Doctor Who_ Empire of Death - BBC Worldwide [0]
DAVID BISHOP
Published by BBC Books, BBC Worldwide Ltd, Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane
London W12 OTT
First published 2004
Copyright © David Bishop 2004
The moral right of the author has been asserted Original series broadcast on the BBC
Format © BBC 1963
Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC
ISBN 0 563 48615 5
Imaging by Black Sheep, copyright © BBC 2004
Typeset in Garamond by Keystroke,
Jacaranda Lodge, Wolverhampton
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham Cover printed by Belmont Press Ltd, Northampton For Paul Cornell,
whose chance remark inspired this story.
And for my grandfather
the real Charles Otto Vollmer
Prologue
1856
You hurry past the homes in the darkness, not wanting to be seen, not wishing to be recognised. The tiny bundle is still warm, huddled in black cloth, moist at the edges. The heat of the day is lifting now but the night is still close around you, the sweet and sickly stench of sap drying thick and heavy in the air You feel a trickle of sweat slip beneath your collar Ahead, the sound of water is quieter than usual Summer has dried the land and the rivers, but for that you are thankful It means you can bury the bundle where none will find it You claw down into the soil, pulling aside stones and gravel Then you push the desperate mass into the earth and cover it over burying yourself with it in some small way It is over you tell yourself No one ever need know what you have done. But you know this is a lie...
The three brothers ran along the narrow dirt path, bare feet slapping against the pounded earth. They called to each other, familiar insults and taunts thrown between the siblings.
Josiah was the oldest, at fourteen already working full time in the cotton mills. He was fast growing into a man, his shoulders broadening, long hours of intense manual labour developing muscular bulges across his arms and chest. The faintest trace of stubble was becoming apparent on his chin, something of which he was inordinately proud, considering it a sign of impending manhood. He led the others, strong legs enabling him to outpace them.
John was next, just a year younger than Josiah. Unlike the rest of the family, he had black hair - a throwback to his mother's mother. He was lean and lithe, still dividing his time between school and the mills, still able to play truant on rare occasions like today when Josiah had an afternoon off work.
John could almost keep pace with his elder brother, the two of them fiercely competitive in almost every activity.
Last was James, still only eight and the weakling of the family. He was struggling to keep his siblings in sight, despite running as fast as he could. All his life had been spent pursuing John and Josiah, trying to emulate them. James had once asked his mother why he didn't have any brothers or sisters closer in age to him. She sent him to bed without supper, before crying herself to sleep. James knew better than to broach the subject again. He always meant to ask his brothers but they were too busy being boys to care much about his curious nature. When pressed, they would say ignorance was better than a thrashing.
James rounded a bend in the track and slowed to a halt.
He could still hear his brothers but they were now out of sight altogether. The boy looked around him, wondering why they had decided to come here for an afternoon swim. There were plenty of good places below the mills where you could dry yourself on warm stones in the sun without being seen by others. Why come upstream past Dundaff? The answer was simple, he knew - because it was forbidden, especially now work had begun on the great dam. James was still a boy but he knew enough to keep his eyes and ears open when adults talked in hushed voices. Being so small his presence often passed unnoticed, or else the grown-ups thought he wouldn't understand and paid him no mind. Late at night, when his brothers were asleep, James would lie awake in his hurlie bed and listen to his parents talking. From all he had heard, the area