callisto, an alien from a far away planet, is trapped in a museum of alien artefacts. a man with no name and only a job title finds her and invites her to join him and his companion through space and time.
invasions happen, strange visits and many m...
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THE NEXT DAY, the doctor, callisto, martha and shakespeare all sat in his room. well, the three time travellers sat while shakespeare looked dramatically out of his window.
"oh, sweet dolly bailey. she sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. we all ran like rats. but what could've scared her so? she had such enormous spirit." shakespeare sighed.
"rage, rage against the dying of the light." the doctor recited.
shakespeare pointed at him, eyes thoughtful, "i might use that."
"you can't, it's someone else's." the doctor stated.
"but the thing is, lynley drowned on dry land, dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you." martha spoke up, getting back on track.
"you're accusing me?" shakespeare asked.
"no, but i saw a witch. big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches." martha stated.
"i have? when was that?" shakespeare inquired, eyebrows furrowed.
"not yet." callisto mumbled to martha, who looked at her sharply, lips pressed together in worry. "not just yet."
"peter streete spoke of witches." shakespeare announced, either ignoring or not having heard callisto.
"who's peter streete?" martha asked.
"our builder. he sketched the plans to the globe." shakespeare answered.
"the architect." the doctor muttered before his eyes grew wide and he shouted, "hang on, the architect! the globe! c'mon!"
they headed to the globe theatre again, the doctor standing where the audience stood the night before as he examined it. martha, shakespeare and callisto stood on the stage, looking around as well, despite the fact they didn't know why.
"columns there, right. fourteen sides. i've always wondered, but never asked, why fourteen sides?" the doctor asked, spinning to look at shakespeare on the stage.
"it was the shape peter streete thought best, that's all. said it carried the sound well." shakespeare answered, his half-written, supposedly non-existent, play slapping against his thigh as he shrugged.
"fourteen, why does that ring a bell? fourteen?" the doctor wondered quietly.
"there's fourteen lines in a sonnet?" martha suggested.
"so there is. good point. words and shapes following the same design. fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets." the doctor mumbled, running a stressed hand though his hair. "oh, my head! tetradecagon. think! think! think! words, letters, numbers, lines!"
"this is just a theatre!" shakespeare butted in.
"yeah, but a theatre's magic, isn't it? you should know, stand on the stage, say the right words, with the right emphasis, at the right time. oh, you could make men weep. or cry with joy. change them." the doctor listed and stared ahead of him as his mind worked and span with thoughts. "you can change people's minds just with words in this place. and if you exaggerate that..."
