locker_monster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
locker_monster) wrote2013-09-07 02:26 pm
locker_monster) wrote2013-09-07 02:26 pm
Entry tags:
Doctor Who fic: The Boy Who Waited (42/49)
Title: The Boy Who Waited (42/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
London, 1888 A.D.
“Gruesome Murder Shocks East London.”
Rory pushed back the brim of his top hat as he took in the headline on the newspaper. It seemed a bit sensationalist but as he skimmed the article he found that it was an accurate summation. A dead body with chunks missing out of it definitely qualified as gruesome.
He paid for the paper, got a curt nod and a polite, “Sir” from the clerk, and then exited the shop. The streets were, as usual, full of people but Rory kept up a brisk pace as he nimbly wove his way through the sea of bodies. No one paid him any attention.
His ultimate destination was the Royal Collection warehouse cum Torchwood headquarters. He got more polite nods from the guards outside and from the few staff members he encountered inside. In twenty years he had seen a lot of people come and go. Only he and Jack were stable fixtures here and if anyone noticed that they didn’t age, it wasn’t brought up in polite conversation.
A corner of the warehouse had been set aside for them. Queen Victoria had offered to house them somewhere nicer, but Jack had declined and Rory was grateful for that. The decision had allowed him to stay close to the Pandorica during the times when they had nothing to investigate and when there was something of interest to look in to, Rory didn’t have to go far to have a discussion with Jack. Such was the case now as he headed towards the office they kept. It looked like any office you would see on the streets of London, only it was inside of a warehouse.
He opened the door and called out Jack’s name, hoping the man was in. Their investigations took them all over Great Britain and Jack had found something of interest in Cardiff a few days back. He often ventured out on his own, sometimes only leaving a note behind to tell Rory where he was. It was strange, sure, but Jack was a grown man who could look after himself and Rory didn’t need to know everything about his movements.
An empty office did not greet him today. Captain Jack Harkness sat behind one of the desks, cleaning his revolver. He looked up when Rory called his name and flashed that flawless smile of his. “Still handsome as ever.”
By now, Rory was used to the flirting. It was Jack’s way of assessing people and putting them off balance if need be. It seemed to be his default personality, but there were times when he saw that it was just a front for a man who had seen far too much hardship in his life.
It was still a little strange, not the fact that Jack was a man, but it had more to do with the fact that Rory had never flirted with anyone in his entire life, not even with Amy. His flirting usually consisted of stammering and, with the case of Amy, running away. He wished he could be as carefree as Jack, but it wasn’t as easy for him. He just took it all in stride instead.
Rory glanced down at his outfit. The cut of the clothes had changed subtly over the years to match the latest fashion trends, but it was essentially the same since Jack had put it together for him. A black frock coat that ended around his knees, black trousers, and black leather boots. A gold embroidered waistcoat and a crimson tie with a white dress shirt finished the ensemble. The top hat that he removed as he entered the office had a crimson band that matched his tie. The only piece that seemed unusual was the thick cane he carried.
“You could wear a tie and waistcoat, too.”
Jack’s clothes had hardly changed at all since the day they met. He still wore the same grey ulster over a plain white shirt with dark trousers held up by suspenders. “You and I both know that you wouldn’t appreciate it. I, on the other hand, don’t mind admiring your dashing figure.”
Rory just rolled his eyes. “Anything unusual in Cardiff?”
“Just checking up on a person of interest.” Jack added nothing more, which meant he had said all he was willing to.
“And there’s nothing from Her Majesty?” Even as Rory asked the question he already knew the answer. No messengers had shown up in the past few days bearing letters with Queen Victoria’s signature and no summons had been delivered through the palace. It seemed, for the moment, that there was nothing abnormal that was worth the Queen’s attention.
“She’s on her yearly pilgrimage to the Royal jewellers in Hazelhead.” Jack had pieced together his revolver while they had been talking and he now looked down the sight. He squeezed the trigger a few times but with no bullets in the gun, there was only a clicking noise as the hammer came down onto the empty chambers.
Rory had never been to Hazelhead, but he knew the Queen made the trek to Scotland every year since her husband had died. “What would you say if we looked into this?” Rory tossed the newspaper onto Jack’s desk.
He picked it up and the main headline immediately grabbed his attention. After a quick scan of the article, he looked back up at Rory. “This could be your run-of-the-mill murderer.”
“A murderer who rips chunks of flesh out of their victims?” A stabbing or shooting was one thing, but to torture someone like that was just despicable.
“I once visited a planet where the relatives ate the flesh of their deceased loved ones so they could keep their memories alive.”
“So you’re saying the killer is from another planet that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Jack stowed his revolver in the drawer of the desk. “I’m saying we need a second opinion and I know just the guy.”
Rory was no stranger to mortuaries. On the days they were short staffed at the hospital he was sometimes responsible for bringing down the recently deceased to the pathologist. It wasn’t the happiest place in the world, but death was part of life. It hadn’t been his habit to linger though so it was slightly off-putting that he and Jack were walking further into Limehouse Mortuary rather than walking out.
“How do you know a pathologist?”
“I don’t always wake up right away after I die. I’ve ended up in a morgue or two. Nearly gave the man a heart attack once.”
“So you woke up in one of the drawers and he found you?”
Jack laughed. “He was getting ready to cut into me for an autopsy.”
Limehouse was a far cry from the modern mortuary back at Leadworth Hospital. There was no gleaming stainless steel here, no electric lights. The walls were stained with what hopefully was just rust and there were only gas lamps illuminating the room. It wasn’t as bright as Rory thought it should be, making him wonder how the staff was able to do proper autopsies.
Only one man was at work and he stood over one of the examination tables, clearly in the middle of an autopsy. He made notes as he went along; no electronic recorders here.
“This brings me back,” said Jack, announcing their presence.
The man turned around and he seemed ready to dismiss them but then he saw Jack. He was an older gentlemen, mid-forties maybe, with greying hair. He had a thick moustache, also streaked with grey, that partially hid the small smile that touched his lips. “Captain Harkness. It is always a pleasure, especially when you enter these doors upright and alive.”
“George.” Jack held out a hand for a handshake but stopped short when he noticed the blood on the man’s hands. Rory was suddenly grateful for latex gloves.
“My apologies.” The man went to the sink to wash his hands. When he came back, they were squeaky clean, though he still wore a blood splattered apron.
Jack shook his hand and then turned to Rory. “Professor George Litefoot meet…” As always, there was just the slightest hesitation before Jack spoke his name. “The Centurion.”
Litefoot stared dumbfounded at Jack. “The Centurion? Come, that is not a proper name.”
“Have you heard of the Pandorica?”
“Yes, I recall reading about it in one of the papers…” Litefoot trailed off and he glanced over at Rory, realization dawning in his eyes.
“The armour’s out for washing,” said Rory and he held out his hand.
Litefoot automatically shook his hand. He was so absorbed with staring at Rory that he probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “The Centurion?”
“That’s me. Unless there’s someone else running around dressed as a Roman centurion.”
“More common than you think,” Jack muttered under his breath. In a louder voice he said, “George, you’re going to strain a muscle if you keep that up.”
Litefoot frowned and then glanced down at his hand. He seemed surprised that he still shook Rory’s hand. “Oh, my apologies again.” He let go and Rory gratefully reclaimed his hand. “It is not often that one gets to meet a figure from legend.”
“Were we interrupting anything?” asked Jack.
“Nothing pressing. The dead have the luxury of time that we do not. Is there something you need?”
Rory handed over the article he had cut out from the newspaper. “Did this body end up in your mortuary?”
Litefoot had barely glanced at the article before he nodded his head. “I performed the autopsy personally.”
“Could you tell us anything? I know we’re not policemen-”
“I highly doubt that the police would be able to solve this crime, if you do not mind me saying. It is most unusual. Thankfully, the unusual seems to be Captain Harkness’ speciality. I will tell you all you want to know on the promise that you will stop this killer.”
Rory looked to Jack and he nodded his head. “We promise.” He had no troubles sympathizing with Litefoot’s motivations. The man had no desire to see more mutilated bodies.
“Allow me a moment to fetch my notes.” The professor left the room, leaving them alone with the cut up corpse. Rory took a quick peek at the chest cavity. The tissue looked healthy, giving no obvious reason for why the man died.
“Were you a doctor in another life?” asked Jack. His tone was joking, but he seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“Something like that.” He grabbed the cloth covering the lower half of the man’s body and pulled it over so that it covered the body from head to foot. When Litefoot returned he noticed the change but made no comment about it.
“Here we are.” Litefoot handed over a folder full of loose papers. The writing was neat but the papers were crumbled and some the edges were stained lightly with blood. These were probably his original notes, not the ones he handed over to the police. “The victim was a male in his twenties. No identification was found on the body, but the police claimed that the man was not known to them.”
“No photos?” asked Rory.
“Why would I have photos?”
“Right, because this is Victorian England.” From the corner of his eye Rory saw a knowing smirk from Jack. “Sorry, go on.”
“The cause of death was simple. Severe blood loss, as one would expect from the man’s multiple injuries. However, the injuries themselves were rather strange.”
Rory found one page with a sketch; Litefoot’s rendering of one of the man’s injuries. It was highly detailed, almost as good as a picture. Even in simple black and white, the image was still stomach churning. A chunk of flesh was just gone from the man’s upper arm and the edges of the wound were ragged. Rory handed the page off to Jack.
“I have seen numerous stabbings in my career,” said Litefoot, “but none like this. It was my conclusion that this was not done with a knife or with a tool of any kind. The injuries were more consistent with a case I saw while I was interning at a country hospital.”
Jack frowned. “These look like…” He looked up from the page to confirm with Litefoot.
The professor nodded. “Bite marks.”
“Something bit him?” Rory could do nothing to keep the astonishment out of his voice.
“I believe it would be more accurate to say that something ate him.”
Rory easily pictured a large beast tearing into the man, a tiger or a wolf, but neither were native to London and there was nothing about an animal escaping from the zoo in the papers. “So we have a rogue wild animal on the loose?”
Litefoot hesitated. “An animal? Most certainly, but an animal no man has ever seen before.” He took the sketch back from Jack. “I made measurements of the wounds and then consulted with a friend who is a zoologist. He came to the same deduction as I.”
Another look at the page revealed a set of numbers written just beneath the sketch. As far as Rory could tell, they corresponded to width and length but the meaning of it was lost on him. “I don’t see it.”
“There is evidence of sharp incisors, but the bite radius is too small to belong to a large member of the animal kingdom that would be capable of incapacitating a large man. The voraciousness displayed in the severity of the wounds also does not match the behaviour or the strength of smaller, more vicious creatures, at least none that reside in England. We discovered that there is only one species on Earth whose maw could fit within these specifications.” Litefoot tapped the numbers on the page for emphasis.
“And that is…” Rory trailed off, hoping Litefoot would fill in the blanks.
Even now, Litefoot seemed disturbed by his discovery. He regarded Rory with wide eyes. “Man.”
Rory blinked a few times as he let the final fact sink in, but even when he put all the clues together it still didn’t make any sense. “A man… with fangs. We’re looking for a vampire?”
“You jest, sir, but these are the facts.” With a slight indignant air, Litefoot shoved his papers back into the folder.
“I’m totally confused,” Rory admitted freely.
Jack had been strangely quiet for the entire conversation, giving the impression that he didn’t quite care about this case, but he spoke now and there was a glimmer of excitement in his gaze. “Thanks for the information, George. We have everything we need.”
“You see the truth in my claims?”
“Absolutely.” If Jack was lying, Rory couldn’t tell.
It wasn’t until they were outside of the mortuary that he confronted his friend. “A man with fangs. That makes sense to you?” Rory had seen a man with fangs before and he had been a space fish in disguise. There was no way it was the same case. Saturnyne didn’t exist anymore, therefore space fish vampires didn’t either.
“It’ll make sense to you, after you meet a friend of mine.”
It was an inviting looking house, or it would have been if it hadn’t been tucked away in a shadowy section of the street. It was as if the street lamps had been purposely placed to avoid casting too much light on the dwelling. It also didn’t help that the front door was accessible only by a narrow alley. Whoever lived here actively discouraged visitors.
Jack strolled up to the front door, showing no discomfort about the haunting nature of the house, and used the brass door knocker to announce their presence. Numerous questions about who this friend was had gone unanswered during the cab ride over. He wanted Rory to be surprised.
Rory, in general, didn’t like surprises.
The door opened and a young woman in a maid’s outfit greeted them. Even in the darkness, Jack’s smile dazzled. “Captain Jack Harkness. Is the lady of house in?”
The maid let them in, though she had a hard time meeting either of their gazes. Rory wanted to say it was because of her role - servants were meant to blend into the background and not cause trouble - but it was more probable that it was Jack’s fault. His forward nature wasn’t always well received by the women of the era, try as he might.
Inside, the house was full of shadows, too; the dark wallpaper and heavy velvet curtains didn’t really help. The maid led them into the drawing room and then left to find her mistress. A small fire blazed in the hearth, but with the gas lamps on low, it felt like they were in a cave instead of a nice parlour.
Jack took a seat on the settee, showing no signs that he had any issues with the state of the house. “Sit down,” he said to Rory, gesturing to the spot beside him.
Maybe some eccentric lived here, one who enjoyed sitting in the dark. Jack made friends with all types. Hearing a pair of approaching footsteps, Rory pushed aside his misgivings, for now, and he made his way towards the sofa. He had only taken a few steps when someone entered the drawing room. From his position, he caught them from the corner of his eye, but it was enough.
All rational thought flew from his head. He lifted his cane and pulled it apart, revealing a hidden sword. In a few, quick strides, he charged at the figure and drove them back into the wall. The edge of his sword ended up just a hair’s breadth from their throat.
Rory was vaguely aware that Jack was shouting at him, but it didn’t matter to him right now.
It was the same face. The unnaturally blue eyes, the high cheekbones, even the air of arrogance about them. The green, scaly skin and the bony ridges on the back of the head were also unmistakable. This was the woman who had killed him.
The Silurian gave an angry, lizard like hiss and she shoved Rory back. He tried to charge forward again, but a strong pair of hands grabbed him and held him back.
“Relax! She’s not a threat!”
Jack’s voice penetrated through the haze of anger clouding Rory’s thoughts and he stopped struggling. Jack’s hold on him tentatively fell away and the moment he was free, Rory fled the room. The darkness was too confining, too airless. He was underground again, trapped in an endless maze of tunnels, sirens blaring in the background. Out, he needed to get out…
Rory stumbled outside, collapsing onto the front stoop. He took deep, heaving breaths of air that he didn’t need but it was the only way to soothe his raging emotions.
He remembered his death. It was difficult not to forget the moment that his life ended. The worse part about it was how slow it had been. The shot from Restec had come and gone in a blink of an eye, but it took several seconds for his body to do the same. The agony of it all hadn’t been the numbing feeling that gradually overtook him; it had come from watching Amy, seeing her tears and hearing the anguish in her voice. Her grief stricken face was the last thing he saw before it all went dark and he had gone to his grave thinking he had failed her.
That pain was irrevocably tied together with an extreme dislike of Silurians. The Doctor had explained that they were only trying to survive, but it was hard to forgive them when they kidnapped his girlfriend and tried to kill them all.
He had no heartbeat to settle, but having a moment to himself to think and breath was enough to settle his thoughts. Rory wouldn’t be getting over his issues anytime soon, but he could be civil and give Jack the benefit of the doubt about turning to a Silurian for help.
“Sir?”
He glanced back. The maid stood in the doorway of the house, looking only mildly concerned for his well-being. He had attacked her mistress after all.
Her employer was a lizard woman. That said a lot about the maid right there.
“Captain Harkness is inquiring as to whether you are well enough to return to the drawing room.” The maid had a noticeable Cockney accent, giving her voice an amusing lilt.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” The maid had made it sound like he had stepped outside because he was sick, not because he attacked the woman of the house. Rory got to his feet and he turned to head back inside. He stopped short when he noticed the knife in the maid’s hand. It wasn’t the sort of knife you would find laying around in the kitchen. The handle was more ornate and the blade skinnier, almost like a dagger. She made no effort to hide it.
She made no attempt to drive the blade into his gut, either. It was just a precaution, it seemed, in case he was still in the mood to attack people.
He had dismissed her before as nothing more than a servant, but now he really looked at her. She was small, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. Rory found that the smaller you were, the faster you were. The young woman looked lithe, like she could twist and turn on a dime. He easily imagined a dozen holes stabbed him in before he could move, if she had been in the position to go after him.
She was so unassuming in the maid’s outfit, with her quiet brown eyes and brown hair done up in a tidy bun. Maybe that was the point. Nothing was as it seemed in this house.
The maid stepped aside, allowing Rory to re-enter the dwelling, and she eyed him as he passed. She trailed behind at a respectable distance and stowed the knife in a hidden pocket in her apron. Though she didn’t join him in the drawing room, he got the feeling that she would be nearby if anything unwonted happened.
Jack was in mid-conversation with the Silurian and they both looked up when Rory returned. Jack’s expression was full of concern. The Silurian just glared at him.
“I guess I should have said something,” said Jack. The captain didn’t do sheepish, but he did seem apologetic. There was extra charm in his smile.
Rory raised an eyebrow, “You think?” obvious in the mannerism. The Silurian turned her glare on Jack. At least the two of them agreed on something.
“Vastra, this is the Centurion. Centurion, Madame Vastra. She’s a Si-”
The Silurian inhaled deeply, making the hissing sound again. It was a warning, like a rattlesnake shaking its tail. Apparently, Vastra didn’t like the word Silurian.
“A homo reptilia?” offered Rory, recalling the term the Doctor had used.
Vastra snorted. It was odd to hear such a human noise coming from such an alien face. Her clothes were also odd. It wasn’t the plated armour that Rory had seen on Alaya and the other female warriors back in Wales. It was Victorian dress. Not a dress per se; it was more something a woman would wear for riding. A long, loose skirt, a white linen shirt with wide sleeves, and leather gloves that went past the wrists.
“First you attack me and now you call me names. Watch your tongue, boy, or I might have to rip it from your mouth.” Vastra took a menacing step forward and instinctively Rory reached for his sword, but his hand only grasped air. His sword and the cane sheathe sat on the sofa, too far out of reach.
“Vastra.” Jack spoke calmly, but firmly. He was smart enough not to make an attempt to restrain the lizard woman.
“Sorry, about attacking you,” Rory said quickly, to avoid any fighting. “You caught me off guard.” That was true in more ways than one. “But I thought that homo reptilia was an accurate term.”
“In the naming conventions of your sciences, reptilia sapiens would be the correct term, but I will not associate myself with ape terminology.” Like Alaya, Vastra spoke the word “ape” like it was something foul tasting.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” Jack was quick to step in between them. “We need your help, Vastra.”
Vastra sniffed the air, like she could tell that Jack was speaking the truth from his body odour. Whatever she detected, it seemed to work for her and she nodded her head. “Speak your case, Captain.”
Rory reached into his coat pocket, to grab the newspaper article, and Vastra visibly stiffened. It wasn’t a flinch of fear; she was getting ready to strike.
“It’s a newspaper clipping,” said Jack. His tone was that of a haggard mother trying to police unruly children; weary annoyance. He held out his hand and Rory gave him said clipping. “Did you hear about the murder in the East End? The one with the mutilated body?” He handed the clipping to Vastra.
She glanced it over but her reaction was unreadable. “This hardly seems worth your time. If the police cannot catch the killer perhaps then I will become involved.” Vastra crumbled the clipping and moved to throw it into the fire.
Jack touched her gently on the arm. “I think a Si… one of your sisters is awake.”
Rory expected Vastra to slap Jack’s hand away, but she didn’t even move. It hadn’t dawned on him that their killer could have been a Silurian, but it made sense. They weren’t aliens; they didn’t arrive from another planet. Silurians still existed because Earth was their home. They were just as terrestrial as any human.
He couldn’t imagine was Vastra was feeling. He knew the heavy burden of being the only one of your kind in existence, he was the only Auton in the universe, but he was surrounded by humans on a daily basis. He was human in his mind and soul. Vastra had no one. And then to find out that another like you was alive, but killing innocents… The only equivalent that Rory could think of was if Jack had told him that Amy was alive and well but she was running around shooting people in the head.
“It’s not conclusive-”
“I want to see the body. Then it will be conclusive.” When Jack didn’t say anything, Vastra added, “You wanted my help. I am providing it.”
There didn’t seem any point in arguing with Vastra. In a rare move, Jack acquiesced. “I’ll contact Scotland Yard, tell them to back off on their investigation. We’ll get a message to you about when to meet to view the body.”
“As a courtesy to you, Captain Harkness, I will wait, but I warn you now: I will track down my sister, regardless if I have your consent or not.”
“Wouldn’t be the Vastra I know if you didn’t. We’ll be in touch.”
Rory took that as his cue to leave. He retrieved his sword and cane from the sofa and put the two pieces back together as he walked out of the room. Vastra watched him with the intense gaze of a predator. He tried not to shudder.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
London, 1888 A.D.
“Gruesome Murder Shocks East London.”
Rory pushed back the brim of his top hat as he took in the headline on the newspaper. It seemed a bit sensationalist but as he skimmed the article he found that it was an accurate summation. A dead body with chunks missing out of it definitely qualified as gruesome.
He paid for the paper, got a curt nod and a polite, “Sir” from the clerk, and then exited the shop. The streets were, as usual, full of people but Rory kept up a brisk pace as he nimbly wove his way through the sea of bodies. No one paid him any attention.
His ultimate destination was the Royal Collection warehouse cum Torchwood headquarters. He got more polite nods from the guards outside and from the few staff members he encountered inside. In twenty years he had seen a lot of people come and go. Only he and Jack were stable fixtures here and if anyone noticed that they didn’t age, it wasn’t brought up in polite conversation.
A corner of the warehouse had been set aside for them. Queen Victoria had offered to house them somewhere nicer, but Jack had declined and Rory was grateful for that. The decision had allowed him to stay close to the Pandorica during the times when they had nothing to investigate and when there was something of interest to look in to, Rory didn’t have to go far to have a discussion with Jack. Such was the case now as he headed towards the office they kept. It looked like any office you would see on the streets of London, only it was inside of a warehouse.
He opened the door and called out Jack’s name, hoping the man was in. Their investigations took them all over Great Britain and Jack had found something of interest in Cardiff a few days back. He often ventured out on his own, sometimes only leaving a note behind to tell Rory where he was. It was strange, sure, but Jack was a grown man who could look after himself and Rory didn’t need to know everything about his movements.
An empty office did not greet him today. Captain Jack Harkness sat behind one of the desks, cleaning his revolver. He looked up when Rory called his name and flashed that flawless smile of his. “Still handsome as ever.”
By now, Rory was used to the flirting. It was Jack’s way of assessing people and putting them off balance if need be. It seemed to be his default personality, but there were times when he saw that it was just a front for a man who had seen far too much hardship in his life.
It was still a little strange, not the fact that Jack was a man, but it had more to do with the fact that Rory had never flirted with anyone in his entire life, not even with Amy. His flirting usually consisted of stammering and, with the case of Amy, running away. He wished he could be as carefree as Jack, but it wasn’t as easy for him. He just took it all in stride instead.
Rory glanced down at his outfit. The cut of the clothes had changed subtly over the years to match the latest fashion trends, but it was essentially the same since Jack had put it together for him. A black frock coat that ended around his knees, black trousers, and black leather boots. A gold embroidered waistcoat and a crimson tie with a white dress shirt finished the ensemble. The top hat that he removed as he entered the office had a crimson band that matched his tie. The only piece that seemed unusual was the thick cane he carried.
“You could wear a tie and waistcoat, too.”
Jack’s clothes had hardly changed at all since the day they met. He still wore the same grey ulster over a plain white shirt with dark trousers held up by suspenders. “You and I both know that you wouldn’t appreciate it. I, on the other hand, don’t mind admiring your dashing figure.”
Rory just rolled his eyes. “Anything unusual in Cardiff?”
“Just checking up on a person of interest.” Jack added nothing more, which meant he had said all he was willing to.
“And there’s nothing from Her Majesty?” Even as Rory asked the question he already knew the answer. No messengers had shown up in the past few days bearing letters with Queen Victoria’s signature and no summons had been delivered through the palace. It seemed, for the moment, that there was nothing abnormal that was worth the Queen’s attention.
“She’s on her yearly pilgrimage to the Royal jewellers in Hazelhead.” Jack had pieced together his revolver while they had been talking and he now looked down the sight. He squeezed the trigger a few times but with no bullets in the gun, there was only a clicking noise as the hammer came down onto the empty chambers.
Rory had never been to Hazelhead, but he knew the Queen made the trek to Scotland every year since her husband had died. “What would you say if we looked into this?” Rory tossed the newspaper onto Jack’s desk.
He picked it up and the main headline immediately grabbed his attention. After a quick scan of the article, he looked back up at Rory. “This could be your run-of-the-mill murderer.”
“A murderer who rips chunks of flesh out of their victims?” A stabbing or shooting was one thing, but to torture someone like that was just despicable.
“I once visited a planet where the relatives ate the flesh of their deceased loved ones so they could keep their memories alive.”
“So you’re saying the killer is from another planet that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Jack stowed his revolver in the drawer of the desk. “I’m saying we need a second opinion and I know just the guy.”
Rory was no stranger to mortuaries. On the days they were short staffed at the hospital he was sometimes responsible for bringing down the recently deceased to the pathologist. It wasn’t the happiest place in the world, but death was part of life. It hadn’t been his habit to linger though so it was slightly off-putting that he and Jack were walking further into Limehouse Mortuary rather than walking out.
“How do you know a pathologist?”
“I don’t always wake up right away after I die. I’ve ended up in a morgue or two. Nearly gave the man a heart attack once.”
“So you woke up in one of the drawers and he found you?”
Jack laughed. “He was getting ready to cut into me for an autopsy.”
Limehouse was a far cry from the modern mortuary back at Leadworth Hospital. There was no gleaming stainless steel here, no electric lights. The walls were stained with what hopefully was just rust and there were only gas lamps illuminating the room. It wasn’t as bright as Rory thought it should be, making him wonder how the staff was able to do proper autopsies.
Only one man was at work and he stood over one of the examination tables, clearly in the middle of an autopsy. He made notes as he went along; no electronic recorders here.
“This brings me back,” said Jack, announcing their presence.
The man turned around and he seemed ready to dismiss them but then he saw Jack. He was an older gentlemen, mid-forties maybe, with greying hair. He had a thick moustache, also streaked with grey, that partially hid the small smile that touched his lips. “Captain Harkness. It is always a pleasure, especially when you enter these doors upright and alive.”
“George.” Jack held out a hand for a handshake but stopped short when he noticed the blood on the man’s hands. Rory was suddenly grateful for latex gloves.
“My apologies.” The man went to the sink to wash his hands. When he came back, they were squeaky clean, though he still wore a blood splattered apron.
Jack shook his hand and then turned to Rory. “Professor George Litefoot meet…” As always, there was just the slightest hesitation before Jack spoke his name. “The Centurion.”
Litefoot stared dumbfounded at Jack. “The Centurion? Come, that is not a proper name.”
“Have you heard of the Pandorica?”
“Yes, I recall reading about it in one of the papers…” Litefoot trailed off and he glanced over at Rory, realization dawning in his eyes.
“The armour’s out for washing,” said Rory and he held out his hand.
Litefoot automatically shook his hand. He was so absorbed with staring at Rory that he probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “The Centurion?”
“That’s me. Unless there’s someone else running around dressed as a Roman centurion.”
“More common than you think,” Jack muttered under his breath. In a louder voice he said, “George, you’re going to strain a muscle if you keep that up.”
Litefoot frowned and then glanced down at his hand. He seemed surprised that he still shook Rory’s hand. “Oh, my apologies again.” He let go and Rory gratefully reclaimed his hand. “It is not often that one gets to meet a figure from legend.”
“Were we interrupting anything?” asked Jack.
“Nothing pressing. The dead have the luxury of time that we do not. Is there something you need?”
Rory handed over the article he had cut out from the newspaper. “Did this body end up in your mortuary?”
Litefoot had barely glanced at the article before he nodded his head. “I performed the autopsy personally.”
“Could you tell us anything? I know we’re not policemen-”
“I highly doubt that the police would be able to solve this crime, if you do not mind me saying. It is most unusual. Thankfully, the unusual seems to be Captain Harkness’ speciality. I will tell you all you want to know on the promise that you will stop this killer.”
Rory looked to Jack and he nodded his head. “We promise.” He had no troubles sympathizing with Litefoot’s motivations. The man had no desire to see more mutilated bodies.
“Allow me a moment to fetch my notes.” The professor left the room, leaving them alone with the cut up corpse. Rory took a quick peek at the chest cavity. The tissue looked healthy, giving no obvious reason for why the man died.
“Were you a doctor in another life?” asked Jack. His tone was joking, but he seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“Something like that.” He grabbed the cloth covering the lower half of the man’s body and pulled it over so that it covered the body from head to foot. When Litefoot returned he noticed the change but made no comment about it.
“Here we are.” Litefoot handed over a folder full of loose papers. The writing was neat but the papers were crumbled and some the edges were stained lightly with blood. These were probably his original notes, not the ones he handed over to the police. “The victim was a male in his twenties. No identification was found on the body, but the police claimed that the man was not known to them.”
“No photos?” asked Rory.
“Why would I have photos?”
“Right, because this is Victorian England.” From the corner of his eye Rory saw a knowing smirk from Jack. “Sorry, go on.”
“The cause of death was simple. Severe blood loss, as one would expect from the man’s multiple injuries. However, the injuries themselves were rather strange.”
Rory found one page with a sketch; Litefoot’s rendering of one of the man’s injuries. It was highly detailed, almost as good as a picture. Even in simple black and white, the image was still stomach churning. A chunk of flesh was just gone from the man’s upper arm and the edges of the wound were ragged. Rory handed the page off to Jack.
“I have seen numerous stabbings in my career,” said Litefoot, “but none like this. It was my conclusion that this was not done with a knife or with a tool of any kind. The injuries were more consistent with a case I saw while I was interning at a country hospital.”
Jack frowned. “These look like…” He looked up from the page to confirm with Litefoot.
The professor nodded. “Bite marks.”
“Something bit him?” Rory could do nothing to keep the astonishment out of his voice.
“I believe it would be more accurate to say that something ate him.”
Rory easily pictured a large beast tearing into the man, a tiger or a wolf, but neither were native to London and there was nothing about an animal escaping from the zoo in the papers. “So we have a rogue wild animal on the loose?”
Litefoot hesitated. “An animal? Most certainly, but an animal no man has ever seen before.” He took the sketch back from Jack. “I made measurements of the wounds and then consulted with a friend who is a zoologist. He came to the same deduction as I.”
Another look at the page revealed a set of numbers written just beneath the sketch. As far as Rory could tell, they corresponded to width and length but the meaning of it was lost on him. “I don’t see it.”
“There is evidence of sharp incisors, but the bite radius is too small to belong to a large member of the animal kingdom that would be capable of incapacitating a large man. The voraciousness displayed in the severity of the wounds also does not match the behaviour or the strength of smaller, more vicious creatures, at least none that reside in England. We discovered that there is only one species on Earth whose maw could fit within these specifications.” Litefoot tapped the numbers on the page for emphasis.
“And that is…” Rory trailed off, hoping Litefoot would fill in the blanks.
Even now, Litefoot seemed disturbed by his discovery. He regarded Rory with wide eyes. “Man.”
Rory blinked a few times as he let the final fact sink in, but even when he put all the clues together it still didn’t make any sense. “A man… with fangs. We’re looking for a vampire?”
“You jest, sir, but these are the facts.” With a slight indignant air, Litefoot shoved his papers back into the folder.
“I’m totally confused,” Rory admitted freely.
Jack had been strangely quiet for the entire conversation, giving the impression that he didn’t quite care about this case, but he spoke now and there was a glimmer of excitement in his gaze. “Thanks for the information, George. We have everything we need.”
“You see the truth in my claims?”
“Absolutely.” If Jack was lying, Rory couldn’t tell.
It wasn’t until they were outside of the mortuary that he confronted his friend. “A man with fangs. That makes sense to you?” Rory had seen a man with fangs before and he had been a space fish in disguise. There was no way it was the same case. Saturnyne didn’t exist anymore, therefore space fish vampires didn’t either.
“It’ll make sense to you, after you meet a friend of mine.”
It was an inviting looking house, or it would have been if it hadn’t been tucked away in a shadowy section of the street. It was as if the street lamps had been purposely placed to avoid casting too much light on the dwelling. It also didn’t help that the front door was accessible only by a narrow alley. Whoever lived here actively discouraged visitors.
Jack strolled up to the front door, showing no discomfort about the haunting nature of the house, and used the brass door knocker to announce their presence. Numerous questions about who this friend was had gone unanswered during the cab ride over. He wanted Rory to be surprised.
Rory, in general, didn’t like surprises.
The door opened and a young woman in a maid’s outfit greeted them. Even in the darkness, Jack’s smile dazzled. “Captain Jack Harkness. Is the lady of house in?”
The maid let them in, though she had a hard time meeting either of their gazes. Rory wanted to say it was because of her role - servants were meant to blend into the background and not cause trouble - but it was more probable that it was Jack’s fault. His forward nature wasn’t always well received by the women of the era, try as he might.
Inside, the house was full of shadows, too; the dark wallpaper and heavy velvet curtains didn’t really help. The maid led them into the drawing room and then left to find her mistress. A small fire blazed in the hearth, but with the gas lamps on low, it felt like they were in a cave instead of a nice parlour.
Jack took a seat on the settee, showing no signs that he had any issues with the state of the house. “Sit down,” he said to Rory, gesturing to the spot beside him.
Maybe some eccentric lived here, one who enjoyed sitting in the dark. Jack made friends with all types. Hearing a pair of approaching footsteps, Rory pushed aside his misgivings, for now, and he made his way towards the sofa. He had only taken a few steps when someone entered the drawing room. From his position, he caught them from the corner of his eye, but it was enough.
All rational thought flew from his head. He lifted his cane and pulled it apart, revealing a hidden sword. In a few, quick strides, he charged at the figure and drove them back into the wall. The edge of his sword ended up just a hair’s breadth from their throat.
Rory was vaguely aware that Jack was shouting at him, but it didn’t matter to him right now.
It was the same face. The unnaturally blue eyes, the high cheekbones, even the air of arrogance about them. The green, scaly skin and the bony ridges on the back of the head were also unmistakable. This was the woman who had killed him.
The Silurian gave an angry, lizard like hiss and she shoved Rory back. He tried to charge forward again, but a strong pair of hands grabbed him and held him back.
“Relax! She’s not a threat!”
Jack’s voice penetrated through the haze of anger clouding Rory’s thoughts and he stopped struggling. Jack’s hold on him tentatively fell away and the moment he was free, Rory fled the room. The darkness was too confining, too airless. He was underground again, trapped in an endless maze of tunnels, sirens blaring in the background. Out, he needed to get out…
Rory stumbled outside, collapsing onto the front stoop. He took deep, heaving breaths of air that he didn’t need but it was the only way to soothe his raging emotions.
He remembered his death. It was difficult not to forget the moment that his life ended. The worse part about it was how slow it had been. The shot from Restec had come and gone in a blink of an eye, but it took several seconds for his body to do the same. The agony of it all hadn’t been the numbing feeling that gradually overtook him; it had come from watching Amy, seeing her tears and hearing the anguish in her voice. Her grief stricken face was the last thing he saw before it all went dark and he had gone to his grave thinking he had failed her.
That pain was irrevocably tied together with an extreme dislike of Silurians. The Doctor had explained that they were only trying to survive, but it was hard to forgive them when they kidnapped his girlfriend and tried to kill them all.
He had no heartbeat to settle, but having a moment to himself to think and breath was enough to settle his thoughts. Rory wouldn’t be getting over his issues anytime soon, but he could be civil and give Jack the benefit of the doubt about turning to a Silurian for help.
“Sir?”
He glanced back. The maid stood in the doorway of the house, looking only mildly concerned for his well-being. He had attacked her mistress after all.
Her employer was a lizard woman. That said a lot about the maid right there.
“Captain Harkness is inquiring as to whether you are well enough to return to the drawing room.” The maid had a noticeable Cockney accent, giving her voice an amusing lilt.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” The maid had made it sound like he had stepped outside because he was sick, not because he attacked the woman of the house. Rory got to his feet and he turned to head back inside. He stopped short when he noticed the knife in the maid’s hand. It wasn’t the sort of knife you would find laying around in the kitchen. The handle was more ornate and the blade skinnier, almost like a dagger. She made no effort to hide it.
She made no attempt to drive the blade into his gut, either. It was just a precaution, it seemed, in case he was still in the mood to attack people.
He had dismissed her before as nothing more than a servant, but now he really looked at her. She was small, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. Rory found that the smaller you were, the faster you were. The young woman looked lithe, like she could twist and turn on a dime. He easily imagined a dozen holes stabbed him in before he could move, if she had been in the position to go after him.
She was so unassuming in the maid’s outfit, with her quiet brown eyes and brown hair done up in a tidy bun. Maybe that was the point. Nothing was as it seemed in this house.
The maid stepped aside, allowing Rory to re-enter the dwelling, and she eyed him as he passed. She trailed behind at a respectable distance and stowed the knife in a hidden pocket in her apron. Though she didn’t join him in the drawing room, he got the feeling that she would be nearby if anything unwonted happened.
Jack was in mid-conversation with the Silurian and they both looked up when Rory returned. Jack’s expression was full of concern. The Silurian just glared at him.
“I guess I should have said something,” said Jack. The captain didn’t do sheepish, but he did seem apologetic. There was extra charm in his smile.
Rory raised an eyebrow, “You think?” obvious in the mannerism. The Silurian turned her glare on Jack. At least the two of them agreed on something.
“Vastra, this is the Centurion. Centurion, Madame Vastra. She’s a Si-”
The Silurian inhaled deeply, making the hissing sound again. It was a warning, like a rattlesnake shaking its tail. Apparently, Vastra didn’t like the word Silurian.
“A homo reptilia?” offered Rory, recalling the term the Doctor had used.
Vastra snorted. It was odd to hear such a human noise coming from such an alien face. Her clothes were also odd. It wasn’t the plated armour that Rory had seen on Alaya and the other female warriors back in Wales. It was Victorian dress. Not a dress per se; it was more something a woman would wear for riding. A long, loose skirt, a white linen shirt with wide sleeves, and leather gloves that went past the wrists.
“First you attack me and now you call me names. Watch your tongue, boy, or I might have to rip it from your mouth.” Vastra took a menacing step forward and instinctively Rory reached for his sword, but his hand only grasped air. His sword and the cane sheathe sat on the sofa, too far out of reach.
“Vastra.” Jack spoke calmly, but firmly. He was smart enough not to make an attempt to restrain the lizard woman.
“Sorry, about attacking you,” Rory said quickly, to avoid any fighting. “You caught me off guard.” That was true in more ways than one. “But I thought that homo reptilia was an accurate term.”
“In the naming conventions of your sciences, reptilia sapiens would be the correct term, but I will not associate myself with ape terminology.” Like Alaya, Vastra spoke the word “ape” like it was something foul tasting.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” Jack was quick to step in between them. “We need your help, Vastra.”
Vastra sniffed the air, like she could tell that Jack was speaking the truth from his body odour. Whatever she detected, it seemed to work for her and she nodded her head. “Speak your case, Captain.”
Rory reached into his coat pocket, to grab the newspaper article, and Vastra visibly stiffened. It wasn’t a flinch of fear; she was getting ready to strike.
“It’s a newspaper clipping,” said Jack. His tone was that of a haggard mother trying to police unruly children; weary annoyance. He held out his hand and Rory gave him said clipping. “Did you hear about the murder in the East End? The one with the mutilated body?” He handed the clipping to Vastra.
She glanced it over but her reaction was unreadable. “This hardly seems worth your time. If the police cannot catch the killer perhaps then I will become involved.” Vastra crumbled the clipping and moved to throw it into the fire.
Jack touched her gently on the arm. “I think a Si… one of your sisters is awake.”
Rory expected Vastra to slap Jack’s hand away, but she didn’t even move. It hadn’t dawned on him that their killer could have been a Silurian, but it made sense. They weren’t aliens; they didn’t arrive from another planet. Silurians still existed because Earth was their home. They were just as terrestrial as any human.
He couldn’t imagine was Vastra was feeling. He knew the heavy burden of being the only one of your kind in existence, he was the only Auton in the universe, but he was surrounded by humans on a daily basis. He was human in his mind and soul. Vastra had no one. And then to find out that another like you was alive, but killing innocents… The only equivalent that Rory could think of was if Jack had told him that Amy was alive and well but she was running around shooting people in the head.
“It’s not conclusive-”
“I want to see the body. Then it will be conclusive.” When Jack didn’t say anything, Vastra added, “You wanted my help. I am providing it.”
There didn’t seem any point in arguing with Vastra. In a rare move, Jack acquiesced. “I’ll contact Scotland Yard, tell them to back off on their investigation. We’ll get a message to you about when to meet to view the body.”
“As a courtesy to you, Captain Harkness, I will wait, but I warn you now: I will track down my sister, regardless if I have your consent or not.”
“Wouldn’t be the Vastra I know if you didn’t. We’ll be in touch.”
Rory took that as his cue to leave. He retrieved his sword and cane from the sofa and put the two pieces back together as he walked out of the room. Vastra watched him with the intense gaze of a predator. He tried not to shudder.
no subject
no subject