Ivory Maiden 4
Title: The Ivory Maiden
Part: 4/7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4571
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
As always, special thanks to my wonderful beta
vampydirector!
The workshop was a large room full of long tables with knives, scalpels, and chisels strewn across them and bits of different sculpting materials lying all about. There were two large chunks of material on tables that looked ready to be carved into statues, but there were also all sorts of smaller chunks and bits on the tables and floor, some of them carved into shapes of human body parts and some of them unformed or clearly broken off of something else. Everything in the room was coated in a fine white powder, making it impossible to tell if these chunks were stone or marble or some other alien material.
One table, however, was an exception to the conditions of the rest of the room. It was covered by a white tarp, which at first glance Oliver assumed was only masking the white powder that surely had to be all over it. After another look, he realized that the tarp was, in fact, meticulously clean. He guessed that meant it had been placed on the table after the latest of Pafos’ work had been completed, which seemed quite a lot of trouble to go to since her project had then been placed on top of the tarp.
This new statue was a bust of woman, in the same Greco-Roman style as the statue at the museum. The woman’s features were also idealized--all the way from her meticulously braided hair, her perfectly-formed nose, and her proud jawline down to the perfection of the top of her tunic and the hint of her breasts at the bottom of the bust. Oliver found that, the more he looked at her noble and gorgeous features, the less he wanted to look away.
Lady Pafos stepped over toward that table, turning to smile at the Doctor and Oliver. “Come closer,” she whispered.
Neither moved. The Doctor was busy surveying the room. He was currently running a hand along one of the tables and sniffing at the powder that was stirred up into the air as he did so. Oliver, however, was far too absorbed in admiring the bust to do anything else. The lady made a sound of annoyance, causing the Doctor to glance first at her and then at Oliver, surprised that his companion wasn’t saying anything in response to the face that she was making at him. But the Doctor did a double-take at what he saw, frowning and stepping forward so that he could snap his fingers in front of Oliver’s face. The technique garnered no response.
As he was performing this test, Pafos moved to stand before the long table at the front of the room. She set a hand on the bust, and for an instant there was a faint hum of energy. The Doctor’s gaze snapped to her, catching just the briefest residue of a psychic energy transmission in the air.
“Come closer,” the lady repeated. This time, Oliver started obediently forward.
“No, I don’t think so!” the Doctor protested immediately, stepping in front of Oliver and grabbing his shoulder. “Oliver, stop.”
The lady laughed as Oliver ignored his friend, pushing past him and continuing toward her. “Closer!” she called, and Oliver pulled against the Doctor’s grasp as the man seized his other shoulder, trying to hold him in place.
The Doctor let go with one hand just for an instant, moving in front of his friend again, but this time he looked into his eyes with a gaze that pierced Oliver’s. “Stop,” he repeated, his tone carrying calm authority. He snapped his fingers in front of Oliver’s face.
Oliver stopped.
Pafos’ jaw dropped. “He can’t respond to you!” she cried incredulously.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really think you’re the only person with the ability to hypnotize others?”
The woman sputtered
The Doctor gave her a toothy grin before turning back to his companion. “Oliver, time to leave. Come along.”
But his grin faded when Oliver didn’t move.
“Oliver?” He tried to lead the young man to turn around, using the hand he already had on his shoulder, but while Oliver shifted slightly under the Doctor’s guidance, he wouldn’t take a step.
Pafos kept one hand firmly pressed against the bust. “Oliver, think of the statue. Think of the White Maiden. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Come to it.”
To the lady’s delight, Oliver took a hesitant step toward her, shouldering the Doctor as he made to go up to the table.
The Doctor, however, wouldn’t relax his grip. “Oliver, stay right here! Don’t take another step!”
Oliver hesitated.
“Think of the Maiden,” Pafos insisted.
This time, the Doctor let Oliver push past him. The man plunged a hand into his pocket, searching for something. Oliver took several more slow steps forward, his eyes fixed on the piece on the table.
“That’s it. You’re almost to her,” Pafos whispered, her eyes lighting up as she saw her victory on the horizon. “You only need to touch her.”
The Doctor’s eyes bugged with agitation. As he withdrew an object from his pocket, he rushed forward, grabbing Oliver’s shoulder with one hand and twisting him just enough to stuff something into his mouth.
Oliver stopped in his tracks, immediately beginning to cough like someone had just shoved something all the way down his throat--which might have been the case, really.
Pafos’ eyes widened in rage. “No!” she cried shrilly, letting go of the statue and moving forward to grab Oliver’s hand.
The Doctor, sensing her intention, grabbed Oliver by both shoulders and pulled him firmly backwards. “Run!”
Oliver seemed to understand because, even though he was still coughing, he started to turn around and retreat, the Doctor pulling him along the way. Ignoring Pafos’ cries of denial and anger, they both ran back through the house and out the front.
“Keep going!” the Doctor called, letting go of Oliver and leading the way through streets full of startled women. He grabbed his companion to help balance him several times when Oliver wobbled on the heels of his boots, but despite that difficulty, they made it outside of town and into the midst of the field, where the Doctor finally stopped.
Oliver immediately doubled over, coughing and breathing hard. His lungs hadn’t appreciated the sudden shift between choking and running for his life. “Doctor...” he forced out.
“Hm? What is it, Oliver?” the Doctor asked absently. He didn’t turn to him, too distracted by, apparently, studying his hand. “Not programming, then. A consciousness...” he mumbled to himself.
Oliver would have asked, but he had a few too many other questions running through his mind at the moment. “What...just happened?” he breathed, straightening.
The Doctor waved his other hand dismissively. “Just a bit of hypnosis and psychic control. Nothing to worry about. A jelly baby sorted it all out.”
“What?” Oliver repeated, anything he might have added to that question cut off by another bout of coughing. “But the statue’s in the other town!” he protested once he’d gotten himself properly breathing again.
“Ah,” the Doctor said, looking up with a knowing grin. He held up his hand, showing it to Oliver. Squinting, Oliver could see that his palm was coated in a white powder of some sort--the same white powder that had been all over the workshop. “But that statue isn’t the lady Pafos’ only work. In fact, I imagine it’s only her first major piece on display.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “You mean she’s making more crazy hypnotic statues? So she can enslave more towns!?”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, looking the slightest bit proud. “You have been working some of this out as we’ve gone along, haven’t you? Good on you. All due to my influence, of course, but still something to be proud of.”
“Yeah, but...” Oliver frowned, too agitated to even enjoy the compliment. He gasped. “That’s why she wanted us to go into the workshop!”
The Doctor nodded. “It does seem to have been a trap for us. Or, for you, at any rate.”
“Wait, what? But she didn’t want me...ohhhh.” Oliver groaned. “She wanted us both in the workshop all along, and she knew I’d go in if she told me not to.”
“That does appear to have been the case, yes,” the Doctor agreed with a placid smile.
“And we fell right for it!” Oliver cried in dismay.
“You did volunteer.”
Oliver sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing the blame. “Well, what now then?”
The Doctor considered that. “We get a bit farther away from Sorodum, I think.” He turned, beginning to walk through the tall grasses of the field.
“Just not too far,” Oliver cautioned as he followed, knowing what the men of Fratedum would do if they saw him again. “And how about you fill me in a bit more on the stuff your influence is supposed to’ve helped me work out?”
“Now, I wouldn’t start aiming too high, Oliver. You don’t want to disappoint yourself with the natural limitations of human intelligence.”
“Doctor.”
“Yes?” The Doctor glanced back at him. “Oh, well, I don’t know the origins of this Lady Pafos yet, but it’s certainly clear that her people--or she at least--have had a hand in the shaping of this society.”
“And that’s clear how?”
“The names, Oliver! The names!” The Doctor stopped, sighing at Oliver’s blank look. “Think Pygmalion. Ovid. Greek and Roman mythology. Lady Pafos? You’ve studied these things, haven’t you?”
“Well, yeah, the story leads up to the founding myth for the city of Paphos, in Cyprus, because Paphos was the name of...” Oliver’s eyes widened. “The son of Pygmalion and his statue, Galatea.”
“And the true centerpiece of Ovid’s myth, in the end,” the Doctor said, continuing forward. “A product of the statue, rather than its maker. But Paphos could also be considered a figure free from the mesmerizing influence that the statue held over Pygmalion...” The Doctor trailed off, his expression thoughtful.
“That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Oliver remarked, hurrying after him. “I mean, what would Greek mythology be doing here, on this planet? Or Roman mythology, if it really is based on Ovid’s version. Come to think of it, we keep running into Greek and Roman architecture, too.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised how far some things travel in the universe,” the Doctor said absently, waving a dismissive hand. “Not to mention how many things you humans think you came up with yourselves.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow at him. “What, like Greek mythology is actually all about alien visitors?”
The Doctor didn’t answer, once again too lost in thought.
Oliver frowned, taking the opportunity to consider the situation for himself. “You know, I’m surprised the statue isn’t named Galatea, in that case,” he said. “Or would that be too obvious? I mean, I guess they just about named her Galatea anyway, didn’t they? Doesn’t that name mean something about her being white? Like White Maiden.”
The Doctor abruptly stopped, his gaze snapping to Oliver. “What was that?”
Surprised by his sudden change in demeanor, Oliver stopped short as well. “White Maiden is sort of like Galatea,” he repeated.
“Yes, it is. But no one in this society has used that name--although you did.” The Doctor’s lips slowly began to curl into a grin, his mind clearly on the verge of a discovery.
“You’re the one who brought it up, but yeah.”
The Doctor shook his head. “No, not just now! When you were under the statue’s influence, you called it Galatea. I wonder why...”
“Well...I guess it must’ve reminded me of Pygmalion.”
The Doctor’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Yes, that’s it! Oliver! You were trying to tell me something when you said that, weren’t you?” His grin widened, his teeth showing now. “It wasn’t just an answer to my question. You were telling me how to solve it all!”
Oliver stared at him. “I was? I mean, ‘course I was!” He grinned back for a moment, but it faded into a questioning look. “So uh...you know how to solve it, then? How do we do that?”
“Back to the TARDIS!” the Doctor declared, taking off at a run.
“What? Doctor!” Oliver cried as he followed. “How are we gonna get past all the zombies!?”
“You’ll see!”
“Before or after we get mobbed by them?”
But the Doctor didn’t respond, and Oliver had to stop shouting so he wouldn’t fall behind--or trip over the heels of his boots--as they headed full-tilt back toward Fratedum.
***
When they reached the edge of town, Oliver only narrowly missed crashing into the Doctor as the man abruptly stopped.
“Steady on.” The Doctor grabbed Oliver’s shoulder to help him keep his balance.
“Why...are we stopping?” Oliver gasped between breaths, wishing not for the first time that he had whatever lung system Time Lords did that allowed the Doctor to do all that running without the slightest ill effects. Then again, the Doctor hadn’t had the misfortune of choking on a jelly baby just a little earlier. Or being hypnotized by a bust, or...well, really what it boiled down to was that Oliver had been through better days.
While Oliver caught his breath, the Doctor started to remove his feminine hat and coat. “Because you,” he said, giving him a pointed look, “are staying here.” He crouched to remove his boots.
“What?” Oliver immediately protested. “You can’t do the rest of this alone! What if the zombies-”
The Doctor cut him off with a shake of his head. “First off, Oliver Day, the ‘zombies’ are only interested in you. They listen to me, remember? Second, there are plenty of things I can do alone, and this is one of them. Third, if you think I’d leave you out here to miss all the fun, you really don’t know who you’re talking to.” He looked up, giving his companion a toothy grin, before he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his hat and put it back on with a flourish. He stood. “I’m going to the TARDIS. I’ll be back in a tick. Wait here.”
“Oh.” After that speech, it was all Oliver could think to say. “All right, then. But be careful!”
The Doctor gawked at him. “Me? You’re telling me to be careful? Honestly.” He turned, grumbling to himself as he started into town.
Oliver watched with a frown as the Doctor disappeared among the houses. Once he was gone, the young man began to remove his own extra clothing. He checked his watch. 40 minutes should be enough for the Doctor to get to the TARDIS and back. Any more, he decided, and he was going to go after him, no matter what he had said.
***
The Doctor hurried through town at a jog, although he was careful to smile and tip his hat occasionally to the residents, watching for their reactions. He noticed to his dismay that not a single one responded to him in the least--not even with a glance. Considering that even a guard in the museum had retained his free will earlier in the day, this was a very bad sign. Perhaps Pafos had stepped up her efforts since they had visited her--assuming it was Pafos who was in control.
But now really wasn’t the time to worry about such things. The Doctor picked up his pace, giving up on greeting the residents. He needed to get to the TARDIS and get his work done--and quickly, so he could go back and retrieve Oliver. He hadn’t wanted to tell the young man, but he was fairly certain he couldn’t actually solve this without his help after all. The problem was, it was clear to the Doctor that he himself could make no connection to the material that the statue was made of. However, it was more than obvious that Oliver could, and he had a sinking feeling he was going to need that connection in order to fix anything. While he knew that Oliver wouldn’t mind being at the forefront of the danger--if it could save this world, Oliver would surely be more than happy to be--he couldn’t help but find the idea unsettling.
“Doctor!”
The Doctor turned in surprise at the voice, just in time to see a young boy running toward him from a nearby yellow house. “Why, Tirik!” he said, not letting his expression betray his apprehension. “What brings you here?”
As the boy reached him, the Doctor could see that he looked a bit hurt. “It’s my home,” he said with a pout. “You told me you’d come here when you needed help, and here you are! How can I help?”
The Doctor felt another pang of familiarity. If Tirik’s race had a distant connection to humans, then Oliver’s DNA had definitely made it into the boy. “For now, you can stay close to me and be very quiet, all right? I need to get to my ship quick as I can.”
Tirik nodded, his expression very serious. “Where is it?” he whispered. “Maybe I know a shortcut!”
As this was a valid point, the Doctor quickly described the crowded street of shops in which they had landed.
“I know where that is!” Tirik exclaimed, his expression lighting up. Then he realized how loud he’d been, and his eyes widened. He blocked his mouth with a hand, whispering, “Come this way.”
The Doctor gave a serious nod to make sure the boy wasn’t under any illusions about the severity of situation. Then he followed.
As it turned out, there was no particular reason to worry about being stopped or delayed on their way to the TARDIS. The residents they passed were completely uninterested in their presence. The only response the pair got out of any of them was that they would step out of the way if the Doctor came close. While it was reassuring that they didn’t seem to be bothered by Tirik’s presence, the Doctor couldn’t help feeling on guard. If the psychic control efforts had been stepped up since his visit to Pafos, that meant there was some sort of communication--perhaps even control--being exercised between her and the statue. With that likely being the case, then there was no telling what else might happen--or when.
“Almost there,” Tirik whispered as they came upon the familiar street. The Doctor picked up his pace, unconsciously pulling ahead of the boy as soon as he laid eyes on the blue box off to the side of the road.
“There you are, old girl.” He smiled, his worries fading momentarily as he gave her a pat before unlocking the door. Then he turned to Tirik, considering his options, but he knew there was really only one choice in this situation. “Come with me,” he said briskly before disappearing inside.
There was a moment of hesitation, but Tirik soon entered, and the Doctor quickly closed the doors, worried the child might become spooked and disappear again.
“Ohhhhh,” Tirik breathed once he had seen just what he had walked into. He moved in a slow circle, gazing all around him in awe. “What sort of place is this?” he whispered.
“This is my ship,” the Doctor replied proudly, “the TARDIS.”
Tirik continued to look around, making a second loop. After another moment’s consideration, he asked, “Was it a gift from the goddess?”
The Doctor boggled at him. “No, she was not!” he scoffed. “This is my ship, and she is absolutely incredible, aren’t you, old girl?” He gave the console a pat. “Which is far more than I can say about the so-called ‘gifts’ from that goddess of yours.”
The boy gasped, staring at the Doctor with wide eyes. “Y-you’re not supposed to speak about the goddess that way,” he stammered in a whisper. He looked around again, but this time he seemed to be checking for eavesdroppers.
“I can speak of her however I wish!” the Doctor boomed. “I’ve met her, and I can guarantee you that she’s not the goddess you think she is.”
Tirik gaped at him again. “You’ve met the goddess?” he fairly squeaked.
“Yes, and a rather awful woman she turned out to be. Very self-absorbed. Now then.” The Doctor peered at a reading on the console. “You just wait while I do some important work. And don’t touch anything, got that?”
The boy nodded mutely, staring at the Doctor in wide-eyed confusion and, perhaps, some degree of fear.
“Good.” The Doctor nodded to himself. “Come along.” He took one last look at the display on the console before he turned, ushering the frightened boy after him as he headed through the TARDIS toward his lab.
***
Oliver really had intended to wait a full 40 minutes for the Doctor--or so he told himself--but it wasn’t his fault that his waiting was interrupted by the sight of a large group of Filioran women with Lady Pafos at their head, quickly making their way toward Fratedum.
He swore and, deciding that getting caught by them was probably worse than getting caught by the zombies, stood and ran into town. He knew the Doctor would have wanted him to hide somewhere near the edge of Fratedum, but since he was the only one who knew that those women were coming, he determined that he would have to warn the Doctor instead. And maybe the time that had passed while they were away in Sorodum might have solved his zombie problem?
Oliver encountered no trouble at all to begin with, but only as long as he was still going through deserted streets. When he headed deeper into town and entered a street that had people in it, however, the four men immediately started to come his way. Oliver swore again; their visit to Sorodum must not have improved the situation after all. He made a hasty retreat back into a side street.
He counted to ten before he peeked around the corner, hoping that getting out of their sight might have solved his problem. Unfortunately, they were still advancing. Oliver swore for a third time. This really could be going better. It seemed he would have to hide for the moment after all. But where? And how to lose these four first?
Hoping that the simplest solution was the best, he took off at a run, zigzagging through side streets until he was sure he must have lost his pursuers. Gasping for breath yet again, he scanned the area for a hiding place. In the end, the best he could do was crouch behind a building just off the main road. He stayed as still as he could, struggling to catch his breath, and irrationally wondering if the zombies could smell his brain. That was just something films had made up, wasn’t it? And the Doctor would think he was silly for considering them zombies anyway. They were just under psychic control. But could psychic controllers smell brains?
He quickly stopped that rather unproductive train of thought and instead tried to focus on what he could do to get out of this mess. The TARDIS was all the way across town and right in the middle of a street that was on the way to the museum, so unless he suddenly developed a zombie-defeating technique, it was highly unlikely that he would make it there.
Then again, what choice did he have? Lady Pafos was on her way, and if she found either him or the Doctor, there was no telling what would happen.
But that brought an even more unsettling thought to mind. What if she wasn’t trying to find him or the Doctor? What else could she be here to do? Maybe to talk to the zombies in person--convince them to do something that she couldn’t from a distance. What if she was here to put in a kill order for the Doctor, and he was the only one who knew about it?
If Oliver had taken a moment to think, he would have realized that he was letting his imagination get away with him--not that he didn’t find himself unexpectedly walking into the worst-case-scenario often enough with the Doctor--but as it was, just that thought was enough to spur him into action. He had to at least try to warn the Doctor. Either he needed to run to the TARDIS, or he needed to get to another safe place so he could come up with a plan. But where else was there that had been in any way safe?
That was an easy enough question to answer: Tirik. He’d given them directions to his house, and he would be able to move through the zombies to warn the Doctor even if Oliver couldn’t. Oliver smiled, relieved to have a plan of action. It seemed he hadn’t lied to the boy after all.
He abandoned his hiding place, running again. While he did so, he tried rather desperately to remember what route he’d taken to get to this area. Tirik had given them directions from the edge of town, so he’d have to go back there if he were going to find the house. He just had to hope he didn’t cross paths with Lady Pafos or any of her entourage while he was at it.
Good thing he was an optimist.
***
It didn’t take long for the Doctor to complete his analyses and experiments, and he and Tirik emerged from the TARDIS shortly thereafter. The boy was visibly apprehensive as they headed back into town, but the Doctor walked with his hands in his pockets, whistling faintly to himself.
“Where are we going now, Doctor?” Tirik asked softly, huddling close to him and fearfully eyeing the nearby lines of mindlessly moving citizens.
“We’re going to get Oliver, and then we’re going to end this,” the Doctor replied, grinning at the boy with a twinkle in his eyes.
Tirik looked just as awed as the Doctor had hoped he would. “How are you going to do that?” he asked.
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” the Doctor said with a wave of his hand. He turned down a side street, heading back toward the edge of town.
They didn’t get far, however, before the monotony of the silently walking droves was broken by yelling--yelling that was headed in their direction. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “What’s he done this time?” he quietly asked of no one in particular before starting to sprint in the direction of the noise. Tirik cried out in surprise, struggling to keep up with him.
It didn’t take long to find the source of the commotion--mostly because it was heading directly toward where they were in the heart of town. Tirik gasped, but the Doctor only shook his head, smiling faintly to himself. “I should have known.”
Oliver, yelling, kicking, and fighting, was being carried by a group of four relatively-large men. One held his shoulders, the second had his arms pinned behind his back, and the last two were holding his legs. The convoy was moving very slowly due to Oliver’s struggling, but it was nevertheless going relentlessly forward. The Doctor had a feeling he knew the destination it had in mind.
“Well,” he said. “At least that saves us the trouble of finding him.”
Part: 4/7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4571
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
As always, special thanks to my wonderful beta
vampydirector!The workshop was a large room full of long tables with knives, scalpels, and chisels strewn across them and bits of different sculpting materials lying all about. There were two large chunks of material on tables that looked ready to be carved into statues, but there were also all sorts of smaller chunks and bits on the tables and floor, some of them carved into shapes of human body parts and some of them unformed or clearly broken off of something else. Everything in the room was coated in a fine white powder, making it impossible to tell if these chunks were stone or marble or some other alien material.
One table, however, was an exception to the conditions of the rest of the room. It was covered by a white tarp, which at first glance Oliver assumed was only masking the white powder that surely had to be all over it. After another look, he realized that the tarp was, in fact, meticulously clean. He guessed that meant it had been placed on the table after the latest of Pafos’ work had been completed, which seemed quite a lot of trouble to go to since her project had then been placed on top of the tarp.
This new statue was a bust of woman, in the same Greco-Roman style as the statue at the museum. The woman’s features were also idealized--all the way from her meticulously braided hair, her perfectly-formed nose, and her proud jawline down to the perfection of the top of her tunic and the hint of her breasts at the bottom of the bust. Oliver found that, the more he looked at her noble and gorgeous features, the less he wanted to look away.
Lady Pafos stepped over toward that table, turning to smile at the Doctor and Oliver. “Come closer,” she whispered.
Neither moved. The Doctor was busy surveying the room. He was currently running a hand along one of the tables and sniffing at the powder that was stirred up into the air as he did so. Oliver, however, was far too absorbed in admiring the bust to do anything else. The lady made a sound of annoyance, causing the Doctor to glance first at her and then at Oliver, surprised that his companion wasn’t saying anything in response to the face that she was making at him. But the Doctor did a double-take at what he saw, frowning and stepping forward so that he could snap his fingers in front of Oliver’s face. The technique garnered no response.
As he was performing this test, Pafos moved to stand before the long table at the front of the room. She set a hand on the bust, and for an instant there was a faint hum of energy. The Doctor’s gaze snapped to her, catching just the briefest residue of a psychic energy transmission in the air.
“Come closer,” the lady repeated. This time, Oliver started obediently forward.
“No, I don’t think so!” the Doctor protested immediately, stepping in front of Oliver and grabbing his shoulder. “Oliver, stop.”
The lady laughed as Oliver ignored his friend, pushing past him and continuing toward her. “Closer!” she called, and Oliver pulled against the Doctor’s grasp as the man seized his other shoulder, trying to hold him in place.
The Doctor let go with one hand just for an instant, moving in front of his friend again, but this time he looked into his eyes with a gaze that pierced Oliver’s. “Stop,” he repeated, his tone carrying calm authority. He snapped his fingers in front of Oliver’s face.
Oliver stopped.
Pafos’ jaw dropped. “He can’t respond to you!” she cried incredulously.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really think you’re the only person with the ability to hypnotize others?”
The woman sputtered
The Doctor gave her a toothy grin before turning back to his companion. “Oliver, time to leave. Come along.”
But his grin faded when Oliver didn’t move.
“Oliver?” He tried to lead the young man to turn around, using the hand he already had on his shoulder, but while Oliver shifted slightly under the Doctor’s guidance, he wouldn’t take a step.
Pafos kept one hand firmly pressed against the bust. “Oliver, think of the statue. Think of the White Maiden. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Come to it.”
To the lady’s delight, Oliver took a hesitant step toward her, shouldering the Doctor as he made to go up to the table.
The Doctor, however, wouldn’t relax his grip. “Oliver, stay right here! Don’t take another step!”
Oliver hesitated.
“Think of the Maiden,” Pafos insisted.
This time, the Doctor let Oliver push past him. The man plunged a hand into his pocket, searching for something. Oliver took several more slow steps forward, his eyes fixed on the piece on the table.
“That’s it. You’re almost to her,” Pafos whispered, her eyes lighting up as she saw her victory on the horizon. “You only need to touch her.”
The Doctor’s eyes bugged with agitation. As he withdrew an object from his pocket, he rushed forward, grabbing Oliver’s shoulder with one hand and twisting him just enough to stuff something into his mouth.
Oliver stopped in his tracks, immediately beginning to cough like someone had just shoved something all the way down his throat--which might have been the case, really.
Pafos’ eyes widened in rage. “No!” she cried shrilly, letting go of the statue and moving forward to grab Oliver’s hand.
The Doctor, sensing her intention, grabbed Oliver by both shoulders and pulled him firmly backwards. “Run!”
Oliver seemed to understand because, even though he was still coughing, he started to turn around and retreat, the Doctor pulling him along the way. Ignoring Pafos’ cries of denial and anger, they both ran back through the house and out the front.
“Keep going!” the Doctor called, letting go of Oliver and leading the way through streets full of startled women. He grabbed his companion to help balance him several times when Oliver wobbled on the heels of his boots, but despite that difficulty, they made it outside of town and into the midst of the field, where the Doctor finally stopped.
Oliver immediately doubled over, coughing and breathing hard. His lungs hadn’t appreciated the sudden shift between choking and running for his life. “Doctor...” he forced out.
“Hm? What is it, Oliver?” the Doctor asked absently. He didn’t turn to him, too distracted by, apparently, studying his hand. “Not programming, then. A consciousness...” he mumbled to himself.
Oliver would have asked, but he had a few too many other questions running through his mind at the moment. “What...just happened?” he breathed, straightening.
The Doctor waved his other hand dismissively. “Just a bit of hypnosis and psychic control. Nothing to worry about. A jelly baby sorted it all out.”
“What?” Oliver repeated, anything he might have added to that question cut off by another bout of coughing. “But the statue’s in the other town!” he protested once he’d gotten himself properly breathing again.
“Ah,” the Doctor said, looking up with a knowing grin. He held up his hand, showing it to Oliver. Squinting, Oliver could see that his palm was coated in a white powder of some sort--the same white powder that had been all over the workshop. “But that statue isn’t the lady Pafos’ only work. In fact, I imagine it’s only her first major piece on display.”
Oliver’s eyes widened. “You mean she’s making more crazy hypnotic statues? So she can enslave more towns!?”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, looking the slightest bit proud. “You have been working some of this out as we’ve gone along, haven’t you? Good on you. All due to my influence, of course, but still something to be proud of.”
“Yeah, but...” Oliver frowned, too agitated to even enjoy the compliment. He gasped. “That’s why she wanted us to go into the workshop!”
The Doctor nodded. “It does seem to have been a trap for us. Or, for you, at any rate.”
“Wait, what? But she didn’t want me...ohhhh.” Oliver groaned. “She wanted us both in the workshop all along, and she knew I’d go in if she told me not to.”
“That does appear to have been the case, yes,” the Doctor agreed with a placid smile.
“And we fell right for it!” Oliver cried in dismay.
“You did volunteer.”
Oliver sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing the blame. “Well, what now then?”
The Doctor considered that. “We get a bit farther away from Sorodum, I think.” He turned, beginning to walk through the tall grasses of the field.
“Just not too far,” Oliver cautioned as he followed, knowing what the men of Fratedum would do if they saw him again. “And how about you fill me in a bit more on the stuff your influence is supposed to’ve helped me work out?”
“Now, I wouldn’t start aiming too high, Oliver. You don’t want to disappoint yourself with the natural limitations of human intelligence.”
“Doctor.”
“Yes?” The Doctor glanced back at him. “Oh, well, I don’t know the origins of this Lady Pafos yet, but it’s certainly clear that her people--or she at least--have had a hand in the shaping of this society.”
“And that’s clear how?”
“The names, Oliver! The names!” The Doctor stopped, sighing at Oliver’s blank look. “Think Pygmalion. Ovid. Greek and Roman mythology. Lady Pafos? You’ve studied these things, haven’t you?”
“Well, yeah, the story leads up to the founding myth for the city of Paphos, in Cyprus, because Paphos was the name of...” Oliver’s eyes widened. “The son of Pygmalion and his statue, Galatea.”
“And the true centerpiece of Ovid’s myth, in the end,” the Doctor said, continuing forward. “A product of the statue, rather than its maker. But Paphos could also be considered a figure free from the mesmerizing influence that the statue held over Pygmalion...” The Doctor trailed off, his expression thoughtful.
“That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Oliver remarked, hurrying after him. “I mean, what would Greek mythology be doing here, on this planet? Or Roman mythology, if it really is based on Ovid’s version. Come to think of it, we keep running into Greek and Roman architecture, too.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised how far some things travel in the universe,” the Doctor said absently, waving a dismissive hand. “Not to mention how many things you humans think you came up with yourselves.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow at him. “What, like Greek mythology is actually all about alien visitors?”
The Doctor didn’t answer, once again too lost in thought.
Oliver frowned, taking the opportunity to consider the situation for himself. “You know, I’m surprised the statue isn’t named Galatea, in that case,” he said. “Or would that be too obvious? I mean, I guess they just about named her Galatea anyway, didn’t they? Doesn’t that name mean something about her being white? Like White Maiden.”
The Doctor abruptly stopped, his gaze snapping to Oliver. “What was that?”
Surprised by his sudden change in demeanor, Oliver stopped short as well. “White Maiden is sort of like Galatea,” he repeated.
“Yes, it is. But no one in this society has used that name--although you did.” The Doctor’s lips slowly began to curl into a grin, his mind clearly on the verge of a discovery.
“You’re the one who brought it up, but yeah.”
The Doctor shook his head. “No, not just now! When you were under the statue’s influence, you called it Galatea. I wonder why...”
“Well...I guess it must’ve reminded me of Pygmalion.”
The Doctor’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Yes, that’s it! Oliver! You were trying to tell me something when you said that, weren’t you?” His grin widened, his teeth showing now. “It wasn’t just an answer to my question. You were telling me how to solve it all!”
Oliver stared at him. “I was? I mean, ‘course I was!” He grinned back for a moment, but it faded into a questioning look. “So uh...you know how to solve it, then? How do we do that?”
“Back to the TARDIS!” the Doctor declared, taking off at a run.
“What? Doctor!” Oliver cried as he followed. “How are we gonna get past all the zombies!?”
“You’ll see!”
“Before or after we get mobbed by them?”
But the Doctor didn’t respond, and Oliver had to stop shouting so he wouldn’t fall behind--or trip over the heels of his boots--as they headed full-tilt back toward Fratedum.
***
When they reached the edge of town, Oliver only narrowly missed crashing into the Doctor as the man abruptly stopped.
“Steady on.” The Doctor grabbed Oliver’s shoulder to help him keep his balance.
“Why...are we stopping?” Oliver gasped between breaths, wishing not for the first time that he had whatever lung system Time Lords did that allowed the Doctor to do all that running without the slightest ill effects. Then again, the Doctor hadn’t had the misfortune of choking on a jelly baby just a little earlier. Or being hypnotized by a bust, or...well, really what it boiled down to was that Oliver had been through better days.
While Oliver caught his breath, the Doctor started to remove his feminine hat and coat. “Because you,” he said, giving him a pointed look, “are staying here.” He crouched to remove his boots.
“What?” Oliver immediately protested. “You can’t do the rest of this alone! What if the zombies-”
The Doctor cut him off with a shake of his head. “First off, Oliver Day, the ‘zombies’ are only interested in you. They listen to me, remember? Second, there are plenty of things I can do alone, and this is one of them. Third, if you think I’d leave you out here to miss all the fun, you really don’t know who you’re talking to.” He looked up, giving his companion a toothy grin, before he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his hat and put it back on with a flourish. He stood. “I’m going to the TARDIS. I’ll be back in a tick. Wait here.”
“Oh.” After that speech, it was all Oliver could think to say. “All right, then. But be careful!”
The Doctor gawked at him. “Me? You’re telling me to be careful? Honestly.” He turned, grumbling to himself as he started into town.
Oliver watched with a frown as the Doctor disappeared among the houses. Once he was gone, the young man began to remove his own extra clothing. He checked his watch. 40 minutes should be enough for the Doctor to get to the TARDIS and back. Any more, he decided, and he was going to go after him, no matter what he had said.
***
The Doctor hurried through town at a jog, although he was careful to smile and tip his hat occasionally to the residents, watching for their reactions. He noticed to his dismay that not a single one responded to him in the least--not even with a glance. Considering that even a guard in the museum had retained his free will earlier in the day, this was a very bad sign. Perhaps Pafos had stepped up her efforts since they had visited her--assuming it was Pafos who was in control.
But now really wasn’t the time to worry about such things. The Doctor picked up his pace, giving up on greeting the residents. He needed to get to the TARDIS and get his work done--and quickly, so he could go back and retrieve Oliver. He hadn’t wanted to tell the young man, but he was fairly certain he couldn’t actually solve this without his help after all. The problem was, it was clear to the Doctor that he himself could make no connection to the material that the statue was made of. However, it was more than obvious that Oliver could, and he had a sinking feeling he was going to need that connection in order to fix anything. While he knew that Oliver wouldn’t mind being at the forefront of the danger--if it could save this world, Oliver would surely be more than happy to be--he couldn’t help but find the idea unsettling.
“Doctor!”
The Doctor turned in surprise at the voice, just in time to see a young boy running toward him from a nearby yellow house. “Why, Tirik!” he said, not letting his expression betray his apprehension. “What brings you here?”
As the boy reached him, the Doctor could see that he looked a bit hurt. “It’s my home,” he said with a pout. “You told me you’d come here when you needed help, and here you are! How can I help?”
The Doctor felt another pang of familiarity. If Tirik’s race had a distant connection to humans, then Oliver’s DNA had definitely made it into the boy. “For now, you can stay close to me and be very quiet, all right? I need to get to my ship quick as I can.”
Tirik nodded, his expression very serious. “Where is it?” he whispered. “Maybe I know a shortcut!”
As this was a valid point, the Doctor quickly described the crowded street of shops in which they had landed.
“I know where that is!” Tirik exclaimed, his expression lighting up. Then he realized how loud he’d been, and his eyes widened. He blocked his mouth with a hand, whispering, “Come this way.”
The Doctor gave a serious nod to make sure the boy wasn’t under any illusions about the severity of situation. Then he followed.
As it turned out, there was no particular reason to worry about being stopped or delayed on their way to the TARDIS. The residents they passed were completely uninterested in their presence. The only response the pair got out of any of them was that they would step out of the way if the Doctor came close. While it was reassuring that they didn’t seem to be bothered by Tirik’s presence, the Doctor couldn’t help feeling on guard. If the psychic control efforts had been stepped up since his visit to Pafos, that meant there was some sort of communication--perhaps even control--being exercised between her and the statue. With that likely being the case, then there was no telling what else might happen--or when.
“Almost there,” Tirik whispered as they came upon the familiar street. The Doctor picked up his pace, unconsciously pulling ahead of the boy as soon as he laid eyes on the blue box off to the side of the road.
“There you are, old girl.” He smiled, his worries fading momentarily as he gave her a pat before unlocking the door. Then he turned to Tirik, considering his options, but he knew there was really only one choice in this situation. “Come with me,” he said briskly before disappearing inside.
There was a moment of hesitation, but Tirik soon entered, and the Doctor quickly closed the doors, worried the child might become spooked and disappear again.
“Ohhhhh,” Tirik breathed once he had seen just what he had walked into. He moved in a slow circle, gazing all around him in awe. “What sort of place is this?” he whispered.
“This is my ship,” the Doctor replied proudly, “the TARDIS.”
Tirik continued to look around, making a second loop. After another moment’s consideration, he asked, “Was it a gift from the goddess?”
The Doctor boggled at him. “No, she was not!” he scoffed. “This is my ship, and she is absolutely incredible, aren’t you, old girl?” He gave the console a pat. “Which is far more than I can say about the so-called ‘gifts’ from that goddess of yours.”
The boy gasped, staring at the Doctor with wide eyes. “Y-you’re not supposed to speak about the goddess that way,” he stammered in a whisper. He looked around again, but this time he seemed to be checking for eavesdroppers.
“I can speak of her however I wish!” the Doctor boomed. “I’ve met her, and I can guarantee you that she’s not the goddess you think she is.”
Tirik gaped at him again. “You’ve met the goddess?” he fairly squeaked.
“Yes, and a rather awful woman she turned out to be. Very self-absorbed. Now then.” The Doctor peered at a reading on the console. “You just wait while I do some important work. And don’t touch anything, got that?”
The boy nodded mutely, staring at the Doctor in wide-eyed confusion and, perhaps, some degree of fear.
“Good.” The Doctor nodded to himself. “Come along.” He took one last look at the display on the console before he turned, ushering the frightened boy after him as he headed through the TARDIS toward his lab.
***
Oliver really had intended to wait a full 40 minutes for the Doctor--or so he told himself--but it wasn’t his fault that his waiting was interrupted by the sight of a large group of Filioran women with Lady Pafos at their head, quickly making their way toward Fratedum.
He swore and, deciding that getting caught by them was probably worse than getting caught by the zombies, stood and ran into town. He knew the Doctor would have wanted him to hide somewhere near the edge of Fratedum, but since he was the only one who knew that those women were coming, he determined that he would have to warn the Doctor instead. And maybe the time that had passed while they were away in Sorodum might have solved his zombie problem?
Oliver encountered no trouble at all to begin with, but only as long as he was still going through deserted streets. When he headed deeper into town and entered a street that had people in it, however, the four men immediately started to come his way. Oliver swore again; their visit to Sorodum must not have improved the situation after all. He made a hasty retreat back into a side street.
He counted to ten before he peeked around the corner, hoping that getting out of their sight might have solved his problem. Unfortunately, they were still advancing. Oliver swore for a third time. This really could be going better. It seemed he would have to hide for the moment after all. But where? And how to lose these four first?
Hoping that the simplest solution was the best, he took off at a run, zigzagging through side streets until he was sure he must have lost his pursuers. Gasping for breath yet again, he scanned the area for a hiding place. In the end, the best he could do was crouch behind a building just off the main road. He stayed as still as he could, struggling to catch his breath, and irrationally wondering if the zombies could smell his brain. That was just something films had made up, wasn’t it? And the Doctor would think he was silly for considering them zombies anyway. They were just under psychic control. But could psychic controllers smell brains?
He quickly stopped that rather unproductive train of thought and instead tried to focus on what he could do to get out of this mess. The TARDIS was all the way across town and right in the middle of a street that was on the way to the museum, so unless he suddenly developed a zombie-defeating technique, it was highly unlikely that he would make it there.
Then again, what choice did he have? Lady Pafos was on her way, and if she found either him or the Doctor, there was no telling what would happen.
But that brought an even more unsettling thought to mind. What if she wasn’t trying to find him or the Doctor? What else could she be here to do? Maybe to talk to the zombies in person--convince them to do something that she couldn’t from a distance. What if she was here to put in a kill order for the Doctor, and he was the only one who knew about it?
If Oliver had taken a moment to think, he would have realized that he was letting his imagination get away with him--not that he didn’t find himself unexpectedly walking into the worst-case-scenario often enough with the Doctor--but as it was, just that thought was enough to spur him into action. He had to at least try to warn the Doctor. Either he needed to run to the TARDIS, or he needed to get to another safe place so he could come up with a plan. But where else was there that had been in any way safe?
That was an easy enough question to answer: Tirik. He’d given them directions to his house, and he would be able to move through the zombies to warn the Doctor even if Oliver couldn’t. Oliver smiled, relieved to have a plan of action. It seemed he hadn’t lied to the boy after all.
He abandoned his hiding place, running again. While he did so, he tried rather desperately to remember what route he’d taken to get to this area. Tirik had given them directions from the edge of town, so he’d have to go back there if he were going to find the house. He just had to hope he didn’t cross paths with Lady Pafos or any of her entourage while he was at it.
Good thing he was an optimist.
***
It didn’t take long for the Doctor to complete his analyses and experiments, and he and Tirik emerged from the TARDIS shortly thereafter. The boy was visibly apprehensive as they headed back into town, but the Doctor walked with his hands in his pockets, whistling faintly to himself.
“Where are we going now, Doctor?” Tirik asked softly, huddling close to him and fearfully eyeing the nearby lines of mindlessly moving citizens.
“We’re going to get Oliver, and then we’re going to end this,” the Doctor replied, grinning at the boy with a twinkle in his eyes.
Tirik looked just as awed as the Doctor had hoped he would. “How are you going to do that?” he asked.
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” the Doctor said with a wave of his hand. He turned down a side street, heading back toward the edge of town.
They didn’t get far, however, before the monotony of the silently walking droves was broken by yelling--yelling that was headed in their direction. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “What’s he done this time?” he quietly asked of no one in particular before starting to sprint in the direction of the noise. Tirik cried out in surprise, struggling to keep up with him.
It didn’t take long to find the source of the commotion--mostly because it was heading directly toward where they were in the heart of town. Tirik gasped, but the Doctor only shook his head, smiling faintly to himself. “I should have known.”
Oliver, yelling, kicking, and fighting, was being carried by a group of four relatively-large men. One held his shoulders, the second had his arms pinned behind his back, and the last two were holding his legs. The convoy was moving very slowly due to Oliver’s struggling, but it was nevertheless going relentlessly forward. The Doctor had a feeling he knew the destination it had in mind.
“Well,” he said. “At least that saves us the trouble of finding him.”