Ganne


03 - A Night In The Dungeons.



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For God's sake!  How could he be so bloody calm?

The TARDIS was dying.

How could he just lay there?  They ought to be doing something about it.
She glared at the Doctor stretched out on the other cot against the
opposite wall.  Seeming to sense her scrutiny, he lifted the floppy hat
from his face, and beamed up at her in a good natured inquiry.  It did
nothing to improve her mood.

Sarah sighed, a sound made up in equal parts of irritation, resignation
and impatience.  She peered around at the close confines of the gloomy
cell.  The stone walls gleamed wetly in the uncertain orange glow coming
through the small barred grill in the metal door to her left.  An
unpleasant, dank smell hung heavy in the clammy air.  They had been here
so long that Sarah was now only vaguely aware of it.

She pushed herself up off the cot.  She was certain there were fleas,
despite the Doctor's assurances.  Absently, her hand moved to her thigh,
began to scratch.

'Are you just going to lie there all night?' Sarah asked.

'Is something wrong, Sarah?'

'Wrong!  WRONG!  You don't...' she began; but at that point words failed
her.  Sometimes, the Doctor could be really infuriating.  She shut her
mouth and stalked the few paces to the door, gripped the bars, and pressed
her face tight up against them.

Opposite was a blank stone wall.  Little rivulets of water ran down it to
puddle on the uneven flags of the floor.  The sight brought to mind
certain bodily needs which she had been trying to ignore for hours.  She
averted her eyes, crossing her legs.  To the left was only darkness, and
to the right could just b made out the torch in a wall bracket.  A thin
smoky flame guttered at its tip.

'HEY?  Is there anybody there?' she called out.

The stone-work absorbed her words without echo.  She rattled the door.  It
was firmly fixed in the wall, and locked.  In a sudden fit of frustration,
Sarah kicked the dull metal slab, then wished she hadn't.  She turned back
from the door, favouring her foot.

'Where is everybody?  We've been in here for hours,' she asked of the room
in general.

The Doctor sat up, swung his long legs to the floor, and began to fish in
the pockets of his great coat.  'I expect they're all in bed - it's the
middle of the night, you know...  Ah!' He drew out a yoyo, began to work
it up and down.

Sarah folded arms across her chest.  'How much longer are they going to
keep us locked up here?'

'I expect someone will be along in the morning...  With breakfast, I hope.
Nights in dungeons make me peckish.'

The yoyo went up an down.  Sarah followed its smooth rise and fall.
Without realising it, she began to relax, fascinated by the smooth motion.
Her breathing slowed, matched itself to the steadying rhythm.  She sat
down on the bed again, carefully avoiding the blanket.  There definitely
were fleas, no matter what the Doctor said.

'Doctor?'

He looked up.  'Yes?'

'How is it that you managed to keep hold of that yoyo, and not something
more useful?'

The Doctor looked a little sheepish.  'Everything has some use,' he said.

'Ok!  So how is it going to help us get out of here?'

When the soldiers in black leather uniforms had brought them into the
guardhouse, they had made a thorough search of them both.  Sarah's cheeks
grew warm at the memory of just how thorough the search had been.  She
shivered, and felt again the hard masculine hands delving into her
clothing, going places that were private.  The smell of sweat, of horses,
of oil, wet leather and steel had made her gag.  The leering grins of the
six young men as they ferreted out all her possessions, even her
grandmother's wedding ring, had formed a tight knot of anger inside.  Only
the warning looks from the Doctor had kept her from making her displeasure
known in a satisfyingly physical manner.

The Doctor had surrendered an amazing array of bits and pieces.  He had
managed to somehow cling onto the yoyo, but not anything of use, like the
sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor shrugged, and put the toy away.  He rummaged under the pillow
of his cot and brought out a large, leather bound volume, which he laid on
his knees.

Sarah was instantly interested.  'What's that?' she asked.

'Really!  Sarah!  It's a book.'

'I can see that,' Sarah snapped, in no mood for the Doctor's good natured
teasing.  'I mean where did you get it?' As soon as she asked the
question, Sarah regretted it.

'From under the pillow.'

Sarah bit back a sharp retort.  She leaned forward to try and read the
title.  It had been incised in the worn looking leather in a lovely
looping script, inlaid with gold leaf.  The words were at once quite
familiar...  and made no sense whatsoever.  Sarah stared at them; but the
longer she looked, the more strange and unfamiliar they became.  It was
almost as if they were writhing into new and unfamiliar shapes without
actually changing.  Sarah frowned in concentration, but still no sense
came.  Her mouth twisted into a little grimace of annoyance.  She sat back
down.

'Why can't I read it?  I thought the TARDIS automatically translated?'

The Doctor looked grim.  'It's a sign of how sick the Old Girl is.  She
has diverted resources to keep speech translation going for as long as
possible.'

'How long?'

'Oh...  Weeks yet.  But we have to find out what's causing this block well
before then.  The Tardis systems will begin to degrade quite quickly,
unless we can find out what's causing that dissonance, and shut it down.
If the break-down goes too far, then she'll never manage a
dematerialisation.  We could be stuck here for the rest of our lives.'

'I don't like the sound of that,' said Sarah.  'I don't fancy being stuck
here for the rest of my life.' She stared pointedly around at the dungeon.

The Doctor grinned at her.  'Really, Sarah, you shouldn't judge the
standard of the local accommodation by the dungeons.  Although I once
heard that on Aldrax 5...'

'DOCTOR!' Sarah exploded.  'That's not what I meant, and you know it
wasn't!'

The Doctor looked innocent.  'What then?'

'I'm a child of the suburbs, Doctor.  I've sort of grown used to things
like hot and cold running water, cars, airplanes....  You know the sort of
thing.  This place - what I've seen of it, looks positively medieval to
me.'

The Doctor seemed as if he was about to speak in defence of this world;
but the look on Sarah's face warned him of the unwiseness of such a course
of action.  Sarah was, not unexpectedly under the circumstances, not in a
receptive mood to hear a dissertation on the delights and wonders of the
Ganne World.

Perhaps, later, a crash course in the Societies, Mores, Customs and
Languages of this world might well become a necessity for Sarah Jane, if
he could not turn off the field that was killing his TARDIS.  He squared
up the book upon his knees.  Where better to start than with this book?
It was almost as if someone had left it for them especially.

He traced a finger over the title...

'A Journey Along The Great River - Book Four of Parvis Angmarr's Travels
in Ganne and Gynarchy'

Opening the large book at random, he began to read.


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