Silhouette

by Justin Richards

  ‘Oh, Doctor,’ the Doctor muttered to himself as he emerged from Milton’s house, ‘I hope you do know what you’re doing.’

  The tricky thing was keeping Empath within sight but not allowing him to get too close. The Doctor wasn’t at all sure he could survive another emotion-drain like the last. If he hadn’t already been tanked up on additional anger it would have finished him. He was also relying on Empath being so focused on coming after him that the man – if you could still call him a man – would not vent his wrath on anyone else who got in his way.

  The other unknown factor was just how long the Doctor had before Milton released the cloud of anger over London. He knew that Clara and the others would do their best to stop him, but realistically, it was going to happen. Milton might be charming and chatty, but he was also quite obviously ruthless, capable, and quite probably vindictive. Plus, of course, it was always best to assume and plan for the worst case. Sometimes, the Doctor was pleasantly surprised when the worst case then didn’t happen. But not often.

  Arriving back at the Frost Fair, the Doctor was pleased to see that it was busy. Afternoon was turning to evening and the light was drawing in, so he waited a moment to be absolutely sure that Empath saw him head down into the gathering crowds. He needed time to prepare, and time for Milton to act. It wouldn’t do for Empath to find him too soon. So the crowds were a welcome camouflage, somewhere to lose himself for a while.

  Several times, looking back through the mass of people, the Doctor caught sight of Empath’s distinctive black hat above the crowd. He would probably guess eventually that the Doctor was making for the Carnival. It was unlikely he would guess why. Even so, the Doctor took a roundabout route, in case Empath caught sight of him.

  By the time he arrived at the Carnival, there was no sign of Empath. Unable to find his ticket from earlier, the Doctor fumbled for a penny. He ought really, he reflected, to get in free of charge since he was here to save the world. A family was just leaving, mother father and a small boy whose face was a radiant smile and whose mouth had forgotten how to stop working.

  ‘And a real mermaid as well,’ he was saying. ‘An actual real mermaid.’

  ‘What was your favourite?’ the mother asked as they brushed past the Doctor. He couldn’t help hesitating to find out. The answer surprised him.

  ‘The Strong Man,’ the boy said. ‘He was awesome. The way he can bend those metal bars. And lift those heavy weights. What about when he picked that man up with one hand because the man said it was all a trick and the weights weren’t really heavy?’

  The boy’s gushing enthusiasm faded into the crowd. What it was to be young, the Doctor thought. But – the Strong Man? It seemed unlikely that poor Michael had made a miraculous recovery and returned from the dead, but then again anything – as the Doctor well knew – was possible.

  There was quite a crowd gathered round the area where the Strong Man performed. The Doctor pushed his way through, gasps of astonishment and awe accompanying his progress. When he was close enough to see what was going on, he smiled along with the rest of the audience. It really was quite impressive.

  The performance ended with the Strong Man taking a thick metal bar and bending it. In fact, he more than bent it, he practically folded it in half. Then to make the point, he unfolded it and pulled it straight again. The Doctor clapped along with everyone else. The Strong Man took a bow and retreated to his small tent.

  As the crowd gradually dispersed, the Doctor made his way over to the tent and went inside.

  ‘That was an excellent performance,’ he said. ‘Really impressive. You know how to work an audience. Which is good, because I need you to help me gather together all the performers we can find. Jugglers, clowns, acrobats, fire-eaters, all of them.’

  ‘You are assembling an army?’ Strax asked.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘An army of performers who are going to help us save the world, or at least the city of London.’

  ‘We are going to fight?’ Strax asked. ‘Lay down covering fire and assault the enemy in a devastating full frontal attack with scissor grenades, fragmentation explosives, and heavy laser artillery?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ the Doctor admitted. ‘We are going to put on a show. We’re going to give the performance of our lives.’

  Strax said nothing for a moment as he absorbed this information. Then he nodded, and his thin bloodless lips curved into a satisfied smile. ‘Excellent.’

  Chapter

  18

  The only light came from the door behind Clara and the solid bars of light shining down from the ceiling. Vastra and Jenny were still sitting inside the circle. They both got to their feet as Clara entered.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Jenny breathed.

  ‘You are alone?’ Vastra said.

  ‘Milton’s pushed off somewhere and the Doctor’s up to something clever,’ Clara explained. ‘So how do I get you out of there?’

  Vastra pointed out the control panel on the wall by the window. It took Clara a few attempts to shut off the bars, but finally the cage dissolved into darkness.

  ‘We have to stop Milton,’ Clara told them. ‘He’s got this cloud of pure anger or something which he’s planning to release into London.’

  ‘To what effect?’ Vastra asked.

  ‘It’s a weapon. It turns everyone who breathes it in or touches it into a maniac killer zombie. Or something.’

  ‘Why’s he doing this?’ Jenny said.

  ‘To demonstrate to potential buyers that it works,’ Clara said.

  ‘He is trying to re-establish his business as an arms supplier,’ Vastra said. ‘But he has to be careful. If the Shadow Proclamation locate him, I imagine from what he has told us that they would execute him.’

  ‘So where is he, then?’ Jenny demanded. ‘Let’s go and sort him out.’

  Milton had mentioned his ship was concealed beneath the house. But Clara reckoned the best place to start looking for him was the study where he had given them tea. She led Vastra and Jenny back through the house. There was no sign of anyone else.

  The study too appeared empty.

  ‘There might be something useful on his desk,’ Jenny suggested.

  ‘A good thought,’ Vastra agreed.

  But the desk was clear, apart from a small futuristic handgun and the compact computer and its screen that Clara had seen Milton use earlier.

  ‘Wherever he is, he’s unarmed,’ Jenny said. She offered the gun to Vastra. ‘Madame?’

  Vastra took it, examined it briefly, and put it back on the desk. ‘It is keyed to his biological signature. No good to us, as only Milton can operate it. This, however, may be more use.’ She passed her hand across the surface of the computer, and the screen came to life. ‘Arrogant of him not to secure it.’

  ‘He obviously doesn’t expect visitors to get this far,’ Clara said.

  Most of what flashed across the screen meant nothing to her – symbols and equations, writing in a language she had never seen before. But then Vastra found a way into the security systems. Pictures of various areas of the house appeared in windows on the screen. One showed a view of a sleek spaceship at the end of a sloping ramp.

  ‘That must be how he came here,’ Clara said.

  ‘And how he hopes to escape,’ Vastra agreed. ‘Although if the authorities are closing in on him, they’ll track the engine signature as soon as he launches.’

  Another window gave a view of the study, the three of them grouped round the screen. Clara glanced towards where the camera must be, but she couldn’t see it. The device was well hidden. More empty rooms, most of them obviously unused. Then at last, Milton appeared on the screen. The window showed the glass sphere, the black cloud of anger swirling round inside it as Milton checked the pipe leading from it. He made an adjustment to a valve, and nodded with evident satisfaction.

  ‘You know where this is?’ Vastra asked.

  ‘Library,’ Clara told her. ‘This way.’


  ‘Can we stop him releasing that stuff?’ Jenny asked as they hurried back through the house.

  ‘He said the release mechanism worked on a remote control,’ Clara said. ‘He’s just checking it’s all set up. I think he has to release it from somewhere else. He wanted to be on his ship and safely quarantined from it – so maybe the release control is on the ship.’

  ‘Then we may be able to stop him after all,’ Vastra said.

  Milton was still working at the sphere, framed between two high-backed armchairs, as the three of them rushed into the library. He looked up as they entered. His surprise was wiped away by a smile of affable greeting.

  ‘You’re just in time,’ he told them. ‘If you wait just a few minutes, you’ll see the tank empty and clear as I vent the cloud into the air above London.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ Vastra told him.

  ‘The game’s up,’ Clara added. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that, so I’ll say it again – the game’s up. I know you can’t release it from here because you made the mistake of telling us that.’

  ‘And you’re going nowhere,’ Jenny said.

  Milton frowned. ‘How tiresome,’ he murmured, reaching into his pocket.

  ‘If you’re looking for your gun, it’s on your desk,’ Clara told him.

  ‘Thank you. But actually I was looking for this.’ Milton pulled a watch from his pocket, checking the time quickly and the returning it. ‘I am on a schedule, I’m afraid. Several prospective buyers are watching on long-range sensors to see what happens when I release my friend here.’ He patted the sphere.

  ‘Then they’ll be disappointed,’ Vastra said.

  Milton seemed to ignore her. ‘My transmissions may have alerted the authorities to my general location. They won’t have an exact fix, but I do have to be a bit careful for the next few days. Did you know,’ he went on, as if recounting a particularly amusing anecdote, ‘that the Shadow Proclamation arranged to have me tried in absentia? Apparently, I’m to be executed on sight. So you’ll forgive me if I leave you to indulge your fantasies while I press on with more important matters.’

  ‘You ain’t going nowhere,’ Jenny told him. She flexed her hands and adopted a fighting stance.

  ‘Assuming the double negative was unintentional,’ Milton said, ‘I beg to differ.’ He picked up a bundle of papers from a side table. Clara could see that they were covered with writing and sketches. ‘You have no idea what these notes are worth. Some of the ideas in here could change the nature of warfare in the modern age. Projects I am really looking forward to pursuing, once I’ve left this rather dreary world and its rather dreary people behind. Present company included. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  As he spoke, two figures rose from the two armchairs between Milton and the others. The high backs of the chairs had concealed their presence until now. One of the figures was Silhouette. Clara was surprised to see that the other was a young man she recognised.

  ‘Oswald?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Oswald said. ‘I think this could be a bit embarrassing. You see, I’m not really Oswald.’

  ‘What?’

  Clara watched in shocked surprise as the young man’s features blurred and changed. His face became rounder, his dark hair was suddenly an unruly mass of fair hair.

  ‘Any more than I am Jim,’ the figure said. The face changed again, collapsing in on itself, then expanding again into a different shape – a reptilian face similar to Vastra’s. ‘Or Festin.’

  Then, abruptly, the man had no face at all. Just a blank visage punctuated only by the most basic shapes of eyes, nose, mouth. ‘I am everyone and no one. I am Affinity.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jenny said, ‘well some of us have seen your tricks before and whoever you are, you ain’t stopping us.’

  ‘Not quite right, I’m afraid,’ Milton said. ‘It’s you that isn’t stopping me.’

  He strode purposefully towards them. Affinity and Silhouette stepped aside deferentially to let him pass. Vastra, Jenny and Clara closed together, barring the man’s way. As Milton approached them, Silhouette opened her arms, fingers extended.

  Something hit Clara hard on the back. She winced, turning instinctively to see who was behind her. But there was no one. Beside her, first Jenny then Vastra cried out in surprise and pain. From the corner of her eye, Clara saw movement. She turned – in time to see a book fly off the nearest bookcase. It flew across the room, covers beating the air like wings, heading straight for Clara. She batted it away. But the book didn’t fall – it came back at her like an enraged bird.

  More books followed, swirling round Clara, Jenny and Vastra. A maelstrom of paper beating at them incessantly. She saw Vastra grab a book out of the air, and rip it in two. It dropped to the floor, still for a moment, then the pages ripped themselves from the broken binding and flew up again in Vastra’s face. Through the blizzard, Clara saw Milton hurrying out of the room. She tried to cry out, but her words were choked off by a another barrage of paper.

  Jenny’s hands were a blur, swiping at the attacking volumes, smashing them aside. In contrast it was all Clara could do to stay on her feet and keep the books and paper from her face.

  ‘Stop her,’ Vastra cried through the noise of beating paper. ‘You have to stop her, Jenny.’

  Somehow Jenny was making headway, forcing her way through the blizzard of paper and cloth and leather towards where Silhouette stood watching. Finally she was close enough to reach the woman, hurling herself forwards and knocking Silhouette to the ground. But it made no difference, more books flew from the shelves to strike at Jenny.

  ‘Necklace!’ Clara yelled. ‘Get her necklace.’

  She had no idea if it would help, but it was all she could think of. She caught snatches of what was happening through the flurry of pages. Glimpses, like juddering frames from an old film. Jenny reaching for the crystal round Silhouette’s neck. Grabbing it. Snapping it free. Hurling it away across the room.

  Nothing changed. The books kept coming. The crystal clattered to the wooden floor not far from Clara, gleaming as it caught the light. With a supreme effort, Clara shoved through the books, turning her back into them as if forcing her way through a gale. Three steps, that was all – surely she could manage just three steps. It seemed to take for ever then she was staring down at the crystal, seeing multiple images of her face reflected in crimson, staring back at her.

  She stamped down hard with the heel of her boot.

  The crystal shattered, blood ray shards spraying out across the floor.

  At once the noise and confusion stopped. Books fell to the floor. Slowly Jenny got to her feet.

  Silhouette struggled up after her, staring round at the debris strewn across the floor. ‘What have I done?’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘Not enough,’ the blank-faced man said, and hurled himself at her.

  In a flash of movement, Jenny was between them, grappling with Affinity. The man’s hand reached up for Jenny’s neck. A glint of red as it moved. Vastra and Clara both rushed to help. Clara grabbed the man’s hand, dragging it back, wrenching the ring from his finger and dropping it to the floor. Again, she stamped down.

  And again the effect was immediate. Affinity seemed to sag, stepping away from Jenny. His face slowly filled out, assuming the aspect of the showman at the Carnival who had introduced Vastra to the audience as the Lizard Woman. Then, in rapid succession, he was Festin again, then Jim, and finally Oswald. He looked round, startled and confused as his features slowly faded away again to a blank.

  ‘My head,’ he said slowly. ‘I can … think.’

  ‘We are free of him,’ Silhouette said. She enfolded Affinity in an embrace. After a moment she stepped away again. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Clara, Vastra and Jenny.

  ‘Don’t thank us just yet,’ Clara said. ‘We still have to stop Milton.’

  ‘He has gone to his vessel,’ Silhouette said. ‘This way.’

  But before she could move, there was
a sound from the other side of the room – a sudden hiss of escaping gas. The dark cloud inside the glass sphere was churning and swirling. As they watched, it thinned, the sphere slowly becoming transparent, empty.

  ‘We’re too late,’ Clara realised. ‘He’s released the cloud.’

  ‘How do we stop it?’ Vastra demanded.

  Silhouette and Affinity looked at each other. ‘I don’t think we can,’ Affinity said.

  ‘Milton may know a way,’ Silhouette suggested.

  ‘Then show us where he is,’ Jenny said.

  The entrance to the underground chamber where Milton’s ship was hidden was under the main staircase. A simple wooden door looked as though it should lead into a store cupboard.

  ‘There are steps down,’ Affinity explained.

  But when they opened the door, they were confronted by a metal shutter. There was no way to open it.

  Clara hammered her fist against the metal in frustration. ‘He’s sealed it. How do we open this?’

  Neither Silhouette nor Affinity had any idea. ‘He controls everything from his study,’ Silhouette offered.

  ‘That computer screen,’ Clara said. ‘It’s worth a try.’

  *

  A dark cloud poured out like smoke from the chimney of the house. It spread thinner and thinner across the sky, wafting its way over London, slowly sinking down through the air.

  Several streets away, a dog started to bark angrily. Close by, a jostled pedestrian decided that after all he did mind. A shopkeeper’s frustration with an indecisive customer started to boil over.

  A palpable tension was building in the air. Expressions changed as smiles became frowns, as people’s good will and tolerance ebbed away without them even realising what had changed. The mildest of people took offence, the most affable snarled in rage. Arguments became shouting matches, which became fights, which became bloody.

  Slowly at first, spreading from Milton’s house, people’s emotions began to get the better of them. Anger clouded judgement.

  Silhouette and Affinity stood slightly apart from the others as Vastra worked at the screen.