snaffled your favourite hat. Yet, even if he carried the crime
on his conscience to his grave, Bingo Lockesley's mind was
made up. Chances like this arrived once in a million years.
His ancestors and his children's children would feel nothing
but gratitude if they knew what he was doing for them.
Should she hear his story, even Mrs Enola Banning-Cannon
(nee Tarbutton) would probably forgive him instantly.
*
Mr Banning-Cannon's mind, too, was made up. It had to be
said that to be thwarted, as she would see it, of an earldom
as well as a chance to out-hat all the other ladies at the next
day's party would not fit easily into Mrs B-C's general view
of what the world ought to be. Were she ever to discover that
she had been duped she would be unlikely to laugh it off with
a cheerful quip and a gentle, chiding tap of her fan on young
Lockesley's cheek. More probably she would not rest until
her Tarbutton relatives had reduced his world to ashes.
Of course, Urquart Banning-Cannon knew all this, which
was why he was offering such a hefty reward for the successful
accomplishment of the hat-napping. The odds favoured
Lockesley considerably since he knew the house inside out.
He could only hope the boy had somewhere to hide the thing
once the deed was done. There would be a search. Questions
would be asked. Accusations would be made. Threats would
fly. Sabres would rattle.
Urquart felt a chill in his veins, a desire perhaps to rethink.
Was it too late to turn back now? Usually his wife would
have noticed his slightly shifty demeanour, his tendency to
sweat a bit, his wet dry lips. She would have been certain
something was up, but she was too distracted by imagining
what she could tell her envious lady friends at home to spot
the tell-tale signs.
Soon they were settled in their adjoining suites getting
ready for dinner. Once or twice Mr B-C wandered into his
wife's rooms and made a casual enquiry while in actuality
casing the joint, getting the exact emplacement of what he
came to think of as the swag.
This swag remained in a gaudy hatbox measuring
more than a metre across and almost another metre deep.
Not something to be easily snatched and pocketed by a
professional cracksman, let alone an amateur. But Urquart
had a healthy respect for Bingo's skills and knowledge of this
rambling old run-down place he called home -
- while, at the same moment as Mr B-C stood before the
dressing table mirror tying his ties and buttoning up his
waistcoat, Bingo was wondering if he had bitten off more
than he could chew.
What if he were caught? He gulped inwardly. The
Lockesley name would be blackened for ever. He needed
an accomplice, and accomplices were hard to come by,
especially on a planet like this where pretty much everyone
was a Decent Chap. He sighed. There were few candidates
for the position. None could be local, of course. He had to
recruit someone from the team. And his estranged pal Hari
Agincourt could not be involved.
The list of candidates had narrowed down. The members
of the Tournament First Fifteen consisted of seven humans,
including himself, Hari and Old Bill Told, three rhinocerids
(the Judoon), a canine (Uff Nuf O'Kay, their star wotsit
keeper), a centaur (H'hn'ee), a bovine (N'hoo), and an
avian predator or hawk-person (DikMik Aaak) who was a
splendid bowman but obviously not much good at hefting
one end of a heavy hatbox. There was also Masher Dubloon,
the skunkoid: excellent fielder and very strong for his size.
However, in spite of all attempts at de-scenting, Masher still
left a distinctive smell behind him.
William 'Old Bill' Told was planning to start a skiing
planet after this and could not risk blackening his name,
which he had already put into the past tense. Similarly Donna
Bradmann of the Second Fifteen had taken Holy Orders and
planned to fill the position of Top Chider in Fingerwagger,
New North Whales, after this. Dougy Fairbanks, also of the
Second Fifteen, was a pretty good all-rounder on the field and
specialised in lance-and-quintain, knocking up a consistently
good score, but she was inclined to make even the darkest
of his friends' secrets into an anecdote before remembering
she'd been sworn to total silence on the matter. There was
Doctor whatsit, their newest recruit and another general all-
rounder, as he had shown on the field today, but who knew
where his loyalties lay? And, again in the Second Fifteen,
Fran^oise and Jessie, the James sisters, belonged to some sort
of sect that forbade them from doing anything after nightfall
except eat and make love. Which left the non-humans, several
of whom were good chaps, up for any bit of fun, but each
with drawbacks.
The problem of recruiting a Judoon was weight - they
could be heard clumping along nearly half a mile away.
They took a nano-personality changer when playing, which
evened up their weight and power on the tournament field,
but here they were who they were. The bovines also carried
a characteristic smell which would give them away. So it had
to be a human. W.G. Grace had the muscles...
At that moment a discreet knock on the door interrupted
his train of thought. He crossed to answer it and stared up
into the amiable face of the team's latest recruit. 'The Doctor',
with his pretty lady friend Amy, had joined the team after
their ship had crashed here. Apparently they had been
travelling in some kind of experimental two-person craft en
route from the Greater Oort in Orion where the remains of
Original Terra could be found. He was an historian, judging
from his knowledge of O.T. and her remaining neighbours.
He had shown his ID, but for some reason Lord Sherwood
could never remember his name: probably one of those bizarre
affectations some students of the Old Worlds seemed to relish
simply because everyone else found it unpronounceable.
The Doctor was a fine all-rounder, a pleasant fellow and a
jolly lucky one, with an absolute stunner of a girlfriend. In
fact, Bingo had to admit that if Amy were not attached to the
Doctor he would even now be leaving his card on her hall
table.
'Um,' he said, a little surprised. 'Ah...' Then, remembering
his manners, 'Do come in..."
The pair trooped through and sat a little uncomfortably
on the edge of his bed. In response to Bingo's lifted eyebrow
and downcast eye, Amy said:
'As you're captain of the team, we thought we ought...'
She turned to the Doctor. 'Well...'
'We ought to tell you. You ought to know that we think you
have some sort of - I don't know - spanner in your works - a
bit of a - what's the word?'
'Spy in the ointment?' Initially tending towards roughly
the colour of uncooked sausages, Bingo had, he was pretty
sure,
paled at this. Sure that he had somehow been overheard
plotting with Mr B-C and his action interpreted as a scheme
to throw the game, he now found himself in a double bind.
To dispel any rumour about traitors in the team's ranks,
Bingo would have to tell the truth. Or, he thought, getting
into the swing of things the way liars often do, and, enjoying
a buzz from the sheer exhilaration of inventing a story, he
could tell some of the truth (chatting to Urquart Banning-
Cannon) and make up the rest. This seemed the preferred
option. He lifted his eyes to face Amy and the Doctor and,
scarcely having finished blanching, he blushed again. 'Um.
Fly in the amber, eh?' he babbled inanely, blushing deeper
still at his own apparently uncontrollable foolishness. 'I mean
sparrow in the soup,' He looked from one baffled face to the
other. 'Don't I?'
The Doctor scratched his handsome nose. 'I'm not sure,'
he said. He and Amy exchanged a glance. 'See, that's the
reason we're here. You might have spotted something and be
able to add to what we heard... It's not very clear, really, but
we think someone's trying to pinch something from you.'
'P-p-pinch?' babbled the 507th Earl of Lockesley.
'Something of yours.'
'Not - not a h-hat?' Bingo had, for the moment at least,
moment, crumbled.
'A bat? I don't think so. Though it could be disguised as a
bit of equipment. The trouble is, we don't know what it looks
like...'
'Oh, it's pretty horrible, I promise you that.' He blanched
again. 'Or so I was told. I haven't actually seen it yet myself.
D-did you say bat?' He blushed. At this rate he could hire
himself out as a space beacon. 'Bat?'
'No, you said bat.' Amy raised both eyebrows. 'It was a
pretty good guess.'
'But the fact is we don't know,' said the Doctor. 'My friend
Amy here thought it could be anything, but I'm inclined to
narrow the search...'
'Um - friend did you say?' Bingo blushed again. 'Amy?
Miss Pond?'
'Yes. Are you OK?'
'Oh, yes. Much better, thank you. Not your girlfriend?' He
frowned hard at the Doctor.
'Is that a problem?'
'Far from it, Doctor.' Bingo had by now pretty much
given up paling and was glowing a steady red. 'Anyway, this
plot?'
'We think those involved could bring about the destruction
of our galaxy.' The Doctor looked towards the door as if he
suspected they in turn were being overheard. 'Perhaps even
the universe,' he added, apparently as a vague afterthought.
'Oh, come on now!' Bingo was about to say that even the
most horrible of hats could not make the Milky Way have a
style breakdown, when something stopped him. 'Oh, really?
This object, you mean. This bat. Or artefact. Or whatever...'
'We thought we ought to warn you.' The Doctor rose to
leave. Lord Sherwood was clearly distracted. 'It is only a
rumour...'
'Of course. Of course. As captain and all that, I'm
responsible for the actions of the whole team.'
'Quite,' said the Doctor. 'Well...' He extended his hand.
'If you hear of anything odd going on, or see anything
strange...'
'Or some sixth sense is triggered,' added Amy. 'It could
be anything.'
'Anything?'
'Anything general, you know. Or something singular, of
course.'
'Single,' babbled Bingo. 'Quite. Absolutely. Wonderful.
I'm your man. Is it hot in here?' He went to the big French
doors leading to his balcony. 'Mind if I open a window?
Keep my eye on the arrow, eh? Both hands on the bat. Sticky
whackit, mm? Rely on me.' He began tugging at the handles.
'Good. Got it. Oh, you're leaving! Cheerio for the moment,
eh? Pip pip...'
When the door closed behind them, the Doctor and Amy
exchanged another glance.
'Barmy,' murmured Amy, 'if cute. Pity.'
'I think we caught him at a bad time.' The Doctor scratched
his unruly head. 'Why was he going on about a bat? Maybe
Frank/Freddie Force and his Antimatter Men got to Bingo
ahead of us. Maybe they've nobbled him.'
'That would be a shame,' said Amy vaguely. 'OK. So who
should we check out next?'
'I've told you everything that was in the message.
Everything I could understand. It had to be sent by someone
who knows me, and thought I'd know what they were on
about. I've checked out the humanoids, and they all seem all
right. Hari Agincourt is Lord Bingo's cousin and best friend.
W.G. Grace is easily their finest whacker.'
Amy glanced at him. 'Hmm. And quite some beard.'
'Bit eccentric?' said the Doctor.
'And enormous,' agreed Amy.
'You'd be eccentric if you'd swallowed so many identity
pills you'd been a hundred personalities in Earth's distant
history in almost a decade,' he told her. 'She's by far the best
historian here. And there's almost nothing she doesn't know
about mythology. She's obsessed. Like those other three in
the Second Team back-ups. Drake, Stanley and de Gama.
Explorers? Myth figures?' He shook his head, sending his
floppy hair flying. 'All completely barmy. Unless they're very
clever at hiding their real personalities. But they are very,
very brilliant sports people.'
'Did Lord Sherwood's manner strike you as guilty?' Amy
wondered.
'At first. Maybe we'd caught him admiring his own archer's
stances in his mirror? Or doing his hair? Is that natural, do
you think? That shock of white blond hair?'
'There's definitely something or someone on his mind.
Or, if not exactly his mind... Anyway, he's clearly sweet on
someone. They've got the poor beggar poleaxed.'
'What do you mean "someone"?'
'Someone. A person. He's got a crush on somebody in the
team, I'll bet you!'
'Really? Man or woman? Alien or human?' The Doctor
smiled to himself. 'I'm sure well find out soon, if we stick
around long enough.'
'You think we might be on a wild goose chase, Doctor?'
'No. The message was pretty convincing. And its location.
Miggea's a significant star. It's right at the centre of the Ghost
Worlds, so it's close to the apex.' He steepled his hands to
show her. 'Do you see? And when a trusted informant tells
you that General Frank/Freddie Force and his Antimatter
Men have crossed into our space, it's important to believe
them. Especially when that someone is talking from a point
just barely on the right side of the Schwarzschild Radius in
the Sagittarian cloud and has a familiar and particular note
of fear in their voice.' He stared off thoughtfully into the
distance. 'They say old Renark, Lord of the Rim, the first
man to try to enter a black hole, is still in there, stuck for
ever between his last moment of life and his first moment of
death. And of course General Frank/Freddie and Co won't be
too far from that black hole, either, for fear of being stranded.
You see our problem?'
'Um. Not really.' Amy wasn't quite sure where to start,
but she took a deep breath and asked: 'What's matter and
antimatter? How do they work?'
'Look at this - my bow tie. The central knot's the black
hole. This side of the triangular bow is matter. This other
side is antimatter. They are self-perpetuating, like Law and
Chaos. Same thing, see?'
Amy nodded sagely. She hoped. She certainly wished she
looked sager than she felt.
Chapter 5
Black
AS SOON AS THE Doctor and his unnervingly beautiful friend had
disappeared, probably to do some further sleuthing, Bingo
Lockesley put his mind to the problem in hand. He was
pretty sure that not only had he thrown them off the scent,
but also that his scent was not in fact the one they happened
to be casting around for.
Robin, Lord Sherwood, Earl of Lockesley, had struck
upon an entirely new plan which would not involve him in
asking for extra assistance. The rooms between his room and
Mrs Banning-Cannon's suite would soon be empty, since it
currently contained Mr Banning-Cannon. Bingo was certain
that Mrs B-C would not be so rude as to turn up late for her
first meal at Lockesley Hall. All he had to do, Bingo reasoned,
was to wait until the pair leapt at the sound of the dinner
gong and went haring on their way to the source of the
delicious smells already wafting from below. The coast clear,
he could slip through, using his master key, drag the hatbox
onto the rug, drag the rug complete with hatbox through
Mr Banning-Cannon's room into his own and hide it in his
grandfather's old space-chest situated at the end of his bed.
Or maybe on the balcony, if dry. A piece of cake! he thought,
salivating. The smells of rich old-fashioned food permeating
his family castle were distracting him.
He drew another breath. Not good enough. He went to
his French windows opening onto a balcony and flung them
as wide as possible. Now they too were ready for his daring
theft.
A few minutes later the dinner gong boomed from
below, its sonorous tones echoing through the landings and
chambers of Lockesley Hall as they had boomed for decades
of yore, causing an almost unseemly rattling of door handles
and squeaking of hinges as the many guests, their taste buds
driven to madness by those delicious traditional scents, which
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