by Doctor Who
Melissa Heart did not reply. Her face stared at them as blankly as the clockwork knight's.
Rose was thinking about what the Doctor had said. The implications. 'She's alien?'
'Behind the mask.' He glanced towards the door, checking the way was clear. 'Wel , must dash. Sorry.'
But as they turned to run, the second of the two knights beside the fireplace jerked into mechanical life and stepped swiftly across to block the way.
'So much for initiative,' Rose said.
'Diplomacy?' the Doctor wondered. 'Don't suppose you'd care to discuss the mistake you're making?'
Melissa stepped up beside the table, tapping an elegant finger next to the happy mask. 'Don't make me laugh.'
The Doctor sighed. 'Thought not. Anachronistic technology it is then.' He pul ed the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, aimed it squarely at the clockwork knight now approaching them from the doorway, and...
Nothing happened.
Melissa was wearing the smiling happy mask now. 'I did of course remove the power source before I returned that device to you.'
They were trapped between the two advancing knights. Swords were raised, poised, ready to strike down at them.
'Don't s'pose you have a mask showing smug self-satisfaction, do you?' the Doctor wondered.
'It would suit her,' Rose agreed. She swal owed, her throat dry. Then she saw where the Doctor was looking – over Melissa's shoulder and out towards the Thames. Saw the figure standing at the window, desperately pushing at it from the outside.
'Not for her,' the Doctor was saying. 'If you had smug self-satisfaction, you see...' He paused, as Freddie finally managed to heave the window open. 'I'd like to borrow it! Come on, Rose.'
The swords crashed down, splitting the air where the Doctor and Rose had been a second before.
Together, they leaped up on to the table, and jumped off across the room past Melissa Heart. Ran towards the open window. Behind them the knights' ticking did not miss a beat as they both turned and started round the table, following the Doctor and Rose.
'Thanks, Freddie,' Rose gasped as she hurled herself after the Doctor through the window.
'Don't hang about,' the Doctor cal ed back.
Rose grabbed Freddie's hand, and they ran stumbling after the Doctor.
There was an alleyway leading round to the front of the houses, and they slowed to a walk once they were back on the road. Even so, Freddie struggled to keep up. He seemed both confused and euphoric.
'What were those things? People in armour? Why were they attacking you? I didn't get hurt. Not at al .'
He inspected his hands closely as they walked, making Rose smile. 'I was afraid I'd cut myself opening the window. There were splinters and everything.'
'Can be nasty, splinters,' the Doctor agreed.
'Better not tel your mum,' Rose added. 'She'd go spare.'
Freddie nodded. 'She'd be upset and worried.'
'She'll be worried if you don't hurry home,' the Doctor pointed out. 'I'd come with you, but...'
'We're being fol owed?' Rose said, looking round.
'Probably. There again, she has the TARDIS and she knows that's important. I'l be back, to coin a phrase.'
'And those knights are real y clockwork men?'
Freddie's eyes widened. 'Clockwork?'
'Yeah. We're not winding you up,' Rose said.
The Doctor grinned at her, then turned quickly away. 'Of a kind, Freddie. Self-winding, I imagine. The movement is self-perpetuating, at least to a point. They never stop. They never give up.'
'And they're after us. Great.'
'Nice to be wanted. Wish I knew why.'
'The Painted Lady wants to kil you?' Freddie said.
'Oh yes,' the Doctor realised. 'That's why.' He frowned. 'Nope.'
'Nope?' Rose checked.
'Nope,' he assured her. 'That doesn't help. She's looking for someone she wants to kill. Isn't even sure they're...' He paused, glancing at Freddie. 'In London. Then she finds us and she's convinced, wrongly, that it's me she wants.'
'But she was off to Freddie's stepdad's anyway,' Rose said.
'She's very thorough,' the Doctor decided. 'So either the target isn't here, or else they're very thorough too. Very clever. Very good at it.'
'At what?'
'At hiding.'
'Which means, they know she's looking,' Rose realised.
'They know someone is.'
'We're going back to the club,' the Doctor said to Freddie. 'I real y do think you should get home. OK?'
Freddie nodded solemnly. 'Al right, Doctor. But you wil tel me what happens? If I can help?'
The Doctor reached out suddenly and shook his hand. 'You've already helped. You've saved our lives.'
He nodded in appreciation. 'You're a hero.'
Freddie grinned. The grin froze, then faded as Rose leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
'Thanks,' she said.
He was rubbing the cheek as he walked away, glancing round embarrassed.
'I only kissed him,' Rose said.
'He's a boy,' the Doctor told her.
'I thought that's what they were for,' she grumbled, following him down the street.
'Right, the plan,' the Doctor announced as they reached the Imperial Club.
'Ready,' Rose affirmed.
'Melissa wil send her clockwork cronies after us as soon as it's dark.'
'Sure?'
He nodded. 'She's impatient now she thinks she's found me. And she's thrown caution to the wind.
So we need to warn the other guests and organise some defences.'
'Or run away?'
'Putting off the inevitable. Here we know the territory, and we have friends. Anyway, she'l trash the place looking for us whether we're here or not.'
'So where do we start?'
The Doctor tapped his chin as he thought. 'You've seen Mr Pooter, so you go and convince him of the danger. I'l find Wyse and the others.'
'I haven't seen Mr Pooter,' Rose protested. 'Wel , I mean I have seen him. But I haven't seen him.' She paused, a thought coalescing in her mind. 'Hang on. Reclusive character, hiding away, no one ever sees him... You don't think...?'
'No. He'd hardly hide away from assassins by adopting a laughably sil y name then opening a club in central London and taking in guests.'
'No?'
'No. That's the daft sort of double-bluff I'd do to draw out the enemy. Dangerous and il -advised. Go on.
Then meet me in the Bastil e Room sharpish.'
'Yes, sir!' Rose snapped an ironic salute and started up the stairs.
The Doctor turned to find Crowther watching him. 'You'd better come and listen to this too,' the Doctor told him. 'How many guests are staying here at the moment?'
'Besides yourselves, Doctor, and Wyse...' Crowther counted on his fingers as he fol owed the Doctor along the panel ed corridor. 'There's old Sir Henry, but he's confined to bed. Oliver Maffeking has gone to stay with friends tonight. Now that the Hansons have moved on, that just leaves Ranskil , Coleridge, Wensleydale. Several others. And Repple and Aske, of course.'
'And the staff.'
'Indeed, sir.'
Wyse was sitting in his usual chair. He looked up as the Doctor entered, and smiled and nodded in greeting.
'Find Aske and Repple and the other guests and see if they can join us,' the Doctor said to Crowther.
'And any of the staff who are about.'
'Is it important, Doctor?'
'Vital. Go on.'
The Doctor walked slowly over to join Wyse. 'I've a story to tel you,' he said. 'A true story, though you might find it hard to believe.'
'How intriguing.' The man's eyes glinted with amusement and he gestured for the Doctor to sit down. 'I've heard some pretty rum stories in me time, I can tel you. So, what's this one al about then, eh?'
'It's about a Painted Lady. It's about clockwork kil ers. A manhunt. Mistaken identity. Assassination.
The usual ingredients.
'
'Might be usual for you, Doctor,' Wyse said. His eyes met the Doctor's deep gaze. 'Yes, might very wel be.
You know,' he said, standing up, 'I was thinking it was a tad early for a brandy just now. But actual y I think I wil . join me?'
'If it makes you feel better.'
Several decanters were arranged on a low table by the fireplace. Wyse poured two brandies, then returned to his chair, handing the Doctor one of the glasses. 'Now then,' he said. 'Shal we begin?'
The stairs ended on a smal landing outside a heavy wooden door. Rose had been worried she might not be able to find Mr Pooter's rooms. But there was just the one door, no choice. No problem. Rose took a deep breath, swallowed and knocked loudly on the door.
There was no answer. She knocked again. Stil nothing, so she pressed her ear to the door. There were sounds coming from inside, she was sure. Movement, a hum like a fridge. Ticking of a clock.
Rose stepped back from the door, suddenly unnerved. What if it wasn't a clock? What if...?
Then the door opened. Or rather, a part of the door opened. It was heavy, dark wood, made of several rectangular panels separated by beading. One of the panels at the bottom of the door swung open. Light spil ed out on to the bare boards of the landing. Harsh, white light.
She stepped back. trying to see through the open panel. But she could make out nothing but the light.
Then slowly a shape formed within it. Something was coming out. Something dark, silhouetted against the artificial light.
With a laugh of relief, Rose realised it was the cat. It stepped out on to the landing, claws clicking rhythmical y on the wooden floor. She reached out to stroke it, but her hand froze in mid-air.
The white triangle of fur under the cat's head was stark against the black body as the creature looked up at Rose. Its lozenge-shaped emerald eyes fixed on her. And suddenly they were no longer green, but red. Deep, blood red as if lit from within.
The animal's mouth opened wide in a hiss of anger. Surprised, Rose straightened up and took a step backwards. Her foot slipped over the top step and she lurched sideways with a cry – arm out to grab the banister rail and save herself from fal ing. At the same moment as she almost fel , the eyes blazed. Two beams of electric red shot out from the cat's eyes, scorching their way across the wal behind where Rose had been.
The cat's head snapped round as it reacquired its target. Rose pressed herself back against the wal , ducking as the rays scythed out again. Smoke drifted from the scarred wal . Rose shrieked, throwing her hands up in front of her face as the cat leaped. Claws out, it hurled itself at Rose, eyes blazing with lethal fury.
NINE
There was silence when the Doctor finished his story. He had not told them everything, of course. Just enough. Start spouting nonsense about being an alien from the future and he might lose them altogether. So he stuck to the bare bones of the story – mysterious clockwork kil ers sent by a masked woman to assassinate the wrong man. Straightforward enough.
The staff who had gathered with Crowther to listen to the latter part of the Doctor's story exchanged looks – some worried, some amused, some just confused. Several guests were sitting close by, listening attentively. Aske and Repple were the only ones the Doctor knew by name. Repple in particular was watching the Doctor closely, his face set expressionless. Aske looked from the Doctor to Repple and back again – was he wondering how this would affect his patient's mind, or somehow assimilating it into his own delusions?
Wyse held up his glass and swirled round the last drops of the pale liquid in the bottom of the bowl. He finished the drink and stood up. 'Glad I had that brandy,' he said. 'Think I might have another. Anyone else?' He raised his eyebrows enquiringly at the Doctor, then turned to include the staff in his invitation.
'No? Then please don't mind me.'
Aske joined him at the decanters and allowed Wyse to pour generous measures into two glasses. He took one back to Repple.
Crowther cleared his throat. 'Excuse me, Doctor, but what are you suggesting we do? If I have understood correctly, you believe these assassins wil be making their way here as soon as it is dark.'
'Guess so,' the Doctor agreed. 'So we al have to make our choices.' He counted them off on his fingers.
'Stand and fight. Barricade the doors and try to scare them off. Hide under the tables.' He still had a finger left and clicked his tongue as if trying to remember the final option. 'Run away,' he decided at last.
'Let them rampage about and cause trouble on their own. Maybe try to lead them off, but I doubt it'd work.'
'I shal not run away,' Repple announced. 'I think we al know who these assassins are really after.'
He stood up, brandy in one hand, the other in his jacket pocket. Aske stood beside him, mirroring the stance. 'I have always known that this time might come,' Repple went on. 'That the evil forces that oppose me at home would hunt me down.'
'We can't be certain it's for your benefit,' the Doctor pointed out gently.
Repple ignored him. 'Who wil stand with me in my hour of need? Which of you has the courage and the honour to do battle with the forces ranged against us?' He lifted the glass. 'To victory,' he declared. 'And to Dastaria.' Repple and Aske drank, then sat down again.
Wyse took a half-hearted sip at his brandy. 'Yes, wel , be that as it may,' he said, 'I'm afraid it's Wednesday, so I don't think I shall be able to help. Prior engagement, you know. But,' he added, 'I shal hurry back in the event I can be of any assistance.'
The Doctor stared at him. 'Prior engagement?'
Wyse looked slightly embarrassed. 'Long-standing. Couldn't possibly miss it. Every Wednesday.' He pul ed out a watch on a chain from his waistcoat pocket, pushed his monocle into place, and checked the time. 'Got an hour or so before I have to leave, if that's any help. But every Wednesday I play chess with a friend just along the Embankment. Never miss. Sorry. Be right back,' he added with an apologetic smile. 'But, you know – can't let the blighters win, can we? Can't let them set the rules and dictate to us how we spend our own time.'
This last comment seemed to strike a chord with Repple, who nodded grimly in agreement.
While Wyse had been talking, several staff and a few guests had taken the chance to slip away.
The room was looking rather empty now. The Doctor counted off the people left – Aske and Repple, Crowther and two of his men. The remaining guests were two elderly men – one of whom the Doctor was sure was so deaf he didn't know what was being discussed – and a middle-aged gentleman of enormous girth who was grinning with eager anticipation.
The Doctor sighed. Not exactly an army, but he could not expect people to put themselves at risk for him. Or even on the off-chance that the clockwork kil ers might come for him. He was most saddened by Wyse, but he assumed the man had simply not believed him. Typically, he was too polite to say so outright, but equal y he wasn't wil ing to give up his precious evening just to humour the Doctor.
Understandable, but sad.
'I've sent the ladies away, Doctor,' Crowther confessed. 'I hope that was correct.'
The Doctor nodded. 'S'pose so. Too late now if it wasn't. Though Rose is always useful in a –' He broke off, looking round. 'Where is Rose?' he wondered aloud.
More from instinct than design, Rose grabbed the creature in mid-air, catching it round the neck with both hands, twisting it away so that the deadly rays traced twin black scorches across the wal behind her.
She could feel the thing writhing as she struggled to hold on. Its body was like a bag of bones – hard and brittle under the fur. It hissed and fought. Claws raked at Rose as she tried to keep it at arm's length.
She knew she would not be able to hold on to it for long.
So she turned sideways, stil holding the cat firmly round the neck, squeezing as tightly as she could but with no apparent effect. The beams were lancing out, gouging through the paint and panel ing as the head snapped angrily round in an effort to get at Rose. Any il usion she'd had that
it was a real cat, made of flesh and blood, was long gone. Rose braced her feet on the stairs, and slammed the thing's head as hard as she could into the wal .
There was an unpleasant crunching sound, and the cat gave an unearthly wail. She smashed it into the wal again, which crumbled under the impact. And again – a starburst of flaking plaster and paint.
One of the eyes was stil firing, blackening the wal as Rose once more swung her arms.
The light in the eye went out. But the claws were stil raking, the mouth hissing in the middle of the battered face. Rose let go of the neck with one hand, grabbed the cat's tail instead. She braced herself again, let go with the other hand. Both hands now holding the cat's tail, she swung it with al her might at the wal .
With a wrenching, tearing noise like a car stripping its gears, the cat went limp in her hands. She swung it again, to be sure, to work off the adrenalin, because she didn't yet dare to believe that the thing was dead.
The cat's fur split open, as if badly stitched. Cogwheels, gears, levers, smal shapes of metal tumbled from inside and clattered to the floor. They bounced down the stairs and spun across the floorboards.
Rose dropped what was left of the cat. She picked her way through the scattering of brass and steel components that littered the stairs. As soon as she could, she ran.
On the landing, al was silent. Then the panel of the door to Mr Pooter's rooms opened once more. A cat stepped through, surveying the scene in front of it through emerald eyes. It was a black cat, with a white triangle of fur under its head. it paused, head cocked to one side as if listening.
Then the panel of the door swung shut, and the cat ran down the stairs. After Rose.
Even from outside it was apparent that something was happening at the Imperial Club. The figure watching from the deepening shadows, as the late afternoon turned to evening, observed with interest.
Shutters were closed over windows. The front door was closed and locked. Freddie could hear the rasp of metal on metal as the bolts were slid across. He sat down on the pavement, careful to make sure that there was nothing sharp or rough, and watched with interest. He saw the Doctor shadowed against windows before shutters swung across. He saw Rose looking out from an upstairs room and scanning the street. Freddie shuffled careful y back into the darkness, hoping she could not see him.
