Mythical Simplicity (Epilogue)
An Epilogue, Or Is It A Bridge?
If anyone had peered through the dusty window, they would have seen two men lying, unconscious, on the rough stone floor. They would have seen the taller man with the unruly brown hair sit up, slowly, touching his arms and his face, as though it had been a while since he’d felt them. Then they would have seen him stand, open the door to the mysterious blue box, and drag the shorter, slightly tidier man inside.
And, before seeing the blue box somehow disappear, they would have seen the tall man stick his head through the door for one last look around, and smile a wicked smile.
** ** **
The Doctor woke, feeling as though he’d been hit by a cargo ship. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and stared up at the roof of the TARDIS. Now, how had he ended up unconscious on the floor of his ship?
He stood up, slowly and shakily, and peered at the screen on the console. Earth, London, 2008. Nothing unusual there. So how had he been knocked out? He reached out and pressed a button, bringing up some more data.
Oh, yes. The Chameleon Arch. He’d been back to 1913. He could only remember tiny fragments, but they were all waving around like rags in a strong wind, not staying still long enough for him to focus on them. He couldn’t quite remember, either, why he’d decided to go away and leave the Master in the TARDIS. That sounded quite mad. He looked around, wondering where the Master was. Off sulking somewhere, if he was lucky. Wreaking unimaginable havoc, if he wasn’t. He’d have to wait until he got his composure back, at least, before facing him.
But none of that explained how they’d found their way back to London, to the twenty-first century. Unless the TARDIS had come here of her own accord? She had been quite wilful lately.
Suddenly, something strange caught the Doctor’s eye. It wasn’t on the screen … it was on his hand. There was a ring on his fourth finger. He looked closer … it was the Master’s ring. He looked around suspiciously. This could only be a trick of the Master’s. But what could this hope to achieve? He ran his hand through his hair - and got another shock. His hair was gone. Well, not entirely gone. But it was much, much shorter than it should have been. Feeling a sudden chill, he wriggled slightly inside his shirt. No. He no longer had a mole.
Panicking now, he ran from the console room into other rooms, looking for a mirror. When he found one, his worst suspicions were confirmed. Instead of looking at his own face, he was looking at the Master’s.
Furiously, he searched his pockets for the fob watch. Finding it, he examined it closely. No, no, no! This wasn’t his watch. His had the number 931, shown by a short line at 202 degrees, and four dots in the centre of the north-east sector. This one had another number entirely …
One of the fragments of memory finally stopped waving long enough to read it. The Master … the Master had a watch too. They’d opened them together …
They’d opened the wrong watch. Which not only meant that he was currently inhabiting the Master’s body, but that the Master had taken his, and absconded. After centuries of attempting to steal the Doctor’s body, the Master had finally managed it … by accident.
** ** **
The Master strolled down the London street confidently, admiring the way the long, brown coat swirled around his ankles, appreciating the extra few inches in height. The long legs made walking much faster, which was fortuitous. The Master was eager to arrive at his destination; he couldn’t wait to see the look on a certain person’s face …