Chapter 2: A Rose By Any Other Name

Lilith had rapidly transported herself back to her lodgings, and now gathered round the cauldron with her mothers.

Doomfinger filled a vial from the mix. "The potion is prepared. Now take it. Magic words for the playwright's fevered mind.

"Shakespeare will release us." Said Bloodtide. "The mind of a genius will unlock the tide of blood."

Lilith smiled. "Upon this night, our work is done. A muse to pen Love's Labours Won."

The three of them cackled together.

Back in Shakespeare's lodgings, the mood was glum. He'd never particularly liked Lynley, but he wouldn't wish something like this on anyone. His wife and mistress were never going to believe it. The man had died so suddenly, and so strangely.

"I got you a room, Sir Doctor. You and Miss Jones are just across the landing." Said Dolly.

"Poor Lynley." Said Shakespeare. "So many strange events. Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?"

Martha's eyebrows narrowed slightly. "Where a woman can do what she wants."

Shakespeare decided to change the subject. "And you Sir Doctor? How can a man so young have eyes so old?"

"I do a lot of reading." The Doctor said simply.

"A trite reply. Yeah, that's what I'd do." Shakespeare smiled, turning back to Martha. "And you? You look at him like you're surprised he exists. He's as much of a puzzle to you as he is to me."

Martha sighed. "I think we should say goodnight."

"I must work. I have a play to complete. But I'll get my answers tomorrow, Doctor, and I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours."

"All the world's a stage."

Shakespeare pondered. "That's good. I might use that."

"Goodnight Mr Shakespeare." The Doctor left.

He crossed the landing to a smaller room, where Martha was surveying everything with a candle. A chair by the door, a bed with woollen blankets, a rough oak cupboard, a copper chamber pot and a bowl of water on a shelf. "Not exactly five star is it?" She said.

"Oh, it'll do. I've seen worse." The Doctor shrugged.

Martha patted herself down. "I haven't even got a toothbrush."

The Doctor looked at the pumice stone which lay next to the water bowl and quickly decided against it. Instead, he pulled a toothbrush from his pocket and handed it to her. "The handle contains Venusian Spearmint."

Martha brushed her teeth then took a look at the bed, which was barely single sized. "So, who's goanna go where? There's only one bed."

The Doctor shifted to lie on the very edge. "We'll manage, come on." He said, patting the far edge.

As the Doctor, continued staring into space, Martha tried to make conversation. "So magic and stuff? That's a bit of a surprise. A bit Harry Potter."

"Wait till you read book 7." The Doctor smirked. "I cried."

"But is it all real though? I mean witches and black magic. Is it all real?"

"Course it isn't!" The Doctor chuckled.

"Give me a break, I've only just started believing in time travel."

"Looks like witchcraft but it isn't. The science of another world is indistinguishable from magic." He looked up at her. "Are you going to stand there all night?"

Martha lay next to him. "Well, there's not a lot of room. It's only a single bed you know. Tongues will wag..."

"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." He turned to stare at Martha, as she stared back. "No, there's something I'm missing, Martha. Something really close, staring me right in the face and I can't see it." He thought for a moment. "Rose'd know. A friend of mine, Rose. Right now, she'd say exactly the right thing." He rolled over to face away from her. "Still, can't be helped. You're a novice, never mind. I'll take you back home tomorrow."

"Great." Martha said shortly, and blew the candle out.

Shakespeare rubbed his aching eyes as the bells rang for 1 o clock. It was odd how long that last page can take when you've decided to finish it before bed.

In his sleep deprived state, he didn't notice Lilith as she gently unlatched the window behind him and blew the vapours of her potion into the room. The moment he sniffed them, he was out like a light.

Lilith lowered herself into the room and waved her hand in front of his face, but he didn't respond. She picked up her doll, complete with a tiny quill in the hand, and began twisting it like a puppet.

"Bind the mind, take the man.

Speed the words to writer's hand."

Shakespeare sat up and groggily resumed writing, but his eyes were unfocused and never looked down at the page. But it was only a few lines and it didn't take long before she released him and he slumped back down on the table.

"Will?" Said Dolly's voice. "I've finished the cleaning. Just in time for your special treat..." She faltered as she saw Lilith there. "Oh. Not the first then."

Lilith spun round, revealing her hideous wrinkled face to the innkeeper, who was momentarily petrified. She snatched the broom off her. "I'll take that to aid my flight. And you'll speak no more this night!"

As Dolly finally processed what she was seeing, she let out a blood curdling scream.

The Doctor and Martha heard the scream and hurried to investigate. They found Dolly lying dead on the floor, while Shakespeare was blinking back into consciousness. "Did someone scream?"

The Doctor took a look at the body, while Martha hurried to the open window. Outside, she saw, silhouetted against the moon, a figure flying away on a broomstick, cackling evilly.

"Her heart gave out. She died of fright." Said the Doctor.

Martha could sympathise. "Doctor!" She called.

"What is it. What did you see?"

"A witch."

By the next morning, the body had been removed. Shakespeare was busy consoling himself with a large tankard of ale. "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."

"Rage. Rage against the dying of the light." Said the Doctor.

Shakespeare nodded. "That's good. I might use that."

"You can't. It's someone else's."

"But the thing is." Said Martha. "Lynley drowned on dry land. Dolly died of fright. And they're all connected to you."

Shakespeare raised an eyebrow. "Are you accusing me?"

"No." She said quickly. "But I saw a witch, big as you like. And you've written about witches."

Now Shakespeare looked confused. "I have? When was that?"

"Not quite yet." Said the Doctor.

That only raised further questions. But the woman's words had jogged a memory. "Peter Streete spoke of witches."

"Peter Streete?" Said Martha.

"Our builder. He sketched plans for the Globe

"The architect. Hold on." The Doctor thumped the table. "The architect! The architect! The Globe! Come on!"

The three of them made their way to the Globe, where the Doctor stood on stage gesturing around. Martha briefly thought he was practicing his method acting, before she realised that he was actually forming a mental picture of the space. She decided not to interrupt, and instead fantasised about standing here, with the crowds cheering. "Friends, Romans, Countrymen. Lend me your ears." She said.

"The women of Freedonia act as well then?" Said Shakespeare.

"The column's there." Said the Doctor. "14 sides. I've always wondered but I've never asked. Tell me Will, why 14?"

"It was the sound Peter thought best. He said it carried the sound well."

The Doctor rubbed his head. "14 though. Why does it ring a bell?"

"There's 14 lines in a sonnet?" Martha offered.

"So there is. Good point." He said, though he still sounded as though he wished Rose could fly in and set him right. "Words and shapes following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets. Oh, my head. Tetradecagon. Think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!"

"It's just a theatre." Said Shakespeare.

"Oh yeah, but a theatre's magic, isn't it? You should know. Stand on this stage, 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. But if you exaggerate that..."

"Like your Police Box." Said Martha. "Small wooden box, with all that power inside."

"Oh, Martha Jones, I like you." He grinned. "Tell you what though. Peter Steele would know. Can I talk to him."

Shakespeare sighed. "You won't get an answer. A month after finishing this place, he lost his mind."

"What happened to him?" Said Martha.

"He started raving about witches. Hearing voices. His mind was addled."

"And where is he now?"

"Bedlam."

"Where's that?" Said Martha.

"Bethlam hospital. The madhouse."

"We're going there right now." Said the Doctor.

"I'm going with you. I want to witness this first hand." Said Shakespeare. As they left, he spotted two actors coming in through the stage door and made his way over to them, handing them some papers. "Ralph, the last scene as promised. Copy it, hand it round, learn it, speak it. Back before curtain up. And remember, kid, project. Eyes and teeth. You never know, the Queen might turn up." As if. She never did. He hurried up to Martha and walked alongside her. "So tell me of this land of Freedonia, where women can be Doctors, writers, actors..."

"This country's run by a woman." Martha said simply.

"Ah, she's royal, that's God's business." Shakespeare grinned. "Though you are a royal beauty."

"Whoa, nelly!" Martha saw what he was getting at. "I know for a fact, you have a wife in the country."

"Yes, but this is the town."

The Doctor looked back to hurry them along. "Come on! There'll be time for flirting later."

"Is that a promise?" Shakespeare grinned at him.

"Oh, 57 academics just punched the air. Now move!"

"Love's Labours Won." Said Burbage. "I don't know about sequels, they're never as good as the original."

"Have you seen this bit?" Kempe showed him. "He must have been dozing off while he wrote it. I can't understand a thing he's saying."

"Nothing new there then." Burbage grinned. "Ah, but at least it's my speech. Ah ha! I get centre stage. The light of Shadmock's hollow moon doth shine onto a point in space betwixt Dravidian shores..." He faltered briefly as a gust of wind blew through the theatre.

"What was that?" Said Kempe.

Burbage decided to press on, although the wind picked up again almost as soon as he spoke. "Dravidian shores linear five nine three oh one six..."

Back in the coven, the witches had sensed a disturbance in the ether. Doomfinger brought up the image in the cauldron, saying. "Too soon. Too soon."

Lilith had a look. "Not to fear my mothers. It is merely a rehearsal of what's to come."

"...and strikes the fulsome grove of Rexel Four."

The ground shook slightly and a waft of smoke appeared from nowhere. From it emerged a translucent figure. About ten feet tall, black cloaked, with clawed arms and a withered beaky face.

"By all the Saints!" Said Kempe. "It's a spirit. A vile shade!"

The creature looked around briefly, then saw them and lunged for them. But as soon as it moved, its whole being dissolved into smoke, which dispersed as suddenly as it had come.

"I think we should never speak of this again." Said Kempe. "Or else we'll end up in Bedlam ourselves."