Doctor Who: Snooping Amateurs! (Part 14)

Bauman looked up nervously at the ceiling of the basement room, his own mind straying and uneasy.  Movement and rattling was going on upstairs, the aroma of bread reaching down to them.  “Yeah, I forgot,” Bauman gritted.  “Grandfather Bauman usually had the bakery open by dawn.  He and Grandma are up there making the doughnuts and bread for today.  Dad hung around and helped out when he could, but mostly just hung around and listened to Grandfather telling him about how great Hitler was.  Not that he was wrong about that,” Bauman shrugged.  “But the spy ring used this basement as a hideout and—well,” he grinned down at Hannah wriggling weakly against the basement wall, her gag thoroughly replaced over her mouth, “you remember, don’t you Beatrice?  This is where we brought your little friend Maggie, and where we brought those other girls when they decided to meddle.  Don’t think you’re going anywhere!”  He tried to think for a moment, a difficult task for him as it was for Tricia and Bentley, and for the same reason.  “Back there,” he said, indicating a dark corner of the basement, unfinished and rocky-walled.  “Nobody should see them there.  Damn, it’s hard to think all of a sudden!”

“You’re too close to your timeline, Bauman,” the Master sniffed.  “But you should be functional enough to guard my prisoners.  As for our little friend and the Doctor, leave them to me!”  And in moments, the Master had undone the back basement door with his laser screwdriver and left Bauman to glower over the wriggling prisoners.  Including one who had heard that name—Master—obliquely, at moments she was not supposed to have heard, and always with a note of wistful dread in her friend’s voice…

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Now it was Tricia’s turn to be calm.  She didn’t have any idea who this Master was whom the Doctor was so alarmed about, but she had no difficulty understanding that he was a dangerous opponent.  But surely, she argued, he doesn’t know Snowden like I do…  “Listen, Doctor,” she soothed.  “I know you’re worried about Rose.  But if Bauman’s with him, and they’re hiding out, I think I know just where they’ll be!  Bauman’s first idea would be to hide out in the bakery, and”—

“The bakery?  The one we passed this morning?”

“That’s the one,” Bentley interceded.  “Bauman’s Bakery.  Old Bauman was a German immigrant, a member of the German-American Bund.  He was the host for the spy ring, and taught his kid George to worship Hitler.  And that kid’s kid is the Bauman Trish is talking about, the one working with this Master you’re talking about.”

“And that’s where they kept Maggie Provenzini,” Trish added.  “They kept her there after they kidnapped her, and Bauman was back there with us.  That’s where he’d have your Master guy keep the”—and suddenly a glint of recognition lit her apple-cheeked face.  “Hey!” she blurted.  “He went back at the same time we did, Agent Bentley!  That means he’s too close to his timeline, just like we were, Doctor!  That means that he”—

“That he won’t be in any shape to confront anyone!” the Doctor brightened.  “You really are brilliant, Tricia!  Not even I thought of that!”

“So here’s what we should do!” Tricia argued feverishly.  “The Master has to know you’re here, because he has Rose.  That means he’ll come after you, and probably leave Bauman to watch his prisoners, and they’ll probably be in the bakery basement.  You decoy the Master away from the bakery, and I can sneak in and rescue them, and then”—

“Absolutely not!” the Doctor, Bentley, and Bobby all chimed out in perfect unison—Trish bridled angrily—

“You don’t know the Master, Tricia!” the Doctor scolded.  “He’s a Time Lord like me!  Worse than that, he’s been maddened!  He’s absolutely ruthless, Tricia—you’d be no match for him, no matter how bright you are!  You’re not going to go after”—

“Didn’t you just listen to me?” Trish countered hotly, her temper rising.  “I just said you should decoy him away from the bakery, and then I’ll rescue everybody!”

“That would leave you against Bauman, Tricia,” Bentley scolded in his turn, “and no matter how incapacitated he might be, he’s still stronger than you, and you know he has no conscience!  He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you or the prisoners, so”—

“Agent Bentley,” Trish argued, “you have to keep an eye on the spy ring!  If they find out what’s happening, they might make a move against the Wells Machine right now, and you have to stop that!  Agent Smith doesn’t know what’s going on here yet, but you do!  Remember, you said it yourself that your job is to protect the Machine!”  Which left Bentley sulkily quiet; she was certainly right about his primary duty—

“You’re not going anywhere without me to protect you!” Bobby asserted most vehemently of all.  “I won’t let you run off into”—

“Yeah, rodent, and what army is going to help you stop me?” she taunted.  “Besides, we have to find out which of the three men is the other Time Lord, which means somebody has to stake out the arboretum to see when they show up or leave.  They won’t use the regular entrance if they’re testing the Machine, in case they end up way off their timeline and the guards ask questions.  Dr. Provenzini told me that before!  Your job is to find out what you can about where Dr. Provenzini, Dr. Heiner, and Dr. Andronescu are, and let me know!  Anyway, I might be able to look like a coed, but you still look like a little school-age rodent, so if anybody sees you, the truant officer will haul your fanny over to the school, and then we’re sunk!”

The Doctor managed a small, wry smile.  “Well, it looks like Inspector Tricia has given us our orders, boys!  We better set off!”  He gazed a long moment at Tricia.  “And you take care of yourself, young lady.  You’re too important to lose!”

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Rose, by the time the Doctor had landed her in this strange place, had learned enough about time travel to know the danger of crossing one’s own timeline, and Bauman’s growing confusion and listlessness struck her as a malady rooted in being so close to his own timeline.  In any case, he was obviously under the weather, which meant that they had a chance.  If only they could escape their bonds…

Perhaps it was mere chance, maybe a strategy on Bauman’s part to intimidate Hannah, but he had kept mother and daughter well apart, with Rose seated against the wall beside Hannah, with weeping little Krysten and surly Missy between her and Ms. Watson.  If Bauman wasn’t vigilant, she knew, she could help Hannah and the others get untied, and then…

But Bauman, weak as he was, kept a watchful eye on the girls, especially Rose; his leering eyes were undressing her in his imagination.  While the thought of that sickened her, Rose wondered if maybe she couldn’t turn Bauman’s attention to account.  If for no other purpose than to…yes, Hannah’s been in this fix before!  She knows what to do!  All I have to do is keep Bauman occupied while they get themselves untied!  Now, how to do that?…

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Snowden had changed a great deal in the years between 1942 and 2005, but Tricia had been there in both years, so she knew the best way around the town, and especially the campus.  She had managed a few accessories before she left; a nice purse which somehow turned up in the TARDIS’s library, and a few books which seemed to Trish to look what 1942 college textbooks would look like.  After all, she reasoned, if I’m playing the part of a college coed, I need the right props!

She left Bobby with a brief description of the three men to watch for.  The big hairy  dark-headed Hungarian Andronescu, the tall thin Italian Provenzini, and the tousled, salt-and-pepper-haired Heiner.  Bentley and Trish walked together to the point where a footpath led to the upper—in 1942, the only—quadrangle, where Trish directed her steps while Bentley followed the campus road into the town proper.  And as she strolled away on her two-inch heels, Bentley had to ruefully admit that Trish made a very reasonable—and charming—facsimile of a 1942 college coed…

A role Trish did her best to maintain as she sauntered across the quad, taking a less direct route to Bauman’s Bakery.  She had found a supply of bobby pins and a nail clipper in the purse—the TARDIS thinks of everything, Trish noted with pleasure—and as her path took her up Karakas Street toward town, her mind was occupied with how to break into the Bauman Bakery basement—“Audrey Browner!” a voice cut in at close range—the Audrey part of her gasped—“What do you think you’re doing!  Does your mother know you’re skipping school?  And look at you!  I’m pretty easy-going, Audrey, but if your mother saw you dressed like that and made up like some tart, she’d have a stroke and you know it!”  As the woman continued to berate her, Trish recognized her—Mrs. Anderson, Beatrice Anderson’s mother!  She bore a vague resemblance to Hannah’s mother Ms. Watson in hair color and build, but the differences were clear.  Another thing that was clear was that Mrs. Anderson was sure she was accosting Audrey Browner—“Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Audrey?  And let me tell you, if you’ve talked Bea into another of your crazy mysteries, I’ll tan your behind myself and then give you back to your mother!”  Trish knew of only one way to get out of this—

“Ma’am,” she replied with the coolest hauteur she could manage in the circumstances, wrapping her arms around books raised to her chest so the woman could see them, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I don’t know this Audrey Browner you seem to think I am, but I assure you I’m not her!  I’m a freshman at Snowden St—Snowden College, and to be honest, ma’am, I’m rather offended at the way you’ve been speaking to me!  I’m not a child, if you must know!”

Mrs. Anderson glared narrowly at the girl, a glimmer of doubt beginning to cool her gaze.  “Oh,” she replied, a trace of sarcasm in her voice, “and may I ask your name, miss?  I don’t recall seeing you around town!”  I should have known she’d ask, Trish cursed to herself—don’t hesitate, Trish!  Your mom depends on—

“Nancy Morgan,” she replied, raising her nose in the air another inch.  “My name is Nancy Morgan, and I’m from Stoneville.  Perhaps you’ve not seen me, Mrs. A—ma’am, because I usually spend my free time studying and not socializing.  If you must know, I’m a straight-A student!”

And the woman’s gaze again narrowed.  Remember who you are, Trish, you idiot!….  “And just how do you know my name, Miss Morgan?” she asked, her voice now heavy with sarcasm.  “Or shall I say”—

“Well…of course everyone knows you, Mrs. Anderson,” Trish bluffed.  “Your husband’s work at the War Production Board made all the papers, didn’t it?  I pride myself on knowing what’s happening not only here, but in the nation as well.  I’m sure Mr. Anderson is doing excellent work in Washington, and you should be very proud of him!”  Please please please let this work!…  Mrs. Anderson hesitated.  I don’t remember seeing my picture in the paper with that article…”Now, if that is sufficient explanation, Mrs. Anderson, might you allow me to pass, please?  I’m meeting a girlfriend of mine at the Wakeman’s Drug lunch counter to have lunch and study our notes for class, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make me late for that.”

Mrs. Anderson wavered.  Not even Audrey could keep up an act this well—could she?…  “Well, Miss Morgan, I…I’m sorry I inconvenienced you.  Please enjoy your lunch, and a good morning to you.”  Eager for escape, Trish bade Mrs. Anderson a haughty good-afternoon and resumed her walk toward—and then she realized, looking at the watch on her wrist, that the time was only eight-fifteen in the morning—

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The Doctor surmised that the most likely place the Master would go would be the Wells Machine site down in the arboretum.  Since that was also Bobby’s duty station, the two strolled along together.  Among other benefits, it gave Bobby a cover story if anyone saw a school-age boy out on a school day.  And also…

“Rather protective of your lass, aren’t you?” the Doctor chatted, as much to divert his worries about Rose and the Master as to occupy the time.

An observation which made Bobby’s shoulders slump.  “She’s not really mine, Doctor,” he muttered despondently.  “I mean…well…”

“You want her to be, don’t you?” the Doctor smiled.  “Well, Constable,” he said in his best avuncular, expansive tone, “as a bloke who’s been around a bit, I can say…well,” he snickered, “I can’t say I’ve ever understood girls!  Especially human ones—way too…well, way too…too…”

“You’ve never liked a girl?” Bobby asked guardedly, wondering if this Doctor was, as the Brits might put it, “bent.”  “I mean, why not Rose?” he wondered aloud.  “I mean, she’s like…well…”

Which left the Doctor thoughtful.  “Yeah…yes, Constable, she’s…well…”

“Real well!” Bobby sighed, believing he could catch a certain note in the Doctor’s voice that reassured him.  “But, well, you know, not as well as…well,” he blushed, “she’s not Trish!  I mean…there’s just something about Tricia that…”

“Adventuresome, yes,” the Doctor agreed.  “Bright, brave…yes, Constable, she makes a wonderful companion.”  He cocked a wry, understanding smile at his young colleague.  “And I’m sure Tricia does too.  She’s your Rose. We just have to keep her safe long enough for her to figure it out!”  Which rallied Bobby back to the cause…