Doctor Who: The Masque of the Mandragora (7 page)

‘Then bind her well so that she may not struggle or cry out—and bring her to my chamber.’

Before she could protest Sarah was roughly seized. A gag was forced into her mouth and thick ropes were produced from a cell in the corner to bind her wrists and arms. Then the High Priest touched a secret mechanism in the wall, and once more she was bundled out into the forbidding, subterranean world of the brethren.

Sweating and breathless, Count Federico sat sprawled in a red velvet armchair in his palace rooms. His face wore a disgruntled frown as a white-haired retainer dabbed his brow with a large silk handkerchief.

Through the open casement a loud fanfare sounded from the direction of the city gates. At the same time there was a knock at the door and the scar-faced captain strode in looking anxious.

‘The Duke of Milan is arriving, sire.’

Federico scowled at this unwelcome piece of news. ‘Get this muck out of here!’ he snapped at the servant. ‘Bring me clean linen. Hurry! You oaf !’

The servant scuttled out. Federico crossed to the window and stared angrily across the rooftops. ‘And that fox-faced old blowhard, the Doge, will be here within the hour. His advance riders are carousing in the taverns even now.’ He turned and glared at the captain.

The captain shuffled his feet. ‘What’s to be done, sire? They must be greeted.’

‘That fat clown of a chancellor must meet them,’ thundered Federico. ‘Say I have been stricken with an ague. Before night comes, Rossini, you and I have work to do!’ He bore down on the captain jabbing the man’s breastplate to emphasise the point.

‘I have a score of men searching for the Prince. He has not returned to the palace.’

‘Then we must search the city. He’s skulking in some stinking hovel.’ Federico thrust his face inches from Rossini’s. ‘I’ve gone too far to stop now. I must see Giuliano’s liver fed to the dogs by sunrise! ‘ His eyes glinted evilly as he spat the words in the captain’s face. Rossini remained perfectly still, not flinching. He had experienced his master’s wrath before.

‘But the deed must be stealthy, sire,’ he ventured after a moment. ‘With so many visitors of rank lodged in San Martino...’

‘Peasant!’ exploded Federico. ‘Do I need your pig-brained counsel?’ He struck the captain a fierce blow across the cheek.

‘Sire.’

‘Listen, Rossini, Giuliano is a traitor! The prince of a Christian state mixing with the followers of Demnos. Taking part in their filthy black rites. You and I are witness of this!’ His voice reached a crescendo. ‘Oh no, I have him now!’ He clenched the palm of his hand in satisfaction. ‘I have him here! The Holy Father himself will kiss my hand for cleansing the state of San Martino.’ He touched his knuckles to his lips and leered malevolently at Rossini out of the corner of one eye.

The Doctor and Giuliano threaded their way slowly through the dark twisting tunnels. Every so often they were forced to stop and hide as members of the brethren flitted hack and forth like shadows. They seemed to be posted at all the entrances to the sacrificial chamber and the Doctor was obliged to pursue a circuitous route which grew more and more confusing at each intersection.

Somewhere, somehow they had taken a wrong turning. He had never been in such a maze—a rabbit warren of fetid, foul-smelling corridors. He felt baffled, impotent—a prisoner in some kind of hell. He realised he must be tired, having gone without sleep for several days now. The thought of finding Sarah was growing more and more remote and yet the Doctor knew he must keep on searching. Wherever she was and whatever had befallen her it was his responsibility and only he was capable of doing anything about it. He strengthened his grip on the wounded Prince and lengthened his stride.

For what seemed an eternity Sarah was half pushed, half dragged along an endless labyrinth of dark stone corridors. Cold, bruised, and utterly exhausted she at last fell into a semi-conscious haze, her body numbed by the tightness of her bonds. At one point she thought the ground began to slope upwards, but that could just have been the effects of tiredness. She remembered climbing a flight of steps, and being led into a warmer, closer atmosphere, heavy with a cloying sickly smell. Then she must have lost consciousness because when she came round she was lying on a rough pallet in the corner of a room. She was still bound and gagged.

A thick woollen curtain divided where she was lying from the rest of the room. She could hear voices muttering beyond it, but could not make out what they were saying.

‘Why did you call on our brethren to save the young Prince, Master?’

The speaker was the High Priest. He addressed Hieronymous in a low voice at the far end of the astrologer’s chamber. The old soothsayer had removed his cloak and mask and was now busy adding herbs and powders to a bubbling pot.

‘His life has yet some value,’ he replied quietly.

‘But he is no more in the eye of Demnos than any other unbeliever.’ Hieronymous ceased stirring his concoction and fixed the High Priest with a curious piercing stare. ‘Giuliano’s appointment with death is already written. Not Count Federico, nor any other mortal must anticipate the mighty Demnos.’

The High Priest nodded obediently. ‘Even so, I fear the Count will now bring all his soldiers to bear against us.’

Hieronymous raised his arms heavenwards in a ritual gesture.

‘Faith, Brothers! You have seen the sign of Demnos.’ His dark eyes burned in their sockets with manic fervour.

‘The miracle as written in the prophecies,’ incanted the Priest in reply.

‘Then let the word be spread through the city—guard the sacred temple. The great god’s dwelling-place must not be defiled by unbelievers in the last few hours. Now go! Hurry!’ He pointed commandingly to the door. The High Priest bowed low and left without further word.

Hieronymous returned to his brew. He ladled a measure from the pot, added water and sniffed the result carefully. Apparently satisfied, he poured the mixture into a glass and set it down gently on the table.

Then, crossing to the alcove, he snatched back the woollen curtain and stood gazing at the bound and gagged form on the pallet.

Sarah viewed his abrupt appearance with a mixture of alarm and curiosity. She had never seen this bearded oddly clothed figure before and yet there was something familiar about him. She wondered whether it might be the infamous Hieronymous the Doctor had mentioned, the old fraud himself. Now she could glimpse the rest of the room it certainly resembled a den of astromancy and magic.

The figure knelt beside her and gently released the gag from her mouth. Then he untied the ropes around her wrists. Sarah stretched her neck and arms with grateful relief. She was free to move but weak enough to fall.

The stranger had crossed to a table and now returned holding a glass full of a brightly coloured liquid. He placed it to her lips.

‘Do not resist, my child.’ His voice was silky, soothing and not unfamiliar.

Sarah felt the fumes from the potion rising in her nostrils, pungent like a heady spice. It made her cough violently and struggle for breath.

‘The aroma is sweet,’ whispered the leering stranger. Holding her head he began to force the mixture down her throat. His grip was gentle but insistent. Weakened by her ordeal Sarah could not prevent herself from swallowing one or two drops.

Immediately a dizzy intoxicating sensation spread through her body, her head grew thick and muzzy. The room grew misty and swayed around her.

Then her attention was caught by something bright and shiny a few inches from her face, a crystal pendant. It began to swing slowly and rhythmically before her eyes. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the voice.

‘Now child—whom do you serve?’

It sounded warm and friendly as if Sarah had known it all her life. She felt a surge of trust and affection towards its soft mellifluous tones.

‘I serve you,’ she heard herself say.

‘And the Doctor?’

Sarah paused. A preposterous thought had formed in her head; something she had known all along, something which was blindingly obvious. What a fool she had been not to see it before. His strange manner, his alien powers, his magical possessions.

‘The Doctor is a sorcerer.’

‘And?...’

The dark face smiled from behind the spinning crystal.

‘The Doctor is evil.’

‘And?’

Sarah struggled for inspiration. This friendly smiling voice was good. The Doctor was its enemy. Therefore the Doctor was evil.

‘And must be destroyed.’

Sarah gasped as she said the words. The crystal spun faster and faster, a mesmerising ball of light burning its image into Sarah’s brain, blotting out all other sensations except that seductive insinuating voice.

‘All this you will forget. All but your purpose.’

Sarah nodded. The crystal suddenly disappeared and instead she felt her hand caressed by a cold metal object, long and pointed.

‘When you stand close, and the Doctor suspects nothing, you will strike him down.’ commanded the voice. ‘One scratch will be sufficient.’

Through blurred vision Sarah looked at her hand. In it lay a gleaming steel bodkin about four inches long with an ornamental head.

‘The hand of a friend is a subtle but certain weapon.’ The stranger took the bodkin and pinned it gently onto the front of Sarah’s dress like a brooch.

‘Now you must be returned to the Doctor’s side. How glad he will be to see his young companion. And when I command you must kill him.’

He led Sarah to a concealed flight of steps behind a curtain. Then, gazing deeply into her eyes one more time, he commanded her to go. Hypnotised and spell-bound, Sarah nodded meekly and descended the staircase. Her mission, to kill the Doctor!

8
Torture!

‘Well?’

The challenge, delivered with rasping menace, hung in the air like an executioner’s blade above Rossini’s head.

The captain stared miserably at the patterned floor of Federico’s chamber. ‘Nothing, sire.’ He blurted the words out fearfully.

Federico’s eyes narrowed and his face swelled with fury.

‘You inept clod! What were my orders?’

‘We have searched everywhere.’

Federico rose from his chair and advanced on the captain, his riding crop raised threateningly. ‘Dunghead!’

He brought the crop across the captain’s cheek, leaving a vicious red weal where it struck. The captain flinched but stood his ground.

‘Fail me, Rossini, and I’ll swear you’ll breakfast on burning coals! I want the Duke’s head here—tonight!’ He cracked the whip across a table sending objects flying in all directions. ‘I want to spit in his sightless eyeballs!’

The captain eyed the whip and measured his words carefully. ‘Sire, we can only think he has taken to the catacombs.’

‘The catacombs!’

‘A hundred men might search those galleries for a month, sire, and still find nothing. They say there are places where the bat droppings are twice the height of a man.’

‘They say, they say!’ the Count hissed contemptuously. ‘The truth of it, Rossini, is you’ve no stomach for the task.’

‘If it is your wish, my lord. I’ll take the entire guard and begin the search this very night.’

Federico grunted and paced the floor thoughtfully. ‘No... no, it’s true. If he’s gone into that warren he’ll be harder to find than a louse in a beggar’s rags...’ He paused. ‘But sometime he’ll have to come out again—or die like a sewer rat.’ He wagged a finger knowingly at Rossini.

The captain permitted himself a smile. ‘And when he does we will be ready for him.’

‘Of course you will, numskull! But more than that.’ Federico chuckled malevolently. ‘We are going to prove that the Duke Giuliano has been a secret devotee of the cult of Demnos!’

The young Prince was still breathing uneasily and the pain had returned. The Doctor paused for a moment to give him respite. As they rested in the un-healthy darkness they could hear the bats squeaking and dodging about their heads.

‘Doctor, there is a stench of evil in these catacombs,’ gasped Giuliano.

The Doctor sounded surprised. ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid?’

‘Of course not.’ The Prince’s voice was clear and firm.

‘Come on then!’ The Doctor started to lift Giuliano to his feet. As he did so there was a sudden grinding noise and part of the stonework behind them began to move.

‘Doctor! ‘ whispered Giuliano.

Slowly a large mass of rock swung aside to reveal a secret entrance. The Doctor guessed he must have triggered the mechanism while levering Giuliano to his feet. He grinned. ‘The ancients who built this place knew a thing or two.’

He stepped through the secret opening. Giuliano did likewise. Immediately the massive rock swung to behind them. Ahead lay a curving corridor lit at intervals by burning torches set into the walls.

The Doctor suddenly realised it was the door through which he had first followed the masked figure; only this time they were passing through it in the opposite direction. In that case they were heading towards the palace!

Suddenly there was a sound, like a low moan.

‘Was that you, Giuliano?’

‘No.’

The Doctor drew his sword and advanced carefully into the shadows. Twenty paces on there was a bend in the tunnel and the torchlight seemed brighter. The Doctor turned the corner and let out a gasp of surprise. There lying limply against the stonework was the prostrate form of Sarah Jane.

‘Sarah!’

The Doctor darted forward and knelt over her. Behind him Giuliano scrambled to his feet and ran to join him.

‘Is she all right?’

‘I think so.’ The Doctor gently shook her shoulder, ‘Sarah... Sarah.’

Slowly her eyes opened and looked dazedly around. ‘Where... where am I?’ She tried to sit up. The Doc-tor put his arm round her comfortingly.

‘Her eyes are strange,’ remarked Giuliano.