Doctor Who: Dreams of Empire: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Richards, Justin

  But not tonight.

  ‘You have it?’ The cloaked figure turned from the wall where the camera was hidden and checked the small device he had held up to it.

  ‘Are we alone?’ the other figure hissed. The dark outline of an archway was barely visible behind the figure.

  ‘We are now. Even assuming that camera still works.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’ The man shrugged off the heavy hood of his cloak. In the dim light he was revealed to be a man in his middle years. His hair was short and dark, a moustache drooping slightly over his top lip. His eyes were deep set and his cheeks slightly hollow. ‘I hate all this skulking about, all this hugger-mugger activity. The sooner I can get away from here, the better.’

  ‘Then the sooner you provide me with the components I need, the sooner I can free you.’ The other figure made no effort to remove its hood, keeping to the shadows. ‘Now, do you have it?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got it. It wasn’t easy, but I got it.’

  The hooded figure held out a gloved hand.

  ‘Oh no. It’s not that simple.’ The man’s lips curled into a smile that nudged his moustache out of alignment and revealed yellowing teeth. ‘Promises of freedom are all very well. But I’m free already – that’s how I can get this stuff for you. It’s not the Secure Area, the locks and bolts and surveillance systems that are keeping me on this cold rock.’

  ‘It’s your commission.’

  ‘Too right.’

  ‘You want to buy yourself out?’

  The man drew a small transparent box from within the cloak. Nestled inside, held within foam packaging, was a tiny electronic component. He held it up for the other figure to see. ‘You said it. This is my ticket to freedom. This is my pass out of the military, out of tedious guard duties and senseless patrols and back to civilisation.’ He grinned. ‘If you want it, and I know that you do, then you’ll have to pay for it.’

  The gloved hand withdrew, back inside the cloak. ‘And where do you think I can get the money to pay you?’

  ‘Oh you’ll think of something. You’ve got contacts, so have I. Set up a deal back home, and I’ll hear of it. When I get the credit chit, you get the phase regulator.’ He tossed the plastic box into the air and caught it again. ‘But not until.’

  The cloaked figure neither moved nor spoke for a while.

  ‘Oh come on,’ the man said at last. ‘I know what this means to you. I got you the other stuff, and I reckon I deserve a bit more than promises you may not be able to make good.’ He cocked his head slightly to one side. ‘Someone provides, someone has to pay. I provide, you pay. Simple as that.’

  ‘Someone has to pay,’ the other figure murmured. ‘Yes, perhaps it is a simple matter of recompense.’

  ‘And I’ll hang on to this, until I get paid. Do we have a deal?’

  The cloaked figure stepped forward. The gloved hand extended, palm open. ‘We have a deal.’

  The man smiled. ‘Good.’ The relief was evident in his voice as he reached out and gripped the gloved hand. ‘Good. I knew you’d see sense.’

  They shook hands firmly. Then the man with the moustache tried to let go. But the other’s grip was tight, holding him firm. As he frowned, tried to pull free, the gloved hand snapped backward, dragging him suddenly close to the cloaked figure.

  The man’s mouth dropped open in surprise, a low guttural sound erupting from his throat. It was followed a moment later by a stream of blood.

  The cloaked figure withdrew the laser dagger from the dead man’s stomach and let the body fall to the ground. The whole of the front torso was sliced open, spilling its steaming contents on to the stone cold floor. A gloved hand reached down and sought through the man’s pockets until it found what it was looking for – a small electronic component nestling inside a foam harness within a transparent plastic box.

  ‘Someone always has to pay,’ the cloaked figure hissed. Then it turned and walked away.

  In the observation room, the screen of static slowly cleared. An image emerged from within the swirl of interference. It showed an enhanced image of a stone-lined room. The room was empty apart from the body lying on the floor.

  The expert system that monitored each camera’s output data and scanned the audio frequencies for key words and phrases registered the change. It cleared a flag that indicated that another camera had malfunctioned. It inspected the image, and compared it to the last stored image from the same camera at exactly the same angle. The system isolated the changes from one image to another, and ran a query on the resultant image content. When the system found a reasonable match, it invoked its artificial-intelligence programs to determine appropriate action.

  Three-tenths of a second after the image from the camera had cleared, the alarm sounded in the duty guards’ quarters.

  Darkling was almost back at the barrack section when the communicator signalled. It was set directly into the breastplate of his light combat armour. When the emergency signal came, it was a low-level pulse of electricity through his nervous system – enough to nudge the adrenaline up a little and get his attention. It obviated the need for an audible bleep or a flash of light that might betray his position to an enemy.

  It certainly got his attention, and Darkling pressed the receive button on his wrist, and listened to the voice that spoke through the tiny speaker set into his helmet. Then he swore, and started running. Before long, he could hear the sound of more running feet as the rest of the duty patrol converged on the same area.

  The damp cellerage reverberated to the harsh, grinding, almost metallic sound. The flickering lamplight was augmented by flashes of white brilliance that strobed in time to the grating sound. Then, with a sudden thump of sound, the noise and the light both ceased abruptly.

  In one dimly lit corner, a large blue box now stood where moments earlier had been bare flagstones and shadow.

  Jamie was first out of the TARDIS. He paused in the doorway and sniffed at the damp air, then blew it out again in a steamy cloud. A moment later, he pitched forward as the Doctor pushed his way past, Victoria close on his heels.

  ‘Och, Doctor.’

  ‘Sorry, Jamie, but if you will stand in the doorway…’

  ‘It’s not that, Doctor.’ Jamie peered through the dim light, struggling to make out the details of the stone walls. ‘It’s this place.’

  The Doctor looked round, arms outstretched and palms open. ‘It’s certainly got character.’

  ‘It’s dark and damp.’

  ‘It’s freezing cold, too,’ Victoria added, hugging herself. ‘Oh, Doctor, can’t we go somewhere else?’

  But the Doctor was already halfway to an archway on the other side of the room. ‘Just a quick look round, I think.’ He paused in mid-step, and started jumping up and down.

  ‘Now what’s he doing?’ Jamie wondered.

  ‘Oh come on, Jamie. Walking will keep us warm, at least.’

  They caught up with the Doctor just as he stopped leaping into the air. Instead he licked his finger and held it up above his head. ‘That’s strange.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘There’s a draught.’

  Jamie sighed. ‘Doctor, we’re in a castle, by the look of it. Castles are always draughty. And cold and damp.’

  ‘That depends on where they are, Jamie.’ The Doctor beamed at him through the gloom. ‘You need air round them to get a draught.’ He turned and made for the archway again. ‘Provided they’re properly looked after, of course.’

  ‘I’ll tell you somebody who needs properly looking after,’ Jamie muttered. Victoria took his arm and led him after the Doctor.

  The Doctor was waiting in the archway. He seemed almost frozen in position, not reacting when his two friends joined him.

  ‘What is it, Doctor?’ Victoria asked. ‘Where are we, do you think?’

  The Doctor said nothing, and both Jamie and Victoria tried to see over his shoulder into the area beyond.

  ‘Trouble?’ Jamie hazarded.

&nb
sp; ‘There’s always trouble, Jamie.’ The Doctor’s voice was low, calm and serious. ‘And I’m afraid we always seem to find it.’ He walked purposefully across the room, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets.

  Jamie and Victoria followed. Jamie’s eyes were adjusting to the dim light now, and he could see the Doctor crouching beside something on the ground.

  ‘I think perhaps you should take Victoria back to the TARDIS, Jamie.’ The Doctor did not look up from the dark shape he was examining.

  The light glistened on the wet floor, and Jamie realised that the shape was a body. A body that had shed a lot of blood. As he turned to shield Victoria from the sight, to lead her away, Jamie saw more shapes. But these were upright – figures, grouped in the arched doorway behind them.

  Not a word was said. The soldiers grabbed both Jamie and Victoria and roughly pushed them against the nearest wall, patting them down. Behind him, Jamie was aware of the Doctor being similarly searched for weapons. Jamie heard a slight intake of breath as the soldier that was searching him reached his lower leg. When he stood up, the man was holding Jamie’s dirk. The narrow blade caught the light as he held it up for the others to see.

  Then Jamie felt his legs kicked from under him, and he crashed to the floor. He threw his hands out to break his fall. They slipped on the damp floor, and he had to scrabble to keep from pitching face down into the flagstones. He slowly pulled himself to his feet again, aware of the Doctor and Victoria standing beside him, their hands on their heads; aware of the soldiers standing facing them with guns drawn and aimed while two of their fellows examined the ruptured body in the middle of the room; aware of the congealing blood smeared across the palms of his hands.

  CHAPTER THREE

  QUIET MOVES

  DARKLING HANDED THE knife over to Captain Logall, and turned back to face the intruders. The younger man stared back at him defiantly. The older man, the scruffy one, seemed nonplussed. The young woman was shivering with the cold and perhaps fear. Darkling wondered briefly if he should apologise for the fact that the conditioners in the lower areas had long since packed up.

  As he looked at the woman, as he admired the way her hair framed her face, how her lip quivered ever so slightly, how she met his gaze, he failed to notice the young man’s movements. He bent over as if to adjust the sock where the knife had been concealed.

  ‘Look out!’ Logall’s cry was just too late.

  The young man’s head caught Darkling hard in the stomach, throwing him backward as he doubled up in pain. He collapsed into Logall and two of the other soldiers.

  Logall lunged forward, stumbling as he tried to negotiate Darkling’s retching form. From the ground, Darkling’s vision misted with tears as he tried desperately to catch his breath. He saw the two men run for the nearest door. The older man’s coat tails streamed out behind him as he ran. The woman made to follow, but Logall caught her by the shoulder and dragged her back. He hurled her across the room towards Gregor, who grabbed her, holding her arms pinioned behind her back as she shouted and struggled.

  Milles and Sanjak were already after the men, armour clanking as they ran. So much for the noise suppression.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ Darkling dragged himself to his feet, reaching out for the wall for support.

  Logall just glared at him. Then he punched the communicator on his wrist.

  The woman was shouting at them, her voice high-pitched with nervous excitement, echoing off the stonework. ‘Let me go, you can’t keep me here. We haven’t done anything. Who are you people?’

  Logall grimaced, hand to his ear as he tried to listen for the connect signal. He waved at Gregor. ‘Shut her up, can’t you?’

  Gregor clamped his hand over the woman’s mouth. The noise subsided slightly, but she could still be heard in muffled gasps and exhortations. Gregor dragged her backwards through the archway into the next area, the sound of her struggles and gasps growing fainter as he went.

  ‘Thank you.’ Logall returned his attention to the communicator. ‘Logall here. Three intruders in the lower area. We have apprehended one female. Two male intruders still at large, we are in pursuit.’ He looked over towards the body lying in the middle of the room. One of the soldiers was standing beside it, his face drawn and grim.

  ‘It’s Remas, sir.’

  Logall nodded. ‘Remas is dead,’ he said into the communicator. ‘Get a forensic expert here.’ His listened for a moment, then snapped, ‘Well, whoever we have got then. A medic, first-aider, whoever.’

  Another pause. Darkling was getting his breath back now, doing his best to stand to attention.

  ‘You all right?’ Logall mouthed at Darkling. He nodded. ‘Description of the two intruders still at large,’ Logall said: ‘one is a young male wearing a skirt. The other is older and shorter.’ He started to lower his wrist, then changed his mind, and added, ‘And he’s got a sandwich stuck to his bottom.’

  The Doctor and Jamie had stopped running. They were making their way cautiously up a narrow winding staircase.

  ‘What about Victoria?’ Jamie hissed. ‘We can’t just leave her there.’

  The Doctor held his hand up. He half turned on the stair. ‘We’ll soon meet up again when they catch us, Jamie.’

  ‘If we’re going to get caught any way, why not just go back? We can tell them we didn’t kill that man. We weren’t even there.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll work that out for themselves, Jamie. But while they’re not shooting at us, we have a chance to look around a bit. Find out where we are.’

  ‘What good will that do?’ Jamie asked as they continued up the stairs.

  ‘It’s always best to argue from a position of knowledge,’ the Doctor said as they emerged into a long hallway. ‘Though that doesn’t stop some people, I admit.’ The walls were lined with paintings and hung with heavy swords and shields. Lamps flickered nervously along its length. Serveral doors led off the hallway at irregular intervals. ‘Now the important thing is to keep absolutely quiet and avoid being caught for as long as possible.’ The Doctor stopped, index finger to his lips as he considered. ‘Yes,’ he whispered at last, pointing to a nearby door, ‘this way, I think.’

  It was a cupboard, full of cleaning materials. Several brushes and mops fell out and clattered noisily to the floor as the Doctor opened the door.

  ‘Or perhaps not,’ he admitted. They bundled the things back into the cupboard and set off along the corridor.

  The air was noticeably warmer as they climbed the stairway. Victoria had lapsed into silence, realising that her protests were serving only to aggravate her captors. She was led up the stairs, and along a hallway. The castle seemed to be a strange mixture of old and new. The stonework and the decor for the most part suggested a medieval setting. But the sophisticated armour the soldiers wore, and the mix of manual and electronic weaponry that hung on the walls, indicated a far more advanced society.

  Eventually, they stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The guard captain – Logall – stepped forward and rapped on it.

  ‘Enter.’ The voice was surprisingly clear, and it took Victoria a moment to realise that it came not from behind the door, but through a small speaker set into the wall beside it. The door clicked open, and swung slowly back on its hinges. Logall ushered Victoria into the room, removing his helmet as he followed her in.

  The room was unlike any of the castle she had seen so far. For one thing, it was brightly lit. Also, the floor was carpeted in a deep, dark blue. The walls were hung not with weaponry and images of war, but with huge portraits. The furniture seemed closer to the nineteenth-century splendour that Victoria was used to in her own home and at Maxtible’s house near Canterbury than the simple wooden chairs she had passed in alcoves along several of the corridors.

  The far end of the room was taken up with a huge desk made of dark wood – mahogany, perhaps. The man seated behind it rose as they entered, and came round to meet them in the centre of the room. He was tall and heavily built. His face w
as as craggy as the oldest of the stone walls they had passed. His eyes were deep set, but gleamed with interest and intelligence. He was dressed in a heavy robe of scarlet and blue.

  Victoria looked up at the man, hoping she seemed less nervous than she felt. He regarded her in return, a hand pulling at his thick jaw.

  ‘Thank you, Logall.’ The man’s voice was deep and rich. ‘When you find the other two, bring them to me, will you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry to disturb you so late, sir.’

  ‘No matter.’ The man turned and went back to the desk. ‘I have to wait up for our visitors any way. Though I must confess I was expecting a short respite before their arrival.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The man sat down again, pushing a folder to one side and linking his hands on the blotter. ‘You may go,’ he said to Logall. ‘I don’t think I am in any immediate danger, but leave one of your men just in case.’

  ‘Sir.’ Logall turned to one of the soldiers waiting in the doorway. ‘Darkling, you’re volunteered.’

  The soldier stepped forward, taking up position beside the door as it closed behind his comrades. Victoria saw that he had also removed his helmet, and held it in the crook of his left arm. His right hand rested on the butt of the handgun at his side. He was tall, and young – not much older than herself, probably. His hair was short and fair, and his eyes were a deep green.

  The man at the desk spoke, and Victoria turned back to face him. ‘Now then,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘I think you have a little explaining to do.’

  ‘Where am I?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘You don’t know?’ He leaned back in his chair.

  ‘No. I don’t. And who are you?’

  The man’s fingers drummed a quick beat on the desk. ‘You know, I think you really don’t know. And that means you have even more explaining to do.’ He watched her for a while, swinging slightly from side to side in the chair. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I am Mithrael, Warden of Santespri.’