The Madman and the Thief

The palace was the largest building in the city, seemingly made of a single, enormous white stone. Banners and flags fluttered in the breeze at the top. The interior was lushly decorated, covered in rich tapestries and full of gilded and bejewelled furniture. Green-skinned servants rushed to and fro as the trio were led deeper into the building, and as they passed from room to room, the rooms grew more grand and the people grew even more extravagant.

Eventually they entered a huge hall with a steepled ceiling and high open windows. A vibrant purple carpet led them directly to the feet of two thrones, on one of which was seated a monarch. “Your majesty,” the head guard announced. “We have found them.” The troupe of guards stooped to their knees as one, leaving Rory, Amy, and the Doctor standing awkwardly in the silence.

The queen was incredibly beautiful, by Oslocian standards and several other races’. From beneath her golden crown flowed long, curling obsidian locks that tumbled to the floor; her skin was perfectly jade-coloured down to her manicured toes, and her yellow eyes shone like newborn suns. But her mouth was set in a frown, serious and intimidating.

“Should we bow or curtsey or something?” Amy whispered to the Doctor.

“Your majesty!” the Doctor greeted, ignoring Amy as he stepped forward and bowed. “You honour us by allowing us to bask in your verdant beauty.”

There was a silence, in which Rory and Amy exchanged nervous glances. Slowly the queen’s scowl melted into a soft smile. “Rise,” she bade, voice low. The Doctor straightened with a smile, and she waved the guards away. “My handmaid Suara,” whom she indicated, standing at her side with her hood lowered over her face, “Informed me that she saw you outside our city. I only wish that she had seen you sooner so that we could have prepared for such honoured ambassadors.”

Three sets of eyes passed to the woman robed in white, but only two returned to the queen. The last, ancient and knowing, lingered. “Well! Your majesty,” Amy said, smiling, “My name’s Amy Pond, this is my husband Rory, and this is—”

“John Smith,” the Doctor cut in, eyes still locked on Suara. There was something strange about her, and the Doctor loved puzzles. He snapped out of his trance and grinned at the queen. “Amy and Rory were just married yesterday.”

The queen’s face lit up. “Oh! Then a celebration is in order! Steward!” A man appeared at her side, and before anyone knew that was happening, Amy and Rory were being whisked away to be pampered for a city-wide party in their honour. They began to protest—“Do something!”—but he simply smiled and waved them off.

When another group set their sights on him with a similar intention, he held up his hands. “Oh, no, no,” he said, backing away. “I’ve just remembered I left something in my… vehicle.”

The Doctor inhaled deeply, smiling to himself, as he walked from the palace. Aristocracy and parties were all well and good, but he enjoyed the fresh, open air. The adventure. The potential. The unrelenting feeling that someone was following him.

He never changed his strolling pace, but he kept a sharp eye out for furtive movements. For a few minutes, everything seemed normal: the citizens of the city, dressed in toga-like garments and robes, went about their business. But the Doctor noticed more than once a pristine white flash from the corner of his eye.

He casually rounded a corner into an alley and heard his tail follow, feet falling softly on the packed dirt. When they got far enough from the bustle of the street, he spun on his heel, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and pointing it. The minute he pulled out his screwdriver, the figure pulled out a similar implement: long and thin with a light at one end. This surprised him. What the hell was that?

“Why are you following me?” the Doctor demanded. With her free hand, the woman pulled back her hood to reveal voluminous black hair and sapphire blue eyes. Another surprise: Suara, the queen’s maid, and equally as beautiful as her mistress, if not moreso.

Now where had that thought come from?

“Did her majesty send you to spy on me?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, voice mellifluous and musical. “She would never be so bold with someone she thought was a guest.”

A wrinkle appeared in his forehead as she spoke. “You’re not speaking Olsocian anymore, are you?” he mused, eyes narrowing.

“Neither are you.” Her lips curved, and the Doctor noticed something else strange about her: the inside of her lips were tinged pink. “But of course, the TARDIS translates everything for you.”

“How do you know about the TARDIS?” He kept the screwdriver aimed at her, though there was little it would do, but she was still aiming her sonic… whatever it was at him, so it was only fair.

“You’re the Doctor. I’ve been waiting ages for you.”

They stared at each other, neither moving, for a few seconds until the Doctor slowly lowered his screwdriver, and Suara did the same. He took a cautious step forward and, when she didn’t back away, another and another until he stood right in front of her. He wiggled the screwdriver. “If I may?”

She frowned at it a moment before an amused smile appeared. “Is that a screwdriver?”

“It’s very handy!”

“If you’re a mechanic. Are you a mechanic, Doctor?”

“Well, what’ve you got to defend yourself?” He snatched up her hand holding the sonic and scrutinized it. Then he scoffed. “A paintbrush! You were going to attack me with a paintbrush?”

Suara grabbed her hand back and held the sonic paintbrush to her chest. “You wouldn’t be so well-received if half your face was orange,” she grumbled crossly as he ran the sonic over her. “And that doesn’t even look like a screwdriver!”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and checked the result, face then turning curious. “You’re a human-descendant.” And she had time-travelled. Quite a bit, actually.

“Auroran proper,” Suara said proudly. “Born and raised on the central planet.”

He made a noise of intrigue before turning up the power and sweeping it over her hair. Where the sonic passed over changed from deep black to bright copper. “…Oh. Oh dear.”

“‘Oh dear’? What did you do?” Suara pulled her hair in front of her face, which turned horrified. “Why did you make me ginger again! I can’t be ginger!”

“I can fix it!” the Doctor exclaimed, shoving the screwdriver back in his pocket. He took the paintbrush from her hand and turned it on her. The stripe of red became a silvery white. “See, all better!”

If anything, Suara looked even more appalled. “How is that better?! Stripes of white mean—” The bracelet on her wrist, before looking like an ordinary ornate bracelet set with a large amber, flashed green. “Oh, bollocks, not now.”

Surprised by her language and her sudden change from Auroran to Castrovalvan, the Doctor blinked wide eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“The queen needs me.” Suara looked up from her wrist to meet the Doctor’s eye. The Doctor had only been to one planet that had such a vibrant blue as her eyes were, and it certainly wasn’t Aurora. “There’s an oasis a few kilometres out inside the desert. Go out there, pick one of the white flowers with the blue spots—not the purple ones or the yellow ones—and stick it in your lapel before you come back.”

Suara took off at the brisk pace down the alleyway towards the main street. “Wait, why?” he called after her.

“Just do it, Doctor!” Then she disappeared around the corner.

The Doctor straightened his coat, tugging on his lapels. “Bossy boots.” But he followed her direction anyway.