Just to warn you, some parts of this chapter may be a little graphic, with references to surgery and some depressing imagery, but it should be fine overall. I hope you enjoy!
"He must have become his surgery. You can almost smell it," Jenny said, wrinkling her nose.
"Yes, I am beginning to think that too," Vastra agreed, a slight sadness in her tone. "God bless whichever creature is being dissected on his operating table."
"I'd prefer not to think about that, dear."
"But nevertheless, it is our duty to help them."
"How do you think the Doctor is getting on?"
"Oh," sighed Vastra, "I think he'll be just fine."
"OOD!" Professor Sturridge cried from his large red chair.
"Yes, Master? May I be of assistance?" Ood asked, entering the room.
"Clean the operating table. I believe I've discovered some form of extra-terrestrial breathing mechanism. God, it is tedious having to dispose of those tentacle things you've got sticking out your face. They're disgusting!"
"I will complete the task that you have requested," Ood replied, turning to walk out of the room.
"OOD!" Professor Sturridge cried again. "Prepare something for my dinner. Something meaty, with a nice wine and potatoes cooked in goose fat. Well don't just stand there; get to it! And I want my operating table cleaned within the hour, with the next subject prepared. How about the one that's trembling in a corner? But then again, that's all of them!" Sturridge joked, bursting into a roar of laughter. "Laugh! Laugh when I make a joke you stupid pest!"
"Ha!" Ood laughed, unconvincingly before leaving the room.
"You know, you really shouldn't mistreat your Ood," said a voice.
Mr Sturridge turned is head. Behind him stood an elder man, dressed in a tattered top hat and a black jacket with red inner lining, accompanied with a dark skinned woman in a purple dress, whose frizzy hair was hidden under her feathered hat. "Who exactly are you? How did you get in?"
"Don't you know?" asked the Doctor, showing Professor Sturridge his psychic paper. "I'm the Queen's advisor."
"Your document says otherwise, Mr Joseph Lister," Sturridge frowned.
"Ah! That's the problem with psychic paper, can be a bit faulty. Lister, you said. Leading Victorian surgeon . . . Is he your role model?" the Doctor taunted, searching through the strange instruments in the room.
"Yes, of course. Why does it matter? I'll call my guards. Guards!"
"I really wouldn't bother."
"Why not?" Sturridge challenged.
"It's strange, now that you think about it. They lost their minds, claiming that they'd witnessed a disappearing blue box."
"Yes, it is strange," Sasha added.
"Ah!" said Professor Sturridge. "And who is your . . . exotic associate?"
"You Victorian's really were top notch with political correctness," Sasha laughed. "Sasha, by the way."
"And how do you mean that?" Sturridge asked.
"My friend's from the north," the Doctor interrupted, stopped Sasha from spilling their secret. "It's a very different place up there."
"As I am led to believe," Sturridge said, his eyebrow slightly raised. "I couldn't stand the thought of spending a day in any city north of Birmingham."
"So," the Doctor began, "Professor Arnold Sturridge, leading Victorian biologist, specialising in the anatomy and inner workings of exotic and rare animals. Graduated from Oxford University twenty years ago, then to die on November 15th 1908 with no major achievements; you're not a fixed time point from what I can tell."
"What did you say about November?" Sturridge asked, suddenly worried.
"Nothing. Just a brief biography. So what's your latest study? An elephant? Rhino? Polar bear? Whatever it is, it's been getting some distraction from my friends, so I'm guessing you shouldn't have your hands on it. Can I have a look?"
"I demand that you leave, Sir!" Sturridge insisted.
The Doctor ignored him. "So, what have you got at the moment? Something you've never seen before, I'm guessing. Perhaps, just maybe, a monster."
Sturridge laughed. "That's absurd!"
"Oh, is it really?" the Doctor said, stepping over to the circular window in the room. "Then how do you explain this?" the Doctor said, looking out into the next room. Sasha joined him by the window, and she gasped. On the other side of the fogged glass was a dark, cold room, lit by candles which sat on the floor. Sprawled out across the dusty stone floor were panting bodies – the bodies of red-eyed monsters. The Doctor recognised them instantly. Red eyes, pale skin, large shiny heads and tentacle-like features which emerged from their faces where their mouths should've been.
"What are they?" Sasha gasped.
"My pets!" announced Professor Sturridge. "I came across them in a travelling freak show. A man came to me with one of them, pitiful and harmless with a brain held in its hands. I thought it peculiar so I bought it so that it could be studied. Then that man approached me with more of them, all with external brains but one, the one with an orb through which it spoke. The one with the orb proved useful, and only ever asked to do my laborious duties, but the others were just potatoes; they didn't do anything of worth. I removed a brain from one of them, and realised that it still lived, conscious even without anaesthesia. I then took the brains from all of them, and they too remained living. Days later I realised that their eyes shone as red as the pits of hell, and as rabid as a street dog. Of course I had to hold them; I feared for my safety. The one with the orb remained sane, however. I still keep him as my butler."
"Your safety?" cried Sasha. "What about theirs? You've kept those poor creatures in a dark cellar and carved off their brains with them still conscious! And you call them the monsters?"
"What else must I call them? Ood? What a strange name; I doubt whether it is true."
"They are the Ood. A proud species that have lived for millennia. They're born with their brains in their hands, so of course they have to trust anyone. They were defenceless, Sturridge, and you cut them open. Shame on you!" the Doctor spat, turning red in the cheek.
"What do you care? They're not human," Sturridge laughed.
"And neither am I, but I still feel and have an opinion and my own free will, and so do they! What makes you so much more important than them? You really should've seen the warnings, Sturridge. Their eyes turned red, rule one of symbolism, red is anger! Ood are kind and peaceful, it's not in their nature to be angry, but something seems to have made them snap."
"Oh boo hoo! What do I care? I've had to make some people very angry in order to achieve the fortune and success I've made for myself. It's life. Fight back, or crumple under the might of the wealthy."
"What a Victorian view! You think money makes a man? I pity you for having to think that," Sasha argued.
"Yet it's true! What good is a peasant? What good is an Ood without a use?"
The Doctor frowned. "Those Ood of yours, they're not like humans, they have a telepathic web. Every one of their minds is connected. It's that connection that is causing the red eye, and that connection that binds them together. Hurt one and you hurt them all. Even your servant may betray you." And with that, the Doctor and Sasha left the room.
"Do you think?" Sturridge called. "He's devoted to me. He doesn't have the capacity for free thought!"
"Then that shall be your downfall!" the Doctor replied, disappearing down the corridors of Sturridge mansion.
"I'm not happy with this plan," Alec complained, sat in a coach opposite Strax as they rolled through the city.
"It is simple and effective," Strax explained. "I would've preferred an attack form of combat, with explosives and grenades, but the Doctor and the green boy want us to infiltrate the mansion."
"The green woman," Alec corrected. "Vastra is a woman, Strax, not a man."
"Right, yes, of course," Strax said, still a little confused. "I trust that you are familiar with the plan, or shall I explain again, puny human baby?"
Anaru raised his eyebrows. "I think I get it."
"Uncertainty is not allowed during this form of operation; I shall explain again . . ."
"No, I'm fine!" Alec shouted, trying his best to avoid another ten minute explanation, with anecdotes and references to Sontaran clone troops. "I'm ready. I am MI5 after all; I do have experience of infiltrations."
"I was led to believe that you had exited that Earth institution."
"Ex-MI5 then."
"Predictable humans. Always likely to quit at the first time of trouble."
Alec chose to ignore that statement, laughing a little to himself. "And your people? Sontarans? What are they like?"
"The Sontaran race is the most productive and efficient species in combat that the world has ever seen. We have won many a war for centuries, and are currently battling the Rutans. A fine nemesis that we shall surely crush."
"So you haven't beat the Rutans? Even after centuries of fighting?"
Strax looked down at his feet. "No."
"Exactly."
The coach steadied to a halt at a large, muddy field. The field had been transformed into a magical and mystical world, for one night only. Purple and red tents were dotted about the field, glowing with bright lights and beautiful banners that advertised freaks and fortunes and fun! Hot, stinking air filled with the upper class cackles of the rich and pompous, laughing and taunting at the disfigured and depressed who cowered in cages in ridiculous costumes. Men, so short they were labelled as elves or hobbits, were pushed onto poorly built stages, forced to act humiliating scenes from a Shakespeare play which Alec did not recognise. Body parts of animals had been stitched together and placed on displays, said to be mermaids.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Alec asked, his eyes widened in horror by the unfolding scenes.
"As long as there is a battle at the end of this, I shall be willing to participate," Strax said merrily.
"But it's horrible! Ask the Doctor to think of another way to get into the mansion. We don't even have to sell you off as a freak, just get in somehow," Alec pleaded.
"The Doctor's plan shall not fail. I have learnt to trust his every decision. Besides, a Sontaran is more than a match for a couple of puny human scum!" Strax smiled.
"Hey!" a young boy screamed. "Look, everybody! That freak's got a potato for a head!" Immediately, a torrent of children and several adults bombarded Strax, laughing at him and rubbing his head as if it were a good luck sign.
"Get off!" Strax cried. "Get of human scum or I will kill you in the glory of the Great Sontaran Empire!"
"Get off him!" Alec cried, pushing at the children to get of Strax. "Leave him alone! He's not a freak!"
"Leave that man alone!" boomed a voice. The crowd turned to face the man who had shouted so loud, then left to continue with other fun. "You, boy, shouldn't you be at your stall?" the man asked.
Alec stepped towards Strax. "This man isn't an employee. Well, not yet, at least."
"Then what are you doing here?" the man asked. "Get off my property unless you own a ticket."
"We're not here for the show," Alec explained. "This is my . . . my poor little half brother. At birth he was left looking slightly odd, which has meant he's been unemployed for some time. Times are desperate now, and he needs a job so we have food at least. We were wondering whether he could be part of your show."
"Ah, I see," the man said, turning over the thought in his mind for a moment. "Your brother would fit the appearance we're looking for. I could definitely see this working: The Great Potato Man!" he cried, already planning his marketing. "In fact, you might just be the man I'm looking for."
"And what do you mean by that?" Alec asked.
"An acquaintance of mine if particularly interested in strange beings of nature, and your brother may well count. There have been others much more interesting, but your brother is . . . Interesting in his own way."
"Am I right to detect a form of insult?" Strax scowled.
"No!" Alec interrupted. "No you don't!" He leant down to whisper into Strax's ear, "Don't ruin this deal. It may lead you to Sturridge." Strax listened to what he said and replaced his scowl with an unconvincing smile.
"Well, if we are agreed," the man said, "I think we can make this agreement of official. I will be needing both of you for this transaction."
Alec nodded his head in agreerment, then followed the man into a large tent. This one was less flamboyant as the others, but was still bright with candlelight and colourful silk decorations. At the centre of the room was a grand oak desk, covered with documents and stationary. The man, Mr Godwinson (judging by a document with his face on it), took a seat at the table, and offered Alec the other. Alec accepted. Godwinson prepared a document, reading it through and signing it at the bottom, before sliding it across the desk and gesturing to where Alec should sign. After reading it carefully, Alec signed the papers.
At that moment, a skinny, greasy man entered, limping slightly with a gash across the side of his face. "Ah, Mr Godwinson, I have news."
Godwinson looked up, a little concerned. "Yes? Go on, what is it?"
The man looked at Alec and then to Strax. "It's about the client," he whispered.
An expression mistakable for worry lingered on Godwinson's face as he raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I see. Do excuse me for a moment," Godwinson stuttered, hurrying out of his seat to talk to the mysterious man.
Alec turned to Strax. "It'll be Sturridge, what they're talking about. I bet you!" he whispered.
"I do agree, boy!"
Godwinson looked at Alec, his face half hiding from behind the tent where he and the man exchanged a hushed conversation. He stepped back into the room, a little stiff. "Sorry for that. May I talk with you for a moment?" he said to Strax, "I would like to talk to you about your act."
"Erm, yes, of course," Strax agreed.
"Please let yourself out," Godwinson insisted. "You are no longer needed."
"Can't I stay with my brother?" Alec pleaded.
"I am sorry but that will not be possible. Your brother is currently working, as of this moment, so personal visits are not permitted."
Alec was worried. He didn't want to leave Strax alone, yet it would be suspicious for him to be so urgent to stay. Reluctantly, Alec left the tent, giving Strax one last supportive look. As he left, Alec received a threatening look from the gashed man. He hurried from the tent.
"And how did it go?" Jenny asked as the Doctor and Sasha entered the drawing room.
"Well, I'm guessing?" Vastra wondered.
"We certainly rattled a cage or two," Sasha smiled. "I knew travelling with an alien in a blue box would be a little more chaotic than my school music tour to Malta, our friends left the hotel room door open when we went to lunch, but I really didn't expect I'd be challenging a Victorian psychopath! I flipping loved it!"
The Doctor smiled, "Oh, this is just an average day."
"And the monsters?" Vastra asked. "What are they?"
"Ood," the Doctor replied. "Well, what's left of them."
"And what does that mean?" Vastra worried.
"Sturridge cut off their hind-brains," Sasha explained.
Jenny gasped. "That's horrible!"
"But I still have one question," the Doctor frowned.
Vastra leaned across the table towards the Doctor. "And what question is this?"
"Why a single bed?" the Doctor snapped.
"Well . . ." Vastra choked. "It has been noticed that you have very close relationships with your companions. The suspicion has been raised to whether your companionship involves more than just running from monsters . . ."
"Woah!" Sasha cried. "Stop right there, lizard woman! Don't even think about that! Ever! Urgh. I want to be sick now."
"Well, sorry for presuming," Vastra sighed.
"Trust me," Sasha said, "never in a million years. And that is actually possible when you've got a time machine."
Alec ran through the tented field, pushing past children who laughed and heckled the poor victims who cowered in costumes. He had to go, as quick as possible. Time was running out, and he had to deliver a message.
"Hold up, mate!" called a voice, as a man stepped in front of Anaru, stopping him immediately.
"I'm sorry, but I need to go!" Alec cried, trying to get past the man, but he wouldn't allow it. Alec stopped to look at the man. His hair was dusty, along with his bruised face. His clothes were tattered, and he was missing an arm. "I really need to go now!"
"Calm down!" the armless man insisted. "I'm Andy. Nice to meet you."
"You too," Alec said. "Now, if I could just . . ."
"Wait!" Andy called. "Where are you going?"
"To find the Doctor; it's important!"
Andy laughed. "You've never been to one of these shows, have you?"
"What does it matter?" Alec replied, itching to leave.
"Do you have a ticket?"
"No."
"Then you can't get out. Stewards circle the whole area, and they make you show them your ticket to leave. No ticket, nowhere. I've been performing for months; I'd know. All it takes is one missing limb and you're carted off to join the freak show."
"But this could save lives!"
"They won't care. And what do mean by that anyway?"
"Godwinson has Strax. He's going to take him to Sturridge, but he knows that we're trying to infiltrate the mansion. I can tell! It's not gone to plan. Sturridge knows, and now Strax has been caught. I need to tell the Doctor!"
Alec was cut short. His pleads and questions where silenced as a large pair of hands covered his mouth, squeezing into he lost consciousness. Whatever attempts Alec could muster were feeble against the pair of hands, and he turned soft and limp, crumpling to the floor as he lost his control. Andy gasped, his mouth wide, as the hands lifted Alec and walking him into the darkness, turning back once to say, "Not one word."