Z

ara deprived the peas of their covering as Cook looked on.  Another green shell was discarded in to the bin, before finally Miss Nash turned away to allow the young girl to finish her chore in peace.  At last she could scratch the itch that had been plaguing her for the last few minutes.  Her nails racked in to her flesh, easing the irritation.  As she withdrew her hand, her fingertips accidentally brushed the scar tissue on her arm.  The scar in the form of a stylised letter ‘S’ – the Stedman family mark of ownership.  Her grandfather had told her of the Doctor’s promise, but she was not so sure as him that it was simply a sick joke.  The Doctor had a kind face.  Perhaps they would indeed be freed today.  Perhaps the promise was real.  She traced the scar with her index finger.  Even if she were set free, the brand would forever be a reminder of her slavery.  If she returned home, would she as a free woman still be looked on as a second-class citizen?  It was a question she had never thought of before, and she had no idea of what the answer would be. 

 

Realising that Miss Nash was again staring at her, Zara pushed these fanciful thoughts away, and continued to shell the peas.  The cook was a friendly woman that treated Zara well.  Sometimes she didn’t feel like a slave when they prepared meals together for the gentry.  Occasionally, if Wallace and Stedman were nowhere in the vicinity, they would even laugh and joke together.  However, today she could sense a hint of anxiety in Miss Nash’s manner.  She had been in high spirits at breakfast, but now it appeared as if a cloud had enclosed her.  Possibly it was to do with the talk that Oscar had with her earlier.  She knew that it had something to do with one of her masters, but she didn’t know what it was about. With Miss Nash’s current mood, it was not something that she would pursue.  Better to keep her head down and shell peas.  She needed to finish them soon, being almost time for dinner.  She was not free yet, and mustn’t give her masters any reason to go back on the promise. Or any reason to hurt her again.

 

* * * *

 

‘Did Stedman inform you of his resolve to free Zara and Toussaint?’ asked the Doctor over the empty dinner table.

 

‘He wouldn’t have decided to do that!’ dismissed Wallace out of hand and immediately changed the subject.  ‘You know this is quite splendid brandy!’

 

The scientist poured himself a large amount of drink from a cut crystal decanter.  He didn’t offer any to his guests, who were all sat around the dining table waiting for lunch.  Oscar loitered near the door, his waistcoat’s fine cut spoilt with the bulge of Wallace’s pistol.   It was a responsibility that he looked uncomfortable with.

 

‘I assure you he did,’ persisted the Doctor.

 

‘It’s out of the question!  They’re essential to the running of the household,’ said Wallace, bringing the amber fluid to his lips and taking a large gulp.

 

‘If you want my cooperation, then I insist that you free them.’

 

‘You require my assistance as much as I require yours.  Remember the noose?’ said Wallace, ‘Besides, why would they want freedom anyway? Here they are fed and housed. What more could they want?  If they were set free, they would just be two more beggars on the streets.  They have been rescued from poverty and starvation.’

 

‘Rescued from dignity and liberty more like,’ said Victoria, unable to contain her anger any longer.  ‘How would you like waiting on others, far from home and without pay?’

 

The scientist turned to the pretty girl sitting by his side.  His eyes flicked over her dress, taking in the outline of her breasts pushed up and together by her corset.  He shifted in his seat towards her, and gave her a smile.

 

‘You know that you are free to go wherever you want.  I know that such a handsome lady with a heart as yourself would have had nothing to do with poor Stedman’s passing on. Anyway…’

 

‘Just answer the blasted question,’ interrupted Jamie.

 

‘The question is irrelevant,’ said Wallace, waving one hand flippantly. ‘I’m one of their betters.  They are just Negroes - no better than animals.’

 

‘I wonder how such a great intellect can live with such a small mind?’ mumbled the Doctor sadly.

 

‘At least I don’t believe the ghost stories of children,’ said the scientist wearily.  His patience was rapidly vanishing. 

 

The last few drops were drained from his brandy glass, and he quickly refilled it.  The alcohol warmed his throat, and dulled the stress of the last day.  He had been so close to finishing his research.  Yet with the current events, he might as well of never started.  The words of his imprisoned guests faded in to the distance, filtered out of his mind by the drink. He was about to give himself a further top up, when the dining room door opened.  The waft of vegetable soup filled the room.  Loaded down with trays, Zara conveyed the starting course to the table.  The slave girl began to serve the soup in to the bowls, and immediately became a target.

 

‘You idiot!’ he screamed at her, ‘I asked for minestrone not vegetable!’

 

‘I’m sorry sir.  This is what Cook gave me,’ Zara stammered.  She appeared to shrink before his glaring eyes. 

 

‘Well it’ll do I suppose,’ grumbled Wallace, who then completely ignored the youngster and proceeded to ladle the soup in to his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for months.  A Scottish whisper caused him to halt his gorging.

 

‘You think he’s all there?  He seems a wee bit unstable.’

 

The scientist found his antagonism rising yet again.  How dare these upstarts call him insane in front of his face?  It was their opinions about Zara that were insane.  Their crazed ideas could have been the motive behind his colleague’s murder.  Maybe they killed Stedman because he refused to give the slaves freedom?  Well, he was not going to fall for that trick.  Quickly he looked at Oscar, guarding the door as ordered.  The knowledge of the pistol gave him comfort, and he turned back to finish his food.

 

The rest of the starter was devoured in an awkward hush, with just the rap of silver on porcelain audible.  The Scottish boy proved that he had a lack of basic manners by using his dessertspoon to eat his soup.  The uncomfortable silence continued, until Zara returned with the main course.  The delicious aroma of roast potatoes, boiled vegetables and steak filled Wallace’s nostrils, but when he received his portion he still wasn’t happy.  A slap rang in everybody’s ears, as the scientist backhanded her in the face.

 

‘I always have my steak rare!  Bring another one!’

 

Whilst the girl hurried out of the room, Wallace poured himself a further generous helping of brandy.  Voices of protests on his inhumanity were thrown at him, but were brushed aside with a single remark.

 

‘It’s not as if she can get a black eye, is it?’ said Wallace with a smirk.

 

The horrified remarks intensified, but were now completely snubbed.  Without speaking, he implied that the guests should begin the main course before him.  Drumming his fork on the table, Wallace waited for his steak and listened in on the guests’ conversation.  Little by little the voices of objection to the slave girl’s treatment ebbed away, but the atmosphere remained uncomfortably charged.

 

At last Zara returned with a newly cooked slab of steak.  Timidly she laid it on to Wallace’s plate.  It was very rare and bloody.  Just one step above raw.  Exactly how he liked it. Picking up the gravy boat, he poured a liberal helping on to his meat and vegetables.  Zara remained by his side, waiting to be excused.  He looked at the black girl’s scared face, and leant across.  Wetting his finger, he wiped off an imaginary speak of dirt from her cheek.

 

‘You’re happy here with us aren’t you my girl?’ he asked.

 

‘Yes sir,’ said Zara automatically.

 

‘There you are Doctor,’ exclaimed Wallace triumphantly, ‘Proof straight from her own mouth. We are her family.  You could say that I am her father.  Isn’t that so Zara?’

 

‘Yes sir.’

 

‘You wouldn’t want to ever leave us would you?’

 

‘Uh… No sir.’

 

‘Is that what you really think, Zara?’ said the Doctor gently, ‘Don’t worry, you can speak freely.  No harm will come to you, I promise.’

 

The young slave was about to answer when Wallace cut in,  ‘I’m sure Miss Nash needs your help.  You are excused.’

 

Quickly, Zara slipped out of the dining room, leaving her ‘betters’ to finish their meals. Paying no heed to the Doctor’s protests, Wallace tucked in to succulent morsels of steak. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Wallace ate in silence.  He cut off another piece of rare steak, and dipped it in more gravy before biting in.  He chewed the meat, enjoying both its flavour and his win over the Doctor.  When he tried to swallow, the mouthful refused to go down. 

 

The scientist coughed and spluttered, as the small piece of steak caught in his throat. Desperately he reached for his brandy, and attempted to wash the obstruction away.  The liquid gurgled in his gullet, and overflowed out of his mouth.  The sticky alcohol rolled down his chin, like a baby’s dribble, but the steak stayed where it had chosen.  With a last gallant attempt he swallowed hard, but now the mouthful appeared to move up his throat instead of down towards his stomach.  It shouldn’t do that, he thought in between wheezing breaths. With air running short, Wallace’s head became dizzy, and he felt himself begin to slip away. The brandy glass slipped from his fingers, to smash in to hundreds of tiny shards on the floor. 

 

Then strong hands came at him from behind.  He felt arms reach under his ribs and push in to his belly, simultaneously pulling his body upwards.  The steak refused to move, and then suddenly popped out.  Gasping the much-needed air in to his empty lungs, it took some time for Wallace to understand why Victoria was screaming.  When he finally banished the dizziness from his body, the full horror hit him.  As expected, the piece of chewed steak lay on the oak table in front of him.  What he didn’t expect was for it to be moving.   Writhing. Pulsating.  The morsel acted as if it was alive.  Ripping his gaze away, he saw that it was not only this small portion that was behaving in such a manner.  The remains of his rare steak jumped around on his plate.  Although it was only a tiny piece of a cow, it appeared to be capable of having a life of its own.  Terror gripped the scientist when he realised that it had been stuck in his throat.  His own food had attempted to choke him.  To kill him.  He looked at the writhing steak, and saw the chunks cut out of it.  Chunks that he had eagerly eaten only moments earlier.  That meant that there were other pieces inside him right now. Possibly waiting to crawl up his oesophagus and block his windpipe.  Conceivably they had already started that task, and soon would kill him.  In panic, Wallace fled the dining room. On reaching the bathroom he vomited immediately, hardly noticing that his ever-faithful butler was on hand to clear up the mess.

 

* * * *

 

‘We’re being taunted,’ said the Doctor, giving the pulsating steak an experimental poke with his finger. 

 

Victoria had regained her composure and was no longer exercising her powerful lungs, so now he could put his full concentration towards the anomaly wriggling on the porcelain plate. It reminded him of a grounded fish, frantically attempting to re-immerse itself in life-giving water.  The meat grew weaker under the Doctor’s examinations, until at last it gave one final flip and lay still.

 

‘Taunted?’ asked Victoria, ‘By whom?’

 

‘I was pretty certain before but now I’m positive,’ replied the Doctor, ‘Someone in the close vicinity has been possessed by some sort of entity.  The question is, why?’

 

‘Oh aye, just like the Great Intelligence then.’  Jamie added unnecessarily,  ‘That business with the Yetis.’

 

‘Similar in a way I suppose.  But the Great Intelligence destroyed the mind, and used the body as a puppet.  This would be more like a medium.  Similar in principal to that of séances described in Earth superstitions.  Using psychic power, it is possible to take over the mind and body of an individual.  From there this entity seems to redirect its energy in to the dead to use as a tool.  Unfortunately, I have no clue as to what it wants.’

 

‘To kill,’ said Victoria gravely, ‘That was obviously an attempt to murder Wallace.’

 

‘That’s true, but a small piece of meat doesn’t make a very good weapon.  Especially when there are onlookers to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre,’ mused the Doctor, ‘No this was meant as a warning, to let us know that our days are numbered.  I believe that this entity, or whatever, needs a fully working nervous system with a functioning brain to reanimate the dead properly.  Without this it would be very difficult to perform specific tasks.  Jamie, remember when I stunned the field mice?  The entity could no longer use them, and so jumped to the body Stedman was dissecting.  The unfortunate fellow.  The corpse he was experimenting on had a functional brain, so it made a more useful murderous tool.  As for this steak.  Our food wasn’t effected, just Wallace’s.  It was hardly cooked, so there must have been enough of the cell matter remaining intact for the entity to use.  Obviously it wasn’t very effective.  Without the nervous system, all it could do was wriggle.’

 

‘At least it wiped that smug smile off Wallace’s face, even if it was a wee bit harmless,’ quipped Jamie.

 

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say harmless by any means, and it did succeed in its aim,’ said the Doctor, ‘Whatever this entity is, it has increased immensely in power since last night.  It is now strong enough to show itself openly during daylight, and it wanted us to know that fact.’

 

As if by magic, the Time Lord whipped out a crumpled paper bag from his trouser pocket. He offered the contents to his fellow time travellers, but they declined the warm, sticky sweets.  He chose a Bulls eye for himself, and the room was soon filled with noisy sucking sounds.  All the while a look of deep concentration showed on his features.  Numerous thoughts tumbled through his head, but he kept coming back to his premonition of Wallace’s death.  If he had just one breath in his body, that man was determined enough to make sure that his papers were published.  It wouldn’t matter if he were homeless and living on the streets.  He would find a way.  But the Doctor knew that he never did, so that surely meant that he was due to die now.  In that case, should he have saved the scientist from choking to death?  And what if he was attacked by the entity again?  Should the Doctor just leave him to his fate?  

 

Wallace might not be a pleasant man, but he was still a sentient being.  He was clearly in shock after the death of his colleague, so perhaps some of his extreme actions could be forgiven. There was no other plausible way to explain his sudden erratic behaviour.  Maybe if he was educated and moulded he could become a great man, but the timeline appeared to dictate that he would not get that chance.  It was a dilemma that was difficult to untangle from the current situation.  The Doctor’s train of thought was suddenly broken when Jamie motioned towards the unguarded door.

 

‘Doctor, Oscar left with Wallace.  We can get out of here without that madman’s lackey stopping us.’

 

‘I wondered when you would point that out,’ said the Doctor, putting the quandary out of his mind.  ‘But I don’t think we should leave just yet.  We’ll take advantage to snoop around the mansion.  It’s no coincidence that three people connected to this household have been attacked or killed.  Stedman, Wallace and of course their employee, the notorious Tom Sawkins.  Shall we see if we can find out why?’

 

 * * * *

 

Miss Nash covered up the apple pie, and put it back in to the pantry.  Oscar had briefly left his master’s side to inform her that pudding would no longer be necessary.  Apparently there had been an upset at the dinner table, and everyone had lost their appetite.  She just hoped it had nothing to do with her cooking.  Too often she mixed up her different employees preferences.  Stedman liked his eggs runny, but Wallace liked them rock hard.  Stedman liked his steaks burnt to a crisp, while Wallace preferred them bloody as hell.  She had always been somewhat scatty, and however hard she tried she always got something wrong.  Not that she ever paid for her mistakes.  Stedman was too much of a gentleman to complain, and Zara always took Wallace’s rage on her slim shoulders.  It made her life easy, but did make her feel a little guilty.  She felt sorry for the little slave girl.  Frequently in tears due to the heavy-handedness of her masters, and often owing to no mistake of her own. However, she now knew that things were going to change and not necessarily for the better. 

 

Earlier, Oscar had broken the news that Stedman had passed away during the night.  She supposed it must have been a particularly virulent disease, as he had been fit and healthy the previous day.  Or it could have been a tragic accident.  She heard household rumours that in his secret laboratory he played around with dangerous apparatus powered by gas. Miss Nash was an unyielding believer that some things were better left alone, and gas was certainly one of those things.  It was only a matter of time before it exploded, and took the whole mansion with it.   

 

Oscar had warned her not to tell anyone of the master’s passing.  Not even the slaves were to know.  Although she hadn’t been told the reason, she assumed it had something to do with the will.  Otherwise why all the secrecy?  She felt in her gut that it wasn’t right to delay his Christian burial, but she didn’t want to lose her job so she had resolved to follow instructions.  She just hoped she was doing the right thing. 

 

Ensuring that the pantry door was securely shut, she decided to have the empty dinner plates collected from the dining room.  If they were not having pudding, there seemed no point in delaying the task. 

 

‘Zara, can you…?’

 

Feeling foolish, Cook stopped in mid-sentence.  The slave girl was nowhere to be seen. She was sure that she had been here moments earlier.  Furrowing her brow, the middle-aged woman wondered where she could have gone.  There was a lot of work to do.  It was then that she realised that she hadn’t seen Toussaint all day.  He was supposed to scrub the oven, and go in to the village to bring back a sack of fresh vegetables for high-tea.  With all that had happened today, everyone seemed to have forgotten about the old slave.

 

* * * *

 

The time travellers had wandered throughout the expanse of the mansion, almost as if they were on a ramble in the countryside.   Taking special care to avoid Wallace and his butler, the trio had moved deeper in to the house.  Room after room of deserted parlours and receptions were pried in to.  Many had white sheets thrown over the disused furniture. Everything else in these little trod areas was covered in thick layers of dust.  However lonely these once great rooms seemed, nothing was out of the ordinary.  Still, the Doctor was convinced that the medium had to be close by, so the search continued.  Eventually their trial had left the stale odour and dust behind, and instead snaked upwards.  At the top of a flight of rarely used stairs, they emerged near the attic and onwards in to the slave quarters.  It was here that signs of life were again found.  

 

A steady drumbeat reverberated down the short corridor.  Here and there a croaky, slurred voice joined the beat.  Its words were practically unintelligible, as if the speaker wasn’t used to speaking at all.  In trepidation, the travellers padded along the hall carpet and halted outside a door covered with faded navy paint.  The Doctor hesitated for a split second before plunging in to the room, with Jamie and Victoria close behind.  Abruptly the drumming ceased, as the door clicked shut behind them.  The voice immediately addressed them, in slurring jolted speech.

 

‘Did youuu enjoy yourrr meal so muchhh that youuu… came for its recipe?

 

There followed a choking gurgle, which the Doctor surmised as a laugh.  Scanning his eyes around the darkened bedroom, he made out a shape crouched on the bed.  The form of Toussaint.  Casually the Time Lord strode to the window, and flicked open one of the curtains.  Steams of afternoon sunshine swept in, illuminating most of the room.  Scattered around were the remnants of the previous night’s ritual.  The wooden cross and drum were flung on the unmade bed.  The drum still warm from the music it had been forced to play.  A fallen candle had melted wax on to the feathers of the chicken carcass abandoned on the floor.  Fortunately the candle itself was burnt down to the wick, already extinguished before its tumble.  Upturned next to the sacrifice, lay the wooden bowl.  The worn carpet had long since absorbed its contents, creating a dark patch at the foot of the bed.  The Doctor took in this sight in an instant, but it was Toussaint himself that grabbed the time traveller’s attention.  Still half bathed by shadows, the old slave seemed to shrink away from the sunbeams.   The Doctor pulled the remaining curtain, plunging the room in to full daylight. 

 

‘You know it’s not very healthy to mope about in the dark,’ said the Doctor flippantly.

 

‘Since youuu came all this way, I’ll give… youuu the recipe.  First youuu kill a cow, then youuu… cut a chunk off and then burn it.  But not too… muchhh.  Then youuu consume it… before it consumes youuu.’

 

‘Nasty cough you have there,’ said the Doctor patting his pockets in a theatrical manner. ‘Would you like a lozenge?  I think I’ve got one somewhere.’

 

‘I will soon master thesse vocal… corddsss,’ slurred the trespasser in Toussaint’s aged body, ‘But don’t youuu want to knowww what’s for pudding first?’

 

‘Couldn’t eat another mouthful myself,’ said the Doctor.

 

‘Come now.  It’s delicious… plump and fattt.  Are youuu ready to be… consumed?’

 

‘Doctor, I think you’re being insulted,’ snorted Jamie.

 

‘Ahhh… the one who myyy mice nearlyyy devoured,’ said the trespasser, swinging the old slave’s head sharply to confront the Jacobite rebel.  A sly smile crept on to the slave’s features, as he swung his bare feet to the floor and slowly rose.

 

‘You know, we haven’t yet been formally introduced and you should understand that it’s un-gentlemanly to insult a complete stranger.  I’m the Doctor by the way.  This is Jamie and Victoria.  Who is it controlling that body I wonder?’

 

‘Don’t youuu know?  I amm Loa.’

 

‘You’re telling me that you are a Voodoo spirit.  Come now, you don’t think I’ll fall for that little porky do you?  Alright then, where do you come from?’

 

‘Everywherrre.’

 

‘That’s a bit of a boast isn’t it?’ said the Doctor, ‘Everywhere is a little on the big side, don’t you think?’

 

‘Nowherrre.’

 

‘Ah, I’ve got it!’ said the Doctor triumphantly, ‘You’re a Dimensional Entity!  You know you can’t go taking over peoples’ bodies willy-nilly.  You shouldn’t be here at all.’

 

‘Nooo… I ammm Loa.’

 

‘Doctor, what’s a Dimensional Entity?’ whispered Victoria.

 

‘They exist in the fabric of time itself,’ replied the Doctor loudly, ‘Bodiless and primeval, forever looking for a path in to our world. They must be stopped.’

 

With surprising agility, Toussaint’s hand swept out and grasped Jamie’s throat.  Fingers dug in to the Scott’s windpipe, as his body was effortlessly lifted a foot off the ground.  His arms flailed wildly, searching for a way out of his predicament, but clutching only at air.  Air he desperately needed to breath, but due to the tightness of the grip unavailable to his burning lungs.  The Doctor looked on in horror.  He had deliberately tested the entity’s patience, but had he gone too far?  He rushed to help, but found himself falling to the floor when Jamie’s body was hurled at him.  Together they landed in a tangle on the thread-worn carpet.

 

‘I cannn defend myselff.  I… wont be… stopped.  I have to quench my hungerrrr.’’

 

‘Yes, but you didn’t finish us off,’ said the Doctor, as Victoria helped to pick him off the floor. ‘I wonder why not?’

 

‘Before youuu came I wass in the carcass of a cat killed… by a stray doggg.  Much to the doggiee’s surprise its victim… awoke and blinded with ssslashing claws, before consuminggg its succulent eye balls… It whined as I ate it alive.  Both animalsss… are on the wayyy here now, so leave now if youu wanttt to live.’

 

‘You’re afraid aren’t you?’ said Jamie, ‘You don’t understand how we beat your wee beasties, and are afraid of us.’

 

‘Um… I think you may be right Jamie,’ said the Doctor, before turning to the Loa. ‘You don’t know what to make of us do you?’

 

‘Why do youuu appose meee?  The hungerrr musttt be quenched.  It was myyy reward!’

 

Before the Doctor was able to respond, the bedroom door unexpectedly inched open.  The effect on the Loa was immediate and unanticipated.  When the face of Zara peered around the doorframe, Toussaint’s body dramatically collapsed on to the bed.  The alien glaze faded, as the entity relaxed its hold on the old slave’s mind.  By the time the door had opened fully and the child entered the room, the Doctor was already at her unconscious grandfather’s side.  With all the people in the small bedroom, Zara seemed disorientated at first, but on seeing Toussaint’s prone body, she gave a gasp of concern and hastened to join him.  Tears began their dissent down her cheeks.

 

‘Is he…?’

 

‘No, he’s fine,’ replied the Doctor, ‘Exhausted I expect, but fine.’

 

‘When he didn’t turn up to clean the oven, I feared the worst,’ said Zara in between tears, ‘What’s wrong with him?  Is he ill?’

 

‘Not quite my dear, but I’m afraid he is in a great deal of trouble.’

 

Abruptly, Toussaint’s eyes fluttered open and he sprung upright in panic.  With all trace of the entity gone, he wildly looked around his small room to find it crowded with white men and women.  Frantically he dug under his bed, and grabbed hold of his boots.

 

‘I’m sorry sirs, ma’am,’ he garbled at the time travellers as he pulled on the footwear.  ‘I have overslept.  I will work extra hard this morning to make up for my lateness.’

 

‘Actually grandfather,’ said Zara wiping the tears out of her eyes, ‘It’s afternoon not morning.’

 

‘Afternoon, oh my dear God!’ exclaimed Toussaint.  His face turned a deathly pale when he realised his blasphemy, and quickly he attempted to ratify his mistake.  ‘My sincere apologises. I meant not to take the Lord’s name in vain. I don’t know what came over me. But it had nothing to do with young Zara.  She is blameless.  I will take whatever punishment you see fit.  I deserve it but I implore you, please leave my granddaughter alone.’

 

‘Oh, don’t worry.  We’re not here to punish you,’ soothed the Doctor.

 

Toussaint looked at the Doctor unbelievingly, afraid to answer back.

 

‘It’s true,’ said Victoria, ‘And I think Wallace has other things on his mind rather than worry about your whereabouts.’

 

‘That’s right,’ chipped in Jamie, ‘He’s sick as a pig at this minute.  He’ll nay be bothering you.’

 

‘That promise I made you, about your freedom,’ said the Doctor to Toussaint, whilst the old slave finished tying his laces, ‘I’m afraid that the agreement was with Stedman, but now he is dead.  But I will endeavour to ensure I keep my word.  If Wallace will not free you, then when I have finished my business here I will take you back to your country myself.’

 

‘You mean smuggle us out of the country?’ asked Zara, her eyes wide with wonder.

 

‘In a manner of speaking, yes.  I have my own ship of sorts.’

 

‘Oh, grandfather,’ said Zara cheerily, ‘We’re going home.’

 

Toussaint was not so easily persuaded.  He grasped at the Doctor’s words, and picked out a point that Zara in her haste had either missed or chosen to ignore. 

 

‘What do you mean, the master’s dead?’

 

‘Ah, well I’m not quite sure how to tell you this,’ said the Doctor awkwardly, ‘I gather you are Houngan of Vaudou religion.’

 

‘I wouldn’t give myself such an honour,’ said Toussaint, at last plucking up courage to look the time traveller directly in the eye.  ‘But I try to keep the teachings as well as I can.’

 

‘Were you conducting a ritual last night?’ said the Doctor.  When Toussaint gave a brisk nod, he put another question to the old man.  ‘Why?  Don’t worry, it will not go past these four walls.’

 

‘Since you seem to know something of our ways, I will be truthful.  Although this could be a trick and you will punish me for my words,’ replied the slave proudly, ‘I wished to free my people from the white man’s shackles.  I wished to ask the spirit Loa for guidance.’

 

‘Unfortunately your energy contacted a malevolent force instead,’ said the Doctor, ‘Umm… you could call it a Guede – a God of darkness, death and debauchery.  When we entered the room, you were possessed by it.  That is why you have no memory of the entire morning, and this Guede used your body to bring about the death of other human beings, including your master who was about to set you free.’  The Doctor studied the look of doubt on Toussaint’s features, and so put on his most persuading tone.  ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, so long as you swear not to conduct the ritual again, at least not yet.  You will be freed I promise.  In fact, there are people working now to ensure that slavery will be abolished for all.  Within a decade they will succeed, but you will walk free on your homeland very soon.’

 

‘I hope you say the truth,’ said Toussaint slowly and carefully, ‘But for now I will do as you ask.  I do not wish to set a Guede loose.  Now I will conduct my duties.’

 

Grasping hold of Zara’s hand, the old man led her out of his crowded bedroom.  The Doctor stood silently for a few minutes, running the situation through his mind.  It was obvious that Toussaint had already made the connection with the entity.  If it had made itself a permanent bridge from its own dimension, then it may take more than abstinence from the ritual to prevent further possessions.  It was likely that their problems were far from over, but had in fact just begun.  Without saying a word he walked through the door, with his companions hot on his trail.