Doctor Who: Lungbarrow (23 page)

'We have very little time.'

Leela turned away without a word.

104

Encounters and Exits

'How did you get in here?' said Romana. She was walking through the garden with Lord Ferain. He of the black robes and black hearts.

'The same way that you are not here, Madam President.' He was smiling. 'We're both ghosts, are we not?' He reached for her hand and their fingers slid through each other like mist. 'Your ruse with Almoner Crest Yeux almost worked. Very convincing if you were there, I'm sure. But your projected image did not transfer wel to the small screen...'

'...when transmitted by your spy optics,' said Romana.

Ferain scanned the hazy Arcadian vistas. 'You must come home, Madam. The whole of Gallifrey is waiting for you.'

'When I'm ready,' she said.

'Which will be?'

'When I'm ready.' Her tone was suddenly icy.

He sighed. 'Consorting with unGallifreyans - who, incidentally, will not get very far. Ignoring your duties. Flaunting your office. There is a lot to answer. But rest assured, Madam, we have the Capitol under secure control.'

She stopped walking and turned to him. 'No, you be assured, Ferain. When I return, your Agency,
my
Agency, will be carpeted so fast, you won't ... you won't see the trees for dust! Things are changing, my Lord. Gallifrey will never be the same again. The tortoises are about to stampede.'

She watched the garden and Lord Ferain dissolve before her.

'What do I do now?' she said in desperation. 'I didn't want to give the Doctor that "mission" in the first place. And now it's all going wrong.' She turned to the woman with the silver face. 'Have I done the right thing?'

'Oh, yes,' said the woman.

'But the CIA will try anything, any way at all to find out about the Doctor. We can't lose him.'

The woman nodded. She had the composure and certainty of a priestess of older times. 'It is foreseen.'

Romana blenched at the thought. 'As long as the Doctor doesn't know that,' she said.

The secretary showed Dorothée out into a long cloister. Her bike was parked at one end, the bags of groceries still in place. She managed to force the black globe into one of them and then strapped on her helmet and mounted up.

The secretary seemed unduly nervous, his eyes darting everywhere. 'Please hurry,' he said. 'The coordinates are set.'

It was only then that she noticed he was carrying a gun. She heard running footsteps and saw two grey guards round the corner halfway along the passage.

The secretary raised his gun to fire.

A bolt of painful light hit him squarely in the chest. He crumpled.

Dorothée started the bike. It snarled into readiness.

The guards were running towards her, guns raised. She lowered her head and prepared to ride straight into hell.

105

Two ruby needles stabbed through the air and floored the guards. Two familiar tin dogs rounded the corner.

'Thanks, boys,' shouted Dorothée.

Simultaneously, something slid on to the saddle behind her. 'Go, quickly,' said Leela's voice.

More footsteps behind them. More guards.

'Go!' yelled Leela.

Dorothée pulled away. Sparks tore from the machine as she wove it up the passage. Bolts of fizzing light overtook them, exploding on the wall that loomed ahead.

The bust of a previous President detonated in front of them.

'Pandak the Original!' shouted Leela and the wall vanished in a clap of golden thunder.

***

They waited for news from the President, but no news came.

Prince Whitecub, his noble mane unkempt, paced his office like a caged beast. 'Are we political hostages?' he asked the guards, but they were low-born creatures with no scent of honour or protocol.

To confound the passing of time, he listened to his ambassadorial attaches as they told tales of ancient deeds from the nether past of their own universe.

'And Vlasolf the Timewalker walked the wind back to the very dawn of all hunting. And in that first ferment, he saw the Night Hunter and the Light Hunter divided. Black and white prides arrayed to begin their eternal battle. But laughter cut through the roaring of their chal enges. And between them padded the Blood Thief. The red-handed Jackal whose cunning balances the scales of war.'

The communication screen on the Prince's table opened like an eye, revealing the anxious features of Chancellor Theorasdavoramilonithene.

'Chancellor, are you safe?'

'My Lord Prince, we need your help.'

He spread his paws wide. 'We are prisoners here. There is little we can do.'

'Yes, yes, you can.' Her eyes were darting round. 'I must ask for sanctuary in the bounds of your Embassy.'

'For you, Chancellor?'

'No, Your Excel ency.' She paused to compose her request. 'No. I ask for sanctuary for the President of Gal ifrey from her own people.'

She turned away, startled, to look at something. The screen crackled and went dead.

106

Home Truths

'He's stopped,' said Glospin. 'What's he doing?'

Satthralope squinted at her mirror. It reflected an image of the Doctor on one of the gal eries. He was stooping to examine one of the tree pillars.

'More pomade,' she croaked and the Drudge sprayed more of the unguent on to her white hair. She snapped her bony fingers and the chair that held Glospin in its fist relaxed its grip. 'Come and sit by me,' she said.

Glospin slid from the chair and sat dutiful y at the old woman's feet, letting her fondle his long hair. 'My wicked one.

My naughty boy.' She felt him flinch as she squeezed her fingers over his head.

The Drudge snipped at the whiskers on her chin with ornate scissors. It reminded her of her wedding devotions.

Just three hundred and two she had been. Just a girl still when the summons came, hardly ready for her vows and duties.

I shall serve you might and main, mortar and mortice.

The plain wooden ring on her finger, sometimes tight with possessiveness, sometimes hot with rage.

I shall guard your bounds, your chattels and your progeny from Loom to Tomb.

Then she and the House were one. Blood and brick in union.

The Doctor was on the move again. Now that the candleday was up and lit, he no longer seemed worried about being seen. He was heading in the direction of her room. As he passed the mirror, he raised his hat in mockery.

'I'd know that arrogance anywhere,' muttered the Housekeeper. The rhythm of strokes on Glospin's hair slowed and hardened.

'He told me he'd come home to be the next Kithriarch,' said Glospin. 'He wants his due.' He cringed as she dug in her nails.

'If you want your inheritance,' she said, 'you'd better make sure he doesn't get a chance to wake Quences.'

There was a knock at the door.

She groaned and creaked, using Glospin's head as a support. Strands of web that stil clung to her bodice and skirts stretched and tore as she rose from her chair for the first time in seventy-one years.

By the time Chris had got lost twice and been back to Innocet's door by accident, he was truly crukked off. With the lights up, his sense of direction had gone to pieces. He took a different route and heard the Doctor's
whee-whoo
whistle echoing up through the labyrinthine building. He tried it himself, vaguely hoping that it would act as some sort of sonar thread through the maze.

On the third landing down, he heard the answer. The two notes came back at him, deeper and backwards.

Whoo-whee.

He kept walking, aware that something was behind him, something large and lumbering. But when he glanced back, there was nothing in the passage, not even a shadow in the lamplight.

He clambered down some stairs and found the funguretum at last. The fungi were all over the walls, even up to the black dome. A cloaked shape rose in the broken pen as he approached.

'He's gone,' said Innocet, excitably. 'We were wrong. You were wrong.'

107

Chris stepped in through the gap. 'No chance. I wish you were right, but no chance. Sorry.'

'Arkhew's gone away. Just like Maljamin.'

Chris crouched and looked at the bootprints in the slime. 'You see? The body's been dragged out. Someone got here before us. Probably the killer trying to cover up the evidence.'

Innocet stepped out of the pen. A gaunt figure in her cloak, every emotion locked away. 'Where is
he?
'

'Oh, no,' said Chris. 'That's a big mistake. Wrong sort of shoeprint for a start-off.'

'Why did he bring you?' she said. She turned and her eyes pierced him.
What is your family and chapter?

He winced and broke her stare. Standard technique. 'Don't do that, please.'

She frowned. 'Will he let us out or has he just come to torment us?'

'Um, I don't think he knew,' Chris said. 'He's shocked. But you didn't tell him everything, did you?'

'That's no business for an outsider.'

'I'm an impartial Adjudicator. I'm meant to be on the outside.'

'He regards you as his friend.'

'Yes. The Doctor's a good friend. A close friend. That just makes it worse. So you must tell me what happened to Ordinal-General Quences.'

'Nothing happened.'

'OK,' he said, disappointed. 'Only one murder then.'

'That word is forbidden. Even concerning Arkhew's death.'

'Fine. The other mur... unexplained death was only something I dreamed anyway. But you'd better know about it, because Arkhew dreamed it too.'

'A shared dream?' she said.

'You don't seem surprised.'

'Once upon a time the phenomenon was quite commonplace.' She was being cautious. 'Did you speak to him?'

Chris nodded. 'He was terrified, poor little guy. He said we were seeing Quences's Deathday exactly as it happened. He was crying and shaking. We saw the Family row over the wil and then when we saw Quences murdered...'

She shushed him and stared around. 'Keep your voice down. It's impossible. It isn't true. You couldn't have seen.'

'But you believe it happened.'

'Quences is sleeping in stasis. You've seen for yourself.'

'Arkhew and I saw Quences murdered. Arkhew recognized who the killer was.'

Innocet was suddenly calm. 'And?'

Chris shook his head. 'He didn't say. But he knew all right. I think he's gone and confronted them with it. And that's why he's been mur-sorry, he's dead, too.'

108

'Exactly,' she said coldly. 'So it was the Doctor who killed Quences and now he's killed Arkhew as well.'

Chris thrashed his arms in exasperation. 'It wasn't the Doctor. I saw it happen too.'

'Then who was it?'

'It was an elderly man. Not tal . Dressed in black with longish white hair.'

She studied him for a moment. 'You'd better come with me,' she said. 'Then you can see for yourself.'

The handle to Satthralope's door resisted turning several times. Final y, at her signal, the door opened itself and admitted the miscreant. He marched in and seemed almost put out to find the room apparently abandoned.

'I'm here, Satthralope,' he called. 'I await your displeasure.'

After an indecently short wait, he began to poke about among the Housekeeper's effects.

Satthralope leant heavily on her cane. She watched, secure behind a mirror gauze of free-standing reflections that showed an empty room to the casual observer. Glospin was watching beside her. She approved of the hatred in his glare.

The prodigal wretch was scarcely imposing in his bearing and his sense of attire had deteriorated lamentably. His manner however, stil had all the old domineering disrespect that she recalled. She had clearly missed three or four of his lives - a small boon for which she must be grateful. He was crouching on the floor, squinting at the strands of web that hung from her chair. Then he took some different strands from his pocket and compared them.

Unaccountable. He had not even removed his excuse for a hat. How could any Family live with such a scapegrace?

His attention was caught by the mirrors on her dressing table. To her indignation, he began to finger the manual control levers with their crystal tops.

She started to move forward, but Glospin's hand held her back.

Views of the House flickered across the centre glass. On one passage, something large blocked the view. It seemed to be furry with zigzag stripes. The wretch gave a chortle and flicked on.

The next view reflected a first-level parlour where two people were in deep conversation. One was a young man with hair the colour of sulphur flowers - another uninvited intruder, and wearing particularly offensive apparel. The first outsider she had seen since the dark began. How dare he come here? How dare he be brought in? And he was talking to Innocet. Innocet again! She, of all Cousins, should know better.

Innocet invited him in
, whispered Glospin's voice in Satthralope's thoughts.
She invited both of them.

The Housekeeper stamped her cane in anger, but the wretch at her mirrors was too absorbed in trying to lip-read the reflected conversation to notice.

***

Innocet stood back and surveyed the family portrait on the wall behind it. 'It's the only one I could think of that hasn't been defaced.'

The dust stung in Chris's eyes and nose. Again the sounds of the House were amplified in his head. He tried to concentrate on the three-dimensional portrait with its formal rows of people, many of whom he knew from the Deathday dream. Ordinal-General Quences sat at the centre of the group - a crusty old man with a fierce eye.

Satthralope was next to him, small and malevolent, locked into a black fortress of a dress, a huge ring of keys in her fist. Beside her, staring fixedly, was the old black-haired version of Glospin. Venomous, thought Chris. On Quences's other side, sat Innocet, still young, still red-haired, a model of dutiful composure. Among the ranks of other Cousins, Chris finally spotted Arkhew's head, peering out, half obscured by the broad shoulder of a portly lady who was taking up nearly two seats.