Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [0]
KEITH TOPPING & MARTIN DAY
Published by BBC Books
an imprint of BBC Worldwide Publishing BBC Worldwide Ltd, Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane London W12 OTT
First published 1998
Copyright © Keith Topping and Martin Day 1998
The moral right of the authors has been asserted Original series broadcast on the BBC
Format © BBC 1963
Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC
ISBN 0 563 40582 1
Imaging by Black Sheep, copyright © BBC 1998
Front cover scarecrow illustration by Colin Howard Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham
Cover printed by Belmont Press Ltd, Northampton Lyrics from „Born Slippy (Nuxx)‟ reproduced by kind permission
of Underworld/Sherlock Holmes Music Ltd Biblical quotations taken from, or based on, the New International Version. Copyright © 1973,1978,1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Hodder and Stoughton Ltd
Jeff Hart and the Ruin‟s „Theme from The Hollow Men‟
features on the CD Reef Madness (Deep Eddy Records DEEP001)
We would like to thank the following people for their input and encouragement: Ian Abrahams, Alison Bean, Daniel Ben-Zvi, Mark Blunden, Daniel Blythe, Paul Brown, Will Cameron, Nick Cooper, Paul Cornell (for a weekend in Wiltshire that changed our lives), Mark Cullen, Helen Day, Luke Gutzwiller, Jeff Hart, Eva Jacobus, Jim Lancaster, John McLaughlin, Lance Parkin, John Peel (no, the other one), John Pettigrew, Eric Pringle, Nathan Rogers, Paul Shields, Trina Short, Paul Simpson, Graeme Topping, Ben Varkentine, Geoff Wessel.
And Ian Atkins and Audra McHugh, without whom this book would have been much poorer.
For Lisa Gaunt
- KT
For Charlotte –
sorry your sister’s book has more jokes in it
- MD
‘There is no such thing as society.
There are individual men and women, and there are families.’
- Margaret Thatcher, 1987
FIRST PROLOGUE
THE BLOODY ASSIZES
To some, the moon was the face of an ancient witch, pale against a thunderous sky. To fishermen, grateful to be far from the sea during the howling gale, it was „the old in the arms of the new‟, a silver crescent that brought ill luck.
Inland, where the storm was at its worst, the moon was visible only when the clouds, like black ink in churning water, parted for a moment. The moon‟s sad face regarded the storm-lashed land, its cold expression unchanging as it watched a single figure braving the driving rain.
The door burst open and a whirlwind of rain and rusty leaves rushed into the tavern, accompanying a man bent double against the storm. He turned to close the heavy oak door and let out a long sigh of relief as the warmth from a crackling log fire began to draw the chill from his aching bones.
„Is this the foulest night that ever was on God‟s earth?‟ he asked, removing his tattered, soaking greatcoat. „Thy finest ale,‟ he added quickly, and moved closer to the fire.
„„Tis a night when the devil a monk would be, Long John,‟
agreed the innkeeper as he poured a mug of beer.
The newcomer was tall, with a thin, pockmarked face. The others looked away whenever his cold blue eyes came into contact with their own.
The landlord left the ale just within reach of the man, who removed a dirty copper coin from a small leather purse. „Old Lucifer „imself, aye, and no mistake!‟ said Long John with a guffaw, although the others in the tavern seemed reluctant to share in his laughter.
There was a lull in the storm, and a chilly silence settled over the inn, broken only by the howl of a distant dog and by the clop of approaching horses.
„Two riders. And a coach,‟ said the landlord, moving to the widow.
„Only a wicked man would be out on a night like this,‟ said one of the taverners, casting an anxious Sideways glance at Long John.
Again the door was flung open, to admit two men, swathed in thick black cloaks and broad hats.
„Welcome, sirs,‟ said the innkeeper as he reached for two mugs.
„Treat me like a stranger, Tom Spence?‟ said the first man, removing his hat and shaking the rain from it. He was even taller than Long John,