Wishing Well (3 page)

You mean there's supposed to be treasure at the bottom of the well?' Martha sounded delighted.

'So they say,' grunted Angela. They were sitting at a small table in the Drinking Hole. Sadie sipped a sweet sherry, Martha had a mineral water and the Doctor had his dandelion and burdock (with a straw). Angela was gripping a pint of Robber's Slake, a local ale named after a highwayman who had supposedly met his fate in Creighton Mere.

'It's probably a load of rubbish,' Sadie said. They hadbeen discussing the myths and legends surrounding the well, and one of these actually concerned the highwayman's stolen loot. 'Every village has its stories around here. If it's not treasure, it's ghosts, or connections to royalty. You know – Queen Elizabeth I slept here, that kind of thing.'

'People always like stories about lost treasure,' Angela mused.

'What do the legends actually say?' the Doctor asked. His eyes were innocently wide, but Martha knew him well enough to know that he was probing. She wondered what was on his mind. He hadn't looked very happy at the well.

Angela shrugged. 'Usual stuff. Some say it's stolen jewels, others say it's a fortune in gold, all allegedly taken by a highwayman in the eighteenth century. On the run from the authorities, he passed through Creighton Mere and dumped the treasure down the well. When the militia caught up with him he was empty-handed.'

'And they were so cross they threw the highwayman down the well too,' added Sadie.

Martha smiled, but she noticed that the Doctor said nothing. He was staring into the middle distance again, slowly sucking up his fizzy pop through the straw.

'I think the treasure was dug up long ago,' Angela said. 'That's how the Gaskins got so rich.'

'The owners of the big manor?' Martha recalled Angela blasting the Land-Rover's horn outside the Georgian house on the way into the village.

'That's right. Jumped up nouveaux riches. The Gaskins have probably been living off it for two hundred years. They'd deny it, of course. Especially the current incumbent – Henry Gaskin.' She said the name as if it tasted sour in her mouth.

Nigel Carson led the way to the pub. Ben Seddon and Duncan Goode had showered and changed, thankfully, and were probably looking forward to a well-earned pint. Away from the dirt and claustrophobia of the tunnel, the excitement of the project was beginning to come back: they were laughing and joking again, still treating the whole business as some kind of lark, which Nigel found very irritating.

The early evening air was cool, and the sun was just about to go into hiding behind the church steeple as they walked across the village green towards the Drinking Hole. A long finger of light pointed across the grass towards the old well.

Nigel looked at the well as the sunlight made it glow. For a moment, he thought he saw someone standing in the shadows on the far side, watching him from behind one of the heavy wooden pillars. It was an old man with long, tangled grey hair and a beard. He watched the three of them with dark, hateful eyes and Nigel stopped. 'It's Old Barney, isn't it?'

'Get out of here, yer rotten lot,' said the old man.

'Charming!'

Old Barney took an uncertain step towards them. 'You're not wanted here, you lot. Clear off, go on!'

'You're shaking, Barney' said Nigel. 'Been drinking?

'Never you mind!' Barney raised a trembling fist and shook it. 'Just clear off, you greedy swines.'

'Ah.' Nigel smirked. 'You think we're after the treasure, do you?' When he said the word 'treasure', he raised his hands and made little apostrophe gestures in the air.

Barney's eyes narrowed. 'I don't know what yer want here, but yer not welcome!'

Nigel glanced around him to check that he was alone with the old man and could not be overheard. Then, very quietly, he said, 'Let me tell you a secret, you stinking old fool: there
is
treasure here, all right. But it's not what you think it is. So don't bother yourself about it, because there's nothing here that's going to be any use to a gin-soaked old fool like you. Got that?'

'You lot don't belong here,' Barney croaked fearfully.

Nigel feigned a hurt expression. 'Don't belong here? But, Barney, neither do you. You're homeless, aren't you? A traveller! As for myself... well, I have a room here at the local hostelry.' He pointed at the Drinking Hole. 'Which is where I'm going now. So – fancy another drink? Just a quick one? First round's on you!'

Nigel laughed at his own joke and then walked away, shaking his head. Ben and Duncan were already waiting for him by the pub.

Old Barney was staring after Nigel with a look of disgust mixed with deep concern.

'What did he want?' asked Ben.

'Nothing.'

Duncan said, 'Poor bloke. Looks like he could do with finding some treasure himself.'

'He's just some stupid old fool,' snapped Nigel. 'Ignore him.'

Old Barney was still glaring at Nigel. Slowly the old man dropped his gaze and turned away.

'Come on,' Nigel said to the others. 'Looks like I'm paying after all.'

There was a buzz of happy conversation in the pub and Martha was enjoying herself. There were no cream teas, but the bar did a nice line in sandwiches, so at least they'd been able to have a bite to eat. The only problem was the Doctor. He seemed unusually quiet, ruminating on something Martha couldn't even guess at. Part of her wanted to ask him about it, but another part of her didn't want to break up the happy atmosphere she was enjoying so much.

'So, Martha,' said Angela. 'What would your wish be? If the well actually worked.'

Martha shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know, really.

'Come on, don't be shy. Out with it.'

'I can't say. It might not come true if I told you.' Martha's gaze settled on the Doctor's profile once again, and Angela nodded wisely to herself. Noticing, Martha laughed shyly and sat up straighten 'OK. What would yours be?'

Angela shook her head. 'Oh, you don't want to hear about the wishes of a dried-up old prune like me, dear. The only wishes that count are the wishes of the young.'

'Speak for yourself,' retorted Sadie. 'Here's my wish: to restore the well, open a tea room, and live a long and happy life.'

'That's three wishes, you cheat.'

'You know what I mean.'

Martha sighed. 'When you really start thinking about wishes, they get very complicated, don't they?'

Angela grunted. 'That's why it's best left to the young and foolish.'

'But the young only ever want fame and fortune these days,' remarked Sadie. All they can think of is money. There's a few in Creighton Mere I can think of.'

'She means Nigel Carson and co,' explained Angela. The barmaid had stopped by to collect some empty glasses and Angela greeted her warmly. 'Lucy! How are our resident gold-diggers?'

Lucy smiled and winked. 'That's Mr Carson and friends to you, Angela.'

Angela adopted a mock deferential attitude. 'Mr Carson! How is the slimy toad, anyway? Rich beyond his wildest dreams yet?'

'Are there people here looking for the well treasure?' Martha asked, surprised.

'Nigel Carson and his university chums,' Sadie explained. At least, that's what we think they're up to. No one really knows. They say they're inspecting the village for a tour guide. Load of old tosh if you ask me, because they haven't once asked us about the well.'

'We prefer to think they're after the treasure,' Angela smiled. 'Makes things more interesting. Sad bunch, aren't we?'

'Sounds like fun, either way,' Martha said. Lucy's gaze rested on the Doctor for a long moment, but he was, of course, oblivious. Martha shuffled a little closer to him on the bench seat anyway, just to be sure.

'I don't think they've struck gold yet, anyway,' laughed Lucy. 'Here they come now!' She collected up the last dead glass and headed back to the bar.

Three men had entered the pub. The first, presumably Nigel Carson, was a smooth-looking guy in expensive clothes. He had dark hair swept back from a long, arrogant face and cold, grey eyes.

The other two were a strange pair. One was thin, rather bookish, with steel-rimmed glasses and with a laptop under one arm. The other was a much taller, broader man with untidy blond hair and a slightly broken nose. Martha immediately warmed to him when he looked around the pub, saw her, and smiled. He had very gentle blue eyes.

'Evening, Mr Carson!' Angela called across the pub, raising her glass. 'How's the tour guide going?'

He sneered back at her. 'We can't find anything to say about this place that won't put most people off.'

'Ouch,' Sadie said.

Nigel Carson sauntered over and looked down his nose at the four of them. 'You may be glad to know that we won't be here much longer,' he said. There was a sardonic twist to his smile. 'I think we're very nearly done.'

'You mean you've found the treasure already?' the Doctor asked innocently.

Nigel regarded him coolly. 'And who are you?'

'I'm the Doctor and this is my friend Martha. Pleased to meet you. How's the tunnel going?'

Angela and Sadie both spluttered and Martha struggled not to laugh. The look on Nigel's face was priceless – momentary panic, followed by fear and then anger. Raw nerve touched.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Nigel replied eventually.

'Aww, c'mon. Don't be embarrassed,' said the Doctor. 'How else are you going to reach the treasure? You can't go down the well – it's blocked off with an iron grille, I've seen it. And it would be pretty obvious, let's face it, if you were going up and down the well-shaft right in front of everyone all the time. The whole village would know what you were up to. So, there must be a tunnel.'

'I said I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Yes, you do! The tunnel. How long have you been digging? Must be ages if there's only the three of you.' The Doctor sat back and folded his arms, smiling. 'Or rather two of you. You haven't been doing any digging, but you're friends have – I can see the dirt under their fingernails.'

Instantly, both Ben Seddon and Duncan Goode looked at their fingernails. Nigel glared at them both with a hiss of annoyance. 'You idiots.'

Then he turned on his heel and headed for the bar.

'Come on,' said Ben, pulling Duncan's arm.

'OK,' Duncan hesitated and smiled at Martha. 'Catch you later?'

Martha smiled back and waved her fingers.

'He's the only decent one,' whispered Angela loudly as they watched them go. 'Nice eyes, nice bum, and not as thick as he looks, either. No idea what he's doing with an oily snake like Nigel Carson.'

'Of course,' said Sadie, 'if you really want to know about the treasure, you should ask Barney Hackett.'

'Who's he?' asked the Doctor.

'The local tramp,' Angela said. 'I think you said you met him on the way into the village?'

Ah.' The Doctor nodded. 'The one who wanted to warn us about nothing in particular.'

'Actually,' Sadie said, 'I think he's just a lonely old man, and a bit of an eccentric.'

Martha raised an eyebrow at this.

'No, really. He's harmless, just a bit grumpy.'

'And there's a hygiene issue,' Angela added with a loud sniff.

'Yes, well, be that as it may, Barney Hackett's lived around here all his life, and he probably knows everything. He does fancy himself a bit of an expert on the local legends.'

'Is that so?' said the Doctor thoughtfully. 'You know, I wouldn't mind another chat with Old Barney.'

Nigel and Ben found a place to sit down and sent Duncan to the bar. Ben opened up his laptop. 'Look,' he said, turning the computer so that Nigel could see the screen as well. There was a CG schematic of the well-shaft going deep underground, and a tunnel heading towards the base at a shallow angle. 'That's the original tunnel. We've made another five metres. By my calculations there must only be another five metres to go – possibly even less, if we're lucky.'

Nigel licked his lips. 'So close...' he murmured. He stared at the laptop image and cursed softly.

'What's the matter?'

Nigel frowned. 'I didn't like that Doctor. How can he know what we're doing here?'

'Guesswork,' said Ben. 'That's how most people know.'

'What do you mean?'

'They may be everyday country folk around here, Nigel, but they're not daft. They've probably got a pretty shrewd idea what we're up to. But don't worry about it. Whoever that Doctor is, he can't know for sure.'

'He does know,' Nigel insisted darkly. 'They all know. Even the old tramp outside knew. Someone's blabbed.'

This time Ben frowned. 'But no one else knows... Oh. I see.' He followed Nigel's sharp gaze, and saw Duncan leaning against the bar, laughing at something with Lucy. 'You don't think...?'

'Duncan's let the cat out of the bag,' snarled Nigel. 'It's the only explanation.'

Ben shook his head. 'I don't believe it.'

Nigel leaned forward and lowered his voice even further. 'If push comes to shove, Ben, we may have to cut him out of the deal. I'm not carrying freeloaders.'

'But... But it's Duncan. He's been in on this right from the start.'

'Doesn't mean he has to be in on it right at the end.' Nigel looked deep into Ben's eyes. 'We're talking about more than just money, here, Ben.'

'What do you mean? I thought the idea was we found the treasure and split it equally.'

'The damned treasure doesn't matter.'

Ben scratched his head. 'I don't know what you mean. We are in this for the money, aren't we?'

'Of course we are,' Nigel agreed after a second's hesitation. 'But what does that treasure mean to you, Ben? What does it actually mean?'

Ben shrugged. 'Money. Wealth. The chance to pay off my overdraft, for one thing. I don't suppose I'll know for sure until we find out what's really down there, and what it's worth.'

Nigel looked pityingly at him. 'I'll tell you what's down there. Power.'

That's one way of looking at it I suppose.' Ben shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the bar where his old college chum was paying for their drinks. 'But Duncan has worked hard on this, Nigel. I know he doesn't take it as seriously as you'd like, but we really wouldn't be anywhere near where we are without him.'

'I don't doubt it. But at the end of the day muscle is muscle. It can be replaced.' Nigel sat back and watched Duncan's broad back through hooded eyes. Then he seemed to reach a decision. 'Still, that won't really matter now – we're close enough. We can keep Duncan on until we get the treasure and then...'

'Then what?'

Nigel smiled. 'Cut him out, of course.'

Angela was telling Martha all about the plans to fit a brand new windlass to the well the next day; it was all 'jolly exciting' according to Angela, which was the first time Martha had ever heard anyone say that and not mean it as a joke. She smiled delightedly and Angela took this to mean she found the whole prospect fascinating. 'You really should come and take a look tomorrow,' she insisted.

'Thanks, I will,' Martha promised, not sure if this was true or not. She could be halfway across the galaxy by then, or sightseeing in the Palaeozoic Era. Instinctively she turned to the Doctor to check.

Only to find that the Doctor had vanished.

'Your friend left a few minutes ago,' Sadie told her. 'He said he'd see you outside. I think he's gone looking for Barney Hackett.'

'Oh. Where's he likely to be?'

Sadie pulled a face. 'Try the well – this time of the day, he usually visits it to make a wish.'

'Thanks.' Martha grabbed her jacket and said cheerio to Angela and Sadie, promising to see them the next day. She hoped they didn't see her fingers crossed. She hurried towards the exit and ran straight into Duncan Goode, who was carrying drinks from the bar.

'Whoops!'

'Oh, sorry,' gasped Martha. 'Didn't see you there!'

He smiled. 'Well, I'm big enough.'

'Yes, you certainly are. Well, sorry and everything. Again.'

'Don't apologise. It was my pleasure, really.' He caught sight of her coat. 'Oh. Going so soon?'

Martha shrugged. 'I'm looking for my friend.'

'I could be your friend. Name's Duncan, Duncan Goode. Sorry, can't shake... you know.' He held up the three drinks he was holding together in his large hands.

Martha smiled. 'Nice to meet you, Duncan. I'm Martha Jones. Look, I'm in a bit of a rush

'Wait! I haven't told you about my wish...'

'What wish?'

'My wish – in the wishing well. It really works, see.'

'Yeah?'

Absolutely. I came here a lonely man. I wished for a friend – a lovely, dark-eyed friend of the opposite gender, to be precise. And look what happened!'

Martha smiled. She had to admire his nerve. 'Not just now, tiger...'

'Hey – don't judge a banana by its skin.'

'Pardon?'

'Listen, I may look gormless but I played rugby for my University's First XV. Second row – hence the nose.' Duncan briefly looked cross-eyed at his own, slightly crooked nose. 'Occupational hazard but good character-building stuff, so they tell me.'

'All right. So what's a bright boy like you doing with someone like Nigel Carson?'

Duncan shrugged. 'I just owe him a favour, that's all. And it's just a bit of fun anyway. But he's very intense. He can't help it – poor bloke's never even held a rugby ball, so what does he know?'

Martha smiled. 'Well, exactly.'

'Right. Look, you're welcome to join us for a drink anyway...' Duncan jerked his head at the far side of the pub where Nigel Carson and Ben Seddon were waiting.

When Martha glanced at them she saw they were glaring icily at her and Duncan. That immediately annoyed her. 'Do you know, I'd love to... but I really must see the Doctor first.'

Duncan frowned. 'Nothing serious, I hope...?'

'What? Oh, no, not that kind of doctor. It's my friend. He asked me to catch him up.' There was an embarrassing pause as the two of them looked uncertainly at each other, waiting to see who would speak next. 'Well, I'd better be going,' Martha said at last.

Duncan simply smiled at her. 'OK.'

Duncan put the drinks down on the table, spilling one of the pints slightly. 'Whoops. I'll have that one.'

'What were you talking to her about?' asked Nigel sharply.

'Who? Martha?'

'Yes.'

'Nothing.' Duncan took his seat. 'She just bumped into me. I asked her if she wanted to join us for a drink, that's all.'

'What?' Nigel snapped. 'Are you terminally thick? What do you want to ask her that for?'

Duncan looked over to where Martha was just disappearing through the door. 'Well... I quite like her.'

'In case you've forgotten, Duncan, we're not here to fraternise with the locals.'

'I don't think she's a local.'

'I don't care! She's with that Doctor, isn't she?'

'I suppose so.'

'He's trouble,' Nigel said bluntly. 'I can tell. He might be from the council. That well could be a listed building or something. Those stupid old women, the ones who want to refurbish the thing, they've probably called him in as a consultant or something. The girl's probably his partner. I don't want you to have anything to do with them again, clear?'

Duncan sipped his pint and shrugged. 'All right, keep your knickers on.'

Nigel took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. 'Anyway, we're nearly finished here. By tomorrow lunchtime you could be one of the three richest men in the country. Ben and myself being the other two, of course. You'll be fighting off girls like her with a stick.'

Duncan laughed softly. 'Maybe I will. But I won't believe it until I actually see the treasure. My mum always told me never to count my chickens before they're hatched.'

Ben tapped his computer. 'I've checked our progress. By my reckoning, this particular chicken will be hatched by tomorrow teatime. That's if we start at nine o'clock sharp. It's a full day's digging, but we're very nearly there.'

Nigel rubbed his hands together. 'Gentlemen! A toast...' He raised his glass. 'I give you the future – specifically, tomorrow!'

'Here's to the treasure!' said Ben happily.

'Power,' said Nigel.