Doctor Who: Bad Therapy (22 page)

‘I think I left before they got around to teaching us Martian.’ Jack looked at the Doctor. ‘You’re not pulling my leg, are you? This writing is from Venus or somewhere, isn’t it?’

‘Rather further than Venus, I suspect. But no, I’m not pulling your leg, Jack.’

‘And you weren’t having me on when you said that you were a different species either? You’re from outer space too, aren’t you?’

The Doctor smiled at some private joke. ‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment, ‘in a manner of speaking. Although I’m not really from anywhere anymore. I travel in time and space.’

Jack looked at the little man afresh. He took in his mischievous eyes, his wild, sweaty brown hair and his blood-splattered pyjamas. He didn’t look like a man from outer space. He looked more like Christie on a bad day.

Jack wanted to take advantage of the Doctor’s sudden and rare willingness to answer questions. ‘And the bloke behind this place – Moriah? – is he the same as you?’

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‘Well I hope not, Jack,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘I do hope not.’ He tilted his head and his brow furrowed. ‘I only glimpsed him, but he does seem familiar somehow. I’m fairly sure I don’t recognize him personally, but I think I’ve encountered others of his race before. It’s just a question of when and where.’

‘Doesn’t it say where he’s from in those papers?’

‘I’m afraid not, Jack. These only seem to be the plans for a time corridor.’

‘Come again?’

‘A gateway linking one time and place in the Universe with another. A secret passage in the structure of the Galaxy. The Universe’s equivalent of a back staircase. Presumably that’s how Moriah found his way to Earth.’

‘Oh,’ Jack said, feeling rather out of his depth. He tried to imagine what a corridor in time and space might look like, and failed. Weren’t spacemen supposed to travel to Earth in silver flying saucers?

The Doctor must have caught sight of the expression on his face, because he smiled and said, ‘Why not have a look around? See if you can find any clues.’

Jack nodded and wandered a little aimlessly around the room. He had no idea what a ‘clue’ might look like, and suspected that the Doctor wasn’t really expecting him to find anything, only trying to get him out of his hair for a few minutes.

The room was decorated with strange and unsettling objects. A stuffed eagle sat in a tall glass jar, the skulls of small rodents decorated the mantelpiece, and a line of small bottles filled with opaque liquid had been placed precariously along one of the bookcases. Jack pulled the tiny cork out of one of them and, gingerly, took a sniff. It smelt faintly of aniseed. Peering inside, he thought he saw the liquid begin to climb up the side of the glass towards him.

Reminded of the black cab, Jack hastily pressed the stopper back on the bottle and replaced it on the shelf.

A large portrait of a woman hung on the far wall. Something about the painting bothered Jack. It took him a moment to work out what it was. Whoever had hung the painting had placed it too low down on the wall. The bottom of the large picture frame was only a few inches above the ground, and yet there was a much larger gap between the top of the painting and the ceiling. Jack moved forward to examine the painting more closely, it was almost as if the painting was covering a –

‘Blimey,’ he whispered, as he moved closer and saw the face of the woman in the picture. That face was unmistakable. The woman was dressed in elegant, ornamental robes, and wore a strange headdress which concealed her hair.

She was sitting in a room which was decorated in similar symbols to those inscribed on the papers the Doctor had found on the desk. However, it was the woman’s face which had caught Jack’s attention so completely.

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‘Doctor,’ he managed, but his voice was a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Doctor, I think you’d better have a look at this.’

‘What’s that, Jack?’ the Doctor asked, absently, from the other side of the room.

‘I think you’d better come and see this for yourself.’

The Doctor glanced up from the desk, looking puzzled. Still holding several sheaves of paper he joined Jack in front of the painting. ‘Very striking,’ he turned to Jack, expectantly. ‘Well?’

‘Look at her face.’

The Doctor turned back to the painting. His eyes widened, suddenly. ‘My goodness! I’ve seen that woman somewhere before. How frustrating. It’s on the tip of my mind.’

A small plaque was attached to the bottom of the frame. Jack squinted at the tiny writing. ‘According to this her name is Petruska, First Queen of. . .

somewhere foreign, I think.’

‘But she looks like. . . like –’ the Doctor said, still struggling to remember.

‘Mother. At least that’s what everyone that I know calls her. She’s a friend of Eddy’s. I mean she was. . . She runs a club in Soho,’ he said.

The Doctor clapped his hands together excitedly. ‘That’s right! That’s absolutely right. If I didn’t know better I would say that it was a picture of Tilda Jupp. What on Earth is she doing here, I wonder?’

‘Perhaps it’s just a coincidence?’ Jack said, and then stared at the Doctor. ‘I didn’t know you knew Mother.’

‘It’s a small Universe. We met in a restaurant the night before last. Gosh, that does seem like a long time ago. Do you know, I think there’s something very odd about this picture.’ The Doctor leant forward to examine the painting, his attention completely focused on the image of the woman.

Jack felt pleased to have the answer. ‘I noticed that too. It’s hung far too low down the wall. It’s not where you would expect a painting to be at all. It reminded me of a door.’

The Doctor didn’t appear to have heard him. He’d stepped a few feet back from the painting and squinted. Jack thought he looked like an art critic at a gallery opening.

‘It’s certainly not been hung to its best advantage,’ he said, looking studious.

Jack nodded, impatiently. ‘Perhaps there’s some kind of special catch to open it.’

The Doctor still wasn’t listening. He raised his hands in front of him, framing the painting with his fingers. ‘It’s been hung too low down the wall. It reminds me of something –’

Jack exhaled loudly, trying to attract the Doctor’s attention. Failing, he ran his fingers along the edge of the picture frame. He felt something give beneath 123

his fingers. The painting began to swing away from the wall on a hinge. A chink of emerald light escaped from behind the painting and bled into the room. It was the same icy light that had shone from the lamp on the taxi. Was this where the monstrous vehicle came from? Did this lead to its lair?

‘I knew it!’ The Doctor exclaimed, looking at the passageway which was revealed behind the picture – an expression of complete surprise on his face.

‘It’s a secret door.’

They had been descending steadily for almost five minutes. Surely they must be far below the ground floor by now? Jack wondered, a little fearfully, where the stairs might lead. A cellar, or perhaps, if they were lucky, a secret exit from the building? The atmosphere was thick and damp, and Jack was privately worried that they might run out of air as they travelled ever further down.

The stairs turned into a passageway which twisted and sloped wildly several times before opening out on to a small platform which looked out over a large underground cavern. From their high vantage point, Jack could see a ring of burning emerald lights below them on the floor of the cave. From this distance they looked like a discarded necklace of luminous pearls. A figure was seated, cross-legged and Buddha-like, in the middle of the globes.

Whoever the person was, he was too far away for Jack to identify.

‘It’s Moriah,’ the Doctor whispered.

‘Blimey, how can you tell?’ Jack said.

The Doctor didn’t seem to understand what he meant. ‘Well, I have seen him before.’

Jack smiled ruefully. The figure may have been too far for a mere mortal like Jack to make out, but that didn’t seem to stop the Doctor. Was there nothing that the little man couldn’t do?

‘Let’s get closer,’ the Doctor said, and started to climb down a stone staircase which was carved into the wall of the cavern, leading from the platform down to the floor below. He moved silently in the dusty rubble.

The stairs were old and felt like they might crumble when Jack put his weight on them. He swallowed hard and followed, trying to stop himself from looking down.

The cavern floor was rough and lined with deep, jagged cracks. The light from the circle of globes played over the rock walls, turning them varying shades of a deep brackish green. The eerie illuminance made the cavern appear as if it were deep underwater. It was like standing on the bottom of a stagnant lagoon. The air was thick, sweet and medicinal. The same cloying smell that had enveloped him in the black cab. Scattered across the floor of the cavern were pools of the dark liquid. Jack hadn’t noticed them at first, had 124

thought them shadows in the gloom. The surface of pools trembled slightly, almost in. . . anticipation.

The Doctor led Jack over a cluster of stalagmites close to the ring of emerald fire. Jack wanted to look, but when he lifted his head over the rocks, the Doctor pushed it back down. There were voices coming from the circle of spheres. One was a deep unearthly whisper: Moriah? The other voice sounded thin and tinny, as if it were coming from far away. Jack thought he recognized the second voice, male and younger than the first. It sounded anxious and eager to please. The man spoke with a London accent – Jack was sure he recognized the speaker. The voice made him feel uncomfortable.

Well, the only way to be sure was to see. Before the Doctor could stop him, Jack quickly stuck his head over the top of the rocks and stole a glimpse at the centre of the fiery circle. A large, heavy-set man sat in the centre of the ring of globes. His face was large, with strong, hard features, which looked as if they had been cut out of granite. He had short, steel-grey hair, although his face was curiously smooth and ageless. Only his eyes, which were small and dark, looked old and impossibly weary. As if he hadn’t slept for days or. . . years.

‘Moriah,’ the Doctor whispered, as he popped up beside Jack.

The hoarse whisper belonged to the large, grey-haired man. At first Jack assumed that Moriah was talking to himself, but after a moment he realized that this wasn’t the case at all. Moriah was addressing the globes themselves.

In each of the large crystal balls there burnt an image of a man’s face that Jack knew all too well. It was the young, crew-cut man from the nightclub in Soho.

Gordy Scraton, the boss of the gang that had blackmailed him and made the last few months of his life a living hell.

‘I will get the boy, Lord,’ the thug promised. ‘You’ll just have to be a little patient.’

The Doctor and Jack exchanged puzzled glances.
Lord?
they mouthed in unison.

In the centre of the circle, Moriah exhaled quickly and loudly, like a bull snorting before it charged. ‘I’ve
been
patient, Mr Scraton,’ he hissed. ‘I expect total obedience from those who dare to serve me. The. . . boy must be destroyed,’ he said, the tension evident in his voice. ‘And quickly. There are others whom you must kill. Many others.’

Gordy’s image in the globes looked impatient, almost angry. ‘If you’d just see your way to providing some more money then I could put a few more lads on the payroll. Then I could take out whoever you wanted. No problem.’

Gordy paused and then looked small and a little pathetic. ‘Please give us some cash. I’ve had to deal with some local difficulties and I’ve lost one of my regular sources of income.’

Moriah considered this for a moment. ‘You’ll have no more money from 125

me until you’ve proved I have your complete loyalty, that you will serve me faithfully.’

Gordy looked set to interrupt him, but Moriah continued. ‘However, I’ve a few. . . lost souls who might be persuaded to work for you.’

‘Lost souls?’ Gordy questioned, fearfully.

‘Men, Gordon,’ Moriah laughed dryly. ‘Men who’ll carry out your orders.

Think of the kind of men you need for your little gang and you’ll find them waiting for you in the morning.’

The Doctor pulled Jack back down behind their cover. ‘We need to get back to Soho, quickly. I’ve a nasty suspicion that the boy they mean to kill is your roommate’s little brother.’

‘What!’ Jack started, and the Doctor quickly leant over to cover his mouth.

‘Ssh,’ the Doctor whispered. ‘I’m only guessing.’

‘How do you know that it’s Dennis they want to hurt?’

‘Because he and Eddy are of the same –’ the Doctor stopped himself, an uncomfortable expression crossing his face.

Jack felt a chill creep down his spine. Suddenly the Doctor didn’t seem able to meet his gaze. What did the Doctor know?

‘This isn’t the time to explain,’ the Doctor snapped, trying to keep his voice low. ‘We need to see if we can’t find a way to get you back to London. Moriah will be shipping out some men for our friend, Gordy. If we’re lucky we can get you stowed away with them.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Jack asked.

The Doctor winked at him, and forced a smile – which only served to further Jack’s feeling of unease. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘I’m going to try a little subterfuge.’

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9

Sweet And Tender Hooligan

Gordy Scraton slept badly that night. What kind of men might the devil send him? Zombies? Demons? Goblins? What had the disembodied voice called them? Lost souls. His dreams had been full of cold and pale human-shaped figures who lumbered through the dark behind him, reaching for him with long, broken fingers.

Gordy had woken, twisted up in his black silk sheets and chilled by a cold sweat. Despite being terrified as to what he might find lurking in his secret shrine that morning, he still threw himself into yesterday’s clothes and, without bothering to pause to wash, he made his way down to the basement. What would the devil have brought him?

Gordy felt their presence when he entered the shrine. There were half a dozen figures standing quietly in the shadows. At first he couldn’t quite see their faces, but as he looked harder he recognized some of the hardest men in London’s underworld. They were all there: Jake Dimes, Ronnie Donaghue, Billy Spot.