Steve Cole - Doctor Who - The Knight, The Fool and The Dead

‘Oh, yeah,’ he assured her.

‘Yeah, well, so did you a minute ago. Standing there at the end of the bed.’

‘Ta very much.’

‘I was dreaming about it …’ Rose trailed off. ‘Oi. Were you watching me sleep?’

‘No!’ the Doctor protested. ‘I was poking your feet and yelling at you to wake up. About time you took some notice.’

She saw the frown in that big lugubrious face he tried so hard to smile through, felt its weight. ‘I remember … when I was a kid. There’s a story, isn’t there? Death standing at the end of a bed.’

‘Brothers Grimm,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Godfather Death!’

‘I might’ve been dreaming about it,’ she said. ‘How’d it go?’

‘Cheery little bedtime tale, that one. Still, you are in bed, and there’s time …’ He sat down at the foot of the bed, rubbed the back of his neck. ‘There was this tailor. Twelve kids. Thirteenth on the way. And he was poor – so poor he couldn’t feed another hungry mouth.’

‘Sounds like this guy on the estate,’ Rose said. ‘He was falsely claiming, though, he only had four …’

The Doctor went on with his story, about how the tailor came to choose Death as his son’s godfather. ‘Death was quite flattered, as it goes. No one had asked him anything like this.’

Rose pulled a face. ‘Funny, that.’

‘So he said: “You know what? Sure! I’ll be your boy’s godfather. He’ll want for nothing.”’

‘Death’s gonna bring down the vibe at the kid’s birthday parties, though, isn’t he?’

The Doctor shot her a look. ‘D’you want me to tell this story or not?’

‘Sorry,’ said Rose. ‘I do. Go on.’

‘Death was as good as his word, the kid and his family wanted for nothing. And when the kid was eighteen, Death came and said, “Right, then. You’re going to be—”’

‘An undertaker!’

‘You’re gonna be a doctor,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘A very great, fantastic doctor. No medical school for you, big guy. Just take this gift from me, this herb – you’ll do well for others, and for yourself. And his godson says, “How does it work?” And Death says, “OK, here’s the trick.”’ The Doctor paused, stared into space. ‘There’s always a trick.’

‘Well?’ Rose prompted.

‘Death says to the boy: “When you’re called to a patient on their deathbed, look for me. If you see me standing at the head of the bed, give them some of that herb – you’ll cure them. If you see me standing at the foot of the bed, there’s nothing you can do – it’s their time to die. Look for me in this way and you’ll never make the wrong call. You’ll grow famous and respected. Always right.”’

Rose was doubtful. ‘He’s tricking him, isn’t he?’

‘Nope. Death had told it straight. The tailor’s son grew famous; live or die, he always called it.’ The Doctor looked at her. ‘Then the King got sick and called him to his royal bedchamber. He was a much-loved king, well worth saving, and the son was well chuffed to have such a famous patient. But Death was standing at the foot of the bed.’

Rose sucked in a breath. ‘Bye, bye, King.’

‘You’d think. But the tailor’s son, says, “No – this isn’t right. I want to save him, I know best.” And so, what does he do? He shifts the bed round, one-eighty degrees. Now Death’s standing at the head of the bed, not the foot, and the tailor’s son gives the King the herb and he gets better.’

‘Ohhh, Death’s not gonna like that,’ Rose predicted.

‘Death’s like, “What the hell was that? That could’ve been a fixed point in time. You don’t mess with that.”’

‘That sounds like you talking now,’ said Rose quietly.

‘“Don’t try and trick me again, godson”,’ the Doctor went on. ‘“It won’t end well.”’ He paused, looked down at his hands. ‘Well, the doctor stuck to the rules, but then the King’s lovely daughter got sick. Really sick. And the King says to the tailor’s son: “If you cure her, I’ll give you her hand in marriage.”’

Rose snorted. ‘Don’t ask your daughter first, King, will you?’

‘Anyway, the tailor’s son goes to the Princess, who’s very beautiful, probably, and he falls in love. Boom! Just like that. And then he sees his godfather, Death. Standing there. By the foot of the bed.’ The Doctor was staring into space. ‘Waiting to claim her.’

‘Well?’ Rose nudged him. ‘What happens next?’

Chapter Eight

The Doctor was trying not to think of the jumble of words and numbers that kept bubbling up through his memories. He told himself: You’re the master of your own fate. Of everyone’s fate, if you choose to be. You’ve never fitted in with someone else’s pattern, and you’re not going to now .

Then he thought of the ancient Andalian, cross-legged in the Tombs of the Ended. The one who’d called talk of the Kotturuh, ‘Scare-stories.’

Perhaps there was some truth in that? The Doctor had given himself a full diagnostic check-over. There was no kind of chronolock. No evidence of genetic tampering. Only traces of Kotturuh DNA on his throat from where it had gripped him, and the spatio-temporal coordinates. Some sort of autosuggestion, he supposed; simple enough technique. Well, he’d make sure to steer clear of Andalia. Why would he ever want to go back?

I’m a Time Lord , the Doctor told himself. Whatever relationship the Kotturuh have with Death and changing form, mine goes back further .

‘Mr Ball has located the source of the transmat beam!’ Brian declared, pointing to a tumbling rock on the scanner. ‘An asteroid in deep space beyond this star system.’

The Doctor came over to take a closer look. In a way, the Dark Times were not well named; the image of space was not uniform black, pricked with stars as in his age. It was clumpy, with stars of so many colours ranged across the void in ragged streamers. Distant galaxies were still close enough to be seen unaided, haunting the void like eerie phantoms.

Mind shying from the image, he focused on the asteroid and noticed something like a golden bud stuck to one side of the rock. He scanned closer. ‘It’s a spacecraft. Mid-sized freighter by the looks of it, hugging that asteroid to avoid Kotturuh detection. Let’s drop in on them, shall we?’

‘A logical next step.’ Brian regarded him. ‘Are you feeling any ill effects?’

‘Whoa!’ The Doctor jumped as a twisted, hideous figure suddenly rose into view before them on the screen. A snarl was fixed on its grey, stone-like face, claws extended towards them like a starving beast reaching for meat. But this was no attack. The creature was tumbling slowly in the void.

‘Our friend the gargoyle from Mordeela,’ the Doctor realised. ‘It must’ve escaped … or been thrown overboard.’

‘Perhaps the child caught hold of it in error,’ said Brian.

‘What coordinates was it repeating?’

‘Mr Ball believes it was, Betel asha tisa-two-erba-zero-sebe thalathun .’

The Doctor tapped the data into the TARDIS systems and checked the readout. ‘Planet called Turska Gordansis. Datepoint … some six months from now.’

The body grew transparent and seemed to gust away in impossible winds.

‘The Kotturuh?’ Brian suggested awkwardly, as if naming a former lover in front of a spouse. ‘Reclaiming what’s theirs?’

‘Nothing’s theirs.’ The Doctor flicked some switches and the materialisation motors shook through the ship. ‘I just hope Estinee’s all right.’

He stepped out into a rusty cargo hold, lit by fierce white lights. The mining machine was parked on a transport pad, a hatch open in the side. There was a compartment hidden inside, large enough to hide a child. Crystals spilled out from the hatchway.