Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [51]
The sun was already heading for its rest and the deep chasms of the alleyways in front of us were shadowed and seething with an infestation of humanity. The stench was appalling.
'Well,' the Doctor said, 'there's no sign of the creature, but it seems clear where it went.'
'And you intend following?' Holmes snapped, stared down at the little man.
'Well,' the Doctor said softly, never quite looking up at Holmes, 'we could pussyfoot around, check all approaches, scout the area, reconnoitre the target and all of those good things, and never get any closer to the heart of the mystery, or we could walk right in and ask some pointed questions. In the end, one way or another, we'll end up in there.'
'I'm going with you,' I said.
'Good man: The Doctor picked his way carefully along the valley that led through the St Giles Rookery to the hidden Library of St John the Beheaded. I followed, of course. Holmes, after a moment's hesitation, overtook both the Doctor and I and led the way.
It took us twenty minutes to press our way through the throng of unwashed and unkempt humanity to the doorway that marked the only entrance and exit to the Library. As before, some form of immunity had been conferred upon us. Nobody would meet our eye: despite the crush of people, nobody touched us or spoke to us. Even the dogs seemed to ignore us.
At the door to the Library, I looked around. Two separate groups of lounging men were eyeing us. Jitter and Yeovil were still keeping watch upon the Library, and upon each other.
We entered into the darkness. Instantly we were engulfed in peace and warmth. instead of the stench of the Rookery, the musty, dusty smell of old books filled our nostrils. A black-robed man signed us in and led us along corridors lined with tottering piles of books, up stairways, down ramps and spiral staircases, through linked sets of rooms whose walls were invisible behind loaded shelves and finally up a ladder to a landing which bowed noticeably beneath the weight of the literature stacked upon it. He tapped discreetly upon a door, and withdrew.
'Come,' said a familiar voice. Holmes opened the door, and we entered.
The room was mercifully free of books. Panelled walls were interrupted only by a fireplace in which logs crackled comfortingly, and a table containing a selection of bottles and a gasogene. A desk stood at one end, in front of a massive tapestry which depicted some marbled palace. A high-backed, high-winged leather armchair had been placed between them, and turned so that its back was facing us.
Mycroft Holmes stood by the fireside. His hands were clasped behind him, and the flickering light cast his bloated shadow over us all.
'Holmes, Watson,' he nodded, 'and, I presume, the Doctor.'
'What is the meaning of this, Mycroft?' Holmes snapped, advancing across the carpet towards his brother. 'What are you doing here?'
'I followed a hunch: Mycroft gestured towards the bottles. 'Please help yourselves to drinks, by the way. The Chateau Lafite is a century old, and looks fit to become one of the world's great vintages if we don't drink it all first.'
'Yes,' the Doctor murmured. 'We followed something too.'
Holmes remained glaring at his brother. The Doctor seemed engrossed in the tapestry behind the desk, and so I busied myself with a stiff whisky.
'Don't play the fool, Mycroft.' Holmes's face was contorted with rage. 'Save that for your political lords and masters. I demand an explanation!'
'What an enchanting tapestry' the Doctor said, unheard by all except me.
As the accusations and recriminations flowed, I refreshed my drink with a spurt of aerated water from the gasogene and turned to look at the tapestry. If the Doctor thought fit to draw our attention to it, I presumed it must be important. Unlike Holmes, the Doctor seemed to prompt from behind rather than lead from the front.
From my position by the drinks table I was seeing the tapestry at an angle.
The architecture