streamed downstairs, past the line of waiting Orcs. As the ash bearing line got shorter the line of fresh Uruk-hai grew larger. Even after half an hour, when the ashes had all been thrown in, they continued to pour out, slowly but surely filling the grounds of Isengard. The spread out, far and wide, filling every possible space. Soon the grounds were overflowing and the gates had to be opened to make more room. Some were sent to the roof, others up to the ledge by the dam until eventually, with a meagre sputter the TARDIS produced its last Uruk-hai. He was different from the rest, taller and broader of shoulder, with hair stretching thick as rope, to the heels of his feet. The Master beamed at him, a smile that spoke of insanity and total evil. It was a while before he realised he was laughing, full on before he abruptly stopped and smashed his fist into the face of the last Uruk. The creature, utterly bewildered, staggered back.
"WHOM DO YOU SERVE?" roared the Master, spittle flying from betwixt his lips and hitting the Uruk in the face. The Uruk regarded him cautiously before speaking in a growling voice.
"The dark lord Sauron. His presence can be felt by all creatures of evil and he is in this very room. He has spoken to each of us as we were spawned and he named you his protector," he said, spitting the last word viciously as if to indicate his hatred of the fact his master would need protecting. "Therefore, Time Lord, we serve you. All one million of us."