‘There you go,’ he said cheerfully.
‘How did you do that?’ Donna asked in a weak voice.
‘Do what?’ He seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.
‘Get that out of there.’ She gestured at the ladder, then at the box.
‘It’s where I store it,’ he said, patiently, as if talking to a child.
‘But it’s too big to fit in there,’ Donna objected.
‘Oh.’ The Doctor smiled again. ‘The TARDIS is a bit bigger than it looks. Now, are you going to sit up there all day, or would you like to come in for tea and crumpets?’
‘Come in?’ Donna had the strangest feeling that she was suddenly Alice, and the police box was a rather unusual rabbit hole. ‘Tea and crumpets?’
‘Freshly brewed,’ he promised her. ‘If you come down.’ He held out a hand to help her.
What else could she do? She accepted the hand and clambered down from the horse. She placed her helmet on the saddle, and then turned to the – what had he called it? – TARDIS.
‘After you,’ he said, politely.
Donna walked through the rabbit hole and into Wonderland.
Haldoran took his seat on his throne, and looked around the room. Soft electric bulbs illuminated it, and the men within. There were eight of them, his hand‐picked council. Estro sat to his direct right, a symbol of his position that was lost on none of the other men. They were all ambitious and eager, and each of them had hoped for the seat of secondary power that had been lost to them when Estro had arrived a few months ago, and proven himself to be utterly invaluable. The other seven resented this deeply, but not one of them was stupid enough to mention it aloud.
‘They are all plotting your downfall,’ Haldoran had told Estro before the meeting.
‘I’d be disappointed in them if they weren’t,’ Estro had replied. ‘We have no use for chicken‐hearted men who are too afraid to strive for what they want.’
The answer had amused and pleased Haldoran. Estro was a dangerous man, of that there was no doubt. But not dangerous to Haldoran, because he had the means to control the man’s ambitions – and to profit from his advice and help.
To the right of Estro was Barlow. He was the youngest of the council, but both skilled and relentless. His late father had been one of Haldoran’s staunchest supporters, and now the son had inherited the father’s place – and abilities. The dark‐haired, intense young man was carefully not looking at Estro, which almost certainly meant that he was thinking about the adviser.
Beyond Barlow was Tomlin. He was inclined to stoutness, thanks to his liking for beer, and had a genial humour about him. His ferocious temper surprised those who thought him a pleasant‐natured oaf. He was a man others followed out of fear, rather than from respect. But they followed, still, which made him useful.
At the end of the table sat O’Hanley. He was poker‐thin, and utterly humourless. Nobody had ever seen him smile, and he spoke almost as infrequently. He had a razor‐sharp mind, though, and a tactician’s brain. He was utterly invaluable to Haldoran.
On the Lord’s immediate left was Portney. Unlike the others, he was no fighter, but a bookkeeper. He was the kind of man whose face you never remembered because it was so bland and guileless. This was to Portney’s liking, since he was in fact an avaricious crook. He was skimming his own profits from Haldoran’s takings, and didn’t know that Haldoran knew this. In fact, Haldoran secretly approved, because it meant that Portney maximised Haldoran’s profits, in order to gain more for himself. Nevertheless, one of these days Portney would have to be disciplined. Haldoran was considering having his left hand sawn off, but hadn’t made the final decision yet.
Beside him was Malone, who openly scowled at Estro. Malone was a large man, ferocious in his loves and hates, and utterly incapable of hiding either. You always knew where you stood with him, and he never bothered to lie about his feelings. A superb fighter, he was adored by his followers.
Next was Craddock. He was the oldest here, going on sixty, but nobody would dispute him his place. He’d been a battler all of his life, switching from fighting men to destroying Daleks and back to fighting men. His hair was almost nonexistent, but his eyes were as shrewd as anyone’s, his mind sharper than most.
Finally, there was Downs. Haldoran still didn’t know whether he actually liked the man or not. He was reputed to indulge in his vices to excess, and some of them were definitely vile. There were rumours of young boys and teenaged girls going missing and never being seen whole again. Haldoran carefully avoided looking into these stories; as long as Downs kept his perversions reasonably well hidden, he was welcome to them. There definitely seemed to be some inner demon that drove the man, and that was what made him so valuable to Haldoran. He was vicious and, so far, entirely victorious in warfare, and that more than made up for the price he extracted for his loyalty.
‘I’ve been discussing matters with Estro,’ Haldoran said abruptly. He never bothered with any kind of formal nonsense to open meetings. ‘He has raised an… interesting suggestion!
‘I’m sure he has,’ Malone said, scowling. ‘I knew he had your ear for some purpose.’ The others leaned forward, their gazes on the adviser.
‘He has my ear because I choose to listen to him,’ Haldoran answered harshly. ‘And I think you’d all be advised to do the same. Estro.’ He jerked his head, giving the dark man permission to speak.
Estro smiled slightly, the smile of a tiger about to take prey. He held his hands together, fingers linked, and stared around the table. ‘The time has come,’ he said quietly, ‘for Britain to have a single authority again. A king, if you will. It is time to fill in the power vacuum.’ He paused, waiting for reactions.
‘King?’ Tomlin asked. ‘Aye, it’s an interesting thought, man – and I can guess who the obvious candidate is. But can it be done?’
‘No,’ Malone said. ‘The man is flattering you, my Lord, and catering to your ego. But he can’t possibly deliver on such a scheme.’
Craddock looked bored. ‘It would be amusing to hear his plan, though,’ he murmured. ‘Before we all agree that it will fail.’
Haldoran smiled at this. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It would be better if you all spoke with knowledge instead of prejudice.’ His eyes flickered to Estro’s again, and he read the amusement there. Estro was deliberately baiting the men.
‘Lord London is poised to make his own thrust for the throne,’ Estro said gently. ‘Our informants have made this perfectly clear. He’s building up his forces, and his knights are patrolling the borderlands between his Domain and ours. With his own nuclear power station back on line, he’s attempting to curry favour with the other Domains by undercutting our Lord’s prices. Some will go along with that, which will reduce Haldoran power. That cannot be allowed. The only way to retain them as customers is if their current leadership were replaced.’
‘I can see that,’ O’Hanley agreed. ‘Their rise would be our downfall, certainly, and that can’t go unchallenged. Yet, if what you say is true, London seems to be expecting just such a move.’
‘He is,’ Estro agreed blandly. He gestured to the video screen on the far wall, and switched it on with the remote he held. It lit up with a map of southern England. Haldoran’s land in Surrey was illuminated in green. London’s spread showed in red. The other Domains – Canterbury, Edmonds, Salisbury and Devon – were blue, yellow, orange and brown respectively. ‘Ignoring the north for the moment – which, after all, is not buying from any of us as yet – only London and Haldoran provide power. We cover the most ground at the moment, but London is expanding. It is also the traditional capital of Britain. If we were to take it, we would control all of the power supply in southern Britain. The other Domains would never dare stand against us.’