Twists in Time
Chapter Seven: The Shakespeare Code: Strangeness in the Air
By Lumendea
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any spinoff material, and I gain no income from this story, just the satisfaction of playing with the characters.
….
The Doctor had an exact knowledge of where to find William Shakespeare. Even Rose's actress self wouldn't have possessed such knowledge of Shakespeare. She wondered briefly if, as he regenerated, his taste in literature changed enough to shift his favourite writer. It was tempting to ask if he now preferred Shakespeare to Dickens, but Rose held off. They were both writers, but there was a difference in true medium, so it wasn't really a fair question.
Excitement radiated off Martha. She was moving comfortably in the dress and seemed to have gained confidence from the simple fact that people were leaving her alone. They had seen a few black folks out and about in the city, including a white man with a black woman walking with a child who appeared to be mixed race. It was reassuring to Rose to know that despite the issues still echoing in her home time that the past wasn't really all awful.
The pub was a pub. It was shocking how little the nature, structure, and smells of an English pub changed in centuries. There was the thick smell of alcohol and a hint of tobacco smoke. A few people glanced their way with a hint of curiosity. She and Martha were dressed in finer clothes than the barkeep and the waitress that Rose could see moving about. The barkeep looked up to greet them and smiled while the young barmaid peered at them. There was a heaviness about her gaze that drew Rose's attention, and she nodded in greeting before the Doctor pulled through the pub and into the courtyard beyond. A set of covered stairs led up to the second floor, and the Doctor eagerly pulled Rose up them.
The Doctor, just as he had told Martha, walked into the room like he owned the place. "Hello! Excuse me, not interrupting, am I? Mister Shakespeare, isn't it?"
Rose glanced around the room quickly. It wasn't very large and made of simple timber. A few pieces of simple tapestry on the walls brightened it up, and a window looked out towards the street. A long wooden table sat away from the door with several chairs around it that were occupied by people familiar from the Globe. A blonde woman dressed in a simple gown stood slightly off, and Rose suspected that she'd just delivered what looked like a fresh round of drinks. The final person in the room was a younger woman with brown hair partially hidden by a hood. She was puttering in the corner and kept glancing towards Shakespeare and the table.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Who let you in?" Shakespeare groaned. "No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me. And please don't ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove…." Martha peeked out around the Doctor, and Rose stepped further into the room. Shakespeare's eyes jumped between them but settled on Martha quickly. "Hey, nonny nonny. Sit right down here next to me," Shakespeare told Martha. He glanced at the two men with him. "You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go."
"Come on, lads," the blonde woman said with a hint of amusement. "I think our William's found his new muse."
Martha flushed but sat down beside Shakespeare in the vacated chair. Jack sat next to her, a broad grin dominating his features. Rose heard the Doctor sigh, but he took her hand and escorted her to the table. The Doctor sat next to Rose, placing himself between her and Shakespeare. She wasn't sure how to read that.
"Sweet lady," Shakespeare greeted Martha. "Such a charming and marvellous sight you place before me this night."
"Er, verily, forsooth, egads," Martha replied uncertainly.
"No, no, don't do that. Don't," the Doctor said quickly. He distracted Shakespeare by pulling out his psychic paper. "I am the Doctor; this is my wife, Dame Rose of Bannerman, her brother Jack Harkness, and our companion Miss Martha Jones."
"Interesting, that bit of paper," Shakespeare said almost lazily. "It's blank."
"Oh, that's very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius," the Doctor gushed.
"I've never seen that before," Jack whispered. He was staring at Shakespeare and beaming, looking utterly enthralled.
"No, it says so right there. The Doctor, Dame Rose, Jack Harkness, and Martha Jones. It says so."
"And I say it's blank."
"Psychic paper. Er, long story," the Doctor said to Martha. Then he groaned softly. "Oh, I hate starting from scratch."
"Don't be lazy," Jack murmured.
"Psychic? Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly?" Shakespeare asked. He glanced Rose's way with interest before turning his full attention back to Martha. "More's the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady?"
"What did you say?"
"Oops. Isn't that a word we use nowadays?" Shakespeare asked. He still seemed relaxed, but Rose could tell he was concerned that he'd offended. "An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric?"
Martha's smile remained fixed in place, but Rose saw her face sweep through half a dozen emotions as Martha tried to decide how concerned she should be. The usual frantic calculus of a person trying to determine the danger they were in.
"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Martha said faintly.
"Political correctness gone mad," the Doctor muttered.
Rose could tell that the next words out of his mouth weren't going to help, so she jumped in. "Martha is an apprentice healer that we were fortunate enough to meet in our travels." She smiled as Shakespeare turned his curious attention to her. "She had some interest in seeing the northern countries, and her family agreed to put her in our care."
Not saying exactly where Martha was from, and hopefully, the whole 'in our care' statement would give the impression that Martha's family was important or at least wealthy. Rose knew from her time in Renaissance Italy that black people were far from uncommon. Guido had been a solid middle-class craftsman in Venice, and she'd seen more than a few black merchants in the southern countries during their Renaissance visits. While there wasn't a lot of travel for the average person or even a gentleman like William Shakespeare, he would have access to sailors and books.
Shakespeare's response was cut off by a man storming into the room. He was dressed in expensive-looking clothing and wore a fancy chain around his neck. There was a seal at the front, and Rose had a vague sense that it meant something.
"Excuse me! Hold hard a moment," the man snapped, his focus on Shakespeare. "This is abominable behaviour. A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mister Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed."
Frustration and a bit of petulance took over Shakespeare's face even as he tried to school his features. "Tomorrow morning, first thing, Lynley, I'll send it round."
"I don't work to your schedule; you work to mine," Lynley snapped. "The script, now!"
"I can't."
"Then tomorrow's performance is cancelled," the man replied firmly.
Movement in the corner drew Rose's attention. The young serving girl was hurrying out of the room with an oddly intense expression on her face. Not fear, Rose decided. Annoyance perhaps?
"It's all go around here, isn't it?" Martha murmured in an attempt to dispel the tension. Rose guessed that she didn't deal with arguing around her well.
"I'm returning to my office for a banning order," Lynley sneered. "If it's the last thing I do, Love's Labour's Won will never be played."
That was odd, Rose decided as the man left the room. It provided an explanation, of course. In this universe, the play was banned due to Shakespeare upsetting Lynley. But… the odd way he'd acted before making the announcement still didn't seem right. Could that have been the branch point? Or something more? Shakespeare was grumbling under his breath and then reached for his drink while Rose and the Doctor shared a look.
"Well then, mystery solved," Martha said. "That's Love's Labour's Won over and done with. Thought it might be something more, you know, more mysterious."
Not the best thing to say in front of Shakespeare. He'd have no idea why his plan would be a question like that, but before Rose could turn that thought over, an odd chill rolled down her spine. She shivered, drawing a glance from the Doctor. Then a scream from the screen drew their attention. Their entire table rose, and ran for the stairs to investigate as a woman's scream echoed the man's.
"Help me!"
In the courtyard of The Elephant, the Master of Revels was stumbling forward while water spewed from his mouth. Far too much.
"It's that Lynley bloke," Martha gasped.
"What's wrong with him?" the Doctor asked. Then he shook his head and ran forward. "Leave it to me. I'm a doctor."
"So am I, near enough."
Martha darted forward to join him. Jack stayed close to Rose and Shakespeare, his eyes scanning the crowd. Rose turned her attention to the shadows of the street and frowned. There was something in the air. She couldn't…. Rose couldn't pinpoint it. She shivered again. It brushed against her, just a little off. Unfamiliar. Not wrong, not exactly, but off. Her eyes drifted up the stairs, the way they had come. The serving girl was looking out over the scene, firelight illuminating her smug features. Where had she come from? She'd left the room ahead of them and hadn't come back, so how was she up on the landing now?
Both Martha and the Doctor were trying to help Lynley, who had collapsed onto the ground. People were watching as Martha struggled to get the man to speak. The Doctor was looking around the way Lynley had stumbled from. More water spilled out of Lynley's mouth. Martha and the Doctor spoke softly before the Doctor rose to his feet and turned his attention towards the woman who seemed to run The Elephant.
"Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours," the Doctor explained. "A natural if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away."
"Yes, sir," she answered.
"I'll do it, ma'am," the serving girl said.
She'd suddenly popped up again. The chill in the air was fading, but it seemed to linger around the brunette. Rose kept her gaze on her as she vanished around the corner. She thought that she caught a hint of a smile on the young woman's face. Jack put his hand on Rose's back and gently guided her forward as they drew closer to the Doctor and Martha. Rose could tell that Jack was now in protective mode.
"What happened?" Jack asked the Doctor softly. "Really?"
"Lungs are full of water. He drowned and then… blow to the heart," the Doctor whispered back. "Never seen anything like it."
"Why are you telling them it was natural?" Martha pressed. "It definitely wasn't."
"This lot still have got one foot in the Dark Ages. If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft," the Doctor answered.
"Okay, what was it then?" Martha asked.
"Witchcraft."
Rose didn't like the sound of that. The chill was fading, but she hadn't imagined it. That hadn't been right. That death hadn't been right. The Doctor knew it too. Rose hoped that he knew more than that because while her senses were screaming that something was off, she had no idea what it was.
As things quieted, they returned to the inside of the inn. The Doctor seemed to have decided that they were staying near Shakespeare for the time being, which Rose didn't argue with. She even caught Jack subtly scanning the inn with his Vortex Manipulator.
"Poor Lynley," Shakespeare sighed. He sat on the edge of his desk with a strange, musing expression on his face. "So many strange events. Not least of all, this land to the south where a woman can be a doctor?"
"Where a woman can do what she likes," Martha answered with a proud little smile.
"And you, Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?" Shakespeare asked.
"I do a lot of reading."
"A trite reply. Yeah, that's what I'd do," Shakespeare answered. His gaze shifted to Jack and Rose. "You two know him well, but to your companion, he is a puzzle." Shakespeare's focus settled on Jack. "A soldier, I believe, in the past, but now something more." Then he looked at Rose and shook his head. "You lady… I do not know. That is fascinating to me. In your eyes…." Shakespeare shook his head and chuckled. "I believe there are whole other worlds."
None of them knew what to say. Rose found it fascinating and scary all at once. It was Martha who spoke next. She cleared her throat.
"I think we should say goodnight," Martha said softly.
She stepped out of the room with Jack following her. Rose and the Doctor lingered for a moment, watching Shakespeare.
"I must work. I have a play to complete," Shakespeare said, breaking the silence. "But I'll get my answers tomorrow, Doctor, and I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours."
"All the world's a stage," the Doctor replied, quoting As You Like It.
"Hmm. I might use that. Goodnight, Doctor. Goodnight, milady." Shakespeare lowered his head in a slight bow to Rose. That was not normal, not even towards Dames.
The Doctor took Rose's hand and guided her to the door. "Nighty night, Shakespeare."
Martha and Jack were waiting across the landing where Dolly had set up two rooms for them. Jack had an odd expression on his face but looked uncertain about what to do next.
"A word first?" Jack asked; he nodded to one of the rooms.
"Right." The Doctor nodded and headed inside, with Jack following.
Rose looked at Martha. "Are you going alright?"
"I'm alright," Martha answered. "Are you a dame?" Martha asked. "Or did the Doctor just make that up?"
"I am, actually," Rose explained. "In our time… well, not yet, I don't think when you come from, but soon my younger self will be." Seeing that she was confusing Martha, Rose smiled. "Though, the Doctor does frequently makeup titles depending on when and where we are."
"What about… that other stuff? Other realities?"
"As I said, I have their memories." Rose sighed softly. "And this isn't the place or time, Martha."
"Shakespeare seems to have noticed something."
Rose smiled and shrugged a little. "Yes, he has. That's unusual. People don't usually pay enough attention to recognize that I'm too old." Rose chuckled. "I've never tried to count up their memories, but I'm likely older than the Doctor in terms of life experienced and remembered." Then Rose nodded to the door of the small room where Jack and the Doctor had gone. "Come on, best not to leave those two alone for too long."
Jack and the Doctor had intense and worried expressions on their faces when Rose and Martha entered. The Vortex Manipulator was in the Doctor's hand, and he shook his head before pushing it back at Jack.
"Doesn't tell us much, does it," Jack sighed.
"No." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and looked over to Martha and Rose. "Everything alright?"
"As alright as is possible," Rose answered.
"It's not exactly five-star, is it?" Martha asked, looking around the room. "I suspect the other is much the same, then?"
"Likely." Jack chuckled. "But trust me; we've seen worse."
"You and I can share the other room," Rose told Martha.
"But Rose," the Doctor pouted.
"Martha's only known Jack a day," Rose countered. "I'm not gonna ask her to share a room with him just so we can stay together."
"No, you're just asking me to share a room with him," the Doctor grumbled.
"Hey, come on! A few hours ago, it was passionate kisses, and now you're afraid of cooties."
"It was to leave a genetic trace," the Doctor huffed. But he was smiling a little. "Alright, fine. For Martha's sake." Then he sighed. "Jack got some odd readings, but nothing that's helpful at this stage."
"Can you even detect witchcraft like that?" Martha asked. She was looking at the Vortex Manipulator as Jack put it back around his wrist. "I mean… is it really all real?"
"Course it isn't!" the Doctor huffed. He flopped down on the bed. Rose sat down beside him while Jack leaned against the wall.
"Well, how am I supposed to know? I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break," Martha replied.
"Looks like witchcraft, but it isn't," the Doctor said. "Can't be."
"I know nothing about witchcraft," Rose said. "Beyond films and books, but I did… I felt something earlier. Right before the death and back at the Globe. There was something off about Shakespeare when he announced the play."
"Really?" the Doctor furrowed his brow and studied her. "Jack?"
"I didn't feel anything," Jack answered. "But I'm just the bodyguard."
"You are not," Rose huffed. She twisted to glare at him. "Don't say that."
He shrugged. Rose knew that she hadn't won, but the Doctor shifted his hand and took hers. "There's such a thing as psychic energy, but a human couldn't channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton, and I think we'd have spotted that. No, there's something I'm missing, Martha. Something really close, staring me right in the face, and I can't see it. "
"London Eye," Rose teased. The Doctor's lips twitched, and Rose followed the line of thought. "But… yeah, there could be some sort of generator in London." The Doctor turned his head and looked at her. "I mean… maybe even the Globe. It's a large structure, recently constructed, and so far, the odd things are happening around Shakespeare."
The Doctor stared at her. Then he grinned and shot up to touch her face. "You always say the right thing!"
"If you're right, then it's a good thing that we're staying close to Shakespeare," Jack said. "I've never heard of anything on the scale you're talking about, Doctor, and I don't like the sound of it."
"Agreed," Martha said uneasily. Rose felt a twinge of guilt. They'd really dumped her in on the deep end. Then again, that was usually how it worked. "So… what now?"
"We get some rest and try to be ready," Rose said. Pulling herself away from the Doctor, Rose stood up and smiled at Martha. "Come on, let's go to our room and try to sleep." She paused to kiss the Doctor's lips quickly while Jack grinned and then led Martha out to the hallway. A glance into Shakespeare's room assured her that he was hard at work. He didn't even glance up as Rose and Martha went into their room.