Dawn of the Crabs: Chapter 1

Captain Max Thrustcock soared through the azure blue open skies like a bird of prey. An energetic and voracious man, he had flown his Spitfire in 137 combat missions thus far in the war. A recent injury had left him earthbound for the past three months. Too long! While valiantly defending his nation from a violent onslaught, a stray German bullet clipped his craft, severing a hydraulic line and causing his controls to lock. A lucky shot, was how Max told the story. By rights, the landing alone should have been fatal, but Max's grim determination and iron will had let him escape with only a leg fracture. But it was enough to keep him on the ground while it healed.

It had healed remarkably quickly, all things considered, though still too slow for his liking. This was his first flight since the accident, and Max was loving every instantaneous moment. He and his craft flew as one, a bond of man and machine far deeper than any of his many and varied paramour encounters had ever been. His Spitfire roared through the clouds, it's engine hum a battle cry against the very laws of nature the craft was defying. "Man was not meant to fly, so therefore I'm more than a mere man." thought Max, in a gruff monotone.

Max was disturbed from his idle thoughts by a sight upon the sea. His years of combat experience had heightened his senses to be aware of trouble, of the slightest thing out of the ordinary. He radioed back to the RAF base, requesting permission to investigate via a flyby. As his plane crossed over the sandy boundary between the realms of land and ocean, he started to make out more details of the sight which had bothered him. It was a fishing trawler, on no set trajectory, drifting aimlessly in the blue void. For the briefest of moments, Max thought he spied an object on board, about the size of an automobile, grey and red, and moving. If it were not impossible, he would had sworn it was similar in appearance to some form of bally crustacean! He flew lower to get a better look at the unidentified object. It had vanished! Whatever had resided there had gone. Perhaps it had fallen overboard, if indeed there was ever anything even there at all. Max decided to return to base. He had to report this unmanned vessel to the proper authorities.

Soon after encountering the disturbing visage, Max had landed on the long straight stretch of tarmac of the RAF base. With a practised ease, he leapt from his craft, legs showing little sign of the injury they had sustained. He removed his flight helmet and goggles, revealing a perfectly kept quiff adorning his short, jet black hair. Max left his beloved Spitfire to the technicians and engineers to perform post flight checks. He strode confidently towards the main hangar, his white pilot's scarf fluttering in the breeze. Confidence oozed from him like slime oozes from a slug; propelling him in life and leaving an indelible trail in his wake. Ahead, he could already see that dratted Colonel with a scowling frown adorning his aquilline features. No doubt he was waiting to admonish Max for breaking protocol, or some similar petty charge.

"Captain Thrustcock, what in the blue blazes was that stunt about?!" demanded the Colonel. Max smiled inwardly, the Colonel was becoming predictable.
"There was a vessel that appeared to be in some distress. I thought it best to investigate."
"That doesn't give you the authority to break from your mission objectives, Captain!" yelled the Colonel, red splodges on his cheeks glowing ever brighter. "You've always been a wild card!"
"If that's how you feel, sir. Ground me. Suspend me, discharge me! But I know you won't, or can't."
"You know that is not a plausible course of action, Captain. You're on of the best pilots we've got."
"Modesty obliges me to disagree with your statement, Colonel. I'm not one of the best, I'm the best. And top brass knows it. Anytime I've acted outside of my orders, it's been to save Allied lives, or take Axis ones."

The captain was furious, sick of the beurocracy that governed him, of the suits that tried to impose their will on him. He who killed and saved more lives than whole squadrons had managed.

Eventually, the Colonel relented. "Ok, Thrustcock, have it your way. But I demand a full account of what you saw today, while we send the coastal services to investigate this vessel."

Dawn of the Crabs: Prologue

As anyone who follows my Twitter feed knows, I've recently become enamoured with the works of Guy N.  Smith, particularly his Killer Crabs series. To the point were I feel compelled to write a story in his singular style. Children, let us begin...

Captain Mudraker was a simple man of simple pleasures. For over 30 years he had sailed his small, diesel powered trawler across the English Channel, selling his meager haul to fishmongers at each end of his voyages. While his hauls were meager, they were enough to fund his continued sailing, his fondness for drink, and the occasional gambling he chose to partake in.

His skin was stained a deep mahogany by the years spent on the open sea. Similarly, his skin was lined and marked by the harshness of Neptune's domain, the fierce winds and blinding salty spray. His prematurely greyed bushy beard hid the softer features of his face, disguising his jovial nature under a mask of grim determination. His tattered wool jumper, more stitches than material, and a particularly chewed clay pipe completed his ensemble.

The captain found himself in a mood as foul as the stench of his rotting teeth. Even by his own meager standards, this haul was pitiful. He'd hardly be able to refuel his whiskey stock, let alone the boat's engine at this rate. Oddly, this stretch of sea was usually a hive of underwater activities, it was as if something had disturbed the sea life below him.
"Like rats from a sinking ship." he chuckled to himself, overly amused at his own wit.
"And who can blame ye, with all of the submarines and boats and bombs. This war is a bloody nuisance to my trade."

The captain was not best pleased by the ongoing hostilities of the Second World War. He wondered why the two sides couldn't just leave well enough alone and mind their own business. Troublemakers, the lot of them. He'd been disturbed and disgruntled by naval vessels, sea mines and submarines too often by far.
"Bloody warlords and boffins, disturbing the balance of the natural ocean." he bemoaned to nobody in particular.

Captain Mudraker was awoken from his thoughts by a sudden jolt of his vessel.
"Somethings tugging on my anchor. Haven't bothered with that for years!"
He burst into another fit of braying laughter. Eventually, when he tired of this, he decided to investigate. Most likely he had become caught on a rocky outcrop, or some dashed German U-Boat. Bloody Krauts! The boat began to tilt slightly, then list further. The captain struggled to retain his footing as the surface on which he stood swung up from the horizontal. The boat was rocking slightly, rhythmically, as if a tremendous weight was hauling itself up his anchor chain.

Fearing that some some armored naval diver might be attempting to scale his vessel, Mudraker reached for one of his whaling harpoons. Moments later, the sight before him almost caused him to drop the spear. An impossibly large claw had breached the surface of the water. A giant crab, or some more horribly mutated crustacean was emerging from the briny depths! The creature quickly chambered abroad, salt water dripping from its serrated claws, it's red eyes glowing satanically in the dusk twilight. The beast was a crab alright, a crab the size of one of those modern tanks deployed on the front.

"Cripes! This the spawn of Neptune, come to punish me for stealing from his realm! Lay on then, beast, give me your best shot!"

Mudraker ran at the giant crab, harpoon extended, gleaming tip aimed at its shell protected face. The crab did not budge, it knew the fruitlessness of the assault. The harpoon snapped in half on impact, sending the captain reeling, as the crab made a single sweep of its pincers. Struggling to his feet for a second round, Mudraker reached out for another weapon. After several moments unable to grasp a second shaft, he realised his folly. Where his right arm normally resided, there was merely a bloody stump, crimson liquid spurting from its aperture.

The Captain realised the folly of his defiance, he knew there was no point in resisting. He did not struggle as the razor sharp pincer split him from nave to neck, and welcomed the sweet embrace of death. The crab, for its part, enjoyed its new meal, before returning to the depths from whence it came.

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (10)

The Red Tavern.

HGJ: "A toast to our cherished comrade, the courageous and charismatic Captain Jack Harkness! A brave and bold soul who gave his life in defence of this realm."

GL: "Here here! To Captain Harkness!"

HGJ: "We hardly knew him, but he'll be sorely missed."

GL: "If only he hadn't been so dashed headstrong, or if we'd insisted he not enter alone."

HGJ: "No point in musing over the immutable past, Professor. Time marches on leaving a mess of repercussions in its wake. All we men can do is carry on, regardless."

Unknown: "Never would have pegged you as the philosophical type, Whiskers. But that really was a wonderful eulogy. One of my favourites, and believe me, I've heard enough of them!"

A tall, well dressed gentleman had walked up to the table occupied by Jago & Litefoot. Removing his top hat, he revealed himself to be none other than...

GL: "Captain Jack Harkness! What sort of apparition is this?! You're dead! I'm sure of it. I performed the examination myself."

CJH: "I know Prim, I've got the scars to prove it."

GL: "Then how can you be here talking to us?"

CJH: "Because, I got better."

HGJ: "Got better?! From death? I need  to bottle whatever it is you have, Jack. Could make us a mighty mint!"

CJH: Believe me, it's not all that it seems. It's more of a Curse than a blessing. You see, I can't die. Ever. At least, not for long. Every single time, no matter how I'm killed, I'm dragged back into this body. And it hurts. Like being dragged across broken glass, and I can never get used to it. Every time, it's a fresh hell."

GL: "But how? What manner of science allows a dead man to be brought back from the other side?"

CJH: "It's a long story Prim, one for another time. It's just a part of me. Thanks for the assist, by the way."

GL: "Oh, much obliged."

CJH: "This whole affair is far from over though. Sutekh has yet to be stopped, and I fear using me as a sacrifice may have given him a great big heaping of energy. Not enough to break free of his prison, whatever that is, but he can't be far off attaining his goals now. Full on psychic projection is no mean feat."

HGJ: "Corks! How do you propose we continue?"

CJH: "Well, please tell me you have the dagger in police custody..."

GL: "No, it couldn't be located. All the police found were the six Cult members, no identifications or weapons."

CJH: "Did you say six? Because there were seven when I entered the house."

HGJ: "Crumbs, we still have a cruel cultist cove on the loose, with an ancient dagger of mystical magic!"

CJH: "Well, that's were you should start. We now know Sutekh is trying to break into this dimension. That explains the anachronisms in this time period. Perhaps if you can find a breach in time, that Quantum Flux Stabiliser can seal it, trapping his Lordship away again."

GL: "Right, but why did you say you and not we?"

CJH: "I've been reassigned. Torchwood need me in India. The Queen is in mortal peril, thanks to a Vortisaur incursion. I'm travelling out this very night. But I leave the current investigation in your more than capable hands, gentlemen."

HGJ: "It has been an honour, sir."

GL: "And a privilege. Even if I still haven't received compensation for my window."

CJH: "Absolutely incorrigible, the pair of you! I'm going to miss you two. Good luck with Sutekh!"

GL: "And you with her Majesty!"

HGJ: "Well, we have work to do, Professor!"

GL: "Find the lost cultist? Retrieve the dagger? Stop the temporal anomalies so the Doctor can arrive? Defeat an Egyptian deity?"

HGJ: "All of the above, in due course. Firstly, we have to cancel that mournful toast for Jack. And toast to his continued health instead!"

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (9)

Druid's Lane, nearby Cult Headquarters.

GL: "Dash it all, where is he? He's been gone for almost an hour!"

HGJ: "Never fear, Litefoot. The courageous Captain is most probably lying in wait, stalking his prey like a lion stalks a gazelle. Waiting for the most opportune moment to strike."

GL: "He never much struck me as the patient sort, Henry. I fear his overconfident zeal may have been his undoing."

HGJ: "You mean to say..."

GL: "Unfortunately yes. This is a mission for Jago & Litefoot!"

HGJ: "Corks. I feared you'd say that. We will of course, be bringing along the Quick and his men, I assume?"

GL: "Of course not, Jago. If the Captain is in fact not in danger, we don't wish to upset his plans. We shall simply approach the dwelling and observe through the windows, interfering only if necessary."

HGJ: "Cripes. Ok, onwards, Professor. Before I see sense and change my mind."

Exterior Of Cult Headquarters.

HGJ: "See anything, Litefoot?"

GL: "Do keep your voice down, Henry. We are trying to remain unnoticed and covert."

HGJ: "Sorry George. What do you see?"

GL: "The Cult are preparing another sacrifice! The poor victim is still alive, however he's already had those hieroglyphics carved into his flesh. His face is covered by those fiendish hoods, I can't identify him."

HGJ: "Any sign of Captain Harkness?"

GL: "No... Where the blazes could he be?"

HGJ: "Corks! That figure tied to the chair, I think I recognise the stitching on his robes..."

GL: "You can't be serious..."

The two men watched with horror as the man's head was forced backwards, exposing his neck to the curved blade held out towards it. The hood slipped backwards during the motion, revealing the grim determined face of Captain Jack Harkness.

HGJ: "We have to do something!"

GL: "I have an idea! See that ornamental bird bath in the garden? Give me a hand with it."

Interior of Cult Headquarters.

CL: "This blade is called the soul stealer. It shall capture your life essence, and transfer it to our master, weakening his bonds. He shall be free again!"

CJH: "In which case, could you stop mouthing off and get on with it? Death would be preferable to having to listen to you much longer."

CL: "SILENCE! Restrain his overly inflated head."

CJH: "Oi! Hands of the merchandise. Have you any idea how much I need to moisturise to give my skin such a healthy glow."

CL: "Sutekh, please receive our humble sacrifice..."

CJH: "You know, on second thoughts, maybe I'm not your ideal candidate for this. Maybe you should let me go? I'm hardly a vestal virgin here."

CL: "In the name of..."

The Cult Leader was again interrupted, not by Jack, but a large decorative iron battering ram smashing through the boarded up window. Two gentlemen quickly climbed in through the freshly made entrance. The hirsute gentleman held his fists in an overly dramatic boxing stance, while the other held his cane with menace.

GL: "This has gone on for long enough!"

HGJ: "The game is up, you cretinous cultish cowards! There will be no more sacrificial stabbing for you fanatical fiends. Not with us on the case!"

CJH: "Well, you took your sweet time Whiskers! And Prim, pot kettle much? Now who's smashing windows?"

CL: "Enough, all of you! Sutekh will not be denied!"

With a sickening swipe of the silver blade, Jacks neck was slit open. Scarlet blood streamed from the wound, pooling around the Captain. He veined tried to breathe, succeeding only in drawing blood into his lungs. The Captain trashed in his chair, simultaneously choking and drowning, slowly loosing the energy to resist as his organs were denied oxygen.

With a roar, Litefoot drew the concealed sword from his cane and faced the leader. The two began to duel fiercely. Even Jago threw himself into combat with the nearest cultist. In the distance, a shrill police whistle sounded. The cavalry were coming, but possibly too late.

With a flourish, Litefoot disarmed his assailant, sending the knife flying. As Inspector Quick and his men entered, the fighting ended, the cultists knowing there time was over. Litefoot rushed to the Captain's side, tore a strip of fabric from his robes and attempted to staunch the bleed. Jack's panicked eyes found Litefoot's and shared a look of utter hopelessness. With a final wheezing shudder, the Captain fell limp, with no more blood to lose.

Litefoot turned to face Jago and Quick, a hard look behind his eyes. Together, the three men faced the cult leader.

IQ: "You and your cohorts are under arrest, for the crimes of murder, conspiracy to murder, offences against the Crown, and trespassing. Anything you say may be used in evidence against you."

The cult leader began to laugh, his voice deeper and more menacing that than before. As if someone else was speaking through him.

CL: "You think you have bested me? The Captain's life energy was far more powerful than anyone could have predicted. My powers have grown, soon I shall walk among your peoples again. And they shall fear me and tremble! For I am their doom! I am the end of days!

Very soon I shall have no more need of human puppets. I shall no longer require to suffer this indignity of proxies. But these particular insects have outlived their welcome."

With a jolt, all six of the gathered Cult members fell backwards, dead, a look of agony etched on their faces.

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (8)

Druid's Lane, nearby Cult Headquarters.

HGJ: "Are you sure you don't desire backup, Jack?"

CJH: "Yeah, yeah. It's too dangerous for anyone else."

IQ: "Well, I have a number of law enforcement officers standing by, should you wish us to actually do our job."

CJH: "Appreciated, but unnecessary, Inspector."

GL: "Still, Captain, there should be some sort of signal, in case you require any help..."

CJH: "Stop fussing Prim. I've dealt with far worse people than this bunch of fanatical murderers. I've tangled with Exentria Gallumbiss without breaking a sweat. Maybe a couple of bones, definitely some hearts."

GL: "Dash it all, I don't like this Henry. We don't belong on the sidelines."

HGJ: "I'm sure he'll be fine, he's a strong cove."

GL: "We shall see."

Exterior Of Cult Headquarters.

CJH: "Right Jack, time for the softly softly approach. You know talking to yourself is not helping matters, but when you're as old as I am, it's hard to find someone with similar life experiences. Beggars can't be choosers."

CJH: "Oh look, an broken upstairs window, right next to a drainpipe. Almost too easy. Kind of makes the robe a bit redundant though."

Jack quickly made his way inside the structure. The dingy room in which he found himself was deserted, baring years of dust and several colonies of scuttling insects. He progressed cautiously onto the upper landing.

Still, nobody was nearby. From atop the stairs, Jack could make out the flickering of torches below, and the unmistakable chanting of the cultists echoed upwards. Enough was enough. The Captain bounded down the stairs.

CJH: "Honey, I'm home! Hands in the air, all of you. This ends. Tonight!"

Cult Leader: "Ah, tonight's glorious sacrifice has joined us."

CJH: "I think not, pal. You have heard of pistols, yes? This one is pointed at your head. No sudden moves, any of you."

CL: "What do you think this is, exactly?"

CJH: "Nothing. Not anymore. Your sacrificial circle is broken."

CL: "There is but one of you, and seven of us. Not counting our lord and master, of course."

CJH: "Yeah, but how many of you are packing heat?"

CL: "Such spirit! Oh, our Lord will enjoy feasting on you."

CJH: "Cut the crap. If you were really communing with a deity, some powerful force, you'd be showing off! Not just prancing around in these admittedly fetching robes."

CL: "You wish to see a demonstration of the power of the Typhonian Beast?"

CJH: "That old fairytale? Seriously, that's your all powered God? The Galaxy Crusher? The Endless Death? Satan? The story parents tell their children to keep them in line?"

CL: "Do not mock Sutekh, Lord of Death! Sutekh kaftan dolgarrog, ni lamba'kahn!"

CJH: "Oh, I'm just shaking in my boots. Come on then, Sutekh. Do your worst! I've stared down Abbadon, you don't scare me!"

Despite his bravado, Jack was mildly concerned. A strange wind had begun to swirl around them, the shadows cast by torchlight were stretching impossibly far, and he could feel a pressure pounding on his skull.

CJH: "Ok, I've seen enough psychic disturbances to know when an ethereal presence is trying to enter me uninvited. Maybe there is something to you tale after all. But I'm not gonna stop. This is your last warn..."

A sudden invisible force jolted the Captain, sending his revolver skittering to the floor.

CL: "Feel the power of Sutekh! He is yet unable to take physical form, this is but a taste of his power! Imagine his potential when he is freed!"

CJH: "I am! And it doesn't end well for anyone. You included. You really think that a Lord of Death will let you worshippers live?!"

CL: "That is not the intention. Sutekh will wipe all pitiful life from the cosmos. Us faithful will merely be reborn in his glorious image. Our reward awaits us beyond this mortal carcass."

CJH: "Oh great, a cult with a death wish. Just your luck Jack."

CL: "Enough prattle! Bind him to the chair. It is time to offer a sacrifice! Sutekh requires immense life energy to break his prison bonds."

Jack found himself unable to resist the advance of the cultists. He was unable to move his limbs of his own accord. Trapped in his mind, body puppeteered where they wanted him. But he held enough control to be able to scream as they began carving ritualistic symbols into his flesh....

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (7)

Police Station.

IQ: "Thanks for arriving so promptly, gentlemen."

GL: "We could hardly do otherwise, as you sent an escort to convey us here. I take it you've found a lead in this case?"

IQ: "Indeed Professor. Some old fashioned police work, given that it is our usual function. I've had all constables on the beat keeping an eye out for that eye symbol, in the hopes of finding another one of these cult hideouts."

GL: "Obviously you've found something promising, Quick."

IQ: "We found no less than five other premises, all in various states of disrepair. We also checked mortuary records for the last month, and found three other corpses with similar scarring."

GL: "Oh dear! Sounds like this cult have been keeping busy. Any identification on these other murders?"

IQ: "Sadly not. It's as unknown as our most recent victim. But there's more. One of the houses we found, the outer marking is fresh. We believe it to have been done as early as this morning!"

CJH: "Then, we know where they'll be tonight. We know where the next victim will be sacrificed."

IQ: "So I just wanted to run all this by you before we raid the building."

CJH: "No. You can't do that."

IQ: "Excuse me, Captain? Why can't the Constabulary do our job?"

CJH: "This cult has already gone to ground once. A brute force approach now will only alert them further. We need to be more subtle about this."

HGJ: "You sure about that, Jack? Isn't this a problem presenting itself for the professional policemen? This seems a mite beyond the abilities of an amateur sleuth."

CJH: "I'm no amateur, Whiskers. That's why I'm going in alone. Undercover. You two can wait for the police and enter as my backup."

GL: "You can't be serious! Go in, alone? How on earth?"

CJH: "Don't worry about me, Prim. I'm more hardy than I look, and I've done this sort of thing many times."

IQ: "Captain, I must insist that you abide by the regulations of Her Majesty's Police."

CJH: "Jurisdiction doesn't apply to me. Torchwood is beyond the Constabulary. We have full authority to override and Metropolitan investigation at all times. And I say I'm going in alone."

IQ: "In which case, I'm unable to stop you, but I advise against it."

GL: "As do we, Captain."

HGJ: "We do? Er... Yes, what the Professor said."

CJH: "Duly noted, if in vain. Jago, I'll need access to the New Regency's costume department. How are you with a needle and thread?"

HGJ: "Oh, Corks!"

Costume Store, New Regency Theatre.

HGJ: "Here you are. Captain. The repository of resplendent routine regalia! You'll probably find a sufficiently suitable set of cultish clothes on the left, from the Mad Monk's Mathematical Manipulation act I had here last May. I was a bit desperate to fill the stalls."

CJH: "Thanks Whiskers. Can I ask you a question?"

HGJ: "Don't see what not. Fire away."

CJH: "Why do you insist on doing that? The alliteration, I mean?"

HGJ: "Because I am a magnificent and magnanimous master of ceremonies! My particular predilection for practised patter packs in the punters. I'm a showman, Jack, and this is my act."

CJH: "Yeah, I gathered. But we're not on stage now. And you keep it up on your dalliances with Prim. Why?"

HGJ: "Because like any trained talent, it requires constant practice to keep the linguistic lexicon desirably dexterous!"

CJH: "Is that all? Because I think there's more to it. I think you're using it as a defensive technique. Am I right?"

HGJ: "I'll be honest with you, Jack. I'm not like you or the Professor. I'm a man of the stage, I haven't made a career out of carving up cadavers like George, I don't have your unflappable swagger. I don't have the stomach for the more gruesome aspects of our work, I've seen enough bally murders and malicious machinations to last for the rest of my life. So, I find a way to distance and disassociate myself from these despicable acts. Using my stage persona makes it bearable. Oh, you probably think me a coward, Captain."

CJH: "On the contrary, Jago. Only an empathic individual would be disturbed by these sights. That's not a weakness to me. I only keep going because I don't stop to look behind me, and I've seen so much horror it all blends together."

HGJ: "Thanks Captain. Maybe you're not as bad as we initially thought."

CJH: "Hey, my beauty is more than skin deep. Anyway, time to make a costume. Times like this I miss Ianto. Exceptional tailor."

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (6)

New Regency Theatre

HGJ: "Greetings and salutations, Captain Harkness. Welcome to this venerated venue of vaudeville, this praised and pleasing place of prodigious performances, the New Regency!"

CJH: "Well, Whiskers, it's quite something."

HGJ: "Please, don't congratulate me, I am merely a humble impresario. I'd be nothing without my talented troupe of spellbinding singers, accomplished actors, creative comics and popular practitioners of prestidigitation!"

CJH: "Fine, I'll direct my praises to them instead."

HGJ:"Well, that is to, I suppose, my part is integral to the success of this venture. My eye for talent, my ability to draw in and hold a crowd..."

CJH: "I'm only messing with you, Whiskers. So, any response from his nibs after last night's message?"

HGJ: "Litefoot? Yes actually. He found some sadistic symbols cruelly carved into the victim's flesh, that he believes to be hieroglyphics too."

CJH: "Ah, so our killing cult has a calling card then?"

HGJ: "Captain? Leave the apposite alliterative appeal to me. That's what I hope to find out from Edmund."

CJH: "That's Edmund Erkson, yeah? This Egyptian act that you're hosting? It's a place to start, I suppose."

HGJ: "Better than nothing, I suppose. He's a decent sort, but I would be suspicious of the authenticity of his act. Oh, and Harkness? Best leave the talking to me. Edmund is a shy and suspicious sort, and it'll take a particular talent to get him talking."

CJH: "Yes sir! At your command sir!"

HGJ: "Oh, act your age, Captain."

Jago approached the door to Edmund's dressing room and knocked firmly. After a few moments, a small wiry haired figure emerged from behind the door.

EE: "Yes, Mr Jago? Is everything OK?"

HGJ: "Oh, perfectly fine Eddie old boy. This fine gentleman just has a few questions for you, regarding an ongoing investigation."

EE: "Oh dear Oh dear Oh dear. I'm not in any trouble, I hope?"

HGJ: Not at all Eddie. We just wish to pick your brains for your extensive Egyptian expertise."

EE: "Eh, I don't really, I mean, I don't have any formal qualifications. Howard was always into the academic side of archaeology. I never had the studious temperament though. Always been more of an amateur hobbyist. I can't say I'll be much help."

HGJ: "We just want your opinion on some translation. We have some hieroglyphics that are baffling Scotland Yard."

EE: "Sorry Jago. I can't help."

HGJ: "Come now. This will help put and end to the malevolent machinations of manic murderers. You have to help!"

EE: "No! I can't. I just can't."

CJH: "Maybe I should have a crack at this, Whiskers."

Jack took a step towards Eddie, placing a tender hand reassuringly on his shoulder.

CJH: "Look, Eddie. You'd really be helping us out on this. I can tell you're worried about something, but I promise we won't judge. Your secret is safe with me."

EE: "How could you know?"

CJH: "Because it's not the first time I've seen that look in a man's eye. And I'm thinking the same thing."

EE: "What?"

CJH: "Why don't I step into your dressing room? We can discuss this more intimately, and we'll see if I can't tease some information out of you."

With that, the two men disappeared into the dressing room. Seconds later, Jack reappeared at the door.

CJH: "Oh, by the way Whiskers, this may take some time, so why don't I just meet you and Prim at the arranged time at The Red Tavern."

HGJ: "The sooner we can sort this situation and get rid of him, the better. Hmm."

The Red Tavern.

GL: "I thought the Captain was travelling with you?"

HGJ: "He stayed behind to interrogate Edmund. The cove was less than cooperative."

GL: "Oh dear. I hope Harkness goes easy on him."

HGJ: "As do I. Last I saw he was pulling out a set of handcuffs."

GL: "So we still haven't gotten a translation of those runes then. Still, good of you to spot that hieroglyphics were involved."

HGJ: "Thanks Professor. I suppose if Edmund is a dead end, we can just contact the Natural History Museum anyway."

GL: "If it comes to that. Say, why didn't you pay that messenger boy you sent last night? You're hardly that destitute!"

HGJ: "How dare you, Litefoot! Henry Gordon Jago is a paragon of prompt payments, and a fine financial fellow. Destitute indeed! I did pay the boy, with a little extra to ensure swift conveyance."

GL: "Then why did he demand sixpence from me too?"

HGJ: "Damned cheeky urchin! Thieving little tyke."

EH: "Ah, there you are gents. Oi, Jack! They're over 'ere."

CJH: "Thanks doll."

EH: "Remember, if you want anything at all, just give me a shout."

CJH: "Thanks El, but this is purely a business trip. I'll make a personal visit another time."

GL: "Did you get anything from Edmund, Captain?"

HGJ: "I doubt it. Chap had his lips sealed tighter than the proverbial drum."

CJH: "On the contrary, I got a few something useful. Many of the symbols were unfamiliar to the chap, they seemed to be variations or corruptions of more common symbols."

GL: "Almost like a different dialect?"

CJH: "Exactly Prim! Like one completely unknown on Earth. Without a direct interpretation, the runes seem to suggest a powerful deity. Something with great power, of destruction, of life and death. Something involving a gate or barrier, and something penetrative."

GL: "So these sacrifices are to appease this Egyptian God of destruction?"

CJH: "That's Eddie's best guess anyway."

GL: "Hmm. But do these markings intend to renew the wards entrapping this deity, or hasten it's release?"

CJH: "Knowing our typical luck, I'd bet on the latter."

HGJ: "This is all well and good, but how did you get that chap to talk?"

CJH: "Let's just say I have a silver tongue and leave it at that, Whiskers."

HGJ: "Nonsense. Nobody has as diverse and dexterous a linguistic lexicon as myself. How did you succeed where I failed?"

GL: "Henry, maybe you should.."

CJH: "Because Jago, I have certain natural advantages. I know what men like Edmund like."

HGJ: "Poppycock!"

GL: "Henry, I think Jack is trying to say that both he and Edmund, they prefer the company of gentlemen."

HGJ: "I don't see how that... Oh. Oh! I see."

CJH: "I do hope you're not offended, Jago."

HGJ: "Not at all! On the contrary, a man's private affairs are his own. It's just I hadn't pegged you as one, is all. I always thought there was something about Edmund through. Really, Egyptology. Hah."

CJH: "But just to clarify Prim. I don't prefer the company of men. Where I come from, such trivial concerns are no longer relevant."

HGJ: "And where is that anyway? The Americas, with that accent, I assume?  Quite the liberal sort, a fine upstanding place founded on fairness and freedom."

CJH: "A bit further than that, Whiskers. I'm not from Earth, rather a little colony world in the Boshane Peninsula, in the 51st century."

GL: "Sounds like a place of equality. Where a person doesn't have to hide themselves from the wider world."

HGJ: "Hold on, Captain! The 51st century? Litefoot, we can't trust this man."

GL: "Whyever not, Henry? Just because his views are radical, doesn't mean he's wrong!"

HGJ: "Not that, Professor. Remember when we met him, he mentioned he used to be a Time Agent?"

GL: "Vaguely, why?"

HGJ: "We've met another Time Agent from the 51st century."

CJH: "What! Who? Not John 'Spike' Hart?"

GL: "You can't mean!"

HGJ: "But I do. That villainous rogue, Magnus Greel!"

CJH: "Hey hey hey! I've never even heard of the guy. But my memories of that time are vague at best. Woke up once to find the agency had wiped two years of my mind. I parted ways soon after. But I can't recall any Greel. Besides, if I did, why am I helping you?"

HGJ: "If you say so. Sorry, long day. My mind is racing ahead of me."

GL: "I'd have to side with the Captain on this one."

EH: "Chaps, urgent message from Quick. You're wanted at the station as soon as possible. A police carriage is waiting for you."

CJH: "Thanks darling. The game is afoot! Oh, that never gets old!"

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (5)

Dilapidated Building, London's East End.

CJH: "Ah, so two decided to join me after all. Now it's a party!"

HGJ: "We couldn't bally well let you rush in half cocked, and get yourself killed."

CJH: "Two things to know about me Whiskers: It takes a bit more than this to kill me, and I've never been half cocked, belive me!"

GL: "Right. If you two are quite finished, I think I can see movement through the windows. It's hard to make out, but I can see at least five figures, wearing hooded robes of some kind. Henry was correct, they're carrying lit torches. I doubt this house even has a working gas line anymore."

HGJ: "Does anyone else hear that? Some kind of chanting, or singing? Dashed if I can tell what language it's in though."

CJH: "I'm beginning to get a bit of a Heaven's Gate vibe from this place. Shall we knock?"

GL: "Unless you want to enter via the window again?"

CJH: "Never gonna let that one slide, are you?"

As Jack rapped on the door, demanding access on behalf of Torchwood, a voice cried out in pain from within the building.

CJH: "So much for the softly softly approach..."

The Captain began to ram the door with his shoulder. The weak and rotting timber gave way with minimal effort.

CJH: "Nobody move, hands in the air, now!"

HGJ: "There's nobody here to follow you commands, Captain. The blighters have scarpered."

GL:"It's black as sin in here. Does anyone have a matchbox?"

CJH "Looks like one of them dropped their torch in their retreat. Give me a second, and I'll relight it."

HGJ: "Where could the coves have gone? Secret passage, back door, or a more nefarious technology?"

CJH: "Good question. Here, you take the light. I'll scan the perimeter for any sign of them. You two look for clues here."

GL: "Agreed Captain. Jago, some light over here please. There's something in the corner here."

HGJ: "Right you are, Litefoot. Corks! Is that a man?"

GL: "This room isn't quite as empty as we thought. I doubt he's any danger through. For one, he's strapped into that chair. Secondly, he's dead."

HGJ: "Some sort of sinister sacrifice, I'll wager. Those robes he's dressed in... Black flowing fabric with scarlet trim. There's something very unsettling about this whole affair, George."

GL: "Agreed. The sooner I can get this poor soul back to the morgue for an autopsy, the sooner we can piece together what happened."

CJH: "No sign of anyone outside. Any clues here? Oh. I see."

GL: "I think it's time we contacted the Inspector."

Police Mortuary.

GL: "Thank you for arranging this at such short notice, Inspector. I apologise for the lateness of the hour."

IQ: "No to worry, Professor. The missus won't be best pleased, but crime never sleeps. So, this is the poor unfortunate, then?"

GL: "Indeed. No luck in identifying the body yet. He's dressed only in these ornate robes, and isn't carrying a wallet or any personal effects."

IQ: "Have you managed to figure out the cause of death?"

GL: "Initial investigations show that it was most likely a result of a slitting of the throat. It's a very precise, smooth injury, the kind produced by a devilishly sharp blade."

IQ: "Crikey!"

GL: "It is fiendishly macabre, I grant you. This bears the hallmark of a ritualistic sacrifice, or some kind of satanic offering."

IQ: "Oh my word! Do you think he was a victim, or did he choose this willingly?"

GL: "I don't think the two are mutually exclusive, Quick. The blind fanaticism of these people is all to easy for sinister men to take advantage of. It's all to easy for a poor soul, distressed or destitute, to find supposed sanctuary in the arms of madmen and their mad beliefs."

IQ: "Damned shame. Do you think this is just a madman, Professor? Or something with your typical supernatural element?"

GL: "Too early to say. We don't have much to go on..  Good heavens!"

IQ: "What do you see?"

GL: "His arms! Look at his arms! I didn't see it underneath the robes. He's got symbols carved into his flesh!"

IQ: "Have you ever seen anything like it? I can't make head nor tail of it."

GL: "Nor I. Wait! We did see one other symbols, the eye, on the gatepost outside the house. A symbol of their worshiped deity perhaps?"

Urchin: "Message for Professor Litefoot. Message for Professor Litefoot!"

GL: "What the devil? At this hour? Who's it from."

Urchin: "From a Mister Jago, sir. You can read it once I've gotten me sixpence."

GL: "Oh, of course. Here you are lad. Inspector, we have a lead! Henry says he has recalled where he saw the eye pictogram from. It's an Egyptian hieroglyphic, the 'Eye of Horus'."

IQ: "How on earth did he figure that out?"

GL: "He's got an Egyptian themed act headlining his theatre at present. He says he and Captain Harkness will ask the performers first thing in the morning."

IQ: "You there, boy. Want to earn another sixpence? We should send a message back to Mister Jago."

GL: "With representations of these scar marks, in case Henry's contact can translate them! Good show, Quick."

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (4)

London's East End.

HGJ: "Anything from that dratted scanner of yours, Captain? We've been perpetually perambulating with pitiful progress! Three hours, and no results."

CJH: "You're welcome to leave us at any time, Jago. You have no idea just how cluttered this city is with temporal interference and cosmic flotsam."

GL: "I assume it's akin to searching a haystack for a solitary needle."

CJH: "If the haystack itself was made of slightly larger needles, then yeah. More like finding a straight guy at a One Direction concert."

HGJ: "Confound your curious colloquialisms, Captain! I'd get a straighter answer from Casey after he's been generously guzzling the gin."

CJH: "Oi! You're one to talk, Whiskers."

HGJ: "Blasted cheek!"

GL: "Jago, perhaps an element of collected calm is in order. We are in the middle of an investigation, after all."

HGJ: "But that's just the point, Professor. What results have we, following this feckless fellow and good for nothing gadgets."

*beep* *bleep* *beep*

CJH: "You're in luck, Whiskers. We've gotten a signal, seemed to be concentrated on that building there."

GL: "You mean, the isolated building at the end of the lane?"

HGJ: "About time, I think. But the place looks deserted and decrepit dwelling. Surely that can't be the source of your disturbances."

CJH: "Only one way to find out. Whiskers, Prim, onwards!"

GL: "I'm beginning to tire of this insufferable oaf, to be blunt."

HGJ: "Agreed, Litefoot. The sooner this mess is sorted out, the better. I'd take a supernatural spectral sighting over this smarmy sod any day."

GL: "Judging by the look of this place, you might just have your wish granted. Come along Henry, we'd best catch up with the Captain."

Dilapidated Building, East End.

CJH: "Hmm. This place is run-down. Nobody's lived here for years, at least."

GL: "Is there a name or house number? Perhaps we could check it's ownership in the land registry?"

CJH: "Nice thought, but no dice. There is a nameplate, but it's been scratched beyond recognition."

HGJ: "But look at the markings. Very deliberate. Like symbols."

CJH: "Some sort of code or language, perhaps? Well spotted, Whiskers. But it doesn't look like anything I remember."

HGJ: "It seems familiar though, like I've seen it before. That giant eye in particular stands out, but I can't for the life of me recall from where."

GL: "I'm sure it'll come to you in due course, Henry. Shall we attempt entry?"

CJH: "Be my guest."

GL: "Oh. The gate is locked. Quite a sizable padlock too. Any the perimeter is too high to scale. Very well secured for an abandoned house..."

CJH: "Not a problem, Prim. Stand back, lads. I've got this."

Jack withdrew his pistol, expertly aiming at the padlock. With a single echoing shot, the lock shattered and the gate creaked obligingly open.

GL: "Well, if there is anyone inside, we've lost the element of surprise."

CJH: "With my brilliant smile, Jago's people skills and your bedside manner, who needs surprise?"

HGJ: "Corks!"

GL: "What's the matter, Henry?"

HGJ: "That window, bottom left. Could have sworn I saw a sinister silhouette in the shadows. Like a man with a burning torch in his hand."

CJH: "Well, I can't see anything now, but the scanner is friskier than a student on a Cardiff Saturday night! This is definitely the spot."

GL: "Should we summon the police? It seems the assistance of Inspector Quick and Scotland Yard's finest may be prudent."

CJH: "No, I don't think so. I work better without police interference. It's a headache Torchwood prefers to avoid."

HGJ: "Hold on Captain. Who knows what fiendish forces lie in wait here? Litefoot is right, we could do with some backup."

CJH: "Do whatever you think best Whiskers, I'm going in. Wait here if you like."

GL: "Oh, subtlety is a dying art in the youth. Quick Jago, we'd best be after him. He's bound to end up in trouble at this rate."

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (3)

The Red Tavern

EH: "You're in early today gents. Special occasion, is it?"

GL: "We're supposed to be meeting a curious chap who made our acquaintance last night."

HGJ: "The bally cove broke into the Professor's house while we were retiring to rest with some rewarding refreshments, a fine cup of rosy lee."

EH: "So, a fella breaks into your 'ouse, and you invite 'im to the pub afterwards? You chaps 'ave done some strange things in the past, but this is the most bizarre yet! What was 'e after anyways, money?"

GL: "Actually, he wanted our help in a matter of national security."

HGJ: "With the authority of Queen Victoria herself! But don't tell anyone, it's a covert and clandestine cooperation."

GL: "Hmm, yes. Secretive indeed!"

EH: "So 'e couldn't just ask nicely? What did this man look like, anyway. Military bearing, long coat, 'andsome face, muttonchops and a killer smile?"

HGJ: "That's the chap! Have you seen him before, Ellie?"

Eh: "I think 'e's just walked in, Mr. J."

CJH: "Ah, hello there. Sorry if I'm late. For a time with so few cars, traffic is a nightmare! I thought 21st Century congestion was bad. And it was hard to find this place without my Sat-Nav. Funny the things you don't miss until they're gone. Oh, who's this lovely lady?"

EH: "Ellie 'igson, at your service sir, Mr..."

CJH: "Enchanted to meet you, miss Higson. I'm Captain Harkness, but you can call me Jack. I might have to put that offer of service to use later."

Jack said, with a devilish smile and a sly wink. Ellie let out an involuntary giggle before composing herself.

EH: "Right, well, can I get anyone a drink? On the 'ouse, Jack."

CJH: "Too kind, my dear. How about a round of strawberry daiquiris?"

GL: "What on Earth are those?"

HGJ: "This is a libationary establishment, not the kitchens of Buckingham Palace, Captain."

CJH: "It's a cocktail. Look, Ellie, why don't I pop into the back room with you and we can see what we can whip up. Back in a jiffy, guys. My daiquiri is the toast of Andromeda. Literally."

HGJ: "I still don't know what to make of this Harkness, George. Do you think we can trust him?"

GL: "I have no idea, Jago. He's a rambunctious sort, and somewhat vain, but he does seem earnest in his desire to complete his mission. He could be a valuable ally, and besides, any friend of The Doctor can't be too bad, I suppose. Property damage aside."

HGJ: "I suppose you're right, Litefoot. But there's something about him. Something he said that I can't quite remember. I'm sure it's nothing."

GL: "Me shall wait and see, then. Either way, we need his help to ascertain what's happening at present."

HGJ: "Speaking of, how long does it take to prepare an intoxicating imbibment?"

GL: "Speak of the devil."

Jack and Ellie emerged from the back room of the tavern, Jack holding a tray of three pink beverages, and Ellie adjusting her apron, and fixing her hair.

CJH: "Wait until you get a load of this! I had to substitute a few ingredients, no crushed ice, but still serviceable."

HGJ: "You certainly took your time."

CJH: "Well, while I was looking for ingredients, I sampled some of what Ellie here is offering. I didn't have time to try the main course, I'll have to visit some other time."

GL: "There's quite a kick to this drink, Captain! I don't normally care for such strong alcohol. And so sweet too. I can't tell if I'm enjoying it!"

HGJ: "Dashed queer, eh? Don't suppose that's where the name comes from?"

GL: "Where did you find such a florid recipe, Captain? It's most intriguing. However, should we get down to business?"

HGJ: "Just when I was beginning to enjoy myself. Right then, I've recalibrated my anachronism scanner since last night, and I think I've found a hotspot, in a district to the East."

HGJ: "And you propose we go there to collect crucial clues with our investigative insight?"

CJH: "Indeed, Jago."

GL: "Well then, no time like the present!"