DOCTOR WHO AND THE CARNIVAL OF MONSTERS Read online

  The Doctor and Jo land on a cargo ship crossing the Indian Ocean in the year 1926.

  Or so they think.

  Far away on a planet called Inter Minor, a travelling showman is setting up his live peepshow, watched by an eager audience of space officials...

  On board ship, a giant hand suddenly appears, grasps the Tardis and withdraws. Without warning, a prehistoric monster rises from the sea to attack...

  What is happening? Where are they? Only the Doctor realises, with horror, that they might be trapped...

  ISBN 0 426 11025 0

  DOCTOR WHO

  AND THE CARNIVAL

  OF MONSTERS

  * * *

  Based on the BBC television serial The Carnival of Monsters by Robert Holmes by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation

  * * *

  TERRANCE DICKS

  published by

  The Paperback Division of

  W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  1 Dangerous Arrivals

  2 The Monster from the Sea

  3 The Giant Hand

  4 Trapped!

  5 Inside the Machine

  6 The Monster in the Swamp

  7 'Nothing Escapes the Drashigs'

  8 The Battle on the Ship

  9 Kalik Plans Rebellion

  10 The Doctor Takes Over

  11 Return to Peril

  12 The End of the Scope

  A Target Book

  Published in 1977

  by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen &: Co. Ltd.

  A Howard & Wyndham Company

  44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

  Copyright © 1977 by Terrance Dicks and Robert Holmes

  'Dr Who' series copyright © 1977 by the British Broadcasting Corporation

  Printed in Great Britain by

  Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading

  ISBN 0426 11025 0

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  1

  Dangerous Arrivals

  With a strange groaning sound, the blue police box appeared from nowhere. A very small, very pretty fair-haired girl came out, and looked cautiously around. She was in a dimly-lit, metal-walled enclosure, and the air was full of strange smells...

  A tall white-haired man, elegant in velvet smoking jacket and ruffled shirt, followed her out of the police box locking the door behind him. 'I tell you there's no need to be suspicious, Jo. I've been here before and the air's perfectly...' he sniffed, '... fresh! ' he concluded, on a rather less certain note.

  Jo Grant looked indignantly at the Doctor. Really she'd only herself to blame. After the terrifying adventure of the Three Doctors,[*] the Time Lords, the Doctor's mysterious and all-powerful superiors, had rewarded him by restoring his ability to travel in Time and space in the TARDIS. As eager as a child with a new toy, the Doctor had persuaded Jo to accompany him on what he called 'a little test flight' to a very attractive-sounding planet named Metebelis Three.

  Jo looked around her. 'Lakes like blue sapphires, he says,' she muttered. 'Jewelled deserts and mountains of blue crystal, he says...' She turned back to the Doctor. 'It's hot, it's dark and it smells!'

  The Doctor sniffed. No doubt about it, she was right. 'That's very odd...'

  'Sort of farmy,' added Jo.

  The Doctor sniffed again, and subjected the evidence of his nose to a rapid analysis. 'Nothing to worry about. Gaseous sulphides in a fairly low concentration.' He rubbed his chin. 'Very odd, that, Jo. I assure you, the last time I was here, the air was like wine.'

  Jo gave him another look. 'Doctor, are you sure we're where you think we are? Can you really drive the TARDIS properly without the Time Lords helping you?'

  'My dear Jo,' said the Doctor huffily. 'I don't drive the TARDIS, I programme it. And, according to programme, this is Metebelis Three, famous blue planet of the Acteon galaxy.'

  Before Jo could reply, she became aware of a steady thump, thump, thump, filling the air around them. 'We're in some kind of a machine,' she said. 'And it's moving!'

  'You're right. Well, come on.'

  Jo hung back. 'Where are we going?'

  'To find out where we are.'

  'I thought you knew that?'

  'Well, I do. I just want to convince you, that's all!'

  They picked their way through the semidarkness, which seemed to be filled with mysteriously-shaped lumpy objects, most of them with sharp edges. There was a sudden flurry ahead, and Jo clutched the Doctor's arm. 'Something moved!'

  The sounds died down and they pressed cautiously on. They came to a wooden pen, with feathered shapes clucking inside. Jo laughed. 'Look—it's chickens! '

  Solemnly the Doctor bowed before the cage. 'Greetings! We come as friends.'

  'Doctor, what are you doing?'

  'When you've travelled as much as I have, Jo, you'll learn not to jump to conclusions. These look like chickens, but they could be the dominant life-forms on this planet.' The Doctor leaned over the pen. 'Greetings,' he said again. There was no reply.

  'Try clucking,' suggested Jo. Before he could reply she went on, 'Doctor, those things not only look like chickens, they are chickens. And what about this?'

  She pointed to the side of a near-by crate. The Doctor looked. Despite the gloom it was possible to make out the stencilled capital letters. They read, 'SINGAPORE'.

  'The Acteon Galaxy, you said?'

  Taken aback, but not yet defeated, the Doctor looked round. Near by, a ladder led up into the darkness above them. 'Come on, Jo,' he said, and started to climb.

  Shaking her head at his obstinacy, Jo followed, pausing only to say a quick 'Good-bye! ' at the chickens. They clucked back at her.

  At the top of the ladder was a hatch. The Doctor lifted it. Behind him on the ladder Jo peered through the gap. She saw decking, a rail, more cargo-hatches—and an Indian seaman in shabby overalls walking past. 'Metebelis be blowed,' she whispered. 'This is just an ordinary old cargo-ship, Doctor. You've landed us back on Earth.'

  As the terrifying adventure which followed was to prove, Jo had never been more wrong in her life. Meanwhile, more arrivals were taking place...

  The Spaceport of Capital City, on the planet called Inter Minor, was baking in the heat of the planet's twin suns. It was a busy colourful scene as the massive cargo-rockets loaded and unloaded in their separate bays. Ground cars and cargo-trains scurried to and fro like ants at the feet of the towering metal mountains of the great space-rockets. Cursing and sweating, the Functionaries worked steadily away, loading and unloading the cargo.

  Capital City was in the middle of a boom. By decree of President Zarb, the planet's new ruler, Inter Minor had emerged from its long self-imposed seclusion, and was busily trading with the other planets in its galaxy. Many years ago, the planet had been ravaged by Space Plague, brought in by a traveller from some foreign planet. In a hysterical over-reaction, the Inter Minorans had cut themselves off completely from all other planets, forbidding both travel and commerce. After years of bitter political struggle, the new progressive party, led by President Zarb, had come to power, and Inter Minor had opened up its frontiers.

  President Zarb hoped by this measure to relieve some of the pressures on Minoran society. His other plans included a gradual improvement in the lot of the Functionaries. This meant persuading the Official caste to give up some of their
many privileges—an undertaking which was provoking bitter resistance.

  The strangest thing of all about this strange world of Inter Minor was the fact that its people had been divided for so long into two different social classes that they had gradually evolved into two different species.

  The largest class was that of the Functionaries. They were short and stocky with coarse, lumpy, unfinishedfeatures. They looked as if they'd been slapped together out of rough clay, by a rather poor sculptor. They wore rough serviceable clothing in heavy-duty plastic. Their purpose, their function was to work. Work, food and sleep, that was a Functionary's life. For generations they had accepted this fate uncomplainingly. But now things were beginning to change...

  Then there was the ruling caste—the Officials. They were mostly tall and thin, grey-faced and grey-robed. Grey-minded too, for the main part. The Officials' code insisted on rigid formality with all display of emotion totally suppressed. They were the Officials, rulers by right and custom. Not all, of course, had utterly closed minds. President Zarb and his supporters were aware of the necessity for change. But the bulk of the Officials were set in their old ways. They had accepted Zarb only because they hoped he would save them from revolution.

  A thunderous rumble shook the Spaceport as yet another cargo-rocket descended slowly on to its pad. As soon as touchdown was complete, a cargo-shute was connected to its main hatch, and an assortment of goods began tumbling down, to be seized by waiting Functionaries, hurled on to cargo-trains and driven from the Spaceport.

  From a viewing ramp, two Officials watched the process with gloomy disdain. Their names were Kalik and Orum. Kalik's bored manner concealed fierce intelligence and burning ambition, while Orum's masked only complacent foolishness. Kalik was small and wiry, while Orum had a tendency to plumpness.

  It was Kalik who spoke first. 'The cargo-rocket we were ordered to meet has arrived.' Like all Officials, he had no inhibitions about stating the obvious.

  Orum nodded gravely. 'One must prepare oneself to go and encounter these—aliens.' The last word came out as a hiss of distaste.

  Kalik sighed. 'Reluctantly, one agrees.'

  The two grey figures began descending the ramp into the teeming confusion of the Spaceport.

  Meanwhile, something very strange was happening at the unloading rocket. On the cargo-shute had appeared two unmistakably humanoid figures. Arms and legs waving wildly they tumbled down the shute with the other containers. At the bottom they scrambled to their feet, waving away the Functionaries, who looked quite capable of loading them on to a cargo-train without a second glance.

  First to reach the ground was a middle-aged, middle-sized humanoid clad in tattered golden finery. Boots, tunic, tights and cloak had all once been magnificent, but like their wearer had seen better days. The humanoid, by race a Lurman, by name, Vorg, dusted himself down, gazing around him with keen alert eyes under fierce bushy eyebrows, and stroking an equally bushy moustache.

  Beside him a moment later landed Shirna, an attractive young female Lurman. Her clothes too were ornate but worn, and the many neat darns and patches showed a desperate attempt to keep up appearances.

  Shirna hit the ground in a flaming temper. Never a girl to hide her feelings she lost no time in letting Vorg know it.

  'Top of the bill, he says!' she cried dramatically, looking round at the hot and dusty Spaceport. 'Treated like a star, he says!'

  Shirna drew a deep breath. She had plenty more to say. Before she could get into her stride Vorg yelled, 'Oh no, the Scope! ' A gaudily decorated cylindrical object was tumbling down the chute with the other cargo. Vorg pushed aside a Functionary, caught hold of the Scope and started lowering it gently to the ground. 'Come on, Shirna, help me,' he yelled. 'This thing's our living, remember.'

  Between them they managed to wrestle the Scope off the chute and over to a small alcove under one of the ramps. The Scope was a tallish, fattish cylinder just under the size of a man. On top was an elaborate control-panel, inset with rows of lights and switches. Viewing apertures were inset at eye-level all round. There was a maintenance and service panel low on one side. Flashy colours and elaborate ornamentation gave the Scope the look of something between a juke-box and a 'What The Butler Saw' machine. And indeed, the Scope was a kind of peepshow—though of a very elaborate and unusual kind.

  Like its owners, the Scope had an air of seedy magnificence about it. It was a technological wonder that had come down in the world. Vorg was checking it over—it was a temperamental machine and the journey might have upset it—when Shirna jabbed an elbow in his ribs. 'Look out—here they come!'

  Vorg looked. Two grey-robed figures were threading their way through the crowd towards them. Vorg saw how deferentially the brawny Functionaries moved aside for them. Immediately he assumed the humble and ingratiating smile that was his inevitable response to any kind of authority.

  Vorg's preliminary encounter with Minoran officialdom was to be temporarily delayed. A disturbance had broken out in the next cargo-bay. One of the Functionaries had stopped work and had climbed up on to a ramp. This in itself was a serious offence. The raised ramps leading to the upper City were only for the use of Officials. Worse still, the Functionary was daring to make some kind of speech, distracting his fellows from their work. As if fascinated by his audacity, more and more Functionaries were drifting away from their work to swell the gathering crowd beneath the ramp.

  Vorg and Shirna could understand nothing of the Functionary's guttural speech, but judging from the growls of agreement the crowd was on his side. Shirna glanced at the two near-by Officials to see how they were taking all this. To her horror, she saw that one of them had produced a blaster from beneath his robes...

  Kalik levelled the blaster and fired. The rebellious Functionary swayed, slumped and crashed down on to the crowd. They all drew back, terrified. A squad of uniformed Functionaries, under the command of a Military Official, pushed their way to the body and dragged it off. The Functionaries returned to their work. The little rebellion died away without trace, like the ripples from a stone thrown into a pond.

  Orum gave a satisfied nod. It pleased his sense of fitness to see order restored. Casually he asked, 'You eradicated him?'

  Kalik put his blaster away. 'No, no. Merely rendered him unconscious. Our Medical colleagues have asked that all such specimens be taken alive.'

  'He will be disposed of?' asked Orum worriedly.

  'Naturally. But first his mental and nervous system will be analysed. Our colleagues wish to discover if some disease or mutation is causing these outbreaks of rebellion.'

  It did not occur to Kalik that it was not the rebellious Functionaries who were abnormal, but the conditions under which they had to live and work.

  His conscience clear and untroubled, he put away his blaster.

  'Now one must deal with these aliens.'

  Terrified by this display of casual ruthlessness, Vorg and Shirna quailed as the two Officials bore down upon them.

  2

  The Monster from the Sea

  Peering through the partly-open hatch, the Doctor looked at the peaceful maritime scene around him. Everything suggested that Jo was perfectly right. They were on a small cargo vessel, probably in tropical waters. And yet...

  'Appearances can be deceptive, Jo,' he warned. 'I still feel there's something very wrong here.'

  The small figure on the ladder below him gave an impatient snort. 'Something wrong with the way you steer the TARDIS, more like it. We are still on Earth, aren't we?'

  The Doctor shook his head decisively. 'No, that's impossible. We don't seem to be on Metebelis Three, but we're not on Earth either.'

  'Never admit you're wrong, do you?' hissed Jo.

  The Doctor grinned. 'That's impossible, too. The sailor's gone now. Let's take a look around.'

  Blinking in the hot sunlight, they climbed out of the hatch, lowered it quietly behind them. They moved across the deck of the little ship to the super-structure, and s
tepped through a doorway. Now they were in a short metal-walled passage. From an open door at the other end they heard voices. 'Splendid dinner this,' someone was saying in fruity English tones. 'Absolutely topping.'

  Jo and the Doctor crept along the passage and peeped through the half-open door. They saw a small but well-furnished saloon. Three people were sitting around the table over the remains of a meal. An attractive young girl was pouring herself a cup of coffee and a rosy-faced, white-haired man in a rather rumpled tropical suit was pouring himself a large whisky from a decanter. A handsome young man in the uniform of a ship's officer was listening politely to the older man, but giving his real attention to the girl.

  The older man, whose name was Major Daly, took an appreciative sip of his whisky. 'You say the cook's a Madrassi, Andrews?'

  'I believe so, sir.' Lieutenant Andrews somehow managed to give a polite reply to this question without taking his eyes from the girl. Clare Daly, the Major's daughter, smiled, well aware of the young officer's interest.

  Daly nodded thoughtfully. 'Find the Madrassi boys a bit idle, meself. Won't have one on the plantation. Still, I must say your fellow knows how to curry a chicken.' Daly nodded towards the decanter. 'Sundowner, old chap?'

  Andrews shook his head. He glanced appealingly at Clare Daly who smiled and took mercy on him. Finishing her coffee she said demurely, 'Lieutenant Andrews and I thought we'd take a turn around the deck. Care to join us, Daddy? It's a glorious evening.' Clare knew she was on safe ground. It was highly unlikely that her father would forsake his armchair and his book—to say nothing of the whisky decanter.

  Sure enough, Daly grunted and shook his head. 'No, you and young Andrews don't need me. You run along. I'm going to do a spot of reading. Determined to finish this book before we reach Bombay.'

  Clare laughed. 'We're due tomorrow, remember. How much have you got left?'