‘Finished?’ He felt as if his heart had missed a beat.
‘The chess set, my Lord. I have finished the final piece.’
And Kesar saw now that Cruger was holding the piece in his hand, was holding it out to him. Kesar took the figure, the white king, and lifted it up so that it filled his field of vision. The detail on the clothing, the robe, was perfect. The stance was noble, assured. Kesar held the figure close and looked at the face.
The face.
There was no face. Nor was there the blank metal mask that he had half expected. There was nothing. It was rounded smooth, unfinished.
‘I could not decide, my Lord,’ Cruger said, ‘how to depict the would-be Emperor. You understand the problem, I am sure.’
Kesar nodded, said nothing. Was this what he had come to – the culmination of his life – a blank?
‘My Lord?’
Kesar was dimly aware that Cruger had been speaking to him again. ‘I apologise, Cruger,’ he said. ‘My mind was elsewhere. This ship that is arriving…’
‘Of course, my Lord. My apologies.’ It was impossible to tell whether Cruger accepted the explanation. Probably not. ‘I was inquiring whether you had solved the small problem I set you earlier?’ He nodded towards the chessboard set up in the corner of the room. The chair was still pushed back from where Kesar had left it when Helana Trayx had departed.
Kesar could tell from Cruger’s expression, from the hint of smugness in his voice, that he knew the answer. Cruger set problems for Kesar almost every day. And almost every day, Kesar allowed that he had not been able to find the solution. That of course was why Cruger continued to set them. He knew his commander was an impulsive and undisciplined thinker. Even though Cruger had seen Kesar’s game of chess improve immeasurably since their incarceration, he still believed he set problems that Kesar could not solve.
But this time, this one time, perhaps because of the blank-faced king, Kesar let the pretence slip. ‘Ah,’ he breathed, his voice an electronic rasp, ‘that small problem.’ He took a step closer to Cruger, wanted to watch his expression closely, wanted to see deep into the man’s eyes. ‘Yes, I have solved it.’
Cruger covered his reaction well. But the astonishment and the anger were both there, commingled in his eyes. Just for a second. Then he was all praise for Kesar’s skills.
‘Show me, my Lord,’ he said with apparent enthusiasm. ‘I am delighted that this once I have been able to bring out your analytical prowess with my small conundrum.’
Kesar led the general to the board. The answer was straightforward, though it had eluded him for longer than usual. In fact, of the problems Cruger had set him, this was one of the most perplexing. Which made his confession that he had solved it all the more satisfying. For now at least.
Cruger was stroking his short grey beard, tugging at the end of it as he watched Kesar reach across the board. ‘The problem was how white could achieve a position of dominance leading to probable victory in a single move, my Lord.’
‘Thank you, Cruger. I remember.’ The solution had come to him, as these things so often did, in an inspirational flash. It had been while he was examining his face in the mirror, moments before Cruger’s arrival. Or, more importantly, moments after Helana’s departure, for it was her visit that had triggered the insight. As he had thought back over what she had said, he had suddenly seen how Helana could so easily have become Queen Empress – could still, for that matter. She was the very image of a queen, after all.
Kesar picked up the white queen and moved it across the board. ‘The queen exposes herself to three of black’s pieces.’
Cruger nodded. His face was twisted into a smile, but his eyes were deep and dark with anger. ‘Very good, my Lord. Exactly so.’
‘Black can take the queen with any of three pieces. If he does not take the queen, then white will mate in the next move. But whichever piece black uses to capture the queen, he exposes another front that white can exploit with his remaining pieces. Mate in one, or in three. Not a happy choice.’
Cruger drew a deep breath. ‘I am impressed, my Lord, I have to admit. It seems that your ability to process these problems may soon be a match for your improved game.’
‘Perhaps. Though I confess I think you sometimes allow me to win our games. To massage my vanity perhaps.’ He scratched gently at a metal cheek. ‘What remains of it.’
‘Of course not, my Lord.’
‘Thank you for the piece, Cruger. For the king.’
‘Thank you, my Lord. I am merely sad that my labours are now at an end.’
‘But surely they are only now beginning?’
Cruger blinked. ‘I’m sorry, my Lord?’
‘Now that we are considered a part of the garrison of Santespri. Back in active service for the Republic. When this ship arrives, I think we shall have labours anew.’
‘Indeed, my Lord.’ Cruger nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He gestured back at the board. ‘A game before this ship arrives, my Lord? We have time while Logall’s men complete their preparations for our guests.’
‘Hardly guests.’
‘Visitors, then.’
‘Visitors, if you insist. But I think we shall need to be well rested for their arrival, however we may describe them, Cruger.’
Cruger opened his hands, as if in polite disagreement. ‘Then afterwards. Perhaps.’
Kesar nodded. ‘Afterwards.’
‘My Lord.’ Cruger seemed genuinely disappointed at the thought of not playing. His step was sluggish, thoughtful as he made his way to the door.
‘If you really want to play,’ Kesar said, ‘I think the Doctor might make an opponent worthy even of your game, Cruger.’ Behind the mask, he smiled as he added, ‘Or you could challenge the General in Chief if he can spare the time.’
Cruger bowed at the door. The irony of the suggestion was obviously not lost on him. ‘The Doctor, perhaps,’ he said as he left. ‘I doubt Trayx would have the time.’
The door clicked shut, followed by the sound of the lock.
‘I doubt, Trayx, that you would need much time,’ Kesar said straight to the camera.
The bed was a stone slab draped with a single threadbare blanket. The sink was a hollow in the wall into which icy cold water dripped constantly. The only other sanitation was a small hole in the floor at the edge of the wall which vented directly through the osmotic shielding and into space. There were no windows, and the door was solid metal. There was no need for a grille in the door, for the surveillance camera fed images to a monitor outside the cell as well as to the guard room.
Sponslor was sitting on the bed. It was that or the floor. He was shivering from the cold, bracing himself to try to stop the shaking. Afraid that he would be thought afraid. He had been left for what seemed like forever. His whole life had come to this, had culminated in this tiny room on this barren rock. His dignity and honour had been stripped away with his boots and his under-armour. He was dressed in a thin coverall, his feet bare. His only hope, his only focused thought, was that he would have a visitor. He knew who he expected – who had to come, if only to discover whether he had completed his task. And when they came, he would be free. Or soon after. The plan – if it all went to plan – would see him set free.
There was no lock on the door. It was bolted with thick strips of steel. As they were pulled back, Sponslor heard the scrape of metal on metal. He did not stand. He knew who he was expecting, had rehearsed over and over what he would say. Had heard a hundred variations of the answer. There were no surprises left to him.
Or so he thought.
By instinct as much as training, he shot to his feet when he saw the figure framed in the doorway.
‘As you were.’ The voice was sombre, heavy, low.
Sponslor swore under his breath. He should have shown only contempt. It was too late to bluff, and he owed this man no allegiance.
‘I wonder if you have had time to reflect on your situation yet.’ Trayx did not move from the doorway. Spons
lor said nothing. He picked at a nail, flicking the dirt he extracted across the room. ‘I see you have not.’
Trayx was in the room now, standing in front of Sponslor, who could see his booted feet on the floor beside his own. Polished boots beside grubby skin.
‘A shame,’ Trayx went on. ‘But hardly unexpected. We want – we need – to know what you were doing in the Banqueting Hall. Who you are working for, what is their agenda.’
Sponslor studied the boots, tried to rationalise the reflected light on the toecap of one. He said nothing.
Trayx exhaled heavily. His breath was a fine mist in the air beside Sponslor. ‘I’ve brought you a visitor.’
Sponslor’s head snapped up. Perhaps, after all…
‘Allow me to make the introductions. Perhaps you did not realise who was in my entourage for this visit to Santespri.’
He looked back towards the open door. Sponslor followed his gaze, and saw that in the shadows beyond the threshold stood another figure. A shadow. Silent and dark.
‘This is Sponslor,’ Trayx was saying. ‘He has no rank, no status. Not any more. I know you won’t dignify him with one.’ Trayx turned back to Sponslor. ‘I don’t think you have met before, have you? This is Tordoc. I’m sure you have heard of him.’
Sponslor tried to shake his head, but he was shivering more than ever now. A draught from the open door? No it was more than that. It was as if the newcomer had thrown a further chill into the room ahead of him.
Trayx smiled. It was not pleasant. ‘Tordoc is, of course, the Lord High Interrogator of Haddron, Master of the Implements of Torture and Pain.’
Sponslor turned back to the door, his mouth hanging slack. He barely realised that he had stopped shivering. His whole body seemed frozen in position apart from his head. The shadowy figure stepped into the cell. He was wrapped in a black cloak, the hood hanging back over his shoulders so that his head emerged from it as if from a shell. And his face was dark and shadowed.
In the guardroom, a small group of people were clustered round the monitor showing the image from the cell. The voices emerged, tinny and distant, from a small speaker set in the base of the screen.
‘Do you think he will get us the information we need?’ Warden Mithrael asked.
It was Prion who answered. ‘I believe it is possible. If anyone can, he can.’
On the screen Trayx left the cell, closing the door behind him.
‘Can you not make it any louder?’ Jamie asked.
‘Oh Jamie,’ Victoria was standing beside him, ‘I’m not sure I want to hear.’ Behind her, Trayx let himself quietly into the guardroom.
Two figures were alone now in the cell. One stood, looking down, his shadow falling across the man sitting terrified on the bed.
‘What do you know about pain?’
Sponslor struggled to answer, but somehow his voice seemed to stick in his throat.
‘It is caused by the stimulation of nerve endings,’ the Interrogator continued. ‘Pain, I mean.’
Sponslor tried not to listen. He tried to yawn, to look away, wanted to lie back casually on the bed. But instead he sat bolt upright, absolutely still, listening rapt to the Lord High Interrogator’s words.
‘Any stimulation can cause pain. Pressure. Heat. Cold, as you can tell in here. Tissue damage. The more extreme the stimulation, the more extreme the pain. A simple response mechanism. There are pain receptors all over the body, you know. And also at many internal points too. The stimulation initiates a response within the spinal cord, and relays the information to the brain. It is, as they say, all in the mind.’
The man’s eyes were deep and dark as he leaned forward. ‘But you knew that, I think. Or as much of it as you felt you needed to. Until now.’
Still Sponslor did not – could not – move or answer.
The Interrogator continued, as if he expected no reply. ‘What is less obvious, less apparent, is that there are psychological factors governing the degree of pain an individual feels. It is not as straightforward as the strength of the stimulus determining the strength of the response. Oh no. We must also take into account the release in the brain and the spinal cord of endorphins and enkephalins.’ He paused, smiled. ‘Forgive me: they are peptides which mitigate the pain. Of course, their release – or not – may also be controlled or affected by the use of drugs. I expect you knew that too, if you thought about it.
‘Another thing to take into account,’ the Interrogator went on, ‘is that stimulation of one body region may reduce pain felt in another. Or exacerbate it. A pain in one area can become a trigger zone – can cause pain to start in another.’
He reached out a hand from inside the cloak. Sponslor watched, unable to move as it slowly closed on his face. He could see the lines on the tip of the index finger, the edge of the nail.
‘In this case, even a light touch can be painful.’ The man’s finger dusted Sponslor’s cheek. He was not aware, not really aware, if he actually felt the pain or not. But it was enough to break the spell of immobility. Sponslor pushed himself backward, his feet pressed hard against the cold stone floor, and he launched himself across the bed. In a moment he was huddled into a corner of the wall, the blanket pulled round him for comfort. He realised he was shivering again, could feel his teeth chattering, could hear the high-pitched whimper that escaped from between them.
The Interrogator had not moved, his finger was still extended into space. Now he used it to point at Sponslor, to stab the air as he spoke. ‘It’s fascinating, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘Consider very carefully what I have just explained. And soon, very soon, we shall talk again.’
Sponslor was shaking now. Not just shivering, but shaking, as if he would fall apart. He drew the thin blanket closer round him, but it seemed to have no effect.
The Interrogator turned and walked slowly to the door. He knocked on it, once, and the bolts were drawn back. As he left, the man turned back. The light was behind him again, so that he seemed but a shadow. ‘You seem cold,’ he said, his voice freezing in the air as he spoke. ‘I’ll make sure that we turn up the heat.’
The Doctor, Victoria and Jamie stood at the back of the group. They watched on the screen for a while. Sponslor was still shaking, cowering behind the blanket.
‘Oh Doctor, can we go now?’ Victoria asked. ‘There’s nothing to see.’
‘Couldn’t hear much either,’ Jamie complained.
‘Yes, it was all a bit quiet, wasn’t it,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Though often that’s the most effective way.’
‘Do you think he’ll tell us what’s happening?’
‘Now, Victoria, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ The Doctor coughed, and clapped his hands together. ‘Now I think perhaps we should retire to our rooms for a while and let these gentlemen get on with preparing for our new arrivals.’ He led them back to the door. ‘Come along. We’ll pop back a bit later to finish up here.’
‘Letting him stew a bit, eh, Doctor?’ Jamie asked.
‘He looks terrified,’ Victoria said, stealing a last glance back at the screen. ‘Doctor, what did you say to him in there?’
They had been in their rooms for less than five minutes when Prion arrived.
‘And what do you want?’ Jamie asked, standing in the doorway so that Prion was forced to wait in the corridor.
‘Two things,’ Prion told him, not apparently distressed by Jamie’s surly behaviour. ‘The first is a message for the Doctor. The other concerns you all.’
‘Then I think we should hear about it.’ The Doctor popped up from behind Jamie and ushered Prion past him into the room. ‘Now, what message have you for me?’
‘General Cruger wonders if you would care for a chess match.’
‘Does he now? That’s very considerate of him, though we are going to be rather busy.’
‘He is extremely eager,’ Prion said, sounding anything but eager himself. ‘He proposes a virtual match over the communications system.’
‘An
d what does that mean?’ Jamie asked.
Prion said nothing, but pointed to a corner of the room. Jamie turned to look, knowing there was nothing to see. Yet even as he turned a low chess table swam into existence. It shimmered for a moment, as if in a heat haze, then solidified.
‘That’s amazing,’ Victoria exclaimed.
Prion crossed to the virtual table. He stood behind it, looking back at the Doctor and his friends. They could just see his lower body through the projection of the table. He reached out and picked up a piece – the black king. ‘You may play as if the pieces and the board were real,’ he said, ‘although, of course, they are not.’ He opened his hand and let go of the king. It hovered in the air for a moment, then winked out of existence, reappearing a second later back on its square.
‘I see.’ The Doctor nodded. ‘And General Cruger has an identical board in his room, I take it. So we can see the game, but not each other.’
Prion nodded. ‘There is an audio link. If you accept his challenge.’
The Doctor tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘You mentioned two reasons for this visit,’ he said at last. ‘What’s the other one?’
‘I have asked the armourer to attend you shortly,’ Prion replied. ‘He will furnish you with battle armour for the imminent attack. You may take your choice of the available weapons once the garrison has been fully armed.’
The Doctor nodded slowly. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘Weapons,’ Jamie interrupted. ‘Now that’s more like it.’
‘I shan’t need any weapons,’ Victoria said.
The Doctor agreed. ‘Nor will I.’
‘Och, Doctor –’
‘Now, Jamie, please don’t argue. I’m not sure we want armour either.’
Prion considered this. ‘It is your decision, of course. I would recommend armour for your own protection even if you do not intend to take an active role in the defence of Santespri.’
‘Well I certainly do,’ Jamie announced, drawing himself up to his full height.
The Doctor ignored his comment. ‘Thank you, Prion. I shall not require armour myself, but I think some level of protection would be a sensible precaution for Jamie and Victoria.’
Doctor Who: Dreams of Empire: 50th Anniversary Edition Page 14
