Doctor Who BBCN19 - Wishing Well (9 page)

‘I told you, it was the highwayman,’ said Nigel. He was leaning against the tunnel wall, hands on his knees, feeling very unwell. The others put it down to claustrophobia. He knew it was something far worse.

63

‘I mean, what was his name?’ wondered Duncan.

Ben said, ‘We’ll have to call him John Doe.’

‘Nah, too American. He’s English: Joe Bloggs.’

‘Joe Bones, you mean.’

‘Hah! Yeah, Joe Bones. Hello, Joe, nice to meet you!’ Duncan bowed to the skeleton. ‘Hey, Joe, you’ve lost a bit of weight.’

They laughed together, starting to feel a bit drunk on the prospect of being so close to the end. Treasure or not, they both wanted this digging over.

‘Hey, look at this,’ Duncan said, when they had calmed down a little.

He was pointing at the cavity in the earth where the big rock had been.

Immersed in the soil was a tangle of pale and fibrous vegetable matter.

‘What’s that?’

‘Roots or something, I suppose,’ said Ben.

‘I’d have thought we were a bit far down for roots,’ Duncan remarked. ‘There aren’t any trees near enough which could have a root system running this deep.’

Ben shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There could be some old growth down here, I suppose.’ He bent down to have a closer look. The tendrils were so pale they were almost white, straggling through the soil like thin wires. ‘It looks very pale – starved of sunlight. No photosynthesis.

Probably dead.’

‘Weird!’

Duncan moved the torch closer and the roots almost seemed to glow. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before!’

‘Come and have a look at this, Nigel,’ said Ben, indicating the remains of the white weed-like substances trailing through some of the soil and rock fragments. ‘What do you make of it?’

‘Nothing,’ Nigel replied, hardly sparing it a glance. He sounded distracted. ‘It’s not treasure is it? That’s all we’re interested in. . . ’

Duncan was watching Nigel closely. ‘Hey, Nigel. You don’t look well, you know.’

‘I’m fine.’

Ben looked. ‘Dune’s right. You look as white as a ghost. Why don’t you go and have a sit down, let us carry on.’

64

By now Nigel was leaning weakly against the tunnel wall. ‘I think I’m just tired. We’re so close. . . ’

Duncan rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Do what Ben says. Go and have a rest. We’ll come back and get you the moment we find anything.’

‘I-I don’t know. . . ’ Nigel didn’t look happy about it.

‘We’ve got another couple of metres to go,’ Ben assured him. ‘It’s not much but there’s a lot of rock and it could take a little while longer.

You can’t stand here. You look like you’re going to throw up any minute.’

‘All right,’ Nigel nodded. ‘Call me the instant you find anything.’

‘Will do.’ Duncan patted him on the arm and Nigel walked slowly away, heading back up the tunnel.

Nigel stopped at the mouth of the tunnel and took several deep breaths. The climb back up the steep gradient had winded him but his whole body was tingling and there was a familiar stirring deep inside his head.

He felt in his coat pocket and took out the stone.

It was vibrating; just slightly, enough for him to feel it through his gloves. A sort of complacent hum, almost like the purring of a cat.

He raised it up so that he could look at it more closely. The surface had changed. And, even as he watched, the surface began to move –microscopically, almost as if a million tiny fragments were chasing each other around like insects. It made the stone appear almost fuzzy, or blurred. Nigel had once seen a termite mound disturbed; the number of insects that had poured out had formed a sort of living mass, a river of movement, and that’s what the surface of the thing looked like now. It still felt solid in his hand, but he could see and feel the activity.

He wondered if the stone was as excited as he was.

‘What’s the matter?’ Nigel asked. ‘You’ve never done this before.’

–i must grow. . . i must feed–

‘Nearly there,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘Nearly there. . . ’

–hurry–

65

Tiny little fingers stood up from the surface of the stone, uncoiling and probing the air like worms. They waved blindly for a few moments, sliding over his fingers and hands, and then began to lash back and forth in a more feverish manner.

–i must grow–

Nigel smiled. ‘Yes! I know. . . I know. . . we’re so very close now. . . ’

–it is not enough–

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. . . ’

–you will never understand–

Suddenly, sharp, barbed spines dug into his hands and Nigel cried out in pain. He felt the blood welling from his palms and fingers, and, when he tried to let go of the stone, he found that it was impossible.

‘What are you doing? You’re hurting me!’

–i must feed and grow. the time of rising is near–

Nigel gasped in pain. ‘I don’t know what you mean –’

–i am ready–

‘R-ready for what?’

–the rising–

He couldn’t bear it any long, couldn’t understand what was happening. The pain in his hands was intense, but nothing compared to the pain in his head. It felt as if the little barbs had reached all the way into his mind and were tearing through his brain tissue.

Nigel forgot all about Duncan and Ben, all about the treasure, everything. All he wanted to do now was get out and breathe fresh, clean air. He had to get away from here.

He had to get away from the stone.

But, try as he might, he couldn’t get rid of it; he shook his hands but the stone held fast, digging its little fingers deeper into his flesh.

With a sob of fear, Nigel emerged into the blinding light of day and stumbled forward.

66

At the top of the well, Sadie was showing Martha how to use the walkie-talkie. ‘This red light means it’s on. That’s the frequency –it’s set to channel one. Press this switch when you speak, release it to listen.’

‘Gotcha.’

They were looking down into the well, but all they could see was the blue rope disappearing into the darkness. Martha kept thinking she could see the distant glimmer of the Doctor’s torch as it moved around the shaft, but she couldn’t be sure.

She pressed the switch on the walkie-talkie. ‘Doctor? Are you there?’

She remembered the way people usually spoke on radio transceivers and added, ‘Do you read me, over?’

The walkie-talkie crackled and then the Doctor’s voice rang out loud and clear: ‘Hello, Martha!’

She laughed with relief and pressed the switch again. ‘We can’t see you any more. What’s it like down there?’

‘Dark and cold,’ came the reply with a crackle of static. ‘There is a lot of vegetation down here, weeds and stuff, but you can tell Sadie the shaft wall is in pretty good condition so far.’

That’s great!’

67

‘Hang on a. . . ’ the Doctor’s voice faded briefly and then returned,

‘. . . to get through here. I’ll need. . . hands to move it.’

‘Didn’t get that. Can you repeat, over?’

Crackle. ‘Lots of weeds and. . . yes, probably brambles I think. I’ll need both hands to move it so I can get past. Hold the rope a minute.

I’ll have to switch the walkie-talkie off. Over and out.’

The radio crackled and Martha looked at Angela. ‘I heard,’ she said, and stopped winding the rope out. ‘He’s doing well, isn’t he?’

‘I hope so,’ Martha said. ‘He has a knack of finding trouble, though.’

The Doctor spun slowly in the darkness, watching the light from his torch play over the shaft wall. There was a tangle of weeds and roots growing all over the old brickwork, and a big patch of brambles. The light gleamed briefly on the tips of some viciously sharp thorns.

With great care he pushed aside some of the thinner, more straggling branches, doing his best to avoid the thorns. The brambles grew more thickly below, almost like a barrier.

Craning his neck, the Doctor looked back up the well-shaft. It was very dark, but he could still see a coin-shaped white disc above him.

The sky. It seemed alarmingly small and distant. But there was still a lot further to go; he had to carry on.

Steeling himself, he turned back to the matter at hand. He swung himself across the well and grabbed hold of one of the sturdier roots.

It was growing out of the shaft wall, but the damage didn’t look too bad. Nothing that couldn’t be patched up once the vegetation was removed. He twisted around in his harness and shone the torch down-wards. He could see a narrow gap through the bramble thicket. If he took it carefully, he could probably climb down right through it.

Beyond the brambles was nothing but impenetrable blackness. The torch beam was simply swallowed whole. He found the walkie-talkie and pressed the call switch. ‘Hello up there. . . ’

Martha’s voice crackled faintly: ‘Hi! Everything OK?’

‘I’ve found a way through the worst of it. You can lower away.’

‘Right! Lowering away. . . ’

68

The rope hummed and the Doctor positioned himself so that he dropped through the clear way. The odd thorn snagged on his clothes, but otherwise he passed through without a hitch. The brambles closed over his head like a tangled ceiling as he descended into an altogether colder, damper darkness.

The Doctor shivered. It wasn’t the cold so much as something else –a deathly atmosphere completely at odds with anything he had experienced on Earth before. It was as if in passing through the brambles he had passed into another world.

The torchlight picked out something else growing up the brickwork; a strange, fibrous growth which stayed close to the walls and was much paler than the vegetation he’d seen so far. Some of the stems looked oddly withered, meandering in a haphazard fashion with milk-white tendrils creeping between the narrow gaps around the bricks.

There were other things down here, living things, moving in the torchlight: snails and beetles and spiders. When the light hit the snails, their translucent antennae shrank to nothing; the insects and the spiders scurried away into the cracks in the wall.

His walkie-talkie crackled and he jumped. Fumbling, he raised it to his lips. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’

said Martha, holding the walkie-talkie in both hands.

‘Hello? Doctor? Can you hear me, over?’

The only reply was white noise.

‘I can’t get anything out of it,’ Martha said.

Sadie took the radio and fiddled with it, but the only sound was static now. ‘He must’ve have passed out of range,’ she said.

Martha turned to Angela. ‘Do you think we should pull him back up now?’

‘The rope’s still going out,’ Angela said, nodding at the brake. ‘He’s still descending.’

‘I didn’t think it would be this deep.’

‘There’s not much more to go now. We’ll play it right out.’

The Doctor pulled a face at the useless walkie-talkie and slipped it back into his pocket. He didn’t think he’d come far enough to be out 69

of range. Perhaps something was interfering with the signal.

He was still descending, which was good. He didn’t want Angela to panic and start hauling him back up too soon. There was still a lot to see.

He waved the torch around the walls. The snails recoiled and the spiders ran. There was a lot of the white weed here; in some places it grew so thickly the brickwork was completely obscured. Now there were lumps of it here and there, like a sudden growth of fungus, with spindly little twigs thrusting out like fingers groping in the darkness.

The Doctor reached out and touched the twigs. They were warm.

He frowned, unable to decide if they were plant or animal in origin.

There was one particular patch where a number of thick, pallid branches had extended halfway across the shaft in a kind of fibrous web. It was almost as if the weed – or whatever it was – had grown around something. The Doctor took out his glasses and slipped them on for a closer look as he drew level.

He pointed the torch at the lumpy mass. There was definitely something inside the weed. Carefully he reached out and tugged at some of the fronds, and they came away quite easily. Beneath there was something small and round and dark. The light picked out a tiny face with matted fur and whiskers.

‘Uh oh,’ said the Doctor quietly.

The dead cat was almost overgrown with the weeds. The Doctor pulled some more fronds away, exposing the ginger ears and an old collar with a name tag. Squinting, he pulled the collar around until he could read the name on the little metal disc.

‘Tommy,’ read the Doctor. ‘Barney Hackett’s cat. So this is where you ended up, eh, puss?’

There was silence in the well-shaft as the Doctor stared sadly at the feline remains.

Then the cat’s eyes snapped open and it mewed at him.

70