Doctor Who: Ultimate Treasure (13 page)

Jaharnus tried to laugh, but her voice sounded terribly hoarse.

'We are like my ancestors caught in the cracked mud at the bottom of a dried-up lake. We find their fossils from time to time.'

Peri was aware of the Doctor muttering, 'There must be an answer, there must be...'

Peri felt herself slipping away. Dimly she realised Dynes's drone was still hovering a little way off, its gleaming lenses focused upon them. Surely it wasn't going to sit there and watch them die! The last thing she remembered was the Doctor on his hands and knees crawling out from under the bedroll awning, and trying to haul himself upright with his staff.

In the
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, Dynes hunched forward over the monitor, staring intently at the figures huddled beneath their makeshift sunshades. This was good stuff. What was the Doctor doing?

One last futile effort? Chasing after a mirage, perhaps?

'DAVE 2, move in for a close-up,' he directed.

He just hoped he was going to die artistically.

Arnella began to feel dizzy, even with her power-cooled sun helmet and protective neck flap. Thorrin had called a halt, so she took another mouthful of water. She'd never known such heat.

Thorrin stared at the compass in his hand, then he flipped up the tinted visor of his own helmet and peered about him Arnella followed his gaze, as did Brockwell and her uncle.

It was as though they were in the middle of a glassy bowl, paved with the interminable hexagon slabs any roofed with blazing sky. They turned about, but there was no sign of any horizon.

'What's the matter?' her uncle asked Thorrin. Mutely he held out the compass. Arnella saw it was spinning wildly and felt little twinge of fear.

'I'm afraid we're lost,' Thorrin said.

'Perhaps we can use the orientation of the paving grid as a guide?' Brockwell suggested quietly. 'I noticed we were going perpendicular to their faces.

Thorrin chuckled. 'Of course we can. Keeping your head,Will.

That's good,' he commended absently, glancing at the slabs before him and setting off once more.

'Wait, Professor. Were we not facing that way?' said the Marquis, pointing sixty degrees to the left of Thorrin's proposed line of march.

'No, it's to the right, isn't it?' Brockwell said.

They looked at each other, then at Arnella, who shrugged hopelessly.

'We must have turned ourselves around scanning the horizon,'

Thorrin said. 'We'd better stop here until the sun is lower and we can orientate ourselves again. We cannot go much further in this heat anyway.'

Brockwell was carrying a self-assembly tent in his pack. It was a surprisingly small package that he placed on the ground, then pulled a cord in the side. Pneumatic ribs, inflated by a tiny high-compression gas cylinder, writhed and popped open. In half a minute the dome-shaped structure was fully erected and they climbed inside gratefully. The foil-lined, double-thickness floor helped insulate them from the scorching ground. They threw open the side panels to encourage any through draft, but even so it was only the cooling helmets that made it bearable, though hardly pleasant.

'This is another test,' Thorrin stated, his jaw set resolutely.

'Fair enough, I should have anticipated something like it in the circumstances. But we shall survive, and won't let it slow us down for long. We should still be able to reach the far side by nightfall.'

The Marquis nodded in agreement, but seemed suddenly too exhausted to speak. Arnella looked at him in concern. He had driven himself through so many years of despair that she sometimes worried what effect it had had on his health. The trouble was he would never admit to any weakness.

'I wonder how the Doctor's party is doing,' Brockwell said.

Arnella found herself frowning. She had noticed the interest Brockwell had shown in the other party, especially that girl with the curiously dated hairstyle and odd accent. Well, it was not unreasonable that he should show some concern, she decided. The girl was more likely his type.

Thorrin used his binoculars and peered out through the open sides of the tent. Methodically he quartered the horizon, then lowered them again. 'It may be the atmospheric disturbance, of course, but I can't see them anywhere.'

Peri was floating somewhere cool and wet. Somehow the heat had gone. Even the terrible glare was muted. She opened her eyes.

The Doctor was beside her, his arm gently holding her upright.

Falstaff and Jaharnus were opposite them. They were all chest deep in greenish water, holding on to ropes at the bottom of a six-sided shaft. It took her addled mind a moment to realise why it seemed so familiar, then she gave a rasping laugh.

'Pretty smart,' she croaked. 'Hardly needed to dry off, did I?'

Looking up, she saw that the ropes were tied to the middle of each of the remaining staffs, which had been laid across the angled corners at the lip of the shaft. Over these had been draped their bedrolls, shading all but the centre of the well beneath. Insulated from the surface, the water and the stone around them had remained surprisingly cool.

"T'was the only shade around, though I do not relish the climb out, said Falstaff 'I may need some small assistance to ascend.'

'We'll solve that problem when we must,' said Jaharnus. 'I for one have no desire to move anywhere for the moment. I couldn't have lasted much longer up there.'

'We must remember to refill our canteens before we leave,' said the Doctor. 'They have integral purifiers so the water shouldn't do us any harm.'

Peri felt as though she was thinking clearly for the first time in hours. She squinted up the shaft at the glare from the sky, noting the camera drone peering down at them over the edge.

Better luck next time, she thought, then frowned. 'How can it be so hot out there? The sun is right overhead, but the woods around the white pyramid seemed pretty temperate. For that matter, who built all these traps and the plain? It must have taken years.'

'Well, by Shalvis's own admission, the Gelsandorans have had thousands of years to construct and refine the quest,' the Doctor pointed out. 'I think they are more materially advanced than they appear superficially. The engineering that maintains them is probably hidden well out of sight.' He grimaced, betraying a momentary flash of anger. 'Assuming of course that all this isn't simply an illusion.'

The others looked at him in surprise and disbelief.

'Blocking the nerve impulses to a finger to prevent a gun being fired I can just about believe,' Jaharnus said, 'but creating an illusion as perfect as this? Never.'

'I only said it was a possibility.'

It was afternoon when Qwaid, Gribbs, and Drorgon finally emerged from the wood. Qwaid could not make out the other two groups, but it seemed likely they were ahead of them. With the worst of the midday heat abating, the paved plain looked open and inviting, but Qwaid's natural distrust of anything that looked like a sucker bet made him hesitate before stepping straight out after them.

'Dro, get some rocks. Let's check this out.'

On the fifth try, a hexagonal slab fell inward. There were spikes at the bottom of the pit beneath, together with a few unidentifiable bones.

Drorgon scratched his massive head, squinted into the hazy distance then at the thousands of slabs that lay between them it.

'Throwing rocks ahead of us is going to take forever,' he pointed out practically.

Qwaid said nothing. That much had been immediately apparent. There had to be a trick to getting across, of course, but how long would it take to figure out?

Gribbs was muttering something.

'Spit it out, Qwaid said automatically.

'Well, I was just thinking... If these slabs are all pressure triggered, but hinged at the sides...'

'Yes?'

'Maybe, if we walked on the cracks to spread our weight, they wouldn't drop, and even if they did we'd only have to step to one side to get clear.'

'Now I was waiting to see which one of you would think of that,'

said Qwaid.

As they got closer, the straggling green line that marked the edge of the plain resolved itself into tall grasses, fern bushes, and the more distant tops of trees, rising from what was presumably a valley that lay beyond. The last few slabs were speckled by moss and lichen, then replaced by a carpet of thick lush grass. It felt like walking on foam rubber after the hours of hard stone underfoot. Peri, still slightly damp from their time in the well, dropped gratefully to her knees and sprawled full length upon it, luxuriating in its soft coolness.

'Oh, wow, this is good. I'll never forget to water a lawn again!'

The others shed their packs and joined her.

After a few minutes she sat up, removed her boots and began massaging her feet. Still a little way out on the plain and about half a mile to their right she saw Thorrin's party also making for the strip of greenery.

'Think we should say hello?' she wondered.

"Their manner was a little standoffish this morning,' the Doctor observed. 'Somehow I don't think we'd be that welcome. In a sense we are rivals, after all.'

From the valley ahead of them came, faint but clear, a low moaning roar, which reverberated through the still air for several seconds. This was followed by a series of rapid guttural yelps, as though produced by several animals.

They all sprang to their feet, Falstaff's hand resting nervously on the pommel of his sword, while Jaharnus had drawn her gun.

The sounds continued for some minutes, then faded away, although Peri now became aware of occasional muted chattering cries.

The Doctor looked at the lowering sun and made a decision. 'I propose we make camp here. I think we've had enough challenges for one day.'

They all agreed. As Falstaff succinctly put it: 'Tomorrow is sufficient unto the day thereof. In any case, we cannot face unknown perils on an empty stomach.'

Night had fallen by the time Qwaid, Gribbs, and Drorgon finally stumbled on to the green strip of land that fringed the far side of the plain. They had travelled the last part of the way by the light of hand torches. Some distance along to their right was the firefly glimmer of the camp lights of one of the other questing parties, and Qwaid stared at it with intense interest.

He had a plan.

As they had trudged across the plain he had realised he couldn't rely on Gribbs coming up with dodges like that again.

Besides, he had to show that it was Crelly Qwaid who was making the smart decisions if he ever wanted to truly be the boss. They also needed some sort of advance notice of what was ahead of them so as not to be caught by surprise. The solution to both problems, when it dawned on him, was wonderfully simple.

'Get a couple of hours' sleep, boys,' he said confidently. 'We've got a busy night ahead of us.'

Myra Jaharnus woke with a start, trying to place the dull thump that had roused her.

Overhead the stars were being obscured by a grey cloud, and for a moment she thought a bank of mist was rolling across the camp. Then the first tendrils touched her and she smelled a distinctive chemical tang. Blackout gas! She drew her gun even as her nostrils pinched tight and she clamped her lips shut. She could hold her breath for twenty minutes if need be. But despite the protective nictating membranes that instantly closed over her eyes, the gas burnt and stung, setting them watering. She heard the others shouting and a torch sprang into life, no more than a blurred fuzz of light through the tears and smoky haze.

From somewhere Falstaff was yelling at the top of his voice,

'Cowards! Whoreson caterpillars! Fight like men! Take that, and that!'The camp was being attacked, but even if her firing reflex had not been inhibited by the Gelsandorans, she dare not risk a shot in these conditions.

She had an impression of a menacing figure, bulkier even than Falstaff, looming out of the murk towards her. Instinctively she twisted about, letting her bone-fringed tail cut an arc through the air at knee height. There was a cry of pain, a heavy body crashed into her, sending her sprawling, then it was gone. She heard a yell that sounded like Peri's voice being stifled. The torchlight vanished and with it a scramble of footsteps that faded away into the night. The veil of blackout gas slowly dispersed, allowing the stars to illuminate the camp once more.

Wiping her eyes, Myra got to her feet, felt around for her own torch, and snapped it on. In the middle of a patch of trampled grass and scattered bedrolls was Falstaff, still coughing and yelling curses. He had a hand over his eyes and was blindly charging about, swinging his sword in great wild sweeps, turning and running away a few steps in another direction at a half-crouch, then futilely hacking the air again.

'They've gone,' she said sharply, 'so you can cut the act now.'

He paused in mid-swing. 'Is that you, my good Inspector?'

'Who else?'

Cautiously he removed his hand from over his eyes, red-rimmed and streaming, and peered about him into the darkness.

Seeing no danger, he straightened up. 'Hah! So, the horde dared not stand against me, the pie-faced cowards!'

'Horde? It was Qwaid, Gribbs, and Drorgon. It had to be.'

'Nay, 't'was a dozen or perhaps a score, no less. But they cared not to taste my steel.'

'Somebody did,' Myra pointed out. 'There's blood on the blade. I hope it doesn't belong to the Doctor or Peri Brown.'

Falstaff looked at the glistening dark streaks on his sword with apparent astonishment, and Myra wondered if, for all his boasting, he'd ever actually drawn blood in combat before. Then his normal expression of bumptious self-confidence returned.

'There, what did I tell you? You have nought to fear with Falstaff here. Now, we must set about to rescue our comrades. Perhaps I should remain to hold the camp while you make a reconnaissance -'

'Maybe, but let's look around here first.'

A quick search of the camp revealed that both the Doctor's and Peri's packs, were missing. They had been using them as pillows, as they all had, so the packs wouldn't have been hard for their abductors to snatch up in the confusion. This in itself was suggestive.