The Girl Who Escaped Into Space and Time

Quickly ushering them inside, Montressoure made to lock the door behind them, taking the time with the many locks and latches that kept them from the strange, warped city. There had to be at least five, Sarah noticed, before the interior caught her attention.

Everything about this house exuded warmth, from the smell of food cooking in another room, to the crackling fireplace in the front parlor. There were children; two of them on the floor and the third on a leather sofa, the pair playing a sort of game near the fireplace, and the other reclining with a book. Still a bit disoriented, Sarah looked for a place to put her shoes. She didn’t want to track snow and dirt from the streets into this lovely home.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she turned around to face the Doctor. “Right there,” he said, motioning to a section of the hardwood floor, where an arrangement of shoes and boots alike rested. The Doctor had already added his own boots to the pile, and made to follow Montressoure in his mismatched socks. She smiled as she noticed that, but didn’t say anything about it. Rather, she unlaced her own boots, setting them neatly next to his, and followed Montressoure and the Doctor into the kitchen.

Part of her felt surprised that she was being included all of this, rather than being ushered off to sit with the children while the adults spoke in hushed whispers about things they didn’t think she was mature enough to handle. That’s what would have happened back home, anyway, even though she was eighteen now, technically an adult. This wasn’t back home, though; far from it. Things were different here, what she had to say mattered here, and that thought brought a pinch of confidence to her as Sarah entered the kitchen.

Montressoure was fiddling about with a kettle, filling it with water from a tap-like spigot while speaking with the Doctor. Despite the frightening nature of the story the time traveller told, their face betrayed very little in the way of fear, almost as if it was common for those things to happen here.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” Sarah piped up.

“Oh?” Montressoure seemed surprised, as if offering assistance was uncommon here. “Of course! If you don’t mind, could you watch the kettle while I gather the tea?” They opened a cupboard in one corner of the kitchen, picking and choosing ingredients with a skilled speed that could easily be mistaken for random choice. “It’s locally grown, you know. All the herbs, they’re from the city’s market, blended together right here.”

“That’s lovely,” commented the Doctor. “Have you ever compared local produce to the store-bought stuff?” he asked Sarah. “It’s so much better.”

The kettle, hot to the touch, began to whistle in its place above the stovetop’s small flame. Montressoure placed the ingredients into a teapot, an earthenware sort of thing from another cupboard, and offered to let Sarah pour the hot water inside. A warm, homey smell wafted up and out as the tea began to steep, and as it did so, Montressoure produced a tray from another cupboard, stacked with matching earthenware cups. They placed the teapot onto the tray along with the cups, and carried it out to the front parlor, where it was set upon the table in the middle of the room.

Montressoure sat down on the leather sofa and began to pour hot drinks for everyone in the room. The child reading closed her book, took a cup of tea, and moved to a side chair, making room for the guests. With a smile and a nod of thanks, the Doctor took a seat, Sarah settling onto the upholstery beside him.

“I never thought I would actually meet you,” noted Montressoure, methodically pouring tea into the other earthenware cups. “None of us did; it’s been so long since you were last here.”

“Mother is right,” said one of the children on the floor, gratefully taking the warm drink offered to them. “Everyone has heard the stories, the stranger who ended the rule of Nakehema Hema and gave Arcadia back to the people.”

Oh, Montressoure is a she. Would it have been rude to ask? Sarah wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem worthwhile anyhow. Her thoughts were interrupted by the Doctor handing her a cup of tea, which she took with both hands. She rested back against the comfortable leather of the sofa, waiting for the drink to cool down a bit. “How long ago was that?”

“Seventy years,” answered Montressoure.

“Seventy? I was sure it wasn’t that long, something like ten or fifteen at most,” the Doctor laughed, gently nudging Sarah with one elbow. “You tend to lose track sometimes when you’re travelling through time.”

“Right. Onto more pressing matters, if I may.” Montressoure set the teapot and tray onto the table in front of them, then continued. “This Questioner, he has been here for years now. No one is certain exactly when all of this started, but it was at least a decade after you left. The mayor, of course, was the first to investigate, but he never left the town hall since. We think that… thing in there is using him, like a puppet or a mouthpiece, and he has essentially become the Questioner. I have seen him myself; he hasn’t moved from that chair for years now, just wasting away. Some think the thing is trying to take over the position of mayor, but how it’s even succeeding, no one is sure.”

“Psychic energy, maybe?” suggested the Doctor.

“That’s one option, yes. If there’s anyone who can help us, Doctor, it’s you.”

Sarah took a drink of her tea, relaxing into the couch and listening to the exchange between Montressoure and the Doctor. She was starting to feel a bit drowsy, especially after her lack of sleep and all this running around. Given a safe house and a warm drink, her subconscious was telling her it was all right to sit back and sleep. Just a little nap, really. A nap would be fine; these people were kind, they’d let them into their house, and even if they turned out to be malicious, the Doctor was right there. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She set the cup in her lap after one more sip and closed her eyes. The heat of the fireplace warmed her legs and relaxed her mind. Beside her, the Doctor and Montressoure were speaking to one another, going on about the Questioner, and Sarah allowed their conversation to become peaceful background noise, lulling her off to sleep.

At some point after nodding off, she woke up again, in a hazy, half-awake state of being. She’d moved in her sleep, her head now resting on the Doctor’s shoulder. He must have noticed at some point, for his arm was wrapped around her shoulder, holding her as she slept. He carried on still with Montressoure, both of their voices lowered respectfully, and for a small moment, Sarah had the urge to scurry to the other side of the couch, worried that she was invading his personal space. But that wasn’t how it was, not at all.

The Doctor didn’t seem to mind at all, and neither did she. There was never anything of this sort back home, she wasn’t used to being kept safe, but stayed where she was nonetheless. This was different, this wasn’t home and the people there, and something about that changed things. Something about being away from home, with this brilliant and strange alien instead of a family that watched and judged her every move, something about that was just better somehow. Made her feel okayer.

The next morning, she woke on the sofa, well rested and ready for the day. One of the children brought her a blanket at some point in the night — she vaguely remembered that happening — which she’d gratefully wrapped around herself. She’d curled up on one end of the couch, the armrest doubling as a pillow of sorts, while the Doctor was sprawled out ungracefully, one leg touching the floor, mouth open in a silent snore. Sarah sat herself up, trying not to laugh lest she wake him. There were sounds coming from the kitchen; breakfast was cooking, and soon Montressoure and another alien of the same species brought them each a tray of food.

“Good morning,” said the other alien. “We haven’t yet met, but I heard about yourself and the Doctor from Montressoure. I am Petel, Montressoure’s partner.”

“He was off working last night,” explained Montressoure. “Few places are open late, the tavern being one of them.” She chuckled, giving her partner a fond smile. “Come now, Sarah, have something to eat.” Sarah gently shook the Doctor’s shoulder and his eyes blinked open, as one does when woken from a deep sleep.

The breakfast served by Montressoure and Petel wasn’t what Sarah was used to, but what would she even expect from another planet? It consisted of a multigrain bread like a small baguette, an assortment of colorful fruits diced together in a bowl like fruit salad, and two steaming mugs of what smelled like coffee.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor, taking the tray offered to him, as did Sarah.

“You are most welcome,” replied Montressoure with a smile. “We will now leave the two of you to eat, and if you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask.” The pair then left them, returning hand-in-hand to the kitchen.

One of the first things Sarah noticed was that the bread was served plain, no butter or jam or anything on the side. She briefly considered asking for something to add to it, but quickly banished the idea away. Montressoure and Petel had been so kind and hospitable, letting them stay the night and bringing them meals, and it would be borderline rude to ask for jam, right? That must be how it’s served here, she figured. The last thing she wanted to do was potentially insult their culture and hospitality, so she brushed the thoughts away and took a first bite of the bread.

The moment she tasted the baked loaf, Sarah immediately understood why there was no jam or butter; there was no need for it. Though hard and crispened on the outside, the middle was baked soft and fluffy, with a sweetness to it she couldn’t quite place. There was no doubt that this had been homemade, for nothing manufactured time and time again could come out this good.

“What did I miss last night?” Sarah asked. “Right before I passed out, anyway.”

The Doctor had chosen the bowl of fruit first, his expression unreadable as he ate. “Mostly just history, catching up on what happened after I was last here, people’s different experiences with the Questioner, and...oh! Those candles you were asking about, those are there for a reason too.”

While the two of them polished off their breakfast, the Doctor shared all that had been discussed while Sarah slept. All of the candles, she learned, were left in the street by those who had not answered the Questioner, which was the entire population of Arcadia. It was like keeping an alternative sort of tally count, if one could not answer the Questioner, they left a candle out in the street. From his work at the tavern, Petel had heard many different stories from Arcadia’s citizens, most of which agreeing that the thing in the town hall was somehow getting into their minds, asking questions it wouldn’t have otherwise known. For the most part, the questions were either something the victim did not know the answer to, or something they refused to answer.

“For example,” he said between mouthfuls. “Say you’ve got this big secret, something you can never tell anyone else, not ever, or… you’re not very good at math, and then someone asks you a question about calculus. You have no idea what the answer is, right?”

Sarah snorted. She was terrible at math; when it came to linear equations and triangles, her brain just couldn’t make sense of it. “You got that right.”

“The thing in the hall, we think it uses a psychic connection to the Questioner, and likewise the Questioner to anyone he speaks to.”

“But psychic things, aren’t they, you know?” Sarah wiggled her fingers about dramatically. “Superstition and stuff?”

Without a second thought, the Doctor withdrew a familiar-looking black booklet from his coat pocket. “Remember this?”

“Yeah, from yesterday… sorta yesterday?” Time travel was still confusing, maybe it would make sense later on in the future. “When we were with Sally Ride.”

“It’s psychic paper. Not really that superstitious when you get it down to a science. Several parts of the universe have already figured that out, but not Earth for the most part. Your fields of study tend to stray from any topic deemed superstitious and supernatural, so psychic science doesn’t exist there. Not yet, anyway.”

“Huh.” Sarah took a sip of her drink — it was definitely some kind of coffee — stopping when she noticed an odd look from her new friend. “What?”

He laughed. “That’s not how you… here, the bread is dipped into the coffee first, and once it’s gone you drink the rest. Don’t feel bad, though, I did the same thing on my first time here. They won’t be offended or anything.”

Curious, Sarah tried it. The harder outside of the bread softened a bit as it soaked the coffee, and surprisingly, the inside of the bread didn’t immediately turn soggy. While it wasn’t the type of thing she wouldn’t eat often, it wasn’t necessarily bad either.

After breakfast, the two of them thanked Montressoure and her family, before bidding them farewell and setting out once more onto the streets of Arcadia. It was morning now, the two moons hidden in the atmosphere and one brilliant sun shining behind wispy white clouds.

“I have a plan,” said the Doctor. “It seems that all who have been questioned, they never thought to question back. No one knows what happens when you question back, and we’re about to find out today.”

“Kinda surprised no one thought of that yet,” Sarah mused.

“Not so, when given the perspective.” Even while walking, his hands moved about as he spoke. “Fear does things to the mind, cuts out logic and brings out the fight or flight response.”

“That makes sense.” She thought on it for a moment as they walked down the candle-littered streets, retracing their steps back to the town hall. “What are you going to ask?”

“A riddle, but not just any riddle, no. I’m going to ask him a riddle in an old, forgotten language that I know he cannot speak or answer. It hasn’t been spoken in almost a thousand years; no one knows it.”

Sarah wanted to ask what that language was, but something about the way the Doctor said it kept her silent, and they walked to the town hall. There was a somber tone to his voice, perhaps this forgotten language was something to him that he didn’t want to speak of, just like something the Questioner would ask. A chill crept its way up her spine as she remembered what lurked inside, that old man and...the other thing, but she tried not to think about it too much. She was with the Doctor and the Doctor had a plan.

Despite having little range of motion, the Questioner looked up when they returned to his chamber in the town hall, a visible disbelief in his sunken eyes. He tried to move forward in his seat, but was incapable of doing so. Cold air blew around them, the draft of the still-open door chilling the room. Just in case things didn’t work, just in case if they had to run, they didn’t close the door.

“You have returned, Doctor,” he said, voice thin like a feeble gasp for air. “Answer my question and regain your freedom, or return to your petty living.”

The Doctor held the sonic screwdriver in one hand, the other hanging free and empty at his side. “Funny you say that, because I actually have a question for you. You seem to be a fan of those.” With no reply from the Questioner, the Doctor stepped forward to the chair where he sat decaying. Sarah stood where she was, watching from a safe distance. She had no intent of physically getting caught up in anything that might be dangerous.

She watched, willing herself not to look up, as the Doctor leaned down to the Questioner and whispered something in his ear. She couldn’t hear it, but saw the shock in the old man.

“How do you speak that,” he whispered, just barely audible in the empty silence of the hall. “Gallifreyan is an old, dead language; it hasn’t been spoken in a thousand years.”

“Don’t you have an answer to my riddle?” There was a playful snark in his voice, but before he could utter another word, something massive and heavy crashed to the floor, knocking the Doctor onto the ground, his sonic screwdriver skittering across the hardwood floor from his hand.

The thing in the rafters stood on the ground before them, a coordinated mass of gray skin pulled taut over bones, organs and tissue, tottering about on three spindly legs with strange, fingerlike toes. A spine climbed its back, vertebrae poking through paper-thin skin as a mountain range protrudes from an otherwise flat horizon. Rather than ending with a skull or a head, the vertebrae simply ended, coming to a stop before a stump of skin and muscle, outward from which hovered an eerie white mask. It towered over all of them, at least twice their height, belittling the Doctor as he scrambled backward to get away from it.

“You speak the language of the Time Lords,” rasped the Questioner, still in his seat as the thing advanced upon the Doctor. It was a puppet, psychically connected, just like they’d talked about earlier. The thing, it didn’t have a mouth or anything, all its words were communicated through this old man. “How do you speak the language of the Time Lords?”

For a few seconds, Sarah was frozen in shock, nothing but an onlooker in all of this. That thing was massive and terrifying, the stuff of nightmares, and it was somehow real, standing right there in front of them. She felt she had to do something, help in some way, but how could she even help? What could she even do? This creature was massive, and Sarah was only human. And that’s when she finally noticed the sonic screwdriver, the one he’d dropped, and ran for it.

All of this happened in the span of mere moments, but it felt like hours in her frightened mind. She bolted across the room, hoping the creature and the Questioner wouldn’t react fast enough, grabbed at the alien technology on the floor, and stood between the thing and the Doctor, the sonic screwdriver pointed directly at the hovering mask that comprised its face.

Sarah’s hands and voice shook, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins, but she held her ground, eyes locked with the black holes of the creature’s mask. “Step away from him,” Sarah stammered. She wanted to sound strong and brave, but her voice didn’t exactly comply. “I...I don’t know how this works, but let me tell you, you lay one hand on the Doctor, and I will use it against you..” She fumbled about, looking for a button or a switch or something, and ended up activating one of its functions. The sonic warble she’d heard a few times already sang out from the device, and Sarah waved it at the creature, as if that might somehow intimidate it.

Behind her, the Doctor stood up, scuffling to his feet rather clumsily. “Sarah, what are you doing?”

She didn’t know, she just acted on impulse, and her impulse was to protect the Doctor, just as he had kept her safe. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

The Doctor started to speak, but was cut off by another voice.

“Weak human,” muttered the Questioner, and the thing took a step closer. “Wasting your time with things you do not understand.”

Sarah flicked her wrist, throwing the sonic screwdriver out like she’d seen the Doctor do before and the bit on the end sprung open like some sort of metal alien flower. A different, high-pitched warble screamed out from the device in her hand, and the creature jumped back as if stung by it. Its mask spat sparks into the air, the Questioner collapsed in his seat, and Sarah dropped the screwdriver, clamping her hands over her ears to block out the sharp sound.

Immediately, the Doctor snatched the sonic screwdriver up from the floor where it had fallen, shutting the sound off with a practiced ease. He gave Sarah a brief glance, a nod and a smile, as if to reassure her, before approaching the creature before them. It looked somehow wrong with its mask suspended in place but broken, essentially rendering it powerless.

“Would you look at that? Pure chance, one press of a button, and that mask of yours is useless. You can’t control anyone without it, can you? Without your mask, you’re just like the rest of us.”

The creature could not speak. It didn’t have a mouth to do so; it spoke only through others, and with its mask broken, it was essentially mute. There was a moment, a small break, as it took the Doctor’s words in, before fleeing out the open door in a sort of wavy, lopsided gallop. They watched it tear down one street, before taking a turn down another and becoming obscured from their line of view.

“It’s a good thing most people are still at home right now,” the Doctor commented. “I imagine it won’t hurt anyone that way.”

“Where’s it going?”

“Anywhere it can hide, or more likely, wherever it came from. We may never know, but maybe that’s for the best.”

Sarah gestured to the corpse in the chair. “What about the Questioner?” said Sarah. “Do we just… do we leave him here?”

“He deserves a proper Corandrusian funeral, just as he would have had if he’d passed on his own. That creature, it was keeping him on the brink of death, keeping him from dying just so it could use him as a puppet. He’s finally at peace now, and deserves respect.”

“But the whole town, all of Arcadia, he kept them prisoner!”

“That wasn’t him. He wasn’t even the Questioner, he was the mayor. He didn’t do any of this willingly. It could have been anyone, could have been you or me.”

She couldn’t imagine what that could be like, living under the complete control of someone else, having them choose her every step, her every word, warping who she was and inciting fear in everyone she knew. It must have been horrible for the mayor, and with that understanding, she felt terribly sorry for him. She hoped that in death, he had finally gotten his peace from living through that.

The next week in Arcadia consisted almost entirely of reviving the town, reconstructing anything that had fallen into disrepair and ensuring that each and every one of those candles was cleared away. First and foremost, though, a funeral was held for the mayor, one attended by all of the town. Even after everything, the citizens still respected him as their leader, and left mementos of all sorts upon his grave in his honor, from flowers to letters to even children’s toys. In his honor, they would wait a bit before electing a new mayor, but would schedule the winter festival earlier than normal to celebrate Sarah and the Doctor freeing them.

Of course, they stayed for a bit, doing their part to help revitalize the capital. When that was complete, they contributed to the winter festival preparations as well, stringing garlands through fences and lamp-posts, assembling small concession stands for food and things. Montressoure and Petel let them stay at their home during that time, providing hot meals, changes of clean clothes, and a roof to sleep beneath.

When all of the preparations were complete at last, it was time for the festivities. The townspeople came together as a committee, acting in place of the late mayor, to decide the specifics of the festival; small details such as the type of live music to be played, or the duration of the event itself.
Maybe they’ll keep that up, instead of electing another mayor, thought Sarah. From what she had seen, they worked very well together. She was certain that it was a form of government, where the people decide together rather than a single individual. She’d heard that somewhere, wasn’t sure though, as she wasn’t much of an expert on politics.

The festival was properly set up and began around six o’clock in the evening, just after supper, and even those working night hours were excused so they could enjoy the fun with their families. It warmed Sarah’s heart to see Petel at home with Montressoure and the family, the children chattering about excitedly as they donned colorful, patterned festival wear. Montressoure offered one of her old festival dresses to Sarah, a yellow and beige hand-stitched garment, and as kind as the offer was, it did not fit.

Gas lights gleamed from their homes atop lamp posts, painting the town a soft orange among the snow and cobblestone, and as Sarah and the Doctor exited the house where they had stayed for the past week, they could hear music playing in the distance. It had been arranged that the festival would be held in the town square, as it was one of Arcadia’s largest open spaces. Citizens milled about the area, some clustered around food and drink stands, talking with one another. The air smelled like winter in that sort of way that is hard to describe, like chimney smoke and pine needles and caramel. Children ran free from their parents, chasing each other in games, while others danced to the live music that played. The music felt folkish and yet upbeat; a medley of the piano, accordion, guitar, the hurdy-gurdy, and a variety of brass instruments, all taking their turns to complement each other’s sounds in a way that brought them together in a cozy symphony.

Heads turned when Sarah and the Doctor passed, delighted citizens (and some a bit drunk) shaking their hands and thanking them for all they’d done. Vendors did not charge them for food or drink, handing out sweet breads and warm cups of cider to “the champions of Arcadia”, as they called them. Some approached the pair, asking if they would stay in town, though the Doctor had to decline.

“We’re just travellers,” he explained. “Just passing through, helping out as we can.”

They understood, albeit a bit disappointed.

At one point in the night, a circle of children near the bandstand dragged Sarah and the Doctor in to dance with them. There weren’t as many adults dancing and Sarah felt a little awkward at first, but when she saw the Doctor go in without any hesitation, she quickly got over whatever was holding her back and followed suit. They danced in circles and in pairs, some of the braver children approaching the Doctor and asking to be spun in circles, something that appeared to be an agreed favorite. Much to the delight of the musicians, more adults joined in the fun, some dancing with their children and some dancing with one another.

By no means was the Doctor a good dancer; he was rather clumsy on his feet, almost like an uncoordinated giraffe. Sarah wasn’t much good either, but neither was her time-travelling friend, and that didn’t stop him, so it shouldn’t stop her either. It wasn’t being good that mattered — not here, anyway — it was having a good time and enjoying oneself, and that was exactly what she meant to do. At one song — a jaunty sort of tavern song — she asked the Doctor to dance with her, a request to which he obliged with a warm smile.

She took his hand, bony fingers wrapping around her own, and off they went, moving circles across the cobblestone and snow. What type of dance it was, she wasn’t certain; perhaps it had no name. They turned and spun, joined at the wrist, laughing like carefree children. Sarah took glimpses every so often of the others in the town square, noticing their movements and adapting them to her own, all the while trying not to accidentally step on the Doctor’s feet.

The townspeople had gathered around them, clapping in time to the music. They stepped a bit forward, moved backward a bit, and every so often the Doctor spun her around, the black fabric of her dress fanning around her in a spiral. As the song concluded, they finished the dance with a final twirl and a small curtsy at one another, citizens applauding.

It wasn’t until late that night, when the festival was winding down, that Sarah and the Doctor finally returned to the TARDIS. They bid their hosts a brief farewell, thanking them again for everything, and headed down the street to the corner where the blue box rested. The door creaked when the Doctor opened it, and the pair stepped inside.

Sarah unzipped her coat, leaning against one of the interior railings with a yawn. The night had been a long one; lots of moving about and talking to people, and she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little tired.

“A bit worn out, are we?”

She looked up. “Yeah, just a bit. Time sorta flies by when you’re having fun, and you don’t notice when it gets late.”

“If you like, the TARDIS has plenty of guest rooms,” offered the Doctor. “King sized beds, closets of cozy pajamas, fancy bathrooms with hot tubs in them, the works. Since it seems like you’ll be sticking around awhile, why don’t you take one of them?”

A luxury bedroom sounded heavenly right then, even more so that it was inside a time machine that was also a spaceship. Strange as that whole situation was, Sarah was getting used to it quickly enough. She rubbed her drooping eyes and stretched.

“I think that sounds great,” she said. “Whereabouts are the guest rooms?”

The Doctor began to point down one of the hallways leading out of the console room, then offered an arm to his tired companion. “Come on, I’ll show you!”