Doctor Who: The Blood Cell (6 page)

‘Really?’

‘Tables and chairs.’

428 looked at me curiously.

‘You expressed a wish that the canteen had tables and chairs. Here is my bargain. If you stay in your cell during lockdown for the next three days and nights … then the canteen may have tables and chairs.’

‘You’re bribing me with furniture?’ 428 appeared delighted, as though this had never been tried before.

‘Tables and chairs. You have my word, 428.’

He nodded. ‘All right then. We have a bargain.’ Then his face set hard as ice. ‘Just one thing. My name. It’s not binding unless you call me by my name.’

The request annoyed me. It clearly wasn’t a real name. It was little better than 428. And, yet considering the things that had been done in it, it hurt me to do it.

‘Doctor,’ I smiled sweetly. ‘Stay in your cell when you’re supposed to for three days and nights and the canteen will have tables and chairs.’

428 leaned across the table and shook my hand, staring into my eyes. There was a silence for a long moment, broken only by the Custodians going to Warning Mode.

‘Done,’ said 428.

The first two days and nights of 428’s agreement passed without incident. I mentioned this to Bentley, but she set her lips thinly and left to file a TransNet report. And then, on the third night …

No one knew exactly how the fire started. But somewhere in the book stack, between biographies and fiction. Paper smoulders and smokes first, which should have set off an alarm. But there was no alarm. Not until the first book burst neatly into flame and then the fire spread. In Dewey Decimal order.

The news spread around the Prison just as fast. Even though it was the middle of the night and everyone was locked down, still the news spread. Gossip travels faster than fires here. The alarms helped, rousing people from troubled dreams to smoke-filled corridors.

Prisoner 428 appeared at the window-grille of his cell, talking directly to the Custodian guarding the corridor. It was one of the newer models. One fitted
with a basic vocal system.

‘The situation is under control.’

‘What situation?’

‘There is a fire. The situation is under control.’

‘Where is the fire? Where!’ 428 was alert, already suspicious.

‘The Prison library.’

428 stood at the window of his cell, a caged lion snarling. Only, I watched the footage again later and, actually, he didn’t snarl or shout. And yet, if you’d asked me, I’d have said he’d done both. He just stood there, quite calmly.

‘Where is Lafcardio?’ he asked eventually.

The Custodian did not reply.

428 repeated his question. And then, with a weary sigh of resignation, vanished from the window of his cell. A moment later, the door popped open and the Custodian’s camera went blank. As it did so, 428 muttered something bitterly.

‘Tables and chairs.’

When 428 arrived outside the library, a phalanx of Custodians had gathered, forming a barrier to the open door belching smoke.

‘Aren’t you doing anything?’ he demanded.

Bentley appeared, smiling at him soothingly. ‘Not in your cell, 428?’

‘And what are you doing about the fire?’

‘A pity.’ Bentley was calm as a new siren sounded. ‘Flashpoint alarm. Don’t worry. Vacuum Protocols are activating automatically. In less than thirty seconds, the library will be sealed off and the air vented into space.’

428 listened to what she said, nodding intently. ‘And what about Lafcardio?’

‘He was in his cell when the alarm went off.’ Bentley shrugged.

‘Yes. In his cell. The cell that isn’t locked at night because he can be trusted.’ 428 was already pushing past her. ‘In his cell. When the alarm went off telling him his precious library was burning. In his cell. Flashpoint alarm. Less than thirty seconds, you said?’

The Doctor vanished into the smoke.

Twenty-six seconds later, the Vacuum Protocols activated. Space filled with a brief puff of flame that twinkled until it went beyond the atmospheric bubble that surrounded the asteroid. Then the flame went out. Floating away from The Prison were the first things ever to escape from it. Tumbling bundles of burnt books, some falling in groups, some just single floating pages, moving off into space for ever.
The Woman in White
bumped against
The Da Vinci Code
and, as if by mutual agreement, edged away from
Shall We Tell the President?

*

428 stood on the other side of the blast door, and exhaled quickly. His face was blackened by soot, but he seemed unscathed by his heroics. Lafcardio was a tiny crumpled heap in his arms. 428 lowered him gently to the floor, and then quickly began to administer artificial resuscitation.

This had not been supposed to happen. I’m sure this hadn’t been supposed to happen. Bentley’s shock seemed genuine. She stepped up to 428. ‘Let a Custodian take care of him,’ but he shrugged her angrily away.

He worked on the body like an expert and for a long time it seemed futile. Then Lafcardio gasped, spluttered and looked dazedly up into 428’s face. ‘Well, this is certainly unexpected,’ he croaked, then coughed. His cough did not stop.

428 hoisted him up into a sitting position and then waited until the hacking fit subsided slightly. He turned to Bentley. ‘Get him a glass of water, won’t you? Oxygen would be lovely, but water would be just darling.’

Startled, Bentley started to obey before stopping herself relaying the order to a Custodian. She turned back to watch 428, folding her arms and observing him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ whispered 428 to Lafcardio.

‘My books?’ croaked the man.

‘They’re all gone,’ said 428. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all my
fault.’

‘How …? How …?’ Lafcardio was crying, tears running through the soot on his face. He didn’t appear to have listened to 428 at all. ‘I tried to stop it … But the flames. So difficult.’

428 held him close and looked directly up at my camera.

‘Someone,’ 428’s tone was grim, ‘was trying to teach me a lesson.’

‘We had an agreement,’ I said to 428 when I arrived later. ‘You were not to leave your cell.’

‘You’re going to be childish, aren’t you?’ 428, if anything, appeared to be the childish one. He was leaning against the wall, having reluctantly surrendered Lafcardio to a Medical Custodian. He gestured to the sealed library. ‘This was all your idea, wasn’t it?’

‘Are you accusing me of vandalising prison property?’ I thundered. ‘If you wish, an inquiry into this accident will take place …’

‘Oh, spare yourself the bother.’ 428 was viciously bored. He yawned and looked about to go, but then he spun back, his fingers jabbing at my face. ‘Listen to me, you stupid little man—’

‘I- I am the Governor here. I will be accorded respect!’ I rallied. ‘I am taller than you.’

‘You’re tiny. Small. Minuscule. Not worth the effort.
The effort of all this,’ He waved around at the room and then pointed at me. ‘Listen to me. You never burn books. Even rubbish ones. Especially not when they’re the delight of a harmless man. And why? Your plan went horribly wrong. You could have killed him – just to teach me a lesson. You could have had that on your conscience.’

‘I assure you my conscience is clear.’

‘Is it?’ The full fury of 428 was like being trapped in a freezer. I looked away. ‘I thought not. If any of this is to be worthwhile … Oh, never mind.’ He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling as mountains. ‘Nighty night. I’m off to my cell. Unless …’

Bentley appeared at 428’s side smoothly. ‘If I may point out, 428 …’

‘Ah.’ 428 seemed unimpressed. ‘It’s the Little Match Girl.’

Bentley’s silken smile didn’t waver. ‘May I remind you, Prisoner 428, that you have broken curfew, and a personal agreement with the Governor?’

428 arched an eyebrow slowly and he started to applaud. It was slow and sarcastic. ‘Please tell me it’s solitary confinement.’

‘Indeed.’ Bentley refused to appear unsettled.

‘Splendid.’ 428 rubbed his hands together. ‘Because I can’t stand the sight of any of you at the moment. I fancy a rest from all of your faces. Take me to my new caravan. Oh …’ He turned to Bentley. ‘And do say
sorry to Lafcardio from me. Won’t you?’

Bentley nodded.

‘Good,’ 428 said strolling towards the waiting Custodians. ‘Because I don’t think he’ll get an apology from you lot otherwise.’

We’d placed a camera in his new cell, but it didn’t show anything much. Simply 428 sat, motionless. With his back to the camera.

For hours.

The girl came back. She was standing on the landing pad, hair neatly swept back. Her clothes were identical, only covered in dots of paint. She was holding a placard.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Hello!’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Don’t shake it,’ she said. ‘Paint’s still wet. And also, electric field.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I knew you’d come.’ Clara seemed pleased with herself.

‘Well, I am only mandated to make one visit. I may, of course, come out a second time.’

‘You’ll come out loads more,’ she assured me.

‘Well,’ I chuckled, ‘that’s purely at my discretion.’

‘You really are a pompous ass,’ smiled Clara. ‘You’d like my headmaster.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘This is how you’re going to win
clemency for the Doctor.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘That and the signs. Do you like them?’

She waved the placard. ‘FREE THE DOCTOR,’ it said, decorated with various coloured handprints.

‘Class 2B made them,’ she said. She turned around the placard. On the back it said, ‘SAVE DOT COT’. I looked at her.

‘Oh, yes, 2A got a leetle bit confused. Dot Cotton. Famous cockney chimney. Doesn’t matter. The broomstick was leant to me by Danny. He’s another teacher at the school. No, wait, he doesn’t matter.’ Clearly a boyfriend. Did I feel jealous about this? Oddly, no.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Er. Why?’

‘You seem nervous.’

‘Ah, yes. Well, I’m in two places at once at the moment.’ Clara’s face fell. ‘It doesn’t matter. How’s the Doctor getting on?’

‘Prisoner 428 is being cared for in accordance with agreed Protocols.’

‘Agreed Protocols? I just bet he loves that.’ Clara made a face.

‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘Thought not.’ She made a great play of trying to seem casual. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Can I … can I give you something?’

‘Is it a petition?’ I sighed. ‘I can accept them, but not gifts or letters for prisoners.’ I was disappointed by Clara. Bored, I pointed to a gap in the chain fence. There was a silver box fitted to it. ‘If you so wish.’ I’d really hoped better of her. ‘Place what you have in the box.’

Clara hesitated. ‘It’s vitally important you read this. You’ll understand.’

‘Painted for me by Class 2B?’

‘Well, no. Well, all right, a lot of important stuff and just the one painting. But it’s quite nice. And 2B made me promise. After the Doctor came and did balloon animals one afternoon. Anyway, that’s not the point.’ She pulled a bundle from her satchel and placed it in the box. ‘You’ve got to read this. Hey, where are you going?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I assure you that I will read your material. Once the seven systems necessary to transfer these objects over have been deactivated. Which requires oversight and screening. Then, if the items have passed that screening, then the contents of the Honesty Box will be passed—’

‘Honesty Box?’

‘Yes. That’s what it’s called.’

‘Even your post gets censored?’

‘Screened.’

Clara screwed her face up in fury. ‘I bet all you end up with is a painting of some dogs playing football.
It’s quite good, although they glued on the football. It’s made out of tinfoil. So, if it falls off you may find the whole purpose of the painting a bit mystifying. A lot of lost dogs. Mystifying and pointless.’ She underlined the last words.

I bowed formally. ‘Then I look forward to seeing it,’ I told her.

‘How’s the Doctor doing?’ she shouted as I turned away.

‘Oh, surviving,’ I said, and left her alone on the landing pad, waving her placard.

Guardian Donaldson broke up the fight in the canteen.

203 … she’d always been a bit of a bruiser. Abesse, that had been her name. She’d been a mercenary on the losing side during the HomeWorld Revolution and had always seemed rather sour about it. Due to the wrong name being on her pay cheque that month, the new President had sent her here. I’m not sure I blamed her for being bitter. Not really.

She’d settled into Prison life just as some people settled into an assignment they didn’t much care for. She had an eye on the end of it, I could tell. Which seemed ironic because, as I’m sure you know, no one ever leaves here.

In some ways, it was surprising that Prisoner 428 didn’t notice her bearing down on him. 203 was
very tall and quite striking. I think I’d have called her beautiful if she wasn’t so hard-faced. Her hair was still cut sharply and fashionably, as though she was ready to throw on a dress and go to a party. Just waiting for the call to somewhere much more interesting.

Personally, I thought it was a huge waste having a mercenary of her skills here. By definition, she’d be just as happy working for the new regime. But the government had been very black-and-white about these things.

In The Prison, 203 occasionally acted as an informal, intermediary justice system. This is a polite way of saying Abesse attacked people who annoyed her.

Hence the reason why 428 was suddenly flying through the air.

He picked himself up from among the feet of prisoners who had hurriedly stepped back. He shook himself down, and patted imaginary creases out of his uniform.

‘If you’d wanted my porridge, you just needed to ask,’ he said.

Abesse stood over him. Towered over him.

‘So … Not about porridge?’ ventured 428.

He didn’t have time to protect himself before he smacked into a wall with a crack and a thud.

I noticed the Custodians were not reacting, and wondered if I should dispatch some Guardians. But
then again, this was Prisoner 428. This would do him some good. Sometimes we all turned a blind eye to 203. She was a useful asset.

The crumpled heap that was 428 sat up and waved gently at 203.