Silhouette (9 page)

The alternative was just too bizarre to contemplate. Because the alternative was that these were indeed the puppets, he thought as he picked up another of the figures. The alternative was that they were animated in some manner that did not involve the use of threads and poles. That they were not puppets at all, but creatures of card and paper that could somehow be imbued with a life of their own.

Bizarre and improbable, the Doctor thought. Every bit as bizarre and improbable as an origami bird that could actually fly away …

He turned to leave, and froze as he heard something from the main tent beyond. The creak of the wooden boards. Footsteps, coming this way. He could wait, brazen it out, demand explanations … But what if it wasn’t Silhouette? It could be anyone. Caution might be a better option until he knew rather more about what he was getting into.

‘Silhouette?’ a voice called.

So, definitely not the woman. And it was a man’s voice, strangely devoid of any inflection. The Doctor lifted the cloth again and crawled under the table, switching off the sonic screwdriver and returning it to his pocket. From here he had a good view of very little, made even less useful by the lack of light. But through the gloom he could make out the legs of the
man as he came through to the smaller tent. Dark, nondescript trousers.

‘Silhouette?’ the man asked again. Then a sigh of disappointment. The legs hesitated, then turned as the man looked round.

The man could see as little as the Doctor – probably even less – in the dim light. So the Doctor risked sticking his head out from under the table. Unless the man was actually looking right at him, he’d probably see nothing.

In fact, the man was already turning to leave. He reached out and drew back the curtain of fabric over the door back into the main tent. As he stepped through, he glanced back.

In the dim light there was no way to be sure. Probably it was just a trick of the shadows and the way the man moved, the position of his head. But just for a moment, staring up at him through the gloom, it looked to the Doctor as if the man had no face.

The house where the carriage drew up was very different to the house that the Doctor and Clara had watched Milton enter the previous day. It was set back from the road, screened by a line of trees from the casual attentions of passers-by. Silhouette dropped Milton at the front door before taking the carriage round the a small stable block and coach house at the rear.

Milton let himself into the house. The lights came on automatically as soon as he was inside. Not gas lamps, but high-luminance LEDs. Milton discarded his Victorian attire and changed into a more comfortable suit made from a body-moulded synthetic material. Then he went down to what had been the drawing room. It was now his study, furnished with a pale, unpatterned carpet. Several plain sofas were arranged round a central hologram of a log fire. A short flight of steps led up to a raised area ringed with steel cords strung between brushed steel posts.

His desk was in the centre of the area. The screen standing on it showed a selection of different views of the house or the grounds surrounding it. Milton spared these only a glance before going to a side table where a plain glass decanter and glasses rested on a silver tray. He glanced up as Silhouette came in, then finished pouring his drink. ‘Can I get one for you?’

‘Thank you.’

She took off the red cloak and draped it over the back of one of the sofas. Beneath, she was wearing a long, fitted dress of exactly the same colour. A large, facetted, oval red crystal hung on a silver chain in the ‘V’ of the neckline. It caught the unreal flames of the fire as she sat down, curling her legs up beneath her.

Milton handed her a glass of pale, viscous liquid and sat on the adjacent sofa. ‘So, my dear, what have we learned?’

Silhouette sipped her drink. ‘They are resourceful,’ she said, ‘if the girl escaped.’

‘This Doctor bothers me,’ Milton said. ‘He affects an air of ignorance and indifference. But beneath it are undercurrents of knowledge and curiosity.’

‘And the others?’ Silhouette asked. ‘The other young woman, the so-called Great Detective, and the …’ She hesitated, searching for the right word. ‘The gentleman that Empath encountered?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Milton admitted. ‘There is certainly potential there that we could exploit. What Empath saw was almost certainly an alien of some sort. Not enough information to determine the exact species, but it sounds if he has possibilities. Especially if he is as difficult to dispose of as Miss Clara Oswald. As for the others …’ He considered, holding his glass up and watching the reflected holo-flames of the fire dance on its surface. ‘Well, perhaps it would be simplest to kill them all.’

‘Kill them?’ It was a gasp, surprise and shock, that made Milton set down his glass on a small table beside the sofa and lean across to look at Silhouette.

‘That worries you?’

‘Yes. No …’ She frowned, then shook her head, confused. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s all right. I think your implant power source needs recharging. We can’t have self-will surfacing and attacks of conscience now, can we?’ He stood up and
went over to his desk, returning a moment later with a small tube-like device. ‘I’ve checking the shielding, so we shouldn’t give off another unfortunate power spike this time. Now just hold still a moment, would you?’

Milton pressed the end of the tube to the red crystal hanging from Silhouette’s necklace. The crystal glowed for a short while after Milton had withdrawn the tube. Then gradually the glow faded, and Silhouette’s frown faded with it.

‘I really must develop a version that doesn’t need an inductive power source so close to it,’ Milton said as he returned the device to his desk. ‘If I understood more about the workings of the human brain I could probably remove a less important piece of it and put the power source actually inside your head. But as it is …’ He shrugged. ‘Now where were we?’ he refilled his glass and returned to the sofa.

‘You were saying it might be simplest to kill them,’ Silhouette said. There was no trace of confusion or regret in her voice now.

‘Of course. So I was.’ He sipped the drink and nodded. ‘And does that bother you?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Good.’

‘But you also said they could be useful. Perhaps we should let Affinity keep an eye on them until we can be certain which course is most advantageous to us.’

Milton swirled the viscous liquid round his glass as he considered. ‘There is some merit in the suggestion,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, perhaps that is the best course of action, especially as they seem very capable when it comes to self-preservation. But,’ he went on, ‘the Doctor worries me. He could be an agent of the Shadow Proclamation who has finally tracked me down. He hasn’t taken direct action yet, so he can’t be certain. But he may have his suspicions.’

‘Kill the Doctor?’ Silhouette suggested, sipping her own drink.

‘If he is an agent, that might alert them. We must tread carefully, my dear. But whatever happens, the Doctor cannot be allowed to learn the truth.’

The Doctor waited until all was quiet before crawling from under the table. He dusted himself down, and made his way back through the main tent and outside.

‘So that’s where you been hiding, is it?’ a voice said close behind him as he emerged.

He turned quickly, to find Jenny watching him, hands on her hips.

‘I’m sorry, have I kept you waiting?’

‘You and Clara both,’ she told him. ‘Haven’t seen her for ages. I was beginning to think you’d both deserted me.’

The Doctor was about to answer, but over Jenny’s shoulder he could see another figure approaching. It seemed she wasn’t the only one to have seen him come out from the Shadowplay tent.

‘You again,’ Michael the Strong Man said, pushing past Jenny. ‘What’s your game, then, eh?’ The chains tattooed across his chest moved as he flexed his muscles.

‘My game?’ The Doctor peered at the man’s bare chest, examining the rippling tattoos. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘You out to steal Miss Silhouette’s secrets, are you?’

‘Does she have any secrets?’ the Doctor asked.

‘Leave him alone,’ Jenny told Michael. ‘We can look round if we want.’

‘Not in private places. Not when the show ain’t on, you can’t.’

‘So where’s it say that, then?’ Jenny demanded. She grabbed the man’s impressively muscular arm and swung him to face the noticeboard outside the tent. ‘It don’t say you can’t have a quick shufti round anywhere on there that I can see.’

Michael hesitated. ‘Well, it’s just … polite.’

‘Oh believe me, we don’t want to be impolite,’ the Doctor said quickly. He switched on a smile. ‘I do apologise if I’ve inadvertently caused offence. It’s good that you look out for Miss Silhouette’s interests.’

‘Yes, well, we all look out for each other here,’ Michael said, apparently mollified by the Doctor’s contrition. ‘Always have.’

‘You’ve known her a long time?’

‘Years.’

‘And has she always been so talented?’ the Doctor wondered. He glanced at Jenny, warning her to keep quiet for the moment. She shrugged and folded her arms.

‘She was always good with her puppets and stuff,’ Michael said. ‘Had a real knack for it.’

‘But recently …?’ the Doctor prompted, noting the man’s use of the past tense.

‘Recently it’s become more than just a knack.’

‘Go on. Is this about the secrets you mentioned?’

Michael pressed his lips tight together as he considered. ‘I’d best not say anything more,’ he decided.

‘You’ve seen something, ain’t you,’ Jenny said. ‘Something you didn’t ought to have seen.’

Michael didn’t reply, looking down at the ground.

‘It’s all right,’ the Doctor said gently. ‘We wouldn’t ask you to betray any trust. But something’s happened. A man is dead. He saw something in Silhouette’s tent, and I think you know what it was. Maybe you saw it too?’

Michael looked up. ‘Is Silhouette in danger?’

‘Honestly?’ the Doctor said. ‘I don’t know. But if she is, I can help her.’

Michael hesitated, apparently thinking this through. As the Doctor and Jenny waited for a response, two more people joined them.

‘Hello, Clara – you’re looking well,’ the Doctor said, sparing her a quick glance.

‘Better than I’d be looking if Strax hadn’t turned up,’ she said.

‘I had occasion to rescue the boy from homicidal
wood-pulp assassins,’ Strax explained.

Michael looked from Strax to Clara, confused. ‘Boy?’

‘Ah,’ Strax said, stepping forward to inspect the Strong Man’s physique. ‘A human who is properly built for combat, I see. How many opponents have you despatched?’

‘I bend metal bars mainly,’ Michael said. ‘And lift weights.’

Strax considered this. ‘To what purpose? Do you fashion the metal bars into primitive weaponry? Drop the weights from a great height onto the heads of your enemies, crushing them like rotten eggs?’

‘Not usually. Its’ just, you know, a show.’

‘A show,’ Strax echoed.

‘Like a military parade,’ the Doctor said quickly. ‘A demonstration of skill and applied strength.’

‘Ah.’ Strax nodded. ‘Good. Perhaps I can also take part in one of these
shows
.’

‘Can you bend metal bars?’ Michael asked.

‘Don’t encourage him,’ the Doctor warned. ‘Now, you were going to tell us about Silhouette …’

Michael nodded. ‘She’s changed,’ he said. ‘So have … Well, let’s just say this Carnival used to be a happy place. A family. But recently, it’s just not the same. Not since,
he
came here …’

‘ “He”?’ the Doctor prompted as Michael again hesitated.

‘Look,’ Michael said, ‘I’ll tell you what I can. So you can help – you said you’d help, right?’

‘I did and I will,’ the Doctor promised.

‘Then we’ll talk. But first I’ve got another show to do. I’ll meet you back here in half an hour, all right?’

‘All right.’

‘Perhaps I should attend this show,’ Strax suggested as they watched Michael make his way back through the carnival.

‘Not likely,’ Clara told him. ‘You’re coming with us to tell the Doctor about the factory.’

‘What factory?’ the Doctor said.

‘Exactly.’

‘I see. Tell me about the factory.’

‘Can’t we find somewhere to sit down?’ Jenny asked. ‘I don’t know about you but I’ve been on me pins all day, and Clara doesn’t look too clever right now either. What happened to your face?’

‘It’s just scratches,’ Clara said. ‘But if Strax hadn’t turned up it would have been a lot worse.’

They found a section of wall down by the ice-covered Thames. The Doctor dusted the snow off it and spread his coat out for them to sit on. Strax insisted on standing.

‘One must remain in a constant state of battle-readiness,’ he explained. ‘In case of attack.’

‘By what?’ Jenny demanded. ‘Snowflakes?’

‘It has been known,’ Strax told her.

‘I suppose,’ she conceded.

Having made themselves as comfortable as they could, Clara gave a brief account of her visit to Milton’s empty factory. The Doctor listened attentively, occasionally interrupting with a question before allowing Clara to continue with her story.

‘Lucky Strax was there,’ Jenny said as Clara reached the end of her tale.

‘Not luck,’ Strax insisted. ‘Strategy.’

‘Well, whatever it was,’ the Doctor said. ‘Thank you.’

‘A warrior requires no thanks.’

The Doctor shrugged and inspected his fingernails. ‘Oh, well, I take it back then.’

‘But in this case,’ Strax said, ‘your gratitude is acceptable. I am pleased Miss Clara was not badly injured in the despicable attack.’

‘So you accept I’m female, then,’ Clara said.

Strax blinked. ‘Does the rank of “miss” also apply to females?’

‘It’s not a rank,’ Clara said. ‘Or actually, maybe it is.’

‘You think these paper birds are something to do with the shadow puppets?’ Jenny asked.

‘Huge coincidence if not,’ the Doctor said. ‘And we’re finding too many things that could be coincidences. I’m guessing they’re nothing of the sort.’ He pushed himself off the wall and retrieved his
coat, pulling it from underneath Clara and Jenny so that they too had to jump down. ‘Maybe Michael the Strong Man can enlighten us. He must be finishing his show soon, I would think. We said we’d meet him by the Shadowplay tent, so perhaps Silhouette will be back. In which case, a few words with her wouldn’t go amiss.’