'So why admit to being an exiled ruler?' Rose wanted to know. 'If she was after you?'
'How else should I behave?' Repple demanded. 'I am rightly proud of my heritage and my achievements. Aske persuaded me to change the name of the empire I ruled, to scale it back so as not to draw attention, either from the humans or from Katurian revolutionaries.'
'And you did?' Rose said.
'With his hand always on his blaster, how could I refuse? But I will never hide what I truly am.'
'He didn't know we were looking for him,' Melissa said, staring through the mask at Repple.
'Sure it's him then?' the Doctor said. 'Not me?'
She ignored him. 'I could not be certain what planet you had been exiled to or what you looked like.'
'So,' Rose interrupted, lucky guess or what?'
'I have friends, people in the hierarchy who have suffered as I have and who still long to see Vassily brought to proper justice.'
'Justice?' the Doctor echoed. 'Oh – you mean, executed. Exile too good for him, is it?'
'Far too good.' The hatred and contempt all but dripped from her words. 'I was quite prepared to search this world and a dozen others until I found this butcher.'
'I brought honour to Katuria,' Repple snarled. 'I built us an empire, and you fritter it away. Yes, there was a cost. But it is as nothing to the suffering and death your so-called revolution will bring with it.'
Melissa pointed the tubular weapon at Repple. Her hand was shaking, and so was her voice. 'I fashioned my team so they would fit in with the civilisation we searched. And I underwent genetic modification myself, just as you did, so as to fit in.'
'You don't,' the Doctor said. 'Do you? Oh, clockwork knights, OK – nothing too out of the ordinary there. Until they start wandering about killing people of course. But a Painted Lady? Bound to attract attention.'
'It was not deliberate,' she replied sadly. 'There was. . . a problem.'
'Your operation went wrong?' Repple wondered. 'We destroyed all records of the exile destination and the operations we needed to fit in.'
'The operation went perfectly. The scientists of the revolution are every bit as talented as your hackers and cutters, and I had help from the best of them,' Melissa insisted. 'Don't flatter yourself that because you are safe from the weak-willed leaders who have replaced you that you can escape those of us who know what you are capable of.'
'Then why hide your face?' Rose asked. 'If it is so perfect.' She remembered the rumour that Melissa was too beautiful to look at. Could it be right?
She got her answer. Melissa reached up with her free hand and took hold of the black and silver mask. 'It was a failure of intelligence, of data. Not of technology or talent. I took information from whatever sources I could beg or buy. I had to assume it was accurate, to take everything on trust.' She pulled away the mask and turned directly to Rose.
Freddie screamed, his head snapping round as he looked away, eyes tight shut. Rose heard the Doctor's sharp intake of breath. Repple took a step backwards. Rose stared back at Melissa Heart, unable to take her eyes off the wreckage of a face. Unable to look away from the grotesque features, the parody of humanity. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest, keeping time with the clicking of the Mechanicals; the blood rushing in her ears as Melissa Heart stared back at her through eyes that now seemed too human.
'This is how we thought you would look,' she said.
TWELVE
He could hear nothing. Crowther had sent Benjamin away, and told Tom to look after him. The poor lad was almost fainting with fear. No good to anyone. The chief steward had been crouching in the darkened kitchen alone since then, straining to make out what was happening.
There had been the initial sounds of the break-in. He thought he could hear heavy metal feet on the stairs, the measured tread of an inhuman march. But it might have been his own heart thumping in his chest. Or the kitchen clock ticking away the seconds that seemed like minutes and the minutes that seemed like hours.
The longer he waited in the near-darkness, the more he was aware that this wasn't right. He was in charge of the Imperial Club. Whatever was happening here was his responsibility. He was grateful that the Doctor had taken control, and he hoped and prayed that Wyse would soon return. He appreciated Wyse's calm yet authoritative manner, the way the man was willing to help and saw nothing as beneath him. He even spared the time to chat to Crowther about the weather or the latest cricket results. Despite his obsession with chess, he was a real gentleman, was Wyse. And Crowther imagined that the Doctor would be very similar if he got to know him.
He could not – would not – abandon the man to his fate.
In the Bastille Room, Wensleydale stood in front of a pile of furniture. Most of it he had moved himself, with the two elderly men – Ranskill and Coleridge – offering advice and encouragement but little physical help. Wensleydale had sat the old men in large armchairs facing away from the door at the back of the room. If anyone, or anything, did get through the barricade then there was a chance they wouldn't notice the armchairs turned to the wall and Ranskill and Coleridge might be safe. It was a faint hope, but a hope nonetheless.
Wensleydale had no illusions about his own ability to hide. He had no intention of trying to escape whatever fate came his way. He stood facing the barricade, holding his service revolver, remembering several similar moments in his army career. He had survived them all, but he was realistic about his chances. He had seen many good men, good friends, die. Perhaps fate had been saving him for now. If that was the case, then he felt no fear, no anxiety, no trepidation. Just the hope that he would acquit himself with as much honour and courage as his fallen comrades had shown. So, if the creatures, which the Doctor had described as like man-shaped tanks, broke into the room, then Wensleydale's hope was to do them as much damage as he could and protect the old men hiding in their chairs. They were in his care.
But the longer he stood by the barricade, listening for any sign of incursion, the more he resented the passive approach to the problem. There must be some way to take the fight to the enemy without endangering his charges. As he pondered this, as he considered the options, he heard something.
It sounded like a deferential cough from the other side of the barricade. A faceless mechanical killer with a cough? It seemed unlikely. 'Who goes there?' Wensleydale barked.
'Crowther, sir,' came the reply. 'I wonder if you could spare me a minute. I have an idea which 1 would like to discuss with you. If now is convenient.'
Wensleydale pushed the revolver into the waistband of his trousers, wincing as the metal dug into his stomach. He inspected the barricade for a moment, then heaved at a large chair. It came free, and another chair, several cushions and an occasional table tumbled after it and clattered to the floor. Wensleydale peered through the resulting hole, to find Crowther looking back at him. The head steward looked pale and drawn, a mirror, Wensleydale thought, of his own expression.
'Convenient?' Wensleydale said. 'Well, I don't have anything else on at the moment. What's your idea?'
Freddie had been trying to follow what the grown-ups were talking about. But the metal men scared him, and the sight of the Painted Lady's face was something he knew would haunt his already crowded nightmares. He clung to Rose, and was grateful for the warmth as she hugged him back. He tried not to look at the body of the man at the side of the room. At the blood. . .
There was movement, behind the metal men. Freddie caught it in the corner of his eye – a brief blur, quickly gone. He stared at the space where it had been, on the landing outside the broken door. Something on the stairs perhaps. A shadow.
The second time, he saw it clearly. A face cautiously rising up. Someone was lying on the stairs, looking into the room, like a soldier looking over the top of a trench. Freddie didn't know who it was – the round, friendly face of a man with slicked-back dark hair. The face was red, as if climbing the stairs had been an effort.
The man saw Freddie look
ing at him, and a hand appeared – thumbs-up. Then hand and face dipped down out of sight again.
Freddie thought about this. What did the thumbs-up mean? That help was on the way? That everything would be all right? He found Rose's hand and squeezed it, hoping she might understand that he was telling her to be ready, though he was not sure what for. Hoping she might have seen the figure on the stairs and the thumbs-up. But she was watching the other woman – mask thankfully back in place – and she barely glanced at Freddie.
He dug her in the stomach with his elbow, and Rose grunted in annoyance and pain. She glared at Freddie. Freddie nodded at the stairs, as brief and subtle a movement as he could manage and still convey the message. She looked where he gestured. Saw nothing. Wrinkled her eyebrows and forehead into a 'what?' Freddie nodded again. She looked back.
And this time, she did see. Freddie could tell from the way she stiffened. She saw, as he did, the two men creeping up the stairs. One of them was tall and smart in a dark suit. The other, the man who had given the thumbs-up, was so incredibly fat that Freddie almost laughed. He wondered how the man had managed to hide on the stairs, he was so big. But his face was set in a determined expression, and he was holding a gun.
The Doctor and Repple had seen the men too. Freddie could tell by the way their eyes moved. By the way they looked away – looked anywhere except at the men on the landing. The men now stepping into the room.
One of the metal figures swung round, somehow alerted to the threat from behind them. A second later, the other metal man turned as well. As soon as it moved, the fat man leaped forward, surprisingly quickly. He jammed the gun into the Painted Lady's neck. The metal figures froze.
'Well done, Wensleydale,' the Doctor said.
The fat man smiled. 'My pleasure, Doctor. Now Mr Crowther will lead you and your friends to safety while I keep these people here.'
'You won't escape,' Melissa said. Her voice sounded strained.
Wensleydale laughed. 'Oh, I know that. So you'd best be careful, you and your chums here.'
'What do you mean?' Rose demanded. She was pushing Freddie towards the door where Crowther was waiting. The metal men swung round to watch, but made no attempt to stop them. 'You're coming with us.'
Wensleydale shook his head. 'I'm out of puff just coming upstairs. I'd only slow you down. I can't run. But you must.'
The Doctor and Repple were both looking at Wensleydale now. 'There must be another way,' Repple said.
'Let's discuss this,' the Doctor suggested.
'We have discussed it, Crowther and I. You should go. Not waste any more time.'
The Doctor nodded to Rose. 'Go on.'
Freddie was on the landing now. He and Rose and Crowther stood at the top of the stairs. Melissa gave a snarl of anger as Repple moved slowly, reluctantly, to join them.
'We may have to run,' Crowther said quietly.
'Makes a change,' Rose replied.
Wensleydale had relaxed slightly now Freddie and Rose were apparently safe. He turned to the Doctor as Repple stepped on to the landing. 'Now, you leave too, Doctor. No argument.'
The Doctor's mouth opened to reply. But the words never came. As Wensleydale glanced away, at the Doctor, Melissa Heart brought the small weapon she was still holding towards her face. If Wensleydale saw the movement, perhaps he thought it was a cigarette. He hesitated, only a moment. But long enough.
The tip of the tube glowed red. The Doctor's reply became a shout of warning. Fire spat across Melissa's shoulder and caught Wensleydale full in the face. The gun went off. But Wensleydale was already falling lifeless to the floor, and the shot went wide – slamming into the lead panelling on the other side of the room.
'Run!' the Doctor shouted. 'Find Wyse.'
Crowther pushed Rose and Freddie ahead of him down the stairs. Freddie looked back to see the Doctor leaping forwards. But one of the metal knights stepped into the Doctor's path, blocking his escape. Repple was on the landing, looking from Freddie and the others to the Doctor and back. In that split second Freddie could almost see the wheels in Repple's mind turning as he assessed his chances, as he decided what to do.
Then Rose was dragging Freddie with her down the stairs, and the metal feet of one of the Mechanicals were thumping rapidly after them.
The stairs were a blur. Two landings, perhaps three. More stairs. Still the thump of the metal nightmare that was chasing them. It had seemed so cumbersome, so slow. But now it was moving rapidly, gaining on them. It would catch up with them before they reached the ground floor, Freddie realised.
At the next landing, Rose turned to descend the next flight of stairs. Like Freddie and Crowther, she was gasping for breath, glancing back. The metal figure was close behind them now. So close that Freddie thought he could hear its ticking.
Crowther grabbed Rose's arm, pulling her back. 'This way!' he shouted, leading them along the landing, away from the stairs, down the corridor.
'We'll be trapped,' she shouted back. 'There's no way out.'
'Fire escape,' Crowther shouted back.
'We'll never get to it.'
She was right. Freddie didn't know where they were heading, but the Mechanical was almost on them. A metal hand clutched at Freddie's back. He risked a look over his shoulder. It was so close he could see the rivets on the helmet, hear the click and tick of the mechanism that controlled the fingers that snapped and bit at him. He gave an involuntary shriek of fear and looked away.
'Only a few yards,' Crowther gasped.
Ahead of them, on the floor, Freddie could see what looked like a plank of wood, lying across the corridor. Together with the others he stepped over it as they ran. It was only a couple of inches thick.
But as soon as they passed it, the plank rose up in the path of the Mechanical. Freddie caught a glimpse of the old man standing in the doorway at the side of the corridor, holding one end of the plank, lifting it into the path of their pursuer.
The Mechanical slammed into the plank of wood with a splintering crash. The plank had cracked and bent, but it held. The metal man was stopped in his tracks, knocked backwards, and fell heavily to the ground. Freddie caught the briefest glimpse of the Mechanical's fate. He saw the helmet visor jarred free as the head hit the floor. Like Melissa Heart, its mask came away to reveal the lack of a face beneath. Instead there was a mass of cogwheels, clicking round rhythmically. Tiny gears and levers worked furiously. Flywheels spun and mechanisms clicked. Where the forehead should have been, a large multi-faceted glass or crystal stood slightly proud of the mechanisms, catching the light as the creature struggled to stand up. Like the jewelled mechanism of a clock.
Freddie and the others did not wait to see how long it took to recover. Two old men were with them now, already-breathless and stumbling. A metal scraping sound from behind them – dragging, maybe the Mechanical clambering to its feet. Freddie did not look back.
There was a room at the end of the corridor, the door standing open. They almost fell inside, and Crowther slammed the door shut, locking it and pocketing the key. 'Well done, gentlemen,' he said.
The two old men were both doubled up, getting their breath back. One of them, Freddie realised with surprise, was laughing.
The other straightened up and looked round. Rose was at the window on the other side of the room, opening it. 'There's a ladder down,' she said. 'Fire escape. Hurry up, that thing will be back in a minute.'
As if in answer, there was a heavy thump on the door. Then another, and a third.
'Where is Wensleydale?' one of the old men asked.
Crowther guided him to the window, where Rose was waiting. He looked back at the door, at the panels that were already splintering and splitting apart. 'I'm afraid Mr Wensleydale won't be joining us,' he said quietly. 'We did discuss this, and he asked me to convey his apologies.'
Rose was waiting for Freddie. She helped him through the window and on to the ladder. 'What will happen?' he asked her.
'We'll find Wyse,' she told hi
m. 'As the Doctor said.' 'I meant, what will happen to the Doctor? And Repple?' She didn't answer.
Repple looked up from Wensleydale's body. And you call me a murderer.'
'I had no choice,' Melissa said.
'There's always a choice,' the Doctor told her. 'Why did you choose to stay?' he asked Repple.
'You are in harm's way because of me, Doctor. I could not abandon you to these. . . people.'
And now?' the Doctor asked.
'Now you will come with me back to my house,' Melissa said. The remaining Mechanical stepped forwards, urging them towards the door.
'Tea? How kind.'
'I have a ship ready to take us back to Katuria.'
'No tea?'
And there you will stand trial for your crimes. Both of you.'
'Both of us?' Repple said.
The Doctor's eyes narrowed as he watched Melissa, waited for her reply.
'It will be a triumphant moment, though overshadowed by the thought of the death, the carnage, the destruction you have caused.' She was staring straight at Repple, through her mask. 'The trial of the hated Shade Vassily, who is responsible for so many deaths.' She turned to face the Doctor. And his accomplice.'
THIRTEEN
The thick glass distorted the murky waters outside. No light filtered down through the Thames, so the glass wall reflected back the image of the Doctor and Repple staring at it. The room was a featureless square, a blocked-off part of the tube that connected the basement of Melissa Heart's acquired house to the airlock of the spaceship she had concealed on the riverbed.
At gunpoint, she and the Mechanical had led the Doctor and Repple from the Imperial Club. The other Mechanical was waiting for them at the house. It gave a halting account of how Rose, Freddie and Crowther had escaped. Melissa dismissed this as irrelevant. She had who she wanted. Now, while she sent messages to arrange an escort and instructed the Mechanicals to begin the power-up procedures, the Doctor and Repple were confined to the space between cellar and ship.
Doctor Who: The Clockwise Man Page 12
