Doctor Who BBCN19 - Wishing Well (5 page)

Martha found the Doctor standing in front of the well. ‘Come to make a wish?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Nah. I can never think of what to wish for.

Well, no, I can, actually: lots of things. Too many things. I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

‘Gets complicated, doesn’t it?’ Martha hugged herself for warmth.

The evening had turned chilly. ‘So what’s up, then? Come on, you can tell me: I’m nearly a doctor.’

He smiled. ‘I just needed some fresh air, that’s all.’

‘What, you?’

‘It’s the dandelion and burdock. Goes straight to my head, always does.’

‘It’s the well, isn’t it?’

‘Something’s not right, Martha.’ He walked slowly towards the well, as if it was some kind of slumbering beast.

Martha joined him, peering over the parapet into the dark depths.

There was a cold, strange odour rising from it, as if something had fallen down it and died. With a shiver she thought of Sadie Brown’s story about the highwayman. ‘You think it’s something to do with that treasure?’

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‘Possibly. It’s interesting, because wells are traditionally places of power. They’re frequently holy places – the name Holywell crops up all over the place, for instance. And they are often thought to be guarded by spirits – that’s how wishing wells started. People would come to get some water and offer up a prayer or a coin in return.

Sometimes they’d ask the spirit of the well to grant a wish.’

‘D’you think there’s a spirit in this well?’ Martha leaned over the wall and peered down.

‘Difficult to say.’ The Doctor looked at her with one of his wry smiles. ‘Sometimes the wells weren’t guarded by a benign spirit –they were guarded by a monster.’

‘Well, I don’t think there’s any monster down here,’ said Martha, her voice echoing down into the darkness of the well. It was dusk, and she couldn’t really see a thing, but the well appeared to be empty.

‘Are you sure?’ said a dry, old voice behind her.

Martha gasped and looked up. Standing very close to her was an old man with dark eyes framed by a tangle of dirty grey hair. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ she said. ‘You really made me jump!’

‘It’s Mr Hackett, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor brightly.

The man frowned at him. ‘How do you know my name? I don’t know yours!’

‘It’s all right,’ Martha smiled. ‘Someone told us you’d be here. But we haven’t been properly introduced, have we? I’m Martha Jones.

How do you do?’ She held out her hand, but Barney Hackett just stared at it as if he’d never seen a hand before. But this didn’t put Martha off; she’d done enough training hours in A&E to know how often the elderly and confused just needed a quiet chat and a smile to help them along.

‘I hear you’re quite an authority on this well,’ said the Doctor.

Barney glared at him. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Angela Hook.’

‘She ought to know better, that one.’ Barney sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his parka. ‘An’ she ought to leave the well alone. It isn’t safe.’

‘Why?’ asked Martha.

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Barney looked at her as if the answer was obvious. ‘People can fall down a well like that!’

‘Really?’

‘Yes – like Tommy.’

‘Tommy?’

‘Yes! He fell down the well only six months ago.’

‘You’re kidding!’ Martha was shocked. ‘Someone fell down there six months ago? How? What happened?’

‘Tommy was just walkin’ around the wall,’ said Barney, regarding the stonework sadly. ‘I think he heard something inside – I don’t know what, but he kept peerin’ down, down into the shadows. Then he just. . . fell in.’

‘But there’s a metal grille – look,’ Martha said, pointing. ‘That’s been there years by the looks of it. How could anyone fall down?’

‘Well, if they’re small enough. . . ’

Martha looked again at the bars criss-crossing the well-shaft. ‘Small enough?’

‘Tommy was just a normal-sized cat, you see.’

‘Ah.’ Martha looked back down at the thick metal grille. The gaps between the bars were certainly wide enough for a cat to slip through.

She swallowed hard. What a way to go. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Barney.

‘I’m really sorry. It must have been awful.’

‘Oh, it’s all right, love,’ said Barney. ‘He can’t get out, but he still calls up to me every so often.’

‘But I thought you said he fell down six months ago.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But how can he have survived that long? He’d starve to death.’

‘I know,’ Barney said with a wet smile. ‘But he still calls up to me.’

‘Brrr,’ said Angela. ‘Look, I’ve got goose bumps!’

Sadie looked at the arm held out for her to inspect and pulled a face. ‘It’s pretty warm in here.’

‘Yes, I know. It’s like something walked over my grave.’

Now Sadie gave a shudder. ‘Ugh. I hate that expression. What on earth can it mean?’

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Angela gave a snort of laughter. ‘Listen to me, I’m talking like Old Barney now.’

‘Oh, I wonder if Martha and the Doctor have managed to find him?’

‘I’d imagine so.’ Angela sipped her beer, considering. ‘Odd couple, weren’t they?’

‘I thought you said they were tourists?’

‘I’m starting to wonder. They seemed very interested in the well.’

‘Barney will tell them a few good stories.’

Angela frowned. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. He’ll fill their heads with all sorts of rubbish about the treasure. Oh, and that ridiculous story about his flipping cat!’

‘Miaow!’ said Sadie and they both laughed.

‘No, but seriously,’ Angela said eventually, ‘you know what Barney’s like. He can be a bit strange when he’s talking about the well.’

‘He’s a bit strange at the best of times. But we did warn them, so stop worrying.’ Sadie tapped the bundle of dog-eared notes on the table. ‘Anyway, we’re supposed to be checking over these plans for the windlass installation. Tomorrow’s the big day, remember.’

‘How could I forget? No doubt our lord and master will be paying us a visit. Henry Gaskin won’t waste a chance like this to come and spoil our fun.’

‘Oh, go on with you,’ Sadie nudged her friend. ‘You’re looking forward to it really!’

‘Don’t even joke about it! If that unctuous toad dares to come close enough I’ll biff him on the nose and to hell with the consequences.’

On the far side of the pub, Nigel Carson finished his drink and told the others to turn in for the night. ‘I want you up early tomorrow,’ he said tersely. ‘Big day. Let’s crack it and get out of this place for good.’

Ben and Duncan nodded. In truth they were both tired and the prospect of sleep was enough to make them leave without complaint.

They finished their drinks and headed for their rooms. Nigel watched them go, and then his gaze settled on Angela Hook and Sadie Brown.

They were still sitting in their alcove, huddled over a pile of papers and plans for their beloved wishing well.

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He wondered where the Doctor and his friend had gone.

Abruptly concerned, Nigel went quickly to his room. It was at the top of a narrow flight of stairs, right at the front of the pub. It had a wardrobe, a TV and a single bed. There was a desk in front of a small window that overlooked the village green. It had a clear view of the well.

Nigel locked the door of his room and went straight to the window.

He didn’t turn on the light, because he didn’t want to be seen. He pulled back the curtain and looked out. It was getting dark now, but there was plenty of moonlight.

The Doctor and his friend were standing by the well. They were talking to someone else – a familiar-looking old man. Barney Hackett.

Nigel watched the three of them for a full minute before he took the stone out of his pocket.

The blood raced through his veins as he sat down at the desk and took hold of the stone. He could already hear it whispering to him, urging him to take action. It had led him here to the village, to the well, all the way to the treasure. It had guided him and urged him and cajoled and, yes, even punished him. But now it was nearly over.

He wouldn’t let anything jeopardise his work here. Certainly not some interfering busybody.

‘What should I do?’

–no one must interfere–

‘How can I stop him?’

–i will stop him–

Nigel allowed the chilly fingers to caress his mind, letting them gently search for a way into his innermost feelings, his deepest sense of self. He thought about the Doctor. The fingers probed his thoughts. . .

touched. . . suddenly gripped. He had to stop himself from crying out loud. It had been an almost instinctive reaction, a reflex, as if the Doctor represented some kind of threat that was even greater than he had first realised.

–look at him–

Nigel’s eyes snapped open, black and blood-rimmed, and he stared across the village at the Doctor and his friend.

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–watch–

And Nigel knew then, beyond all doubt, that there could only be one option.

The Doctor had to die.

36

The Doctor, Martha and Barney Hackett were all looking down into the black depths of the well.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ said Martha. She glanced at the Doctor, who just shrugged.

‘Well, he don’t call up all the time,’ Barney said. ‘Otherwise he’d lose his voice, wouldn’t he?’

‘What does it sound like?’ Martha asked.

‘Like a cat of course. Sort of yowling noise. I think he misses me. . . ’

The Doctor straightened and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Well, he’s not saying anything now.’

Martha looked at him and rolled her eyes. Barney Hackett was probably a bit daft, not to mention rather drunk. She could smell the booze on his breath. It was one thing humouring him, but this was getting silly.

‘Tell us about the legend,’ the Doctor said. ‘The one about the highwayman and the treasure.’

Barney Hackett sniffed loudly. ‘Some say it were Jack the Lad himself. . . ’

‘Jack the Lad?’ smiled Martha.

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‘Jack Shepherd, highwayman,’ explained the Doctor. ‘Caused quite a stir in Regency times. Tall, thin, cool as a cucumber. Your mother would have hated him. It’s where the term “Jack the Lad” comes from.’

‘. . . but it weren’t him, really,’ Barney continued. ‘No one knows who it was, but let’s say ‘is name were Joe, an’ he were on the run from the law. He’d stole gold an’ jewels worth a king’s ransom from the Duke o’ York by all accounts an’ they’d set the Bailiffs after him.

Now Joe had already lost his horse, ’cos it fell lame a mile out from Buxton an’ he used his last bullet to put the poor animal out of its misery. But then he were on foot, see, with the sound of gallopin’

hooves close behind. If the Bailiffs caught him he’d be ’anged for sure. So he had to find somewhere to hide an’ quick.’

He was a good storyteller, Martha thought. She smiled and leaned in closer as Barney lowered his voice dramatically. ‘Joe came right through Creighton Mere with the militia hot on his heels. He took one look at the well an’ knew what had to be done. He tossed the bags o’ loot down and then climbed over the wall. Carefully, he lowered himself down and hung on by his fingertips inside the well.

‘The militia arrived a minute later. The place was deserted. The captain rode his horse right around the village but they couldn’t find old Joe. Not until a dog trotted up to the well and started barkin’ loud enough to raise the dead, anyways. Suspicious, the captain checked the well and found Joe hangin’ inside, holdin’ on for dear life. His arms must’ve been gettin’ tired an’ he would hardly be able to feel his fingers any more. He’d hoped the horsemen would’ve ridden right through the village an’ left him be. But when he heard the dog bark he knew the game was up. He looked up an’ saw the captain of the militia looking right down at him, a cruel smile on his face.

‘Well, what was Joe to do? He’d led the Bailiffs a merry old race all the way from Leeds. He’d dropped the treasure down the well, and there was no hope of gettin’ it back now. All he could do was plead for his life. But how was he to do that? What could he bargain with – him in that position, danglin’ from his fingertips?’ Barney leaned back and smiled. ‘Well, Joe told the captain that he’d dumped the loot in the woods, an’ if he pulled him up out of the well he’d show him where 38

it was hid. Then it could be returned to the Duke, or else the captain and Joe could split the takings between ’em and call it quits. Most of the lawmen were crooked in those days anyway, so it were a perfectly reasonable suggestion.’

Martha was captivated. ‘So what happened?’

‘The captain wanted the treasure for himself of course. They always do – the greed of men knows no bounds. But he’d guessed by now that Joe had already dropped it down the well. So he leaned over and, looking Joe right in the eyes, plucked his fingertips off the wall one by one.’

Martha swallowed.

‘They say he let out a terrible scream as he fell,’ Barney continued.

‘A scream that carried on an’ on until they couldn’t hear it no more –as if Joe had fallen all the way to Hell itself.’

‘Well,’ said Martha, feeling slightly ill now. ‘That’s quite a story.’