9781405952330

PRH Children’s Fiction Date: 8 February 2023 9:55 AM Design: James Production: Adam Webling Pub. Date: 20/04/2023 ISBN: 9781405952330

Alien pirates and sea-faring friends abound in this incredible Treasure Island and Doctor Who crossover.

FORMAT Format PB (129 x 198mm)

‘Who was that?’ asked Clara. ‘And what are pieces of eight?’

SPINE WIDTH: 14mm Estimated Confirmed

The Doctor smiled. ‘Robert Louis Stevenson. I did tell you.’

Summoned to 1700s Plymouth, the Doctor and Clara must

Their travels take them to a remote island – but as the secrets of the theft are unearthed, the Doctor discovers something far more sinister. The spectre of a terrible intellect is Awakening.

Thankfully, the Doctor and Clara aren't alone. A pirate called Long John Silver, a runaway called Janey Hawkins and a professor called River Song are all along for the ride.

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Rebellion on Treasure Island

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Rebellion on Treasure Island

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08/02/2023 09:56

Rebellion on TReasuRe island

BBC C H ILD RE N ’S BOO KS UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia India | New Zealand | South Africa BBC Children’s Books are published by Puffin Books, part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com. www.penguin.co.uk

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First published 2023 001 Written by Bali Rai Copyright © BBC, 2023 BBC, DOCTOR WHO, TARDIS, DALEK and CYBERMEN (word marks and logos) are trade marks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence.

BBC logo © BBC 1996. DOCTOR WHO logo and WHO insignia © BBC 2018.

The moral right of the author and copyright holders has been asserted Set in 11.5/15.5pt Bembo Book MT Std Typeset by Jouve (UK), Milton Keynes Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A. The authorized representative in the EEA is Penguin Random House Ireland, Morrison Chambers, 32 Nassau Street, Dublin, D02 YH68 A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: ​­978–​­1–​­405–​­95233–​­0 All correspondence to: BBC Children’s Books, Penguin Random House Children’s UK One Embassy Gardens, 8 Viaduct Gardens, London SW11 7BW

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Rebellion on TReasuRe island

BALI RAI

PUFFIN

For Maisie-Moo

Chapter One

T

he man knew the island was perfect. Unknown to most, uncharted, and impossible to find unless you knew it existed. There was the small matter of the rebels, of course, but they wouldn’t offer any real opposition. In fact, they were most welcome. Not only a source of minds and bodies, but sitting targets who would pay for their insurgence.

‘We shall take care of two problems,’ the man told his master.

‘We shall,’ his master replied.

‘The British must feel they’re being served,’ he added.

‘Otherwise there will be suspicion.’

‘That is your domain,’ his master told him. ‘Let those buffoons believe what they choose. You serve only me. Should the British get in the way, I shall remove them.’

‘Absolutely,’ the man answered. ‘I will make sure we’re not discovered. Besides, the only one who can stop us is undermined.’

‘A sorry excuse for a leader.’

‘How many must we capture?’ asked the man. ‘To aid us in our conquest?’

1

Bali Rai

‘That is not your concern,’ his master said. ‘Once I am satisfied, you will be the first to know.’

‘And the other you spoke of ?’

‘What of him?’ his master snapped.

‘Will his presence cause us problems?’

His master chuckled. ‘No. He will not be any trouble at all.’

‘We’re anticipating another raid by the rebels,’ the man added. ‘Should I prevent it?’

‘Let them continue. The more there are, the more we shall take.

They only fuel my army ​­ – g​ ive it strength beyond their imagining.’

‘And my reward?’ asked the man. ‘The captain’s treasure?

When will I get that?’

His master chuckled again. ‘Please me, and you will have reward greater than mere gold and silver!’

‘But the treasure will be mine?’ The man was insistent.

‘Yes,’ said his master. ‘However, fail me, and you will pay with your soul.’

‘Yes, master,’ the man replied, needles of fear prickling his skin. ‘I will not fail you.’

‘Then set the wheels in motion,’ said his master. ‘Our first victory draws near!’

The rebels, daubed in luminous paint in order to resemble skeletons and hidden among the jungle foliage, awaited their latest prey. Three men sat in the trees, two women behind thick bushes. Almost impossible to detect, they watched as the convoy carrying recently purchased humans trundled into view.

Two carts; three armed British guards; five men in chains.

2

Rebellion on Treasure Island

It was dusk, and night was falling fast. The shadows lengthened to afford even greater camouflage.

‘Wait until they reach the trap,’ their leader whispered.

Having once escaped enslavement herself, now she rescued others. Some called her a pirate and a ​­thief – ​a treasonous insurgent, fit only for the gallows. Others hailed her as a freedom fighter. She answered to none of those labels.

As the first British cart reached the trap, a rock was thrown from the trees, spooking the two mules pulling it. The animals reared and brayed, and kicked out.

‘WHAT THE DEVIL?!’ cried one of the British men.

‘CALM THOSE DAMNED ANIMALS!’ bellowed a second.

This second voice belonged to the owner of Rose H ​­ ouse – ​ a sugar plantation notorious for its cruelty towards those it enslaved. He jumped down from the second cart, the one carrying his latest captives, and drew his whip to lash the errant mules.

‘Damn you!’ he yelled, as he thrashed them.

Behind him, a rebel ran from cover, cutting the second pair of mules free with a ​­razor-​­sharp machete.

‘REBELS!’ shouted one of the British guards.

They began to load their muskets.

‘NOW!’ the rebel leader commanded.

She knew that loading a musket and firing it took around twenty to thirty seconds. That was all the time required.

Her men hiding in among the branches swooped, and took both guards down. Their squeals did not protect them.

The plantation master slowly turned to be confronted by 3

Bali Rai

glowing skeletal figures. Crying out in fear, he raised his whip, but the rebel leader pre-​­ ​­ empted his attack. She flashed her blade across his line of assault, and he screamed. His arm and hand lay on the soft brown earth, whip still held tight.

He fell to the ground, and fought to stay calm.

The rebel leader knelt beside him. ‘Too long have you hurt my people,’ she said.

‘But I have a wife and child,’ he begged.

She nodded to the chained men. ‘They do too.’

‘For the love of God!’ he bawled.

‘Gods will not save you,’ she replied. ‘Neither yours nor mine . . .’

‘Then you are destined for hell!’ he told her.

‘Rather hell than your idea of heaven,’ she whispered, raising her blade.

A little later, the rebels emerged from the forest on to a moonlit beach. Two rowing boats awaited, and out beyond the lagoon an agile sloop to carry them away. The rescued men fell to their knees and wept with joy. They were free.

A rebel with the given name Adam stepped up to their leader. He was short and broad, and one of her most trusted aides; his origin was somewhere in South Asia, though he had never told them exactly where.

‘Where now, Nanny?’ he asked her.

‘Back to the island, and with haste,’ ​­she – ​the woman they all called ​­Nanny – ​replied.

‘And the mist?’ he added.

4

Rebellion on Treasure Island

‘We have no choice,’ she told him. ‘It is the mist or the gallows, Adam.’

They led the newly freed men to their boats and pushed off into the lagoon.

The island lay shrouded in mist, making it hard to find. The rebel leader steered their sloop herself.

She had discovered the island, years ago now, after becoming lost during a storm. It didn’t appear on any map.

Once ashore, she had realised its potential immediately. It would become the rebels’ hideaway. A paradise in which they could hide, and live freely, and build their own world.

For many years afterwards, that is exactly what it became.

Then the slavers found them.

They began to send raiding parties, but they were no match for the rebels. Nanny organised her people, and together they repelled the raiders. Until the mist arrived.

‘We must hurry to the closest tunnel,’ she told Adam. ‘Send the others ahead, and you and I will lead the newcomers.’

‘As you wish,’ he replied. ‘We cannot lose any more people to this foul thing.’

The strange vapour had started to take them, one by one.

She didn’t know how or why. Only that it did. It would condense without warning, swirling, twisting and twirling in icy thick ribbons, and draw her people closer until they were subsumed and never seen again. She had been lucky, and she was fast and strong. But others had not been so blessed.

As soon as they set foot on the beach, the mist sensed their arrival. It barrelled towards them, and Adam gave the 5

Bali Rai

order to run. Their leader stayed in the shallows, to protect the newly saved men from the rear. But it made no difference.

As they ran, each freed man was picked off and drawn away. Their cries of fear enraged the rebel leader and her trusted aide.

‘NO!’ Adam cried, rushing headlong into the maelstrom.

‘Adam – d​ on’​­t –!’ the rebel leader screamed.

But he didn’t listen.

‘They will not all be taken!’ he promised.

The mist wound itself about him. Adam lost all sense of his position, and could no longer see his rebel comrades. It entered his mouth, gritty and cold, unlike anything he’d ever encountered. It should have been water vapour, but it wasn’t.

Whispers began to circle him, then faceless beings emerged from the gloom, snapping and snarling. Suddenly, Adam was blinded by a flash of light. He felt himself floating away, his physical being left behind. He could still sense his friends, feel their anger and frustration and sadness. But he couldn’t reach out to them, couldn’t call for them, and soon he felt nothing at all . . .

Somewhere else, at some other time, a woman sat at a wooden desk, surrounded by bookshelves. A pile of books and charts stood before her, alongside a brown, l​­ eather-​­bound notebook, a tablet computer and a bag of boiled sweets.

‘Hmmmm . . .’ she said to herself, as she scanned the chart she was reading. ‘Got to be something else, surely? This is an archive, after all.’

A librarian, one of three, was shelving returned books 6

Rebellion on Treasure Island

nearby. The woman rose and wandered across the almost empty room. As she left her desk, a young man watched her.

He was unkempt and unwashed, his clothes reeking of the streets. His eyes didn’t stop moving in their sockets, twitching this way and that, uncontrolled.

Now is the time, said one of the many voices that resided within his mind. Now! As the woman engaged the librarian, the young man crept forward, taking a tablet from the messenger bag looped over his shoulders. The librarian and the woman walked further away, heading into a side room and closing the door behind them. Perfect.

At the desk, he took the woman’s computer and paired it with his own. A few swipes of the screen, and his computer began to clone hers. The process was fast and efficient, yet the young man perspired with anxiety. Should the woman return before his task was complete, he’d pay a heavy price.

Thankfully, she didn’t, and soon his work was done.

‘I told you,’ he said to himself. ‘I knew you could do it.

You deserve a sausage roll.’

You do, another of his voices replied. Good job, son. Good job!

Unable to resist, he took a yellow sweet from the woman’s stash and left.

When the woman returned ten minutes later, she screwed up her nose. An atrocious aroma hung in the air. ‘Wow, that’s some stench,’ she said.

She examined her desk, and her things, and saw nothing amiss. Then, reaching for the boiled sweets, she raised an 7

Bali Rai

eyebrow. There had been a last remaining lemon ​­sherbet – ​ she was sure. Only now it was gone. Perhaps she’d eaten ​­it, too distracted by her research to remember. Or perhaps not.

‘Hmmmm,’ she said. ‘How very odd.’

Chapter Two

C

lara Oswald liked being called ‘the Impossible Girl’.

Possibly because actually being impossible was, well, impossible. She existed now, and had existed previously, and would exist in the future too. So she was possible because she existed/had existed/would exist. The impossible made possible.

That was what made it so cool. Impossibly cool . . .

‘You’ve got that face on again,’ the Doctor said from behind a mess of wires and circuits beneath the TARDIS’s central console.

‘This face?’ asked Clara. ‘Yeah, I wear it most days. It’s mine.’

‘You know what I mean,’ the Doctor replied.

‘How could anyone know what you mean,’ she asked, ‘when it comes to faces? You’ve had so many.’

‘None as beautiful as this one,’ he said.

‘And no head as big,’ she replied.

It was a beautiful face, truth be told, thought Clara. A bit odd, and somewhat angular, and really quite daft at times, but those big sad eyes.

‘There it is again,’ said the Doctor.

9

Bali Rai

‘What?’

‘That face, Clara . . .’

She smiled. And changed the subject.

‘So, what are you doing exactly?’

‘There’s a loose connection somewhere,’ the Doctor explained. ‘An open circuit that should be closed, and a closed circuit that should be open.’

‘Is that important?’ asked Clara.

‘Hmmm?’

‘Is it important?’ she repeated. ‘I’m bored. Can’t we go somewhere exciting and warm this time? That submarine was freezing!’

The Doctor’s possibly daft, definitely big head appeared above the tangle of wires.

‘We could,’ he said, ‘but we might end up somewhere unexpected.’

‘But that’s the point,’ Clara insisted. ‘That’s what we do.

Arrive unexpectedly, in unexpected places, to the surprise of people who didn’t expect us. Before having adventures, nearly dying, actually dying, coming back to life, saving worlds and making the unexpected expected.’

‘Very true,’ said the Doctor. ‘But unless open becomes closed, and closed becomes open, we aren’t going anywhere.

At least not anywhere we can control. The expected unexpected is fine, Clara. But, when the unexpected is unexpected, things can go awry.’

‘How long?’

‘Hmmmmm?’

‘To fix the open-slash-closed-slash-open thing?’

10

Rebellion on Treasure Island

‘Not very,’ said the Doctor. ‘But then time is relative to how much of it you’ve experienced, I guess. I’ve lived longer than you. An hour is nothing to me, but to you . . .’

‘Bored,’ said Clara. ‘Hurry up and fix it . . .’

The Doctor stood up.

‘There’s a library, you know.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Clara.

‘You could read a book,’ he added. ‘Books are great. I love books. Books are cool.’

‘Got any good ones?’

‘Lots,’ said the Doctor. ‘Try one of the classics. Dracula is awesome.’

‘I’ve read that one,’ said Clara.

‘Great Expectations?’

‘I have those already,’ Clara replied. ‘Of you fixing this​ ­time-​­travelling box so that we can travel. In time. Before time stops forever.’

‘Well, let me get on with it then,’ said the Doctor. ‘Talking to me about classic books doesn’t help fix things . . .’

Clara raised her eyebrows.

‘You mentioned classics,’ she said. ‘Not me.’

‘Did I?’ ‘YES!’ ‘Robert Louis Stevenson,’ the Doctor added, as the phone began to ring.

Clara looked at the Doctor. The Doctor returned her gaze.

Neither moved.

‘Your phone is ringing,’ said Clara.

‘Technically, it’s our phone,’ said the Doctor. ‘As my 11

Bali Rai

TARDIS resident, you are also allowed to answer. It’s one of the many perks of being my . . . er . . .’

‘Your . . .?’

‘Companion,’ the Doctor blurted. ‘I mean, not that sort of companion . . . just, you know, my . . .’

Clara laughed. ‘I know what you meant,’ she said. ‘I just enjoy watching you squirm.’

The console phone continued to ring. And ring. And ring.

‘You going to answer that?’ asked Clara. ‘Could be important.’

‘Oh!’ the Doctor exclaimed. ‘I’m so, so very silly! Of ​ ­course – ​it’s not the open part that’s closed. It’s the closed bit that needs to be opened!’

He disappeared under the console and began to reattach wires and circuits.

‘Er, the phone?’ said Clara.

‘You get it,’ said the Doctor. ‘Tell them I’m busy and that we’ll be along shortly.’

‘Has anyone ever told you how annoying you can be?’ She answered the call, though. ‘Hello, it’s the Doctor’s personal assistant-slash-companion-slash-something here. The Doctor is indisposed, and quite irritating. Can you help?’

Clara listened but nothing made sense. The line crackled with ​­space-​­time static and the voice didn’t speak as much as squawk words. Words that made very little sense indeed.

‘It’s no good,’ Clara said to the Doctor. ‘You handle it.’

The Doctor stood, sighed and took the phone. ‘Yes?’ he said.

He listened for a few moments, his lips pursed, his eyes wide, before replying.

12

Rebellion on Treasure Island

‘Ah, I see,’ he said. ‘All very peculiar. Be there as soon as we can. Just a few mechanical ​­ –’ The line went dead.

‘How very rude,’ said the Doctor.

‘Who was that?’ asked Clara. ‘And what are pieces of eight?’

The Doctor smiled. ‘Robert Louis Stevenson,’ he replied.

‘I did tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’ said Clara. ‘And was that an alien on the phone?’

‘That was a man, Clara,’ the Doctor replied. ‘And a parrot too. You really should have spent more time in the library as a child.’

He rushed to the other side of the console.

‘Is it fixed now?’ asked Clara.

‘No idea,’ said the Doctor, holding up a bag of sweets.

‘But ​­look – ​I found some jelly babies!’

‘Will they take us on an adventure?’ said Clara.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said the Doctor. ‘They’re sweets, and besides we have a time machine.’

‘Yes,’ said Clara, ‘I had noticed. But does it work now?’

‘Only one way to find out,’ said the Doctor, pocketing the sweets. ‘Shall we give the old girl a try?’

Clara grinned. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and do ridiculous things!’

Chapter Three

T

relawny had ordered the crew below decks before the Doctor arrived. The situation was bothersome enough.

Especially after that damned pirate had stolen from them again. Nanny, they called her. No matter. Soon, whatever her name, he would send her to the gallows, a warning to all who dared cross him.

However bothersome Nanny’s antics were, they were easy to rationalise. Explaining why a blue box had suddenly appeared from the ether was beyond his patience.

The Doctor stepped out, wearing an irritating smile. Behind him came a young woman.

‘Good morning!’ the Doctor exclaimed, looking around them. ‘The Caribbean Sea, I believe!’

The TARDIS stood on the deserted deck of a British naval ship. About a mile north, a tropical island basked in glorious sunshine.

‘What year is this?’ asked Clara.

‘It’s 1756, if I’m not mistaken,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’re just off the coast of Jamaica.’

‘Anything fun happening?’

14

Rebellion on Treasure Island

‘The usual nastiness,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Global conquest, slavery, political intrigue, the Seven Years War. You know how humans . . .’

Trelawny cleared his throat.

‘Ah, good morning again!’ said the Doctor.

‘I am Trelawny.’

‘Pleased to meet you!’

The Doctor offered his hand. Trelawny didn’t shake it.

The Doctor’s black breeches reached his ankles, instead of ending at his knees. His coat was far too short, and his high brown shoes were unlike any Trelawny had ever seen. Nor was he wearing a tie wig, as was the fashion among gentlemen.

‘You’re shocked at my appearance,’ said the Doctor. ‘Not to ​­worry – w ​ e all have our tastes.’

‘Indeed,’ said Trelawny.

‘Love the tricorne,’ the Doctor told him. ‘Impressively large and pointy. You must be a very important person around these parts. Although I bet you get very sweaty all dressed up like that.’

Clara gave a wry smile.

‘Enough pleasantries,’ Trelawny replied. ‘Let us attend to the grave matter at hand.’

‘The Seven Years War?’ asked the Doctor.

Trelawny seemed perplexed. ‘We are but two years into the war with France,’ he explained.

‘Oh yes, forgot that bit,’ said the Doctor. ‘One day humans will call it the Seven Years War, although technically it lasts for nine years ​­and –’ ‘Doctor!’ Trelawny barked. ‘I am acting on behalf of King 15

Bali Rai

George the Second himself! Save your meandering piffle for another time.’

‘You seem rather touchy,’ said Clara.

Trelawny threw her a withering glance. Well, what he intended as a withering glance. Clara didn’t wither.

‘Your servant seems unaware of her status,’ Trelawny told the Doctor.

‘Servant?’ said Clara. ‘Call me that again and I’ll shove that ridiculous pointy hat somewhere ​­you –’ ‘Now, now, Clara,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let’s not be rude to the ​­ill-​­informed gentleman.’

‘She speaks again,’ said Trelawny. ‘A minion offering opinions about matters that she cannot possibly comprehend.

Is this disrespect of one’s betters acceptable wherever you are from?’

‘Get used to it,’ Clara replied. ‘I like to talk and, yes, where we come from it’s quite normal for half the human race to express themselves vocally.’

‘Clara is my . . . er . . . companion,’ the Doctor explained to Trelawny. ‘We have no hierarchies. We come as a team, whatever your thoughts on the matter might be.’

‘So,’ said Trelawny, ‘may I proceed in outlining the issue?’

‘Proceed, you may.’

High above the deck, perched upon the rigging, sat a green parrot. Clara whistled at it, and it flew down and rested on her shoulder.

The ship had three masts, and they stood beneath the central one, sheltered from the sun. The wooden deck 16

Rebellion on Treasure Island

creaked as the vessel bobbed gently on a calm sea. It was stiflingly hot.

‘Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!’ the parrot squawked, bobbing its head, eyes alert.

‘Ah, my friend from the phone call,’ said Clara. ‘Hello, you lovely thing. Have you met the charmless man in the pointy hat?’

‘Doctor, I must protest!’ said Trelawny.

The Doctor smiled. ‘Of course you must,’ he replied.

Trelawny, uncertain whether he was being made a fool of, continued.

‘King George summons you on a grave matter,’ he explained. ‘It is of national importance. Your previous service to Elizabeth the First is known only to a select​ ­few –’ ‘Ah, lovely Lizzy ​­ – ​she’s always fun!’

Trelawny looked aghast. ‘You are referring to our greatest queen, sir!’ he protested. ‘How dare you be so familiar?’

‘She’s not here,’ said the Doctor. ‘Besides, I’m her husband, so she wouldn’t mind, but maybe that doesn’t happen in this timeline. Or perhaps it’s already happened. Hard to tell, but she was a sort, that Lizzie.’

‘Dear Lord!’ Trelawny exclaimed. ‘Have you no shame, Doctor?!’

A knowing smile passed between the Doctor and Clara.

Trelawny gathered his thoughts, his cheeks as pink with offence as heat. ‘I shall resist the urge to have you thrashed,’ he said. ‘But only because His Majesty seems to trust you.’

17