Doctor Who_ The Tomb Of Valdemar Part 28

All right then, the Doctor will walk to the gateway, ready to meet Neville and Huvan and Romana.

Oh wait, hang on a minute. They have to get there first, don't they? Otherwise it won't make sense. Perhaps it would be better to start with them.

Yes, that is what he will do.

The gateway itself, straining and buckling and warping under the influence of the mighty forces inside it, must be impressive. Oh yes, it has to be huge!

Romana, tagging along behind the impatient Magus and the besotted boy, finally gets to see this doorway they have so long been involved with, but not actually seen.

The gateway is metal, a huge slab of metal, that screeches and strains with its contained forces. It's probably wise to stop thinking of it as a door, however, as it is actually embedded in the floor of the tomb. More like a huge trap door, stretching away into the distance. Irregular bubbles grow out of its metal skin, as if pummelled from below by giant fists. Arcane symbols have been embossed into its surface, free from the ancient dust that covers the rest of the slab. Small intertwined markings, linked by some strange meaning. And in the centre, one evil-looking five-pointed star, the sign of the Old Ones.

'The tomb of Valdemar,' breathes Neville, dropping to his knees.

Romana knows he is wrong. But not by much. Perhaps there is something in what he says. Mighty forces do reside behind this metal plate. Not Valdemar, no. Something much more impressive.

Romana stares at the star. The symbol actually seems quite comforting, reminding her of that balmy immersion in the Kinetic Dance that she experienced in Huvan's bedroom.

Perhaps the Doctor is wrong; perhaps opening the tomb doesn't mean universal Armageddon after all. He doesn't know everything and is p.r.o.ne to some rather impetuous value judgements.

The thought, now here, is logical. The Kinetic Dance, that ancient belief, implies a separation from the primal universe.

This separation is the cause of all conflict, all war, all chaos.

Why shouldn't we all return to that universe? There wouldn't be any need for the Key to Time then; life would be back to its natural pure state. All would be One, one divine state of grace. Yes. Despite his misconceptions, Neville's plan might actually result in something good, something great.

She thinks about her plan to rush back to the Tardis and enlist the aid of the Time Lords. What a silly, immature, futile plan. To work against the opening. How could she even have thought such a thing? One has to separate oneself from emotion, perceive things as they really are. Her own people are so conservative, so reactionary, they would undoubtedly oppose such an inevitable, sweeping action. They just wouldn't understand, would fail to see the logic.

'Romana?' asks Huvan. 'Are you ready to open the gateway?'

She ponders the question. How can anybody be ready for that majesty?

It's funny, but she wonders how she ever found him repulsive.

'Open it,' Neville orders. 'Release Valdemar!'

Romana looks at him kneeling on the filthy ground. How small he now seems to her, how pathetic. The idea that this vain, ageing idiot could be any kind of spiritual leader is amusing. How little he knows of the truth of this greatness.

Huvan holds out a hand to her. 'I'm doing this for you,' he says sincerely. 'Everything I've done is for you.'

Romana smiles.

'At last,' Neville mutters to himself. 'The Dark One, reborn at my bidding, my will!' He laughs, a booming laugh revealing precisely the extent of his insanity. 'Valdemar reveals himself to me! I see planets crumble! Stars themselves beg for mercy as we sweep by on our black wings! Release Valdemar!' His voice rises in a tiresomely theatrical crescendo. 'I command you! Release him now!'

'Erm, excuse me,' comes a familiar voice. A voice from someone Romana knows to be dead.

'Doctor?' she asks, not sure whether she is pleased at his arrival or not. He emerges from the shadows, nonchalantly inspecting the symbols on the tomb.

'h.e.l.lo Romana. You look a little tired. Now be careful if you walk near it. I don't think this tomb is safe. You think there'd be a rail or something.'

Pelham is there too, walking into the light. Although 'staggering' might be a more appropriate verb for the way she is moving. 'Give it up, Neville,' she says, bolder than Romana has ever known her. 'There's nothing here for you.'

Neville is staring at them, open-mouthed. 'You,' he hisses.

'You're dead! I killed you.'

The Doctor smiles. 'Well, I won't tell anyone if you won't.'

Neville takes a deep breath. He is trying to take in this impossibility. 'You certainly won't, Doctor,' he replies. 'In fact, you won't do anything ever again. Huvan...'

'Oh, is that the best you can do?' The Doctor seems upset, let down. 'Surely you want me to witness your great triumph, the culmination of your life's work? I mean, what's so special about unleashing a great G.o.d of destruction if you don't leave anyone alive to gloat about it to. That's half the fun in my opinion.'

'Huvan, kill him.'

'Of course, that's just one opinion.' The Doctor raises his hands.

'Cease your prattling.'

'You see, I don't believe you can do it. I don't think you control Huvan as much as you think you do.'

'He's right, Huvan,' says Romana suddenly. She is glad to see that the Doctor is seeing reason.

At last Huvan himself, who has been watching this squabble with the detached amus.e.m.e.nt of a boy burning ants, acknowledges the Doctor's entrance. 'You are perceptive, Doctor,' he concurs.

Neville's face is the epitome of crestfallen astonishment.

'What? What did you say?'

The Doctor continues. 'You have become a man, Huvan.

The higher dimensions have allowed you to see yourself as an adult. Isn't that right, Romana?'

She is forced to agree.

The white-faced Pelham makes her contribution. She clutches at the stained bandage on her arm. 'You know that Valdemar is a child's dream. I just made it up. He never existed except in your mind.'

Huvan smiles. 'You are correct, Miranda.'

'Yeah, careful with the familiarity and everything, Huvan.'

Neville interrupts. He obviously cannot believe what he is hearing. 'But...' he stutters, 'but I gave you this power. I raised you for this destiny. To become Valdemar. Without me, you were nothing, a slave. You owe me everything!'

'No,' says Huvan. 'You gave me everything except the one thing I ever wanted to be myself. You have used me cruelly, Paul Neville, and I owe you nothing. Look at yourself. There is no Valdemar and there is no Magus. There is only you and your blinkered dreams.'

Neville will not be crushed. 'You are mine, Huvan, body and soul. Obey my commands.' He is so angry, he literally shakes his fist at his protege. 'I will not be defied!'

'Oh, shut up,' snaps the Doctor rudely. 'It's all over.

Romana, say your goodbyes, we've got work to be getting on with. And I really think we need to get you away from this place.'

Old habits die hard, goes the cliche, and Romana takes a step forward before she realises she cannot go with him. She does not want to go with him.

Huvan turns his placid gaze upon the Doctor. 'Oh no,' he says. 'It's not like that at all. The tomb will be opened, Doctor. Have no fear of that.'

For once, for the first time ever, she sees the Doctor at a loss for words. 'What?' he mutters, regaining his composure.

'What do you mean, "it will be opened"? Of course it won't.'

He is wrong. They all know it. He is wrong to be upset by this. 'Doctor,' Romana says, 'don't be afraid. Huvan here is about to perform a wondrous act. He will restore the universe back to its natural state.'

The Doctor shakes his head, as she knew he would. 'My poor Romana,' he replies softly. 'What has he been telling you? Didn't I warn you about boys? They'll say anything to impress. I'm sure it was on my list of "a thousand and one universal constants to warn Romana about".'

'I am no longer a child,' says Huvan, coldly. 'Do not treat me as such. The tomb will be opened. Now.'

Romana hears the psychically-operated locking mechanisms click apart with a great echoing screech. The embossed symbols, sleepy with age, sink into the buckled plates. All across its surface, the metal begins to soften, to alter form. Deep inside the planet, the particle accelerator screams with even more violent energy. She feels the ground shake, feels the ultimate release of energy approaching.

Soon, she realises. Soon. Happiness fills her with light.

At this point, it would probably be wise to initiate the reappearance of Robert Hopkins and Mr Redfearn. Let us a.s.sume they escaped from the collapsing palace via the transmat and have found their way here, just at this crucial moment. They bring an almost comic element to the proceedings, as we imagine their soot-blackened faces and wide blinking eyes. Let's face it, they've been through a lot.

They are watching from the wings, Hopkins astonished to realise he has finally caught up with his arch rival. Mr Redfearn instinctively lines up a shot, but his master knocks his arm away. He wants to savour the moment.

At last, however, he dares wait no longer. The rending screeches of shifting metal that reverberate throughout the cavern imply that this drama is moving into its final stage. All attention is on the gateway as it grinds open. Hopkins doesn't like the look of what seems to be happening here, this blurring mist that rises from the big metal slab.

He and Mr Redfearn step out of the shadows and duck and weave their way towards the group. They are all there Neville, Pelham, the Doctor, some young woman and that boy, who seems to be running the show. Hopkins instinctively understands how dangerous he is going to be.

'Take the boy,' he snaps.

At about twenty metres, and quick as ever, Mr Redfearn fires. Huvan turns and is the first to see them, but the bullet drives into his heart before even he can react.

As Huvan falls, a ball of energy blasts out from him, an energy that snakes along the ground in a line of orange balled fire.

'Mercy me,' Mr Redfearn says, smiling, as the zigzagging flame converges and bursts him out of his boots.

This achieved, Huvan, a romantic to the last, falls into Romana's arms.

Hopkins is beyond triumph as Mr Redfearn's remains sizzle beside him. He c.o.c.ks his shotgun, just to ensure full cooperation and steps into the limelight.

They face each other, the players united at last. So many, and such history between them! We have a.s.sembled our archetypes, laid out the cards (albeit with one or two little tweaks and adjustments) the sorcerer, the knight, the enchantress (Pelham, whether she likes it or not, for did she not enchant Neville with her stories?), the tragic, star-crossed lovers.

And the Doctor? What is the Doctor's archetype, his suit, his number? Not the hero, no, although he is, of course, heroic. He is too complicated for such a role. The Doctor is outside the archetype. Beyond such categories as suit and number. Only one card befits him and that is the zero, he who stands outside and sees all. Where wisdom and idiocy are combined and become the same thing. Finally, that is the card that suits the Doctor best. He is the fool.

Is it destiny that these should be here all at this time?

Perhaps the tomb of Valdemar needs all of them to reveal its secrets. Perhaps they provide some kind of arcane, critical ma.s.s, cogs and gears in a greater machine? Who knows?

Well, perhaps somewhere in the cold cosmic forces of the higher dimensions there is something, some spark of mischievous intelligence, that understands this game, and laughs.

Neville, no longer the proud Magus he once was, can only stare at Huvan's body, at the death of his dream.

To be foiled at this last possible moment, and by Hopkins.

It isn't fair. It isn't fair!

Ignoring the shotgun, and Hopkins's gloating, he launches himself at his rival. If his enemy gets a shot out, Neville doesn't hear it. He smashes the gun from Hopkins's grasp and grapples him to the ground.

He could have been great; the universe should have been his! As he tears at Hopkins's flesh he is gripped by a fury worthy of Valdemar himself. All the planning, all the endless waiting, all the dreams, gone in an instant. Dark One! Protect your servant, he begins to pray. The Magus is there, distant but not yet departed. He cannot stop now. Neville is thy rod and thy staff, thy instrument of holy vengeance. Rise, Valdemar. Rise!

Hopkins head-b.u.t.ts him, and the stars in his dreams burst open.

The Doctor uses the opportunity to wrest Romana away from the gateway. He hauls at her arm and Huvan drops with a thump to the ground. Romana is dazed, the black coral round her eyes flaring with anger. 'No, no!' she yells as he pulls her away. Miranda Pelham comes and provides what little aid she can.

'Don't touch me!' Romana shouts. 'Let me go!'

At last, they restrain her furious struggling form. The Doctor piles on top of her, pinning her down. 'Romana, Romana,' he insists. He tries to keep his voice even, hypnotic, desperate to ignite whatever spark of herself remains inside her. 'Don't let it work on you, remember who you are. It's all over, it's all over.'

He looks at Pelham and the fear on her face mirrors his own misgivings about whether this is actually the end of the matter.

Neville tumbles backwards. Hopkins finds he is laughing, laughing with relief. He has triumphed!

He ignores the pain in his face, where the other man attacked him. They stand, the rivals, facing each other.

Neville's beard is streaked with blood that pours from his nose, but his eyes glitter with hate. Hopkins punches him but he does not fall. Instead, the blow is returned and both men stagger.

All Hopkins's thoughts of a long, lingering death for Neville have been displaced now. Forget the long session on the rack, the lingering pain; forget even the broken man paraded round the New Parliament. This is a fight to the death, and one he does not intend to lose.

Neville backs away, racing towards the gateway which is steaming but now silent. Hopkins pa.s.ses the others, ignoring them. No one else matters, just Neville. Just Neville.

The magician's feet sink into the undulating gateway, and he falls.

'Valdemar! Hear me!' Neville screams, arms raised. 'Live!

Live and strike down the heretic!'

Hopkins, hot and boiling in his ruined armour, sprints to the metal slab. In his madness, he is braying with laughter.

'Your G.o.d is dead, Neville!' he screeches. 'There is only me!'

He reaches his quarry on the flimsy cover that is the burning gateway. The metal feels soft, like soup beneath his feet. He stumbles, like he is running through glue. Yours is a just cause, he says to himself; you are a true paladin.

Nothing can stop you.

Neville swings round to him, and the insanity on his face stops Hopkins for just a second. The magician doesn't even look human. Then battle is rejoined.

The pair thump, kick, flail at each other with a frenzy beyond any rational control. Hopkins smashes a metal fist into the other's face, utterly shattering his nose. Neville returns the blow with a swinging kick that hits Hopkins's thigh like a hammer. Both drop, sinking knee-deep into the swampy, hissing surface of the slab. Neville grasps Hopkins's arm and twists. Bone cracks but Hopkins feels no pain. He responds with another blow to Neville's face.

The ground shifts and a blast of hot steam scalds both of them pink. They sink further, lost to their descent in their struggle. Only the glue that suddenly grips their limbs interrupts their rage.

Through a red mist, Hopkins realises he is now waist-deep in this mire. He redoubles his efforts and hooks his good arm round Neville's slippery neck. His opponent's robes are starting to smoulder. His own armour spits as it fries blood and sweat. Slowly, Neville raises his hands and they end up facing each other, choking the life out of their mutual selves.