Silhouette (19 page)

A small screen showed the countdown to impact. Milton kept an eye on it as the communication system connected. For the moment, the number was remaining at about the 50-second mark as he dodged the ship round. If he could keep away from them for long enough the torpedoes should run out of fuel before he did. But it would take a long time and a lot of concentration.

‘Connection established.’

The main screen flickered and the image of the Senior Deputy Shadow Architect appeared. He smiled pleasantly. ‘And what can I do for you, Orestes?’

‘You can get these torpedoes off my tail,’ Milton said, struggling to steer the ship wide of the approaching weapons.

The smile became sympathetic. ‘Ah, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’

‘If you give me the command access code, I can disable them myself,’ Milton told him. ‘There’s a standard protocol, you must know it.’

The ship juddered as one of the torpedoes narrowly missed. It shot past, already swinging round to come back at the ship.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know the code you mean.’

‘You must!’

‘In fact, I confess I don’t really have any idea what you’re talking about.’

‘What?’ Milton was finding it hard to concentrate on
avoiding the torpedoes and follow what the Deputy said. ‘It’s a standard code.’ He had to shout above the warning klaxon now sounding in the cabin. ‘It’s given to all senior officials of the Shadow Proclamation – you
must
know it.’

‘Ah, now I think that might be the problem.’ The sympathetic smile was back as the man nodded slowly. ‘Who exactly do you think I am?’

Milton dropped the ship suddenly and one of the torpedoes shot past just above him. ‘You’re the Senior Deputy Shadow Architect,’ he said through gritted teeth. But even as he said it a terrible suspicion began to form in the back of his mind. ‘Unless …’ He stared at the screen in disbelief.

The screen where the pale, drawn features of the Senior Deputy blurred and shimmered before settling into a blank face, devoid of features or expression.

‘Affinity?’

‘I’m flattered that you even remember me,’ Affinity said. ‘But really, you should have realised sooner. Did you actually think anyone would offer
you
a pardon?’

‘I saw who I wanted – saw what I needed to see,’ Milton realised. ‘Heard what I wanted to hear.’ Somehow, even though it was a blank, the face on the screen seemed to be smiling back at him. ‘I believe that is called “working as designed”.’

Milton tore his attention away from the screen, just in time to dodge one of the torpedoes. He had to
maintain concentration. He could get through this. He forced himself to smile back at Affinity.

‘You’ll forgive me, but I am rather busy right now. Rest assured, though, that as soon as I have dealt with these torpedoes I shall launch my own missiles at you. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to concentrate, so if you’ve quite finished gloating.’

He reached out to cut the communications link.

‘I wasn’t gloating,’ Affinity said quietly. ‘I just wanted to keep you talking. I just wanted to keep the link open between us here and your ship.’ The screen cut out. Affinity’s voice faded. The last that Milton heard was: ‘Silhouette says goodbye.’

Then he was alone again, accelerating past one torpedo and dipping under the other. He could do this. They were getting closer. He looked at the countdown.

He’d allowed himself to be distracted. Concentrate, and he could do this.

‘I just wanted to keep the link open …’ What had Affinity meant by that?

Never mind. Something to consider later. Concentrate.

‘Silhouette says goodbye.’

Concentrate.

Silhouette? Oh no. Please, no.

Milton risked looking down, towards where his notes and papers had fallen. There was just one sheet of paper lying close to the command chair – where were the others? He swung the ship sideways.

He dared to look down again. The paper rippled, as if stirred by a breeze. His handwriting dissolved as he watched, smudging and spreading. The ink seemed to be moving, flowing, coming together to form a single word across the page.

He leaned down, staring closer. The word swam into focus:

Concentrate. Ignore it.

The two torpedoes were closing from different sides. This was it – this was his chance. Time it exactly, accelerate away at just the right moment, and the two
torpedoes would miss his ship and crash into each other. Problem solved.

At 3, Milton calculated. He reached for the main thruster boost control.

And a blizzard of paper shot across the cabin. A swarm of small folded birds, wings flapping in his face, edges cutting into him, stinging his eyes. The whole world was a swirl of white. Something cut sharply across his hand and he snatched it back with a yelp. He battered at the creatures with both hands, shouting and screaming in anger. A bird fluttered in front of his face, and he recognised the paper – recognised fragments of his own handwritten notes across its wings and body. He swatted it away angrily. Somehow he managed to clear the space in front of his eyes, just for a second.

Just long enough to see the screen.

Then the world exploded into light and fire.

A mass of flame burned impossibly in space for a
moment, consuming the oxygen that spilled from the exploding ship. Then the fireball collapsed in on itself. The shattered debris and fragmented remains of the ship spun silently away into the blackness.

And in the middle of it all, a single paper bird flapped its wings needlessly as it drifted into the distance, swallowed up by the perpetual night.

The air above the Carnival of Curiosities was clear and bright where the cloud had dissipated. The London smog had not yet reclaimed the evening sky. High above Ringmaster Empath’s outstretched hand, the heavens exploded in a sudden display of colour. Red, yellow, and orange blossomed out above the assembled crowd.

There were whoops and cheers, applause and gasps of awe. The air seemed to glow and shimmer, light dancing across before folding in on itself and fading to nothing …

The applause continued long after the lightshow had ended.

‘I think the Shadow Proclamation has finally caught up with our friend Mr Milton,’ the Doctor told Strax. ‘I saw his ship launch earlier.’

‘A clipper-class scoutship,’ Strax said. ‘Agile, but with little protective armament and woefully inadequate countermeasures.’

‘Quod erat demonstrandum,’ the Doctor agreed. Strax frowned. ‘Not a system I am familiar with.’ He gestured at the sky, where the lights had now faded away and the smog was slowly rolling in to fill the space. ‘The energy-discharge pattern of a Dekseller-class Smart Torpedo is highly distinctive.’

The Doctor suppressed a smile. ‘The trouble with you, Strax, is that you take all the beauty out of life.’

‘War is beautiful, Doctor.’

‘Ah now, there I think we shall have to differ.’

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the acrobats performing and Empath – or David as he now was again – enthusing the crowd and leading the applause.

‘You must admit,’ the Doctor said at last, ‘that humans do have some talent and potential.’ There was no answer. ‘Mustn’t you?’

Strax grunted. ‘I have recently discovered a product of human ingenuity and engineering which I found quite impressive,’ he said. ‘Right here at this very entertainment hub.’

‘Really?’ the Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Gladly. The item may be obtained from one of these vending concessions.’ He led the Doctor back through the crowd towards the Frost Fair. ‘I believe it is called a toffee apple.’

*

‘Unfortunately,’ the Doctor explained to Clara, ‘Strax didn’t know you eat them. He thought they were for throwing at people.’

They had all spent the evening at Paternoster Row, Affinity and Silhouette included. But now the Doctor was itching to get back to the TARDIS. Clara knew it would do no good to suggest they spend a few days relaxing in Victorian London. She knew that look. But she did insist they say a proper goodbye rather than simply slipping away as the Doctor wanted.

Vastra, Jenny and Strax walked with them to where the TARDIS stood, thinly coated with snow. An icicle descended from the door handle and the windows were frosted over. Silhouette and Affinity were also there. Affinity wore his hat pulled down low so that the brim shadowed his empty face.

‘I’d like to say it’s been fun,’ the Doctor said. Clara nudged him with her elbow. ‘But, well, yes,’ he admitted. ‘It’s had its moments.’

‘Where you off to now, then?’ Jenny asked.

‘Who knows?’ Clara said.

‘No doubt there are enemies waiting to be vanquished,’ Strax said. He slammed his fist into his open palm. ‘Show them no mercy. Press home your initial assault with determination and brutality.’

‘Thanks,’ Clara told him, ‘we’ll do that.’

‘We’ll rain down toffee apples on them,’ the Doctor promised, suppressing a smile.

‘We shall see you again soon,’ Vastra said, shaking the Doctor’s hand. ‘You know you are always welcome.’

‘Thank you.’

‘As are you,’ Vastra said to Silhouette and Affinity.

‘Will you be all right?’ Clara asked them.

‘They’ll be fine,’ the Doctor said before either of them could answer. ‘Don’t fuss. Come on.’ He turned to unlock the TARDIS.

‘We shall,’ Silhouette agreed. She linked her arm through Affinity’s.

‘I don’t know where we will go or what we will do, but Silhouette is right,’ Affinity agreed.

‘Won’t you go back to the Carnival?’ Clara asked.

‘Perhaps,’ Silhouette agreed. ‘Or perhaps we shall set up on our own. The future is such an adventure, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, well said,’ the Doctor told her, turning to bundle Clara into the TARDIS ahead of him. ‘Well said indeed. Now come on, can’t stand here gassing and dawdling all day, can we? No, we can’t. Bye, then.’

As the distinctive sound of TARDIS engines faded away, the snow and ice and frost that had clung to its police box shell fell to the ground. An empty square on the pavement was all to show it had ever been there.

‘Will you join us?’ Vastra asked.

Silhouette shook her head. ‘Perhaps another day.
But for now, we must make our own way, decide who we are and what we will do.’

‘Thank you,’ Affinity said. ‘For everything.’

Two figures walked arm in arm along the Embankment. The woman wore a long scarlet cloak, the hood pulled up over her head. The man was dressed in a suit, his hat pulled down low.

They stopped above the Frost Fair, looking out across the frozen Thames. The light played across their faces – one delicate and beautiful, the other empty and blank.

Then the blank face seemed to shimmer. It dissolved into various other faces, flickering through them as the man spoke.

‘Who would you like me to be?’ he asked.

The woman reached up, her fingers gently stroking his cheek. ‘I love you for who you are, not what you look like,’ she said. ‘Just be yourself.’

And his features settled finally into the smile of a young man in love.

A novel is always a collaborative process, a
Doctor Who
novel even more so.

Thanks are therefore due not only to Steve Tribe for sterling editorial advice, and to Lizzy Gaisford and Albert DePetrillo for being BBC Books, but also to everyone involved with bringing the Doctor to our screens and pages – especially in his most recent incarnation.

I hope we’ve done him justice!

Available now from Broadway Books:

MIKE TUCKER
ISBN 978-0-8041-4090-4

‘Well, I doubt you’ll ever see a bigger insect.’

Gabby Nichols is putting her son to bed when she hears her daughter cry out. ‘Mummy, there’s a daddy longlegs in my room!’ Then the screaming starts … Kevin Alperton is on his way to school when he is attacked by a mosquito. A big one. Then things get dangerous.

But it isn’t the dead man cocooned inside a huge mass of web that worries the Doctor. It isn’t the swarming, mutated insects that make him nervous.

With the village cut off from the outside world, and the insects becoming more and more dangerous, the Doctor knows that unless he can decode the strange symbols engraved on an ancient stone circle, and unravel a mystery dating back to the Second World War, no one is safe.

An original novel featuring the Twelfth Doctor and Clara, as played by Peter Capaldi and Jenna Coleman

Available now from Broadway Books: