J&L: Game, Sutekh & Match (1)

Cult Stronghold

HGJ: "So is that it then? Did we win? Seems a tad simple."

PGL: "I don't know Henry. But Sutekh is gone, the cult is disbanded. I think it's for the best that we have one anticlimactic adventure."

*A familiar noise fades in, a wheezing groan, the sound of something politely ripping a hole in the universe. It ends with a sudden thud.*

*A door creaks open*

Doctor: "Gentlemen, no time to lose. Spit-spot! We've only just begun!"

PGL: "Great heavens!"

HGJ: "Doctor? Is it you?"

Doctor: "I am so sorry gentlemen, where are my manners? This is what happens when you travel alone too long, you forget the finer points of social graces. Henry Gordon Jago and Professor George Litefoot! The prestigious presenter and the preeminent pathologist. Learned lords of loquacious lexicography and legendary linguistics. Brilliant! You know, you two are my favourite Victorian detective duo. Well, top three at least."

PGL: "Most kind of you to say so Doctor, though modesty prevents us from agreeing with you."

HGJ: "You've not only changed faces, but you've updated your wardrobe too."

Doctor: "Geek chic! Yes sir, no trailing scarves or technicolor dreamcoats for this Time Lord. It's all the rage in the early 21st century."

PGL: "It may well be popular in the future, but I think I'll stick to a more, traditional, attire."

HGJ: "Maybe not, Professor. A striking suit like that could be just what I need to liven up my performing patter, and reverse my failing fortunes."

Doctor: "Shame, as my tailor won't be born for another 230 odd years."

PGL: "Time has always been something of an open door for you to pass though, Doctor. How long ago did we last meet, for you I mean? How many faces have you worn since then?"

Doctor: "I can't put a number on it, I'm afraid. It's been several, so many that I've honestly lost count."

HGJ: "How does a man forget his own face, even if he has several? Surely you can recall the distressing details of your own demises?"

PGL: "I must say, my dear Doctor, that I can think of one possible explanation. Your face is younger than ever I've seen it before. Yet your eyes betray you. I see the same deep and distant stare of yours in the eyes of my comrades, shipped home from the Afghan. The eyes of a man who has seen too much conflict."

HGJ: "Your gait, your baring, your endless energy. I know the signs of a man putting on a performance Doctor."

Doctor: "It's nothing. Really, it's nothing. Nothing to be concerned about at any rate."

PGL: "Doctor. Has something happened to Miss Leela? Is that the source of your sorrow?"

Doctor: "No, no. Nothing like that. Let's just say, when you live a life as long as I have, you accrue a certain amount of regret... But no point in us moping about, eh? I think it's time I explained what's going on here."

HGJ: "Will it take long?"

Doctor: "Yeah, little bit. Maybe. We are talking end of the world levels of threat here. But if you're worried about boredom, I can keep it brief."

HGJ: "In which case, I propose we continue our discussion in a more comfortable and convivial location. Red Tavern?"

PGL: "A fine notion Henry. Ellie shall be worried about us anyway. Best to set her mind at ease."

Doctor: "In which case, lead on gentlemen. Allons-y!"