Doctor Who_ Human Nature Part 5

'Of course. She was fighting foreign tyranny.'

'No she wasn't. Paulinus was the mildest of governors. If she'd have reported the agents to him, he'd have dealt with them himself.'

'But Britain was occupied by the Romans.'

'The people she killed were Britons. Even the legions were mostly local recruits.'

Hutchinson laughed. 'What are you trying to say about Queen Boadicea? That she was some sort of ma.s.s murderer?'

'Yes. Of course.' Smith had advanced up the room, staring manically at Hutchinson. 'But was the murder justified?'

Hutchinson squared his jaw. 'Murder is never justified.'

'What about in the Boer War?'

'That was different. That's war.'

'So was this. The Britons she killed were from other tribes. Tribes who had invited the Romans to Britain.'

'Collaborators. They deserve all they get.'

'Years before. They now lived in peace with everybody.' Smith was level with his desk now, glaring down at him.

'Then, no,' the boy blurted, meeting his stare.

'But it was rape. Her daughters. Royalty. Mauled by rabble. Who's right?' Smith lowered his head until it was level with Hutchinson's.

'How can I possibly - ?' Hutchinson glanced away.

'Who's right?' bellowed Smith.

'I don't know!' shouted Hutchinson.

'No!' Smith slapped the slipper across the edge of his desk with a sound like a whiplash.

The boy jumped up out of his seat and stood there, glaring at Smith and panting.

For a moment, the cla.s.s thought that Hutchinson was going to hit him.

Then Smith turned away, and wandered back towards the blackboard. The slipper had vanished once more.

'No,' he murmured, like he'd lost his place again. 'No, you don't...' He turned and looked at the boys. 'Now, where were we?'

With a mighty effort, Hutchinson sat down. He stabbed the nib of his fountain pen into the paper in front of him, and half wrote, half ripped, a single word: Later Later.

The bell rang at eleven, and the cla.s.s filed out, many of the boys cl.u.s.tering around the notice-board outside as they left. Hutchinson didn't even look at Smith as he marched swiftly by.

Timothy stopped at the desk, and looked nervously up at his form master. Smith was quickly packing his briefcase, ready to get on to his next cla.s.s. 'Excuse me, sir.

Thank you, sir.'

'Oh? What for?'

'You didn't let Hutchinson at me, sir. I wanted you to have this.' There was a quiet intensity, a desperation, to the boy's voice. He pulled a bright red apple from his pocket, and held it out, his hand shaking slightly.

Smith took the apple, buffed it on his sleeve, and grinned at his reflection in it.

'Why an apple?'

'I had a dream. I have strange dreams. I had to give it to you. So you'd remember.'

Smith took a bite and munched thoughtfully. 'An apple a day... saves nine. No, that's not right. What was it that I was supposed to remember?'

'A st.i.tch in time? Keeps the doctor away?' Timothy suggested smiling.

'Probably. Dreams are like that. You never remember the interesting bits.'

Tim took a deep breath. 'I'm... I'm being... It's the rules, I know, and I should just put up with it, but... the Captains, they beat me every day. I only wanted to ask, is it ever going to stop? Does it stop when I'm in the second year?'

Smith put down the apple, and looked around the room, lost for words. Finally, he answered. 'I don't know. Does it? Is there anything I can do? I'll tell them to stop - '

'No! Don't!'

'No, no, then I won't, no...' Smith held up his hands in pacification. 'Does it happen to everybody?'

'No. They do a few things to the others, and they call Anand and Alton names. But it's only me that they give a beating to every day.'

Smith wandered into the middle of the room, biting his lip in concentration. There seemed to be nothing inside him to answer the boy. He'd never been bullied - or had he? If he had, he didn't remember. What would Rocastle I say?

'It's part of growing up.' He gazed into the corner of the room. 'It's everyday. Cat eat dog. Survival of the fittest. A place like this - it's full of rules. Full of customs.

And they have to be obeyed. It's just the way things are. Discipline. The making of a man. One day, you'll be a captain, and then you can beat who you want. You've got that to look forward to.' He turned back to Timothy and managed to meet his pained eyes. 'Does that help?'

Timothy didn't answer for a moment, looking at Smith almost accusingly. 'Yes, sir.

Thank you, sir.' He almost ran out of the room.

Smith stared after him. 'Or you could always burn their houses down,' he whispered to himself.

The door opened and Rocastle entered, beaming. He glanced behind him at the departing Timothy. 'John, I do believe I've misjudged you!'

'Sorry?' Smith went back to his case and finished packing up.

'Well, I was on the way here to give you a bit of a lecture, something mad and racy about Boadicea, I heard. But I stopped to have a glance at the cricket team selection and heard you giving that strange Dean boy a wonderful talking-to. That's just the spirit! Tell me, would you be interested in helping out with the OTC?'

'The OTC?'

'Officer Training Corps; probably don't have them in Scotland. There's a session tomorrow afternoon. We do it every Sat.u.r.day. Can't ask you to come along on your time off, but...'

'I'll pop my head around the parade ground.'

'Good... good! Well, keep it up!' Rocastle slapped Smith on the shoulder, and left, rubbing his hands together. He stopped at the door.

'Oh, and interesting team selection, by the way, putting Hutchinson in at five and making Dean captain. I was going to mention it, but, no, no, I think I shall trust your judgement. Good day, Dr Smith.' And he left.

Smith closed his case, picked it up and slowly walked to the door.

All of a sudden, he found himself wishing for evening.

Benny glanced at her watch. Smith was late again. Every Friday lunchtime, they had a regular date outside the Farmers' Arms, and every Friday lunchtime, he was late. The little cl.u.s.ter of tables outside the pub was filling up with customers, and she was sitting there marooned, unable to pop in and order a pint alone. Or a half, rather, or if she was being particularly civilized and non-threatening, a flipping sherry.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. The day felt parched and distant, the result of only getting an hour or so's sleep near dawn. The darkness under her eyes was so great that she'd given in to temptation and applied some strategic foundation. Better that than look like a panda. Oh well, only another three Fridays to go, then they could go. Being somewhere else would be good, but being in the future, her personal future, would be better. A year on, and she'd feel a bit more together, and she just wanted to get to that.

For one thing, she wanted to ask the Doctor why on earth he'd done anything as insane as this. If it was some sort of reaction to what she was experiencing, then it wasn't the most useful response in the world.

Benny closed her eyes, wishing that the day wasn't so bright. When she opened them again, Dr Smith was sitting opposite her, a big grin on his face. 'h.e.l.lo,' he said. 'How are you? And how's your father?'

'I'm fine. He's fine,' Benny replied ritualistically, feeling a great urge to grind her teeth together. 'And how are you, Uncle John?'

'Confused. Happy. Both. I'll tell you in a minute. What would you like to drink?

Sherry?'

'Three pints of ESB and a straw.'

'Sorry?'

'Sherry, yes, that'd be lovely.' By the time he'd returned with the drinks, in his case a lemonade, she'd quietened herself a bit. It was just that she would have liked to have had somebody to talk to. It wasn't his fault if he couldn't be that person right now. She made herself sip the sherry instead of throwing it back and banging the gla.s.s on the table. 'So, what's confusing you?'

'There's a woman. She's called Joan. She teaches science. I think that she doesn't like me.'

'Doesn't like you? Why?'

'Because she keeps laughing at me. Every time we walk back from school she laughs at me. And she keeps beating me at cards; she enjoys winning. She's going to cook for me, just to show off.'

'This woman who doesn't like you... is cooking for you?'

'Tonight. She disturbs me. Sometimes I can't think about anything else.'

'She'll be stealing your blazer next. Wait a sec.' Benny fumbled in her bag and pulled out the list, which she took a quick peep at beneath table level.

Things Not To Let Me Do 1: Commit suicide, if for some reason I want to.

2: Do physical harm to anyone, if you're aware of it.

3: Eat meat, if you can.

4: Eat pears. I hate pears, I don't want to wake up and taste that.

5: Leave the area, or you, behind.

6: Get involved in big sociopolitical events.

7: Hurt animals, especially owls.

8: Develop an addiction.

9: Anything impossible.

Benny looked up from the doc.u.ment, shaking her head. 'Well, all I can say is, if you're going to do that sort of thing, be careful.'

'Careful? What do you mean?'

'You ought to, erm, make sure you're safe,' Benny whispered, glancing around at the other tables.

'Safe? Oh, I see what you mean. There's no need.'

'Isn't there?'

'No, we never bet much at whist. A wine gum here, a shilling there...'

'I'm not talking about whist!' Benny lowered her voice. 'Listen, don't you think this behaviour, on both your parts, is a bit odd?'

'Oh yes, that's why I mentioned it. I wish she'd stop.'

'Do you?'

'Well...' Smith's face clouded. 'No, not really. I think I'd miss it if she stopped now.'

'Oh my G.o.d...' Benny rubbed her eyes tiredly. 'Are you sure this is a good idea?'

'What?'

Benny sighed and glanced up at the sky. Well, perhaps it wouldn't do any harm. In this era, they'd need to be married a year and have a signed note from both parents before they could even snog, and they only had three weeks. She ought to just let him enjoy the attention. 'Nothing. You're obviously just very good friends and colleagues, and should cook, play whist and disturb each other's emotions as much as you think fit.'

'Oh. Do you really think so?'

He looked so downcast that Benny had to smile. 'Still confused?'

'More so.'

'Your round, isn't it?'

They talked about the cricket team, Smith quickly exhausting Benny's knowledge of this peculiar game in his quest to clarify the rules. He briefly alluded to the Boudicca incident, and Tim's subsequent appeal, but made them sound so everyday that Benny could only mutter about not liking school that much herself. There followed a few questions about her return to Newnham, which she dodged, and about the current health and activities of her father, Smith's brother Jonathan.

These she answered with whopping fibs.

'He's gone off to Gallifrey.'