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I was leaning back on the bar in The Black Stump, having a cold one, and just enjoying the passing scenery. If you sat there long enough you just might catch a glimpse of most superheroes you could hope to see. Something about muscled guys in spandex with their undies on the outside and a colour coordinated cape just does it for me…. Last time I was here I spent some fun time with a guy who just liked to be known as Super – and he certainly had more moves than that Spider bloke and – but that is not the point of this tale.

Anyway, I noticed him walking in from the direction of the Landing Bays. He was about average height and weight but there the average stopped and the wow began.

Dark hair, nicely cut and obviously kept strictly in place. Dark eyes to match. Gorgeous profile with a romanesque nose (yes, studying the history of Europe pays off occasionally). And a truly kissable mouth. Yum…

He was dressed in tight black leather pants, thigh high leather boots and a gorgeous silver overtunic with fairly wide sleeves, belted in tightly with a spangled belt. Yes, I notice these things. As a future Famous Costumier and Fashion Designer it is my job to notice these things.

He seemed to have arrived alone, and I thought I might just be persuaded to keep him company. For as long as he liked. Just looking would be pretty fascinating, and the thought of what else might be on offer…fancy moves are not everything after all.

He ordered a drink from the other end of the bar, brandy I think, and put up the shutters. Those eyes were hooded, the face fairly blank although it was obvious there was more going on inside than he was letting on.

I contemplated  approaching him after my next drink. Did not want to seem too eager. Ha.

My attention was caught by the entrance of another man. I looked again – surely this was the twin of my first interest? Same dark hair, though longer and less controlled, same dark eyes. Same profile,  but the gorgeous mouth was hidden by a full beard. This man was not guarded, he had an appraising look about him, as if judging the worth of every thing and everyone he saw. This man’s clothing looked costly – a fur lined cape, a gold chain around his neck, large rings on his fingers. He took his drink to the chess set laid out on a table in the middle of the pub, sat and contemplated the board. It had been abandoned midgame by the last players when they were notified of their ships readiness to leave. This man was apparently considering which move to make next, I think he intended to play both colours.

The first man – I really should call him A, instead of ‘first man’ all the time. Anyway A strolled up to B and sat in the opposite seat. So, a game to be played. Perhaps they had planned to meet there? No conversation, just straight into the game. They seemed very well matched. Neither took long between moves but neither seemed hurried either.

I was in no hurry. I had been here before, hitching a ride via whatever spacecraft was available at the time. If I stayed here long enough I knew I would bump in to a Time Lord and his or her Tardis – they were a constant in my life, and a welcome one at that. So I was content to finish my drink and wait an opportunity to get acquainted with the two of them – the more the merrier after all.

As the game came to its end B gracefully acknowledged defeat. A suggested a further game with just a look and B accepted. Right. They were obviously going to be a while.

So I left the pub and went through next door into the hotel. The Ferengi run a comfortable establishment and I knew my room would be ready and waiting for me.

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The lobby of the hotel was beautifully decorated in colourful fabrics and comfortable furniture. The decorators must have had access to copies of home décor magazines from the early 1900’s I would say. The booking in desk was a lovely piece of exotic wood burnished to a high sheen. It was manned by two of the local Ferengi, which meant that all supplies would be luxurious but expensive, and the well informed customer was prepared to negotiate the fees. But it was comfortable and available. The nature of the Pub meant that no customer was refused a room, though getting out again could be a bit tricky.

As I approached the desk to retrieve any messages I could not help but notice the young man in front of me. Apparently he had just arrived, without a booking and without luggage. He was in concerned conversation with the desk Ferengi and did not seem to be getting very far. So I thought I might as well assist.

Oh!! I recognised that profile, but this time the face belonged to a man quite a deal younger either than A or B, and he was dressed in a snappy pinstriped business man’s suit complete with long coat and hat. He was looking considerably more stressed than my A and B, and he was arguing in quite an agitated way.

“Where am I?”

“Sir, you are in the Hotel Ferendahl Royal , in the complex known as The Hole In The Wall”. I knew that the Ferengi were quite used to dealing with this kind of question from new guests. It was not at all uncommon for travellers to arrive rather abruptly and have little memory of how or when or where they were.

“If sir would like to fill in the register, I will arrange a suitable room.” He pushed the large leather bound book across the desk.

“But you don’t understand! My wife, she’s going to have a baby. I have to get home but…I think there was a car?”

“Yes sir I know. If you would just fill in this register I am sure we can help you.”

Register duly filled in, the distraught traveler was expertly led away to a room that was bound to be comfortable and suitable. Explanations would be offered, though some of those who lived in times pre mass media would find it even harder to accept than others. The advantage of scifi writers meant that many avid readers had at least imagined a similar situation….

I peered at the book.

Mr Tallboy, an address in London, earth. Recogniseable to the well educated Space Traveler.

Taking my messages from the receptionist I made my way via the gravity lift to my room on an upper floor. As a regular customer, my needs were known and catered for. A large room, plush furniture, a large bed with plenty of pillows. A small heat source in one niche as I enjoyed my tea hot and fresh and carried a supply of different varieties wherever I went. The main food dispenser was there also. Gregarious by nature I did enjoy the ambience of the restaurant and only used these facilities occasionally, so after freshening up I made my way back to the ground floor.

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Igor led me to my table, with a good view of the door and the rest of the room. So I was able to notice a further – well I would normally say surprise, but it seemed superfluous today.

At a table to the side of the room three more men with striking resemblance to A, B and now C were sharing a meal. They seemed quite comfortable to be together though their range of costuming suggested differening origins. D seemed to be about late 40ish, rather overweight and wore a white jumpsuit covered in spangles. His hair was long and fell across his face. His sunglasses were tucked into the neck of his suit. He was obviously paying no attention to any stares he garnered.

E was also wearing a jumpsuit of off white. He had a short cape, shoulder length unkempt hair and a suggestion of a hump about his shoulders.

F, also in his forties, displayed legs clad in hose – nice legs at that – short breeches and a doublet. Around his neck was a white ruff. A neat beard did not detract from his look of interested observation. So aware of the differences but not afraid of them.

The table set for four displayed the remains of an elaborate meal which the waiters removed and replaced with a selection of desserts and fruit. Wine was available as well as soft drink.

As I watched the fourth member of the group sat down. He had a high white collar, tail coat and breeches. He displayed his teeth in an ingratiating smile apparently attempting to agree with whichever of his companions happened to be speaking at that time. The others mostly ignore him but he did not seem to notice.

By this time I was sure something decidedly peculiar was occurring even for this rather peculiar place.

Chapter Text

After my meal I made my way back to the lobby. At the desk I was unsurprised to see yet another man talking to the manager. What was I up to now? H? Mind you I had to look twice to be sure.

This man was not nearly as well kept as the others. His clothes were mismatched and did not seem to fit well. He wore possibly the most obvious hair piece it was ever my misfortune to see. He had bruises around his eyes and the vestiges of a bandage across his nose.

He was attempting to engage the manager in a discussion about how best to increase the takings of the hotel, but in the crudest terms possible. Apparently he thought rooms should be let by the hour instead of longer periods and the manager was looking thoughtful as only a Ferengi can when considering money issues. However they both quietened as they spotted me coming closer.

No more messages waited for me and I was rather glad to leave the leering presence of this most recent addition. His gaze made me feel I might like to have another shower when I got to my room.

As I turned away, there was a large motor noise from outside in the Landing Bay, and on investigation I saw a three wheeled motorcycle ridden by yet another familiar man, only quite a bit older than the others I had seen so far. He was in fairly typical biking clothes, with a bandana around his neck and a helmet which he took off and place on the handlebars. You might think this incongruous amongst the majority of vechicles which were flitters, flyers, planet hoppers and more space going transport types. But if you wandered around the yard there were other earth bound vehicles, including a rather snazzy old automobile and a three wheeled tandem bicycle attached to what looked rather like helium balloons. But these were not my entertainment for today.

The motorcyclist advanced to the door and passed me with an appreciative, cheeky grin. He entered the hotel area without looking in the least bit surprised or concerned about his surroundings. This would be gentleman “I” in my personal inventory.

Behind “I” came J. Apparently they were arriving faster and faster. He was striding confidently, wearing fairly unobtrusive but well cut clothes. He looked professional and I could see the bulge of a weapon at his hip, which I knew would not pass the scrutineers are the door. All projectile weapons were carefully locked up while their owners were in The Hole. Non-projectiles were another matter and knives were fairly commonly seen. I suspected J could hold his own no matter what was at hand.

And here came yet another! K I guess. He wore a long tunic over hose, a cape around his shoulders, a sword at his belt. Rich heavy jewellery and a coronet. He had a regal but furtive look and kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to be followed. His hands were red raw and looked quite sore, and he rubbed them over and over.

These men may all look alike, but they were all obviously different. There were too many of them to all be related by birth, but here in The Hole mysterious things were really the order of the day.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

I turned back to the registration desk, which was now empty and rang the handbell – such anachronisms were considered fun here. The Duty Manager, by the name of Kayron hastened to meet my needs.

“Kayron, what can you tell me about all these men arriving?”

“What do you mean? We have men arriving all the time”
“I mean these men who all seem to look alike.”
Kayron looked puzzled “Well, all men do look alike. No ears to speak of, mostly hair over their heads..”
“That is not what I mean. Oh don’t bother, you can’t know.

“I think it might be a good idea to appoint a conference room with plenty of chairs and direct them and any others who arrive to meet there. Yes, I will pay for it as I am so very curious.”

This was arranged speedily and Kayron sent around a few of his colleagues to find any other of my batch of men and point them in the right direction. I made sure there would be wine, beer, spirits and a range of coffee and tea made available. Several other similar men arrived  while I waited – L, M, N and more and I ran out of interest in what they were wearing or what age they were. I was pretty sure something was about to happen.

Finally one who I was sure was the last came limping into the lobby of the hotel. This one caught my attention and held it. He had on dark clothes and wore a long black cape. He looked competent and assured. He came towards me, expecting me to be there.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“I am Parl Dro. I was drawn here and I think you know why.”

I was not sure why though I knew it was true. “Help me to understand.”

“I am a Ghost Killer, an exorcist. I am pulled towards the dead who will not be dead, who wish to stay alive and not travel on to where they should be.
“I…assist them on their journey.”

“Why must they go on. These men are not causing any harm. And I quite like them.”

“They will cause harm if they don’t go. They are drawing on each other for strength, for the ability to stay. And this must stop or there will be great danger to you and to this place.”

“Why danger to me? I don’t even know them.”

“No, but your interest holds them here. They were first drawn to the man Kerr Avon who caught your attention initially. And now they are drawn to you. They don’t know it yet, but soon they will and they will draw from you to maintain their shape and presence.”

“But how? What did I do?”

“You wrote a poem.”

“How could you know that? I have told no one.”

“But you did. You have it in your pocket. It is instinct with you to take a shape and write it down.”

“Oh.”

“Come with me. I must confront them.”

We walked together to the conference room where all those men were waiting. There was a low murmur of voices, but really just one voice.

Parl Dro limped to the front of the group and they all quietened.

“I am here to help you on your journey. Tell me who you are and how you died.”

“I am Macbeth. I killed my king and I was executed for murder.”

“I am Thomas Doughty and my friend wrongfully decapitated me for treason on a lonely beach.”

“I am the Sherriff of Nottingham and I was executed for treason. Also by the axe.”

“I was struck by a car to avoid giving evidence in my trial, and to avoid tainting the lives of my wife and child.”

“I took an overdose. Some think I never died.”

“I was shot by my employer when I realised he was evil.”

“I fell in front of a train when I was startled by the man I wronged.”

And so on, a litany of ills and death. Some were not dead.

“I killed my best friend and no one knows what became of me.”

“I just want to get back to my wife and child.”

And more.

Parl Dro turned to me. “As you see, there are many here who are dead and should no longer be here. Give me the poem.”

He took the sheet of paper and tore it into shreds. He lit the pieces and watched them burn and become ash.

As the paper burnt the men present began to fade away one by one. They did not argue or fight, they just faded.

Presently there were only the few who had not yet died there.

“Go. There is nothing to hold you here now.” And they left the way they had come.

Eventually, only Parl Dro and Kerr Avon were left standing with me.

“I will go also, I am no longer needed here.” And he bowed and turned away.

I looked to Avon. He had a haunted look about him. “It would seem I am still here.”

“Yes. I guess you are not dead either.”

“Apparently not. I wonder why?”

And we walked out together, just the two of us and went to find a drink.