This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales
is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Justin Richards

All right reserved.

Published in the United States by Broadway Paperbacks,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

Broadway Paperbacks and its logo, a letter B bisected on the diagonal,

are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This edition published by arrangement with BBC Books, an imprint of

Ebury Publishing, a division of the Random House Group Limited, London.

Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC One.

Executive producers: Steven Moffat and Caroline Skinner.

BBC, DOCTOR WHO, and TARDIS (word marks, logos, and devices) are
trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under license.
Cybermen originally created by Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-385-34676-4
eISBN 978-0-385-34677-1

Printed in the United States of America

Editorial director: Albert DePetrillo

Series consultant: Justin Richards
Project editor: Steve Tribe
Cover design: Lee Binding © Woodlands Books Ltd. 2013
Production: Alex Goddard

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

First Edition

Rich_9780385346764_2p_all_r1.indd 4 2/21/13 9:28 AM

 Prologue

In a landscape bled of all colour, Stefan was digging

his own grave. The swirling fog muffled the sound
of the spade as it bit into the cold ground. The pile
of earth beside the grave rose higher as the grave got
deeper.
Gravestones stood as silent sentries, dark grey
against the lighter shade of the air. Pitted, cracked
and broken. Beyond them, the vague pencil-drawn
shape of the remains of the church. A hint of the
jagged, fractured tower. A suggestion of the empty,
sightless windows and crumbling walls.
Stefan paid it no heed. His whole world was
focused into the dark pit he was digging.
‘Dig it deep,’ Old Nicolai had said. ‘Dig it deep so
the plague stays buried with her. We’ve lost enough
good people already.’

Rich_9780385346764_1p_all_r1.indd 7 2/18/13 9:21 AM

 DOCTOR WHO

The plague was keeping Stefan busy but, he had

to admit, you could have too much of a bad thing.
Yesterday young Liza, tomorrow – who could guess?
Probably Magda, who was already sick, already as
grey as the fog swirling over the grave.
Stefan kept digging, until he needed his short
wooden ladder to climb out of the pit and rest a
moment. His forehead was moist, sweat mingling
with the condensing fog. If it wasn’t fog it would be
a storm. The fog was damp and clammy and seemed
to drain the life from their surroundings. But Stefan
preferred the fog to the angry thunder, the stabbing
lightning, the rain so heavy it stung his arms and
face as he worked and filled up the hole as quickly
as he dug it.
Just a few more inches, he decided. Just to be on
the safe side. It was a decision that killed him.
He clambered back down into the pit. The air was
thinning, and the first spots of rain splashed onto the
hard-packed soil. Finish this quick, Stefan thought.
Finish this quick and get to the tavern before Gustav
shuts up for the night. He could already taste the
warm, bitter ale. Could already smell the lamb broth.
A few last shovelfuls of earth. Stefan slammed his
spade down into the heavy clay.
Clang!
The impact jarred right up his arm, tingling in his
shoulder and jolting his wrist. It sounded like he’d
hit metal. Maybe it was another Talisman. He prayed

Rich_9780385346764_1p_all_r1.indd 8 2/18/13 9:21 AM

 PLAGUE OF THE CYBERMEN

he’d not damaged it. He had no use for such trinkets

but enough people did that he could get a good price
for a Talisman. Exploring with the shovel, he gently
tapped at the bottom of the grave. Earth here, then
something solid.
Stefan leaned the shovel against the side of the
grave and knelt down. There was just room for him
to scrabble at the ground with his hands. Just enough
light, as the fog cleared and the moon broke through,
for him to see the glint of metal. The rain was getting
heavier, washing the fog from the air and the earth
from the metal surface as Stefan uncovered it.
Gently, carefully, he smoothed away the dirt
from a long sliver of metal. Beside it, another one.
And another. They were connected at one end, he
realised as he scraped. Jointed along their length.
Rain ran down his face, blurring his vision, matting
his hair. He wiped it away, the rough dirt scraping at
his skin. He’d look a mess when he got to the tavern.
Now the whole shape was visible. Silver fingers.
The back of a hand – a gauntlet? Part of a suit of
armour perhaps…
Stefan straightened up, easing his back. He shook
the rain from his hair, wiped his forehead on his
sleeve, and knelt again to examine his find. Rain
was pooling in the upturned palm of the gauntlet,
distorting the tracery of lines and joints. The design
was intricate but robust. A work of art, but somehow
brutal and powerful too.

Rich_9780385346764_1p_all_r1.indd 9 2/18/13 9:21 AM

 DOCTOR WHO

Stefan frowned… But – hadn’t the glove been

palm down when he uncovered it? He leaned
forward, looking closer, blinking the rain away.
The fingers flexed. A sudden, spasmodic
movement. Stefan gasped and jerked backwards.
But the fingers were still again.
Was it his imagination? Or had his weight on the
surrounding soil moved it? Again, he leaned closer,
the rain beating down on the back of his head and
running down his neck like a cold chill of terror
along his spine. The hand shivered. The slightest
movement, but movement nevertheless. This time,
Stefan did not pull away.
And the hand thrust suddenly upwards, out of
the ground, clamping round his throat.
He tried to cry out, but couldn’t draw the breath he
needed. Couldn’t breathe at all. His hands scrabbled
desperately as he was dragged down. The earth
around the metal gauntlet crumbled away. Hand
and arm were uncovered. A torso. The armoured
silver head punching up through the ground, right
in front of Stefan’s terrified face.
Empty eyes. Gaping mouth. A metal skull.
His hand closed on the handle of the shovel.
Somehow he managed to lift it. Somehow he
managed to swing it one-handed at the metal
creature that held him tight. The shovel blade
connected with the arm. The sound of the impact
was muffled. Stefan’s vision was blurred. Rain in his

10

Rich_9780385346764_1p_all_r1.indd 10 2/18/13 9:21 AM

 PLAGUE OF THE CYBERMEN

eyes, and the last vestiges of the fog creeping in as he

gasped and choked.
Then he was being dragged down into the earth.
Feeling the coarse soil graze his face. Glimpses of
silver as the life ebbed away.
Fog.
Darkness.
Death…

11

Rich_9780385346764_1p_all_r1.indd 11 2/18/13 9:21 AM