Doctor Who: The Mark of the Rani Read Free Page A

belligerent shove sent the Doctor sprawling. Then, flourishing a piece of timber from the broken crate, Ward rose and began backing away.
    ‘Steady now. Only trying to help.’ The Doctor’s reassurance was futile. Having gained several metres, Ward turned and hared off.
    ‘So much for playing the Good Samaritan!’ Peri quipped.
    ‘Don’t know what’s got into him. Can’t fathom it. Never seen him like this afore.’ The drayman indicated the demolished machinery. ‘Mister Stephenson’s not going to be well pleased when he sees this!’
    ‘Stephenson?’ the Doctor asked.
    The drayman nodded. ‘Waiting for them parts, he is.’
    ‘George Stephenson?’
    ‘Aye, sir. Dost know him?’
    ‘Know of him. Peri, how d’you like to meet a genius?’
    She could not resist. ‘I thought I already had!’
    ‘No, Peri. I’ve never changed the course of history.
    Indeed, I’m forbidden to do so, But George Stephenson will!’
    Suddenly serious, Peri ventured a thought. ‘Could that be what this is all about?’
    ‘An astute observation.’
    This was not sarcastic; the compliment was sincere.
    George Stephenson was important. His impact on earth’s development was fundamental. He invented the railway train. Indeed, without the train, it is doubtful that Peri’s own country, the United States of America, would have become one nation.
    Then, with a customary, infuriating switch of mood, the Doctor decided he must meet the inventor.
    ‘Can you give us a lift?’
    To Peri’s chagrin, the drayman was willing to oblige.
    ‘Dare I question your sense of priorities?’ she asked.
    ‘You’ve done so before. Hop aboard!’
    If the Time Lord had been concentrating less on George Stephenson, he might have noticed a weird apparition at the stile.
    As the clip-clop of the horse’s hoofs began, the ragged scarecrow, exuding a pernicious aura of evil, climbed the stile to follow the dray.
     
    3

The Old Crone
    Hobbling from the bath house, the old crone beckoned to a boy hooting a muffin along the gutter.
    ‘Here! Run to tavern. Tell men who want bath to come right now!’ He accepted the proffered coin. ‘Warn them us won’t be keeping water hot much longer,’ she called.
    Lingering to welcome the next batch of customers, she was startled by a high frequency bleeping from a dray rumbling past.
    The electronic discord came from the Doctor’s tracking device. Hanging on as the wheels jolted over the cobbled street of the village, the Doctor and Peri stared as the broadcasting bleeps grew more shrill.
    ‘Doctor!’ Peri muffled her ears and the dappled horse whinnied and shied. Frantically, the Doctor tried to subdue his errant invention and the drayman to subdue his bucking horse. Both succeeded.
    ‘Was that significant? Or just a hiccup?’
    The Doctor was not sure. They had hit a nasty bump as they reached the bath house; that could have destabilised the delicate mechanism.
    Something, too, had profoundly disturbed the old crone.
    Suspiciously, she watched the dray clatter out of sight.
    ‘Whoa, Daisy! Whoa!’ The drayman tugged on the reins.
    Coming from the tavern, Tim Bass gave a weary but friendly nod. He was accompanied by the old crone’s messenger boy and two mates.
    ‘Why are we stopping here?’ The tavern had no attraction for the Doctor.
    ‘I still feel a bit shook up. Need a Toby afore I tell them at pit about attack.’
    The Doctor disembarked. ‘Where will I find George Stephenson?’
    ‘In’t pit.’ Nervous, taking the opportunity of using this oddly garbed but apparently benevolent individual to plead his cause, the drayman begged a favour. ‘’Appen tha’d put in word for me. They’ll be none too pleased. ’Bout machinery.’
    ‘Yes, yes.’ Impatient to be on his way, the Doctor left the drayman to assist Peri down.
    ‘In’t mighty hurry, isn’t he, Miss? Dost mean summat’s wrong? More than attack on machinery?’
    ‘It does, I’m afraid. But don’t ask me what.’
    Nothing