Work Text:
Aleppo, 1329
It’s a busy day in the market. Sheltered from the midday sun, vendors call out greetings to friends and haggle loudly with their customers. The smell of nuts and spices is heavy in the air. Crouching behind a vendor’s stall, the Doctor feels the strong scent of black pepper tickle her nose.
Next to her, Yaz pokes her head over a bag of cloves to check if the coast is clear. It isn’t. Yaz ducks, shaking her head wildly. The strange guards that had appeared at the madrasa must still be looking for them.
The Doctor scrunches up her nose.
“Ah-CHOO!” she sneezes loudly.
Yaz stares at the Doctor in exasperation.
“Check behind the stall,” one of the guards say, pointing right at the Doctor and Yaz’s hiding place. There’s a metallic undertone in his voice. The Doctor is guessing that he’s an android.
The Doctor shrugs apologetically at Yaz. She takes her hand.
“Back to the TARDIS?” the Doctor says. She pulls Yaz around the stall. The two of them jump over a large basket full of spices and duck into an alleyway. Yaz’s heavy backpack bounces awkwardly as they run.
“Do you remember where you parked the TARDIS?” Yaz asks as they emerge from the covered souq, the guards hot on their heels. “All these streets look the same to me.”
“Of course I do!” the Doctor says, pulling her into an alleyway...that dead ends on a white wall.
Yaz doesn’t have time to even roll her eyes – they can hear the guards right behind them. She runs up to the wall and crouches down, motioning for the Doctor to climb up on her shoulders and scale the wall.
“Come on!” Yaz says urgently. She helps the Doctor scramble up on top of the wall, and the Doctor leans down to pull Yaz up next to her. They jump onto the other side of the street just as the guards emerge at the end of the alley.
“Aha!” the Doctor says triumphantly, pointing down the street. The TARDIS sits in an alcove between two buildings.
“Lucky guess,” Yaz sighs.
The Doctor unlocks the TARDIS and they disappear inside – just as the guards begin to climb over the wall.
Once the TARDIS doors have slammed shut and the Doctor has sent them flying into the time vortex, she turns to Yaz.
“Do you have it?” the Doctor asks. Her eyes are lit up with excitement.
Yaz nods, unzipping her backpack. She pulls out a large silk pouch and unties it. Several large, golden plates slide out into her hand.
“What are they?” Yaz asks, looking down at the round metal plates. The Doctor takes one in her hand to examine it. It’s the size of a small salad plate, engraved with curved lines, dots, writing, and numbers.
“Plates for an astrolabe,” the Doctor says, running her finger across the engravings. “It’s beautiful.”
“A what ?” Yaz asks.
“An astrolabe!” the Doctor grins excitedly. She loves this bit. “The medieval Islamic astronomer’s equivalent of a smartphone. Over 1,000 uses! D’you know what stereographic projection is?”
“You know, sometimes I think you just make words up,” Yaz frowns.
“What do they teach in schools these days?!” the Doctor muses. “It’s mapping a 3D object onto a 2D plane. The astrolabe uses mathematics to map the Earth onto these plates here. Based on where you are – let’s say we’re back in Aleppo – you can slot these plates into the astrolabe, and hang the whole instrument from a string to read it!”
The Doctor holds one of the plates up from the top and mimes adjusting it, like an instrument.
“You use the sun to adjust the rete and rule – they’re kind of like dials, or clockwork hands – and then you can read the astrolabe to tell you all sorts of things. Where you are, what stars will be in the sky tonight, which direction Mecca is in, the time and date…”
“So you could use it to schedule prayers,” Yaz says, nodding. “Okay. I see why they used it… but where’s the rest of it?”
“I don’t know,” the Doctor says. “Shame we didn’t get the chance to find out. If only we could get back to that madrasa…”
“Those guards will be waiting for us,” Yaz sighs. “I hope Ahmad got away alright. He told us to keep these plates safe. He was an astronomer… do you think he saw aliens? Maybe those guards are the ones he saw.”
“Could be,” the Doctor frowns. “They looked like androids to me. But what were aliens doing in the fourteenth century?”
“ You were there,” Yaz teases. She takes one of the plates from the Doctor and looks it over. “If this is a map… maybe Ahmad marked down where he saw the aliens. Maybe they’ve got a spaceship up there.”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” the Doctor grins. “But he was reluctant to tell me. Whatever he saw, it scared him. I’m glad he gave these plates to us for safekeeping.”
“Us?!” Yaz laughs. “He gave them to me , thank you very much. This is my adventure now.”
“Alright, then you can figure out how to fly to the TARDIS on your own,” the Doctor snorts.
“Maybe I will!” Yaz jokes. “Can’t we just plug this into the TARDIS telepathic circuits, like we did my nan’s watch? And it’ll bring us to the other piece?”
“I take it back,” the Doctor says, a surprised grin growing on her face. “Maybe I’ll let you fly the TARDIS after all.”
*
Spacetime coordinates: 09239.A/0027924-585
Yaz takes the honor of opening the TARDIS doors. The Doctor follows her out into a busy street, her boots squelching in mud and straw. They’re absolutely surrounded by people, but none of them pay the TARDIS a second glance. The Doctor can smell the stench of latrines on the air.
“Ah, looks like the TARDIS has taken us to medieval England! Not far from fourteenth century Aleppo, after all,” the Doctor says, squinting in the bright sunlight. Nearby, someone is playing a lute and singing a bawdy song. Everyone is in fancy dress, drinking and eating on the streets, stopping at vendors to buy trinkets. A man passes, chomping on a turkey leg.
“Must be a festival day or something,” the Doctor says.
“Yeah, that explains the cell phones,” Yaz says sarcastically, pointing to a man snapping a picture of his kids. The crowds part to let through a procession of bagpipers, armed guards, and a woman in white makeup with a long, poufy dress. “Or is that the real Queen Elizabeth the first?”
The Doctor ducks behind Yaz to hide. “Elizabeth? Where?”
As the woman passes, the Doctor frowns. “That’s not the real Elizabeth. Or even the fake real Elizabeth.”
“What? Why are you hiding from Queen Elizabeth?” Yaz asks with a laugh.
“She’s my ex-wife,” the Doctor says seriously. Yaz looks skeptical.
“So, your time machine didn’t take us to actual medieval England. It took us to a Renaissance Faire. In Pennsylvania ,” Yaz says, picking a flier from a stall and waving it in the Doctor’s face. “Some Time Lord you are.”
“Those costumes are very historically accurate!” the Doctor says defensively. “And the smell!”
“We’re in front of the toilets,” Yaz points out, noting that the TARDIS has landed at the end of a row of Port-A-Potties, as if it’s one of them. “Yuck.”
“I wonder why the TARDIS took us here,” the Doctor says, looking around suspiciously. “They sell reproductions of astrolabes at these kinds of festivals, not the real deal. That would be astronomically expensive, pun intended.”
“Maybe there’s an antiques dealer who’s really bad at appraisal,” Yaz says, unfolding the flier into a map. “If only we knew where to find them…”
“You know what, maybe you should be in charge, Yaz,” the Doctor says, picking up a map of her own.
“Really? Then our first stop is the concessions stand,” Yaz says. “I want one of those turkey legs.”
The Doctor and Yaz make their way leisurely through the crowd. It’s a warm autumn day, perfect for a festival. The fairgrounds are dotted with buildings that look just like those the Doctor has seen in medieval England, and some that are a vague imitation. There are dozens of vendor stands and booths, and even several food trucks. They pass a jousting arena surrounded by benches, a small stage that looks like a pirate ship, and an outdoor pub filled with patrons.
There are lute players, singers, harpists, bagpipers, jugglers, acrobats, stilt-walkers, fire-eaters, and even a band of pirates roaming around. The vendors and half of the guests are dressed in costume, some as fairies or elves, and even a few wizards. Yaz points out a boy who’s dressed like Marty from Back to the Future .
When Yaz buys her turkey leg, the vendor compliments her and the Doctor on their fake accents.
“Oh, no, I’m actually from Sheffield, mate,” Yaz says, raising an eyebrow. As they walk away, she murmurs to the Doctor: “These fake accents are horrible .”
“And not at all accurate,” the Doctor says. “Why does everyone think Shakespeare spoke in Received Pronunciation? He sounded like he was from the Midlands!”
Yaz pulls out her map again and finds the antiques dealer’s shop. It’s a short walk from the concessions, around the pony rides, chip and pin machines, and even a stockade where guests can pay to throw tomatoes at actors.
The little antiques stall is set in the overhang of a building next to a blacksmith. The Doctor steps up to the front counter and presses her nose to the display case, while Yaz eyes a display of swords hanging on the wall. There are long, skinny rapiers with elaborate handles, tarnished smallswords, and even a halberd.
The vendor (a portly man wearing a cream-colored doublet and breeches) sets down his book and smiles thinly at the Doctor. He must not be selling much today, judging from the crowd walking right past his shop.
“Could I take a look at your astrolabes?” the Doctor asks, tapping the glass with her fingernail.
“Of course,” he says, pulling out a key and opening the case. He pulls out the instruments one by one, setting them on a piece of velvet. Only a few of them are large enough to be the real thing.
The Doctor barely glances at the first one before she rules it out. Too small. She hesitates as she looks at the second one, picking it up and feeling the weight of it in her hand. It’s absolutely beautiful craftsmanship, from the curling script engravings to the artistic cut of the dials and arrows. It looks old enough. She would lick it, but she’s not sure the man would sell it to her afterwards if she did. Humans are funny like that.
Yaz jostles the Doctor. She nearly drops the astrolabe.
“Watch it,” the Doctor warns, looking up. She stares right into the point of a sword.
“Be a dear and hand that over, Doctor,” Missy says with a smile.
The Doctor freezes in shock. Missy holds the sword point to her throat.
She shouldn’t be here. Time Lords aren’t supposed to meet each other out of order.
It’s been ages since the Doctor saw Missy last – and it’s clear that Missy is from an early point in her timeline – but she still looks the same as ever. The same purple dress and jacket, the same maniacal grin. The Doctor looks her up and down, noting that she’s added a black cloak and a belt with a scabbard. In her Edwardian suit, she almost fits in with all the other fairgoers’ costumes.
Missy uses the flat, dull edge of her rapier to lift the Doctor’s chin. Her eyes flash with excitement.
“Ma’am! Swords are supposed to be peace-bound at the Faire!” the vendor interjects nervously. Missy ignores him.
“What are you doing here?” the Doctor asks. She doesn’t move a muscle, her hands still resting protectively over the astrolabe. Her mind is racing. If Missy wants it, it’s definitely worth protecting.
“I’m here for the map, same as you,” Missy says.
“Oh? And how do you know about that?” the Doctor asks, playing for time.
“Oh, just poking around the Black Archives,” Missy shrugs innocently. “I found an astronomer’s journal from the fourteenth century with a lovely little sketch: a T’Kirr warship, flying over Aleppo! And I thought, what a coincidence, because this same man was rumored to have made a secret astrolabe. A map of the stars...lost to the ages...”
“A T’Kirr warship?” the Doctor repeats, eyes wide. “Of course. Their ships are so well shielded, even a TARDIS couldn’t find it. What were they doing on Earth?”
“Stationing one of their weapons satellites in orbit,” Missy says. “You know me. I like shiny things. I couldn’t resist!”
“So, the T’Kirr lose the war, leave their weapons lying about, and you come around to scoop them up? Why not disarm the weapons and move on?” the Doctor says. “That satellite is invisible – what if NASA bumped into it and blew up a space station? You could prevent that!”
“Tell me, Doctor – is your new regeneration really this chatty, or are you just buying for time?” Missy rolls her eyes.
“Bit of both?” the Doctor suggests, scrunching up her nose.
“Doctor, catch!” Yaz shouts.
Right in the nick of time, Yaz tosses a rapier to the Doctor. The shop vendor splutters in protest as the Doctor brings up her sword to parry Missy’s.
“Oooh, very good,” Missy says, twirling her rapier around dramatically. “We haven’t had a decent duel in ages. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Why? Did you miss losing?” the Doctor asks, raising an eyebrow.
The two of them take a step apart, meeting swords for a moment before they begin to circle around each other. Yaz has flattened herself up against the wall. The Doctor nods in her direction, hoping Yaz understands: Stay there. Let me handle this.
“You know I treasure our time together,” Missy says mockingly. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you, Doctor.”
"Not long enough," the Doctor replies.
"Oh, don't be rude. I know you miss me, too," Missy says, simpering.
She steps forwards, thrusting her sword towards the Doctor's stomach. The Doctor parries her. Missy's blade bounces off the Doctor's and she repostes into another thrust. Their swords clink as the Doctor parries again. She lets Missy back her out of the shop and into the streets of the fairground, hoping to distract her from the astrolabe, but Missy is an excellent fighter. It’s all the Doctor can do to keep up with her.
It's been such a long time since the Doctor picked up a sword, and Missy can obviously tell. She's absolutely cackling with glee.
The next time the Doctor parries, Missy locks their swords together and pushes. The Doctor stumbles. She catches herself just in time to push back and disengage. She aims a diagonal cut at Missy, but Missy blocks it.
"Oh, very good, really put your hips into it," Missy says as they cross swords again. "You're getting the hang of it now. New bodies are always difficult to figure out. Do you need some help, dear?"
"Not from you," the Doctor spits.
"Well, how about a little constructive criticism?" Missy suggests. "Your footwork could use some improvement..." Missy hooks her foot around the Doctor's ankle. The Doctor finds herself falling backwards, narrowly missing the point of Missy's blade.
She turns the fall into a somersault. When the Doctor springs back to her feet, she's surprised to hear applause. A small crowd of fairgoers has gathered, obviously under the impression that their sword-fight is part of the show. Missy curtsies for their audience.
“Did you forget how to hold a sword sometime in the last thousand years?” Missy says, holding her own sword aloft in perfect form.
“No!” the Doctor protests, mirroring her. She thrusts her sword forwards, but Missy knocks it away.
“Your grip is atrocious ,” Missy tsks, “it’s not a hammer! Loosen your grasp.”
Titters and laughter ensue from the audience. Some guy yells bad advice at the Doctor, but she ignores him.
The Doctor glances down at her rapier and frowns. She throws it in the air and catches it in her other hand. She tests her grip on it, and drives another strike towards Missy. This time, Missy is almost too slow to parry her.
“Or maybe I’m more of a lefty,” the Doctor shrugs. The crowd loves it. They cheer as she presses forwards, swiping the sword right and left, driving Missy backwards again.
Missy doesn’t have time for a witty reply. Their swords clink and clack when they meet. Suddenly, the Doctor is on the offensive, and it’s all Missy can do to parry and counter her attacks.
The Doctor strides forwards confidently. She finally corners Missy against a large oak tree. With her back to the bark, Missy can only block. The Doctor crosses their swords together, bearing her weight down on Missy’s so she can’t strike.
Inches away, the Doctor can feel Missy’s breath on her face. They’re both panting, chests heaving from the fight. Missy’s eyes are sparkling with sordid pleasure.
“Still got it,” the Doctor grins. She knocks Missy’s rapier from her hands. It rolls on the grass at their feet. “Do you surrender?”
The Doctor feels the tip of a blade resting at her sternum. She looks down. Missy has pulled a small dagger on her.
“Never, dear,” Missy says with a smirk.
The Doctor looks from the blade up to Missy. She tilts her head to the side, hair falling in her face.
“Looks like you got me this time,” the Doctor murmurs. Missy’s mouth opens. The Doctor stares at it for a long moment.
“Well…?” the Doctor prompts, teasing. “Aren’t you going to claim your prize?”
Missy drops the blade. She leans forwards and meets the Doctor halfway in a kiss.
The Doctor feels the tips of her ears heat up. She hadn’t really expected it to work – she peeks down to make sure Missy doesn’t have another knife – but Missy has thrown her arms around the Doctor’s shoulders. The Doctor closes her eyes and savors the kiss, just for a moment, letting herself rest her hands on Missy’s waist.
It has been too long.
After a long moment, the two of them seem to remember themselves. Their small crowd bursts into a round of applause for them both, assuming their little show is over with a romantic truce. Someone even wolf-whistles.
“Stupid humans,” Missy hisses through her teeth. She reaches down to grab her sword, but the Doctor blocks her with her sword.
“Just bow, and maybe they’ll go away,” the Doctor says under her breath. They curtsy and bow until their crowd scatters. The Doctor is chagrined to realize that a few of them were even recording the fight on their phones. She hopes Yaz wasn’t watching.
The Doctor turns to Missy, frowning. “I can’t let you get to that satellite,” she says darkly.
“You and what army?” Missy asks haughtily, hands on her hips.
“This one,” Yaz interrupts.
The Doctor and Missy spin around to see Yaz standing before a group of pirates. Although their costumes are far from accurate, most of the actors are about as muscular as real sailors. Yaz grins proudly.
“Take her away, boys,” Yaz says, pointing at Missy. “To the stockade!”
“Now, don’t be silly , all this fuss over a little dueling?” Missy laughs nervously. “I thought you Americans loved violent sports?”
It’s clearly the wrong thing to say. The pirates take Missy by the shoulders and lead her way, ignoring her protests. The Doctor picks Missy’s dagger and rapier from the ground.
“I should return this,” she says guiltily, looking at the sword Yaz had thrown her from the antiques shop.
“No worries, it’s all yours,” Yaz says. “I’ve already paid for it – with your card, mind you. That man was having a conniption .”
“What about the astrolabe?!” the Doctor says, her face falling when she realizes how distracted she’s been.
“It’s right here!” Yaz laughs, holding up a shopping bag triumphantly. “Give me some credit. I bought it all when you lot were busy fighting. Or whatever.”
The Doctor very resolutely does not blush.
“We’d better figure out where that satellite is and disarm its weapons, then,” she says, ignoring Yaz’s teasing look. “If Missy was looking for it, others will be, too.”
“Who was she, anyways?” Yaz asks, looking thoughtfully at the group of pirates leading her away.
“Long story. Bit like Elizabeth’s, actually,” the Doctor sighs. “Are they really gonna throw her in the stocks? We could buy some vegetables...”
“Doctor!” Yaz laughs, her voice a little scolding. “No, actually. I think they were just going to toss her out of the Faire.”
“Right,” the Doctor shrugs. “Well, come on, Yaz. We’ve got work to do.”
the end!