The Story of an Idiot with a Box (Series 8) Doctor Who

Robot of Sherwood Pt 5

[Outlaw's hideaway]

(Night. Little John is holding the golden arrow. It goes from speaker to speaker.)
LITTLE JOHN: 'Tis a thing of beauty indeed.
WILL: And will feed a family for a twelvemonth when melted down.
TUCK: Tonight we rest. Tomorrow we must draw up plans to rescue Robin. We shall soon see how those Mechanicals feel about the taste of Nottingham steel. Lord, forgive me.
ALAN: Strange, though, is it not?
LITTLE JOHN: What?
ALAN: All this looting that the Sheriff is doing, and yet 'tis only ever gold that he takes. Pearls, rubies, all the precious jewels of the realm seem no consequence to him. Only gold.
(He hands the arrow to Tuck and picks up his lute.)
ALAN: (sings) Poor Robin and the stranger lay, In the dungeon all the live-long day. The Merry Men might pine away, Upon a Sherwood morning.
(Back at the castle, we watch artefacts dropping into a giant crucible. One of the knights opens the gate at the bottom and the molten metal pours out into an intricate mould, like a giant printed circuit.)

[Sheriff's room]

SHERIFF: Eat, my Lady, eat. Let it not be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham is a poor host.
(Isabella  is at the other end of the well-stocked table)
Isabella : I had a bag of crisps this morning, thanks.
SHERIFF: Your words are strange, fair one.
CLARA: Mmm, I should think they are.
SHERIFF: But I like you. You're refreshingly direct.
CLARA: You can take the girl out of Blackpool.
(The Sheriff holds up something oblong wrapped in cling film. Sandwiches? Then the spoon.)
SHERIFF: Taken from your friend's strange tunic. An intriguing gallimaufry. Including this wand. Evidently a thing of awesome power. Tell me, are you from beyond the stars?
Isabella : You're the one with the robot army, you tell me.

[Dungeon]

DOCTOR: I'm sorry?
ROBIN: No. Beat your breast. Moan. Groan as though twenty devils possessed your guts.
DOCTOR: What for?
ROBIN: So as to attract the attention of that gargoyle-faced guard.
DOCTOR: It's your plan. You moan.
ROBIN: No, no. No, it won't work.
DOCTOR: Why?
ROBIN: Oh, because you're clearly more advanced in years and you have a sickly aspect to you.
DOCTOR: I have a what?
ROBIN: You're as pale as milk. It's the way with Scots. They're strangers to vegetables.
DOCTOR: I'm not moaning. You moan.
ROBIN: Fine. If you want something doing. (moans loudly.) Can I rely upon you to do the rest?
DOCTOR: Yes, yes, I know the drill.
(The guard speaks through the grill in the door.)
GUARD: What is this din?
DOCTOR: No business of yours, cur. (to Robin) Speak up. I can't hear you.
GUARD: What ails him?
DOCTOR: None of your business.
(The guard enters.)
GUARD: I said, what ails him?
DOCTOR: Well, if you must know, he's having a nervous breakdown.
GUARD: A what?
DOCTOR: He's like this whenever he's in any kind of danger. He just can't seem to cope. He gets so afraid. He goes into a kind of fit. I honestly believe that he may die of sheer fright, like some tiny, shivering little mouse. Oh, God, I think he's soiled himself.
GUARD: Let him die. It will save us the trouble of executing him.
DOCTOR: And what will happen to the reward?
GUARD: Reward?
DOCTOR: Oh, God, I shouldn't have said that.
GUARD: Tell me!
DOCTOR: He carries a vital message. The Prince has promised a bounty.
GUARD: A big one?
DOCTOR: An enormous one.
(Robin mumbles. The guard leans close to him.)
GUARD: What's that? Say again?
ROBIN: Come closer. Your breath stinks like a serpent, has anyone ever told you that?
(Robin gives the guard a Glasgow kiss. That is, he head-butts him, knocking him out cold.)
ROBIN: Soiled myself?
DOCTOR: Did you? That's getting into character. Okay, keys.
ROBIN: I'll get them.
DOCTOR: No, no. I'll get them.
ROBIN: I'll get them. I'll get them.
DOCTOR: I'm fine, no, no worries. I've got them!
ROBIN: I've got them! I'll get
(The two pairs of competing feet end up kicking the guard's keys down the drain. Splosh.)
DOCTOR: Well, there is a bright side.
ROBIN: Which is?
DOCTOR: Isabella didn't see that.