Chapter 19

After a short cab ride the two men arrived at the museum, the Gallifreyan practically hopping through the front doors of the building. Sam was a bit surprised when the Doctor headed straight for the front desk. Ascertaining where the "Literary Victorian Scientific Props Exhibit" was located and obtaining a pamphlet about the presentation, the lanky man headed off with great intent in that direction. Sam thanked the young lady at the desk and headed after the Doctor, finally too curious to remain silent. "What was that all about?"

"Humans," the Doctor commented with a smile as he perused the pamphlet. "Imaginative bunch, you lot. Always trying to see patterns where there are none. You see something unusual, you have to find out what it is. Admirable, really. But when you can't figure out what it does, you label it something that makes sense to you, even if you are completely off the mark." He turned to Sam. "Sometimes, what you see is exactly what you get."

"True," the human answered. As they walked into the exhibition hall, Sam stopped suddenly, reading the sign before a very ornate machine: 'H.G. Wells Visual Aid for 'The Time Machine.' "Wow. I must have read that book at least 20 times."

"Aw, brilliant! Absolutely marvelous!" The Doctor's grin doubled in size. Taking a few steps closer to the object, he commented, "Herbert's time machine. Told him it would never work. He didn't have the power consumption rate at the right level. Couldn't balance it. Suggested he should write about what he saw with me instead."

"H.G. Wells was one of your companions?"

"I wouldn't exactly call him a companion," he commented as he pulled out his thick-rimmed glasses and slipped them on, gazing at the display with interest. "More like a stowaway. The accidental trip gave him several ideas for his novels." He grimaced slightly. "Have no clue where he came up with the Eloi and the Morlocks, though." Another object on the other side of the room caught his attention. "Well, there's something that brings back memories..." He walked over to it and looked at it with interest.

"It says that it was found with several of Verne's things. They think it was for a book he never wrote."

"Well, I can guarantee it wasn't for a book," the Doctor told him. "In fact, I can honestly say that it isn't what it looks like. 'Magician's box,'" he read. "More like a time capsule."

"Time capsule? How many humans traveled in time before I did?" Sam was wondering if his project was as cutting edge as he'd always believed.

"No one." The Doctor turned towards him. "You're the first. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if this time cabinet was based on your theories." He clarified immediately, seeing the look on Sam's face. "This one comes from the 51st century. Magnus Greel escaped to the 19th century in it. Of course, I couldn't allow a psychotic mass murderer to run free in Victorian London, could I? So naturally I disabled his time capsule, caused it to overload when he attempt to leave in it. It's completely useless now. Not even worth spare parts."

"Magnus Greel from the 51st century?" Sam considered the concept. "No, I suppose if he was a mass murderer, you would need to deal with that." He paused, thinking. "This reality of you passing through time and space with no thought at all, though... well, I guess it makes my project almost childlike in comparison."

"Oh, but what a brilliant childhood, Sam." The Time Lord's eyes gleamed with admiration, like a father for a well-loved son. "The human race... you really are an amazing bunch." Suddenly, something caught his eye. "Aw, there you are! Been looking for you!" he exclaimed, practically jogging across the room to a glass-enclosed display. "So, what do you think of that, Sam?" he questioned, gesturing to the object of his attention.

Sam looked at the diorama in front of him and his jaw dropped. "That's a Jabberwock," he said of the full size drawing. He noted the mannequin in medieval dress and chain mail, though it looked a bit more like something out of a science fiction film than from the Dark Ages. His eyes were drawn to the weapon that was a part of the scene. Sam's voice was soft and incredulous. "A Vorpal sword?" he asked with amazement.

"Yup!" the Doctor announced, pulling out the advertisement he had picked up in the park and handing it over to Sam. "A Vorpal sword. Exactly the thing you need to defeat a Jabberwock, otherwise known as a Dragon." He took a deep breath and nodded to the shining weapon in the mannequin's hand. "Don't want to use that if we can avoid it but it's not a bad idea to be prepared." His eyes flittered over the dress the mannequin was wearing, a haunted look passing over his eyes before he thrust it away with Sam's next words.

"But it's in a museum. I doubt they're going to just hand it over when you tell them you might need it to defeat a Dragon. More likely they'd lock us up in a looney bin."

The Time Lord pulled out his psychic paper. "Ah, but I have this."

"You think that will work?" Sam asked incredulously. "I mean, okay ...getting into the special books at a library is one thing. Taking stuff out of a museum is quite another."

"Of course, it'll work!" the Doctor assured him. He took a breath. "I mean, there's no reason it shouldn't work. It's worked before." He waved his hand. "It'll work. It's not like we're going to be able to find a Vorpal sword elsewhere."

Sam sighed. "I guess we don't have a choice, do we. I mean, if the potential survival of Earth depends on it, right? Still taking it just seems... wrong somehow."

"We're only borrowing it... permanently," the Doctor affirmed. Before Sam could protest, the Gallifreyan turned away from the exhibit and walked towards the curator.

The white haired man, impeccably dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt, saw the Doctor striding towards him. "Can I help you?" the man asked, his obvious boredom reflecting in his tone.

"Yes, you can," the Time Lord told him confidently, showing him the psychic paper. "Sir John Smith, British Museum of Antiquities. I'm here on official business concerning your exhibition of Victorian literary props. I've been checking over each item and verifying that they have all the proper paperwork for their exhibition here in Chicago. Do you realize that at least ten of those items are here quite illegally?"

"That's impossible," the man answered. "Our exhibition staff is very thorough."

Sam stood back a few feet behind the Doctor. His eyes went first from one to the other. He figured that he should just stand back and let the Doctor work his way through this situation. He'd talk to the Doctor about the concept of "borrowing permanently" later. After they obtained the sword. Despite his qualms about the legality of their current actions, Sam didn't want to go up against the creature he'd seen on the film without adequate firepower.

"Well, obviously not because we've already had three complaints from private owners in England who are quite insistent that their property has been stolen," the Doctor explained. "In fact, a couple of those items are sitting in the Carroll display over there."

"Couple?" Sam said under his breath, looking back at the exhibit. He let out another sigh. Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Not hearing the young woman, the curator continued his conversation with the tall British peer. "That's one of the most popular exhibits, Sir John. May I call you Sir John?"

"I would hope so," the Doctor stated, sounded very affronted by the curator's words. "All due respect is the norm when addressing a knight of her Majesty the Queen of England."

Sam's eyes rolled at the statement. Still he kept quiet.

"Of course. My apologies." The curator coughed. "As I was saying, Sir John, everyone who's ever read 'Through the Looking Glass' loves seeing the Vorpal sword and the Jabberwork. Mrs. Wrightsworth herself placed the Vorpal sword in the mannequin's hands."

"Well, the Vorpal sword and the armour on the mannequin are the problem," the Doctor continued. "The owners say that they were stolen from their estate a year ago. I've seen their proof of ownership and had it verified. And now they show up here in Chicago, in an exhibit."

"Oh, dear. That's not good. Not good at all," the curator said. "I can't believe that Mrs. Wrightsworth would steal anything, though. This must be a mistake."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that she stole them. Probably isn't even aware that they are stolen items," the Gallifreyan reassured the flustered curator. "But I'm afraid we need to pull every suspect object from the exhibition until we can verify their authenticity and possibly return them to their proper owners."

"Perhaps we could come to an arrangement with the owners first. Continue the exhibit."

"I'm afraid not. The objects must be pulled immediately, especially if these items turn out to be forgeries. Can you imagine the repercussions on this museum once it comes out that you've been displaying stolen or forged antiquities?"

A deflated sigh exited the museum official. With resignation in his voice, he asked, "How many objects are you concerned about?"

"Only a small handful. Let's walk together and I'll point them out."

"Of course, Sir John." He pulled out a small notebook and a Cross pen to write down the items in question.

The Doctor gave him a genial smile, putting his hand on his back. "Come along, then." Slowly, the two went through the exhibit and the Doctor pointed out six items that needed to be pulled for 'security reasons.' "I'll take the Vorpal sword and the armour with me to have them tested first," the Gallifreyan told the curator. "And if the results turn out as I suspect, I will contact the owners personally to inform them of the recovery of their stolen property."

"It will be a great loss to the exhibit but if we must we must."

"Oh, it's not that much of a loss. You still have Well's time machine and Verne's magician's box."

The curator went over to the glass case and used a key to open the door. Taking out the gold sword with the wavey blade as well as the armour from the mannequin, he handed them to the Doctor and his assistant. "I wish the owners well. We would, of course, be willing to offer them an exhibition fee if they would like to allow the display to continue."

"I will, of course, bring the option up to them," the Doctor assured. "And don't forget to pull the other items before close today. We don't want an issue to come about, do we?"

"No. We will comply. I take it we'll be in contact during the investigation."

"Absolutely," the Gallifreyan answered. "We will take good care of these. Do you have the cases they came in?" Being guided to the back rooms of the museum, he was provided with two cases, which were promptly used for the procured items. Having the sword and armour now safely in possession, the Doctor gave the curator a smile. "I will return as soon as possible with the results."

Leaving quickly, Sam followed the Doctor out of the museum. When they had gotten quite a bit beyond the grounds, he turned to the other time traveler and finally stated, "That was way too easy. It's a good thing you aren't a thief by profession, Doctor." His eyes suddenly turned suspicious. "Or are you? That was pretty slick acting. I mean, pretending you're British nobility... 'knight of her Majesty the Queen of England.' Oh... that was quite a flourish."

"Oi, I wasn't pretending to be anything!" the alien protested. "I am a knight of her Majesty the Queen of England. I'm just not Sir John Smith."

"A knight, huh. What name were you knighted under then?" the leaper questioned thinking he was calling the alien's bluff.

"Sir Doctor of TARDIS."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No, really! Queen Victoria herself knighted me after I saved her from a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Sam shook his head. "I'm glad Al's not around to hear that. You think he had a bad time with ghosts... and Godzilla..."

The Doctor frowned at his words. "Godzilla? I can't see how a tyrannical Dragon in any way resembles a Japanese horror film monster who likes to eat buildings... or was that an advertisement I saw once?"

"You're not Al," the physicist explained. "And speaking of my friend, he can be a good judge of character, you know. He doesn't like you and maybe your actions at the museum just prove his point about you, that you can't be trusted. Just where did you get everything that's in your TARDIS?"

The Doctor didn't reply immediately to the accusation, giving the scientist a sideways glance. While it was true that the TARDIS itself was procured by less than legal means, he was awarded her later by the Time Lords for a job well done in saving the universe. As for what he actually kept in the time ship... well, an item here and there at random places throughout the universe wasn't stealing. Was it? "Well..." he finally started. "Um..." He itched to scratch the back of his head, hindered by the cases he was carrying. He'd been about to request Sam to assist him but this line of questioning was giving him a pretty clear idea of what the response would be. Given this, he decided the issue of his relative honesty was best left for another time. Like maybe a thousand million years from now.

He quickly changed the subject. "As for my acting, it's more likely the curator is an extremely gullible human being. I mean, really, if you were in his place, would you believe what I'd told him and actually allow someone to just leave with a couple of valuable pieces of art? Doesn't matter if one really is actually a dangerous weapon that shouldn't be in any human hands."

"Okay, I can see your point about that," Sam stated, considering what the Doctor had told him a Vorpal sword could do. But that didn't absolve the alien of stealing the other item, specifically that strange medieval armour. "But why did you tell him to pull the other items? Was that just a ruse or are you planning to take those as well?"

"Oh, I'm definitely taking those as well," the Doctor confirmed. "We just take care of our problem, hop into the TARDIS to just after the museum closes, load the lot onto her, and off we go."

"If the Vorpal sword is all we need to address our problem, then why take the other items?" He paused, looking at the Doctor. "I can't believe I was right. You really are a thief." Sam started to walk faster, putting some distance between them.

"Oi! I am not a thief!" the Time Lord protested, as he shifted the large carrying cases in his hands into a better position, wishing that they weren't as heavy as they were. Despite the throbbing in his right hand from the pressure of the cases (the Vorpal sword was heaviest, he noted haphazardly), he increased his speed to catch up with the physicist.

Sam stopped and turned, almost causing the Gallifreyan to drop his bundles. "Then why did you take that strange armour? You're not going to try and tell me that it's some sort of weapon too, are you?"

"No. It's not a weapon. But I need to wear it while I'm fighting the Dragon." He grimaced slightly, putting the cases down. "And they are really heavy so I would really appreciate some assistance, especially since my right hand is a bit out of commission when it comes to playing furniture mover." He noticed the bandage on said hand had become somewhat stained with blood and he realized the blisters had popped.

Sam was still upset and didn't at first notice the Doctor's dilemma, ignoring for the moment his plea for assistance. "You're going to wear that costume?" He paused again. "But why? Do you want to look the part or something? Play 'Twas brillig and the slithy toves'..."

The Doctor raised his eyes from his examination of his hand to give Sam a slight glare. "It isn't a costume. It's armour. Gallifreyan battle armour, to be precise. If you were going up against a dangerous enemy who could quite easily poison you with a deep scratch, wouldn't you take precautions? Besides... it belongs to my people. And since I'm the only one left..." His voice trailed off.

Sam watched the Doctor's face as he first spoke with fire in his voice but then seemed haunted by some vision only he could see. "Gallifreyan battle armour?" He realized that perhaps he'd been a bit harsh in his judgment. This certainly seemed like a logical request. Suddenly he felt sheepish. "Oh. Then I guess it only makes sense for you to have it."

"Well, at the very least, I can keep it safe and out of alien hands," the Time Lord told him, his visual focus returning to his damaged hand as he continued. "As for the other items, they are a problem as well. Can't have 20th century human beings treating dangerous alien weapons as if they were literary props. The last thing we need is some government agency like Torchwood to come swooping in, claiming them for the benefit of the British Empire."

"They're weapons too?" Sam asked rhetorically. His anger continued to lessen as he realized that the Doctor wasn't stealing; he was protecting humanity from its own ignorance. As he moved from being motivated by outrage, he finally noticed the bandage on the alien's hand. There was red staining through the gauze. "Your blood's red?" he asked, concerned that the man's injury seemed worse than before.

"Yeah, well... despite the name Rose gave me when we met a certain ex-Time Agent, my name isn't Mr. Spock. So, yes. My blood is red. A little lighter than yours but who's paying that close attention?"

Sam stood there, staring at the bandage. "Obviously not me." He stopped and considered what could have caused the injury to worsen. "Those boxes are pretty heavy, huh."

"Oh, you are batting a perfect match," the alien grumbled at him sarcastically. "Are you sure you've never played cricket before?"

"Actually, I have," Sam answered lightly but then grew serious. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I should have known you wouldn't just take things that don't belong to you if there wasn't a really good reason." He nodded to the hand. "And I should have helped you. It wouldn't be bleeding if I had."

"I've been accused of worse," the Time Lord replied. "And I've had worse injuries. Don't worry too much about it. I'll rewrap it once we get back to the inn."

"I'll help you now. Let's gets back to the inn and set up." Sam reached down and picked up one of the boxes and the two resumed their walk. A block later, the weight of the case began dragging on him. He noticed a taxi and began to wave it over.

"What are you doing?" the Gallifreyan questioned.

"I'm getting us some transportation. It'll be faster and we won't have to drag these cases," Sam explained. He still had a some money in his pocket and figured that it was worth paying for the ride.

"I suppose." Once they were in the back seat of the cab, Sam commented, "How were you able to carry these for so long? You're not exactly Mr. Universe."

"Time Lords are disqualified to enter into the Mr. Universe competition," he said teasingly. "Actually, I'm from a planet that had a higher gravitational field which means that I'm stronger than I look."

"Really? I guess that makes sense." Sam returned to part of their previous conversation, casually asking the Gallifreyan, "So, who's this Torchwood you were so worried about?"

The Doctor's eyes grew dark. "Trust me. You don't want to know about them. They're responsible for that mess at Canary Wharf." Seeing the confused look on Sam's face, he clarified. "The situation we were in when you leapt into Rose. The Cyberman we encountered in the stairwell had been the head of Torchwood. It was her actions that brought the Cybermen into our world."

"They're responsible for the Cybermen?" The physicist queried with a slight shiver.

"Yes. Hundreds of people dead all over the world, all of it Torchwood's fault." Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "Can't have them get their hands on alien weaponry. The consequences could be disastrous."

"Oh," Sam responded. "Well, we won't have to worry about them if we don't get back to the inn and defeat Krazan, will we."

"Quite right," the Doctor answered.

When they arrived back at the inn, they found themselves alone in the establishment. The Doctor immediately went to the nearest bathroom to rewrap his hand before returning to the main hallway.

"So what should we do next?" Sam questioned.

"Well, there isn't much that we can do without your friend here." He seemed to think about his own words. "I'm famished," he stated with authority. "I wonder if Sally has any leftover shepherd's pie in the fridge. Or that stew we had for lunch. That was marvelous stew."

"Eat? You want to eat at a time like this?" the leaper asked with surprise.

"Well, what else would you suggest we do? Play Scrabble? Besides, you have to keep your strength up and I'm still healing from the secretion burn I accidentally gave myself. It takes a lot of energy to heal, you know."

"But we don't know when..."

"Sam. One thing I've learned is that you always have to take time to have supper. We don't know for certain that Krazan isn't going to come through while we sup, but I do know that, if we don't eat, neither of us will have the energy to do what we need to do."

"You're right. And I can definitely eat something since all I've had today was breakfast and a hotdog."

"Another one? What's with you and hotdogs?"

"I like them."

The Doctor just shook his head as they went into the kitchen and raided the Sullivan's refrigerator, finding the leftovers that the alien had hoped for. Once the two had their fill, they cleaned up after themselves before striding towards the Time Lord's TARDIS, grabbing a case each of their bounty on the way. Finding his way through the time ship to the armory, the Doctor dropped the case he was carrying to one side. He went to a foot locker and opened it slowly, revealing a collection of thick leather boots, which he proceeded to rifle through. "I swore I'd never look for the bloody things much less use them again," he muttered to himself.

Sam followed him in, placing his case next to the Doctor's. "What are you looking for? Maybe I can help."

"Not unless you can identify a pair of zylon boots," the Doctor informed him. "I'd rather not be killed because I didn't have Dragon-proof footwear on. I mean, I love my trainers but..."

"What are zylon boots?"

"They're boots made out of zylon," the Time Lord replied as if it were obvious.

"I mean what makes them Dragon-proof?"

"Because they... well... they just are," he huffed at the physicist, not wanting to go into details. "Explaining how to make zylon would take days and we don't have that long. The ritual of Martshuln itself would..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about making zylon," came the gruff answer. "Like... making leather only a lot more complicated. I mean, really really really complicated. If you really want to know, I'll take you to Pratrizilinaitilinsia and you can watch it being made. But I have to warn you, that the natives are very picky about being interrupted and do not like to explain themselves." He shook his head as he remembered how he himself had spent several days upside down in a prison cell because he asked what a particular vat was filled with.

Listening to the alien's prattle, Sam finally just shook his head. "Okay. I get it. Planet Prat...prat..."

"Pratrizilinaitilinsia," the Doctor instructed.

"Yeah, that." He nodded to the armoire in the corner. "What's in there?"

The Gallifreyan ignored the physicist, figuring that he was just being his usual nosey self. "Ah! There they are!" He pulled out a pair of shiny black boots, sniffing them to verify that they were indeed the super resilient footwear he was looking for. "The smell of zylon, like nothing in the universe."

When the Doctor didn't answer, Sam's curiosity got the best of him. The armoire had a design that looked like a cross between a Celtic knot and a ying/yang symbol on the door. He went over and opened it only to find himself staring at a remarkably ornate set of full body armour that seemed medieval with a few exceptions. He looked at the armour with surprise before turning to the Doctor. "This looks almost like that armour we took from the museum! I thought you said you needed that one to wear."

The Doctor frowned at his words for a moment, not realizing Sam's actions. "What?" he questioned, swiveling to see what the leaper was referring to. Darkness filled his eyes as he looked at the now open armoire. Marching over, he quickly closed the doors while at the same time yanking Sam away from the piece of furniture. "You just can't mind your own business, can you?" he yelled at him. "Have to go poking your nose into everything! If it weren't for the fact that you are still in my friend's life, I'd leave you here in 1986!"

Sam was somewhat shocked by the Gallifreyan's actions. He'd seen the man's mercurial emotional states but this was pure and terrible anger. Blinking rapidly a few times and realizing that he had stepped over some line by what was basically snooping, he said contritely, "I'm sorry..."

"No!" the Time Lord interrupted, still infuriated by his actions. "Sorry isn't good enough this time! You don't go into my personal property! Ever! If you can't obey my rules in my TARDIS, you can spend the rest of your leap locked away in the deepest darkest room possible on this ship!"

Sam looked down. The Doctor's reaction seemed over the top concerning the contents of the cabinet. Still, the man was right and he had to try again to make amends. "You're right. I shouldn't have opened it without your permission. And I am sorry." Still his curiosity had been peaked. "But why did you take that other armour if you already had a set? One that would obviously provide much more protection?"

The Gallifreyan finally released the strong grip that he had on the human's arm, turning to collect the boots he'd come into the wardrobe to find. "I prefer to wear the museum armour," he said in a clipped voice.

"Why?"

The Doctor growled, frustrated by the leaper's insistence on having answers. "The armour from the museum is that of a lower ranking officer. That armour in there is that of a General." He paused, his face dropping. It was a long moment before he continued. "I wore that during the war."

"The war," Sam repeated, understanding. He couldn't look at a Union soldier's uniform anymore without having his mind pulled back to the fear that leaping onto a battlefield had engendered in him. It wasn't that he was a coward. It was just that the sounds and smells of death and destruction, of literally having to use his wits to stay alive... He looked into the Doctor's eyes. "I'm sorry."

The Time Lord regarded the leaper for a long moment, returning the gaze and seeing that, somehow, this human truly understood why the armour was so valued to him... and so despised. "Forgiven," he finally told him.