Silhouette

by Justin Richards

  ‘You sense a connection?’

  ‘And then some. Come on.’

  The dusty light from the high windows cast foreshortened shadows of Strax and Clara across the factory floor as they made their way back to the doors that Strax had smashed open.

  ‘We’ll tell the Doctor and Vastra about the keypad on the other doors too,’ Clara said as they left. ‘Agreed,’ Strax said, following. ‘What keypad?’

  As they moved out of the factory, Clara’s shadow hesitated on the threshold. It waited until she and Strax had gone, then moved quickly back the way it had come. Up the wall, to the window, and then through and down the side of the building – a dark silhouette against the pale light on the outer brickwork …

  The shadow crept up the side of a carriage waiting at the end of Alberneath Avenue. It slipped in through the carriage window. Inside, Orestes Milton leaned forward, hands clasped over the silver top of his cane, chin resting on the hands. He watched the shadow on the seat opposite for a moment.

  ‘Is it done?’ he asked.

  The shadow shook its head.

  Angrily, Milton lifted his cane and jabbed it into the seat, shattering the shadow into tiny fragments of darkness that shimmered and faded to nothing. He took a deep breath, then rapped his cane twice on the roof of the carriage.

  In the driver’s seat, a woman wrapped in a scarlet cloak lifted the reins and encouraged the horses into motion. The hood of her cloak was pulled up over her head, so that her face was nothing but shadows.

  Chapter

  10

  Returning from his perambulation, the Doctor was disappointed to find the Shadowplay tent still seemed to be deserted and closed up. The board outside still advised that the next performance would be in the afternoon, but failed to give a specific time. If he continued to wait for Silhouette to return, he could be here for a while.

  ‘You’d think she’d need to do some setting up,’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘And surely she’s got to make a living.’ But maybe, he thought as he looked round to check he was unobserved, the Shadowplay was not the woman’s most important or lucrative occupation. Whatever the case, she wasn’t here now, and there was no one watching.

  So the Doctor undid the ties that held the tent door closed, folded back the heavy cloth, and slipped inside.

  It was surprisingly dark in the tent. But the fabric needed to be heavy and thick, the Doctor realised, to keep out any extraneous light. The darker it was, the better the shadow puppets would show up against the illuminated backdrop. He took his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket, and switched it on, navigating through the tent by its glow.

  The place seemed much bigger without an audience, its edges cast into darkness. The low benches did nothing to break up the space. But the Doctor was more interested in the area behind the screen. There was a narrow space between the limelight that cast the glow and the screen itself. Sufficient for the puppeteers to stand – there had to be more than just the woman, the Doctor reasoned. At one point in the show there had been several figures, birds, the sun, clouds, and a dragon. Unless she had a few extra limbs she kept concealed beneath her cloak. It was possible, but on balance, he doubted that was the case.

  Behind the lights was an opening in the tent wall. Beyond, was another area like a second smaller tent appended to the main one. This was more like it, the Doctor decided as he entered. Some light filtered through beneath the fabric of the walls, but he still needed the glow from the sonic screwdriver to see well enough.

  The puppets were laid out on a long trestle table covered with a red cloth. Shapes cut from card. White against the scarlet. He was reminded of the young woman’s pale face framed by the red hood of her cloak. The Doctor picked up one of the figures – an old man, complete with ragged beard. It was cleverly done. A character portrayed entirely by its outline. No detail, no texture – just the shape itself.

  He was putting it carefully back with its fellows when a thought occurred to him. He picked it up again, examining the edges of the shape. Curious … He moved along the table, examining each of the puppet shapes in turn. That couldn’t be right. These must be just templates, shapes from which the actual puppets were cut.

  In which case, where were the puppets themselves? He looked round but there were not many places they could be. A small cupboard turned out to be home to blank card, paper, and chalk for the board outside. He lifted the edge of the cloth and peered under the table, shining the sonic screwdriver along, to reveal just the wooden boards laid on the bare ground beneath. His frown deepened. He was missing something obvious. Unless, of course, he wasn’t …

  Maybe she had taken the puppets with her. Or they were stored somewhere else. Except, he had walked all round the tent earlier and there was nowhere else. Plus it wasn’t just the puppets. There must be thread to hang them from, and poles to elevate the threads since there was no raised area for the puppeteers to stand. And these cut-out shapes could not be the actual puppets because they were solid, with no holes to attach the threads, or any evidence of thread being fixed or glued to them.

  The alternative was just too bizarre to contemplate. Because the alternative was that these were indeed the puppets, he thought as he picked up another of the figures. The alternative was that they were animated in some manner that did not involve the use of threads and poles. That they were not puppets at all, but creatures of card and paper that could somehow be imbued with a life of their own.

  Bizarre and improbable, the Doctor thought. Every bit as bizarre and improbable as an origami bird that could actually fly away …

  He turned to leave, and froze as he heard something from the main tent beyond. The creak of the wooden boards. Footsteps, coming this way. He could wait, brazen it out, demand explanations … But what if it wasn’t Silhouette? It could be anyone. Caution might be a better option until he knew rather more about what he was getting into.

  ‘Silhouette?’ a voice called.

  So, definitely not the woman. And it was a man’s voice, strangely devoid of any inflection. The Doctor lifted the cloth again and crawled under the table, switching off the sonic screwdriver and returning it to his pocket. From here he had a good view of very little, made even less useful by the lack of light. But through the gloom he could make out the legs of the man as he came through to the smaller tent. Dark, nondescript trousers.

  ‘Silhouette?’ the man asked again. Then a sigh of disappointment. The legs hesitated, then turned as the man looked round.

  The man could see as little as the Doctor – probably even less – in the dim light. So the Doctor risked sticking his head out from under the table. Unless the man was actually looking right at him, he’d probably see nothing.

  In fact, the man was already turning to leave. He reached out and drew back the curtain of fabric over the door back into the main tent. As he stepped through, he glanced back.

  In the dim light there was no way to be sure. Probably it was just a trick of the shadows and the way the man moved, the position of his head. But just for a moment, staring up at him through the gloom, it looked to the Doctor as if the man had no face.

  The house where the carriage drew up was very different to the house that the Doctor and Clara had watched Milton enter the previous day. It was set back from the road, screened by a line of trees from the casual attentions of passers-by. Silhouette dropped Milton at the front door before taking the carriage round the a small stable block and coach house at the rear.

  Milton let himself into the house. The lights came on automatically as soon as he was inside. Not gas lamps, but high-luminance LEDs. Milton discarded his Victorian attire and changed into a more comfortable suit made from a body-moulded synthetic material. Then he went down to what had been the drawing room. It was now his study, furnished with a pale, unpatterned carpet. Several plain sofas were arranged round a central hologram of a log fire. A short flight of steps led up to a raised area ringed with steel cords strung between brushed steel posts.<
br />
  His desk was in the centre of the area. The screen standing on it showed a selection of different views of the house or the grounds surrounding it. Milton spared these only a glance before going to a side table where a plain glass decanter and glasses rested on a silver tray. He glanced up as Silhouette came in, then finished pouring his drink. ‘Can I get one for you?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She took off the red cloak and draped it over the back of one of the sofas. Beneath, she was wearing a long, fitted dress of exactly the same colour. A large, facetted, oval red crystal hung on a silver chain in the ‘V’ of the neckline. It caught the unreal flames of the fire as she sat down, curling her legs up beneath her.

  Milton handed her a glass of pale, viscous liquid and sat on the adjacent sofa. ‘So, my dear, what have we learned?’

  Silhouette sipped her drink. ‘They are resourceful,’ she said, ‘if the girl escaped.’

  ‘This Doctor bothers me,’ Milton said. ‘He affects an air of ignorance and indifference. But beneath it are undercurrents of knowledge and curiosity.’

  ‘And the others?’ Silhouette asked. ‘The other young woman, the so-called Great Detective, and the …’ She hesitated, searching for the right word. ‘The gentleman that Empath encountered?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Milton admitted. ‘There is certainly potential there that we could exploit. What Empath saw was almost certainly an alien of some sort. Not enough information to determine the exact species, but it sounds if he has possibilities. Especially if he is as difficult to dispose of as Miss Clara Oswald. As for the others …’ He considered, holding his glass up and watching the reflected holo-flames of the fire dance on its surface. ‘Well, perhaps it would be simplest to kill them all.’

  ‘Kill them?’ It was a gasp, surprise and shock, that made Milton set down his glass on a small table beside the sofa and lean across to look at Silhouette.

  ‘That worries you?’

  ‘Yes. No …’ She frowned, then shook her head, confused. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s all right. I think your implant power source needs recharging. We can’t have self-will surfacing and attacks of conscience now, can we?’ He stood up and went over to his desk, returning a moment later with a small tube-like device. ‘I’ve checking the shielding, so we shouldn’t give off another unfortunate power spike this time. Now just hold still a moment, would you?’

  Milton pressed the end of the tube to the red crystal hanging from Silhouette’s necklace. The crystal glowed for a short while after Milton had withdrawn the tube. Then gradually the glow faded, and Silhouette’s frown faded with it.

  ‘I really must develop a version that doesn’t need an inductive power source so close to it,’ Milton said as he returned the device to his desk. ‘If I understood more about the workings of the human brain I could probably remove a less important piece of it and put the power source actually inside your head. But as it is …’ He shrugged. ‘Now where were we?’ he refilled his glass and returned to the sofa.

  ‘You were saying it might be simplest to kill them,’ Silhouette said. There was no trace of confusion or regret in her voice now.

  ‘Of course. So I was.’ He sipped the drink and nodded. ‘And does that bother you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But you also said they could be useful. Perhaps we should let Affinity keep an eye on them until we can be certain which course is most advantageous to us.’

  Milton swirled the viscous liquid round his glass as he considered. ‘There is some merit in the suggestion,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, perhaps that is the best course of action, especially as they seem very capable when it comes to self-preservation. But,’ he went on, ‘the Doctor worries me. He could be an agent of the Shadow Proclamation who has finally tracked me down. He hasn’t taken direct action yet, so he can’t be certain. But he may have his suspicions.’

  ‘Kill the Doctor?’ Silhouette suggested, sipping her own drink.

  ‘If he is an agent, that might alert them. We must tread carefully, my dear. But whatever happens, the Doctor cannot be allowed to learn the truth.’

  Chapter

  11

  The Doctor waited until all was quiet before crawling from under the table. He dusted himself down, and made his way back through the main tent and outside.

  ‘So that’s where you been hiding, is it?’ a voice said close behind him as he emerged.

  He turned quickly, to find Jenny watching him, hands on her hips.

  ‘I’m sorry, have I kept you waiting?’

  ‘You and Clara both,’ she told him. ‘Haven’t seen her for ages. I was beginning to think you’d both deserted me.’

  The Doctor was about to answer, but over Jenny’s shoulder he could see another figure approaching. It seemed she wasn’t the only one to have seen him come out from the Shadowplay tent.

  ‘You again,’ Michael the Strong Man said, pushing past Jenny. ‘What’s your game, then, eh?’ The chains tattooed across his chest moved as he flexed his muscles.

  ‘My game?’ The Doctor peered at the man’s bare chest, examining the rippling tattoos. ‘Aren’t you cold?’

  ‘You out to steal Miss Silhouette’s secrets, are you?’

  ‘Does she have any secrets?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Jenny told Michael. ‘We can look round if we want.’

  ‘Not in private places. Not when the show ain’t on, you can’t.’

  ‘So where’s it say that, then?’ Jenny demanded. She grabbed the man’s impressively muscular arm and swung him to face the noticeboard outside the tent. ‘It don’t say you can’t have a quick shufti round anywhere on there that I can see.’

  Michael hesitated. ‘Well, it’s just … polite.’

  ‘Oh believe me, we don’t want to be impolite,’ the Doctor said quickly. He switched on a smile. ‘I do apologise if I’ve inadvertently caused offence. It’s good that you look out for Miss Silhouette’s interests.’

  ‘Yes, well, we all look out for each other here,’ Michael said, apparently mollified by the Doctor’s contrition. ‘Always have.’

  ‘You’ve known her a long time?’

  ‘Years.’

  ‘And has she always been so talented?’ the Doctor wondered. He glanced at Jenny, warning her to keep quiet for the moment. She shrugged and folded her arms.

  ‘She was always good with her puppets and stuff,’ Michael said. ‘Had a real knack for it.’

  ‘But recently …?’ the Doctor prompted, noting the man’s use of the past tense.

  ‘Recently it’s become more than just a knack.’

  ‘Go on. Is this about the secrets you mentioned?’

  Michael pressed his lips tight together as he considered. ‘I’d best not say anything more,’ he decided.

  ‘You’ve seen something, ain’t you,’ Jenny said. ‘Something you didn’t ought to have seen.’

  Michael didn’t reply, looking down at the ground.

  ‘It’s all right,’ the Doctor said gently. ‘We wouldn’t ask you to betray any trust. But something’s happened. A man is dead. He saw something in Silhouette’s tent, and I think you know what it was. Maybe you saw it too?’

  Michael looked up. ‘Is Silhouette in danger?’

  ‘Honestly?’ the Doctor said. ‘I don’t know. But if she is, I can help her.’

  Michael hesitated, apparently thinking this through. As the Doctor and Jenny waited for a response, two more people joined them.

  ‘Hello, Clara – you’re looking well,’ the Doctor said, sparing her a quick glance.

  ‘Better than I’d be looking if Strax hadn’t turned up,’ she said.

  ‘I had occasion to rescue the boy from homicidal wood-pulp assassins,’ Strax explained.

  Michael looked from Strax to Clara, confused. ‘Boy?’

  ‘Ah,’ Strax said, stepping forward to inspect the Strong Man’s physique. ‘A human who is properly built for combat,
I see. How many opponents have you despatched?’

  ‘I bend metal bars mainly,’ Michael said. ‘And lift weights.’

  Strax considered this. ‘To what purpose? Do you fashion the metal bars into primitive weaponry? Drop the weights from a great height onto the heads of your enemies, crushing them like rotten eggs?’

  ‘Not usually. Its’ just, you know, a show.’

  ‘A show,’ Strax echoed.

  ‘Like a military parade,’ the Doctor said quickly. ‘A demonstration of skill and applied strength.’

  ‘Ah.’ Strax nodded. ‘Good. Perhaps I can also take part in one of these shows.’

  ‘Can you bend metal bars?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Don’t encourage him,’ the Doctor warned. ‘Now, you were going to tell us about Silhouette …’

  Michael nodded. ‘She’s changed,’ he said. ‘So have … Well, let’s just say this Carnival used to be a happy place. A family. But recently, it’s just not the same. Not since, he came here …’

  ‘ “He”?’ the Doctor prompted as Michael again hesitated.

  ‘Look,’ Michael said, ‘I’ll tell you what I can. So you can help – you said you’d help, right?’

  ‘I did and I will,’ the Doctor promised.

  ‘Then we’ll talk. But first I’ve got another show to do. I’ll meet you back here in half an hour, all right?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Perhaps I should attend this show,’ Strax suggested as they watched Michael make his way back through the carnival.

  ‘Not likely,’ Clara told him. ‘You’re coming with us to tell the Doctor about the factory.’

  ‘What factory?’ the Doctor said.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I see. Tell me about the factory.’

  ‘Can’t we find somewhere to sit down?’ Jenny asked. ‘I don’t know about you but I’ve been on me pins all day, and Clara doesn’t look too clever right now either. What happened to your face?’

  ‘It’s just scratches,’ Clara said. ‘But if Strax hadn’t turned up it would have been a lot worse.’