by Doctor Who
DOCTOR WHO
claim the dragon for her own. If Hilthe was the one making the decisions, Rory knew without doubt that he would do anything she asked. 'Take it,'
he murmured. 'Take it.'
'Can you hear it, Rory?' the Doctor said quietly.
'Can you hear the dragon? Listen. Listen...'
Rory listened - and heard. Faintly, but he heard.
The dragon was singing.
'The Queen of Ruin, Hilthe.' The Doctor's voice was hideously discordant against the dragon-song.
Rory could have hit him for wrecking something so beautiful. 'Hilthe the Destroyer. They'll sing the name for ever, and they'll curse it.'
Abruptly, Hilthe stepped back. She released her hold on the dragon's head. The music stopped. 'That...
was unexpected,' she said. She gave a small and shaky laugh. 'Perhaps you are right, Doctor. It is all so very gaudy. Geath will be better without it.'
Rory gave a sigh of relief. His conviction that Hilthe should take possession of the metal seemed strange now; a delusion, a moment of madness. He shook his head to clear it of any echo and then he frowned. 'Doctor. That humming, that song - it hasn't stopped. It's getting louder.'
'I know,' the Doctor replied through gritted teeth. He ran round the dragon to stand where Hilthe had been only moments before and looked 116
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down at the beast's head.
Rory followed him round and stared at the dragon in amazement. Its other eye was opening, revealing a red glow behind a heavy liquid lid. Its jaw began to move. Then, behind the ever-louder song, Rory heard a creaking sound. Looking up, he saw the dragon's metal wings unfolding.
'Doctor, it's waking! The dragon is waking!'
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Chapter
7
The Teller took a deliberately complicated route deep into the heart of the council building. It didn't take Amy long to realise that he too was keeping to the shadows and trying not to run into anyone.
Perhaps that wasn't surprising given the way the townsfolk had reacted to him in the plaza earlier.
Amy wasn't complaining. The Teller had earned their fury, and his sneaking around worked to her benefit.
The corridors became narrower but hardly bare.
Enamour covered every wall, pale and uncanny.
Eventually, the Teller came to a small arch over which curtains were drawn. He went through.
Amy hurried to the end of the corridor and 119
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twitched one of the curtains to look inside. The room beyond was a private apartment, small but beautifully furnished. A big, comfortable bed dominated the space. Enamour glistened thickly -
but only here and there, as if someone started decorating and then lost interest.
The Teller sat down in one of the ornate chairs. He chewed at his thumbnail and muttered under his breath, occasionally glancing over at another curtained arch on the far side of the room. He was clearly waiting for someone. After a few minutes, he jumped up and started pacing from lamp to lamp, taking them out of their holdings and examining them, as if trying to work out some means by which they could wither and die. Some means other than alien intervention.
Amy waited patiently. At last, someone came through the other arch. A man in golden armour, on the breastplate of which was a beautifully stylised symbol of a golden dragon, rampant, on a red field.
The Teller greeted the new arrival. 'Where have you been?' He went to help him take off the helmet. This resembled the dragon's head - or, perhaps, the long muzzle of the Regulator's mask - the nose guard recalling the snout, the cheek plates thrusting upwards in the shape of wings. A red plume rose from the crown. Beol - for of course 120
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it was he - looked the very definition of a warrior king.
'Where do you think I've been?' Beol said as soon as he was free of the helmet. 'Ordering the defence of the city.' He placed his hand upon the Teller's shoulder and gave his broad and startlingly beautiful smile. 'And where have you been throughout this crisis, oh wisest of counsellors?'
'Where do you think I've been? Watching your back!'
Beol laughed. 'What would I do without you?'
'You'd have an unguarded back,' the Teller said.
'I've also been gathering information.'
'Yes? Useful information?'
'You're not going to believe the half of it,' the Teller muttered.
Beol walked over to a nearby table, where a jug of water and a cup stood ready and waiting. He poured out some water and drank deeply. 'Don't worry. I know already. The city's mood is changing.'
The Teller blinked. 'What?'
'I saw the crowd out in the plaza. I heard what they were saying. I know that people are frightened.' He shook his head. 'I can hardly blame them. Dragons, fire in the sky, candles and lamps that fade out as if in fear. I understand why they're afraid - I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm afraid 121
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myself. These things are beyond reason! But don't worry. I'll do my part. If those beasts come past again, I'll be there. I'll fight. Not just for the city of Geath, but for you.'
The Teller stared at him. 'What are you talking about?'
Beol put down his cup and walked over to the Teller. He rested his strong hands upon the other man's shoulders and smiled down at him. 'You've done everything for me. Our whole lives. But it's my turn now. You got us here. I'm going to keep us here. You don't have to worry.'
From where Amy was standing, she could see the pair of them side on: a tall golden man and a smaller dark one. One of the lamps behind them flickered, altering the composition of the tableau, bringing the profiles of each man into relief.
Suddenly, the similarity between them was revealed: the same long nose, the same curve to the chin, the goldish tinge to the Teller's hair, the brownish shade in the King's hair. Amy almost gasped. How had she missed it? These men were so obviously brothers.
I’m going to protect you,' Beol said. 'I'll always protect you. You have my word, not just as a man, but as King of the Geathians.' He kissed his brother quickly on both cheeks and gave another ravishing smile. Then he moved back into action, the hero of 122
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his own story. 'Now,' he said, 'back to my knights.
We have an enemy to prepare for and to defeat.'
The Teller stood stock-still in the middle of the room. Beol had apparently taken all the words out of his mouth. After a moment, he shook himself and turned to speak to his brother. 'Beol, you've got to listen to me—'
'Best thing for you is to stay in here till this whole business is over, I think. No point exposing yourself to any danger, whether from the townsfolk or these creatures. Leave that to me.' Beol took another deep drink of water and threw the cup onto the bed. He picked up his helmet again but paused before putting it back on. His face lit up and his eyes shone. This was how Rory had looked, Amy thought, seeing the dragon-ships flying overhead.
'Stars, though!' Beol said. 'Did you see them? If they didn't mean us ill, you'd have to call them beautiful! Swift and supple, like liquid metal across the sky - never did I dream I'd see something like that! Like one of your old stories come to life! You did see them, didn't you? I'd hate for you not to have seen them, even if only the once.'
'Yes, I did - Beol, please, listen to me!'
Beol halted on his way back out.
'These creatures,' said the Teller. 'They're not...
they're not from our world.'
Beol frowned. 'I don't understand —'
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'You've seen them!' spluttered the Teller. 'Where do you think they come from?'
Beol eyed him cautiously. 'It's been a long night,' he said. He nodded at his bed. 'Perhaps you should think about getting some rest. I've told you I'll take care of everything.'
'Beol!'
'Perhaps I should have made you rest so
oner. It's been a busy few months. We don't have to turn our attention to Dant immediately. We'll sort out this business first.'
'Dant? You don't seriously think all of this is coming from Dant, do you? Beol, those dragons are machines. When, exactly, do you think the people of Dant learned to build machinery like that? How, exactly, do you think they have learned to set fire to the sky?'
'But who else can it be? Who else holds a grudge against us?'
'Beol,' said the Teller carefully, 'you do remember that we didn't actually take the dragon from Dant, don't you? That was just a story that I made up. Remember?'
'No coincidence those three turning up tonight, is it? Citizens of Dant? Spies, more like! I'll say one thing before I go, though, you got them wrong. Two children and a fool, you said! Nothing to worry about, you said! Next thing we know - dragons 124
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overhead!'
Behind her curtain, Amy winced. Not such a good cover story after all, perhaps.
'Which reminds me,' Beol said. 'Probably best all round if we have the three of them locked up. Can't have three spies from Dant running around the city, if we're likely to be at war by the end of the week.'
He tucked his helmet under his arm. 'Enough talking! Back to doing! I can't spend the night hidden away in here. I have to be outside. As soon as the people see their King, they'll be heartened!'
He drew back the curtain. 'We knew it was only a matter of time before they came to get it. Don't worry! Nobody from Dant is going to lay a finger on our dragon! It's ours - and ours it will stay.' He nodded towards the bed again. 'Put your feet up.
Get some shut-eye. We'll talk again in the morning.'
Then he strode out of the room, whistling, a young man confident that his considerable strength would be enough.
The Teller chased after him. 'Beol, we owe these people nothing! You're going to get yourself killed!'
Amy whistled softly to herself. So many stories; stories that had not been true when they were first told, but were now taking on lives of their own, twisting round and turning true... The people of Dant had sent spies to Geath and now they were 125
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coming to claim their dragon...
Time to get back to the Doctor and Rory. But could she get there before they were seized by Beol's men? She glanced across the room to the arch through which the two brothers had left. No point going that way; she would only be following them. Most likely she would arrive just in time to see the boys dragged off. She would only end up having to prise them out of the stocks.
'Oh, now that's a tempting image...'
However, and with regret, Amy turned back the way she had come, setting off at a run in search of another, quicker way round to the council chamber.
Her head pounded with unanswered questions: Where had Beol and the Teller found the dragon?
Who had they been before arriving in Geath? And who, out of all the parties now laying claim to it, had the best claim to all the Enamour?
As the wings of the dragon extended and lifted, its head bent forwards until the snout almost touched the ground. The wings spread out as the dragon eased them effortlessly apart, gears and metal smooth despite long centuries lying dormant.
The Doctor hung back for a moment. When nothing rose up, writhed forwards or jumped out, he went to see what treasure lay within.
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'Ah! Now I understand!'
Reaching inside the dragon, he triumphantly lifted aloft a madly intricate piece of equipment, a tangle of wires hanging down from it like tentacles.
'Emotional amplifier! Now we know why the Teller's been getting such a high level of audience appreciation.'
'Do we?' said Rory, bewildered.
The Doctor, who had been thumping buttons and twiddling dials, peered at him. 'Ah. Of course. No technobabble. Take a guess, Rory. What do you think an emotional amplifier might do?'
Hilthe stepped forwards to peer at the device.
The Doctor shook it. It went ping. 'Might it amplify emotion, by any chance?' Hilthe said.
'Spot on! Gold star! Second thoughts, not gold. It does indeed amplify emotions. Someone tells you a story and if you're within the range, the whole experience becomes more affecting, more meaningful. I've no problem with them for personal use - they're great for repeats; honestly, you can recapture the experience of watching the first time - but I'm not so happy about them being used on a big audience. And when combined with Enamour...' He gave Hilthe a knowing look.
'No wonder you've had problems getting out the core vote. There's Beol, offering people the kind 127
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of riches they've never dreamed of, and there's the Teller, turning the King's exploits into the pre-industrial equivalent of a box-office smash.
Good old-fashioned tub-thumping didn't stand a chance. Sorry, Hilthe. If it's any consolation, it's the same old story, wherever you go - the first to get the hang of the new communications medium always wins.'
'No apology necessary, Doctor,' Hilthe said briskly. 'If anything, I do feel slightly better knowing there was no decline in my own abilities.'
'Good for you!'
'But how did the Teller work out how to use this emo-amp-thingie?' Rory said. 'How did he operate it?'
'I don't think he did,' the Doctor said. 'I think the amplifier was on standby, and when he dug up the dragon - whenever and wherever that happened -
it reactivated. It would have started working for him without him knowing what was happening. I bet he was amazed to discover his stories were getting such good reception at last. Give him his due - he's known how to make the most of it all.'
'So this must be what the Regulator is using?'
Rory said. 'Emotional amplifiers. Only they know how to use them properly.'
'Another not-gold star! Now, the Regulator has been amplifying different emotions. It stirs up 128
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fear and anxiety in order to frighten people into doing what it wants. The Teller has been whipping up excitement and enthusiasm. People feel that something special is happening, and they want to be part of it. They want to get close to it.'
'So that's why all anyone can talk about is the King?' Rory said, remembering the Beol-centric conversation in the hall.
'Exactly! It doesn't feel anywhere near as unpleasant as what the Regulator is doing, but it's still a kind of coercion. Most fads and fashions are when you think about it. On top of that, the effects of Enamour aren't stable. People are going to want more and more. They'll want more of the metal and they'll want more impact from the Teller's stories. He and Beol will have to deliver, or else public opinion will turn against them, and the backlash won't be pretty. Emotions are already running high.' The Doctor paused, the amplifier still in his hand. 'Of course, the Regulator will blow us up first. I'd better not forget about that.'
'Please don't,' said Rory.
But the Doctor had returned to rummaging inside the belly of the beast. 'Now, what else do we have here? Ah, this is very interesting...' He popped back out again, carrying a black and silver box topped by an impossibly tiny satellite dish. 'Take a seat, both of you. This is something you 129
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should see.'
Rory ran across to the arcade and brought back two chairs, one for him and one for Hilthe. They both sat down. The Doctor played around with the box for a few moments. The dish started spinning wildly. 'That should do it!' He aimed it up at the roof.
Rory and Hilthe both looked up to see images dancing across the dome of the chamber. The colours were richer and deeper than in the images the Regulator had transmitted. Rory burst out laughing. 'IMAX! Nice one, Doctor!'
Hilthe stared at the display in amazement.
'Earlier, the Regulator showed us pictures of my city from above. I do not recognise these places that you are showing me.'
The Doctor smiled. 'I know you don't need my app
roval, Mother, but I've still got to say... you're very quick. Very quick indeed. No, this is different.
The Regulator showed us what was happening outside, right at the moment we were watching.
Live broadcast. But these are pictures from the past — from the Herald's past and the Regulator's past. I think if we watch them we'll learn a whole lot more about the nature of the feud between the Feond.
Perhaps by the end, we'll have a better idea which one of them should be given the metal.' He glanced at Rory, who was about to answer, and 130
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put a finger to his lips. 'Take a look before you say anything more.'
'But, Doctor—'
'Pretty pictures! Free movie!'
Rory sighed, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. As he watched, high above him, the story of a brutal civil war unfolded. It was a war that had taken place millennia ago between people alien to everyone in the room. An ancient golden empire, ruled by the Bright Nobles of the Feond, was shredded by a violent revolution. It began on a small world at the fringes of their territory and spread across planets and systems and centuries.
The images shifted, and changed, showing the bloodshed on every single one of the empire's thousands of worlds, with the armies of the imperial families on one side, and the militias formed by its servants and bonds-people on the other. They watched as the habitations of the Bright Nobles were torched in the first attacks by the rebels. They saw the bloody reprisals, as the ruling party burned the ecologies of insurrectionist worlds into desolation.
They watched the agonies and destruction of total interplanetary war. And they sat through the vicious endgame, when the Imperial Lord of Light himself was at last caught in the catacombs below the Celestial Hall, trapped amongst the bones and the tombs of his
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ancestors, and was slaughtered with his last loyal legion of Bright Lords. They saw the Thirteen, the representatives of the Oversight Committee, raise their black flag amidst the charred ruins of the Hall and start to squabble over the reconstruction. Last of all, they saw lifeboats disappear into the void of space, the last remnants of the noble households making their escape, fleeing into exile with whatever remained of all they had once possessed, sustained by dreams of a glorious restoration.
