08:00 – 09:00
I was beginning to flag rather noticeably. I made myself a small pot of
extra strong tea (two dunks per cup and two for the pot <g>) and decided
to explain my problems to William Hartnell.
“Mr Hartnell” I began, “I am worried about you. You and my entire
collection will be destroyed in sixteen hours unless I have a lot of
inspiration all at once. I’ve tried my best. I live a good life but when I
call upon fate to do something for me it does nothing but urinate on my
head.”
He didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t. He was a frozen corpse. Posed as if
an exhibit in a science fiction museum. Museum. A museum about space
objects. A space museum.
The Space Museum!
I leapt out of my chair and diddled about with my cryogenic unit’s
controls. It was an audacious plan but one which just might work.
Obviously it would take some time. Time which I would be able to use to
put part B of plan A into operation. I rushed out of the house, got on my
bicycle and rode as hard and as fast as I could to Shagford. I banged on
Wicks and Grantham’s door.
“Dennis Brent” said Grantham when he opened the door.
“Good morning Grantham.”
“I hope you don’t have another survey – I’m feeling rather delicate this
morning after being kept up all night by Wicks, then you, then Wicks
again.”
“Oh dear – is Wicks getting on top of you again?” I asked.
“In what way?” he gasped.
“Living with him must be a burden.”
“Oh right. Yes. How can I help you, Dennis Brent?”
“I was wondering if I could borrow your copy of Doctor Who and the Zarbi?”
“Hahaha” laughed Grantham. “No, really, why did you come all the way to
Shagford?”
“I’d like to borrow your copy of Doctor Who and the Zarbi.”
“You have three copies of your own.”
“That is true – first edition, paperback and paperback reprinted version –
but I would like to borrow yours.”
“Have you run mad, Dennis Brent?”
“I… er… have been presented with the opportunity to obtain a genuine
signed Martin Jarvis dinner service and I require a third Jarvis signature
with which to verify the authenticity of it.”
“Do you not possess three signatures.”
“I have only two” I lied, “my copy of Doctor Who and the Zarbi and my
video cassette of Vengeance on Varos. He refused to autograph my digital
versatile disc of that story because he – and I quote – ‘remembered what a
t-w-a-t I was’ on the previous occasion.”
“That is a very moving tale, Dennis Brent.”
“So may I borrow the book?”
“I am won over by the season of goodwill and also by your obviously
genuine story. If you wait here on the doorstep I will get the book for
you.”
Grantham closed the door and put on the security chain before going to his
bedroom and retrieving the book. He undid the security chain, opened the
door and beckoned me inside.
“Security” he said nodding at the chain.
“I understand.”
“I keep even Wicks in the dark about where my most prized possessions are
hidden.”
“As I do with Ian Devine.”
“It’s not that we don’t trust each other…” began Grantham.
“…but it would be foolish to fall into the trap of not regarding every
other member of the human race as a competitor who would stab you in the
back and steal your collection?” I offered.
“Precisely.”
“Would you have a small glass of water that I could borrow? I’m rather
parched after the ride from Bendaton.
“Certainly, Dennis Brent. Would you mind stepping outside again?”
I went out to the door step, Grantham closed and secured the door, fetched
my water, unsecured the door, opened it, handed me the glass and watched
as I drained the refreshing water. I handed him the glass and he put it in
his dressing gown pocket.
“Right – you’ll be wanting the book then.”
“Yes please.”
“Usual conditions?”
“Certainly” told him and he handed me the book in exchange for a
fifty-pound deposit. I wrapped the book in tissue paper, put it securely
in my satchel, slung the trusty leather bag over my shoulder and bicycled
back to Bendaton.
The cryogenic unit was whirring away when I rejoined it, copy of Doctor
Who and the Zarbi in hand and a plan in mind. I had to be very careful
with what I was doing – no one had ever attempted it before and I was
fully aware that there were no tricks in science. A timer pinged and I
cranked the unit’s main door handle. I heard a moaning from inside.
“Oohhhh…. Ahhhhhh… oooooohhhh… ahhhhhhhh” came the voice. “Yes… yes… oh
god yes… ahhhhhhhhhh… support me dear boy” said Mr Hartnell.
“Mr Hartnell?”
“Wah what is this? I am Doctor Who and I’m suffering from an attack of
rheumatism.”
08:59:58
08:59:59
09:00:00
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