The iron triangle hanging from the central ceiling beam in the barn rang of its own accord, which could only mean one thing: they’d landed.
Eloise once more herded up her guests and aimed them at the doors. “Okay, folks, we’re going to try one more time to take this party to the High Council!” she announced, trying to drum up some enthusiasm. The cheers were not as loud or as happy as they had been the first time around.
It’s possible, the troll thought to herself, for even the best parties to last far too long.
Seeing the knot of Doctors brought her to a standstill. “Looks like you’ve seen a – well, that you know something, at least,” she said, trying to decipher their expression.
“We do,” the seventh Doctor said, tugging thoughtfully on his left ear.
“The Valeyard has been leading us on,” the third said. “He’s acting as an unwilling agent for someone else.”
Eloise raised an eyebrow, cocking her party hat even further to the side. “You sure?” she asked.
“Of course we’re sure!” the sixth Doctor said, exasperated. “If anyone should know him, it’s me – us!”
“You’re right,” Eloise conceded, “silly question.” She looked at them expectantly. “Well?” she asked, when none of them said anything more, “Who is it? If this means a change in our action plan, you’d better tell me now!”
The fifth Doctor took a deep breath. “I – we – think… well, there are only two options. Rassilon… or Eris. If it’s Rassilon… then our best option is to stay well away from him. Because it means he knows a lot more about our link to Ancient Gallifrey than we thought…”
“If it’s Eris,” the sixth added, “I don’t think she’s been planning for centuries – unlike some people… I suspect she just took advantage of an accident…”
“So… does this mean Eris is working against us?” Eloise asked worriedly.
The Doctors shook their heads. “She’s the Goddess of Discord,” the eighth explained. “Whatever she does, she does to weaken Discord, strengthen Discord, change it… She is Discord. She does what she wants. Sometimes she explains it, sometimes she doesn’t. You just have to hope you survive… Oh, and she knows we suspect. She is a Goddess, after all…”
“Does. This. Mean. We. Have. To. Change. Anything?”
The Doctors looked at each other. Then said, in unison, “No.”
“Good. Let’s move out. And this time, let’s hope we don’t get arrested…”
The hostess of the pro-fun hoedown armed herself for the final confrontation. She prepared her violin, checked her party hat was on crookedly, and handed out hooters to every guest in sight.
She only hoped it would be enough.
“Is everyone ready?” the troll asked her assembled guests.
“No, but we’re going anyway, right?”
“You got it in one,” she replied. “Okay, everyone – after me!”
The partygoers (among them, a small blue duck, expertly playing a theme by Prokofiev on an oboe; Fitz, still occasionally breaking into small gleeful dance steps; and Alryssa, working her way through the crowd in Fitz’s direction clasping the largest cream pie yet seen in this story…) marched out into the Capitol, hooters blaring, kazoos tooting, and mayhem commencing…
The party split up, most of the guests planning to revel in the streets of Gallifrey. The central group, though, headed straight for the High Council chambers.
“Have you noticed?” the seventh Doctor commented as they approached the doors. “There are no guards around. In fact… I haven’t seen anyone in the Capitol…”
Eloise nodded. “In other words, be careful.”
She knocked on the door to the chambers.
And the door swung open…