Silhouette

by Justin Richards

  ‘And apart from killing people,’ Clara said, ‘how does that make him a weapon?’

  ‘Because the people he’s been killing, according to Strax,’ the Doctor said, ‘are angry. Very angry. Disaffected, downtrodden, seething with rage at the injustice of the world and their place in it.’

  ‘This city is the richest in the world,’ Milton said. ‘And the poorest. Here live those who are the most fortunate, and the most unfortunate. The best satisfied with their lot, and the least happy.’

  ‘I think Dickens said it better,’ the Doctor murmured.

  ‘So, what?’ Clara said. ‘This Empath guy is taking people’s anger?’

  ‘Anger, rage, fury. Yes.’

  ‘Not only that,’ the Doctor said, his tone suddenly grave. ‘But you’re storing it. Empath takes it, and then ejects it into that glass sphere in your library.’

  ‘To create a cloud – a creature – of pure anger.’ Milton gave a sudden laugh and jumped to his feet. ‘Now that is a weapon.’

  ‘That is contemptible,’ the Doctor retorted.

  But Milton was hurrying across the room, up to the raised area where his desk stood. He sat down, working at a thin tablet device and staring at the screen for a few moments. Then he nodded with satisfaction and walked slowly back to re-join them.

  ‘Well, who would have thought it,’ he said. ‘I can see why Affinity was so confused.’

  ‘He has that effect on people,’ Clara said.

  ‘A Time Lord, no less,’ Milton went on. ‘Not something you come across every day. In fact, not something I would expect to come across ever.’

  ‘I doubt it will happen again,’ the Doctor told him.

  ‘And you have the audacity to lecture me about the creation and use of weapons?’ Milton said. He clicked his tongue and wagged his finger as if telling off a naughty schoolboy. ‘When you are one of the race responsible for the most destructive and apocalyptic war ever fought. And here am I, a humble arms dealer trying to evade justice and make a decent living. Oh, we are in the presence of an expert here, someone who when it comes to war is in another league altogether.’

  ‘I ended that war,’ the Doctor said, his voice low and tense with emotion.

  ‘It was the ending of it, by all accounts, which cost the most lives,’ Milton countered. ‘And every life, or so I am told, is of value.’

  There was silence for several moments. ‘I think we’re past tea,’ Milton said at last. ‘Silhouette, my dear, perhaps you could clear away the cups? Then I suggest we adjourn to the library.’

  The undertaker – Empath – was waiting for them outside Milton’s study. He fell in behind as they walked back towards the library, his head down and hands behind his back as if following a cortège.

  ‘Pure, raw anger,’ Milton said proudly as they approached the glass sphere.

  Clara could see now that there was a pipe leading from the back of the globe to the fireplace and up the chimney.

  The Doctor had seen it too. ‘You’re not going to release it?’ he said, appalled.

  ‘What use is a weapon if it’s never been tested?’ Milton said. ‘Imagine what it could do to a city like London. An obvious choice, of course, for a demonstration as it is the greatest and largest city on this rather backward planet.’

  ‘What will happen?’ Clara asked.

  ‘A cloud of anger, infecting everyone who breathes it in,’ the Doctor said. ‘What do you think?’

  Milton turned to Empath. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘There will be riots,’ he said, his voice as calm and unaffected as Milton’s. ‘Violence. Bloodshed. Murder. Within a few hours the whole city will be at war with itself. Within a few days there will be no one left alive.’

  ‘But that’s …’ Clara struggled to think of a word powerful and damning enough. ‘You can’t!’

  ‘As I said, it needs to be tested,’ Milton told her. ‘If I am to sell it as a viable, and very expensive, weapon then I have to be able to demonstrate that it works as advertised. Which is where you come in, of course.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Well, the Doctor, actually.’ Milton stepped closer to the Doctor. ‘Empath could kill you in a moment, of course. So please don’t try anything stupid. I had hoped to weaponise you. In fact, I think you would make the most destructive of weapons. Let’s face it, you’re over halfway there already.’

  ‘You can’t begin to imagine,’ the Doctor said quietly.

  ‘But now I know who – and what – you are …’ He shook his head. ‘Affinity had trouble, and I think I would too. You mentioned free will, and of course my weapons are not allowed anything even approaching such a luxury.’

  ‘Cerebral implants,’ the Doctor said. ‘Powered by crystal induction.’

  ‘Oh, you noticed.’

  ‘The crystal round Silhouette’s neck?’ Clara said.

  ‘Keeps her under my control,’ Milton agreed. ‘Just as Empath and Affinity are controlled by the crystals in the rings they wear. Please.’

  He gestured to Empath, who held out his left hand. On the middle finger was a ring set with a large red crystal, a smaller version of what Silhouette wore.

  ‘Silhouette was rather wilful, I’m afraid. Which is why her control crystal has to be somewhat larger,’ Milton said.

  ‘And you’re going to stick these crystals on us?’ Clara asked.

  ‘You, and the other two probably. I should say that some surgery is also necessary, I’m afraid.’ He turned back to the Doctor. ‘But not you.’

  ‘Why not?’ the Doctor asked. ‘They look very fetching. Red is so my colour, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I doubt a crystal the size of this house would keep you in check. Which is a shame. As I say, you would make a brilliant and valuable – by which I mean expensive – addition to my arsenal.’

  ‘Sorry if I’m a problem.’ The Doctor switched on a smile.

  Milton nodded to Empath who moved to the side of the glass sphere, his hand on the hatch.

  ‘Oh, it’s no problem,’ Milton said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to see what Empath is about to do?’

  ‘I’d be fascinated,’ the Doctor said, walking over to stand beside the dark figure. ‘What is he about to do?’

  ‘Before I test the anger weapon on a whole city,’ Milton said. ‘I should like to test it on an individual.’ As he spoke, Empath opened the hatch with one hand. With the other he grabbed the back of the Doctor’s head and forced it suddenly, violently down to the opening.

  Caught by surprise, the Doctor gasped and struggled. But his head was shoved inside the sphere – coughing and spluttering.

  ‘No – stop!’ Clara launched herself at the sphere, but Milton grabbed her and pulled her back.

  ‘He won’t hurt anyone,’ Clara told him, pulling herself free. ‘You’ll never make him hurt anyone.’

  ‘I think you’re probably right.’

  Milton smiled in satisfaction as Empath pulled the Doctor back, and slammed the hatch shut. The Doctor collapsed to his knees, his hand to his throat, coughing and retching. His eyes were wide and his whole body started to shake. His expression was one of pure rage.

  Milton gave Clara a sudden shove in the back. She stumbled forwards, down on one knee, and found herself staring straight into the Doctor’s contorted face.

  ‘So let’s see, shall we?’ Milton said. ‘Will he give vent to his anger by killing you? Or will he try to keep it locked up inside himself. In which case, it will tear him to pieces.’

  Chapter

  17

  The Doctor’s face was a mask of anger and rage. His lips drew back from gritted teeth and the furrows in his forehead deepened. He pitched forward onto his hands and knees, fingers clawing at the floorboards. His breath was coming in short gasps, almost sobs, as he struggled to contain the emotion.

  ‘Not long now,’ Milton said, his voice almost dripping with satisfaction.

  Clara stared into the Doctor’s haunted face, unable to look away. Hi
s eyes were bulging, bloodshot, staring back at her with a malevolence beyond anything she had seen him turn against even the most murderous and evil creatures. He raised his hand, his fingers curled into a claw, his whole arm shaking. He reached out towards Clara – for help? Or to scrape his nails down her face? His breathing was ragged – short, sharp, desperate intakes of air, saliva flecking his lips. The colour seemed to have drained from his face, leaving him pale as death.

  ‘Clara!’ he gasped. ‘Clara, I—’

  ‘What can I do to help?’ she demanded.

  But he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes turned upwards, showing only the whites as he leaned back on his knees, arms suddenly spread wide.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Milton said softly behind her. ‘I’d say this qualifies as a success.’

  She felt her concern turning to rage. But even as she turned to lunge at Milton, ready to scrape her own clawed hands down his face, she heard the Doctor laugh.

  It wasn’t much of a laugh. More of a tortured exhalation. ‘I don’t think much of your qualifications, then.’

  The rasp became a cough, which became a final long exhalation. Slowly the Doctor pulled himself to his feet, grabbing Clara’s arm for support. His face remained drawn and pale, but the rictus of concentration was gone.

  The rage was still there in his voice, an undercurrent to his words. ‘You think you can use anger as a weapon against me? I’ve been so angry for so long there’s nothing left you or anyone else can teach me about it.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Milton said, disappointed. ‘I’m impressed. Truly.’

  The Doctor eased himself away from Clara’s supporting grasp, standing on his own. Defiant, if swaying slightly. He looked tired rather than angry now. The effort of resisting the effects of the cloud of emotion had clearly taken its toll.

  ‘But what about you?’ the Doctor said.

  ‘Me? Oh, you shouldn’t worry about me,’ Milton told him.

  ‘Release that cloud into London and it will permeate everything. Even this house.’

  ‘A good point,’ Milton conceded.

  ‘So you can’t release it,’ Clara realised. ‘Or you’ll be affected too. And I’m guessing you can’t resist that stuff the way the Doctor did.’

  ‘Sadly, I’m sure you’re correct,’ Milton agreed. ‘Which is why I shall make sure I don’t inhale any part of that cloud.’ He walked back towards the glass sphere. ‘You will notice that aside from the hatch, the only other egress from this container is via the pipe that leads up the chimney.’

  ‘That won’t help you,’ the Doctor cut in. ‘That cloud will disperse through the smoggy air of London. It might take a while, but wherever you are, it will find you.’

  ‘If you’ll allow me to finish what I was saying, you will note that there is no release mechanism on the container.’

  ‘You’re not planning to release it at all?’ Clara said, puzzled.

  ‘A remote system,’ the Doctor realised. ‘You’ll activate it from somewhere else, somewhere safe. Airtight.’

  ‘My ship,’ Milton said. ‘I have it secreted in the basement of this house. There’s a launch ramp leading up through the coach house outside. Not that I am planning on going anywhere. I can monitor the effects of the cloud remotely from the ship.’

  ‘And emerge again once the cloud has dispersed.’

  ‘I estimate that in seventy-two hours all the anger will have been absorbed by the population of London. Who will all be dead in another twelve hours. Maximum. Including you, I think, Doctor. You might have been able to resist a small portion of the cloud, but I imagine the full dose will destroy even your remarkable ability to resist. Or if not, there will be no shortage of other people enraged enough to tear you limb from limb.’

  It was the man’s unshakeable calm as much as anything that got to Clara. He was standing there, talking about killing the entire population of London for some sort of product demonstration as if it had no more impact or effect than handing out leaflets at a trade show. She could feel herself getting more and more worked up.

  Now, especially after what he had done to the Doctor, she was unable to contain herself any longer. She leapt at Milton, reaching for his throat. But he was quicker and stronger than he looked, grabbing her wrists and pushing Clara away. She stumbled backwards, and the Doctor caught her before she could fall.

  ‘Dear, dear,’ Milton chided. ‘Don’t forget I can kill your friends in moments.’ He produced a small device from his jacket pocket. ‘I can change the size of the force cage that contains them, bringing the bars closer and closer together until …’ He shook his head in mock sadness. ‘Not a very nice way to go.’

  ‘We’ll stop you, Milton,’ the Doctor said. ‘I can’t let this happen. You know that.’

  ‘I do,’ Milton agreed. ‘Which is why, regrettably, you have to die. I did hope you might be useful in some small way, but evidently not. Now, if you will excuse me I have the final preparations to make for the release of my weapon. So I shall leave you in Empath’s more than capable hands.’

  Milton turned to go. The Doctor made to follow, but Empath stepped in front of him.

  ‘I need my anger back from you, Doctor,’ Milton said from the doorway. ‘And while he’s at it, Empath may as well take the girl’s anger too. She’s demonstrated quite admirably that she has rather a lot of it seething away inside. Regrettably, the process will kill you both.’ He turned to go, then hesitated. ‘I’m sorry – actually that’s not true. As I have impressed upon Silhouette, you should never apologise unless you don’t actually mean it. And I feel no regret whatsoever. Goodbye to you both. It’s been a fascinating and stimulating afternoon.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ the Doctor told him. But Milton had already gone, pulling the door closed behind him.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Clara said.

  ‘You die,’ Empath told her.

  ‘No, Empath – think about this,’ the Doctor said quickly. ‘That cloud of Anger will kill everyone in London. You must have friends out there, people you care about. Maybe you can resist it, maybe not. But think about the rest of the city.’

  Empath stepped towards them, his mouth yawning open, ready to inhale their emotions, their anger.

  ‘What if we break this sphere?’ Clara said desperately.

  ‘No good – that will just release the cloud.’ The Doctor took a step towards Empath. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right, you’re going to kill us. But kill me first.’

  ‘No – Doctor!’ Clara called out. She ran forward, intending to push the Doctor aside. Maybe he could escape while Empath was killing her – draining her of every emotion that made her who she was. If anyone could stop Milton it was the Doctor, and she had to give him the chance to try.

  But Empath was already drawing the anger out of the Doctor. She could see a dark mist, like a thinner version of the cloud within the sphere, drifting out of the Doctor’s mouth and nostrils. Then it seemed to emanate from his whole body. Empath was breathing it in, his mouth impossibly wide.

  ‘You want my anger,’ the Doctor gasped. ‘You want it – then have it!’

  He threw back his arms and opened his own mouth. The mist thickened suddenly into a dense black fog that crashed over Empath like a huge wave. There was a scream, a drawn-out cry of pain and surprise. It took Clara a moment to realise that it wasn’t coming from the Doctor, but from the heart of the black fog that engulfed Empath.

  Slowly it cleared, to reveal the dark-clad figure lying on the floor. His hat had fallen a short distance away, the dark silk curled into a question mark across the wooden boards.

  ‘What happened?’ Clara said. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No, but he’ll be out for a bit. Overdosed on emotion. He got all the anger I absorbed from that sphere, and a bit more besides. Seems it was a bit too much for him to handle.’

  ‘So how do we stop Milton releasing this stuff?’

  The Doctor was already examining the
sphere. ‘There’s no way to disperse it safely. And I don’t see a way to detach the sphere from the release mechanism.’

  ‘Are you saying we can’t stop him?’

  The Doctor tapped his index finger against his chin as he considered. ‘We can stop him if we get to him in time.’

  ‘And if not?’

  ‘Then we need a contingency plan.’ He turned to look at the prone figure of Empath. ‘Yes, that might work,’ he murmured. Then, louder: ‘Right, you find Vastra and Jenny and get them out of that cage. Then they can help you find Milton. Maybe you can stop him. Maybe not.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to wait here for a minute, just until our friend starts to recover. Having absorbed all that anger, he’ll be madder than hell. And he’ll be maddest at me.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t you get well away from him?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ The Doctor grinned suddenly. It was a while, Clara realised, since she’d seen him genuinely smile, so things must be looking up. Unless he’d just gone completely bonkers, she thought, as he said: ‘I’m going to take him to the Carnival. He’ll love it.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘The Carnival of Curiosities. If you and Vastra and Jenny can’t stop Milton, then that’s the one place I can find what I need to stop that cloud in there from turning everyone into angry killers.’

  ‘Right. You want to explain that.’

  ‘Love to,’ he told her. ‘But there’s no time – go on.’

  Clara nodded. ‘OK, if you know what you’re doing.’

  In answer the Doctor gave her a wink. Clara decided that would have to do as far as reassurance went. She edged past Empath, who was beginning to stir, slowly pushing himself up from the floor. She hurried down the corridor towards the room where Vastra and Jenny were imprisoned.

  Hearing the sound of footsteps behind her, Clara glanced back. She saw the Doctor emerge rapidly from the library and set off towards the front door. A moment later, the dark, funereal figure of Empath followed. Even from down the corridor, Clara could hear him hissing with rage.

  ‘Oh, Doctor,’ she murmured, ‘I hope you do know what you’re doing.’