Tanas by Elanor
Summary: The Doctor, Adric, Tegan and Nyssa arrive in Regency England and are rescued from a mysterious bone-chilling mist by Tanas, the local land owner.
Rating: Adult
Categories: Fifth Doctor
Characters: Adric, Nyssa, Tegan Jovanka, The Doctor (5th)
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Warnings: Explicit Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2008.05.15
Updated: 2008.06.07
Index
Chapter 1: Tanas
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Chapter 1: Tanas
Author's Notes: Originally posted as the Greatest Malefic - this is the edited version which is now complete. Standard disclaimers.
Thanks ten thousand times to Patrice for her unfailing support and enthusiasm for this story.
CHAPTER ONE
The air was warm, the sun mellow, and in the distance a church bell chimed. Tegan gazed out over the meadow, the profusion of wildflowers of e very species making her think of Monet’s poppy field. She shielded her eyes, looking beyond the gently waving grass with its splashes of scarlet to the dark smudge of a wood to the east. She turned back to the TARDIS to see Adric and the Doctor emerging, the latter unscrolling his hat; she went over to join them. Nyssa was kneeling a few feet away, picking bunches of cornflowers and poppies, and arranging them into a posy with much more artistic talent than Tegan could have done.
“When did you say this was?” the air hostess asked. “We’re in England, right?”
“Yes, we’re 17.2 miles from London,” Adric offered, lazily watching a bird of prey that could have been a red kite, a bird that was almost extinct in Tegan’s time, hover high above the wood. “It’s the 30th August 1823 AD.”
“Ah, the Regency period,” the Doctor enthused brightly.
Adric grinned back. “In fact in a few days’ time there’s going to be an astronomical event: Saturn and Mars will be in perfect alignment.”
“The Malefics, excellent news!”
“The who, Doctor?”
“Malefics, Tegan. Saturn is known as the Greater Malefic; Mars the Lesser,” the Time Lord explained. “Malefic meaning evil influence of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Tegan muttered.
The Doctor clapped Adric on the back. “Good choice of time and place, Adric!”
The youth tore his gaze away from the kite. “I didn’t set the co-ordinates, Doctor.”
The Doctor humphed. “Of course you did. I know I didn’t. Therefore it follows, does it not, that you did.”
“Doctor,” Adric explained patiently, “I don’t even know what a Regency period is.”
“Mmm?” The Doctor was clearly not paying the least attention — again. His eyes were scanning the distance. “You know I do believe there’s a village down there — I can see a church. What say you three to a bit of a stroll?” Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor was already striding off single-mindedly.
Tegan exchanged long-suffering glances with her two companions and the three of them hurried to catch him up, Nyssa slipping back to close the TARDIS doors first.
***
“So what is the Regency anyway?” Adric asked, as they waded through the knee-high grass of the meadow, Tegan pausing often to examine another species of wildflower that was extinct in her time due to intensive farming. She touched a light purple flower reminiscent of a bluebell.
“It’s a harebell,” the Doctor said, answering her unspoken question. “The local name is witch’s thimble or the old man’s bells — the old man being the devil, of course. Sorry, Adric; the Regency is a period in English history.” He turned with an impish grin to Tegan. “Why don’t you tell our friends all about it?”
Tegan raised an innocent eyebrow. “The Regency period denoted that period when the King, George III, was considered insane and therefore his son, George, Prince of Wales, acted as Regent.” She smiled triumphantly at the Doctor’s look of chagrin.
“What was wrong with the king?” Nyssa asked, her professional interest piqued.
“From the records available I would favour porphyria,” the Doctor replied. “Of course, his condition was exacerbated by the primitive level of Regency medicine. His doctors thought that blistering his skin would draw out the ill humours.”
“He used to talk to teapots and trees,” Tegan added helpfully.
Unnoticed at first, a thin mist had drifted rapidly over the sunny meadow in a swirling cloud until Tegan felt she was viewing the world through a sheet of tracing paper. The Doctor was looking faintly troubled.
“There’s something very wrong here,” he declared, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Mist is formed when warm air near the ground hits cooler air. It hangs over lakes and rivers and the sea and is most common in late autumn and winter near nightfall. But it’s only one o’clock in the afternoon on a very warm and sunny late summer’s day. It’s anomalous.”
And indeed the strange vapour seemed to act in a way very unlike most mists; it swirled oddly despite the lack of a breeze and clung to the body, caressing it in a distasteful way that felt strangely, uncomfortably, like thousands of ghostly hands.
“We should go back,” Adric stated and even in the poor visibility Tegan could see the way his eyes darted nervously.
Dispelling her own growing sense of dread, she said, “Relax, Adric, it’s only mist. Funny mist — but still mist. It can’t hurt you.”
“You’re forgetting about Mistfall,” Nyssa reminded her, giving Adric a reassuring smile.
“It’ll probably clear as we leave this hollow. Come along,” the Doctor said, seemingly oblivious to Adric’s discomfort.
It was soon evident, however, that the mist was not clearing — it was growing thicker until they could see each other only as ghostlike silhouettes against its swirling mass. Adric was now close to panic.
“I want to go back. Now! You don’t understand.” He had backed himself hard up against a tree and was shivering miserably. “It’s evil. We have to go back before it’s too late.”
“Was Mistfall so bad?” Tegan asked, surprised and disturbed at the depths of Adric’s fear — the boy hadn’t turned a hair at the Mara or the Tereleptils.
The Time Lord had been squinting ahead, trying to discern their path, but now he turned back to his companions, Adric’s fear at last breaking through his preoccupation. He rested his hands lightly on the youth’s shoulders, feeling the pounding of his heart through the contact. “Mistfall to an Alzarian is analogous to a haunted mansion in a thunder storm to a human.” He squeezed Adric’s shoulders. “Adric, we can’t find the TARDIS in the mist. Our only hope is to continue to the village.”
“Varsh — the Marshmen came out of the mist. They killed Varsh.”
Tegan glanced up from her two companions at the sound of a twig snapping sharply. The mist seemed to lift slightly as it swirled and eddied and just for an instant she thought she saw the shape of a huge wolf-like hound. Another waft of thicker fog obscured her vision and when she looked again the creature — if it ever existed — was gone. She turned her attention back to her friends.
“I know,” the Doctor was saying, his voice calm and even, “but you still defeated the Marshmen. You confronted your fear and overcame it. This mist can hold no fear for you.”
“Doctor, it’s getting thicker,” Tegan broke through, trying — and failing — to keep her voice steady. The Doctor was already moving, galvanised into action by the thickly swirling fog. He grabbed hold of Adric’s hand and ordered the two women to join the chain, Nyssa holding Adric’s other hand, Tegan bringing up the rear.
“Stay close,” he commanded. The four set off, their pace much slower now as they edged forward into a white limbo world where only the solidity of the ground and the feeble light of the Doctor’s torch offered any link with reality. The three younger companions fell and stumbled often, twisting their ankles on the uneven ground and tripping over tree roots and hummocks of soil; only the Doctor kept his footing.
To Adric, he was walking through a nightmare world. Every glimpsed shape, be it a tree or the Doctor leading the way, seemed to be a Marshman rising from the swamps. The mist was icy cold too, and it seemed to wrap itself around him, sucking out his energy, its touch repulsive. He clung to the Doctor’s hand as if it were a lifeline. Nyssa’s smaller hand trembled and felt as clammy as his own but the Doctor’s was warm, reassuring.
A layer of filmy fog lifted and for just a second Adric glimpsed the tall figure of a man. He craned his neck to see more clearly, missed his footing and in an effort to save himself, let go of his friends’ hands. He fell heavily.
***
“Adric!” The moment his friend had dropped his hand, the Doctor was alerted to his plight. He waved his hands in the air like a blind man, trying to make contact with him. The tips of his fingers brushed against warm skin and he caught hold of Nyssa’s arm rather roughly. “Hold on to me,” he yelled, his voice sounding flat in the deadening air. “Is Tegan with you?”
“I’m here,” the Australian affirmed.
“Don’t let go.” So saying, the Doctor transferred Nyssa’s clutching hands to his coat tails and walked forward five tiny paces, then back, then one pace to the left, the same five paces back and forward, covering the immediate vicinity inch by inch, all the time waving his arms. The fog eddied and swirled…
He saw Adric.
The boy was standing a few feet away with the figure of a tall man looming behind him. Before the Doctor could call out, the eerie fog roiled and the Time Lord could see that what he had taken for a man was nothing but a gnarled tree behind his friend.
“Adric!" he shouted in relief and then rushed forward as the boy’s knees abruptly gave way. The Doctor grasped his wrist and pulled him up, hissing in surprise and concern at how icy his skin felt. The boy was staring, blinking owlishly, and the Doctor snapped his fingers in front of his face.
“No!” For a second stark terror flashed in Adric’s eyes, then reality reasserted itself and he found himself staring, not at a nameless horror, but at his three companions. He began to shiver in earnest and Nyssa urged him to sit down on a fallen tree trunk, chafing his hands between her own. As she did so, she noticed the scarlet pocket on his tunic was torn — and then she noticed the blood. Her face paled.
“Adric, you’re bleeding!”
The boy took a moment to register the comment and then he glanced down, touching the gash on his chest through the ragged tear. Memory danced on the edge of recall and then it was gone. “I must have caught myself on my badge. It’ll heal,” he said, blinking again as if to clear his mind. The Doctor, noticing his slight disorientation, titled his chin up in order to shine his torch into his eyes.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked.
“Don’t you know?”
“Never mind. Any nausea? Headache?”
Adric shrugged, finally succeeding in shoving the Doctor’s hands away. “I don’t think so. I’ve never had either of those things so I wouldn’t know.”
Tegan snorted. “You must have had a headache. Everyone in the universe has had a headache.”
“I told you before, Alzarians don’t get ill.”
“No, you just fall over a lot and get injured,” Tegan retorted, her concern for her friend coming out as anger. “Is it something about Earth that makes you fall over — you’ve fallen in both the seventeenth and the nineteenth centuries.”
Firing at Tegan’s words, Adric immediately fought back. “At least I don’t get a cold or flu or hay fever every other day like you. Nor do I put my friends in danger by allowing my mind to be invaded or controlled.”
“That’s enough from both of you,” the Doctor interposed sharply before Tegan could give a blistering retort. “We have company.” He pointed down the meadow to where a tall, lithe man could be seen walking towards them through the now lightish mist. The man, Tegan noticed with some appreciation as he drew near, was dressed in the costume of the period, form-hugging breeches, riding boots, a jacket and a top hat. He was tall with jet black hair which framed his face like a mane, an aquiline nose and rather haughty, brooding, blue eyes beneath a heavy forehead. In short, Tegan thought with a broad grin, he looked like a feral Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.
“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen,” he declared with a courtly bow to the two women. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Sir Tanas of Wolf’s Dene. I happened to see your light in the fog some few minutes ago and, perceiving you in peril, came to offer my services.”
With a boyish grin, the Doctor doffed his hat and bowed in return. “That is most obliging of you, Sir Tanas,” he said, slipping into the formal phrases of the period with ease. “The mist caught us unawares.”
“My humble residence is but a few miles away. I would be honoured if you would do me the favour of dining with me this evening. My housekeeper will provide fresh clothing for you as I see that your own habiliments have become soiled. Madam, if I may…” With another bow, he offered Tegan his arm and the air hostess, looking as if Christmas had arrived early, willingly accepted it.
***
Hopping down from the carriage, partly to avoid having to be assisted by the footman and partly to show the Doctor that he was quite well now, thank you, Adric turned to offer Tegan his arm before following Tanas up the flight of stone steps which looked as if they had been freshly scrubbed that morning. Under ordinary circumstances he would never have dreamed of offering his arm to a girl but Tanas’ stilted formality amused rather than irritated him — and anyway it was fun seeing Tegan’s startled reaction.
In the reception hall which was dominated by a sweeping staircase and a gigantic crystal chandelier, their host politely excused himself, leaving them in the capable hands of his housekeeper, Mrs Smith, a spindly, desiccated old woman who reminded Adric of a Marshspider.
“This is the guest suite,” she commented ushering them into an elegantly furnished parlour. “I hope you will be comfortable.”
“I’m sure we will,” the Doctor said warmly. He had expected to see frantic housemaids pulling off dust sheets and lighting fires but all was in perfect readiness down to the mulled wine on the table. “You run a very efficient household, Mrs Smith, my compliments.”
The old woman gave a dusty smile. “The master often entertains at short notice. Ladies, if you will follow me to your bedchamber?”
Once the ladies had departed, the two men went through to their own room. The two four poster beds were hung with rich, hand embroidered canopies, there was a tiny fire in the grate and two sets of clothing had been laid out. The jug on the washstand had been filled with hot water.
Adric bounced experimentally on the bed before going to the mantelpiece to examine a fine, cream-coloured clock, made of china. It was a lot heavier than it looked and it slipped an inch or two in his fingers; the Doctor coughed in gentle warning and the boy guiltily replaced it.
“That’s Royal Creamware. In Tegan’s time, a clock like that would be worth £300,” the Doctor observed, beginning to peel off his frock coat; Adric watched him in clear astonishment.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s been centuries since I last stopped by in Regency England. I’ve always had a fondness for its costumes. Hurry up!”
Without enthusiasm Adric poked at the olive green jacket that had been laid out for him; he supposed it was just about wearable. He turned to the fawn pantaloons, noting with horror the drop-down front which fastened with two enormous brass buttons. There was absolutely no way that he was wearing them — just the idea of the figure-hugging pants made him blush. He dropped them as if they scalded him.
“I think I’ll stay in my own clothes,” he said, trying to sound casual.
The Doctor was roving about the room again, clucking admiringly over several ornaments and artefacts. Adric swept his eyes up and down the Doctor’s slender frame, and had to admit his friend looked particularly dashing in the navy blue double breasted waistcoat with the long frilly shirt underneath; the tight pantaloons however left nothing to the imagination. “Mmmm?” the Time Lord said, finally fetching up in front of the oval mirror and fiddling with his cravat. “Woops — no, that’s not right. Now, my third self would have had no trouble with this — he was always rather fond of dandified clothes. Wore a lot of capes.”
“I just bet he did. And I said I think I’ll keep my own clothes on.”
“Nonsense,” the Time Lord responded absently. “It would be discourteous to refuse our host’s hospitality.”
Adric’s gaze drifted back to the hated pantaloons. “They’re far too tight,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up.
The Doctor regarded him for a moment. “We’re all in the same boat - that’s an expression, Adric - I’m sure you’ll look splendid. Let’s have a look at that cut.” He had apparently managed to fasten the cravat which now hung rather like a large frilly cabbage under his chin; it looked incredibly silly.
Adric shook his head stubbornly. “It’s probably already healed. It wasn’t very deep.”
“I want to check,” the Doctor replied just as stubbornly. Adric lost patience.
“I am not a child needing nursemaiding! I’ll be fine.”
Rolling his eyes heavenward, the Doctor conceded defeat. “I see from your returning obstinacy that you are back to normal,” he commented dryly, dumping the contents of his frock coat pockets on the bed; Adric hid a grin at all the rubbish his friend had accumulated, including a chocolate bar, a notebook, a Kinda necklace and, bizarrely, a rubber duck. The Time Lord passed him an adhesive dressing from a small first aid kit. “Make sure you wash the cut thoroughly.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Adric said meekly, grinning cheekily a moment later at the suspicious glare his friend directed at him: the Doctor knew from long experience that meekness was not in Adric’s make-up.
Seizing up the chocolate bar, the Doctor left the room, leaving Adric alone with the tricky problem of his clothes. Peeling out of his outer tunic, he soon realised that the material was severely shredded, almost slashed in fact. He fiddled dubiously with his badge, wondering how on Earth the blunt prongs could have caused such damage. One thing was for certain: he could not wear the tunic even if he managed to scrub away the soaked in blood. He sighed and turned his gaze reluctantly back to the Regency clothes; he had no choice.
Once he had made his decision, he removed his olive under-tunic, wincing as the movement hurt his chest. He prodded the injury site gently, surprised to discover that the wound had not even begun to heal. There were two deep puncture marks from the badge’s prongs which were still weeping blood, and the whole area was tender and swollen. He considered calling the Doctor back but abandoned the notion immediately as being alarmist. After all the cut would not heal if it was dirty. In addition, he had been chilled and in shock, both of which slowed down one’s natural healing capabilities.
Pleased with his logic, he cleaned the wound thoroughly, before deciding he might as well have a proper wash while the water was still hot. He wrapped another towel round his middle and sluiced his whole body down, using the coarse soap vigorously until the skin on his torso and arms was red. He applied the dressing, and then, with the kind of sigh a soldier gives upon going into battle, began to struggle into the uncomfortable and downright impractical costume.
***
Tegan held the simple ivory and gold Empire-style dress up against herself and admired the effect in the mirror. The dress required no corset but it fit tightly under the bust, and the neckline was plunging to say the least.
“I always adored dressing up,” she said to Nyssa who was unbuttoning her velvet tunic. She slid out of her air hostess jacket and was just starting on the blouse when there was a timid knock at the door and a very young girl in the livery of a maid slipped in, blushing and curtsying. Tegan grinned.
“Hello there! What’s your name? I’m Tegan, this is Nyssa.” Nyssa gave the merest of nods but the girl appeared overcome with nerves.
“Oh!” she squeaked. “It’s Abigail, Miss Tegan, miss. I’ve brought hot water for you if you please, miss.”
“Thank you,” Nyssa said, her tone so curt that Tegan could not help but look over at her in surprise. The mousy maid, with another untidy curtsy, poured the jug full of searing water into the bowl and was about to leave when Tegan called her over.
“You couldn’t give us a hand with this dress, could you?”
“Tegan,” Nyssa said warningly and the maid gave her such a dumbstruck look that Tegan thought she must have said something offensive in Regency terminology.
“Me, miss? But I’m just the below-stairs maid, miss. I’ll call the mistress’s maid with pleasure.”
Tegan caught her arm, determined to make the girl feel good about herself. “I’m sure you’ll do splendidly, Abigail,” she said warmly and slipped off her blouse. Abigail’s mouth dropped open at her first sight of Tegan’s bra. The air hostess realised to an eighteenth century contemporary, the lingerie looked completely alien - not to mention racy. She might as well have been wearing a black basque and fishnet stockings. She thought quickly.
“Relax, Abigail,” she said, summoning up her brightest smile, “this er corset is all the rage in Paris.”
Abigail looked tremendously, almost comically, relieved. By the time they had wrestled the Australian into the dress and Abigail was lacing it up at the back, the maid had grown more talkative, thanks to Tegan’s encouragement; Nyssa barely spoke, sitting aloof at the dressing table while she pinned up her hair. “I’ve been in service to the master for almost three months if you please, miss.”
“Just Tegan and it does please me,” Tegan said. “Where were you erm in service before?”
“Oh! I was at the orphanage, miss. So was Rebecca and Jane, the cook hands.”
“There! All done!” Tegan exclaimed, twirling round. “How do I look? I bet poor Adric’s eyes pop out of his head.”
Abigail smiled shyly, almost meeting Tegan’s eyes. “You look beautiful, miss. You too, Miss Nyssa.”
“Ready, Nyssa?”
“Yes,” Nyssa said shortly and swept out. Even the supremely gentle and mild Traken could be bad tempered it would seem, Tegan thought as she followed her friend.
***
Tugging at the figure-hugging pantaloons which clung so disconcertingly to his lower half, Adric sidled out of their suite and down the hall; he spotted the Doctor’s dashing figure on the upper landing admiring some oil paintings and went over to join him, thinking that there was at least safety in numbers.
“Ah, Adric, there you are. The girls haven’t finished their toilette yet,” the Doctor remarked somewhat dryly. “If the Cranleigh ball is anything to go by, they will probably be some time. Do you want half a Marathon?” He waved the chocolate bar under Adric’s nose, adding admonishingly, “Stop fidgeting.”
His stomach growled, taking his mind off the ridiculous costume and Adric eagerly took the chocolate bar, only to give it back with a disgruntled humph a moment later. “No thanks, it’s got nuts in.”
“Sorry. You know I told myself I wouldn’t buy any of these after they changed the name.” Off Adric’s questioning look he explained, “The manufacturers in Britain changed the name from Marathon to Snickers. Something to do with falling in line with the Americans — absolute sacrilege if you ask me. I mean, really; ‘snicker’ is something a horse does.”
“I see you are admiring my ancestors’ portraits,” Tanas interposed, appearing so soundlessly by their side that Adric jumped. The portraits in question appeared to go back at least four hundred years, judging by the style of clothes, including an impressive portrait of an ancestor dressed in Stuart costume; possibly Tanas’ great-grandfather.
The Doctor was studying the biggest portrait, that of Tanas himself. “Very strong brushwork,” he commented with his usual enthusiasm for all things historical.
Giving a grunt of assent, Adric studied their host’s portrait. Dressed in formal attire of breeches and tailcoat, Tanas was standing next to a small table, his finger pointing portentously to a closed leather-bound copy of the Bible. Squinting in the poor light, Adric thought he could detect the shape of a hound in the background. He flicked his gaze back to the Stuart ancestor and back again. “Your family seems fond of dogs, Sir Tanas,” he observed.
The Doctor looked more closely. “I do believe it’s a wolf. Interesting!” he exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a small child. “That’s very unusual — “
“It is a family motif, my friend,” Tanas interrupted smoothly. “My ah ultimate grandfather slew a ravenous wolf which had been preying on the village — or so the legend goes. Ever since, we have incorporated the motif into our coat of arms and portraiture. Ah, the ladies approach.” Crossing with feline grace to the two women, Tanas bowed low and offered his arm to each.
***
The four companions were led in stately procession into the drawing room where Tanas apparently thought formal introductions were necessary. “My friends, may I have the honour of introducing you to my wife, Lady Wilhelmina.” A tall, very pale lady in a monstrous hat with an ostrich feather in it rose with stately grace and a frozen smile to greet them. She curtsied.
“How do you do?” the Doctor said, bowing in return and nudging his friends to follow his example. Nyssa curtsied perfectly, taking her cue from their hostess, Tegan barely managed to keep her balance. “I am known as the Doctor. May I present the Lady Nyssa, daughter of the Consul of Traken? Miss Tegan Jovanka and Mr Adric?”
Tanas gestured for the companions to sit down. The room was chilly despite its being only the end of August. His wife rang a bell pull and when the servant appeared ordered tea. She regarded her guests with barely concealed contempt. “Miss Jovanka. What an unusual name. Pray, who is your father and where is his residence?”
Tegan beamed. “I’m from Aus — “
“Ostend,” the Doctor quickly interrupted: to their hosts Australia was infamous as the country to which convicts were sent. “My compliments on your house, Sir Tanas. The western aspect is early Tudor, is not it?”
“Precisely so, Doctor. The cellars and foundations date to the thirteenth century. Over the centuries my ancestors have added to the whole. My father created the parklands and south-facing aspect.”
The doors opened and two liveried servants entered and, with soft-footed efficiency, placed a tea tray at their mistress’s elbow along with a silver cake salver. Tegan smiled her thanks to the two servants but they resolutely refused to catch her eye; her hosts completely ignored them as if they did not exist.
Later, after some stiltedly formal small talk regarding the travellers’ origins and purpose in the locality which the Doctor dodged smoothly, Sir Tanas invited his guests to a rubber of cards. Nyssa demurred, and seeing a grand piano in the corner volunteered to play instead. Lady Wilhelmina drifted over to join her and the two were soon playing a charming duet. Playing the piano had been one of the many accomplishments expected of her as the daughter of a consul and Nyssa knew she could play tolerably well; she discovered, however that she was in the presence of a master. Wilhelmina’s fingers seemed almost to blur as they trickled effortlessly over the keys. After a virtuoso performance, and the Doctor’s appreciative applause, Wilhelmina bowed her head regally and asked Tegan whether she played ‘The Instrument.’
The air hostess, who had been sitting bolt upright in her chair in an effort to appear lady-like, thought back to one particular Christmas when she had played White Christmas with her grandfather. “My grandfather taught me the basics but I haven’t practised for years.”
Lady Wilhelmina gave one of her superior smiles. “Application, my dear, if you will permit the intimacy, is the key.”
By now the late afternoon sun was shining in through the window; a shaft of light hit the polished surface of the piano. Wilhelmina rose grandly and, with a gesture to the footman waiting unobtrusively by the door, had him draw across the heavy velvet curtains, commenting, “The sun is uncommonly warm, is not it?”
She glided over to the card table. “Who wins, my dear husband?” she asked.
“Regretfully, I must confess that it is not I. Adric is a flawless player.” He clapped Adric on the shoulder and the Alzarian jumped slightly as the man’s cold fingers brushed his neck. “Have you some secret to your game, my friend?”
Adric shook his head, clearly perplexed by the assumption but pleased nonetheless. “Oh no,” he replied, “it’s a very simple mathematical equation.”
“Ah, a student of the new discipline! Excellent. Which university do you attend?”
“Trinity College, Oxford,” the Doctor replied smoothly. “I do believe you’ve beaten me again, Adric.”
“Some wine, Miss Jovanka?” Lady Wilhelmina asked courteously, seeing Tegan stifle a yawn. “May I venture to suggest that your fondness for the gaming table is as limited as my own? Perhaps dancing is more your hobby?”
Amusing herself with the notion of replying that yes, she thoroughly enjoyed disco dancing, Tegan nodded.
“I am delighted to hear it, Miss Jovanka,” Tanas exclaimed. “It is my intention to hold a ball in six days’ time. I insist that you all do me the honour of attending.”
Adric, who did not share his friend’s enthusiasm for dancing, saw Tanas exchange a look with his wife, his eyes seeming to flash red in the candlelight.
***
There was a superior knock on the door; how a knock could be superior the Doctor didn’t know but it was. Before he could call come in, Abraham, the butler entered the bed chamber, followed by two footmen carrying large buckets of steaming water. Under their superior’s watchful eye they filled the bath already stationed by the fire and erected the hand-embroidered screen round it. One of the footmen made to exit but Abraham pointed imperiously to a small splash of water and the hapless underling quickly mopped it up, earning himself a clip round the ear for his trouble. Once he had dismissed his minions, Abraham stepped forward impassively.
“Your bath is ready, Mr Adric,” he declared sonorously. His expression was that of the dutiful servant, blank, respectful, but Adric still felt like the man was regarding him with thinly concealed contempt.
“Erm,” he said uncertainly, casting a desperate look at the Doctor who was absorbed in a book. “Thank you.”
“Very good, sir,” Abraham responded and waited.
“Erm,” said Adric again. He looked from Abraham to the bath and back again, wondering why the butler was just standing there. Was he waiting for some word of dismissal from his erstwhile better? While he was still puzzling over the matter, Abraham closed the space between them and began to undo the buttons on Adric’s jacket. His touch was so efficient and somehow detached that he had managed to remove the jacket and was starting on his shirt before Adric’s brain caught up and he realised what the impassive servant was doing. He half climbed the nearest wall.
“Wait a minute,” he exclaimed, his voice breaking embarrassingly. “You want to give me a bath?”
Abraham deigned to raise an eyebrow. “It was my understanding that you wished to bathe, sir,” he responded, managing to make the word sir sound like an insult.
Adric could feel his cheeks flaming and unconsciously he wrapped his arm round his chest. There was absolutely no way … Thankfully, before he could self-destruct from embarrassment or Abraham could lose what little respect he still had for them, the Doctor intervened.
“Thank you, Abraham. Mr Adric will take his bath alone. That will be all.”
The scandalised butler’s eyebrows shot up. “Alone??” Gathering together his shattered dignity, he took refuge in his favourite stock phrase which he used whenever his betters dared to forget their station. “Very good, sir.”
With a cold bow, he withdrew, leaving Adric still standing there open-mouthed. “He really meant to give me a bath? I mean actually … bathe me? No-one’s given me a bath since I was five years old.”
“Mmm,” the Doctor responded, already returning to his book. “It’s customary for a valet to bathe and dress his master.” He spared the Alzarian a look. “I’d hurry up if I were you, that bath is made of tin which is a good conductor of heat.”
Still struggling with the notion and wondering too how long a bath was supposed to take a member of the gentry before his valet came trotting back in, Adric shucked out of his shirt and pantaloons. The screen shielded him from the Doctor, he noted with relief, so he pulled off the long johns which were the most uncomfortable underwear he had ever worn, and slipped into the water. The bath was not very long and he discovered he either had to draw his knees up concertina-fashion or dangle his feet over the edge. He picked up the pebble-like soap which however hard you tried never produced a lather, and began to scrub his shoulders and arms. The wound on his chest throbbed and he noticed that the edges had pulled apart again: it still had not healed. More than alarmed, he was just about to inform the Doctor when he suddenly decided not to: he was naked after all. He’d seek the Doctor’s reassurance after his bath. Seizing up the soap again, he scrubbed harder at his arm until the skin was lobster red, a strange peacefulness overtaking him.
It was the Doctor scraping back his chair and stretching that broke into his reverie. He blinked.
“I’m going to go downstairs, see if our hosts are still awake,” the Doctor said, coming over and tapping his fingers on the screen. Adric was suddenly glad of the bath’s short dimensions since it meant his knees were already drawn up. He gave a too-bright smile.
“Alright.”
“Don’t forget to snuff out your candle when you retire,” the Time Lord cautioned. “A high percentage of Regency fires were caused by carelessness with candles. Sleep well, Adric.”
Pulling the door shut behind him, the Doctor departed. The room seemed suddenly chill and full of shadows. Adric stared round nervously as a floorboard creaked. His gaze fell again on the nasty-looking puncture wounds. Surely the injury should have healed by now? He recalled Tegan’s earlier mockery of his race’s healing abilities and bit his lip in anger and shame: Varsh had taunted him for weeks when it transpired that he required laser treatment to correct his short-sightedness. Varsh had never been ill — he would never have allowed himself to be so weak. Fishing out the soap, he attacked his arms again until they were raw.
***
“Excellent vintage! You must keep an extensive wine cellar,” the Doctor declared, draining his glass and politely declining a refill. To the Time Lord’s delight Sir Tanas and his wife were still up and had courteously prevailed upon him to join them. The couple were witty and charming and he had greatly enjoyed the opportunity to glean the latest snippets of court gossip and to discuss the merits of the new craze for coffee shops which Lady Wilhelmina apparently deplored as an evil influence on the young.
Tanas seemed to take a moment to heed the question; he was staring out of the open door, his eyes intense. “I flatter myself that I do, sir.” He swirled the crimson wine round his glass and drank deeply, draining the glass. Licking his lips he rose abruptly to his feet. “You must excuse me, Doctor. I have ...some business to attend to.”
“Oh I quite understand,” the Doctor replied, scrambling up himself. “I didn’t mean to intrude — “
“Nay, good sir, the fault is mine alone. Your company is much more stimulating than the accounts I must examine. Lady Wilhelmina will entertain you. I bid you good night.”
The Doctor watched Tanas drift catlike from the room and sweep up the grand staircase, a trick of the candlelight elongating his fingers and casting a crooked shadow behind him. A slight niggle assailed the Doctor and he made to follow the man; he had got no more than a few strides when Wilhelmina appeared seemingly from nowhere, blocking the door.
“Come, Doctor, one more rubber of cards, I insist,” she said to him, smiling engagingly.
His fears melted away. “Thank you. Perhaps one more game.”
***
Night drew on. In the upper gallery the grandfather clock chimed two, and in the guest quarters a strange mist, as cold as the grave, descended: evil was manifesting itself. An upright figure stepped out of the mist and flowed rather than walked down the corridor and into the parlour. It paused at the girls’ door, seeming almost to taste the air, and then it dissolved itself through the solid wall as easily as a knife passing through butter. It loomed over Tegan, a cruel smile twisting its mouth and lighting up its red-tinged eyes, and then, abruptly, it was gone, melting through the adjoining wall into Adric’s room.
Adric was curled up untidily half way down the bed. The figure approached, its movements sinuous and graceful, its eyes blazing as it regarded its prey. Adric stirred, his breathing accelerating from peaceful, slow breaths to ragged pants, and the hunter chuckled, the sound reverberating and fluttering round the room like bats’ wings.
Adric’s tossing and turning became frantic, and he mumbled desperately in his sleep, “No, never!”
Undeterred, the presence drifted closer, and oh so delicately reached out a skeletal hand to caress Adric’s sleeping form. Wraithlike hands caressed his face, tracing the curve of his mouth and stealing his warmth where they touched. Adric seemed to tremble to the very essence of his being as ice cold lips played on his naked throat.
“You cannot escape, my prince,” a merciless voice whispered, “You are mine.”
Back to index
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Adric surged awake with an anguished cry, feeling as though his hammering heart was going to burst out of his chest.
A nightmare, nothing but a nightmare. He drew his knees up and bowed his head, fighting the impulse to cry. Alzarians, as he had been wont to brag to Tegan, did not suffer nightmares. Their genetic makeup was so advanced that there was no need for such a clunky mechanism as dreaming: nightmares were for weak and feeble humans.
And yet, there was no other explanation for the horror that had gripped him.
Still fighting the terror, he glanced round the room. The candle which he had left burning (against the Doctor’s advice) had gone out and the room was plunged in darkness, the wan rays of moonlight serving only to deepen the shadows. A fine, cloying mist hung in the air and it was very, very cold. Adric pressed his hand over his still thumping heart and winced at the movement — the wound on his chest had re-opened and was extremely sore and tender.
A floorboard creaked and his eyes flew to the door. Nightmare images replayed through his mind, too swift to catch, and then the door swung open with a spine-chilling creak. He watched in frozen anticipation and, for all the fear and disgust, there was a tiny part of him that welcomed the intrusion.
The Doctor stepped through the door and Adric flung himself back against the pillows, overcome with relief, the fear lifting instantly.
“Adric, you should be asleep,” the Time Lord remonstrated softly, holding his candle high. “It’s past three. Did I wake you?”
Adric could only shake his head mutely. More than anything he wanted to tell the Doctor about his nightmare, confide in him, but the words would not come. It was as if there was a mental block preventing him. Finally he managed to speak. “No, the window flew open — it startled me.”
The Doctor went over to the window and checked the fastening. “It’s firmly locked now,” he observed, wondering why Adric looked so distressed. He returned to the bedside, placing his candle on the table and rested a hand on his forehead; he felt cold. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Quickly snuggling down in the bed, Adric rolled over onto his side to avoid his friend’s concern. “I’m fine. ‘Night, Doctor.”
The Time Lord hovered uncertainly for a moment, and then he retrieved his candle and went over to his own bed. The air felt clammy and he shivered as he began to peel out of his clothes.
***
Lingering over cups of freshly ground coffee, smoked kippers and toast spread with Mrs Smith’s strawberry conserve, Tegan, the Doctor and Nyssa were relaxing in the breakfast room. After the stiff formality of dinner last night, when there had been no less than six sets of cutlery by their plates and a veritable army of servants (in cauliflower wigs no less) to attend them, Tegan was relieved to see that breakfast was an altogether more relaxed affair. The crockery was still bone china and exquisite but they served themselves from the sideboard with only Abraham, the butler, and one footman in attendance. As she finished her last mouthful of melt-in-the-mouth kipper, she gave a chuckle.
“I had the strangest dream last night. You know what it’s like when your dreams seem so real? I dreamt there was a strange man at the foot of my bed.”
“I remember when I was about six that I had a dream about daddy on the wardrobe,” Nyssa said. “I had a big mahogany wardrobe in my room and I swear that I could see my father sitting crossed-legged on top of it. Very bizarre; I can still see him now.”
She shared a sedate smile with Tegan and then looked up as a footman opened the door. Adric shuffled in, still looking mussed and half asleep. He yawned hugely, only remembering to put his hand over his mouth at the last second. Tegan regarded him quizzically as he collapsed into a chair. Adric was habitually the first to awaken and was usually bouncing energetically (and annoyingly) off the walls, bursting with energy and good health by the time Tegan dragged herself, grumbling and complaining, out of bed at eight.
“Morning Adric,” the Doctor mumbled absently from around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “You’re up late.”
Before Adric could reply to this implied criticism, Tegan said sardonically. “You do realise it is, gasp, nearly half past eight in the morning? You’re usually solving pi to infinity by now.”
Adric knuckled his eyes like a small child, an endearing habit that would have mortified him if he’d realised how young it made him look. “I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Here,” Nyssa said kindly, pouring him out a cup of coffee, “you look like you could use it.” Adric accepted the drink with a mere grunt of acknowledgement but a few gulps had soon revived him and he ambled over to the sideboard in search of eggs.
Tegan grinned. “We were just discussing nightmares. I don’t suppose the super race of Alzarians suffer from anything as feeble as nightmares, right?”
Adric’s head shot up. “Of course not.”
“Perish the thought,” Tegan replied dryly.
To avoid further discussion, Adric indicated the two places set for Tanas and his wife. “Have our hosts already eaten?” he asked Abraham.
“No, sir. It is the custom of the master and mistress to rise late, usually about ten. Although today, being the Lord’s Day, I imagine his Lordship will be down imminently in order to attend divine service.”
“Creatures of the night, eh?” Tegan joked.
Abraham arched his eyebrow and replied, "Certainly Sir Tanas does his best work at night." He turned to leave but paused to ask, "Will there be anything else?"
"No, thank you Abraham," Nyssa responded curtly. "That will be all."
***
As Abraham predicted, Sir Tanas appeared shortly thereafter, looking full of vigour. He invited the travellers to attend church with him and they readily agreed, eager to sample as much of Regency culture as possible.
“Is Lady Wilhelmina not attending with us, Sir Tanas?” the Doctor asked as the footman handed him into the first of the two carriages where Nyssa and Tegan were already comfortably settled.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Tanas’ lips as if the question were amusing. “Alas, my wife is not of the Catholic persuasion. She will remain at home.” He turned to Adric who was about to climb into the carriage and said: “Will you do me the honour of riding with me, my friend? ‘Tis a warm day and we do not wish to overburden the horses.”
Adric hesitated. “Doctor?”
Before the Doctor could reply, Tanas gave a winning smile and added, “I would enjoy the opportunity to discuss the new discipline of mathematics with one so talented.”
When the first coach arrived at the church Tegan was surprised to see people still milling around. “It’s past ten,” she observed, “why hasn’t the service started?”
“The minister is probably waiting for the parish’s patron and magistrate,” the Doctor explained. His gaze sharpened and he added, “Speak of the devil — here they come now.”
The second carriage drew up in front of the gate and the Doctor watched as Adric and Tanas descended and walked towards them; they were both smiling and Adric was looking up at the other with an expression of hero-worship. A small stab of jealousy assaulted the Doctor for he remembered a time, before his regeneration, when Adric had looked at him like that — and then Adric had disentangled himself from Tanas’ companionable arm and was trotting over to them.
With a little more asperity than he intended, the Doctor snapped, “Shall we go in?” and led the way, pretending to ignore the flash of hurt in Adric’s eyes.
Once they entered the church, Adric followed the Doctor’s example and removed his hat although he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it next; the Doctor seemed to carry his neatly in the crook of his arm but when Adric tried that he nearly dropped it. There was a very large, ornately carved structure in the entrance that looked like a birdbath. The Alzarian stood on tip-toes, just itching to lift the lid and look inside; the Doctor slapped his hand away.
“What is it?”
“A font,” Tegan explained, her gaze fixed on the packed nave. “Cripes, they certainly know how to fill churches in Regency times. If this were 1981, only two or three pews would be filled — by little old ladies wearing monstrous hats.”
“Attending religious service is compulsory,” the Doctor explained.
A verger appeared and, with a deferential bow, led them to a set of pews erected at right angles to the main congregation where Sir Tanas was already sitting. Their host rose to his feet and courteously settled his visitors. Tegan nudged Adric, nodding towards the hymn board. “Those are the hymn numbers. You follow the service in the green book.”
“Hymns? You mean I have to sing?” Adric responded incredulously. Tegan grinned.
It was a particularly long and boring service with the priest, who obviously adored the sound of his own voice, rabbitting on interminably. After five long hymns, none of which Tegan recognised, came the sermon which lasted a good hour by Tegan’s reckoning; the priest flapped and dithered, frequently losing his place in his book, and addressing his remarks not to the congregation but to Tanas in the most fawning and obsequious way possible. Mr Collins, the imbecilic cleric from Pride and Prejudice, had absolutely nothing on this duffer, Tegan thought. She glanced at her companions, hoping to catch someone’s eye to relieve the boredom. Nyssa’s eyes had glazed over; the Doctor was wearing a fixed expression of studious interest and Adric was muttering very quietly under his breath; he looked as if he were praying but Tegan knew from long experience that the boy was actually absorbed in computations. Only Sir Tanas appeared to be paying attention; indeed he was listening to every dribbling word, his hooded eyes glinting in the candlelight.
The only break in monotony came during Holy Communion. While the companions politely declined the verger’s invitation to partake, Tanas strolled to the front of the queue.
“What are they doing?” Adric asked the Doctor.
“Holy Communion is a sacrament of the Roman Catholic church. The participants believe that the Holy Spirit transforms the bread into the body of Jesus Christ and the wine into His blood. It’s called transubstantiation. The Church of England, on the other hand,” he added, in the interests of accuracy, “believe that the sacrament is symbolic only.”
“So they believe they are eating their god?” Nyssa asked, her candid eyes opening wide.
While the Doctor went on to explain at some length to his other two companions how the differences in the sacraments were a major cause of the Reformation, Tegan watched Tanas. He cradled the jewel-encrusted chalice to his lips and, holding the petrified gaze of the priest, downed the entire contents, before closing his eyes in apparent rapture and slowly, almost sensuously, licking his lips. Although Tegan was not a particularly religious woman, there was something about his actions that disturbed her greatly.
***
The carriages were waiting for them when they finally emerged blinking and stretching into the bright sunlight after a record two and a half hours, but the four opted for a quick stroll round the village rather than return immediately to the manor for luncheon.
“The village seems quite affluent,” Adric commented, nosying in at the well-kept front gardens.
“Appearances can be deceptive,” the Doctor replied. “The majority of houses are down that dirt track there — and I doubt they are as picturesque.”
“They all seem well stocked with herbs,” Nyssa remarked professionally. “I assume they rely on herbs for their medicinal uses. I can identify some of them: rue, aloe...”
“Very good, Nyssa. That glossy green herb over there with the white flowers is angelica. So named after Michael the archangel since it is supposed to bloom on his feast day. Very effective against the Plague.”
“And the bunch of herbs?” Nyssa asked, pointing to a small bouquet tied with red thread hanging above the door. Before the Doctor could reply, Adric’s stomach gurgled loudly.
“Can we go back now?” he asked, “I’m awfully hungry and it’s steak for luncheon.”
***
The very first time Tegan had read Pride and Prejudice, she had fantasised about going back in time and living the Regency life, wearing the long flowing dresses, listening to piano recitals by candlelight and being attended to by servants in cauliflower wigs.
Her dream had come true — literally! — but the novelty was beginning to wear off. Washing her hair with soap (soap, for heaven’s sake!) had started the day badly and a few hours imprisoned in the music room with Lady Wilhelmina after church had soured things further.
While their hostess was fussing over the tea tray, for it appeared to be the custom to drink tea at every hour, Tegan took the opportunity to peek through the heavy voiles hanging over the window to see how the men were getting on with their clay pigeon shooting. “I think,” she said, “that I’ll take a turn round the garden.”
Nyssa rose agreeably but Wilhelmina looked aghast. “My dear Miss Jovanka, the sun is high. Think of your complexion.”
Grinning, Tegan made for the door, Nyssa behind her. “No worries, Lady Wilhelmina,” she said cheekily, “I’ve got on my factor thirty!”
As they made their escape across the hall, Tegan saw Abigail, the maid she had befriended yesterday, scuttling across the brilliantly polished tiled floor to stand in the furthest corner with her head bowed.
“What’s all that about?” she asked Nyssa.
The young Traken spared the maid the merest glance as she struggled to put on her bonnet. “It’s customary. The serving class must go about their business without disturbing their betters; if their paths should cross, it is incumbent on the servant to make their presence as unobtrusive as possible.”
“What?! By standing in a corner! She’s a human being not a ...a slave.” Tegan had begun to march over to the trembling maid but Nyssa caught her arm.
“It’s none of our business, Tegan. It’s part of Regency culture.”
“Part of Regency culture, my foot! You condone it. You think it’s right.” Shaking her arm free, she planted her feet firmly and crossed her arms - something else women didn’t do in Regency England. She didn’t care how many servants overheard or how many Laws of Time she broke — she wasn’t putting up with Nyssa’s snobbishness a moment longer.
Nyssa raised a finely sculpted eyebrow and the fact that she was remaining calm only added to Tegan’s fury. “We are not here to change custom and tradition, we are here to observe. My opinions are beside the point.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve been swanning about the place like Lady Muck since we got here. Issuing orders, looking down your nose at people — people, Nyssa — who just happen to have been born into a lower class than that of a Consul.” She found she was trembling with frustration and rage — more than that, with indignation, that her mild, generous, sweetly innocent friend could harbour such unethical opinions. “You know I’m surprised you talk to us minions on board the TARDIS. Must be a real come down, my Lady.”
Nyssa’s cheeks flushed slightly. “The Doctor happens to be a member of the Time Lord caste. Adric is an Elite — “
Tegan stared. “And what about me?” she asked quietly before spinning on her heels and rushing out.
Nyssa did not call her back, she noted bitterly, but then the daughter of a Consul would probably consider such displays beneath her.
***
“Pull!” called the Doctor. He followed the trajectory of the saucer-shaped clay pigeon through the cloudless sky, anticipated when it would reach his sights and gently but firmly squeezed the trigger. The clay pigeon shattered instantly but the Doctor was already tracking the rapidly descending second and third targets, shooting at them in quick succession. There was a round of scattered yet respectful applause from the groundsmen supervising the mechanical catapult. Adric who had been watching with Tanas bounded over to him, his face wreathed in smiles.
“Good shot, sir!” Tanas boomed. “Your turn, Adric; indeed I insist, sir.”
The boy’s ecstatic smile faded. “Oh, I’m not very good at hand eye co-ordination. I’ll just watch.”
Tanas, however, would brook no argument. He took the rifle from the Doctor and pressed it into Adric’s hands. So startled was he by the sudden attention that Adric stepped back, stumbling slightly as he did so. Tanas caught and steadied him with an embrace both alien and familiar and for a moment Adric caught himself staring into those hooded eyes.
The Doctor’s polite cough brought him back to reality and he dropped his gaze. Shaken and confused he fumbled with the gun while Tanas flowed off to talk to the groundsman.
“You two seem to be hitting it off,” the Doctor remarked dryly, taking the rifle from Adric’s nerveless grip.
Stung by the implied censure Adric replied, “I like him. He doesn’t treat me like a child.”
“You can say that again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rather than allow the exchange to spiral into an argument, the Doctor came to stand behind his friend and mounted the weapon against his shoulder. “All I’m saying is we don’t know Tanas very well yet. Don’t allow him to take advantage of your ah good nature.”
His gaze darting to Tanas, Adric blushed, caught again by emotions that he didn’t fully understand. He nodded. “Alright.”
With a squeeze to his young, far too trusting friend’s shoulder, the Doctor let the matter drop; he guided Adric’s finger to the trigger. “Remember what I said, follow the bird with your sights — “
“It’s not a bird, Doctor; it’s an elliptical piece of clay.”
Adric’s lips twitched and the Doctor heaved up a sigh of mock despair, feeling on firmer footing. “Most of clay pigeon terminology is taken from live shooting; thus the disc is referred to as a bird, a hit is referred to as a kill, the catapult mechanism a trap. Remember it will kick some. Concentrate. Ready? Pull!”
The clay disc soared effortlessly through the air, Adric missing it completely. Face burning with shame, he was about to beat a hasty retreat but the Doctor snagged him firmly. “One more go.”
“Doctor — “
“Think of the bird’s arc as a mathematical equation. Compute its trajectory.”
Adric’s eyes danced with renewed enthusiasm. “I’ll have to compensate for velocity, wind speed and air displacement, of course,” he remarked.
The Doctor called pull, the disc whipped through the blue sky and this time shattered as Adric’s computations enabled him to calculate its descent. As the groundsmen readied the next flight, the Doctor took advantage of the break in proceedings to avail himself of some refreshment. He crossed to the awning which had been erected to provide some shade in the enervating heat and poured himself a tall glass of home-made lemonade, wishing for some ice. There was the crunch of gravel behind him and he turned, beckoning Tegan over; the air hostess looked disheartened.
“Where’s Nyssa?” he asked, his gaze returning to the shoot.
“Practising on the piano, I think.” Tegan made a face and added reluctantly, “We had a falling out about the class system.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow but forbore from commenting. Wanting to forget her quarrel, Tegan nodded towards Adric. “He’s very good. I suppose he’s using maths in some complicated way to calculate when to shoot.”
“Applying the laws of chaos theory, yes,” the Doctor replied seriously. His gaze was still fixed on their young companion who was laughing and joking with Tanas again. A frown clouded the Time Lord’s usually open face as he tried to fathom out why he was concerned: there was nothing specific, just the same slight niggle as before, but over the centuries he had learned to pay attention to slight niggles.
On the one hand, he was pleased to see Adric, who usually avoided sporting activities like the plague, having a go at the complicated game. Travelling in the TARDIS tended to isolate one from normal social interaction and usually the Doctor was relieved to see how confident Adric was in making new friends and slipping into different cultures. Recently, however, he had noticed that Adric’s gullibility and impulsiveness tended to draw him to … inappropriate people like Monarch and Hindle.
Tanas was an eminent figure; personable, engaging, and magnetic who might be a stabilising influence on the impetuous youth. He saw Tanas move behind the boy in a parody of the Doctor’s earlier position, and guide the Alzarian through a few rounds. Adric showed no discomfort at such an invasion of his personal space but then Tanas moved closer still, his fingers brushing across the back of Adric’s neck, his hips tilting forward. The Doctor was striding over to them in an instant, pulling Adric away from the other man and wrapping a protective arm round his shoulders. Adric blinked up at him in confusion.
The Doctor plastered on a bright smile. “I propose a competition, Sir Tanas. Thirty birds each.”
“An excellent notion, my dear Doctor; however I must warn you that I am considered to be the best shot in these three counties.”
***
The game was soon afoot and, despite the casual smiles and jocularity, the air fairly crackled with tension: the two men were in deadly earnest. With only one set of five to go, their scores were even — neither had missed a kill yet. The Doctor made a play of cleaning out the chamber of his gun and blowing imaginary dust off the cartridge before stepping up to the mark. Tanas watched his rival intently, his eyes sparking with fire.
“Pull!” the Doctor called and five targets launched themselves into the air on different trajectories. Adric hissed, his mathematician’s mind already calculating the odds of his friend hitting all five, and not finding them favourable. He watched him mount the gun on his shoulder and, as cool as a cucumber (to use one of Tegan’s incomprehensible phrases) track and kill the first four. The last target was spinning towards the ground, its speed and course erratic. The Doctor held the bird in his sights just as it dipped behind a bush, fired — and missed.
There was a collective expulsion of disappointment but an enthusiastic buzz of applause as the Time Lord, ever the gracious loser, returned to his two companions. Adric hugged him a little awkwardly and Tegan squeezed his arm, saying, “I thought you never missed?”
He raised an eyebrow at the slight dig and then turned to watch his rival. Again the trap flung out five erratic flights and, despite his loyalty to his friend, Adric couldn’t help but be impressed by Tanas. With his black mane of hair rippling, his ruffled shirt sticking to his muscled back with sweat and his pantaloons stretched over his taut bottom as he took up a shooting stance he was the very image of manhood. He hit four of the rapidly spinning discs before they had fairly left the catapult. One remained, still high in the air. With a dismissive shrug, Tanas mounted his rifle again — and shattered it cleanly.
Deeply disappointed for her friend, Tegan began to turn away when something sliced across her upper arm with enough momentum to cause her to stagger. Adric caught her, his sharp words at her clumsiness dying on his lips when he saw the crimson stain.
“Doctor!” he called, his own shock preventing him from doing anything more constructive than stare.
Before the Doctor, who had gone over to the groundsmen to offer his thanks for their services, had time to respond, Tanas materialised as if from thin air and wrapped a sinuous arm round Tegan’s waist, leading her to a chair under the shade of the awning. He ripped away the sleeve, his fingers delicately tracing a trickle of blood travelling down her arm. Tegan wrenched away.
“What happened?” came a sharp voice and Tegan looked up with relief to see the Doctor striding over. He knelt next to her and inspected the injury, somehow managing politely but firmly to knock Tanas away. He winced in sympathy: the gash was deep.
“A piece of clay, I think,” she managed between clenched teeth.
The Time Lord fished around in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief which he held in place to staunch the bleeding. “Adric, go down to the kitchens and ask for some salve. Bring bandages too.”
The boy blinked and the Doctor nudged him, breaking his reverie. “Of course!” he said and dashed off. The Doctor gave Tegan an encouraging smile and elevated her arm, still applying pressure.
“It’ll stop in a jiffy,” he said gently.
“Will it need stitching?” she asked, fearfully imagining the rusty instruments of Regency medicine.
“Hardly, Tegan. It looks a lot worse than it is.”
Adric returned a minute or two later, panting slightly, a small jar of ointment in one hand and a roll of crude linen bandages in the other. Easing away the hanky, the Doctor grunted in satisfaction to see that the bleeding was stopping. He indicated the jar of ointment with his chin, saying, “Adric, get the lid off the jar, there’s a good chap.”
“Allow me,” Tanas interposed, reaching for the jar and twisting off the lid with such force that a small dollop splatted onto his hand. Hissing in surprise he wiped the excess off and passed the jar to the Time Lord, remarking, “A regrettable incident after an enjoyable afternoon. My profound apologies, Miss Jovanka.”
Tegan glared, saying curtly, “No worries. I’m fine now — if you’ll excuse us.” As Tanas withdrew with an injured bow, Adric noticed in passing that he had a small burn on his hand.
“That was rude, Tegan,” the Doctor admonished.
“Well, he gives me the creeps. Always snooping around, materialising out of nowhere.”
“It is his house,” the Time Lord reminded her reasonably enough. He scooped up a generous amount of the viscous yellowy-white salve and applied it to the injury with gentle fingers. “Ah,” he added as he caught a whiff of the ointment’s pungent odour, “Allium sativum.”
“But that’s garlic,” Adric protested.
“Quite right. Garlic was used extensively in Regency times as an antiseptic.”
Tegan grinned, albeit a little unsteadily. “Great, at least it’ll keep the vampires away. Ouch!”
Deftly bandaging the injury, the Doctor stood up and seeing that his patient was still a little pale, rested his fingers lightly over her temples, instructing her to breathe deeply. Tegan smiled as the pain seemed to lift miraculously. “Thanks,” she said a little awkwardly. She glanced over as Nyssa came hurrying across the grass and crouched next to her.
“I only just heard what happened,” she said. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Nyssa,” Tegan said, giving her friend’s hand a squeeze.
The Doctor beamed happily at peace being restored. “Ah, here comes Abraham with the tea. Just what the Doctor ordered.”
***
Later that evening, just as the sun was starting to set, the four travellers engaged themselves in a light-hearted game of croquet. Tegan proved to be quite adept at the game and was giving the Doctor a run for his money, while the other two, baffled by the game’s rules, could hardly swing the mallet properly.
“I didn’t realise that croquet was a Regency game,” Tegan remarked as she lined up her yellow ball with the hoop. Despite the pleasures of the game, she was still restless and bored with the Regency experience: the fictional Elizabeth Bennett might have dashed across fields until her petticoat was six inches in mud, but real-life female individuality was met with incredulity, if not hostility. “And I’m even more surprised that mere females were allowed to play.”
The Doctor pouted as the air hostess knocked his ball off target. “It became massively popular towards the end of the Regency period; nearly all of the big estates held croquet parties. Nyssa, let your mallet swing freely — not that freely,” he added, as the item in question went soaring through the air, narrowly missing his head. Once it had been retrieved, he continued. “As for women playing it, I would tentatively suggest that that is why the game proved so popular: apart from dancing, it was one of the few occasions where women were encouraged to interact with men.”
“Saucy things,” Tegan muttered with a grin and then looked up as Abraham approached, a silver salver in his hand. He gave the quartet a dry bow and held the salver and its note out to Adric; when his young friend hesitated, obviously unsure whether to take just the note or the salver as well, the Doctor smoothly intervened. He snagged up the note and politely dismissed the butler.
“Here,” he said to Adric, passing the note to him, “It won’t bite.”
“Who’s it from?”
Tegan snorted. “How should we know? Open it and find out.”
After turning the note over in his hands a few times, the Alzarian finally worked out that the folded card was sealed by means of a stamp of wax; breaking the seal clumsily, he took a moment or two to decipher the florid copper plate handwriting. “His handwriting is almost as bad as yours used to be,” he remarked to the Doctor.
“I’ll have you know my handwriting has improved immeasurably since my regeneration.”
“You wish. Sir Tanas is hosting a hunting party tomorrow afternoon and requests the pleasure of my company,” Adric reported. “He hopes the prospect of a trophy motivates me to accept the invitation. What does he mean?”
“A trophy is a male deer — it’s considered to be a mark of skill and manliness to bring down a stag,” the Doctor explained. He frowned, looking thoughtful. “Funny, I thought the hunting season didn’t start for another few weeks.”
“You mean they hunt animals for sport?” Nyssa asked in horror. “That’s terrible!”
“Don’t worry, Nyssa, I’m not going,” Adric said with a bright smile and a squeeze to her arm; she beamed at him warmly. “Some of the Elite used to hunt wild pigs in the forest beyond the Starliner — used to turn my stomach. Is it my go? I hit the ball through the hoop, don’t I?”
After a fierce competition between Tegan and the Doctor, which ended in a draw, the four retired to the rose garden and its honeysuckle arbour for lemonade. A magnificent blue and green macaw paced restlessly, its feet tethered to its perch. Reminded of the exotically-coloured birds of Alzarius, Adric broke off a piece of scone and offered it to the bird. It bobbed its head once or twice, its beady eye appearing to size the boy up, then it gave a low caw and accepted the titbit, fastidiously discarding the cake until it was left with just the sultana.
Tegan had just eaten her second scone with cream and jam. She slumped in her chair in a most unladylike fashion and patted her belly. “If I explode from eating all this Regency food, I shall hold you entirely responsible,” she teased Adric who was trying to get the macaw to mimic him.
“Oh?”
“You’re the one that brought us here.”
Adric looked startled. “Silly, I already told you that I didn’t set the co-ordinates. Do you think the bird talks?”
“Adric,” Nyssa remonstrated gently. “Stop fibbing.”
The light mood vanished instantly. “But I didn’t! You must have done it, Doctor.”
Tegan intervened. “You wanted to watch the important planetary alignment. So you must have set the co-ordinates.”
“I checked the astronomical information once we’d already landed actually.”
The Doctor helped himself to a third slice of cake in a transparent effort to give himself something to do. “Why don’t we let the matter drop, hmmm? This orange cake is delicious.”
“No,” Adric said rudely. “You … you actually think that I’m LYING? Why would I lie about something so stupid and petty?”
The Time Lord looked shifty as if he would prefer to be anywhere but here having this conversation. He cleared his throat, looked out over the croquet lawn, and then back to Adric, meeting his gaze. “I know for a fact that I didn’t set the co-ordinates. Tegan and Nyssa do not possess the skill necessary. Therefore, by a process of elimination, it had to be you.”
Before Adric could reply, Nyssa caught his hand, squeezing it gently. “It doesn’t matter, Adric,” she said gently. “No-one’s angry with you. Just admit your fault and we can have another game of croquet.”
Ignoring his friend’s conciliatory words, Adric stared at the Doctor, hurt rapidly morphing into anger. “I get it. This is another case of my ‘deprived, delinquent background’ isn’t it? I stole a riverfruit once, Doctor — woops, that’s a LIE. I tried to steal a riverfruit once — I didn’t succeed.”
“You stole the image translator,” the Doctor pointed out, impatience creeping into his voice.
“Which you kept and used! Isn’t that stealing too — or does stealing not apply to high and mighty, omnipotent Time Lords? You also broke into the Starliner as I recall — isn’t that breaking and entering?” He was shaking with anger and injured pride: he could accept with equanimity that Tegan would not believe him but for the Doctor and Nyssa not to accept his veracity — that cut him to the quick.
The Doctor stirred his tea. Arguments and outward displays of emotion were never his strong suit; much better just to leave it alone and let the matter blow over.
“You just don’t trust me, do you?” Adric asked.
“Under normal circumstances,” the Doctor began uncertainly, “of course I trust you — “
“Like hell you do!”
With that, he turned on his heels and marched off.
***
Midnight.
Icy fingers caressed Adric’s body, leaching his warmth as they explored his skin. Those lifeless lips covered his, silencing him and stealing his breath. The weight of that hard body pressed him to the bed, trapping him, allowing no movement. His limbs felt like lead as a voice in his head whispered low and seductive: “You will give yourself over to me, sweet prince. You will come to me and you will be mine.”
“No,” he mumbled, “the Doctor …”
“He cannot help you. He will not help. Even if you could beg for his aid. Only to me will you beg and only I will give you what you desire.” The cold hands were inside his nightshirt now, tracing every curve and hollow as if mapping his body through touch alone. “Oh yes, my little prince, you will be mine.”
***
The library, the Doctor had discovered, was everything that he had hoped it to be: glass fronted book cases lined three of the walls, a low table occupied the centre while in the corner stood a magnificent Louis XIV-style writing table with elegantly bowed legs which ended in clawed feet. The top, inlaid with green leather and edged with gilt, held a bottle of ink, some papers tidily piled and a gas lamp.
Time seemed to fly by and it was just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck two that the door suddenly flung open, emitting a blast of cold air which immediately extinguished the candles and the gas lamp. Curiosity peaked, the Time Lord strode to the open door and peered into the corridor.
As he stood there, the Time Lord noticed something strange: the cold seemed to be localised. In the direction of the hallway and the stairs, the air was warm, as befitted a late summer night; in the direction of the guest wing, the air was icy. Re-lighting his candle, the marvels of the library forgotten in the face of this new discovery, the Time Lord trotted off towards the guest wing, the cold gradually increasing. After a few minutes of careful inspection, he ascertained that the cold seemed to be concentrated around the entrance to his own bed chamber.
Shielding his flickering candle, and agreeably titillated, he opened the bedroom door: the room was frigid. As his vision adjusted to the gloom, tiny specks of light danced before his eyes like glitter falling in a snow globe. He crossed to Adric’s bed and pressed the back of his hand to the boy’s pale cheek, unsurprised to feel how cold it was; he removed one of the blankets off his own bed and tucked it over him. Adric slept on, undisturbed.
In fact, the Time Lord thought a moment later, his friend was uncharacteristically still; Adric being one of the most untidy, energetic sleepers the Time Lord had ever had the misfortune to share a room with. On many occasions during their adventures, the Doctor had seen Adric with the covers tossed on the floor or pulled over his head; curled up in a ball or lying spread-eagled. A few times his vigorous tossing and turnings had even sent him rolling onto the floor where he had simply curled up, his sleep not one jot disturbed. Tonight, however, he was lying as still as a corpse in a coffin, his chest barely seeming to rise and fall. He must be exhausted after the clay pigeon shooting, the Doctor thought, his fond smile tinged with regret for the argument they had shared. The boy stirred slightly, his brow furrowing.
“Go back to sleep,” the Time Lord murmured, wetting his fingers to snuff out the candle on the bedside table that his friend had left burning. He stoked up the tiny fire, adding a few more logs, and settled himself in one of the rather severe, straight-backed chairs in front of the hearth. He opened a random book from the shelf, shifted slightly so as to illuminate the pages better, and began to read.
It was only a few minutes later that Adric gave a blood-curdling scream and bolted upright in bed, his eyes staring but obviously still asleep.
“No. No. Don’t! Not that! I’ll never join you!”
Awkwardly snagging his wildly flailing arms, the Doctor shook him firmly. The terrified screams and cries continued for some minutes, despite the Doctor’s best efforts to rouse the boy, and then, quite abruptly, Adric seemed to snap out of the terror. He cowered away from the Doctor as if trying to ward him off and then reason returned and he slumped against his friend’s shoulder, one hand pressed over his thudding heart.
“Easy, Adric,” the Doctor soothed. “You’re safe. Nothing to worry about.”
Adric’s breathing was still ragged and his eyes darted uneasily around the room. He was beginning to shiver as the adrenaline surge deserted him and the sweat cooled.
Finally, he managed to speak. “I’m alright now.”
“Yes, you are,” the Doctor said calmly as he settled him back against the pillows. “You were having a night terror. Do you remember what it was about? You shouted out ‘don’t.’ Don’t what, do you know?”
“No. Just … a feeling of terror, of something evil.”
“Perfectly natural. Most victims don’t remember anything specific. Any other attacks?”
Adric licked his lips, his gaze dropping away, as he vividly recalled the nightmare that had assaulted him last night. “No.”
“I see.” He waited him out, his gaze steady.
“Alright! I’m lying! I’m good at that, remember. Last night. Satisfied?”
“I’ll let you know. What was the night terror about last night?”
“The same as this one: just a sense of something … wanting me. Something evil, something powerful. Touching me. I can’t explain. I … just can’t.”
“Adric, you can tell me anything — you should know that by now.”
Adric seemed to have to struggle with himself before replying. “You don’t understand,” he said at length. “I can’t tell you.”
“If this is about our argument earlier — “
“Just leave it!”
Injured by the boy’s lack of trust in him but trying not to show it, the Doctor made to snuff out the candle; Adric stopped him.
“Don’t.”
“Alright. I’ll leave it burning until you drop off.”
Without another word, the boy pulled the covers up and rolled over away from the Doctor, feigning sleep. Only when he heard the Time Lord return to the fireside, did he dare move and then only to slip his hand down to the ragged wound on his chest. He opened his eyes and stared dully at the blood on his fingers. He curled up even tighter.
By the fireside, the Doctor stared through the darkness at his friend and felt next to useless.
Back to index
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Author's Notes: Adric is suffering from violent night terrors and tanas' secret is revealed.
Some cruelty to animals, although necessary.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, the Doctor and the two women took morning coffee on the terrace, lazily playing a few hands of cards while they waited for their hosts to appear.
“I could get used to this,” Nyssa said, smiling round at their picturesque surroundings. “No threat, no adventures, nothing but peace and quiet.”
“And boredom,” Tegan muttered mutinously. “I’d rather face an invasion force by hairy, purple aliens.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” the Doctor said, waggling his finger at her, “and for your information, the Ribenium are an entirely peaceful race. Jack of hearts, splendid.”
While Nyssa was puzzling over her turn, Tegan glanced up to see Adric approaching. Instinctively she looked down at her bare wrist where her watch should have been. It must be close to ten, she thought, and yet Adric had only just managed to drag himself out of bed. She did not miss the Doctor’s look of concern: Adric’s skin was pallid as if it had been leeched of colour, dark smudges circled his eyes and he looked, generally, as if he had been dragged through a hedge backwards.
“Who’s winning?” he asked, hovering by the table and not meeting anybody’s eyes.
Nyssa smiled at him too brightly. “The Doctor. Help us to even the score.”
With a fleeting but grateful smile, the boy slipped into the spare chair and accepted the hand that Tegan was dealing out; Tegan didn’t miss the fact that his hands were shaking.
The game progressed with Tegan and Nyssa fighting to ensure there were no long silences, their well-intentioned efforts only serving to highlight the awkwardness. Every now and then Adric darted a look over at the Doctor but as soon as his friend picked up on the glance, he looked away, biting his lip.
“What are you two guys going to do today?” Tegan finally asked, having exhausted the conversational possibilities of the weather. “For us women, the fun never ceases. I might pick some flowers or — be still my beating heart — I might even take a turn round the park. If I have to embroider one more shirt or practise one more scale on that blasted ‘Instrument’ I swear I shall go mad.”
“It’s just a different culture,” Nyssa admonished.
Not wanting a repeat of their earlier argument about Regency culture, Tegan snorted eloquently but let the matter drop. “I fold. Adric, you win again,” she said, shoving the central pile of matchsticks towards the mini-mountain in front of Adric. “You must be cheating, that’s all I can say! Ow!” She glared over at the Doctor, rubbing at her kicked shin. “What was —. Look, Adric, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke.”
Adric had leapt to his feet, having to grab hold of the table because he was trembling so much. Before he could reply however, there was a ponderous clearing of a throat and Abraham was looming.
“Excellent timing,” the Doctor muttered, turning a fixed smile on the butler. “Yes, Abraham, what is it?”
“Excuse the interruption, sir. Sir Tanas would like to know whether Mr Adric is joining the hunting party.”
“Thank Sir Tanas for him but Mr Adric does not wish to participate — “
“Why not? I might as well add murder of defenceless animals to my list of crimes. Abraham, please tell Sir Tanas that I would be delighted to join him.”
The Doctor’s patience snapped and once Abraham had withdrawn, he turned on Adric. “Now you’re just being childish.”
“Naturally. Did it ever occur to you to wonder why I like Tanas? He treats me as an adult, he doesn’t neglect me for weeks on end — and he hasn’t abandoned me like you did on Deva Loka and Castrovalva. You know what? I think you’re jealous, Doctor. Jealous that I don’t follow you about like a little puppy, wagging its tail anymore.”
“No, you reserve that for Tanas apparently.”
At that Adric stalked off, knocking his chair over in the process and ignoring Nyssa’s calls.
***
Galloping over the countryside, feeling your stomach lurch and then, blessedly, resettle as you jumped a hedgerow should have been wildly thrilling. There was a great camaraderie between the hunters, and Tanas was making every effort to ensure Adric’s safety and enjoyment. Still, despite his host’s genial laughter, and the approving glances of his peers when he proved that he could sit a horse tolerably well, Adric felt deflated and nauseous. He told himself the heaviness in his stomach and the hot pain behind his eyes was merely down to natural vertigo at being mounted so far off the ground.
The hounds had caught ‘the quarry’ some minutes ago and the atmosphere was electric. Tanas studied the copse ahead intently, a hooded, almost cruel look overtaking his usually affable features. He titled his head back as if tasting the very air and then he gave a swift, sharp smile. “He’s in there, of that there can be no doubt.” He wrenched his eyes away from the silent copse to spear Adric with a look. “You shall not return unbloodied.”
Adrenaline was beginning to surge through Adric’s system; giving a terse nod, he spurred his horse on, every sense alive to the sights and sounds around him. Someone to his left startled a flight of pheasants but Adric barely noticed. Ahead of him there was a chorus of yelping and barking from the mastiff dogs that Tanas bred; a second later a magnificent red deer stag broke cover, his eyes white, foam flaring from his mouth. While Adric watched in amazement, the stag bounded over a thicket of hedges and galloped off, the hounds in quick pursuit, nipping at its heels.
“Forward!” roared Tanas, spurring his horse and Adric’s on until they were only a few feet behind the ravening hounds, close enough to hear the ragged terrified breathing of the deer.
One of the hounds leapt onto the deer’s back; it gave a terrible mewling sound and stumbled. Before the other hounds could swarm all over it, it was up again, its valiant escape continuing. Over and over the hounds ripped into it, tiring it, controlling it; Adric kept up, the blood singing in his ears, blocking out everything.
Ahead of them, glinting through the trees, he could just glimpse a fast-flowing river. As they drew closer, dodging branches and jumping over fallen trunks, the deer broke the cover of the trees and with a tremendous effort, jumped into the water. It gained the other side but its strength was fast deserting it; it staggered up the bank, its hind quarters drooping. Like a swarm the hounds were on it, driving it to the ground and then at their master’s sharp order, backing off a few feet to form a menacing, growling circle. Adric found himself leaping off his horse’s back and following Tanas as his host approached the exhausted, catatonic beast. The stag gave a miserable low groan and then Tanas was upon it, jerking its great head up and slicing deep into its jugular. Adric drew closer, close enough to smell the metallic blood, to feel the dying stag’s heat and hear its last few struggling breaths. Tanas, almost reverently, dipped his long skeletal fingers into the blood and dripped them onto Adric’s forehead.
The boy wavered on his feet, his eyes drooping closed, and then quite suddenly, as if something had snapped inside him, he was standing over a defenceless noble animal — and he had helped to kill it. Clapping his hand over his mouth and with a low groan, Adric wrenched away; he fell over a tree trunk and was heartily sick.
When all that was left was dry, painful heaves, he slumped down against the tree trunk and drew his knees up to his chest: he had slaughtered that noble animal as surely as if he had sliced its jugular himself. It was disgusting, revolting.
A shadow fell across him and heavy hands clasped his shoulders but he didn’t bother to look up; on some fundamental level he already knew who his visitor was and what he wanted. There was a sharp pain in his chest and then welcome oblivion.
***
Disgusted that the Doctor had not stopped Adric from attending the hunt, Tegan had stormed out. Nyssa and the Doctor had retired to the back parlour where the former was practising her scales on the inferior piano, while the latter was pacing up and down in front of the window like a caged animal.
When she hit a wrong note for the fourth time, Nyssa said with more asperity than was her wont: “Pacing isn’t helping, Doctor.” She watched him for a few moments and then replaced the lid on the piano and added, “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
“No!” the Doctor snapped and then with a touch of his fourth incarnation’s contrariness, “Yes, of course I am.”
“We have to take into account his background. I know I grew up rather sheltered - but I have a great deal to be thankful for: my father loved me, I had the friendship of the Consuls and I had the personal support and encouragement of the Keeper. Adric never had that.” Complete opposites in many respects, but drawn together by their shared grief, Nyssa and Adric had struck up a friendship straight away; Adric breathed excitement into Nyssa’s somewhat humdrum existence while Nyssa reciprocated by moderating her friend’s impulsive excesses. Surprisingly, given his usual openness and verbosity, Adric had been reticent about discussing his family — he would spend hours relating stories about his education in the Great Book Room, but rarely about his early life with his family.
“Yes, yes. I know all that. His brother was a born rebel — and rightly so, given the ineptitude and wilful procrastination of the Deciders — but he was hardly a stable influence on Adric.”
“’A deprived, delinquent background?’”
The Doctor winced. “Yes, well, that may have been a tad harsh. When I said it, on Monarch’s ship, I was ah worried about him. Considering his neglected background, I’m, well, I’m …” he trailed off uncomfortably.
“Proud of him? Then what is worrying you? Is it his going hunting?”
“Die Verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum,” the Doctor proclaimed obscurely. “Splendid book — you should read it.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Nyssa said patiently and waited for her friend to explain.
“An innocent woman is accused of committing a crime that she did not commit. She is hounded by the press who leave her life in tatters. With her honour destroyed, her only option is to fulfil their expectations of her: she becomes a murderer.”
“Adric felt that he was being accused falsely of lying and stealing so he thought he might as well lose his other moral principles too — and go hunting.”
“Exactly.” The Doctor was quiet for a moment, tapping his steepled fingers together. “I understand even if I don’t condone his actions. No, no, the hunting issue does not overly worry me. What does concern me is the bare-faced deceit. He’s lied and cheated in the past — of course he has — but he’s always apologised, always confessed his error.”
“Except where the setting of the co-ordinates is concerned?”
“He’s being secretive about his actions and his feelings and that’s just not like him.” The Doctor stopped pacing and stared out of the voile-shrouded window to the lawn beyond. “He always used to confide in me,” he added somewhat petulantly.
Nyssa went over to her friend and squeezed his arm; so deep in thought was he that at first he did not register her touch. He looked down at her, reading his own worry in the candid brown eyes. “He knows you care.”
The Time Lord cleared his throat, colour flushing his cheeks. “Yes, well, goes without saying.”
Hiding a smile, Nyssa piloted him over to the settee and poured him out a cup of tea; absently he added four sugar lumps.
“Doctor? Could Adric be right about not setting the co-ordinates?”
The Time Lord’s eyebrows shot up to disappear beneath his shock of blond hair. “My dear girl, I am not senile yet!”
“No, of course not,” she soothed, “but how do you know? You can be a tad forgetful when you’re preoccupied.”
“Forgetful?!” He glared at the Traken but her eyes were very clear and candid and he found his own gaze slipping away: Nyssa might look innocent but she was just as strong-willed as Tegan when she thought the situation demanded it. “Point taken. However, in this instance, the evidence is plain: the TARDIS automatically records who programs in course co-ordinates. The old girl stated quite clearly that it was Adric.”
Disappointment and hurt fell through Nyssa’s gentle eyes. “Then he is lying.”
“Perhaps I made an error of judgement keeping him with me after the Hydrax incident. He needs stability — a home. Ahem, and I admit … I don’t always give him the time that he craves. Growing boys and all that. Perhaps, well, perhaps, I should let him go.” The Doctor gave the Traken a sad smile and went to stand by the window again, his keen gaze sweeping the parklands as if trying to reach his absent friend emotionally as well as visually.
***
Still fuming at Adric for daring to massacre defenceless animals - and at the Doctor for being spineless - Tegan found herself roaming the mansion in an effort to cool down and to avoid another couple of hours imprisoned with Lady Wilhelmina embroidering petticoats.
Despite its regal aspect from the park, the mansion was in fact a hotchpotch of sprawling wings, cobbled together and added to over the decades. Doors that ought to lead somewhere had the disconcerting habit of running into dead ends while other, tucked-away doors led into sumptuous apartments. With no clear objective in mind Tegan crossed to a massive door half-hidden in the shadows of the gallery above. As she got closer, having to squint in the dim light, she saw the door was carved with animals: a rabbit (or hare, she could never tell them apart), a bird with a cruel beak and a wolf baying at a full moon. Intrigued, she slipped inside to find the door opened onto a passageway that led to nothing but another identical door at the far end. The air smelt musty with an odd metallic tang to it and the floor was caked in dust. She was about to advance down the corridor when the Doctor, who was coming from the stables, called her back.
“Come and have a look at this,” she began.
“Not now, Tegan. The hunt has returned but Adric is missing.”
***
It was the jovial singing of a song thrush in the thicket that drew Adric from his reverie. He blinked several times, trying to think clearly around the throbbing pain in his head. He was still sitting against the tree, but of his erstwhile comrades there was no sign. As he scrambled to his feet, a wave of dizziness like the world was turning somersaults hit him and he had to grab at the tree trunk to prevent himself falling over. His chest throbbed, a dull thudding in time to his blood’s pulse and, glancing down, he noticed his shirt was stained with blood. Again. A small sound invaded his preoccupation and his horse clip-clopped over, whinnying in greeting. Adric patted its forelock and tried to be amused when the determined creature pressed into his shoulder demanding sugar lumps.
“Well,” he said, his voice sounding thin and reedy in the stillness, “we’d better get home.” He surveyed the animal’s broad back; it might as well have been a mountain. He stepped rather dubiously onto the tree trunk and then swung himself, slowly and painfully onto his horse, gritting his teeth against both the headache and the lancing pain in his chest. Arranging his reins, he squeezed with his thighs and the horse obediently walked on, gliding through the forest as if aware of his rider’s discomfort. Adric let his eyes droop closed.
The next thing he knew was that the patient sound of his horse’s hooves turned from dull thunks to sharp, ringing clip-clops; he creaked open an eye to discover he had arrived at the courtyard outside the stables. His horse whickered at him and automatically he patted its glossy neck.
“Alright, you want sugar lumps. Understood.” Making a supreme effort, he swung his right leg over his horse, turned onto his belly and slid, slowly and carefully to the ground: it was a very long way down. Then, staring straight ahead so as not to jar his head, he led his mount into the cool shade of the stable. Not used to solemnity, the beast turned its head and nibbled on the buttons of his jacket.
“There you are! The others returned hours ago! Where have you been?” It was Nyssa and her face was pale with anxiety. “The Doctor’s been worried sick.”
“That I would have liked to see,” he remarked dryly despite the fatigue, feeling a hot pain that had nothing to do with his injury blossom in his chest.
Now that she had the opportunity to look closely, Nyssa could not help but notice how white her friend looked. “Did you hurt yourself? You look awful.”
“I’m fine,” he snapped back but made the mistake of looking at her. All his barriers seemed to topple in the face of that gentle rebuke and he sagged against the horse.
“Please talk to me, Adric.”
“I … I don’t even know. I feel dizzy and I’ve got a headache.” The unfamiliar word sounded strange in his ears. He flinched as she pressed a warm hand to his forehead.
“You’re so cold. You ought to talk to the Doctor. Even Alzarians get ill occasionally.”
“I can’t, Nyssa. He thinks I’m a liar.”
“You’re ill. He’ll understand.”
“I said no and I mean it. And you mustn’t tell him either. Promise.”
“Now you’re being unreasonable.”
“This is none of your concern. Or his. I’ll be fine. Promise me you won’t say anything.”
Tegan would have become defensive, impatient, shoving Adric away with cruel words but Nyssa simply took his cold hand in hers and said gently, “Very well, I promise. But someone has to break this silly deadlock between you and the Doctor.”
“I didn’t set the co-ordinates here!”
“Do you remember Traken, Adric?”
Adric shifted, confused by the abrupt change. “Always.” After Castrovalva, when Nyssa had been desolate, grieving for her father and her lost world, Adric had conjured up a block transfer image of Traken for her. It had taken him days to perfect using a technique that he would always associate with pain thanks to the Master’s cruel web, but he had considered that a small price to pay to see his friend smile again.
“I knew a young man on Traken. Impetuous, fiery — and one of the bravest people I have ever known. He stayed by my bedside, reading stories to me when I was ill, and risked the agony of the web rather than see his friends destroyed in Event One. He jumped an armed android to protect me — and he made me my own private Traken that saved my sanity. I think I know what that young man would do.”
***
Later that afternoon, the Doctor found himself roving round the parklands and gardens of the manor house; Tegan, he knew, had requisitioned the ballroom and was taking impromptu dancing lessons from Abigail in preparation for the imminent ball, while Adric, upon his belated return from the hunt had retired to his room, claiming he wished to study some computations. The notion was a transparent lie but Nyssa’s quick shake of the head had silenced the Doctor’s questions. Nyssa, Abraham deigned to inform him, was presently occupied in the herb garden at the rear of the house. He went through the rusting iron archway and surveyed the garden, raising a surprised eyebrow when he discovered it to be overgrown and ill-kempt, in marked contrast to the rest of the grounds. Nyssa was kneeling on an old blanket, a wicker basket by her side. She glanced up at his approach, looking uncharacteristically harried.
“Oh, Doctor! It’s you!”
“Indeed it is, Nyssa. Doing a spot of gardening?”
“Gardening? No. I mean yes. I thought I’d collect some herbs for … cooking.” She scrambled up, brushing the hem of her skirts, and walked on, not quite looking at him. “How is Tegan doing?”
“She was learning the quadrille last time I looked.” Adroitly the Doctor took the basket from her and examined the contents. “Hmm, marjoram, chamomile and feverfew.”
Nyssa’s cheeks coloured. “Yes, I’ve … developed a bit of a headache. Probably from all that … needlework.”
“I see.” The Doctor tilted her chin up, studied her eyes. “You were practising calligraphy earlier.”
“Was I? Oh yes! I meant calligraphy,” she said in confusion.
“You too, Nyssa?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He tapped her forehead gently. “Lying. At least Adric is proficient; you are appalling. If you are intending to make a habit of it, I suggest you practise very hard.”
Nyssa began to stammer an apology but the Doctor shushed her imperiously. “This foolishness has gone on long enough,” he rapped, slipping into his first incarnation’s tetchiness. “I take it Adric is the one with the headache? Yes or no, my girl — stop stammering. Hmm, thought so. Really, Nyssa, why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me not to.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes heavenward. “Do you remember when you father hesitated about giving me the plans to the source manipulator? There was a principle involved — he’d given his word to keep the plans secret.”
“And I told him that there was a greater principle — the safety of Traken.”
“Exactly,” the Doctor said as he ushered her from the garden. “There’s a very confused, ill young man inside and he needs my help. And yours. Now, what exactly did Adric tell you?”
***
His headache had not improved; in fact if anything the pounding had increased. Adric poured hot water into the basin, having to hold onto the sturdy washstand with his free hand for support. When the dizziness had eased, he slipped out of his shirt for, despite having a wash following his return from the hunt and indeed putting on a fresh shirt to replace the soiled one, he still felt dirty and generally unclean. He scoured his arms and hands, using the bristly nail brush that the valet had brought up for him, losing himself in the mechanical repetition of scrubbing. The door opened abruptly and, startled, he looked up to see the Doctor striding towards him.
Trying not to look furtive, he reached for his abandoned shirt and slipped it on over his head before sitting on the settee by the fire. “What do you want anyway?” he asked, discovering that he was too tired to make a scene.
The Doctor seemed to hesitate for a moment as if he were marshalling his thoughts, then he came over and proffered the thick tankard he had brought in with him. “I brought you some tea.”
Adric rubbed at his temples. “No thanks, Doctor.”
“It’s for the headache that you don’t have.”
“Nyssa told you?! She promised — “
The Time Lord held up an imperious hand, effectively stopping him. “You’re squinting, your eyes are dilated and your pulse is elevated. Drink it down.”
The Doctor sat down on the settee next to him and arranged his hands in his lap quite deliberately as if he were intending to watch every mouthful. Adric let his gaze fall to the contents of the mug. The tea was a light greenish colour with flecks of herbs floating about on top. He sniffed it dubiously. “It smells like a meadow.”
The Doctor was still regarding him; his gaze was quiet and composed but with an underlying strength and understanding that soothed the youth on some fundamental level.
“Did you enjoy the hunt?”
Adric made a face. “No,” he murmured. He had kept so much bottled up that the words just seemed to tumble out of his mouth. “The deer was terrified. It tried so hard to get away but the hounds wouldn’t let it. They pulled it to the ground, snarling and biting. Then Tanas slashed its throat. It … didn’t die straight away.”
“I’m so sorry, Adric.”
Adric stared at the fire, remembering how he had followed Tanas and the other hunters, how he had harried the deer, wanted it dead. How the blood-lust had pounded in his skull, driving him on. “I threw up,” he whispered. His hands were shaking and the Doctor took the half-full mug from him.
“Completely understandable. Did anything else happen, Adric? Did you fall off your horse? Hit your head?”
The images replayed, snatches of memory, of loathing and a deep abiding fear. A man with red eyes looming over him, sweeping his hands over his torso, kindling a fire. More than anything in the universe he wanted to tell the Doctor, stop the pain, stop the fear — but the words wouldn’t come. The headache seemed to be squeezing out his willpower. “I can’t tell you,” he said at length, miserably.
Regarding his young friend for a moment, the Doctor pressed the mug back into his hands. “Finish that off,” he ordered not unkindly. He came to stand behind Adric and rested his fingers lightly over his temples; Adric flinched. “Relax. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow and steady.”
As Adric concentrated on his breathing, the Doctor rubbed his fingers in circles, easing the tension, feeling Adric beginning to unwind like an uncoiling spring. “That’s the ticket.” He urged Adric to sit forward and kneaded his fingers into his skull, applying just the right amount of pressure but always backing off when he sensed Adric was on the edge of pain. Finally he worked his hands across his neck and shoulders, opening the baggy shirt so he could work bare flesh. There was a pattern of almost-healed bruises on his shoulder; he stroked them lightly.
“Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t set the co-ordinates.”
“Why don’t we … agree to disagree on that one for now?”
“Doctor, please — “
“Adric, listen to me,” the Doctor replied urgently, using all his charisma and will to reach his friend. “Forget that — it’s not important. What ah concerns me is that you have not trusted me.”
“I couldn’t.”
He held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Putting aside the matter of setting the co-ordinates, would you agree that you have not been 100 percent hon … er frank with me?” He tilted up Adric’s chin, compelling eye contact. “You didn’t tell me about the headache or the other symptoms that you have been experiencing — and you took part in a sport that you ethically disagree with.”
“I’m sorry — “
“I’m not angry with you. I want to help.”
“Alzarians don’t get ill, Doctor. I ...don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
To Adric’s surprise the Doctor smiled, a smile of affection and familiar exasperation. “That in 1980’s vernacular, is a consignment of geriatric shoe repairers — a load of old cobblers. Everybody gets ill — including Alzarians.” When Adric opened his mouth to protest, the Time Lord waggled his finger, slipping into lecture mode. “I downloaded the Starliner’s files when I was helping the Deciders initiate launch. I can assure you, quite categorically, that Alzarians do suffer illness and debilitation. Granted, not to the same extent as say humans — but nevertheless, they do get ill.”
“I’ve never had a headache or a cold.”
“Actually yes, you have. However your body has healed the symptoms so quickly that you were not aware of it.”
Adric took a deep breath, some of the fear and trepidation lifting. “I suppose so.”
***
“What do you think about this one?” Tegan asked, twirling round in front of the Doctor and striking a cat-walk pose.
Stressed out by the events of the day and nursing another headache, Adric had retired to bed. Rather than accept Tanas’ affable invitation to join him and his wife for a rubber of cards, the remaining travellers had opted to spend the evening in their own parlour. The two women were currently torturing the baffled Time Lord by trying on all the different gowns that the housekeeper had brought for the up and coming ball.
“It’s red,” the Doctor said, obviously completely out of his element.
“I know what colour it is! Does it suit me?”
“Erm, well, it’s very nice, Tegan.”
“I’m not sure,” Nyssa remarked, “I think it’s a bit showy. Doctor?”
“Well, from the stitching and general finish, I would surmise that it had been made in Paris.”
Suppressing a wicked grin, Tegan fiddled with the plunging neckline. “Is it showing too much cleavage, Doc?”
The Time Lord coughed, but was saved from answering by the bedroom door opening and Adric coming in. He still looked half asleep: his usually tousled hair stood on end, his eyes were sleep-swollen and unfocused and, all in all, he just needed a teddy bear clutched in one hand to complete the picture of a child past its bedtime asking for a glass of milk.
Nyssa looked up. “Hello, Adric, would you like to join us. We’re choosing outfits for the ball.”
“He ought to be in bed,” Tegan interjected. Adric ignored both women. He walked slowly to the door, blinking owlishly. Tegan put her hands on her hips and prepared for battle. “Hey, don’t ignore me, you impolite — “
“Tegan, be quiet,” the Doctor ordered, his gaze fixed on Adric. When the air hostess opened her mouth, about to tell him in no uncertain terms, that no-one, but no-one told her to be quiet, he spared her a Look which silenced her at once. He passed his fingers in front of Adric’s eyes, humphing to himself when Adric gave no reaction. The youth reached for the door handle but the Doctor nipped in first, locking the door and pocketing the key. Adric tugged the door a few times, his movements becoming more agitated, then his hand went to the lock, searching for the key.
“Interesting,” the Doctor murmured. Taking his arm, he piloted the youth over to the sofa. The boy sat down and then immediately stood again, his unblinking gaze returning to the door. Standing in front of him, effectively blocking the door from his view, the Doctor studied him carefully. “Adric, where are you going?”
Adric whimpered, his brow creasing.
“Must go,” he mumbled, “Must go to him.” He took a few steps towards the door but the Doctor gently nudged him away; Adric redoubled his efforts, becoming more and more agitated as his efforts to reach the door continued to be repelled. Finally the Doctor used brute force to haul the struggling boy onto the sofa and wrapped his arms securely round him. Adric persisted in his efforts, his arms lashing out wildly then, abruptly, his movements stilled and he slumped against the Doctor, too exhausted to fight any more.
“What’s wrong with him?” Tegan asked.
“He’s sleepwalking,” Nyssa diagnosed, bringing over a blanket which she tucked round his shoulders; the Doctor, however, did not look too sure.
“But his eyes are open, he was trying to unlock the door — how can he be asleep?” Tegan objected.
“The victim can perform simple tasks; it’s not uncommon,” Nyssa replied. “Has he had an episode before, Doctor?”
“Not that I’m aware of. There’s something very wrong here.”
When the Gallifreyan refrained from explaining further, Nyssa said, “The somnambulism may be a symptom of some deeper trauma. Doctor, you said he’d been suffering from night terrors? It may be the subconscious’s way of dealing with issues that his waking mind is keeping suppressed.”
“Like the lying?” Tegan added.
“Oh, I think things are much more complex than that,” the Doctor remarked. “Most somnambulists are passive and non-violent; when steered back to bed, for example, they usually drop off back to sleep as if nothing has happened. Not only was Adric cognitively aware enough to look for the missing key, he became seriously agitated when his objective was foiled.”
Adric gave a cry of pain and then seemed to snap awake. He shook his head like a man coming out of a nightmare-ridden sleep and stared round at his three companions in amazement which quickly turned to embarrassment when he realised he was clad only in his nightshirt.
“What’s happening? How did I get here? Doctor?”
Holding up his hands in a non-hostile gesture, the Doctor slipped off the sofa to crouch next to him, giving the boy some space. Keeping his voice steady he said, “Where were you going, Adric?”
“To him,” he said automatically.
“Him? Who’s he?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” He pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed miserably. “My head hurts.”
The Time Lord stoked up the fire and poured a glass of brandy. “Never mind. Here,” he said to the shaken boy. “Just a sip.”
“Alright,” Tegan said pugnaciously, folding her arms as if she were prepared to fight anything that dared to come close to her Alzarian friend. “So what’s the explanation?”
“He was in a trance state. Someone was controlling him.”
“Like the Mara?”
“Yes. The headaches and dizzy spells were caused — in part, mark you - by his resisting the mental block. I should have worked it out sooner — much sooner. He kept saying ‘I can’t tell you’ which I interpreted as meaning he was unwilling to tell me.” The Doctor smiled sadly down at his friend. “In actuality, he meant ‘I am not able to tell you.’”
As if the words had unlocked something deep inside, Adric met his mentor’s gaze. “I wanted to tell you — so much — I just couldn’t.”
With an awkward pat to his friend’s shoulder, the Doctor nodded his understanding. “I know that now, Adric. My sincerest apologies for doubting your integrity.”
***
Once the women had departed for their own room and Adric had drifted off to sleep, the Doctor lay down on the other bed and breathed slowly, willing himself to relax. He needed to take time out, distance himself from the trials and tribulations — and just let himself think. The fire cracked and popped and, dimly, almost beyond even his superior hearing, he could hear the gentle ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece; he matched the beats of his heart to the rhythm …
The Doctor tore his way to full wakefulness like a drowning man clawing for the surface of the water. He shook his head and blinked but his eyelids felt as if they had lead weights on them, and just for a moment the compulsion to return to sweet slumber was overpowering. Making a supreme effort, he slipped off the bed and staggered to the washstand, tipping the entire contents of the now very cold water over his head.
Sleep called to him like a siren but he was no longer tempted to submit to its wiles: he knew now his sleep had been unnatural — and he knew its perpetrator. Grimly he strode over to Adric’s bed, unsurprised to find its occupant missing. He slid his hand across the sheets, estimating that the bed had been abandoned at least ten minutes — more than enough time, he thought to himself. Mentally berating himself for his stupidity in entering a trance-state and thus leaving himself open to mental possession, the Doctor seized up his candle and strode through the parlour straight into the girls’ room. Without preamble he shook Tegan’s shoulder; she startled awake with a small cry.
“Tegan, get up.”
“What -?” She shook her head blearily to clear it, her eyes frightened. “Doctor, what’s wrong?”
The Doctor had been lighting candles. “Adric’s disappeared. I can only assume he has been put into another trance.” He thrust her clothes at her and she scrambled out of bed, tripping over to Nyssa who was already stirring at the sound of their voices. The Doctor continued, “We have to find him immediately. Before … well, before he gets hurt. Get dressed. We may already be too late.”
Tegan stared at him. “And you’re just going to stand there while we do a striptease, are you? You could at least leave the room.”
But the Doctor was shaking his head, impatiently. “No, I don’t think leaving you alone is a good idea. Hurry up please.” To give himself something to do while his friends changed, adopting their usual clothes for convenience rather than the more fiddly Regency clothing, the Doctor went over to the window and, pulling back the heavy curtains, gazed out. His gaze sharpened; there, some miles off at the edge of the park a ghostly figure clad all in white was weaving in and out of the avenue of trees. Adric. Galvanised into action, he whirled round to find Tegan just fastening her blouse and Nyssa struggling into her boots. With a brusque come on, he led them from the room and down the corridor at a brisk trot.
“I’m afraid it’s very clear now what is happening,” the Doctor pronounced, ignoring Tegan’s ‘not to me.’ “Our … opponent is wily, I’ll give him that - the ultimate predator in fact. He’s been toying with us, like a cat toys with a mouse.” They had reached the front door which stood open to the dank night air.
A thin mist swirled and in the distance they could heard the wailing cry of a dog. Tegan shivered, drawing a little closer to the Doctor who was holding his lantern high, his gaze sweeping this way and that as he tried to catch another glimpse of their friend.
“I wish you’d stop playing the enigmatic Time Lord and tell us what’s happening,” she grouched.
They walked rapidly through the formal gardens, the marble statues seeming to follow them with their eyes, and arrived at the avenue of trees which had provided Tegan with many hours of exercise and enjoyment; in the daylight the avenue had seemed a sanctuary from the over starched, constricting protocols of the period but now, shrouded in the fog, every hollow and every shadow seemed to be full of crouching demons and ravening werewolves. A twig cracked and she whirled round to see a hare scurrying from the undergrowth.
Nyssa screamed in stark terror. The mist eddied and Tegan saw what had caused her friend such distress: Adric was lying prone on the park bench, struggling weakly, a dark figure bending over his chest.
Tanas raised his head, blood dripping from his mouth.
“Nooo,” Adric protested, trying and failing to reach out to the Doctor. The Time Lord took a step towards his companion but Tanas held up a long finger, the nail as sharp as a blade.
“Come closer, my dear Doctor, and I’ll rip out his throat.” He laughed a harsh, infinitely cruel laugh and then glanced down at his abject victim. He stroked his hair, smiling some more as Adric cowered in disgust and fear from his vile touch, then oh so delicately he lapped at a rivulet of blood trickling down his chest; Tegan could hear the wet slurps as the vampire guzzled.
“Let him go,” the Doctor ordered, his face stricken but his voice unwavering. “I will not let you hurt him further.” He took a step closer, ignoring Tanas’ snarl. “Dawn is breaking — the most dangerous time for a vampire. Look!” He pointed to the east where a golden pink glow was bathing the sky. Tanas’ eyes flashed with hatred and then abruptly he rippled to his feet, Adric rolling out of his arms.
“We will meet again, Doctor!” he declared and with that he shifted into the shape of a wolf and loped off, back towards the house, just as the first rays of the sun touched the bench.
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Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Author's Notes: Brand new never-before-seen chapter! I've also made the chapters shorter
CHAPTER FOUR
The Doctor rushed forward, easing Adric into a sitting position while supporting his shoulders. He pressed his fingers to his pulse, his frown increasing at how icy cold the boy’s skin was. He was paper white too, almost transparent. Adric pushed his hands away and slumped forward, nursing his head.
“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, “just dizzy.”
“That’s the shock. Up you come, my boy. We have to get you warmed up.” He mustered a reassuring smile, wrapped his coat round his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. The boy wavered and then steadied; Nyssa slipped an arm round his waist and followed the Doctor’s fast pace back towards the mansion.
“Wait, this is madness!” she suddenly exclaimed as they approached. “This is Tanas’ house!”
“I am well aware of that — hold on, Adric — however, we have no choice. He won’t bother us for a few hours. The TARDIS is too far away.” The Doctor shouldered open the front door, crossed the hall in a matter of strides and began to climb the stairs two at a time. As they turned the corner to their suite of rooms, the lantern Tegan was carrying faltered. A strong draught of cold air whipped past them and then Sir Tanas was walking towards them. None of them had heard his approach. Frantically looking for some means of escape and keeping his friends behind him, the Doctor began to back away.
Tanas smiled. “Pray, do not distress yourself,” he abjured urbanely, his glittering gaze fixed on Adric, “I rarely partake of … sustenance during the day.” With that, and a mocking bow, he flowed down the corridor, his feet barely touching the floor.
“Go to the kitchen,” the Doctor snapped to the two women, effectively breaking into their shock. “Nyssa I want you to make a tea to counteract the blood loss.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“But — “ Tegan began.
“Cat and mouse again,” the Doctor told her impatiently as he led Adric through the parlour, “Tanas is toying with us. You’ll be perfectly safe if you stay together.”
Once he arrived at the bedroom, he kicked the door closed and pulled Adric over to the fireside. Before the boy could think to protest he whipped the damp and blood-stained nightshirt over his head, replaced it with a clean one and wrapped a blanket round him, urging him to sit in one of the arm chairs. Adric huddled into the warmth, so miserably cold that he couldn’t even shiver. The Doctor pressed his warm fingers against the frigid skin of his wrist, barely able to detect any sign of elevation in his pulse. The fact that the Alzarian, with his advanced genetic healing abilities, had not begun to heal disturbed him greatly. Folding the blanket back, he probed the chest injury: the two puncture wounds were deep, their edges ragged, and the whole area was bruised and tender. Thankfully, however, the bleeding had stopped.
Using a torn-up sheet and the garlic salve from yesterday, the Time Lord quickly cleaned and bandaged the wound, all the while talking to the boy in an effort to keep him conscious. By the time he had added more logs to the fire and given him a shot of brandy, Adric’s cheeks were flushing with the first hint of colour and he was beginning to shiver.
“The shivering is a good sign,” the Doctor said, resting a hand on his forehead. “Yes, your temperature’s starting to normalise. Another few minutes and you’ll be as right as nine pence.”
Adric met the Doctor’s gaze, his eyes desolate. “Am I … Am I like him now — a vampire?”
“Adric, think.” A hint of fond exasperation had entered the Doctor’s voice. “If every victim of a vampire bite became, in turn, a vampire, the world would be literally crawling with the things!”
“Are you sure?”
“Well of course I’m sure! All you are is a young man with anaemia.”
“That monster … I knew … Somehow on some level I knew what he was doing.” The Doctor perched next to him, offering him a listening silence. “Flashes of memory, haunting images. His smell. I hated him and yet I was drawn to him.”
“That’s the vampire’s charm, I’m afraid.”
The door flung open and Nyssa and Tegan came in, the former carrying a mug, the latter a ceramic hot water bottle, something she recognised from her grandfather’s extensive collection of curios. She made to slip it under Adric’s blankets but the boy slapped her hand away, completing the task himself.
“You’ve encountered a vampire before, haven’t you - in E-space?” Nyssa asked the Doctor.
“Unfortunately,” Adric muttered, taking a sip of the herbal concoction Tegan had brought him; his hands were trembling and it took all his concentration not to spill it. “And we only killed him with a conveniently placed ship of iron.”
“Ah, but that was a Great Vampire,” the Doctor explained brightly. “Let’s thank our lucky stars that we’re not faced with one of those again.”
“How do you know we’re not?”
“He’s not twenty feet tall for a start, Adric. No, no, like the Hydrax crew, Tanas is a common or garden, run-of-the mill vampire.”
“And there was I worrying,” Tegan muttered.
“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry unduly,” he enthused with a boyish grin. “A stake through the heart and all that.”
“You are joking,” Nyssa said incredulously.
The Doctor opened his mouth, about to launch into a lecture on the subject, but Tegan got in first. “No worries, Nyssa,” she said. “The stake will work. I’m a real horror film buff. I’ve seen the films, read the books — “
“Bought the T shirt,” the Doctor muttered.
“Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, Hammer House. I’ve even read Anne Rice’s Chronicles of a Vampire: seriously freaky. You can take it from me, the old stake in the heart is the business.” She paused and then added just to show off, “The stake is traditionally made from hazelwood to imitate Christ’s crown of thorns.”
The Doctor humpfed and muttered a sulky, “Well, obviously.”
Tegan was now thoroughly enjoying the rare opportunity to impart knowledge to her two know-it-all friends while, at the same time, trumping the Doctor. “In Hammer’s Dracula, the Count was killed by exposure to sunlight. Peter Cushing tears down the curtains, the sun streams in and Christopher Lee burns to a frazzle.” She stopped, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Hey, hang on a minute, Tanas can’t be a vampire!”
“Sucking my blood isn’t enough for you?” Adric asked in disbelief. He had regained some colour although he was still shivering. He edged closer to the fire, holding his hands out to its warmth.
“What I mean is,” Tegan continued, “Tanas walks in broad daylight. A vampire can’t do that.”
The Doctor was looking smug. “You’re inconsistent, Tegan,” he corrected her maddeningly. “In Stoker’s original novel, Dracula took possession of the Carfax estate in daylight. The notion of vampires being troubled by sunlight was a later addition to the mythos.”
“But Tanas ran away when the sun rose,” Tegan objected stubbornly.
“Ah, that’s different. Vampires can walk in daylight — although their powers are weaker — but they have to seek their coffins — “
“Earthboxes — “
“Coffins at dawn.”
To head off a quarrel between the two, Nyssa asked, “Is there anything else we should know?”
Again Tegan got in first: “There are lots of charms or deterrents which are supposed to ward off the vampire. Like the herbs growing in the village gardens, and the bunches tied above the doors. Garlic is the most common ward. The good guys always carry cloves of garlic round their necks.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” Nyssa said primly. “We had similar superstitions on Traken. Most of the plants in the Grove were planted specifically for their warding powers - my father was continually battling with the Forsters about it.”
“Other than that, vampires are traditionally deterred by holy objects.”
Nyssa blinked, her eyes large. “Like sieves and colanders.”
Tegan choked, strongly tempted to reply in the affirmative. “No, Nyssa, sanctified objects. Christian objects in this case like crucifixes, holy water and things.”
Just then there was a ponderous knock at the door. Adric cringed. “Is it Tanas?” he asked, his voice cracking. Patting him absently on the shoulder, the Doctor shook his head.
“I doubt a vampire would observe the courtesy of knocking. Come in.”
Carrying a silver tray, Abraham entered the bedroom. Bowing coolly to the two women, he deposited the tray on the table next to Adric, saying, “The master sends his compliments.”
“I just bet he does,” Tegan muttered, placing a protective arm round Adric’s shoulder.
“After your disturbed night, he thought that you might prefer breakfast in your rooms.” He lifted a lid to reveal scrambled eggs and kippers.
“Just a minute,” Adric spluttered, “you know what Tanas is!”
“I am my master’s confidant in all matters.”
Intrigued rather than revolted, the Doctor asked, “Are you a vampire?”
“Not yet, sir, although Sir Tanas has promised me that honour soon. I am merely his humble servant.”
Greatly daring, Tegan pulled back the high collar that the butler always wore to reveal the tell-tale puncture wounds.
“When you have finished your repast, Sir Tanas hopes that you will join him in the drawing room.”
The Doctor raised an innocent eyebrow. “And if we refuse?”
“My master was most insistent.” Abraham bowed and picked up his tray. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
***
True to his threat, the four companions had been compelled to spend the morning and early afternoon with Tanas. It seemed to amuse the vampire to toy with them, ordering a still dripping steak for luncheon and holding Adric’s horrified gaze while he sucked it dry. When afternoon tea had arrived, the Doctor retaliated by acting as if there was nothing out of the ordinary in offering dainty cucumber sandwiches to a vampire. At about two, after Lady Wilhelmina had played for them (and Tegan had muttered that if Tanas wanted to torture her, he could have chosen no better torment than to force her to listen to yet another piano recital) their captor had finally dismissed them, claiming he had matters to attend to, apparently secure in his belief that his erstwhile guests could not escape.
They were presently outside, relieved to swap the stuffy confines of the manor house for fresh air and bird song.
Nyssa spoke up, her tone carefully neutral as if she were merely examining a scientific theory: “Can we try to kill him now?”
“Us and whose army?” Tegan muttered under her breath. “He might only be one of the Doctor’s common or garden vamps, but he’s got the strength of 20 men. He’d make mincemeat out of us.”
“Actually he’d make vampires out of us,” Adric snapped.
Tegan brightened, a sudden thought occurring to her. “The TARDIS! It’s only a couple of hours away.”
“I have no intention of running away and leaving that monster to wreak havoc,” the Doctor asserted. “Besides he interests me.” He suddenly looked up and seeing Tanas regarding them through an upstairs window, waved cheerfully to him.
“I didn’t mean run away. I meant bring the TARDIS here. Get the servants to safety.”
“And tell them what?” Adric asked sarcastically. “That their master is a blood-sucking vampire and that we want to evacuate them into a time ship?”
The Doctor was shaking his head. “It’s impossible, Tegan. Haven’t you noticed the change in the weather? There’s going to be a thunderstorm.”
“Good, it’ll clear the air.”
“You’re not thinking, my girl. It’s Tanas’ thunder storm. I have no doubt he conjured it up just as he summoned the mist. In another hour’s time, he will be as strong as he would be at night. We just don’t have time to get back to the TARDIS.”
“Then what do we do, Doctor?”
“We gather garlic and crucifixes, Nyssa, garlic and crucifixes,” the Doctor replied with a cheeriness he did not feel.
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Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Author's Notes: Tanas pays a midnight visit
Thanks to Patrice as always and to Munnin who helped with this chapter. While I wouldn't call this explicit sex or explicit violence, it's not cute and fluffy either.
Chapter 5
The storm had closed in with a suddenness matched only by its ferocity. Rain lashed down from a sky that was an unsettling blood red. Every few minutes sheet lightening would arch across, illuminating for a moment the stark silhouettes of the statues in the garden. Thunder rumbled and pounded, so loud that it could literally be felt vibrating through the floor and ceiling. For three long hours the storm had raged overhead and still it showed no sign of ceasing or passing over.
The four companions, having vampire-proofed the rest of the house, had locked themselves in the Doctor’s bedchamber and were preparing themselves for a siege. Tegan, who was smearing garlic paste on the window casing, paused in her labours at the long desolate cry of a wolf. “Children of the night,” she declaimed in her best Bela Lugosi accent, “what sweet music they make!”
The Doctor, who was methodically sharpening stakes out of hazel wood, glanced over at her. The fire cast his form into dark shadow. “That’s not funny, Tegan. And close the curtains when you’ve finished.”
The Australian gave a shiver, rubbing her arms as a sudden chill seemed to whip through the room. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll keep the curtains open, Doctor. I’d like to see if something’s going to come and get me.”
“I don’t see the point of this,” Adric commented, smearing garlic paste under the door. “The parlour door’s locked and bolted with a heavy wardrobe piled in front of it — not even a vampire could smash his way through.”
The Doctor gave him a funny look. “Don’t be so sure. Anyway he can walk through walls, Adric, remember? Even the tiniest crack must be sealed.”
The youth’s face blanched. “Oh yes, I remember.”
Nyssa finished sprinkling holy water on the sheets and set the bottle on the bedside table, looking round in satisfaction: Bowls of garlic flowers had been placed on each bedside table while garlands festooned the headboards, the shelves and even the mantelpiece; posies of herbs wrapped with red thread like those in the village hung from the door and windows and everywhere had been smeared with garlic paste and holy water. Everyone was wearing a crucifix and the two altar crucifixes stood on the bedside tables.
“Now all we have to do is wait,” she said.
***
The evening passed agonisingly slowly. The Doctor seemed sunk in his own abstraction and barely spoke, staring moodily into the fire’s flames. The other three were nervous and jumpy, half-heartedly playing parlour games in an effort to take their minds off things, and starting at every creak. Outside the storm continued to rage, only adding to the gradually growing sense of foreboding — they all felt it, even Tegan, but Nyssa, whose Traken upbringing made her sensitive, felt it keenly.
Ten o’clock passed in miserable anticipation and then half past. “I can’t help but feel we’re missing something here,” the Doctor abruptly announced, beginning to pace.
“Like what?” Nyssa asked.
“If I knew that I wouldn’t be missing it! Do try to talk sense, dear girl!” Seeing the flash of hurt in his friend’s candid eye, the Doctor granted her a brief smile. “Just instinct, and when you’re old as I am you begin to pay attention to instinct. This is all … too easy. This … vampire-proofing.”
“But garlic and holy objects are supposed to deter — “
“Yes, yes, Tegan, I know all that. And yet — “
Suddenly there was a scrabbling, flapping noise at the window. Tegan glanced over just as a bolt of lightening illuminated the room. She half fell out of her chair, clapping her hand over her mouth in an effort to keep from screaming: a very large bat was tapping determinedly at the window.
Before the others could think to react, the Doctor was striding over. He seized up a crucifix and ignoring Tegan’s incoherent warning and the slashing rain, flung the window open. The bat made to flutter inside but the Doctor, timing his move perfectly, thrust the cross out. There was an unholy shriek as the cross made contact and the smell of burning putrid flesh, and then the bat was wheeling away.
As he closed the window, another arc of lightening throwing his face into sharp relief, the Doctor said, “It works.”
***
The grandfather clock chimed eleven and then half past. The bedchamber was quiet except for the regular breathing of his three companions who had retired to bed and the odd crackle and hiss of the fire. Outside an ominous silence had descended, broken only by the occasional wail of a wolf.
Midnight came: the witching hour.
The Doctor had been sharpening more stakes by the fire but his movements had become slower and slower, until the stake had slipped from his fingers, his chin sagging forward onto his chest.
Immediately he snapped himself awake, staggering to his feet and slapping his face in an effort to counteract the vampire-induced sleep. He strode over to his friends, his worst expectation fulfilled when he saw that they too were in a profoundly deep sleep, their breathing barely perceptible. Perching on the bed, he heaved Nyssa into a sitting position and shook her, gently slapping her cheeks in an effort to rouse her: the young Traken did not respond.
He was about to reach for the cold water on the washstand when, from beneath the double barricaded door, came the soft clicking of claws followed by the sound of a large animal sniffing. Laying Nyssa back down, the Time Lord readied the stake in one hand, a crucifix in the other, and crossed to take a protective stance in front of the door. A soft low growl could be heard and then nothing. Not even the monster’s breathing.
Just when the Doctor was beginning to think that their unwelcome visitor had been deterred by the garlic, all the candles snuffed out and, in the flickering light of the fire which seemed to cast blood red shadows, tiny motes of dust danced like glitter.
Evil was coming.
The Doctor raised his head, a prickling sensation racing down his spine as he felt someone — something — looming up behind him, cold breath brushing against his neck; he whirled round, the stake held high but there was nothing there. Berating himself for allowing darkness and shadows to play tricks on him, the Doctor relaxed, turning back to the door.
Where Tanas was waiting for him.
Mustering his courage, the Doctor held the crucifix out towards the vampire, a Latin prayer of invocation falling from his lips.
“You curse me in the name of a god you do not believe in Doctor,” Tanas purred, stepping closer to meet the Time Lord. “Did you truly believe you could protect yourself from me? And with these mere baubles?” Sensuously, he wrapped his hand round the cross, shivering with pleasure as it smoked and sparked. Then, he tugged it from the other’s nerveless hand and drew it to his lips, slithering his snakelike tongue over it.
Tearing his eyes away from the loathsome sight, the Doctor steadied his voice and asked, “I take it you have no fear of the divine?” He sat down in his recently vacated chair, partly to imply a casualness that he did not feel and partly to shift Tanas’ attention away from his three sleeping companions. Tanas flowed over to sit opposite him and the Time Lord fought a shiver of disgust as the monster deliberately brushed his neck on the way past.
“I fell from grace many centuries ago and I do not fear the wrath of an impotent deity. Nor am I bound by the ways of this backward little world.”
The Doctor slapped the side of his head with his hand. “Of course. You’re not merely a common vampire; you’re a Great Vampire - a time traveller. Which is why the Christian artefacts and traditional deterrents have no effect on you.”
Tanas’ smile grew ever more triumphant. In the wink of an eye he had picked up a garland of garlic flowers from the other side of the room and was inhaling the strong bitter smell. “Over the centuries I have built up immunity to ‘traditional deterrents,’ my friend. They … disturb me - but pain can be pleasure.”
“The day of the shoot. The garlic salve burned you — Adric told me.”
Tanas’ glittering gaze flicked to the sleeping Alzarian. “My compliments to him.”
In an effort to divert the vampire’s predatory attentions away from the Alzarian, the Doctor asked, “Tell me, how did you arrive on Earth? I know something of the Great Vampire War.”
“Ah,” Tanas hissed, “the pleasure of the hunt. It was a Time Lord who first introduced the scourge of the vampire upon the universe — did you know that, my friend? I see that you did not. We rampaged through the cosmos, wreaking havoc where we would, sucking dry whole star systems. Eventually, when their own stability was jeopardised the great race of Time Lords deigned to intervene. Thus began the Great Vampire Wars.”
The Doctor raised an innocent eyebrow. “I always thought we destroyed all of you. Well, apart from the so-called Greatest of Them All who fled into E-space. I’m afraid he’s dead too, old chap.”
Tanas grabbed the Doctor, whipping him effortlessly from his seat until his feet dangled a clear two feet off the floor. “He was my sire, Time Lord!” He yanked the Doctor’s head back, exposing his throat, his canine teeth extending. “I feel your life blood surging, your body responding. One bite and you would be mine.”
Despite every resolution not to the Doctor closed his eyes against the inevitable, any second now expecting the sharp pin-prick of pierced flesh. Then, abruptly with a growl of rage, Tanas released him and he sprawled to the floor.
The vampire assumed his own seat as if nothing had happened and continued his narrative. “I had captured a TARDIS and its Time Lord master. It amused me to use him, seeing the savage pain in his eyes as he was compelled to fulfil my every desire. My every desire, my dear Doctor. I arrived on Earth in the 14th century.”
“Arrived on Earth or were stranded?” he asked pleasantly. “Your race is a race of giants — literally. The Great Vampire Adr… er I encountered in E-space was twenty feet tall. Excuse the indelicacy but aren’t you rather short?” He gave his most innocent smile. “Human blood giving you a dicky tummy?”
Tanas’ eyes flashed fire. “I was beginning to tire of the hunt but you may yet be a worthy opponent. My Time Lord slave managed to wrest control of his TARDIS back from me and we crash landed on Earth. Humans contain little goodness and I have been compelled to be careful in order to ensure my safety. But that reticence is at an end — thanks to you and your sweet boy.”
“Leave Adric out of this!”
“He is bound to me. His blood surges with life and vigour. After just a week of feeding off him, I am stronger than I have been in centuries. He obeys my every word.”
Despite the danger, the Doctor snorted, amused by the notion of the headstrong Alzarian obeying anyone. “Try getting him to tidy his room and see how much he obeys you.”
Tanas skimmed his pale death-cold fingers across the Doctor’s cheek. “Blood of my blood,” he whispered seductively, “flesh of my flesh. He is mine, heart, soul — and body.”
Summoning all of his will, the Doctor wrenched Tanas’ hand away. “I do not fear you or your tricks, Tanas.”
“Not so.” He laughed, the sound like bones in a charnel house. “You fear for those you profess to love. You fear you do not possess the strength enough to protect them. You fear what I will do to them. Come.”
Every instinct, every shred of what made him who he was, screamed at him to resist, but against the merciless will of a Great Vampire, there was no defiance; the Doctor found himself walking over to the bed where Tegan and Nyssa slept.
Compelled, unable to tear his gaze away, he could only moan in deep distress as Tanas oh so casually whipped away the covers and touched Tegan’s shoulder, obliging her to roll onto her back. His hungry eyes roved over her body and then he reached out long skeletal fingers and traced the curve of her lips, down her throat to the soft swell of her breast. Casting a cruel glance at the Doctor, who uttered a moan of denial, he unlaced her nightdress, exposing her. He skated his fingers over her naked breasts, purring deep in his throat in satisfaction and triumph as the sleeping woman responded to his vile touch.
“Fire and ice,” he crooned. He lowered his head, fangs extending; keeping his gaze fixed on the Doctor’s stricken face, he pierced her flesh, just above her heart, lapping at the tiny rivulet of blood. Then he shoved her away. “Human blood is so listless, so tasteless.”
In the flicker of an eye, he launched himself in the air and flew across the bed to hover momentarily over Nyssa. As if aware of his presence the Traken whimpered, her gentle features contorting in pain.
“Purity,” the vampire murmured as he descended. “Sweetness and light.” Nyssa rolled obediently onto her back, the column of her throat flushed and welcoming. Ice cold hands caressed her neck and breasts, stealing her warmth, her essence. Tanas lowered his head with a hiss of pleasure, his eyes drooping closed. The Doctor, still unable to move himself, caught a flash of movement to his left: his eyes widened.
“Get off her, you bastard!” Adric screamed and launched himself at the vampire. Released from the spell, the Doctor seized up a stake. Under the double onslaught, Tanas staggered back momentarily and then he gave a growl and leapt over both men’s heads as graceful as a cat. He caught Adric’s arm, applied only the minutest of pressure and the youth screamed. The Doctor reached for his friend but Tanas had reapplied his spell and, agonised though he was at his friend’s plight and pain, he found he could not move a muscle.
Licking a broad swathe across the Alzarian’s throat, Tanas bit gently into the sensitive flesh of his ear lobe, his gaze once again spearing the Doctor’s.
“It is not for them you fear, is it? It is for this one. Innocence and impudence, loyalty and gullibility. Vitality and youth. An intoxicating liquor of contradictions.”
“Don’t you dare touch him!” the Doctor cried, struggling against the invisible constraints, seeing blood stream down Adric’s neck from his ear.
“Oh, I plan to do far more than just touch, my dear Doctor.” Tanas wrapped his long arms around Adric, guiding the terrified youth to stand between him and the Doctor. “And he wants my touch. See how he quickens? How he trembles?”
Mustering everything he had, the Doctor spat back, “That’s the vampire’s fascination, nothing more.” He tore his eyes away from Tanas and sought Adric’s stricken gaze. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he told him urgently.
Tanas chuckled. “Is he not beautiful?” he mused almost to himself as he carded his fingers through Adric’s dark curls, leaning in closer to breathe in his scent. His cruel nails tore the nightshirt away from the youth’s chest and Adric shivered, half in cold, half in arousal as the chilly air touched his skin.
“So smooth and uncorrupted,” Tanas continued, gliding his hands over Adric’s naked chest, exploring and caressing though his eyes never left the Doctor. “Except for here.” He skated his finger over the weeping cut on the youth’s chest and, with a mocking smile, flicked his nail against it making it bleed afresh. The Doctor surged forward, but was hauled back by the mental restraint as Adric gagged with pain, the front of his nightshirt soaking quickly with new blood.
Tanas made an extravagant show of dabbling his fingers in the pool and sucking each dripping digit into his mouth, eyes rolling with pleasure. “Mine,” he crooned, “my dark prince.”
The words kindled something deep inside Adric. “Never!” he spat and, grabbing hold of a nearby stake, he drove it at Tanas’ chest.
The vampire caught his hand easily, forcing Adric to his knees. With his free hand, he slashed away the material of his own shirt, cutting deep into the flesh.
“Strike,” he ordered him with an evil smile. The stake sagged in Adric’s hand and he licked his lips almost unconsciously, his gaze fixed on the welling line of crimson.
Tanas threw back his head and laughed, mocking him, mocking his willpower. “Then drink,” he ordered. The youth shook his head, raising a hand to cover his own mouth; Tanas slapped it away. “Drink,” he said again, and in the wink of an eye he had knelt next to the youth and was forcing his head to the seeping gash. Adric struggled, retching in misery but Tanas held him without effort. This close Adric could smell the metallic blood and something else: the intoxicating smell of vampire. That and the lack of oxygen sent his head spinning. He opened his mouth to cry out in fear and denial, and just the tiniest drop of blood seeped onto his lips.
With a cry, half growl of need, half broken sob, he guzzled deeply, aware of nothing but the warm liquid gushing down his throat, warming him, enriching him.
“Blood of my blood,” Tanas whispered in triumph. He raised Adric’s wrist to his own lips, biting savagely into the flesh and sucking heartily, all the while cradling Adric’s head to his breast.
The rage that had been building in the Doctor broke forth at last. Grabbing up a jewel-encrusted crucifix, he swung the object full force against Tanas’ head, uncaring of the sharp pain as a ruby pierced the heel of his hand. Intent on his feast, the vampire was knocked sideways, Adric rolling from him to lie in an unconscious stupor. The Doctor slammed into him again with the blood splattered crucifix. Tanas shrieked like a scalded cat as his flesh instantly fizzled and blackened.
Re-energised, the Doctor drove him backwards until he fetched up against the window. With a screech of fury, Tanas launched himself out of the window, black wings bearing him away.
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Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Weaving slightly, the Doctor stared out of the window, unable to comprehend the enormity of what had happened — victory snatched literally from the jaws of defeat. Then, dismissing the matter, he turned to his friends. Carrying Adric to the bed, he fumbled for his pulse, his concern mounting at how sluggish it was. The youth’s skin was waxen, as bleached of colour as any corpse’s. Pulling blankets over him in an effort to warm him, the Doctor pressed his hand over the still bleeding gash on his wrist and cast a look over at the two women.
“Nyssa!” he shouted urgently, “Tegan! Wake up! I need you.” Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the phial of holy water with his free hand, unstoppered it with his teeth and chucked the contents over Nyssa’s face. The Traken jerked awake, another cry escaping her when she noticed her state of undress and the blood on her nightdress.
The Doctor caught her attention. “Later, Nyssa,” he ordered curtly.
“But — “ Her voice was escalating towards hysteria and she drew her knees up to her chest.
“Adric is dying!” the Doctor cut through harshly. “You can fall apart later! Rouse Tegan. And light more candles.”
It took only a few minutes for the two women to scramble over to their friend’s bedside, both pale and trembling but alert. Sparing them both a smile full of warmth and pride, the Doctor said, “We had a nocturnal visit from Sir Tanas, in case you didn’t guess.”
“Alright,” Tegan said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “What do we do?”
“Tanas took too much blood this time. He almost bled Adric dry. Another few minutes and well… Let’s just say he’s lucky to be alive. I’m going to transfuse him.”
Tegan, however, had tensed at a tell-tale smear of blood on Adric’s lips. “Are you mad?” she hissed. “That blood on his lips — he drank Tanas’ blood, didn’t he? Didn’t he!?”
“I am well aware of what that monster did to him.”
“If Adric drinks blood now, he’ll turn into a vampire! Same goes for a transfusion — it’s still blood.”
“He’s already hypovolemic. Without a blood transfusion he’ll DIE!”
Eyes filling with tears, Tegan staggered back. “Then it’s too late. He’s already dead. Oh, God, he’s already — “
The Doctor grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. Once. Twice. “Enough!”
Nyssa's eyes had widened in horror. “Doctor, is it true?”
“He is, if you will, a vampire-in-waiting. If he is drained of blood to the point of death — or indeed if he dies in any other way — he will cross over and become one of the Undead. It will be a permanent transition. If we can give him a transfusion, keep him from death, he will … begin to turn … but it will not be an irreversible condition.”
“Then it’s worth it,” Nyssa stated.
Accepting Tegan’s slightly reluctant nod, the Doctor began rifling through the pockets of his fawn coat until he unearthed a first aid kit which contained a Victorian-style syringe.
“Look at the size of that thing!” Tegan swore. “Talk about old-fashioned.
“Never mind that,” the Doctor said. He had lifted Adric legs to increase the flow of blood to his vital organs and was checking his pulse. It was weak and thready, and getting weaker. “Will you bring me some boiling water from the kitchen please?”
“And Tanas?”
“Something scared him away —use the servants’ stairs and you should be alright. Hurry!”
While the two women were gone, the Doctor swiftly bandaged the savagely torn flesh of Adric’s wrist and chest. The Alzarian moaned on the verge of consciousness and the Doctor raised his head while he moistened his lips with scotch.
“Adric, come on! Fight!” he entreated. The youth’s eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the Time Lord in relief which quickly turned to disgust and shame when he remembered what had happened. With a low cry he tried to roll away, but the Doctor held him still. Cradling his head in his hands, he compelled eye contact as he said urgently, almost savagely, “Don’t you DARE turn away from me. I repeat: you have nothing to feel ashamed about.”
“He … made me … Oh, God!”
Before the Doctor could respond, the women returned, Nyssa carrying a small kettle of boiling water. Working swiftly she placed the syringe in a basin and covered it with the boiling water.
Tegan, meanwhile, came over and perched on the bed next to Adric, surprised and hurt when the youth flinched from her touch. The Doctor caught her eye, saying quietly, “What Tanas did to you, he did to Adric — and more.”
Adric’s eyes had shuttered closed; he was slipping back into unconsciousness. Feeling his pulse again, and frowning morbidly, the Doctor said, “Nyssa, what blood type are you?”
“O positive.”
“No good. Adric’s AB negative. Tegan, what are you?”
Her face fell. “I’m A negative. That’s no use, is it?”
But the Doctor was beaming. “It’s absolutely splendid, Tegan. Sit.”
It was then that Tegan truly saw the size of the syringe; she didn’t like needles at the best of times, but the thin, wiry needles she was used to were nothing compared with the Victorian monster before her. Steeling her resolve and carefully looking anywhere but at the syringe, she sat down in the chair as indicated. As he dabbed her arm with the scotch, the Doctor gave her a brief too-bright smile.
“I’m afraid this will sting, Tegan. And it’ll leave some mighty fine bruising. Deep breaths.” He found the vein straight away, unlike some of the nurses when she had donated blood who poked about the place for ages; nevertheless it was still uncomfortable.
Nyssa was still looking worried. “Won’t his Alzarian physiology react against human DNA? He could go into anaphylactic shock.”
“Alzarians are very resilient.”
“But, Doctor — “
“Cyna Rol of the As’Rah Institute has experimented with interspecies transfusions. Her results have been encouraging.” He spared her a look. “Besides, we don’t have a choice.” So saying, he introduced the full syringe into Adric’s arm; the youth hardly stirred despite the Time Lord’s trouble in finding a likely vein.
While Nyssa held a swab in place to staunch any bleeding, the Doctor turned back to Tegan who eyed the needle with growing trepidation.
“Exactly how much blood are you thinking of taking?” she asked, the words turning into a groan as he dug into another vein.
“Two pints. If Adric’s healing capabilities are going to kick in and save him, that amount should be sufficient.”
“Great. He’d better appreciate this.”
“Deep breaths and try not to tense. There’s a girl.”
It was easy for him to say, Tegan thought. The next few minutes were exceedingly painful for her and by the sixth injection, both arms were blooming with ugly black bruises and were so painful that she did not dare bend them. The Doctor removed the last needle and swung back to Adric. As he inserted it, he noticed that the nasty bruised marks from previous applications had disappeared. Exchanging a look with Nyssa, he unwound the bandage from the boy’s wrist to find unblemished skin.
“It’s started,” Nyssa whispered softly.
“Yes, well at least he’s stabilised,” the Doctor replied, staring down at his young friend.
There was a low groan and Adric’s eyelids were fluttering. “Doctor?”
“Indeed I am!” the Doctor enthused with a heartiness he did not feel. “How are you feeling?”
“Just a little shaky. But what’s that awful acrid smell?”
“Garlic,” the Doctor replied, dropping eye contact.
***
“Are you sure this is wise?” Tegan whispered, applying another cold compress to her bruised arms. “It’s still the middle of the night, Tanas could be out there.”
“Probably not,” the Doctor replied brightly.
With another emergency over, the three younger companions had dozed off for a few hours, too exhausted emotionally and physically to even question the Doctor’s assurance that Tanas would not return. Letting Adric sleep on undisturbed, the Doctor had roused the two women a few minutes ago.
“I’m going to get the TARDIS. The old girl’s medical computers might be able to suggest a drug regimen to counteract Adric’s vampiric infection. And anyway I want to get the servants evacuated.”
"And Tanas, Doctor?” Nyssa asked. “How do you propose to kill him? You said only a bolt of iron proved effective against a Great Vampire.”
“One emergency at a time, Nyssa.”
And seizing up his torch and a crucifix, he was gone. He strode down the corridor and through the gallery. Although the rest of the room was wreathed in shadow, a shaft of quivering moonlight illuminated the vast portrait of Tanas and, as he descended the stairs, the Doctor had the uncomfortable feeling that the stony eyes were watching him. There was a strong metallic smell on the air that intensified as he gained the hall, but in his focused state the Time Lord barely registered it. He lit a gas lamp to provide extra light and pulled open the heavy front door.
A shaggy shape launched itself at him the moment his foot passed the threshold and he staggered back in shock, tripping over the door mat. Five huge wolves with red-tinged eyes and slavering jaws ringed the doorway. Scrambling to his feet, the Doctor assayed a step over the threshold and the alpha wolf immediately dove forward; he danced back.
“I take it you are Tanas’ wolves,” he said to them a trifle breathlessly. “Yes, of course you are.”
Heaving the door closed, and double locking it, he dashed across the hall and down the kitchen stairs. Mrs Dumphry the cook was bending over the table but the Doctor barely acknowledged her. He flung open the back door, hardly surprised to find himself confronted by more wolves.
“Ah, there you are. Splendid.” With a cheery wave, he slammed the door closed and bolted it. “That should keep the wolf from the door,” he said, turning to Mrs Dumphry with a grin.
At first everything seemed normal enough, and then he noticed that the cavernous fire which should have been attended to all night had gone out, the early morning loaves of bread which should have been in the oven by now were still lumps of rising dough in a bowl, and that Mrs Dumphry the cook was not leaning over the kitchen table but sprawled over it, her legs twisted grotesquely. Her face looked like it belonged to a wax work dummy.
The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment, seeking inner resolve, and then he went over to the woman, and redundant though he knew it was, checked her pulse. From the onset of rigor mortis, he estimated she had been dead at least three hours. Settling the lifeless form on the floor and gently closing the mad staring eyes, he turned to a second figure, that of Mrs Smith, the housekeeper, who was sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, her head lolling forward. She too was as cold as the grave and, as he tilted her head back, he saw that her throat had been ripped out.
With the crucifix held in front of him like a shield, he re-mounted the stairs.
Everyone was dead. The under-footman was sprawled like a rag doll by the dining room door; Rebecca the cook hand lay in an untidy heap half way across the main hall (only a few metres from where the Doctor himself had walked a few minutes ago) and, finally, to complete the massacre, the elegant figure of the village doctor, who had apparently been summoned to the house, sat slumped in the drawing room, the fingers of his hands gripping the arm rests of his chair in terror. It was very clear what had happened: after his precipitate departure from the companions’ bed chamber, Tanas had sated his hunger by feasting on his hapless staff.
For a few moments the Doctor just stood there staring down at Rebecca’s broken body and then, with a heavy sigh, he returned to the kitchen in order to ensure that the dead did not rise again. It was a disgusting task, close to butchery, but the Doctor was committed: he would not risk more vampires stalking the quiet village or attacking his friends. He had just finished downstairs and was about to see to the under footman, when he heard a cry from the gallery above.
“Tegan! Miss Tegan, miss!”
His head snapped up and he saw Abigail stumbling along the gallery, so white as to appear like a ghostly apparition. Shooting up the stairs two at a time, he still wasn’t quick enough to prevent Tegan from coming out of their guest apartment.
“Tegan,” he shouted to her urgently, “get back. It’s not Abigail!”
But his warning fell on deaf ears as Tegan took in the state of her friend, from the ashen skin to the torn and blood-stained bodice. “Abi!”
“Oh Miss Tegan, it was awful. He killed them, he killed them all!” Abigail fell to her knees, holding her arms up like a child wanting its mother; Tegan caught the girl’s hand, immediately gasping in shock and sudden fear as she felt just how icy, how grave-cold, the skin was. She stumbled back, only half aware of the Doctor coming up beside her.
Abigail coiled to her feet, leaning back not incidentally against the large portrait of her master; she smiled triumphantly and ran her hands voluptuously down the sodden front of her bodice. Tegan could now see the wanton light in the maid’s once demure gaze and the swollen redness of her lips.
“Here,” Abigail whispered in a tone of voice that had never been heard from her lips before, “he suckled me here,” and she rested her hand over the swell of her breast, half revealed through a tear in the dress.
“Abigail, no,” Tegan stammered, unable to comprehend.
The monster that had once been the timid maid chuckled. “He said I could have you. As a gift. Come to me, Miss Tegan.”
Tegan’s eyes drooped and she took a step towards the abomination. Sharp teeth extended and Abigail bent her head to Tegan’s willingly bared throat…
And shrieked as the Doctor flung the crucifix in her face. She cowered away, the flesh of her face hissing and burning, giving off an acrid smell of death. The Doctor stood over her, his eyes hard, his voice steady.
“You will not touch her again,” he said quite calmly.
The vampire rippled back to her feet. “Why?” she purred. “Do you want her?”
“Did you kill these people? Or was it Tanas?” the Time Lord asked. “You will answer me.”
“The master drank them. He’ll need his strength for tonight.” Abigail suddenly turned her glittering eyes to Adric who had emerged from the guest suite with Nyssa and was watching the exchange with fascinated horror. She smiled, baring perfect white fangs. “Hail, brother.”
She made to reach out to the Alzarian but the Doctor slammed her against the wall, keeping her covered with the crucifix. She hissed and snarled, lashing out with her arms, claw-like nails scratching for his face.
Mustering his nerve, the Doctor pulled out his stake and plunged it under her ribs and into her heart. The monstrosity shrieked and squirmed and then, blessedly, the death throes ceased and a look of peace transfigured the contorted features, and Abigail the maid slipped gently down the wall.
There was quiet in the hall except for the panting breath of the companions and then Tegan gave a moan of denial and fell to her knees, retching painfully. Adric rested a hand on her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the dead thing that had once been a human being.
“Doctor?” he said, his voice cracking with the strain, “is that … is that what I am?”
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Chapter 7: Chapter 7
While the Doctor had remained behind, returning to his grisly task of ensuring the dead did not rise again, the other three weary travellers had retired to their guest suite. Adric had run into his bedchamber, slamming the door behind him but the two women had settled by the fire in the parlour, glad of its cheery warmth.
Nyssa took both Tegan’s hands in her own, squeezing them gently. “Tegan? I truly am sorry about Abigail.”
“She was a below-stairs maid. No better than an insect to you.”
Nyssa’s cheeks coloured faintly. “I think you misunderstand my beliefs. Socially Abigail was my inferior, but as a human being she was in every respect my equal. All life is sacred to the Keeper, and I would be sullying his memory if I did not strive to uphold those principles.”
They both looked up as the door creaked open to permit the Doctor.
“You really should get that door oiled!” Tegan snapped, easing away from Nyssa slightly to glare at the Time Lord. “Where have you been anyway?”
“I was seeing to the … remains,” he replied evasively. “I’m afraid we can’t get to the TARDIS. The house is surrounded by Tanas’ wolves.”
“Are all the servants dead?” Nyssa asked.
“Abraham and Wilhelmina are missing. The others are … well, yes. When Tanas left here as a bat, he must have sated his hunger on the servants.” He paused. “Where’s Adric?”
“He’s changing,” Tegan said, giving him a defiant look through her tears.
Nyssa rose to her feet. “I think I will go and check on him. Excuse me.”
Once their friend had gone, the Doctor fiddled with the hammer and nails on the mantelpiece that had been left over from their vampire-proofing activities, searching for something profound to say and finding nothing except an answering pain in his own hearts. He had seen thousands of innocents killed over the centuries but it never got any easier.
“How are you feeling?” he asked at length.
“Great. The servants are dead, Abigail is dead, Adric’s growing pointy teeth as we speak, and here we are trapped inside Hammer’s House of Horror by a pack of ravening wolves.” She sniffed and added, “Got a hanky?”
“Oh, of course.” Producing the required article the Doctor watched his friend turn away in order to dab self-consciously at her eyes, smudging her mascara.
“You killed her,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the streaks of black on the hanky.
“No, Tegan,” he said sadly. “I killed the abomination that had taken over her body. Abigail was already dead.”
“You gave Adric a chance. Why not her?”
“She bled to death. And in so doing, she crossed over. Permanently. I’m sorry, Tegan.”
More silence followed, broken only when Nyssa returned to the room, a stake held absently in one of her hands. Although her two friends were too preoccupied to notice, her movements were harried, almost frenzied. “Excuse me,” she said to the Doctor, trying to get past him to the mantelpiece.
“Pardon? Oh, yes of course.”
Nyssa gave him a frantic smile, picked up the hammer, and fled back to the bedchamber, slamming the door closed.
Tegan sniffed, more tears welling, but she was too proud to cry. “She was going to get married to the stable boy next year,” she whispered softly.
“Yes, I know,” the Doctor said vaguely. He was staring abstractedly at the bedchamber door, a dawning horror beginning to form. “What does Nyssa want with — . Adric!”
Before Tegan could think to ask what on Earth was wrong this time, he was racing across the room.
***
When Nyssa went into the bed chamber after leaving Tegan and the Doctor to their chat, she found Adric staring out of the window at the shadowy garden. In the east a faint tinge of pink could be seen, but sunrise was still almost an hour off. The youth had changed back into his Alzarian costume, now cleaned of blood but with the slash marks still clearly evident.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered.
“Are you alright??” Nyssa made to feel his forehead but he avoided her touch.
“Nyssa, I’ve got something to ask you.”
“Of course.”
“You won’t like it.” He turned big sad eyes on her and she remembered the last time he had used that phrase: on Traken.
“Alright.”
“But first, where’s the Doctor?”
“In the parlour with Tegan.”
For a moment, desolate anguish fell through the youth’s eyes as he said so quietly that Nyssa hardly heard him, “I won’t get a chance to thank him.”
“Adric?” Something in her friend’s behaviour was setting off alarm bells. “Are you alright? Do you want me to call him?”
“No!” Grabbing her hand, he squeezed it hard until she cried out both at the force and the cold. He let it drop. “I’m sorry, Nyssa. I … Let’s sit down.”
They moved over to the couch but Adric did not speak for many minutes; Nyssa waited.
“I’m a monster, Nyssa.”
“No, don’t say that!”
“It’s true: in a few hours, I’ll become like Abigail. Like Him. It’s already begun.” He raised his head, suddenly determined, adamant. “And I won’t allow that to happen. I won’t hurt you or the Doctor or Tegan. I care about you too much for that.”
Gently Nyssa took his cold hand in her warm one. “The Doctor will find a way — he always does.”
Adric gave a snort, his usually cheerful face contorting with bitterness. “I can hear your pulse, Nyssa. I can smell your blood.” When she recoiled in horror, he pressed home his advantage. “I—won’t-hurt-my-friends.”
Nyssa could only shake her head in denial. “Adric — ”
“That’s the point: I’m not Adric anymore. Adric is already dead. Time is running out. I want — I need — you to kill me.”
Nyssa leapt to her feet, her hand going to cover her mouth. Adric stood with her, his eyes blazing crimson. “Remember what happened to your father? How a gentle, kind man became a twisted, evil monster? Do you want that to happen to me? Do you!”
Seeing her own grief and anguish reflected in his eyes, she could only shake her head in denial. “What must I do?”
“Get the hammer from the other room. You’ll need it to break through the ribs.”
Almost in a daze, her heart thumping with dull resignation, she slipped next door, collected the hammer from the mantelpiece and returned. Adric was staring out of the window again. At her hesitant approach, he nodded towards the pre-dawn sky. “I never thought I’d see any other planet’s dawn, except my own. I wish you’d seen Alzarius’ dawn, Nyssa. Gold, bronze, azure blue.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
But Adric was shaking his head, resolute in his belief. “You must.”
The two friends regarded each other for time uncounted and then Adric gave Nyssa a hug, kissing her cheek. “Tell Tegan - she will get back to Heathrow,” he said, as he lay on his back. “And tell the Doctor —tell him I’m sorry.”
It was down to Nyssa now. She summoned up an image of her father: his dear sweet kindly face. The way he used to tickle her with his beard when she was small, the fire of curiosity in his eyes at a new scientific discovery, and the unfailing love for her. Then she saw the face change, transfigure into a manifestation of evil. Holding the stake steady over Adric’s heart, Nyssa raised the hammer.
***
“No!” the Doctor roared and knocked the hammer out of Nyssa’s hand with enough force for it to splinter the wood of the table when it landed. “That is not the answer.”
Caught between shame and resolve, Nyssa covered her face. “I only wanted to help. I don’t want to see him change, not like Father.”
So saying, she fled from the room. Barely noticing, the Doctor whirled on Adric, his eyes blazing with a towering fury.
“Have you any idea how stupid and cowardly that display was?”
“I won’t hurt you! I’d rather die than let that happen!”
“Good choice of phrase. That is exactly what would have happened. You young fool, did you really think Nyssa could smash a wooden stake through your ribcage into your heart before the vampire within you was unleashed? Your sorry attempt at suicide would have killed you, Nyssa, and probably me and Tegan too.”
Adric stared at the Doctor, shame and determination warring in his expressive eyes. Then, abruptly, he rolled off the bed and went over to the washstand, splashing some water into the basin. Seizing up the nailbrush, he began scrubbing at his hands frantically until they were scarlet. The Doctor leaned against the wall next to the washstand, as if nothing untoward had happened and said quite calmly, “Did I ever tell you why I never took you back to the Starliner when I had the chance?”
The shift in conversation was enough to make Adric pause in his scrubbing; then he began again, attacking his arms.
“Because I saw this hurting boy from a deprived, delinquent background,” here the Doctor permitted himself the ghost of a smile, “and I saw his strength and love of life. Strength to leave the stagnant confines of the Starliner, to resist the Master’s web — and to defy a Great Vampire for almost a week.”
There was quiet for a few minutes, broken only by Adric’s scrubbing which if anything had become even more frenzied. And then the Doctor plucked the nailbrush from his fingers and said very gently, “That didn’t work for Pontius Pilate. It won’t work for you.”
“I-can’t-get-clean. Blood everywhere. I can smell it. Taste it. When Abigail had hold of Tegan, I could feel Tegan’s heart racing. I could smell her fear — almost taste it. And I wanted her. God, Doctor, what he made me do!”
“Adric, I repeat, you have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s the vampire’s charm to cause arousal and bloodlust. Just because your body responded, it doesn’t mean you wanted it.” Snagging up a towel, the Doctor led him to a chair.
“Listen, the vampiric influence will take a few hours to take hold. If you can abstain from feeding and if we can manage to kill Tanas in the next 24 hours, there’s a chance.”
“As much as that?” He cranked up a smile but his eyes still danced with demons. “Doctor, promise me something?”
“Anything,” the other replied without hesitation.
“If I begin to turn, promise you’ll end it.”
“I promise.” Awkwardly the Doctor reached for his friend, but Adric evaded him, avoiding his confused gaze.
“I can smell your blood,” he said simply.
Nodding his understanding, the Doctor rose to his feet. “Come on then,” he said, summoning up a heartiness he did not feel, “let’s go and hunt ourselves a vampire.”
Back to index
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Author's Notes: The four companions decide to enter Tanas' crypt - probably not a good idea.
Chapter 8
“Doctor, will you please explain what we are doing?” Nyssa asked with just the faintest tinge of impatience in her voice. The four of them, dressed in their habitual attire, were currently hurrying down the corridor towards the gallery, their eyes darting into every shadowy alcove.
“Hunting,” he replied with a broad grin. “All vampires — Great Vampires included - have to seek their coffins at sunrise. It’s half past five. I estimate sunrise is half an hour away. If we can track Tanas down to his lair, we can kill him in his sleep.”
“With a stake?” Nyssa asked in profound disbelief. “It didn’t work very well last night from what you have told us.”
“He’ll be at our mercy. Think of sunrise as a transitional time: the transition between night and day. He will not be able to move from his coffin for those few precious minutes.”
Tegan was watching Adric; he was dressed in his usual Alzarian costume but she felt like she was watching a stranger. Even his walk had changed: he glided where once he had waddled. She found she mourned for the real Adric, for the boy who had driven her mad with his sexist comments, who tripped over his own feet, whose smile could light up the Console Room and whose loyalty she admired more than anything.
“There is something that still confuses me,” Nyssa said, breaking Tegan’s reverie. “Why did Tanas kill the servants — and why so openly?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” the Doctor remarked.
“Revenge,” Tegan suggested. “He wanted to shock and disgust us. I’d say he certainly succeeded.” She thought of Abigail and the monster that she had become.
Nyssa was shaking her head. “His recent actions do not fit his earlier pattern. Tanas has survived all these centuries on his cunning and wit, being very careful not to arouse suspicions. He feeds every night but is careful not to predate too many locals.”
“So if he doesn’t snack on the villagers and doesn’t have a stupid Alzarian to hand, where does he go?” Adric asked a trifle resentfully.
The Doctor’s frown deepened but he forbore from commenting. “London, I assume. It’s less than an hour away as the bat flies. Away from the main thoroughfares and high society, it is a den of inequity and vice. He haunts the alleys and shadows, picking off unwary travellers. Nice and swift. No witnesses.”
“And then all of a sudden, he casts caution to the wind and goes on a killing spree? It doesn’t make sense,” Nyssa said, frowning in confusion at someone not following the precepts of science.
Tegan remembered something. “Abigail said he needed his strength for tonight.” Her eyes widened in dawning horror. “The ball?”
Adric gave a humourless smile as he pulled himself to his feet, shaking off Nyssa’s offer of support. “Buffet dining laid on.”
The Doctor slipped his hands in his pockets, thinking deeply. “You know, certain animals go into a feeding frenzy before mating or spawning.”
“You think he’s spawning?” Tegan asked incredulously, and despite the ridiculousness of the suggestion she felt a shiver run down her spine.
“Mmmm? No, Tegan, but I do think he has something very special planned. Something he has been building up to since he first crashed here.”
By now, they had reached the bottom of the stairs. The hall was filled with shadows, the elegant furniture looking strangely foreboding now that they knew whose house it was.
Nyssa suddenly gave a cry of disgust and all three whirled round, their eyes darting nervously round the empty hall.
“What is it?” Tegan asked, her voice shaking.
“Nothing,” the Traken gasped. “I just … I stepped in something.” The carpet at her feet was sodden with blood. To take their minds off the disgusting sight, she asked hurriedly, “Doctor, do you know where Tanas’ lair is?”
“I do!” Tegan interjected before the Doctor could reply. “Follow me.” Ignoring the Doctor’s miffed, “I knew that,’ she led the way to the massive carved door.
His petulance forgotten, the Time Lord gave a cheep of appreciation as he ran his fingers over the animals. “This must be centuries old,” he murmured. Tegan made to push in front, eager to demonstrate her knowledge, but he held her back. “This isn’t a guided tour, Tegan; this is a vampire’s lair. Everyone keep your eyes peeled.”
“What a disgusting expression,” Nyssa observed to Adric as they slipped down the passageway. She held her stake in readiness as did Tegan and the Doctor. Only Adric went empty-handed since the wood scalded him. When they reached the final door, which in terms of design was identical to the first, the Doctor paused, running expert hands over it. The thick layer of dust on the handle, however, suggested that this door had not been opened in decades.
“This can’t be it,” Tegan said in disappointment but Adric was nodding.
“It is. I … can sense it. He doesn’t have to use the door, remember?”
Chivvying his friends a safe distance away (safe — against a vampire? thought Tegan), the Doctor worked open the bolts and pressed his shoulder against the heavy door until it gave - with a straight-out-of-a-horror-film creak.
Stairs, lots and lots of crumbly stone stairs. They were covered with dust so thick it lay like a shroud over them, and there was a nasty, sharp smell: that of rotting, decaying flesh. With barely a pause, the Doctor led the way, his feet sending up great clouds of dust. As she followed reluctantly, her eyes darting everywhere, Tegan felt like she was climbing down into the very pit of hell.
The steps ended abruptly in a stone Gothic archway without a door. Although it was pitch dark, the change in air pressure told the huddled companions they were about to emerge into a much larger chamber. Holding his finger to his lips to indicate he expected total silence (although no-one was about to burst into song, Tegan thought in irritation), the Doctor fished out his pen torch and walked forward, the other three a step or so behind. A fine mist roiled, sucking the heat from them and coiling around their feet as if somehow it was tasting them.
Crude iron torches hung in sconces from the wall so the four paused to equip themselves before moving off as silently as death. They passed through a huge triple archway and Nyssa gasped as their torches illuminated Tanas’ lair.
It was a massively cavernous space so vast that the Traken could not tell how far it stretched. Resembling a Gothic church, rows of arches marched down each side while high above them, half shrouded in shadow, the vaulted and carved ceiling could just be glimpsed. The white stone used for construction bleached out all colour, only highlighting the skeletal nature of the flying buttresses and ribbed columns. Gargoyles crouched in shadowy alcoves, regarding the visitors with a baleful eye.
But the bleak, merciless architecture was not what had caused Nyssa to gasp: the cavernous space was filled with hundreds of stone sarcophagi. Some were guarded by statues of rabid beasts; others were fenced off behind elaborate iron and gold railings, while still others were mounted on carved bases beneath ornate stone canopies. Ranged between the sarcophagi were statues, all fashioned from the same bleached stone. Among baying wolves and leaping panthers, there were grotesque creatures that looked like they had slithered out of the very gates of hell: pouncing cat bodies with leathery wings and forked tails.
“Doctor,” Adric said uneasily, his voice seeming to be swallowed up by the darkness, “I can hear something. A slow deep pounding. Like heartbeats.”
Tegan spun round, a dawning horror in his eyes. “Heartbeats - plural?”
In answer Adric crept over to the nearest stone coffin; after a moment the Doctor and the others joined him and heaved the lid sideways until they could peer inside. Inside the stone casing was another capsule, fashioned not of stone but sleek metal and plastic: a cryogenics chamber. Through the transparent face plate, the companions could clearly see the tube’s occupant: a Great Vampire lying on a bed of velvet, its grim cruel features pinched and almost skeletal. Where Tanas looked virile and blossoming with good health, this abomination looked starved.
“Did you know,” the Doctor offered matter-of-factly, “that the word sarkophagos literally means "eater of flesh". Rather appropriate for the resting place of a vampire. These demons must have survived the Great Vampire Wars.”
“You mean they hijacked the other TARDIS with Tanas?”
“Possibly,” the Doctor replied. “I never quite bought that story of Tanas just hopping on board a TARDIS. I think the TARDIS in question was not their liberation but their prison. I imagine the Time Lord was taking them back to Gallifrey for execution, keeping them cryogenically frozen for safety; something went wrong and Tanas escaped.”
“If that is the case, where is this other TARDIS?” Nyssa asked.
The Doctor gave a grim smile. “All around us. It appears the chameleon circuit of this other TARDIS is working perfectly.”
“All this?” Tegan asked in amazement.
“Apparently. After decades of slavery, the Time Lord managed to crash land his TARDIS here, destroying the time core and thus burying Tanas and his chums on this backwater world.”
Adric was staring down at the monster in the cryo-tube, repulsed and fascinated both at the same time. “Not buried, hibernating. You were right, Tegan,” he murmured, his eyes almost mesmerised. “Tanas is spawning. All these centuries he’s kept them in suspended animation until he could give them re-birth.”
“Re-birth?” the Doctor asked sharply. Adric blinked, snapping abruptly out of the trance.
“I … don’t know. All I know is the time is approaching. Whatever he is planning, it will happen tonight.”
***
Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, the travellers crept through the crypt, eyes everywhere, even the beats of their hearts sounding loud in the profound, grim silence. As they moved further inside, the sense of evil increased until it bore down on them like a crushing pressure. Tegan nervously scanned the vaulted ceiling as much as the mist-shrouded floor, one hand toying with the crucifix round her neck, the other holding her stake in readiness. When Nyssa gave her a questioning look, she whispered tersely. “Haven’t you ever seen Alien? The thing always swings down from above. Besides,” she added, “vampires can fly, right?”
“What was that?” Adric hissed. The others strained their ears but it was a few more anxious minutes before even the Doctor picked it up: a rhythmic squeaking which to Tegan’s fraught brain sounded like a body swinging on the gallows. Adric was already moving, gliding effortlessly through another set of stone arches towards the source of the noise. As she joined him, Tegan had to fight the compulsion to retch; she had been right.
Suspended from his bound arms hung the naked body of Abraham, the butler. His head lolled back so they could all see the twin puncture marks in his neck.
“Weakling,” Adric whispered, his usually cheerful features contorting into a sneer. “Humans are such feeble creatures. No better than animals.”
And then he came to himself abruptly as if someone had splashed cold water in his face; he turned away from his friends’ silent condemnation.
“Help me get him down,” the Doctor ordered brusquely. Tegan was just about to climb onto a nearby sarcophagus to cut the rope when Abraham moaned and his eyes fluttered. Madness dwelt within.
“He promised…” the butler murmured, his voice no more than a papery crackle.
“Hang on — I mean hold on - we’ll have you down in a jiffy,” Tegan began but Abraham’s eyes were already shuttering closed. The Doctor bent closer.
“Who promised?”
“He promised me immortality if I served him.” His eyes snapped open, bulging from their sockets. “The horrors I have committed in his name! Oh, God forgive me!” His body arched and then stiffened.
For a moment no-one moved; then, with a sigh, the Doctor lowered the man’s body to the ground. “God have mercy on your soul,” he said simply.
Hesitantly, as if fearful of his friends’ reaction, Adric knelt by the butler and gently closed his eyes which seemed to stare up at him with accusation.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he wasn’t sure if he was apologising for what Tanas had done or what he himself had wanted to do. He stood up, feeling Tegan’s gaze on him but unable to meet it.
The Doctor cleared his throat, his face set with grim determination. “Speaking of our genial host, I think it’s about time we killed him.”
***
In fact, they did not need to hunt for Tanas’ tomb — the evil converged there like lay lines. Approached by a flight of seven steps, the Great Vampire’s final resting place formed its own pseudo-chapel behind a set of iron railings. At the back of the chamber towered the gigantic sarcophagus itself while banks of high-tech equipment stood along the side. In one of the shadowy alcoves formed by the ever-present archways there was, incongruously, a massive double bed, complete with sumptuous furs and satin sheets.
It was, however, the menacing statue in the centre of the room that drew Adric like a moth to the flame. Fashioned from black obsidian, the figure was over eight feet tall and broodingly handsome, its arms bent at the elbows, each talon-like hand grasping an iron manacle. When he raised his torch to examine the face, he shuddered in sudden recognition. The skull was that of a bat with large pointed ears, but the features were disturbingly human: the glittering eyes fashioned from rubies seemed to bore into Adric’s soul while the mouth was open in a savage snarl, revealing the sharp incisor teeth.
“Tanas?” Tegan asked, appearing at his shoulder and making him jump guiltily.
“His sire. The Greatest of Them All.” His fingers itched to stroke the sculpted contours of the cape, test the bunched muscles of the arms, but, sensing Tegan’s watchfulness, he wrenched his eyes away and looked instead at the pattern on the floor at the great statue’s feet. A five sided star was etched deeply into the ground, the triangular points angling down to a central hole like petals unfurling.
“A pentagram,” Tegan informed him significantly, not liking his pre-occupation. “Used in demon worship.” Their gazes clashed.
“Later,” the Doctor snapped. His attention was fixed on the bleak tomb which loomed over the room like a sinister guardian angel. Taller than a man, the box-like base was carved exquisitely with all manner of foul creatures: gargoyles, baying wolves, hares and demonic ghouls. A pair of gargoyles jutted out from the masonry, iron manacles hanging from their screaming mouths. Grim-faced, the Doctor climbed the steps that led up the base’s side to the sarcophagus itself, his companions following reluctantly. The lid was a stone effigy of Tanas, dressed in flowing robes, his canine teeth clearly visible.
Breaking the spell, the Doctor raised his stake. “We don’t have much time. Sunrise has passed. Help me lift the lid.”
Having to stand on tip toes, the companions began to shove uncertainly at the vast stone cover. It grated, the sound reverberating round the silent room like bones scraping together. Holding his torch high, the Doctor cautiously peeked inside. Instead of a cryotube, the stone sarcophagus contained a simple wooden coffin, its polished lid still intact.
“Doctor,” Adric began but the Time Lord waved him to silence.
“His coffin,” he panted breathlessly. “We can still make it.”
He bent forward, eagerly digging his crowbar under the lid until it fell to the side. Tanas lay there. Arms crossed over his chest, fresh blood seeping from his mouth, he looked the very manifestation of virile manhood with his strong muscular body and mane of dark hair rippling to his shoulders.
For a moment no-one could move, transfixed by his beauty, and then the Doctor shook himself. He raised his stake …
“No!” Adric suddenly screamed, slamming his body against the Doctor’s so that the stake bounced harmlessly off the vampire’s shoulder. Before the Doctor could process what had happened, Tanas’ eyes flashed open.
With an unholy screech that had Nyssa cramming her hands over his ears, the Great Vampire rose majestically from his coffin.
“Run!” the Doctor yelled.
Back to index
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Author's Notes: Please see note at beginning of chapter.
Warning: vampire-eroticism and slash overtones.
Chapter 9
Released from whatever spell had ensnared him, Adric grabbed the Doctor, and the two staggered backwards, half falling down the steps. Tanas hovered in the air for a few seconds with his cloak flowing behind him like bat’s wings and then he landed delicately, neatly dividing the companions. He took a flowing step towards the two men.
The Doctor pressed back against the cold stone of the sarcophagus’s base, wrapping a protective arm round Adric’s shoulders; he wrenched his gaze away from Tanas momentarily. “Go,” he shouted to the two women.
“We can’t leave you!” Tegan cried, her voice snapping with fear.
But the Doctor was shaking his head. “Someone must warn Gallifrey. Save yourselves while you still have the chance.”
At that, Tegan’s nerve broke. With Nyssa close on her heels, she sprinted headlong for the exit as if the very hounds of hell were after her.
Ignoring the women’s flight as if they were beneath his notice, Tanas smiled at his cornered prey. “Ahhh,” he hissed, “you return to me, my prince, as I knew you would. And you bring me a gift, my ancient foe.”
Before the Doctor could think to stop him, Adric had bowled into the vampire, his fingers clawing for his throat. Tanas merely flicked out a hand as if brushing off a fly and the Alzarian went cartwheeling across the floor, impacting with a pillar, momentarily stunned. In one smooth movement the vampire adjusted his cravat and grabbed the Doctor; before the other could even draw breath, his arms were raised and secured in the gargoyle manacles hanging from the sarcophagus’s base.
Determined to appear undaunted, the Doctor made a pantomime of looking round the chamber. “Quite the little home from home you’ve got yourself down here,” he complimented. “Your Time Lord’s defunct TARDIS, I assume. You’ve altered the desktop theme: a little Star Trek meets the Munsters for my taste but still very impressive.”
With the air of one who is trying to shock, Tanas replied, “I have varied appetites.”
“Yes, so I’ve noticed.” He pointed with his foot to the central pentagram and its guardian statue. “Don’t I get pride of place? You know, ancient foe, vengeance — that sort of thing.”
Tanas gave a secret smile. “Only the worthy deserves such an honour.
“Let him go!” Adric screamed, appearing suddenly, and grabbed Tanas’ arm, trying to heave it away: he might as well have been trying to fight a marble statue.
“No!” the Doctor shouted. “Adric, get out of here!”
“Do you mind,” Tanas chided, “you’re distracting me.” Quite casually, he snagged Adric and wrapped his arm round the youth’s throat, pulling him back against his own body. Adric struggled, almost choking. Finally, when he had exhausted himself, he hung limply, his feet barely touching the floor.
“The impudence of youth. So much to savour,” Tanas declared to the Doctor with a wicked grin, “I could bleed him dry, make his transformation complete. But I have a better idea.” He slashed Adric’s cheek deeply, his worm-like tongue going out to lap at the cut. Adric whimpered in disgust. “You fear for him: I smell it in your blood, Time Lord. All I need do is threaten the boy and you will bow to my demands.”
“Don’t listen to him, Doctor,” Adric hissed. Summoning all his energy he kicked back, sending his heel into Tanas’ groin. The vampire gasped sharply and then laughed, reinforcing his hold.
“Bad puppy,” he scolded. With his free hand he caught Adric’s wrist and twisted, inch by agonising inch. “Do you know the pressure needed to break a wrist?” he asked the Doctor whose own wrists were scraped raw from his efforts to free himself and help his friend.
“Please. Let him go. Your quarrel is with me. Let us settle this between us, Great Vampire against Time Lord like in ancient times. He’s nothing to you, just a toy to dangle.”
“But I like toys, especially pretty ones.” Tanas twisted a little more, tearing a cry from his victim. “I could keep him in exquisite agony for months, believe me. Neither human nor vampire.” He stretched out the arm and then delicately rested his index finger on the inside of the elbow. Holding the Doctor’s horrified gaze, he no more than tapped and the arm fractured, the white bone of the humerus sticking out at a repulsive angle. Adric screamed.
With a dismissive flick of his hand Tanas released the Alzarian who huddled against one of the stone werewolves, cradling his shattered arm. “Give me the TARDIS, Doctor, and I will grant a swift end to his torment.”
Gathering his courage, the Doctor met Tanas’ gaze. “No,” he said simply.
“A small price to pay, surely?”
He stared at Adric, his face haunted. “He understands.”
“So noble.” Tanas fetched up a sigh and then turned his blistering gaze on Adric whose arm was already healing thanks to his fledgling vampirism. “Come here, my dark prince.”
“Go back to hell.”
“Come.”
“Adric, don’t look at him,” the Doctor shouted, focusing all his will on his young companion. “You have to fight it. You can do it.” Adric’s eyes met his for a moment, blazing red then cooling back to their usual brown.
Undeterred, Tanas raised an elegant hand, the skeletal fingers outstretched like talons. “Obey me.”
“Noooo,” Adric wailed but he was already standing, his body obeying even as his mind screamed denial. Moving like a puppet on tangled strings, he shuffled to stand in front of Tanas, his face telegraphing his emotional anguish and fear.
“I love corrupting the innocent,” Tanas remarked, before slowly and deliberately running a sharp nail over his own heart. A thin trickle of blood, too dark to be called red, oozed noisomely from the wound.
“No,” Adric whimpered, his gaze locked on the dripping wound. The smell was intoxicating, flooding his senses. Life and death, light and dark. With a cruel smile, Tanas scooped up a drop of the crimson blood and let it trickle and slide sensuously down his long skeletal finger to the tip. Holding Adric’s fascinated gaze, like a snake charmer, he raised the blood-smeared digit to Adric’s mouth, anointing his full lips.
It was too much. Adric lunged untidily forward to bury his face in Tanas’ chest, feasting greedily off his sire, who welcomed him into his embrace.
Finally Adric pulled away. “I want more,” he purred, his eyes flashing with sudden wanton light as he curled himself around Tanas like a cat begging for a saucer of cream.
“Tell me your base desires,” Tanas crooned.
“Him,” Adric replied, an unholy smile twitching his lips as he stared at the pale and shaken Time Lord. “I want him — give him to me.”
Tanas chortled like a father indulging a spoilt brat. “We have work to do first, my prince.”
***
Stumbling outside, preferring the bright clean sunshine to the threatening confines of the manor, Tegan flung herself down on the stone seat surrounding the courtyard’s fountain and drank gratefully while she caught her breath.
“I didn’t think we’d make it out of there alive,” she gasped, lifting her face to the sun’s pure rays.
Nyssa was pale, clearly shaken. “Not all of us did.”
Tegan bit her lip, needing to know but dreading the answer. “Do you think Adric’s — ”
“ — a monster, yes, like my father.” The Traken’s usually gentle features hardened.
“Alright,” Tegan said, half defiantly. “What do we do now? Go back in there?”
“Damage control. We fulfil the Doctor’s last request: we warn Gallifrey. It’s a sacred vow that all Time Lords took to rid the universe of the Great Vampires.”
Despite the cheery sunlight, Tegan shivered at the phrase ‘last request.’ Both her friends could be dead. Or worse.
***
The Doctor shifted in his bonds, trying to ease the stiffness in his shoulders. He pointed with his chin at Adric, who was calmly, methodically setting out knives, thumb screws and other implements of torture as if he were setting places for dinner. “What have you done to him, Tanas? Is he turned?”
“Not yet. He needs to feed on live blood.”
“I see,” the Doctor flustered, “and am I on the menu? Adric, listen to me — “
“Save your strength, Time Lord. He is mine now, blood of my blood.”
“I’m hungry,” Adric pouted, shifting impatiently. “I haven’t broken my fast yet. You said I could have him.”
“Patience. First he must pay for the death of my sire, the Great One.”
The Doctor met the demon’s eyes, deliberately goading. “You’re a pestilence, Tanas, no better than the Yersinia pestis carried by the black rat’s flea. I will destroy you — as I destroyed your sire.”
“Six hundred years ago I landed with my army on Beta III. Our wings eclipsed the sun. Within two days we had sucked the planet dry. Beta III is a dead world. Soon I shall resume my rightful place as ruler of the Universe.”
“That old chestnut. You’ll have to pursue your God-complex without me.”
“Your resistance makes the chase all the more invigorating but you will bow to my will eventually - just like your predecessor.”
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Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Author's Notes: Please see warning at beginning of chapter.
Warning: As before, violence and vampire eroticism. Slash overtones.
Chapter 10
It was a beautiful summer’s day; the unpolluted air tasted like fine wine, the bright sunlight burned away the shadows. Bees buzzed and grasshoppers chirruped as Nyssa and Tegan marched rather than walked down the country lane. A crow cawed from a nearby tree and in the gaps in the hedgerow Tegan could see a hare darting over the meadow.
She checked her watch, wishing she could take a few hours off the time. Ten in the morning — their friends had been down there, imprisoned with the prince of darkness himself, for hours. Why did the TARDIS have to be so far off — every minute meant more potential torment for her friends. “Rabbits!” she swore. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Horses! I was so focused on running away I didn’t even think! We could have reached the TARDIS hours ago if I’d only put my brain in gear. I could kick myself.”
“Save yourself the bruises — I make a very poor horsewoman. Besides,” Nyssa continued practically, “it’s a lot harder to hide on a horse.”
Tegan shook her head, a hot pain in her chest. “They’re depending on us and we let them down!”
“You’re being terrorised by ‘ifs’ again. There’s nothing we can do but carry on.” Nyssa’s voice was prim, as steady as if she were discussing quantum physics with the Doctor.
“How can you be so calm? Adric could be drinking the Doctor’s blood even as we speak and you sound like a … a robot!”
Tears splashing down her cheeks, half rage, half grief, she pushed past Nyssa and jumped over the stile leading into the meadow. She was quite a few angry strides away before she realised that Nyssa was not following. Some sixth sense, honed after months of travelling with the Doctor, tingled, telling her it was more than petulance that made the Traken hesitate. Pressing one hand over the little gold crucifix she was wearing, Tegan turned back to to see her friend standing on the top platform of the stile, her eyes glued to the distant horizon. To the west, an ominous cloud was gathering, racing towards them. Within seconds, the sun had been overshadowed as though eclipsed, and the bright blue sky had turned blood red. Drops of rain, like ice, began to fall from the roiling sky. Far off she thought she heard the lone howl of a wolf.
“Tanas’ storm. Now might be a good time to beat the four minute mile,” Tegan said.
Nyssa, however, was shaking her russet curls; cool as ever under a crisis. “Tempting but we may need to make a dash for it later. Let’s conserve our strength.” Hopping down from the stile, she joined her companion in walking rapidly through the meadow which now seemed as ominous and threatening as Tanas’ crypt.
“How much further is it?” Tegan asked, her voice snapping, but before Nyssa could answer, the eerie silence of the meadow was shattered by a deep boom of thunder which seemed to shake the very earth. Another rumble, followed by a flash of arcing lightening, and in the gloom suddenly illuminated Tegan saw the unmistakable shape of a wolf loping towards them from the direction of the mansion. Exchanging a glance of alarm, the two broke into a nervous jog which quickly turned into a panicked dash as other dark shapes appeared. Even from this distance, Tegan could see the monsters’ hellish eyes burning red with bloodlust.
“They’re gaining on us!” Nyssa cried.
“That tree — go!” Tegan yelled back. Swiping up a fallen branch, she scrambled up the slight incline towards the tree, her mind blocking out everything except the safety ahead.
Nyssa screamed.
A wolf of monstrous proportions bounded over the hill’s crest, blocking their way. Eyes flashing blood red, it snarled menacingly. The two women stumbled away, back to back, too terrified to move even if there had been anywhere to go. The icy rain pelted down, adding to their sensory isolation.
The alpha wolf leapt towards them with a vicious snarl, easily evading Tegan’s clumsy branch. She fell to the floor, the wolf rolling with her, its claws raking her back and arm, its foul breath gagging her. The thing pinned her down and, at this, her moment of death, she could do nothing but stare into its hellish eyes as its jaws lowered to rip out her throat. Then, unbelievably, the wolf gave a howl of pain and tumbled away, its muzzle smoking.
“The crucifix!” Tegan spluttered in sudden understanding.
Galvanised into action, Nyssa hauled the air hostess to her feet, wrapping an arm round her waist, the other hand holding aloft her own crucifix. It looked ridiculous, like a lion tamer holding back a man eater with a matchstick, but it was working — so far. The other wolves slunk off a few metres but the alpha remained close, terrified of the crucifix yet driven mad by the fresh tang of blood. Its tail lashed in frustration, foam slathering from its jaws. Then its eyes went flat with rage and its hackles rose, powerful muscles bunching as it readied itself to pounce once more.
“Away, fell creatures!” a new voice ordered, and Tegan looked up to see a rearing horse silhouetted against the blood red sky. Lady Wilhelmina, her pale face appearing ghoulish in the eerie gloom, stared down at the two astonished women and then turned to the slathering wolves. Lightening crackled and she raised a commanding arm — the wolves broke away, whimpering like puppies, their tails between their legs.
Nyssa looked from Wilhelmina to the scattered wolves. “How did you do that?”
“Your crucifix broke their spirits; I merely pressed home the advantage. Speed is of the essence, ladies; though cowed, my husband’s will drives these creatures and they will rally again.”
“You know about your husband?” Nyssa asked in total surprise, one arm still supporting Tegan. It had turned deathly cold and both women were shivering.
“I saw his devilry made manifest last night. My maid Abigail saved me and I sought haven in the church. I have brought two mounts as you no doubt observe. Miss Jovanka, you are injured; I pray you ride with me — if you do not object to sitting astride our mount.”
With Nyssa’s help, her own strength fast failing, Tegan clambered laboriously onto the horse’s back and slumped against Lady Wilhelmina’s back, her crucifix still held tightly in her hand. Before Nyssa had got her foot into the stirrup of her own horse, Wilhelmina had spurred her mount on, cantering off across the meadow.
A shaft of sunlight, weak and hazy, penetrated the dark clouds and, as she finally heaved herself into her saddle, Nyssa thought she saw gold glinting against Wilhelmina’s shoulder and a trail of fine smoke.
***
While Adric, dressed now in black, watched fixedly, a feral smile on his features, Tanas slipped on leather gloves and began stripping the Doctor to the waist; the Time Lord’s eyebrows shot up.
“Don’t want to get your hands dirty?” he asked.
Adric purred deep in his throat, licking his lips as the Doctor’s torso was revealed. He drifted closer and ran his hands possessively over his chest.
“He’s so beautiful,” he whispered. “And all mine.”
“Adric, listen to me. This isn’t you. I know the real Adric is still in there, fighting to get out. You can do it!”
“Always flapping, always assuming you know best,” Adric returned, his dark eyes flashing scarlet. He tweaked the Doctor’s nipple savagely, tearing a stifled gasp from him, and then flowed over to the metal brazier and made a show of selecting a brand which he passed to his sire.
Tanas chuckled. “You show promise, my dark prince. We will make him writhe; his agony will quicken his hearts, sweeten his blood.” Delicately the vampire skimmed his gloved finger over the Doctor’s upper arm, ice before fire, holding the brand up so his victim could see the baying wolf design. Taking a deep steadying breath, the Doctor forced his muscles to relax, knowing it was part of Tanas’ strategy to make him wait, to draw the moment out into an agony of expectancy.
And then Tanas pressed down, sizzling flesh melting and burning. The Doctor gritted his teeth, too proud to scream, his hearts hammering to take up the strain, the veins standing out starkly in his neck as he threw his head back.
“Bring me a knife,” Tanas ordered, watching his victim intently, savouring every quiver.
Adric pouted. “I want to play too, lord. You said he was mine.”
“Very well. Cut him. Not too deep. We must build up the ecstasy of pain so his blood flows richly.”
Panting hard, the Doctor said, “You’ll never win, Tanas. Even now my friends are summoning Gallifrey — we’ll wipe you out like we wiped out the rest of your perverted kin.” He turned to Adric, trying to ignore the way he was passing his hand through the brazier’s flames. “Tell me, Adric, what are the odds of one Great Vampire, starved of rich blood for centuries, against the might of the Time Lords?”
Tanas chuckled, apparently finding the question amusing; Adric grinned at him, his lips curling back to reveal his fangs, and then he picked up a wavy-bladed knife and tested its sharpness against his thumb. A pin-prick of blood burst forth and he popped the digit into his mouth, sliding it in and out blatantly while the Doctor watched in disgust.
“Am I disappointing you again, Doctor?” Adric asked mockingly. “I’ve always disappointed you. Bumbling awkward little Adric, so gullible and whiny.”
The Doctor met his gaze. “I’ve never been disappointed in you.”
“How about when I believed Monarch, stole the image translator, led the android to the TARDIS, used the TSS? I have a whole list.”
“The only way you can disappoint me is to give in to Tanas.”
“Enough, my prince. I grow bored. Cut him.”
“Yes, lord,” Adric replied meekly. He rested the knife diagonally across the Doctor’s chest and applied even steady pressure, watching in heady triumph as the tender flesh parted like an overripe riverfruit. The Doctor groaned, sweat running down his face.
“Smell his fear, my prince, how it thrums through his veins. The elixir of life.”
Adric licked his lips, his fiery gaze fixed on the dark trickle running down the Doctor’s belly; he fell to his knees and caught just a drop on the very tip of his tongue.
And then Tanas was pulling him off, slapping his face with enough force to crash him to the floor. “No snacking between meals. I have not given you permission to feast off him yet.” He hefted a flogger, swishing it through the air so the Doctor could see and hear the bones and metal tied to the leather strips. “Turn him round.”
Swiftly obeying, Adric turned the Doctor so his back was exposed, ensuring the cuffs securing his wrists were not going to loosen. He ran his hands over the bunching muscles and licked a broad swathe down his back. “Even the animal’s sweat tastes of fear.”
As he stepped away a sudden wave of dizziness assailed him and he had to lean against the cool stone of the sarcophagus.
Tanas stepped in close to his helpless victim. “Ready to scream? It took my last Time Lord pet two regenerations before he submitted to my will and gave me his TARDIS. Somehow I doubt you are as strong.”
“Is that the same Time Lord who stranded you and your frozen chums on Earth?” the Doctor asked.
Adric watched avidly as his sire sent the flogger casually against the pitiful creature’s back. Every lash was weighted perfectly, not too deep yet, but with enough force for the metal and bone tips to gouge into flesh occasionally. The Doctor was writhing, shifting this way and that in his feeble attempts to avoid the lash, and Adric laughed heartily at the great and powerful Time Lord reduced to this.
And then suddenly his vision seemed to blur and he staggered, unable to catch his breath. Horror, unmitigated horror, fell through his eyes and he felt his stomach heave. The Doctor gave a hurt little gasp as Tanas’ lash cut into his right shoulder, and Adric clamped his hand over his mouth.
“My prince?” Tanas questioned sharply. “What ails you?”
Adric stumbled rather than flowed to his knees, clutching his belly. He looked up at Tanas who was studying him closely. “It… It is the change.”
Tanas’ face cleared and he smiled in triumph. “Ahhhh, of course, birth pangs. I had forgotten. It has been many centuries since my own re-birth. Soon you will feed properly and heartily to complete the process.” He ran his gloved hand over the livid welt that bisected the Doctor’s lower back, making the other shudder. “And now my prince, I think it is time to really show our friend what happens to those who oppose the Great Ones.”
Ruffling his hand briefly in the Doctor’s tousled hair, he reached up and turned him back round, re-securing his right hand but keeping the left imprisoned in his own. And quite casually, he bent the Doctor’s index finger back, further and further, watching the digit whiten with the strain and the Doctor’s face contort with agony. He looked thoughtful. “I think we shall cut off the finger. Bring me a saw.”
Adric rose clumsily to his feet and draped himself around Tanas. “I am hungry, Lord. I want to hunt him. Release him now before he faints.”
Tanas frowned, dragging Adric before him and holding him still by his hair. “What is this? Suddenly squeamish? Or is your allegiance still in doubt?” He leaned closer, sniffing Adric’s face and torso. “I smell fear on you.”
With a light-hearted laugh Adric yanked himself free, leaving tufts of hair in Tanas’ grip. “The creature means nothing to me, Lord. I too seek revenge — for the Great One whom this vermin dared to kill, and for my brother.”
“Then we must ensure your total capitulation. Drink from him. Now.”
“He’s half unconscious. The hunt will be too swift.”
“Now.” Tanas released him and he fell against the table, grabbing it to remain upright. He seemed to huddle in on himself for a moment and then his shoulders straightened and he nodded his submission. Fangs extending he approached his pinioned prey.
“Ah, now Adric,” the Doctor blustered, shifting nervously. “That’s really not a good idea. If you drink my blood, you’ll turn. It will be a permanent transition. You won’t like being a vampire, I promise you. No more sunbathing, for a start.”
Adric leaned in very close. “Look at me, Doctor. Gaze upon Adric for the last time.”
The Doctor stared as if hypnotised. He swallowed hard and then, as if accepting his fate, closed his eyes.
“Blood of his blood,” Tanas hissed almost reverently.
With a purring growl, Adric lowered his head to the stab wound on the Doctor’s chest, making wet guzzling noises while the Doctor writhed beneath him.
The thing that had once been Adric pulled away and turned to Tanas, his mouth dark with blood, a rivulet running down his chin where it dripped onto his black shirt. Throwing his head back, he swallowed the intoxicating nectar.
“Finger lickin’ good,” he declared.
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Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter 11
When Tegan finally came round, she discovered she was lying on the chaise longue before the fire in her own bedchamber, Lady Wilhelmina attending her. The room was shrouded in darkness, lit only by flickering candles and the fire.
“Rest easy, Miss Jovanka.” Wilhelmina’s face was pale, almost pinched-looking, and no wonder, Tegan thought, after the morning we’ve had. She pulled herself semi-upright, wincing at the sharp pain in her back where the wolf had clawed her.
“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. “You saved our lives.”
With a regal bow of the head, Wilhelmina poured wine into a crystal goblet and held it out to Tegan. “Drink,” she urged, “it will sweeten your blood.”
All her relief evaporated instantly at the words. Recoiling, she automatically felt for the crucifix round her neck, only to discover that it was missing and that her fingers came away sticky with blood. Dawning horror fell through her eyes and she forced her gaze to the glass she held: the liquid was thick, pungent. Blood.
With a strength born of panic, she overturned the chaise longue and half ran, half tumbled for the door, fresh blood dribbling from her back. Fingers like talons clawed at the hem of her skirt, but she wrenched herself free. The door was locked. Terrified, she flung herself towards the other end of the room, seeking to put as much space between herself and the abomination now drifting with ladylike poise across the floor.
“No!” she screamed. “Please, no”
Wilhelmina smiled cruelly, displaying sharp teeth. “I assure you the pain is but momentary. Come to me. Drink.”
And Tegan found herself stepping towards her doom. Her mind screamed but Wilhelmina’s fiery eyes held her fast. With a hiss of pleasure, Wilhelmina slashed a cut over her own breast and Tegan licked her lips at the site of ripe blood welling from the white flesh. She felt the vampire almost tenderly caressing her hair and guiding her head back to expose her throat but she could think of nothing, see nothing, but that appetising dribble trickling seductively down the Undead’s breast. She opened her mouth.
“Get away from her!”
The door kicked open and Nyssa stood there like an avenging angel. She held a stake in one hand, a bejewelled crucifix in the other. Wilhelmina snarled like a caged beast but her hand closed over Tegan’s throat.
“I will have her.”
“Incorrect assessment,” Nyssa said coolly. With a heave, she grabbed the heavy drapes shrouding the window and tore them away. Bright, miraculous sunlight streamed into the room. Wilhelmina screeched in terror, the flesh on her exposed arms and face beginning to smoke and crisp. Desperately she covered her face with her hands, but already her skin was blistering and bubbling. Fire erupted on her arms and she fell to her knees in the bright unforgiving light. Her mouth moved as if in prayer.
Gulping back the nausea, Tegan ended the woman’s misery, sending Nyssa’s stake through her heart. She collapsed to the floor, a smoking blistered ruin.
The crucifix tumbled to the floor with a metallic clang, and Nyssa raised her eyes from the dead thing at her feet to her friend. She smiled, albeit shakily. “Dracula, House of Hammer Horror,” she panted by way of garbled explanation.
“Peter Cushing tore down the curtains killing Christopher Lee’s Dracula. God bless Hammer!” Tegan grinned weakly. “But how did you know our dignified lady was a pointy-toothed ghoul?”
“She commanded the wolves,” Nyssa explained, “and, as you were leaving, I saw smoke rising from your crucifix. She was a vampire all along — which explains why she never went to church and why she always remained in the shadows — even for the clay pigeon shoot.”
As she led Tegan away, one arm round the other’s waist, Nyssa cast one final look at the burned corpse on the floor, her thoughts on Adric.
***
“Tell me, my prince” Tanas said, an odd, calculating gleam in his glittering eyes, “what did the Time Lord taste like?”
The thing that had once been Adric sucked his finger thoughtfully. “Like stars and musty books and ancient wine,” he said somewhat poetically, ignoring the Doctor’s snort of derision.
“You LIE!” Tanas suddenly roared, making a grab for Adric which the stunned and terrified youth only just managed to evade. The vampire advanced on him like a cat hunting a mouse. “You cut your own flesh, not his.”
“Adric, look out!” shouted the Doctor, extending one long leg and knocking over the brazier. In desperation, Adric grabbed up a poker and thrust the iron spike into Tanas’ body, using his vampire-strength to drive it home until his erstwhile sire was impaled, the spike passing all the way through his sternum and hitting the floor. Tanas shrieked in strident ear-splitting denial and then went limp.
With a cheeky grin, Adric began to release the Doctor’s manacles, fumbling in his haste, but the Doctor’s gaze was fixed on the vampire behind them; his eyes widened. Tanas had righted himself and was slowly, exquisitely sliding the impaling spike out of his own body, hissing in pleasure at the agony it caused.
Adric stared in stupefied amazement. “That can’t be,” he stammered at last. “The poker’s made of iron. Great Vampires are destroyed by iron — the bow ships!”
The Doctor, however was shaking his head. “You missed his heart.”
Tanas smiled, ripping his shirt so his hapless victims could see the flawless unmarked flesh. “Quite so, my dear Doctor.” He turned to Adric, his eyes blazing red. “You will pay for your treachery, my prince.”
Ignoring that, Adric finally released the bonds and wrapped his arm round the Doctor, both men backing away, their eyes watchful. Tanas, however, showed no inclination to strike.
“I could kill you both now but that would be too merciful,” the vampire said. “No, I have a better game in mind.”
“Monopoly?” the Doctor suggested. He was leaning heavily against Adric, his breath coming out in wheezing gasps.
“A test of endurance — before tonight’s main event.” Tanas swung his flat gaze to Adric. “For all your play-acting, you have still tasted the blood of a Great Vampire and you crave …” he smiled cruelly, “completion. The hunger will increase, driving you mad with bloodlust.”
“I won’t feed off the Doctor!”
“His body,” the vampire continued, switching his commentary to the Doctor, “will consume itself if he does not feast. Imagine his agony, Doctor. Savour it. Will you let him die like that? Or will you find mercy in your heart? One moment’s courage and it is done.”
And with a mocking bow, Tanas flowed through the iron bars like a knife through butter, and departed.
***
Immediately after their host had departed, the Doctor slumped. Forcing his shaking limbs to obey, Adric lifted him and staggered rather than flowed to the bed, depositing him as carefully as he could on the satin sheets.
With a real effort the Doctor cranked open his eyes and regarded his young friend, a tiny smile quirking his lips. “Brown eyes,” he whispered with the vaguest of gestures. “Well done … Adric.” He let his eyes drift closed as the darkness claimed him.
“Doctor?”
Adric had only seen his friend so weak once: after his regeneration. Then the initiative had been taken from Adric’s hands, first by Tegan who had chivvied them to the TARDIS, then by the Master. Now, confronted by a half-unconscious Doctor and with no-one to turn to for help Adric found he just didn’t know what to do, the panic and the guilt spiralling him towards hysteria. “Doctor, wake up! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me — not again.” He found he was crying, and he buried his head in his friend’s shoulder, great tears dashing down onto the Time Lord’s naked skin. “I can’t lose you too.”
A hand bumped against his shoulder insistently.
“Always … soaking my shirt.”
“What?”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Sarah Jane soaked my shirt in the Pyramid of Mars — now you’re doing it.”
“You’re not wearing a shirt.” Adric grasped the Doctor’s hand, his tear-stained face breaking into a huge grin. “I thought you were going to have to regenerate. I thought I’d killed you!”
A gentle hand cupped his cheek, the thumb wiping away a tear, before dropping back to the sheet as if the small movement had exhausted him. “Wine, Adric.”
Glad of the direction, Adric fumbled for the elegant carafe of wine on the bedside table. Slipping his hand under the Doctor’s shoulders, he lifted him and held the glass to his lips.
“Ahhh,” the Doctor whispered as he let the crimson nectar slide down his throat, “vintage Bordeaux. The wounds are infected — you’ll have to use the wine as an antiseptic.”
Now that the Doctor had told him what to do, Adric set to with a will. Ripping the expensive satin sheets into makeshift bandages, he soaked the Doctor’s hanky in the wine and gingerly dabbed it over the pattern of slashes on the Doctor’s upper arm, cringing to the very essence of his being every time the man flinched or bit back a stifled moan. He folded a square of linen and secured the padding in place with bandages, his fingers shaking so much that he could hardly tie the knot.
Then he turned to the large gash that cut diagonally across the Doctor’s chest which was still bleeding, tiny rivulets trickling down his sides and soaking into the sheets. Nausea churned in Adric’s stomach as he recalled that he himself had held the blade.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I did that to you. I nearly killed you.”
“You did no such thing. The abomination that took you over did that. You are not to blame.”
“How can you say that? Tanas turns his big red eyes on me and I fold!” More memories roiled: the elation singing in his veins at every groan his helpless victim had given, the intoxicating, heady smell of the Doctor’s blood in his nostrils and the tingles shooting to his groin when ...
Instinctively he clamped his hand over his mouth, tasting vomit and trying to stifle the instinct to throw up. He stumbled away from the Doctor, sucking in great lungful of cold frigid air until the roiling in his stomach subsided.
“Swill your mouth out,” the Doctor directed not unkindly, pouring him a glass of wine. “Rather a waste of a good wine but needs must and all that.”
“How can you even bear to be in the same room as me after what I did!”
“You did nothing to be ashamed of.” When Adric looked less than convinced, the Doctor lapsed into silence trying to seek a way to reassure his friend. Finally he said “Adric, I’ve been possessed, transmuted, influenced, frozen, hypnotised and plain taken over more times than I care to remember. I watched Sutekh’s mummy nearly kill Sarah Jane. I had to stand there and watch it lift its hand about to decapitate her; inside I was screaming, jumping up and down, pulling my hair out — and there was a lot of it to pull — but outwardly I couldn’t move an inch.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Helplessness comes in many forms. Today I had to stand and watch while that devil abused someone I care about.”
It was too much; Adric’s face crumpled and he gave a sob, jamming his hand into his mouth in an effort to stop himself from crying. After a few minutes, he sniffed inelegantly and wiped at his streaming eyes with the billowy sleeve of his black shirt. The Doctor cupped his face briefly before gently rapping his forehead with his knuckle.
“Listen to me,” he said, “you’ve suffered a very traumatic experience. Once we’re all safe, we’ll sort it out — together. Right now, we have to direct our energies to killing that monster. Alright?”
“Alright.” Adric almost succeeded in meeting the Doctor’s gaze.
***
“Intriguing use of the pentagram,” the Doctor declared, wincing slightly as he knelt by the star design on the floor in front of the vampire statue. “Associated with satanic rituals, of course — no self-respecting servant of the dark powers should be without one — but I must confess I’ve never seen one quite like this.” Switching on his pen torch and adjusting the beam to its most powerful setting, he inspected the hole in the centre. It seemed to be a channel running straight down. Although he had his back to the Alzarian he could feel the youth’s eyes on him, devouring him like he was the last jelly baby in a sweet shop. To distract them both from the bloodlust that threatened to overwhelm his friend, he asked a question that had been puzzling him. “Tell me, why did Tanas wear gloves?”
“Pardon?”
“Tanas put on a pair of gloves before he started torturing me,” the Doctor explained.
“No-one could accuse our host of not being a gentleman. We’re the main course on a vampire’s menu and you’re worried about the propriety of wearing gloves in a torture chamber?” He shifted nervously. Despite the fact that they were a good thirty feet underground, he knew the sun had reached its zenith and he could FEEL it beating down on him with merciless wrath. Ruthlessly suppressing the escalating fear, he returned his attention to the Doctor who was pacing the chamber now, gnawing on his thumbnail. From bitter experience he knew that the Time Lord could obsess about the minutest detail for months — he had fixated about the hat stand in the Console Room for days before Logopolis because it was slightly wonky — so the only way to get any peace was to humour his obsession. “Perhaps Tanas just didn’t want to get his hands dirty.”
“He showed no such squeamishness when he was torturing you,” the Doctor replied. He made a circuit of the room, giving the instrumentation banks a cursory examination. “For that matter, why did Tanas choose you and not me?”
Caught off guard by the tangential leap — something that the Doctor was always doing much to his friends’ chagrin and exasperation — Adric took a moment to muster his thoughts. His expression darkened. “Because I’m weak and feeble and easily influenced, remember?”
An idealistic young fool, the Doctor had called him after the incident with Monarch, and the memory of the rebuke, coupled with the mild reproach in the Doctor’s eyes, still smarted. Tanas was just another example of Adric’s susceptibility and childishness. He tensed, expecting another lecture about responsibility, but the Doctor was smiling rather fondly at him.
“I would say the exact opposite. At his most basic level, Tanas is a hunter — the thrill of the chase is what drives him on. If you had been weak and feeble, he would have grown bored and tossed you aside as unworthy prey. No, no, he chose you because you were fiery and resilient and courageous.”
Adric felt his cheeks flush at the backhanded compliment: the first warmth he had felt for days. “And he also said human blood was listless. My blood was vital and rich.”
“Yes, all that makes sense,” the Doctor mused absently, “but it doesn’t explain why he continued to feed off you.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“We’ve established,” the Doctor said a trifle impatiently, “that his main aim is to leave this backwater planet so he can resume his rampaging. He has my fully functional TARDIS within fang’s reach (if you will pardon the expression), and he had me strung up like a pig in a slaughterhouse so ...”
“Why didn’t he turn you?” Adric finished.
The Doctor stopped his pacing and squared his shoulders. “It’s a trifle offensive if you ask me,” he muttered.
“Perhaps he just doesn’t like your taste,” Adric suggested cheekily, grinning broadly at the Doctor’s chagrin. “After all I don’t like nuts.”
Waving that aside with a humpf, the Doctor returned to his pacing. “We’re missing something here,” he muttered grumpily. “Something vital.”
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Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Author's Notes: Please see note at top of chapter
Note: slashy and vampire-eroticism.
Tegan paused at the top of the grand sweeping staircase. “A week ago I would have sold my soul to attend a Regency ball and dance with Mr Darcy.” She stared down at the people milling about in the hall below, all attired in their court finery, the women in expensive satins and lace, dripping jewels, the men in tight breeches and frock coats. Like so many lambs to the slaughter. “The only problem is the ballroom’s an abattoir and Mr Darcy is the prince of darkness.
“We might not be able to save Adric or even the Doctor,” Nyssa replied, “but we have to try to warn these people.”
The two women had spent the day, following their abortive attempt to reach to the TARDIS, in their suite of rooms while Tegan recovered from the wolf attack. Applying garlic salve and brewing various foul concoctions to counteract the pain, Nyssa had done what she could to minister to her friend, but the lacerations on her back were still inflamed and seemed to burn more fiercely as the afternoon progressed.
Smoothing down the front of her fine Empire-style ball gown which, with its plunging neckline made her feel uncomfortably exposed, Tegan descended the stairs with Nyssa at her side. As they reached the receiving hall, the new butler announced them.
“Lady Nyssa of Traken, Miss Jovanka.”
Tegan, however, barely heard him. With a distinct disregard for the niceties of Regency protocol, she marched towards the front door where a man with a handlebar moustache and a pot belly was passing his hat and gloves to a waiting under-footman. “Don’t come in here,” she said.
The gentleman raised a mild eyebrow more at the impropriety of a young woman addressing him than her tone. He bowed. “Indeed, madam? May I enquire why?”
It was hardly subtle but with the last blood bath still fresh in her mind, Tegan wasn’t in the mood for niceties. “Because Sir Tanas is a vampire.”
“An absurd fantasy, young woman. Might I suggest you refrain from reading the more vulgar novels of the gothic genre.”
“Is this a figure of my overactive imagination too?” Tegan challenged, ripping off the silk scarf she wore round her neck to reveal the twin puncture marks.
But the gentleman was already moving away, dismissing her from his concerns; Nyssa watched him go as astonished by his reaction as Tegan. “He wasn’t angry or disturbed. He wasn’t even derisive — it just didn’t matter to him.”
“Excuse me, your pardon for the interruption.” A young man with thick curly hair and blushing cheeks bowed to Nyssa. “Might I have the pleasure of this dance if you are not elsewhere engaged?”
Nyssa hesitated but then gave a perfect courtesy, every inch a consul’s daughter. “We might learn something,” she whispered to Tegan as she took her place in the dance lines.
With Nyssa gone, Tegan drifted into the reception room where tables piled with the finest Regency delicacies lined the walls. Picking up a satsuma and peeling it absently, Tegan’s eyes wandered to a table a few yards away where a woman dressed in emerald green was placidly playing cards. As Tegan watched in frozen horror, a tall svelte man flowed towards the woman, lowered his head and bit savagely into her neck; the woman gave a sigh of pleasure and threw her head back, encouraging him to drink more deeply. The other card players witnessed the violation with supreme disinterest.
“Didn’t you see that?” she asked her nearest neighbour. “Vampires! You’re the dish of the day!”
“It’s no use,” Nyssa said, coming over having finished her dance. “I tried to warn my dance partner but he looked straight through me.”
“Are they drugged?”
“More a mesmeric influence - like Adric’s sleepwalking attacks.”
The candle next to Tegan abruptly went out, and the room went suddenly chilled. Tanas appeared from nowhere, his cape swirling about him like bat’s wings. “Quite so, Lady Nyssa,” he hissed, his eyes glittering with predatory hunger. “Puppets to my will.” He turned his fiery gaze to Tegan, lingering over the twin marks on her neck and the plunging neckline of her gown. “Miss Jovanka,” he purred, taking her hand before she could stop him. Delicately he lapped at the pulse beat in her wrist, his smile turning cruel at her whimper of disgust. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
***
The slashes on her back were burning, the blood seeping through to stain her bodice, and she felt dizzy and light-headed partly from blood loss and shock, partly from terror: she was dancing with a Great Vampire. Tanas led her through the intricate dance patterns with all the feline grace and poise of his kind, and despite her revulsion, Tegan found herself craving the caress of his icy fingers. Tanas chuckled.
“Your body quickens at my touch, Miss Jovanka. You desire me.”
“Hogwash!” she snapped, raising her chin in brittle defiance. “What have you done to these people?”
“I own them.” He grabbed one of the women dancing nearby to exhibit the tell-tale bite mark on her neck. “My will be done on Earth as it is in the heavens.”
“Those creatures in the crypt, in the cryotubes, you mean to awaken them, don’t you?”
“The time of Arising fast approaches when my kinsmen will awaken from their centuries of sleep and demand blood.” He drew her close, one arm snaked round her waist, as they executed a spinning step.
Tegan shuddered but found she was unable to break free. “The Doctor will stop you.”
He hissed his pleasure into her ear, pressing his lower body close as he licked a broad swathe alone her neck. “Your Doctor is dead,” he purred. “My servant Adric drains his hearts. He turns him to the night.”
“No,” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut against the nightmare as she felt the sharp prick of his fangs penetrating her neck.
He suckled her, one hand keeping her head still, the other caressing her breast. “Why, Miss Jovanka, you look good enough to eat.”
Suddenly he flung her to the ground, blood dripping from his fangs to stain the perfect whiteness of his cravat. He stared at her, his eyes flat with contempt. “But I must be patient. I would have you witness your Time Lord’s ultimate submission.”
“What do you mean?” Nyssa, who was being forced to dance opposite with one of Tanas’ vampire minions, asked.
In answer, Tanas raised one elegant hand and the music abruptly ceased. Every single person stopped what they were doing and turned glazed eyes to the Great Vampire, who stared round at his prey with haughty contempt.
“Bring them,” he ordered to his vampire minions. “Bring them to the crypt.”
And with that, as the candles flickered, he turned himself into a monstrous shaggy wolf and loped effortlessly from the room.
***
Pausing from his work on the instrumentation panels in the chapel, the Doctor took a moment to roll his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension. Thanks to his dual hearts and his ability to regulate his own biochemistry, he had been able to stave off shock and flood his system with endorphins. Nevertheless, he knew if Tanas renewed his assault he would probably be forced to regenerate. Not a comforting thought.
His gaze wandered to the pentagram design at the foot of the statue. It was cloaked in shadow but the brass outlines flickered in the torchlight. He had a nasty suspicion he knew just what the pentagram’s central channel was for. That sombre thought brought him naturally to Adric who was dead asleep, as pale and cold as the stone effigy on Tanas’ tomb, and seemingly just as lifeless.
He went over, perching on the bed. “Adric?”
When there was no response, he pressed his warm fingers against the cold skin of Adric’s wrist, having to really concentrate in order to count the slow and sluggish beat: only ten or so a minute.
Adric eyes snapped open. “Your blood,” he whispered, slowly and seductively. “Tang and salt. Have you any idea what it does to me?”
Caught by those dark, mesmerising eyes, the Doctor could only shake his head.
“Your hearts beating — calling me.” Moving with cat-like grace, Adric draped himself behind the Doctor. “Thud-thud, thud-thud. It’s driving me wild.”
Resisting the impulse to cringe, the Doctor caught the wandering hands and tugged until Adric came round to face him. “This is the bloodlust talking,” he said evenly.
But Adric wasn’t listening. With a throaty growl he shoved the Doctor back against the mattress, his own body settling on top of him. His frozen lips nuzzled at the soft skin of his throat and the Doctor gasped in repulsion
“No!” The Doctor used all his strength to roll them over, trapping Adric now beneath his own body in mockery of their earlier position. Anger surged in his veins, distorted his vision to a red haze, and half-maddened he seized up the stake Tanas had left behind. He stared down at the creature beneath him with a loathing he had rarely experienced: this abomination had taken over Adric, corrupted him, twisted him into a perversion of everything the Alzarian had once been.
“End it,” Adric whimpered suddenly. He clutched the Doctor’s hand. Entreating, begging. “Please, before it’s too late.”
Will you let him die like that, Doctor? Or will you find mercy in your heart? One moment’s courage and it is done.” Tanas’ words whispered to him like a lover.
Whatever he did, Adric would end up dead. If he fed him blood, Adric would still be lost. He would cross over and become one of the Undead, worse than a monster, twisted and evil, delighting in other’s pain. In all conscience the Doctor couldn’t allow another vampire to walk the Earth; but more, he couldn’t allow that to happen to Adric. Couldn’t face the idea of his shining innocence corrupted like that.
So the only question was would he grant him release now and end the emotional suffering, or would he force him to endure hours of torture only for him to turn into a monster later?
As if reading the Doctor’s mind, Adric squeezed his hand. “Do it.”
“Adric — “
Adric looked away. “I’m sorry I failed.”
The Doctor shook his head vehemently. “Never. I’ve never been so proud of you.”
Adric hadn’t failed — he had. He should have worked out Tanas’ secret much earlier; he should have protected his friend. Instead his incompetence had caused his friend to be sucked dry almost to the point of death, tortured, psychologically tormented and abused.
Trying to shield his action from his friend, the Doctor picked up the stake again, resenting the fact that the vampire had predicted what he would do. It would be quick and painless, he would see to that at least. Adric needed him, now more than ever in his short life, to guide him, even if he was ultimately guiding him to his own destruction.
The moment stretched. Unbidden, an image of Adric’s Badge shattered and twisted flashed in his mind and was gone. He raised the stake, determined not to prolong Adric’s agony further.
But still he couldn’t do it.
If he did this, Adric would be dead. No hare-brained schemes or skin-of-the-teeth rescues. He would have killed his friend. No matter that it was a mercy killing, Adric would still be dead.
Adric gave a hurt whimper, his nerve breaking. “Doctor, please.”
He raised the stake and plunged it down —
— right into the down-filled pillow an inch from Adric’s head. The fog-like haze evaporated and the Doctor could see again.
“Of course,” he exclaimed, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. “Nuts!”
Re-energised, the Doctor shook Adric’s shoulders. Adric’s eyes fluttered like a man returning from a nightmare, cooling from red to soft brown.
“Doctor?” he asked shakily. “What happened?”
“Mesmeric influence.” The Doctor quirked a sardonic eyebrow. “It appears you’ve inherited your sire’s talent for hypnosis.” A few more seconds, he thought to himself staring in abhorrence at the stake in his hand, and I would have killed him. Shuddering, he threw the weapon to the floor.
Adric sat up, waggling his head from side to side as if to clear it. “Am I going mad or did you say nuts just now?”
The Doctor grinned broadly. “Nuts, my boy, nuts. Most people have certain foods that they don’t like the taste of: with you it’s nuts, with me it’s jelly babies —”
“You don’t like jelly babies?” Adric looked utterly scandalised.
“Can’t abide them. Some people, however, don’t simply dislike a food - they are actually allergic to it. Zoë was allergic to nuts. She had an anaphylactic reaction to them once. Scared poor Jamie half to death.”
“So you’re saying Tanas is allergic to your blood?”
“It is the only answer that explains why he has not turned me in order to subvert me to his will AND why he wore gloves to torture me. It makes perfect sense if you think about it: the Time Lords are the Great Vampires’ natural enemy — even down to a genetic cellular level.”
Adric thought that one through. His head was pounding and it was difficult to concentrate on anything except the tang of the Doctor’s musk. “Wait a minute though. I drank your blood — just a drop, I grant you, but still. How come it didn’t kill me?”
The Doctor rolled his eyes as if Adric were being as obtuse as Tegan. “Because you are not a Great Vampire. In essence my blood destroys Great Vampire DNA. When my droplet of blood was introduced into your system it began — began, mark you - to destroy the vampiric infection. The amount wasn’t sufficient to obliterate the prevailing DNA completely but it was able to halt its advances, slow it down. Had you really fed off me when you pretended to later, you would have been healed completely.”
Adric didn’t grasp the implications until he saw the Doctor beginning to unwind the bandage on his wrist. “W-what are you doing?”
“I need you to feed off me. Now.”
“Are you insane!”
The Doctor glanced up. “I assure you it will work. If you feed off me, the vampiric infection will be destroyed.”
With a real effort Adric tore his gaze away from the heady sight of the slender gash which was still seeping blood. This close the smell of the Doctor’s blood was overwhelmingly powerful and he felt the slight sharp pain that told him his fangs were descending in readiness. Almost unconsciously he licked his lips. “What if you’re wrong? I could kill you!”
“Trust me,” the Doctor said simply, his eyes confident, commanding.
His world had shrunk until all he could hear or feel was the strong mesmerising beat of the Doctor’s hearts, thrumming in time with his own pulse, drowning out every sensation except one: bloodlust.
Holding Adric’s gaze, seeing the brown eyes shimmering with red, the Doctor moved in, perching next to him, and pressing his exposed wrist over his mouth. Adric swallowed, his mouth gushing with saliva. The pulse beat in his ears, deafening him, the blood surged. It was too much. With a growl he pushed the Doctor down onto the pillows, his fangs extending as his soft lips found the gushing wound. It was like coming home.
“Blood of my blood,” he dimly heard the Doctor murmur, the words mirroring his own thoughts: mine, all mine.
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Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Author's Notes: See notes at beginning.
Note: violence and slashiness.
Chapter 13
Torches winked into life and the instrumentation panels that lined the chapel hummed and flashed. Fighting the dizziness from loss of blood, the Doctor sat up and wrapped a strip of cloth round the still seeping wound on his wrist. Rallying, he turned his attention to Adric who was sprawled on the bed, a smudge of blood marring his full lips.
“Adric? Something seems to be happening: the instrument banks have activated. You can catch up on your beauty sleep later.”
Darkness; he was falling in a chasm of darkness.
“Adric? Wake up.”
He knew that voice: somehow it meant light and hope, an escape from the reek of death. Mustering his strength, like a drowning man gasping for air, Adric opened his eyes. Light flooded in, chasing away the demons.
“Doctor,” he said, his voice sounding dusty from disuse. “Did it work? Did your blood heal me?”
“You tell me,” the Doctor replied, noting with relief the flush of rosy colour returning to the once-pale cheeks. “How do you feel?”
Sitting up gingerly, he took an internal inventory: no graveyard chill, no super-human hearing. No bloodlust. His body felt awkward and leaden but his mind soared with computations. He was Adric again. “Hungry,” he said at last.
The Doctor’s anxious face broke into a huge grin of relief. “Welcome back, Adric.”
Clapping his young friend on the shoulder, the Doctor crossed to the nearest instrumentation panel and began flicking a few switches experimentally. He smiled in triumph when a light flickered and brightened within a flat oval dish hanging above the panel like a dulled mirror. The image sharpened to reveal a highly stylised graphic of Sol’s solar system with Mars and Saturn drawing close together.
“Of course,” he breathed, his hands slipping into his trouser pockets, “the alignment of the two malefics.”
Adric was staring in dawning comprehension. “The reason why Tanas summoned me here in the first place.”
“Apparently. Did you know,” the Doctor offered matter-of-factly, “that Saturn is known as Chronos, the personification of time, and is associated with death and sorrow. Rather apt considering.”
“The malefic among malefics, black is its colour,” Tanas remarked, appearing soundlessly behind them, brushing his icy fingers across the Doctor’s neck.
“Ah, Tanas,” the Doctor greeted equably, “there you are. Found any good shadows to lurk in?”
The vampire ignored him, turning his hungry gaze upon Adric. “Hail, my prince. You did not feed off the Time Lord? Such resilience. You have proven worthy.”
“If he had fed off me, he’d be dead. The game’s up, Tanas,” the Doctor said, deliberately goading. “We discovered the secret of the blood: Time Lord DNA kills Great Vampires. Admit it, Tanas, you’ve lost.”
“I would have enjoyed feeding off your grief and torment as you watched his blood boil in his veins and his flesh peel from his blackened bones — but no matter, your triumph is short-lived, Time Lord.” He suddenly threw back his head and swept his arms wide. “Behold the Time of Arising!”
“You really are fond of the over-dramatic clichés, aren’t you?” the Doctor muttered.
Down the full length of the crypt more torches flared into life, casting dark malevolent shadows. Mist swirled again, and from far off came the unmistakable sound of a wolf’s howl. As the two companions watched, ghostlike figures began to appear from the mist shuffling towards them.
“Vampires?” Adric asked, his eyes wide with terror.
“Much worse,” the Doctor replied grimly, “vampire prey.”
Dressed in their finest silks and brocades, jewels twinkling in the flickering torchlight, the ladies and gentlemen of Regency high society who had been summoned to attend Tanas’ ball, now fetched up against the iron railings surrounding the chapel and stopped, swaying slightly, their faces blank, their eyes staring.
Tanas swept his gaze across his mesmerised prey and then turned to the Doctor, a smug smile lighting up his hooded features. “My will be done.”
“Not on your Undead life!” snapped a new voice and Tegan, followed by Nyssa, pushed her way through the throng of zombie-like people to join the Doctor and Adric. “Boy, am I glad to see you!” she greeted them, staring at Adric with an almost comedic mixture of relief and suspicion.
“What are you two doing here?” the Doctor asked in dismay. “I thought you escaped.”
“Tanas’ wolves didn’t want us to miss the party,” the air hostess explained, spinning so that the men could see the dark stains of blood on her bodice. The Doctor winced.
“And I’m afraid we couldn’t reach the TARDIS in order to warn Gallifrey,” Nyssa added.
“Yes, well, never mind that now,” the Doctor replied hurriedly, trying to push the pair behind him in a vain effort to shield them from Tanas. Tegan, however, was having none of it. Shaking off the Time Lord’s arm, she rounded on the vampire.
“These people aren’t sheep, you know! Release their minds — at least give them a chance to defend themselves.”
Tanas smiled cruelly. “As you wish, Miss Jovanka.” He snapped his fingers.
Like sleepwalkers rousing abruptly from the clutches of a demon-riddled nightmare, the people came to themselves, blinking and staring at their mist-shrouded surroundings with uncomprehending astonishment. And then pandemonium broke loose as bewilderment turned to panic. People milled about like so many headless chickens, stumbling and shoving as they made a concerted dash for the entrance. Immediately Tanas’ vampires intercepted them, driving them back with whips and fiery brands. One man in regimental reds drew his dress sword and held off a snarling vampire. He sliced the fiend’s arm off before it swarmed all over him, ripping his belly open and feasting off his entrails while the helpless man screamed and writhed.
“Alright!” the Doctor cried, “that’s enough, Tanas. We know your strength.”
Tanas bowed mockingly and turned his flat gaze upon the terrified throng of people. “Hear me. You are the favoured few. Witnesses to a new dawn when the Lords of Time will be toppled from their lofty thrones and the Great Vampires will rule the universe.”
“Dear Lord,” the Doctor muttered to himself in the middle of this speech, “he really does have a cliché for every occasion.”
“Watch,” Tanas continued, “but be silent.”
Released from the mesmeric influence, aware now of what was happening but unable to escape, the revellers huddled by the railings, their faces white, eyes darting. Dismissing them from his concerns, Tanas flowed over to the viewscreen and watched as the two planetary malefics drew ever closer to the perfect moment of alignment. A chronometer in the corner of the screen counted down the minutes.
“The dark power thrums,” he exulted. “As it was foretold by the Great One himself — ”
“Would this be the same Great One that I killed?” the Doctor interjected sweetly.
“- the kin shall arise and feast their eyes upon their ancient foe, bound and helpless before them. Come, Time Lord, abase yourself before your betters. Kneel.”
“Rather not, if it’s all the same to you. Rheumatism: kneeling plays havoc on the old joints.”
Their gazes clashed, the very air seeming to sizzle as the two titans fought their mental battle. The Doctor’s face sheened with sweat, veins standing out with the effort. Tanas’ eyes narrowed.
“Obey me,” he commanded, and with a cut-off moan the Doctor sagged to his knees. Behind him, Tegan gave a soft gasp of denial, a single tear splashing down her cheek. Gloating, Tanas circled the Time Lord like a sinuous cat, stroking his shoulders, his face. With one finger he lifted his chin, staring into defeated eyes. “I am disappointed, Doctor,” he purred silkily, “I have encountered worms with more backbone.”
Powerless to help, the companions watched as their friend and mentor was led to the sepulchre where he was bound once again to the gargoyles’ iron rings. Facing him towered the grim statue of the Great One, Tanas’ sire whose flashing eyes seemed to burn into his skull. The two aligning planets now filled the viewscreen and the countdown showed five minutes. From all around, reverberating through the ground and walls, came a deep regular thrumming like thousands of hearts beating as one.
“My kin,” Tanas explained in triumph, “they stir from their sleep. They require only a sacrifice of blood to Arise.”
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Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Author's Notes: Dedicated to Patrice, for sterling betaing and for her enthusiasm and encouragement, without which this would never have been finished.
His hungry gaze fell on Nyssa. He gestured with his hand and she stepped forward, her eyes screaming her denial, but her body refusing to co-operate with her mind.
“No,” she whimpered.
“Where is your precious Keeper now, daughter of Traken? Undress for me.”
Tears dashing down her cheeks, Nyssa raised trembling hands to her Regency ball gown and began to unfasten the top buttons on her bodice.
And then Adric was pulling her away, breaking the mesmeric influence. "Not Nyssa,” he said steadily. “She’s not worthy.”
“Whereas you are, my dark prince? I offered to share the secret of immortality with you and you repaid my largesse with treachery. You are dust beneath my feet.”
Adric shot the Doctor a look and then turned back to the vampire. “I didn’t understand then,” he persevered, plastering on his most charming smile. “I can give you everything you desire. The Doctor will never submit to your will — but you don’t need him. I can fly the TARDIS. Let them go — all of them — and I give myself freely.”
Behind him, the Doctor pulled frantically on his chains. "You idiot, Adric! You’re playing directly into his hands!”
Adric rounded on him. “Stop ordering me about — I had enough of that on the Starliner. You don’t even like me — not since you regenerated.”
“That is simply not true.”
Tanas met the Doctor’s gaze, mocking him. “Come, then, my prince, embrace the darkness.”
As soon as Adric stepped into place in front of the obsidian statue, the pentagram at his feet began to glow, and the mist swirled blood red, partially obscuring him from view. With many a caress, chuckling at every cringe his now helpless victim gave, Tanas stripped the youth and raised his arms high, securing them with the chains that hung from the statue’s hands.
“A triumph indeed,” Tanas hissed, his face turning as grim as stone, without a shred of mercy or desire. “You will die, my prince, writhing in the agony of bloodlust. With your dying breath, you will see my kinsmen fall upon the Time Lord and devour his hearts!”
“No! You promised you’d let them go!”
“I take as I choose. Did you really think you could contend with the will of a Great Vampire?” And with that Tanas raked his nail down Adric’s cheek excruciatingly slowly. A single drop of blood splashed onto the pentagram and, as if something had been activated, its red light began to pulsate. Tanas slashed again, cutting deeply first into Adric’s raised arms and chest and then into his thighs, wrenching guttural groans from his victim. Rivulets of blood ran down the Alzarian’s body to be sucked into the pentagram’s central channel.
The two women had been too stupefied with fear until this point; now, wrenching her eyes from Adric’s mist-shrouded silhouette, Tegan’s gaze fell on the viewscreen. The counter was at 48 seconds. The final countdown. In less than a minute, Adric would turn fully, the Doctor would be ripped to pieces and Tanas’ kin would destroy all life on Earth. 45 seconds.
Grabbing up one of the iron wall sconces, almost blinded by her own terror as much as the scarlet mist, Tegan threw herself at Tanas; he flicked her aside as if she were a fly and she went spinning to the floor, cracking her head on the wall of the sarcophagus. Dizzily she stumbled to her feet; it was suicide, she knew, but she had to try to save her friends.
Abruptly the Doctor grabbed her, clamping one hand over her mouth. He shook her just as he had in the bed chamber when she had seen the blood on Adric’s lips. “Listen to me,” he whispered savagely, “do that again and you’ll ruin everything.”
Tanas was far too intent on his helplessly writhing Sacrifice to care about anything else. The seconds counted down and the weight of evil pressed heavily, while the red mist sucked the warmth and life from the human prey it enveloped. Three, two … The iron sconce slipped from Tegan’s fingers and she squeezed her eyes closed. One.
From deep within the crypt came the sound of grating like bones scraping together, followed by the resounding crash of stone hitting stone. And then, in the flickering light of the torches, new figures began to appear, vast svelte figures who floated on the very air as silently as death. No longer the desiccated shrivelled creatures the companions had seen in the cryo-tubes, the Great Vampires were now rejuvenated, their scarlet eyes flashing.
“Welcome, my kinsmen!” exulted Tanas, “Hunt and grow strong.”
With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he released the terrified revellers from their spell; they immediately broke away, running this way and that in an effort to escape the Great Vampires who hunted them effortlessly. Screams and cries filled the crypt and the Doctor twisted in his bonds, trying desperately to free himself. Rather than expend useless energy on trying to escape the manacles, instead he hammered the iron ring against its enclosing stone, hoping to chip the masonry enough to release the ring.
Re-energised, Tegan grabbed up her sconce and, after tearing off about ten inches from her skirts, dashed from the chapel after the Vampires. Nyssa remained behind to assist the Doctor, smashing at the mouth of the gargoyle holding the left ring with a hunk of marble. As they worked, the Doctor cast a glance at the obsidian statue, desperate to catch a glimpse of his friend. The mist roiled back for just a moment and he saw Adric sagging in his chains, his head slumped forward, his dark hair matted with blood.
“Adric!” he cried. Hammering even more frantically at his chains, he muttered to Nyssa, “He can’t pass out — not now.”
Before Nyssa could ask what he meant, for surely Adric was dead to them, the Alzarian’s head rolled back. The Doctor caught his gaze, seeking with everything he had to reach him mentally. His face contorting with the effort, every breath an agony, Adric spoke.
“Drink from me,” he croaked to Tanas. “End it.”
Tanas purred his triumph. “Who am I to refuse a draft from such an exquisite chalice?” In a single swift movement he entered Adric, his fangs opening fast-flowing veins as he sucked ferociously. Adric jerked in his bonds, his face a mask of revulsion as Tanas coiled around him, suckling his neck.
“He’ll bleed him dry!” the Doctor panted as the stone mouth finally shattered, freeing his hands. “WHY isn’t it working?”
At that moment, Tegan came tumbling towards the chapel, a Great Vampire swooping after her, its talons outstretched. Terrified, she swung her iron sconce at it, in the process tripping over the chapel steps. Immediately the vampire caught her, pressing her against the railings, its fangs inches from her neck.
And then, abruptly, it gave a screech of denial, smoke pouring from its open mouth. As Tegan staggered away, the creature burst into flames.
“Finally,” the Doctor murmured in heartfelt relief.
Tanas snapped his head up, blood dripping from his jaws. “What trick is this?”
“No trick, Tanas,” the Doctor replied, meeting the vampire’s gaze calmly. “Time Lord blood.”
Down the length of the crypt tiny explosions could be seen, as one by one Tanas’ erstwhile kinsmen spontaneously combusted. The Doctor stepped forward, every inch the Great Vampires’ nemesis. “Adric fed off me,” he explained. “My blood healed the vampiric infection but remained within his bloodstream long enough to poison you — and your oversized playmates.”
Tanas staggered back, the hunter becoming the hunted as his flashing eyes darted this way and that. Snarling like a cornered beast, he whirled to face Adric, still swinging naked and helpless, his blood slowly seeping down his arms and legs. With what little strength he had left, Adric raised his head. “Gotcha,” he said weakly before slumping once again.
Tendrils of smoke were already beginning to seep through the Great Vampire’s clothing. He raised his hand, watching the flesh blacken and blister before his eyes. But Tanas was not finished — not yet. He grabbed Adric, pulling the helpless youth to him as his cloak ignited. Adric jerked in renewed pain as the heat increased.
“To hell am I damned,” he snarled, “but I take him with me.” Fangs descending, his hair crisping and withering away, Tanas lowered his head to Adric’s neck.
“Never,” the Doctor remarked quite steadily. Picking up the iron poker which Tanas had used to torture him with earlier, he drove the point unerringly into Tanas’ shrivelling, decaying body. There was a final puff of smoke and then the flesh incinerated, leaving only a blackened smoking skeleton.
Throwing the poker to the floor, the Doctor whirled his coat over Adric’s near-unconscious form, unbuckled the leather manacles and eased him to the floor, raising his knees to encourage the blood flow to his major organs. Smudged with soot, their clothing ripped and torn, the two women knelt beside their friend while the Doctor worked quickly to staunch the bleeding.
“Well,” Tegan asked at last, unable to bear the silence any longer. “Will he make it?”
Before the Doctor could answer, Adric’s eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the Doctor, a tiny glimmer of hope evident beneath the pale mask of pain. “Did it work?” he croaked, coughing feebly.
“It worked,” the Doctor confirmed. “Tanas is dead. Well done, Adric.”
***
It was still creepy as if Tanas’ malevolent spirit haunted the place. Shining her battery operated torch ahead, Tegan walked through the crypt, past the waxwork-like corpses of Tanas’ victims. Stepping over a pool of blood, she entered the chapel and deposited her box on the floor next to the Doctor who was bending over one of the instrument banks, surrounded by circuitry, gizmos and fibre optic cables — replacement parts he had brought over from his own TARDIS.
“It’s hard to believe all of this is really a TARDIS,” she remarked. “Are you repairing it?”
“Hardly,” the Doctor responded, without looking up as he directed a hand-held device at a bunch of fibre optic cables which immediately began to pulse and flash. “The time core was destroyed in the original crash which stranded Tanas here. All I am doing is repairing the dematerialisation circuitry so that I can set the auto-destruct.”
“There will be no drained corpses to be explained away, no Great Vampire skeletons, no anachronistic technology,” Nyssa reported crisply.
“What about the survivors?” Tegan asked.
“They’ll return to their staid and sensible lives.”
“Just like that?”
“In time, confronted with the rank disbelief of their peers and with no palpable evidence to corroborate their story, they will learn either to carry the truth in secret or attribute it to mass hysteria and too much wine,” the Doctor explained, adding grimly, “Like nothing happened.”
“Tell that to Abigail. Thirty-five dead, including Tanas’ servants, is a hell of a lot of nothing.”
“Thirty-six actually,” Adric corrected, entering through the crypt. “And we were lucky.”
“I thought you were sleeping,” Nyssa clucked gently.
“I had to come back.” Reluctantly Adric approached the charred skeleton of the last of the Great Vampires. The skull was blackened, its flesh corroded away, its mouth snarling in Tanas’ final screech of hatred. Even dead, the skeleton seemed to reek of decay and malice.
“Here,” the Doctor said, coming over and handing him a glass phial of holy water.
Adric stared down at his nemesis, fighting his internal battle. Finally he took the phial and unstoppered it. He glanced up at the Doctor seeking approbation and strength. Then, squaring his shoulders, he poured the holy water over Tanas’ skeleton, watching in grim satisfaction as the bones hissed and smouldered and finally dissolved to ash.
“Done,” he said unsteadily, a single tear running down his cheek.
“It’s over,” the Doctor said gently, slipping an arm round his friend’s shoulders. “I’ve set the auto-destruct sequence. Come on.”
Slowly, like mourners at a funeral, the four walked through the crypt and mansion and out into the bright cleansing sunlight of the flower garden. A robin hopped across the grass and the fresh scent of honeysuckle wafted on the breeze.
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