The streets of Boston were unusually quiet for a Friday afternoon. That, Melinda reflected, was likely due to rumors of the impending rebellion. In this year-of-our-Lord seventeen hundred and seventy three, it seemed one never knew what to expect any more.

She strolled past the silent storefront of the town milliner, the metalsmith, the cartwright. All were closed early, deserted. Across the cobbled street, she could see that the bakery was open. A well-dressed family with two young boys was visible inside, all of them peering at the goods beneath the vendor's glass with eager eyes.

Melinda walked on, the heels of her high-button shoes making hollow sounds on the walkway's wooden planks. She crossed a side street and paused briefly to adjust her skirts near the entrance to a blind alley. A strange whistling sound attracted her attention. Then came peculiar voices. She peered cautiously around the corner bricks in time to see a man wearing very odd clothing emerge from a curious-looking blue box. He was speaking to something that had emerged from the box behind him: a small metal something that vaguely resembled a dog. The man held a long silver object in his hand.

"It isn't _my_ fault the door sticks sometimes," he complained loudly. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you fix it then?"

"I believe," said the dog-like thing in a petulant voice, "that is more your specialty, Master."

The man fussed with the sliver device, making clicking sounds. "Yes, well, even a sonic screwdriver can't accomplish the impossible. I got it undone, though, didn't I?"

"Yes, Master."

Pulling a multi-colored scarf tighter around his neck, the man gazed around the alley. Melinda ducked out of sight, but could still hear him say,"Well just when are we, anyhow? This is supposed to be third century China. Doesn't resemble it a bit."

"With good reason," the other voice said. "We are in Boston in the Colony of Massachusetts, Earth common era 1773."

"We're what?"

"Shall I re-examine the data, Master?"

"No, never mind."

Melinda stepped away and feigned interest in a shop window as the two strangers emerged from the alley. Obsessed with her study of them, she was only vaguely aware of the youthful shouts and footsteps running toward them.

The man and his peculiar metal dog had scarcely stepped onto the boardwalk when two young boys came racing by. The first collided with the man in the knit scarf, knocking the silver thing he'd held to the ground. The second boy snatched it up on his way past and was already running again when Melinda interceded. She put one foot out into his path and tripped him, snagging the stolen article neatly in mid-air.

The man in the coat and scarf was promptly at her side. "Thank you," he said sincerely, taking the silver thing from her hand and dropping it into an oversized pocket. "That was most kind of you."

"My pleasure, Mister...?"

"Doctor, actually."

"Really? Doctor what?"

"No what. Just, the Doctor."

"Oh. Well, sir, then I am 'just' Melinda."

"Delighted."

Their amenities were shortly interrupted by a new voice, demanding to know, "Just what is the meaning of this, sir?"

A severe-looking blond man was helping the fallen boy up off the walk. Beside him stood a dark-haired woman in an expensive French gown and jewels. Melinda remembered them then. They were the family she'd seen in the bakery across the street.

"Father," the boy said meekly. "I didn't mean to run into him. Really I didn't."

"Quite all right," the Doctor insisted, and patted his pocket as though to reassure himself that his recovered toy was still there. "No harm done. No harm at all."

"Nevertheless," the stern man said to his son, "you will apologize to this gentleman at once."

The boy, whose dark hair and eyes made him more closely resemble his mother, nodded politely to the Doctor and said, "I am sorry, sir."

His mother glanced up and down the street then, and asked suddenly, "Where is Jeremiah?"

The youngster blanched, suddenly remembering. "He is hiding, Mother. We were playing a game."

"Well, go and find him," the father commanded. "It is time we started home. Riggs has the carriage ready and waiting."

With a meek "yes sir," the boy disappeared down the street. His father nodded to Melinda and the Doctor. "Good day Madame, sir." With that, he took his wife's arm and followed in his wayward son's wake.

"Yes, quite," said the Doctor to himself. Then, tipping his hat to Melinda, he added, "My thanks again, and good day to you."

"But--" Melinda started to say, but the Doctor had already turned back into the little alley. His strange dog was no longer anywhere in sight.

"Sir!" Melinda followed him back around the red brick corner, and nearly ran into him where he had stopped -- to stare at three uniformed Kingsmen who had developed a sudden interest in his large blue box. They hadn't succeeded as yet in opening the door; apparently it was still stuck.

"See here," the Doctor challenged them. "What are you doing there?"

One of the soldiers sidled arrogantly toward him. "Does this -- thing -- belong to you?"

The Doctor's tone became a little less confidant. "Well, yes, actually..."

"Ah, then you won't mind telling us what it is and how it came to be here, will you? And just what do those nonsensical words mean? 'Police Call Box'?"

The Doctor stared at him, then shrugged noncommitally. "Very well," he said. "This 'thing,' as you call it, is a TARDIS. That is, Time and Relative Dimensions in Space, which is what it travels through, time and space, only you see the steering mechanism and the chameleon circuit are both malfunctioning at the moment, so this is the only shape it will assume, and I can never be absolutely certain just where or when I am because the--"

"That's enough for the moment," the soldier interrupted him. His two companions had come to stand on either side of him. "You'll come with us now. You too, Miss."

Melinda started as one of the Kingsmen took her by the arm. "Come with you where?" she protested. "I haven't done anything!

"No one said that you had."

"But I don't even know this man. I--"

"We'd simply like to ask a few questions. Come along, please."

They were summarily herded down the street, and shortly found themselves sharing adjoining cells in the Boston "gaol." Melinda's vociferous objections were ignored, and after nearly two hours of tedious waiting, a young British officer entered the cell block and came to stand at their respective doors.

"I am Leftenant Duane," he announced formally. "I am here to question you."

The Doctor, who had been lounging unconcerned on the cell's lumpy mattress, peered out from under the brim of his floppy hat. "Oh really?" he asked innocently. "Would it be too much to ask with precisely what we've been charged?"

"Charged?" Duane frowned. "Why you haven't been charged with anything as yet. I would like a few answers, however. Would you mind sitting up while I speak to you?"

The Doctor seemed for a while to weigh the decision whether to obey the request or not. Then, deliberately lethargic, he swung his long legs over the edge of the cot and rose, coming to stand at the bars with the hat held now in his hands. "Is that better?"

Duane looked annoyed. "These items that were appropriated -- from your pockets..." He produced two objects from his own pocket. Melinda recognized one of them as the gadget she had recovered from the boy on the street. "Would you be kind enough to explain these?"

The Doctor reached through the bars, but Duane promptly withdrew the objects. "You can tell me what they are from there, if you please."

"Yes of course. Well that one there is what you call a yo-yo. A positively marvelous tester for gravity, and it can also--"

"A tester for what?"

"Gravity. That's the principal of--" The Doctor's face fell suddenly. "Never mind. I don't think you'd understand."

"And this?" Duane hefted the other object and began prodding at it experimentally. "What do you call this?"

"I call it a sonic screwdriver. And please don't do that."

"Don't do what? This?" Duane twisted something on the small cylinder and immediately, a streak of blue-white light leaped from its tip toward the back of the cell. The Doctor had dropped to the floor mere seconds before the beam had streaked through the bars. Where it had struck the back wall, bricks smoldered around a scorched spot nearly half a meter in diameter.

Duane gaped open-mouthed at the thing in his hand, then looked about to be certain no one else had witnessed the event. He dropped the screwdriver gingerly onto a nearby table.

"Witchcraft," he murmured, depositing the other confiscated items on the same table. "You're witches, both of you."

"That isn't true!" Melinda objected. "I never saw him before today!"

Duane ignored her. "Some people say witchcraft is a quaint notion in this day and age. A superstition.

Well now we shall have proof otherwise. Do you know the penalty for witchcraft?"

Still remarkably unconcerned, the Doctor shook his head.

"The penalty is death by hanging." Duane made a hasty retreat back out the cell block door, as though, having made the threat, he was obligated now to escape before the witches could retaliate.

"You can't do this!" Melinda called after him. "I'm not a witch! I'm not!"

"Hanging," she heard the Doctor remark whimsically. "Well that certainly ought to prove interesting."

Melinda stared at him, unbelieving. "Interesting? Don't you understand what that means? He's talking about having us executed!" She sat down hard on the cell cot, fighting back tears of both fear and rage. "I can't believe this is happening!"

"Well I certainly understand what it's supposed to mean," the Doctor chattered. "But I can assure you there's nothing to worry about in any case. You see, I have what is known as a respiratory bypass system, which makes it impossible to... Oh." He interrupted himself. "I suppose that does create a problem for you, though, doesn't it?"

"You're mad," Melinda decided. "A totally and incurably insane lunatic! What are you, a traveling magician, with your bag full of tricks and a talent for ventriloquism? I saw your talking toy dog out there, and I think it--"

"Oh dear," the Doctor said, as though he'd just remembered about the dog. "K-9. Whatever became of K-9?"

On perfect cue, the cell block door swung open again, and the metal hound rolled calmly inside and up to the bars of the Doctor's cell. He had a breass key ring looped over his metal nose. "There you are!" the Doctor exclaimed, and snatched the keys up to quickly unlock the door. "What have you done with the leftenant and his guards?"

"They are resting comfortably, Master. The Zenarsus tranquilizer gas you recently programmed me to manufacture--"

"Yes, yes, you did very well, K-9, but we ve no time to discuss it just now." The Doctor moved to the small table where Leftenant Duane had piled his possessions and hurriedly refilled his pockets.

"What is 'sorcery,' Master?" K-9 wanted to know. "These humans said that I was 'sorcery.' I have never been referred to in this manner before."

"I'll explain another time," the Doctor replied. "Right now we must get back to the TARDIS before some other curious party manages to get the door unstuck."

"What about me?" Melinda finally interjected. "You can't simply leave me here!"

The Doctor pursed his lips, seemed to consider doing just that, then said, "No, I suppose not." He unlocked her cell and hustled her out. "Hurry," he admonished.

They passed Duane and four slumbering soldiers on the way out the front door. "What did you do to them?" Melinda asked, mystified.

The Doctor hurried on. "No time to explain now."

"You keep saying that."

"Yes. And it keeps on being true. Come along, come along!"

Their strange trio emerging from the gaol evoked some puzzled stares from the few passersby. For once, Melinda was thankful for the near-empty streets They found their way quickly back to the small alley, and the thing labeled "Police Call Box." The Doctor used the screwdriver to free the door once again, then rushed them inside. Melinda was amazed to find herself in a large room glowing with strange colored lights.

"I was wrong," she said as the Doctor began frantically tinkering with more alien objects in the center of the room. "You're not a witch or a sorcerer or a mad magician. You're nothing but a dream, and a bad one at that."

Amid his mysterious preparations, he managed to send her a distinctly hurt look. "That's hardly fair," he said. "I believe I did just save your life, after all."

"Oh, yes." She frowned, pondering what one might say to a nightmare. She finally decided on a simple, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the nightmare replied. "Do you perchance have relatives in some other township somewhere? A place I might be able to drop you off?"

"Drop me...?" She looked at him blankly.

"A figure of speech." He fussed with the dials and levers in front of him. "I meant that I'd be happy to convey you to a safe haven, as it were. Anywhere away from here, provided I can convince the TARDIS to cooperate, of course."

Melinda struggled to understand that, gave up and said, "I have an aunt in Bangor."

"Splendid. You can relax then. This won't take a moment."

"I have lateral geographic transfer date computed Master," K-9 announced. From his mouth -- or rather what passed for a mouth -- a small slip of paper emerged. The Doctor snatched it up with a mumbled "thank you" and went back to his laboring over the panel. A high-pitched whine soon began to fill the room, and Melinda felt the floor quake slightly underfoot. A moment later, the sound peaked and died away, and the quaking motion ceased.

"There we are," said the Doctor. He marched to the door, pushed, and seemed surprised that it opened. He motioned for Melinda to look outside with him, and she meekly complied, convinced now that nothing she did in this madcap dream would make any difference, so why not go along?

"Well?" queried the Doctor.

"Is that Bangor?"

Melinda gasped. The Boston alley had disappeared. And in its place was the country roadway that led directly to her aunt's country home near the township of Bangor.

"This can't be true," she whispered.

The Doctor escorted her out into the warm Bangor sunlight. "It was a pleasure, dear lady. But I'll really have to say good-bye now. I was on my way to third century China when all of this came up and even a Time Lord could be said to have schedules of a sort to keep."

"I'm dreaming," Melinda murmured. "That's all it is. An incredible, unbelievable dream."

"Quite," said the Doctor. He lifted her hand and kissed it gallantly. "When you wake tomorrow, tell yourself that all of this was nothing more than wistful dream. A flight of fancy."

With a bow and a tip of his funny hat, he vanished back into the police call box, which promptly began to tremble and hum and soon had faded out of existence altogether.

Melinda stared at the spot of road where it had been, shaking her head in confusion. "What on God's Earth was that?" said a voice. A stout blonde woman with a parasol was suddenly beside her, staring at the same space.

"What was what?" Melinda queried.

"That... that thing with the little windows and all that blue paint. Well, didn't you see it?"

"It was nothing," Melinda said, and began walking resolutely down the roadway toward the reality of her aunt's home. "Nothing but a dream."

"I shall have to have my eyes seen to," the stout woman clucked to herself as she waddled off in the other direction. "Perhaps those spectacles the doctor recommended..."
 

- The End -