Post by Fitz Kreiner on Jun 2, 2011 15:14:32 GMT
Saturday, December 18th, 1999
The Brigadier sat at the breakfast table and finished his cup of tea. The Master was sat opposite, reading the morning paper whilst eating his third slice of wholemeal toast. Doris had accepted his claim that the Master was someone who he had worked with back in the seventies. After all, it wasn’t all that far from the truth. The Brigadier hated that he had to lie to her about who the Master was; however she would never allow the man into the house if she knew who he really was.
“Would you like anything else dear?” Doris asked, as she removed the Brigadier’s plate.
“Oh, no thank you Doris,” he replied. “I’ll just pour myself another cup of tea?”
“What about you, Victor?” she asked the Master.
“I’m quite adequate, thank you,” the Master replied with a smile.
Smiling in reply, Doris took the washing up to the sink and put them in the water before turning and heading out of the kitchen.
“You never told me what a charming wife you had,” the Master said to the Brigadier.
“Be careful about what you say or do next,” the Brigadier replied.
“I’m just being honest,” the Master smiled and folded the news paper and placed it on the table. “Now don’t you think that this is rather interesting?” he asked as he pushed the paper towards the Brigadier.
Putting the tea pot down, the Brigadier picked up the paper and read the article the Master had indicated. It was a column about the historian who had discovered the documents relating to James Duncan and his being the descendent of Elizabeth the First. The diary entries and personal letters had been his own discovery whilst he was conducting a field study in one of Elizabeth’s former palaces.
“It’s about that historian chap,” the Brigadier said, scanning the first few lines.
“But have you read the whole thing?” the Master asked, taking the newspaper and laying it flat.
The headline to the paper was in large bold letters; “Duncan historian gone missing”. Reading further the Brigadier read that Professor Nicholas Beynon, the Welsh historian who had been responsible for unearthing the historical documents had disappeared. His disappearance had been reported by a milkman who noticed that he hadn’t collected his bottles from the doorstep for a couple of days. Police had looked into the case, and decided that there was no foul play, Beynon had simply left his home, for reasons unknown. The paper was playing on the idea of his having left to avoid the increasing media attention he was getting.
“You think this is a cover story?” the Brigadier asked.
“It’s a rather enormous coincidence, isn’t it?” the Master replied. “The one man who was responsible for Duncan being where he is goes missing.”
“It’s rather foolish of him to have had him killed,” the Brigadier mused glancing back towards the kitchen door.
“I doubt even he would be that stupid,” the Master said.
“He’s got the whole police under his thumb,” the Brigadier replied. “Do you really think he could get away with it?”
“I would imagine he has,” the Master said. “According to the article, Professor Beynon went missing two weeks ago.”
“I doubt we can use this alone to bring him down,” the Brigadier said, “Not without any evidence to prove that he was responsible.” The sound of the doorbell caused the Brigadier to start getting to his feet.
“I’ll get it, dear,” Doris’s voice filtered through from one of the other rooms. “It’ll be the milkman.”
“The milkman?” the Master asked.
“You don’t have milkmen where you’re from?” the Brigadier smirked.
“He’s already been this morning,” the Master said, nodding to the bottle sat on the table. “I think it might be prudent for me to make myself scarce for a while,” he said getting to his feet.
“Alistair,” Doris’s voice came from the hallway, getting closer. “There are a couple of gentlemen from UNIT here to see you.”
“Good grief,” the Brigadier breathed glancing from the Master to the doorway. Doris was stepping into the room, followed by a Captain with UNIT badges on his uniform, with a General behind him.
“Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart?” the Captain was saying as he spotted the Brigadier. His arm was half raised in salute before he spotted the other figure in the room. “Don’t move,” he shouted, side-stepping around Doris and drawing his pistol in a swift movement.
The Master paused and raised his hands as he turned to face Morris. “Ah, Captain Morris, a pleasure to see you again,” he said with a smile. “I have to admit, I wasn’t hoping to see you again so soon.”
“Yeah,” Morris replied, “I’ll bet.” Quietly, Morris thought to himself the same thing before glancing over to the Brigadier. “You are aware of what could happen for harbouring him?”
“I’m not a dunderhead, Captain,” the Brigadier said flatly. “I already have an arrangement with this man that he will turn himself in again.”
“All due respect, sir,” Morris replied. “It didn’t look like he was gonna uphold it.”
“That’ll do, Will,” Bailey said stepping into the kitchen.
“Alistair, what’s going on?” Doris asked.
“I’m sorry my dear,” the Brigadier said. “I think I might have to be coming out of retirement briefly.”
“Oh Alistair,” Doris said. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry my dear,” the Brigadier said walking over and kissing her on the forehead. “I think these chaps just want my help, it won’t be anything too involved, at least, not at my time of life.”
“You’ll accompany us?” Bailey asked.
“Of course,” the Brigadier replied. “I think you may need me in certain matters,” he said glancing over at the Master.
“I’m in no hurry,” the Master said.
*
Kelly woke up slowly. The memories of last night seemed almost like some dream. The past couple of days had seemed like some bizarre dream. She’d been shot at and hunted as though she were a criminal. She’d been helping someone who claimed to be an alien, someone who had two hearts, collect evidence against the upcoming new king of England.
Turning over, Kelly lazily put her arm out before sitting up. The other side of the bed was vacant. Tom had been asleep there when she went to bed. She’d been hoping that he would still be there this morning. She couldn’t hide the fact from herself that she was disappointed to find that he’d disappeared.
“Oh great,” she sighed flopping back on the bed.
It was when she lay back down that she heard the sound of someone moving in the kitchen. It couldn’t have been Rachel, her sister, or her husband Bobby, as they were away for the weekend. It was one of the reasons she’d brought Tom back here. It was then she realised who could be making the noise. Sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed, she jumped to her feet and left her bedroom.
Tom was stood in the kitchen at the stove. As soon as she opened the door, Kelly could smell the bacon and sausages cooking. Taking a quick glance around she saw the breakfast bar was set with orange juice and a pot of tea. She had no idea Rachel and Bobby even owned a tea pot.
“Good morning,” Tom said, glancing over his shoulder. “Breakfast’s nearly ready.”
“Wha-?” was all Kelly could manage as she took in the sight. “Erm, thanks,” she finished feebly.
Tom smiled as he swung round holding a frying pan. With a quick move, he deposited three sausages and four rashers of bacon onto each plate. Turning back to the hob, he turned round again with another frying pan and deposited two fried eggs and half a slice of fried bread.
“A little something to give us energy for the day,” he said.
“Good looking and can cook,” Kelly said softly under her breath. “Alright, what are you planning for us today?” she asked.
“We’ve got our meeting with our mysterious friend at four,” Tom said.
“Our meeting?” Kelly asked.
“Yes,” Tom said between mouthfuls of bacon. “I do need your help,” he said looking directly into Kelly’s eyes. “You know more about this planet as it is now than I do. I’ve only been here two months or so.”
“We’re not gonna be getting into trouble are we?” Kelly asked.
“I hope not,” Tom replied. “No, you know London better than I do I recon, and you can drive, which’ll be handy.”
“Yeah, but I’ve not got a car,” Kelly said.
“Ah,” Tom said sounding down beat. “Well, I’m sure we can come up with something.”
“What before then?” Kelly asked.
“Well, I think we’d best be making our way over as soon as we can,” Tom said “when you’re ready. I want to get there early if possible.”
“Why?”
“Just in case someone is already planning something,” Tom said. “I want to know who our ‘friend’ is before they arrive. Call it professional curiosity.”
“But it’s only early,” Kelly protested.
“It’s eleven thirty,” Tom replied. “I thought I’d let you sleep in a bit.”
“Eleven thirty?” Kelly asked.
“Is that a problem?” Tom asked.
“Only if you want to get over to Thamesmead in time to be early for your meeting,” Kelly replied. “It’ll take us some time to get across London. It’s gonna be rammed with Christmas shoppers and then you’ve got everyone in London for the whole coronation thing. It’ll be like when Dianna died.” Kelly paused as she studied Tom’s blank face. “Y’know, Princess of Wales, Peoples Princess?”
“Nope,” Tom replied, “sorry, don’t know it.”
“I’ve got a lot to teach you about Earth then,” Kelly said.
“And a rather long jaunt across London it seems,” Tom added. “I think it’s time we ate up.”
*
The Brigadier sat in the back of the Mercedes as is drove up to the Tower. General Bailey and Captain Morris sat in the front, the latter behind the wheel and the Master sat to his left, his wrists fastened securely before him in handcuffs. He could feel the weight of his old service revolver secreted in his inside jacket pocket. He’d put it there early in the morning, getting downstairs before the Master and re-loading it. Not that he didn’t trust the man, he just felt more comfortable with it.
He was uncomfortable though. He had recently promised the man his help and asylum so that they could deal with James Duncan, and yet, here he was, now sat with UNIT taking him into custody.
Chancing a glance across, the Brigadier studied the look on the Master’s face. The man didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest; he was sat back, seemingly enjoying the ride, a look of calmed relaxation on his face, his eyes half closed as though he were studying the very sound of the engine.
Sighing, the Brigadier glanced over his shoulder; there was a UNIT jeep and two motorcycles following them, never mind the two motorcycles in front of the car. They were clearly taking no chances with the Master this time.
Looking forward again, the Brigadier could see the large archway leading into the Tower. There were several soldiers stood around, rigidly to attention, wearing red and gold uniforms with, what looked for all the world to the Brigadier, slim-line gasmasks with dark tinted visors.
“Good grief,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me Duncan has redesigned the Yeoman Warders look? I can’t say I like it much, too much personal army for my tastes.”
“I think it’s something a little different to that, my dear Brigadier,” the Master purred from next to him.
The Brigadier glanced over to the Master. There was something in his eye which highlighted that he knew more than he was letting on. “What is it?” the Brigadier asked.
“In time, my dear fellow,” the Master smiled.
“That’s enough from you,” Morris said, looking over his shoulder. “No offence, but you shouldn’t encourage him, sir,” he added, directing it towards the Brigadier.
“None taken, young man,” the Brigadier replied. “I do happen to know the man of old.”
“I know, sir,” Morris replied, looking forwards again as he started breaking. “That’s why we called for you.”
“Are you sure Mr. Duncan didn’t send you to collect me?” the Brigadier asked.
“Not at all, sir,” Bailey replied. “I think your experience with the prisoner will come in handy.”
“I do have a name, thank you General,” the Master replied. “It would be nice if you could use it.”
The car pulled to a stop and the Brigadier looked up as one of the guards reached out and opened the door. There were two lines of guards flanking one of the grand doorways and a red carpet leading out.
“The red carpet treatment?” the Brigadier asked, glancing over at Morris as the two of them got out of the car.
“Mr. Duncan is coming out to meet us,” Morris replied. “We radioed ahead that we were bringing the Master, and Mr. Duncan would very much like to meet him, and you, sir.”
“I guess I’m flattered,” the Brigadier muttered to himself.
The sound of the four doors closing caused him to look round as he saw the Master being led towards the red carpet, surrounded by four of the guards. A small trumpet fanfare, reminding him of the cartoonish heralding of a coming king made him turn round. Clearly Duncan’s ego was bigger than he thought.
The doors opened and Duncan walked out. It was the first time the Brigadier had seen the man this close up and he had to say he was surprised. He was shorter than he made himself appear on televised appearances, standing about five foot seven tall. His mousey hair was thinning and his suit, whilst expensive, seemed slightly ill-fitting.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said in his fluty-high voice, offering his hand to first the Brigadier. “You must be former Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart.”
“I am indeed, sir,” the Brigadier replied taking his hand. The handshake was limp and Duncan’s hand seemed cold and clammy.
“Captain Morris, General Bailey,” Duncan added, nodding to the two soldiers, who saluted. “And this, must be the fabled Master,” Duncan said, folding his hands behind his back and walking round the Master. “I must say, he doesn’t look like much. Although I suppose you were in your hey-day in the seventies. What was it, twenty five years ago now?” Duncan laughed; a giggly little laugh that sounded like a child. “Not so much to you now, eh, old man?”
One of the red and gold uniformed guards stepped forwards as Duncan raised his hand. “Would you kindly take the Master to his suite, I’d like a little chat with him later. Perhaps the General would like to sit in the interview?”
“Sir?” Bailey asked. “In all respect, I’m not sure what use I can be.”
“Not you, general Bailey,” Duncan said. “I don’t think I’ll need you anymore; thank you for your help, gentlemen. Mr Lethbridge-Stewart, would you like to accompany me?”
“Yes, sir,” the Brigadier replied with a nod before following Duncan down the carpet as he turned on his heel and marched away.
Glancing over his shoulder, the Brigadier saw the Master being led away at gun point by the four armed guards who had surrounded him. As he passed the door into the Tower, the Brigadier glanced at the nearest of the guards. His face was reflected back in the dark glass of the visor in the mask. As he passed, he thought he saw a glimpse of a mottled orangey-green skin between the collar of the tunic and rubber of the mask.
*
“Well,” Bailey said as they watched the party in the courtyard disperse.
“Well, indeed,” Morris replied, glancing at his watch.
“You got to be somewhere, Will?” Bailey asked, noticing Morris.
“Yeah,” Morris said. “Meeting Charlotte for a early dinner today.”
“Ah, how is the little woman?” Bailey chuckled.
“Not so little any more, sir,” Morris replied. “Five months last week. We’re going out to outfit the nursery tonight after dinner.”
“You know what it is yet?” Bailey asked.
“No, neither of us do,” Morris replied as he got back behind the wheel of the car. “We want to keep it a surprise. Kinda hoping it’s a boy though.”
“What time are you meeting her?” Bailey asked.
“About four o’clock,” Morris replied, checking his watch again.
