Doctor Who_ The Stone Rose - Jacqueline Rayner [26]
‘Don’t worry, gents, I can find my own way home,’ he said, moving rapidly out of their reach…
…and into the arms of two other men who had come up behind him.
This was really not his lucky day after all.
* * *
Coins changed hands between the two lots of men and the Doctor was dragged off again, this time through a door and down into a dark, malodorous underground structure.
The two men who held him fitted the place well. One was short and stout, a curved scar bisecting his cheek from mouth to eye, giving him a twisted clown’s leer. The other was taller, with a long face crowned by greasy black hair. Both smelled of sweat and misery.
The Doctor recognised his surroundings – not as a specific, but as the sort of place he’d visited involuntarily hundreds upon hundreds of times. The damp walls, the gloom, the tang of fear – this was a dungeon.
‘I haven’t had a trial, you know,’ he remarked conversationally to the scarred man, who was referred to by his colleague as Thermus.
‘Tried in your absence,’ the man replied.
‘Really? You know, last time I looked, the penalty for borrowing a horse wasn’t death. I realise I may be terribly behind the times – or possibly ahead of them – but I would have thought a “sorry, bit of a misunderstanding, here’s a denarius or two for your troubles” was more to the point.’
‘We don’t make the law,’ said the tall man, Flaccus.
‘No, but Lucius Aelius Rufus does,’ Thermus pointed out.
Both men seemed to find this observation the height of wit and snorted happily.
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Am I to believe that the gentleman in question is a magistrate of some kind? The corrupt, power‐hungry kind with an inflated sense of his own importance, perhaps?’
The men chortled, which the Doctor took as a ‘yes’.
‘I need to see someone else, then,’ he told them. ‘Someone who can overrule Rufus. The emperor. If I could just get an audience with the emperor…’
By now the Doctor’s captors were laughing so hard they were finding it hard to stay upright.
‘See… the… emperor!’ gasped Flaccus. ‘Yeah, we’ll send him a note. He’s always popping round of an evening.’
‘Well, that’s handy, then,’ said the ‘Doctor. ‘Oh, hang on, were you being sarcastic? Because obviously that’s enormously helpful. Tell me, did you receive any training in the social‐work aspect of your role here, or did it just come naturally?’
They’d reached the end of a corridor lit only by a single guttering torch. The flames flickered on metal bars ahead, a tinsel sparkle among the gloom. Thermus dropped the Doctor’s arm and moved forward, a large metal key in his hand. The door swung open.
Flaccus grabbed hold of the pouch at the Doctor’s belt and tore it off.
‘No!’ cried the Doctor.
‘Yes,’ said Flaccus sarcastically. ‘After all, it’s no more use to you.’ Then he gave an almighty shove and the Doctor stumbled forward into the cell.
‘This is a complete miscarriage of justice!’
But they took no notice. Thermus slammed the door and the key turned.
Normally, the Doctor would not have been concerned. Any lock could be undone by his sonic screwdriver. But that was the sonic screwdriver that was in his belt pouch. And that was the belt pouch – Rose’s belt pouch – that was on the other side of the bars, gradually retreating out of sight as it swung from Thermus’s sweaty, podgy hand.
The Doctor turned from the bars and realised for the first time that he was not alone. Eyes were caught in the flickering light, reflecting out of unseen faces: a cartoon for Hallowe’en. He walked further in and could see the eyes’ owners better – a sea of hopeless faces barely registering his presence.
He sat down on the cold stone floor and smiled around, although it was doubtful if anyone would care, even if they could see him. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m the Doctor.’
There was silence for a moment, then a voice out of the murk said, ‘Can you cure crucifixion, then?’
‘Yeah, or being burnt alive?’ said another. ‘Prevention is better than cure, don’t you think?’ the Doctor said