Doctor Who: The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Time Traveller (Time Trips) by Joanne Harris

Author:Joanne Harris [Harris, Joanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448141869
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2014-09-03T23:00:00+00:00

VII

It was a risk. He knew that much. But time was getting increasingly short. He couldn’t afford to linger here. Quite apart from the fact that his very presence was a crime punishable by summary execution, another death sentence awaited him, one pronounced by the Great One back on Metebelis III.

But the Queen’s idea might work, he thought. It was worth a try, at least, and in any case it was better than getting shot as they ran through the fields. The difficulty was getting back around the posse of Soldiers. The Queen knew a way through the tiny streets – some of which were so small they barely counted as streets at all. Edging their way through a narrow divide between two little cottages, the fugitives managed to double back towards the body of the Parade.

The square was filled with people. To the Doctor, it looked like the living deck of a game of Happy Families. There was a Farmer in a smock, chewing on a corncob pipe; a Farmer’s Wife in an apron, hands still floury from making bread; a fat Chef with a curly moustache; an Italian Tenor. There was also a Gardener with a spade; a Milkmaid with a bucket; a Flower-Girl in a straw hat; a Grandmother in a rocking-chair. All rubbing elbows with jugglers; clowns; dancers; acrobats; living Toys. A scene from Breughel, with the cast of an Enid Blyton storybook – and still, not a child among them.

But there was no time to waste; already they were attracting looks. The Queen had a smear of blood on her face where a chip of stone had cut her cheek; both she and the Doctor were dusty and dishevelled.

A Delivery Man with a peaked cap and a brown-paper parcel under one arm hissed at the Queen: ‘What’s going on? I heard shots.’

The Queen shook her head. ‘Not now. Let us through.’

She could see half a dozen ponies following a float that was made to look like a confectioner’s window; on it, a giant Pastry Chef reclined on a bed of cream cakes. Taking the Doctor’s arm, she led the way through the milling crowd. The Villagers parted to let them pass; murmurs and side glances followed.

At last they reached the ponies; their soft flanks dappled in ice-cream shades. The Doctor selected a strawberry-pink; the Queen a baby-blue one. By then their presence was causing alarm; passers-by looked at the Doctor with expressions of superstitious fear; some drew away or averted their eyes.

Murmurs followed in their wake.

Who’s that?

Don’t ask questions.

Part of the Parade, maybe?

No. He’s from the Outside.

The murmurs grew and multiplied. Now the Doctor and his companion could have only seconds before they were seen by the Soldiers patrolling the far side of the Square. So far, their backs were mostly still turned; a row of giant keys stuck out from between their shoulder-blades, revolving thoughtfully as they marched.

Who winds the guards? the Doctor thought, as he carefully mounted his Pony. Beside him, Alice did the same, trying not to make any noise.

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