Sleeping Dragons 05 - The Old Terror 04
Author's note: Yes, I'm a shameless fangirl of Il Divo in general and Urs Bühler in particular, too. There are worse hobbies. *g*
CHAPTER 04 - THE MYSTERY OF TORCHWOOD HOUSE
“So, what have you learned?” Lloyd asked, after they’d packed files and artefacts meant for Torchwood House into the vans and were on their way to the very cradle of Torchwood.
“Not very much,” Owen replied sourly. “Well, we have learned a lot, but I haven’t got a clue how important it is for our mission. We’ll see. What about you?”
“Well, we saw a two hundred and fifty-year-old alien tree and a bunch of alien guys that disguise themselves as rhododendron shrubs,” Adam said.
Owen grinned. “Oh, the Coral People? They’re cool. Too bad one needs to have the perfect pitch to talk to them.”
“You knew about them?” Lloyd asked in surprise.
Owen nodded. “Sure. I tried to study them a little but I never had the time to really dig in. There’s too much to do in Cardiff; and I don’t have the right ear for the job. I couldn’t carry a tone in a basket before me.”
“Besides, they don’t really do much,” Trevor added. “They just stand there and look at you with those huge black eyes until you get goosebumps… and not in a good way.”
“I’d still love to study them,” Lloyd said.
“Oh, I’m sure Archie would let you,” Owen replied. “Perhaps you should hire the King’s Singers or Il Divo to help you. They could have fascinating chats with the Corals.”
For one perfectly insane moment Lloyd could actually see before her inner eye Il Divo’s amazing Swiss tenor - him of the elfin features and the angelic voice - to sit in the woodlands of Pollok Park, having a musical conversation with the fragile aliens.
On second thought, it wasn’t entirely unimaginable that Urs Bühler was an alien himself, cos honestly, what mere human could have a voice like that? Yes, she was a devoted fan and not the least ashamed of it, thank you very much.
The others laughed and made small talk while continuing towards Torchwood House - well, the Torchwood version of it. Most people wouldn’t have considered a lively discussion about malevolent aliens, future technology or exotic drugs coming from distant planets via a rift in space and time small talk.
Still, several hours went by with that sort of discussion and with short breaks, and an hour or so before sunset they finally got their first, distant view of Torchwood House, rising suddenly high and lonely out of the fields, with a large Celtic cross like some sort of warning in front of its gate.
“Impressive,” Lloyd, who hadn’t been here before, judged. “How old is it?”
“The original house was built in the fifteenth century,” Owen explained, while Trevor was pulling up the van in front of the two-storey gabled porch with its Jacobean classical enrichment and Herbert Coat-of-Arms. “But it had been changed a lot in Victorian times.”
“Actually, the first extensive rebuilding was done in the late 1600s, with further work completed in the early nineteenth century,” Jenkins corrected. At the surprised looks of the others he shrugged. “What? The house is one of Scotland’s most interesting properties, and my parents insisted that I should be thoroughly versed in the history of the peerage and their homes. Besides, Torchwood House was closely connected to the royal family at one time.”
“How that?” Harris asked in surprise.
“Well, it was owned by the MacLeish family since the 1500s and purchased by the Crown in 1897,” Jenkins explained.
“At about the same time when the Torchwood Institute was founded by Queen Victoria,” Owen added, with a sideways glance in Jenny’s direction.
Jenkins nodded. “True. Unfortunately, much of the house fell into disrepair during the time of Sir George MacLeish, in the 1800s.”
“That’s odd,” Harris commented. “Especially since it was clearly built to impress.”
“Yes, but Sir George was a rather eccentric man, fascinated by both science and the local folklore,” Jenkins elaborated. “He was also good friends with Prince Albert of Saxon-Coburg…”
“The husband of Her Royal Majesty?”
“The very same. According to old anecdotes, the servants were often kept awake waiting on the Prince and Sir George, as they whiled away entire nights, discussing the mysteries of the myths.”
“Only that those weren’t entirely myths,” Owen supplied. “The so-called ‘werewolves of the Torchwood Estate were, in fact, Lupine Wavelength Haemovariform aliens…”
“Which are what exactly?” Adam interrupted.
“Alien werewolves,” Owen replied with a shrug. “Shape shifters, in fact, who tried to infect the Queen in 1872.”
“What for?” Adam seemed totally baffled. Owen shrugged again.
“How am I supposed to know? The most popular theory is that it should have been the beginning of an invasion. Fortunately, the creature attacking the house was killed by the Light Chamber device, used in conjunction with the Koh-i-Noor diamond.”
“Light Chamber?” Harris echoed; he had a great personal interest in all technical gizmos.
“The famous Torchwood observatory,” Jenkins supplied. “Built by Sir George, under the auspices of Prince Albert. Apparently, it still exists, although the image of its telescope is said to be out of focus all the time.”
“Because it isn’t really a telescope, although it looks like one,” Owen explained. “In truth, the Light Chamber device focused the moonlight so such a degree that the Koh-i-Noor would amplify its power. Of course, without the diamond set into its focus it would be useless now.”
“But what was its original purpose?” Trevor asked. “While technically it could work, of course, why would anyone want that? There are much more efficient ways to utilize focused light, either as a weapon or as a tool. Lasers, for example.”
“Not if you take the werewolf legends seriously, which Sir George obviously had,” Jenkins pointed out. “And it the end it worked out, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, it did kill the creature,” Owen assured him. “But the house suffered a great deal of damage during the attack. Doors were broken down, furniture was smashed… even the glass dome of the library shattered. The male staff was killed by the creature to the last man, including the steward, together with Sir Robert McLeish, who was the house owner at that time, and even the Queen’s protector. The Torchwood Institute was created by Her Majesty as a direct result of these events - and the Doctor got banished from the British Isles, together with his then-companion, Rose Tyler.”
“Why?” Jenny asked, understandably offended on her father’s behalf. “Didn’t they help neutralizing the creature?”
“They did,” Owen admitted. “In fact, much as it pains me to admit, if not for the Doctor, our royal liaison might be howling at the moon once every month. But those events made the Queen aware of the existence of extraterrestrial threats - and let’s face it, the Doctor is an alien. So, he first got knighted for his service… and then banned for being an extraterrestrial.”
“Not that anyone would have taken the ban seriously,” Jenkins added, grinning. “According to Uncle Harry, at least three different incarnations of the Doctor used to work closely with UNIT at one time: the Second, the Third and the Fourth one.”
“Which one was actually banned by Queen Victoria?” Jenny asked.
“The current one; who is, as far as I know, the tenth version of him. The one you met,” Owen shrugged. “That is time travel for you. Or, as the Doctor would say - if you can believe Jack - the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.”
“The what?”
Owen shrugged again. “He’s not big at scientific terms, or so Jack tells us… in the rare times he is willing to tell us anything.”
“It seems, though, that the house has been reconstructed beautifully,” Lloyd looked up at the impressive building sprawling in front of them.
Her statement was well-founded. Torchwood House truly looked well for a four-hundred-and-some year old building. Behind the gabled porch, it rose to greater height and had four storeys, all built of the same grey, weathered stone. It was faced in ashlar and there were four light stone mullion and transom windows with continuous drip mould, the north side had four tall gables and a stone slate roof.
Jenkins nodded. “Yes, it has. When Sir Robert McLeish died in 1879, and the male line with him, his widow ordered the house shut up and never set foot in it again. It was subsequently purchased by the Crown, allegedly in remembrance of the close bond between the MacLeishes and Prince Albert. Her Royal Majesty ordered the reconstruction work and chose the house to be the seat of the Torchwood Institute.”
“Which is where Torchwood got its name from,” Trevor added, refraining from mention how the Private’s speech took on a rather posh accent when talking about such things; he merely grinned to himself.
“Now, I believe the history lesson has gone on long enough,” Owen interrupted them impatiently. “We should go in and do our actual jobs.”
Without waiting for an answer, he walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The sound reverberated deep inside the house, and mere moments later the door was opened by a wiry man in his early forties, with a five-day-stubble, dark eyes and greying hair. He was wearing some sort of military fatigues, but in black, not in camouflage colours.
“Can I help you?” he asked, in a tone that clearly suggested he didn’t really want to help them.
Owen showed him his Torchwood ID. “Doctor Owen Harper from Torchwood Three. We are expected by the custodian.”
“One moment, please,” the man touched the Bluetooth device in his right ear. “Doctor Arnold, the people from Cardiff are here,” he wanted for instructions, then nodded. “Understood.”
He deactivated the device and turned back to Owen. “Follow me, please. Doctor Arnold and the others are waiting for you in the Library.”
“We’ve got sensitive stuff in our vans, though,” Owen said. “We can’t just leave it out there, without protection.”
“The grounds are protected,” the man replied. “That’s my job here as chief of security. Don’t worry; our archivist will take care of your cargo immediately. Please come with me.”
He opened the door a little wider, letting them into the large, oak-panelled foyer that was at least seventeen feet high, with plaster ceiling and a magnificent staircase. At the Jacobean fireplace another man was standing, in a maroon lab coat over his clothes. He was of the same age as the security chief, had a long, dour face, a very high forehead, receding brown hair and blue eyes.
“This is our archivist, Mr. Winslet,” the security chief introduced him. “He’ll look after your stuff.”
“Graham Winslet,” the archivist shook Owen’s hand with unexpected enthusiasm. “You’re Doctor Harper, aren’t you? I’ve seen you at a UNIT conference, right after that failed Slitheen invasion. Do you have a list for me?”
“I didn’t know UNIT has taken over Torchwood House,” Owen wasn’t quite willing to hand over anything to the rival organization.
“It hasn’t,” Winslet assured him. “Neither Sergeant Ramsey nor myself are with UNIT any longer.”
“I believe Doctor Arnold wanted to discuss the matter with Torchwood Three,” the security chief said warningly.
The archivist pulled in his neck. “Right, of course. Well, I’ll need a list and some help with the off-loading, especially if there is any breakable stuff in there.”
Owen, nominally the leader of the ‘Scottish Expedition’, as they called it, turned to Jenkins.
“Private, I understand that you represent Colonel Mace in this case, but can’t your buddies lend Mr. Winslet a hand? Jenny, you and Adam, too.”
Neither the two UNIT soldiers, nor Jenny and Adam were happy about being shut out of the upcoming discussion but they didn’t really have a choice. They weren’t Torchwood, after all. Thus they went off with the excited archivist, while Lloyd, Owen, Trevor and Jenkins followed the ex-sergeant to the Library.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The historic Library of Torchwood House had clearly been reconstructed, too, since the dramatic events back in the 19th century. The shattered glass dome had been replaced with an identical one, providing the large room with natural light. The walls were framed by floor-to-ceiling book-cases - not open shelves but actual cabinets, the valuable old books behind protective glass.
The floor was inlaid with coloured marble, arranged in decorative patterns. There was another Jacobean fireplace but no windows at all, and several round, marble-plated little tables stood scattered in the middle of the room, with deep, overstuffed leather armchairs around them.
There were four people in the Library, waiting for the visitors from Cardiff: two men and two women, aged between twenty-something and beyond sixty. It was one of the women, a vivacious brunette in her early thirties, who rose first, offering Owen a hand to shake.
“Doctor Harper? Welcome to Torchwood Four. I am Doctor Sally Arnold, leader of the team.”
For the first time in his life, Owen was too thunderstruck to speak. He lamely allowed Dr. Arnold to shake his hand, and then just stood there in slack-jawed shock. It was Lloyd who found her voice first.
“Torchwood Four? I thought you guys were missing. I’m Doctor Sara Lloyd, by the way.”
“Welcome, Doctor Lloyd,” Dr. Arnold shook hands with her, too.
“Just Lloyd will be enough. We never stood on ceremony at SOCO and I don’t intend to start with it just because I’m with Torchwood now,” Lloyd narrowed her eyes. “So, when were you guys found? And why doesn’t Mr. Jones know about it? He is the Torchwood Director in these days; you’re supposed to answer to him.”
“And we will,” Dr. Arnold replied amiably. “You must understand, though: we are not the original team. They were all killed under still unexplained circumstances some ten years ago. Our team has only been reinstated by His Highness Prince William last year.”
“It still doesn’t explain why Jonesy hasn’t been told about you in the meantime,” Trevor said accusingly.
“We’re supposed to be a secret group, unlike the other branches,” Dr. Arnold explained. “And given what happened during Prime Minister Saxon’s reign, the Prince insisted on us making personal contact with Torchwood Three only. We had to wait until some of you came over in person.”
“I know that Torchwood Three is the worst kept secret in Cardiff,” Lloyd said slowly. “But why the secrecy about you?”
“Because we are supposed to be dead, with the sole exception of me,” Dr. Arnold replied simply. “We all used to work together in a secret UNIT facility, and the others died - well, almost died - together when we accidentally reactivated a dormant Nestene pod and nearly launched a new Auton invasion. Some of us were in coma for quite a while; the others went into hiding, until the Prince picked us to reinstate Torchwood Four.”
Jenkins snapped with his fingers (fortunately, Adam was not around) when a memory surfaced in his head.
“Of course! You were the chief scientist of The Warehouse, working with the late Mr. Lockwood and a certain Doctor Matthews, right?”
“That would be me,” one of the Torchwood Four guys, of the same age as Dr. Arnold, supplied. “Containment specialist Daniel Matthews, at your service.”
He wore causal clothes: brown corduroy trousers, a grey button-down shirt and a black jacket and had slightly wavy black hair, a somewhat pudgy face and large, round glasses.
“Cool,” Jenkins grinned at him; then he tuned to the old man with the wire-rimmed glasses, the bow-tie and the silver goatee who was still sitting. “You can’t be Mr. Lockwood, though. He was much younger; and he's definitely died.”
“You’re suspiciously well-informed for a simple soldier, even for somebody representing Colonel Mace,” the old man said with a displeased frown.
“It comes with the territory in our family,” Jenkins replied with a shrug. “Even if they no longer speak with me. So, who are you actually?”
“I am - well, I was - a special operative of UNIT,” the old man said. “My name is Palmer.”
Jenkins’s eyebrows climbed to the roots of his hair. “The psychic? I thought you and Natasha Alexander were killed a couple of years ago in Millhampton.”
“Natasha was; I wasn’t,” Mr. Palmer replied grimly. “And neither were Mr. Winslet or Miss Chard here,” he gestured at the blue-eyed, somewhat horse-faced blonde sitting nearby. “She was Sal’s assistant at The Warehouse and rather badly injured at that time.”
“But I survived, and now I’m as good as new,” Miss Chard rose and shook hands with the Torchwood Three people. “Janice Chard.”
“So, you are a bunch of supposedly dead people, hiding in Torchwood House, pretending to be Torchwood Four,” Owen summarised.
“No,” Dr. Arnold corrected. “We are Torchwood Four; even though Torchwood Four officially still counts as missing. I’ve been discharged from UNIT and sent to Torchwood House as some sort of punishment, as the job of the custodian here is seen as a dead end, career-wise.”
“That is the official version anyway,” Dr. Matthews added, grinning like a loon.
Dr. Arnold nodded. “Indeed. In truth, I’m the leader of Torchwood Four, and we’re here to protect Torchwood House and whatever Director Jones and Sir Archibald see fit to entrust to our Archives.”
“Protect - from whom?” Lloyd asked.
“We’re still not sure,” Dr. Arnold confessed. “But the sudden rise of Colonel Oduya in power has made Prince William suspicious, and he wanted to secure the place.”
“But do you have the means to do so?” Trevor said doubtfully. “You have even fewer people than Torchwood Three, and we are seriously understaffed still.”
“Since we don’t need field agents - not a lot of alien activity in Scotland - we have all the people we currently need,” Dr. Arnold replied. “Doctor Matthews, Janice and I cover the scientific angle, Mr Winslet is our archivist and Sergeant Ramsey is responsible for security matters. All we lack is a medic, but it’s still early days for us; and Sir Archibald promised to look out for a suitable candidate.”
“So Archie does know about you?” Owen frowned.
Dr. Arnold nodded. “Of course. He was informed by Prince William personally when the royal family visited Scotland. The Prince has been planning to tell Director Jones at the same time but, as you can imagine, he can’t really change his own schedule. So we were empowered to inform your branch as soon as someone came over. We knew you would bring us artefacts eventually, and Sir Archibald agreed that this would be the safest way.”
Owen reluctantly nodded because it actually made sense. Jenkins, however, was still a bit suspicious.
“You forgot to mention what Mr. Palmer is doing here,” he said. “What is his field?”
Dr. Arnold shrugged. “He doesn’t have one; not like the rest of us, at least not yet. The plan is for him to provide basic psychic training for new Torchwood agents, as soon as Sir Archibald begins to build up his team in earnest. In the meantime, he comes in handy when we have to infiltrate places. With his distinguished look and the help of psychic paper he can get into places none of us could.”
“I still don’t understand how was it possible for Jonesy to overlook your presence when he was here to update the Secondary Archives, just a couple of months ago,” Trevor said. “Usually, he notices everything.”
“We weren’t here yet at the time,” Dr. Arnold explained. “Well, Mr. Winslet was - he’d been sent here in advance to work in the Archives - but the rest of us only arrived six weeks ago.”
“That still doesn’t explain why Jonesy wasn’t told,” Trevor continued doggedly. “As the Torchwood Director, he was Mr. Winslet’s boss, too.”
“Yes, but Mr. Winslet didn’t know why he was sent here,” Dr. Arnold replied. “In fact, he only learned that he’d been transferred to Torchwood when we arrived.”
“And he accepted it - just like that?” Owen found that hard to believe. It definitely wouldn’t have worked with him.
Dr. Arnold nodded. “He and Janice worked with me at The Warehouse for a couple of years. We were a good team. Who the ultimate boss was didn’t matter for him - just the fact that we could work together again.”
“He should be more certain about his loyalties in the future,” Owen said grimly. “Because the day will come when we’ll have to go against UNIT - and we must be sure about him.”
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Arnold said with a thin smile. “He is absolutely loyal to me. And Prince William made very sure I understood where my priorities are supposed to lie. Not that I’d have needed much persuasion; not after the way UNIT had treated us all,” she added darkly.
“And now that we’ve become united in our dislike where the current leadership of UNIT is concerned, perhaps we can discuss the true reason why you’re here - in the company of UNIT soldiers,” Mr. Palmer said with deceptive mildness.
Owen frowned at him. “What do you mean? We’ve brought you a lot of sensitive stuff that could cause great harm in the wrong hands. This transfer has been pre-scheduled through Archie weeks ago. Colonel Mace was merely friendly enough to lend us an escort, since we’re still understaffed.”
The old man gave him a cold look. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Doctor Harper! I may not be able to read your thoughts but I can feel your tension. You are incredibly worried - all of you are - about something that, I must assume, is happening here in Scotland. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come down here with so many people. So, what is it?”
“I’m not empowered to tell about it anyone else but Archie,” Owen said dismissively. “And even if I were, I wouldn’t tell you. I have to see yet any proof that you’re telling us the truth - you all. Torchwood Four is a myth - has been ever since I joined the Cardiff branch.”
“Would my word be sufficient?” another voice asked; one of the book-cases turned noiselessly inward, and a familiar figure stepped out of a hidden door behind it.
“Look at that!” Owen commented, grinning like a loon. “If that isn’t our Lieutenant Wales, better known as Billy the Fish!”
Prince William grinned back at him. “I see you haven’t lost a bit of your charming personality, Doctor Harper.”
Owen shrugged. “I am what I am, sir. Even Teaboy has given up on trying to change me.”
“And that means a lot,” the prince allowed. “Well, Doctor Harper; I vouch for Doctor Arnold and her team. Would that be enough for you?”
Owen nodded. “Sure; you are the ultimate boss of us all; you and Her Majesty. But what are you doing here anyway? We thought you were still stationed in Wales.”
“I still am,” the prince replied. “Right now, though, I’m on leave. Officially I’m in Balmoral Castle with the rest of the family; but my grandmother allowed me this little detour to meet you and introduce the new Torchwood branch. I’d have preferred to visit Cardiff base and speak with Mr. Jones in person, but I had the impression that I was being watched - well, more than usual - and I couldn’t find a feasible excuse to go to Cardiff outside of my scheduled annual visits.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Owen agreed.
“Exactly,” Prince William crossed the room and took the empty seat at Dr. Arnold’s left. “And now tell us why you are here.”
Knowing that he had no choice in the matter, Owen sighed, sat down and did just that.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After Owen had finished his report - with frequent additions from Jenkins who was better informed in the matters concerning UNIT - they discussed several possible courses of action how to find out what was going on at Forgill Castle. As a result of a great deal of argumentation they finally came to the decision that the Cardiff crowd would spend the night at Torchwood House and then go to Dúnaidh, the sleepy little town near Forgill Castle, where they would pretend to be tourists who wanted to see the Loch Ness monster.
“Mr. Palmer will follow us independently,” Owen filled in the others after dinner. “He will try to infiltrate the lab later, should Teaboy fail to arrange for us an official visit.”
“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Jenny asked. “Can we really go and see the Skarasen? I would so like to meet it in the flesh!”
“The what?” Adam asked, bewildered.
“The Loch Ness monster,” Jenny replied matter-of-factly.
Adam’s eyes bulged a little at that. “Are you telling me that Nessie is real?”
The Privates Harris and Grey looked equally flabbergasted. Jenkins, on the other hand, was not. Commodore Sullivan might not have told him any details about the events back in the 1970s, but he had told his godson stories about the monster when Jenkins had still been a young child.
“Of course,” Jenny replied with a shrug. “It isn’t really a monster, through; just another alien that got trapped in the Loch, quite some time ago. And I really want to see it!”
“Me, too,” Jenkins said. “I’d like to see how accurate Uncle Harry’s stories were.”
“Speaking of which,” Lloyd said, “has Sir Archibald told you anything about what happened there forty or so years ago?”
Jenkins nodded. “Yeah, he told me everything. I’ll tell you once we’ve blown this joint. No offence to His Highness, but I don’t trust this miraculously reappeared Torchwood branch any further than I can throw them.”
“Neither do I,” Owen admitted. “Not before I’d asked Teaboy what he can find out about them. Let’s all go to sleep; we’ll leave with the first light in the morning.”
“Heading off… where exactly?” Harris asked.
“To a village named Dúnaidh,” Owen replied. “Or Dinnet, if you wanna use its proper English name - which the locals apparently won’t or so I’m told.”
“And what are we gonna do there?” Lloyd asked. “Aside from pretending that we’re interested in spotting the monster, that is.”
“I am,” Jenny said innocently. “Interested in seeing the Skarasen, I mean. So I don’t have to pretend, right?”
Owen ignored her, answering Lloyd’s question instead. “We’ll take rooms at the local inn, listen to the local gossip, play tourist and try to sneak into Forgill Castle - with or without help from Teaboy.”
“The local inn is an… interesting place, according to Sir Archibald,” Jenkins said grimly. “That was where the Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith stayed forty years ago… and had to find out that not everything or everyone was what they pretended to be.”
“Care to share any details with us?” Owen scowled at him.
The young soldier shook his head. “Not here. As I said, I don’t trust that we aren’t monitored. I’ll tell you everything at the inn, once we’re there.”
“And you believe we won’t be monitored there?” Trevor asked doubtfully.
“Not really,” Jenkins grinned at him. “But at least I have a fairly good idea where the surveillance cameras will be at the inn.”
“Which is where?” Trevor pressed.
Jenkins just continued grinning. “Oh, but that would be telling. You’ll have to wait, like everyone else.”
CHAPTER 04 - THE MYSTERY OF TORCHWOOD HOUSE
“So, what have you learned?” Lloyd asked, after they’d packed files and artefacts meant for Torchwood House into the vans and were on their way to the very cradle of Torchwood.
“Not very much,” Owen replied sourly. “Well, we have learned a lot, but I haven’t got a clue how important it is for our mission. We’ll see. What about you?”
“Well, we saw a two hundred and fifty-year-old alien tree and a bunch of alien guys that disguise themselves as rhododendron shrubs,” Adam said.
Owen grinned. “Oh, the Coral People? They’re cool. Too bad one needs to have the perfect pitch to talk to them.”
“You knew about them?” Lloyd asked in surprise.
Owen nodded. “Sure. I tried to study them a little but I never had the time to really dig in. There’s too much to do in Cardiff; and I don’t have the right ear for the job. I couldn’t carry a tone in a basket before me.”
“Besides, they don’t really do much,” Trevor added. “They just stand there and look at you with those huge black eyes until you get goosebumps… and not in a good way.”
“I’d still love to study them,” Lloyd said.
“Oh, I’m sure Archie would let you,” Owen replied. “Perhaps you should hire the King’s Singers or Il Divo to help you. They could have fascinating chats with the Corals.”
For one perfectly insane moment Lloyd could actually see before her inner eye Il Divo’s amazing Swiss tenor - him of the elfin features and the angelic voice - to sit in the woodlands of Pollok Park, having a musical conversation with the fragile aliens.
On second thought, it wasn’t entirely unimaginable that Urs Bühler was an alien himself, cos honestly, what mere human could have a voice like that? Yes, she was a devoted fan and not the least ashamed of it, thank you very much.
The others laughed and made small talk while continuing towards Torchwood House - well, the Torchwood version of it. Most people wouldn’t have considered a lively discussion about malevolent aliens, future technology or exotic drugs coming from distant planets via a rift in space and time small talk.
Still, several hours went by with that sort of discussion and with short breaks, and an hour or so before sunset they finally got their first, distant view of Torchwood House, rising suddenly high and lonely out of the fields, with a large Celtic cross like some sort of warning in front of its gate.
“Impressive,” Lloyd, who hadn’t been here before, judged. “How old is it?”
“The original house was built in the fifteenth century,” Owen explained, while Trevor was pulling up the van in front of the two-storey gabled porch with its Jacobean classical enrichment and Herbert Coat-of-Arms. “But it had been changed a lot in Victorian times.”
“Actually, the first extensive rebuilding was done in the late 1600s, with further work completed in the early nineteenth century,” Jenkins corrected. At the surprised looks of the others he shrugged. “What? The house is one of Scotland’s most interesting properties, and my parents insisted that I should be thoroughly versed in the history of the peerage and their homes. Besides, Torchwood House was closely connected to the royal family at one time.”
“How that?” Harris asked in surprise.
“Well, it was owned by the MacLeish family since the 1500s and purchased by the Crown in 1897,” Jenkins explained.
“At about the same time when the Torchwood Institute was founded by Queen Victoria,” Owen added, with a sideways glance in Jenny’s direction.
Jenkins nodded. “True. Unfortunately, much of the house fell into disrepair during the time of Sir George MacLeish, in the 1800s.”
“That’s odd,” Harris commented. “Especially since it was clearly built to impress.”
“Yes, but Sir George was a rather eccentric man, fascinated by both science and the local folklore,” Jenkins elaborated. “He was also good friends with Prince Albert of Saxon-Coburg…”
“The husband of Her Royal Majesty?”
“The very same. According to old anecdotes, the servants were often kept awake waiting on the Prince and Sir George, as they whiled away entire nights, discussing the mysteries of the myths.”
“Only that those weren’t entirely myths,” Owen supplied. “The so-called ‘werewolves of the Torchwood Estate were, in fact, Lupine Wavelength Haemovariform aliens…”
“Which are what exactly?” Adam interrupted.
“Alien werewolves,” Owen replied with a shrug. “Shape shifters, in fact, who tried to infect the Queen in 1872.”
“What for?” Adam seemed totally baffled. Owen shrugged again.
“How am I supposed to know? The most popular theory is that it should have been the beginning of an invasion. Fortunately, the creature attacking the house was killed by the Light Chamber device, used in conjunction with the Koh-i-Noor diamond.”
“Light Chamber?” Harris echoed; he had a great personal interest in all technical gizmos.
“The famous Torchwood observatory,” Jenkins supplied. “Built by Sir George, under the auspices of Prince Albert. Apparently, it still exists, although the image of its telescope is said to be out of focus all the time.”
“Because it isn’t really a telescope, although it looks like one,” Owen explained. “In truth, the Light Chamber device focused the moonlight so such a degree that the Koh-i-Noor would amplify its power. Of course, without the diamond set into its focus it would be useless now.”
“But what was its original purpose?” Trevor asked. “While technically it could work, of course, why would anyone want that? There are much more efficient ways to utilize focused light, either as a weapon or as a tool. Lasers, for example.”
“Not if you take the werewolf legends seriously, which Sir George obviously had,” Jenkins pointed out. “And it the end it worked out, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, it did kill the creature,” Owen assured him. “But the house suffered a great deal of damage during the attack. Doors were broken down, furniture was smashed… even the glass dome of the library shattered. The male staff was killed by the creature to the last man, including the steward, together with Sir Robert McLeish, who was the house owner at that time, and even the Queen’s protector. The Torchwood Institute was created by Her Majesty as a direct result of these events - and the Doctor got banished from the British Isles, together with his then-companion, Rose Tyler.”
“Why?” Jenny asked, understandably offended on her father’s behalf. “Didn’t they help neutralizing the creature?”
“They did,” Owen admitted. “In fact, much as it pains me to admit, if not for the Doctor, our royal liaison might be howling at the moon once every month. But those events made the Queen aware of the existence of extraterrestrial threats - and let’s face it, the Doctor is an alien. So, he first got knighted for his service… and then banned for being an extraterrestrial.”
“Not that anyone would have taken the ban seriously,” Jenkins added, grinning. “According to Uncle Harry, at least three different incarnations of the Doctor used to work closely with UNIT at one time: the Second, the Third and the Fourth one.”
“Which one was actually banned by Queen Victoria?” Jenny asked.
“The current one; who is, as far as I know, the tenth version of him. The one you met,” Owen shrugged. “That is time travel for you. Or, as the Doctor would say - if you can believe Jack - the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.”
“The what?”
Owen shrugged again. “He’s not big at scientific terms, or so Jack tells us… in the rare times he is willing to tell us anything.”
“It seems, though, that the house has been reconstructed beautifully,” Lloyd looked up at the impressive building sprawling in front of them.
Her statement was well-founded. Torchwood House truly looked well for a four-hundred-and-some year old building. Behind the gabled porch, it rose to greater height and had four storeys, all built of the same grey, weathered stone. It was faced in ashlar and there were four light stone mullion and transom windows with continuous drip mould, the north side had four tall gables and a stone slate roof.
Jenkins nodded. “Yes, it has. When Sir Robert McLeish died in 1879, and the male line with him, his widow ordered the house shut up and never set foot in it again. It was subsequently purchased by the Crown, allegedly in remembrance of the close bond between the MacLeishes and Prince Albert. Her Royal Majesty ordered the reconstruction work and chose the house to be the seat of the Torchwood Institute.”
“Which is where Torchwood got its name from,” Trevor added, refraining from mention how the Private’s speech took on a rather posh accent when talking about such things; he merely grinned to himself.
“Now, I believe the history lesson has gone on long enough,” Owen interrupted them impatiently. “We should go in and do our actual jobs.”
Without waiting for an answer, he walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The sound reverberated deep inside the house, and mere moments later the door was opened by a wiry man in his early forties, with a five-day-stubble, dark eyes and greying hair. He was wearing some sort of military fatigues, but in black, not in camouflage colours.
“Can I help you?” he asked, in a tone that clearly suggested he didn’t really want to help them.
Owen showed him his Torchwood ID. “Doctor Owen Harper from Torchwood Three. We are expected by the custodian.”
“One moment, please,” the man touched the Bluetooth device in his right ear. “Doctor Arnold, the people from Cardiff are here,” he wanted for instructions, then nodded. “Understood.”
He deactivated the device and turned back to Owen. “Follow me, please. Doctor Arnold and the others are waiting for you in the Library.”
“We’ve got sensitive stuff in our vans, though,” Owen said. “We can’t just leave it out there, without protection.”
“The grounds are protected,” the man replied. “That’s my job here as chief of security. Don’t worry; our archivist will take care of your cargo immediately. Please come with me.”
He opened the door a little wider, letting them into the large, oak-panelled foyer that was at least seventeen feet high, with plaster ceiling and a magnificent staircase. At the Jacobean fireplace another man was standing, in a maroon lab coat over his clothes. He was of the same age as the security chief, had a long, dour face, a very high forehead, receding brown hair and blue eyes.
“This is our archivist, Mr. Winslet,” the security chief introduced him. “He’ll look after your stuff.”
“Graham Winslet,” the archivist shook Owen’s hand with unexpected enthusiasm. “You’re Doctor Harper, aren’t you? I’ve seen you at a UNIT conference, right after that failed Slitheen invasion. Do you have a list for me?”
“I didn’t know UNIT has taken over Torchwood House,” Owen wasn’t quite willing to hand over anything to the rival organization.
“It hasn’t,” Winslet assured him. “Neither Sergeant Ramsey nor myself are with UNIT any longer.”
“I believe Doctor Arnold wanted to discuss the matter with Torchwood Three,” the security chief said warningly.
The archivist pulled in his neck. “Right, of course. Well, I’ll need a list and some help with the off-loading, especially if there is any breakable stuff in there.”
Owen, nominally the leader of the ‘Scottish Expedition’, as they called it, turned to Jenkins.
“Private, I understand that you represent Colonel Mace in this case, but can’t your buddies lend Mr. Winslet a hand? Jenny, you and Adam, too.”
Neither the two UNIT soldiers, nor Jenny and Adam were happy about being shut out of the upcoming discussion but they didn’t really have a choice. They weren’t Torchwood, after all. Thus they went off with the excited archivist, while Lloyd, Owen, Trevor and Jenkins followed the ex-sergeant to the Library.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The historic Library of Torchwood House had clearly been reconstructed, too, since the dramatic events back in the 19th century. The shattered glass dome had been replaced with an identical one, providing the large room with natural light. The walls were framed by floor-to-ceiling book-cases - not open shelves but actual cabinets, the valuable old books behind protective glass.
The floor was inlaid with coloured marble, arranged in decorative patterns. There was another Jacobean fireplace but no windows at all, and several round, marble-plated little tables stood scattered in the middle of the room, with deep, overstuffed leather armchairs around them.
There were four people in the Library, waiting for the visitors from Cardiff: two men and two women, aged between twenty-something and beyond sixty. It was one of the women, a vivacious brunette in her early thirties, who rose first, offering Owen a hand to shake.
“Doctor Harper? Welcome to Torchwood Four. I am Doctor Sally Arnold, leader of the team.”
For the first time in his life, Owen was too thunderstruck to speak. He lamely allowed Dr. Arnold to shake his hand, and then just stood there in slack-jawed shock. It was Lloyd who found her voice first.
“Torchwood Four? I thought you guys were missing. I’m Doctor Sara Lloyd, by the way.”
“Welcome, Doctor Lloyd,” Dr. Arnold shook hands with her, too.
“Just Lloyd will be enough. We never stood on ceremony at SOCO and I don’t intend to start with it just because I’m with Torchwood now,” Lloyd narrowed her eyes. “So, when were you guys found? And why doesn’t Mr. Jones know about it? He is the Torchwood Director in these days; you’re supposed to answer to him.”
“And we will,” Dr. Arnold replied amiably. “You must understand, though: we are not the original team. They were all killed under still unexplained circumstances some ten years ago. Our team has only been reinstated by His Highness Prince William last year.”
“It still doesn’t explain why Jonesy hasn’t been told about you in the meantime,” Trevor said accusingly.
“We’re supposed to be a secret group, unlike the other branches,” Dr. Arnold explained. “And given what happened during Prime Minister Saxon’s reign, the Prince insisted on us making personal contact with Torchwood Three only. We had to wait until some of you came over in person.”
“I know that Torchwood Three is the worst kept secret in Cardiff,” Lloyd said slowly. “But why the secrecy about you?”
“Because we are supposed to be dead, with the sole exception of me,” Dr. Arnold replied simply. “We all used to work together in a secret UNIT facility, and the others died - well, almost died - together when we accidentally reactivated a dormant Nestene pod and nearly launched a new Auton invasion. Some of us were in coma for quite a while; the others went into hiding, until the Prince picked us to reinstate Torchwood Four.”
Jenkins snapped with his fingers (fortunately, Adam was not around) when a memory surfaced in his head.
“Of course! You were the chief scientist of The Warehouse, working with the late Mr. Lockwood and a certain Doctor Matthews, right?”
“That would be me,” one of the Torchwood Four guys, of the same age as Dr. Arnold, supplied. “Containment specialist Daniel Matthews, at your service.”
He wore causal clothes: brown corduroy trousers, a grey button-down shirt and a black jacket and had slightly wavy black hair, a somewhat pudgy face and large, round glasses.
“Cool,” Jenkins grinned at him; then he tuned to the old man with the wire-rimmed glasses, the bow-tie and the silver goatee who was still sitting. “You can’t be Mr. Lockwood, though. He was much younger; and he's definitely died.”
“You’re suspiciously well-informed for a simple soldier, even for somebody representing Colonel Mace,” the old man said with a displeased frown.
“It comes with the territory in our family,” Jenkins replied with a shrug. “Even if they no longer speak with me. So, who are you actually?”
“I am - well, I was - a special operative of UNIT,” the old man said. “My name is Palmer.”
Jenkins’s eyebrows climbed to the roots of his hair. “The psychic? I thought you and Natasha Alexander were killed a couple of years ago in Millhampton.”
“Natasha was; I wasn’t,” Mr. Palmer replied grimly. “And neither were Mr. Winslet or Miss Chard here,” he gestured at the blue-eyed, somewhat horse-faced blonde sitting nearby. “She was Sal’s assistant at The Warehouse and rather badly injured at that time.”
“But I survived, and now I’m as good as new,” Miss Chard rose and shook hands with the Torchwood Three people. “Janice Chard.”
“So, you are a bunch of supposedly dead people, hiding in Torchwood House, pretending to be Torchwood Four,” Owen summarised.
“No,” Dr. Arnold corrected. “We are Torchwood Four; even though Torchwood Four officially still counts as missing. I’ve been discharged from UNIT and sent to Torchwood House as some sort of punishment, as the job of the custodian here is seen as a dead end, career-wise.”
“That is the official version anyway,” Dr. Matthews added, grinning like a loon.
Dr. Arnold nodded. “Indeed. In truth, I’m the leader of Torchwood Four, and we’re here to protect Torchwood House and whatever Director Jones and Sir Archibald see fit to entrust to our Archives.”
“Protect - from whom?” Lloyd asked.
“We’re still not sure,” Dr. Arnold confessed. “But the sudden rise of Colonel Oduya in power has made Prince William suspicious, and he wanted to secure the place.”
“But do you have the means to do so?” Trevor said doubtfully. “You have even fewer people than Torchwood Three, and we are seriously understaffed still.”
“Since we don’t need field agents - not a lot of alien activity in Scotland - we have all the people we currently need,” Dr. Arnold replied. “Doctor Matthews, Janice and I cover the scientific angle, Mr Winslet is our archivist and Sergeant Ramsey is responsible for security matters. All we lack is a medic, but it’s still early days for us; and Sir Archibald promised to look out for a suitable candidate.”
“So Archie does know about you?” Owen frowned.
Dr. Arnold nodded. “Of course. He was informed by Prince William personally when the royal family visited Scotland. The Prince has been planning to tell Director Jones at the same time but, as you can imagine, he can’t really change his own schedule. So we were empowered to inform your branch as soon as someone came over. We knew you would bring us artefacts eventually, and Sir Archibald agreed that this would be the safest way.”
Owen reluctantly nodded because it actually made sense. Jenkins, however, was still a bit suspicious.
“You forgot to mention what Mr. Palmer is doing here,” he said. “What is his field?”
Dr. Arnold shrugged. “He doesn’t have one; not like the rest of us, at least not yet. The plan is for him to provide basic psychic training for new Torchwood agents, as soon as Sir Archibald begins to build up his team in earnest. In the meantime, he comes in handy when we have to infiltrate places. With his distinguished look and the help of psychic paper he can get into places none of us could.”
“I still don’t understand how was it possible for Jonesy to overlook your presence when he was here to update the Secondary Archives, just a couple of months ago,” Trevor said. “Usually, he notices everything.”
“We weren’t here yet at the time,” Dr. Arnold explained. “Well, Mr. Winslet was - he’d been sent here in advance to work in the Archives - but the rest of us only arrived six weeks ago.”
“That still doesn’t explain why Jonesy wasn’t told,” Trevor continued doggedly. “As the Torchwood Director, he was Mr. Winslet’s boss, too.”
“Yes, but Mr. Winslet didn’t know why he was sent here,” Dr. Arnold replied. “In fact, he only learned that he’d been transferred to Torchwood when we arrived.”
“And he accepted it - just like that?” Owen found that hard to believe. It definitely wouldn’t have worked with him.
Dr. Arnold nodded. “He and Janice worked with me at The Warehouse for a couple of years. We were a good team. Who the ultimate boss was didn’t matter for him - just the fact that we could work together again.”
“He should be more certain about his loyalties in the future,” Owen said grimly. “Because the day will come when we’ll have to go against UNIT - and we must be sure about him.”
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Arnold said with a thin smile. “He is absolutely loyal to me. And Prince William made very sure I understood where my priorities are supposed to lie. Not that I’d have needed much persuasion; not after the way UNIT had treated us all,” she added darkly.
“And now that we’ve become united in our dislike where the current leadership of UNIT is concerned, perhaps we can discuss the true reason why you’re here - in the company of UNIT soldiers,” Mr. Palmer said with deceptive mildness.
Owen frowned at him. “What do you mean? We’ve brought you a lot of sensitive stuff that could cause great harm in the wrong hands. This transfer has been pre-scheduled through Archie weeks ago. Colonel Mace was merely friendly enough to lend us an escort, since we’re still understaffed.”
The old man gave him a cold look. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Doctor Harper! I may not be able to read your thoughts but I can feel your tension. You are incredibly worried - all of you are - about something that, I must assume, is happening here in Scotland. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come down here with so many people. So, what is it?”
“I’m not empowered to tell about it anyone else but Archie,” Owen said dismissively. “And even if I were, I wouldn’t tell you. I have to see yet any proof that you’re telling us the truth - you all. Torchwood Four is a myth - has been ever since I joined the Cardiff branch.”
“Would my word be sufficient?” another voice asked; one of the book-cases turned noiselessly inward, and a familiar figure stepped out of a hidden door behind it.
“Look at that!” Owen commented, grinning like a loon. “If that isn’t our Lieutenant Wales, better known as Billy the Fish!”
Prince William grinned back at him. “I see you haven’t lost a bit of your charming personality, Doctor Harper.”
Owen shrugged. “I am what I am, sir. Even Teaboy has given up on trying to change me.”
“And that means a lot,” the prince allowed. “Well, Doctor Harper; I vouch for Doctor Arnold and her team. Would that be enough for you?”
Owen nodded. “Sure; you are the ultimate boss of us all; you and Her Majesty. But what are you doing here anyway? We thought you were still stationed in Wales.”
“I still am,” the prince replied. “Right now, though, I’m on leave. Officially I’m in Balmoral Castle with the rest of the family; but my grandmother allowed me this little detour to meet you and introduce the new Torchwood branch. I’d have preferred to visit Cardiff base and speak with Mr. Jones in person, but I had the impression that I was being watched - well, more than usual - and I couldn’t find a feasible excuse to go to Cardiff outside of my scheduled annual visits.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Owen agreed.
“Exactly,” Prince William crossed the room and took the empty seat at Dr. Arnold’s left. “And now tell us why you are here.”
Knowing that he had no choice in the matter, Owen sighed, sat down and did just that.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After Owen had finished his report - with frequent additions from Jenkins who was better informed in the matters concerning UNIT - they discussed several possible courses of action how to find out what was going on at Forgill Castle. As a result of a great deal of argumentation they finally came to the decision that the Cardiff crowd would spend the night at Torchwood House and then go to Dúnaidh, the sleepy little town near Forgill Castle, where they would pretend to be tourists who wanted to see the Loch Ness monster.
“Mr. Palmer will follow us independently,” Owen filled in the others after dinner. “He will try to infiltrate the lab later, should Teaboy fail to arrange for us an official visit.”
“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Jenny asked. “Can we really go and see the Skarasen? I would so like to meet it in the flesh!”
“The what?” Adam asked, bewildered.
“The Loch Ness monster,” Jenny replied matter-of-factly.
Adam’s eyes bulged a little at that. “Are you telling me that Nessie is real?”
The Privates Harris and Grey looked equally flabbergasted. Jenkins, on the other hand, was not. Commodore Sullivan might not have told him any details about the events back in the 1970s, but he had told his godson stories about the monster when Jenkins had still been a young child.
“Of course,” Jenny replied with a shrug. “It isn’t really a monster, through; just another alien that got trapped in the Loch, quite some time ago. And I really want to see it!”
“Me, too,” Jenkins said. “I’d like to see how accurate Uncle Harry’s stories were.”
“Speaking of which,” Lloyd said, “has Sir Archibald told you anything about what happened there forty or so years ago?”
Jenkins nodded. “Yeah, he told me everything. I’ll tell you once we’ve blown this joint. No offence to His Highness, but I don’t trust this miraculously reappeared Torchwood branch any further than I can throw them.”
“Neither do I,” Owen admitted. “Not before I’d asked Teaboy what he can find out about them. Let’s all go to sleep; we’ll leave with the first light in the morning.”
“Heading off… where exactly?” Harris asked.
“To a village named Dúnaidh,” Owen replied. “Or Dinnet, if you wanna use its proper English name - which the locals apparently won’t or so I’m told.”
“And what are we gonna do there?” Lloyd asked. “Aside from pretending that we’re interested in spotting the monster, that is.”
“I am,” Jenny said innocently. “Interested in seeing the Skarasen, I mean. So I don’t have to pretend, right?”
Owen ignored her, answering Lloyd’s question instead. “We’ll take rooms at the local inn, listen to the local gossip, play tourist and try to sneak into Forgill Castle - with or without help from Teaboy.”
“The local inn is an… interesting place, according to Sir Archibald,” Jenkins said grimly. “That was where the Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith stayed forty years ago… and had to find out that not everything or everyone was what they pretended to be.”
“Care to share any details with us?” Owen scowled at him.
The young soldier shook his head. “Not here. As I said, I don’t trust that we aren’t monitored. I’ll tell you everything at the inn, once we’re there.”
“And you believe we won’t be monitored there?” Trevor asked doubtfully.
“Not really,” Jenkins grinned at him. “But at least I have a fairly good idea where the surveillance cameras will be at the inn.”
“Which is where?” Trevor pressed.
Jenkins just continued grinning. “Oh, but that would be telling. You’ll have to wait, like everyone else.”