Chapter Three

‘Quick, Doctor, get behind one of the trees!’ called Alf, carrying out this action herself. To her surprise, the Doctor remained standing in the centre of the peach grove. As she gestured for him to get into cover, she saw his eyes moving rapidly over the surroundings as though looking for a solution.

‘Ectoplasm… mind control…’ he muttered. ‘Fictional characters acting out prescribed roles with very limited self-will.’ He looked over at Alf. ‘I don’t think we’ve gone anywhere - this is still Paris!’

‘Doctor!’ Alf was getting very worried. The giant was only a few strides away from her companion.

The Time Lord looked up at the towering figure, a surprised expression on his face. ‘My, he does move fast!’ The Doctor jumped back to avoid the club, which struck the ground and sent a large divot flying. ‘Look around, there must be something to focus this manifestation!’

‘Focus?’ Alf called back. ‘I thought you said Wilde was the focus!’

‘Different kind of focus!’ the Doctor called back as he sprinted out of the middle of the grove. ‘I’ll explain later!’

Seeing that the giant was following the Doctor, Alf took the opportunity to drag out an unfair advantage from inside her jacket. She remembered the Doctor suggesting that she and Nick not bring anything that might be anachronistic if left behind. Well, not being one for rules…

Slipping her techno-specs on, Alf began to cycle through the visual enhancements. Microscopic… well, the plants looked even less real. Starlight scope… yeah right, it was the middle of the day. Infra red… hang on! She peeked over the top of the glasses to confirm - yes, that looked completely different.

‘Doctor - he’s not a giant! His heat signature is, well - just a normal sized bloke. And there aren’t any trees.’

‘All right. The chances are that the man who looks like a giant is the focus. I need you to knock him out.’

‘How am I supposed to knock out a giant?’

‘He’s not a giant,’ the Doctor called back. ‘Just aim for his real head!’

Okay Doctor, thought Alf, settling her techno-specs in place. She rolled up her left trouser leg and withdrew a knife. She smiled at it. Good old Vishkalaar!

Across the street, Alf could see the Doctor’s heat signature being pursued by that of another man. She moved rapidly but silently up behind him, and brought the hilt down on the back of the man’s head, behind the right ear.




Looking back, the Doctor could see the giant with his cudgel raised…

And then the giant rippled, and the form of the giant and the garden around them burnt off like mist in direct sunlight.

A short distance away, he could see Alf with a sheathed dagger in her hand. At her feet was lying an unconscious man in somewhat battered clothes. The previous scent of peach was replaced with a sour smell of cheap wine, centred on the recumbent form. Around them, the busy Parisian street had returned to normal. The Doctor could only speculate what waking dreams these people, many of whom seemed to be recovering from disorientation, had found themselves in.

‘Wicked! How many people have taken down a giant in one blow?’ Alf enthused.

The Doctor looked at his companion. ‘I see you chose not to follow my instructions, then.’ He nodded at her hi-tech glasses. When she had the good grace to look a little sheepish and put the glasses away, he continued, ‘Well done! Blind obedience is not a good survival trait. I just hope you’ll be careful as to when you choose to disobey.’

‘Okay, thanks. Um, what were you saying about this guy being a focus?’

The Doctor beckoned to Alf; ‘We can talk while we walk.’ Without waiting to make sure she was following, he set off down the Rue Napoleon and launched into the promised explanation. ‘The ancient beings of the universe have lived for unimaginably long periods of time. They’ve long since exhausted their capacity for fresh thought and ideas, and they are very bored. They need something or someone to focus upon to make their lives interesting - I suspect Oscar Wilde is that focus in this case. However, the manipulation of ectoplasm would normally only be used for inanimate objects. To create something animate, like the giant, you would need to have a living mind to control the body, hence that poor drunken chap.’

‘So Wilde is the problem?’

‘Oscar is probably the victim here, rather than the problem.’




Oscar had finished reciting his fairy tale a while ago, and moved onto some of his other stories, even reading various passages of “Dorian Gray” out loud to his companion. Nick had enjoyed it all, and Oscar had enjoyed the younger man’s compliments.

After a while, Oscar had become hoarse with the reading, and Nick thought that he looked haggard. Despite his attempts to keep up with his young friend, the writer was not a well man and had eventually retreated to his writing table, claiming to have much correspondence to catch up on. Nick was reading his way through a book of fairy tales Oscar had written, “A House of Pomegranates”.

They were therefore both surprised when the door burst open, disrupting their pleasantly lazy afternoon. ‘Alf!’ Nick grinned when he saw who it was. His grin widened with relief when he saw who came in behind her. ‘Doctor! Thank Christ. Look, I’ve got something important to tell you -’

‘Are you all right, Nick?’ the Doctor interrupted him, looking between the young man and the writer. Nick also glanced at Oscar in puzzlement before answering.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Wasn’t so fine last night, but that’s what I wanted to tell you about. It was worse than just one character wandering around - Oscar and I got caught up in an entirely different world, in a way. Well, that world took over the real world. Sorta.’

‘Yeah,’ Alf said. ‘Same thing just happened to us.’ She was also staring at Oscar Wilde. The writer looked uncomfortable with all the focused attention on him.

‘Doctor,’ Nick asked, ‘what the hell is going on around here?’

‘Why don’t we ask Oscar?’ the Doctor responded gently.

‘Oscar?’ Nick laughed. ‘C’mon, how could he know what’s going on?’ He glanced at his new friend, then gave the older man a longer, more considered look. ‘Oscar?’

Wilde looked at Nick for a long moment with a troubled expression, then turned to the Doctor. ‘None of this is my fault, Doctor, you must believe me.’

‘I do,’ the Doctor said. ‘But you do know what’s going on, don’t you.’

Oscar shook his head, not so much in negation as in confusion. ‘Not… exactly,’ he started. ‘But I do have the horrible feeling that I am too blame. You see, I was given an offer I couldn’t refuse…’