Doctor Who: The Masque of the Mandragora

 

The year was 1492, the place—a remote principality in Northern Italy. A handful of ragged peasants sweated and strained as they hauled a cart full of hay along a steep path. Their faces were lined and care-worn by years of drudgery but their natural high spirits remained undimmed as they swore and cajoled amongst themselves with great gusto.

They reached the brow of the hill and paused for breath. Suddenly the air was filled with the pounding of horses’ hooves and a troop of armed men appeared, their helmets and breastplates glinting in the sun. Swiftly they surrounded the defenceless peasants. One of them brandished a burning torch. With a grin he tossed it into the cart. The dry grass exploded into flame. Terrified, the peasants began screaming and running in all directions. The horsemen allowed them to get a short distance away then drew their swords and started to ride them down. As each peasant was caught he was mercilessly butchered.

The slaughter continued for several minutes until a harsh voice rang out.

‘Leave a few alive, Captain, to tell the others how insurrection is dealt with!’

The captain of the troop saluted and called his men off. The man who gave the order was seated astride a majestic ebony-black stallion. The man wore rich and elaborate clothes denoting he was someone of rank and power, a hunting outfit in red velvet covered by a black silken cloak. But this outward elegance was marred by his own features which were brutal and ugly: heavy-lidded eyes, dark and cold, a nose hooked like a vulture’s beak, a mouth set in a permanent sneer.

Apparently pleased with the scene of bloodshed and carnage, he wheeled his horse and spurred it savagely in the ribs. The animal darted forward at a gallop and the troop of horsemen fell in behind and followed.

‘Make way! Make way for Count Federico!’

The mounted troop thundered through the city gates scattering all before them and pulled up inside the palace courtyard. The Count dismounted and, with a quick glance towards a large shuttered window, entered the palace.

Behind the shutters a sombre drama was being enacted. The old Duke of San Martino—a feared but just ruler—lay dying. Around his deathbed were gathered all his courtiers, grave and respectful. By the old man’s pillow, clasping his thin bony hand, knelt a young man of about twenty. He was strikingly handsome with long, dark-brown hair. This was his son and heir Giuliano. The young Prince fought bravely to control his emotions as the priest administered the Last Rites.

Observing the scene, a few paces removed, was the bizarre figure of the court astrologer, Hieronymous. His eyes darted ceaselessly round the room like a trapped bird of prey. His long thick beard, black skull cap and voluminous cloak gave him a strange and sinister appearance. Even those who knew him well felt uneasy in his presence.

Abruptly the priest’s low mumblings came to a halt. It was over. The Duke was dead. Giuliano rose and looked down on his father’s face, austere and imposing even in this last moment of life. A tall blond young man touched his arm in comfort. It was his childhood friend and companion Marco.

‘He was a good man, Giuliano. A just and noble ruler.’

Giuliano nodded then turned round and faced the astrologer. ‘Hieronymous, you foretold my father’s death. How?’

‘Everything is foretold by the stars,’ replied the old soothsayer gravely. ‘I am just a humble astrologer, I only interpret their meaning.’

‘But the exact day—the very hour—it’s not possible.’ The young Prince clenched his fist in disbelief.

‘When Mars comes into conjunction with Saturn in the seventh layer, and the moon is full-grown... death comes to great ones. So it is decreed.’ The astrologer raised his arms heavenwards and turned to leave.

As he reached the doors Count Federico entered. A look of understanding passed between them unnoticed by anyone else in the room, then the astrologer swept out.

‘I’m sorry you could not be present at my father’s deathbed, Uncle,’ said Giuliano bitingly.

‘I came as soon as I could. There were important matters of state to attend to.’

‘I see. I’m sorry. I thought you were out enjoying some sport.’

The Count’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘There was trouble among the peasants. They needed teaching a lesson.’ He rapped his thigh with a leather riding whip.

Giuliano smiled sarcastically. ‘Isn’t that your sport, Uncle?’

The Count stared hatefully at his nephew for a moment then turned on his heel and stalked out.

‘You are upset my lord,’ said Marco soothingly, ‘but do not anger your uncle—not at this time.’ He dropped his voice, ‘Remember he is strong and ruthless.’

Giuliano drew himself up proudly—his handsome face stern and regal. ‘I am Duke now. I want to rule over a land where there is no tyranny, no blind ignorance and superstition like that old fool Hieronymous preaches. We make our own lives, not the stars.’

Marco nodded in agreement. ‘Nevertheless it is most remarkable. Your father was in good health. To be struck down so suddenly... and Hieronymous did predict it exactly.’

Far and deep in the Space-Time Vortex a strange blue craft blinked and shimmered like a shaft of light. The craft was unusually shaped, about eight feet high and five feet square and on its top flashed a small white lamp. It had an altogether enigmatic and alien appearance. Unless, that is, you happened to be an earthling from the mid-twentieth century. In which case you would have recognised it as a very ordinary London police box. But even then you would have been misled. Because inside, the craft was infinitely larger than it was on the outside, and looked nothing like a police box. In fact it bore far more resemblance to a highly sophisticated space ship, which is what it was. A ship which travelled through Space and Time! Its inner workings embodied a secret which had eluded countless civilisations since the dawn of life itself.

The owner of the ship, however, seemed quite at home with this grandiose achievement and frequently complained when things went wrong. At this moment he was striding purposefully along one of the many gleaming white corridors which ran off the main control room. He was a tall curly-haired man of indeterminate age with sparkling blue eyes and a beaming smile. He was dressed rather curiously in tweed trousers and a long red-velvet frockcoat. Round his neck he wore a very long woollen scarf of many colours which trailed on the ground behind him.

By his side was a pretty young woman who kept asking questions as they walked along the corridor. She was Sarah Jane Smith, a London journalist who had first met the Doctor several years before when he had visited Earth. She had accompanied him on other adventures since, and now felt she knew him well. Even so the Doctor was always surprising her with something novel and unexpected. This was the first time, for example, he had allowed her to really explore the TARDIS.

She gazed round in fascination at the white walls with their weird hexagonal indentations. They seemed to glow with an unearthly light.

‘I’ve never been in this section before,’ she said admiringly.

‘One day I’ll give you a proper guided tour,’ replied the Doctor. ‘If I can remember the way.’ He stopped by an open doorway. Sarah peered in. A vast room stretched out before her, empty apart from a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor.

‘What’s this?’

‘Boot cupboard. Not very interesting.’ The Doctor pressed a button and the door closed.

Sarah frowned. ‘Doctor?’

‘Mmmm?’

‘Just how big
is
the TARDIS?’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘How big is big? Relative dimensions, you see. No constant.’ He continued walking.

‘That’s not an answer.’

The Doctor stopped and turned. ‘All right—how big are you? At the moment?’

Sarah drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very tall. ‘Five feet five and a quarter.’

‘Bah!’ snorted the Doctor. ‘There are no measurements in infinity. You humans have such little minds. I don’t know why I like you.’ He strode off again. Sarah was not sure whether he was really cross or not. She was about to tell him not to be so rude when her attention was caught by a recess in the wall. She pressed a button and the wall slid open to reveal a room beyond.

‘Hey what’s this place?’

Inside it was dark and dusty. The walls were panelled just like the main control room but in brown mahogany not white. In the centre stood a hexagonal console, a smaller more old-fashioned version of the one Sarah knew.

‘This is the secondary control centre,’ said the Doctor appearing in the doorway. ‘I can run the TARDIS just as easily from here as from the old one.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Come to think of it this
was
the old one. Let’s see now.’ He pressed some coloured switches on the console. There was a humming noise and a section of one wall slid back to reveal a monitor screen. It showed a twisting swirling whirlpool of stars, formed into a giant spiral. At the same instant the TARDIS began to judder and sway.

‘Oh dear!’ said the Doctor unhappily.

‘Something wrong?’

‘It’s the Mandragora Helix. I thought we’d avoided it. I should have known better than to cut through uncharted segments of the Vortex.’ He started to punch buttons furiously on the console. ‘Let’s hope we can counter-magnetise enough to resist the pull.’

Sarah frowned. ‘What is the Mandragora Helix, Doctor?’

‘A spiral of pure energy radiating outwards in ways we don’t fully understand—except that at its centre there is a controlling intelligence.’

‘An intelligence? You mean something living?’

‘Oh, certainly living—in its fashion. But that’s all anyone’s ever established.’

The room began to shake more severely and a loud shrieking noise howled around them.

‘It’s sucking us in!’ yelled Sarah.

‘We’ll have to thrust straight through and hope we come out the other side,’ shouted the Doctor as the sound increased.

Sarah began to stagger. The shrieking was becoming unbearable. ‘It’s getting into my head!’ she cried.

‘Concentrate Sarah ! Keep your mind on something —anything!’

‘I can’t! ‘

‘Say the alphabet backwards. Go on. Z... Y... X...’

Sarah pressed her hands to her ears and forced herself to concentrate. ‘... W... V... U... T...’

The room began to spin and topple. They were now in the very eye of the Helix and plunging faster and faster to the bottom of the whirlpool. The noise was like the screeching of souls in torment. The Doctor wrestled with the controls but the violent motions of the TARDIS hurled him to the floor. The room seemed to buckle and split like a distorted mirror-image of itself and the noise intensified to an excruciating pitch.

Then suddenly the sensation died away and everything fell quiet and still.

‘...F...E...D...C...B...A!’ Sarah opened her eyes triumphantly.

The Doctor smiled at her from the floor. ‘No ill effects?’

‘I don’t think so. Are we there?’

‘Where?’

‘Where we were going.’

The Doctor scrambled to his feet and examined the console. ‘Hard to say. The astrosextant rectifier has gone out of phase. No other damage though.’ He beamed brightly. ‘I’ll just pop out and see where we are. Stay here.’

The Doctor stepped out from the TARDIS and looked around. They had landed inside a circle of mountainous crystals which seemed to hang in the air like magic. As he looked the Doctor realised that beyond the first circle of crystals was a second, and a third, and a fourth, and so on into infinity. It was impossible to tell how near or far away they were. For a moment he felt he could almost reach out his hand and touch them. Then suddenly they were like distant mountain ranges and the TARDIS a tiny speck on the shimmering plain between.

‘I see what you mean about relative dimensions,’ said a voice at his elbow.

‘I thought I told you to stay...’ Before the Doctor could finish Sarah grabbed his sleeve.

‘Sssh! What’s that noise?’

A rushing rumbling sound like an approaching hurricane filled their ears. A look of alarm spread across the Doctor’s face.

‘Mandragora Energy! ‘ he whispered. ‘Quick—get down!’ He threw an arm round Sarah and pulled her to safety behind a corner of the TARDIS. The air grew hot and red and a ball of blazing light seemed to envelop them and the TARDIS. Then, just as swiftly, it disappeared and the roaring wind faded to a distant moan.

‘That could have been very nasty,’ said the Doctor quietly. ‘Come on. I think we’d better get out of here.’ He paused. ‘That is, if they will allow us to.’ He bundled Sarah through the open door of the TARDIS and slammed it shut.