Doctor Who: Combat Rock (23 page)

Santi merely stood there dripping, and watching him with complete misery etched on her face. ‘Now what we do?’ she spat finally, as if it was all Jamie’s fault. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to thank him for saving her life. And Jamie guessed her stubborn Indoni pride would not allow it. Despite their eternal quarrelling, Santi and Wina were very much alike, he decided.

‘We follow the river, I suppose.’

‘Which way?’

‘Why, that way of course,’ he indicated downstream. The second canoe was just a black dot on the point of disappearing around a bend in the mighty river.

‘You crazy. That way more danger. We must go back way we come.’

‘No. We have to find the Doctor. He’s the only one who can get us away from this mad planet.’ She looked at him strangely. He wasn’t about to explain to her all about the TARDIS now; he was hardly in the mood. ‘I mean, he knows the way home.’ And that was a lie for a start.

He reached out for her hand again, and reluctantly, this time she gave it. Her high-heeled shoes had been lost in the river, but to her credit she didn’t moan about squelching through the mud of the river bank in her bare feet. Much.

They came to a section of the river bank where the jungle extended right down to the water’s edge, thick trees and spiny bushes blocking their path, leaving them no choice but to turn north away from the river to try to find a more accessible path.

It was not easy going. They had no machete or anything to cut away the imposing undergrowth. But there seemed to be enough animal trails to allow them some progress, even if it was uncomfortable and strenuous, continually forcing them to climb over roots and push through screens of prickly fronds.

Exotic blossoms nodded at them as they made their way forward at a torturous pace; gorgeous yellow flower combs, vibrant red horns of petal, fruits as big as Santi’s head hanging tantalisingly above their heads. Better leave those alone, Jamie warned himself, despite his gnawing hunger. And all the time, he tried to make sure they were heading east again, following the progress of the river, although he could only see it infrequently to their right when the branches and shrubbery allowed.

It was then that they happened upon the Kassowark.

Or more strictly speaking, the Kassowark happened upon them.

Santi squealed, alerting Jamie, who spun around to see a bizarre, ostrich-sized bird-creature with a large, white horn rearing up from its back tip-toeing towards them from the undergrowth.

He should have been prepared for oddness on this world by now, but this comically angry-looking freak-bird still managed to put the wind up him. And it did look positively ill-tempered. Its mad eyes were large and yellow, fixing him with an impatient schoolmistress glare, while the strange purple coxcomb swayed above its wedge-shaped head as the creature darted forward.

‘Whoa there,’ Jamie said foolishly, backing away from the huge bird, hands outstretched as if begging for reasonableness.

The Kassowark didn’t look particularly inclined to be reasonable. Its long neck swung from side to side, the head cocking one way, then the next, before plunging forward with its vicious beak to snatch at Jamie’s cheek.

He felt the flesh rip and unleashed a yelp of surprise and pain. Santi was eagerly searching the jungle floor for a weapon of some description, but wasn’t having much success.

She looked up at Jamie’s cry.

‘Feet!’ she shouted at him unhelpfully.

‘What?’

‘Watch feet!’ her warning came again, and he realized what she meant when one of the Kassowark’s three-toed claws flashed out, just as if it was kicking a football. The claw tore away a patch of cloth from Jamie’s shirt front as he threw himself backwards. He landed on his back in a prickly bush and rolled quickly to one side as the claw shot out again, one toe gouging through his kilt to pierce his right buttock.

‘Ow!’ he shouted indignantly, rubbing the afflicted area.

“That flamin’ hurt!’ The creature looked more comical than dangerous, but he was rapidly gaining a whole lot of respect for it.

Santi actually had a look of barely disguised glee on her face. ‘Bird kick your ass, man!’ she guffawed, forgetting she was supposed to be concerned.

‘Aye, very amusing, I’m sure,’ he said, glowering at her.

The bird emitted a vibrating, almost metallic squawk and began mincing towards him again. He crawled out of the bush and managed to dodge the beast’s next attack.

‘Will ye no leave us alone, ye flamin’ great Christmas turkey?’ He was perfoming an odd dance of sorts with the bird, leaping back to dodge the foot whenever it launched a kick, ducking to left or right to escape the beak. He made a grab for the long neck, fully intending to tie it in a knot he was becoming so exasperated, but the beak beat him to it, nearly severing one of his fingers.

‘Kassowark kill! Hati Hati!’ Santi shrieked, lapsing into her native Indoni in her excitement.

‘Hatty what?’ Jamie panted, throwing himself behind a tree bole as the claw flicked bark from the trunk where his bare knee had been moments before.

‘Take care,’ Santi translated for him helpfully. ‘Kassowark tear out guts of man with foot.’

‘Look, I’ve got a better idea than doing the waltz with you beastie.’ Jamie huffed, struggling to keep the bole between him and the Kassowark.

‘Santi not understand.’

‘Run, ye idjit! And I’ll follow.’

So, with a final despairing glance back over her shoulder, Santi did as Jamie suggested, and high-tailed it into the shrubbery. The bird swung its head to discover what had happened to its other victim, and Jamie seized his chance and punched the beast firmly in its right eye.

The wingless bird let out a squawk from hell; all its black feathers stood on end over its entire body. Jamie threw himself into the bushes in the direction Santi had taken while the creature was still shrilling in fury.

The screen held a close-up of Clown’s painted face.

Sabit frowned, and thumbed his remote for a close-up.

‘Crazy...’ he breathed aloud.

Was he supposed to laugh? Was there supposed to be an underpinning of irony in the Dog’s cartoonish get-up that was for the President’s benefit alone? He panned the tiny remote camera across the rest of the mercenaries, pausing for another close up, this time of Pan.

Yes... he thought, nodding his head slowly. You...

This was a man he could work with. More than any of the rest of the Dogs, Pan understood the purity of his vocation.

There was no room in this man’s mind for self-doubt or
irony
.

This man lived simply for the pleasure of killing, and the money that function provided him with. Sabit could be sure he would have further tasks for
him
. He had been wrong about the other one. No journal, no reports, nothing. That was what the Clown Man had given him after returning from his solo mission to Agat: nothing. The missionary was dead, the Dog told him. But could he even believe that? Could he believe anything a man in a jester’s cap said to him?

After this particular mission was terminated, he would show the Clown a joke or two.

Who would be laughing then?

But Pan... Yes, he was one very bad man.

Sabit could use more like him.

The rest could die for all he cared. He corrected himself as he scanned the faces of the other five Dogs as they sat in their hotel recreation room in Jayapul. No. They
would
die
because
he cared. He cared about stability. Authority. Sanity and order.

As long as he was responsible for it, and as long as it followed his philosophy.

He remembered his mother’s dying words, as brought to him by her doctor.

You were never any good, my son. And I grieve for you,
because you never will be. And a whole world shall mourn my
birthing of you.

Hilarious material. If only he could use it in his offworld publicity drives.

He looked at Pan again, drinking whisky in a chair alone while the others played cards. He looked lost in a world of his own.

I wonder what you’re thinking?
Sabit zoomed the hidden camera, looking for the biggest close-up the technology would allow. Soon only Pan’s eyes filled the mini-screen on Sabit’s chair. It was a mistake. You could tell a lot from a man’s eyes.

Pan’s eyes were empty.

And suddenly Sabit felt afraid.

This man was cold. Colder even than himself. There was no love in those eyes. At least Sabit had faithfully loved one person throughout his life – himself. Pan’s eyes were the window to the soul of one who couldn’t even allow himself that weakness. This was one window nobody should ever look in.

Maybe he had underestimated the danger of this man. He would not hesitate to kill anyone, even the man who had paid him. It was not beyond such a monster to seek out those who employed him, just for perverse kicks. No, he was surely being paranoid. What benefit would killing the source of his money bring the Dog? What would be the point of that?

Pan looked up then, right into the camera, and Sabit knew he had seen it. Pan
knew
Sabit was watching him.

And he also knew Pan would kill him

Just because he would enjoy it.

Just because he could.

Who was the crazy man?

Clown could see in their eyes that they thought it was him.

They barely spoke to him now, dealt him cards without looking directly at him as if frightened his madness might be contagious; they could catch the circus insanity just by swapping glances.

No. He’d reached the further shore, waded through all the red madness and at the far bank he’d actually found clarity. He was on a knoll above the tide of corruption, standing alone and lucid at last, so battle-sick and weary of carnage and hate.

Battle-sick.

So, so sick of it all.

No, he was not the madman.

Agat. Jayapul. Papul. Let it stop. I can make it all stop.

And the Clown laughed, without making a sound, without moving his lips.

Pan was looking into her blue eyes.

The biker had tried to be mean, tried to intimidate Pan
into paying way over the going rate for his tattoo. He didn’t
seem to realize Pan was the meanest there was.

There was just no way you could out-mean him.

So Pan showed him. He took the tattooist’s laser needle
and he etched a Crazy Cartoon on the man’s face, dotting the
eyes with black full stops. Blood red was the main colour.

It was kind of poetic, he thought.

Then be looked up from the body lying draped on the
leather tattoo parlour chair and into her blue eyes.

Where was the love? Where was the desire? There only
seemed to be horror now.

And that wasn’t right, was it?

He loved her. She meant...

How did the cliché go?

Oh yeah... everything.

But she really did. More than the wild of the twilight grove
and the mushrooms singing to him of good peace. More than
that, yeah.

He sodding loved her, man.

She was looking at him with deep, deep horror, and more.

She was looking at him with loathing.

What could he do but kill her, too?

‘Why you ever bring me to this hell of insect and animal!’

Jamie felt like ignoring her, but his irritation got the better of him. They had managed to lose the Kassowark, and in the process, managed to lose the river as well. They were stumbling along faint trails in the hope that they were heading in the right direction, it being very difficult to judge east from west when the sun was hidden from view by a thick ceiling of branches and leaves. But they could very well be going completely in the opposite direction from the river, and plunging headlong deep into the interior of the jungle, a thought that filled Jamie with horror.

This was actually exactly what they
were
doing.

So Jamie was no longer in the best of moods.

‘Och, you only came along to spite wee Wina,’ he bit back. ‘Because you wanted tae stop her from becoming too friendly wi’ me!’

Santi barked with laughter. ‘She soon find other man better than you! Man who not wear woman skirt!’

‘Aye,’ Jamie admitted forlornly, ‘Wemus.’ He realized Santi had won this particular battle. ‘The lucky wee devil.’

Santi was gracious in victory, however. ‘You lucky. Wina no good. She gila; like this,’ she demonstrated what ‘gila’ was by passing a finger diagonally across her forehead.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Jamie, none the wiser.

‘Always angry, look for fight. It mean she crazy!’

Not unlike someone else I know, then, thought Jamie.

They had emerged into a small glade spotlit by sunbeams. Tall silver trees surrounded them, almost as if guarding this special place. And it
did
feel special; Jamie had an impression of timelessness, and of having reached a point in their journey that seemed like the furthest into this wilderness they could possibly go. Weariness consumed him at this thought and, choosing a tree free of surrounding bushes, seated himself comfortably with his back against the trunk. He pulled off his soggy shoes to air his feet, rubbing them morosely.

‘This place no good, Jamie,’ Santi said, facing him and speaking very slowly and quietly.

‘Och, what is it now? I just need tae rest my weary toes for a wee minute.’ Santi said nothing, while Jamie continued to massage his feet gratefully. After a while, he glanced up, puzzled by her silence.

She was gazing at the tree against which he was resting, a look of terror on her face.

Jamie clambered to his feet and turned round.

A long and very dirty bone was wedged in a fork of the tree. The knuckle joints were large and greasy, and while it resembled a leg bone, it didn’t look at all like it had come from an animal. His gaze travelled further up, and there, positioned bizarrely in another cleft in the branches, was a human ribcage. A skull was stuffed between the shoulder blades, and as he gaped speechlessly, a grub as white as cooking fat and thick as an obese man’s finger poked through one of the eye sockets to say hello.