Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [20]
Petr’s wife, Kristine, had walked into the room and introduced herself, somewhat uncertainly, and then accompanied Martha back to their home. As personal guests of the leader, the Doctor and Martha would have the most lavish rooms the village could offer.
Such things are, of course, relative. As Martha sat on the edge of a large bed in an almost bare room she resisted the temptation to look under the downy blanket for fleas or goodness knows what. It wasn’t exactly five star, she concluded, but the villagers clearly meant well.
There was a tall canvas cupboard in one corner, and a simple wooden table, complete with jug of water, by the window. The window itself afforded a fine view of the bustling centre of the village. Martha watched as people went about their business: an old man with a stick, bowing low as he passed a couple of young women in brightly coloured dresses; a lad in his late teens reading a book as he leant against the sun-drenched side of a house; women – and men – haggling over prices in the market. From somewhere there came the sound of music – a sitar or some equivalent. It had to be real – but what link could all this possibly have to the space station with its dead bodies and its sinister, oppressive atmosphere?
Martha still thought some sort of portal was the most likely explanation for everything that had happened – that she and the Doctor had stepped through from one area of space and time to another – but then, unbidden, the memory of the metallic tree came to mind. It was as if the space station had merged into the forest and everything that was beyond it.
Martha walked out of the bedroom, descended the stairs, and saw Kristine hanging out the washing on a line at the back of the house. Kristine was a dark, broad woman, and beads of sweat were just appearing on her forehead as she worked her way efficiently through a large basket of clothing.
Martha walked through the open door and out into the yard. Kristine turned as she heard Martha approach. ‘Is your room… appropriate?’ she asked, bowing low. ‘I’m not sure what you are used to.’
Martha seized on the comment, wondering if what Petr had said could possibly be true – that they really did have almost no contact with any other settlement. ‘What do you know about the outside world?’ she queried.
‘Nothing,’ Kristine said simply. ‘We keep ourselves to ourselves.’
‘But people visit you from nearby towns,’ persisted Martha. ‘There must be travellers, traders…’
‘Oh yes,’ said Kristine. ‘Once in a while we see people from beyond the village. They stay with us for a few hours, a few days, and then they leave.’
‘Has any villager ever travelled to one of these towns?’
Kristine shook her head. ‘Even Saul has never ventured beyond the forest.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because my brother has said that I should not,’ said Saul, stepping out of the house and towards the two women.
‘And you always do what your brother tells you?’ said Martha, turning. It was a genuine question but it came out sounding a little more sarcastic than she had meant.
Saul paused for a moment, momentarily taken aback. ‘Of course I do… He is our elected leader.’ He turned to Kristine. ‘I was only able to check half the traps this morning. I’m going back to the woods now.’
‘Don’t worry, Saul,’ said Kristine, resting a hand on his arm. ‘I have some salted meat put aside.’
Saul moved away from Kristine, embarrassed by her physical contact. Martha saw a brief look pass between them.
Saul shook his head. ‘I said I’d bring something fresh, and that’s what I intend to do. Even your skill cannot turn stale ingredients into a banquet!’
Kristine turned to Martha. ‘A long-standing arrangement,’ she explained. ‘Petr and Saul have not seen much of each other for some months.’ She performed another half-bow in