A rainbow of butterflies poured out, a fast-flowing stream of light in the cloying gloom of the Green Man. Moving as one, the creatures flapped over the counter, and disappeared out of sight.
The Doctor walked behind the beer pumps. The trapdoor was open, and the insects poured down into the basement.
Intrigued, the Doctor followed.
The cellar was dark and smelled of hops. The tarpaulin covering had been pulled away from the tunnel entrance, revealing a dark mouth of natural stone. The butterflies flowed down it, encouraging him on.
Water dripped from the walls of the tunnel, and sonorous murmurings from all around indicated that this was the heart of Jack - and that Jack was still moving. The passage widened into a cave, dominated by an ornate mirror. The butterflies streamed into the mirror, passing straight through and vanishing from sight.
The Doctor stood before the frame of gold. There was no reflection. Over his head, the last few insects fluttered through the mirror.
The Doctor breathed deeply, knowing that this was where everything started - and, hopefully, where it would end.
He stepped through the mirror.
CHAPTER I5.
CEREMONY IN A LONELY PLACE.
Rebecca picked up the fallen pitchfork and brought its full weight down on the scarecrow's back. The prongs bit deep into the mass of straw, but the little creature clung tenaciously to Denman, slowly throttling the life from him.
Rebecca shouted for Trevor, but he was nowhere to be seen. She turned in panic, and found what they had been looking for: a can of diesel fuel. She fell to her knees, her hands scrabbling at the cap, rusted solid with age. After four attempts, Rebecca finally got the top to move. The can squealed in protest.
The pungent smell of the fuel hit Rebecca full in the face, and for a moment she felt dizzy and overwhelmed. Then she remembered Denman, and heard the choking rattle of his breathing. She turned and hurled the can at the stickman.
This time the blow was unexpected, and it knocked the creature away from Denman. The policeman collapsed in a heap, clutching at his own throat as tightly as the stickman had.
The terrifying little creature rose to its full height. Its eyes, deep in the now exposed face of vegetation, screamed vengeance. Rebecca got to her feet, crying out at the stinging pain in her knees, bloodied by the barn floor. All she could think about was her mother's childhood tales of Jack's implike children.
A hiss of outrage emerged from the creature. It moved with great deliberation towards Rebecca, hands outstretched, stick-fingers clicking as they closed in a fist, then opened again.
'Go away!' screamed Rebecca.
Somewhere an engine kicked into life with a low growl, but Rebecca was unable to tear away her eyes from those of the stickman.
'Please,' she said in a hoarse whisper. The machine noise increased.
The creature was only inches away. She could feel its breath on her cheeks.
The roar of the machine cut through her stupor.
Rebecca looked up just as the creature turned its head.
The tractor bore down on the manikin, the silver blades of the hedge cutter spinning.
There was a swish, then a dull thud of impact, and a red mosaic formed on the barn wall, spattering Rebecca's face with blood.
The whirling blades began to slow as the tractor stopped.
Rebecca put her hands to her face, and they came away smeared scarlet.
'You took your time!' she shouted angrily, the terror that had rendered her incapable of movement now exploding like steam from a valve.
Trevor jumped down from the tractor seat. 'You ever tried to manoeuvre one of those things?' he asked, stepping across the barn towards the prone figure of Denman.
'Is he all right?' asked Rebecca.
'He's alive,' said Trevor, kneeling beside the policeman. He looked back at the diesel can lying on its side in the centre of the barn. 'And you found some fuel, too. Well done.'
'Oh my god.' Rebecca rushed to the can. Only a small amount of the precious fluid had spilled out. 'Right,' she said, trying to stop her hands shaking. 'We've got a weapon.'
On the other side of the mirror, Matthew Hatch stood, waiting for the Doctor. At least, the man resembled the politician in outward appearance, but his eyes were alive with an unfathomable alien intelligence. Hatch's usual scorn was as nothing compared with the outright contempt that dominated his features now.
'Hatch?' asked the Doctor, his voice swallowed up by the cathedral expanse of the dark phantom world behind the mirror.
Hatch - Hatch's body - took a step closer. 'You should not have survived the transition.' He lapsed into silence, as if searching out some long-buried piece of information. 'The Doctor,' he said at last, nodding to himself. 'A problem.'
The Doctor smiled. 'I'm delighted that you remember me.'
Hatch continued to observe the Doctor, his face twisted in a grin of amusement. 'Hatch is no longer here.'
The Doctor shook his head. 'No, he's in there, somewhere.
You're just using his body.'
Hatch laughed. 'He thought my hold on him was slight. He believed he could use me. me. How pathetic.' How pathetic.'
'You used his infertility, his fears and passions...' used his infertility, his fears and passions...'
'Humans are full of fear and passion.'
'The clinic?'
'I offered Hatch a solution.'
'And now?' The Doctor's questioning, though softly spoken, was relentless.
'Hatch has ceased to exist. What you see before you is a hybrid.'
'Of what?'
'A human being and Jack. To be in my presence is to taste my madness. You have entered Jack's domain.'
The Doctor looked around him. The void was ever-changing, sparkling with light and skewed images. Can't say I approve of the decor. Anyway, I don't suppose "Jack" is your real name. How should I address you?'
'Lord Jack i' the Green will suffice,' said Hatch, imperiously. 'Or God. Pleased to meet you...'
The Doctor laughed. 'You're a machine, an organic robot.
Like the Malus: a simple vehicle, no more worthy of respect than the car that brought me here.'
'You know of the Malus?'
'Know it?' The Doctor's eyes narrowed. 'I destroyed destroyed it. As I shall destroy you.' it. As I shall destroy you.'
Hatch laughed, and the dark abode crackled with purple and blood-red splashes of light. 'You shall not,' said Hatch, with sure finality. 'You have no idea where to begin. You know nothing.' nothing.'
'I know that you were built by the people of Hakol, and that you followed the Malus to Earth.'
Hatch nodded. 'Jerak is an experimental battle vehicle.'
'Jerak - Jack i' the Green.' The Doctor nodded.
'Fascinating. And you landed here in, what, the 1680s?'
'The year of our Lord 1685,' came a voice from behind the Doctor. A tall man strode through the turbulent mental landscape. His tunic and leather boots were caked with mud.
'And you are?' queried the Doctor.
'John Ballam, blacksmith.'
'What happened when Jack came?' asked the Doctor.
The black vista behind Ballam peeled back to reveal a view of the village green. Not that there was much greenery to speak of. The entire area had been excavated, laboriously, by hand. The pit was dark with muddy water and blood. And filled with bodies.
Ballam pointed to the scene, as if that were explanation enough.
'Who was responsible for that?' queried the Doctor, his voice numb with outrage.
'Baron Jeffreys of Wem,' said John Ballam, his voice hushed. 'Or so we believed.'
The Doctor spun back to face Hatch. 'Well?'
'Oh, come,' said Hatch. 'These vermin can be of no concern.
I had travelled long and far to this world. I needed replenishment.'
'So you corrupted Jeffreys, and fed off the mental energy of the terrified villagers?'
'Jeffreys needed little corrupting,' said Ballam, under his breath.
Hatch licked his lips at the memory. 'The meal was adequate. I drained what I could. From what was left, I fashioned my first followers. My limbs, in a world I was still not strong enough to dominate.'
'The scarecrows,' said the Doctor. 'You searched the psyches of all those dead people, and found something that you could defile.
Legends of wicker men and corn dollies, of pagan sacrifices to nature and the seasons. You based your reign of terror on mere stickmen to scare away birds!'
Hatch clicked his fingers, and John Ballam vanished from sight with a scream, the vista behind him folding up like a map. 'I am am Hexen Bridge,' said Hatch. 'They are Hexen Bridge,' said Hatch. 'They are all all my children, and they owe their survival to me. Any father can do as he wills to his children.' my children, and they owe their survival to me. Any father can do as he wills to his children.'
'No,' said the Doctor. 'Children will always have their independence.'
'Not the children of Jack,' said Hatch. 'We are all together.'
'Yes, the taint of infertility ensured their dependence, didn't it?' said the Doctor. 'They could only reproduce if they stayed in the area. You expelled the unruly and the exceptionally gifted, so that you would remain undiscovered. You controlled the population that remained, harvesting individuals here and there...'
'They slaked my thirst. And now that thirst, that hunger, is all-consuming.'
'But why the experiments to counteract the taint?'
'Can you not guess?' Hatch smiled. 'There is a flaw even in the psychic technology of the Hakolians.'
'You mean the sterility is... an accidental side effect?'
Hatch nodded. 'There is no civilisation in the galaxy that can better the Hakolians' grasp of the psychic sciences. But, like all technologies, there are flaws. And sterility, though allowing me dominion over the village, is a by-product, a deficiency inherent in the mind-manipulation process.'