When Sebastian chose me to write the Pyramids Of Mars prologue VortExtra, I knew straight away I wanted to merge my favourite Doctor Who story of all time with my favourite Movies of all time - the Indiana Jones films.

It was confirmed to me by an Indy scholar that Henry Jones did indeed travel the globe and in 1911 he was indeed on lecture tours. So a nice Cameo from Henry Jones Snr was the perfect opportunity whilst grounding the story firmly in the Doctor Who universe. It was a joy to write and I hope you forgive me for having some fun with the characters and enjoy the story.
It is said that only Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the mid-day sun. Today was no exception. The wind blew the dusty sand around the noisy market place, stray dogs barked and fought a comical tug of war over scraps of whatever was dumped from the windows high above the market square. Beggars begged, traders traded and spies spied.

One such spy casually read the headline of the local rag, half glancing over the top of the paper keeping an eye on the building opposite him. "Sequara museum hosts great debate".

It was Mid July 1911 and hot as hell, and indeed only an Englishman would ignore the tradition of an afternoon siesta. The particular Englishman in question was making his way through the bustling square, brushing aside with an air of superiority the many street traders plying their trade to rich ex-pat’s who had nothing better to do than get drunk and tell tall tales of their days of glory in the battlefield.

The watcher, bemused at the predictability of the tall lean man in the white linen suit, stopping briefly to pick up a copy of ‘The Times’, continued to watch with intensity. Batting away a beggar as he would do a fly, he waited.

Taking his panama hat off, the man with the hawk-like features entered the double doors which closed behind him.

The man, Professor Marcus Scarman, approached the concierge desk of the hotel porter with annoyance at it being unattended. He could clearly see the mail sticking out of the pigeon hole allotted to his room number. He tapped on the bell, irritated at the inconvenience.

"Porter?! PORTER???!!!" His neck sweeping left and right under the stiff starched collared shirt, a voice behind him, the Professor casually turned hoping to lay the law down onto the absent porter.

"Scarman? Scarman it is you, you old dog!" Noting the slight ‘sch’ in his accent Marcus Scarman turned to face the burly bearded bulk of Professor Henry Jones.

"Ahhh Jones, what (cough) a surprise" he offered his hand which was accepted and immediately he felt the masonic grip. Jones stood resplendent in his tweed suit beaming at Scarman through his dirtied glasses. "Are you here for the lecture old boy?" asked Jones enthusiastically.

Scarman still put out by the lack of good service managed a half smile.

"Lecture? I’m sorry you have me at a disadvantage Sir". Jones looked crest-fallen. "Yesh old boy, I’m giving a lecture at the Museum tomorrow, I thought that was why you were here?".

Scarman chuckled slightly. "My dear Jones, you know my feelings on the supernatural, to be filed under ‘waste of time’." He tapped the battered brown diary that Jones was carrying and shook his head.

"I am engaged on a project of my own, and if the damn porter decides to make a guest appearance I might be one step closer to completing it!".

As if on cue the diminutive bulk of the shabby porter coughed his way through the office drape, spitting in the corner at the feral cat that hissed in defiance. The porter shouted something at the cat which both men failed to translate. Taking off his fez he bowed to the two foreigners.

"Aaaaaaah my friends, how are you today?"

Scarman glared at the porter. "Might I ask where you have been Sir?".

The porter looked apologetically at the outraged Englishman. "Aaaah you must excuse me sir, my mother-in-law, how you say…? I look after, she very fat". Scarman could already feel his face turning redder than it already was, he turned to look at Jones who was totally bemused.

"I’ll leave you to it Scarman, 8pm at the museum tomorrow night, open invitation old boy".

Scarman stiffened and gave a curt nod. "Yes, yes Jones, we shall see". Jones turned and raced up the stone staircase shouting as he went; "Happy landings old boy!".

Scarman turned to face the porter who belched - the smell of whiskey unmistakable. Scarman extended a long bony finger at his mail. "If you please". The pudgy fingered porter handed the letters over. A long wail from behind the curtain and the porter was gone, muttering curses about his mother-in-law as he left.

He had three letters; he recognised the handwriting of his brother, and his best friend, the village Doctor in the other. His deep set eyes widened in excitement at the third letter; he quickly opened it. He slapped the letter with satisfaction as his assistant, Namin, approached.

"Good news Professor?". Scarman beamed with satisfaction. "It is indeed. I want all the men to assemble at map reference 75. My contact in Cairo has cross referenced my recent discoveries and has confirmed my theory of a possible blind pyramid in that region. I must send my brother a telegram, oh and Namin, not a word of this to anyone!!".

Namin watched as Scarman arranged for a telegram to be sent. His eyes blazed with insane hatred. He stiffly marched away in his severe black suit. The feral cat froze in terror as the Egyptian swept past, ring glowing green as he exited.

As per usual the hotel’s facilities were less than adequate and did not stretch to the sending of telegrams. "Never mind" Scarman muttered to himself, "a hand written letter from the dig will have to do".

The watcher, who had patiently been observing the entire exchange, noted the man in the fez leaving the hotel in a rage.

Kazim had seen enough, it was time to deliver his report. With that he neatly folded his newspaper, stood up and made his way down the maze like alleyway. As he did so he tossed a coin at two beggars sitting in a shabby pile. The pair of them cunningly smiled at each other. The thin grubby one snatched the coin from the younger.

"Come, we must tell Master Namin he will be pleased with us, he may even give us work".

The younger of the two men looked mournfully, the thought of working depressed him. "Yes, Ahmed", he replied, and with that they were gone…

A shadowy figure emerged from one of the doorways in the alleyway, before dissolving into black mist and dispersing around the empty street. As it disappeared it imparted just one word. "Soon…"

© Copyright David Bickerstaff, Andy Clift, Matt Rooke & Doctor Who Online, 2013.
Page Updated: 13/4/2013

Written by:
David Bickerstaff

Artwork by:
Andy Clift

Coloured by:
Matt Rooke

Doctor Who is © Copyright to the BBC. No infringement intended.