‘Jenny said you knew him.’
Vastra nodded. ‘You have seen Jenny. That explains how you come to be here. You were at the Frost Fair?’
‘The Carnival of Curiosities.’ He picked up the cardboard ticket from beside the blotter. ‘And this is the only clue you have found that might explain where he had been or what had upset him?’
‘That and the three small birds.’
The Doctor frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. ‘Birds? What birds?’
‘Oh not real birds.’ Vastra turned from the bookcase. ‘They are made from paper, folded into the shape of a bird. Three of them. Rather stylised, quite clever.’
‘Origami, you mean?’
‘Do I?’
‘Japanese for “folded paper”, though thinking about it the word won’t be used much around here for another sixty years yet.’ He lifted the blotter to look underneath, then moved the wooden rack containing paper and envelopes. ‘So where are these origami birds?’
Vastra walked over to join him. ‘That’s strange,’ she said, looking down at the desk. ‘They were just there, beside the carnival ticket. I wonder where they went.’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Probably not important.’ He smiled. ‘It’s good to see you again, Vastra. And don’t worry about the birds. They must be around somewhere. They can’t have flown away.’
Chapter
5
There was still no sign of Jenny when Clara and Oswald had finished their second pot of tea. Oswald consulted a pocket watch and apologised that he would have to be leaving.
‘Thank you for allowing me to share your table,’ he said as he stood up.
‘No problem,’ Clara told him. ‘Thanks for the company.’ She watched Oswald as he navigated his way towards the exit, smiling politely as he passed people and standing aside to allow others to get past. He really was very pleasant company, she thought.
Oswald had almost reached the way out when he stopped. Another man had just come in, and was approaching Oswald rapidly. They evidently knew each other, and after exchanging a few words, Oswald turned and nodded towards Clara. Perhaps the man was his employer – he looked like a ‘gentleman of means’. She hoped she hadn’t got Oswald into trouble by distracting him for too long.
The two of them – Oswald, together with the other man – were heading back through the tent towards Clara. As he approached, she could make out details of the man’s appearance. He was perhaps 40, with receding dark hair and a short beard. A slight man, wearing a dark overcoat and carrying a silver-topped cane, which he raised in greeting as he arrived at the table.
‘Forgive me, Clara,’ Oswald said, ‘but I just had to introduce you to my employer, Mr Milton.’
‘I haven’t got you into trouble, have I?’ Clara asked quickly.
‘Good gracious me, no,’ Milton replied. His voice was slightly nasal and drawn out tight. ‘When Oswald told me he’d been taking tea with a delightful young lady, also of the name of Oswald albeit her surname, I simply had to introduce myself. Orestes Milton, at your service, Miss Oswald.’
Clara felt her face colour slightly as Milton bowed his head and extended his hand. She shook it politely. ‘Delighted to meet you, Mr Milton.’
Oswald excused himself, and headed off again.
‘He’s a good man,’ Milton said, watching him go.
‘He tutors your children, I gather,’ Clara said.
‘Ah, no. Now there you are incorrect.’ Milton made a show of consulting his own watch. ‘I must be getting along in a minute, but if I may sit for just a moment?’
‘Please.’
‘Thank you.’ Milton seated himself across the small table from Clara. ‘I am his employer, yes, but only in that I pay for his services. He teaches the children of the poor and attends the local workhouse.’
‘And you pay for that?’
‘I have been very fortunate in life, Miss Oswald,’ Milton told her. ‘I believe that one should give back to the community what one can.’
The chair beside Clara was suddenly pulled back and a figure slumped down untidily in it. ‘What a very enlightened philosophy,’ the Doctor said. ‘Mind if I join you? Good. I’m sorry – I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Milton, sir. And you are, I assume the gentleman Miss Oswald has been waiting for?’
‘Probably.’ He reached across the table to shake hands. ‘I’m the Doctor, Mr Milton. It’s a pleasure.’
‘Likewise. Though as I was explaining to Miss Oswald, a pleasure all too short as I am afraid I have business elsewhere.’
‘Shame,’ the Doctor said, leaning back and regarding Milton with interest. ‘What sort of business, may I ask?’
‘I am an industrialist, I suppose for want of a better word. We are pioneering a new process at one of my factories and I need to debrief the shift manager.’
The Doctor nodded as if this made the most perfect sense to him. ‘Very wise. It’s good to pay attention to the details of things, I find.’
‘Indeed.’ Milton rose to his feet. ‘As a medical man, I see that you appreciate the importance of detail and accuracy.’
‘Oh, I’m not that sort of doctor.’
‘Oh? A doctor of divinity, perhaps?’ Milton’s lips twitched as he said it, suggesting he was being less than serious.
‘Perhaps,’ the Doctor said. ‘I’m a doctor of so many things I forget more than half of them.’
‘A man of intellect and learning, then.’
‘He’s certainly that,’ Clara agreed, feeling she ought to get a word in at least.
‘But at the moment, I’m an investigator,’ the Doctor went on, as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘Really? How intriguing. Investigating what, may I ask?’
‘Murder. Intrigue. And missing origami birds.’
‘Missing what?’ Clara said. This was news to her.
It was Milton who answered: ‘Origami is the ancient Japanese art of paper-folding.’
‘I know,’ Clara said. ‘It wasn’t the vocabulary that surprised me.’
‘Do you speak fluent Japanese, Mr Milton?’ the Doctor asked. He was leaning forward across the table, looking up at the standing man with a studied intensity.
Milton smiled. ‘Alas, not a word.’
‘Pity.’
‘And a pity too that I must leave.’ Milton nodded to Clara, and reached out to shake the Doctor’s hand. ‘It has been most stimulating. I do hope we meet again.’
The Doctor waited until Milton had reached the exit from the tent then leapt to his feet. ‘Time we were off.’
‘Where to?’
The Doctor looked at her as if she was mad. ‘To follow him, of course. Remind me how you know the philanthropic Mr Milton.’
‘I don’t,’ Clara said as she hurried after him. ‘I shared my table with a man who works for him. Or at least, he’s funded by him. Why?’
‘Because Milton is a man out of time, that’s why.’
They reached the mouth of the tent and the Doctor scanned the surrounding Frost Fair until he spotted his quarry heading off in the direction of the Carnival of Curiosities. ‘Ah – there he goes. Come on.’
‘What do you mean, “a man out of time”? Is he a time traveller like us?’
‘Not necessarily. He might just have an over sophisticated translation morpher.’
‘A what?’
‘Makes it look and sound like he’s speaking your language so you can understand him.’
‘We could anyway, couldn’t we? Because of the TARDIS?’
The Doctor paused to give Clara a withering look. ‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that. And I doubt if he had it installed for our benefit.’
They showed their tickets at the gate, and hurried through into the Carnival to see where Milton had gone. There was no sign of the man.
‘He must have gone further in,’ the Doctor decided. ‘Walking quickly, so a man with a purpose and a precise destination.’
‘Something here he’s keen t
o see, maybe.’
‘Something, or someone,’ the Doctor agreed as they hurried through the Carnival.
Clara spotted him first. ‘There he is,’ she said, pointing to where Milton was just disappearing behind the Shadowplay tent. ‘So, you could tell all that stuff about him using a translator or whatever just by looking at him, could you?’
‘I could tell that by listening to him,’ the Doctor said. ‘He fell into my origami trap.’
‘And how does that translate into Earth-Speak? I assume you don’t mean you constructed a net or something out of paper.’
‘He used the word “debrief”, meaning to get a report after the event. Which is all well and good but that particular Americanism won’t be coined until towards the end of the Second World War. Could have been a quirk of our own translation system, so I mentioned origami. And he not only understood it, he gave us a definition. But the Japanese word doesn’t enter the English language until, I think, the 1950s.’
‘That’s why you asked him if he spoke Japanese,’ Clara realised.
‘Can’t keep you fooled for long.’
‘Hey,’ she said, realising something else. ‘Maybe this Milton bloke is responsible for the power spike thingy we detected.’
The Doctor paused mid-step to look back at her. ‘Oh, do you think?’
Clara ignored his sarcasm, pulling him back out of sight. ‘He’s coming back,’ she warned. ‘That was quick,’ she added as Milton passed close by. He didn’t seem to spot them in amongst the other people. ‘I guess he didn’t find what he was looking for.’
‘Or perhaps he did,’ the Doctor said.
They waited a few moments to let Milton get a good way ahead of them, but not so far there was a risk of losing sight of him. The woman from the shadow puppet show, Silhouette, appeared briefly at the opening to the tent close by, putting out a sign saying the next show would be in an hour’s time. She smiled at Clara before disappearing back inside the tent.
‘Probably taking a late lunch,’ Clara thought.
‘Right, off we go.’ The Doctor took Clara’s elbow and marched her after Milton. ‘Looks like he’s leaving again.’
Milton was already hurrying through the Frost Fair and back towards the Embankment. The Doctor and Clara followed him as he turned off down a side street, then almost immediately into another. This street was deserted. The terraced houses looked dark and empty. Several had their windows boarded up. The paintwork was flaking and the stone was crumbling through neglect and the combined effects of the weather and the London smog.
They drew back into the shadows on the other side of the street as Milton paused outside one of the houses. He turned, looking back to check that he was unobserved. Then he walked up to the front door.
‘Doesn’t look like his sort of place,’ Clara said. The house was as dilapidated as all the others.
‘I don’t think he lives there,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘So what does he keep inside that he doesn’t want anyone else to find?’
‘Think we should find out?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ Clara said. ‘So, do we wait for him to leave? Or confront him now?’
‘Oh I always favour the direct approach. Come on.’
The Doctor set off at a brisk pace for the house, Clara hurrying to keep up. The door was closed and locked, but a quick application of the sonic screwdriver soon saw them inside. The narrow hallway was unfurnished. Wallpaper peeled from the cracked plaster and the floor was bare boards.
There were two reception rooms and a rather primitive kitchen on the ground floor. The two upper storeys boasted a bathroom and three bedrooms. All were empty.
‘Where did he go?’ Clara hissed.
‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor said. ‘But there’s obviously no need to whisper.’
A back door from the small kitchen gave out into a yard. A gate from there opened into a narrow alley that led back to the street. They returned to the house and checked the rooms again. But all were empty and unfurnished.
‘What was that?’ the Doctor said as they stood in one of the front rooms on the ground floor.
‘What?’ Clara strained to hear. There was something, a faint noise like a light tapping sound. ‘Something outside in the street?’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I think it’s coming from the next room.’
‘It’s gone now,’ Clara realised, following him out.
The other reception room was as empty as the first.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ the Doctor said.
‘Always possible. It does happen.’
‘Perhaps it was something outside.’ The Doctor crossed to the window. The glass was dusty and one pane was cracked across. Another pane was completely missing. ‘Ah,’ he said quietly. ‘Interesting.’
Clara joined him staring murkily into the street outside. ‘Can’t see anything.’
‘I meant this.’ The Doctor pointed downwards. A piece of paper lay on the windowsill, folded into the shape of a bird.
‘More origami. That can’t be a coincidence.’
‘No,’ the Doctor agreed. He picked up the delicate shape and examined it. ‘Hasn’t been here long, it’s not dusty enough.’ He dropped it back onto the windowsill. ‘But I can’t believe our Mr Milton came here just to leave a paper bird behind.’
‘What do you think he’s up to?’ Clara said. ‘Something that needs power, right? I mean an advanced form of power that could generate the spike we picked up.’
‘Whatever he’s up to, it’s not good. A man’s dead,’ the Doctor told her. ‘I can’t believe that’s not connected. Especially now,’ he added, nodding at the origami bird lying close by.
‘You think Milton’s up to no good?’
‘He’s definitely up to something. I’d like to know what it is before we reveal our own credentials. The less he knows about us for the moment, the better.’
‘And now what? We don’t even know where he’s gone.’
They walked slowly back across the room and out into the hall.
‘If we work out what happened to poor Mr Hapworth, then we go a good way to working out what’s really going on here,’ the Doctor said.
‘He was at the Carnival,’ Clara said. ‘And so was Milton. Another connection?’
‘Could be. And then there’s those birds …’ The Doctor paused, tapping his finger against his chin. ‘We should probably bring that one with us. It might repay a closer examination.’
‘Taking a piece of folded paper into protective custody,’ Clara said as she followed him back into the room. ‘That’s a first.’
‘Not yet it isn’t,’ the Doctor said from the window. ‘How do you mean?’
‘It’s not here.’
Clara joined him, looking down at the dusty windowsill. Sure enough the origami bird was gone.
The Doctor held his hand up in front of the missing pane of glass. ‘There a breeze. It might have blown away.’
Clara looked round. ‘But where too? It’s not on the floor. There’s no sign of it.’
‘There’s a gap here between the sill and the window. Maybe it slipped down there.’
‘Well if it did we’re not getting it back. Is it important?’
The Doctor considered, eyebrows knitted together and forehead furrowed. ‘I don’t see how it could be, really. Not in itself. Someone left it here. Someone left three more at Hapworth’s, according to Vastra. The question is, who? And why?’
Chapter
6
The late afternoon sun struggled weakly through the scattering of clouds. The light was already failing, and in another hour it would be twilight. The snow was crisping underfoot as the day grew chillier. The Doctor and Clara let themselves out of the front door of the empty townhouse and headed back towards the river. Had either of them turned and looked the other way down the street, they might have seen what looked like a large snowflake dancing in the air, carried by the breeze.
A closer lo
ok would have revealed that the pale shape was not a snowflake at all. It was a small piece of paper, folded into the shape of a bird. Tiny, angular wings beat rhythmically as it fluttered on its way. Not a random, chaotic route through the air. It turned at the street corner, and set off along the next street, dancing and trembling through the afternoon.
At the corner of the street, a man and woman watched the approach of the stylised bird. The man wore a dark overcoat and carried a silver-topped ebony cane. The woman was wrapped in a long, red cloak. The hood was drawn up over her head, but the pale sunshine illuminated her delicate features as she looked up at the bird. As it drew nearer, she held out her arm, the scarlet material hanging down from it like a shimmering waterfall of blood.
The paper bird alighted on the outstretched arm. Its wings continued to beat for a few moments.
‘Welcome, my little friend,’ Silhouette murmured. ‘And what have you come to tell us?’
The bird’s wings stilled. For a moment it remained upright on the red material. Then it toppled over and lay on its side. Inert. Just a piece of paper.
‘May I?’ Milton asked, holding out his hand.
Silhouette lifted the bird from her arm with her other hand. She slowly unfolded the wings, then the body, smoothing the creature out into a single sheet of paper which she glanced at, and then handed to Milton with a smile.
One side of the paper, the side that had been folded away from view, was covered with handwriting. Neat, feminine, but regular.
She said: ‘More origami. That can’t be a coincidence.’
He said: ‘No. Hasn’t been here long, it’s not dusty enough. But I can’t believe our Mr Milton came here just to leave a paper bird behind.’
She said: ‘What do you think he’s up to? Something that needs power, right? I mean an advanced form of power that could generate the spike we picked up.’
He said: ‘Whatever he’s up to, it’s not good. A man’s dead. I can’t believe that’s not connected. Especially now.’
She said: ‘You think Milton’s up to no good?’
He said: ‘He’s definitely up to something. I’d like to know what it is before we reveal our own credentials. The less he knows about us for the moment, the better.’
Silhouette Page 4
