Twists in Time
Chapter Ten: The Shakespeare Code: Hallows Street
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.
AN: Ha, that's right, Peter Street makes it! The Shakespeare Code officially takes place in 1599 and Peter Street didn't die until May 1609. He was never in Bethlam in actual history, but we'll work with what canon originally gave us with a bit of correction as I like to do when possible. He even lived long enough to see his son John complete his apprenticeship and become a freeman of the Carpenters' guild like him. And I love that for him.
….
Rose stayed close to the Doctor as they hurried down the street. Her heart was racing. There was a hint of something in the air that wasn't fading away. If it was the 'magic' she was sensing, then it was growing thick and strong over London. The Elephant was ahead of them, but the night had well and truly settled in. She really wished that her phone could just connect to maps of London in 1599 like it could back in her home time. Shakespeare led them through the courtyard and up the stairs with long, almost frantic strides.
He was worried, but the sharp fear that they often saw in those around them was absent. In fact, excitement was rolling off of him. When they reached the room, Martha led the still-dazed Peter over to a corner. She glanced back at them but quickly put her focus on getting Peter some water and food and getting him cleaned up. A rush of appreciation and pride filled Rose's chest at the sight. Jack moved around the room quickly, checking all the corners and shadows while Shakespeare pulled out a map.
The Doctor's fingers moved across the map urgently. "All Hallows Street. There it is. Rose, we'll track them down. Martha, stay with Peter and take care of him. Will and Jack, you get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play."
"Alright," Martha said quickly.
"I'll do it," Shakespeare cheered. "All these years, I've been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing." Shakespeare was grinning, and Jack chuckled as he shifted toward him.
"Oh, don't complain," Martha said.
"I'm not," Shakespeare replied. "It's marvellous. Good luck, Doctor." He turned to Jack and smacked him on the shoulder. "You and me."
"Good luck, Shakespeare. Be good, Jack," the Doctor said. He grabbed Rose's hand and drew her to the door. "Once more unto the breach."
Rose smiled at the line from Henry V and followed the Doctor out. Behind them, Shakespeare said, "I like that. Wait a minute, that's one of mine."
The Doctor stopped and leaned back, "Oh, just shift!"
Jack laughed behind them. But Rose and the Doctor hurried on. Rose's mind spun. She hoped that they would be able to stop the play. And she hoped that Peter no longer mattered to them. Hiking up her skirt with one hand, Rose sped up as much as she could. The stink of the magic was growing worse. It rolled over her skin, sharp and metallic.
"It's going to be bad," Rose said. She knew that the Doctor would hear her.
"Probably."
"No, not probably," Rose answered. "I can smell it in the air. It isn't right."
The Doctor looked back at her, an odd expression on his face. "Conflicting forces, I imagine. How they manipulate or try to manipulate is at odds with what humans do. And maybe how you do it. They're very old."
Rose wasn't sure what to think of that. Was it possible that her senses were out of sorts because her role as the Gold Guardian was aware that the universe had moved on from them? How did that work? She didn't have time to mull it over as the Doctor led her to Hallows Street.
….
Martha felt uneasy as everyone rushed off to their tasks. She tried to reassure herself that the Doctor, Rose, and Jack were all familiar with stopping aliens and would be alright. Still, looking at Peter, she couldn't help but worry. These Carronite creatures were powerful to leave a man in this state. But Peter gave her something to focus on. Part of her disliked being left behind while the others rushed off, but she understood the logic of the situation.
Peter Streete was in rough shape. His time in the prison (Martha refuses to consider it a hospital) had left him too thin and dirty. Dolly had brought her some food and drink. Most of it wasn't ideal fare for his condition, but the stew at least had a lot of vegetables and some protein. Some bread let Peter mop every drop of the broth. He could eat without her help which was a good sign, and Martha thought he might be becoming more aware.
"He's in a right state," Dolly said carefully. She walked into the room and set down the basin of water that Martha had asked for. "Boiled, just as you asked."
"Thank you," Martha replied gratefully. She glanced over at Peter, unsure of the way that Dolly was watching him. "Do you know him?"
"Aye. Peter is a well-regarded carpenter among actors. He's worked on several local theatres. You know creatives, they tend to find each other." Dolly's smile turned sad. "He has a boy, you know. Still young. We all hoped that he'd recover."
"He might," Martha said firmly. "Thank you for the food. I'll help him get cleaned up."
"He's in a bad way." Dolly was frowning again. "That's not proper."
"I'm a doctor," Martha answered. Maybe not yet by the standards and rules of her time, but she trusted her medical knowledge far more than the doctors of this era. "I'm not worried about that. My concern is keeping him safe and helping him."
Dolly chuckled. "Alright, alright, love. I can see why Will likes you." She glanced at Peter and the empty bowl. "Shall I bring him more?"
"No, not yet," Martha answered. "I want to see how his stomach handles that stew first. Bethlam didn't give me the impression that he's had a good diet. Too much at once might make him ill, and he doesn't need that strain."
Dolly's gaze turned more considering. She nodded. "Alright then. I need to see to the customers downstairs. I'll check in later."
"Thank you."
Then the landlady vanished back out the door, leaving Martha with Peter. He started rocking on the small bed tucked into the side of the room and staring at the window.
"Peter?" Martha called. "Are you alright? Can I get you anything?" Martha picked up a clean rag and dipped it into the water. "Why don't we get some of that dirt off of
you, it might help you feel better."
"The witches," Peter gasped. "The witches."
"It's alright," Martha promised. She approached him slowly so he could see her, still holding the wet cloth. "My friends are seeing to that. We won't let them cast their spell." Martha silently wished the others luck and hoped they would not make a liar of her.
…..
Jack didn't like this. He wasn't sure what it was about the Carrionites, but they put him on edge like most threats didn't. Rose was reacting more intensely than normal to them, too, so he was inclined to think it was connected to her Guardianess. And as her Disciple, he supposed that rippled to him as well.
He stayed near Will and enjoyed a bit of a flirt as they rushed to the Globe. Time was slipping away from them, and by the time they made it inside, the tones of voices on the stage were already clear. Jack paused for a beat, but Will determinedly made his way backstage. Without a word to Jack or the other actors, he rushed out onto the stage. Jack lingered in the shadows and eyed the audience quickly.
"Stop the play! I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but stop," Will said loudly. "This performance must end immediately."
"Oh, everyone's a critic," one of the actors grumbled.
Jack saw movement in one of the boxes. He looked up sharply. Two women were cloaked in shadows, but they were there. In their hands was some sort of shining object though he was too far to see it clearly. Shakespeare kept pressing that the play had to end but then suddenly collapsed. Jack sucked in a sharp breath and started to move backstage while Will was brought back by a couple of the actors.
"You must forgive our irksome Will. He's been on the beer and feeling ill," one of the actors joked, earning a laugh from the audience.
Jack headed for the Carrionites. Two of them were here. He had a strong gut feeling that there were three like in the story of Macbeth. That meant that a third was somewhere else. A cold worry for Rose and the Doctor swept through him before it occurred to him that they might still want to tie up the loose end of Peter Streete, and Martha was in danger. Navigating his way out from backstage, Jack moved quickly through the crowd. The play kept on going behind him. But Will hadn't been able to stop it. If he could distract the Carronite…
"Doomfinger," a rough voice laughed. "We have a guest."
His hopes for surprising them went out the window immediately. "Indeed, Bloodtide. An odd one he is, but just as weak as the rest."
The witches turned to him. There was a crystal ball in their hands. Jack wondered how important that was. Smiling, he swaggered forward.
"How are you ladies tonight? Don't you have a third?"
"Our daughter Lilith sees to the Gold Lady and the Doctor," Bloodtide sneered. "But as for you… ah, a layered name. One discarded and one now true."
"A broken heart discarded in darkness, now thee truly be Jack Harkness."
The pressure hit Jack hard in his chest. His mind went fuzzy, and he stumbled back. It was trying to… he could feel it… Everything went black, and Jack slumped to the floor.
…
The door of the house swung open slowly. The Doctor made a soft joke about 'witch house' beside her but kept a tight hold of her hand. They entered the house slowly, and it was immediately clear that it was not a normal place. Dead animals hung from the ceiling, and jars filled with oddities filled shelves lining the walls. Waiting for them was one of the witches.
Rose recognized the servant girl from The Elephant though this time she was dressed in a rough black robe, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. The Carronite gazed at them with a snug and confident smile. Rose didn't like that smile.
"I take it we're expected," the Doctor said calmly.
"Oh, I think Death has been waiting for you a very long time," Lilith replied.
"And Death will be waiting longer," Rose said firmly. "Whatever you're planning, it needs to stop. You're risking ripping this planet apart, and there are very serious ramifications to that."
"Ah, the golden-haloed woman my mother spoke of." Lilith turned to peer at Rose, a hint of calculation in her eyes.
"Whatever you're planning, it stops now," the Doctor said firmly.
"You are an interesting one," Lilith murmured as she studied him. "Fascinating. There is no name. A man who hides himself deep in history and fear. But there is still one name with power over you."
"The naming won't work on me."
"Despite a Time Lords wish, time still flows, til it will carry away your beloved… Rose." Lilith smirked.
"That was a mistake," the Doctor growled. Before Rose could stop him, he marched forward. "The Carrionites vanished. Where did you go?" Rose held back a gasp at both the rhyme and his rage.
"The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness," Lilith's voice was calm. She turned her attention to the Doctor.
"And how did you escape?"
"New words. New and glittering, from a mind like no other."
"Shakespeare," the Doctor said with realization.
Lilith nodded and gestured to a cauldron bubbling in the corner by the fire. "His son perished. The grief of a genius. Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance."
"How many of you?" the Doctor asked.
"Just the three. But the play tonight shall restore the rest. Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And from this world, we will lead the universe back into the old ways of blood and magic."
"Hmm. Busy schedule. But first, you've got to get past me," the Doctor said. He shifted forward a little.
Lilith smiled. "Oh, that should be a pleasure, considering my enemy has such a handsome shape."
"He's also taken," Rose said. She summoned her sword as the Carrionite's hand started to move to the Doctor's head. "This sword kills Eternals. What might it do to you?"
Lilith drew back, her eyes flashing. "Before me stands one who has bridged the gulf, before time and space I name thee…." Then she stopped. Her eyes were widened now.
"Go on," Rose growled. Her voice was low and dangerous. Rage was clawing at her after that attack on the Doctor. "Name me."
The challenge filled the room. Rose's skin itched. She felt wild and was aware of the Doctor behind her, but he was staying still. The Carrionite took a slow step back. She swallowed, and uncertainty filled her features.
"What's wrong?" Rose asked softly. She took a step back. "Can you not find it, or does it scare you?"
They didn't answer. Spinning around, the witch dove out the window and out of sight. Rose stepped back to the Doctor and glanced around in case the being was trying to appear behind them as the one had in the prison.
"Rose?" The Doctor asked softly. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Rose promised. "But we'd better get back to the theatre. That's the centre of all of this."
The Doctor looked like he wanted to argue, but then he nodded. Rose suspected he didn't want to think about the rhyme the Carrionite had tried to use on him. One thing that didn't escape Rose as they headed for the door was the rhyme hadn't been structured to use her birth name or the title of Gold Guardian. The Carrionite, it seemed, had been seeing the Bad Wolf.
…
Martha peered out the window nervously. She was tempted to lock it up, both against the smell and against witches that might come flying in on brooms, but she didn't. That witch at Bethlam had just appeared in the cell with them and Peter. She shifted back and glanced over at Peter. He was sound asleep on the bed, breathing deeply. He still looked in bad condition, but a good wash and meal had helped. Dolly had even found him some old clothing that fit him decently. Martha was grateful for the woman's easygoing assistance. There was an impression that she'd seen far worse and stranger before and wound again.
A sudden shout from the bed made Martha jump. Running to Peter, she took his hand as his eyes snapped open. He turned to look at her with the gaze of a wild animal.
"Death and blood," he gasped. "Death and blood! It's starting; it's starting!"
"They'll stop it," Martha promised. "They'll stop it! Please, stay with me. Stay focused on me, Peter. It's Martha. Remember? Martha. Focus on me."
His grip was tight and painful, but his gaze cleared a little. Peter gave her a small nod even as his whole body trembled. A strange red glow poured into the room, and Martha risked a quick glance at the window. The sky had turned red. Swallowing, she forced her attention back to Peter and started telling him a story about her and her sister when they were children that wouldn't give away information about the future. It helped distract them both a little.
….
A red storm was over the Globe. Already people were screaming and running as she and the Doctor rushed to the theatre. Oddly enough, the audience wasn't running as they went in through the back. The power of the human mind to accept things was remarkable. Will was on the ground and groaning. There was no sign of Jack, and worry churned in Rose's gut.
"Stop the play. I think that was it," the Doctor snapped. "Yeah, I said, stop the play!"
"I hit my head," Shakespeare groaned.
"Yeah, don't rub it; you'll go bald. I think that's my cue!"
Before Rose could stop him, the Doctor burst out on stage. She had only a moment of hesitation, remembering that women weren't allowed on stage during performances before she followed with Shakespeare.
The red storm was worse here. This was the epicentre. Strange creatures with bat-like wings were sweeping into view. Rose's stomach twisted. Dangerous. The universe had moved on from this. If this was realized…
Golden energy flared off Rose's fingertips. She had just enough mental awareness of the situation to realize that she was using her powers again and using them in front of an audience on the London stage. The absurdity of it hit her hard, and Rose stifled a laugh. The power was warm and being through her. Not from her, through her as if she was connecting to something far away and serving as a path for it.
Gold twisted against the darkness in the centre of the storm, holding it back, but it was a struggle. Whatever they had tapped into was strong and desperate. Rose breathed slowly, trying to remember how she'd felt on Karn. Trying to find that control again. But she didn't have the Eternal Flame to help her or the raw Time Vortex. Her hands trembled, but she kept them up and braced as she tried to hold back the winds. She could hear the Doctor speaking behind her to Shakespeare.
"The shape of the Globe gives words power, but you're the wordsmith, the one true genius," the Doctor told Shakespeare. "The only man clever enough to do it."
"But what words? I have none ready!"
"You're William Shakespeare!" Rose snapped. "I can't hold this forever!"
"But these Carrionite phrases, the need such precision."
"Trust yourself," the Doctor said urgently. "When you're locked away in your room, the words just come, don't they, like magic? Words of the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm. Words that last forever. That's what you do, Will. You choose perfect words. Do it. Improvise."
"Close up this din of hateful, dire decay, decomposition of your witches' plot. You thieve my brains, consider me your toy. My doting Doctor tells me I am not!"
Rose peered around. In one of the boxes, she caught sight of Lilith and the other two witches. They were suddenly shifting nervously. She hoped that was a good sign. The audience was holding their hats and cloaks but watching with enthralled eyes.
"No! Words of power!"
"Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show! Between the points…."
"Seven six one three nine oh!" the Doctor shouted.
"Seven six one three nine oh! Banished like a tinker's cuss, I say to thee…."
There was a horrible pause behind Rose. Her mind spun, trying to remember any rhymes from any life that would work with cuss. Nothing came to mind. She hadn't tried to make a rhyme since sixth form, maybe earlier.
"Thus," she called back. The red was starting to darken again, beating back the gold. She somehow heard the Carrionites cheer it on.
"Be gone thus! By a guardian's golden will and mine own, this place of life is not your dead throne!"
There was a ring in the air as something shifted. Rose breathed in easier. The Carrionites screamed. Rose watched their forms be pulled into the red tornado as pages of the play swept past her. All it was pulled up into the storm. Stumbling back, Rose dropped her hands. The golden glow faded. The Doctor grabbed her, keeping her upright as the sky flashed and a loud bang echoed through the city.
"Love's Labour's Won. There it goes," the Doctor chuckled.
The audience started to cheer, and Rose laughed. "Suspension of disbelief is really something in a theatre."
Shakespeare beamed at the audience and bowed low. The Doctor grinned at Rose, and they did the same. As the cheering continued, the Doctor gently tugged Rose to the wing. He grasped her face between his hands and studied her.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes." She nodded honestly. "A bit tired, but I'm alright." She swallowed. "But I'm worried about Jack."
"Come on."
The cheering was still going as they moved around the edges of the theatre and the roaring crowd. Up in the boxes, they easily found the Carrionite's box. Jack was groaning as he stirred, and Rose dropped beside him with a smile. The Doctor stepped over him and picked up the crystal ball. Turning, he showed it to Rose. She laughed at the sight of the three Carrionites screaming and banging on the glass, now imprisoned and rather angry about it.