Doctor Who: The Highlanders (7 page)

Polly smiled at him. ‘Oh, wouldn’t we, Algernon.’ She turned to Kirsty. ‘Give me that knife.’

Kirsty handed over the dirk.

Algernon braced himself. ‘What are you going to do?’ he said.

‘Never fear, Algernon Thomas Alfred,’ said Polly. She cut off a lock of his hair protruding from under the dishevelled white wig. ‘You know,’ said Polly, ‘how girls like souvenirs of their fellows.’ She looked at him. ‘Well, perhaps you don’t, but I’m just after a small souvenir of you. There.’ She then raised the dirk and cut the cord that held the identity disc. ‘This hair should be proof enough that we captured you. Just in case the Colonel doesn’t believe us.’

Kirsty had been watching this with astonishment. ‘But why would you be...’

Polly turned to her. ‘We may need an ally in the enemy camp.’ She looked back at the unhappy Algernon. ‘And I think we’ve found one.’ She nudged him with the dirk.

‘Right, Algernon?’

‘It’s sheer b-b-blackmail,’ sputtered Algernon.

‘You got that one right,’ said Polly, ‘that’s what it is.’

She turned. ‘Come on, Kirsty, we’d better get out of here before his men get back. Sit up, Algy dear.’ Polly helped Algernon to a sitting position then, standing lightly on his knee and shoulder, she swung herself gracefully over the top of the pit, then turned and helped Kirsty out the same way.

She looked down at Algernon. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t be long, I’m sure. And we’ll be looking out for you in Inverness. Don’t forget.’

The last thing Algernon heard was Polly’s light laugh rippling back as the two girls scampered away down the hillside.

The Sea Eagle was one of the finest inns in the town of Inverness. It had been built largely for the occupying English soldiers who had one of their main fortresses at Inverness, and was a large handsome timbered building, unlike the low thick-walled cottages that usually passed for inns in the highlands of Scotland.

Solicitor Grey, his clerk Perkins, and a heavily-built ruffian in seaman’s clothes, Henry Trask, was with them.

Captain Trask, as he styled himself, was master of the brig
Annabelle
. A one-time pirate gunrunner and smuggler, Trask’s hard nature showed on his face. It was deeply lined with a livid scar running across the forehead, and pock-marked with a blue powder mark left by the unpredictable guns of the period which often blew up in a man’s face.

Right now, Trask, who’d obviously been drinking –

there was an empty wine bottle on its side in front of him, and a full flagon at his lips – was in a raucous good humour. ‘Well, lawyer,’ he said, ‘my old cattleboat’s ready for its livestock. Eh?’ He roared with laughter, and Perkins beside him gave a mild, conciliatory titter in reply. The half-drunk Trask, always quick to take offence, stopped laughing immediately and glared at him. ‘Belay there.’

Perkins’s laugh cut off abruptly. ‘What in thunder do you think you’re laughing at?’

‘N-n-nothing,’ said Perkins, beginning to stammer nervously. But Grey leaned across the table, his face serious.

’It won’t be a laughing matter for any of us if we are caught, I assure you. That is why we must start loading the prisoners tonight.’

Beside him, Perkins, relieved to have Trask’s attention diverted, nodded and repeated Grey’s last words. ‘Yes, tonight,’ he said.

‘By the time the King’s judges are ready to try the rebels, we shall have them safely on the plantations,’

continued Grey.

Trask leaned forward, nodding his great head. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘A Highlander will do twice the work of one of your black slaves.’

Perkins smirked. ‘At least twice,’ he said.

Trask immediately turned on him. ‘Who asked for your opinion?’

Perkins, snubbed again, shrank back from the fearsome-looking captain, but Grey interposed and rapped the table with his snuffbox. ‘Silence, Captain,’ he said. ‘I won’t have my clerk bullied in this way.’

Then as Trask scowled in his direction, he leaned forward, his eyes searching the seaman’s face. ‘I have enough evidence on you to send you to the gallows ten times over. Don’t forget it.’

For a moment Trask rose in his chair and seemed about to throttle the quiet-spoken lawyer. Then, the steely intensity of the solicitor’s unflinching gaze made him uneasy and he slumped back, dropping his eyes and reaching for the wine flagon.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ Grey called.

The door opened and the sentry stuck his head round.

‘Well?’ said Grey.

‘It’s one of the prisoners, Sir. He insists on seeing you.

Says he’s got some special information about a plot on the Duke’s life.’

‘Why come to me?’

‘He won’t talk to anyone but you, Sir,’ said the sentry.

‘Which prisoner is it?’ said Grey.

‘The German doctor, Sir.’

Grey looked puzzled for a moment, and then his face cleared. ‘Ah, interesting,’ he said. ‘Bring him up to me at once.’

The sentry saluted, but made no move to go.

‘Well man, what are you waiting for?’ Still the sentry stood there immobile, his eyes staring straight ahead.

‘Ahh,’ Grey sighed and turned to his clerk. ‘Perkins,’ he said.

Perkins rather reluctantly felt in his waistcoat pocket and brought out two coins. He selected the smaller and gave it to the sentry. The sentry took it and looked at it for a moment in disgust, then exited.

Grey turned back to Trask. ‘Now, Captain,’ he continued, ‘I suggest you start loading the prisoners.’ He turned to a small leather case beside him on the table, opened it and brought out an imposing-looking parchment document with ribbons and large seals attached. ‘Here is your warrant. To save comment, bring them through the back way.’ The door opened, and the Doctor entered, followed by the sentry. Grey looked back at the Captain.

‘Right, and you go with him, Perkins.’ Trask nodded, rose and, followed by Perkins, walked to the door, watched carefully by the Doctor.

Grey opened the leather case once more and brought out a small, silver-mounted flintlock pistol. He looked at it for a moment and then put it down on the table in front of him, then nodded to the sentry. ‘You may go, man.’ The sentry saluted and left the room. Grey turned back to the Doctor.

‘Now Doctor,’ he said. ‘Your story. Let us hope it is an entertaining one. It cost me a silver shilling. What is the nature of this plot?’

The Doctor looked at him for a moment and then shrugged and started picking his teeth. ‘There is no plot,’

he said carelessly.

For a moment Grey looked surprised, then his face darkened. ‘Be careful, Doctor, how you waste my time. I can have every inch of skin flayed off your back just by a snap of my fingers.’

The Doctor held his hand up and started examining his nails, speaking casually over his shoulder. ‘Would the chance to lay hands on £15,000 be a waste of your time?’

Grey leaned back, faintly amused. ‘£15,000, you vagabond? Where would you get £15,000?’

For answer, the Doctor glanced around, then opened his coat and started to unwrap the Prince’s silk standard from around his waist. Grey snatched up the pistol and levelled it at him, but the Doctor continued unwrapping and then held up the standard, smiling. ‘Here we have,’ said the Doctor, ‘the personal standard of Charles Edward Stuart, Pretender to the throne of England.’

Grey studied it in astonishment. ‘Indeed,’ he said.

‘Whoever was entrusted with the standard stood closest to the council of the Prince, wouldn’t you agree? He would also know where his master was most likely to run to.’ The Doctor laid the standard on the table and Grey rose, placed the pistol on his side of the table, and came around to the Doctor’s side to examine it. ‘It’s the Prince’s standard, all right. Which prisoner carried this?’

‘That must remain my secret for the time being,’ said the Doctor.

Grey looked up sharply. ‘There are ways to force your tongue.’

The Doctor smiled and shrugged. ‘Why employ them, since we are both on the same side. The £30,000 reward for Prince Charles is surely enough to satisfy both of us.’

Grey came around to confront the Doctor, his eyes searching the Doctor’s face. ‘You have some fresh information on his whereabouts?’

The Doctor nodded and leaned forward confidentially.

‘I am on the track of some,’ he said, ‘but... I need a free hand.’ As Grey leaned forward to hear the Doctor’s muttered confidence, the Doctor yanked the standard from the table over Grey’s head, snatched up the pistol and started forward. ‘Please don’t call out,’ said the Doctor,

‘I’m not very expert with these things, you know. I’d hate it to go off in your face.’ The Doctor turned Grey around and tied him up with the Prince’s standard, then took the handkerchief out of his pocket as he pushed him back into his chair. The solicitor opened his mouth to speak and the Doctor immediately looked at his throat. ‘Open your mouth wide,’ he said. ‘Good heavens, it’s swollen.’ As Grey automatically opened his mouth, the Doctor stuffed Grey’s lace handkerchief in it, effectively gagging him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s better. I’ve never seen a silent lawyer before.’

There was a knock at the door. Alarmed, the Doctor looked around the room. In the corner there was a large cupboard used to store mops, brooms, and other cleaning gear. The Doctor yanked the door open, then pulled Grey over and thrust him inside. ‘If you’ll just wait in there,’ he said, ‘I think I’ve got another patient.’ He closed and fastened the cupboard door, went back to the table and sat beside it. ‘Enter,’ he called.

The door opened and Perkins came in, his face the picture of astonishment as he saw the Doctor sitting there.

For a moment he did not realise who the Doctor was.

‘Oh, pardon,’ he said, ‘I thought...’

The Doctor leaned forward, slowly. ‘You thought what?’

he said.

‘Uh...’ Slightly thrown, Perkins said, ‘Well, Mr Grey.’

He looked around the room.

The Doctor shook his head sadly. ‘Your master is a very sick man. He’s gone to lie down. Lucky for him I was called in time.’ As he spoke he was gradually raising himself in the chair and staring across at the short, fat Perkins who shrank back from the Doctor’s intense gaze.

‘Great Heavens, man,’ the Doctor shouted, ‘your eyes!’

Perkins jumped. ‘What?’

‘Your eyes. Come over here to the light. Bend back, here, that’s right.’ The Doctor strode around the table, pushed Perkins back over the table and, bringing out a magnifying glass from his capacious pockets, began to examine his eyes. ‘Oh, I thought so, I thought so,’ he said.

He seized Perkins’ hair and banged his head back against the table. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Ow!’ Perkins exclaimed.

‘You suffer from headaches, don’t you?’ He banged his head again. ‘Don’t answer,’ said the Doctor, ‘I can see it in your eyes. Here...’ Perkins raised his hand and tried to get up. ‘Do you call me a liar, sir?’ said the Doctor fiercely.

‘N-n-no... no,’ said Perkins. ‘No. My head does ache.’

Abruptly the Doctor got up. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘what do you expect when somebody bangs it on the table.’ He got up and Perkins, unsupported, slid down onto the floor, his back against the table. ‘It’s your eyes I’m worried about, man,’ said the Doctor.

Perkins looked up, alarmed. ‘What did you find, Doctor?’ he said. ‘My eyes?’

The Doctor shrugged at the door. ‘Print blindness,’ he said. ‘You read too much.’

Perkins was really worried now. ‘’Tis true,’ he said, ‘I am a clerk. What must I do?’ He rose to his feet.

The Doctor turned back. ‘If you don’t wish to go blind,’

he said, ‘you must rest your eyes immediately for at least an hour.’

‘But I’m busy,’ said Perkins.

The Doctor raised his hand imperiously. ‘That is my prescription. Ignore it at your peril.’

‘Oh, dear me.’ Perkins was really flustered now. He raised his hand to his aching head. ‘I... It’s true, I can see spots floating right in front of me.’

‘Exactly,’ said the Doctor.

‘Now lie on that table.’

Perkins lay back on the table as the Doctor removed the little man’s cravat and tied it around his eyes. ‘Now, keep this around your eyes for at least an hour, to rest them. Do you understand?’

‘B-but –’

‘One hour. Remember. You’ll hear the clock outside strike the hour. Do not get up before.’ The Doctor tiptoed back towards the door leaving the clerk on the table. As he did so, a muffled thumping came from the cupboard.

Perkins reacted, listening, raised his head, then lowered it back again. ‘What’s that knocking?’ he said.

‘There’s no knocking,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s in your head, in your mind, in your eyes. Just rest and the knocking’ll get fainter and fainter and fainter.’ The Doctor now reached the door and stealthily opened it.

‘One hour, Doctor?’ Perkins queried.

‘One hour,’ confirmed the Doctor. The Doctor blew his a kiss and then exited. As he did so, the muffled knocking from the cupboard grew louder.

The Doctor’s New Clothes

‘At last!’ said Algernon. ‘What took you so long, you jackanapes you?’ Algernon was looking up to see the Sergeant holding a lantern over the pit. He was tired, cold and very stiff; and the belt and straps cut into his arms and legs.

‘We made the best time we could, Sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘’Tis hard to see our way in the dark.’ He spoke a little huffily. The last thing he expected to see was his officer tied and bound.

‘Well don’t just stand there,’ said Algernon. ‘Get me out of this infernal hole.’

The Sergeant turned to his men. ‘Right you two.

Keep watch by the Lieutenant’s horse. I’ll handle this.’

‘Hurry up, man,’ said Algernon. ‘Help me out.’

The Sergeant looked down. ‘It’s very deep, Sir.’

Algernon said, ‘Get me out at once, or I’ll order you ten lashes!’

‘Oh, don’t mistake me, Sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘I’m willing enough to try, it’s just that...’ He paused for a moment. ‘We’re not used to pulling officers out of pits, you see.’

‘Confound you, man, what are you jabbering about?’

‘What I mean to say Sir, officers don’t usually fall into pits, do they?’