Chapter Text
“Lord, I pray… Let me be brave.”
The stars above the little town of ‘s-Hertogenrade shimmered, but the doctor found no use in them now. The days - or rather, nights - of stargazing were long past. They weren’t going to guide him here, so his gaze was instead fixated on the figure of Christ in front of him.
Criminals were said to gather here, at the chapel of Saint Leonard, not far from the town below. Still, for the rare passer-by there would be no mistake this man wasn’t here to meet with his fellow gang-members. He kneeled before the chapel, crying now, with only the stars as witnesses.
“These past few days have not been kind to me, and I doubt the future will be any better. I know what happened to them . I know I will end up the exact same. Lord… let history be kinder to me, to us all, than the future. Let me -”
His prayer was interrupted by a sound he could not quite place. It seemed to come from further into the forest, emitting an increasingly bright, pulsing light - almost a halo around the chapel - before stopping with a loud thud.
Had the doctor not yet been on his knees, he’d have dropped then. He made the sign of the cross and continued his prayer even more passionately than before.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of…”
Again, his prayer was interrupted, by two voices this time.
“Well, this certainly isn’t Amsterdam. Or anywhere close to it, for that matter.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“We’re standing on a hill.”
“So?”
“Have you seen Amsterdam?”
The doctor, now certain the presumed apparition had not been the Holy Virgin or Christ Himself, had gotten up to investigate the source of the strange light and the voices. Not far behind the chapel stood a big, blue box, unlike anything he’d seen before, and right outside its doors the people he’d heard talking.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “are you two lost?”
The Doctor turned around. “Ah, not quite. Just taking a… Scenic detour. Would you mind telling us where we are?”
“Well, the town down there is called ‘s-Hertogenrade. Aachen is about three hours that way,” the man said, pointing in the general direction of the city. “I’ve never been to Amsterdam, but I suppose it’s quite a few days’ travel.”
“A few days!” Exclaimed Clara. “You really missed, then. Maybe you should learn how to fly that old ship of yours.”
“Well, next time, you try to fly her.”
“I might, actually.”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted the man once more, “ fly her ?”
“Never mind that. ‘s-Hertogenrade…” The Doctor looked up to the stars. In these parts, the trees towered above them, obscuring most of the view. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out anything useful.
“18th century, am I right?”
The Doctor immediately looked down at Clara instead. “How did you…”
She simply gestured at the man in front of them, as if to say look at him .
“1771, ma’am,” the doctor answered, only to quickly realise just how strange that question had been. His confusion was clear, apparently, because she followed up with the answer to the question he hadn’t even formulated yet.
“Don’t worry about it, we’re just…”
“We read a very good… travel guide. Or well, she did. You read it, didn’t you?”
“Well one of us had to. You definitely weren’t going to.”
This answer, of course, did not lessen the man’s confusion, but at least he now knew better than to say anything about it.
“But never mind that,” the Doctor said, turning to the doctor again. “What day is it?”
“Tuesday,” he replied, almost like he was asking these strangers if he was correct.
Of course, he was not.
The Doctor made a gesture, as if it were clear as day this wasn’t enough of an answer. “And?”
When the stranger didn’t seem to understand, Clara decided to help him out. “He’s trying to ask which one.”
“Well, I… We…” he stammered. “We celebrated my mother-in-law Clara’s name day yesterday, so that would be…”
Before he could make the calculation of what day that would be, the Doctor interrupted him. “August 13th, 1771.”
“Do you seriously have the feast days of saints just… memorized?” Asked Clara, somewhat dumbfounded.
“Just a few,” replied the Doctor.
“Including my name saint? How romantic.”
“Please, Clara, not now.”
“Is there a god for people on Gallifrey?”
“Would you have an answer if I asked you the same question about Earth?”
“That’s blasphemy!” the doctor cried out.
“It’s a question . Do try to keep up,” the Doctor replied.
That was enough to silence the unfortunate witness to this unholy apparition. Knowing he wouldn’t get anything out of this strange man, who had now started to wander around a little, he turned to Clara instead. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Well,” Clara said, “I’m not. He’s definitely not. Like we said, scenic detour. But I suppose we’ll get going now, won’t we?”
“Flying goats.”
That was certainly not the answer Clara expected. “Sorry, what?”
“Flying goats!” repeated the Doctor with a grin and just a little too much excitement in his voice, turning towards the man now. “Is that common around these parts?”
“Have you lost…”
“Yes,” answered the man, before Clara could finish. “I regret to say, it still is.”
Just as Clara was about to ask what exactly they were talking about, she found the answer to her question. There, high up in the sky, she could see dark figures fly by through the trees. Far away, fast, but nevertheless recognisable as something animal-like, if it weren’t for the dark red, glowing eyes. She thought they were eyes, at least.
Even more surprisingly, although she’d hardly thought it possible, they seemed to be carrying people on their backs.
“I don’t suppose these are Santa’s reindeer?” Asked Clara, in an attempt to lighten her confusion.
“Clara,” replied the Doctor. “It’s August . And the last time I checked, he only had one reindeer with a bright red light on him. Lovely fellow, though.”
“Who, Santa?”
“No, Rudolf.”
“They’re not reindeer,” said the doctor.
“They might be,” replied the Doctor. “How do you know? Have you seen them up close?”
The man fell silent again, but not with confusion this time. Something about him had changed, like the question itself had pained him. “The gallows are that way,” he then said quietly, pointing. “That should answer your questions. I’ll get going now. Enjoy your trip.”
“Now, wait just a second,” said the Doctor. “Who exactly are you?”
“I’m just the doctor, sir.”
Clara couldn’t help but smile at the Doctor, as if to say your turn .
He, of course, could not suppress a slight grin either. “Doctor who?”
“Doctor Joseph Kirchhoffs,” he answered with a gentle nod. “Goodnight.”