Doctor Who_ Grave Matter Part 2

At first, she could see nothing. Just the dark opening, the shadows from the houses either side and the faint gleam of a nearby gaslight, diffused through the misty daylight to give an otherworldly glow to the scene. But as she stared, she could see that there was someone standing there, in the shadows. A tall, thin, silhouetted figure. Black against dark grey. It was only when the figure moved slightly, turning as it too watched the procession, that she could see it at all.

As the procession pa.s.sed between Peri and the figure, she lost sight of it.

The procession was level with the Doctor and Peri. The priest was turning to lead the way along the churchyard path.

Peri and the Doctor each took an instinctive, respectful step backwards as the coffin pa.s.sed by.

Then the second of the two pallbearers on the same side as Peri and the Doctor slipped. Peri saw it happen, as if in slow motion. His shoulder dipped slightly as his shoe slipped on the damp sheen of the rounded cobbles. He adjusted his grip, seemed to regain his balance, stood upright again. But the sudden movement, the change in weight distribution, caused him to slip again, more severely this time.

The man collapsed suddenly, his feet sliding from under him. The coffin tilted alarmingly, falling into the s.p.a.ce left by the man's departure. The other pallbearers tried to compensate, tried to strengthen their failing grips on the coffin. The young man with the intent stare ran forwards, seeing what was about to happen. But he was too late. The coffin continued to tilt, sliding out of the grip of the other men, crashing to the cobbled ground. It bounced on the hard surface of the street. There was a sound of splintering wood as the coffin landed on its edge. Then the lid lifted, jarred open by the impact, and slid sideways.

Peri was right beside it. The gas lamp above cast its pallid light directly into the opening, illuminating the pasty, white face of the corpse. It was a man, not much older than Peri. The stiff white collar of his shirt seemed to merge with the pale skin. The face was contorted, as if in terror, or agony. Or both.

The lips rolled back from teeth gritted tight. The forehead was lined, and the eyes - the eyes were bulging forwards as if straining to be free of the dead sockets of the skull. The pupils were wide, dilated, dark against pale irises.

Then abruptly Peri's view was cut off as the lid was pushed back into place. Instead she found herself staring at the young man from the procession. He glared at her, his eyes a fierce contrast to the empty gaze of the corpse, though she seemed to see the dead man's features echoed in his face. He continued to stare at her as the pallbearers lifted the coffin up again, as the Doctor gently put his arm round Peri's shivering shoulder and drew her close to him, as the procession continued on its melancholy way. Only when the last of the mourners was in the churchyard, only when the villagers had withdrawn silent and respectful into their houses and closed their doors behind them, only when the group from the pub had made their solemn way back inside, did the man turn and follow the cortege up the street and into the churchyard.

Chapter Three.

Fisherman's Ruin They continued their walk down the cobbled street in rather lower spirits than they had started.

'I think you could do with a good stiff lemonade,' the Doctor told Peri gently.

'Something a bit stronger than that,' she suggested. 'The pub?'

'The place to meet people.' The Doctor nodded. 'We'll just have a swift drinkie, get the date and the location, and be on our way. A death in a small isolated society like this, especially of a young person, can shake up the community.'

'It shook me up,' Peri agreed. 'Anyway,' she went on, 'they won't have lemonade, will they?'

'Depends what you think of as lemonade.' The Doctor smiled, a thin attempt that was tinged with sadness. 'Let's see, shall we?'

The pub, according to its faded sign, was called the Dorsill Arms. It was perhaps half full of people. They were not exactly in high spirits, but there was an audible buzz of conversation as the Doctor pushed open the door and ushered Peri inside. It was like a switch being thrown. As soon as she crossed the threshold, all talking stopped. Silence.

There were gas lamps round the walls of the room, but they were unlit. The only illumination came from the milky sunlight that struggled through the smeary windows. It made silhouettes of the figures sitting in the bar.

The Doctor stepped past Peri, apparently oblivious to the faces turned towards them as he made his way up to the bar.

Somewhere at the back of the room a chair sc.r.a.ped across the stone floor, but otherwise there was utter silence. Peri joined the Doctor, feeling out of place and disconcerted.

Behind the bar stood a large red-faced man with steel grey hair. He was paused in mid-polish, a damp cloth wiping the inside of a pint gla.s.s. After a moment, the cloth started working again and the man leaned forward towards the Doctor. It was an intimidating gesture, but the Doctor seemed unmoved.

'Ah,' the Doctor said with a huge smile. 'I see you have a fine selection of local brews.' He ran his finger along the damp top of the bar, tapping it gently as it pa.s.sed each of the three beer engines. 'Very sophisticated pumping equipment, wouldn't you say?' he murmured as he peered at the handwritten labels on the pump handles. 'What's the Fisherman's Ruin like?'

'Strong,' the barman said. His voice was deep and accented. 'Specially if you ain't used to it.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Excellent. A pint of that then, please.' He smiled across at Peri, who sighed. 'And a gla.s.s of water for myself,' the Doctor added. He caught Peri's expression and his smile broadened into a grin. 'All right,' he said, 'you have the water.'

There was still no movement or comment from anyone else in the room. The barman busied himself pulling the pint of beer. 'Liz,' he called out suddenly without looking up from the task.

'Yes, Dad?' The reply came from the room behind the bar area. A moment later a young woman appeared in the doorway. She was about Peri's age, perhaps slightly older, with red hair to her shoulders and a ma.s.s of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were a startling green, oval and wide. She froze in the doorway as she caught sight of the Doctor and Peri.

'Gla.s.s of water for the lady,' her father grunted as he lifted the foaming pint and placed it on the bar in front of the Doctor. The beer was cloudy at the top, the bottom slowly clearing as it settled. A misty froth ran down the outside of the gla.s.s and pooled on the wooden surface of the bar.

'Water,' the girl murmured, not moving from the doorway.

'Today, girl,' her father said. It wasn't a harsh rebuke.

There was an undercurrent of gentle humour to it.

Her eyes widened still further, and she blinked suddenly.

'Of course. Sorry,' and she disappeared out the door again.

'Sorry,' Peri said. Her voice was a nervous high-pitched sound. She tried again. 'Sorry if we're intruding,' she said, more controlled now. 'The funeral...'

'Yes,' the Doctor said solemnly. 'My condolences to you all.' He raised his slippery gla.s.s carefully and took a mouthful of froth from the top. It left a white moustache traced across his upper lip. 'I'm sorry we did not choose a more propitious time for our visit,' he said, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

The ruddy-faced barman was watching the Doctor intently.

His eyes narrowed. 'We don't have strangers here,' he said levelly.

Peri almost laughed out loud. But somehow the man seemed deadly serious. There was no hint that he was joking or even aware of the cliche.

'Really?' the Doctor asked seriously. 'I am surprised. Such excellent ale as well.' He leaned across the counter, resting his sleeve in the puddle where his gla.s.s had stood. 'Why is that, do you suppose?'

The girl was back. She handed a gla.s.s of water to Peri.

'Because we're on an island,' she said.

There was the beginning of a hum of voices from the rest of the room now, as people returned to their drinks and conversations.

'You mean,' the Doctor was saying slowly, 'that you don't have strangers here?'

'That's what I said,' the barman said.

'Don't have as in don't tend to get,' the Doctor suggested.

'Rather than actively discourage.'

The barman looked at him sideways. 'Reckon so,' he decided at last. 'We don't tend to get strangers here. Not usually. The rocks and the currents offsh.o.r.e see to that. On days like this you've also got the mist and sea fog.' He leaned across and wiped the area of the bar round where the Doctor was leaning, cleaning away the filmy remains of the froth.

'But you're welcome enough,' he added. 'Just unexpected.'

'Well, that's very kind.' The Doctor smiled. 'Will you have a drink?'

'I might.' The barman smiled back. 'But you've not paid for that one yet.'

'Ah.' The Doctor started to rummage through his pockets.

'An oversight, I do apologise.'

'No problem.' The barman let him struggle with his coat for a few more moments, then added. 'It's on the house anyway.'

'Thank you.' The Doctor seemed genuinely surprised and pleased. The barman shrugged. 'Reckon you've had the sort of day where you need a drink.'

'It has been a bit traumatic.' Peri agreed.

'Lost in the fog,' the Doctor agreed quickly. 'Our, er, vessel landed on the other side of the island.'

'You're lucky she landed at all,' a voice said from behind them. The Doctor and Peri both turned. The speaker was a tall man with fair hair. He was in his later twenties or early thirties. He was wearing a dark suit and had just walked into the pub. Behind him several other people were coming in, all in dark suits. The mourners from the funeral, Peri realised.

'Dangerous waters round these islands,' the man went on.

His voice was clear, without the accent of the barman and his daughter. The Doctor picked up on this at once. 'Now, you're not local to these islands,' he said, offering his hand.

The man shook it, then nodded politely to Peri. 'Madsen,'

he said. 'Dave Madsen. I'm the local doctor, for my sins. And I'm from London,' he added.

The Doctor beamed at him. 'And I'm the universal Doctor,' he said grandly. 'And this is Miss Perpugilliam Brown.'

'But you can call me Peri,' Peri said hastily.

'And you can call me the Doctor,' the Doctor said.

At this point the barman leaned across and tapped the Doctor on the shoulder. 'Robert Trefoil,' he said pleasantly.

'You can call me Bob,' he went on, 'provided you're good enough to move aside and let me and Liz serve these customers.'

Leaving the Doctor to apologise more than profusely for taking up so much s.p.a.ce, Peri pushed her way past several tables to find an unoccupied pair of chairs close to a dartboard in the corner of the bar. The table wobbled when she set her water down on it. The chair wobbled when she sat on it. She was peering at the stone-flagged floor to see how to adjust the table's position when someone sat down next to her.

It was Dave Madsen. He smiled at Peri as she looked up.

'Do you mind?' he asked.

'Oh, er, no.'

'Not at all,' the Doctor agreed as he pulled up another chair. He set his gla.s.s down on the table and watched the beer slosh against the sides as the table wobbled.

'Thank you,' Madsen said. 'It's rather a close-knit society, as I imagine you can tell. Islanders, you know. I've been here only a few months, so I'm still an outsider to most of them.'

As he finished speaking, Liz Trefoil set down a pint of ale in front of him. Peri could not help but notice the smile that went with it, nor the way Madsen smiled back. He reached for the gla.s.s, his hand brushing against the young woman's as she still held it.

'Most, but not all, I would suspect,' the Doctor said quietly as Liz turned and left.

Madsen half-smiled back, apparently embarra.s.sed. 'As I say, a close-knit group. Almost a family. They all know each other.'

The Doctor nodded, and asked abruptly. 'Talking of families, where are all the children?'

Madsen seemed taken aback for a moment. 'At school, of course,' he said. 'Oh, I see. Well, I imagine they feel that a funeral isn't really children's business.'

'Yes.' The Doctor smiled back. 'They do seem a little, what shall we say, Victorian Victorian in their outlook, don't they?' in their outlook, don't they?'

Peri looked to see whether the Doctor's fishing for the date would provoke a reaction. Madsen seemed not to be paying full attention. He was watching Liz pushing past a group close to the bar. On the edge of the group was the young man with the intent gaze, who had put the lid back on the coffin.

'Well, that's hardly surprising, is it?' Madsen said absently.

The Doctor gave Peri a triumphant nod and a grin. 'As you say,' he murmured.

'That's the poor man's brother,' Madsen went on, apparently meaning the young man. 'Mike Neville.'

'The dead man?' Peri prompted cautiously.

Madsen turned back to them. 'William Neville,' he said.

'They were out in that storm the other night. Only William's body has been washed up.' He shook his head and stared at his pint. 'That's why...Three young men.' He shook his head again. 'A terrible blow.'

'Indeed,' the Doctor agreed. 'And so sudden.'

'Yes, that makes it worse,' Madsen agreed. 'Not like the others,' he added quietly.

'Others?' Peri asked. She looked at the Doctor and saw that his eyes had widened slightly.

Madsen looked up, startled, as if unaware that he had spoken out loud. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I didn't mean...It's nothing.' He shrugged. 'Just bad luck really. Being the doctor, I guess I'm just closer to it.'

'An occupational hazard,' the Doctor agreed. 'There have been other deaths recently?' he prompted.

'A few. As I say, just coincidence.' Madsen took a swig of his beer. 'The local vet last month. Some sort of allergic reaction. But it's a problem for the farmers like Mrs Painswick. That's all there is here, farming and fishing, so both communities have suffered lately.'

'You said deaths.' Peri said. 'Plural.'