069 - Doctor Who and the Visitation

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DOCTOR WHO

THE VISITATION

Eric Saward

Based on the BBC television serial by Eric Saward by arrangement with the

British Broadcasting Corporation

Chapter One

It was a warm summer evening. The rays of the setting sun bathed the old

manor house in subtle shades of red and gold. Evening stars appeared as the

light continued to fade. From a high branch, a sleepy owl watched a fox

break cover and silently pad towards the west wing of the manor house.

Night was awakening. Small furry animals with bright, shiny eyes scurried

through the undergrowth in search of food. A grass snake, warm and

refreshed from a day spent lying in the sun, tentatively flexed his body

and explored the air with a series of short, sharp, flicking movements of

his highly sensitive tongue. The owl, now fully awake, stared fixedly,

saucer-eyed, at a shadow below. Suddenly he launched himself into space,

and on silent wings, talons extended, sped towards a tiny harvest mouse. A

moment later, the bird's hooked beak was tearing at his supper. It was the

first kill of the evening.

With her day book before her on the window seat of her bedroom, Elizabeth

watched the fox as he trotted by below. Smiling, she picked up her quill,

dipped it into her pewter ink pot and recorded the sighting in her best

copperplate handwriting. She then replenished her quill, and, at the bottom

of the entry, set its creaking, scratchy nib to uncoil, in black ink, the

date: 5th August 1666. Blotting the sheet carefully, she closed the day

book, rose, picked up the candle and crossed to the door.

With long skirts carefully controlled, Elizabeth started to negotiate the

steep, narrow stairs from her bedroom. As she descended she heard the

distant bark of the fox. Hoping to catch a last glimpse, she paused at the

stairway's tiny lancet window and peered out. But the only moving thing

visible was what appeared to be a ball of light slowly crossing the sky.

Elizabeth stared at the object, puzzled by its slowness and the acute angle

at which it was travelling towards Earth. If it was a shooting star, she

thought, it was unlike any she had seen before.

Surprise replaced puzzlement when, at great speed, a tiny but very distinct

bolt of light was ejected from the main ball. Elizabeth watched as the bolt

not only rapidly decelerated, but also lost light intensity. A moment later

the main ball exploded, creating a pyrotechnic display of such

magnificence, it looked as though a million fireworks had been ignited at

the same moment. Overcome with excitement, Elizabeth half ran, half fell

down the remaining stairs.

In the main hall of the house, Sir John dozed before the unlit fireplace.

He had just consumed a vast meal along with two bottles of his favourite

wine. Although the rhythmic movement of his bulky stomach suggested

contentment, his high colour and twitching countenance more accurately

indicated the onset of indigestion.

Ralph, the elderly servant, blew out the taper he had been using to light

extra candles, and slipped it behind his ear for safe keeping. 'Do you want

me to clear away, Master Charles?' he said.

Charles, who was sitting in his favourite chair cleaning a pair of saddle

pistols, glanced across at his now-snoring father. 'Leave the bread and

cheese,' he said, 'I'm sure Sir John will want a little more to eat before

retiring.' He gazed at the undulating stomach and sighed. 'Although heaven

only knows where he puts it all.'

The servant smiled and started to shuffle towards the dining table.

Suddenly the door burst open and the highly excited Elizabeth rushed into

the room. 'Papa! Papa!'

Sir John's face turned deep purple as he coughed, spluttered and then sat

bolt upright, placing his hand on his racing heart. 'Fire and brimstone!'

he screamed. 'You should know better than to enter a room like that.'

'I am sorry, Papa,' she bubbled, setting her candle on a side table and

running to the window, 'but you must see them.'

Sir John craned his neck as he endeavoured to keep his daughter in view.

'The lights, Papa.' She tugged at the curtains. 'They're so beautiful.'

'Lights?' Sir John clambered awkwardly out of his chair. 'What lights?' It

was clear he was uneasy.

Elizabeth continued her tussle with the drapes, but her final victory was a

hollow one. 'Oh, they've gone,' she sighed, staring into the blackness of

the night.

Sir John turned from the window, clearly disturbed. 'What were the lights

like?' he muttered.

'Like a million shooting stars. The whole sky was ablaze.'

The old knight made his way to the dining table, picked up a quarter-full

bottle of wine and emptied it into a goblet. Charles watched, concerned by

his father's reaction. 'Are you all right, father?'

'Of course I'm all right,' he growled. 'It's just this talk of lights.' He

paused, staring into the goblet. 'I don't like the sound of it.'

Elizabeth moved to her father's side. 'Oh, Papa.' Her tone was slightly

disapproving of his superstitious response.

'Strange lights do not bode well for the future. Take my word.'

Elizabeth reached up and kissed her father affectionately on the cheek.

'You're so sweet.' The old man snorted. 'You're so sweet... and so old-

fashioned,' she laughed.

Sir John took a long swallow from his goblet and then looked down at his

smiling daughter.

'Maybe you're right,' he said at last. 'Maybe you're right.' But in his

heart he was less certain.

The fox Elizabeth had watched earlier with such pleasure continued his

nightly patrol. Now clear of the house, he raced across the open ground to

the high brick perimeter-wall of the estate. He paused to sniff the air.

Something was wrong.

Undeterred, he made his way along the wall until he came to a small gate.

Without hesitation he squeezed through its narrow bars. Ahead lay the

forest and a good night's hunting. But something was definitely wrong.

Cautiously, the fox moved into the silent forest, ears cocked, nose keenly

analysing the night air. He sensed danger. The game keeper? The local

poacher? But no. He knew their smells only too well. This was new.

Something was burning.

The fox moved on. Thin, whispy twirls of smoke hung in the air and bushes,

its acrid smell irritating his nose and eyes. He sneezed hard and shook his

head, trying to clear the irritation. A little way ahead he noticed an

enormous, dark shape surrounded by flattened, smouldering undergrowth.

Frantically he tried to make sense of the silhouette. Then the shape seemed

slowly to split open, purple light pouring from the crack. This was too

much for the poor old fox, who panicked and fled into the night.

As the split grew larger, an open hatchway could be seen behind what was

now clearly a ramp being lowered. As it descended, a figure appeared, his

massive form dividing the flood of purple light and casting an enormous

shadow across the forest.

When the ramp was fully lowered, he began to move. Wheezing and gasping,

his lungs unaccustomed to the Earth's thin atmosphere, he lumbered down the

ramp and across the charred undergrowth. He paused for a moment, sniffing

the air in much the same way the fox had. He then let out a loud hiss,

turned and started towards the manor house.

By the light of a large candelabra Elizabeth and her father were playing

cards. Sir John had always fancied himself a good card-player. Indeed he

was, as his winnings far exceeded his losses. But Elizabeth, his pretty,

shy, excitable daughter was better; much better. Her fast, nimble mind

quickly grasped her opponent's stratagems. She had an excellent memory and

could always remember which cards had already been played. Reluctantly her

father had acknowledged her superior skill, but it still irked him to lose.

Shoulders hunched, lips pursed in concentration, Sir John watched his

daughter pick up a card from the pack face-down on the table. Impassively,

she slotted it into those she already held, barely pausing before

discarding an unwanted card. Sir John glanced down at the neatly fanned

cards in his hand and smiled. She had thrown away the very card he wanted.

The game is mine, he thought, reaching for it.

'Too late, Papa.' Elizabeth placed her own cards on the table. 'I think

I've won.' Sir John scanned them with piggy eyes hoping for a mistake. But

no, she had won again.

Charles laughed, 'Well done, sister!'

The old knight scowled as he gathered the cards together.

'Luck,' he muttered, 'pure luck.'

'Be fair, father. You were beaten by the better player.'

'My concentration was spoiled,' he growled, as Ralph entered the room. 'I

could feel a chill on my neck.'

'Impossible, Papa. It's a perfectly warm evening.'

Charles pushed his chair back from the card table, making a harsh, rasping

noise on the flagstone floor, and stood up. 'Father always feels a chill

when he's losing,' he said, crossing to where he had left his pistols.

'It's either that or his gout bothers him.'

'Arrant nonsense. I felt a definite chill about my neck and shoulders.'

The large candelabra flickered as though to prove his point. 'You see!' Sir

John crowed.

'Perhaps Ralph should fetch your shawl, Papa.'

Sir John frowned. He hated his shawl. To him it was the mark of an old man.

Years may have aged his body, but not his spirit. 'Certainly not,' he said,

clearing his throat, 'I'll have a warmer. Fetch me a posset, Ralph.'

Charles glared at his father as he picked up the pistols.

'You are incorrigible. Haven't you drunk enough already?'

Sir John started to shuffle the cards. He had anticipated disapproval.

'This is medicinal,' he snapped. 'It helps keep the cold out.'

'Cold? We've barely scratched August, yet your consumption of this

"medicine" suggests we are but half a day from the winter solstice.'

Sir John grunted. But before he could think of an answer, Charles had

marched out of the room.

'Insolent oaf!'

Pretending to be bothered by an itch, but really to hide the fact she was

smiling, Elizabeth rubbed her nose with the flat of her hand. 'I think I

should retire, too, Papa.'

'You remain seated,' he grumbled, starting to deal. 'I've brooked enough

humiliation from my offspring for one evening. We will play one more game.

And this time I shall win.'

Elizabeth picked up the cards he had dealt her and fanned them out. 'You

can certainly try, Papa,' she said, and smiled sweetly.

On the landing outside the main hall where the card game was still in

progress, Charles stood before the heavy, oak gun cupboard, rummaging in

his pocket for the key. As he searched, Ralph appeared carrying two

candles.

'I thought you might need this, Master Charles.' Gratefully Charles took

one of the candles and placed it on the floor near the cupboard.

Finally locating the key, Charles inserted it in the lock, but the lock was

stiff and he had great difficulty in operating it.

'I think a little rendered sheep fat would work miracles,' said the old

retainer, shuffling across the landing. 'I'll attend to it tomorrow.'

Just then the lock gave and, creaking loudly, the cupboard swung open to

reveal a row of muskets.

'I take it you're not having a posset, Master Charles.'

'No, thank you.'

'Then I'll wish you good night.'

'Good night.'

The servant descended the back stairs and entered the passage that led to

the kitchen, his feet making a crunching sound on the straw-covered floor.

Gradually he became aware that he was not alone. Ahead he could hear a low,

hissing wheeze, which sounded like someone struggling for breath.

He stopped and held out his candle, but the light didn't spread far enough

into the darkness for him to see who or what it was. 'Who's there?' he said

uncertainly. 'I can hear you. But there was no reply. Instead the hissing

grew louder as it moved closer.

Ralph began to back down the passage, his nervous fingers easing the candle

from its heavy base. Suddenly there was a loud roar. Ralph screamed and

hurled the candlestick into the dark, before turning and fleeing back along

the passage.

Heart pounding, leg muscles heavy with fear, the old man ran as fast as he

could. As he emerged from the passage, he saw Charles running down the

stairs. 'Fetch a pistol, Master Charles. There's some...' But before he

could finish the sentence, a loud whining noise was heard as a narrow

pencil-beam of green light shot from the tunnel, striking Ralph in the

back. The old servant screamed as he collapsed, his candle rolling across

the floor.

Horrified, Charles turned and rushed up the stairs to the armoury cupboard.

Flinging open the unlocked doors, he snatched up a pistol and started to

prime it, his eyes constantly darting between the weapon and the stairs.

With the gun loaded, Charles poured a little powder into the flash pan. As

he was doing this, he became aware of a massive figure standing at the foot

of the stairs.

'Who's there?' Charles called. 'I'll shoot if you don't reply.'

Like a death rattle, the whining sound was heard again and the thin beam of

green light exploded against the baluster in front of him.

Charles fired his pistol. The huge creature roared in pain and collapsed,

his leg shattered.

Quickly Charles reloaded his pistol as the main door was flung open and Sir

John rushed onto the landing. 'Fire and brimstone!' he screamed. 'And what

do you think you are doing, sir?'

Charles thrust a pistol into his father's hand. 'Load this,' he said

urgently. 'There's something down there with a gun the likes of which I've

never seen before.'

Sir John did as instructed. 'Where's Ralph?'

'I fear he's hit.' And as Charles spoke, another beam of light was fired,

this time striking the armoury cupboard. 'Look!' he shouted.

The strange creature was dragging his massive form across the floor to the

passage leading to the kitchen.

With weapons loaded, both men fired. The creature roared and screamed, then

rolled onto his back. In the darkness, thin yellow fluid spurted from his

wounds.

'What was it?' Sir John whispered in a voice hoarse with fear.

Before Charles could comment, they heard a hammering and splintering of

wood coming from the direction of the great hall.

'Father! Charles! Quick!' shouted a terrified Elizabeth.

Grabbing muskets and ammunition, Sir John and Charles ran to join

Elizabeth. They could hear the heavy front door being torn from its hinges.

'What's happening, Papa?'

'Would it be too obvious to say we were under attack?'

'But from whom?'

There were heavy, metallic footsteps in the hallway.

'From whatever that thing is,' muttered Sir John.

Charles handed his sister a musket and quickly the family loaded their

weapons. This was no sooner done than the door of the room was flung open.

The trio cocked their muskets. Standing in the doorway was what appeared to

be a man in a steel suit.

'This one's wearing armour.'

'Our shot stopped his comrade on the stairs, father. And armour at this

range is useless.' Charles raised his musket. 'Come on,' he shouted.

Elizabeth and Sir John also levelled their weapons. The intruder remained

impassive as three ear-splitting shots were fired at him. Then slowly the

steel shape raised a finger in an accusatorial manner, and several bolts of

light were hurled against the horrified trio.

A moment later, all that remained of the family were three charred, smoking

bodies.

Chapter Two

Aboard the TARDIS, Nyssa watched as Tegan, the Doctor's air-hostess

companion, packed her few belongings into a shoulder-bag. She was going

home, back to her own time. At least, that's what the Doctor had promised.

Carefully Tegan brushed smooth the wrinkled cover of her bed.

'I won't be sleeping here again,' she said sadly, looking round the room

she had shared with Nyssa for what seemed like an age. Its mixture of Art

Deco and Victorian furnishings had never really pleased her, but now she

was going she would quite miss it.

'I know I've made so much fuss about going home...' She was unable to

finish the sentence. She swallowed hard and wiped away a tear. 'I'm being

silly.'

'Of course you're not.' Nyssa picked up Tegan's uniform jacket and helped

her put it on. 'You'll soon settle down.'

'I hope so. It's going to be pretty unbearable if I don't.' With her jacket

fastened, Tegan fumbled with the catch on her bag, more for something to do

with her hands than to check if it was secure.

'At least you won't have any awkward questions to answer about where you've

been.'

'So the Doctor said.' Tegan picked up her bag and followed Nyssa out of the

room. 'But I don't understand how.'

'Such is time travel. You'll arrive at the airport exactly on time for the

flight you were supposed to catch. And as though nothing had happened.'

'Tell that to Aunt Vanessa,' Tegan muttered, remembering how her favourite

relation had been murdered by the Master during that fateful journey to

Heathrow.

'I'm sorry,' said Nyssa, 'I'd forgotten.'

Tegan smiled weakly. 'It's me who should apologise.' Tears welled up in her

eyes again. 'I know I haven't been the best of companions, but I'm going to

miss you ... all of you.' The two women hugged each other.

'We'll miss you, too, Tegan.'

The Doctor stood before the console, the time rotor now stationary.

'Earth,' he said confidently. 'Heathrow 1981. Not one of the most

stimulating places in the Universe. But, nevertheless, where requested to

be.' The Doctor pressed a button on the console, and the shield covering

the scanner-screen rose. Adric, who had been busily working on some

calculations, had not heard the Doctor's remark. It was the Time Lord's

groan of despair that broke into his thought.

Adric looked up and then glanced across at the screen. Instead of Heathrow

Airport there were trees - a whole forest full.

'I've done it again,' the Doctor moaned, and at that very moment Tegan

entered the console room. Attempting to hide his blunder, the Doctor

fumbled with the scanner-screen control, but he was too late.

'Is that supposed to be Heathrow?' she shouted, a rigid finger pointing at

the screen.

'It is,' said Adric firmly.

'Well, they've let the grass grow since I was last here.'

'Actually, they haven't built the airport yet,' Adric continued. 'We're

about three hundred years early.'

'That's great! Perhaps I should slip outside and file a claim on the land.

When they get around to inventing the aeroplane, I'll make a fortune!'

The Doctor tried to explain what had gone wrong with the TARDIS, but Tegan

was too angry to listen. Instead she stormed over to the console and

operated the door-opening mechanism. 'Call yourself a Time Lord,' she

shouted. 'A broken clock keeps better time than you. At least it's right

twice a day, which is more than you are!' That said, she stalked out of the

TARDIS.

The Doctor fumed for a moment. 'How dare she talk to me like that!'

Nyssa, who had heard them arguing as she came down the corridor, tried to

pacify the Doctor. 'I think she's finding the idea of going more painful

than she thought.'

'Then why didn't she say so?'

Nyssa shrugged. 'That's Tegan. Perhaps you should talk to her.'

The Doctor looked at Adric hoping for support, but his expression seemed to

echo Nyssa's words. 'Oh, all right,' he said at last, 'I'll apologise.'

Reluctantly he picked up his hat. 'But this is the last time,' he muttered

as he left the TARDIS.

Pleased with their success as arbitrators, Nyssa and Adric exchanged a

smile before following him.

The wood outside was warm and sunny. Tegan brushed a tear from her eye as

the Doctor approached. Nyssa and Adric had decided to maintain a discreet

distance. Apologising was something best done alone.

'I'm sorry,' the Doctor said awkwardly. 'I realise how disappointed you

must be.'

Tegan turned towards the Doctor. 'I'm sorry, too. But you did promise to

take me back to my own time.'

'And so I shall.' The Doctor snapped a twig from a low-hanging branch. 'But

try and consider this a fortunate mistake.' And using the twig as a

pointer, he indicated the wood about them. 'It isn't everyone who has a

chance to wander about their own history.'

Tegan looked around. 'True. But I don't think I want to. This place

stinks.'

'What?' The Doctor's hackles began to rise again. Then the foul smell hit

him.

'Look, Doctor,' said Adric pointing at whisps of smoke hanging in the air.

The Doctor sniffed. 'Sulphur.'

'Some sort of volcanic action?'

'No, Adric. The wrong time and place for that.'

Tegan drove the heel of her shoe into the ground. 'Are you sure this is the

planet Earth?'

'Undoubtedly.' He walked back to the TARDIS and closed its doors. 'If we

find the person burning the sulphur, he'll tell you the same, and perhaps

you'll believe him.'

Tegan frowned. 'I'm not sure I want to find whoever it is.' But the Doctor

was already walking single-mindedly deeper into the forest. Tegan watched

the intrepid explorer. 'I don't know why I bother to say anything,' she

muttered, and reluctantly the Doctor's three companions followed him.

From high in a tree a masked man watched their progress as they stumbled

along. Once they had passed by beneath him, he leaned out carefully from

his perch and made four short staccato movements in the air with his club.

The signal was acknowledged by another masked man similarly situated

several hundred yards ahead of the Doctor's party.

The smoke grew denser as the little group walked even deeper into the

forest.

'Do you think it wise to go on, Doctor?' said Nyssa anxiously.

'Probably not.' He sniffed the air. 'You know, there's potassium nitrate in

with the sulphur. I can just smell it.'

'That's great!' said Tegan. 'All we need now is for you to say you can

smell charcoal.'

'You're right. I hadn't thought of that.'

Puzzled, Nyssa looked at Adric. What are they talking about? her expression

said. But Adric could only shrug his shoulders. 'Is there something wrong,

Doctor?' he asked.

'Charcoal, potassium nitrate and sulphur are constituents of a primitive

explosive,' he said. 'It's known on Earth as gunpowder.'

'For all we know we could be very near to a place where they manufacture

the stuff,' said Tegan nervously.

'I wonder.'

Through the smoke the outlines of three men carrying makeshift clubs could

be seen hurrying towards them. The lower halves of their faces were covered

in rough, sacking masks.

'They're footpads,' said Tegan quietly. 'I think it's time we returned to

the TARDIS.'

They all agreed, but found, when they tried to turn back, their retreat cut

off by two more armed men, clubs raised, charging towards them.

'What now?' said Adric. 'We can't fight all of them.'

'We bluff our way.' The Doctor stepped forward, smiling. 'Ah, good morning,

gentlemen...' But before he could finish the first of the band was upon

him, lashing out with his club. The Doctor ducked and weaved, trying every

trick he knew to disarm him. But his attacker was no stranger to hand-to-

hand fighting.

As the second man closed in, Adric ran behind him, dropped to the ground

and made himself into a tight ball.

'Now!' shouted Tegan, and both she and Nyssa shoulder-charged the man,

sending him tumbling backwards over Adric's crouched body.

The Doctor fought on, his opponent beginning to tire. The man lunged again,

but this time the Doctor was able to side-step the blow and grab his

attacker's tunic. The Doctor pulled hard, at the same moment extending his

leg, causing the bewildered man to trip and crash to the ground.

'Hurry, Doctor,' shouted Tegan. 'The others will be here in a moment.'

They ran off leaving their two attackers bewildered and winded. They ran as

fast as they could, low branches of trees grabbing and whipping at them as

they went. They ran until their lungs ached. Suddenly Adric fell to the

ground, his foot twisted in a hole.

The others stopped while the Doctor bent down to feel Adric's leg for

broken bones. Tegan remained on guard, watching for the three pursuers.

'Hurry, Doctor,' she shouted. 'I can see them. They're still following.'

'Come on,' grunted the Doctor as he pulled Adric to his feet. 'I'll help

you.' But Adric couldn't place any weight on the damaged ankle. 'We must

carry him,' the Doctor said urgently.

'I'll be all right in a minute.'

'We don't have a minute!' shouted Tegan.

'Then leave me.' Adric pulled himself free of the Doctor's grip and

collapsed. 'Save yourselves.'

Tegan and Nyssa were beginning to panic as the three men drew nearer. 'We

can't leave Adric,' said Tegan. 'They'll kill him.'

'I think not,' said a rich, plummy voice from above them.

Startled, they looked up and saw the portly frame of a man in his forties

lounging on the limb of a tree. 'May I be of any assistance?'

'You think you can help us?' said the Doctor.

The stranger fingered the handles of two flintlock pistols protruding from

a shabby sash at his middle. 'Indeed I can. I also have a convenient refuge

nearby where the boy can rest.'

Tegan turned to the Doctor. 'How do we know we can trust him?'

'You have little choice.' The man removed his pistols and cocked them. 'You

either trust me, or you give yourselves up to your pursuers...' He took

careful aim. '...who would promptly cudgel you to death.' The guns

exploded, causing a dozen pigeons to take flight and the three pursuers to

dive for cover. 'Bull's-eye!'

'But you missed,' said Tegan.

'My intention was to scare, not maim.'

With considerably more flamboyance than the situation demanded, their

unexpected rescuer thrust his pistols back into his waistband, adjusted a

filthy dirty cravat at his neck, cocked his leg over the branch he was

sitting on and slid to the ground.

'Richard Mace, ladies and gentlemen, at your service,' he said, and gave a

small formal bow. 'If the boy can walk,' the portly man grunted, 'my camp

is this way.'

Uncertain what to do, Tegan and Nyssa looked at the Doctor for guidance.

'Why not?' the Doctor said brightly, bending down to help Adric to his

feet.

Tegan looked for the pursuers, but couldn't see them. 'Who were those

people chasing us?' she said.

'Local villagers,' said Mace, striding off into the wood. 'I don't think

they'll bother us any more.'

But he was mistaken. While one of the men returned to the village for help,

the other two, very discreetly, continued to follow.

Chapter Three

Richard Mace pushed open the heavy door of the barn and bid the others

enter.

The barn was cool and dry with a friendly smell.

In the loft, rats could be heard scampering about, while sunlight poured

through a small window set high in one of the gable walls. Tegan wandered

around the huge barn kicking the chaff on the floor, wondering why, as it

was now early September, it only contained last year's debris and not this

year's harvest.

'Is this home?'

'For the last night or two. Fortune has made me itinerant.'

'Why were those men chasing us?' asked the Doctor, completing his

examination of Adric's leg.

'You really don't know?'

'We're new in the area.'

'You must be new to the world, sir.' Mace removed bread and cheese from a

box normally used to store farm tools and started to attack the food with a

knife. 'Haven't you heard? There is plague about.'

Tegan shuddered. 'Where?'

'Everywhere! That's why the village is guarded with such vigilance.' Mace

cut a chunk of cheese from the wedge and offered it, with a thick slab of

bread, to Nyssa. 'The villagers are terrified of strangers and the

pestilence they might carry.'

'Of course!' exclaimed the Doctor. 'The reason for the sulphuric smoke:

purification fires.'

'Is it because of the plague that you're not staying in the village?' said

Tegan.

'Alas, the plague has made everywhere unfriendly.'

'Hence the guns?'

'Indeed.' Mace opened the wooden box and removed an earthenware jar. 'Once

I was a noted thespian, until forced into rural exile by the closure of the

theatres.' He struggled to remove the jar's stopper. 'Now it is only with

the aid of pistols that I am able to command the attention of an audience.'

'You sound like a highwayman or robber,' said Tegan, instantly regretting

her remark.

'Gentleman of the road, madam!' he said bowing. 'But do not be afraid. I

only plan to rob you of a little time and company.'

Adric flexed his damaged leg. 'Aren't you concerned we may have plague?' he

said as he pulled himself to his feet.

'After many weeks alone in the woods I am prepared to risk everything for

an hour of good conversation.' Raising the jar to his lips, he swallowed

several mouthfuls of wine. As he drank, tiny rivulets of red liquid

trickled from either side of his mouth.

'Shouldn't we go, Doctor?' said Tegan.

'Soon,' he replied distractedly, staring at an ornament around the actor's

neck. There was something familiar about it, but the Doctor couldn't quite

remember what.

Mace set the jug down and returned to cutting up bread and cheese.

'How bad is the plague?' said Adric.

'The worst I've ever seen. Far more virulent in these parts than in the

city.' He paused for a moment, then said quietly, 'I suppose that is to be

expected.'

Tegan looked puzzled.

'Did you not see the comet a few weeks ago? A portent of doom if ever I saw

one. Its aurora had barely faded from the sky when the first local case of

the disease was reported.'

'That can't be possible,' the Doctor said vaguely, his mind only half

concentrating on what was being said.

'Sir?'

'You're not due for a comet for...' he struggled to remember, '...well, at

least, for quite some time.'

'Are you sure it wasn't a meteor?' said Nyssa.

'Call it by any name you wish, but I tell you the sky was lit as I've never

seen it before.' He patted the jar of wine. 'And it had nothing to do with

this.' Mace grunted. 'I have seen many falling stars. This one was without

parallel.'

'Of course!' the Doctor said excitedly.

The others looked at him in surprise.

'What's the matter?' said Nyssa.

'Your necklace,' the Doctor said pointing at Mace, 'may I have a closer

look?'

'If you wish.' Mace removed the ornament and handed it to the Doctor. 'But

I hope you don't intend to lay claim to it,' he said a little stiffly.

The Doctor slipped on his half-frames. 'I shouldn't think so,' he said

brightly, starting to examine it.

Mace felt uneasy. He watched for a moment as the Doctor scrutinised the

object. 'I found it last night in the loft,' he said in an attempt to

vindicate his ownership of the recently acquired possession.

The Doctor smiled. 'There's no doubt about it,' he said, handing the

ornament to Nyssa.

Tegan looked worried. 'What's the matter?'

Nyssa dangled the object by its leather thong and flicked it with her

finger.

'Well?' said Tegan, 'is no one going to answer me?'

'It's made from polygrite, isn't it?'

The Doctor nodded.

'But from such a primitive society?'

'Certainly not from this one.'

'Please, Doctor,' said Tegan becoming quite annoyed. 'What's going on?'

'First things first.' The Doctor crossed to the bottom of the loft ladder.

'You don't mind if I look up here, do you?'

Mace felt unnerved, but said, 'As you wish, sir.' However, he wasn't taking

any chances. The small flourish of his hand, which seemed to endorse his

agreement, casually petered out on the handle of one of his pistols.

The Doctor started to climb the ladder. 'Are you fit, Adric?' The boy

flexed his leg and, barely limping now, crossed to the ladder.

'He ought to rest, Doctor,' Tegan protested.

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DOCTORWHOTHEVISITATIONEricSawardBasedontheBBCtelevisionserialbyEricSawardbyarrangementwiththeBritishBroadcastingCorporationChapterOneItwasawarmsummerevening.Theraysofthesettingsunbathedtheoldmanorhouseinsubtleshadesofredandgold.Eveningstarsappearedasthelightcontinuedtofade.Fromahighbranch,asleepyowl...

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069 - Doctor Who and the Visitation

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