Uninvited guest
Fitz's notverysecret fantasy was to have pretty young women screaming at his feet as he looked down at them from the stage filled with smoke and light and sweat. However, a professional career as an internationally famous guitar legend with a rock band who played their instruments with their teeth had rapidly vanished in place of a reluctant vocation as a universally ignored roadie for a Time Lord who saved worlds using string and sealing wax.
So it was with some small nostalgia that he studied the girl who was now screaming up at him so hard that he could see that thing at the back of her throat waggling fit to burst. Though he had to admit he'd played better venues.
Once his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, he could make out the shabby curtains, grimy flooring and dilapidated furniture that spoke of student dives the world over.
Enough of his pals from the LSE, band members or hangerson, had let him crash on the sofas of their crummy lodgings after a late drinking session for him to recognise the kind of place he was in. He could detect the distinctive sharp odour of burning incense, so whatever university they were from they obviously had a ready supply of revolting joss sticks.
Odd lanterns glittered around the edges of the room. Fitz could hear a low hum of machinery, and the less steady hum of several voices. The voices were repeating some kind of mantra, low urgent words that he could not quite make out. Now he could see them maybe as many as a dozen people in a couple of groups. They were all wearing long gowns, though most of them had pushed the cowls back over their shoulders.
Somehow, Fitz had ended up standing on a low round table, surrounded by five people with their heads bowed. Across the small and shabby room, a smaller group were huddled over some kind of screen. How depressingly familiar, he thought: Fitz Fortune is strutting it on stage, and people still prefer to watch TV in the corner. 'Not your best audience to date, Fitz.'
he muttered to himself. 'Don't expect heavy tipping.'
He peered down at the bowed heads around him, all oblivious to his sudden appearance.
There was a stocky blond lad, rolling his shortcropped head from side to side above his broad shoulders and humming tunelessly. A girl with a slender neck and a tidy auburn bob stood next to him, doing the same. Next to her was another girl with a fuller figure, long dark hair cascading over her bare shoulders and hanging in front of her face.
Bareshoulders was the first one to notice Fitz's scuffed brogues on the raised podium. She nudged Auburnbob next to her, and both women stared up at him.
Fitz grinned sheepishly. 'Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?'
His face fell when he took in what they were wearing the upper halves of their faces were grotesquely disguised with halfmasks, skullfeatured coverings with sunken sockets and savage fanged upper teeth. Great he'd materialised in the middle of an undergraduate Hallowe'en party.
Bareshoulders reached up and removed her mask, revealing wide brown eyes which stared at Fitz in amazement.
Fitz could feel his heart racing a little. 'I'm afraid I haven't brought a bottle,' he said in what he hoped was an apologetic, mollifying tone.
And that was when she had started screaming.
Three of the others backed hurriedly away from Fitz. Auburnbob seized the screaming woman and shook her vigorously. 'Quiet, Kaufima,' she hissed through her own mask.
The others in the crowd were restless, too. They were all about the same age, college kids no doubt. One man looked like he was in his late forties, tall, with curry, greying brown hair. His slightly snooty, aristocratic air and IknowI'mgoodlooking demeanour marked him out as the senior visitor to the party. Fitz half expected him to be wearing jeans with neatly ironed creases, like every other unhip college lecturer he'd ever met.
Meanwhile, the burly blond lad had regained some of his composure, and looked less like a scared teenager now. 'Oh, very good, Ressadriand,' he called back in a confident voice to the TV viewers on the far side of the room. 'Just to frighten the girls. Where did you conceal this one, then? Did he scare you too, Tana?' he asked Auburnbob.
'Speak for yourself, Kellen,' replied Tarra.
Before Fitz could react, the blond guy, Kellen, reached out and grabbed one of his legs and tugged. Fitz fell down on to the makeshift podium with a thump.
'Careful, Kellen,' said Tarra. Fitz would have thanked her for her concern, but she was looking at him as though he was a zoo exhibit. 'You don't know where he's been.'
'Dragged in off the streets by Ressadriand as his party piece,' snorted Kellen, pulling off his bone halfmask to look closely at Fitz with a hard, paleeyed intensity. 'A trick to make us think the ritual had been a success. Well, it fooled Kaufima anyway.' He jerked his head contemptuously at the longhaired woman, whose screams had at last subsided into sobs.
'Nice touch. The drop of blood, the low lighting, the Visualiser humming full of foreboding in the background ... and all that mumbojumbo about "a forbidden sight of the future"!
Woooohh!'
The crowd that had scattered in alarm at Fitz's unexpected arrival was now drawing closer around him again. He didn't like the way their initial surprise and fear was turning into curiosity, even anger, as Kellen started to convince them that they'd been deceived. Fitz jerked his ankle sharply out of Kellen's grasp, and knelt up on the small table. He glanced around nervously as the youngsters approached.
They looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. Most were wearing fine garments which were strangely incongruous in the impoverished surroundings of the room. Typical he'd crashed a fancydress party for toffs who were slumming it. So why were they all wearing the fright masks?
The people by the TV had joined the crowd around Fitz now. The young man in charge was a lankhaired thin boy, who strolled across the room as though he owned it.
'So, Ressadriand,' Kellen said to this newcomer, 'amaze us with the explanation for your clever trick.'
Fitz watched the thin guy's reaction. For all his swagger, Ressadriand seemed as surprised as the others. 'No trick, Kellen. It worked, just like I said it would. A real materialisation!' His voice betrayed no doubt, but his eyes gave him away.
'Well, of course,' said Kellen with heavy sarcasm. He leered at Fitz so closely that Fitz could see his pink scalp beneath his shortcropped blond hair. 'So where did Ressadriand pick you up, little man?'
Fitz considered his options. One: attempt a calm putdown (lost for words). Two: beg piteously (kneeling on this podium could be tricky). Three: headbutt this thug and leg it (could he break through the gathering circle of people?). Before he decided, though, Tarra had moved in. 'Come away, Kellen, leave him alone. He's obviously confused and frightened.'
She eased Kellen aside, and helped Fitz down from the podium, like he was a fouryearold worried about the height. He blinked at her innocently, and leaned on her arm more than he needed to. While he allowed her to lead him to the far side of the room, he kept looking around for the bareshouldered screamer with dark hair Kaufima, wasn't that her name? She looked as if she needed a bit of comforting herself, and Fitz was the man to offer it. But all he could see were astonished faces, each appearing from behind its skeletal halfmask and peering at him curiously from a distance and not wanting to get too close to this sudden apparition in their midst.
Tarra steered him to where the others had been watching television. Actually, now he was close enough, Fitz could see it was more like a computer screen, albeit with an odd receptacle attached beneath it like a small washbasin. In the halflight flickering from the computer screen, the bottom of the little receptacle was speckled with irregular, dark spots.
Tarra continued to ask him if he was OK, whether he wanted a drink or to sit down. Fitz was disappointed to realise that it wasn't a comeon: it was like being fussed over by his Auntie Norah.
The swaggering leader of the group, Ressadriand, had joined them again. He was obviously rehearsing his fierce look, but Fitz decided it just made him looked constipated. 'Who are you?' asked Ressadriand.
Tarra laughed, a high bright note which punctured the stern mood. 'Most amusing, Ressadriand,' she whispered to him. 'I know he's one of your parlour tricks. To impress the girls, of course. Well, I'm not fooled, but I am impressed. A magnificent performance.' She leaned her head close to his in a conspiratorial gesture. 'You obviously made a big impression on the High Councillor's daughter over there.'
Ressadriand cast a furtive glance across the room, and Fitz saw he was looking at a smartly dressed older girl on the far side. She smiled weakly at them, obviously desperate to leave.
She almost leapt out of her porcelainwhite skin at the next thing.
Tarra seized Fitz by the shoulders, spun him round, and proffered him to the cowering assembly of wellheeled youngsters. Her high, calm voice echoed over his shoulder and around the shadowy room. "This wretched figure has been delivered to us,' she announced.
It seemed to Fitz from the crowd's reaction that this was the last thing they'd expected. That the whole thing was a bit of fun that had suddenly got out of hand.
Tarra was loving every minute of it, milking it for all it was worth. 'Behold,' she announced, 'this is Fitz Kreiner! Our seance is a success!'
The congregation oohed, as though they were at a fireworks display. Some of them bowed their heads. After another heartbeat, a ragged round of applause broke out.
It was only at this point that Fitz remembered he hadn't told anyone his name.
Chapter Seven.
Turn on, tune in, drop out
The meeting broke up shortly afterwards, and the crowd of nicely attired partygoers meandered out of the grimy lodging house. Many of them were muttering about the seance; most of them were clearly startled and surprised by what had happened. Their little game had become all too real, Fitz decided.
Only a handful remained, and disappointingly the longhaired screamer wasn't one of them.
There was Kellen, who seemed unable to take his eyes off Fitz, and was generally acting as if he was Jack Slipper after cornering Ronnie Biggs.
Ressadriand, meanwhile, was tidying up the room. Fitz almost laughed. The strutting boy of earlier now looked as though he was desperate to clear stuff before his parents came back and discovered he'd had an illicit party, and none of his guests were helping.
Fitz didn't know how he himself had managed to crash the party. How could they have drawn him here, as Tarra had announced? She must just be making it all up, as she had implied to Ressadriand. She was currently on the other side of the room, facing the older aristocratic guy, talking quietly to him. Her body language the way she angled her head, the slope of her shoulders, her arm gestures suggested she was letting him down gently. He looked like he was hugging himself, and wasn't taking it well. Dirty old man.
Suddenly, Tarra leaned in, seizing the man by the hair at the back of his head, pulling his face close to hers. She was kissing him. Abruptly, he pulled his head back, and then tugged his hair out of her grip.
Tarra chuckled and placed her hands on her hips, appraising his reaction.
The dirty old man was touching the back of his head, as though she had pulled his hair too hard. He touched his bottom lip, and saw his fingers were stained with blood where Tarra had bitten him. She was still laughing when he shuffled off angrily.
Fitz nodded after him as Tarra returned. 'College lecturer? Research student?'
Tarra frowned a little, puzzled.
'Isn't he a bit old for you?' asked Fitz.
She smiled, revealing her perfect white teeth, surprisingly pointed. 'Who, Eton? Oh, he's quite a bit younger than me, Fitz.'
Fitz showed her his 'oh yeah?' look. 'Well, Eton should eat more of what you have for breakfast, then. It's rude to ask a lady how old she is, of course.' He paused to suck his teeth.
She didn't take the opportunity to answer. 'So, how much do you weigh, then?'
She simply offered him an enigmatic smile. Well, thought Fitz, who knows how old all these guys are? He was rubbish at guessing ages. After all, the Doctor looked younger than Fitz's dad and, not long after first meeting him, the Doctor had casually mentioned having a granddaughter. If the Doctor could be a grandfather and still look like that ...
Kellen muscled up to them at this point. 'Fitz Kreiner?' he said abruptly.
'Er ... yeah: 'What kind of name is that? I thought you Outsiders were all called Gur or Blug.'
Fitz was in two minds about pretending to be someone he wasn't, because it seemed clear that some of them already knew who he was. He could hear his mum's admonishing voice in his ear' Careful, Fitzie. Your sins'll find you out, boy.'
'I suppose Kellen is a toff's name, then?' Fitz's sarcastic tone suggested he thought otherwise. 'My father enjoyed The Great Gatsby far too much and christened me Fitzgerald, my mum thought I stopped growing at the age of six and called me Fitzie, but my friends call me Fitz. You,' he added, 'can call me Mr Kreiner.'
Kellen bristled. Tarra put a calming hand on his tensing shoulder.
'Where are you from, Outsider?' said Kellen.
Fitz gestured around the grimy student digs. 'I'm from Archway, of course.' They continued to stare at him as though he was some kind of alien. All right, then. 'Archway?' he continued.
'London, Earth, the Milky Way, the Universe, N2 8GT.'
The word 'Earth' had a gratifying, if completely unexpected, effect. Kellen's jaw dropped, and Ressadriand was so surprised that he stopped tidying up. The two men studied Fitz, looking for the card in neatly inked block capitals that explained what this museum exhibit actually was. Tana remained studiously unimpressed, however.
'Earth?' croaked Ressadriand.
'Where else?' said Fitz, though he felt less certain now.
'A monkeyman,' snorted Kellen.
'Oooo,' said Fitz, deadpan.
And then he looked more carefully around the room.Why had he assumed he was back on Earth? He walked around the little podium, thinking things through. Maybe he'd wanted to return to that safe and shabby life, a place far removed from the recent terrors, a time long before his travels through time with the Doctor. Maybe it was instinctive, to step through a doorway and go back to what he knew.
Ressadriand's gobsmacked look was enough for the scales to fall j from Fitz's eyes. The clothes, the wall hangings, the furniture were all unlike anything he'd seen in London. The technology set in the far wall which he'd just assumed was a television but which they had called a 'Visualiser' was unknown, alien. The low lighting permeated the room evenly, there were no flyspecked fortywatt bulbs hanging from frayed wires. Even the air smelled different not the sour smell of old dust and stale urine that seemed to pervade most student digs, but a sharp, almost electric tang that made his nose hairs tingle. There wasn't even any cigarette smoke definitely not a student pad in London. definitely not a student pad in London.
Ressadriand and Kellen continued to gape at him, the way he'd stare if he'd met a Neanderthal with its elbow on the polished mahogany of Molly's bar.
His foot scuffed into something on the floor. He looked down and saw one of the gruesome Hallowe'en halfmasks. Things became clearer all of a sudden.
Not Earth.
'We summoned a human!' Ressadriand's young face suddenly creased into a huge grin. He was practically dancing on the carpet or whatever passed for carpet on this planet. or whatever passed for carpet on this planet.
'You're telling us this is not one of your tricks?' said Kellen dubiously.
Ressadriand was still burbling: 'A human! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!'
Kellen snorted. 'You did not know it. You were as surprised as the rest of us, wasn't he, Tarra?'
Tarra was watching their reactions, as though separate from events.
Fitz decided he had the advantage of them at last. He strolled casually back from the podium, stooped low and picked up one of the bone halfmasks from the floor. It was surprisingly heavy. This made him realise, with a small lurch of his stomach, that it was fashioned from real bone. It had been sliced from the front of a skull. A human skull?
Steady, Fitz, keep it together.
He placed the skull mask over his eyes. It sat snugly in place, as though it were made for him.
'Do you know what you're playing with?' he said in his Vincent Price voice. 'I do, now. This isn't the sort of party I'm used to. More of a clique than a party, wouldn't you say? More of a ...'
Pause for effect, Fitz. Twirl your moustache.
'A faction?' he added.
He was pleased with the reaction to this. Ressadriand and Kellen both took a sharp intake of breath. Even Tarra snapped a sudden look directly at him.
Fitz turned around on the spot, encompassing the whole room in a widearmed gesture.
'Quite the clandestine gathering you had here. But now that your playmates have scurried off safely to their hidden homes ... Well, come on, be honest with me. You're related, aren't you? I'm sure I can see a faint family resemblance.'
He stared at them each in turn, imagining the startling effect the mask would have on them.