T

hirst.  Thirst everlasting.  To consume.  It was all that mattered.  Everything would be consumed.  All life would perish.  It could feel its power flowing into the thousands of tiny bodies.  Overwhelming their many tiny brains.  Long disused muscles were set in to motion.  Pretty soon it would have legs, claws and teeth.  The disembodied given the freedom of movement.  The freedom to consume.

 

In to the murky night flooded multitudes of rodents.  Voles, harvest mice and field mice moved as one.  Their small bodies poured out of an overgrown hedge and in to a desolate field.  It moved them through the shadows.  Occasionally a beam of moonlight would glint off one of the creature’s backs, lighting up strands of hair matted with blood and filth.  At the far end of the field stood the quarry.  The beast was asleep, but needed waking.  It wanted to see fear. 

 

Through the eyes of the rodents, the black and white hulk of its prey loomed.  From their vantage point it seemed huge, with an impenetrable leathery hide.  But rodent teeth were strong, and the beast would be overwhelmed.  And then it would be consumed.  The rodents trickled between the beast’s legs, and simultaneously struck.  One surprised moo, and then all that could be heard was the busy work of thousands of teeth.  The animal quaked in silent terror as its legs were devoured.  Blood dyed the grass crimson.  The cow fell to the ground, and was instantly engulfed in the sea of mice and voles.  Each filled their tiny bellies’ with beef, until the raw flesh was overflowing out of their snouts.  Then it was over.  It felt tired, so it guided its minions back to the hedge.  Soon it would grow stronger and consume all life. Its thirst would be quenched.

 

 * * * *

 

Victoria sat alone in the cart.  The horse’s swishing tail created silhouettes that appeared to dance and taunt her.  She swallowed hard.  The Doctor and Jamie couldn't be that much longer, she reasoned.   They had already been some considerable time, and now she was beginning to regret her decision to stay outside the graveyard.  But if she had accompanied them, what horrors would she have seen?  And anyway, somebody should look after the horse and cart that they had borrowed.  No, she was better off where she was.

 

When the Doctor had told her of his employment, Victoria had been horrified.  The dead should be left in peace, she had argued.  Then the Doctor had mentioned archaeology. Much of that science involved the digging up of the dead, he explained.  But she knew that was different.  They were ancient remains.  These bodies still had wives, children, mothers and fathers living and breathing.  The Doctor had agreed with her, but said it was all a matter of perspective.  What today is body snatching would be a scientific process in five hundred years time.  Besides, he needed a close look at the corpses of Sawkins, Wells and Wright so he could determine their cause of death.  Grudgingly she had agreed, and now she was waiting, half hoping that her friends would come back empty handed.  The ominous shape of a bat fluttered past in the night sky, causing her to shudder with irrational fear.  She pulled a blanket over her, and waited.

 

* * * *

 

Jamie grunted with effort and the final hinge broke free.  Holding his breath, the Highlander opened the coffin.  Inside lay Tom Sawkins, his arms crossed and eyes staring upwards, as if he was waiting for the lid to be removed for him to rejoin the living.  But these eyes were lifeless, and already beginning the process of decay.  The Scott noticed with mild curiosity that there were no traditional covering of pennies, to pay the ghostly boatman for transport of the departed soul to the other side.  No doubt the Reverend had thought the custom too good for the grave robber.  

 

Guarding themselves against the sickly sweet stench of dead flesh, the Doctor and Jamie grasped the corpse and heaved it out of the grave.  There it rested, as the coffin’s lid was carefully replaced and the hole filled in.  Soon there was no sign that the grave had ever been tampered with.  Jamie breathed a heavy sigh of relief.  The body snatcher was the last to be exhumed and soon they would be finished. 

 

The Scott watched on whilst the Doctor knelt down to examine the body.  Fishing in his pocket, his friend brought out a well-chewed pencil.  There was a gaping wound in the corpse’s neck, and the time traveller carefully poked the hole with the rubber tipped end. Soft tissue gave way, until the vertebrae abruptly stopped his intrusion.  Furrowing his brow the Doctor studied the injury more closely.  Casually he withdrew the pencil, and shook off a wriggling maggot with a flick of his wrist.  Using its length as a rough ruler, he measured the width of the hole and tutted to himself.  Then he delicately unbuttoned the shroud, exposing the man’s torso, and turned his attention to the body snatcher’s chest.  Under the cloth there was nothing but a gooey tangle of splintered bone and congealed blood.  Again he poked inside with the pencil and tutted.  The instrument slipped easily through the ribs.  Where there should have been a mass of tissue, the pencil simply found air.   

 

His attentiveness was swiftly transferred to the body of Henry Wright.  Even in death poor Henry was wrenched away from his beloved Anne.  His body, laid to rest only twenty-four hours previously next to his dear departed wife, was now sprawled upon the graveyard’s lawn.  The damage to Henry’s corpse was confined entirely to his face and upper limbs. The Doctor attempted to lift one of his arms.  It was still stiff with last residues of rigor mortis, and wouldn’t lift very high.  Instead the Doctor leant nearer to the remains.  The hands were a mess of scratches and deep cuts, as if the victim had attempted to protect himself.  The lifeless arm was dropped, and it fell to the floor with a dull thump.  When the Doctor studied the face, he discovered that one of the eyeballs was completely missing.  Yet again the pencil poked into wounds and crevices, disturbing feasting worms and insects.  In satisfaction, the time traveller held up the pencil.  On its tip was a small white feather.  

 

Mumbling under his breath, the Doctor moved on to Edgar Wells.  Covering his nose with his spare hand, the Doctor leant closer.  Edgar’s stench was almost unbearable.  The body was a number of weeks older than the others, and was in a far greater state of decomposition.  The Doctor only gave it a quick look over.  The pustules that had erupted in to hideous crusted sores and welts over Edgar’s body whilst he was still living, gave the answer the Doctor needed.  He appeared to consider his findings for a few moments, before he jumped energetically to his feet.

 

‘Well, we must be off!’ he exclaimed, ‘There’s not much of the night left, and I rather think Reverend Cunningham would be most distressed to find us here.’

 

‘Aye, we’d best be off then,’ replied Jamie, with a yawn.

 

Casually the Doctor handed Jamie the pencil, and bent down to pick up a pile of old potato sacks.  The Highlander unthinkingly took the offered object, and his stomach turned when he saw the blood covering its lead point.  He dropped it to the floor, but before he could complain the Doctor indicated for him to help manhandle the bodies in to the sacks.  In a little while the awkward task was completed, and they were on their way back to the cart.

 

* * * *

 

The rhythmic beating of the horse’s hooves on cobblestones broke the silence of dawn. Soon the morning chorus of birdsong would begin, the Doctor mused.  Victoria was curled up asleep beside him.  By the time they had returned to the cart with the bodies, she was already in deep slumber.  Jamie looked tired, but was stubbornly forcing his eyes to remain open as he held the horse's reins.  Sometimes the Doctor forgot that humans required plenty of sleep.  His alien physiology was able to survive on little more than a few hours a night.  Although he did love a good snooze, but it was more a hobby than a necessity.  Sleep was for tortoises, and so it seemed humans.  He took the reins from Jamie, and the Highlander slipped in to a deep slumber.

 

Free of any distractions, the Time Lord pondered the puzzle laid before him.  His examinations of the three corpses had filled in much of the equation.  Deep inside one of Henry’s empty eye sockets the Doctor had discovered a blood encrusted chicken feather. The marks on his face and arms were consistent with pecking, so it was certain that he was killed by a flock of chickens.  The body snatcher was a different case.  The marks on his neck could only have been made by a set of humanoid teeth.  In addition his chest was empty.  His entire set of organs was missing, and the body held together by the ribcage alone.  On the other hand, Edgar seemed to be nothing but a simple case of smallpox.  It was a horrible death, but somewhat ordinary mortality for this period in history.  So, he had deaths due to chickens, field mice and some type of humanoid.   The question was, what linked them all together?  As the Doctor mulled the riddle over, the horse pulled the trio onwards to their destination.

 

 * * * *

 

Oscar Whittle lingered beside The Rose and Crown, awaiting delivery of the wares. Although it was approaching summer, this time in the small hours of the morning it was still very chilly, so he hoped he wouldn’t need to stay too much longer.  He pulled his coat further around his slight frame, and fidgeted impatiently.  He had many jobs to do when he returned to the mansion and couldn’t be late.  Breakfast needed to be prepared for eight thirty sharp. Cook would rustle up the meal, but he had to ensure that the masters’ request of curried ham, lightly boiled eggs and kedgeree was passed on to her.  And this time he must make certain that the good for nothing Zara scrubbed the front porch after the wares had been taken inside.  On the last occasion, there were bloodstains splattered over it for days afterwards.  He knew in his very soul that if he wasn’t at the mansion nothing would ever be done correctly.  Oscar was positive that it was him and only him that kept the place running smoothly. 

 

Sunlight crept above the closed public house, turning the sky a bloody red.  The morning chorus began, and Oscar began to wonder if his new employee was indeed going to come through with the merchandise.  He had no idea whether the scruffy fellow was reliable or not. Meeting him had after all been accidental.  It had been pure luck that he visited The Rose and Crown during his afternoon off.  The second he had entered, the landlady began to gossip about a stranger interested in the death of dear departed Tom.  She had overheard him taking to Jack Golby, not less than five minutes prior.  Oiling the discussion with a cheap gin, Oscar had soon gathered all information he could from the drunk, and rapidly came to the conclusion that the stranger may be a suitable replacement for his dead employee.  As fortune would have it, the odd little man had not left the area, and had readily agreed to the proposal.  It had certainly solved his masters’ supply problems, and provided Oscar with a fine bonus in to the bargain.  But surely he should have brought the delivery by now?  Just as he began to lose hope, the sight of a cart in the distance lifted his spirits.  The wares had arrived.

 

The horse trotted to a halt, and the man who had earlier introduced himself as the Doctor hopped off the cart.  He was a curious looking chap, thought Oscar.  His unkempt baggy clothes and untamed thatch of black hair gave him an almost trampish appearance. However, the air of authority in his weathered features told a different story.  It was a story that he had no fancy to hear.  This so called Doctor was simply his employee, and he was his employer.  Oscar didn’t believe in fraternising with those below him.  Putting on his best businessman’s manner, he strode towards his employee.

 

‘How many have you got?’ he asked in his usual clipped tone.

 

‘Oh, just the three.’

 

‘Excellent!’ said Oscar delightedly.  Tom had only ever brought one or two at a time.  His masters will be very pleased.  He fumbled in his pocket for the money. ‘So that’s twenty one pounds...’

 

‘’Um… actually I was wondering if we could come to some sort of arrangement,’ interrupted the Doctor, ‘You see I haven’t really any need of money, and well I wondered if you could just give us a roof for the night and a hot meal.’

 

Oscar was amazed.  He was offering a small fortune, and it was being turned down.  He opened his mouth to speak, but was again cut short. 

 

‘Why don’t you keep the money yourself?  You probably don’t get paid much anyhow.  So tell me, these bodies are for medical research aren’t they?  Well I’m a scientist and would dearly love to meet the ones whom these are destined for.’

 

Oscar smiled to himself.  His masters had given him the money to pay for the wares.  If this fellow didn’t want it, nobody would ever know if he kept it instead.  It would be his little nest egg for his frail old age.  It was not as if the Doctor was asking for much in return.  A roof and a meal for him and his companions would be no problem at all.  With a title like the Doctor, it was obvious that he was indeed a scientist, and his masters would be only too pleased to make acquaintance with a fellow of their own craft.  Making a snap decision, Oscar indicated for the Doctor to get back in the cart.

 

‘I’m sure that we can put you up in the servants’ quarters for a night or two.’

 

Oscar clambered after the Doctor, and gripped the reins.  The horse lumbered into life, and trotted up the street to leave The Rose and Crown far behind.

 

 * * * *

 

Victoria was awakened from her slumber by a gentle but firm shake on the shoulder.  She returned to reality with a yawn, her mind still clouded with dreams.  The young girl’s sleep had been full of nightmare visions of past and present.  There were images of her father lying still on a bed.  She had tried to wake him, but his skin was ice cold.  Then she had seen the pennies on each of his eyes, and she realised he was dead.  As she was overcome with sadness, his body transformed in to that of the Doctor.  Her surrogate father. With their dangerous lifestyle, she felt deep down that she could not cheat fate forever. Sooner or later she would have to leave, or always be expecting her travelling family to end in tragedy.  But already the visions were becoming hazy.  The giddiness in her head gradually cleared, and the dreams were instantly forgotten.  She yawned one final time, and looked up in to the gentle eyes of the Doctor.

 

‘I’m sorry to wake you Victoria, but we’ve arrived.’

 

‘Where?’ asked Victoria sleepily. 

 

She pulled herself upright and looked around her.  Her hazy mind took a few moments to register that it was now daytime.  The cart in which she had been sleeping was now in a small courtyard belonging to what she could only describe as a mansion.  White stone soared above her, strangled with interweaving ivy.  A couple of marble steps led up to an entrance that was guarded by two gigantic stone lions.  But however impressive the building seemed, Victoria couldn’t help feeling it was neglected and forlorn.  The last residue of drowsiness disappeared, and she realised that her question was being answered.

 

‘Oh, we’re about to meet our employer, I do believe.  Shake Jamie for me will you.’

 

For the first time, Victoria became aware of snoring beside her.  She turned and saw Jamie’s dozing form.  Tenderly she shook him, but she only received a brief splutter and then the snoring returned even louder than before.  Her friend seemed so peaceful that the young girl didn’t have the heart to wake him.  After all, he had been working all night. Victoria shivered briefly at the thought of the task that had kept him from his bed, before pushing it out of her mind.  She looked over at the Doctor for assistance, but none was offered. Instead, he strolled to the carthorse and brought out a withered carrot from the depths of his pockets.  The horse eagerly lapped it up from the Doctor’s palm.  As the animal crunched away, the Doctor stood by and smiled.  Presently Victoria saw the mansion’s door open, and a figure step out.  In one bound, the Doctor was by Jamie’s side.

 

‘Jamie!  Wake up you lazy McCrimmon!’ the Doctor yelled into his ear, ‘Redcoats!’

 

The result was immediate.  The Highlander sprung into life, and reached for the dirk hidden in his sock.

 

‘Try to murder a McCrimmon in his sleep,’ mumbled Jamie angrily.  When his eyes fell on Victoria and the Doctor the anger faded, to be replaced with awkwardness. 

 

‘Oh Doctor,’ said Victoria, ‘That was mean.’

 

‘Yes, well I suppose it was.  But we’ve got work to do,’ said the Doctor apologetically, ‘Come on Jamie, put that knife away.’

 

‘Och, I knew it was you all along,’ lied Jamie, returning his dirk to its customary hiding place. ‘What d’ya need doing?’

 

A firm cough reminded Victoria that they were not alone.  She recognised him as the strange man whom the Doctor had talked to the previous day. 

 

‘Ah, this is Oscar.  The butler of this magnificent place,’ said the Doctor to his companions, ‘He’s been kind enough to put us up for a few days.’ 

 

‘Quite so,’ replied Oscar, ‘The master requests you join him for breakfast once the job has been finished.’

 

‘Job?’ said Victoria.  It was then that she noticed the three large sacks in the rear of the cart, blood soaking through the coarse material.  She wrenched her gaze away.

 

‘May I escort the lady inside while you finish off?’ said Oscar, holding his hand out for Victoria. 

 

She ignored the offered appendage.  If her friends were going to deal with the horror of carting bodies around, then she was going to help too.  She couldn’t leave all the work to the Doctor and Jamie.

 

‘I’ll stay if that’s all the same with you.’

 

‘As you wish,’ said Oscar stiffly before turning to the Doctor,  ‘The wares are to be taken to the laboratory.’

 

The Doctor indicated for Jamie to take one end of a sack, as Oscar grabbed the other.  The pair manhandled the awkward load out of the cart and up the marble steps.  Putting on a brave face the Victorian Miss closed in on the sacks.  She was aware of the Doctor behind her as she gripped the makeshift body-bag and pulled.  The sack was heavier than expected, forcing her to clasp even tighter.  Her stomach turned, when she realised that her hand was holding tightly on to a stiff foot.  Without saying a word, the Doctor picked up the other end and helped her lift it out of the cart.  The pair stumbled up the steps, carrying the wares in to the mansion. 

 

 * * * *

 

Stedman sat alone in the dining room.  Long ago it had been used for lavish dinner parties with a multitude of guests, but it had been countless years since anybody had arranged such an event.  Now, deprived of the hustle and bustle of the hearty toasts of the past, the room seemed cold and inhospitable.  Instead the huge oak table had just a few places set, and even this small number was more than double the usual amount.

 

Paying little heed to the lonely surroundings, Stedman picked up a silver spoon and casually decapitated a boiled egg.  An annoyed grunt uttered from his lips when he found no deliciously runny yolk inside.  Stedman liked his eggs runny, but it was one thing that Cook always got wrong.  His irritation quickly disappeared when he smelt the delicious aroma of curried ham and kedgeree.  He lifted the silver platter covering the kedgeree and added a large spoonful to his plate.    Then his eyes caught sight of the extra places set on the other side of the table.  He hesitated.  It was bad manners to start breakfast before his guests had arrived.  He was so used to beginning his meal before his partner, that he hadn’t even thought to wait.  If he had to rely on Wallace’s time keeping, the food would be stale before he had taken a single mouthful.  Stedman’s gut growled, and the scientist fleetingly regretted his decision to allow strangers in to the house.  So immersed he had been in his work during the previous day, that it had been almost twenty-four hours since he had last eaten and now his body was rebelling.  At least his attire was appropriate, he thought proudly. Dressed in a fine-cut suit with a fashionable wig, he was well prepared to entertain.  Except he was starving.  Before his stomach had a chance to bring forward a further complaint, Stedman heard voices outside the door.

 

‘Oh Doctor, I am glad that’s over.’

 

‘You did very well, Victoria.  And so did you Jamie.  Shall we go and meet our host?’

 

The double doors swung open, and Oscar entered.  Stedman beamed.  At last the guests had arrived, and he could eat to his hearts content. 

 

‘Good morning sir.  May I introduce the Doctor, Mr McCrimmon and Miss Waterfield?’

 

The butler showed the party to their places, before bowing stiffly to his master and leaving.  It was at this time that Stedman realised that he had absolutely no idea what to say. Fortunately he was saved from humiliation as the Doctor addressed him immediately.

 

‘What a beautiful spread!  I must thank you for inviting us in to your home.  Most gracious of you.’ 

 

Much to Stedman’s delight, his guest helped himself to a large pile of curried ham.  Promptly the scientist began to devour his breakfast, half listening to his guest’s appraisal of the quality of the food.  When his gut quietened down, he attempted to join in on the one-way conversation.

 

‘So, Oscar tells me you’re a scientist.’

 

‘Oh, I dabble here and there,’ replied the Doctor in-between mouthfuls.  ‘A little bit of this, a little bit if that.  Nothing to hold a light to you, I’m sure.  I believe that you are engaged in research of the human body.  A quite fascinating subject.’

 

‘Fascinating, yes,’ said Stedman enthusiastically, as he at last found his tongue.  ‘It’s amazing how little we know about the hidden workings of our own mortal bodies.  True, we have proved many ancient writings on this nature to be false, with ground breaking work by such experts as the Italian Marcello Malpighi forcing the world to rethink established ideas. But the prohibition on the use of bodies in our work is so blinkered.  How can we understand the body, if we cannot experiment on it?’

 

‘I do agree,’ said the Doctor, ‘The use of dissection is vital to the increase of human knowledge.’

 

‘I think it’s barbaric!’ interjected Victoria, ‘The dead should be left in peace!’

 

‘But how else are we to learn?’ asked Stedman, ‘The knowledge we can gain may enable us to wipe out disease.  The benefits far outweigh any so called high moral values.’

 

‘It will not always be so hard to find the specimens you need without resorting to body snatching,’ said the Doctor, ‘In the future dissection will be of immense value, and the authorities will realise its importance.’

 

‘I hope that’s true, except… well superstitions hardly help our cause.’

 

‘But…’ started Victoria.

 

‘There’s no point getting in to a pickle over it, is there Victoria?’ interrupted the Doctor, ‘Lets just finish this wonderful breakfast.  Pass the pepper will you Jamie?’ 

 

The Scott passed over a silver pepper pot, which the Doctor promptly shook over a boiled egg and shovelled into his mouth.

 

‘Quite a splendid home,’ he said with his mouth still full of egg, ‘Does your research bring you a lot of wealth?’

 

‘Not at all.  We haven’t yet published our work.’

 

‘Come on,’ said Jamie, ‘This place must cost a pretty penny.’

 

‘My inheritance,’ explained Stedman, ‘When my father passed away he left me with enough to finance my experiments.  Much of the house is shut nowadays.  Only myself and my colleague Wallace live here, with only a butler and cook’s wages to pay.’

 

‘Just the four of you here then?’ said the Doctor.

 

‘Well I suppose there’s also…’

 

Stedman’s reply was cut short when the dining room door flew open.  In strode the short stocky frame of Wallace.  Stedman could tell by the dishevelled state of his thick blond hair and unshaven face, that his associate had yet again worked throughout the night.  If any other proof was required, his clothes were crumpled and stained with chemicals that told of long hours toiling in the laboratory.  Wallace quickly made his way to the table, and lowered himself in to a chair next to Jamie.  Without a word, he began to pile his plate with food.

 

‘Ah, Doctor,’ said Stedman, feeling that some introduction was called for.  ‘This is my colleague Wallace.’

 

The tired man seemed to register their presence for the first time, and he quickly studied the time travellers, his eyes lingering on Victoria’s figure.

 

‘My apologies for my rudeness,’ said Wallace eventually, ‘I’ve been working all night, and I’m completely exhausted.  I must say that it is a pleasure to meet you.  It’s so rare for us to have visitors, especially someone of the fair sex.’

 

‘The Doctor’s a scientist,’ said Stedman.

 

‘Is he now?  After breakfast you must come and see our work.  You’ll be the first person to see the breakthrough.’

 

‘Breakthrough!’ exclaimed Stedman, ‘You mean you located the missing factor!’

 

‘I believe so, but without a fresh specimen I cannot be one hundred per cent certain.’

 

‘But that’s what these charming people are doing here.  They brought three more specimens this morning.’  Stedman nervously glanced across at Victoria before continuing, ‘But this is not really the subject for the breakfast table.’

 

‘Oh, I do agree,’ said the Doctor, ‘Although I do look forward to seeing your research later.’

 

Whilst Wallace ate his meal, the group became immersed in idle conversation.  Stedman had just asked if the Doctor had published any scientific papers, when they were disturbed by a timid knock on the door.  A young black girl, no older than eight or nine, entered holding a large silver tray in front of her.

 

‘Have you finished breakfast, sirs?’ she said in a soft voice, ‘Shall I clear away the dishes?’ 

 

‘I don’t know about you lot, but I couldn’t eat another morsel,’ said the Doctor contentedly.

 

‘Hardly surprising with the amount you were devouring,’ joked Jamie, ‘Eat any more and you’ll explode.’

 

There was gentle laughter, as the girl began picking up the platters and stacking them on the tray.  Victoria passed her empty plate, and was rewarded with a shy smile.  It was a smile of beauty and intelligence.  Soon there was just Wallace’s plate left to collect.  She reached across, but before her slim fingers touched it there was an almighty cracking sound.  Her lungs forced an involuntary cry of pain from her lips.  Wallace had brought a large silver serving-spoon down on the young girl’s knuckles.  The flesh immediately began to redden and swell. 

 

‘That was for the shirt, and just think yourself lucky we have guests,’ growled the scientist, ‘Now go!’

 

The spoon was withdrawn, and the girl hurriedly collected the plate with her bloated hand. The time travellers were too stunned to utter a word.  When the heavily loaded younger began to stagger towards the door, the Doctor sprung to his feet and opened it for her. Their eyes briefly met, and then she was gone. The second she left, the room was in uproar.

 

‘That was nay right!’ shouted Jamie.

 

‘You big bully!’ added Victoria, ‘She’s only a child!’

 

The Doctor simply stood and watched the commotion.  When Wallace shrugged off his guests’ objections, the Time Lord’s face grew grave at his reply.

 

‘Don’t be ridiculous.  That’s only the slave girl.  They don’t feel pain like we do.’