I SINCERELY APOLOGISE FOR POSSIBLY "FUDGING" SOME OF THE HISTORICAL ASPECTS HERE. I HAVE NO IDEA IF LONDONERS WOULD HAVE KNOWN HOW TO SING A SONG FROM A LATIN MASS. I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN EXECUTIONS STARTED HAPPENING ON TOWER HILL. SO, I HOPE IT DOESN'T BOTHER YOU.

SIXTEEN

The tavern closed early that day. Maris, the barmaid, left through the back alley with her friend Alana. The mood in the air in the tavern had been jovial in anticipation of the day's events.

"'Ave you ever seen something like this before?" Maris asked.

"Not since before the sickness came, I 'aven't. Been too busy takin' care of me brothers and me mum," Alana answered, not with the sobriety that talk of death by plague might have warranted. And she continued, "And I ain't never ever seen a nobleman!"

They walked across town,almost in a post-plague pilgrimage. It was something that was going to bring Londoners back to themselves in the wake of the sickness. And as they proceeded, throngs of people joined them. By the time they reached Tower Hill, they were part of a multitude. The atmosphere was alive with excitement: the biggest public execution in two years! Rumor had it that noblemen who did wrong were beheaded with a sword, in the French fashion, as opposed to the sickle.

As the unknown sir-whoever was brought upon the scaffolding, the crowd, who had no idea what he'd done to deserve a beheading, hissed and spat. They delighted in the power they seemed to have, however briefly, over this man who'd presumably held a kind of power over them.

"Last words?" asked the executioner.

"Yes," the nobleman said, his hands tied in front of him. He stepped to the edge of the platform and opened his mouth to speak.

But he was interrupted by something otherworldly. The throng gasped as a ghastly noise filled the air. It was the sound of the Other Side, spirits crying from the deep, coming perhaps to claim their next fellow. And then, out of nowhere, a blue box appeared upon the scaffolding. It was the size of a smokehouse, suitable perhaps for two men to stand inside. Most of them could not read the words "Police Public Call Box" across the top, much less understand where the lights behind it came from. Men and women alike fell to their knees all around in prayer. They asked for guidance. They asked to be saved. They asked for the wisdom to know what in God's Creation they were seeing... they asked only to understand...

A small panic ensued as people wondered if they should leave for their safety or stay and see what would happen. In its wake, a hush fell over the crowd. And then a voice boomed out from inside, "Come and get me!" With that, a man, presumably the owner of the voice, dashed out of the blue box with three pursuers in tow. The man looked strange. He was dressed in some kind of cloth tubing, and his hair seemed to have a mind of its own. The pursuers looked normal enough, except that they were wielding weapons that looked decidedly unfriendly.

Maris recognised the man immediately. She had not known his name, but he had been in the tavern yesterday with anegress, a friar and someone else, she couldn't remember whom... But what her memory could not tell her, her heart could. This man was the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on, and she felt that she would die just to lay hands upon him as well. She turned to her friend, and she could see that Alana recognised the man as well.

Maris could feel it: a recognition was sweeping over the crowd. People around her were chattering about the man, his strange appearance, his allure, his handsome face... they did not recognise him on sight as she did, but they too were clearly taken with him. It was not the coming-together of Londoners that they had all expected, but no matter. It seemed that the people of this great city were now unified in their fascination with the tall man dressed in tubing.

He dashed out of the blue box, and stopped almost immediately, as did his pursuers. The man looked at the crowd, apparently in deep puzzlement, and said, "Oh, pardon me. Are we having an execution today?"

Most people in the crowd nodded their assent.

"What have you done, Doctor?" the male pursuer asked with a growl. As an afterthought, he hid his weapon behind his back, and his female counterparts did likewise. He attempted to face the crowd with a smile, but his attempt came off as forced and a bit eerie.

"What have I done? It appears I've landed us smack in the middle of a very public execution on Tower Hill. Blimey, everyone's looking at us, aren't they? Well, what do you know about that?" the Doctor said, smiling, beginning to pace.

He walked over to the accused, who still stood in the same spot where he had attempted to make his last words.

"By the looks of you, it's some dalliance with a fair young maiden," the Doctor said. He leaned in close, "Perhaps the daughter of one of your superior officers?"

The nobleman held his head up high. "Betrothed to one of my superior officers," he corrected.

"Oh, even stupider on your part," the Doctor said, slapping the man on the back. The crowd laughed, and the Doctor smiled genially at them. He had them, he knew it. "Say, what's your name, mate?"

"I'm not your mate," the nobleman spat. "I am called Sir Thomas of Chastain."

"Oh, that's brilliant!" the Doctor cried out. "Martha, Jack! You've got to come see this!"

After a moment, Jack appeared, followed by Martha, hanging on Feeno's neck. "What is it, Doctor?" Jack asked in a slightly forced, jovial way.

"This is Sir Thomas of Chastain!" the Doctor cried out, again. "Look at him! Right here, in the flesh! Can you believe it?"

"Holy cow!" Jack exclaimed. "Man, I've studied about you. You'll be studied about for years to come," Jack said, shaking one of the man's bound hands. "Yours is one of the greatest cases of fiancial deflowerment in history!"

"Yes, yes, thank you," Sir Thomas replied, utterly confused. He turned to the Doctor. "Though I was having my last words, if you please."

"Oh, of course," the Doctor said, though he did not step away. Instead, he addressed the crowd. "You're a benevolent people, are you not?"

A murmur once again fell over the throng, and there were mostly nods.

"Why not allow this man to find peace by singing for him one last hymn? One last cry to our Savior for Sir Thomas' salvation? Sure, he sinned here on Earth, but who among us has not? We have the capacity to forgive!" the Doctor cried. As he did, he brought the crowd along. His words moved them, as only his could. "Grasp hands with your family members. Embrace loved ones. Bask in love today, not death!"

And the crowd did as asked by this man whom they so loved.

Captain Jack stepped forward to aid. He began to sing the Lord's Prayer from the liturgical Latin mass. After a few bars, his rapt audience followed suit, including the Doctor and Martha. Folks held hands. This bloodthirsty multitude had become a prayerful group, crying and asking God to forgive the accused.

At the Doctor's behest, a warmth was forming among the crowd. Ecstatic frequencies were rising in the air, and Plexaphedros, Ahedruma and Maude began to twitch. Every fibre of their beings wanted to repel this phenomenon, this disgusting happiness that the humans were experiencing. It was revolting in every way. They began to cover their ears, and their skin began to show signs of anger. Redness seeped into their cheeks and eyes.

As much as Martha enjoyed watching this happen, she knew she had a job to do. She aimed a very clear-cut thought at whichever of the malevolent aliens would listen: Captain Jack is standing in your way. He's doing this to you. He must die.

She wasn't sure if they'd fall for it again, but she needn't have worried. In front of a thousand 14th century singing Londoners, Plexaphedros brandished his 52nd century weapon and shot Jack dead.

The previous gasp had nothing on this one. The singing stopped dead, and silence loomed as Plexaphedros turned his weapon on the Doctor.