A strange girl who knows far more than she should about the past - and the future...
Two worried teachers whose curiosity leads them to a deserted junk yard, an extraodinary police box and a mysterious traveller known only as the Doctor...
A fantastic journey through Space and Time ending in a terrifying adventure at the dawn of history...
ISBN 0 426 20144 2
DOCTOR WHO
AND AN
UNEARTHLY CHILD
Based on the BBC television serial by Anthony Coburn by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation TERRANCE DICKS
published by
The Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd
CONTENTS
1 The Girl Who Was Different
2 Enter the Doctor
3 The TARDIS
4 The Dawn of Time
5 The Disappearance
6 The Cave of Skulls
7 The Knife
8 The Forest of Fear
9 Ambush
10 Captured
11 The Firemaker
12 Escape into Danger
A Target Book
Published in 1981
by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.
A Howard & Wyndham Company
44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB
Copyright © Terrance Dicks and Anthony Coburn 1981
'Doctor Who' series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1981
Typeset by V & M Graphics Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks.
Printed in Great Britain by
Hunt Barnard Printing Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks.
ISBN 0 426 201442
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
1
The Girl Who Was Different
A foggy winter's night, in a London back street: the little road was empty and silent. A tall figure loomed up out of the fog - the helmeted, caped figure of a policeman patrolling his beat.
He moved along the little street, trying shop doors, walked on past the shops to where the street ended in a high blank wall. There were high wooden gates in the wall, with a smaller, entry-gate set into one of them.
The policeman shone his torch onto the gates, holding the beam for a moment on a faded notice:
I. M. Foreman
Scrap Merchant.
There was another sign below the first, its lettering bright and fresh:
Private - Keep Out!
The policeman tried the entry-gate and it creaked open beneath his hand. He looked through, shining his torch around the little yard.
There were no intruders. Just an incredible mixture of broken-down objects, old cupboards, bits of furniture, dismantled car engines, chipped marble statues with arms and legs and heads missing.
He turned the torch beam on a square blue shape in the far corner and saw with some astonishment the familiar shape of a police box. At that time police boxes were a common enough sight on the streets of London. Inside was a special telephone that police, or even members of the public, could use to summon help in an emergency.
An odd thing to find in a junk yard, thought the policeman.
Maybe this particular one had become worn out and been sold off for scrap. There were rumours that all police boxes would eventually be phased out, that one day every constable would carry his own personal walkie-talkie radio. 'That'll be the day,' thought the policeman. Still, the junk-man must have bought the thing from somewhere; it was scarcely likely that he'd stolen it and lugged it off to his yard.
The policeman grinned, imagining the desk-sergeant's expression if he went back and asked if anyone had reported a missing police box. He paused for a moment listening - there seemed to be some kind of electronic hum. Probably some nearby generator -
it was very faint.
Closing the little gate behind him, he went on his way, thinking of the mug of hot sweet tea and sausage sandwiches waiting at the end of his patrol.
The catch on the little gate must have been faulty. As the policeman moved away, it creaked slowly open again.
Next night, the policeman checked the yard again, but the police box had vanished. Later he learned that the strange old man who was the junk yard's new proprietor had vanished too, together with his grand-daughter, a pupil at the local school. Two teachers from the same school were missing as well.
In all the resultant fuss the policeman forgot all about the oddly sited police box. In time he came to think he must have imagined it. Even if he hadn't, it couldn't possibly have had anything to do with the disappearances. After all, you couldn't get four people into a police box - could you?
On the afternoon following the policeman's first visit to the junk yard, everything was normal at Coal Hill School. The long school day dragged to an end at last, and the long-awaited clangour of the school bell echoed through the stone-floored corridors.
As her history class hurried chattering towards the door, Barbara Wright came to a sudden decision.
'Susan!' she called.
A girl paused on her way to the door. She was tall for her age, with short dark hair framing a rather elfin face.
'Yes, Miss Wright?'
'Just wait here for a moment, and I'll go and get that book I promised you. I won't be long.'
'Yes, Miss Wright,' said Susan Foreman obediently. She went back to her desk and sat down. 'Can I play my radio while I'm waiting?'
'If it's not too loud.'
Barbara Wright went out of the classroom and strode along the corridor. At the sight of her, a group of scuffling, laughing children instinctively quietened down and began walking at a more sedate pace. Everyone knew Miss Wright didn't stand for any nonsense.
Someone had once said, rather unkindly, that Barbara Wright was a typical schoolmistress. She was dark-haired and slim, always neatly dressed, with a face that would have been even prettier without its habitual expression of rather mild disapproval.
There was undeniably some truth in the unkind remark.
Barbara Wright had many good qualities, but she also had a strong conviction that she knew what was best, not only for herself but for everyone else. It suited her temperament to be in charge.
She went into the empty staff room - most of her colleagues were even quicker off the mark than the children - selected a thick volume from the shelves, and headed back towards the classroom.
Half-way there she paused outside another door, marked 'Science Laboratory', hesitated for a moment, and then went inside.
As she'd hoped, Ian Chesterton was still there, pottering about his lab bench, apparently clearing up after some experiment. He was a cheerful, open-faced young man in the traditional sports jacket and flannels of the schoolmaster, about as different in temperament from Barbara Wright as could be imagined. Ian Chesterton took life as it came, going about his duties with casual efficiency and refusing to let anything worry him too much. Despite their differences, the two were very good friends, perhaps because Ian Chesterton was one of the few people in the school who saw the kindness beneath Barbara Wright's rather severe exterior. He was certainly the only one who ever dared to tease her.