PERILS
Chapter Twenty-Three
"What happened to your fancy TARDIS?" asked the Doctor, looking around from his vantage point, sitting on the floor, cuffed to the interior door. "This one looks like mine. What are you doing with an old type 40? I thought I had the last one."
"If you're trying to distract me," grumbled the Master, "you're doing a good job. Don't make me have to gag you. I'm a bit busy right now."
"Busy with what?"
"None of your business, my dear Doctor."
"Oh, now that's a new one. You usually can't wait to tell me what you're up to." When the Master didn't reply, the Doctor continued, "You have no idea. You have no plan. That's it isn't it? Now that you've got me, you have no idea what to do with me!"
The Master reacted with atypical ferocity: he stopped fidgeting with his calculations and came at the Doctor so quickly that the latter flinched, knocking his head against the door. This in turn took the Master aback; he'd been about to grab the Doctor by the throat but instead he laughed, held his hands up, palms forward, laughed again and turned back to the console.
"I read that as a confession. You are out of ideas."
"Not so," retorted the Master. "I am blessed with an embarrassment of riches. There are so many different ways to proceed, but all the time in the world, as well. I am in no hurry, my dear Doctor. No hurry at all."
*0*0*0*
The Master did indeed take his sweet time deciding how best to imperil and torment the Doctor. It occurred to him that he could simply replay his failed cave plan, right there in the TARDIS: keep the Doctor chained up, sans food, drink or (the Master chuckled) toilet, and let the weakened and humiliated Doctor's death play out at whatever pace fate chose for it. "Too easy," he complained, running the idea by the Doctor, who tried his best to look uninterested, even bored. "I admit I find myself terribly inspired by that silly little serial. There's no art to it, you understand. It's fantasy sans imagination. It's certainly no "Birth of a Nation."
"Small favors," murmured the Doctor.
"The girl is good. There's no denying that. But escaping on a telegraph wire! Why, she'd be burned to a crisp! And yet, I am inspired! It moved me in ways I can't even explain. I kept going back, every week!"
"The popcorn concession must have loved you."
"I prefer Jordan almonds."
"Oh, dear, you do have a long wait – half a century."
"You forget, dear Doctor – I have a TARDIS."
"I haven't forgotten. I am chained to it." The Doctor rattled his handcuff to illustrate his claim. "Speaking of long waits, have you figured out yet how you intend to do me in?"
"Patience, patience. I am weighing my options."
"I'm not going anywhere." He rattled the handcuff again.
*0*0*0*
Despite dismissing the plan he had outlined to the Doctor as "too easy," the Master did repair to his private chambers without making any accommodations for the Doctor, who was somewhat hungry, more than somewhat thirsty and annoyed to be left without so much as a pot to euphemize in. He had to push the Doctor aside to get into the interior of the TARDIS, but he was loathe to uncuff him from the door, so he just picked up the rifle he'd set down on the console and demanded that the Doctor turn aside. The Doctor complied. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to be shot no matter how stubborn he remained, but he was also quite sure he didn't want to be thwacked again. Patience, patience, indeed.
It was a little difficult for the Doctor to empty his pockets with one hand fixed above his head, but he was agile and twisted himself about until he had everything emptied within reach of his free hand, within the confines of his crossed legs. At first he couldn't find it. Then he shook each item as he returned it to a pocket – not necessarily the one from which he had extracted it – and found that the paper clip had clipped itself to the monogrammed handkerchief (which he would never be able to return to Vicki). It wasn't easy to disengage it from the delicate item but he finally managed, clipped it instead to his shirt cuff, so that if the Master returned it would be hidden under his coat sleeve, and somehow got the rest of his odd assortment of possessions tucked safely away. He used the handcuff to haul himself to his feet, listened for the Master's responding footsteps, and then, hearing none, used both hands to straighten the paper clip.
He was free of the handcuff in less than four minutes.