So there we were. Trapped in some crazy sort of charade. But set up by who? And, more to the point, set up for who?

Although none of the people (if indeed they were people) had threatened us in any way, there was a definite presence in that big old house. An oppressive presence. At first I thought that might be the heavy roof weighing down on the house, but I came to realize it was more than that...

Meeting Patient shed more than a little light on the matter.

The Second Adventure Part 3

"Cor blimey," the Doctor muttered, scanning Patient with his sonic screwdriver (the sonic spear, thankfully, stowed away aboard the Tardis). "You've been through the mill, my dear, ain't ya?"

The Patient was beautiful. Correction; would have been beautiful. But she was ill. Very ill. Her skin was a grey mask, stretched so thin over her skull that the shapes of the bones were visible. Her eyes were half-open and desperate, her mouth screwed up against the pain of whatever hideous affliction she was suffering. She was about my age. Her hair was long, brown, and brushed - clearly somebody (perhaps the Maid, perhaps the Paladin) had been washing and brushing her hair each day. Despite being clean and neatly brushed, it was thin, an effect of her illness. Thin like all of all. Though everything below her chest was hidden under the furs which they used as blankets, I could see how terribly thin she was. Thinner than me. Thinner even than me at the height of my old habits.

They'd put her in a nice enough room. The large window let plenty of light in, and a huge vase of flowers by the wardrobe meant that a light, pleasant odour hung about the room. There was also a wardrobe, a great fat wooden thing four stumpy little legs. A chamber pot sat on the windowsill. I didn't see what good it was doing there; I was no medical expert, but looking at patient I couldn't imagine that she could move of her own accord. She could barely open her eyes. She looked at me and the Doctor as Paladin introduced us, moving only her eyes and not her whole head. Maybe she understood what was happening around her, maybe she didn't. Either way, she wouldn't - couldn't - respond. She was dribbling, and I wondered if she was brain damaged in some way. That being the case, was there actually anything the Doctor could do for her? I looked at her in dismay. Poor girl.

"Cor blimey," the Doctor said again, double checking his readings. "I've never seen anything like it. She oughta be dead. She ought to 'ave died months ago."

"Don't speak of it!" The Paladin exclaimed, placing his big manly hand on his love's skeletal spider-like hand. Her fingernails had gone yellow.

"Sorry pal," the Doctor said, propping himself up with his crutches, "but the poor girl's in a bad way."

"That's hardly news to me, good Doctor." The Paladin snapped. "Perhaps you know what's to be done about it?"

"Happen I know what's wrong with her," the Doctor replied, "which is is a start. Lynsey?"

"What?"

"Know what's wrong with her?"

I shrugged. "Nah. Your the expert, Doc."

"Doctor," the Doctor corrected me curtly, "and yeah, I'm amazing. But they were right, you know."

"Who?"

"Pally the Paladin and Nellie the Nobleman. They said "everything" was wrong with her, and that's pretty much it. She's failing. Everything, failing. All her organs. Her immune system. Her temperature's through the roof, and she's only semi-conscious. And look 'ere."

The Doctor hopped closer to the bed and gently placed a hand on her desiccated jaw. He prised her mouth open, revealing a set of teeth which were surprisingly white.

The Doctor noted this, and the Paladin shrugged. "Myself and Maid do all we can for her. Trim her nails, cut her hair. Keep clean her teeth."

"Nice of ya," the Doctor said distantly, "Lynsey, 'ave a look in her mouth."

I did so. And my own mouth fell open. There was no tongue. Just teeth, and an empty cave-like mouth. The Doctor pulled a large yellow torch from his pocket (of course) and shone it down her mouth. Far down her throat, there was a wound. It was bright red and looked horribly sore.

"Blimey O'Riley on a flying blue chariot..." I said, clutching my cheeks. "What happened to her tongue?"

"Seems it were confiscated," the Doctor said. He turned to the Paladin. "Right-o, pal. I'm gonna make two informed guesses here. One - her tongue was ripped out. Probably by the same charming people who put a hole in me leg for me. Two - somehow she survived that. But shortly after, maybe one day, maybe two, she fell badly ill. Comprende?"

"Right on both counts, sir," the Paladin said. "This was but a month ago. I shan't go into detail. But a tribe of the hills - not the same tribe as that which attacked you - halted me and her as we rode back from the village. We fought. She was, in her health, magnificent with a crossbow. But alas, we were captured. We were rescued by Nobleman and a handful of villagers. But too late. They tore her tongue out for light entertainment."

"I thought the lot we met were bad..." I said weakly.

"The tribe who did this to my beautiful fiancee," the Paladin continued, "no longer exist. This crime was their last crime. Our revenge was swift. And absolute. Not a man, woman nor child of the tribe survived."

"Great." The Doctor muttered sarcastically.

"Patient was, of course, in a terrible state." Paladin said. "Her pain was unbearable. Gone was her ability to speak. Eating was of no pleasure, for nothing tasted, and every swallow was torture. But she was alive. What's been done to her horrifies me, Doctor. But never could I be without her. Never."

"Sweet," the Doctor replied quickly, "how long have you known Patient?"

"Oh, a year sir." Paladin replied. "Upon the tragedy which befell her, we brought our wedding forward. We should by now have been married. But within two days of her injuries, she fell ill suddenly and violently."

"Infection." I said grimly, turning to the Doctor. "That's it, right?" My flesh was beginning to creep. Something just now - something said or done, some part of the tall tale the Paladin told - was wrong. So obviously wrong that I couldn't see it. Like the portraits. There was something so obviously wrong with them that it was impossible to spot. That's what made this whole game of Kings and Queens so immersive, so utterly hard to work out. It was obviously fake. The names of the players were well enough to know that. Yet maybe it was that very fact, the fact it didn't even try to be truly believable, which made it impossible to work out.

"Infection, yeah," the Doctor said. He was looking at me, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He knew everything I was thinking.

"So Paladin," the Doctor said, "your fiancee should be dead. I might be able to save her. Might. Strong antibiotics might do the trick, it may not be too late. But I need to go back outside. To my...my camp. That's where my medicine is stored."

"Then we shall make haste at once!" The Paladin exclaimed, "I shall ready some horses!"

"You do that." The Doctor said, grinning.

"You mean it, sir? You can save her?" The Paladin grinned from ear-to-ear.

"I hope to," the Doctor replied, waving his hand. "Go now - horses."

He gave Patient a kiss on her dry, chapped lips and rushed from the room. I looked down at Patient. Shame this was all setup. His love for his Patient seemed very real, and I wondered in that moment whether we actually needed to do anything about this; if it was real to them, couldn't we leave it be?

And then, quite suddenly, I realized.

Eyes wide, I looked back at Patient. My mouth dropped open again. I rounded on the Doctor, who smiled, happy I'd finally got there. "Patient..." I gasped.

"Patient." The Doctor repeated, nodding. "This girl became ill a month ago. But the portrait in the hall, the portrait which is over two years old, shows her exactly as she looks now, and names her as Patient. She's not a patient, she's the Patient. She's always been the Patient. She's always been the ill member of the team. And that tongue of hers. That wound ain't right. If someone 'ad hacked her tongue out with a knife, she'd 'ave bled to death. That wound is too clean a cut for that. It's the work of a laser, Lynsey. It's definetley the work of a laser."

"I'm disturbed at this point," I said weakly.

"Your right to be," the Doctor said, "Now come on. Let's get outta here. I don't believe this girl is ill, and I don't believe she's truly in any pain. Nor do I believe Paladin has gone to get the horses."

"Why d'you say that?" I demanded nervously.

The Doctor shrugged. "You see that nice big window?"

"Sure."

"It's a hologram. That wall doesn't lead to outside. It leads to another room."

I stared at the wall.

"Ain't that right?" The Doctor called out. "I know ya watching, fellas. Come on, the game's up."

I gasped as a whirring noise started up from that side of the room. In a moment straight out of Monster's Inc, the whole wall started to rise up into the ceiling. "Simulation terminated." I muttered. Totally ignoring us, Patient climbed out of the bed and walked towards the rising wall, ducking under it before it rose the whole way up. She walked quickly and steadily. Not the shuffle of someone feeling ill. The measured walk of somebody who'd been in this situation many times before. As it slowly did open fully, a large room filled with spectators revealed itself. A large room with modern whitewashed walls, and computers. A large room with screens and monitors.

The cast - the Paladin, the Maid, and the Nobleman, along with several others who hadn't been in service this particular day - were sitting, disconnected, in small holds to the side of the room. They were being recharged. As I watched, Patient sat herself down on the only empty one, and slumped forwards without a word.

Robots.

A man in a green tunic and matching green trousers stood up from his desk at the front of a room. He was holding a gun.

"Hands up," he said calmly. We did so at once.

"Neat place you got here." The Doctor said. "So is there a prize for the correct diagnosis?"

"No." The man replied softly, smiling.

"Oh. Or a job offer, perhaps?" The Doctor grinned back at the man.

"No."

"Fair enough. Would there be a punishment by any chance?"

The man smiled wider. "Yes."

The Doctor, still grinning, nodded. "Thought there might be."

I face-palmed. Typical.

The Doctor's Diary, Entry 1965 Part 3

So, big shocker - it was all a setup. Course it was. Designed to weed out clever people. Well no, not clever people. Simply people more clever than the natives here, which isn't a remotely hard ask. We both worked it out (though me first, of course). Poor, sick Patient was a droid, as were all the people. No wonder the tribes outside were so darn scared. You can't fight off a robot with swords and arrows, and I'm sure some of them probably tried that at first, with rather gory results. Hence why they were so scared of the Paladin when he saved us.

But why did he save us, I hear you ask? Okay, it was all a setup. But to what end? What was the point?

The answer was surprisingly personal for me. Strangely uplifting in a way, despite the fact they wanted to prosecute us...it was uplifting to know what there were still people who cared enough to keep an eye on time travel. People who still honoured the Time Lords.

But they were none too receptive when I tried to explain that I was more qualified in these matters.