Winner Takes All (7 page)

But, to her amazement, she came out somewhere that she actually
knew.
It was the newsagent's shop where the Doctor had bought his seventeen
Guardians
; where she'd bought that last pint of milk, now in Mickey's fridge; where she'd totally failed to win on the scratchcards.

She considered briefly that the newsagent was in league with the aliens, but she couldn't see it somehow. He might be a bit grumpy, but he wasn't that bad. And the door into the shop obviously hadn't been opened for ages.

Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed her come in. The newsagent was serving a customer at the front of the shop, and he couldn't have heard the door opening over the loud background Radio One.

She slipped out of the front door, on to the street. There in front of her was the prize booth, the place that they'd totally failed to get into before. The Quevvils had obviously extended it down, linked it up with some of the old shop cellars. A nice little underground base that no one'd suspect.

But now what could she do?

She looked down the high street for inspiration. Woolworths. Chemist's. Chippie. She couldn't half fancy a portion of chips, swimming in salt and vinegar . . .

Something clicked, somewhere at the back of her mind. Something she'd once read, or seen on one of those
Wildlife on One
documentaries. Porcupines and salt. Porcupines would do anything for salt; they were like total salt addicts. Would it be too much to hope – yes, it would be, it would be far too much to hope that these creatures had the same craving, just because they looked like the Earth animal . . . But they
might
do, and it was the best plan she had . . .

She nipped into the chip shop. The smell was divine, but all she had was the pound coin she'd picked up from behind Mickey's chair; she couldn't afford to treat herself. But there was no one else in the shop, no one to create a distraction.

‘Portion of chips, please,' she said. ‘Wrapped.'

The pretty Chinese girl behind the counter slid a shovelful of golden-brown chips on to some paper. ‘Salt and vinegar?' she asked.

‘I'll do them myself,' said Rose, picking up the giant salt pot. ‘Oh, and could I get a can of Coke?' She pointed to the fridge behind the counter, and the girl turned. And the instant she did, Rose was out of the door, salt cellar in hand, regretfully leaving the chips behind her. She waited for the girl to shout out, but it never came. Perhaps customers did runners all the time. It wasn't as if she'd nicked the chips. The girl might not have noticed the absence of the salt. It was the second time that day that Rose had been a minor criminal. But, after all, she was potentially saving the world.

Now came the next part of her plan, the part that relied totally on luck. Because if this bit didn't work, she might have to turn criminal for real, to get her hands on a winning scratchcard. But before that, she'd give it a go. She pulled the pound coin out of her jeans pocket, and strode back into the newsagent's.

‘A hundred penny sweets, please,' she said.

Rose's fifty-eighth card was the lucky one. She was getting pretty fed up with scratching off the silver stuff only to find the inappropriately jolly message, ‘Sorry, you've not won this time! Please try again!' She'd ‘please try again'ed until she thought her fingernail was nearly worn down to the bone.

But here it was. Here was the winning card. She'd won a games console.

Rose hurried across to the prize booth. There was no queue. She placed her card in the slot, and after a few moments' delay the door opened up. She went in. Inside was a counter, and behind it was a Quevvil, its mouth twisted in what might have been meant to be a friendly smile. ‘Congratulations!' it said. ‘You have won! I will fetch your prize.'

It moved away from the counter, and Rose leaned over to look. There was a tiny room behind it, with another door at the back – and on the floor, a trapdoor. That was it! That must be the entrance to the corridor under the ground! Time for the final phase of her plan – if only it worked . . .

She stepped back from the counter, trying to keep as far away from it as possible. Then she removed the giant salt shaker, and sprinkled a tiny bit on the floor.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. It was much, much more than she'd hoped for. The Quevvil began sniffing. It raised its nose in the air like an ugly, spiny Bisto kid. Then it darted forwards, scrabbling over the counter, ungainly and desperate. As the creature sank to the floor, its black tongue darting out to lick up the treat, Rose followed its route in reverse, diving over the counter into the little room beyond. She tried the trapdoor, but it seemed locked from this side as well, and she didn't have time to experiment. So she upended the salt container, and scattered it all over the floor, making sure that some of it trickled down the sides of the trapdoor. And then she ran out of the far door, offering up thanks that the alien locks must only work from the outside, and she didn't have to make her way back past the maddened Quevvil scrabbling on the floor. She slammed the door behind her, and, ignoring the interested looks from passers-by, hurried back across to the newsagent's.

‘Look, I've only got a limited number of them cards,' the newsagent said. ‘If you're going to do that again, you can just buzz off somewhere else.'

Rose gave the man her most charming smile. ‘Just browsing,' she said. She waited till he was once more distracted with a customer and then, praying he didn't have CCTV installed, nipped back through the door to the cellar.

She opened the door to the corridor and peered through the gap. Her plan was working! Boy, those giant porcupines must really love their salt. All four Quevvils were on the ground below the trapdoor, licking at the floor like thirsty puppies. As she watched, one of them got to its feet and started climbing awkwardly up the ladder, then the others followed. She couldn't see what the first one did to open the hatch, but open it he did. All four climbed through, and before it was shut again, she could hear an explosion of snuffling sounds from above, as the rest of the salt bounty was discovered.

The instant the trapdoor was shut, Rose moved. She gazed up as she reached it, but had no idea how to activate the alien lock. She gave the ladder a quick tug, but it was bolted too firmly to the wall. She had to keep the Quevvils at bay for as long as possible, though . . . She plunged her hands into her pockets, looking for inspiration. She couldn't afford to waste time . . . Only one thing occurred and she did it as quickly as possible, before hurrying into the first room, the one they'd teleported into. She locked the door behind her, not that it would keep out a determined Quevvil for long. Then she darted across to the other door, and turned the key. She opened the door, and there was the Doctor, and there was Mickey, tied to a couple of plastic chairs, playing the game.

‘Surprise!' she called.

They both turned, enormous grins on their faces. ‘What kept you?' said the Doctor.

SEVEN

R
ose made as if to shut the door again, trapping the Doctor and Mickey in the Quevvils' basement once more. ‘A bit of gratitude, please, or the rescue stops here and now,' she said, but she was grinning as broadly as they were.

‘I take back everything I was saying about humans being useless,' said the Doctor.

‘When were you saying that?' asked Rose, indignantly.

Mickey sighed. ‘Oh, 'bout every other minute for the last hour.'

Rose glanced at her watch. It had taken her some time to effect the rescue. But better late than never. She moved over to them and began working on their bonds, Mickey first. Her instinct had been to release the Doctor first, and although that was just a perfectly natural choice, didn't mean a thing, somebody had to be first, she had an idea Mickey would take it more personally than that. And because she didn't want to admit that he would be right to do so, she'd changed her plan.

She looked at the Doctor, his elbows tied tightly to the chair arms so he had enough freedom to manipulate the control pad, but not enough to untie himself. ‘Wish I had a camera,' she said. ‘That'd be one for the album. Not to mention I could probably make a fortune from any alien bondage websites there are out there.'

‘Does your mother know about your obsession with these “alien bondage websites”?' he replied.

‘Why do you think she's so suspicious of you?' Rose said. ‘I told her you were the mastermind behind them.'

‘Are there really alien bondage websites?' asked Mickey.

Rose and the Doctor burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, I'll give you the address when we get back,' said the Doctor.

‘Don't be silly, I didn't really think there was . . .' Mickey continued hurriedly. Then, as the Doctor didn't stop laughing, he added, ‘Although aliens being gagged, I can see the appeal of that.'

Rose finished untying Mickey, and turned her attention to the Doctor. Soon his ropes lay on the floor, and Rose waited for him to stand up so they could make their getaway. But he stayed sitting down, still holding the control pad.

‘Hadn't we better be getting out of here?' she said urgently.

‘Hang on a minute,' the Doctor said. ‘I wanna try something. Sit down, Mickey.'

Mickey had stood up, eager to be getting going, but sat down at the Doctor's words, seemingly to his own surprise. ‘But those things could be back any minute,' he said.

The Doctor shook his head, as if such things really didn't concern him. He gestured at the image on screen in front of him. ‘Does any of this look familiar to you?'

Mickey looked at it. ‘Nope.'

‘Thought not. Can't have everyone doing the same thing at the same time.' The Doctor leaned across to look at Mickey's screen. ‘And yours doesn't ring any bells with me. Except . . . look up there.'

Mickey obediently pressed the relevant buttons. There was a tunnel entrance visible in the top corner of the screen.

‘I think I've seen that,' said the Doctor. ‘Right back at the beginning. So if I can just reverse to that point . . .'

‘You can remember every turn you made for an hour or so?' said Rose. ‘Blimey. I get lost in Hampton Court maze.'

‘Nah, that's easy,' said the Doctor dismissively. ‘It's hardly even up to your shoulders.' He thought for a second. ‘Mind you, it might've grown a bit since I was last there.'

‘Yeah, well, I went in 1998 on a school trip,' said Rose. ‘Every turn there were snogging couples taking advantage of being out of sight of the teachers. You're going to tell me you went in the 1700s or something, aren't you?'

He grinned. ‘Not if you don't want me to. I'll tell you this, though, there were snogging couples using it even then. Had to be careful that their powdered wigs didn't get caught on twigs. Last thing you want, you lean in for a snog and suddenly this impressionable young lady's seeing your hairdo as nature intended. Puts you right off.'

‘Don't tell me you know that from personal experience,' she said, glancing at the Doctor's closely cropped head and battered leather jacket and trying to imagine him in full Restoration get-up, velvet, brocade and periwig. ‘I really don't want to know. Ewwww!'

The Doctor laughed, his eyes never leaving the screen. ‘Not my scene,' he said.

As the minutes passed, Rose got increasingly nervous. ‘I really reckon it'd be a good idea to get out of here,' she said. ‘Those aliens are gonna be back here soon, and we don't have any weapons or nothing . . .'

‘Just a bit longer . . .' said the Doctor, eyes fixed on the screen.

But Rose was feeling really agitated. ‘Can't you do whatever you're doing back home, if we just got hold of a couple of consoles?'

He shook his head, although he said, ‘Maybe. But if what I think is true, there's no time to lose . . .'

Rose suddenly remembered something. ‘There's a sort of diagram out there,' she said, pointing through the door. ‘Maybe that'd help you do it quicker.'

The Doctor darted through the door, and she heard him call, ‘Yes!' He popped his head round the doorframe and gave her a thumbs-up. ‘This'll do it!' he said. ‘Rose, pick up the control pad, and do exactly what I tell you.'

‘But I don't do computer games!' she cried.

‘You do now,' he replied.

So she sat there, and did her best to keep up with the rapid and complicated instructions the Doctor was calling through from the next room.

‘Why's he doing this?' she asked Mickey.

‘Dunno,' he said, shrugging. ‘But it's been bugging him. He's been desperate to try this out. Trouble is, those Spiny Normans got a bit unhappy if you didn't stick with their plan, so he's not been able to do what he wanted.'

The Doctor's voice floated through again, sounding excited: ‘This is it, any minute now . . . Keep an eye on your screens!'

Rose focused her gaze in front of her. But suddenly the control pad in her hand juddered. She tried pushing the button to carry on ahead, but it resisted her touch. It looked as if the same thing was happening to Mickey.

‘Doctor!' she called out. ‘It's going all funny!'

He hurried back in. ‘Aha!' he said. ‘That means we're getting close, I reckon. Got to maintain the fiction of the game, see. Thought there might be some sort of safeguards.' He took Rose's control pad and prised off the cover, then began poking around inside it with his sonic screwdriver. Having put the cover back on, he handed it to her. ‘There,' he said. ‘See what that's like. Few adjustments and that plan out there, we should be able to get round this.'