Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [6]
„So, you‟ve been here a few weeks?‟ inquired the Doctor, his face serious despite the umbrella that twirled around his hand like something from a slapstick comedy.
„A month, I think. Time passes so slowly.‟
„It‟s difficult being exiled,‟ agreed the Doctor. „Those around you claim to understand, but they never can. Not fully.‟
Shanks nodded. He was exiled from his home town. He‟d never thought of it in those terms before.
„Although in your case,‟ continued the Doctor, „I doubt your peers are very sympathetic.‟
Shanks nodded. „Yeah. But a couple of „em are brave enough to be my friends. Don‟t you worry about me,‟ he said with a certainty that seemed to stop the Doctor in his tracks,
„I‟ll sort it out here. You‟ll see. They all will.‟
The Doctor paused. „I‟m sure you will. But don‟t let the people of Hexen taint you. Not everyone is as cruel as that.‟
Shanks scratched his head for a moment. He‟d seen some pretty bad things up on the council estates of Liverpool, and the children here didn‟t seem any worse than the crackheads and pushers that loitered in the shadows of Toxteth and Garston. „They‟re just the same as other people,‟ said Shanks, although he could barely believe that he was defending his tormentors.
„No,‟ said the Doctor firmly. „Don‟t think that for a moment.‟
He changed the subject abruptly, pointing towards the field that ran alongside the school rugby pitch. „Have you ever noticed how many scarecrows there are around here?‟ he asked.
Shanks shivered. He could just make out the stickman half slumped in the middle of the field. „Yeah. They give me the creeps.‟
„Unusual for an area only partly dedicated to arable farming,‟ continued the Doctor. „I mean, that fellow over there makes sense. But you must have noticed those that skirt the periphery of the village.‟
„Can‟t say I have,‟ admitted Shanks, following the Doctor towards the scarecrow. „Are you interested in them?‟ the boy queried, remembering the Doctor‟s maps and documents.
„Oh, I‟m interested in lots of things,‟ said the Doctor. „I‟m especially interested in you.‟
Shanks laughed. „What makes me so special, then?‟
„You‟re an outsider, like me. In this village, that makes you as unique as a man with two hearts.‟
The boy snorted. „I‟m nothing special.‟
„Oh yes you are,‟ affirmed the small man gently. He turned again towards the scarecrow, where a rook had alighted on the sackcloth face. It began picking intently, like a vulture at a corpse. „You‟re very important,‟ the Doctor concluded with a sigh. „And that‟s the most frightening thing in the world.‟
PART ONE
JACK OF ALL TRADES
CHAPTER 1
LITTLE ENGLAND
„Pastoral. Wicked!‟
There was something perfectly natural about seeing an anachronistic 1960s London police box standing in the middle of an English field in the early years of the twenty-first century. The solid blue oblong was as bright as an eye against the interlocking fields of green and gold, the little frosted windows glinting like diamonds in the early-morning sun. It looked as if it had always been there, but the crushed grass underneath spoke of a recent arrival. What summer breeze there was pulled the last murmurings of the box‟s advent high over the downs and into the cloudless infinity of the sky.
The couple that emerged from the box surveyed the land intently. The man was small, somewhat shabbily dressed, and inconsequential but for his eyes, as dark and unfathomable as the deepest well. His companion, a girl in her late teens, wore a short pleated skirt over dark tights, a narrow-striped T-shirt, and a badge-festooned jacket, the word ACE! prominent on her back. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail behind her head. Just as she slipped a pair of mirror shades over her eyes she sneezed.
„Aw. Hay fever,‟ she exclaimed. „I hate the countryside.
Always have done.‟
„Really?‟ asked the man with a rich roll of the tongue as he closed the police box‟s door behind them, ignoring his young friend‟s abrupt change of mood. „This is one of my favourite places