Doctor Who: Ultimate Treasure (19 page)

In the fast-failing light it was evident that the rim top of the sheer cliff was crowned by a continuous jagged ridge of rocks, cut through by streams and small rivers that formed the waterfalls they had seen from the far side of the valley. Beyond the narrow parapet was a drab stretch of ponds and shallow lakes, streams and mud flats, reminiscent of a river delta. This glistening expanse was dotted with small islands. Some were merely jumbles of rocks rising a few metres above the sluggish waters, while others must have been anything up to a kilometre across, their outlines made shaggy with miniature jungles of small trees. As the gloom descended he noticed distinct yellow twinkles of light coming from several of the larger isles.

'Fires?' he wondered aloud.

'Apparently so,' said the Doctor. 'Or possibly simple torches. They don't appear to be either bright or steady enough to be anything else.'

Qwaid got out his binoculars and scanned the nearer islands.

Under magnification and enhancement he saw what looked like lighted windows in the sides of rough shacklike structures, set along the narrow shorelines. They twinkled occasionally as figures moved in front of them, but he could make out no further details. Who lived here? The buildings were nothing like the neat domes they had seen near the landing, ground. Was it dangerous, or might there be a clue here as to where to go next? He turned the problem over in his mind as he continued his sweep across the flats. Suddenly he halted. To their right and perhaps a little over a kilometre away, he saw a party of six figures leave the line of rocks and begin to pick their way across the mud flats.

'We're right where I wanted us to be, Doc,' he said with a grin. 'soon as Drorgon gets up here we edge along until we're behind them. They should leave a clear enough trail in this ground to Follow. Let them find out what's going on up here.'

Myra led the way, a rope from her belt fastened her to Brockwell, and the others followed in their footsteps. She used her staff to probe the way ahead of her. The danger of quicksand had immediately suggested itself in these conditions, and common sense dictated that she would be the best able to cope. She kept to the scattered slabs of rock that rose above the mud And clumps of wiry grass. Those channels they had to ford proved to be no more than knee deep, with a cool evening breeze rippling their sluggish waters. Patterns of tracks and blowholes in the mud indicated the presence of small animals, and they kept their guns at the ready in case they should encounter anything larger and more dangerous.

Thorrin wanted to reach one of the lighted islands before it was fully dark. He was certain there would be somebody there ready to provide a clue to the next stage of the quest. Myra was not convinced of his reasoning, but there seemed no better course to pursue and she did not want to risk falling behind Qwaid's party if by any chance they were already ahead of them. It would also be a relief to reach some sort of shelter. She felt uncomfortably exposed out on the bleak flats.

Their course took them past one of the smaller islets, a clump of rocks topped by a few straggling trees barely a hundred metres across. As they circled its tiny beach Falstaff said suddenly, 'Hold fast! Surely I saw something move up there.'

Even as they peered into the gloom, a fist-sized rock flew out of the shadows between two large boulders, hurtled over their heads, and splashed into the mud.

'Go away!' a whining voice shouted out in interlingua. 'Leave me alone! This is my land!'

Even as they looked at each other in bewilderment, another rock was thrown, this time landing at their feet and causing them to jump quickly aside as it rebounded between them.

'We do not wish you any harm,' Rosscarrino called back. 'We are simply... seekers. Can you tell us if we're on the right path to Rovan's treasure?'

There came a terrible wailing cry from the heart of the islet, followed by a stream of abuse and a further shower of rocks and pebbles.

Dodging the missiles, they set off across the pools and mud flats at a run until they were out of range.

'Who was that?' exclaimed Brockwell.

'It didn't sound like a native.' said Arnella.

'Whosoever it was, they were sorely touched in the head,' said Falstaff, mopping his brow.

'It may simply be meant to confuse us.' Thorrin said resolutely. 'We shall continue on.'

It was almost fully dark when they reached the nearest of the larger islands, and they covered the last part of the way by torchlight. The ground rose slightly and the mud gave way to a narrow beach, fringed by small twisted trees and giant ferns similar to those on the other side of the mist valley. A little way along the scalloped shore was the first of a small cluster of structures they had seen from the cliff edge.

As they made a cautious approach they saw that the buildings were roughly made of poles, lashed together with vines and panelled with woven mats of reed. Feeble flickers of firelight shone out of unglazed windows, somehow failing to cast any cheer on the dismal scene.

They smelled woodsmoke and food cooking and the stench of rotting fruit. A few snatches of desultory conversation floated out into the still air.

They reached the door of the largest of the shacks, closed only by a hanging rush curtain. Thorrin straightened himself up, checked his gun was lose in its holster, brushed the curtain aside and stepped within. The others followed.

Five men and two women of three different species were sprawled on pallets of leaves and rush mats around the walls. A fire burnt in a stone grate in the centre of the room, the smoke simply escaping through a hole in the roof. The rest of the interior was bare, except for a stack of bowl-sized nutshell halves in one corner and a pile of rags in the other. The occupants, who, Myra now saw through the thin haze of smoke, were dressed in patched and faded clothes in varying degrees of decrepitude, looked up listlessly as they entered. But they merely let their gaze pass over them before dropping back to stare into the depths of the fire once more. None spoke a word of welcome or acknowledgement to the newcomers.

'How now, my fine fellows.' said Falstaff after an awkward silence.

'Not a single hail to greet Old Jack?'

One of the men grunted. Another turned to face the wall and pulled a matt blanket over him. Myra felt a shiver of disquiet. This was somehow more frightening than the creatures in the valley.

'I'm Alexander Thorrin,' the professor announced loudly. 'My colleagues and I are following the path to Rovan's treasure. Can you tell us which way to go from here?'

One of the women grunted without looking up. 'Idiot,' she said. 'We know what you are.'

One of the men mumbled, 'Turn back now, if you know what's good for you.'

Myra knelt down beside the nearest and shook him.

'Can you hear me? My name is Myra Jaharnus. Who are you? how did you get here?'

The man seemed to make a supreme effort, mumbling something that might have been a name, then: ...same way you did, of course...'

Then he rolled away from her with his back to the fire and appeared to go to sleep.

'Are they sick?'Arnella wondered anxiously.

'Only sick at heart,' Falstaff said, with sudden unexpected perception. 'Their spirits are crushed. They have given up.'

'You mean... they were seekers?' said Brockwell. 'That man on the islet as well?'

'How else could they have all come to be here?' Falstaff said simply.

They looked at each other in dismay. Even Thorrin and the Marquis seemed subdued. Silently they left the shack, its occupants paying as little attention to their going as they had their arrival. As they walked away a ragged woman emerged from the next hut along. She glanced at them briefly with the same dull eyes and lack of interest as the others, then shuffled off towards the nearest line of bushes, undoing her belt as she went.

'It's too dark to go any further tonight,' said Thorrin, after they had gone a little way along the shore. 'We'd better camp here. I don't think those people will give us any trouble.'

'They seem barely capable of caring for themselves,' the Marquis said. 'How can thinking beings be reduced to such a state? Or are they all cowards with no backbone? Shalvis said there had been many seekers after the treasure over the years. Perhaps this is where some end up.'

'You don't suppose there might be a physical cause?' said Brockwell. 'Something in the food or water here that induces a state of extreme lethargy?'

Thorrin frowned. 'Mmm. It's possible, I suppose. To be safe we won't touch anything here. Our rations will last us for some days yet, if need be.'

'But can't we do anything for them?' Arnella asked. 'Make some tests, or something?'

'We cannot spare the time,' said her uncle flatly. This is not a medical mercy mission.'

'Whatever they are suffering from they must have brought upon themselves,' Thorrin pointed out. 'If those other islands are inhabited like this one, there must be a few hundred people here at least. They cannot all have arrived at once, therefore the later arrivals must have seen what we have. If they did not take sensible precautions in time, that's their own fault.'

Myra thought his attitude was rather callous, but didn't feel like arguing the point. They made camp along the shore out of sight of the shacks. As soon as they had eaten they crawled gratefully into the big tent and closed it against the air of gloom that hung so heavily over the island.

From a tiny cluster of rocks a little way out into the mud flats, Qwaid watched the large island through his night-sight binoculars until the bright spark of Thorrin's campfire was extinguished. Then he slithered back down to the hollow, where they had made their own camp.

'Right, they won't be going anywhere till morning. And when they do, we'll be right on their heels.'

'You don't suppose they've found the treasure?' Drorgon said dismally.

'No, 'cos we'd have heard them celebrating even out here if they had.' He jerked a thumb at their attendant DAVE drone: And Dynes would be interviewing us about how it feels to miss out. Now get some sleep. You too, Doc.'

'Actually I don't sleep very much.'

'Suit yourself.' Qwaid pulled his thermal blanket up. 'Just don't try to sneak off, or anything. If Gribbs don't hear from me regularly, saying the right words, you know what's going to happen to your friend. It would be a shame to mess up such a pretty piece as her.'

For a moment the light of their fire glinted dangerously from the Doctor's eyes, and it occurred to Qwaid that here was a man who could be pushed only so far.

'Oh, you can be sure I won't forget that,' he said coldly.

Peri tossed and turned in her narrow bunk on board the
Falcon
, unable to sleep. Now that her fear of Gribbs had been checked, at least for the time being, she was beginning to feel angry with herself.

Why had she been so keen to come along? And to have dragged the Doctor into trouble as well was dumb stupid, she told herself scathingly. Of course she'd always longed for excitement and adventure, but this was not quite what she had bargained for. Were suffering and danger inseparable adjuncts to any adventure, she wondered.

All right. She'd just have to master her feelings and try to keep a clear head, and be ready to act when the time came. She was no superhero and was not sure how much physical violence she could inflict on anyone, however deserving. But if the opportunity arose, she would force herself to hit Gribbs over the head with the nearest blunt object. Dynes too for that matter - preferably with one of his own cameras.

Out on the fringe of the Gelsandoran system the fabric of space rippled.

The grey cabinet that had been Alpha's strongbox emerged from the discontinuity of hyperspace. For some minutes it flew on freely, sensors scanning busily. Then thrusters flared to adjust its course and it headed towards the inner system.

The morning light was grey and washed out, with that secondhand quality to it that Myra always found uninspiring.

The air was heavy and the sun, though rising in a virtually cloudless sky, was filtered by a thin haze that hung over the waterlands, giving It a muggy dankness. Though she'd slept through the night she still felt tired and her legs ached from yesterday's climb. It was a small consolation that the rest were apparently no better, yawning in each other's face and responding in grumpy monosyllables. Even Falstaff seemed to be unusually muted, neither complaining nor boasting, and they breakfasted in almost total silence. Finally Thorrin appeared to rise above the general malaise and spoke at some length.

'I think it might be useful to spend a few hours here before we start off again. These people may know something about the conditions that lie ahead of us. I know that they were unresponsive last night, but perhaps those we saw were not typical specimens. They may also have been put off by our numbers. So I propose the Marquis and I question them alone.'

They all nodded and murmured ascent at this. Myra was grateful. She didn't feel up to starting another day's trek at that moment. The rigours of the valley and the ascent up the cliff must have taken more out of her than she had thought. When the meal was concluded, Thorrin and Rosscarrino plodded away towards the settlement. Falstaff sprawled like a beached whale on the sand, while Brockwell slowly began to pack away the camping gear.

Arnella rubbed her eyes lazily. 'I wish I could wake up properly.'

'Me too,' agreed Myra. 'Perhaps a swim might help - or maybe you'd rather not.'

Arnella managed a wry smile. 'Just as long as I can see the bottom, and we don't share the water with anything dangerous...'

She paused, frowning. 'Have I thanked you yet for saving me yesterday?'

'Yes... I think so.'

They sat looking at each other stupidly for a moment, then Myra remembered. 'Shall we then?'

'What?'

'Swim.'

'Yes, of course.' Arnella took a deep breath. 'Anything to wake up.'

They set off in the opposite direction to the settlement. An outcrop of rock formed a tiny headland, and climbing this they found a sheltered cove on the far side, with a clear sandy bottom.