Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [83]
The discovery of the knocked-out guard had done little to aid their cause.
They had been taken with indecent haste to the Tower of London, dragged up its endless, winding stairs, and finally deposited in the small, bleak room in which they now resided, its massive stone walls chilly to the touch, rivulets of brackish water streaming incessantly from the ceiling to the floor.
Jamie was struggling to sleep, while Polly sat cross-legged on the floor, feeling very sorry for herself, her long blonde hair hanging over her face.
The Doctor stepped back from the window and, noticing his companion, gave a small, encouraging smile.
‘Cheer up, Polly,’ he cooed. ‘Might never happen.’
Polly didn’t look up but continued to stare at the bolted door. ‘But it did happen, didn’t it, Doctor? I’ve messed everything up.’
The Doctor sat down beside her, heedless of the damp patch which immediately spread across the seat of his checked trousers. ‘Well... not quite everything,’ he said.
Polly looked up. ‘I think so. I lost Ben, I got myself kidnapped, then I fell for those Cavaliers’ tricks, end up freeing the King and incriminating you two so we all end up in the Tower!’
The Doctor frowned with mock seriousness. ‘Well, now you put it like that...’
Polly grinned and poked him in the ribs. ‘I know you’re trying to make me feel better, Doctor, but it’s pretty serious, isn’t it?’
The Doctor cleared his throat. ‘Oh, Ben’ll be all right. I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later and they won’t keep us in here for long once they think about it. Cromwell’s too intelligent to take us for Royalist spies.’
Polly shrugged. ‘That’s as may be, but what about King Charles?’
The Doctor began to chew his fingernails distractedly.
‘Ah, now that is a problem. He’s due to stand trial on January the twentieth. There’s no record of this escape, so we’ve got to get history back on its proper course.’
‘Or else?’ It was Jamie’s voice. He was sitting up on the grim straw mattress and had been listening to their conversation for some little while.
‘Oh, I’ve been through all this before, haven’t I? You know what the consequences could be.’
Polly let her tongue trace over her lips thoughtfully.
‘Doctor, have you ever seen any of these... possible futures?’
The Doctor frowned, almost pulling back from her. ‘Eh?
What possible futures?’
Jamie warmed to Polly’s theme. ‘These ones you always warn us about.’
The Doctor shook his head and got quickly to his feet. He turned his back on his companions and resumed his vigil at the window.
‘You know what will happen,’ he said gravely. ‘We know how history turned out, but we have to make sure of it.’
Polly inclined her head. ‘You’re avoiding the question.’
The Doctor didn’t reply for a moment, and then his voice came rumbling through the air towards Jamie and Polly, as though from a very long way away.
‘Have I seen them? Yes, I’ve seen them. Or heard of them.
Englands with a third, fourth, or fifth Civil War. A resurgent monarch who ruthlessly oppresses all democracy. Or a triumphalist, hereditary Puritan Protectorate that rules the country until the twentieth century. Or an invading Catholic army which takes advantage of England’s crisis to take over most of the known world. Oh yes, they’re all out there. All kinds of futures. Some great, some truly terrible.’
The little man swung round and his face seemed suddenly ancient, like a stone gargoyle on a cathedral. ‘We have to pay the price for travelling as we do. It’s up to us now.’
The black-and-white-tiled floor of Cromwell’s chamber rang with the sound of his pacing feet. Wearing an impressive buff jerkin with great hooped sleeves and a fresh linen collar, the general cut a magnificent figure.
It was a day for putting the fear of God into his men and he knew it. It had to be impressed upon every single friend of their cause that the King’s escape could