Doctor Who: The Masque of the Mandragora (10 page)

The Count looked visibly shaken. He hesitated a moment then said, ‘I’ll see for myself. And you’ll come with me.’ He prodded the Doctor in the ribs. ‘Unchain him.’

‘Don’t trust him, my lord,’ remonstrated the captain.

Federico sneered.

‘I don’t have to trust him. Keep these three as hostages.’ He indicated Giuliano, Sarah and the still half-conscious Marco. ‘If I don’t return within the hour you know what to do.’

Rossini clicked his heels and nodded and the guards began unchaining the Doctor. Sarah looked anxiously at Giuliano. There was nothing they could do. The Doctor was taking the only course open to him. Their lives once more lay in his hands—and Federico’s.

In the temple the brethren were still filing slowly up to the altar one by one and receiving the ‘energy charge’ from Hieronymous. Those who had already undergone the ordeal stood silently in the centre of the chamber, their masked faces trained obediently on their leader. They seemed no longer human, too stiff, too still, like row upon row of carved dummies.

As the altar queue gradually dwindled a handful of latecomers appeared and tagged on the end. Their hoods were pulled far forward concealing their faces and they quickly mingled in with the other brethren as if not wanting to attract attention. They were a good fifty feet away from the altar when Hieronymous suddenly looked up from his administrations and stared in their direction. The tallest of the latecomers whispered in his neighbour’s ear.

‘Don’t go near him.’

‘Do I need your advice?’ snarled Federico and motioned his guards to keep a firm grip on the Doctor’s arms. Then, suddenly throwing back his hood he ran towards the altar and pointed an accusing finger.

‘Hieronymous! You traitor!’

The masked figure whirled round. Federico signalled to his men to seize the astrologer. The guards started to obey then stopped in their tracks. They seemed frozen with fear, transfixed by the devilish staring mask.

‘Hieronymous!’

Federico rushed forward, screaming with fury. An inner demon drove him on to seek vengeance on his old astrologer. He leapt up the altar steps and tore the golden mask from Hieronymous’s face. Instantly he fell back in horror. There was no face behind the mask! No flesh, no bone, nothing. Nothing but a blinding searing light framed by the edges of the black hood. It was clear there was nothing beneath the cloak, no person at all, just a power source in the shape of a man.

The ‘Shape’ raised its arm and pointed a gloved finger at Federico. The Count cringed in terror. The Doctor looked on in horrified fascination, unable to intervene. The gloved finger levelled at Federico’s heart and daggers of blue light spurted from the tip striking him instantly. Federico gave a hideous shriek and exploded into a mass of flames. His guards ran to his aid but they too were instantly devoured by a burst from Hieronymous’s outstretched arm.

The Doctor turned pale as he gazed at the charred and smoking pile which an instant before had been Count Federico. The effects of Mandragora Energy were more lethal than a laser beam, more powerful than nuclear fission. And in this temple a multitude were already armed with the same weapon. Unless he could escape, Earth was doomed. Had his alien presence yet been detected by the intelligences of Mandragora? As if in reply the gloved finger of Hieronymous swung sharply round and pointed ominously in the Doctor’s direction.

For a moment the Doctor felt his heart stop beating. Time stood still and it seemed to him as if the sum total of his existence lay naked and defenceless before that threatening accusing finger. He closed his eyes and waited.

‘So shall perish all our earthly enemies.’

The voice of Hieronymous echoed exultantly round the cavernous chamber. The Doctor opened one eye. The masked figure had lowered its arm and now addressed the enraptured brethren.

‘Surround me with the Helix of power, brothers, and none can overcome us.’ Hieronymous lowered his head reverentially and sank into a kneeling position. The Doctor stood in a daze of relief as the brothers nearest to him jostled and pressed their way towards the base of the altar.

There they formed a circle and began a low chant while Hieronymous continued to address them with messianic fervour.

‘All has happened as was foretold down the centuries. The waiting, the prayers, the sacrifices. Now, at last, the Empire of Mandragora will encompass the Earth. For Demnos is only the servant of Mandragora and Mandragora is the mighty master of all things.’

The Doctor looked cautiously about him. Everyone seemed preoccupied, So, bowing his head and mumbling furtively he took his chance and backed away towards the nearest exit. Luckily it was the one through which Federico’s men had gained admittance. He knew he could remember the way out.

‘Let the power flood into you, brothers. Tonight we shall witness the last prophesy.’

The Doctor reached the shadows. Hieronymous raised his voice. ‘As it is written, Mandragora shall swallow the moon. Then shall we strike!’

The masked figure leapt to his feet and made a sweeping gesture with his fist.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, interested. Battle plans? Of a sort, yes, but puzzling. Now was not the time to work them out.

Swiftly and stealthily he left the sacrificial chamber and retraced his steps towards the palace.

In the dungeons Sarah, Giuliano and Marco hung manacled to their racks just as Federico had ordered. Marco had now regained consciousness but was still in a bad way. Rossini stood staring at him without sympathy flanked by four armed guards. From time to time he prodded the red-hot irons in the brazier, more out of idle curiosity than from any desire to use them. Even so it was enough to alarm Sarah who was not accustomed to hanging around in medieval torture chambers.

The Doctor had been gone over an hour when a fifth guard appeared in the doorway and bowed at Rossini. The scar-faced captain nodded and turned to his captives.

‘It is time. Count Federico ordered that these traitors be executed at the end of an hour.’

‘Only if he didn’t return,’ protested Sarah.

‘Neither he nor the sorcerer nor any of their party have returned from the temple,’ replied the captain flatly.

‘You mean it’s an hour already? Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun.’

Rossini motioned to his guards. ‘Take them down.’

The guard nearest Giuliano began to undo his manacles.

‘Stay, fellow,’ commanded the Prince. ‘Rossini, you call us traitors, but lay a hand on your Prince and you will be the traitor.’

The guard hesitated, uncertain what to do. ‘I follow the Count,’ replied Rossini gruffly.

‘You follow a tyrant and a murderer! ‘ gasped Marco from his pallet. ‘It is Giuliano to whom you owe allegiance.’

‘Enough!’ cried Rossini. ‘Take them down! The execution block grows dry.’

The guards bowed and hurriedly released the prisoners from their wooden racks.

‘Infamous filth!’ groaned Marco as he staggered to keep upright. ‘Call yourselves soldiers!’ His hands freed, Giuliano stood proud and erect facing his captors. ‘Are we to die without even a priest?’

‘Or a hearty breakfast?’ chipped in Sarah.

‘No priest available,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Will a brother do?’

They all spun round to see the Doctor framed in the doorway beaming, the brother’s cowl pushed back from his face.

Rossini was the first to recover. ‘What have you done to the Count, sorcerer?’ he snarled.

‘Federico is dead.’

Giuliano turned pale. ‘Dead? My uncle is dead?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘In the temple ruins.’

‘How did he die?’

‘Let’s just say Hieronymous gave him a blank look.’

Rossini began to tremble and the weal-mark on his cheek grew purple. He pointed to the Doctor angrily. ‘Seize him! ‘

But the soldiers hung back, stunned by the news of Federico’s death.

‘Seize him!’

The guards still did not move.

‘Rossini, you don’t have any authority now.’ said the Doctor. ‘There’s your lawful ruler.’ He turned to Giuliano.

Giuliano addressed the bewildered soldiers. ‘You men. Are you with your Prince?’

There was a moment’s pause then all five soldiers uncovered their heads and knelt before the Prince. Rossini, left standing. lowered his eyes then followed suit.

‘Take him to the block!’

‘No, Marco,’ replied the Prince restraining his companion. He nodded to the soldiers. ‘Take him away. I’ll decide his fate later.’

The newly-converted guards rose and, taking hold of Rossini. marched him out of the cell.

Marco sprang to the Prince’s side and clasped him about the neck. ‘Giuliano, the evil is ended! At last you can rule without fear.’

‘Wrong, Marco,’ interrupted the Doctor. ‘The evil is only just beginning. Hieronymous and the brethren still remain.’

‘Then destroy them, my lord,’ urged Marco. ‘You must take command!’

Giuliano paused, taking stock. ‘Is that what you think, Doctor?’

‘You are the Prince! The soldiers will rally to you. Lead them to this temple, win your inheritance, sire.’

The Doctor smiled. ‘Marco, Marco.’ He took him by the shoulders and led him gently to a bench. Then, turning to Giuliano he said, ‘If you go near that temple you go to your death.’

Giuliano looked uncertain. ‘Then what do you suggest? What would you have me do?’

The Doctor glanced at the open doorway to make sure no one was listening.

‘The brethren are still absorbing power. Get every man you can, soldiers, joiners, stonemasons, and block all entrances to the palace. Turn it into a fortress,’ he looked earnestly into the Prince’s face. ‘Because when the brethren come here, you’re going to need one.’

Supporting his companion Giuliano led him out of the cell towards the upper palace.

Sarah turned to the Doctor. ‘Are the barricades enough to stop the brethren?’ she asked gently.

‘Anything to delay them, Sarah. I need time to think. Anyway his power isn’t complete yet.’ The Doctor unclipped his cloak and threw it aside. ‘Come on.’ He headed out of the cell.

‘What do you mean?’ called Sarah as she followed him out of the dungeons and up a stone staircase. The Doctor prised open a thick studded door at the top and poked his head through. He beckoned her on and the two of them stepped gingerly into the moonlit colonnade running alongside the state rooms.

‘This way,’ whispered the Doctor, and then continued to explain. ‘So far the only Helix Energy available in the brethren is what we brought with us.’

‘Well that’s bad enough,’ Sarah frowned. ‘You mean there’s more to come?’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Tomorrow night. When Mandragora swallows the moon.’

Sarah stopped, hands on hips. ‘Listen. I came here with you remember? You don’t have to use that fifteenth-century double talk with me. I speaka da pretty good English.’

‘I was just repeating what he said,’ replied the Doctor and disappeared smartly behind a stone column. Sarah had to run to catch up. ‘Who?’

The Doctor hurried on, checking carefully at each corridor intersection before hopping across.

‘Hieronymous. When Mandragora swallows the moon they’re going to strike.’

Sarah sighed in frustration.

‘But what does it mean?’

The Doctor did not answer. They had come to a halt outside an imposing door with the royal crest of arms carved in wood and gilt above. Sarah recognised it as the entrance to Giuliano’s chambers. The Doctor pushed the door open and ventured in. The room was empty. Quickly he moved to the window and began dismantling Giuliano’s telescope which still stood at an angle on the table where Marco had left it. He squinted through the eyepiece at Sarah.

‘Just about adequate I suppose.’ He adjusted the focus. ‘Another fifty years and we could have used Galileo’s. Come on.’ He was at the door and off again before she’d had time to draw breath.

‘Where are you going now?’ protested Sarah, but he had already gone and she knew she would have to follow to find out. The Doctor in one of his impulsive moods was always the same. She pulled a wry face and set off after him.

Elsewhere in the palace there was great activity. The main gates leading onto the city square had been barricaded and all side entrances to the royal mansion were being scaled off. Giuliano himself was busy commanding the work from the corridor outside the state rooms.

As he ordered a group of stonemasons and carpenters to the west gate Marco ran up. He had changed into fresh clothes, but still looked weakened from his ordeal.

‘Sire, it’s begun!’

‘What?’

‘The brethren. They are driving people from the town.’

Giuliano’s handsome features darkened at this information. ‘Are you sure of this?’

Marco nodded. ‘Those who refuse to leave are being destroyed by bolts of fire. They have brought the forces of darkness out of those devilish catacombs.’

The young Prince pushed open the doors leading to the state rooms and led his companion inside. If overheard, the news could spread alarm and panic.

‘So we are isolated now,’ deliberated Giuliano, ‘just the few of us in this palace.’

‘Some of them the most precious heads in all Europe, sire.’

Giuliano sank into the high backed throne and Marco read the gravity of the situation in his master’s bleak expression.

‘Do they know what we face?’

‘I think they have some fear that all is not well,’ replied Marco. ‘Their personal guards stay close. And the King of Naples asked the reason for all the noise. I sent back word that it was a preparation for the masque.’

Giuliano leapt to his feet. ‘The masque! I had forgotten the day. Marco, it must be cancelled.’

Marco shook his head. ‘Would you explain to your peers that your accession to the throne cannot be celebrated because of a pagan uprising?’