Doctor Who: The Highlanders (4 page)

4

Following the Scots girl’s intense gaze, Polly looked down towards the cottage to see the Redcoats and the soldiers clustered around an oak tree which stood just outside the front door.

‘What are they doing?’ asked Polly.

Kirsty brought the Laird’s telescope out of her pocket and steadied it against her arm. Through the eyepiece she could clearly make out her father and Jamie, and the rope with the noose hung over a branch of the tree. She turned to Polly and pulled her arm, dragging her down into the heather. ‘What did you do that for?’ gasped Polly. She looked over. ‘Who are those two men?’

Kirsty turned furiously back to her. ‘Dinna pretend ye canna recognise English Redcoats when ye see them, even at this distance.’

‘English?’ said Polly. She started to rise. ‘That’s all right, then, we’re safe.’

Kirsty pulled her back down beside her. ‘Do you want to get us both killed... and worse!’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Look,’ said Kirsty. ‘Look through this.’ She handed the telescope to Polly. ‘They’re going to hang our men.’

Polly took the spyglass from her and looked through.

The soldiers were placing the rope around Colin’s neck. In line were Jamie, the Doctor, and Ben, each bound. ‘You’re right,’ said Polly. ‘It’s horrible. Can’t they be stopped?’

Kirsty looked at her in tears. ‘How?’

Polly shook her head. ‘I dunno, there must be something we can do.’

Kirsty, used to the more passive ways of 18th century women, shook her head in resigned sorrow. ‘We can but mourn.’ She started to weep.

Polly, an independent girl from the sixties, shrugged her shoulders in disgust. ‘You’re a weeping ninny. You’ve still got breath to run, haven’t you?’

Kirsty looked up, nodding. Something in the other girl’s tone gave her fresh hope.

‘Then,’ said Polly, ‘let’s create a diversion, shall we?’

She looked around her and picked up a stone. Then, running forward down the path a little way, she flung it as hard as she could towards the group around the cottage.

The stone fell just short of them, and the men looked around towards the two girls.

‘Look, sir,’ Klegg grasped Lieutenant Algernon Ffinch’s arm. ‘Away on that hill there.’

Algernon shaded his eyes and stared. ‘It looks like a wench,’ he said. ‘And demme, there’s another one,’ as Kirsty got up and ran out beside Polly, also waving her arms and gesticulating, shaking her fists down at the group of British soldiers.

‘Puts me in mind of what Sergeant King of the Dragoons said, sir.’

‘Uhh?’ Algernon didn’t follow the Sergeant.

‘The Dragoons have orders to stop every woman, sir.

Not that they need orders like that, of course,’ he said with the hint of a smile.

‘Get to the point, Sergeant,’ Algernon said crisply.

‘Sorry, sir. The thing is, they’ve heard the Prince is trying to escape disguised as a girl.’ He turned back to look at the two figures on the hill. ‘Shall I go after them, sir?’

Algernon thought for a moment and shook his head. ‘No, Sergeant, you stay here, I’ll go.’ He turned and beckoned to two of the Redcoats. ‘You two men come with me.’ The Lieutenant, followed by the two soldiers, strode up the hill towards the girls. Behind them, the Doctor and Ben had noticed the two.

‘That looks like Polly and that Scots girl,’ Ben whispered to the Doctor.

‘Keep quiet about it,’ the Doctor returned. ‘They’re trying to create a diversion.’

‘A what?’ Ben began, then seeing the Doctor’s gaze he closed his mouth.

Polly and Kirsty made sure that they were being followed, and then Polly turned to Kirsty.

‘This is our chance,’ she said. ‘That officer’s coming after us. They can’t hang them with the officer away. Time to go, fast.’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘It’ll do nay good.’

‘Rubbish. You must know the moors better than they do.’

Kirsty thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Aye, there is a track.’

‘Good,’ said Polly, ‘then let’s take it. Come on, girl!

We’re younger than they are. They’ll never catch us.’ They turned and began scrambling along a narrow cow track indicated by Kirsty. Behind them, Algernon and the soldiers also burst into a trot, sweating in their heavy uniforms, and obviously no match for the agile girls.

‘Vat a great devotion to duty your Lieutenant shows, Sergeant,’ said the Doctor.

The Sergeant turned cynically to look at the Doctor.

‘Devotion to duty my... ’ he laughed. ‘Devotion to the

£30,000 reward for the capture of Prince Charlie, that’s what he’s after.’

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘You think he’ll catch them then?’

The Sergeant spat. ‘That young whelp? He couldn’t catch his own grandmother.’ A couple of the soldiers standing by caught his words and laughed, but the Sergeant turned and stiffened them back to attention with a fierce glare.

The Doctor clicked his tongue in disapproval, sensing an opportunity. ‘Ach! Sergeant. Disrespect to your superior officer. I could report you for that, you know.’

The Sergeant smiled at him. ‘Yeah, you could, but you won’t.’

‘Perhaps,’ said the Doctor, ‘I vill, and perhaps I von’t.

But, at a price.’

‘Never mind the price,’ said the Sergeant. ‘You won’t, because you won’t be here when he gets back.’ He turned to the soldiers. ‘Right, proceed with the hanging, you scum.’ He looked at Colin who had now slumped down unconscious, and then turned and pointed at Ben. ‘We’ll start with that ruffian.’

The soldiers took the rope from around Colin’s neck and, dragging the protesting Ben over to the tree, made it fast around his neck.

‘Hey,’ said Ben, ‘you can’t hang us with your officer away. It ain’t proper.’

The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders and brought out a small clay pipe which he proceeded to fill with tobacco.

‘Why do you think he went away? Delicate stomach, he has. Always leaves the dirty stuff to others like me.’ He turned to the soldiers. ‘Right,’ he called ‘haul him up.’

The soldiers bunched around the rope and began pulling it taut.

‘Take the strain,’ said the Sergeant. ‘Stand by.’ He raised his hand, and Ben, now on tiptoes, felt the rope tighten around his neck. ‘Ready,’ said the Sergeant.

Just then, Solicitor Grey strode around the corner of the cottage, followed by Perkins. ‘One moment,’ he called. He came over, brought out a lorgnette and looked Ben over carefully.

‘Who the devil may you be?’ asked the Sergeant.

Grey ignored him and finished his examination of Ben.

‘Perkins,’ he called over his shoulder.

Perkins reached in his pocket and pulled out a large parchment commission sealed with a red seal. He handed it to the Sergeant. ‘This,’ he said importantly, ‘is Solicitor Grey of Lincolns Inn Fields, his Majesty’s Commissioner for the disposal of rebel prisoners.’

The Sergeant took the commission a little suspiciously and looked at it, holding it upside down. He obviously was unable to read.

The Doctor, stretching his bound hands, leaned over and took it from him, looking at it. ‘Perhaps I can help,’ he said.

Grey turned to the soldiers. ‘Take the noose off and set this young man down.’

‘Set him down,’ echoed Perkins, who had a habit of repeating his master’s orders.

The soldiers paused irresolutely, looking from Grey to the Sergeant. The Sergeant, his authority challenged, flushed angrily.

‘I don’t care who you are,’ he said, ‘you’ve no charge over my men.’

Grey turned, his voice a whiplash. ‘Can you not read, Sergeant? I have charge over all rebel prisoners, and you and your men are ordered to give me every assistance.’

‘Of course he has,’ Perkins burst in self-importantly.

‘Appointed by the Chief Justice of England, Mr Grey is.

All prisoners,’ he repeated.

The Sergeant turned uncertainly and started blustering.

‘Not these, he ain’t!’

Grey looked at him for a moment, then turned back to Perkins. ‘Perkins,’ he said, ‘the other pocket, I think.’

Perkins nodded, felt in a pocket, and brought out a handful of silver coins which he proceeded to count out from one hand to the other. Grey turned back to the Sergeant.

‘I admit a prior claim, Sergeant, but I think you are a reasonable man.’ The Sergeant was watching the coins. A sergeant’s pay at that time was five shillings a week. He watched, fascinated, as Perkins counted out ten silver coins, then stopped.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said as Perkins looked up at him.

‘Continue, Perkins,’ instructed Grey. Perkins shrugged his shoulders a little unwillingly, and began to count out another handful.

‘Of course, I regret any trouble,’ continued Grey,

‘encountered by you and’ – indicating the other soldiers –

‘these fine fellows. But if this will help...’ Perkins finished counting out a handful of silver coins and held it toward the Sergeant.

The Sergeant nodded, took the money and placed it in a pouch hanging at his belt. He turned back to his men. ‘You heard the Commissioner, get him down smart like.’ The men took the noose from Ben’s neck and released him.

Ben turned to the Solicitor. ‘Phew, that feels better.

Thanks a lot, mate.’

Grey gave him a slight bow. ‘A trifle, I assure you.’ He reached in and took out a snuffbox, delicately taking a small pinch of snuff between finger and thumb and sniffing it. He gave a dainty sneeze, and then continued.

‘Strong ruffians like you and’ – he looked at the other three and nodded towards Jamie – ‘this young rebel here are needed at His Majesty’s colonies.’ He turned to look at the wounded Laird. ‘You can dispatch this one, Sergeant, and’

–he turned and raised his lorgnette to look at the Doctor–

‘this strange looking scoundrel here.’

Perkins snatched the commission from the Doctor’s hand. The Doctor gave a slight bow. ‘Article XVII, Aliens Act 1730,’ he said.

‘Pardon?’ asked Grey.

‘Ah, I thought you vere a gentleman of the law.’

Perkins elbowed him back. ‘How dare you speak to Mr Grey like that.’

Grey gave a slight smile, amused. ‘I am a lawyer.’

‘Then you are doubtless familiar with Article XVII,’

said the Doctor. ‘You cannot hang a citizen of a foreign power vithout notifying his ambassador.’

Perkins, puzzled, raised his tatty grey wig and started scratching his scalp. ‘Article XVII... Aliens?’

Grey turned to the Sergeant. ‘Who is this extraordinary rogue?’

The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders. ‘Claims to be a frog doctor, sir.’

‘No, German,’ corrected the Doctor. ‘And better acquainted vith the English law than you seem to be, Solicitor.’

The Sergeant pushed the Doctor back. ‘I’m the only law that matters to you now, matey, and if this gentleman don’t want you, you hang. All right, lads.’ The men raised the noose for the Doctor, but Grey raised his hand.

‘Wait,’ he said. He turned to the Doctor. ‘You show a touching faith in His Majesty’s justice, sir, and a doctor, too. Well... we need doctors in the plantations. You can send him along with the other prisoners, Sergeant, to Inverness.’

Jamie spoke for the first time. ‘What about the Laird?’

Grey turned to him. Jamie pointed to the wounded Colin.

‘The Laird McLaren. Either the Laird goes wi’ us or you can hang me right here. I’ll no go without him.’

‘Ho,’ said the Sergeant, ‘we’ll see about that.’

‘Sergeant,’ Grey restrained him. He turned to the Doctor. ‘What do you think, Doctor? Can this man be healed of his wound?’ He indicated Colin.

The Doctor nodded. ‘With proper care.’

Grey took another pinch of snuff. ‘Whether he’ll get that where he’s going is somewhat doubtful, but I’ll leave him in your care. Send them all to Inverness, Sergeant.’

‘Right sir.
Shun
!’ The men came to attention.

‘Corporal!’ barked the Sergeant. One of the bigger of the soldiers shuffled forward and saluted. ‘You accompany this gentleman’ – he indicated Grey–‘and the prisoners to Inverness. I’ll wait here for Lieutenant Ffinch.’

‘Where’s that you’re taking us?’ asked Ben, looking anxiously at the Doctor. He realised the danger of being separated too far from the TARDIS, their one hope of getting back to his own time.

‘To Inverness,’ said Grey, ‘to start with. Then perhaps a sea voyage. Say... three thousand miles?’ He smiled at them: a slow, sinister smile.

‘Three thousand miles?’ said Ben. The soldiers formed a group around the Doctor, Ben and Jamie and, lifting the wounded Laird between two of them, set off across the moor. The Sergeant refilled his pipe and sat down in front of the cottage, waiting for his officer’s return.

5

Polly, walking barefoot and carrying her thin shoes in her hand, stumbled after Kirsty, the fleet-footed Highland lass.

Kirsty was leading her through another part of the moor towards higher ground. Around them were tall outcrops of rock, some as large as a house with great splits and fissures big enough to hide a man. Kirsty made for one, and when Polly looked up from rubbing her leg, scratched for the twentieth time that day, her companion had disappeared.

But she had no time to panic before Kirsty suddenly emerged from a slender fissure of rock. ‘Whist,’ she called.

‘Do you want to draw them over here?’ Polly came over curiously.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘we’re miles ahead of them now. They’ll never catch up with us. What have you found?’

‘It’s a cave,’ said Kirsty, ‘I’ll show you.’ She led Polly through the rock fissure, sliding agilely around a slight bend, and Polly, to her astonishment, found herself in a large cave worn from the interior of the rock by a small stream. In one corner, away from the fissure which ran up twenty feet and showed a thin strip of grey sky, there were blankets and a rough cot, and several old chests.

‘You don’t mean to say you live here,’ exclaimed Polly, turning to Kirsty.

Kirsty turned angrily on the other girl. ‘You think we live in caves?’

‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Polly.

‘Nay,’ said Kirsty. ‘My clan use it as a hide-out after cattle raids.’