AN: I'm a few months late, but as promised, happy ten years! I've got three of these, each tackling some of my favourite tropes from the last decade, my favourite characters, and my favourite dynamics. And, yes, Clara is in all three – it wouldn't be true 3D9C without Clara getting far too much attention. I've changed the date Eleven regenerates now to Day 3,668 (17th of July) because of timeline inconsistencies. Finally, they did already cover this cryptid in Big Finish earlier this year with the Eighth Doctor, but this is my version.
The Man from Xenon
DAY 3,656 – 5th of July 2023
"Look at that! Sea monster! Way beyond anything this primitive police force could understand – no offence, John," said the Eleventh Doctor, slapping the police officer next to him on the back by way of apology. Clara was standing a few feet away, umbrella in hand, watching Eleven run around a large, dead porpoise and scan it with his sonic. It was two in the afternoon, but the sky was black with storm clouds.
"Sea monsters aren't real," said John the bobby.
"How would you know? Have you had a proper look down there? Underneath all the sofas, behind the fridges?" the Doctor quizzed him.
"Fridges in the sea, sir?"
"Course there are fridges in the sea. How else would the fish keep their milk cold? Think about it," he rapped his knuckles on John's black helmet, which John did not like.
He turned back to Clara and beckoned her over, "Come and have a look at the sea monster, Coo!"
"Oh, I can see it quite well from here, thanks," said Clara. It was very pungent.
The Doctor straightened up, a very serious look on his face, and then came stomping towards her in that way of his.
"Clara, this is an ommiel," he pointed at it, "These are whales that swim through hydrogen clouds in stellar nurseries, singing the most beautiful song in the universe – thousands of them in a pod, all at once. Some of the most extraordinary beings the world has ever seen."
"I appreciate that, but this one is dead, it stinks," said Clara, "How did it even get into the sea here if it's supposed to fly around through space?"
"Judging by the burned tissue and radiation traces, it fell through a spacetime rift and ended up drowning. Then it's washed up here. A tragedy, really. And you won't even look at it."
"I am looking at it," said Clara, "It's massive. It's just that – you promised us a beach getaway."
"This is a beach! We're getting away!"
"It's our wedding anniversary, it's freezing cold, and we're on the Isle of Man."
"Yes! On a beach!" She glared at him, and he scoffed. "You're no fun. Now, River, she'd appreciate an ommiel."
"Look, it's very majestic, I suppose, but I'd much rather have seen one when it isn't dead and rotting away in a thunderstorm. And when it's not my ten-year wedding anniversary."
He turned back to the policeman, "Have you got a wife, John?"
"There's a Mrs Quayle, aye," said John.
"And how long have the two of you been married?" the Doctor approached him.
"Twenty-two years now."
"Brilliant – and if, hypothetically, you promised the good Mrs Quayle a romantic anniversary trip," the Doctor put an arm around John's shoulders, "And you brought her here to see this dead alien whale, where would be a nice place in the local vicinity to make amends?"
"Ah," John nodded, "You want to go to the tearoom in Dalby."
"Tearoom in Dalby," said the Doctor, taking this in, "How far's the walk, would you say?"
"Ten minutes or so, go straight north along the coast here."
"Excellent, excellent. Now, I'm going to give you the telephone number for one of my best people, oldest friends – Captain Jack Harkness," the Doctor took John's notepad and pen from his breast pocket and started to write, "I say friend, he's a reprobate. Ex-son-in-law; seduced my daughter, long story. But he works for Torchwood, down in Cardiff in – sorry, what year is it, again?"
"What year? You said you were some sort of expert."
"Yes, an expert in alien whales. Not in remembering what day of the week it is."
"It's July 1935, sir."
"In that case, yes, he will be in Cardiff. You just ring him up and tell him there's a dead alien here needs extraction."
"You don't want to wait for him? Ring him yourself?"
"No, no, that wouldn't be wise. But give him my best, he'll sort all this out. Actually, scratch that, don't give him my best – he'll get the wrong idea. He's a flirt, and I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon."
"Wedding anniversary," said Clara behind him.
"Oh, come on," he said, leaving John bewildered on the rainy coast, "We've been honeymooning for ten years, why stop now? Ta-ra, Officer Quayle," he waved over his shoulder, Clara taking his other arm and lifting the umbrella over both of them, "Give Mrs Quayle my regards!"
"That's it, then? A dead whale and a long, rainy walk to get some scones?" said Clara.
"A bit of rain never hurt anybody!"
"That's not true."
"You've gotten a lot more ungrateful this last decade. I'd never have married you if I knew it would turn out like this. Then again, you have always been very demanding."
"I'm not ungrateful, I'd just like more of your attention today," said Clara, "I don't want to compete with a dead, alien whale on my anniversary. I don't even know how many anniversaries I have left with you."
"All of them, I should hope."
"You know what I mean. You."
"You're not still worrying about all that, are you?"
"About you regenerating?"
"Has to happen sooner or later."
"That isn't very comforting…"
"Try not to think about it, that's what I do."
"And you're just a picture of emotional wellbeing, aren't you?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Tell me more about these whales while we walk, then."
"They're ommiels, how many times? And they're truly one of the more fascinating space-dwelling species – a little like the star whales. Of course, there aren't any of those around anymore, and it was Amy I met the whale with. Did I ever tell you about that?"
"Probably, but you can tell me again."
So, he did. It took the whole walk to tell Clara about Starship UK and the captive star whale. She had heard the story before, many times, but she didn't mind. She'd never get bored of listening to the Doctor talk.
She also wouldn't ever get bored of tea and scones, and that was exactly what the Dalby tearoom offered. A proper cream tea with a fire in the corner. Back then, the Isle of Man was still a popular tourist destination, so they didn't attract too much attention despite being outsiders in a rural area.
"You just can't beat a spot of afternoon tea, can you?" said the Doctor, getting crumbs everywhere.
"No, you can't," said Clara, looking at him like he'd put the moon in the sky. For all she knew, he had. But then, he looked at her in exactly the same way.
"What's on the agenda for the rest of the day, then? Once we've finished our tea?" he asked. Outside, thunder rumbled. The storm was getting worse.
"We can always stay. Book a room in some cosy bed and breakfast, enjoy the bed and the breakfast plenty," said Clara. "I just want to spend the day with you and stay in the moment. No distractions."
"Right you are. No distractions. I'm brilliant at not getting distracted by things." He crossed his arms and leant back in the chair, looking out at the windswept coast. Clara sipped her tea.
"Very peaceful here, isn't it?" she said.
"Yes. Very."
She drank her tea again, watching him when he started making a face.
"You don't like it, do you?"
"No, not really," said the Doctor, "Why don't you talk about something? You're always doing that."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. Anything."
"Alright," said Clara, "Had any good wanks recently?"
"Clara! Not that."
"You said anything," she shrugged. "I'm only joking. I know you're too uptight to do that sort of thing. Although, it does make me wonder what you were up to all alone for three hundred years."
"I was reading."
"For three centuries?"
"Yes! There are a lot of books out there. Maybe you'd notice, if you ever took your hand out of your knickers."
"I only read the mucky stuff, then I can do both at the same time, you see." He said nothing. "I bet you would like to see, wouldn't you?"
"My seeing or not seeing you in a compromising position is neither here nor there."
"Which is it?"
"Pardon?"
"Do you want to see me in a compromising position here, or over there?" she asked innocently.
"You're impossible to have a conversation with."
"Ooh, 'cause we're always having conversations, aren't we?"
"We're supposed to be having a conversation right now. This was your idea."
"No, it wasn't." At that, he made some incoherent grumbling sounds and lapsed back into silence.
Their 'romantic' afternoon soon got a touch more interesting but a little less intimate, when two tall men in long, dark raincoats and tweed suits came in from the cold. Up until that point, it had just been Clara, the Doctor, and the lone waitress, with somebody else hiding in the back waiting to make eggs if the need arose.
"It's a hoax, Rex, nothing more," said the man on the left, pulling out a seat at one of the only two free tables and tossing a damp newspaper down in front of him.
"Of course, I agree. But it was a funny little thing, don't you think?"
"A child playing tricks and getting the entire island worked up." The stranger caught the eye of the waitress, "A pot of tea, please, Mary, with two cups."
"Right away, Mr Price."
Mr Price went on talking to Rex, "It's just unfortunate to me that people should keep going in for these kinds of shenanigans. There's cold, hard evidence of the paranormal out there, and charlatans like this are muddying the waters."
"If you say so," said Rex, "But the chap did look like he was talking."
"It's only a weasel."
"A strange sort of weasel, if you ask me. I've never seen one so yellow before."
"It's turmeric. Utterly harmless to the creature. I imagine it's a stoat, that colour would show up nicely."
"And you'll tell me the voice is ventriloquism, and that's what we ought to write in the book?"
"Yes."
"And that the Manx love turmeric?"
"I'll have to look into that a little more closely. We need to find the thing we cannot doubt, if we want proper evidence. As Descartes said."
"Yes, but, Harry, Descartes wasn't talking about a mongoose, was he? And besides, this paranormal lark, it's all your business. I'm coming from an anthropological standpoint. What sort of mind could dream up such a scheme?"
"Your own limited imagination isn't evidence that everybody else is similarly stunted." Though he'd been insulted, Rex laughed good-naturedly.
The Doctor clicked his fingers in front of Clara's eyes and she blinked, looking away from the strangers.
"Were you saying something?" she asked.
"Yes, I was asking if you wanted to look into booking that room, but apparently, you're spying."
"Listen," Clara beckoned him to lean towards her, which he did. She saw he had a bit of jam on his bottom lip, so she wiped it away with her thumb out of habit, "That man over there? That's Harry Price," she whispered, "The ghost hunter."
"Is it?" the Doctor turned to look, as Clara licked the raspberry jam off her hand. Because it was only them in there, the men noticed immediately. "Sorry, don't mean to interrupt – but you are, aren't you? Harry Price? The parapsychologist?"
"If that's what they're calling me at the moment," he said.
"Oh, brilliant! Borley Rectory, that was you, wasn't it? Some of your best work. Or, it will be – what year is it again?"
"1935," said Clara, "Harry Price and Rex Lambert, you must be?"
"I am," said Rex, nodding at her politely.
"I've read your book!" Clara beamed, starstruck.
"Which one?"
"The one you're writing now, the pair of you."
He frowned, "I beg your pardon?"
"…I mean, I think I read about it, that you were going to write a book. About the Dalby Spook. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's what you were talking about? Sorry – I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
"That's quite alright, Miss…?" asked Rex.
"Mrs Oswald – Clara. This is my husband, the Doctor."
"You didn't come here to see the creature as well, did you?" said Harry, "I wouldn't recommend it."
"No, that's a coincidence," said Clara, "We're here for our anniversary. But did you see it? The mongoose?"
"Mongoose?" the Doctor looked at her.
"I can't believe you haven't heard of this, Chin. Gef the Talking Mongoose."
"Don't get overexcited," said Rex, "Harry's convinced the beast is merely a stoat somebody's washed in turmeric and is puppeteering."
"It's a simple throwing of one's voice," said Harry, "Easy to do in a house like that."
"We must do something about the name, though," said Rex, "I much prefer the 'Cashen's Gap Spectre' to this talking mongoose business."
"You saw a yellow, talking mongoose in a house here?" said the Doctor.
"It's been in the newspapers for years by now," said Harry. "It's a good trick, if entirely within the realm of natural phenomena. You see, Doctor, people think they can point and laugh at the idea of an afterlife. That's why they do things like this."
"The mongoose is possessed, you mean?" said the Doctor, "A yellow, possessed, talking mongoose?"
"Allegedly. And we couldn't get it to stay still long enough for a picture."
"Must be a rather clever stoat, to know to avoid your camera," said the Doctor.
"Where is Cashen's Gap from here?" asked Clara, "Which direction?"
"Only a short way beyond Dalby," said Rex, "A woman like yourself might catch a cold in weather like this, though."
"Colds don't work like that," said the Doctor before Clara could speak for herself.
"How do you mean?"
"A cold. It's a virus. You get it from other people, other dirty humans sneezing and breathing all over the place, not from weather."
"Sweetheart?" Clara prompted him. He turned to see her smiling softly at him.
"…Yes, alright," he relented easily, "We'll go and see the mongoose. Although, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that they do come in yellow in the wild."
"But not on the Isle of Man," said Harry, "Much easier to get the stoat and dye it."
"I'm something of a zoologist," said the Doctor, flashing them his blank, psychic paper, "I'll have a thorough look at it and get back to you, shall I?"
"We'll be at the Caledonia in Douglas until the ferries leave tomorrow morning," said Harry, "But plenty of scientists have already examined what physical evidence has been gathered, and they agree with me."
"I don't believe any of them said anything about the turmeric, though," said Rex. The Doctor was getting up, lifting his purple frock coat from the back of the chair. "What did you say your name was, again?"
"The Doctor," he said.
"Doctor who?"
"Just the Doctor."
"But you can't be just 'the Doctor'. 'The Doctor' isn't a name," said the severe woman lurking in the doorway of the old house at Cashen's Gap.
"It's Dr Oswald," said Clara, smiling politely and holding their umbrella on the windswept hillock, "But he really does prefer 'the Doctor'. Even I call him that."
"And who are you?"
"I'm his wife, Clara. We're just on holiday for our anniversary, and heard about Gef. We're leaving tomorrow."
"Yes!" the Doctor grinned, "She's been following the story, persuading me to bring her out here for a few days – it's ten years, you know. Surely, ten years is worth a glimpse of the mongoose?"
"…He's tired," said the woman.
"You're Margaret Irving, aren't you?" said Clara, "I'm really fascinated by this whole thing."
"It's true," said the Doctor, "As a child, she was amazed at seeing a dog that said 'sausages' on the television."
"Radio," said Clara quickly, "He means heard it. On the radio. The dog."
"A dog talking about sausages?" said Margaret Irving.
"Well, what else would a dog be talking about?" said Clara. Margaret frowned at her, and she smiled back. "Please. It would mean the world to me to talk to Gef, it really would."
"…I'll see. You can wait in the hall." She beckoned them into a cold interior, a few paintings of the coast on the walls and some candles lit on a small table next to the stairs. "Wait here."
"Right you are!" said the Doctor. Clara stayed in the doorway to shake out her umbrella.
"You know, I wasn't even born when that thing with the dog happened," she said, "That was the seventies."
"You can't expect me to keep track of years and dates and how old you are, Coo."
"Do you know how old I am?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't care."
She sighed and stepped over the threshold, closing the umbrella and the front door behind her.
"Do you believe in all this, then?" the Doctor asked, "Your mongoose."
She just shrugged, "We'll find out, won't we? Haven't you read the book, though?"
"The Haunting of Cashen's Gap? I've read all the books in my library."
"So why have you been pretending not to know about it?"
"I thought it might be nice to let you imagine you know more than I do about something."
"Leave me to live a lie?"
"You're always living a lie. You still hold the very misguided belief that I like you and enjoy us spending time together." She rolled her eyes.
"Did you never wanted to come and look into it before?"
"I've got a very long to-do list! And I don't get through it half as quickly now you're around, taking up all my time with your whining and tight dresses and horrible face. What's the plural of mongoose, anyway? Mongeese? Mongooses? Seems like the sort of pointless information you'd know."
"It's 'mongooses'," said Clara.
Seeing Margaret Irving on her way back, Clara pulled the Doctor over by his arm so it didn't look like they'd wandered.
"You can see Gef," she said, "But only for a few minutes. He's very tired and is due his tea soon."
"Brilliant! What do you feed him for his tea, out of interest?" asked the Doctor, following her lead with Clara still hanging onto him.
"Anything and everything. Leftovers, worms, biscuits, offal. He's never been fussy."
"No, well, why would you be, if you were a mongoose?" said the Doctor. "Although, biscuits? They were carnivorous, last I checked."
"I told you. He isn't fussy."
"And how did he get here?"
Margaret had led them to a room at the back of the house, hand on the doorknob, waiting.
"He just appeared, four years ago," she explained, "My daughter's the better storyteller, but she's away in Douglas running errands today with the dog."
"Is she, now?" said the Doctor. "But a fan of stories?"
"She didn't make it up, if that's what you're implying," she said coolly.
"I wasn't doing anything of the sort. Is he just in there? Excellent," he rudely pushed her aside and barged into the room.
"Sorry," said Clara, "He doesn't have any manners, he's… from London."
"Oh."
"I know. We won't be long."
Clara closed the door behind them, the Doctor taking the screwdriver out already. No mongoose immediately presented itself, but the windows were all covered over with old newspaper, presumably to stop people trying to take photos of the creature uninvited.
"Hello!" he said loudly, "I'm the Doctor!" He stumbled around the room with his sonic, scanning everything, "I've heard a lot about you – Gef, is it?" Silence for a moment, and then Clara heard something; an end table with a dusty lamp on it wobbled in a corner. "Are you hiding down there? I've got just the thing." He reached into his coat pocket and took out a Jammie Dodger.
"I knew I saw you eating one of those earlier!" said Clara, "You lied and told me you didn't have any."
"I can't very well have you nicking my biscuits. You're like a rat. Not that being a rodent or rodent-adjacent mammal is a bad thing, of course," he added to the wobbly end table. He waved his Jammie Dodger around in front of him. "Come on, there's more where this comes from. I've got a tub of clotted cream, too."
"You've got a whole bloody picnic in those pockets," said Clara.
"What else do you want?" the Doctor continued to implore the creature, hearing something running about along the skirting boards and behind the furniture, "How about some crisps? Scotch egg?"
At that, the scrawny, yellow rat rushed out from underneath an armchair and grabbed the Jammie Dodger in its tiny paws like a meerkat.
"I wouldn't say no to a slice of pie, but this'll have to do," said the mongoose gruffly, making Clara jump. It sat on its haunches and ate the biscuit. "Long time no see, Doctor." Did it have an American accent?
"Frobisher!" the Doctor beamed, "Cor, imagine running into you, here of all places!"
"And you've got a new broad – how's it going, toots?" said the mongoose.
"I beg your pardon?" said Clara.
"This is Clara," said the Doctor, "Clara, this is Frobisher, an old pal of mine – mind you, he usually looks like a penguin. What kind of con have you got going here, eh? Taken in by a nice, naïve family who keep you in table scraps?"
"A penguin?" said Clara.
"He's a Whifferdill, a shapeshifter. I travelled with him – oh, five hundred years ago now, I reckon? Something like that. And we've run into each other from time to time since. He's from the planet Xenon, they're all like that there."
"And the accent is…?"
"Theatrics," said the Doctor, "Of course, I'll be an American one of these days, won't I?"
"I'd really prefer you don't joke about that."
"It's such a horrible eventuality that I only can joke about it."
"Who's the dame?" said Frobisher, "She doesn't sound all that sharp."
"Oi! She's my wife, I'll have you know, and she's as sharp as they come. But what are you doing here? Living in a cold, old house on the Isle of Man? Not by choice, I imagine."
"I've got this," said Frobisher, pointing out one of his hind legs. It had a silver ring on it, like an ankle tag. "Form compressor. Keeps me stuck in this shape, and with these hands, I can't get it off."
"Who's put that on you?" asked the Doctor.
"Have you heard of the Novis Carnival Flotilla?"
"Travelling circus, yes, of course! Jenny's got all kinds of stories about the circus," said the Doctor.
"I thought it'd be an easy way to make a quick buck, then I found out that lots of the people there? They're not there willingly. I get the evidence just when Evanlex, the ringmaster, catches me in the act. They slap this on my ankle and say I'm not gonna perform anymore, I'm gonna be their pet."
"How did you escape?" asked the Doctor.
"The lead ship took a wrong turn through a solar flare. Two second power cut was all I needed to permanently sever this thing from their mainframe and disappear with a stolen vortex manipulator – didn't drain the battery, though."
"Of course. Most extravagant circus in the universe, it must be riddled with time travellers wanting to see the show. And then what happens? They get mugged?"
"Something like that."
"Where's your vortex manipulator now?"
"Safe nearby. The Irvings found me, and I've been living the good life ever since."
"The good life? Hiding in a dingy, old house and eating biscuits?"
"You spend your time hiding a dingy, old TARDIS and eating biscuits," said Clara.
"The TARDIS is not 'dingy'. Frobisher would never say such horrible things about my TARDIS, would you?"
"Yeah, but I bet he won't shag you, either," said Clara.
"I thought the wife thing was just a joke, but you and him? A buttoned-up, repressed old man who looks like a foot?" said Frobisher. Clara snorted.
"Hey! I'm here to help you!" said the Doctor. "And I don't look anything like a foot, for your information – do I, Clara?"
"You do, a bit," she said, somewhat apologetic. "Sorry, Chin. It's the eyebrows. Or lack thereof."
"Do you want my help, then?" the Doctor turned back to Frobisher, annoyed. "Or do you want to carry on being Gef? Where did that come from, 'Gef'?"
"I read it in a book, and I was already here, and happened to look like a mongoose."
"Great. Let's park that paradox while I deal with this…" the Doctor crouched and sonicked Frobisher's ankle tag. Though he was a mongoose with horrid, orange eyes, Clara could have sworn she saw him wink at her when the Doctor was preoccupied.
"So, the Novis Flotilla has lost a pesky Whifferdill that knows it's keeping people in servitude? Funny thing about the Flotilla ships, they use helium conversion engines. What do you know about helium conversion engines, Clara?"
"They, uh…"
"Come on, we've done this before."
"They… convert helium into hydrogen?"
"Yes, and then periodically dump the excess hydrogen as a waste product. Big fleet like that, dumping out hydrogen all over the place – permanent, easy food source for a lifeform like…?" He turned to her hopefully, wanting her to connect the dots.
"You said the ommiels eat hydrogen."
"Precisely. I imagine it's hitched a ride, hasn't it, Frobisher?" The ankle tag clicked, and Frobisher was able to shake it off. Before their eyes, he morphed into a penguin.
"You think they came here and brought that thing with them," said Clara, "But would they really go to all that trouble for a mongoose? A penguin? They're not going to invade Earth just for one penguin."
"He's a very naughty penguin. Except…" the Doctor was thinking again, "The ommiel only just washed up. So, something's drawn them here, now. Something like-"
A wave passed through them. Just a feeling, a pulse through the air, the hair on Clara's arms standing up. She shivered.
"What was that?" asked Clara.
"You said you used a vortex manipulator to come here?" the Doctor questioned Frobisher, "And hid it nearby? Where anything can get at it – rats, mice, shrews, rabbits? What we just felt was a time stutter, only very weak, but the kind of thing that happens when the chronoplasm containment tubes on a vortex manipulator get chewed through."
"It would take years to chew through one of those," said Frobisher.
"You've been here for years, you-! Why didn't you try to contact me? Can't use a telephone with your mongoose paws, or were you so happy with your cushty life here and an endless supply of offal and biscuits that you couldn't be bothered?" said the Doctor. Frobisher said nothing. "Thought so. What did you take from them? Tell me, now, because do you know what that ommiel is? Retro-causal. You've heard of things washing up late, well, this has washed up early, slipped through a time rift with the ship because they've detected the stutter from the missing vortex manipulator stolen by the same good-for-nothing who also stole…?"
"Alright, alright," said Frobisher, "Lots of those people up there are criminals, you know. Thieves."
"Yes, my daughter used to travel with them, and she's the best thief of them all. Stage-name Jenny Acallaris – actually, she won't be up there, will she?"
"Acallaris? Before my time."
"Good, good… don't want to run into her too soon…"
"They stole the Kardamite ruby."
"Sorry, I must have misheard you," said the Doctor, talking slowly, "I thought for a minute there that you said they'd stolen the Kardamite ruby, but they can't possibly have done that, because that would be very, very stupid."
"What's the Kardamite ruby…?" asked Clara.
"Just a jewel. It's who it belongs to is the problem – the royal family of the Kardamite Empire – like the Koh-i-Noor, times a thousand."
"And no rabbits will be chewing through that any time soon, lemme tell ya," said Frobisher.
"So!" the Doctor clapped his hands, "Circus performers nick one of the most valuable rocks in the universe, and you nick it off them? No wonder they're chasing you all the way here! You'd better show us to your stash."
"What for!" said Frobisher.
"So that I can give it back, you idiot."
"That's my ruby!"
"No, it isn't! It's their ruby! Actually, no, it's the Kardamites' ruby – although, they did steal it originally themselves… But the point is that this entire island will be razed by people looking for that thing if you don't hand it over," said the Doctor.
"You can't do that, I won't let you." The Doctor had gone for the door but Frobisher the three-foot penguin stepped in front of it.
"Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do about it, you little – oh, blimey," the Doctor cowered, pushing Clara behind him, when Frobisher transformed into a kangaroo in the blink of an eye, fists raised threateningly. "Now, stop all this, at once. Let's just think things through."
"There's nothing to think through, it's my ruby," said Frobisher, his Brooklyn accent coming through the snout of a kangaroo. "You've no idea what I went through to get it, and if you get in my way…"
Dizziness overcame Clara, her head swimming and ears ringing from a sound she couldn't hear. She swayed a little and the Doctor steadied her, no longer listening to Frobisher's rant about how he deserved the gem more than anybody else.
"Infrasound," said the Doctor quietly, "Spaceship engines, loud but below the range of human hearing." But he could hear it clearly; a shuttle descending, locked onto the energy signal released by the exposed chronoplasm. The Doctor rounded on Frobisher, deathly serious. "Now, listen here. I know you're not going to attack me, you're a coward and I'm your oldest friend. But you'll never be able to fence that ruby."
"I know people, I can make some calls," said Frobisher gruffly, though he shrank away from the Doctor despite towering over him in his kangaroo costume.
"I know people, too. And what if I get in touch with my people and tell them that if some dodgy Whifferdill with a plastic ruby comes knocking, not to go anywhere near it or they'll have me to deal with as well as the circus, hm?" the Doctor challenged him. "Not that I'd need to since it's the most valuable thing in the galaxy and everybody knows how dangerous the Kardamites are.
"Face it. You're hiding here because you know you can't get rid of it, and now I'm your best chance of getting out of this situation alive."
Frobisher scowled, which was a very odd thing to see a kangaroo do, and then he turned back into a penguin. The closer the shuttle got the more Clara could hear it, the windows rattling as it landed outside the Irvings' farmhouse.
"Fine!" said Frobisher, flapping his wings, "You're right, it's too hot. I took it to the Maldovarium, and they'd rather turn me in and pick up the bounty and the reward!"
"No honour among thieves, eh?" said the Doctor.
"But I'm not coming out of this empty handed, oh no. You're gonna do something for me in return."
"In return for saving your life?"
"I think I might stay here with the Irvings, that's all," said Frobisher, "But in case I have to make a quick getaway, it would be good if I had a little nest egg."
"Go on," said the Doctor stiffly, crossing his arms.
"You're gonna tell me who wins the National for the next ten years. I've got a good thing going here, and no two-bit circus freaks are getting in my way."
"No!" said the Doctor, "Telling you the winner of the Grand National so that you can gamble would violate every rule in the time traveller's handbook! Not that such a handbook exists, but if it did, gambling would be at the top of the list of things not-"
"Reynoldstown," said Clara.
"Pardon?" said the Doctor.
"The 1936 Grand National, it's won by Reynoldstown."
"Clara! I'm trying to make a point about not using time travel in a morally dubious way, and you – how do you even know that?"
Clara paused, deliberating what she should say. She decided to come clean.
"…There was this girl-"
He tutted, "It's always a girl."
"She just liked horses a lot. Alicia."
"You remembered her name?"
"I remember the name of everybody who asks me to neigh when I-"
"Yes, alright, that's enough of you," the Doctor said, turning back to Frobisher. "Fine. But for five years, not ten."
"Deal."
Frobisher waddled across the room and stamped a flipper on a loose floorboard, upending it and revealing a hole. The Doctor peered into the void, seeing a newborn mouse lying next to a mangled vortex manipulator.
"That'll be the chronoplasm," he said, "It's de-aged the mouse." Before their eyes, the mouse, which was already pink and translucent, shrank and shrank, becoming a slimy embryo and then, eventually, nothing at all. Back down to single cells.
The Doctor reached a hand into the newly mouse-free hole in the floor and drew out a black, satin bag, which had also been partially chewed through. He emptied it onto his palm and out came a gleaming ruby, no worse for wear. It was three inches wide; the biggest ruby Clara had ever seen.
"Blimey," she stared at it.
The Doctor, who was very conveniently down on one knee in the dusty old room, held up the ruby and turned to her seriously.
"Clara Oswald, will you-" he began.
"Don't start," she cut him off. He grinned.
"The Doctor with a human wife," said Frobisher, "And they say pigs can't fly."
"There are lots of planets where pigs can fly, actually," the Doctor got back to his feet, pocketing the ruby. "Come on, then. Let's go sort all this out – like I don't have anything better to do today than clean up your messes."
They found Margaret Irving waiting in the hall, sweeping.
"It's really much safer if Gef doesn't leave the house," she set the broom aside, "In case anybody… dear lord!"
"Yes, it appears I've de-mongoosed him," said the Doctor. Frobisher waved at Margaret with one of his wings, "Your mongoose is actually a shapeshifting alien who needs my help to save his life."
"Listen to the big guy, he's getting me out of a bind," said Frobisher.
"Back in a mo!" said the Doctor, vanishing out of the front door with Clara and Frobisher in pursuit. It appeared a penguin was a step too far for Margaret Irving; she sat down on the stairs to collect her thoughts.
The rainstorm was still raging outside, Clara putting her umbrella up again. Frobisher waddling at the back, they filed around the side of the house to meet the space shuttle, its cargo door opening.
Out came two men, one a spindly fellow with four arms and pale blue skin, and the other a hulking, ochre ogre, easily eight feet tall, flanking him.
"Hello, there!" the Doctor greeted them jovially. Frobisher hid behind his legs. "Now, I'll cut to the chase: we've got something you want, and you've got something we want. I'm sure we can come to an agreement."
"Our business isn't with any humans. Step away from the Whifferdill, and you don't need to die," said the four-armed man.
"You must be Evanlex, then? And that makes you… Utal?"
"And how would you know that?"
"Just putting faces to names – I think you know my daughter. Jenny Acallaris. Former acrobat of the Novis Carnival Flotilla."
"Acallaris? Solved a murder for me, but then broke her contract. Ran away in the night owing me a fortune in lost revenue. But if she's your daughter, you're…"
"The Doctor, yes. That Doctor."
"The guy who abandoned her."
"I'm making up for that," he said. "What if I pay off that debt? A one-time offer involving this gemstone I happened to find," he held up the ruby where they could see it.
"That isn't your property."
"No, I know that. It belongs to Princess Pel of the Kardamite royal family, doesn't it? Part of her investiture crown as the heir to the throne, if I recall correctly. I was in the crowds, you see, a very long time ago now. But here's the deal: I give you the ruby, and you let my friend Frobisher go free. And clear Jenny's debt, while you're at it."
"And why would I do that, when I could kill all three of you right now?" With his two right arms, Evanlex reached into his ringmaster's jacket and drew two identical plasma pistols. Not nice weapons to be shot with, the Doctor knew from experience.
"Because this way's easier. You get the ruby back, no harm no foul."
"You're not considering the last five years we've spent searching for it, or the fuel cost of warping here from Strelka-Six. Not to mention that Frobisher has knowledge of our operation that he was threatening to hand over to the Atraxi."
"The Atraxi! I've dealt with them before. Told them my name once and they turned around and ran away, saved this entire planet," said the Doctor. "Frobisher won't tell the Atraxi a thing, though; there's a bounty on his head in half a dozen sectors of this galaxy."
"And he seems to believe that handing information over about a small, family-run circus is the way to guarantee those bounties get dropped. He told me as much himself, didn't you?" said Evanlex.
"You're keeping people in servitude! I'm a lot of things, sure, but I'm no wannabe mobster," said Frobisher.
"Take the ruby, let Frobisher go, and we won't tell the Atraxi," said the Doctor.
"Don't you get it? I'm not letting any of you go."
"Really? Well, unfortunately for you, I've got this!" the Doctor produced another Jammie Dodger, and it took everything in Clara not to roll her eyes at him pulling this stunt again.
"What's that?" asked Evanlex.
"TARDIS self-destruct button. Never go anywhere without it. Funny thing happens when you detonate a TARDIS's singularity; it rips a hole in spacetime so big it might swallow up the whole universe, starting with planet Earth. And all I have to do is press this button in the middle." He threatened to poke his finger into the jam centre.
"That button?" said Evanlex.
"Yes."
"That heart-shaped button?"
"Yes, it's heart-shaped because, if you really love the universe, you won't press it. Obviously."
"Do you think I was born yesterday? It's a cookie."
"Biscuit, actually," said Clara. The Doctor looked at her in horror. "What? You weren't getting away with it."
"You've got nothing," said Evanlex, "No weapons, no leverage, and you've bored me. The circus has no tolerance for boredom. I'll be killing all three of you and taking that ruby – and I'll swipe your TARDIS, while I'm at it. Who knows what I could do with-"
Evanlex was wrong, of course. They weren't defenceless at all, because Clara was there, and all she had to do was think and both of Evanlex's pistols went flying away, landing in the grass.
"Alright, here's the thing," Clara stepped forwards, "We're leaving now. You can have the ruby, but you won't be following us, and you'd better get away from here sharpish because we will be contacting the Atraxi and telling them exactly where you've been – Strelka-Six did you say you came from? Do you think you can get back to warn the rest of the flotilla in time?"
"You don't know who you're messing with," said Evanlex, taking out another gun while Utal cracked his knuckles, ready to fight. "What have you got? Magic tricks?"
"No," said Clara, "Just telekinesis." She knocked both of them backwards easily. "Frobisher, why don't you put your love of the National to good use and get us out of here quickly."
He didn't need telling twice, and transformed once more into a huge, chestnut stallion.
"Yes! Good plan, very good idea!" said the Doctor, climbing onto Frobisher's back and pulling Clara up behind him while Evanlex and Utal got back to their feet. "Take the ruby and get out of here! And don't come back, the Atraxi will be patrolling this star system before you can say 'Gef the Talking Mongoose'!" He threw the ruby into the mud and they took off, Frobisher galloping at full speed through the wind and the rain.
"You could've told me you had something like that up your sleeve!" he said.
"Duck, duck!" Clara ordered. Evanlex was firing plasma blasts at them wildly, most of the green energy flying past them and leaving scorch marks on the grass. One of them managed to hit a sheep, which melted into a pile of goo. "Can't you go any faster!?"
"Sorry if I'm a little out of shape!" said Frobisher, "I wasn't planning on running for my life today – or any day, for that matter."
"Might want to pick up some new hobbies, then!" said the Doctor.
Behind them, Evanlex and Utal did not give chase. They had the ruby, and Clara saw them retreating into the shuttle just as Frobisher began descending a hill, obscuring them from view.
"Keep going until we get to Douglas," said the Doctor.
"You want me to run all the way there!?" said Frobisher.
"It's hardly my fault if a mongoose can't do proper cardio, now, is it?"
Frobisher snorted and kept on running, changing course to head towards the thin road along the coast.
"Reminds me of the day we met," said Clara, "Except, we were riding a motorbike that day, not a talking horse."
"Yes, the bike didn't complain half as much," said the Doctor.
"You want I should buck you? Let you walk back to the city?" said Frobisher.
"Stop bickering, both of you," said Clara. She could tell he wasn't happy about it, but the Doctor did stop talking. He kept an eye out to ensure they weren't being pursued.
"Mind telling me how a human gets psychic powers?" said Frobisher.
"Everyone's got superpowers in about eighty years' time," said Clara.
"No kidding. A bunch of human shapeshifters coming for my schtick."
"I've actually never met a shapeshifting manifest, so maybe not."
"I doubt they'd all choose to spend their lives looking penguins, too," said the Doctor, "So, you're probably safe."
Clara's head swam again. More infrasound. She looked behind them and saw the shuttle taking off, rising into the sky and blasting away through the atmosphere. It disappeared beyond the storm clouds and before long the sound was gone completely. Frobisher slowed to a trot.
"Stop down here, there's a phone box," said the Doctor.
"I've got a phone if you want to call somebody," said Clara.
"I'm not letting the Atraxi have your number."
Frobisher walked up to the red phone box and the Doctor got down, sonic screwdriver already in hand by the time he got inside.
"You and him, then?" said Frobisher, the Doctor preoccupied placing his intergalactic phone call. "He wasn't so funny-looking when I met him. Other than this ugly coat he used to have."
"He's regenerating soon. I don't know when, but…" Her heart sank and she couldn't finish the thought.
"On the bright side, with a face like that, things can only improve," said Frobisher.
"You're being rude."
"What happens when he outlives you?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Uh-huh. Why is it that I don't like the sound of that?"
"Paranoia, maybe?"
"Hmph."
"What does a Whifferdill really look like, then? You're not all penguins, surely?"
"A lot like you, but yellow, and a bit smoother. And I can't say I ever saw a Whifferdill with dimples."
"They're a deformity, technically. Something to do with the muscles."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"No, no, no!" said the Doctor loudly, "Strelka-Six, I said, would you listen? They've got the Kardamite ruby! Yes… Yes!" He was getting more annoyed. "This is the Doctor…" He kept arguing with them until, finally, hanging up, wringing his hands when he left the phone box. "It's like they don't even want a tip-off about the biggest heist this galaxy's ever seen."
"Oh, well," said Clara, "They've got their ruby now, I doubt they'll come back."
"I hope so." He made to get back up onto the horse, only for Frobisher to shake his head and whinny.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you know how much you weigh? You can walk into town."
"There's no point you making us both walk all the way back there."
"She's fine," said Frobisher, "But you? That chin alone weighs a ton."
"…I don't mind the walk," Clara decided, getting off the horse as well.
"You don't have to do that," said the Doctor.
"I'll be fine. A bit of rain never hurt anybody," she smiled at him and took his arm once more, keeping them sheltered underneath her umbrella for the long walk into Douglas.
"See, we should've come here first," said Clara, blowing on a fresh cup of tea and watching old-fashioned trams rattle along the Queens Promenade through the rain-spattered window of the At Caledonia. Unlike Dalby, there were far more tourists in Douglas, the island's biggest city. "Reminds me of Blackpool, being on the coast with all the trams."
"Much lower crime rate on the Isle of Man, though. Except for all the tax dodging," said the Doctor. They sat opposite each other at a small table, with the third chair taken up by their brand-new and eerily well-behaved Border Collie who simply refused to sit on the floor. Frobisher stared at the Doctor with big, brown eyes. "You can stop doing that, I know you're a weasel under there. I'm not getting you another plate of bacon." Frobisher whined, but the Doctor remained unmoved.
"Don't be nasty about Blackpool," said Clara.
"We could go there later, if you like."
"Why?"
"Just, you know, might be nice. Visit the seafront, go see your dad."
Clara went cold.
"You never want to see my dad. He hates you."
"Well, it just… it might be nice," he repeated himself. She didn't say anything. "Or, somewhere else. Belfast, maybe? I've heard the weirdest story about humanoid sharks in Belfast Lough, and-"
"They're here," said Clara, nodding behind him. He turned and saw Harry Price and Rex Lambert coming into the hotel restaurant, then stood up to greet them.
"We got your message, Dr – Oswald, was it?" said Harry, approaching and shaking his hand.
"Yes, the Doctor – pull up a chair and sit down, I'll elucidate you on our investigation."
"Did you have a dog earlier?" said Rex, nodding at Frobisher.
"No, but he's found his way back to me," said the Doctor. They pulled up two spare chairs from neighbouring tables, very apologetic to the people who weren't even using them, "Now, what would you say if I told you that your talking mongoose is actually an alien shapeshifter called a Whifferdill, and he was hiding here because he stole a gemstone from a travelling circus in the future, who stole it in turn from a warmongering, pan-galactic royal family, and they've all cleared off now because I made a call from a local telephone box to a race of alien police officers?"
"I… I beg your pardon?" said Harry Price. The Doctor glanced between Harry and Rex very seriously.
"What do you mean by 'alien'? It's some sort of exotic creature?" said Rex.
"From another planet." They continued to stare at him, and then the Doctor cracked a smile. "I'm joking. No, I think it must be a prank, the teenage daughter. And they could stand to make the little cretin a touch more polite." Frobisher barked and everybody in the room looked over. The Doctor glared at him. "But for the record, I didn't see a drop of turmeric in the house."
"I'm sorry it was a disappointment," said Harry, "But I did try to warn you it was a clever hoax."
"Oh, who can be disappointed with that kind of ingenuity?" said the Doctor, "Certainly not me. And it is a mongoose, in my professional, zoological opinion."
"Then how did it get here?"
"Hitchhiked on a ship, maybe? Brought over by a smuggler who didn't realise at the time that a mongoose is a terrible pet?" the Doctor suggested. "Any number of ways."
"Good for tourism, though," said Clara. "And nobody's getting hurt by it."
"Exactly!" said Rex, "And it is fascinating to study. It said things to us that I can't imagine a young girl would reasonably come up with. The most unusual comments about women."
"Yes, it's a bit of a regressive mongoose," said the Doctor, "Objectifying women." Frobisher whined again. "But, listen, gentlemen, I'd love to keep talking mongoose with you, if only it wasn't a special occasion. I think I've neglected the missus enough for one day."
"I really don't mind," said Clara, "It's not every day you meet one of the country's premier parapsychologists." Except, it was every day, with them.
"No, no," the Doctor got up and cleared his throat. "I insist. Not everybody makes it to ten years, and we shouldn't take it for granted." Clara blushed a little.
The Doctor was resolute. Harry and Rex had barely sat down by the time the Doctor was making their excuses to leave, as he courteously pulled out Clara's chair and offered them the table – "To get started on your book," he said.
"Perhaps we'll run into each other again one day," said Harry.
"Oh, in this line of work, I don't doubt it," the Doctor beamed, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Borley Rectory. Spooky nuns. Much more interesting than a mongoose, mark my words."
The Oswalds departed, Frobisher padding after them through the hotel and out onto the rainy promenade.
"You can find your way back to Cashen's Gap, I assume?" said the Doctor, "If you're still set on your plan."
"I've changed my mind," said Frobisher, "If it's all the same to you, I'll hitch a ride to the Starlight District."
"The Starlight District! That takes me back. It's where we got married."
"You got married there?"
"Yes, there wasn't a lot of foresight involved. But, fine, though I dread to think what you're going to get up to in an entire star system full of casinos. Here, let yourself in." To Clara's surprise, the Doctor took out his TARDIS key and knelt to hang it around Frobisher's neck like a collar. "If you try to fly her anywhere, there'll be trouble."
"What are you gonna do?" said Frobisher.
"Thought I might look into booking a room here, get a bit of privacy. Like I keep pointing out, it is my anniversary, and I've got some amends to make."
"Eurgh. The Doctor with a wife – I don't like the sound of it one bit," said Frobisher. "I'll see you in the TARDIS."
"And I mean it! None of your usual penguin hijinks!" the Doctor shouted after him as he bounded down the steps and away up the road.
"You didn't actually tell him where the TARDIS is," said Clara.
"It's a big, blue box, he'll find it. Now, then. You, me, pleasant hotel room on the Isle of Man for an hour?"
"Booking a room for a whole hour, wow; you really know how to make a girl feel like a prostitute."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're nowhere near that classy." Clara laughed. "What do you say?"
"Yes. Of course. You and me, anywhere, anytime, always and forever."
He kissed her, and despite the abominable weather, the obnoxious, talking penguin, the violent space criminals, and the smelly, dead whale, the day couldn't have been more perfect. Ten years of Clara and the Doctor; she still couldn't believe it.
AN: FYI, Frobisher is not an OC, he's a deep-cut from the 1980s comics. Next one drops next week!