Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones
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Authors: Mark Speed
Tags: #Humor, #Science Fiction, #Time Travel
Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones
Doctor How, book two
Mark Speed
Table of Contents
To Sue
Hard to believe it’s been this long; forever grateful for your friendship
Doctor How asked me to write this series in British English. Original manuscripts in Gaelfreyan and Squill will be available when your civilisation reaches the necessary level.
Similarly, Doctor How uses the Imperial system of measurement, rather than the Metric: the French were wrong on a literally cosmic scale. Other characters are stuck using Metric because they don’t know any better.
…and a quick reminder
I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
Rudyard Kipling (extract from
The Elephant’s Child
)
Doctor Who and TARDIS are registered trademarks of the BBC. (No, really – they are.)
Lin-Lin silently thanked the Communist Party for its one-child policy. One was quite enough, and it was her husband’s tough luck that they’d had a daughter, not a son. “Ah-lam, it is not the end of the world. I will buy you the DVD next week. The street sellers will have it.”
“But I wanted to see it
now
,” wailed her daughter. “All the other girls at school will have seen today’s episode.” Ah-lam kicked the DVD recorder, scratching her fake designer shoes, and stubbing her toes. She began to cry. “I hate this DVD! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I want a new one.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. Maybe the electricity went off.” Lin-Lin glanced at her watch. Somehow the DVD’s clock was an hour out, and had recorded a different show. In her youth this kind of wealth and these consumer goods had been unimaginable, and what had that and the one-child policy given them? A generation of spoilt brats demanding round-the-clock attention and entertainment. Lin-Lin was nothing if not meticulous. She’d set the device to record that morning, and would swear on her own ancestors’ graves that the time had been right.
“I tell you what, I’ll call round a few people. Maybe someone else recorded it? Here, play with the little bouncing flower. See if you can figure out how it works.” She took the little white flower down from the windowsill, grasping it by its two-inch diameter green plastic pot.
Lin-Lin knew exactly how it worked. She was an export marketing manager and it had been her idea to look for another use for the little motors that powered the waving paws of
maneki-neko
, the plastic good luck cats her factory sold. The market was saturated, so she’d told the designers to brainstorm a new product and this was it. They expected it to be a huge hit in Western Europe. She’d had a scheduled sales call with her distributor in London, which was why she’d picked up her daughter late from nursery. They’d liked the sample, so a consignment was to be air-freighted so that they could test the market. If they sold well, millions would be produced and shipped over by the container-load.
She placed the flower down in front of Ah-lam. It bobbed up and down on its stalk, and the two green plastic leaves either side flapped up and down in an equal and opposite motion. The weight of the flower, stalk and base in the centre of the pot was finely counterbalanced by the weight of the two leaves on either side. Two photovoltaic cells formed the brown ‘soil’ on the top of the pot, and powered the simple and tiny electric motor. Ah-lam stared at it, mesmerised.
Lin-Lin called a neighbour a few floors below who also had a five-year-old daughter, and confirmed they had recorded and watched
Hello Kitty
. Her phone said 18:49. “I’ll be down in one minute,” she said, and turned to Ah-lam. “I need you to behave for Mummy for two minutes, little girl. I’m going to get
Hello Kitty
for you. You’re tired and hungry. I’ll put something in the microwave. It’ll be ready when I get back.” She took some soup out of the fridge, put it in the microwave, set the timer to two minutes and turned it on. “Two minutes! Behave!” she called as she shut the door behind her.
Lin-Lin checked her phone when she got back to the apartment. 18:53, so four minutes, give or take.
But she could hear the microwave humming. She looked in the kitchen. There was still over a minute to go on the timer. The seconds were ticking by painfully slowly. She went over, switched it off and opened the door. A plume of steam billowed out. Pieces of red and green vegetable plastered the inside walls.
What the hell was up with her appliances today?
She listened. Silence. Nothing from the living room.
“Ah-lam?” she called, her heart missing a beat. “Ah-lam?”
She ran through to the living room. Her daughter was still staring at the flower, bobbing up and down on its stalk, its two leaves flapping. Tears were rolling silently down the child’s cheeks.
“Ah-lam?” She knelt down and grabbed her daughter’s shoulders. “Ah-lam? What’s the matter? I have your DVD. We can watch
Hello Kitty
together now. I told you it wasn’t the end of the world. Cheer up, darling.”
“It
is
the end of the world, Mummy. It
is
.”
“Hush now. Hush.” She picked up her daughter, who was getting too old and heavy for this kind of comforting. “Why do you say such a stupid thing, sweetie?”
Ah-lam pointed a trembling hand at the flower. Her mother rolled her eyes. This would be her mother-in-law’s superstition.
Maneki-neko
were Japanese in origin. Her husband’s mother was from a peasant family. The flower was white with a small yellow centre; that was the problem. White meant death in Chinese tradition. The Westerners weren’t so stupid: white was a neutral colour that would please consumers in their millions. They’d agreed it with the distributor – any other colour would have made fewer sales, and this was a volume business.
She put her daughter down and picked up the flower and put it back on the windowsill. “See? It’s not going to hurt you.”
A sob from Ah-lam said she thought otherwise.
“Well, well,” said the Doctor from just behind Kevin. “It’s cousin When.”
“G-g-good evening, cousin How.” When removed his black postman’s cap and held it tightly against his chest with both hands, the golden royal crest pointing down. His light red hair was crew-cut. “P-P-Peter. H-h-how are you?” He blinked rapidly behind his plastic NHS spectacles, his eyes flitting briefly to Kevin then back to his cousin.
“I’ve been better, frankly. We all have.”
When looked down at his cap, which he was squeezing. “Yes. I… I thought you might need a bit of help. I came in…” He glanced back over his shoulder and indicated the red post box on the pavement just outside How’s drive. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“Of all the Time Keepers, you should probably know. Still, better late than never,” Doctor How stepped through the door from the porch to the house, and closed it behind him. He brushed past Kevin, who was standing at the front door, and reached out his right hand to his cousin, who hesitated a fraction of a second before grasping it in a brief handshake. There was a second of awkwardness before Doctor How stepped forward and gave When a quick hug. When stood stock still, and clenched his eyes shut, opening them again once How had let him go. “Welcome,
Bhaltair
,” said How. “This is my new assistant, Kevin. Well, fairly new. He’s the veteran of one little adventure so far.”
“Hello, um…” Kevin reached out his hand.
“Er.
Walter
,” said When, glancing at How. “That’s the English equivalent. Yes.
Walter
. That’s it. My name. Me.”
“But it began with a B, not a W,” said Kevin.
“I don’t make the rules,” said When. “But they are there to be obeyed. Details are important.” Kevin saw Doctor How roll his eyes.
When gave an awkward smile and shook Kevin’s hand. “You’re… You’re different from his other assistants, K-K-Kevin.” His voice wasn’t atonal so much as bland, but with the emphasis placed on the wrong words.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Kevin, turning up his accent. “You isn’t the first to notice that. I is like a black or mixed-race South Londoner, innit? Makes a difference to them fancy birds from North London like wot you see on the telly, dunnit?”
Walter glanced back at his cousin again. “Y-y-yes. A refreshing change, if I may say.”
“Oh. Right. Thanks, Walter.”
“You have great…
potential
,” said When, with a hesitant smile.
“Yeah, well I’m sure the Doc sees something in me that my Mum doesn’t.”
When indicated towards the black cab in the drive. “Cousin Where is around?”
“No.”
“Is he at work? Or-or-or on duty?”
“He’s definitely not at work. Whether he’s on duty or not is another question entirely. Come inside. You’re looking well. Which is more than can be said for Where.”
Doctor How closed the door behind the three of them and pressed the button for the UV disinfection to begin. They raised their arms in unison.
“It’s reassuring to me that you still have the same habits, Peter,” said When. “I was never sure as to the efficacy of this procedure, but the fact that you have a procedure and stick to it is a measure of you. Habit maketh the man, as they say.”
“Well, thank you, I suppose,” said How, and opened the door to the wood-panelled hallway.
“I assume you will want me to wash my hands thoroughly before I proceed further into the house, despite the fact that I didn’t come by public transport?”
“That goes without saying,” said the Doctor with a wry smile.
When made for the downstairs toilet, then hesitated. “You, er… You, er, still have Trinity, do you?”
By way of reply there was the padding of heavy feline feet from above.
“She’s not in stealth mode, so that’s a good sign,” said How.
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
Trinity appeared in feline form at the top of the stairs. She fixed her glowing green eyes on When. She sniffed the air and let out a garbled meow, then took the last dozen steps in a couple of bounds and landed two feet from When. An ordinary cat would have slid on the polished wood, but her landing was silent and perfect. She stepped forward and gently rubbed against his calves.
“Yes. Good girl,” said When. He bent his knees slightly and reached down to stroke her back. “Have you been keeping well, Trinity?”
Trinity meowed loudly.
When cleared his throat and straightened up. “I think that’s a ‘yes’ from Trinity. And what about the lovely Mrs Roseby next door, Peter? Is she still going strong?”
Kevin glanced at Doctor How to gauge his reaction. He had already put sarcasm beyond When’s range: this Time Keeper was a walking checklist, and about as interesting.
“She’s doing pretty well, considering,” said Doctor How, slowly. “Her usual self. Not happy with cousin Where’s taxi being parked outside; nor his Spectrel. Not that she’d know the difference. Thinks he’s running a taxi business from the premises. You’re not blocking the pavement with your post box are you?”
“
Seriously
,” said Kevin. “Walter, is that like your Spectrel? That post box?”
“If I assume that the word ‘like’ is redundant in your question, then yes – that is my Spectrel.”
Kevin laughed. “You have
got
to be joking, man. A
post box
?”
“Kevin, I will not tolerate rudeness to my cousin. I’ve told you before that you must widen your mind to incorporate ideas far beyond your own, somewhat limited, experiences.”
“Doc, please, I didn’t mean to offend. Walter, like, I’m sorry. But a post box is just like… it’s
mental
.”
“
Mental
,” repeated When thoughtfully. “By which I think you mean illogical in your parlance. Am I correct?”
“Yeah, you is bang on bro’.”
“I would like to understand your reasons for thinking my Spectrel’s choice of 3D projection does not make sense. Would you care to elucidate further?”
“Really? For real?” When wore a studious face. He pushed his specs back up the bridge of his nose and nodded earnestly. Kevin continued, “The Doc’s Spectrel I get. It’s got glass panels, so you can see out. Where’s taxi is well cool. It’s already a vehicle, innit? Plus it also has windows.”
“And did you ever chance to look out of the windows whilst in either Spectrel?” asked When.
“Uh. Well…” he looked to Doctor How for support. The Doctor stared back at him. “I don’t think so. But you… All you’ve got is this
slot
, man. You have a slot for letters and, like, small packets. You know, it’s… it’s open to the elements, innit? People could put stuff in. You could, like, be sitting there on – I dunno – some planet orbiting Betelgeuse or somewhere and someone, or like some
thing
posts some mail through your letterbox and it lands in the middle of your Spectrel. I just like have this mental image. I mean, a really
mental
mental image of you getting letters an’ stuff appearing out of thin air and dropping on the floor when you is on a deadly serious mission. You get me? It’s like absurd, innit?”
When blinked a couple of times and glanced back at How. “Has my cousin explained that it’s possible to have shortcuts in the space-time continuum?” His face brightened. “Yes. I would imagine by now that you would have seen him use such shortcuts from the pockets of his suit jacket. Am I correct?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“What happens with the aperture is the same. If someone were, as you postulate, to put some item of mail – or indeed anything else – through the aperture then it would not enter the Spectrel itself. It would go elsewhere. To the nearest suitable post receptacle for that item from the culture to which the life-form posting the letter belonged. Subject to the rules governing time and space, of course. And also the ones covering the Time Keepers. Those cannot be breached.
“Let me illustrate by way of an example. If Neil Armstrong had encountered my Spectrel on the surface of the moon in 1969 – not that I am suggesting that was in any way probable because we stayed well clear of that one for obvious reasons such as the presence of cameras and other remote sensing equipment. Anyway, if Commander Armstrong had decided to send a postcard from the moon, it would not have been entered into the system of the United States Postal Service. Questions would have been asked, you see? Questions that would have been difficult to answer using the knowledge available to humans at that time. Of course, it could easily have been dismissed as a hoax, but these things really do not help. For example, it might have been used as evidence to back the conspiracy theory about the Apollo landings having been faked. Inattentiveness can cause complications. Does that answer your question, Kevin?”
“Yeah. I think so. I mean, I could post something in there now and it would go… where?”
“To the nearest post box, from which it would be collected by the Royal Mail. I believe there is one at the end of the road.”
“Right. Gotcha. I think that about does it for me.”
“Much of the time I have a ‘Not in Service’ security closure inserted in the aperture. That prevents any confusing scenarios occurring by way of stopping anything entering in the first place.”
“I can see why that would be a sensible move.”
“It’s a VR type B pillar box,” said When.
“I’m sorry?”
“VR is
Victoria Regina
. Queen Victoria. Type B means that it has a low aperture. The door is separate from the aperture. In Edward VII pillar boxes and later, the aperture is part of the door.”
“Sound. Thanks.”
“That design was introduced to stop items of mail jamming in the top of the box. Of course, I prefer a design which has an aperture separate from the door. It’s a simpler design. If I were to make light of it, I would say that it would reduce the chances of me ending up in the nearest terrestrial pillar box by mistake.”
“Um…”
“That was an illogical statement with an associated amusing mental image.”
“A joke?”
“Yes.”
“Gotcha. I think maybe the delivery needs a bit of a work.”
When smiled and looked back at his cousin. “A very good pun, I believe.”
“Sorry?”
“Delivery. There’s a
double entendre
there, since we’re talking about post boxes.” When grinned and made a series of short heaving noises, which Kevin took to be a laugh.
Kevin looked plaintively at the Doctor.
“I think we’d better sit down and have a talk,” said the Doctor.
The Doctor had surprised Kevin by cooking an excellent spaghetti bolognaise, briefing his cousin on the events of the previous few days whilst doing so. He knew that his mother’s therapist friend would have called this ‘displacement activity’. Trinity had come into the kitchen in her arachnid form and eaten a joint of raw meat from an animal that he’d been unable to identify. She was now sitting near the table, still in her arachnid form, cracking through the bones. Unlike a dog, she wasn’t just after the marrow. She was crunching the bones up in her mouth and swallowing them, which Kevin found faintly terrifying. It was clear that she was listening to the conversation.
“Now I understand what you meant when you said that things had been better, Peter,” said When, wiping his plate clean with the last of the bread his cousin had baked from frozen. “I can see that the situation is in fact extremely difficult. You were making one of your characteristic understatements. If it were at all possible, I would say that you had become even more quintessentially British in the last fifty years. Now that I think about it, I can see why that would be.”
“Doing the work of six Time Keepers has been somewhat… stressful.” How gave his cousin a meaningful look.
“We were a team, Peter,” said When in his usual expressionless manner. “Without that structure I wasn’t quite sure what my role was. So I believed I had little choice but to pursue my own thing. Things.”
“Like, what was that?” asked Kevin. He was beginning to understand the extent to which the Doctor had been left on the hook by his brother and his cousins’ behaviour.