Dead of Winter - James Goss [45]
I laughed. ‘We’re supposed to save planets and people. That’s why we travel through time.’
Amy repeated my words, nodding. ‘Is it?’
‘Good point. I mean, he’s never actually said that. It just happens to us, doesn’t it? We turn up somewhere and when we leave, things are normally better. Remember that cafe?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one where the guy couldn’t make an omelette.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Amy smiled. It was a tight little smile. As though she was humouring me.
‘And the Doctor said, “Claude, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs,” and taught him how to make a really good omelette, while telling us lots of stories about breakfasts with Napoleon and Churchill and Cleopatra. While we ate omelettes. So many omelettes.’
Amy nodded, grinning.
‘Point is… we can’t even go for a meal without him trying to make things better. But at the same time…’
‘You can’t do it without breaking eggs,’ Amy finished for me.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
I noticed the fog drifting in across the beach, glowing gently.
‘It’s coming,’ said Amy.
‘Yeah.’
‘Scared?’
‘A bit.’
‘Don’t be. I’m here for you.’
Amy wrapped her arms around me, and I felt a little better. The fog spread itself around us both, a sickly green.
‘Amy—’
‘Shhh…’
Rory Williams. Sat in a deckchair. On a beach. About to be devoured by an alien fog. For my own good. With my wife there to help me through it.
One more thing.
One thing I’d forgotten.
Neither of us had mentioned that I was tied to this chair.
‘You’re not really Amy, are you?’ I said.
‘Shhh,’ she whispered in my ear, and the fog flowed over us both, pushing the world a long way away.
Dr Bloom’s Journal
7th December 1783
Impudence!
Kosov tells me that I am sent for by Prince Boris. Sent for! I am not his servant!
I thought for a moment about not going, but Perdita urged me to attend. ‘It would look very bad if you did not go. He practically pays for the entire clinic, my dear.’
There was, as ever, truth in her words…
I traipsed over to Prince Boris’s rooms. He was sitting there, a weak smile on his tired face.
‘And how are you feeling, Your Highness?’ I asked, my best professional manner shrugged on like a comfortable old jacket.
He waved this pleasantry away. ‘Ach! Dear Dr Bloom you know I feel amazing! Kosov and I,’ he chuckled, ‘have much to thank you for, really.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, ever so tired. The wretched man is so lazy I wonder how he can even breathe. ‘One feels almost invigorated,’ he told me with a yawn.
‘Indeed, sir,’ I said. Truth to tell, I hadn’t much time for this. Mr Williams was on the beach, telling The Sea all he knew, and the Doctor and Amy… soon, soon they’d agree to what I wanted. But I had to dance attendance on this yawning fool. ‘So, how can I help you?’ I tried to keep the impatience from my voice.
Prince Boris seemed asleep for a moment, then slyly popped open an eyelid.
‘Actually, my dear Bloom, it is I who can be of help to you,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Finally, I am feeling like the man I should have been all these years. My head is clearer. My lungs are fresh. And I owe it all to you. So, my dear sir, I shall give you a gift.’ He dropped his voice so low it scraped along the floor.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a muslin-wrapped bundle. He unwrapped it with a flourish and dropped it onto his breakfast tray, where it landed with a loud, metallic thump.
I stared at it. In horror.
Prince Boris chuckled at my reaction. ‘Oh come now, Bloom, surely you have seen one of these before…’
I shook my head.
‘Ah, then you are in for a treat. This was made for me by a silversmith in St Petersburg.’
‘You brought this into my establishment?’ I was aghast. I mean, plainly, stupidly asking obvious questions. Clearly he had. It was there. On the tray, a gun nestled absurdly amongst the eggshells, cold toast and teaspoons.
Prince Boris