Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [18]
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 Hell 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. Class 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 passed the massive „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. Class 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.‟. „Illustrious 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