Mar 4, 2018
TO CELEBRATE 750 @TinDogPODCAST S HERE IS A SHORT STORY
MarginaliaMarginalia
by Michael Gilroy-Sinclair
The fake monk was not happy. The school party was late and he had
been reduced to simply staring out of the window. In the brightly
lit education suite, he had neatly laid out a collection of fake
parchment and quills in order to give the primary school children a
taste of life as an eighth-century monk. It felt to him that he had
been doing this, day in day out, for months and he was frankly
bored.
He knew from the minimal research he had been required to do, that
the real monks had used goatskin and octopus ink, but such
extravagances were beyond most education department budgets.
Idly, he straightened a pile of A4 paper, which didn’t need
straightening, only to return to the window and glance across the
car park for the fiftieth time that morning. The sky was the
clearest blue with only wisps of white dancing in the heavens.
Surely, that blue portaloo hadn’t been there this morning. How
could he not have noticed it until now? Maybe the council were
finally going to fix those potholes?
Only… Now that he could see it properly, there seemed to be a
flashing light on the top and it clearly wasn’t a portaloo at
all.
Rose was not impressed with the Doctor. He had landed the TARDIS
without any of the usual build-up about their destination and
headed for the door. There had been no talk of strange creatures or
stranger lands.
The Doctor’s behaviour may have been out of the ordinary, but Rose
reasoned that it must have had something to do with the sound.
Moments earlier, the extraordinary time and space ship had made an
extraordinary racket that sounded almost exactly like it had a
stone in its shoe. Rose knew fine and well that the TARDIS didn’t
have shoes to get stones into, so this was a worry.
She had come out of the kitchen and headed straight to the control
room, where she saw the Doctor heading past the pale coral roof
supports and out of the old wooden door and into the daylight
beyond.
“Oi, hold on!”
“Hmm,” replied the Doctor; he was distracted by his sonic
screwdriver as it bleeped and flashed in a way she had never seen
it do before.
“Do you have any idea what we are looking for?” asked Rose in her
most patient voice.
“Err… no…. but I will know it when I see it.” He seemed very
positive about this.
“And the bleeping helps?”
“The bleeping will tell me when we are close to the source.”
Rose’s patience was wearing thin, “The source of what?”
The Doctor stopped walking and looked directly at Rose as if she
were a child. “The source of the temporal disturbance. Honestly,
it’s like I don’t explain anything to you…”
“You don’t. All I know is that the TARDIS started making a weird
noise and then we stopped and you stormed off with that thing in
your hand.”
As if it were joining in the conversation, the bleep of the sonic
screwdriver suddenly became slightly more frenetic, taking away the
Doctor’s concentration and causing him to walk off in a new
direction.
“Where are we anyway?” demanded Rose as she raced to catch up with
the Doctor.
“You tell me, Rose Tyler.”
Rose looked around. “It’s cold. And it’s Earth… England.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because… unless we are in some pretty weird parallel universe,
that’s a Ford Escort and that’s a Volvo.”
Rose was on a roll. She took a deep breath and smelled the air.
“We’re near a river or close to the sea.”
“Correct on both counts,” the Doctor said, beaming. “Anything more
specific?”
She looked over the Doctor’s shoulder and said, “We’re in Jarrow at
a place called Bede’s World, near the river Tyne. Quite close to
the tunnel, apparently.”
“Amazing! And how do you know that?”
“There’s a whopping great sign on the other side of the road,” said
Rose smugly.
The Doctor beamed with delight. “Fantastic! Anything else?”
“It’s a World Heritage Site and it looks like the tea shop is open.
Fancy a Hobnob?”
The Doctor flicked at the screwdriver until it stopped making a
noise. “I don’t mind if I do. Grab your coat, you’re paying.”
Calder, son of Eric, had not always been the Viking warrior he was
today.
He had been nothing more than a farmer with a sideline in jewellery
making, when the Northern Lights had come down to the land to visit
him and him alone.
It had been an ordinary afternoon in the fields when the storm had
risen. It was a tempest unlike any he had seen before.
In a single heartbeat, the sky had ripped apart causing his flock
to scatter and Calder to shelter under the nearest tree. From his
refuge he could see the incredible colours swirl and pulse as the
afternoon sun twisted and bent in the storm. Suddenly, a gash of
darkest night filled the air above him.
Beyond the hole in the sky, the stars swooped and curved, with a
single shooting star at its centre, resembling a pendant of the
gods.
And then it was gone.
Like a vivid dream, it passed and seemed to leave nothing but a
memory.
Calder shook his head as if to shake something loose, only finally
to look up and see a small trail of smoke on the other side of the
hill.
He ran, stumbling over loose rocks to see what was beyond the crest
of the hill.
He arrived to find a short furrow in the ground, smoother than any
plough could have made, with a small mound at one end. Calder could
see something small and black embedded in the earth. He reached out
and grabbed it. From that moment onwards, he was a changed man.
Now, all of these year later, he stood on the prow of the longboat
and looked deeply at his left hand, examining the stone that had
changed him so much. It was the shape of half an apple and blacker
than a winter’s night. Across its surface a billion points of
light.
The stone had taken him and his brethren on so many journeys. It
had guided them from their homes in the West, across the seas to
the fertile land again and again, only to have him return with a
hold full of treasures and slaves and always an all-consuming
feeling of loss.
Calder was their guide; he used the stone from the heavens, the
obsidian map of the sky to point the way, always listening to its
silent whisper.
Until today – today there was no wind; there were no birds in the
sky and only tiny ripples on the surface of the water beneath the
hulking mass of the longboat.
Tentatively, Calder’s friend Tarben had suggested releasing the
ravens in order to find the direction of the nearest land. Magic
stones were one thing but the crew were realists.
Calder had told them to be patient; the stone would show the way.
After all, it had never let them down before.
The tea shop was a small affair with a view over the river and
beyond. Through the bay window, Rose could see the port with
thousands of identical cars neatly lined up, ready for distribution
around the world.
They had come in through the main entrance which also acted as a
small gift shop, complete with pointless stationary and guidebooks.
The woman behind the counter had a smile as wide as the Doctor’s
and had welcomed them in like a seasoned pro.
“Welcome to Bede’s World, home of the Venerable Bede. As well as
the Monastery and Visitors’ Centre, we have a special exhibition on
at the moment with some of the finest examples of…”
“Is the coffee shop open?” interrupted Rose.
“Yes, it is. And we do a storming hot chocolate, pet.”
“Pet?” said the Doctor, worried that the TARDIS translation
circuits might be on the blink.
“Aye, pet. The tea is nice too… I can bring it over if you like?
Have you come far?”
Rose smiled to herself.
“Oh, about six parsecs as the crow flies,” said the Doctor
absent-mindedly.
“Yeah you sound like you’ve come a long way. That accent… Somewhere
in the South…? Manchester…?”
“South?!” sniggered Rose.
“Oh yes, pet lamb. Anything beyond Sunderland is the South as far
as we’re concerned,” half joked the woman behind the counter.
The Doctor was clearly affronted and headed for the comfiest
looking chair for solace.
“Your friend a bit touchy about his accent? Never mind. Now, what
shall I get you?”
Rose ordered then joined the Doctor. “Did that woman really call me
‘pet lamb’?”
With a snort of derision, the Doctor busied himself with his
screwdriver once again.
“I’ve ordered you a tea, if that’s all right…”
The Doctor didn’t answer.
“What’s up? Gone off in a huff because you aren’t quite northern
enough?” She tittered.
“I’ll have you know I used to be Scottish. Is that northern
enough?” he said, then stared out of the window. Whispering to
himself, “And, for all I know, I might be again one day.”
Clearly she had touched a nerve. “You don’t half talk some rubbish…
So… What’s all this about then?”
“I have my suspicions about what made the TARDIS…” The Doctor
started to wave his hands about as if to explain something
complex.
“…Make an appalling noise and put you in a bad mood?”
“Yeah! Only… it shouldn’t be possible. Not here, not now.”
The drinks arrived and broke the conversation. “One tea and one hot
chocolate, both with complimentary biscuits. Enjoy your visit. Make
sure you see the special exhibition and be careful of that dig
site. God only knows when they will be back.”
At the mention of a dig site the Doctor sprang to his feet, almost
knocking over his tea. Looming over them was a fake monk.
Calder smiled. A smile that the crew knew of old. That magic stone
of his was telling him something. The wind began to rise and they
were on the move again.
The monk stood directly in front of the Doctor and Rose. His face
was full of nervous energy, which Rose found more than a little
appealing.
Suddenly the Doctor became tense. As Rose glanced in his direction,
she could see that all of the usual warmth had evaporated from his
face. He regarded the figure in front of them with the sort of
suspicion he usually reserved for the galaxy’s most wanted
criminals, rather than a man in a brown habit.
The two men faced each other in silence.
“Welcome to Bede’s World,” said the monk. “I am the Venerable Bede,
born in 672 and died on the twenty-sixth of May, 735.” He paused
for effect. “And I will be your guide today around my world. A
world of knowledge and darkness and light and…” He paused.
“And inspiration!” shouted the woman from the counter. “Gary, the
line is ‘and inspiration.’”
“You really know how to spoil the moment, Doreen… Anyway I thought
the line was ‘and faith.’”
“They changed it at the last meeting, which you would know if you
had been on time. You know, we never get this problem with Pete.
Now there is someone who really inhabits the role.”
The truth dawned on the travellers. “Inhabits the habit,” joked the
Doctor, his smile quickly returning.
Gary, the fake monk, was not happy with Doreen. “Look, it’s Pete’s
day off and I am Bede today.”
Rose felt sorry for the man in brown. “Don’t worry… Gary, is it?
I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it… Why don’t you tell us more
about this place? Think of it as a practice run.”
Doreen was still unimpressed. “Shouldn’t you be with that school
group?”
“They called and said they were running late. Engine trouble
outside Middlesbrough, or something.”
“There you go,” said the Doctor. “Gary can tell us all about the
place before the school gets here.”
“For a start, you can tell me who this Bede bloke actually was,”
said Rose.
It felt like it had been raining for months. The land squelched
underfoot. The sky, the river and the sea beyond were all the same
dark murky grey.
Beyond the pond, where the trout waited until Fridays, lay the
wooden fence which held the young goats, next to the tanning shed,
where the living raw materials were turned into parchment and would
form part of their greater purpose.
Beyond the rudimentary farm was the small, wooden jetty, the edge
of which disappeared into the light fog over the river Tyne.
The mist spread its tendrils out across the land, and yet the sun
was fighting through increasingly larger gaps in the gloom,
allowing shafts of light to warm the land.
A small bell rang calling the monks to prayer, dragging them away
from one form of devotion to another, their rough garments soaked
from the constant drizzle.
The heavy air made everything sound so much closer than normal. The
echoing ring of the bell was both muffled and yet piercing, and the
constant bleating of the goats seemed more immediate than
usual.
Most of the monks now stood in the chancel in silent contemplation
while one, standing at a wooden lectern, was reading from the
Scriptures.
As always, one of their number was not at prayer. Novice Randal had
a considerably more earthly task to fulfil.
At the edge of the jetty, he sat listening to the sound of his
brothers’ devotions travelling gently on the breeze, while his eyes
were firmly fixed on the horizon.
This was an important job reserved for the novices of the order, as
the younger monks had better eyes and could see further.
It was Randal’s job to keep a watch out for ships. Some would carry
emissaries or pilgrims, while others brought those with darker
motives.
It had been some time since the last Viking attack, but you never
knew when an innocent looking trading ship would conceal different
intentions. He did not know which would be worse: to die or to be
sold into slavery. He had read the accounts of attacks on
monasteries further up the coast. Such earthly horrors kept Randal
awake at night.
For a fleeting moment, the sun fought the mist and won. At first
Randal couldn’t be sure. He blinked and strained his eyes. Yes,
there it was, he was certain now. He could make out a black dot on
the horizon and it seemed intent on heading their way.
As the Doctor, Rose and Gary (the fake Bede) walked away from the
Visitors’ Centre and down the small incline, the sounds of modern
life went on around them. On the river, a gigantic tanker floated
its way out to sea, while in the distance massive cranes were being
dismantled. All around, the constant murmur of traffic impinged on
this island of tranquility.
Gary explained as they walked, “In all honesty, I’m just an actor
in between gigs… And a bit of ‘theatre in education’ always looks
good on your CV.”
“You were going to tell us about Bede,” reminded Rose.
The Doctor interrupted, “Bede was a monk and a historian who wrote
one of the first history books.”
“I think she was asking me,” said Gary, “but like he says, Bede was
this priest who wrote… Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum…” He
pronounced the Latin words with exaggerated care. “I knew I’d get
that right.”
“And what’s that when it’s at home?”
The Doctor couldn’t help himself: “The Ecclesiastical History of
the English People. It’s the first history book to use the AD
system of dating. Without that book, you lot would know even less
than you do.”
Rose gave the Doctor a gentle punch in the arm. “Is it me or is it
getting nippy?”
“Time displacement does that… Or it could just be the wind off the
sea.”
“I’m just glad I get to keep my thermals on underneath this
habit.”
“That’s hardly historically accurate,” joked Rose.
“And neither are his sandals.”
“I’ll have you know, if eighth-century monks had had access to
Crocs as comfortable as these, they would have worn them.”
They were now getting closer to the actual monastery and could see
it in more detail: a squat church made from heavy stone.
Gary continued with pride, “We’ve always got archaeologists of one
type or another poking around. It’s not like when Time Team
came…”
“Time Team?” asked the Doctor with interest.
“It’s a TV show. Now shush and let Gary tell us about the place,”
said Rose.
Gary smiled. “Well, it was long before my time; they made a hell of
a mess and they didn’t find anything much of interest, just a few
pots and a lot of dead goats.”
“Dead goats?”
“Yeah, goat skin is what the monks made their special paper from,”
explained Gary. “This lot are from the university; they only come a
couple of times a week… The trench is just round this corner.”
The Doctors sonic screwdriver began to buzz once more.
Novice Randal ran for all he was worth. The mist had cleared enough
for him to be sure that the oncoming ship was the Norsemen
returning. They had reached the river mouth itself.
He had to raise the alarm. His feet pounded the soft earth, almost
kicking a chicken as he ran haphazardly towards the church and his
unsuspecting brothers.
The large wooden door felt as light as a feather as he pulled it
open with all of his strength, the fear coursing through his body.
Eyes turned to him and he shouted a single word: “Vikings.”
Every moment counted before an attack. Some of the older monks had
sharp memories of times when the Norsemen had come and taken their
friends and precious artefacts. Panic gripped them all.
Rose was not impressed; after all, if you have seen one hole, you
have seen them all. “There’s not much to look at it, is there,” she
said, stating the obvious.
The Doctor thought for a moment. “I don’t know, you can tell a lot
from a hole.”
“You can?” asked Gary. “Like what?”
“Well, for a start, you can tell that there aren’t any
archaeologists about.”
“I did say they only come a few days a week. In fact, I’m pretty
sure they’re due tomorrow,” Gary explained.
Rose joined in: “Go on then Mr. Smarty-Pants, what else can you
tell from this hole?”
“Well, the ground has been recently disturbed.”
“Yes, it’s a hole, someone dug a hole. They disturbed the ground.
That’s how you make holes.”
The Doctor gave Rose the same sort of hard stare that Paddington
Bear was famous for. “The earth at the bottom of the hole has been
disturbed. There…” He pointed. “That line down the middle. The
darker, dryer earth, it looks burnt.”
Now that the Doctor had mentioned it, it was obvious.
“I’m guessing it rained last night,” inquired the Doctor.
“Bucketed down,” said Gary. “Why do you ask?”
“Because whatever made that mark in the dirt happened after the
rain and left a dry scorched line…” He peered into the ditch. “And
as there are no muddy footprints, we know your students haven’t
been anywhere near. I’m guessing whatever did it is still down
there.”
“Ohhhh! Get you! The new Mr. Holmes,” Rose quipped.
“It’s a shame really,” said Gary.
“What is?” asked the Doctor.
“That we aren’t allowed down there to see what it is.”
“Tell that to Rose,” replied the Doctor as Rose jumped into the
hole.
The monks had only moments to act but they had prepared. With a few
swift swings of an axe, the jetty had collapsed into the river and
now lay beneath the surface.
This would only delay the landing, but there was no point in making
it easy for the invaders. The novice monks had very precise
instructions: they were to go to the library and rescue as many of
the books as they could carry.
Each one had been given a specific tome to protect. They were to
run and hide in the woods, and only come back once it was safe to
do so.
The older monks would defend the buildings for as long as they
could.
Once Randal had reached the library, a small room off the cloister,
he was pleased to see that most of the other books had already been
rescued. Only one remained and it was in the hands of the old monk,
Brother Bede.
The scholar was muttering to himself about the Norsemen and about
how they would never take his life’s work.
In his hands he held his history book. Randal had yearned to read
it for himself and hoped one day to do so. It had taken years to
complete, and the old man was not going to let it go.
Quickly, the novice decided to do the only thing that was available
to him: he would rescue the book and its author.
Together they would protect the book. The knowledge would not go up
in flames like so much had done in the past. He was convinced that
the Norsemen might burn the church, but they would not take these
words.
By the time they left the small room, it was already too late – the
Vikings had arrived, splashing and slashing their way on to the
land.
Some of the warriors had split from the main force and were busy
gathering up the animals, while the others burned the tannery. From
the mists of the river they came, organized and strong. At their
head was a single figure holding a sword in one hand and a small
black rounded object in his other. The sword was already dripping
with blood.
“We must go!” the young novice urged the older monk. Seconds later,
the warrior was on them.
The jump into the hole was further than Rose had been expecting,
but she had managed to avoid twisting her ankle. And, after all,
any landing you can walk away from is a good one.
“Hold your horses, Rose, I’m coming down,” said the Doctor, as he
jumped the short distance, much to the protestations of Gary.
“I only brought you here so that you could have a look.”
From his position in the hole, the Doctor looked up and smiled his
goofiest of grins. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.
We’re going to have a look… and maybe a poke around. But mainly a
look.”
Gary gave in. “Hold on then, I’ll come too… I suppose someone from
the museum should be present.”
“That’s the spirit, come on down.”
Gary slowly slid himself down the side of the hole, revealing the
manufacturer of his underwear at least twice before arriving at the
bottom.
“They’re rather anachronistic, aren’t they?” said the Doctor
judgmentally.
“Do you mind!?” said Gary, as he straightened his robes.
“I’m only joking,” said the Doctor.
“No, not you, her! I said, do you mind not poking about! Do you
want to damage any priceless artefacts?”
“Since when is mud priceless? I just want to have a look.”
Gary still seemed unimpressed: “You look with your eyes, not your
hands.”
Rose bent down. “I think there’s something in there.”
“Whatever it is, don’t touch it. I want to take a reading,” said
the Doctor, pulling out his sonic screwdriver.
Gary moved forward, making a grab for Rose’s shoulder. “I told you
not to touch anything.”
As he touched her, she must have made contact with the thing that
had made the gash in the dirt. It was small and black, and looked
as if it contained a million tiny dancing points of light in the
night.
“I just want to have a…”
And then Rose and Gary were gone… leaving the Doctor alone in the
trench.
Randal was terrified; his master held tightly onto his greatest
possession, clutching it safely to his chest. They both knew they
were about to die.
Randal knew that the Norsemen had no interest in the sacred words.
Grimly, he realized that his last thoughts would be about the loss
of the text, rather than concern for his own passing.
The old man suddenly seemed to be at peace, as if he knew his
destiny and was willing to accept it without question. He pushed
the novice to one side and urged the boy to run, forgetting the
manuscript clutched in his hands.
The Viking was huge, at least two spans taller than the monk, and
he had clearly seen battle. With a distant look in his eye, he
raised his sword, ready to dispatch the old man. The monk simply
held out a hand in friendship, his faith guiding his actions.
This caught the Viking off guard, and he froze with his sword ready
to strike.
The monk touched the Viking’s sword-less hand, breaking the moment.
The sword came down and hit the book with so much force that it
embedded itself into it. In the same movement, the old monk touched
something smooth in the warrior’s hand.
There was a flash like lightning… and both monk and Viking were
gone.
Novice Randal stood in disbelief; had God taken his master and his
attacker to heaven? Was this the Rapture?
Standing before him, where his master had once stood, there was now
an angel with purest yellow hair and standing next to her, her
herald, a monk in the cleanest habit he had ever seen.
If the Doctor had been surprised by the disappearance of Rose and
Gary, he was even more surprised by the sudden appearance of the
huge Viking and a more authentic-looking monk holding the tattered
and smouldering remains of a book.
The angel remained still, in a crouching position, her hands held
as if unexpectedly and suddenly empty of something that they had
previously been holding. The look on her face told of her
confusion, but then which of God’s creatures would not be confused,
after a fall from heaven?
The blinding flash had attracted the attention of all the Vikings.
Randal watched their confusion as they struggled to understand the
disappearance of their leader. For a moment, there was silence,
then an uncertain muttering.
Randal knew enough of their strange tongue to pick out some of the
words: “It’s magic! Thor has taken Calder! What have we done to
anger him? It’s Freya! She’s not taking me to Helheim.”
As the young monk watched, panic set in and the Vikings ran, back
towards their ship, abandoning their captured treasures and
animals.
Randal felt a surge of pity for the Vikings, who seemed to have
taken this angel for one of their own heathen gods, when clearly
she had been sent from On High to save the monks from these savage
invaders.
Rose gathered her thoughts. She was in almost exactly the same
spot, only the ferry terminal, Visitors’ Centre and car park were
all gone.
The ancient church looked newer and there were more wooden
buildings dotted around.
With astonishment, she noticed the group of people running towards
the river – who seemed to be a group of Vikings. Admittedly they
were Vikings without horns on their helmets, but nevertheless they
were clearly the warriors of legend.
It also occurred to her that her sudden appearance may have grabbed
their attention.
Not one to let an opportunity slip – the Doctor had taught her that
– she stood up and looked directly at the young novice. “Hello, I’m
Rose.”
It was then she noticed Gary, the fake monk, lying at her feet,
with an expression of utter disbelief on his face.
At the Viking’s feet lay something the Doctor recognized. The
Doctor smiled to himself in realization of what had happened.
Oblivious to his change in circumstances, the Viking raised his
sword once more, taking the heavy book in which it was still lodged
with it. He lifted the weapon high above his head and again
prepared to dispatch the cowering monk.
“Oi, we’ll have none of that!” shouted the Doctor as he brought his
sonic screwdriver level with the new arrivals. The blue light on
the end pulsed and the book on the sword blade burst into flames,
showering the Viking’s head in debris and breaking his
concentration once and for all.
The Viking stood in silence, finally aware of his new surroundings.
“What magic is this?” he spat.
“Now… I think one of you has something that doesn’t belong to you,”
said the Doctor.
“Is this Valhalla? Or Helheim…?” continued the confused Viking.
“No, this is Jarrow. Just off the A19… Now, like I said… one of you
has something that doesn’t belong to them… Small black stone?”
Automatically the warrior raised his left hand. It was clear that
he had no control over his actions: the stone was guiding him. With
the Viking’s palm open the Doctor could see the hemisphere reacting
to his words, a million points of swirling light danced.
The Doctor spoke to the stone directly, “You are beautiful… and I
think you’re looking for your friend, aren’t you?”
As if in answer, the pattern of stars shone in unison, and the
stone slipped from the warrior’s hand and into the Doctor’s. The
Viking’s expression changed almost instantly, as if he had been
released from a long captivity.
“Well, I think your friend is over here in the mud.” Carefully the
Doctor took the Viking’s stone over to the other, which remained
embedded in the mud. Gently, he laid them together.
A white light glowed and then began to shine like a small sun as
the two halves became a single ball of energy.
“I think we can leave those two to get reacquainted for a bit,
don’t you?” The Doctor turned his attention to the two confused
humans.
“Now, did either of you see a girl in a white puffer jacket? She
was probably with a very surprised-looking monk.”
The old monk ignored the Doctor’s question; he was weeping at the
smouldering remains of his life’s work, now reduced to little more
than a pile of ashes. He had used it to defend himself from the
blow from the sword, but the stranger’s wand had utterly destroyed
it.
“Erm… Sorry about the book… Here, let me help you up.”
Once the Vikings had gone, things began to return to normal at the
monastery. Even the novelty of having an angel among them had worn
off after a few days.
Rose and Gary had settled in quite well. They had started by
lending a hand where they could, and Gary had even suggested more
than a few changes to the overall layout, using all he could
remember from the scale model in the foyer of the Visitors’
Centre.
He was experiencing life in the eighth century first-hand and was
surprisingly adept at the general day-to-day tasks such as milking
the goats. He had even taken to attending early morning
prayers.
Rose was sure that Gary wouldn’t have thrown himself into his new
life quite so quickly, if she hadn’t been able to calm him down and
had assured him that that the Doctor would be along to rescue them
sooner or later; so they may as well make the best of things while
they waited.
This news had cushioned the shock to his system, and being treated
like a visiting angel wasn’t something Rose was going to turn
down.
She knew in her heart that the Doctor would arrive… sooner or
later.
It was however the best part of a month before she heard the
familiar tones of the materializing time machine in the cornfield
that would one day be the visitors’ car park.
With a familiar squeak, the wooden door opened and revealed the
Doctor and a smiling elderly monk looming over the Doctor’s
shoulder.
“We just had to drop off a couple of friends before I picked you
up. I hope you don’t mind.”
Hiding her joy from her travelling companion, Rose said, “We’ve
been here almost a month, Doctor. Honestly, for someone with a time
machine, you really have no idea about time.”
“You haven’t been changing history behind my back, have you?” joked
the Doctor. “I had this confused Viking to take home, but he seemed
pleased enough to be back amongst his own people. And he did
promise to give up on the pillaging and concentrate more on trade…
so that’s okay then.”
“So who was this other person you had to drop off?” Rose asked.
Smugly, the Doctor explained, “Oh, that was just your standard
sentient time- and space-travelling sphere.”
“Come again?”
The Doctor loved these moments: “That rock you touched… It was part
of a couple who escaped the Time War.”
“A couple? It was a rock. Was it a ‘silicon life form’?” Rose
grasped at a sci-fi reference in order to make sense of the
Doctor’s words.
“No, don’t be silly, silicon life is incredibly rare. This was
graphene life.”
Rose was catching up: “So it was a couple? There were two
rocks?”
“Yes, a couple… You know… a mummy and daddy, pair bond, lovers…
that sort of thing. And they were attacked… out there.” The Doctor
pointed up, beyond the sky and towards the infinity of space. “They
were split and they fell through time onto the Earth. One of them
could influence time and the other, space. Together they’re quite
formidable.”
The Doctor looked off into the distance. “You know, strictly
speaking, they shouldn’t have been able come to Earth at all… Well,
not after some bright spark time-locked this whole planet at the
beginning of the War.”
Rose knew when he was remembering the dark times in his life, and
touched his shoulder gently. “Doctor, sometimes I have no idea what
you’re talking about. So are Mister and Missus Rock okay now?”
“Let’s just say a shiny rock found its friend and they have gone
back home, amongst the stars… to start again.”
Novice Randal had heard the strange sound and came running from the
other side of the buildings. He threw his arms around the old monk,
before remembering his place and stood back, still contemplating
the miracle of his master’s return.
“Thank you. You truly are an angel,” he whispered to Rose.
“Look Randal, we’ve talked about this… I’m no angel.”
“That’s true,” said the Doctor.
“It is good to see you again, Brother” said Randal to the old monk.
“We thought we had lost you forever.”
The old monk smiled. “Don’t worry, my son, it takes more than an
angry Viking and a few magic journeys to take me away from my
work.”
“Do you still have the book, Brother?”
“Sadly, the book was destroyed… But we can still make another.”
“How?”
The old monk simply held up his hands as if in prayer. “The Lord
will provide.” In the monk’s hands, Rose noticed a Penguin edition
of Bede’s own famous history book.
“So how come me and Gary ended up here?” asked Rose.
“Well, the hemisphere in this time wanted to be with its partner in
your time. It used your spare artron energy to shift itself through
time… dragging you and Monkey Boy along in its wake.”
Gary had finally arrived, wheezing into view. “Rose tells me you
can take me home in your magic box.”
“Magic box?!” The Doctor appeared to be affronted. “There is
nothing magical about it. It’s simply a box that’s bigger on the
inside that can go anywhere and anywhen… What is in any way magical
about that?”
“So you can take me home again?”
“If that’s what you want, yes.”
“Hell yes! I’ve got a classroom full of kids, and I’ve got so much
to tell them. Now that I’ve experienced life as a real
eighth-century monk first-hand… I’m the ultimate in living
history.”
“Well, let’s get you home then. Into the TARDIS with you both.”
Before the Doctor closed the door, he popped his head out for one
last word: “Oh and Bede… One more thing… Try and check some of your
facts will you?”
After saying his goodbyes, Gary headed out of the thing he had
mistaken for a portaloo and headed across the car park, up towards
the Visitors’ Centre. The genuine monk sandals made an odd scraping
noise as he walked. Gary hoped that brother Randal would be happy
with his Crocs and that the archaeologists wouldn’t get too upset
if they found them in their ditch.
His head was full of new ideas about the things he wanted to teach
the children – and according to the Doctor, the coach would be here
in a few moments.
“You look awful,” said Doreen as Gary walked through the doors.
“This is one-hundred-per-cent authentic Dark Ages monk,” replied
Gary as he headed to the teaching room, full of new-found
confidence.
Outside the classroom, Gary paused to look at the new exhibition –
Marginalia, the marks made by monks on manuscripts, beside the
columns of text. He stopped to read an information panel, which
explained how these doodles had revealed new and exciting facts
about life long ago. The most mysterious of them all was from
Bede’s history of the British people: a drawing of an angel with a
Saxon inscription, “Réðnes Heoruwearg.” Underneath was the
translation: “Bad Wolf.”
Before setting forth on that inevitable journey, none is wiser than
the man who considers – before his soul departs hence – what good
or evil he has done, and what judgement his soul will receive after
its passing.
—Bede’s Death Song