Doctor Who: The Clockwise Man

by Richards, Justin

  'And if we go, where do we go?'

  'To find Rose.'

  Repple touched the Doctor's arm – a very human gesture. 'She will be fine,' he said. 'I'm sure.' There was genuine concern in his voice, between the faint clicks of his mind.

  'I know. I'm sure too.' The Doctor smiled thinly. 'Well, 99.99 per cent sure.'

  Repple nodded.

  'It's just the hundredth of a hundredth,' the Doctor said, 'that's so difficult to accept.' He led the way to the front door, unlocked it, drew back the heavy bolts. Opened the door.

  To reveal the faceless metal mask of the huge figure standing outside. It stepped forwards as the Doctor and Repple both turned to run back into the house.

  But the other Mechanical was walking stiffly along the hallway towards them, cutting off their escape. The only other route was up the stairs. But at the bottom of the main staircase, where perhaps she had been for some time, sat Melissa Heart.

  She was wearing her angry face.

  The cat limped its slow way along the pavement, and Rose followed. Freddie watched from the shadows, being careful not to let himself be seen. Rose would take him straight home again, he was sure. And he could help, he knew he could. He owed it to his friends, to Rose and the Doctor, to help in any way he could.

  At some point he would have to step out into the light and show Rose he was here. But now she was busy following the cat. Perhaps when they arrived at wherever the cat was leading them. . .

  As they reached Westminster Bridge, the cat seemed to gather itself before making its hesitant way across the road as fast as its failing legs could take it. There was a set of railings across the road on the other side. It managed to climb up and through, dropping down beyond. Rose was across the road in a flash. Freddie followed, but he had to wait for a cab to pass. It sounded its horn in the fog, a melancholy sound, all but swallowed by the heavy air.

  Freddie hurried over the road, afraid he might have lost Rose. The smog was closing in now, so that everything was pale and drained of colour. He looked all round, but there was no sign of Rose. He ran to the railing, and leaned over. There she was. As he leaned, the railing moved, and Freddie realised it was a gate. He eased it open and followed Rose down the steps the other side.

  A large figure was looming up out of the darkness. Freddie saw Rose duck into cover as it approached. There was nowhere for Freddie to hide, so he crouched down, against the steps, and hoped the figure would not see him.

  It was a policeman, he realised as the figure paused at the bottom of the steps. For a moment, Freddie was afraid the policeman was going to come up to the street – and find him. But then the figure moved on, disappearing into the misty darkness as he moved away from the lamp at the bottom of the steps. Freddie hurried down, and across a small lawn. He was outside a large building, could see its impressive silhouette against the pale glow of the moon.

  The Houses of Parliament. Staring up at the dark shape, he almost ran straight into Rose. She was standing still, at the edge of the lawn. Freddie managed to stop before he went into her. He held his breath, sure she would hear the thumping of his heart. But she did not move, did not turn. Had she found the mysterious Ben? He could just see the dark shape of the cat dragging itself through an arched doorway on the other side of the path.

  Incredibly close, barely muffled by the gathering fog, the hour began to strike. Freddie looked up, towards the sound, mirroring Rose's stance a few feet away. She too was staring up at the enormous clock tower rising high above them. The illuminated face of the clock above the Houses of Parliament shone defiantly through the fog.

  He heard her voice clearly between the chimes of Big Ben.

  'Oh, you have to be kidding,' Rose said.

  Repple stood in front of Melissa. 'You showed me your face,' he said. 'Let me show you mine.' He put his hand to his cheek, pinched at the skin, and pulled his face away from the mechanisms beneath.

  Melissa's artificial expression did not change. But her eyes seemed to widen in the mask, and she gave an audible gasp.

  'It surprised Repple too,' the Doctor assured her. They were standing at the bottom of the stairs, flanked by the two Mechanicals. Melissa was standing on the staircase, so that she was looking down at them.

  'I don't understand,' she said. The angry face turned towards the Doctor. 'You have tricked me!'

  He shook his head. 'Not me. I knew nothing about all this.'

  Melissa waved the Mechanicals away, and they stepped back from the Doctor and Repple.

  'Thank you,' the Doctor said. 'I did wonder if Vassily was actually dead,' he went on. 'Whether this –' he pointed at Repple's face – 'was a charade to allow justice to be seen to be done.'

  'Could it be?' Melissa wondered. Was Shade Vassily actually killed in the revolution? Or did he take his own life when he saw all was lost?'

  'I did wonder. But if that was the case,' the Doctor went on, 'what's the point of the AI terminal at the Imperial Club? No,' he decided, turning to Repple, 'you're a decoy.'

  'A decoy,' Repple echoed. He pushed his face back into position as he considered this.

  'So was Aske. Both of you were sent here to draw out any assassins who might find Vassily's prison. Who might get too close. Neither of you ever suspected the truth. I'm sure Aske believed absolutely that you were Shade Vassily.'

  'And the real Vassily?' Melissa demanded.

  'Still hiding. Monitored and protected by the AI.'

  'But the AI has been destroyed.'

  The Doctor grinned suddenly. 'The cats probably have some level of autonomy, but yes, you're right – the AI's done for. Cats can't do much without it.'

  'So, who is Shade Vassily?' Repple said quietly. 'Do you know, Doctor?'

  'Can't be certain, but it does seem likely. . .'

  'Yes?' Melissa said, impatience and anticipation meeting in her tone.

  'That Shade Vassily is Mr Pooter.'

  'But there is no such person,' Repple said.

  The Doctor thrust his hands into his pockets, and grimaced as he found the pockets were full of water. 'Oh yes there is. I didn't want to believe it, but. . .' He sighed. 'We're meant to think there isn't – the daft name, the fact hardly anyone ever sees him. But he's around. And we've got to find him.'

  'Why?'

  'Because he is a mass murderer,' Melissa told him. She took a step down, looking at eye level at Repple. 'Whatever they might have programmed you to believe about him, he is without honour or compassion. A war criminal with tens of thousands of deaths behind him. Including,' she went on quietly, 'my brother and my parents.'

  'More pragmatically,' the Doctor said to Repple, 'how did you arrive here?'

  'In a ship. A spaceship.'

  And why didn't you leave?'

  'Because Aske would have killed me if I tried. And because the ship was powered down after it was hidden. The cells completely depleted.'

  Ton cells?' the Doctor wondered. Repple nodded. Ton cells that would need to be re-energised.'

  'Hydrogen extraction,' Melissa said quietly.

  'Seems likely.'

  'But he would need a supply of hydrogen.'

  'And where's the ship?' the Doctor asked. 'Under the Thames, like Melissa's?'

  Repple nodded. 'H20,' he realised. 'He could energise the Thames to recharge the ion cells.'

  'He's had a lot of time to plan how to do it too,' the Doctor said. 'Though the cat would have stopped him from carrying out his plan. Until now.'

  'The cat?' Melissa said.

  The Doctor nodded. 'The real jailer and bodyguard, controlled by the AI, watching all the time.'

  'But now the AI has been destroyed,' Repple said, 'there is nothing to stop him. He may already have the equipment set up, even though he could not use it until now.'

  Melissa took another step forwards, standing between the Doctor and Repple. And if he energises the Thames, the ozone fallout. . .'

  'Will ignite in the oxygen-rich air and create a firestorm,' the Doct
or finished. 'It'll burn through London – every building, every tree, every man, woman and child – in less time than it takes to sneeze.'

  FIFTEEN

  Through the arched doorway, there was a view of the courtyard beyond. Inside the base of the tower was another door, off to the right, up a step. Rose followed the cat as it limped its way to the door. It was a modest wooden door with a glass panel in the upper half and a polished wooden plate that said simply, The Clock Tower'.

  The cat was standing in front of the door, staring at it. It hissed as Rose approached. She hesitated, waiting for the eyes to flash and the deadly rays to lance out at her. But the cat's green eyes seemed dulled and watery. It looked up at her weakly. It didn't seem to have the strength even to extend its claws. On an impulse, Rose knelt down and scooped up the cat in her arms. It was cold and hard under the thin fur. Nothing at all like a real cat, she thought.

  'Ah, there you are.'

  The door to the clock tower had opened without her noticing. A figure stood in the doorway, the light behind so that Rose could not make it out. The figure stepped down, reaching out and taking the cat from her. It was Wyse. His face creased with amusement as he cradled the cat in his arms and clicked his tongue at it.

  'Daft old thing,' he said. 'Must have followed me here.' He held it so he could see into the cat's dull eyes. 'Doesn't look quite the ticket, does he?' He stepped back through the door, nodding for Rose to follow. 'Come on then.'

  'You play chess in here?' Rose asked. She found herself at the bottom of a surprisingly small, square stairwell. Stone steps spiralled up above her so high she could not see the top.

  'In a manner of speaking.' Wyse looked up with her. They stood close together in the confined space. 'There are 334 steps up to the belfry. Another fifty-nine to the lantern above. I have counted them many times.'

  'But – what are you doing?'

  He laughed. 'Come and see.' He opened the door again and, in a sudden violent movement, flung the cat outside. Rose heard the metallic thump as it hit the ground. She thought she heard the tinkle of breaking mechanisms. But Wyse pulled the door firmly closed, squeezed past Rose and started up the stairs.

  Rose made to follow him up the steps. Then she stopped, hesitating at the bottom. There was something about the way that he had been holding the cat that unsettled her, even before he had thrown it aside so carelessly. The way he rubbed his knuckles into the fur on top of the cat's head, making its brow wrinkle like his own. It seemed so familiar that she assumed she had seen him do it before.

  And then she realised that she had. In the boardroom, with the trustees at the meeting. It had been Wyse sitting at the head of the table.

  'You're Mr Pooter,' she said quietly.

  He turned and looked down at her from several steps above. 'Yes,' he admitted, 'I am.'

  'So, you own the Imperial Club.'

  'Yes, I do. But. . .' He shrugged. 'I'm modest about it.'

  That didn't ring true somehow. 'Why?' Rose asked.

  Wyse had already turned away and started up the steps, obviously assuming she would follow. His voice echoed down to her. 'Because I don't want to attract undue attention. I like the authority, the power, but I would rather not be seen to be wielding it. In short, I don't want to be found, that's why.'

  Slowly and quietly, Rose moved back to the door. Gently and carefully, she turned the handle. But the door refused to open.

  'It's locked,' Wyse's amused voice came from the floor above. 'You won't get out. So you might as well come up here. Oh, and no one will hear or see you, so don't worry about that either.'

  Rose was staring through the glass panel in the upper part of the door. Wyse was probably right. No one would hear. 'Help!' she mouthed. 'Find the Doctor.'

  Freddie didn't need to hear. He was standing close to the other side of the door watching her carefully. He nodded. And as Rose started to ascend the stairs, Freddie turned and ran.

  Wyse was waiting for her round the first full turn of the stairs. There was a small landing and a door. It was shut. On the opposite wall was a narrow, arched window covered with metal mesh. Rose spared it only a glance – it was obviously too small for her to climb out of, even if she was willing to risk the long drop to the ground outside.

  Wyse led her up to the next level, and the next, past another closed door, then on to the next. And the next. By the sixth floor, Rose's knees were aching. She stopped and sat down outside the door.

  Wyse had also stopped and was looking down at her in amusement. 'It gets easier with practice,' he assured her. 'Storerooms and offices,' he explained, nodding at the door. 'Most of them empty. Unimportant. Ten of them on top of each other. This stairwell rises up in the corner of the tower. In the opposite corner is a ventilation shaft to draw the stale air through from the debating chambers. Believe me,' he went on with a benign smile, 'when Parliament is sitting there is a lot of stale air to be ventilated.'

  'Where are we going?' Rose demanded, getting to her feet again.

  Wyse was already on his way. 'The prisoner's room. Not far now.'

  'Prisoner's room?'

  'Oh, it doesn't refer to you. At least, not yet. It's where naughty Members of Parliament are locked up if they misbehave. Or, in one notable case, if they refuse to swear loyalty to the monarch in the sight of God. Amusingly arcane, don't you think?'

  'Hysterical.'

  Wyse stood aside to allow Rose to enter the room first. It was a strange shape, more like a corridor than a room. As she walked round the three sides, Rose realised this was because it was built round a square central shaft. But the shape of the room was not as interesting as what was in it. To get round. Rose had to squeeze past the enormous cogwheels, shafts, gears, levers and dark ironwork. They were dripping with thick, greasy, black oil. But the enormous mechanisms were silent and still – not a click, not a movement. Nothing.

  'The clock's stopped,' Rose said. Her voice echoed round the room.

  Wyse's laughter echoed after it. 'The clock,' he said, 'is a magnificent feat of precision engineering, given the technology of this rather backward planet.' His monocle caught the light as he regarded her closely through it.

  'Oh, you admit you're an alien then?'

  He ignored her, continuing as if she had not spoken. 'But the clock is only about the size of a modest dinner table. It will provide the motive force to start my rather grander mechanism, but otherwise it is entirely coincidental and unconnected.'

  'Your mechanism?'

  The monocle dropped from his eye, swinging on its thin chain. Somehow this time Rose didn't find it funny. 'Impressive, don't you think?' He waited and, getting no answer, concluded, 'You don't. Pity.'

  Rose worked her way back to where Wyse was standing by the door. 'But what's it for? You're this Shade Thingy person, aren't you?'

  'Modesty forbids,' he murmured.

  'So what are you up to?'

  'Escaping from my exile. The cat, or rather cats, for there were several, as you will have realised, were efficient, but lamentably literal jailers. They had orders to prevent me from reactivating the ship in which poor Aske and Repple and I arrived, all that time ago. Not that they knew I was on board. If I had tried to start this machinery the cats would have killed me. However they had no orders to prevent me from having it constructed in the first place.' He gave a snort of laughter. 'That's why they call it artificial intelligence, I suppose.'

  'All this is to activate a spaceship?'

  'As I said, impressive, isn't it? The design is all my own, though of course I subcontracted a lot of it to the palace's Clerk of Works. For a modest fee. He thinks it's a system to ensure the absolute accuracy of the clock, poor devil.' Wyse smiled at the thought. At the moment, they use pennies. They put them on the top of the pendulum, or take them off it, to shift the centre of gravity. Ingenious, but somewhat primitive.' He stepped up to the main part of the machinery, an enormous cogwheel that all but filled the space between floor and ceiling. 'The mechanism exten
ds upwards to the clock above us, and down through the central shaft to the ground,' he explained proudly. 'All for the want of a decent hydro-energising plant.'

  'So, what now?'

  'Oh, now I activate the mechanism. When the central spring has been wound to the correct point, it will be activated by the clock. The weights will fall as Big Ben strikes the hour, which in turn will release the mainspring. Then, once these wheels have run up to speed, the power realised will energise the water molecules in the River Thames. That in turn will release the energy that the ship will absorb to power up. And I can leave.' He smiled at the simplicity of it. 'You can come with me if you like.'

  'No, ta.'

  He shrugged. 'Or you can stay here. And be burned beyond recognition along with the rest of London when the ozone ignites.' He waved his hands as if wafting this small problem away. 'An unfortunate side effect of the process.'

  Rose stared at him, scarcely able to believe what he was telling her in such a matter-of-fact manner. 'You're mad.'

  He nodded. 'Very probably. But I'd rather be mad and alive and free than. . .' He didn't bother to finish. 'Oh, I must thank you. You and the Doctor.'

  'What for? Playing chess?'

  'That was a welcome distraction. The Doctor is almost a worthy opponent. But no, for helping, of course. At first I thought you were the revolutionary assassins hunting for me. So I misled you slightly, I'm afraid, about. . . Well, about almost everything. It seemed quite jolly at the time. But no, your biggest contribution, aside from drawing the real assassins into the open, was to destroy the AI. I assume that was something to do with you two, probably when the Painted Lady and her Mechanicals attacked the Imperial Club.'

  'The cats,' Rose murmured.

  'I could never have activated this while any of the cats were fully operational. But now the AI is dead and the cats must have collectively exhausted their ninth lives, I can do what I like. Thank you,' he said again. 'You have set me free.'