Twists in Time
Chapter Nine: The Shakespeare Code:
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.
….
Rose had been to the Globe in her own time. Only once, but she'd gone on a day out with Sarah Jane, Barbara, and Skye to get her godchild "culture" at Barbara's insistence. It had been fun, though Skye had needed a lot of coaching on understanding the performance. Rose had known then that it was a reproduction, so it hadn't hit her very hard.
But this was the true Globe where Shakespeare himself performed. Recently completed and serving as a hub of entertainment for the masses. She hadn't expected to feel raw energy in the air when they walked in, but she had, and Rose knew it had nothing to do with that witch she'd seen. The Doctor immediately bounded up onto the stage with Martha close behind. Rose and Jack stayed close to Shakespeare as he climbed the steps. A rush of emotion flowed over Rose as she looked out at the empty audience pit and the box seats.
"Mass of energy, isn't he?" Shakespeare chuckled as he nodded at the Doctor.
"That's one way of putting it," Jack answered. He smiled a little himself.
"It must be tremendously frustrating having a man like that as a brother-in-law," Shakespeare teased. "Terribly frustrating."
Jack smirked in response. "It has its moments."
Rose held back a groan and focused on the Doctor as he turned and eyed the rest of the structure. She tried to smile at the display of his brilliant mind working, but Rose had the bad feeling that they'd forgotten something, that she had missed something. It wasn't a good feeling, but Rose was unwilling to focus on it. She wanted to stay sharp and aware if that odd oily feeling returned. It had crept over her and filled the air even if the Doctor hadn't noticed it.
That witch…. Rose had never been one to believe in magic. Her early childhood had been too brutal in its realism for that. And then she'd learned about aliens, and the weird and strange in the world had a different explanation. She tried to remember exactly how the Doctor had explained it last night. Words rather than math. That shouldn't bother her. It didn't sound inherently dangerous to the universe. Perhaps the ill feeling was connected to what was being done with it.
When that witch had grabbed the broom in the corner, she'd said a rhyme and lunged for her. Rose's sword had sent it stumbling back to the window. But there had been a shove against her and more of that oily feeling. Rose had been able to talk just fine after the witch fled. Or maybe speak more no had been meant as a death threat. Had the witch expected it to kill her, or was it part of scaring her? Rose wasn't sure and wasn't looking forward to when the Doctor slowed down enough for them to speak alone. There were things she didn't want to discuss in front of Shakespeare. Not with the intelligence in his eyes. He noticed too much.
"The columns there, right?" the Doctor asked out loud. "Fourteen sides. I've always wondered, but I never asked. Tell me, Will. Why fourteen sides?" This time he directed the question to Shakespeare.
"It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all," Shakespeare answered. "Said it carried the sound well."
"Fourteen. Why does that ring a bell?" the Doctor murmured. He climbed back down the steps to the audience floor and looked around at the sides. "Fourteen."
"There are fourteen lines in a sonnet," Martha offered from her place on the stage.
"Fourteen answers to the Marxivile Equation," Jack suggested. When Martha glanced at him, he shrugged. Could be relevant."
"True, true," the Doctor said. But his focus was on Martha. "Good point. Words and shapes follow the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets. Oh, my head. Tetradecagon. Think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!" He ran a hand through his hair, and Rose had to hold back a smile.
"This is just a theatre," Shakespeare said doubtfully.
A brief flash of offence appeared on the Doctor's hand, and he hurried to the edge of the stage, touching it reverently. "Oh yeah, 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. But if you exaggerate that."
"It's like your police box. Small wooden box with all that power inside."
"Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, I like you," the Doctor said cheerfully.
"And it certainly adds to the transmitter theory," Rose added carefully. "We know the place, but who, what, and why remain a mystery. Witch isn't a real enough answer for me."
"Agreed. Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would know." The Doctor looked to Shakespeare. "Can I talk to him?"
"You won't get an answer. A month after finishing this place, he lost his mind," Shakespeare answered.
"What?" Jack frowned doubtfully. "Just like that?"
"What happened?" Martha asked more gently.
"Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."
Rose really doubted it was that simple. She shared a look with Jack. He didn't like the timing of that any more than she did. How long had the creatures behind this been plotting?
"Where is he now?" the Doctor asked.
"Bedlam."
Tensing at the answer, Rose tried to remember what she'd heard about a hospital by that name. She didn't have specifics, but she'd heard folks use the word to refer to a state of madness and chaos. If the name had become its own word, she doubted it was going to be a good place.
"What's Bedlam?" Martha asked.
"Bethlem Hospital," Shakespeare answered, turning to her. If he was surprised by her lack of knowledge, he didn't show it. "The madhouse."
"We're going to go there. Right now. Come on."
Jack, Rose, and Martha hurried to join him. Shakespeare called after them, "Wait! I'm coming with you. I want to witness this at first hand." Rose turned to see Shakespeare hand some pages over to two younger men as they walked onto the stage. "Ralph, the last scene, as promised. Copy it, hand it round, learn it, speak it, back before curtain up. And remember kid, project. Eyes and teeth. You never know; the Queen might turn up." Then he turned to follow them, muttering in a softer voice, "As if. She never does."
She exchanged a glance with Jack over the low comment, but he just shrugged. Shakespeare caught up with them quickly and, with a flirty smile, took the lead. In his own way, he reminded Rose a little of Jack. Not just the flirty undertone to everything he did but the too-sharp intelligence trying to navigate a world just a little out of sync with him.
Despite the urgency in her steps, Shakespeare was still happy to talk. Walking beside Martha, he asked, "So tell me of this mysterious homeland of yours, where women can be doctors, writers, actors."
"This country's ruled by a woman," Martha replied calmly.
"Ah, she's royal. That's God's business. Though you are a royal beauty."
Jack laughed out loud, and Martha stopped, holding up her hand. Rose glanced back curiously.
"Whoa, Nelly," Martha said. "I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country."
"But Martha, this is Town."
"Come on," the Doctor huffed. "We can all have a good flirt later."
"You always say that," Jack whined.
Shakespeare just smiled. "Is that a promise, Doctor?"
"Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air," the Doctor muttered. "Now move!"
"Rose doesn't share," Jack told Shakespeare as they started walking again. "So very sorry to tell you that."
"And what of you?" Shakespeare asked. "Do you share?"
"Oh, I'm much more flexible."
Rose didn't have to look back to know that the flirting was intensifying. She held back a huff of amusement or maybe a sigh. It was always hard to know how to feel when dealing with Jack's flirting. If Martha had hangups on the advances of a historical figure, Jack certainly wouldn't.
In the absence of public transit, it took too long to cross the city to Bishopsgate, in Rose's opinion. People were hurrying about their lives, though some did seem to recognize Shakespeare and tried to speak with him. With a firm but kind smile, he said hello and made his excuses. Apparently, there were rumours about the new play already being tonight, and Rose's nerves started to fray. She desperately wished that one of her other selves had studied literature enough to know the exact timing of Love Labor's Won in their world. This felt too rushed.
Bethlam Asylum was a dark building despite what looked like good construction for the time and wasn't far from the city gate on this end of London. In theory, it had been intended to be a place of healing or at least containment, but there was a feeling about it that made Rose's stomach turn as they walked inside. The smell was foul, even when compared to the sewage-carrying streets outside. Inside, the place was dark and gave off a feeling of pain. Jack shifted closer to her and Martha while the Doctor's expression hardened. She wasn't alone in feeling that, at least. The Keeper didn't seem surprised by guests and led them down a narrow hall between cells that truly were like cages and not rooms.
"Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits?" the Keeper asked. "I'd whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for you. Mad dog in Bedlam."
"No, I don't!" the Doctor snapped with barely restrained rage.
"Well, wait here, my lords, while I make him decent for the ladies," the Keeper said. He hurried off quickly, glancing back only once with obvious nervousness.
"So this is what you call a hospital, yeah? Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry?" Martha demanded from Shakespeare. "And you put your friend in here?"
"Oh, it's all so different in the south."
"You're smart," Jack huffed. He nodded around them. "You can't really think that this is helping anyone?"
"I've been mad. I've lost my mind," Shakespeare answered. His tone was calm. Matter of fact. "Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose."
"Mad in what way?" Martha asked.
"You lost your son," the Doctor said quietly. He took Rose's hand and squeezed it while gazing at Shakespeare with real understanding.
"My only boy," Shakespeare answered. "The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."
"I didn't know," Martha said. "I'm sorry."
"It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be." Shakespeare's expression brightened. "Oh, that's quite good."
"You should write that down," the Doctor offered with a slight smile.
"Maybe not," Shakespeare replied. "A bit pretentious?"
Before Rose could say anything on the subject of Hamlet, the play yet to be written, the Keeper of the Hospital returned and hurried them to Peter's cell. What they found was a frail-looking man in rags that hung off his frame and flinched back from the Keeper on instinct. Rose fought not to snarl at the Keeper. The 'hospital' wasn't large. There were maybe twenty people here at most, but the knowledge that this was how they were treated enraged her. That was the hard thing about time travel. The bad stuff in history was behind you until suddenly it wasn't. Until you were suddenly in an era that exploited the poor and mentally ill with open cruelty. She wasn't deluded about her own time, but there were at least efforts at protecting those with less power, even if she knew it wasn't enough.
"They can be dangerous, my lord. Don't know their own strength," the Keeper told them.
"I think it helps if you don't whip them," the Doctor snapped angrily. "Now get out!"
"Peter? Peter Streete?" the Doctor called.
"He's the same as he was," Shakespeare said. "You'll get nothing out of him."
"Peter?"
The Doctor approached the man with slow movements, giving Peter plenty of time to draw back if he wished. The man barely reacted, and Rose carefully followed the Doctor. Peter's face was gaunt, and his eyes were distant. Pain echoed in them, and Rose's chest ached as she peered at the man. She wondered if there was anything that she could do. Reaching forward, she gently put her hand on Peter's shoulder, careful to keep her touch light.
The man raised his head to look at the Doctor. With such care, the Doctor spoke gently to him and raised his hands to his temples. Rose's heart swelled as she watched him. So often, he was so clumsy regarding people's fear and emotions. Their doubts and unease. But at moments like this, all that compassion and care came shining through.
"Go into the past. One year ago," the Doctor told Peter. "Let your mind go back. Back 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. That's it. That's it; just let go." Rose released Peter's shoulder as the Doctor gently guided Peter's body so he was lying down on the small cot. The man's breathing was less laboured now. "Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches."
"Witches spoke to Peter," the man choked out. Shakespeare made a soft sound of surprise by the door, but he stayed silent otherwise and did not interfere. "In the night, they whispered. They whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The fourteen walls. Always fourteen." Peter started shaking. "When the work was done, they snapped poor Peter's wits."
A chill rolled down Rose's spine. An odd feeling was growing in her gut again. She glanced at the doorway, but Jack and Martha were lingering quietly with Shakespeare.
"Where did Peter see the witches?" the Doctor asked, keeping the narrative in the third person. "Where in the city? Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me where were they?"
"All Hallows Street."
"Too many words," an unfamiliar and scratchy voice said.
Rose spun. Another humanoid figure had suddenly appeared in the room without using the door. It was dressed all in black like the other witch, but the facial features were different. The lighting in this cell was worse, and she hadn't gotten a good look at the first witch, but she had the strong impression that this one was older. There was more than one. Of that, Rose was certain. She kept herself between Peter and the witch. The being smiled at her, bringing up a hand and stalking towards Peter.
"Just one touch of the heart," the witch cackled.
"No!" The Doctor tried to move to block her.
Rose was faster. Her sword appeared, and she thrust it at the being. On instinct, it jumped back to protect itself and its hand. Peter rambled about witches while Rose kept herself firmly between him and the new arrival. It was humanoid, but Rose had seen too much of the universe to assume that it meant anything.
The face was that of a hag. A long nose, dark eyes, and heavily wrinkled skin that didn't look right made up the features, along with a sharp chin. It was right out of a children's film. Rose held her ground, and the being paused to consider her. Rose felt the Doctor freeze behind her, even as his hand stayed fixed on his arm.
"Well?" Rose pressed. A smile tugged at her lips. She stayed where she was between the witch and Peter. "Did you come here to stare at me?"
"What are you?" the witch asked. "I seek a name, but…"
"A name," the Doctor said softly.
"Doctor, can you stop her?" Jack asked darkly.
"Stay back," Rose ordered. "I do not kill lightly, but I have no doubt regarding your intentions."
"The valiant knight of the stars, carrying the burden of many scars…." They trailed off again, this time drawing back. Rose saw them glance at Peter behind her. They were weighing the risk.
"Doctor?" Martha called. "What's happening? What's going on?"
"There's a power in words. If I can find the right one. If I can just know you," the Doctor said. He put a hand on Rose's shoulder but made no move to shift around her.
"None on Earth has knowledge of us," the witch sneered. But she kept her eyes on Rose, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. Rose wondered what she saw when she looked at her.
"Then it's a good thing I'm here. Now think, think, think. Humanoid female uses shapes and words to channel energy. Ah! Fourteen! That's it! Fourteen!" The Doctor's tone was triumphant as the witch drew back a step. "The fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration! Creature, I name you Carrionite!"
The witch shrieked, the sound echoing in the cell before she vanished in a slow flash of light. Rose blinked and glanced around the room carefully. Behind her, Peter was moaning and grumbling to himself. She turned. The man was shaking. Releasing her sword, Rose knelt before him.
"It's alright," Rose said gently. "She's gone."
"What was that?" Jack asked.
"What did you do?" Martha demanded.
"I named her. The power of a name. That's old magic."
"But there's no such thing as magic," Martha replied.
"Well, it's just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers and the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words instead."
"Use them for what?" Shakespeare asked. Despite what he'd just seen, his tone was calm.
"The end of the world," the Doctor answered.
He moved to Rose and Peter, studying the man. "He should be safe now. They have no further reason to hurt him if we leave."
"Are you sure?" Rose looked up at the Doctor. Peter was watching them with eyes that she thought might be clearer now. "She wanted to kill him."
"He's not their biggest problem anymore," the Doctor replied.
"I can stay with him," Martha offered. She appeared nervous. "Look after him, I mean."
"You aren't staying here," the Doctor growled. But he looked back at Peter.
"We'll take him back to The Elephant," Shakespeare suggested. He stepped forward and studied Peter sadly. "Given… well, I would not want him left alone. Miss Martha can watch over him there until this dark business is concluded."
"Alright," the Doctor agreed. "Jack, help Shakespeare get him moving. We need to get a map and track down the witches before whatever they're planning is completed."
"What were you doing last night?" Rose asked. "Before you fell asleep and the Carrionite came into the room."
"Finishing the play," Shakespeare answered.
"It wasn't finished before you announced its performance?" Rose asked. The very idea was insane to her.
"No…" Shakespeare paused. "A strange feeling came over me while I was on the stage. I announced it though I knew it wasn't ready."
"That's it!" The Doctor jumped as Jack gently helped Peter to his feet. "What happens on the last page?"
"The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It's all as funny and thought-provoking as usual. Except for those last few lines." Shakespeare's expression turned odd. "Funny thing is, I don't actually remember writing them."
"Another strange feeling, I assume," Rose said.
A dawning look of worry filled Shakespeare's features. "You believe they bewitched me." Then he nodded. "Aye. I fear I don't know where Hallows Street is. There's a map in my room. Come, let us hurry and make a plan to stop these foul deeds." Then he stepped over to Jack to help hold Peter up before their small party hurried back into the corridor with Martha gently introducing herself to Peter.