For Matthew, of course

‘Woe for that man who in harm and hatred hales his soul to fiery embraces; nor favor nor change awaits he ever.’

From Beowulf translated by Francis B. Gummere

They came only at night. They crept around the dark places, the hidden places, the poor and lonely places.

It was said in the city that you could tell when they approached. First your skin began to prickle and then a sickening cold fear lodged itself in your belly which rose and rose, up and up – until you could not speak and you could not breathe, and the lamp that you were carrying couldn’t bear it any longer and went out – phoomph! And then the shadows grew thick and dark, and you could no longer see round the bend in the alley or the curve in the road. You could not see the peril that was lurking ahead, but it was there. And it lingered.

That’s what was said. But when you asked the tale-bearer if he or she had seen these things themselves, ‘Not I!’ was the answer. But a cousin, or a cousin’s friend, had heard the tale from someone else: ‘A reputable source, mind you! My cousin is not one for telling tales!’ And you would shake your head politely and reply, ‘No, no! Of course!’ But privately you would dismiss the story (again) and return to your business. For business was booming these days in Geath. All was well now that the city had its new young king.

Still, you might think, as you locked the doors, front and back, and you sealed up the windows, it was strange how empty the streets became after dusk. It was strange, too, how we all bolted our doors and our windows these days.

And each night, someone scurrying down a narrow alley or across a deserted plaza, on some business that sadly could not wait till the morning, would fancy that they could see shadows moving ahead, moving without any wind behind them, this summer being a hot one.

And some people – the most fanciful, surely, and the least trustworthy – would add a little colour to their tale. (For the best of us cannot resist a little colour.) There was a strange noise, they said, like the growl of a wild beast – and some would swear that on the wall of the passage curving ahead, they had seen the long shadow of a hand, or a claw, stretching out.

And the funny thing was, they would say, that this hand had too many fingers …

Chapter

1

‘I DON’T KNOW why I assumed an alien planet would be in the future,’ Amy said, ‘but I did. Flying cars. Rockets.’

‘Food in pills,’ Rory said.

‘Food in pills, yes. But it’s not like that at all. It’s more …’

‘Olde worlde?’ Rory offered.

‘Olde worlde,’ Amy agreed. ‘But not retro.’

They were standing by the side of the road – an olde-worlde road, without flagstones and with mud. A few metres ahead of them, the Doctor stood with one thumb stuck out, his face screwed up in concentration. He was staring at a horse and cart that, for the past five minutes, had been making steady progress down the track towards them. The driver’s attention, however, was focused no further forwards than the ears of his horse.

‘If I’m being honest,’ Rory said, ‘I didn’t expect horses. Is there any particular reason to expect horses? On an alien planet, I mean? Or have I missed something?’

Amy gave it a couple of moments’ thought. ‘I don’t think you’ve missed anything.’

The front of the cart was now almost level with the Doctor. He stuck his thumb out further; the universe’s most intense hitchhiker. Slowly, ever so slowly, the cart rolled past. The golden bells on the harness jingled merrily.

Amy gave the driver a cheerful salute as he went on his way. ‘Why, Doctor!’ she cried. ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’

For the merest fraction of a second, the Doctor remained stretched out in his hitchhiking pose. He looked like a slightly forlorn scarecrow, or a particularly scruffy stork.

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and rejoined his friends. His trousers and shirt were splattered in mud. Brightly, he said, ‘Beautiful day! Let’s walk!’

The day was very hot for walking so they set a gentle pace. The afternoon ambled amiably towards evening and the sun slipped away, although it did not take the heat with it. As the travellers neared the top of the next hill, a yellow moon put in an appearance.

‘Are we there yet?’ Amy called forward.

The Doctor, two steps ahead as ever, said, ‘Not long now.’

‘I hope this place is something special, Doctor,’ Amy said. She glanced at Rory, trudging behind her, his expression murderous. ‘For your sake.’

‘Top of the hill! Then you’ll see why I’ve brought you here.’ The Doctor – all frantic energy and hectic delight – reached the top of the hill and balanced precariously on a gravelly escarpment, throwing his arms out like a showman.

‘The city of Geath!’ he cried. ‘Revered throughout the universe for the beauty of its buildings, the wisdom of its people, the excellence of its sauces – and, most of all, for the unlikely fact that, for twelve and a half thousand years, it has been at peace with its neighbouring cities. Its name is a byword for hospitality, craftsmanship and civilised conversation. Forget rockets and flying cars and food in pills – Geath is something truly remarkable. A bunch of people who not only don’t see the point of getting into fights with each other, but have managed not to get into fights for about as a long as it took your species to get all the way from hitting each other on the head with clubs to nuclear bombs … Have I mentioned how good their sauces are?’ He kissed the tips of his fingers. ‘Nothing on your world comes close.’

Rory, struggling to keep his foothold on the stony slope, said, ‘My nan makes good gravy.’

Amy’s eyes went hazy with happy memory. ‘Oh yes …’

‘If you can bring yourselves back for a moment to the alien planet you’re standing on,’ the Doctor said, ‘and if you ever make it to the top of this hill, I promise you will see a sight capable of putting thought even of Sunday lunch out of your head.’

He reached out a hand, Amy took it, and reached back to Rory in turn. Together they took the last step up. The clouds in the sky parted and the light from the setting sun made the valley below them glow.

Amy gasped.

Rory said, ‘Wow.’

The Doctor smiled. ‘Exactly.’

In the valley below, a long river wound lazily in a great curve and, in this bend, lay the city of Geath. It dazzled. Amy blinked, to little effect, and was obliged to shield her eyes with her hand to be able to make out the shape of the city.

It spread up from the river onto hills that lay to the north in a grand display. It was as if the people of the city had no fear of showing their beautiful home to the wider world. In fact, they wanted everyone to see. And why not? It glowed in the sunset; the late light caught upon the red tiles of the roofs, the yellow buildings, the gold …

As Amy looked more closely, she was able to pick out detail. The city was laid out in circles: concentric avenues running in rings that drew her eye to a central plaza. There, in the heart of the city, stood a huge round building with a great domed roof.

The dome was golden. Amy reached out her hand as if to touch it. It was a marvel, smooth and round and precious, like the egg of a magical creature. Amy wanted to run her hand across its surface and feel the sun-tinged metal in her hand.

‘Like it?’ said the Doctor.

‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ Amy replied.

Rory, in a quiet awed voice, said, ‘What is that place?’

‘The council chamber,’ the Doctor said. ‘The heart of Geath, where its citizens meet to debate, discuss, deliberate – and eat.’ He checked his watch, tapped its face, then checked it again. ‘We should get a move on.’

Rory was already halfway down the hill. Amy half-ran and half-slid after him, eager for a proper look at the astonishing golden hall. Could it be as glorious up close? Could anything? Turning to look back, she saw the Doctor standing still on the hilltop, hands stuck in his pockets. Behind him, it was starting to get dark.

‘Come on!’ she called.

The Doctor nodded, as if coming to a decision, and followed her and Rory down the hill. They still had some way to go.

As she walked, it occurred to Amy that the driver of that cart had not shown much of the reputed hospitality. But it was hardly worth mentioning. No doubt they looked like a fairly odd bunch of hitchhikers. She couldn’t really blame him for passing them by.

The track down the hill and their new enthusiasm soon brought them to the broad paved road that led into Geath. They crossed the river by means of a great stone bridge. It was obviously ancient, but immaculately constructed; the massive blocks smooth and interlocking. The sun set, but the evening remained hot, making the promise of the grand hall and a friendly welcome even more appealing. It was very quiet. Nobody passed them, walking or riding, in either direction.

Ten more minutes brought the travellers to an arched gate in the city walls. The walls were very high and the gate very locked. Behind them, everything was quiet. A single torch glowed dimly and they huddled under it.

‘Have we got here after closing time?’ Amy asked.

‘Closing time? In Geath? No such thing.’

‘A locked gate isn’t very hospitable,’ Rory said.

‘No.’ The Doctor looked thoughtfully at it. ‘Odd, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe if we let them know we’re here they’ll be all smiles,’ Amy said.

She reached for the hammer on the door. It was a fascinating design: it looked like a dragon, clambering up the gate, its head turned sideways so that a single ruby red eye could keep watch on the road leading up to the city. The dragon’s long gold tail curled down to form the door-knocker. Amy picked up the tail – then dropped it, quickly.

‘Doctor, it’s warm!’

The Doctor unfurled a long finger and, tentatively, brushed the tip along the dragon’s tail. ‘So it is.’

Amy reached to take hold of it again but the Doctor was there first. She tutted in annoyance. Why couldn’t she be the one to experiment for once? Out came the sonic screwdriver. Hadn’t she seen it first? Amy watched unhappily as the Doctor ran his thumb down the scales on the dragon, almost caressing them.

‘Definitely odd,’ he said. Then he picked up the long tail and banged it hard against the gate.

There was a pause, a thump, and then somebody cursed inventively. The spy-hole in the gate opened.

The Doctor stuck his face up close and grinned through. ‘Hello! How are you? Can we come in?’

‘Who’s there? What do you want?’

The Doctor fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his psychic paper. He held it up closer to the hole in the gate.

The keeper muttered a reply.

‘Sorry,’ the Doctor said. ‘Having a bit of trouble hearing you! Big wooden gate in the way!’

‘I said I can’t read!’

‘Ah.’ The Doctor stared down at the paper. ‘Of course. Oral culture. That’s a design flaw, isn’t it?’

There was another series of thumps from behind the gate, which then opened a crack.

‘But the wife can,’ said the gatekeeper. ‘So you’d better come in.’ He peered behind the Doctor and shook his head at Amy and Rory. ‘Not them. Only you.’

The Doctor went through the gate, unapologetically looking back over his shoulder at his friends.

They stood there for almost two whole minutes before Amy muttered, ‘Bored now!’ She waved at Rory. ‘Come on, then. Leg up.’

‘What?’

‘If they won’t let me in through the gate, I’m going over the wall.’

‘Amy, can’t you wait for once?’

‘Not a chance!’

‘But what if they don’t let the Doctor through? Then you’ll be stuck in there—’

Patiently, Amy explained. ‘No – I’ll be on the inside and can come and open the gate once the keeper has gone back into his house. Hands, please.’

About three and a half seconds later, Rory was crouching with his hands clasped together in front of him. Amy was standing on them and scrabbling up the wall.

‘Sometimes,’ Rory said to Amy’s left shin, ‘I feel like I’ve spent my entire life doing things like this. And then I start to worry that I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing things like this … Amy! That’s my face you’re standing on!’

‘Nothing vital, then.’

‘Thanks a lot!’ He pushed her up, she pushed too – and then she was sitting on top of the wall. A sudden thought struck him. ‘Amy – what do we do if the Doctor does persuade them to open the gate?’

‘What?’

‘There’ll only be one of us. One of me! Here! By myself!’

Amy grinned down at him. ‘You’ll think of something. You usually do.’ Then she swung over the wall and was gone.

Inevitably, the gate opened a split-second later. The Doctor breezed out with the gatekeeper scurrying behind him.

‘No need to apologise! Easy mistake to make!’ the Doctor said cheerily. Then he saw Rory, standing by himself, and frowned.

The gatekeeper tapped the Doctor’s arm. ‘Excuse me for asking, but I thought you said two companions?’

‘So I did,’ the Doctor replied.

‘She … got tired and went home,’ Rory offered.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘You mentioned a carriage?’ he said to the gatekeeper, as Rory came sheepishly through the gate.

‘On its way,’ the gatekeeper said. ‘Don’t want you wandering around the city at night, do we?’

‘Don’t we?’ said the Doctor.

‘Well, dark night, empty streets, you never know who’s hanging around.’

The Doctor scratched his nose. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Still, better than it used to be. Time was anyone could walk into Geath, any time, day or night! Can you believe it?’

He swung the gate closed. It gave a loud thump, as the Doctor said, softly, ‘Why is that a bad thing?’

Amy slipped round to the back of the gatehouse. She could hear the Doctor speaking – quickly, so that the gatekeeper (and, presumably, his wife) didn’t get much of a chance – but she couldn’t make out any words. Never mind. As long as the Doctor was talking, he’d be keeping them busy and away from her. She inched around the side of the house, coming to a halt near a window. Slowly, she leaned forwards to peer inside.

The room was crammed full of gold. The candlesticks were made of gold. The poker and fire-irons were made of gold. The door handle – yes, that looked a lot like gold. There was gold stitching on the curtains and on the cloth that covered the small table below the window upon which cutlery (gold) and plate (gold) were laid out. All of it gleamed in the candlelight. Two comfortable chairs stood facing each other companionably. Gold cushions rested plumply upon them. It was a tiny, very cosy treasure vault.

‘What,’ Amy muttered to the absent gatekeeper, ‘is your scam, exactly?’

She tried the window. It opened. Carefully, still listening out for the conversation going on round the front of the building, Amy leaned inside, exactly far enough to be able to touch one of the spoons on the table. It too was warm. More than that, it was …

Wriggling.

‘Whoa!’ Amy jerked back her hand. ‘Now that is the most freakish thing in a whole world of freakishness!’

She was about to test it again, but the conversation at the front of the house was finishing. Quickly, she pulled the window down again and slipped back into the shadow of the wall.

The gate was open. Rory slunk in, tail between his legs.

‘Poor Rory,’ Amy whispered to him. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t think of something.’

She edged round to the road, keeping to the shadows. The Doctor was gabbling away, at the gatekeeper and his wife. Then a carriage pulled up. A golden carriage.

‘How lucky you are,’ gushed the gatekeeper’s wife, as Rory and the Doctor clambered into their carriage. ‘You’re going to meet the King! The King!’

‘King?’ Rory whispered to the Doctor, as they took their seats. ‘I thought this was a republic or something.’

‘It is. It was.’ The Doctor leaned over to open the door on the other side of the carriage. Amy hopped in. ‘Hurry up!’ said the Doctor. ‘We’re going to meet the King!’

‘King?’ Amy nodded back towards the gatehouse. ‘You should see how the other half lives.’

The carriage clattered along. The Doctor frowned out of the window, beyond which the city of Geath gleamed silently. Rory and Amy waited patiently.

Eventually, the Doctor held up some fingers. ‘There are three things wrong here. Firstly, as Rory pointed out, the people of Geath don’t have a king. They have a council. They have elections. They have made an art form out of elections. That’s the first thing wrong.’

One of the Doctor’s fingers went down. He stopped talking and resumed frowning. Amy and Rory exchanged a look.

The carriage continued through the deserted city. They went down long curved avenues, through little plazas with statues and fountains at the centre, caught glimpses of covered steps leading up the hill and alleyways leading down to the river – but they saw nobody. The carriage rattled into a plaza bigger than any they had passed through yet and far more elaborately gilded. The torchlight glittered on the thick metal that coated the fronts of the buildings. A deep-noted bell gonged; once, twice.

Amy jumped. ‘This place is giving me the creeps.’

Crossing the plaza, the carriage came to a halt. The travellers climbed out and found themselves in front of a huge round building. This had to be the hall they had seen from the hilltop, Amy thought; the one with the magical dome. That was too high for her to see it clearly; looking up she saw instead a haze of soft light rising above the hall. The walls of the building were enamelled; the decoration more intricate than anything she had seen so far, with swirling spiral patterns that bewildered her eye when she looked for more than a few seconds. Two men stood on guard in front of the hall’s big arched doors. There was nobody else in sight. Silence enveloped the city, a watchful, anxious silence. The night heat was cloying. Amy looked at the golden hall and gave a shudder of trepidation.

‘The second thing that’s wrong,’ the Doctor said, ‘is that the streets are empty. Geathians live their lives out in the streets and the plazas. Daytime: they sit outside and work and talk. Night-time: they sit outside and eat and talk. So where is everyone? Why are they hiding away and locking their doors?’ He put one more finger down.

The two guards came towards them, bowed low, and gestured at them to come inside. They walked into a wide white corridor with an arched roof; there were alcoves at intervals along each wall, and in each of these some golden artefact was on display: vases, statues, figures clasping gilded lamps. The further in they went, the more lavish these objects became, as if they were drawing nearer and nearer to the source of it all.

‘The third thing that’s wrong,’ said the Doctor, ‘and, speaking for myself, I think this probably comes under the heading “most wrong” – is that gold doesn’t occur naturally on this world. Not an ingot, not a leaf, not a flake. There shouldn’t be any gold.’ He glanced back down the corridor. ‘But there is. There’s quite a lot of gold.’

They came to a pair of double doors. One of the guards pushed these open, and the companions walked through into a huge chamber, full of light and music and people. The Doctor still had one finger raised. It stayed raised and, as Amy watched, those closest to them began to notice. They fell silent; they nudged the next group along, who looked round and, seeing the Doctor, also fell silent. The clamour of conversation lessened steadily and the music faltered. Soon the hall was in complete silence and everybody in it was looking their way.

The Doctor waggled his finger in greeting. ‘Hello! I’m the Doctor. No, don’t get up.’

Chapter

2

A CHAMBER FULL of courtiers glared at them. The Doctor beamed back, his smile like a ray of pure white light through the hostile, shimmering room. Hundreds of people were gathered there, glorious in their finery, as if the jewel-drenched and fantastic figures of a mosaic had stepped down and taken shape in the real world.

Amy looked around in amazement. If the gatehouse had been stuffed with gold, this place was smothered in it.

‘Blimey,’ Rory whispered. ‘Bling Central.’

Suddenly, as if someone had breathed life into them, or turned their key, the courtiers began to move apart, as methodically as dancers, half of them shifting to one side of the great round chamber, half to the other. As they moved, the heart of the hall was slowly revealed: the source of the glamour, the place from which it all sprang.

Raised up on a dais, apart from the rest of the gathering, a young man sat on a golden throne. He was tall and strong and handsome, and he wore a narrow circlet of gold around his head. Standing at his right shoulder, tactfully behind him, was another man. He was only slightly older, although his dark clothes were very severe, and he looked almost nondescript compared to everyone else in the hall. The only decoration he wore was on his left hand, which was covered in fabulous rings. These two men, however, were not quite the star attraction. Curled up in front of the throne, one red eye fixed upon the entrance of the chamber and thus upon the travellers, was a huge, sinuous, golden dragon.

‘So … which one’s the King?’ whispered Amy.

Rory turned his laugh into a cough. The Doctor raised a remonstrative eyebrow.

The silence stretched on, charged and distinctly unwelcoming. Then the older of the two men leaned forwards and whispered something in the King’s ear. The young man burst out laughing. So did the Doctor. Within seconds the whole room was in uproar, from the gaudiest toady to the lowliest hanger-on.

The King clapped his hands together. The room fell instantly silent. He rose up from his throne, taller than everyone around him, stronger, confident of his beauty and his power. He was like a lazy, well-fed lion, muscular and commanding.

‘Nice,’ Amy said, appreciatively.

The King smiled down at the new arrivals. ‘To our friends and neighbours,’ he said, ‘I, Beol, King of Geath, offer a most hearty welcome. Come, my friends! Come and join me! Come and speak with me!’

‘Hooray!’ cried the Doctor. ‘All friends! Marvellous! Amy, let’s go and pay our respects to our host. Rory,’ he put his hand against Rory’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shove, ‘mingle.’ His voice dropped. ‘And listen. Both of you.’

‘Neighbours, Doctor?’ Amy muttered, as they made their way through the curious whispering crowd.

‘Oh, the psychic paper, you know,’ he said offhandedly. Reaching the foot of the dais, he swept out an outrageous bow. ‘Friend! Lord! King of Geath! Love what you’ve done with the place – and what,’ he spun round to look at the dragon, ‘do we have here?’

The man behind the throne jumped forwards. ‘Don’t touch it!’

The Doctor’s long hands, bare millimetres away from a great golden haunch of dragon, swung up again, palms out. ‘All right, won’t touch. Hey, nice rings! Who are you?’

‘He’s my Teller,’ Beol said. He seemed to be entertained by the scene unfolding in front of him.

‘Teller, Doctor?’ Amy murmured.

‘Oh, you know,’ the Doctor said. ‘Oral cultures – always someone whose job it is to do the memorising and the storytelling. Not to mention the spin-doctoring.’

‘So nothing to do with counting the cash?’

‘Not usually. But then there’s a lot of “not usually” going on around here. A whole heap. A hoard. This is Amy, by the way,’ he said to Beol. ‘Amy, say hello to the King.’

Amy lifted her hand to hip-height and gave a little wave. ‘Um … hello.’

Beol, in return, delivered up a heart-stopping smile.

‘Wow,’ Amy said. ‘And we get Prince Charles.’

‘That’s aristocracies for you,’ said the Doctor. ‘You never know what’s going to come out. Bit like a tombola. Where did you say you’d found this dragon?’

‘We didn’t,’ said the Teller. ‘Where did you say you’d come from?’

‘Dant, wasn’t it?’ said the King. Something was definitely amusing him.

The Doctor produced another ludicrous bow. ‘From the people of Dant, greetings and all the best and, um, cheers. So – the dragon? Can’t be many of these lying around. Where did you dig this one up?’

Beol turned to his Teller and gave him an odd smile. ‘Why don’t you tell them?’

There seemed to be some private joke going on between them, although the Teller wasn’t laughing. He looked put out.

‘Be seated, my friends,’ Beol said to the Doctor and Amy. ‘He tells this tale so very well.’

He clapped his hands again. Servants carried up two ornate chairs onto the dais. Beol gestured to them to sit down.

‘Last question for the moment, Doctor,’ Amy said, as they took their seats. ‘Dant?’

‘Don’t know … Hang on, yes I do, next city along. Up the river and left a bit.’

‘And that’s where we’re from?’

‘Apparently.’ He gave her his lopsided grin. ‘Citizens of Dant, though! Well done us!’

‘I know!’

‘Noticed anything yet?’

‘Yes. That dragon. Is it me, or is it, sort of, oozing? Or something?’

The Doctor’s smile switched off. ‘It’s not you.’

Rory drifted obediently through the room and listened to the conversation. He soon realised that everyone was talking about the same thing. Beol. Who had seen Beol, who had spoken to Beol, what Beol said, how he said it, and what he was wearing at the time. Not all of what Rory heard had the ring of truth and, in fact, the further away he got from the centre of the hall, the more fanciful the stories became and the more they carried with them the distinct whiff of desperation. ‘Help,’ Rory muttered. ‘I’m a prisoner in Heat magazine.’ He inched his way to the edge of the crowd and looked for a quiet spot where he could observe people in peace.