Doctor Who: Lungbarrow (30 page)

'He was at death's door, remember?' interrupted Chris. 'But I'd give a month's credit to nail it on him. And what about Satthralope?'

'Will you stop interrogating me as if I'm the number-one suspect?'

'You are, Doctor,' apologized Chris. 'Both for Quences's murder and Arkhew's.'

'I've been framed!
/ Nothing of the sort!'

Chris shrugged. 'If this was Overcity, you'd be wired up in the termination cell by now.'

The Doctor tried to reach the door by ducking under the table, but it deliberately crouched to block his path. One of its clawed feet grabbed the tail of his jacket.

'Satthralope couldn't kill Quences,' he said, struggling to free his clothing. 'No matter how much they've always loathed each other.' With a furious twist, he slid out of his sleeves, leaving the jacket still in the grip of the table's claw. He sat back on the floor exasperated. 'Don't forget she's already lied to the House about his death. And done it so convincingly, she believes it herself.'

'They're going to find out he's dead sooner or later.'

'Sooner,' said the Doctor glumly. 'She plans to wake him herself. I wonder who'll be more traumatized.'

Chris edged slowly towards the door. The furniture ignored him. 'I'm off to make a few enquiries. I just got an idea from something you were thinking.'

The Doctor slapped the side of his head. 'Which was?'

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Chris smiled and thought,
'Where there's a wil , there's a way. . . out.'

'Ah,' said the Doctor. He watched him go and then turned his attention to rescuing his jacket from the crouching table.

'It took my shopping,' said Dorothée. 'What the freak was it?'

They had watched the tall, wooden creature from behind the big cabinet. Leela had held Dorothée back, while she stroked a carved panel on the furniture. Like distracting a dog, thought Dorothée.

The tall thing had no head. Just a splintered neck, around which hung a mirror on a chain. It had discovered the bike and carried off the plastic M&S bags.

'It was a Drudge,' said Leela. 'One of the House's servants.'

'I hate staff with attitude,' said Dorothée. She found Leela's assumption of the role of leader a bit gal ing. 'We'd better get moving if we're going to find the Doctor.'

'Wait,' Leela said. She crouched and touched and sniffed at one of the white tree trunks set in the wall. 'This House of Lungbarrow is sickly. I can smell it.'

'No kidding. The place is actually alive?'

Leela started to undo her long robe. 'And if the House is sick, then the sickness passes to the furniture and the servants too. They are all part of the House.'

She discarded the robe completely. Underneath, she wore minimal, roughly stitched, leather garments. Her body was sinewy and taut, finely toned; not an elegant society lady at al or even a Gal ifreyan grisette. She slid her knife into an empty sheath on her belt.

Dead tribal, thought the Ace bit of Dorothée. She was impressed. She glanced at herself in a big ornate mirror.

The shadowy face that stared back looked a wreck. But it was her own face, moulded by her own battles and cares. Not cold. Not accusing or questioning. Both Ace
and
Dorothée.

She let Leela lead the way along the passage until they reached a neglected hall. At one end, something glimmered inside a dusty glass booth. A ghost in a scarlet uniform - half materialized.

'It's him,' said Leela, squinting through the glass. 'It must be Redred, Andred's missing Cousin.'

Dorothée poked about in the burnt-out console. 'This wouldn't take long to fix if the replacement units were around.

I've seen similar stuff in the TARDIS. Wonder why no one's done it before now.' She studied the ghost in the machine. 'How long's he been in there?'

Leela fingered the hilt of her knife. 'He has been missing for six hundred and seventy-three years,' she said solemnly.

***

Satthralope poked at the contents of the white bags. She tore open one of the wrappings and broke off some of the pliant brown substance with her fingers.

Had someone brought them food packages for Otherstide? Or was this some joke of the Doctor's? The stuff was chewy and richly flavoured with herbs - the sort of rough bread that wandering Shobogans bake in ember fires.

There were strange-coloured fruits in the bags and boxes that contained square paper envelopes of a herbal mixture that smelt vaguely like tea.

'Use them,' she told the headless Drudge. 'They'll suffice for supper. And find the intruders!'

There was a sudden knocking noise.

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An image of the Doctor, reflected up from the library, was banging its knuckle insolently on the inside of her mirror.

He was mouthing noiselessly at her, but his thoughts came through clearly.

'Satthralope? End this charade now, or I'll tell the House about Quences!'

Her hands gripped the finger arms of her chair in fury. The arrogance of it! How dare he?

She was about to send a Drudge, when she saw, through the mirror, the figure who was standing behind the Doctor.

It was Glospin.

***

Chris nearly tripped over Jobiska. He thought she was dead, but the old lady eased herself out of the deep fireplace and handed him her telescope.

'Have a look, dear. Looks like rain.'

Chris lay on his back and squinted up the chimney at a distant punch-hole of light far above. 'These candledays you can only see up the West chimney,' Jobiska said sadly. 'Cousin Luton thought he could climb up the East chimney, but he got stuck. We could hear him regenerating for eleven candledays. That was five hundred and six years ago and he's still there.' She pawed Chris's arm. 'I'm two hundred and ninety-nine, you know. And no one will take me home.'

Chris sat up. 'Who would you
like
to take you home?'

Jobiska's eyes filled with tears again. 'Arkhew, dear. We used to play Sepulchasm together. Where's he gone?'

'He's gone away,' said Chris gently.

She moaned a little. 'No, dear. He always said he couldn't afford to go away.'

'What?'

'He owed too much. He tried to clear the debt, but the wagers got bigger.'

Chris felt that little tug inside his head that always said, you're on to something. It felt like a hug from Roz. 'What can you bet down here? Who was screwing him? I bet it was Glospin.'

She choked back her tears. 'Arkhew said there was nothing else to bet. Glospin already owned him.'

Chris would have hugged the tiny old woman, but he feared she might snap in two. So he leant in and gently touched her spindly arm.

Something sliced past his head, nicking his ear.

A knife clattered across the floor.

The sharp pain brought everything into focus. Chris was surrounded by people. All the Cousins in the portrait, all calling him.

They seemed to think he was the Doctor.

'There he is!'

The Cousins had gone. Jobiska was pointing at someone trying to hide behind a sofa.

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'Glospin!'

Chris lunged down, and yanked out the figure by the collar. It was Owis. 'I didn't do it!' he squealed.

'Nice try anyway,' said Chris. 'Did you kill Arkhew too?'

'Why should I?' He was damp with sweat.

'They used to look for the missing will together,' said Jobiska.

'What was it worth?' Chris growled. 'Did you ever have a bet with Glospin?'

Owis swallowed hard. 'Sometimes.'

'Nothing much exciting to bet with down here though.'

'There's enough.'

'Yes?'

'Arkhew was my friend. And we never found the will.'

'Arkhew hated Owis,' added Jobiska.

'Shut up,' said Owis. 'Shut up!' He raised a hand to hit the old woman. Chris knocked him to the floor.

Somewhere near, something struggled in a tight space.

'Arkhew had a pet scrubbler,' continued Jobiska. 'It fell in through a window one day. Al silvery grey and blind, with a twinkly nose and big digger claws. Arkhew kept it in a box, fed it on worms. It was his best friend. Then Owis ate it.'

'Did not!' protested Owis. 'It's all the Doctor's fault. He wants to kill everyone!'

Innocet walked in through the door. Rynde was with her. She glared accusingly at Chris. 'Why has the Doctor come back? He should have left us buried in peace.'

'While you wager your lives away in idiot games?' said Chris.

Owis affected disinterest. 'He could afford a life or two.'

At that moment, something fell out of the chimney and slapped on to the hearth.

It was a fish. A big glassy fish with finny claws. A barrage of hailstones clattered around it. It struggled for a moment, off the hearth, onto the filthy rug, and then lay still, mouth gasping.

The Cousins stood in silence as three more fish tumbled down among the hailstones.

'Is it a sign?' said Owis excitedly. 'Or a miracle?'

Innocet clasped her hand to her throat. 'Perhaps,' she said slowly. 'The Doctor always attracted strangeness.'

'Chris!' hissed a voice.

Chris turned and saw Dorothée and another woman standing in the doorway.

The others stared.

Fish flapped around their feet, drowning in the air.

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'Dorothée? How did you get in here?'

Hailstones clattered down.

'Don't ask,' she said. 'Where is he?'

The two Drudges came from both directions.

'These are my guests,' declared Innocet. 'By the Laws...'

A Drudge pushed Innocet roughly aside. She turned and ran from the room.

'Get behind me,' said Chris, as the huge servants edged the guests into a corner.

Too late. The woman in a bikini stuck a knife into the headless Drudge, but even with three against two, there was no contest.

One Drudge picked up both women. The other put Chris under one arm and stil had a hand free to snatch up the fish and store them in wooden drawers in its bodice.

***

'It's a precarious time,' said Glospin. He was setting out the pieces on the Sepulchasm board. 'One false move and the House could destroy al of us.' He held up the counters. 'What colour?'

'Patrexes.' The Doctor tapped the faded purple discs. 'Do you plan to kill me too?'

'What?'

'The way you killed Quences. How else can you stop the House from finding out he's dead?'

Glospin selected the silver-grey Dromeian counters for himself. 'Everyone says you murdered him.'

'Boring,' the Doctor said. 'What do you think?'

'I was too ill to know about it.'

'Oh, yes. You were busy regenerating.' He studied Glospin. 'You've worn very well.'

'Yes. I put it down to the lack of sunlight.' Glospin smiled. 'Don't worry, Wormhole. Something with your provenance and questionable ancestry is far too precious to be killed.'

'Coming home is so reassuring,' said the Doctor. 'However long I've been away, I know we'l still pick up exactly where we left off. I'm your Cousin, Glospin.'

'Amongst other things.'

'Meaning?'

Glospin cupped the die in his hands and rotated it slowly. 'When we last met, all that time ago, at the Capitol, I knew you were something strange. Your genetic records bore that out. But it was more than that. Somehow you don't belong here.'

'You hoped,' said the Doctor. 'Cast the die.'

Glospin threw and got an eleven to start. 'I thought you were an infiltrator or a changeling. An un-Gal ifreyan.'

'That's a good Agency word,' said the Doctor. He threw the die and got a six. 'I know another good word. Cuckoo.

What do you think?'

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'We haven't set a stake,' Glospin said.

'All right. I'l play you for the whereabouts of Quences's wil .'

They crooked fingers. 'And I'll play you for your TARDIS,' said Glospin with a smile.

***

Satthralope tried to watch the game, but she could neither read Glospin's words nor catch the Doctor's thoughts.

Then
he was
in the way, blocking her view. Quences, staring at her out of her mirror, with that thing stuck into his chest, dribbling blood down his gore-soaked robe.

'I am dead, Satthralope. Dead and bloodied for revenge.'

She would not believe the apparition. It did not exist. Quences had survived the Doctor's murderous attack. It had taken all her strength to console and convince the House.

The old man leered out of the mirror at her. No matter where in the House she directed the glass, he was always there, blocking her view, sluicing absurd quantities of blood.

'Quences, you old vampire!' she shouted. 'I wish you real y were dead!'

For some unaccountable reason, she thought she could smell fish.

***

Glospin's counters scampered round the board. He was on a winning run.

'You were the only one Quences cared about,' he said.

The Doctor remained infuriatingly smug. 'You could have joined our Sepulchasm tournaments. You only had to ask. We were often in here, playing on this very board.

'Even after he threw you out, he still cared. If only he'd known what he was playing with.'

'Fire, Glospin. The same as you.' The Doctor shook and threw again. He groaned. 'Another six. Anyone would think this board was fixed.'

Glospin rubbed his scarred hand. 'It was only when that thing attacked me that I understood what you real y are.'

'Do go on. Your fantasies are fascinating.'

'It was the Hand, wasn't it? The legendary Hand of Omega, a power out of the past. And it came to find you!'

'Glospin,' said the Doctor, 'you've had nearly seven hundred years to dream up this nonsense.'

'Am I the first to find out? Is that why you're so frightened?'

The Doctor was calm and quiet. No tantrum or fierce denial. How telling that was.

The board boomed and cracked open under the Doctor's counters. He glared at the little discs, forbidding them to drop. As they hovered above the opening, he said, 'Glospin, take over.'

'What?'

'Keep it open for me.'

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Glospin took over the mental reins, willing the chasm open as the Doctor leant in over the board. He slid his hand down into the depths of the pedastal and started to rummage around.