1x09: The Embers of Alexandria (3/7)
Title: The Embers of Alexandria (3/7)
Author: principia_coh
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: Waylaid en route to a holiday, the Doctor and Rose encounter unexpected wonders... and new dangers.
Author’s notes: Thanks to ginamak and leighleighla for their excellent and patient beta work!
Episode 9 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following The Wretched Hive last week.
Virtual Series Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2
------------------------------------------------------------------
As the Doctor and Caecilius made their way through the crowded Alexandrian streets, the Doctor supposed he should be grateful for small favours. First, that the visit to Caecilius’ artisans’ workshop had turned out to be uneventful; there were men, there was marble, and it was carved. He’d seen no sign of city officials tasking Caecilius with making bits of a marble radar installation or anything of the sort.
Second, he was glad that Caecilius had, in his excitement, failed to call for litters or sedan chairs to transport the two of them either to or from casa de Caecilius. The streets were narrow and crowded-not much more navigable than Pompeii’s-but being on foot was giving him a good lay of the land.
“...and then, of course, there is the mighty Pharos in the harbour, although surely you must have seen that when you and Rose arrived,” Caecilius remarked.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, a spectacular achievement by any standard,” the Doctor concurred.
Caecilius was proving a worthy tour guide, and it was just as well-not only had the Doctor’s prior visits to Alexandria been over 100 years ago in local time, but he was fairly certain from what he was seeing that there were some significant deviations from that version of the city within this one of Pete’s World. If he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes, the Doctor mightn’t have believed that the differences between the worlds had begun so early in Earth’s history.
As he and Caecilius continued to make their way through the foot traffic of Alexandrians on their way home for their cena, he wondered if it would be possible to pinpoint the exact source of the divergence between his original universe and the one that had become his and Rose’s home. Although the notion of witnessing the moment itself intrigued him, it would be far safer to simply lock out those specific space-time coordinates; and safest altogether if he put the notion out of his mind. The consequences of any missteps there would almost certainly be disastrous.
Of more immediate concern was the matter of them being in ancient Alexandria at all. What the Doctor still wanted to know is how the TARDIS had ended up here. Mixing up Alexandrias was one thing; the old girl used to get Memphis, Tennessee, Memphis, Egypt, and New Memphis mixed up all the time. But for their new TARDIS to be almost two millennia off in her time of arrival...
Caecilius entered the vestibulum before him, and invited him inside. He shook off his funk. If they had to be here, he might as well enjoy himself, although he hoped that Metella hadn’t gone to any great pains arranging a stereotypically elaborate Roman meal for her family’s guests. He and Rose would do best to detach themselves from the Caecilii before their paper-thin cover story fell apart.
********************************************************************
Metella pointed to a what looked like a small white deer in the lower corner of the elaborate fresco that spanned the far wall of the atrium. “This part here was meant to have been a portrait of Alke, the greyhound we had in Rome. But the painter was an Ephesian, you see-”
“Metella, darling, we’re back!”
The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, observing the scene as Caecilius briefly genuflected before the altar in the corner.
Metella turned away from the elaborate fresco she’d been explaining to Rose and strode forward eagerly to greet her husband as he completed his ritual, her smile wide. “Lobus, Doctor, how was your visit to the workshops?”
Rose turned away from the painting to see the Doctor’s eyes taking her in warmly. Caught out, he pretended to scan the room as if he hadn’t recognised her, a hint of a playful gleam in his eye. She giggled, blushing, then looked up, and saw the gleam had faded, replaced with a tinge of regret.
Play time was over.
“The work your husband is undertaking is truly extraordinary. You must be tremendously proud of him,” the Doctor answered.
Lobus demurred. “I am but a loyal subject of the Empire. All I do is for the glory of Rome.”
“Aren’t we all?” the Doctor averred. “Thank you, both of you, for being so hospitable to Rose and myself.”
Rose could see Metella knew when someone was winding up to a leave-taking. She smiled gently at Rose, and almost succeeded in hiding her disappointment.
“Thank you, Doctor, Rose, for honouring us with your presence,” Metella declared. She gestured for Rose to come to her, and took her by the hands, giving them an affectionate squeeze. “I do hope that we will get to see more of you.”
“I hope so too,” Rose replied. “I’ve had a really lovely time, and thank you very much for the loan of these beautiful clothes.”
“Don’t be silly,” Metella countered, “They are a gift from me to you. Oh, we mustn’t let you leave without your cloak! Let me get Licina to retrieve it for you.”
She gestured to the young servant, who quickly nipped out of the room.
Lobus looked slightly confused. “Oh, must you go?”
“I’m afraid that Rose and I must excuse ourselves for the evening,” the Doctor informed him, “We’re expected elsewhere for the night.”
“I see. ‘tis a shame Quintus is not here to wish you well; his duties often continue into the evenings.”
Licina returned with the cloak Metella had laid out earlier and with a quick nod from Metella began helping Rose into it.
“That is a shame,” the Doctor agreed. “Give him our best.”
“Of course,” Lobus assured him.
Licina finished pinning the cloak, and stepped away so Metella could inspect her work. Metella seemed pleased, and murmured a thanks to Licina, who withdrew.
The Doctor took Rose by the hand, and began to lead her to the entrance hall.
“Oh, Doctor,” Lobus called, “Are you quite sure you’d like to walk? We have a carriage you might use to get to your destination.”
“Thank you for the kind offer, but Rose hasn’t had much opportunity to see the city, and I thought we might enjoy the walk so I could share your insights with her as we go.”
Lobus perked up, and strode to the Doctor’s side. “Well met, sir. Please do let us know if there’s anything else we may do for you while you are here in Alexandria.” Lobus offered his hand to the Doctor, who took it gladly.
“We certainly will,” the Doctor answered. He bowed slightly to Metella. “Ma’am.”
Lobus bowed slightly to Rose, smiling, then returned to his wife’s side.
“Bye!” Rose called, waving to Metella and Lobus as the Doctor preceded her out into the entrance hall.
********************************************************************
The area where the TARDIS was parked seemed to be blissfully guard-free. The Doctor surmised anyone who might consider making off with the marble or other building materials had correctly guessed those particular stolen goods would be too difficult to either fence or reuse without bringing down the wrath of the Empire upon them.
It had been no small feat reaching the Library's campus and getting past the numerous guards, guests, and workers without being questioned. In theory, Rose's makeover should've made it easier for them to move about unnoticed. In practice, the disparity of their clothing styles had ended up drawing more attention to them. He had to admit though, as he stole glances at Rose, it seemed well worth the trouble. The flowing fabric of her garb was flattering in the extreme, even with the many layers of a tunic, stola, and palla disguising her curves. She looked thoroughly lovely, and on any other night he'd probably be inclined to take his time unwrapping her and enjoying all of the Rose that lay underneath.
This was, sadly, not one of those occasions. The return trip had brought the Doctor a growing sense of unease as he took full stock of just how very different this world's version of Alexandria likely was, and had only solidified his determination that they ought to leave immediately.
The Doctor and Rose made their way cautiously through the rooms of the new section, their path illuminated by the sonic screwdriver’s cool blue light. The Doctor held the sonic aloft with one hand, and reached over to lightly caress Rose’s hand with the other.
“You could have told me that we needed to get out of there before you went off on your school trip,” she chastised him, “Or, you know, taken me with you.”
“I did ask.”
“Yes, but there’s asking me, and then there’s giving me the faintest clue what you were on about.”
“I thought it was a perfectly subtle hint, that I’d invite a woman along.”
“There’s subtle and then there’s nonexistent,” she groused.
The Doctor looked suitably repentant. Rose twined her fingers with his and beamed at him. It seemed all was forgiven.
“Anyway, whether we’re staying or going, I’d like to get back to the TARDIS and have a look through her logs,” he sighed heavily.
“The two of us ending up in the wrong place and time,” Rose teased, “who knew?”
“It’s not funny, Rose,” he said sternly. “And before you say anything, no, I don’t think this had the slightest thing to do with your driving.”
“I thought you’d said she’d gotten mixed up between the other location and here.”
“Conjectured, yes, a hypothesis, maybe, but how would I even start to test for it? I’d like to think that’s true. In theory, she’s so young and still so dependent on me for some of her functions that it could be as simple as me thinking of ‘83’ versus ‘1983’ and ending up here. But before we ever set off on our first trip I knew I didn’t want her running about with my sketchy-at-best knowledge of this universe as her only source for her databanks. That’s why we went to such trouble getting her any and all connections to the kind of information she needed to soak up. If she’s gotten herself this turned around, either we’ve taken her out into the wild too soon, or…”
Rose stopped in her tracks and put cautioning fingers to her lips.
“What seems to be the problem, Ms Tyler?” the Doctor said.
“Shhhhhh.” Rose glared and pulled his arm down, switching off the sonic’s light as she went.
“Did you see that?” she hissed.
“See what with what?” He waved the deactivated sonic around ineffectually. “There’s nothing here to see.”
“Not something. Someone. I swear I-”
The Doctor and Rose heard the distinct clearing of a throat behind them and froze in place.
“You two, turn around slowly.”
The Doctor skimmed the top of his front pocket and carefully withdrew the psychic paper, then looked at Rose. In unison, they complied.
The short, stocky man was frowning deeply. He wore a warmly glowing lamp strapped to his chest, and was holding what appeared to be a minuscule pistol that looked threatening far out of proportion to its size. The Doctor had the bad feeling that this might be one of the “scholars” Rose had spotted earlier in this unfinished area, but in this dim light it was difficult to be certain.
“Ah,” the Doctor began, “you may have seen us earlier. We’re inspectors. Well, I’m the inspector, this is…”
The small man’s lips pursed, and he snatched the psychic paper out of the Doctor’s grasp. “You’re not fooling anyone with that, you know,” he scolded. “The locals, maybe, but really? I’m amazed they let you out in the field with that old polarised nonsense!”
The man huffed and offered the psychic paper back to the Doctor. The Doctor rotated the still-open paper in his fingers so Rose could see it. He didn’t dare look himself. The lift of her eyebrows didn’t tell him everything, but it told him enough.
Their erstwhile captor then turned to Rose, clearly annoyed. “How are we supposed to find anything in here without disrupting the timeline if you won’t let us do our jobs?”
Us. At least the two we saw earlier. Brilliant.
He tucked the pistol away in the folds of his toga. “I know short of dressing up as a Vestal Virgin you need a man to get around anywhere in this era,” the man continued lecturing Rose, “but honestly, what do you think this is, 2083?”
The man scoffed and gestured agitatedly at the Doctor’s suit and trainers.
“So long as you’re here, we might as well give you a report,” he offered begrudgingly, then called out “it’s okay, Lén, they must be here as backup.”
The Doctor looked over his shoulder and saw another man running towards them, chest heaving and clearly a bit out of breath.
The man slowed to a walk and looked him and Rose over dubiously as he approached. This was the other bloke from earlier. “There isn’t supposed to be anyone coming, Miðlara,” he snapped.
“Yes, Lén,” Miðlara argued, “and we were supposed to be out of here by now.”
“Fine, we’ll get them up to speed,” Lén countered with a groan, “but can we not do this out here? Let’s go back to the lab.”
The Doctor blinked, and looked to Rose, who seemed ready to take down either or both of the men if they proved a threat, stola or no stola. The thought sent a little frisson up the Doctor’s spine, which given the circumstances was almost entirely inappropriate and should stop right now.
Lén gestured for them to start moving with his copy of Miðlara’s tiny gun. Rose looked to the Doctor, less than pleased, but obviously having decided it was best not to chance it. Besides, what better way to find out what this Lén and Miðlara were up to than by becoming their not-exactly-prisoners?
********************************************************************
The two men guided them back into one of the eaves near where Rose had spotted them chatting earlier today. She hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary earlier other than the two men, and didn’t see any obvious locations for a lab now, which wasn’t overly reassuring. The last thing they needed was to get transmatted away to parts unknown.
Lén reached around her towards the cloth-covered archway they faced and swept his hand across the front of it. Suddenly, the roughly woven cloth shimmered and disappeared. They were left facing a blank stone wall. Miðlara gestured for them to go ahead, then followed.
Rose shook her head and squinted. Lén grimaced and pushed his hand past the blank wall, where it disappeared. Rose smiled tightly and stepped through, followed by the Doctor and Miðlara. They were clearly somewhere new-the air was definitely conditioned (probably what she’d smelt earlier aside from the papyrus), and filled with the soft buzz of powered devices. But the only light sources remained the chest-lamps on their captors, and a few blinking indicators from the machines surrounding them.
“An extra-dimensional space?” the Doctor asked, his voice filled with less-than-idle curiosity.
Miðlara snorted. “Who wants to bother with all that when there are perfectly good unused spaces to be had right here? Besides, the energy signature would be a dead giveaway to anyone from the Kutoka’nje doing more than a cursory scan.”
“A hologrammatic projector, then?” Rose asked.
“The latest in perception filters, loaned out to us for this project.” Lén volunteered proudly. “Even if someone wants to find us, they just don’t.”
The Doctor hummed in a vaguely impressed way.
“Care to cast a little light on the subject?” Rose quipped.
The Doctor smiled thinly at her in the dim glow.
“Oh, right,” Lén muttered, “lights.”
Rose and the Doctor were left blinking and squinting as a seemingly sourceless, neutral light filled the space. They were standing in what looked to be a combination laboratory and observation post. Small banks of sophisticated-looking equipment, sturdy metal tables, supply crates, and a couple of cots occupied much of the space. The tables were liberally scattered with what looked like scrolls of papyrus and various other paraphernalia from the current era like cups and a few wax tablets.
Miðlara grabbed two of the cups and moved to one of the machines that looked suspiciously like a water dispenser without a tank. Sure enough, he slid one of the cups into the nook and a stream of what looked like Lucozade poured into the cup. He took a sip. “You two thirsty?”
Rose nodded, and Miðlara filled the other cup then walked it over to her. She sniffed cautiously and barely avoided gagging at the smell that assaulted her nostrils. It might look like Lucozade, but it smelt like a cross between roast onion Bisto, unflavoured vitamins and agar. She smiled gamely and took a sip as Miðlara returned to slouching against a nearby table.
“Can’t be too careful around here,” Lén offered sympathetically. “You seriously can’t trust the water, and the things these people eat-the animal products.”
“Not to mention all the wine, day in day out, just to kill off anything unsanitary in the H2O-I tried it their way the first day we were here and could barely walk. No thank you,” Miðlara added.
“You were supposed to mix it with the water, not drink it straight, Mið,” Lén cracked.
Rose tried not to snort into the liquid evil she was pretending to continue drinking. She wondered how long the Doctor was going to listen to them trying to use one of his own usual gambits on him.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying,” the Doctor interjected (not long then), “but this sounds to me like an awful lot of chatter and very little reporting.”
Lén’s attention sharpened and he peered beadily at the Doctor.
“Who, exactly, did you say you were again?” He gestured for the psychic paper.
Lén examined the paper grimly, his face slowly flushing until he was the perfect image of a beet.
“Mið,” he shouted, “what the hell is this? Who are these people?”
Lén flung the psychic paper at his partner, who only just avoided catching it in his drink. Miðlara fumbled the wallet back open and looked again, his brow intently furrowed. He flipped the paper around to show Rose and the Doctor its contents. Emblazoned across the sheet, in what Rose guessed was Lén’s handwriting, were the words IT’S BLANK, YOU MORON. Miðlara cursed sharply.
Rose heard a soft snick, and the wall that had disappeared behind them returned.
“Look, if you’re not going to drink that,” Lén grumbled, “can I have it? I’m freakin' starving.”
Rose cautiously passed the cup to Lén, who quickly chugged its contents and regarded the inside of the emptied cup with no small measure of disgust. “It’s not exactly waffles and soystix, but it does the job.”
Rose caught the Doctor pulling a face at her out of the corner of her eye before turning his attention to visually assessing every single item in their surroundings.
“So we’re not your prisoners then?” she asked.
Miðlara slammed his own emptied cup down on the nearest table, rolling his eyes.
“What does it look like we’d hold you prisoner with?” Lén shot back at her.
Lén had a point-this lab barely accommodated the two people who were meant to be there. Rose tensed and readied herself to act. The Doctor, meanwhile, was still taking stock of the contents of the lab.
“Relax, we’re not shooting anyone either,” Miðlara groaned.
“Then what was that back there with the gun?” Rose countered sharply.
“What, this?” Miðlara queried, fishing out and waving around the small pistol he’d used to hold them up earlier. “It’s a veterinary tool. Emits a mild paralytic field and can also be tuned to work as an anaesthetic on most vertebrates.”
“Okay, then what do you plan to do with us?” Rose continued.
“Talk to you to find out who you’re with and what you’re doing here. At least that’s what I thought we were doing,” Miðlara ventured.
Rose glanced back to the Doctor, who appeared satisfied with what information he’d been able to glean from his inspection of the space. “How do you know we’re not-” the Doctor began.
“Kuotan’kje,” Rose filled in.
“-them?” the Doctor finished, chucking his head in her direction.
“First of all,” Lén stated precisely, “because if you were them you’d have murdered us, stolen everything in the lab, and hightailed it out of here before we even saw you two out in the hall.”
“And?” the Doctor prompted.
“And second, it’s Kutoka’nje, not Kuotan-whatever. So unless you’re so stupid that you don’t even know the name of the damn combine you’re working for, you’re not guns for hire either. So who. Are. You?”
The Doctor looked to Rose, then stepped forward. “I’m the Doctor, and this is Rose.” He extended his hand to Miðlara, who shook it firmly. The Doctor arched an eyebrow and thrust his hand back out. Miðlara looked positively mystified.
“My paper, please.”
“What the hell do you want that for?” he scoffed. “It only half-works-that’s more dangerous than bluffing your way into someplace with nothing at all. No-one would ever take an agent seriously who uses that piece of… skít.”
“A piece of skít?” the Doctor barked indignantly.
“It is a piece of skít,” Rose agreed. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t even have a piece of skít. I have to envy yours.”
The Doctor went very, very still, then slowly turned to stare at her. After a moment, he looked expectantly back to Miðlara.
“Fine, have it back. You’re lucky if it doesn’t get you dissolved.” He handed it to the Doctor, who promptly pocketed it.
“Thank you.”
“That still doesn’t answer the question of what you’re doing here,” Lén challenged.
“We came here entirely by accident,” the Doctor replied.
Lén snorted. “You expect us to believe that, that you’re here by accident? No-one comes back to Earth’s antiquity by accident. Anyone who comes is either here to make money, or for the war. Or both.”
“What if we’re none of the above?” Rose retorted.
Miðlara looked flabbergasted. “I think they’re serious, Lén.”
Lén frowned deeply. “Then however you got here, you’d best leave before you get yourselves killed. Not by us, mind,” he professed, putting up his hands in reassurance.
The Doctor was undeterred. “So these Kutoka-people. What do they want with ancient Roman Egypt? Moreover, I don’t see any treasures here, not so much as a denarius. So what are you lot here for? The aforementioned war?”
“Yes, of course,” Lén answered tightly.
“What are you doing here? Shopping for uniforms? Recruiting cannon fodder? Trying to wipe out someone’s great great great what have you? Conducting biowarfare research using diseases that no longer exist in the future?” the Doctor asked.
Lén and Miðlara looked increasingly horrified by the each of the Doctor’s suggestions.
“All right then, hiding from the war?” the Doctor rejoindered.
“Do you even know what war we’re talking about?” Miðlara asked.
“Do I need to?” the Doctor replied tartly.
“You’re looking for something,” Rose said firmly, heading off that argument at the pass.
Lén continued looking at the Doctor as he replied. “Gee, how could you tell?”
The Doctor gestured towards one of the array of machines in the lab, which Rose guessed might be a display system of some sort. “If you could show us what it is,” the Doctor offered, “we might be able to help.”
“Why are you offering to help us when you don’t even know what the war is? Or what side of it we’re on? Or what we’re looking for?” Miðlara asked.
“Yeah, why are you offering?” Lén echoed.
“Because,” the Doctor replied, “if you were looking for something that belonged here, something known to history, you wouldn’t need all of this to find it, and you wouldn’t have to be skulking around playing pretend Romans to locate it.”
“How do we know you’re not here to sabotage us, to slow us down? How do we know you’re not keeping us from finding it right now?” Lén snapped, looking pointedly at the flashing pattern of lights on one of the nearby machines.
Was that some kind of a countdown timer? Bloody hell.
“Oh, don’t start that again, eh? We don’t even know what ‘it’ is.” the Doctor moaned.
“In case you weren’t aware, we are working to a deadline here,” Miðlara protested.
“And what happens when that deadline passes?” the Doctor countered.
“We go home.” Miðlara answered.
Miðlara nervously fingered a small, pager-like box attached at his waist, and Rose saw that Lén wore an identical device.
“Seriously, that’s it? You go home?” Rose queried. That couldn’t be all there was to it.
“Yes, we go home.” Lén flatly confirmed.
Not good. “So what happens here when you go home?”
“Then our replacements arrive. And they’re not gonna be carrying animal tranqs and doling out snacks from their rationers. They won’t have time to be worrying about freelancers, accidental or otherwise, on the scene.” Lén answered.
The Doctor folded his arms, his mouth pursed into a thin line. “How much time do we have?”
“It’s not a fixed period of time,” Miðlara admitted.
“You seem awfully sanguine for a couple of people who plan to bring stormtroopers down on ancient Egypt if you’re unsuccessful.”
“Stormtroopers?” Lén sniffed. “What kind of nutjobs do you think we are?”
The Doctor looked visibly relieved.
“Oh, no,” Miðlara added, “it’ll be a demolition team.”
“Excuse me, a who?” Rose asked.
“A demolition team.”
“For what?!” the Doctor squawked.
Lén looked at the Doctor as if he were an exceptionally slow child. “For burning down the Library, hello. What else would we need a demolition team for?”
------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 4
Author: principia_coh
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: Waylaid en route to a holiday, the Doctor and Rose encounter unexpected wonders... and new dangers.
Author’s notes: Thanks to ginamak and leighleighla for their excellent and patient beta work!
Episode 9 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following The Wretched Hive last week.
Virtual Series Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2
------------------------------------------------------------------
As the Doctor and Caecilius made their way through the crowded Alexandrian streets, the Doctor supposed he should be grateful for small favours. First, that the visit to Caecilius’ artisans’ workshop had turned out to be uneventful; there were men, there was marble, and it was carved. He’d seen no sign of city officials tasking Caecilius with making bits of a marble radar installation or anything of the sort.
Second, he was glad that Caecilius had, in his excitement, failed to call for litters or sedan chairs to transport the two of them either to or from casa de Caecilius. The streets were narrow and crowded-not much more navigable than Pompeii’s-but being on foot was giving him a good lay of the land.
“...and then, of course, there is the mighty Pharos in the harbour, although surely you must have seen that when you and Rose arrived,” Caecilius remarked.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, a spectacular achievement by any standard,” the Doctor concurred.
Caecilius was proving a worthy tour guide, and it was just as well-not only had the Doctor’s prior visits to Alexandria been over 100 years ago in local time, but he was fairly certain from what he was seeing that there were some significant deviations from that version of the city within this one of Pete’s World. If he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes, the Doctor mightn’t have believed that the differences between the worlds had begun so early in Earth’s history.
As he and Caecilius continued to make their way through the foot traffic of Alexandrians on their way home for their cena, he wondered if it would be possible to pinpoint the exact source of the divergence between his original universe and the one that had become his and Rose’s home. Although the notion of witnessing the moment itself intrigued him, it would be far safer to simply lock out those specific space-time coordinates; and safest altogether if he put the notion out of his mind. The consequences of any missteps there would almost certainly be disastrous.
Of more immediate concern was the matter of them being in ancient Alexandria at all. What the Doctor still wanted to know is how the TARDIS had ended up here. Mixing up Alexandrias was one thing; the old girl used to get Memphis, Tennessee, Memphis, Egypt, and New Memphis mixed up all the time. But for their new TARDIS to be almost two millennia off in her time of arrival...
Caecilius entered the vestibulum before him, and invited him inside. He shook off his funk. If they had to be here, he might as well enjoy himself, although he hoped that Metella hadn’t gone to any great pains arranging a stereotypically elaborate Roman meal for her family’s guests. He and Rose would do best to detach themselves from the Caecilii before their paper-thin cover story fell apart.
********************************************************************
Metella pointed to a what looked like a small white deer in the lower corner of the elaborate fresco that spanned the far wall of the atrium. “This part here was meant to have been a portrait of Alke, the greyhound we had in Rome. But the painter was an Ephesian, you see-”
“Metella, darling, we’re back!”
The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, observing the scene as Caecilius briefly genuflected before the altar in the corner.
Metella turned away from the elaborate fresco she’d been explaining to Rose and strode forward eagerly to greet her husband as he completed his ritual, her smile wide. “Lobus, Doctor, how was your visit to the workshops?”
Rose turned away from the painting to see the Doctor’s eyes taking her in warmly. Caught out, he pretended to scan the room as if he hadn’t recognised her, a hint of a playful gleam in his eye. She giggled, blushing, then looked up, and saw the gleam had faded, replaced with a tinge of regret.
Play time was over.
“The work your husband is undertaking is truly extraordinary. You must be tremendously proud of him,” the Doctor answered.
Lobus demurred. “I am but a loyal subject of the Empire. All I do is for the glory of Rome.”
“Aren’t we all?” the Doctor averred. “Thank you, both of you, for being so hospitable to Rose and myself.”
Rose could see Metella knew when someone was winding up to a leave-taking. She smiled gently at Rose, and almost succeeded in hiding her disappointment.
“Thank you, Doctor, Rose, for honouring us with your presence,” Metella declared. She gestured for Rose to come to her, and took her by the hands, giving them an affectionate squeeze. “I do hope that we will get to see more of you.”
“I hope so too,” Rose replied. “I’ve had a really lovely time, and thank you very much for the loan of these beautiful clothes.”
“Don’t be silly,” Metella countered, “They are a gift from me to you. Oh, we mustn’t let you leave without your cloak! Let me get Licina to retrieve it for you.”
She gestured to the young servant, who quickly nipped out of the room.
Lobus looked slightly confused. “Oh, must you go?”
“I’m afraid that Rose and I must excuse ourselves for the evening,” the Doctor informed him, “We’re expected elsewhere for the night.”
“I see. ‘tis a shame Quintus is not here to wish you well; his duties often continue into the evenings.”
Licina returned with the cloak Metella had laid out earlier and with a quick nod from Metella began helping Rose into it.
“That is a shame,” the Doctor agreed. “Give him our best.”
“Of course,” Lobus assured him.
Licina finished pinning the cloak, and stepped away so Metella could inspect her work. Metella seemed pleased, and murmured a thanks to Licina, who withdrew.
The Doctor took Rose by the hand, and began to lead her to the entrance hall.
“Oh, Doctor,” Lobus called, “Are you quite sure you’d like to walk? We have a carriage you might use to get to your destination.”
“Thank you for the kind offer, but Rose hasn’t had much opportunity to see the city, and I thought we might enjoy the walk so I could share your insights with her as we go.”
Lobus perked up, and strode to the Doctor’s side. “Well met, sir. Please do let us know if there’s anything else we may do for you while you are here in Alexandria.” Lobus offered his hand to the Doctor, who took it gladly.
“We certainly will,” the Doctor answered. He bowed slightly to Metella. “Ma’am.”
Lobus bowed slightly to Rose, smiling, then returned to his wife’s side.
“Bye!” Rose called, waving to Metella and Lobus as the Doctor preceded her out into the entrance hall.
********************************************************************
The area where the TARDIS was parked seemed to be blissfully guard-free. The Doctor surmised anyone who might consider making off with the marble or other building materials had correctly guessed those particular stolen goods would be too difficult to either fence or reuse without bringing down the wrath of the Empire upon them.
It had been no small feat reaching the Library's campus and getting past the numerous guards, guests, and workers without being questioned. In theory, Rose's makeover should've made it easier for them to move about unnoticed. In practice, the disparity of their clothing styles had ended up drawing more attention to them. He had to admit though, as he stole glances at Rose, it seemed well worth the trouble. The flowing fabric of her garb was flattering in the extreme, even with the many layers of a tunic, stola, and palla disguising her curves. She looked thoroughly lovely, and on any other night he'd probably be inclined to take his time unwrapping her and enjoying all of the Rose that lay underneath.
This was, sadly, not one of those occasions. The return trip had brought the Doctor a growing sense of unease as he took full stock of just how very different this world's version of Alexandria likely was, and had only solidified his determination that they ought to leave immediately.
The Doctor and Rose made their way cautiously through the rooms of the new section, their path illuminated by the sonic screwdriver’s cool blue light. The Doctor held the sonic aloft with one hand, and reached over to lightly caress Rose’s hand with the other.
“You could have told me that we needed to get out of there before you went off on your school trip,” she chastised him, “Or, you know, taken me with you.”
“I did ask.”
“Yes, but there’s asking me, and then there’s giving me the faintest clue what you were on about.”
“I thought it was a perfectly subtle hint, that I’d invite a woman along.”
“There’s subtle and then there’s nonexistent,” she groused.
The Doctor looked suitably repentant. Rose twined her fingers with his and beamed at him. It seemed all was forgiven.
“Anyway, whether we’re staying or going, I’d like to get back to the TARDIS and have a look through her logs,” he sighed heavily.
“The two of us ending up in the wrong place and time,” Rose teased, “who knew?”
“It’s not funny, Rose,” he said sternly. “And before you say anything, no, I don’t think this had the slightest thing to do with your driving.”
“I thought you’d said she’d gotten mixed up between the other location and here.”
“Conjectured, yes, a hypothesis, maybe, but how would I even start to test for it? I’d like to think that’s true. In theory, she’s so young and still so dependent on me for some of her functions that it could be as simple as me thinking of ‘83’ versus ‘1983’ and ending up here. But before we ever set off on our first trip I knew I didn’t want her running about with my sketchy-at-best knowledge of this universe as her only source for her databanks. That’s why we went to such trouble getting her any and all connections to the kind of information she needed to soak up. If she’s gotten herself this turned around, either we’ve taken her out into the wild too soon, or…”
Rose stopped in her tracks and put cautioning fingers to her lips.
“What seems to be the problem, Ms Tyler?” the Doctor said.
“Shhhhhh.” Rose glared and pulled his arm down, switching off the sonic’s light as she went.
“Did you see that?” she hissed.
“See what with what?” He waved the deactivated sonic around ineffectually. “There’s nothing here to see.”
“Not something. Someone. I swear I-”
The Doctor and Rose heard the distinct clearing of a throat behind them and froze in place.
“You two, turn around slowly.”
The Doctor skimmed the top of his front pocket and carefully withdrew the psychic paper, then looked at Rose. In unison, they complied.
The short, stocky man was frowning deeply. He wore a warmly glowing lamp strapped to his chest, and was holding what appeared to be a minuscule pistol that looked threatening far out of proportion to its size. The Doctor had the bad feeling that this might be one of the “scholars” Rose had spotted earlier in this unfinished area, but in this dim light it was difficult to be certain.
“Ah,” the Doctor began, “you may have seen us earlier. We’re inspectors. Well, I’m the inspector, this is…”
The small man’s lips pursed, and he snatched the psychic paper out of the Doctor’s grasp. “You’re not fooling anyone with that, you know,” he scolded. “The locals, maybe, but really? I’m amazed they let you out in the field with that old polarised nonsense!”
The man huffed and offered the psychic paper back to the Doctor. The Doctor rotated the still-open paper in his fingers so Rose could see it. He didn’t dare look himself. The lift of her eyebrows didn’t tell him everything, but it told him enough.
Their erstwhile captor then turned to Rose, clearly annoyed. “How are we supposed to find anything in here without disrupting the timeline if you won’t let us do our jobs?”
Us. At least the two we saw earlier. Brilliant.
He tucked the pistol away in the folds of his toga. “I know short of dressing up as a Vestal Virgin you need a man to get around anywhere in this era,” the man continued lecturing Rose, “but honestly, what do you think this is, 2083?”
The man scoffed and gestured agitatedly at the Doctor’s suit and trainers.
“So long as you’re here, we might as well give you a report,” he offered begrudgingly, then called out “it’s okay, Lén, they must be here as backup.”
The Doctor looked over his shoulder and saw another man running towards them, chest heaving and clearly a bit out of breath.
The man slowed to a walk and looked him and Rose over dubiously as he approached. This was the other bloke from earlier. “There isn’t supposed to be anyone coming, Miðlara,” he snapped.
“Yes, Lén,” Miðlara argued, “and we were supposed to be out of here by now.”
“Fine, we’ll get them up to speed,” Lén countered with a groan, “but can we not do this out here? Let’s go back to the lab.”
The Doctor blinked, and looked to Rose, who seemed ready to take down either or both of the men if they proved a threat, stola or no stola. The thought sent a little frisson up the Doctor’s spine, which given the circumstances was almost entirely inappropriate and should stop right now.
Lén gestured for them to start moving with his copy of Miðlara’s tiny gun. Rose looked to the Doctor, less than pleased, but obviously having decided it was best not to chance it. Besides, what better way to find out what this Lén and Miðlara were up to than by becoming their not-exactly-prisoners?
********************************************************************
The two men guided them back into one of the eaves near where Rose had spotted them chatting earlier today. She hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary earlier other than the two men, and didn’t see any obvious locations for a lab now, which wasn’t overly reassuring. The last thing they needed was to get transmatted away to parts unknown.
Lén reached around her towards the cloth-covered archway they faced and swept his hand across the front of it. Suddenly, the roughly woven cloth shimmered and disappeared. They were left facing a blank stone wall. Miðlara gestured for them to go ahead, then followed.
Rose shook her head and squinted. Lén grimaced and pushed his hand past the blank wall, where it disappeared. Rose smiled tightly and stepped through, followed by the Doctor and Miðlara. They were clearly somewhere new-the air was definitely conditioned (probably what she’d smelt earlier aside from the papyrus), and filled with the soft buzz of powered devices. But the only light sources remained the chest-lamps on their captors, and a few blinking indicators from the machines surrounding them.
“An extra-dimensional space?” the Doctor asked, his voice filled with less-than-idle curiosity.
Miðlara snorted. “Who wants to bother with all that when there are perfectly good unused spaces to be had right here? Besides, the energy signature would be a dead giveaway to anyone from the Kutoka’nje doing more than a cursory scan.”
“A hologrammatic projector, then?” Rose asked.
“The latest in perception filters, loaned out to us for this project.” Lén volunteered proudly. “Even if someone wants to find us, they just don’t.”
The Doctor hummed in a vaguely impressed way.
“Care to cast a little light on the subject?” Rose quipped.
The Doctor smiled thinly at her in the dim glow.
“Oh, right,” Lén muttered, “lights.”
Rose and the Doctor were left blinking and squinting as a seemingly sourceless, neutral light filled the space. They were standing in what looked to be a combination laboratory and observation post. Small banks of sophisticated-looking equipment, sturdy metal tables, supply crates, and a couple of cots occupied much of the space. The tables were liberally scattered with what looked like scrolls of papyrus and various other paraphernalia from the current era like cups and a few wax tablets.
Miðlara grabbed two of the cups and moved to one of the machines that looked suspiciously like a water dispenser without a tank. Sure enough, he slid one of the cups into the nook and a stream of what looked like Lucozade poured into the cup. He took a sip. “You two thirsty?”
Rose nodded, and Miðlara filled the other cup then walked it over to her. She sniffed cautiously and barely avoided gagging at the smell that assaulted her nostrils. It might look like Lucozade, but it smelt like a cross between roast onion Bisto, unflavoured vitamins and agar. She smiled gamely and took a sip as Miðlara returned to slouching against a nearby table.
“Can’t be too careful around here,” Lén offered sympathetically. “You seriously can’t trust the water, and the things these people eat-the animal products.”
“Not to mention all the wine, day in day out, just to kill off anything unsanitary in the H2O-I tried it their way the first day we were here and could barely walk. No thank you,” Miðlara added.
“You were supposed to mix it with the water, not drink it straight, Mið,” Lén cracked.
Rose tried not to snort into the liquid evil she was pretending to continue drinking. She wondered how long the Doctor was going to listen to them trying to use one of his own usual gambits on him.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying,” the Doctor interjected (not long then), “but this sounds to me like an awful lot of chatter and very little reporting.”
Lén’s attention sharpened and he peered beadily at the Doctor.
“Who, exactly, did you say you were again?” He gestured for the psychic paper.
Lén examined the paper grimly, his face slowly flushing until he was the perfect image of a beet.
“Mið,” he shouted, “what the hell is this? Who are these people?”
Lén flung the psychic paper at his partner, who only just avoided catching it in his drink. Miðlara fumbled the wallet back open and looked again, his brow intently furrowed. He flipped the paper around to show Rose and the Doctor its contents. Emblazoned across the sheet, in what Rose guessed was Lén’s handwriting, were the words IT’S BLANK, YOU MORON. Miðlara cursed sharply.
Rose heard a soft snick, and the wall that had disappeared behind them returned.
“Look, if you’re not going to drink that,” Lén grumbled, “can I have it? I’m freakin' starving.”
Rose cautiously passed the cup to Lén, who quickly chugged its contents and regarded the inside of the emptied cup with no small measure of disgust. “It’s not exactly waffles and soystix, but it does the job.”
Rose caught the Doctor pulling a face at her out of the corner of her eye before turning his attention to visually assessing every single item in their surroundings.
“So we’re not your prisoners then?” she asked.
Miðlara slammed his own emptied cup down on the nearest table, rolling his eyes.
“What does it look like we’d hold you prisoner with?” Lén shot back at her.
Lén had a point-this lab barely accommodated the two people who were meant to be there. Rose tensed and readied herself to act. The Doctor, meanwhile, was still taking stock of the contents of the lab.
“Relax, we’re not shooting anyone either,” Miðlara groaned.
“Then what was that back there with the gun?” Rose countered sharply.
“What, this?” Miðlara queried, fishing out and waving around the small pistol he’d used to hold them up earlier. “It’s a veterinary tool. Emits a mild paralytic field and can also be tuned to work as an anaesthetic on most vertebrates.”
“Okay, then what do you plan to do with us?” Rose continued.
“Talk to you to find out who you’re with and what you’re doing here. At least that’s what I thought we were doing,” Miðlara ventured.
Rose glanced back to the Doctor, who appeared satisfied with what information he’d been able to glean from his inspection of the space. “How do you know we’re not-” the Doctor began.
“Kuotan’kje,” Rose filled in.
“-them?” the Doctor finished, chucking his head in her direction.
“First of all,” Lén stated precisely, “because if you were them you’d have murdered us, stolen everything in the lab, and hightailed it out of here before we even saw you two out in the hall.”
“And?” the Doctor prompted.
“And second, it’s Kutoka’nje, not Kuotan-whatever. So unless you’re so stupid that you don’t even know the name of the damn combine you’re working for, you’re not guns for hire either. So who. Are. You?”
The Doctor looked to Rose, then stepped forward. “I’m the Doctor, and this is Rose.” He extended his hand to Miðlara, who shook it firmly. The Doctor arched an eyebrow and thrust his hand back out. Miðlara looked positively mystified.
“My paper, please.”
“What the hell do you want that for?” he scoffed. “It only half-works-that’s more dangerous than bluffing your way into someplace with nothing at all. No-one would ever take an agent seriously who uses that piece of… skít.”
“A piece of skít?” the Doctor barked indignantly.
“It is a piece of skít,” Rose agreed. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t even have a piece of skít. I have to envy yours.”
The Doctor went very, very still, then slowly turned to stare at her. After a moment, he looked expectantly back to Miðlara.
“Fine, have it back. You’re lucky if it doesn’t get you dissolved.” He handed it to the Doctor, who promptly pocketed it.
“Thank you.”
“That still doesn’t answer the question of what you’re doing here,” Lén challenged.
“We came here entirely by accident,” the Doctor replied.
Lén snorted. “You expect us to believe that, that you’re here by accident? No-one comes back to Earth’s antiquity by accident. Anyone who comes is either here to make money, or for the war. Or both.”
“What if we’re none of the above?” Rose retorted.
Miðlara looked flabbergasted. “I think they’re serious, Lén.”
Lén frowned deeply. “Then however you got here, you’d best leave before you get yourselves killed. Not by us, mind,” he professed, putting up his hands in reassurance.
The Doctor was undeterred. “So these Kutoka-people. What do they want with ancient Roman Egypt? Moreover, I don’t see any treasures here, not so much as a denarius. So what are you lot here for? The aforementioned war?”
“Yes, of course,” Lén answered tightly.
“What are you doing here? Shopping for uniforms? Recruiting cannon fodder? Trying to wipe out someone’s great great great what have you? Conducting biowarfare research using diseases that no longer exist in the future?” the Doctor asked.
Lén and Miðlara looked increasingly horrified by the each of the Doctor’s suggestions.
“All right then, hiding from the war?” the Doctor rejoindered.
“Do you even know what war we’re talking about?” Miðlara asked.
“Do I need to?” the Doctor replied tartly.
“You’re looking for something,” Rose said firmly, heading off that argument at the pass.
Lén continued looking at the Doctor as he replied. “Gee, how could you tell?”
The Doctor gestured towards one of the array of machines in the lab, which Rose guessed might be a display system of some sort. “If you could show us what it is,” the Doctor offered, “we might be able to help.”
“Why are you offering to help us when you don’t even know what the war is? Or what side of it we’re on? Or what we’re looking for?” Miðlara asked.
“Yeah, why are you offering?” Lén echoed.
“Because,” the Doctor replied, “if you were looking for something that belonged here, something known to history, you wouldn’t need all of this to find it, and you wouldn’t have to be skulking around playing pretend Romans to locate it.”
“How do we know you’re not here to sabotage us, to slow us down? How do we know you’re not keeping us from finding it right now?” Lén snapped, looking pointedly at the flashing pattern of lights on one of the nearby machines.
Was that some kind of a countdown timer? Bloody hell.
“Oh, don’t start that again, eh? We don’t even know what ‘it’ is.” the Doctor moaned.
“In case you weren’t aware, we are working to a deadline here,” Miðlara protested.
“And what happens when that deadline passes?” the Doctor countered.
“We go home.” Miðlara answered.
Miðlara nervously fingered a small, pager-like box attached at his waist, and Rose saw that Lén wore an identical device.
“Seriously, that’s it? You go home?” Rose queried. That couldn’t be all there was to it.
“Yes, we go home.” Lén flatly confirmed.
Not good. “So what happens here when you go home?”
“Then our replacements arrive. And they’re not gonna be carrying animal tranqs and doling out snacks from their rationers. They won’t have time to be worrying about freelancers, accidental or otherwise, on the scene.” Lén answered.
The Doctor folded his arms, his mouth pursed into a thin line. “How much time do we have?”
“It’s not a fixed period of time,” Miðlara admitted.
“You seem awfully sanguine for a couple of people who plan to bring stormtroopers down on ancient Egypt if you’re unsuccessful.”
“Stormtroopers?” Lén sniffed. “What kind of nutjobs do you think we are?”
The Doctor looked visibly relieved.
“Oh, no,” Miðlara added, “it’ll be a demolition team.”
“Excuse me, a who?” Rose asked.
“A demolition team.”
“For what?!” the Doctor squawked.
Lén looked at the Doctor as if he were an exceptionally slow child. “For burning down the Library, hello. What else would we need a demolition team for?”
------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 4