Doctor Who: The Masque of the Mandragora (8 page)

The Doctor nodded. ‘What happened, Sarah?’

‘The brothers... two of them... I... I can’t remember much.’

Giuliano frowned. ‘Why would they leave her here?’

‘Perhaps they were planning to come back for her,’ speculated the Doctor. He looked around. ‘This passage runs under the palace.’

‘How do you know?’ Giuliano sounded surprised.

‘The first time I saw him the leader of the cult, the masked figure, was coming this way. He probably uses it regularly.’ The Doctor’s clear blue eyes fixed the young Prince with a penetrating stare.

‘I don’t think the Mandragora Intelligences hijacked the TARDIS and sent us to this point of space and time without reason. There is already somebody here sensitive to its influence. Probably there has been some kind of tenuous link for centuries.’

Giuliano realised the Doctor was referring to the brethren and their leader and the thought of that superstitious band possessing genuine powers filled him with foreboding.

‘Doctor. give me a hand.’ Sarah’s pert voice cut through the air. She seemed to have suddenly recovered.

‘Are you fit to move?’ asked the Doctor.

‘I think so.’

He helped her gently to her feet. ‘Come on then. Solvitur ambulando.’

‘What?’

‘Latin.’ explained Giuliano. ‘The question is solved by walking.’

‘Oh,’ said Sarah. ‘Thanks. Hey! Never mind Latin, I don’t even speak Italian. Doctor, how is it I can understand Giuliano? I’ve never thought of that before?’

The Doctor turned and gave her a curious look. ‘Don’t worry about it, Sarah. I’ll try to explain later.’ He led them off down the corridor and his face betrayed a sign of anger.

Marco waited anxiously in Giuliano’s room toying with the telescope on the table. His master and the two strange visitors had been missing for hours and he was beginning to grow anxious. Luckily no one had enquired too closely into the Prince’s whereabouts but sooner or later he would have to think of an explanation. There had been unusual activity too about the palace. He had seen several troops of Federico’s guards leave and then return apparently from some skirmish outside the city.

Marco inwardly recoiled at Federico’s name. For years he had nursed a growing fear of the Count’s evil ambitions. More than once he had had to interpose on Giuliano’s behalf when Federico’s poisonous lies had threatened to turn the old Duke against his son. Now, with the old man gone, Federico’s wolfish craving for the throne seemed to know no bounds.

But whatever events the future might bring. Marco felt strong and proud in his loyalty to the Prince.

As he gazed out of the window, his mind full of these thoughts, a thunderous knocking on the door brought him to his senses.

‘Open! Open! In the name of Duke Giuliano.’

Marco hurriedly crossed to the door as the knocking was repeated. Thank goodness some of the guards were still loyal to the Prince. He unbolted the door.

Immediately, a squad of pikemen rushed into the room headed by Rossini. Marco realised too late that these were not Giuliano’s men but Federico’s. He drew his sword to put up a fight but was quickly over-powered and dragged kicking out of the room.

The Doctor paused and beckoned to Giuliano.

‘Anywhere you know?’

The passage had broadened out and here and there red brickwork showed through the walls. There was also a faint musty smell as if casks of wine had once been stored nearby.

Giuliano’s face broke into a grin.

‘We’re in the palace dungeons. I remember my father once spoke of a secret passage—’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Excellent. Do you think you can find it?’

Giuliano advanced cautiously into the shadows ahead.

‘Yes. Here it is,’ he whispered. He pointed to what looked like a small alcove in the wall, but when the Doctor and Sarah got nearer they could see it was a narrow flight of steps winding upwards in a spiral.

‘Right. Follow me,’ said the Doctor. ‘And quietly now.’ He’started up the steps, sword in hand.

Hieronymous was seated in Federico’s room, alone. He had requested an audience and was now waiting for the Count to appear. The stars had revealed an unhappy conjunction, the signs were clearly there, he would not be doing his duty to keep such warnings from his Lordship. Even so Hieronymous now had much weightier problems on his mind, and as he sat awaiting the Count his thoughts began to wander. The events of the last twenty-four hours had thrown his entire being into a state of feverish tumult. That he, Hieronymous, son of a poor peasant from Bologna should become the chosen vessel of powers beyond the dreams of men! Not only San Martino and all of the Italian states, but the very world itself might be within his grasp. What could he not achieve then? What pleasures, what powers could be denied him? His lips quivered as scenes of undisguised degeneracy passed through his mind’s eye.

But for the moment he must bide his time, listen carefully to the words of Demnos and not fall foul of the prickly Federico.

His musings were rudely curtailed as Federico slammed into the room.

‘Hieronymous!’

The Count stood in the middle of the room bristling with bad temper.

‘You will forgive me for not rising, Count,’ replied the soothsayer coolly. He was becoming annoyed by Federico’s continual rudeness and bullying manner.

The Count took a pace forward and unsmilingly drew a dagger from his belt.

‘Only the dead fail to stand in my presence, Hieronymous. Your lack of courtesy is easily corrected.’

Hieronymous realised he had misread Federico’s mood and leapt nimbly to his feet as the dagger moved towards his throat.

‘My lord, spare an old servant! It was only through my love for you... I am numb with fear for your life.’

Federico paused and grinned at the cowering figure of the astrologer.

‘But the numbness has passed I see.’ He sheathed the dagger and sprawled into a high-backed chair. ‘You’re a fraud, Hieronymous. A fake. A charlatan. A market-place soothsayer. We both know the truth of it.’ He leant forward and poked Hieronymous in the ribs. ‘So just remember to keep your humble place, court astrologer. That way you may also keep your head.’

Hieronymous bowed and pulled his beard slyly. ‘But I bring you warning, my lord.’

‘Go on.’

‘There are intrigues brewing. Plots are being prepared. You are in great danger.’

Federico snorted. ‘The only plots, astrologer, are mine. And they are going well.’

But Hieronymous continued. ‘It is written that a blow will be struck against you—here in this palace. You must bring all your guards here to defend your noble person.’

Federico rose from the chair and thrust the fortune-teller away from him. ‘Hieronymous, you try my patience. You can no more read the stars than read my chamber-pot. Go! Get out of my sight!’

Hieronymous’s wrinkled face suffused with blood and he swallowed hard in order to control his anger. That this oaf, this ruffian, this mindless brute, regal though he might be, should continually dismiss his predictions as frivolous nonsense was becoming too difficult to stomach.

‘Very well, sire,’ he replied coldly. ‘But before Mars sinks to rest the blow will fall and your life will be forfeit. So it is written.’ He delivered the warning with chilling conviction and stalked out of the room leaving Federico puzzled and slightly shaken.

‘I’d say you’ve had visitors,’ announced the Doctor as he led the way into Giuliano’s room. The staircase had brought them out into the palace kitchens and from there they had been able to reach the sanctuary of the Prince’s room unobserved by way of the servants’ corridors. The chamber betrayed signs of a fierce struggle. The Prince’s telescope had been hurled to the floor but was luckily undamaged.

Giuliano took in the scene, white-faced.

‘Marco,’ he whispered. ‘My uncle’s men must have taken him!’

He turned impulsively to the door, ready to set off in search of his companion.

The Doctor restrained him.

‘There’s nothing you can do on your own Giuliano.’ He shut the door gently and led the young Prince to a chair.

‘He’s my friend, my dear and loyal companion...’

‘Giuliano,’ interrupted the Doctor firmly, ‘there are other considerations besides your uncle and his petty ambitions.’

‘Petty? But they’re far from petty.’ Realisation dawned on his face. ‘I’ve called a gathering of scholars to celebrate my accession to the Dukedom. My uncle will do everything he can to stop our meeting.’

This news caused the Doctor to frown. He unhitched his sword and laid it thoughtfully on the table.

‘Who’s coming to this gathering, Giuliano?’

‘The most learned men in all Italy. Scholars, artists, men of the new sciences.’

‘Leonardo da Vinci?’

Giuliano nodded. ‘And his patron the Duke of Milan.’ The Doctor shot a glance at Sarah. She did not seem particularly interested or impressed. Not like her usual curious self. He turned to Giuliano.

‘Of course, I see it now. If anything should happen to those men the world would be back in a new dark age!’ He crossed to the door. ‘You two stay here.’

‘Where are you going?’ enquired Sarah as if she had suddenly woken up and only heard the last part of their conversation.

‘I have an idea who the leader of the brethren is,’ replied the Doctor.

‘Be careful,’ warned Giuliano. ‘The soldiers will be everywhere.’

The Doctor beamed a toothy smile. ‘Don’t worry. Besides I’m not going to pass up the opportunity of meeting Leonardo!’ He opened the door and slipped out stealthily into the corridor.

A great bubbling howl of pain echoed through the dungeons of the palace then died away into fitful gasps. The noise came from behind a heavy metal door which gleamed with a dull sheen in the burning torchlight. The sounds stopped, the cell-door opened and the scar-faced captain stepped out. As he turned to close the door Federico slid into view and approached him.

He spoke in a low voice. ‘Scarlatti is enjoying his work.’

The captain smiled faintly. ‘He is a craftsman.’

‘Nonetheless these cries,’ the Count gestured towards the cell door, ‘I would prefer not to rouse the entire palace.’ He pushed his face close to Rossini, his eyes glinting evilly in the dancing shadows. ‘Has he weakened yet?’

The captain shook his head, ‘He’s a stubborn ape, sire.’

Federico thought for a moment. ‘I will have a word with him. Sometimes the voice of reason is more effective than a burning iron.’ He took Rossini by the shoulder. ‘I have another task for you.’

‘My lord.’

Federico dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘The astrologer, Hieronymous, may be moving against me.’ He cast a look up and down the passageway then leant close to Rossini’s car. ‘He has prophesied my death.’

‘My lord!’ Consternation filled the captain’s face.

‘Don’t be alarmed.’ Federico waved a hand airily. ‘He plucks these lies from the air.’ His tone grew stern. ‘But I want the old spider out of the city tonight.’

‘Banished, sire?’

Federico nodded vigorously. ‘Throw him out, and all his rubbish with him.’

The Doctor hurried stealthily through the palace corridors, his feet echoing softly on the marbled floors. It was Sarah who had given him the final clue. She was obviously not herself, under some kind of influence, too subtle to attract Giuliano’s attention but sufficient to alert the Doctor. There was only one man capable of practising such tricks, the court astrologer, Hieronymous. The Doctor had had his suspicions for some time but Sarah’s disappearance in the catacombs was the convincing link. Hieronymous had to be the leader of the brethren—and in league with the forces of Mandragora. Stop Hieronymous and there was a chance of stopping the invasion of Earth which the Doctor felt sure was imminent. A subtle and insidious invasion, employing the conditioned brethren to dominate and enslave the rest of San Martino, Italy and ultimately the world. Henceforth, mankind would evolve, oblivious to the fact that every act, every word, every thought, emanated from the distant Helix: man’s apparent freedom would have turned into a tyranny of the worst kind, the very soul of his existence controlled by another, alien life-form.

The Doctor redoubled his pace, intent on finding Hieronymous’s lair. He turned a corner and found himself in a long colonnade. One side bordered a small statue-filled patio, open to the air. As he flitted cautiously from arch to arch he heard a sound as if someone was following him. He dodged into an alcove and waited. He allowed a few moments to pass but there was no further noise. He continued on his way, his ears even more keenly attuned to danger.

Twenty paces behind the Doctor and unknown to him, a pale phantom-like figure tiptoed in his wake. It was Sarah Jane, her eyes peculiarly dilated staring straight ahead, her right hand clenched tightly round the long, pointed bodkin.

‘A simple confession, my young friend.’ Federico stood smiling a few feet from Marco, his crooked teeth glinting in the flickering red light. There was a brazier at the far end of the cell into which Scarlatti, the torturer, had thrust two irons. Already they were growing red hot, fit to make a man’s flesh sizzle. Marco, his blond hair matted with sweat, hung by his arms from an upright wooden-rack. He turned to face Federico and summoning all his strength gasped a reply.

‘Never.’

Federico leant into his ear and whispered silkily. ‘You are of noble birth, Marco, a man of intelligence. Use it and save yourself pain.’

‘I shall not lie against the Duke.’ Marco heaved to gain his breath between each word. ‘You may kill me first.’

‘No, but we may kill you afterwards. Scarlatti’s enthusiasm is such that not all survive his attentions.’

Federico nodded towards the corner. Scarlatti, his shaven head and ox-like arms gleaming with sweat from the heat of the brazier. turned and grinned.