The Written Void (2/?)
"Cobblestones! Oh, I love these!" The Doctor exclaimed, scuffing his converse over the stone road with obvious delight. He breathed in the night air, his eyes widening in the dim streetlight. "And gas lamps, how picturesque! A bit foggy, you know, but it wouldn't be Victorian London without-"
A shrieking neigh split the air. Rose suddenly felt a hand grip her arm and wrench her backward as a horse-drawn cab burst through the night fog. It rattled past, racing madly down the alley before disappearing into the thick darkness.
"You alright, Rose?" The Doctor held her at arms length, looking her up and down. "There! That's not so bad." She smiled and nodded as he pulled her into an embrace.
Rose breathed a sigh against his shoulder. "Almost run over by a horse. That's definitely a new one."
The Doctor stepped back with a grin and made a sweeping gesture of the scene before them. "Welcome to London, 1888. A bustling city of dark mysteries and deadly forms of transportation."
"It's a pity they don't warn us about this in books," Rose added.
The Doctor's face lit up. "Ah, yes, books! That, Rose Tyler, is why we're here. This is the time of the great literary minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Oscar Wilde, and the era of our most prolific poets! Oh, such poets!"
A wry smile crept across Rose's face. "I never knew you liked poetry, Doctor."
The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets with a ponderous air. "But Lancelot mused a little space, he said, 'She has a lovely face, God in his mercy lend her grace, the Lady of Shalott.'" He looked pleased with himself, adding, "A rather famous poem by-"
"Hold on, I've got this one!" Rose interrupted, gesturing for him to stop. "Oh, I know I've read it, just who wrote…Ten…Tennyson! Alfred, Lord Tennyson!"
The Doctor beamed. "Aye, paying attention in class, are we? Would you like to meet him then?"
"You're kidding! He's here in London?"
The Doctor turned to fix his gaze on the wandering traffic before them. "Well, yes, but we won't likely find him on the streets. He is, after all, about eighty years old by now."
Rose's smile faded. "Oh…then…how much time has he got left?"
"About four years. A good long life, I'd say. You know, Queen Victoria was rather fond of his writing."
Rose looked up sharply. "Queen Victoria! Oh, that time we were in Scotland! She banished us, remember?"
The Doctor's grin widened. "Yes, I remember."
Rose shoved him playfully. "Oh no, sir, you are not going to get us arrested. I would not be in the slightest amused."
"Aw, but I hear she has dungeons for those great enemies of the Crown. Just think! We could explore a deep, dark prison cell…"
"Doctor!"
"…or meet Alfred Tennyson."
Rose folded her arms. "Can you imagine if Queen Victoria saw us again? Oh, that woman could be positively terrifying! Don't you remember how she accused us of being on a wayward path, like we were some sort of enemy?"
The Doctor laughed. "We could pop by her palace to let her know we've come back for a spot of tea. Then we all could have a nice, long chat about the ethics of time travel and-"
"No queens," Rose said firmly.
The Doctor winked. "Quite right."
For the first time that night, Rose began to notice her new surroundings. It must be summer, she thought, as the night air was warm, almost humid, as it threaded its way through the swirls of fog that decked the streets of London. The bustle on the street had died down as the hour grew late, with only the occasional horse and carriage clattering by.
"A bit creepy, if you ask me," Rose muttered, shivering slightly.
The Doctor leaned toward her. "Oh, I had completely forgot. Funny thing, we might meet someone else on our way to Tennyson's humble abode."
"Who's that, then?"
The Doctor's eyes widened as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Jack the Ripper."
Rose stared at him. "You did that on purpose."
"Did what?"
"Waited until night for us to arrive so you could spook me!"
The Doctor feigned an innocent look. "Mm, better stay close then. Never know what beasties lurk in the dark."
Rose took his arm with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder. "Well, I suppose it's better than Cybermen at any rate."
"Ooh, that's a scary thought!" The Doctor mused. "A Cyber Jack the Ripper!"
"Oh, stop it!"
"I wonder what the Victorian equivalent of "delete" is."
Rose punched his shoulder as he led her back to the cobblestone road. They now strolled the nearly deserted street, the light of the gas lamps casting an eerie glow through the thick smog and bathing the alley in a sickish yellow light. The murmuring voices of the occasional pedestrian could be heard as they shuffled past the two time travelers.
"See, Rose? No worries! There are people about on this fine ni-"
A door slammed, then another, and the voices of the Londoners ceased. They were gone, the townspeople shutting themselves away in the dingy houses that lined the lane, without so much as a candle to light their windows.
"Well. Now that is spooky," the Doctor conceded, his eyes perusing the lifeless, deserted alley before them. A chilled wind, the same damp gust that had rushed through the TARDIS, swept past them before the air finally stilled.
"I tell you, Watson, this is no coincidence!" a voice suddenly declared from the mists behind them. The Doctor silently motioned for Rose to follow him, and the couple pressed themselves against the brick walls that lined the opposite side of the street. Two men suddenly appeared before them, their pace quick as they hurried down the road.
"Holmes, I don't see how a bit of foul weather could possibly-"
"Tut, my good man, the weather is only a circumstantial element of the thing. Though, I daresay the bunglers at Scotland Yard would accept that theory without hesitation. However, I must ask that we not discuss the matter further until we reach our rooms at Baker Street."
Rose heard the Doctor's sharp intake of breath, and turned to see his brown eyes wide with alarm. "That's not…that's not supposed to happen," he whispered hoarsely.
"Doctor, who was…?"
"That was Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."
"But-"
The Doctor spun to face his companion, pointing wildly in the direction of the retreating figures. "Rose, those men don't exist! They shouldn't exist! They are the figments of one man's imagination, just one man in this entire universe! But now here they are, walking the streets of London!"
Rose watched him pace back and forth and suddenly remembered their particularly violent trip in the TARDIS. Could this event have a connection? It seemed a bit more than the "minor glitch" her companion claimed it was…
The Doctor marched out to the middle of the road, clenching his hair in bewilderment. "How can they actually be alive?"
Chapter Three: Fiction in Reality
A shrieking neigh split the air. Rose suddenly felt a hand grip her arm and wrench her backward as a horse-drawn cab burst through the night fog. It rattled past, racing madly down the alley before disappearing into the thick darkness.
"You alright, Rose?" The Doctor held her at arms length, looking her up and down. "There! That's not so bad." She smiled and nodded as he pulled her into an embrace.
Rose breathed a sigh against his shoulder. "Almost run over by a horse. That's definitely a new one."
The Doctor stepped back with a grin and made a sweeping gesture of the scene before them. "Welcome to London, 1888. A bustling city of dark mysteries and deadly forms of transportation."
"It's a pity they don't warn us about this in books," Rose added.
The Doctor's face lit up. "Ah, yes, books! That, Rose Tyler, is why we're here. This is the time of the great literary minds of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Oscar Wilde, and the era of our most prolific poets! Oh, such poets!"
A wry smile crept across Rose's face. "I never knew you liked poetry, Doctor."
The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets with a ponderous air. "But Lancelot mused a little space, he said, 'She has a lovely face, God in his mercy lend her grace, the Lady of Shalott.'" He looked pleased with himself, adding, "A rather famous poem by-"
"Hold on, I've got this one!" Rose interrupted, gesturing for him to stop. "Oh, I know I've read it, just who wrote…Ten…Tennyson! Alfred, Lord Tennyson!"
The Doctor beamed. "Aye, paying attention in class, are we? Would you like to meet him then?"
"You're kidding! He's here in London?"
The Doctor turned to fix his gaze on the wandering traffic before them. "Well, yes, but we won't likely find him on the streets. He is, after all, about eighty years old by now."
Rose's smile faded. "Oh…then…how much time has he got left?"
"About four years. A good long life, I'd say. You know, Queen Victoria was rather fond of his writing."
Rose looked up sharply. "Queen Victoria! Oh, that time we were in Scotland! She banished us, remember?"
The Doctor's grin widened. "Yes, I remember."
Rose shoved him playfully. "Oh no, sir, you are not going to get us arrested. I would not be in the slightest amused."
"Aw, but I hear she has dungeons for those great enemies of the Crown. Just think! We could explore a deep, dark prison cell…"
"Doctor!"
"…or meet Alfred Tennyson."
Rose folded her arms. "Can you imagine if Queen Victoria saw us again? Oh, that woman could be positively terrifying! Don't you remember how she accused us of being on a wayward path, like we were some sort of enemy?"
The Doctor laughed. "We could pop by her palace to let her know we've come back for a spot of tea. Then we all could have a nice, long chat about the ethics of time travel and-"
"No queens," Rose said firmly.
The Doctor winked. "Quite right."
For the first time that night, Rose began to notice her new surroundings. It must be summer, she thought, as the night air was warm, almost humid, as it threaded its way through the swirls of fog that decked the streets of London. The bustle on the street had died down as the hour grew late, with only the occasional horse and carriage clattering by.
"A bit creepy, if you ask me," Rose muttered, shivering slightly.
The Doctor leaned toward her. "Oh, I had completely forgot. Funny thing, we might meet someone else on our way to Tennyson's humble abode."
"Who's that, then?"
The Doctor's eyes widened as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Jack the Ripper."
Rose stared at him. "You did that on purpose."
"Did what?"
"Waited until night for us to arrive so you could spook me!"
The Doctor feigned an innocent look. "Mm, better stay close then. Never know what beasties lurk in the dark."
Rose took his arm with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder. "Well, I suppose it's better than Cybermen at any rate."
"Ooh, that's a scary thought!" The Doctor mused. "A Cyber Jack the Ripper!"
"Oh, stop it!"
"I wonder what the Victorian equivalent of "delete" is."
Rose punched his shoulder as he led her back to the cobblestone road. They now strolled the nearly deserted street, the light of the gas lamps casting an eerie glow through the thick smog and bathing the alley in a sickish yellow light. The murmuring voices of the occasional pedestrian could be heard as they shuffled past the two time travelers.
"See, Rose? No worries! There are people about on this fine ni-"
A door slammed, then another, and the voices of the Londoners ceased. They were gone, the townspeople shutting themselves away in the dingy houses that lined the lane, without so much as a candle to light their windows.
"Well. Now that is spooky," the Doctor conceded, his eyes perusing the lifeless, deserted alley before them. A chilled wind, the same damp gust that had rushed through the TARDIS, swept past them before the air finally stilled.
"I tell you, Watson, this is no coincidence!" a voice suddenly declared from the mists behind them. The Doctor silently motioned for Rose to follow him, and the couple pressed themselves against the brick walls that lined the opposite side of the street. Two men suddenly appeared before them, their pace quick as they hurried down the road.
"Holmes, I don't see how a bit of foul weather could possibly-"
"Tut, my good man, the weather is only a circumstantial element of the thing. Though, I daresay the bunglers at Scotland Yard would accept that theory without hesitation. However, I must ask that we not discuss the matter further until we reach our rooms at Baker Street."
Rose heard the Doctor's sharp intake of breath, and turned to see his brown eyes wide with alarm. "That's not…that's not supposed to happen," he whispered hoarsely.
"Doctor, who was…?"
"That was Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."
"But-"
The Doctor spun to face his companion, pointing wildly in the direction of the retreating figures. "Rose, those men don't exist! They shouldn't exist! They are the figments of one man's imagination, just one man in this entire universe! But now here they are, walking the streets of London!"
Rose watched him pace back and forth and suddenly remembered their particularly violent trip in the TARDIS. Could this event have a connection? It seemed a bit more than the "minor glitch" her companion claimed it was…
The Doctor marched out to the middle of the road, clenching his hair in bewilderment. "How can they actually be alive?"
Chapter Three: Fiction in Reality