Chapter Text
The TARDIS flew a bit bumpier than she had in a while, probably because she wasn’t letting me switch any of the stabilizers on . The Doctor didn’t seem to notice the control’s lack of response, which actually explained a lot.
“But how do you travel in time? What makes it go?” Martha asked with the widest grin. She was still clinging to the console for dear life, but she seemed thrilled by that.
“Oh, let"s take the fun and mystery out of everything,” the Doctor whined. “Martha, you don"t
want to know. It just does.”
“He won’t tell me either,” I told her from the other side of the console. “Says there aren’t words in English to describe it correctly.”
“Hold on tight!” the Doctor shouted. Martha apparently didn’t hold on tight enough. The TARDIS landed, her grip slipped, and she fell to the floor. The Doctor pushed off from the console snatched his coat from where he’s thrown it earlier.
“Blimey,” Martha said, picking herself up off the floor. “Do you have to pass a test to fly this thing?”
“Yes, and I failed,” the Doctor said, snagging Martha’s jacket from the jumpseat and shoving it in her hands. I pulled up a piece of the floor and started digging my own outfit out. “Now, make the most of it. I promised you one trip, and one trip only. Outside this door, brave new world.”
“I liked that book,” I mused, pulling on the long skirt I’d hidden in the console room earlier over the leggings I was wearing and tucking my shirt into it. The Doctor stopped at the door and gave me a look.
“You enjoyed reading Brave New World ?” he asked. I shrugged on a shawl, tying it as I walked.
“Yeah, it was weird and kinda gross, but it was good literature,” I defended. “Had to read it for school. Only book that year I didn’t hate.” I stopped in front of the Doctor. “Fuck Catcher in the Rye,” I muttered. “Holden Caulfield can go die in a fire.” The Doctor laughed lightly, then we turned back to Martha, who was still standing sort of stunned by the console.
“Where are we?” she asked. The Doctor raised his eyebrows.
“Take a look.” He pulled the TARDIS door open and leaned against it. “After you.” Despite the excitement written all over Martha’s face, she walked slowly to the doors. I stepped out after her, the Doctor closing the door behind us.
Elizabethan England smelled terrible and frankly didn’t look much better. Everything was grimy and colored in sepia tones. The torches that burned at intervals down the street didn’t provide much light. People, also dressed in mostly browns and blacks, were hanging laundry from balconies and talking and milling around.
“Oh, you are kidding me. You are so kidding me. Oh, my God, we did it. We traveled in time,” Martha breathed, voice cracking at the end. The Doctor looked around with childlike glee, and I wondered if he’d chosen this trip for himself too. Lord only knew we deserved a stress-free outing. “Where are we? No, sorry. I got to get used to this whole new language. When are we?”
Before I could answer, the Doctor grabbed our shoulders and yanked us back toward the TARDIS. A man shouted from a window above and dumped a bucket down into the street. I gagged at the smell and buried my face in my shawl.
“Somewhere before the invention of the toilet,” the Doctor said like he was only remembering that detail now. “Sorry about that.”
“I"ve seen worse,” Martha dismissed. “I"ve worked the late night shift A+E.” The Doctor took a few steps forward. Marth nearly lunged for him, fear flaring suddenly in her eyes. “But are we safe? I mean, can we move around and stuff?”
“Of course we can,” the Doctor answered immediately. “Why do you ask?”
Martha gives him an ‘are you serious’ look. “It"s like in the films.” She turned to me with the same expression. “You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race.”
“Look, I love Ray Bradbury as much as the next literature enthusiast,” I said, stepping carefully around the puddle of waste. “Very talented man, but he got time travel completely wrong.”
“Tell you what, though, don"t step on any butterflies.” The Doctor turned to start walking away, then snapped back to us. “What have butterflies ever done to you?” The Doctor, impatient as always, didn’t wait for an answer, instead turned and started walking.
“What if, I don"t know-” Martha shot me a cheeky smile. She was grasping at straws and we both knew it. “-what if I kill my grandfather?”
“Are you planning to?” the Doctor asked, turning around but not stopping.
“Cause if you are we might be a few decades out,” I added, checking my watch.
“No,” Martha laughed
“Well, then,” the Doctor dismissed.
“And this is London?” Martha asked, beaming.
“I think so. Round about, um-”
“1599,” I said, tapping the watch. The Doctor looked a bit like a kicked puppy. I rolled my eyes. “Not my fault your old watch is faster.”
“I should never have given you that.” I shoved my arm behind me.
“No way in hell I’m giving it back, Doctor,” I said, serious tone not matching either of our smiles. “You can pry this watch off my cold, dead body.”
“Oh, but hold on,” Martha started again. “Am I all right? I"m not going to get carted off as a slave, am I?”
The Doctor looked bewildered. “Why would they do that?”
“Not exactly white, in case you haven"t noticed,” Martha said. She pointed to her face, to help mark that point. At his bewildered expression, it occurred to me the Doctor actually might not have noticed, like it was something that just didn’t matter.
“I"m not even human,” he countered. “Just walk about like you own the place. Works for me. Besides, you"d be surprised. Elizabethan England, not so different from your time. Look over there.” The Doctor pointed to where a man was shoveling manure into a bucket. “They"ve got recycling.” We passed two men drinking something out of grimy mugs and chatting. “Water cooler moment.”
“And the world will be consumed by flame,” a priest recited as we walked passed.
“Global warming.” I was inclined to believe the Doctor was having a little too much fun. “Oh, yes, and entertainment. Popular entertainment for the masses.” He paused, looking around, trying to find out exactly where we’d landed. “If I"m right-”
“Could’ve known for sure if you just checked the scanner for once,” I teased.
“Oh, stop it,” the Doctor protested. “We"re just down the river by Southwark, right next to-” The Doctor snagged my hand, and I managed to grab Martha’s before he was running and pulling us along with him. We rounded one corner, and-. “Oh, yes, the Globe Theatre!” the Doctor enthused, dropping my hand. “Brand new. Just opened. Though, strictly speaking, it"s not a globe, it"s a tetradecagon, fourteen sides, containing the man himself.” He turned to us, smiling. I started bouncing on my heels, ready to run again.
“Whoa, you don"t mean.” The Doctor smiled turned smug at Martha’s shocked expression. “Is Shakespeare in there?”
“Oh, yes,” the Doctor said in the way only Ten could. He offered his arm to Martha. “Miss Jones, will you accompany me to the theatre?”
“Mister Smith, I will,” Martha said, very excited.
“In that case, I’ll just head back to the TARDIS,” I teased, taking a few steps back before anyone could stop me.
“When you get home-” The Doctor was talking to Martha, but he reached back without looking and grabbed my arm. “-you can tell everyone you"ve seen Shakespeare.”
“Then, I could get sectioned!” Martha said cheerfully.
<...>
The performance finished, and the packed in audience exploded in applause. It was a good show, and I was even proud to say that I only had to ask the Doctor why a joke was funny about twice.
“That"s amazing! Just amazing,” Martha enthused. She was clearly having the time of her life. The Doctor was beaming too. It was the first real, long-lasting smile I’d seen on him since losing Rose, so when Martha said “It"s worth putting up with the smell”, I couldn’t help but agree. “And those are men dressed as women, yeah?”
“London never changes,” the Doctor said fondly.
“Where"s Shakespeare?” Martha asked after a second. “I want to see Shakespeare. Author! Author!” She stopped when the Doctor turned and I gave her a look. “Do people shout that? Do they shout Author?” she asked sheepishly.
“Author! Author!” started a man directly behind me. I jumped, nearly crashing into five different people. I would really have preferred the box seating, but that would have required remembering to bring money.
Pretty soon, the whole crowd has picked up Martha’s chant. “Well,” the Doctor drawled. “They do now.”
A man came out from backstage, and the chanting turned into roaring applause. Shakespeare himself walked forward, jumping and showing off the crowd. I almost rolled my eyes.
“He"s a bit different from his portraits,” Martha commented.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Much more Shakespeare in Love than I was expecting.”
“Genius,” the Doctor said. “He"s a genius. The genius. The most human human there"s ever been. Now we"re going to hear him speak.” He sounded so excited, like a kid getting to see his favorite character at Disney World. “Always he chooses the best words. New, beautiful, brilliant words.”
“Ah, shut your big fat mouths!” Shakespeare called from the stage. The crowd roared with laughter. The Doctor looked slightly put out, more disappointed than confused.
“Oh. Well.”
“Now you know how I felt meeting Jules Verne,” I teased. I reached behind Martha to smack the Doctor’s shoulder, but he kept his eyes fixed on the stage. “Also Shakespeare’s writing is at least 25% dick jokes, so I really don’t know why you expected different.”
“You"ve got excellent taste, I"ll give you that!” Shakespeare jeered at the audience. “Oh, that"s a wig.” The crowd roared, but I don’t get a chance to ask why that was funny before Shakespeare was talking again. “I know what you"re all saying. ‘ Love’s Labour"s Lost, that"s a funny ending, isn"t it? It just stops. Will the boys get the girls?’ Well, don"t get your hose in a tangle, you"ll find out soon.”
The crowd pitched up in noise again, the occasional ‘when’ breaking through the din. “Yeah, yeah. All in good time,” Shakespeare assured. “You don"t rush a genius.” The playwright bowed, then stumbled backward like he’d been hit. I winced at a sudden sharp pain at the back of my head, but the crowd fell blessedly silent, and the pain nearly faded.
“When? Tomorrow night.” The silence did not last. “The premiere of my brand new play. A sequel, no less, and I call it Love"s Labour"s Won !” The adoring, rapturous crowd did not help my sudden headache with their reaction to that idea.
I pinched my eyes closed and tried to will the pain away. After a moment, someone tugged at my arm, pulling with them and out of the theater. The pain ebbed slightly the further we got from the stage until I was ok enough to open my eyes again.
“I"m not an expert, but I"ve never heard of Love"s Labour"s Won ,” Martha mused.
“Exactly,” the Doctor said slowly. “The lost play. It doesn"t exist, only in rumours. It"s mentioned in lists of his plays but never ever turns up. And no one knows why.” I could hear in his voice how much this intrigued him, how much he wanted to stay.
“Have you got a mini-disc or something? We can tape it. We can flog it. Sell it when we get home and make a mint.” Martha didn’t really sound serious when she said it, but the Doctor didn’t seem to notice.
“No,” he said simply, frowning
“That would be bad,” Martha said sarcastically. I laughed quietly along with her chuckle and bit my tongue around a whimper because that did not help the headache.
“Yeah, yeah.” Luckily, the Doctor didn’t seem to notice me. I didn’t need him kicking up a fuss and sending me back to the TARDIS because I had a headache.
“How come it disappeared in the first place?” Martha asked in a tone that implied she thought the Doctor had the answer.
“Well…” I could hear in his sigh the moment he gave in to his curiosity. “I was just going to give you a quick little trip in the TARDIS, but I suppose we could stay a bit longer.”
<...>
The Doctor was, quite frankly, too excited to at the prospect of meeting Shakespeare face to face. He ran far ahead of Martha and me and didn’t even bother to knock when he found the door. “Hello!” I cleared my throat and nodded to the door. He knocked but didn’t wait for permission to walk in. “Excuse me, not interrupting, am I? Mister Shakespeare, isn"t it?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Shakespeare groaned. The other two men seemed amused at the playwright"s suffering. I could imagine, given what he was putting them through . “Who let you in? No autographs. No, you can"t have yourself sketched with me. And please don"t ask where I get my ideas from,” he recited like he’d had to say it a million times. Martha and I peeked out from behind the Doctor. “Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove-” Shakespeare stopped talking when he caught sight of Martha.
“Hey, nonny nonny,” he said, slightly breathless. “Sit right down here next to me. You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go.” The men didn’t, staring at each other in shock. The barkeep walked in shaking her head.
“Come on, lads,” she said. “I think our William"s found his new muses.” Shakespeare didn’t even seem to notice her, so transfixed was he on Martha.
“Sweet ladies.” Oh, and me too apparently. I sighed, and when we sat, I took the chair farthest from the desk. “Such unusual clothes. So fitted.” I knew he was talking to Martha, but I still tugged my shirt away from my body. Martha, on the other hand, seemed delighted.
“Erm, verily, forsooth, egads,” she said.
“No, no,” the Doctor said quietly. “Don"t do that. Don"t.” I laughed and didn’t miss the way Shakespeare"s attention swiveled to me. I lifted my shawl to cover my face. The Doctor cleared his throat and held up the psychic paper.
“I"m Sir Doctor of TARDIS, this is my sister, Miss Katelyn Laurin, and our companion, Miss Martha Jones,” the Doctor explained. Shakespeare just stared at the paper a second.
“Interesting,” the man mused. He looked from the paper to meet the Doctor’s eyes and smirked. “That bit of paper. It"s blank.”
“Oh, that"s…” The Doctor dropped the paper and smiled. Martha looked at the physic paper, confused. “Very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius.”
“No, it says so right there.” Martha pointed to prove her point. I tried to look at the physic paper, but once glance caused the pain to spike again. “Sir Doctor. Katelyn Laurin. Martha Jones. It says so.”
“I say it"s blank,” Shakespeare argued.
“Psychic paper,” the Doctor explained. “Um, long story. Oh, I hate starting from scratch.”
“Psychic?” Shakespeare asked. “Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly?” He lost interest in whatever the Doctor was going to say before he’d even breathed to say it and turned to Martha again. “More"s the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady?”
“What did you say?” Martha asked, incredulous.
“Oops. Isn"t that a word we use nowadays?” Shakespeare tried. “An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric?”
“Better quit while you"re behind there, Will,” I warned. He opened his mouth to probably throw some line my way. “Martha"s from a far-off land,” I rushed before he could. “Freedonia. We’re just visiting.”
“Excuse me! Hold hard a moment,” said a voice from the doorway. We all turned to the door to see a very well dressed man storm in. I’d never been more glad to be interrupted by a government censor. “This is abominable behaviour. A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mister Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed.”
“Tomorrow morning, first thing, I"ll send it ‘round,” Shakespeare responded, unfazed.
“I don"t work to your schedule, you work to mine. The script, now!” the censor demanded.
“I can"t.”
“Then tomorrow"s performance is canceled.”
“It"s all go around here, isn"t it?” Martha muttered. Shakespeare smiled, even as he stared the censor’s retreating back.
“I"m returning to my office for a banning order. If it"s the last thing I do, Love"s Labour"s Won will never be played!” Then he stormed out of the room. Shakespeare let out a deep sigh.
“Good old Lynley,” he said, lifting his mug like a toast. “Always working to quiet me down. Hasn’t succeeded yet.” The Doctor turned in his chair slightly and gave me a look.
‘That simple?’ he was asking. I gave him a ‘do you really believe that?’ look in response. He sighed.
Martha picked up one of the mugs of beer from the table and took a sip, which was brave of her. “Well then, mystery solved. That"s Love"s Labour’s Won over and done with,” she sighed. “Thought it might be something more, you know, more mysterious.”
Because the universe loves proving people wrong, no sooner had the words left Martha’s mouth than someone screamed in the courtyard below. We were up and running in an instant, down and out into the courtyard. Lynley, was stumbling around, spitting water and holding his throat.
Fuck, I’d forgotten.
“It"s that Lynley bloke,” Martha realized.
“What"s wrong with him?” the Doctor wondered. “Leave it to me. I"m a doctor.” He ran forward and grabbed one of Lynley’s arms.
“So am I, near enough,” Martha added, running to the man’s other side.
I ran forward too, tapping urgently on my bracelet, but the nanogenes couldn"t do anything about drowning.
Just another life I failed to save.
Normally, I would have wallowed in that for a minute, but I didn’t get a chance when the headache returned full force. I could almost hear voices in the back of mind, which was really worrying. Lynley’s eyes went wide. I squeezed mine shut . Lynley cried out as much as he could and collapsed.
I gasped and stumbled back into a wall because as soon as he did, the headache faded to a dull throb.
“Got to get the heart going,” I heard Martha say. I peeled my eyes back open to watch. She opened Lynley’s mouth, probably to start CPR, but jerked back when water came pouring out. She and the Doctor had a brief, very quiet conversation before he shot to his feet again.
“Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural if unfortunate demise,” the Doctor lied. “Call a constable and have him taken away.”
The barkeep agreed, turning quickly to do just that. With the headache not currently at crippling levels of pain, I walked forward and crouch next to the body.
“And why are you telling them that?” Martha asked.
“This lot still have got one foot in the Dark Ages,” the Doctor explained quietly. “If I tell them the truth, they"ll panic and think it was witchcraft.”
“Okay, what was it then?” The Doctor paused for a long time, hard set eyes flicking back and forth between me and Martha.
“Witchcraft.”
<...>
The group walked back into Shakespeare"s room considerably slower than they’d left it. The Doctor’s words kept playing over and over in Martha’s mind.
Witchcraft.
“I got you a room, Sir Doctor. I’m sorry we’ve only got the one,” the barkeep apologized. “You, Miss Laurin, and Miss Jones are just across the landing.”
“Thank you very much, Mistress,” Kat responded.
“Poor Lynley. So many strange events,” Shakespeare said, sitting down behind his desk. “Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?” Martha tried not to show how tedious this was getting. She shot Kat a quick look. Kat let out a long sigh in response.
“Where a woman can do what she likes,” Martha defended. To his credit, Shakespeare accepted that answer with nothing more than a hum.
“And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?" Shakespeare asked. Martha didn’t miss how Kat stepped closer to the Doctor.
“I do a lot of reading,” he responded flatly.
“A trite reply,” Shakespeare praised. The Doctor smiled ever so slightly. “Yeah, that"s what I"d do. And you?” Kat started when the man turned to her like she’d forgotten she was visible. “When Lynley came into this room you looked at him as if he were dead already. How could you know?”
“Experience,” Kat answered, so quiet Martha barely heard her. Shakespeare shook his head fondly at her enigmatic reply.
“Siblings indeed,” he declared. “Miss Jones, you look at them like you"re surprised they exist.” Martha had hoped her glance at them had been subtle, but considering they were all looking back know, she had probably failed. “They’re as much of a puzzle to you as they are to me.” Martha glanced at the… siblings, trying to keep her expression schooled. All she was meet with were twin completely unreadable expressions.
“I think we should say goodnight,” Martha decided, tired, and left the room without waiting for a response.
She found the room they’d been given easily. It was small, only a bed and wardrobe to be seen. She was just looking inside the wardrobe when she heard the floor creak.
“It"s not exactly five star, is it?” Martha joked.
“Oh, it"ll do,” the Doctor decided. He lingered a bit in the doorway, surveying the room. Kat made her way to the one bed and sat on the edge. Neither of the others seemed even a little bit put out by the accommodations. “We"ve seen worse.”
“Like that cabin on Andorra 3,” Kat groaned. The Doctor makes a noise of agreement. “Sometimes I still find that sand in my hair.” Kat ran her hands through her hair as if to prove the point.
“I haven"t even got a toothbrush,” Martha added. The Doctor patted his hands over all his pockets before reaching into his suit jacket and producing a toothbrush.
“Contains Venusian spearmint,” he explained. Martha took it with only slight apprehension and no intention of putting it anywhere near her mouth.
“Any chance you’ve also got some painkillers and a glass of water in your pockets?” Kat asked. Martha finally looked closer at her. Kat had her head in her hands, every muscle in her body tense. She was clearly in pain.
“Why? What’s wrong?” the Doctor asked before Martha could, circling the bed and crouching in front of Kat.
“Don’t get your pinstripes in a twist, Doc. It’s just a headache,” she said. Martha moved to the other side of the bed as well, years of medical schooling kicking in.
“For how long?” Martha asked. Kat took a deep breath.
“Dear Lord,” she emphasized. “It’s a headache. It’s not the first time I overextended myself.” The Doctor raised his hands to her face, but Kat caught them and pulled them away from her face. “You don’t need to check. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m just tired.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” The Doctor lifted his hands to the sides of Kat’s head again.
“Doctor, don’t you da-” As soon as his fingers meet her temples, she slumped down. The Doctor caught her and lowered her gently to the pillows and lifting her legs into the bed.
“What’d you do?” Martha asked, slightly worried and a tiny bit scared.
“Oh, nothing much,” the Doctor dismissed. “Telepathic knockout, like she was doing at the hospital.” He stood back up and went to stare out the window. Martha watched Kat with some envy. She was exhausted too, but she had far too many questions.
“So, magic and stuff.” Martha took a few steps toward the window. “That"s a surprise. It"s all a bit Harry Potter.” The Doctor turned back around and smiled.
“Wait till you read book seven,” he said slowly. “Oh, I cried.”
“But is it real, though?” Martha breathed. “I mean, witches, black magic, and all that, it"s real?”
“Course it isn"t!” the Doctor insisted. From the way he glanced quickly to where Kat was on the bed, Martha got the impression she would have argued that point.
“Well, how am I supposed to know? I"ve only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break,” Martha laughed.
“Looks like witchcraft, but it isn"t. Can"t be.” The Doctor started pacing. Martha got more tired just watching him. “There"s such a thing as psychic energy- Oh, psychic energy.” He stopped for a bit and turned to the bed. “That’s what gave Katelyn that headache. After all the hospital today, her defenses would be a bit weak.” He paused for a while, long enough for Martha to decide to put down the candle she was holding and lay on the bed.
“But a human couldn"t channel it like that,” the Doctor seemed to finally decide. “Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we"d have spotted that. No, there"s something we’re missing, Martha. Something really close, staring me right in the face and I can"t see it.” Martha had been watching the Doctor’s face closer the whole time he paced and explained, so she didn’t miss the subtle shift from confusion to something more guarded.
“Rose would know,” he said quietly. Martha’s small smile faded. “A friend of mine, Rose.” That was not the tone one used to talk about a friend. “Right now, she"d say exactly the right thing.” The Doctor paused, and Martha got the impression that he was imagining Rose here instead of her.
What had happened to Rose?
“Still, can"t be helped,” the Doctor said. “You"re a novice, never mind. We"ll take you back home tomorrow.”
“Great,” Martha snapped. She turned on her side and blew out the candle.
<...>
Somehow, Martha had managed to fall asleep on the rock of a mattress Elizabethan England provided. Which made it all the more annoying that she was woken up only a few hours later by…
Wait, was that a scream?
Martha’s eyes snapped open. She saw the Doctor run out and was up and after him immediately. They ran all the way to Shakespeare’s room. When the Doctor slammed the door open the bard startled awake, looking like he’d been dead to the world. The bar owner was laying on the floor as if someone had just struck her. The Doctor immediately went to check on her, so Martha ran to the open window. Shakespeare mumbled groggily behind her, but Martha couldn’t find an ounce of concentration to spend on him.
There… There was a… woman… flying… on a… broom.
“Her heart gave out,” the Doctor said behind her. “She died of fright.”
Martha managed to collect herself enough to speak. “Doctor?”
He ran up behind her and looked out the window. “What did you see?”
Marth blinked mouth opening and closing for a second. Her brain knew what she was seeing, but her mouth refused to voice it. After all… how could it be real? But there it was. A- A- “A witch,” Martha said. The Doctor stared at her, then back out the window.
“Where is your sister?” Shakespeare asked, still clearly groggy and confused. The Doctor and Marth turned around. Kat was not behind them. The Doctor tore back out of the room, grabbing the coat he’d apparently left behind earlier. Martha wasn’t far behind.
Once the Doctor was back in their room, he turned in a full circle, surveying every inch of the room. Martha looked from him to Kat, who’d barely moved since she"d laid down earlier. Everything seemed fine.
“Heavy sleeper, isn’t she?” Martha asked, grasping at anything that seemed even slightly normal. The Doctor visibly relaxed.
“When she wants to be,” he said. He walked over to Kat and laid his coat over her like a blanket. Martha felt a sort of affection by proxy when Kat’s unconscious response was to curl into a ball and bury herself in the coat.
<...>
I woke up in the morning well-rested and irritated . Yes, I had definitely needed sleep. No, I would not have slept well enough on my own. Was I going to let the Doctor know that? Absolutely not.
I had plans to give him a piece of my mind until I sat up, and realized that at some point in the night he’d gotten his coat and laid it over me, since I was laying on the blankets on the bed. He knew I had trouble sleeping without blankets.
Damn him and his sentimentality.
Damn me and my sentimentality too, apparently, because instead of just leaving the coat on the bed, I slipped my arms through the sleeves and went to find the others. I found them quickly, just across the hall, in Shakespeare"s room again.
“Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey,” said Shakespeare. “She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place when we all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit.” Shakespeare sat, eyes flicking between Martha and the Doctor, who had taken seats on the other side of his desk. Everyone was silent.
“Do not go gentle into that good night,” I mumbled as I walked into the room and took the last chair. Shakespeare and Martha turned to look, but the Doctor must have sensed me wake up because he didn’t move.
“Rage, rage against the dying of the light,” the Time Lord finished.
“I might use that,” Shakespeare told us.
“You can"t. It"s someone else"s,” the Doctor informed him. Shakespeare frowned. “How are you feeling,” the Doctor said, turning to me.
“Like I really miss my mattress on the TARDIS.”
“But the thing is,” Martha restarted the conversation from before I’d entered the room. We all turned her. “Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you.” She stared pointedly at Shakespeare.
“You"re accusing me?” he asked, confused.
“No,” Martha said immediately. “But I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you"ve written about witches.”
“Mm, that’s one of my favorites,” I said to myself, not entirely awake yet.
“I have? When was that?” Shakespeare asked, even more confused.
“Not, not quite yet,” the Doctor informed Martha quietly.
“Peter Streete spoke of witches,” Shakespeare realized. The Doctor dropped his head. I could hear the gears turning.
“Who"s Peter Streete?” Martha asked.
“Our builder,” Shakespeare said. “He sketched the plans to the Globe.”
“The architect?” the Doctor said quietly. Shakespeare nodded. “Hold on. The architect! The architect!” The Doctor slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. “The Globe! Come on!” He ran and we all shot out behind him. After nearly face planting at the bottom of the stairs, I all but tore the Doctor’s coat off and threw it at him. He caught it, never slowing down, and threw it on.
We didn’t stop running until we’d reached the Globe Theater. Shakespeare and Martha jumped onto the stage, but I stayed ground level with the Doctor.
“The columns there, right?” he asked the air.
“Fourteen sides,” I confirmed. He hummed for a bit, turning in place.
“I"ve always wondered, but I never asked.” He turned to the stage. “Tell me, Will. Why fourteen sides?”
The playwright shrugged. “It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that"s all. Said it carried the sound well.”
“Fourteen,” the Doctor muttered. “Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen.”
“There"s fourteen lines in a sonnet,” Martha offered.
“So there is. Good point,” the Doctor said slowly. He started pacing again, thoroughly ruffling his hair. “Words and shapes following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets. Oh, my head.”
“You need the nap now, Doc?” I snarked.
He ignored me. “Tetradecagon. Think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!”
“This is just a theatre,” Shakespeare insisted.
“You of all people should know, William Shakespeare,” I said, letting the Doctor rack his mind a little longer. “A theater’s magic. Stand up there, right words, right inflection, right costumes, and lighting and set, you can create anything .”
“You can make men weep or cry with joy,” the Doctor added, dragging a hand down his face. “Change them.” He turned in a circle one more time. “You can change people"s minds just with words in this place. But if you exaggerate that…”
“It"s like your police box,” Martha told him. “Small wooden box with all that power inside.”
“Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, I like you,” the Doctor said.
“Seconded here,” I said with a smile to the newest companion. “Tell you what, bet Peter Streete would know. Any chance we can talk to him?”
“You won"t get an answer,” Shakespeare said grimly. “A month after finishing this place, lost his mind.”
“Why? What happened?” Martha asked gently.
“Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled.”
“Where is he now?” the Doctor asked.
“Bedlam,” Shakespeare said like it was final.
“What"s Bedlam?” Martha asked.
“Bethlem Hospital. The madhouse.”
“We"re going to go there,” the Doctor decided, already turning to run. “Right now. Come on.” Shakespeare called after us, which was probably the only reason the Doctor waited until we were outside the Globe to walk at a pace just short of running.
“So, tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors.” Shakespeare sounded rather excited at the prospect.
“This country"s ruled by a woman,” Martha deflected.
“Ah, she"s royal,” Shakespeare countered. “That"s God"s business. Though you are a royal beauty.”
“Whoa, nelly!” Martha said, both shocked and clearly enjoying herself. “I know for a fact you"ve got a wife in the country.” I only realized she’d stopped walking behind me when the Doctor turned around with an eye roll and walked toward her.
“But Martha, this is Town,” Shakespeare flirted.
“Come on. We can all have a good flirt later,” the Doctor said.
“Is that a promise, Doctor?” Shakespeare asked, not being at all subtle about checking the Doctor out.
The Doctor paused for a moment, then turned to me with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air,” he mumbled.
“And you owe me tickets to Hamilton ,” I sing-songed smugly. “Original cast! Now move!”
<...>
Bethlehem “Hospital”. Sometimes the Doctor hated humanity.
This place hardly qualified as anything more than an elaborate torture chamber. “Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits? I"d whip these madmen.” The flippant way the keeper was talking about these living human beings was not helping the sick feeling. “They"ll put on a good show for you. Mad dog in Bedlam.”
“No, I don"t!” the Doctor spat, further disgusted at the thought that humans had actually said yes to that.
There was a reason he tended to steer clear of some areas and times of human history.
“Well, wait here, my lords,” the keeper said. “While I, uh, make him decent for the ladies.” The Doctor glared at the man’s retreating figure, but as soon as he stopped walking a hand curled on his coat sleeve. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Katelyn. Her rage and disgust identified her well enough. She wasn’t even trying to hold it in.
“So this is what you call a hospital, yeah?” Martha also sounded disgusted. Good. “Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?”
“Oh, it"s all so different in Freedonia,” Shakespeare dismissed.
“But you"re clever,” Martha kept arguing. “Do you honestly think this place is any good?”
“I"ve been mad,” Shakespeare said. “I"ve lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again.” He looked a million miles away. “It serves its purpose.”
“Mad in what way?” Martha demanded.
“You lost your son,” the Doctor said. Katelyn stopped bleeding anger.
“My only boy,” Shakespeare said. “The Black Death took him. I wasn"t even there .”
“I didn"t know,” Martha said. “I"m sorry.”
Katelyn let go of the Doctor’s sleeve and put a hand on Shakespeare’s shoulder. She had that look on again, that ancient look that did not belong on a 20-year-old human. The Doctor understood this time at least. They’d all been mad with grief.
“It made me question everything,” Shakespeare continued. “The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be. Oh, that"s quite good.”
The Doctor smiled to himself. “You should write that down.”
“Maybe not. A bit pretentious?” Shakespeare mused.
“Give it to a noble,” Katelyn offered. Shakespeare considered that. “Or, better yet, royalty.” The Doctor chuckled, though whether at Katelyn’s cheek or Martha’s concerned expression, even he didn’t know.
“This way, my lord!” the keeper called from down the hallway. The group walked in silence down a few hallways and around a corner. The keeper unlocked a cell and let the group walk ahead of him.
A man was sitting hunched on a bed in the middle of the room, back to the door. He didn’t react to them entering.
“They can be dangerous, my lord,” the man said, gesturing with his whip toward the man. “Don"t know their own strength.”
“I think it helps if you don"t whip them,” the Doctor snapped. “Now get out!” The keeper left, looking confused and put out. Katelyn closed the cell door firmly behind him. “Peter?” the Doctor tried, walking around to the front of the man. “Peter Streete?”
“He"s the same as he was. You"ll get nothing out of him,” Shakespeare said.
“Peter?” Katelyn touched Peter"s shoulder. Peter’s head shot up, staring blankly at the wall behind the Doctor. He looked terrified.
The Doctor looked at Katelyn.
“Yeah, I know,” she sighed. Katelyn sat on the edge of Peter’s bed. She turned from the waist and pressed one hand to his left temple. “Hello, Peter,” she said as softly as she could in the noise of Bedlam. “My name is Katelyn. I’m going to help you now.” Peter turned to look at her. She smiled and brought her other hand to the other side of his head.
“Let’s go into the past,” Katelyn suggested. “One year ago. Let your mind go back. Back to when everything was fine.” The Doctor looked over Peter at the other humans. Shakespeare looked pensive, and Martha looked concerned. “Everything that happened was… a story. It was just a story. Let go. That"s it. There you go.” Peter started to fall back. Katelyn went with him, gently laying him down, then sitting back up. “Tell me the story, Peter,” Katelyn said with authority.
Peter Street shook for a second, then closed his eyes and started talking. “Witches,” Peter started. “Spoke to Peter. In the night, they whispered. They whispered.” He gestured wildly over his ear until Katelyn grabbed his hand and held it in her own.
“What did they say?” Katelyn prompted. She was so gentle about it, the Doctor noticed. Always so gentle to the hurting.
“Build the Globe to their design,” Peter said. “They commanded! Their design! The fourteen walls. Always fourteen.” Fourteen. There was that number again. “When the work was done-” Peter laughed. “They snapped poor Peter"s wits.”
“Ask him where,” the Doctor said.
“Where did Peter see the witches?”
“All Hallows Street.”
“Too many words.” The Doctor stood up and ran to the other side of the room. Katelyn tumbled backward off the bed, trying to scramble back, but getting tangled in her skirt.
“What the hell?” Martha shouted, voicing the Doctor’s thoughts perfectly.
There was a… a woman? A woman was standing right where the Doctor had been, looking exactly like what humans tended to think “witches” looked like, down to the crooked nose and gnarled teeth. “Just one touch of the heart,” she crooned.
“No!”
The woman put her hand on Peter’s chest. He gasped and stared at the ceiling, dead.
“Witch!” Shakespeare cried. “I"m seeing a witch!”
“Now, who would be next, hmm?” the witch crooned. “Just one touch.” She… well, she cackled. “Oh, oh, I"ll stop your frantic hearts . Poor, fragile mortals.”
Martha turned and started shaking the cell door. “Let us out!” she screamed. “Let us out!”
“That"s not going to work,” the Doctor said, not taking his eyes off the… witch. Not witch. He’d seen something like her before. “The whole building"s shouting that.”
“Who will die first, hmm?” the… well the Doctor was fairly sure she was an alien mused.
“Well, if you"re looking for volunteers.” The Doctor tried to step forward, but Katelyn stepped in front of him.
“No! Don"t!” Martha shouted.
“Can you stop her?” Shakespeare asked.
“No mortal has power over me,” the alien sneered.
“Oh, but there"s a power in words,” the Doctor said. “If I can find the right one. If I can just know you.” Think, think, think. She was almost familiar. When had he learned about her?
“None on Earth has knowledge of us,” the alien sneered.
“Then it"s a good thing I"m here,” the Doctor shot back. “Now think, think, think. Humanoid female. Uses shapes and words to channel energy.”
The Doctor felt Katelyn’s fear stutter, felt her pause. That got him to look away from the alien. She had that look on her face when she was remembering something. Katelyn stood up straighter. Oh. And there was her rage again, bright and steady and powerful .
“Vision before me, made from fright,” Katelyn started. The alien looked like she wanted to open her mouth, but couldn’t. “You’ve taken your last life tonight. Though blood and bones mark witch’s rite, I name thee, demon, Carrionite!”
The Carrionite, because Katelyn was right, screamed and vanished in a sharp flash of light.
There was nothing but silence.
“W-What did you do?” Martha eventually asked, sounding about as stunned as the Doctor felt. Katelyn turned away from the wall and Peter and looked back at the group. Her expression was guarded.
“When did you learn to speak Iambic tetrameter?” the Doctor asked. Katelyn offered him the ghost of a smile.
“Tenth grade English,” she said. “Only good thing that woman ever taught me.” There was a flash of a lie in there, somewhere, but the Doctor decided now was probably not the time. When she lied, it was either her old world or Erika. Those were private conversations. “I named her, Martha.” Katelyn took a deep breath. “There’s always power in a name.”
“But there"s no such thing as magic,” Martha argued.
Katelyn shrugged. “What’s that quote? ‘All sufficiently advanced science will look like magic to a less developed society’?” It was close enough, so the Doctor decided not to correct her. “Humans chose mathematics. Carrionites use words instead.”
The Doctor found himself smiling, pride settling between his hearts.
“Use them for what?” Shakespeare asked. The Doctor’s smile faded.
“The end of the world.”
<...>
We decided to regroup in the Inn because if there was no way to hide from the monster of the week, why not go to the place you were most familiar with?
“So…” Martha looked back and forth between the Doctor and I. “What… are Carrionites?”
I waved to the Doctor to tell him to go for it. “The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe,” he explained. “Nobody was sure if they were real or legend.”
Shakespeare stood up straighter. “Well, I"m going for real.”
“But what do they want?” Martha asked.
“Oh, the usual,” I sighed.
“A new empire on Earth,” the Doctor explained. “A world of bones and blood and witchcraft.”
“But how?” Martha insisted.
The Doctor looked at Shakespeare. “I"m looking at the man with the words.” Martha started.
“Me?” Shakespeare asked. He sounded about as tired as everyone looked. “But I"ve done nothing.
“Hold on, though,” Martha started. “What were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?”
“Finishing the play,” Shakespeare said.
The Doctor had that look on his face. “What happens on the last page?”
“The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance,” Shakespeare said. “It"s all as funny and thought provoking as usual.” I rolled my eyes. “Except those last few lines. Funny thing is, I don"t actually remember writing them.”
The Doctor and I exchanged a look.
“They used you,” he explained. “They gave you the final words like a spell, like a code. Love"s Labours Won.
“It"s a weapon,” we said together.
“The right combination of words, spoken at the right place,” I repeated.
“With the shape of the Globe as an energy converter!” the Doctor added.
“The play"s the thing!” we shouted.
“And yes, you can have that,” the Doctor said to Shakespeare. Shakespeare looked delighted.
“Got a map, Will?” I asked.
<...>
The map Will found was… something. Upsettingly simple and hopelessly inaccurate. I’d drawn better maps by hand with nothing but paper, a crayon, and sheer stubbornness.
“All Hallows Street,” the Doctor announced, pointing to a spot on the map. “There it is. Katelyn, we"ll track them down. Martha and Will, you get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play.”
“Got it,” Martha confirmed.
“We’ll do it.” Shakespeare shook the Doctor’s hand. “All these years I"ve been the cleverest man around. Next to you two, I know nothing.”
“Oh, don"t complain,” Martha teased.
“I"m not. It"s marvelous.” Shakespeare looked at me. “What wonders this world has.” I gave him an unimpressed look. “Good luck.”
“Good luck,” the Doctor parroted. “And be careful.”
“Once more unto the breach,” I cheered as the Doctor and I stepped out.
“I like that. Wait a minute, that"s one of mine!” Shakespeare called after us.
I stuck my head in the door, winked, and ran off.
<...>
“All Hallows Street, but which house?” the Doctor said to himself, turning in circles. “What’s that face for.”
I blinked, not realizing I’d even made a face. “Just thinking about the conversation about the mechanics of the infinite temporal flux we should have had with Martha,” I said.
The Doctor dragged his hands down his face. “Blimey, no wonder she seemed so calm.” He paused and turned in a circle. “The human race ends right now in 1599 if we don"t stop it.”
“So which house?” I finished.
A door creaked open behind us because of course it did.
“Ah,” the Doctor said lightly. “Make that witch house.”
We started toward the open door. “Remind me how I threatened your life last time?” I said dryly. “I want to keep upping the stakes.”
“I think you might have peaked at threatening to throw me into a neutron star.”
“You’re right. I should have saved that one.” We walked up a flight of stairs. “I’ll start back at ground zero.”
There was a Carrionite standing across the cluttered room from us, one that looked a lot younger than the one from the asylum.
“I take it we"re expected,” the Doctor said.
“Oh, I think Death has been waiting for you a very long time,” The Carrionite said.
“Geez, dramatic much?” I muttered. She glared.
“The power of a name works only once,” she said. “You’re powerless against me, Katelyn Laurin.”
I gave an exaggerated gasp, bringing my hand to my forehead like a Victorian woman overcome with the vapors and leaned on the wall behind me. “Just kidding,” I sing-songed. “Looks like we’re both powerless.” The Carrionite snarled and turned on the Doctor.
“Sir Doctor,” she tried. The Doctor just raised his eyebrows. The Carrionite tilted her head in confusion. “Fascinating. Siblings with no name. One lost-” The Carrionite stepped forward. Both the Doctor and I also stepped forward, each attempting to stand in front of the other. The Carrionite smiled and focused on the Doctor. “Ah, and the other but hiding. Why would a man hide his title in such despair?”
We said nothing, just stood with arms held protectively in front of each other, and glared at her.
The Carrionite tilted her head in the other direction. “Oh, but look,” she continued. “There"s still one word with the power that aches.”
“The naming won"t work on us,” the Doctor said.
The Carrionite faked a pout. “But your heart grows cold,” she taunted. “The north wind blows and carries down the distant Rose. ”
The Doctor surged forward. “Oh, big mistake,” he all but growled. “Because that name keeps me fighting.” He only stopped walking when he’d fully crowded the Carrionite’s space. “The Carrionites vanished. Where did you go?”
The Carrionite turned away from him. “The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness.”
“And how did you escape?” the Doctor pressed.
“New words,” she said. I opened my mouth then snapped it back shut. Now was not the time for a debate on ethnocentrism in Linguistics. “New and glittering, from a mind like no other.”
“Shakespeare,” we realized.
“His son perished,” the Carrionite confirmed. “The grief of a genius.” I grabbed the Doctor’s hand. “Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance.”
“How many of you?”
“Just the three.” The Carrinote didn’t seem too upset by that. “But the play tonight shall restore the rest.” She walked to stand in front of the window. “Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And from this world, we will lead the universe back into the old ways of blood and magic.”
The Doctor hummed and walked forward. Get behind her, he projected before letting go of my hand . “Busy schedule. But first, you"ve got to get past us.” The Doctor walked until he was blocking the Carrionite’s view.
I slipped behind her.
“Oh, that should be a pleasure, considering my enemy has such a handsome shape.” I almost laughed. She was laying it on thick.
“Now, that"s one form of magic that"s definitely not going to work on me,” the Doctor said.
The Carriontie reached forward. I snagged her hand. Immediately, I pressed, trying to get into her mind. It was a brick wall. She threw her other hand out, and quite suddenly I was flying into the wall.
The Doctor was by my side in an instant. “Are you alright?” I nodded. “Come on, she went out the window. We’ve got to get to the Globe.”
<...>
We started in the wrong direction, but we got there in the end.
We skidded to a halt two blocks down from the Globe. It almost looked like it was on fire, a red glow hanging in the air, speckled through with black silhouettes. While we stood there thinking shit shit shit shit , that priest ran by screaming that “I told thee so!”
“Stage door!” the Doctor shouted, and then we were off again.
The regular doors slammed shut as we ran past, forcing us around to the stage door anyway. It was already closed, Martha yelling and yanking at it.
“Stop the play!” the Doctor shouted. The force of the three of us on the door forced it open. “I think that was it. Yeah, I said, stop the play!”
“They kicked me out!” Martha protested. “I only just got back! I had to-”
“I hit my head,” Shakespeare complained, sitting on a chair in the corner and rubbing his head.
“Yeah, don"t rub it, you"ll go bald,” the Doctor said. A scream, half-way between a cackle and an actual scream came from the stage. “I think that"s my cue!”
“Enter stage right,” I agreed.
We ran out onto the stage, Martha and Shakespeare trailing behind. The Carrionites were screaming and laughing, but we couldn"t hear over the wind. The young-looking one held an orb out in front of her. Shadows flew into the theatre, slowly growing in size as they circled a bit and flew up into the sky.
The Doctor grabbed Shakespeare and pushed him toward the edge of the stage. “Come on, Will! History needs you!”
Shakespeare looked terrified. “But what can I do?”
“Reverse it!” I shouted.
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“The shape of the Globe gives words power-” the Doctor started
“You"re the wordsmith!” I finished.
“But what words?” Shakespeare shouted. “I have none ready!”
“You"re William Shakespeare!” the Doctor and I shouted.
“But these Carrionite phrases,” Shakespeare kept protesting. “They need such… precision!”
“I did it!” I shouted. I wasn’t about to mention that Erika and I had come up with that rhyme years ago, mostly to spit our terrible English teacher. “We only need the first draft. Trust yourself. Improvise.”
Shakespeare swallowed visibly and stepped forward. “Close up this din of hateful, dire decay, decomposition of your witches" plot. You thieve my brains, consider me your toy. My doting Doctor tells me I am not!”
Up in their box seat, the Carrionite started looking around, worried.
Shakespeare continued. “Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show! Between the points-” He looked back at the Doctor.
“Seven six one three nine oh!” the Doctor said.
“Seven six one three nine oh!” Shakespeare repeated. “Banished like a tinker"s cuss, I say to thee-”
We all stood around for a moment, gaping at each other until Martha shouted “Expelliarmus!”
“Expelliarmus!” the Doctor and I shouted.
“Expelliarmus!” Shakespeare finished.
The Carrionites screamed. Those that were flying in the air, most of them almost out of the Globe’s ceiling, started to be pulled back into the swirling red. Behind us, the doors to backstage burst open. Hundreds of papers flew out, up into the tornados with the shadows.
“ Love"s Labours Won ,” the Doctor said. “There it goes.”
In a ring of silent light, the sky cleared over the globe, and there was silence. Even the telepathic field was quieter. I glanced at the balcony. The Carrionites were gone.
Someone started clapping. Within a few moments, the rest of the audience had joined in. The Doctor and I exchanged a look and ran backstage. We ran around the back hallways, up and into the box seat. The Carrionite’s orb was sitting on the bench seat in the booth. The Doctor picked it up. The Carrionites were inside, screaming and scratching at the glass.
“Want to raid the costume department?” I asked.
“ Absolutely, ” the Doctor said.
<...>
“Good props store back there,” the Doctor cheered as we walked back on stage where Martha and Shakespeare were, covered in costume pieces we’d stolen. “I"m not sure about this though.” He handed me an animal skull. “Reminds me of a Sycorax.”
I tilted it around. “A bit, yeah.”
“Sycorax,” Shakespeare repeated. We looked over at him. “Nice word. I"ll have that off you as well.”
“We should be on ten percent,” the Doctor said. I chuckled. “How"s your head?”
“Still aching.”
“Here, I got you this,” the Doctor said. He handed that dumb neck ruff he’d found to Shakespeare, who put it on with only mild confusion.
I gave the Doctor an unimpressed look. “Neckbrace,” he defended. “Wear that for a few days til it"s better. Although, you might want to keep it. It suits you.”
“I hate you,” I informed the Doctor. He just smiled.
“What about the play?” Martha asked.
“Gone,” the Doctor said. “We looked all over. Every single copy of Love"s Labours Won went up in the sky.”
“My lost masterpiece,” Shakespeare sighed.
“You could write it up again,” Martha said.
“Mmm, better not,” I said. “There"s still power in those words. Probably best left forgotten.”
“Oh, but I"ve got new ideas,” Shakespeare said. “Perhaps it"s time I wrote about fathers and sons, in memory of my boy, my precious Hamnet.”
“Hamnet?” Martha said.
“That"s him.”
“Ham net ?”
“What"s wrong with that?”
“Anyway,” the Doctor interrupted. “Time we were off. We’ve got a nice attic in the TARDIS where this lot can scream for all eternity-” He shook the Carrionite’s orb around. “-and I"ve got to take Martha back to Freedonia.”
“You mean travel on through time and space,” Shakespeare said with a smile.
We blinked. “You what?” the Doctor said after a moment.
“You two are from another world like the Carrionites,” Shakespeare said, almost smug. “And Martha is from the future. It"s not hard to work out.”
“That"s incredible,” the Doctor said.
“My hat off to you sir,” I agreed, taking off the ostentatious feathered hat I’d stolen and plopping it on Shakespeare’s head. (I was wearing a crown with fake gemstones underneath. I was keeping that one).
“We"re alike in many ways,” Shakespeare said. “Martha, let me say goodbye to you in a new verse. A sonnet for my Dark Lady.” Martha’s eyes went wide. The Doctor and I exchanged looks. “Shall I compare thee to a summer"s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate-”
The street doors to the Globe flew open, and two of Shakespeare’s actors flew in.
“Will!” One shouted. “You"ll never believe it. She"s here! She"s turned up!”
“We"re the talk of the town,” the other one said. “She heard about last night. She wants us to perform it again.”
“Who?” Martha asked.
The actor looked scandalized. “Her Majesty. She"s here.”
And because this was one of those days, an elderly Elizabeth Tudor entered, stage front.
“Queen Elizabeth the First!” the Doctor sounded delighted.
“Doctor?” Elizabeth hissed.
“What?” The Doctor said.
“My sworn enemy.”
“What?”
“Off with his head!”
“What?!”
“Exit pursued,” I said, turning and running, pulling the Doctor along with me. “Bye Shakespeare!”
The Queen spit out a few orders, her guards chasing after us. We tore out into the streets in the direction of the TARDIS, fully ignoring the calls of “Stop in the name of the Queen!”
As if that had ever worked on us.
“What have you done to upset her?” Martha shouted.
“How should I know?” the Doctor shouted. “Haven"t even met her yet. That"s time travel for you. Still, can"t wait to find out.” I snapped my fingers and the TARDIS doors flew open. We ran in. “That"s something to look forward to.”
I slammed the doors behind us and we were off again.
Always moving on.