by Mark Gatiss
The twelve elders still stand in the centre of the room, each contained within an elaborate network of wires and braces. Occasionally, one will slightly open its great, dark eye, as though turning over in its sleep. The Apothecaries note this as they busy themselves around the elders.
The nine-sided dais on which the elders stand gives a low hum and rises from the smooth floor. The elders are suddenly several feet higher than those who are caring for them. A forest of cicuitry has been exposed. At each corner of the shape is an empty socket.
As one, the Apothecaries cock their heads to one side, knowing that the countdown has begun. One moves swiftly to the wall and presses a claw into a recessed panel. A drawer glides out. Inside, surrounded by some silky substance, lie nine jade-coloured objects. The Apothecary takes the first and skitters back towards the dais.
Lightning illuminates the room and the whole structure shakes.
The Apothecary does not hesitate. There is no time for solemn ceremony now. It slides the first key into the socket. The key clicks into place with a satisfying thunk.
The creature moves back across the room to retrieve the remaining keys.
The smooth floor beneath its claws trembles…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE MARSH
The cloudless summer sky turned burnt crimson as the sun set and night came on.
The air had chilled rapidly and Jo wished she had set out in rather warmer clothes. She cupped her hands to her mouth and blew into them, then rubbed at her ring-covered fingers.
She was approaching the far side of the aerodrome and kept the long, long perimeter fence to her left as she made her way over the crumbling road. Looking ahead into the encroaching darkness she began to discern the beginnings of the marshland. Mist was creeping over the ground like a spectre reaching out from the grave.
The aerodrome was once again completely silent. In fact, there was little sound at all out there in the vast outdoors except for the occasional eerie wail of the corncrakes.
Rounding the corner at last, she saw what Noah had seen before her; the back entrance, guarded this time by a semicircle of stock-still, black-uniformed troopers, their eyes no longer hidden behind sunglasses but fixed ahead nonetheless.
Jo dropped to her knees in order to make a smaller potential target, but the guards seemed totally unaware of her presence. She turned sharply as a soft crack sounded from somewhere behind.
Jo stiffened. The sound came again, closer now, and was unquestionably footfalls on the wet ground. She shuffled backwards on her haunches and crouched low, as close to the fence as she dared, half-imagining it to be electrified or, at the very least, alarmed.
Blinking in the darkness, she finally made out a figure, bent low like herself, advancing swiftly forward on baseball boots.
‘Noah!’ she hissed.
The boy swung round, startled, then grinned and crept up to her, settling down on the marshy ground.
‘Hi,’ he murmured.
‘What’re you doing here? You should be in bed.’
Noah shrugged. ‘I’m fine now, honestly. Besides…’
Jo gave him a quizzical look. ‘Besides?’
‘I can’t find my dad. Or Uncle Max. I got up this afternoon and there was no one about. In fact, the whole village is pretty deserted.’
Jo frowned. ‘Why have you come back here? Did you remember something else?’
Noah shook his head. ‘It’s still pretty vague. But I know there’s something in these marshes. Something that the aerodrome people want kept quiet. And I know they’ve got the Wing Commander inside there.’ He jerked his head towards the dark and distant shapes of the aerodrome buildings. ‘Somewhere.’
Jo shot a look at the guard and then turned back towards Noah. ‘What else did you and the Wing Commander see? I mean, before you were… attacked? Can you remember?’
Noah frowned. A little fear crept back into his mobile features. There was a faraway look in his eyes. Then his gaze shifted and he stared ahead at the perimeter gates.
‘Yes. I remember. Because they’re at it again. Look!’
The gates were gliding open. Behind them, its engine turning over with a gentle purr, was a lorry. Gradually, a whole fleet emerged out of the darkness, queueing up behind each other. Legion troops clambered down and began unloading their familiar contents.
‘That’s what we saw,’ whispered Noah.
Jo shuddered. ‘They look like coffins.’
Noah nodded. ‘We tried to open one but it was impossible.’
Jo raised herself up on her knees. ‘Where are they taking them?’
‘Dunno. This was as far as I got. They chased me out on to the marsh and…’ He trailed off.
Jo squeezed his hand affectionately. ‘It’s OK. We don’t have to go on.’
Noah shook his head. ‘No. We do.’
He pointed ahead. The guards at the perimeter gate had stepped aside to allow a phalanx of troops to pass, shouldering their strange burden. They moved off further into the darkness until they were swallowed up by the mist.
‘Come on,’ said Noah, getting to his feet. Jo held back. ‘What’s out there?’
Noah didn’t reply directly. ‘We have to see what the hell they’re doing with those things.’ He helped Jo to her feet.
They kept well back, watching as perhaps a dozen more of the black cylinders were unloaded and carried off into the night. Noah moved in a wide orbit, always keeping out of sight by ducking down among outcrops of spiky reeds.
The procession finally halted in an area of excessively boggy ground. The cylinders were lowered from the guards’ shoulders and then, to Jo’s astonishment, were slid slowly into the marsh. Gas bubbled to the surface, frothing over their sleek outlines. After several firm pushes, every last one of them disappeared into the ground.
Jo and Noah exchanged glances.
The Legion troops stood up, ramrod straight, and began to file back towards the aerodrome. In a few moments they were gone, leaving Jo and Noah alone on the lonely wetland.
Immediately, Noah splashed into the marsh, his legs quickly sinking up to his knees. He thrust his arms into the bog and began to grope in the cold water. Jo couldn’t help smiling.
‘Aren’t the trout ticklish today?’ she whispered.
Noah smiled back. ‘Give me a hand. I think I’ve got one.’
Jo waded in and gasped a little as the chilly water soaked her trousers. She felt around under water, grimacing at the thought of what might be lurking down there. Leeches, perhaps, or something worse…
Eventually, her hand connected with the smooth surface of one of the containers and she plunged her arm in almost up to the shoulder, pushing the sleek black form upwards.
Noah sloshed around to its opposite side and heaved with all his strength until it began to emerge once again into the air. Filthy water seemed to evaporate immediately from its surface.
‘Pretty… heavy,’ gasped Jo. ‘Whatever it is.’
Noah nodded and gave a final thrust which propelled the black cylinder out on to the firmer ground that surrounded them. It thudded into the soil with a wet slap.
Jo and Noah dragged themselves from the marsh then stood for a moment, hands on hips, getting their breath back.
After a quick, furtive look round, Noah dropped to his knees and began, as before, to pass his hands over the surface of the cylinder.
‘We’re like Burke and Hare,’ said Jo and immediately regretted it. The comparison wasn’t pleasant.
Noah felt in his trouser pocket and produced a Swiss army knife. He held it up in front of his eyes and selected what he thought would be the most useful application. Then he unclipped a torch from his belt and tossed it to Jo.
‘Here,’ he whispered. ‘Keep it pointed at me.’
Jo clicked the torch on and swept the beam over Noah and on to the black cylinder.
Noah made a few tentative jabs at the surface of the container but the knife simply slid off. He beckoned Jo
closer and then peered at the object with the benefit of extra light.
‘Anything?’ asked Jo.
Noah nodded. ‘I think so. There’s a little blemish here. Almost like it hasn’t been…’ He thrust the blade at the spot, ‘… sealed properly.’
There was a low groaning sound, as though someone far away had been disturbed in their sleep. Jo crouched down next to Noah, suddenly very glad of his company.
Very slowly, the black cylinder began to come apart. There was a series of low, electronic hums and the object split into panels, each folding back like the shutter on a camera.
Shaking a little, Jo raised the torch and let the beam flood over the contents of the cylinder.
Inside, the sleek black lines contoured around her, lay Mrs Toovey, her eyes wide open and her mouth twisted into a terrible mockery of a smile. And nestling on her throat, its tendrils running up and into the old woman’s mouth, was a creature the size of a small dog, its semitransparent shell glistening wet. As Jo watched, its black eyes swivelled round and regarded her with cold menace.
Jo screamed.
Discretion, the Doctor was fond of quoting, was the better part of valour. Sometimes, anyway. With this in mind, he and the Brigadier had decided against taking on the whole of Legion International single-handed and returned to Culverton to await Captain Yates and his troops, whom Lethbridge-Stewart had ordered to return.
The Doctor drove the UNIT jeep right up to the door of Whistler’s cottage and jumped out. The Brigadier followed then, glancing over his shoulder, tapped him on the shoulder with his stick.
‘What is it?’ said the Doctor, turning on the doorstep.
The Brigadier frowned. ‘Pretty quiet, don’t you think?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Villages often are. Come on.’ He knocked the toe of his shoe against the door and it creaked slowly open. He exchanged looks with the Brigadier and they both went inside, looking around rapidly for any sign of life.
The Brigadier crossed to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Miss
Grant?’ he called.
The Doctor checked the kitchen and then picked up the phone, rapidly dialling the number of the post office. He let it ring for a full minute before replacing the receiver.
‘Anything?’ queried Lethbridge-Stewart.
The Doctor shook his head and made for the door again.
‘She’ll have gone to the marshes.’
The Brigadier frowned. ‘How can you be sure?’
The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because I told her not to.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LAIR OF THE WORM
For once, a vehicle other than the thundering black lorries was approaching the gates of the aerodrome.
It was a coach, ultra-modern in design, its sleek lines liveried in black and yellow, its windows tinted to prevent anyone looking inside.
It purred to a halt as the gates were swung open by Legion troopers, then motored forward to park just by the old hangar. The Master stood outside the building, now dressed in his black, high-collared tunic and tight black gloves. His face was expressionless as he watched the coach arrive.
Its door hissed open and a trooper stepped out on to the broken tarmac. The Master clicked his fingers and the man stepped to one side. At once, a stream of people began to descend from the coach.
They were men and women of mostly middle age, respectable-looking; some of the men even wore Savile Row suits and bowler hats. They all seemed completely unaware of their surroundings, a fixed grin plastered over their features. A florid-faced man with a huge walrus moustache, dressed in the uniform of a general, was among them.
Jocelyn Strangeways, Chief of Staff, filed past the Master into the hangar, stepping over the threshold of the small door through which Whistler had attempted his escape, and disappeared into the darkness.
A sharp, gunpowder stink in the air.
Jo’s head snapped round. Adrenalin pumped into her system.
Bullets shrieked into the marsh at her feet, thudding into the water like pebbles.
Noah was on his feet at once, grabbing her hand. ‘Come on!’
Jo jumped over the black container in which Mrs Toovey lay, closing her eyes to avoid the horrible image. Then she risked a glance over her shoulder.
Fanning out in a wide semicircle from the back gates of the aerodrome were perhaps a dozen Legion troopers, armed to the teeth.
Noah pulled up sharp, his breath coming in great heaving gulps.
‘We can’t stop!’ cried Jo. ‘They’ll reach us.’
Noah looked wildly around. ‘If we carry on this way, we’ll end up in the marsh.’
He looked suddenly very young and afraid.
‘We’ve no choice,’ said Jo firmly.
She tugged on his hand and together they raced forward, the ground beneath them becoming less and less firm.
Jo cried out as her ankles sank deep down into the cold, marshy water, spiky reeds poking into her legs through her trousers.
Bullets again tore into the ground, slapping at the marshland. Jo and Noah ducked and wove their way ahead, trying to keep low, stumbling every few feet and sinking deeper into the bog.
The cry of a curlew screeched through the still of the muggy night.
Jo was suddenly aware that their pursuers had halted. She dragged Noah to the ground and together they gazed back the way they had come. The Legion troopers were standing stock-still, like a crescent of black marble statues on some elegant driveway.
‘I don’t like the look of this,’ murmured Jo.
Noah’s breathing had grown ragged. His eyes flicked to the side.
In the marsh, about ten feet away, the water was beginning to bubble as though the temperature had risen to boiling point. Steam hissed through the reeds and soaking grass. Slimy bubbles belched to the surface and burst, releasing clouds of noxious vapour.
Noah dragged Jo back. Something slithered close by.
Jo’s hand flew involuntarily to her mouth. ‘Look!’ she gasped.
It was as if the whole marsh had suddenly come to life. For about fifty square feet, the doughy ground was trembling and churning, with occasional flashes of some pale, fleshy-textured thing curling and snaking through it.
All at once, with a shattering, throaty roar, a gigantic creature rocketed from the marsh, teetering over Jo and Noah’s cowering forms like some hideous Chinese dragon. Its massive tail was segmented like that of a crayfish and its black, blazing eyes were crab-like, but the bulk of its obscene body resembled a monstrous worm, doused in translucent slime, shuddering and clicking as it reared into the air.
Bliss was standing with her back to the Master, one hand on the gently humming computer banks at the far end of her office. The room was, as usual, in darkness, but the Master seemed unperturbed.
Bliss glanced round and gestured. ‘You do not mind… this?’
The Master smiled, tugging at his black gloves. ‘Not at all. I find it most soothing.’
‘It is the natural way of things on my world.’
The Master nodded. ‘I understand.’
Bliss turned around. ‘Do you? Do you really?’ She advanced on the Master, her chalky face looming through the darkness like the moon through cloud. ‘My planet is dying!’
The Master’s face was absolutely impassive. ‘I understood it to be dead.’
Bliss turned sharply away, her breathing hoarse and furious. ‘The Gaderene have but one chance to claim this little world. That is why you agreed to help us.’
The Master removed his gloves and regarded his fingernails. ‘And have I let you down in any way?’
Bliss wiped flecks of spit from her wide mouth. ‘It isn’t that. The swine have been gathered but the embryos within them will not suit our purpose. The breakthrough must be soon!’
Nodding slowly, the Master got to his feet. ‘We have returned a few of the villagers. Suspicion will be alleviated. Temporarily at least.’
Bliss shook her head. ‘I te
ll you it must be soon!’
The Master sighed. ‘Then bring me the Wing Commander. I have one or two tricks up my sleeve which may help us.’
The monster’s bellowing roar thundered deafeningly over the marshes.
Noah fell on to his backside, sinking deep into the marsh, his arms outstretched in terror.
‘No!’ he wailed, shaking his head quickly from side to side. ‘No!’
Jo snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him free from the sucking marsh.
‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, glancing quickly upwards.
The creature was rearing over them, its eyes, like black pearls, glittering with malice. Slimy saliva gushed from its gaping maw, landing with a flat rippling sound on the disturbed waters.
Its eyes swivelled in Jo and Noah’s direction.
They stiffened, trying to keep their breathing silent. Jo felt Noah’s grip tighten around her hand.
The creature’s lumpen face, as ill-defined as a piece of wet clay, shivered and altered as though it had detected something. Among the mass of wet flesh, some kind of sensory organ appeared to be developing before their eyes. It resolved into three black holes, like haphazard shots from a gun, arranged in a rough triangle above the creature’s mouth.
The black holes distended disgustingly, membranous flesh visible through them.
‘It’s got our scent,’ hissed Noah, pulling Jo back.
Jo felt her stomach turn as the creature moved forward, its massive body undulating through the marshland, scale by scale. A flash of something in its impenetrable black eyes made her go cold all over. With a screeching roar, it careered towards them.
Noah was about to cry out when a strange, comforting sound cut across the monster’s cry. It was the blaring of a car horn.
Jo turned. Visible through the dark, its headlights shining like the beacons of twin lighthouses, Bessie was tearing across the treacherous ground towards them.
The Doctor was at the wheel, his face set in a frown of concentration as he manoeuvred the little car at a frantic rate over a section of firm ground. The Brigadier sat beside him and, as they approached the worm, he rose to his feet, steadied himself against the windscreen and aimed his service pistol.
