Doctor Who: Rags (15 page)

Pole scratched the thinning hair on his scalp, and leant forward, his small eyes squirrel-like and hard. ‘And you get to stamp in the face of your political opponents, don’t you, Willis?

What better way of discrediting the present Government than by having the bloody princess kidnapped? Cos people still revere the monarchy, don’t they? They still soddin’ love the parasites. The whole country will have to stand up and listen to your lot then, eh?’

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Social unrest caused by joblessness, homelessness, lack of public spending and cuts to every service, resulting in the monarchy itself receiving a body blow in protest.

‘Let me tell you how it is, for a change,Willis. If the Government falls at the next election because of my coup, you know exactly how well you’ll stand should your crowd get voted in. Just how popular is your leader? He’s a weak puppet figure and you, and all your powermonger cronies, know it. He’ll go before the election, leaving you with a very good chance of becoming the next leader of the opposition. And then come polling day... well, you never can tell. You’d do anything to achieve that, wouldn’t you, Willis? Even dirty your hands dealing with me. And that’s far more offensive to your senses than taking out the princess. It’s just a crime that I have to work with you to get what I want.’

‘Who else would finance your volatile endeavours? Not to mention your magazine?’ If Pole had hoped to get a rise out of the politician he was sadly disappointed. Willis remained cool as the proverbial long green fruit, but many times more unsavoury.

And so the two sat opposite each other in a greasy-spoon transport café, class standing between them like a canyon. Each was repelled by the other as if by a physical odour - and yet they had formed a twisted bond, and their mutual need was greater than they could force themselves to admit. Pole, thinning hair, grubby T-shirt, worn jeans, would sell his soul (and sometimes, working with Willis, he was convinced he had done so) to destroy the monarchy he had detested all his life; Jeremy Willis, immaculate, suited, conservative side-parting, hungry eyes and soft white hands had ambitions that were entirely more self-directed. We’ll leave them there for the moment, contemplating each other with distaste, and with more in common than they would ever allow.

Bessie took the ford too fast and a clutch of indignant geese were sent squawking off in all directions as twin waves plumed from under the Edwardian roadster’s wheels. The Doctor didn’t even 108

notice, so intent was he on the pulse emanating from the sensor rigged to the dashboard.

It had taken him days to isolate the second pulse from the first and to triangulate exactly where it was coming from. It was very weak and buried under layers of electromagnetic noise, but he had finally succeeded in excavating it. The first pulse was faint but constant, beating from the cattle truck; for the moment he could ignore that, and had dampened it. More pre-eminent in his mind was what exactly was causing the shadow pulse. It seemed to be reacting to the first emanation, almost as if it were calling to the truck.

The Doctor steered Bessie through a quaint Wiltshire village, oblivious to the thatched roofs and black-and-white cottages. He was preoccupied with one thing only: answering that summons before whatever was in the truck answered it. The road ahead was blocked by a tractor; a fat farmer with his buttocks peeping cheekily out from above his cords bounced along happily on his seat, completely unaware of the impatient Time Lord directly behind him.

The Doctor honked his horn, but the sound was lost over the raucous blatting of the tractor’s engine.

‘Good heavens, man, will you get out of my way!’ he bellowed, edging Bessie right up behind the bouncing buttocks. He suddenly missed a placatory remark from his habitual passenger, and his hearts tightened and his impatience grew.

He blasted the horn again.

Jo leant against a stone angel and watched Sin flirting with a long-haired hippie who, with his torn Stranglers T-shirt, looked like he might be on the cusp of transforming into a punk - she caught herself wondering what she’d look like herself with short spiky hair and fishnets. Maybe quite sexy. Perhaps she could talk to Sin about it; they could work on each other. She noticed Nick sitting a little apart on a tomb, smoking and trying very hard to pretend he didn’t care. Nick was nice, good looking, kind, but maybe a

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little too serious. Sometimes she got the feeling he didn’t want to be with the tour, and yet at other times he was caught up with the buzz like all the rest of them.

Yes, that included her, all right. She wanted to see this thing through; she wanted to see a confrontation - and she knew one was coming. The band was bringing change, re-dressing this land of shame. And the Doctor?

He just better not try to stop it. She’d grown tired of his meddling.

She was leaning back in the afternoon sun, her back warm from the base of the stone angel, when she glimpsed someone she knew. She sat bolt upright, her lazy smile snatched away.

Bastards!

They couldn’t leave it alone, could they? Couldn’t leave her alone. This had to be the Doctor’s bright idea, sending Mike Yates in. And how bloody ‘inconspicuous’ he looked! She would have laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed. He was sitting away from the main huddle of travellers on the steps of the crematorium, smoking a cigarette of all things! My God what was he wearing? A sheepskin tank top! Beads round his neck!! Huge flares!!!

She felt herself flush with shame and yes, real anger. He looked a complete prat. A cartoon hippie. Jesus, who’d dressed him - the bloody Brigadier?

He was going to ruin everything. If he spotted her and came over now, her new friends would believe she was spying on them.

And while that had been the original intention, it certainly was no longer the case now.

She made her mind up. She’d have to go over to him, tell him to leave, that everything was fine. Send him back to those idiot army boys. From a distance, she could pretend he was just a weird acquaintance if Sin or Jimmy happened to be looking.

He must have already noticed her and simply been waiting for the right time to approach her, because he didn’t look surprised when he looked up and saw her heading his way.

She forced herself to smile pleasantly, shutting the anger inside.

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‘Jo,’ he said warmly, holding the cigarette like a schoolboy caught behind the bike sheds.

She didn’t waste time. ‘Mike, you have to go.’

His sheepish smile vanished, and his usual practical expression slipped into place. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘You’re the matter: you look too obvious. Anyway, you’re not needed here. Doesn’t the Doctor think I can look after myself after all I’ve been through because of him?’ She’d let out some of the anger despite herself and he frowned.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Jo?’

I’m feeling better than I have for a long time, Mike. I’ve got friends, normal friends who actually believe in something other than just tampering with other people’s lives -’ she broke off. She was doing herself no favours if she wanted to get rid of him. She should pretend she was still following the Doctor’s instructions.

Instead of the mummer’s.

The thought shut her up even more, but it shouldn’t make her lose her resolve, no more than the look of concern on Yates’

boyishly sensible features should.

‘I think you’re overreacting, Jo. I don’t think you’re annoyed at the Doctor’s lack of faith in you at all. Could it be more to do with the fact that I’ve discovered you might be just a little too undercover?’

He was such a pompous prig! Always had to be right. God knows why she’d never seen it before. ‘These people are pissed off, and I can see why. They have every right to be sick of a conscienceless, consumerist society where all that matters is who has the most money and how best they can spend it on themselves. There’s no room left for dreamers.’

‘Is that you talking, or your new friends?’ Mike himself was looking a little angry now.

‘Well it certainly isn’t the Doctor, for once. I’ve got my own mind now, Mike, and I’m using it.’

‘I wonder, Jo. I wonder if you are. The Doctor believes this band is exerting some kind of influence over its followers, 111

brainwashing them. I’m beginning to think he was right. I think you’ve been with this convoy too long.’

That made her shake with rage. If he thought he could just snap his fingers and pull her out of the tour he’d - she clenched her fists and turned her back on him. Then she stopped and turned round again. ‘If you try to interfere, I’ll blow your cover, Mike. And I can’t promise what’ll happen to you then.’ His look of amazement made her feel good. She walked across the grass between the graves to where Sin was waiting for her, watching with shrewd eyes.

‘Give me some of that,’ Jo said with a wicked smile, taking a big fat joint out of Sin’s hands.

‘Trouble?’ Sin asked, face expressionless.

‘Just a former boyfriend. A right jerk. I told him where to get off.’ Sin looked over at Nick. Join the gang,’ she said heartlessly, and laughed.

Yeah, go on... laugh.

Laugh like you’re a heartless bitch.

Because it doesn’t matter. I know you’re not. Not really. You’re a strange girl who’s got caught up in something she doesn’t understand. You don’t know your own mind, Sin. It’s like you’re mixing with a bad crowd or got involved with heavy drugs. You don’t know your own mind.

Mixing with a bad crowd? That was funny. And also the understatement of the century. Now he was beginning to sound like his old man, and might just as well have been him for all the desire she’d been showing lately. She didn’t give a shit. How many times did he have to be told?

Nick got up off the tomb he was sitting on and strolled stiffly towards his former girlfriend. She was chatting to Jo and another bloke he didn’t know. He didn’t like the look of him. Nick tried to look mean, and cool, but had the keen impression he was just looking ridiculous. Sin looked up as he approached, a cruel smile on those lovely lips.

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‘Yeah?’

This was even worse than he’d thought; they were all staring at him mockingly, and the geezer with the Stranglers T-shirt was sucking on his cigarette around a smirk that made Nick want to slam him. But he wouldn’t do that. He would play it cool.

‘Just wanted a word...’

‘Any particular one?’

‘Yeah.’ His dander was up despite himself: ‘How about

"childish". How about "selfish".’

Sin grinned more widely, to show how little he could annoy her.

‘That’s double your allowance. You mean selfish because I don’t want to see you any more. You mean childish because I don’t appreciate your boring outlook on life. Then baby, I’m guilty as charged.’

Nick flushed. He was on the point of walking away, but knew that if he did he would never come back, and she would be truly lost to him.

‘Can we talk in private?’

‘You ain’t got nothing to say I want to hear, Nick. You’ve made it clear you don’t approve of this tour. Why don’t you take off and leave us to enjoy it?’

‘Enjoy? Jesus... People are dying, Sin. This isn’t a game!’ She had lost her cruel smirk now; her eyes were hard and emotionless like painted eyes. ‘What the hell’s happened to you?’ Nick asked.

‘We used to be so close. I remember you saying how much you needed me, how much -’

‘How much I cared?’ she finished for him with icy sarcasm.

‘You’re embarrassing me. Go and take your bleeding heart somewhere I don’t have to see it. I’ll tell you one thing: I only care about this tour now. It’s everything I always wanted: excitement, fulfilment, adventure. Go and get a job, Nick. Go and get yourself a nice girl.’ She laughed, and the Stranglers fan joined in. Even Jo sniggered.

Nick looked down at the ground, nodding slowly. He turned and walked towards the camper van.

* * *

The Doctor steered Bessie into the car park near the small school and unclipped the sensor from the dashboard. It was bleating faintly but steadily in his hand, perceptibly stronger than when he’d started out on his journey, yet still quiet enough to be described as dormant. The Doctor walked down the footpath beside the school, sensor tucked into the pocket of his green velvet jacket.

Children were running and screaming and fighting in the adjacent playing fields, and some of them pointed at him and laughed. He ignored them. Crows were also laughing at him, hoarsely and unpleasantly, from hawthorn trees leaning over the path. He ignored them too.

The path ended in a stile that led into a lush field, sparkling with cobwebs and the moistness of a brief late-afternoon rainfall.

The Doctor’s attention, however, was distracted by what stood in the meadow. He leant against the stile and stroked his prominent chin.

‘Of course,’ was all he said. He withdrew the sensor and held it out towards the field. The detector bleeped comfortably in recognition of the energy source. A nearby sheep stopped its grazing and looked up at him without curiosity. Vacantly.