Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men Part 6

No response.

'I said -'

'I heard you,' came the m.u.f.fled reply. The Doctor sat up suddenly, and stretched. 'I think it's time I set the wheels of time in motion.'

'Meaning?'

'The reunion waits for no man.'

'You want me to do anything?' Ace asked eagerly.

'Yes,' said the Doctor absent-mindedly. 'Put on some clothes, and wait for me here. And try to stay out of trouble, Ace. I don't want to come back and find a crater where the village used to be.'

'You take all of the fun out of life, you know that?'

The Doctor stood to leave. 'Ace,' he said simply. 'This could be very dangerous.'

'But you know what you're doing, right?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'I'm stumbling around in the dark, acting on hunches and hoping for the gift of vision.' He paused, as though surprised by his own expressed lack of confidence.

'You could still tell me about your hunches, Professor,'

reasoned Ace, used to these debates.

'I could,' said the Doctor with a straight face. 'But then I'd have to kill you.' The Doctor gave Ace one of his rare and genuine smiles. 'Just in case I don't come back immediately, continue the research for me. Stay in the village, though.'

'You will come back eventually?' asked Ace, almost afraid.

'Of course,' said the Doctor, after a long pause. 'Time will look after us, Ace. It always does.'

'Be careful, Professor,' said Ace as the Doctor left the room.

From the outside, Hexen Bridge village school looked as though it had been torn from the pages of some Wellsian scientific romance. Every block in the great sandstone three-storey building spoke of history and learning, of children running down corridors and of terrifying teachers bearing canes.

Which is ironic, thought the Doctor, walking up the gravel drive, because there are times when you can count the number of pupils on one hand.

It had taken the Doctor some time during his previous visits to work out the demographics of Hexen Bridge precisely, but the inspiration came suddenly one lazy summer day in 1986, while he was reading a first-edition Byron in the west wing.

They're all related.

The population of Hexen Bridge was numerically static: the odd person left through ambition or a need for change, and very occasionally a new family, like the Chens, would turn up. But, by and large, the numbers within the village remained constant, and over a period of time the number of deaths would match the number of births. Every twenty years or so, there would be something of a baby boom and the school would be full for the next decade. The children would grow, and would then begin the next cycle of procreation to populate Hexen Bridge. And each couple of decades there would be a period when the numbers of local children in the school would reduce to a trickle, and the school would survive only by taking in boarders from elsewhere.

As a chilling experiment in eugenics, it would have been dismissed as a freak show. But there it was, seemingly accidental, but as regulated as a colony of rats in a lab.

The school's facade was somewhat reminiscent of a Gothic castle: all mock turrets and leering gargoyles. The entrance hall stood beyond a pair of doors that could have kept the Hounds of h.e.l.l at bay. Within, a smattering of children stood waiting to usher the arriving guests up to the great hall on the second floor. The Doctor removed his hat and paisley scarf, giving them to the nearest child. 'And you are...?' the Doctor asked.

'Fuller, J., sir.'

'Ah yes. I knew your father. And your mother. Cla.s.s of '93, unless I'm very much mistaken.'

The boy looked uninterested. 'Spect so,' he said, and, with a hint on insolence, he turned and dumped the Doctor's hat and scarf on a chair behind him. 'You know the way to the great hall?' he continued.

'Indeed. Thank you, Fuller,' said the Doctor.

'The pleasure was all mine, sir,' said the boy in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Doctor merely smiled and headed for the grand staircase, his nostrils filled with the must of chalk dust and old books. Earth schools often made him think of the Academy. They, too, held secrets, and terrors, and lies.

On the stairs, the Doctor pa.s.sed the ma.s.sive 'Pupil of the Year' board. The names of the head boy and girl from each year had been etched into the wood in gold letters. Star pupils, destined for great things in life outside academia - if, indeed, any of them could escape the clutches of the village.

The names stretched back to the late eighteenth century, and contained future politicians and statesmen, those who went on to industrial or sporting greatness, and... some notorious names.

'It's an impressive list, wouldn't you say?' came a voice from behind the Doctor.

'Quite,' said the Doctor, turning to find himself facing a studious-looking man in his late thirties with short, dark hair, and thick-rimmed spectacles. 'I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced?'

'Vessal,' said the man quickly. 'Michael. Cla.s.s of '87.'

'But of course,' said the Doctor, briefly casting a glance backward to find Vessal's name sandwiched between those of 'Hatch, M.' and 'Brown, D.'. 'Ill.u.s.trious company,' he noted.

Vessal smiled. 'Indeed. A Cabinet minister on one side and, erm... Well, poor David. I knew him very well. He opened the bowling for the house even though he was a year younger.'

The Doctor nodded and found himself thinking of the evening in 1995 when he had been resting in a Cornish fishing village pub with Romana watching a Globelink News report from Bosnia. It had been interrupted by a newsflash that told a shocked nation that the beloved captain of the English cricket team, David Brown, had been found dead in his Mayfair apartment, seemingly the victim of suicide. And apparently this happened shortly after he had murdered the naked woman (who was not his wife) found beside to him.

The next day the Doctor had tried to gain access to the flat but, not surprisingly, was refused permission.

Another link. Another wasted life.

The Doctor shook his head. 'I've followed your career with interest,' he said, forcing the memories to the back of his mind.

'Really?' asked Vessal, with a trace of surprise in his voice.

'Yes, it's always nice to see the old boys doing well.

Chairman of four multinationals now, or is it five? I get so lost with figures.'

'Seven,' said Vessal bluntly. 'I'm desperately sorry, but...'

'Smith,' said the Doctor, abruptly. 'I'm on the board.'

'My apologies, Mr -'

'Doctor,' corrected the Doctor.

A glint of recognition crossed the man's face. 'Ah, the Doctor. Forgive me, but you have changed.'

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'Most things do, given time.'

Ace stared at her cola sourly. As she had suspected, Matson - 'Call me Bob' - had refused to serve her a lager. 'It's the law, miss.'

'You don't even know how old I am,' Ace had replied.

Bob Matson had grinned lasciviously. 'I wouldn't dare to speculate.'

And so Ace sat and tore a beer mat into tiny pieces, avoiding the odd looks she was getting from the other patrons. When a hand rested on her shoulder she turned quickly, ready to deck someone.

'h.e.l.lo,' said a young woman, flinching at the anger in Ace's face. Ace relaxed, and the woman smiled. 'It's not just an age thing. I'm sure he thinks women in general shouldn't drink.'

'Strange att.i.tude for a publican,' said Ace. 'And you are?'

The woman extended her hand. 'I'm Rebecca Baber. I teach in the local school.'

'I don't like teachers,' said Ace sullenly.

'You should try working with them.' She shrugged disarmingly.

'When I was at school I didn't like teachers either.'

'What went wrong?'

'I decided I wanted long holidays. I wish I'd known then how busy I'd be.'

'My heart bleeds for you,' said Ace.

'Don't be cynical, or I'll start confusing you with the locals.

Your name's Ace, right?'

'Word travels fast.'

'It does in a place like this. It can come back to you before you think you've finished.' She shrugged. 'Can I buy you a drink?'

That man won't serve me what I want.' Ace stared at her gla.s.s as if she'd been offered hemlock.

'We'll sort something out,' said Rebecca. She strode to the bar, ordered a c.o.ke and a lager, a.s.sured Matson that the latter wasn't for the girl, and then motioned to Ace to find a table outside.

Once seated, and safe from Bob Matson's prying eyes, she swapped the drinks around. 'There you go. You look old enough to enjoy this.'

Ace sipped the lager eagerly.

'Anyway, its biblical,' continued Rebecca.

'What is?'

'A little wine for your stomach. St Paul's advice to Timothy, I think. And this is the modern equivalent.'

Ace looked at the schoolteacher suspiciously. 'You're not a Christian, are you? You didn't buy me this as a way of showing that Jesus loves me?' Ace could think of few things worse than a Christian teacher - except possibly one who wore sandals.

'Good gracious, no,' said Rebecca. 'My dad's a vicar, though. It's amazing what you pick up.'

'As the actress said to the archbishop.'

'Indeed.' Rebecca looked around her, at the shadows lengthening across the green and groups of people sitting at the pub's tables. 'What brings you here?'

'Research.'

'Really? That'll go down like a brick in Hexen Bridge.'

'Yeah, I can imagine.'

Rebecca paused. 'Do you fancy coming over for lunch or something tomorrow?'

'Suppose so.'

'You could do with some time away from the Green Man, and I could do with some company. I'm swamped by homework at the moment - I'm not in Hexen Bridge most weekends.'

'I didn't think anyone left Hexen Bridge.'

'Well,' said Rebecca, 'it's the only way I can stay sane.'

Ace nodded. 'This is such a weird place.'

'Ten times as weird if you were born here,' said Rebecca.

'Is that why everyone hates the Chens?' asked Ace.

'Not everyone hates the Chens.'