Doctor Who: The Masque of the Mandragora (2 page)

Within a few seconds the familiar white light began to flash and the TARDIS dematerialised. As it vanished a rumble of triumphant laughter echoed around the crystal mountains like a clap of thunder.

‘He angers me! The last obstacle between myself and the Dukedom.’

Count Federico spat out the words with venom as he paced the chamber of Hieronymous, the court astrologer. The room was small and dark, crammed with old charts, astrolobes, ancient books and bottled potions—all the paraphernalia of astromancy. Hieronymous was tending a noxious substance bubbling inside a large brass cauldron.

‘You mean your nephew, Giuliano?’ replied the cunning soothsayer. He knew very well whom the Count had in mind.

‘Yes, yes. How soon will he die?’

Hieronymous continued to stir his foul concoction. ‘You must be patient.’

The Count snorted. ‘I have been patient. Now the Dukedom is almost in my grasp.’ He curled his gloved hand in a crushing gesture.

‘Nevertheless,’ the sorcerer went on craftily, ‘so many deaths in so short a time... all so sudden.’

‘But you said yourself it was written in the stars.’ A sneer spread over the Count’s ugly features. ‘Don’t say you are doubting your own prophecies?’

The sorcerer’s eyes flashed momentarily with anger. ‘Giuliano has a sharp mind. He may suspect.’

‘All the more reason to act quickly. A day—two days at the most. You have the poison still ready?’

Hieronymous did not reply but crossed to the casement window and gazed out, a faraway look in his eyes.

‘Well? What’s wrong?’ the Count grew restless.

‘These last few weeks as the summer solstice approaches I’ve felt...’ Hieronymous turned and paused. ‘You wouldn’t understand...’

‘Go on, go on.’

‘I’ve felt as if my powers were growing, as if I had been chosen to be granted visions of the future.’

‘Hah!’ the Count scoffed. ‘So many correct predictions have gone to your head.’

‘The stars will not be mocked!’ cried the astrologer fiercely.

‘And neither will I!’ thundered the Count equally aroused. ‘Cast your horoscope, soothsayer. The young Duke Giuliano will die suddenly in two days’ time. I will do the rest!’ He swept angrily out of the room.

Hieronymous tugged on his beard for a moment deep in thought, then crossed to the window once more. As he stared at the sky a clap of thunder echoed across the heavens like an omen from the gods.

The Doctor opened the door of the TARDIS and peered out.

‘That’s strange. A forced landing.’

They appeared to be wedged in a very large bush overhanging a slope.

‘You mean you weren’t in control?’ enquired Sarah sweetly, knowing how touchy the Doctor was on this subject.

The Doctor scowled and scrambled out. Sarah followed with more difficulty.

‘It’s very pleasant,’ she said when her feet finally touched the ground and she could look around properly. ‘Ooh look, grapes!’ She set off to explore.

They had landed in a vineyard on the side of a hill. The climate was warm and sunny and Sarah delightedly stuffed her mouth full of grapes. ‘Delicious!’ she shouted, ‘and just look at those peaches over there.’ She ran off up the slope.

The Doctor seemed not to hear. ‘Perhaps that’s the reason I stopped using the old control room?’ he muttered to himself puzzled. He gave up the problem and looked about him.

A piece of broken glass caught his eye on the ground a few feet away. He bent down and studied it.

‘Hmm. Earth, Mediterranean, late fifteenth-century Italian.’ He tossed it to one side. ‘Not a pleasant period. I think we’ll be on our way.’ He stood up and looked round for Sarah. She was nowhere to be seen.

‘Sarah! Where are you?’

The Doctor’s voice carried faintly over the hill to where Sarah was now happily picking peaches. She gave a little grin but didn’t reply.

Less than ten paces away three hooded figures in black robes were carefully watching her every move. Oblivious to the danger Sarah drew nearer and nearer the hidden watchers. She began to hum a tune. Suddenly she heard a noise.

‘Is that you, Doct...’ The words froze on her lips as the hooded assailants lunged towards her. Before she could speak one of them clamped a large hand over her mouth. The next moment she was being dragged away roughly through the bushes. She tried to struggle but the hand over her mouth was stopping her breath. Her lungs felt ready to burst and the blood rushed to her head.

They must have covered about a hundred yards when a voice rang out from behind them. ‘Stop! ‘

Sarah’s captors turned to see the imposing figure of the Doctor advancing towards them. The largest of them ran to attack the Doctor but as he got within arm’s length he was suddenly lifted off his feet and hurled through the air in a graceful arc. He landed heavily on the hard earth with a grunt and rolled over apparently unconscious.

‘Now put her down,’ commanded the Doctor to the other two. Gingerly they lowered Sarah’s inert form to the ground.

‘Right. Move away.’ The two hooded figures obeyed. ‘Good.’ The Doctor stepped forward to examine Sarah but as he did so there was a flash of action behind him and a heavy stone crashed mercilessly against the back of his head. He fell like a log.

The third figure stepped over the Doctor’s crumpled body and dropped the stone with which he had dealt the vicious blow. Swiftly and silently, the three of them lifted Sarah up again and disappeared with their bundle into the dark woods nearby.

A hundred yards away the TARDIS stood alone and unguarded, partly hidden among the vines. All at once the door started to open slowly of its own accord and a blazing obelisk of fiery red light emerged. It was accompanied by a rushing shrieking sound which startled all the birds and sent them squawking away in panic. The ball of light hovered for a few seconds outside the TARDIS then set off gradually through the trees about three feet above the ground. As it moved it left a darkened trail of burnt and shrivelled foliage.

The Doctor slowly recovered consciousness and clambered to his feet. A sharp stabbing pain in the back of his head reminded him all too clearly of what had occurred. He shouted Sarah’s name but she and the hooded figures had vanished. He wondered what to do next—everything was a disagreeable mystery.

He was standing on a narrow footpath which led into a thick wood. He decided he had no recourse but to follow it.

The path ran steeply down between mossy banks and overhanging trees and then levelled off after half a mile and came to a small lake. On the opposite side was a peasant gathering rushes. He had already laid some on the bank to dry, and was now tossing them into a cart with a pitchfork.

The Doctor was on the point of calling out to him when he heard a strange screeching sound overhead. He glanced up and saw what looked like a red fire-ball swooping down towards the lake from out of the sky. As he watched, it plunged beneath the water’s surface and headed towards the peasant leaving a hissing bubbling trail in its wake. The peasant was paralysed with fright. He clutched his pitchfork in self-defence but before he could move the glowing phosphorescence rose out of the water and engulfed him in a sizzling flash.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. The Doctor hurried to where the peasant had fallen. All that remained was a blackened corpse.

‘Mandragora Energy!’ whispered the Doctor, horrified. ‘It must have got into the TARDIS.’

Grimly he studied the trail of smouldering grass indicating the passage of the lethal bolt. He shuddered at the thought of what further destruction this evil and irresistible force might wreak. Whatever its purpose one fact was irrefutable. He, the Doctor, was the unwitting cause of the death he had just witnessed. It was he who had brought this deadly menace to Earth. And at the moment he had no idea how to combat it.

Giuliano was seated at a table in his private chamber in the palace. With him was Marco. Instead of their usual silken doublet and hose both men wore the official clothes of mourning. The face of the young Prince was pallid and wan but now and then a flicker of life crossed his features as he toyed with various round pieces of glass on the table in front of him. Eventually he took one up and fitted it inside a rudimentary-looking telescope.

‘There’s a man in Florence,’ he said squinting through the eyepiece, ‘who claims that by arranging ground glasses in certain orders it is possible to see the moon and stars as large as your hand.’

Marco looked up from cleaning his sword. ‘Is that a good thing?’

‘Of course it’s a good thing. That way we can find out more about them.’

Marco tossed back his blond hair and smiled. ‘What is there to know about the stars except how they move in the heavens? And we’ve known that for hundreds of years.’

‘That’s the whole point, Marco,’ exclaimed Giuliano excitedly, jumping up from the table. ‘Perhaps they don’t move as we think they move. That’s what this man in Florence is saying. Perhaps it is we who move!’

Before Marco could respond the door to the chamber burst open and Count Federico strode in followed by Hieronymous in his skullcap and trailing robes. Giuliano’s animated mood was immediately dispelled.

‘It is customary to knock before entering a room, Uncle,’ he said coolly.

‘I’m sorry,’ replied Federico without appearing so, ‘but there is bad news, Giuliano.’

For a moment the young Duke looked fearful. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

Federico motioned the soothsayer forward. ‘Tell him.’

Hieronymous bowed obsequiously. ‘Sire, forgive me, it is not of my doing—but this morning I was casting a horoscope—’

‘I’ve told you often enough,’ interrupted Giuliano, ‘I don’t believe in horoscopes.’

Hieronymous shook his head sadly. ‘I only wish I too could not believe. But it was there too plainly to be ignored...’ He broke off.

‘What was there?’

‘I cannot speak of it,’ whispered the astrologer, clearly overcome by the dire nature of his premonition. Giuliano began to grasp the meaning of this charade.

‘My death?’ he scoffed.

‘Please, my lord. Do not take these things lightly.’ Hieronymous’s face wore a pained expression. He leant forward and took hold of Giuliano’s arm. ‘I beg you not to leave the palace on any account. Take no risks of any kind. Perhaps it can be... avoided.’ He stared into the young Duke’s eyes.

Giuliano seemed unmoved. ‘I have no intention of sacrificing my life to satisfy some old superstitious nonsense.’

Hieronymous glanced at Federico. The Count stepped forward. His long nose and raven black hair poked out from beneath a black velvet hat making him look more sinister than ever. ‘Remember your father, Giuliano. He, too, scoffed.’

‘Yes, I remember my father,’ replied the young Duke tight-lipped. ‘His death remains a mystery. But it was nothing to do with the stars, of that I am certain.’ He stared straight at Federico who was forced to turn away beneath his unflinching gaze.

‘And how are the troubles with the peasants, Uncle?’ Giuliano continued after a moment, this time in a mocking tone.

‘We think they are being stirred up by spies sent from our enemies,’ Federico smiled coldly, ‘but we shall catch them—and make them pay for it.’ He slapped his gloved palm with his riding whip and, motioning Hieronymous to follow stalked out of the room.

Giuliano and Marco exchanged worried glances. There was intrigue and villainy afoot.

The Doctor hurried on through the wood. He had abandoned the futile search on foot for the Mandragora Energy. His foremost concern now was to recover Sarah.

He rounded a bend in a path and came upon a group of peasants resting beneath a tree. He extracted a peach from his pocket and, taking a bite, approached the peasants in a nonchalant manner.

‘Excuse me, I’m a traveller in these parts. I was wondering if you had happened to see...’ He broke off aware of a sudden panic in their faces. In an instant the peasants had snatched up their belongings and fled into the woods leaving him quite alone. The reason for their flight was quickly explained as a troop of armed soldiers rode up and surrounded the Doctor. They were attired in yellow and scarlet livery.

The captain of the troop, a heavily built man with a scar on his left cheek, addressed the Doctor rudely. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m a traveller.’

‘Where from?’

The Doctor smiled. ‘My dear fellow, you’d never believe me. By the way you haven’t seen a young girl have you? About five feet five and...’

‘Silence!’ the captain roared at him.

‘... probably got peach juice all over her chin...’

The captain whipped out his sword and held it to the Doctor’s throat. ‘Your life is in peril, dog! Produce your documents.’

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Documents? Certainly—hold this for a moment.’ He pushed the sword aside and stabbed his peach on the point. The captain, taken aback, was momentarily speechless.

‘I think you’ll find some of these rather interesting.’ said the Doctor, rummaging around in his pockets. He pulled out a large football rattle and stared at it with vague surprise. ‘Extraordinary the things one carries about one’s person.’ He suddenly whirled the rattle in front of the captain’s horse. The animal shied and reared, unseating its rider.

‘After him!’ yelled the captain, struggling to get his breath back.

But the Doctor was already doubling between the stationary horses like a hare in flight. Before anyone could move he had pulled a soldier from his mount, leapt into the saddle and spurred the animal away down the path. In the confusion it took several seconds for the remaining soldiers to gather their wits and set off in pursuit. This they eventually did with the scar-faced captain bellowing angry imprecations at their rear.