3

They ran back to the steps and climbed them quickly, Martha leading the way. She burst through the door at the top, out into bright sunlight filtering through the trees. She was dripping wet and shivering. The Doctor followed her out, shut the door and used the screwdriver to lock it.

‘What were those things?’ Martha asked.

‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ the Doctor said, his wet hair hanging over his eyes. He took her arm and led her through the trees. ‘I’m assuming they didn’t pop up in the book?’

‘I think I would have remembered them.’

‘It was almost as if that were an unfinished section. No one had bothered to venture down there in the book, so what’s the point of there being anything down there at all? Everything here is artifice. It’s here for show, but there’s nothing real or substantial about it.’

‘You mean like set dressing in a play?’

He snapped his head to her, suddenly smiling. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Oh, you are smart. Not as smart as me but, well … who is? Set dressing. To the audience it looks like buildings and trees, but behind the scenes it’s all propped up with bits of wood. We’re standing on a stage, Martha.’

‘One designed to look like an old children’s book from Earth? Bit random, isn’t it?’

The Doctor frowned, pulled the sonic screwdriver from his jacket and started scanning everything in range.

‘What are you doing?’ Martha asked.

The Doctor made some unintelligible sounds as he darted to and fro, getting more and more excited as he scanned. He burst through the treeline on to the grass, into the bright and warm sunlight. Martha hurried after him. She could feel herself starting to dry out already.

‘Wa-hey,’ he said, eyes wide. ‘Wa-hey!’

‘Doctor?’

‘Martha!’

‘Doctor, please tell me you know what’s going on.’

The screwdriver vanished back inside his jacket. ‘I might know,’ he said, sweeping his wet hair off his face. ‘It’s possible I might know. I have an idea. But I don’t know how … Well, I suppose if … Unless … No. Yes. Really? Yes!’

‘Doctor?’

He whirled round, his hair sticking out at crazy angles. ‘This, Martha Jones, this, all around us. I don’t think this is real.’

‘But you said it was real. You said everything scanned as real.’

‘Well, yes, but there is real and then there’s real, you know?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘What are we but our senses, Martha? Our eyes tell us we are standing on a flat surface, we can feel the ground beneath our feet, but what if our senses are lying to us? Take away our ability to touch, taste, hear, see and smell, and doesn’t our world change accordingly?’

‘Yeah,’ said Martha slowly, ‘except it doesn’t, does it? Take away our senses and we’re right where we were a moment ago, only now we don’t have our senses.’

He looked at her. ‘You take all the fun out of philosophy, you know that?’

‘I’m a medical student,’ said Martha. ‘I deal in facts. I see an ailment; I fix it. Explain this to me in practical terms.’

‘That’s just it – I don’t think I can. This entire planet seems to be an idea, a concept made solid.’

‘So this whole entire world that we’re standing on right now is … what? A story? Not a planet at all but a story? How can we stand on a story? How can a story have gravity, or light, or air for us to breathe?’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘Every good story has atmosphere.’

‘I’m … I’m going to do you a favour and pretend you didn’t just say that.’

‘Close your eyes.’

‘Why?’

‘Martha …’

‘Fine,’ she said, and closed her eyes.

‘Picture yourself as a particle of dust floating in space,’ the Doctor said as he circled her slowly. ‘Around you, stars are born and die. Planets orbit. Meteors pass, asteroids drift, and every so often, if you’re really, really lucky, there is a flare of distant life.’

‘Am I lonely?’ Martha asked.

‘You’re a particle of dust,’ the Doctor said. ‘Of course you’re not lonely.’

‘I sound lonely.’

‘Well you’re not; you’re having a great time. So there you are, in space, all this stuff going on, and someone comes along with an agenda. Someone comes along with a purpose. Let’s call him … Bob. And purpose, to a little particle of dust like you, is this wonderful, wonderful new thing that you can’t get enough of. And so you’re pulled into Bob’s purpose, and you swirl around with all the other particles of dust and all the other minute elements of the cosmos, and suddenly you’re part of something bigger. You’re part of an idea. And you grow and grow and when you’ve finished growing you realise that you have become the idea.’

‘Can I open my eyes now?’

‘Sure.’

Martha looked at him. He was standing on a log, looking around. While her eyes were closed he’d fixed his hair. ‘So you’re saying Bob made this entire world out of willpower and dust.’

‘Essentially.’

‘So why, for God’s sake why, did he make it into a Troubleseekers book?’

‘I don’t think he did,’ said the Doctor. ‘Our senses are telling us we’re in a Troubleseekers book, my senses are telling me that my sonic screwdriver is telling me we’re in a Troubleseekers book, but I’d assume different people from different cultures are being exposed to different sensory information.’

‘So it looks like this for us because I read these books? But I’ve read a lot more, and a lot better, than Troubleseekers. Why did it pick this? And you haven’t read these books, so how come you’re seeing what I’m seeing?’

The Doctor jumped down off the log. ‘This world must be able to only take one form at a time. It picked a series of stories that have been in your memory for the longest period. Maybe it’s because you were the first one out of the TARDIS. If I had been first out, we could be in an ancient Gallifreyan fairy tale right now.’

‘That sounds nice.’

‘Not really,’ the Doctor said. ‘Our fairy tales had teeth.’

‘So who is Bob? How do we find out who’s behind this?’

‘Elementary, my dear Jones,’ the Doctor said, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘We use our powers of deduction. We already have our list of suspects.’

‘You think it’s one of the characters?’

‘A being capable of forming an entire world around fiction. Do you really think such a being could resist inserting themselves into the story?’

‘Fair enough … but who is it? If it were me, then I’d make myself into either the hero or the villain. And seeing how the heroes are a group of insufferable kids, I’d say it’s the villain. So Bob is Cotterill.’

‘Do you have proof? This is a mystery. You must have proof. What have you observed about him?’

‘Uh, well, he is … he has a moustache and … he’s a smuggler, we know that much. He’s just like the others. Except …’

‘Except?’

Martha frowned. ‘Except he saw us. He saw us immediately. Everyone else here needs a moment to focus on us. But not him. He’s not like the others. He’s just pretending to be.’

The Doctor smiled. ‘I knew you had it in you, Martha Jones.’

‘But why did those things try to kill us? We haven’t done anything yet.’

‘Maybe we’ve strayed too far from the story. We went where we weren’t supposed to go, after all. So those things …’

‘They could be this planet’s immune system,’ Martha finished. ‘An infection was detected in a vulnerable area, and these little creepy soldiers were sent out to stop us.’

‘Precisely. We reached the edge and kept pushing. You’d be surprised how many people reckon I’m far more trouble than I’m worth.’

Martha gave a non-committal shrug, then got back to business. ‘So what are we going to do? The smart thing would be get back to the TARDIS and get away from here, but I know you’re not going to do that.’

He raised his eyebrow at her. ‘You think you know me so well, don’t you? I happen to think that’s a wonderful idea. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here, and it’s like I always say: it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

Martha frowned again. ‘I know I’ve only been travelling with you for a few months, but I have, literally, never heard you say that.’

‘Nonsense. I say it all the time.’

She shook her head. ‘Never once.’

‘You might have been in the other room when I’ve said it,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I’ve said it, and I’ve said it a lot.’

‘When was the last time you said it?’

‘Last week. At the … ooh, I remember. It was with the thing. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard. I said it then. It’s not my fault if you – Oi.’

Martha looked round and saw Fatty hiding in the bushes. The little fat boy’s eyes widened when he realised he’d been spotted, and he squealed and ran off.

‘He really is annoying,’ Martha muttered.

‘Actually,’ said the Doctor, ‘he’s exactly what we need.’

She looked at him. ‘You knew he was there.’

‘Of course. And now he’s gone off to tattle on us, to let his master know we’re about to leave. That should stir him into the big reveal.’

‘Oh, you are clever.’

‘What have I been telling you? Come on.’