Doctor Who BBCN13 - Sting of the Zygons Read online

  ‘Good thinking.’ Victor nodded. ‘If we can blind the thing it should be less of a threat.’

  Perhaps, thought Haleston. Then he tried to bury the doubt as deep as it would go. ‘We need to consider how we can contain the brute once we’ve roused it from its lair. . . A pit, perhaps?’ He sighed and shook his head wearily. ‘But no, one can’t forget the sheer size of the thing. It would take weeks to dig such a hole, we couldn’t possibly. . . ’ He tailed off as, to his surprise, a sly smile began to spread over Victor’s face. ‘Whatever’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Lord Haleston,’ Victor announced, ‘I think perhaps I know where I can lay my hands on the very answer to your prayers. . . ’

  Shoes gripped in one hand, Martha jumped down from the wall. She landed in the huge pile of springy leaves Ian had plucked and gathered together for just such a purpose. The landing still jarred through her ankles, but it was fine.

  Ian was already down and waiting for her. She caught the admiring look in his clear blue eyes and smiled. ‘Perfectly done,’ he told her, a faint blush coming to his pale, freckled cheeks. ‘You’re not at all like a proper grown up.’

  ‘Thank you. I think.’ She picked herself up and slipped on her shoes.

  ‘Believe it or not, in my family they think of me as the mature one.’ A thought struck her. ‘Speaking of proper grown-ups, won’t anyone be wondering where you are?’

  ‘Mother said I was allowed to play outside today, so there was nothing Nanny could do to stop me,’ Ian smiled. But we’d better tread carefully in any case and hope nobody sees us. I’m bound to get into trouble for smuggling someone in over the wall.’

  54

  ‘Now you tell me!’ said Martha, feeling more like a naughty kid every second.

  Ian led Martha through the amazing grounds, past towering topiaries and ornamental pools. ‘We’ll get in through the conservatory,’ he explained. ‘From there we’ll trot along the passage to the front door.

  Then we can pretend you’ve called in the proper manner.’

  He led her round to the conservatory’s elegant wooden door and opened it soundlessly. Once inside, Ian directed her to stand behind a large rubber plant. ‘I’ll go first and check the way is clear. It should be. All the men are out on the hunt, and the ladies will be taking tea and gassing in the drawing room. All except Mother, who’s lying down upstairs.’

  Martha felt a twinge of guilt as she waited for him. To Ian all this was a great game, but she knew it might end with her unmasking his father as a monster.

  ‘All right, this way,’ said Ian, beckoning her onwards out into a long, airy passageway. A large window lit one end, and a sharp turn to the right hid the other end from view. ‘If we’re spotted –’

  He broke off as the heavy clunk of a door opening sounded from around the corner.

  ‘Get out of sight!’ Ian whispered. He tried the handle on the large door beside him. ‘It’s unlocked. Quick!’ He opened the door so she could tumble inside, then pulled it back shut behind her.

  First, Martha caught a whiff of iron in the air. Then a cry caught in her throat as she saw something standing behind the mahogany desk, holding a large leather-bound book. The figure was tall, red-orange and bulky. A thick, puckered scar ran through its left eye all the way down to its chest, doing nothing to enhance its brutal looks.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ she said.

  The Zygon hurled the diary at her face. She raised her hands to deflect it, but as she backed away she stumbled over a chair and fell against the wall. The next thing’ she heard was a thick crack and the shatter of breaking glass. Turning, she watched as the alien pushed its way out through the window and ran.

  The door to the office opened and Ian appeared. ‘I heard the. . . ’ He 55

  looked dumbfounded between her face and the window. ‘Good grief, Martha. . . ’

  ‘It wasn’t me. Someone was already in here, going through Lord Haleston’s desk.’ Martha grabbed the diary and got to her feet. ‘They saw me and took off.’

  Ian stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘I wondered why the door wasn’t locked!’

  ‘But why would that thing care what Lord Haleston’s been writing about?’ She crossed to the window but there was no one in sight, so she flicked through the diary. Page after page was filled with meticulously neat handwriting. ‘Can’t imagine it’s planning to crash one of his society dos. . . So what does it want to know?’

  ‘It? What do you mean, Martha? Who was here?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ For a moment she considered chasing after the thing.

  Then she realised she might just have a way to test her theory. ‘Come on, Ian. Let’s check on your father.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ian decided. ‘He’ll know what to do.’

  Martha nodded. And if he’s not in his bed, then I’ll know I was right.

  ‘Who opened the door out there in the passage, anyway?’

  ‘It was probably Chivvers,’ said Ian. ‘No one came though – and worst luck, too, because if I’d had some back-up I could have dived in and saved you.’

  ‘Thanks, Ian,’ said Martha, sticking her head out into the corridor.

  ‘Maybe next time I –’

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ came a booming voice.

  Startled, Martha turned to find a thin, mean-looking woman in a starched grey uniform standing in the conservatory doorway, hands on hips. Her piercing blue eyes shone accusingly – and if there had been any milk about, then the woman’s pinched, twisted features would have curdled it in seconds.

  ‘Nanny Flock,’ squeaked Ian.

  ‘You’ve come from the garden,’ Martha realised. ‘Did you see anyone?’

  Nanny Flock did nothing to disguise the sneer on her face. ‘I don’t answer to the likes of you.’

  56

  ‘What were you doing out there?’ Martha persisted.

  The woman’s glare fell on Ian. ‘This nasty little limb should be playing outside. So I go to check he’s not getting up to mischief, and what do I find? He’s smuggling undesirables into the house and breaking windows.’

  ‘That’s not it!’ Martha tried to stay calm. ‘There was an intruder in here, we surprised them.’

  Nanny Flock ignored her, smiling smugly at Ian. ‘Oh, your mother will be hearing all about this.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Martha, turning on her heel, grabbing Ian by the hand and setting off quickly down the passage. ‘In fact, I think we should tell his father first. Right now.’

  Nanny Flock gasped. ‘How dare you walk away from me!’

  Easy, Martha thought, quickening her step. Because if Lunn’s not in his bedroom, he’s the Zygon – and you don’t matter one bit. And if he is there, then you could be the Zygon. And I’m not about to let you prove it with Ian here.

  ‘Come back at once!’ the woman cried.

  Ian looked up at Martha. ‘We’re going to be in so much trouble!’

  She saw a scandalised smile spread slowly over his face. ‘This is the most exciting day I can remember!’

  ‘And it’s not over yet,’ Martha told him, trying to smile back as she hurried up the stairs.

  She hesitated outside Lunn’s room, and Ian knocked. ‘Father? It’s Ian, and the lady who nursed you last night.’ He swallowed hard.

  ‘May we come in?’

  There was no reply. Martha could hear brisk footsteps on the stairs.

  They didn’t have long. Taking a deep breath, Martha’s hand closed around the ivory handle and opened the door.

  57

  Martha peered into the gloomy room. The closed velvet drapes billowed inwards in a gust of wind, casting a halo of light around Edward Lunn. He lay in bed, apparently fast asleep, his head to one side.

  A rush of relief went through her – until she realised nothing had changed. Who was to say there weren’t two Zygons in the house, that Lunn hadn’t sneaked downstairs and invited his buddies to hide indoors?

  ‘Ian, whatever are you doing?’


  The voice was quiet and brittle. Martha turned to find Mrs Lunn was standing behind her. The woman’s pale skin seemed more bleached out than ever thanks to the ivory silk kimono she wore.

  ‘Sorry, Mother,’ said Ian, as Martha pulled the door closed. ‘Only there was an intruder in the house, and we were worried –’

  ‘The only intruder around here is her, ma’am.’ Nanny Flock had arrived on the scene, pointing a bony finger at Martha. ‘She forced her way in through a window downstairs.’

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ Martha began calmly. ‘I met Ian playing outside, and wondered if your husband was any better.’

  ‘She’s after the silver, I’ll be bound,’ the nanny sniped.

  59

  ‘Martha’s a friend of Victor Meredith’s,’ Ian protested. ‘She’s not a thief!’

  ‘This impertinence is disgraceful, Ian. I will not tolerate it.’ Mrs Lunn glared at her son. ‘Go to your room, I will speak with you later.’

  Martha watched Ian troop reluctantly away. ‘It wasn’t his fault, you know,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I do not wish to hear any more of this,’ snapped Mrs Lunn. ‘My husband is in the care of a proper doctor now and we no longer require your services, Miss Jones.’

  The doorbell rang. Teazel started barking furiously downstairs, and Mrs Lunn closed her eyes wearily. ‘Miss Flock, kindly inform Chivvers about the broken window, and let him decide what to do.’

  ‘Very good, ma’am.’ The nanny inclined her head. ‘What about the lad?’

  Mrs Lunn shook her head. ‘I’ll deal with him myself.’ Feeling helpless, angry and humiliated, Martha turned and marched away down the steps to the main hall. Chivvers was just answering the door. It was Claude Romand.

  ‘I wish to accompany the hunting party,’ Romand announced grandly, setting his tweed cap at a jaunty angle. ‘To record it for both the public and for posterity, yes?’

  ‘Too late,’ said Martha, striding out past Chivvers before he could open his mouth to reply. ‘The hunting party’s already off hunting.’ She linked arms with Romand and led him back down the steps. ‘Though if it’s monsters they’re after they should have stayed here.’

  ‘Not a good visit?’ Romand enquired.

  ‘As good as Mrs U’s breakfast,’ she agreed. Then she clocked his motor car. It was burgundy, less sporty-looking than Victor’s and roomier, with a canvas roof and a ROVER badge on the front grille. ‘Claude, did you see anything odd in the gardens on your way up here?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he informed her.

  ‘Figures.’ She sighed. ‘I only hope the Doctor gets back soon.’

  ‘He is back!’ The Doctor suddenly popped up into view from his repose on the back seat with a big grin on his face. ‘Hello!’

  Martha felt a rush of relief. ‘Doctor! Where the hell have you been?’

  60

  ‘Oh, picking up some bits and bobs, smelling the flowers, talking to cows. Hot-footing it across the countryside as if my very life depended on it – which it did, of course. . . Monsieur Romand spotted me down the lane as he was turning into Goldspur, and not a moment too soon.

  Look, blisters the size of my toes!’ He stuck a bare foot out through the rear window and looked at her meaningfully. ‘A lot of orange around at this time of year. . . ’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Martha with a shudder. ‘No, hang on, before you do. . . ’ She ran to the car, climbed over some camera gear to get into the back seat beside him and squeezed his hand. ‘Let’s just have a moment.’

  He squeezed her hand back and gave her another big smile. ‘A moment,’ he agreed.

  Romand dropped them at the end of the lane that led to the Lodge, then rattled away in pursuit of the hunt. Martha and the Doctor – who was now sporting a new pair of plimsolls – took the walk leisurely, yet wasted no time recounting their different adventures.

  ‘By the time I’d hightailed it all the way to the TARDIS there was no sign of anyone following,’ the Doctor said, concluding his own account. ‘And the journey back as far as Goldspur was quiet too. A couple of cows got quite excited to see me, but that’s nothing new. . . ’

  ‘How many of these Zygons can there be in the area?’ asked Martha.

  ‘I mean, if I see one here and you see one there. . . ?’

  ‘Tricky to say.’ The angular lines of the Doctor’s face were drawn sharper in a frown. ‘Could be just a well-informed handful. Or there could be hundreds and they’ve taken over everybody in the area.’

  Martha looked appalled. ‘Does that mean that all the real people would be dead?’

  ‘No, the Zygons have to keep their victims alive,’ the Doctor explained. ‘They need to update their body prints quite frequently, or they revert to their true form.’

  ‘Isn’t there any way to spot them?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Sometimes they come across as a bit surly, a bit cold,’ he said. ‘But generally they’re pretty good at what they do – which is stay hidden.’

  61

  He threw his arms up crossly in the air. ‘And that’s what I don’t understand. If someone’s hunting them down, why aren’t they lying low, tucked away in their secret spaceship?’

  ‘Maybe their spaceship’s been discovered,’ Martha suggested. ‘Or destroyed. Couldn’t you check for. . . I dunno, spaceship particle fallout or whatever?’

  He gave her a funny look. ‘Spaceship particle fallout?’

  Martha shrugged. ‘Well, a blown-up spaceship’s got to leave some trace behind, hasn’t it?’

  Nowthe Doctor grinned. ‘Good thinking. And exactly what I did when I went back to the TARDIS.’

  She cuffed him round the shoulder in mock reproach. ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing! Diddly squat. Fat zilch. Not even the local atomic disturbance you’d pick up from a recently landed spaceship.’

  ‘So either the Zygon-hunters have been here a long time like the Zygons themselves,’ Martha reasoned, ‘or else they’re shielded from the TARDIS’s ropy old scanners. . . ’

  ‘Oi!’

  ‘. . . or else there are no hunters.’ Martha looked at him. ‘They don’t exist.’

  ‘Something took the head off that Skarasen and did for that Zygon we found in the road,’ the Doctor reminded her. ‘And as for his mates, well, they’re acting very oddly.’

  Martha nodded. ‘Sneaking into houses to read people’s diaries. . . ’

  ‘And the Zygon who said please. Sounds like the title of a book, doesn’t it? The Little Zygon Who Said Please. What a book that’d be!

  I’d break into someone’s house myself to read that. . . ’

  Martha interrupted him.

  ‘Was it sweet-talking you because it

  wanted something in particular?’

  ‘It wanted that trilanic activator I found.’ The Doctor produced the funny lump from his pocket. ‘I think it saw me start to summon its Skarasen. . . ’

  ‘What, you used that thing like a dog whistle?’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I was tinkering around. Somehow got it to transmit a bit on a wavelength our elusive Skarasen responds to.’

  62

  Martha put on a spooky voice. ‘Maybe the ghost of Molly Melton was giving you a hand from the spirit world.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s very obliging with her appearances,’ the Doctor mused. ‘People all over the Lakes have seen her warning people away from trouble spots. Even the milkman.’

  ‘But she’s not really a ghost, is she?’ said Martha. ‘I mean. . . she’s got to be a Zygon, right?’

  ‘The idea of taking a human form is to blend in, not draw attention to yourself,’ said the Doctor. ‘Perhaps someone else is putting her up to this. . . ’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dunno.’ The Doctor puffed out his cheeks as they strolled up to the front door. ‘Nothing seems to add up, no one story seems to fit.’

  Martha tried the door and frowned. ‘It’s locked.’

  She reached for the bell-pull but the
Doctor had already whipped out the sonic. The tip of the ceramic wand whirred and glowed blue, and the door clicked open. He smiled at her. ‘Shame to disturb Mrs U –’

  ‘Who’s there?’ came a frightened shout from upstairs.

  ‘Only us,’ called the Doctor, his face creasing in concern. Martha joined him as he rushed upstairs. ‘Everything all right?’

  Mrs Unswick came out onto the gloomy landing looking a little flustered. ‘Oh, my dears, you did surprise me. I thought I’d locked the door. With all this talk of a beast and the sightings of young Molly, well. . . ’

  Martha heard the ticking, flickering sound of a projector coming from Romand’s room. ‘I thought Mr Romand was out?’

  The woman gave a sheepish smile. ‘You’ve caught me in the act, I’m afraid. I wasn’t expecting anyone back so soon, and the police will be calling to collect the film later this morning. I didn’t think Monsieur Romand would mind. . . ’

  The Doctor walked past her and opened the door.

  Romand’s projector was set up, casting its blurred black-and-white footage of the Kelmore aftermath on the bare wall.

  63

  ‘It’s just incredible, isn’t it?’ Mrs Unswick went on. ‘You can watch real people moving about, even when the house is empty.’ A faraway look came into her eyes as she stared at the wall. ‘I mean, look at them. . . they’re a little like ghosts themselves, aren’t they? Sort of here, but not. . . ’

  Martha nodded politely. She’d forgotten how incredible a techno-logical breakthrough like this must seem to someone from this time –until recently, a photo was as high-tech as it got. She imagined showing Mrs U the Sugababes video she’d downloaded to her mobile a few weeks back. Maybe not, she decided.

  ‘Let’s watch it together from the start, shall we?’ After some poking about at the projector, she got the film to run backwards.

  ‘Hang about,’ said the Doctor, pointing to the screen. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What’s what?’ While Martha squinted at the blurry image of a smashed-in mansion, the Doctor crossed to the projector and started flicking switches and levers like an expert. First the film stopped, then it spun forward again. ‘Doctor. . . ?’