by Doctor Who
Final y, the Doctor was forced to let go. Freddie's hands were stretched out, but stil a foot away from the step below. He fel forwards, his hands smacking into the stone. But he managed to hold on, to save himself from plunging onwards. He felt the remains of the mesh whip at his lower leg as it pul ed through the window. His feet slithered down the wal behind.
Freddie sat on the stairs, getting his breath back, scarcely able to believe that he was inside the tower, safe and alive. He rubbed his palms together, inspected them to make sure he hadn't broken the skin, hadn't bruised.
'Al right?' the Doctor hissed through the window above him.
'Yes, I think so,' he whispered back. Then he started down the stairs, carefully at first. But then faster and faster as he felt more confident and excited. He was a hero, he was saving Rose and his parents and everyone.
But the feeling did not last. There was no key in the lock of the door. The bolts were firm and he couldn't move them, though he pushed and heaved until he was worn out and had indentations in his sore hands.
The Doctor, Repple and Melissa were watching through the glass of the door. One of the Mechanicals had taken a huge swipe at it, but not even made a mark. Freddie had ducked, but the glass was so tough and strong he had not even heard the impact of the blow.
Eventual y he gave up. The Doctor had shrugged at him in an exaggerated manner, and smiled, and disappeared from sight. Melissa had also gone. Only Repple was left. He nodded slowly, and pointed upwards. The meaning was clear, and Freddie began the long, tiring journey up the stairs to find Rose.
He was almost back at the window where he had climbed in when he noticed the first spots of blood, glistening red on the pale stone of the stairs. He felt himself go cold, his legs go numb. For several moments he just stared at the thin, scarlet drops that peppered the wall under the window. Then he reached down, without looking, and found at once the tear in his trousers where the mesh had ripped the cloth and scratched his leg.
'Just a scratch,' he said to himself. 'It's not bleeding much. I can save Rose.' He swal owed, but the lump remained in his throat. He blinked, but his vision was stil blurred by tears. 'I could be a hero,' he thought, and he stumbled up the stairs, the blood pounding in his ears.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground, the Doctor examined the cat. Lying close beside him was a policeman. It had taken the Doctor a few moments to check that the man was merely unconscious and that the Mechanical that had hit him had not been overzealous. Now the man was snoring loudly, and distracting the Doctor as he worked.
'If I can get this sorted, it can cut through the door for us with its laser eyes.'
'You don't need to fix the whole cat,' Repple pointed out.
'Trouble is I don't know which bit does what. So it's rather hit and miss.' He pul ed his sonic screwdriver out of his jacket and aimed it at a collection of cogs he held carefully in place with the other hand. 'Bit of soldering...' Nothing happened, and the Doctor sighed.
Melissa was standing close by, watching through her mask. She stepped closer, holding out her hand.
'Is this what you need?'
The Doctor took the power pack with a grateful grunt. 'Ta.' He popped open the end of the sonic screwdriver and pushed the cylindrical power pack inside before snapping it closed again.
The device whirred, thin trails of smoke rose like mist from the inside of the cat. It flinched visibly, then was stil again. The Doctor finished his work and inspected it careful y. 'Might be enough.'
'And if not?' Repple asked.
'I'd need more components for a proper job. You know an al -night watchmaker's?' He tugged the fur round the cat's metal-frame body, then he got to his feet, holding the cat out in front of him. 'Come on, kitty-kitty.' Nothing. He shook the cat. 'You know what we need to do, don't you, puss?' Stil nothing.
He shook it again, and the cat gave a weak, desultory meow. Its head lifted a fraction, its eyes gleamed slightly. Then with a whirr and a clunk, the head fel forwards again.
'What components do you need, Doctor?' Melissa asked in the quiet that fol owed.
'You do know a watchmaker?'
'No. But we do have a ready supply available.'
The Doctor looked at her blank face. Then he looked at Repple.
'You expect me to die for you?' There was the faintest tremor in his voice. 'I don't know if I can, Doctor.'
Melissa laughed. 'I expect nothing.' She raised her hand, beckoning. And one of the Mechanicals stepped out of the gloom. It stopped in front of the Doctor. Slowly and deliberately, it raised one gauntleted hand and slid open the visor that covered its head. To reveal the cogs and gears and mechanisms inside.
'Even machines need something to die for,' Melissa said.
Freddie could hear the faint voice echoing down the stairwel . He held tight to the metal railing on the inside of the stairs. He wished he had his crutch. His legs ached so very much, but he knew he had to keep going. Once he looked down the hole in the middle of the square, and shuddered at the height he had climbed. But he kept going. The voice was getting louder, closer, as he climbed the stairs.
It was a man's voice. Calm and reasonable and under other circumstances Freddie would have thought it friendly. It was coming from an open door on the next level. He slowed, trying to catch his breath, afraid the man – Wyse – would hear his heart beating.
'I was intending to wait for midnight,' Wyse was saying. 'It seemed suitably melodramatic. But I imagine the Doctor wil be looking for us by now, so we shal have to settle for ten o'clock, which is such a pity.'
'Big shame.'
'Don't be too upset. That's the only reason you're stil alive.'
'Star bil ing in a hostage drama,' she said. 'Oh, great.'
Freddie could hear Rose clearly. It sounded as if she was just inside the room. He crept up to the door, tiptoeing, ignoring the drip of blood from his leg. The bottom half of his trouser leg was sopping. 'It's just a scratch,' he told himself. He edged closer, and risked a quick look into the room.
Rose was standing just inside. Wyse was beside her and together they were looking at the enormous clockwork mechanism that fil ed the room. The immensity of it almost made Freddie gasp in awe. For a moment, he forgot his injured leg.
Perhaps it was the movement, or perhaps it was an instinct. Whatever it was, Rose turned, just in time to see Freddie standing in the doorway. Wyse also started to turn, and he ducked out of sight quickly. But in that instant, he had been rewarded with Rose's smile, her realisation that she was not alone. It made everything worth it. Freddie braced himself, wondering what to do now.
The cat's eyes glowed and twin beams of light shot out from them, focusing on the area round the lock of the door. The light ate into the woodwork with a screech of power.
After a few moments, the lock like the bolts before it fel away and the door swung open the smal est fraction. The Doctor dropped the cat to the ground and kicked the door open ful y. It crashed back into the wal behind. The Doctor was already through and running, fol owed by Repple and Melissa.
The Mechanical paused in the doorway. It turned stiffly to look back at the inert remains of its fellow
– face plate open and mechanisms hanging out. Cogs and wheels and tiny bolts were spilled across the flagstones beside the unconscious policeman.
Then the Mechanical turned and fol owed its mistress into the clock tower.
By which time the cat was gone.
As he waited, listening to Wyse talking about things he did not understand – about ionisation and ozone and potential energy and space – Freddie leaned against the stone wal . His mind swam, the effort of the climb catching up with him perhaps. He shook his head to clear it, and caught Wyse's words from inside the room.
'Sadly, I need to prime the clock itself in order to set this rather impressive mechanism in motion and begin the process.' The voice seemed closer now. 'And the clock is above us. If you would care to lead the way?'
Rose emerged from the ro
om first. She glanced at Freddie as he pressed himself back against the wall, then turned quickly away and started slowly up the next flight of steps.
Wyse fol owed. He paused in the doorway. Freddie held his breath. But Wyse was already turning to fol ow Rose. Freddie would have to move quickly. He would have to get into the room and out of sight before Wyse turned the corner of the stair and saw him. Freddie braced himself.
As he stepped out of the room, Wyse slipped. Only slightly, one foot sliding forwards a few inches on the stone floor. Enough to make him look down. Look down and see the trail of fresh blood that his foot had smeared across the threshold. He frowned, started to turn towards Freddie.
At the same moment, a noise echoed up the tower. A sudden powerful screech fol owed by a sizzling like hot metal plunged into cold water. Then the bang of the door at the bottom of the stairs as it crashed open.
Freddie was staring right at Wyse. He saw the man's face crease into a frown, then surprise, then anger. 'The cat?' he murmured.
It was now or never. 'Rose!' Freddie shouted.
Already she was running back down the steps, already she was pushing Wyse away, into the room behind him. She grabbed Freddie's hand and they started down the staircase.
Then she shrieked – surprise and fear rol ed into one sound.
Wyse had hold of her hair – had grabbed it as she rushed past, and was dragging her back.
'Run!' she hissed at Freddie, eyes wet with tears of pain.
But he held on to her hand, shaking her head. 'I can't.' His voice was almost a sob.
Wyse dragged her back, then thrust her ahead of him up the stairs. He reached down and grabbed Freddie by the shoulder and shoved him after Rose. 'Quickly,' he urged. He pul ed a smal revolver from inside his jacket, and jabbed it at them. 'Hurry, or there'l be more blood on the stairs.'
'The Doctor will stop you,' Rose said, her tone oozing confidence.
But Wyse laughed. 'Once I start the mechanism, nothing can stop it. Besides...' He paused to shove them into another room. 'I now have two hostages.'
The centre of the clock room was dominated by the clock itself. Wyse was right, it was hardly bigger than a dinner table – a flat ironwork bed on which the heavy metal mechanism was laid out. Levers and wheels led up to huge rods that reached out and through the wal s – to turn the hands of the four clock faces outside. The heavy persistent tick of the mechanism echoed round the room.
Freddie slumped in a corner away from the clock. Rose was beside him. Wyse was at the clock, clicking a lever into place and smiling. From somewhere far below came a heavy grinding sound.
And then the Doctor was standing in the doorway. His face dark, his eyes cold. 'Let them go.'
Wyse laughed. 'Come in here and I wil kil them.'
'Let them go, or you wil never get to your ship.'
'You leave, Doctor. Then I shal go to the ship. Then you can come back for them, if you have time.
The clock has already struck the quarter. When it reaches the hour...' He waved the gun by way of demonstration.
'He would rather die than surrender?' It was Repple's voice from the stairway outside.
'Yes, he would,' Melissa answered.
Wyse too had heard them. 'You can't stop the mechanism,' he insisted. 'And when the clock strikes...' He stopped abruptly, as if surprised at his own words.
'When the clock strikes,' the Doctor echoed. There was the ghost of a smile on his face now. 'What if it doesn't strike?'
Then he was gone in a blur of movement. The door slammed shut.
Wyse cried out in anger. 'You can't stop it.'
'Bet he can,' Rose said. She was grinning.
Wyse looked at her, assessing the situation. Then he ran across the room. Holding the gun poised, he pul ed open the door. The stairway was empty.
'Stay here. And I wouldn't try to stop the clock. If you do, the spring wil activate and the weights wil drop and start the process immediately.' Then he was gone. The door slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.
Rose was on her feet. 'Come on,' she said. 'Maybe we can stop the clock without setting it off.' But, looking at it, she sighed. 'Dunno where to start.'
'Anywhere,' Freddie suggested weakly.
'But I might set things off when the Doctor's just about to stop it,' she said. 'We'l be OK. He'l sort it.'
She turned to smile encouragingly at Freddie. But the smile froze.
'You're bleeding.'
'It's my leg. I caught it on the window when I climbed in.' He stretched it out and she ran over, pushing up his torn trouser leg to reveal the skin slick with blood beneath.
Rose rubbed at the blood, trying to see where it was coming from. 'It's just a scratch,' she said with relief.
'It's not that big or deep. Keep stil , and it'l soon stop bleeding.'
Freddie shook his head. He felt pale and woozy. 'No it won't,' he told her. 'Mother says it's her fault. In her blood. Sir George says it's proof of who I real y am.' His eyes were moist as he stared up at Rose. 'When I start to bleed, I don't stop.'
SEVENTEEN
The Doctor was gone. But Repple and Melissa were waiting on the landing below when Wyse emerged from the clock room and slammed the door shut behind him. Melissa stepped forward as Wyse glanced down.
'Vassily!' she shouted.
He looked straight at her as she raised the tubelike weapon and fired.
Stonework beside the door, close to Wyse's head, exploded into stinging fragments. He barely flinched, took his time, aimed the revolver.
The crack of the gunshot echoed loudly in the confined space. Melissa gave a shriek of surprise and pain as the tubular device was knocked from her hand by the bul et. A line of red traced across her palm, and the tube tumbled into space. As the echoes died away, Repple heard it shatter on the floor nearly 300 feet below.
Wyse had stepped forward to the rail outside the clock room. He took aim again. On the lower turn of the stairs, the remaining Mechanical raised its arm. The blade caught the light as the tiny knife spun upwards at Wyse. He moved his head just enough to al ow it to pass and embed itself in the door behind him. The gun was pointing directly at Melissa.
He fired, turned, and ran in one movement. Melissa did not flinch.
But Repple did. He leaped in front of her, the bul et catching him in the chest, driving him backwards down the stairs. He slumped to the floor, close to where Melissa was standing. Her expressionless face spared him a look, then she was off up the stairs, shouting for the Mechanical to fol ow.
Repple lay there, gasping, listening to the rapid clack of their feet as they hurried after Wyse. He felt for the wound, found the opening the bul et had torn in his waistcoat and shirt. He reached trembling fingers through the ragged hole. And pul ed out the flattened lead that had impacted on the flesh-covered metal of his chest. He stared at it.
'Why can't I bleed?' he murmured. Then he tossed the spent bul et over the railing and got to his feet. The bul et clattered off the steps on the other side of the stairwel , then bounced back and into the abyss. The sound of its bounce, clatter, fal and eventual impact on the floor below rang in Repple's ears as he hurried after Wyse. And when the sound was gone, for the first time in his life, Repple fancied he could hear the dull ticking of a clock coming from somewhere inside his own head.
Wyse had only run up one short flight of stairs. Then he ducked inside another wooden door, and pushed it closed behind him. He stood, listening, at the door. He smiled as Melissa and the Mechanical ran past, up towards the belfry.
His smile froze as the Doctor's voice came from behind him: 'Hel o.'
The door led into a narrow gal ery that ran inside one of the faces of the clock. The whole of one wall was taken up with the clock face – over twenty feet in diameter, over 300 separate pieces of glass held in place by metalwork. A huge rod from the adjacent clock room ran through the wall and into the centre of the clock to drive the hands.
The other wal was a mass of light – bul
bs blazing bril iantly to il uminate the clock face, throwing the shadows of the Doctor and Wyse against the opal glass. Just past the six o'clock position a whole large pane of glass had been pushed aside.
Wyse knew it was hinged to al ow maintenance access to the clock face – a space barely big enough for a smal man to squeeze through. The Doctor was standing beside it, pushing it closed, smiling with self-satisfaction.
'What have you done?' Wyse hissed. He raised the gun.
But the Doctor was already gone, dashing to the end of the room and turning the corner towards the next clock face. Wyse ran after him. He stopped at the centre of the gallery, and shoved open the glass panel. Had the Doctor somehow managed to stop the clock? Was he trying to jam the minute hand before it could reach twelve? Could he really have climbed up the outside of the clock and back again?
He leaned out through the glass. The wind whipped at Wyse's hair, blowing it into a panic around his head. He leaned as far as he dared – as far as he could. But it was not far enough to see where the clock's hands were. If it had been daylight outside he knew he would have seen the long minute hand silhouetted against the glass from inside. Where was it now?
Unable to get further through the panel, Wyse gave a grunt of both satisfaction and annoyance. If he could not get through the panel, then neither could the Doctor. Wyse had fal en for the bluff, had stopped to check and given the Doctor a few precious moments longer for whatever he was really up to. He started to pull himself back inside. And found he could not move.
The Doctor waited until Wyse was leaning through the panel, then ran back and pressed hard against him with both hands, holding him so he could not pul himself back inside. It would not prevent the clock from striking, but it solved one problem at least.
'Melissa!' he shouted as loudly as he could. 'In here, quickly.'
Wyse had realised what was happening and was struggling to get back in. The Doctor could imagine him trying to angle the gun so he could shoot at the Doctor. Even so, the sound of the shot, fol owed immediately by the crash of breaking glass, surprised him. The bul et ricocheted off the inside wal .
