A scream late in the night woke the Doctor and his companion. The Time Lord was on his feet in an instant and out the door, followed closely by Molly. The scream had come from Shakespeare's room; when they got in, they found the playwright asleep at his desk, and Dolly Bailey dead on the floor. Molly paused, horrified, as the Doctor hurried to examine the body. There was nothing she could do now for the waitress; she recognized death when she saw it. But maybe there was still a chance of figuring out what had happened to her – or more specifically who.
The door had been closed when they'd gotten there, but the window was open, still trembling slightly from being moved, so the pathologist hurried over to look outside. She froze in shock at what she saw. Outlined by silver moonlight, a far-off figure rode off on a broomstick in the night sky. The pathologist blinked rapidly. No way. Before she could convince herself what she was seeing was real, the figure was gone.
Behind her, she could hear Shakespeare wake with a start. "Wha'? What was that?"
"Her heart gave out," the Doctor realized, puzzled. "She died of fright."
Molly turned to face the two men. "Uh, Doctor?"
The Time Lord came to join her at the window, peering out through. "What did you see?" he questioned when he couldn't see anything.
Molly hesitated before admitting, "A witch."
SCENEBREAK
None of them could sleep after that. Instead, the three of them hung around Shakespeare's room, trying to puzzle out what had happened, until around dawn.
Shakespeare seemed far more shaken by Dolly Bailey's death than Lynley's. "Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey. She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. We all ran like rats." He shook his head, half smiling at the memory. "But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit."
"'Rage, rage against the dying of the light,'" the Doctor quoted grimly.
The author's solemn mood vanished a moment as he grinned at the Doctor. "I might use that."
"You can't. It's someone else's," the Time Lord told him bluntly.
Molly shook her head, still trying to get the day's events through her head. "How can two people die so oddly in one day? Lynley drowned from water inside him, and Dolly died of fright. I've diagnosed a lot of bodies, and I can't remember ever ruling someone as having died of fear. And both of them connected to you."
Shakespeare narrowed his eyes. "You're accusing me?"
"No no no, that's not what I meant!" Molly was quick to assure him. "I think it's connected to the play."
Shakespeare's brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"
The pathologist looked down at her hands. "Well, I mean, Lynley was killed right after he was trying to stop the play, and both deaths happened the night before your new play opens. All I'm saying is that it's a bit suspicious. I'd say they were trying to stop it, but since they killed Lynley, who was going to stop it anyway, they're probably after the opposite."
The Doctor grinned to himself as Molly theorized. She was clever, really clever, and didn't even seem to realize. He had a good feeling about her as a companion, even as he felt doubts about replacing Rose. Not that anyone could really replace her.
Shakespeare looked thoughtful. "It is possible. I do not know who would benefit from my play being performed, however, and certainly not enough to kill for it."
Molly hesitated. "I... I saw a witch at the window. Have you ever dealt with witches before? I mean, you've written about them."
"I have?" the playwright asked, puzzled. "When was that?"
The Doctor shook his head slightly for Molly to see. "No, not quite yet," he told her quietly.
The pathologist flushed at her mistake, but Shakespeare didn't seem to notice. Instead, he was looking thoughtful, strumming his fingers on his desk. "Peter Streete spoke of witches," he remembered thoughtfully.
"Who?" Molly asked.
"Our builder," Shakespeare explained. "He sketched the plans to the Globe."
There was something the Doctor was missing, something he'd been feeling since the start but just couldn't quite remember. But Shakespeare's words suddenly made him remember. "The architect. Hold on. The architect! The architect!" He was so caught up in his revelation that he slammed his fist on the desk. "The Globe! Come on!"
Without further explanation, he led Shakespeare and Molly out the door.
SCENEBREAK
The Doctor led them back to the Globe theater, not stopping to explain why to his companion or the playwright. He was scanning everything in the pit with the sonic screwdriver while Molly and Shakespeare watched from the stage. There were some strange readings in the air, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what they were. As he worked, he babbled to himself, "The columns there, right? Fourteen sides. I've always wondered but I never asked..." He turned to the author onstage. "Tell me, Will, why fourteen sides?"
Shakespeare shrugged. "It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all," he explained. He didn't seem to think the question very important. "Said it carried the sound well."
The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. "Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen..."
"There's fourteen lines in a sonnet," Molly suggested. She remembered that one from English class back in school, and she'd always liked poems and sonnets more than plays or school novels.
"So there is. Good point," he praised her distractedly. "Words and shapes following the same design." He began to pace, filled up with nervous energy as he tried to puzzle it out. "Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets…Oh, my head. Tetradecagon... think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!" His tone grew more and more frenzied as he tried to get closer to an answer.
"This is just a theatre," Shakespeare pointed out, looking puzzled at the Doctor's intensity.
The Doctor turned to Shakespeare, surprised. "Oh, but a theatre's magic, isn't it? You should know. Stand on this stage, say the right words with the right emphasis a 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. And if you exaggerate that..."
Molly threw her guide an incredulous glance. She hesitated before she asked, "Are you saying... that the 'magic' of theatre could be turned into actual magic?"
"Advanced science," the Doctor corrected automatically. "But yes, that's the idea. Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would know." He turned back to Shakespeare. "Can I talk to him?"
"You won't get an answer," the writer told him solemnly. "A month after finishing this place... lost his mind.
"What happened?" Molly asked softly. Peter had clearly been the writer's friend.
He sighed. "Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."
The mad bit was unfortunate, but the Doctor could still work with it. They needed this information. "Where is he now?"
"Bedlam."
Molly drew in a sharp breath. "The mental hospital?" Shakespeare nodded grimly in response.
"We're gonna go there," the Doctor decided. "Right now. Come on."
He started off through the Globe's front doors, followed by Molly, and Shakespeare to his surprise. "Wait! I'm coming with you. I want to witness this at first hand."
Two young men headed towards them, who the Doctor recognized as being actors from last night's play. Shakespeare stayed behind a moment to hand them his finished script, then hurried to catch up. He walked alongside Molly, several paces behind the Time Lord.
As they walked, the Doctor heard Shakespeare talking to Molly again, charm in full force. "So, tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors."
Molly's reply came in the form of awkward mumbling. "It's... pretty different. Uh, more crowded I guess, a lot busier. Besides, your country has a woman as Queen."
"Ah, she's royal. That's God's business. Though," he added suavely, "you are a royal beauty."
Molly didn't reply; she was probably too busy blushing. They really didn't have time for this anyway, so the Doctor decided to save his companion from having to respond. He turned to face the two impatiently. "Come on, we can all have a good flirt later."
Instead of looking offended, Shakespeare instead turned his charming smile on the Time Lord. "Is that a promise, Doctor?"
The Doctor stared at the writer in surprise. He briefly thanked the universe that Jack Harkness wasn't with them right now - the two of them would be intolerable together. "Oh, 57 academics just punched the air. Now move!"
SCENEBREAK
The moment they entered Bedlam, they could hear the groans and screams of the patients. There was a rank smell in the air, and the fear was nearly palpable. He saw Molly's eyes widen, not in fear, but in horror. Shakespeare tensed when they entered, but beyond a darkened gaze he said nothing.
A grimy warden came out to meet them. When they told him what they wanted, he offered the Doctor with a leer, "Does my lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits? I'd whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for ya. Bandog and Bedlam!"
Molly gaped at the man in horror, and the Doctor felt the fury rising up. Regretfully, he pushed it away; this was no time to be the Oncoming Storm, however much this man deserved it. There was still plenty of venom in his tone as he snapped, "No, I don't!"
The warden bowed shortly, not seeming to notice the Time Lord's anger. "Wait here, my lords, while I make him decent for the lady." He shuffled off, leaving a still angry Time Lord with his horrified companion and the writer who'd led them here.
He could tell how shaken Molly was, so he made his way over to her. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
Molly nodded, though she still looked shaken. "I'm fine. But this... this is just sick! This isn't a hospital, it's a prison! Whipping people for entertainment." The Doctor was surprised by her intensity in her tone – she was usually so quiet. She whipped around to glare at Shakespeare. "How could you put your friend in here?!"
Shakespeare looked a bit miffed at her tone. "Oh, and it's all so different in Freedonia," he said defensively.
"But how could you ever think this was okay?"
"I've been mad," the writer explained shortly. "I've lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose."
Molly's anger deflated. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't... what happened?"
Before Shakespeare could answer, the Doctor cut in. "You lost your son," he said softly.
The writer nodded sadly. "My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."
"I'm really sorry Will," Molly told the writer softly. Her earlier anger had been completely replaced by quiet sympathy.
"It made me question everything." Shakespeare explained quietly. "The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be..." He paused as he thought over what he'd just said. "Oh, that's quite good."
"You should write that down," the Doctor told him with a slight, knowing smirk.
The writer thought about it for a moment. "Hm, maybe not. A bit pretentious?"
The Doctor gave a sort of shrug, but before he could reply, the warden's voice came from further down the hall. "This way, m'lord!"
Struggling to ignore the cries of the patients locked up around them, the three followed the hallway until they reached the cell the warden stood by. As the man unlocked the door for them, he warned, "They can be dangerous, m'lord. Don't know their own strength."
The Doctor felt his earlier fury burning again. This man was talking about the patients as though they weren't even human, like they were mindless beasts to be locked up for sport. He made no effort to contain his anger as he snapped, "I think it helps if you don't whip them! Now get out!"
With a reproachful look, the warden retreated, locking the cell door behind him before slinking off. The Doctor sincerely hoped he didn't ever meet the foul human again – for the warden's sake. He might not be able to control himself so well next time.
Forcing his temper back under control, the Time Lord turned away from the cell to look at the figure hunched over on the floor of the cell. Peter Streete sat with his head hanging facing the cell wall, muttering to himself. The Doctor felt a rush of pity for the man; how long had he been kept prisoner among the screams of mad men? Torture and screams were his lot now, and that was only after he'd been driven mad by unknown aliens.
The Time Lord approached the man slowly, not wanting to alarm the poor man. He came around to stand before him, slowly crouching down to his lever. "Peter?" he asked softly. "Peter Streete?"
"He's the same as he was," Shakespeare said sadly. "You'll get nothing out of him."
He ignored the writer's words and reached out to put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter?" At his touch, the man jerked his head up, his pale eyes wide and glazed over with terror. His lips quivered slightly, as though he wanted to speak, but could not find the words.
The Time Lord put both hands on the man's face, which was all the contact he needed to form a telepathic link. His mind probed gently at Peter's, softly as he could manage, as he worked to soothe the man's terror. He felt Peter relax slightly in his grasp, and the terror in his mind receded somewhat, enough to let him listen. "Peter, I'm the Doctor," he told him in a clear, careful tone. "Go into the past, one year ago. Let your mind go back, back to when everything was fine and shining. Everything that happened in this year since happened to somebody else. It was just a story. A winter's tale. Let go. Listen." He could feel Peter's mind slowly detaching from the event, rewriting it so it had happened to someone else. "That's it," he encouraged, "just let go."
He helped settle the man down on his ragged little cot. "Tell me the story, Peter," he probed gently. "Tell me about the witches."
After giving the Doctor a final, fearful glance, Peter began his story in a dull tone. "Witches spoke to Peter," he said flatly. "In the night, they whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The fourteen walls — always fourteen. When the work was done..." he gave a little high-pitched laugh. "They snapped poor Peter's wits." He began to giggle, a sharp sound that screamed wrong.
The Doctor knew he was losing Peter. "Where did Peter see the witches?" he asked urgently. "Where in the city?" He crouched down beside the man, desperate to get his attention back. "Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me where were they?"
"All Hallows Street," the poor man whispered.
"Too many words!" A high-pitched voice suddenly cried.
The Doctor whirled around to see a creature much like a witch crouching beside him. He backed up to stand before his companions, instinctively shielding them. The creature wasn't one he had seen before, and had a dusty, wrinkled face with a hooked nose and wild hair. The image of a witch. He heard Molly gasp in recognition behind him.
The creature reached a knobby, wrinkled hand towards a whimpering Peter. "Just one touch of the heart," she cackled.
Too late, he realized what she was about to do. "No!" Her hand touched Peter's chest, and the man let out a scream of agony before slumping back, dead. The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment. Another person he couldn't save.
Behind him, he heard Shakespeare mutter, "Witch! I'm seeing a witch!" Molly said nothing; a small part of his wonderfully complex and compartmentilized brain wondered how she was faring.
The witch-creature rose to her feet. "Who would be next, hmm? Just one touch." She advanced menacingly towards the Doctor and his companions. "Oh, oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals," she spat.
Molly took a few steps to stand right behind the Doctor. In a surprisingly composed tone she asked, "Doctor, what do we do?"
"I'll figure something out," he promised in a low tone.
The witch peered out at them with cruel, wizened eyes. "Who will die first, hmm?" she asked, licking her lips in anticipation.
The Doctor made a quick decision. "Well," he said as he stepped forward, "if you're looking for volunteers..."
"Doctor, don't!" Molly cried fearfully, but Shakespeare put a hand on her shoulder, holding her back.
"Can you stop her?" the writer asked quietly.
Before the Doctor could respond, the witch-creature let out a scornful cackle. "No mortal has power over me!"
"Oh, but there's a power in words," the Doctor reasoned coolly, gaze evaluating the witch. "If I can find the right one — if I can just know you..."
"None on Earth has knowledge of us!" the witch snapped sharply, eyes fixed on the Doctor.
"Then it's a good thing I'm here," the Time Lord stated coolly. "Now think, think, think..." He started in on his usual babble, trying to buy time and puzzle it out, getting faster and faster as he got closer. "Humanoid female, uses shapes and words to channel energy... ah, fourteen! That's it! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration!" He glared triumphantly at the witch. "Creature, I name you Carrionite!"
The carrionite stiffed, letting out a wail of rage before fading from sight. The Doctor glared mercilessly at the spot where it had vanished, still feeling the rage from Peter's treatment and pointless death.
Slowly, Molly approached her guide. "What did you do to it?" she asked quietly.
"I named her," the Doctor explained, still staring at that one spot. "The power of a name." He turned back to Molly as he stated, "That's old magic."
Molly looked confused. "But you said there's no such thing as magic, that it was science," she pointed out.
"Well it is, you lot just like to call it magic," the Doctor defended himself. "It's just another form of science. Humans, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words instead."
"Use them for what?" Shakespeare asked seriously.
The Time Lord turned to him with a grim expression. "The end of the world."
Well, here's more of the Shakespeare Code for you. And yes, this episode is now looking to be about four chapters long. I'm really, really hoping it doesn't hit five chapters. Yikes, is that how long every episode is going to be?
Anyway, I just realized I haven't addressed something - Molly's lack of crush on the Doctor. I just want to point out now that I have absolutely nothing against Martha. She's clever, brave, completely badass, and I don't blame her one bit for falling for the Doctor. I mean, he swooped in, kissed her, and showed her the stars. Can't really blame her for that. But I felt like Molly's relationship with the Doctor would be different in several ways. One, she's already got a major crush on Sherlock, so I didn't feel like there'd be room for another one for the Doctor. And I don't think theirs would be a romantic relationship anyway. However, Molly isn't as bold or confident as Martha, so that changes things, and she's far more emotionally aware and sympathetic. That'll end up influencing a lot later.