Doctor Who - [New Adventure 29] - [Vampire Trilogy 2] - Blood Harvest

by Terrance Dicks

  The Doctor looked mildly interested. "Really? How did it go?"

  "I hardly like to, Doctor ... ladies present."

  "You have my permission, Castellan," said President Flavia. Spandrell cleared his throat. "It goes:

  'Death to the Doctor!

  'Borusa lives,

  'Rassilon must die ' "

  There was a shocked silence at the blasphemy of the last line.

  Spandrell said, "Well, I must go and supervise the rest of the round-up. With your permission, Madame President?"

  Flavia inclined her head, and Spandrell hurried away.

  The Doctor rose, staring into space. "Borusa lives!" he whispered. "Rassilon must die!" He looked wildly from Flavia to Romana. "I know what they're going to do!"

  The Time Gun was giving off a low hum of power, a light sequence flashing on its control panel.

  Elar stood up. "Best we can do, eh Morin?"

  Morin nodded his agreement.

  "Then let us begin," whispered Rath. "For the last time. Death to the Doctor!"

  Morin and Elar took up the chant:

  "Borusa lives!

  "Rassilon must die!"

  Carrying the Time Gun between them, Morin and Elar set off for the heart of the Tomb. Rath followed.

  Behind them came Agonal.

  The Doctor, President Flavia and Lady Romana stood looking up at the ancient painting that hung in the Inner Council Room, close to the President's office. It showed a mysterious cowled figure, reputedly Rassilon himself, playing a harp against the background of a wild and romantic landscape.

  There was a music-stand in the picture, bearing a parchment sheet on which music was inscribed. Despite the painting's great age, the detail of the picture was so clear that you could distinguish the actual notes.

  Close to the picture stood a pillar upon which stood an ancient Gallifreyan harp, exactly like the one in the painting. There was an inscription at the top of the pillar: "Here is the Harp of Rassilon."

  The Doctor took down the instrument and handed it to Romana. "As a well brought-up young Time Lady, you must have been taught to play the harp?"

  Romana ran her fingers across the strings. "What would you like me to play?"

  The Doctor pointed to the music in the painting. "Play that!" Romana peered up at the painting and began to play, tentatively at first. After a few bars she smiled. "Oh, I know this. It's an old ballad called Rassilon's Lament."

  Playing with increased confidence now, Romana finished the tune. There was a grinding of concealed machinery and the hidden door beneath the picture slid open, revealing a flight of steep and narrow stone steps.

  Taking the harp from Romana's hands, the Doctor placed it gently back on its pillar. Then he went through the door and down the steps. Flavia and Romana followed him.

  They found themselves in a gloomy underground control room. Even now, thought the Doctor, the air still felt thick with ancient evil and long-ago cruelties.

  The great Game Table stood in the centre of the room. Its surface formed a replica of the Death Zone, dominated by the central model of the Dark Tower. On the other side of the chamber stood a huge and clumsy-looking piece of ancient machinery.

  The Doctor moved over to it. He touched an ancient keyboard and a central screen lit up.

  "The Time Scoop," said the Doctor. "Apparently back in full working order -thanks to Elar and Morin no doubt."

  He flicked controls at random and a picture appeared on a screen, a muddy swamp with drifting mists. Suddenly a great roaring head burst out from beneath the surface. It looked like a giant worm with a dog-like head and far too many teeth.

  "A Drashig!" said the Doctor almost affectionately. His fingers moved over the controls and a black obelisk appeared, containing the monster's image. The Doctor looked at Flavia.

  "One touch of a button, Madame President, and that delightful creature will be rampaging around the Capitol corridors."

  "No thank you, Doctor," said Flavia firmly.

  "Perhaps you're right. Drashigs make awkward pets. They're no trouble to feed, mind you. They eat anything - and anybody, of course. They ate a space-freighter once." As he spoke the Doctor's fingers stabbed at the keyboard and the machine went dead.

  "I ordered that device to be deactivated," said Flavia.

  "You should have ordered it to be destroyed."

  The Doctor led them over to a booth in the corner. "A basic transmat link - one destination only, I fancy. I'd better go. I may be too late, but I'll do what I can."

  "I'll come with you, Doctor," said Lady Flavia. "If I order the Three to abandon their evil scheme. . "

  "They've gone too far for that. Besides you're too valuable to risk."

  "I'm not," said Romana. "I'll come, Doctor. I'd like to see the end of this."

  "It may be the end of all of us," said the Doctor with uncharacteristic gloom.

  "Wait, Doctor," pleaded Flavia. "Let me find Castellan Spandrell, send guards with you."

  "Later if you must," said the Doctor. "But guards won't help us now. This will be a struggle of the spirit."

  He stepped into the transmat booth and Romana joined him. The Doctor touched the control, the booth lit up and they faded away ...

  ... to reappear in a booth set deep in a darkened alcove. They stepped out of the booth, went through a high stone arch and found themselves at the heart of the Tomb of Rassilon.

  It was a vast cathedral-like chamber, lit only by a shaft of light that slanted down from above, picking out a massive stone bier. On top of the bier lay a motionless form dressed in ancient ceremonial robes. Figures were set into the side of the bier - a long row of Time Lords, arranged in a kind of fresco. At first Romana thought they were carved into the stone. Then she saw that their eyes were alive.

  "Who are they Doctor?" she whispered.

  "Time Lords who wanted immortality - and got what they wanted. The one in the centre is Borusa. I helped to put him there."

  The Tomb had been desecrated. A device like a squat silver cannon had been set up, aimed directly at the imprisoned Borusa.

  "The idiots have made a Time Gun," whispered the Doctor.

  Two black-robed figures crouched beside the device. Two taller ones stood beside them. One of the tall figures was Rath, in the black ceremonial robes and head-dress of the Old Time. Beside him, tall and elegant in a black robe, stood Agonal.

  The air before the Time Gun seemed to be pulsing, flickering as the beam of temporal energy assaulted the bier.

  The Doctor stepped forward. "No!" he called. "Stop it you fools! Do you wish to face the wrath of Rassilon?"

  Agonal turned. "I do not fear your Rassilon, Doctor. When I have destroyed him, I shall destroy you - slowly!"

  Ignoring him, the Doctor spoke to Rath. "Don't you know the one strength this wretched meddling entity has, the one thing that makes it really dangerous? In any direct confrontation he draws power from the strength of his opponent. Don't you see? If he absorbs the strength and energy of Rassilon, and overcomes him, you'll have created a monster of quite incredible power. He'll turn the universe into a blood-bath for his amusement!"

  A deep voice said, "So you are here at last, Doctor. Now the game of Rassilon can begin!"

  The voice didn't come from anywhere, it just was inside their minds and all around them. It was as if the whole great chamber had spoken.

  "No, Lord Rassilon," cried the Doctor. "You don't realize the danger. Even you-"

  "LET THE GAME BEGIN!" The booming voice seemed to shake the stone walls of the Tomb.

  Agonal stepped forward, standing alone before the bier. "I challenge you, Rassilon!"

  A great wave of psychic energy drove out from the bier.

  Agonal withstood it, absorbed it - and sent it back.

  The Doctor and Romana and the three renegade Time Lords stood forgotten spectators as the battle raged. It seemed that nothing Rassilon could do would serve to overcome Agonal. He seemed to grow taller, stronger, glowing with
malevolent power as the waves of psychic energy raged about him.

  The Doctor watched in helpless agony. Was this the end of Rassilon? The end, perhaps, of the Time Lords?

  There was a sudden shattering explosion. Overloaded by the colossal energies that played around it, the Time Gun had exploded. As the echoes of the explosion died away, Rath gave a triumphant shout. "Lord Borusa! You are free!"

  The Doctor turned and saw Borusa, his old teacher, standing beside the bier. The space that had imprisoned him was empty.

  Rath ran to kneel before his lost leader. "Lord Borusa, we have set you free! It was all for this. Now you can return to lead us, and we shall rule the cosmos..."

  His voice tailed away as he saw the anger on Borusa's face.

  "Return to lead you?" said the old man scornfully. "Return to the madness that put me here? I may have been wicked but I am not entirely a fool. I have had time, very considerable time, to reflect on the past. I do not wish to repeat it." Rath's face seemed to crumble as his idol rejected him, and he turned away sobbing.

  Suddenly the Doctor felt the power of Rassilon flowing through him. Somehow he knew it was flowing through Romana too, and above all through Borusa - the old Borusa, with all his strength and wisdom. Together they confronted Agonal and the power of Rassilon swept through them, mingled with their own spiritual strength and blasted Agonal into nothingness, like a candle in a hurricane.

  With a howl of pain and rage, Agonal disappeared.

  A deep silence fell.

  The Doctor ran forward and grasped Borusa's shoulder. It felt sinewy and strong, utterly real. "1s it really you?"

  "It seems to be, my boy."

  The Doctor fell to one knee and kissed the old teacher's hand. Borusa patted his shoulder. "There there, my boy. It's good to see you again." He raised the Doctor to his feet and stepped back, looking upwards.

  "I am ready to resume my place, Lord Rassilon."

  "No!" shouted the Doctor, ready to defy Rassilon himself.

  But Rassilon's voice said, "That place is already filled, Lord Borusa."

  The Doctor and Borusa turned together and saw that Agonal had taken Borusa's place on the side of the bier. The long thin form, the long elegant face were part of the fabric of the pedestal. Only the eyes were furiously alive.

  Rassilon spoke again. "Come with me, Borusa old friend. We shall find you a better place."

  Borusa turned back to the Doctor, raised his hand in farewell and faded into nothingness.

  Rassilon's voice boomed out. "You, who call yourselves the Three. You are not worthy to stand here. Return to the a Capitol and submit to the judgement of your fellow Time Lords."

  Rath, Morin and Elar turned and trailed disconsolately away. Romana at his side, the Doctor stood waiting before the bier.

  "Still here, Doctor? Can't an old man have any peace?"

  "You knew, didn't you?" said the Doctor indignantly. "You knew what was going to happen all along."

  "This is the Game of Rassilon. To lose is to win, and he who wins shall lose ..." An enormous yawn rolled around the Tomb. "Come and see me again some day, Doctor. The cosmos would be a duller place without you."

  As the Doctor and Romana turned away, a deep silence fell upon the Tomb. Rassilon had returned to his long sleep.

  The Doctor and Romana stood waiting by the TARDIS in the Capitol corridor where they had first landed.

  "What happened to Borusa, Doctor?"

  "I think he went sane."

  "Is he dead?"

  "Is Rassilon dead? What is death anyway? Write on one side of the paper only."

  "And what about the Game of Rassilon?"

  "It's all a game to Rassilon," said the Doctor. "And he's always at least six moves ahead of anybody else. What do you plan to do, now you're back on Gallifrey?"

  "I think I'll stay for a while, Doctor, and resume my studies. I'm a Gallifrey girl at heart, you know."

  A procession was approaching along the corridor. It consisted of Dekker, sleeping peacefully on a stretcher carried by four meditechs, with the Chief Hospitaller himself in attendance, and Ace and Bernice fussing over the patient.

  "A full recovery, Doctor," said the Chief Hospitaller. "Your friend is as good as new - rather better in fact. We took the liberty of making a few minor improvements. He will never be ill, and he will recover quickly from any wounds. If he survives his hazardous times, he will live to a great age - for a human."

  The Hospitaller and his staff installed Dekker in the TARDIS, emerged and said goodbye, making fight of the Doctor's thanks.

  "His memories may be a little vague when he awakes in his own place and time," said the Chief Hospitaller as he moved away. "But perhaps that will be just as well."

  Another little procession appeared, this one consisting of Lady Flavia, Secretary Pogarel and Castellan Spandrell.

  "I've spoken to Temporal Control," said Lady Flavia. "Your TARDIS will be on a Temporal Guidance Beam. You'll arrive back on Earth at precisely the right place and time."

  "I can manage that sort of thing perfectly well for myself, thank you," said the Doctor rather ungraciously. He was getting tetchy. He hated goodbyes. He held out his hand. "Goodbye, Romana. I got you back to Gallifrey eventually - even if it was by a roundabout route."

  "Roundabout another universe," said Romana. "Goodbye Doctor, take care." In an astonishing display of affection -for Romana - she kissed his cheek.

  Castellan Spandrell held out a big hand. The Doctor was about to shake it when Spandrell said, "My Gallifreyan Army Knife, Doctor. It went missing the last time you were here."

  Rather shamefacedly, the Doctor fished in his pockets, produced the knife and handed it over.

  "I sometimes wonder if you're entirely honest, Doctor," said Spandrell, but he smiled as he said it.

  "Goodbye, old friend," said the Doctor.

  Spandrell gave the Doctor a salute and a bone-crushing handshake and went on his way. Ace and Bernice popped out of the TARDIS. "Are we going or what?" said Ace.

  Bernice gave Romana a hug. "Goodbye, Time Lady."

  Romana and Ace shook hands. Ace and Bernice went back inside the TARDIS, leaving the Doctor and Lady Flavia alone.

  "I suppose it's no use asking-" began Flavia.

  "You're a much better President than I could ever be," said the Doctor.

  "You'll have to come home one day," said Flavia.

  "I will," said the Doctor. "When I find out where it is."

  They shook hands, and the Doctor went back inside the TARDIS, like a rabbit popping back down its burrow. The seldom-heard sound of a Type-Forty dematerialization echoed around the corridors, and the Doctor was gone.

  As Romana was walking back to her new quarters, she bumped into a fellow Time Lady who was hurrying round a corner.

  They exchanged apologies and Romana studied her new acquaintance with interest. She was tall and straight-backed, wearing a neat black trouser-suit and a silver belt. Fashions had changed since Romana was last on Gallifrey. She had sharp inquisitive features, scraped-back black hair and she wore a necklace of golden spheres.

  "Ruathadvorophrenaltid," she said formally, adding as one did if one was prepared to be friendly, "Ruatha."

  "Romanadvoratrelundar," said Romana. "Romana."

  "I was hurrying to see the Doctor," said Ruatha. "I heard he'd had an encounter with some vampires, and vampirism is a particular study of mine."

  "I'm afraid you've missed the Doctor," said Romana. "But perhaps I can help? I spent quite a lot of time on the vampire planet myself."

  31 SWEET HOME CHICAGO

  After the shoot-out with Reilly's cops, I woke up in a bed at Doc's Place with Ace looking after me. Apparently I'd stopped a slug and been out of it for a while. It couldn't have been anything much. The wound had pretty well healed and I never felt better in my life.

  Then Ace told me she and Doc were leaving Chicago, and for a while I never felt worse.

  We had a farewell party their last n
ight. I sat on a stool at the bar watching Ace while Luigi filled me in on all the news.

  Al Capone was taking the sun at his place in Miami, and Bugs Moran had disappeared after his near miss on St Valentine's Day. Nobody had seen Anselmi and Scalise around, and nobody was missing them. Nobody seemed to have shot anyone for a while, and it looked like recent violent events had worn everybody out. Mayor Thompson's clean-up campaign had run out of steam, and most of the joints were back in business again. I guess nobody was ever gonna close down Chicago.

  Half-way through the evening, my old friend Captain Reilly came in. He was alone and in plain clothes and he wasn't looking for any trouble. He even bought me a drink.

  "I was hoping for a word with Doc," he said, and I took him over to Doc's alcove.

  Reilly sat down and raised his glass to us both. "God save all here," he said, emptying it. Doc beckoned to a waiter, who brought him over another one.

  "And what can I do for you, Captain Reilly?"

  "Well, to begin with I want to apologize for that little bit of a misunderstanding we had a while back."

  "Think nothing of it," said Doc.

  Reilly leaned forward. "The truth of it is I was given a bum steer by that tall skinny feller, him that went round causing so much trouble. No one seems to have seen him for a while."

  "They tell me he's out of circulation."

  "Took care of him, did you?"

  "In a way."

  "Well now, since everything's back to normal again," said Reilly. He gave Doc a hopeful look.

  "Ah, the police benevolent fund! Of course."

  Doc produced a well-stuffed envelope and Reilly made it disappear. He had a couple more drinks and disappeared himself.

  I looked at Doc. "Only in Chicago."

  "Just a matter of business," said Doc. "Oh, and speaking of business."

  He handed me a sheaf of important-looking papers.

  "What's this?"

  "Half a saloon. You're co-owner with Luigi - a silent partner. Prohibition won't last very much longer, and when it ends you can go legit."