Ivory Maiden 5
Title: The Ivory Maiden
Part: 5/7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3691
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Thanks yet again to my fantastic beta vampydirector!
Tirik could only stare in shock, mouth gaping, at the sight of Oliver and his captors--not to mention at the Doctor’s nonchalant response to it.
The Doctor, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate in the least before he strode right up next to the entourage, keeping pace with them as they went. “I see waiting at the edge of town was a bit much for you,” he remarked conversationally.
Oliver paused in his struggling, shocked. “Doctor?” He turned his head, trying to see as best he could despite the hands gripping him, and broke out in a grin at the sight of the man. “It is you! Hey, mind asking them to let me down?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” the Doctor retorted. “And not at the moment, no. Don’t worry, they’ll let you go soon enough.”
If Oliver’s expression had been shocked before, that was nothing compared to how it looked now. “What!?”
“Was that not clear enough? I’ll try again. No, Oliver, I’m afraid I’m not going to let you down. You’ll have to wait for your friends here to do that instead.”
Oliver gaped at him, almost too confused to speak. “But...why?”
“Think about it!” the Doctor said. “We need to go back to the museum anyway, and since everyone seems so intent on bringing you there, there’s really no point in fighting them on this, now is there?”
Oliver stared for a moment. Then, dismayed, he began a new bout of protests. “But I can’t go back there! Not with them! They’re just gonna make me look at that statue again, and then I won’t be able to help anybody!”
The Doctor tsked at him. “Calm down, would you? You’re not going to be under the influence of that statue again.”
“And how’s that?” Oliver demanded angrily. “Trying to hold my eyes shut is never gonna work against all these people!”
The Doctor looked hurt. “I’m surprised at you, Oliver. All this time traveling with me, and you really don't think I would have worked out a way around that by now? Especially when I had a chance to use the TARDIS’ instruments to help!”
“You...” Oliver started. Then he trailed off, ceasing his struggling again. “You did? How?”
The Doctor held a small, open container out to him. “Rub a bit of this under your nose.”
Oliver gave him a look. “In case you hadn’t noticed...”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow before seeming to remember that Oliver’s arms were quite pinned. “Oh, yes, of course. Your friends. Here you go, then.” He coated his own finger in a goopy, viscous solution, rubbing a large blob of it under Oliver’s nose. “Just don’t wipe that off,” he instructed sternly as he replaced the cap and put the container back in his pocket.
Oliver decided it was best not to give him another reminder about his hands. “I won’t,” he promised instead. He frowned at the smell coming off of the substance. It was almost like... “What is this stuff?”
“Gelatin,” the Doctor replied with a grin. “With a few added ingredients, of course. As long as you’re able to smell this, the statue’s psychic control won’t be able to seize your mind.”
Despite his predicament, Oliver couldn’t help a laugh and a wry smile. “You’re going to save this world with jelly babies after all.”
“In a way,” the Doctor agreed. “Nothing to be surprised about, considering the beneficial properties of gelatin.” But the man, surprisingly, let his explanation go at that. He turned his head, his attention seeming to have been drawn away by something else.
It was hard for Oliver to see from his vantage point, especially with all the bouncing up and down as they moved, but he did manage to turn to an angle where he could see the approaching building. They had nearly reached the museum.
“What do I do once we get in there?” he asked nervously.
“Oh, I shouldn’t think you’ll have to do much to begin with,” the Doctor said, glancing at Oliver’s captors. “They’ll take you to the statue, of course. All you should have to worry about is that you don’t show too quickly that you haven’t been affected. We don’t need Pafos to find that out any sooner than she has to.” He narrowed his eyes.
Oliver blinked. “What, you think if this lot finds out, she’d like...psychically communicate with them about it? But if she can do that, wouldn’t she know what we’re up to already?”
The Doctor shook his head, exasperated. “Not these people, Oliver! They have no wills of their own at the moment. No, the only one she can communicate with is the statue itself.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow, staring at him. “Uh...mind explaining that one?”
The Doctor sighed, but as usual dove into his explanation with vigor. “You said it yourself! You called it ‘Galatea’--a name associated with the story of Pygmalion but never used in it. The actual Galatea was a character in a different one of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. But that name, Galatea, in more modern contexts--modern by your standards, at least--relates not only to the statue in Ovid’s story but any statue that comes to life.”
Oliver stared a bit more, thinking about that for a moment. “You mean I said that because I knew the statue was alive?”
The Doctor nodded, breaking out in a grin. “Exactly! You saw Galatea, and she made you feel empty without her--as empty as she almost certainly feels without others admiring her. While I was in the TARDIS, I did a bit of research on the dust from Pafos’ workshop. Galatea’s race is known as the Lapidi. Very interesting creatures--very bright--and made of an organic material similar to ivory. When together, they form a gestalt entity--a shared existence. When bits are cut off, however, the world suddenly becomes very silent and very, very lonely.”
Oliver frowned, taking that in. “So it--she--is trying to make up for that by hypnotizing people so they want stare at her all the time?”
“To put it basically,” the Doctor agreed. “The Lapidi’s only means of communication is psychic, and it seems their particular wavelength has a strong influence on humans. Though, interestingly, she’s either decided not to deprive the Filiorans of their physical needs, or the control doesn’t reach that far.” The Doctor pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“And gelatin stops the control?” Oliver asked, keenly aware that they were running out of time for this conversation. The museum was looming over him now.
The Doctor nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s likely that the control aspect of the communication is limited to only very particular lifeforms that meet specific conditions. The animals used in the creation of gelatin probably don’t fit the bill.”
“And Time Lords don’t, either.”
The Doctor grinned. “Or my psychic powers are just too great for her degree of influence,” he countered. “I’m biped plus, remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember, but--whoa! Stairs!”
Oliver was jarred as his entourage began to lead him up the toward the very classically-styled museum.
“Stay calm, Oliver,” the Doctor helpfully suggested. “This will all be over soon.”
“But you haven’t explained that part yet!” Oliver called behind him as the small doorway required the Doctor to hang back and let Oliver be carried into the museum first.
As the man followed, his eyes narrowed. “No,” he murmured, half to himself. “I haven’t, have I?”
He was jarred from his thoughts, however, by a tiny hand tugging on his sleeve. “Isn’t your friend going to get hurt?” Tirik asked, frowning mightily in concern as he looked up at the Doctor.
“Oliver? No, no, he knows how to take care of himself.” The Doctor put on an encouraging smile for the boy. “Come on, let’s go watch him save your father.”
The boy blinked at him. “I thought you were going to do that.”
“Oh, I might just have a hand or two in it,” the Doctor agreed with a twinkle in his eyes. “But Oliver has an important role to play as well. So come on, you don’t want to miss this!” He took Tirik’s hand, heading up the remainder of the stairs toward the door, but after only a few steps, he stopped.
The loss in momentum just about caused Tirik to fall, but the Doctor quickly steadied him, fishing the same container from his pocket as before. “You’ll need this, too.” He opened it, dabbing another goopy glob onto his finger and rubbing it under Tirik’s nose.
The boy made a face at the smell. “That’s weird!” he declared.
“Is it?” the Doctor asked with a pout. “And here I thought you liked jelly babies. A shame.” He put the container away again, leading the boy through the doors.
The front hall of the museum was in a much more hectic state than it had been the last time. The orderly line had somehow been broken, and the people were now more of a moving mass, though they obviously still had the same destination in mind. The rest of the museum was visibly deserted.
Because of the Doctor’s height, he was able to look over the mass of people, allowing him to see a small pocket within the crowd. That pocket made the reason for the broken line and current pile-up quite clear--all the other people of the town were moving aside to create a space for Oliver and his captors to go through.
“How do we catch up?” Tirik asked worriedly.
“We make our own space in the crowd,” the Doctor replied with a grin. “Come on.” With that, he walked directly into the throng of people, a hesitant Tirik staying close on his heels. As the Doctor had expected, they parted to let him pass, just as they had before. He had hoped that even if Pafos--or the statue--had stepped up her psychic control efforts since they’d been here earlier, she wouldn’t be able to stop the people’s automatic response to the Doctor’s wishes. That did indeed seem to be the case.
With the crowd aiding their passage, it didn’t take long for them to catch up with Oliver and his captors. Unfortunately, it took almost exactly the same amount of time for everyone to reach the room containing the statue.
When the people all stopped just inside, the Doctor withdrew a white paper bag from his pocket, pressing it into Tirik’s hand. “I suspect this won’t be necessary,” he whispered. “But if I react to the statue itself, make sure I eat one of these. Understand?”
Tirik nodded, holding the bag as securely as if he believed the world depended on it.
“You can have one if you’d like,” the Doctor added. “If you still dislike the smell, you might want to pass, but I promise most of that odor comes from the chemicals mixed in with the gelatin, causing particles to be released into your system to prevent the psychic link from taking hold. And you didn’t seem to mind the taste before.”
The boy shook his head, looking up at him with wide eyes. He seemed unsure what to make of the Doctor’s comments. Finally, he said simply, “It’s an okay smell, just weird.”
“Well then, go on,” he encouraged. He didn’t wait to see if the boy took a sweet, however. He knew that he had only taken part in that exchange to momentarily delay the inevitable, and he didn’t want to risk doing so for too long. So, refusing to show any uncertainty to their enemies, the Doctor lifted his head and gazed full-on at the statue of the White Maiden.
There was little difference between the statue in person and the computer image that the Doctor had seen before. However, while he had only been able to vaguely feel the power of the statue as it was radiating from the monitor, he was almost overwhelmed by the sense of it now as a very tangible presence reached out from it and touched his mind.
“That’s enough of that,” he said, quietly and firmly, gazing directly at the statue. The pressure recoiled as if chastised, and the Doctor grinned.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Tirik tugging on his sleeve. “Doctor? Doctor!”
“Hm? What is it?” he asked, looking down at the boy.
“Your friend! He’s like before!” The boy pointed desperately at the crowd in front of the statue.
Oliver’s captors had lowered him to a standing position mere feet from the statue. Three of them had a firm grip on his head--and perhaps a moment ago his eyelids--to force him to look at it. As the Doctor turned his way, they were just letting go of him, allowing Oliver to stand with his eyes riveted on the ivory-like face.
The Doctor smiled faintly. “Not bad at all. Those zombie films of his may have come in useful for once.”
Tirik gaped. “You mean...he’s pretending?” he whispered.
“Well, that’s what I told him to do, isn’t it?” the Doctor retorted, affronted.
“But how do we know he’s only pretending?”
The man raised an eyebrow. Then he looked down at the boy, realizing that Tirik quite openly had his eyes riveted on the scene before them--including the statue. “Obviously it works because you’re not pretending!” the Doctor cried in a whisper. He frowned, considering his options. Children always made things so complicated. Still, he had to do something to make sure Oliver’s ruse wasn’t ruined. “Ah!” he declared as an idea occurred to him. He pulled off his scarf, folding it over and wrapping it around Tirik’s eyes and, consequently, most of the top of his head. He tied it off in the back.
“Doctor!” Tirik protested. “I can’t see!”
“Exactly. You’re not supposed to be immune to the statue, remember?”
“But...” Tirik paused, his visible mouth now pouting mightily. “I want to know what’s happening!” he insisted.
“Then I would stop talking and listen closely,” the Doctor suggested.
“But-!”
“Shhh,” the Doctor hissed. Tirik grew silent at that. Even better, the boy was unable to see the calculating expression that crossed the Doctor’s face then. “No, wait. Tirik, did you feel anything when you saw the statue?”
The scarf couldn’t hide the boy’s frown. “Sort of. Like something was calling to me, except I couldn’t hear what it was saying.”
The Doctor nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right. This should work, then.”
“What should work?”
“Shh! Didn’t you hear me the first time? Honestly, children.”
Tirik pouted and probably would have replied if it weren’t for a sudden gasp that ran through the entire crowd. All the gathered people quite abruptly turned as one, looking back toward the Doctor and Tirik.
“Hello,” the Doctor said with a wave. No one reacted. In fact, no one made a sound--except for a noise from behind him. The Doctor’s eyebrows went up. “Ohhh. You know, Tirik, I don’t believe it’s us they’re interested in.”
“No,” came a female voice. “Not anymore.”
“Why, Lady Pafos!” the Doctor declared, turning to face the approaching woman. He grinned. “I should have known.”
“You should have,” she agreed, smiling proudly. A group of Filioran women were flanking her, blocking any exit from the room. They smiled in almost the exact same smug fashion, hands on their hips as they watched the exchange. “It seems you took a bit too long to rescue your friend.”
The Doctor couldn’t hide his surprise at that. “Oliver knew?” he asked, throwing a glance at the young man. Really, he’d have to have a talk with him later about failing to share crucial information simply because of a small distraction like a high-stress situation.
The woman gave a smile that was dripping with honey. “Maybe next time you won’t throw your friend to the lions quite as quickly.”
The Doctor’s eyes bugged, and he drew himself up in outrage. “No one has been thrown to any lions,” he said darkly. “Or has your friend the Lapidi not given you the news yet?”
“News?” It was the woman’s turn to look startled. She sneered in an attempt to hide it. “What news? That your friend is in my power again?”
“Not the news I had in mind, no.” The Doctor looked her directly in the eyes. “Why? Did you have something in mind for him if he were?”
Her lips curved into a grin. “Let him go,” she called to the men. “And Oliver, come over here.”
The men obeyed, releasing their hold on Oliver and stepping back away from him. For his part, Oliver turned his blank stare from the statue to Pafos and, once he was free, he began to walk slowly and calmly toward her.
“What’s happening?” Tirik whispered urgently. “Doctor, is he still pretending? Is he fighting? Or did they get him?”
The Doctor hushed him again, watching Oliver closely. The young man did not even glance his way, but his hand moved. Was he clenching it? No, his fingers...
The Doctor took an urgent step toward his companion, drawing himself up to his full height, his expression set in anger. “Are you coming at me with your fists, Oliver?” he demanded. “After everything we’ve done together, are you going to let this control you? Is the statue telling you to hurt me for defying it? Are you going to?”
Predictably, Oliver’s hands balled into proper fists then, and he continued his advance, his gaze settling on the Doctor as the man stepped between him and the lady.
“He only obeys my orders now, Doctor,” Pafos said. “But...” She put a finger to her chin, showing long nails that were painted the same earthy brown as her lips. “That is an interesting idea. I think the Lapidi knows by now that you are a threat. Let’s see what she thinks about ordering an attack.” Her grin curved, the expression turning sinister. “Oliver, attack the Doctor! Knock him down! Restrain him! Stop his interfering!”
On command, Oliver’s dead expression switched to one contorted by anger, and he sped up his advance. For his part, the Doctor stood his ground, putting his hands in his pockets and simply waiting. “Come on, then, Oliver. Let’s see you knock someone down.”
Pafos burst out in laughter.
Oliver, on the other hand, let out a cry of rage, taking off at a run now. As he reached the Doctor, the man calmly took two steps to the side. Oliver didn’t stop, rushing forward with clear purpose. His put-on anger disappeared behind an eager grin.
The lady Pafos’ laughter cut off abruptly as she realized something was wrong just a moment too late. She tried to side-step Oliver, and though his need to change course reduced his momentum, he still reached her very quickly. Her eyes widened in anger as they collided. He pushed her full-on, and she swiped at his face with her nails, letting out a cry of hatred.
Oliver was startled by the attack. He understood the danger and tried to jerk away, but he was not fast enough to keep her from wiping the majority of the goopy concoction right out of under his nose. Still, his push sent her sprawling even as he stumbled to the side, looking momentarily disoriented.
“Get him!” Pafos screamed shrilly as she struggled to get back up, her women rushing to help her. The men in the room immediately began to converge on Oliver.
Oliver tensed, shaking his head as though to clear it and taking a step backwards toward the Doctor. “What...what now?” he called, eyeing his attackers. He shook his head again, his concentration clearly lacking.
“Come over here,” the Doctor directed calmly. “But whatever you do, do not turn around. Do not look at the statue!”
Oliver nodded, keeping his gaze focused on the advancing men as he began to walk backwards. He was too distracted to notice the lady Pafos, however, who had been helped to her feet and was swiftly advancing toward him.
“Watch out!” the Doctor warned.
She came at him from the side, giving a feral cry. He turned toward her, putting up his hands to fend her off, but was surprised when, rather than attacking him, she simply plowed into him this time. Her slight weight hardly threw his balance, but the other people reached him then--men and women both, grabbing him, and only as it was happening did he realize that the lady was whispering urgent instructions to them with words too soft for him to hear. But as he turned to fend off a man who had a firm grip on him, he discovered what she had been trying to do. The man ducked, and Oliver found himself staring straight on at the statue of the White Maiden.
“Oliver!” the Doctor cried in frustration, watching in dismay as his friend’s eyes widened, and he stopped his struggling.
The lady Pafos turned to the Doctor, grinning triumphantly. “Too late, Doctor! He’s mine again.” To the men around Oliver, she added, “Restrain him. Just in case.”
“No,” the Doctor whispered, half to himself. “No, wait!” His eyes lit up, his mind working quickly. “He was disoriented. And Tirik... There’s a chance... Oliver!” he repeated, his tone different this time--commanding and urgent. “You can hear the Lapidi, can’t you? Talk to her! Talk to Galatea! You know what she’s doing is wrong--tell her that! Do you hear me? No matter what she’s saying, remember who you are and what you’re here for!”
Oliver’s eyes widened slightly, but he still did not resist as three men from the town grabbed him, pinning his arms to his sides and holding him in place.
“You’re our only chance, Oliver!” the Doctor continued. “The gelatin is still there--just a bit. And you’re still you. You can talk to her! I can’t, but you can. Do you hear me, Oliver Day? It’s up to you now. It’s up to you to save this world!”
Part: 5/7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3691
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Thanks yet again to my fantastic beta vampydirector!
Tirik could only stare in shock, mouth gaping, at the sight of Oliver and his captors--not to mention at the Doctor’s nonchalant response to it.
The Doctor, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate in the least before he strode right up next to the entourage, keeping pace with them as they went. “I see waiting at the edge of town was a bit much for you,” he remarked conversationally.
Oliver paused in his struggling, shocked. “Doctor?” He turned his head, trying to see as best he could despite the hands gripping him, and broke out in a grin at the sight of the man. “It is you! Hey, mind asking them to let me down?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” the Doctor retorted. “And not at the moment, no. Don’t worry, they’ll let you go soon enough.”
If Oliver’s expression had been shocked before, that was nothing compared to how it looked now. “What!?”
“Was that not clear enough? I’ll try again. No, Oliver, I’m afraid I’m not going to let you down. You’ll have to wait for your friends here to do that instead.”
Oliver gaped at him, almost too confused to speak. “But...why?”
“Think about it!” the Doctor said. “We need to go back to the museum anyway, and since everyone seems so intent on bringing you there, there’s really no point in fighting them on this, now is there?”
Oliver stared for a moment. Then, dismayed, he began a new bout of protests. “But I can’t go back there! Not with them! They’re just gonna make me look at that statue again, and then I won’t be able to help anybody!”
The Doctor tsked at him. “Calm down, would you? You’re not going to be under the influence of that statue again.”
“And how’s that?” Oliver demanded angrily. “Trying to hold my eyes shut is never gonna work against all these people!”
The Doctor looked hurt. “I’m surprised at you, Oliver. All this time traveling with me, and you really don't think I would have worked out a way around that by now? Especially when I had a chance to use the TARDIS’ instruments to help!”
“You...” Oliver started. Then he trailed off, ceasing his struggling again. “You did? How?”
The Doctor held a small, open container out to him. “Rub a bit of this under your nose.”
Oliver gave him a look. “In case you hadn’t noticed...”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow before seeming to remember that Oliver’s arms were quite pinned. “Oh, yes, of course. Your friends. Here you go, then.” He coated his own finger in a goopy, viscous solution, rubbing a large blob of it under Oliver’s nose. “Just don’t wipe that off,” he instructed sternly as he replaced the cap and put the container back in his pocket.
Oliver decided it was best not to give him another reminder about his hands. “I won’t,” he promised instead. He frowned at the smell coming off of the substance. It was almost like... “What is this stuff?”
“Gelatin,” the Doctor replied with a grin. “With a few added ingredients, of course. As long as you’re able to smell this, the statue’s psychic control won’t be able to seize your mind.”
Despite his predicament, Oliver couldn’t help a laugh and a wry smile. “You’re going to save this world with jelly babies after all.”
“In a way,” the Doctor agreed. “Nothing to be surprised about, considering the beneficial properties of gelatin.” But the man, surprisingly, let his explanation go at that. He turned his head, his attention seeming to have been drawn away by something else.
It was hard for Oliver to see from his vantage point, especially with all the bouncing up and down as they moved, but he did manage to turn to an angle where he could see the approaching building. They had nearly reached the museum.
“What do I do once we get in there?” he asked nervously.
“Oh, I shouldn’t think you’ll have to do much to begin with,” the Doctor said, glancing at Oliver’s captors. “They’ll take you to the statue, of course. All you should have to worry about is that you don’t show too quickly that you haven’t been affected. We don’t need Pafos to find that out any sooner than she has to.” He narrowed his eyes.
Oliver blinked. “What, you think if this lot finds out, she’d like...psychically communicate with them about it? But if she can do that, wouldn’t she know what we’re up to already?”
The Doctor shook his head, exasperated. “Not these people, Oliver! They have no wills of their own at the moment. No, the only one she can communicate with is the statue itself.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow, staring at him. “Uh...mind explaining that one?”
The Doctor sighed, but as usual dove into his explanation with vigor. “You said it yourself! You called it ‘Galatea’--a name associated with the story of Pygmalion but never used in it. The actual Galatea was a character in a different one of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. But that name, Galatea, in more modern contexts--modern by your standards, at least--relates not only to the statue in Ovid’s story but any statue that comes to life.”
Oliver stared a bit more, thinking about that for a moment. “You mean I said that because I knew the statue was alive?”
The Doctor nodded, breaking out in a grin. “Exactly! You saw Galatea, and she made you feel empty without her--as empty as she almost certainly feels without others admiring her. While I was in the TARDIS, I did a bit of research on the dust from Pafos’ workshop. Galatea’s race is known as the Lapidi. Very interesting creatures--very bright--and made of an organic material similar to ivory. When together, they form a gestalt entity--a shared existence. When bits are cut off, however, the world suddenly becomes very silent and very, very lonely.”
Oliver frowned, taking that in. “So it--she--is trying to make up for that by hypnotizing people so they want stare at her all the time?”
“To put it basically,” the Doctor agreed. “The Lapidi’s only means of communication is psychic, and it seems their particular wavelength has a strong influence on humans. Though, interestingly, she’s either decided not to deprive the Filiorans of their physical needs, or the control doesn’t reach that far.” The Doctor pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“And gelatin stops the control?” Oliver asked, keenly aware that they were running out of time for this conversation. The museum was looming over him now.
The Doctor nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s likely that the control aspect of the communication is limited to only very particular lifeforms that meet specific conditions. The animals used in the creation of gelatin probably don’t fit the bill.”
“And Time Lords don’t, either.”
The Doctor grinned. “Or my psychic powers are just too great for her degree of influence,” he countered. “I’m biped plus, remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember, but--whoa! Stairs!”
Oliver was jarred as his entourage began to lead him up the toward the very classically-styled museum.
“Stay calm, Oliver,” the Doctor helpfully suggested. “This will all be over soon.”
“But you haven’t explained that part yet!” Oliver called behind him as the small doorway required the Doctor to hang back and let Oliver be carried into the museum first.
As the man followed, his eyes narrowed. “No,” he murmured, half to himself. “I haven’t, have I?”
He was jarred from his thoughts, however, by a tiny hand tugging on his sleeve. “Isn’t your friend going to get hurt?” Tirik asked, frowning mightily in concern as he looked up at the Doctor.
“Oliver? No, no, he knows how to take care of himself.” The Doctor put on an encouraging smile for the boy. “Come on, let’s go watch him save your father.”
The boy blinked at him. “I thought you were going to do that.”
“Oh, I might just have a hand or two in it,” the Doctor agreed with a twinkle in his eyes. “But Oliver has an important role to play as well. So come on, you don’t want to miss this!” He took Tirik’s hand, heading up the remainder of the stairs toward the door, but after only a few steps, he stopped.
The loss in momentum just about caused Tirik to fall, but the Doctor quickly steadied him, fishing the same container from his pocket as before. “You’ll need this, too.” He opened it, dabbing another goopy glob onto his finger and rubbing it under Tirik’s nose.
The boy made a face at the smell. “That’s weird!” he declared.
“Is it?” the Doctor asked with a pout. “And here I thought you liked jelly babies. A shame.” He put the container away again, leading the boy through the doors.
The front hall of the museum was in a much more hectic state than it had been the last time. The orderly line had somehow been broken, and the people were now more of a moving mass, though they obviously still had the same destination in mind. The rest of the museum was visibly deserted.
Because of the Doctor’s height, he was able to look over the mass of people, allowing him to see a small pocket within the crowd. That pocket made the reason for the broken line and current pile-up quite clear--all the other people of the town were moving aside to create a space for Oliver and his captors to go through.
“How do we catch up?” Tirik asked worriedly.
“We make our own space in the crowd,” the Doctor replied with a grin. “Come on.” With that, he walked directly into the throng of people, a hesitant Tirik staying close on his heels. As the Doctor had expected, they parted to let him pass, just as they had before. He had hoped that even if Pafos--or the statue--had stepped up her psychic control efforts since they’d been here earlier, she wouldn’t be able to stop the people’s automatic response to the Doctor’s wishes. That did indeed seem to be the case.
With the crowd aiding their passage, it didn’t take long for them to catch up with Oliver and his captors. Unfortunately, it took almost exactly the same amount of time for everyone to reach the room containing the statue.
When the people all stopped just inside, the Doctor withdrew a white paper bag from his pocket, pressing it into Tirik’s hand. “I suspect this won’t be necessary,” he whispered. “But if I react to the statue itself, make sure I eat one of these. Understand?”
Tirik nodded, holding the bag as securely as if he believed the world depended on it.
“You can have one if you’d like,” the Doctor added. “If you still dislike the smell, you might want to pass, but I promise most of that odor comes from the chemicals mixed in with the gelatin, causing particles to be released into your system to prevent the psychic link from taking hold. And you didn’t seem to mind the taste before.”
The boy shook his head, looking up at him with wide eyes. He seemed unsure what to make of the Doctor’s comments. Finally, he said simply, “It’s an okay smell, just weird.”
“Well then, go on,” he encouraged. He didn’t wait to see if the boy took a sweet, however. He knew that he had only taken part in that exchange to momentarily delay the inevitable, and he didn’t want to risk doing so for too long. So, refusing to show any uncertainty to their enemies, the Doctor lifted his head and gazed full-on at the statue of the White Maiden.
There was little difference between the statue in person and the computer image that the Doctor had seen before. However, while he had only been able to vaguely feel the power of the statue as it was radiating from the monitor, he was almost overwhelmed by the sense of it now as a very tangible presence reached out from it and touched his mind.
“That’s enough of that,” he said, quietly and firmly, gazing directly at the statue. The pressure recoiled as if chastised, and the Doctor grinned.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Tirik tugging on his sleeve. “Doctor? Doctor!”
“Hm? What is it?” he asked, looking down at the boy.
“Your friend! He’s like before!” The boy pointed desperately at the crowd in front of the statue.
Oliver’s captors had lowered him to a standing position mere feet from the statue. Three of them had a firm grip on his head--and perhaps a moment ago his eyelids--to force him to look at it. As the Doctor turned his way, they were just letting go of him, allowing Oliver to stand with his eyes riveted on the ivory-like face.
The Doctor smiled faintly. “Not bad at all. Those zombie films of his may have come in useful for once.”
Tirik gaped. “You mean...he’s pretending?” he whispered.
“Well, that’s what I told him to do, isn’t it?” the Doctor retorted, affronted.
“But how do we know he’s only pretending?”
The man raised an eyebrow. Then he looked down at the boy, realizing that Tirik quite openly had his eyes riveted on the scene before them--including the statue. “Obviously it works because you’re not pretending!” the Doctor cried in a whisper. He frowned, considering his options. Children always made things so complicated. Still, he had to do something to make sure Oliver’s ruse wasn’t ruined. “Ah!” he declared as an idea occurred to him. He pulled off his scarf, folding it over and wrapping it around Tirik’s eyes and, consequently, most of the top of his head. He tied it off in the back.
“Doctor!” Tirik protested. “I can’t see!”
“Exactly. You’re not supposed to be immune to the statue, remember?”
“But...” Tirik paused, his visible mouth now pouting mightily. “I want to know what’s happening!” he insisted.
“Then I would stop talking and listen closely,” the Doctor suggested.
“But-!”
“Shhh,” the Doctor hissed. Tirik grew silent at that. Even better, the boy was unable to see the calculating expression that crossed the Doctor’s face then. “No, wait. Tirik, did you feel anything when you saw the statue?”
The scarf couldn’t hide the boy’s frown. “Sort of. Like something was calling to me, except I couldn’t hear what it was saying.”
The Doctor nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right. This should work, then.”
“What should work?”
“Shh! Didn’t you hear me the first time? Honestly, children.”
Tirik pouted and probably would have replied if it weren’t for a sudden gasp that ran through the entire crowd. All the gathered people quite abruptly turned as one, looking back toward the Doctor and Tirik.
“Hello,” the Doctor said with a wave. No one reacted. In fact, no one made a sound--except for a noise from behind him. The Doctor’s eyebrows went up. “Ohhh. You know, Tirik, I don’t believe it’s us they’re interested in.”
“No,” came a female voice. “Not anymore.”
“Why, Lady Pafos!” the Doctor declared, turning to face the approaching woman. He grinned. “I should have known.”
“You should have,” she agreed, smiling proudly. A group of Filioran women were flanking her, blocking any exit from the room. They smiled in almost the exact same smug fashion, hands on their hips as they watched the exchange. “It seems you took a bit too long to rescue your friend.”
The Doctor couldn’t hide his surprise at that. “Oliver knew?” he asked, throwing a glance at the young man. Really, he’d have to have a talk with him later about failing to share crucial information simply because of a small distraction like a high-stress situation.
The woman gave a smile that was dripping with honey. “Maybe next time you won’t throw your friend to the lions quite as quickly.”
The Doctor’s eyes bugged, and he drew himself up in outrage. “No one has been thrown to any lions,” he said darkly. “Or has your friend the Lapidi not given you the news yet?”
“News?” It was the woman’s turn to look startled. She sneered in an attempt to hide it. “What news? That your friend is in my power again?”
“Not the news I had in mind, no.” The Doctor looked her directly in the eyes. “Why? Did you have something in mind for him if he were?”
Her lips curved into a grin. “Let him go,” she called to the men. “And Oliver, come over here.”
The men obeyed, releasing their hold on Oliver and stepping back away from him. For his part, Oliver turned his blank stare from the statue to Pafos and, once he was free, he began to walk slowly and calmly toward her.
“What’s happening?” Tirik whispered urgently. “Doctor, is he still pretending? Is he fighting? Or did they get him?”
The Doctor hushed him again, watching Oliver closely. The young man did not even glance his way, but his hand moved. Was he clenching it? No, his fingers...
The Doctor took an urgent step toward his companion, drawing himself up to his full height, his expression set in anger. “Are you coming at me with your fists, Oliver?” he demanded. “After everything we’ve done together, are you going to let this control you? Is the statue telling you to hurt me for defying it? Are you going to?”
Predictably, Oliver’s hands balled into proper fists then, and he continued his advance, his gaze settling on the Doctor as the man stepped between him and the lady.
“He only obeys my orders now, Doctor,” Pafos said. “But...” She put a finger to her chin, showing long nails that were painted the same earthy brown as her lips. “That is an interesting idea. I think the Lapidi knows by now that you are a threat. Let’s see what she thinks about ordering an attack.” Her grin curved, the expression turning sinister. “Oliver, attack the Doctor! Knock him down! Restrain him! Stop his interfering!”
On command, Oliver’s dead expression switched to one contorted by anger, and he sped up his advance. For his part, the Doctor stood his ground, putting his hands in his pockets and simply waiting. “Come on, then, Oliver. Let’s see you knock someone down.”
Pafos burst out in laughter.
Oliver, on the other hand, let out a cry of rage, taking off at a run now. As he reached the Doctor, the man calmly took two steps to the side. Oliver didn’t stop, rushing forward with clear purpose. His put-on anger disappeared behind an eager grin.
The lady Pafos’ laughter cut off abruptly as she realized something was wrong just a moment too late. She tried to side-step Oliver, and though his need to change course reduced his momentum, he still reached her very quickly. Her eyes widened in anger as they collided. He pushed her full-on, and she swiped at his face with her nails, letting out a cry of hatred.
Oliver was startled by the attack. He understood the danger and tried to jerk away, but he was not fast enough to keep her from wiping the majority of the goopy concoction right out of under his nose. Still, his push sent her sprawling even as he stumbled to the side, looking momentarily disoriented.
“Get him!” Pafos screamed shrilly as she struggled to get back up, her women rushing to help her. The men in the room immediately began to converge on Oliver.
Oliver tensed, shaking his head as though to clear it and taking a step backwards toward the Doctor. “What...what now?” he called, eyeing his attackers. He shook his head again, his concentration clearly lacking.
“Come over here,” the Doctor directed calmly. “But whatever you do, do not turn around. Do not look at the statue!”
Oliver nodded, keeping his gaze focused on the advancing men as he began to walk backwards. He was too distracted to notice the lady Pafos, however, who had been helped to her feet and was swiftly advancing toward him.
“Watch out!” the Doctor warned.
She came at him from the side, giving a feral cry. He turned toward her, putting up his hands to fend her off, but was surprised when, rather than attacking him, she simply plowed into him this time. Her slight weight hardly threw his balance, but the other people reached him then--men and women both, grabbing him, and only as it was happening did he realize that the lady was whispering urgent instructions to them with words too soft for him to hear. But as he turned to fend off a man who had a firm grip on him, he discovered what she had been trying to do. The man ducked, and Oliver found himself staring straight on at the statue of the White Maiden.
“Oliver!” the Doctor cried in frustration, watching in dismay as his friend’s eyes widened, and he stopped his struggling.
The lady Pafos turned to the Doctor, grinning triumphantly. “Too late, Doctor! He’s mine again.” To the men around Oliver, she added, “Restrain him. Just in case.”
“No,” the Doctor whispered, half to himself. “No, wait!” His eyes lit up, his mind working quickly. “He was disoriented. And Tirik... There’s a chance... Oliver!” he repeated, his tone different this time--commanding and urgent. “You can hear the Lapidi, can’t you? Talk to her! Talk to Galatea! You know what she’s doing is wrong--tell her that! Do you hear me? No matter what she’s saying, remember who you are and what you’re here for!”
Oliver’s eyes widened slightly, but he still did not resist as three men from the town grabbed him, pinning his arms to his sides and holding him in place.
“You’re our only chance, Oliver!” the Doctor continued. “The gelatin is still there--just a bit. And you’re still you. You can talk to her! I can’t, but you can. Do you hear me, Oliver Day? It’s up to you now. It’s up to you to save this world!”